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 ~\ 
 
 Dauis's poems 
 
 Songs of the flge. 
 
 BY COL. DUDLEY Hi DAVIS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 Press of John Co? 
 
 isai. 
 

 • • • • 
 
 r \ 
 
 Entered according- to the Act of Congress, in the year 1891, 
 
 By D. H. DAVIS, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Cong-ress, at Washington, D. C 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO A. H. LEWIS, A. M., D. D. 
 
 Deak Sir : — This collection of occasional pieces is sub- 
 milted to the public, only through the earnest solicitation 
 of friends, and even now it is done with the greatest diffi- 
 dence. 
 
 As in former daj^s, I turned to you for encouragement 
 and spiritual advice, so now I turn to you in this my em- 
 barrassment, and dedicate to you the only book with which 
 I shall ever trespass on public patience. 
 
 I hope you will permit me, sir, to subscribe myself 
 
 Your friend and servant, 
 
 D. H. Davts. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 T" T"^ iiiLE the adage, "Poets are born, not made," may 
 ^^^^ be true, we fully realize that a classic education 
 is a prerequisite to the writing of poetry that will interest 
 the literary world. This classic education the author of 
 these lines has not, having been bred a farmer and spent 
 thirty-two of his best j^ears in mercantile transactions. 
 
 Though the contents of this little book may serve to 
 awaken many tender memories in the minds and hearts of 
 acquaintances, yet it never would have been given to the 
 world had it not been for the earnest solicitation of friends. 
 
 If what is here written — the production of idle hours — 
 will edify its readers or improve their hearts, the highest 
 hopes of the writer will be accomplished. 
 
 Thf: Authok. 
 
COMPLIMENTARY. 
 
 Baltimore, 3Iay 1st, 1891. 
 Mii. U. II. Davis: 
 
 I have frequently spoken of " The Bard of Quiet Dell" 
 as the "White Blackbird." He has tine sentiment, and 
 writes real good poetry, and is at the same time a good 
 practical business man. AVhen you wrote me word you 
 had cut sixty tons of hay, and had gone to buy cattle to 
 which to feed the hay, instead of baling it and sending it 
 away to market, to thereby impoverish your land — then it 
 was I thought of the author of ''Home, Sweet Home," 
 and wondered why every poet could not hitch Pegasus to 
 the utility chariot. But you know they do not ; therefore 
 I have always admired the exception to the general rule, 
 which is happily embodied in your peculiar character. 
 Your poems are good salad for the home circle; they are 
 good solid sense, and happy metre with it. We never get 
 tired of hearing the song of the Avild birds. There is none 
 of the piratical cling-clang in the music of the wild woods. 
 
 God and nature and our soul's breathings are in sweet 
 
 consonance. We listen 1o the anthems of the early winds 
 
 of Spring in the soft foliage of a new born creation, and 
 
 our souls are mesmerised to tranquil moods by the soft 
 
 metre of their balmy loveliness. David's Songs are younger 
 vii 
 
Viil COMPLIMENTAKY. 
 
 to-day than when they were tirst written, for they leaven 
 the souls of countless millions, and after you have .read 
 them a thousand times you discover fresh beauty in the 
 depths of their anthems. 
 
 The sparkle of genuine genius will live forever. We 
 trust your Book of Poems may meet with general favor. 
 And whether popular applause shall greet it as the cyclone 
 mowing the great forest oaks, or the gentle dew kissing the 
 petals of the flower, it makes no odds, for your thoughts 
 will awaken new ideas in others, and the reproductive 
 forces of the soul are illimitable and eternal. The good 
 man who had contributed so largely to benevolent purposes 
 failed in a financial crash. His conclusions were : "Only 
 what I gave away I have." 
 
 With many kind regards, 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 Tom Wash Smith, 
 Editor of The Baltimore Herald. 
 
OUR FRIEND, MR. TOM WASH SMITH, 
 
 Editor of The Baltimore Herald, 
 
 I^UBLiSHED quite a number of poems which may be found 
 in this book, on some of which he was pleased to pass 
 compliments which I considered worth more than the poems. 
 I have no words with sufficient meaning to express my grat- 
 itude to him for his encouragement and many benefits. 
 
 He liveth not for self alone— 
 
 But soweth seed to all the world ; 
 On sweeping- Avinds his sheets are blown, 
 
 With head-line bold— The Baltimore Herald. 
 He sees the feeble steps of man. 
 
 And while ungenerous eyes would frown, 
 He reaches out a helping- hand 
 
 AVhich comes alone from the renown'd. 
 With clear-cut words and aims so high, 
 
 He crowns the literary world : 
 And at a glimpse, Avith skillful eye. 
 
 You see him in The Baltimore Herald. 
 For Avhat is in the heart of man 
 
 On written pag-es he hath shown, 
 8elf passing- throug-h his modimn (the pen), 
 
 Realizing- not the seed he's sown. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Pike's Peak 1 
 
 Pike's Peak (by George S. Phelps) H 
 
 The Closing Scene T) 
 
 The Silent Messenger ^^ 
 
 Speak No 111 i> 
 
 Terrors Of A Criminal On Awakening From A Dream. 10 
 
 War Eagle 12 
 
 Johnstown Flood, 1888 14 
 
 AVhen We Were Boys 10 
 
 A Ramble O'er My Native Hills U) 
 
 Shipwreck 23 
 
 A Man From The Planet Yenus 25 
 
 My Long-Forgotten Friend, Lenore 81 
 
 Consolation '^4 
 
 The Store 'Sn 
 
 Oh ! Shall We Meet On Heaven's Shore V 87 
 
 Thunder 81> 
 
 Mount Of Tlie Holy Cross 40 
 
 O, Sinner, Turn ! 42 
 
 Colorado 48 
 
 The Deer Chase 45 
 
 Good Seed 48 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lazy John 49 
 
 Christian Soldiers 50 
 
 A Happy Dream ^2 
 
 This World's Riches 54 
 
 FART II. 
 
 Leno Belle 50 
 
 The Lonesome Chief (51 
 
 Eclipse Of The Sun, August 7th, 1869 68 
 
 The Warrior's Forest Home 65 
 
 In Heaven We Shall See Them 68 
 
 Autumn Days 70 
 
 Payton's Hide 72 
 
 The Lonely Window 76 
 
 The Answer— Song Of The Shipwreck 77 
 
 Dear Bessie Of Ohio 81 
 
 Centennial Years 84 
 
 Discovery Of Elk Creek 87 
 
 Son Billy 89 
 
 Kitty And The Mouse • 92 
 
 On Receiving Her Picture 94 
 
 Lamentation 95 
 
 The American Eagle 97 
 
 'T is My Only Kitty. Mother 100 
 
 Mystery 102 
 
 The Man Who Never Stops To Think 104 
 
 A Lesson 1 05 
 
CONTENTS. XUI 
 
 PART III. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 The Bride's Farewell 101> 
 
 Mammoth Cave Ill 
 
 Uncle Sam f 112 
 
 South Carolina's First Ball 11:^ 
 
 The Awakening Of The Soul 114 
 
 Strange But True ... 115 
 
 My Own Bronzy, Dear 117 
 
 Kosy Hill Ill* 
 
 To Mrs. J. Hamilton 121 
 
 One Hundred Years Ago 122 
 
 Niagara 1 24 
 
 Kiss Her, Quick, You Little Goose ! 127 
 
 Result Of Thought 120 
 
 Scenes Of Childhood 18:^ 
 
 Conclusion 148 
 
 ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Col. D. H. Davis Frontispiece 
 
 Mrs. Emily R. Davis 30 
 
 Miss Leno Belle 58 
 
 Mrs. Josie B. Taylou 108 
 
RM RT I. 
 
 
Songs of the Age. 
 
 PIKE'S PEAK. 
 
 Dedicated to My Only Son, B. H. Davis. 
 
 Oh hoary peak ! Thou king of kings, 
 
 Standest thou in thy matchless form, 
 
 Commanding the snow-capped peaks around thee. 
 
 Dazzling the eyes of men, 
 
 And baffling the skillful pen. 
 
 Thy wonderous grandeur to describe. 
 
 Bathing thy feet in the rippling brook. 
 
 And chanting weird songs on the silvery tongue 
 
 Of thy snow-fed streams and misty falls. 
 
 The cyclone howls around thy form. 
 
 Dipping their smutty Avings 
 
 Far beneath the crowning peak 
 
 Of thy time-woni massive Avails. 
 
 The lightnings flash and the thunder rolls, 
 
 And the clouds drift on in silky scrolls. 
 
 And the rain-drops dance on the silvery stone. 
 
 While the king looks down from his sunlit throne. 
 
SOlSaS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Eyes of the pre-historic cave dwellers 
 
 Gazed upon thy woiiderons altitude 
 
 With adoration at the close of the day. 
 
 Then lift thy crown to the skies, 
 
 And catch the last glimmering rays 
 
 Of the golden sunbeams ; 
 
 And wrap thy golden mantle around thee, 
 
 Then drop thy golden robe, 
 
 And turn thy face and kiss the moon, 
 
 And wrap thyself in nightly vales 
 
 Of ghostly shades and silvery gleamings. 
 
 The sun sweej)s o'er the dark blue sea 
 
 And burns the misty shades of night, 
 
 And 2)ours a flood of golden light 
 
 Upon thy misty, sparkling crown ; 
 
 While the towering gods of the brook-worn gorge, 
 
 And the sweeping fields of the distant plains. 
 
 In their dewy robes peacefully slumber. 
 
 Still wrapped in the misty shades of the fading night. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 6 
 
 This poem, by George S. Phei.ps, took the tir=t prize 
 of one hundred and fifty dollars in the great contest where 
 four hundred poems were sent in from all parts of the 
 country. The poem on the same subject by the author of 
 this book was not in the contest. 
 
 PIKE'S PEAK. 
 
 BY GEORGE S. PHELPS. 
 
 (first prize.) 
 At tiusli of morn, I stood upon thy heights 
 Of granite gray ; bright thro' the parting mists 
 The glowing sunbeams swept o'er distant peaks 
 To reach thy rock-ribbed form ; a moment then, 
 And the great " King of Day'' his glory flashed 
 Above thy tow'ring head; the stars went out; 
 The shadowy robes of silvery night 
 Were touch'd to burnish'd gold ; the dew-wash'd rocks 
 And massive boulders for an instant gleamed 
 As flash and shimmer of a mountain stream. 
 Above the horizon, in God-like majesty. 
 The ris'n sun pour'd forth a flood of golden light ; 
 The snow-fed purling stream, in silver tints, 
 Crept down the mountain side, to foot-hill green ; 
 Adown the rocky way the lofty pine-trees caught 
 The Sun God's rising beams ; 
 
SONGS OF THE A(4E. 
 
 iSwift as the lightning's flash 
 The golden sunlight sped, to wake the smiling flowers 
 That slept below ; while mountain range, and hills 
 And dusky glens, and valleys far away, 
 Touch'd with the splendor of immortal light, 
 Blush'd crimson and gokl ; beyond the "old time" trail. 
 Far O'er the rocky gorge, bright fall and torrent wild 
 In radiant beauty lay, luxuriant flelds 
 Of ripening grain ; pastures of living green ; 
 Rivers and rivulets, lakes and rippling rills, 
 That caught the sheen of morning's waking hour. 
 Cities and plains I saAV ; the " Garden of the Gods " — 
 Creation's ghosts ! Gods of the ages past. 
 That mock our puny strength and laugh at time. 
 There, lofty monuments in stately grandeur stand; 
 And weird " Glen-Eyrie " greets the waiting day. 
 
 Close at thy base, in beauty's glen-home lies 
 Fair Manitou, at whose springs the red man knelt 
 To quench his thirst; whose healing waters lend 
 To weary life Hope's fairy wings. Hail, royal peak ! 
 Child of Eternity ! on whose wrinkled brow 
 The centuries mark their flight ; friend of the stars, 
 That through eternal years have watch'd with thee, 
 Oh rugged monarch of " The Great Divide ! " 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 THE CLOSING SCENE. 
 
 Dedicated to My Davighter, Lura. 
 
 The rolling hills were robed in gold, 
 
 And fringed with curtains, gold and green, 
 And highland peaks stood grand and bold, 
 
 With crimson valleys trailed between; 
 Those golden robes hung from the sky, 
 
 Like drapery from a kingly throne ; 
 Which charmed the lover's faithful eye, 
 
 x\nd, spell-bound, held him to his own. 
 
 vSurrounding peaks propped all the sky, 
 
 Both Xorth and South, and East and W^est ; 
 And heaven's dome, hung from on high. 
 
 On golden pillars seemed to rest. 
 The hills built up in fleecy trains, 
 
 And waved in beauty, step by step, 
 And brightening by the cooling rains, 
 
 The dazzling sunshine o'er them crept. 
 
 The sun went down o'er reefs of gold, 
 And early in the new bright morn. 
 
 His eyes seemed proud still to behold 
 A world with scenes so brisrht adorned ; 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 But Jack with snowy sickle came, 
 
 And reap'd his harvest gold and brown, 
 
 And wove a carpet of the same, 
 And spread it o'er the highland ground. 
 
 Then all the forest, grey and bare. 
 
 Stood like dim ghosts scratching the sky. 
 And forest birds, so sweet and fair, 
 
 Began to plnme and southward fly ; 
 Red-wing, blackbirds, ten thousand strong. 
 
 Had mustered for a long farewell ; 
 In musical glee their farewell song ; 
 
 Out on the breeze began to swell. 
 
 Such music, though, is not for me 
 
 Ever to picture with a pen; 
 Their song was shrill, chords sweet and free, 
 
 And charmed the stony hearts of men. 
 The birds were gone. Jack came again, 
 ' And wove a carpet, grey and brown, 
 And scattered frost-thorns on the pane. 
 
 And cut the blooming dahlia down. 
 
 The farmer hewed his winter log. 
 
 And drove his herd from held to barn; 
 
SONOS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The boys skipped out with rabbit dog, 
 Kind mothers knit warm socks of yarn ; 
 
 Sweet maidens all, with sparkling eyes. 
 Stepped lightly o'er the kitchen floor. 
 
 And baked the bread and nice mince pies, 
 And placed the fuel by the door. 
 
 ISext night King Jack returned again, 
 
 And wove a carpet glossy white, 
 Without a spot, without a stain. 
 
 And glistened in the darkest nigbt. 
 The woodsman to the forest hill, 
 
 With gun and bowie, and dog beside ; 
 Tlie farmer jingling to the mill ; 
 
 The boys hunt crooked boards to ride. 
 
 The lover, with his nice brown steed 
 
 Hooked to the cutter, flies away 
 To meet the one he loves indeed. 
 
 And take her riding in the sleigh. 
 The day is closed ; day's work is done ; 
 
 The farmer from the grinding mill ; 
 The lovers back, and they are one ; 
 
 The Avoodsman's deer hangs on the hill. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 THE SILENT MESSENGER, 
 
 There is a niagnet eliarin, 
 Or affinity, not form, 
 
 That nnderlies 
 
 The piercing- eyes 
 That speaks the lasting word, 
 Yet never, never heard. 
 
 'Tis not the eye alone 
 
 That makes onr wishes known, 
 Bnt something deep. 
 That seems to sleep 
 
 Within the mortal sonl. 
 
 Unseen, yet all is told. 
 
 'Tis not the midnight dream, 
 Nor polished words, that seen) 
 To form this line 
 Of heart and mind, 
 Bnt something ever still, 
 And yet we know its will. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 SPEAK NO ILL. 
 
 Nay, speak no ill of friend or foe ; 
 And if you're driven to the wall, 
 And there can find no good at all 
 
 Unstained by tongue, l)est let him go. 
 
 A kindly word is niucdi preferred 
 By those Avho seem to l)e in fault ; 
 And if at fault, may call a halt. 
 
 And straighten every crooked word. 
 
 The slanderous tongue like bells are rung. 
 Where all the town and country round 
 Can hear the slang echo rebound 
 
 To sever hearts where friendship clung. 
 
