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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/34331-8.txt b/34331-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b91c3b --- /dev/null +++ b/34331-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7951 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Poems, by Rossiter Johnson + +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: Minor Poems + Little Classics, Vol. 15 + +Editor: Rossiter Johnson + +Release Date: November 15, 2010 [EBook #34331] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + Fifteenth Volume + + LITTLE CLASSICS + + EDITED BY + + ROSSITER JOHNSON + + + Minor Poems + + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + 1900 + + + COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + AE FOND KISS _Robert Burns_ 52 + AGE OF WISDOM, THE _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 115 + ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD, THE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 146 + ASTARTE _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 54 + BETROTHED ANEW _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 86 + BLINDNESS, ON HIS _John Milton_ 143 + BRAVE AT HOME, THE _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 142 + BREAK, BREAK, BREAK _Alfred Tennyson_ 53 + BRIDAL DIRGE, A _Bryan Waller Procter_ 163 + BROOKSIDE, THE _Richard Monckton Milnes_ 36 + BUGLE-SONG _Alfred Tennyson_ 40 + CAVALIER'S SONG, THE _William Motherwell_ 132 + CHAMBERED NAUTILUS, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 214 + CHANGES _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 71 + CHILDREN'S HOUR, THE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 152 + CHRISTMAS HYMN, A _Alfred Dommett_ 217 + CLOUD, THE _John Wilson_ 213 + COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM _Thomas Moore_ 46 + CORONACH _Sir Walter Scott_ 133 + COURTIN', THE _James Russell Lowell_ 26 + DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 65 + DEATH-BED, THE _Thomas Hood_ 160 + DEATH OF THE FLOWERS, THE _William Cullen Bryant_ 100 + DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST _James Shirley_ 182 + DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER _George Henry Boker_ 134 + DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN _Fitz-Greene Halleck_ 169 + DRIVING HOME THE COWS _Kate Putnam Osgood_ 140 + EAGLE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 105 + ENTICED _William C. Wilkinson_ 224 + EPILOGUE _The Editor_ 231 + EVELYN HOPE _Robert Browning_ 161 + FAREWELL, A _Charles Kingsley_ 199 + FAREWELL, A _Alfred Tennyson_ 112 + GIRDLE, ON A _Edmund Waller_ 23 + GOING HOME _Benjamin F. Taylor_ 185 + GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD, THE _Felicia Hemans_ 174 + HAUNTED HOUSES _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 73 + HEALTH, A _Edward Coate Pinkney_ 21 + HERMIT, THE _James Beattie_ 175 + HEROES _Edna Dean Proctor_ 144 + HIGHLAND MARY _Robert Burns_ 166 + HOW'S MY BOY? _Sydney Dobell_ 150 + HYMN TO THE NIGHT _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 103 + ICHABOD _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 123 + INDIAN GOLD COIN, TO AN _John Leyden_ 183 + IN MEMORIAM _Thomas K. Hervey_ 173 + I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER _Thomas Hood_ 72 + IVY GREEN, THE _Charles Dickens_ 90 + KNIGHT'S TOMB, THE _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 133 + KUBLA KHAN _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 16 + LAMENT, A _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 192 + LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT _Lady Dufferin_ 158 + LAND OF LANDS, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 126 + LAND O' THE LEAL, THE _Lady Nairne_ 156 + LAST LEAF, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 117 + LAST ROSE OF SUMMER, THE _Thomas Moore_ 111 + LIE, THE _Sir Walter Raleigh_ 204 + LIFE _Anna Lætitia Barbauld_ 193 + LIFE _Henry King_ 192 + LINES ON A SKELETON _Anonymous_ 201 + LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 42 + LITTLE BLACK BOY, THE _William Blake_ 181 + LITTLE YEARS, THE _Robert T. S. Lowell_ 114 + LONG-AGO, THE _Richard Monckton Milnes_ 88 + LOST LEADER, THE _Robert Browning_ 119 + LOVE NOT _Caroline Norton_ 51 + LUCASTA, TO _Richard Lovelace_ 125 + MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART _Lord Byron_ 45 + MANGO TREE, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 59 + MAN'S MORTALITY _Simon Wastel_ 189 + MARIANA _Alfred Tennyson_ 37 + MARY IN HEAVEN, TO _Robert Bums_ 61 + MINSTREL'S SONG _Thomas Chatterton_ 171 + MONTEREY _Charles Fenno Hoffman_ 128 + MOORE, THOMAS, TO _Lord Byron_ 110 + MUSICAL INSTRUMENT, A _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 11 + MY CHILD _John Pierpont_ 154 + MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND _William Motherwell_ 56 + MY PSALM _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 221 + MY SLAIN _Richard Realf_ 219 + NICE CORRESPONDENT, A _Frederick Locker_ 24 + NIGHT AND DEATH _Joseph Blanco White_ 104 + NOT FAR TO GO _William Barnes_ 43 + ODE _William Collins_ 139 + ODE _Theodore P. Cook_ 137 + ODE _Sir William Jones_ 148 + ODE _Henry Timrod_ 136 + ODE ON A GRECIAN URN _John Keats_ 199 + OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT _Thomas Moore_ 64 + OLD FAMILIAR FACES, THE _Charles Lamb_ 66 + OLD MAN'S IDYL, AN _Richard Realf_ 84 + ON A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE _William Wordsworth_ 209 + OVER THE RIVER _Nancy Priest Wakefield_ 78 + O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF + MORTAL BE PROUD? _William Knox_ 177 + PAUPER'S DEATH-BED, THE _Caroline Bowles Southey_ 208 + PETITION TO TIME, A _Bryan Waller Procter_ 122 + PHILIP, MY KING _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik_ 149 + PROGRESS _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 179 + QUA CURSUM VENTUS _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 69 + RIVER PATH, THE _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 82 + ST. AGNES _Alfred Tennyson_ 215 + SANDS OF DEE, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 102 + SERENADE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41 + SHE DIED IN BEAUTY _Charles Doyne Sillery_ 164 + SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND _Thomas Moore_ 170 + SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY _Lord Byron_ 34 + SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT _William Wordsworth_ 18 + SHE WAS NOT FAIR, NOR FULL + OF GRACE _Bryan Waller Procter_ 165 + SKYLARK, THE _James Hogg_ 104 + SKYLARK, TO THE _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 106 + SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL, THE _William Barnes_ 20 + SNOW-STORM, A _Charles Gamage Eastman_ 97 + SOLDIER'S DREAM, THE _Thomas Campbell_ 127 + SONG,--"THE HEATH THIS + NIGHT" _Sir Walter Scott_ 124 + SONG FOR SEPTEMBER, A _Thomas William Parsons_ 63 + SONG OF THE CAMP, A _Bayard Taylor_ 130 + SONNETS _William Shakespeare_ 48 + SPINNING-WHEEL SONG, THE _John Francis Waller_ 32 + STANZAS,--"MY LIFE IS LIKE + THE SUMMER ROSE" _Richard Henry Wilde_ 113 + SUMMER LONGINGS _Denis Florence Mac-Carthy_ 91 + THANATOPSIS _William Cullen Bryant_ 75 + THEY ARE ALL GONE _Henry Vaughan_ 80 + THREE FISHERS, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 143 + TIGER, THE _William Blake_ 96 + TIME'S CHANGES _David Macbeth Moir_ 67 + TITHONUS _Alfred Tennyson_ 193 + TOM BOWLING _Charles Dibdin_ 168 + TOO LATE! _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik_ 167 + TOO LATE _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ 120 + TOUJOURS AMOUR _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 228 + TREASURES OF THE DEEP, THE _Felicia Hemans_ 212 + TWO WOMEN _Nathaniel Parker Willis_ 207 + UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY, THE _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 220 + VIRTUE _George Herbert_ 203 + VOICELESS, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 229 + VOYAGE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 13 + WEARINESS _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 227 + WELCOME, THE _Thomas Davis_ 35 + WHEN THE KYE COME HAME _James Hogg_ 30 + WOMAN OF THREE COWS, THE _James Clarence Mangan_ 196 + WOMAN'S QUESTION, A _Adelaide Anne Procter_ 46 + YARROW UNVISITED _William Wordsworth_ 93 + + * * * * * + + +A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. + + What was he doing, the great god Pan, + Down in the reeds by the river? + Spreading ruin and scattering ban, + Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, + And breaking the golden lilies afloat + With the dragon-fly on the river. + + He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, + From the deep cool bed of the river: + The limpid water turbidly ran, + And the broken lilies a-dying lay, + And the dragon-fly had fled away, + Ere he brought it out of the river. + + High on the shore sat the great god Pan, + While turbidly flowed the river; + And hacked and hewed as a great god can, + With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, + Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed + To prove it fresh from the river. + + He cut it short, did the great god Pan, + (How tall it stood in the river!) + Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, + Steadily from the outside ring, + And notched the poor dry empty thing + In holes, as he sat by the river. + + "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan + (Laughed while he sat by the river), + "The only way, since gods began + To make sweet music, they could succeed." + Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, + He blew in power by the river. + + Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! + Piercing sweet by the river! + Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! + The sun on the hill forgot to die, + And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly + Came back to dream on the river. + + Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, + To laugh as he sits by the river, + Making a poet out of a man: + The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,-- + For the reed which grows nevermore again + As a reed with the reeds in the river. + + _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ + + * * * * * + + +THE VOYAGE. + + We left behind the painted buoy + That tosses at the harbor-mouth: + And madly danced our hearts with joy, + As fast we fleeted to the south: + How fresh was every sight and sound + On open main or winding shore! + We knew the merry world was round, + And we might sail forevermore. + + Warm broke the breeze against the brow, + Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail: + The lady's-head upon the prow + Caught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale. + The broad seas swelled to meet the keel, + And swept behind: so quick the run, + We felt the good ship shake and reel, + We seemed to sail into the sun! + + How oft we saw the sun retire, + And burn the threshold of the night, + Fall from his ocean-lane of fire, + And sleep beneath his pillared light! + How oft the purple-skirted robe + Of twilight slowly downward drawn, + As through the slumber of the globe + Again we dashed into the dawn! + + New stars all night above the brim + Of waters lightened into view; + They climbed as quickly, for the rim + Changed every moment as we flew. + Far ran the naked moon across + The houseless ocean's heaving field, + Or flying shone, the silver boss + Of her own halo's dusky shield; + + The peaky islet shifted shapes, + High towns on hills were dimly seen, + We passed long lines of northern capes + And dewy northern meadows green. + We came to warmer waves, and deep + Across the boundless east we drove, + Where those long swells of breaker sweep + The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove. + + By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, + Gloomed the low coast and quivering brine + With ashy rains, that spreading made + Fantastic plume or sable pine; + By sands and steaming flats, and floods + Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast, + And hills and scarlet-mingled woods + Glowed for a moment as we passed. + + O hundred shores of happy climes, + How swiftly streamed ye by the bark! + At times the whole sea burned, at times + With wakes of fire we tore the dark; + At times a carven craft would shoot + From havens hid in fairy bowers, + With naked limbs and flowers and fruit, + But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers. + + For one fair Vision ever fled + Down the waste waters day and night, + And still we followed where she led + In hope to gain upon her flight. + Her face was evermore unseen, + And fixed upon the far sea-line; + But each man murmured, "O my Queen, + I follow till I make thee mine." + + And now we lost her, now she gleamed + Like Fancy made of golden air, + Now nearer to the prow she seemed + Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair, + Now high on waves that idly burst + Like Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea, + And now, the bloodless point reversed, + She bore the blade of Liberty. + + And only one among us,--him + We pleased not,--he was seldom pleased: + He saw not far: his eyes were dim: + But ours he swore were all diseased. + "A ship of fools!" he shrieked in spite, + "A ship of fools!" he sneered and wept. + And overboard one stormy night + He cast his body, and on we swept. + + And never sail of ours was furled + Nor anchor dropped at eve or morn; + We loved the glories of the world, + But laws of nature were our scorn; + For blasts would rise and rave and cease, + But whence were those that drove the sail + Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, + And to and through the counter-gale? + + Again to colder climes we came, + For still we followed where she led: + Now mate is blind and captain lame, + And half the crew are sick or dead. + But blind or lame or sick or sound, + We follow that which flies before: + We know the merry world is round, + And we may sail forevermore. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +KUBLA KHAN. + + In Xanadu did Kubla Khan + A stately pleasure-dome decree + Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, + Through caverns measureless to man, + Down to a sunless sea. + So twice five miles of fertile ground + With walls and towers were girdled round; + And there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills, + Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; + And here were forests ancient as the hills, + Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. + + But oh! that deep romantic chasm, which slanted + Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! + A savage place! as holy and enchanted + As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted + By woman wailing for her demon-lover! + And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, + As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, + A mighty fountain momently was forced, + Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst + Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, + Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail; + And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever + It flung up momently the sacred river. + Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion + Through wood and dale, the sacred river ran,-- + Then reached the caverns measureless to man, + And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; + And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far + Ancestral voices prophesying war. + + The shadow of the dome of pleasure + Floated midway on the waves, + Where was heard the mingled measure + From the fountain and the caves. + It was a miracle of rare device,-- + A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! + A damsel with a dulcimer + In a vision once I saw; + It was an Abyssinian maid, + And on her dulcimer she played, + Singing of Mount Abora. + Could I revive within me + Her symphony and song, + To such a deep delight 'twould win me + That, with music loud and long, + I would build that dome in air,-- + That sunny dome! those caves of ice! + And all who heard should see them there, + And all should cry, Beware! beware + His flashing eyes, his floating hair! + Weave a circle round him thrice, + And close your eyes with holy dread, + For he on honey-dew hath fed, + And drunk the milk of Paradise. + + _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. + + She was a phantom of delight + When first she gleamed upon my sight; + A lovely apparition, sent + To be a moment's ornament; + Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; + Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; + But all things else about her drawn + From May-time and the cheerful dawn; + A dancing shape, an image gay, + To haunt, to startle, and waylay. + + I saw her upon nearer view, + A spirit, yet a woman too! + Her household motions light and free, + And steps of virgin-liberty; + A countenance in which did meet + Sweet records, promises as sweet; + A creature not too bright or good + For human nature's daily food, + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. + + And now I see with eye serene + The very pulse of the machine; + A being breathing thoughtful breath, + A traveller between life and death: + The reason firm, the temperate will, + Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; + A perfect woman, nobly planned + To warn, to comfort, and command; + And yet a spirit still, and bright + With something of an angel-light. + + _William Wordsworth._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL. + +(DORSET DIALECT.) + + Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you, + When you wer' christen'd, small an' light, + Wi' tiny earms o' red an' blue, + A-hangen in your robe o' white. + We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone, + Vor Christ to teake ye vor his own, + When harvest-work wer' all a-done, + An' time brought round October zun,-- + The slanten light o' Fall. + + An' I can mind the wind wer' rough, + An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms, + An' you wer' nessled warm enough, + 'Ithin your smilen mother's earms. + The whindlen grass did quiver light, + Among the stubble, feaded white, + An' if at times the zunlight broke + Upon the groun', or on the vo'k, + 'Twer' slanten light o' Fall. + + An' when we brought ye droo the door + O' Knapton church, a child o' greace, + There cluster'd roun' a'most a score + O' vo'k to zee your tiny feace. + An' there we all did veel so proud, + To zee an op'nen in the cloud, + An' then a stream o' light break droo, + A-sheenen brightly down on you,-- + The slanten light o' Fall. + + But now your time's a-come to stan' + In church a-blushen at my zide, + The while a bridegroom vrom my han' + Ha' took ye vor his faithvul bride. + Your christen neame we gi'd ye here, + When Fall did cool the weasten year; + An' now, agean, we brought ye droo + The doorway, wi' your surneame new, + In slanten light o' Fall. + + An' zoo vur, Jeane, your life is feair, + An' God ha' been your steadvast friend, + An' mid ye have mwore jay than ceare, + Vor ever, till your journey's end. + An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride, + But now I soon mus' leave your zide, + Vor you ha' still life's springtide zun, + But my life, Jeane, is now a-run + To slanten light o' Fall. + + _William Barnes._ + + * * * * * + + +A HEALTH. + + I fill this cup to one made up + Of loveliness alone, + A woman, of her gentle sex + The seeming paragon; + To whom the better elements + And kindly stars have given + A form so fair, that, like the air, + 'Tis less of earth than heaven. + + Her every tone is music's own, + Like those of morning birds, + And something more than melody + Dwells ever in her words; + The coinage of her heart are they, + And from her lips each flows + As one may see the burdened bee + Forth issue from the rose. + + Affections are as thoughts to her, + The measures of her hours; + Her feelings have the fragrancy, + The freshness of young flowers; + And lovely passions, changing oft, + So fill her, she appears + The image of themselves by turns,-- + The idol of past years! + + Of her bright face one glance will trace + A picture on the brain, + And of her voice in echoing hearts + A sound must long remain; + But memory, such as mine of her, + So very much endears, + When death is nigh my latest sigh + Will not be life's, but hers. + + I fill this cup to one made up + Of loveliness alone, + A woman, of her gentle sex + The seeming paragon,-- + Her health! and would on earth there stood + Some more of such a frame, + That life might be all poetry, + And weariness a name. + + _Edward Coate Pinkney._ + + * * * * * + + +ON A GIRDLE. + + That which her slender waist confined + Shall now my joyful temples bind; + No monarch but would give his crown, + His arms might do what this hath done. + + It was my heaven's extremest sphere, + The pale which held that lovely deer: + My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, + Did all within this circle move. + + A narrow compass! and yet there + Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. + Give me but what this ribbon bound, + Take all the rest the sun goes round! + + _Edmund Waller._ + + * * * * * + + +A NICE CORRESPONDENT! + + The glow and the glory are plighted + To darkness, for evening is come; + The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted; + The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb. + I'm alone at my casement, for Pappy + Is summoned to dinner at Kew: + I'm alone, my dear Fred, but I'm happy,-- + I'm thinking of you. + + I wish you were here. Were I duller + Than dull, you'd be dearer than dear; + I am dressed in your favorite color,-- + Dear Fred, how I wish you were here! + I am wearing my lazuli necklace, + The necklace you fastened askew! + Was there ever so rude or so reckless + A darling as you? + + I want you to come and pass sentence + On two or three books with a plot; + Of course you know "Janet's Repentance"? + I'm reading Sir Waverley Scott, + The story of Edgar and Lucy, + How thrilling, romantic, and true; + The master (his bride was a goosey!) + Reminds me of you. + + To-day, in my ride, I've been crowning + The beacon; its magic still lures, + For up there you discoursed about Browning, + That stupid old Browning of yours. + His vogue and his verve are alarming, + I'm anxious to give him his due; + But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming + A poet as you. + + I heard how you shot at The Beeches, + I saw how you rode Chanticleer, + I have read the report of your speeches, + And echoed the echoing cheer. + There's a whisper of hearts you are breaking,-- + I envy their owners, I do! + Small marvel that Fortune is making + Her idol of you. + + Alas for the world, and its dearly + Bought triumph, and fugitive bliss! + Sometimes I half wish I were merely + A plain or a penniless miss; + But perhaps one is best with a measure + Of pelf, and I'm not sorry, too, + That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure, + My dearest, to you. + + Your whim is for frolic and fashion, + Your taste is for letters and art; + This rhyme is the commonplace passion + That glows in a fond woman's heart. + Lay it by in a dainty deposit + For relics,--we all have a few!-- + Love, some day they'll print it, because it + Was written to you. + + _Frederick Locker._ + + * * * * * + + +THE COURTIN'. + + God makes sech nights, all white an' still + Fur'z you can look or listen. + Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, + All silence an' all glisten. + + Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown + An' peeked in thru' the winder, + An' there sot Huldy all alone, + 'Ith no one nigh to hender. + + A fireplace filled the room's one side + With half a cord o' wood in,-- + There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) + To bake ye to a puddin'. + + The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out + Towards the pootiest, bless her! + An' leetle flames danced all about + The chiny on the dresser. + + Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, + An' in amongst 'em rusted + The ole queen's arm thet Gran'ther Young + Fetched back from Concord busted. + + The very room, coz she was in, + Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', + An' she looked full ez rosy agin + Ez the apples she was peelin'. + + 'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look + On sech a blesséd cretur. + A dog-rose blushin' to a brook + Ain't modester nor sweeter. + + He was six foot o' man, Al, + Clean grit an' human natur'; + None couldn't quicker pitch a ton + Nor dror a furrer straighter. + + He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, + He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, + Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,-- + All is, he couldn't love 'em. + + But long o' her his veins 'ould run + All crinkly like curled maple, + The side she breshed felt full o' sun + Ez a south slope in Ap'il. + + She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing + Ez hisn in the choir; + My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, + She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher. + + An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, + When her new meetin'-bunnet + Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair + O' blue eyes sot upon it. + + Thet night, I tell ye, she looked _some_! + She seemed to 've gut a new soul, + For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, + Down to her very shoe-sole. + + She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, + A-raspin' on the scraper,-- + All ways to once her feelin's flew + Like sparks in burnt-up paper. + + He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, + Some doubtfle o' the sekle; + His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, + But hern went pity Zekle. + + An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk + Ez though she wished him furder, + An' on her apples kep' to work, + Parin' away like murder. + + "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" + "Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'"-- + "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es + Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." + + To say why gals acts so or so, + Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; + Mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ + Comes nateral to women. + + He stood a spell on one foot fust, + Then stood a spell on t' other, + An' on which one he felt the wust + He couldn't ha' told ye nuther. + + Says he, "I'd better call agin"; + Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; + Thet last word pricked him like a pin, + An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her. + + When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, + Huldy sot pale ez ashes, + All kin' o' smily roun' the lips + An' teary roun' the lashes. + + For she was jes' the quiet kind + Whose naturs never vary, + Like streams that keep a summer mind + Snowhid in Jenooary. + + The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued + Too tight for all expressin', + Tell mother see how metters stood, + And gin 'em both her blessin'. + + Then her red come back like the tide + Down to the Bay o' Fundy, + An' all I know is they was cried + In meetin' come nex' Sunday. + + _James Russell Lowell._ + + * * * * * + + +WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. + + Come, all ye jolly shepherds, + That whistle through the glen! + I'll tell ye o' a secret + That courtiers dinna ken: + What is the greatest bliss + That the tongue o' man can name? + 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie + When the kye come hame. + When the kye come hame, + When the kye come hame,-- + 'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk, + When the kye come hame. + + 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, + Nor yet beneath the crown; + 'Tis not on couch o' velvet, + Nor yet in bed o' down: + 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, + In the glen without the name, + Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + There the blackbird bigs his nest + For the mate he lo'es to see, + And on the tapmost bough + O, a happy bird is he! + There he pours his melting ditty, + And love is a' the theme; + And he'll woo his bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + When the blewart bears a pearl, + And the daisy turns a pea, + And the bonnie lucken gowan + Has fauldit up his ee, + Then the laverock, frae the blue lift, + Draps down and thinks nae shame + To woo his bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + See yonder pawky shepherd, + That lingers on the hill: + His yowes are in the fauld, + And his lambs are lying still; + Yet he downa gang to bed, + For his heart is in a flame, + To meet his bonnie lassie + When the kye come hame. + + When the little wee bit heart + Rises high in the breast, + And the little wee bit starn + Rises red in the east, + O, there's a joy sae dear + That the heart can hardly frame! + Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + Then since all nature joins + In this love without alloy, + O, wha wad prove a traitor + To nature's dearest joy? + Or wha wad choose a crown, + Wi' its perils an' its fame, + And miss his bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame? + + _James Hogg._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. + + Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning; + Close by the window young Eileen is spinning; + Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting, + Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting,-- + "Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." + "'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." + "Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." + "'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying." + Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, + Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; + Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, + Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. + + "What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" + "'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." + "What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, + And singing all wrong that old song of 'The Coolun'?" + There's a form at the casement,--the form of her true-love,-- + And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love; + Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly, + We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly." + Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, + Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; + Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, + Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. + + The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, + Steals up from her seat,--longs to go, and yet lingers; + A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother, + Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. + Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round; + Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; + Noiseless and light to the lattice above her + The maid steps,--then leaps to the arms of her lover. + Slower--and slower--and slower the wheel swings; + Lower--and lower--and lower the reel rings; + Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving, + Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. + + _John Francis Waller._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. + + She walks in beauty like the night + Of cloudless climes and starry skies; + And all that's best of dark and bright + Meets in her aspect and her eyes; + Thus mellowed to that tender light + Which heaven to gaudy day denies. + + One shade the more, one ray the less, + Had half impaired the nameless grace + Which waves in every raven tress, + Or softly lightens o'er her face; + Where thoughts serenely sweet express + How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. + + And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, + So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, + The smiles that win, the tints that glow, + But tell of days in goodness spent, + A mind at peace with all below, + A heart whose love is innocent. + + _Lord Byron._ + + * * * * * + + +THE WELCOME. + + Come in the evening, or come in the morning; + Come when you're looked for, or come without warning; + Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, + And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! + Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; + Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; + The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, + And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!" + + I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them! + Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom; + I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; + I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. + O, your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, + Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor; + I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, + Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me. + + We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyry; + We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; + We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, + Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her,-- + O, she'll whisper you, "Love, as unchangeably beaming, + And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming; + Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, + As our souls flow in one down eternity's river." + + So come in the evening, or come in the morning: + Come when you're looked for, or come without warning; + Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, + And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! + Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; + Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; + The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, + And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!" + + _Thomas Davis._ + + * * * * * + + +THE BROOKSIDE. + + I wandered by the brookside, + I wandered by the mill; + I could not hear the brook flow,-- + The noisy wheel was still. + There was no burr of grasshopper, + No chirp of any bird, + But the beating of my own heart + Was all the sound I heard. + + I sat beneath the elm-tree: + I watched the long, long shade, + And, as it grew still longer, + I did not feel afraid; + For I listened for a footfall, + I listened for a word,-- + But the beating of my own heart + Was all the sound I heard. + + He came not,--no, he came not,-- + The night came on alone,-- + The little stars sat one by one, + Each on his golden throne; + The evening wind passed by my cheek, + The leaves above were stirred,-- + But the beating of my own heart + Was all the sound I heard. + + Fast, silent tears were flowing, + When something stood behind: + A hand was on my shoulder,-- + I knew its touch was kind: + It drew me nearer--nearer-- + We did not speak one word, + For the beating of our own hearts + Was all the sound we heard. + + _Richard Monckton Milnes._ + + * * * * * + + +MARIANA. + +"Mariana in the moated grange."--_Measure for Measure._ + + With blackest moss the flower-pots + Were thickly crusted, one and all: + The rusted nails fell from the knots + That held the peach to the garden-wall. + The broken sheds looked sad and strange: + Unlifted was the clinking latch: + Weeded and worn the ancient thatch + Upon the lonely moated grange. + She only said, "My life is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + Her tears fell with the dews at even; + Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; + She could not look on the sweet heaven, + Either at morn or eventide. + After the flitting of the bats, + When thickest dark did trance the sky, + She drew her casement-curtain by, + And glanced athwart the glooming flats. + She only said, "The night is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + Upon the middle of the night, + Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: + The cock sung out an hour ere light: + From the dark fen the oxen's low + Came to her: without hope of change, + In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, + Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn + About the lonely moated grange. + She only said, "The day is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + About a stone-cast from the wall + A sluice with blackened waters slept, + And o'er it many, round and small, + The clustered marish-mosses crept. + Hard by a poplar shook alway, + All silver-green with gnarléd bark: + For leagues no other tree did mark + The level waste, the rounding gray. + She only said, "My life is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + And ever when the moon was low, + And the shrill winds were up and away, + In the white curtain, to and fro, + She saw the gusty shadow sway. + But when the moon was very low, + And wild winds bound within their cell, + The shadow of the poplar fell + Upon her bed, across her brow. + She only said, "The night is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + All day within the dreamy house, + The doors upon their hinges creaked; + The blue-fly sung i' the pane; the mouse + Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, + Or from the crevice peered about. + Old faces glimmered through the doors, + Old footsteps trod the upper floors, + Old voices called her from without. + She only said, "My life is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, + The slow clock ticking, and the sound + Which to the wooing wind aloof + The poplar made, did all confound + Her sense; but most she loathed the hour + When the thick-moted sunbeam lay + Athwart the chambers, and the day + Was sloping toward his western bower. + Then said she, "I am very dreary, + He will not come," she said; + She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, + O God, that I were dead!" + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +BUGLE-SONG. + + The splendor falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story; + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! + Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow forever and forever. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +SERENADE. + + Stars of the summer night! + Far in yon azure deeps, + Hide, hide your golden light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Moon of the summer night! + Far down yon western steeps, + Sink, sink in silver light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Wind of the summer night! + Where yonder woodbine creeps, + Fold, fold thy pinions light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Dreams of the summer night! + Tell her, her lover keeps + Watch, while in slumbers light + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. + + I arise from dreams of thee, + In the first sweet sleep of night, + When the winds are breathing low, + And the stars are shining bright; + I arise from dreams of thee, + And a spirit in my feet + Has led me,--who knows how? + To thy chamber-window, sweet! + + The wandering airs they faint + On the dark, the silent stream,-- + The champak odors fail, + Like sweet thoughts in a dream. + The nightingale's complaint + It dies upon her heart, + As I must die on thine, + O beloved as thou art! + + O lift me from the grass! + I die, I faint, I fail. + Let thy love in kisses rain + On my lips and eyelids pale. + My cheek is cold and white, alas! + My heart beats loud and fast. + Oh! press it close to thine again, + Where it will break at last. + + _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ + + * * * * * + + +NOT FAR TO GO. + + As upland fields were sunburnt brown, + And heat-dried brooks were running small, + And sheep were gathered, panting all, + Below the hawthorn on the down,-- + The while my mare, with dipping head, + Pulled on my cart above the bridge,-- + I saw come on, beside the ridge, + A maiden white in skin and thread, + And walking, with an elbow-load, + The way I drove along my road. + + As there with comely steps up hill + She rose by elm-trees all in ranks, + From shade to shade, by flowery banks, + Where flew the bird with whistling bill, + I kindly said, "Now won't you ride, + This burning weather, up the knap? + I have a seat that fits the trap, + And now is swung from side to side." + "O no," she cried, "I thank you, no. + I've little farther now to go." + + Then, up the timbered slope, I found + The prettiest house a good day's ride + Would bring you by, with porch and side + By rose and jessamine well bound; + And near at hand a spring and pool, + With lawn well sunned and bower cool; + And while the wicket fell behind + Her steps, I thought, "If I would find + A wife I need not blush to show, + I've little farther now to go." + + _William Barnes._ + + * * * * * + + +MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. + + Maid of Athens, ere we part, + Give, O give me back my heart! + Or, since that has left my breast, + Keep it now, and take the rest! + Hear my vow before I go, + [Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô.] + + By those tresses unconfined, + Wooed by each Ægean wind; + By those lids whose jetty fringe + Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; + By those wild eyes like the roe, + [Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô.] + + By that lip I long to taste; + By that zone-encircled waist; + By all the token-flowers that tell + What words can never speak so well; + By love's alternate joy and woe, + [Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô.] + + Maid of Athens! I am gone. + Think of me, sweet! when alone. + Though I fly to Istambol, + Athens holds my heart and soul: + Can I cease to love thee? No! + [Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô.] + + _Lord Byron._ + + * * * * * + + +COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. + + Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer: + Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; + Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, + And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. + + Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same + Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? + I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, + I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. + + Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss, + And thy Angel I 'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, + Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, + And shield thee, and save thee,--or perish there too! + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +A WOMAN'S QUESTION. + + Before I trust my fate to thee, + Or place my hand in thine, + Before I let thy future give + Color and form to mine, + Before I peril all for thee, + Question thy soul to-night for me. + + I break all slighter bonds, nor feel + A shadow of regret: + Is there one link within the past + That holds thy spirit yet? + Or is thy faith as clear and free + As that which I can pledge to thee? + + Does there within thy dimmest dreams + A possible future shine, + Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, + Untouched, unshared by mine? + If so, at any pain or cost, + O, tell me before all is lost! + + Look deeper still: if thou canst feel, + Within thy inmost soul, + That thou hast kept a portion back, + While I have staked the whole, + Let no false pity spare the blow, + But in true mercy tell me so. + + Is there within thy heart a need + That mine cannot fulfil? + One chord that any other hand + Could better wake or still? + Speak now, lest at some future day + My whole life wither and decay. + + Lives there within thy nature hid + The demon-spirit, change, + Shedding a passing glory still + On all things new and strange? + It may not be thy fault alone,-- + But shield my heart against thine own. + + Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day + And answer to my claim, + That fate, and that to-day's mistake,-- + Not thou,--had been to blame? + Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou + Wilt surely warn and save me now. + + Nay, answer _not_,--I dare not hear,-- + The words would come too late; + Yet I would spare thee all remorse, + So comfort thee, my fate: + Whatever on my heart may fall, + Remember, I _would_ risk it all! + + _Adelaide Anne Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +SONNETS. + + When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, + And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, + Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, + Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held: + Then being asked where all thy beauty lies, + Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; + To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, + Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. + How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, + If thou couldst answer,--"This fair child of mine + Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse--" + Proving his beauty by succession thine. + This were to be new-made when thou art old, + And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. + + * * * * * + + + When I do count the clock that tells the time, + And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; + When I behold the violet past prime, + And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; + When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, + Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, + And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, + Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; + Then, of thy beauty do I question make, + That thou among the wastes of time must go, + Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, + And die as fast as they see others grow; + And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence, + Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. + + * * * * * + + + My glass shall not persuade me I am old, + So long as youth and thou are of one date; + But when in thee Time's furrows I behold, + Then look I death my days should expiate. + For all that beauty that doth cover thee + Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, + Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me; + How can I then be elder than thou art? + O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary, + As I not for myself but for thee will; + Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary + As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. + Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; + Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. + + * * * * * + + + As an unperfect actor on the stage, + Who with his fear is put beside his part, + Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, + Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; + So I, for fear of trust, forget to say + The perfect ceremony of love's rite, + And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, + O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. + O let my books be then the eloquence + And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; + Who plead for love, and look for recompense, + More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. + O learn to read what silent love hath writ: + To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. + + * * * * * + + + Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? + Thou art more lovely and more temperate: + Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, + And summer's lease hath all too short a date: + Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, + And often is his gold complexion dimmed; + And every fair from fair sometime declines, + By chance, or nature's changing coarse, untrimmed; + But thy eternal summer shall not fade, + Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; + Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, + When in eternal lines to time thou growest; + So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, + So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + _William Shakespeare._ + + * * * * * + + +LOVE NOT. + + Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! + Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers,-- + Things that are made to fade and fall away + Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. + Love not! + + Love not! the thing ye love may change; + The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, + The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, + The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. + Love not! + + Love not! the thing you love may die,-- + May perish from the gay and gladsome earth; + The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, + Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. + Love not! + + Love not! O warning vainly said + In present hours as in years gone by! + Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head, + Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. + Love not! + + _Caroline Norton._ + + * * * * * + + +AE FOND KISS. + + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! + Ae fareweel, alas! forever! + Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee; + Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, + While the star of hope she leaves him? + Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; + Dark despair around benights me. + + I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,-- + Naething could resist my Nancy: + But to see her was to love her, + Love but her, and love forever. + Had we never loved sae kindly, + Had we never loved sae blindly, + Never met,--or never parted, + We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + + Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! + Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! + Thine be ilka joy and treasure, + Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure! + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! + Ae fareweel, alas! forever! + Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee; + Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + + _Robert Burns._ + + * * * * * + + +BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. + + Break, break, break, + On thy cold gray stones, O sea! + And I would that my tongue could utter + The thoughts that arise in me. + + O well for the fisherman's boy + That he shouts with his sister at play! + O well for the sailor lad + That he sings in his boat on the bay! + + And the stately ships go on, + To the haven under the hill; + But O for the touch of a vanished hand, + And the sound of a voice that is still! + + Break, break, break, + At the foot of thy crags, O sea! + But the tender grace of a day that is dead + Will never come back to me. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +ASTARTE. + + When the latest strife is lost, and all is done with, + Ere we slumber in the spirit and the brain, + We drowse back, in dreams, to days that life begun with, + And their tender light returns to us again. + + I have cast away the tangle and the torment + Of the cords that bound my life up in a mesh; + And the pulse begins to throb that long lay dormant + 'Neath their pressure; and the old wounds bleed afresh. + + I am touched again with shades of early sadness, + Like the summer-cloud's light shadow in my hair; + I am thrilled again with breaths of boyish gladness, + Like the scent of some last primrose on the air. + + And again she comes, with all her silent graces, + The lost woman of my youth, yet unpossessed; + And her cold face so unlike the other faces + Of the women whose dead lips I since have pressed. + + The motion and the fragrance of her garments + Seem about me, all the day long, in the room; + And her face, with its bewildering old endearments, + Comes at night, between the curtains, in the gloom. + + When vain dreams are stirred with sighing, near the morning, + To my own her phantom lips I feel approach; + And her smile, at eve, breaks o'er me without warning + From its speechless, pale, perpetual reproach. + + When life's dawning glimmer yet had all the tint there + Of the orient, in the freshness of the grass + (Ah, what feet since then have trodden out the print there!) + Did her soft, her silent footsteps fall, and pass. + + They fell lightly, as the dew falls, 'mid ungathered + Meadow-flowers, and lightly lingered with the dew. + But the dew is gone, the grass is dried and withered, + And the traces of those steps have faded too. + + Other footsteps fall about me,--faint, uncertain, + In the shadow of the world, as it recedes; + Other forms peer through the half-uplifted curtain + Of that mystery which hangs behind the creeds. + + What is gone, is gone forever. And new fashions + May replace old forms which nothing can restore; + But I turn from sighing back departed passions, + With that pining at the bosom as of yore. + + I remember to have murmured, morn and even, + "Though the Earth dispart these Earthlies, face from face, + Yet the Heavenlies shall surely join in Heaven, + For the spirit hath no bonds in time or space. + + "Where it listeth, there it bloweth; all existence + Is its region; and it houseth where it will. + I shall feel her through immeasurable distance, + And grow nearer and be gathered to her still. + + "If I fail to find her out by her gold tresses, + Brows, and breast, and lips, and language of sweet strains, + I shall know her by the traces of dead kisses, + And that portion of myself which she retains." + + But my being is confused with new experience, + And changed to something other than it was; + And the Future with the Past is set at variance; + And Life falters with the burthens which it has. + + Earth's old sins press fast behind me, weakly wailing; + Faint before me fleets the good I have not done; + And my search for her may still be unavailing + 'Mid the spirits that have passed beyond the sun. + + _Robert Bulwer Lytton._ + + * * * * * + + +MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. + + My heid is like to rend, Willie, + My heart is like to break; + I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie, + I'm dyin' for your sake! + O, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, + Your hand on my briest-bane,-- + O, say ye'll think on me, Willie, + When I am deid and gane! + + It's vain to comfort me, Willie, + Sair grief maun ha'e its will; + But let me rest upon your briest + To sab and greet my fill. + Let me sit on your knee, Willie, + Let me shed by your hair, + And look into the face, Willie, + I never sall see mair! + + I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, + For the last time in my life,-- + A puir heart-broken thing, Willie, + A mither, yet nae wife. + Ay, press your hand upon my heart, + And press it mair and mair, + Or it will burst the silken twine, + Sae strang is its despair. + + O, wae's me for the hour, Willie, + When we thegither met,-- + O, wae's me for the time, Willie, + That our first tryst was set! + O, wae's me for the loanin' green + Where we were wont to gae,-- + And wae's me for the destinie + That gart me luve thee sae! + + O, dinna mind my words, Willie, + I downa seek to blame; + But O, it's hard to live, Willie, + And dree a warld's shame! + Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek, + And hailin' ower your chin; + Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, + For sorrow, and for sin? + + I'm weary o' this warld, Willie, + And sick wi' a' I see, + I canna live as I ha'e lived, + Or be as I should be. + But fauld unto your heart, Willie, + The heart that still is thine, + And kiss ance mair the white, white cheel + Ye said was red langsyne. + + A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, + A sair stoun' through my heart; + O, haud me up and let me kiss + Thy brow ere we twa pairt. + Anither, and anither yet!-- + How fast my life-strings break!-- + Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yard + Step lichtly for my sake! + + The laverock in the lift, Willie, + That lilts far ower our heid, + Will sing the morn as merrilie + Abune the clay-cauld deid; + And this green turf we're sittin' on, + Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, + Will hap the heart that luvit thee + As warld has seldom seen. + + But O, remember me, Willie, + On land where'er ye be; + And O, think on the leal, leal heart, + That ne'er luvit ane but thee! + And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools + That file my yellow hair, + That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin + Ye never sall kiss mair! + + _William Motherwell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE MANGO TREE. + + He wiled me through the furzy croft; + He wiled me down the sandy lane; + He told his boy's love, soft and oft, + Until I told him mine again. + + We married, and we sailed the main,-- + A soldier, and a soldier's wife. + We marched through many a burning plain; + We sighed for many a gallant life. + + But his--God keep it safe from harm. + He toiled, and dared, and earned command, + And those three stripes upon his arm + Were more to me than gold or land. + + Sure he would win some great renown; + Our lives were strong, our hearts were high. + One night the fever struck him down. + I sat, and stared, and saw him die. + + I had his children,--one, two, three. + One week I had them, blithe and sound. + The next--beneath this mango tree + By him in barrack burying-ground. + + I sit beneath the mango shade; + I live my five years' life all o'er,-- + Round yonder stems his children played; + He mounted guard at yonder door. + + 'Tis I, not they, am gone and dead. + They live, they know, they feel, they see. + Their spirits light the golden shade + Beneath the giant mango tree. + + All things, save I, are full of life: + The minas, pluming velvet breasts; + The monkeys, in their foolish strife; + The swooping hawks, the swinging nests; + + The lizards basking on the soil; + The butterflies who sun their wings; + The bees about their household toil;-- + They live, they love, the blissful things! + + Each tender purple mango shoot, + That folds and droops so bashful down, + It lives, it sucks some hidden root, + It rears at last a broad green crown. + + It blossoms: and the children cry, + "Watch when the mango apples fall." + It lives; but rootless, fruitless, I,-- + I breathe and dream,--and that is all. + + Thus am I dead, yet cannot die; + But still within my foolish brain + There hangs a pale blue evening sky, + A furzy croft, a sandy lane. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +TO MARY IN HEAVEN. + + Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, + That lov'st to greet the early morn, + Again thou usherest in the day + My Mary from my soul was torn. + O Mary! dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? + Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + + That sacred hour can I forget, + Can I forget the hallowed grove, + Where by the winding Ayr we met, + To live one day of parting love? + Eternity will not efface + Those records dear of transports past; + Thy image at our last embrace; + Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! + + Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, + O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; + The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, + Twined amorous round the raptured scene; + The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed, + The birds sang love on every spray,-- + Till too, too soon, the glowing west + Proclaimed the speed of wingéd day. + + Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, + And fondly broods with miser care! + Time but the impression deeper makes, + As streams their channels deeper wear. + My Mary, dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? + Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + + _Robert Burns._ + + * * * * * + + +A SONG FOR SEPTEMBER. + + September strews the woodland o'er + With many a brilliant color; + The world is brighter than before,-- + Why should our hearts be duller? + Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, + Sad thoughts and sunny weather! + Ah me! this glory and this grief + Agree not well together. + + This is the parting season,--this + The time when friends are flying; + And lovers now, with many a kiss, + Their long farewells are sighing. + Why is Earth so gayly dressed? + This pomp, that Autumn beareth, + A funeral seems where every guest + A bridal garment weareth. + + Each one of us, perchance, may here, + On some blue morn hereafter, + Return to view the gaudy year, + But not with boyish laughter. + We shall then be wrinkled men, + Our brows with silver laden, + And thou this glen may'st seek again, + But nevermore a maiden! + + Nature perhaps foresees that Spring + Will touch her teeming bosom, + And that a few brief months will bring + The bird, the bee, the blossom; + Ah! these forests do not know-- + Or would less brightly wither-- + The virgin that adorns them so + Will nevermore come hither! + + _Thomas William Parsons._ + + * * * * * + + +OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. + + Oft in the stilly night, + Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, + Fond Memory brings the light + Of other days around me; + The smiles, the tears, + Of boyhood's years, + The words of love then spoken; + The eyes that shone, + Now dimmed and gone, + The cheerful hearts now broken! + Thus in the stilly night, + Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, + Sad Memory brings the light + Of other days around me. + + When I remember all + The friends, so linked together, + I've seen around me fall, + Like leaves in wintry weather, + I feel like one + Who treads alone + Some banquet-hall deserted, + Whose lights are fled, + Whose garlands dead, + And all but he departed! + Thus in the stilly night, + Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, + Sad Memory brings the light + Of other days around me. + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. + + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + Tears from the depth of some divine despair + Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, + In looking on the happy autumn fields, + And thinking of the days that are no more. + + Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail + That brings our friends up from the under world, + Sad as the last which reddens over one + That sinks with all we love below the verge,-- + So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns + The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds + To dying ears, when unto dying eyes + The casement slowly grows a glimmering square,-- + So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + Dear as remembered kisses after death, + And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned + On lips that are for others; deep as love, + Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, + O death in life! the days that are no more. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. + + I have had playmates, I have had companions, + In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + I have been laughing, I have been carousing, + Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + I loved a love once, fairest among women; + Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her; + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; + Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly,-- + Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. + + Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood. + Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, + Seeking to find the old familiar faces. + + Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, + Why wert thou not born in my father's dwelling? + So might we talk of the old familiar faces,-- + + How some they have died, and some they have left me, + And some are taken from me; all are departed, + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces! + + _Charles Lamb._ + + * * * * * + + +TIME'S CHANGES. + + I saw her once,--so freshly fair, + That, like a blossom just unfolding, + She opened to life's cloudless air, + And Nature joyed to view its moulding: + Her smile, it haunts my memory yet; + Her cheek's fine hue divinely glowing; + Her rosebud mouth, her eyes of jet, + Around on all their light bestowing. + O, who could look on such a form, + So nobly free, so softly tender, + And darkly dream that earthly storm + Should dim such sweet, delicious splendor? + For in her mien, and in her face, + And in her young step's fairy lightness, + Naught could the raptured gazer trace + But beauty's glow and pleasure's brightness. + + I saw her twice,--an altered charm, + But still of magic richest, rarest, + Than girlhood's talisman less warm, + Though yet of earthly sights the fairest; + Upon her breast she held a child, + The very image of its mother, + Which ever to her smiling smiled,-- + They seemed to live but in each other. + But matron cares or lurking woe + Her thoughtless, sinless look had banished, + And from her cheeks the roseate glow + Of girlhood's balmy morn had vanished; + Within her eyes, upon her brow, + Lay something softer, fonder, deeper, + As if in dreams some visioned woe + Had broke the Elysium of the sleeper. + + I saw her thrice,--Fate's dark decree + In widow's garments had arrayed her; + Yet beautiful she seemed to be + As even my reveries portrayed her; + The glow, the glance, had passed away, + The sunshine and the sparkling glitter,-- + Still, though I noted pale decay, + The retrospect was scarcely bitter; + For in their place a calmness dwelt, + Serene, subduing, soothing, holy,-- + In feeling which, the bosom felt + That every louder mirth is folly,-- + A pensiveness which is not grief; + A stillness as of sunset streaming; + A fairy glow on flower and leaf, + Till earth looks like a landscape dreaming. + + A last time,--and unmoved she lay, + Beyond life's dim, uncertain river, + A glorious mould of fading clay, + From whence the spark had fled forever! + I gazed--my heart was like to burst-- + And, as I thought of years departed-- + The years wherein I saw her first, + When she, a girl, was lightsome-hearted-- + And as I mused on later days, + When moved she in her matron duty, + A happy mother, in the blaze + Of ripened hope and sunny beauty,-- + I felt the chill--I turned aside-- + Bleak Desolation's cloud came o'er me; + And Being seemed a troubled tide, + Whose wrecks in darkness swam before me! + + _David Macbeth Moir._ + + * * * * * + + +QUA CURSUM VENTUS. + + As ships becalmed at eve, that lay + With canvas drooping, side by side, + Two towers of sail at dawn of day + Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried; + + When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, + And all the darkling hours they plied, + Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas + By each was cleaving, side by side: + + E'en so,--but why the tale reveal + Of those whom, year by year unchanged, + Brief absence joined anew to feel, + Astounded, soul from soul estranged? + + At dead of night their sails were filled, + And onward each rejoicing steered; + Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, + Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! + + To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, + Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, + Through winds and tides one compass guides,-- + To that, and your own selves, be true. + + But O blithe breeze, and O great seas, + Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, + On your wide plain they join again, + Together lead them home at last! + + One port, methought, alike they sought, + One purpose hold where'er they fare,-- + O bounding breeze, O rushing seas, + At last, at last, unite them there! + + _Arthur Hugh Clough._ + + * * * * * + + +CHANGES. + + Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. + Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not + The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. + And then, we women cannot choose our lot. + + Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; + Much given away which it were sweet to keep. + God help us all! who need, indeed, his care. + And yet I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. + + My little boy begins to babble now + Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. + He has his father's eager eyes, I know; + And, they say, too, his mother's sunny hair. + + But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, + And I can feel his light breath come and go, + I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!) + Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago; + + Who might have been ... ah, what I dare not think! + We are all changed. God judges for us best. + God help us do our duty, and not shrink, + And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. + + But blame us women not, if some appear + Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. + Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. + Who knows the past? and who can judge us right? + + Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, + And not by what we are,--too apt to fall! + My little child,--he sleeps and smiles between + These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all! + + _Robert Bulwer Lytton._ + + * * * * * + + +I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. + + I remember, I remember + The house where I was born, + The little window where the sun + Came peeping in at morn; + He never came a wink too soon, + Nor brought too long a day; + But now, I often wish the night + Had borne my breath away! + + I remember, I remember + The roses, red and white, + The violets, and the lily-cups,-- + Those flowers made of light! + The lilacs where the robin built, + And where my brother set + The laburnum on his birthday,-- + The tree is living yet! + + I remember, I remember + Where I was used to swing, + And thought the air must rush as fresh + To swallows on the wing; + My spirit flew in feathers then, + That is so heavy now, + And summer pool could hardly cool + The fever on my brow! + + I remember, I remember + The fir-trees dark and high; + I used to think their slender tops + Were close against the sky. + It was a childish ignorance, + But now 'tis little joy + To know I'm farther off from heaven + Than when I was a boy. + + _Thomas Hood._ + + * * * * * + + +HAUNTED HOUSES. + + All houses wherein men have lived and died + Are haunted houses. Through the open doors + The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, + With feet that make no sound upon the floors. + + We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, + Along the passages they come and go, + Impalpable impressions on the air, + A sense of something moving to and fro. + + There are more guests at table than the hosts + Invited; the illuminated hall + Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, + As silent as the pictures on the wall. + + The stranger at my fireside cannot see + The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; + He but perceives what is; while unto me + All that has been is visible and clear. + + We have no title-deeds to house or lands; + Owners and occupants of earlier dates + From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, + And hold in mortmain still their old estates. + + The spirit-world around this world of sense + Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere + Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense + A vital breath of more ethereal air. + + Our little lives are kept in equipoise + By opposite attractions and desires! + The struggle of the instinct that enjoys + And the more noble instinct that aspires. + + These perturbations, this perpetual jar + Of earthly wants and aspirations high, + Come from the influence of an unseen star, + An undiscovered planet in our sky. + + And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud + Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, + Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd + Into the realm of mystery and night,-- + + So from the world of spirits there descends + A bridge of light, connecting it with this, + O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, + Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +THANATOPSIS. + + To him who in the love of nature holds + Communion with her visible forms, she speaks + A various language: for his gayer hours + She has a voice of gladness, and a smile + And eloquence of beauty; and she glides + Into his darker musings with a mild + And healing sympathy, that steals away + Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts + Of the last bitter hour come like a blight + Over thy spirit, and sad images + Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, + And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, + Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, + Go forth under the open sky, and list + To Nature's teachings, while from all around-- + Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-- + Comes a still voice: Yet a few days, and thee + The all-beholding sun shall see no more + In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, + Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, + Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist + Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim + Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; + And, lost each human trace, surrendering up + Thine individual being, shalt thou go + To mix forever with the elements,-- + To be a brother to the insensible rock, + And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain + Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak + Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. + + Yet not to thine eternal resting-place + Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish + Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down + With patriarchs of the infant world,--with kings, + The powerful of the earth,--the wise, the good,-- + Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, + All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, + Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales + Stretching in pensive quietness between,-- + The venerable woods,--rivers that move + In majesty, and the complaining brooks + That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, + Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- + Are but the solemn decorations all + Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, + The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, + Are shining on the sad abodes of death, + Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread + The globe are but a handful to the tribes + That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings + Of morning; traverse Barca's desert sands, + Or lose thyself in the continuous woods + Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound + Save his own dashings,--yet the dead are there; + And millions in those solitudes, since first + The flight of years began, have laid them down + In their last sleep,--the dead reign there alone. + So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw + In silence from the living, and no friend + Take note of thy departure? All that breathe + Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh + When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care + Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase + His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave + Their mirth and their employments, and shall come + And make their bed with thee. As the long train + Of ages glide away, the sons of men-- + The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes + In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, + And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man-- + Shall one by one be gathered to thy side + By those who in their turn shall follow them. + + So live that when thy summons comes to join + The innumerable caravan which moves + To that mysterious realm where each shall take + His chamber in the silent halls of death, + Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, + Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave + Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch + About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. + + _William Cullen Bryant._ + + * * * * * + + +OVER THE RIVER. + + Over the river they beckon to me, + Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side, + The gleam of their snowy robes I see, + But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. + There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, + And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; + He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, + And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. + We saw not the angels who met him there, + The gates of the city we could not see: + Over the river, over the river, + My brother stands waiting to welcome me. + + Over the river the boatman pale + Carried another, the household pet; + Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, + Darling Minnie! I see her yet. + She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, + And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; + We felt it glide from the silver sands, + And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; + We know she is safe on the farther side, + Where all the ransomed and angels be: + Over the river, the mystic river, + My childhood's idol is waiting for me. + + For none return from those quiet shores, + Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; + We hear the dip of the golden oars, + And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; + And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart, + They cross the stream and are gone for aye; + We may not sunder the veil apart + That hides from our vision the gates of day; + We only know that their barks no more + May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; + Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, + They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. + + And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold + Is flushing river and hill and shore, + I shall one day stand by the water cold, + And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; + I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, + I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, + I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, + To the better shore of the spirit-land. + I shall know the loved who have gone before, + And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, + When over the river, the peaceful river, + The angel of death shall carry me. + + _Nancy Priest Wakefield._ + + * * * * * + + +THEY ARE ALL GONE. + + They are all gone into the world of light, + And I alone sit lingering here! + Their very memory is fair and bright, + And my sad thoughts doth clear; + + It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, + Like stars upon some gloomy grove,-- + Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed + After the sun's remove. + + I see them walking in an air of glory, + Whose light doth trample on my days,-- + My days which are at best but dull and hoary, + Mere glimmerings and decays. + + O holy hope! and high humility,-- + High as the heavens above! + These are your walks, and you have showed them me + To kindle my cold love. + + Dear, beauteous death,--the jewel of the just,-- + Shining nowhere but in the dark! + What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, + Could man outlook that mark! + + He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, + At first sight, if the bird be flown, + But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, + That is to him unknown. + + And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams + Call to the soul when man doth sleep, + So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, + And into glory peep. + + If a star were confined into a tomb, + Her captive flames must needs burn there; + But when the hand that locked her up gives room, + She'll shine through all the sphere. + + O Father of eternal life, and all + Created glories under Thee! + Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall + Into true liberty. + + Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill + My perspective still as they pass; + Or else remove me hence unto that hill + Where I shall need no glass. + + _Henry Vaughan._ + + * * * * * + + +THE RIVER PATH. + + No bird-song floated down the hill, + The tangled bank below was still; + + No rustle from the birchen stem, + No ripple from the water's hem. + + The dusk of twilight round us grew, + We felt the falling of the dew; + + For from us, ere the day was done, + The wooded hills shut out the sun. + + But on the river's farther side, + We saw the hill-tops glorified,-- + + A tender glow, exceeding fair, + A dream of day without its glare. + + With us the damp, the chill, the gloom; + With them the sunset's rosy bloom; + + While dark, through willowy vistas seen, + The river rolled in shade between. + + From out the darkness where we trod, + We gazed upon those hills of God, + + Whose light seemed not of morn or sun; + We spake not, but our thought was one. + + We paused, as if from that bright shore + Beckoned our dear ones gone before; + + And stilled our beating hearts to hear + The voices lost to mortal ear! + + Sudden our pathway turned from night; + The hills swung open to the light; + + Through their green gates the sunshine showed, + A long slant splendor downward flowed. + + Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; + It bridged the shaded stream with gold; + + And, borne on piers of mist, allied + The shadowy with the sunlit side! + + "So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near + The river dark with mortal fear, + + "And the night cometh, chill with dew, + O Father, let thy light break through! + + "So let the hills of doubt divide, + To bridge with faith the sunless tide! + + "So let the eyes that fail on earth + On thy eternal hills look forth, + + "And in thy beckoning angels know + The dear ones whom we loved below!" + + _John Greenleaf Whittier._ + + * * * * * + + +AN OLD MAN'S IDYL. + + By the waters of Life we sat together, + Hand in hand, in the golden days + Of the beautiful early summer weather, + When hours were anthems and speech was praise; + When the heart kept time to the carol of birds, + And the birds kept tune to the songs that ran + Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards, + And trees with voices Æolian. + + By the rivers of Life we walked together, + I and my darling, unafraid; + And lighter than any linnet's feather + The burdens of being on us weighed; + And Love's sweet miracles o'er us threw + Mantles of joy outlasting Time; + And up from the rosy morrows grew + A sound that seemed like a marriage-chime. + + In the gardens of Life we roamed together; + And the luscious apples were ripe and red, + And the languid lilac and honeyed heather + Swooned with the fragrance which they shed. + And under the trees the Angels walked, + And up in the air a sense of wings + Awed us sacredly while we talked + Softly in tender communings. + + In the meadows of life we strayed together, + Watching the waving harvests grow; + And under the benison of the Father + Our hearts like the lambs skipped to and fro. + And the cowslips, hearing our low replies, + Broidered fairer the emerald banks; + And glad tears shone in the daisies' eyes, + And the timid violet glistened thanks. + + Who was with us, and what was round us, + Neither myself nor darling guessed; + Only we knew that something crowned us + Out from the heavens with crowns of rest. + Only we knew that something bright + Lingered lovingly where we stood, + Clothed with the incandescent light + Of something higher than humanhood. + + O the riches Love doth inherit! + Ah the alchemy which doth change + Dross of body and dregs of spirit + Into sanctities rare and strange! + My flesh is feeble, and dry, and old, + My darling's beautiful hair is gray; + But our elixir and precious gold + Laugh at the footsteps of decay. + + Harms of the world have come upon us, + Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain; + But we have a secret which doth show us + Wonderful rainbows through the rain; + And we hear the tread of the years go by, + And the sun is setting behind the hills; + But my darling does not fear to die, + And I am happy in what God wills. + + So we sit by our household fires together, + Dreaming the dreams of long ago. + Then it was balmy summer weather, + And now the valleys are laid in snow, + Icicles hang from the slippery eaves, + The wind grows cold,--it is growing late. + Well, well,--we have garnered all our sheaves, + I and my darling,--and we wait. + + _Richard Realf._ + + * * * * * + + +BETROTHED ANEW. + + The sunlight fills the trembling air, + And balmy days their guerdons bring; + The Earth again is young and fair, + And amorous with musky spring. + + The golden nurslings of the May + In splendor strew the spangled green, + And hues of tender beauty play, + Entangled where the willows lean. + + Mark how the rippled currents flow; + What lustres on the meadows lie! + And hark! the songsters come and go, + And trill between the earth and sky. + + Who told us that the years had fled, + Or borne afar our blissful youth? + Such joys are all about us spread, + We know the whisper was not truth. + + The birds that break from grass and grove + Sing every carol that they sung + When first our veins were rich with love, + And May her mantle round us flung. + + O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life! + O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true, + With whose delights our souls are rife, + And aye their vernal vows renew! + + Then, darling, walk with me this morn, + Let your brown tresses drink its sheen; + These violets, within them worn, + Of floral fays shall make you queen. + + What though there comes a time of pain + When autumn winds forebode decay? + The days of love are born again; + That fabled time is far away! + + And never seemed the land so fair + As now, nor birds such notes to sing, + Since first within your shining hair + I wove the blossoms of the spring. + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LONG-AGO. + + Eyes which can but ill define + Shapes that rise about and near, + Through the far horizon's line + Stretch a vision free and clear; + Memories feeble to retrace + Yesterday's immediate flow, + Find a dear familiar face + In each hour of Long-Ago. + + Follow yon majestic train + Down the slopes of old renown; + Knightly forms without disdain, + Sainted heads without a frown, + Emperors of thought and hand, + Congregate, a glorious show, + Met from every age and land, + In the plains of Long-Ago. + + As the heart of childhood brings + Something of eternal joy + From its own unsounded springs, + Such as life can scarce destroy, + So, remindful of the prime, + Spirits wandering to and fro + Rest upon the resting-time + In the peace of Long-Ago. + + Youthful Hope's religious fire, + When it burns no longer, leaves + Ashes of impure desire + On the altars it bereaves; + But the light that fills the past + Sheds a still diviner glow, + Ever farther it is cast + O'er the scenes of Long-Ago. + + Many a growth of pain and care, + Cumbering all the present hour, + Yields, when once transplanted there, + Healthy fruit or pleasant flower. + Thoughts that hardly flourish here, + Feelings long have ceased to blow, + Breathe a native atmosphere + In the world of Long-Ago. + + On that deep-retiring shore + Frequent pearls of beauty lie, + Where the passion-waves of yore + Fiercely beat and mounted high; + Sorrows that are sorrows still, + Lose the bitter taste of woe; + Nothing's altogether ill + In the griefs of Long-Ago. + + Tombs where lonely love repines, + Ghastly tenements of tears, + Wear the look of happy shrines + Through the golden mist of years; + Death, to those who trust in good, + Vindicates his hardest blow; + O, we would not, if we could, + Wake the sleep of Long-Ago! + + Though the doom of swift decay + Shocks the soul where life is strong; + Though for frailer hearts the day + Lingers sad and over-long; + Still the weight will find a leaven, + Still the spoiler's hand is slow, + While the future has its Heaven, + And the past its Long-Ago. + + _Richard Monckton Milnes._ + + * * * * * + + +THE IVY GREEN. + + O, a dainty plant is the ivy green, + That creepeth o'er ruins old! + Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, + In his cell so lone and cold. + The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed, + To pleasure his dainty whim; + And the mouldering dust that years have made + Is a merry meal for him. + Creeping where no life is seen, + A rare old plant is the ivy green. + + Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, + And a stanch old heart has he! + How closely he twineth, how tight he clings + To his friend, the huge oak-tree! + And slyly he traileth along the ground, + And his leaves he gently waves, + And he joyously twines and hugs around + The rich mould of dead men's graves. + Creeping where no life is seen, + A rare old plant is the ivy green. + + Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, + And nations have scattered been; + But the stout old ivy shall never fade + From its hale and hearty green. + The brave old plant in its lonely days + Shall fatten upon the past; + For the stateliest building man can raise + Is the ivy's food at last. + Creeping where no life is seen, + A rare old plant is the ivy green. + + _Charles Dickens._ + + * * * * * + + +SUMMER LONGINGS. + + Ah! my heart is weary waiting, + Waiting for the May,-- + Waiting for the pleasant rambles + Where the fragrant hawthorn-brambles, + With the woodbine alternating, + Scent the dewy way. + Ah! my heart is weary waiting, + Waiting for the May. + + Ah! my heart is sick with longing, + Longing for the May,-- + Longing to escape from study, + To the young face fair and ruddy, + And the thousand charms belonging + To the summer's day. + Ah! my heart is sick with longing, + Longing for the May. + + Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, + Sighing for the May,-- + Sighing for their sure returning, + When the summer beams are burning, + Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, + All the winter lay. + Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, + Sighing for the May. + + Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, + Throbbing for the May,-- + Throbbing for the seaside billows, + Or the water-wooing willows; + Where, in laughing and in sobbing, + Glide the streams away. + Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing, + Throbbing for the May. + + Waiting sad, dejected, weary, + Waiting for the May: + Spring goes by with wasted warnings,-- + Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings,-- + Summer comes, yet dark and dreary + Life still ebbs away; + Man is ever weary, weary, + Waiting for the May! + + _Denis Florence Mac-Carthy._ + + * * * * * + + +YARROW UNVISITED. + + From Stirling castle we had seen + The mazy Forth unravelled; + Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, + And with the Tweed had travelled; + And when we came to Clovenford, + Then said my "winsome Marrow," + "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, + And see the braes of Yarrow." + + "Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, + Who have been buying, selling, + Go back to Yarrow; 'tis their own,-- + Each maiden to her dwelling! + On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, + Hares couch, and rabbits burrow! + But we will downward with the Tweed, + Nor turn aside to Yarrow. + + "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, + Both lying right before us; + And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed + The lintwhites sing in chorus; + There's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land + Made blithe with plough and harrow: + Why throw away a needful day + To go in search of Yarrow? + + "What's Yarrow but a river bare, + That glides the dark hills under? + There are a thousand such elsewhere, + As worthy of your wonder." + Strange words they seemed, of slight and scorn; + My true-love sighed for sorrow, + And looked me in the face, to think + I thus could speak of Yarrow! + + "O, green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms, + And sweet is Yarrow flowing! + Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, + But we will leave it growing. + O'er hilly path and open strath + We'll wander Scotland thorough; + But, though so near, we will not turn + Into the dale of Yarrow. + + "Let beeves and homebred kine partake + The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; + The swan on still St. Mary's Lake + Float double, swan and shadow! + We will not see them; will not go + To-day, nor yet to-morrow; + Enough, if in our hearts we know + There's such a place as Yarrow. + + "Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! + It must, or we shall rue it: + We have a vision of our own; + Ah! why should we undo it? + The treasured dreams of times long past, + We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! + For when we're there, although 'tis fair, + 'Twill be another Yarrow! + + "If care with freezing years should come, + And wandering seem but folly,-- + Should we be loath to stir from home, + And yet be melancholy,-- + Should life be dull, and spirits low, + 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow, + That earth has something yet to show,-- + The bonny holms of Yarrow!" + + _William Wordsworth._ + + * * * * * + + +THE TIGER. + + Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, + In the forests of the night; + What immortal hand or eye + Could frame thy fearful symmetry? + + In what distant deeps or skies + Burned the fire of thine eyes? + On what wings dare he aspire? + What the hand dare seize the fire? + + And what shoulder, and what art, + Could twist the sinews of thine heart? + And when thy heart began to beat, + What dread hand? and what dread feet? + + What the hammer? what the chain? + In what furnace was thy brain? + What the anvil? what dread grasp + Dare its deadly terrors clasp? + + When the stars threw down their spears, + And watered heaven with their tears, + Did he smile his work to see? + Did He who made the lamb make thee? + + Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, + In the forests of the night, + What immortal hand or eye + Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? + + _William Blake._ + + * * * * * + + +A SNOW-STORM. + + I. + + 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time, + As cold as it ever can be; + The roar of the blast is heard like the chime + Of the waves on an angry sea. + The moon is full; but her silver light + The storm dashes out with its wings to-night; + And over the sky from south to north + Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth + In the strength of a mighty glee. + + II. + + All day had the snow come down,--all day + As it never came down before; + And over the hills, at sunset, lay + Some two or three feet, or more; + The fence was lost, and the wall of stone; + The windows blocked and the well-curbs gone; + The haystack had grown to a mountain lift, + And the wood-pile looked like a monster drift, + As it lay by the farmer's door. + + The night sets in on a world of snow, + While the air grows sharp and chill, + And the warning roar of a fearful blow + Is heard on the distant hill; + And the norther, see! on the mountain peak + In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek! + He shouts on the plain, ho-ho! ho-ho! + He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, + And growls with a savage will. + + III. + + Such a night as this to be found abroad, + In the drifts and the freezing air, + Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road, + With the snow in his shaggy hair. + He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls; + He lifts his head, and moans and howls; + Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet, + His nose is pressed on his quivering feet,-- + Pray, what does the dog do there? + + A farmer came from the village plain,-- + But he lost the travelled way; + And for hours he trod with might and main + A path for his horse and sleigh; + But colder still the cold winds blew, + And deeper still the deep drifts grew, + And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, + At last in her struggles floundered down, + Where a log in a hollow lay. + + In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, + She plunged in the drifting snow, + While her master urged, till his breath grew short, + With a word and a gentle blow; + But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight; + His hands were numb and had lost their might; + So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, + And strove to shelter himself till day, + With his coat and the buffalo. + + IV. + + He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, + To rouse up his dying steed; + And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain + For help in his master's need. + For a while he strives with a wistful cry + To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, + And wags his tail if the rude winds flap + The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, + And whines when he takes no heed. + + V. + + The wind goes down and the storm is o'er,-- + 'Tis the hour of midnight, past; + The old trees writhe and bend no more + In the whirl of the rushing blast. + The silent moon with her peaceful light + Looks down on the hills with snow all white, + And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, + The blasted pine and the ghostly stump, + Afar on the plain are cast. + + But cold and dead by the hidden log + Are they who came from the town,-- + The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, + And his beautiful Morgan brown,-- + In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, + With his cap on his head and the reins in his hand,-- + The dog with his nose on his master's feet, + And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet, + Where she lay when she floundered down. + + _Charles Gamage Eastman._ + + * * * * * + + +THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. + + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, + Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. + Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; + They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. + The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, + And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. + + Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and + stood + In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? + Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers + Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. + The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain + Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. + + The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague + on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and + glen. + + And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, + To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; + When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are + still, + And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, + The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. + + And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, + The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. + In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, + And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; + Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, + So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. + + _William Cullen Bryant._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SANDS OF DEE. + + "O Mary, go and call the cattle home, + And call the cattle home, + And call the cattle home, + Across the sands of Dee." + The western wind was wild and dank with foam, + And all alone went she. + + The western tide crept up along the sand, + And o'er and o'er the sand, + And round and round the sand, + As far as eye could see. + The rolling mist came down and hid the land: + And never home came she. + + "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,-- + A tress of golden hair, + A drownéd maiden's hair, + Above the nets at sea? + Was never salmon yet that shone so fair + Among the stakes on Dee." + + They rowed her in across the rolling foam, + The cruel crawling foam, + The cruel hungry foam, + To her grave beside the sea. + But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, + Across the sands of Dee. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +HYMN TO THE NIGHT. + + I heard the trailing garments of the Night + Sweep through her marble halls! + I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light + From the celestial walls! + + I felt her presence, by its spell of might, + Stoop o'er me from above; + The calm, majestic presence of the Night, + As of the one I love. + + I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, + The manifold, soft chimes, + That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, + Like some old poet's rhymes. + + From the cool cisterns of the midnight air + My spirit drank repose; + The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,-- + From those deep cisterns flows. + + O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear + What man has borne before! + Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, + And they complain no more. + + Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! + Descend with broad-winged flight, + The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, + The best-belovéd Night! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +NIGHT AND DEATH. + + Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew + Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, + Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, + This glorious canopy of light and blue? + Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew, + Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, + Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came; + And lo! creation widened in man's view. + Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed + Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find, + While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, + That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? + Why do we then shun death with anxious strife?-- + If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? + + _Joseph Blanco White._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SKYLARK. + + Bird of the wilderness, + Blithesome and cumberless, + Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! + Emblem of happiness, + Blest is thy dwelling-place,-- + O, to abide in the desert with thee! + Wild is thy lay and loud + Far in the downy cloud, + Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. + Where, on thy dewy wing, + Where art thou journeying? + Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. + O'er fell and fountain sheen, + O'er moor and mountain green, + O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, + Over the cloudlet dim, + Over the rainbow's rim, + Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! + Then, when the gloaming comes, + Low in the heather blooms + Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! + Emblem of happiness, + Blest is thy dwelling-place, + O, to abide in the desert with thee! + + _James Hogg._ + + * * * * * + + +THE EAGLE. + + He clasps the crag with hookéd hands; + Close to the sun in lonely lands, + Ringed with the azure world, he stands. + + The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; + He watches from his mountain walls, + And like a thunderbolt he falls. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +TO THE SKYLARK. + + Hail to thee, blithe spirit! + Bird thou never wert,-- + That from heaven, or near it, + Pourest thy full heart + In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. + + Higher still and higher + From the earth thou springest, + Like a cloud of fire; + The blue deep thou wingest, + And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. + + In the golden lightning + Of the setting sun, + O'er which clouds are brightening, + Thou dost float and run; + Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. + + The pale purple even + Melts around thy flight; + Like a star of heaven, + In the broad daylight + Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. + + Keen as are the arrows + Of that silver sphere, + Whose intense lamp narrows + In the white dawn clear, + Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. + + All the earth and air + With thy voice is loud, + As, when night is bare, + From one lonely cloud + The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. + + What thou art we know not; + What is most like thee? + From rainbow clouds there flow not + Drops so bright to see, + As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. + + Like a poet hidden + In the light of thought, + Singing hymns unbidden, + Till the world is wrought + To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not; + + Like a high-born maiden + In a palace tower, + Soothing her love-laden + Soul in secret hour + With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower; + + Like a glow-worm golden, + In a dell of dew, + Scattering unbeholden + Its aerial hue + Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view; + + Like a rose embowered + In its own green leaves, + By warm winds deflowered, + Till the scent it gives + Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wingéd thieves. + + Sound of vernal showers + On the twinkling grass, + Rain-awakened flowers, + All that ever was + Joyous and fresh and clear thy music doth surpass. + + Teach us, sprite or bird, + What sweet thoughts are thine; + I have never heard + Praise of love or wine + That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. + + Chorus hymeneal, + Or triumphant chant, + Matched with thine, would be all + But an empty vaunt,-- + A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. + + What objects are the fountains + Of thy happy strain? + What fields, or waves, or mountains? + What shapes of sky or plain? + What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain? + + With thy clear keen joyance + Languor cannot be: + Shadow of annoyance + Never came near thee; + Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. + + Waking or asleep, + Thou of death must deem + Things more true and deep + Than we mortals dream, + Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? + + We look before and after, + And pine for what is not: + Our sincerest laughter + With some pain is fraught: + Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. + + Yet if we could scorn + Hate, and pride, and fear; + If we were things born + Not to shed a tear, + I know not how thy joy we ever could come near. + + Better than all measures + Of delight and sound, + Better than all treasures + That in books are found, + Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground. + + Teach me half the gladness + That thy brain must know, + Such harmonious madness + From my lips would flow, + The world should listen then, as I am listening now. + + _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ + + * * * * * + + +TO THOMAS MOORE. + + My boat is on the shore, + And my bark is on the sea; + But, before I go, Tom Moore, + Here's a double health to thee! + + Here's a sigh for those that love me, + And a smile for those who hate; + And, whatever sky's above me, + Here's a heart for every fate. + + Though the ocean roar around me, + Yet it still shall bear me on; + Though a desert should surround me, + It hath springs that may be won. + + Were 't the last drop in the well, + As I gasped upon the brink, + Ere my fainting spirit fell + 'Tis to thee that I would drink. + + With that water, as this wine, + The libation I would pour + Should be,--Peace with thine and mine, + And a health to thee, Tom Moore! + + _Lord Byron._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. + + 'Tis the last rose of summer, + Left blooming alone; + All her lovely companions + Are faded and gone; + No flower of her kindred, + No rosebud is nigh, + To reflect back her blushes, + Or give sigh for sigh! + + I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! + To pine on the stem; + Since the lovely are sleeping, + Go, sleep thou with them; + Thus kindly I scatter + Thy leaves o'er the bed + Where thy mates of the garden + Lie scentless and dead. + + So soon may I follow, + When friendships decay, + And from love's shining circle + The gems drop away! + When true hearts lie withered, + And fond ones are flown, + O, who would inhabit + This bleak world alone? + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +A FAREWELL. + + Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, + Thy tribute wave deliver; + No more by thee my steps shall be, + Forever and forever. + + Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, + A rivulet, then a river; + Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, + Forever and forever. + + But here will sigh thine alder-tree, + And here thine aspen shiver; + And here by thee will hum the bee, + Forever and forever. + + A thousand suns will stream on thee, + A thousand moons will quiver; + But not by thee my steps shall be, + Forever and forever. