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 Book.^ >U- 
 
 Copyright}]" 
 
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 littp://www.arcliive.org/details/selectionsfrompoOOsaxe 
 
SELECTIONS FROM SAXE 
 
ncr yc^/r e^ C3^ay)^&y 
 
 7 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN GODFREY SAXE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY 
 1905 : ' 
 
iCT 2S 1905 
 
 
 9' isw 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1905 BY FRANK J. SAXE 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
^ CONTENTS 
 
 EARLY RISING I 
 
 THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL ... 4 
 THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE . . .II 
 
 THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER . . 2$ 
 
 MY FAMILIAR ...... 28 
 
 THE JOLLY MARINER . . . . 31 
 
 RHYME OF THE RAIL .... 36 
 
 THE MOURNER A LA MODE. . . 4O 
 
 TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER ... 43 
 
 "IF LOVE AND LIFE WERE ONE " . 45 
 POST PRANDIAL VERSES . . ,. .46 
 
 TO A CLAM 50 
 
 LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT . . 5 1 
 
 THE DEAD LETTER .... 53 
 
 BEREAVEMENT 55 
 
 THE SILVER WEDDING ... $6 
 
Selections from Saxe 
 
 EARLY RISING 
 
 )D bless the man who first invented 
 sleep ! " 
 So Sancho Panza said, and so say I : 
 And bless him, also, that he did n't keep 
 
 His great discovery to himself ; nor try 
 To make it — as the lucky fellow might — 
 A close monopoly by patent-right ! 
 
 Yes ; bless the man who first invented sleep 
 
 (I really can't avoid the iteration) ; 
 But blast the man, with curses loud and deep, 
 
 Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station. 
 Who first invented, and went round advising, 
 That artificial cut-off, — Early Rising ! 
 
 " Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed," 
 Observes some solemn, sentimental owl ;. 
 I 
 
EARLY Maxims like these are very cheaply said ; 
 
 RISING ^ , ,. r 1 /■ , 
 
 But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl, 
 Pray just inquire about his rise and fall, 
 And whether larks have any beds at all ! 
 
 The time for honest folks to be abed 
 Is in the morning, if I reason right ; 
 
 And he who cannot keep his precious head 
 Upon his pillow till it 's fairly light, 
 
 And so enjoy his forty morning winks, 
 
 Is up to knavery j or else — he drinks ! 
 
 Thomson, who sung about the " Seasons," said 
 It was a glorious thing to rise in season j 
 
 But then he said it — lying — in his bed, 
 At ten o'clock, a. m., — the very reason 
 
 He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is. 
 
 His preaching was n't sanctioned by his prac- 
 tice. 
 
 'T is, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake, — 
 Awake to duty, and awake to truth, — 
 
 But when, alas ! a nice review we take 
 
 Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, 
 
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep early 
 
 RISING 
 
 Are those we passed in childhood or asleep ! 
 
 'T is beautiful to leave the world awhile 
 For the soft visions of the gentle night ; 
 
 And free, at last, from mortal care or guile, 
 To live as only in the angels' sight, 
 
 In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in. 
 
 Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin ! 
 
 So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise. 
 
 I like the lad who, when his father thought 
 To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase 
 
 Of vagrant worm by early songster caught. 
 Cried, " Served him right ! — it 's not at all surpris- 
 ing; 
 The worm was punished, sir, for early rising ! " 
 
THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 ITHIN a churchyard's sacred ground, 
 Whose fading tablets tell 
 Where they who built the village 
 church 
 In solemn silence dwell, 
 Half hidden in the earth, there lies 
 An ancient Chapel-Bell. 
 
 Broken, decayed, and covered o'er 
 With mouldering leaves and rust ; 
 
 Its very name and date concealed 
 Beneath a cankering crust ; 
 
 Forgotten, — like its early friends. 
 Who sleep in neighboring dust. 
 
 Yet it was once a trusty Bell, 
 
 Of most sonorous lung, 
 And many a joyous wedding-peal 
 
 And many a knell had rung, 
 
 4 
 
Ere Time had cracked its brazen sides, the old 
 
 CHAPEL- 
 
 And broke its iron tongue, bell 
 
 And many a youthful heart had danced, 
 
 In merry Christmas-time, 
 To hear its pleasant roundelay, 
 
 Sung out in ringing rhyme ; 
 And many a worldly thought been checked 
 
 To list its sabbath chime. 
 
 A youth — a bright and happy boy — 
 
 One sultry summer's day. 
 Aweary of his bat and ball, 
 
 Chanced hitherward to stray, 
 To read a little book he had, 
 
 And rest him from his play. 
 
 " A soft and shady spot is this ! " 
 The rosy youngster cried, 
 And sat him down beneath a tree. 
 
 That ancient Bell beside ; 
 (But, hidden in the tangled grass, 
 The Bell he ne'er espied.) 
 S 
 
THE OLD Anon, a mist fell on his book, 
 
 CHAPEL- ^, , , . 
 
 ggLL The letters seemed to stir, 
 
 And though, full oft, his flagging sight 
 
 The boy essayed to spur, 
 The mazy page was quickly lost 
 
 Beneath a cloudy blur. 
 
 And while he marveled much at this, 
 And wondered how it came. 
 
 He felt a languor creeping o'er 
 His young and weary frame. 
 
 And heard a voice, a gentle voice. 
 That plainly spoke his name. 
 