 The tattler's tales are like the sails 
 
 Of pirate ships upon the seas, 
 
 They always sail on evil breeze, 
 Disguised by satanic veils. 
 
 When fortune turns, and trouble burns 
 
 The wreaking, pained and withering heart. 
 How soon does friendship then depart ? 
 
 To count his faults his virtues spurn. 
 
10 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Can we disown the seed we've sown 
 
 When harvest comes and fields are brown 'f 
 Is there one perfect to be found ? 
 
 Let him alone cast the first stone. 
 
 TERRORS OF A CRIMINAL ON AWAKENING 
 FROM A DREAM. 
 
 Great God! is this my awful doom ? 
 
 Yes, doomed to this dark, dismal cell. 
 To dream of joy and peace at home. 
 
 While haunted by the ghosts of hell ! 
 
 Tormented by the blood I drew ; 
 
 Tormented by that aAvful crime ; 
 Tormented by the maid I slew. 
 
 Who prayed me for an inch of time. 
 
 She told me that her heart was true ; 
 
 That she could love no other man — 
 Oh I cursed be the knife that drew 
 
 Her precious blood upon my hand I 
 
S0NG8 OF THE AGE. 
 
 11 
 
 For still I see that pleading look, 
 As if her tender heart would break ; 
 
 She kissed me ; then my hand she took, 
 And threw her arm around my neck. 
 
 "Away ! " I cried ; " deceiver, stand ! 
 I know of thy dishonest heart. 
 Your love is for another man, 
 So death shall sever us apart." 
 
 She sank beneath my wicked frown, 
 Still glancing at the fearful knife, 
 
 And cried for mercy, sinking down, 
 To close the scenes of mortal life. 
 
 But now the dreadful deed is done, 
 A jealous heart must bear the blame ; 
 
 For she was true, she loved but one, 
 
 And he's now doomed to death and shame. 
 
 Oh, yes ; in dreams I see my bed. 
 Mid all the flaming fiends of hell. 
 
 They're in my cell I I see the dead ! 
 And soon must I their numbers SAvell ! 
 
 ^ 
 
12 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 WAR EAGLE. 
 
 When Southern war guns of the South 
 
 Had set the mighty l)all to roll, J 
 And hushed the tongue of Sumpter's mouth, 
 
 Which chill'd the nation's very soul 
 Then warriors sprang from hill and dale, 
 
 Throughout the bounds of freedom's land. 
 And war ships flew by steam and sail. 
 
 To crush the grand rel)ellious band. 
 
 And all the nation, North and South, 
 Then trimmed their lamps for civil war ; 
 
 And death belched from the dannon's mouth, 
 'Till heaven and earth ([uailed in despair. 
 
 Then came the mystic eagle spy. 
 And joined a regiment of lilue, 
 
 To climl) the stairway of the sky, 
 • And lead the battles of the true. 
 
 And now the battle had begun ; 
 
 The eagle took the winding stair. 
 And sailed beyond the Southern gun. 
 
 Around and round, high in the air. 
 
 % 
 
son(tS of the age. 18 
 
 Ten thousand Southern bullets flew 
 
 To kill the golden eagle spy ; 
 But still he led his army through, 
 
 On Avings where bullets could not fly. 
 
 And when the stars and stripes had won, 
 
 And armies went in camp by night. 
 They found the eagle on his gun. 
 
 Hung in the tent for roost at night. 
 He led each battle in its turn. 
 
 Through all the din and clash of Avar, 
 His regiment's pet, he soon had learned 
 
 The men and stripes which bore the star. 
 
 And when the cruel Avar Avas done, 
 
 This bird went home Avith boys in blue, 
 Who crowned him king of victoi'ies won 
 
 For starry blue and armies true. 
 And to the great Centennial Fair 
 
 They took this Avondrous kingly spy, 
 Who made his throne high in the air. 
 
 Above the din and battle-crv. 
 
 ^-^ 
 
14 
 
 (SONGS OK THE AGB:. 
 
 JOHNSTOWN FLOOD, 1888. 
 
 They hurried to the garret ceiling, 
 
 Six children and a lovely mother, 
 But soon the deathly waves there stealing, 
 
 Filled space, 'till all began to smother. 
 And their doom was sealed ; no ray of light, 
 
 But a foaming flood Avas passing by. 
 And darkness of that fearful night 
 
 Had cast its shades o'er moon and sky. 
 
 They bent their way to the window pane. 
 
 And the mother seized a floating lioard. 
 And one of the band admission gained ; 
 
 A kiss, good-bye, and was heard no more. 
 •Six times, as the floating timbers passed. 
 
 She placed them on, and a kiss, good-bye : 
 But worst of all was the dear one last — 
 
 A father's pet, with mischievous eye. 
 
 Just then a crash, and the Iniilding fell, 
 And was swept away 'mid clash of sound ; 
 
 But she clung to the roof, which floated well, 
 And swift away from the floating town. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 15 
 
 Out Oil the waves in the pitch of night, 
 
 'Mid shrieks and screams and dying groans, 
 
 And not a himp, nor a glimmering light. 
 As l)nildiiigs groaned with a hideons moan. 
 
 But away on the wings of the ^\■aves, 
 
 With the star of Hope forever set. 
 And just a span to the hissing grave, 
 
 Where wrath of the waves its victim met. 
 Down, down the wrathy current flying. 
 
 Grinding, surging, hissing and roaring. 
 Screaming, groaning, moaning and dying. 
 
 The angry waves 'mid forests pouring. 
 
 On the distant shore a signal light. 
 
 But the forest trees walked through the flood 
 With clutching fingers and arms of might, 
 
 Wrecking the crafts and the floating wood. 
 A voice was heard on the wave-washed shore. 
 
 And a signal light was gleaming bright. 
 And her craft rushed 'mid din and roar, 
 
 But was saved l)y men in })it(*h of night. 
 
10' SONGS^ OF THE AGE. 
 
 WHEN WE WERE BOYS. 
 
 When we were boys, one clreiiry night, 
 We made a pine torch for a light, 
 And ventnred np the silent stream. 
 Which bent its course through evergreen. 
 Onr tishing party, l)rave as men, 
 Bore torches and a gig in hand. 
 An awful stillness now prevailed. 
 The brook lay slumbering in the vale. 
 
 The bluffs, and oft' the rocky ledge. 
 Bathed their feet in the water's edge ; 
 The pines, like ship masts, towering tall, 
 The hills built up like ancient walls. 
 The mighty forest, ages old, 
 Arched the stream o'er many a hole, 
 And Nature, grand in her display. 
 Still claimed lier own tluit early day. 
 
 U^he night was dark, 'twas understood, 
 But doubly dark when in the wood ; 
 But Ave were tishing 'long the coast. 
 And had no time to look for ghosts. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE^ 17 
 
 Alul 110 one dared to mention dread 
 Of panthers in the trees o'erhead ; 
 But, like the dread torpedo's shock, 
 A scream re-echoed from a rock 
 
 Which hung its ledge high o'er the stream, 
 To which our light had thrown a gleam ; 
 That hideous scream, that wild hiss squall, 
 Kaised hair on end, and hats grew tall ; 
 And I can never paint the sound. 
 As down it poured and echoed round, 
 But surely I shall ne'er forget — 
 It seems just now I hear it yet. 
 
 But this enough to till our cup; 
 We then explored no further up ; 
 We now went trailing down the stream. 
 When Harry raised a maniac scream, 
 And little music for his dance, 
 A scream, a prance, a maniac glance ; 
 And all the words we heainl him say : 
 " Take it aAvay I Take it away ! 
 
 " It's cold as ice, and T shall die ! " 
 And these words ended Harry's crv : 
 
18 
 
 !;*ONG(^ OK THE AGE. 
 
 A huge green frog leaped from liis tliroiit, 
 Had S(iueezed 'iieatli collar of his coat. 
 And when he jumped he gave a S([ueal, 
 And Harry staggered l)ack and reeled ; 
 He clim])ed his leg beneath his clothes, 
 And scratched the skin from feet to nose. 
 
 All were scared, all in a Hurrv, 
 Frog made passage in a hurry ; 
 And Harry, gasping, pale as death. 
 And wildly struggling for his l)reatb, 
 And we, recovering from the shock, 
 Eecalled the scream poured from the rock. 
 Well, Harry lived, l)oys laughed and screamed. 
 But all went olidino- from the stream. 
 
SONGS OF THE A(iE. 19 
 
 A RAMBLE O'ER MY NATIVE HILLS. 
 
 Dedicated to My Daughter, Minme. 
 
 Long years luive come and rolled away, 
 Since here we roamed in l)oyliood days, 
 When forest l)irds sang- fnll and strong, 
 In sweeter notes than hnman song. 
 From this high peak, so calm and still, 
 I trace the brook, and distant hill. 
 Where ancient oaks onr father slew, 
 AYhen these dark woods to whites were new 
 
 His axe was lirst in all the vale, 
 When foot-prints marked the only trail, 
 AVhen routes Avere blazed for men to see. 
 By chip or hack, from tree to tree. 
 High on this mountain peak I stand, 
 To scan again my native land, 
 More dearly prized than fame or gold. 
 Or even friends we loved of old. 
 
 Afar in yonder distant vale, 
 The soundings of the muttted tiail 
 Went out on wings of early morn. 
 As well-timed music from the barn. 
 
20 SOMGW OF THE AGE. 
 
 The golden wheat sent clown to mill, 
 Where burrs were run by drowning wheel. 
 Made snow-white biscnit, soft and sweet, 
 AVhich comes alone from new-grown wheat. 
 
 The Avoodlands fringed around the plain, 
 AVh^ere browning tields were minus grain ; 
 The meadows, dressed in velvet green, 
 With scythe-mown stacks to dot the scene; 
 The lark had led her brood away, 
 Then sought a pinnacle of hay 
 To blend her music with the (juail. 
 That whistling stood upon a rail. 
 
 Unfading as the sun's sharp ray, 
 Are sounds and scenes of that bright day ; 
 Two miles away the Avoodland bell 
 Banged softly, yet we knew it Avell, 
 And all the herds, in woods around, 
 Were known by bells of different sounds ; 
 And, oh I that sweetly singing bird. 
 Where oft in woods we found the herd. 
 
 Its notes were (diarming, clear and shrill, 
 yVnd rang in woods, from hill to hill ; 
 
ijiONUS OF THE AGE. 21 
 
 How often did I heiir that song 
 When hill-top shades were growing long, 
 And gold-tint clouds on summer eve, 
 In fleecy trains rolled on the l)reeze, 
 And in this golden leafv l)Ower 
 Was e'er its home in childhood hour. 
 
 When hills were draped in green and gold, 
 To charm the heart in days of old ; 
 Swamp-robin is our songster's name, 
 With all her music never tame ; 
 She flits away sweet songs to sing, 
 You see her only on the wing, 
 l^ut, hark I she comes with sweeter tone 
 Than e'er in youth was ever known. 
 
 My cup is full, I ask no more, 
 I've scanned the scenes of childhood o'er, 
 And on this towering woodland hill 
 Our hidden champion singeth still. 
 
 Thus nature hound her golden chains 
 
 Arouiul my boyish heart, 
 And evermore, while life remains, 
 
 These charms can ne'er depart. 
 
22 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 SHIPWRECK. 
 
 The mighty deep avhs deathly still, 
 
 All round the sky rests on the sea ; 
 Our pilot drove his ship at will, 
 
 The sailors sunning, lie at ease ; 
 But soon we saw a drifting storm. 
 
 And howling thunders loudly rolled. 
 The heaving clouds were rent and torn, 
 
 By Hash and streaks like li(juid gold. 
 
 The sleeping sea awoke in fright. 
 
 And, angry, lashed her sheets to foam ; 
 She rolled her waves to mountain height, 
 
 And wrapped the ocean all in gloom ; 
 The heavens grew as black as night, 
 
 The ship was tossed by wind and waves. 
 Still drifting, drifting to the right. 
 
 Abreast the isle of sailors' graves. 
 
 The last bright hope had taken flight. 
 The rigging torn from stem to stern, 
 
 'J^'he steam blew out with roar and might, 
 The brilliant lamps refused to burn ; 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 28 
 
 The waves had gone high o'er the deck. 
 
 And sunk our lielpless vessel low, 
 AVhich rose to meet a fearful wreck 
 
 On cliffs where foam drifts white as snow. 
 
 Our ship Avas tossed upon a rock, 
 
 A shivered wreck on stony bed, 
 AVhile some recovered from the shock. 
 
 Still others missing — they were dead. 
 We drifted there upon the isle. 
 
 The long ill-fated isle of gloom, 
 Where ships lay mouldering all the Avhile, 
 
 And death was but the sailor's doom. 
 
 There human bones lie on the sands, 
 
 The ship's tall masts had crumbled dowu, 
 Large diamond rings on skeleton hands, • 
 
 And trunks of gold were scattered I'ound ; 
 A safe there stood with open door, 
 
 Large drawers filled, with specie gold ; 
 The inner safe ten thousand more 
 
 Large diamonds, from tlie laiul of old. 
 
 Large steel-bound trunks of silver-ware, 
 And costlv watches made of gold, 
 
24 >^ONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 And diamond bracelets sealed fi'om air, 
 Were packed with skill just from the mold. 
 
 l^ut, oh I how small did all appear; 
 The star of hope forever set, 
 
 The close of life then drawing near. 
 The doom of others to l)e met. 
 
 Three snns had set o'er western seas, 
 
 When, lo I just at the dawn of day, 
 A sail came driving on the l)reeze 
 
 ToAvard the isle, though far away ; 
 No ship had ever reached that shore, 
 
 Save those hy fearful storm and wreck ; 
 Small boats were sent l)y sail and oar 
 
 To l)ear the lost upon the deck. 
 
 The change was all this world could give, 
 
 'T was simply raising from the dead, 
 That we again shoukl drink and live, 
 
 Where nature's bounty should l)e spread; 
 How small does all this Avorld appear, 
 
 When close of life is drawing near ; 
 One hope is of ten thousand fold 
 
 More value than a woi"ld of gold. 
 
!*ONGS OF THE AGE. 25 
 
 A MAN FROM THE PLANET VENUS. 
 
 A Brongule Kell from Venus star 
 
 Had sailed l)eyoDd its bouudarv line, 
 Attraction lost, the man of air 
 
 Was nunns power to contine ; 
 80, like a bonlder, through all space 
 
 He dropped toward this rolling world, 
 But miles above his resting place. 
 
 The Brongole sails again unfurled. 
 
 Yet far above the sea and land 
 
 This aged man, just from the star, 
 Beheld the world so broad and grand, 
 
 AVith golden clouds hung in the air. 
 He lowered his Brongole on a hill 
 
 O'erlooking all the city crowd. 
 There rushing to and fro at will, 
 
 Like winds disturb the heaving cloud. 
 
 He could not dare to venture there, 
 In all that hurly-burly crowd; 
 
 He i)ut his Brongole in the air. 
 And sailed awav amid the cloud; 
 
26 80NGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 And then o'er hill and widening vale. 
 He sailed upon the gentle breeze ; 
 
 He saw the engine on the rail ; 
 
 The ships and boats npon the seas. 
 
 And all the world was on the tl}^, 
 
 A rnsh ! a clash ! a roar of steam ! 
 Till night shut ont the golden sky, 
 
 And twinkling stars began to gleam ; 
 The cities bnrnt ten thonsand lights, 
 
 And ghostly shadows walked the streets ; 
 The bell of time marked honrs of night; 
 
 Tall steeples waved their national sheets. 
 
 He sailed high o'er the city street, 
 
 And lowered his Brongole on a hill, 
 Where men of note he chanced to meet, 
 
 And this strange story did reveal : 
 , A king, there sat in golden chair. 
 
 His kell aronnd him in a fokl ; 
 His eyes were bright, but silvery hair. 
 
 And he in years nine hundred old. 
 
