Class l-^KilQ-: Book. j1:L^ GoipghtiN" COPYRIGHT DEPOSre \'^ / M TH K 1 81I0BR 'iliRBpsaRY OF * POETRY AND PROSE CHOICK SELECTIONS FROM THE WORKS OF LEADING BRITISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, FOR A PERIOD' OF FIVE HUNDRED -iTEARS : COVERING THE ENTIRE FIELD OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, >^ AND I'UESENTING A RICH AND VARIED COLLECTION LITERARY GEMS OF THE LANGUAGE. "W^ITIi OVER, IT'OXJIi HXTNIDKEr) A F" F R O P Pt I A. T K t*: N G- li A.^^ I M Clr S . EDITED BY FRANCIS F. IbROWNE. WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. NEW YORK AND ST. LOUIS. N. D. THOrvIRSON & CO., PUBLISH 18 8 3. T-"^ \\0^ :^n Eiitored aceoidius: to Act of Congress in the year 1883. I)y N. D. THOMPSON & CO.. Ill rlio offlce of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. D. C. EDITOR'S PREFACE. '5)^s THIS book is chiefly popular in its scope. The Jiim of its compiler has been to bring together the largest possible number of familiar and favorite pieces in both prose and verso grouped in approi)riate departments according to the character of matter, rather than the less difficult and oftener performed task of ranging the standard English authors in stereotyped chronological succession in its pages. No little embarrassment has been found in the superabundance of material. To include everything that might be thought desirable in such a work has been quite impossible, and many things have been unavoidably excluded by their length alone. Also, the very large number of illustrations embraced- in the plan of the work rendered it necessary that a prominent consideration in the choice of matter should be fitness for illustration. Hence, a })ro- })ortionate or well balanced re{)rescntation of authors according to relative importance and rank has not been attempted or desired. Yet a reference to the List of Authors is only needed to show how -comprehensive is the range of the work, and how well it is calculated to add to its prime object, of affording popular entertainment, a further and important service to the student of English literature. The present plan of classification, according to the subjects of the various pieces, is one attended with considerable difficulty, and can never be absolutely perfect, as some pieces seem equally fitted for either of several departments. A certain harmony of contents has, however, been maintained, and the arrangement is no doubt one which adds materially to the effect of the book and to the reader's enjoyment of it. Many pieces in this collection, as in all collections, are extracts from longer works. The original sources from which such extracts are taken may easily be found by refer- ring to the titles under the List of Authors. Much care has been taken to o;ivc the poems correctly — a matter not always easy, since many well-known pieces exist in differing yet apparently authentic versions, material changes often being made by authors themselves in successive editions of their works. The hearty thanks of the publishers of this work are due to many American authors and their publishers, for the use of copyrighted matter. F. F. B. 'yts^^)\s^ cid wittiest men that coittd be picA'ed out o/' all ciril countries, in a thousand years, hare set in best order t/ie results of their learning and wisdom. 'The men themselves were hid and inaccessible, solitary, i/n- patie7it of inte7'?'/(ptions, feticed by etiquette: but the thouf/ht which the)' did not t/f/corer to their bosom friend, is here written out in t )-anspa rejif words to us, the strangers of another age. — Emerson. 'i3 H (yw-y^y^ iZ .HrSty^%^ CONTENTS. INTKOUCCTION PAGB Richard Henry Stoddard xxiii PART I.— HOME AND FIRESIDE. PAGE The Cotter's Saturday Night . . Bohert Burns 33 Make Home-Ufe Beautiful . B. G. Northrup 39 By the Fireside .... Henri/ W. Longfellow 40 Cradle Soug Josiah Gilbert Holland 40 Duty and Influence of Mothers . Daniel Webster 41 The Children's Hour . . Henry W. Longfellow 42 Home Anonymous 42 Songs of Seven ....... Jean Ligelow 43 The Farmer's Home .... W. H. Youmans 47 A Winter's Fireside Anonymous 47 A Cheerful Home Anonyimms 48 Willie Winkle William Miller 48 Growing Aged Together . . . Bohert Collyer 49 Like a Laverock in the Lift . . Jean Ingeloio 54 The Old Oaken Bucket . . Samuel Woodworth 55 The Wife ....... Washington L-ving 5G The Ingle-Side Hew Ainslie 58 Only a Baby Small Matthias Barr 58 Graves of a Household . . Felicia D. Hemans 59 Home Courtesy Anonymous 60 Are the Children at Home ? . M. E. M. Sangster 60 Conversation Anonymous 61 If I could Keep Her So . . Louise C. Moulton 62 No Baby in the House . . . Clara G. Dolliver 62 Mothers of Distinguished Men . Anonymotts 64 Not One to Spare Ethel Lynn Beers 66 Mothers and Sons Anonymous 67 Childhood Home B . P. Shillaber ( Mr.^ . Partington) 68 Rain on the Roof Coates Kinney 68 Home Shadows Robert Collyer 69 Bairnies, Cuddle Doon . . Alexander Anderson 70 Old Folks at Home . . Stephen Collins Foster 70 Home, Sweet Home . . . John Howard Pa;ine 70 A Courteous Mother . Hi len Hunt Jackson (H. H.) 71 PAGE My Old Kentucky Home . Stephen Collins Foster 73 Be Kind • . . . . Anonymous 73 Mothers, Spare Yourselves . . . Anonymous 73 In a Strange Land . . . James Thomas Fields 74 The Patter of Little Feet .... Anonymous 74 My Mother's Bible . . . Bishop Gilbert Haven 75 A Home Picture .... Frances Dana Gage 76 A Story for a Child Bayard Taylor 76 Choosing a Name Mary Lamb 77 Baby George Macdonald 77 True Hospitality Arthur Helps 77 The Rule of Hospitality . . W. M. F. Bound 78 The Sailor's Wife Jean Adam 79 Catching Shadows E. Hannaford 80 The Light of a Cheerful Face . . Anonymous 80 Tired Mothers May Biley Smith 81 Home Instruction Schuyler Colfax 82 Home Adornments Anonymous 82 The Farmer Sat in His Easy Chair C. G. Eastman 83 Tribute to a Mother Thomas Babington Macaulay 83 The Little Children . . Henry W. Longfellow 83 •Joys of Home Sir John Bowring 84 Words to Boj\s .... James Thomas Fields 85 A Winter Evening at Home . William Cowper 85 John Anderson, My Jo .... Bohert Burns 86 Christmas Stockings . . Benjamin F. Taylor 86 A Cradle Hymn Isaac Watts 87 Good Breeding . . Philip, Earl of Chesterfield 87 The Children's Bed-Time . Jane Ellis Hopkins 88 Children Walter Savage Landor 88 The INIahogany Tree . . William M. Thackeray 89 Tell Your Wife Anonymous 89 The Family Meeting .... Charles Sprague 90 (iii) IV CONTENTS. Paet ii.-lote axd feiexdship. PAGE On the Doorstep . . Edmund Clarence Stedman 93 The Departure Alfred Tennyson 94 First Love Lord Byron 94 No Time like the Old Time . . . Anonymous 95 Mary Morison Bohert Burns 95 lu Our Boat . . . Dinah Maria Mulock Craik 96 Come Rest in This Bosom . . . Thomas Jli/ore 96 My Wife's a Winsome AYee Thing . Bohert Burns 96 Kissing Hei' Huij- . Algernon Charles Sicinburne 96 Early Love Samuel Daniel 98 Jlierry-Eipe Bichard Alison 98 How Do I Love Thee Elizabeth Barrett Browning 98 Winnifreda Anonymous 99 Her Likeness . . . Dinah Maria Mulock Craik 99 Ae Fond Kiss before 'We Part . . Bohert Burns 99 Love Balph Waldo Emerson 100 Love's Pliilosophy . . Percy Bysshe Shelley 304 Good Bye Thomas Moore 104 How Many Times . . Thomas Lovell Beddoes 105 Absence Bohert Burns 105 Coming through the Rye . . . Bobert Burns 105 Comin' through the Rye . Adapted from Burns 105 Hark! Hark! the Lark . . Wm. Shakespeare 105 Fairest of the Rm-al Maids Wm. Cullen Bryant 106 Rock Me to Sleep Eliz.A. Allen (Florence Percy) 106 Pack Clouds Away .... Thomas Jleyu-ood 107 Linger not Long Anonymous 107 Song • • • Oerald Griffin lOS Love's Young Dream .... Thomas Moore 108 Love is Enough Ella Wieeler 108 If Thou Wert by My Side . . Beginald Heber 109 Pain of Love Henry Constable 109 Bonnie Mary Bobert Burns 110 Sweet Hand Anonymous 110 Anuie Laurie Douglas of Fingland 111 True Love Harriet Martineau 111 1 Ai'ise from Dream? of Thee . Percy B. Shelley 112 My Luve's like a Red. Red Rose . Bobert Burns 112 Separation Alfred Tennyson 112 Three Kisses . . Elizabeth Barrett Broicning 113 To an Absent Wife . . . George, D. Prentice 113 The Flower o" Dumblane , . Bobert Tannahill 113 Come into the Garden. Maud . Alfred Tennyson 114 To Althea. from Prison . . Bichard Lovelace 114 A Woman's Question . Adelaide Anne Proctor 116 Doris Arthur J. Munby 116 Sad are Tliey Who Know not Love T. B. Aldrich 117 O Swallow. Flying South . . Alfred Tenmjson 117 She was a Phantom of Delight Wm. Wordsivorth 117 Margai-et Walter Savage Landor 117 The Milking Maid . Christina Georgina Bossetti 118 Under the Blue Francis F. Browne 119 Kiss Me Softly Tohn Godfrey Saxe 119 Pearls Bichard Henry Stoddard 120 A Bird at Sunset . . . Bohert Buhcer Lytton 120 Serenade Oscar Wilde 120 The Purification of Love . . . David Swing 1 21 A Song of Krishna Edwin Arnold Bird of Passage Edgar Fawcett I Fear Thy Kisses . . . Percy Bysshe Shelley When the Kye Comes Ilame . . James Hogg The Patriot's Bride . Sir Charles Gavan Duffy Janette's Hair . . . Charles Graham Halpine AYooing John B. L. Soule Sweet and Low Alfred Tennyson The Jirookiide B.MoncktonMilnes(Lrjrd Houghton) The Old Story Elizabeth A.Allen (Florence Percy) Evening Song Sidney Lanier A Parting Michael Drayton A Mother's Love Samuel Bogers I do Confess Thou'rt Sweet . Sir Bobert Ayton The Passionate Shepherd . Christopher 3Inrlowe The Xymph's Reply . . . Sir Walter Baleigh Love is a Sickness Samuel Daniel Freedom in Dress Ben Jonson Phillis the Fair Yicholas Breton You and I W. H. Burleigh O, Saw Ye the Lass Bichard Byan We Parted in Silence .... Julia Crawford Come to Me. Dearest .... Joseph Brennan Absence William Shakespeare "Why so Pale and Wan . . Sir John Suckling Don't be Sorrowful. Dai'ling . Bembrandt Peale Julia Bobert Herrick The Bloom was on the Alder . . . Don Piatt The Gowau Glitters on the Sward Joanna Baillie She Walks in Beauty Lord Byron Aux Italiens Bohert Bulwer Lytton The Welcome Thomas Davis A Pastoral John Byrom Love at First Sight Jean Ligelow A Spinning-Wheel Song . John Francis Waller We Twain Amanda T. Jones My True-Love hath My Heart . Philip Sydney Go. Prettj' Birds Thomas Heywood The Poet's Bridal-Day Song Allan Cunningham AVife. Children, and Friends . W. B. Spencer The Shepherd's T^ove Ben Jonson To a Child Embracing His Mother Thos. Hood True Love William Shakespeare O. saw Ye Bonnie Lesley '? . . . Bobert Biirns Song John Gay A Girdle Edmund Waller Philip My King . . Dinah Maria Mulock Craik Afton Water Bohert Burns Green Grow the Rashes O! . . Bohert Burns A Celebration of Charis .... Ben Jonson I Love Aly Jean Bohert Burns The Lily-Pond . . . George Parsons Lathrop Cupid and Campaspe Fohn Lyly The Day Returns. My Bosom Burns . B. Bums Friendship Balph Waldo Emerson 0. Lay Thy Hand in Mine. Dear . Gerald Massey 122 CONTENTS. paet III.— glimpses of nature. PAGE A Forest Hyiun . . . William CuUen Bryant 151 The Nightingale S. H. Peabody 153 Nature Jones Very 154 The Nightingale . . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 154 Hynm on the Seasous . . . James Thomson 155 Nio-ht Lord Byron 158 The Cloud Percy Bysslie Shelley 159 Morning Edward Everett 160 'Y\\& Sea Lord Byron IGl The Nymph's Description of Her Fawn A. Marvel 162 The Bobolink Washington L'ving 163 The Eaiubow William Wordsworth 164 The Shepherd John Dyer 165 The World is Too Much with Us W. Wordsworth 166 Breathings of Spring . Felicia Dorothea Hemans 166 Varyinglmpressions from Nature Tr. Wordsioorth 167 Evening William Wordsioorth 168 Hymn before Sunrise . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 169 To the Daisy William Wordsioorth 170 Dawn Bichard Watson Gilder 171 The Barn Owl Samuel Butler 171 Before the Eain . . . Thomas Bailey Aldrich 173 After the Rain . . . Thomas Bailey Aldrich 173 Night Edward Young 173 Summer .... John Townsend Troiobridge 174 Day Breaking John Marston 175 To the Nightingale .... Bichard Barnfield 177 The Mount of the Holy Cross . . Anonymous 177 The Heath-Cock Joanna Baitlie 178 A June Day Hoioitt ]79 The Sky-Lark James Hogg 180 To the Turtle-Dove D. Conway 180 The Rainbow James Thomson 181 The Spring is Here . Nathaniel Parker Willis 182 The First Violet .... Marie B. Williams 182 To a Water-Fowl . . . William Cullen Bryant 184 Violets Bobert Herrick 184 The Wind-Flower Jones Very 185 Christmas in the Woods . . . Harrison Weir 185 The Eagle Anna Letitia Barbauld 186 A Ram Reflected in the Water . W. Wordsworth 187 The Squirrel-Hunt .... William Browne 188 Summer Woods John Clare 189 On a Goldfinch William Cotvj^er 190 Changes in Nature Anonymous 190 Morning Song Toanna Baillie 191 The Squirrel Willietm Cowper 191 The Ivy Green Charles Dickens 192 The 'J'hrush"s Nest John Clare 192 The Dying Stag Giles Fletcher 193 Night Edward Everett 193 To Seneca Lake .... James Gates Percival 194 A Woodnote Howitt 195 Lambs at Play Bobert Bloomfleld 196 The Hare Wi'liam Somerrille 197 To a Skylark Percy Bysshe Shelley 197 PAGE To a Wild Deer John Wilson ( Christopher North) 199 The Heath Charlotte Smith 200 The Swallow Charlotte Smith 201 The Sierras Joaquin Miller 202 Snow-Flakes . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 202 The Dog and the Water-Lily . William Cowper 203 Planting the Apple-Tree William Cullen Bryant 204 The Daisy James Montgomery 205 The Robin Harrison Weir 207 Spring and Winter . . . William Shakespeare 209 March ...... William Cullen Bryant 209 Autumn 3Iiss Cooper 210 The Four-Leaved Shamrock . . Samuel Lover 212 To a Young Ass . . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 213 The First Day of Spring . . William G. Simms 214 Day is Dying . Mrs. Lewes Cross (George Eliot) 215 Song of the Brook .... Alfred Tennyson 215 Hail, Holy Light John Milton 216 Spring Thomas Gray 217 A Winter Morning .... William Cowper 218 Wintry Weather David Gray 219 May-Day . . . John Wolcott (Peter Pindar) 220 The Early Piimrose . . . Henry Kirke White 220 Loves of the Plants .... Erasmus Darwin 221 The Angler Anonymous 221 To a Nightingale .... William Drummond 221 The Tiger William Blake 222 The Eagle ....... Alfred Tennyson 223 A Summer Morn James Beattie 224 Sunset at Norhani Castle . . Sir Walter Scott 225 To the Dandelion . . . James Russell Lowell 226 Hymn to the Flowers .... Horace Smith 226 Solace in Nature . . . William Wordsworth 227 June James Russell Lowell 228 To a Mountain Daisy . . . . Bobert Burns 229' The Wonders of Astronomy . Edward Everett 230 The Angler's Wish Izaak Walton 232 The Broom Mary Howitt 233 Ode to Leven Water . Tobias George Smollet 233 The Birds John Lyly 234 A Spring Daj^ Robert Bloomfleld 235 The Little Beach-Bird . Richard Henry Dana 235 The Aged Oak at Oakley . . . Henry Alford 236 The Pheasant Anonymous 237 The Thrush f^:"^." . Anonymous 237 Snow Ralph Hoyt 237 The O'Lincoln Family .... Wilson Flagg 238 Solitude of the Sea Lord Byron 238 Summer Drought J. P. Irvine 239 The Rhine Lord Byron 240 To a Mountain Oak . . . George Henry Boker 241 Forest Pictures .... Paul Hamilton Hayne 242 Flowers John 3Iilton 243 Under the Leaves Albert Laighton 245 Winter William Cowper 245 The Flower's Name .... Robert Browning 246 VI CONTENTS. PAGE Spring iu Carolina Henry Timrocl 24G The Lark William Shakespeare 247 Grizzly Bret Harte 247 The Violet William Wetmore Story 248 Calm and Storm on Lake Leman . Lord Byron 248 Freedom of Nature .... James Thomsuii 248 Three Summer Studies . . James Barron Hope 249 Imaginative Sympathy with Nature Lord Byron 251 September George Arnold 252 Flowers Thomas Hood 253 Stars Lord Byron 253 Signs of Rain Dr. Edward Jenner 254 Daffodils William Wordsworth 255 Sonnet on the River Rhine . Wm. Lisle Boviles 256 To the Cuckoo John Logan 257 March William Harris 257 The Shaded Water . William Gilmore Simms 258 November Hartley Coleridge 259 PAGE The Sea in Calm and Storm . . George Crabbe 200 Midges Dance Aboou the Burn . li. Tannahill 202 Nature's Delights John Keats 262 Harvest Time .... Paul Hamilton Hayne 262 The Evening "Wind . . William Cullen Bryant 203 Nature's Maguiticeuce . . James Montgomery 204 Spring Alfred Tennyson 265 It Snows Mrs. S. J. Hale 266 Sunrise at Sea Epes Sargent 207 The Rainbow Thomas Campbell 268 The Song Sparrow . . George Parsons Lathrop 268 Invocation to Nature . . Percy Bysshe Shelley 209 Table Mountain, Good Hope James Montgomery 209 May to April Philip Freneau 270 Scenery of the Mississippi . H. W. Longfellow 270 April! April! Are you Here? Dora B. Goodale 271 The Poet's Solitude Lord Byron 272 ^-3S'^ Part IV.— COUNTRY LIFE. PAGE A Country Life Bobert Herrick 275 A Wish Samuel liogers 277 Town and Country .... William Cowper 278 The Homestead Phoebe Cary 278 Sunday in the Fields .... Ebenezer Elliot 280 Blossom-Time 3Iary E. Dodge 281 The Praise of a Solitary Life . Wm. Drummond 282 The Old Mill .... Richard Henry Stoddard 282 Farming Edward Everett 283 Two Pictures ...... Marian Douglass 284 The Ploughman . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 284 The Useful Plough Anonymous 285 Country Life Anonymous 287 The City and the Country . . . Anonymous 287 The Haymakers George Lunt 287 The Song of the Mowers . . W. H. Burleigh 288 The Cornfield James Thomson 289 The Mo\\'ers William AlUngham 290 When the Cows Come Home . Mary E. Nealey 291 Come to the Sunset Tree . Felicia D. Hemans 292 My Little Brook .... 3fary Bolles Branch 293 PAGE A Harvest Hymn W. D. Gallagher 294 The Old House . . . Louise Chandler Moulton 294 Rural Nature William Barnes 295 The Farmer's Boy .... Robert Bloomfield 296 Farmyard Song . . John Townsend Trowbridge 297 Harvest Song Eliza Cook 298 The Farmer's Wife . . Paul Hamilton Hayne 298 The Pmni^kin .... John Greenleaf Wiittier 299 Robert of Lincoln . . William Cullen Bryant 300 On the Banks of the Tennessee W. D. Gallagher 301 Summer Longings . Denis Florence MacCarthy 302 Farm Life Anonymous 302 Summer Woods . . . William Henry Burleigh 303 The Village Boy Cla>-ke 304 The Barefoot Boy . . John Greenleaf Wliittier 304 The Country Life . . Richard Henry Stoddard 306 Happy the Man "V^liose Wish and Care Alex. Pope 307 Contentment with Nature . . . James Beattie 307 Nightfall : a Picture .... Alfred B. Street 309 The House on the Hill . . . Eugene J. Hall 310 '^jG ^E-j- Part V.— FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. PAGE Our Own Countrj' .... James Montgomery 315 ITie Star-Spangled Banner . Francis Scott Key 315 Hail Columbia Toseph Hopkinson 316 The American Flag . . Joseph Rodman Drake 316 English National Anthem . . . Henry Carey 317 Rule. Britannia! Tameti Thomson 317 French National Anthem French of Roget De Lisle 317 PAGE Prussian National Anthem . From the German 318 The German's Fatherland . From the German 318 Sufferings and Destiny of the Pilgrims . E. Ereret 319 The Pilgrim Fathers .... Ebenezer Elliot 320 Pilgrim Song . . George Lunt 320 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers . Mrs Hemans 321 The Thirteen Colonies . . . T. W. Higginson 321 CONTENTS Vll PAGE The Fathers of the Republic Bobert G. IngersoU a22 Liberty or Death Patrick Henry 324 Warreu's Address John Pierpont 325 The Battle of Lexington . . . Sidney Lanier 326 ilynm Balph Waldo Emerson 326 Address to American Troops George Washington 327 youg of Marion's Men . . William Cullen Bryant 327 Kevolutionary Sermon Hugh Henry Br eckenridge 328 Valley Forge Henry Armitt Brown 330 Nathan Hale Francis Miles Finch 331 Survivors of Battle of Bunlier Hill Daniel Webster 332 Columbia Timothy Dwight 333 South Carolina and Massachusetts Danid Webster 334 South Carolina .... Bobert Young Hayne 335 New England Caleb Cushing 336 National Monument toWashington B. G. Winthrop 337 Apoc.^ lypse Bichard Bealf 338 Our Hei-oic Dead John A. Andreio 339 How Sleep the Brave . . . William Collins 339 Second Inaugural Address . Abraham Lincoln 340 Dedication of Gettysbui'g Cemetery . A. Lincoln 341 Gettysburg Monument . Charles Graham Halpine 341 Centennial Oration . . . Henry Armitt Brown 343 The Power of Eloquence .... Anonymous 344 In State Forceythe Willson 345 The Meaning of Our Flag . Bobert G. IngersoU 346 E Pluribus Unum .... George W. Cutter 347 The American Flag . . . Henry Ward Beecher 348 Our Country Henry Armitt Brown 349 Liberty and Union Daniel Webster 350 The Ship of State . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 351 The True Patriot .... Lord Bolingbroke 351 Boadicea William Cowper 352 England's Heroes Oscar Wilde 352 Westward the Course of Empire George Berkeley 353 The Tears of Scotland . Tobias George Smollett 354 PAGE Hearts of Oak David Garrick 354 Pro Pati'ia Mori Thomas Moore 355 Men of England Thomas Campbell 355 The Bonnie Banks of Ayr . . . Bobert Burns 355 Scotland Sir Walter Scott 35G The Love of Country .... Sydney Smith 356 Hymn of the Mountaineers . Felicia D. Hemans 356 England William Wordsworth 357 The Fall of Greece Lord Byron 357 Freedom's True Heroes .... Lord Byron 357 Ireland Denis Florence MacCarthy 358 Enunet's Vindication .... Bobert Emmet 359 Independence .... Tobias George Smollett 360 Hallowed Ground .... Thomas Campbell 361 Unjust National Acquisitions . Thomas Corivin 362 The Ballet-Box . . . John Greenleaf Whittier 363 Hai-p of the North .... ,S'm- Walter Scott 364 Marco Bozzaris .... Fits- Greene Halleck 364 Of Old Sat Fj-eedom on the Heights A. Tennyson 365 Freedom John Barbour 365 Love of Liberty . . • . . . William Coivper 366 The Source of Party Wisdom James A. Garfield 366 A Curse on the Traitor . . . Thomas Moore 367 Downfall of Poland . . . Thomas Campbell 367 Green Fields of England . Arthur Hugh Clough 367 Eternal Spirit of the Chainless Mind Lord Byron 367 Banuockburn Bobert Burns 368 Our Country's Call . . William Cullen Bryant 368 The Better Country .... Oliver Goldsmith 369 The Isles of Greece Lord Byron 369 The Progress of I^ibertj^ . . George D. Prentice 370 Chai'acter of the Happy Warrior W. Wordsworth 370 I'm With Y6u Once Again . George P. Morris 371 What Constitutes a State . Sir William Jones 372 The Love of Country . . . Sir Walter Scott 372 It's Hame, and It's Hame . Allan Cunningham 372 s^5 paet VI.— camp and battle. The Battle of Alexandria The Ballad of Agincourt Ye Mariners of England . Battle of the Baltic . . James Montgomery . Michael Drauton Thomas Campbell Thomas Campbell Flodden Field Sir Walter Scott Naseby .... Thomas Babington Macaulay The Armada . . Thomas Babington 3facaulay The '-Revenge.'" A Ballad of the Fleet Tennyson Tlie Battle of Waterloo .... Victor Hugo Waterloo Lord Byron The Unretui'ning Brave .... Lord Byron The Charge of the Light Brigade W. H. Bussell The Charge of the Light Brigade . A. Tennyson The Battle of Balaklava . William H. Biissell Balaklava Alexander B. Meek Song of the Camp Bayard Taylor PAGE PAGE 375 The Defense of Lucknow . . Alfred Tennyson 395 376 Horatius at the Bridge . Thomas B. Macaulay 397 377 The Battle of Ivry . . . Thomas B. Macaulay 403 378 Incident of the French Camp . . B. Browning 404 378 Fonteroy Thomas Davis 405 379 Hohenlinden Thomas Campbell 406 380 Carmen Bellieosum . Gxiy Humphrey 3IcMaster 406 382 Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill O. W. Holmes 407 384 The Black Horse and His Rider Charles Sheppard 410 388 The Battle of the Cowpens Thomas Dunn English 411 389 Monterey Charles Fenno Hoffman 414 389 Battle-Hymn of the Republic . Julia Ward Hoioe 414 390 My Maryland James B. Bandall 414 391 The Countersign Anonymous 415 394 The Picket Guard .... Ethel Lynn Beers 416 395 Bethel Augustine J. H. Dug anne 416 VllI COXTEXTS. PAGE Civil War Charles Daicson Shanly 417 '• How are Yon. Sanitary? " . . . Bret Harte 417 Kearuej- at Seven Pines . Edmund C. Stedman 418 The Old Sergeant .... Forcei/the Willson 419 Sheridan's Ride . . . Thomas Buchanan Bead 421 Stonewall Jackson's Way ... J. W. Palmer 422 Barbara Frietchie . . John Greenleaf Widttier 423 John Burns of Gettysburg .... Bret Harte 424 The Charge by the Ford . Thomas Dunn English 42.5 The Cavalry Char Cavalry Song . . The Cumberland The Bay-Fight . Ethiopia Saluting The C. S. Army's Song of theSoldie A Dream of "War Music in Camp , P.\GE ge . . Francis A. Durivage 425 . Edmund Clarence Stedman 426 , Henry Wadsicorth Lonyfelloio 420 . . Henry Hoicard Broicnell 427 the Colors . Walt Whitman 431 Commissary Ed. P. Thompson 43S rs C .(t. Halpine (Mies ff Beilhj) 434 . . . . Bohert Ct. Ini/ersoll 435 .... John B. Thompson 436 Pajjt A'II.— DESCRIPTIOX axd xarratiox. P.\GE " Atlantic " Benjamin F. Taylor 439 The Ancient Mariner . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 440 A Rill from the Town Pump Xathaniel Havsthorne 444 The Wind in a Frolic .... William Hoicitt 446 Chevy Chase Anonymous 44S The Main Truck, or a Leap for Life . . Colton 450 The Coming-Back . . Ralph Waldo Emerson 451 AVonderful Contrast .... George Bancroft 452 The Landing of the Primrose Caroline B. Southey 453 Come with the Birds . Harriet McEicen Kimball 455 In the Elaine Woods . . Henry David Thoreau 456 A Life on the Ocean Wave . . . Epes Sargent 458 Skipper Ireson's Ride . John Greenleaf Whittier 459 Xoon in Midsummer .... Louisa Bushnell 460 The Sea in Calm B. W. Proctor (Barry Cornwall) 461 Sabbath Morning . . . Xathaniel Hawthohie 461 Skeleton in Armor . Henry Wadsicorth Longfellow 462 An Evening Walk in Virginia James K. Paulding 464 '• Old Ironsides" . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 465 Saturday Afternoon . Nathaniel Parker Willis 465 The Rustic Bridge William Cowper 466 The Indian Chief Edward Everett 467 The Windmill . Henry Wadsicorth Longfellow 468 The Schoolmistress . . . William Shenstone 468 Tam O'Shanter Bobert Burns 469 A Rainy Sunday at a Country Inn . W. Irving 471 Burial of ^Sloses . . . Cecil Frances Alexander 472 Impressions of Xiagara . . . Charles Dickens 474 Money Musk Benjamin F. Taylor 475 The Old Tillage Choir . . Benjamin F. Taylor 476 The Old Home . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 477 The Power of Habit J. B. Gough 477 The Village Blacksmith . . H. W. Longfellow 478 The Destruction of Sennacherib . Lord Byron 479 The Xew England School . Oliver W. Holmes 479 The Tempest James Thomas Fields 480 Evening Cloud . JohnWilson (Christopher Xorth) 480 Tlie Stream of Life .... Beginald Heher 480 Lucy Gray William Wordsworth 481 The Snow-Storm . . Charles Gamage Eastman 482 Casablanca .... Felicia Dorothea Hemans 483 The Old Canoe Emily B. Page 483 A Greyport Legend Bret Harte 484 The Grape-Vine Swing William Gilmore Simms 485 PAGE Moonlight on the Prairie . H. W. Longfellow 485 We "11 Go to Sea no More . . . J^Iiss Corbett 486 The Wrecked Ship . . . William Falconer 487 The Pilot ........ John B. Gough 487 The Burning of Chicago . Benjamin F. Taylor 488 Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots . J. Lingurd 490 A Glass of Cold AVater Anonymous 491 Betsy and I are Out .... Will J/. Carleton 492 Betsy Destroys the Paper . . Will 21. Carleton 493 How They Brought the Good Xews . Browning 495 The Fall of Pemberton Mill . Elizabeth S. Phelps 496 A Xorthern Winter . . . James Montgomery 501 The Children in the Wood . . . Anonymous 502 The Massacre of Fort Dearborn . B. F. Taylor 503 The Shipwrecked Sailors . James Montgomery 504 Discovery of America . . William Bobertson 505 The Death of Xapoleon . . . Isaac McCleVan 507 The Grave of Bonaparte .... Anonymous 50S The Overland Train Joaquin Miller 50S Robbing the Xest Alice Cary 509 The Famine . . Henry Wadsworth LongfeVow 510 The Bride Sir John Suckling 511 The Old :Mill W. H. Venable 512 Paul Revere's Ride . . . . H. W. Longfellow 513 Trial of Richard Baxter . . . James Stephen 514 The Shipwreck Lord Byron 515 The Flood of Years . . Williani Cullen Bryant 516 The Indians ........ Joseph Storey 517 The Old Water- Wheel .... John Buskin 518 Wreck of the Ship John Wilson( Christopher North) 519 The Glove and the Lions .... Leigh Hunt 520 The Heron .... James Maurice Thompson 521 The Brides of Enderby .... Jean Ingelow 522 Croquet Amanda T. Jones ' 523 Climbing Mount Albano .... John Buskin 524 I>ord Lllin's Daughter . . Thomas Campbell 525 nie Blind Preacher William Wirt 526 Enoch Arden's Childhood . . Alfred Tennyson 527 Goody Blake and Harry Gill William Wordsinjrth 528 ^Moonliffht Bobert Bloomfeld 529 The River Wye .... William Wordsworth 530 Lochinvar's Ride Sir Walter Scott 530 The Closing Year .... George D. Prentice 531 The Closing Scene . . Thomas Buchanan Bead 532 CONTENTS. IX Part VIII.— PLACES AND PERSONS. PAGE Yarrow Unvisited . . . William Wordsworth 535 Yarrow Visited .... William Woi-clsioorfh 536 Yarrow Stream John Logan 537 The Deserted Village . . . Oliver Goldsmith 538 The Vale of Cashmere . . . Thomas Muore 544 Venice Samuel Rogers 545 The Orient Lord Byron 545 Coliseum by Moonlight .... Lord Byron 54G Kome Samuel Rogers 546 Melrose Abbey Sir Walter Scott 547 Fair Greece! Sad Relic of Departed Worth Byron 547 The Inchcape Rock .... Robert Southey 547 Cape Hatteras . . • . . Josiah W. Holden 548 A Voyage Round the World . James Montgomery 550 On Leaving the West . . . Margaret Fuller 554 Bonaparte Charles Phillips 555 Death of the Duke of Wellington . A. Tennyson 556 Warden of the Cinque Ports . H. W. Longfellow 557 The Knight's Tomb . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 558 Columbus Sir Aubrey Be Vere 558 The Burial of Sir John Moore . Charles Wolfe 559 Galileo Edward Everett 559 David the Painter Francis Mahony (Father Prout) 560 Joan of Arc Thomas DeQuincey 561 Charles XII. of Sweden . . Samuel Johnson 562 Byron Robert Pollok 562 At the Tomb of Byron .... Joaquin Miller 563 On the Portrait of Shakespeare . Ben Jonson 5G3 Sir .John Franklin . . . George Henry Baker 564 PAGE Marie Antoinette, Queen of France Edm. Burke 565 Death of Marie Antoinette . . Thomas Carlyle 566 Burns Horatio Nelson Poioers 566 Burns Ebenezer Elliot 567 Death of Goethe . . . George Henry Lewes 567 To Thomas Moore Lord Byron £68 To Vietoi' Hugo Alfred Tennyson 568 Mazzini . Laura C. Redden (Hoivard Glyndon) 568 Lord Raglan Edwin Arnold 569 Dickens in Camp Bret Harte 569 Washington Thomas Jefferson 570 Lincoln Phillips Brooks 571 Abraham Lincoln Tom Taylor 572 Garfield's Last Days .... James G. Blaine 573 Garfield David Swing 574 Ichabod John Greenleaf Whittier 574 The Lost Occasion . . John G^'eenleaf Whittier 575 John Brown of Osawatomie . E. C. Stedman bio Nathaniel Hawthorne , . . H. W. Longfelloio 577 Bayard Taylor . . . John Greenleaf Whittier 578 Ba3'ard Taylor . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 578 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . F. F. Brovme 579 Horace Greeley . . Edmund Clarence Stedman 579 Joseph Rodman Drake . Fitz- Greene Halleck 580 Dirge for a Soldier . . . George Henry Bbker 580 Vale Richard malf 581 A Friend's Greeting' .... Bayard Taylor 581 My Psalm John Greenleaf Whittier 582 -©--sc^SL Part IX.— AYIT AND HUMOR. Diverting History of John Gilpin . Wm. Coivper Words and their Uses Frank Clive The Nantucket Skipper . James Thomas Fields Gluggity Glng George Colman the Younger Mr. Schmidt's Mistake . . Charles F. Adams The Wonderful " One-Hoss Shay " 0. W. Holmes The Smack in School . . William Pitt Palmer The Blind Men and the Elephant John G. S-, The (from The Farmer's Boy) 296 Lambs atPlay (irom TheFarmer's Boy) 196 Moonlight (fi'om Tlie Farmer's Boy 529 Spring Day, A (from TheFarmer's Boy) 235 BOKER, GEORGE HENRY. Dirge for a Soldier 580 Sir John Franklin 564 To a Mountain Oak 241 BOLINGBROKE, LORD. True Patriot, The 351 BON^Ul, HORATIUS. Beyond the Hills 820 How to Live 779 How to Learn 780 Land of Which I Dream .... 808 BONNEY, C. C. Great Lawjer, A 776 (xv) XVI. INDEX OF AUTHOES. PAGE BOTmDIXXOJf, FRANCIS VT. Light 861 BOWLES, "WILLLUI LISLE. Sonnet on the Kiver Rhine . . . 256 BOWHIXG, SIR JOHN. Joys of Home 84 BRAIX-UJD, JOHN GARDINER C.\XK1NS. I Saw Two Clouds at Moining . 690 Sea-Bird's Song 815 BR.VNCH, ]NLVRY BOLLES. My Little Brook 293 BRECKENRIDGE, HUGH HEXRY. Revolutionary Sermon .... 328 BRENNAN, JOSEPH. Come to jle, Dearest 130 BRETON, NICHOK.S.S. Phillis the Fair • . 129 BRONTE, CHARLOTTE. Life 677 BROOKS, PHILLIPS. Ends of Life, The ..... 785 Lincoln, the Shepherd of the Peoijle 571 BROOMELL, H. P. H. Lawyer's luvocation to Spring . 605 BRO"^^'N, HENRY ARJIITT. Centennial Oration 343 Our CountiT 349 Valley Forge .330 BROWN, ■niLLLVM GOLDSMITH. Hills were Made for Freedom (ti'oni Vermont) 877 Hundred Years to Come .... 653 Mother, Home, Heaven .... 695 Waiting 696 BROWNE, CILVRLES F. (^Vktejius AVakd). Woman's Rights 607 BROWNE, FR.VNCIS F. Henry Wad^i\^•orth Longfellow . 579 Under the Blue 119 BROWNE, WTLLLUI. Squirrel-Hunt, The 188 broavnt;ll, henry howard. Bay-Fight, The 427 BROWNING, ELIZABETH BAR- RETT. How Do I Love Thee 98 Lady's "Yes," The 842 Sleep 728 Three Kisses 113 BRO'\A'NTN(;, ROBERT. Flowers Name, The .... 246 How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix . . 495 Incident of the French Camp . 404 BRY.VNT, WILLL\3I CULLEN. Ble.ssedAreThey Til at Mourn . 799 Death of the Flowers .... 717 Evening Wind 263 Flood of Years 516 Forest Hvniu 151 Future Life 798 June 655 March 209 My Heart and I 715 OFairest of the Rural Maids . . 106 Our Countrv's Call 368 Planting the Apple-Trce ... 204 Robert of Lincoln 300 Song of Marion's Men .... 327 Thanatopsis 643 To a Water-Fowl 184 AVaiting by the Gate 707 BEYDGES, SIR SAJIUEL EGER- T(JN. Echo and Silence 679 BUNGAY, GEORGE AV. A'egetable Convention, A . . . 