 That gentle voice that named his name 
 Entranced him like a spell, 
 
 Upon his ear so very near 
 And suddenly it fell, 
 
 Yet soft and musical, as 't were 
 The whisper of a bell. 
 
 " Since last I spoke," the voice began, 
 " Seems many a dreary year ! 
 
(Albeit, 't is only since thy birth the old 
 
 I 've lain neglected here !) bell 
 
 Pray list, while I rehearse a tale 
 Behooves thee much to hear. 
 
 " Once, from yon ivied tower, I watched 
 
 The villagers around. 
 And gave to all their joys and griefs 
 
 A sympathetic sound, — 
 But most are sleeping, now, within 
 
 This consecrated ground. 
 
 " I used to ring my merriest peal 
 To hail the blushing bride ; 
 
 I sadly tolled for men cut down 
 In strength and manly pride ; 
 
 And solemnly, — not mournfully, — 
 When little children died. 
 
 " But, chief, my duty was to bid 
 The villagers repair, 
 On each returning sabbath morn 
 Unto the House of Prayer, 
 7 
 
THE OLD And in his own appointed place 
 
 CHAPEL- 
 
 The Saviour s mercy snare. 
 
 BELL 
 
 " Ah ! well I mind me of a child, 
 
 A gleesome, happy maid, 
 Who came, with constant step, to church, 
 
 In comely garb arrayed, 
 And knelt her down full solemnly, 
 
 And penitently prayed. 
 
 " And oft, when church was done, I marked 
 
 That little maiden near 
 This pleasant spot, with book in hand. 
 
 As you are sitting here, — 
 She read the Story of the Cross, 
 
 And wept with grief sincere. 
 
 "Years rolled away, — and I beheld 
 
 The child to woman grown; 
 Her cheek was fairer, and her eye 
 
 With brighter lustre shone ; 
 But childhood's truth and innocence 
 
 Were still the maiden's own. 
 
*' I never rang a merrier peal the old 
 
 rr,. , . , . , CHAPEL- 
 
 Than when, a joyous bride, pj-ll 
 
 She stood beneath the sacred porch, 
 
 A noble youth beside, 
 And plighted him her maiden troth, 
 
 In maiden love and pride. 
 
 " I never tolled a deeper knell, 
 
 Than when, in after years. 
 They laid her in the churchyard here, 
 
 Where this low mound appears, — 
 (The very grave, my boy, that you 
 
 Are watering now with tears !) 
 
 " It is thy mother / gentle boy. 
 
 That claims this tale of mine, — 
 Thou art a flower whose fatal birth 
 
 Destroyed the parent vine ! 
 A precious flower art thou, my child, — 
 
 Two LIVES WERE GIVEN FOR THINE ! 
 
 " One was thy sainted mother's, when 
 She gave thee mortal birth ; 
 9 
 
THE OLD 
 CHAPEL- 
 BELL 
 
 And one thy Saviour's, when in death 
 He shook the solid earth ; 
 
 Go ! boy, and live as may befit 
 Thy life's exceeding worth ! " 
 
 The boy awoke, as from a dream, 
 And, thoughtful, looked around, 
 
 But nothing saw, save at his feet 
 His mother's lowly mound, 
 
 And by its side that ancient Bell, 
 Half hidden in the ground ! 
 
THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE 
 
 A LEGEND OF GOTHAM 
 
 TERRIBLY proud was Miss Mac- 
 Bride, 
 The very personification of Pride, 
 As she minced along in Fashion's tide, 
 ^down Broadway, — on the proper side, — 
 
 When the golden sun was setting ; 
 There was pride in the head she carried so high, 
 Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye, 
 And a world of pride in the very sigh 
 That her stately bosom was fretting ; 
 
 II 
 
 A sigh that a pair of elegant feet, 
 Sandaled in satin, should kiss the street, — 
 The very same that the vulgar greet 
 In common leather not over " neat," — 
 
 For such is the common booting ; 
 (And Christian tears may well be shed, 
 II 
 
THE 
 PROUD 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 That even among our gentlemen bred, 
 The glorious day of Morocco is dead, 
 And Day and Martin are reigning instead, 
 On a much inferior footing !) 
 
 Ill 
 O, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, 
 Proud of her beauty, and proud of her pride, 
 And proud of fifty matters beside, 
 
 That would n't have borne dissection ; 
 Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk, 
 Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk, 
 Proud of " knowing cheese from chalk," 
 
 On a very slight inspection ! 
 
 Proud abroad, and proud at home. 
 Proud wherever she chanced to come, 
 When she was glad, and when she was glum j 
 
 Proud as the head of a Saracen 
 
 Over the door of a tippling shop ! — 
 
 Proud as a duchess, proud as a fop, 
 
 " Proud as a boy with a bran-new top," 
 
 Proud beyond comparison ! 
 
VI 
 
 What Lowly meant she did n't know, 
 For she always avoided "everything low," 
 
 With care the most punctilious, 
 And queerer still, the audible sound 
 Of " super-silly " she never had found 
 
 In the adjective supercilious ! 
 
