LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. VpfSSBlof Shelf „W&& UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. r: 1M7 POEMS CAMP AND HEARTH. BY J. HOWARD WERT, Author of " Gettysburg Monuments." HARRISBURG, PA.: HARBI6BURQ PUBLISHING COMPANY. 1887. COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY J. HOWARD WERT. TO THE READER. MANY of the poems here, for the first time, com- piled, were originally published in various peri- odicals, from the year 1859 down to the present time. They appeared in the National Era, of Washington, D. C. ; Gettysburg Star and Sentinel ; Carlisle Herald • New York Waverly ; Waverly Magazine ; New York Mercury; Ballou's Monthly ; Flag of our Union ; Wel- come Guest; Wide World; Weekly Novelette; Har- risburg Telegraph; Pennsylvania College Monthly; Harrisburg Telegram ; and other periodical publica- tions. Some of these productions attained an ephemeral reputation and, in a few cases, were extensively copied, wandering far from their original home. In now collating some of the poems which have been so widely scattered and> generally, speedily for- gotten by the public, I am simply executing a long cherished wish. Naturally I feel a deeper interest in these fugitive children than any one else can be ex- pected to have. Many poems of the past w T ere on subjects of tem- porary interest which rendered them unsuited to a collection intended for general reading. I have there- 4 Camp and Hearth. fore added to those earlier productions which have been here retained, a considerable number of poems which have not before appeared in print. Most of this latter class are on subjects that have been sug- gested by recent currents of thoughts and events. It would perhaps be well to say to the indulgent reader that, in the case of the author, poesy has sim- ply been a recreation and never an avocation. If one cannot be a master and produce grand sym- phonies, he may still, perchance, in a humble way, touch a minor key which will awaken responses in other hearts. Harrisburg, Pa., J. H. W. October 31, 1887. Camp and Hearth. 5 CONTENTS. Page. Lays of the Great Rebellion : I. Zagonyi's Charge, 11 II. Virginia's Hidden Voices, ...... 13 III. Fallen at Fair Oaks, 15 IV. By the Chickahominy River, 17 V. The Wounded to the Dead, .19 VI. Escaped from Millen, 20 VII. Minnie Engle— July 4, 1864, 23 VIII. Fredericksburg— Dec, 1862, 27 IX. Our Fallen. Brave: Decoration Day, 1876, 28 X. Blended Lives : Lincoln and Everett, . 36 XL A Departed Comrade, 45 XII. A Retrospect— Jan. 1, 1862, 46 XIII. The Great Re-Union, 49 Translation of "Dies Irae," 53 The Doom of the Slaver; or, The Phantom Ship, 60 Tribute to the Memory of David A. Buehler, . . 64 Optimism, 65 The Sunny Meads of Flora Dale— A Song, ... 67 Class Song: 1879/ 69 Charades : I. Summerfield, 70 II. Patrick Henry, 71 The Return of Hezekiah Given, 72 A Fragment, 82 The Angel of the Mind, 82 Sit Lux, '. 84 6 Gamp and Hearth. Page. Judea — A Sabbath Meditation, 85 The Ideal Queen, , . 86 'Neath the Walnut Tree, . . 87 The Hearth-Side : I. Song of the Sailor's Bride, ....... 91 II. An Autumn Pencilling, 92 III. The Tracings of Memory, 93 IV. The Realm of Thought, 93 V. Speak Gently, . 94 VI. Queen of All Hearts— A Health, .... 95 VII. A Portraiture, . ' 96 Heart Throbs : I. The Suicide, 99 II. The Stranger's Grave, . 100 III. The Pirate's Death, . 101 IV. The Deserted, 102 V. The Sleigh Ride, 103 VI. The Maiden's Complaint, 104 VII. The Orphan Boy's Lament, 105 VIII. The Warning, .' 107 IX. In Front. of Petersburg, . 108 X. The Mountain Home, 110 XL Meade, Seward, Greeley, : 110 XII. Infelix, . . .' Ill The Indian Warrior's Last Song, 113 The King of the Tritons, . . 115 The Storm King, 115 From Tyrant to Tyrant, 116 Legends of Gettysburg : I. " Under the Oaks of Rock Creek," ... 121 Camp and Heaeth. 7 Page. II. Brown's Battery B, 123 III. The Excelsior Brigade, 125 IV. The Pennsylvania Reserves at Round Top, 128 " We shall be Happy Then," 131 " Highland Mary," * 132 The Gospel, 135 Crete— 1867, 136 Garibaldi— 1867, . 136 To " Neh," 137 The Floating Soul, 138 Loved and Lost, : 143 Lullaby of the Falls, 144 The Wife's Reply, . .: 150 Contest of Ages, . 151 New Year's Soliloquy, . 152 Baltimore, . 153 A Wreath of Wishes Twined for Maine, of G , 154 Mary Gwendolen Caldwell, 156 A Home Picture, 158 Resurgemus, 160 Dollie Harris, of Greencastle, 161 A Memory, 164 Faces we Meet, 165 Over the Breakers, 167 To S. C. K., of Newburyport, Mass., 167 Encouragement, 168 Two Letters from Saratoga, 169 At the Pines, 171 A Mental Panorama, 17o The Last Grand Army Man, 176 LAYS OF THE GREAT REBELLION. To the Veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic, Department of Pennsylvania; and especially to my com- rades of Post 58, the following Lays of the Great Rebel- lion are respectfully inscribed by The Author. I. ZAGONYI'S CHARGE. When, in 1861, Major-General John Charles Fremont was given command of the troops operating in the Department of Missouri, a small body of cavalry was organized into a body-guard, the command of which was given to a Polish refugee named Zagonyi. With this handful of men he made a reckless charge through the streets of Springfield, Mo., occupied by two thousand Confederate troops, in- flicting great loss upon them. Zagonyi also lost heavily, but by daring fighting the majority escaped from what appeared inevitable destruction. This was one of the most brilliant feats of that dark year of reverses — 1861 — and did much to inspirit the loyalists,, mourning over the disasters of Bull Run, Vienna, Big Bethel, Wil- son's Creek, Ball's Bluff, and other unfortunate engagements. " Now follow me where victory leads : Charge : on for Fremont — on for man. Press to the field where Freedom bleeds, And o'er Missouri's fertile meads Charge home, as fast as e'er ye can ; Charge ! urge along our shattered van, Until, beneath the setting sun, Rings out the shout for victory won, Through camp and bower." Such were the words Zagonyi spoke, The noblest of heroic race, Amidst the dusky film of smoke Dense wreathed around — a battle-cloak. The rattling fire leaped in his face : He asked no truce — desired no grace, But swept with stern and awful pace His men to their baptismal place Of lurid fire. 12 Camp and Hearth. "Charge, forward, charge upon the foe: On, guards ; for Freedom — Fremont, on. The hosts in gray are crouching low ; Two thousand men await the blow; But on our sabre points shall run The life-blood of each valiant one, Before yon smoke-enveloped sun Shall see Zagonyi's guards outdone By mortal power. " With one wild impulse charge the foe. The rifle's crack, the musket's roar Affright us not. The sabre's blow, In battle's ebb and battle's flow, Decides fore'er the field of war. The vultures, that above us soar, Shall not our comrades batten o'er, Unmixed with floods of foeman's gore — Zagonyi's dower." The field is swept like winnowed chaff Before the mighty whirlwind's reign : Unspoken sorrow checks the laugh Of maidens, who the cup shall quaff Of sorrow for a lover slain. Alas ! they know that woe and pain, Like lightning's fierce and fiery chain, Fell from Zagonyi's blue-girt train, In that one hour. Camp and Hearth. 13 II. VIRGINIA'S HIDDEN VOICES. The Approach to the Dismal Swamp.* Our bark is bounding o'er the wave, With free and steady motion ; Our boatman chants, in rolling stave, A symphony with ocean. Dark lies the low and swamp-lined coast Beyond the rolling billow ; In lurid form, flit ghoul and ghost, Beneath the bending willow. The phosphorescent gleam, that mocks The chase of man or ocean, Gives forth no light, but sternly locks Those spectres from our vision. Our boat has anchored safe and clear, Within those dim recesses ; Our gondolier, with a thrilling cheer, Bids welcome home's caresses. But still that phantasy doth dwell On brow, and heart, and brain ; I know it well — but none may tell, Whence that heart-fettering chain. 14 Camp and Hearth. That rivets to this dismal post Those gazing down the distance, Where ghoul and ghost, along the coast, Are armed for stern resistance. Our footsteps press the clammy ground, Funereal shadow's flit around ; And denser still, that fearful thrill, That omen of foreboding ill. Beyond yon dark and sullen river, Where joyous sunbeams dance and quiver; Virginia's fair, exempt from care, Inhale the sweet and balmy air. But here beneath the clinging vine, Where leaves of cypress darkly twine, I hear a note of vengeance float — The echo of some human throat. Ah ! well I know that wild refrain From dusky lips out-bursting — The moan of pain, none may restrain — The voice for Freedom thirsting. Perchance the rebel seated high, With pride and power surrounded ; As it cleaves the sky, will hear that cry For liberty unbounded. Camp and Hearth. 15 Forever live the laws of Right, And God, their maker wields them ; And in their sight, fall power and might, For justice guards and shields them. Gettysburg, Jan. 30, 1862. *The unhealthy morasses and swampy fastnesses of the Dismal Swamp, inaccessible in many cases even for the blood- hounds, were for many years a favorite hiding place for slaves in southern Vir- ginia, who became fugitives from the oppressions of brutal masters and overseers. Some died here from want and exposure rather than leave the swamp, and thus face the punishment awaiting them. III. FALLEN AT FAIR OAKS. To the memory of Orderly Sergeant Frederick A. Huber, of the Twenty- third Regiment P. V., (Birney's Zouaves,) who fell on the field of honor, May ji t 1862. The roll of the drum, the shriek of the fife, The swell of the bugle, the clamor and strife Of the battle-field wild, rises dark on the air, Commingled with breathings of hope and despair. But on press our legions, though comrades are falling, Though hundreds now sleep past all hopes of recalling, In glory, the sleep that shall know no awaking, When sounds the reveille at day-light's first breaking. Columbia's cohorts are greeting the palm With music that hushes both psean and psalm : The boom of the cannon, the shriek of the shell Was the music of heroes who gallantly fell, 16 Camp and Hearth. As bravely they charged o'er the corpse-covered field, For the Union to die, but never to yield That starry-girt banner, which proudly shall fly Forever, our symbol of triumph, on high. The myrmidon-hosts of foemen are coming, Undaunted, though wildly the rifle is humming The death-knell of thousands, where mingled together The horse and his rider lie stiff on the heather. "Charge — forward upon them — my brave twenty- third;" O'er the roll of the drum that order is heard; " Charge — forward upon them " — each bayonet gleams, E're dimmed with the flow of life's crimson streams. The enemy fly ; the stripes and the stars Are planted in triumph o'er the stars and the bars : But hushed be the anthem and muffled the drum ; There's wailing and weeping in many a home. None braver, none truer e're yielded his life On the death-garnering field of slaughter and strife, Than he, whom we mourn, the gallant, the brave, Who perished, like Ellsworth, his country to save. Together we roamed through youth's dewy bowers, Together we culled life's sweet, opening flowers, Together we toiled toward the temple of fame To write on the future our deeds and our name. May God's comfort be mingled with heart-rending grief, Camp and Hearth. 17 May the Hand that has stricken bear also relief : But, while summer and winter pass swift o'er thy grave, We ne'er can forget thee, the gallant zouave. June 19. 1862. IV. BY THE CHICKAHOMINY RIVER. The attack of the Confederates upon the Federal army at Fair Oaks or Seven Pines was made, May 31st, 1862, whilst a storm of great severity was raging. The battle was continued during the fol- lowing day, when the sun was shining brightly. Wild bursts the storm — The sky is riven With bolts that flash From the dome of heaven : But, hark ! above the clamored swell, Bursts forth the fierce, inhuman yell Of charging men, for whom no bell, In death, shall ring a parting knell, By the Chickahominy river. The storm is raging — The thunder drum Of heaven peals The shrill alarum : And answering drums repeat the note ; An echo from the cannon's throat, With blackness wreathes the clouds which float, As if on darker scenes to gloat, By the Chickahominy river. 18 Camp and Hearth. The storm has gone — But rages yet The battle wild;'; And bayonet Pours fierce and free the crimson flood, That oozes through the heel-pressed sod, Where mingles water thick with blood : Must such things be, righteous God, By the Chickahominy river? Wild bursts a cry On earth and air — With moans of pain, Revenge, despair: — The Southern foes are driven back Before the cannon's reeling rack, Before our legions fierce attack ; But Northern homes have felt their track By the Chickahominy river. Honor the brave Who fell that day; Glory guards them Forever and aye : But drop a tear for the widow's woe — The untold anguish, none may know, That pierced her heart, like shaft from the bow, For one that fell before the foe, By the Chickahominy river. October 1, 1862. Camp and Hearth. 19 V. THE WOUNDED TO THE DEAD. July, 1862. Ah ! there you are at last, my comrade ; There's a bullet in your throat ; But do not fear, my hardy comrade, That the foe will o'er you gloat. Ha! what a noble charge was that! When we swept the field before us ; And rose, above the cannon's roar, The zouaves' thrilling chorus. I guess there's weeping in the hamlet, And wailing far away ; And many a woman's face is saddened By the work we've done to-day. I honor you who rest so calm On a bed so lone and gory ; I'm glad to know your life ran out On a battle-field of glory. Sweeter to die to roll of drum And crack of death-shot's rattle; Better to fall, facing the foe, In the wildest wave of battle, Than moan and toss for weary months, With fever crazing your brain ; Better to die where balls are plashing In a steady, leaden rain. 20 Camp and Hearth. VI. ESCAPED FROM MILLEK Within the glades of ivy vine, The hunted heroes lay, And heard, beyond the swamp's confine. The dreaded blood-hound's bay. "Our time is short," one weak youth said: "To flee we've done our best; Ere seeks yon lurid sun its bed, Our souls will be at rest. " No mercy knows the cruel horde That swiftly follows on ; But still, I pray to thee, Lord, 'Thy will, not mine, be done.'" " My mother waits for me each day," Said one with sunny hair ; And long she'll wait and watch and pray 7 For him so young and fair. Sweet sisters in a northern home Will hope and wait in vain, And, longing, look for him to come, They'll never see again. Too surely with prophetic words They've told their death-knell story: An hour — and points of rebel swords With patriot blood were gory. Camp and Hearth. 21 Thus died 'neath shades of ivy vine, In damp and dark morass, Where noxious plants luxuriant twine Upon the knotted grass, The heroes of a nobler line Than Sparta ever bore — The patriots of that stormy time, Our world-deciding war. No monuments above them stand : The swamp — their only bier ; Their praise — "they saved our native land; " Their epitaph — a tear. At last — at last — the gods pay well ; Give to the winds the story, And let our future annals tell Of Appomatox' glory. Yes, peal the bell and sound the horn, Unloose dull-throated cannon ; And give to kiss of sunlit morn Our nation's starry pennon. Rejoice — rejoice, as well ye may, For victory great and grand ; Let priest in prayer and poet's lay Thank God who saved our land. 22 Camp and Hearth. Yet, comrades in that sacred cause, We dare not e'er forget The brave within that dark morass, Whose life-blood, warm and wet, That beauteous eve, beneath God's sky, Was shed by Treason's hand ; The Heroes, who went forth to die For Freedom, pure and grand ; That gentle youth .with raven hair, Beneath the ivy vine, Who breathed to Thee, God, the prayer, " Thy will be done, not mine ! " Nor yet again that other boy — A man in thought and pain — Whose blood told out a mother's joy, Who ne'er will smile again. Nor yet alone in Georgian swamps, And darkly dismal glen, Where died the men that fled the damps Of Millen's prison pen, Were slain the martyred pioneers Of Freedom's second birth, Which yet shall give, in future years, New life to all the earth. Those glorious cohorts of the North Have fed our fields of grain ; Camp and Hearth. 23 And many, that went gaily forth, Now sleep on Shiloh's plain ; And some on Groveton's sunny slopes ; Along the Kapidan ; And in the Wilderness, the hopes Of many an aged one. Gettysburg, Pa., June 17, 1868. VII. MINNIE ENGLE— JULY 4th, 1864. An Incident of the War. Sweet Minnie Engle one bright day, Stood gazing down the dusty way. Her sire, a time-browned son of toil, For fifty years had tilled the soil ; Most sweetly beamed 'neath locks of gray The calmness of life's sinking day. He gently spoke when plenty crowned The year. In hours when sorrow frowned; — " It is not mine to choose or say, Thy will be done in Thine own way." Minnie knew not a mother's care, Had never heard a mother's prayer : 24 Camp and Hearth. Whose soul had fled away from earth, When she had given Minnie birth ; Her father loved her but the more, A link from this to that bright shore, Where loves, that here by death are chilled, To faith's fond gaze are seen fulfilled. She had one brother, good and brave, But he had gone our land to save. Most sad was Minnie's heart that day, Gazing adown the dust-clad way, To where, six weary miles beyond, Potomac was with verdure crowned. Swift passing o'er that fertile land, Again had come the Southern band, One year before had fought, to fail, On bloody hills, where iron hail Was " General orders — number one," That Meade had sent from line to line. Fair Maryland was wild with fear, Whilst Jubal Early, drawing near, Was sweeping all from friend and foe, That had been spared one year ago. Camp and Hearth. 