« 'i 
 
 
BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
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 189X 
 
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Cornell University Library 
 PS 1670.F4 
 
 A tew verses for a few „frlends. 
 
 3 1924 021 969 963 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021969963 
 

 Vv^-^. 
 
 buv -!io>JNA/\ij;j^ ; _^-'i\4.i 
 
 
 THE WRITER OF THESE VERSES 
 
 Mnstxxbts t\}tm 
 
 TO HIS FRIEND, 
 E. P. W. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 YOUTH'S Song 5 
 
 The Old Year 6 
 
 On a Lock of Keats's Hair 7 
 
 From the German S 
 
 An Invitation 10 
 
 On a late Loss 11 
 
 Marian in her Cell 12 
 
 Franklin's Statue 14. 
 
 Moonrise at Sea 16 
 
 Spring, among the Hills 18 
 
 Wordsworth 20 
 
 After hearing Mrs. Kemble 22 
 
 On a Book of Sea-Mosses 24 
 
 Ballad of the Tempeft 26 
 
 Laft Wishes of a Child 28 
 
 On a Pair of Antlers 30 
 
 The Song Queen •. 32 
 
 On a Portrait of Cromwell 34 
 
 The Alpine Cross 36 
 
 A Poor Man's Epitaph 38 
 
 Vespers 40 
 
 Our Fireside Evening Hymn 42 
 
 3 
 
4 Contents. 
 
 Relics 44 
 
 The Flight of Angels 45 
 
 Saco Falls 46 
 
 The Dead 48 
 
 A Silent Sermon 50 
 
 The Fountain 52 
 
 Summer Evening Melody 53 
 
 Sleighing Song 54 
 
 Villager's Winter-Evening Song 56 
 
 Children in Exile 58 
 
 Common Sense 60 
 
 To a Friend 62 
 
 Dirge for a Young Girl • 64 
 
 Eventide in the Country 65 
 
 Bridal Melody ^6 
 
 A Valentine 68 
 
 Song over the Cradle of two Infant Sifters, sleeping- ■ 69 
 
 Burial of a German Emigrant's Child at Sea 70 
 
 M. W. B. 72 
 
 On a Village Church in England 73 
 
 To One beneath the Waves 74 
 
 A Charafter jj 
 
 In the Foreft 76 
 
 In Venice ■ • • ■ >,■, 
 
YOUTH'S SONG. 
 
 ' I ''HE pale moon-crescent in the azure slept, 
 ■*■ And odorous violets mingled with our 
 talk, — 
 Anon the bells from all the turrets swept 
 
 A flood of mufic down the perfumed walk — 
 Hurrying the golden hours — 
 The tremulous, golden hours — 
 The winged, paffionate hours. 
 
 Then Time began his joyous course to run. 
 Zoning the fragrant earth with grace su- 
 preme ; 
 Thenceforth our heaven has held a liberal sun. 
 Freighting our voyage of love o'er life's 
 clear stream — 
 
 Leading the golden hours — 
 The tremulous, golden hours — 
 The fleeting, fleeting hours. 
 5 
 
THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 THE white dawn glimmered, and he said 
 " 'Tis day ! " 
 The eaft was reddening, and he sighed 
 
 " Farewell "— 
 The herald Sun came forth, and he was dead. 
 
 Life was in all his veins but yestermorn. 
 And ruddy health seemed laughing on his lips ; 
 Now he is duft, and will not breathe again ! 
 
 Give him a place to lay his regal head. 
 Give him a tomb beside his brothers gone, 
 Give him a tablet for his deeds and name. 
 
 Hear the new voice that claims the vacant 
 
 throne. 
 Take the new hand outftretched to meet thy kiss. 
 But give the Pafl: — 'tis all thou canft — thy 
 
 tears ! 
 
 ' 6 
 
ON RECEIVING A LOCK OF KEATS'S HAIR. 
 
 DEAR relic of a bright immortal name, 
 Forever young, and canopied by fame,— ^ 
 I touch thy beauty with a tremulous thrill. 
 
 Oft in the columned city, when night's ftill 
 And ftarry-veftured hours seem prone to weep 
 Where Keats is laid in moon-enfolded fleep. 
 Among the daifies flirining his loved bones 
 Mid Death's mosaic, — green turf and white 
 
 ftones, — 
 I've heard the song-birds with their mufic pass 
 Above their netted brother in the grass, 
 And thought with joy, and tear-suffused eyes — 
 No serpent, now, lurks in his Paradise, 
 No venomed tongue can reach him with its 
 
 hate — 
 Wrapped in eternal quiet with the great ! 
 
FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 TN the old Cathedral refting, 
 ■^ Two coffins press the ftones ; 
 One holds the great King Ottmar, 
 And one the poet's bones. 
 
 High in his power, the monarch 
 
 Anceftral glories led ; 
 The sword lies in his right hand, 
 
 And the crown upon his head. 
 
 The minftrel near the proud king 
 Is laid in quiet fleep, — 
 
 His lifeless hands enfolded. 
 His gentle harp to keep. 
 8 
 
From the German. 9 
 
 Caftles and towers are falling — 
 The war-cry thrills the land, — 
 
 But the sword it moveth never 
 In the dead king's hand. 
 
 Through valleys, sweet with bloflbms. 
 
 Mild breezes float along, 
 And the poet's harp is sounding 
 
 In never-dying song. 
 
AN INVITATION. 
 
 'nr^HE warm wide hills are muffled thick with 
 
 -*■ green, 
 And fluttering swallows fill the air with song. 
 Come to our cottage-home. Lowly it ftands, 
 Set in a vale of flowers, deep fringed with grass. 
 The sweetbrier (noiseless herald of the place) 
 Flies with its odor, meeting all who roam 
 With welcome footfteps to our small abode. 
 No splendid cares live here — no barren shows. 
 The bee makes harbor at our perfumed door, 
 And hums all day his breezy note of joy. 
 
