LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. UNITJID STATES OF AMERICA. I ^^^^© ^^^ 'mi^^^^ —BY— Miles A. Davis. ^/2.^''^'^'^ 1894: PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. k Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1894, by MILES A. DAVIS, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. I2SriDE2S:. TITLE: PAGE: TITLE: PAGE: An Afternoon, 92 First Snow-Fall, 66 A Sunset on Lake Erie, 20 Flown, 45 A Leaf, 43 Forgiveness, 106 A Cloud, 62 At Sunset, 107 Glimpses, 39 A Mountain Flower, 105 Gems of the Sea, 87 Anniversary, 64 Home, 89 A Ribbon,' 68 Her Hair, 60 Atlantic Cable, 69 Her Face, 108 Birds Beatitude, i 10 Invocation, 9 Blue Birds, ^ 41 In Presenting Mother a Volume, 28 Beautiful Hands, 55 In Albums, 71 and 90 Beauty, 86 Baffled, . 83 Jot, 25 Country Atmosphere, 37 Keuka.— Scene, 21 Charity, 85 Lake Keuka, 28 Days of Yore, 25 Love Fantasy, 72 Daffodil, 32 Lyrical Moods, 101 Demand, 45 Moss, 16 Dry, 46 March, 65 December, 106 New Year, 105 Erato, 27 Northern Girl, 36 Fate, 107 Not All a Fancy, 56 Faith of Love, 104 Nile, 81 Fading Year, 90 November, 104 Freedom, 84 Old Year and New, 93 XJtTX DEX. —(Continued.) TITLE: PAGE: TITLE: PAGE- Of the Sun, 20 The Mocking Bird, 53 Parnassus, Pine Trees, 30 23 The Prints, The Robin, 98 63 Psalm of Life— In March, 13 Truth, 67 Quest, 33 Untold, 54 Quatrains, 88 Vista, 26 Rain-Echoes, Rain-Sighs, 57 91 Wild Lily of The Meadow, Wayside, 29 42 Seneca Tiake, 34 Wings In Winter, 61 Snow Birds, 44 Watch, 80 Surpassing Love, 44 Xiphias Gladius, 50 The Big Gully, The Fire-Place, 14 17 Yearning, 19 The Stormy Petrel, 40 Zadee, 48 PMEHJBB. Neither personal eo:otisin that presJiimes itself iiiviilneral>Io to criticism because of presumptive merit iu a work of the mind, nor a yielding to alleged clamoring of friends, have had anything to do with supplying the incentive to this publication. It appears without the knowledge, request, or consent of any one except the writer. Why should a book go about apologizing or seeking some excuse to oflfer in extenuation for having lieen brought into existence, any more than an individual ? A greater power or a higher cumulative force than either brought each upon the stage of being. Inasmuch, however, as there is an unwiitten law of reciprocation between a publication and the reader, it seems l)efitting that a new work should be given such preliminary unfoldings as naturally urge themselves upon the projectoi-. An impelling cause of this appearance has been the simple gratification of a desire to test the extent of a favoi-able reception on the one hand, and to note such criticism as may be called forth thereby, on the other. Usually, though not invaiiably, the general public passes judgment with a fair degree of impartiality. The work has probably never yet appeared that of itself silenced or disarmed unfavorable comment. This is especially true of metrical origination. Standing at the head of creative literature, poetry, in its true sense, is the ideal interpreter of the most exalted phases of thought, feeling, emotion, and the sublime subtlety of cause and efiect. It therefore invites the keenest analysis and the closest inspection of its structui-al forms. No man or woman seems fully prepared to estimate the scope or significance of the original properties that have, consciously or unconsciously, been assimilated from the thoughts of others in an offering to the world. Acknowledging this extraneous or contributing cause, as the case may be, to whatever extent it exists, the writer has no apology to offer on this ground, inasmuch as whatever II seeds have thus taken root or advanced to the stage of a visible stem, have been carried thither by the birds of the air or the winds of heaven while he has slept or been in search of the philosopher's stone. A work, even by the greatest of minds, must be submitted, as in this humble instance, with the full consciousness of certain imperfections, like all other human efforts, trusting that it may find its way, nevertheless, to some degree of appreciation of the actuating spirit of the writer. It is hoped, in this instance, that thereby the reader will measurably forget the sometimes