.0^ 'o, ♦TXT* /V y"^*. 'O, ». i » « ^ '^^ * " • *V A' *• L'^'^ ' *;«-o^ 'oK o- ^^°^ .«>o^. v^. V"^^\, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. TO THE KEADER. The author has attempted no other classifi- cation of the poems in this volume than that of allowing them to follow each other according to the order of time in which they were writ- ten. It has seemed to him that this arrange- ment is as satisfactory as any other, since, at different periods of life, an author's style and habits of thought may be supposed to undergo very considerable modifications. One poem 4 TO THE BEADEE. forms an exception to tMs order of succession, and should have appeared in an earlier collec- tion. Three others have abeadj appeared in an illustrated edition of the author's poems. New York, December^ 1863. CONTENTS. Poems. Page The Planting of the Apple Tree, ... 9 The Snow Shower, 14 A Eain Dream, 18 Kobert of Lincoln, ...... 23 The Twenty-Seventh of March, ... 28 An Invitation to the Country, .... 32 Song for New- Year's Eve, . . . . 85 The Wind and Stream, 38 The Lost Bird. — From the Spanish of Carolina Coronado, 40 The Fight Journey of a Eiver, ... 43 6 CONTENTS. Poems. Page The Life that Is, 49 Song. — " These Prairies Glow with Flowers," 53 ASick-Bed, 55 The Song of the Sower, 59 The New and the Old, 70 The Cloud on the Way, 73 The Tides, 78 Italy, 81 A Day Dream, 85 The Euins of Italica. — ^From the Spanish of Rioja, 90 Waiting by the Gate, 96 Not Yet, ....... 101 Our Country's Call, 104 The Constellations, 108 The Third of November, 1861, . . .112 The Mother's Hymn, 116 Sella, 118 The Fifth Book of Homer's Odyssey.— Transla- ted, 150 The Little People of the Snow, . . .184 The Poet, ....... 207 Notes, 211 POEMS. THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TKEE. Come, let us plant the apple tree. Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; Wide let its hollow bed be made ; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care. And press it o'er them tenderly, As, round the sleeping infant's feet We softly fold the cradle sheet ; So plant we the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 1* 10 P0EM8. Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest ; We plant, upon the sunny lea, A shadow for the noontide hour, A shelter from the summer shower, When we plant the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, To load the May-wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors ; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. We plant with the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Fruits that shall swell, in sunny June, And redden in the August noon. THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE. 11 And drop, when gentle airs come by, That fan the blue September sky, While children come, with cries of glee, And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass, At the foot of the apple tree. And when, above this apple tree. The winter stars are quivering bright. And winds go howling through the night. Girls, whose yoang eyes o'erflow with mii'th, Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth. And guests in prouder homes shall see, Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine, And golden orange of the line. The fruit of the apple tree. The fruitage of this apple tree "Winds, and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 12 POEMS. Where men shall wonder at the view, And ask in what fair groves they grew ; And sojourners beyond the sea Shall think of childhood's careless day, And long, long hours of summer play, In the shade of the apple tree. Each year shall give this apple tree A. broader flush of roseate bloom, A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. The years shall come and pass, but we Shall hear no longer, where we lie, The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, In the boughs of the apple tree. And time shall waste this apple tree. Oh, when its aged branches throw Thin shadows on the ground below, THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE. 13 Shall fraud and force and iron will Oppress tlie weak and helpless still ? What shall the tasks of mercy be, Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears Of those who live when length of years, Is wasting this apple tree ? " Who planted this old apple tree ? " The children of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say ; And gazing on its mossy stem, The gray-haired man shall answer them : " A poet of the land was he, Born in the rude but good old times ; 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes On planting the apple tree." THE SNOW-SHOWER. STAiifD here by mj side and tnm, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes ; The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies ; And ont of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow ; Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake. See how in a living swarm they come From the chambers beyond that misty veil Some hover awhile in air, and some Eush prone from the sky like summer hail. THE SNOW-SHOWER. 15 All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, Meet, and are still in the depths below ; Flake after flake Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud. Come floating downward in airy play, Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd That whiten by night the milky way ; There broader and burlier masses fall ; The sullen water buries them all — Flake after flake — All drowned in the dark and silent lake. And some, as on tender wings they glide From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side. Come clinging along their unsteady way ; 16 POEMS. As friend with friend, or husband with wife Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; Each mated flake Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake ! I see in thy gentle eyes a tear ; They turn to me in sorrowful thought ; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time and now are not ; THE SNOW-BHOWEK. 17 Like these fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost, Flake after flake — All lost in the dark and silent lake. Yet look again, for the clouds divide ; A gleam of blue on the water lies ; And far away, on the mountain-side, A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. But the hurrying host that flew between The cloud and the water, no more is seen ; Flake after flake. At rest in the dark and silent lake. A EAIlSr DEEAM. These strifes, these tumiilts of the noisy world, Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by stealth. And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt, Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend, In what serener mood we look upon The gloomiest aspects of the elements Among the woods and fields ! Let us awhile, As the slow wind is rolling up the storm, In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets. For ever shaken by the importunate jar Of commerce, and upon the darkening air Look from the shelter of our rural home. A RAIN DEE AM. 19 Who is not awed that listens to the Rain, Sending his voice before him ? Mighty Rain ! The upland steeps are shrouded by thy mists ; Thy shadow fills the hollow vale ; the pools 'No longer glimmer, and the silvery streams Darken to veins of lead at thy approach. Oh, mighty Rain ! already thou art here ; And every roof is beaten by thy streams, And, as thou passest, every glassy spring Grows rough, and every leaf in all the woods Is struck, and quivers. All the hill-tops slake Their thirst from thee ; a thousand languishing fields, A thousand fainting gardens, are refreshed ; A thousand idle rivulets start to speed. And with the graver murmur of the storm Blend their light voices as they hurry on. Thou fill'st the circle of the atmosphere Alone ; there is no living thing abroad, No bird to wing the air nor beast to walk The field : the squirrel in the forest seeks 20 POEMS. His hollow tree ; the marmot of the field Has scampered to his den ; the butterfly- Hides under her broad leaf ; the insect crowds That made the sunshine populous, lie close In their mysterious shelters, whence the sun Will summon them again. The mighty Eain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone. I shut my eyes, and see, as in a dream. The friendly clouds drop down spring violets And summer columbines, and all the flowers That tuft the woodland floor, or overarch The streamlet : — spiky grass for genial June, Brown harvests for the waiting husbandman, And for the woods a deluge of fresh leaves. I see these myriad drops that slake the dust. Gathered in glorious streams, or rolling blue In billows on the lake or on the deep And bearing navies. I behold them change To threads of crystal as they sink in earth And leave its stains behind, to rise again In pleasant nooks of verdure, where the child, A KAIN DREAM. 21 Thirsty with play, in both his little hands Shall take the cool, clear water, raising it To wet his pretty lips. To-morrow noon How proudly will the water-lily ride The brimming pool, o'erlooking, like a queen, Her circle of broad leaves. In lonely wastes. When next the sunshine makes them beautiful, Gay troops of butterflies shall light to drink At the replenished hollows of the rock. Now slowly falls the dull blank night, and still. All through the starless hours, the mighty Kain Smites with perpetual sound the forest leaves, And beats the matted grass, and still the earth Drinks the unstinted bounty of the clouds — Drinks for her cottage wells, her woodland brooks — Drinks for the springing trout, the toiling bee And brooding bird — drinks for her tender flowers, ■ Tall oaks, and all the herbage of her hills. 22 POEMS. A melanclioly sound is in the air, A deep sigli in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the wind of night ; A lonely wanderer between earth and cloud, In the black shadow and the chilly mist. Along the streaming mountain side, and through The dripping woods, and o'er the plashy fields, Roaming and sorrowing still, like one who makes The journey of life alone, and nowhere meets A welcome or a friend, and still goes on In darkness. Yet awhile, a little while, And he shall toss the glittering leaves in play, And dally with the flowers, and gaily lift The slender herbs, pressed low by weight of rain. And drive, in joyous triumph, through the sky, White clouds, the laggard remnants of the storm. EGBERT OF LINCOLIST. MejRrily swinging on briar and weed, IN'ear to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telKng his name : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-Hnk, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest, "Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; White are his shoulders and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note : 24: POEMS. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Look, wliat a nice new coat is mine. Sure there was never a bird so fine. Cbee, cbee, chee. Eobert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with, plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life. Broods in the grass while her husband sings Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 25 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man ; Catcli me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, cliee. Six wHte eggs on a bed of hay. Flecked witb pnrple, a pretty sight ! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nice, good wife, that never goes out. Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell Six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 2 26 POEMS. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, cbee, cbee. Kobert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care ; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum croUe ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : BOBERT OF LINCOLN. 27 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Eobert of Lincohi, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. THE TWENTY-SEYENTH OF MAECH. Oh, gentle one, thy birthday sun shonld rise Amid a chorus of the merriest birds That ever sang the stars out of the sky In a June morning. Rivulets should send A voice of gladness from their winding paths, Deep in o'erarching grass, where playful winds, Stirring the loaded stems should shower the, dew Upon the glassy water. Newly blown Eoses, by thousands, to the garden walks Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent bee. The longest, brightest day in all the year THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MABOH. 29 Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes First opened on the earth, to make thy haunts Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. Thus might a poet say ; but I must bring A birthday offering of an humbler strain, And yet it may not please thee less. I hold That 'twas the fitting season for thy birth When March, just ready to depart, begins To soften into April. Then we have The delicatest and most welcome flowers, And yet they take least heed of bitter wind And lowering sky. The periwinkle then. In an hour's sunshiae, lifts her azure blooms Beside the cottage door ; within the woods Tufts of ground-laurel, creeping underneath The leaves of the last summer, send their sweets Up to the chilly air, and, by the oak, The squirrel-cups, a graceful company. Hide in their bells a soft aerial blue — Sweet flowers, that nestle in the humblest nooks, 30 POEMS. And yet witMn whose smallest bud is wrapt A world of promise I Still the north wind breathes His frostj and still the sky sheds snow and sleet ; Yet ever, when the snn looks forth again, The flowers smile np to him from their low seats. Well hast thou borne the bleak March day of life. Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom There has been warmth and sunshine in thy heart ; The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, That light upon the fields in early spring. Making them greener. In its milder hours, The smile of this pale season, thou hast seen, The glorious bloom of June, and in the note Of early bird, that comes a messenger From climes of endless verdure, thou hast heard THE TWENTT-SEVENTH OF IklAECH. 31 The choir that fills the summer woods with song. Now be the hours that yet remain to thee Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love, That inextinguishably dwell within Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light To the most desolate moments, like the glow Of a bright fireside in the wildest day ; And kindly words and offices of good Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on. Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the gates Of a more genial season, and thy path Be lost to human eye among the bowers And living fountains of a brighter land. Written March, 1866. AN INYITATIOI^ TO THE COUNTEY. Already, close by our summer dwelling, The Easter sparrow repeats her song ; A merr J warbler, she chides the blossoms — The idle blossoms that sleep so long. The blue-bird chants, from the elm's long branches, A hymn to welcome the budding year. The south wind wanders from field to forest, And softly whispers : the Spring is here. Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city. Before those lays from the elm have ceased ; The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly As in the air of her native East. AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTBY. 33 Though many a flower in the wood is waking, The daffodil is our doorside queen ; She pushes upward the sward abeady, To spot with sunshine the early green. "No lays so joyous as these are warbled From wiry prison in maiden's bower ; 'No pampered bloom of the greenhouse cham- ber Has half the charm of the lawn's first flower. Yet these sweet sounds of the early season. And these fair sights of its sunny days Are only sweet when we fondly listen, And only fair when we fondly gaze. There is no glory in star or blossom. Till looked upon by a loving eye ; There is no fragrance in April breezes, Till breathed with joy as they wander by. 2* 34: POEMS. Comej Julia dear, for the sprouting willows. The opening flowers, and the gleaming brooks, And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks. A SOE'a FOE NEW YEAR'S EYE. Stat yet, my friends, a moment stay — Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way, Shakes hands, and leaves ns here. Oh stay, oh stay. One little hour, and then away. The year, whose hopes were high and strong, Has now no hopes to wake ; Yet one hour more of jest and song For his familiar sake. Oh stay, oh stay, One mirthful hour, and then away. 36 POEMS. The kindly year, his liberal hands Have lavished all his store. And shall we turn from where he stands, Because he gives no more? Oh stay, oh stay, One grateful hotir, and then away. Days brightly came and calmly went, While yet he was our guest ; How cheerfully the week was spent ! How sweet the seventh day's rest ! Oh stay, oh stay. One golden hour, and then away. Dear friends were with us, some who sleep Beneath the coffin lid : What pleasant memories we keep Of all they said and did ! Oh stay, oh stay, One tender hour, and then away. 37 Even while we sing he smiles his last And leaves our sphere behind. The good old year is with the past ; Oh be the new as kind ! Oh staj, oh stay, One parting strain, and then away. THE WraD AND STKEAM. A BKOOK came stealing from the ground ; You scarcely saw its silvery gleam Among the herbs that hung around The borders of that winding stream, The pretty stream, the placid stream, The softly gliding, bashful stream. A breeze came wandering from the sky. Light as the whispers of a dream ; He put the o'erhanging grasses by. And softly stooped to kiss the stream, The pretty stream, the flattered stream. The shy, yet unreluctant stream. THE WIND A2JD STREAM. 