 Come, O my friend ! and fliare our feftal month. 
 And while the weft wind walks the leafy woods, 
 While orchard-blooms are white in all the lanes. 
 And brooks make mufic in the deep, cool dells. 
 Enjoy the golden moments as they pass. 
 And gain new ftrength for days that are to 
 come. « 
 
TO 
 
 -, ON A LATE LOSS. 
 
 I KNOW your grief, — for death has walked 
 Through all the chambers of my heart ; 
 And I have sat, like you, and watched 
 My idols, one by one, depart. 
 
 We come not of that crowd, my friend, 
 Who tell their sorrows far and near, — 
 
 Who name aloud, with frequent figh. 
 The loved one laid upon the bier. 
 
 Take my warm tears ! I may not speak 
 When next I grasp your trembling hand,- 
 
 What need of words, heart-brother dear ? 
 My filence you can underftand. 
 
MARIAN IN HER CELL, 
 AFTER THE MURDER. 
 
 "VT'OU looked across the meadows 
 
 -'■ At the red sun in the Weft, 
 And the wood was full of fhadows, 
 But my head lay on your breaft — 
 And your words were low and sweet, 
 And our hearts in mufic beat. 
 
 You spoke, — I only liftened — 
 (Bleft hours without alloy,) 
 
 You sang,— T-my tear-drops gliftened,- 
 I was dumb and blind with joy. 
 
 Could I hear your bridal bell — 
 
 You in Heaven, and I in Hell ! 
 
Marian in her Cell. 13 
 
 Could I flop the cursed blade, 
 
 At your throat so warm and white — 
 
 Where my loving fingers played . 
 
 With the moonlight through the night ? 
 
 Could I think, and hold the fteel ! 
 
 Could I pause, and live to feel ! 
 
 By the hallowed lips of God 
 There is Murder on your soul ! 
 
 As I knelt upon the sod 
 
 Where the death-black waters roll, 
 
 I could hear the angry flood 
 
 Calling, hoarsely, " Blood for Blood I " 
 
FOR THE INAUGURATION 
 OF franklin's statue in his native city. 
 
 GIVE welcome to his sculptured form ! 
 Art's splendid triumph here is won, — 
 Thus let him ftand, in light and ftorm, 
 Our sea-girt city's greateft son. 
 
 His lineage sprung from honeft toil, 
 
 Swart Labor trained his youthful hand ; — 
 
 High with the brave who freed our soil- 
 Where firft he breathed let Franklin ftand. 
 
 His genius ftamped the Press with power ; 
 
 His glance the glowing future saw ; 
 His science curbed the fiery fhower ; 
 
 His wisdom ftood with Peace and Law. 
 
 14 
 
Franklin's Statue. 15 
 
 The world his ftory long has flirined, — 
 To Fame his spotless deeds belong — 
 
 His homely Truth, his ample Mind, 
 His Saxon hate of human Wrong. 
 
 Room for the gray-haired patriot-sage ! 
 
 For here his genial life began ; — ^ 
 Thus let him look from age to age. 
 
 And prompt new Thought ennobling Man. 
 
MOONRISE AT SEA. 
 A CHILD SPEAKS. 
 
 f^ OME up ! the moon is rifing faft, 
 ^^ The sea is calm, the deck is clear : 
 Come, mother, ftay no longer here — 
 The moonlight will not always laft. 
 
 Do you remember once you talked 
 With me of Chrift upon the sea ? 
 Now hearken, for this seems to me 
 
 The ftiining path where Jesus walked ! 
 
 And when the filvery brightness came 
 Along the sparkling waves to-night, 
 My heart leaped trembling at the fight, 
 
 And then I spoke our Saviour's name. 
 i6 
 
Moonrise at Sea. 
 
 17 
 
 I fhould not fear his holy will, 
 
 If now he flood in yon bright place, 
 And I could see his blefled face, 
 
 And hear him whisper " Peace, be still ! " 
 
SPRING, AMONG THE HILLS. 
 
 QIT and talk with the mountain flreams 
 
 *^ In the beautiful spring of the year. 
 
 When the violet gleams through the golden 
 
 sunbeams, 
 And whispers " Come look for me here" — 
 In the beautiful spring of the year. 
 
 I will fhow you a glorious nook 
 
 Where the censers of morning are swung ; 
 Nature will lend you her bell and her book 
 
 Where the chimes of the foreft are hung — 
 And the censers of morning are swung. 
 
 Come and breathe in this heaven-sent air 
 The breeze that the wild-bird inhales, 
 iS 
 
spring, among the Hills. 19 
 
 Come and forget that life has a care, 
 
 In these exquifite mountain-gales — 
 The breeze that the wild-bird inhales. 
 
 O wonders of God ! — O Bounteous and 
 Good — 
 
 We feel that thy presence is here, — 
 That thine audible voice is abroad in this wood 
 
 In the beautiful spring of the year, — 
 And we know that our Father is here. 
 
WORDSWORTH. 
 
 THE grass hung wet on Rydal banks. 
 The golden day with pearls adorning, 
 When fide by fide with him we walked, 
 To meet midway the summer morning. 
 
 The weft wind took a softer breath. 
 The sun himself seemed brighter fhining. 
 As through the porch the minftrel ftepped, 
 His eye sweet Nature's look enfhrining. 
 
 He pafled along the dewy sward, 
 The bluebird sang aloft, " Good morrow ! " 
 He plucked a bud, the flower awoke 
 And smiled without one pang of sorrow. 
 