 His wond'rous scenes of day had closed 
 With golden tints of sunset sky ; 
 
 And sad was he to learn our woes. 
 And know that we were 1)orn to die. 
 
80NGS OK THE AGE. 37 
 
 A tear stole from the stranger's eye, 
 
 When he these burning words were told, 
 
 That he on earth nmst snrely die, 
 For we of death have no control. 
 
 '^0, my dear Sir, I'm from yon star, 
 
 And I'm in years nine hundred old; 
 I cannot die in lands afar. 
 
 For half my days can ne'er l)e told. 
 Our world is bright as noon-day sun, 
 
 A world Avhere pleasure never dies ; 
 Fach day new pleasures, just begun, 
 
 Re-echoes gladness to the skies. 
 
 "Our days are bright, our nights are clear, 
 
 No cloud can ever dim the sky ; 
 But silvery gleamings lill the air. 
 
 Sweeping grandeur from on high. 
 Ten thousand Brongoles swiftly lly. 
 
 Ten thousand voices sweetly sing. 
 Ten thousand harps float through th e sky, 
 
 With thrilling music, on the wing. 
 
 "In yonder star there is no sin, 
 
 IVo pain nor death can ever come ; 
 As time rolls on, new life begins 
 To perfect life where'er we roam ; 
 
28 SONGy OF THE AGE. 
 
 There crvstal stretims forever tlow, 
 And ripple o'er the o-oldeii Siiiids, 
 
 And trees of life spontaneous grow- 
 In l)almy plains throughout the land. 
 
 ^'Tliere cities stand aglow in white, 
 
 With streets and walks of silvery pearl. 
 And golden chandeliers of light 
 
 Hung in the skies all round the world ; 
 And through the fields of boundless air, 
 
 Upon the glittering winged Brongole, 
 We sail around a world so fair 
 
 That eyes of earth could not behold. 
 
 ^'On gentle breeze the rich perfume 
 
 Is wafted o'er the land and seas, 
 And all the world perpetual bloom 
 
 Throughout that paradise of ease." 
 He put his Brongole in the air, 
 
 On outspread wings of glittering gold, 
 And sailed beyond this world of care, 
 
 With scenes too orand for earth to hold. 
 
"•■J 
 
 -J 
 
 . ^.,....:^:,.i„.w;. Ji., 
 
 MRS. EMILY R. DAVIS. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. HI 
 
 MY LONG-FORGOTTEN FRIEND, LENORE. 
 
 Dedicated to My Wife. 
 
 I met her when the evening train 
 
 Came rolling from the highland wild. 
 I loved her. I conld not refrain, 
 
 Yet had not seen her since a cdiild. 
 When last we met 't was close of school. 
 
 In the grand ExhiV)ition Hall, 
 When she was only ten years old, 
 
 Yet wore a charm for one and all. 
 
 »Six years had passed, she was fnll grown. 
 
 And robed in beauty, angel fair. 
 I could not call this heart my own, 
 
 When with a smile she met me there. 
 The train drew u}). AVe, all al)oard. 
 
 Went gliding from each mountain bend, 
 'T was then she dropped the careless word 
 
 By which I knew she was my friend. 
 
 AVe met again in after days ; 
 
 I loved her still, "t was very true, 
 For she was lovely in her ways. 
 
 And all respect to her was due; 
 
32 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 But half my heart belonged to one 
 Whom I loved dearly long l)efore, 
 
 But thought perhaps her heart was gone. 
 And I could win it hack no more. 
 
 For months had passed since last we met. 
 
 And then I dreamed she loved no more. 
 I tried to doubt her and forget, 
 
 But still I loved as ne'er before. 
 She then was nineteen summers old, 
 
 And Avhen we met love's cup was filled. 
 For I those smiles could then behold. 
 
 And read in them she loved me still. 
 
 'T was not a word that she had spoke ; 
 'T was not a sigh, 't was not a tear ; 
 But in those eyes a tender look ; 
 
 I knew she loved me, loved me deai*. 
 By magnet power love's golden chain 
 
 Entwined my long divided heart, 
 
 And by a pledge was bound the twain. 
 
 Through life to never, never part. 
 
 So years rolled on, (fifteen or more,) 
 Till old schoolmates were near forgot. 
 
SONGf? (3F THE AGE. 33 
 
 When ill ci dretiiii I saw I^enore 
 
 Where last we met, or near that spot. 
 Oh I long-forgotten friend, Leiiore, 
 
 Hast thou no friend to soothethy way? 
 "Oh, no," said she, "l)ut ask no more. 
 And call on me another day." • 
 
 My heart grew sad, though all a dream, 
 
 For still these words I pondered o'er. 
 And still conld see her by the stream. 
 
 Where oft we strolled long years before. 
 I droj)ped a note to friend Lenore, 
 
 And soon received a kind reply. 
 She wished to have me call once more ; 
 
 She knew that she must shortly die. 
 
 Oh. surely 't was not all a dream ; 
 
 So I at once resolved to go. 
 And soon I walked beside the stream 
 
 Where in my dream I knew her woe. 
 She met me at her father's door. 
 
 With joy expressed in every smile; 
 But ah ! 't Avas not tlie once T.emn-e, 
 
 Vet beauty lingered all the Avhilc 
 
34 SONGS OB^ THE AC+E. 
 
 And with a smile of calm repose 
 
 8he then referred to days of yore, 
 ()f yonth's bright hope and elond of woes, 
 
 And then she pansed and said no more. 
 And when the honr for evening train, 
 
 As we stood by the cottage door. 
 She asked me to retnrn again, 
 
 But a long farewell to friend Lenore. 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 "Then He arose, and rebuked the wind, and the raging- ol' the 
 water; and they ceased, and there was a calm."— Luke viii, '^4. 
 
 Oh, the Saviour speaks to me I 
 
 Lo ! He walks upon the deej) ; 
 Now He stills the troubled sea, 
 
 At His will the billows sleep. 
 
 Chorus. — We are sailing on life's sea. 
 
 Soon we'll I'each the golden shore ; 
 Then, through all eternity, 
 
 We shall praise Thee evermore. 
 
SON(i!< OV THE AGE. 35 
 
 Saviour, by Thy grace divine 
 
 We escape the tempter's snare ; 
 Precious Jesus, we are Thine ; 
 
 Wilt Thou hear our humble prayer ? 
 Cho. — We are sailing, &c. 
 
 We have pushed from off the shore, 
 
 Now to sail upon life's sea ; 
 May Thy spirit guide the oar. 
 
 For our strength must come from Thee. 
 Cho. — We are sailing, &c. 
 
 <^)h, we praise Thy holy name, 
 
 For the palm of victory, 
 F'or the Lamb of Calvary slain, 
 
 That from death we might be free. 
 Cho. — We are sailing, &c. 
 
 We are coming to Thy bar. 
 
 Dear Lamb of Calvary; 
 Faith beholds Thy glories there, 
 
 And a crown laid up for me. 
 Cho. — We are sail in «^, cS:c. 
 
3() SON<iS OF THE AGE. 
 
 THE STORE. 
 
 In years past, twenty-two and more, 
 My dreams led out to run a store ; 
 And now, for thirty years and more. 
 By day and night I've tramped the floor. 
 
 I then was young, now old and gray ; 
 Time like a dream has passed aw^ay. 
 Some pages dark, some bright as day, 
 With valued friends to cheer the way. 
 
 High on the shelf old ledgei'S pile 
 Which fed on day-book all the while, 
 To mark the sales of city style 
 For ladies, girls and baby child. 
 
 Dishonest nature's own display 
 Has left its index day by day, 
 And strong 1)ound ledgers stacked away 
 • Record the names who do not i)ay. 
 
 Pen-holder l)rass, but pea-})oint goUl, 
 The brass worn through where lingers hold 
 To charge the goods thus l)ought and sold, 
 To rich and poor, to young and old. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 37 
 
 The waliuit desk is long on hand, 
 Old show-case on new counter stand, 
 New store room tinished nice and grand, 
 I now must leave to till the land. 
 
 Friends, rich and poor, we hang the oar 
 Upon the shore. To run the store 
 'Haps nevermore. The farm look o'er, 
 
 l^y rake and mower, and timothy sower. 
 
 OH ! SHALL WE MEET ON HEAVEN'S SHORE? 
 
 Presented to My Sister, Mks. V. Langfitte. 
 
 (Jh I shall we meet on heaven's shore 
 Those loved ones who have gone before':' 
 My mother's star has never set. 
 Its beauty shines around me yet. 
 
 The harvest fields once brown and gold. 
 
 There father reap'd in ages old. 
 
 Alas I his sickle falls no more ; 
 
 Oh! shall we meet on that bright shore? 
 
38 SONGS OF thp: age. 
 
 A brother, who had scarce known pain. 
 Stood like a stalk of well formed grain ; 
 Death's angel dipped his icy wing, 
 And friendly hearts bled from the sting. 
 
 A sister, with bright golden hair, 
 
 A brother, bent with age and care, 
 
 A host of friends, long since passed o'er ; 
 
 Oh! shall we meet on that bright shore? 
 
 A charming schoolmate, justly dear, 
 Robed in her beauty, angel fair, 
 Blooming in life's path like the rose 
 That graces the stem on which it grows. 
 
 Alas ! the reaper's sickle fell ; 
 Alas ! a mournful funeral knell ; 
 Alas ! my friend was seen no more ; 
 Oh ! shall we meet on that bright shore ? 
 
 I had a niece, with golden hair, 
 • And all who knew her loved lier dear ; 
 At noon of life I saw her fade. 
 And on her cheeks a rose was laid. 
 
 Which bloomed beneath the ringlets gold, 
 '^J'oo charming fair for earth to hold. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 39 
 
 We see that sweet bright face no more ; 
 Oh I shall we meet on that bright shore? 
 
 No tearless eye could view that face 
 
 When death had closed her cheerful eyes ; 
 
 Alas ! she slept with all her grace, 
 As though death's veil were mere disguise. 
 
 THUNDER. 
 
 (iod heralds the lightning through the cloud, 
 In tremulous tones and rolling loud ; 
 Kolls on and strikes the ethereal bell, 
 To ring the world's great funeral knell. 
 
 The sun goes down like liijuid gold, 
 The cloud lifts up, and mau ])eholds 
 (4od^s glory painted on the sky, 
 Keflecting from the throne on high. 
 
40 SONGS OF THE AOE. 
 
 MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. 
 
 Towering high in the western skv, 
 
 Stands the Mount of the Holy Cross; 
 And on this peak the cross so high, 
 
 Stands like the world's diadem lost, 
 Sculptured in traces bold and grand. 
 
 In ages dark and all unknown, 
 By Him who worketh not by hand, 
 
 Yet set the eternal cross of stone. 
 
 Set on this mount in silvery gray, 
 
 Wrapped the golden sunset cloud, 
 Unveiling at the dawn of day, 
 
 With diamonds glitter grand and proud. 
 On arms outspread the early morn 
 
 Pours golden splendor from the sun. 
 And all the ages yet unborn 
 
 Shall find its course is never run. 
 
 High on this pinnacle of stone. 
 
 The kingly mountain of the world, 
 
 There God has set His earthly throne, 
 The Cross, His l)anner, there unfurled. 
 
S0NC4S OF THE AGK. 41 
 
 Till' Golden Gate now stands ajar. 
 Men from the east are drifting by, 
 
 And rays gleam from the golden star, 
 AVhich leadeth to that Gross on high. 
 
 The C*ross of Gal vary is lost; 
 
 But Ghrist now sits upon the throne. 
 Pleads for a world of sin and dross. 
 
 And points it to the cross of stone. 
 The unbelieving sinners, ull. 
 
 The Gross of Galvary disown ; 
 Then gaze upon the mount so tall, 
 
 And tremble 'neath the cross of stone, 
 
 Which from pure ether grandly shines, 
 
 To prove the holy written word. 
 And on this seal the hand diviue 
 
 Has written, '^'Holy is the Lord." 
 Over the range to the Golden (iate. 
 
 In splendor shines this living cross ; 
 In sight of all men, small and great. 
 
 The svmbol of the sacred loss. 
 
43 i^ONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 O, SINNER, TURN 
 
 0, sinner, turn I why will yon die, 
 
 And lose a precious soul ? 
 When there's a mansion built on high. 
 
 Where streets are paved with gold. 
 
 Our Saviour, who on Calvary died, 
 
 Stands ready to receive ; 
 His arms of love extended wdde. 
 
 And bids thee now believe. 
 
 He died that sinful dust might live. 
 
 And do w^e count the cost. 
 Or will we souls to Satan give. 
 
 Regardless of the loss ? 
 
 How bright the King of Glory shines. 
 When sorrowing souls believe, 
 
 Who hear the whisper, thou art Mine, 
 From sin thy soul is freed. 
 
 The cloud of darkness is removed ; 
 
 Bright heaven shines around, 
 And lills the soul with sacred love, 
 
 And tits it for the crown. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 43 
 
 The saints rejoice in heaven above, 
 
 While angels hover o'er, 
 The new-born soul, so full of love, 
 
 Whose God they all adore. 
 
 Why Avill you, then, poor sinner, stay? 
 
 Salvation's offered free ; 
 And God invites, while friends do pray. 
 
 And this is all for thee. 
 
 COLORADO. 
 
 The world of nations have their kings. 
 
 Where golden diadems glitter proud ; 
 The King of States new glory brings, 
 
 AVith crowning head high in the cloud. 
 Colorado is the King of States, 
 
 With crowns of gold wrapped in the sky, 
 And from her walls the Golden Gate 
 
 Is hinged on silver gleaming high. 
 
44 i^ONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Her inouiitain peaks are fringed with gold, 
 
 Her walls are knit with silver strands, 
 And silver brick jnst from the mould 
 
 Are piled on pavements through the land. 
 Her snow-capped peaks of purity 
 
 Send health and Ions: life throu2:h the vale, 
 And ages of obscurity 
 
 Are now the ages of the rail. 
 
 AVith windings through the walls so tall. 
 
 And grading up the mountain side, 
 With power and room for one and all. 
 
 Who on the rail may wish to ride ; 
 Over the range they puff and blow, 
 
 Ten thousand feet up in the sky. 
 Pass all the clouds which drift below, 
 
 And wrap in golden clouds on high. 
 
 Tornado storms, in smutty sheet, 
 
 Swift howl around the peak so high, 
 But dip their wings beneath the feet 
 
 Of those who may be on the fly. 
 The golden rays Hash from the sun. 
 
 As nature sinks it down to rest. 
 And when its course is fully run. 
 
 All heaven is o:olden in the west. 
 
HONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 45 
 
 The King of States, and king of all, 
 
 With tallest peaks e'er crowned Avith gold, 
 And deeper gorges, higher walls 
 
 Than crown the Switzerland of old. 
 Fertile valleys, crystal fountains. 
 
 And many wide extending plains, 
 Spread between her snow-capped mountains. 
 
 Checkered with railroads and sweeping trains. 
 
 THE DEER CHASE. 
 
 The rolling hills were capped with snow 
 And deer were rambling high and Ioav, 
 A thunder's roar, mid timbers tall, 
 When hunters tired the one ounce hall, 
 A wounded deer had given chase, 
 And not a man about the place. 
 
 So mother took her curs and knife, 
 'i'o give the deer one chase for life ; 
 The hills re-echoed music sounds. 
 All different sounds from many hounds. 
 
46 80NG,S OK THE AGE. 
 
 And louder, louder came the sounds, 
 As forest hills they circled round. 
 
 But centering to the crossing place, 
 Where curs had often won the race. 
 Still louder bawled the trailing hound, 
 And lo I the deer came bouncing round. 
 Came loping, loping through the field, 
 Where mother had her curs concealed. 
 
 She loosed the chain, they scaled around, 
 They seized and tore him to the ground ; 
 She cut his throat, and stopped the sounds 
 Of many yelping, yelping hounds. 
 And o'er yon hill and through that vale 
 The hounds came yelping on the trail. 
 