25 But 'twas not that which dimmed the eye Of her who gazed on grove and sky : She thought and dreamed, as oft before, Of him, that now would come no more. " One year ago this very day; " She murmured, looking down the way ; " My brother filled a nameless grave, Within the State he came to save : " He fills a grave I cannot see, Nor strew one rose, loved one, for thee : " A comrade saw him bleeding fall, In hurried charge and that is all. " Alas, and woe for father gray ! Alas ! Alas ! for this glad day, " That twice has brought our nation life, — Lord, still in me this fretful strife." — She paused, for down the dust-brown way, Came — not the men who wore the gray, But, dimly seen in distant view, A wanderer lone in ragged blue. Near and more near he feebly comes, Not as he went, to roll of drums. 2 26 Camp and Hearth. ' Poor man, God bless him," murmured she, I'll spread some food beneath this tree : 6 " Thank God, although my heart is sad, He'll make some wife or sister glad." But, as he neared the opened gate, And Minnie saw the one, that late She wept, as sleeping 'neath the ground, She kissed the lost that had been found. Thus, midst the stern, sharp wounds of grief, There comes sometime a swift relief: Thus Minnie felt through smiles the cost Of those sad words: " The loved and lost." The pangs of war have "passed away; But Minnie oft thinks of the day, She wished to help the one in blue, And fondly clasped a brother true. Gettysburg, July, 1868. Camp and Hearth. 27 VIII. FREDERICKSBURG— DEC, 1862. On rugged Marye's bloody heights The cannon sternly frowned ; And belched a hundred batteries From the quivering, moaning ground. Still up those heights a soldier pressed, A flag-staff in his hand ; Whilst toward that life-consuming wall Pressed on the gallant band. With shriekings wild, the men were falling,, Like leaves before the blast, When bleak Arcturus sendeth forth His legions stern and vast. But still that noble heart pressed on Amid the lurid death, That swept from out the cannon's throat, Hell's keen, sirocco breath. One volley more — the life-blood oozes From out the gaping wound : And, grasping still the starry flag, His lifeless form was found. But, ere his soul had winged its flight To brighter realms above, Where battle-clangor never mars The holy home of love. 28 Camp and Hearth. He whispered to a comrade tried, Who wiped death's clammy dew : " Tell mother, I have bravely died, To God and country true." Note. — To those familiar with the terrific slaughter caused by the unsuccessful attempts to scale the blood-baptized Marye's heights, in Burnside's disastrous assault on Fredericksburg, Decem- ber, 1862, no explanation is necessary of the terms used in the foregoing poem. In a limited area before the stone wall, so bitterly remembered by many, there were probably more dead men of the Union army, than on any equal area of any battle-field of the war, before or after. IX. OUR FALLEN BRAVE. A poem read in the Grand Opera House, Harrisburg, Pa., at the Decoration Ceremonies, May 30, 18 J 6. A beauteous land, by Heaven blessed, Of every charm and good possessed — The fairest land that lies between The rising and the setting sun — Exulting in its gains of gold, Exulting in its wealth untold, Exulting in its flag of stars, ( Defaced, 'twas true, by bondmen's scars,) Exulting in the wealth of fame That crowned Columbia's brow and name, Exulting in its sons so brave And in Mt. Vernon's storied grave, Camp and Hearth. 29 Exulting in its wide domains, Its inland seas and mighty plains ; Was rudely startled from its sleep By mutterings, hoarse, discordantjdeep. Ah ! well do we remember how In dust our heads were made to bow : With thunderbolts the sky was red, The green fields blushed with slaughter shed. From Sumter's dark and frowning wall O'er all the land, the voices call Of shot and shell from smoking cannon, Aimed at our Nation's starry pennon. • Ah ! those were days of darkest night ; Through ebon clouds there shone no light, While traitors fought to place thenars Above our glorious stripes and stars. A moment all the nation reeled, Aghast to find themselves betrayed ; Then into solid phalanx wheeled — Shoulder to shoulder, blade to blade. One awful moment was the pause, As wails a bleeding country's call Through mountain cot and stately hall, Across the bleak New England land, And Jersey's coasts of shifting sand, Across the Keystone of the Arch, And swift, in its impetuous march, Reaches the prairies of the West, With every form of plenty blest. — A moment only. Then 'twas grand 30 Camp and Hearth. To see men rise all o'er the land, Lay down the implements of peace, Go forth [to battle for the cause Of human rights and equal laws, And swear the conflict should not cease, Till Union, firm and undissolved, Should from war's trial be evolved. Through all the land a drum is heard, That beats but one alarming word ; And darkness shrouds each beauteous star, As rolls the summons, " War, war, war ! " The land of peace was rent with hate. O'er verdant fields, now desolate, The crimson streams of slaughter ran, As, host with host and man with man, Brother with brother fiercely lought. All faith was gone. Nor was there aught Of grief the morrow might not bring Afflicted, breaking hearts to wring. The maiden mourned each sunny day For one, whose lot was far away Amidst the cannon's sultry roar — 'Mid ghastly wounds and human gore. The wife oft turned a sunless face Toward the memory-saddened place, From which the husband waved adieu, That morn he donned the Federal blue. And then came battles fierce and wild : Alas! how oft the babe, that smiled, Knew not what meant those scalding tears, Camp and Hearth. 31 Wrung by a mother's doubts and fears, That fell upon his infant brow. Thousands, the noble of our land, From western home and northern strand, Before the bloody tempest bow. The land was wild with fear and hate, Our seas were tinged with blood ; From coast to coast, from State to State, Rolled in the crimson flood. On came the gray, with victory flushed, With crimson streams our valleys blushed ; Until, upon a northern field, Our hosts, determined not to yield, In deadly conflict met the foe; With fires of death the ridges glow ; The green grass blushed with scarlet hue, As, some in gray and some in blue, Two hundred thousand men, beneath The battle's smoke-encircled wreath, For days and nights, in contest wild, Their myriad victims swiftly piled. But over all the smoke and roar, O'er corses grim and human gore, Flashed up, resplendent to the view, 'Neath heaven's vault of stars and blue, Our Flag — triumphantly victorious — In battle's baptism made more glorious. How rang our land with psalm and song, Through all its length and breadth along, When Geary, on the rocky height 32 Camp and Hearth. Of Gettysburg, had put to flight The corps of Ewell. And when Lee Was forced; with shattered ranks, to flee From Meade. Yet, swift the pseans turn To dirge of sadness o'er the urn Of Reynolds, while a nation's tears Fall on five thousand sable biers. Brave heroes they. Nor there alone The lurid flames of battle shone. Our Hartranft, at Antietam bridge, And Steadman's life-devouring ridge, Placed fadeless laurels on Ms brow ; Which bays are brightly blooming now. Lives there a man in East or West — One of our band, that helped to press Rebellion to its final doom, That would not smile upon the tomb — That will not, here, this day, confess He'd rather sleep the dreamless rest Of those, who rose from gory fight To realms of everlasting light, Than not have stood amid the brave^ Who fought their nation's life to save? At last, at last, the gods pay well : A grateful nation's legends tell Of Appomattox' crowning glory : A listening world repeats the story. We hail our nation's star-crowned pennon With roar of peace-converted cannon. Yet comrades of that darkling night — Camp and Hearth. 33 Survivors of the fierce-fought fight — Brave champions of the cause of right, We dare not slight the noble slain Of Northern hill and Southern plain. Their country called : they went to die. Some rest beneath a Southern sky ; Or, sleep in nameless, unmarked graves, Beside the deep Gulf's murmuring waves : Some sleep in woods and thickets wild, Where sunbeams never yet have smiled ; In lone lagoon and dismal swamps. Thousands expired amid the damps Of Libby's strength-devouring hell; And other valiant thousands fell On every field of blood and death, Where flashed the cannon's sulphur breath. We saved our land; but when, God! Did people pass 'neath bloodier rod ? When ere was paid a price so great, Since first were spun the threads of fate ? In starry spheres is rung their knell, And all eternity shall tell Their praise, who, swift, at God's command, Rushed on to rescue our fair land. 'Tis mete that we assembled here, In this our glad, Centennial year — Our hundredth natal day so near, Should honor well the gallant men, Who died in field and prison-pen ; Give rein to fancy and survey 34 Camp and Hearth. On this, the dearest, saddest day Of all the year, how good a land — How blest with Heaven's smile — is ours : Then deck with sweetest, fairest flowers The graves of those, without whose aid, Within the tomb would have been laid Our nation's life, assailed, betrayed, By traitorous heart and traitorous hand. To-day on consecrated grounds, That heave and swell with soldier mounds, All o'er our wide and fair domain — Prom Northern pine to Western plain — From rugged coast to swelling wave, Where San Joaquin's bright sands are lost Within the rising tides that lave The Golden Land's extended coast; A nation's chivalry have met, Where once rose fort and parapet. Beauty and age and valorous youth, The honored friends of worth and truth, The noble men of every State, The fair, the valiant, and the great, In mighty hosts have gathered — there — And there — and here — and everywhere — To place anew the laurel wreath On brows, that, by the seal of death, Transported to Elysian dome, Left breaking hearts and blasted home. And yet no act of homage given Camp and Hearth. 35 By us, who still remain below, Can soothe the hearts by anquish riven, Or add one glory to the brow Of those asleep. Consider then How we may honor best the men, " Who gave their lives for you and me," That all our land from sea to sea, In fact, as well as name, might be Land of the Free. Their lives have grasped A mighty nation's throbbing heart; Of its own life become a part, In its embraces firmly clasped. The truest homage we can give Is so to act and so to live, That we may hand their nation down Increased in honor and renown : That we may guard the nation well For which they fought ; for which they fell. Fold them, Father, in thy arms ; Where, ever safe from war's alarms. Those broken, sundered ties may be Magnets to lead our lives to Thee. 36 Camp and Hearth. X. BLENDED LIVES. Lincoln and Everett. A poem read before the Teachers' Institute of the City of Harris- burg, November 6th, iSyj. Edward Everett, one of the greatest of American scholars, ora- tors, and statesmen, was, in i860, the candidate for Vice-President on the ticket of the Union and Constitution party, the aim of which was by mutual concessions, to avert the storm then impending. There were four presidential tickets in the field, all of which re- ceived some electoral votes, the election, however, resulting in the choice of Lincoln and Hamlin. Everett had previously filled many important positions, amongst which were the following: Professor of Greek in Harvard Univer- sity, president of the same institution, ten years of service in the National House of Representatives, Governor of Massachusetts, United States Senator, Secretary of State for the United States, and Minister to the Court of St. James. By his writings and lectures he collected one hundred thousand dollars for the purchase of Mt. Vernon to be the property of the nation. On the 19th of November, 1863, in the presence of at least thirty thousand people, a portion of the Gettysburg battle-field was dedi- cated as a National Cemetery. On that occasion Lincoln and Everett met for the first time, the latter delivering the oration of the day ; whilst the former uttered those immortal words, known the world over, commencing: "Four-score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." This was also the last meeting of these two great men. Everett died in January, 1865, three months before the assassination of Lincoln. Camp and Hearth. 37 Autumnal leaves were russet-hued : ('Twas many years ago ; ) And autumn winds were murmuring A dirge-chant sad and low. On cold and bleak New England's shore, A manly form we see, A youth as fair as fabled gods Of Grecian story be. Far in the West, amid expanses Of prairie, marsh and wood, Brave pioneers with want were struggling To live as best they could. Among the settlers we behold In this dim, border land, We spy a lonely cabin rude ; Within, a humble band : And one of these, a youth uncouth, Whom fates of wealth deny — Unschooled, but with the noble heart, Nor blood, nor wealth can buy. Years pass away : in stately home, In the Athens of our land, The former , by the midnight lamp, The laws of nature scanned. 38 Camp and Hearth. High honors sat upon his brow From Harvard's classic portal ; Already gleamed the laurel wreaths, That deck his name immortal — Immortal, as his country's life, Immortal, as her story, That ever glides ado wn the years, Replete with marks of glory. Of noble blood, with genius blest, By cultured friends surrounded, Who gave to each new, daring flight The meed of praise unbounded ; Step after step he nobly won Up Science's cloud-capped fane, And drew from earth and stars above Fresh trophies in his train. A linquist rare, of courtly grace ; A speaker sweet as Tully; The listening millions loved the man Whose life no vices sully. In sacred desk — in council halls, Where sat Columbia's sages, He breathed forth words that ever ring Adown the future ages. Place after place of highest trust, Bestowed on him deserving; Camp and Hearth. 39 The nation found him ever just — Of wrong, the foe unswerving. In foreign lands, beyond the deep, . Revered by every station ; Men learned through him to more respect And better know our nation. Versed in all lore, his friends were men Of noble life and manners ; And every science had his name Inscribed upon her banners. The awkward youth of western wilds Had slowly plodded on ; And something too — of local fame — By industry, had won. But yet, an awkward man was he, Homely and stern, but good, Who struggled hard from work to wring A family's daily food : A careworn face, and yet the shade The sunlight oft broke through ; And men, who knew, said, to the right As steel he would be true. *fi *^ *fc *$+ *y+ ?jC Swift years of peace had flown away, — 40 Camp and Hearth. With each returning natal day, Our nation, on its upward way, Basking 'neath Liberty's bright ray, Exulted in a land the best The foot of man had ever pressed — The fabled. Islands of the Blest, That, ancient myths, far in the West Had placed beyond Atlantic wave ; Exulted in the memories grand, That thrill from sire to son ; the band, Who nobly stood round Washington, And when their work was fully done, When Freedom's fight was fully won, Returned to hearthstones long grown cold; In all the trophies bright that lave Our starry ensign's every fold ; In daughters fair, and heroes brave, Whose deeds of valor, often told, Will be, in every age and time, A theme of song for every clime. Now quick the change to death and woe, Beneath a fratricidal blow, 'Mid varied dreadful scenes of slaughter, And conflicts wild on land and water. Within the keystone of the"Arch, At length was curbed rebellion's march. There, fields all clothed in summer green, Ravines of rock that yawned between, The mountains clothed with oak and pine, The hills that formed the Federal line, Camp and Hearth. 41 All quivered with volcanic throes, As fiercely rushed the Union's foes, In legions stern, in grand array, To mingle in the battle fray. There, serried hosts, mid rows of cannon, Mid shrieks and groans and blood-stained pennon, Mid all the dreadful sights and sounds Of fierce-fought field ; the horrid wounds, That render life a living death, Mid fair-haired youths that grasping lay, And thought of home, with dying breath, And heart-sore mothers far away ; — Rushed on. No lull of strife is there : No white- winged bird can breath that air. They fell 'neath grape and shell and sword ; And some life's crimson tide outpoured Before the glittering bayonet, By grand libations dimmed and wet. The ages with the valor swell Of those, at Gettysburg, who fell. And now from rocky steep and hill, From verdant field and babbling rill, Rise marble monuments to stand And guard the sleeping dust beneath Of those, who fought for native land, When Treason's darkling hosts assailed. Theirs is the fadeless laurel wreath, Brighter than crowns the warrior sage, Who fought for Greece with noble rage At Marathon. No hero quailed, 3 42 Camp and Hearth. When shot-torn comrades round him wailed The dying pangs of agony, That blent with shouts of victory. With cycling months, November chill Has cast its gloom o'er dale and hill ; And other hosts have gathered there, To breathe from that heroic air New inspiration in the cause Of equal rights and equal laws — Of Union firm and undissolved. Amid the mighty concourse there, The wise, the great, the famed, the fair, Who on that altar high resolved Those dead should not have died in vain — That, from the storm of leaden rain, That late had swept those glens and heights, Should spring new birth of equal rights ; That, under God, the nation should, And, by His grace, it quickly would Have birth anew to Liberty, Dissolved from league with slavery ; That, from this new, this second birth Of Freedom on a slave-cursed earth, The Peopled government should be The People for — the People by, Till all our land be truly free And every form of wrong should die, — Two noble forms attract all eyes : The one, a man with face serene, As calmly grave as Washington ; Camp and Hearth. 