39 The water, as the wind passed o'er, Shot upward many a glancing beam, Dimpled and quivered more and more. And tripped along, a livelier stream. The flattered stream, the simpering stream, The fond, delighted, silly stream. Away the airy wanderer flew To where the fields with blossoms teem, To sparkling springs and rivers blue. And left alone that little stream. The flattered stream, the cheated stream, The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. That careless wind came never back ; He wanders yet the fields I deem, But, on its melancholy track. Complaining went that little stream. The cheated stream, the hopeless stream, The ever-murmuring, mourning stream. THE LOST BIRD. From the Spanish of Oaeouna Coeoitado de Pbbby. My bird lias flown away, Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. Look in your lawn, I pray. Ye maidens, kind and fair. And see if my beloved bird be there. TTis eyes are full of light ; The eagle of the rock has such an eye ; And plumes, exceeding bright. THE LOST BIBD. 41 Kound his smooth temples lie, And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh. Look where the grass is gay With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers ; •And search, from spray to spray, The leafy laurel bowers, For well he loves the laurels and the flowers. Find him, but do not dwell, With eyes too fond, on the fair form you see, "Not love his song too well ; Send him, at once, to me, Or leave him to the air and liberty. For only from my hand He takes the seed into his golden beak. And all unwiped shall stand The tears that wet my cheek, Till I have found the wanderer I seek. 42 POEMS. My sight is darkened o'er, Whene'er I miss Ms eyes, wMcli are my day, And when I hear no more The music of his lay. My heart in utter sadness faints away. THE NIGHT JOUENEY OF A KIYEK. Oh Eiver, gentle Eiver ! gliding on In silence underneatli tliis starless sky ! Thine is a ministry that never rests Even while the living slumber. For a time The meddler, man, hath left the elements In peace ; the ploughman breaks the clods no more; The miner labors not, with steel and fii'e, To rend the rock, and he that hews the stone, And he that fells the forest, he that guides The loaded wain, and the poor animal That drags it, have forgotten, for a time, Their toils, and share the quiet of the earth. •Thou pausest not in thine allotted task, 44 POEMS. oil darkling River ! Through the night I hear Thj wavelets rippling on the pebbly beach ; I hear thy current stir the rusthng sedge, That skirts thy bed ; thou intermittest not Thine everlasting journey, drawing on A silvery train from many a woodland spidng, And mountain brook. The dweller by thy side, Who moored his little boat upon thy beach. Though all the waters that upbore it then Have slid away o'er night, shall find, at morn. Thy channel filled with waters freshly drawn From distant cliffs and hollows where the rill Comes up amid the water-flags. All night Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots Of the lithe willow and o'erhanging plane. And cherishest the herbage of thy bank. Spotted with little flowers, and sendest up Perpetually, the vapors from thy face. To steep the hills with dew, or darken heaven With drifting clouds, that trail the shadowy shower. THE NIGHT JOURNEY OF A RIVER. 45 Oh Kiver ! darkling Kiver ! what a voice Is that thou utterest while all else is still — The ancient voice that, centuries ago, Sounded between thy hills, while Eome was yet A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream. How many, at this hour, along thy course. Slumber to thine eternal murmm^ings. That mingle with the utterance of their dreams ! At dead of night the child awakes and hears Thy soft, familiar dashings, and is soothed, And sleeps again. An airy multitude Of little echoes, all unheai'd by day. Faintly repeat, till morning, after thee. The story of thine endless goings forth. Yet there are those who lie beside thy bed For whom thou once didst rear the bowers that screen Thy margin, and didst water the green fields ; And now there is no night so still that they Can hear thy lapse ; their slumbers, were thy voice 4:6 POEMS. Louder than ocean's, it could never break. For tliem tlie early violet no more Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes, Glitter the crimson pictures of the clouds, Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down. Their memories are abroad, the memories Of those who last were gathered to the earth. Lingering withiu the homes in which they sat. Hovering above the paths in which they walked. Haunting them like a presence. Even now They visit many a dreamer in the forms They walked in, ere at last they wore the shroud. And eyes there are which will not close to dream. For weeping and for thinking of the grave, The new-made grave, and the pale one within. These memories and these sorrows all shall fade, And pass away, and fresher memories And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile, Beside thy borders, and, in turn, depart. THE NIGHT JOTJENEY OF A EIVEB. 47 On glide thy waters, till at last they flow Beneath the windows of the populous town, And all night long give back the gleam of lamps. And glimmer with the trains of light that stream From halls where dancers whirl. A dimmer ray Touches thy surface from the silent room In which they tend the sick, or gather round The dying ; and a slender, steady beam Comes from the little chamber, in the roof Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek, The solitary damsel, dyiag, too. Plies the quick needle till the stars grow pale. There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand The blank, unlighted windows, where the poor, In hunger and in darkness, wake till mom. There, drowsily, on the half conscious ear Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf. Falls the soft ripple of the waves that strike On the moored bark ; but guiltier listeners 48 POEMS. Are nigh, tlie prowlers of the night, who steal From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and start If other sounds than thine are in the air. Oh, glide away from those abodes, that bring Pollution to thy channel and make foul Thy once clear current; summon thy quick waves And dimpling eddies ; linger not, but haste. With all thy waters, haste thee to the deep, There to be tossed by shifting winds and rocked By that mysterious force which lives within The sea's immensity, and wields the weight Of its abysses, swaying to and fro The billowy mass, until the stain, at length, Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain The crystal brightness of thy mountain springs. THE LIFE THAT IS. Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain, Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath — To life's free breath and day's sweet light again, From the chill shadows of the gate of death. For thou hadst reached the twilight bound be- tween The world of spirits and this grosser sphere ; Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 3 50 POEMS. And now, how gladly we behold, at last, The wonted smile returning to thy brow ; The very wind's low whisper, breathing past, In the light leaves, is music to thee now. Thou wert not weary of thy lot ; the earth Was ever good and pleasant in thy siglit ; Still clung thy loves abont the household hearth. And sweet was every day's returning light. Then welcome back to all thou would'st not leave. To this grand march of seasons, days and hours ; The glory of the morn, the glow of eve. The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers ; To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; To voices which it is thy joy to hear; THE LIFE THAT IS. 51 To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best, The willing tasks of love, that made life dear. ( "Welcome to grasp of friendly hands ; to prayers Offered where crowds in reverent worship come, Or softly breathed amid the tender cares And loving inmates of thy quiet home. Then bring'st no tidings of the better land. Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there Are what the faithful heart may understand In its still depths, yet words may not de- clare. And well I deem, that, from the brighter side Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 52 POEMS. Twice wert thou given me; once in thy fair prime, Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met. And all the blossoms of that hopeful time Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set. And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong, From the drear realm of sickness and of pain. When we had watched, and feared, and trembled long. Now may we keep thee from the balmy air And radiant walks of heaven a little space. Where He, who went before thee to prepare For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. Gastellamare, May^ 1858. SONG. " These Praieies Glow with Flowebs." These prairies glow with flowers. These groves are tall and fair, The sweet lay of the mocking bird Kings in the morning air ; And yet I pine to see My native hill once more, And hear the sparrow's friendly chirp Beside its cottage door. And he, for whom I left My native hill and brook, Alas, I sometimes think I trace A coldness in his look. 64: POEMS. If I have lost his love I know my heart will break ; And haply, they I left for him Will sorrow for my sake. A SICK-BED. Long hast tlion watched my bed, And smoothed the pillow oft For this poor, aching head, With touches kind and soft. Oh ! smooth it yet again, As softly as before ; Once — only once — and then I need thy hand no more. Yet here I may not stay, "Where I so long have lain, 66 POEMS. Througli many a restless day, And many a night of pain. But bear me gently fortli Beneatli the open sky, Where, on the pleasant earth, Till night the sunbeams lie. There, through the coming days, I shall not look to thee My weary side to raise, And shift it tenderly. There sweetly shall I sleep ; Nor wilt thou need to bring And put to my hot lip Cool water from the spring ; Nor wet the kerchief laid ^ Upon my burning brow ; Nor from my eyelids shade The light that wounds them now ; A SICK-BED. 57 Nor watch that none shall tread. With noisy footstep, nigh ; Nor listen by my bed, To hear my faintest sigh. And feign a look of cheer, And words of comfort speak, Yet turn to hide the tear That gathers on thy cheek. Beside me, where I rest. Thy loving hands will set The flowers that please me best : Moss-rose and violet. Then to the sleep I crave Resign me, till I see The face of Him who gave His life for thee and me. Yet, with the setting sun, Come, now and then, at eve, 3* 58 POEMS. And think of me as one For whom thou should'st not grieve ; "Who, when the kind release From sin and suffering came. Passed to the appointed peace In murmnring thy name. Leave at mj side a space, Where thon shalt come, at last, To find a resting place, "When many years are past. THE SONG OF THE SOWER The maples redden in the sun ; In autumn gold the beeches stand ; Rest, faithful plough, thy work is done Upon the teeming land. Bordered with trees whose gay leaves fly On every breath that sweeps the sky, The fresh dark acres farrowed lie, And ask the sower's hand. Loose the tired steer and let him go To pasture where the gentians blow. And we, who till the grateful ground. Fling we the golden shower around. 60 POEMS. n. Fling wide the generous grain ; we fling O'er tlie dark mould the green of spring. For thick the emerald blades shall grow, When first the March winds melt the snow, And to the sleeping flowers, below, The early bluebirds sing. Fling wide the grain ; we give the fields The ears that nod in summer's gale. The shining stems that summer gilds, The harvest that o'erflows the vale, And swells, an amber sea, between The full-leaved woods, its shores of green. Hark ! from the murmuring clods I hear Glad voices of the coming year ; The song of him who binds the grain, The shout of those that load the wain, And from the distant grange there comes The clatter of the thresher's flail. And steadily the millstone hums Down in the willowy vale. THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 61 m. Fling wide the golden shower ; we trust The strength of armies to the dust, This peaceful lea may haply yield Its harvest for the tented field. Ha ! feel ye not your fingers thrill. As o'er them, in the yellow grains, Glide the warm drops of blood that fill For mortal strife, the warrior's veins ; Such as, on Solferino's day. Slaked the brown sand and flowed away ; — Flowed till the herds, on Mincio's brink. Snuffed the red stream and feared to drink ;- Blood that in deeper pools shall lie. On the sad earth, as time grows gray. When men by deadlier arts shall die, And deeper darkness blot the sky Above the thundering fray ; And realms, that hear the battle cry, Shall sicken with dismay; )25 POEMS. And chieftains to the war shall lead Whole nations, with the tempest's speed, To perish in a day ; — Till man, by love and mercy taught, Shall rue ^/ie wreck his fury wrought. And lay the sword away. Oh strew, with pausing, shuddering hand, The seed upon the helpless land. As if, at every step, ye cast The pelting hail and riving blast. IV. l^ay, strew, with free and joyous sweep, The seed upon the expecting soil ; For hence the plenteous year shall heap The garners of the men who toil. Strew the bright seed for those who tear The matted sward with spade and share. And those whose sounding axes gleam Beside the lonely forest stream, Till its broad banks lie bare ; THE SONG OF THE SOWEK. 63 And him wlio breaks the quarry-ledge, With hammer-blows, plied quick and strong, And him who, with the steady sledge, Smites the shrill anvil all day long. Sprinkle the furrow's even trace For those whose toiling hands uprear The roof-trees of our swarming race, By grove and plain, by stream and mere ; Who forth, from crowded city, lead The lengthening street, and overlay Green orchard plot and grassy mead With pavement of the murmuring way. Cast, with full hands, the harvest cast, For the brave men that climb the mast, When to the billow and the blast It swings and stoops, with fearful strain. And bind the fluttering mainsail fast, Till the tossed bark shall sit, again. Safe as a seabird in the main. 64 POEMS. V. Fling wide the grain for those who throw The clanking shuttle to and fro, In the long row of humming rooms, And into ponderous masses wind The web that, from a thousand looms, Comes forth to clothe mankind. Strew, with free sweep, the grain for them. By whom the busy thread. Along the garment's even hem And winding seam is led ; A pallid sisterhood, that keep The lonely lamp alight. In strife with weariness and sleep. Beyond the middle night. Large part be theirs in what the year Shall ripen for the reaper here. VI. StiU, strew, with joyous hand, the wheat On the soft mould beneath our feet. THE SONG OF THE SO WEE. 65 For even now I seem To hear a sound that lightly rings From murmuring harp and viol's strings, As in a summer dream. The welcome of the wedding guest, The bridegrooom's look of bashful pride, The faint smile of the pallid bride, And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest, And dance and song and generous dower Are in the shining grains we shower. vn. Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men. Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again In the sweet safety of the shore. And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear. Whose pulses bound with joy to hear The herd's light bell once more. Freely the golden spray be shed For him whose heart, when night comes down On the close alleys of the town, Is faint for lack of bread. QQ POEMS. In chill roof chambers, bleak and bare, Or the damp cellar's stifling air, She who now sees, in mute despair, Her children pine for food. Shall feel the dews of gladness start To lids long tearless, and shall part The sweet loaf, with a grateful heart, Among her thin, pale brood. Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till ! Oh, for thy famished children, fill. Where'er the sower walks. Fill the rich ears that shade the mould "With grain for grain, a hundredfold, To bend the sturdy stalks. vm. Strew silently the fruitful seed, As softly o'er the tilth ye tread, For hands that delicately knead The consecrated bread. THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 67 The mystic loaf that crowns the board, When, round the table of their Lord, Within a thousand temples set, In memory of the bitter death Of him who taught at Nazareth, His followers are met, And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, As of tbe Holy One they think. The glory of whose rising, yet Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink. IX. Erethren, tbe sower's task is done. The seed is in its winter bed. Now let the dark brown mould be spread, To hide it from the sun. And leave it to the kindly care Of the still earth and brooding air. As when the mother, from her breast, Lays the hushed babe apart to rest, And shades its eyes and waits to see How sweet its waking smile will be. 68 POEMS. The tempest now may smite, the sleet All night on the drowned fmrow beat, And winds that, from the clondy hold, Of winter breathe the bitter cold. Stiffen to stone the mellow mould. Yet safe shall lie the wheat ; Till, out of heaven's unmeasured blue. Shall walk again the genial year. To wake with warmth and nurse with dew, The germs we lay to slumber here. X. Oh blessed harvest yet to be ! Abide thou with the love that keeps, In its warm bosom, tenderly. The life which wakes and that which sleeps. The love that leads the willing spheres Along the unending track of years, And watches o'er the sparrow's nest. Shall brood above thy winter rest, THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 69 And raise tliee from the dust, to hold ! Light whisperings with the winds of May, And fill thy spikes with living gold, From summer's yellow ray, Then, as thy garners give thee forth. On what glad errands shalt thon go, Wherever, o'er the waiting earth, Eoads wind and rivers flow. The ancient East shall welcome thee To mighty marts beyond the sea. And they who dwell where palm groves sound To summer winds the whole year round. Shall watch, in gladness, from the shore, The sails that bring thy glistening store. THE NEW AND THE OLD. New are tlie leaves on the oaken spray, New the blades of the silky grass ; Flowers, that were buds but yesterday. Peep from the ground where'er I pass. These gay idlers, the butterflies. Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud. These soft airs, that winnow the skies. Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud. Gushing fresh in the little streams What a prattle the waters make ! THE NEW AND THE OLD. 71 Even tlie sun, with his tender beams, Seems as yoimg as the flowers they wake. Childi-en are wading, with cheerful cries, In the shoals of the sparkling brook. Laughing maidens, with soft, young eyes, "Walk or sit in the shady nook. What am I doing, thus alone, In the glory of nature here. Silver-haired, like a snow-flake thrown On the greens of the springing year ? Only for brows unploughed by care. Eyes that glisten with hope and mirth. Cheeks unwrinkled, and unblanched hair, Shines this holiday of the earth. Under the grass, with the clammy clay. Lie in darkness the last year's flowers, 72 POEMS. Bom of a light tliat has passed awaj, Dews long dried, and forgotten showers. " Under the grass is the fitting home," So they whisper, " for such as thou, When the winter of life is come, Chilling the blood, and frosting the brow." THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. See before us, in our journey, broods a mist upon the ground ; Thitber leads the path we walk in, blending with that gloomy bound. Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mys- tery they screen ; Those who once have passed witliin it never more on earth are seen. Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seem- ing distance lowers. Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with summer-green and flowers, 4 74 POEMS. Yet it blots the way forever ; there our journey ends at last ; Into that dark cloud we enter, and are gathered to the past. Thon who, in this flinty pathway, leading through a stranger-land, Passest down the rocky valley, walking with me hand in hand, Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that dim Unknown ? Which shall leave the other walking in this flinty path alone ? Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white with fear. And thou clingest to my side as comes that darkness sweeping near. " Here," thou say'st, " the path is rugged, sown with thorns that wound the feet ; But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the riv- ulet's song is sweet ; Roses breathe from tangled thickets ; lilies bend from ledges brown ; THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 75 Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sun- shine gushes down ; Dear a-re those who walk beside us, they whose looks and voices make All this rugged region cheerfal, till I love it for their sake. Far be yet the hour that takes me where that chilly shadow lies, From the things I know and love and from the sight of loving eyes." So thou murmurest, fearful one : but see, we tread a rougher way ; Fainter glow the gleams of sunshine that upon the dark rocks play ; Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the crags o'er which we pass ; Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufts of withered grass. One by one we miss the voices which we loved so well to hear ; One by one the kindly faces in that shadow dis- appear. 76 POEMS. Yet upon the mist before us -^x thine eyes with closer view ; See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning glimmers through. One whose feet the thorns have wounded passed that baiTier and came back, "With a glory on His footsteps lighting yet the dreary track. Boldly enter where He entered ; all that seems but darkness here, When thou hast passed beyond it, haply shall be crystal-clear. Viewed from that serener realm, the walks of human life may lie, Like the page of some familiar volume, open to thine eye ; Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thou may'st stretch an unseen hand, To support the wavering steps that print with blood the rugged land. Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting thou art near. THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 77 Thou may'st whisper words of warning or of comfort in his ear, Till, beyond the border where that brooding mystery bars the sight, Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and light. THE TIDES. The moon is at her Ml, and, riding high, Eloods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky- Are all asleep to-night. There comes no voice from the great woodlands round That mnrmnred all the day ; Beneath the shadow of their boughs, the ground Is not more still than thej. THE TIDES. 79 But ever heaves and moans the restless Deep ; His rising tides I hear, Afar I see the glimmering billows leap ; I see them breaking near. Each wave springs upward, climbing toward the fair Pure light that sits on high — Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks, to where The mother waters lie. Upward again it swells ; the moonbeams show, Again, its glimmering crest ; Again it feels the fatal weight below, And sinks, but not to rest. Again and yet again ; until the Deep Eecalls his brood of waves ; And, with a sullen moan, abashed, they creep Back to his inner caves. 80 POEMS. Brief respite ! they shall rush from that recess "With noise and tumult soon, And fling themselves, with unavailing stress. Up toward the placid moon. Oh, restless Sea, that, in thy prison here, Dost struggle and complain ; Through the slow centuries yearning to be near To that fair orb in vain ; The glorious source of light and heat must warm Thy billows from on high, And change them to the cloudy trains that form The curtains of the sky. Then only may they leave the waste of brine In which they welter here. And rise above the hills of earth, and shine In a serener sphere. ITALY. YoiCES from the mountains speak ; Apennines to Alps reply ; Yale to vale and peak to peak Toss an old remembered cry ; Italy Shall be free ! Such the mighty shout that fills AH the passes of her hills. All the old Italian lakes Quiver at that quickening word ; Como with a thrill awakes ; Garda to her depths is stirred ; 4* 82 POEMS. Mid the steeps Where he sleeps, Dreaming of the elder years, Startled Thrasjmenus hears. Sweeping Amo, swelling Po, Murmur freedom to their meads. Tiber swift and Liris slow Send strange whispers from their reeds. Italy Shall be free, Sing the glittering brooks that slide, Toward the sea, from Etna's side. Long ago was Gracchus slain ; Brutus perished long ago ; Yet the living roots remain Whence the shoots of greatness grow. Yet again, God-like men, ITALY. 83 Sprung from that heroic stem. Call the land to rise with them. They who haunt the swarming street, They who chase the mountain boar, Or, where cliff and billow meet, Prune the vine or pull the oar, With a stroke Break their yoke ; Slaves but yestereve were they — Freemen with the dawning day. Looking in his children's eyes, While his own with gladness flash, " These," the Umbrian father cries, " Ne'er shall crouch beneath the lash 1 These shall ne'er Brook to wear Chains whose cruel links are twined Round the crushed and withering mind." 84 POEMS. Monarchs ! ye whose armies stand Harnessed for tlie battle-field ! Pause, and from the lifted hand Drop the bolts of war ye wield. Stand aloof While the proof Of the people's might is given ; Leave their kings to them and heaven. Stand aloof, and see the oppressed Chase the oppressor, pale with fear, As the fresh winds of the west Blow the misty valleys clear. Stand and see Italy Cast the gyves she wears no more To the gulfs that steep her shore. A DAY DEEAM. A DAY dream by the dark blue deep ; Was it a dream, or something more ? I sat where Posilippo's steep, With its gray shelves, o'erhung the shore. On ruined Eoman walls around The poppy flaunted, for 'twas May ; And at my feet, with gentle sound, Broke the light billows of the bay. 3 POEMS. I sat and watched the eternal flow Of those smooth billows toward the shore, While quiyering lines of light below, Kan with them on the ocean floor. Till, from the deep, there seemed to rise White arms upon the waves outspread. Young faces, lit with soft blue eyes, And smooth, round cheeks, just touched with red. Their long, fair tresses, tinged with gold. Lay floating on the ocean streams. And such their brows as bards behold — Love-stricken bards, in morning dreams. Then moved their coral lips ; a strain Low, sweet and sorrowful I heard, As if the murmurs of the main Were shaped to syllable and word. A DAY DREAM. 87 " The sight thou dimly dost behold, Oh, stranger from a distant sky ! "Was often, in the days of old. Seen by the clear, believing eye. " Then danced we on the wrinMed sand, Sat in cool caverns by the sea. Or wandered up the bloomy land. To talk with shepherds on the lea. " To US, in storms, the seaman prayed, And where onr rustic altars stood, His little children came and laid The fairest flowers of field and wood, " Oh woe, a long unending woe ! For who shall knit the ties again That linked the sea-nymphs, long ago. In kindly fellowship with men ? 88 POEMS. " Earth rears her flowers for us no more ; A half-remembered dream are we. Unseen we haunt the sunny shore, And swim, unmarked, the glassy sea. " And we have none to love or aid. But wander, heedless of mankind, With shadows by the cloud-rack made. With moaning wave and sighing wind. " Yet sometimes, as in elder days. We come before the painter's eye. Or fix the sculptor's eager gaze. With no profaner witness nigh. " And then the words of men grow warm With praise and wonder, asking where The artist saw the perfect form He copied forth in lines so fair." A DAT DREAM. 89 As thus they spoke, with wayering sweep Floated the graceful forms away ; Dimmer and dimmer, through the deep, I saw the white arms gleam and play. Fainter and fainter, on mine ear, Fell the soft accents of their speech, Till I, at last, could only hear The waves run murmuring up the beach. THE EUINS OF ITALICA. From the Spanish of Rioja. I. IFabius, this region, desolate and drear, These solitary fields, tMs shapeless mound, "Were once Italica, the far-renowned ; Eor Scipio, the mighty, planted here His conquering colony, and now, o'erthrown, Lie its once dreaded walls of massive stone. Sad relics, sad and vain. Of those invincible men Who held the region then. Funereal memories alone remain "Where forms of high example walked of yore, THE RUINS OF ITALICA. 91 Here lay the forum, there arose the fane, The eye beholds their places and no more. Their proud gymnasium and their sumptuous baths, Kesolved to dust and cinders, strew the paths. Their towers, that looked defiance at the sky, Fallen by their own vast weight, in fragments lie. n. This broken circus, where the rock weeds climb, Flaunting with yellow blossoms, and defy The gods to whom its walls were piled so high, Is now a ti'agic theatre, where Time Acts his great fable, spreads a stage that shows Past grandeur's story and its di'eary close. Why, round this desert pit. Shout not the applauding rows Where the great people sit ? Wild beasts are here, but where the combatant, 92 POEMS. Witt his bare arms, tlie strong athleta where ? All have departed from this once gay haunt Of noisy crowds, and silence holds the air. Yet, on this spot. Time gives us to behold A spectacle as stern as those of old. As dreamily I gaze, there seem to rise, From all the mighty ruin, wailing cries. m. The terrible in war, the pride of Spain, Trajan, his country's father, here was bom; Good, fortunate, triumphant, to whose reign Submitted the far regions, where the morn Eose from her cradle, and the shore whose steeps O'erlooked the conquered Gaditanian deeps. Of mighty Adrian here, Of Theodosius, saint. Of Silius, Yirgil's peer. Were rocked the cradles, rich with gold, and quaint THE RUmS OF ITALICA. 93 With ivory carvings ; here were laurel boughs And sprays of jasmine gathered for their brows, From gardens now a marshy, thorny waste. Where rose the palace, reared for Csesar, yawn Foul rifts to which the scudding lizards haste. Palaces, gardens, Caesars, all are gone. And even the stones their names were graven on. IV. Fabius, if tears prevent thee not, survey • The long dismantled streets, so thronged of old, The broken marbles, arches in decay. Proud statues, toppled from their place and rolled In dust, when ITemesis, the avenger, came, And buried, in forgetfulness profound. 94 POEMS. The owners and their fame. Thus Troy, I deem must be. With many a mouldering mound ; And thou, whose name alone remains to thee, Rome, ' of old gods and kings the native ground; And thou, sage Athens, built by Pallas, whom Just laws redeemed not from the appointed doom. The envy of earth's cities once wert thou, — A weary solitude and ashes now. For fate and death respect ye not : they strike The mighty city and the wise alike. V. But why goes forth the wandering thought to frame New themes of sorrow, sought in distant lands? Enough the example that before me stands ; For here are smoke wreaths seen, and glimmer- ing flame, THE RiriNS OF ITALICA. 95 And hoarse lamentings on the breezes die ; So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell On those who near it dwell. And under night's still sky, As awe-struck peasants tell, A melancholy voice is heard to cry, " Italica is fallen ; " the echoes then Mournfully shout " Italica" again. The leafy alleys of the forest nigh Murmur " Italica," and all around, A troop of mighty shadows, at the sound Of that illustrious name, repeat the call, " Italica ! " from ruined tower and wall. "WAITII^a BY THE GATE. Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by, Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow He, While streams the evening sunshine on quiet wood and lea, I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight, A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night ; WAITING BY THE GATE. 97 I hear the woodtlimsli piping one mellow des- cant more, And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day is o'er. Behold the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now, There steps a weary one with a pale and fur- rowed brow ; His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought ; He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not. In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour Of human strength and action, man's courage and his power. I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the golden day, And as I look and listen the sadness wears away. 98 POEMS. Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes; A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair. Moves mournfully away from amidst the young and fair. Oh glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze ! Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies we know not where ! I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn ; But still the sun shines round me : the evening bird sings on, wAirma by the gate. yy And I again am soothed, and, beside the an- cient gate. In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and wait. Once more the gates are opened; an infant group go out, The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly shout. Oh frail, frail tree of Life, that upon the green- sward strows Its fair young buds imopened, with every wind that blows ! So come from every region, so enter, side by side, The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of pride. Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pillars gray. And prints of little feet, mark the dust along the way. 100 POEMS. And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear, And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing near, As if they saw dear faces, and canght the gra- cious eye Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. I mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within my heart. Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart ; And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea, I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. NOT YET. Oh country, marvel of the earth ! Oh realm to sudden greatness grown ! The age that gloried in thy birth, Shall it behold thee overthrown ? Shall traitors lay that greatness low ? No, land of Hope and Blessing, No ! And we, who wear thy glorious name, Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, "When those whom thou hast trusted aim The death blow at thy generous heart ? Forth goes the battle cry, and lo ! Hosts rise in harness, shouting. No I 103 POEMS. And they who founded, in our land. The power that rules from sea to sea, Bled they in vain, or vainly planned To leave their country great and free ? Their sleeping ashes, from below. Send up the thrilling murmur, 'No ! Knit they the gentle ties which long These sister States were proud to wear, And forged the kindly links so strong For idle hands in sport to tear? For scornful hands aside to throw ? "No, by our fathers' memory, ]^o ! Our humming marts, our iron ways. Our wind-tossed woods on mountain-crest, The hoarse Atlantic, with its bays, The calm, broad Ocean of the "West, And Mississippi's torrent-flow. And loud Niagara, answer, IsTo ! I^OT YET. 103 Not vet the hour is nigli when they "Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit, Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say, " Proud country, welcome to the pit ! So soon art thou, like us, brought low ! " No, sullen group of shadows, No ! For now, behold, the arm that gave The victory in our fathers day. Strong, as of old, to guard and save — That mighty arm which none can stay — On clouds above and fields below, Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No ! July^ 1861. OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. Lay down the axe ; fling by the spade ; Leave in its track the toiling plongh ; The rifle and the bayonet blade For arms like yours were fltter now ; And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle field. Our country calls ; away ! away ! To where the blood-stream blots the green. Strike to defend the gentlest sway That Time in all his course has seen. 105 See, from a thousand coverts — see, Spring the armed foes that haunt her track ; They rush to smitO' her down, and we Must beat the banded traitors back. Ho ! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, And moved as soon to fear and flight, Men of the glade and forest ! leave Your woodcraft for the field of fight. The aims that wield the axe must pour An iron tempest on the foe ; His serried ranks shall reel before The arm that lays the panther low. And ye, who breast the mountain storm By grassy steep or highland lake. Come, for the land ye love, to form A bulwark that no foe can break. Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock The whirlwind, stand in her defence ; The blast as soon shall move the rock As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 6* 106 POEMS. And ye, whose homes are by her grand Swift rivers, rising far away, Come from the depth of her green land, As mighty in your march as they ; As terrible as when the rains Have swelled them over bank and bourne, "With sudden floods to drown the plains And sweep along the woods nptorn. And ye, who throng, beside the deep. Her ports and hamlets of the strand, In number like the waves that leap On his long murmuring marge of sand. Come, like that deep, when, o'er his brim, He rises, all his floods to pour, And flings the proudest barks that swim, A helpless wreck, against his shore. Few, few were they whose swords of old "Won the fair land in which we dwell ; But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it well. 107 Strike, for that broad and goodly land, Blow after blow, till men sball see That Might and Eight move hand in hand, And glorious must their triumph be. September^ 1861. THE CONSTELLATIONS. Oh, Constellations of the earlj night That sparkled brighter as the twilight died. And made the darkness glorious ! I have seen Yonr rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge, And sink behind the moimtains. I have seen The great Orion, with his jewelled belt, That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go down Into the gloom. Beside him sank a crowd Of shining ones. I look in vain to find The group of sister-stars, which mothers love To show their wondering babes, the gentle Seven. THE CONSTELLATIONS. 109 Along the desert space mine eyes in vain Seek the resplendent cressets which the Twins Uplifted in their ever-youthful hands. The streaming tresses of the Egyptian Queen Spangle the heavens no more. The Yirgin trails 1^0 more her glittering garments through the blue. Gone ! all are gone ! and the forsaken Night, "With all her winds, iq all her dreary wastes, Sighs that they shine upon her face no more. Now only here and there a little star Looks foi-th alone. Ah me ! 1 know them not. Those dim successors of the numberless host That filled the heavenly fields, and flung to earth Their quivering fires. And now the middle watch Betwixt the eve and mom is past, and still TTie darkness gains upon the sky, and still It closes round my way. Shall, then, the night. 110 POEMS. Grow starless in her later hours ? Have these !N^o train of flaming watchers, that shall mark Their coming and farewell ? Oh Sons of Light ! Have ye then left me ere the daw^n of day To grope along my journey sad and faint ? Thus I complained, and from the darkness round A voice replied — was it indeed a voice, Or seeming accents of a waking dream Heard by the inner ear ? But thus it said : Oh, Traveller of the Night ! thine eyes are dim With watching ; and the mists, that chill the vale Down which thy feet are passing, hide from view The ever-burning stars. It is thy sight That is so dark, and not the heavens. Thme Were they but clear, would see a fiery host Above thee ; Hercules, with flashing mace, The Lyre with silver chords, the Swan uppoised THE CONSTELLATIONS. Ill On gleaming wings, the Dolphin gliding on With glistening scales, and that poetic steed, With beamy mane, whose hoof struck out from earth The fount of Hippocrene, and many more. Fair clustered splendors, with whose rays the Night Shall close her march in glory, ere she yield, To the young Day, the great earth steeped in dew. So spake the monitor, and I perceived How vain were my repinings, and my thought "Went backward to the vanished years and all The good and great who came and passed with them. And knew that ever would the years to come Bring with them, in their course, the good and great, Lights of the world, though, to my clouded sight. Their rays might seem but dim, or reach me not. THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER, 1861. Softly breathes the westwind beside the ruddj forest, Taking leaf by leaf from the brancbes where he flies. Sweetly streams the simshine, this third day of November, Through the golden haze of the quiet antnmn sMes. Tenderly the season has spared the grassy meadows, Spared the petted flowers that the old world gave the new. THE THIRD OF NOVEMBEK, 1861. 113 Spared the autumn rose and the garden's group of pansies, Late-blown dandelions and periwinkles blue. On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes un- gathered ; Chil(||^n fill the groves with the echoes of their^glee, Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-wal- nut tree. Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in their fresh- est green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, 1 never yet have seen. 114 POEMS. Like tliis kindly season may life's decline come o'er me ; Past is manhood's summer, the frosty months are here ; Fet be genial airs and a pleasant sunshine left me, Leaf, and fruit, and blossom, to mark the closing year. Dreary is the time when the flowers of earth are withered ; Dreary is the time when the woodland leaves are cast. When, upon the hillside, all hardened into iron. Howling, like a wolf, flies the famished northern blast. Dreary are the years when the eye can look no longer With delight on nature, or hope on human kind; THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER, 1861. 115 Oh may those that whiten my temples, as they pass me. Leave the heart unfrozen, and spare the cheerful mind. THE MOTHEK'S HYMK LoEDj who ordainest for mankind Benignant toils and tender cares ! We thank thee for the ties that bind The mother to the child she bears. We thank thee for the hopes that rise. Within her heart, as, day by day, The dawning sonl, from those young eyes, Looks, with a clearer, steadier ray. And grateful for the blessing given With that dear infant on her knee, She trains the eye to look to heaven, Tlie voice to lisp a prayer to thee. 117 Sncli thanks the blessed Mary gave, "When, from her lap, the Holy Child Sent from on high to seek and save The lost of earth, looked up and smiled. All-Gracious ! grant, to those who bear A mother's charge, the strength and light To lead the steps that own their care In ways of Love, and Truth, and Eight. SELLA. Heae now a legend of the days of old — The days when there were goodly marvels yet, When man to man gave willing faith, and loved A tale the better that 'twas wild and strange. Beside a pleasant dwelling ran a brook Scudding along a narrow channel, paved With green and yellow pebbles; yet full clear Its waters were, and colorless and cool, As fresh from granite rocks. A maiden oft Stood at the open window, leaning out, And listening to the sound the water made, SELLA. 119 A sweet, eternal murmur, still tlie same, And not the same ; and oft, as spring came on, She gathered yiolets from its fresh moist bank. To place within her bower, and when the herbs Of summer drooped beneath the midday sun, She sat within the shade of a great rock. Dreamily listening to the streamlet's song. Ripe were the maiden's years ; her stature showed Womanly beauty, and her clear, calm eye "W"as bright with venturous spirit, yet her face Was passionless, like those by sculptor graved For niches in a temple. Lovers oft Had wooed her, but she only laughed at love, And wondered at the silly things they said. 'Twas her delight to wander where wild vines O'erhang the river's brim, to climb the path Of woodland streamlet to its mountain springs, To sit by gleaming wells and mark below The image of the rushes on its edge, And, deep beyond, the trailing clouds that slid 120 POEMS. Across the fair blue space. ISTo little fount Stole fortli from hanging rock, or in the side Of hollow dell, or under roots of oak, No rill came trickling, with a stripe of green, Down the bare hill, that to this maiden's eyes Was not familiar. Often did the banks Of river or of sylvan lakelet hear The dip of oars with which the maiden rowed Her shallop, pushing ever from the prow A crowd of long, light ripples toward the shore. Two brothers had the maiden, and she thought, Within herself : " I would I were like them ; For then I might go forth alone, to trace The mighty rivers downward to the sea, And upward to the brooks that, through the year. Prattle to the cool valleys. I would know What races drink their waters ; how their chiefs Bear rule, and how men worship there, and how SELLA. 121 They build, and to what quaint device they frame, Where sea and river meet, their stately ships ; What flowers are in their gardens, and what trees Bear fruit within their orchards ; in what garb Their bowmen meet on holidays, and how Their maidens bind the waist and braid the hair. Here, on these hills, my father's house o'erlooks Broad pastures grazed by flocks and herds, but there I hear they sprinkle the great plains with corn And watch its springing up, and when the green Is changed to gold, they cut the stems and bring The harvest in, and give the nations bread. And there they hew the quarry into shafts, And pile up glorious temples from the rock. And chisel the rude stones to shapes of men. 6 123 POEMS. All this I pine to see, and would have seen. But that I am a woman, long ago." Thus in her wanderings did the maiden dream, Until, at length, one morn in early spring, WTien all the glistening fields lay white with frost, She came half breathless where her mother sat : " See, mother dear," she said, " what I have found. Upon our rivulet's bank ; two slippers, white As the mid-winter snow, and spangled o'er With twinkling points, like stars, and on the edge My name is wrought in silver ; read, I pray, Sella, the name thy mother, now in heaven. Gave at my birth ; and sure, they fit my feet ! " " A dainty pair," the prudent matron said, " But thine they are not. "We must lay them by For those whose careless hands have left them here ; SELLA. 123 Or haply they were placed beside the brook To be a sDare. I cannot see thy name Upon the border, — only characters Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs Of some strange art; nay, danghter, wear them not." Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch Of that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed, Admired their fair contexture, but none knew Who left them by the brook And now, at length, May, with her flowers and singing birds, had gone. And on bright streams and into deep wells shone The high, mid-summer sun. One day, at noon, Sella was missed from the accustomed meal. They sought her in her favorite haunts, they looked By the great rock, and far along the stream. And shouted in the sounding woods her name. 124 POEMS. Night came, and fortli the sorrowing household went With torches over the wide pasture grounds To pool and thicket, marsh and briery dell, And solitary valley far away. The morning came, and Sella was not fonnd. The sun climbed high ; they sought her still ; the noon, The hot and silent noon, heard Sella's name. Uttered with a despairing cry, to wastes O'er which the eagle hovered. As the sun Stooped toward the amber west to bring the close Of that sad second day, and, with red eyes, The mother sat within her home alone, Sella was at her side. A shriek of joy Broke the sad silence ; glad, warm tears were shed. And words of gladness uttered. " Oh, forgive," The maiden said, " that I could e'er forget Thy wishes for a moment. I just tried SELLA. 126 The slippers on, amazed to see them shaped So fairly to my feet, when, all at once, I felt my steps upborne and hm*ried on Almost as if with wings. A strange delight, Blent with a thrill of fear, o'ermastered me, And, ere I knew, my plashing steps were set Within the riyulet's pebbly bed, and I "Was rushing down the current. By my side Tripped one as beautiful as ever looked From white clouds in a dream ; and, as we ran, She talked with musical Yoice and sweetly laughed ; Gayly we leaped the crag and swam the pool, And swept with dimpling eddies round the rock, And glided between shady meadow banks. The streamlet, broadening as we went, became A swelling river, and we shot along By stately towns, and under leaning masts Of gallant barks, nor lingered by the shore Of blooming gardens ; onward, onward still, 126 POEMS. The same strong impulse bore me till, at last, We entered the great deep, and passed below His billows, into boundless spaces, lit "With a green sunshine. Here were mighty groves Far down the ocean valleys, and between Lay what might seem fair meadows, softly tinged With orange and with crimson. Here arose Tall stems, that, rooted in the depths below. Swung idly with the motions of the sea ; And here were shrubberies in whose mazy screen The creatures of the deep made haunt. My friend Named the strange growths, the pretty coral- line, The dulse with crimson leaves, and streaming far, Sea-thong and sea-lace. Here the tangle spread Its broad, thick fronds, with pleasant bowers beneath, SELLA. 127 And oft we trod a waste of pearly sands. Spotted with rosy shells, and thence looked in At caverns of the sea whose rock-roofed halls Lay in bine twilight. As we moved along, The dwellers of the deep, in mighty herds, Passed by ns, reverently they passed ns by, Long trains of dolphins rolling thi'ough the brine, Hnge whales, that drew the waters after them, A torrent stream, and hideous hammer-sharks. Chasing their prey ; I shuddered as they came ; Gently they turned aside and gave us room." Hereat broke in the mother, " Sella, dear, This is a dream, the idlest, vainest dream." " Nay, mother, nay ; behold this sea-green scarf. Woven of such threads as never human hand Twined from the distaff. She who led my way Through the great waters, bade me wear it home, A token that my tale is true. ' And keep,' 128 POEMS. She said, 'the slippers thou hast found, for thou, When shod with them, shalt be like one of us, With power to walk at will the ocean floor, Among its monstrous creatures unafraid. And feel no longing for the air of heaven To fill thj lungs, and send the warm, red blood Along thy veins. But thou shalt pass the hours In dances with the sea-nymphs, or go forth, To look into the mysteries of the abyss Where never plummet reached. And thou shalt sleep Thy weariness away on downy banks Of sea-moss, where the pulses of the tide Shall gently lift thy hair, or thou shalt float On the soft currents that go forth and wind From isle to isle, and wander through the sea.' " So spake my fellow-voyager, her words Sounding like wavelets on a summer shore. And then we stopped beside a hanging rock With a smooth beach of white sands at its foot, SELLA. 129 Where three fair creatures like herself were set At their sea-banqnet, crisp and juicy stalks, Culled from the ocean's meadows, and the sweet Midrib of pleasant leaves, and golden fruits, Dropped from the trees that edge the southern And gathered on the waves. TCindly they prayed That I would share their meal, and I partook With eager appetite, for long had been My journey, and I left the spot refreshed. " And then we wandered off amid the groves Of coral loftier than the growths of earth ; The mightiest cedar lifts no trunk like theirs, So huge, so high, toward heaven, nor over- hangs Alleys and bowers so dim. We moved between Pinnacles of black rock, which, from beneath, Molten by inner fires, so said my guide, Gushed long ago into the hissing brine, 6* 130 POEMS. That quenclied and hardened them, and now they stand Motionless in the currents of the sea That part and flow around them. As we went, "We looked into the hollows of the abyss, To which the never-resting waters sweep The skeletons of sharks, the long white spines Of narwhale and of dolphin, bones of men Shipwrecked, and mighty ribs of foundered barks. Down the blue pits we looked, and hastened on. " But beautiful the fountains of the sea Sprang upward from its bed ; the silvery jets Shot branching far into the azure brine. And where they mingled with it, the great deep Quivered and shook, as shakes the glimmering air Above a furnace. So we wandered through The mighty world of waters, till, at length SELLA. 