 THE 
 PROUD 
 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 VII 
 
 The meaning of Meek she never knew, 
 But imagined the phrase had something to do 
 With " Moses," — a peddling German Jew, 
 Who, like all hawkers the country through, 
 
 Was a person of no position ; 
 And it seemed to her exceedingly plain, 
 If the word was really known to pertain 
 To a vulgar German, it was n't germane 
 
 To a lady of high condition J 
 
 VIII 
 
 Even her graces, — not her grace. 
 For that was in the "vocative case," — 
 Chilled with the touch of her icy face. 
 Sat very stiffly upon her ; 
 13 
 
THE 
 PROUD 
 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 She never confessed a favor aloud, 
 Like one of the simple, common crowd, 
 But coldly smiled, and faintly bowed. 
 As who should say : " You do me proud. 
 And do yourself an honor ! " 
 
 IX 
 
 And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, 
 Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, 
 
 Had really no foundation ; 
 But, like the fabrics that gossips devise, — 
 Those single stories that often arise 
 And grow till they reach a four-story size, 
 
 Was merely a fancy creation ! 
 
 XI 
 
 That her wit should never have made her vain. 
 Was, like her face, sufficiently plain ; 
 
 And as to her musical powers. 
 Although she sang until she was hoarse, 
 And issued notes with a Banker's force, 
 They were just such notes as we never indorse 
 
 For any acq^uaintance of ours ! 
 14 
 
XII THE 
 
 PROUD 
 
 Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high, miss 
 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 For Miss MacBride first opened her eye 
 Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky ; 
 
 But pride is a curious passion, 
 And in talking about her wealth and worth 
 She always forgot to mention her birth. 
 
 To people of rank and fashion ! 
 
 Of all the notable things on earth, 
 The queerest one is pride of birth, 
 
 Among our " fierce Democracie " ! 
 A bridge across a hundred years, 
 Without a prop to save it from sneers, — 
 Not even a couple of rotten Peers, — 
 A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers, 
 
 Is American aristocracy ! 
 
 XIV 
 
 English and Irish, French and Spanish, 
 German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish, 
 Crossing their veins until they vanish 
 In one conglomeration 1 
 IS 
 
THE 
 PROUD 
 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 So subtle a tangle of Blood, indeed, 
 No modern Harvey will ever succeed 
 In finding the circulation ! 
 
 XV 
 
 Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, 
 Your family thread you can't ascend, 
 Without good reason to apprehend 
 You may find it waxed at the farther end 
 
 By some plebeian vocation ; 
 Or, worse than that, your boasted Line 
 May end in a loop of stronger twine. 
 
 That plagued some worthy relation ! 
 
 XVI 
 
 But Miss MacBride had something beside 
 Her lofty birth to nourish her pride ; 
 For rich was the old paternal MacBride, 
 
 According to public rumor ; 
 And he lived " Up Town," in a splendid square, 
 And kept his daughter on dainty fare, 
 And gave her gems that were rich and rare, 
 And the finest rings and things to wear, 
 
 And feathers enough to plume her ! 
 i6 
 
XVII 
 
 An honest mechanic was John MacBride 
 As ever an honest calHng plied, 
 
 Or graced an honest ditty ; 
 For John had worked, in his early day, 
 In " Pots and Pearls," the legends say, 
 And kept a shop with a rich array 
 Of things in the soap and candle way. 
 
 In the lower part of the city. 
 
 THE 
 PROUD 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 XVIII 
 
 No rara avis was honest John 
 (That 's the Latin for " sable swan "), 
 
 Though, in one of his fancy flashes, 
 A wicked wag, who meant to deride, 
 Called honest John " Old Phoenix MacBride, 
 
 Because he rose from his ashes ! " 
 
 XIX 
 
 Alack ! for many ambitious beaux ! 
 She hung their hopes upon her nose, 
 (The figure is quite Horatian !) ' 
 ' " Omnia suspendens naso." 
 17 
 
THE Until from habit the member grew 
 
 s queer a thing as ever yc 
 Turn up to observation ! 
 
 PROUD 
 
 i^jgg As queer a thing as ever you knew 
 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 XXII 
 
 (The Muse must let a secret out, — 
 There is n't the faintest shadow of doubt 
 That folks who oftenest sneer and flout 
 
 At " the dirty, low mechanicals," 
 Are they whose sires, by pounding their knees, 
 Or coiling their legs, or trades like these, 
 Contrived to win their children ease 
 
 From poverty's galling manacles.) 
 
 XXIV 
 
 A young attorney of winning grace 
 Was scarce allowed to " open his face," 
 Ere Miss MacBride had closed his case 
 
 With true judicial celerity ; 
 For the lawyer was poor, and " seedy " to boot, 
 And to say the lady discarded his suit 
 
 Is merely a double verity. 
 i8 
 
The last of those who came to court 
 
 Was a lively beau of the dapper sort, 
 
 *' Without any visible means of support," 
 
 A crime by no means flagrant 
 In one who wears an elegant coat, 
 But the very point on which they vote 
 
 A ragged fellow " a vagrant." 
 