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +STANZAS. + + My life is like the summer rose + That opens to the morning sky, + But, ere the shades of evening close, + Is scattered on the ground--to die! + Yet on the rose's humble bed + The sweetest dews of night are shed, + As if she wept the waste to see,-- + But none shall weep a tear for me! + + My life is like the autumn leaf + That trembles in the moon's pale ray; + Its hold is frail--its date is brief, + Restless--and soon to pass away! + Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, + The parent tree will mourn its shade, + The winds bewail the leafless tree,-- + But none shall breathe a sigh for me! + + My life is like the prints which feet + Have left on Tampa's desert strand; + Soon as the rising tide shall beat, + All trace will vanish from the sand; + Yet, as if grieving to efface + All vestige of the human race, + On that lone shore loud moans the sea,-- + But none, alas! shall mourn for me! + + _Richard Henry Wilde._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LITTLE YEARS. + + These years! these years! these naughty years! + Once they were pretty things: + Their fairy footfalls met our ears, + Our eyes their glancing wings. + They flitted by our school-boy way; + We chased the little imps at play. + + We knew them, soon, for tricksy elves: + They brought the college gown, + With thoughtful books filled up our shelves, + Darkened our lips with down, + Played with our throat, and lo! the tone + Of manhood had become our own. + + They smiling stretched our childish size; + Their soft hands trimmed our hair; + Cast the deep thought within our eyes, + And left it glowing there; + Sang songs of hope in college halls, + Bright fancies drew upon the walls. + + They flashed upon us love's bright gem; + They showed us gleams of fame; + Stout-hearted work we learned from them, + And honor more than name: + And so they came, and went away; + We said not go, we said not stay. + + But one sweet day, when quiet skies + And still leaves brought me thought, + When hazy hills drew forth my eyes, + And woods with deep shade fraught, + That day I carelessly found out + What work these elves had been about. + + Alas! those little rogues, the years, + Had fooled me many a day, + Plucked half the locks above my ears, + And tinged the rest all gray. + They'd left me wrinkles great and small. + I fear that they have tricked us all. + + Well,--give the little years their way; + Think, speak, and act the while; + Lift up the bare front to the day, + And make their wrinkles smile. + They mould the noblest living head; + They carve the best tomb for the dead. + + _Robert T. S. Lowell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE AGE OF WISDOM. + + Ho! pretty page with the dimpled chin, + That never has known the barber's shear, + All your wish is woman to win; + This is the way that boys begin,-- + Wait till you come to forty year. + + Curly gold locks cover foolish brains; + Billing and cooing is all your cheer,-- + Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, + Under Bonnybell's window-panes,-- + Wait till you come to forty year. + + Forty times over let Michaelmas pass; + Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; + Then you know a boy is an ass, + Then you know the worth of a lass,-- + Once you have come to forty year. + + Pledge me round; I bid ye declare, + All good fellows whose beards are gray,-- + Did not the fairest of the fair + Common grow and wearisome ere + Ever a month was passed away? + + The reddest lips that ever have kissed, + The brightest eyes that ever have shone, + May pray and whisper and we not list, + Or look away and never be missed,-- + Ere yet ever a month is gone. + + Gillian's dead! God rest her bier,-- + How I loved her twenty years syne! + Marian's married; but I sit here, + Alone and merry at forty year, + Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. + + _William Makepeace Thackeray._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAST LEAF. + + I saw him once before, + As he passed by the door; + And again + The pavement-stones resound + As he totters o'er the ground + With his cane. + + They say that in his prime, + Ere the pruning-knife of time + Cut him down, + Not a better man was found + By the crier on his round + Through the town. + + But now he walks the streets, + And he looks at all he meets + Sad and wan; + And he shakes his feeble head, + That it seems as if he said, + "They are gone." + + The mossy marbles rest + On the lips that he has pressed + In their bloom; + And the names he loved to hear + Have been carved for many a year + On the tomb. + + My grandmamma has said-- + Poor old lady! she is dead + Long ago-- + That he had a Roman nose, + And his cheek was like a rose + In the snow. + + But now his nose is thin, + And it rests upon his chin + Like a staff; + And a crook is in his back, + And a melancholy crack + In his laugh. + + I know it is a sin + For me to sit and grin + At him here, + But the old three-cornered hat, + And the breeches,--and all that, + Are so queer! + + And if I should live to be + The last leaf upon the tree + In the spring, + Let them smile, as I do now, + At the old forsaken bough + Where I cling. + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LOST LEADER. + + Just for a handful of silver he left us: + Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat,-- + Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us, + Lost all the others she lets us devote. + They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, + So much was theirs who so little allowed: + How all our copper had gone for his service! + Rags,--were they purple, his heart had been proud! + We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him, + Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, + Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, + Made him our pattern to live and to die! + Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, + Burns, Shelley, were with us,--they watch from their graves! + He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, + He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! + + We shall march prospering,--not through his presence; + Songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre: + Deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence, + Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire. + Blot out his name then,--record one lost soul more, + One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, + One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels, + One wrong more to man, one more insult to God! + Life's night begins; let him never come back to us! + There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain; + Forced praise on our part,--the glimmer of twilight, + Never glad, confident morning again! + Best fight on well, for we taught him,--strike gallantly, + Aim at our heart, ere we pierce through his own; + Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, + Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne! + + _Robert Browning._ + + * * * * * + + +TOO LATE. + +"Ah! si la jeunesse savait,--si la vieillenne pouvait!" + + There sat an old man on a rock, + And unceasing bewailed him of Fate,-- + That concern where we all must take stock + Though our vote has no hearing or weight; + And the old man sang him an old, old song,-- + Never sang voice so clear and strong + That it could drown the old man's long, + For he sang the song "Too late! too late!" + + "When we want, we have for our pains + The promise that if we but wait + Till the want has burned out of our brains, + Every means shall be present to sate; + While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold, + While the bonnet is trimming the face grows old, + When we've matched our buttons the pattern is sold, + And everything comes too late,--too late! + + "When strawberries seemed like red heavens,-- + Terrapin stew a wild dream,-- + When my brain was at sixes and sevens, + If my mother had "folks" and ice-cream, + Then I gazed with a lickerish hunger + At the restaurant-man and fruit-monger,-- + But oh! how I wished I were younger + When the goodies all came in a stream, in a stream! + + "I've a splendid blood horse, and--a liver + That it jars into torture to trot; + My row-boat's the gem of the river,-- + Gout makes every knuckle a knot! + I can buy boundless credits on Paris and Rome, + But no palate for _ménus_,--no eyes for a dome,-- + _Those_ belonged to the youth who must tarry at home, + When no home but an attic he'd got,--he'd got! + + "How I longed, in that lonest of garrets, + Where the tiles baked my brains all July, + For ground to grow two pecks of carrots, + Two pigs of my own in a sty, + A rosebush,--a little thatched cottage,-- + Two spoons--love--a basin of pottage!-- + Now in freestone I sit,--and my dotage,-- + With a woman's chair empty close by,--close by! + + "Ah! now, though I sit on a rock, + I have shared one seat with the great; + I have sat--knowing naught of the clock-- + On love's high throne of state; + But the lips that kissed, and the arms that caressed, + To a mouth grown stern with delay were pressed, + And circled a breast that their clasp had blessed + Had they only not come too late,--too late!" + + _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow._ + + * * * * * + + +A PETITION TO TIME. + + Touch us gently, Time! + Let us glide adown thy stream + Gently,--as we sometimes glide + Through a quiet dream! + Humble voyagers are we, + Husband, wife, and children three,-- + (One is lost,--an angel, fled + To the azure overhead!) + + Touch us gently, Time! + We've not proud nor soaring wings, + Our ambition, our content, + Lies in simple things. + Humble voyagers are we, + O'er Life's dim, unsounded sea, + Seeking only some calm clime;-- + Touch us gently, gentle Time! + + _Bryan Waller Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +ICHABOD. + + So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn + Which once he wore! + The glory from his gray hairs gone + Forevermore! + + Revile him not,--the tempter hath + A snare for all! + And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, + Befit his fall! + + Oh! dumb is passion's stormy rage, + When he who might + Have lighted up and led his age, + Falls back in night. + + Scorn! Would the angels laugh, to mark + A bright soul driven, + Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, + From hope and heaven? + + Let not the land, once proud of him, + Insult him now; + Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, + Dishonored brow. + + But let its humbled sons, instead, + From sea to lake, + A long lament, as for the dead, + In sadness make. + + Of all we loved and honored, naught + Save power remains,-- + A fallen angel's pride of thought, + Still strong in chains. + + All else is gone; from those great eyes + The soul has fled: + When faith is lost, when honor dies, + The man is dead! + + Then, pay the reverence of old days + To his dead fame; + Walk backward, with averted gaze, + And hide the shame! + + _John Greenleaf Whittier._ + + * * * * * + + +SONG. + + The heath this night must be my bed, + The bracken curtain for my head, + My lullaby the warder's tread, + Far, far from love and thee, Mary; + To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, + My couch may be my bloody plaid, + My vesper-song thy wail, sweet maid! + It will not waken me, Mary! + + I may not, dare not, fancy now + The grief that clouds thy lovely brow; + I dare not think upon thy vow, + And all it promised me, Mary. + No fond regret must Norman know; + When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, + His heart must be like bended bow, + His foot like arrow free, Mary. + + A time will come with feeling fraught! + For, if I fall in battle fought, + Thy hapless lover's dying thought + Shall be a thought on thee, Mary: + And if returned from conquered foes, + How blithely will the evening close, + How sweet the linnet sing repose + To my young bride and me, Mary. + + _Sir Walter Scott._ + + * * * * * + + +TO LUCASTA, + +ON GOING TO THE WARS. + + Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, + That from the nunnerie + Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, + To warre and armes I flee. + + True, a new mistresse now I chase,-- + The first foe in the field; + And with a stronger faith imbrace + A sword, a horse, a shield. + + Yet this inconstancy is such + As you, too, should adore; + I could not love thee, deare, so much, + Loved I not honor more. + + _Richard Lovelace._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAND OF LANDS. + + You ask me, why, though ill at ease, + Within this region I subsist, + Whose spirits falter in the mist, + And languish for the purple seas? + + It is the land that freemen till, + That sober-suited Freedom chose, + The land where, girt with friends or foes, + A man may speak the thing he will; + + A land of settled government, + A land of just and old renown, + Where Freedom broadens slowly down + From precedent to precedent; + + Where faction seldom gathers head, + But by degrees to fulness wrought, + The strength of some diffusive thought + Hath time and space to work and spread. + + Should banded unions persecute + Opinion, and induce a time + When single thought is civil crime, + And individual freedom mute; + + Though Power should make from land to land + The name of Britain trebly great,-- + Though every channel of the state + Should almost choke with golden sand,-- + + Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth, + Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky, + And I will see before I die + The palms and temples of the South. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. + + Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered, + And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; + And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,-- + The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. + + When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, + By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, + At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, + And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. + + Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array + Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track: + 'Twas autumn,--and sunshine arose on the way + To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. + + I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft + In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; + I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, + And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. + + Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore + From my home and my weeping friends never to part; + My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, + And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. + + Stay, stay with us!--rest; thou art weary and worn!-- + And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; + But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, + And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. + + _Thomas Campbell._ + + * * * * * + + +MONTEREY. + + We were not many,--we who stood + Before the iron sleet that day; + Yet many a gallant spirit would + Give half his years if but he could + Have been with us at Monterey. + + Now here, now there, the shot it hailed + In deadly drifts of fiery spray, + Yet not a single soldier quailed + When wounded comrades round them wailed + Their dying shout at Monterey. + + And on, still on our column kept, + Through walls of flame, its withering way; + Where fell the dead, the living stept, + Still charging on the guns which swept + The slippery streets of Monterey. + + The foe himself recoiled aghast, + When, striking where he strongest lay, + We swooped his flanking batteries past, + And, braving full their murderous blast, + Stormed home the towers of Monterey. + + Our banners on those turrets wave, + And there our evening bugles play; + Where orange-boughs above their grave + Keep green the memory of the brave + Who fought and fell at Monterey. + + We are not many,--we who pressed + Beside the brave who fell that day; + But who of us has not confessed + He'd rather share their warrior rest + Than not have been at Monterey? + + _Charles Fenno Hoffman._ + + * * * * * + + +A SONG OF THE CAMP. + + "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, + The outer trenches guarding, + When the heated guns of the camp allied + Grew weary of bombarding. + + The dark Redan, in silent scoff, + Lay grim and threatening under; + And the tawny mound of the Malakoff + No longer belched its thunder. + + There was a pause. A guardsman said: + "We storm the forts to-morrow; + Sing while we may, another day + Will bring enough of sorrow." + + They lay along the battery's side, + Below the smoking cannon,-- + Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, + And from the banks of Shannon. + + They sang of love, and not of fame; + Forgot was Britain's glory; + Each heart recalled a different name, + But all sang "Annie Laurie." + + Voice after voice caught up the song, + Until its tender passion + Rose like an anthem rich and strong, + Their battle-eve confession. + + Dear girl! her name he dared not speak; + But as the song grew louder, + Something upon the soldier's cheek + Washed off the stains of powder. + + Beyond the darkening ocean burned + The bloody sunset's embers, + While the Crimean valleys learned + How English love remembers. + + And once again a fire of hell + Rained on the Russian quarters, + With scream of shot and burst of shell, + And bellowing of the mortars! + + And Irish Nora's eyes are dim + For a singer dumb and gory; + And English Mary mourns for him + Who sang of "Annie Laurie." + + Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest + Your truth and valor wearing; + The bravest are the tenderest,-- + The loving are the daring. + + _Bayard Taylor._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CAVALIER'S SONG. + + A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed, + A sword of metal keene! + All else to noble hearts is drosse, + All else on earth is meane. + The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde, + The rowlinge of the drum, + The clangor of the trumpet lowde, + Be soundes from heaven that come; + And oh! the thundering presse of knightes, + Whenas their war-cryes swell, + May tole from heaven an angel bright, + And rouse a fiend from hell. + + Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all, + And don your helmes amaine: + Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call + Us to the field againe. + No shrewish teares shall fill our eye + When the sword-hilt's in our hand,-- + Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe + For the fayrest of the land. + Let piping swaine and craven wight + Thus weepe and puling crye; + Our business is like men to fight, + And hero-like to die! + + _William Motherwell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE KNIGHT'S TOMB. + + Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? + Where may the grave of that good man be?-- + By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, + Under the twigs of a young birch tree! + The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, + And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, + And whistled and roared in the winter alone, + Is gone,--and the birch in its stead is grown. + The knight's bones are dust, + And his good sword rust;-- + His soul is with the saints, I trust. + + _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ + + * * * * * + + +CORONACH. + + He is gone on the mountain, + He is lost to the forest, + Like a summer-dried fountain, + When our need was the sorest. + The fount reappearing + From the rain-drops shall borrow; + But to us comes no cheering, + To Duncan no morrow! + + The hand of the reaper + Takes the ears that are hoary, + But the voice of the weeper + Wails manhood in glory. + The autumn winds, rushing, + Waft the leaves that are searest, + But our flower was in flushing + When blighting was nearest. + + Fleet foot on the correi, + Sage counsel in cumber, + Red hand in the foray, + How sound is thy slumber! + Like the dew on the mountain, + Like the foam on the river, + Like the bubble on the fountain, + Thou art gone, and forever. + + _Sir Walter Scott._ + + * * * * * + + +DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. + + Close his eyes; his work is done! + What to him is friend or foeman, + Rise of moon or set of sun, + Hand of man or kiss of woman? + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + As man may, he fought his fight, + Proved his truth by his endeavor; + Let him sleep in solemn night, + Sleep forever and forever. + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + Fold him in his country's stars, + Roll the drum and fire the volley! + What to him are all our wars?-- + What but death bemocking folly? + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + Leave him to God's watching eye; + Trust him to the hand that made him. + Mortal love weeps idly by; + God alone has power to aid him. + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + _George Henry Boker._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + +Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead at +Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S. C., 1867. + + Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,-- + Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause! + Though yet no marble column craves + The pilgrim here to pause, + + In seeds of laurel in the earth + The blossom of your fame is blown, + And somewhere, waiting for its birth, + The shaft is in the stone! + + Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years + Which keep in trust your storied tombs, + Behold! your sisters bring their tears, + And these memorial blooms. + + Small tributes! but your shades will smile + More proudly on these wreaths to-day, + Than when some cannon-moulded pile + Shall overlook this bay. + + Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! + There is no holier spot of ground + Than where defeated valor lies, + By mourning beauty crowned! + + _Henry Timrod._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + +Read at Utica, N. Y., on the occasion of decorating the graves of the +Federal dead, May 30, 1872. + + They sleep so calm and stately, + Each in his graveyard bed, + It scarcely seems that lately + They trod the fields blood-red, + With fearless tread. + + They marched and never halted, + They scaled the parapet, + The triple lines assaulted, + And paid without regret + The final debt. + + The debt of slow accruing + A guilty nation made, + The debt of evil doing, + Of justice long delayed, + 'Twas this they paid. + + On fields where Strife held riot, + And Slaughter fed his hounds, + Where came no sense of quiet, + Nor any gentle sounds, + They made their rounds. + + They wrought without repining, + Till, weary watches o'er, + They passed the bounds confining + Our green, familiar shore, + Forevermore. + + And now they sleep so stately, + Each in his graveyard bed, + So calmly and sedately + They rest, that once I said: + "These men are dead. + + "They know not what sweet duty + We come each year to pay, + Nor heed the blooms of beauty, + The garland gifts of May, + Strewn here to-day. + + "The night-time and the day-time, + The rise and set of sun, + The winter and the May-time, + To them whose work is done, + Are all as one." + + Then o'er mine eyes there floated + A vision of the Land + Where their brave souls, promoted + To Heaven's own armies, stand + At God's right hand. + + From out the mighty distance + I seemed to see them gaze + Back on their old existence, + Back on the battle-blaze + Of war's dread days. + + "The flowers shall fade and perish + (In larger faith spake I), + But these dear names we cherish + Are written in the sky, + And cannot die." + + _Theodore P. Cook._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + + How sleep the brave who sink to rest + By all their country's wishes blessed! + When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, + Returns to deck their hallowed mould, + She there shall dress a sweeter sod + Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. + + By fairy hands their knell is rung; + By forms unseen their dirge is sung; + There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, + To bless the turf that wraps their clay; + And Freedom shall awhile repair, + To dwell a weeping hermit there! + + _William Collins._ + + * * * * * + + +DRIVING HOME THE COWS. + + Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass + He turned them into the river-lane; + One after another he let them pass, + Then fastened the meadow bars again. + + Under the willows, and over the hill, + He patiently followed their sober pace; + The merry whistle for once was still, + And something shadowed the sunny face. + + Only a boy! and his father had said + He never could let his youngest go; + Two already were lying dead + Under the feet of the trampling foe. + + But after the evening work was done, + And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, + Over his shoulder he slung his gun + And stealthily followed the foot-path damp. + + Across the clover and through the wheat + With resolute heart and purpose grim, + Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, + And the blind bat's flitting startled him. + + Thrice since then had the lanes been white, + And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; + And now, when the cows came back at night, + The feeble father drove them home. + + For news had come to the lonely farm + That three were lying where two had lain; + And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm + Could never lean on a son's again. + + The summer day grew cool and late, + He went for the cows when the work was done; + But down the lane, as he opened the gate, + He saw them coming one by one,-- + + Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, + Shaking their horns in the evening wind; + Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,-- + But who was it following close behind? + + Loosely swung in the idle air + The empty sleeve of army blue; + And worn and pale, from the crisping hair + Looked out a face that the father knew. + + For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, + And yield their dead unto life again; + And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn + In golden glory at last may wane. + + The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes; + For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb; + And under the silent evening skies + Together they followed the cattle home. + + _Kate Putnam Osgood._ + + * * * * * + + +THE BRAVE AT HOME. + + The maid who binds her warrior's sash + With smile that well her pain dissembles, + The while beneath her drooping lash + One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, + Though Heaven alone records the tear, + And Fame shall never know her story, + Her heart has shed a drop as dear + As e'er bedewed the field of glory! + + The wife who girds her husband's sword, + 'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, + And bravely speaks the cheering word, + What though her heart be rent asunder, + Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear + The bolts of death around him rattle, + Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er + Was poured upon the field of battle! + + The mother who conceals her grief + While to her breast her son she presses, + Then breathes a few brave words and brief, + Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, + With no one but her secret God + To know the pain that weighs upon her, + Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod + Received on Freedom's field of honor! + + _Thomas Buchanan Read._ + + * * * * * + + +ON HIS BLINDNESS. + + When I consider how my light is spent + Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, + And that one talent which is death to hide, + Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent + To serve therewith my Maker, and present + My true account, lest he returning chide; + "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" + I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent + That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need + Either man's work or his own gifts; who best + Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state + Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, + And post o'er land and ocean without rest; + They also serve who only stand and wait." + + _John Milton._ + + * * * * * + + +THE THREE FISHERS. + + Three fishers went sailing out into the west, + Out into the west, as the sun went down, + Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, + And the children stood watching them out of the town; + For men must work, and women must weep, + And there's little to earn, and many to keep, + Though the harbor-bar be moaning. + + Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, + And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; + They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, + And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown; + But men must work, and women must weep, + Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, + And the harbor-bar be moaning. + + Three corpses lie out on the shining sands, + In the morning gleam, as the tide goes down, + And the women are weeping and wringing their hands, + For those who will never come home to the town. + For men must work, and women must weep, + And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, + And good by to the bar and its moaning. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +HEROES. + + The winds that once the Argo bore + Have died by Neptune's ruined shrines: + And her hull is the drift of the deep-sea floor, + Though shaped of Pelion's tallest pines. + You may seek her crew on every isle + Fair in the foam of Ægean seas; + But out of their rest no charm can wile + Jason and Orpheus and Hercules. + + And Priam's wail is heard no more + By windy Ilion's sea-built walls; + Nor great Achilles, stained with gore, + Cries, "O ye gods, 'tis Hector falls!" + On Ida's mount is the shining snow; + But Jove has gone from its brow away; + And red on the plain the poppies grow + Where the Greek and the Trojan fought that day. + + Mother Earth, are the heroes dead? + Do they thrill the soul of the years no more? + Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red + All that is left of the brave of yore? + Are there none to fight as Theseus fought, + Far in the young world's misty dawn? + Or to teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught? + Mother Earth, are the heroes gone? + + Gone? In a grander form they rise! + Dead? We may clasp their hands in ours, + And catch the light of their clearer eyes, + And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers! + Wherever a noble deed is done, + 'Tis the pulse of a hero's heart is stirred; + Wherever the Right has a triumph won, + There are the heroes' voices heard. + + Their armor rings on a fairer field + Than the Greek or the Trojan ever trod: + For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield, + And the light above is the smile of God. + So in his isle of calm delight + Jason may sleep the years away; + For the heroes live, and the skies are bright, + And the world is a braver world to-day. + + _Edna Dean Proctor._ + + * * * * * + + +THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. + + This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling, + Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; + But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing + Startles the villages with strange alarms. + + Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, + When the death-angel touches those swift keys! + What loud lament and dismal Miserere + Will mingle with their awful symphonies! + + I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,-- + The cries of agony, the endless groan, + Which, through the ages that have gone before us, + In long reverberations reach our own. + + On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer; + Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song; + And loud, amid the universal clamor, + O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. + + I hear the Florentine, who from his palace + Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din; + And Aztec priests upon their teocallis + Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; + + The tumult of each sacked and burning village; + The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; + The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; + The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; + + The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, + The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; + And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, + The diapason of the cannonade. + + Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, + With such accursed instruments as these, + Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, + And jarrest the celestial harmonies? + + Were half the power that fills the world with terror, + Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, + Given to redeem the human mind from error, + There were no need of arsenals or forts; + + The warrior's name would be a name abhorréd; + And every nation that should lift again + Its hand against a brother, on its forehead + Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain! + + Down the dark future, through long generations, + The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; + And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, + I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!" + + Peace!--and no longer from its brazen portals + The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies; + But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, + The holy melodies of love arise. + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + + What constitutes a state? + Not high raised battlement or labored mound, + Thick wall or moated gate; + Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; + Not bays and broad-armed ports, + Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; + Not starred and spangled courts, + Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. + No: men, high-minded men, + With powers as far above dull brutes endued + In forest, brake, or den, + As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude,-- + Men who their duties know, + But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, + Prevent the long-aimed blow, + And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain; + These constitute a state; + And sovereign law, that state's collected will, + O'er thrones and globes elate, + Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. + Smit by her sacred frown, + The fiend Dissension like a vapor sinks; + And e'en the all-dazzling crown + Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. + Such was this heaven-loved isle, + Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore! + No more shall freedom smile? + Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? + Since all must life resign, + Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave + 'Tis folly to decline, + And steal inglorious to the silent grave. + + _Sir William Jones._ + + * * * * * + + +PHILIP, MY KING. + + "Who bears upon his baby brow the round + And top of sovereignty." + + Look at me with thy large brown eyes, + Philip, my king! + For round thee the purple shadow lies + Of babyhood's royal dignities. + Lay on my neck thy tiny hand + With Love's invisible sceptre laden; + I am thine Esther, to command + Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, + Philip, my king! + + O, the day when thou goest a-wooing, + Philip, my king! + When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, + And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, + Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there + Sittest love-glorified!--Rule kindly, + Tenderly over thy kingdom fair; + For we that love, ah! we love so blindly, + Philip, my king! + + Up from thy sweet mouth,--up to thy brow, + Philip, my king! + The spirit that there lies sleeping now + May rise like a giant, and make men bow + As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers. + My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer + Let me behold thee in future years! + Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, + Philip, my king;-- + + A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day, + Philip, my king, + Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way + Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray; + Rebels within thee and foes without + Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious, + Martyr, yet monarch; till angels shout, + As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, + "Philip, the king!" + + _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik._ + + * * * * * + + +HOW'S MY BOY? + + "Ho, sailor of the sea! + How's my boy,--my boy?" + "What's your boy's name, good wife, + And in what ship sailed he?" + + "My boy John,-- + He that went to sea,-- + What care I for the ship, sailor? + My boy's my boy to me. + + "You come back from sea, + And not know my John? + I might as well have asked some landsman, + Yonder down in the town. + There's not an ass in all the parish + But knows my John. + + "How's my boy,--my boy? + And unless you let me know, + I'll swear you are no sailor, + Blue jacket or no,-- + Brass buttons or no, sailor, + Anchor and crown or no,-- + Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton'"-- + "Speak low, woman, speak low!" + + "And why should I speak low, sailor, + About my own boy John? + If I was loud as I am proud + I'd sing him over the town! + Why should I speak low, sailor?" + "That good ship went down." + + "How's my boy,--my boy? + What care I for the ship, sailor? + I was never aboard her. + Be she afloat or be she aground, + Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound + Her owners can afford her! + I say, how's my John?" + "Every man on board went down, + Every man aboard her." + + "How's my boy,--my boy? + What care I for the men, sailor? + I'm not their mother,-- + How's my boy,--my boy? + Tell me of him and no other! + How's my boy,--my boy?" + + _Sydney Dobell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. + + Between the dark and the daylight, + When the night is beginning to lower, + Comes a pause in the day's occupations + That is known as the children's hour, + + I hear in the chamber above me + The patter of little feet, + The sound of a door that is opened, + And voices soft and sweet. + + From my study I see in the lamplight, + Descending the broad hall-stair, + Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, + And Edith with golden hair. + + A whisper, and then a silence; + Yet I know by their merry eyes + They are plotting and planning together + To take me by surprise. + + A sudden rush from the stairway, + A sudden raid from the hall: + By three doors left unguarded + They enter my castle wall. + + They climb up into my turret + O'er the arms and back of my chair; + If I try to escape, they surround me: + They seem to be everywhere. + + They almost devour me with kisses; + Their arms about me entwine, + Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen + In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. + + Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti! + Because you have scaled the wall, + Such an old mustache as I am + Is not a match for you all? + + I have you fast in my fortress, + And will not let you depart, + But put you down into the dungeon + In the round tower of my heart. + + And there will I keep you forever,-- + Yes, forever and a day, + Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, + And moulder in dust away. + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +MY CHILD. + + I cannot make him dead! + His fair sunshiny head + Is ever bounding round my study chair; + Yet when my eyes, now dim + With tears, I turn to him, + The vision vanishes,--he is not there! + + I walk my parlor floor, + And through the open door + I hear a footfall on the chamber stair; + I'm stepping toward the hall + To give the boy a call; + And then bethink me that--he is not there! + + I thread the crowded street; + A satchelled lad I meet, + With the same beaming eyes and colored hair; + And, as he's running by, + Follow him with my eye, + Scarcely believing that--he is not there! + + I know his face is hid + Under the coffin lid; + Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair; + My hand that marble felt; + O'er it in prayer I knelt; + Yet my heart whispers that--he is not there! + + I cannot make him dead! + When passing by the bed, + So long watched over with parental care, + My spirit and my eye + Seek him inquiringly, + Before the thought comes that--he is not there! + + When, at the cool gray break + Of day, from sleep I wake, + With my first breathing of the morning air + My soul goes up, with joy, + To Him who gave my boy; + Then comes the sad thought that--he is not there! + + When at the day's calm close, + Before we seek repose, + I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer; + Whate'er I may be saying, + I am in spirit praying + For our boy's spirit, though--he is not there! + + Not there!--Where, then, is he? + The form I used to see + Was but the raiment that he used to wear. + The grave, that now doth press + Upon that cast-off dress, + Is but his wardrobe locked;--he is not there! + + He lives!--In all the past + He lives; nor, to the last, + Of seeing him again will I despair; + In dreams I see him now; + And on his angel brow + I see it written, "Thou shalt see me _there_!" + + Yes, we all live to God! + Father, thy chastening rod + So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, + That in the spirit-land, + Meeting at thy right hand, + 'Twill be our heaven to find that--he is there! + + _John Pierpont._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAND O' THE LEAL. + + I'm wearin' awa', John, + Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, + I'm wearin' awa' + To the land o' the leal. + There's nae sorrow there, John, + There's neither cauld nor care, John, + The day is aye fair + In the land o' the leal. + + Our bonnie bairn's there, John, + She was baith gude and fair, John, + And oh! we grudged her sair + To the land o' the leal. + But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, + And joy's a-comin' fast, John, + The joy that's aye to last + In the land o' the leal. + + Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, + Sae free the battle fought, John, + That sinfu' man e'er brought + To the land o' the leal. + Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John, + My saul langs to be free, John, + And angels beckon me + To the land o' the leal. + + Oh! haud ye leal and true, John, + Your day it's wearin' thro', John, + And I'll welcome you + To the land o' the leal. + Now fare ye weel, my ain John, + This warld's cares are vain, John, + We'll meet, and we'll be fain, + In the land o' the leal. + + _Lady Nairne._ + + * * * * * + + +LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. + + I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, + Where we sat side by side + On a bright May mornin' long ago, + When first you were my bride; + The corn was springin' fresh and green, + And the lark sang loud and high; + And the red was on your lip, Mary, + And the love-light in your eye. + + The place is little changed, Mary; + The day is bright as then; + The lark's loud song is in my ear, + And the corn is green again; + But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, + And your breath, warm on my cheek; + And I still keep list'nin' for the words + You never more will speak. + + 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, + And the little church stands near,-- + The church where we were wed, Mary; + I see the spire from here. + But the graveyard lies between, Mary, + And my step might break your rest,-- + For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, + With your baby on your breast. + + I'm very lonely now, Mary,-- + For the poor make no new friends; + But, oh! they love the better still + The few our Father sends! + And you were all I had, Mary,-- + My blessin' and my pride: + There's nothing left to care for now, + Since my poor Mary died. + + Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, + That still kept hoping on, + When the trust in God had left my soul, + And my arm's young strength was gone; + There was comfort ever on your lip, + And the kind look on your brow,-- + I bless you, Mary, for that same, + Though you cannot hear me now. + + I thank you for the patient smile + When your heart was fit to break,-- + When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there, + And you hid it for my sake; + I bless you for the pleasant word, + When your heart was sad and sore,-- + Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, + Where grief can't reach you more! + + I'm biddin' you a long farewell, + My Mary,--kind and true! + But I'll not forget you, darling, + In the land I'm goin' to; + They say there's bread and work for all, + And the sun shines always there,-- + But I'll not forget old Ireland, + Were it fifty times as fair! + + And often in those grand old woods + I'll sit, and shut my eyes, + And my heart will travel back again + To the place where Mary lies; + And I'll think I see the little stile + Where we sat side by side, + And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, + When first you were my bride. + + _Lady Dufferin._ + + * * * * * + + +THE DEATH-BED. + + We watched her breathing through the night, + Her breathing soft and low, + As in her breast the wave of life + Kept heaving to and fro. + + So silently we seemed to speak, + So slowly moved about, + As we had lent her half our powers + To eke her living out. + + Our very hopes belied our fears, + Our fears our hopes belied,-- + We thought her dying when she slept, + And sleeping when she died. + + For when the morn came, dim and sad, + And chill with early showers, + Her quiet eyelids closed,--she had + Another morn than ours. + + _Thomas Hood._ + + * * * * * + + +EVELYN HOPE. + + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead,-- + Sit and watch by her side an hour. + That is her book-shelf, this her bed; + She plucked that piece of geranium flower, + Beginning to die, too, in the glass. + Little has yet been changed, I think,-- + The shutters are shut, no light may pass, + Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. + + Sixteen years old when she died! + Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name,-- + It was not her time to love: beside, + Her life had many a hope and aim, + Duties enough and little cares; + And now was quiet, now astir,-- + Till God's hand beckoned unawares, + And the sweet white brow is all of her. + + Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? + What! your soul was pure and true; + The good stars met in your horoscope, + Made you of spirit, fire, and dew,-- + And just because I was thrice as old, + And our paths in the world diverged so wide, + Each was naught to each, must I be told? + We were fellow-mortals,--naught beside? + + No, indeed! for God above + Is great to grant, as mighty to make, + And creates the love to reward the love,-- + I claim you still, for my own love's sake! + Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, + Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few,-- + Much is to learn and much to forget + Ere the time be come for taking you. + + But the time will come--at last it will-- + When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, + In the lower earth, in the years long still, + That body and soul so pure and gay? + Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, + And your mouth of your own geranium's red,-- + And what you would do with me, in fine, + In the new life come in the old one's stead. + + I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, + Given up myself so many times, + Gained me the gains of various men, + Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; + Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, + Either I missed or itself missed me,-- + And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! + What is the issue? let us see! + + I loved you, Evelyn, all the while; + My heart seemed full as it could hold,-- + There was space and to spare for the frank young smile, + And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. + So hush,--I will give you this leaf to keep,-- + See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. + There, that is our secret! go to sleep; + You will wake, and remember, and understand. + + _Robert Browning._ + + * * * * * + + +A BRIDAL DIRGE. + + Weave no more the marriage-chain! + All unmated is the lover; + Death has ta'en the place of Pain; + Love doth call on Love in vain: + Life and years of hope are over! + + No more want of marriage-bell! + No more need of bridal favor! + Where is she to wear them well? + You beside the lover tell! + Gone,--with all the love he gave her! + + Paler than the stone she lies; + Colder than the winter's morning! + Wherefore did she thus despise + (She with pity in her eyes) + Mother's care and lover's warning? + + Youth and beauty,--shall they not + Last beyond a brief to-morrow? + No: a prayer, and then forgot! + This the truest lover's lot; + This the sum of human sorrow! + + _Bryan Waller Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE DIED IN BEAUTY. + + She died in beauty,--like a rose + Blown from its parent stem; + She died in beauty,--like a pearl + Dropped from some diadem. + + She died in beauty,--like a lay + Along a moonlit lake; + She died in beauty,--like the song + Of birds amid the brake. + + She died in beauty,--like the snow + On flowers dissolved away; + She died in beauty,--like a star + Lost on the brow of day. + + She lives in glory,--like night's gems + Set round the silver moon; + She lives in glory,--like the sun + Amid the blue of June. + + _Charles Doyne Sillery._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE WAS NOT FAIR, NOR FULL OF GRACE. + + She was not fair, nor full of grace, + Nor crowned with thought or aught beside; + Nor wealth had she, of mind or face, + To win our love or raise our pride; + No lover's thought her cheek did touch; + No poet's dream was round her thrown; + And yet we miss her,--ah, too much, + Now--she hath flown! + + We miss her when the morning calls, + As one that mingled in our mirth; + We miss her when the evening falls,-- + A trifle wanted on the earth! + Some fancy small, or subtile thought, + Is checked ere to its blossom grown; + Some chain is broken that we wrought, + Now--she hath flown! + + No solid good, nor hope defined, + Is marred now she has sunk in night; + And yet the strong immortal Mind + Is stopped in its triumphant flight! + Perhaps some grain lost to its sphere + Might cast the great Sun from his throne; + For all we know is--"She was here," + And--"She hath flown!" + + _Bryan Waller Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +HIGHLAND MARY. + + Ye banks, and braes, and streams around + The castle o' Montgomery, + Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, + Your waters never drumlie! + There simmer first unfald her robes, + And there the langest tarry! + For there I took the last fareweel + O' my sweet Highland Mary. + + How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk! + How rich the hawthorn blossom! + As, underneath their fragrant shade, + I clasped her to my bosom! + The golden hours, on angel wings, + Flew o'er me and my dearie; + For dear to me as light and life + Was my sweet Highland Mary. + + Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace + Our parting was fu' tender; + And pledging aft to meet again, + We tore ourselves asunder; + But oh! fell death's untimely frost, + That nipt my flower sae early! + Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, + That wraps my Highland Mary! + + O pale, pale now, those rosy lips + I aft hae kissed sae fondly! + And closed for aye the sparkling glance + That dwelt on me sae kindly! + And mouldering now in silent dust + That heart that lo'ed me dearly! + But still within my bosom's core + Shall live my Highland Mary. + + _Robert Burns._ + + * * * * * + + +TOO LATE! + +"Douglas, Douglas, tendir and treu." + + Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, + In the old likeness that I knew, + I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + + Never a scornful word should grieve ye, + I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do,-- + Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + + O to call back the days that are not! + My eyes were blinded, your words were few; + Do you know the truth now up in heaven, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true? + + I never was worthy of you, Douglas, + Not half worthy the like of you; + Now all men beside seem to me like shadows,-- + I love _you_, Douglas, tender and true. + + Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, + Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew, + As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + + _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik._ + + * * * * * + + +TOM BOWLING. + + Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, + The darling of our crew; + No more he'll hear the tempest howling,-- + For death has broached him to. + His form was of the manliest beauty; + His heart was kind and soft; + Faithful below, he did his duty; + But now he's gone aloft. + + Tom never from his word departed,-- + His virtues were so rare; + His friends were many and true-hearted; + His Poll was kind and fair. + And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,-- + Ah, many's the time and oft! + But mirth is turned to melancholy, + For Tom is gone aloft. + + Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, + When He, who all commands, + Shall give, to call life's crew together, + The word to pipe all hands. + Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, + In vain Tom's life has doffed; + For, though his body's under hatches, + His soul is gone aloft. + + _Charles Dibdin._ + + * * * * * + + +JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. + + Green be the turf above thee, + Friend of my better days! + None knew thee but to love thee, + Nor named thee but to praise. + + Tears fell, when thou wert dying, + From eyes unused to weep, + And long, where thou art lying, + Will tears the cold turf steep. + + When hearts whose truth was proven, + Like thine, are laid in earth, + There should a wreath be woven + To tell the world their worth; + + And I, who woke each morrow + To clasp thy hand in mine, + Who shared thy joy and sorrow, + Whose weal and woe were thine,-- + + It should be mine to braid it + Around thy faded brow, + But I've in vain essayed it, + And feel I cannot now. + + While memory bids me weep thee, + Nor thoughts nor words are free, + The grief is fixed too deeply + That mourns a man like thee. + + _Fitz-Greene Halleck._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. + + She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, + And lovers are round her sighing; + But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, + For her heart in his grave is lying! + + She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, + Every note which he loved awaking; + Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, + How the heart of the minstrel is breaking! + + He had lived for his love, for his country he died, + They were all that to life had entwined him; + Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, + Nor long will his love stay behind him. + + Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, + When they promise a glorious morrow; + They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, + From her own loved island of sorrow! + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +MINSTREL'S SONG. + + O sing unto my roundelay! + O, drop the briny tear with me! + Dance no more at holiday; + Like a running river be. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Black his hair as the winter night, + White his neck as the summer snow, + Ruddy his face as the morning light; + Cold he lies in the grave below. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note; + Quick in dance as thought can be; + Deft his tabor, cudgel stout; + O, he lies by the willow tree! + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Hark! the raven flaps his wing + In the briered dell below; + Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing + To the nightmares as they go. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + See! the white moon shines on high; + Whiter is my true-love's shroud, + Whiter than the morning sky, + Whiter than the evening cloud. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Here, upon my true-love's grave + Shall the barren flowers be laid, + Nor one holy saint to save + All the coldness of a maid. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + With my hands I'll bind the briers + Round his holy corse to gre; + Ouphant fairy, light your fires; + Here my body still shall be. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, + Drain my heart's blood all away; + Life and all its good I scorn, + Dance by night, or feast by day. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Water-witches, crowned with reytes, + Bear me to your lethal tide. + I die! I come! my true-love waits. + Thus the damsel spake, and died. + + _Thomas Chatterton._ + + * * * * * + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + Farewell! since nevermore for thee + The sun comes up our earthly skies, + Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be + To some fond hearts and saddened eyes. + + There are who for thy last long sleep + Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore, + Shall weep because thou canst not weep, + And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er. + + Sad thrift of love! the loving breast, + On which the aching head was thrown, + Gave up the weary head to rest, + But kept the aching for its own. + + _Thomas K. Hervey._ + + * * * * * + + +THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. + + They grew in beauty, side by side, + They filled one home with glee,-- + Their graves are severed far and wide, + By mount, and stream, and sea. + + The same fond mother bent at night + O'er each fair sleeping brow; + She had each folded flower in sight,-- + Where are those dreamers now? + + One, 'midst the forests of the West, + By a dark stream is laid,-- + The Indian knows his place of rest, + Far in the cedar shade. + + The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one; + He lies where pearls lie deep; + He was the loved of all, yet none + O'er his low bed may weep. + + One sleeps where southern vines are dressed + Above the noble slain; + He wrapped his colors round his breast, + On a blood-red field of Spain. + + And one,--o'er her the myrtle showers + Its leaves, by soft winds fanned; + She faded 'midst Italian flowers, + The last of that bright band. + + And parted thus they rest, who played + Beneath the same green tree; + Whose voices mingled as they prayed + Around one parent knee! + + They that with smiles lit up the hall, + And cheered with song the hearth,-- + Alas for love! if _thou_ wert all, + And naught beyond, O earth! + + _Felicia Hemans._ + + * * * * * + + +THE HERMIT. + + At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, + And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, + When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, + And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove, + 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, + While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began; + No more with himself or with nature at war, + He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man: + + "Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, + Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? + For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, + And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. + But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,-- + Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn! + O, soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away! + Full quickly they pass,--but they never return. + + "Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, + The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays; + But lately I marked when majestic on high + She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. + Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue + The path that conducts thee to splendor again! + But man's faded glory what change shall renew? + Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain! + + "'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more. + I mourn,--but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; + For morn is approaching your charms to restore, + Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. + Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn,-- + Kind nature the embryo blossom will save; + But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? + O, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave? + + "'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, + That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind, + My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, + Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. + 'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, + 'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee! + Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride; + From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.' + + "And darkness and doubt are now flying away: + No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. + So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, + The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. + See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending, + And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! + On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, + And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." + + _James Beattie._ + + * * * * * + + +O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? + + O why should the spirit of mortal be proud? + Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, + A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, + Man passes from life to his rest in the grave. + + The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, + Be scattered around and together be laid; + And the young and the old, and the low and the high, + Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. + + The infant a mother attended and loved, + The mother that infant's affection who proved, + The husband that mother and infant who blessed, + Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. + + The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, + Shone beauty and pleasure,--her triumphs are by; + And the memory of those who have loved her and praised, + Are alike from the minds of the living erased. + + The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne, + The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, + The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, + Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. + + The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, + The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep, + The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, + Have faded away like the grass that we tread. + + The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, + The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, + The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, + Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. + + So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed + That withers away to let others succeed; + So the multitude comes, even those we behold, + To repeat every tale that has often been told. + + For we are the same that our fathers have been; + We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,-- + We drink the same stream, and we view the same sun, + And run the same course that our fathers have run. + + The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; + From the death that we shrink from our fathers would shrink; + To the life that we cling to they also would cling; + But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. + + They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; + They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; + They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; + They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. + + They died, ay! they died: and we things that are now, + Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, + Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, + Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. + + Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, + We mingle together in sunshine and rain; + And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge, + Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. + + 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, + From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, + From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,-- + O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? + + _William Knox._ + + * * * * * + + +PROGRESS. + + When Liberty lives loud on every lip, + But Freedom moans, + Trampled by nations whose faint footfalls slip + Round bloody thrones; + When, here and there, in dungeon and in thrall, + Or exile pale, + Like torches dying at a funeral, + Brave natures fail; + When Truth, the armed archangel, stretches wide + God's tromp in vain, + And the world, drowsing, turns upon its side + To drowse again;-- + O Man, whose course hath called itself sublime + Since it began, + What art thou in such dying age of time, + As man to man? + + When Love's last wrong hath been forgotten coldly, + As First Love's face; + And, like a rat that comes to wanton boldly + In some lone place, + Once festal, in the realm of light and laughter + Grim Doubt appears, + Whilst weird suggestions from Death's vague Hereafter, + O'er ruined years, + Creep, dark and darker, with new dread to mutter + Through life's long shade, + Yet make no more in the chill breast the flutter + Which once they made: + Whether it be, that all doth at the grave + Round to its term, + That nothing lives in that last darkness, save + The little worm, + Or whether the tired spirit prolong its course + Through realms unseen,-- + Secure, that unknown world cannot be worse + Than this hath been: + Then when thro' Thought's gold chain, so frail and slender, + No link will meet; + When all the broken harps of Language render + No sound that's sweet; + When, like torn books, sad days weigh down each other + I' the dusty shelf;-- + O Man, what art thou, O my friend, my brother, + Even to thyself? + + _Robert Bulwer Lytton._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. + + My mother bore me in the southern wild, + And I am black; but, O, my soul is white! + White as an angel is the English child, + But I am black as if bereaved of light. + + My mother taught me underneath a tree; + And, sitting down before the heat of day, + She took me on her lap, and kisséd me, + And, pointing to the east, began to say:-- + + "Look on the rising sun; there God does live, + And gives his light, and gives his heat away; + And flowers and trees, and beasts and men, receive + Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. + + "And we are put on earth a little space, + That we may learn to bear the beams of love, + And these black bodies and this sunburnt face + Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. + + "For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, + The clouds will vanish; we shall hear his voice, + Saving: 'Come from the grove, my love and care, + And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'" + + Thus did my mother say and kisséd me, + And thus I say to little English boy; + When I from black, and he from white cloud free, + And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, + + I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear + To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; + And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, + And be like him, and he will then love me. + + _William Blake._ + + * * * * * + + +DEATHS FINAL CONQUEST. + + The glories of our birth and state + Are shadows, not substantial things; + There is no armor against fate,-- + Death lays his icy hands on kings; + Sceptre and crown + Must tumble down, + And in the dust be equal made + With the poor crooked scythe and spade. + + Some men with swords may reap the field, + And plant fresh laurels where they kill; + But their strong nerves at last must yield,-- + They tame but one another still; + Early or late + They stoop to fate, + And must give up their murmuring breath, + When they, pale captives, creep to death. + + The garlands wither on your brow,-- + Then boast no more your mighty deeds; + Upon death's purple altar, now, + See where the victor victim bleeds! + All heads must come + To the cold tomb,-- + Only the actions of the just + Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. + + _James Shirley._ + + * * * * * + + +TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. + + Slave of the dark and dirty mine, + What vanity has brought thee here? + How can I love to see thee shine + So bright, whom I have bought so dear? + The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear + For twilight converse, arm in arm; + The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear + When mirth and music wont to charm. + + By Cherical's dark wandering streams, + Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, + Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams + Of Teviot loved while still a child, + Of castled rocks stupendous piled + By Esk or Eden's classic wave, + Where loves of youth and friendship smiled, + Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave! + + Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! + The perished bliss of youth's first prime, + That once so bright on fancy played, + Revives no more in after-time. + Far from my sacred natal clime, + I haste to an untimely grave; + The daring thoughts that soared sublime + Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. + + Slave of the mine, thy yellow light + Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. + A gentle vision comes by night + My lonely widowed heart to cheer: + Her eyes are dim with many a tear, + That once were guiding stars to mine: + Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! + I cannot bear to see thee shine. + + For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, + I left a heart that loved me true! + I crossed the tedious ocean-wave, + To roam in climes unkind and new. + The cold wind of the stranger blew + Chill on my withered heart; the grave + Dark and untimely met my view,-- + And all for thee, vile yellow slave! + + Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock + A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, + Now that his frame the lightning shock + Of sun-rays tipped with death has borne? + From love, from friendship, country, torn, + To memory's fond regrets the prey, + Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! + Go mix thee with thy kindred clay! + + _John Leyden._ + + * * * * * + + +GOING HOME. + + Drawn by horses with decorous feet, + A carriage for one went through the street, + Polished as anthracite out of the mine, + Tossing its plumes so stately and fine, + As nods to the night a Norway pine. + + The passenger lay in Parian rest, + As if, by the sculptor's hand caressed, + A mortal life through the marble stole, + And then till an angel calls the roll + It waits awhile for a human soul. + + He rode in state, but his carriage-fare + Was left unpaid to his only heir; + Hardly a man, from hovel to throne, + Takes to this route in coach of his own, + But borrows at last and travels alone. + + The driver sat in his silent seat; + The world, as still as a field of wheat, + Gave all the road to the speechless twain, + And thought the passenger never again + Should travel that way with living men. + + Not a robin held its little breath, + But sang right on in the face of death; + You never would dream, to see the sky + Give glance for glance to the violet's eye, + That aught between them could ever die. + + A wain bound east met the hearse bound west, + Halted a moment, and passed abreast; + And I verily think a stranger pair + Have never met on a thoroughfare, + Or a dim by-road, or anywhere: + + The hearse as slim and glossy and still + As silken thread at a woman's will, + Who watches her work with tears unshed, + Broiders a grief with needle and thread, + Mourns in pansies and cypress the dead; + + Spotless the steeds in a satin dress, + That run for two worlds the Lord's Express,-- + Long as the route of Arcturus's ray, + Brief as the Publican's trying to pray, + No other steeds by no other way + Could go so far in a single day. + + From wagon broad and heavy and rude + A group looking out from a single hood; + Striped with the flirt of a heedless lash, + Dappled and dimmed with many a splash, + "Gathered" behind like an old calash. + + It made you think of a schooner's sail + Mildewed with weather, tattered by gale, + Down "by the run" from mizzen and main,-- + That canvas mapped with stipple and stain + Of Western earth and the prairie rain. + + The watch-dog walked in his ribs between + The hinder wheels, with sleepy mien; + A dangling pail to the axle slung; + Astern of the wain a manger hung,-- + A schooner's boat by the davits swung. + + The white-faced boys sat three in a row, + With eyes of wonder and heads of tow; + Father looked sadly over his brood; + Mother just lifted a flap of the hood; + All saw the hearse,--and two understood. + + They thought of the one-eyed cabin small, + Hid like a nest in the grasses tall, + Where plains swept boldly off in the air, + Grooved into heaven everywhere,-- + So near the stars' invisible stair + + That planets and prairie almost met,-- + Just cleared its edges as they set! + They thought of the level world's "divide," + And their hearts flowed down its other side + To the grave of the little girl that died. + + They thought of childhood's neighborly hills, + With sunshine aprons and ribbons of rills, + That drew so near when the day went down, + Put on a crimson and golden crown, + And sat together in mantles brown; + + The Dawn's red plume in their winter caps, + And Night asleep in their drowsy laps, + Lightening the load of the shouldered wood + By shedding the shadows as they could, + That gathered round where the homestead stood. + + They thought,--that pair in the rugged wain, + Thinking with bosom rather than brain; + They'll never know till their dying day + That what they thought and never could say, + Their hearts throbbed out in an Alpine lay, + The old Waldensian song again; + Thank God for the mountains, and amen! + + The wain gave a lurch, the hearse moved on,-- + A moment or two, and both were gone; + The wain bound east, the hearse bound west, + Both going home, both looking for rest. + The Lord save all, and his name be blest! + + _Benjamin F. Taylor._ + + * * * * * + + +MAN'S MORTALITY. + + Like as the damask rose you see, + Or like the blossoms on the tree, + Or like the dainty flower of May, + Or like the morning of the day, + Or like the sun, or like the shade, + Or like the gourd which Jonas had; + Even such is man, whose thread is spun, + Drawn out and cut, and so is done. + The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, + The flower fades, the morning hasteth, + The sun sets, the shadow flies, + The gourd consumes, and man,--he dies! + + Like to the grass that's newly sprung, + Or like a tale that's new begun, + Or like the bird that's here to-day, + Or like the pearléd dew of May, + Or like an hour, or like a span, + Or like the singing of a swan; + Even such is man, who lives by breath, + Is here, now there, in life and death. + The grass withers, the tale is ended, + The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended, + The hour is short, the span not long, + The swan near death,--man's life is done! + + Like to a bubble in the brook, + Or in a glass much like a look, + Or like a shuttle in a weaver's hand, + Or like the writing on the sand, + Or like a thought, or like a dream, + Or like the gliding of a stream; + Even such is man, who lives by breath, + Is here, now there, in life and death. + The bubble 's out, the look 's forgot, + The shuttle 's flung, the writing 's blot, + The thought is past, the dream is gone, + The water glides,--man's life is done! + + Like to a blaze of fond delight, + Or like a morning clear and bright, + Or like a frost, or like a shower, + Or like the pride of Babel's tower, + Or like the hour that guides the time, + Or like to Beauty in her prime; + Even such is man, whose glory lends + That life a blaze or two, and ends. + The morn 's o'ercast, joy turned to pain, + The frost is thawed, dried up the rain, + The tower falls, the hour is run, + The beauty lost,--man's life is done! + + Like to an arrow from the bow, + Or like swift course of waterflow, + Or like that time 'twixt flood and ebb, + Or like the spider's tender web, + Or like a race, or like a goal, + Or like the dealing of a dole; + Even such is man, whose brittle state + Is always subject unto Fate. + The arrow 's shot, the flood soon spent, + The time 's no time, the web soon rent, + The race soon run, the goal soon won, + The dole soon dealt,--man's life is done! + + Like to the lightning from the sky, + Or like a post that quick doth hie, + Or like a quaver in a short song, + Or like a journey three days long, + Or like the snow when summer 's come, + Or like the pear, or like the plum; + Even such is man, who heaps up sorrow, + Lives but this day, and dies to-morrow. + The lightning 's past, the post must go, + The song is short, the journey's so, + The pear doth rot, the plum doth fall, + The snow dissolves,--and so must all! + + _Simon Wastel._ + + * * * * * + + +LIFE. + + Like to the falling of a star, + Or as the flights of eagles are, + Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, + Or silver drops of morning dew, + Or like a wind that chafes the flood, + Or bubbles which on water stood; + Even such is man, whose borrowed light + Is straight called in, and paid to-night. + The wind blows out, the bubble dies, + The spring entombed in autumn lies, + The dew dries up, the star is shot, + The flight is past,--and man forgot! + + _Henry King._ + + * * * * * + + +A LAMENT. + + O World! O Life! O Time! + On whose last steps I climb, + Trembling at that where I had stood before; + When will return the glory of your prime? + No more,--O nevermore! + + Out of the day and night + A joy has taken flight: + Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar + Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight + No more,--O nevermore! + + _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ + + * * * * * + + +LIFE. + + Life! I know not what thou art, + But know that thou and I must part; + And when, or how, or where we met, + I own to me's a secret yet. + + Life! we've been long together, + Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; + 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear, + Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; + Then steal away, give little warning, + Choose thine own time, + Say not Good Night,--but in some brighter clime + Bid me Good Morning. + + _Anna Lætitia Barbauld._ + + * * * * * + + +TITHONUS. + + The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, + The vapors weep their burden to the ground, + Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, + And after many a summer dies the swan. + Me only cruel immortality + Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, + Here at the quiet limit of the world, + A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream + The ever-silent spaces of the east, + Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. + + Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man,-- + So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, + Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed + To his great heart none other than a god! + I asked thee, "Give me immortality." + Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, + Like wealthy men who care not how they give. + But thy strong Hours indignant worked their wills, + And beat me down and marred and wasted me, + And though they could not end me, left me maimed + To dwell in presence of immortal youth, + Immortal age beside immortal youth, + And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, + Thy beauty, make amends, though even now, + Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, + Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears + To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: + Why should a man desire in any way + To vary from the kindly race of men, + Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance + Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? + + A soft air fans the cloud apart: there comes + A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. + Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals + From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, + And bosom beating with a heart renewed. + Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom, + Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, + Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team + Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, + And shake the darkness from their loosened manes, + And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. + + Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful + In silence, then before thine answer given + Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek. + + Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, + And make me tremble lest a saying learnt + In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? + "The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts." + + Ay me! ay me! with what another heart + In days far-off, and with what other eyes + I used to watch--if I be he that watched-- + The lucid outline forming round thee; saw + The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; + Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood + Glow with the glow that slowly crimsoned all + Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, + Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm + With kisses balmier than half-opening buds + Of April, and could hear the lips that kissed + Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, + Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, + While Ilion like a mist rose into towers. + + Yet hold me not forever in thine East: + How can my nature longer mix with thine? + Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold + Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet + Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam + Floats up from those dim fields about the homes + Of happy men that have the power to die, + And grassy barrows of the happier dead. + Release me, and restore me to the ground: + Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave; + Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; + I earth in earth forget these empty courts, + And thee returning on thy silver wheels. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS. + +(From the Irish.) + + O woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let yourtongue thus rattle! + O don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may have cattle! + I've seen--and here's my hand to you, I only say what's true-- + A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as you. + + Good luck to you! don't scorn the poor, and don't be their despiser; + For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser, + And Death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows; + Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman of Three Cows! + + See where Mononia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants,-- + 'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants! + If they were forced to bow to Fate, as every mortal bows, + Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows? + + The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to mourning; + Movrone! for they were banished, with no hope of their returning. + Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were driven to house? + Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman of Three Cows! + + O think of Donnell of the Ships, the chief whom nothing daunted,-- + See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted! + He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder cannot rouse; + Then ask yourself, should you be proud, good Woman of Three Cows? + + O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in + story,-- + Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest glory! + Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and cypress boughs, + And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman of Three Cows! + + The O'Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest, + Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's best and oldest; + Yet who so great as they of yore, in battle or carouse? + Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows! + + Your neighbor's poor, and you it seems are big with vain ideas, + Because, forsooth, you've got three cows,--one more, I see, than + she has; + That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows, + But if you're strong be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows! + + Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up your scornful + bearing, + And I'm too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak I'm wearing, + If I had but four cows myself, even though you were my spouse, + I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows! + + _James Clarence Mangan._ + + * * * * * + + +A FAREWELL. + + My fairest child, I have no song to give you; + No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; + Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you + For every day. + + Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; + Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: + And so make life, death, and that vast forever + One grand sweet song. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. + + Thou still unravished bride of quietness! + Thou foster-child of silence and slow time! + Sylvan historian, who canst thus express + A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme! + What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape + Of deities or mortals, or of both, + In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? + What men or gods are these? What maidens loath? + What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? + What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? + + Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard + Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on,-- + Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, + Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone! + Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave + Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; + Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, + Though winning near the goal; yet do not grieve,-- + She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss; + Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair! + + Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed + Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu: + And happy melodist, unweariéd, + Forever piping songs forever new; + More happy love! more happy, happy love! + Forever warm and still to be enjoyed, + Forever panting, and forever young; + All breathing human passion far above, + That leaves a heart high sorrowful and cloyed, + A burning forehead and a parching tongue. + + Who are these coming to the sacrifice? + To what green altar, O mysterious priest, + Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, + And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed? + What little town by river or sea-shore, + Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, + Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? + Ah, little town, thy streets forevermore + Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell + Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. + + O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede + Of marble men and maidens overwrought, + With forest branches and the trodden weed! + Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought, + As doth eternity. Cold pastoral! + When old age shall this generation waste, + Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe + Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st + "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"--that is all + Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. + + _John Keats._ + + * * * * * + + +LINES ON A SKELETON. + + Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull + Once of ethereal spirit full + This narrow cell was Life's retreat, + This space was Thought's mysterious seat. + What beauteous visions filled this spot, + What dreams of pleasure long forgot, + Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, + Have left one trace of record here. + + Beneath this mouldering canopy + Once shone the bright and busy eye, + But start not at the dismal void,-- + If social love that eye employed, + If with no lawless fire it gleamed, + But through the dews of kindness beamed, + That eye shall be forever bright + When stars and sun are sunk in night. + + Within this hollow cavern hung + The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; + If Falsehood's honey it disdained, + And when it could not praise was chained; + If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, + Yet gentle concord never broke,-- + This silent tongue shall plead for thee + When Time unveils Eternity! + + Say, did these fingers delve the mine? + Or with the envied rubies shine? + To hew the rock or wear a gem + Can little now avail to them. + But if the page of Truth they sought, + Or comfort to the mourner brought, + These hands a richer meed shall claim + Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame. + + Avails it whether bare or shod + These feet the paths of duty trod? + If from the bowers of Ease they fled, + To seek Affliction's humble shed; + If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, + And home to Virtue's cot returned,-- + These feet with angel wings shall vie, + And tread the palace of the sky! + + _Anonymous._ + + * * * * * + + +VIRTUE. + + Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, + The bridal of the earth and sky, + Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night, + For thou must die. + + Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, + Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, + Thy root is ever in its grave, + And thou must die. + + Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, + A box where sweets compacted lie, + My music shows you have your closes, + And all must die. + + Only a sweet and virtuous soul, + Like seasoned timber, never gives; + But when the whole world turns to coal, + Then chiefly lives. + + _George Herbert._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LIE. + + Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand; + Fear not to touch the best; + The truth shall be thy warrant: + Go, since I needs must die, + And give them all the lie. + + Go tell the Court it glows + And shines like rotten wood; + Go tell the Church it shows + What's good, but does no good: + If Court and Church reply, + Give Court and Church the lie. + + Tell Potentates they live + Acting, but oh! their actions; + Not loved, unless they give, + Nor strong but by their factions: + If Potentates reply, + Give Potentates the lie. + + Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition; + Their practice only hate: + And if they do reply, + Then give them all the lie. + + Tell those that brave it most + They beg for more by spending, + Who in their greatest cost + Seek nothing but commending: + And if they make reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + + Tell Zeal it lacks devotion; + Tell Love it is but lust; + Tell Time it is but motion; + Tell Flesh it is but dust: + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + + Tell Age it daily wasteth; + Tell Honor how it alters; + Tell Beauty that it blasteth; + Tell Favor that she falters: + And as they do reply, + Give every one the lie. + + Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In fickle points of niceness; + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in over-wiseness: + And if they do reply, + Then give them both the lie. + + Tell Physic of her boldness; + Tell Skill it is pretension; + Tell Charity of coldness; + Tell Law it is contention: + And if they yield reply, + Then give them all the lie. + + Tell Fortune of her blindness; + Tell Nature of decay; + Tell Friendship of unkindness; + Tell Justice of delay: + And if they do reply, + Then give them still the lie. + + Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming; + Tell Schools they lack profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming: + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + + Tell Faith it's fled the city; + Tell how the country erreth; + Tell, Manhood shakes off pity; + Tell, Virtue least preferreth: + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + + So when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing; + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing: + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill! + + _Sir Walter Raleigh._ + + * * * * * + + +TWO WOMEN. + + The shadows lay along Broadway, + 'Twas near the twilight-tide, + And slowly there a lady fair + Was walking in her pride. + Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, + Walked spirits at her side. + + Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, + And Honor charmed the air; + And all astir looked kind on her, + And called her good as fair,-- + For all God ever gave to her + She kept with chary care. + + She kept with care her beauties rare + From lovers warm and true, + For her heart was cold to all but gold, + And the rich came not to woo,-- + But honored well are charms to sell, + If priests the selling do. + + Now walking there was one more fair,-- + A slight girl, lily-pale; + And she had unseen company + To make the spirit quail,-- + 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, + And nothing could avail. + + No mercy now can clear her brow + For this world's peace to pray; + For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, + Her woman's heart gave way!-- + But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven + By man is cursed alway! + + _Nathaniel Parker Willis._ + + * * * * * + + +THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. + + Tread softly,--bow the head,-- + In reverent silence bow,-- + No passing-bell doth toll, + Yet an immortal soul + Is passing now. + + Stranger, however great, + With lowly reverence bow; + There's one in that poor shed-- + One by that paltry bed-- + Greater than thou. + + Beneath that beggar's roof, + Lo! Death doth keep his state. + Enter, no crowds attend; + Enter, no guards defend + _This_ palace gate. + + That pavement, damp and cold, + No smiling courtiers tread; + One silent woman stands, + Lifting with meagre hands + A dying head. + + No mingling voices sound,-- + An infant wail alone; + A sob suppressed,--again + That short deep gasp, and then-- + The parting groan. + + O change! O wondrous change! + Burst are the prison bars,-- + This moment _there_ so low, + So agonized, and now + Beyond the stars. + + O change! stupendous change! + There lies the soulless clod; + The sun eternal breaks, + The new immortal wakes,-- + Wakes with his God. + + _Caroline Bowles Southey._ + + * * * * * + + +ON A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE IN A STORM. + + I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile! + Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: + I saw thee every day; and all the while + Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. + + So pure the sky, so quiet was the air, + So like, so very like was day to day, + Whene'er I looked, thy image still was there; + It trembled, but it never passed away. + + How perfect was the calm! It seemed no sleep, + No mood which season takes away or brings: + I could have fancied that the mighty deep + Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. + + Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand + To express what then I saw, and add the gleam, + The light that never was on sea or land, + The consecration and the poet's dream,-- + + I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile, + Amid a world how different from this! + Beside a sea that could not cease to smile, + On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. + + A picture had it been of lasting ease, + Elysian quiet without toil or strife; + No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, + Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. + + Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, + Such picture would I at that time have made, + And seen the soul of truth in every part, + A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. + + So once it would have been,--'tis so no more. + I have submitted to a new control; + A power has gone which nothing can restore, + A deep distress hath humanized my soul. + + Not for a moment could I now behold + A smiling sea, and be what I have been; + The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; + This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. + + Then, Beaumont, friend, who would have been the friend, + If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, + This work of thine I blame not, but commend, + This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. + + O, 'tis a passionate work! yet wise and well, + Well chosen is the spirit that is here; + That hulk which labors in the deadly swell, + This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear. + + And this huge castle, standing here sublime, + I love to see the look with which it braves, + Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time, + The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. + + Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone, + Housed in a dream at distance from the kind! + Such happiness, wherever it be known, + Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind. + + But welcome, fortitude and patient cheer, + And frequent sights of what is to be borne, + Such sights, or worse, as are before me here: + Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. + + _William Wordsworth._ + + * * * * * + + +THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. + + What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? + Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!-- + Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells, + Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain!-- + Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea! + We ask not such from thee. + + Yet more, the depths have more!--what wealth untold, + Far down and shining through their stillness lies! + Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, + Won from ten thousand royal argosies!-- + Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! + Earth claims not these again. + + Yet more, the depths have more!--thy waves have rolled + Above the cities of a world gone by! + Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, + Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.-- + Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play! + Man yields them to decay. + + Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! + High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! + They hear not now the booming waters roar, + The battle-thunders will not break their rest.-- + Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! + Give back the true and brave! + + Give back the lost and lovely!--those for whom + The place was kept at board and hearth so long, + The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, + And the vain yearning woke midst festal song! + Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,-- + But all is not thine own. + + To thee the love of woman hath gone down, + Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, + O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown; + Yet must thou hear a voice,--Restore the dead! + Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!-- + Restore the dead, thou sea! + + _Felicia Hemans._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CLOUD. + + A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, + A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; + Long had I watched the glory moving on, + O'er the still radiance of the lake below: + Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, + E'en in its very motion there was rest, + While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, + Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. + Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, + To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, + And by the breath of mercy made to roll + Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, + While to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, + And tells to man his glorious destinies. + + _John Wilson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. + + This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign, + Sails the unshadowed main,-- + The venturous bark that flings + On the sweet summer wind its purple wings + In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, + And coral reefs lie bare, + Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. + + Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; + Wrecked is the ship of pearl! + And every chambered cell + Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell, + As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, + Before thee lies revealed,-- + Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. + + Year after year beheld the silent toil + That spread his lustrous coil: + Still, as the spiral grew, + He left the past year's dwelling for the new, + Stole with soft step its shining archway through, + Built up its idle door, + Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. + + Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, + Child of the wandering sea, + Cast from her lap, forlorn! + From thy dead lips a clearer note is born + Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn! + While on mine ear it rings, + Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: + + Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, + As the swift seasons roll! + Leave thy low-vaulted past! + Let each new temple, nobler than the last, + Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, + Till thou at length art free, + Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + * * * * * + + +ST. AGNES. + + Deep on the convent-roof the snows + Are sparkling to the moon: + My breath to heaven like vapor goes: + May my soul follow soon! + The shadows of the convent-towers + Slant down the snowy sward, + Still creeping with the creeping hours + That lead me to my Lord: + Make Thou my spirit pure and clear + As are the frosty skies, + Or this first snowdrop of the year + That in my bosom lies. + + As these white robes are soiled and dark, + To yonder shining ground; + As this pale taper's earthly spark, + To yonder argent round; + So shows my soul before the Lamb, + My spirit before Thee; + So in mine earthly house I am, + To that I hope to be. + Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, + Through all yon starlight keen, + Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, + In raiment white and clean. + + He lifts me to the golden doors; + The flashes come and go; + All heaven bursts her starry floors, + And strews her lights below, + And deepens on and up! the gates + Roll back, and far within + For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, + To make me pure of sin. + The sabbaths of Eternity, + One sabbath deep and wide,-- + A light upon the shining sea,-- + The Bridegroom with his bride! + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +A CHRISTMAS HYMN. + + It was the calm and silent night! + Seven hundred years and fifty-three + Had Rome been growing up to might, + And now was queen of land and sea. + No sound was heard of clashing wars,-- + Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain: + Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars + Held undisturbed their ancient reign, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago. + + 'Twas in the calm and silent night! + The senator of haughty Rome, + Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, + From lordly revel rolling home; + Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell + His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; + What recked the Roman what befell + A paltry province far away, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago? + + Within that province far away + Went plodding home a weary boor; + A streak of light before him lay, + Fallen through a half-shut stable-door + Across his path. He passed,--for naught + Told what was going on within; + How keen the stars, his only thought,-- + The air how calm, and cold, and thin, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + O, strange indifference! low and high + Drowsed over common joys and cares; + The earth was still,--but knew not why; + The world was listening, unawares. + How calm a moment may precede + One that shall thrill the world forever! + To that still moment, none would heed, + Man's doom was linked no more to sever,-- + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + It is the calm and solemn night! + A thousand bells ring out, and throw + Their joyous peals abroad, and smite + The darkness,--charmed and holy now! + The night that erst no name had worn, + To it a happy name is given; + For in that stable lay, new-born, + The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + _Alfred Domett._ + + * * * * * + + +MY SLAIN. + + This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee, + This amber-haired, four-summered little maid, + With her unconscious beauty troubleth me, + With her low prattle maketh me afraid. + Ah, darling! when you cling and nestle so + You hurt me, though you do not see me cry, + Nor hear the weariness with which I sigh, + For the dear babe I killed so long ago. + I tremble at the touch of your caress; + I am not worthy of your innocent faith; + I who with whetted knives of worldliness + Did put my own child-heartedness to death, + Beside whose grave I pace forevermore, + Like desolation on a shipwrecked shore. + + There is no little child within me now, + To sing back to the thrushes, to leap up + When June winds kiss me, when an apple bough + Laughs into blossoms, or a buttercup + Plays with the sunshine, or a violet + Dances in the glad dew. Alas! alas! + The meaning of the daisies in the grass + I have forgotten; and if my cheeks are wet + It is not with the blitheness of the child, + But with the bitter sorrow of sad years. + O moaning life, with life irreconciled; + O backward-looking thought, O pain, O tears, + For us there is not any silver sound + Of rhythmic wonders springing from the ground. + + Woe worth the knowledge and the bookish lore + Which makes men mummies, weighs out every grain + Of that which was miraculous before, + And sneers the heart down with the scoffing brain. + Woe worth the peering, analytic days + That dry the tender juices in the breast, + And put the thunders of the Lord to test, + So that no marvel must be, and no praise, + Nor any God except Necessity. + What can ye give my poor, starved life in lieu + Of this dead cherub which I slew for ye? + Take back your doubtful wisdom, and renew + My early foolish freshness of the dunce, + Whose simple instincts guessed the heavens at once. + + _Richard Realf._ + + * * * * * + + +THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. + + Could we but know + The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, + Where lie those happier hills and meadows low,-- + Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil + Aught of that country could we surely know, + Who would not go? + + Might we but hear + The hovering angels' high imagined chorus, + Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear, + One radiant vista of the realm before us,-- + With one rapt moment given to see and hear, + Ah, who would fear? + + Were we quite sure + To find the peerless friend who left us lonely, + Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, + To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only,-- + This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, + Who would endure? + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + * * * * * + + +MY PSALM. + + I mourn no more my vanished years; + Beneath a tender rain, + An April rain of smiles and tears, + My heart is young again. + + The west-winds blow, and, singing low, + I hear the glad streams run: + The windows of my soul I throw + Wide open to the sun. + + No longer forward nor behind + I look in hope and fear; + But grateful take the good I find, + The best of now and here. + + I plough no more a desert land, + To harvest weed and tare; + The manna dropping from God's hand + Rebukes my painful care. + + I break my pilgrim-staff, I lay + Aside the toiling oar; + The angel sought so far away + I welcome at my door. + + The airs of spring may never play + Among the ripening corn, + Nor freshness of the flowers of May + Blow through the autumn morn; + + Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look + Through fringéd lids to heaven; + And the pale aster in the brook + Shall see its image given; + + The woods shall wear their robes of praise, + The south-wind softly sigh, + And sweet calm days in golden haze + Melt down the amber sky. + + Not less shall manly deed and word + Rebuke an age of wrong: + The graven flowers that wreathe the sword + Make not the blade less strong. + + But smiting hands shall learn to heal, + To build as to destroy; + Nor less my heart for others feel, + That I the more enjoy. + + All as God wills, who wisely heeds + To give or to withhold, + And knoweth more of all my needs + Than all my prayers have told! + + Enough that blessings undeserved + Have marked my erring track; + That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved + His chastening turned me back; + + That more and more a Providence + Of love is understood, + Making the springs of time and sense, + Sweet with eternal good; + + That death seems but a covered way + Which opens into light, + Wherein no blinded child can stray + Beyond the Father's sight; + + That care and trial seem at last, + Through Memory's sunset air, + Like mountain ranges overpast, + In purple distance fair; + + That all the jarring notes of life + Seem blending in a psalm, + And all the angles of its strife + Slow rounding into calm. + + And so the shadows fell apart, + And so the west-winds play; + And all the windows of my heart + I open to the day. + + _John Greenleaf Whittier._ + + * * * * * + + +ENTICED. + + I. + + With what clear guile of gracious love enticed, + I follow forward, as from room to room, + Through doors that open into light from gloom, + To find, and lose, and find again the Christ! + + He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door; + Without he stands, and asks to enter in: + Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin? + Will he but knock and ask, and nothing more? + + He knows what ways I take to shut my heart, + And if he will he can himself undo + My foolish fastenings, or by force break through, + Nor wait till I fulfil my needless part. + + But nay, he will not choose to enter so,-- + He will not be my guest without consent, + Nor, though I say "Come in," is he content; + I must arise and ope, or he will go. + + He shall not go; I do arise and ope,-- + "Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup with me, + O blesséd guest, and let me sup with thee,"-- + Where is the door? for in this dark I grope, + + And cannot find it soon enough; my hand, + Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key I need, + And trembles, shaken with its eager heed; + No other key will answer my demand. + + The door between is some command undone; + Obedience is the key that slides the bar, + And lets him in, who stands so near, so far; + The doors are many, but the key is one. + + Which door, dear Lord? knock, speak, that I may know; + Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice,-- + O, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice, + Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go. + + Full lief and soon this door would open too, + If once my key might find the narrow slit + Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hit,-- + But lo! one little ray that glimmers through, + + Not spreading light, but lighting to the light,-- + Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be slow, + One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, so,-- + How small, how great, the change from dark to bright! + + II. + + Now he is here, I seem no longer here! + This place of light is not my chamber dim, + It is not he with me, but I with him, + And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer. + + I was borne onward at his greeting,--he + Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone; + Drawing him hither, I was thither drawn, + Scarce welcoming him to hear him welcome me! + + I lie upon the bosom of my Lord, + And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby; + The tune so sweet, I have no need to try, + But rest and trust, and beat the perfect chord. + + A little while I lie upon his heart, + Feasting on love, and loving there to feast, + And then, once more, the shadows are increased + Around me, and I feel my Lord depart. + + Again alone, but in a farther place + I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign; + Again I hear the same sweet plea divine, + And suit, outside, of hospitable grace. + + This is his guile,--he makes me act the host + To shelter him, and lo! he shelters me; + Asking for alms, he summons me to be + A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost. + + So, on and on, through many an opening door + That gladly opens to the key I bring, + From brightening court to court of Christ, my King, + Hope-led, love-fed, I journey evermore. + + At last I trust these changing scenes will cease; + There is a court, I hear, where he abides; + No door beyond, that further glory hides.-- + My host at home, all change is changed to peace. + + _William C. Wilkinson._ + + * * * * * + + +WEARINESS. + + O little feet! that such long years + Must wander on through hopes and fears, + Must ache and bleed beneath your load; + I, nearer to the wayside Inn, + Where toil shall cease and rest begin, + Am weary, thinking of your road! + + O little hands! that weak or strong + Have still to serve or rule so long, + Have still so long to give or ask; + I, who so much with book and pen + Have toiled among my fellow-men, + Am weary, thinking of your task. + + O little hearts! that throb and beat + With such impatient feverish heat, + Such limitless and strong desires; + Mine that so long has glowed and burned, + With passions into ashes turned, + Now covers and conceals its fires. + + O little souls! as pure and white + And crystalline as rays of light + Direct from heaven, their source divine; + Refracted through the mist of years, + How red my setting sun appears, + How lurid looks this soul of mine! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +TOUJOURS AMOUR. + + Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin, + At what age does love begin? + Your blue eyes have scarcely seen + Summers three, my fairy queen, + But a miracle of sweets, + Soft approaches, sly retreats, + Show the little archer there, + Hidden in your pretty hair; + When didst learn a heart to win? + Prithee tell me, Dimple Chin! + "Oh!" the rosy lips reply, + "I can't tell you if I try. + 'Tis so long I can't remember: + Ask some younger lass than I." + + Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face, + Do your heart and head keep pace? + When does hoary Love expire, + When do frosts put out the fire? + Can its embers burn below + All that chill December snow? + Care you still soft hands to press, + Bonny heads to smooth and bless? + When does Love give up the chase? + Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face! + "Ah!" the wise old lips reply, + "Youth may pass and strength may die; + But of Love I can't foretoken: + Ask some older sage than I!" + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + * * * * * + + +THE VOICELESS. + + We count the broken lyres that rest + Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, + But o'er their silent sister's breast + The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? + A few can touch the magic string, + And noisy Fame is proud to win them; + Alas for those who never sing, + But die with all their music in them! + + Nay, grieve not for the dead alone + Whose song has told their hearts' sad story; + Weep for the voiceless, who have known + The cross without the crown of glory! + Not where Leucadian breezes sweep + O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, + But where the glistening night-dews weep + O'er nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. + + O hearts that break and give no sign + Save whitening lip and fading tresses, + Till Death pours out his cordial wine, + Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses,-- + If singing breath or echoing chord + To every hidden pang were given, + What endless melodies were poured, + As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + * * * * * + + +EPILOGUE. + + + 'Tis pleasant business making books, + When other people furnish brains; + Like finding them in running brooks,-- + The pleasure, minus all the pains! + They tell us Wordsworth once declared + That he could, if he had the mind, + Write plays like those of Avon's bard; + Whereat the stammering Lamb rejoined, + "S-s-s-s-s-so you see, + That all he wanted was the mind!" + O gentle Wordsworth, to deride + Thy simple speech I'm not inclined; + For these good friends, and thou beside, + Have freely lent me of their mind. + I've Shakespeare's point, and Burns's fire, + And Bulwer's own gentility, + And Elia's meekness, yet aspire + To Pope's infallibility. + I've made myself at home with Holmes; + I'm in two Taylors' garments dressed; + Campbell has told his rhymes for me, + And Shelley shelled out like the rest, + And Hood put on his thinking-cap, + And Goldsmith beaten out his best. + I've pilfered Alfred's laureate strains, + And boldly counted Henry's chickens, + And drained Harte's blood from his best veins, + And stol'n from Dickens like the dickens; + Of Hogg I have not gone the whole, + But of three Proctors tithes demanded, + And from a Miller taken toll, + And plucked a Reade, to do as Pan did. + I've beaten Beattie like a tree + That sheds its fruit for every knocker, + Nor let Sir Walter go Scott free, + And filched a shot from Frederick's Locker. + The ladies, too--God bless them all!-- + What pieces of their minds I've taken! + It would Achilles' self appall, + If hiding here to save his bacon. + By Hawthorne's genius hedged about, + And deep in Browning's brownest study, + This is the sure retreat, no doubt, + From critics' favors, fair or muddy. + Ah, How it Reads, How well it looks!-- + What one May call a death to pains!-- + This pleasant way of making books, + With clever folks to furnish brains! + + NEW YORK, July, 1875. + + * * * * * + + + + +INDEX OF FIRST LINES. + + + A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun 213 + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! 52 + Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you 20 + Ah! my heart is weary waiting 91 + All houses wherein men have lived and died 73 + As an unperfect actor on the stage 50 + As ships becalmed at eve, that lay 69 + A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed 132 + As upland fields were sunburnt brown 43 + At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still 175 + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead 161 + Before I trust my fate to thee 46 + Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull 201 + Between the dark and the daylight 152 + Bird of the wilderness 104 + Break, break, break 53 + By the waters of Life we sat together 84 + Close his eyes; his work is done! 134 + Come, all ye jolly shepherds 30 + Come in the evening, or come in the morning 35 + Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer 46 + Could we but know 220 + Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas 167 + Deep on the convent-roof the snows 215 + Drawn by horses with decorous feet 185 + Eyes which can but ill define 88 + Farewell! since nevermore for thee 173 + Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea 112 + From Stirling castle we had seen 93 + "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried 130 + God makes sech nights, all white an' still 26 + Go, Soul, the body's guest 204 + Green be the turf above thee 169 + Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 106 + He clasps the crag with hookéd hands 105 + He is gone on the mountain 133 + Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling 168 + He wiled me through the furzy croft 59 + Ho! pretty page with the dimpled chin 115 + Ho, sailor of the sea! 150 + How sleep the brave who sink to rest 139 + I arise from dreams of thee 42 + I cannot make him dead! 154 + I fill this cup to one made up 21 + I have had playmates, I have had companions 66 + I heard the trailing garments of the night 103 + I mourn no more my vanished years 221 + I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary 158 + I'm wearin' awa', John 156 + In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 16 + I remember, I remember 72 + I saw her once,--so freshly fair 67 + I saw him once before 117 + It was the calm and silent night 217 + I wandered by the brookside 36 + I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile! 209 + Just for a handful of silver he left us 119 + Life! I know not what thou art 193 + Like as the damask rose you see 189 + Like to the falling of a star 192 + Look at me with thy large brown eyes 149 + Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! 51 + Maid of Athens, ere we part 45 + Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning 32 + My boat is on the shore 110 + My fairest child, I have no song to give you 199 + My glass shall not persuade me I am old 49 + My heid is like to rend, Willie 56 + My life is like the summer rose 113 + My mother bore me in the southern wild 181 + Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew 104 + No bird-song floated down the hill 82 + O, a dainty plant is the ivy green 90 + Oft in the stilly night 64 + O little feet! that such long years 227 + O Mary, go and call the cattle home 102 + O, sing unto my roundelay! 171 + Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered 127 + Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass 140 + Over the river they beckon to me 78 + O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 177 + O Woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let your tongue thus rattle! 196 + O World! O Life! O Time! 192 + Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin 228 + September strews the woodland o'er 63 + Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 50 + She died in beauty,--like a rose 164 + She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps 170 + She walks in beauty like the night 84 + She was a phantom of delight 18 + She was not fair, nor full of grace 165 + Slave of the dark and dirty mine 183 + Sleep sweetly in your humble graves 136 + So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn 123 + Stars of the summer night! 41 + Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 203 + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean 65 + Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde 125 + That which her slender waist confined 23 + The glories of our birth and state 182 + The glow and the glory are plighted 24 + The heath this night must be my bed 124 + The maid who binds her warrior's sash 142 + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year 100 + There sat an old man on a rock 120 + These years! these years! these naughty years! 114 + The shadows lay along Broadway 207 + The splendor falls on castle walls 40 + The sunlight fills the trembling air 86 + The winds that once the Argo bore 144 + The woods decay, the woods decay and fall 193 + They are all gone into the world of light 80 + They grew in beauty, side by side 174 + They sleep so calm and stately 137 + This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling 146 + This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign 214 + This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee 219 + Thou lingering star, with lessening ray 61 + Thou still unravished bride of quietness! 199 + Three fishers went sailing out into the west 143 + Tiger! Tiger! burning bright 96 + 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time 97 + 'Tis pleasant business making books 231 + 'Tis the last rose of summer 111 + To him who in the love of nature holds 75 + Touch us gently, Time! 122 + Tread softly,--bow the head 208 + Weave no more the marriage-chain! 163 + We count the broken lyres that rest 229 + We left behind the painted buoy 13 + We watched her breathing through the night 160 + We were not many,--we who stood 128 + What constitutes a state? 148 + What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? 212 + What was he doing, the great god Pan? 11 + When forty winters shall besiege thy brow 48 + When I consider how my light is spent 143 + When I do count the clock that tells the time 49 + When Liberty lives loud on every lip 179 + When the latest strife is lost, and all is done with 54 + Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? 133 + Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed 71 + With blackest moss the flower-pots 37 + With what clear guile of gracious love enticed 224 + Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 166 + You ask me, why, though ill at ease 126 + + + + + The Riverside Press + _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co._ + _Cambridge, Mass, U.S.A._ + + + + +Little Classics + + + Edited by ROSSITER JOHNSON. Each in one volume, 18mo, $1.00. + The set, in box, $18.00. + + 1. EXILE. + 2. INTELLECT. + 3. TRAGEDY. + 4. LIFE. + 5. LAUGHTER. + 6. LOVE. + 7. ROMANCE. + 8. MYSTERY. + 9. COMEDY. + 10. CHILDHOOD. + 11. HEROISM. + 12. FORTUNE. + 13. NARRATIVE POEMS. + 14 LYRICAL POEMS. + 15. MINOR POEMS. + 16. NATURE. + 17. HUMANITY. + 18. AUTHORS. + + _Sixteenmo Edition._ 18 vols., 16mo, gilt top, $18.00. + (Sold only in sets.) + + A list of the entire contents of the volumes of this + Series will be sent free on application. + + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + Boston and New York. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Poems, by Rossiter Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 34331-8.txt or 34331-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/3/3/34331/ + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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: Minor Poems + Little Classics, Vol. 15 + +Editor: Rossiter Johnson + +Release Date: November 15, 2010 [EBook #34331] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h3>Fifteenth Volume</h3> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<h1>LITTLE CLASSICS</h1> + +<h3>EDITED BY</h3> + +<h2>ROSSITER JOHNSON</h2> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<h2>Minor Poems</h2> +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + + +<h4>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br /> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br /> +1900</h4> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<h5>COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h5> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AE_FOND_KISS"><span class="smcap">Ae Fond Kiss</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td align='right'>52</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_AGE_OF_WISDOM"><span class="smcap">Age of Wisdom, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Makepeace Thackeray</i></td><td align='right'>115</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_ARSENAL_AT_SPRINGFIELD"><span class="smcap">Arsenal at Springfield, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</i></td><td align='right'>146</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ASTARTE"><span class="smcap">Astarte</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Bulwer Lytton</i></td><td align='right'>54</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BETROTHED_ANEW"><span class="smcap">Betrothed Anew</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></td><td align='right'>86</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ON_HIS_BLINDNESS"><span class="smcap">Blindness, On his</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Milton</i></td><td align='right'>143</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_BRAVE_AT_HOME"><span class="smcap">Brave at Home, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Buchanan Read</i></td><td align='right'>142</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BREAK_BREAK_BREAK"><span class="smcap">Break, break, break</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>53</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_BRIDAL_DIRGE"><span class="smcap">Bridal Dirge, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Bryan Waller Procter</i></td><td align='right'>163</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_BROOKSIDE"><span class="smcap">Brookside, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Richard Monckton Milnes</i></td><td align='right'>36</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BUGLE-SONG"><span class="smcap">Bugle-song</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>40</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CAVALIERS_SONG"><span class="smcap">Cavalier's Song, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Motherwell</i></td><td align='right'>132</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CHAMBERED_NAUTILUS"><span class="smcap">Chambered Nautilus, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td align='right'>214</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHANGES"><span class="smcap">Changes</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Bulwer Lytton</i></td><td align='right'>71</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CHILDRENS_HOUR"><span class="smcap">Children's Hour, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</i></td><td align='right'>152</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_CHRISTMAS_HYMN"><span class="smcap">Christmas Hymn, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Dommett</i></td><td align='right'>217</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CLOUD"><span class="smcap">Cloud, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Wilson</i></td><td align='right'>213</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#COME_REST_IN_THIS_BOSOM"><span class="smcap">Come, rest in this bosom</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td align='right'>46</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CORONACH"><span class="smcap">Coronach</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td><td align='right'>133<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 6]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_COURTIN"><span class="smcap">Courtin', The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td align='right'>26</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DAYS_THAT_ARE_NO_MORE"><span class="smcap">Days that are no more, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>65</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DEATH-BED"><span class="smcap">Death-Bed, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td align='right'>160</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DEATH_OF_THE_FLOWERS"><span class="smcap">Death of the Flowers, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Cullen Bryant</i></td><td align='right'>100</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DEATHS_FINAL_CONQUEST"><span class="smcap">Death's Final Conquest</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>James Shirley</i></td><td align='right'>182</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DIRGE_FOR_A_SOLDIER"><span class="smcap">Dirge for a Soldier</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>George Henry Boker</i></td><td align='right'>134</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#JOSEPH_RODMAN_DRAKE"><span class="smcap">Drake, Joseph Rodman</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Fitz-Greene Halleck</i></td><td align='right'>169</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DRIVING_HOME_THE_COWS"><span class="smcap">Driving Home the Cows</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Kate Putnam Osgood</i></td><td align='right'>140</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_EAGLE"><span class="smcap">Eagle, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>105</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ENTICED"><span class="smcap">Enticed</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William C. Wilkinson</i></td><td align='right'>224</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EPILOGUE"><span class="smcap">Epilogue</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>The Editor</i></td><td align='right'>231</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EVELYN_HOPE"><span class="smcap">Evelyn Hope</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td align='right'>161</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FAREWELL2"><span class="smcap">Farewell, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Kingsley</i></td><td align='right'>199</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FAREWELL1"><span class="smcap">Farewell, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>112</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ON_A_GIRDLE"><span class="smcap">Girdle, On a</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Edmund Waller</i></td><td align='right'>23</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#GOING_HOME"><span class="smcap">Going Home</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Benjamin F. Taylor</i></td><td align='right'>185</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_GRAVES_OF_A_HOUSEHOLD"><span class="smcap">Graves of a Household, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Felicia Hemans</i></td><td align='right'>174</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HAUNTED_HOUSES"><span class="smcap">Haunted Houses</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</i></td><td align='right'>73</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_HEALTH"><span class="smcap">Health, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Edward Coate Pinkney</i></td><td align='right'>21</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_HERMIT"><span class="smcap">Hermit, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>James Beattie</i></td><td align='right'>175</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HEROES"><span class="smcap">Heroes</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Edna Dean Proctor</i></td><td align='right'>144</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HIGHLAND_MARY"><span class="smcap">Highland Mary</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td align='right'>166</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HOWS_MY_BOY"><span class="smcap">How's my Boy?</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Sydney Dobell</i></td><td align='right'>150</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HYMN_TO_THE_NIGHT"><span class="smcap">Hymn to the Night</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</i></td><td align='right'>103</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ICHABOD"><span class="smcap">Ichabod</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i></td><td align='right'>123</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_AN_INDIAN_GOLD_COIN"><span class="smcap">Indian Gold Coin, To an</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Leyden</i></td><td align='right'>183</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#IN_MEMORIAM"><span class="smcap">In Memoriam</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas K. Hervey</i></td><td align='right'>173<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 7]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#I_REMEMBER_I_REMEMBER"><span class="smcap">I Remember, I Remember</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td align='right'>72</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_IVY_GREEN"><span class="smcap">Ivy Green, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Dickens</i></td><td align='right'>90</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_KNIGHTS_TOMB"><span class="smcap">Knight's Tomb, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td align='right'>133</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#KUBLA_KHAN"><span class="smcap">Kubla Khan</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td align='right'>16</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_LAMENT"><span class="smcap">Lament, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Percy Bysshe Shelley</i></td><td align='right'>192</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT"><span class="smcap">Lament of the Irish Emigrant</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Lady Dufferin</i></td><td align='right'>158</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAND_OF_LANDS"><span class="smcap">Land of Lands, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>126</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAND_O_THE_LEAL"><span class="smcap">Land o' the Leal, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Lady Nairne</i></td><td align='right'>156</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAST_LEAF"><span class="smcap">Last Leaf, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td align='right'>117</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAST_ROSE_OF_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">Last Rose of Summer, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td align='right'>111</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LIE"><span class="smcap">Lie, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Sir Walter Raleigh</i></td><td align='right'>204</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LIFE1"><span class="smcap">Life</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Anna Lætitia Barbauld</i></td><td align='right'>193</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LIFE2"><span class="smcap">Life</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry King</i></td><td align='right'>192</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LINES_ON_A_SKELETON"><span class="smcap">Lines on a Skeleton</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'>201</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LINES_TO_AN_INDIAN_AIR"><span class="smcap">Lines to an Indian Air</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Percy Bysshe Shelley</i></td><td align='right'>42</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LITTLE_BLACK_BOY"><span class="smcap">Little Black Boy, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Blake</i></td><td align='right'>181</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LITTLE_YEARS"><span class="smcap">Little Years, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert T. S. Lowell</i></td><td align='right'>114</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LONG-AGO"><span class="smcap">Long-Ago, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Richard Monckton Milnes</i></td><td align='right'>88</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LOST_LEADER"><span class="smcap">Lost Leader, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td align='right'>119</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LOVE_NOT"><span class="smcap">Love Not</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Caroline Norton</i></td><td align='right'>51</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_LUCASTA"><span class="smcap">Lucasta, To</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Richard Lovelace</i></td><td align='right'>125</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MAID_OF_ATHENS_ERE_WE_PART"><span class="smcap">Maid of Athens, ere we part</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td align='right'>45</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MANGO_TREE"><span class="smcap">Mango Tree, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Kingsley</i></td><td align='right'>59</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MANS_MORTALITY"><span class="smcap">Man's Mortality</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Simon Wastel</i></td><td align='right'>189</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MARIANA"><span class="smcap">Mariana</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>37</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_MARY_IN_HEAVEN"><span class="smcap">Mary in Heaven, To</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Bums</i></td><td align='right'>61<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 8]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MINSTRELS_SONG"><span class="smcap">Minstrel's Song</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Chatterton</i></td><td align='right'>171</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MONTEREY"><span class="smcap">Monterey</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Fenno Hoffman</i></td><td align='right'>128</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_THOMAS_MOORE"><span class="smcap">Moore, Thomas, To</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td align='right'>110</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_MUSICAL_INSTRUMENT"><span class="smcap">Musical Instrument, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</i></td><td align='right'>11</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_CHILD"><span class="smcap">My Child</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Pierpont</i></td><td align='right'>154</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_HEID_IS_LIKE_TO_REND_WILLIE"><span class="smcap">My Heid is like to rend</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Motherwell</i></td><td align='right'>56</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_PSALM"><span class="smcap">My Psalm</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i></td><td align='right'>221</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_SLAIN"><span class="smcap">My Slain</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Richard Realf</i></td><td align='right'>219</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_NICE_CORRESPONDENT"><span class="smcap">Nice Correspondent, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Frederick Locker</i></td><td align='right'>24</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NIGHT_AND_DEATH"><span class="smcap">Night and Death</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Joseph Blanco White</i></td><td align='right'>104</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NOT_FAR_TO_GO"><span class="smcap">Not Far to Go</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Barnes</i></td><td align='right'>43</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE1"><span class="smcap">Ode</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Collins</i></td><td align='right'>139</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE2"><span class="smcap">Ode</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Theodore P. Cook</i></td><td align='right'>137</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE3"><span class="smcap">Ode</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Sir William Jones</i></td><td align='right'>148</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE4"><span class="smcap">Ode</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Timrod</i></td><td align='right'>136</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE_ON_A_GRECIAN_URN"><span class="smcap">Ode on a Grecian Urn</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Keats</i></td><td align='right'>199</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OFT_IN_THE_STILLY_NIGHT"><span class="smcap">Oft in the Stilly Night</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td align='right'>64</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_OLD_FAMILIAR_FACES"><span class="smcap">Old Familiar Faces, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Lamb</i></td><td align='right'>66</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_OLD_MANS_IDYL"><span class="smcap">Old Man's Idyl, An</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Richard Realf</i></td><td align='right'>84</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ON_A_PICTURE_OF_PEEL_CASTLE_IN_A_STORM"><span class="smcap">On a Picture of Peel Castle</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Wordsworth</i></td><td align='right'>209</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OVER_THE_RIVER"><span class="smcap">Over the River</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Nancy Priest Wakefield</i></td><td align='right'>78</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#O_WHY_SHOULD_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MORTAL_BE"><span class="smcap">O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Knox</i></td><td align='right'>177</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_PAUPERS_DEATH-BED"><span class="smcap">Pauper's Death-Bed, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Caroline Bowles Southey</i></td><td align='right'>208</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_PETITION_TO_TIME"><span class="smcap">Petition to Time, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Bryan Waller Procter</i></td><td align='right'>122</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHILIP_MY_KING"><span class="smcap">Philip, my King</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</i></td><td align='right'>149</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PROGRESS"><span class="smcap">Progress</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Robert Bulwer Lytton</i></td><td align='right'>179<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 9]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#QUA_CURSUM_VENTUS"><span class="smcap">Qua Cursum Ventus</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Arthur Hugh Clough</i></td><td align='right'>69</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_RIVER_PATH"><span class="smcap">River Path, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i></td><td align='right'>82</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ST_AGNES"><span class="smcap">St. Agnes</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>215</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SANDS_OF_DEE"><span class="smcap">Sands of Dee, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Kingsley</i></td><td align='right'>102</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SERENADE"><span class="smcap">Serenade</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</i></td><td align='right'>41</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_DIED_IN_BEAUTY"><span class="smcap">She died in beauty</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Doyne Sillery</i></td><td align='right'>164</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_IS_FAR_FROM_THE_LAND"><span class="smcap">She is far from the land</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td align='right'>170</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_WALKS_IN_BEAUTY"><span class="smcap">She walks in beauty</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td align='right'>34</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_WAS_A_PHANTOM_OF_DELIGHT"><span class="smcap">She was a phantom of delight</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Wordsworth</i></td><td align='right'>18</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_WAS_NOT_FAIR_NOR_FULL_OF_GRACE"><span class="smcap">She was not fair, nor full of grace</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Bryan Waller Procter</i></td><td align='right'>165</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SKYLARK"><span class="smcap">Skylark, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>James Hogg</i></td><td align='right'>104</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_THE_SKYLARK"><span class="smcap">Skylark, To the</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Percy Bysshe Shelley</i></td><td align='right'>106</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SLANTEN_LIGHT_O_FALL"><span class="smcap">Slanten Light o' Fall, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Barnes</i></td><td align='right'>20</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SNOW-STORM"><span class="smcap">Snow-Storm, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Gamage Eastman</i></td><td align='right'>97</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SOLDIERS_DREAM"><span class="smcap">Soldier's Dream, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Campbell</i></td><td align='right'>127</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONG"><span class="smcap">Song,—"The heath this night"</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td><td align='right'>124</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SONG_FOR_SEPTEMBER"><span class="smcap">Song for September, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas William Parsons</i></td><td align='right'>63</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SONG_OF_THE_CAMP"><span class="smcap">Song of the Camp, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td align='right'>130</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONNETS"><span class="smcap">Sonnets</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Shakespeare</i></td><td align='right'>48</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SPINNING-WHEEL_SONG"><span class="smcap">Spinning-Wheel Song, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>John Francis Waller</i></td><td align='right'>32</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#STANZAS"><span class="smcap">Stanzas,—"My life is like the summer rose"</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Richard Henry Wilde</i></td><td align='right'>113</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SUMMER_LONGINGS"><span class="smcap">Summer Longings</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Denis Florence Mac-Carthy</i></td><td align='right'>91</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THANATOPSIS"><span class="smcap">Thanatopsis</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Cullen Bryant</i></td><td align='right'>75<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 10]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THEY_ARE_ALL_GONE"><span class="smcap">They are all gone</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Vaughan</i></td><td align='right'>80</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_THREE_FISHERS"><span class="smcap">Three Fishers, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Kingsley</i></td><td align='right'>143</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_TIGER"><span class="smcap">Tiger, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Blake</i></td><td align='right'>96</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TIMES_CHANGES"><span class="smcap">Time's Changes</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>David Macbeth Moir</i></td><td align='right'>67</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TITHONUS"><span class="smcap">Tithonus</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>193</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOM_BOWLING"><span class="smcap">Tom Bowling</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Charles Dibdin</i></td><td align='right'>168</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOO_LATE1"><span class="smcap">Too Late!</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</i></td><td align='right'>167</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOO_LATE2"><span class="smcap">Too Late</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Fitz-Hugh Ludlow</i></td><td align='right'>120</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOUJOURS_AMOUR"><span class="smcap">Toujours Amour</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></td><td align='right'>228</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_TREASURES_OF_THE_DEEP"><span class="smcap">Treasures of the Deep, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Felicia Hemans</i></td><td align='right'>212</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TWO_WOMEN"><span class="smcap">Two Women</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Nathaniel Parker Willis</i></td><td align='right'>207</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_UNDISCOVERED_COUNTRY"><span class="smcap">Undiscovered Country, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Edmund Clarence Stedman</i></td><td align='right'>220</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#VIRTUE"><span class="smcap">Virtue</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>George Herbert</i></td><td align='right'>203</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_VOICELESS"><span class="smcap">Voiceless, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td align='right'>229</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_VOYAGE"><span class="smcap">Voyage, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td><td align='right'>13</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WEARINESS"><span class="smcap">Weariness</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</i></td><td align='right'>227</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_WELCOME"><span class="smcap">Welcome, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Davis</i></td><td align='right'>35</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WHEN_THE_KYE_COME_HAME"><span class="smcap">When the Kye come Hame</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>James Hogg</i></td><td align='right'>30</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS"><span class="smcap">Woman of Three Cows, The</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>James Clarence Mangan</i></td><td align='right'>196</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_WOMANS_QUESTION"><span class="smcap">Woman's Question, A</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>Adelaide Anne Procter</i></td><td align='right'>46</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#YARROW_UNVISITED"><span class="smcap">Yarrow Unvisited</span></a></td><td align='left'><i>William Wordsworth</i></td><td align='right'>93</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 11]</span></p> + + +<h2><a name="A_MUSICAL_INSTRUMENT" id="A_MUSICAL_INSTRUMENT"></a>A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What was he doing, the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down in the reeds by the river?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreading ruin and scattering ban,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breaking the golden lilies afloat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the dragon-fly on the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the deep cool bed of the river:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The limpid water turbidly ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the broken lilies a-dying lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dragon-fly had fled away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere he brought it out of the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High on the shore sat the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While turbidly flowed the river;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hacked and hewed as a great god can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To prove it fresh from the river.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 12]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He cut it short, did the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(How tall it stood in the river!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steadily from the outside ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And notched the poor dry empty thing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In holes, as he sat by the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Laughed while he sat by the river),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The only way, since gods began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make sweet music, they could succeed."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He blew in power by the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Piercing sweet by the river!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun on the hill forgot to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came back to dream on the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To laugh as he sits by the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making a poet out of a man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the reed which grows nevermore again<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As a reed with the reeds in the river.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 13]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_VOYAGE" id="THE_VOYAGE"></a>THE VOYAGE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We left behind the painted buoy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That tosses at the harbor-mouth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And madly danced our hearts with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As fast we fleeted to the south:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How fresh was every sight and sound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On open main or winding shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We knew the merry world was round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And we might sail forevermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Warm broke the breeze against the brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lady's-head upon the prow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Caught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broad seas swelled to meet the keel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And swept behind: so quick the run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We felt the good ship shake and reel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We seemed to sail into the sun!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How oft we saw the sun retire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And burn the threshold of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall from his ocean-lane of fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sleep beneath his pillared light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How oft the purple-skirted robe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of twilight slowly downward drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As through the slumber of the globe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Again we dashed into the dawn!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">New stars all night above the brim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of waters lightened into view;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 14]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They climbed as quickly, for the rim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Changed every moment as we flew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far ran the naked moon across<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The houseless ocean's heaving field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or flying shone, the silver boss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of her own halo's dusky shield;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The peaky islet shifted shapes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High towns on hills were dimly seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We passed long lines of northern capes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dewy northern meadows green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We came to warmer waves, and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Across the boundless east we drove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where those long swells of breaker sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gloomed the low coast and quivering brine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ashy rains, that spreading made<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fantastic plume or sable pine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By sands and steaming flats, and floods<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hills and scarlet-mingled woods<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glowed for a moment as we passed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O hundred shores of happy climes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How swiftly streamed ye by the bark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times the whole sea burned, at times<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With wakes of fire we tore the dark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times a carven craft would shoot<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From havens hid in fairy bowers,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 15]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With naked limbs and flowers and fruit,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For one fair Vision ever fled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down the waste waters day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still we followed where she led<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In hope to gain upon her flight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her face was evermore unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fixed upon the far sea-line;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But each man murmured, "O my Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I follow till I make thee mine."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now we lost her, now she gleamed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like Fancy made of golden air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now nearer to the prow she seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now high on waves that idly burst<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, the bloodless point reversed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She bore the blade of Liberty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And only one among us,—him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We pleased not,—he was seldom pleased:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw not far: his eyes were dim:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But ours he swore were all diseased.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A ship of fools!" he shrieked in spite,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"A ship of fools!" he sneered and wept.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And overboard one stormy night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He cast his body, and on we swept.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And never sail of ours was furled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor anchor dropped at eve or morn;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 16]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">We loved the glories of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But laws of nature were our scorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For blasts would rise and rave and cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But whence were those that drove the sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the whirlwind's heart of peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to and through the counter-gale?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again to colder climes we came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For still we followed where she led:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now mate is blind and captain lame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And half the crew are sick or dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But blind or lame or sick or sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We follow that which flies before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know the merry world is round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And we may sail forevermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="KUBLA_KHAN" id="KUBLA_KHAN"></a>KUBLA KHAN.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In Xanadu did Kubla Khan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A stately pleasure-dome decree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Alph, the sacred river, ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through caverns measureless to man,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Down to a sunless sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So twice five miles of fertile ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With walls and towers were girdled round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 17]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here were forests ancient as the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But oh! that deep romantic chasm, which slanted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A savage place! as holy and enchanted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By woman wailing for her demon-lover!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mighty fountain momently was forced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It flung up momently the sacred river.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through wood and dale, the sacred river ran,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then reached the caverns measureless to man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ancestral voices prophesying war.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The shadow of the dome of pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Floated midway on the waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where was heard the mingled measure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the fountain and the caves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a miracle of rare device,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A damsel with a dulcimer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In a vision once I saw;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 18]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was an Abyssinian maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on her dulcimer she played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing of Mount Abora.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could I revive within me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her symphony and song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To such a deep delight 'twould win me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, with music loud and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would build that dome in air,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sunny dome! those caves of ice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all who heard should see them there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all should cry, Beware! beware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His flashing eyes, his floating hair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weave a circle round him thrice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And close your eyes with holy dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he on honey-dew hath fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drunk the milk of Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SHE_WAS_A_PHANTOM_OF_DELIGHT" id="SHE_WAS_A_PHANTOM_OF_DELIGHT"></a>SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She was a phantom of delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first she gleamed upon my sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lovely apparition, sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be a moment's ornament;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all things else about her drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From May-time and the cheerful dawn;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 19]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dancing shape, an image gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To haunt, to startle, and waylay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her upon nearer view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit, yet a woman too!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her household motions light and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And steps of virgin-liberty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A countenance in which did meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet records, promises as sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A creature not too bright or good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For human nature's daily food,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For transient sorrows, simple wiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now I see with eye serene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very pulse of the machine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A being breathing thoughtful breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A traveller between life and death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reason firm, the temperate will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A perfect woman, nobly planned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To warn, to comfort, and command;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet a spirit still, and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With something of an angel-light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Wordsworth.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 20]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_SLANTEN_LIGHT_O_FALL" id="THE_SLANTEN_LIGHT_O_FALL"></a>THE SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL.</h2> + +<h4>(DORSET DIALECT.)</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When you wer' christen'd, small an' light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wi' tiny earms o' red an' blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A-hangen in your robe o' white.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vor Christ to teake ye vor his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When harvest-work wer' all a-done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' time brought round October zun,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The slanten light o' Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' I can mind the wind wer' rough,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' you wer' nessled warm enough,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Ithin your smilen mother's earms.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whindlen grass did quiver light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the stubble, feaded white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' if at times the zunlight broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the groun', or on the vo'k,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twer' slanten light o' Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' when we brought ye droo the door<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O' Knapton church, a child o' greace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There cluster'd roun' a'most a score<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O' vo'k to zee your tiny feace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' there we all did veel so proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To zee an op'nen in the cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' then a stream o' light break droo,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 21]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-sheenen brightly down on you,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The slanten light o' Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But now your time's a-come to stan'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In church a-blushen at my zide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while a bridegroom vrom my han'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ha' took ye vor his faithvul bride.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your christen neame we gi'd ye here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Fall did cool the weasten year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' now, agean, we brought ye droo<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The doorway, wi' your surneame new,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In slanten light o' Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' zoo vur, Jeane, your life is feair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' God ha' been your steadvast friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' mid ye have mwore jay than ceare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Vor ever, till your journey's end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now I soon mus' leave your zide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vor you ha' still life's springtide zun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my life, Jeane, is now a-run<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To slanten light o' Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Barnes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_HEALTH" id="A_HEALTH"></a>A HEALTH.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I fill this cup to one made up<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of loveliness alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman, of her gentle sex<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The seeming paragon;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 22]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom the better elements<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And kindly stars have given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form so fair, that, like the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis less of earth than heaven.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her every tone is music's own,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like those of morning birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And something more than melody<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dwells ever in her words;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coinage of her heart are they,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from her lips each flows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one may see the burdened bee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forth issue from the rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Affections are as thoughts to her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The measures of her hours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her feelings have the fragrancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The freshness of young flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovely passions, changing oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So fill her, she appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The image of themselves by turns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The idol of past years!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of her bright face one glance will trace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A picture on the brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of her voice in echoing hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sound must long remain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But memory, such as mine of her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So very much endears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When death is nigh my latest sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will not be life's, but hers.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 23]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I fill this cup to one made up<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of loveliness alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman, of her gentle sex<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The seeming paragon,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her health! and would on earth there stood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some more of such a frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That life might be all poetry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And weariness a name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Edward Coate Pinkney.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ON_A_GIRDLE" id="ON_A_GIRDLE"></a>ON A GIRDLE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That which her slender waist confined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall now my joyful temples bind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No monarch but would give his crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His arms might do what this hath done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was my heaven's extremest sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pale which held that lovely deer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did all within this circle move.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A narrow compass! and yet there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give me but what this ribbon bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take all the rest the sun goes round!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Edmund Waller.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 24]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_NICE_CORRESPONDENT" id="A_NICE_CORRESPONDENT"></a>A NICE CORRESPONDENT!</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The glow and the glory are plighted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To darkness, for evening is come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm alone at my casement, for Pappy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is summoned to dinner at Kew:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm alone, my dear Fred, but I'm happy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm thinking of you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish you were here. Were I duller<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than dull, you'd be dearer than dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am dressed in your favorite color,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dear Fred, how I wish you were here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am wearing my lazuli necklace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The necklace you fastened askew!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was there ever so rude or so reckless<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A darling as you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I want you to come and pass sentence<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On two or three books with a plot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of course you know "Janet's Repentance"?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm reading Sir Waverley Scott,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The story of Edgar and Lucy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How thrilling, romantic, and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master (his bride was a goosey!)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Reminds me of you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To-day, in my ride, I've been crowning<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The beacon; its magic still lures,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 25]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For up there you discoursed about Browning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That stupid old Browning of yours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His vogue and his verve are alarming,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm anxious to give him his due;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A poet as you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I heard how you shot at The Beeches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw how you rode Chanticleer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have read the report of your speeches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And echoed the echoing cheer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a whisper of hearts you are breaking,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I envy their owners, I do!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Small marvel that Fortune is making<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her idol of you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas for the world, and its dearly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bought triumph, and fugitive bliss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I half wish I were merely<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A plain or a penniless miss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But perhaps one is best with a measure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of pelf, and I'm not sorry, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My dearest, to you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your whim is for frolic and fashion,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your taste is for letters and art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This rhyme is the commonplace passion<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That glows in a fond woman's heart.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 26]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay it by in a dainty deposit<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For relics,—we all have a few!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, some day they'll print it, because it<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was written to you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Frederick Locker.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_COURTIN" id="THE_COURTIN"></a>THE COURTIN'.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God makes sech nights, all white an' still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fur'z you can look or listen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All silence an' all glisten.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' peeked in thru' the winder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' there sot Huldy all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Ith no one nigh to hender.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A fireplace filled the room's one side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With half a cord o' wood in,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To bake ye to a puddin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Towards the pootiest, bless her!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' leetle flames danced all about<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The chiny on the dresser.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 27]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' in amongst 'em rusted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ole queen's arm thet Gran'ther Young<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fetched back from Concord busted.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The very room, coz she was in,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seemed warm from floor to ceilin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' she looked full ez rosy agin<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ez the apples she was peelin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On sech a blesséd cretur.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dog-rose blushin' to a brook<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ain't modester nor sweeter.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was six foot o' man, Al,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Clean grit an' human natur';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None couldn't quicker pitch a ton<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor dror a furrer straighter.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All is, he couldn't love 'em.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But long o' her his veins 'ould run<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All crinkly like curled maple,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The side she breshed felt full o' sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ez a south slope in Ap'il.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ez hisn in the choir;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 28]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She <i>knowed</i> the Lord was nigher.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When her new meetin'-bunnet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O' blue eyes sot upon it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thet night, I tell ye, she looked <i>some</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She seemed to 've gut a new soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down to her very shoe-sole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A-raspin' on the scraper,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All ways to once her feelin's flew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like sparks in burnt-up paper.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some doubtfle o' the sekle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But hern went pity Zekle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ez though she wished him furder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' on her apples kep' to work,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Parin' away like murder.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 29]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To say why gals acts so or so,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or don't, 'ould be presumin';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mebby to mean <i>yes</i> an' say <i>no</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Comes nateral to women.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He stood a spell on one foot fust,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then stood a spell on t' other,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' on which one he felt the wust<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Says he, "I'd better call agin";<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Says she, "Think likely, Mister";<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thet last word pricked him like a pin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Huldy sot pale ez ashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All kin' o' smily roun' the lips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' teary roun' the lashes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For she was jes' the quiet kind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose naturs never vary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like streams that keep a summer mind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Snowhid in Jenooary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Too tight for all expressin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell mother see how metters stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gin 'em both her blessin'.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 30]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then her red come back like the tide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down to the Bay o' Fundy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all I know is they was cried<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In meetin' come nex' Sunday.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>James Russell Lowell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_KYE_COME_HAME" id="WHEN_THE_KYE_COME_HAME"></a>WHEN THE KYE COME HAME.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, all ye jolly shepherds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That whistle through the glen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll tell ye o' a secret<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That courtiers dinna ken:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is the greatest bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That the tongue o' man can name?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the kye come hame,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the kye come hame,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the kye come hame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis not beneath the burgonet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor yet beneath the crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not on couch o' velvet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor yet in bed o' down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis beneath the spreading birk,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the glen without the name,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 31]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There the blackbird bigs his nest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the mate he lo'es to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the tapmost bough<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, a happy bird is he!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There he pours his melting ditty,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And love is a' the theme;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he'll woo his bonnie lassie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the blewart bears a pearl,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the daisy turns a pea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bonnie lucken gowan<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has fauldit up his ee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the laverock, frae the blue lift,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Draps down and thinks nae shame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To woo his bonnie lassie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See yonder pawky shepherd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That lingers on the hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His yowes are in the fauld,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his lambs are lying still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet he downa gang to bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For his heart is in a flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet his bonnie lassie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 32]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the little wee bit heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rises high in the breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the little wee bit starn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rises red in the east,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, there's a joy sae dear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That the heart can hardly frame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then since all nature joins<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In this love without alloy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, wha wad prove a traitor<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To nature's dearest joy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wha wad choose a crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wi' its perils an' its fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And miss his bonnie lassie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the kye come hame?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>James Hogg.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SPINNING-WHEEL_SONG" id="THE_SPINNING-WHEEL_SONG"></a>THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close by the window young Eileen is spinning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing."<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 33]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singing all wrong that old song of 'The Coolun'?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a form at the casement,—the form of her true-love,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steals up from her seat,—longs to go, and yet lingers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noiseless and light to the lattice above her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maid steps,—then leaps to the arms of her lover.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slower—and slower—and slower the wheel swings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lower—and lower—and lower the reel rings;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 34]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Francis Waller.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SHE_WALKS_IN_BEAUTY" id="SHE_WALKS_IN_BEAUTY"></a>SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She walks in beauty like the night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of cloudless climes and starry skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all that's best of dark and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Meets in her aspect and her eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus mellowed to that tender light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which heaven to gaudy day denies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One shade the more, one ray the less,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had half impaired the nameless grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which waves in every raven tress,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or softly lightens o'er her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thoughts serenely sweet express<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smiles that win, the tints that glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But tell of days in goodness spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mind at peace with all below,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A heart whose love is innocent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Lord Byron.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 35]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WELCOME" id="THE_WELCOME"></a>THE WELCOME.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come in the evening, or come in the morning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come when you're looked for, or come without warning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, she'll whisper you, "Love, as unchangeably beaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As our souls flow in one down eternity's river."<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 36]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So come in the evening, or come in the morning:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come when you're looked for, or come without warning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Davis.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BROOKSIDE" id="THE_BROOKSIDE"></a>THE BROOKSIDE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wandered by the brookside,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I wandered by the mill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not hear the brook flow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The noisy wheel was still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was no burr of grasshopper,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No chirp of any bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the beating of my own heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was all the sound I heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sat beneath the elm-tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I watched the long, long shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as it grew still longer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I did not feel afraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I listened for a footfall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I listened for a word,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the beating of my own heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was all the sound I heard.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 37]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He came not,—no, he came not,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The night came on alone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little stars sat one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each on his golden throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The evening wind passed by my cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The leaves above were stirred,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the beating of my own heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was all the sound I heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fast, silent tears were flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When something stood behind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hand was on my shoulder,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I knew its touch was kind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It drew me nearer—nearer—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We did not speak one word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the beating of our own hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was all the sound we heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Richard Monckton Milnes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MARIANA" id="MARIANA"></a>MARIANA.</h2> + +<h4>"Mariana in the moated grange."—<i>Measure for Measure.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With blackest moss the flower-pots<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were thickly crusted, one and all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rusted nails fell from the knots<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That held the peach to the garden-wall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broken sheds looked sad and strange:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unlifted was the clinking latch:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Weeded and worn the ancient thatch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the lonely moated grange.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 38]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">She only said, "My life is dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He cometh not," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would that I were dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her tears fell with the dews at even;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not look on the sweet heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Either at morn or eventide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the flitting of the bats,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When thickest dark did trance the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She drew her casement-curtain by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glanced athwart the glooming flats.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She only said, "The night is dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He cometh not," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would that I were dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon the middle of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cock sung out an hour ere light:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the dark fen the oxen's low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came to her: without hope of change,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the lonely moated grange.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She only said, "The day is dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He cometh not," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would that I were dead!"<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 39]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">About a stone-cast from the wall<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sluice with blackened waters slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er it many, round and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The clustered marish-mosses crept.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard by a poplar shook alway,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All silver-green with gnarléd bark:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For leagues no other tree did mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The level waste, the rounding gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She only said, "My life is dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He cometh not," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would that I were dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And ever when the moon was low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the shrill winds were up and away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the white curtain, to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She saw the gusty shadow sway.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the moon was very low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And wild winds bound within their cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shadow of the poplar fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her bed, across her brow.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She only said, "The night is dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He cometh not," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would that I were dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All day within the dreamy house,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The doors upon their hinges creaked;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue-fly sung i' the pane; the mouse<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or from the crevice peered about.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 40]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old faces glimmered through the doors,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old footsteps trod the upper floors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old voices called her from without.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She only said, "My life is dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He cometh not," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would that I were dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The slow clock ticking, and the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which to the wooing wind aloof<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The poplar made, did all confound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sense; but most she loathed the hour<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the thick-moted sunbeam lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Athwart the chambers, and the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was sloping toward his western bower.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then said she, "I am very dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He will not come," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O God, that I were dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BUGLE-SONG" id="BUGLE-SONG"></a>BUGLE-SONG.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The splendor falls on castle walls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And snowy summits old in story;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The long light shakes across the lakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the wild cataract leaps in glory.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 41]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thinner, clearer, farther going!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O sweet and far from cliff and scar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O love, they die in yon rich sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They faint on hill or field or river:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our echoes roll from soul to soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And grow forever and forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SERENADE" id="SERENADE"></a>SERENADE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stars of the summer night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far in yon azure deeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hide, hide your golden light!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My lady sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sleeps!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moon of the summer night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far down yon western steeps,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 42]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sink, sink in silver light!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My lady sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sleeps!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wind of the summer night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where yonder woodbine creeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fold, fold thy pinions light!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My lady sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sleeps!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dreams of the summer night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tell her, her lover keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watch, while in slumbers light<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My lady sleeps!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sleeps!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LINES_TO_AN_INDIAN_AIR" id="LINES_TO_AN_INDIAN_AIR"></a>LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I arise from dreams of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the first sweet sleep of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the winds are breathing low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the stars are shining bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I arise from dreams of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a spirit in my feet<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 43]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has led me,—who knows how?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To thy chamber-window, sweet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wandering airs they faint<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the dark, the silent stream,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The champak odors fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like sweet thoughts in a dream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nightingale's complaint<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It dies upon her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I must die on thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O beloved as thou art!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O lift me from the grass!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I die, I faint, I fail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let thy love in kisses rain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On my lips and eyelids pale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My cheek is cold and white, alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My heart beats loud and fast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! press it close to thine again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where it will break at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Percy Bysshe Shelley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOT_FAR_TO_GO" id="NOT_FAR_TO_GO"></a>NOT FAR TO GO.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As upland fields were sunburnt brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heat-dried brooks were running small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sheep were gathered, panting all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below the hawthorn on the down,—<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 44]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while my mare, with dipping head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pulled on my cart above the bridge,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw come on, beside the ridge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A maiden white in skin and thread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And walking, with an elbow-load,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The way I drove along my road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As there with comely steps up hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She rose by elm-trees all in ranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From shade to shade, by flowery banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where flew the bird with whistling bill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kindly said, "Now won't you ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This burning weather, up the knap?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a seat that fits the trap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now is swung from side to side."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O no," she cried, "I thank you, no.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've little farther now to go."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, up the timbered slope, I found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prettiest house a good day's ride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would bring you by, with porch and side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By rose and jessamine well bound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And near at hand a spring and pool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lawn well sunned and bower cool;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while the wicket fell behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her steps, I thought, "If I would find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wife I need not blush to show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've little farther now to go."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Barnes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 45]</span></p> +<h2><a name="MAID_OF_ATHENS_ERE_WE_PART" id="MAID_OF_ATHENS_ERE_WE_PART"></a>MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Maid of Athens, ere we part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give, O give me back my heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, since that has left my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep it now, and take the rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear my vow before I go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ζώη μοϋ σάς αγαπώ.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By those tresses unconfined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wooed by each Ægean wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By those lids whose jetty fringe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By those wild eyes like the roe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ζώη μοϋ σάς αγαπώ.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By that lip I long to taste;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By that zone-encircled waist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all the token-flowers that tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What words can never speak so well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By love's alternate joy and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ζώη μοϋ σάς αγαπώ.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Maid of Athens! I am gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think of me, sweet! when alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I fly to Istambol,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athens holds my heart and soul:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can I cease to love thee? No!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ζώη μοϋ σάς αγαπώ.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Lord Byron.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 46]</span></p> +<h2><a name="COME_REST_IN_THIS_BOSOM" id="COME_REST_IN_THIS_BOSOM"></a>COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy Angel I 'll be, 'mid the horrors of this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shield thee, and save thee,—or perish there too!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Moore.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_WOMANS_QUESTION" id="A_WOMANS_QUESTION"></a>A WOMAN'S QUESTION.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before I trust my fate to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or place my hand in thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before I let thy future give<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Color and form to mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before I peril all for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Question thy soul to-night for me.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 47]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I break all slighter bonds, nor feel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A shadow of regret:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is there one link within the past<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That holds thy spirit yet?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is thy faith as clear and free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As that which I can pledge to thee?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Does there within thy dimmest dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A possible future shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Untouched, unshared by mine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If so, at any pain or cost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, tell me before all is lost!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look deeper still: if thou canst feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Within thy inmost soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou hast kept a portion back,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While I have staked the whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let no false pity spare the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in true mercy tell me so.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is there within thy heart a need<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That mine cannot fulfil?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One chord that any other hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Could better wake or still?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak now, lest at some future day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My whole life wither and decay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lives there within thy nature hid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The demon-spirit, change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shedding a passing glory still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On all things new and strange?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 48]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may not be thy fault alone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shield my heart against thine own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And answer to my claim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fate, and that to-day's mistake,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not thou,—had been to blame?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilt surely warn and save me now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, answer <i>not</i>,—I dare not hear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The words would come too late;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I would spare thee all remorse,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So comfort thee, my fate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever on my heart may fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember, I <i>would</i> risk it all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Adelaide Anne Procter.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SONNETS" id="SONNETS"></a>SONNETS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 49]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thou couldst answer,—"This fair child of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse—"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proving his beauty by succession thine.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This were to be new-made when thou art old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="SONNETS2" id="SONNETS2"></a>When I do count the clock that tells the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I behold the violet past prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sable curls all silvered o'er with white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, of thy beauty do I question make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou among the wastes of time must go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And die as fast as they see others grow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="SONNETS3" id="SONNETS3"></a>My glass shall not persuade me I am old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long as youth and thou are of one date;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when in thee Time's furrows I behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then look I death my days should expiate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all that beauty that doth cover thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 50]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can I then be elder than thou art?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I not for myself but for thee will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="SONNETS4" id="SONNETS4"></a>As an unperfect actor on the stage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who with his fear is put beside his part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I, for fear of trust, forget to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfect ceremony of love's rite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O let my books be then the eloquence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who plead for love, and look for recompense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O learn to read what silent love hath writ:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="SONNETS5" id="SONNETS5"></a>Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art more lovely and more temperate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer's lease hath all too short a date:<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 51]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often is his gold complexion dimmed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every fair from fair sometime declines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By chance, or nature's changing coarse, untrimmed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thy eternal summer shall not fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in eternal lines to time thou growest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Shakespeare.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LOVE_NOT" id="LOVE_NOT"></a>LOVE NOT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things that are made to fade and fall away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Love not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love not! the thing ye love may change;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Love not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love not! the thing you love may die,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 52]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Love not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love not! O warning vainly said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In present hours as in years gone by!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faultless, immortal, till they change or die.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Love not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Caroline Norton.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AE_FOND_KISS" id="AE_FOND_KISS"></a>AE FOND KISS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ae fareweel, alas! forever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the star of hope she leaves him?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark despair around benights me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naething could resist my Nancy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to see her was to love her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love but her, and love forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had we never loved sae kindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had we never loved sae blindly,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 53]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never met,—or never parted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We had ne'er been broken-hearted.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine be ilka joy and treasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ae fareweel, alas! forever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Burns.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BREAK_BREAK_BREAK" id="BREAK_BREAK_BREAK"></a>BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Break, break, break,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On thy cold gray stones, O sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I would that my tongue could utter<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thoughts that arise in me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O well for the fisherman's boy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That he shouts with his sister at play!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O well for the sailor lad<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That he sings in his boat on the bay!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the stately ships go on,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the haven under the hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But O for the touch of a vanished hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sound of a voice that is still!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 54]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Break, break, break,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At the foot of thy crags, O sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the tender grace of a day that is dead<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will never come back to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ASTARTE" id="ASTARTE"></a>ASTARTE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the latest strife is lost, and all is done with,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere we slumber in the spirit and the brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We drowse back, in dreams, to days that life begun with,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And their tender light returns to us again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have cast away the tangle and the torment<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the cords that bound my life up in a mesh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pulse begins to throb that long lay dormant<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Neath their pressure; and the old wounds bleed afresh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am touched again with shades of early sadness,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the summer-cloud's light shadow in my hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am thrilled again with breaths of boyish gladness,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the scent of some last primrose on the air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And again she comes, with all her silent graces,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lost woman of my youth, yet unpossessed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her cold face so unlike the other faces<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the women whose dead lips I since have pressed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The motion and the fragrance of her garments<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seem about me, all the day long, in the room;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 55]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her face, with its bewildering old endearments,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Comes at night, between the curtains, in the gloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When vain dreams are stirred with sighing, near the morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To my own her phantom lips I feel approach;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her smile, at eve, breaks o'er me without warning<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From its speechless, pale, perpetual reproach.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When life's dawning glimmer yet had all the tint there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the orient, in the freshness of the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Ah, what feet since then have trodden out the print there!)