131 I wearied of its wonders, and my heart Began to yearn for my dear mountain home. I prayed iny gentle guide to lead me back To the upper air. ' A glorious realm,' I said, ' Is this thou openest to me ; but I stray Bewildered in its vastness ; these strange sights And this strange light oppress me. I must see The faces that I love, or I shall die.' " She took my hand, and, darting through the waves. Brought me to where the stream, by which we came, Rushed into the main ocean. Then began A slower journey upward. "Wearily We breasted the strong current, climbing through The rapids tossing high their foam. The night Came down, and, in the clear depth of a pool, Edged with o'erhanging rock, we took our rest Till morning ; and I slept, and dreamed of home And thee. A pleasant sight the morning showed ; 132 POEMS. The green fields of this upper world, the herds That grazed the bank, the light on the red clouds, The trees, with all their host of trembling leaves, Lifting and lowering to the restless wind Their branches. As I woke I saw them all From the clear stream ; yet strangely was my heart Parted between the watery world and this, And as we journeyed upward, oft I thought Of marvels I had seen, and stopped and turned, And lingered, till I thought of thee again ; And then again I turned and clambered up The rivulet's murmuring path, until we came Beside this cottage door. There tenderly My fair conductor kissed me, and I saw Her face no more. I took the slippers off. Oh ! with what deep delight my lungs drew in The air of heaven again, and with what joy I felt my blood bound with its former glow ; And now I never leave thy side again." SELLA. 133 So spoke the maiden Sella, with large tears Standing in her mild eyes, and in the porch Replaced the slippers. Autumn came and went; Tlie winter passed ; another summer warmed The quiet pools ; another autumn tinged The grape with red, yet while it hung un- plucked, The mother ere her time was carried forth To sleep among the solitary hills. A long still sadness settled on that home Among the mountains. The stern father there "Wept with his children, and grew soft of heart. And Sella, and the brothers twain, and one Younger than they, a sister fair and shy. Strewed the new grave with flowers, and round it set Shrubs that all winter held their lively green. Time passed ; the grief with which their hearts were wrung Waned to a gentle sorrow. Sella, now, 134 POEMS. Was often absent from the patriarcli's board ; The slippers hung no longer in the porch ; And sometimes after summer nights her couch "Was found unpressed at dawn, and well thej knew That she was wandering with the race who make Their dwelling in the waters. Oft her looks Fixed on blank space, and oft the ill-suited word Told that her thoughts were far away. In vain Her brothers reasoned with her tenderly. "Oh leave not thus thy kindred;" so they prayed; " Dear Sella, now that she who gave us birth Is in her grave, oh go not hence, to seek Companions in that strange cold realm below, For which God made not us nor thee, but stay To be the grace and glory of our home." She looked at them with those mild eyes and wept, SELLA. 135 But said no word in answer, nor refrained From tliose mysterious wanderings that filled Their loving hearts with a perpetual pain. And now the younger sister, fair and shy, Had grown to early womanhood, and one Who loved her well had wooed her for his bride, And she had named the wedding day. The herd Had given its fatlings for the marriage feast ; The roadside garden and the secret glen "Were rifled of their sweetest flowers to twine The door posts, and to lie among the locks Of maids, the wedding guests, and from the boughs Of mountain orchards had the fairest fruit Been plucked to glisten in the canisters. Then, trooping over hill and valley, came Matron and maid, grave men and smiling youths. Like swallows gathering for their autumn flight. 136 POEMS. In costumes of that simpler age they came, That gave the limbs large play, and wrapt the form In easy folds, yet bright with glowing hues As suited holidays. All hastened on To that glad bridal. There already stood The priest prepared to say the spousal rite, And there the harpers in due order sat, And there the singers. Sella, midst them all, Moved strangely and serenely beautiful. With clear blue eyes, fair locks, and brow and cheek Colorless as the lily of the lakes. Yet moulded to such shape as artists give To beings of immortal youth. Her hands Had decked her sister for the bridal hour "With chosen flowers, and lawn whose delicate threads Yied with the spider's spinning. There she stood With such a gentle pleasm^e in her looks SELLA. 137 As might beseem a river-nympli's soft eyes Gracing a bridal of the race whose flocks Were pastured on the borders of her stream. She smiled, but from that calm sweet face the smile Was soon to pass away. That very mom The elder of the brothers, as he stood Upon the hillside, had beheld the maid, Emerging from the channel of the brook. With three fresh water lilies in her hand. Wring dry her dripping locks, and in a cleft Of hanging rock, beside a screen of boughs. Bestow the spangled slippers. E'one before Had known where Sella hid them. Then she laid The light brown tresses smooth, and in them twined The lily buds, and hastily drew forth And threw across her shoulders a light robe Wrought for the .bridal, and with bounding steps 138 POEMS. Ran toward the lodge. The youth beheld and marked The spot and slowly followed from afar. T^ow had the marriage rite been said ; the bride Stood in the blush that from her burning cheek Glowed down the alabaster neck, as morn Crimsons the pearly heaven halfway to the west. At once the harpers struck their chords ; a gush Of music broke upon the air ; the youths All started to the dance. Among them moved The queenly Sella with a grace that seemed Caught from the swaying of the summer sea. The young drew forth the elders to the dance, Who joined it half abashed, but when they felt The joyous music tingling in their veins, They called for quaint old measures, which they trod As gayly as in youth, and far abroad SELLA. 139 Came tlirougL the open windows cheerful shouts And bursts of laughter. They who heard the sound Upon the mountain footpaths paused and said, " A meiTj wedding." Lovers stole away That sunny afternoon to bowers that edged The garden walks, and what was whispered there The lovers of these later times can guess. Meanwhile the brothers, when the merry din Was loudest, stole to where the slippers lay. And took them thence, and followed down the brook To where a little rapid rushed between Its borders of smooth rock, and dropped them in. The rivulet, as they touched its face, flung up Its small bright waves like hands, and seemed to take The prize with eagerness and draw it down. 140 POEMS. They, gleaming tlirougli the waters as they went, And striking with light sound the shining stones, Slid down the stream. The brothers looked and watched And listened with fall beating hearts till now The sight and sound had passed, and silently And half repentant hastened to the lodge. The sun was near his set ; the music rang Within the dwelling still, but the mirth waned ; For groups of guests were sauntering toward their homes Across the fields, and far on hillside paths. Gleamed the white robes of maidens. Sella grew "Weary of the long merriment ; she thought Of her still haunts beneath the soundless sea, And all unseen withdrew and sought the cleft Where she had laid the slippers. They were gone. SELLA. 141 She searclied the brookside near, yet found them not. Then her heart sank within her, and she ran ^ . Wildly from place to place, and once again She searched the secret cleft, and next she stooped And with spread palms felt carefully beneath The tufted herbs and bushes, and again. And yet again she searched the rocky cleft. " "Who could have taken them ? " THat ques- tion cleared The mystery. She remembered suddenly That when the dance was in its gayest whirl, Her brothers were not seen, and when, at length. They reappeared, the elder joined the sports "With shouts of boisterous mirth, and from her eye The younger shrank in silence. " N'ow, I know The guilty ones," she said, and left the spot, 142 POEMS. And stood before the youths with such a look Of anguish and reproach that well they knew Her thought, and almost wished the deed un- done. Frankly they owned the charge : " And par- don us ; We did it all in love ; we could not bear That the cold world of waters and the strange Beings that dwell within it should beguile Our sister from us." Then they told her all ; How they had seen her stealthily bestow The slippers in the cleft, and how by stealth They took them thence and bore them down the brook, And dropped them in, and how the eager waves Gathered and drew them down: but at that word The maiden shrieked— a broken-hearted shriek— And all who heard it shuddered and turned pale At the despairing cry, and " They are gone," SELLA. 143 She said, "gone — gone forever. Cruel ones ! 'Tis you who shut me out eternally From that serener world which I had learned To love so well. Why took ye not my life ? Ye cannot know what ye have done." She spake And hurried to her chamber, and the guests Who yet had lingered silently withdrew. The brothers followed to the maiden's bower, But with a calm demeanor, as they came, She met them at the door. "The wrong is great," She said, " that ye have done me, but no power Have ye to make it less, nor yet to soothe My sorrow ; I shall bear it as I may, The better for the hom-s that I have passed In the calm region of the middle sea. Go, then. I need you not." They, overawed, Withdrew from that grave presence. Then her tears 144 POEMS. Eroke forth a flood, as when the August cloud, Darkening beside the mountain, suddenly Melts into streams of rain. That weary night She paced her chamber, murmuring as she walked, " Oh peaceful region of the middle sea ! Oh azure bowers and grots, in which I loved To roam and rest ! Am I to long for you. And think how strangely beautiful ye are. Yet never see you more ? And dearer yet, Te gentle ones in whose sweet company I trod the shelly pavements of the deep. And swam its currents, creatures with calm eyes Looking the tenderest love, and voices soft As I'ipple of light waves along the shore. Uttering the tenderest words ! Oh ! ne'er again Shall I, in your mild aspects, read the peace That dwells within, and vainly shall I pine To hear your sweet low voices. Haply now Te miss me in your deep-sea home, and think SELLA. 145 Of me with pitj, as of one condemned To haunt this upper world, with its harsh sounds And glaring lights, its withering heats, its frosts, Cruel and killing, its delirious strifes. And all its feverish passions, till I die. So mourned she the long night, and when the morn Brightened the mountains, from her lattice looked The maiden on a world that was to her A desolate and dreary waste. That day- She passed in wandering bj the brook that oft Had been her pathway to the sea, and still Seemed, with its cheerful murmur, to invite Her footsteps thither. "Well may'st thou re- joice. Fortunate stream ! " she said, " and dance along Thy bed, and make thy course one ceaseless strain 7 146 POEMS. Of music, for thou journeyest toward the deep, To which I shall return no more." The night Brought her to her lone chamber, and she knelt And prayed, with many tears, to Him whose hand Touches the wounded heart and it is healed. With prayer there came new thoughts and new desires. She asked for patience and a deeper love For those with whom her lot was henceforth cast. And that in acts of mercy she might lose The sense of her own sorrow. When she rose A weight was lifted from her heart. She sought Her couch, and slept a long and peaceful sleep. At morn she woke to a new life. Her days Henceforth were given to quiet tasks of good In the great world. Men hearkened to her words. And wondered at their wisdom and obeyed, BELLA. 147 And saw liow beautiful the law of love Can make the cares and toils of daily life. Still did she love to haunt the springs and brooks, As in her cheerful childhood, and she taught The skill to pierce the soil and meet the veins Of clear cold water winding underneath, And call them forth to daylight. From afar She bade men bring the rivers on long rows Of pillared arches to the sultry town. And on the hot air of the summer fling The spray of dashing fountains. To relieve Their weary hands, she showed them how to tame The rushing stream, and make him drive the wheel That whirls the humming millstone and that wields The ponderous sledge. The waters of the cloud. That drench the hillside in the time of rains, 148 POEMS. Were gathered at lier bidding into pools, And in tlie montlis of drought led forth again, In glimmering rivulets, to refresh the vales. Till the sky darkened with returning showers. So passed her life, a long and blameless life. And far and near her name was named with love And reverence. Still she kept, as age came on. Her stately presence; still her eyes looked forth From under their calm brows as brightly clear As the transparent wells by which she sat So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair Unwrinkled features, though her locks were white. A hundred times had summer since her birth Opened the water lily on the lakes. So old traditions tell, before she died. A hundred cities mourned her, and her death Saddened the pastoral valleys. By the brook, That bickering ran beside the cottage door SELLA. 14:9 Where- she was born, they reared her monu- ment. Ere long the current parted and flowed round The marble base, forming a little isle, And there the flowers that love the running stream, Iris and orchis, and the cardinal flower. Crowded and hung caressingly around The stone engraved with Sella's honored name. FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEE'S ODYSSEY. TRANSLATED, AmJOKA, rising from her coucli beside The famed Tithonus, brought the light of day To men and to immortals. Then the gods Came to their seats in council. "With them came High thundering Jupiter, amongst them all The mightiest. Pallas, mindful of the past, Spoke of Ulysses and his many woes, Grieved that he still was with the island nymph. 151 " Oh, father Jove, and all ye blessed ones Who live forever ! let not sceptred king Henceforth, be gracious, mild, and merciful, And righteous ; rather be he deaf to prayer. And prone to deeds of wrong, since no one now Remembers the divine Ulysses more Among the people over whom he ruled, Benignly, like a father. Still he lies, Weighed down by many sorrows, in the isle And dwelling of Calypso, who so long Constrains his stay. To his dear native land Depart he cannot ; ship, arrayed with oars. And seamen has he none, to bear him o'er The breast of the broad ocean. ]^ay, even now, Against his well-beloved son a plot Is laid, to slay him as he jom-neys home From Pylos the divine, and from the walls Of famous Sparta, whither he had gone To gather tidings of his father's fate." Then answered her the ruler of the storms : " My child, what words are these that pass thy lips ? 152 POEMS. Was not thy long-determined counsel tMs, That, in good time, Ulysses should return, To be avenged ? Guide, then, Telemachus, Wisely, for so thou canst, that, all unharmed, He reach his native land, and, in their barks. Homeward the suitor-train retrace their way." He spoke, and turned to Hermes, his dear son : " Hermes, for thou, in this, my messenger Art, as in all things, to the bright-haired nymph Make known my steadfast purpose, the return Of suffering Ulysses. Neither gods !N"or men shall guide his voyage. On a raft, Made firm with bands, he shall depart and reach. After long hardships, on the twentieth day, The fertile shore of Scheria, on whose isle Dwell the Pheacians, kinsmen of the gods. They like a god shall honor him, and thence Send him to his loved country in a ship, FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER's ODYSSEY. 153 With ample gifts of brass and gold, and store Of raiment — wealth like which he ne'er had brought From conquered Ilion, had he reached his home Safely, with all his portion of the spoil. So is it preordained, that he behold His friends again, and stand once more within His high-roofed palace, on his native soil." He spake ; the herald Argicide obeyed. And hastily beneath his feet he boimd The fair, ambrosial, golden sandals, worn To bear him over ocean like the wind. And o'er the boundless land. His wand he took, "Wherewith he softly seals the eyes of men, And opens them at will from sleep. With this In hand, the mighty Argos-queller flew, And lighting on Pieria, from the sky Plunged downward to the deep, and skimmed its face Like hovering sea-mew, that on the broad gulfs 7* 154 POEMS. Of the unfmitfiil ocean seeks her prejj And often dips her pinions in the brine, So Hermes flew along the waste of waves. But when he reached that island, far away. Forth from the dark blue ocean-swell he stepped Upon the sea-beach, walking till he came To the vast cave in which the bright-haired nymph Made her abode. He found the nymph within. A fire blazed brightly on the hearth, and far Was wafted o'er the isle the fragrant smoke Of cloven cedar, burning in the flame, And cypress wood. Meanwhile, in her recess, She sweetly sang, as busily she threw The golden shuttle through the web she wove. And all about the grotto alders grew. And poplars, and sweet-smelling cypresses. In a green forest, high among whose boughs Birds of broad wing, wood-owls and falcons, built FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEr's ODTSSEY. 