 And lo I a deer, with horns so tall. 
 
 Could whip the trail hounds, curs and all ; 
 
 Then brother and I down, down the vale ; 
 
 The fight was up, he seized a rail, 
 
 And with the vengeance of a fiend, 
 
 He struck his horns ; his eves turned irreen 
 
 ts' 
 
 And with more madness than before. 
 He used his horns to plunge and gore. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 47 
 
 Now all the dogs i^nt in the chase, 
 
 Bv this dread moment reached the place ; 
 
 But he was champion over all, 
 
 Eyes flashing green and horns so tall. 
 
 Then brother rallied with his rail. 
 His horns were splintered in his trail, 
 And he came tumbling ^vith a ba^\i, 
 The dogs then seized him, one and all. 
 Oh, could I live it o'er again, 
 And hear the music of that train I 
 
 Long stretched across the hill and vale, 
 
 All yelping, yelping on the trail. 
 
 Xow this recalls another scene. 
 
 When summer spread her carpet greeu ; 
 
 A smaller deer had given chase 
 
 O'er field and fence, through father's place. 
 
 The dogs Avere nipping at lier heels, 
 'T was near the house just in the tieUls ; 
 I had two sisters there alone. 
 But to the field they bravely ran. 
 They reached the spot, the deer was down. 
 And, in excitement, now said one: 
 
48 SONG!* OF THE AGE. 
 
 "Oh, cut its throat! Ik^ (juick I be (juick I'" 
 She cut across, then tried to stick ; 
 But, oh I the deer begau to baAvl, 
 She ran aud screamed, cliniljed fences tall, 
 Aud threw the Ijloody knife away, 
 And lost her courage to this day. 
 
 GOOD SEED. 
 
 Presented to Mhs. John Booth. 
 
 (rood seed sown on the earth 
 
 Shall ever bloom in heaven ; 
 
 And while eternity rolls on 
 
 Grow more beautiful and lovely. 
 
 Variegating its tints 
 
 With the golden skies 
 
 Of the heavenly world, 
 
 While the everlasting fountain, 
 
 Which Hows from the throne of (lod. 
 
 Shall lift its golden spray 
 
 In heavenly clouds, 
 
 To fall like dew-drops 
 
 On the never withering bloom 
 
 Which shall live forever and ever. 
 
.S0N(1S OF THE AGE. 49 
 
 LAZY JOHN. 
 
 I met Miss Lily in the rain; 
 
 Her cheeks were fair and bright, 
 And Cupid's arrow caused a pain — 
 
 I loved her dear at sight. 
 
 She smiled a little as we passed ; 
 
 My heart could not refrain, 
 I loved her first, I loved her last, 
 
 I loved her in the rain. 
 
 I met Miss Lily's mother, then. 
 Her friendship Avished to gain ; 
 
 I told her I was Lily's friend, 
 I met her in the rain. 
 
 She gave a look I'll ne'er forget; 
 " Do yon mean to offend ? 
 I fear, dear sir, ycm're too much set; 
 Such rain -beau is no friend." 
 
50 SONGS OF THE A(4E. 
 
 CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS. 
 
 We're a band of Christian soldiers, 
 
 Now enlisted for the war ; 
 On the wheels of time are rolling 
 
 To the land of light afar ; 
 We shall fear no cannon's rattle, 
 
 For our banner is unfurled, 
 And our General rules the battle 
 
 Through the nations of the world. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Then march along, happy throng, make no delay ; 
 Call those by the wayside while it's called to-day ; 
 Go tell them we are soldiers fighting far the Lord, 
 And if they join our army they shall have the great 
 reward. 
 
 Yes, the teachers are our captains, 
 And the school an army strong ; 
 
 Though our foe's arrayed in battle. 
 Yet we fearless march along ; 
 
 And we'll say to heathen nations: 
 Come and join our army, too. 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 51 
 
 For this land is uot our station, 
 But we have a hind in view. 
 Cho. — Then march ak)ng, &c. 
 
 From the heathen hind of China 
 
 To the wikls of Afric's plain, 
 And through hills and vales of Byria, 
 
 We should lengthen out our chain ; 
 By the^ mission work our army 
 
 May unfold her banners there. 
 And the heathen souls of darkness 
 
 May unite with us in prayer. 
 Cho. — Then march along, &c. 
 
 Then awake, ye that slumber ! 
 
 Be ye always at your j^ost. 
 And we'll swell this happy number, 
 
 Seeking heaven's boundless coast ; 
 For our home's bevond the river, 
 
 Where no sorrows ever come ; 
 In that long and bright forever 
 
 We shall rest with Christ at home. 
 Cho. — Then march alonir, ttc. 
 
52 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 A HAPPY DREAM 
 
 111 shades of night ii happy dream 
 
 (Jnce led me back to youthful days ; 
 And in the ball-room l)eauty seemed 
 
 To llaf5h with smiles and grand displays. 
 A cousin there I gladly met, 
 
 With blooming cheeks and sj)arkiing eyes. 
 A tender glance, expression sweet, 
 
 And love which from all innocence rise. 
 
 And we of course have not grown old ; 
 
 We've simply slept thirty-tive years ; 
 The love we knew has not grown cold, 
 
 But wakes with joy and loving tears. 
 !She meets me with a loving smile. 
 
 We dance as oft we danced before ; 
 We love, l)ut not in cupid's style — 
 
 To meet the Parson on the floor. 
 
 Yet we are siugle all the while. 
 And talk of those we love so dear ; 
 
 And have no secrets of a style 
 ''J\)o good ioY each other to hear ; 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 53 
 
 And so we turn the golden page, 
 
 And there we tind a written line : 
 ''To mj beloved Fm engaged ;" 
 
 "And so," says she, "I am to mine." 
 
 So at this little secret glance 
 
 We ])oth are more than happy still, 
 The floor much softer for the dance. 
 
 The music carries us at will ; 
 But we would gladly leave the floor 
 
 And talk of j^rospects sure and bright. 
 When we should push from off the shore 
 
 With double oar and boat so light. 
 
 But, that fair angel, whom I loved. 
 
 Had winged away to some bright shore. 
 And in the happy croAvd I moved, 
 
 Was still alone, while on the floor. 
 My hope was bright that we should meet 
 
 On some fair shore of wedded bliss, 
 W^here golden sands might pave her street, 
 
 And lips should meet no parting kiss. 
 
 I then stepped back from out the dream ; 
 My heart was beating quick and warm ; 
 
54 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The embers cast a timid gleam ; 
 
 My angel's wing wrapped round my arm. 
 The sands of life had rolled away, 
 
 The years that stopped were in the dream ; 
 They'd left their trail of silvery gray, 
 
 In them my cousin had not seen. 
 
 THIS WORLD'S RICHES. 
 
 You may boast of your mountains. 
 
 Your valleys l)ehold ; 
 ()f your herds and your fountains. 
 
 Your silver and gold ; 
 Of your million-built hall, 
 
 Your cars on the rail, 
 Your monuments tall, 
 
 Yonr vessels on sail. 
 
 Of your factory and mill, 
 
 Your cities and town, 
 Your gold in the hills, 
 
 Where riches al)ound; 
 
BONOS OF THE AGE. 
 
 55 
 
 Of the siiiootli, fertile plains, 
 Which spread in the West, 
 
 And imagine all gains 
 As riches and rest. 
 
 But 't is all vain delusion ; 
 
 Each gem has a smire, 
 A fear of intrusion, 
 
 A sting or a care ; 
 For the only true wealth 
 
 This world can detine. 
 With a share of good health. 
 
 Is contentment of mind. 
 
RK RT I I. 
 
 57 
 
-M%: 
 
 1 
 
 MISS LENO BELLE. 
 
Songs of the Age. 
 
 LENO BELLE. 
 
 Dedioiited to Her Hrother. H(1N. William .Ieffhey. 
 
 The sun swept o'er hills far away, 
 
 And morning splendor, bright as gold, 
 Then painted nature with display 
 
 Far as the eye can e'er behold ; 
 The silvery dew-drops kissed the rose. 
 
 Then sly-ly stole within its fold 
 To wake it from its sweet repose 
 
 And variegate with rainbow gold. 
 
 The birds sang sweetly in the trees. 
 
 And mournfully complained the dove- 
 One representing life and ease, 
 
 One representing loss of love ; 
 All mingling sounds and lovely scenes 
 
 Refreshed the shades on memory's wall. 
 When school of youth was ever green, 
 
 And Belle wore charms for one and all. 
 
 59 
 
CO SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Alone I stood amid the tombs 
 
 Where sods were turned years long ago ; 
 The heaping turf l)eneath the bloom 
 
 Inclosed the sleeping dust ])elow ; 
 I read each stone with lifted head, 
 
 Which bore each name in letters small ; 
 But one I sought among the dead, . 
 
 Just one alone, and that was all. 
 
 My search was long and seemed in vain, 
 
 And I had changed my course to go ; 
 Unconscious steps led ])ack again, 
 
 Ah ! why it was I do not know ; 
 Impressions more than words could speak 
 
 Then led me to a distant stone. 
 And thus the name I there would seek 
 
 Mysteriously to me was shown. 
 
 What fairy hand had led me there, 
 
 Ah I I can neyer tell ; 
 But 't was the name of the once fair 
 
 In school, the charming Leno Belle; 
 And though the flight of time had marked 
 
 Three years upon her lonely graye. 
 And sealed that form deep in the dark. 
 
 Yet felt a pang for beauty's slave. 
 
SONCtS of the A(4E 
 
 THE LONESOME CHIEF. 
 
 61 
 
 In days gone by, long years ago, 
 
 A little crew songht for this land ; 
 Their vessel sailed for weal or woe, , 
 
 Yet enterprise was great and grand ; 
 And lo! they fonnd the gloomy shore. 
 
 The home of nnknown savage man. 
 Which the dark forest clustered o'er 
 
 From western gnlfs to eastern sand. 
 
 'T was when the little winding streams. 
 
 In lonesome murmurs, found their Avay 
 Through shady groves, where sunlight beams 
 
 Had never poured their golden ray ; 
 And when the song of spring-time birds 
 
 Were only heard by savage man. 
 And when wild beasts, in groups and herds^ 
 
 Were chased by yelling Iiulian Imnds. 
 
 The chief then bartered with the whites, 
 And sold his birthright for a bribe ; 
 
 Released to them his forest rights, 
 To seek the West with all his tribe ; 
 
i)2 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 They roamed the Mississippi wild, 
 Exi)Osed to death by winter's blast ; 
 
 Their chief survived with but his child, 
 Who droo])ed in spring and died at last. 
 
 When he had hollowed out the bed 
 
 That soon must hide that lovely face, 
 He gazed upon the sleeping dead, 
 
 The fairest bloom of all his race. 
 Then kissed and laid her in the tomb ; 
 
 She was his last and only friend ; 
 And then he thought of childhood home. 
 
 And what must shortly be his end. 
 
 Again he sought the sea-wave home, 
 
 The home his father's birthright gave. 
 And there in tattered rags he roamed. 
 
 Where once he sported with the brave ; 
 And then, with bitterness of soul. 
 
 His last and loud. complaints were made, 
 While standing 'neath the oaks of old. 
 
 Where wigwam beds in youth were laid : 
 
 ""You drove me from my native wild. 
 And slew the forest that I loved. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 63 
 
 And now my wife iind only child 
 
 (Jamp in yon moon, 'mid stars above ; 
 
 And I, with burning tears, now stand 
 To view my childhood's landscape o'er, 
 
 Where all my tribe went heart and hand 
 When first I knew this forest shore. 
 
 ^'You drove us from yon seaside wave, 
 
 That beautiful and lovely sea ; 
 You drove us to the icy grave, 
 
 Where all have sipped death's cup but me ; 
 And soon I too must follow on, 
 
 To scale the hills of yonder moon, 
 Which is our destined hunting-ground ; 
 
 There all must greet old chieftain soon." 
 
 ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, AUGUST 7, 1869. 
 
 The sun now hung a golden fringe 
 Around the edges of the moon. 
 
 And cast a shadow dark and dinge 
 
 When shades of night were not in tune. 
 
64 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The stciivs looked tlirough a gauzy veil, 
 
 Dim shadows walked like ghosts at night, 
 
 And tlarkness spread o'er hill and dale; 
 The heavens burnt a hidden light. 
 
 The earth grew strangely pale and fiiint, 
 The trees wore robes of millet green, 
 
 The hills wore crowns like tints of paint. 
 The rich-clad valleys trailed between. 
 
 The birds now sung their evening song, 
 The chickens bid the day good-bye. 
 
 The night-owd hooted grulf and strong. 
 Because the -moon Avas in the sky. 
 
 But soon swept on a daybreak scene ; 
 
 The fowls and lurds saw their mistake ; 
 The earth awoke and dressed in green. 
 
 The stars went out, 't was then daybreak. 
 
 The owl went back to bed again, 
 The rooster blew his daybreak horn, 
 
 The birds sang sweet o'er hill and glen. 
 And three P. M. was then the morn. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 65 
 
 ■ Mr. Wm. r. Davis, the warrior referred to in the follow- 
 ing poem, was the father of the writer. He served in the 
 War of 1812, in the command of General Harrison. 
 
 THE WARRIOR'S FOREST HOME. 
 
 Dedicated to Pkesident Harris<jn. 
 
 The deathly chish of war had ceased, 
 
 The Britain boys had left the shore ; 
 The hoys of '12 were all released, 
 
 The cannon's belch was heard no more. 
 A soldier left the stage of war 
 
 To seek a home 'mid forest gloom, 
 Where oaks eclipsed the morning star. 
 
 And savage beasts had made their home. 
 
 A wild romantic woodland scene, 
 
 Where crystal Avaters nuirmnred low, 
 And monntain i^eaks were ever green 
 
 Throngh antumn days and Avinter's snow, 
 No mark of skill in all that land, 
 
 No woodsman knew the winding stream, 
 Bnt shadows fell so thick and grand. 
 
 The scene was more a fairy dream. 
 
66 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 That valley was the panther's home, 
 
 And once the red man's hnnting ground, 
 Where squaws and warriors used to roam, 
 
 And where their weapons still are found. 
 There elk and deer, wild cats and hear. 
 
 Grey fox and wolves were found ; 
 The mink, the otter, coon and hare, 
 
 l\ed fox and squirrel, also ahound. 
 
 And yet that lone ax-stroke was heard. 
 
 And giant oaks fell to the ground, 
 And soon a cabin -hut was reared 
 
 Amid the gloom that hung around. 
 The warrior, with his deathly gun, 
 
 Ee-echoed thunder through that land; 
 But still the Avolves refused to run 
 
 Lentil they saw the fiery brand. 
 
 With hideous howls they oft would come. 
 
 When sheep were in their rugged pen, 
 . And force the dogs to seek a home, 
 
 Then storm the fort Avithin the glen. 
 The old cock ]jlew his daybreak horn. 
 
 The hoot-owl heard his homespun note. 
 And then aAvay, in early morn, 
 
 To seize aud cut the strano-er's throat. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 67 
 
 But soon the varmints' grand retreat 
 
 Were rolling fields of golden grain, 
 And garden beds were blooming sweet 
 
 Where giant oaks had just been slain. 
 Though first to mark and pave the way 
 
 In all that lonely vale of gloom, 
 That warrior lived, when old and gray, 
 
 And still that spot was then his home. 
 
 'T was my dear home in childhood's day ; 
 
 There sweetly sung the lark at dawn, 
 When all the fields were green in May, 
 
 And frogs Avere croaking in the pond. 
 The pheasant hid within the vale. 
 
 And bravely beat his morning drum ; 
 While in the stubble perched the quail 
 
 That whistled round my cottage home. 
 
 How dear those childhood scenes are now — 
 
 The old gnarled oak, the grassy field. 
 The orchard 'neath the mountain brow, 
 
 The little brook and shady mill, 
 The barn, the crib, the mossy well, 
 
 The cottage home, the crystal stream, 
 The song of birds, the distant bell — 
 
 Xow seems as but a placid dream. 
 