621 BURKE, EDAH-ND. Marie Antoinette, Queen of France (from Reflections on the Revolution in France .... 5(i5 BURLEIGH, LORD. Ou the Education of a Familv . 791 PAGE BLTRLEIGH. W. H. Song of the Mowers 288 Summer AVoods 303 You and I 129 BURROUGHS, JOHN. AVaiting S70 BURNS, ROBERT. Absence 105 Ae Fond Kiss Before We Part . 99 Afton AVater 144 Auld Lang Syne 691 Banks o' Doou 741 Bannockburn 3BS Bonnie Banks of Aj-r 355 Bonnie Jlaiy 110 Coming Through the Rye . . . 105 Cotter's Saturday Night .... 33 Day Returns, Mv Bosom Burns . 147 For A' That and A' That . ... 775 Green Grow the Rashes O ! . . . 145 Highland Mary 756 1 Love My Jean • 145 John Anderson, Mv Jo .... 86 Man was JIade to Mourn .... 724 Man' Morison 95 My Heart 's in the Highlands . . 8:36 My Luve 's Like a Red, Red Rose 112 My Wife 's a AVinsome Wee Thing 96 O, Saw Ye Bonnie Lesley . . . 142 Tam O'Shanter 469 To a Louse 599 To a Mountain Daisy 229 To Alary in Heaven 744 BUSHNELL, LOUISA. Noon in Midsumnter 460 BUTLER, SAAIUEL. Barn Owl, The (from Hudihras) . 171 Religion of Hudibras, Tlie (from Hudihras) 599 BYROM, JOHN. Pastoral, A 136 BYRON, GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD. Calm and Stoi-m on Lake Leman (from Childe Harold) .... 248 Coliseum by Moonlight (fi-om Manfred) 546 Destruction of Sennacherib . . 479 Eternal Spirit of the Chainless JI in d (from Prisoner of Chillon) 367 Fair Greece! Sad Relic of De- parted Worth (from Childe Harold) 547 Fall of Greece (from The Giaour) 357 First Love (from Don Juan) . . 94 Freedom's True Heroes (from Childe Harold) 357 Imaginative Svmpathv with Na- ture (from" CAi?rfe /?aro?rf) . . 251 Isles of Greece (from i>on yuan) . 369 Night (from Childe Harold) . . . 15S Orient, The (from The Bride of Abydos 545 Poet's Solitude (from Childe Harold) 272 Rhine, The (from C7(«(feJ7nroW . 240 Sea, The (from Cliilde Harold) . 161 She AValks in Beauty 134 Ship^^1•eck, The (from Don Juan 515 Solitude of the Sea (fiom Childe Harold) 238 Stars (from Childe Harold) . . . 253 To Thomas Moore 568 Unreturning Brave, The (from Childe Harold) 389 AA'aterloo (from Childe Harold) . 388 AVhen We Two Parted 720 C.i^rPBELL, THOALS.S. Battle of the Baltic Downfall of Poland (from Pleas- ures of Hope Exile of Erin Hallowed Ground Holienlindcn Hope (from Pleasures of Hope) Lord Ullins Daughter Men of England Rainbow, The Soldier's Dream, The Ye Mariners of England . . . . CAREY, HENRY. English National Anthem . . . Sally in our Alley 378 367 727 361 406 663 525 355 268 865 377 317 606 PAGB CARLETON, AA^LL M. Betsy and I Are Out 492 Betsy Destrovs the Papers . . . 493 Over the HiUto the Poor-House . 740 New Chui-ch Organ, The .... 633 CAKLYLE, THOAIAS. Book of Job, The • . 696 Death of Marie Antoinette (from The French Revolution) . . . 566 Earthly Influence 790 Heard are the Aoices 785 Labor and Poverty (from Sartor Resartus) 789 To-day 709 ACRY, ALICE. Dying Hymn 809 Pictures of Memor\' 650 Robbing the Nest (ironi An Order for a Picture) 509 CARY, PHCEBE Homestead, The 278 Lovers, The 614 Nearer Home 815 CH-U?LES, ELIZ.U3ETH 1{. Cross, Tlie 763 CHATTERTON, THOiLVS. My Lo^•e is Dead 747 CHAUCER, GEOFFREY. Daisy, The (from Legend of Good Women) 871 GIBBER, COLLEY. Blind Boy, The 714 CLARE, JOHN. Summer AVoods 189 Thi-ush's Nest, The 192 CLARK, J G. Mountains of Life, The .... 803 CLARK, AVILLIS GAAXORD. "They that Seek Me Earlv Shall Find Me" " ... 807 CI^VRIilE, . Aillage Boy, The 304 CLEMENS, SAMUEL C. (AIakk TWAIX). Curing a Cold 625 Editing an Agi-icultural Paper . 601 CLIA'E, FRANK. AVords and Their Uses 587 CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. Green Fields of England .... 367 Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth 780 Sti-eam, The 710 COBB, henra: n. Father, Take my Hand .... 815 COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. November 259 COLERIDGE, SAJIUEL TAYLOR. Ancient Mariner, The 440 Answer to a Child's Question . . 701 Estrangement (from Christabel) , 709 HjTiin Before Suiuise in the A" ale of Chamouni . • 169 Knight's Tomb, The 558 Nightingale, The 1.54 To a A'oung Ass 213 COLESAVORTHY, Little Words in Kindness Spoken 675 COLFAX, SCHUAXER. Home Instruction 82 COLLINS, MORTIMER. Two AVorlds 810 COLLINS, WILLLVM. How Sleep the Brave 339 COLLA'ER, ROBERT. Growing Aged Together . . • . 49 Home Shadows 69 COLALVN, GEORGE, THE YOUNGER. Gluggity Glug 589 COLTON, ♦ Main Tmek, or a Leap for Life . 450 CONSTABLE, HENRY. Pain of 'Love 109 CONAVAA', D. To.the Turtle-Dove 180 COOK, ELIZA. Harvest Song 298 Old Artu-Chair 724 INDEX OF AUTHORS. XVll I'AGK COOKE, JOiry ESTEX. May 659 COOKE, PHILIP PEXDLETOX. Florence Vaiie T.^S COOKE, ROSE TERRY. Two Villages "13 COOLBRITH, IXA D. AVhen the Grass Shall Cover Me . "-28 COOPER, MISS. Autumn 210 CORP.ETT, jnSS. ■\Ve '11 Go to Sea no More . . . . 486 COR'WIX, THOMAS. Unjust Xational Acquisitions . . 362 COURIER, PAUL LOUIS. Xight o£ Terror, A 622 COWPER, WILLLiJVI. Boadicea 3,52 Diverting History of Joliu Gilpin 585 Dog ana the Water-Lily .... 20:i Love of Liberty (from The Task) 366 Xightingale and Glow-Worni . . 633 On a Goldfinch 190 On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture 719 RusticBridge.The (from The Task) 466 Squirrel, The (from The Task) . 191 Town and Country (from The Task) -278 Winter (from Tiie Task) .... 245 Winter Evening at Home (from The Task) a5 Winter Morning (from The Task) 218 CRABBE, GEORGE. Sea in Calm and Storm .... 260 CR \IK, DIXAH jMARIA MULOCK. Her Likeness 99 In Our Boat 96 Xow and Afterwards 739 Philip my King 143 CRA^VEORD, JUXIA. We Parted in Silence 130 CROSS, M.VRIAX EVANS LEWES (George Eliot). Day is Dying (from The Spanish 'Gypsy) 215 O May I Join the Choir Invisible 847 CU^XIXGHiysi, AXLjVN. It's Hame and It's Hanie .... 372 Poet's Bridal-Day Song .... 140 CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIA3I Egyptian Serenade 687 CUSHING, CjNXEB. Xew England 336 CUTTER, GEORGE W. E Pluribus Unum. 347 DANA, RICHARD HEXTIY Immortality (from The Husband's and Wife's Grave) 804 Little Beach-Bird, The .... 235 DANIEL, SAMUEL. Early Love 98 Love is a Sickness 128 DARWIX, ERASMUS. Loves of the Plants 221 DA-STIS, TH05LVS. Fontenoy 404 Welcome, The ];« DeQUIXCET, THOMAS. Joan of Arc 561 DeVERE, SIR AUBREY. Columbus .558 Sad is Our Youth, for it is Ever Going 742 DICKEXS, CHARLES. Death of Little Xell (from The Old Curiosity Shop) 738 Impressions of Xiagara (from American Notes) 474 Ivy Green, The 193 Mr. Pickwick in a Dilemma (from The Pickwick Papers) .... 611 DIMOXD, WILLIAM. Mariner's Dream, Tlie 846 DOAXE, GEORGE W. Gentleman, The 774 PAGE DOBELL, SYDXEY. "How's My Boy?" S76 DOBSOX", AUSTIN. Angelus Song 733 Cradle, The 759 DODDRIDGE, PHILIP. Divine Abode, The 818 DODGE, MARY E. Blossom-Time 281 DODGE, MARY MAJPES. Two Mysteries 7.32 DODSLEY, ROBERT. True Woman, A 781 DOLLIVER, CLARA G. Xo Baby in the House 62 DOMETT, ALFRED. Christmas Hymn 878 DOUDXEY, SARAH. Lesson of the Water-Mill . . . 6.52 DOUGLAS OF FIXGLAXD. Annie Laurie Ill DOUGLASS, j\L\RIOX. Two Pictures 284 DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAX. American Flag, The 316 DRAYTOX, anCHAEL. Ballad of Agincourt, The • . . 376 Parting 127 DRUJIJIOXD, WILLIAJI. Praise of a Solitary Life .... 282 To a Nightingale 221 DRYDEN, JOHN. Death of Old Age (from (Edipus) 879 DUFFERIN, LADY. Lament of the Irish Emigrant . 722 DUFFY, SIR CHARLES GAVAX. Patriot's Bride, The 123 DUG ANNE, AUGUSTINE J. H. Bethel 416 DURIVAGE, FRAXCIS A. Cavalry Charge, The 425 DWIGHT, TIMOTHY. Columbia 333 DYER, JOHN. Shepherd, The 165 DYER, SIR EDWARD. My Mind to Me a Kingdom is . . 786 LAST]\L\.X, CHARLES GAMAGE. Dirge 745 Farmer Sat in his Easy Chair . . 83 Snow-storm, The 482 ELLIOT, EBEXEZER. Burns 567 Pilgrim Fathers 320 Sunday in the Fields 280 EMERSOX, RALPH WALDO. Coming Back 451 Friendship 14S Hymn 32G Love 100 EilJIET, ROBERT. Emmet's Vindication 350 EXGLISII, THOMAS DUXX. Battle of the Co wpens 411 Ben Bolt 'tm Charge by the Ford 425 EVERETT, EDWARD. Farming 283 Galileo .5.59 Indian Chief, The 467 jMorning 160 Xight 193 Sufferings and Destiny of the Pil- grims 319 Wonders of Astronomy .... 230 FALCOXER, WILLIAM. Wrecked Ship, The (from The Shipwreck) ........ 487 FAWCETT, EDG;VR. Bird of Passage 123 FIELDING, HEXRY. A-tlunling \Ve AVill Go .... 876 TAGE FIELDS, JAMES THOMAS. In a Strange Land ...... 74 Xantucket Skipper, The .... .588 Tempest, The 480 Words to Boj-s 85 FINCH, FRAX^CIS JHLES Blue and the Gray 768 Xathan Hale 331 FINLEY, JOHN. Bachelor's Hall 607 FLAGG, WILSON. O'Lincoln Family 238 FLETCHER, GILES. Dying Stag, The 193 FORRESTER, ALFRED A. (Alfred Crowquill). To my Nose 627 FOSTER, STEPHEN COLLIXS. My Old Kentuck\' Home .... 73 OldFoUiS atHoine 70 FRAXKLIX, BEXJAMIX. Industry (from Poor Pichard's Almanac) 792 FREXEAU, PHILIP. May to April 270 FUELER, 5XARGARET. On Leaving the West 554 GAGE, FRANCES DAXA. Home Picture, A 76 Housekeeper's Soliloquy . . . 595 GALLAGHER, WTELIAM D. Harvest Hymn 294 Laborer, The 772 Lines 675 On the Bants of the Tennessee . 301 GARFIELD, JAMES ABRAM. Source of Party Wisdom (.from Speech at Chicago Convention) 366 GARRICK, D.VVID. Dr. Hiirs Farce 610 Hearts of Oak ;354 GAY, JOHX. Song 142 GILBERT, WILLLV3I S. Captain Reece 616 Yam of the " Nancy Bell " . . . 617 GILDER, RICHARD WATSOX. Dawn (from The Neio Day) . . . 171 O Sweet Wild Roses that Bud and Blow 860 GOLDSfflTH, OLIVER. Better Oountrj', The (from The Traveler) 369 Deserted Village, The .538 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog 628 Outcast, The (from A City Xight Piece) 767 GOODALE, DORA READ. April! April! Are You Here? . . 271 Ripe Grain bl5 GOODALE, ELAIXE. Ashes of Roses 688 GOUGH, JOHX B. Pilot, The 487 Power of Habit 477 GK.S.HAME, JAMES. Blind Man, The (from An Autumn Sabbath Walk) 757 GRAY, DA\^D. Wintry Weather 219 GRAY, THOMAS. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard 637 Ode on a Distant Prospect (rf Eton College 684 Spring 217 GREEXE, ALBERT GOP.TOX. Old Grimes 613 GRIFFIX, GERALD. Song 108 GRISWOLD, IIATTIL T^'Xli. Three Kisses 746 Under the Daisies 727 HALE, IMRS S. J. It Snows 266 XVlll IXDEX OF AUTHOES. I'AGE HAL AJI, AETHUn HEXHT. ToMyMotlK'i- S65 HALLECK. FITZ-GREEXE. Josepli Kodniau Drake .... 6S0 Marco Bozzaiis 364 H-VLL, EUGEXE J. House on the Jlill, The .... 310 HALL, XE"miAX. Dignity ot Labor 784 H-U^PIXE, CHARLES GR-VHAM (Miles O'Keillv). Gettvsburfj Monument .... 3-tl Janette ;:; Hair 124 Song of the Soldiers 4:34 HAXXAFORD, E. Catching Shadows 80 Dead in Xovemher 762 H^VRRIS, JOEL CHANDLER. Negro Revival Hymn S2S HARTE, BRET. Dickens in Camp 569 Greyport Legend 4S4 Grizzly 247 "How Are You, Sanitary?" . . . 417 I Was "With Grant 608 Jolin Burns of Gettj'sburg . . . 424 Plain Lang-uage from Truthful James 626 Society upon the Stanislaus . . 604 HiVVEN, BISHOP GILBERT. My Mother's Bible 75 HAYERGAL, FR^iNCES RIDLEY. My Work 792 H.\"SYTHORNE, NATHANIEL. Rill from the Town Pump, A . . 444 Sabbatli Morning 461 H^\Y, JOHN. River, The 073 HAYNE, PAUL HAJNHLTON. By tlie Autumn Sea 699 Farmer's Wife, The 298 Forest Pictures 242 Harvest Time 262 In Harbor 811 Sonnet 664 H.Yi'XE, ROBERT YOXTSG. .- outh Carolina 335 HEBER, REGINALD If Tliou Wert by My Side ... 109 Stream of Life, The 480 HELPS, ARTHUR. True Hospitality 77 HEM.iNS, FELICIA DOROTHEA. Breathings of Spring 166 Casabianca 4S3 Child's First Grief, The .... 762 Come to the Sunset Tree .... 292 EveningPrayer at a Girl's Scliool 65; Gra\'es of a Household .... 59 Hour of Death 737 Hymn of tlie Mountaineers . . 3.56 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers . 321 HEN'RY, PATRICK. Liberty or Death 324 HERBERT, GEORGE. Elixir, Tlie 78S Yertue '. . . 871 HERRICK, ROBERT. Country Life 275 Julia 131 Violets 184 HEYWOOD, THOMAS. Go, Pretty Birds 139 I'ack Clouds Away 107 HIGGINSOX, THOMAS AVENT- WOUTH. Thirteen Colonies, The .... 321 HOFFMAN, CH^VRLES FENXO. Monterey 414 HOGG, JAMES. Love is Like a Dizziness .... 605 Sky-Lark, Tlie ISO AVhen the Kye Conies Hame . . 123 HOLDEN, JOSIAH W. Cape Hatteras 548 PAGE HOLLANT), .JOSIAH GILBERT. Cradle Song (from Bitter- Stceet) . 40 Daniel Gray 874 Gradatim ."...• 779 HOLMS'^, OLI\'ER WENDELL. Aunt Tabitha 848 Kallad of the Oystennan . . . 603 College Regatta (from The School- Boy) 858 Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle 407 Height of the Ridiculous . . . 627 Last Leaf, The 843 New England .-chool, The (from The Schoo'-B'^y) 479 Old Home, The (ivmnThe School- Boy) 477 "Old Ironsides" 465 Ploughman, The 284 Yoiceless, Tlic 752 Wonderful "One- Hoss Shay " . . 590 HOME, JOHN. Norval 860 HOOD, THOMAS. Bridge of .'^iglls 719 Child Embra'ciugHis Mother, To a 141 Death -Bed, The 737 Flowers 263 I Remember, I l.emcmber . . . 644 Lost Heir, The 609 No ! 619 Song of the Shirt 728 Truth in Parenthesis 619 HOPE, JAMES BARKON. Three Summer Studies .... 249 HOPKINS, JANE ELLIS. Children's Bed-Time 88 HOPKINSON, JOSEPH. Hail Columbia 316 HOWE, JULIA "WARD Battle-Hymn of the Republic . 414 HOWELL ■«, AYILLIAJI DEAN. Mysteries, Tlie 879 HOA\aTT, MA..Y. Broom, Tlie 233 Spider and the Fly 592 HOWITT, WILLIAM. Departure of tlie Swallow ... 702 June Day 179 Wind in a Frolic 446 Woodnote 195 HOWLAND, MAY WOOLSEY. Rest 805 HOYT, RALPH. Old 748 Snow 237 HUGHES, JOHN. Giles Scroggins and Molly Brown 624 HL^'T, LEIGH. Abou Ben Adhem S65 Glove and the Lions 520 Jenny Kissed Me 875 INGELOW, JEAX. Better Wa>-, The (from JJonors) . 804 Brides of Enderby; or, the High Tide (1571) 522 Like a Laverock in the Lift . . 54 Love at First Sight 137 Songs of Seven 43 INGERSOLL, ROBERT G. Dream of War, A 435 Fathers of the Republic .... 322 Meaning of Our Flag 346 IRVINE, J. P. Summer Drought 239 IRAING, WASHINGTON. Bobolink, The 163 Rainy Sunday at a Country Inn . 471 SoiTow for the Dead 686 Wife, The 56 JACKSON, HELEN STSST (H H.) Courteous Mother, A .... . 71 MyLegacv 802 Way to bing, The 676 JEFFERSON, THOMAS. Washington 570 l'.A.GK JENNER, DR. ED"WAED. Signs of Rain • . . 254 JERROLD, DOUGLAS. Mi-s. Caudle's Lecture on Shirt Buttons 593 JILLSOX, CLARK. RllJ^rle3 of the Months .... S49 JOHNSOX, SAMUEL. Charles XII. of Sweden (from The Vanity of Human Wishes) . . 56"2 JONES, AMANDA T. Croquet .523 We Twain 139 JONES, SIR "WILLIAjr. What Constitutes a State? . . . 373 JONSON, BEN. Celebration of Charis 145 Freedom in Dress (ironi E2ncccne, or the Silent Woman) .... 128 Noble Nature, The t43 On the Portrait of Shakespeare . 563 SheiJherd's Love, The 141 liEATS, JOHN. Joy Forever, A (from Endymion) 662 Nature's Delights (from Nature and the Poets) 262 KEBLE, JOHN'. Bereavement 755 Children's Thankfulness .... 859 ICEJIBLE, FRANCES ANNE. Faith 878 KEY, FR.\.NCIS SCOTT. Star-Spaiigled Banner 315 KINGSLEY, CILiRLES. Farewell 702 Sands of Dee 718 Three Fishers 7'25 KIMBALL, IL\JJRIET McEWEN. Come With the Birds in the Spring 4.55 KIXNEY, COATES. Rain on the Roof 68 KNOWLES, J^UIES SHERIDiVX. William Tell Among the Moun- tains (from William Tell) . . 834 KNOX, WILLLUI, Mortality 697 L.VCOSTE, 5L\.RIE R. Somebody's Darling 731 L^ilGIITON, ALBERT. Under the Lea^■es 24.5 L.UIB, CILVRLES. Old Familiar Faces 714 Origin of Roast Pig 596 L.iAIB, 3LVRY. Choosing a Name 77 L.VNDOR, W^\LTER SAVAGE. Children 83 Mai'garet 117 LANIER, SIDNEY. Battle of Lexington (from Psalm of the West) 32ft Evening Song 12G L^VNIER, SIDN"EY AND CLIF- FORD. Old Jim's Prayer 6:51 LARCOM, LUCY'. Hannah Binding Shoes .... 763 LATHROP, GEORGE P.UJSONS. Lily-Pond, The 146 Song-Sparrow, The 268 LAWRENCE, JONATILVN, Ju. Look Aloft S78 LEIGHTON, ROBERT. Books 8S0 LELAND, CHARLES GODFREY. Calm is the Night 6.58 Hans Breitmahn's Party .... 629 LESLIE, C-VROLINE. At Last 696. LEWES, GEORGE HENRY. Death of Gcethe 567 INDEX OF AUTHOKS. XIX PAGE LIXCOLX, ABRzVHAM. Dedicution oi Gettysburg Ceme- tery 3-tl Second Inaugural Address . . . 84:0 LINGARD, JOHN. Execution ol' Max-y, Queen of Scots 490 LOGAN, JOHX. To the Cuckoo 251 Yarrow Stream 537 LONGFELLOW, HENRY AVADS- WOKTH. Bayard Taylor 578 Bythe Fireside (from The Golden Milestone 40 Children's Hour 42 Cumberland, The 426 Excelsior (i79 Famine, The (fTom Hiawatha) . 510 rootsteiJS of Angels 758 God's Acre 873 Light of Stars 783 Little Children 83 Moonlight on the Prairie (from Ecangeline) 485 Nathaniel Hawthorne 577 Paul lievere's Ride ...... 513 Psalm of Life 778 Reaper and the Flowers .... 759 Resignation 752 Scenery of the Mississippi (from Evangeline) 270 Ship of State i,troin Building of the Ship) 351 Skeleton in Aiinor 462 Snow-Flakes 202 Village Blacksmith 478 Warden of the Cinque Ports . . .557 Windmill, The 468 LOA'ELACE, RICHjVRD. To Althea, from Prison .... 114 LOVER, SjVjVIUEL. Four- Leaved Shamrock .... 212 Low-Backed Car fil5 Rory O'Moore 606 JJOyTElAj, J^VJIES RUSSELL. June (from The Vision of Sir Launfal) 228 To the Dandelion 226 LUDLOW, FITZ HUGH. Too Late 603 LUNT, GEORGE. Ha)-makers, The 287 Pilgrim Song 320 LYONS, J. G. Our Mother Tongue 8.55 LY'TE, HENRY FR.1NCIS. Abide With Me S12 LYTTON, EDAVARD BULWER When Stars are in the Quiet Skies 700 LYTTON, ROBERT BULAVER. Anx Italiens 134 Bird at Sunset 120 LYLY, JOHN. Birds, The (fi'Om Alexander and Campaspe) 234 Cupid and Campaspe 147 JLVCAULAY", TH03LVS B.VBING- TON. Armada, The 380 Battle of Ivry 403 Horatius at the Bridge .... 397 Naseby 379 Tribute to a Mother 83 MacCARTHY, DENIS FLORENCE. Ireland 3.58 Summer Longings 302 MjVCDONALD, GEORGE. Baby 77 5L\CE, FRANCES LAUGHTON. Only Waiting , . '805 MACIv^VY, CHARLES. Clear the Way 771 Small Beginnings 672 Tell Me, i'e Winged AVinds . . . 809 MAHONY, FR.\NCIS (Fatheii PliOUT). Bells of Shandon 689 Obsequies of David tlie Painter . 560 701 667 P.VGE MANN, HORACE. Morality of Manuel's 788 JLVRCH, D.VNIEL. No Sorrow There 813 JLiRLOWE, CHRISTOPHER. Passionate Shepherd to his Love 128 MARSTON, JOHN. Day Breaking 175 IVLVRTINEAU, HARBIET. True Love Ill JLVRVEL, jVNDREW. Nymph's Description of her Fawn • 162 ]\L\SSEY, GKR^^XD. O, Lay Thy Hand in Mine, Dear . 148 McCLELLiVN, ISAAC. Death of Napoleon ....... 507 McCREERY, J. L. There is no Death 798 Mclean, kate seymour. Silent Land, The 802 McJLVSTER, GUY HUJIPHREY. Carmen Bellicosum 406 MEEK, ALEXiVNDER B. Balaklava 392 MENTEATH, MRS. A. STUART. James Melville's Child .... 743 MERRICK, J.\MES. Chameleon, The 600 MILLER, JOAQUIN. Dreamers (fi'om Up the Nile) . . Hope ■ Overland Train, The (from JSy the Sundown Seas) Sierras, The (from J}y the Sun- down Seas) . . Tomb of Byron (from By the Sundown Seas) SHLLER, AVILLI^UI. Willie Winkie MILNES, RICHARD MONCKTON (Lord Houghton). Brookside, Tlie MILTON, JOHN. Blindness Flowers Hail, Holy Light (from. Paradise Lost) Supremacy of Virtue,(fromC'ojKMS) MONTGOaiERY, JAMES. Battle of Alexandria Daisy, The Grave, The Nature's Magnificence (from The West Indies) Night Northern AVinter, A (from Green- land) . ... ... Our Own Country Parted I'riends Shipwrecked Sailors, The (from Greenland) Table Mountain, Cape of Good Hope ... A^oyage Round the AVorld . . . MOORE, CLEJIENT C. Visit from St. Nicholas .... MOORE, THOMAS jUas! How Light a Cause May Move (from Tlie Light of the Harem) Bendemeer's Stream Bird Let Loose in Eastern Skies Coifie Rest in This Bosom . . Curse on the Traitor (from Lalla Rookh) Good Bye . . Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls Lake of the Dismal Swanrp . . Love's Young Dream Oft in the Stilly Night .... Pro Patria iAlori This World is all a Fleeting Show Those Evening Bells 'Tis tlie Last Rose of Summer . Vale of 'Cashmere (from Light of the Harem) MORE, HANNAH. Two Weavers, The 508 202 563 48 126 871 243 216 782 375 205 832 264 646 501 315 820 504 269 550 667 668 808 96 367 104 856 734 108 697 355 813 650 662 544 654 MORRIS, CHARLES. Toper's Apology, The . . . MORRIS, GEORGE P. I'm AYith A'ou Once Again . My Mother's Bible .... Woodman, Spare That Tree . JMORRIS, WILLIAM March MOSS, THOJLVS. Beggar, The MOULTON, LOUISA CILiNDLER Alone by the Bay If I Could Keep Her So . . . Old House, The MUHLENBERG, WM. AUGU.STUS I Would Not Live Alway . . MUNBY, ARTHUR J. Doris NAIRNE, -LADY CAROLINE. Here's to Them That are Gone . Land O' the Leal . . ... Rest is not Here NEjVLEY, JMARY E. When the Cows Come Homo NEWJLVN, JOHN HENRY. The Pillar of tlie Cloud .... NOEL, THOJL\S. Pauper's Drive, The NORTHRUP, B. G. Make Home-Life Beautiful . . NORTON, CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH Bingen on the Rhine .... AVe Have Been Friends Together O'H.UitA, THEODORE. Bivouac of the Dead O'REILLY, JOHN BOYLE. At Best Forever OSBORNE, SELLECK. Modest Wit, A OSGOOD, FRANCES SARGENT. Labor . OTIS, NEAVTON S. Childhood's Prayer PAGE, EMILY R. Old Canoe, The PALFREY, SARAH HABIMOND. Light-House, The PALMER, A. AV. Stonewall Jackson's Way . . . PALMER, AYILLlAiAI PITT. Smack in School, The .... PARDOE, JULIA. Beacon-Light, The PARKER, THEODORE. The Way, the Truth, and the Lile PATMORE, COVENTRY. Toys, The PAULDING, JAMES K. Evening Walk in Virginia . . . PAl-NE, JOHN HOAVARD. Home, Sweet Home PEjVBODY, S. H. Nightingale, The PEALE, REMBRANDT. Don't Be Sorrowful, Darling . . PENN, AVILLLV5I. Pride of Birth PERCIVAL, JAJIES GATES To Seneca Lake PERRY, NORA. After the Ball PHELPS, EGBERT. Life's Incongruities Sunbeams PHELPS, ELIZ.VBETH STUART. Fall of Pemberton Mill .... PHILIP, EARL OF CHESTER- FIELD. Good Breeding PAGE . 825 371 750 671 257 726 . 693 . 62 . 294 817 116 825 808 801 291 816 861 39 751 692 753 698 689 593 841 483 698 422 591 872 804 670 464 70 153 131 787 194 736 664 :os 496 87 XX INDEX OF AUTHOES. PAGE PHILLIPS, CHAELES. Bonaparte 555 PLVTT, DOX. Bloom Was on the Alder and the Tassel on tlie Corn .... 132 PIATT, JOHN JjUIES. First Tryst 678 To a Ciiild 66S PIATT, SiVLLIE M. B. Into t)ie World and Out ... 759 PIEP.POXT, JOHX. Warren's Address 325 PIKE, ALBERT. Buena Vista 867 Every Year 852 PITT, WILLL\3I. Sailor's Consolation, The ... 623 POE, EDGAR ALLEX. Annabel Lee 744 Bells, The • . . 830 Raven, Tlie 8:56 POLLOK, ROBERT. Byron (from Course of Time) . . 563 POPE, ALEX.VXDER. Dying Christian to His Son], The S09 Happy tlie Man Wliose Wish and Care .•507 Universal Prayer 857 PORTER, XOAII. Advice to Youny: Men 777 POWERS, HORATIO XELSOX. Ahide witli us: lor it is Toward Evening 800 Buins 51)0 Chimnej' Swallows 678 PREXTICE, GEORGE D. Better Workl, The 814 Closing Year, The 531 Heaven Our Home 810 Name in the Sand K)4 Our Childhood 734 Progress of Liberty (from Flight of Years) 370 Shall We Meet Again 800 To an Absent Wife 113 PROCTOR, ADELAIDE AXXE. WoTnan's Question, A 116 PROCTOR, BRYAX WALLER (Bakrv Cor.XWALL). Life, A 735 Sea in Calm, The 461 PROCTOR, EDXA DE.VX. Take Heart 699 PL^XSHOX, AATLLIAM MORLEY. Reunion in Heaven 806 Trials a Test of Character . . . 778 QUARLES, FRAXCIS. Wliat is Life? 058 ILVLEIGH, SIR WALTER. Xymph's Rejily to the I'assionate Shephei-d 1-28 ILVXDALL, JAMES R. My Maryland 414 READ, tho:mas BrCH^\:X.\>.'. Brave at Home, The 746 Closing Scene, The .'5:52 Drifting 704 Sheridan's Ride 421 KEALF, RICH-VRD. Apocalypse .338 Indirection 701 Vale 581 EEDDEX, LALTM C. (Howard Glysdox). Mazzini ,568 REYXOLDS, .JOHX ILVaHLTOX. Think of Mo 688 RICH, HIRAJL In tlie Sea 743 RICHARDS, AVILLIAM C. Rosalie 731 EICHTER, JEAX PAUI.. Two Roads, The 703 EOP.ERTSOX, F. W. Rest of the Soul, The 817 EOBERTSOX, WILLIAM. Discover>- of America (from His- tory of America) ...... 505 PAGE ROGERS, SAJITTEL. Mother's Love, A 127 Pleasures of jSIemoiy 660 Rome (from Itabj) 546 Venice (from Italy) 544 Wish, A 277 ROSSETTI, CHRISTIXA GEOR- GIXA. Milking Maid, The 118 UpHiil 810 ROSSETTI, DAXTE G.VBRIEL. Blessed Damozel, The 870 ROUXD, W. M. F. Rule of Hospitalitj-, The .... 78 KUSKIX, JOHX. Climbing Mount Alhano .... .524 Old Water-Wheel, The .... 518 RUSSELL, WILLIAM HOWARD, Battle of Balaklava 391 Charge of the Light Brigade . . 389 EY.VX, ABRA3I T. Conquered Banner, The .... 7.30 "Follow Me" (from A Thought) . 818 RYAX, RICHARD. O, Saw Ye the Lass 130 Sj^.XGSTER, MARG^UIET E. M. Are the Children at Home ... 60 SARGEXT, EPES. Life on the Ocean Wave .... 4.58 Sunrise at Sea 267 SAXE, JOHX G. Blind Men andthe Elepliant, The 591 Declaration, The 6.i4 I'm Growing Old 864 KissMeSoftlv 119 Puzzled Census Taker, The ... 631 SCOTT, SIR WALTER. Evening 85S Flodden Field (from Marmion) . 378 Harp of the Xorth (from Lady of the Lake) 3(U Lochinvar's Ride (from Marmion') 530 l^ove of Country (from Lay of (he Last Minstrel) . 372 Melrose Abbey (from Lay of the Last Minstrel) 547 Scotland (from Lay of the Last Minstrel) Z'M Sunset at Xorham Castle (from Marmion) 225 There is Mist on the Mountain, and Xight on the Vale (from Waverly) 838 Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course {(Tom Lady of the Lake) . . . 700 SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. Absence (from Sonnets) .... 131 Counsel to a Friend (from Hamlet) 880 Duke of Gloster on his Own De- formity (from King Eichard III.) 708 Hamlet's Soliloquy (from Hamlet) 709 Hark! Hark! the Lark at Heav- en's Gate Sings (from Cymbe- line) 105 Lark, The 247 Mercy (from jJ/erc/iansTOX', HEXRY T. Moneyless Man, The 847 STEDJLVN, EDMUXD CLAREX'CE. Cavalry Song (from Alice of Mon- mouth) 426 Discoverer, The ....... 797 Horace Greeley ....... 579 John Brown of Osawatomic . . 575 Kearney at Seven Pines .... 418 On the Doorstep 93 STEPHEN, JAMES. Trial of Richard Baxter .... 514 STILL, JOHX. Jolly Good Ale and Old .... 620 STODDARD, CILUJLES WARREX. Rhyme of Life 792 STODDARD, RICHARD HEXRY. Countrv Life, The 306 Dead, the 678 Old Mill, The 282 Pearls 1-20 STOREY, JOSEPH. Indians, The 517 STORY, WILLIAil WETMORE. Violet, The 248 STOWE, H.MiRIET BEECHER. "Only a Year" 736 Other World, The 814 STREET, ALFRED B. Xight-Fall: A Picture 309 SUCKLIXG, SIR JOHX. Bride, The (from A Ballad Upon a Wedding) 511 Wliv so I'ale and AVan, Fond Lover 131 IXDEX OF AUTHORS. XXI PAGE SWAIN, CHARLES. What is Noble 772 SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. Kissing Her Hair . % SWING, DAVID. Garfield 574 Purification of Love 121 STMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON. Blessed is He 789 T.\NNAHILL, ROBERT. Flower O' Dumbluue 113 Midges Dance Aboon the Burn . 262 TAYLOR, BAYARD. Friend's Greeting, A 581 Give Me Back My Youth Again (from Goethe's Faust) .... 695 Song of the Camp 39.5 Story for a Child 76 TAYXOR, BENJAMIN F. "Atlantic" 439 Burning of Chicago 488 Christmas Stockings (from The Child and the Star) 86 Isle of Long Ago 662 Massacre of Fort Dearborn . . 503 Money Musk (from The Old Barn) 47.'5 Old Village Choir 476 TAYLOR, JANE. Philosopher's Scales, The ... 624 TA"iXOR, TOM. Abraham Lincoln 572 TENNYSON, ALFRED. Break, Break, Break 648 Bugle-Song (from The Princess) . 649 Charge of the Light Brigade . . 390 Circumstance 665 Come Into the Garden, Maud (from Maud) 114 Death of the Old Year 666 Defense of Lucknow ... . 395 Departure, The (from The Bay- Dream) 94 Eagle, The 223 Enoch Arden's Childhood (from Enoch Arden) .527 Locksley Hall 680 Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington ....... 556 Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heiglits 365 O Swallow, Flying South (from The Princess) 117 "Revenge"— A Ballad of the Fleet 382 King Out, Wild Bells (from Jn Memoriam) 846 Sei^aration (from /reit/emoriam) . 112 Song of the I'.iook (from The Brook: an Idyl) 21.5 Spring (from In Memoriam) . . 265 Sweet and Low (.from The Prin- cess) 125 Tears, Idle Tears (from The Prin- cess) 761 To Victor Hugo 568 THACKERAY', WILLIAM IMAIi^E- PEACE. Little Billee 630 Mahogany Tree, The 89 Rose Upon My Balcony (from Vanity Fair) 665 THAXTER, CELIA. Song 659 THOMAS, LORD VAUX. Of a Contented Mind 844 THOMPSON, ED. PORTER. Aunt Silva Meets Y'oung Mas'r John 831 0. S. Army's Commissary . . . 432 Two Sonnets 645 THOJfPSON, JAMES MAURICE. Heron, The 521 THOJfPSON, JOHN R. Music in Camp 436 THOMSON, JAjMES. Cornfield, The (from ^«^ HOME AND FIRESIDE o>o«^S>o^o "Til' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through, To meet their dad, \vi' flichterin noise and glee." THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 'Y loved, iny honoured, much respected friend ! Tif^ No mercenary hard this homage pays ; l| With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing, in simple Scottish laj^s, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; The native feelings sti'ong, the guileless ways ; AVTiat Aiken in a cottage would have heen ; Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there I ween. 34 THE GOLDEX TREASURY. November chill blaws loud wi' augiy sngh; The shortening winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts i-etreatiug f rae the pleugh ; The blackening trains o' craws to their repose; The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes. This night his ^\■eeklr moil is at an end. Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame- ward bend. His wee bit ingle, blinkiu bonnilj-. His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie"s smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee. Does a" his weary carking cares beguile, An" makes him quite forget his labor an" his toil. Beljwe, the elder bairns come drapping in. At seiwice out, amang the farmers rouu" : Some ca" the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town : ' 'Tis when a youthful, loving-, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale.' At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; The expectant wee-things, toddlin. stacher through. To meet their dad. wi" tlichterin noise and glee. ITieir eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu" bloom, love sparkling in her e"e. Comes hame, ])erhaps, to show a bi*aw new gown Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. To help her parents dear, if they in hai-dship be. HOME AjSTD fireside. 35 Wi' joj^ unfeigned brothers and sisters meet. An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; The parents, iiartial, eye their hopeful years, Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears. Gars anld claes look araaist as weel's the new ; The father mixes a' wi' admonition dvie. Lest in temptation's path yc gang astray. Implore his counsel and assisting might : They never sought in vain that sought the aright! " But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. Lord "They round the ingle form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace, The big Ka'-Bible, ance his father's pride." Their master's an' their mistress's command, The younkers a' are warned to obey ; An' mind then- labors wi' an eydent hand, An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play : "An', 0, be sure to fear the Lord alway, An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, "\ATiile Jenuj'' hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel jfleased the mother hears, it 's nae wild worth- less I'ake. 36 THE GOLDEX TREASUP.T. Wi' kindly welcome Jenuy brings him ben ; A sti-appan youth ; he takes tlie mother's eye , Blj^the Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joj', But, hlate and laithfu', scarce can Aveel behave , The mother, wi' a Avoman's wiles, can spy ■^Tiat makes the youth sae bashf u' an' sae grave ; Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. Is there, in human form, that bears a heart. — A ■\\Tetch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 3'outh? Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth! Ai'e honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild! "The priust-like father reaUb the sacred page.' O happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weaiy, mortal round. And sage experience bids me this declare : If Heaven a draught of heavenlj' pleasure spare. One cordial in this melancholy vale, "T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair. In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening srale ! But now the supper crowns the simple board. The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: The soup their only hawkie does afford. That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood • The dame brings forth in complimental mood. To grace the lad, her well-hained kebbuck fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; The frugal ■\\'ifie, garrulous, will tell How "t was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i" the bell. HOME AND FIEESIDE. 37 llie cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious fiice, Thej^, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, wV patriarchiil gi-ace, The big ha"-Bible, ance his father's pride : His bonnet reverently is laid aside. His Ij'art haffets wearing thin au' bare ; Those sti'ains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a i)ortion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God!'' he says, with solemn air. Or noble "Elgin " beets the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holj' lays : Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures i-aise ; Nae imison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on his:h ; Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek"s ungracious progeny; 'The parent pair their secret homage pay." Thej^ chant their artless notes in simple guise ; They time their hearts, hy far the noblest aim : Perhaps "Dundee's" wild warbling measures rise. Or jilaintive ••Martyrs," worth}- of the name; Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ii Or .Tob's pathetic plaint, and Availing cry; Or i-apt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Oi- other holy seers that tune the sacred Ivre. 38 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name. Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; How His lii-st f ollo\\'ers and ser\^ants sped ; The precepts sage they A\Tote to many a land : How He, who lone in Patmos banished. Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Babj'lon's doom pronounced Heaven's command. by There ever bask in uncreated raj's, Xo more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. Together hyuuiiug their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; "While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, "WTien men display to congregations wide Devotion's ever5' grace, except the heart! ' He wlio stills the raven's clamorous nest.' 'Jlien kneeling doMn, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the husband, and the father prays : IIoi)e " springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus thev all shall meet in future davs : The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But hapl.v, in some cottage far apart. May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul ; And in His book of life the inmates poor enroll. HOME AND FIRESIDE. 39 Then homeward all take off their several way ; The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest, And decks the lily fair, in flqwery pride. Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, In their hearts with grace divine preside. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That make her loved at home, revered abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings ; " An honest man 's the noblest work of G-od : " And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wTetch of human kind. Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And, O, may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while. And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. O Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart; "VVho dared to nobly stem tj-rannic pride. Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art. His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward! O never, never Scotia's realm desert; But still the patriot, and the pati-iot-bard. In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! Robert Bukns. j^j> MAKE HOME-LIFE BEAUTIFUL. gET me say to parents: Make the home-life beautiful, without and within, and ^ they will sow the seeds of gentleness, true kindness, honesty and fidelity, ^'-^ in the hearts of their children, from which the children reap a harvest of happiness and virtue. The memory of the beautiful and hapjoy home of childhood is the richest legacy any man can leave to his children. The heart will never forget its hallowed influences. It will be an evening enjoyment, to which the lapse of years will only add new sweetness. Such a home is a constant inspiration for good, and as constant a restraint from evil. If by taste and culture we adorn our homes and grounds and add to their charms, our children will find the quiet pleasures of rural homes more attractive than the whirl of city life. Such attractions and enjoyments will invest home-life, school-life, the whole future of life with new interests and with new dignity and joyousness, for life is just Avhat we make it. We may by our blindness live in a world of darkness and gloom, or in a world full of sunlight and beauty and joy ; for the world without only reflects the world within. Also, the a country Home. tasteful improvement of grounds and home exerts a good influence not only upon the inmates, but upon the community. An elegant dwelling, surrounded by sylvan attractions, is a contribution to the refinement, the good order, the taste and prosperity of every community, improving the public taste and ministering to every enjoyment. B. G. NORTHRUI*. 40 THE GOLD EX TEEASUEY. BY THE FIRESIDE. ^^^Y the fireside there are old men seated, ^^ Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, '^§ Asking sadly f i- Of the Past what it can ne"er restore them. I ' By the fireside there are j'outhful dreamers, Building castles fair with stately stairwaj-s. Asking hlindly Of the Futm-e what it cannot give them. By the fireside tragedies are acted In Avhose scenes appear two actors onty. Wife and Husband, And above them God, the sole spectator. By the fireside there are peace and comfort, Wives and children, with fair thoughtful faces, "Waiting, watching. For a well-known footstep in the passage. Henky Wadsavorth Longfellow. ■=<>=-^-^-<>=» — ' \Miat is the little one thinking about?" CRADLE SONG. ^HAT is the little one thinking about? \'erj^ wonderful things, no doubt; &^^L'i Un^^•ritten history ! L^nf athomed mysterj' ! Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks. And chuckles, and crows, and nods, and winks. As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by colic, and wet by tears. Punctm-ed by pins, and tortured by fears. Our little nejihew \\\\\ lose two yeai"s; And he"ll never know "\Miere the summers go ; He need not laugh, for he'll find it so. Who can tell what a baby thinks? Vn\o can follow the gossamer links By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown. Blind, and wailing, and alone Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea. Tossing in pitiful agony; HOME AKD FrRESIDE. 41 Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls — Barks that were launched on the other side, And slipped fi-om heaven on an ebbing tide! What does he think of his mother's eyes? What does he think of his mother's hair? What of the cradle-roof that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother's breast, Bare and beautiful, smooth and white. Seeking it ever vdth fresh delight. Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell, With a tenderness she can never tell, Though she mm-mur the words Of all the birds- Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! I can see the shadow creep Over his eyes in soft eclipse. Over his brow and over his lips, Out to his little tinger-tips ! Softly sinking, down he goes ! Down he goes ! down he goes ! See! he's hushed in sweet repose. JosiAH Gilbert Holland. -^^5 yS^y~j DUTY AI^D IT^FLUEI^CE OF MOTHEES. T is by the promulgation of sound morals in the community, and more especially by the training and instruction of the young, that woman performs her part towards the preservation of a free government. It is generally admitted that public liberty and the perpetuity of a free constitution rest on the virtue and intelligence of the community which enjoys it. How is that virtue to be inspired, and how is that intelligence to be communicated? Bonaparte once asked Madame de Stael in what manner he could best promote the happiness of France. Her reply is full of political wisdom. She said, "Instruct the mothers of the French people." Mothers are indeed the affectionate and effective teachers of the human race. The mother begins her process of training with the infant in her arms. It is she who directs, so to speak, its first mental and spiritual pulsations. She conducts it along the impressible years of childhood and youth, and hopes to deliver it to the stern conflicts and tumultuous scenes of life, armed by those good principles which her child has received from maternal care and love. If we draw within the circle of our contemplation the mothers of a civilized nation, what do we see? We behold so many artificers working, not on frail, perishable matter, but on the immortal mind, moulding and fashioning beings who are to exist forever. We applaud the artist whose skill and genius present the mimic man upon the canvas ; we admire and celebrate the sculptor who works out that same image in enduring marble ; but how insignificant are these achievements, though the highest and the fairest in all the departments of art, in comparison with the great vocation of human mothers ! They work, not upon the canvas that shall perish, or the marble that shall crumble into dust, but upon mind, upon spirit, which is to last forever, and which is to bear for good or evil, throughout its duration, the impress of a mother's plastic hand. I have already expressed the opinion, which all allow to be correct, that our security for the duration of the free institutions which bless our countrj^ depends upon habits of virtue, and the prevalence of knowledge and of education. The attainment 42 THE GOLDEX TEEASURY. of knowledge does not comprise all which is contained in the larger term of education. The feelings are to be disciplined ; the passions are to be restrained ; true and worthy motives are to be inspired ; a profound religious feeling is to be instilled, and pure morality inculcated under all circumstances. Mothers who are faithful to this gi-eat duty will tell their children, that neither in political nor in any other concerns of life can man ever withdraw himself from the perpetual obhgations of conscience and of duty ; that in every act, whether public or private, he incurs a just responsibility ; and that in no condition is he warranted in trifling with important rights and obligations. They will impress upon their children the truth, that the exercise of the elective franchise is a social dut}^ of as solemn a nature as man can be called to perform ; that a man may not innocently trifle with his vote ; that every free elector is a trustee, as well for others as for himself ; and that every man and every measure he supports have an important bearing on the interests of others, as well as on his own. It is in the inculcation of high and pure morals such as these, that in a free republic woman performs her sacred duty, and fulfils her destiny. Daniel Webster. THE CHILDREN'S HOUR ^^ETWEEX the dark and the daylight, ^^ 'VMieu the night Is begiuning to lower, ^jii^ Comes a pause in the daj'"s occupations, TjT 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 AUegra, And Edith -with golden hair. A whisper and then a silence, Yet I kno\\' bv their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the staiiTvay, A sixddeu raid from the hall. By three doors left imguarded, They enter my castle waU. They climb up into my tm-ret, 0"er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me : They seem to be everj-where. They almost devour me with kisses, ITieir arms about me ent^vine. Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-tower on the Ehine. 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 j^ou all? I have you fast in my fortress, And Avill not let you depart, But piit you 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 Wadswortu Longfellow. HOME. ^^ MAN'S house should be on the hill-top of cheerfulness and serenity, so high that ^i^ no shadows rest upon it, and where the morning comes so earl}^ and the evening tarries so late, that the day has twice as many golden hours as those of other men. He is to be pitied whose house is in some valley of grief between the hills, with the longest night and the shortest day. Home should be the center of joy. HOME AND FIRESIDE. 43 SONGS OF SEVEN. , SEVEN TIMES ONE. — EXULTATION. ^ipHERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover, ^1^ There's no rain left in heaven. '^^ I've said my "seven times" over and over — Tif Seven times one are seven. I am old — so old I can wi'ite a letter ; My birthday lessons are done. The lambs play always — they know no better ; They are only one times one. I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet Bee ! you'i-e a dustj^ fellow — You've powdered your legs with gold. O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow. Give me yoiu- money to hold! O Columbine ! open your folded wrapper. Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! ' I am seven times one to-dav.'' O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low. You were bright— ah, bright— but your light is failing ; You are nothing now but a bow. O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the puqile clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! And show me your nest, with the young ones in it — I will not steal them away ; You Moon ! have you done something wrong in heaven, I am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet ! That God has hidden j^our face? I am seven times one to-day. 44 THE GOLDEX TREASLTIY. SEVEN TIMES TWO. — ROMANCE. KJ^OU bells in the steeple, riug, ring out your changes How many soever thej' be, ' And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me. Yet bu'd's clearest carol bj^ fall or bj^ swelling Xo magical sense convej's, And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future daj's. I wait for the day ^\■hen dear hearts shall discover, "WTiile dear hands are laid on my head ; " The child is a woman, the book may close over. For all the lessons are said." I wait for mj- story — the birds cannot ainff it, Not one, as he sits on the tree ; The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it! Such a< I wisli it to be. ' I leaned out of window. I smelt the while clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate." "Turn again, tm"n again," once they rang cheerily. AVTiile a boy listened alone ; Made his heart j^earn again, musing so wearily All bj' himself on a stone. Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good days are over, And mine, thej^ are j'et to be; Xo listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover : You leave the story to me. The fox-glove shoots out of the green matted heather. Preparing her hoods of snow; She was idle, and slept till the sunshinj- weather : O children take long to grow. I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, Xor long summer bide so late ; And 1 could grow on like the fox-glove and aster, For some things are ill to wait. SEVEN TIMES THREE. — LOVE. LE AXED out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; '• Xow, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover — Hush, nightingale, hush ! O sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear If a step dra\Aeth near, For my love he is late! " Tlie skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree. The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer: To what art thou listening, aud what dost thou see? Let the star-clusters glow, Let the sweet waters flow, And cross quickly to me. HOME AND FIRESIDE. 45 "You night-moths that hover where honey brims ovei From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep; You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste. For the time runs to waste, And my love lieth deep — " Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." . By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover ; Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight ; But I'll love him more, more Thau e'er wife loved before. Be the days dark or bright. For children wake, though fathers sleep, With a stone at foot and at head; sleepless God ! forever keep, Keep both living and dead ! 1 lift mine eyes, and what to see, But a world happy and fair ; I have not wished it to mourn mth me. Comfort is not there. O what anear but golden brooms ! And a waste of reedy rills ; what afar but the flue glooms On the rare blue hills I SEVEN TIMES FOUR. — MATERNITY. ll^pEIGH-HO ! daisies and buttercups, i^Si Fair yellow daffodils, statel}' and tall! /(^■^v When the wind wakes how they rock in the jl^ grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small ! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh-ho ! daises and buttercups ! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain ; Sing, "Heart, thou art wide, though the house be but narrow," — Sing once and sing it again. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups. Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters. And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. ^ O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters. Maybe he thinks on you now ! Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups. Fair yellow daffodils, statelj^ and tall — A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall Send down on their pleasure-smiles passing its meas- lu'e, God that is over us all ! SEVEN TIMES FIVE. — WIDOVTIIOOD. SLEEP and rest, my heart makes moan, Before I am well awake ; "Let me bleed! Oh, let me alone, Since I must not break! " "Let me bleed! Oh, let me alone.' I shall not die, but live forlore — How bitter it is to part ! to meet thee, my love, once more! — O my heart, my heart ! No more to hear, no more to see! that an echo might awake And waft one note of th,v psalm to me, Ere my heart-sti'ings break ! 1 should know it how faint so e'er. And with angel voices blent; O once to feel thy spirit anear, 1 could be content ! O once between the gates of gold, WTiile an angel entering trod ; But once — thee sitting to behold On the hills of God. 46 THE GOLDEN TEEASURY. SEVEN TIMES SIX.— GIVING IN MARRIAGE. §j|I^O bear, to uiu'se, to i-ear, ^^ To watch, and then to lose : 'f^^^ To see mj- bright ones disappear, J i| t Drawn up like morning dews ; — 1 1 To bear, to uurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose : This have I done Avhen God drew near Among his own to choose. To hear, to heed, to wed. And with th}' lord depart In tears that he, as soon as shed. Will let no longer smart. - To hear, to heed, to wed. This whilst thou didst I smiled. For now it was not God who said, "^lother, give me thj' child." O fond, O fool, and blind, To God I gave with tears ; But, ^\-heu a man like grace would find, My soul put bj' her fears. O fond, O fool, and blind, God guards in happier spheres ; That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown j-ears. To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose. Thy uiother's teuderest words are said. Thy face no more she views ; Thy mother's lot, mj- dear. She doth in naught accuse ; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, To love — and then to lose. SEVEN TIMES SEVEN.— LONGINGS FOR HOME. vwf°'v- A Song of a. Boat. f-Vjy HEEE was once a boat on a billow : V^ Lightly she rocked to her port remote. ^^ , And the foam was white in her Avake like snow, xVud her frail mast bowed \\hen the breeze would blow. And bent like a wand of willow. I shaded mine eyes one daj^ when a boat Went curtseying over the billow, I marked her course till a dancing mote. She faded out on tlie moonlit foam. And I stayed behind in the dear loved home ; And mj' thoughts all daj" were about the boat, And my dreams upon the pillow. I pray j'ou hear mj' song of a boat. For it is but short : — My boat, you shall tind none fairer afloat, In river or port. Long I looked out for the lad she boi'e, Ou the open desolate sea; And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore. For he came not back to me — Ah, me ! A Song- of a Nest. PJ|I5|HERE was once a nest in a hollow, uJAii DoAvn in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, ,, .„- Soft and warm and full to the brim: T Vetches leaned over it puiple and dim; ^ With buttercup buds to follow. I pray j'ou hear my song of a nest. For it is not long : — You shall never light in a summer quest The bushes among — Shall never light on a prouder sitter. A fairer ncstful, nor ever knoM' A softer sound than their tender twitter. That wind-like did come and go. I had a uestful once of my own — Ah, happy, happy I ! Right dearly I loved them; but \\'hen they were grown ITiey spread out their wings to fly. Oh, one after one they flew awaj-. Far up to the heavenly blue. To the better counti-y, the upper day ; And — I wish I was going, too. I pray j'OU, what is the nest to me. M.y emptj' nest? And what is the shore where I stood to see My boat sail doATO to the Avest? Can I call that home where I anchor j-et. Though my good man has sailed? Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed ? Nay, but the port where mj' sailor went. And the land where mj' nestlings be : There is the home where my thoughts are sent. The only home for me — Ah. me! Jean Ingelow. HOME AJSTD FIEESIDE. 47 THE FARMEE'S HOME. EBSTER defines home as a " dwelling-place," but it admits of a broader meaning. There are brilliant and elegant homes. Some are wise, thrifty and careful, and <5'« others are warm and genial, by whose glowing hearths any one, at any time, may find enough and to spare. There are bright homes and gloomy homes. There are homes that hurry and bustle through years of incessant labor, until one and another of the inmates fall, like the falling leaves, and the homes turn to dust. We do not say the dairymaid's home compares with this last view. Science has done much to remove the drudgery in our homes, introducing ease and comfort. An ideal home must first have a government, but love must be the dictator. All should unite to make home happy. We should have light in our homes — heaven's own pure, transparent light. It mattei's not whether home is clothed in blue and purple, if it is only brimful of love, smiles and gladness. Our boards should be spread with everything good and enjoyable. We should have birds, flowers, pets, everything suggestive of sociability. Flowers are as indispensable to the perfections of a home as to the perfections of a plant. Do not give them all the sunniest windows and pleasantest corners, crowding out the children. If you cannot have a large conservatory, have a small one. Give your children pets, so that by the care and attention bestowed upon them they may learn the habits of animals. Of the ornamentation about a house, although a broad lake lends a charm to the scenery, it cannot compare with the babbling brook. As the little streamlet goes tumbling over the rocks and along the shallow, pebbly bed, it may be a marvellous teacher to the children, giving them lessons of enterprise and perseverance. In our homes we must have industiy and sympathy. In choosing amusements for the children, the latter element must be brought in. To fully understand the little ones, you must sympathize with them. When a child asks questions don't meet it with, " Oh, don't bother me !" Tell it all it wants to know. Never let your angry passions rise, no matter how much you may be tried. For full and intelligent happiness in the home circle, a library of the best works is necessary. Do not introduce the milk-and-water fiction of the present day, but books of character. Our homes should have their Sabbaths and their family altars. Around these observances cling many of our most sacred memories. William H. Yeomans. A WINTER'S FIRESIDE. jjENTEE, thou daughter of the storm, P^^ I love thee wheu the day is o'er, Spite of the teuipesfs outward roar ; Queen of the tranquil joys that weave The charm around the sudden eve ; The thickening footsteps through the gloom, Telling of those we love come home ; The candles lit, the cheerful board, The dear domestic group restored ; The fire that shows the looks of glee The infants standing at our knee; The busy news, the sportive tongue, The laugh that makes us still feel young ; The health to those we love, that now Are far as ocean winds can blow ; The health to those that with us grew, And still stay with us tried and true ; The wife that makes life glide away. One long and lovely marriage-day. Then music comes, till — round us creep The infant listeners, half asleep ; And busy tongues are loud no more. And winter, thy sweet eve is o'er. mm 48 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY. A CHEERFUL HOME. SrXGLE bitter word may disquiet an entire family for a whole day. One surly glance casts a gloom over the household, while a smile, like a gleam of sunshine, may lig-ht up the darkest and weariest hours. Like unexpected flowers, which ^1^ spring up along our path, full of freshness, fragrance and beauty, do kind I" words and gentle acts and sweet dispositions make glad the home where peace ] and blessing dwell. No matter how humble the abode, if it be thus garnished with grace and sweetened with kindness and smiles, the heart will turn lovingly toward it from all the tumult of the world — it will be the dearest spot beneath the circuit of the sun. And the influences of home perpetuate themselves. The gentle grace of the mother lives in the daughter long after her head is pillowed in the dust of death ; and the fatherly kindness finds its echo in the nobility and courtesy of sons, who come to wear his mantle and to fill his place ; while on the other hand, from an unhappy, misgoverned and disor- dered home, go foi'th persons who shall make other homes miserable, and perpetuate the sourness and sadness, the contentions and strifes and raihngs which have made their own early lives so wretched and distorted. Toward the cheerful home the children gather " as clouds and as doves to their windows," while from the home which is the abode of discontent and strife and trouble, they fly forth as vultures to rend their prey. The class of men who disturb and distress the world are not those born and nurtured amid the hallowed influence of Christian homes ; but rather those whose early life has been a scene of trouble and vexation — who have started wrong in the pilgrimage, and whose course is one of disaster to themselves, and trouble to those around them. WILLIE "WI^TKIE. agi'c-- IPEE Willie Winkie rins throiiffh the town. Rumblin" tumblin" roiin'' about, crawin' like a cock, ii^jj^s UiD-stairs and doon-stairs, in his nicht-gown, Skirlin" like a kenua-what — wauknin' sleepin" folk! ^^W^ Tirlin' at the window, cnin' at the lock. W ^-Are the weans in their bed?— for U's now Hey. Willie Winkie ! the wean's in a creel! ten o'clock."" Waumblin' aff a bodie"s knee like a Aera eel. Rngffin" at the cat"s luw', and ravelliu' a" her thrums: Hey. Willie Winkie? are ye comin' ben? Hev,' AViUie Winkie !-see. there he comes ! The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin nen. The doug"s speldered on the floor, and disna gie a ^^^^^..^ .^ ^^^ ^^.^^^^. ^^,^^ j^^^, ^^ ^^^^..^ ^^.^.^^^^ cheep: ^ ^^.^^ gtimipie stoussie, that cauua rin his lane. But here-s a waukrif laddie, that winna fa" asleep. .^.^^^ ^^^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^.j, ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^.^^ ^^^^^ ^^,^ ^^ . Onything but sleep, ye rogue : — glow'rin' like the But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies sti-ength anew moon, to me. Eattlin' in an airn jug wi" an aim spoon. William Miller. ^ s--j«.^^>«o<^^o=^o NOT ONE TO SPARE. y I looked at John — John looked at me ^^'?;;^ (Dear, patient John, who loves me yet As well as though my locks were jet) ; . And when I found that I must speak. My voice seemed strangely low and weak. '•Tell me again what Robert said," And then I, listening, bent my head. "This is his letter : •! will give A house and laud while you shall live, If, in return, from out your seven. One child to me for a}'e is given." '' I looked at John's old garments worn, I thought of all that John had borne Of povert\' and work and care, "VMiich I, though willing, could not share; I thought of seven mouths to feed, Of seven little children's need. And then of this. ''Come, John," said I. "We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep;'" so walking hand in baud. Dear John and I surveyed our band. First to the cradle lightly stepped, "S\Tiere the new nameless baby slept. "Shall it be baby?"" whispered John; I took his hand and hurried on To Lilian"s crib. Her sleeping grasp Held her old doll within its clasp ; Her dark curls lay, like gold alight, A glory "gainst the pillow white. Softly the father stooped to lay His rough hand down in loving way, "UTien dream or whisper made her stir. And huskily he said, "Xot her I"" 'We stopped beside the trundle-bed. And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the boyish faces there. In sleep, so pitiful and fair; HOME A^^D FLRESIDE. 67 I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak, "He's hut a haby, too," said I, And kissed him as we hui-ried by. Pale, patient Robbie's angel face Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace. "No, for a thousand crowns, not him!" We whispered, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son. Turbulent, reckless, idle one — Could he be spared? Nay; He who gave Bids us befriend him to his grave; Only a mother's heart can be Patient enough for such as he ; "And so," said John, "I would not dare To send him from our bedside prayer." Then stole we softly up above And knelt by Mary, child of love. "Perhaps for her 't would better be," I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a cui-1 that lay Across her cheek in wilful way, And shook his head; "Nay, love; not thee," The while my heart heart audibly. Only one more, our eldest lad. Trusty and ti-uthful, good and glad — So like his father. "No John, no, I cannot, will not, let him go." And so we wrote, in courteous way. We could not give one child away ; And aftei'ward toil lighter seemed. Thinking of that of which we dreamed, Happy in truth that not one face Was missed from its accustomed place ; Thanlrful to work for all the seven, Trusting the rest to one in heaven. Ethel Lynn Beers. MOTHERS AI^D SOI^S. f^irir^OST boys go through a period, when they have great need of patient love at home. They are awkward and clumsy, sometimes strangely wilful and perverse, and they are desperately conscious of themselves, and very sensitive to the least word of censure or effort at restraint. Authority frets them. They are leaving childhood, but they have not yet reached the sober good sense of manhood. They are an easy prey to the tempter and the sophist. Perhaps they adopt skeptical views, from sheer desire to prove that they are independent, and can do their own thinking. Now is the mother's hour. Her boy needs her now more than when he lay in his cradle. Her finer insight and serener faith may hold him fast and prevent his drifting into dangerous courses. At all events there is very much that only a mother can do for her son, and that a son can receive only from his mother, in the critical period of which we are thinking. It is well for him, if she have kept the freshness and brightness of her youth, so that she can now be his companion and friend as well as mentor. It is a good thing for a boy to be proud of his mother ; to feel com'placent when he introduces her to his comrades, knowing that they cannot help seeing what a pretty woman she is, so graceful, winsome, and attractive ! There is always hope for a boy when he admires his mother, and mothers should care to be admirable in the eyes of their sons — not merely to possess characters worthy of respect, but to be beautiful and charming, so far as they can, in person and appearance. The neat dress, the becoming ribbon, and smooth hair, are all worth thinking about, when regarded as means of retaining influence over a soul, when the world is spreading lures for it on every side. Above all things, mothers need faith. Genuine, hearty, loving trust in God, a life of meek, glad, acquiescence in His will, lived daily through years in the presence of sons, is an immense power. They never can get away from the sweet memory that Christ was their mother's friend. There is a reality in that which no false reasoning can persuade them to regard as a figment of the imagination. 68 THE GOLDEX TEEASLTRY. MY CHILDHOOD HOME. IHEEE'S a little low hut by the river's side, Withiu the sound of its rippliug tide ; Its walls are grey with the mosses of years, And its roof all crumbled and old appears ; '^" But fairer to me than castle's pride Is the little low hut bj' the river's side! ITie little low hut was my natal rest, \VTien my childhood passed — Life's springtime blest; "WTiere the hopes of ardent j-outh were formed, And the sun of promise my young heart wai-med, Ere I threw myself on life's swift tide. And left the dear hut by the river's side. That little low hut, in lowly guise, Was soft and grand to mj' youthful eyes. And fairer trees were ne'er known before, Than the apple-trees by the humble door — That my father loved for their thrifty pride — That shadowed the hut by the river's side. Tliat little low hut had a glad hearthstone. That echoed of old with a pleasant tone. And brothers and sisters, a merry crew, Filled the hours with pleasure as on thej' flew; But one bj' one the loved ones died. That d^-elt in the hut bv the river's side. The father revered and the children gay ITie graves of the world have caUed away : But quietly, all alone, here sits By the pleasant window, in summer, and knits, An aged woman, long years allied With the little low hut by the river's side. That little low hut to the lonely wife Is the cherished stage of her active life ; Each scene is recalled in memory's beam. As she sits bj' the window in pensive dream And joys and woes roll back like a tide In that little low hut hy the river's side. My mother — alone by the liver's side She waits for the flood of the heavenly tide. And the voice that shall thrill her heart with its call To meet once more with the dear ones all. And forms in a region beautified. The band that once met by the river's side. The dear old hut by the river's side With the warmest pulse of mj' heart is allied — And a glorj' is over its dark walls thro^^-n. That statelier fabrics have never known — And I shall love with a fonder pride That little low hut by the river's side. B. P. Shillaber (Mks. Partington). RAIISr ON THE ROOF. fllEX the humid shadows hover Over all tlie starry spheres, And the melancholj- darkness Gently weeps in rainj' tears, ■\\Tiat a bliss to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead ! Eveiy tinkle on the shingles Has an echo in the heart; And a thousand dreamy fancies Into busy being start. And a thousand recollections AVeave their air-threads into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. Xow in memory comes m.v mother As she used long years agone. To regard the darliug dreamers Ere she left then till the dawn; Oh, I see her leaning o'er me, As I list to this refrain ■\A1iich is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. Then mj- little seraph sister. With her wings and waving hail And her star-eyed cherub brother A serene angelic pair I— Glide around my wakeful pillow. With their ijraise or mild reproo As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof. And another comes to thrill me With her eyes' delicious blue ; And I mind not, musing on her, Tliat her heart was all untrue : I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain. And my heart's quick jiulses vibrate To the patter of the rain. Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with such a spell In the soul's iU5-sterious fountains. "WTience the tears of rapture well As that melody of nature, Tliat subdued, subduing sti'ain AMiich is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. COATES KlXXEY, HOME AND FIEESIDE. G9 HOME SHADOWS. € ■ (W,V:W.a?a.'»;^^gV .'A^.-^<-^2 ^ Ix the man whose childhood has known tender caresses, there is a fibre of memorj- which can be touched to gentle issues. HOME AXD FIRESIDE. 7o BE KIND. I^^E kind to thy father, for when thou wast young, Who loved thee as fondly as he? [e caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue. And joined in thine innocent glee. Be kind to thy father, for now he is old, His locks intermingled with gray. His footsteps are feeble, once fearless and hold; Thy father is passing away. Be kind to thy mother, for, lo ! on her brow , May traces of sorrow be seen : Oh, well may'st you cherish and comfort her now. For loving and kind hath she been. Remember thy mother, for thee will she pray As long as God giveth her breath ; With accents of kindness then cheer her lone waj^. E'en to the dark valley of death. Be kind to thy brother, his heart will have dearth. If the smile of thy love bt^ Avithdrawn ; The rtowers of feeling will fade at their birth. If the dew of affection be gone. Be kind to thy brother, wherever you are, The love of a brother shall be An ornament, purer and richer by far, Than i^earls from the depths of the sea. Be kind to thy sister, not many may know The depth of true sisterly love ; The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below The siu-face that sparkles above. Thy kindness shall bring to thee mauj' sweet hours. And blessings thy pathwaj^ to crown, Affection shall weave thee a garland of liowers. More precious than wealth or renown. MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME. ^j|(|HE sun shines bright in our old Kentucky' home ; ^^k 'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay ; ' Y. The corn-top's ripe and the meadow's in the ^ bloom. While the birds make music all the day ; The young folks roll on the little cabin floor. All merry, all happ)', all bright ; By'm bj"^ hard times comes a knockin' at the door — Then my old Kentucky home, good night! Weep no more, my lady; O, weep no more to-day! We'll sing one song for the old Kentuckj^ home. For om- old Kentucky home far away. They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon. On the meadow, the hill and the shore ; They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon. On the bench by the old cabin door ; The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart, With sorrow, where all was delight ; The time has come when the darkeys have to part^ Then my old Kentucky home, good night! The head must bow, and the back will have to bend. Wherever the darkey may go ; A few more days, and the troubles all will end, In the fields where the sugar-cane grow; A few more days to tote the weary load. No matter, it will never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road. Then my old Kentucky home, good night! Stephen Collins Foster. MOTHEES, SPAEE YOTJBSELTES. |,^ 'ANY a mother grows old, faded, and feeble long before her time, because her boys ^^^i and girls are not thoughtfully considerate and helpful. When they become old '^ 'i' '' enough to be of service in a household, mother has become so used to doing all herself, to taking upon her shoulders all the care, that she forgets to lay off the burden little by little, on those who are so Avell able to bear it. It is partly her own fault, to be sure, but a fault committed out of love and mistaken kindness for her children. 74 THE GOLDEX TEEASITIY. IN A STRANGE LAND. to be home again, home again, home again ! Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill; [other is calling me, father is calling me, Calling me, calling me, calling me still. Oh. how I long to be wandering, wandering Through the green meadows and over the hill ; Sisters are calling me. brothers are calling me, Calling me, calling me, calling me stiU. Oh, once more to be home again, home again. Dark grows my sight, and the evening is chill — Do you not hear how the voices are calling me. Calling me, calling me, calling me still? James Thomas Fields. o>«^N^o THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. IIPIpP with the sun in the morning, ^' ^ Away to the garden he hies. To see if the sleeping blossoms Have begun to open their eyes. Running a race with the wind, "With a step as light and fleet, Under my window I hear ITie patter of little feet. Now to the brook he Avanders, lu swift and noiseless flight. Splashing the sparkling ripples Like a faiiy water-si^rite. No sand imder fabled river Has gleams like his golden hair. No pearler sea-shell is fairer ITian his slender ankles bare. Nor the rosiest stem of corul, That blushes in ocean's bed. Is sweet as the flash that follows Our darling's airj' ti-ead. From a bi'oad window my neighbor, Looks down on our little cot. And watches the ''poor man's blessing"— I cannot emy his lot. He has pictures, books, and music, Bright fountains, and noble ti-ees, Earc store of blossoming roses. Birds from beyond the seas. But never does childish laughter His homeward footsteps greet; Ilis stately halls ne'er echo To the ti-ead of innocent feet. UTais child is our "sparkling picture," A birdling that chatters and sings, Sometimes a sleeping cherub, (Oiu- other one has wings.) His heart is a charmed casket. Full of all that's cunning and sweet, And no harpstring holds such music As follows his twdnkling feet. ■\Mien the glory of sunset opens The highway by angels ti'od. And seems to imbar the city "Whose builder and maker is God — Close to the ciystal portal, I see bj' the gates of pearl, The eyes of our other angel — A twin-born little girl. And I ask to be taught and directer" To guide his footsteps aright; So to live that I maj' be ready To walk in sandals of light — And hear, amid songs of welcome. From messengers ti'usty and fleet. On the stany floor of heaven. The patter of little feet. HOME AXD FIEESIDE. 75 MT MOTHEE'S BIBLE. N one of the shelves in my library, surrounded by volumes of all kinds, on various subjects, and in various languages, stands an old book, in its plain covering of brown paper, unprepossessing to the eye, and apparently out of place among the more pretentious volumes that stand by its side. To the eye of a stranger it has certainly neither beauty nor comeliness. Its covers are worn ; its leaves marred by long use ; its pages, once white, have become yellow with age ; yet, old and worn as it is, to me it is the most beautiful and most valuable book on my shelves. No other awakens such associations, or so appeals to alj that is best and noblest within me. It is, or rather it was, my mother's Bible — companion of her best and holiest hours, source of her unspeakable joy and consolation. From it she derived the principles of a truly Chi'istian life and character. It was the light to her feet and the lamp to her path. It was constantly by her side ; and, as her steps tottered in the advancing pilgrimage of life, and her eyes grew dim with age, more and more precious to her became the well-worn pages. One morning, just as the stars were fading into the dawn of the coming Sabbath, the aged pilo'rim passed on beyond the stars and beyond the morning, and entered into the rest of the eternal Sabbath — to look upon the face of Him of whom the law and the prophets had spoken, and whom, not having seen, she had loved. And now, no legacy is to me more precious than that old Bible. Years have passed ; but it stands there on the shelf, eloquent as ever, witness of a beautiful life that is finished, and a silent monitor to the livino-. In hours of trial and sorrow, it says : " Be not cast down, my son ; for thou shalt yet praise Him who is the health of thy countenance and thy God." In moments of weakness and fear it says, "Be strong now, my son, and quit yourself manfully." When, sometimes, from the cares and conflicts of external life, I come back to the study, weary of the world and tired of men — of men that are so hard and selfish, and a world that is so unfeeling — and the strings of the soul have become untuned and discordant, I seem to hear that Book saying, as with the well-remembered tones of a voice long silent : " Let not your heart be troubled. For what is your life? It is even as a vapor." Then my troubled spirit becomes calm ; and the little woild, that had grown so great and formid- able, sinks in its true place again. I am peaceful, I am strong. There is no need to take down the volume from the shelf, or open it. A glance of the eye is sufficient. Memory and the law of association supply the rest. Yet thei-e are occasions when it is otherwise ; hours in life when some deeper gi'ief has troubled the heart, some darker, heavier cloud is over the spirit and over the dwelling, and when it is a comfort to take down that old Bible and search its pages. Then, for a time, the latest editions, the original languages, the notes and commentaries, and all the critical apparatus which the scholar gathers around him for the study of the Scriptures are laid aside ; and the plain old English Bible that was my mother's is taken from the shelf. Bishop Gilbert Haven. 76 THE GOLD EX TREASUEY. A HOME PICTUEE. Ig^EN Fisher had finished his hard day's work, 1^^ And he sat at his cottage door ; ^!'|\^His good wife, Kate, sat by his side. J I And the moonlight danced on the floor — ? The moonlight danced on the cottage floor, Her beams were clear and bright As when he and Kate, twelve years before, Talked love in her mellow light. Ben Fisher had never a pipe of clay. And never a dram drank he ; So he loved at home with his Avife to stay. And they chatted right merrily ; Right merrily chatted they on. the while Her babe slept on he r b -east. While a chubby rogue, with rosy smile. On his father's knee found rest. Ben told her how fast the potatoes grew. And the corn in the lower field ; And the wheat on the hill was grown to seed. And promised a glorious yield— A glorious yield in the harvest-time, And his orchard was doing fair; His sheep and his stock were in their prime. His farm all in good repair. Kate said that her garden looked beautiful, Her fowls and her calves were fat; That the butter that Tommy that morning churned "Would buy him a Sunday hat; That Jenny, for Pa, a new shirt had made. And "t^vas done too b\' the rule ; That Xeddy the garden could nicelj' sjiade. And Ann was ahead at school. Ben slowly raised his toil-worn hand Through his locks of grayish brown — " I tell you, Kate, what I think," said he, " We're the happiest folks in town." "I know,"' said Kate, " th:xt we all work hard — Work and health go together, I've found : For there's Mrs. Bell does not work at all. And she's sick the Avhole year round. " They're worth their thousands, so people say. But I ne'er saw them happy yet; 'Twould not be me that would take their gold. And live in a constant fret; My humble home has a light within, Mrs. Bell's gold could not buy, Six healthy children, a merry heart. And a husband's love-lit eye." I fancied a tear was in Ben's ej-e— The moon shone brighter and clearer, I could not tell why the man should cry, But he hitched up to Kate still nearer; He lean'd his head on her shoulder there. And he took her hand in his — I guess — (though I look'd at the moon just then.) That he left on her lips a kiss. Fraxces Dana Gage. A STORY FOR A CHILD. piTLiE one, come to my knee; Hark, how the rain is pouring Over the roof, in the pitch-black night. And the winds in the woods a-roaring. Hush, my darling, and listen. Then pay for the story with kisses : Father was lost in the pitch-black night. In just such a storm as this is. High up on the lonely mountains, ^Yhere the wild men watched and waited ; Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated. The rain and the night together Came down, and the wind came after. Bending the props of the pine-tree roof And snapping many a rafter. I crept along in the darkness. Stunned, and bruised, and blinded — Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs. And a sheltering rock behind it. There from the blowing and raining Crouching, I sought to hide me : Something rustled, two green eyes shone. And a wolf laj' down beside me. Little one, be not frightened ; I and the wolf together. Side by side, through the long, long night, Hid from the awful weather. His wet fur pressed against me ; Each of us warmed the other; Each of us felt, in the stormy dark. That beast and man were brother. And when the falling forest No longer crashed in warning. Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild, wet morning. Darling, kiss me payment ! Hark, how the wind is roaring! Father's house is a better place "WTien the stormy rain is pouring. Bayaru Taylor. HOME AND FIEESIDE. 77 CHOOSING A NAME. p^ HAVE got a new-oorn sister; iP I was uigh the first that kissed her. ^p Wlien the nursing-woman brought her i To papa, his infant daughter, J How papa's dear eyes did glisten! — She will shortly he to christen ; And papa has made the offer, I shall have the naming of her. Now I wonder what would please her — Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? Ann and Mary, they're too common- Joan's too formal for a woman ; Jane's a i^rettier name beside ; But Ave had a Jane that died. They would say, if 'twas Rebecca That she was a little Quaker. Edith's pretty, but that looks Better iji old English books ; Ellen's left off long ago ; Blanche is out of fashion now. None that I have named as yet Are so good as Margaret; Emily is neat and fine; What do j^ou think of Caroline? How I'm iDuzzled and perplexed What to choose or think of next ! I am in a little fever Lest the name that I should give her Should disgrace her or defame her — I will leave papa to name her. Mart Lamb. la^^ BABY. IhIEEE did you come from, baby dear? l^lB Out of the everywhere into here. P _ 9 ,.. ^ -J '^W'^ Where did you get those eyes so blue? J"''l» Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand sti'oked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than any one knows. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. Where did you get this pearly ear? Grod spoke and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings. How did they all just come to be you? God thought about me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I am here. George Macdonald. TRUE HOSPITALITY. ^^^ PERFECT host is as rare a being as a great poet, and for much the same reason, i^ namely, that to be a perfect host requires as rare a combination of qualities as those ISs which are needed to produce a great poet. He should be like that lord in waiting of ^^ whom Charles 11. said, that he was " never in the way, and never out of the way." f He should never deo;enerate into a showman, for there is nothino; of which most I people are so soon weary as of being shown things, especially if they are called upon to admire them. He, the perfect host, should always recollect that he is in his own house, and that his guests are not in theirs, consequently those local arrangements which are familiar to him should be rendered familiar to them. His aim should be to make his house a home for his guests, with all the advantage of novelty. If he entertains many guests, he should know enough about them to be sure that he has invited those who will live amicably together, and will enjoy each other's society. He should show no favoritism, 78 THE GOLDEX TREASURY. if possible, and if he is a man who must indulge in favoritism, it should be to those of his guests who ai'e more obscure than the others. He should be judiciously despotic as regards all proposals for pleasure, for there will be many that are diverse, and much time will be wasted if he does not take upon himself the labor and responsibility of decision. He should have much regard to the comings and goings of his guests, so as to provide for their adit and exit every convenience. Now I am going to insist on what I think to be a very great point. He should aim at causing that his guests should hereafter become friends, if they are not so at present, so that they might, in future days, trace back the beginning of their friendship to their having met together at his house. He, the perfect host, must have the art to lead conversation without absorbing it himself, so that he may develop the best qualities of his guests. His expense in entertainment should not be devoted to what is luxurious, but to what is ennoblino- and comfortable. The first of all things is that he should be an affectionate, indeed, a loving host, so that every one of his guests should feel that he is really welcome. He should press them to stay, but should be careful that this pressing does not interfere with their convenience, so that they stay merely to oblige him, and not to please themselves. In considering who should be his guests, he should always have a thought as to those to whom he would render most service by having them as his guests, his poorer brethren, his more sickly brethren. Those who he feels would gain most advantage by being his guests, should have the first place in his invitations, and for his considerateness he will be amply rewarded by the benefits he will have conferred. Arthur Helps. THE EULE OF HOSPITALITY. ^RUE hospitality is a thing that touches the heart and never goes beyond the circle of generous impulses. Entertainment with the truly hospitable man means more than the mere feeding of the body ; it means an interchange of soul gifts. Still it should have its laws, as all things good must have laws to govern them. The obligation to be hospitable is a sacred one, emphasized by every moral code known to the world, and a practical outcome of the second great commandment. There should never be a guest in the house whose presence requires any considerable change in the domestic economy. However much the circumstances of business or mutual interest may demand in entertaining a stranger, he should never be taken into the familv circle unless he is known to be wholly worthy of a place in that sanctum sanctorum of social life ; but when once a man is admitted to the home fireside he should be treated as if the place had been his always The fact of an invitation gives neither host nor guest the right to be master of the other's time, and does not require even a temporary sacrifice of one's entire individuality or pursuits. A man should never be so much himself as when he entertains a friend. To stay at a friend's house beyond the time for which one is in\'ited is to perpetrate a social robbery. HOME AND FIRESIDE. 79 To abide uninvited in a friend's home is as much a misdemeanor as borrowing his coat without his permission. It is debasing the coin of friendship to mere dross when a man attempts to make it pay his hotel bills. The fact of two men having the same occupation and interests in life gives to neither a social right to the other's bed and board. A traveling minister has no more right to go uninvited to a fellow-preacher's, house than a ti'aveling shopkeeper or shoemaker has to go uninvited to the house of his fellow-craftsman. Men are ordained to the ministry as preachers, teachers and pastors, and not as private hotel-keepers. They who go into the country in summer as uninvited guests of their farmer friends should be rated as social brigands and treated accordingly. These few social maxims are by no means to be taken as a complete code of laws. Others quite as important will spring up out of the personal experience of every reader of this article, and the justice and equity of all may be tested by that infallible standard of society — the Golden Eule. There can be no true hospitality that in practice is a violation of this rule ; and you may safely rest assured that you have giyen the fullest and most perfect measure of entertainment to your neighbor if you have done exactly as you would be done by. W. M. F. Round. THE SAILOR'S WIFE. ;ND are ye sure the news Is true? And are ye sure he 's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? Ye jades, lay by yom- wheel; Is this the time to si^in a thread, When Colin -s at the door? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there 's nae luck about the house. There 's nae luck at a", There "s little pleasure in the house When our gudeman 's awa". And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun ted the bailie's wife ITiat Colin 's in the town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockin's, pearly blue ; Ifs a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he 's baith leal and true, Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot ; Gie little Kate her button gown. And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw ; It 's a' to please mj' ain gudeman, For he 's been lang awa'. There 's twa fat hens upo' the coop, Been fed this month and mair ; Mak haste and thraw their necks about. That Colin weel may fare ; And spread the table neat and clean. Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared "When he was far awa'? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in "t As he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. In troth, I'm like to greet! If Colin 's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave ; And gin I live to keep him sae I'm blest aboon the lave. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. In troth I'm like to greet. Jean Adam. 80 THE GOLDEN mEASUKY. CATCHING SHADOAYS. HEX the day aud dark are blended, .-I And the weary tasks are ended, Sits the little mother humming. dear coming. T Waiting sound of hi TVTio, the lord of love's domain, Yet to her yields all again. Then the winsome, wee one. nestling In her hosom, spies the ■\ATestliug, Dancing shadows rise and fall. Phantom-like upon the wall, As the flickering firelight flashes From among the flames and ashes. Loud he laughs, in baby glee. At their elfin revehy ; At the lilting, lithe, elastic, Aiiy, fairy forms fantastic. Now receding, now advancing. Gov as love from voung eves glancing. Not eclipse and umbrage dim. These are sentient things to him ; "Wherefore, wistful welcome lending, Tiny hands are soon extending. Snatching, catching, quick and eager. At the shapes that him beleaguer. Oft he clasps them, grasps them, yet They but fool him, they coquet; Vain his striving and endeavor. They elude and mock him ever, ■ They delude and still deceive him, ITiey perplex and vex and grieve him. Much he wonders, ponders why "When they beckon yet they fly. And the tear in his blue eye Shines as rain from sunny skj'. Soon he turns — the cruel seeming Fades awaJ^ and he lies dreaming. E. Hannaford. THE LIGHT OF A CHEEEFUL FACE. ■ HERE is no greater eveiy-day virtue than cheerfulness. This quality in "man, among men, is like sunshine to the day — of gentle renewing moisture to parched hearts. The light of a cheerful face diffuses itself, and communicates the hapj)y spirit that inspires it. The sourest temper must sweeten in the atmosphere of continuous good humor. As well might fog and cloud, and vapor, hope to cling to the sun-illuminated landscape, as the blues and moroseness to combat jovial speech and exhilerating laughter. Be cheerful always. There is no path but will be easier traveled, no load but will be lighter, no shadow on heart or brain but will lift sooner in presence of a determined cheer- fulness. It may sometimes seem difficult for the happiest temper to keep the countenance of peace and content ; but the difficulty will vanish when we truly consider that sullen gloom and passionate despair do nothing but multiply thorns and thicken sorrows. HI comes to us as providentially as good, and is a good, if we rightfully apply its lessons. Who will not then cheerfully accept the ill, and thus blunt its apparent sting? Cheerful- ness ought to be the fruit of philosophy and of Christianitj". What is gained by peevishness and fretfulness, by perverse sadness and sullenness? If we are ill, let us be cheered by the trust that we shall soon be in health ; if misfortune "befall us, let us be cheered by hopeful "vnsions of better fortune ; if death robs us of dear ones, let us be cheered by the thought that they are only gone before to the blissful bowers, where we shall all meet to part no more forever. Cultivate cheerfulness, if only for personal profit. You will do and bear every duty and burden better by being cheerful. It will be your consoler in solitude, ^-our passport and commendator in society. You will be more sought after, more trusted and esteemed for 3'our steady cheerfulness. The bad, the vicious, may be boisterously gay and vulgarly humorous, but seldom or never truly cheerful. Genuine cheerfulness is an almost certain index of a happy and a pure heart. HOME AND FIRESIDE. **A little elbow leans upon your knee.' TIRED MOTHERS. [LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee. Your tired knee that has so much to boar; A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair, Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours so tight: You do not prize this blessing overmuch,— You almost are too tired to pray to-night. But it is blessedness! A .year ago 1 did not see it as I do to-duy — We are so dull and thankless; and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slijos away. And now it seems surpassing strange to me. That, while I wore the badge of motherhood. I did not kiss more oft and tenderly 'llio little child that brought me only good. And if some night when you sit down to rest. You miss this elbow from your tired knee, — ■ This i-estless curling head from off your breast, — This lisping tongue that chatters constantly; If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped And ne'er would nestle in j^our palm again; If the white feet into their grave had tripped, I could not blame you for .your heartache then. T wonder so that mothei-s ever fret At little children clinging to their gown: Or that the footprints, when the days are wet. Ai-e ever black enough to make them frown. If I could find a little nuiddy boot. Or cap, or jacket, on ni}' chamber floor, — If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot. And hear it patter in my house once more, — If I could mend a broken cart to-day. To-morrow make a kite to reach the skJ^ There is no woman in Ood's world could say She was more blissfully content than I. But ah ! the dainty pillow next my own Is never rumpled by a shining head ; My singing birdling from its nest has flown. •The little boy I used to kiss is dead. May Riley Smith. (J 82 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. HOME lE^STEUCTIO]^. ^^TsBO^TE all things, teach children what their life is. It is not breathing, moving, «^T^ playing, sleeping, simply. Life is a battle. All thoughtful people see it so. ■^v;^ A battle between good and evil, from childhood. Good influences, drawing us up toward the divine ; bad influences, drawing us down to the brute. jMidway we stand, between the divine and the brute. How to cultivate the good side of the nature is the greatest lesson of life to teach. Teach children that they lead these two lives : the life without, and the life within ; and that the inside must be pure in the sight of God, as well as the outside in the sight of men. There are five means of learning. These are : Observation, reading, conversation, memorj', reflection. Educators, sometimes, in their anxiety to secure a wide range of studies, do not suffi- ciently impress upon their scholars the value of memory. Now, our memory is one of the most wonderful things God has bestowed upon us, and one of the most mysterious. Take a tumbler and pour water into it ; by-and-by you can pour no more ; it is full. It is not so with the mind. You cannot fill it full of knowledge in a whole lifetime. Pour in all you please, and it still thirsts for more. Remember this : Knowledge is not what you learn, but what 3'ou I'emember. It is not what you eat, but what 3'ou digest, that makes 3'ou grow. It is not the mone}'' you handle, but that 3"0u keep, that makes you rich. It is not what you study, but what you remember and reflect upon, that makes you learned. One more suggestion : Above all things else, strive to fit the children in your charge to be useful men and women ; men and women you may be proud of in after-life. While they are young, teach them that far above phj'sical courage — which will lead them to face the cannon's mouth — above wealth, which would give them farms and houses, and bank-stocks and fTold — is moral cou^^age. That courage by which they will stand fearlessly, frankly, firmly for the right. Every man or woman who dares to stand for the right when evil has its legions, is the true moral victor in this life, and in the land beyond the stars. Schuyler Colfaa. HOME ADOEl^MEXTS. ROOM without pictures is like a room without windows. Pictures are loop-holes of escape to the soul, leading to other scenes and other spheres. Pictures are con- solers of loneliness ; they are books, they are histories and sermons, which we can read without the trouble of turning over the leaves. HOME AND FIEESIDE. 83 THE FARMER SAT IN HIS EASY CHAIR. ^HE farmer sat in his easy chair, Smoking his pipe of clay, While his hale old wife, with busy care. Was clearing the dinner away ; A s^^■eet little girl, with fine blue ej^es, On her grandfather's knee was catching flies. The old man laid his hand on her head. With a tear on his wrinkled face ; He thought how often her mother, dead, Had sat in that self-same place. As the tear stole down from his half-shut ej'e, "Don't smoke!" said the child; "how it makes you oiy!" The house-dog lay stretched out on the floor, Where the shade after noon used to steal ; The busy old wife, by the open door, Was turning the spinning-wheel ; And the old brass clock on the mantel-tree Had plodded along to almost three. Still the farmer sat in his easy-chair, "VVTiile close to his heaving breast The moistened brow and the cheek so fair Of his sweet grandchild were pressed ; His head, bent down, on her soft hair lay : Fast asleep were they both, that summer day I Charles Gamage Eastman. TEIBUTE TO A MOTHEE. HILDREN, look in those eyes, listen to that clear voice, notice the feeling of even a single touch that is bestowed upon you by that gentle hand. Make much of it while yet you have that most precious of all good gifts, a loving mother. Read the unfathomable love of those eyes ; the kind anxiety of that tone and look, however slight your pain. In after-life you may have friends, fond, dear, kind friends ; but never will you have again the inexpressible love and gentleness lavished upon you which none but a mother bestows. Often do I sigh in my struggles with the hard, uncaring world, for the sweet, deep security I 'felt when, of an evening, nestling in her bosom, I listened to some quiet tale, suitable to my age, read in her tender and untiring voice. Never can I forget her sweet glances cast upon me when I appeared asleep ; never her kiss of peace at night. Years have passed away since we laid her beside my father in the old churchyard ; yet still her voice Avhispers from the grave, and her eye watches over me, as I visit spots long since hallowed to the memory of my mother. Thoias Babington Mvcaulay. THE LITTLE CHILDREN. 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, Wliere 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 much 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. As crystalline, as i-ays of light Direct from Heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the mist of years. How red my setting sun appears; How lurid looks this sun of mine. Henuy Wadsworth Longfellow. 84 THE GOLDEN TREASURY, 'And yet a hapjiy family Is but an earlier heaven." JOYS OF HOME. f^^^V^5ET are the joys of home, 'i^m And pure as sweet ; for they Like dews of morn and evening come, m To make and close the day. The world hath its delights, And its deUisions, too ; But home to calmer bliss invites, More tranquil and more true. HOME AND FERESroE. 