155 Their nests, and crows, with, voices sounding far. All haunting for their food the ocean side. A vine, with downy leaves and clnstering grapes. Crept over all the cavern rock. Four springs Poured forth their glittering waters in a row, And here and there went wandering side by side. Around were meadows of soft green, o'ergrown With violets and parsley. 'Twas a spot Where even an Immortal might, awhile, Linger, and gaze with wonder and delight. The herald Argos-queller stood, and saw. And marvelled ; but as soon as he had viewed The wonders of the place, he turned his steps. Entering the broad-roofed cave. Calypso there. The glorious goddess, sa^v him as he came. And knew him, for the ever-living gods Are to each other known, though one may dwell 166 POEMS. Far from the rest. Ulysses, large of heart, "Was not within. Apart, npon the shore. He sat and sorrowed, where he oft, in tears And sighs and vain repinings, passed the hours. Gazing with wet eyes on the barren deep. ISTow, placing Hermes on a shining seat Of state, Calypso, glorious goddess, said, " Thou of the golden wand, revered and loved, What, Hermes, brings thee hither? Passing few Have been thy visits. Make thy pleasure known. My heart enjoins me to obey, if aught That thou commandest be within my power. But first accept the ofi'erings due a guest." The goddess, speaking thus, before him placed A table where the heaped ambrosia lay, And mingled the red nectar. Ate and di-ank 157 The herald Argos-queller, and, refreshed, Answered the njmph, and made his message known : " Art thou a goddess, and dost ask of me, A god, why came I hither ? Yet, since thou Requirest, I will truly tell the cause. I came unwillingly at Jove's command, For who, of choice, would traverse the wide waste Of the salt ocean, with no city near. Where men adore the gods with solemn rites And chosen hecatombs. No god has power To elude or to resist the purposes Of segis-bearing Jove. With thee abides, He bids me say, the most unhappy man Of all who round the city of Priam waged The battle through nine years, and, in the tenth, Laying it waste, departed for their homes. But, in their voyage, they provoked the wrath Of Pallas, who called up the furious winds 158 POEMS. And angry waves against them. By his side Sank all his gallant comrades in the deep. Him did the winds and waves drive hither. Him Jove bids thee send away with speed, for here He must not perish, far from all he loves. So is it preordained that he behold His friends again, and stand once more within His high-roofed palace, on his native soil." He spoke, Calypso, glorious goddess, heard, And shuddered, and with winged words re- plied : " Ye are unjust, ye gods, and, envious far Beyond all other beings, cannot bear That ever goddess openly should make A mortal man her consort. Thus it was When once Aurora, rosy-fingered, took Orion for her husband ; ye were stung. Amid your blissful lives, with envious hate, Till chaste Diana, of the golden throne. Smote him with silent arrows from her bow, And slew him in Ortjgia. Thus, again, "When briglit-haired Ceres, swayed by her own heart. In fields which bore three yearly harvests, met lasion as a lover, this was known Ere long to Jnpiter, who fiung from high A flaming thunderbolt, and laid him dead. And now ye envy me, that with me dwells A mortal man. I saved him, as he clnng, Alone, upon his floating keel, for Jove Had cloven, with a bolt of fire, from heaven, His galley in the midst of the black sea. And all his gallant comrades perished there. Him kindly I received ; I cherished him, And promised him a life that ne'er should know Decay or death. But, since no god has power To elude or to withstand the purposes Of segis-bearing Jove, let him depart. If so the sovereign moves him and commands, Over the barren deep. I send him not ; For neither ship arrayed with oars have I, 160 POEMS. "Nor seamen, o'er the boundless waste of waves To bear him bence. My counsel I will give, And nothing will I bide tbat be should know, To place him safely on bis native shore." The herald Argos-queller answered her : " Dismiss him thus, and bear in mind the wrath Of Jove, lest it be Idndled against thee." Thus having said, the mighty Argicide Departed, and the nymph, who now had heard The doom of Jove, sought the great-hearted man, Ulysses. Him she found beside the deep, Seated alone, with eyes from which the tears "Were never dried, for now no more the nymph Delighted him ; he wasted his sweet life In yearning for his home. iNight after night He slept constrained within the hollow cave, The unwilling by the fond, and, day by day, He sat upon the rocks that edged the shore, And in continual weeping and in sighs 161 And yain repinings, wore tlie liours away, Gazing through tears upon the barren deep. The glorious goddess stood by him and spoke : " Unhappy ! sit no longer sorrowing here, ^NTor waste life thus. Lo ! I most willingly Dismiss thee hence. Else, hew down trees, and bind Their trunks, with brazen clamps, into a raft. And fasten planks above, a lofty floor. That it may bear thee o'er the dark blue deep. Bread will I put on board, water, and wine, Eed wine, that cheers the heart, and wrap thee well In garments, and send after *thee the wind. That safely thou attain thy native shore ; If so the gods permit thee, who abide In the broad heaven above, and better know By far than I, and far more wisely judge." Ulysses, the great sufferer, as she spoke. Shuddered, and thus with winged words re- plied : 162 POEMS. " Some other purpose than to send me home Is in thy heart, oh goddess, bidding me To cross this frightful sea upon a raft, The perilous sea, where never even ships Pass with their rapid keels, though Jove bestow The wind that glads the seaman. E'ay, 1 climb No raft, against thy wish, unless thou swear The great oath of the gods, that thou, in this, Dost meditate no other harm to me." He spake ; Calypso, glorious goddess, smiled, And smoothed his forehead with her hand, and said : '' Perverse ! and slow to see where guile is not! How could thy heart permit thee thus to speak ? Now bear me witness. Earth, and ye broad Heavens Above us, and ye waters of the Styx That flow beneath us, mightiest oath of all, And most revered by all the blessed gods, That I design no other harm to thee ; But that I plan for thee and counsel thee What I would do were I in need like thine. I bear a juster mind ; my bosom holds A pitying heart, and not a heart of steel." Thus haying said, the glorious goddess moved Away with hasty steps, and where she trod He followed, till they reached the vaulted cave, The goddess and the hero. There he took The seat whence Hermes had just risen. The nymph Brought forth whatever mortals eat and drink To set before him. She, right opposite To that of great Ulysses, took her seat. Ambrosia there her maidens laid, and there Poured nectar. Both put forth their hands, and took The ready viands, till at length the calls Of hunger and of thirst were satisfied ; Calypso, glorious goddess, then began : 164 POEMS. " Son of Laertes, man of many wiles. High-born Ulysses ! Thus wilt thou depart Home to thy native country ? Then farewell ; But, couldst thou know the sufferings Fate or- dains For thee ere yet thou landest on its shore, Thou wouldst remain to keep this home with me, And be immortal, strong as is thy wish To see thy wife — a wish that, day by day, Possesses thee. I cannot deem myself In form or face less beautiful than she. For never with immortals can the race Of mortal dames in form or face compare." Ulysses, the sagacious, answered her, " Bear with me, gracious goddess ; well I know All thou couldst say. The sage Penelope In feature and in stature comes not nigh To thee ; for she is mortal, deathless thou And ever young ; yet, day by day, I long To be at home once more, and pine to see The hour of my return. Even though some god Smite me on the black ocean, I shall bear The stroke, for in my bosom dwells a mind Patient of suffering ; much have I endured, And much survived, in tempests on the deep. And in the battle ; let this happen too." He spoke ; the sun went down ; the night came on. And now the twain withdrew to a recess Deep in the vaulted cave, where, side by side. They took their rest. But when the child of dawn, Aurora, rosy- fingered, looked abroad, Ulysses put his vest and mantle on ; The nymph too, in a robe of silver white, Ample, and delicate, and beautiful. Arrayed herself, and round about her loins Wound a fair golden girdle, drew a veil Over her head, and planned to send away Magnanimous Ulysses. She bestowed 166 POEMS. A heavy axe, of steel, and double edged, Well fitted to tlie hand, the handle wrought Of olive wood, firm set, and beautiful. A polished adze she gave him next, and led The wa J to a far corner of the isle, "Where lofty trees, alders and poplars, stood. And firs that reached the clouds, sapless and dry Long since, and titter thus to ride the waves. Then, having shown where grew the tallest trees. Calypso, glorious goddess, sought her home. Trees then he felled, and soon the task was done. Twenty in all he brought to earth, and squared Their trunks with the sharp steel, and carefully He smoothed their sides, and wrought them by a line. Calypso, gracious goddess, having brought Wimbles, he bored the beams, and, fitting them Together, made them fast with nails and clamps. FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER's ODYSSEY. 167 As when some builder, skilful in Ms art, Frames, for a sMp of burden, the broad keel. Such ample breadth Uljsses gave the raft. Upon the massy beams he reared a deck, And floored it with long planks from end to end. On this a mast he raised, and to the mast Fitted a yard ; he shaped a rudder neat, To guide the raft along her com-se, and round With woven work of willow boughs he fenced Her sides against the dashings of the sea. Calypso, gracious goddess, brought him store Of canvas, which he fitly shaped to sails, And, rigging her with cords, and ropes, and stays. Heaved her with levers into the great deep. 'Twas the fourth day ; his labors now were done. And, on the fifth, the goddess from her isle Dismissed him, newly from the bath, arrayed In garments given by her, that shed perfumes. 168 POEMS. A skin of dark red wine slie put on board, A larger one of water, and for food A basket, stored with viands such, as please The appetite. A friendly wind and soft She sent before. The great Ulysses spread His canvas joyfully, to catch the breeze. And sat and guided with nice care the helm, Gazing with fixed eye on the Pleiades, Bootes setting late, and the Great Bear, By others called the "Wain, which, wheeling round. Looks ever toward Orion, and alone Dips not into the waters of the deep. For so Calypso, glorious goddess, bade That, on his ocean journey, he should keep That constellation ever on his left. "Now seventeen days were in the voyage past, And on the eighteenth shadowy heights ap- peared. The nearest point of the Pheacian land. Lying on the dark ocean like a shield. But mighty ITeptunej coming from among Tlie Ethiopians, saw him. Far away He saw, from mountain heights of Solyma, The voyager, and burned with fiercer wrath, And shook his head, and said within himself: " Strange ! now I see the gods have new designs For this Ulysses, formed while I was yet In Ethiopia. He draws near the land Of the Pheacians, where it is decreed He shall o'erpass the boundary of his woes ; But first, I think, he will have much to bear." He spoke, and round about him called the clouds And roused the ocean, wielding in his hand The trident, summoned all the hurricanes Of all the winds, and covered earth and sky At once with mists, while from above, the night Fell suddenly. The east wind and the south Eushed forth at once, with the strong-blowing west, 8 170 POEMS. And the clear north rolled up his mighty waves. Ulysses trembled in his knees and heart. And thus to his great sonl, lamenting, said : " What will become of me ? nnhappy man ! I fear that all the goddess said was true, Foretelling what disasters should o'ertake My voyage, ere I reach my native land. 'Now are her words fulfilled. How Jupiter Wraps the great heaven in clouds and stirs the deep To tumult ! Wilder grow the hurricanes Of all the winds, and now my fate is sure. Thrice happy, four times happy they, who fell On Troy's wide field, warring for Atreus' sons. Oh, had I met my fate and perished there. That very day on which the Trojan host, Aromid the dead Achilles, hurled at me Their brazen javelins ; I had then received Due burial and great glory with the Greeks ; Now must I die a miserable death." As thus he spoke, upon him, from on high, 171 A huge and frightful billow broke ; it whirled The raft around, and far from it he fell. His hands let go the rudder ; a fierce rush Of all the winds together snapped in twain The mast ; far off the yard and canvas flew Into the deep ; the billow held him long Beneath the waters, and he strove in vain Quickly to rise to air from that huge swell Of ocean, for the garments weighed him down Which fair Calypso gave him. But, at length, Emerging, he rejected from his throat The bitter brine that down his forehead streamed. Even then, though hopeless with dismay, his thought Was on the raft, and, struggling through the waves. He seized it, sprang on board, and seated there Escaped the threatened death. Still to and fro The rolling billows drove it. As the wind In autiman sweeps the thistles o'er the field, 172 POEMS. Clinging together, so the blasts of heaven Hither and thither drove it o'er the sea. And now the south wind flung it to the north To buffet ; now the east wind to the west. Ino Leucothea saw him clinging there, The delicate-footed child of Cadmus, once A mortal, speaking with a mortal voice. Though now, within the ocean-gulfs, she shares The honors of the gods. With pitj she Beheld Ulysses struggling thus distressed, And, rising from the abyss below, in form A cormorant, the sea-nymph took her perch On the well-banded raft, and thus she said : " Ah, luckless man, how hast thou angered thus Earth-shaking Neptune, that he visits thee "With these disasters ? Yet he cannot take, Although he seek it earnestly, thy life. !N"ow do my bidding, for thou seemest wise. Laying aside thy garments, let the raft Drift with the winds, while thou, by strength of arm, 173 Makest thy way in swimming to the land Of the Pheacians, where thy safety lies. Receive this veil and bind its heavenly woof Beneath thy breast, and have no further fear Of hardship or of danger. But, as soon As thou shalt touch the island, take it off, And tui*n away thy face, and fling it far From where thou standest, into the black deep." The goddess gave the veil as thus she spoke, And to the tossing deep went down, in form A cormorant ; the black wave covered her. But still Ulysses, mighty sufferer. Pondered, and thus to his great soul he said : " Ah me ! perhaps some god is planning here Some other fraud against me, bidding me Forsake my raft. I will not yet obey. For still far off I see the land in which 'Tis said my refuge lies. This will I do. For this seems wisest. While the fastenings last That hold these timbers, I will keep my place 174: POEMS. And bide the tempest here. But when the waves Shall dash my raft in pieces, I will swim, Eor nothing better will remain to do." As he revolved this purpose in his mind. Earth-shaking I^eptnne sent a mighty wave, Horrid, and hnge, and high, and where he sat It smote him. As a violent wind uplifts The dry chaff heaped upon a threshing floor. And sends it scattered through the air abroad. So did that wave fling loose the ponderous beams. To one of these, Ulysses, clinging fast, Bestrode it, like a horseman on his steed ; And now he took the garments off, bestowed By fair Calypso, binding round his breast The veil, and forward plunged into the deep, "With palms outspread, prepared to swim. Meanwhile, Neptune beheld him, l^eptune, mighty king, And shook his head, and said within himself, 175 " Go thus, and, laden with mischances, roam The waters, till thou come among the race Cherished by Jupiter ; but well I deem Thou wilt not find thy share of suffering light.'