rough exterior of construction in perceiving the interior relief of an honest purpose. This collection comprises such communings with the Muses, both in earlier and later years, as have been considered in some degree deserving of embodiment. Doubtless some that are included might have been omitted with advantage to those remaining. A few pieces have been admitted under the hospitable hope of affording such a variety as might please or interest a wider range of taste or fancy, the writer's own judg- ment being adverse to any claim of literary merit on their behalf. Nearly all of these lines were written with no expectation of future publication in this form, else they might have undergone a thorough revision, while still others would have been cast in the mental moulds with the hope of results better deserving of this lasting treatment. It is not claimed for these lines that they represent the writer's ideals of poetic production. They do not. They only voice those silent medi- tations that have cast themselves as clouds athwart the sky to soften the piercing rays of a mid-summer day, under the varying moods and tenses of atmospherical influence. No one can determine, when medi- tating upon the making of metrical measures what particular star shall be in the intellectual ascendent. No one can tell what will be written only as it is litei-ally cast in sections in the mind. You may discern the brook flowing on toward and beyond you, but you do not perceive its source and its termination under a i-olitary landscape view. Nature never dis- closes the whole process at once. Evei-y step is measured, grooved, and graduated. No poet, it must be conceded, has been the fortunate possessor of the gold or gift of poesy without a single flaw of the baser metals in his composition. All great poets, as well as lesser ones, have undoubtedly written some incomprehensible if not indefensible lines, viewed from any conceivable standpoint of unbiased analysis. On the other hand, the merest amateur of versification can scarcely fail of producing at least an occasional good or fine line, though it nmy be extraneous to the general flow or the usual possibility of production. While the wi-iter is not oblivious to the fact that he may be oflfering material for some of these objections, he is still conscious of the moving caravan of objects as they ranged themselves upon the perspective plain. However they may appear to the minds of others, they were a part of the entities of a naturally shy and exotic career. Perhaps, in a relative sense, no mental effort, honestly applied, should be considered cause to bring a blush of self-reproach. Standards of hu- man thought cannot be gauged eiitirely from the mountain "top. The uplands, the praiiies, and the valleys are the level of concentrated forces. All poets cannot soar to the same ethereal height. The eagle and the condor may be kings of the sky, but there is a wide range of feathered glory in forest, field, and meadow. Even the humblest and shyest of our songsters fills a sphere that would otherwise be void. VVhether or not this venture upon the resounding line of rhythmic creation thiobs with new energies propelled by Piomethean influences, or like a feather dropped from some unseen bird on unknown flight, and espied by wandering human eyes in search of the wild flowers of the late spring days, and upon which remnant of departed plumage only a passing reflection is cast of the winged messenger conveying it, the writer is yet hopeful that this offering may prove worthy of a place in the realm of metrical literature, because of its faithfulness to such flights of fancy and touches of real life as weie infused with its origin, if not for any discernible merit. Every complement of verse may be likened to an autumn leaf in the wind. The world is the atmosphere in motion. The leaf is the symbol upon which the four winds may exercise their wantonness. No prophecy can determine the course the volume will take or the fate it will receive m the eddying currents of public taste and opinion. It is quite as much at the caprice of the ever-varying winds of personal sentiment as the ro- tating leaf in the arms of the freshly