85 The mountain flood is strong, But fearful in its pride ; ^Vhile gently rolls the stream along The peaceful valley's side. Life's charities, like light, Spread smilingly afar ; But stars approached, become more bright. And home is life's own star. The pilgrim's step in vain Seeks Eden's sacred ground! But in home's holy joys agani An Eden may be found. A glance of heaven to see. To none on earth is given ; And yet a happy family Is but an earlier heaven. Sir John Bowring. WOEDS TO BOYS. if I were a boy again ; that is, I would go to bed WOULD keep " better hours earlier than most boys do. Nothing gives more mental and bodily vigor than sound rest when properly applied. Sleep is our great replenisher, and if we neglect to take it regularly in childhood, all the worse for us when we grow up. If we go to bed early, we ripen ; if we sit up late, we decay ; and sooner or later Ave con- tract a disease called insomnia, allowing it to be permanently fixed upon us, and then we begin to decay, even in youth. Late hours are shadows from the grave. If I were a boy again, I would practice perseverance oftener, and never give up a thing because it was hard or inconvenient to do it. If we want light, we must conquer darkness. When I think of mathematics, I blush at the recollection of how often I " gave in " years ago. There is no trait more valuable than a determination to persevere when the right thing is to be accomplished. We are inclined to give up too easily in difficult or unpleasant situations, and the point I would establish with myself, if the choice was again within my grasp, would be never to relinquish my hold on a possible success, if mortal strength or brains, in my case, were adequate to the occasion. That was a capital lesson which a learned professor taught one of his students in the lecture-room, after some chem- ical experiment. The lights had been put out in the hall, and, by accident, some small article dropped on the floor from the professor's hand. The professor lingered behind, endeavoring to pick it up. "Never mind," said the student, "it is of no consequence to-night, sir, whether we find it or no." " That is true," replied the professor ; " but it is of grave consequence to me, as a principle, that I am not foiled in my determination to find it." Perseverance can sometimes equal genius in its results. " There are only two creatures," says the Eastern proverb, " who can surmount the pyramids — the eagle and the snail." James T. Fields. A WINTER EVENING AT HOME. ^MOW stir the fire and close the shutters fast. Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. And while the bubbling and loud hissing lu'u Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each. So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat. To peep at such a world; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured car. "William Cowrru. 86 THE GOLD EX TREASURY. JOHN ANDERSO>sT MY JO. ^OHX AXDEESOX, my io, John, WM When we were first acqueut, ^'Your locks were like the raven, i^l| Your bonnie brow was breut ; Btit now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, mj' jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi" aue anither. 'Now we maun totter down. John. But hand in hand we'll go ; And sleep thegither at the foot, Johu Anderson, mj- jo. Egbert Burns. CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS. I^ERE the stockings were swung in their red. When we braved the bare floor ^\-ith our little bare white, and blue. feet — 'Yl'^ ^Ml fashioned to feet that were light as the Xo shrine to a pilgrim was ever so sweet K dew. Ah, the fragrant old faith when we watched the cold gray Reluctantly line the dim border of day, "i^Tien each lieart and each stocking M-as burdened with bliss — On the verge of two worlds there is nothing like this But a mother's last smile and a lover's first kiss! Benjamin F. Taylor. HOME AND FIKESIDE. 87 A CRADLE HYMN. iUSH! my dear, lie still, aud slumber, s;;;;;sBn> Holy aHgcls guard thy bed ! '^P^^Heaveuly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment. All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou "rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven he descended. And became a child like thee. Soft and easy is thy cradle : Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay : "VVTien his birthplace Avas a stable, And his softest bed was hay. See the kinder shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky ! There they sought him, there they found him, With his virgin mother by. See the lovely Babe a-dressing; Lovely Infant, how he smiled I When he wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the holy Child. Lo ! he slumbers in his manger,' Where the horned oxen fed ; Peace, my darling, here 's no danger, Here "s no ox anear thy bed. Mayst thou live to know and fear him, Trust and love him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near him. See his face, and sing his praise! I could give thee thousand kisses. Hoping what I most desire ; Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire. Isaac Watts. o^^KS^^o GOOD BEEEDIIn^G. FRIEND of yours and mine has very justly defined good breeding to be, "the result of much good sense, some good nature, and a little self-denial for the sake of others, and with a view to obtain the same indulgence from them." Taking this for granted — as I think it cannot be disputed — it is astonishing to me that f anybody, who has good sense and good nature, can essentially fail in good breed- ^ ing. As to the modes of it, indeed, they vary according to persons, places and circumstances, and are only to be acquired by observation and experience ; but the substance of it is everywhere, and eternally the same. Good manners are to particular societies what good morals are to society in general — their cement and their security. And as laws are enacted to enforce good morals, or at least to prevent the ill effects of bad ones, so there are certain rules of civility, universally implied and received, to enforce good manners and punish bad ones. And, indeed, there seems to me to be less difference both between the crimes and punishments, than at first one would imagine. The immoral man, who invades another's property, is justly hanged for it ; and the ill-bred man, who, by his ill manners, invades and disturbs the quiet and comforts of private life, is by common consent as justly banished from society. Mutual complaisances, attentions, and sacrifices of little conveniences, are as natural an implied compact between civilized people, as protection and obedience are between kings and subjects ; whoever, in either case, violates that compact, justly forfeits all advantages arising from it. For my own part, I really think that, next to the consciousness of doing a good action, that of doing a civil one is the most pleasing ; and the epithet which I should covet the most, next to that of Aristides, would be that of well-bred. Philip, Earl of Chesterfield. 88 THE GOLDEN TEEASURY. THE CHILDREN'S BED-TIME. |HE clock strikes seven in the hall, The curfew of the children's day, That calls each little j^attering foot From dance and song and livel}- play; Their day that in a wider light Floats like a silver day-moon white. Nor in our darkness sinks to rest, "From dance and song and lively play.'* Ah, tender hour that sends a drift Of children's kisses through the house, And cuckoo notes of sweet "Good night," That thoughts of heaven and home arouse And a soft stir to sense and heart. As when the bee and blossom part; And little feet that patter slower. Like the last droppings of a shower. And in the children's room aloft. What blossom shapes do gaily slip Their daily sheaths, and i-osy run From clasping hand and kissing lip, A naked sweetness to the eye — Blossom and babe and butterfly In witching one, so dear a sight' An ecstasj- of life and light. Then lily-drest, in angel white. To mother's knee they trooping come. The soft palms fold like kissing shells. And they and we go singing home — Their bright heads bowed and worshipping. As though some glory of the spring. Some daffodil that mocks the daj-. Should fold his golden palms and pvny. The gates of paradise swing wide A moment's space in soft accord. And those dread angels. Life and Death, A moment veil the flaming sword, As o'er this weary world forlorn From Eden's secret heart is borne That breath of Paradise most fair. Which mothers call " the children's praj'er." Then kissed, on beds we lay them down. As fragrant white as clover'd sod. And all the upper floors grow hushed With children's sleep, and dews of God. And as our stars their beams do hide, The stars of twilight, opening wide. Take up the heavenly tale at even. And light us on to God and heaven. Jane Ellis Hopkins. CHILDREN. ^^HILDREX are what the mothers are. No fondest father's fondest care Can fashion so the infant heart As those creative beams that dart. With all their hopes and fears, upon The cradle of a sleeping son. His startled ej'es with wonder see A father near him on his knee, "Who wishes all the Avhile to trace The mother in his future face; But 't is to her alone uprise His wakening arms ; to her those eyes Open with joy and not surprise. AValteu Savagk Laxdok. Home is the crystal of societ}^ and domestic love and duty are the best security for all that is most dear to us on earth. HOME AND FIRESroE. 8i» THE MAHOGANY TREE. iHRISTMAS is here ; ^,^h Winds whistle shrill, ^: Icy and chill, Little care we ; Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The mahoganj^-tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare ijlunie Sang, in its bloom; Night-birds are we; Here we carouse. Singing, like them. Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boj^s, as we sit — Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short — When we are gone Let them sing on. Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this ; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true. Gentle and just, Peace to your dust I We sing round the tree. Care like a dun, Lurks at the gate Let the dog wait ; Happy we "11 be I Drink, every one; Pile up the coals ; Fill the red bowls. Round the old tree ! Drain we the cup — Friend, art afraid? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it j-et : Let us forget. Round the old tree ! Sorrows, begone I Life and its ills, Duns and their bills. Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn. Blue-devil sprite ; Leave us to-night, Round the old tree! , William Makepeack Tiiackekav. SQ^ TELL YOL^E WIFE. 5)F you are in any trouble or quandary, tell your wife — that is if you have one — all about it at once. Ten to one her invention will solve your difficulty sooner than all your logic. The wit of woman has been praised, but her instincts are quicker and keener than her reason. Counsel with your wife, or mother or sister, and be assured, light will flash upon your darkness. "Women are too commonly adjudged as verdant in all but purely womanish affairs. No philosophical students of the sex thus judge them. Their intuitions, or insights, are the most subtle. In counseling a man to tell his wife, we would go farther, and advise him to keep none of his affairs a secret from her. Many a home has been happily saved, and many a fortune retrieved, by a man's full confidence in his " better-half." Woman is far more a seer and prophet than man, if she be given a fair chance. As a general rule, wives confide the minutest of their plans and thoughts to their husbands, having no involvements to screen from them. AVhy not reciprocate, if but for the pleasure of meeting confidence with confidence? We are certain that no man succeeds so well in the world as he who, taking :i partner for life, 90 THE GOLDEX TEEASUEY. makes her the partner of his purposes and hojijes. What is wrong of his impulse or judgment, she will check and set right with her almost universally right instincts. "Help-meet" was no insignificant title as applied to man's companion. She is a help-meet to him in every darkness, difficulty and sorrow of life. And what she most craves and most deserves is confidence — without which love is never free from a shadow. THE FAMILY MEETING. ^^y^E are all here: ^Mj^i Father, mother, 4^ Sister, brother, All who hold each other dear. Each chair is filled, we are all at home. To-night let no cold stranger come ; It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we're found. Bless, then, the meeting and the spot, For once be every care forgot ; Let gentle peace assert her jDower, And kind affection rule the hour. We're all — all here. AVe're not all here ! Some are awaj' — the dead ones dear, ■Wlio thronged with us this ancient hearth; And gave the hour to guileless mirth. Fate, with a stern, relentless hand. Looked in and thinned our little band. Some like a night-flash passed away. And some sank lingering day by day; The quiet graveyard — some lie there, — And cruel ocean has his share. We're not all here ! We are all here ! Even they — the dead — though dead, so deai Fond memory, to her duty true. Brings back their faded forms to view. How life-like, through the mist of years Each well-remembered face appears! We see them, as iu times long past; From each to each kind looks are cast; We hear their words, their smiles behold, They're round us as they were of old. We are all here ! We are all here : Father, mother. Sister, brother. You that I love with love so dear. This may not long of us be said ; Soon may we join the gathered dead. And by the hearth we now sit 'round Some other circle will be found. Oh, then, that wisdom may we know Which yields a life of peace below ; So in the world to follow this May each repeat, in words of bliss. We're all — all here. Charles Sprague. Children are the poetry of the world, the fresh flowers of our hearts and homes, little conjurors, with their "natural magic," evoking by their spells what delights and enriches all ranks, and equalizes the different classes of society. Often as they bring with them anxieties and cares, and live to occasion sorrow and grief, we should get on very badly without them. The object of all ambition should be to be happy at home. If we are not happy there, we certainly cannot be happy elsewhere. It is the best joroof of the virtues of a family circle, to see a happy fireside. Part 1 1. Su5tT^ ^nb 3frt^nJbf0i7t|x* LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. '&• ^?(5^^ ' The little hand outside her muff — To lieep it warm I had to hold it.' ON THE DOORSTEP. ^I^MHE conference meeting through at last, ■^1^^ We boys around the vestry waited /^f\ To see the girls come tripping past n Like snowbirds willing to be mated. Not braver he that leaps the wall By level musket-flashes litten, Than I, who stepped before them all, Who longed to see me get the mitten. 93 94: THE GOLDEN TEEASUEY. But no ; she blushed, and took my arm !" We let the old folks have the highway, And started toward the Maple Farm Along a kind of lover's by-way. I can't remember what we said, "T was nothing worth a song or story; Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed and in a glory. The snow was crisp beneath ovu- feet. The moon was full, the fields were gleaming, By hood and tippet sheltered sweet Her face with j'outh and health was beaming. The little hand outside her muff^ O sculptor, if you could but mold it! So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, To keep it warm I had to hold it. To have her with me there alone — "T was love and fear and triumijh blended. At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended. The old folks, too, were almost home; Her dimpled hand the latches lingered. We heard the voices nearer come. Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. She shook her ringlets from her hood, And with a "Thank 50U, Ned," dissembled. But yet I knew she understood With what a daring wish I trembled. A cloud passed kindly overheard. The moon was slylj' peeping thi'ough it. Yet hid its face, as if It said, "Come, now or never! do it! do it!" ]My lips till then had only known The kiss of mother and of sister, But somehow, full upon her own Sweet, rosy, darling mouth — I kissed her! Perhaps 't was boyish love, yet still, O listless woman, Aveary lover! To feel once more that fresh, wild thi'ill I"d give — But who can live youth over? Edmund Clarence Stedman. THE DEPARTURE. sND on her lover's arm she leant, And 1 ouud her waist she felt it fold; "i And far across the hills thej- went In that new world which is the old. Across the hills, and far away Ee.voud their utmost jjurple rim, And deep into the dying day. The happy princess followed him. "I'd sleep another hundred years, O love, for such another kiss; " "O wake forever, love," she hears, " O love, ■ t was such as this and this ; " And o'er them many a sliding star. And man}' a merry wind was borne. And streamed through man}' a golden bar. The twilight melted into morn. o>«X^^X.^o '• eyes long laid in happy sleep ! " "O happy sleep, that lightly lied! "' " O happy kiss, that woke th}' sleep I " "O love, thy kiss would wake the dead! '' And o'er them many a llowing range Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark; And, rapt through many a rosy change, The twilight died into the dark. A hundred summers! can it be? And whither goest thou, tell me where? "O seek my father's court with me. For there are greater Avonders there." And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple lim. Beyond the night, across the day. Through all the world she followed him. Alfred Tennyson. FIRST LOVE. ; IS sweet to hear. At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, )^ The song and oar of Adria's gondolier; By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep . 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear, 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the skj-. 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home ; 'Tis sweet to know there is an ej'e will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come. 'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark. Or hilled by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds. The lisp of children, and their earliest words. LOVE AXD FEIEXDSIIIP. 95 Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth, Purple and gushing; sweet are our escapes From civic revelry to rural mirth ; Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps; Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth- Sweet is revenge, especially to women. Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. ***** 'Tis sweet to win. no matter how, one's laurels, By blood or ink; 'tis sweet to put an end To strife ; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels, Particularly with a tiresome friend ; Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; Dear is the helpless creature we defend Against the world ; and dear the school-boy spot We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Is first and passionate love — it stands alone. Like Adam's recollection of his fall; The tree of knowledge has been plucked — all's known — And life yields nothing further to recall Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown. No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filched for us from heaven. LORU BVRON. NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME. ?skx.. *|R|HEEE is no time like the old time, when you ^^ and I were young, '^f^r'When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds J«l of springtime sung ! "^ The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed. But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first ! There is no place like the old place where you and I were born ! Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn, From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the clinging arms that bore, Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on r.i no more! There is no friend like the old friend w lio has shared our morning days. lHo greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise ; Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold. But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold. There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride ; Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're fading side by side. There are blossoms all around us with the colors of our dawn. And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of day is gone. There are no times like the old times — the.v shall never be forgot! 'i'here is no place like the old place — keep green the dear old spot! There are no friends like our old friends — may Heaven prolong their lives ! There are no loves like oui- old loves — God bless our lovinar wives! MARY MOlilSON, MAKY, at thy window be ! It is the wished, the try s ted hour! ■ ,Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor; How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun. Could I the rich reward secure — The lovely Mary Morisou. Yestreen when to the ti-embling string The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To tlice my fancy took its wing — I sat, but neither heard nor saw ; Though this was fair, and that was braw. And j'on the toast of a' the town. I sighed, and said amang them 'a, "Ye are na Mary Morison." O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace "Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee'? Or canst thou break that heart of his, AVliase only faut is loving thee"? If love for love thou wilt na gie. At least be pity to me shown ; A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Marj^ Morison. Egbert Bvrns. J»6 THE GOLDEX TREASUEY. IX OUR BOAT. tTARS trembling o'er us and sunset before us, '^ Mountains in sbadow and forests asleep ; ■jjj Down tbe dim river we tloat on forever. in Speak not. ah. breathe not — there's peace oi' tbe deep. Come not. pale sorrow, flee till to-morrow; Rest falling softly o"er eyelids that weep; While down tbe river we float on forever, Speak not, ah, breathe not — there "s peace on the deep. As tbe \\aves cover the depths we glide over, So let tbe past in forgetfuluess sleep. While down tbe river we float on forever, Speak not, ah, breathe not — there "s peace on the deep. Heaven shine above us, bless all that love us; All whom we love in thy tenderness keep! While down the river we float on forever. Speak not, ah, breathe not — there's peace on the deep. Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. COME REST IN" THIS BOSOM. S^^OME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer. ■^|i Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home • ill J" is still here; '^''^'i Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thv own to the last. I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss, And thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this. Through tbe furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue. And shield thee, and save thee — or ])erish there too. Thomas Moore. MY WIFE 'S A "WINSOME WEE THING. ^HE is a winsome wee thing. She is a handsome wee thing. She is a bonnie wee thing. This sweet wee wife o' mine. I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer. And neist mj' heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing. She is a bonnie wee thing. This sweet wee wife o' mine. The warld's wrack we share o't, The warstle and the care o't: Wi' her I'll blythely bear it. And think mj- lot divine. Robert Bcrns. -f— *-'V2/Z^-5^Z/^>10i — '- KISSING HER HAIR. ISSIXG her hair, I sat against her feet : Wove and unwove it — wound and found it ; sweet ; Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes. Deep as deep flowers, and dreamy like dim skies ; With herown tresses bound, and found lier fair — Kissing her hair. Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me — Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea; AVhat pain could get between my face and hers? What new sweet thing would Love not relish worse? Unless, perhaps, white Death bad kissed me there - Kissing her hair. Algernon Charles Swinburne. LOVE AJSTD FEIENDSHIP 97 n, o J) 8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. EARLY LOVE. ^|^J;H, I remember well (and how can I e^i^ But evermore remember Avell?) Avhen first £r^ Our flame began, Avhen scarce we kne\\' what V -was The flame we felt ; when as we sat and siglied, And looked upon each other, and conceived Not what we ailed, j'et something we did ail, And yet were well, and yet we were not well, And what was our disease we could not tell. ITien would we kiss, then sigh, then look; and thus. In that fii-st garden of om- simpleuess. "We spent our childhood. But when years began To reap the fruit of knowledge — ah, how then "Would she Avith sterner looks, Avith graver brow, Check my presumption, and my f orAvardness I Yet stiU would give me flowers, still would show Wnai she would have me, yet not have me know. Sajiuel Daniel. s^-^y^^ CHERRY-RIPE. ||HERE is a garden in her face. i-',-^, "\Miere roses and Avhite lilies blow ; 'fp^A heavenly paradise is that place, J-j. "\Mierein all pleasant fruits do grow ; There cherries grow that none may buy. Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do inclose Of orient pearl a double row, "\Miich ^\-hen her lovely laughter shows, Thej' look like rosebuds fiU'd Avith snow. Yet them no peer nor prince may buy. Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels Avatch them still; Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threafning Avith piercing froAvns to kill All that approach Avith eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till cherry-ri]ie themselves do ciy. EiciiARi) Alison. now DO I LOVE TE[EE. iO"W do I loA'e thee? Let me count the wavs : I love thee to the depth and breadth height My soul can reach, Avhen feeling out of s For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of each day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I loA-e thee freely, as men sti-ive for Eight; I love thee purelj-, as they turn from praise, and I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, andAvith my childhood's faith, ight I love thee Avith a Ioa'c I seem to lose "With my lost saints.— I love thee Avith the breath. Smiles, tears, of all my life!— and. if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Elizabeth Bakrett Browning. LOVE ^VXD FKIENDSIIIP. 99 AYINIFREDA. l^;WAY ! let naught to love displeasing, My Winifreda, move your care ; Let naught delay the heavenly blessing. Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. What though no grants of royal donors With pompous titles grace our blood. We '11 shine in more substantial honors, And, to be noble, we '11 be good. Our name, while virtue thus we tender Will sweetly sound where 'er "tis spoke ; And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk. What though, from fortune's lavish bounty, No mighty treasures we possess ; We '11 find, within our pittance, plenty. And be content without excess. Still sliall each kind returning season Sufficient for our wishes give ; For we will live a life of reason. And that "s the only life to live. Through youth and age, in love excelling. We '11 hand in hand together tread ; Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling. And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures. While round my knees they fondly clung! To see them look their mother's features, To hear them lisp their mother's tongue! And when with en^•y time transported Shall think to rob us of our joys, You '11 in your girls again be courted. And I "11 go wooing in my boys. <.>o<;^e>~Jo HER LIKENESS. ^^^ GIRL, who has so many wilful ways §^M She would have caused Job's patience to for- *^ sake him; yfj!; Yet is so rich in all that 's girlhood's praise, wr Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze, ■§■ A little better she would surely make him. Yet is this girl I sing in naught uncommon. And very far from angel yet, I trow. Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human; Yet she 's more lovable as simple woman Than any one diviner that I know. Therefore I wish that she may safely keep This womanhede, and change not, only grow ; From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep, And in perennial blessedness, still reap On every hand of that which she doth sow. Dinah Maria Mulock Craix, •' 3~^<5x-5 '^ AE FOND KISS BEFORE WE PART. E fond kiss, and then we sever; Ac fareweel, alas, forever! iC"i5 Deep in heart- wrung tears I'll pledge thee; Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. WTio shall say that fortune grieves him, "Wliile the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae chcerf u' twinkle lights me ; Dai'k 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! RaBERT Burns. Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him. So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves. Our fancies ai'c more giddy and unfirm, 7 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won. Than women's are. ****** Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Oi- thv affection cannot hold the bent. lUU THE GOLDEX TREASUEY, LOVE. HOUGH the celestial rapture falling out of heaven seizes only upon those of tender age, and although a beauty overpowering all analysis or comparison, and putting us quite beside ourselves, we can seldom see after thirty years, yet the remembrance of these visions outlasts all other remembrances, and is a wreath of flowers on the oldest brows. But here is a strange fact; it may seem to many men, in reviewing their experi- ence, that they have no fairer page in their life's book than the delicious memory of some passages wherein affection contrived to give a witchcraft surpassing the deep attraction of its own truth to a parcel of accidental and trivial circumstances. In looking backward, they may find that several things which were not the charm, have more reality to this gi'oping memory than the charm itself which embalmed them. But be our experience in particulars what it may, no man ever forgot the visitations of that power to his heart and brain, which created all things new ; which was the dawn in him of music, poetry and art ; which made the face of nature radiant with purple light, the morning and the night varied enchant- ments ; when a single tone of one voice could make the heart beat, and the most trivial circumstance associated with one form is put in the amber of memory : when he became all eye when one was present, all memory when one was gone ; when the youth becomes a watcher of windows, and studious of a glove, a veil, a riband, or the wheels of a carriasre ; when no place is too solitary, and none too silent, for him who has richer company and sweeter conversation in his new thoughts, than any old friends, though best and purest, can give him ; for the figures, the motions, the words, of the beloved object are not, like other images, written in water, but, as Plutarch said, " enameled in fire," and make the study of midnight : '• Thou art not orone beiniygone ^^•here■er thou art. Thou leav"st in him thy watchful eye. in him thy loving heart.'' In the noon and the afternoon of life, we still throb at the recollection of days when happiness was not happy enough, but must be drugged with the relish of pain and fear; for he touched the secret of the matter who said of \o\v — " All other pleasures arc not %vorth its pains;*' and when the day was not long enough, but the night, too, must be consumed in keen recollections ; when the head boiled all night on the pillow with the generous deed it resolved on ; when the moonlight was a pleasing fever, and the stars were letters, and the flowers ciphers, and the air was coined into song; when all business seemed impertinence, and all the men and women running to and fro in the streets mere pictures. The passion remakes the world for the youth. It makes all things alive and sirjnificant. Everv bird on the boughs of the tree sings now to his heart and soul. Almost the notes are articulate. The clouds have faces as he looks on them. The trees of the forest, the wavino^o There has nearly always been a good wife behind every great man, and there is a good deal of truth in the saying that a man can be no greater than his wife will let him. s IIG THE GOLDEX TREASURY. A AVOMAX'S QUESTIO^\ Ij^EFORE I trust my fate to thee, Is there -nitliin thy heart a need i^^ Or place luy hand iu thine, That mine cannot fulfill ? '^"^ Before I let thy futui-e give One chord that any other hand Color and form to mine, Could better wake or still? Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night Speak now — lest at some future day my whole life for me. wither and decay. I break all slighter bonds, nor feel Lives there within thy nature hid A shadow of regret : The demon-spirit change, Is there one link within the Past Shedding a passing glory still That holds thy spirit yet? Ou all things new and sti-ange? Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can It may not be thy fault alone — but shield my heart pledge to thee? against thy own. Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day Does there withm my dimmest dreams ^^ ^^,^^.g^. ^^ ^^ ^^^ A possible future shine, ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^_^,^^^,^ ^^^.^^^j.^ _ ^Mierein thy life could henceforth breathe. ^.