- Thus having spoke, he urged his coursers on, With their fair flowing manes, until he came To ^gse, where his glorious palace stands. But Pallas, child of Jove, had other thoughts. She stayed the course of every wind beside, And bade them rest, and lulled them into sleep, But summoned the swift north to break the waves, That so Ulysses, the high-bom, escaped From death and from the fates, might be the guest Of the Pheacians, men who love the sea. Two days and nights, among the mighty waves 176 POEMS. He floated, offc Ms heart foreboding death, But when the briglit-haired Eos had fulfilled The thii-d day's course, and all the winds were laid, And calm was on the watery waste, he saw That land was near, as, lifted on the crest Of a huge swell, he looked with sharpened sight ; And as a father's life preserved makes glad His children's hearts, when long-time he has lain Sick, wrung with pain, and wasting by the power Of some malignant genius, till, at length. The gracious gods bestow a welcome cure ; So welcome to Ulysses was the sight Of woods and fields. By swimming on he thought To climb and tread the shore, but when he drew So near that one who shouted could be heard From land, the sound of ocean on the rocks 177 Came to his ear, for there huge breakers roared And spouted fearfully, and all around Was covered with the sea-foam. Haven here TVas none for ships, nor sheltering creek, but shores Beetling from high, and crags and walls of rock. Ulysses trembled both in knees and heart. And thus, to his great soul, lamenting, said : " Now woe is me ! as soon as Jove has shown Wliat I had little hoped to see, the land. And I through all these waves have ploughed my way, I find no issue from the hoary deep. For sharp rocks border it, and all around Eoar the wild surges ; slippery cliffs arise Close to deep gulfs, and footing there is none, Where I might plant my steps and thus escape. All effort now were fruitless to resist The mighty billow hurrying me away To dash me on the pointed rocks. If yet 8* lis POEMS. I strive, by swimming furtlier, to descry- Some sloping shore or harbor of the isle, I fear the tempest, lest it hurl me back. Heavily groaning, to the fishy deep. Or huge sea monster, from the multitude Wliich sovereign Amphitrite feeds, be sent Against me by some god, for well I know The power who shakes the shores is wroth with me." While he revolved these doubts within his mind A huge wave hurled him toward the rugged coast. Then had his limbs been flayed, and all his bones Broken at once, had not the blue-eyed maid, Min erva, prompted him. Borne toward the rock. He clutched it instantly, with both his hands. And, panting, clung, till that huge wave rolled by, And so escaped its fury. Back it came, FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEK's ODYSSEY. 179 And smote him once again, and flung him far Seaward. As to the claws of polypus, Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling, So flakes of skin, from off his powerful hands, "Were left upon the rock. The mighty surge O'erwhelmed him; he had perished ere his time. Hapless Ulysses, but the blue-eyed maid Pallas, informed his mind with wisdom. Straight Emerging from the wave that shoreward rolled, He swam along the coast and eyed it well. In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek. But when, in swimming, he had reached the mouth Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rock. And here was shelter from the wind. He felt The current's flow, and thus devoutly prayed : " Hear me, oh sovereign power, whoe'er thou art I 180 POEMS. To thee, the long desired, I- come. I seek Escape from Neptune's threatenings on the sea. The deathless gods respect the prayer of him Who looks to them for help, a fugitive, As I am now, when to thy stream I come, And to thy knees, from many a hardship past. Oh thou that here art ruler, I declare Myself thy suppliant ; be thou merciful." He spoke ; the river stayed his current, checked The billows, smoothed them to a calm, and gave The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth. Then dropped his knees and sinewy arms, at once Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his heart. His body was all swoln ; the brine gushed forth From mouth and nostrils ; all unnerved he lay, Breathless and speechless ; utter weariness 181 O'ermastered liim. But when he breathed again, And his flown senses had returned, he loosed The veil that Ino gave him from his breast, And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave Bore it far down the stream ; the goddess there In her own hands received it. He, meanwhile, Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth. And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said : " Ah me ! what must I sufier more ! what jet "Will happen to me ? If, b j the river's side, I pass the unfriendly watches of the night, The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank May, in this weakness, end me utterly For chilly blows the river air at dawn. But should I climb this hill, to sleep within The shadowy wood, among thick shrubs, if cold And weariness allow me, then I fear. That, while the pleasant slumbers o'er me steal, I may become the prey of savage beasts." 182 POEMS. Yetj as lie longer pondered this seemed best. He rose and sought the wood, and found it near The water, on a height, o'erlooking far The region round. Between two shrubs, that sprung Both from one spot, he entered,— olive trees, One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing wind ITe'er pierced then* covert ; never blazing sun Darted his beams within, nor pelting shower Beat through, so closely intertwined they grew. Here entering, Ulysses heaped a bed Of leaves with his own hands ; he made it broad And high, for thick the leaves had fallen around. Two men and three, in that abundant store. Might bide the winter storm, though keen the cold. Ulysses, the great sufferer, on his couch Looked and rejoiced, and placed himself with- in, And heaped the leaves high o'er him and around. As one who, dwelling in the distant fields, Without a neighbor near him, hides a brand In the dark ashes, keeping carefully The seeds of fire alive, lest he, perforce. To light his hearth must bring them from afar ; So did Ulysses, in that pile of leaves, Bury himself, while Pallas o'er his eyes Poured sleep and closed his lids, that he might take. After his painful toils, the fitting rest. Revised November 15, 1862. THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. ALice. — One of your old world stories, Uncle Jolm, Such as you tell us by the winter fire, Till we all wonder it has grown so late. TJnde John, — The story of the witch that ground to death Two children in her mill, or will you have The tale of Goody Cutpurse ? Alice. — Nay now, nay ; Those stories are too childish. Uncle John, Too childish even for little Willy here, And I am older, two good years, than he ; THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 185 No, let US have a tale of elves tliat ride, Bj night, with jingling reins, or gnomes of the mine. Or water-faii'ies, such as you know how To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink. And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is, Lays down her knitting. Uncle John. — Listen to me, then. 'Twas in the olden time, long, long ago. And long before the great oak at our door Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt Beside a glen and near a dashing brook, A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass. Flowers opened earliest; but, when winter came. That little brook was fringed with other flow- ers, — White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew 186 POEMS. In clear !N"ovember nights. And, later still, That mountain glen was filled with drifted snows From side to side, that one might walk across, "While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook Sang to itself, and leaped and trotted on Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale. Alice. — A mountain's side, you said; the Alps, perhaps. Or our own Alleghanies. TJnde John. — !N^ot so fast, My young geographer, for then the Alps, "With their broad pastures, haply were untrod Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice Had sounded in the woods that overhang Our Alleghany's streams. I think it was Upon the slopes of the great Caucasus, Or where the rivulets of Ararat Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose So high, that, on its top, the winter snow Was never melted, and the cottagers THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF TITE SNOW. 187 Among the summer blossoms, far below, Saw its white peaks in August from their door. One little maiden, in that cottage home, Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb, Bright, restless, thoughtless, flitting here and there, Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean waves, And sometimes she forgot what she was bid, As Alice does. Alice, — Or Willy, quite as oft. Uncle John, — But you are older, Alice, two good years, And should be wiser. Eva was the name Of this young maiden, now twelve summers old. Now you must know that, in those early times. When autumn days grew pale, there came a troop Of childlike forms from that cold mountain top; 188 POEMS. With trailing garments tliroiigli the air they came. Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threw Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass, And edged the brook with glistening parapets. And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool, And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence, They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light snow, And buried the great earth, as autumn winds Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves. A beautiful race were they, with baby brows, And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked With man, as friend with friend. A merry sight It was, when, crowding round the traveller. They smote him with their heaviest snow flakes, flung THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 189 Needles of frost in liandfuls at his cheeks, And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath, "Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed Their slender langh to see him wink and grin And make grim faces as he floundered on. But, when the spring came on, what terror reigned Among these Little People of the Snow ! To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire, And the soft south wind was the wind of death. Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl Upon their childish faces, to the north, Or scampered upward to the mountain's top. And there defied their enemy, the Spring ; Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks, And moulding little snow-balls in their palms, And rolling them, to crush her flowers below, Down the steep snow-fields. Alice. — That, too, must have been A merry sight to look at. 190 roE3is. Uncle John, — You are right, But I must speak of graver matters now. Mid-winter was the time, and Eva stood, Within the cottage, all prepared to dare The outer cold, with ample furrj robe Close belted round her waist, and boots of fur, And a broad kerchief, which her mother's hand Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek. "!N"ow, stay not long abroad," said the good dame, " For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well, Go not upon the snow beyond the spot Where the great linden bounds the neighboring field." The little maiden promised, and went forth, And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms, Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift She slowly rose, before her, in the Avay, THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 191 Slie saw a little creature lily-cheeked, With flowing flaxen locks, and faint bine eyes, That gleamed like ice, and robe that only seemed Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek. On a smooth bank she sat. Alice. — She must have been One of your Little People of the Snow. Unole John, — She was so, and, as Eva now drew near, Tlie tiny creature bounded from her seat ; " And come," she said, " my pretty friend ; to- day We will be playmates. I have watched thee long. And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these drifts, And scoop their fair sides into little cells. And carve them with quaint figures, huge- limbed men, Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day. 192 POEMS. A merry ramble over these bright fields, And thou sbalt see what thou liast never seen." On went the pair, until they reached the bound Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow. Up to the lower branches. " Here we stop," Said Eva, " for my mother has my word That I will go no further than this tree." Then the snow-maiden laughed ; " And what is this ? This fear of the pure snow, the innocent snow. That never harmed aught living ? Thou may'st roam For leagues beyond this garden, and return In safety ; here the grim wolf never prowls, And here the eagle of our mountain crags Preys not in winter. I will show the way And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure, Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide." THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 193 By such smootli words was Eva won to break Her promise, and went on with her new friend, Over the glistening snow and down a bank TV here a white shelf, wrought by the eddying wind, Like to a billow's crest in the great sea, Cui'tained an opening. " Look, we enter here." And straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging fold, Entered the little pair that hill of snow. Walking along a passage with white walls. And a white vault above where snow-stars shed A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe. And held her peace, but the snow-maiden smiled, And talked and tripped along, as, down the way. Deeper they went into that mountainous drift. 9 194: POEMS. And now tlie white walls widened, and the vault Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome, Such as the Florentine, who bore the name Of heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since. Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane, The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay. In which the Little People of the Snow "Were wont to take their pastime when their tasks Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flow- er. The growths of summer. Here the palm up- reared Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf Of plume-like leaves; here cedars, huge as those Of Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs, THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 195 Yet pale and shadowless ; the sturdy oak Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming strength, Fast anchored in the glistening bank; light sprays Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom. Drooped by the winding walks ; yet all seemed wrought Of stainless alabaster ; up the trees Ran the lithe jessamine, with stalk and leaf Colorless as her flowers. " Go softly on," Said the snow maiden ; " touch not, with thy hand. The frail creation round thee, and beware To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above. How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up With shifting gleams that softly come and go. These are the northern lights, such as thou seest In the midwinter nights, cold, wandering flames, 196 POEMS. That float, with, our processions, through the air; And here, within our winter palaces, Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told How, when the wind, in the long winter nights. Swept the light snows into the hollow dell, She and her comrades guided to its place Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly up. In shapely colonnade and glistening arch. With shadowy aisles between, or bade them grow. Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all. Built the broad roof. " But thou hast yet to see A fairer sight," she said, and led the way To where a window of pellucid ice Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path. "Look, but thou mayst not enter." Eva looked, THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 197 And lo ! a glorious hall, from whose high vault Stripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green. And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor And far around, as if the aerial hosts. That march on high by night, with beamy spears. And streaming banners, to that place had brought Their radiant flags to grace a festival. And in that hall a joyous multitude Of those by whom its glistening walls were reared, Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds. That rang from cymbals of transparent ice, And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch Of little fingers. Eound and round they flew. As when, in spring, about a chimney top, A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned, Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again. Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly 198 POEMS. Flowed tlie meandering stream of that fair dance, Beneath tliat dome of light. Bright eyes that looked Erom nnder lily brows, and gauzy scarfs Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun, Shot by the window in their mazy whirl. And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight Of those bright revellers and that graceful sweep Of motion as they passed her ; — ^long she gazed, And listened long to the sweet sounds that thrilled The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold Recalled her to herself. " Too long, too long I linger here," she said, and then she sprang Into the path, and with a hurried step Followed it upward. Ever by her side Her little guide kept pace. As on they went Eva bemoaned her fault; "What must they think — THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 199 The dear ones in the cottage, while so long, Hour after hour, I stay without ? I know That they will seek me far and near, and weep To find me not. How could I, wickedly !N"eglect the charge they gave me ? " As she spoke. The hot tears started to her eyes ; she knelt In the mid path. " Father ! forgive this sin ; Forgive myseK I cannot " — thus she prayed, And rose and hastened onward. When, at last. They reached the outer air, the clear north breathed A bitter cold, from which she shrank with dread. But the snow-maiden bounded as she felt The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy. And skipped, with boundless glee, from drift to drift. And danced round Eva, as she labored up The mounds of snow, " Ah me ! I feel my eyes 200 POEMS. Grow heavy," Eva said; "thej swim with sleep ; I cannot wallc for ntter weariness, And I must rest a moment on this bank. But let it not be long." As thus she spoke, In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow, With closing lids. Her guide composed the robe About her limbs, and said, " A pleasant spot Is this to slumber in ; on such a couch Oft have I slept awaj the winter night. And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept, But slept in death ; for when the power of frost Locks up the motions of the living frame. The victim passes to the realm of Death Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide, "Watching beside her, saw the hues of life Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek, THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 201 As fades the crimson from a morning cloud, Till thej were white as marble, and the breath Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not At first that this was death. But when she marked How deep the paleness was, how motionless That once lithe form, a fear came over her. She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe, And shouted in her ear, but all in vain ; The life had passed away from those young limbs. Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry. Such as the dweller in some lonely wild. Sleepless through all the long December night. Hears when the mournful East begins to blow. But suddenly was heard the sound of steps, Grating on the crisp snow ; the cottagers Were seeking Eva ; from afar they saw The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came, 9* 202 POEMS. With gentle chidings ready on their lips, And marked that deathlike sleep, and heard the tale Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief And blame were uttered : " Cruel, cruel one, To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we. Who suffered her to wander forth alone In this fierce cold." They lifted the dear child, Ajid bore her home and chafed her tender limbs, And strove, by all the simple arts they knew. To make the chilled blood move, and win the breath Back to her bosom ; fruitlessly they strove. The little maid was dead. In blank despair They stood, and gazed at her who never more Should look on them. " Why die we not with her?" They said ; " without her life is bitterness." THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 203 Now came the funeral day ; the simple folk Of all that pastoral region gathered round, To share the sorrow of the cottagers. They carved a way into the mound of snow To the glen's side, and dug a little grave In the smooth slope, and, following the bier. In long procession from the silent door, Chanted a sad and solemn melody. " Lay her away to rest within the ground. Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life Was spotless as these snows ; for she was reared In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring. And all that now our tenderest love can do Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs." They paused. A thousand slender voices round. Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill, Took up the strain, and all the hollow air 204 POEMS. Seemed mourning for the dead; for, on that day, The Little People of the Snow had come, From mountain peak, and cloud, and icy hall. To Eva's burial. As the murmur died The funeral train renewed the solemn chant. " Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with Eve, "Whose gentle name was given her. Even so, For so Thy wisdom saw that it was best For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts, And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand. As, with submissive tears, we render back The lovely and beloved to Him who gave." They ceased. Again the plaintive mur- mur rose. From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it came. And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped with snow. Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away To silence in the dim-seen distant woods. THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 205 The little grave was closed; tlie funeral train Departed ; winter wore away ; . the spring Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts, By fond hands planted where the maiden slept. But, after Eva's burial, never more The Little People of the Snow were seen By human eye, nor ever human ear Heard from their lips, articulate speech again; For a decree went forth to cut them off, Forever, from communion with mankind. The winter clouds, along the mountain-side. Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens. And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines. Where once they made their haunt, was emp- tiness. 206 POEMS. But ever, when the wintry days drew near, Around that little grave, in the long night. Frost-wreaths were laid and tufts of silvery rime In shape like blades and blossoms of the field. As one would scatter flowers upon a bier. THE POET. Thotj, who wouldst wear the name Of poet mid thy brethren of mankind, And clothe in words of flame Thoughts that shall live within the general mind! Deem not the jframing of a deathless lay The pastime of a drowsy summer day. But gather all thy powers, And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave. And in thy lonely hours. At silent morning or at wakeful eve, 208 POEMS. While tlie warm current tingles tlirougli thy veins, Set forth the burning words in fluent strains. !N'o smooth array of phrase. Artfully sought and ordered though it be, Which the cold rhymer lays Upon his page with languid industry, Can wake the listless pulse to livelier speed, Or fill with sudden tears the eyes that read. The secret wouldst thou know To touch the heart or fire the blood at will ? Let thine own eyes o'erflow ; Let thy lips quiver with the passionate thrill; Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be past, And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast. THE POET. 209 Then, should thy verse appear Halting and harsh, and all unaptly wrought, Touch the crude line with fear, Save in the moment of impassioned thought ; Then summon back the original glow and mend The strain with rapture that with fii*e was penned. Yet let no empty gust Of passion find an utterance in thy lay, A blast that whirls the dust Along the howling street and dies away ; But feelings of calm power and mighty sweep. Like currents journeying through the windless deep. Seek'st thou, in living lays. To limn the beauty of the earth and sky ? Before thine inner gaze Let all that beauty in clear vision lie ; 210 POEMS. Look on it with exceeding love, and write The words inspired by wonder and delight. Of tempests wouldst thou sing, Or tell of battles — ^make thyself a part Of the great tumult ; cling To the tossed wreck mth terror in thy heart ; Scale, with the assaulting host, the rampart's height. And sti'ike and struggle in the thickest fight. So shalt thou frame a lay That haply may endure from age to age. And they who read shall say : "What witchery hangs upon this poet's page ! "What art is his the written spells to find That sway from mood to mood the willing mind! i NOTES NOTES. Page 40. THE LOST BIED. Eeadees who are acquainted with the Spanish lan- guage may not be displeased at seeing the original of this little poem : EL PAJAEO PEEDIDO. Huy6 con vuielo incierto, Y de mis ojos ha desparecido, Mirad, si, a vuestro huerto, Mi pajaro querido, Nifias hermosas, por acaso ha huido. 214 NOTES. Sus ojos relucientes Son como los del aguila orgullosa ; Plumas resplandecientes, En la cabeza ariosa, Lleva ; j su voz es tiema j armoniosa. Mirad, si cnidadoso Junto a las flores se escondid en la grama. Ese lanrel frondoso Mirad, rama per rama, Que Q. los laureles y los flores ama. Si le hallais, por ventura, 'No OS enamore su amoroso acento ; N'o OS prende su liermosura ; Volvedmele al momento ; O dejadle, si no, libre en el viento. Por que su pico de oro Solo en mi mano toma la semilla ; Y no enjugar^ el lloro Que veis en mi mejilla, Hasta encontrar mi profugo avecilla. NOTES. 215 Mi vista se oscurece, Si sus qjos no ve, que son mi dia. Mi anima desfallece Con la melancolia De no escucliarle ya su melodia. The literature of Spain at the present day has this peculiarity, that female writers have, in considerable number, entered into competition with the other sex. One of the most remarkable of these, as a writer of both prose and poetry, is Carolina Coronado de Perry, the au- thor of the little poem here given. The poetical litera- ture of Spain has felt the influence of the female mind in the infusion of a certain delicacy and tenderness, and the more frequent choice of subjects which interest the domestic aflfections. Concerning the verses of the lady already mentioned, Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, one of the most accomplished Spanish critics of the pres- ent day, and himself a successful dramatic writer, says : " If Carolina Coronado had, through modesty, sent her productions from Estremadura to Madrid under the name of a person of the other sex, it would still have been difficult for intelligent readers to persuade them- selves that they were written by a man, or at least, con- 216 NOTES. sidering their graceful sweetness, purity of tone, simplicity of conception, trevity of development, and delicate and particular choice of subject, we should be constrained to attribute them to one yet in his early youth, whom the imagination would represent as ingenuous, innocent and gay, who had scarce ever wandered beyond the flowery grove or pleasant valley where his cradle was rocked, and where he had been lulled to sleep by the sweetest songs of Francisco de la Torre, Garcilaso and Melendez." The author of the Pajaro Perdido^ according to a me- moir of her by Angel Fernandez de los Kios, was born at Almendralejo, in Estremadura, in 1823. At the age of nine years she began to steal from sleep, after a day passed in various lessons, and in domestic occupations, several hours every night to read the poets of her coun- try, and other books belonging to the library of the household, among which is mentioned as a proof of her vehement love of reading, the Critical History of Spain, by the Abbe Masuden, " and other works equally dry and prolix." She was afterwards sent to Badajoz, where she received the best education which the state of the country, then on fire with a civil war, would admit. Here the intensity of her application to her studies caused a severe malady, which has frequently recurred NOTES. 217 in after life. At the age of thirteen years she wrote a poem entitled La Pdlma^ which the author of her biog- raphy declares to be worthy of Herrera, and which led Espronceda, a poet of Estremadura, a man of genius, and the author of several translations from Byron, whom he resembled both in mental and personal characteristics, to address her an eulogistic sonnet. In 1843, when she was but twenty years old, a volume of her poems was pub- lished at Madrid, in which were included both that enti- tled La Palma^ and the one I have given in this note. To this volume Hartzenbusch, in his admiration for her genius, prefaced an introduction. The task of writing verses in Spanish is not difScult. Rhymes are readily found, and the language is easily moulded into metrical forms. Those who have distin- guished themselves in this literature have generally made their first essays in verse. What is remarkable enough, the men who afterwards figure in political life mostly begin their career as the authors of madrigals. A poem intro- duces the future statesman to the public, as a speech at a popular meeting introduces the candidate for political dis- tinction in this country. I have heard of but one of the eminent Spanish politicians of the present time, who made a boast that he was innocent of poetry, and if all 10 218 NOTES. that his enemies say of him be trne, it would have been well both for his country and his own fame, if he had been equally innocent of corrupt practices. The compo- sitions of Carolina Coronado, even her earliest, do not deserve to be classed with the productions of which we have spoken, and which are simply the effect of inclina- tion and facility. They possess the mens divinior. In 1852 a collection of the poems of Carolina Coro- nado was brought out at Madrid, including those which were first published. The subjects are of larger variety than those which prompted her earlier productions; some of them are of a religious cast, others refer to po- litical matters. One of them, which appears among the "Improvisations," is an energetic protest against erect- ing a new amphitheatre for bull-fights. The spirit of all her poetry is humane and friendly to the best interests of mankind. Her writings in prose must not be overlooked. Among them is a novel entitled Sigea, founded on the adventures of Camoens ; another entitled Jorilla, a beau- tiful story, full of pictures of rural life in Estremadura, which deserves, if it could find a competent translator, to be transferred to our language. Besides these there are two other novels from her pen, Paquita and La Lvz del NOTES. 219 Tejo. A few years since appeared, in a Madrid periodi- cal, the Semancmo^ a series of letters written by her, giv- ing an account of the impressions received in a journey from the Tagus to the Ehine, including a visit to Eng- land. Among the subjects on which she has written, is the idea, still warmly cherished in Spain, of uniting the entire peninsula under one government. In an ably con- ducted journal of Madrid, she has given accounts of the poetesses of Spain, her contemporaries, with extracts from their writings, and a kindly estimate of their re- spective merits. Her biographer speaks of her activity and efficiency in charitable enterprises, her interest in the cause of education, her visits to the primary schools of Madrid, encouraging and rewarding the pupils, and her patron- age of the esciLcla de parvulos, or infant school, at Bada- joz, established by a society in that city, with the design of improving the education of the laboring class. It must have been not long after the publication of her poems, in 1852, that Carolina Ooronado became the wife of an American gentlemau, Mr. Horatio J. Perry, at one time our Secretary of Legation at the Court of Ma- drid, afterwards our Charge d' Affaires, and now, in 1863, again Secretary of Legation. Amidst the duties of a wife 220 NOTES. and mother, which she fulfils with exemplary fidelity and grace, she has not either forgotten or forsaken the lite- rary pursuits which have given her so high a reputation. THE EUINS OF ITALIOA. The poems of the Spanish author, Francisco de Eioja, who lived in the first half of the seventeenth century, are few in numher, but much esteemed. His ode on the Kuins of Italica is one of the most admired of these, but in the only collection of his poems which I have seen, it is said that the concluding stanza, in the original copy, was deemed so little worthy of the rest that it was pur- posely omitted in the publication. Italica was a city founded by the Eomans in the South of Spain, the re- mains of which are stiU an object of interest. Page 118. SELLA. Sella is the name given by the Yulgate to one of the wives of Lamech, mentioned in the fourth chapter of the Book of Genesis, and called ZiUah in the common English version of the Bible. NOTES. 221 Page 150. HOMKE's ODYSSEY, BOOK V., TEANSLATED. It may be esteemed presumptuous in the author of this volume to attempt a translation of any part of Homer in blank verse after that of Oowper. It has al- ways seemed to him, however, that Cowper's version had very great defects. The style of Homer is simple, and he has been praised for fire and rapidity of narra- tive. Does any body find these qualities in Cowper's Homer? If Cowper had rendered him into such English as he employed in his "Task," there would be no reason to complain ; but in translating Homer he seems to have thought it necessary to use a different style from that of his original works. Almost every sentence is stiffened by some clumsy inversion ; stately phrases are used when simpler ones were at hand, and would have ren- dered the meaning of the original better. The entire version has the appearance of being hammered out with great labor, and as a whole it is cold and constrained ; scarce anything seems spontaneous ; it is only now and then that the translator has caught the fervor of his author. Homer, of course, wrote in idiomatic Greek, and, in order to produce either a true copy of the original 222 NOTES. or an agreeable poem, should have been translated into idiomatic English. I am almost ashamed, after this censure of an author, whom, in the main, I admire so much as I do Cowi^er, to refer to my own translation of the Fifth Book of the Odyssey. I desire barely to say that I have endeavored to give the verses of the old Greek poet at least a simpler presentation in English, and one more conformable to the genius of our language. THE END n^ Q ^ ■>-:i' f o- .^^\^^% V' .o^V^;4^,^ r . ". ^^0^ 0" ♦ \' J^^^. r; ;- -N«- L-l'?^ '.^^^o SP-C K o- V^ v^^.ii^'.-"*:^.. <^ oO» ' o ^^ • :. <^oi* feV" . ^o^ ', i j^-^K ; '^^.^^ :*' • -^^^^ * ^} '^o^ ^o^ • «» •^ 5- r o^ *; ^^ >^-;^. ^^/^ Ao^ '.■ ^\^:t:^,:%"'y\*i'j^y.% ^ '*«T ^