 THE 
 PROUD 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 XXVI 
 
 A courtly fellow was Dapper Jim, 
 Sleek and supple, and tall and trim, 
 And smooth of tongue as neat of limb ; 
 
 And, maugre his meagre pocket, 
 You 'd say, from the glittering tales he told. 
 That Jim had slept in a cradle of gold, 
 
 With Fortunatus to rock it ! 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Now Dapper Jim his courtship plied 
 (I wish the fact could be denied) 
 With an eye to the purse of the old MacBride, 
 And really " nothing shorter " ! 
 19 
 
THE 
 PROUD 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, 
 " Whenever he dies, — as die he must, — 
 And yields to Heaven his vital trust. 
 He 's very sure to ' come down with his dust, 
 In behalf of his only daughter." 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 And the very magnificent Miss MacBride, 
 Half in love and half in pride, 
 
 Quite graciously relented ; 
 And tossing her head, and turning her back, 
 No token of proper pride to lack, 
 To be a Bride without the " Mac," 
 
 With much disdain, consented. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Alas ! that people who 've got their box 
 Of cash beneath the best of locks, 
 Secure from all financial shocks, 
 Should stock their fancy with fancy stocks, 
 And madly rush upon Wall Street rocks, 
 
 Without the least apology ; 
 Alas ! that people whose money affairs 
 Are sound beyond all need of repairs. 
 
Should ever tempt the bulls and bears 
 Of Mammon's fierce Zoology ! 
 
 XXX 
 
 Old John MacBride, one fatal day, 
 Became the unresisting prey 
 
 Of Fortune's undertakers ; 
 And staking his all on a single die, 
 His foundered bark went high and dry 
 
 Among the brokers and breakers ! 
 
 XXXI 
 
 At his trade again in the very shop 
 Where, years before, he let it drop, 
 
 He follows his ancient calling, — 
 Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite, 
 And sleeping quite as sound at night, 
 As when, at Fortune's giddy height, 
 He used to wake with a dizzy fright 
 
 From a dismal dream of falling. 
 
 THE 
 PROUD 
 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 XXXII 
 
 But alas for the haughty Miss MacBride ! 
 'T was such a shock to her precious pride. 
 
THE She could n't recover, although she tried 
 
 PROUD . , ,' 
 
 jyjjgg Her jadcd spirits to rally ; 
 
 MACBRiDE 'rj. ^^g ^ dreadful change in human aflEairs 
 
 From a Place " Up Town " to a nook " Up Stairs," 
 From an Avenue down to an Alley ! 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 'T was little condolence she had, God wot, 
 From her " troops of friends," who had n't for- 
 got 
 
 The airs she used to borrow ; 
 They had civil phrases enough, but yet 
 'T was plain to see that their " deepest regret " 
 
 Was a different thing from Sorrow ! 
 
 xxxiv 
 They owned it couldn't have well been worse. 
 To go from a full to an empty purse ; 
 To expect a reversion and get a " reverse " 
 
 Was truly a dismal feature ; 
 But it was n't strange, — they whispered, — at 
 
 all; 
 That the Summer of pride should have its Fall 
 Was quite according to Nature ! 
 
XXXV 
 
 And one of those chaps who make a pun 
 As if it were quite legitimate fun 
 To be blazing away at every one 
 With a regular double-loaded gun — 
 
 Remarked that moral transgression 
 Always brings retributive stings 
 To candle-makers, as well as kings ! 
 And making light of cereous things 
 
 Was a very wick-ed profession ! 
 
 THE 
 PROUD 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 And vulgar people, the saucy churls. 
 Inquired about "the price of Pearls," 
 
 And mocked at her situation ; 
 " She was n't ruined, they ventured to hope 
 Because she was poor, she need n't mope, - 
 Few people were better off for soap, 
 
 And that was a consolation ! " 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 And to make her cup of woe run over, 
 Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover 
 Was the very first to forsake her ; 
 
 23 
 
THE 
 PROUD 
 MISS 
 MACBRIDE 
 
 He quite regretted the step, 't was true, 
 The lady had pride enough for two. 
 But that alone would never do 
 To quiet the butcher and baker ! 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 And now the unhappy Miss MacBride, 
 The merest ghost of her early pride, 
 
 Bewails her lonely position ; 
 Cramped in the very narrowest niche, 
 Above the poor, and below the rich, 
 
 Was ever a worse condition ? 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Because you flourish in worldly affairs, 
 Don't be haughty, and put on airs, 
 
 With insolent pride of station ! 
 Don't be proud, and turn up your nose 
 At poorer people in plainer clo'es, 
 But learn, for the sake of your soul's repose. 
 That wealth 's a bubble, that comes — and goes ! 
 And that all Proud Flesh, wherever it grows, 
 
 Is subject to irritation ! 
 
 24 
 
THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 N Attorney was taking a turn, 
 In shabby habiliments drest; 
 His coat it was shockingly worn, 
 And the rust had invested his vest. 
 
 His breeches had sviffered a breach, 
 His linen and worsted were worse ; 
 
 He had scarce a whole crown in his hat, 
 And not half a crown in his purse. 
 
 And thus as he wandered along, 
 A cheerless and comfortless elf, 
 
 He sought for relief in a song. 
 
 Or complainingly talked to himself : — 
 
 *' Unfortunate man that I am ! 
 I 've never a client but grief : 
 The case is, I 've no case at all, 
 
 And in brief, I 've ne'er had a brief! 
 
 25 
 
THE " I 've waited and waited in vain, 
 
 BRIEFLESS . , _ , 
 
 Expecting an ' opening to rind, 
 
 B ARRIS 
 TER 
 
 Where an honest young lawyer might gain 
 Some reward for toil of his mind. 
 
 " 'T is not that I 'm wanting in law. 
 Or lack an intelligent face. 
 That others have cases to plead, 
 While I have to plead for a case. 
 
 " O, how can a modest young man 
 
 E'er hope for the smallest progression, — 
 The profession 's already so full 
 Of lawyers so full of profession ! " 
 
 While thus he was strolling around. 
 