43 The other, somewhat rough and rude, Yet in his homely face there lies A look so patient, brave and "good, That hoary sires and ladies sweet, With fond acclaims, his progress greet; And, wheresoe'er his steps were bent, A nation's blessings with him went On him, the Nation's President. And thus they met around the urn, Where holy memories throng each turn Of wood and dell and tangled ridge : The one, the man of talent rare ; The other, bowed with work and care : Thusy^ they met above those graves, Where slept the nation's "guardian braves — Those two, who once had rivals been To reach the nation's highest places, In loving fellowship are seen, While speaking forth the words that bridge The Present in the Past's embraces : The one, with all the studied graces Of orator almost divine ; The other, standing on the portal Of Heaven, there to brightly shine Among the hosts of the Immortal, When, all his life-work fully done, His soul, through murderer's hand, shall rise Above Columbia's weeping skies, Our nation's second Washington, — Speaks words that burn down all the ages, 44 Camp and Hearth. Speaks words that glow on history's pages, As long as valor is adored, As long as goodness is revered. Yet, few and simple words were they, That struck a nation's throbbing heart, And, on its stern, resistless way To nobler faith and purer day, Of its own life became a part. Now autumn once again has come, And soon is merged in winter's gloom, And winter, melting into spring, Beheld a weeping nation bring Its garland memories of grief With which to crown our fallen chief. He died, beneath a murderer's hand, The noblest man of all our land. A nation wept a father slain ; On Northern hill and Southern plain For him alike mourned free and slave ; The tears of beauty wet his grave, And bearded men, the bravest brave, Wept bitterly. But not alone The lance of death on him had shown : The other, too, the Nation wept ; One in the East, one in the West, A mighty continent between, With undivided heart they slept, While nature spread her living green, Where men, the bravest and the best, Repose in holy, dreamless rest. Camp and Hearth. 45 Though distant far and wide asunder The turfs their mouldering forms lie under, Their names together through the ages Forever shine on history's pages. XL A DEPARTED COMRADE. Suggested by the presence of two hundred uniformed comrades of the Grand Army of the Republic, at the funeral of William H. Shettle, at Oyster's Point,, near Harrisburg, Sunday, October 26, 1884. 'Tis mete that we assemble here, To deck with garlands fair, Our fallen comrade on his bier ; While swells upon the air The dirge from muffled drum and fife, That mourns for hero true, As brave as ever risked his life In wearing of the blue. To him, in battle's fiercest heat, Our hearts with ]ove were given ; Our country saved, to-day we meet — Those love-ties rudely riven. Rest, hero, in thy hill-side grave, Where comrades sadly bore thee; Long may the land you fought to save, Her stars and stripes wave o'er thee. 46 Camp and Hearth. XII. A RETROSPECT— January 1, 1862. The first year of the war for the suppression of the Rebellion was attended with varying fortunes, but was, on the whole, rather discouraging to loyal hearts. The following lines were written January I, 1862, referring to the uprising of the Northern States for the suppression of the Rebellion, and some of the disasters of the year. Grown proud in the might of prosperity's power, Forgetting the bondman who labored for naught — Lo ! ruin and death hurled forth in an hour, The blood-bedewed liberty, our ancestors bought, Trampled low 'neath the feet of hirelings and knaves, Of sycophants, mammonites, breeders of slaves, Of legions, who rush o'er the grass-covered graves Of the heroes who fell where the starry flag waves. Secession — disunion — fell password of slaughter, Thy crimes would have darkened the annals of blood, When floated the standard o'er land and o'er water, Of Attilla, self-styled scourge of the Lord. The tyrants that cherished thy elder-born brother, Slavery, foeman to God and mankind, Shouted Bacchanal greetings one to another, " Rejoice at our joy : freedom flees like the wind." But, hark! midst the gloom^of fear and of anguish ; The shouts that arise from Freedom's proud host, From the shores of Pacific, where soft zephyrs languish - Midst forests gigantic that girdle her coast, Camp and Hearth. 47 Are re-echoed along the deeply-worn chasms, The rocks that encircle the Puritans' land, The fiords old ocean in maniac spasms Scoops deep in the granite converted to sand. From Maine and New Hampshire, the land of Green Mountains, From the rock that shall live in all annals of time, Where wild, wintry winds, not plashing of fountains, Is the fierce-shrieking music of an ice-girdled clime, Comes the deep, ringing shout of a people still free, Who, awaking from dreams, see Freedom betrayed : The war-chant aroused by the wild, raging sea Sweeps o'er city and hamlet, o'er forest and glade. Across the broad prairies the echoes awake, That ring from the mounts of the Key of the Arch ; From the west to the east, from ocean to lake, Is sounded the key-note that hurries the march. The bosoms of millions are breasting the storm, The land of the pine is greeting the palm ; Sends greeting with cannon and death's ghastly form, That changes to wailing both psean and psalm. All honor to Anderson, hero of mortals, And honor to those who stood by his side ; Sure Greece in her fables of gods and immortals, Nor Rome in her power of dominion and pride, Ne'er painted so much of firmness and duty, So much of devotion to country and man : 48 Camp and Hearth. Midst the fires of that hell, a halo of beauty Encircled thy brow. Thy work was well done. The roar of the cannon volcanic that hurled The tempest of wrath on thee and thy band, Sent a thrill to the free all over the world, And to weary watchers in each foreign land : It roused the heart of the loyal North That long had been gagged as a lion bound ; The tempest of wrath came bursting forth, Swift to the prey as Llewellyn's hound. A psean, a dirge, a prayer and a vow, Commingled together go up to our God ; At the shrine of His judgment, corrected, we bow; His blessings forgotten, He uses the rod. A psean we raise to His throne for success, That smiles on our arms on land and on sea ; That will carry our flag to every recess, And wave o'er one land — the flag of the free. A dirge for the brave who sink to their rest ; May zephyrs chant sweet a reveille for you : With heads lowly pillowed on earth's glooming breast, Requiescant in pace — brave, noble, and true. A dirge for our Ellsworth of Warren's descent, A dirge for our Lyon, a hero sublime, Camp and Hearth. 49 A dirge for Corcoran in prison walls pent, For the thousands whose glory shall live for all time. A prayer to our God to prosper the cause, Our hearts and our hands are pledged in sustaining ; Its bulwark, our just and beneficent laws, Its keystone, the right of the people's ordaining. A vow to press on till our banner shall float, In triumph unsullied, o'er all our domain; And the sunshine of heaven on its beauties shall gloat, From the lakes to the gulf, o'er mountain and plain. XIII. THE GREAT RE-UNION. Whilst a few of the battle-scarred veterans are meeting on the field of Gettysburg, we can never forget the mighty throng that can attend no earthly reunion. In sullen gloom the night came down, A murky night of storm ; 'Mid lightning blasts of heaven's frown I saw a stately form — A gaunt, weird form on charger gray, Who blew a bugle blast ; The hoof-beats, clattering down the way, Into the darkness passed. But sounds portentous groaned around, The cannon's sullen roar, That clouded sky and shook the ground As in the days of yore ; 50 Camp and Hearth. And I, in visioned dreams had passed, The bloody fields beside, As waking to that bugle blast I saw the spectres glide, Who sleep upon a thousand fields, And form in rank once more ; Red Shiloh forth its quota yields, And Newburn's foam-kissed shore ; Still on and on the myriads press — The army of the grave — The heroes that, our souls confess, Died our fair land to save. In corps and grand divisions formed, An endless line they seemed ; The ranks that Lookout Mountain stormed, With burnished bayonets gleamed ; And Ellsworth proudly led the van, With starry flag unfurled ; Along the ranks the watch-word ran, " Freedom to all the world." And veterans from Antietam's bridge Pressed to their well-known places ; From Steadman's life-devouring ridge Came long forgotten faces ; And Reynolds rode his charger proud, That snuffed afar the battle, Where hovered dense the sulphur cloud Above the death-shot's rattle. Camp and Hearth. 51 Grim Kearney rode the lines along, And Sedgwick, too, was there ; While deep and clear the battle song Rose on the trembling air ; And Lyon, bravest of the brave, With visage pale and gory ; And Baker, whom untimely grave Checked in his path of glory. And there were Chicamauga's slain, McPherson true and tried ; And those who on dark Fair Oak's plain Gave forth life's ebbing tide. The Wheat-field yielded up its dead, From out the Devil's Den, From rocky cliff and gory bed, Rose stalwart Northern men. From Vicksburg's shot-torn fire of hell The teeming ranks press on ; And those who faced the battle yell 'Neath Charleston's fiery sun ; McCook in shadowy grandeur rides, And Reno's eagle eye Along the blue-girt cohorts glides, To lead to victory. All night with measured tread and slow, To the cannon's sullen roar, The hosts who fell so long ago Marched as in days of yore ; 52 Camp and Hearth. And ghostly bugles wildly swelled Upon the darkling air, As when those notes in battle pealed The soldiers' dirge and prayer. Harrisburg, Pa., July 2, 1887. Camp and Hearth. 53 TRANSLATION OF "DIES IRAK" Published in Pennsylvania College Monthly ', of February, i8j8. With respect to the natural genius and quality of the sacred Latin poetry, we may perhaps be pardoned in presenting, as an apposite introduction, the following observations translated from Fortlage, an eminent German critic : " The fire of revelation in its strong and simple energy by which, as it were, it rends the rock and bursts the icy barriers of the human heart, predominates in those oldest pieces of the sacred Latin poesy which are comprised in the Ambrosian hymnology ; a species of song which moves in the simplest tones and seldom uses rhyme. Its chief characteristic is the absence of ornament. This can well be called the primal song of Christendom, the song of its moral force — for by it Christianity begot in the soul of her confessors a stoicism which overcame the world, and which, by its untiring persistence, at length won victory for the cross. " The fire of enthusiasm and sentiment, which in the old Roman song never came to an immediate outburst, gleamed brightly up, however, in Spain, especially in the poesy of Prudentius. As we listen to him the soul welters in deep and strong emotion. From this has risen whatever of most sublime, magnificent, and fair, the sacred poesy of Christendom has brought to light. By him the heights of a freer and more ecstatic melody were reached, in oppo- sition to the more measured and subdued notes of elder Rome ; just as, in the profane poetry of the South, the many-colored lights of Calderon differ from the more sombre severity of Dante and the exquisitely compounded hues of Tasso. " Under Fortunatus this fuller strain of song proceeded to Italy, in the shuddering notes of the ' Vexilla Regis, 1 and * Pange Lingua, 1 and there unites, as at a later day in France, with the rich veins of song opened by a Peter Domiani, Thomas Aquinas, Adam of St. Victor, Bernard, and Bonaventura; until, at last, it reached its hi^h- 54 Camp and Hearth. est summit in the terrors of the flaming * Dies Irae? and the pathos of the tearful l Stab at Mater.'' But that which spans the distance between them both, and in which consists the depth of the Chris- tian poetry, is the element of a deep remorse, in which the wood of the cross appears, like a wonder-working tree, as the central mys- tery of Christianity." The " Dies Irae" is undoubtedly the best known of all the Latin hymns of the middle ages. Although it has been disputed, we do not hesitate to ascribe it to the authorship of Thomas De Celano. Without entering into the controversy, which has been waged upon the subject, we deem it sufficient to state that his claim has been fully vindicated by those whose researches and scholarship best en- title them to pronounce a judgment, by authorities as eminent as Lisco, Mohnike, and Geiseler. Neither will we discuss the three rival lections of this celebrated hymn — that of the Mantuan marble, the text of Haemmerlin, or the Roman missal. Daniel, (very conclusive authority,) inclines to the opinion, that the last contains it in the shape which it bore on first leaving the hands of the composer; while the others present the residuum of two successive recisions. The first mention of this flrosa, as it is technically called, is in a work of Bartholemew of Pisa, who died in 1401. It was found by Daniel in all the Italian missals, but from their date it is evident that it did not come in general use as a part of the church service earlier than the sixteenth century. As its author was a Minorite friar, it doubtless obtained its currency throughout Europe from the missals of the Franciscan order, as did also the " Stabat Mater.'''' "Is it not wonderful," says Mr. Trench in a note on this hymn, "that a poem such as this should have continually allured and con- tinually defied translators." The first English version is by Crashaw, in 1648. It is in quatrains, and is rather a reproduction than a translation. It was also rendered into English by the Earl of Ros- common; and Johnson tells us in his "Lives of the Poets," that the dying Earl uttered in his last moments with great energy two lines of his own version. Sir Walter Scott has also introduced an English version of a few of the opening stanzas in the "Lay of the Camp and Hearth. 55 Last Minstrel." It is recorded of the great Dr. Johnson himself, that, whenever he attempted to repeat it, he could never pass the stanza ending, " Tantus labor non sit cassus" without bursting into a flood of tears. In all, about one hundred translations have appeared in England, and nearly the same number in this country, those of General Dix being the best known. Excellent as are some of the General's renderings, he never seemed satisfied with any of his efforts, but for years endeavored to excel himself. In Germany a still greater number of translations have appeared, more than one hundred being catalogued in a recent German work. In France also a number of translations have appeared, but none of any great merit. The French tongue is not adapted to the representation in glowing words of thoughts as majestic as those that breathe in this grand poem. In all about three hundred and sixty translations of various degrees of merit have appeared in different languages, including one into ancient Greek and one into Hebrew. We need hardly add that it was upon the " Dies Irae" that Mozart founded his celebrated requiem, in the composition of which his excitement became so great as to induce death before his task had been completed. Original. 1. Dies irae, dies ilia, Solyet saeclum in fa villa ; Teste David cum Sybilla. 2. Quantus tremor est futurus, Quando Judex est venturus, Cuncta stricte discussurus, 3. Tuba mirum spargens sonum, Per sepulchra regionum, Coget omnes ante thronum. 56 Camp and Hearth. 4. Mors stupebit, et natura Cum resurget creatura, Judicanti responsura. 5. Liber scriptus proferetur, In quo totum continetur, Unde mundus judicetur, 6. Judex ergo cum sedebit, Quidquid latet apparebit, Nil inultum remanbit. % 7. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quern patronum rogaturus, Cum vix Justus sit securus ? 8. Rex tremendae majestatis, Qui salvandos salvas gratis, Salve me, fons pietatis. 9. Recordare, Jesu pie, Quod sum causa tuae viae, Ne me perdas ilia die. 10. Quaerens me sedisti lassus, Redemisti crucem passus ! Tantus labor non sit cassus. 11. Juste Judex ultionis, Donum fac remissionis Ante diem rationis. 12. Ingemisco tanquam reus, Culpa rubet vultus meus ; Supplicanti parce Deus. Camp and Hearth. 57 13. Qui Mariam absolvisti, Et latronem exaudisti, Mihi quoque spem dedisti. 14. Preces meae non sunt dignae, Sed tu, bone, fac benigne; Ne perenni cremer igne. 15. Inter oves locum praesta, Et ab haedis me sequestra, Statuens in parte dextra. 16. Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis, Voca me cum benedictis. 17. Oro supplex et acclinis, Cor contritum quasi cinis. Gere curam mei finis. 18. Lachrymosa dies ilia, Qua reserget ex favilla, Judicandus homo reus, Huic ergo parce, Deus. Translation. 1. Stern day of wrath to every nation, When worlds shall melt in conflagration — Foretold by seers of lofty station. 2. How great the fear assailing mortals, When comes the Judge from heavenly portals To give our place mid the immortals ! 4 58 Camp and Hearth. 3. A trumpet, blown with blast of thunder, And rending marble tombs asunder, Shall summon all in silent wonder. 4. Pale death shall quake, and nature reeling, With all mankind in terror kneeling, Shall see the graves their spoil revealing. 5. From books by God's own fingers traced, From which no deed can be erased, Shall all be honored or disgraced. 6. Enthroned shall sit the Judge unerring, Who will reveal all here occurring ; No just revenge on gilt deferring. 7. Alas ! vile me by sin enslaved, No saint dare plead for me depraved, Since scarce the righteous can be saved. 8. Almighty King of boundless power, To suppliant souls a gracious tower, Save me : Thy goodness on me shower. 9. 0, precious Jesus, now remember Thy earthly cross ; Thy blood, remember- In that dread day be my defender. 