rising blast. Its final destiny is equally problematic. Some sunny nook screened from the severity of wintry gales by thick forests, may be its place of repose; or it may find, no quietus till lost in the impalpable disintegration of its elements. With more opportunities for uninterrupted reflection and discriminating deliberation in the acceptance or rejection of the materials of construction ofi"ered at various times in life by the silent projector within, it is freely acknowledged that a work deemed more worthy of perpetuation would have been developed. If a new light of more intense tenderness and appreciation of ideal revelations finds its way into human eyes and minds as they pour over these pages, the writer would feel, could he be made cognizant of having thus effected higher and happier impressions on the spiritual nature of any number of mortals, that his work, however humble, should worthily survive more than a generation in the crucible of time. ' Miles A. Davis. INVOCATION. Su'cct soul of things, in light divine, Creative thought, all life in line, Where have the hidden fountains played ? On what mysterious balance swayed The incandescent gleam of mind ? Each acts the pai-t tlirough time assigned. 'Tis hoped some raptui-ous thought appears Above the stoi-my waste of years. Interpretation loads the way Through subtle forces we ol)ey. And on the far lioj-izon s i-ini, ^Vhere world and space through ages dim Have been the bound of iiuman hopes, Whereat the Muse, on sunny slopes, Hath leveled in the solar sti-oam That north and south poured forth liis dream iMay not the humblest pilgrim i)ause, And with the meekness of his cause, Trge tliat the forest, bird, and brook His spiric never hath forsook, But haunted with tiicii- minstrelsv— Their wild and thrilling fisalinistrv— liesought in simple modest rhymes An index of alluring times? 10 BIRDS BEATITUDE. Wliere are the birds of all the skies Since first the fliglit of time began ? Is thei'e some winged paradise, Some favored clime where all the clan Find Edenland for them alone, Where air and watery wings doth rest? Have they but flown some other zone In which to build their final nest? While in the earthly atmosphere. With songs that i-aptured every spot, They gave the earth such timely cheer That roses bloomed 'round evei-y cot. The myriad man hath never known The soaring joy of airy wing, Or in his grinding, grosser zone, Heard what the woodland fairies l)ring. Where doth the seraph Idue-bird dwell. With plumage of the sea and sky ? Doth he now sport in mystic fell Wherein the spirit ages lie ? Do deep and far-oflF forests lone Eesound that harp of all the spheres — The sweet supei-ior wood-thrush tone Thnt melts in melody all ears? On what supernal summer shore, Where meadows bask in endless day, Reverberate foreveiinore The matchless merry roundelay Of hob-o'-link, our jolly friond ? 11 Disports he 'round melodious bars That with his raptures thrill and blend In sweeter songs beyond the stars? Is there some lark, or nightingale, Some robin nesting in the spring, Some whip-poor-will that stirs the vale Whei-ein the sunshine linnets sing? Where is the pretty yellow-bird, And swallows circling 'round and 'i-ound ? The partridge dium what ear hath heai-d On shores where satin birds abound? Where doth the snow bird build his nest In northern pines or rocky dunes Beyond the hope of man's behest? Where thiough the whirling snow attunes His frolic of the polar maze? Where now the silvery chick a-dee That rounds our dreary winter days And cheers our solitudes with glee? Flies he in far and balmier zones The pretty pigeon of our woi-ld? U|)on whose cars are gaily tones Of our beloved oriole hurled? Where pipes the quail his quaint '-bob white?" Or hies in wayside nooks the wren ? AVho notes the glorious grosebeck's fljoht. Or hears the starling in the fen? In what transcendent land ol goal Doth that supeiioi- subtle sense Migj-ation stir tlic plmnagod soul? 12 Where winter never comes, would hence Toward the south the wild-goose hie Fi'om force of habit, till 'twere seen That 'round the mystic regions lie Eternal living landscapes green? Do tempting streams and lakes invito The