Wordsworth. 2 1 
 
 He spoke of all that graced the scene 
 In tones that fell like mufic round us ; 
 We felt the charm descend, nor ftrove 
 To break the rapturous spell that bound us. 
 
 We liftened with myfterious awe. 
 
 Strange feelings mingling with our pleasure ; 
 
 We heard that day prophetic words, — 
 
 High thoughts the heart muft always treasure. 
 
 Great Nature's Prieft ! thy calm career 
 With that sweet morn on earth has ended ; 
 But who fliall say thy miflion died, 
 When, winged for heaven, thy soul ascended ? 
 
WRITTEN 
 
 AFTER HEARING MRS. KEMBLE READ " THE TEMPEST." 
 
 ' I ''HOU great Enchantress, walking hand in 
 -*- hand 
 
 With him of Avon, nursed in Albion's 
 isle, — 
 Whether we meet thee on the sea-beat sand, 
 
 Or gilding old Verona with thy smile, — 
 Welcome ! thou fit attendant on his fame. 
 Whose glorious thoughts reecho ftill his name ! 
 
 Illumed by thee, those deathless pages glow 
 With added luftre naught but Genius gives ; 
 
 Thou speak'ft ! thy melting tones their mufic 
 throw 
 Along the lines, and lo ! swift Ariel lives, 
 
 And fings, and, darting, drinks the filent air. 
 
 Then, fading, floats away, — we wift not where ! 
 
Written after hearing Mrs. Kemble. 23 
 
 Thou bidd'ft us forth where'er his fancy reigns : 
 Through verdurous Ardeh now we watch 
 thee roam, — 
 Anon, thou call'ft us to the Roman plains, 
 
 As if those dufky haunts had been thy home. 
 Where'er thou wilt, thou lead'ft us, wonder- 
 ing, on. 
 Bound to the magic of thy beckoning tone. 
 
 Thou great reftorer of departed breath ! 
 
 O, front to front with him couldft thou but 
 ftand, 
 His spirit, wafted from the halls of Death 
 
 Back to its old domain, thy native land, — 
 How would our hearts with warmeft rapture 
 
 ftir, 
 To hear that voice applaud his sweet Inter- 
 preter ! 
 
ON A BOOK OF SEA-MOSSES, 
 
 SENT TO AN EMINENT ENGLISH POET. 
 
 '~r^O him who sang of Venice, and revealed 
 -'■ How Wealth and Glory cluftered in her 
 
 ftreets, 
 And poised her marble domes with wondrous 
 
 fkiU, 
 We send these tributes, plundered from the sea. 
 These many-colored, variegated forms 
 Sail to our rougher shores, and rise and fall 
 To the deep mufic of the Atlantic wave. 
 Such spoils we capture where the rainbows 
 
 drop, 
 Melting in ocean. Here are broideries ftrange. 
 Wrought by the sea-nymphs from their golden 
 
 hair, 
 
 And wove by moonlight. Gently turn the leaf. 
 24 
 
On a Book of Sea-Mosses. 25 
 
 From narrow cells, scooped in the rocks, we 
 
 take 
 These fairy textures, lightly moored at morn. 
 Down sunny slopes, outftretching to the deep, 
 We roam at noon, and gather fhapes like these. 
 Note now the painted webs from verdurous 
 
 isles, 
 Feftooned and spangled in sea-caves, and say 
 What hues of land can rival tints like those, 
 Torn from the scarfs and gonfalons of kings ' 
 Who dwell beneath the waters. 
 
 Such our Gift, 
 Culled from a margin of the Weftern World, 
 And offered unto Genius in the Old. 
 
 KXXX 
 
 xxxx 
 xxxx 
 xxxx 
 
BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 
 
 TT /■£ were crowded in the cabin, 
 
 ' ' Not a soul would dare to fleep,- 
 It was midnight on the waters, 
 And a ftorm was on the deep. 
 
 'Tis a fearful thing in winter 
 To be fliattered in the blaft, 
 
 And to hear the rattling trumpet 
 Thunder, " Cut away the maft ! ■ 
 
 So we fliuddered there in filence, — 
 For the ftouteft held his breath. 
 
 While the hungry sea was roaring. 
 And the breakers talked with Death. 
 36 
 
Ballad of the Tempest. 27 
 
 As thus we sat in darkness, 
 
 Each ^one busy in his prayers, — 
 
 " We are loft ! " the captain fliouted, 
 As he ftaggered down the flairs. 
 
 But his little daughter whispered, 
 As flie took his icy hand, 
 
 " Isn't God upon the ocean. 
 Just the same as on the land ? '' 
 
 Then we kifled the little maiden. 
 And we spoke in better cheer, 
 
 And we anchored safe in harbor 
 When the morn was fhining clear. 
 
LAST WISHES OF A CHILD. 
 
 " A LL the hedges are in bloom, 
 ■^ ^ And the warm weft wind is blowing : 
 Let me leave this ftifled room, 
 
 Let me go where flowers are growing. 
 
 " Look ! my cheek is thin and pale, 
 And my pulse is very low : 
 
 Ere my fight begins to fail 
 Take my hand, and let us go. 
 
 " Was not that the robin's song, 
 Piping through the casement wide ? 
 
 I ftiall not be liftening long : 
 Take me to the meadow-fide. 
 28 
 
Last Wishes of a Child. 29 
 
 " Bear me to the willow brook ; 
 
 Let me hear the merry mill ; 
 On the orchard I muft look 
 
 Ere my beating heart is ftill. 
 