10. Thou earnest to seek me — wondrous story— To save my soul Thy cross was gory. 0, let that love now lead to glory. 11. 0, Righteous Judge of retribution, Now grant me perfect absolution, Ere comes my day of dissolution. Camp and Hearth. 59 12. I groan, my utter vileness owning, With crimson cheek my shame bemoaning; Yet ask Thy power my guilt condoning: 13. For Mary's crime was all remitted ; The dying thief, by Thee acquitted, Gives hope my plea may be admitted. 14. Although my prayers are vile and carnal,. Grant me Thy love, Thy grace supernal ; Nor send my soul to flames eternal. 15. Grant me a place among the saved, Not on the left with men depraved, But on Thy right my name engraved. 16. When the accursed to hell are driven — To everlasting burnings given, Call me with saints to yonder Heaven. 17. A suppliant low, I beg remission, With heart like ashes all contrition ; In death's sad hour hear my petition. 18. 0, dreadful day of woe and wailing, All human thoughts and crimes unveiling; When man, the creature, stands before Thee, Grant him remission, "God of Glory." 60 Camp and Hearth. THE DOOM OF THE SLAVER; OR, THE PHANTOM SHIP. Originally published in the " National Era" of Washington, D. C. Five thousand years ! Five thousand years ! upon the ocean's foam, Five thousand years ! Five thousand years ! but yet no sight of home ; Still forty spectral forms are seen upon our sun- cursed deck, And forty spectral forms still curse each slow-revolv- ing week. Our sinews are hot iron now, our hearts are molten lead, And ever, ever famishing, we seek in vain for bread ; The shriveled forms and ghastly eyes that peer with- out the shrouds, Fit emblems are of sun-parched realms unblessed by floating clouds. Behold ! vast bowers and arbors gaunt, far down the briny sea, And there are bowers and arbors, too, upon yon sun-parched lea ; But they are homes and revelling halls for a demon, phantom race, That ever flit and brood around, and haunt the wide expanse. Camp and Hearth. 61 The sun beamed bright on field and plain and on the mountain's brow, When from a Cretan port sailed we to Nilus lying low: Six days of storm without the sun and three of flow- ing tide Soon bore us to an unknown realm beyond Atlantia's side. We drifted on through torrid climes, where sun- beams never sleep, And 'neath the brow of snow-capped mounts reluct- antly we creep ; From out these snow-capped mountains drear, there blaze eternal flames, Whilst down the rugged sides of rock pour liquid,, fiery streams. But they are past, and soon is gone their deep, volca- nic roar, As through a boundless, azure sea, with stiffening gale, we soar : Pull forty days we sped along and left the world be- hind — A thousand phantom forms we saw, but land we could not find. And now, without a ruffled wave, the surges down- ward flow To parched realms of azure blue and drear domains below ; 62 Camp and Hearth. Here floating ice and burning snow forever dance along, And demons howl our requiem in dull, discordant song. The scorching sky was spread above and waves of fire below, As on and on, through parching w T aves, to lower realms we go ; Till, as one vast, inclining plain, the sea glides to the shore, Where in a cycle's deadly coil the polar whirlpools roar. We look in vain for moistening dew, or rain's refresh- ing fall ; The phantoms glide around our ship and mock our frantic call — And now all hope of aid is fled, as round and round we float, Whilst in our phosphorescent track misshapen satyrs gloat. Then, when we pace the burning deck, arise fond, dazzling dreams Of tantalizing waters bright, and cool and gurgling streams-^- Our hearts beat quick with fear and hate, our minds roam far and wide — 'Twere sure enough to drive you mad, with demons by your side. Camp and Hearth. 63 We grasp in vain the ice around, the white, translu- cent snow — Strange contrast to the fiery realms and boiling waves below. Oh ! what is pain, or woe, or death, or aught that mortals dread, To this the death thou cannot die — to be forever dead — To live forever tossed around on gloom's asphaltic wave, And Ghouls stretch forth their bony hands to taunt, but not to save; Thus whilst, through endless myriad years, revolving ages roll, There is no rest from pain or death, no comfort for the soul. Thus on and on forevermore our gloom shall ever last, And each revolving morn shall be a token of the past; And now comes up a hideous shout, in concert now they yell, " Ye sought to traffic in men's souls : this is the slaver's hell." Pennsylvania College, September, 1859. 64 Camp and Hearth. TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF DAVID A. BUEHLER, Vice President of Gettysburg Battle-field Association, President of Board of Trustees of Pennsylvania College, &>c., &C, &c. More fadeless than the laurel wreath That decks the warrior brave, The legacy pure men bequeath That lives beyond the grave- That lives and shines a beacon light To all who know their worth ; Their every deed a beaming light To bless and cheer our earth. In unison we sadly mourn The loss of one so true ; Life's ties by death are rudely torn ; We bid the last adieu, With grieving hearts and faltering hands, Whilst, looking through our tears, The fadeless, sunny Summer Land To Faith's fond gaze appears. Securely in the Father's arms, No care assails thee now ; Forever done with life's alarms, With " Victor " on thy brow, We know that thousands here below Will bless thy blameless name, And, chastened by the bitter blow, Will strive to live the same. Camp and Hearth. 65 We know that lives like thine are given To bless the human race, And lead them to the courts of Heaven To view the Father's face ; That when to us rolls back the veil That hides the better land, With thrills delightful we shall hail The welcome of thy hand. Harrisburg, Pa., January 28, 1887. OPTIMISM. Inscribed to S *****. Sometime 'tis night, no gleam of light, Sometime the sunbeams glowing ; Yet constant still, I feel the thrill — The music overflowing From Nature's choir, ascending higher With every orb's pulsation, With ceaseless praise to endless days And loftier aspiration, That sin may end, and minds may blend To life's complete fruition — The bond of love, commenced above, Before this orb's creation ; No jar is there, but through the air, Chant alway day and night, From pearly spheres, devoid of cares, The fairy bands of light. 66 Camp and Hearth. Yet I, who know, that sorrow's blow Leads to a life diviner, That every ill conducts us still To heights of love sublimer, May join that strain — that world's refrain — In key subdued and minor, And in my sphere of duty here Sing Love, the great refiner. Some human hearts misfortune parts, That nature tuned together, That they should cheer each other here In calm or stormy weather ; From breezes bright, rise storms of night, Such trusting hearts to sever ; And torn apart, each loving heart Seems doomed to bleed forever. Yet clear and bright, o'er the depths of night, Shines up a starry Aidenn — The home of the blest, where the weary rest In peerless bowers of Eden ; While seeming ill conducts us still . From the crowded earth-shrine portal To the fairer land, to the sinless band, To the realms of the Immortal. We're parting now, but when I bow Before the Bounteous Giver, There'll come from me a prayer for thee, That down life's winding river, Camp and Hearth. 67 A light may glide, each bark beside, To the blessed home supernal, And, life complete, that- we may meet In glow of Life Eternal. July 14, 1887. THE SUNNY MEADS OF FLORA DALE. A Song of "May." A houseless wretch, of home bereft, I wander on from door to door ; The weary miles behind me left But tell of other miles before. The snow sweeps darkling through the air, The winter's blast is keen and cold, While memory dwells on scenes so fair — More dear to me than can be told. Cho. — Sweet, sunny meads of Flora Dale, Where once so blithe of heart and gay, I roamed with Mary o'er each vale, Through all the pleasant month of May. I thought her true, nor dreamt that pain Could ever cross my flowery way ; The birds, that caught our love refrain, Made sweeter music all the day. She plighted firm her love to me 68 Camp and Hearth. By babbling brook in that sweet vale ; No fairer could the angels be Than was my love of Flora Dale. Cho. — Sweet, &c. So passed those golden hours away, To memory still so sadly sweet ; We loved through all the month of May, And parted then, no more to meet ; The love was sparkling in her eye, When last she kissed a fond adieu ; I clasped her in a sad good-bye ; She vowed to be forever true. Cho. — Sweet, &c. Alas ! a grandee came with gold, While I was poor and nameless, too ; For wealth her plighted heart she sold, And wrote to me a cold adieu. And now of hope and home bereft, My passion all without avail, No treasure in my heart is left But withered flowers from Flora Dale. Cho. — Sweet, sunny meads of Flora Dale, No more with heart so blithe and gay, I'll roam with Mary o'er each vale, Through all the balmy month of May. Baltimore, Md., February, 1878. Camp and Hearth. 69 CLASS SONG. Used by the Graduating Class, Harrisburg High Schools, i8jq. This joyous hour, assembled here, Our hearts are full of gladness ; We greet kind friends and patrons dear, Without one touch of sadness. May blessings fall upon their heads, Till, crowned by Faith and Love, The Father gently calls them home To bowers of bliss above. This night, to memory ever dear, We stand upon life's portal- Launch forth, o'er varied seas to steer, To realms of* life immortal. May Truth and Honor be our guides, Till, crowned by Faith and Love, At last the Father calls us home To bowers of bliss above. To teachers loved we bid adieu; Be theirs a crown of glory — A fadeless wreath attained by few Who shine in song or story. May sunbeams shine upon their path Till, crowned by Faith and Love, The Father gently calls them home To bowers of bliss above. 70 Camp and Hearth. CHARADES. I. — SUMMERFIELD. Summerfield, a celebrated young divine of the early part of the present century, was noted for his fervid, fiery eloquence, and his power of swaying vast masses, until often thousands were bathed in tears or crying to God for mercy. 'Twas a sweet Sabbath morn in the midst of my first, In God's mercy to weary ones given ; And the birds from the trees in their praise-carols burst To the Lord of the earth and the Heaven : And the up-rising sun, on the gold-headed grain, By the pastures all clothed in rich green, And the sweet-smiling corn, refreshed by the rain, Glanced brightly each dark leaf between. Then they joyfully came — they thronged every side. Through the alley-ways green of my second, Where the brook murmured down to the fair stream- let wide, To the love-call that graciously beckoned : Thus they joyously came — those rough men of toil — Those reapers of earth's golden grain, The Heaven-blest sons of a Heaven-blest soil, In their search for eternal gain. Then the tears rolled down on each sun-bronzed cheek At the eloquent words of my whole ; And the stout-hearted man as a child grew weak, As He painted eternity's scroll. Camp and Hearth. 71 Not, since Jesus had walked on the Judean plain,. Had such thunder-bolt tones been ere known, As He painted the damned in the writhings of pain, Or the joys of the throng round the throne. Harrisburg, Pa., January 31, 1878. II. — Patrick Henry. My first was the patron of Erin, The down-trodden gem of the sea ; My second, enrobed in proud purple, Sweet isle, forced the fetters on thee. My whole, in the wilds of the west, Adjured the brave to be free, With eloquence never possessed By mortal of kingly degree. January, 1878. 72 Camp and Hearth. THE RETURN OF HEZEKIAH GIVEN. Read before the Dauphin County Teachers' Institute, Dece?nber 21, 1882. A half a century has passed at least, Since there came slowly wandering from the East, An uncouth man in suit of homespun clad, Who carried with him all the wealth he had. Long-legged was the man and lantern-jawed, With scowl on face by which the young were awed : An uncouth man and harsh of voice was he, With gait as awkward as it well could be. Our hero was a son of Yankee-land, Who first drew breath near Plymouth's sacred strand- In youth the time that others gave to play, He gave to books ; and studied day by day To deck his mind with flowers of knowledge fair. Such was his zeal and such his arduous care, That at eighteen he taught the village school, A birchen rod the emblem of his rule. But soon he seemed to hear a whispered sound, " Go ivest, young man, where fortune may be found : ' Westward the star of empire takes its way ; ' Then westward turn your course without delay." Camp and Hearth. 73 He went, perchance his youthful brain was fired With dreams of fame to which his soul aspired ; His well-conned books were in a kerchief tied ; A staff, his company, the sun, his guide. He went to York. Thence through the Jerseys taught, But failed to find the fortune that he sought : As poor, but not as hopeful, as of yore, Each year he studied harder than before. Westward. At length he reached the Quaker State, And fondly hoped that here propitious fate Would shower on him unbounded wealth and fame, With glory crown his pedagogic name. Alas ! what mortal ever passed though life, Who, looking back o'er its harassing strife, Has not, heart-sickened, breathed the mournful sigh At mirage hopes that cheated heart and eye? Who ever dreamed of wealth by teaching school, That has not lived to own — he was a fool? For years our hero wielded well the birch : On Sundays, led the singing at the church : Found ample food — for thought — in boarding round; And often pondered on the food he found. The log school-house with clapboard seats supplied, Of air, except through broken panes, denied, Hummed every winter with the mingled noise Of eighty buxom girls and boisterous boys — 5 74 Camp and Hearth. Fair daughters of the farm and sons of toil- The future tillers of the fertile soil. The horde each winter barred their master out, Lest he his dollars and his cents might hoard ; Received their cakes and candies with a shout — He ought to treat — because, he paid no board. Each quarter, that he drew his scanty pay, Saw him with scarce a quarter to his name. At length, to all-subduing love a prey, He ceased to pray for fortune and for fame. Eliza Jane, a farmer's daughter fair, By Hezekiah led up learning's hill, With her sweet face and wealth of bright, red hair, Led him a captive to her own sweet will : Half conscious of the conquest she had made, The conqueror of the conquered half afraid, With his poor heart such fearful pranks she played. That he, distracted quite by the sweet maid, Made bold, in faltering tones to press his suit, Because, that they would suit he was impressed ; Of learning's tree sweet was the golden fruit, But not so sweet, as if of her possessed. The maiden coyly said she feared the change, Because, of change all pedagoges did lack ; Camp and Hearth. 75 Nor yet too high could her affections range, She ne'er could reach those lips to get a smack. Next Monday morning at the hour of nine, The urchins gathered at the school-house door ; And waited long in an impatient line, But never saw their Yankee master more. Some said that Hezekiah had gone west " To teach the young idea how to shoot :" On other minds it firmly was impressed That he had shot himself. Such was the fruit Of too much "larnin." Others slyly said, The master had received a large-sized mitten, And then to other lands had swiftly fled, Because, he'd no more gumption than a kitten. The nine days' wonder died away at last, As, soon or late, will wonders die away. Two score of years, in rapid flight, had passed, When, in the early fall, one pleasant day, An aged wanderer with a furrowed face, Whose outlines spoke of trouble and of care, Came 'long the highway with a lagging pace, The zephyrs dallying with his snowy hair : Yet, anxious glances from an eye still keen, Spoke interest and amazement strangely mixed ; His longing looks drank in the busy scene, Till by a stately house he stood transfixed. 76 Camp and Hearth. " Just there it stood, if I remember right/ 5 The old man murmured, " Now, some wealthy man Lives there. Alas! I can't forget the night I wept at bidding it adieu. I can " Recall just how it looked. My gracious me," He sudden gasped, as forth there came a score Of — ladies: "That can not a school-house be?" Still on they came, some eight abreast or more. "Beg pardon, Miss, what house be that above?" "That, sir, is Slasherdale Academy Devoted to the promulgation of The noble science of Philosophy." "Where is the master?" She was puzzled now. " Master ? — There comes Professor Dunderpate : Behold his noble form, his classic brow, From which the beams of knowledge radiate." The old man sought him. "Times have changed," said he, "Since first I gazed upon this lovely spot; No trace of what I loved I now can see, The master and his w T ork are both forgot." "Not quite forgotten, friend," the other cried, And grasped his hand with pressure warm and true : " To help }^our pupils on, you always tried, And what I have become, I owe to you. " Come, see our halls of learning, open wide, That all the mount of knowledge may ascend." Camp and Hearth. 77 And, as they sallied onward side by side, In them the Past and Present seemed to blend. Our nation's Past, replete with victories grand, The Present, that presents so much to solve, Round which the Future of our native land, For weal or woe close-allied, doth resolve. With awe admiring, Hezekiah looked At boys who spouted Latin, French and Greek ; In every art and every science booked, With full American supply of — cheek. The urchins dressed with most religious care, The fairer sex to captivate and please, Presented well-developed heads — of hair, That, with their fragrance, loaded down the breeze. The brightest boy, with tons of knowledge clogged, And head majestic reared toward the stars, Shows forth how densely mind can be befogged By dwelling on the fogs of distant Mars. Finance and wealth of nations is the theme, On which a white-haired, girl-browed youth dilates ; Perhaps to him, in after life, 'twill seem, His wealth has met a cyclone from the fates. A sad-eyed lad relates, in mournful style, The style of writing for heroic verse ; In words obscure, as sources of the Nile, Insists that speakers be concise and terse. 