68 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 IN HEAVEN WE SHALL SEE THEM. 
 
 A beauteous child was Ida V., 
 
 Whose dust now in the gTave-yard lies ; 
 Her rosy cheeks were fair to see, 
 
 Aiul bright as stars her dark blue eyes> 
 And softly curled her golden hair, 
 
 Like gilded clouds in distant skies; 
 But sadly now her vacant chair 
 
 Stands empty, since its owner dies. 
 
 Like music soft, we heard her voice. 
 
 Like angel fair, we saw her form 
 In childish play and sport rejoice ; 
 
 Alas ! from us too soon she's torn. 
 Oh I could we see that dimpled hand. 
 
 Those pleading looks, which haunt us still,. 
 As she asked her mamma, from the pan 
 
 Her little painted cup to fill. 
 
 AVhere are the toys with which she played, 
 Where are her little hat and dress ? 
 
 Her toys are in the drawer laid. 
 
 With hat and shoes, and all the rest. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 09 
 
 I know for her we shall not weep, 
 For doubtless she has gone to rest ; 
 
 Her soul in silence doth not sleep — 
 
 (xod called her home, He thought it best. 
 
 Again, a dark and lonely night, 
 
 When earth and air were hushed and still, 
 In shades of gloom and dim moonlight. 
 
 Again death's cup for us was filled. 
 Around the snow-white couch we stood. 
 
 And watched the cheeks in death turn pale. 
 And tried in vain to give relief, 
 
 And call him Ijack from out the vale. 
 
 A loveh' boy, two summers' old, 
 
 Then passed from us and earth away ; 
 How soon the treasures which we hold 
 
 Slip from our grasp, and seek decay ! 
 But faith beholds these loved ones fair. 
 
 Those Jewels which our hearts have worn. 
 Transformed into a lovely pair 
 
 Of angels, near the Father's throne. 
 
 It sees them walk the gold-paved streets, • 
 In robes of glory, hand in hand. 
 
70 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 And, with the sainted ones, thei-e meet 
 Who long before passed to that land. 
 
 It sees their glory-gilded wings, 
 
 Their golden harps and starry crowns,. 
 
 And hears the peacefnl songs they sing, 
 Where toil and pain no more are fonnd. 
 
 AUTUMN DAYS. 
 
 Dedicaterl to My Youngest Daughter, Ethel. 
 
 "Oh ! sing to me of Autumn days, 
 
 The crowning beauties of the year, 
 Where eyes ca,n feast upon the haze 
 Of gold and crimson, green and sear."" 
 
 How can we sing of Antumn days, 
 When Natnre robes herself to die, 
 
 Thongh beanty crowns the morning rays. 
 And gold-tipped monntains kiss the sky ? 
 
 Bnt who could sing of beanty now, 
 Without the sadness in the soul ? 
 
 When hills must fade from foot to broAv, 
 And dross replenish crowns of gold. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 71 
 
 True, beauty lingers on each hill, 
 And fills the soul with pure delight ; 
 
 But there's a thought, far deeper still : 
 The brightest ray must end in night. 
 
 The crimson hills and mountains high, 
 "With tints of gold and Idendings green, 
 
 The painter's art do all defy — 
 'T would blush to even sketch the scene. 
 
 But ISTature has an artist old. 
 
 Who, with a finger's touch of snow. 
 
 He sprinkles earth, tints it gold. 
 
 And paints the hills and valleys low. 
 
 But soon must all this blush of gold 
 And fleecy robe, that touch the sky, 
 
 Fall at the feet of those of old. 
 
 And Nature's beauty then must die. 
 
 The author of the above lines resides in the mountains of 
 West Virginia, the scenery of which conduces to the lofty- 
 flights of sublime imagery. The soul is there ever thrilled 
 by those scenes which superinduce poetry and oratory. — 
 Tom AVash Smith, in The Baltimore Herald. 
 
72 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 PAYTON'S RIDE. 
 
 Dedicated to Mr. Tom "Wash Smith, Editor of Tlie Baltimore Herald. 
 
 Far lip tlie stream a liero stood, 
 While crushing, rumbling, came the flood ; 
 AVith steed at hand he mounted high, 
 Down, down the stream he raised the cry: 
 *'Fly for your life I the flood is nigh ! 
 The lake's death-wave is rolling high !" 
 On, on he rode, with fearless sj)eed, 
 While frothing, foaming, flew his steed. 
 
 Swift on liis track came rumbling sounds ; 
 High on the waves came floating towns, 
 AVith living, dying, and the dead, 
 And shrieking, crying, on they sped. 
 The hero's horse, with swift-jDlied feet, 
 FleAv wildly thro' the Johnstown streets ; 
 ^'The dam has ])urst I" he loudly cried, 
 "And towns are floating on the tide I 
 
 "Fly for your life ! the river's wratli 
 Is sweeping down a deadly path !" 
 And ouAvard flew the hatless man ; 
 
 "Flv for vour life I the flood 's at hand I" 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 73 
 
 The surging crowd rushed out to see 
 ^Yho this wild maniac could be ; 
 Xo one kncAV him, and some few fled, 
 While others, smiling, felt no dread. 
 
 A clash I a rush I a sullen roar I 
 Down on the town mad waters pour. 
 Strong buildings, like a flimsey shell, 
 Went crushing as the current fell. 
 And, in the twinkling of an eye, 
 A myriad victims, doomed to die, 
 Were struggling 'gainst the foaming Avrath 
 Which swallowed all within its path. 
 
 Pine parlors, halls, and pleasant homes. 
 Were swept like chaff out on the foam. 
 Kich daughters grasped their bands and chains. 
 And diamond rings, and life-time gains ; 
 And lovely mothers, young and fair, 
 And aged ones, with silver}' hair — 
 All struggling in the deathly waves 
 Which dealt no mercy for its slaves. 
 
 A rumbling roar, a grinding sound ; 
 
 He turned his steed from ill-fate ground. 
 
74 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 And urged him on for nearest hills — 
 But waves, had crushed the town and mills. 
 And swept them on tornado speed, 
 And swallowed up the foaming steed. 
 Brave herald, horse, and all, went down 
 With ruins of the late Johnstown. 
 
 "God save the rider I" the people cried. 
 As he went flying down the tide. 
 The prayer was heard — the angry wave 
 Relaxed its grip, gave up the l^rave 
 Who risked his life to warn the town. 
 That they might flee, tho'die be drowned. 
 A nobler act, or famous deed, 
 Was never known on ship or steed. 
 
 ^America should stamp three crowns — 
 
 One for Sheridan, one for Collens Gray, 
 And one for Payton, who warned the towns 
 
 When a myriad souls were swept away. 
 Let history now record his name — 
 
 A Paul Revere, a hero brave. 
 Who caps the pinnacle of fame 
 
 By swift-plied feet before the wave. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 75 
 
 Mk. Davis has a true harp somewhere in the reverberating 
 valJey of his mountain home. He writes poetry as naturally 
 as a brook rolls along to a cascade, some of which will live 
 when he has passed away. The fearless rider who carried 
 the signal of danger to the innocent victims, all unconscious 
 of impending woe, will go into history as imperishable as 
 the unwritten law of human emotion. So long as the heart- 
 beats count quicker numbers at the recital of deeds of daring, 
 just so long will this herald of danger be on the tongue of 
 thrilling stories, and that means forever, or as long as time 
 knows her calendar. Mr. Davis gives out a hint which no 
 doubt is in crayon sketches in many a studio in this broad 
 domain, even while he writes of it. We do not have on our 
 walls the portrait of any hero of ancient or modern times. 
 We worship God, and not man or mammon. But when the 
 painter gives us the picture of that messenger riding to his 
 death, for aught he knew, that others might live, we want 
 a copy of that man on the foaming steed, whose deep pathos 
 is the strongest evidence of the heart that is filled with rap- 
 turous concern for the weal of others; and that interest is 
 above estimate, for it is the affinity, or kinship, of man with 
 his Maker, or, as the theologian would tell you, the full corn 
 in the ear. — Tom Wash Smith, ^// The Bulti more Herald. 
 
76 S0NC4S OF THE AGE. 
 
 "The Lonely Window" and "The Answer" is a por- 
 tion of a play written by the author of this book, in which 
 Mrs. Taylor Ward, (then about twenty-one years of age,) 
 represented " Nellie," and in which she showed remarkable 
 talent for the stage. The writer of the play represented 
 " Col. Whitaker ;" " Nellie " and himself taking the leading 
 parts, assisted by twenty-two ladies and gentlemen. The 
 play represented the separation, the absence of three years, 
 and the return. 
 
 THE LONELY WINDOW. 
 
 Dedicated to Mrs. Taylor AYard. 
 
 By tlie lonely window sit I here 
 
 And listen to the autumn sigh, 
 While shining- hosts of stars so fair, 
 
 Bedeck the soft ethereal sky ; 
 Their beauties call to mind again 
 
 The absent friend, so dear to me, 
 Which fills my lonely heart with pain. 
 
 And wafts my thoughts across the sea. 
 
 I watch the slowly setting sun, 
 
 And hail with joy the morning ray, 
 
 Each moment nearing your return ; 
 Thus time drags YYearily away ; 
 
 1 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 77 
 
 And when alone, I think of thee, 
 
 And pray that God may spare your life, 
 
 And guide you safely back to me — 
 Your lonely friend, your faithful wife. 
 
 And in the silent shades of night, 
 
 AVhen gilded moon shines soft and fair. 
 In some bright dream again take flight 
 
 To China— for my heart is there. 
 But when I waken from my dream, 
 
 I find a lonely, vacant chair; 
 Oh ! could I fly across the stream, 
 
 How gladly would I meet you there. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 SONG OF THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 T Avas calm and still upon the sea, 
 Blue skies without a cloud. 
 
 And all on board sang merrily. 
 
 While through the deep we plowed ; 
 
 But soon we saw terrific clouds, 
 And vivid lightning flash ; 
 
78 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 'Xeath thunder's howl the ocean bow'd, 
 
 And waves began to splash; 
 Then mid-night darkness 
 
 Eclipsed the noon-day sun, 
 While mountain waves came rolling l)ack, 
 
 And lo I our sails were gone. 
 
 But still Ave heard the thunder's roar 
 
 Amid the wind-torn clouds, 
 While rain in torrents downward pour'd. 
 
 And every knee was bow'd ; 
 We sank beneath the rolling waves 
 
 Which swept our naked deck, 
 Then rose again, and all were saved. 
 
 Though but a fearful wreck. 
 Then raging billows 
 
 Swept us on the shore. 
 It seem'd that all the timbers broke. 
 
 Amid one crash and roar. 
 
 . We drifted there uj^on the shore. 
 When starving seem'd our doom, 
 
 It was an isle Avhere long before 
 A crew was left to roam. 
 
 Their bleaching bones were near the wreck, 
 Their sails had crumbled down. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 79 
 
 And jnst beneath the shattered deck 
 Their pearls and gold were found. 
 
 Oh I horrid picture, 
 
 Which hangs on that dread shore, 
 
 It seemed our doom was sure the same, 
 (Three hundred men or more). 
 
 Eor days we watched the rolling sea, 
 
 AYith but scant rations drawn, 
 AVhen lo ! the flag of liberty 
 
 Was seen in early dawn ; 
 They were my faithful navy boys. 
 
 In search of our lost crew. 
 Whose hearts were glad and full of joy, 
 
 AVheni near our wreck they drew. 
 Out on the ocean 
 
 Again we quickly sailed, 
 With milk and wine our bowls to All, 
 
 While Ave rove through the gale. 
 
 We then returned to China's shore, 
 
 With gems which we had found 
 While on this isle, where long before 
 
 A wreck was throAvn aground. 
 But now my thoughts return to thee ; 
 
 Sure I Avould give my gold 
 
80 sonctS of the age. 
 
 To hear thee speak one word to me. 
 Or half thy charms behohl. 
 
 Oh ! dearest Nellie, 
 Do not weep for me, 
 
 The time is short when I again 
 Your lovely face shall see. 
 
 My dearest wife, weep not for me. 
 
 My stay will soon l)e o'er. 
 Then I shall plow the rolling sea. 
 
 To my loved native shore. 
 I long to- meet with yon, my dear. 
 
 Thy lovely features trace. 
 And wdpe away the briny tears 
 
 That stealeth doAvn thy face. 
 Then, dearest Nellie, 
 
 Do not weep for me. 
 My vessel soon shall plow again 
 
 The rough and rolling sea. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 81 
 
 DEAR BESSIE OF OHIO. 
 
 ']^o^v, boys and girls, this is for you, 
 And sure it is a story true, 
 The cause for it we coald not tell — 
 Perhaps some owl knew very well. 
 ^T was night, and I accompanied late 
 Miss Bessie, of Ohio State. 
 Dear Bessie was a pretty girl, 
 I loved her best in all the world. 
 
 As I Avas young, and knew no better. 
 And she disposed to chat still later. 
 My love grew deeper all the while — 
 For she was witty, and dressed in style — 
 And on her smiles she wore a charm. 
 Which plainly said she knew no harm ; 
 80 Cupid's arrow, first and last. 
 Had pierced my heart and bound it fast. 
 
 For hours the folks had gone to bed — 
 Her mother's room just over head — 
 The clock had marked the hour of ten, 
 AYhen flying, squalling, came a hen, 
 Came dashing 'gainst the parlor door ; 
 Then all was still, we heard no more ; 
 
82 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 A flying turkey thumped the wall, 
 And on the ground Ave heard it fall. 
 
 Another fell, thump ! in the yard. 
 Her mother screamed, "Oh, my dear Lord ! 
 For God's sake, Bessie, go and see 
 What all that clattering can he !" 
 Then flying guineas made such a noise. 
 Disturbed the slumber of the boys ; 
 With lamp in hand, they all came down. 
 Old lady in a long white gown. 
 
 Then Bessie, dear, to my surprise, 
 Hung her sweet hands close o'er my eyes ; 
 But in the yard they hunted round. 
 And turkeys, chickens, guineas found ; 
 Some were dead, and some were dying. 
 Others squalling, others flying ; 
 But, all in all, it was a time 
 T never told, but now, in rhyme. 
 
 But, as the ages creep along, 
 I place dear Bessie in my song. 
 And take a glimpse back in the past. 
 When loved her first and loved her last. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 83 
 
 Did I go back, yon mean to say ? 
 Oh no ! ne'er saw her from that clay, 
 Bnt often wished to he surprised 
 By her sweet hands hung o'er my eyes. 
 
 Bnt then, perhaps, if we shonkl meet. 
 The fowls might flutter at our feet, 
 A sacrificial offer make. 
 To mean their dying for our sake; 
 But let the cause be what it might, 
 The trouble came that fatal night, 
 And we took warning, there and tlien. 
 To never, never meet again. 
 
 Now, boys, this is a hint for 3^ou, 
 And sure it is a story true. 
 For Cupid's arrow, like a dart. 
 Goes piercing thro' the youthful heart, 
 But leaves behind a road of thorns, 
 Never stops and never warns, 
 But, like the story I have told. 
 Oft leaves its victims in tlie cold. 
 
 You know the welcome strains of our Highland friend, 
 whose songs are so full of pathos and happy symphony. We 
 wish he would write more frequently.— Tom Wash Smith, 
 in The Bdltimore Ilerakl. 
 
84 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 \ 
 
 CENTENNIAL YEARS. 
 
 Dedicated to My Son-in-Law, Attorney A. L, Taylor. 
 
 As time moves on, from stage to stage, 
 
 The great events of years gone bv 
 Live in the heart of this great age 
 
 As treasnrecl gifts from God on high. 
 Centennial Year of Seventy-Six 
 
 Was crowned with arts from all the world. 
 And kings and statesmen intermixed 
 
 'Neath freedom's flag, prondly nnfurled. 
 