 " Faint and fainter grows my breath, — 
 Lead me quickly down the lane : 
 
 Mother dear ! this chill is death^ — 
 I fliall never speak again ! " 
 
 Still the hedges are in bloom, 
 
 And the warm weft wind is blowing ; 
 Still we sit in filent gloom, — 
 
 O'er his grave the grass is growing. 
 
ON A PAIR OF ANTLERS, 
 BROUGHT FROM GERMANY. 
 
 f~^ IFT from the land of song and wine,- 
 ^^ Can I forget the enchanted day, 
 When firft along the glorious Rhine 
 I heard the huntsman's bugle play, 
 And marked the early ftar that dwells 
 Among the cliffs of Drachenfels ! 
 
 Again the isles of beauty rise ; — 
 Again the crumbling tower appears. 
 
 That ftands, defying ftormy fkies. 
 With memories of a thousand years, 
 
 And dark old forefts wave again. 
 
 And fliadows crowd the dufky plain. 
 3° 
 
On a Pair of Antlers. 
 
 They brought the gift that I might hear 
 The mufic of the roaring pine, — 
 
 To fill again my charmed ear 
 
 With echoes of the Rodenftein, — 
 
 With echoes of the filver horn, — 
 
 Across the wailing waters borne. 
 
 Trophies of spoil ! henceforth your place 
 Is in this quiet home of mine ; — 
 
 Farewell the busy, bloody chase. 
 
 Mute emblems now of " auld lang syne," 
 
 When Youth and Hope went hand in hand 
 
 To roam the dear old German land. 
 
THE SONG QUEEN. 
 
 LOOK on her ! there fhe ftands, the world's 
 prime wonder, 
 The great Queen of Song ! Ye rapt muficians, 
 Touch your golden wires, for now ye prelude 
 
 ftrains 
 To mortal ears unwonted. Hark ! she lings. 
 Yon pearly gates their magic waves unloose. 
 And all the liberal air rains melody 
 Around. O night ! O time ! delay, delay ! 
 Pause here, entranced. Ye evening winds, 
 
 come near. 
 But whisper not ; and you, ye flowers, frefli 
 
 culled 
 From odorous nooks, where filvery rivulets run. 
 Breathe lilent incense ftill. 
 32 
 
The Song ^een. 
 
 33 
 
 Hail, matchless Queen ! 
 Thou, like the high white Alps, canft hear, 
 
 unspoiled, 
 The world's artillery (thundering praises) pass, 
 And keep serene and safe thy spotless fame ! 
 
ON A PORTRAIT OF CROMWELL. 
 
 ' "pAINT me as I am," said Cromwell, 
 ■*• Rough with age and gafhed with wars ; 
 
 ' Show my visage as you find it, — 
 Less than truth my soul abhors." 
 
 This was he whose muftering phalanx 
 Swept the foe at Marfton Moor ; 
 
 This was he whose arm uplifted 
 From the duft the fainting poor. 
 
 God had made his face uncomely, — 
 '' Paint me as I am," he said ; 
 
 So he lives upon the canvas 
 
 Whom they chronicled as dead ! 
 34 
 
On a Portrait of Cromwell. 35 
 
 Simple juftice he requefted 
 
 At the artift's glowing hands, 
 " Simple juftice ! " from his aflies 
 
 Cries a voice that ftill commands. 
 
 And, behold ! the page of Hiftory, 
 Centuries dark with Cromwell's name, 
 
 Shines to-day with thrilling luftre 
 From the light of Cromwell's fame ! 
 
THE ALPINE CROSS. 
 
 T> ENIGHTED once where Alpine ftorms 
 ■'-' Have buried hofts of martial forms, 
 Halting with fear, benumbed with cold, 
 While swift the avalanches rolled. 
 Shouted our guide, with quivering breath, 
 " The path is loft ! — to move is death ! " 
 
 The savage snow-cliffs seemed to frown, 
 The howling winds came fiercer down : 
 Shrouded in such a dismal scene, 
 No mortal aid whereon to lean. 
 Think you what mufic 'twas to hear, 
 " / see the Cross ! — our way is clear I " 
 
 We looked, and there, amid the snows, 
 A simple cross of wood uprose ; 
 36 
 
The Alpine Cross. 37 
 
 Firm in the tempest's awful wrath 
 It stood, to guide the traveller's path, 
 And point to where the valley lies, 
 Serene beneath the summer fkies. 
 
 One dear companion of that night 
 Has paffed away from mortal fight ; — 
 He reached his home to droop and fade, 
 And fleep within his native glade ; 
 But as his fluttering hand I took. 
 Before he gave his farewell look, 
 He whispered from his bed of pain, 
 " The Alpine Cross I see again ! " 
 Then, smiling, sank to endless reft 
 Upon his weeping mother's breaft ! 
 
A POOR MAN'S EPITAPH. 
 
 T TE was not what the world counts rich, 
 ■*■ ■*■ Houses and lands had none in ftore ; 
 But blefled with ftrength for honeft toil, 
 He neither afked nor ftrove for more. 
 
 His neighbors moved in higher ranks, 
 And far above him all could fliine ; 
 He lived with Health, and brave Content, 
 And water drank inftead of wine. 
 
 " Enough for me," he said, " if here 
 My table's spread when hunger calls. 
 To leave me something for a friend 
 Whose lot than mine ftill lower falls : 
 38 
 
A Poor Man's Epitaph. 39 
 
 " And if the rainy days {hould come, 
 And I've no filver hoarded by, 
 How can I want, if Him I truft 
 Who feeds the ravens when they cry ? 
 
 " Around my board a place I'll keep 
 For pallid lips that pine in woe, 
 And better gifts than I impart 
 Shall unseen angel hands bellow ! " 
 
 See where he fleeps who served mankind, — 
 Who wept and watched with weeping eyes ! 
 Walk round his grave with reverent fteps, 
 For there a more than hero lies. 
 