78 Camp and Hearth. Still on the old man went from class to class, And met Professors, numbering full a score ; He softly murmured to himself : " Alas ! Where are the teachers, that we had of yore ?" "We're all Professors now," said Dunderpate; "School-teacher does not sound so fine or grand; Each stripling, armed with a certificate, Augments by one, Professors in the land. " We do not teach ; for that is not refined : We do not teach; we polish up the mind." "And is the boot-black, when he gives a shine, A full Professor in the polish line? " Or, when the barber shaves you every week, Is he Professor of the art of cheek?" "Why, yes," said Dunderpate, "they're artists all, And we have artists, too, that sling a ball : " Professors varied : some, on cloth of green, Manipulating ivory balls are seen : Some, on the diamond, learn to strike a foul, Or a hot ball that makes the fielders howl. "Then we have learned Professors of the feet, Whose feat it is, to sound of music sweet, To teach young men and maidens how to prance Around the figures of the mazy dance. Camp and Hearth. 79 " Pedal Professors also cut your corns ; Bovine Professors interview the horns Of cattle, when afflicted with disease ; We have Professors for each art you please." Said Hezekiah : "Do the boys still play?" " No ; they have recreation every day : Not boys, but students call them, if you please ; Come, you shall see their dignity and ease u Of manners." Forth they came in stately line, With cloth and linen both surpassing fine. One milk-faced Zeno, leader of the van, In ponderous language, to the following clan, Tells of responsibility in man To gain the highest pinnacle he can ; Caresses his incipient mustache, Resolved, that in the world he'll cut a dash. Nor less progressive are the female classes, Young ladies all, instead of bonrrie lasses. Yet all of them know how to nicely cook — At least they've studied how — out of a book. One sweet young lady, with a wealth of curls, Expatiates on the destiny of girls — Their glorious mission in the fields of life : (Her mission is to be a huckster's wife.) In contempletion wrapt, one pensive miss, From day-dreams roused to parse the subject — " bliss," 80 Camp and Hearth. Evinced her mind's development in this — - "'Tis logical equivalent of — kiss." One gushing miss doted on nature's charms, On birds, and flowers, and # highly-cultured farms; They were just too entrancing, utter sweet, Quite too superbly lovely, fresh and neat : How utterly exquisite it would be, Just too magnificently grand, if she Might live forever there a life of love, With skies just quite too gorgeous sweet above. Perhaps in future she will get her fill Of grandeur — working in a cotton mill. The Sappho of the class, who weaves in rhyme The coming of a long-expected time, (She means the time when she will have a beau,) Raves in Iambi of unequal flow, About the glories of the " coming man " — (We hope that he'll support her— if he can.) The old man faltered: "Do they sew and bake? " "No, sir, that, too much precious time would take; And, as for baking, sir, they're too well bred; And, as for sewing, why — they paint instead." Yes, Hezekiah was aware they did — Such marks of painting scarcely could be hid. The old man heaved a heavy, heart-felt sigh ; " I'd like to see a teacher ere I die. Camp and Hearth. 81 " Professors are a peg ahead of me, And 'halls of laming ' don't with me agree." The master gasped and fainted quite away, The dose had been too great for one short day. With care they placed him on a cozy bed, With pillows propped the dying wanderer's head. "Run for a doctor," thundered Dunderpate. "No, no," the patient gasped, "too late, too late. " My peace is made. I hear the Master call. I die, as I have lived, with love for all. Perhaps sweet memories round my heart entwined, Though lost on earth, in Heaven I may find. " No mortal's left to shed a tear for me, When from this world of sorrow I am free ; But you, kind friends, receive the last adieu Of one, that to his God was always true. " I die in peace : seek not to keep me here, For then I might be tortured with the fear, That, ere I reached the shining courts of Heaven, I'd hear — 'Professor Hezekiah Given.'" @^d[g3ilJ!fc5a>g) 82 Camp and Hearth. A FRAGMENT. The leaden days are passing by On swift and sombre pinions ; Wild Winter waves his weird-like wand To call his gloomy minions From out his ice-bound northern home : The days are dark and dreary — They answer to my aching heart, That keeps its vigil weary, Through all the dark, tempestuous day, Through all the wild and wintry day, And watches, dear, thy coming. Penna. College, 1861. THE ANGEL OF THE MIND. Dedicated to Rebecca W., of Gettysburg. The world is mixed with many scenes Of parrying pleasure and pain ; While sometime seem both love and care To gnaw in the wearied brain. Sometime I dream, as billow-tossed I toil in the fevered strife, That both labor and love are the gauntlet and glove Of an unsubstantial life. That labors the febrile grasp for fame, Which wears out body and soul ; Camp and Hearth, 83 While love's the rust of ideal minds — Humanity's poisoning bowl. Then aches my brain and whirls again To fathom the misty unknown, That reaching the shore, where Eternity's door, May be passed by the spirit alone, Perchance the future will unfold The pleasure without the pain, Where parried strokes of a world of care Fire not the aching brain. Whene'er such musing thoughts arise, And the world looks darker to me ; When beams no sign of a happier time Midst the gyves of our misery — Blends with these dreams a soothing calm, (For a face is mirrored to me,) 'Twas seen — perchance in dreams — perhaps In throngs — but it points to thee, Alike at morn or starry night That face is flitting along, Whilst the light of that eye, like the bow of the sky, Breathes sunshine and gladness and song. Sometime it seems, in pinioned dreams, That the smile of that mythic face, That helps to calm both joy and pain, In time's bewildering race — That glance — that gleam of ideal good, More sweet than a Houri's trance — Has a semblance to thee ; but, pray, pardon me, I'm dreaming again, perchance. Pennsylvania College, 18G1. 84 Camp and Hearth. SIT LUX. There was a time, when time began, That night and darkness ruled the world : Then spake the Voice that formed the plan, "Sit Lux: " Light's banner was unfurled; Creation's beauties teemed around, And every beauteous flower was found Upspringing from the darksome ground, Unfolding to that joyous sound : "Sit Lux." E'er since in all the wondrous plan Of the Ruler of Creation, Shine links of light twixt God and man — Steps of a fair gradation : Above the world's soul-darkling storms — The shocks of war— the shrill alarms, To calm the heart come fairy forms, Called by those words of endless charms : "Sit Lux." Sometimes the world is very dark, The future stern and dreary : On stormy sea, in fragile bark, Both Hope and Faith are weary : Above the future and the past, And forms of crime that weirdly cast A terror on our souls aghast, We know shall breathe those words at last: "Sit Lux." Chambersburg, I*a., 18G9. Camp and Hearth. 85 JUDEA— A SABBATH MEDITATION. O, land of Judea, each true heart's devotion, Midst the cares of the world and the jarrings of time, Will sometime be turned in wrapt contemplation, Will muse of the scenes in that glorious clime, Where the great and the good of the ages have trod, And incessantly poured on the altars of God, On hill-top and valley, that grateful libation — A penitent prayer — man's true adoration. In day-dreams we muse of those darkly blue waters, The plains, mounts and rills of thy beautiful land, Where Jesus preached life to Israel's daughters, (Though all is now marred by the conqueror's hand.) Yet 'tis sweet to remember how ages before, O'er the same holy land from mountain to shore, Went forth those apostles of truth to the world, Upholding the banner that God had unfurled. Yet here in our eagle-found home of the west, Remote from thy landscape of peace and of love, Afar thy dark waters and mountains' blue crest, We're hearing forever those words from above : We're chanting our praise in thy world-during psalms, Whose numbers flow sweetly as zephyrs through palms ; With thy bards, our hearts glow in warm aspiration To gaze on the glories of their contemplation. Gettysburg, 18G7. 86 Camp and Hearth. THE IDEAL QUEEN. Somewhere in the realms of this beautiful earth Is the Eden-like home of the soul's better birth, A land unlocated, unmeasured, unknown, Save by longings impulsive, when wandering alone O'er the deserts of life, there arises to view Sweet arbors away, arched by measureless blue ; Whilst oft and again, from chambers unseen, Rings an anthem of love for the beautiful Queen — For the soul's better home and its beautiful Queen. Some walk all aweary not viewing this land, With eyes ever fixed on earth's glittering sand : Some poor, scorned and spurned, with sorrow their master, With earth's evil assailing still faster and faster, For aye have found rest in this home of the soul, Where symphonies grand unceasingly roll, Where are flowers that are hemmed with the brightest of green, That joyously bud for the beautiful Queen — For each pure heart's ideal of that beautiful Queen. This Eden-gemmed home of affection and thought, Where love is immortal and truth is unbought, May blossem for all on this beautiful earth With the fragrance of love and the merit of worth : Its airs are the breathings of perfumes and balms, Its matinal chant is soft, orient psalms, Camp and Hearth. 87 Its scenery decked with the varying sheen Of the rainbow-bright dress of the beautiful Queen — Of each true heart's ideal of that beautiful Queen. 1867. 'NEATH THE WALNUT TREE. Many are the months I've squandered, Since we parted 'neath the hill ; And in foreign lands I've wandered, Laughed at joy and smiled on ill. But, to-day, again I've been To that lone, sequestered spot — To our walnut where were seen Happy hours that you've forgot. 'Twas a weird, fantastic vision That I saw you by my side, And to words of Love's impassion Soft and sweet your tones replied ; 'Twas a wild, unearthly dreaming, For the tones were false as thee ; And the charm was only seeming, That once glanced those smiles on me. Don't you mind the gorgeous sunset, Don't you mind the woods of flame, When in autumn last we met, When you gently lisped my name : Camp and Hearth. "Clarence, though the world deceive you, Friends be fickle, false, untrue, I can never — never leave you, I will still be more than true." False the words that there were spoken, False the heart from whence they came, False the trust so rudely broken, That I placed in Honor's name. Well, the past has gone forever ; Sighs or tears were but in vain ; Life's a rapid, ghastly river, And life's links a rusty chain. Men have called me coldly callous, When I scoffed at truth and love ; Ah ! such draughts in memory' ] s chalice Can all hope and trust remove. THE HEARTH-SIDE. *+ ^—4^- L_SONG OF THE SAILOR'S BRIDE. 0, come to me ! 0. come to me ! My Willie come to me, And venture not again to cross The dark, tempestuous sea. I weep through all the dreary hours When thou art far away, And sweeps upon the trackless sea The storm-god's angry sway. I think of then when night has spread Its dark, pavilioned gloom ; And fear that ere the morning rise Thou'lt find an ocean tomb — I think of thee when morning dawns Upon a calm, blue sea, And I am gazing out upon The silver-crested lea — I think of thee when Luna rides Upon a tranquil sky — I think of thee when torrents pour And storm-clouds sweep on high — Then come to me; 0, come to me ! My Willie come to me ; Nor venture forth again to cross The dark, tempestuous sea. Pennsylvania College, L860. 92 Camp and Hearth. II.— AN AUTUMN PENCILLING. Do you remember, Minnie, Our parting from each other, Upon the hillside, Minnie, We used to roam together. • The leaves are red and russet, The woods one golden flame, Whilst ripples by the hillside The pebbled, purling stream : That gorgeous fairy, autumn, Has cast its purpling hues, Where peeps the setting sun Through amber-burnished trees. The snow-enveloped cloudlets, That flit in upper air, See in the brook's still waters Their faces, frail and fair, Commingled with the oak trees That stand upon its bank, Whose shadows lave their crimson heads Within its cooling tank. $&(&W&)jfai Camp and Hearth. 9S III.— THE TRACINGS OF MEMORY. There is a time when memory glides To visions of the past, And bears from Heaven golden dreams Too beautiful to last : But, whilst this witching spell dispels; The ruder blasts of sorrow, Thought speeds his wings to those we Iove 7 Swift as the shafted arrow. Then, when this dreaming hour has come, My Cousin Kate, to me, A prayer is wafted on the wings Of angel thought for thee ; That love and beauty evermore May guard thy onward way ; On thee may shine, with warming light, True Friendship's sweetest ray. Pennsylvania College, 1861. IV.— THE REALM OF THOUGHT. Know ye the fair land where ivy is twining With circlets of laurel and bay, Where there's no weeping, or sorrow, or pining, But light and balm-zephyred day : 94 Camp and Hearth. Where the fragrance of flowers is forevermore welling Through the nebulous depths of air ; And myriad voices in chorus are swelling, Like the voices of angels fair : Where gold-pinioned songsters mount the blue sky And warble forevermore ; Where the azure-dyed billows sweep lovingly by And kiss the jewel-clad shore : Where the zephyrs float o'er the moss-covered glens, Then sing in the palm-covered plain ; Where Scotia's mountains and chasms and fens Combine with the Orient's main. Tis the fair, fleeting land of vision and thought, Surcharged with loveliest dreams ; Where the eye, and the mind, and the heart are caught With more than Elysian beams. I860. V.— SPEAK GENTLY. Speak gently to the aged man Whose locks are whitening fast, Whose drooping form is bending low Before Azrael's blast : He has not long to tarry here, He soon will haste away ; Camp and Hearth. 95 Then gently soothe each weary hour, Each slow-revolving day. Speak gently to your mother, boy, Bowed down with work and care ; Nor ever cause her to roll forth The swift and bitter tear. Speak gently to the merry youth, In spring's love-tinted bowers ; There's pain enough reserved for him In future, rolling years. Gettysburg, Pa., April 21, 1860. VI.— QUEEN OF ALL HEARTS.— A Health. A health to her the beautiful, A health to her the true ; We always long to meet her smile, But not to say adieu. A health to thee, Cecelia, fair, And may thy life be free From sorrow, as are moon-kissed waves Upon a palm-clad lea, That leap upon the pearly shore And dance upon the sea, And bound from out their coral caves To kiss the cocoa tree. 96 Camp and Hearth. VII— A PORTRAITURE. Sweet roaming in the balmy breeze, beside the danc- ing tide, I first beheld — one summer eve, my beautiful, my bride : Her festooned locks of silken curls were flung around a face, Whose joyous smile bespoke no care nor sorrow's dimming trace. Her lips with tints of ruby pearl and eyes of azure blue Fixed my bewildered gaze on her, yet why I scarcely knew; The silver cadence of her tones fell softer on the ear Than sighing zephyrs on the plain or Iris' sun-kissed tear. The warbling streams that ripple by in Maia's flowery hours, Or nymph-like brooks in Cydnus thrown from mount- ain-cradled bowers, Chant not so sweetly on their course or beam so soft and bright As does the music of her voice and beams her eye with light. » ^» ^ fe) (g)(S) Gp cs ^ c — ♦ HEART THROBS. „ ^ ^ o 6)g> Camp and Hearth. 115 THE KING OF THE TRITONS. I would not reign on the pigmy land, For mine is a realm of vast command ; I rule o'er the fairies of the lea, And creatures bright of the deep, blue sea ; Where the sanded floor is flecked with pearl, And around my throne the sea weeds curl. Here never foaming waves are driven, When frowns above an angry heaven. Through the twilight dim and the coral grove The Naiads sport and mermaids rove ; And all is pleasure and peace below As over the waves the tempests go. THE STORM-KING. Rouse, sailor, from thy dreams of home, The dreaded king of storm Has veiled in pall of ebon night His gaunt and ghastly form : His myriad, demon satellites Are shrieking o'er the wave, To urge the sea-tossed mariner To their depths of coral grave. 116 Camp and Hearth. The foam is white on tossing waves That herald his advance ; And countless forms from ocean's breast Wheel in the storm-ghoul's dance. While thus he sweeps a giant path, And hides the orb of day; And ploughs upon the trackless deep His keen and cruel way, He asks no rest, he seeks no ease From tempest and from strife ; But sweeps the ocean fierce and free In his search for human life. FROM TYRANT TO TYRANT. Behold on sweet Italia's plain, Where waving fields of ripening grain And Hadria's luscious vine, Are mingled in the fairy view With summer's green and golden hue And scenery divine, The curse — the bloody scourge of war, Whilst like a red and fiery star, O'er vales where Virgil sang, Napoleon's bannered flag is borne ; And echoes on the breath of morn The trumpet's pealing twang. Camp and Hearth. 