 And all the nations, far and near, 
 
 Loaned helping hands to celebrate 
 Events of that Centennial Year 
 
 Which formed the great United States. 
 Our flag, in years one hundred old. 
 
 There waved o'er greatest skill on earth. 
 While kingly nations, grand and old, 
 
 Were dross beside our nation's worth. 
 
 The Corliss, run by Fulton's steam. 
 The nations spoke by Morse's wire ; 
 
 Now Edison sends a wond'rous gleam 
 More brilliant than the sun or fire. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 85 
 
 The crown is due Columbia's land 
 For use of steam and lightning wire, 
 
 The telephone, from Edison's hand, 
 And city lights by friction fire. 
 
 The next in turn comes Eighty-Nine, 
 
 The President Centennial Year, 
 Events of which may now remind 
 
 The Revolutionary tear. 
 'T was then the mighty hero came 
 
 Who led the great victorious war — 
 He figured high in national fame 
 
 To shield the flag which bore the stars. 
 
 He comes through towns ablaze with hre, 
 
 His path is strewn with maiden's flowers. 
 Triumphant arches fringed on wire. 
 
 In honor of the eventful hours. 
 He comes, the mighty Father comes. 
 
 Vast armies crowd and cannons roar, 
 The way is cheered by fife and drum 
 
 And armies that he led before. 
 
 He comes — he steps upon the stage. 
 He takes the oath as Freedom's King, 
 
86 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Or Ruler, of tliat happy age 
 
 When freedom's songs began to ring. 
 
 He comes — fonr million freemen stand 
 To welcome him who victories won, 
 
 And severed Britain's iron band — 
 
 He comes — and lo ! 't is Washington ! 
 
 And now the Century Year is done ; 
 
 A sixty million nation hails 
 With pride the day its years begun. 
 
 When Federal Hall the Chief unveiled. 
 From thence the national sky was clear. 
 
 The ship, complete, launched on the §eas, 
 And now she's sailed one hundred years, 
 
 AVith victory crowning every breeze. 
 
 All hail! Columbia's Freedom hail! 
 
 Let now another century run. 
 And may the ship stem every gale 
 
 And warlike storm that clouds her sun, 
 'Till kingly crowns shall rust and fall, 
 
 And monarchs blush with national shame. 
 And may the Goddess groAv so tall 
 
 That all the world may see the flame. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 87 
 
 DISCOVERY OF ELK CREEK. 
 
 Through dreamy woods two hunters strolled, 
 
 Where man had never trod before, 
 And through the forest, gray and old, 
 
 A river bent around the shore ; 
 And as they neared the silvery stream, 
 
 They looked down thro' the mossy wood. 
 And in the centre of the scene 
 
 A herd of forest cattle stood. 
 
 The woodsman fired ; one, bleeding, fell ; 
 
 They slightly stirred, but no alarm, 
 AVhence came the roar they could not tell. 
 
 But never dreamed of slightest harm. 
 They knew not death by weapons small ; 
 
 They often heard the thunder's roar. 
 And rumbling timbers as they fell — 
 
 But deadly rifles, ne'er before. 
 
 Again they fired, and still they fell ; 
 
 They heard their bleeding comrades groan, 
 But how came death they could not tell, 
 
 Yet all the herd was dead save one ; 
 
88 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 He shook his woolly mane and lied. 
 Affrighted by the odions smell, 
 
 But circled round his bleeding dead ; 
 The woodsman fired, the seventh fell. 
 
 And then they neared the river's shore, 
 
 Which bent its course thro' forests deep. 
 Where man had never roamed before, 
 
 And all the forests seemed to sleep. 
 The timbers bent far o'er the stream. 
 
 And clustered down the rustic shore, 
 The noon-day sun was but a gleam 
 
 Through forest shades in streaks to pour, 
 
 "Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, wall !" cried the owl, 
 
 Arousing from his sleepy den; 
 The wolf had raised a hideous howl, 
 
 The panther screamed at sight of men ; 
 Thousands of years those vales had slept. 
 
 Yet murmuring rivers still had flown, 
 Bright Summer smiled and Winter swept 
 
 O'er lands of mineral, oil and stone. 
 
SOXGS OF THE AGE. 89 
 
 SON BILLY. 
 
 When scorcliing fever seized my head, 
 
 Son Billy kindly came to me, 
 He thought it was my dying bed, 
 And he a farm could plainly see. 
 "Dear father, how are you ?" he said ; 
 "Do you my aid or presence need ?" 
 He knew of my unconscious head — 
 He asked me then to make a deed. 
 
 I knew not what my hand had done 
 
 Until my raging fever ceased; 
 Ah ! soon my troubles then begun, 
 
 And long adieu was bid to peace. 
 Son Billy came to me one day — 
 
 'T was at my quiet home of ease — 
 He told me there I could not stay, 
 
 But pull my stakes and leave the keys. 
 
 I asked Son Billy what he meant, 
 
 Thus driving me from friends and home ? 
 "You have no means to pay your rent, 
 So 'I'om, my son, has fixed to come." 
 
i)i) SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 I told Son Billy 't was my home, 
 That I should never, never go. 
 
 Said he, "My deed has sealed your doom. 
 And I will shortly let you know." 
 
 I asked him what he meant by deed, 
 
 AVhen from his pocket he withdrew 
 A paper, and said, "Noav take heed 
 While I this writing read to you." 
 ''Mj God !" said I, "is that my hand ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Bill, "'t is even true." 
 ■"So you are owner of my land, 
 And not a cent to me is duel" 
 
 I then revealed this to my wife. 
 
 For slie was old and feeble, too. 
 And had no means to sustain life, 
 
 And not a cent to her was due ; 
 But yet Son Billy drove us out 
 
 To seek a home where'er w^e could ; 
 We knew not how to go about 
 
 To beg for lodging, clothes and food. 
 
 But friends then told us what to do: 
 We sued Son Billy for our farm ; 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 91 
 
 And then he said, "Now, as 't is yon, 
 I'll feed and clothe yon ; fear no harm." 
 
 ^o Tom gave np onr honse again, 
 And gladly we retnrned once more ; 
 
 Ent Billy still kept all onr land. 
 And nsed ns worse than e'er before. 
 
 For years we lived in sore distress, 
 
 Half clothed, half fed ; and Billy said 
 It cost too mnch to keep ns dressed, 
 
 And often wished we both were dead. 
 My Avife was good and kind to me, 
 
 Provided meals as best she conld, 
 Bnt tears wonld start sometimes at tea, 
 
 When table scant before us stood. 
 
 At last wife's son, who knew the way 
 
 Son Billy always treated us, 
 €ame for my dear to go away. 
 
 And rid her of the lasting fuss. 
 I could not say, "dear Avife, don't go"; 
 
 No, I preferred to die alone. 
 That we might not grieve Billy so 
 
 To dig both graves and spare the room. 
 
92 SONGS OP THE AGE. 
 
 My life was spent a home to gain, 
 
 But now, because my head is gray, 
 A bed of thorns to ease my pain, 
 
 A frown, a curse, a rent to pay. 
 The heathen mobs respect gray hairs. 
 
 The savage beasts have hearts within. 
 But aged parents, bent with cares, 
 
 Are drove from home Avithout a sin. 
 
 KITTY AND THE MOUSE. 
 
 "Oh ! ma, my little kitty 
 
 To-day brought in a micey 
 It never looked so pretty. 
 
 And never played so nice. 
 The mouse would skip around. 
 
 My kitty then Avould run 
 And box the felloAV down, 
 
 Yet did it all in fun. 
 
 "The mouse was swift to learn. 
 And then it stood on end, 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 98 
 
 And tried to box in turn, 
 
 Himself thns to defend. 
 I wish you'd seen it, ma, 
 
 For it from end to end 
 Was less than kitty's paw, 
 
 Yet ready to defend. 
 
 'I'm sure my kitty laughed, 
 
 To see its tiny feet 
 Half lifted, in behalf 
 
 The fate it feared to meet. 
 Then mousey bounced around. 
 
 And kitty boxed his tail. 
 But soon a hole was found. 
 
 And mouse slipped kitty's nail. 
 
 ''Poor kitty looked so bad, 
 
 I'm sure 't was almost sick, 
 But I was really glad 
 
 The mouse had played the trick. 
 For cruel little kitty, 
 
 It loves to skip and play, 
 And never stops to pity 
 
 Whate'er should be its prev." 
 
94 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE, 
 
 Dedicated to Mks. Brell, Corpning. 
 
 Alas ! Earth's brightest gem is gone ; 
 
 And once again the tolling bell 
 For her was rung, so lond and long, 
 
 The mountains echoed back farewelL 
 
 While sadness filled the dreamy air, 
 
 And fields of nature seemed to mourn,. 
 Because the belle of all the fair 
 
 From earth and friends away was torn- 
 Alas ! alas ! she sleepeth now, 
 
 Amid the tombs beneath the clay. 
 While golden locks bedeck the brow, 
 
 80 pale and fleeting fast away. 
 
 This mirrored shadow of that form, 
 Though sweetly fair, with ringlets gold. 
 
 Is but a feint of nature's charm. 
 With eyes revealing love untold. 
 
 Oh, piercing eyes ! my very soul 
 
 Now shrinks beneath thy ardent gaze,. 
 
SONGS OP THE AGE. 9,5, 
 
 For all thy charms I still beheld, 
 And read in them of gone-by davs. 
 
 The days when Cupid's magic power 
 Had stamped this image on my heart,. 
 
 And in return that blissful hour, 
 She took with me a lover's part. 
 
 Though lovers still were only friends^ 
 
 Yet of a stamp forever true, 
 But fate decrees and friendship ends^ 
 
 Still forms appear in brighter hue. 
 
 LAMENTATION. 
 
 Dedicated to Mus. Charley Hill, GaUipolis, Ohio. 
 
 We often shed a burning tear 
 When thinking o'er the past ; 
 
 While friends so dear doth lineer near. 
 Sad thoughts come rushing fast. 
 
 Amid the thorny branch we find 
 Sweet flowers fresh and gay ; 
 
96 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 80 kindred friends, beloved and kind, 
 Make bright the gloomy day. 
 
 There 's something in a kindred love 
 That words cannot express; 
 
 We feel this pang when dear ones leave- 
 Bound for the "Golden AVest." 
 
 Yet, fated thus, it seems to be 
 
 That friends most dear must part ; 
 
 So chilling sighs are felt for thee. 
 And sadness fills the heart. 
 
 That merry birds may sweetly sing, 
 And flowers look fresh and gay ; 
 
 Yet painful partings leave a sting 
 For time to wear away. 
 
 The rose-tint cloud in beauty swells 
 
 Beneath the starry gleam, 
 Then vanish, like that hope which tells 
 
 Us pleasure 's l)ut a dream. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 97 
 
 THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 
 
 This iiMtion's bird a home doth seek 
 
 AVhere craggy cliffs stand towering high, 
 And honors bnt the hoary peaks 
 
 That seem to kiss the distant sky ; 
 And when she spreads her golden wings 
 
 To hear her onward throngh the gale, 
 She soars away beyond the ring 
 
 Of village bells thronghont the vale. 
 
 This was her home when heathen gloom 
 
 Had run its course from sea to sea, 
 And nations dreamed there was no room 
 
 To plant a Hag of liberty ; 
 But sons of England plowed the wave, 
 
 And pitched their tent in heathen lands, 
 While England followed to enslave. 
 
 And bound them with her iron bands. 
 
 In cabin homes for years they dwelt, 
 While l)Owing to the British crown ; 
 
 Oppression sore, long years they felt, 
 Till yielding place no more they found. 
 
98 son(tS of the age. 
 
 With one accord they boldly spoke, 
 
 And cried tiloud for liberty ; 
 Determined to throw off" the yoke, 
 
 And lighting, die, or else be free. 
 
 With Washington placed at the head, 
 
 The father of onr happy land. 
 The starry blue and eagle led 
 
 That gallant little patriot band. 
 They saw old Britain's flashing steel. 
 
 And heard the cannon's snllen roar ; 
 Yet dashed they o'er the gory held 
 
 With shouts of " Onward to the shore !" 
 
 The God of Victory crowned their blows. 
 
 They drove them back o'er land and sea. 
 They humbled low our haughty foes, 
 
 And gave this land to lil)erty. 
 Thus brave and true, with numl^ers small. 
 
 They drove the British from our shore. 
 And raised our eagle banner tall, 
 
 'J'hat here shall wave forever more. 
 
 She led them through the cruel war, 
 To victory's undying fame. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 99 
 
 And then iiniid the thirteen stars 
 She perched to rest and to remain. 
 
 May God forbid that she shall fall 
 Disgracefully and lose her trust, 
 
 Or freedom's banner, shield of all. 
 Be soiled or trampled in the dust. 
 
 For it protects brave freedom's land, 
 
 The proudest nation in the world. 
 The States are knit l)y union band, 
 
 x\nd pledged to keep the stripes unfurled. 
 The roaring tide of wealth rolls on 
 
 From State to State, and sea to sea. 
 And as the sun crowns each neAv dawn, 
 
 New millions crown homes of the free. 
 
 We envy our poet friend ; his home is soul-inspiring, and 
 we cannot wonder tliat he should occasionally strike his 
 harp with metres akin to immortal bards of sculptured 
 fame. — Tom AVash Smith, in The Baltimore Herald. 
 
100 SONGt^ OK THE AGE. 
 
 'T IS MY ONLY KITTY, MOTHER. 
 
 Tune— "Infant School." 
 
 Now is it not ii i)ity, 
 
 For a little child as I, 
 To send my little kitty 
 
 Out in the cold to cry ? 
 
 Chorus. — Oh I 1 can't let it g-o, 
 
 Out in the cold and snow ; 
 I love my little kitty so, 
 I cannot let her go. 
 
 . Oh ! mother, please to let it be, 
 
 It sings to me so sweet, 
 And in the morning you shall see 
 It prance around my feet. 
 
 Cho. — Oh I I can't let it go, &c. 
 
 It lays its feet upon my breast, 
 And sleeps with me content. 
 
 Now, mother, how could kitty rest. 
 If in the snow its sent? 
 
 Cho.— Oh ! I can't let her go, &c 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 101 
 
 You know that kitty catches mice, 
 
 Out 'neath the okl barn floor, 
 Then skips along o'er snow and ice, 
 
 To reach my l)ed-room door. 
 
 Cho.— Oh I I can't let her o(), ^c. 
 
 Then cover u]) your kitty dear, 
 
 I could not make it go. 
 And have my darling waste a tear 
 
 For kitty in the snow. 
 
 (*HO. — No, I can't make it go. 
 
 And grieve my darling so ; 
 You love your little kitty so, 
 I can't make it go. 
 
 I thank you now, my dearest mother, 
 
 And kitty thanks you, too, 
 For it will sleep with me and brotliei", 
 
 While papa sleeps with you. 
 Cho. — For I can't let it o-o, eS:c. 
 
102 t^o^■o^* of the AiiE. 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 A Scene on the Writer's; Farm. 
 
 A little brook, with beauties grand, 
 
 Comes rippling from a mountain spring. 
 
 And winds its way o'er stone and sand 
 
 Through Avoods where birds melodious sing. 
 
 Through time unknown to days of man. 
 This murmuring stream has found its way. 
 
 And cut a ravine through the land, 
 A link in nature's grand display. 
 
 And interwoven timl^er bends 
 
 In wreathy arches o'er the walls, 
 Through which this little brook descends, 
 
 To make its leap down o'er the falls. 
 
 It rushes doAvn its winding stair, 
 A bold and sparkling silvery sheet ; 
 
 It .sends its mist into the air. 
 And forms a rainbow at its feet. 
 
 By little streams the chasm cliff 
 Is worn to grains of drifting sand. 
 
 And angry waters foam and drift 
 
 Through wouderous wall not made bv hand. 
 