VESPERS. 
 Trinita de' Monti, Rome. 
 
 A RISE ! the sun-clouds warn us it is time. 
 -* ■*- The door swings open, let us enter here : 
 Up the fteep ileps with noiseless foot we 
 
 climb, 
 As if they led to some celeftial sphere. 
 
 Liften ! the nuns are gliding in unseen ; 
 And now begins the low, heart-melting ftrain. 
 Your tears are falling, — let them fall, — nor 
 
 screen 
 From me your eyes ; — I know that sad, sweet 
 
 pain. 
 
 40 
 
Vespers. 41 
 
 Again, again that penitential wail ! 
 
 Your clasped hands tremble ; — now the voices 
 
 die. 
 Let us go hence ; — ^your quivering lips turn 
 
 pale ; — 
 Huflied is the hymn so like an angel's figh. 
 
 The day is fled ; — these walls are not our home ; 
 Forth in the breeze of evening let us ftand. 
 Come ! lean on me as we descend to Rome, 
 From what has seemed the angels' spirit-land ! 
 
OUR FIRESIDE EVENING HYMN. 
 
 TTITHER, bright angels, wing your flight, 
 •*■ ■*■ And ftay your gentle presence here ; 
 Watch round, and fhield us through the night, 
 That every fhade may disappear. 
 
 How sweet, when Nature claims repose. 
 And darkness floats in filence nigh. 
 To welcome in, at daylight's close,- 
 Those radiant troops that gem the fky ! 
 
 To feel that unseen hands we clasp. 
 While feet unheard are gathering round,- 
 To know that we in faith may grasp 
 Celeftial guards from heavenly ground ! 
 
 42 
 
Our Fireside Evening Hymn. 43 
 
 O, ever thus, with filent prayer 
 For those we love, may night begin, — 
 Repofing Safe, released from care. 
 Till morning leads the sunlight in. 
 
RELICS. 
 
 TT'OU afk me why with such a jealous care 
 ■*• I hoard these rings, this chain of filken 
 hair, 
 This cross of pearl, this fimple key of gold, 
 And all these trifles which my hands enfold. 
 I'll tell you, friend, why all these things become 
 My bleft companions when remote from home ; 
 Why, when I fleep, these firft secured I see, 
 With wakeful eye and guarded conftancy. 
 Each little token, each familiar toy. 
 My mother gave her once too happy boy ; 
 Her kiss went with them ; — chide me, then, no 
 
 more, 
 That thus I count my treasures o'er and o'er ; — 
 Alas ! fhe fleeps beneath the duft of years. 
 And these few flowers I water with my tears ! 
 44 
 
THE FLIGHT OF ANGELS. 
 
 <" I "^WO pilgrims to the Holy Land 
 
 -■■ Pafled through our open door, — 
 Two fmless Angels, hand in hand, 
 Have reached the promised fliore. 
 
 We saw them take their heavenward flight, 
 Through floods of drowning tears, 
 
 And felt in woe's bewildering night 
 The agony of years. 
 
 But now we watch the golden path 
 
 Their blefl'ed feet have trod. 
 And know that voice was not in wrath 
 
 Which called them both to God, 
 
 45 
 
SACO FALLS. 
 
 "O USH on, bold ftream ! thou sendeft up 
 ■*■ *■ Brave notes to all the woods around, 
 When morning beams are gathering faft, 
 
 And huflied is every human sound ; 
 I ftand beneath the sombre hill, 
 The ftars are dim o'er fount and rill. 
 And ftill I hear thy wraters play, 
 In welcome mufic, far away. 
 Dafli on, bold ftream ! I love the roar 
 Thou sendeft up from rock and fliore. 
 
 'Tis night in heaven, — the ruftling leaves 
 Are whispering of the coming ftorm. 
 
 And thundering down the river's bed 
 I see thy lengthened, darkling form ; 
 46 
 
Saco Falls. 47 
 
 No voices from the vales are heard, 
 The winds are low, — each little bird 
 Hath sought its quiet, rocking neft, 
 Folded its wing, and gone to reft, — 
 And ftill I hear thy waters play, 
 In welcome mufic, far away. 
 
 The earth hath many a gallant fliow 
 
 Of towering peak and glacier bright, 
 But ne'er beneath the glorious moon 
 
 Hath Nature framed a lovelier fight 
 Than thy fair tide, with diamonds fraught, 
 When every drop with light is caught, 
 And o'er the bridge the village girls 
 RefleiS below their waving curls, 
 While merrily thy waters play. 
 In welcome mufic, far away ! 
 
THE DEAD. 
 
 " Still the same, no charm forgot, — 
 Nothing lost that Time had gi'ven." 
 
 T70RGET not the Dead, who have loved, 
 
 -*- who have left us, 
 
 Who bend o'er us now, from their bright homes 
 
 above ; 
 But believe — never doubt — that the God who 
 
 bereft us 
 Permits them to mingle with friends they ftill 
 
 love. 
 
 Repeat their fond words, all their noble deeds 
 
 cherifli. 
 Speak pleasantly of them who left us in tears ; — 
 Other joys may be loft, but their names fliould 
 
 not perifli 
 While time bears our feet through the valley of 
 
 years. 
 
 48 
 
The Dead. 49 
 
 Dear friends of our youth! can we cease to 
 
 remember 
 The laft look of life, and the low-whispered 
 
 prayer ? 
 O, cold be our hearts as the ice of December 
 When Love's tablets record no remembrances 
 
 there. 
 