 His eye accidentally fell 
 On a very deep hole in the ground, 
 
 And he sighed to himself, " It is well ! " 
 
 To curb his emotions, he sat 
 
 On the curbstone the space of a minute. 
 Then cried, " Here 's an opening at last ! " 
 
 And in less than a jiffy was in it ! 
 26 
 
Next morning twelve citizens came the 
 
 /.rr. , , , , ,. BRIEFLESS 
 
 ( 1 was the coroner bade them attend), barris- 
 
 To the end that it might be determined "^^^ 
 How the man had determined his end ! 
 
 " The man was a lawyer, I hear," 
 
 Quoth the foreman who sat on the corse. 
 "A lawyer? Alas ! " said another, 
 
 " Undoubtedly died of remorse ! " 
 
 A third said, " He knew the deceased, 
 An attorney well versed in the laws, 
 
 And as to the cause of his death, 
 
 'T was no doubt for the want of a cause." 
 
 The jury decided at length, 
 
 After solemnly weighing the matter. 
 
 That the lawyer was drown</ed, because 
 He could not keep his head above water ! 
 
 27 
 
MY FAMILIAR 
 
 " Ecce iterum Crispinus ! " 
 
 I 
 GAIN I hear that creaking step ! — 
 He 's rapping at the door ! — 
 Too well I know the boding sound 
 That ushers in a bore. 
 I do not tremble when I meet 
 
 The stoutest of my foes, 
 But Heaven defend me from the friend 
 Who comes — but never goes ! 
 
 II 
 
 He drops into my easy-chair, 
 
 And asks about the news ; 
 He peers into my manuscript, 
 
 And gives his candid views ; 
 He tells me where he likes the line, 
 
 And where he 's forced to grieve ; 
 He takes the strangest liberties, — 
 
 But never takes his leave ! 
 28 
 
Ill MY 
 
 FAMILIAR 
 
 He reads my daily paper through 
 
 Before I 've seen a word; 
 He scans the lyric (that I wrote) 
 
 And thinks it quite absurd ; 
 He calmly smokes my last cigar, 
 
 And coolly asks for more ; 
 He opens everything he sees — 
 
 Except the entry door ! 
 
 IV 
 
 He talks about his fragile health, 
 
 And tells me of the pains 
 He suffers from a score of ills 
 
 Of which he ne'er complains; 
 And how he struggled once with death 
 
 To keep the fiend at bay ; 
 On themes like those away he goes, — 
 
 But never goes away ! 
 
 V 
 
 He tells me of the carping words 
 Some shallow critic wrote ; 
 
 And every precious paragraph 
 Familiarly can quote ; 
 29 
 
MY He thinks'the writer did rae wrong ; 
 
 FAMILIAR 
 
 He 'd like to run him through ! 
 He says a thousand pleasant things, ■ 
 But never says, " Adieu ! " 
 
 VI 
 
 Whene'er he comes, — that dreadful man,- 
 
 Disguise it as I may, 
 I know that, like an Autumn rain, 
 
 He '11 last throughout the day. 
 In vain I speak of urgent tasks; 
 
 In vain I scowl and pout ; 
 A frown is no extinguisher, — 
 
 It does not put him out ! 
 
 VII 
 
 I mean to take the knocker off, 
 
 Put crape upon the door, 
 Or hint to John that I am gone 
 
 To stay a month or more. 
 I do not tremble when I meet 
 
 The stoutest of my foes, 
 But Heaven defend me from the friend 
 
 Who never, never goes ! 
 3° 
 
THE JOLLY MARINER 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 T was a jolly mariner 
 As ever hove a log ; 
 He wore his trousers wide and free, 
 And always ate his prog, 
 And blessed his eyes, in sailor-wise. 
 And never shirked his grog. 
 
 Up spoke this jolly mariner, 
 
 Whilst walking up and down : — 
 " The briny sea has pickled me. 
 And done me very brown ; 
 But here I goes, in these here clo'es, 
 A-cruising in the town ! " 
 
 The first of all the curious things 
 That chanced his eye to meet. 
 
 As this undaunted mariner 
 Went sailing up the street, 
 31 
 
THE JOLLY Was, tripping with a little cane, 
 
 MARINER , 1, , 
 
 A dandy all complete ! 
 
 He stopped, — that jolly mariner, — 
 And eyed the stranger well : — 
 " What that may be," he said, says he, 
 "Is more than I can tellj 
 
 But ne'er before, on sea or shore, 
 Was such a heavy swell ! " 
 
 He met a lady in her hoops, 
 
 And thus she heard him hail : — 
 " Now blow me tight ! but there 's a sight 
 To manage in a gale ! 
 
 I never saw so small a craft 
 With such a spread o' sail ! 
 
 " Observe the craft before and aft, — 
 She 'd make a pretty prize ! " 
 And then in that improper way 
 
 He spoke about his eyes. 
 That mariners are wont to use 
 In anger or surprise. 
 32 
 
He saw a plumber on a roof, the jolly 
 
 MARINER 
 
 Who made a mighty din : — 
 " Shipmate, ahoy ! " the rover cried, 
 " It makes a sailor grin 
 To see you copper-bottoming 
 Your upper decks with tin ! " 
 
 He met a yellow-bearded man, 
 
 And asked about the way ; 
 But not a word could he make out 
 
 Of what the chap would say, 
 Unless he meant to call him names. 
 