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Did her soft, her silent footsteps fall, and pass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They fell lightly, as the dew falls, 'mid ungathered<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Meadow-flowers, and lightly lingered with the dew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the dew is gone, the grass is dried and withered,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the traces of those steps have faded too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Other footsteps fall about me,—faint, uncertain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the shadow of the world, as it recedes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Other forms peer through the half-uplifted curtain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of that mystery which hangs behind the creeds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What is gone, is gone forever. And new fashions<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May replace old forms which nothing can restore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I turn from sighing back departed passions,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With that pining at the bosom as of yore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember to have murmured, morn and even,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Though the Earth dispart these Earthlies, face from face,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 56]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the Heavenlies shall surely join in Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the spirit hath no bonds in time or space.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where it listeth, there it bloweth; all existence<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is its region; and it houseth where it will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall feel her through immeasurable distance,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And grow nearer and be gathered to her still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If I fail to find her out by her gold tresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brows, and breast, and lips, and language of sweet strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall know her by the traces of dead kisses,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And that portion of myself which she retains."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But my being is confused with new experience,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And changed to something other than it was;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Future with the Past is set at variance;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Life falters with the burthens which it has.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Earth's old sins press fast behind me, weakly wailing;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Faint before me fleets the good I have not done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my search for her may still be unavailing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Mid the spirits that have passed beyond the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Bulwer Lytton.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_HEID_IS_LIKE_TO_REND_WILLIE" id="MY_HEID_IS_LIKE_TO_REND_WILLIE"></a>MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My heid is like to rend, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My heart is like to break;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm dyin' for your sake!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 57]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, lay your cheek to mine, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your hand on my briest-bane,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, say ye'll think on me, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When I am deid and gane!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's vain to comfort me, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sair grief maun ha'e its will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let me rest upon your briest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To sab and greet my fill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me sit on your knee, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let me shed by your hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look into the face, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I never sall see mair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the last time in my life,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A mither, yet nae wife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, press your hand upon my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And press it mair and mair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or it will burst the silken twine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sae strang is its despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, wae's me for the hour, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When we thegither met,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, wae's me for the time, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That our first tryst was set!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, wae's me for the loanin' green<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where we were wont to gae,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wae's me for the destinie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That gart me luve thee sae!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 58]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, dinna mind my words, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I downa seek to blame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But O, it's hard to live, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dree a warld's shame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And hailin' ower your chin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For sorrow, and for sin?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sick wi' a' I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I canna live as I ha'e lived,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or be as I should be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fauld unto your heart, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The heart that still is thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kiss ance mair the white, white cheel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye said was red langsyne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sair stoun' through my heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, haud me up and let me kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy brow ere we twa pairt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anither, and anither yet!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How fast my life-strings break!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Step lichtly for my sake!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The laverock in the lift, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That lilts far ower our heid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will sing the morn as merrilie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Abune the clay-cauld deid;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 59]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this green turf we're sittin' on,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will hap the heart that luvit thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As warld has seldom seen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But O, remember me, Willie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On land where'er ye be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And O, think on the leal, leal heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ne'er luvit ane but thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That file my yellow hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye never sall kiss mair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Motherwell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MANGO_TREE" id="THE_MANGO_TREE"></a>THE MANGO TREE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He wiled me through the furzy croft;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He wiled me down the sandy lane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He told his boy's love, soft and oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Until I told him mine again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We married, and we sailed the main,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A soldier, and a soldier's wife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We marched through many a burning plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We sighed for many a gallant life.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 60]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But his—God keep it safe from harm.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He toiled, and dared, and earned command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those three stripes upon his arm<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were more to me than gold or land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sure he would win some great renown;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One night the fever struck him down.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I sat, and stared, and saw him die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had his children,—one, two, three.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One week I had them, blithe and sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next—beneath this mango tree<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By him in barrack burying-ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sit beneath the mango shade;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I live my five years' life all o'er,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round yonder stems his children played;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He mounted guard at yonder door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis I, not they, am gone and dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They live, they know, they feel, they see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their spirits light the golden shade<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath the giant mango tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All things, save I, are full of life:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The minas, pluming velvet breasts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monkeys, in their foolish strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The swooping hawks, the swinging nests;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lizards basking on the soil;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The butterflies who sun their wings;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 61]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bees about their household toil;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They live, they love, the blissful things!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each tender purple mango shoot,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That folds and droops so bashful down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It lives, it sucks some hidden root,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It rears at last a broad green crown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It blossoms: and the children cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Watch when the mango apples fall."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It lives; but rootless, fruitless, I,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I breathe and dream,—and that is all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus am I dead, yet cannot die;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But still within my foolish brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There hangs a pale blue evening sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A furzy croft, a sandy lane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Kingsley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_MARY_IN_HEAVEN" id="TO_MARY_IN_HEAVEN"></a>TO MARY IN HEAVEN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That lov'st to greet the early morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again thou usherest in the day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My Mary from my soul was torn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Mary! dear departed shade!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where is thy place of blissful rest?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 62]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That sacred hour can I forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can I forget the hallowed grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where by the winding Ayr we met,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To live one day of parting love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternity will not efface<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Those records dear of transports past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy image at our last embrace;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Twined amorous round the raptured scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The birds sang love on every spray,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till too, too soon, the glowing west<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proclaimed the speed of wingéd day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fondly broods with miser care!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time but the impression deeper makes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As streams their channels deeper wear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Mary, dear departed shade!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where is thy place of blissful rest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Burns.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 63]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_SONG_FOR_SEPTEMBER" id="A_SONG_FOR_SEPTEMBER"></a>A SONG FOR SEPTEMBER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">September strews the woodland o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With many a brilliant color;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world is brighter than before,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why should our hearts be duller?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorrow and the scarlet leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad thoughts and sunny weather!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah me! this glory and this grief<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Agree not well together.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the parting season,—this<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The time when friends are flying;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovers now, with many a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their long farewells are sighing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why is Earth so gayly dressed?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This pomp, that Autumn beareth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A funeral seems where every guest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A bridal garment weareth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each one of us, perchance, may here,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On some blue morn hereafter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Return to view the gaudy year,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But not with boyish laughter.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall then be wrinkled men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our brows with silver laden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou this glen may'st seek again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But nevermore a maiden!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nature perhaps foresees that Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will touch her teeming bosom,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 64]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that a few brief months will bring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bird, the bee, the blossom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! these forests do not know—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or would less brightly wither—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The virgin that adorns them so<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will nevermore come hither!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas William Parsons.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="OFT_IN_THE_STILLY_NIGHT" id="OFT_IN_THE_STILLY_NIGHT"></a>OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oft in the stilly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond Memory brings the light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of other days around me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smiles, the tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of boyhood's years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The words of love then spoken;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The eyes that shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now dimmed and gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cheerful hearts now broken!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus in the stilly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad Memory brings the light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of other days around me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I remember all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The friends, so linked together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've seen around me fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like leaves in wintry weather,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 65]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I feel like one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who treads alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some banquet-hall deserted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose lights are fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose garlands dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all but he departed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus in the stilly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad Memory brings the light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of other days around me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Moore.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DAYS_THAT_ARE_NO_MORE" id="THE_DAYS_THAT_ARE_NO_MORE"></a>THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tears from the depth of some divine despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In looking on the happy autumn fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thinking of the days that are no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brings our friends up from the under world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad as the last which reddens over one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sinks with all we love below the verge,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dying ears, when unto dying eyes<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 66]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The casement slowly grows a glimmering square,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Dear as remembered kisses after death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On lips that are for others; deep as love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep as first love, and wild with all regret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O death in life! the days that are no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_OLD_FAMILIAR_FACES" id="THE_OLD_FAMILIAR_FACES"></a>THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have had playmates, I have had companions,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have been laughing, I have been carousing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I loved a love once, fairest among women;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 67]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking to find the old familiar faces.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why wert thou not born in my father's dwelling?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So might we talk of the old familiar faces,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How some they have died, and some they have left me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some are taken from me; all are departed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Lamb.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TIMES_CHANGES" id="TIMES_CHANGES"></a>TIME'S CHANGES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her once,—so freshly fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That, like a blossom just unfolding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She opened to life's cloudless air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Nature joyed to view its moulding:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her smile, it haunts my memory yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her cheek's fine hue divinely glowing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her rosebud mouth, her eyes of jet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around on all their light bestowing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, who could look on such a form,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So nobly free, so softly tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And darkly dream that earthly storm<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should dim such sweet, delicious splendor?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in her mien, and in her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in her young step's fairy lightness,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 68]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naught could the raptured gazer trace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But beauty's glow and pleasure's brightness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her twice,—an altered charm,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But still of magic richest, rarest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than girlhood's talisman less warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though yet of earthly sights the fairest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her breast she held a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The very image of its mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which ever to her smiling smiled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They seemed to live but in each other.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But matron cares or lurking woe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her thoughtless, sinless look had banished,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from her cheeks the roseate glow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of girlhood's balmy morn had vanished;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within her eyes, upon her brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay something softer, fonder, deeper,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if in dreams some visioned woe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had broke the Elysium of the sleeper.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her thrice,—Fate's dark decree<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In widow's garments had arrayed her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet beautiful she seemed to be<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As even my reveries portrayed her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glow, the glance, had passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sunshine and the sparkling glitter,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, though I noted pale decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The retrospect was scarcely bitter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in their place a calmness dwelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Serene, subduing, soothing, holy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In feeling which, the bosom felt<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That every louder mirth is folly,—<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 69]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pensiveness which is not grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A stillness as of sunset streaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fairy glow on flower and leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till earth looks like a landscape dreaming.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A last time,—and unmoved she lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beyond life's dim, uncertain river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glorious mould of fading clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From whence the spark had fled forever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gazed—my heart was like to burst—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, as I thought of years departed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The years wherein I saw her first,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When she, a girl, was lightsome-hearted—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as I mused on later days,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When moved she in her matron duty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A happy mother, in the blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of ripened hope and sunny beauty,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt the chill—I turned aside—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bleak Desolation's cloud came o'er me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Being seemed a troubled tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose wrecks in darkness swam before me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>David Macbeth Moir.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="QUA_CURSUM_VENTUS" id="QUA_CURSUM_VENTUS"></a>QUA CURSUM VENTUS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As ships becalmed at eve, that lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With canvas drooping, side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two towers of sail at dawn of day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 70]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When fell the night, upsprung the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all the darkling hours they plied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By each was cleaving, side by side:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">E'en so,—but why the tale reveal<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of those whom, year by year unchanged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brief absence joined anew to feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Astounded, soul from soul estranged?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At dead of night their sails were filled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And onward each rejoicing steered;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, neither blame, for neither willed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or wist, what first with dawn appeared!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brave barks! In light, in darkness too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through winds and tides one compass guides,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To that, and your own selves, be true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But O blithe breeze, and O great seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though ne'er, that earliest parting past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On your wide plain they join again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Together lead them home at last!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One port, methought, alike they sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One purpose hold where'er they fare,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O bounding breeze, O rushing seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At last, at last, unite them there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Arthur Hugh Clough.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 71]</span></p> +<h2><a name="CHANGES" id="CHANGES"></a>CHANGES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, we women cannot choose our lot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Much must be borne which it is hard to bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much given away which it were sweet to keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God help us all! who need, indeed, his care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet I know the Shepherd loves his sheep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My little boy begins to babble now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has his father's eager eyes, I know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, they say, too, his mother's sunny hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I can feel his light breath come and go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who might have been ... ah, what I dare not think!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are all changed. God judges for us best.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God help us do our duty, and not shrink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But blame us women not, if some appear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too cold at times; and some too gay and light.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 72]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows the past? and who can judge us right?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, were we judged by what we might have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not by what we are,—too apt to fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My little child,—he sleeps and smiles between<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Bulwer Lytton.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I_REMEMBER_I_REMEMBER" id="I_REMEMBER_I_REMEMBER"></a>I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember, I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The house where I was born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little window where the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came peeping in at morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never came a wink too soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor brought too long a day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now, I often wish the night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had borne my breath away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember, I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The roses, red and white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The violets, and the lily-cups,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Those flowers made of light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lilacs where the robin built,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And where my brother set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laburnum on his birthday,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The tree is living yet!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 73]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember, I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where I was used to swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought the air must rush as fresh<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To swallows on the wing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit flew in feathers then,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That is so heavy now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer pool could hardly cool<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fever on my brow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember, I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fir-trees dark and high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I used to think their slender tops<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were close against the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a childish ignorance,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But now 'tis little joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know I'm farther off from heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than when I was a boy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Hood.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HAUNTED_HOUSES" id="HAUNTED_HOUSES"></a>HAUNTED HOUSES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All houses wherein men have lived and died<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are haunted houses. Through the open doors<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With feet that make no sound upon the floors.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along the passages they come and go,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 74]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impalpable impressions on the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sense of something moving to and fro.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are more guests at table than the hosts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Invited; the illuminated hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As silent as the pictures on the wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The stranger at my fireside cannot see<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He but perceives what is; while unto me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All that has been is visible and clear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We have no title-deeds to house or lands;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Owners and occupants of earlier dates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And hold in mortmain still their old estates.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The spirit-world around this world of sense<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A vital breath of more ethereal air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our little lives are kept in equipoise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By opposite attractions and desires!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The struggle of the instinct that enjoys<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the more noble instinct that aspires.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These perturbations, this perpetual jar<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of earthly wants and aspirations high,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 75]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come from the influence of an unseen star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An undiscovered planet in our sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Into the realm of mystery and night,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So from the world of spirits there descends<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A bridge of light, connecting it with this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THANATOPSIS" id="THANATOPSIS"></a>THANATOPSIS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">To him who in the love of nature holds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Communion with her visible forms, she speaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A various language: for his gayer hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has a voice of gladness, and a smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eloquence of beauty; and she glides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into his darker musings with a mild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And healing sympathy, that steals away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the last bitter hour come like a blight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over thy spirit, and sad images<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 76]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go forth under the open sky, and list<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Nature's teachings, while from all around—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes a still voice: Yet a few days, and thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The all-beholding sun shall see no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lost each human trace, surrendering up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine individual being, shalt thou go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mix forever with the elements,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be a brother to the insensible rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Yet not to thine eternal resting-place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretching in pensive quietness between,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The venerable woods,—rivers that move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In majesty, and the complaining brooks<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 77]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are but the solemn decorations all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are shining on the sad abodes of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The globe are but a handful to the tribes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of morning; traverse Barca's desert sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lose thyself in the continuous woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And millions in those solitudes, since first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flight of years began, have laid them down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their last sleep,—the dead reign there alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence from the living, and no friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take note of thy departure? All that breathe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their mirth and their employments, and shall come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make their bed with thee. As the long train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of ages glide away, the sons of men—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall one by one be gathered to thy side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By those who in their turn shall follow them.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 78]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So live that when thy summons comes to join<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The innumerable caravan which moves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that mysterious realm where each shall take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His chamber in the silent halls of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Cullen Bryant.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="OVER_THE_RIVER" id="OVER_THE_RIVER"></a>OVER THE RIVER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the river they beckon to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleam of their snowy robes I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But their voices are lost in the dashing tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We saw not the angels who met him there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gates of the city we could not see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the river, over the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My brother stands waiting to welcome me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the river the boatman pale<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Carried another, the household pet;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 79]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Darling Minnie! I see her yet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We felt it glide from the silver sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all our sunshine grew strangely dark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know she is safe on the farther side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where all the ransomed and angels be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the river, the mystic river,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My childhood's idol is waiting for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For none return from those quiet shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We hear the dip of the golden oars,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And catch a gleam of the snowy sail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They cross the stream and are gone for aye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may not sunder the veil apart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That hides from our vision the gates of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We only know that their barks no more<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is flushing river and hill and shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall one day stand by the water cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And list for the sound of the boatman's oar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 80]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the better shore of the spirit-land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall know the loved who have gone before,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When over the river, the peaceful river,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The angel of death shall carry me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Nancy Priest Wakefield.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THEY_ARE_ALL_GONE" id="THEY_ARE_ALL_GONE"></a>THEY ARE ALL GONE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are all gone into the world of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I alone sit lingering here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their very memory is fair and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And my sad thoughts doth clear;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like stars upon some gloomy grove,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After the sun's remove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see them walking in an air of glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose light doth trample on my days,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My days which are at best but dull and hoary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mere glimmerings and decays.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O holy hope! and high humility,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High as the heavens above!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are your walks, and you have showed them me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To kindle my cold love.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 81]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear, beauteous death,—the jewel of the just,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shining nowhere but in the dark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could man outlook that mark!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At first sight, if the bird be flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is to him unknown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Call to the soul when man doth sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And into glory peep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If a star were confined into a tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her captive flames must needs burn there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the hand that locked her up gives room,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She'll shine through all the sphere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Father of eternal life, and all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Created glories under Thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into true liberty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My perspective still as they pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else remove me hence unto that hill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I shall need no glass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Vaughan.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 82]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_RIVER_PATH" id="THE_RIVER_PATH"></a>THE RIVER PATH.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No bird-song floated down the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tangled bank below was still;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No rustle from the birchen stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No ripple from the water's hem.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dusk of twilight round us grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We felt the falling of the dew;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For from us, ere the day was done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wooded hills shut out the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But on the river's farther side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We saw the hill-tops glorified,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A tender glow, exceeding fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dream of day without its glare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With us the damp, the chill, the gloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With them the sunset's rosy bloom;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While dark, through willowy vistas seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The river rolled in shade between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From out the darkness where we trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We gazed upon those hills of God,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whose light seemed not of morn or sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We spake not, but our thought was one.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 83]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We paused, as if from that bright shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beckoned our dear ones gone before;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And stilled our beating hearts to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voices lost to mortal ear!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sudden our pathway turned from night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hills swung open to the light;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through their green gates the sunshine showed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long slant splendor downward flowed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down glade and glen and bank it rolled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bridged the shaded stream with gold;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, borne on piers of mist, allied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadowy with the sunlit side!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The river dark with mortal fear,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And the night cometh, chill with dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Father, let thy light break through!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So let the hills of doubt divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bridge with faith the sunless tide!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So let the eyes that fail on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thy eternal hills look forth,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And in thy beckoning angels know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dear ones whom we loved below!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Greenleaf Whittier.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 84]</span></p> +<h2><a name="AN_OLD_MANS_IDYL" id="AN_OLD_MANS_IDYL"></a>AN OLD MAN'S IDYL.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the waters of Life we sat together,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hand in hand, in the golden days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the beautiful early summer weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When hours were anthems and speech was praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the heart kept time to the carol of birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the birds kept tune to the songs that ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And trees with voices Æolian.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the rivers of Life we walked together,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I and my darling, unafraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lighter than any linnet's feather<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The burdens of being on us weighed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Love's sweet miracles o'er us threw<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mantles of joy outlasting Time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And up from the rosy morrows grew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sound that seemed like a marriage-chime.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the gardens of Life we roamed together;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the luscious apples were ripe and red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the languid lilac and honeyed heather<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swooned with the fragrance which they shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the trees the Angels walked,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And up in the air a sense of wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awed us sacredly while we talked<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Softly in tender communings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the meadows of life we strayed together,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Watching the waving harvests grow;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 85]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the benison of the Father<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our hearts like the lambs skipped to and fro.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cowslips, hearing our low replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Broidered fairer the emerald banks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glad tears shone in the daisies' eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the timid violet glistened thanks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who was with us, and what was round us,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Neither myself nor darling guessed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only we knew that something crowned us<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out from the heavens with crowns of rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only we knew that something bright<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lingered lovingly where we stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothed with the incandescent light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of something higher than humanhood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O the riches Love doth inherit!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah the alchemy which doth change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dross of body and dregs of spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Into sanctities rare and strange!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My flesh is feeble, and dry, and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My darling's beautiful hair is gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But our elixir and precious gold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Laugh at the footsteps of decay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Harms of the world have come upon us,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we have a secret which doth show us<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wonderful rainbows through the rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we hear the tread of the years go by,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sun is setting behind the hills;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 86]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my darling does not fear to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I am happy in what God wills.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So we sit by our household fires together,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dreaming the dreams of long ago.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then it was balmy summer weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And now the valleys are laid in snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Icicles hang from the slippery eaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wind grows cold,—it is growing late.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, well,—we have garnered all our sheaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I and my darling,—and we wait.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Richard Realf.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BETROTHED_ANEW" id="BETROTHED_ANEW"></a>BETROTHED ANEW.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sunlight fills the trembling air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And balmy days their guerdons bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Earth again is young and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And amorous with musky spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The golden nurslings of the May<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In splendor strew the spangled green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hues of tender beauty play,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Entangled where the willows lean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mark how the rippled currents flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What lustres on the meadows lie!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! the songsters come and go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And trill between the earth and sky.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 87]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who told us that the years had fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or borne afar our blissful youth?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such joys are all about us spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We know the whisper was not truth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The birds that break from grass and grove<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing every carol that they sung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first our veins were rich with love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And May her mantle round us flung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whose delights our souls are rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And aye their vernal vows renew!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, darling, walk with me this morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These violets, within them worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of floral fays shall make you queen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What though there comes a time of pain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When autumn winds forebode decay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The days of love are born again;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That fabled time is far away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And never seemed the land so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As now, nor birds such notes to sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since first within your shining hair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I wove the blossoms of the spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 88]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LONG-AGO" id="THE_LONG-AGO"></a>THE LONG-AGO.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Eyes which can but ill define<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shapes that rise about and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the far horizon's line<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stretch a vision free and clear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memories feeble to retrace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yesterday's immediate flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find a dear familiar face<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In each hour of Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Follow yon majestic train<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down the slopes of old renown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knightly forms without disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sainted heads without a frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emperors of thought and hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Congregate, a glorious show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met from every age and land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the plains of Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the heart of childhood brings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Something of eternal joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From its own unsounded springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such as life can scarce destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, remindful of the prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spirits wandering to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest upon the resting-time<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the peace of Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Youthful Hope's religious fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When it burns no longer, leaves<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 89]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ashes of impure desire<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the altars it bereaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the light that fills the past<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sheds a still diviner glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever farther it is cast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the scenes of Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many a growth of pain and care,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cumbering all the present hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yields, when once transplanted there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Healthy fruit or pleasant flower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts that hardly flourish here,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Feelings long have ceased to blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe a native atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the world of Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On that deep-retiring shore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Frequent pearls of beauty lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the passion-waves of yore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fiercely beat and mounted high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorrows that are sorrows still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lose the bitter taste of woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing's altogether ill<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the griefs of Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tombs where lonely love repines,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ghastly tenements of tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wear the look of happy shrines<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the golden mist of years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death, to those who trust in good,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Vindicates his hardest blow;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 90]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, we would not, if we could,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wake the sleep of Long-Ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though the doom of swift decay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shocks the soul where life is strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though for frailer hearts the day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lingers sad and over-long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still the weight will find a leaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still the spoiler's hand is slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the future has its Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the past its Long-Ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Richard Monckton Milnes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_IVY_GREEN" id="THE_IVY_GREEN"></a>THE IVY GREEN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, a dainty plant is the ivy green,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That creepeth o'er ruins old!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his cell so lone and cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To pleasure his dainty whim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mouldering dust that years have made<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is a merry meal for him.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Creeping where no life is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A rare old plant is the ivy green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a stanch old heart has he!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 91]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How closely he twineth, how tight he clings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To his friend, the huge oak-tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slyly he traileth along the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his leaves he gently waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he joyously twines and hugs around<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rich mould of dead men's graves.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Creeping where no life is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A rare old plant is the ivy green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And nations have scattered been;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the stout old ivy shall never fade<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From its hale and hearty green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brave old plant in its lonely days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall fatten upon the past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the stateliest building man can raise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is the ivy's food at last.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Creeping where no life is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A rare old plant is the ivy green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Dickens.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SUMMER_LONGINGS" id="SUMMER_LONGINGS"></a>SUMMER LONGINGS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is weary waiting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waiting for the May,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waiting for the pleasant rambles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the fragrant hawthorn-brambles,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 92]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the woodbine alternating,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scent the dewy way.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is weary waiting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waiting for the May.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is sick with longing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Longing for the May,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Longing to escape from study,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the young face fair and ruddy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the thousand charms belonging<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the summer's day.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is sick with longing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Longing for the May.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sighing for the May,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighing for their sure returning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the summer beams are burning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the winter lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sighing for the May.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throbbing for the May,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throbbing for the seaside billows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the water-wooing willows;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where, in laughing and in sobbing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glide the streams away.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throbbing for the May.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 93]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Waiting sad, dejected, weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waiting for the May:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spring goes by with wasted warnings,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Summer comes, yet dark and dreary<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life still ebbs away;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Man is ever weary, weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waiting for the May!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Denis Florence Mac-Carthy.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="YARROW_UNVISITED" id="YARROW_UNVISITED"></a>YARROW UNVISITED.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From Stirling castle we had seen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mazy Forth unravelled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And with the Tweed had travelled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when we came to Clovenford,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then said my "winsome Marrow,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And see the braes of Yarrow."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who have been buying, selling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go back to Yarrow; 'tis their own,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each maiden to her dwelling!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 94]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we will downward with the Tweed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor turn aside to Yarrow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Both lying right before us;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lintwhites sing in chorus;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made blithe with plough and harrow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why throw away a needful day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To go in search of Yarrow?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What's Yarrow but a river bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That glides the dark hills under?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are a thousand such elsewhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As worthy of your wonder."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange words they seemed, of slight and scorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My true-love sighed for sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looked me in the face, to think<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I thus could speak of Yarrow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O, green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sweet is Yarrow flowing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But we will leave it growing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er hilly path and open strath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We'll wander Scotland thorough;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, though so near, we will not turn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Into the dale of Yarrow.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 95]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let beeves and homebred kine partake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The swan on still St. Mary's Lake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Float double, swan and shadow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will not see them; will not go<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To-day, nor yet to-morrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough, if in our hearts we know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's such a place as Yarrow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It must, or we shall rue it:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have a vision of our own;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! why should we undo it?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The treasured dreams of times long past,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We'll keep them, winsome Marrow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For when we're there, although 'tis fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twill be another Yarrow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If care with freezing years should come,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And wandering seem but folly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should we be loath to stir from home,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yet be melancholy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should life be dull, and spirits low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That earth has something yet to show,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bonny holms of Yarrow!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Wordsworth.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 96]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TIGER" id="THE_TIGER"></a>THE TIGER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tiger! Tiger! burning bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the forests of the night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What immortal hand or eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could frame thy fearful symmetry?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In what distant deeps or skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burned the fire of thine eyes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On what wings dare he aspire?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What the hand dare seize the fire?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And what shoulder, and what art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could twist the sinews of thine heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when thy heart began to beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What dread hand? and what dread feet?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What the hammer? what the chain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In what furnace was thy brain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What the anvil? what dread grasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dare its deadly terrors clasp?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the stars threw down their spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watered heaven with their tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did he smile his work to see?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did He who made the lamb make thee?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tiger! Tiger! burning bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the forests of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What immortal hand or eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Blake.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 97]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_SNOW-STORM" id="A_SNOW-STORM"></a>A SNOW-STORM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>I.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis a fearful night in the winter time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As cold as it ever can be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roar of the blast is heard like the chime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the waves on an angry sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon is full; but her silver light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm dashes out with its wings to-night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over the sky from south to north<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the strength of a mighty glee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>II.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All day had the snow come down,—all day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As it never came down before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over the hills, at sunset, lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some two or three feet, or more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fence was lost, and the wall of stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The windows blocked and the well-curbs gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haystack had grown to a mountain lift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wood-pile looked like a monster drift,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As it lay by the farmer's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The night sets in on a world of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the air grows sharp and chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the warning roar of a fearful blow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is heard on the distant hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the norther, see! on the mountain peak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shouts on the plain, ho-ho! ho-ho!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 98]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And growls with a savage will.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>III.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such a night as this to be found abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the drifts and the freezing air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the snow in his shaggy hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lifts his head, and moans and howls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His nose is pressed on his quivering feet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pray, what does the dog do there?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A farmer came from the village plain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But he lost the travelled way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for hours he trod with might and main<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A path for his horse and sleigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But colder still the cold winds blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deeper still the deep drifts grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last in her struggles floundered down,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where a log in a hollow lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She plunged in the drifting snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While her master urged, till his breath grew short,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a word and a gentle blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hands were numb and had lost their might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 99]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strove to shelter himself till day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With his coat and the buffalo.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>IV.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He has given the last faint jerk of the rein,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To rouse up his dying steed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For help in his master's need.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a while he strives with a wistful cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To catch a glance from his drowsy eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wags his tail if the rude winds flap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skirt of the buffalo over his lap,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And whines when he takes no heed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>V.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wind goes down and the storm is o'er,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis the hour of midnight, past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old trees writhe and bend no more<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the whirl of the rushing blast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent moon with her peaceful light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks down on the hills with snow all white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blasted pine and the ghostly stump,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Afar on the plain are cast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But cold and dead by the hidden log<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are they who came from the town,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his beautiful Morgan brown,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the wide snow-desert, far and grand,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 100]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his cap on his head and the reins in his hand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog with his nose on his master's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where she lay when she floundered down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Gamage Eastman.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DEATH_OF_THE_FLOWERS" id="THE_DEATH_OF_THE_FLOWERS"></a>THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 101]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Cullen Bryant.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 102]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_SANDS_OF_DEE" id="THE_SANDS_OF_DEE"></a>THE SANDS OF DEE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O Mary, go and call the cattle home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And call the cattle home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And call the cattle home,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Across the sands of Dee."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The western wind was wild and dank with foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all alone went she.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The western tide crept up along the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er and o'er the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And round and round the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As far as eye could see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rolling mist came down and hid the land:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And never home came she.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tress of golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A drownéd maiden's hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Above the nets at sea?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never salmon yet that shone so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Among the stakes on Dee."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They rowed her in across the rolling foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cruel crawling foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cruel hungry foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To her grave beside the sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Across the sands of Dee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Kingsley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 103]</span></p> +<h2><a name="HYMN_TO_THE_NIGHT" id="HYMN_TO_THE_NIGHT"></a>HYMN TO THE NIGHT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I heard the trailing garments of the Night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweep through her marble halls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the celestial walls!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I felt her presence, by its spell of might,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stoop o'er me from above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The calm, majestic presence of the Night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As of the one I love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The manifold, soft chimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like some old poet's rhymes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the cool cisterns of the midnight air<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My spirit drank repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From those deep cisterns flows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What man has borne before!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they complain no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Descend with broad-winged flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The best-belovéd Night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 104]</span></p> +<h2><a name="NIGHT_AND_DEATH" id="NIGHT_AND_DEATH"></a>NIGHT AND DEATH.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This glorious canopy of light and blue?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! creation widened in man's view.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do we then shun death with anxious strife?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Joseph Blanco White.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SKYLARK" id="THE_SKYLARK"></a>THE SKYLARK.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Bird of the wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blithesome and cumberless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Emblem of happiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blest is thy dwelling-place,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, to abide in the desert with thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild is thy lay and loud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far in the downy cloud,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 105]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where, on thy dewy wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where art thou journeying?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er fell and fountain sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er moor and mountain green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over the cloudlet dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over the rainbow's rim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, when the gloaming comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Low in the heather blooms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Emblem of happiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blest is thy dwelling-place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, to abide in the desert with thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>James Hogg.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_EAGLE" id="THE_EAGLE"></a>THE EAGLE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He clasps the crag with hookéd hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close to the sun in lonely lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ringed with the azure world, he stands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watches from his mountain walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a thunderbolt he falls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 106]</span></p> +<h2><a name="TO_THE_SKYLARK" id="TO_THE_SKYLARK"></a>TO THE SKYLARK.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Hail to thee, blithe spirit!<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Bird thou never wert,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That from heaven, or near it,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Pourest thy full heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Higher still and higher<br /></span> +<span class="i5">From the earth thou springest,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like a cloud of fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The blue deep thou wingest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">In the golden lightning<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of the setting sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er which clouds are brightening,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Thou dost float and run;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The pale purple even<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Melts around thy flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like a star of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In the broad daylight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Keen as are the arrows<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of that silver sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whose intense lamp narrows<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In the white dawn clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 107]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">All the earth and air<br /></span> +<span class="i5">With thy voice is loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As, when night is bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">From one lonely cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">What thou art we know not;<br /></span> +<span class="i5">What is most like thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From rainbow clouds there flow not<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Drops so bright to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Like a poet hidden<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In the light of thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Singing hymns unbidden,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Till the world is wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Like a high-born maiden<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In a palace tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soothing her love-laden<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soul in secret hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Like a glow-worm golden,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In a dell of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Scattering unbeholden<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Its aerial hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 108]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Like a rose embowered<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In its own green leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By warm winds deflowered,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Till the scent it gives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wingéd thieves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Sound of vernal showers<br /></span> +<span class="i5">On the twinkling grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rain-awakened flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">All that ever was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyous and fresh and clear thy music doth surpass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Teach us, sprite or bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">What sweet thoughts are thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I have never heard<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Praise of love or wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Chorus hymeneal,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Or triumphant chant,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Matched with thine, would be all<br /></span> +<span class="i5">But an empty vaunt,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">What objects are the fountains<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of thy happy strain?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What fields, or waves, or mountains?<br /></span> +<span class="i5">What shapes of sky or plain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 109]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">With thy clear keen joyance<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Languor cannot be:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shadow of annoyance<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Never came near thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Waking or asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Thou of death must deem<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Things more true and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Than we mortals dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">We look before and after,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And pine for what is not:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our sincerest laughter<br /></span> +<span class="i5">With some pain is fraught:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Yet if we could scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Hate, and pride, and fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If we were things born<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Not to shed a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not how thy joy we ever could come near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Better than all measures<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of delight and sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Better than all treasures<br /></span> +<span class="i5">That in books are found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Teach me half the gladness<br /></span> +<span class="i5">That thy brain must know,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 110]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such harmonious madness<br /></span> +<span class="i5">From my lips would flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world should listen then, as I am listening now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Percy Bysshe Shelley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_THOMAS_MOORE" id="TO_THOMAS_MOORE"></a>TO THOMAS MOORE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My boat is on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And my bark is on the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, before I go, Tom Moore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's a double health to thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here's a sigh for those that love me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a smile for those who hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, whatever sky's above me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's a heart for every fate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though the ocean roar around me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet it still shall bear me on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though a desert should surround me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It hath springs that may be won.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Were 't the last drop in the well,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As I gasped upon the brink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere my fainting spirit fell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis to thee that I would drink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With that water, as this wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The libation I would pour<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 111]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should be,—Peace with thine and mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a health to thee, Tom Moore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Lord Byron.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LAST_ROSE_OF_SUMMER" id="THE_LAST_ROSE_OF_SUMMER"></a>THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis the last rose of summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Left blooming alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All her lovely companions<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are faded and gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No flower of her kindred,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No rosebud is nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reflect back her blushes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or give sigh for sigh!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To pine on the stem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since the lovely are sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Go, sleep thou with them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus kindly I scatter<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy leaves o'er the bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thy mates of the garden<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lie scentless and dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So soon may I follow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When friendships decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from love's shining circle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gems drop away!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 112]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When true hearts lie withered,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fond ones are flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, who would inhabit<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This bleak world alone?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Moore.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_FAREWELL1" id="A_FAREWELL1"></a>A FAREWELL.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy tribute wave deliver;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more by thee my steps shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever and forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A rivulet, then a river;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nowhere by thee my steps shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever and forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But here will sigh thine alder-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And here thine aspen shiver;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here by thee will hum the bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever and forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A thousand suns will stream on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A thousand moons will quiver;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not by thee my steps shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever and forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 113]</span></p> +<h2><a name="STANZAS" id="STANZAS"></a>STANZAS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My life is like the summer rose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That opens to the morning sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, ere the shades of evening close,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is scattered on the ground—to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet on the rose's humble bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetest dews of night are shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if she wept the waste to see,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none shall weep a tear for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My life is like the autumn leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That trembles in the moon's pale ray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its hold is frail—its date is brief,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Restless—and soon to pass away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The parent tree will mourn its shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds bewail the leafless tree,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none shall breathe a sigh for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My life is like the prints which feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have left on Tampa's desert strand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon as the rising tide shall beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All trace will vanish from the sand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, as if grieving to efface<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All vestige of the human race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On that lone shore loud moans the sea,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none, alas! shall mourn for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Richard Henry Wilde.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 114]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_YEARS" id="THE_LITTLE_YEARS"></a>THE LITTLE YEARS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These years! these years! these naughty years!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once they were pretty things:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their fairy footfalls met our ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our eyes their glancing wings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They flitted by our school-boy way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We chased the little imps at play.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We knew them, soon, for tricksy elves:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They brought the college gown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thoughtful books filled up our shelves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Darkened our lips with down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Played with our throat, and lo! the tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of manhood had become our own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They smiling stretched our childish size;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their soft hands trimmed our hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast the deep thought within our eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And left it glowing there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang songs of hope in college halls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright fancies drew upon the walls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They flashed upon us love's bright gem;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They showed us gleams of fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stout-hearted work we learned from them,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And honor more than name:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so they came, and went away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We said not go, we said not stay.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 115]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But one sweet day, when quiet skies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And still leaves brought me thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When hazy hills drew forth my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And woods with deep shade fraught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day I carelessly found out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What work these elves had been about.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! those little rogues, the years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had fooled me many a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucked half the locks above my ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tinged the rest all gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd left me wrinkles great and small.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fear that they have tricked us all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well,—give the little years their way;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Think, speak, and act the while;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift up the bare front to the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And make their wrinkles smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They mould the noblest living head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They carve the best tomb for the dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert T. S. Lowell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_AGE_OF_WISDOM" id="THE_AGE_OF_WISDOM"></a>THE AGE OF WISDOM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ho! pretty page with the dimpled chin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That never has known the barber's shear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All your wish is woman to win;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the way that boys begin,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wait till you come to forty year.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 116]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Curly gold locks cover foolish brains;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Billing and cooing is all your cheer,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighing, and singing of midnight strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under Bonnybell's window-panes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wait till you come to forty year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forty times over let Michaelmas pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grizzling hair the brain doth clear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then you know a boy is an ass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then you know the worth of a lass,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once you have come to forty year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pledge me round; I bid ye declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All good fellows whose beards are gray,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did not the fairest of the fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Common grow and wearisome ere<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ever a month was passed away?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The reddest lips that ever have kissed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The brightest eyes that ever have shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May pray and whisper and we not list,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or look away and never be missed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere yet ever a month is gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gillian's dead! God rest her bier,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How I loved her twenty years syne!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marian's married; but I sit here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone and merry at forty year,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Makepeace Thackeray.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 117]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LAST_LEAF" id="THE_LAST_LEAF"></a>THE LAST LEAF.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw him once before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he passed by the door;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pavement-stones resound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he totters o'er the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With his cane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say that in his prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the pruning-knife of time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cut him down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a better man was found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the crier on his round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the town.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But now he walks the streets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he looks at all he meets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad and wan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he shakes his feeble head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That it seems as if he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"They are gone."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mossy marbles rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the lips that he has pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In their bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the names he loved to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have been carved for many a year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the tomb.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 118]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My grandmamma has said—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor old lady! she is dead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long ago—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he had a Roman nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his cheek was like a rose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But now his nose is thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it rests upon his chin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a staff;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a crook is in his back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a melancholy crack<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his laugh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know it is a sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me to sit and grin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At him here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the old three-cornered hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the breeches,—and all that,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are so queer!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if I should live to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last leaf upon the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let them smile, as I do now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the old forsaken bough<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I cling.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 119]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LOST_LEADER" id="THE_LOST_LEADER"></a>THE LOST LEADER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just for a handful of silver he left us:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lost all the others she lets us devote.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So much was theirs who so little allowed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How all our copper had gone for his service!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rags,—were they purple, his heart had been proud!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made him our pattern to live and to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Burns, Shelley, were with us,—they watch from their graves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We shall march prospering,—not through his presence;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his quiescence,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blot out his name then,—record one lost soul more,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's night begins; let him never come back to us!