117 " Italian liberty," the cry ; As o'er the Lombard plains there fly The walls of serried steel : Alas ! what else could they expect From him who rose on Freedom's wreck Than heavier chains to feel. Rear, tyrant, high thy gilded thrones, Supported by the bleaching bones Of Freedom's brave defenders ; Yet, know that, in an age of storm, There yet shall rise from Freedom's form A thousand dread avengers. That then shall cease the reign of might, That long has triumphed over right. God grant to haste the day, When tyrants on their thrones shall shake, And tyrannies shall fall and quake, And Freedom bear the sway. Pennsylvania College, October, 1859. •_• (diss • • ^ -»^fegMsLe^ •^ LEGENDS OF GETTYSBURG. Dedicated to Williain Reynolds Eyster, of Kansas. 1887. "fc" L— "UNDER THE OAKS OF ROCK CREEK." Culp's Hill : 1853—1863—1883. Under the oaks of Rock Creek, Two blithesome boys were straying, And by each loaded shell-bark tree Their laggard steps delaying : Above, the rock-strewn hill-top towered, In peaceful silence dreaming ; And through the autumn-colored woods A mellow light was streaming. Under the oaks of Rock Creek — Five years have passed away ; Again, through gorgeous tree-tops, Shone autumn's placid ray. The one is there to manhood grown, "Lenore" is by his side; For both had loved one maiden fair, But she'll be the Southron's bride. Under the oaks of Rock Creek, Again five years have passed : Along the tiny, sluggish stream Ten thousand men are massed ; Grim Ewell rode the lines along Of veterans clad in gray, And 'gainst the frowning, rocky peak The charging masses sway. 122 Camp and Hearth. Under the oaks of Rock Creek Flashed miles of sheeted flame ; Right at the works a captain fell Before the deadly aim Of one, who wore the Federal blue, In death the dead beside ; From out the gaping bullet wound Danced quick life's ebbing tide. Under the oaks of Rock Creek, . In trenches long and deep, The swollen corses of the gray Are laid in dreamless sleep. " With tears by boyhood's memories stirred, In death a foe no more, I place thee 'neath the oaks where erst You won your wife ' Lenore.' " Under the oaks of Rock Creek, When twenty years had fled, A woman walked, with pensive step, Those acres of the dead. Dead are the giant oak trees, Life shot from every pore ; And they are crumbling into dust Like the heart of the lone " Lenore." Camp and Hearth. 123 II.— BROWN'S BATTERY B. Little Rhode Island was conspicuous in the Army of the Potomac for the number and efficiency of its batteries of artillery. Five of them participated in the Gettysburg battle : Arnold's battery A, T. Fred. Brown's battery B, Walterman's battery C, Randolph's battery E, and Adams' battery G. Brown's battery was in the hottest of the fight of July 2d on the Emmettsburg road, some of the guns being captured, but afterwards retaken. On the next day it was posted at ''The High-water Mark of the Rebellion," immedi- ately in rear of the " umbrella clump of trees," the objective point of Pickett's charge. In the terrific cannonading which preceded that assault the battery was almost annihilated. The gallant Fred- Brown was mortally wounded, twenty- seven of the officers or men were killed or wounded, and nearly every horse killed. It was in this battery, during this cannonading, that, just as a load had been inserted in one of the guns and was being rammed down, a rebel cannon-ball entered the muzzle, killing or disabling the men who were serving the piece, and remained permanently fixed there. The gun thus strangely loaded is carefully preserved in Rhode Island as one of their most precious war relics. Around the clump, world-storied spot — Rebellion's highest wave, Where Webb, and Hall, and Harrow fought, And dug secession's grave, Stand thickly-clustered, granite piles, But none more dear to me, O'er all those history-breathing miles, Than that of battery B. A humble, modest shaft, 'tis true, But marks where heroes stood, No braver ever wore the blue, 124 Camp and Hearth. Or poured life's precious flood. Hosannas raise and thanks to God, Who kept our nation free ; And, 'mongst the men who drenched this sod, Remember battery B. Two days they faced the sulphurous wave Of grape and shot and shell ; Where Humphreys' muskets answer gave To the Georgian battle yell ; Where Pickett's men with valor fought, In hopes of victory, But fell in swaths beneath the shot From gallant battery B. Above the deadliest carnage rose Brown's words of stern command, Until he fell in mortal throes, Fighting to save our land ; And though of all Rhode Island's sons, Remained not one in three, Yet still they served the smoking guns Of fearless battery B. Aye, love fore'er those soldiers brave, Who sleep beneath the sod ; Freely for us their lives they gave : 4 None braver ever trod The smoke- wreathed field of grim-faced death, That flowed in crimson sea. Entwined with glory's greenest wreath Is the roll of battery B. Camp and Hearth. 125 III.— THE EXCELSIOR BRIGADE. A brilliant mile of serried steel, Beneath the shining sun ; In line the gallant veterans wheel — The work of death's begun : A solid mile of silvery steel, A solid mile of blue : Ah ! many a Southern foe shall feel Their bullets quick and true. It is the gallant army corps, The gallant Sickles led, That in Virginia oft before For the starry banner bled : Now once again to the pealing sound Of bugles and of drums, They march on Pennsylvania ground, To fight for Northern homes. No grander sight was ever spread 'Neath July's burning ray, Than the diamonded host, with martial tread, On its advancing way ; No ghastlier sight was ever seen On fields of carnage wild Than the smoking lines, and all between With bloody corses piled : For Longstreet's veteran legions charge In stern and swift array ; 126 Camp and Hearth. 0, never rolled so fierce, so large, The sweep of the serried gray ! And Hill's battalions tried and true Join in the lurid fray, And Barksdale carves, through lines of blue, The Mississippians' way. From Sherfy's orchard east and west The heated batteries play ; On Round Top's blood-besprinkled crest The fighting masses sway ; The Wheat-field is a pool of blood, Before the shut of day, Where Birney struggles, 'mid the flood, To hold the foe at bay : Along the line of Humphreys' fell The deadly leaden rain, With whiz of grape and shriek of shell, And sickening cries of pain. No heroes braver held their place 'Mid the horrors of the fight ; And fronted death, face pressed to face, Till the veil of pitying night Had hid the field and the dead it bore, Than the soldiers brave and grand, Whose banners flapped "Excelsior," As the name of their command ; And none more bravely, grandly fought, 'Mid that echoing fire of hell. With woe was the deadly answer fraught, They gave to the Southern yell. Camp and Hearth. 127 Ah ! many a widow in her weeds Will sadly mourn for aye, The Excelsior boys and their valiant deeds On that fierce-fought battle-day. Though their flag be torn to a single shred, And shot from its resting place, And piled beneath it the mangled dead, It has never known disgrace. A shattered mile of blood-dimmed steel, Beneath the setting sun ; O'er wounded comrades now they kneel, The work of death is done. One half of all that gallant corps Of the diamond and the blue, With life or wounds, that dark field o'er, Have sealed devotion true. But as the thrilling cheers arise From those who yet remain, Re-echoed to the vaulting skies From the dreary battle-plain ; The thinned Excelsiors still maintain Their banner in its place, For, 'mid the deadliest leaden rain, It will never know disgrace. ^ (^ 128 Camp and Hearth. IV.— THE PENNSYLVANIA RESERVES AT ROUND TOR In extolling the bravery of John Burns, it has occasionally been intimated by persons not well informed, that he was the only resident of Gettysburg who fought in the battle at that place. Gettysburg and the county of which it forms a part had at all times their full quota of men in the Union armies. It so happened, however, that at the time of the battle of Gettysburg there was but one of their numerous companies that was on duty in the Army of the Potomac under Gen. Meade. This was company K of the First Reserves, originally recruited by the Hon. Edward McPherson. Several other Adams county companies, however, participated in the opera- tions of the Gettysburg campaign. The Pennsylvania Reserves, after a long and toilsome march, ar- rived on the battle-field on the afternoon of the second day at a most critical moment, when the Union forces on the left were com- pletely outnumbered and, after a most gallant struggle, were being forced back. The arrival of the Pennsylvania Reserves and, soon after, of the Sixth Corps, completely changed the situation, and saved the Unionists from utter route. Gen. Crawford's charge from Little Round Top was one of the most brilliant features of the battle. It was in this charge that Col. Fred Taylor of the "Bucktails" was killed. Company K was commanded at the time by Captain H. N. Minnigh. Many of its men were fighting in sight of their own homes, and were in many cases compelled to return to Virginia without visiting them or even seeing their loved ones. Sergeant Samuel A. Young, now of Panora, Iowa, in going into battle, crossed his father's farm ; yet did not see his mother at all, nor his father and sisters, except as they came to him on the sides of Round Top during a lull in the battle. There were many other similar cases. Bret Harte has told the thrilling story Of old John Burns, in rhyme ; Camp and Hearth. 129 And woven round his name a glory Which shall endure through time. When you but start a ball a rolling, It gathers as it goes : The hero, at each new extolling, With brighter record glows. All right. But how about the masses, Who did their duty well ? Before my eye again there passes The screaming storm of shell, Where Texans held the rugged ridges ; And piles of fallen men, The rocks between, were ghastly bridges To the frowning Devil's Den. Still on the foe exultant presses O'er shattered lines — and then, That hour of Freedom's dire distresses, Came pouring in the glen, Adown the rock-piled heights dark-frowning, Stern ranks of dust-soiled blue ; On Keystone ground with victory crowning A record brave and true. Like tiger fierce, the land despoiling, When checked in its career, The hosts of Hood, in dread recoiling Before the rousing cheer, See in the path that Crawford's hewing Their bravest melt away ; 130 Camp and Hearth. Whilst swift, the grand Reserves pursuing, Drive back the baffled gray. From off that chasmed mountain peering, You'd see a thousand farms ; On these were wives and children fearing The rolling din of arms : And husband, brother, son were fighting In sight of home's embraces — In stern and bloody letters writing The deeds that history traces. " All right," you say. " The land's redeeming Was worth still greater cost : From war's stern fMd, at length, came beaming A Union well nigh lost." Well : look again. 'Mid bayonets shining And Hazlett's heated guns, Are sister's, mother's hands entwining Their brothers and their sons. Sweet, hurried kisses ; brief caresses ; No time their homes to view : Then toward Virginia swiftly presses The moving mass in blue. Could you thus still love's quick pulsation ? " Ah ! no." Then praise them, too ; And give the meed of warm laudation To those who fought for you. Camp and Hearth. 131 "WE SHALL BE HAPPY THEN." New Version. When women cease deceiving Us poor, confiding men, Their arts around us weaving, "We shall be happy then." With all their smiling bland, There's hardly one in ten, That cares the turn of her hand For us poor, loving men. With form and face bewitching They win our hearts and then, To some new conquest switching, They jilt the foolish men. How very few take warning ; For the wisest of the men, All past experience scorning, Will trust the girls again. There is no power so charming As lovely woman, when Our firm resolves disarming, She binds the captive men. The heroes and the sages, Renowned with tongue or pen, 132 Camp and Hearth. Have been in all the ages Just like the mass of men; For when a woman's graces Is brought beneath their ken, Their hearts to winsome faces Are lost. The foolish men ! And yet despite our whining, If they should leave us, men, All intercourse declining, " We'd not be happy then." HIGHLAND MARY." 'Twas in the autumn's gorgeous prime, when thistle- down was sailing O'er every plain, and there was heard no sound of woe or wailing; When noonday's gentle zephyr notes and peaceful evening breeze Were softly sighing requiems through autumn's pic- tured trees, That I was roaming o'er the glens and by the purling streams, That pour down Scotia's mountains wild, where misty memory teems : 'Twas there in bowers that put to shame the fabled homes of fairy, That first I met with her I love — my own, my High- land Mary ; My own, my Highland Mary. Camp and Hearth. 133 Her step was light as those who court a haughty mon- arch's grace, But no licentious stain was on her pure and sinless face; Her skin was white as driven snow or gentle daisy's bud., That blooms so calmly where the stream pours on its surging flood; Her eyes, that beamed with sweetest love, were em- blems not of time, But of the happier spheres above, a sinless, Eden clime ; Her form was lithe as those who come from realms of azure airy, 0, 1 shall never see thy peer — my own, my Highland Mary ! My own, my Highland Mary. No gems barbaric of the East bedecked with tawdry glare, No tinge of shame was on those cheeks kissed by the mountain air : She passed along with gentle mien like sighing songs of spring, Or like the viewless, guardian train that benedictions bring ; Her raven tresses, unconfined, enclasped her bonie form, More pleasant than the radiant sun dispersing mount- ain storm, 134 Camp and Hearth. More beauteous than the brightest orb that decks the heavens starry, And watches, with its eyes of love, my own, my High- land Mary, My own, my Highland Mary. She plighted there her love tome by Scotia's warbling brook, Within a fern-clad glen more fair than Ida's loveliest nook ; She dreamt that we, for aye, should live unscathed by grief or sigh, The visions of her future hopes danced in her beam- ing eye: She placed her soft and lilly hand confidingly in mine, And I, 0, Highland Mary, forevermore was thine ! Forgotten all my cares and woes, and all the past so dreary, Forgotten all but love's dear boon, my own, my High- land Mary, My own, my Highland Mary. Within a fair and gentle glen stands Scotia's greenest mound, And Scotia's brightest jewel lies beneath the turf-clad ground; She sleeps serenely midst the roar, when the ebon king of storm Has clouded heavens' lovely vault with drear, porten- teous form, Camp and Hearth. 135 And when the smiling breeze of spring sweeps o'er the verdant plain : But, 0, my dearest Highland Mary, you'll come no more again ! You're gone before to greet me there in realms of azure airy; I know you'll watch for me to come, my own, my Highland Mary, My own, my Highland Mary. Pennsylvania College. THE GOSPEL. By India's holiest rivers The Brahmin hath broken his idols, Where the golden Ganges quivers In its. snowy-curtained cradles. The Parsee's fire is dying On its throne of dreamy ages ; And Persian lore is lying With unknown, unread pages. The wail of Brahma's minions Is borne o'er isle and ocean, Whilst, on its ceaseless pinions, The Gospel speeds its mission. 136 Camp and Hearth. CRETE— 1867. The noble sons of noble sires, In Crete's saline morasses, Are flashing forth the same soul-fires, That held the northern passes, When the three hundred, known in story, Defied the Persian's lieges, And gained their land immortal glory, For all successive ages. May the Omniscient Ear above Soon hear their prayer and pleading, And victory crown the righteous cause Which cost so cruel bleeding : May every land and every nation, Beneath God's starry arches, Press on to Freedom's grandest. station In time's progressive marches. GARIBALDI— 1867. Close by the Tiber's pearly stream, The noblest Roman living Again has fought his cherished dream, A nation's life reviving. Again his blood has drenched the soil, Which thronging memories cherish; And naught accomplished by his toil — But though he yet may perish Camp and Hearth. 137 Before he sees his own loved land One free, united nation, On History's page his name shall stand; Whilst endless admiration Shall crown the story of his wars, And chant his fame immortal Among the brightly-clustered stars Of Glory's green-wreathed portal. TO "NEH." When first I saw thee, gentle one, I owned thy conquering power; With sweeter solace shone the sun, E're since that happy hour ; With finer fragrance blooms the flower, Thy lithesome step has pressed ; A happier radiance fills the bower Where I my love confessed ; And kindlier visions fill the night, From darkness until morning, The beamings of thy spirit bright, All baser things adorning ; A holier calmness soothes the mind, Ignoble thoughts refining ; No other power so fast will bind, To virtue's paths inclining, 9 138 Camp and Hearth. As will the pure and sunny force Of those whose lives are given, To scatter radiance on our course, And make this earth a heaven. So sacred are the hours gone by, In memories of mine; That, when I breathe life's latest sigh, 'Twill not be life's, but thine. THE FLOATING SOUL. 'Twas a night in the chilling December : From the farmer's open door Poured out in the darkness and sleeting, Of the merry guests, a score. An evening of apples and kissing, Of forfeits and frolic and fun, Of quaffing the rarest of cider Ere the homeward march has begun. Three miles of woodland and meadow ! Three miles of darkness and sleet ! But my heart is the heart of the lightest, And more than willing my feet; For her arm is clasped ever so tightly, And her voice is music to me. So half the distance is finished — To the sombre, the cone-shedding tree— The tree that marks the beginning Camp and Hearth. 