SONGIS OF THE AGE. 108 
 
 And man looks back tlirongh time unknown 
 To date the wonderous streamlet hand, 
 
 Which sculptured chasm wall of stone, 
 And wore its chips to g-rains of sand. 
 
 But could the work a life had done 
 
 Be seen by eyes of mortal man, 
 The sands that crumble one l)v one 
 
 Could e([ual not the busy hand. 
 
 Though life is short, man leaves the stage, 
 As though his wonderous work was done, 
 
 Another man, another age. 
 
 Proves that his work has just l)egun. 
 
 So like the mystic cataract stream 
 
 Which floAVS a myriad years through sand, 
 
 The .world 's adrift l)y light and stream, 
 The work of ages, brain and hand. 
 
104 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 THE MAN WHO NEVER STOPS TO THINK. 
 
 The man who never stops to think, 
 Nor count the valued time that 's lost, 
 
 Oft chews tobacco, smokes or drinks, 
 Regardless of result or cost. 
 
 The man who never stops to think 
 Just how to manage business best, 
 
 Rush heedless down the ruinous brink 
 Of bankruptcy and unsuccess. 
 
 The man who never stops to think 
 
 How much he spends or what he makes, 
 
 Is apt to make a gradual sink 
 
 Down, drifting to a ruinous l)reak. 
 
 The man who never stops to think 
 . That educated men must work. 
 Is wasting time with all fools in 
 
 Just learning how with ease to clerk. 
 
SON(iS OF THE AGE. 
 
 lO.") 
 
 A LESSON. 
 
 A lesson might be learned from word : 
 A large fine steer within my herd 
 Stands near the stack, and never bawls, 
 But watch the fork, when first it falls. 
 He stands by the first bunch of hay. 
 While others hook around and play ; 
 He never runs and tramps around. 
 And tramps the hay in muddy ground ; 
 He eats, while others run and bawl. 
 And seeks for l)unches not so small. 
 He's always fat, smooth, sleek and round, 
 While others lank would seem unsound. 
 A lesson here there is no doubt. 
 If you will try to find it out. 
 
1 «( 
 
 PKRT III. 
 
 t 
 
 107 
 
MRS. JOSIE B. TAYLOR. 
 
Songs of the Age. 
 
 THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Dedicated to My Daughter, Mrs. Josie 13. Tay[,()U. 
 
 Fare thee well, my dearest inotber, 
 
 Love's straDge fancy bids me go ; 
 Had to leave tliee for another, 
 
 Yet I conld not iinswer no. 
 Friends most dear now linger round me, 
 
 Oh I this pain words cannot tell ; 
 Childhood's home, how dear I love thee, 
 
 Yet I l)id thee all farewell. 
 
 Kindred friends and friends of childhood. 
 
 And the scenes I lovetl so well, 
 Cluster round me like the wildwood 
 
 Frinaino- round tlie little dell. 
 Golden forest of the highland. 
 
 Spring time l)irds with thrilling song, 
 Bold rushing stream o'er bars and sand. 
 
 Cheered mv life when years seemed long. 
 
 llHt 
 
110 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The landscape painting 'gainst the wall, 
 
 Beneath the frescoed ceiling, 
 Which made impressions while yet small, 
 
 Before my eyes are stealing. 
 Yet I mnst leave thee, and forever, 
 
 Trnst myself to another's care. 
 Yet onr hearts we cannot sever, 
 
 I shall ever love thee dear. 
 
 Then, dear mother, will yon miss me. 
 
 When the well known lamps are lit, 
 And will yon wait for me at tea 
 
 When the table chairs are set? 
 'J'hongh I shall not hear thy sweet voice. 
 
 While with new friends I may roam. 
 Yet shall be happy with my choice. 
 
 And wish for thee at my home. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. Ill 
 
 MAMMOTH CAVE. 
 
 Beneath the rock, dark as the grave, 
 
 Where endless rivers flow, 
 Kentucky boasts the Mammoth Cave, 
 
 And Avaters pure as snow. 
 
 No eye hath seen its fountain rise. 
 Yet fish swim in the stream — 
 
 But destitute are they of eyes, 
 For light hath never gleamed. 
 
 It is a world within a world, 
 And who can tell how vast ; 
 
 Twelve miles exploring crews unfurled 
 Their banner in the past. 
 
 A voice of many waters speak 
 Of danger 'neath the walls. 
 And further man would fear to seek, 
 '^lid caves and roaring falls. 
 
 What style of man beyond the shore 
 Of that dark, raging stream. 
 
 Is for the Fairies to explore, 
 And paint in golden dream. 
 
112 SONG8 OF THE AGE. 
 
 UNCLE SAM 
 
 Now, Uncle Sam a bride he took, 
 To represent his wealth and pride ; 
 
 She turns the pages of his book, 
 And finds no nation by his side. 
 
 She stands arrayed in bridal robe, 
 
 The style of crown she there would bring. 
 
 She looks out over all the globe, 
 
 And plucks a quill from eagle's wing. 
 
 She looks above our nation's head, 
 The nation's emblem there unfurled ; 
 
 She reads the lines — blue, white and red — 
 The proudest nation of the world. 
 
 The Goddess standing by her side 
 
 Sends light of freedom o'er the world ; 
 
 She looks away across the tide, 
 
 To bless the flag that France unfurled. 
 
 And so they standeth, three in one. 
 Representing power, wealth and fame. 
 
 To hold the Union as begun, 
 But adding fuel to the flame. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 113 
 
 Old England's envy liveth long, 
 And Uncle Sam doth know it well ; 
 
 He stands, with sixty millions strong. 
 Her useless noise and boasts to quell. 
 
 The Lion stands on England's shore. 
 
 Growling at the American Bear ; 
 The Bear fears not his hideous roar. 
 
 While Stars and Stripes float in the air. 
 
 SOUTH CAROLINA'S FIRST BALL. 
 
 At Washington, in Relic Hall, 
 Amid the relics quaint and old, 
 
 AYe saw Carolina's challenge ball, 
 
 Which set the war train, death, to roll. 
 
 Two balls flew from two warriors' guns- 
 One from the Gray, one from the Blue 
 
 Met in the air, weld into one, 
 
 Symboling North and South anew. 
 
114 SONGS OP THE AGE. 
 
 THE AWAKENING OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Presented to Rev. J. L. Hoffman, A. M. 
 
 The silvery dew-drops kissed the rose. 
 Then slyly steals within its fold, 
 
 To wake it from its sweet repose, 
 And variegate with rain-bow gold. 
 
 The voice of conscience, ever still, 
 Yet whispers to the sin-dark soul ; 
 
 The soul awake, with love is filled. 
 And heavenly pages unfold. 
 
 The germ which seemingly Avas dead, 
 
 Like rose-buds, which the dew-drops kiss. 
 
 Awakes to feed on livins* bread 
 
 And drink the wine of heavenly bliss. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 115 
 
 Had I the oratorical powers of a Webster, and the genius 
 of a Shakespeare, I could never paint the scene nor 
 describe the sweet and charming ring of the song, as it 
 appeared in this wonderful dream. It was simply beyond 
 all human imagination. 
 
 STRANGE BUT TRUE. 
 
 Presented to Prof. Rufus Holden, 
 
 Once ill the silent shades of dreiiin, 
 I saw a strange but glorious sight : 
 
 A silvery cloud hung in a gleam, 
 
 The heavens burnt with golden light. 
 
 The clouds moved slowly in the sky, 
 But grading doAvn, adown it came ; 
 
 A moment then, and stopped on high, 
 And disappeared like blown-out flame. 
 
 It left a troop on angel wings, 
 
 Who, like a cloud, slight seemed to rise ; 
 They tuned their silvery tongues to sing. 
 
 While floating through the golden skies : 
 
116 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 "I will arise and go to Jesus ; 
 
 He will embrace me in His arms ; 
 In the arms of my dear Saviour, 
 
 Oh ! there are ten thousand charms." 
 
 Oh I Lord, that I could sing that song ; 
 
 That men of earth might hear the sound 
 As it reached from that throng. 
 
 While up they rose and circled round. 
 
 Their song is one we know so well. 
 And often sung at church by choir. 
 
 When new-born souls their glory tell. 
 As light gleams from the heavenly fire. 
 
 Their song grew loud, and louder still ; 
 
 My soul was charmed with sound and sight ; 
 Their golden wings, slight moved at will, 
 
 Their brightness burnt the shades of night. 
 
 Then round and round, away on high. 
 Their song grew faint, but sweeter still ; 
 
 They climbed the stairway of the sky. 
 To reach bright heaven's golden hill. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 117 
 
 Their forms grew small, and smaller still ; 
 
 Their song stopped with a bell-ring tone ; 
 They lit npon the golden hill, 
 
 AVhere silvery streets lead to the throne. 
 
 Then of this vision all was gone ; 
 
 The heavens closed the golden light ; 
 Yet, tranquilly, the song went on, 
 
 Through happy slumbers of the night. 
 
 I saw no more, but heard the ring. 
 And many days and weeks passed by, 
 
 And still I heard the angels sing 
 Behind that painting in the sky. 
 
 MY OWN BRONZY, DEAR. 
 
 Let me go, let me go. 
 To my own native home. 
 
 Where the light bark we row. 
 And the wild forest roam. 
 
118 80NGS OF THE AGE, 
 
 Where my own Bronzy, dear, 
 And our papoosey, Blone, 
 
 Watch and wait for my care, 
 Or they die there alone. 
 
 There the bright, shiny moon 
 Through the forest so deep. 
 
 Sends the bear and the 'coon 
 To our fiekl while we sleep. 
 
 And my own Bronzy, dear. 
 Has no strength for the bow. 
 
 The wild varmints to clear. 
 So, dear braves, let me go. 
 
 There the beautiful stream 
 Flows through the wild glen. 
 
 And the theme of our dream, 
 No harm the pale-faced men. 
 
 But we show friendly face. 
 And we treat white man kind. 
 
 And w^e go to the place 
 
 Where the game they do find. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. ^^ 
 
 And my own Bronzy, dear, 
 With a heart pure as snow. 
 
 Drops for them friendly tear, 
 So, white braves, let me go. 
 
 Go thy way, red man's son. 
 Seek thy own Bronzy, dear. 
 
 And with thee take my gun, 
 The Avild varmints to clear. 
 
 ROSY HILL. 
 
 Love thoughts come stealing o'er my brain. 
 As dreams run back to youthful days. 
 
 And wish to live life o'er again, 
 'Mid lovely scenes so far away. 
 
 'Mid rolling fields and widening plain, 
 And golden forest fringed with pine. 
 
 Near Rosy Hill there I'd remain. 
 
 And that dear Forest should be mine. 
 
120 SONGS OP THE AGE. 
 
 I loved those shades, I loved those plains ; 
 
 I loved that grove above the mill ; 
 I loved the pines arching the lanes, 
 
 But most of all loved Rosy Hill. 
 
 There was a-bloom a sweet bower Rose, 
 And of the form there was no ill ; 
 
 The son there set, the son there rose, 
 For that fair Rose bloomed on a Hill. 
 
 And this fair Hill was just at home. 
 Beyond the plain, with forest deep. 
 
 Where moonbeams lit the path we roamed, 
 When ghostly shadows seemed to creep. 
 
 The rising son there kissed the Rose, 
 And Rosy blushed like burnished gold. 
 
 And then a hue of sweet repose 
 
 Told more than shades or blush unfold. 
 
 Ohio boasts of widening plains, 
 Of rivers bold and sites to build ; 
 
 But of them all, it still remains 
 That I preferred the Rosy Hill. 
 
S0M(4S OF THE AGE. 121 
 
 I rambled o'er the mighty plain, 
 
 With swamp and bog and rippling rill ; 
 
 AVest Virginia stealing o'er my brain, 
 I'd risked my life to gain a Hill. 
 
 TO MRS. J. HAMILTON, 
 
 Maysville, Kentucky. 
 
 This mirrored shadow in the frame, 
 A faint resemblance of thy charm. 
 
 When beauty won for thee a name. 
 
 Unstained by fault, unstained by harm. 
 
 Thy youthful bloom, expression sweet, 
 A loving glance from lovely eyes, 
 
 Still bears a charm for those they meet, 
 Which from pure innocence can rise. 
 
 Oh, happy man who shares thy love, 
 And blessed be thy daughters still, 
 
 Who seek the power from above. 
 To love thee more and do thv will. 
 
123 SONGS OF THE AOE. 
 
 And blessed be thine only son, 
 
 Whose bnsiness life just now is new ; 
 
 Long may his prosperous business run, 
 And live for self, but more for you. 
 
 Oh, lovely scenes so far away. 
 
 When you and I Avere scarce nineteen. 
 
 The pleasures of that youthful day 
 Have lived like shades of evergreen. 
 
 The years have dropped like golden sands. 
 And left their trail of silvery gray. 
 
 Yet severs not the golden band 
 Of kindred love in youthful day. 
 
 ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 'T is but one hundred years ago 
 
 Since daring white men sought this land ; 
 Then here was found the buffalo. 
 
 And savage Indian bands. 
 The forest drooped o'er winding streams. 
 
 The lonesome woods were calm and still. 
 Presenting but a lifeless dream. 
 
 Beyond the eyes of skill. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 128 
 
 The hills were chid with giant oaks, 
 
 The lovely vales were draped in l)loom, 
 When white man's gun the silence broke 
 
 Amid the heathen's home. 
 The red man showed a friendly face, 
 
 And pledged his honor to be true, 
 But, like the honor of his race. 
 
 His pledge too soon Avas due. 
 
 Xo mercy shown to prisoners then, 
 
 No army stood to face the foe. 
 But forts were built, thus to defend 
 
 Them, ninety years ago. 
 The Indian warrior scaled these vales, 
 
 They trailed our hunters in the snow, 
 And now we tell the warrior's tale 
 
 Of ninety years ago. 
 
 The years have dropped like golden sands, 
 
 And every day brought something new, 
 Till light of men throughout the land, 
 
 Gleams through the nightly dew. 
 The world is hooped Avith lightning wire. 
 
 The rivers flow above the rail. 
 The mountain swallows steam and tire. 
 
 And trains sweep on the rail. 
 
124 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The white man's axe has swept the hills, 
 
 And towns have grown within the vale; 
 The monntain streams are lined with mills, 
 
 The world 's adrift with mail. 
 The Indian warriors westward drift. 
 
 Like mist before the rising snn, 
 Their puny arm once more they lift, 
 
 Ere long their race is run. 
 
 NIAGARA. 
 
 I stood upon the wond'rous shore. 
 
 Where foaming billows racing roll, 
 And muffled thunder loudly pour 
 
 From out the current gorge of old. 
 The raging river down the steep, 
 
 Kolling, foaming, roaring, boiling. 
 And thence to take the mighty leap. 
 
 Plunging down in mist recoiling. 
 
 Canadian plains seem far away. 
 
 The Cliftain House stood grand and bold, 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 135 
 
 The Sim closed down on Canada 
 
 With streaks of light and burnished gold. 
 
 We climbed the winding time-worn tower, 
 Which rose above the misty falls, 
 
 Where rolling sheets with endless power 
 Leap from the woiid'rons curving walls. 
 
 A ship-of-Avar there made a leap, 
 
 Down, plunging like a spear of steel, 
 Which could not rise from out the deep. 
 
 The depths of wonder to reveal. 
 Some flimsy splinters, brown and green, 
 
 Rose to the surface with the foam, 
 And of the wreck that 's all was seen 
 
 Of what was once a warrior's home. 
 
 There red men offered sacrifice, 
 
 And lots were cast among the girls, 
 And f ringy wreaths and flowers nice, 
 
 Placed in her boat to leave the world. 
 It fell upon the chieftain's child, 
 
 And she the last of all his race ; 
 She took her seat 'mid flowers wild. 
 
 While tears stole down the chieftain's face. 
 