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 120]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forced praise on our part,—the glimmer of twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never glad, confident morning again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Best fight on well, for we taught him,—strike gallantly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Aim at our heart, ere we pierce through his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Browning.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TOO_LATE2" id="TOO_LATE2"></a>TOO LATE.</h2> + +<h4>"Ah! si la jeunesse savait,—si la vieillenne pouvait!"</h4> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There sat an old man on a rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And unceasing bewailed him of Fate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That concern where we all must take stock<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though our vote has no hearing or weight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old man sang him an old, old song,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never sang voice so clear and strong<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That it could drown the old man's long,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For he sang the song "Too late! too late!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When we want, we have for our pains<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The promise that if we but wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the want has burned out of our brains,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Every means shall be present to sate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the bonnet is trimming the face grows old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we've matched our buttons the pattern is sold,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And everything comes too late,—too late!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 121]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When strawberries seemed like red heavens,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Terrapin stew a wild dream,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When my brain was at sixes and sevens,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If my mother had "folks" and ice-cream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then I gazed with a lickerish hunger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the restaurant-man and fruit-monger,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But oh! how I wished I were younger<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the goodies all came in a stream, in a stream!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I've a splendid blood horse, and—a liver<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That it jars into torture to trot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My row-boat's the gem of the river,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gout makes every knuckle a knot!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can buy boundless credits on Paris and Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But no palate for <i>ménus</i>,—no eyes for a dome,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Those</i> belonged to the youth who must tarry at home,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When no home but an attic he'd got,—he'd got!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How I longed, in that lonest of garrets,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the tiles baked my brains all July,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ground to grow two pecks of carrots,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Two pigs of my own in a sty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A rosebush,—a little thatched cottage,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two spoons—love—a basin of pottage!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now in freestone I sit,—and my dotage,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With a woman's chair empty close by,—close by!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah! now, though I sit on a rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have shared one seat with the great;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have sat—knowing naught of the clock—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On love's high throne of state;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 122]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the lips that kissed, and the arms that caressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To a mouth grown stern with delay were pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And circled a breast that their clasp had blessed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had they only not come too late,—too late!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Fitz-Hugh Ludlow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_PETITION_TO_TIME" id="A_PETITION_TO_TIME"></a>A PETITION TO TIME.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Touch us gently, Time!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let us glide adown thy stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gently,—as we sometimes glide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through a quiet dream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humble voyagers are we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Husband, wife, and children three,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(One is lost,—an angel, fled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the azure overhead!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Touch us gently, Time!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We've not proud nor soaring wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our ambition, our content,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lies in simple things.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humble voyagers are we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Life's dim, unsounded sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking only some calm clime;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touch us gently, gentle Time!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Bryan Waller Procter.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 123]</span></p> +<h2><a name="ICHABOD" id="ICHABOD"></a>ICHABOD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which once he wore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glory from his gray hairs gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forevermore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Revile him not,—the tempter hath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A snare for all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Befit his fall!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! dumb is passion's stormy rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he who might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have lighted up and led his age,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Falls back in night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Scorn! Would the angels laugh, to mark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bright soul driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From hope and heaven?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let not the land, once proud of him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Insult him now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor brand with deeper shame his dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dishonored brow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But let its humbled sons, instead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From sea to lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long lament, as for the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sadness make.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 124]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of all we loved and honored, naught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save power remains,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fallen angel's pride of thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still strong in chains.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All else is gone; from those great eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The soul has fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When faith is lost, when honor dies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The man is dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, pay the reverence of old days<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To his dead fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walk backward, with averted gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hide the shame!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Greenleaf Whittier.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SONG" id="SONG"></a>SONG.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The heath this night must be my bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bracken curtain for my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lullaby the warder's tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far, far from love and thee, Mary;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My couch may be my bloody plaid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My vesper-song thy wail, sweet maid!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It will not waken me, Mary!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I may not, dare not, fancy now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grief that clouds thy lovely brow;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 125]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not think upon thy vow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all it promised me, Mary.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No fond regret must Norman know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart must be like bended bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His foot like arrow free, Mary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A time will come with feeling fraught!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, if I fall in battle fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy hapless lover's dying thought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall be a thought on thee, Mary:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if returned from conquered foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How blithely will the evening close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet the linnet sing repose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To my young bride and me, Mary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_LUCASTA" id="TO_LUCASTA"></a>TO LUCASTA,</h2> + +<h2>ON GOING TO THE WARS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That from the nunnerie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To warre and armes I flee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True, a new mistresse now I chase,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The first foe in the field;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with a stronger faith imbrace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sword, a horse, a shield.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 126]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet this inconstancy is such<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As you, too, should adore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not love thee, deare, so much,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Loved I not honor more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Richard Lovelace.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LAND_OF_LANDS" id="THE_LAND_OF_LANDS"></a>THE LAND OF LANDS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You ask me, why, though ill at ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within this region I subsist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose spirits falter in the mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And languish for the purple seas?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the land that freemen till,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sober-suited Freedom chose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The land where, girt with friends or foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man may speak the thing he will;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A land of settled government,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A land of just and old renown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Freedom broadens slowly down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From precedent to precedent;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where faction seldom gathers head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But by degrees to fulness wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The strength of some diffusive thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath time and space to work and spread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Should banded unions persecute<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Opinion, and induce a time<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 127]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When single thought is civil crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And individual freedom mute;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though Power should make from land to land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The name of Britain trebly great,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though every channel of the state<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should almost choke with golden sand,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I will see before I die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The palms and temples of the South.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SOLDIERS_DREAM" id="THE_SOLDIERS_DREAM"></a>THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track:<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 128]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From my home and my weeping friends never to part;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stay, stay with us!—rest; thou art weary and worn!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Campbell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MONTEREY" id="MONTEREY"></a>MONTEREY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were not many,—we who stood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before the iron sleet that day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet many a gallant spirit would<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give half his years if but he could<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have been with us at Monterey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now here, now there, the shot it hailed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In deadly drifts of fiery spray,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 129]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not a single soldier quailed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When wounded comrades round them wailed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their dying shout at Monterey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And on, still on our column kept,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through walls of flame, its withering way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where fell the dead, the living stept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still charging on the guns which swept<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The slippery streets of Monterey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The foe himself recoiled aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When, striking where he strongest lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We swooped his flanking batteries past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, braving full their murderous blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stormed home the towers of Monterey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our banners on those turrets wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And there our evening bugles play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where orange-boughs above their grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep green the memory of the brave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who fought and fell at Monterey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are not many,—we who pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beside the brave who fell that day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who of us has not confessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd rather share their warrior rest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than not have been at Monterey?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Fenno Hoffman.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 130]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_SONG_OF_THE_CAMP" id="A_SONG_OF_THE_CAMP"></a>A SONG OF THE CAMP.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The outer trenches guarding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the heated guns of the camp allied<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grew weary of bombarding.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dark Redan, in silent scoff,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay grim and threatening under;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tawny mound of the Malakoff<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No longer belched its thunder.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was a pause. A guardsman said:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"We storm the forts to-morrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing while we may, another day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will bring enough of sorrow."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They lay along the battery's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Below the smoking cannon,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from the banks of Shannon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They sang of love, and not of fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forgot was Britain's glory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each heart recalled a different name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But all sang "Annie Laurie."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Voice after voice caught up the song,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Until its tender passion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose like an anthem rich and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their battle-eve confession.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 131]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear girl! her name he dared not speak;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But as the song grew louder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something upon the soldier's cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Washed off the stains of powder.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the darkening ocean burned<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bloody sunset's embers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the Crimean valleys learned<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How English love remembers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And once again a fire of hell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rained on the Russian quarters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scream of shot and burst of shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bellowing of the mortars!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Irish Nora's eyes are dim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a singer dumb and gory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And English Mary mourns for him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who sang of "Annie Laurie."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your truth and valor wearing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bravest are the tenderest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The loving are the daring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Bayard Taylor.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 132]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CAVALIERS_SONG" id="THE_CAVALIERS_SONG"></a>THE CAVALIER'S SONG.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sword of metal keene!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All else to noble hearts is drosse,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All else on earth is meane.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rowlinge of the drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clangor of the trumpet lowde,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be soundes from heaven that come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oh! the thundering presse of knightes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whenas their war-cryes swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May tole from heaven an angel bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And rouse a fiend from hell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And don your helmes amaine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Us to the field againe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No shrewish teares shall fill our eye<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the sword-hilt's in our hand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the fayrest of the land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let piping swaine and craven wight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thus weepe and puling crye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our business is like men to fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And hero-like to die!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Motherwell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 133]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_KNIGHTS_TOMB" id="THE_KNIGHTS_TOMB"></a>THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where may the grave of that good man be?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the twigs of a young birch tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whistled and roared in the winter alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is gone,—and the birch in its stead is grown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The knight's bones are dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his good sword rust;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His soul is with the saints, I trust.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CORONACH" id="CORONACH"></a>CORONACH.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He is gone on the mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He is lost to the forest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a summer-dried fountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When our need was the sorest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fount reappearing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the rain-drops shall borrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to us comes no cheering,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Duncan no morrow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hand of the reaper<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Takes the ears that are hoary,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 134]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the voice of the weeper<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wails manhood in glory.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The autumn winds, rushing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Waft the leaves that are searest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But our flower was in flushing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When blighting was nearest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fleet foot on the correi,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sage counsel in cumber,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red hand in the foray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How sound is thy slumber!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the dew on the mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the foam on the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the bubble on the fountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou art gone, and forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DIRGE_FOR_A_SOLDIER" id="DIRGE_FOR_A_SOLDIER"></a>DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Close his eyes; his work is done!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What to him is friend or foeman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise of moon or set of sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hand of man or kiss of woman?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? he cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lay him low!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 135]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As man may, he fought his fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proved his truth by his endeavor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him sleep in solemn night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sleep forever and forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? he cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fold him in his country's stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Roll the drum and fire the volley!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What to him are all our wars?—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What but death bemocking folly?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? he cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leave him to God's watching eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trust him to the hand that made him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mortal love weeps idly by;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God alone has power to aid him.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? he cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>George Henry Boker.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 136]</span></p> +<h2><a name="ODE4" id="ODE4"></a>ODE.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate +dead at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S. C., 1867.</b></p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though yet no marble column craves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pilgrim here to pause,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In seeds of laurel in the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The blossom of your fame is blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And somewhere, waiting for its birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shaft is in the stone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which keep in trust your storied tombs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold! your sisters bring their tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And these memorial blooms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Small tributes! but your shades will smile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">More proudly on these wreaths to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than when some cannon-moulded pile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall overlook this bay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There is no holier spot of ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than where defeated valor lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By mourning beauty crowned!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Timrod.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 137]</span></p> +<h2><a name="ODE2" id="ODE2"></a>ODE.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Read at Utica, N. Y., on the occasion of decorating the graves +of the Federal dead, May 30, 1872.</b></p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They sleep so calm and stately,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each in his graveyard bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It scarcely seems that lately<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They trod the fields blood-red,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With fearless tread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They marched and never halted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They scaled the parapet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The triple lines assaulted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And paid without regret<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The final debt.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The debt of slow accruing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A guilty nation made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The debt of evil doing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of justice long delayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Twas this they paid.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On fields where Strife held riot,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Slaughter fed his hounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where came no sense of quiet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor any gentle sounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They made their rounds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They wrought without repining,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till, weary watches o'er,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 138]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They passed the bounds confining<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our green, familiar shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Forevermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now they sleep so stately,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each in his graveyard bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So calmly and sedately<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They rest, that once I said:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"These men are dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"They know not what sweet duty<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We come each year to pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heed the blooms of beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The garland gifts of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Strewn here to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The night-time and the day-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rise and set of sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winter and the May-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To them whose work is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are all as one."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then o'er mine eyes there floated<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A vision of the Land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where their brave souls, promoted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Heaven's own armies, stand<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At God's right hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From out the mighty distance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I seemed to see them gaze<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 139]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back on their old existence,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Back on the battle-blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of war's dread days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The flowers shall fade and perish<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(In larger faith spake I),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these dear names we cherish<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are written in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And cannot die."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Theodore P. Cook.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ODE1" id="ODE1"></a>ODE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sleep the brave who sink to rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all their country's wishes blessed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returns to deck their hallowed mould,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She there shall dress a sweeter sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By fairy hands their knell is rung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By forms unseen their dirge is sung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bless the turf that wraps their clay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Freedom shall awhile repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dwell a weeping hermit there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Collins.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 140]</span></p> +<h2><a name="DRIVING_HOME_THE_COWS" id="DRIVING_HOME_THE_COWS"></a>DRIVING HOME THE COWS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He turned them into the river-lane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One after another he let them pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then fastened the meadow bars again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the willows, and over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He patiently followed their sober pace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merry whistle for once was still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And something shadowed the sunny face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only a boy! and his father had said<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He never could let his youngest go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two already were lying dead<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Under the feet of the trampling foe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But after the evening work was done,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over his shoulder he slung his gun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And stealthily followed the foot-path damp.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across the clover and through the wheat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With resolute heart and purpose grim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the blind bat's flitting startled him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thrice since then had the lanes been white,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, when the cows came back at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The feeble father drove them home.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 141]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For news had come to the lonely farm<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That three were lying where two had lain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Could never lean on a son's again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The summer day grew cool and late,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He went for the cows when the work was done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But down the lane, as he opened the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He saw them coming one by one,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shaking their horns in the evening wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But who was it following close behind?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loosely swung in the idle air<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The empty sleeve of army blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worn and pale, from the crisping hair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looked out a face that the father knew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yield their dead unto life again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In golden glory at last may wane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the silent evening skies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Together they followed the cattle home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Kate Putnam Osgood.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 142]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_BRAVE_AT_HOME" id="THE_BRAVE_AT_HOME"></a>THE BRAVE AT HOME.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The maid who binds her warrior's sash<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With smile that well her pain dissembles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while beneath her drooping lash<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Heaven alone records the tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Fame shall never know her story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her heart has shed a drop as dear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As e'er bedewed the field of glory!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wife who girds her husband's sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Mid little ones who weep or wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bravely speaks the cheering word,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What though her heart be rent asunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bolts of death around him rattle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was poured upon the field of battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mother who conceals her grief<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While to her breast her son she presses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then breathes a few brave words and brief,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With no one but her secret God<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To know the pain that weighs upon her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Received on Freedom's field of honor!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Buchanan Read.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 143]</span></p> +<h2><a name="ON_HIS_BLINDNESS" id="ON_HIS_BLINDNESS"></a>ON HIS BLINDNESS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I consider how my light is spent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And that one talent which is death to hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To serve therewith my Maker, and present<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My true account, lest he returning chide;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Either man's work or his own gifts; who best<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And post o'er land and ocean without rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They also serve who only stand and wait."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Milton.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_THREE_FISHERS" id="THE_THREE_FISHERS"></a>THE THREE FISHERS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three fishers went sailing out into the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out into the west, as the sun went down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the children stood watching them out of the town;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For men must work, and women must weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's little to earn, and many to keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though the harbor-bar be moaning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 144]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But men must work, and women must weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the harbor-bar be moaning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three corpses lie out on the shining sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the morning gleam, as the tide goes down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the women are weeping and wringing their hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For those who will never come home to the town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For men must work, and women must weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And good by to the bar and its moaning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Kingsley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HEROES" id="HEROES"></a>HEROES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The winds that once the Argo bore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have died by Neptune's ruined shrines:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her hull is the drift of the deep-sea floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though shaped of Pelion's tallest pines.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You may seek her crew on every isle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fair in the foam of Ægean seas;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But out of their rest no charm can wile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jason and Orpheus and Hercules.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Priam's wail is heard no more<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By windy Ilion's sea-built walls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor great Achilles, stained with gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cries, "O ye gods, 'tis Hector falls!"<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 145]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Ida's mount is the shining snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Jove has gone from its brow away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And red on the plain the poppies grow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the Greek and the Trojan fought that day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mother Earth, are the heroes dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Do they thrill the soul of the years no more?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All that is left of the brave of yore?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are there none to fight as Theseus fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far in the young world's misty dawn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or to teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mother Earth, are the heroes gone?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gone? In a grander form they rise!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dead? We may clasp their hands in ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And catch the light of their clearer eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherever a noble deed is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis the pulse of a hero's heart is stirred;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherever the Right has a triumph won,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There are the heroes' voices heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their armor rings on a fairer field<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than the Greek or the Trojan ever trod:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the light above is the smile of God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So in his isle of calm delight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jason may sleep the years away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the heroes live, and the skies are bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the world is a braver world to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Edna Dean Proctor.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 146]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_ARSENAL_AT_SPRINGFIELD" id="THE_ARSENAL_AT_SPRINGFIELD"></a>THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Startles the villages with strange alarms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the death-angel touches those swift keys!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What loud lament and dismal Miserere<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will mingle with their awful symphonies!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cries of agony, the endless groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, through the ages that have gone before us,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In long reverberations reach our own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loud, amid the universal clamor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear the Florentine, who from his palace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Aztec priests upon their teocallis<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tumult of each sacked and burning village;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 147]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The diapason of the cannonade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With such accursed instruments as these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And jarrest the celestial harmonies?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Were half the power that fills the world with terror,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Given to redeem the human mind from error,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There were no need of arsenals or forts;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The warrior's name would be a name abhorréd;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And every nation that should lift again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its hand against a brother, on its forehead<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down the dark future, through long generations,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Peace!—and no longer from its brazen portals<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The holy melodies of love arise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 148]</span></p> +<h2><a name="ODE3" id="ODE3"></a>ODE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">What constitutes a state?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not high raised battlement or labored mound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thick wall or moated gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not bays and broad-armed ports,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not starred and spangled courts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No: men, high-minded men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With powers as far above dull brutes endued<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In forest, brake, or den,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Men who their duties know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prevent the long-aimed blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These constitute a state;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sovereign law, that state's collected will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er thrones and globes elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smit by her sacred frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fiend Dissension like a vapor sinks;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And e'en the all-dazzling crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such was this heaven-loved isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more shall freedom smile?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall Britons languish, and be men no more?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 149]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since all must life resign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis folly to decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And steal inglorious to the silent grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Sir William Jones.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHILIP_MY_KING" id="PHILIP_MY_KING"></a>PHILIP, MY KING.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><b>"Who bears upon his baby brow the round</b><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><b>And top of sovereignty."</b><br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look at me with thy large brown eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For round thee the purple shadow lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of babyhood's royal dignities.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay on my neck thy tiny hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With Love's invisible sceptre laden;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am thine Esther, to command<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, the day when thou goest a-wooing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When those beautiful lips 'gin suing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, some gentle heart's bars undoing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sittest love-glorified!—Rule kindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tenderly over thy kingdom fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 150]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up from thy sweet mouth,—up to thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirit that there lies sleeping now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May rise like a giant, and make men bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me behold thee in future years!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king;—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philip, my king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rebels within thee and foes without<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Martyr, yet monarch; till angels shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Philip, the king!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HOWS_MY_BOY" id="HOWS_MY_BOY"></a>HOW'S MY BOY?</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ho, sailor of the sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How's my boy,—my boy?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What's your boy's name, good wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in what ship sailed he?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My boy John,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He that went to sea,—<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 151]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What care I for the ship, sailor?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My boy's my boy to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You come back from sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not know my John?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might as well have asked some landsman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yonder down in the town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's not an ass in all the parish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But knows my John.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How's my boy,—my boy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unless you let me know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll swear you are no sailor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue jacket or no,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brass buttons or no, sailor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anchor and crown or no,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton'"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Speak low, woman, speak low!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And why should I speak low, sailor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About my own boy John?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I was loud as I am proud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd sing him over the town!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should I speak low, sailor?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"That good ship went down."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How's my boy,—my boy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What care I for the ship, sailor?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was never aboard her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be she afloat or be she aground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 152]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her owners can afford her!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say, how's my John?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Every man on board went down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every man aboard her."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How's my boy,—my boy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What care I for the men, sailor?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm not their mother,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How's my boy,—my boy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me of him and no other!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How's my boy,—my boy?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Sydney Dobell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHILDRENS_HOUR" id="THE_CHILDRENS_HOUR"></a>THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Between the dark and the daylight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the night is beginning to lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes a pause in the day's occupations<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That is known as the children's hour,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear in the chamber above me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The patter of little feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound of a door that is opened,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And voices soft and sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From my study I see in the lamplight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Descending the broad hall-stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Edith with golden hair.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 153]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A whisper, and then a silence;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet I know by their merry eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are plotting and planning together<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To take me by surprise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A sudden rush from the stairway,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sudden raid from the hall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By three doors left unguarded<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They enter my castle wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They climb up into my turret<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the arms and back of my chair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I try to escape, they surround me:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They seem to be everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They almost devour me with kisses;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their arms about me entwine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Because you have scaled the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such an old mustache as I am<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is not a match for you all?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have you fast in my fortress,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And will not let you depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But put you down into the dungeon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the round tower of my heart.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 154]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there will I keep you forever,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yes, forever and a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And moulder in dust away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_CHILD" id="MY_CHILD"></a>MY CHILD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I cannot make him dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His fair sunshiny head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is ever bounding round my study chair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet when my eyes, now dim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With tears, I turn to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vision vanishes,—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I walk my parlor floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And through the open door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear a footfall on the chamber stair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm stepping toward the hall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To give the boy a call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then bethink me that—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I thread the crowded street;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A satchelled lad I meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the same beaming eyes and colored hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, as he's running by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Follow him with my eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarcely believing that—he is not there!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 155]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I know his face is hid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the coffin lid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My hand that marble felt;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er it in prayer I knelt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet my heart whispers that—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I cannot make him dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When passing by the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long watched over with parental care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My spirit and my eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seek him inquiringly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the thought comes that—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When, at the cool gray break<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of day, from sleep I wake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my first breathing of the morning air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul goes up, with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Him who gave my boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then comes the sad thought that—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When at the day's calm close,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before we seek repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whate'er I may be saying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am in spirit praying<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For our boy's spirit, though—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Not there!—Where, then, is he?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The form I used to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was but the raiment that he used to wear.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 156]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grave, that now doth press<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon that cast-off dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is but his wardrobe locked;—he is not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He lives!—In all the past<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He lives; nor, to the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of seeing him again will I despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In dreams I see him now;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on his angel brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see it written, "Thou shalt see me <i>there</i>!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Yes, we all live to God!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father, thy chastening rod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That in the spirit-land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meeting at thy right hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill be our heaven to find that—he is there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Pierpont.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LAND_O_THE_LEAL" id="THE_LAND_O_THE_LEAL"></a>THE LAND O' THE LEAL.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm wearin' awa', John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm wearin' awa'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's nae sorrow there, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's neither cauld nor care, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day is aye fair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the land o' the leal.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 157]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our bonnie bairn's there, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was baith gude and fair, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oh! we grudged her sair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joy's a-comin' fast, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The joy that's aye to last<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sae dear's that joy was bought, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sae free the battle fought, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sinfu' man e'er brought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My saul langs to be free, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And angels beckon me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! haud ye leal and true, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your day it's wearin' thro', John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'll welcome you<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now fare ye weel, my ain John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This warld's cares are vain, John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll meet, and we'll be fain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the land o' the leal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Lady Nairne.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 158]</span></p> +<h2><a name="LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT" id="LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT"></a>LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where we sat side by side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a bright May mornin' long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When first you were my bride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The corn was springin' fresh and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the lark sang loud and high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the red was on your lip, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the love-light in your eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The place is little changed, Mary;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The day is bright as then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lark's loud song is in my ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the corn is green again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And your breath, warm on my cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I still keep list'nin' for the words<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You never more will speak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis but a step down yonder lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the little church stands near,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The church where we were wed, Mary;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I see the spire from here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the graveyard lies between, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And my step might break your rest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With your baby on your breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm very lonely now, Mary,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the poor make no new friends;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 159]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, oh! they love the better still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The few our Father sends!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you were all I had, Mary,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My blessin' and my pride:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's nothing left to care for now,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since my poor Mary died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That still kept hoping on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the trust in God had left my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And my arm's young strength was gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was comfort ever on your lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the kind look on your brow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bless you, Mary, for that same,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though you cannot hear me now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I thank you for the patient smile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When your heart was fit to break,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And you hid it for my sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bless you for the pleasant word,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When your heart was sad and sore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where grief can't reach you more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm biddin' you a long farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My Mary,—kind and true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'll not forget you, darling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the land I'm goin' to;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They say there's bread and work for all,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sun shines always there,—<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 160]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'll not forget old Ireland,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were it fifty times as fair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And often in those grand old woods<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'll sit, and shut my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my heart will travel back again<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the place where Mary lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'll think I see the little stile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where we sat side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When first you were my bride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Lady Dufferin.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DEATH-BED" id="THE_DEATH-BED"></a>THE DEATH-BED.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We watched her breathing through the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her breathing soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in her breast the wave of life<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kept heaving to and fro.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So silently we seemed to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So slowly moved about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we had lent her half our powers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To eke her living out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our very hopes belied our fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our fears our hopes belied,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We thought her dying when she slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sleeping when she died.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 161]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For when the morn came, dim and sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And chill with early showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her quiet eyelids closed,—she had<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Another morn than ours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Hood.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EVELYN_HOPE" id="EVELYN_HOPE"></a>EVELYN HOPE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sit and watch by her side an hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is her book-shelf, this her bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She plucked that piece of geranium flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beginning to die, too, in the glass.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Little has yet been changed, I think,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shutters are shut, no light may pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Save two long rays through the hinge's chink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sixteen years old when she died!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was not her time to love: beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her life had many a hope and aim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Duties enough and little cares;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And now was quiet, now astir,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till God's hand beckoned unawares,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sweet white brow is all of her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What! your soul was pure and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The good stars met in your horoscope,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made you of spirit, fire, and dew,—<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 162]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And just because I was thrice as old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And our paths in the world diverged so wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each was naught to each, must I be told?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We were fellow-mortals,—naught beside?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No, indeed! for God above<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is great to grant, as mighty to make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And creates the love to reward the love,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I claim you still, for my own love's sake!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much is to learn and much to forget<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere the time be come for taking you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the time will come—at last it will—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the lower earth, in the years long still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That body and soul so pure and gay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And your mouth of your own geranium's red,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what you would do with me, in fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the new life come in the old one's stead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have lived, I shall say, so much since then,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Given up myself so many times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gained me the gains of various men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Either I missed or itself missed me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What is the issue? let us see!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 163]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I loved you, Evelyn, all the while;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My heart seemed full as it could hold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was space and to spare for the frank young smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So hush,—I will give you this leaf to keep,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, that is our secret! go to sleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You will wake, and remember, and understand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Browning.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_BRIDAL_DIRGE" id="A_BRIDAL_DIRGE"></a>A BRIDAL DIRGE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Weave no more the marriage-chain!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All unmated is the lover;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death has ta'en the place of Pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love doth call on Love in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Life and years of hope are over!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No more want of marriage-bell!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No more need of bridal favor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is she to wear them well?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You beside the lover tell!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gone,—with all the love he gave her!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Paler than the stone she lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Colder than the winter's morning!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherefore did she thus despise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(She with pity in her eyes)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mother's care and lover's warning?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 164]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Youth and beauty,—shall they not<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Last beyond a brief to-morrow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No: a prayer, and then forgot!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This the truest lover's lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This the sum of human sorrow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Bryan Waller Procter.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SHE_DIED_IN_BEAUTY" id="SHE_DIED_IN_BEAUTY"></a>SHE DIED IN BEAUTY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She died in beauty,—like a rose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blown from its parent stem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She died in beauty,—like a pearl<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dropped from some diadem.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She died in beauty,—like a lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along a moonlit lake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She died in beauty,—like the song<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of birds amid the brake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She died in beauty,—like the snow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On flowers dissolved away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She died in beauty,—like a star<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lost on the brow of day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She lives in glory,—like night's gems<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Set round the silver moon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lives in glory,—like the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Amid the blue of June.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Doyne Sillery.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 165]</span></p> +<h2><a name="SHE_WAS_NOT_FAIR_NOR_FULL_OF_GRACE" id="SHE_WAS_NOT_FAIR_NOR_FULL_OF_GRACE"></a>SHE WAS NOT FAIR, NOR FULL OF GRACE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She was not fair, nor full of grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor crowned with thought or aught beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wealth had she, of mind or face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To win our love or raise our pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No lover's thought her cheek did touch;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No poet's dream was round her thrown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet we miss her,—ah, too much,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now—she hath flown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We miss her when the morning calls,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As one that mingled in our mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We miss her when the evening falls,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A trifle wanted on the earth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some fancy small, or subtile thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is checked ere to its blossom grown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some chain is broken that we wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now—she hath flown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No solid good, nor hope defined,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is marred now she has sunk in night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet the strong immortal Mind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is stopped in its triumphant flight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps some grain lost to its sphere<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Might cast the great Sun from his throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all we know is—"She was here,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And—"She hath flown!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Bryan Waller Procter.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 166]</span></p> +<h2><a name="HIGHLAND_MARY" id="HIGHLAND_MARY"></a>HIGHLAND MARY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye banks, and braes, and streams around<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The castle o' Montgomery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your waters never drumlie!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There simmer first unfald her robes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And there the langest tarry!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there I took the last fareweel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O' my sweet Highland Mary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How rich the hawthorn blossom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, underneath their fragrant shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I clasped her to my bosom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden hours, on angel wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flew o'er me and my dearie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For dear to me as light and life<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was my sweet Highland Mary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our parting was fu' tender;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pledging aft to meet again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We tore ourselves asunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! fell death's untimely frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That nipt my flower sae early!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That wraps my Highland Mary!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O pale, pale now, those rosy lips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I aft hae kissed sae fondly!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 167]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And closed for aye the sparkling glance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That dwelt on me sae kindly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mouldering now in silent dust<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That heart that lo'ed me dearly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still within my bosom's core<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall live my Highland Mary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Burns.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TOO_LATE1" id="TOO_LATE1"></a>TOO LATE!</h2> + +<h4>"Douglas, Douglas, tendir and treu."</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the old likeness that I knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never a scornful word should grieve ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O to call back the days that are not!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My eyes were blinded, your words were few;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you know the truth now up in heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never was worthy of you, Douglas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not half worthy the like of you;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 168]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now all men beside seem to me like shadows,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I love <i>you</i>, Douglas, tender and true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TOM_BOWLING" id="TOM_BOWLING"></a>TOM BOWLING.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The darling of our crew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more he'll hear the tempest howling,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For death has broached him to.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His form was of the manliest beauty;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His heart was kind and soft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faithful below, he did his duty;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But now he's gone aloft.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom never from his word departed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His virtues were so rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His friends were many and true-hearted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His Poll was kind and fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah, many's the time and oft!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mirth is turned to melancholy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Tom is gone aloft.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 169]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When He, who all commands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall give, to call life's crew together,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The word to pipe all hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In vain Tom's life has doffed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, though his body's under hatches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His soul is gone aloft.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Dibdin.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="JOSEPH_RODMAN_DRAKE" id="JOSEPH_RODMAN_DRAKE"></a>JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Green be the turf above thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Friend of my better days!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None knew thee but to love thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor named thee but to praise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tears fell, when thou wert dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From eyes unused to weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long, where thou art lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will tears the cold turf steep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When hearts whose truth was proven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like thine, are laid in earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There should a wreath be woven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To tell the world their worth;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I, who woke each morrow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To clasp thy hand in mine,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 170]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shared thy joy and sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose weal and woe were thine,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It should be mine to braid it<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around thy faded brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I've in vain essayed it,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And feel I cannot now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While memory bids me weep thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor thoughts nor words are free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grief is fixed too deeply<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That mourns a man like thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Fitz-Greene Halleck.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SHE_IS_FAR_FROM_THE_LAND" id="SHE_IS_FAR_FROM_THE_LAND"></a>SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And lovers are round her sighing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For her heart in his grave is lying!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Every note which he loved awaking;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He had lived for his love, for his country he died,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They were all that to life had entwined him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor long will his love stay behind him.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 171]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When they promise a glorious morrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From her own loved island of sorrow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Moore.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MINSTRELS_SONG" id="MINSTRELS_SONG"></a>MINSTREL'S SONG.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sing unto my roundelay!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, drop the briny tear with me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dance no more at holiday;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a running river be.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Black his hair as the winter night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">White his neck as the summer snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruddy his face as the morning light;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cold he lies in the grave below.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Quick in dance as thought can be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, he lies by the willow tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 172]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hark! the raven flaps his wing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the briered dell below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the nightmares as they go.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See! the white moon shines on high;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whiter is my true-love's shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whiter than the morning sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whiter than the evening cloud.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, upon my true-love's grave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall the barren flowers be laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor one holy saint to save<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All the coldness of a maid.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With my hands I'll bind the briers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Round his holy corse to gre;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ouphant fairy, light your fires;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here my body still shall be.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 173]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drain my heart's blood all away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life and all its good I scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dance by night, or feast by day.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone to his death bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All under the willow tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Water-witches, crowned with reytes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bear me to your lethal tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I die! I come! my true-love waits.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thus the damsel spake, and died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas Chatterton.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IN_MEMORIAM" id="IN_MEMORIAM"></a>IN MEMORIAM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell! since nevermore for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sun comes up our earthly skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To some fond hearts and saddened eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are who for thy last long sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall weep because thou canst not weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sad thrift of love! the loving breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On which the aching head was thrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave up the weary head to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But kept the aching for its own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Thomas K. Hervey.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 174]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_GRAVES_OF_A_HOUSEHOLD" id="THE_GRAVES_OF_A_HOUSEHOLD"></a>THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They grew in beauty, side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They filled one home with glee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their graves are severed far and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By mount, and stream, and sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The same fond mother bent at night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er each fair sleeping brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She had each folded flower in sight,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where are those dreamers now?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One, 'midst the forests of the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By a dark stream is laid,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Indian knows his place of rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far in the cedar shade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He lies where pearls lie deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was the loved of all, yet none<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er his low bed may weep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One sleeps where southern vines are dressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above the noble slain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wrapped his colors round his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a blood-red field of Spain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And one,—o'er her the myrtle showers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She faded 'midst Italian flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The last of that bright band.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 175]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And parted thus they rest, who played<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the same green tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose voices mingled as they prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around one parent knee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They that with smiles lit up the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cheered with song the hearth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas for love! if <i>thou</i> wert all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And naught beyond, O earth!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Felicia Hemans.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_HERMIT" id="THE_HERMIT"></a>THE HERMIT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more with himself or with nature at war,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Full quickly they pass,—but they never return.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 176]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lately I marked when majestic on high<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The path that conducts thee to splendor again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But man's faded glory what change shall renew?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I mourn,—but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For morn is approaching your charms to restore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kind nature the embryo blossom will save;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And darkness and doubt are now flying away:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 177]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>James Beattie.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="O_WHY_SHOULD_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MORTAL_BE" id="O_WHY_SHOULD_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MORTAL_BE"></a>O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD?</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O why should the spirit of mortal be proud?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man passes from life to his rest in the grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be scattered around and together be laid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the young and the old, and the low and the high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The infant a mother attended and loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mother that infant's affection who proved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The husband that mother and infant who blessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone beauty and pleasure,—her triumphs are by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the memory of those who have loved her and praised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are alike from the minds of the living erased.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 178]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beggar who wandered in search of his bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have faded away like the grass that we tread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That withers away to let others succeed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the multitude comes, even those we behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To repeat every tale that has often been told.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For we are the same that our fathers have been;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We drink the same stream, and we view the same sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And run the same course that our fathers have run.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the death that we shrink from our fathers would shrink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the life that we cling to they also would cling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 179]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They died, ay! they died: and we things that are now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We mingle together in sunshine and rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Knox.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PROGRESS" id="PROGRESS"></a>PROGRESS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Liberty lives loud on every lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Freedom moans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trampled by nations whose faint footfalls slip<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round bloody thrones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, here and there, in dungeon and in thrall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or exile pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like torches dying at a funeral,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brave natures fail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Truth, the armed archangel, stretches wide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God's tromp in vain,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 180]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the world, drowsing, turns upon its side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To drowse again;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Man, whose course hath called itself sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since it began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What art thou in such dying age of time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As man to man?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Love's last wrong hath been forgotten coldly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As First Love's face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like a rat that comes to wanton boldly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In some lone place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once festal, in the realm of light and laughter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grim Doubt appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst weird suggestions from Death's vague Hereafter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er ruined years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creep, dark and darker, with new dread to mutter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through life's long shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet make no more in the chill breast the flutter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which once they made:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether it be, that all doth at the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round to its term,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That nothing lives in that last darkness, save<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The little worm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or whether the tired spirit prolong its course<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through realms unseen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure, that unknown world cannot be worse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than this hath been:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when thro' Thought's gold chain, so frail and slender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No link will meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the broken harps of Language render<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No sound that's sweet;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 181]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, like torn books, sad days weigh down each other<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I' the dusty shelf;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Man, what art thou, O my friend, my brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even to thyself?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Robert Bulwer Lytton.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_BLACK_BOY" id="THE_LITTLE_BLACK_BOY"></a>THE LITTLE BLACK BOY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My mother bore me in the southern wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I am black; but, O, my soul is white!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as an angel is the English child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I am black as if bereaved of light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My mother taught me underneath a tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, sitting down before the heat of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She took me on her lap, and kisséd me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, pointing to the east, began to say:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Look on the rising sun; there God does live,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gives his light, and gives his heat away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flowers and trees, and beasts and men, receive<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And we are put on earth a little space,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That we may learn to bear the beams of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these black bodies and this sunburnt face<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 182]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For when our souls have learned the heat to bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The clouds will vanish; we shall hear his voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saving: 'Come from the grove, my love and care,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus did my mother say and kisséd me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thus I say to little English boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I from black, and he from white cloud free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And be like him, and he will then love me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Blake.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DEATHS_FINAL_CONQUEST" id="DEATHS_FINAL_CONQUEST"></a>DEATHS FINAL CONQUEST.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The glories of our birth and state<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are shadows, not substantial things;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no armor against fate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Death lays his icy hands on kings;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sceptre and crown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must tumble down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the dust be equal made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the poor crooked scythe and spade.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 183]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some men with swords may reap the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And plant fresh laurels where they kill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But their strong nerves at last must yield,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They tame but one another still;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Early or late<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They stoop to fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And must give up their murmuring breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they, pale captives, creep to death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The garlands wither on your brow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then boast no more your mighty deeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon death's purple altar, now,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See where the victor victim bleeds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All heads must come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the cold tomb,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the actions of the just<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>James Shirley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_AN_INDIAN_GOLD_COIN" id="TO_AN_INDIAN_GOLD_COIN"></a>TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Slave of the dark and dirty mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What vanity has brought thee here?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can I love to see thee shine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So bright, whom I have bought so dear?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For twilight converse, arm in arm;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 184]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i1">The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When mirth and music wont to charm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By Cherical's dark wandering streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Teviot loved while still a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of castled rocks stupendous piled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Esk or Eden's classic wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where loves of youth and friendship smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The perished bliss of youth's first prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once so bright on fancy played,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Revives no more in after-time.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far from my sacred natal clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I haste to an untimely grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The daring thoughts that soared sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Slave of the mine, thy yellow light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gentle vision comes by night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My lonely widowed heart to cheer:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her eyes are dim with many a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once were guiding stars to mine:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her fond heart throbs with many a fear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cannot bear to see thee shine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I left a heart that loved me true!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 185]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To roam in climes unkind and new.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cold wind of the stranger blew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chill on my withered heart; the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dark and untimely met my view,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all for thee, vile yellow slave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A wanderer's banished heart forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now that his frame the lightning shock<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of sun-rays tipped with death has borne?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From love, from friendship, country, torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To memory's fond regrets the prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go mix thee with thy kindred clay!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Leyden.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GOING_HOME" id="GOING_HOME"></a>GOING HOME.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drawn by horses with decorous feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A carriage for one went through the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Polished as anthracite out of the mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossing its plumes so stately and fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As nods to the night a Norway pine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The passenger lay in Parian rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if, by the sculptor's hand caressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mortal life through the marble stole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then till an angel calls the roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It waits awhile for a human soul.