snowy swan to sail them o'er ? Leaps there within, fai- (-ut of sight, As if from some uncertain shore. Our fearless lynx-eyed northern loon ? Where duck and gull and "dipper" dwell Content, like drowsy hour of noon. Upon whose peace no hunters fell? The blithe and winsome humming bird Foreshadowing sprite of lioneyed flowers, Whose tropic wing our summer stirred, Could there for him be sunnier hours? Doth bird of paradise pi-osage On earth the joy of vei-nal Junes, In some resounding hei-mitago Where paired affinity attunes? Where summer sliadows softly lie. The timid scai-let tanag(;r Seems like a di'eam to human eye, In which the crimson sunsets stir. Along the foi-est edges fall In droning days of solar heat, The sharpened cadence of a call, Tlio cat-l)ir(l challenge of retreat. Is thoi'o the nici-ry mocking l»ii-d. The mimic of the solar zone, The russet harp ^olus stirred A single throat to play alone ? Keflects he in another clime The harmony of feathered joy, Where sing the spirits that sublime Enraptuied earth without alloy ? No raptuie could exceed the voice Where all the messengers of air In immortality rejoice; Without them earth were never fair. If ever any creature lives And does deserve perpetual bliss, It is the bird, that transport gives And blends all hope of life in this. The mossy bank, the purling stream. The woods in soothing, lofty might. The gorgeous glens in summer's gleam, The golden rainbows arch of light. The silent charms of every shore, The silver mists in clouds unfurled, Would seem of life a part no more, Were there no birds in all the world! PSALM OF LIFE-IN MARCH. Windy days of March doth blind us, We can see no spring appear ; Boisterous month ! no garden 'fore us ! Say, what are you doing here ? u THE JUG GULLY. A stream that winds along: a rocky bed Above which waves the hemlock's lofty head, 'Mid boundless woods where pioneers did dwell, And giant pines with tovvei-ing shadows fell; Upon whose shady banks the \yhite birch g:rew, Within whose depths are many a forest hue Reflected on the stream in summer time When evei-y bouirh is in its leafy prime. With moss and ferns and lichens doth abound The rocks on which one's Ibotsteps scarce resound ; A setting- most befit this emerald ,5:len. Wherein for years the sly fox made his den. There, too, down sudden slopes the cattle come To drink where deers forgot the summer's hum. There gathering- shadows all the dreamy day In cooling- sweetness ling:er by the way. « Witji countless curves it winds its way along-, As through the interlacing- leaves the soug- Of thrush and cat-bird and of blue-jay call In vai-ying- accents as the shadows fall. While high above the clarion hawk is heard ; And softly thi-ough the soothing air is stii-i-ed The harnjony of timid waterfalls 'I'hat t]-ickle down in pools at intervals. When sun ami rain and winds conspiring- blows ]n spring- doth liberate the winter snows, 'Tis then the rocky gorge is wild with glee, Astir from roots of every living tree. And either bank becomes a hemisj)here 15 or all the inii'lity uproar of the year; A throbbing artei-y of life it seems, Both cliild and parent of a thousand streams. Yet when the glowing heat of summer fills The air and hazes o'er Jerusalem hills, 'Tis then so thickly lorms a coat of green That scaice a ray can peneti-ate between, Save where the spoiling ax-men felled the trees, And theie the unniossed rocks pi-otest with these. The home of birds and flowers and plants that seem As in anothei- world's disporting beam. In rocky solitude, sweet purling stream, A fountain flowing seaM-ard like a dream ; How mellowei- still the brown and purple glow (K autumn woodlands in the stream below; Down through this i-ocky woodland water-way Jn tuneful echoes ebbs and flows the day; Each falling nut or leaf or stir of air Pulsates anew harmonious here and there. But like a prisoner with muffled sound, ^ 'Gainst jjrison walls in icy fettei-s l)0und. The stream in iron winter's clasp is dumb; No more by mossy banks the ripples come, No moi-e with foamy flake o'er rocks doth leap, Or through the gravelled shallows murmurs keep, But only barren limbs as if in pain Sway in the wind a pitiless