 By screaming, " Nix furstay ! " 
 
 Up spoke this jolly mariner. 
 
 And to the man said he : — 
 " I have n't sailed these thirty years 
 
 Upon the stormy sea, 
 To bear the shame of such a name 
 
 As I have heard from thee ! 
 
 " So take thou that ! " — and laid him flat ; 
 But soon the man arose, 
 
 33 
 
THE JOLLY And beat the jolly mariner 
 
 MARINER 
 
 Across his jolly nose, 
 Till he was fain, from very pain, 
 To yield him to the blows. 
 
 'T was then this jolly mariner, 
 
 A wretched jolly tar, 
 Wished he was in a jolly-boat. 
 
 Upon the sea afar, 
 Or riding fast, before the blast, 
 
 Upon a single spar ! 
 
 'T was then this jolly mariner 
 
 Returned unto his ship, 
 And told unto the wondering crew 
 
 The story of his trip, 
 With many oaths and curses, too. 
 
 Upon his wicked lip ! 
 
 As hoping — so this mariner 
 In fearful words harangued — 
 
 His timbers might be shivered, and 
 His le'ward scuppers danged, 
 
 34 
 
(A double curse, and vastly worse the jolly 
 
 MARINER 
 
 Than being shot or hanged !) 
 
 If ever he — and here again 
 A dreadful oath he swore — 
 
 If ever he, except at sea, 
 Spoke any stranger more. 
 
 Or like a son of — something — went 
 A-cruisins: on the shore ! 
 
 35 
 
RHYME OF THE RAIL 
 
 INGING through the forests, 
 Rattling over ridges, 
 Shooting under arches, 
 Rumbling over bridges, 
 Whizzing through the mountains. 
 
 Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
 Bless nie ! this is pleasant, 
 Riding on the Rail ! 
 
 Men of different " stations " 
 
 In the eye of Fame 
 Here are very quickly 
 
 Coming to the same. 
 High and lowly people, 
 
 Birds of every feather, 
 On a common level 
 
 Traveling together ! 
 
 Gentleman in shorts, 
 Looming very tall ; 
 36 
 
Gentleman at large, rhyme of 
 
 THE RAIL 
 
 Talking very small ; 
 Gentleman in tights, 
 
 With a loose-ish mien ; 
 Gentleman in gray, 
 
 Looking rather green. 
 
 Gentleman quite old, 
 
 Asking for the news ; 
 Gentleman in black, 
 
 In a fit of blues ; 
 Gentleman in claret. 
 
 Sober as a vicar ; 
 Gentleman in Tweed, 
 
 Dreadfully in liquor ! 
 
 Ancient maiden lady 
 Anxiously remarks, 
 
 That there must be peril 
 'Mongst so many sparks ! 
 
 Roguish-looking fellow, 
 Turning to the stranger, 
 37 
 
RHYME OF Says it 's his opinion 
 
 THE RAIL 
 
 She is out of danger 
 
 Woman with her baby, 
 
 Sitting vis-a-vis ; 
 Baby keeps a squalling ; 
 
 Woman looks at me ; 
 Asks about the distance, 
 
 Says it 's tiresome talking, 
 Noises of the cars 
 
 Are so yery shocking ! 
 
 Market-woman careful 
 
 Of the precious casket, 
 Knowing eggs are eggs. 
 
 Tightly holds her basket ; 
 Feeling that a smash, 
 
 If it came, would surely 
 Send her eggs to pot 
 
 Rather prematurely ! 
 
 Singing through the forests, 
 Rattling over ridges, 
 38 
 
Shooting under arches, rhyme of 
 
 THE RAIL 
 
 Rumbling over bridges, 
 Whizzing through the mountains, 
 
 Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
 Bless me ! this is pleasant, 
 
 Riding on the Rail ! 
 
 39 
 
THE MOURNER A LA MODE 
 
 SAW her last night at a party 
 
 (The elegant party at Mead's), 
 And looking remarkably hearty 
 For a widow so young in her weeds ; 
 Yet I know she was suffering sorrow 
 
 Too deep for the tongue too express, — 
 Or why had she chosen to borrow 
 So much from the language of dress ? 
 
 Her shawl was as sable as night ; 
 
 And her gloves were as dark as her shawl ; 
 And her jewels — that flashed in the light — 
 
 Were black as a funeral pall ; 
 Her robe had the hue of the rest, 
 
 (How nicely it fitted her shape !) 
 And the grief that was heaving her breast 
 
 Boiled over in billows of crape ! 
 
 What tears of vicarious woe, 
 
 That else might have sullied her face, 
 40 
 
Were kindly permitted to flow the 
 
 MOURNER 
 
 In ripples of ebony lace ! a la mode 
 
 While even her fan, in its play, 
 
 Had quite a lugubrious scope, 
 And seemed to be waving away 
 
 The ghost of the angel of Hope ! 
 
 Yet rich as the robes of a queen 
 
 Was the sombre apparel she wore ; 
 I 'm certain I never had seen 
 
 Such a sumptuous sorrow before ; 
 And I could n't help thinking the beauty, 
 
 In mourning the loved and the lost, 
 Was doing her conjugal duty 
 
 Altogether regardless of cost ! 
 
 One surely would say a devotion 
 
 Performed at so vast an expense 
 Betrayed an excess of emotion 
 
 That really was something immense ; 
 And yet, as I viewed, at my leisure. 
 