^^ thou-had been to blame? Untouched, unshared by mine? Some soothe their consc ienc . thus ; but thou wilt surely U so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost. ^^^.^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^_ Look deeper still. If thou canst feel, Nay, answer not — I dare not hear. Within thy inmost soul, The words would come too late ; That thou has kept a portion back. Yet I would spare thee all remorse, "V\Tiile I have staked the whole. So, comfort thee, my Fate, — Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy "SATiatever on my heart may fall — remember. I would tell me so. risk it all I Adelaide Axxe Procter. — ^^sgJHgsM— -^^ DORIS. SAT with Doris, the shepherd maiden: "They might remember,"' she answered meekly, Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers; "That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild; I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling, But if they love me 'tis none so fei-vent; And shadows stealing, for hours and hom'S. I am a servant, and not a child.'' And she, my Doris, whose lap encloses Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, Wild summer roses of rare perfume. And love did win me to swift reply : The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened " Ah ! do but prove me, and none shall bind you Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom. Xor fray nor find you, until I die."' She touched my shoulder with fearful linger: She blushed and started, and stood awaiting. She said, "We linger; we nuist not stay; As if debating iu dreams divine; My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander: But I did brave them— I told her plainly Behold them yonder— how far they stray! " She doubted vainly; she must be mine. I answered bolder, " Xay, let me hear you, So we, tA\in-hearted, from all the valley And still be near you, and still adore; Did rouse and rally the nibbling ewes. No wolf iior stranger will touch one yearling; And homev.ard drove them, we two together. Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more." Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. She whispered, sighing : " There will be sorrow That simple duty fresh grace did lend her— Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day ; My Doris tender, my Doris true : My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded, That I, her Avarder, did always bless her, I shall be scolded, and sent away." And often press her, to take her due. Said L replying : " If they do miss you, And now in beauty she fills my dwelling They ought to kiss you, when you get home ; ^^'ith love excelling and undefiled ; And well rewarded by friend and neighbor And love doth guard her, both fast and feiwent. Should be the labor from which you come." ^o ™ore a servant, nor yet a child. Arthur J. Mixbv. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 117 SAD ARE THEY WHO KNOW NOT LOVE. SAD are they who know not love. But, far from jDassion's tears and smiles, Drift down a moonless sea, and pass The silver coasts of fairy isles. And sadder they whose longing lips Kiss empty air, and never touch The dear warm mouth of those thej^ love Waiting, wasting, suffering much ! But clear as amber, sweet as musk. Is life to those whose lives unite; They walk in Allah's smile by day, And nestle in his heart by night. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. -^3S— SS O SWALLOW, FLTINO SOUTH. SWALLOW, Swallow, flying, flying South, . ^W" Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, ^?^ And tell her, tell her \^'hat I tell to thee. O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each. That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North. O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. O were I thou, that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? O tell her. Swallow, that thy brood is flown; Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made. O tell her, brief is life, but love is long. And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South. O Swallow, flying from the golden woods. Fly to her, and pipe and avoo her, and make her mine. And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee. Alfred Tennyson. SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. HE 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; -jsss}— e=a^ 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 eyes serene The very pulse of the machine ; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A trav'ler 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 angelic light. William Wordsw^orth. MARGARET. SMOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel ; My fingers ache, my lips are dry; 'mm jfji^/iOh, if you felt the pain I feel! • But oh, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him true ; All other men may use deceit ; He always said my eyes were blue. And often swore my lips were sweet. Walter Savage Landor. 118 THE GOLDEX TEEASUEY. THE MILKING MAID. s|HE year stood at its equinox, ^ And bluff tlic uortli was blowing. A bleat of lambs came from the Hocks. Green hardy things were growing: I met a maid with shining locks Where milky kine were lowing. She wore a kerchief on her neck, Her bare arm showed its dimple. Patlietically i-ustical. Too pointless for the citj-. She kept in time Avithout a beat. As true as cliurch-bell ringers. Unless she tapped time witli her feet, Or squeezed it with lier fingers ; Her clear, unstudied notes were sweet As many a practiced singer's. •She wore ;i kerchief on her neck, Her b;ire arm showed its dimple Her apron spread \\'ithout a speck. Her air was frank and simple. She milked into a wooden pail, jVnd sang a coimtrj' dittj- — An innocent fond lover's tale. That was not wise nor wittv. I stood a minute out of sight, Stood silent for a minute, To eye the pail, and creamy white The frothing milk within it — To eye the comely milking maid. Herself so fresh and creamy. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 119 "Good (lay to you! " at last I said; She turned hex- head to see me. "Good day! " she said, with lifted head; Her eyes looked soft and dreamy. And all the while she milked and milked The grave cow heavy-laden : I've seen grand ladies, plumed and silked, But not a sweeter maiden. But not a sweeter, fresher maid Than this in homelj' cotton, Whose pleasant face and silky braid I have not j^et forgotten. Seven springs have passed since then, as I Count with a sober sorrow ; Seven springs have come and passed me by, And spring sets in to-morrow. I've half a mind to shake myself Free, just for once, from London, To set my work upon the shelf, And leave it done or undone ; To nm down by the early train, Whirl down with shriek and whistle, And feel the bluff north blow again. And mark the sprouting thistle Set up on waste patch of the lane Its green and tender bristle ; And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, Crisp primrose-leaves and others. And watch the lambs leap at their pranks, And butt their patient mothers. Alas ! one point in all my plan My serious thoughts demur to : Seven years have passed for maid and man, Seven years have passed for her too. Perhaps my rose is over-blown. Not rosy, or too rosy ; Perhaps in farm-house of her own Some husband keeps her cosy, Where I should show a face unknown, — Good-bj^e, my wayside posy ! Christina Georgina Rossetti. -r-3-^<=^ UNDER THE BLUE. * llJpHE skies are low, the winds are slow ; ^Ife ITie woods are bathed in summer glory: •^'The mists are still, o'er field and hill; The brooklet sings its dreamy story. I careless rove through glen and grove ; I dream by hill and copse and river; Or in the shade by aspen made I watch the restless shadows quiver. I lift my eyes to azure skies That shed their tinted glory o'er me ; While memories sweet around me fleet, As i-adiant as the scene before me. And while I muse upon the hues Of summer skies in splendor given, Sweet thoughts arise of rare deep eyes. Whose blue is like the blue of heaven. Bend low, fair skies! Smile sweet, fair eyes! From radiant skies rich hues are streaming; But in the blue of pure eyes true The radiance of my life is beaming. O skies of blue ! ye fade from view ; Faint grow the hues that o'er me quiver; — But the sure light of dear eyes bright Shines on forever and forever! Francis F. Browne. -^'•'exr^ KISS ME SOFTLY. l^pISS me softly and speak to me low, — J^ Malice has ever a vigilant ear; V^'T' Wbat if Malice were lurking near? Ji Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly and speak to me low. Kiss me softly and speak to me low, - Envy, too, has a watchful ear; \Miat if Envy should chance to hear? Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly and speak to me low. Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; Trust me, darling, the time is near When lovers may love with never a fear; — Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly and speak to me low. John Godfrey S.\xe. 120 THE GOLDEN TEEAStrRY. PEARLS. liOT what the chemists say they he, *%5 Are pearls — they never grew ; ^ They come not from the hollow sea, They come from heaven iu dew I Down in the Indian sea it slips, Through green and hriny whkls. AMiere great shells catch it in their lips, ^Vnd kiss it into pearls ! If dew can be so beauteous made. Oh, why not tears, my girl ? Why not your tears? Be not afraid — I do but kiss a pearl ! EiCHARD Henry Stoudaed. -^3S— S:^- A BIRD AT SUNSET. . ,pn>D bird, that wingest wide the glimmering iHJlsl moors, TWTiither, by belts of yellowing woods, away? "VATiat pausing sunset thy wild heart allures Deep in^.o dying day? Would that mj' heart, on wings like thine, could pass "WTiere stars their light in rosy regions lose — A happy shadow o'er the warm brown grass, Falling with falling dews! Hast thou, like me, some true-love of thine own, In fairy lands beyond the utmost seas; Who there, unsolaced, yearns for thee alone, And sings to silent trees? Oh, tell that woodbird that the summer grieves And the suns darken and the days grow cold ; And, tell her, love will fade with fading leaves. And cease in common mould. Fly from the winter of the world to her! Fly, happy bird! I follow in thy flight, Till thou art lost o'er yonder fringe of fir In baths of crimson light. My love is dying far awaj' from me. She sits and saddens in the fading west. For her I mourn all day, and pine to be At night upon her breast. Egbert Bulwer Lytton. -a^^XF-S- SERENADE. |HE western wind is blowing fair Across the dark ^gean sea, And at the secret marble stair My Tja-ian gallej^ waits for thee. Come down ! the purple sail is spread, The watchman sleeps within the town; O leave thy lily-flowered bed, Lady mine, come down, come down! She will not come, I know her well, Of lover's vows she hath no care, And little good a man can tell Of oue so cruel and so fair. True love is but a woman's toy, They never know the lover's pain, And I who loved as loves a boy Must love in vain, nuist love in vain. O noble pilot, tell me true. Is that the sheen of golden hair? Or is it but the tangled dew That binds the passion-flowers there? Good sailor, come and tell me now Is that my ladj^'s lily hand ? Or is it but the gleaming prow, Or is it but the silver sand? No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew, 'Tis not the silver-fretted sand, It is my own dear lady true With golden hair and lily hand! O noble pilot, steer for Tro.y! Good sailor, plj^ the laboring oar ! This is the Queen of life and joy '\M)om we uuist bear from Grecian shore! The waning sk_v grows faint and blue • It wants an hour still of day ; Aboard ! aboard ! my gallant crew O Lad\' mine, away! awaj'! O noble pilot, steer for TrojM Good sailor, plj' the laboring oar! O loved as only loves a boy! O loved forever, evermore ! OSCAK WiLPE. I.OVE AXD FRIENDSHIP 121 ^ i^eX, THE PUEIFICATIOl^ OF LOYE. HE coming historian in this department of human experience will, if he writes justly, devote a long chapter to the influence of Christianity upon the quality of this sentiment. Christianity proper — that is, considered apart from Judaism and from accidental facts seen along its path, must be confessed to have done much toward spiritualizing the attachment between man and woman, much toward inculcating the idea of a relation of a high character between two souls, and toward establishing the principle that this fi'iendship must last as long as life lasts. One of the most divine of Christ's teachings is his estimate of love. No one so removed it from the lowness and coarseness of the street, and no one up to his day pointed out better the delicate shading* of its color. Had he spoken in the language of our time, or in such details as we find in the essayist and the novelist of the high school, what hot words he would have spoken against those who occupy street corners and crossings, and even stand at the gates of churches and theaters, that they may make a libertine's feast out of the beauty of the noble wives and daughters who may be passing and re-passing at such public doors ! But Christ could utter only general truths, but truths they were which helped sweep away the degradation of woman and the less honorable thoughts and alliances of man. Awakened by a soul so pure, and aided by such an organizer as the church, which decreed the permanency of marriage, love began to put on its rich garments and to walk a queen. Romance and poetry and the drama took up the general theory that the heart can love but once, and that in the advance of that attachment there is a paradise — beyond its tomb all is a desert. Even the songs of Burns rise above his actual life and sing the new theory in the verses to Mary in Heaven. The practice of an age is alwaj^s inferior to its ideal, and hence individuals here and there enter into second and third and fourth marriages when death has come to terminate an association ; but the high standard society has reached in its fundamental thought may be learned from every drama and poem and song of the heart. Even Byron felt the power and eloquence of this public ideal, when, in his deep contempt for transient beauties, he had to sigh out the longing for one fair spirit for a minister, " That he might all forget the human race, And hating no one, love hut only her." From Dante to Tennyson this highest form of human attachment has been pictured as existing between two only, and as undying. Beatrice in her purity, and Francesca in her error and disgrace, join with the later Juliet and Ophelia in a beautiful advocacy of the dream that these partnerships of the soul are made in heaven, and involve mortals like the toils of a sweet, resistless fate. In modern romantic literature, the ideal lover, male or female, is the one who, amid the severest trials, stands most unshaken, and who comes from the furnace only a purer metal. Even such sentimental songs as those of Tom Moore carry the reader's best judgment whenever the verses convey the idea that " Through the furnace unflinching, thy way I'll pursue, And guard thee, and save thee, or perish there, too." 122 THE GOLDEN TREASITJY. The recent progress in the education of woman is destined to mark a great progress in the career of the matrimonial idea. This higher intellectual culture makes woman a companion for man, however eminent he may become by his study and his profession ; and this equality of greatness will compel a devotion, which was once ephemeral and largely ph^^sical, to become a sympathy as well of mind with mind. The pathetic attachment of John Stuart Mill to his wife, and of the Brownings to each other, are only visible proofs that the men and women of the present age are carrying on a business in courtships and marriages far more honorable and far happier than were affairs of the heart when the earth was peopled by Greeks and Romans and Medes and Persians. And out of the study of this coming history of a reformed sentiment and practice, there may come to the next generation of young persons a wisdom which will lay in deep reason the foundations of marriage, which will shun the rocks of a thoughtless fancy, and the yet more dangerous risks of a mere temporary passion which, in a few months, dies, as pass away the attachments of brutes. The ideal day will approach when the young man's love of some equal in wisdom, but superior in beauty of mind and body, and in all the forms of taste and tenderness, will be for many years an inspiration of each morning and evening, as it may come in gladness or in depression. The love of money and of fame will be humble impulses compared with the desire to make happy the one companion of the heart, who has left home, even the infinite devotion of her mother, to find, under another's roof, the care which will rival the mother's solicitude, and to hear from other lips words of praise and esteem, which the tomb will prevent the mother from speaking always to her idolized child. David Swing. A SONG OF KRISHNA. pm KXOW where Krishna tarries in these early days He is dancing with the dancers to a laughter-moving ^ of Spring, tone, ^1 When eA'ery wind from warm Malay brings fra- in the soft awakening Spring-time, when 'tis hard to **■ grance ouits wing; live alone. Brings fragrance stolen far away from thickets of the ^^ ^^^^' Where Kroona-flowers, that open at a lover's lightest In jungles where the bees hum and the Koi'l nutes tread her love; Break, and, for shame at what they hear, from white He dances with the dancers, of a merrj- niornce one. bla«h modest red All in the budding Spring-time, for 'tis sad to be alone. j^^^ .^^ t,;^ .p^.^^., ^^ ^{^ ^^^ ,^^^,gj^g ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^_ I know how Krishna passes these hours of blue and glades o-qIq^ Seem ready darts to pierce the hearts of wandering When parted lovers sigh to meet and greet and closely youths and maids: holj ' ' "Tis there thy Krishna dances till the meiTy drum is Hand fast in hand, and every branch upon the Vakul- clone, tree All in the sunny Spring-time, when who can live Droops downward with a hundred blooms, in every alone? bloom a bee; Edwin Arnold. -■"3-^(2 — E^ A MAN who has not some woman, somewhere, who believes in him, trusts him and loves him, has reached a point where self-respect is gone. LOVE AXD FRIENDSHIP. 123 BIRD OF PASSAGE. ^?S the clay's last light is dying, g As the night's first breeze is sighing, ~ 1 send you, love, like a messenger-dove, my thought through the distance flying; Let it perch on your sill; or, better. Let it feel your soft hand's fetter, WTiileyou search and bring, from under its wing, love, hidden awaj' like a letter. Edgar Fawcett. I FEAR THY KISSES. FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden ; Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; Thou needest not fear mine; Innocent is the hearfs devotion With which I worship thine. Percy Bysshe Shelley. o^^X3^>o^o WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. |OME, all ye jolly shepherds That whistle through the glen, 1 "11 tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinua ken : What is the gi-eatest bliss That the tongue o" man can name? "Tis to woo a bonny lassie When the kye comes hame! When the kye comes hame, WTien the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloaming and the mirk, When the kye comes hame ! 'Tis not beneath the coronet. Nor canopy of state, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbor of the great, — 'Tis ])eneath the spreading blrk. In the glen without the name, Wi" a bonny, bonny lassie. When the kye comes hame ! There the blackbird bigs his nest iFor the mate he loes to see. And on the topmost bough, O, a happy bird is he; Wliere he pours his melting dittj% And love is a' the theme. And he "11 woo his bonny lassie Wlien the kye conies hame! When the blewart bears a pearl. And the daisy turns a pea. And the bonny lueken gowan Has fauldit up her eo, Then the laverock frae the blue lift Doops down, an' thinks nae shame To woo his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame ! See yonder pawkie shepherd, That lingers on the hill. His ewes are in the fauld. An' his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to bed. For his heart is in a flame. To meet his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame ! When the little wee bit heart Rises high in the breast. An' 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 bonny, bonny lassie, WTien the kye comes hame ! Then since all nature joins In this love without alloy, O, wlia wad prove a traitor To nature's dearest joy"? O, wha wad choose a crown, Wi' its perils and its fame. And miss his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame? James Hogg. -S'-zXs^^ May all go well with you ! May life's short day glide on peaceful and bright, with no more clouds than may glisten in the sunshine, no more rain than may form a rainbow ; and may the veiled one of heaven bring us to meet again. 124 THE GOI.DEX TEExiSUEY. THE PATEIOT'S BRIDE. ^|H ! give me back that royal dream My fancy wrought, ■\Mieu I have seen j'onr sunny eyes Grow moist with thought; And fondly hoped, dear Love, your licart from mine Its spell had caught; And laid me down to dream that dream divine. But true, methought. Of liow my life's long task would be, to make yours blessed as it ought. To learn to love sweet Nature more For your sweet sake. To watch with j'ou — dear friend, with you I — Its wonders break ; The sparkling spring in that bright face to see Its mirror make — On sunmier morns to hear the sweet birds sing Hy linn and lake; And know your voice, your magic voice, could still a gi-ander nuisic wake I To wake the old weird world that sleeps In Irish lore ; The strains sweet foreign Spenser sung By Mulla"s shoi-e ; Dear Curran"s airj^ thoughts, like purple birds That shine and soar; Tone's fiery hopes, and all the deathless vows That Grattan swore ; The songs that once our own dear Davis snng — ah. me ! to sing no more. And all those proud old victor-fields We thrill to name. Whose memories are the stars that light Long nights of shame : Tlie Cairn, the Dan, the Eath. the Power, the Keep, That still proclaim In chronicles of clay and stone, how true, how deep AVas Eire's fame ; Oh I we shall see them all, with her. that dear, dear friend we two liave lov'd the same. Yet ah I how truer, tenderer still Methought did seem That scene of tranquil joy. that happy home B}' Dodder's sti-eam. The morning smile, that grew a fix6d star With love-lit beam. The ringing laugh, locked hands, and all the far And shining stream Of daily love, that made our daily life diviner than a dream. For still to me, dear Friend, dear Love, Or both — deal- wife. Your image comes with serious thoughts, But tender, rife ; Xo idle plaything to caress or chide In sport or strife. But my best chosen friend, companion, guide, To walk througli life. Linked hand in hand, two equal, loving friends, trae husband and true wife. Sir Charles Gavan Duffy. JANETTE'S HAIE. I, loosen the snood that you wear Janette. Let me tangle a hand in your hair — my pet: "For the world to me had no daintier sight Than your brown hair veiling your shoulder white ; Your beautiful dark brown hair — my pet. It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette, It was finer than silk of the floss — my pet; 'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist, 'Twas a thing to be braided, and jeweled, and kissed — 'Twas the loveliest hair in the world — my pet. My arm was the arm of a clown, Janette. It was sine\\y, bristled and brown — my pet; But warmly and softly it loved to caress Your round white neck and A'our wealth of tress, Your beautiful plenty of hair — my pet. Your eyes had a swimming glory. Janette, Revealing the old, dear story — my pet; They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky A\Tien the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly. And they matched with your golden hair — my pet. Your lips — but I have no M'ords. Janette — They were fresh as the twitter of birds — my pet, UTien the spring is j'oung, and roses are wet. With the dew-drops in each red bosom set. And they suited your gold-brown hair — my pet Oh. you tangled my life in your hair. Janette, 'Twas a silken and golden snai-e — my pet; But, so gentle the bondage, my soTil did implore The right to continue your slave evermore. With my fingers enmeshed in your hair — my pet. Thus ever I dream what you were. Janette. AVith your lips and your eyes and your hair — my pet; In the darkness of desolate years I moan. And my tears fall bitterly over the stone That covers your golden hair — my pet. Charles Graham Halpine. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 125 AA^OOING. LITTLE bird once met another bird, And whistled to her, " Will you be my mate?"' I With fluttering wings she twittered, " How absurd ! Oh, what a silly pate! " And off into a distant tree she flew, To find concealment in the shady cover; And passed the hours in slyly peeping through At her rejected lover. The jilted bard, with drooping heart and wing. Poured forth his grief all day in plaintive songs; Telling in sadness to the ear of Spring The story of his WTongs. But little thought he, while each nook and dell With the wild music of his plaint was thrilling. That scornful breast with sighs began to swell — Half-pitying and half-willing. Next month I walked the same sequestered way, When close together on a twig I spied them ; And in a nest half-hid with leaves there lay Four little birds beside them. Coy maid, this moral in your ear I drop : When lover's hopes within their hearts you prison, Fly out of sight and hearing; do not stop To look behind and listen. John B. L. Soule. " Silver salts all out of the west, Under the silver moon." SWEET AND LOW. ■.^\^EET and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea. Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! ' Over the rolling waters go. Come from the dying moon and blow. Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest. Father will come to thee soon : Rest, rest on mother's breast. Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest. Silver sails all out of the west. Under the silver moon ; Sleep, my little one, sleep my prett>' one, sleep. Alfred Tennyson. 126 THE GOLDEX TEEASUEY. THE BPvOOKSIDE. IP WAXDEEED by the brookside, els^ I wandered by the mill : i I could not hear the brook flow — •I The noisy wheel was still ; There was no burr of grasshopper. No chirp of any bird, But the beating of nij^ 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 b.y 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 I heard. ElCHARD MONCKTON MiLNES. (Lord Houghton). THE OLD STORY. y heart is chilled, and nij- pulse is slow. But often and often will memory go, W'^.'^ Like a blind child lost in a waste of sno-w, Back to the days when I loved you so — • The beautiful long ago. I sit here dreaming them through and through. The blissful moments I shared with you — The sweet, sweet days when our love was new. When I was trustful and you \\ere true — • Beautiful days, but few ! Blest or wretched, fettered or free. Why should I caj'e how your life may be, Or whether you wander by land or sea? I only know you are dead to me, Ever and hopelessly. Oh, how often at day's decline I pushed from my windo\\' the curtaining vine. To see from your lattice the lamp-light shine — Type of a message that, half divine, Flashed from youi- heart to mine. Once more the starlight is silvering all; The roses sleep by the garden wall ; The night bird warbles his madrigal. And I hear again through the sweet air fall The evening bugle call. But summers will vanish and years will wane, And bring no light to your window-pane; No gracious sunshine or patient rain Can bring dead love back to life again : I call up the jDast in vain. My heart is heavy, my heart is old. And that proves dross which I counted gold ; I watch no longer your curtain's fold ; The window is dark and the night is cold. And the story forever told. Elizabeth Akeks Allen. (Florence Percy). -i^sS-S^ EVENING SONG. ^OOK off, dear Love, across the sallow sands, And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea : ' How long they kiss in sight of all the lands — Ah ! lono-er, longer we. Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun. As Egj'pt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine. And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'Tis done. Love, lay thine hand in mine. Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart; Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands. O Xight! divorce our sun and sky apart — Never our lips, our hands. Sidney Lanier. LOVE AXD FRIENDSHIP. 12? A PARTING. INCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part: ^I Nay, I have done ; yon get no more of me ; IC' And I am glad, yea, glad \\ith all my heart. jF That thus so clearly I myself can free. Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And, when A\-e meet at any time again. Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies ; When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death. And Innocence is closing u\) his eyes, — Now, if thou wouldst, Avhen all have given him over, From death to life thou mighfst him yet recover. Michael Drayton. o>o^^<^o ■• Watcli o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove.'' A MOTHER'S LOVE. Jl ;EE, by her smile, how soon the stranger knoAvs; How soon by his the glad discovery shows. As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy. What answering looks of sympathy and joy! He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word, His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard ; And ever, ever to her lap he flies. When rosy sleep comes on Avith sweet surprise. Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung, (That name most dear forever on his tongue). As Avith soft accents round her neck he clings. And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings : IIoAV blest to feel the b'^atings of his lieart. Breathe his sAveet breath, and bliss for bliss impart: Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove. And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love ! Samuel Eogers. I DO CONFESS THOIT ^RT SAVEET. DO confess thou "rt sweet, yet find Thee such an unthrift of th}' sweets. Thy favors are but like the Avind, That kisses everything it meets. And since thou can Avith more than one. Thou 'rt Avorthy to be kissed by none. The morning rose, that imtouched stands. Armed with her briers, how sweetly smells! But plucked and strained through ruder hands. Her sweet no longer with her dwells ; But scent and beauty both are gone. And leaves fall from her, one by one. Sir Robert Ayton. 128 THE GOLDEX TEEASUKY. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. |OiIE live with me and be my love. And we will all the pleasures prove That hill and valley, grove and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks. And see the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies ; A cap of flowers and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle ; A gown made of the finest wool ■\Vhich from our pretty lambs we puD ; Slippers lin"d choicely for the cold. With buckles of the purest gold ; A belt of straw and ivj' buds, With coral clasps and amber studs. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning ; And if these ])leasures maj' thee move, Then live with me and be my love. Christopher Marlowe. -JssS— ss THE NTIvIPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD. ipF all the world and love were young (M> And truth in every shepherd's tongue, ^ These pretty pleasures might me move l To live with thee, and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold. When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb. The rest complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue, a heart of gall. Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle. and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and iAy buds. Thy coral clasps and amber studs; All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need. Then these delights m_y mind might move To live with thee and be thy love. Sir Walter Kaleigh, LOVE IS A SICKNESS. ff^TgOVE is a sickness full of woes . All remedies refusing; °Sa^ a plant that most with cutting grows, ■I Most barren with best using. ^Yhy so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heis:h-ho ! Love is a torment of the mind. A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind. Not well, nor full, nor fasting. WTiyso? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heigh-ho ! Samuel Daniel. FREEDOM IN DRESS. |g>TILL to be neat, still to be drest, As j'ou were going to a feast ; [!;>,, Still to be powdered, still perfumed - Vhen Collie barks I'll raise mv head. And find her on the hill. O, no ! sad and slow. The time will ne'er be gane; The shadow o' our trysting l)ush Is flxed like ony stane. Joanna Baillie. 134 THE GOLDEX TEEASUEY. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. j^HE walks in beautj', like the night fl Of cloudless climes and stany skies, .'And all thafs best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her ej'es, 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 i)ure, 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 silent — A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. Lord Byron. AUX ITALIENS. otfe ^(^T Paris it was, at the opera there ; ^IP^ And she looked like a queen in a book that ^^ff night, ll With the wTeath of pearls in her raven hair, And the brooch on her breast so bright. Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore ; And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, ITie souls in purgatory. The moon on the tower slept soft as snow ; And who ^^'as not thrilled in the strangest way. As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, " JVo7i ti scordar di me ? " The Emperor there, in his box of state. Looked grave; as if he had just seen The red flag wave from the city gate, WTiere his eagles in bronze had been. The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye : You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again, For one moment, under the old blue sky To the old glad life in Spain. Well, there in our front-row box we sat Together, my bride betrothed and I ; My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat, ,Vnd hers on the stage hard by. And both were silent, and both were sad — Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm. With that regal, indolent air she had — So confident of her charm! I have not a doubt she was thinking then Of her former lord, good soul that he was, AVho died the richest and roundest of men. The Marquis of Carabas. I hope that to get to the kingdom of heaven. Through a needle's eye he had not to pass; I wish him well for the jointure given To my lady of Carabas. Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love As I had not been thinking of aught for years; Till over my eyes there began to move Something that felt like tears. I thought of the dress that she wore last time, AMien we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together. In that lost land, in that soft clime, In the pleasant evening weather; Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) , And her warm white neck in its golden chain; And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot, And falling loose again ; Of the jasmine flower that she wore in her breast, (O the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower I) And the one bird singing alone in his nest, And the one star over the tower. I thought of our little quarrels and strife. And the letter that brought me back my ring; And it all seemed then, in the waste of life. Such a very little thing! For T thought of her grave below the hill, AMiich the sentinel cj'press-tree stands over: And I thought, '-Were she only living still. How I could forgive her and love her I" And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour. And of how, after all, old things are best. That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower WTiich she used to wear in her breast. It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet. It made me ci-eep. and it made me cold! Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet "Where a mumni}' is half unrolled. And I turned and looked : she was sitting there, In a dim box over the stage ; and drest In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, And that iasniine in her breast! LOVE AND FKIENDSHIP. 135 I was here, and she was there ; And the glittering horseshoe curved between! — From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair And her sumptuous scornful mien, To ray early love with her eyes downcast. And over her primrose face the shade,, (In short, from the future back to the past,) There was but a step to be made. To my early love from my future bride One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door, I traversed the passage ; and down at her side I was sitting, a moment more. My thinking of her, or the music's strain, Or something which never will be exprest. Had brought her back from the grave again, With the jasmine in her breast. She is not dead, and she is not wed ! But she loves me now, and she loved me then! And the very first word that her sweet lips said, My heart grew youthful again. The marchioness there, of Carabas, She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still ; And but for her — well, we '11 let that pass; She may marry whomever she will. But I will marry my own first love, With her primrose face, for old things are best; And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say : For beauty is easj^ enough to win ; But one is n't loved every day. And I think, in the lives of most women and men. There's a moment when all would go smooth and even. If only the dead could find out when To come back and be forgiven. But O, the smell of that jasmine flower! And O, the music! and O, the way That voice rang out from the donjon tower — Non ti scordar di me, Non ti scordar di me ! Robert Bulwer Lytton. THE WELCOME. |OME in the evening or come in the morning, I Come when you're looked for, or come without ^ \\arning. 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 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'U fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. Oh I your step's like the rain to the summer -vexed farmer. Or saber 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 ejTJe, 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. Oh! she'll whisper you, "Love, as unchangeably beaming. And trust, when in secret most tunefullj- 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 warn- 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. ■s3 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. ||lp|HE racing river leaped and sang ^S^ Full blithely in the perfect weather. *'■}'' All round the mountain echoes rang, 3 For blue and green wei-e glad together This rains out light from everj' part. And that with songs of joy was thrilling; But in the hollow of my heart. There ached a place that wanted filling. Before the I'oad and river m6et, And stepping-stones are wet and glisten, I heard a sound of laughter sweet. And paused to like it, and to listen. I heard the chanting waters flow. The cushat's note, the bee's low humming. Then turned the hedge, and did not know — How could I? that my time was coming. A girl upon the highest stone, Half doubtful of the deed, was standin.'-. So far the shallow flood had flown. Beyond the 'customed leap of landing. She knew not any need of me, Yet me she wanted all unweeting; She thought not I had crossed the sea. And half the sphere, to give her meeting. I waded out, her eyes I met, I wished the moments had been hours; I took her in my arms and set Her daintj^ feet among the flowers. Her fellow-maids in copse and lane. Ah! still, methinks, I hear them calling; The wind's soft whisper in the plain. That cushat's coo, the water's falling. But now it is a year ago. And now possession cro-wns endeavor; I took her in my heart to gi-ow And fill the hollow place forever. Jean Ingelow. 138 THE GOLDEX TREASURY. A SPIXXING-ATHEEL SOXG. JgELLO W the moonlight to i?hine is beginning ; Close by the window young Eileen is spinning; Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother sit- ting, Is croning, and moaning, and drowsily knit- ting. " Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." " 'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flap- ping." "Eileen. T surely liear somebody sighing." And he whispers, vnth face bent, •' I'm waiting for 3'ou, loye. Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly; We'll roye in the grove while the moon's shining brightly.'' MeiTily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Svyings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightlj', and lightly, and airily ringing. Thrills the svyeet voice of the young maiden singing. ' Close bv the window youni^ Eileen is spinninij; Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting '"Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer vyiud dying." Merrily, cheerily, noisily wliirring. Swings the wheel, spins the reel, vyhile the foot's stuTing ; Sprightly, and lightly, and airilj- ringing. Thrills the sweet yoice of the young maiden singing. " What's that noise that I hear at the window. 1 vyonder? " " 'Tis the little birds chirping the hollj'-bush under." " What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all v\Tong that old song of • The Cooluu? ' " There's a form at the casement — the form of her true- love ; The maid shakes her head, on her lip laj-s 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 no\y the reel's sound. Xoiseless and light to the lattice abov^e 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, llirough the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. John Fraxcis AValler. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 139 WE TWAIN. Sjp&fl. Earth and Heaven are far apart I i ^gfr^ Bnt what if they were one, ^^SAnd neither you nor I, Sweetheart, Had anyway misdone? When we like singing rivers fleet That cannot choose hut flow, Among the flowers should meet and greet, Should meet and mingle so, Sweetheart, That would he sweet, I know. No need to swerve and drift apart, Or any hliss resign : Then I should all be yours, Sweetheart, And you would all be mine. But ah, to rush, defiled and brown, From thaw of smirched snow. To spoil the corn, beat down and drown The rath red lilies low, — Sweetheart, I do not want vou so ! For you and I are far apart, And never may we meet. Till you are glad and grand, Sweetheart, Till I am fair and sweet; Till morning-light has kissed us white As highest Alpine snow. Till both are bra-\'e and bright of sight. Go wander high or low. Sweetheart; For God will have it so. Oh, Heaven and Earth ai'e far apart I If you are bond or free. And if j^ou climb or crawl. Sweetheart, Can no way hinder me. But see you come in lordly state. With mountain winds aglow. When I by dazzling gate shall wait To meet and love you so, Sweetheart, — That will be Heaven, I know. Amanda T. Jones. MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART. ^S|pY true-love hath my heart, and 1 have his, ^0@^ By just exchange one to the other given; ^i|^ I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, "r There never was a better bargain driven ; My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one ; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides ; He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; I cherish his because in me it bides; My ti'ue-love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir Philip Sidney. GO, PRETTY BIRDS. gE little birds that sit and sing Amidst the shady valleys. And see how Phillis sweetly walks, Within her garden alleys ; Go, pretty birds, about her bower; Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; Ah, me! methinks I see her frown! Ye pretty wantons, warble. Go, tell her, through your chirping bills, As you bj^ me are bidden. To her is only known my love. Which from the woi-ld is hidden. Go, pretty birds, and tell her so; See that your notes strain not too low, For still, methinks, I see her frown. Ye pretty wantons, warble. Go, tune your voices' harmony. And sing, I am her lover; Strain loud and sweet, that every note With sweet content ma.y move her. And she that hath the sweetest voice. Tell her I will not change my choice ; Yet still, methinks, I see her frown. Ye pretty wantons, warble. O, fly! make haste! see, see, she falls Into a pretty slumber. Sing round about her rosy bed. That, waking, she may wonder. Say to her, 'tis her lover true That sendeth love to you, to you; And when j^ou hear her kind reply, Return with pleasant warblings. Thomas Hevwood. 140 THE GOLDEX TEE,1SUET. THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAT SOXG. ff ' iS' ^^ love's like the steadfast sun. Or streams that deepen as they run; '"i ■ '" Xor hoary hau-s. uor forty years. J^. Xor moments between sighs and tears, N'or nights of thought, uor days of pain, Xor dreams of glory dreamed in vain. Xor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows To sober joys and soften woes. Can make my heart or fancy flee. One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. Even while I muse, I see thee sit In maiden bloom and niati'on wit; Fair, gentle as when first I sued, Ye seem, but of sedater mood ; Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee As when, beneath Arbigland tree. We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon ; Or lingered mid the falling dew, When looks were fond and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet, And time, and care, and birthtime woes Have dimmed thine eve and touched thy rose, To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong Whate'er charms me in tale or songf. "When words descend like dews, unsought With gleams of deep, enthusiast thought, And Fancy .in her heaven tlies free. They come, my love, they come fi-om thee, O, when more thought we gave, of old. To silver than some give to gold, 'T was sweet to sit and ponder o"er How we should deck our humble bower ; 'T was sweet to pull, in hope, with thee, The golden fruit of fortune's tree; And sweeter still to choose and twine A giirland for that brow of thine — A song- wreath which may grace my Jean, While rivers flow, and woods grow green. At times there come, as come there ought, Grave moments of sedater thought. When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night One gleam of her inconstant light: And Hope that decks the peasant's bower, Shines like a rainbow through the shower ; O. then I see, while seated nigh. A mother's heart shine in thine eye. And proud resolve and purpose meek, Speak of thee more than words can speak. I think this wedded wife of mine The best of all that's not divine. Allan Cu:vn"ixgham. TTIFE, CHILDREN, AXD FRIEXDS. (fHEX the black-lettered list to the gods was presented (The list of what Fate for each mortal intends) , At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented. And slipped in three blessings — wife, chil- dren, and friends. In vain surlj' Pluto maintained he was cheated, For justice divine could not compass its ends; The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated. For earth becomes heaven with — wife, children, and friends. If the stock of our bliss is in sti-anger hands vested. The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends: But the heart issues bills which are never protested. When drawn on the firm of — wife, children, and friends. Though valor still glows in his life's dying embers. The death-wounded tar. who his colors defends. Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers How blessed was his home with — wife, children, and friends. The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story. Whom dut\' to far distant latitudes sends. With transport would barter whole ages of glory For one happy day with — wife, children, and friends. Though spice-breathing gales on his caravan hover. Though for him all Arabia's fragrance ascends. The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover The bower where he sat with — wife, children, and friends. The dayspring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow. Alone on itself for enjoyment depends; But drear is the twilight of age. if it borrow Xo warmth from the smile of — wife, children, and friends. Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish The laurel which o'er the dead favorite bends; O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish. Bedewed with the tears of — wife, children, and friends. Let us drink, for my song, growing graver and graver. To subjects too solemn insensiblj' tends; Let us drink, pledge me high, love and virtue shall flavor The glass which I fill to — wife, children, and friends. William Egbert Spexcek. LOVE AND FEIENDSHIP. 141 THE SHEPHERD'S LOVE. ^, EKE she was wont to go? and here! and here! Just where those daisies, pinlis, and violets '..^ grow, i j The ^^'orld may find the Spring by following her For other print her airy steps ne'er left: Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blown-ball from his stalk ! But like the soft west wind she shot along, And where she went the flowers took thickest I'oot, As she had sowed them with her odorous foot! Ben Jonson. ^==3-^^s " Love thy mother, little one ! Kiss and clasp her neck again." TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER. |OVE thy mother, little one ! Kiss and clasp her neck again; Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain; Love thy inotlj^r, little one! Gaze upon her living eyes. And mirror back her love for thee ; Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Gaze upon her living eyes. Press her lips the while they glow With love that they have of tea told; Hereafter thou must press in woe. And kiss them till thine own are cold. Press her lips the while they glow ! Oh ! revere her raven hair ! Although it be not silver-gray*— For early Death, led on by Care, May snatch save one dear lock away. Oh! revere her raven hair! Pray for her at eve and morn. That Heaven may long the stroke defer; For thou iiiay'st live the hour forlorn When ihou wilt ask to die N\'ith her. Pray for her at eve and morn. Thomas Hood. 142 THE GOLDEX TEEASURY. TRUE LOVE. !ET me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impedimeuts : love is not love Whicli alters when it altei-ation finds, Or bends with the remover to remove; O, no I it is an ever-flxed marli. That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to ever.v wandering hark. Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosj" lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come ; Love alters not Avith his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov'd. I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. William Shakespeare. O, SAW TE BONNIE LESLEY? ^m _ a^?, SXW ve bonnie Lcslev ^^M ^^s she gaed o'er the border? *^^ She's gane. like Alexander. * To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her. And love but her forever; For nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Leslej'. The hearts o' men adore thee. The deil he could na scaith thee. Or aught that wad belang thee ; He'd look into thy bonnie face. And say, " I canna wrang thee! *' The Powers aboon will tent thee ; jSIisfortune sha' na steer thee ; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they'll ne'er let near thee! Eeturn again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie! That ^\'e may brag \\e hae a lass There "s nane again sae bonnie. Robert Burns. 2^^5-^ SONG. T setting day and rising morn. With soul that still shall love thee, I'll ask of Heaven th}^ safe return, K With all that can improve thee. I'll visit aft the birken bush "Where first thou kindlj' told me Sweet tales of love, and hid thy blush. AVTiilst round thou didst enfold me. To all our haunts I Mill repair. By greenwood shaw or fountain ; Or where the summer day I'd share With thee upon yon mountain : There will I tell the trees and flowers. From thoughts unfeigned and tender; By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart which cannot wander. John Gay. ^><»t-^SX^o A GIRDLE. gHAT 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 ex^tremest 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 ! Edjiltnd Waller. LOVE AND FEIENDSHIT. 143 PHILIP MT KING. |00K at me with thy large hrown eyes, Philip my king, "T^Jttound whom the enshadowing ptirple lies ll Of babyhood's royal dignities : Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, With love's invisible scepter laden; I am thine Esther to command Till shou Shalt find a queen-handmaiden, Philip my king. JJp from thj- sweet month — np to thy brow, Philip my king ! The spirit that there lies sleeping now May rise like a giant and make men bo^v As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers : My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer Let me behold thee in f nture years ; — Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, Philip my king. |&:^^C;^ X ^ X, " L;iy on my neck thy tiny hand, With love's invisible sceptre laden." the daj' when thou goest a wooing, Philip my king ! Wlieu those beautiful lips 'gin suing. And some gentle heart's bars undoing Tliou dost enter, love-crowned, and there Sittest love-glorified. Kule kindly. Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair. For we that love, ah? we love so blindly, Philip my king. A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day. Philip my king, Thou, too, must tread, as we ti-od, a way Thorny and cruel and cold and gray : Eebels within thee and foes without. Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glu rious, Martyr, yet monarch : till angels shout, As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious. " Philip the king ! " Dinah Makia Milock Cuaik. Feank explanations with friends in case of ship, and even place it on a firmer basis than ends badly. affronts, sometimes save a perishing friend- at first; but secret discontentment always 144 THE GOLDEX TREASUKY. AFTOX WATER. jpyLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Ki Flow gently, lllsing thee a song in thy praise; Ak My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, * Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. Where wild in the woodland the primroses b.Oiv; There oft as mild evening Meeps over the lea. The sweet-scented birk shades my Maiy and me. *' How loftv, sweet Afton, tliy neighboring- hil Thou stockdove whose echo resounds through the glen. Ye wild whistling blackbirds in you thorny den. Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, I charge you distui-b not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, Far marked with the courses of clear, winding rills ; There daily I wander as noon rises high, Jly flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. Thy crystal stream. Afton. ho^^' lovely it glides, jVnd winds by the cot Mhere my ]Mary resides ; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. As gathering sweet tlowerets she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy imu-muring stream. Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Robert Bikns. Love would put a new face on this dreaiy old world in which we dwell as pagans and enemies too long ; and it would warm the heart to see how fast the vain diplomacy of statesmen, the impotence of armies and navies and lines of defense, would be superseded b}^ this unarmed child. LOVE .ViSTD FEIENDSHIP. 145 GREEN GROW THE RASHES O ! lEEEN grow the rashes O, i Green grow the rashes O ; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend Are spent amang the lasses O ! There's naught but care on ev'rj' hau', lu every hour that passes ; What signifles the life o' man, An "t were na for the lasses O ? The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still maj^ fly them O ; An' though at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them O ! Gie me a cannj- hour at e'en, My arms about mj- dearie O, An' warly cares an' warly men May all gae tapsalteerie ! For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Ye're naught but senseless asses O ; The wisest man the Avarl' e'er saw He dearly lo'ed the lasses O! Auld ISTature swears the lovelj" dears Her noblest work she classes O : Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, An' then she made the lasses ! Egbert Burns. A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS. J^^EE the chariot at hand here of Love, .^^ "Wherein my lady rideth ! "X^ Each that draws is a swan or a dove, I And well the car Love guideth. t As she goes all hearts do dutj^ Unto her beauty ; And, enamour'd, do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side. Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth ! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth ! Do but mark, her forehead 's smoother Than words that soothe he:-! And from her arched brows such a grace ^ Sheds itself through the face. As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily gro\^' Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall o' the snow Before the soil hath smutched it? Have you felt the wool of beaver? Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white ! O so soft! O so sweet is she ! Ben Jonson. I LOVE MY JEAN. a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west ; For there the bonnie lassie lives. The lassie I lo'e best. There wild woods gro\\', and rivers roA\', And mouie a hill 's between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair ; I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air : There *s not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green ; There 's not a bonnie bird that sings. But minds me of my Jean. Egbert Burns. Real friendship is of slow growth. It seldom arises at first sight. Nothing but our vanity will make us think so. and reciprocal merit. It never thrives unless engrafted upon a stock of known 146 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. THE LILY-POND. ^OME faiiy spirit with his waud, ^m I think, has hovered o"er the dell. Ijjj^ And spi-ead this film upon the pond. And touched it with this dl•o^\'sy spell. For here the mvising soul is mer2;ed In woods no other scene can brina^, And sweeter seems the air when scom-ged With wandering wild-hee's mnrmnring. One ripple streaks the little lake. Sharp piirple-hlue ; the birches, thin And silveiy, cro^^'d the edge, yet break To let a straying sunbeam in. LOVE AND FEIENDSnrP. 147 How came we through the yielding wood, That day, to this sweet-rustling shore? Oh! there together while we stood, A butterfly was wafted o'er. In sleepy light; and eveu now His glinmiering beauty doth return Upon nie when the soft winds blow, And lilies toward the sunlight yearn. The yielding wood? And yet 'twas loth To yield unto our happy march ; Doubtful it seemed, at times, if both Could pass its green, elastic ai-ch. Yet there, at last, upon the marge We found ourselves, and there, behold, In hosts the lilies, white and large. Lay close with hearts of downy gold ! Deep in the weedy waters spread The rootlets of the placid bloom : So sprung my love's flower, that was bred In deep still waters of hearfs-gloom. So sprung ; and so that morn was nursed To live in light, and on the pool Wherein its roots were deep immersed Burst into beauty broad and cool. Few words were said, as moments passed; I know not how it came — that awe And ardor of a glance that cast Our love in universal law. But all at once a bird sang loud. From dead twigs of the gleamy beech ; His notes dropped dewy, as from a cloud, A blessing on our married speech. Ah, Love ! how fresh and rare, even now. That moment and that mood return Upon me, when the soft winds blow, And lilies toward the sunlight yearn ! George Paksons Lathrop. CUPID AND OAMPASPE. UPID and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid. -7- He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, i His mother's doves and team of sparrows ; Loses them too, and down he throws The (;oral of his lip — the rose Growing on "s cheek, but none knows how; With these the crystal on his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win ; At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love, hath she done this to thee? What shall, alas, become of me ! John Lyly. THE DAT RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. J| HE day returns, my bosom burns. The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide. And crosses o'er the sultry line, — Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes. Heaven gave me more ; it made thee mine. While day and night can bring delight. Or nature aught of pleasure give, — While joys above my mind can move. For thee and thee alone I live ; When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part. The iron hand that breaks our band. It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. KOBERT Burns. Cultivate a spirit of love. Love is the diamond amongst the jewels of the believer's breastplate. The other graces shine like the precious stones of nature, with their own peculiar lustre, and various hues ; now in white all the colors are united, so in love is centred every other grace and virtue; love is the fulfilling of the law. 10 148 THE GOLDEN TREASUHY. FRIENDSHIP. RUDDY (li-op of manly blood The surgiug sea outweighs ; The world imcertaiu comes aud goes, I" The lover rooted stays. 5 I fancied he was fled, — And, after many a year, Glowed unexhausted kindliness, Like daily sunrise there. My careful heart was free again ; O friend, my bosom said. Thiough thee alone the skj' is arched, Thi'ough thee the i-ose is red ; All things through thee take nobler form. And look beyond the earth; The mill-round of our fate appears A sim-path in thy worth. Me too thj^ nobleness has taught To master my despair ; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair. Ralph Waldo Emerson. s^s O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR. I, LAY thy hand in mine, dear! We're growing old; ^But Time hath brought no sign, dear, That hearts grow cold. "Tis long, long since our new love Made life divine ; But age enricheth true love. Like noble wine. And lay thy cheek to mine, dear. And take thy rest ; Mine arms around thee twine, dear. And make thy nest. A many cai-es are pressing On this dear head ; But Sorrow's hands in blessing Are surely laid. O, lean thy life on mine, dear! 'Twill shelter thee. Thou wert a winsome vine, dear On my young tree. And so, till boughs are leafless. And songbirds flown, We'll twine, then lay us. griefless. Together down. Gekald Massey. Part III. Itmp0i^0 o£ Mature. <\(^m^/^ GLIMPSES OF NATURE. -p=?j^> — j^te=4- " The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave." A FOREST HYMN. lYjPiHE groves were God's first temples. Ere iiiau learned ^^ To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, J-l And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offei'ed to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences Which, from the stilly twilight of the place. And from tlie gray old trunks that high in heaven 151 152 THE GOLDEN TEEASURY. Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit \\'ith the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, whj' Should we, in the world's i-iper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Onl}' among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least. Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn — thrice happy if it find Acceptance in his ear. Father, thj' hand Hath reared these venerable columns ; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down LTpon the naked eai-th, and forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees. Thej^ in thj^ sun Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze. And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Amoug their branches, till at last they stood. As now they stand, massy and tall and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults. These winding aisles, of human i^omp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of th}^ fair works. But thou art here — thou filFst The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music; thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground. The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; — nature, here, lu the tranquility that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly around. From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs. Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou has not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades. Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength and grace Are here to speak of thee. This mightj' oak. — By whose inuuovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated. — not a prince. In all that proud old world beyond the deep. E'er wore his crown as loftilj' as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower With scented breath, and look so like a smile. Seems, a:? it issues from the shapeless mould. An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soiil of this wide universe. My heart is awed within me Avhen I think Of the great miracle that still goes on. In silence, round me, — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternitj-. Lo! all grow old and die; but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that theu- ancestors Moulder beneath them, O, there is not lost One of Earth's charms! ujion her bosom yet. After the flight of untold centuries. The freshness of her far beginning lies. And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy Death, — yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne, the sepulchre. And of the triumphs of his ghastlj^ foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoaiy trees and rocks Ai-ound them; — and there have been holy men "\^Tio deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Eetire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble vn-tue. Here its enemies, Tlie jjassions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill With all the waters of the firmament, The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call. Uprises the great deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities, — who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power. His pride, and laj's his strifes and follies by? O, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the ■^^^.