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 186]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He rode in state, but his carriage-fare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was left unpaid to his only heir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hardly a man, from hovel to throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Takes to this route in coach of his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But borrows at last and travels alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The driver sat in his silent seat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world, as still as a field of wheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave all the road to the speechless twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought the passenger never again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should travel that way with living men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not a robin held its little breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sang right on in the face of death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You never would dream, to see the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give glance for glance to the violet's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That aught between them could ever die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A wain bound east met the hearse bound west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Halted a moment, and passed abreast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I verily think a stranger pair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have never met on a thoroughfare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a dim by-road, or anywhere:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hearse as slim and glossy and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As silken thread at a woman's will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who watches her work with tears unshed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broiders a grief with needle and thread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mourns in pansies and cypress the dead;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Spotless the steeds in a satin dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That run for two worlds the Lord's Express,—<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 187]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long as the route of Arcturus's ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brief as the Publican's trying to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No other steeds by no other way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could go so far in a single day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From wagon broad and heavy and rude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A group looking out from a single hood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Striped with the flirt of a heedless lash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dappled and dimmed with many a splash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Gathered" behind like an old calash.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It made you think of a schooner's sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mildewed with weather, tattered by gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down "by the run" from mizzen and main,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That canvas mapped with stipple and stain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Western earth and the prairie rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The watch-dog walked in his ribs between<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hinder wheels, with sleepy mien;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dangling pail to the axle slung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Astern of the wain a manger hung,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A schooner's boat by the davits swung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The white-faced boys sat three in a row,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eyes of wonder and heads of tow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father looked sadly over his brood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother just lifted a flap of the hood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All saw the hearse,—and two understood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They thought of the one-eyed cabin small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hid like a nest in the grasses tall,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 188]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where plains swept boldly off in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grooved into heaven everywhere,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So near the stars' invisible stair<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That planets and prairie almost met,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just cleared its edges as they set!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They thought of the level world's "divide,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their hearts flowed down its other side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the grave of the little girl that died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They thought of childhood's neighborly hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sunshine aprons and ribbons of rills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That drew so near when the day went down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Put on a crimson and golden crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sat together in mantles brown;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Dawn's red plume in their winter caps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Night asleep in their drowsy laps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lightening the load of the shouldered wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By shedding the shadows as they could,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gathered round where the homestead stood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They thought,—that pair in the rugged wain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking with bosom rather than brain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'll never know till their dying day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That what they thought and never could say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their hearts throbbed out in an Alpine lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old Waldensian song again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thank God for the mountains, and amen!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 189]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wain gave a lurch, the hearse moved on,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment or two, and both were gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wain bound east, the hearse bound west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both going home, both looking for rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lord save all, and his name be blest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Benjamin F. Taylor.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MANS_MORTALITY" id="MANS_MORTALITY"></a>MAN'S MORTALITY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like as the damask rose you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the blossoms on the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the dainty flower of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the morning of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the sun, or like the shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the gourd which Jonas had;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, whose thread is spun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drawn out and cut, and so is done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose withers, the blossom blasteth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flower fades, the morning hasteth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun sets, the shadow flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gourd consumes, and man,—he dies!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to the grass that's newly sprung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a tale that's new begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the bird that's here to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the pearléd dew of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like an hour, or like a span,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the singing of a swan;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 190]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, who lives by breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is here, now there, in life and death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grass withers, the tale is ended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hour is short, the span not long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The swan near death,—man's life is done!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to a bubble in the brook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in a glass much like a look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a shuttle in a weaver's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the writing on the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a thought, or like a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the gliding of a stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, who lives by breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is here, now there, in life and death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bubble 's out, the look 's forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shuttle 's flung, the writing 's blot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thought is past, the dream is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The water glides,—man's life is done!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to a blaze of fond delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a morning clear and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a frost, or like a shower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the pride of Babel's tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the hour that guides the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like to Beauty in her prime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, whose glory lends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That life a blaze or two, and ends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morn 's o'ercast, joy turned to pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frost is thawed, dried up the rain,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 191]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tower falls, the hour is run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauty lost,—man's life is done!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to an arrow from the bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like swift course of waterflow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like that time 'twixt flood and ebb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the spider's tender web,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a race, or like a goal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the dealing of a dole;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, whose brittle state<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is always subject unto Fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arrow 's shot, the flood soon spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time 's no time, the web soon rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The race soon run, the goal soon won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dole soon dealt,—man's life is done!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to the lightning from the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a post that quick doth hie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a quaver in a short song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a journey three days long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the snow when summer 's come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the pear, or like the plum;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, who heaps up sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lives but this day, and dies to-morrow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lightning 's past, the post must go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song is short, the journey's so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pear doth rot, the plum doth fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snow dissolves,—and so must all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Simon Wastel.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 192]</span></p> +<h2><a name="LIFE2" id="LIFE2"></a>LIFE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to the falling of a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or as the flights of eagles are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or silver drops of morning dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a wind that chafes the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or bubbles which on water stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such is man, whose borrowed light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is straight called in, and paid to-night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind blows out, the bubble dies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spring entombed in autumn lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dew dries up, the star is shot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flight is past,—and man forgot!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry King.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_LAMENT" id="A_LAMENT"></a>A LAMENT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O World! O Life! O Time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On whose last steps I climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trembling at that where I had stood before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When will return the glory of your prime?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more,—O nevermore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of the day and night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A joy has taken flight:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more,—O nevermore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Percy Bysshe Shelley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 193]</span></p> +<h2><a name="LIFE1" id="LIFE1"></a>LIFE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Life! I know not what thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But know that thou and I must part;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when, or how, or where we met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I own to me's a secret yet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Life! we've been long together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis hard to part when friends are dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then steal away, give little warning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Choose thine own time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say not Good Night,—but in some brighter clime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bid me Good Morning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Anna Lætitia Barbauld.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TITHONUS" id="TITHONUS"></a>TITHONUS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vapors weep their burden to the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And after many a summer dies the swan.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me only cruel immortality<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here at the quiet limit of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ever-silent spaces of the east,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 194]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his great heart none other than a god!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I asked thee, "Give me immortality."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like wealthy men who care not how they give.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thy strong Hours indignant worked their wills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beat me down and marred and wasted me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though they could not end me, left me maimed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dwell in presence of immortal youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal age beside immortal youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy beauty, make amends, though even now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should a man desire in any way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To vary from the kindly race of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A soft air fans the cloud apart: there comes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bosom beating with a heart renewed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 195]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shake the darkness from their loosened manes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence, then before thine answer given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make me tremble lest a saying learnt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ay me! ay me! with what another heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In days far-off, and with what other eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I used to watch—if I be he that watched—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lucid outline forming round thee; saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dim curls kindle into sunny rings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glow with the glow that slowly crimsoned all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With kisses balmier than half-opening buds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of April, and could hear the lips that kissed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Yet hold me not forever in thine East:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can my nature longer mix with thine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 196]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floats up from those dim fields about the homes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of happy men that have the power to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grassy barrows of the happier dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Release me, and restore me to the ground:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I earth in earth forget these empty courts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thee returning on thy silver wheels.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS" id="THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS"></a>THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS.</h2> + +<h4>(From the Irish.)</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let yourtongue thus rattle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may have cattle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've seen—and here's my hand to you, I only say what's true—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good luck to you! don't scorn the poor, and don't be their despiser;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 197]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See where Mononia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they were forced to bow to Fate, as every mortal bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to mourning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Movrone! for they were banished, with no hope of their returning.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were driven to house?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O think of Donnell of the Ships, the chief whom nothing daunted,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder cannot rouse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then ask yourself, should you be proud, good Woman of Three Cows?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 198]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in story,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest glory!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and cypress boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The O'Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's best and oldest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet who so great as they of yore, in battle or carouse?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your neighbor's poor, and you it seems are big with vain ideas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because, forsooth, you've got three cows,—one more, I see, than she has;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if you're strong be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up your scornful bearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'm too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak I'm wearing,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 199]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I had but four cows myself, even though you were my spouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>James Clarence Mangan.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_FAREWELL2" id="A_FAREWELL2"></a>A FAREWELL.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My fairest child, I have no song to give you;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you<br /></span> +<span class="i6">For every day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so make life, death, and that vast forever<br /></span> +<span class="i6">One grand sweet song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Charles Kingsley.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ODE_ON_A_GRECIAN_URN" id="ODE_ON_A_GRECIAN_URN"></a>ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou still unravished bride of quietness!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou foster-child of silence and slow time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sylvan historian, who canst thus express<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of deities or mortals, or of both,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 200]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though winning near the goal; yet do not grieve,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happy melodist, unweariéd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever piping songs forever new;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More happy love! more happy, happy love!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever warm and still to be enjoyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forever panting, and forever young;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All breathing human passion far above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That leaves a heart high sorrowful and cloyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A burning forehead and a parching tongue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who are these coming to the sacrifice?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To what green altar, O mysterious priest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 201]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What little town by river or sea-shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, little town, thy streets forevermore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of marble men and maidens overwrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With forest branches and the trodden weed!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As doth eternity. Cold pastoral!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When old age shall this generation waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Keats.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LINES_ON_A_SKELETON" id="LINES_ON_A_SKELETON"></a>LINES ON A SKELETON.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once of ethereal spirit full<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This narrow cell was Life's retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This space was Thought's mysterious seat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What beauteous visions filled this spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What dreams of pleasure long forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have left one trace of record here.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 202]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath this mouldering canopy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once shone the bright and busy eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But start not at the dismal void,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If social love that eye employed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If with no lawless fire it gleamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But through the dews of kindness beamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That eye shall be forever bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When stars and sun are sunk in night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within this hollow cavern hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Falsehood's honey it disdained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when it could not praise was chained;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet gentle concord never broke,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This silent tongue shall plead for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Time unveils Eternity!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say, did these fingers delve the mine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or with the envied rubies shine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hew the rock or wear a gem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can little now avail to them.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if the page of Truth they sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or comfort to the mourner brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These hands a richer meed shall claim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Avails it whether bare or shod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These feet the paths of duty trod?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If from the bowers of Ease they fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seek Affliction's humble shed;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 203]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And home to Virtue's cot returned,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These feet with angel wings shall vie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tread the palace of the sky!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Anonymous.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIRTUE" id="VIRTUE"></a>VIRTUE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bridal of the earth and sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For thou must die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy root is ever in its grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And thou must die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A box where sweets compacted lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My music shows you have your closes,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all must die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only a sweet and virtuous soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like seasoned timber, never gives;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the whole world turns to coal,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then chiefly lives.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>George Herbert.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 204]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LIE" id="THE_LIE"></a>THE LIE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go, Soul, the body's guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a thankless errand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fear not to touch the best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The truth shall be thy warrant:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Go, since I needs must die,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And give them all the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go tell the Court it glows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shines like rotten wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go tell the Church it shows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What's good, but does no good:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If Court and Church reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Give Court and Church the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Potentates they live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acting, but oh! their actions;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not loved, unless they give,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor strong but by their factions:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If Potentates reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Give Potentates the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell men of high condition,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rule affairs of state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their purpose is ambition;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their practice only hate:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if they do reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then give them all the lie.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 205]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell those that brave it most<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They beg for more by spending,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who in their greatest cost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek nothing but commending:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if they make reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spare not to give the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Zeal it lacks devotion;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Love it is but lust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Time it is but motion;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Flesh it is but dust:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And wish them not reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For thou must give the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Age it daily wasteth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Honor how it alters;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Beauty that it blasteth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Favor that she falters:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And as they do reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Give every one the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Wit how much it wrangles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fickle points of niceness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Wisdom she entangles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herself in over-wiseness:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if they do reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then give them both the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Physic of her boldness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Skill it is pretension;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Charity of coldness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Law it is contention:<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 206]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if they yield reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then give them all the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Fortune of her blindness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Nature of decay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Friendship of unkindness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Justice of delay:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if they do reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then give them still the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Arts they have no soundness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But vary by esteeming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell Schools they lack profoundness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stand too much on seeming:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If Arts and Schools reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Give Arts and Schools the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tell Faith it's fled the city;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell how the country erreth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell, Manhood shakes off pity;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell, Virtue least preferreth:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if they do reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spare not to give the lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when thou hast, as I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Commanded thee, done blabbing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although to give the lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deserves no less than stabbing:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet stab at thee who will,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No stab the Soul can kill!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Sir Walter Raleigh.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 207]</span></p> +<h2><a name="TWO_WOMEN" id="TWO_WOMEN"></a>TWO WOMEN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The shadows lay along Broadway,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas near the twilight-tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly there a lady fair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was walking in her pride.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Walked spirits at her side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Honor charmed the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all astir looked kind on her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And called her good as fair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all God ever gave to her<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She kept with chary care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She kept with care her beauties rare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From lovers warm and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her heart was cold to all but gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the rich came not to woo,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But honored well are charms to sell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If priests the selling do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now walking there was one more fair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A slight girl, lily-pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she had unseen company<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To make the spirit quail,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And nothing could avail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No mercy now can clear her brow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For this world's peace to pray;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 208]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her woman's heart gave way!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By man is cursed alway!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Nathaniel Parker Willis.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_PAUPERS_DEATH-BED" id="THE_PAUPERS_DEATH-BED"></a>THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tread softly,—bow the head,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In reverent silence bow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No passing-bell doth toll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet an immortal soul<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is passing now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stranger, however great,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With lowly reverence bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's one in that poor shed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One by that paltry bed—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Greater than thou.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath that beggar's roof,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lo! Death doth keep his state.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enter, no crowds attend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enter, no guards defend<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>This</i> palace gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That pavement, damp and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No smiling courtiers tread;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 209]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">One silent woman stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting with meagre hands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A dying head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No mingling voices sound,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An infant wail alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sob suppressed,—again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That short deep gasp, and then—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The parting groan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O change! O wondrous change!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Burst are the prison bars,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This moment <i>there</i> so low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So agonized, and now<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beyond the stars.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O change! stupendous change!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There lies the soulless clod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun eternal breaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The new immortal wakes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wakes with his God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Caroline Bowles Southey.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ON_A_PICTURE_OF_PEEL_CASTLE_IN_A_STORM" id="ON_A_PICTURE_OF_PEEL_CASTLE_IN_A_STORM"></a>ON A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE IN A STORM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw thee every day; and all the while<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 210]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So pure the sky, so quiet was the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So like, so very like was day to day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whene'er I looked, thy image still was there;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It trembled, but it never passed away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How perfect was the calm! It seemed no sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No mood which season takes away or brings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could have fancied that the mighty deep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To express what then I saw, and add the gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light that never was on sea or land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The consecration and the poet's dream,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Amid a world how different from this!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside a sea that could not cease to smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A picture had it been of lasting ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Elysian quiet without toil or strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No motion but the moving tide, a breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such, in the fond illusion of my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such picture would I at that time have made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seen the soul of truth in every part,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So once it would have been,—'tis so no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have submitted to a new control;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 211]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A power has gone which nothing can restore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A deep distress hath humanized my soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not for a moment could I now behold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A smiling sea, and be what I have been;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This, which I know, I speak with mind serene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, Beaumont, friend, who would have been the friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If he had lived, of him whom I deplore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This work of thine I blame not, but commend,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, 'tis a passionate work! yet wise and well,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Well chosen is the spirit that is here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hulk which labors in the deadly swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this huge castle, standing here sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I love to see the look with which it braves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Housed in a dream at distance from the kind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such happiness, wherever it be known,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But welcome, fortitude and patient cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And frequent sights of what is to be borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William Wordsworth.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 212]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TREASURES_OF_THE_DEEP" id="THE_TREASURES_OF_THE_DEEP"></a>THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We ask not such from thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet more, the depths have more!—what wealth untold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far down and shining through their stillness lies!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Won from ten thousand royal argosies!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Earth claims not these again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet more, the depths have more!—thy waves have rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Above the cities of a world gone by!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Man yields them to decay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hear not now the booming waters roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The battle-thunders will not break their rest.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Give back the true and brave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Give back the lost and lovely!—those for whom<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The place was kept at board and hearth so long,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 213]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the vain yearning woke midst festal song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But all is not thine own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To thee the love of woman hath gone down,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet must thou hear a voice,—Restore the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Restore the dead, thou sea!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Felicia Hemans.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CLOUD" id="THE_CLOUD"></a>THE CLOUD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long had I watched the glory moving on,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the still radiance of the lake below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">E'en in its very motion there was rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While every breath of eve that chanced to blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by the breath of mercy made to roll<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Right onward to the golden gates of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tells to man his glorious destinies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Wilson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 214]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CHAMBERED_NAUTILUS" id="THE_CHAMBERED_NAUTILUS"></a>THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sails the unshadowed main,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The venturous bark that flings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the sweet summer wind its purple wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And coral reefs lie bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wrecked is the ship of pearl!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And every chambered cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before thee lies revealed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Year after year beheld the silent toil<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That spread his lustrous coil:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still, as the spiral grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left the past year's dwelling for the new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stole with soft step its shining archway through,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Built up its idle door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Child of the wandering sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cast from her lap, forlorn!<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 215]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy dead lips a clearer note is born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While on mine ear it rings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As the swift seasons roll!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Leave thy low-vaulted past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let each new temple, nobler than the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till thou at length art free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ST_AGNES" id="ST_AGNES"></a>ST. AGNES.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deep on the convent-roof the snows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are sparkling to the moon:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My breath to heaven like vapor goes:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May my soul follow soon!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadows of the convent-towers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slant down the snowy sward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still creeping with the creeping hours<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That lead me to my Lord:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make Thou my spirit pure and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As are the frosty skies,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 216]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or this first snowdrop of the year<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That in my bosom lies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As these white robes are soiled and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To yonder shining ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As this pale taper's earthly spark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To yonder argent round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shows my soul before the Lamb,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My spirit before Thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So in mine earthly house I am,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To that I hope to be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through all yon starlight keen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In raiment white and clean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lifts me to the golden doors;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flashes come and go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All heaven bursts her starry floors,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And strews her lights below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deepens on and up! the gates<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Roll back, and far within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To make me pure of sin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sabbaths of Eternity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One sabbath deep and wide,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light upon the shining sea,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Bridegroom with his bride!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Tennyson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 217]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_CHRISTMAS_HYMN" id="A_CHRISTMAS_HYMN"></a>A CHRISTMAS HYMN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was the calm and silent night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seven hundred years and fifty-three<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Rome been growing up to might,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And now was queen of land and sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sound was heard of clashing wars,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Held undisturbed their ancient reign,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the solemn midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Centuries ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas in the calm and silent night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The senator of haughty Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From lordly revel rolling home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What recked the Roman what befell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A paltry province far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the solemn midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Centuries ago?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within that province far away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Went plodding home a weary boor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A streak of light before him lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fallen through a half-shut stable-door<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 218]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across his path. He passed,—for naught<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Told what was going on within;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How keen the stars, his only thought,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The air how calm, and cold, and thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the solemn midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Centuries ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, strange indifference! low and high<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drowsed over common joys and cares;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth was still,—but knew not why;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The world was listening, unawares.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How calm a moment may precede<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One that shall thrill the world forever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that still moment, none would heed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Man's doom was linked no more to sever,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the solemn midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Centuries ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the calm and solemn night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A thousand bells ring out, and throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their joyous peals abroad, and smite<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The darkness,—charmed and holy now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night that erst no name had worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To it a happy name is given;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in that stable lay, new-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the solemn midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Centuries ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Alfred Domett.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 219]</span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_SLAIN" id="MY_SLAIN"></a>MY SLAIN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This amber-haired, four-summered little maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her unconscious beauty troubleth me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With her low prattle maketh me afraid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, darling! when you cling and nestle so<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You hurt me, though you do not see me cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hear the weariness with which I sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the dear babe I killed so long ago.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tremble at the touch of your caress;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I am not worthy of your innocent faith;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who with whetted knives of worldliness<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Did put my own child-heartedness to death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside whose grave I pace forevermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like desolation on a shipwrecked shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no little child within me now,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To sing back to the thrushes, to leap up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When June winds kiss me, when an apple bough<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Laughs into blossoms, or a buttercup<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plays with the sunshine, or a violet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dances in the glad dew. Alas! alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meaning of the daisies in the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have forgotten; and if my cheeks are wet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is not with the blitheness of the child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But with the bitter sorrow of sad years.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O moaning life, with life irreconciled;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O backward-looking thought, O pain, O tears,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 220]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For us there is not any silver sound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of rhythmic wonders springing from the ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Woe worth the knowledge and the bookish lore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which makes men mummies, weighs out every grain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that which was miraculous before,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sneers the heart down with the scoffing brain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe worth the peering, analytic days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That dry the tender juices in the breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And put the thunders of the Lord to test,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So that no marvel must be, and no praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any God except Necessity.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What can ye give my poor, starved life in lieu<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this dead cherub which I slew for ye?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Take back your doubtful wisdom, and renew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My early foolish freshness of the dunce,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose simple instincts guessed the heavens at once.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Richard Realf.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_UNDISCOVERED_COUNTRY" id="THE_UNDISCOVERED_COUNTRY"></a>THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Could we but know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where lie those happier hills and meadows low,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aught of that country could we surely know,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who would not go?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 221]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Might we but hear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The hovering angels' high imagined chorus,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One radiant vista of the realm before us,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With one rapt moment given to see and hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, who would fear?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Were we quite sure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To find the peerless friend who left us lonely,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or there, by some celestial stream as pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who would endure?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_PSALM" id="MY_PSALM"></a>MY PSALM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I mourn no more my vanished years;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath a tender rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An April rain of smiles and tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My heart is young again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The west-winds blow, and, singing low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I hear the glad streams run:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The windows of my soul I throw<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wide open to the sun.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 222]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No longer forward nor behind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I look in hope and fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But grateful take the good I find,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The best of now and here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I plough no more a desert land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To harvest weed and tare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The manna dropping from God's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rebukes my painful care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I break my pilgrim-staff, I lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Aside the toiling oar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The angel sought so far away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I welcome at my door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The airs of spring may never play<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Among the ripening corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor freshness of the flowers of May<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blow through the autumn morn;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through fringéd lids to heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pale aster in the brook<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall see its image given;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The woods shall wear their robes of praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The south-wind softly sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet calm days in golden haze<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Melt down the amber sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not less shall manly deed and word<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rebuke an age of wrong:<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 223]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The graven flowers that wreathe the sword<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Make not the blade less strong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But smiting hands shall learn to heal,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To build as to destroy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor less my heart for others feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I the more enjoy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All as God wills, who wisely heeds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To give or to withhold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knoweth more of all my needs<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than all my prayers have told!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Enough that blessings undeserved<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have marked my erring track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His chastening turned me back;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That more and more a Providence<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of love is understood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the springs of time and sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet with eternal good;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That death seems but a covered way<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which opens into light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein no blinded child can stray<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beyond the Father's sight;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That care and trial seem at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through Memory's sunset air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like mountain ranges overpast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In purple distance fair;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 224]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That all the jarring notes of life<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seem blending in a psalm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the angles of its strife<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slow rounding into calm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so the shadows fell apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And so the west-winds play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the windows of my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I open to the day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>John Greenleaf Whittier.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ENTICED" id="ENTICED"></a>ENTICED.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>I.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With what clear guile of gracious love enticed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I follow forward, as from room to room,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through doors that open into light from gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find, and lose, and find again the Christ!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Without he stands, and asks to enter in:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will he but knock and ask, and nothing more?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knows what ways I take to shut my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if he will he can himself undo<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My foolish fastenings, or by force break through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wait till I fulfil my needless part.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 225]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But nay, he will not choose to enter so,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He will not be my guest without consent,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor, though I say "Come in," is he content;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must arise and ope, or he will go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He shall not go; I do arise and ope,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O blesséd guest, and let me sup with thee,"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is the door? for in this dark I grope,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And cannot find it soon enough; my hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key I need,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And trembles, shaken with its eager heed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No other key will answer my demand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The door between is some command undone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Obedience is the key that slides the bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And lets him in, who stands so near, so far;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The doors are many, but the key is one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Which door, dear Lord? knock, speak, that I may know;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full lief and soon this door would open too,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If once my key might find the narrow slit<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hit,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lo! one little ray that glimmers through,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 226]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not spreading light, but lighting to the light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, so,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How small, how great, the change from dark to bright!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10"><b>II.</b><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now he is here, I seem no longer here!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This place of light is not my chamber dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It is not he with me, but I with him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was borne onward at his greeting,—he<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drawing him hither, I was thither drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce welcoming him to hear him welcome me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I lie upon the bosom of my Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The tune so sweet, I have no need to try,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But rest and trust, and beat the perfect chord.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A little while I lie upon his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Feasting on love, and loving there to feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And then, once more, the shadows are increased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around me, and I feel my Lord depart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again alone, but in a farther place<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Again I hear the same sweet plea divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suit, outside, of hospitable grace.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 227]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is his guile,—he makes me act the host<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To shelter him, and lo! he shelters me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Asking for alms, he summons me to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, on and on, through many an opening door<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That gladly opens to the key I bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From brightening court to court of Christ, my King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope-led, love-fed, I journey evermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last I trust these changing scenes will cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There is a court, I hear, where he abides;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No door beyond, that further glory hides.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My host at home, all change is changed to peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>William C. Wilkinson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WEARINESS" id="WEARINESS"></a>WEARINESS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little feet! that such long years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must wander on through hopes and fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Must ache and bleed beneath your load;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, nearer to the wayside Inn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where toil shall cease and rest begin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Am weary, thinking of your road!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little hands! that weak or strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have still to serve or rule so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have still so long to give or ask;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 228]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, who so much with book and pen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have toiled among my fellow-men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Am weary, thinking of your task.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little hearts! that throb and beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such impatient feverish heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such limitless and strong desires;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine that so long has glowed and burned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With passions into ashes turned,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now covers and conceals its fires.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O little souls! as pure and white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crystalline as rays of light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Direct from heaven, their source divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refracted through the mist of years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How red my setting sun appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How lurid looks this soul of mine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TOUJOURS_AMOUR" id="TOUJOURS_AMOUR"></a>TOUJOURS AMOUR.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At what age does love begin?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your blue eyes have scarcely seen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Summers three, my fairy queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But a miracle of sweets,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Soft approaches, sly retreats,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Show the little archer there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hidden in your pretty hair;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 229]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i1">When didst learn a heart to win?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Prithee tell me, Dimple Chin!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Oh!" the rosy lips reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"I can't tell you if I try.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis so long I can't remember:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ask some younger lass than I."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Do your heart and head keep pace?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When does hoary Love expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When do frosts put out the fire?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can its embers burn below<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All that chill December snow?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Care you still soft hands to press,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bonny heads to smooth and bless?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When does Love give up the chase?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Ah!" the wise old lips reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Youth may pass and strength may die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But of Love I can't foretoken:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ask some older sage than I!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_VOICELESS" id="THE_VOICELESS"></a>THE VOICELESS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We count the broken lyres that rest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the sweet wailing singers slumber,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But o'er their silent sister's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wild-flowers who will stoop to number?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 230]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A few can touch the magic string,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And noisy Fame is proud to win them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas for those who never sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But die with all their music in them!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, grieve not for the dead alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose song has told their hearts' sad story;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weep for the voiceless, who have known<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cross without the crown of glory!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not where Leucadian breezes sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But where the glistening night-dews weep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O hearts that break and give no sign<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Save whitening lip and fading tresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Death pours out his cordial wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If singing breath or echoing chord<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To every hidden pang were given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What endless melodies were poured,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 231]</span></p> +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE.</h2> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis pleasant business making books,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When other people furnish brains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like finding them in running brooks,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pleasure, minus all the pains!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They tell us Wordsworth once declared<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That he could, if he had the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Write plays like those of Avon's bard;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whereat the stammering Lamb rejoined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"S-s-s-s-s-so you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That all he wanted was the mind!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O gentle Wordsworth, to deride<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy simple speech I'm not inclined;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For these good friends, and thou beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have freely lent me of their mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've Shakespeare's point, and Burns's fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Bulwer's own gentility,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Elia's meekness, yet aspire<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Pope's infallibility.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've made myself at home with Holmes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm in two Taylors' garments dressed;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 232]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Campbell has told his rhymes for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Shelley shelled out like the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hood put on his thinking-cap,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Goldsmith beaten out his best.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've pilfered Alfred's laureate strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And boldly counted Henry's chickens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drained Harte's blood from his best veins,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And stol'n from Dickens like the dickens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hogg I have not gone the whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But of three Proctors tithes demanded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from a Miller taken toll,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And plucked a Reade, to do as Pan did.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've beaten Beattie like a tree<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That sheds its fruit for every knocker,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor let Sir Walter go Scott free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And filched a shot from Frederick's Locker.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ladies, too—God bless them all!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What pieces of their minds I've taken!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It would Achilles' self appall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If hiding here to save his bacon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Hawthorne's genius hedged about,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And deep in Browning's brownest study,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the sure retreat, no doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From critics' favors, fair or muddy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, How it Reads, How well it looks!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What one May call a death to pains!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This pleasant way of making books,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With clever folks to furnish brains!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">New York</span>, July, 1875.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 233]</span></p> + +<h2>INDEX OF FIRST LINES.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CLOUD">A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun</a></td><td align='right'>213</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AE_FOND_KISS">Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!</a></td><td align='right'>52</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SLANTEN_LIGHT_O_FALL">Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you</a></td><td align='right'>20</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SUMMER_LONGINGS">Ah! my heart is weary waiting</a></td><td align='right'>91</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HAUNTED_HOUSES">All houses wherein men have lived and died</a></td><td align='right'>73</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONNETS4">As an unperfect actor on the stage</a></td><td align='right'>50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#QUA_CURSUM_VENTUS">As ships becalmed at eve, that lay</a></td><td align='right'>69</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CAVALIERS_SONG">A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed</a></td><td align='right'>132</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NOT_FAR_TO_GO">As upland fields were sunburnt brown</a></td><td align='right'>43</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_HERMIT">At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still</a></td><td align='right'>175</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EVELYN_HOPE">Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead</a></td><td align='right'>161</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_WOMANS_QUESTION">Before I trust my fate to thee</a></td><td align='right'>46</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LINES_ON_A_SKELETON">Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull</a></td><td align='right'>201</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CHILDRENS_HOUR">Between the dark and the daylight</a></td><td align='right'>152</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SKYLARK">Bird of the wilderness</a></td><td align='right'>104</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BREAK_BREAK_BREAK">Break, break, break</a></td><td align='right'>53</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_OLD_MANS_IDYL">By the waters of Life we sat together</a></td><td align='right'>84</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DIRGE_FOR_A_SOLDIER">Close his eyes; his work is done!</a></td><td align='right'>134</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WHEN_THE_KYE_COME_HAME">Come, all ye jolly shepherds</a></td><td align='right'>30</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_WELCOME">Come in the evening, or come in the morning</a></td><td align='right'>35</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#COME_REST_IN_THIS_BOSOM">Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer</a></td><td align='right'>46</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_UNDISCOVERED_COUNTRY">Could we but know</a></td><td align='right'>220</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOO_LATE1">Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas</a></td><td align='right'>167<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 234]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ST_AGNES">Deep on the convent-roof the snows</a></td><td align='right'>215</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#GOING_HOME">Drawn by horses with decorous feet</a></td><td align='right'>185</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LONG-AGO">Eyes which can but ill define</a></td><td align='left'>88</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#IN_MEMORIAM">Farewell! since nevermore for thee</a></td><td align='right'>173</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FAREWELL1">Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea</a></td><td align='right'>112</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#YARROW_UNVISITED">From Stirling castle we had seen</a></td><td align='right'>93</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SONG_OF_THE_CAMP">"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried</a></td><td align='right'>130</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_COURTIN">God makes sech nights, all white an' still</a></td><td align='right'>26</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LIE">Go, Soul, the body's guest</a></td><td align='right'>204</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#JOSEPH_RODMAN_DRAKE">Green be the turf above thee</a></td><td align='right'>169</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_THE_SKYLARK">Hail to thee, blithe spirit!</a></td><td align='right'>106</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_EAGLE">He clasps the crag with hookéd hands</a></td><td align='right'>105</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CORONACH">He is gone on the mountain</a></td><td align='right'>133</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOM_BOWLING">Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling</a></td><td align='right'>168</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MANGO_TREE">He wiled me through the furzy croft</a></td><td align='right'>59</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_AGE_OF_WISDOM">Ho! pretty page with the dimpled chin</a></td><td align='right'>115</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HOWS_MY_BOY">Ho, sailor of the sea!</a></td><td align='right'>150</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE1">How sleep the brave who sink to rest</a></td><td align='right'>139</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LINES_TO_AN_INDIAN_AIR">I arise from dreams of thee</a></td><td align='right'>42</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_CHILD">I cannot make him dead!</a></td><td align='right'>154</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_HEALTH">I fill this cup to one made up</a></td><td align='right'>21</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_OLD_FAMILIAR_FACES">I have had playmates, I have had companions</a></td><td align='right'>66</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HYMN_TO_THE_NIGHT">I heard the trailing garments of the night</a></td><td align='right'>103</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_PSALM">I mourn no more my vanished years</a></td><td align='right'>221</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT">I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary</a></td><td align='right'>158</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAND_O_THE_LEAL">I'm wearin' awa', John</a></td><td align='right'>156</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#KUBLA_KHAN">In Xanadu did Kubla Khan</a></td><td align='right'>16</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#I_REMEMBER_I_REMEMBER">I remember, I remember</a></td><td align='right'>72</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TIMES_CHANGES">I saw her once,—so freshly fair</a></td><td align='right'>67</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAST_LEAF">I saw him once before</a></td><td align='right'>117</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_CHRISTMAS_HYMN">It was the calm and silent night</a></td><td align='right'>217</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_BROOKSIDE">I wandered by the brookside</a></td><td align='right'>36</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ON_A_PICTURE_OF_PEEL_CASTLE_IN_A_STORM">I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile!</a></td><td align='right'>209<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 235]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LOST_LEADER">Just for a handful of silver he left us</a></td><td align='right'>119</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LIFE1">Life! I know not what thou art</a></td><td align='right'>193</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MANS_MORTALITY">Like as the damask rose you see</a></td><td align='right'>189</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LIFE2">Like to the falling of a star</a></td><td align='right'>192</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHILIP_MY_KING">Look at me with thy large brown eyes</a></td><td align='right'>149</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LOVE_NOT">Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay!</a></td><td align='right'>51</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MAID_OF_ATHENS_ERE_WE_PART">Maid of Athens, ere we part</a></td><td align='right'>45</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SPINNING-WHEEL_SONG">Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning</a></td><td align='right'>32</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_THOMAS_MOORE">My boat is on the shore</a></td><td align='right'>110</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FAREWELL2">My fairest child, I have no song to give you</a></td><td align='right'>199</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONNETS3">My glass shall not persuade me I am old</a></td><td align='right'>49</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_HEID_IS_LIKE_TO_REND_WILLIE">My heid is like to rend, Willie</a></td><td align='right'>56</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#STANZAS">My life is like the summer rose</a></td><td align='right'>113</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LITTLE_BLACK_BOY">My mother bore me in the southern wild</a></td><td align='right'>181</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#NIGHT_AND_DEATH">Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew</a></td><td align='right'>104</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_RIVER_PATH">No bird-song floated down the hill</a></td><td align='right'>82</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_IVY_GREEN">O, a dainty plant is the ivy green</a></td><td align='right'>90</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OFT_IN_THE_STILLY_NIGHT">Oft in the stilly night</a></td><td align='right'>64</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WEARINESS">O little feet! that such long years</a></td><td align='right'>227</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SANDS_OF_DEE">O Mary, go and call the cattle home</a></td><td align='right'>102</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MINSTRELS_SONG">O, sing unto my roundelay!</a></td><td align='right'>171</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_SOLDIERS_DREAM">Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered</a></td><td align='right'>127</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DRIVING_HOME_THE_COWS">Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass</a></td><td align='right'>140</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OVER_THE_RIVER">Over the river they beckon to me</a></td><td align='right'>78</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#O_WHY_SHOULD_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MORTAL_BE">O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?</a></td><td align='right'>177</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS">O Woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let your tongue thus rattle!</a></td><td align='right'>196</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_LAMENT">O World! O Life! O Time!</a></td><td align='right'>192</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOUJOURS_AMOUR">Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin</a></td><td align='right'>228</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SONG_FOR_SEPTEMBER">September strews the woodland o'er</a></td><td align='right'>63</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONNETS5">Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?</a></td><td align='right'>50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_DIED_IN_BEAUTY">She died in beauty,—like a rose</a></td><td align='right'>164</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_IS_FAR_FROM_THE_LAND">She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps</a></td><td align='right'>170<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 236]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_WALKS_IN_BEAUTY">She walks in beauty like the night</a></td><td align='right'>84</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_WAS_A_PHANTOM_OF_DELIGHT">She was a phantom of delight</a></td><td align='right'>18</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SHE_WAS_NOT_FAIR_NOR_FULL_OF_GRACE">She was not fair, nor full of grace</a></td><td align='right'>165</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_AN_INDIAN_GOLD_COIN">Slave of the dark and dirty mine</a></td><td align='right'>183</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE4">Sleep sweetly in your humble graves</a></td><td align='right'>136</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ICHABOD">So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn</a></td><td align='right'>123</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SERENADE">Stars of the summer night!</a></td><td align='right'>41</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#VIRTUE">Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright</a></td><td align='right'>203</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DAYS_THAT_ARE_NO_MORE">Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean</a></td><td align='right'>65</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_LUCASTA">Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde</a></td><td align='right'>125</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ON_A_GIRDLE">That which her slender waist confined</a></td><td align='right'>23</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DEATHS_FINAL_CONQUEST">The glories of our birth and state</a></td><td align='right'>182</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_NICE_CORRESPONDENT">The glow and the glory are plighted</a></td><td align='right'>24</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONG">The heath this night must be my bed</a></td><td align='right'>124</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_BRAVE_AT_HOME">The maid who binds her warrior's sash</a></td><td align='right'>142</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DEATH_OF_THE_FLOWERS">The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year</a></td><td align='right'>100</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TOO_LATE2">There sat an old man on a rock</a></td><td align='right'>120</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LITTLE_YEARS">These years! these years! these naughty years!</a></td><td align='right'>114</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TWO_WOMEN">The shadows lay along Broadway</a></td><td align='right'>207</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BUGLE-SONG">The splendor falls on castle walls</a></td><td align='right'>40</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BETROTHED_ANEW">The sunlight fills the trembling air</a></td><td align='right'>86</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HEROES">The winds that once the Argo bore</a></td><td align='right'>144</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TITHONUS">The woods decay, the woods decay and fall</a></td><td align='right'>193</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THEY_ARE_ALL_GONE">They are all gone into the world of light</a></td><td align='right'>80</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_GRAVES_OF_A_HOUSEHOLD">They grew in beauty, side by side</a></td><td align='right'>174</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE2">They sleep so calm and stately</a></td><td align='right'>137</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_ARSENAL_AT_SPRINGFIELD">This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling</a></td><td align='right'>146</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_CHAMBERED_NAUTILUS">This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign</a></td><td align='right'>214</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MY_SLAIN">This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee</a></td><td align='right'>219</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_MARY_IN_HEAVEN">Thou lingering star, with lessening ray</a></td><td align='right'>61</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE_ON_A_GRECIAN_URN">Thou still unravished bride of quietness!</a></td><td align='right'>199</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_THREE_FISHERS">Three fishers went sailing out into the west</a></td><td align='right'>143</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_TIGER">Tiger! Tiger! burning bright</a></td><td align='right'>96<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 237]</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SNOW-STORM">'Tis a fearful night in the winter time</a></td><td align='right'>97</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EPILOGUE">'Tis pleasant business making books</a></td><td align='right'>231</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAST_ROSE_OF_SUMMER">'Tis the last rose of summer</a></td><td align='right'>111</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THANATOPSIS">To him who in the love of nature holds</a></td><td align='right'>75</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_PETITION_TO_TIME">Touch us gently, Time!</a></td><td align='right'>122</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_PAUPERS_DEATH-BED">Tread softly,—bow the head</a></td><td align='right'>208</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_BRIDAL_DIRGE">Weave no more the marriage-chain!</a></td><td align='right'>163</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_VOICELESS">We count the broken lyres that rest</a></td><td align='right'>229</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_VOYAGE">We left behind the painted buoy</a></td><td align='right'>13</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DEATH-BED">We watched her breathing through the night</a></td><td align='right'>160</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MONTEREY">We were not many,—we who stood</a></td><td align='right'>128</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ODE3">What constitutes a state?</a></td><td align='right'>148</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_TREASURES_OF_THE_DEEP">What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?</a></td><td align='right'>212</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_MUSICAL_INSTRUMENT">What was he doing, the great god Pan?</a></td><td align='right'>11</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONNETS">When forty winters shall besiege thy brow</a></td><td align='right'>48</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ON_HIS_BLINDNESS">When I consider how my light is spent</a></td><td align='right'>143</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONNETS2">When I do count the clock that tells the time</a></td><td align='right'>49</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PROGRESS">When Liberty lives loud on every lip</a></td><td align='right'>179</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ASTARTE">When the latest strife is lost, and all is done with</a></td><td align='right'>54</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_KNIGHTS_TOMB">Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?</a></td><td align='right'>133</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHANGES">Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed</a></td><td align='right'>71</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MARIANA">With blackest moss the flower-pots</a></td><td align='right'>37</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ENTICED">With what clear guile of gracious love enticed</a></td><td align='right'>224</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HIGHLAND_MARY">Ye banks, and braes, and streams around</a></td><td align='right'>166</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LAND_OF_LANDS">You ask me, why, though ill at ease</a></td><td align='right'>126</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 238]</span></p> +<h5>The Riverside Press<br /> +<i>Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.</i><br /> +<i>Cambridge, Mass, U.S.A.</i></h5> + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<h2>Little Classics</h2> + +<p>Edited by <span class="smcap">Rossiter Johnson</span>. Each in one volume, +18mo, $1.00. The set, in box, $18.00.</p> +<div class="blockquot"><p> +1. EXILE.<br /> +2. INTELLECT.<br /> +3. TRAGEDY.<br /> +4. LIFE.<br /> +5. LAUGHTER.<br /> +6. LOVE.<br /> +7. ROMANCE.<br /> +8. MYSTERY.<br /> +9. COMEDY.<br /> +10. CHILDHOOD.<br /> +11. HEROISM.<br /> +12. FORTUNE.<br /> +13. NARRATIVE POEMS.<br /> +14 LYRICAL POEMS.<br /> +15. MINOR POEMS.<br /> +16. NATURE.<br /> +17. HUMANITY.<br /> +18. AUTHORS.<br /> +</p></div> + +<p><i>Sixteenmo Edition.</i> 18 vols., 16mo, gilt top, $18.00. +(Sold only in sets.)</p> + + +<p class="center">A list of the entire contents of the volumes of this<br /> +Series will be sent free on application.<br /> +<br /> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br /> +Boston and New York.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Poems, by Rossiter Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 34331-h.htm or 34331-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/3/3/34331/ + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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: Minor Poems + Little Classics, Vol. 15 + +Editor: Rossiter Johnson + +Release Date: November 15, 2010 [EBook #34331] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + Fifteenth Volume + + LITTLE CLASSICS + + EDITED BY + + ROSSITER JOHNSON + + + Minor Poems + + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + 1900 + + + COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + AE FOND KISS _Robert Burns_ 52 + AGE OF WISDOM, THE _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 115 + ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD, THE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 146 + ASTARTE _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 54 + BETROTHED ANEW _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 86 + BLINDNESS, ON HIS _John Milton_ 143 + BRAVE AT HOME, THE _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 142 + BREAK, BREAK, BREAK _Alfred Tennyson_ 53 + BRIDAL DIRGE, A _Bryan Waller Procter_ 163 + BROOKSIDE, THE _Richard Monckton Milnes_ 36 + BUGLE-SONG _Alfred Tennyson_ 40 + CAVALIER'S SONG, THE _William Motherwell_ 132 + CHAMBERED NAUTILUS, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 214 + CHANGES _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 71 + CHILDREN'S HOUR, THE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 152 + CHRISTMAS HYMN, A _Alfred Dommett_ 217 + CLOUD, THE _John Wilson_ 213 + COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM _Thomas Moore_ 46 + CORONACH _Sir Walter Scott_ 133 + COURTIN', THE _James Russell Lowell_ 26 + DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 65 + DEATH-BED, THE _Thomas Hood_ 160 + DEATH OF THE FLOWERS, THE _William Cullen Bryant_ 100 + DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST _James Shirley_ 182 + DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER _George Henry Boker_ 134 + DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN _Fitz-Greene Halleck_ 169 + DRIVING HOME THE COWS _Kate Putnam Osgood_ 140 + EAGLE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 105 + ENTICED _William C. Wilkinson_ 224 + EPILOGUE _The Editor_ 231 + EVELYN HOPE _Robert Browning_ 161 + FAREWELL, A _Charles Kingsley_ 199 + FAREWELL, A _Alfred Tennyson_ 112 + GIRDLE, ON A _Edmund Waller_ 23 + GOING HOME _Benjamin F. Taylor_ 185 + GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD, THE _Felicia Hemans_ 174 + HAUNTED HOUSES _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 73 + HEALTH, A _Edward Coate Pinkney_ 21 + HERMIT, THE _James Beattie_ 175 + HEROES _Edna Dean Proctor_ 144 + HIGHLAND MARY _Robert Burns_ 166 + HOW'S MY BOY? _Sydney Dobell_ 150 + HYMN TO THE NIGHT _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 103 + ICHABOD _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 123 + INDIAN GOLD COIN, TO AN _John Leyden_ 183 + IN MEMORIAM _Thomas K. Hervey_ 173 + I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER _Thomas Hood_ 72 + IVY GREEN, THE _Charles Dickens_ 90 + KNIGHT'S TOMB, THE _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 133 + KUBLA KHAN _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 16 + LAMENT, A _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 192 + LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT _Lady Dufferin_ 158 + LAND OF LANDS, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 126 + LAND O' THE LEAL, THE _Lady Nairne_ 156 + LAST LEAF, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 117 + LAST ROSE OF SUMMER, THE _Thomas Moore_ 111 + LIE, THE _Sir Walter Raleigh_ 204 + LIFE _Anna Laetitia Barbauld_ 193 + LIFE _Henry King_ 192 + LINES ON A SKELETON _Anonymous_ 201 + LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 42 + LITTLE BLACK BOY, THE _William Blake_ 181 + LITTLE YEARS, THE _Robert T. S. Lowell_ 114 + LONG-AGO, THE _Richard Monckton Milnes_ 88 + LOST LEADER, THE _Robert Browning_ 119 + LOVE NOT _Caroline Norton_ 51 + LUCASTA, TO _Richard Lovelace_ 125 + MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART _Lord Byron_ 45 + MANGO TREE, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 59 + MAN'S MORTALITY _Simon Wastel_ 189 + MARIANA _Alfred Tennyson_ 37 + MARY IN HEAVEN, TO _Robert Bums_ 61 + MINSTREL'S SONG _Thomas Chatterton_ 171 + MONTEREY _Charles Fenno Hoffman_ 128 + MOORE, THOMAS, TO _Lord Byron_ 110 + MUSICAL INSTRUMENT, A _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 11 + MY CHILD _John Pierpont_ 154 + MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND _William Motherwell_ 56 + MY PSALM _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 221 + MY SLAIN _Richard Realf_ 219 + NICE CORRESPONDENT, A _Frederick Locker_ 24 + NIGHT AND DEATH _Joseph Blanco White_ 104 + NOT FAR TO GO _William Barnes_ 43 + ODE _William Collins_ 139 + ODE _Theodore P. Cook_ 137 + ODE _Sir William Jones_ 148 + ODE _Henry Timrod_ 136 + ODE ON A GRECIAN URN _John Keats_ 199 + OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT _Thomas Moore_ 64 + OLD FAMILIAR FACES, THE _Charles Lamb_ 66 + OLD MAN'S IDYL, AN _Richard Realf_ 84 + ON A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE _William Wordsworth_ 209 + OVER THE RIVER _Nancy Priest Wakefield_ 78 + O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF + MORTAL BE PROUD? _William Knox_ 177 + PAUPER'S DEATH-BED, THE _Caroline Bowles Southey_ 208 + PETITION TO TIME, A _Bryan Waller Procter_ 122 + PHILIP, MY KING _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik_ 149 + PROGRESS _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 179 + QUA CURSUM VENTUS _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 69 + RIVER PATH, THE _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 82 + ST. AGNES _Alfred Tennyson_ 215 + SANDS OF DEE, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 102 + SERENADE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41 + SHE DIED IN BEAUTY _Charles Doyne Sillery_ 164 + SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND _Thomas Moore_ 170 + SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY _Lord Byron_ 34 + SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT _William Wordsworth_ 18 + SHE WAS NOT FAIR, NOR FULL + OF GRACE _Bryan Waller Procter_ 165 + SKYLARK, THE _James Hogg_ 104 + SKYLARK, TO THE _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 106 + SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL, THE _William Barnes_ 20 + SNOW-STORM, A _Charles Gamage Eastman_ 97 + SOLDIER'S DREAM, THE _Thomas Campbell_ 127 + SONG,--"THE HEATH THIS + NIGHT" _Sir Walter Scott_ 124 + SONG FOR SEPTEMBER, A _Thomas William Parsons_ 63 + SONG OF THE CAMP, A _Bayard Taylor_ 130 + SONNETS _William Shakespeare_ 48 + SPINNING-WHEEL SONG, THE _John Francis Waller_ 32 + STANZAS,--"MY LIFE IS LIKE + THE SUMMER ROSE" _Richard Henry Wilde_ 113 + SUMMER LONGINGS _Denis Florence Mac-Carthy_ 91 + THANATOPSIS _William Cullen Bryant_ 75 + THEY ARE ALL GONE _Henry Vaughan_ 80 + THREE FISHERS, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 143 + TIGER, THE _William Blake_ 96 + TIME'S CHANGES _David Macbeth Moir_ 67 + TITHONUS _Alfred Tennyson_ 193 + TOM BOWLING _Charles Dibdin_ 168 + TOO LATE! _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik_ 167 + TOO LATE _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ 120 + TOUJOURS AMOUR _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 228 + TREASURES OF THE DEEP, THE _Felicia Hemans_ 212 + TWO WOMEN _Nathaniel Parker Willis_ 207 + UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY, THE _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 220 + VIRTUE _George Herbert_ 203 + VOICELESS, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 229 + VOYAGE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 13 + WEARINESS _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 227 + WELCOME, THE _Thomas Davis_ 35 + WHEN THE KYE COME HAME _James Hogg_ 30 + WOMAN OF THREE COWS, THE _James Clarence Mangan_ 196 + WOMAN'S QUESTION, A _Adelaide Anne Procter_ 46 + YARROW UNVISITED _William Wordsworth_ 93 + + * * * * * + + +A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. + + What was he doing, the great god Pan, + Down in the reeds by the river? + Spreading ruin and scattering ban, + Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, + And breaking the golden lilies afloat + With the dragon-fly on the river. + + He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, + From the deep cool bed of the river: + The limpid water turbidly ran, + And the broken lilies a-dying lay, + And the dragon-fly had fled away, + Ere he brought it out of the river. + + High on the shore sat the great god Pan, + While turbidly flowed the river; + And hacked and hewed as a great god can, + With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, + Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed + To prove it fresh from the river. + + He cut it short, did the great god Pan, + (How tall it stood in the river!) + Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, + Steadily from the outside ring, + And notched the poor dry empty thing + In holes, as he sat by the river. + + "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan + (Laughed while he sat by the river), + "The only way, since gods began + To make sweet music, they could succeed." + Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, + He blew in power by the river. + + Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! + Piercing sweet by the river! + Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! + The sun on the hill forgot to die, + And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly + Came back to dream on the river. + + Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, + To laugh as he sits by the river, + Making a poet out of a man: + The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,-- + For the reed which grows nevermore again + As a reed with the reeds in the river. + + _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ + + * * * * * + + +THE VOYAGE. + + We left behind the painted buoy + That tosses at the harbor-mouth: + And madly danced our hearts with joy, + As fast we fleeted to the south: + How fresh was every sight and sound + On open main or winding shore! + We knew the merry world was round, + And we might sail forevermore. + + Warm broke the breeze against the brow, + Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail: + The lady's-head upon the prow + Caught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale. + The broad seas swelled to meet the keel, + And swept behind: so quick the run, + We felt the good ship shake and reel, + We seemed to sail into the sun! + + How oft we saw the sun retire, + And burn the threshold of the night, + Fall from his ocean-lane of fire, + And sleep beneath his pillared light! + How oft the purple-skirted robe + Of twilight slowly downward drawn, + As through the slumber of the globe + Again we dashed into the dawn! + + New stars all night above the brim + Of waters lightened into view; + They climbed as quickly, for the rim + Changed every moment as we flew. + Far ran the naked moon across + The houseless ocean's heaving field, + Or flying shone, the silver boss + Of her own halo's dusky shield; + + The peaky islet shifted shapes, + High towns on hills were dimly seen, + We passed long lines of northern capes + And dewy northern meadows green. + We came to warmer waves, and deep + Across the boundless east we drove, + Where those long swells of breaker sweep + The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove. + + By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, + Gloomed the low coast and quivering brine + With ashy rains, that spreading made + Fantastic plume or sable pine; + By sands and steaming flats, and floods + Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast, + And hills and scarlet-mingled woods + Glowed for a moment as we passed. + + O hundred shores of happy climes, + How swiftly streamed ye by the bark! + At times the whole sea burned, at times + With wakes of fire we tore the dark; + At times a carven craft would shoot + From havens hid in fairy bowers, + With naked limbs and flowers and fruit, + But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers. + + For one fair Vision ever fled + Down the waste waters day and night, + And still we followed where she led + In hope to gain upon her flight. + Her face was evermore unseen, + And fixed upon the far sea-line; + But each man murmured, "O my Queen, + I follow till I make thee mine." + + And now we lost her, now she gleamed + Like Fancy made of golden air, + Now nearer to the prow she seemed + Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair, + Now high on waves that idly burst + Like Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea, + And now, the bloodless point reversed, + She bore the blade of Liberty. + + And only one among us,--him + We pleased not,--he was seldom pleased: + He saw not far: his eyes were dim: + But ours he swore were all diseased. + "A ship of fools!" he shrieked in spite, + "A ship of fools!" he sneered and wept. + And overboard one stormy night + He cast his body, and on we swept. + + And never sail of ours was furled + Nor anchor dropped at eve or morn; + We loved the glories of the world, + But laws of nature were our scorn; + For blasts would rise and rave and cease, + But whence were those that drove the sail + Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, + And to and through the counter-gale? + + Again to colder climes we came, + For still we followed where she led: + Now mate is blind and captain lame, + And half the crew are sick or dead. + But blind or lame or sick or sound, + We follow that which flies before: + We know the merry world is round, + And we may sail forevermore. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +KUBLA KHAN. + + In Xanadu did Kubla Khan + A stately pleasure-dome decree + Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, + Through caverns measureless to man, + Down to a sunless sea. + So twice five miles of fertile ground + With walls and towers were girdled round; + And there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills, + Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; + And here were forests ancient as the hills, + Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. + + But oh! that deep romantic chasm, which slanted + Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! + A savage place! as holy and enchanted + As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted + By woman wailing for her demon-lover! + And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, + As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, + A mighty fountain momently was forced, + Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst + Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, + Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail; + And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever + It flung up momently the sacred river. + Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion + Through wood and dale, the sacred river ran,-- + Then reached the caverns measureless to man, + And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; + And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far + Ancestral voices prophesying war. + + The shadow of the dome of pleasure + Floated midway on the waves, + Where was heard the mingled measure + From the fountain and the caves. + It was a miracle of rare device,-- + A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! + A damsel with a dulcimer + In a vision once I saw; + It was an Abyssinian maid, + And on her dulcimer she played, + Singing of Mount Abora. + Could I revive within me + Her symphony and song, + To such a deep delight 'twould win me + That, with music loud and long, + I would build that dome in air,-- + That sunny dome! those caves of ice! + And all who heard should see them there, + And all should cry, Beware! beware + His flashing eyes, his floating hair! + Weave a circle round him thrice, + And close your eyes with holy dread, + For he on honey-dew hath fed, + And drunk the milk of Paradise. + + _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. + + She was a phantom of delight + When first she gleamed upon my sight; + A lovely apparition, sent + To be a moment's ornament; + Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; + Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; + But all things else about her drawn + From May-time and the cheerful dawn; + A dancing shape, an image gay, + To haunt, to startle, and waylay. + + I saw her upon nearer view, + A spirit, yet a woman too! + Her household motions light and free, + And steps of virgin-liberty; + A countenance in which did meet + Sweet records, promises as sweet; + A creature not too bright or good + For human nature's daily food, + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. + + And now I see with eye serene + The very pulse of the machine; + A being breathing thoughtful breath, + A traveller between life and death: + The reason firm, the temperate will, + Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; + A perfect woman, nobly planned + To warn, to comfort, and command; + And yet a spirit still, and bright + With something of an angel-light. + + _William Wordsworth._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL. + +(DORSET DIALECT.) + + Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you, + When you wer' christen'd, small an' light, + Wi' tiny earms o' red an' blue, + A-hangen in your robe o' white. + We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone, + Vor Christ to teake ye vor his own, + When harvest-work wer' all a-done, + An' time brought round October zun,-- + The slanten light o' Fall. + + An' I can mind the wind wer' rough, + An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms, + An' you wer' nessled warm enough, + 'Ithin your smilen mother's earms. + The whindlen grass did quiver light, + Among the stubble, feaded white, + An' if at times the zunlight broke + Upon the groun', or on the vo'k, + 'Twer' slanten light o' Fall. + + An' when we brought ye droo the door + O' Knapton church, a child o' greace, + There cluster'd roun' a'most a score + O' vo'k to zee your tiny feace. + An' there we all did veel so proud, + To zee an op'nen in the cloud, + An' then a stream o' light break droo, + A-sheenen brightly down on you,-- + The slanten light o' Fall. + + But now your time's a-come to stan' + In church a-blushen at my zide, + The while a bridegroom vrom my han' + Ha' took ye vor his faithvul bride. + Your christen neame we gi'd ye here, + When Fall did cool the weasten year; + An' now, agean, we brought ye droo + The doorway, wi' your surneame new, + In slanten light o' Fall. + + An' zoo vur, Jeane, your life is feair, + An' God ha' been your steadvast friend, + An' mid ye have mwore jay than ceare, + Vor ever, till your journey's end. + An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride, + But now I soon mus' leave your zide, + Vor you ha' still life's springtide zun, + But my life, Jeane, is now a-run + To slanten light o' Fall. + + _William Barnes._ + + * * * * * + + +A HEALTH. + + I fill this cup to one made up + Of loveliness alone, + A woman, of her gentle sex + The seeming paragon; + To whom the better elements + And kindly stars have given + A form so fair, that, like the air, + 'Tis less of earth than heaven. + + Her every tone is music's own, + Like those of morning birds, + And something more than melody + Dwells ever in her words; + The coinage of her heart are they, + And from her lips each flows + As one may see the burdened bee + Forth issue from the rose. + + Affections are as thoughts to her, + The measures of her hours; + Her feelings have the fragrancy, + The freshness of young flowers; + And lovely passions, changing oft, + So fill her, she appears + The image of themselves by turns,-- + The idol of past years! + + Of her bright face one glance will trace + A picture on the brain, + And of her voice in echoing hearts + A sound must long remain; + But memory, such as mine of her, + So very much endears, + When death is nigh my latest sigh + Will not be life's, but hers. + + I fill this cup to one made up + Of loveliness alone, + A woman, of her gentle sex + The seeming paragon,-- + Her health! and would on earth there stood + Some more of such a frame, + That life might be all poetry, + And weariness a name. + + _Edward Coate Pinkney._ + + * * * * * + + +ON A GIRDLE. + + That which her slender waist confined + Shall now my joyful temples bind; + No monarch but would give his crown, + His arms might do what this hath done. + + It was my heaven's extremest sphere, + The pale which held that lovely deer: + My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, + Did all within this circle move. + + A narrow compass! and yet there + Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. + Give me but what this ribbon bound, + Take all the rest the sun goes round! + + _Edmund Waller._ + + * * * * * + + +A NICE CORRESPONDENT! + + The glow and the glory are plighted + To darkness, for evening is come; + The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted; + The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb. + I'm alone at my casement, for Pappy + Is summoned to dinner at Kew: + I'm alone, my dear Fred, but I'm happy,-- + I'm thinking of you. + + I wish you were here. Were I duller + Than dull, you'd be dearer than dear; + I am dressed in your favorite color,-- + Dear Fred, how I wish you were here! + I am wearing my lazuli necklace, + The necklace you fastened askew! + Was there ever so rude or so reckless + A darling as you? + + I want you to come and pass sentence + On two or three books with a plot; + Of course you know "Janet's Repentance"? + I'm reading Sir Waverley Scott, + The story of Edgar and Lucy, + How thrilling, romantic, and true; + The master (his bride was a goosey!) + Reminds me of you. + + To-day, in my ride, I've been crowning + The beacon; its magic still lures, + For up there you discoursed about Browning, + That stupid old Browning of yours. + His vogue and his verve are alarming, + I'm anxious to give him his due; + But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming + A poet as you. + + I heard how you shot at The Beeches, + I saw how you rode Chanticleer, + I have read the report of your speeches, + And echoed the echoing cheer. + There's a whisper of hearts you are breaking,-- + I envy their owners, I do! + Small marvel that Fortune is making + Her idol of you. + + Alas for the world, and its dearly + Bought triumph, and fugitive bliss! + Sometimes I half wish I were merely + A plain or a penniless miss; + But perhaps one is best with a measure + Of pelf, and I'm not sorry, too, + That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure, + My dearest, to you. + + Your whim is for frolic and fashion, + Your taste is for letters and art; + This rhyme is the commonplace passion + That glows in a fond woman's heart. + Lay it by in a dainty deposit + For relics,--we all have a few!-- + Love, some day they'll print it, because it + Was written to you. + + _Frederick Locker._ + + * * * * * + + +THE COURTIN'. + + God makes sech nights, all white an' still + Fur'z you can look or listen. + Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, + All silence an' all glisten. + + Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown + An' peeked in thru' the winder, + An' there sot Huldy all alone, + 'Ith no one nigh to hender. + + A fireplace filled the room's one side + With half a cord o' wood in,-- + There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) + To bake ye to a puddin'. + + The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out + Towards the pootiest, bless her! + An' leetle flames danced all about + The chiny on the dresser. + + Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, + An' in amongst 'em rusted + The ole queen's arm thet Gran'ther Young + Fetched back from Concord busted. + + The very room, coz she was in, + Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', + An' she looked full ez rosy agin + Ez the apples she was peelin'. + + 'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look + On sech a blessed cretur. + A dog-rose blushin' to a brook + Ain't modester nor sweeter. + + He was six foot o' man, Al, + Clean grit an' human natur'; + None couldn't quicker pitch a ton + Nor dror a furrer straighter. + + He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, + He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, + Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,-- + All is, he couldn't love 'em. + + But long o' her his veins 'ould run + All crinkly like curled maple, + The side she breshed felt full o' sun + Ez a south slope in Ap'il. + + She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing + Ez hisn in the choir; + My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, + She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher. + + An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, + When her new meetin'-bunnet + Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair + O' blue eyes sot upon it. + + Thet night, I tell ye, she looked _some_! + She seemed to 've gut a new soul, + For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, + Down to her very shoe-sole. + + She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, + A-raspin' on the scraper,-- + All ways to once her feelin's flew + Like sparks in burnt-up paper. + + He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, + Some doubtfle o' the sekle; + His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, + But hern went pity Zekle. + + An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk + Ez though she wished him furder, + An' on her apples kep' to work, + Parin' away like murder. + + "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" + "Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'"-- + "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es + Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." + + To say why gals acts so or so, + Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; + Mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ + Comes nateral to women. + + He stood a spell on one foot fust, + Then stood a spell on t' other, + An' on which one he felt the wust + He couldn't ha' told ye nuther. + + Says he, "I'd better call agin"; + Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; + Thet last word pricked him like a pin, + An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her. + + When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, + Huldy sot pale ez ashes, + All kin' o' smily roun' the lips + An' teary roun' the lashes. + + For she was jes' the quiet kind + Whose naturs never vary, + Like streams that keep a summer mind + Snowhid in Jenooary. + + The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued + Too tight for all expressin', + Tell mother see how metters stood, + And gin 'em both her blessin'. + + Then her red come back like the tide + Down to the Bay o' Fundy, + An' all I know is they was cried + In meetin' come nex' Sunday. + + _James Russell Lowell._ + + * * * * * + + +WHEN THE KYE COME HAME. + + Come, all ye jolly shepherds, + That whistle through the glen! + I'll tell ye o' a secret + That courtiers dinna ken: + What is the greatest bliss + That the tongue o' man can name? + 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie + When the kye come hame. + When the kye come hame, + When the kye come hame,-- + 'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk, + When the kye come hame. + + 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, + Nor yet beneath the crown; + 'Tis not on couch o' velvet, + Nor yet in bed o' down: + 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, + In the glen without the name, + Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + There the blackbird bigs his nest + For the mate he lo'es to see, + And on the tapmost bough + O, a happy bird is he! + There he pours his melting ditty, + And love is a' the theme; + And he'll woo his bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + When the blewart bears a pearl, + And the daisy turns a pea, + And the bonnie lucken gowan + Has fauldit up his ee, + Then the laverock, frae the blue lift, + Draps down and thinks nae shame + To woo his bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + See yonder pawky shepherd, + That lingers on the hill: + His yowes are in the fauld, + And his lambs are lying still; + Yet he downa gang to bed, + For his heart is in a flame, + To meet his bonnie lassie + When the kye come hame. + + When the little wee bit heart + Rises high in the breast, + And the little wee bit starn + Rises red in the east, + O, there's a joy sae dear + That the heart can hardly frame! + Wi' a bonnie bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame. + + Then since all nature joins + In this love without alloy, + O, wha wad prove a traitor + To nature's dearest joy? + Or wha wad choose a crown, + Wi' its perils an' its fame, + And miss his bonnie lassie, + When the kye come hame? + + _James Hogg._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. + + Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning; + Close by the window young Eileen is spinning; + Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting, + Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting,-- + "Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." + "'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." + "Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." + "'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying." + Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, + Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; + Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, + Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. + + "What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" + "'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." + "What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, + And singing all wrong that old song of 'The Coolun'?" + There's a form at the casement,--the form of her true-love,-- + And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love; + Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly, + We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly." + Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, + Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; + Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, + Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. + + The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, + Steals up from her seat,--longs to go, and yet lingers; + A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother, + Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. + Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round; + Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; + Noiseless and light to the lattice above her + The maid steps,--then leaps to the arms of her lover. + Slower--and slower--and slower the wheel swings; + Lower--and lower--and lower the reel rings; + Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving, + Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. + + _John Francis Waller._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. + + She walks in beauty like the night + Of cloudless climes and starry skies; + And all that's best of dark and bright + Meets in her aspect and her eyes; + Thus mellowed to that tender light + Which heaven to gaudy day denies. + + One shade the more, one ray the less, + Had half impaired the nameless grace + Which waves in every raven tress, + Or softly lightens o'er her face; + Where thoughts serenely sweet express + How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. + + And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, + So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, + The smiles that win, the tints that glow, + But tell of days in goodness spent, + A mind at peace with all below, + A heart whose love is innocent. + + _Lord Byron._ + + * * * * * + + +THE WELCOME. + + Come in the evening, or come in the morning; + Come when you're looked for, or come without warning; + Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, + And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! + Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; + Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; + The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, + And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!" + + I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them! + Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom; + I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; + I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. + O, your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, + Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor; + I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, + Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me. + + We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyry; + We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; + We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, + Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her,-- + O, she'll whisper you, "Love, as unchangeably beaming, + And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming; + Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, + As our souls flow in one down eternity's river." + + So come in the evening, or come in the morning: + Come when you're looked for, or come without warning; + Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, + And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! + Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; + Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; + The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, + And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!" + + _Thomas Davis._ + + * * * * * + + +THE BROOKSIDE. + + I wandered by the brookside, + I wandered by the mill; + I could not hear the brook flow,-- + The noisy wheel was still. + There was no burr of grasshopper, + No chirp of any bird, + But the beating of my own heart + Was all the sound I heard. + + I sat beneath the elm-tree: + I watched the long, long shade, + And, as it grew still longer, + I did not feel afraid; + For I listened for a footfall, + I listened for a word,-- + But the beating of my own heart + Was all the sound I heard. + + He came not,--no, he came not,-- + The night came on alone,-- + The little stars sat one by one, + Each on his golden throne; + The evening wind passed by my cheek, + The leaves above were stirred,-- + But the beating of my own heart + Was all the sound I heard. + + Fast, silent tears were flowing, + When something stood behind: + A hand was on my shoulder,-- + I knew its touch was kind: + It drew me nearer--nearer-- + We did not speak one word, + For the beating of our own hearts + Was all the sound we heard. + + _Richard Monckton Milnes._ + + * * * * * + + +MARIANA. + +"Mariana in the moated grange."--_Measure for Measure._ + + With blackest moss the flower-pots + Were thickly crusted, one and all: + The rusted nails fell from the knots + That held the peach to the garden-wall. + The broken sheds looked sad and strange: + Unlifted was the clinking latch: + Weeded and worn the ancient thatch + Upon the lonely moated grange. + She only said, "My life is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + Her tears fell with the dews at even; + Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; + She could not look on the sweet heaven, + Either at morn or eventide. + After the flitting of the bats, + When thickest dark did trance the sky, + She drew her casement-curtain by, + And glanced athwart the glooming flats. + She only said, "The night is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + Upon the middle of the night, + Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: + The cock sung out an hour ere light: + From the dark fen the oxen's low + Came to her: without hope of change, + In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, + Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn + About the lonely moated grange. + She only said, "The day is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + About a stone-cast from the wall + A sluice with blackened waters slept, + And o'er it many, round and small, + The clustered marish-mosses crept. + Hard by a poplar shook alway, + All silver-green with gnarled bark: + For leagues no other tree did mark + The level waste, the rounding gray. + She only said, "My life is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + And ever when the moon was low, + And the shrill winds were up and away, + In the white curtain, to and fro, + She saw the gusty shadow sway. + But when the moon was very low, + And wild winds bound within their cell, + The shadow of the poplar fell + Upon her bed, across her brow. + She only said, "The night is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + All day within the dreamy house, + The doors upon their hinges creaked; + The blue-fly sung i' the pane; the mouse + Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, + Or from the crevice peered about. + Old faces glimmered through the doors, + Old footsteps trod the upper floors, + Old voices called her from without. + She only said, "My life is dreary, + He cometh not," she said; + She said, "I am aweary, aweary, + I would that I were dead!" + + The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, + The slow clock ticking, and the sound + Which to the wooing wind aloof + The poplar made, did all confound + Her sense; but most she loathed the hour + When the thick-moted sunbeam lay + Athwart the chambers, and the day + Was sloping toward his western bower. + Then said she, "I am very dreary, + He will not come," she said; + She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, + O God, that I were dead!" + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +BUGLE-SONG. + + The splendor falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story; + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! + Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow forever and forever. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +SERENADE. + + Stars of the summer night! + Far in yon azure deeps, + Hide, hide your golden light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Moon of the summer night! + Far down yon western steeps, + Sink, sink in silver light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Wind of the summer night! + Where yonder woodbine creeps, + Fold, fold thy pinions light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Dreams of the summer night! + Tell her, her lover keeps + Watch, while in slumbers light + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. + + I arise from dreams of thee, + In the first sweet sleep of night, + When the winds are breathing low, + And the stars are shining bright; + I arise from dreams of thee, + And a spirit in my feet + Has led me,--who knows how? + To thy chamber-window, sweet! + + The wandering airs they faint + On the dark, the silent stream,-- + The champak odors fail, + Like sweet thoughts in a dream. + The nightingale's complaint + It dies upon her heart, + As I must die on thine, + O beloved as thou art! + + O lift me from the grass! + I die, I faint, I fail. + Let thy love in kisses rain + On my lips and eyelids pale. + My cheek is cold and white, alas! + My heart beats loud and fast. + Oh! press it close to thine again, + Where it will break at last. + + _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ + + * * * * * + + +NOT FAR TO GO. + + As upland fields were sunburnt brown, + And heat-dried brooks were running small, + And sheep were gathered, panting all, + Below the hawthorn on the down,-- + The while my mare, with dipping head, + Pulled on my cart above the bridge,-- + I saw come on, beside the ridge, + A maiden white in skin and thread, + And walking, with an elbow-load, + The way I drove along my road. + + As there with comely steps up hill + She rose by elm-trees all in ranks, + From shade to shade, by flowery banks, + Where flew the bird with whistling bill, + I kindly said, "Now won't you ride, + This burning weather, up the knap? + I have a seat that fits the trap, + And now is swung from side to side." + "O no," she cried, "I thank you, no. + I've little farther now to go." + + Then, up the timbered slope, I found + The prettiest house a good day's ride + Would bring you by, with porch and side + By rose and jessamine well bound; + And near at hand a spring and pool, + With lawn well sunned and bower cool; + And while the wicket fell behind + Her steps, I thought, "If I would find + A wife I need not blush to show, + I've little farther now to go." + + _William Barnes._ + + * * * * * + + +MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. + + Maid of Athens, ere we part, + Give, O give me back my heart! + Or, since that has left my breast, + Keep it now, and take the rest! + Hear my vow before I go, + [Greek: Zoe mou sas agapo.] + + By those tresses unconfined, + Wooed by each AEgean wind; + By those lids whose jetty fringe + Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; + By those wild eyes like the roe, + [Greek: Zoe mou sas agapo.] + + By that lip I long to taste; + By that zone-encircled waist; + By all the token-flowers that tell + What words can never speak so well; + By love's alternate joy and woe, + [Greek: Zoe mou sas agapo.] + + Maid of Athens! I am gone. + Think of me, sweet! when alone. + Though I fly to Istambol, + Athens holds my heart and soul: + Can I cease to love thee? No! + [Greek: Zoe mou sas agapo.] + + _Lord Byron._ + + * * * * * + + +COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. + + Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer: + Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; + Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, + And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. + + Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same + Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? + I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, + I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. + + Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss, + And thy Angel I 'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, + Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, + And shield thee, and save thee,--or perish there too! + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +A WOMAN'S QUESTION. + + Before I trust my fate to thee, + Or place my hand in thine, + Before I let thy future give + Color and form to mine, + Before I peril all for thee, + Question thy soul to-night for me. + + I break all slighter bonds, nor feel + A shadow of regret: + Is there one link within the past + That holds thy spirit yet? + Or is thy faith as clear and free + As that which I can pledge to thee? + + Does there within thy dimmest dreams + A possible future shine, + Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, + Untouched, unshared by mine? + If so, at any pain or cost, + O, tell me before all is lost! + + Look deeper still: if thou canst feel, + Within thy inmost soul, + That thou hast kept a portion back, + While I have staked the whole, + Let no false pity spare the blow, + But in true mercy tell me so. + + Is there within thy heart a need + That mine cannot fulfil? + One chord that any other hand + Could better wake or still? + Speak now, lest at some future day + My whole life wither and decay. + + Lives there within thy nature hid + The demon-spirit, change, + Shedding a passing glory still + On all things new and strange? + It may not be thy fault alone,-- + But shield my heart against thine own. + + Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day + And answer to my claim, + That fate, and that to-day's mistake,-- + Not thou,--had been to blame? + Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou + Wilt surely warn and save me now. + + Nay, answer _not_,--I dare not hear,-- + The words would come too late; + Yet I would spare thee all remorse, + So comfort thee, my fate: + Whatever on my heart may fall, + Remember, I _would_ risk it all! + + _Adelaide Anne Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +SONNETS. + + When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, + And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, + Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, + Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held: + Then being asked where all thy beauty lies, + Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; + To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, + Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. + How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, + If thou couldst answer,--"This fair child of mine + Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse--" + Proving his beauty by succession thine. + This were to be new-made when thou art old, + And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. + + * * * * * + + + When I do count the clock that tells the time, + And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; + When I behold the violet past prime, + And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; + When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, + Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, + And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, + Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; + Then, of thy beauty do I question make, + That thou among the wastes of time must go, + Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, + And die as fast as they see others grow; + And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence, + Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. + + * * * * * + + + My glass shall not persuade me I am old, + So long as youth and thou are of one date; + But when in thee Time's furrows I behold, + Then look I death my days should expiate. + For all that beauty that doth cover thee + Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, + Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me; + How can I then be elder than thou art? + O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary, + As I not for myself but for thee will; + Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary + As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. + Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; + Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. + + * * * * * + + + As an unperfect actor on the stage, + Who with his fear is put beside his part, + Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, + Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; + So I, for fear of trust, forget to say + The perfect ceremony of love's rite, + And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, + O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. + O let my books be then the eloquence + And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; + Who plead for love, and look for recompense, + More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. + O learn to read what silent love hath writ: + To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. + + * * * * * + + + Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? + Thou art more lovely and more temperate: + Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, + And summer's lease hath all too short a date: + Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, + And often is his gold complexion dimmed; + And every fair from fair sometime declines, + By chance, or nature's changing coarse, untrimmed; + But thy eternal summer shall not fade, + Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; + Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, + When in eternal lines to time thou growest; + So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, + So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + _William Shakespeare._ + + * * * * * + + +LOVE NOT. + + Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! + Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers,-- + Things that are made to fade and fall away + Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. + Love not! + + Love not! the thing ye love may change; + The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, + The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, + The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. + Love not! + + Love not! the thing you love may die,-- + May perish from the gay and gladsome earth; + The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, + Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. + Love not! + + Love not! O warning vainly said + In present hours as in years gone by! + Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head, + Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. + Love not! + + _Caroline Norton._ + + * * * * * + + +AE FOND KISS. + + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! + Ae fareweel, alas! forever! + Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee; + Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, + While the star of hope she leaves him? + Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; + Dark despair around benights me. + + I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,-- + Naething could resist my Nancy: + But to see her was to love her, + Love but her, and love forever. + Had we never loved sae kindly, + Had we never loved sae blindly, + Never met,--or never parted, + We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + + Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! + Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! + Thine be ilka joy and treasure, + Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure! + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! + Ae fareweel, alas! forever! + Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee; + Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + + _Robert Burns._ + + * * * * * + + +BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. + + Break, break, break, + On thy cold gray stones, O sea! + And I would that my tongue could utter + The thoughts that arise in me. + + O well for the fisherman's boy + That he shouts with his sister at play! + O well for the sailor lad + That he sings in his boat on the bay! + + And the stately ships go on, + To the haven under the hill; + But O for the touch of a vanished hand, + And the sound of a voice that is still! + + Break, break, break, + At the foot of thy crags, O sea! + But the tender grace of a day that is dead + Will never come back to me. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +ASTARTE. + + When the latest strife is lost, and all is done with, + Ere we slumber in the spirit and the brain, + We drowse back, in dreams, to days that life begun with, + And their tender light returns to us again. + + I have cast away the tangle and the torment + Of the cords that bound my life up in a mesh; + And the pulse begins to throb that long lay dormant + 'Neath their pressure; and the old wounds bleed afresh. + + I am touched again with shades of early sadness, + Like the summer-cloud's light shadow in my hair; + I am thrilled again with breaths of boyish gladness, + Like the scent of some last primrose on the air. + + And again she comes, with all her silent graces, + The lost woman of my youth, yet unpossessed; + And her cold face so unlike the other faces + Of the women whose dead lips I since have pressed. + + The motion and the fragrance of her garments + Seem about me, all the day long, in the room; + And her face, with its bewildering old endearments, + Comes at night, between the curtains, in the gloom. + + When vain dreams are stirred with sighing, near the morning, + To my own her phantom lips I feel approach; + And her smile, at eve, breaks o'er me without warning + From its speechless, pale, perpetual reproach. + + When life's dawning glimmer yet had all the tint there + Of the orient, in the freshness of the grass + (Ah, what feet since then have trodden out the print there!) + Did her soft, her silent footsteps fall, and pass. + + They fell lightly, as the dew falls, 'mid ungathered + Meadow-flowers, and lightly lingered with the dew. + But the dew is gone, the grass is dried and withered, + And the traces of those steps have faded too. + + Other footsteps fall about me,--faint, uncertain, + In the shadow of the world, as it recedes; + Other forms peer through the half-uplifted curtain + Of that mystery which hangs behind the creeds. + + What is gone, is gone forever. And new fashions + May replace old forms which nothing can restore; + But I turn from sighing back departed passions, + With that pining at the bosom as of yore. + + I remember to have murmured, morn and even, + "Though the Earth dispart these Earthlies, face from face, + Yet the Heavenlies shall surely join in Heaven, + For the spirit hath no bonds in time or space. + + "Where it listeth, there it bloweth; all existence + Is its region; and it houseth where it will. + I shall feel her through immeasurable distance, + And grow nearer and be gathered to her still. + + "If I fail to find her out by her gold tresses, + Brows, and breast, and lips, and language of sweet strains, + I shall know her by the traces of dead kisses, + And that portion of myself which she retains." + + But my being is confused with new experience, + And changed to something other than it was; + And the Future with the Past is set at variance; + And Life falters with the burthens which it has. + + Earth's old sins press fast behind me, weakly wailing; + Faint before me fleets the good I have not done; + And my search for her may still be unavailing + 'Mid the spirits that have passed beyond the sun. + + _Robert Bulwer Lytton._ + + * * * * * + + +MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. + + My heid is like to rend, Willie, + My heart is like to break; + I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie, + I'm dyin' for your sake! + O, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, + Your hand on my briest-bane,-- + O, say ye'll think on me, Willie, + When I am deid and gane! + + It's vain to comfort me, Willie, + Sair grief maun ha'e its will; + But let me rest upon your briest + To sab and greet my fill. + Let me sit on your knee, Willie, + Let me shed by your hair, + And look into the face, Willie, + I never sall see mair! + + I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, + For the last time in my life,-- + A puir heart-broken thing, Willie, + A mither, yet nae wife. + Ay, press your hand upon my heart, + And press it mair and mair, + Or it will burst the silken twine, + Sae strang is its despair. + + O, wae's me for the hour, Willie, + When we thegither met,-- + O, wae's me for the time, Willie, + That our first tryst was set! + O, wae's me for the loanin' green + Where we were wont to gae,-- + And wae's me for the destinie + That gart me luve thee sae! + + O, dinna mind my words, Willie, + I downa seek to blame; + But O, it's hard to live, Willie, + And dree a warld's shame! + Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek, + And hailin' ower your chin; + Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, + For sorrow, and for sin? + + I'm weary o' this warld, Willie, + And sick wi' a' I see, + I canna live as I ha'e lived, + Or be as I should be. + But fauld unto your heart, Willie, + The heart that still is thine, + And kiss ance mair the white, white cheel + Ye said was red langsyne. + + A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, + A sair stoun' through my heart; + O, haud me up and let me kiss + Thy brow ere we twa pairt. + Anither, and anither yet!-- + How fast my life-strings break!-- + Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yard + Step lichtly for my sake! + + The laverock in the lift, Willie, + That lilts far ower our heid, + Will sing the morn as merrilie + Abune the clay-cauld deid; + And this green turf we're sittin' on, + Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, + Will hap the heart that luvit thee + As warld has seldom seen. + + But O, remember me, Willie, + On land where'er ye be; + And O, think on the leal, leal heart, + That ne'er luvit ane but thee! + And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools + That file my yellow hair, + That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin + Ye never sall kiss mair! + + _William Motherwell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE MANGO TREE. + + He wiled me through the furzy croft; + He wiled me down the sandy lane; + He told his boy's love, soft and oft, + Until I told him mine again. + + We married, and we sailed the main,-- + A soldier, and a soldier's wife. + We marched through many a burning plain; + We sighed for many a gallant life. + + But his--God keep it safe from harm. + He toiled, and dared, and earned command, + And those three stripes upon his arm + Were more to me than gold or land. + + Sure he would win some great renown; + Our lives were strong, our hearts were high. + One night the fever struck him down. + I sat, and stared, and saw him die. + + I had his children,--one, two, three. + One week I had them, blithe and sound. + The next--beneath this mango tree + By him in barrack burying-ground. + + I sit beneath the mango shade; + I live my five years' life all o'er,-- + Round yonder stems his children played; + He mounted guard at yonder door. + + 'Tis I, not they, am gone and dead. + They live, they know, they feel, they see. + Their spirits light the golden shade + Beneath the giant mango tree. + + All things, save I, are full of life: + The minas, pluming velvet breasts; + The monkeys, in their foolish strife; + The swooping hawks, the swinging nests; + + The lizards basking on the soil; + The butterflies who sun their wings; + The bees about their household toil;-- + They live, they love, the blissful things! + + Each tender purple mango shoot, + That folds and droops so bashful down, + It lives, it sucks some hidden root, + It rears at last a broad green crown. + + It blossoms: and the children cry, + "Watch when the mango apples fall." + It lives; but rootless, fruitless, I,-- + I breathe and dream,--and that is all. + + Thus am I dead, yet cannot die; + But still within my foolish brain + There hangs a pale blue evening sky, + A furzy croft, a sandy lane. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +TO MARY IN HEAVEN. + + Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, + That lov'st to greet the early morn, + Again thou usherest in the day + My Mary from my soul was torn. + O Mary! dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? + Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + + That sacred hour can I forget, + Can I forget the hallowed grove, + Where by the winding Ayr we met, + To live one day of parting love? + Eternity will not efface + Those records dear of transports past; + Thy image at our last embrace; + Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! + + Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, + O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; + The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, + Twined amorous round the raptured scene; + The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed, + The birds sang love on every spray,-- + Till too, too soon, the glowing west + Proclaimed the speed of winged day. + + Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, + And fondly broods with miser care! + Time but the impression deeper makes, + As streams their channels deeper wear. + My Mary, dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? + Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + + _Robert Burns._ + + * * * * * + + +A SONG FOR SEPTEMBER. + + September strews the woodland o'er + With many a brilliant color; + The world is brighter than before,-- + Why should our hearts be duller? + Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, + Sad thoughts and sunny weather! + Ah me! this glory and this grief + Agree not well together. + + This is the parting season,--this + The time when friends are flying; + And lovers now, with many a kiss, + Their long farewells are sighing. + Why is Earth so gayly dressed? + This pomp, that Autumn beareth, + A funeral seems where every guest + A bridal garment weareth. + + Each one of us, perchance, may here, + On some blue morn hereafter, + Return to view the gaudy year, + But not with boyish laughter. + We shall then be wrinkled men, + Our brows with silver laden, + And thou this glen may'st seek again, + But nevermore a maiden! + + Nature perhaps foresees that Spring + Will touch her teeming bosom, + And that a few brief months will bring + The bird, the bee, the blossom; + Ah! these forests do not know-- + Or would less brightly wither-- + The virgin that adorns them so + Will nevermore come hither! + + _Thomas William Parsons._ + + * * * * * + + +OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. + + Oft in the stilly night, + Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, + Fond Memory brings the light + Of other days around me; + The smiles, the tears, + Of boyhood's years, + The words of love then spoken; + The eyes that shone, + Now dimmed and gone, + The cheerful hearts now broken! + Thus in the stilly night, + Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, + Sad Memory brings the light + Of other days around me. + + When I remember all + The friends, so linked together, + I've seen around me fall, + Like leaves in wintry weather, + I feel like one + Who treads alone + Some banquet-hall deserted, + Whose lights are fled, + Whose garlands dead, + And all but he departed! + Thus in the stilly night, + Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, + Sad Memory brings the light + Of other days around me. + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. + + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + Tears from the depth of some divine despair + Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, + In looking on the happy autumn fields, + And thinking of the days that are no more. + + Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail + That brings our friends up from the under world, + Sad as the last which reddens over one + That sinks with all we love below the verge,-- + So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns + The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds + To dying ears, when unto dying eyes + The casement slowly grows a glimmering square,-- + So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + Dear as remembered kisses after death, + And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned + On lips that are for others; deep as love, + Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, + O death in life! the days that are no more. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. + + I have had playmates, I have had companions, + In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + I have been laughing, I have been carousing, + Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + I loved a love once, fairest among women; + Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her; + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; + Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly,-- + Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. + + Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood. + Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, + Seeking to find the old familiar faces. + + Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, + Why wert thou not born in my father's dwelling? + So might we talk of the old familiar faces,-- + + How some they have died, and some they have left me, + And some are taken from me; all are departed, + All, all are gone, the old familiar faces! + + _Charles Lamb._ + + * * * * * + + +TIME'S CHANGES. + + I saw her once,--so freshly fair, + That, like a blossom just unfolding, + She opened to life's cloudless air, + And Nature joyed to view its moulding: + Her smile, it haunts my memory yet; + Her cheek's fine hue divinely glowing; + Her rosebud mouth, her eyes of jet, + Around on all their light bestowing. + O, who could look on such a form, + So nobly free, so softly tender, + And darkly dream that earthly storm + Should dim such sweet, delicious splendor? + For in her mien, and in her face, + And in her young step's fairy lightness, + Naught could the raptured gazer trace + But beauty's glow and pleasure's brightness. + + I saw her twice,--an altered charm, + But still of magic richest, rarest, + Than girlhood's talisman less warm, + Though yet of earthly sights the fairest; + Upon her breast she held a child, + The very image of its mother, + Which ever to her smiling smiled,-- + They seemed to live but in each other. + But matron cares or lurking woe + Her thoughtless, sinless look had banished, + And from her cheeks the roseate glow + Of girlhood's balmy morn had vanished; + Within her eyes, upon her brow, + Lay something softer, fonder, deeper, + As if in dreams some visioned woe + Had broke the Elysium of the sleeper. + + I saw her thrice,--Fate's dark decree + In widow's garments had arrayed her; + Yet beautiful she seemed to be + As even my reveries portrayed her; + The glow, the glance, had passed away, + The sunshine and the sparkling glitter,-- + Still, though I noted pale decay, + The retrospect was scarcely bitter; + For in their place a calmness dwelt, + Serene, subduing, soothing, holy,-- + In feeling which, the bosom felt + That every louder mirth is folly,-- + A pensiveness which is not grief; + A stillness as of sunset streaming; + A fairy glow on flower and leaf, + Till earth looks like a landscape dreaming. + + A last time,--and unmoved she lay, + Beyond life's dim, uncertain river, + A glorious mould of fading clay, + From whence the spark had fled forever! + I gazed--my heart was like to burst-- + And, as I thought of years departed-- + The years wherein I saw her first, + When she, a girl, was lightsome-hearted-- + And as I mused on later days, + When moved she in her matron duty, + A happy mother, in the blaze + Of ripened hope and sunny beauty,-- + I felt the chill--I turned aside-- + Bleak Desolation's cloud came o'er me; + And Being seemed a troubled tide, + Whose wrecks in darkness swam before me! + + _David Macbeth Moir._ + + * * * * * + + +QUA CURSUM VENTUS. + + As ships becalmed at eve, that lay + With canvas drooping, side by side, + Two towers of sail at dawn of day + Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried; + + When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, + And all the darkling hours they plied, + Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas + By each was cleaving, side by side: + + E'en so,--but why the tale reveal + Of those whom, year by year unchanged, + Brief absence joined anew to feel, + Astounded, soul from soul estranged? + + At dead of night their sails were filled, + And onward each rejoicing steered; + Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, + Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! + + To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, + Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, + Through winds and tides one compass guides,-- + To that, and your own selves, be true. + + But O blithe breeze, and O great seas, + Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, + On your wide plain they join again, + Together lead them home at last! + + One port, methought, alike they sought, + One purpose hold where'er they fare,-- + O bounding breeze, O rushing seas, + At last, at last, unite them there! + + _Arthur Hugh Clough._ + + * * * * * + + +CHANGES. + + Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. + Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not + The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. + And then, we women cannot choose our lot. + + Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; + Much given away which it were sweet to keep. + God help us all! who need, indeed, his care. + And yet I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. + + My little boy begins to babble now + Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. + He has his father's eager eyes, I know; + And, they say, too, his mother's sunny hair. + + But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, + And I can feel his light breath come and go, + I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!) + Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago; + + Who might have been ... ah, what I dare not think! + We are all changed. God judges for us best. + God help us do our duty, and not shrink, + And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. + + But blame us women not, if some appear + Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. + Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. + Who knows the past? and who can judge us right? + + Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, + And not by what we are,--too apt to fall! + My little child,--he sleeps and smiles between + These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all! + + _Robert Bulwer Lytton._ + + * * * * * + + +I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. + + I remember, I remember + The house where I was born, + The little window where the sun + Came peeping in at morn; + He never came a wink too soon, + Nor brought too long a day; + But now, I often wish the night + Had borne my breath away! + + I remember, I remember + The roses, red and white, + The violets, and the lily-cups,-- + Those flowers made of light! + The lilacs where the robin built, + And where my brother set + The laburnum on his birthday,-- + The tree is living yet! + + I remember, I remember + Where I was used to swing, + And thought the air must rush as fresh + To swallows on the wing; + My spirit flew in feathers then, + That is so heavy now, + And summer pool could hardly cool + The fever on my brow! + + I remember, I remember + The fir-trees dark and high; + I used to think their slender tops + Were close against the sky. + It was a childish ignorance, + But now 'tis little joy + To know I'm farther off from heaven + Than when I was a boy. + + _Thomas Hood._ + + * * * * * + + +HAUNTED HOUSES. + + All houses wherein men have lived and died + Are haunted houses. Through the open doors + The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, + With feet that make no sound upon the floors. + + We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, + Along the passages they come and go, + Impalpable impressions on the air, + A sense of something moving to and fro. + + There are more guests at table than the hosts + Invited; the illuminated hall + Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, + As silent as the pictures on the wall. + + The stranger at my fireside cannot see + The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; + He but perceives what is; while unto me + All that has been is visible and clear. + + We have no title-deeds to house or lands; + Owners and occupants of earlier dates + From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, + And hold in mortmain still their old estates. + + The spirit-world around this world of sense + Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere + Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense + A vital breath of more ethereal air. + + Our little lives are kept in equipoise + By opposite attractions and desires! + The struggle of the instinct that enjoys + And the more noble instinct that aspires. + + These perturbations, this perpetual jar + Of earthly wants and aspirations high, + Come from the influence of an unseen star, + An undiscovered planet in our sky. + + And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud + Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, + Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd + Into the realm of mystery and night,-- + + So from the world of spirits there descends + A bridge of light, connecting it with this, + O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, + Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +THANATOPSIS. + + To him who in the love of nature holds + Communion with her visible forms, she speaks + A various language: for his gayer hours + She has a voice of gladness, and a smile + And eloquence of beauty; and she glides + Into his darker musings with a mild + And healing sympathy, that steals away + Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts + Of the last bitter hour come like a blight + Over thy spirit, and sad images + Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, + And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, + Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, + Go forth under the open sky, and list + To Nature's teachings, while from all around-- + Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-- + Comes a still voice: Yet a few days, and thee + The all-beholding sun shall see no more + In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, + Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, + Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist + Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim + Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; + And, lost each human trace, surrendering up + Thine individual being, shalt thou go + To mix forever with the elements,-- + To be a brother to the insensible rock, + And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain + Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak + Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. + + Yet not to thine eternal resting-place + Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish + Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down + With patriarchs of the infant world,--with kings, + The powerful of the earth,--the wise, the good,-- + Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, + All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, + Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales + Stretching in pensive quietness between,-- + The venerable woods,--rivers that move + In majesty, and the complaining brooks + That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, + Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- + Are but the solemn decorations all + Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, + The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, + Are shining on the sad abodes of death, + Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread + The globe are but a handful to the tribes + That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings + Of morning; traverse Barca's desert sands, + Or lose thyself in the continuous woods + Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound + Save his own dashings,--yet the dead are there; + And millions in those solitudes, since first + The flight of years began, have laid them down + In their last sleep,--the dead reign there alone. + So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw + In silence from the living, and no friend + Take note of thy departure? All that breathe + Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh + When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care + Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase + His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave + Their mirth and their employments, and shall come + And make their bed with thee. As the long train + Of ages glide away, the sons of men-- + The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes + In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, + And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man-- + Shall one by one be gathered to thy side + By those who in their turn shall follow them. + + So live that when thy summons comes to join + The innumerable caravan which moves + To that mysterious realm where each shall take + His chamber in the silent halls of death, + Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, + Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave + Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch + About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. + + _William Cullen Bryant._ + + * * * * * + + +OVER THE RIVER. + + Over the river they beckon to me, + Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side, + The gleam of their snowy robes I see, + But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. + There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, + And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; + He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, + And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. + We saw not the angels who met him there, + The gates of the city we could not see: + Over the river, over the river, + My brother stands waiting to welcome me. + + Over the river the boatman pale + Carried another, the household pet; + Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, + Darling Minnie! I see her yet. + She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, + And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; + We felt it glide from the silver sands, + And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; + We know she is safe on the farther side, + Where all the ransomed and angels be: + Over the river, the mystic river, + My childhood's idol is waiting for me. + + For none return from those quiet shores, + Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; + We hear the dip of the golden oars, + And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; + And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart, + They cross the stream and are gone for aye; + We may not sunder the veil apart + That hides from our vision the gates of day; + We only know that their barks no more + May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; + Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, + They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. + + And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold + Is flushing river and hill and shore, + I shall one day stand by the water cold, + And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; + I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, + I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, + I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, + To the better shore of the spirit-land. + I shall know the loved who have gone before, + And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, + When over the river, the peaceful river, + The angel of death shall carry me. + + _Nancy Priest Wakefield._ + + * * * * * + + +THEY ARE ALL GONE. + + They are all gone into the world of light, + And I alone sit lingering here! + Their very memory is fair and bright, + And my sad thoughts doth clear; + + It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, + Like stars upon some gloomy grove,-- + Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed + After the sun's remove. + + I see them walking in an air of glory, + Whose light doth trample on my days,-- + My days which are at best but dull and hoary, + Mere glimmerings and decays. + + O holy hope! and high humility,-- + High as the heavens above! + These are your walks, and you have showed them me + To kindle my cold love. + + Dear, beauteous death,--the jewel of the just,-- + Shining nowhere but in the dark! + What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, + Could man outlook that mark! + + He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, + At first sight, if the bird be flown, + But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, + That is to him unknown. + + And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams + Call to the soul when man doth sleep, + So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, + And into glory peep. + + If a star were confined into a tomb, + Her captive flames must needs burn there; + But when the hand that locked her up gives room, + She'll shine through all the sphere. + + O Father of eternal life, and all + Created glories under Thee! + Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall + Into true liberty. + + Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill + My perspective still as they pass; + Or else remove me hence unto that hill + Where I shall need no glass. + + _Henry Vaughan._ + + * * * * * + + +THE RIVER PATH. + + No bird-song floated down the hill, + The tangled bank below was still; + + No rustle from the birchen stem, + No ripple from the water's hem. + + The dusk of twilight round us grew, + We felt the falling of the dew; + + For from us, ere the day was done, + The wooded hills shut out the sun. + + But on the river's farther side, + We saw the hill-tops glorified,-- + + A tender glow, exceeding fair, + A dream of day without its glare. + + With us the damp, the chill, the gloom; + With them the sunset's rosy bloom; + + While dark, through willowy vistas seen, + The river rolled in shade between. + + From out the darkness where we trod, + We gazed upon those hills of God, + + Whose light seemed not of morn or sun; + We spake not, but our thought was one. + + We paused, as if from that bright shore + Beckoned our dear ones gone before; + + And stilled our beating hearts to hear + The voices lost to mortal ear! + + Sudden our pathway turned from night; + The hills swung open to the light; + + Through their green gates the sunshine showed, + A long slant splendor downward flowed. + + Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; + It bridged the shaded stream with gold; + + And, borne on piers of mist, allied + The shadowy with the sunlit side! + + "So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near + The river dark with mortal fear, + + "And the night cometh, chill with dew, + O Father, let thy light break through! + + "So let the hills of doubt divide, + To bridge with faith the sunless tide! + + "So let the eyes that fail on earth + On thy eternal hills look forth, + + "And in thy beckoning angels know + The dear ones whom we loved below!" + + _John Greenleaf Whittier._ + + * * * * * + + +AN OLD MAN'S IDYL. + + By the waters of Life we sat together, + Hand in hand, in the golden days + Of the beautiful early summer weather, + When hours were anthems and speech was praise; + When the heart kept time to the carol of birds, + And the birds kept tune to the songs that ran + Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards, + And trees with voices AEolian. + + By the rivers of Life we walked together, + I and my darling, unafraid; + And lighter than any linnet's feather + The burdens of being on us weighed; + And Love's sweet miracles o'er us threw + Mantles of joy outlasting Time; + And up from the rosy morrows grew + A sound that seemed like a marriage-chime. + + In the gardens of Life we roamed together; + And the luscious apples were ripe and red, + And the languid lilac and honeyed heather + Swooned with the fragrance which they shed. + And under the trees the Angels walked, + And up in the air a sense of wings + Awed us sacredly while we talked + Softly in tender communings. + + In the meadows of life we strayed together, + Watching the waving harvests grow; + And under the benison of the Father + Our hearts like the lambs skipped to and fro. + And the cowslips, hearing our low replies, + Broidered fairer the emerald banks; + And glad tears shone in the daisies' eyes, + And the timid violet glistened thanks. + + Who was with us, and what was round us, + Neither myself nor darling guessed; + Only we knew that something crowned us + Out from the heavens with crowns of rest. + Only we knew that something bright + Lingered lovingly where we stood, + Clothed with the incandescent light + Of something higher than humanhood. + + O the riches Love doth inherit! + Ah the alchemy which doth change + Dross of body and dregs of spirit + Into sanctities rare and strange! + My flesh is feeble, and dry, and old, + My darling's beautiful hair is gray; + But our elixir and precious gold + Laugh at the footsteps of decay. + + Harms of the world have come upon us, + Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain; + But we have a secret which doth show us + Wonderful rainbows through the rain; + And we hear the tread of the years go by, + And the sun is setting behind the hills; + But my darling does not fear to die, + And I am happy in what God wills. + + So we sit by our household fires together, + Dreaming the dreams of long ago. + Then it was balmy summer weather, + And now the valleys are laid in snow, + Icicles hang from the slippery eaves, + The wind grows cold,--it is growing late. + Well, well,--we have garnered all our sheaves, + I and my darling,--and we wait. + + _Richard Realf._ + + * * * * * + + +BETROTHED ANEW. + + The sunlight fills the trembling air, + And balmy days their guerdons bring; + The Earth again is young and fair, + And amorous with musky spring. + + The golden nurslings of the May + In splendor strew the spangled green, + And hues of tender beauty play, + Entangled where the willows lean. + + Mark how the rippled currents flow; + What lustres on the meadows lie! + And hark! the songsters come and go, + And trill between the earth and sky. + + Who told us that the years had fled, + Or borne afar our blissful youth? + Such joys are all about us spread, + We know the whisper was not truth. + + The birds that break from grass and grove + Sing every carol that they sung + When first our veins were rich with love, + And May her mantle round us flung. + + O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life! + O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true, + With whose delights our souls are rife, + And aye their vernal vows renew! + + Then, darling, walk with me this morn, + Let your brown tresses drink its sheen; + These violets, within them worn, + Of floral fays shall make you queen. + + What though there comes a time of pain + When autumn winds forebode decay? + The days of love are born again; + That fabled time is far away! + + And never seemed the land so fair + As now, nor birds such notes to sing, + Since first within your shining hair + I wove the blossoms of the spring. + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LONG-AGO. + + Eyes which can but ill define + Shapes that rise about and near, + Through the far horizon's line + Stretch a vision free and clear; + Memories feeble to retrace + Yesterday's immediate flow, + Find a dear familiar face + In each hour of Long-Ago. + + Follow yon majestic train + Down the slopes of old renown; + Knightly forms without disdain, + Sainted heads without a frown, + Emperors of thought and hand, + Congregate, a glorious show, + Met from every age and land, + In the plains of Long-Ago. + + As the heart of childhood brings + Something of eternal joy + From its own unsounded springs, + Such as life can scarce destroy, + So, remindful of the prime, + Spirits wandering to and fro + Rest upon the resting-time + In the peace of Long-Ago. + + Youthful Hope's religious fire, + When it burns no longer, leaves + Ashes of impure desire + On the altars it bereaves; + But the light that fills the past + Sheds a still diviner glow, + Ever farther it is cast + O'er the scenes of Long-Ago. + + Many a growth of pain and care, + Cumbering all the present hour, + Yields, when once transplanted there, + Healthy fruit or pleasant flower. + Thoughts that hardly flourish here, + Feelings long have ceased to blow, + Breathe a native atmosphere + In the world of Long-Ago. + + On that deep-retiring shore + Frequent pearls of beauty lie, + Where the passion-waves of yore + Fiercely beat and mounted high; + Sorrows that are sorrows still, + Lose the bitter taste of woe; + Nothing's altogether ill + In the griefs of Long-Ago. + + Tombs where lonely love repines, + Ghastly tenements of tears, + Wear the look of happy shrines + Through the golden mist of years; + Death, to those who trust in good, + Vindicates his hardest blow; + O, we would not, if we could, + Wake the sleep of Long-Ago! + + Though the doom of swift decay + Shocks the soul where life is strong; + Though for frailer hearts the day + Lingers sad and over-long; + Still the weight will find a leaven, + Still the spoiler's hand is slow, + While the future has its Heaven, + And the past its Long-Ago. + + _Richard Monckton Milnes._ + + * * * * * + + +THE IVY GREEN. + + O, a dainty plant is the ivy green, + That creepeth o'er ruins old! + Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, + In his cell so lone and cold. + The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed, + To pleasure his dainty whim; + And the mouldering dust that years have made + Is a merry meal for him. + Creeping where no life is seen, + A rare old plant is the ivy green. + + Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, + And a stanch old heart has he! + How closely he twineth, how tight he clings + To his friend, the huge oak-tree! + And slyly he traileth along the ground, + And his leaves he gently waves, + And he joyously twines and hugs around + The rich mould of dead men's graves. + Creeping where no life is seen, + A rare old plant is the ivy green. + + Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, + And nations have scattered been; + But the stout old ivy shall never fade + From its hale and hearty green. + The brave old plant in its lonely days + Shall fatten upon the past; + For the stateliest building man can raise + Is the ivy's food at last. + Creeping where no life is seen, + A rare old plant is the ivy green. + + _Charles Dickens._ + + * * * * * + + +SUMMER LONGINGS. + + Ah! my heart is weary waiting, + Waiting for the May,-- + Waiting for the pleasant rambles + Where the fragrant hawthorn-brambles, + With the woodbine alternating, + Scent the dewy way. + Ah! my heart is weary waiting, + Waiting for the May. + + Ah! my heart is sick with longing, + Longing for the May,-- + Longing to escape from study, + To the young face fair and ruddy, + And the thousand charms belonging + To the summer's day. + Ah! my heart is sick with longing, + Longing for the May. + + Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, + Sighing for the May,-- + Sighing for their sure returning, + When the summer beams are burning, + Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, + All the winter lay. + Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, + Sighing for the May. + + Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, + Throbbing for the May,-- + Throbbing for the seaside billows, + Or the water-wooing willows; + Where, in laughing and in sobbing, + Glide the streams away. + Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing, + Throbbing for the May. + + Waiting sad, dejected, weary, + Waiting for the May: + Spring goes by with wasted warnings,-- + Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings,-- + Summer comes, yet dark and dreary + Life still ebbs away; + Man is ever weary, weary, + Waiting for the May! + + _Denis Florence Mac-Carthy._ + + * * * * * + + +YARROW UNVISITED. + + From Stirling castle we had seen + The mazy Forth unravelled; + Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, + And with the Tweed had travelled; + And when we came to Clovenford, + Then said my "winsome Marrow," + "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, + And see the braes of Yarrow." + + "Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, + Who have been buying, selling, + Go back to Yarrow; 'tis their own,-- + Each maiden to her dwelling! + On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, + Hares couch, and rabbits burrow! + But we will downward with the Tweed, + Nor turn aside to Yarrow. + + "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, + Both lying right before us; + And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed + The lintwhites sing in chorus; + There's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land + Made blithe with plough and harrow: + Why throw away a needful day + To go in search of Yarrow? + + "What's Yarrow but a river bare, + That glides the dark hills under? + There are a thousand such elsewhere, + As worthy of your wonder." + Strange words they seemed, of slight and scorn; + My true-love sighed for sorrow, + And looked me in the face, to think + I thus could speak of Yarrow! + + "O, green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms, + And sweet is Yarrow flowing! + Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, + But we will leave it growing. + O'er hilly path and open strath + We'll wander Scotland thorough; + But, though so near, we will not turn + Into the dale of Yarrow. + + "Let beeves and homebred kine partake + The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; + The swan on still St. Mary's Lake + Float double, swan and shadow! + We will not see them; will not go + To-day, nor yet to-morrow; + Enough, if in our hearts we know + There's such a place as Yarrow. + + "Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! + It must, or we shall rue it: + We have a vision of our own; + Ah! why should we undo it? + The treasured dreams of times long past, + We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! + For when we're there, although 'tis fair, + 'Twill be another Yarrow! + + "If care with freezing years should come, + And wandering seem but folly,-- + Should we be loath to stir from home, + And yet be melancholy,-- + Should life be dull, and spirits low, + 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow, + That earth has something yet to show,-- + The bonny holms of Yarrow!" + + _William Wordsworth._ + + * * * * * + + +THE TIGER. + + Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, + In the forests of the night; + What immortal hand or eye + Could frame thy fearful symmetry? + + In what distant deeps or skies + Burned the fire of thine eyes? + On what wings dare he aspire? + What the hand dare seize the fire? + + And what shoulder, and what art, + Could twist the sinews of thine heart? + And when thy heart began to beat, + What dread hand? and what dread feet? + + What the hammer? what the chain? + In what furnace was thy brain? + What the anvil? what dread grasp + Dare its deadly terrors clasp? + + When the stars threw down their spears, + And watered heaven with their tears, + Did he smile his work to see? + Did He who made the lamb make thee? + + Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, + In the forests of the night, + What immortal hand or eye + Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? + + _William Blake._ + + * * * * * + + +A SNOW-STORM. + + I. + + 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time, + As cold as it ever can be; + The roar of the blast is heard like the chime + Of the waves on an angry sea. + The moon is full; but her silver light + The storm dashes out with its wings to-night; + And over the sky from south to north + Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth + In the strength of a mighty glee. + + II. + + All day had the snow come down,--all day + As it never came down before; + And over the hills, at sunset, lay + Some two or three feet, or more; + The fence was lost, and the wall of stone; + The windows blocked and the well-curbs gone; + The haystack had grown to a mountain lift, + And the wood-pile looked like a monster drift, + As it lay by the farmer's door. + + The night sets in on a world of snow, + While the air grows sharp and chill, + And the warning roar of a fearful blow + Is heard on the distant hill; + And the norther, see! on the mountain peak + In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek! + He shouts on the plain, ho-ho! ho-ho! + He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, + And growls with a savage will. + + III. + + Such a night as this to be found abroad, + In the drifts and the freezing air, + Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road, + With the snow in his shaggy hair. + He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls; + He lifts his head, and moans and howls; + Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet, + His nose is pressed on his quivering feet,-- + Pray, what does the dog do there? + + A farmer came from the village plain,-- + But he lost the travelled way; + And for hours he trod with might and main + A path for his horse and sleigh; + But colder still the cold winds blew, + And deeper still the deep drifts grew, + And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, + At last in her struggles floundered down, + Where a log in a hollow lay. + + In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, + She plunged in the drifting snow, + While her master urged, till his breath grew short, + With a word and a gentle blow; + But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight; + His hands were numb and had lost their might; + So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, + And strove to shelter himself till day, + With his coat and the buffalo. + + IV. + + He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, + To rouse up his dying steed; + And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain + For help in his master's need. + For a while he strives with a wistful cry + To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, + And wags his tail if the rude winds flap + The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, + And whines when he takes no heed. + + V. + + The wind goes down and the storm is o'er,-- + 'Tis the hour of midnight, past; + The old trees writhe and bend no more + In the whirl of the rushing blast. + The silent moon with her peaceful light + Looks down on the hills with snow all white, + And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, + The blasted pine and the ghostly stump, + Afar on the plain are cast. + + But cold and dead by the hidden log + Are they who came from the town,-- + The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, + And his beautiful Morgan brown,-- + In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, + With his cap on his head and the reins in his hand,-- + The dog with his nose on his master's feet, + And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet, + Where she lay when she floundered down. + + _Charles Gamage Eastman._ + + * * * * * + + +THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. + + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, + Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. + Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; + They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. + The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, + And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. + + Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and + stood + In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? + Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers + Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. + The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain + Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. + + The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague + on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and + glen. + + And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, + To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; + When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are + still, + And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, + The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. + + And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, + The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. + In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, + And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; + Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, + So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. + + _William Cullen Bryant._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SANDS OF DEE. + + "O Mary, go and call the cattle home, + And call the cattle home, + And call the cattle home, + Across the sands of Dee." + The western wind was wild and dank with foam, + And all alone went she. + + The western tide crept up along the sand, + And o'er and o'er the sand, + And round and round the sand, + As far as eye could see. + The rolling mist came down and hid the land: + And never home came she. + + "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,-- + A tress of golden hair, + A drowned maiden's hair, + Above the nets at sea? + Was never salmon yet that shone so fair + Among the stakes on Dee." + + They rowed her in across the rolling foam, + The cruel crawling foam, + The cruel hungry foam, + To her grave beside the sea. + But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, + Across the sands of Dee. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +HYMN TO THE NIGHT. + + I heard the trailing garments of the Night + Sweep through her marble halls! + I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light + From the celestial walls! + + I felt her presence, by its spell of might, + Stoop o'er me from above; + The calm, majestic presence of the Night, + As of the one I love. + + I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, + The manifold, soft chimes, + That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, + Like some old poet's rhymes. + + From the cool cisterns of the midnight air + My spirit drank repose; + The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,-- + From those deep cisterns flows. + + O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear + What man has borne before! + Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, + And they complain no more. + + Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! + Descend with broad-winged flight, + The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, + The best-beloved Night! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +NIGHT AND DEATH. + + Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew + Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, + Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, + This glorious canopy of light and blue? + Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew, + Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, + Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came; + And lo! creation widened in man's view. + Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed + Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find, + While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, + That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? + Why do we then shun death with anxious strife?-- + If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? + + _Joseph Blanco White._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SKYLARK. + + Bird of the wilderness, + Blithesome and cumberless, + Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! + Emblem of happiness, + Blest is thy dwelling-place,-- + O, to abide in the desert with thee! + Wild is thy lay and loud + Far in the downy cloud, + Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. + Where, on thy dewy wing, + Where art thou journeying? + Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. + O'er fell and fountain sheen, + O'er moor and mountain green, + O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, + Over the cloudlet dim, + Over the rainbow's rim, + Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! + Then, when the gloaming comes, + Low in the heather blooms + Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! + Emblem of happiness, + Blest is thy dwelling-place, + O, to abide in the desert with thee! + + _James Hogg._ + + * * * * * + + +THE EAGLE. + + He clasps the crag with hooked hands; + Close to the sun in lonely lands, + Ringed with the azure world, he stands. + + The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; + He watches from his mountain walls, + And like a thunderbolt he falls. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +TO THE SKYLARK. + + Hail to thee, blithe spirit! + Bird thou never wert,-- + That from heaven, or near it, + Pourest thy full heart + In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. + + Higher still and higher + From the earth thou springest, + Like a cloud of fire; + The blue deep thou wingest, + And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. + + In the golden lightning + Of the setting sun, + O'er which clouds are brightening, + Thou dost float and run; + Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. + + The pale purple even + Melts around thy flight; + Like a star of heaven, + In the broad daylight + Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. + + Keen as are the arrows + Of that silver sphere, + Whose intense lamp narrows + In the white dawn clear, + Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. + + All the earth and air + With thy voice is loud, + As, when night is bare, + From one lonely cloud + The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. + + What thou art we know not; + What is most like thee? + From rainbow clouds there flow not + Drops so bright to see, + As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. + + Like a poet hidden + In the light of thought, + Singing hymns unbidden, + Till the world is wrought + To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not; + + Like a high-born maiden + In a palace tower, + Soothing her love-laden + Soul in secret hour + With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower; + + Like a glow-worm golden, + In a dell of dew, + Scattering unbeholden + Its aerial hue + Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view; + + Like a rose embowered + In its own green leaves, + By warm winds deflowered, + Till the scent it gives + Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. + + Sound of vernal showers + On the twinkling grass, + Rain-awakened flowers, + All that ever was + Joyous and fresh and clear thy music doth surpass. + + Teach us, sprite or bird, + What sweet thoughts are thine; + I have never heard + Praise of love or wine + That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. + + Chorus hymeneal, + Or triumphant chant, + Matched with thine, would be all + But an empty vaunt,-- + A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. + + What objects are the fountains + Of thy happy strain? + What fields, or waves, or mountains? + What shapes of sky or plain? + What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain? + + With thy clear keen joyance + Languor cannot be: + Shadow of annoyance + Never came near thee; + Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. + + Waking or asleep, + Thou of death must deem + Things more true and deep + Than we mortals dream, + Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? + + We look before and after, + And pine for what is not: + Our sincerest laughter + With some pain is fraught: + Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. + + Yet if we could scorn + Hate, and pride, and fear; + If we were things born + Not to shed a tear, + I know not how thy joy we ever could come near. + + Better than all measures + Of delight and sound, + Better than all treasures + That in books are found, + Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground. + + Teach me half the gladness + That thy brain must know, + Such harmonious madness + From my lips would flow, + The world should listen then, as I am listening now. + + _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ + + * * * * * + + +TO THOMAS MOORE. + + My boat is on the shore, + And my bark is on the sea; + But, before I go, Tom Moore, + Here's a double health to thee! + + Here's a sigh for those that love me, + And a smile for those who hate; + And, whatever sky's above me, + Here's a heart for every fate. + + Though the ocean roar around me, + Yet it still shall bear me on; + Though a desert should surround me, + It hath springs that may be won. + + Were 't the last drop in the well, + As I gasped upon the brink, + Ere my fainting spirit fell + 'Tis to thee that I would drink. + + With that water, as this wine, + The libation I would pour + Should be,--Peace with thine and mine, + And a health to thee, Tom Moore! + + _Lord Byron._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. + + 'Tis the last rose of summer, + Left blooming alone; + All her lovely companions + Are faded and gone; + No flower of her kindred, + No rosebud is nigh, + To reflect back her blushes, + Or give sigh for sigh! + + I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! + To pine on the stem; + Since the lovely are sleeping, + Go, sleep thou with them; + Thus kindly I scatter + Thy leaves o'er the bed + Where thy mates of the garden + Lie scentless and dead. + + So soon may I follow, + When friendships decay, + And from love's shining circle + The gems drop away! + When true hearts lie withered, + And fond ones are flown, + O, who would inhabit + This bleak world alone? + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +A FAREWELL. + + Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, + Thy tribute wave deliver; + No more by thee my steps shall be, + Forever and forever. + + Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, + A rivulet, then a river; + Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, + Forever and forever. + + But here will sigh thine alder-tree, + And here thine aspen shiver; + And here by thee will hum the bee, + Forever and forever. + + A thousand suns will stream on thee, + A thousand moons will quiver; + But not by thee my steps shall be, + Forever and forever. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +STANZAS. + + My life is like the summer rose + That opens to the morning sky, + But, ere the shades of evening close, + Is scattered on the ground--to die! + Yet on the rose's humble bed + The sweetest dews of night are shed, + As if she wept the waste to see,-- + But none shall weep a tear for me! + + My life is like the autumn leaf + That trembles in the moon's pale ray; + Its hold is frail--its date is brief, + Restless--and soon to pass away! + Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, + The parent tree will mourn its shade, + The winds bewail the leafless tree,-- + But none shall breathe a sigh for me! + + My life is like the prints which feet + Have left on Tampa's desert strand; + Soon as the rising tide shall beat, + All trace will vanish from the sand; + Yet, as if grieving to efface + All vestige of the human race, + On that lone shore loud moans the sea,-- + But none, alas! shall mourn for me! + + _Richard Henry Wilde._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LITTLE YEARS. + + These years! these years! these naughty years! + Once they were pretty things: + Their fairy footfalls met our ears, + Our eyes their glancing wings. + They flitted by our school-boy way; + We chased the little imps at play. + + We knew them, soon, for tricksy elves: + They brought the college gown, + With thoughtful books filled up our shelves, + Darkened our lips with down, + Played with our throat, and lo! the tone + Of manhood had become our own. + + They smiling stretched our childish size; + Their soft hands trimmed our hair; + Cast the deep thought within our eyes, + And left it glowing there; + Sang songs of hope in college halls, + Bright fancies drew upon the walls. + + They flashed upon us love's bright gem; + They showed us gleams of fame; + Stout-hearted work we learned from them, + And honor more than name: + And so they came, and went away; + We said not go, we said not stay. + + But one sweet day, when quiet skies + And still leaves brought me thought, + When hazy hills drew forth my eyes, + And woods with deep shade fraught, + That day I carelessly found out + What work these elves had been about. + + Alas! those little rogues, the years, + Had fooled me many a day, + Plucked half the locks above my ears, + And tinged the rest all gray. + They'd left me wrinkles great and small. + I fear that they have tricked us all. + + Well,--give the little years their way; + Think, speak, and act the while; + Lift up the bare front to the day, + And make their wrinkles smile. + They mould the noblest living head; + They carve the best tomb for the dead. + + _Robert T. S. Lowell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE AGE OF WISDOM. + + Ho! pretty page with the dimpled chin, + That never has known the barber's shear, + All your wish is woman to win; + This is the way that boys begin,-- + Wait till you come to forty year. + + Curly gold locks cover foolish brains; + Billing and cooing is all your cheer,-- + Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, + Under Bonnybell's window-panes,-- + Wait till you come to forty year. + + Forty times over let Michaelmas pass; + Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; + Then you know a boy is an ass, + Then you know the worth of a lass,-- + Once you have come to forty year. + + Pledge me round; I bid ye declare, + All good fellows whose beards are gray,-- + Did not the fairest of the fair + Common grow and wearisome ere + Ever a month was passed away? + + The reddest lips that ever have kissed, + The brightest eyes that ever have shone, + May pray and whisper and we not list, + Or look away and never be missed,-- + Ere yet ever a month is gone. + + Gillian's dead! God rest her bier,-- + How I loved her twenty years syne! + Marian's married; but I sit here, + Alone and merry at forty year, + Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. + + _William Makepeace Thackeray._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAST LEAF. + + I saw him once before, + As he passed by the door; + And again + The pavement-stones resound + As he totters o'er the ground + With his cane. + + They say that in his prime, + Ere the pruning-knife of time + Cut him down, + Not a better man was found + By the crier on his round + Through the town. + + But now he walks the streets, + And he looks at all he meets + Sad and wan; + And he shakes his feeble head, + That it seems as if he said, + "They are gone." + + The mossy marbles rest + On the lips that he has pressed + In their bloom; + And the names he loved to hear + Have been carved for many a year + On the tomb. + + My grandmamma has said-- + Poor old lady! she is dead + Long ago-- + That he had a Roman nose, + And his cheek was like a rose + In the snow. + + But now his nose is thin, + And it rests upon his chin + Like a staff; + And a crook is in his back, + And a melancholy crack + In his laugh. + + I know it is a sin + For me to sit and grin + At him here, + But the old three-cornered hat, + And the breeches,--and all that, + Are so queer! + + And if I should live to be + The last leaf upon the tree + In the spring, + Let them smile, as I do now, + At the old forsaken bough + Where I cling. + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LOST LEADER. + + Just for a handful of silver he left us: + Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat,-- + Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us, + Lost all the others she lets us devote. + They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, + So much was theirs who so little allowed: + How all our copper had gone for his service! + Rags,--were they purple, his heart had been proud! + We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him, + Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, + Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, + Made him our pattern to live and to die! + Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, + Burns, Shelley, were with us,--they watch from their graves! + He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, + He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! + + We shall march prospering,--not through his presence; + Songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre: + Deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence, + Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire. + Blot out his name then,--record one lost soul more, + One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, + One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels, + One wrong more to man, one more insult to God! + Life's night begins; let him never come back to us! + There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain; + Forced praise on our part,--the glimmer of twilight, + Never glad, confident morning again! + Best fight on well, for we taught him,--strike gallantly, + Aim at our heart, ere we pierce through his own; + Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, + Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne! + + _Robert Browning._ + + * * * * * + + +TOO LATE. + +"Ah! si la jeunesse savait,--si la vieillenne pouvait!" + + There sat an old man on a rock, + And unceasing bewailed him of Fate,-- + That concern where we all must take stock + Though our vote has no hearing or weight; + And the old man sang him an old, old song,-- + Never sang voice so clear and strong + That it could drown the old man's long, + For he sang the song "Too late! too late!" + + "When we want, we have for our pains + The promise that if we but wait + Till the want has burned out of our brains, + Every means shall be present to sate; + While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold, + While the bonnet is trimming the face grows old, + When we've matched our buttons the pattern is sold, + And everything comes too late,--too late! + + "When strawberries seemed like red heavens,-- + Terrapin stew a wild dream,-- + When my brain was at sixes and sevens, + If my mother had "folks" and ice-cream, + Then I gazed with a lickerish hunger + At the restaurant-man and fruit-monger,-- + But oh! how I wished I were younger + When the goodies all came in a stream, in a stream! + + "I've a splendid blood horse, and--a liver + That it jars into torture to trot; + My row-boat's the gem of the river,-- + Gout makes every knuckle a knot! + I can buy boundless credits on Paris and Rome, + But no palate for _menus_,--no eyes for a dome,-- + _Those_ belonged to the youth who must tarry at home, + When no home but an attic he'd got,--he'd got! + + "How I longed, in that lonest of garrets, + Where the tiles baked my brains all July, + For ground to grow two pecks of carrots, + Two pigs of my own in a sty, + A rosebush,--a little thatched cottage,-- + Two spoons--love--a basin of pottage!-- + Now in freestone I sit,--and my dotage,-- + With a woman's chair empty close by,--close by! + + "Ah! now, though I sit on a rock, + I have shared one seat with the great; + I have sat--knowing naught of the clock-- + On love's high throne of state; + But the lips that kissed, and the arms that caressed, + To a mouth grown stern with delay were pressed, + And circled a breast that their clasp had blessed + Had they only not come too late,--too late!" + + _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow._ + + * * * * * + + +A PETITION TO TIME. + + Touch us gently, Time! + Let us glide adown thy stream + Gently,--as we sometimes glide + Through a quiet dream! + Humble voyagers are we, + Husband, wife, and children three,-- + (One is lost,--an angel, fled + To the azure overhead!) + + Touch us gently, Time! + We've not proud nor soaring wings, + Our ambition, our content, + Lies in simple things. + Humble voyagers are we, + O'er Life's dim, unsounded sea, + Seeking only some calm clime;-- + Touch us gently, gentle Time! + + _Bryan Waller Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +ICHABOD. + + So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn + Which once he wore! + The glory from his gray hairs gone + Forevermore! + + Revile him not,--the tempter hath + A snare for all! + And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, + Befit his fall! + + Oh! dumb is passion's stormy rage, + When he who might + Have lighted up and led his age, + Falls back in night. + + Scorn! Would the angels laugh, to mark + A bright soul driven, + Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, + From hope and heaven? + + Let not the land, once proud of him, + Insult him now; + Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, + Dishonored brow. + + But let its humbled sons, instead, + From sea to lake, + A long lament, as for the dead, + In sadness make. + + Of all we loved and honored, naught + Save power remains,-- + A fallen angel's pride of thought, + Still strong in chains. + + All else is gone; from those great eyes + The soul has fled: + When faith is lost, when honor dies, + The man is dead! + + Then, pay the reverence of old days + To his dead fame; + Walk backward, with averted gaze, + And hide the shame! + + _John Greenleaf Whittier._ + + * * * * * + + +SONG. + + The heath this night must be my bed, + The bracken curtain for my head, + My lullaby the warder's tread, + Far, far from love and thee, Mary; + To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, + My couch may be my bloody plaid, + My vesper-song thy wail, sweet maid! + It will not waken me, Mary! + + I may not, dare not, fancy now + The grief that clouds thy lovely brow; + I dare not think upon thy vow, + And all it promised me, Mary. + No fond regret must Norman know; + When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, + His heart must be like bended bow, + His foot like arrow free, Mary. + + A time will come with feeling fraught! + For, if I fall in battle fought, + Thy hapless lover's dying thought + Shall be a thought on thee, Mary: + And if returned from conquered foes, + How blithely will the evening close, + How sweet the linnet sing repose + To my young bride and me, Mary. + + _Sir Walter Scott._ + + * * * * * + + +TO LUCASTA, + +ON GOING TO THE WARS. + + Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, + That from the nunnerie + Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, + To warre and armes I flee. + + True, a new mistresse now I chase,-- + The first foe in the field; + And with a stronger faith imbrace + A sword, a horse, a shield. + + Yet this inconstancy is such + As you, too, should adore; + I could not love thee, deare, so much, + Loved I not honor more. + + _Richard Lovelace._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAND OF LANDS. + + You ask me, why, though ill at ease, + Within this region I subsist, + Whose spirits falter in the mist, + And languish for the purple seas? + + It is the land that freemen till, + That sober-suited Freedom chose, + The land where, girt with friends or foes, + A man may speak the thing he will; + + A land of settled government, + A land of just and old renown, + Where Freedom broadens slowly down + From precedent to precedent; + + Where faction seldom gathers head, + But by degrees to fulness wrought, + The strength of some diffusive thought + Hath time and space to work and spread. + + Should banded unions persecute + Opinion, and induce a time + When single thought is civil crime, + And individual freedom mute; + + Though Power should make from land to land + The name of Britain trebly great,-- + Though every channel of the state + Should almost choke with golden sand,-- + + Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth, + Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky, + And I will see before I die + The palms and temples of the South. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. + + Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered, + And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; + And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,-- + The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. + + When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, + By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, + At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, + And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. + + Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array + Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track: + 'Twas autumn,--and sunshine arose on the way + To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. + + I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft + In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; + I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, + And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. + + Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore + From my home and my weeping friends never to part; + My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, + And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. + + Stay, stay with us!