 Those tokens of tender regard, 
 I thought : — It is scarce without measure — 
 
 The sorrow that goes by the yard ! 
 41 
 
THE Ah ! grief is a curious passion ; 
 
 MOURNER 1 r -J 
 
 And yours — I am sorely afraid 
 
 A LA MODE 
 
 The very next phase of the fashion 
 Will find it beginning to fade ; 
 
 Though dark are the shadows of grief, 
 The morning will follow the night, 
 
 Half-tints will betoken relief, 
 
 Till joy shall be symboled in white ! 
 
 Ah well ! it were idle to quarrel 
 
 With Fashion, or aught she may do ; 
 And so I conclude with a moral 
 
 And metaphor — warranted new : — 
 When measles come handsomely out, 
 
 The patient is safest, they say ; 
 And the Sorrow is mildest, no doubt, 
 
 That works in a similar way ! 
 
 42 
 
TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER 
 
 GLANCE, a smile, — I see it yet ! 
 
 A moment ere the train was starting ; 
 How strange to tell ! we scarcely 
 met, 
 And yet I felt a pang at parting. 
 
 And you (alas ! that all the while 
 'T is /alone who am confessing!). 
 
 What thought was lurking in your smile 
 Is quite beyond my simple guessing. 
 
 I only know those beaming rays 
 
 Awoke in me a strange emotion, 
 Which, basking in their warmer blaze, 
 
 Perhaps might kindle to devotion. 
 
 Ah ! many a heart as stanch as this. 
 By smiling lips allured from Duty, 
 
 Has sunk in Passion's dark abyss, — 
 
 " Wrecked on the coral reefs of Beauty ! " 
 43 
 
TO A And so, 't is well the train's swift flight 
 
 BEAUTIFUL 
 
 STRANGER That bore away my charming stranger 
 
 Took her — God bless her ! — out of sight, 
 And me, as quickly, out of danger ! 
 
 44 
 
" IF LOVE AND LIFE WERE ONE " 
 
 UCH have I mused, if love and life 
 were one, 
 How blest were love ! how beautiful 
 were life ! 
 Which now, so oft, are alien, or at strife ; 
 Though each, in bitter wise, makes secret moan 
 Of lamentation — knowing well its own ; 
 Each needing each, yet evermore apart ; 
 Here — saddest of the twain — the yearning 
 heart, 
 And there the barren life. Ah ! thus alone. 
 Existence, empty of its chief delight. 
 
 Creeps, dull and shallow, to the weary close ; 
 And — like some plant shut up in rayless night — 
 
 Love pales and pines, that in the summer sun 
 Of life had flourished like the garden rose ; 
 Would God that ever love and life were one ! 
 
 45 
 
POST-PRANDIAL VERSES 
 
 RECITED AT THE FESTIVAL OF THE PSI UPSILON 
 FRATERNITY, IN BOSTON, JULY 21, 1853 
 
 EAR Brothers, who sit at this bountiful 
 board. 
 With excellent viands so lavishly stored 
 That, in newspaper phrase, 't would undoubtedly 
 
 groan, 
 If groaning were but a convivial tone. 
 Which it is n't, — and therefore, by sympathy 
 
 led, 
 The table, no doubt, is rejoicing instead. 
 Dear Brothers, I rise, — and it won't be surpris- 
 ing 
 If you find me, like bread, all the better for rising, — 
 I rise to express my exceeding delight 
 In our cordial reunion this glorious night ! 
 
 Success to " Psi Upsilon ! " — Beautiful name ! — 
 To the eye and the ear it is pleasant the same ; 
 46 
 
Many thanks to old Cadmus who made us his debt- post- 
 prandial 
 o'^s, verses 
 
 By inventing, one day, those capital letters 
 Which still, from the heart, we shall know how to 
 
 speak 
 When we 've fairly forgotten the rest of our Greek ! 
 To be open and honest in all that you do ; 
 To every high trust to be faithful and true ; 
 In aught that concerns morality's scheme. 
 To be more ambitious to be than to seem ; 
 To cultivate honor as higher in worth 
 Than favor of fortune, or genius, or birth ; 
 By every endeavor to render your lives 
 As spotless and fair as your — possible wives ; 
 To treat with respect all the innocent rules 
 That keep us at peace with society's fools ; 
 But to face every canon that e'er was designed 
 To batter a town or beleaguer a mind, 
 Ere you yield to the Moloch that Fashion has reared 
 One jot of your freedom, or hair of your beard, — 
 All this, and much more, I might venture to teach. 
 Had I only a *' call " — and a " license to preach ; " 
 But since I have not, to my modesty true, 
 I '11 lay it all by, as a layman should do, 
 47 
 
POST- And drop a few lines, tipt with Momus's flies, 
 
 PRANDIAL ^ , ^ , . , , . 
 
 VERSES -^^ angle for snmers — that lurk in your eyes ! 
 