 Then forget not the Dead, who are evermore 
 
 nigh us, 
 Still floating sometimes to our dream-haunted 
 
 bed ; — 
 In the lonelieft hour, in the crowd, they are by 
 
 us ; 
 Forget not the Dead ! O, forget not the Dead ! 
 
A SILENT SERMON. 
 
 ONCE as I wandered, juft at close of day, 
 Through the mute aisles of Rome's cathe- 
 dral gray. 
 No other footftep broke the ftillness there, 
 Nor whispered vows, nor solemn-breathing 
 
 prayer. 
 Alone, half trembling at the twilight gloom 
 Which ftirouds the temple, as it flirouds the 
 
 tomb, 
 I flood, unwarned, before an infant's bier, — 
 No mourners nigh, no mother's frantic tear. 
 A little child, unfhrined by prieft or hymn. 
 Lay in the proud cathedral vaft and dim : 
 Its pallid hands, cross-folded on its breaft. 
 Seemed like an infant's left' in flcep to reft ; 
 Unwept, untended, there in death it lay, 
 A lilent sermon wrapped in lifeless clay. 
 5° 
 
A Silent Sermon. 51 
 
 What living voice could speak with so much 
 
 power, 
 As those dead lips in that ftill evening hour ? 
 Priefts, censers, anthems, there no feeling flied. 
 When face to face the living meets the dead ! 
 
THE FOUNTAIN— BOSTON COMMON. 
 
 "\7'ON fountain Nymph, now sparkling 
 
 ■'■ through the trees, 
 In earlier seasons wooed the mountain breeze. 
 There, 'mid the torrent, nursed in thunders loud 
 From the dark bosom of the ftormy cloud. 
 Or gentlier fed, when Summer's fliowery train 
 In drops of mufic poured the welcome rain. 
 Her lot was caft, content to glide along. 
 Lulled by the ripple of her own sweet song. 
 The Indian maids, her playmates, pafled away. 
 And ftill fhe waited for a brighter day. 
 Till, all matured, fhe rose at Duty's call. 
 And ftepped a Naiad in her charmed hall, — 
 Sprang, crowned with grace, the monarch Elm 
 
 befide. 
 And flood in radiant light, his young enchanted 
 
 bride. 
 
 52 
 
SUMMER EVENING MELODY. 
 
 /'^ O forth ! the fky is blue above, 
 ^^And cool the green sod lies below ; 
 It is the hour that claims for love 
 The halcyon moments as they flow. 
 
 The glowworm lends her twinkling lamp, 
 The cricket lings his soothing ftrain. 
 And fainter sounds the weary tramp 
 Of footfteps in the grafly lane. 
 
 Go forth, ye pallid sons of care ! 
 Too long your thoughts to earth are given ; 
 To-night sweet music haunts the air, 
 And fragrant odors breathe of heaven ! 
 
 S3 
 
IW^^ 
 
 SLEIGHING SONG. 
 
 /^ SWIFT we go, o'er the fleecy snow, 
 ^^ ' When tfioonbeams sparkle round ; 
 When hoofs keep time to mufic's chime, 
 As merrily on we bound. 
 
 On a winter's night, when hearts are light, 
 
 And health is on the wind. 
 We loose the rein and sweep the plain, 
 
 And leave our cares behind. 
 
 With a laugh and song, we glide along. 
 
 Across the fleeting snow ; 
 With friends beside, how swift we ride 
 
 On the beautiful track below ! 
 54 
 
Sleighing Song. 
 
 55 
 
 O, the raging sea has joy for me, 
 When gale and tempefts roar : 
 
 But give me the speed of a foaming fteed. 
 And I'll alk for the waves no more. 
 
VILLAGER'S WINTER-EVENING SONG. 
 
 "VJOT a leaf on the tree, not a bud in the 
 
 ■^ ^ hollow, 
 
 Where late swung the bluebell, and bloflbmed 
 
 the rose ; 
 And huflied is the cry of the swift-darting 
 
 swallow, 
 That circled the lake in the twilight's dim close. 
 
 Gone, gone are the woodbine and sweet-scented 
 
 • brier, 
 That bloomed o'er the hillock and gladdened 
 
 the vale, 
 And the vine, that uplifted its green-pointed 
 
 spire. 
 Hangs drooping and sear on the froft-covered 
 pale. 
 
 56 
 
Villager's T'Vinter-Evening Song. 57 
 
 And hark to the gufli of the deep-welling foun- 
 tain, 
 
 That .prattled and flione in the light of the 
 moon ; 
 
 Soon, soon fliall its rufliing be ftill on the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 And locked up in filence its frolicsome tune. 
 
 Then heap up the hearth-ftone with dry foreft- 
 
 branches, 
 And gather about me, my children, in glee ; 
 For cold on the upland the ftormy wind launches, 
 And dear is the home of my loved ones to me. 
 
CHILDREN IN EXILE. 
 
 Two Indian boys were carried to London not long ago 
 for exhibition, and both died soon after their arrival. It 
 is related that one of them, during his last moments, 
 talked inceflantly of the scenes and sports of his diftant 
 home, and that both wished earneftly to be taken back to 
 their native wpods. 
 
 FAR in the dark old foreft glades, 
 Where kalmias bloom around, 
 They had their place of youthful sport. 
 
 Their childhood's hunting-ground ; 
 And swinging lightly in the vines 
 
 That o'er the wigwam hung, 
 The golden robins, building near. 
 Above their dwelling sung. 
 
 Each morn their little dufky feet 
 Sprang down the sparkling lea, 
 . To plunge beneath the glowing ftream 
 Befide the cheftnut-tree ; 
 58 
 
Children in Exile. 59 
 
 And when the hiding squirrel's neft 
 
 They sought, far up the hills, 
 They bathed their reeking foreheads cool 
 
 Among the mountain rills. 
 