refrain. Through all the light of fading years I love To linger on the " Hog's Back," far above The deep defiles where (rage's saw-mill stood, 16 And miiso on spirit raptures of tlie wood; Or down along the narrow " Stony Flume," A score of early fancies to resume, And even yet from source to mouth explore Three sylvan miles along a rocky floor. MOSS. The velvet touch of Nature's hand Outstretched to man in every land; O'er lone and cold cathedral walls, O'er grottoes where no sunlight falls, In voiceless solitudes of old Where only dreamy thoughts unfold, Where night and day and stars outspread Their silent raptures o'er thy bed. In regions wild and desolate Where ancient rocks are gray with fate, Where shadows sit like Druids grim, And eye and form of Time is dim ; In woodland depths where ever green The forest monarch's tower is seen. Thy verdure soothes the harrowed soul Where else were gloom from pole to pole. O'er many a rock and ruin spread, P^thereal plant by angels fed; The mystic gard'ner of the past Brought hither hopes that had been cast Thi-ough countless ages and the forms Of wind and calm, of sun and storms, As if to recompense the loss Of Edenland, and named it Moss. THE FIRE-PLACE. In boyhood days to muse heside the fire, To watch the sparks fly upward high'r and high'r, To see the fork of flames the foresticks Ibrge And flame and smoke go up the chimney gorge, To watch the hack- logs gnawing embers glow, Willie thjough the burning wood-pile "sputtered snow,' Was many a winter evening's simple cheer. Resounding on a frosty atmosphere. Fantastic foims in flickering shadows danced 'Round hearthstone, beam, and log, and fairies pranced In dreamy fantasies about the room. Gyrating oft and wild around the loom — Grandmother's pi-ide — and o'er the oaken chest Wherein the household gods did but invest With hint of mystery the cabin store Of plain antique upon the sanded floor. Grandfather was the dearest, best of men, Of joyous nature — pioneer — and when With song and anecdote he did regale The youngster at his hearth who loved the gale The more that brought companionship beside The fire-place of fagots blazing wide, It sent its cheering fact and fancy free Through all the life of one that was to be. 'Twas there Grandmother — best of cooks — did bake And richly butter down the buckwheat cake, Fit food for kings or princes, if you please, If they in hours of idleness and ease Have more than common taste. Her quiet w^ys 18 or clevornoss perennial as the days Of which her pure sweet life was warp and woof, Made ^lad the hoy beneath that humhle roof. The iron crane within the chimney hung, Whereon for hoiiing dinners kettles swung. When there was bread to bake, the good housewife. With simplest instruments the "staft of life" Jn luscious loaves in that small oven 'done," That never were surpa.ssed beneath the sun. Sometimes with kettle on a heap of coals, Did bake n loaf 'twould tempt our \ory souls. Foi- much of complement the andiions stood, I'pholding foiesticks and the chinking wood. Beside the chimney, painted red, was seen Her pantiy shining like a silver sheen With neatness and her pretty china-ware. I'pon the other side the simple stair — A ladder — leading u[) aloft, you know. For st.oinge of the seldom used below. Within that darkened loft did there not dwell The myths of earth and every secret spell? Did not the great uplifted chimney swell With phantom things it nevei" dared to tell? Here 'gainst the gable end one heard the roar Of wind and chimney voices blend and soar; In crack and cranny lurked the giant elf Who fil'ed the childrens' stockings with his pelf. IJefitting was the mantle shelf above, A crowning grace with offerings of love ; The iisefnl and the ornamental things 11> A rutie priinoval habitation brings Thiouj^h lonfT industrial paths our fathers trod. Was there not something soaring from the sod, Infolding man in lurrows of the plow — A eastle-biiilding creature then as now? Across the room, against the logs, behold 'J'he wooden eloek set forth with stories old In that leverlterating pendulum : Duiation's count of footsteps as they come, Notation of the flying hands of time That meet and part at noon and