139 Of the desolate swamp of the dead, Whence blood is said to ooze yearly, That ages before had been shed ; Where fires are said to dance brightly, Each night at the gloomiest hour, As that time when thirty Powhatans That fell in the Iroquois power, Were burned with the crudest tortures — Were burned, but uttered no groan, With stoical firmness enduring, As silent as pillars of stone. No wonder the country-folk shudder To pass, 'neath the. light of the sun, The desolate swamp of the dead, Where the deed of the demons was done : No wonder the bravest, at night-fall, Flee the sight of the sluggish morass. Tell your tales of goblins to cowards, For, this night, its confines I pass : Must I cringe at ihe gossip of women Handed down for two hundred years ? Shall I show to the girl that I love, Cheeks paled with dastardly fears ? — The girl Jim thought he had won — How the color flushes his face, When he sees us passing along, With her hand in this resting place ! " Happy ? " " Why, of course "— " What ?— A step ? Oh no ! for no one is near — 140 Camp and Hearth. A shadow? — Can blackness be shaded? — 'Tis the moan of the sleet that you hear." " 0, God, have " — 0, that terrible blow, That cleft through skull and through brain ! It came from a hand that was stalwart, From a heart that was burning with pain ; With pain of rejected affection, That had grown to the deadliest hate : And I knew now the legend of death Of the desolate swamp, when too late. •v!> vl^ v]> v|> v|> v!> O, the wild, uncertain fluttering Of the soul no accent uttering ! That cannot fall, that cannot rise ; That sees, in grim and wild surprise, The ghastly corpse that 'neath it lies ; That sees hot tears from loving eyes, As she, with wild and warm caresses, On rigid lips a kiss impresses, Beseeches for a look, a word, To show her tones of love are heard ; Sees, through the forest lone and drear, The murderer fleeing, mad with fear. O, the wild, uncertain fluttering Of the soul no accent uttering ! That sees the world beneath it dim ; That sees Herculean shadows grim, That flutter by in weird disguise, Camp and Heakth. 141 Or gaze with looks of gaunt surprise. A mist above, beneath, around, That veils the stars and hides the ground ; The wood, the world have disappeared, While giant, phantom forms upreared, No welcome give, no look, no sign, By which the wanderer can divine Aught of the future. All is still. 0, voiceless seers of shadowy ill ! Is there not one in all your band To reach, through clouds, a friendly hand. To lead to where some precious ray Shall herald but one glimpse of day ? 0, the wild, uncertain fluttering Of the soul no accent uttering ! That cleaves, without apparent motion, A rayless night — an ethery ocean, Where shadowy shapes in form titanic, With gleaming eyes and breath volcanic, Are ever near. A stupor stealing Across the soul with horror reeling, It soon is lost to sight and feeling. It wakes to see a child-form kneeling ; Of face unknown, yet, bright and clear, Its sunny presence scatters fear; For gleams of light and day appear, That seem to radiate from the child : The phantom forms by night up-piled Have gone. " Poor, helpless wanderer, lone ; " It spoke in artless, tender tone, 142 Camp and Hearth. "Your guide am I." Hand clasped in hand. The shadowy shapes of hate disband, While quick as thought the vision changed ; High, over meadows fair, we ranged, With babbling brooks and arbors bright, Resplendent with the self-same light, That beamed upon his tender face : From scene to scene, from place to place, Upward, still upward, was the flight, Past distant worlds that blazed with light — Past orbs that fitful glowed and burned — Where comets, constellations turned, Until the soul the lesson learned; *' A child shall lead." The simple trust, The sunny faith of childhood must Enter the heart and work its leaven, To ope the waiting gates of Heaven. « Where is the throne ; the temple, where ?" Ripples throughout the ambient air The answer of the guiding one : "With humble faith all good is won; The grandest throne of Heaven's King, The grandest sacrifice we bring, Is soul repentant, meek and mild, With pride and passion undefiled — Its emblem here, a little child. The temple's not in realms apart; Christ's throne is ever in my heart : And all, who bow before the throne, By faith and pra}^er, the prize have won Camp and Hearth. 143 Of child-like heart; as Jesus taught, When little ones to him were brought ; And ages past, in Judean land, He took them up with tender hand, And blessings on the heads were given Of those who are the guides to Heaven." LOVED AND LOST. 0, Love, whence are thy magic powers ? Let Erato, in flowery bowers, Relate thy deeds, whilst Cupid showers Upon the good and fair of ours Futurity of love. Let Venus chant beneath the vine, Whose gentle tendrils round her twine, And form a scenery divine — Her loved and sunny Paphian clime, With emerald skies above. In vain I from the Muses ask Power to assume fair Sappho's task; To tell why love all faults will mask, And lead rash men to blindly bask Beneath its tender rays. Yet I have felt the magic thrill, When in the evening calm and still, We wandered o'er the verdant hill, Or by the mazy, rippling rill, Well-known, oft-trodden ways. 144 Camp and Hearth. Now sounds no more that gentle tone, That had each day more tender grown ; Hope's echo is a hollow moan, For I am wandering all alone, With heart of icy stone. Yet through the leaden clouds of night, Faith opens to the longing sight, A vision of the upward flight To sunnier worlds and purer light, Where lives the spirit, calm and bright, In Heaven's peaceful zone. 1859. LULLABY OF THE FALLS. Through the lone and dreary forest, Through the wild and wintry forest, Through the moaning, snow-clad forest ; Over hills of pine and hickory, Over rocks and ice-decked thickets, Over valleys deep with snow-drifts, Over streamlets tightly frozen, With a laggard, heavy footstep, With a heart oppressed and weary, With an ever-gnawing hunger, Came an Indian warrior, sadly. All his tribe were gone or scattered ; Some in hopeless battle fallen, Near the sea, the great salt-water ; Some had wandered to the northward, Camp and Hearth. 145 Whilst he followed up the wild deer, In a long and winding chasing, In a fruitless, mocking chasing ; And the cruel snow had covered All the traces of their pathway. All the trees seemed gaunt with hunger, All the stars seemed eyes of famine, All the clouds seemed evil tidings Of yet deeper, whirling snow-drifts, All the streams seemed boding prophets Of a death by slowest torture. Over hills of pine and hickory, Over hills of oak and cedar, O'er the mountains Nescopec, To the lonely, winding river, To the ice-bound, silent river, Where alone the falls were sounding, Where alone the falls were babbling, Where alone the falls were living ; For the breath of cruel winter Had no power to bind their music, Had no power to still their living, Though his fingers wound around them Ice in many wondrous circlets, Ice in great and grotesque pendants. Then the lone and famished warrior Gave his thanks to the Great Spirit For the babbling, dashing water, For the music of the water, 146 Camp and Hearth. For the sound that seemed to tell him All the world had not been given To the boundless sway of silence : And he hailed it as a brother, Hailed the dashing, purling waters, Hailed the limpid, moving waters. Lo ! a deer came slowly downward From the mountains Nescopec ; Came toward the babbling water; Stooped to drink the icy water. Then with prayer to nerve his weakness, Then with prayer to speed his arrow, In his eye there shone a brightness, In his eye, deep-dimmed by famine ; And there came the old time cunning, And the sinews, worn with hunger, Felt the thrill of hope and power. Then the arrow glided swiftly, Then the arrow glided truly ; And the deer, convulsive bounding, Fell with head and antlers touching On the swift and moaning waters, With its blood the ice- wreaths dyeing: And the warrior's life was saved. Then he struck a fire with flint-stones ; Ate the venison provided By the hand of the Great Spirit, Ate and slept and felt renewed. Then with voice of sunny gladness, Then with words of deepest pathos, Camp and Hearth. 147 Loud there echoed through the forest, Echoed through the pine and hickory. Through the oak and through the cedar, Rang above .the sound of music Floating from the dashing water, In an Indian tongue melodious, Blessings on the falling water: And the Indian's loud thanksgiving Was re-echoed from the mountains, From the silent, wintry mountains, From the mountains Nescopec, To the winding Susquehanna. "Blessings rest on thee, fair water; And, in all the after ages, May thy sound bring joy and gladness To the heart with sorrow aching, To the heart alone and dreary, To the hungry, fainting spirit; Till no more the shadows lengthen From the mountains Nescopec; Till no more the Susquehanna Winds between the pleasant hill-tops." For ages, the Indian had slept; Forgotten his name and his nation : For ages, the heart-sick have w r ept, Through all our social gradation : But the falls have sang on unceasing, In a metrical cadence and rhyme, 148 Camp and Hearth. With a melody ever increasing With the lapse of the cycles of time. The worldling will pass all unheeding, Intent on his gold and his gain ; But the heart, that is wounded and bleeding. Will find a solace for pain In the mystical roar of the river : For the blessing pronounced on the day, When the shaft from the Indian's quiver Was sent on its whizzing way, Still linger above the bright waters, And chants in their lullaby strain : u Come, hearken, earth's sons and earth's daughters, To the song of our purling refrain." In the darkness and stillness of night Its music is loudest and deepest, When o'er hearts worn out with earth's fight, Despair, thou chillingly creepest. With a heart that was heavily clouded, I tossed on a sleepless bed ; For the future in darkness was shrouded, And ray less the sky overhead : Beneath me the water was plashing, As ever these thousand years ; And I read in its lullaby dashing The death of my ghastly fears : For the roar and the murmur incessant Was soothing to heart and to brain, Camp and Hearth. 149 And lulled by the rhythm quiescent, Had vanished the dreams of pain : And the lullaby cadences ringing, Through the silent hours of the night, With their metrical plashing and singing, Put the ogres grim to flight : For in dreams, the rarest and sweetest, Came the seers of futurity's bliss ; And from lips, the warmest and neatest, Were impressed, on mine, a kiss: And a radiant presence, resplendent, Through the silent and antique room, A sunny and noiseless attendant, Dispersed all feelings of gloom. I beheld in visions imparted The years of the future rise, Where never a storm- wing darted O'er happy and cloudless skies : And with faith in the future's sweetness, With faith in that lullaby strain, On the morrow, with ardor and fleetness, I essayed earth's duties again. Baltimore, Md., September 25, 1887. ?»^cCf^^>^s) •s^C^lgp^ 150 Camp and Hearth. THE WIFE'S REPLY. "I brought to thee no lands or gold? " Alas ! your charge is true ; And yet I brought a wealth untold, That never miser knew. I brought to thee a virgin love, A sunny, sinless heart; I gave thee all I had to give, Graces untouched by art. I gave my life, my love to thee, Left home and cherished kin; Oh ! can you now return to me The heart you strove to win ? My head is flecked with rifts of gray, The glowing cheek has paled ; Adown but half life's weary way, The sunny smile has failed. The daily round of household cares, That added to your store ; The toil that mind and body wears, The children that I bore, Have stolen all the charms away Of youth's delightful spring ; And sent me toward life's closing day, While bitter taunts you fling, Camp and Hearth. 151 That I to thee have brought no gold : Can gold return to me The priceless gift — the gift untold, I gave, all pure, to thee ? CONTEST OF AGES. How oft, alas ! on fields infernal, Dark with every passion, The friends of truth and right eternal Fail in their glorious mission. For sometime good, and sometime evil, Kule o'er this orb ascendant : In vain will croakers carp and cavil At ill with good attendant. Our God is sifting out each nation Beneath His grand ordeal; Both low and lofty, every station, Will have his post of trial. Lo ! light and darkness strangely blending ! Votaries side by side : Still, at the mighty contest's ending, The right will firm abide. 18G7. 152 Camp and Hearth. NEW YEAR'S SOLILOQUY. Yes, this is the time for mirth to be coursing, In wild, bounding gambols through city and town j Hilarity flows, all sorrow dispersing, Not heeding how darkly the future may frown. Oh! time, that ever, on swift-gliding pinions, Is hastening on to eternity's goal, Let him, that now views thy fleeting dominions, Act wisely and think of the undying soul : For myriads ere this brief year shall be ended, Shall suddenly droop in life's weary march ; Shall sleep, where the willow and cypress are blended, Beneath the green turf and the heavens' blue arch. The new year's bright visions are mingled with sorrow, For we think of her sisters that hailed us before ; We loved them — and slept — we woke on the morrow, To find they had passed to come — nevermore. 1862. Gamp and Hearth. 153 BALTIMORE. Sweet, storied city, bright and fair, By blue Patapsco's wave ; Whose daughters winsome graces wear, Whose sons are true and brave : Whilst floats our flag 'neath heavens' arch, And lives our nation grand, Still onward be thy happy march, And warm the welcoming hand, In Baltimore. Enrolled on brightest scrolls of fame, Thy heroes and thy sages Have linked with theirs thy fadeless name, Illustrious to the ages. God bless the land for Mary named, God bless its sons and daughters, God bless the city, fair and famed, Along Patapsco's waters — Loved Baltimore. And may thy generous founder, when His look is bent on thee, Established, like the land of Penn, Oppressed mankind to free, Forever see thy banner fly O'er prosperous, happy homes: Above, a peaceful, cloudless sky ; Beneath, the stately domes Of Baltimore. 10 154 Camp and Hearth. As ever, may those homes be filled By those, whose lovely faces With wild delight all hearts have thrilled : Whose thousand charming graces Have made thy name fore'er renowned For peerless women bright; With happiness may they be crowned, To shed refining light On Baltimore. Harrisburg, Pa., Xmas, 1885. A WREATH OF WISHES TWINED FOR MAME OF G . With sunny tones of gladness, With ringing, artless mirth, Forbidding shade of sadness, Would that there stood on earth A countless host as winning, With heart as free from guile ; Each day the fresh beginning Of a constant, cheery smile. Although so fond of teasing, A mischief-loving miss, Resentment quick appeasing, You throw a mocking kiss. May all your life, unclouded, Be redolent with joy ; No path with mist enshrouded ; Your bliss without alloy : Camp and Hearth. 155 May still that sparkling brightness Beam ever from your eye ; Nor loose your step its lightness, When swiftly drawing nigh, Intent on errand teasing, A mischief-planning miss, Resentment quick appeasing. You give a tiny kiss. May all your friends be ever Loyal to right and you ; No cruel change dissever Your friendships warm and true : And when some heart that's beating Responsive to your own, With trembling words entreating, Shall make his love-tale known,, A moment cease your teasing, Sweet, mischief-loving miss, Anxiety appeasing, Bestow a loving kiss. October 1, 1887. 156 Camp and Hearth. MARY GWENDOLEN CALDWELL. When Deborah judged the tribes beloved, And words of queenly justice spoke, Before her eyes a vision moved — Upon her prophet sight there broke, Along the centuries ascending, The women great in song or story, Who, with the nations' records blending, Have left a legacy of glory. With grief she views the galleys sailing Upon the Cydnus' ice-cold stream; Whilst to her prophet eye unveiling, Appears the end of the wild dream, When the Egyptian beauty, swaying All hearts and wishes to her own, Had hoped for prostrate world obeying, And died beneath her crumbling throne. More brightly comes the maid heroic Who 'neath the golden lillies fought, And, firmer far than Grecian stoic, 'Mid flames a nation's safety bought. She sees in prophecies envisioned The bonie days of brave Queen Bess ; And one, who eighteen years imprisoned, With swan-white neck the block did press. With kindlier eye in visions glowing, She sees the women lone and few, Camp and Hearth. 157 Adown their cheeks the tear-drops flowing, In peril to the Master true : And Dorcas shines in rays resplendent, More brilliant far than Egypt's queen ; Whilst, through eternity attendant, The orphans' prayer glows ever green. And still with mighty cycles blending, Gleam other names to bless mankind ; A lovely galaxy unending, The pure, the polished, the refined, Who gave their lives, their all, to chasten The world with sin and sorrow reeking ; The reign of love and light to hasten, For which the ages have been seeking. The Jewess sees the centuries showing The name of Florence Nightingale ; And sees Columbia's records glowing With those, who pressed, where iron hail Of battle swept with cruel bleeding, To grandly work their deeds of love — To heal the sick, the dying leading To hope for fairer realms above. And bright among the names immortal, Whose impress crowns for good all time; And gleams from earth to Heaven's portal, With lofty purposes sublime, Is niche entwined with greenest wreathing, For one with beauty, wealth and station, Whose consecrated hope found breathing In noble, lofty aspiration. 