 They saw the early filver moon 
 
 Peep through her wavy bower, 
 And in her beams they chased the bat 
 
 Around his leafy tower ; 
 And, when the ftars all filently 
 
 Went out o'er hill and plain. 
 They liftened low to merry chimes 
 
 Of summer-evening rain. - 
 
 These haunts they miffed, — the city air 
 
 No healthful mufic brings, — 
 They longed to run through woodland dells, 
 
 Where Nature ever fings ; 
 And, drooping, 'mid the noise and glare. 
 
 They pined for brook and glen. 
 And, dying, ftill looked fondly back. 
 
 And afked for Home again. 
 
COMMON SENSE. 
 
 QHE came among the gathering crowd, 
 '^A maiden fair, without pretence, 
 And when they afked her humble name. 
 She whispered mildly, " Common Sense." 
 
 Her modeft garb drew every eye, 
 Her ample cloak, her flioes of leather ; 
 And when they sneered, flie fimply said, 
 " I dress according to the weather." 
 
 They argued long, and reasoned loud. 
 In dubious Hindoo phrase myfterious, 
 While fhe, poor child, could not divine 
 Why girls so young fliould be so serious. 
 60 
 
Common Sense. 6l 
 
 They knew the length of Plato's beard, 
 And how the scholars wrote in Saturn ; 
 She ftudied authors not so deep, 
 And took the Bible for her pattern. 
 
 And so {he said, " Excuse me, friends, 
 I find all have their proper places. 
 And Common Sense fhould ftay at home 
 With cheerful hearts and smiling faces." 
 
TO A FRIEND. 
 
 f~^ O, with a manly heart, 
 
 ^^ Where courage leads the brave ; ' 
 
 High thoughts, not years, have ftamped their 
 
 part,- 
 Who fhunned the coward's grave. 
 
 Clear, to the eye of youth. 
 Their record Hands enrolled, 
 Who held aloft the flag of Truth, 
 Nor flept beneath its fold. 
 
 They heard the trumpet sound 
 Where hofts to battle trod. 
 And marched along that burning ground ; 
 Fear not ! they reft with God. 
 
 62 
 
To a Friend. 63 
 
 Like them, advance in love, 
 
 And upward bend thy fight; 
 
 Win Faith through Prayer ; He rules above 
 
 Who ftill protects the right. 
 
DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 T TNDERNEATH the sod, low lying, 
 ^^ Dark and drear, 
 Sleepeth one who left, in dying. 
 Sorrow here. 
 
 Yes, they're ever bending o'er her, 
 
 Eyes that weep : 
 Forms, that to the cold grave bore her, 
 
 Vigils keep. 
 
 When the summer moon is fhining 
 
 Soft and fair. 
 Friends fhe loved in tears are twining 
 
 Chaplets there. 
 
 Reft in peace, thou gentle spirit, 
 
 Throned above ; 
 Souls like thine with God inherit 
 
 Life and love ! 
 64 
 
EVENTIDE IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 ' I "'HIS cottage door, this gentle gale, 
 " ■*■ Hay-scented, whispering round, 
 Yon path-fide rose, that down the vale 
 Breathes incense from the ground, 
 
 Methinks Ihould from the dulleft clod 
 Invite a thankful heart to God. 
 
 But, Lord, the violet, bending low. 
 
 Seems better moved to praise ; 
 
 From us, what scanty bleffings flow, 
 
 How voiceless close our days ! — 
 
 Father, forgive us, and the flowers 
 Shall lead in prayer the vesper hours. 
 65 
 
A BRIDAL MELODY. 
 
 QHE flood, like an angel juft wandered 
 
 *^ from heaven, 
 
 A pilgrim benighted away from the fkies, 
 
 And little we deemed that to mortals were 
 
 given 
 Such vifions of beauty as came from her eyes. 
 
 She looked up and smiled on the many glad 
 
 faces, 
 The friends of her childhood, who flood by her 
 
 fide j 
 But flie flione o'er them all, like a queen of the 
 
 Graces, 
 When, blufliing, fhe whispered the vow of a 
 
 bride. 
 
 66 
 
A Bridal Melody. 67 
 
 We sang an old song, as with garlands we 
 crowned her. 
 
 And each left a kiss on her delicate brow ; 
 
 And we prayed that a bleffing might ever sur- 
 round her, 
 
 And the future of life be unclouded as now. 
 
A VALENTINE. 
 
 QHE that is fair, though never vain or proud, 
 '^More fond of home than fafliion's changing 
 
 crowd ; 
 Whose tafte refined even female friends admire, 
 Drefled not for fliow, but robed in neat attire ; 
 She who has learned, with mild, forgiving breaft. 
 To pardon frailties, hidden or confeft ; 
 True to herself, yet willing to submit. 
 More swayed by love than ruled by worldly wit ; 
 Though young, discreet, — though ready, ne'er 
 
 unkind, 
 Blefled with no pedant's, but a Woman's mind ; 
 She wins our hearts, towards her our thoughts 
 
 incline. 
 So at her door go leave my Valentine. 
 68 
 
SONG 
 
 OVER THE CRADLE OF TWO INFANT SISTERS, 
 SLEEPING. 
 
 QWEET be their reft ! no ghaftly things, 
 *^ To scare their dreams, aflemble here ; 
 But safe beneath good angels' wings 
 May each repose from year to year. 
 
 Cheerful, like some long summer-day, 
 May all their waking moments flow, 
 
 Happier, as run life's sands away, 
 Unftained by fin, untouched by woe. 
 