midnight chime ! Sometimes it seemed to soften every shock To hear that dreamy " tick " of frran'ther's clock. Allui-ing hopes and visionary joys. That pleased alike the young and gray-haii-ed boys, Came trooping 'round the cheerful evenino- fire — The light of home, reflecting our desire. Through wanderings of after years 1 find In earth's great realm no soothing balm of mind lAke that within the old log cabin door, With sweet unsullied memory evermore. YEARNING. Appealing fi'om shores of splendor and song To the car of the Muse for passage along The annals of fame to a haven of bliss. Where love in delight of a rapturous kiss Begirts the sweet paths of an endless June, 1 saw a fail- face all wantonly strewn With roses of beauty and angels to vie In purest of deeps — the infinite sky. 20 May 25. 18f)3. A SUNSET ON LAKE ERIE. Above where sky and water meet Was stretched a bar of light along The far horizon's misty fleet That lay at anchor, rife with song Of boatmen's lore. A band of gold Bent out of fading sunbeams' forge In whicii were tints tradition told Of days that out of time disgorge A cyclorama of the sun. The soft red light suffused the shore Long after day and night were one And rim of clouds were seen no more. In that departing glory swayed The lapping waves i-esounding notes Whila over all the wind-harp played Falsetto of a thousand throats. There brooded over lake and sky The lull of clouds; the hush of night Shut down with radiance from on high Through which the gull in circling flight Swept meteor-like on snowy wing. The throb in th' steamer's iron chest Seemed all there was of life to bring The eastei-n dreams unto the west. OF THE SUN. A primal glory, reign of days, Of storm and calm and ripened rays, Of frost and snow and furnace heat And fanning breezes lull and beat. 21 KEUKA.— SCENE. Along the country roads the dust lay deep And all the hills and vales were Iialfaslee|) In drowsy sfjiing-tinie destitute of rain, As not a fai'ui house I'oof with wild lefiain For weeks resounded with the scudding showei-s That deck the world in holiday of flowers, And men grew languid in unwonted heat That northward sped as under furnace lieet. Southwestern atmospheies' o'er-laden store Of precious moisture warring winds held o'er Far-off" Pacific depths from whence their flight, Came looming up in spectral clouds of white. Along the vine-clad hills al>ove the Lake, As if from some aerial spring awake, The caravan of hopes sped out in spray Their truce-like sign of i-a in-refreshing day. Then fell the rain, and every grateful sense Of living things went up in sweet incense. From thirsty fields and yearning meadow lands, Keuka struck the key along her strands. Bright diadem among the rolling hills, Pure Lake, within thy crystal depths the rills Come whispering of their love amid the vine Whose fruit doth well enchant the Sacred Nine. With legends of the Red Man's paradise, Surrounding woods resound beneath the skies; A land once red with panoramic lore — Full-bloomed — was all Keuka's scenic shore. The wigwam was a theater wherein 22 Another race threw dices of the din, And Indian and Deer alon^ their track Were doomed with Saxon shadows at their back. Of loves and wars what freights the birch canoe In times of eld bore on thy bosom, too ! And how the dusky Aborigine In wilderness of woods was wont to be. And like a star on some celestial grail. Stole bow and arrow armed along the trail. The moccasin o'er all Keuka's bounds Like foot-falls on another world resounds. Above the Lake, where 0-go-ya-go veers Its rocky tome of many a thousand years, Though dim tradition tints the tale of time With Indian moons of waninsr rays sublime, The earth of other men has records yet In here and there a crumbling parapet; Though all is night — ol whom or whence or where- As only eagles see the gods of air. Beneath the dome of fair Jerusalem hills, The North Branch full of life the wide air fills. Upon its brink, toward the setting sun, Sa-go-ye-wat-ha owns his life begun. Of fur and fin and feather'd solitude The " crooked waters " harbor'd all prelude. Where all the fruits of earth invite to joy, Behold the country of the Iroquois ! PINE TREES. The