•ath Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty'. And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. "WlLLIA.M CULLEN BkYANT. GLIMPSES OF XATUEE. 153 THE KIGHTII^GALE. HE famed nightingale, Luscinia pMlomela, is unknown in America, but in England and throughout Europe it is deemed the prince of singers. In the evening, after most of nature's sounds are hushed, the nightingale begins its song, and sings with little rest, all the night. It rarely sings by day, and those kept in cages are often covered with a cloth to make them sing. It is very shy; professed naturalists know but little of its habits. Mudie says : "I watched them carefully for more than five years in a place where they were very abundant, and at the end of that time I was about as wise as at the beginning." The nightingale begins to sing in England in April. Its music is loudest and most constant when it first comes, for then the males are singing in earnest rivalry to attract their mates. When the female has once made her choice, her male becomes very much attached to her, and, if she should be captured, pines and dies. But his song grows less, and, after the eggs are hatched, ceases altogether. The bird-catchers try to secure the singers during the first week, for then by proper care they may be made to sing a long time. The listener is astonished to hear a volume of sounds so rich and full proceed from the throat of so small a bird. Besides its strength, its delightful variety and exquisite harmony make its music most admirable. Sometimes it dwells on a few mournful notes, which begin softly, swell to its full power, and then die away. Sometimes it gives in quick succession a series of sharp, ringing tones, which it ends with the ascending notes of a rising chord. The birds which are free do not sing after midsummer, while those which are caged sing until November, or even until February. The young birds need to be under training of some older one, and will often sur^iass their teacher; few become first-rate. The nest of the nightingale is not built in the branches, or in a hole, or hanging in the air, or quite on the ground, but is very near it. It is not easily found unless the movements of the bird betray it. The materials are straw, grass, little sticks, dried leaves, all jumbled together with so little art that one can hardly see it when it is right before him. If the same materials were seen anywhere else, they would seem to have been blown together by the wind, and stopped just there by a fork in the branches. There are four or five smooth olive-brown eggs. The bird is about six inches long, and weighs three-quarters of an ounce. Its colors are dark-brown above and grayish-white below. Izaak Walton says: "But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet, loud music out of the little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind think that miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very laborer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, ' Lord, what music hast Thou provided for Thy saints in heaven, when Thou affordest such music on earth ! ' " S. H. Peabody. 154 THE GOLDEX TEEASUEY. NATURE. Im&IE bubbling brook doth leap when I come bj', ^K Because mj- feet liiid measure ^\•ith its call ; ^ The birds know when the friend they love is nigh, T For I am known to them, both great and small. The flower that on the lonely hiUside grows Expects me there when spring its bloom has given; And mauT a tree and bush my wanderings knows, And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven; For he who with his Maker walks aright, Shall be their lord as Adam was before ; His ear shall catch each sound with new delight. Each object wear the dress that then it wore; And he, as when erect in soul he stood. Hear from his Father's lips that all is good. Jones Very. "A grove Of large extent, hard by a castle huge." THE NIGHTINGALE. &' XD hark ! the Xightingale begins its song, — •Most musical, most melancholy'" birdi 'V- A melancholy bird? oh. idle thought! "*?' In Xature there is nothing melancholy. "Tis the merrv Xightingale, That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes. As he -were fearful that an April night Would be too shoi-t for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburden his full soul Of all its music ! GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 155 And I know a grove Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, Which the great lord inhabits not; and so This grove is wild with tangling underwood, And the trim walks are broken up, and grass. Thin grass and kingcups, grow within the paths But never elsewhere in one place I knew So many nightingales; and far and near. In wood and thicket, over the wide grove. They answer and provoke each other's song. With skirmishes and capricious passagings, And murmurs musical and swift — jug, jug — And one low piping sound more sweet than all. Stirring the air M'ith such a harmony, That, should you close your eyes, j'^ou might almost Forget it was not daj'! On moonlight bushes. Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed. You may perchance behold them on the twigs. Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full. Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade Lights up her love-torch. And oft a moment's space. What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the moon Emerging, hath awaken'd earth and sky With one sensation, and these wakeful birds Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy. As if some sudden gale had swept at once A hundred airy harps ! Samuel Taylor Colekidge. ' Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm." HYMN ON THE SEASONS. ||HESE, as they change. Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love, Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; And every sense and every heart is joj'. Then comes thy gloiy in the summer months, With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun Shoots full perfection through the swelling year. And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales, Thy bounty shines in autumn imconfined, And spreads a common feast for all that lives. In winter awful thou! with clouds and storms Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roUed. Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing, Riding sublime, thou bidst the world adore, And humblest nature with thy northern blast. 156 THE GOLDEIiT TEEASUHY. Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, Deep felt, iu these appear! a simple train. Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, Such beauty and beuelicence combined ; Shade, imperceived, so softening into shade ; And all so forming an harmonious whole; In adoration join; and, ardent, raise One general song ! To him, ye vocal gales. Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes; O, talk of him in solitary glooms! Whei'e, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. " By brooks and ^oves, in hollow whispering gales." lliat, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not thee, marks not the nnghtj' hand. That, ever busj', wheels the silent sphei-es; Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring; And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar. Who shake the astonished world, lift high to Heaven The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, j-e trembling rills; And let me catch it as I nnise along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; ' Thv bountv' shines in Autumn uncontined. Flings from the sun direct the flaming day: Feeds every creature; hurls the temxjest forth; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life, Xature, attend! join, every living soul. Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll j'our incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, GLIMPSES OF NATUEE. 157 In luingied clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath pertuiues you, aud whose pencil paints. Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave, to him ; Breathe yoiu- still song into the reaper's heart. As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye mossj^ rocks, Retain the sound : the broad responsive low. Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns; Aud his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. " With clouds and storms, Around thee throAvn, tempest o'er tempest rolled." Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike. Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyi-e. Great source of day ! best image here below Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day. Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm The listening shades, and teach the night his praise. " Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound." Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide. From world to world, the vital ocean round. On nature write with everj^ beam his praise. The thunder rolls : be hushed the prostrate world. Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all. Crown the great hymn ; in swarming cities vast, Assembled men, to the deep organ join 158 THE GOLDEX TREASLTHY. The long resoimding voice, oft-breaking, clear, At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; And, as each mingling Hanie increases each, In one united ardor rise to Heaven. Or if you rather choose the rural shade, And find a fane in every sacred grove. There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Rivers unkno\^n to song, where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, 'tis naught to me, Since God is ever present, ever felt. In the void waste as in the city full ; And where he vital spreads there must be joy. When even at last the solemn hour shall come. And \\ing my mystic flight to future worlds. " Since God is ever j: In the void waste as Still sing the God of seasons, as they roll! For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray Russets the plain, inspiring autinnn gleams, Or winter rises in the blackening east, Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more. And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat! Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes. )rusent, ever telt, in the cit)' full." I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go "Where universal love not smiles around, Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons; From seeming evil still educing good. And better thence again, and better still. In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in him. in light ineffable! Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise. James Thomson. H^ss-; NIGHT. heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep. But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep. All heaven and earth are still ; from the high host Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast, All is concentred in a life intense, "Where not avbeam, nor air, nor leaf is lost But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that -which is of all Creator and defense. ^^d this is in the night — most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again "tis black — and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. Lord Byron. GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 159 ' How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea." THE CLOUD. BRING- fresh showers for the thirsting flowers. From the sea and the streams ; I bear light shade for tlie leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 'Pile sweet birds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail. And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain. And laugh as I pass in thunder. . I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of uiy skyey bowers, Lightning my pilot sits, In a cavern under is fettered the thunder. It struggles and ho^^'ls at fits ; Over eai'th and ocean, with gentle motion. This pilot is guiding me. Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; IGO THE GOLDEX TEEASLTEY. Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills. Over the lakes and the plains. Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream. The Spirit he loves remains ; And I all the while hask in heaven's blue smile, "Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, ^Yhen the morning star shines dead. As on the jag of a mountain crag. Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment maj' sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset maj" breathe, from the lit sea beneath. Its ardors of rest and of love. And the crimson pall of eve maj" fall From the depth of heaven above. With wings folded I rest, on mine airj- nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, "\Miom mortals call the moon. Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the inidnight breezes strewn; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Wliich only the angels hear. May have broken the woof of ray tent's thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, AVhen I widen the rent in my vsind-built tent. Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas. Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Ai"e each paved with the moon and these. 1 bind the sun's throne ^vith a burning zone, ^\jid the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim. When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape. Over a torrent sea. Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof. The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, tu-e, and snow, "VVTien the powers of the air are chained to my chair. Is the million-colored bow; The sphere-lii-e above its soft colors wove, "While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of earth and water. And the nursling of the skj-; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of heaven is bare. And the winds and sunbeams with then- convex, gleams. Build up the blue dome of air. I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain. Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. Percy Bysshe Shelley. MOEXIXG. we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sk}^ began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bi'ight constellations of the west and north remained unchansred. Steadilv the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowino: tides of the mornino- liofht, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown M'ide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state. Edward Eatirett. GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 161 THE SEA. fHEEE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes By the deep sea, and music in its i-oar : I love not man the less, hut nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may he, or have been before, To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. His steps are not upon thy paths — thy fields Are not a spoil for him — thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise. Spurning- him from thy hosom to the skies. And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or hay. And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. " Dark-heaving; boundless, endless and sublime." Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks ai-e all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. When, for a moment, like a drop of rain He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, uucofflned and unknown. The ainnaments ^^■hich thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monai'chs tremble in their capitals. The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war — These are thj' toys, and, as the snowy flake. They melt into thy yeast of waves, ^^'hich mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 162 THE GOLDEN TEEASURY. Thy shores are empires, changed iu all save thee ; Assyria, Greece, Koine, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free And many a tj'raut since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves" play, Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow; Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless and sublime, The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goes forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee. And trusted to thy billows far and near. And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. Lord Byron. o>»^^«=^c ' Upon the roses it would feed." THE NYMPH'S DESCRIPTION OF HER FAWN. ^I'flTH sweetest milk and sugar, first I it at mine own fingers nursed; And as it grew, so every day It waxed more white and sweet than they. It had so sweet a breath ! and oft I blushed to see its foot more soft And white, shall I say? than mj- hand — Than anv ladv's in the land. It was a wondrous thing how fleet 'Twas on those little silver feet. With what a pretty skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race : And when "t had left me far away, 'Twonld stay, and run again, and stay; For it was nimbler much than hinds, And trod as if on the four winds. GLIMPSES OF XATURE. 1G3 I have .a garden of my own. But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness ; And all the spring-time of the year It loved only to he there. Among the beds of lilies I Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; Yet could not, till itself would rise Find it, although before mine eyes ; For in the flaxen lilies' shade. It like a bank of lilies laid. Upon the roses it would feed. Until its lips e"en seemed to bleed; And then to me 'twould boldly trip. And print those roses on my lip. But all its chief delight was still On roses thus itself to till. And its pure virgin lips to fold In whitest sheets of lilies cold. Had it lived long, it would have been Lilies without, roses within. Andrew Marvel. ^^5 THE BOBOLIKE. HE happiest bird of our spring, and one that rivals the European lark in our estimation, is the bob-o-lincoln, or bobolink, as he is commonly called. He arrives when nature is in all her freshness and fragrance : " the rains are over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." The trees are now in their fullest foliage and brightest verdure: the woods are gay with the clustered flowers of the laurel ; the air is perfumed by the sweet-brier and wild rose; the meadow is enameled with clover-blossoms; while the young apple, the peach, and the plum begin to swell, and the cherry to glow, among the green leaves. This is the chosen season of revelry of the bobolink. He comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of the season ; his life seems all sensibility and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and sweetest meadows; and is most in song when the clover is in blossom. He perches on the topmost twig of a tree or on some long flaunting weed, and, as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours forth a succession of i*ich, tinkling notes, crowding one upon another like the outpouring melody of the skylark, and possessing the same rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches from the summit of a tree, begins his song as he gets upon the wing, and flutters tremulously down to the earth, as if overcome with ecstasy at his own music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his mate ; always in full song, as if he would win her by his melody ; and always with the same appearance of intoxication and delight. Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, the bobolink was the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my path in the sweetest weather, and the sweetest season of the year, when all nature called to the fields, and the rural feelings throbbed in every bosom. Had I been then more versed in poetry, I might have addressed him in the words of Logan to the cuckoo: — Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy note, no winter in thy year. Oh! could I fly, I'd fly with thee; we'd make, on joj'ful wing, Our annual visit round the globe, companions of the spring! 164 THE GOLDEX TREASURY. Further observation and experience have given me a different idea of this little feathered voluptuary, which I will venture to impart for the benefit of school-boy readers, who may regard him with the same unqualified envy and admiration which I once indulged. I have shown him only as I saw him at first, in what I may call the poetical part of his career, when he in a manner devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoyments, and was a bird of music and song and taste and sensibility and refinement. While this lasted he was sacred from injury; the very school-boy would not fling a stone at him, and the merest rustic would pause to listen to his strain. But mark the difference. As the year advances, as the clover blossoms disappear, and the spring fades away into summer, he gradually gives up his elegant tastes and habits, doffs his poetical suit of black, assumes a russet, dusty garb, and sinks to the gross enjoyments of common vulgar birds. His notes no longer vibrate on the ear; he is stuflfing himself with the seed of the tall weeds on which he lately swung and chanted so melodiously. He has become a gormand. With him now there is nothing like the " joys of the table." In a little while he grows tired of plain, homely fare, and is off on a gastronomical tour in quest of foreign luxuries. We next hear of him with myriads of his kind, banqueting among the reeds of the Delaware, and grown corpulent with good feeding. He has changed his name in traveling. Bob-o-lincoln no more — he is the reed-bird now, the much-sought tidbit of Penns^dvania epicures, the rival in unlucky fame of the ortolan ! Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! joop ! every rusty firelock in the country is blazing away. He sees his companions falling by thousands and tens of thousands around him. Does he take warning and reform? — Alas, not he! Incorrigible epicure! again he wings his flight. The rice-swamps of the south invite him. He gorges himself almost to bursting; he can scarcely fly for corpulency. He has once more changed his name, and is now the famous rice-bird of the Carolinas. Last stage of his career — behold him spitted with dozens of his corpulent companions, and served up, a vaunted dish on the table of some southern epicure. Such is the story of the bobolink — once spiritual, musical, admired, the joy of the meadows, and the favoi'ite bird of spring; finally a gross little sensualist who expiates his sensuality in the kitchen. His stor}^ contains a moral worthy the attention of all, warning them to keep to those refined and intellectual pursuits which raised him to so high a degree of popularity during the early part of his career, but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dissipated indulgence which brought this mistaken little bird to an untimely end. Washington Irving. THE RAINBOW. |Y heart leaps up when 1 behold So be it when I shall grow old . -C5s^- -'^ rainbow in the sky : Or let me die ! 'W^ „ •.. T. Tx 1 The child is father of the man: If So was it when 1113' life began; , ■, ^ , , . , , , ii, _ _ And I could ^^■lsh my days to be So is it now I am a man ; Bound each to each by natural piety. "WiLLiA?,! Wordsworth. GLDIFSES OF NATURE. 165 THE SHEPHERD. gH, gentle Shepherd! thine the lot to tend. 01 all that teels distress, the most assail'd, '^"S^ Feeble, defenceless; lenient he thy care; ]j But spread around thy tenderest diligence In flower}^ spring-time, when the new-dropp"d lamb. Tottering ^\•ith weakness by his mother's side. Feels the fresh world about him; and each thorn, Hillock, or f m-row, trips his feeble feet : Em-us oft flings his hail; the tardy fields. Pay not their promised food; and oft the dam O'er her weak twins with emptj- udder mourns. Or fails to guard, when the bold bu-d of prey Alights, and hops in many tm'ns around. And tires her also turning : to her aid Be nimble, and the weakest in thine arms Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft, " The weakest in thine nrms Gently convey to the warm cote." Ob! guard liis meek, sweet innocence from all Th' numerous ills that rush around his life ; ?rlark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone. Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain ; Observe the lurking crows ; beware the brake — There the sly fox the careless minute waits ; Xor trust thy neighbor's dog, nor earth, nor skj' : Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide ; 11 Between the lark's note and the nightingale's. His hungry bleating still with tepid milk; — In this soft office may thj- children join. And charitable actions learn in sport. Nor yield him to himself ere vernal airs Sprinkle the little croft with daisy flowers; Nor j'et forget him; life has rising ills. John Dver. 1(16 THE GOLDEX TEEAStT.Y. THE WORLD IS TOO MLXH "WITH US. And HE world is too much with us : late and soon. Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; Little we see in Xature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The ■\\-inds that will be howling at all hours, are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everjthing, we are out of tune ; It moves us not. Great God I I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworu ; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea. Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. William Wordsworth. -^^•h;sm- " Sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that havelon^ been mute." BREATHINGS OF SPRING. HAT wak'st thou. Spring? — Sweet voices in the woods. - And reed-like echoes, that have long been •t mute ; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes. The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute. MTiose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee. Even as our hearts mav be. And the leaves greet, Spring! —the joyous leaves, Whose ti-emblings gladden many a copse and glade, AMiere each young spray a rosy flush receives. AATien thy south wind hath pierced the whisperj' shade. And happy murmurs, running through the grass, Tell that thy footsteps pass. GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 167 Aud the bright waters — they, too, hear thy call. Spring, the awakeuar! thau has burst their sleep ! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall Makes melody, aud in the forests deep, Whei'e sudden sparkles aud blue gleams beti-ay Theu- windings to the day. Aud flowers — the fairy-peopled world of flowers! Thou fi"oui the dust hast set that glory free, Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours, And penciling the wood-anemone : Silent they seem ; yet each to thoughtful eye Glows with inute poesy. But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring — The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs? Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing. Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art : What wak"st thou in the heart? Too much, O, there too much! — we know not well "Wherefore it should be thus; yet, roused by thee, Wliat fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell. Gush for the faces we no more may see. How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone, By voices that are gone ! Looks of familiar love, that never more, Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our household door. And vanished smiles, and sounds of parted feet — Spring, 'midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees, Why, why reviv'st thou these? Vain longings for the dead! — why come they back With thy j'oung birds, and leaves, and living blooms? " Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall Makes melody." O, is it not that from thine earthly track Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs? Yes, gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air. Breathed by our loved ones there. Felicia Dorothea Hemans. sS— g^ VARYING- IMPRESSIONS FROM NATURE. pp CANNOT paint 1^ What then I was. The sounding cataract ^f Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, 'I'he mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood. Their colors and their forms, were then to me An appetite, a feeling and a love, That had no heed of a remoter charm By thoughts supplied, nor any interest UnboiTowed from the eye. — That time is past. And all its aching joys are now no more, Aud all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts Have followed : for such loss, I would believe. Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity. Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air. And the blue sky, and in the mind of man ; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains, and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear — both what they half create. And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize In Nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse. The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. William Wokuswobth. IGS THE GOLDEX TKEASUEY. ii|ii|i|pnniiiiininiiDiiiii[D]iiiiiiiii|ii|iM O in ia- 03 F- ^ 3 *f3 O hJ rr ai I-) i s ^ -M > m es -t-» a> o 01 -a a fee 5 B 2 .5 d iz; 1-^ ^ 1— 1 ^ H > a 3 s « tfi ?^ -3 c3 O TJ ;-> a ^ eS ;- o r^ ^ 5 CS ci • r- o ** be _3 c -1-3 .2 Is 'S o 0) > C" r3 o _«! aj J o ^ o ^ > & M r^ •4^ JJl ;3 'Jl S _>J 0) 0) rf2 3 cS lllll!lllllllllll'li;iiiiiluiiiimii|]i|i|ii!ihiilimiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiliiiuHlliVilin|iiininrililllillin|i:lll»liniillH.liii''ii,.L.ilulillllmm 'lll'lill|ll|ii|IIIIHII|i||l[llllllj)lllil|B|lHII GLIMPSES OF XATURE. 1(39 HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE YALE OF CHAMOUNI. ^^pAST thou a charm to stay the morning star i^^ In his steep course? So long he seems to pause 'W^ On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc! J4. The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above. Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black. An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it. As with a wedge ! But when I look again. It is thine own calm home, thy ciystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternitj'! Into the mighty vision passing — there. As in her natui'al form, swelled vast to Heaven! Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears Mute thanks and seci-et ecstacy. Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale ! O, struggling with the darkness aU the night, And visited all night by troops of stars. Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : Companion of the morning star at dawn, ' On thy h.ild, awful head, O sovran Blanc!" dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee. Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 1 worshiped the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought. Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy; Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused. Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald: wake, O wake and utter praise! Who sank thj'' sunless pillars deep in earth? Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual sti-eams? And j'ou, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called j'ou forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 170 THE GOLDEN TEEASUEY. Forever shattered and the same forever? "VVho gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy. Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came). Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge, — Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen, full moon? ^Mio bade the sun Clothe j'ou with rainbows? ^Tho, Avith living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet — God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God ! Sing, ye meadow sti-eams, with gladsome voice ! Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! And they, too. have a voice, yon piles of snow. And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God ! Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! Utter forth God, and flU the hills with praise ! Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-poiutingpeaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard. Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast, — Thou too again, stupendous mountain ! thou That as I raise mj" head, a while bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest. like a vapory cloud. To rise before me. — Rise, oh, ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth ! Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills. Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven. Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky. And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. TO THE DAISY. pITH little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Daisj'! again I talk to thee, For thou art worthy. Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homel}- face, And yet with something of a grace "WTiich love makes for thee ! Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes. Loose tj'pes of things through all degrees. Thoughts of thy raising : And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame, As is the humor of the game, "VVhile I am gazing. A nun demure, of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden, of love's coui't, In thy simplicit}' the sport Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A stan-eling in a scanty vest; Are all. as seems to suit thee best, Tliy appellations. o>o<^^~