12() 
 
 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Her boat was pushed from off the shore, 
 
 'Mid Indian screams and cheering loud, 
 The chief then lit a boat with oar, 
 
 And like a streak the current plowed, 
 He reached his child above the fall, 
 
 And there each other they embraced, 
 Then waved farew^ell to one and all. 
 
 While tears stole down each bronzy face. 
 
 Yet they believed a hunting ground 
 
 Was in the golden far away. 
 Where blooming forests ere abound, 
 
 And time is but an endless day. 
 Each year they sent their proxy on, 
 
 A blooming girl and l)oat of flowers, 
 And worshipped at the early dawn, 
 
 The symbol falls with endless powers. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 127 
 
 KISS HER, QUICK, YOU LITTLE GOOSE! 
 
 At sight I loved Miss Nellie dear, 
 
 And Polly parrot loved her, too. 
 I courted both for one long year, 
 
 And Polly, too, was ever true. 
 She said one day : "I is your friend, 
 
 And Nellie, dear, does love you, too." 
 So first and last, and to the end. 
 
 Miss Polly's chat was ever new. 
 
 She watched us close, she 'd steal our words, 
 
 And tell them to a laughing crowd ; 
 Yet I to others much preferred, 
 
 And of her Nellie ever proud. 
 My timid soul more timid grew. 
 
 And oh ! I loved Miss Nellie dear ; 
 But, then, if Polly only knew. 
 
 She 'd surely tell it everyAvhere. 
 
 The train I rode went half -past nine ; 
 When parting, oft I wished to say : 
 "Oh ! Nellie, dear, wilt thou be mine ?" 
 But there was Polly in tlie way. 
 
128 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The last of June, a lovely day, 
 
 The summer-house was sweet with l)loom ; 
 There we, as lovers, hid away — 
 
 Left busy Polly in the room. 
 
 But Polly stole within a fold, 
 
 And perched on trellis over-head, 
 With eyes set in two rings of gold. 
 
 And no deaf ear to what was said, 
 k^till as the ghost of thistle flowers, 
 
 Our strutting little Polly stood, 
 And caught each sacred word of ours. 
 
 And all our secrets understood. 
 
 The hour drew near "the parting nine," 
 My stammering tongue refused to go ; 
 At last I said : "Wilt thou be mine ?" 
 "Oh, sir, I cannot answer no." 
 "Kiss her, kiss her, quick, you little goose!" 
 I kissed her, quick, the clock struck nine, 
 And then my stammering tongue was loose. 
 And Nellie, dear, was ever mine. 
 
80NGS OF THE AGE. 120 
 
 RESULT OF THOUGHT. 
 
 Dedicated to My Brothcr-in-Law, Hon. Valentine Langfitte. 
 
 Two bright-eyed boys were sent to school 
 
 Through all their happy youthful days ; 
 Were governed by the golden rule 
 
 At home, in school, and in their plays. 
 Their kingly mansion, near a town, 
 
 Looked out upon a crystal stream. 
 Which coursed its banks, the eastern bounds 
 
 Of mills their father ran by steam. 
 
 The fringe of Avealth hung at the door. 
 
 And two bright boys alone to train, 
 1'he craving heart could ask no more 
 
 In poiut of wealth and earthly gain ; 
 So wealth and pride great efforts made 
 
 To train these boys for wealth and fame, 
 And parents sought wise teachers' aid. 
 
 Whose merits won for them a name. 
 
 These twdns, now sixteen summers' old, 
 
 Sat by their blazing, cozy fire ; 
 One talked and dwelt on themes of gold, 
 
 The other sought a station higher ; 
 
1:^0 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 One spoke of gold behind the baiv 
 
 And rich hotels in city style, 
 The other spoke of church and choir^ 
 
 Renouncing evil all the while. 
 
 They both grew up bright, happy men. 
 
 Each launched his boat upon life's sea ; 
 One took the Bible and the pen, 
 
 The other took the hotel key. 
 For one had watched the parson well, 
 
 Who always dwelt on truth and fame; 
 The other's pride was the hotel, 
 
 Where devils booked the drunkard's name. 
 
 One preached of Christ, the heavenly star, 
 
 And pressed his claims upon the soul ; 
 The other stood behind the bar, 
 
 To barter life and soul for gold. 
 He painted charms upon the wall ; 
 
 He lit his house with brilliant lights; 
 A cordial welcome, one and all, 
 
 To come and spend the pleasant nights. 
 
 His bar Avas on the gilt-edge style. 
 
 His ])illiard room was fringed with gold,. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE, 181 
 
 His card room open all the while, 
 The young and giddy there to mould. 
 
 His house became an evil den, 
 
 His family drifted with its charms, 
 
 His death was at a tremor's end. 
 
 His Avealth Avas wrecked as by a storm. 
 
 His brother, now a parson gray. 
 
 Stands firm as in the days of youth ; 
 His course is marked with grand display 
 
 Of ministerial love and truth. 
 His life is one continual ray 
 
 Of brilliant gleamings from the throne. 
 And souls that live in endless day 
 
 Will wear the crown of seed there sown. 
 
 Two flowers standing side by side. 
 
 Each envious of the other's bloom, 
 Day after day still grew their pride. 
 
 Till both were changed and they were one. 
 80 thought and pride youth's bloom will guide. 
 
 To variegate with good or ill, 
 And should one choose the evil side. 
 
 The heart is taught to love it still. 
 
1 '>0 
 
 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 'T is thought that makes a man a name, 
 
 No lazy brain can ever gain 
 Great honors, wealth or sculptured fame, 
 
 He merely drags a life in vain. 
 Minds deeji and great, great deeds have done 
 
 To scan mysterious worlds on high. 
 While thoughtless men their course have run. 
 
 Tike thistle blossoms in the sky. 
 
 Thought is the keystone in the arch 
 
 Which spans the door to sculptured fame ; 
 There Morse and Fulton led the march. 
 
 Their steam and lightning to proclaim. 
 Now Edison speaks across the land. 
 
 And Morse has laid the ocean wire, 
 And Fulton placed in mortal hand 
 
 The blaze which set the world on fire. 
 
 1 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 188 
 
 SCENES OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Dedicated to My Brother, Mr. C. G. Davis. 
 
 Oh, the long, long, dear long ago, 
 Fifty years or more, I know. 
 When I a child at mother's knee 
 Conld read the love she had for me. 
 She stamped her image on my heart 
 And bid its charms ne'er to depart ; 
 Her voice was mnsic, soft and sweet, 
 Stood slightly tall, handsome and neat. 
 
 Oft' she sat by the spinning wheel. 
 Spinning threads for the noiseless reel. 
 Drawing flax from the distaff rest. 
 Wound in shape of a hornet's nest. 
 She spun the long rolls made of wool. 
 And wound the large spools round and full, 
 To feed the brown old-fashioned loom, 
 Which stood just in another room. 
 
 Then sister wove the whole diy long, 
 And trained her voice with lover's song ; 
 And little sister wound the quill. 
 And we repaired tlie flutter mill, 
 
184 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 And built a dam across the stream, 
 
 To use its power in place of steam ; 
 
 But when complete, though strong and neat, 
 
 We had no hurrs to grind the wheat. 
 
 But, like the noiseless spinner' s reel, 
 The mill consisted of a wheel, 
 Which threw its rolling silvery spray 
 In rainbow mist of grand display. 
 The mill was all we claimed for it, 
 But was not worth a phip'ny-lut, 
 So then we left the worthless mill, 
 And went out slightly on the hill. 
 
 And there we cleared a little field, 
 Small timbers f ell'd, the large ones peeled, 
 And dug the ground for early corn. 
 And planted it one bright Spring morn. 
 The ground squirrel took a little scout, 
 And found the seed that we put out ; 
 He knew I was too small to shoot. 
 He dug my corn out by the root, 
 
 Then, like an ape, sat on his heel. 
 And of my corn would make a meal ; 
 
i?ONG!S OF THE AGE. l'^)-') 
 
 This raised my boy iimbition high, 
 And then I planned that he should die ; 
 I made wood triggers, neat and small, 
 And set the well-known trap, " dead fall," 
 And then again in early morn 
 He came to steal the trigger-corn. 
 
 But when he l)it the trigger-thread. 
 The trap-stone fell and he was dead ; 
 The corn was saved, the victory won. 
 And thus a farmer boy begun. 
 And then away to valley field, 
 With timbers dead and partly peeled, 
 To heap dry logs upon the ground. 
 And ])urn dead limbs that crumbled down. 
 
 A cloud of smoke hung o'er the farm. 
 The scenes of which a lasting charm 
 Has followed to this distant dav. 
 Of care-worn head and silvery gray. 
 Then boys and father tilling corn. 
 Awaited calls of dinner horn ; 
 There wigeons pecked the dotted tree, 
 And ])uilt a nest no one could see. 
 
136 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 They plucked the corn to feed their young, 
 And paid their bills with songs they sung; 
 The wood-peck thief, with blood-red head, 
 Also in fields with timl)er dead. 
 Would pluck the corn the whole day long, 
 And then go home without a song ; 
 When evening shades were growing long, 
 Swamp robin, in a haj^py song. 
 
 Oft' touched the sweetest chord e'er heard 
 From any charming forest bird. 
 His home was in the forest green. 
 His golden plumage seldom seen. 
 But champion of the world in song. 
 He raised his voice so shrill and strong 
 It touched the valley hills around. 
 And echoed back the charming sound. 
 
 Those charming birds and lovely scene 
 All disappeared with Summer green ; 
 Then golden forest leaves came down. 
 And covered all the woodland ground. 
 And often came the dread alarm. 
 Of fence in danger round the farm ; 
 Hark! hark! the woodland warning tire! 
 'Tis sweeping fast aiul flaming higher. 
 
SONGS OF THE AGE. 137 
 
 In angry flames it climbs the trees, 
 And rides in wrath on every breeze ; 
 It leaps across the ravine wall, 
 Dead timbers piecemeal reel and fall ; 
 It climbs the mountain like a steed, 
 And sweeps through woods tornado speed, 
 The fox and deer fly from the flame. 
 Fly, swiftly fly, all kinds of game. 
 
 The smoke and flame have raised alarm, 
 And neighbors rushing to the farm. 
 Rake fast, and fire around the field. 
 The fence if possible to shield. 
 The smoke rolls up in fleecy train, 
 The sun shines on, l)ut all in vain, 
 The scene is but a smoky world. 
 Which w^raps itself in silvery pearl. 
 
 The sun moves slowly through the sky, 
 AVith deep red veil hung o'er his eye ; 
 The silken curtain of the night 
 Close moon and stars all out of sight ; 
 The morning sun o'er mountains high, 
 A blood-red painting in the sky. 
 Moves all day long and passes by. 
 But minus power to dim the eye. 
 
138 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Now after many years away, 
 
 I souglit the home of childhood's day; 
 
 But, oh ! a sad and wond'rous change 
 
 'T was not my home, it all looked strange. 
 A kingly throne with golden dome, 
 Could not be valued with my home ; 
 I wished no change, however grand, 
 I wished no change in forest land. 
 
 But wished it like the days of old, 
 When forest draped in wreaths of gold ; 
 I missed each l)ush and every tree. 
 O'er farm and hills so dear to me ; 
 Each carried sadness with its loss. 
 And changes grand were only dross. 
 The two grand oaks upon the hill. 
 Were slain hy axe and hauled to mill. 
 
 The ground which once had claimed the barn, 
 Was plowed and planted now in corn ; 
 The sweep Avas torn down from the well, 
 By windlass rope the bucket fell. 
 The moss-grown walls were worn by time, 
 Which formed slight ste^os I used to climb 
 To wash and clean the bottom stone, 
 Where nature's fountain held its oavu. 
 
soNCis OF THE agp:. 189 
 
 The old-time house wiis torn awiiy, 
 A new one made a grand disphiy, 
 AVith finished halls and stylish rooms ; 
 But oh, alas I 't was not my home. 
 The rudest block in old-time walls, 
 ^lore dearly prized than rooms and halls ; 
 Its walls were built of axe-hewn wood. 
 Storm-proof, in forest lands it stood. 
 
 To welcome hunter, brave and true. 
 When inmates numbered only two ; 
 There first the muffied axe was heard, 
 Which startled all the native herd 
 That roamed those hills and forest vale, 
 And left the only dingy trail. 
 There stood those walls mid fields of green, 
 AVhen family numl)ered just fourteen. 
 
 T'here stood those walls when all were gone, 
 And no one prized its door as home ; 
 Yet memories dear lived in the breast 
 Of those Avhom that dear home had blest. 
 And for its loss a tear was shed. 
 Deep as the Avails o'er loved ones dead ; 
 The rippling brook from nearest hill, 
 AVhere dams were made for flutter mill. 
 
140 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 Was forced from nature's winding wall 
 Through home-made cliannels deep and small. 
 And not a bank nor e'en a trace 
 Was left to mark its rightful place. 
 The cabin cribs were both torn down, 
 And not a trace left on the ground ; 
 The creek had worn its banks away — 
 A wond'rous change since boyhood day. 
 
 • The woodland grove just near my home. 
 Where pheasant beats his muffled drum. 
 Was swept away, and noAv the (juail 
 Was monarch of that little vale. 
 The highland peaks near home all 'round, 
 Where golden forests once abound. 
 Were stripped of all that grand display 
 Which charmed my heart in childhood day. 
 
 My home bird 's gone to distant hills, 
 
 To blend their songs with whip-poor-wills, 
 
 And sing for settlers of the woods. 
 
 The forest wilds of my boyhood. 
 
 But now a hundred cottage homes 
 
 Are planted where I used to roam, 
 
 O'er lovely forest hills and vales, 
 
 A wood for deer v.nd varmint trails. 
 
SONGS OF THE AC4E. 141 
 
 The wildwood land, home of the owl, 
 Where wolf sneaked off with hideous howl, 
 And panther slept on bended trees. 
 Is now the happy home of ease. 
 The old school-honse is torn away, 
 Ground sodded green once worn ]\y play. 
 Where game ran high by swift moved feet. 
 And l)attle raged, fear of defeat. 
 
 A thought came o'er me Avith a tear — 
 This sodded play-ground, once so dear, 
 Asked me the question sad and deep : 
 How many of your playmates sleep 
 Beneath a sod like this of mine ? 
 The answer of: ten, perhaps nine. 
 The new school-house of rustic wood, 
 A ragged beggar quaintly stood, 
 
 With moss-grown logs o'er window small, 
 And birds had built upon the wall. 
 The desk and seats had crumbled down. 
 The floor lay mouldering on the ground, 
 The rude stone chimney, lank and tall, 
 AVas bending from the school-house wall. 
 And ruin hung o'er all the scene. 
 Where old-time school was ever green. 
 
142 SONGS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The hills seemed tall and far away, 
 Long mountain shades at close of day ; . 
 (Ireen waving fields of grass and rye, 
 Where forest peaks once propped the sky. 
 The valleys spread their blue grass wings, 
 The little brooks were fed by springs ; 
 The windings of the well known stream 
 Were lost in grassy fields of green. 
 
 The rolling fields of golden grain, 
 Like sea waves drifting in a train, 
 Rolled o'er the hills and mountains high. 
 Recoiling 'gainst the rosy sky. 
 The sun went down o'er fields of grain, 
 AVhich spread o'er hilltops and the plain, 
 AVhere unmolested forest stood, 
 When father felled the first wildwood. 
 
 His axe was first in all the plain. 
 His gun was first the wood to stain, 
 His rooster blew the first shrill horn 
 To warn the forest herds of morn. 
 All sounds were muffled by the trees. 
 And slightly stirred the forest breeze. 
 Sketched from those scenes of forest gloom. 
 You have the painting of my liome. 
 
SONGS OF THE A(;E. 148 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 By a half-hidden charm, 
 
 With beauties untokl, 
 Bright dreams have been led on, 
 
 And grandeur unfold. 
 Feeble steps have been made 
 
 On that dreamy stage 
 Where the foundation was laid 
 
 For " Songs of the Age." 
 
^1^40 92 
 

 
 
 
 
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