pine, the pine, the gorgeous pine ! On evergreen shores a stately line, From Greenland's glittering peaks of snow Where keen and wild the north winds blow, To southern isles by breezes fanned, 'Mid all ihe climes doth proudly stand This primal plant of all the zones Through which the wind-harp ever moans. Come list at the feet of a thousand years And you shall thrill with thoughts and tears That stir the harp-strings evermore, If you but heed the forest lore. The woodland bards and sylvan streams Will pour a flood through all thy dreams; Come lay thy plaints beneath the shade And soothe thy spiiit in the glade. Contrast with all the waste of snow And wintry winds on plains below, These lofty evergreens whose plume The very skies of heaven illume; Where all the sunless depths bestir The snowy-laden arms of fir. With prophecies of all the year, Of bird and branch betokened here. Cathedral of the wilderness ! Eternal youth the winds caress ; Sweet solitudes' aeolian harp] 24 Wind-woven every flat and sharp, From every clime and every clan With more than all the notes of Pan, Re-echo through the emerald Pine And thrill with its resounding line. 0, home of deep and shadowy song ! Of all that's dreamy, wild, or strong! Harmonica of tempest stilled, Where fragrant founts of youth are filled ; Within thy healing boughs are laid The balsam of the summer shade, And still within thy slumbrous roar Are tuneful fancies evei'more. The bars of muffled music sti-ong. And wind and wave, in prose and song, Hwell here from force of fiat zones. In lulled harmonica of tones That night and day tiirough all the year, Resounding diapason here, Plays all the notes that ear hath heard Of man or beast, of brook or bird. What swaying psalter — ancient time — What soaring wing of tropic clime. What sounding soul within these limbs Rehearsing all the forest hymns? The choii's of heaven and earth 1 ween. In pine ti-ees sing though never seen. The one who hears the winds' relrain Jn these gieon boughs lives not in vain. 25 DA.YS OP YOEPl Adown the dim and shadowy past Are memories floatinijr thick and fast, Like silveiy sunbeams o'ei- the sea They lave the air encircling me, And come in dreams that wilder seenjs And ruddier glows their golden gleams. 0, beauteous bowers ! what heavenly flowers, Unveiled through all of childhood hours, Come drifting past the mossy shore — Those dear delightsome days of yore. Anon my castles in the air I built when earth was young and fair, Aloft were borne with evei-y breeze, By vale or plain or towering trees Weird fairy hopes about me lay Through silent night or echoing day; But skifls that shadowed my summer bay Lie strewn on the strand of a desolate way, And the song that drifts through my life evermore, Flows sweetly back to the days of yore. ' JOT. The clime where genius dwells alone Is boundless, free, and yet unknown Save in the fragments of a book. Condensed to fill us with a look. It is a grand immortal sphere. The realm of thought and hope that's here; 0, wondrous world, the pen and press! Without which all is wilderness ! 26 VISTA. The waving hemlocks i-ose ami fell Like some far-off cathedral bell, And through the haze of autumn days There pour'd a million golden rajs. It was as though a goddess fair Unfurling all her golden hair One afternoon, saw all the years Of Time's disporting hopes and fears. And there was shape to a shadowy sphere And worlds on worlds the sun's compeer, And light that fell on field and wold Was like the Bethlehem of old. To cite the lessons in a leaf, The sermons bound in every sheaf, The open books in every brook, The world at home in every nook. To see the clouds at evening glow Like sapphire seas begirt with snow, Prophetic fires of cottage hearth, And all the secret things of earth ; Fame soars on wings of borrowed light; Each new creation, half affright, Revamps some long forgotten age And hands the world a standard gauge. Still here and there the star-dust falls And rainbows span the waterfalls, While through the clouds to fairer founts The kite of faith immortal mounts. 27 ERATO. [In Mythology, one of the Muses, whose name signifies loving or lovely, having similar at^ tributes, dress,