--rest; thou art weary and worn!-- + And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; + But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, + And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. + + _Thomas Campbell._ + + * * * * * + + +MONTEREY. + + We were not many,--we who stood + Before the iron sleet that day; + Yet many a gallant spirit would + Give half his years if but he could + Have been with us at Monterey. + + Now here, now there, the shot it hailed + In deadly drifts of fiery spray, + Yet not a single soldier quailed + When wounded comrades round them wailed + Their dying shout at Monterey. + + And on, still on our column kept, + Through walls of flame, its withering way; + Where fell the dead, the living stept, + Still charging on the guns which swept + The slippery streets of Monterey. + + The foe himself recoiled aghast, + When, striking where he strongest lay, + We swooped his flanking batteries past, + And, braving full their murderous blast, + Stormed home the towers of Monterey. + + Our banners on those turrets wave, + And there our evening bugles play; + Where orange-boughs above their grave + Keep green the memory of the brave + Who fought and fell at Monterey. + + We are not many,--we who pressed + Beside the brave who fell that day; + But who of us has not confessed + He'd rather share their warrior rest + Than not have been at Monterey? + + _Charles Fenno Hoffman._ + + * * * * * + + +A SONG OF THE CAMP. + + "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, + The outer trenches guarding, + When the heated guns of the camp allied + Grew weary of bombarding. + + The dark Redan, in silent scoff, + Lay grim and threatening under; + And the tawny mound of the Malakoff + No longer belched its thunder. + + There was a pause. A guardsman said: + "We storm the forts to-morrow; + Sing while we may, another day + Will bring enough of sorrow." + + They lay along the battery's side, + Below the smoking cannon,-- + Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, + And from the banks of Shannon. + + They sang of love, and not of fame; + Forgot was Britain's glory; + Each heart recalled a different name, + But all sang "Annie Laurie." + + Voice after voice caught up the song, + Until its tender passion + Rose like an anthem rich and strong, + Their battle-eve confession. + + Dear girl! her name he dared not speak; + But as the song grew louder, + Something upon the soldier's cheek + Washed off the stains of powder. + + Beyond the darkening ocean burned + The bloody sunset's embers, + While the Crimean valleys learned + How English love remembers. + + And once again a fire of hell + Rained on the Russian quarters, + With scream of shot and burst of shell, + And bellowing of the mortars! + + And Irish Nora's eyes are dim + For a singer dumb and gory; + And English Mary mourns for him + Who sang of "Annie Laurie." + + Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest + Your truth and valor wearing; + The bravest are the tenderest,-- + The loving are the daring. + + _Bayard Taylor._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CAVALIER'S SONG. + + A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed, + A sword of metal keene! + All else to noble hearts is drosse, + All else on earth is meane. + The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde, + The rowlinge of the drum, + The clangor of the trumpet lowde, + Be soundes from heaven that come; + And oh! the thundering presse of knightes, + Whenas their war-cryes swell, + May tole from heaven an angel bright, + And rouse a fiend from hell. + + Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all, + And don your helmes amaine: + Deathe's couriers, Fame and Honor, call + Us to the field againe. + No shrewish teares shall fill our eye + When the sword-hilt's in our hand,-- + Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe + For the fayrest of the land. + Let piping swaine and craven wight + Thus weepe and puling crye; + Our business is like men to fight, + And hero-like to die! + + _William Motherwell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE KNIGHT'S TOMB. + + Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? + Where may the grave of that good man be?-- + By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, + Under the twigs of a young birch tree! + The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, + And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, + And whistled and roared in the winter alone, + Is gone,--and the birch in its stead is grown. + The knight's bones are dust, + And his good sword rust;-- + His soul is with the saints, I trust. + + _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ + + * * * * * + + +CORONACH. + + He is gone on the mountain, + He is lost to the forest, + Like a summer-dried fountain, + When our need was the sorest. + The fount reappearing + From the rain-drops shall borrow; + But to us comes no cheering, + To Duncan no morrow! + + The hand of the reaper + Takes the ears that are hoary, + But the voice of the weeper + Wails manhood in glory. + The autumn winds, rushing, + Waft the leaves that are searest, + But our flower was in flushing + When blighting was nearest. + + Fleet foot on the correi, + Sage counsel in cumber, + Red hand in the foray, + How sound is thy slumber! + Like the dew on the mountain, + Like the foam on the river, + Like the bubble on the fountain, + Thou art gone, and forever. + + _Sir Walter Scott._ + + * * * * * + + +DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. + + Close his eyes; his work is done! + What to him is friend or foeman, + Rise of moon or set of sun, + Hand of man or kiss of woman? + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + As man may, he fought his fight, + Proved his truth by his endeavor; + Let him sleep in solemn night, + Sleep forever and forever. + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + Fold him in his country's stars, + Roll the drum and fire the volley! + What to him are all our wars?-- + What but death bemocking folly? + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + Leave him to God's watching eye; + Trust him to the hand that made him. + Mortal love weeps idly by; + God alone has power to aid him. + Lay him low, lay him low, + In the clover or the snow! + What cares he? he cannot know; + Lay him low! + + _George Henry Boker._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + +Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead at +Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S. C., 1867. + + Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,-- + Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause! + Though yet no marble column craves + The pilgrim here to pause, + + In seeds of laurel in the earth + The blossom of your fame is blown, + And somewhere, waiting for its birth, + The shaft is in the stone! + + Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years + Which keep in trust your storied tombs, + Behold! your sisters bring their tears, + And these memorial blooms. + + Small tributes! but your shades will smile + More proudly on these wreaths to-day, + Than when some cannon-moulded pile + Shall overlook this bay. + + Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! + There is no holier spot of ground + Than where defeated valor lies, + By mourning beauty crowned! + + _Henry Timrod._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + +Read at Utica, N. Y., on the occasion of decorating the graves of the +Federal dead, May 30, 1872. + + They sleep so calm and stately, + Each in his graveyard bed, + It scarcely seems that lately + They trod the fields blood-red, + With fearless tread. + + They marched and never halted, + They scaled the parapet, + The triple lines assaulted, + And paid without regret + The final debt. + + The debt of slow accruing + A guilty nation made, + The debt of evil doing, + Of justice long delayed, + 'Twas this they paid. + + On fields where Strife held riot, + And Slaughter fed his hounds, + Where came no sense of quiet, + Nor any gentle sounds, + They made their rounds. + + They wrought without repining, + Till, weary watches o'er, + They passed the bounds confining + Our green, familiar shore, + Forevermore. + + And now they sleep so stately, + Each in his graveyard bed, + So calmly and sedately + They rest, that once I said: + "These men are dead. + + "They know not what sweet duty + We come each year to pay, + Nor heed the blooms of beauty, + The garland gifts of May, + Strewn here to-day. + + "The night-time and the day-time, + The rise and set of sun, + The winter and the May-time, + To them whose work is done, + Are all as one." + + Then o'er mine eyes there floated + A vision of the Land + Where their brave souls, promoted + To Heaven's own armies, stand + At God's right hand. + + From out the mighty distance + I seemed to see them gaze + Back on their old existence, + Back on the battle-blaze + Of war's dread days. + + "The flowers shall fade and perish + (In larger faith spake I), + But these dear names we cherish + Are written in the sky, + And cannot die." + + _Theodore P. Cook._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + + How sleep the brave who sink to rest + By all their country's wishes blessed! + When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, + Returns to deck their hallowed mould, + She there shall dress a sweeter sod + Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. + + By fairy hands their knell is rung; + By forms unseen their dirge is sung; + There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, + To bless the turf that wraps their clay; + And Freedom shall awhile repair, + To dwell a weeping hermit there! + + _William Collins._ + + * * * * * + + +DRIVING HOME THE COWS. + + Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass + He turned them into the river-lane; + One after another he let them pass, + Then fastened the meadow bars again. + + Under the willows, and over the hill, + He patiently followed their sober pace; + The merry whistle for once was still, + And something shadowed the sunny face. + + Only a boy! and his father had said + He never could let his youngest go; + Two already were lying dead + Under the feet of the trampling foe. + + But after the evening work was done, + And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, + Over his shoulder he slung his gun + And stealthily followed the foot-path damp. + + Across the clover and through the wheat + With resolute heart and purpose grim, + Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, + And the blind bat's flitting startled him. + + Thrice since then had the lanes been white, + And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; + And now, when the cows came back at night, + The feeble father drove them home. + + For news had come to the lonely farm + That three were lying where two had lain; + And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm + Could never lean on a son's again. + + The summer day grew cool and late, + He went for the cows when the work was done; + But down the lane, as he opened the gate, + He saw them coming one by one,-- + + Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, + Shaking their horns in the evening wind; + Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,-- + But who was it following close behind? + + Loosely swung in the idle air + The empty sleeve of army blue; + And worn and pale, from the crisping hair + Looked out a face that the father knew. + + For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, + And yield their dead unto life again; + And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn + In golden glory at last may wane. + + The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes; + For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb; + And under the silent evening skies + Together they followed the cattle home. + + _Kate Putnam Osgood._ + + * * * * * + + +THE BRAVE AT HOME. + + The maid who binds her warrior's sash + With smile that well her pain dissembles, + The while beneath her drooping lash + One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, + Though Heaven alone records the tear, + And Fame shall never know her story, + Her heart has shed a drop as dear + As e'er bedewed the field of glory! + + The wife who girds her husband's sword, + 'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, + And bravely speaks the cheering word, + What though her heart be rent asunder, + Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear + The bolts of death around him rattle, + Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er + Was poured upon the field of battle! + + The mother who conceals her grief + While to her breast her son she presses, + Then breathes a few brave words and brief, + Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, + With no one but her secret God + To know the pain that weighs upon her, + Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod + Received on Freedom's field of honor! + + _Thomas Buchanan Read._ + + * * * * * + + +ON HIS BLINDNESS. + + When I consider how my light is spent + Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, + And that one talent which is death to hide, + Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent + To serve therewith my Maker, and present + My true account, lest he returning chide; + "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" + I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent + That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need + Either man's work or his own gifts; who best + Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state + Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, + And post o'er land and ocean without rest; + They also serve who only stand and wait." + + _John Milton._ + + * * * * * + + +THE THREE FISHERS. + + Three fishers went sailing out into the west, + Out into the west, as the sun went down, + Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, + And the children stood watching them out of the town; + For men must work, and women must weep, + And there's little to earn, and many to keep, + Though the harbor-bar be moaning. + + Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, + And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; + They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, + And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown; + But men must work, and women must weep, + Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, + And the harbor-bar be moaning. + + Three corpses lie out on the shining sands, + In the morning gleam, as the tide goes down, + And the women are weeping and wringing their hands, + For those who will never come home to the town. + For men must work, and women must weep, + And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, + And good by to the bar and its moaning. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +HEROES. + + The winds that once the Argo bore + Have died by Neptune's ruined shrines: + And her hull is the drift of the deep-sea floor, + Though shaped of Pelion's tallest pines. + You may seek her crew on every isle + Fair in the foam of AEgean seas; + But out of their rest no charm can wile + Jason and Orpheus and Hercules. + + And Priam's wail is heard no more + By windy Ilion's sea-built walls; + Nor great Achilles, stained with gore, + Cries, "O ye gods, 'tis Hector falls!" + On Ida's mount is the shining snow; + But Jove has gone from its brow away; + And red on the plain the poppies grow + Where the Greek and the Trojan fought that day. + + Mother Earth, are the heroes dead? + Do they thrill the soul of the years no more? + Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red + All that is left of the brave of yore? + Are there none to fight as Theseus fought, + Far in the young world's misty dawn? + Or to teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught? + Mother Earth, are the heroes gone? + + Gone? In a grander form they rise! + Dead? We may clasp their hands in ours, + And catch the light of their clearer eyes, + And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers! + Wherever a noble deed is done, + 'Tis the pulse of a hero's heart is stirred; + Wherever the Right has a triumph won, + There are the heroes' voices heard. + + Their armor rings on a fairer field + Than the Greek or the Trojan ever trod: + For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield, + And the light above is the smile of God. + So in his isle of calm delight + Jason may sleep the years away; + For the heroes live, and the skies are bright, + And the world is a braver world to-day. + + _Edna Dean Proctor._ + + * * * * * + + +THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. + + This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling, + Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; + But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing + Startles the villages with strange alarms. + + Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, + When the death-angel touches those swift keys! + What loud lament and dismal Miserere + Will mingle with their awful symphonies! + + I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,-- + The cries of agony, the endless groan, + Which, through the ages that have gone before us, + In long reverberations reach our own. + + On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer; + Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song; + And loud, amid the universal clamor, + O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. + + I hear the Florentine, who from his palace + Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din; + And Aztec priests upon their teocallis + Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; + + The tumult of each sacked and burning village; + The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; + The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; + The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; + + The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, + The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; + And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, + The diapason of the cannonade. + + Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, + With such accursed instruments as these, + Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, + And jarrest the celestial harmonies? + + Were half the power that fills the world with terror, + Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, + Given to redeem the human mind from error, + There were no need of arsenals or forts; + + The warrior's name would be a name abhorred; + And every nation that should lift again + Its hand against a brother, on its forehead + Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain! + + Down the dark future, through long generations, + The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; + And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, + I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!" + + Peace!--and no longer from its brazen portals + The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies; + But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, + The holy melodies of love arise. + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE. + + What constitutes a state? + Not high raised battlement or labored mound, + Thick wall or moated gate; + Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; + Not bays and broad-armed ports, + Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; + Not starred and spangled courts, + Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. + No: men, high-minded men, + With powers as far above dull brutes endued + In forest, brake, or den, + As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude,-- + Men who their duties know, + But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, + Prevent the long-aimed blow, + And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain; + These constitute a state; + And sovereign law, that state's collected will, + O'er thrones and globes elate, + Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. + Smit by her sacred frown, + The fiend Dissension like a vapor sinks; + And e'en the all-dazzling crown + Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. + Such was this heaven-loved isle, + Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore! + No more shall freedom smile? + Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? + Since all must life resign, + Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave + 'Tis folly to decline, + And steal inglorious to the silent grave. + + _Sir William Jones._ + + * * * * * + + +PHILIP, MY KING. + + "Who bears upon his baby brow the round + And top of sovereignty." + + Look at me with thy large brown eyes, + Philip, my king! + For round thee the purple shadow lies + Of babyhood's royal dignities. + Lay on my neck thy tiny hand + With Love's invisible sceptre laden; + I am thine Esther, to command + Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, + Philip, my king! + + O, the day when thou goest a-wooing, + Philip, my king! + When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, + And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, + Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there + Sittest love-glorified!--Rule kindly, + Tenderly over thy kingdom fair; + For we that love, ah! we love so blindly, + Philip, my king! + + Up from thy sweet mouth,--up to thy brow, + Philip, my king! + The spirit that there lies sleeping now + May rise like a giant, and make men bow + As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers. + My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer + Let me behold thee in future years! + Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, + Philip, my king;-- + + A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day, + Philip, my king, + Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way + Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray; + Rebels within thee and foes without + Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious, + Martyr, yet monarch; till angels shout, + As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, + "Philip, the king!" + + _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik._ + + * * * * * + + +HOW'S MY BOY? + + "Ho, sailor of the sea! + How's my boy,--my boy?" + "What's your boy's name, good wife, + And in what ship sailed he?" + + "My boy John,-- + He that went to sea,-- + What care I for the ship, sailor? + My boy's my boy to me. + + "You come back from sea, + And not know my John? + I might as well have asked some landsman, + Yonder down in the town. + There's not an ass in all the parish + But knows my John. + + "How's my boy,--my boy? + And unless you let me know, + I'll swear you are no sailor, + Blue jacket or no,-- + Brass buttons or no, sailor, + Anchor and crown or no,-- + Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton'"-- + "Speak low, woman, speak low!" + + "And why should I speak low, sailor, + About my own boy John? + If I was loud as I am proud + I'd sing him over the town! + Why should I speak low, sailor?" + "That good ship went down." + + "How's my boy,--my boy? + What care I for the ship, sailor? + I was never aboard her. + Be she afloat or be she aground, + Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound + Her owners can afford her! + I say, how's my John?" + "Every man on board went down, + Every man aboard her." + + "How's my boy,--my boy? + What care I for the men, sailor? + I'm not their mother,-- + How's my boy,--my boy? + Tell me of him and no other! + How's my boy,--my boy?" + + _Sydney Dobell._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. + + Between the dark and the daylight, + When the night is beginning to lower, + Comes a pause in the day's occupations + That is known as the children's hour, + + I hear in the chamber above me + The patter of little feet, + The sound of a door that is opened, + And voices soft and sweet. + + From my study I see in the lamplight, + Descending the broad hall-stair, + Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, + And Edith with golden hair. + + A whisper, and then a silence; + Yet I know by their merry eyes + They are plotting and planning together + To take me by surprise. + + A sudden rush from the stairway, + A sudden raid from the hall: + By three doors left unguarded + They enter my castle wall. + + They climb up into my turret + O'er the arms and back of my chair; + If I try to escape, they surround me: + They seem to be everywhere. + + They almost devour me with kisses; + Their arms about me entwine, + Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen + In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. + + Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti! + Because you have scaled the wall, + Such an old mustache as I am + Is not a match for you all? + + I have you fast in my fortress, + And will not let you depart, + But put you down into the dungeon + In the round tower of my heart. + + And there will I keep you forever,-- + Yes, forever and a day, + Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, + And moulder in dust away. + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +MY CHILD. + + I cannot make him dead! + His fair sunshiny head + Is ever bounding round my study chair; + Yet when my eyes, now dim + With tears, I turn to him, + The vision vanishes,--he is not there! + + I walk my parlor floor, + And through the open door + I hear a footfall on the chamber stair; + I'm stepping toward the hall + To give the boy a call; + And then bethink me that--he is not there! + + I thread the crowded street; + A satchelled lad I meet, + With the same beaming eyes and colored hair; + And, as he's running by, + Follow him with my eye, + Scarcely believing that--he is not there! + + I know his face is hid + Under the coffin lid; + Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair; + My hand that marble felt; + O'er it in prayer I knelt; + Yet my heart whispers that--he is not there! + + I cannot make him dead! + When passing by the bed, + So long watched over with parental care, + My spirit and my eye + Seek him inquiringly, + Before the thought comes that--he is not there! + + When, at the cool gray break + Of day, from sleep I wake, + With my first breathing of the morning air + My soul goes up, with joy, + To Him who gave my boy; + Then comes the sad thought that--he is not there! + + When at the day's calm close, + Before we seek repose, + I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer; + Whate'er I may be saying, + I am in spirit praying + For our boy's spirit, though--he is not there! + + Not there!--Where, then, is he? + The form I used to see + Was but the raiment that he used to wear. + The grave, that now doth press + Upon that cast-off dress, + Is but his wardrobe locked;--he is not there! + + He lives!--In all the past + He lives; nor, to the last, + Of seeing him again will I despair; + In dreams I see him now; + And on his angel brow + I see it written, "Thou shalt see me _there_!" + + Yes, we all live to God! + Father, thy chastening rod + So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, + That in the spirit-land, + Meeting at thy right hand, + 'Twill be our heaven to find that--he is there! + + _John Pierpont._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LAND O' THE LEAL. + + I'm wearin' awa', John, + Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, + I'm wearin' awa' + To the land o' the leal. + There's nae sorrow there, John, + There's neither cauld nor care, John, + The day is aye fair + In the land o' the leal. + + Our bonnie bairn's there, John, + She was baith gude and fair, John, + And oh! we grudged her sair + To the land o' the leal. + But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, + And joy's a-comin' fast, John, + The joy that's aye to last + In the land o' the leal. + + Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, + Sae free the battle fought, John, + That sinfu' man e'er brought + To the land o' the leal. + Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John, + My saul langs to be free, John, + And angels beckon me + To the land o' the leal. + + Oh! haud ye leal and true, John, + Your day it's wearin' thro', John, + And I'll welcome you + To the land o' the leal. + Now fare ye weel, my ain John, + This warld's cares are vain, John, + We'll meet, and we'll be fain, + In the land o' the leal. + + _Lady Nairne._ + + * * * * * + + +LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. + + I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, + Where we sat side by side + On a bright May mornin' long ago, + When first you were my bride; + The corn was springin' fresh and green, + And the lark sang loud and high; + And the red was on your lip, Mary, + And the love-light in your eye. + + The place is little changed, Mary; + The day is bright as then; + The lark's loud song is in my ear, + And the corn is green again; + But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, + And your breath, warm on my cheek; + And I still keep list'nin' for the words + You never more will speak. + + 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, + And the little church stands near,-- + The church where we were wed, Mary; + I see the spire from here. + But the graveyard lies between, Mary, + And my step might break your rest,-- + For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, + With your baby on your breast. + + I'm very lonely now, Mary,-- + For the poor make no new friends; + But, oh! they love the better still + The few our Father sends! + And you were all I had, Mary,-- + My blessin' and my pride: + There's nothing left to care for now, + Since my poor Mary died. + + Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, + That still kept hoping on, + When the trust in God had left my soul, + And my arm's young strength was gone; + There was comfort ever on your lip, + And the kind look on your brow,-- + I bless you, Mary, for that same, + Though you cannot hear me now. + + I thank you for the patient smile + When your heart was fit to break,-- + When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there, + And you hid it for my sake; + I bless you for the pleasant word, + When your heart was sad and sore,-- + Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, + Where grief can't reach you more! + + I'm biddin' you a long farewell, + My Mary,--kind and true! + But I'll not forget you, darling, + In the land I'm goin' to; + They say there's bread and work for all, + And the sun shines always there,-- + But I'll not forget old Ireland, + Were it fifty times as fair! + + And often in those grand old woods + I'll sit, and shut my eyes, + And my heart will travel back again + To the place where Mary lies; + And I'll think I see the little stile + Where we sat side by side, + And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, + When first you were my bride. + + _Lady Dufferin._ + + * * * * * + + +THE DEATH-BED. + + We watched her breathing through the night, + Her breathing soft and low, + As in her breast the wave of life + Kept heaving to and fro. + + So silently we seemed to speak, + So slowly moved about, + As we had lent her half our powers + To eke her living out. + + Our very hopes belied our fears, + Our fears our hopes belied,-- + We thought her dying when she slept, + And sleeping when she died. + + For when the morn came, dim and sad, + And chill with early showers, + Her quiet eyelids closed,--she had + Another morn than ours. + + _Thomas Hood._ + + * * * * * + + +EVELYN HOPE. + + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead,-- + Sit and watch by her side an hour. + That is her book-shelf, this her bed; + She plucked that piece of geranium flower, + Beginning to die, too, in the glass. + Little has yet been changed, I think,-- + The shutters are shut, no light may pass, + Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. + + Sixteen years old when she died! + Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name,-- + It was not her time to love: beside, + Her life had many a hope and aim, + Duties enough and little cares; + And now was quiet, now astir,-- + Till God's hand beckoned unawares, + And the sweet white brow is all of her. + + Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? + What! your soul was pure and true; + The good stars met in your horoscope, + Made you of spirit, fire, and dew,-- + And just because I was thrice as old, + And our paths in the world diverged so wide, + Each was naught to each, must I be told? + We were fellow-mortals,--naught beside? + + No, indeed! for God above + Is great to grant, as mighty to make, + And creates the love to reward the love,-- + I claim you still, for my own love's sake! + Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, + Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few,-- + Much is to learn and much to forget + Ere the time be come for taking you. + + But the time will come--at last it will-- + When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, + In the lower earth, in the years long still, + That body and soul so pure and gay? + Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, + And your mouth of your own geranium's red,-- + And what you would do with me, in fine, + In the new life come in the old one's stead. + + I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, + Given up myself so many times, + Gained me the gains of various men, + Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; + Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, + Either I missed or itself missed me,-- + And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! + What is the issue? let us see! + + I loved you, Evelyn, all the while; + My heart seemed full as it could hold,-- + There was space and to spare for the frank young smile, + And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. + So hush,--I will give you this leaf to keep,-- + See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. + There, that is our secret! go to sleep; + You will wake, and remember, and understand. + + _Robert Browning._ + + * * * * * + + +A BRIDAL DIRGE. + + Weave no more the marriage-chain! + All unmated is the lover; + Death has ta'en the place of Pain; + Love doth call on Love in vain: + Life and years of hope are over! + + No more want of marriage-bell! + No more need of bridal favor! + Where is she to wear them well? + You beside the lover tell! + Gone,--with all the love he gave her! + + Paler than the stone she lies; + Colder than the winter's morning! + Wherefore did she thus despise + (She with pity in her eyes) + Mother's care and lover's warning? + + Youth and beauty,--shall they not + Last beyond a brief to-morrow? + No: a prayer, and then forgot! + This the truest lover's lot; + This the sum of human sorrow! + + _Bryan Waller Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE DIED IN BEAUTY. + + She died in beauty,--like a rose + Blown from its parent stem; + She died in beauty,--like a pearl + Dropped from some diadem. + + She died in beauty,--like a lay + Along a moonlit lake; + She died in beauty,--like the song + Of birds amid the brake. + + She died in beauty,--like the snow + On flowers dissolved away; + She died in beauty,--like a star + Lost on the brow of day. + + She lives in glory,--like night's gems + Set round the silver moon; + She lives in glory,--like the sun + Amid the blue of June. + + _Charles Doyne Sillery._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE WAS NOT FAIR, NOR FULL OF GRACE. + + She was not fair, nor full of grace, + Nor crowned with thought or aught beside; + Nor wealth had she, of mind or face, + To win our love or raise our pride; + No lover's thought her cheek did touch; + No poet's dream was round her thrown; + And yet we miss her,--ah, too much, + Now--she hath flown! + + We miss her when the morning calls, + As one that mingled in our mirth; + We miss her when the evening falls,-- + A trifle wanted on the earth! + Some fancy small, or subtile thought, + Is checked ere to its blossom grown; + Some chain is broken that we wrought, + Now--she hath flown! + + No solid good, nor hope defined, + Is marred now she has sunk in night; + And yet the strong immortal Mind + Is stopped in its triumphant flight! + Perhaps some grain lost to its sphere + Might cast the great Sun from his throne; + For all we know is--"She was here," + And--"She hath flown!" + + _Bryan Waller Procter._ + + * * * * * + + +HIGHLAND MARY. + + Ye banks, and braes, and streams around + The castle o' Montgomery, + Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, + Your waters never drumlie! + There simmer first unfald her robes, + And there the langest tarry! + For there I took the last fareweel + O' my sweet Highland Mary. + + How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk! + How rich the hawthorn blossom! + As, underneath their fragrant shade, + I clasped her to my bosom! + The golden hours, on angel wings, + Flew o'er me and my dearie; + For dear to me as light and life + Was my sweet Highland Mary. + + Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace + Our parting was fu' tender; + And pledging aft to meet again, + We tore ourselves asunder; + But oh! fell death's untimely frost, + That nipt my flower sae early! + Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, + That wraps my Highland Mary! + + O pale, pale now, those rosy lips + I aft hae kissed sae fondly! + And closed for aye the sparkling glance + That dwelt on me sae kindly! + And mouldering now in silent dust + That heart that lo'ed me dearly! + But still within my bosom's core + Shall live my Highland Mary. + + _Robert Burns._ + + * * * * * + + +TOO LATE! + +"Douglas, Douglas, tendir and treu." + + Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, + In the old likeness that I knew, + I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + + Never a scornful word should grieve ye, + I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do,-- + Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + + O to call back the days that are not! + My eyes were blinded, your words were few; + Do you know the truth now up in heaven, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true? + + I never was worthy of you, Douglas, + Not half worthy the like of you; + Now all men beside seem to me like shadows,-- + I love _you_, Douglas, tender and true. + + Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, + Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew, + As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, + Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + + _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik._ + + * * * * * + + +TOM BOWLING. + + Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, + The darling of our crew; + No more he'll hear the tempest howling,-- + For death has broached him to. + His form was of the manliest beauty; + His heart was kind and soft; + Faithful below, he did his duty; + But now he's gone aloft. + + Tom never from his word departed,-- + His virtues were so rare; + His friends were many and true-hearted; + His Poll was kind and fair. + And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,-- + Ah, many's the time and oft! + But mirth is turned to melancholy, + For Tom is gone aloft. + + Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, + When He, who all commands, + Shall give, to call life's crew together, + The word to pipe all hands. + Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, + In vain Tom's life has doffed; + For, though his body's under hatches, + His soul is gone aloft. + + _Charles Dibdin._ + + * * * * * + + +JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. + + Green be the turf above thee, + Friend of my better days! + None knew thee but to love thee, + Nor named thee but to praise. + + Tears fell, when thou wert dying, + From eyes unused to weep, + And long, where thou art lying, + Will tears the cold turf steep. + + When hearts whose truth was proven, + Like thine, are laid in earth, + There should a wreath be woven + To tell the world their worth; + + And I, who woke each morrow + To clasp thy hand in mine, + Who shared thy joy and sorrow, + Whose weal and woe were thine,-- + + It should be mine to braid it + Around thy faded brow, + But I've in vain essayed it, + And feel I cannot now. + + While memory bids me weep thee, + Nor thoughts nor words are free, + The grief is fixed too deeply + That mourns a man like thee. + + _Fitz-Greene Halleck._ + + * * * * * + + +SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. + + She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, + And lovers are round her sighing; + But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, + For her heart in his grave is lying! + + She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, + Every note which he loved awaking; + Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, + How the heart of the minstrel is breaking! + + He had lived for his love, for his country he died, + They were all that to life had entwined him; + Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, + Nor long will his love stay behind him. + + Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, + When they promise a glorious morrow; + They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, + From her own loved island of sorrow! + + _Thomas Moore._ + + * * * * * + + +MINSTREL'S SONG. + + O sing unto my roundelay! + O, drop the briny tear with me! + Dance no more at holiday; + Like a running river be. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Black his hair as the winter night, + White his neck as the summer snow, + Ruddy his face as the morning light; + Cold he lies in the grave below. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note; + Quick in dance as thought can be; + Deft his tabor, cudgel stout; + O, he lies by the willow tree! + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Hark! the raven flaps his wing + In the briered dell below; + Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing + To the nightmares as they go. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + See! the white moon shines on high; + Whiter is my true-love's shroud, + Whiter than the morning sky, + Whiter than the evening cloud. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Here, upon my true-love's grave + Shall the barren flowers be laid, + Nor one holy saint to save + All the coldness of a maid. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + With my hands I'll bind the briers + Round his holy corse to gre; + Ouphant fairy, light your fires; + Here my body still shall be. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, + Drain my heart's blood all away; + Life and all its good I scorn, + Dance by night, or feast by day. + My love is dead, + Gone to his death bed, + All under the willow tree. + + Water-witches, crowned with reytes, + Bear me to your lethal tide. + I die! I come! my true-love waits. + Thus the damsel spake, and died. + + _Thomas Chatterton._ + + * * * * * + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + Farewell! since nevermore for thee + The sun comes up our earthly skies, + Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be + To some fond hearts and saddened eyes. + + There are who for thy last long sleep + Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore, + Shall weep because thou canst not weep, + And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er. + + Sad thrift of love! the loving breast, + On which the aching head was thrown, + Gave up the weary head to rest, + But kept the aching for its own. + + _Thomas K. Hervey._ + + * * * * * + + +THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. + + They grew in beauty, side by side, + They filled one home with glee,-- + Their graves are severed far and wide, + By mount, and stream, and sea. + + The same fond mother bent at night + O'er each fair sleeping brow; + She had each folded flower in sight,-- + Where are those dreamers now? + + One, 'midst the forests of the West, + By a dark stream is laid,-- + The Indian knows his place of rest, + Far in the cedar shade. + + The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one; + He lies where pearls lie deep; + He was the loved of all, yet none + O'er his low bed may weep. + + One sleeps where southern vines are dressed + Above the noble slain; + He wrapped his colors round his breast, + On a blood-red field of Spain. + + And one,--o'er her the myrtle showers + Its leaves, by soft winds fanned; + She faded 'midst Italian flowers, + The last of that bright band. + + And parted thus they rest, who played + Beneath the same green tree; + Whose voices mingled as they prayed + Around one parent knee! + + They that with smiles lit up the hall, + And cheered with song the hearth,-- + Alas for love! if _thou_ wert all, + And naught beyond, O earth! + + _Felicia Hemans._ + + * * * * * + + +THE HERMIT. + + At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, + And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, + When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, + And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove, + 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, + While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began; + No more with himself or with nature at war, + He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man: + + "Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, + Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? + For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, + And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. + But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,-- + Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn! + O, soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away! + Full quickly they pass,--but they never return. + + "Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, + The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays; + But lately I marked when majestic on high + She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. + Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue + The path that conducts thee to splendor again! + But man's faded glory what change shall renew? + Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain! + + "'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more. + I mourn,--but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; + For morn is approaching your charms to restore, + Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. + Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn,-- + Kind nature the embryo blossom will save; + But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? + O, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave? + + "'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, + That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind, + My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, + Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. + 'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, + 'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee! + Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride; + From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.' + + "And darkness and doubt are now flying away: + No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. + So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, + The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. + See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending, + And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! + On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, + And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." + + _James Beattie._ + + * * * * * + + +O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? + + O why should the spirit of mortal be proud? + Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, + A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, + Man passes from life to his rest in the grave. + + The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, + Be scattered around and together be laid; + And the young and the old, and the low and the high, + Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. + + The infant a mother attended and loved, + The mother that infant's affection who proved, + The husband that mother and infant who blessed, + Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. + + The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, + Shone beauty and pleasure,--her triumphs are by; + And the memory of those who have loved her and praised, + Are alike from the minds of the living erased. + + The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne, + The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, + The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, + Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. + + The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, + The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep, + The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, + Have faded away like the grass that we tread. + + The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, + The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, + The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, + Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. + + So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed + That withers away to let others succeed; + So the multitude comes, even those we behold, + To repeat every tale that has often been told. + + For we are the same that our fathers have been; + We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,-- + We drink the same stream, and we view the same sun, + And run the same course that our fathers have run. + + The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; + From the death that we shrink from our fathers would shrink; + To the life that we cling to they also would cling; + But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. + + They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; + They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; + They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; + They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. + + They died, ay! they died: and we things that are now, + Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, + Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, + Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. + + Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, + We mingle together in sunshine and rain; + And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge, + Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. + + 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, + From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, + From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,-- + O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? + + _William Knox._ + + * * * * * + + +PROGRESS. + + When Liberty lives loud on every lip, + But Freedom moans, + Trampled by nations whose faint footfalls slip + Round bloody thrones; + When, here and there, in dungeon and in thrall, + Or exile pale, + Like torches dying at a funeral, + Brave natures fail; + When Truth, the armed archangel, stretches wide + God's tromp in vain, + And the world, drowsing, turns upon its side + To drowse again;-- + O Man, whose course hath called itself sublime + Since it began, + What art thou in such dying age of time, + As man to man? + + When Love's last wrong hath been forgotten coldly, + As First Love's face; + And, like a rat that comes to wanton boldly + In some lone place, + Once festal, in the realm of light and laughter + Grim Doubt appears, + Whilst weird suggestions from Death's vague Hereafter, + O'er ruined years, + Creep, dark and darker, with new dread to mutter + Through life's long shade, + Yet make no more in the chill breast the flutter + Which once they made: + Whether it be, that all doth at the grave + Round to its term, + That nothing lives in that last darkness, save + The little worm, + Or whether the tired spirit prolong its course + Through realms unseen,-- + Secure, that unknown world cannot be worse + Than this hath been: + Then when thro' Thought's gold chain, so frail and slender, + No link will meet; + When all the broken harps of Language render + No sound that's sweet; + When, like torn books, sad days weigh down each other + I' the dusty shelf;-- + O Man, what art thou, O my friend, my brother, + Even to thyself? + + _Robert Bulwer Lytton._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. + + My mother bore me in the southern wild, + And I am black; but, O, my soul is white! + White as an angel is the English child, + But I am black as if bereaved of light. + + My mother taught me underneath a tree; + And, sitting down before the heat of day, + She took me on her lap, and kissed me, + And, pointing to the east, began to say:-- + + "Look on the rising sun; there God does live, + And gives his light, and gives his heat away; + And flowers and trees, and beasts and men, receive + Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. + + "And we are put on earth a little space, + That we may learn to bear the beams of love, + And these black bodies and this sunburnt face + Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. + + "For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, + The clouds will vanish; we shall hear his voice, + Saving: 'Come from the grove, my love and care, + And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'" + + Thus did my mother say and kissed me, + And thus I say to little English boy; + When I from black, and he from white cloud free, + And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, + + I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear + To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; + And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, + And be like him, and he will then love me. + + _William Blake._ + + * * * * * + + +DEATHS FINAL CONQUEST. + + The glories of our birth and state + Are shadows, not substantial things; + There is no armor against fate,-- + Death lays his icy hands on kings; + Sceptre and crown + Must tumble down, + And in the dust be equal made + With the poor crooked scythe and spade. + + Some men with swords may reap the field, + And plant fresh laurels where they kill; + But their strong nerves at last must yield,-- + They tame but one another still; + Early or late + They stoop to fate, + And must give up their murmuring breath, + When they, pale captives, creep to death. + + The garlands wither on your brow,-- + Then boast no more your mighty deeds; + Upon death's purple altar, now, + See where the victor victim bleeds! + All heads must come + To the cold tomb,-- + Only the actions of the just + Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. + + _James Shirley._ + + * * * * * + + +TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. + + Slave of the dark and dirty mine, + What vanity has brought thee here? + How can I love to see thee shine + So bright, whom I have bought so dear? + The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear + For twilight converse, arm in arm; + The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear + When mirth and music wont to charm. + + By Cherical's dark wandering streams, + Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, + Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams + Of Teviot loved while still a child, + Of castled rocks stupendous piled + By Esk or Eden's classic wave, + Where loves of youth and friendship smiled, + Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave! + + Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! + The perished bliss of youth's first prime, + That once so bright on fancy played, + Revives no more in after-time. + Far from my sacred natal clime, + I haste to an untimely grave; + The daring thoughts that soared sublime + Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. + + Slave of the mine, thy yellow light + Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. + A gentle vision comes by night + My lonely widowed heart to cheer: + Her eyes are dim with many a tear, + That once were guiding stars to mine: + Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! + I cannot bear to see thee shine. + + For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, + I left a heart that loved me true! + I crossed the tedious ocean-wave, + To roam in climes unkind and new. + The cold wind of the stranger blew + Chill on my withered heart; the grave + Dark and untimely met my view,-- + And all for thee, vile yellow slave! + + Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock + A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, + Now that his frame the lightning shock + Of sun-rays tipped with death has borne? + From love, from friendship, country, torn, + To memory's fond regrets the prey, + Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! + Go mix thee with thy kindred clay! + + _John Leyden._ + + * * * * * + + +GOING HOME. + + Drawn by horses with decorous feet, + A carriage for one went through the street, + Polished as anthracite out of the mine, + Tossing its plumes so stately and fine, + As nods to the night a Norway pine. + + The passenger lay in Parian rest, + As if, by the sculptor's hand caressed, + A mortal life through the marble stole, + And then till an angel calls the roll + It waits awhile for a human soul. + + He rode in state, but his carriage-fare + Was left unpaid to his only heir; + Hardly a man, from hovel to throne, + Takes to this route in coach of his own, + But borrows at last and travels alone. + + The driver sat in his silent seat; + The world, as still as a field of wheat, + Gave all the road to the speechless twain, + And thought the passenger never again + Should travel that way with living men. + + Not a robin held its little breath, + But sang right on in the face of death; + You never would dream, to see the sky + Give glance for glance to the violet's eye, + That aught between them could ever die. + + A wain bound east met the hearse bound west, + Halted a moment, and passed abreast; + And I verily think a stranger pair + Have never met on a thoroughfare, + Or a dim by-road, or anywhere: + + The hearse as slim and glossy and still + As silken thread at a woman's will, + Who watches her work with tears unshed, + Broiders a grief with needle and thread, + Mourns in pansies and cypress the dead; + + Spotless the steeds in a satin dress, + That run for two worlds the Lord's Express,-- + Long as the route of Arcturus's ray, + Brief as the Publican's trying to pray, + No other steeds by no other way + Could go so far in a single day. + + From wagon broad and heavy and rude + A group looking out from a single hood; + Striped with the flirt of a heedless lash, + Dappled and dimmed with many a splash, + "Gathered" behind like an old calash. + + It made you think of a schooner's sail + Mildewed with weather, tattered by gale, + Down "by the run" from mizzen and main,-- + That canvas mapped with stipple and stain + Of Western earth and the prairie rain. + + The watch-dog walked in his ribs between + The hinder wheels, with sleepy mien; + A dangling pail to the axle slung; + Astern of the wain a manger hung,-- + A schooner's boat by the davits swung. + + The white-faced boys sat three in a row, + With eyes of wonder and heads of tow; + Father looked sadly over his brood; + Mother just lifted a flap of the hood; + All saw the hearse,--and two understood. + + They thought of the one-eyed cabin small, + Hid like a nest in the grasses tall, + Where plains swept boldly off in the air, + Grooved into heaven everywhere,-- + So near the stars' invisible stair + + That planets and prairie almost met,-- + Just cleared its edges as they set! + They thought of the level world's "divide," + And their hearts flowed down its other side + To the grave of the little girl that died. + + They thought of childhood's neighborly hills, + With sunshine aprons and ribbons of rills, + That drew so near when the day went down, + Put on a crimson and golden crown, + And sat together in mantles brown; + + The Dawn's red plume in their winter caps, + And Night asleep in their drowsy laps, + Lightening the load of the shouldered wood + By shedding the shadows as they could, + That gathered round where the homestead stood. + + They thought,--that pair in the rugged wain, + Thinking with bosom rather than brain; + They'll never know till their dying day + That what they thought and never could say, + Their hearts throbbed out in an Alpine lay, + The old Waldensian song again; + Thank God for the mountains, and amen! + + The wain gave a lurch, the hearse moved on,-- + A moment or two, and both were gone; + The wain bound east, the hearse bound west, + Both going home, both looking for rest. + The Lord save all, and his name be blest! + + _Benjamin F. Taylor._ + + * * * * * + + +MAN'S MORTALITY. + + Like as the damask rose you see, + Or like the blossoms on the tree, + Or like the dainty flower of May, + Or like the morning of the day, + Or like the sun, or like the shade, + Or like the gourd which Jonas had; + Even such is man, whose thread is spun, + Drawn out and cut, and so is done. + The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, + The flower fades, the morning hasteth, + The sun sets, the shadow flies, + The gourd consumes, and man,--he dies! + + Like to the grass that's newly sprung, + Or like a tale that's new begun, + Or like the bird that's here to-day, + Or like the pearled dew of May, + Or like an hour, or like a span, + Or like the singing of a swan; + Even such is man, who lives by breath, + Is here, now there, in life and death. + The grass withers, the tale is ended, + The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended, + The hour is short, the span not long, + The swan near death,--man's life is done! + + Like to a bubble in the brook, + Or in a glass much like a look, + Or like a shuttle in a weaver's hand, + Or like the writing on the sand, + Or like a thought, or like a dream, + Or like the gliding of a stream; + Even such is man, who lives by breath, + Is here, now there, in life and death. + The bubble 's out, the look 's forgot, + The shuttle 's flung, the writing 's blot, + The thought is past, the dream is gone, + The water glides,--man's life is done! + + Like to a blaze of fond delight, + Or like a morning clear and bright, + Or like a frost, or like a shower, + Or like the pride of Babel's tower, + Or like the hour that guides the time, + Or like to Beauty in her prime; + Even such is man, whose glory lends + That life a blaze or two, and ends. + The morn 's o'ercast, joy turned to pain, + The frost is thawed, dried up the rain, + The tower falls, the hour is run, + The beauty lost,--man's life is done! + + Like to an arrow from the bow, + Or like swift course of waterflow, + Or like that time 'twixt flood and ebb, + Or like the spider's tender web, + Or like a race, or like a goal, + Or like the dealing of a dole; + Even such is man, whose brittle state + Is always subject unto Fate. + The arrow 's shot, the flood soon spent, + The time 's no time, the web soon rent, + The race soon run, the goal soon won, + The dole soon dealt,--man's life is done! + + Like to the lightning from the sky, + Or like a post that quick doth hie, + Or like a quaver in a short song, + Or like a journey three days long, + Or like the snow when summer 's come, + Or like the pear, or like the plum; + Even such is man, who heaps up sorrow, + Lives but this day, and dies to-morrow. + The lightning 's past, the post must go, + The song is short, the journey's so, + The pear doth rot, the plum doth fall, + The snow dissolves,--and so must all! + + _Simon Wastel._ + + * * * * * + + +LIFE. + + Like to the falling of a star, + Or as the flights of eagles are, + Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, + Or silver drops of morning dew, + Or like a wind that chafes the flood, + Or bubbles which on water stood; + Even such is man, whose borrowed light + Is straight called in, and paid to-night. + The wind blows out, the bubble dies, + The spring entombed in autumn lies, + The dew dries up, the star is shot, + The flight is past,--and man forgot! + + _Henry King._ + + * * * * * + + +A LAMENT. + + O World! O Life! O Time! + On whose last steps I climb, + Trembling at that where I had stood before; + When will return the glory of your prime? + No more,--O nevermore! + + Out of the day and night + A joy has taken flight: + Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar + Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight + No more,--O nevermore! + + _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ + + * * * * * + + +LIFE. + + Life! I know not what thou art, + But know that thou and I must part; + And when, or how, or where we met, + I own to me's a secret yet. + + Life! we've been long together, + Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; + 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear, + Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; + Then steal away, give little warning, + Choose thine own time, + Say not Good Night,--but in some brighter clime + Bid me Good Morning. + + _Anna Laetitia Barbauld._ + + * * * * * + + +TITHONUS. + + The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, + The vapors weep their burden to the ground, + Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, + And after many a summer dies the swan. + Me only cruel immortality + Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, + Here at the quiet limit of the world, + A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream + The ever-silent spaces of the east, + Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. + + Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man,-- + So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, + Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed + To his great heart none other than a god! + I asked thee, "Give me immortality." + Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, + Like wealthy men who care not how they give. + But thy strong Hours indignant worked their wills, + And beat me down and marred and wasted me, + And though they could not end me, left me maimed + To dwell in presence of immortal youth, + Immortal age beside immortal youth, + And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, + Thy beauty, make amends, though even now, + Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, + Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears + To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: + Why should a man desire in any way + To vary from the kindly race of men, + Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance + Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? + + A soft air fans the cloud apart: there comes + A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. + Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals + From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, + And bosom beating with a heart renewed. + Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom, + Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, + Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team + Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, + And shake the darkness from their loosened manes, + And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. + + Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful + In silence, then before thine answer given + Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek. + + Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, + And make me tremble lest a saying learnt + In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? + "The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts." + + Ay me! ay me! with what another heart + In days far-off, and with what other eyes + I used to watch--if I be he that watched-- + The lucid outline forming round thee; saw + The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; + Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood + Glow with the glow that slowly crimsoned all + Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, + Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm + With kisses balmier than half-opening buds + Of April, and could hear the lips that kissed + Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, + Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, + While Ilion like a mist rose into towers. + + Yet hold me not forever in thine East: + How can my nature longer mix with thine? + Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold + Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet + Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam + Floats up from those dim fields about the homes + Of happy men that have the power to die, + And grassy barrows of the happier dead. + Release me, and restore me to the ground: + Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave; + Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; + I earth in earth forget these empty courts, + And thee returning on thy silver wheels. + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS. + +(From the Irish.) + + O woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let yourtongue thus rattle! + O don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may have cattle! + I've seen--and here's my hand to you, I only say what's true-- + A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as you. + + Good luck to you! don't scorn the poor, and don't be their despiser; + For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser, + And Death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows; + Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman of Three Cows! + + See where Mononia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants,-- + 'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants! + If they were forced to bow to Fate, as every mortal bows, + Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows? + + The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to mourning; + Movrone! for they were banished, with no hope of their returning. + Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were driven to house? + Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman of Three Cows! + + O think of Donnell of the Ships, the chief whom nothing daunted,-- + See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted! + He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder cannot rouse; + Then ask yourself, should you be proud, good Woman of Three Cows? + + O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in + story,-- + Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest glory! + Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and cypress boughs, + And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman of Three Cows! + + The O'Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest, + Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's best and oldest; + Yet who so great as they of yore, in battle or carouse? + Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows! + + Your neighbor's poor, and you it seems are big with vain ideas, + Because, forsooth, you've got three cows,--one more, I see, than + she has; + That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows, + But if you're strong be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows! + + Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up your scornful + bearing, + And I'm too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak I'm wearing, + If I had but four cows myself, even though you were my spouse, + I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows! + + _James Clarence Mangan._ + + * * * * * + + +A FAREWELL. + + My fairest child, I have no song to give you; + No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; + Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you + For every day. + + Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; + Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: + And so make life, death, and that vast forever + One grand sweet song. + + _Charles Kingsley._ + + * * * * * + + +ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. + + Thou still unravished bride of quietness! + Thou foster-child of silence and slow time! + Sylvan historian, who canst thus express + A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme! + What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape + Of deities or mortals, or of both, + In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? + What men or gods are these? What maidens loath? + What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? + What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? + + Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard + Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on,-- + Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, + Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone! + Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave + Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; + Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, + Though winning near the goal; yet do not grieve,-- + She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss; + Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair! + + Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed + Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu: + And happy melodist, unwearied, + Forever piping songs forever new; + More happy love! more happy, happy love! + Forever warm and still to be enjoyed, + Forever panting, and forever young; + All breathing human passion far above, + That leaves a heart high sorrowful and cloyed, + A burning forehead and a parching tongue. + + Who are these coming to the sacrifice? + To what green altar, O mysterious priest, + Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, + And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed? + What little town by river or sea-shore, + Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, + Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? + Ah, little town, thy streets forevermore + Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell + Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. + + O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede + Of marble men and maidens overwrought, + With forest branches and the trodden weed! + Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought, + As doth eternity. Cold pastoral! + When old age shall this generation waste, + Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe + Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st + "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"--that is all + Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. + + _John Keats._ + + * * * * * + + +LINES ON A SKELETON. + + Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull + Once of ethereal spirit full + This narrow cell was Life's retreat, + This space was Thought's mysterious seat. + What beauteous visions filled this spot, + What dreams of pleasure long forgot, + Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, + Have left one trace of record here. + + Beneath this mouldering canopy + Once shone the bright and busy eye, + But start not at the dismal void,-- + If social love that eye employed, + If with no lawless fire it gleamed, + But through the dews of kindness beamed, + That eye shall be forever bright + When stars and sun are sunk in night. + + Within this hollow cavern hung + The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; + If Falsehood's honey it disdained, + And when it could not praise was chained; + If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, + Yet gentle concord never broke,-- + This silent tongue shall plead for thee + When Time unveils Eternity! + + Say, did these fingers delve the mine? + Or with the envied rubies shine? + To hew the rock or wear a gem + Can little now avail to them. + But if the page of Truth they sought, + Or comfort to the mourner brought, + These hands a richer meed shall claim + Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame. + + Avails it whether bare or shod + These feet the paths of duty trod? + If from the bowers of Ease they fled, + To seek Affliction's humble shed; + If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, + And home to Virtue's cot returned,-- + These feet with angel wings shall vie, + And tread the palace of the sky! + + _Anonymous._ + + * * * * * + + +VIRTUE. + + Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, + The bridal of the earth and sky, + Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night, + For thou must die. + + Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, + Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, + Thy root is ever in its grave, + And thou must die. + + Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, + A box where sweets compacted lie, + My music shows you have your closes, + And all must die. + + Only a sweet and virtuous soul, + Like seasoned timber, never gives; + But when the whole world turns to coal, + Then chiefly lives. + + _George Herbert._ + + * * * * * + + +THE LIE. + + Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand; + Fear not to touch the best; + The truth shall be thy warrant: + Go, since I needs must die, + And give them all the lie. + + Go tell the Court it glows + And shines like rotten wood; + Go tell the Church it shows + What's good, but does no good: + If Court and Church reply, + Give Court and Church the lie. + + Tell Potentates they live + Acting, but oh! their actions; + Not loved, unless they give, + Nor strong but by their factions: + If Potentates reply, + Give Potentates the lie. + + Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition; + Their practice only hate: + And if they do reply, + Then give them all the lie. + + Tell those that brave it most + They beg for more by spending, + Who in their greatest cost + Seek nothing but commending: + And if they make reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + + Tell Zeal it lacks devotion; + Tell Love it is but lust; + Tell Time it is but motion; + Tell Flesh it is but dust: + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + + Tell Age it daily wasteth; + Tell Honor how it alters; + Tell Beauty that it blasteth; + Tell Favor that she falters: + And as they do reply, + Give every one the lie. + + Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In fickle points of niceness; + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in over-wiseness: + And if they do reply, + Then give them both the lie. + + Tell Physic of her boldness; + Tell Skill it is pretension; + Tell Charity of coldness; + Tell Law it is contention: + And if they yield reply, + Then give them all the lie. + + Tell Fortune of her blindness; + Tell Nature of decay; + Tell Friendship of unkindness; + Tell Justice of delay: + And if they do reply, + Then give them still the lie. + + Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming; + Tell Schools they lack profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming: + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + + Tell Faith it's fled the city; + Tell how the country erreth; + Tell, Manhood shakes off pity; + Tell, Virtue least preferreth: + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + + So when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing; + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing: + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill! + + _Sir Walter Raleigh._ + + * * * * * + + +TWO WOMEN. + + The shadows lay along Broadway, + 'Twas near the twilight-tide, + And slowly there a lady fair + Was walking in her pride. + Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, + Walked spirits at her side. + + Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, + And Honor charmed the air; + And all astir looked kind on her, + And called her good as fair,-- + For all God ever gave to her + She kept with chary care. + + She kept with care her beauties rare + From lovers warm and true, + For her heart was cold to all but gold, + And the rich came not to woo,-- + But honored well are charms to sell, + If priests the selling do. + + Now walking there was one more fair,-- + A slight girl, lily-pale; + And she had unseen company + To make the spirit quail,-- + 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, + And nothing could avail. + + No mercy now can clear her brow + For this world's peace to pray; + For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, + Her woman's heart gave way!-- + But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven + By man is cursed alway! + + _Nathaniel Parker Willis._ + + * * * * * + + +THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. + + Tread softly,--bow the head,-- + In reverent silence bow,-- + No passing-bell doth toll, + Yet an immortal soul + Is passing now. + + Stranger, however great, + With lowly reverence bow; + There's one in that poor shed-- + One by that paltry bed-- + Greater than thou. + + Beneath that beggar's roof, + Lo! Death doth keep his state. + Enter, no crowds attend; + Enter, no guards defend + _This_ palace gate. + + That pavement, damp and cold, + No smiling courtiers tread; + One silent woman stands, + Lifting with meagre hands + A dying head. + + No mingling voices sound,-- + An infant wail alone; + A sob suppressed,--again + That short deep gasp, and then-- + The parting groan. + + O change! O wondrous change! + Burst are the prison bars,-- + This moment _there_ so low, + So agonized, and now + Beyond the stars. + + O change! stupendous change! + There lies the soulless clod; + The sun eternal breaks, + The new immortal wakes,-- + Wakes with his God. + + _Caroline Bowles Southey._ + + * * * * * + + +ON A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE IN A STORM. + + I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile! + Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: + I saw thee every day; and all the while + Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. + + So pure the sky, so quiet was the air, + So like, so very like was day to day, + Whene'er I looked, thy image still was there; + It trembled, but it never passed away. + + How perfect was the calm! It seemed no sleep, + No mood which season takes away or brings: + I could have fancied that the mighty deep + Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. + + Ah! then if mine had been the painter's hand + To express what then I saw, and add the gleam, + The light that never was on sea or land, + The consecration and the poet's dream,-- + + I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile, + Amid a world how different from this! + Beside a sea that could not cease to smile, + On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. + + A picture had it been of lasting ease, + Elysian quiet without toil or strife; + No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, + Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. + + Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, + Such picture would I at that time have made, + And seen the soul of truth in every part, + A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. + + So once it would have been,--'tis so no more. + I have submitted to a new control; + A power has gone which nothing can restore, + A deep distress hath humanized my soul. + + Not for a moment could I now behold + A smiling sea, and be what I have been; + The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; + This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. + + Then, Beaumont, friend, who would have been the friend, + If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, + This work of thine I blame not, but commend, + This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. + + O, 'tis a passionate work! yet wise and well, + Well chosen is the spirit that is here; + That hulk which labors in the deadly swell, + This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear. + + And this huge castle, standing here sublime, + I love to see the look with which it braves, + Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time, + The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. + + Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone, + Housed in a dream at distance from the kind! + Such happiness, wherever it be known, + Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind. + + But welcome, fortitude and patient cheer, + And frequent sights of what is to be borne, + Such sights, or worse, as are before me here: + Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. + + _William Wordsworth._ + + * * * * * + + +THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. + + What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? + Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!-- + Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells, + Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain!-- + Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea! + We ask not such from thee. + + Yet more, the depths have more!--what wealth untold, + Far down and shining through their stillness lies! + Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, + Won from ten thousand royal argosies!-- + Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! + Earth claims not these again. + + Yet more, the depths have more!--thy waves have rolled + Above the cities of a world gone by! + Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, + Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.-- + Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play! + Man yields them to decay. + + Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! + High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! + They hear not now the booming waters roar, + The battle-thunders will not break their rest.-- + Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! + Give back the true and brave! + + Give back the lost and lovely!--those for whom + The place was kept at board and hearth so long, + The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, + And the vain yearning woke midst festal song! + Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,-- + But all is not thine own. + + To thee the love of woman hath gone down, + Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, + O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown; + Yet must thou hear a voice,--Restore the dead! + Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!-- + Restore the dead, thou sea! + + _Felicia Hemans._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CLOUD. + + A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, + A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; + Long had I watched the glory moving on, + O'er the still radiance of the lake below: + Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, + E'en in its very motion there was rest, + While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, + Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. + Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, + To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, + And by the breath of mercy made to roll + Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, + While to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, + And tells to man his glorious destinies. + + _John Wilson._ + + * * * * * + + +THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. + + This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign, + Sails the unshadowed main,-- + The venturous bark that flings + On the sweet summer wind its purple wings + In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, + And coral reefs lie bare, + Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. + + Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; + Wrecked is the ship of pearl! + And every chambered cell + Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell, + As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, + Before thee lies revealed,-- + Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. + + Year after year beheld the silent toil + That spread his lustrous coil: + Still, as the spiral grew, + He left the past year's dwelling for the new, + Stole with soft step its shining archway through, + Built up its idle door, + Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. + + Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, + Child of the wandering sea, + Cast from her lap, forlorn! + From thy dead lips a clearer note is born + Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! + While on mine ear it rings, + Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: + + Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, + As the swift seasons roll! + Leave thy low-vaulted past! + Let each new temple, nobler than the last, + Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, + Till thou at length art free, + Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + * * * * * + + +ST. AGNES. + + Deep on the convent-roof the snows + Are sparkling to the moon: + My breath to heaven like vapor goes: + May my soul follow soon! + The shadows of the convent-towers + Slant down the snowy sward, + Still creeping with the creeping hours + That lead me to my Lord: + Make Thou my spirit pure and clear + As are the frosty skies, + Or this first snowdrop of the year + That in my bosom lies. + + As these white robes are soiled and dark, + To yonder shining ground; + As this pale taper's earthly spark, + To yonder argent round; + So shows my soul before the Lamb, + My spirit before Thee; + So in mine earthly house I am, + To that I hope to be. + Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, + Through all yon starlight keen, + Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, + In raiment white and clean. + + He lifts me to the golden doors; + The flashes come and go; + All heaven bursts her starry floors, + And strews her lights below, + And deepens on and up! the gates + Roll back, and far within + For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, + To make me pure of sin. + The sabbaths of Eternity, + One sabbath deep and wide,-- + A light upon the shining sea,-- + The Bridegroom with his bride! + + _Alfred Tennyson._ + + * * * * * + + +A CHRISTMAS HYMN. + + It was the calm and silent night! + Seven hundred years and fifty-three + Had Rome been growing up to might, + And now was queen of land and sea. + No sound was heard of clashing wars,-- + Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain: + Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars + Held undisturbed their ancient reign, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago. + + 'Twas in the calm and silent night! + The senator of haughty Rome, + Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, + From lordly revel rolling home; + Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell + His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; + What recked the Roman what befell + A paltry province far away, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago? + + Within that province far away + Went plodding home a weary boor; + A streak of light before him lay, + Fallen through a half-shut stable-door + Across his path. He passed,--for naught + Told what was going on within; + How keen the stars, his only thought,-- + The air how calm, and cold, and thin, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + O, strange indifference! low and high + Drowsed over common joys and cares; + The earth was still,--but knew not why; + The world was listening, unawares. + How calm a moment may precede + One that shall thrill the world forever! + To that still moment, none would heed, + Man's doom was linked no more to sever,-- + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + It is the calm and solemn night! + A thousand bells ring out, and throw + Their joyous peals abroad, and smite + The darkness,--charmed and holy now! + The night that erst no name had worn, + To it a happy name is given; + For in that stable lay, new-born, + The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + _Alfred Domett._ + + * * * * * + + +MY SLAIN. + + This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee, + This amber-haired, four-summered little maid, + With her unconscious beauty troubleth me, + With her low prattle maketh me afraid. + Ah, darling! when you cling and nestle so + You hurt me, though you do not see me cry, + Nor hear the weariness with which I sigh, + For the dear babe I killed so long ago. + I tremble at the touch of your caress; + I am not worthy of your innocent faith; + I who with whetted knives of worldliness + Did put my own child-heartedness to death, + Beside whose grave I pace forevermore, + Like desolation on a shipwrecked shore. + + There is no little child within me now, + To sing back to the thrushes, to leap up + When June winds kiss me, when an apple bough + Laughs into blossoms, or a buttercup + Plays with the sunshine, or a violet + Dances in the glad dew. Alas! alas! + The meaning of the daisies in the grass + I have forgotten; and if my cheeks are wet + It is not with the blitheness of the child, + But with the bitter sorrow of sad years. + O moaning life, with life irreconciled; + O backward-looking thought, O pain, O tears, + For us there is not any silver sound + Of rhythmic wonders springing from the ground. + + Woe worth the knowledge and the bookish lore + Which makes men mummies, weighs out every grain + Of that which was miraculous before, + And sneers the heart down with the scoffing brain. + Woe worth the peering, analytic days + That dry the tender juices in the breast, + And put the thunders of the Lord to test, + So that no marvel must be, and no praise, + Nor any God except Necessity. + What can ye give my poor, starved life in lieu + Of this dead cherub which I slew for ye? + Take back your doubtful wisdom, and renew + My early foolish freshness of the dunce, + Whose simple instincts guessed the heavens at once. + + _Richard Realf._ + + * * * * * + + +THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. + + Could we but know + The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, + Where lie those happier hills and meadows low,-- + Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil + Aught of that country could we surely know, + Who would not go? + + Might we but hear + The hovering angels' high imagined chorus, + Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear, + One radiant vista of the realm before us,-- + With one rapt moment given to see and hear, + Ah, who would fear? + + Were we quite sure + To find the peerless friend who left us lonely, + Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, + To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only,-- + This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, + Who would endure? + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + * * * * * + + +MY PSALM. + + I mourn no more my vanished years; + Beneath a tender rain, + An April rain of smiles and tears, + My heart is young again. + + The west-winds blow, and, singing low, + I hear the glad streams run: + The windows of my soul I throw + Wide open to the sun. + + No longer forward nor behind + I look in hope and fear; + But grateful take the good I find, + The best of now and here. + + I plough no more a desert land, + To harvest weed and tare; + The manna dropping from God's hand + Rebukes my painful care. + + I break my pilgrim-staff, I lay + Aside the toiling oar; + The angel sought so far away + I welcome at my door. + + The airs of spring may never play + Among the ripening corn, + Nor freshness of the flowers of May + Blow through the autumn morn; + + Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look + Through fringed lids to heaven; + And the pale aster in the brook + Shall see its image given; + + The woods shall wear their robes of praise, + The south-wind softly sigh, + And sweet calm days in golden haze + Melt down the amber sky. + + Not less shall manly deed and word + Rebuke an age of wrong: + The graven flowers that wreathe the sword + Make not the blade less strong. + + But smiting hands shall learn to heal, + To build as to destroy; + Nor less my heart for others feel, + That I the more enjoy. + + All as God wills, who wisely heeds + To give or to withhold, + And knoweth more of all my needs + Than all my prayers have told! + + Enough that blessings undeserved + Have marked my erring track; + That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved + His chastening turned me back; + + That more and more a Providence + Of love is understood, + Making the springs of time and sense, + Sweet with eternal good; + + That death seems but a covered way + Which opens into light, + Wherein no blinded child can stray + Beyond the Father's sight; + + That care and trial seem at last, + Through Memory's sunset air, + Like mountain ranges overpast, + In purple distance fair; + + That all the jarring notes of life + Seem blending in a psalm, + And all the angles of its strife + Slow rounding into calm. + + And so the shadows fell apart, + And so the west-winds play; + And all the windows of my heart + I open to the day. + + _John Greenleaf Whittier._ + + * * * * * + + +ENTICED. + + I. + + With what clear guile of gracious love enticed, + I follow forward, as from room to room, + Through doors that open into light from gloom, + To find, and lose, and find again the Christ! + + He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door; + Without he stands, and asks to enter in: + Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin? + Will he but knock and ask, and nothing more? + + He knows what ways I take to shut my heart, + And if he will he can himself undo + My foolish fastenings, or by force break through, + Nor wait till I fulfil my needless part. + + But nay, he will not choose to enter so,-- + He will not be my guest without consent, + Nor, though I say "Come in," is he content; + I must arise and ope, or he will go. + + He shall not go; I do arise and ope,-- + "Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup with me, + O blessed guest, and let me sup with thee,"-- + Where is the door? for in this dark I grope, + + And cannot find it soon enough; my hand, + Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key I need, + And trembles, shaken with its eager heed; + No other key will answer my demand. + + The door between is some command undone; + Obedience is the key that slides the bar, + And lets him in, who stands so near, so far; + The doors are many, but the key is one. + + Which door, dear Lord? knock, speak, that I may know; + Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice,-- + O, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice, + Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go. + + Full lief and soon this door would open too, + If once my key might find the narrow slit + Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hit,-- + But lo! one little ray that glimmers through, + + Not spreading light, but lighting to the light,-- + Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be slow, + One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, so,-- + How small, how great, the change from dark to bright! + + II. + + Now he is here, I seem no longer here! + This place of light is not my chamber dim, + It is not he with me, but I with him, + And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer. + + I was borne onward at his greeting,--he + Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone; + Drawing him hither, I was thither drawn, + Scarce welcoming him to hear him welcome me! + + I lie upon the bosom of my Lord, + And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby; + The tune so sweet, I have no need to try, + But rest and trust, and beat the perfect chord. + + A little while I lie upon his heart, + Feasting on love, and loving there to feast, + And then, once more, the shadows are increased + Around me, and I feel my Lord depart. + + Again alone, but in a farther place + I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign; + Again I hear the same sweet plea divine, + And suit, outside, of hospitable grace. + + This is his guile,--he makes me act the host + To shelter him, and lo! he shelters me; + Asking for alms, he summons me to be + A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost. + + So, on and on, through many an opening door + That gladly opens to the key I bring, + From brightening court to court of Christ, my King, + Hope-led, love-fed, I journey evermore. + + At last I trust these changing scenes will cease; + There is a court, I hear, where he abides; + No door beyond, that further glory hides.-- + My host at home, all change is changed to peace. + + _William C. Wilkinson._ + + * * * * * + + +WEARINESS. + + O little feet! that such long years + Must wander on through hopes and fears, + Must ache and bleed beneath your load; + I, nearer to the wayside Inn, + Where toil shall cease and rest begin, + Am weary, thinking of your road! + + O little hands! that weak or strong + Have still to serve or rule so long, + Have still so long to give or ask; + I, who so much with book and pen + Have toiled among my fellow-men, + Am weary, thinking of your task. + + O little hearts! that throb and beat + With such impatient feverish heat, + Such limitless and strong desires; + Mine that so long has glowed and burned, + With passions into ashes turned, + Now covers and conceals its fires. + + O little souls! as pure and white + And crystalline as rays of light + Direct from heaven, their source divine; + Refracted through the mist of years, + How red my setting sun appears, + How lurid looks this soul of mine! + + _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ + + * * * * * + + +TOUJOURS AMOUR. + + Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin, + At what age does love begin? + Your blue eyes have scarcely seen + Summers three, my fairy queen, + But a miracle of sweets, + Soft approaches, sly retreats, + Show the little archer there, + Hidden in your pretty hair; + When didst learn a heart to win? + Prithee tell me, Dimple Chin! + "Oh!" the rosy lips reply, + "I can't tell you if I try. + 'Tis so long I can't remember: + Ask some younger lass than I." + + Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face, + Do your heart and head keep pace? + When does hoary Love expire, + When do frosts put out the fire? + Can its embers burn below + All that chill December snow? + Care you still soft hands to press, + Bonny heads to smooth and bless? + When does Love give up the chase? + Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face! + "Ah!" the wise old lips reply, + "Youth may pass and strength may die; + But of Love I can't foretoken: + Ask some older sage than I!" + + _Edmund Clarence Stedman._ + + * * * * * + + +THE VOICELESS. + + We count the broken lyres that rest + Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, + But o'er their silent sister's breast + The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? + A few can touch the magic string, + And noisy Fame is proud to win them; + Alas for those who never sing, + But die with all their music in them! + + Nay, grieve not for the dead alone + Whose song has told their hearts' sad story; + Weep for the voiceless, who have known + The cross without the crown of glory! + Not where Leucadian breezes sweep + O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, + But where the glistening night-dews weep + O'er nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. + + O hearts that break and give no sign + Save whitening lip and fading tresses, + Till Death pours out his cordial wine, + Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses,-- + If singing breath or echoing chord + To every hidden pang were given, + What endless melodies were poured, + As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! + + _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ + + * * * * * + + +EPILOGUE. + + + 'Tis pleasant business making books, + When other people furnish brains; + Like finding them in running brooks,-- + The pleasure, minus all the pains! + They tell us Wordsworth once declared + That he could, if he had the mind, + Write plays like those of Avon's bard; + Whereat the stammering Lamb rejoined, + "S-s-s-s-s-so you see, + That all he wanted was the mind!" + O gentle Wordsworth, to deride + Thy simple speech I'm not inclined; + For these good friends, and thou beside, + Have freely lent me of their mind. + I've Shakespeare's point, and Burns's fire, + And Bulwer's own gentility, + And Elia's meekness, yet aspire + To Pope's infallibility. + I've made myself at home with Holmes; + I'm in two Taylors' garments dressed; + Campbell has told his rhymes for me, + And Shelley shelled out like the rest, + And Hood put on his thinking-cap, + And Goldsmith beaten out his best. + I've pilfered Alfred's laureate strains, + And boldly counted Henry's chickens, + And drained Harte's blood from his best veins, + And stol'n from Dickens like the dickens; + Of Hogg I have not gone the whole, + But of three Proctors tithes demanded, + And from a Miller taken toll, + And plucked a Reade, to do as Pan did. + I've beaten Beattie like a tree + That sheds its fruit for every knocker, + Nor let Sir Walter go Scott free, + And filched a shot from Frederick's Locker. + The ladies, too--God bless them all!-- + What pieces of their minds I've taken! + It would Achilles' self appall, + If hiding here to save his bacon. + By Hawthorne's genius hedged about, + And deep in Browning's brownest study, + This is the sure retreat, no doubt, + From critics' favors, fair or muddy. + Ah, How it Reads, How well it looks!-- + What one May call a death to pains!-- + This pleasant way of making books, + With clever folks to furnish brains! + + NEW YORK, July, 1875. + + * * * * * + + + + +INDEX OF FIRST LINES. + + + A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun 213 + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! 52 + Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you 20 + Ah! my heart is weary waiting 91 + All houses wherein men have lived and died 73 + As an unperfect actor on the stage 50 + As ships becalmed at eve, that lay 69 + A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed 132 + As upland fields were sunburnt brown 43 + At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still 175 + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead 161 + Before I trust my fate to thee 46 + Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull 201 + Between the dark and the daylight 152 + Bird of the wilderness 104 + Break, break, break 53 + By the waters of Life we sat together 84 + Close his eyes; his work is done! 134 + Come, all ye jolly shepherds 30 + Come in the evening, or come in the morning 35 + Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer 46 + Could we but know 220 + Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas 167 + Deep on the convent-roof the snows 215 + Drawn by horses with decorous feet 185 + Eyes which can but ill define 88 + Farewell! since nevermore for thee 173 + Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea 112 + From Stirling castle we had seen 93 + "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried 130 + God makes sech nights, all white an' still 26 + Go, Soul, the body's guest 204 + Green be the turf above thee 169 + Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 106 + He clasps the crag with hooked hands 105 + He is gone on the mountain 133 + Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling 168 + He wiled me through the furzy croft 59 + Ho! pretty page with the dimpled chin 115 + Ho, sailor of the sea! 150 + How sleep the brave who sink to rest 139 + I arise from dreams of thee 42 + I cannot make him dead! 154 + I fill this cup to one made up 21 + I have had playmates, I have had companions 66 + I heard the trailing garments of the night 103 + I mourn no more my vanished years 221 + I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary 158 + I'm wearin' awa', John 156 + In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 16 + I remember, I remember 72 + I saw her once,--so freshly fair 67 + I saw him once before 117 + It was the calm and silent night 217 + I wandered by the brookside 36 + I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile! 209 + Just for a handful of silver he left us 119 + Life! I know not what thou art 193 + Like as the damask rose you see 189 + Like to the falling of a star 192 + Look at me with thy large brown eyes 149 + Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! 51 + Maid of Athens, ere we part 45 + Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning 32 + My boat is on the shore 110 + My fairest child, I have no song to give you 199 + My glass shall not persuade me I am old 49 + My heid is like to rend, Willie 56 + My life is like the summer rose 113 + My mother bore me in the southern wild 181 + Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew 104 + No bird-song floated down the hill 82 + O, a dainty plant is the ivy green 90 + Oft in the stilly night 64 + O little feet! that such long years 227 + O Mary, go and call the cattle home 102 + O, sing unto my roundelay! 171 + Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered 127 + Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass 140 + Over the river they beckon to me 78 + O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 177 + O Woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let your tongue thus rattle! 196 + O World! O Life! O Time! 192 + Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin 228 + September strews the woodland o'er 63 + Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 50 + She died in beauty,--like a rose 164 + She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps 170 + She walks in beauty like the night 84 + She was a phantom of delight 18 + She was not fair, nor full of grace 165 + Slave of the dark and dirty mine 183 + Sleep sweetly in your humble graves 136 + So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn 123 + Stars of the summer night! 41 + Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 203 + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean 65 + Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde 125 + That which her slender waist confined 23 + The glories of our birth and state 182 + The glow and the glory are plighted 24 + The heath this night must be my bed 124 + The maid who binds her warrior's sash 142 + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year 100 + There sat an old man on a rock 120 + These years! these years! these naughty years! 114 + The shadows lay along Broadway 207 + The splendor falls on castle walls 40 + The sunlight fills the trembling air 86 + The winds that once the Argo bore 144 + The woods decay, the woods decay and fall 193 + They are all gone into the world of light 80 + They grew in beauty, side by side 174 + They sleep so calm and stately 137 + This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling 146 + This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign 214 + This sweet child which hath climbed upon my knee 219 + Thou lingering star, with lessening ray 61 + Thou still unravished bride of quietness! 199 + Three fishers went sailing out into the west 143 + Tiger! Tiger! burning bright 96 + 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time 97 + 'Tis pleasant business making books 231 + 'Tis the last rose of summer 111 + To him who in the love of nature holds 75 + Touch us gently, Time! 122 + Tread softly,--bow the head 208 + Weave no more the marriage-chain! 163 + We count the broken lyres that rest 229 + We left behind the painted buoy 13 + We watched her breathing through the night 160 + We were not many,--we who stood 128 + What constitutes a state? 148 + What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? 212 + What was he doing, the great god Pan? 11 + When forty winters shall besiege thy brow 48 + When I consider how my light is spent 143 + When I do count the clock that tells the time 49 + When Liberty lives loud on every lip 179 + When the latest strife is lost, and all is done with 54 + Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? 133 + Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed 71 + With blackest moss the flower-pots 37 + With what clear guile of gracious love enticed 224 + Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 166 + You ask me, why, though ill at ease 126 + + + + + The Riverside Press + _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co._ + _Cambridge, Mass, U.S.A._ + + + + +Little Classics + + + Edited by ROSSITER JOHNSON. Each in one volume, 18mo, $1.00. + The set, in box, $18.00. + + 1. EXILE. + 2. INTELLECT. + 3. TRAGEDY. + 4. LIFE. + 5. LAUGHTER. + 6. LOVE. + 7. ROMANCE. + 8. MYSTERY. + 9. COMEDY. + 10. CHILDHOOD. + 11. HEROISM. + 12. FORTUNE. + 13. NARRATIVE POEMS. + 14 LYRICAL POEMS. + 15. MINOR POEMS. + 16. NATURE. + 17. HUMANITY. + 18. AUTHORS. + + _Sixteenmo Edition._ 18 vols., 16mo, gilt top, $18.00. + (Sold only in sets.) + + A list of the entire contents of the volumes of this + Series will be sent free on application. + + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. + Boston and New York. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Poems, by Rossiter Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 34331.txt or 34331.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/3/3/34331/ + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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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