 As now they fleep, serene and pure. 
 Their little arms entwined in love, 
 
 So may they live, obey, endure. 
 
 And fliine with yon bright hoft above. 
 69 
 
BURIAL OF A GERMAN EMIGRANT'S 
 CHILD AT SEA. 
 
 "VTO flowers to lay upon his little breaft, 
 "^ ^ No pafling-bell to call his spirit home, 
 But gliding gently to his place of reft, 
 Parting, 'mid tears, at eve, the ocean foam. 
 
 No turf was round him, — but the lifting surge 
 Entombed those lids that closed so calm and 
 
 flow. 
 While solemn winds, like a cathedral dirge. 
 Sighed o'er his form a requiem sad and low. 
 
 Ah, who ftiall tell the maddening grief of love. 
 That swept her heart-ftrings in that hour of 
 
 woe ? — 
 Weep, childless mother, but O look above 
 For ajd that only Heaven can now beftow. 
 70 
 
Burial of an Emigrant's Child at Sea. 7 1 
 
 Gaze, blue-eyed mourner, on that filken hair ; — 
 Weep, but remember that thy God will ftand 
 Befide thee here, in all this wild despair, 
 As on the green mounds of thy Fatherland. 
 
M. W. B. 
 
 '"T^HEY tell me thou art laid to reft, 
 -^ Companion of my happieft years ! 
 That thou haft joined the loved and bleft, 
 
 Whose early graves are wet with tears ; 
 That I fhall never hear again 
 
 The voice that charmed my boyhood's ear, 
 Nor meet among the haunts of men 
 
 Thy honeft grasp of love fmcere. 
 
 Friend of my youth !, my buried friend ! 
 
 Thy ftep was gayeft in the ring ; — 
 My thoughts far back through childhood wend. 
 
 And can I now thy requiem fing ? 
 Alas ! I feel 'tis all in vain, — 
 
 Before such grief my spirits bow ; — 
 Farewell ! I cannot trace the pain 
 
 That weighs upon my heart-ftrings now. 
 72 
 
ON A VILLAGE CHURCH IN ENGLAND. 
 
 THE air is sweet with violets, and the 
 Weft 
 Robes in its evening splendor earth and iky. 
 Whoe'er thou art, here find repose. This spot, 
 In ruftic beauty clad, woos thee to reft. 
 The tongue of Time calls from the gray old 
 
 tower. 
 And every leaf is whispering Calm and Peace. 
 Dear, welcome flirine! haunt of the good, 
 farewell ! 
 Oft in my diftant home, at twilight hour. 
 Alone and ftill, fhall I recall this scene j — 
 The ivied porch, the fteeple touched with light. 
 The hedgerows green, oaks that the centuries 
 
 crown. 
 The kindly voices Friendfliip newly gave. 
 The chime of waters musical and low. 
 And songs of birds careering up to heaven. 
 73 
 
TO ONE BENEATH THE WAVES. 
 
 /'^OME back from Memory's mourning 
 ^^ urn, 
 
 And bless my fight again ; 
 For now in reftless dreams I turn 
 
 To clasp thy hand, — in vain! 
 I bid thy gentle spirit come 
 
 And look once more on me ; 
 But thou art fl umbering where the foam 
 
 KoUs madly o'er the sea. 
 
 Alas ! how soon our better years 
 
 To tempeft-winds are blown. 
 And all our hopes, and joys, and fears 
 
 Alike are widely ftrown ! 
 She refts in yonder village moupd. 
 
 Who fhould have been thy bride, 
 And thou art laid beneath the sound 
 
 Of ocean's flowing tide. 
 74 
 
A CHARACTER. 
 
 O HAPPIEST he, whose riper years re- 
 tain 
 The hopes of youth, unsullied by a ftain ! 
 His eve of life in calm content fhall glide, 
 Like the ftill ftreamlet to the ocean tide : 
 No gloomy cloudhangs o'er his tranquil day ; 
 No meteor lures him from his home aftray ; 
 For him there glows with glittering beam on 
 
 high 
 Love's changeless ftar that leads him to the fky ; 
 Still to the paft he sometimes turns to trace 
 The mild expreflion of a mother's face. 
 And dreams, perchance, as oft in earlier years. 
 The low, sweet mtlfic of her voice he hears. 
 75 
 
IN THE FOREST. 
 
 'np'H ROUGH the proud aisles of old cathe- 
 
 -*- dral woods 
 What echoing voices break the solitudes ! 
 At matin-hour go hear, on green hill-fide, 
 Bells of bird-mufic ringing far and wide, 
 While mountain ftreams that "burfi: their prison 
 
 crags 
 Run down the rocks and wave their snow-white 
 
 flags. 
 
 76 
 
IN VENICE. 
 
 OJER the waves gliding fings our gondo- 
 lier,— 
 Moonrise, high midnight, and the voice of song! 
 Never again, never again, O Queen 
 Of waters, may my feet the wide sea cross 
 
 That laves thy marble fliores Take my 
 
 farewell. 
 To-morrow's sun muft light the pilgrim onward, 
 For his home is in the Weft, that far-off land 
 Thy youth had never known. 
 
 What fings he now 
 Who guides this phantom bark to meet the 
 
 moon ? 
 'Tis a brave chant of Bucentaur and Love, 
 Older than Taffo, or the Genoese 
 Who left his birthplace for the new-found isles. 
 77 
 
78 In Fenice. 
 
 The maids of Venice sang it to their lutes, 
 When Doges liftened in Ausonia's prime ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Turn the prow homeward, for the daylight 
 
 hour 
 Stands waiting in the Eaft. The night is ended. 
 And the song has died away forever. 
 
RIVERSIDE press: 
 
 PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, 
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
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