158 Camp and Hearth. As long as learning is revered, And votaries crowd to Science' fane, The monument that she has reared, Bright and enduring shall remain — Shall live, when brass and marble crumbling No lineage give of prince or king. Past regal domes in ruins tumbling, Those halls shall with her triumphs ring. October 10, 1887. A HOME PICTURE. Without, a keen and frosty air ; Within, a fireside bright; And children gaily gathered there, Their faces sweet with delight : A darkling maid with nut-brown curls, And one with golden hair, Two stalwart boys, two little girls, And a mother frail and fair. The handsome maid with flowing curls Sang forth in joyous glee, From ruby lips its trills and purls : " 0, happy, so happy, are we ; For father will come again to-day From lands beyond the sea, With joy our bounding hearts are gay ; He's kind as kind can be." Camp and Hearth. 159 And sang the maid with golden hair In musical refrain, And these the words and this the air Of the sweetly-carolled strain ; "A happy band we'll be to-night, For, kept by faith and prayer And walking in the paths of right, We'll feel a father's care." The father came ; sweet joy was there, And thanks to Heaven's King. From happy hearts on the frosty air Their merry voices ring ; And each one blessed the welcome day, When, to their answered prayer, Together they could tread life's way Beneath a father's care. Yet are there homes that do not shine With smiles of pleasant faces ; Around their hearth-stones do not twine The sweet and heavenly graces. Not all the boundless stores of gold Supply love's warm embraces ; Nor wealth, in haughty bosoms cold, A friendly feeling places. To other scenes at length we roam, 'Mid diamonds pure and white ; A gorgeous, costly city home, Flooded with streams of light: 160 Camp and Hearth. The garish gleam, the festive dance Resound throughout the night, And gallants watch each glowing glance Of dark eyes flashing bright. And yet, may be, this scene of mirth Hides breaking hearts within ; Nor all the jeweled stones of earth Can shield from woe and sin: Sweeter the precious wealth untold, The love of home and kin, Than all the joys that boundless gold For human hearts can win. Y— 1872. RESURGEMUS. So, suffering Annie, you are aweary Of life and its endless toil, And long to rest in the quiet breast Of Greenwood's hallowed soil, As pass the dark hours dreary. Yet, lend your ear and your heart to-night As I gaze beyond the portal ; For the spirit's trance may catch a glance Of the spirit's life immortal, Where the bloom turns not to blight. True, life's endeavor is ceaseless pain : Some hearts were made for breaking ; Camp and Hearth. 161 And yet I trow, we know not how, Each true heart, bliss partaking, As sun-beams after the rain, Shall sweetly breathe in a purer sphere, Where love envelopes duty : The pain of life — the poisoned strife, Shall culminate in beauty, Through discipline severe. 1868. DOLLIE HARRIS, OF GREENCASTLE. Founded on the incident brought to light by Col. Aylett, of Pickett's division, at the Pickett- Philadelphia reunion of July, i88j. To the younger generation, the attempt in the opening stanzas to describe the terrorized condition of "the border," during the nu- merous actual or rumored raids and invasions of the war, will con- vey little meaning. Those who themselves saw the wild, headlong flight of thousands whenever the terrific news, "The Rebels are coming," was heralded, know that no description in words can do it justice. For twenty days the ranks in gray Had surged past town and farm : Lee was upon his northward way. With hot and wild alarm, Across the Susquehanna pressed, In endless caravan, Those who, with eyes devoid of rest, From shadowing terrors ran : 162 Camp and Hearth. The breathless farmer with his stock, In dust-enveloped ranks ; The hapless u contrabands " who flock To seek its Pisgah banks ; The merchant in tumultous haste To save what wealth he can : With fancies wild of a land laid waste, Clan rushes after clan. The sweetest valley 'neath the sun Is rent with war's alarms, As from the fields already won, The gleaming Southern arms Press on in solid miles of steel : Then flows from gate to gate, From town to town, the trembling peal Of mingled fear and hate. At length battalions all controlled By one great master mind, Swift toward one common hub are rolled, The foe in blue to find ; And last of all the grand array, With steady martial tread, Five thousand veterans clad in gray, With Pickett at their head. For hours they poured in mass along ; No coward men are they, That soon, 'mid shrapnel's shrieking song, Shall join the ensanguined fray; Camp and Hearth. 163 Along the quiet village streets They came. Without command, Aghast at what their vision greets, One impulse checked the band: A sunny girl before their eyes, With artless face and air ; But who can tell their deep surprise, To see her standing there, Kadiant from feet to snowy neck With bright Columbia's stars : Nor did she rows of bayonets reck That gleamed beneath the bars. Aye, proudly, bravely stood she there, Among the mighty throng : " God bless her," was the muttered prayer Of many a soldier strong, Whose moistened eye bespoke the love, Still in his heart concealed, For the flag which floats our land above, Which that moment had revealed. With one accord Virginia's sons, Whose valor oft had flamed 'Mid bursting shells and heated guns, In thrilling words, exclaimed : " Three hearty cheers the fearless maid Has won by bravery ; The flag in which she is arrayed We'll greet with three times three," 164 Camp and Hearth. One flag now waves o'er all our land ; No shock of war's alarms, Nor hostile raid, nor flaming brand, Nor frantic call to arms, Disturbs this peaceful valley fair, With heaven's bounty blessed : From former foeman comes the prayer, With fervent lips expressed, " God bless the maiden fair and sweet ; Let still the flag of love, When oft in unison we meet, Soar blue and gray above ; Be cursed for aye the heart or hand That mars its stars or fame, Whilst rings forever through the land Brave Dolly Harris' name." A MEMORY. To A. E'en visions of sin have a moral within, Not alone man's merciless master ; And lessons of love are gained above From what had seemed disaster. Thus again and again, in the mingled refrain Of love, and crime and devotion, The woes of the past are leading at last To life's omniscient elation : Camp and Hearth. 165 For bright and clear as the morning star That dawns on a world benighted, O'er conquered fears and vanished tears Shine the lamps by Heaven lighted. In the morning of life, ere the darkening strife, Ere the world proved all untrue, Stands an arbor green and the brilliant sheen Of the love I had for you : A love so wild, as an untamed child, Its wealth was given to thee, 'Neath the dark-green leaves of the walnut groves, Where you often roamed with me. 1868. FACES WE MEET. In the wildering whirl of the throngs that we meet, In the roar and the roll and the tramp of the street, There are fates that are marching to join us abreast, There are demons and ghouls that will murder our rest ; There are angels whose friendships will furnish a balm And diffuse through the future # a mystical calm : They are pressing and crowding and thronging the street, And they glower or they smile in the faces we meet. There are faces that glide 'neath the lamp-light with pain 166 Camp and Hearth. And with sorrow and misery forming their train ; There are faces with eyes w T hose wild glances of crime Will o'ershadow some souls to the nethermost time. Then sweet faces come trooping in merriment by, For a moment bright visions, then lost to the eye; But may be there is one in the swift-passing throng That, the future revealed, as she hurries along, Would unfold grand reflections of glorified good. There's a face whose dark scowls but one moment in- trude, Yet for years will it haunt like a grim revelation Of a fiend that's seeking a pure soul's damnation. There are faces we pass that will come nevermore — That are plunging from sight to the Lethean shore — To whose pleading, one word of kindness, unspoken, Would have saved from destruction a heart that was broken. With contentment and pleasure in heart and in mind, Whilst we joyously greet in fair faces refined Their answering smile of contentment and joy, As we walk on the street, we feel no annoy ; Yet gaunt faces have fastened a riveting gaze That shall go with our steps to the end of our days : There are faces accusing, at judgment to meet, That we casually passed in the throngs of the street. Camp and Hearth. 167 OVER THE BREAKERS. Lone voyager on life's ocean, When the waves are rolling high, When storms are fierce and wild blasts pierce, With never a star in the sky ; No sign of a saving life-boat To bring out cheering relief, And now you feel the good ship's keel Grate harsh on the rocky reef, In that hour of fear and dread, Look up through the sullen sky, Till comes a ray of cheering day From the throne to your wearied eye : Then that star, that brightly shines O'er the clouds of ebon hue, Shall safely guide o'er the troubled tide To a port prepared for you. TO S. C. K., OF NEWBURYPORT, MASS- The muse that on Parnassus dwells, Or roams through Tempe's classic dells, No more breathes forth in words of fire To thrill with euphony the lyre ; But, weeping sad on Grecian shore, Mourns for the buried brave of yore — A valiant, glory-mantled throng, 168 Camp and Hearth. That live but in the poet's song. And yet, some power with life inspires The kindling heart that still desires To soar on wings of song and fame, And carve the future with her name. Sweet poetess, from realms of thought Have you to listening mortals brought Such wealth of verses, pure and sweet, That I would ever at thy feet List to their soft and rhythmic flow, So rich in fancy's beauteous glow. Pass thou as calmly o'er life's maze, And o'er time's sunny, shady ways, As does the bird of noblest song Whose swelling choruses prolong In evening's hour the notes of heaven, Sweet symphonies to mortals given. ENCOURAGEMENT. Press back your thronging fears, That labor for the right, That are the pioneers Of freedom and of light. Yours is a noble task ; To know your sure reward, The stainless pages ask Of God's eternal word. Camp and Hearth. 169 Though some may vainly seek To pass their halcyon days, Where flowers with poison reek, 'Mid error's devious ways ; Yet soon each rose shall give The piercing of the thorn ; From every sin shall live A soul-pang freshly born. Then forward urge your way, Ye, champions of the right ; Assured that God's bright day Will banish shades of night. TWO LETTERS FROM SARATOGA. 0, Jennie, such a conquest grand ! I've made a daisy mash : He's offered me his heart and hand. 0, won't I cut a dash ! He has such black and glossy hair, A love of a mustache, A quite distinguished, noble air ; And he has loads of cash. 0, won't the girls all envy me Upon my wedding day ! I hope they'll all be there to see, That none will keep away : Triumphant glances will I give 11 170 Camp and Hearth. My former rival, May : Let her with her mechanic live ; I'll lead a life more gay. " Who is he?" yes; I'll tell you, dear. A man of noble station ; A duke at least, 'tis very clear; I never asked his nation, For, when his manly form is near, My heart swells with elation His glowing words of love to hear, In tones of adoration. We leave this horrid place to-night, My eyes are red with crying, I'm looking worse than any fright; There's no use now of trying To keep my wretched secret tight From gossips' eager prying : They laugh at me, full in my sight : For solitude I'm dying. " What's wrong?" All's wrong. That horrid man- (I'd like to spoil his eyes:) I'll pay him if I ever can — A forger in disguise. To think how he has roped me in With his transparent lies ; And fooled me with pretences thin, With love-talk and with sighs. 0, this will be a morsel sweet For all the girls and May : Camp and Hearth. 171 I'll be ashamed to walk the street, Or face the light of day. Yes, Saratoga is a town, Where life is brisk and gay ; But when your plans have all smashed down, You'd better get away. AT THE PINES. To a Young Friend. Soft sunlight straggling through the green, One pleasant autumn day ; Dark flash the fitful shades between, Past sombre trunks of gray ; Beyond the hillside, meadows lie In sweet and silent rest, Hemmed round by oaks of gorgeous dye By fairy hands impressed. But where rears high the solemn pine Its cone-producing head, By memories forced, my steps incline The needled path to tread : A wanderer long from boyhood's skies, What recollections start ! And through the overbrimming eyes Wells up the heaving heart. For forty years have passed away Since, 'neath this grateful shade, I idled childhood's sunny day. 172 Camp and Hearth. Of those who with me played, Some sleep in graves by Glory kept Forever green and bright, And some for weary years have wept Fond hopes eclipsed in night. Of all who from the precious years Come thronging back to view, How many lived lives dimmed with tears ! Then let me breathe for you, Just starting on life's merry march, The prayer by friendship framed, That love thy path may overarch, By all thy praise proclaimed. Beneath these pines, through toiling terms, I scanned the classic page ; And here imbibed the generous germs, Which in maturer age, Impelled me, midst the clash of arms, To face the cannon's wrath : Here learned the sweet and fadeless charms Of science' cloud-capped path. May you some inspiration breathe, The arching pines within, Which shall around your pathway wreathe, Amid time's change and din, Fair garlands wrought by Hope and Love ; And may your future be, Unclouded skies your head above, From every sorrow free. October 15, 1887. Camp and Hearth. 173 A MENTAL PANORAMA. Amid the garish, flaming light, That flares from'city streets at night, Come thoughts of childhood calm and bright. A child in all save sins and years, Through troubled sighs and bitter tears, 'Mid hopes thick riven through with fears, I stand beside life's opening way, One sweet and balmy summer day ; I see the homely cottage red, Above, the blue with fleece o'erspread, Around, the thickly clustering trees Just moving to the faintest breeze ; Down sharp decline a pathway leads, Thick hedged around with clumps of weeds, To spring, that gushing from the earth In tiny stream, with babbling mirth Leaps rocky ledges two feet high, Niagara to my infant eye. Beyond this narrow, haw-decked dell, In broad expanse the ridges swell ; Part bleak, with gutters furrowed through, Part clad in ripple ribbed with blue, Part matted o'er with sour-grass knots, Uneven spread in clustering spots ; And then the dark, luxuriant mass Of pines, through which could scarcely pass The rabbit, driven from his lair Formed in the .knotted grass with care. 174 Camp and Hearth. O, glorious thicket, ever green ! Upon thy carpet, dense between The knotted trunks, was never seen The brightness of the sun-light's sheen ; Upon that needled carpet dank, . With gambols gay and childlike prank, In innocence was whiled away The sweetness of each fleeting day, With one who, by Pacific's wave, To God her glorious life-work gave ; With some who stand on Zion's wall ; And some who, at their country's call, Met death to save our nation grand ; And some of sunny childhood's band, Who sported there each joyous spring In childish glee, whose laughters ring Through memory's echoing chambers still, Have tasted every shape of ill ; And some, with rudder lost and guide, From good have wandered far and wide, Foul wrecks on error's seething tide. Ah me! can anyone save God, On child-brows gazing, life untrod, Say which shall darkly curse the day They started on the downward way — Say which, with love their lives entwined, Shall shine in blessings on mankind ? Beyond the pines, a hillside brown ; Gigantic oaks its ridges crown ; Some spread in rich luxuriance still Their arms across the rock-ribbed hill, Camp and Hearth. 175 While some, all hollowed at the core, Pulsate death-throbs from every pore : Adown the ridges, walnut trees Are mingled with the hickories. From out a crest of rugged rock, Dark-hued junipers keenly mock The eager gaze of childhood's eyes, Intent to gain the luscious prize. Along the borders of the field, In part in deep-cut shale concealed, Then swelling up on yonder hills, The dusty pike. 0, deeply thrills The wondering wish that childhood fills, Far down its winding miles to pass, Where cooling pool and meadow grass, The quiet of a country life, Is lost in streets with traffic rife ; Where is the ceaseless ebb and flow Of good and greed, of love, of woe ; Where ships forever sail away Adown the broad, pellucid bay, To bring from every clime and shore Their tribute stores to Baltimore. To close, far off, the distant view, In strong relief, 'gainst sky of blue, Upon its lonely hill- top perch, Stands out the white and rustic church, Which, through its hundred moss-grown years Of cycling human hopes and fears, Has looked on mingled joys and tears. 176 Camp and Hearth. THE LAST GRAND ARMY MAN. The brilliant sun had risen bright athwart The domes and colonades of Washington. In peerless grandeur lay, beneath its beams, The mighty, bustling arteries of life ; And thronged those avenues a mass of men And woman, old and young. And childhood, too, Was there with artless grace and harids that held Fair gifts of spring-time's sweetest, fragrant flowers. Nor there alone were throngs and dense-packed men. One hundred millions, all the land across, Were bringing votive offerings to deck Graves, that, by time with matted sod thick-clad, Were ever green : hallowed by memories grand, And wet each May-time with a nation's tears. But at the capitol, in honored seat, Sat one. That one, with reverent awe beheld, Took precedence of ermined judge. All eyes Forsook the nation's President to gaze Upon the feeble, age-wrecked veteran — The one alone yet spared by cruel time To link the living with the quiet mounds Of Arlington. And grander in the eyes Of thankful multitudes, those hoary locks, That time-bent, pain-racked frame than all the domes, Resplendent with the stars and stripes, That reared, in massive grandeur, monuments Of might resistless in the land that he Had loved — had saved. Harrisburg, Pa., October 22, 1887.