 May you ne'er get in love or in debt with a doubt 
 As to whether or no you will ever get out ; 
 May you ne'er have a mistress who plays the co- 
 quette. 
 Or a neighbor who blows on a cracked clarionet ; 
 May you learn the first use of a lock on your door, 
 And ne'er, like Adonis, be killed by a bore ; 
 Shun canting and canters with resolute force, 
 (A " canter " is shocking, except in a horse) ; 
 At jovial parties mind what you are at, 
 Beware of your head and take, care of your hat, 
 Lest you find that a favorite son of your mother 
 Has a brick in the one and an ache in the other ; 
 May you never, I pray, to worry your life. 
 Have a weak-minded friend, or a strong-minded 
 
 wife; 
 A tailor distrustful, or partner suspicious ; 
 A dog that is rabid, or nag that is vicious ; 
 Above all — the chief blessing the gods can im- 
 part — 
 May you keep a clear head and a generous heart ; 
 48 
 
Remember 't is blessed to give and forgive ; post- 
 
 prandial 
 Live chiefly to love, and love while you live ; verses 
 
 And dying, when life's little journey is done, 
 
 May your last, fondest sigh, be jPSI Upsilon ! 
 
 49 
 
TO A CLAM 
 
 Dum tacent clamzxvt 
 
 NGLORIOUS friend! most confident 
 I am 
 Thy life is one of very little ease ; 
 Albeit men mock thee with their 
 similes 
 And prate of being " happy as a clam ! " 
 What though thy shell protects thy fragile head 
 From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea ? 
 Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee, 
 While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed, 
 And bear thee off, — as f oemen take their spoil, — 
 Far from thy friends and family to roam ; 
 Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home. 
 To meet destruction in a foreign broil ! 
 
 Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard 
 Declares, O clam ! thy case is shocking hard ! 
 
 50 
 
LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT 
 
 OOKING out into the night 
 
 I behold in space afar 
 
 Yonder beaming, blazing star ; 
 
 And I marvel at the might 
 
 Of the Giver of the rays, 
 
 And I worship as I gaze, 
 
 Looking out into the night. 
 
 Looking out into the night, 
 I espy two lovers near, 
 And their happy words I hear, 
 
 While their solemn troth they plight ; 
 And I bless the loving twain, 
 Half in pleasure, half in pain, — 
 
 Looking out into the night. 
 
 Looking out into the night, 
 Lo ! a woman passing by. 
 Glancing round with anxious eye. 
 
 Tearful, fearful of the light ; 
 51 
 
LOOKING 
 OUT INTO 
 THE NIGHT 
 
 And I think what might have been 
 But for treachery and sin, — 
 Looking out into the night. 
 
 Looking out into the night, 
 I behold a distant sail 
 Roughly beaten by the gale 
 
 Till it vanishes from sight ; 
 And I ponder on the strife 
 Of our fleeting human life, 
 
 Looking out into the night. 
 
 Looking out into the night, 
 I bethink me of the rest 
 And the rapture of the blest 
 
 In the land where all is light ; 
 Sitting on the heavenly shore, 
 Weeping never, — nevermore 
 
 Looking out into the night ! 
 
 52 
 
THE DEAD LETTER 
 
 ND can it be? Ah, yes, I see, 
 'T is thirty years and better 
 Since Mary Morgan sent to me 
 This musty, musky letter. 
 A pretty hand (she could n't spell), 
 
 As any man must vote it ; 
 And 't was, as I remember well, 
 A pretty hand that wrote it ! 
 
 How calmly now I view it all, 
 
 As memory backward ranges, — 
 The talks, the walks, that I recall, 
 
 And then — the postal changes ! 
 How well I loved her I can guess 
 
 (Since cash is Cupid's hostage), — 
 Just one-and-sixpence — nothing less — 
 
 This letter cost in postage ! 
 
 The love that wrote at such a rate 
 (By Jove ! it was a steep one !) 
 S3 
 
THE DEAD Fivc hundred notes (I calculate) 
 
 LETTER 
 
 Was certainly a deep one ; 
 And yet it died — of slow decline — 
 
 Perhaps suspicion chilled it ; 
 I 've quite forgotten if 't was mine 
 
 Or Mary's flirting killed it. 
 
 At last the fatal message came : 
 
 " My letters, — please return them ; 
 And yours — of course you wish the same • 
 
 I '11 send them back or burn them." 
 Two precious fools, I must allow, 
 
 Whichever was the greater : 
 I wonder if I 'm wiser now. 
 
 Some seven lustres later? 
 
 And this alone remains ! Ah, well ! 
 
 These words of warm affection. 
 The faded ink, the pungent smell, 
 
 Are food for deep reflection. 
 They tell of how the heart contrives 
 
 To change with fancy's fashion, 
 And how a drop of musk survives 
 
 The strongest human passion ! 
 54 
 
BEREAVEMENT 
 
 AY, weep not, dearest, though the child 
 be dead ; 
 He lives again in Heaven's unclouded 
 life. 
 With other angels that have early fled 
 
 From these dark scenes of sorrow, sin, and strife. 
 Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy yearning love 
 Would fondly keep for earth its fairest flowers, 
 And e'en deny to brighter realms above 
 
 The few that deck this dreary world of ours : 
 Though much it seems a wonder and a woe 
 That one so loved should be so early lost, 
 And hallowed tears may unforbidden flow 
 
 To mourn the blossom that we cherished most, 
 Yet all is well ; God's good design I see. 
 That where our treasure is, our hearts may be. 
 
 L.OF € 
 
 55 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING 
 
 WEDDING of Silver!— and what 
 shall we do ? " 
 I said in response to my excellent 
 spouse, 
 Who hinted, this morning, we ought to renew 
 According to custom, our conjugal vows. 
 
 " I would n't much mind it, now — if — and sup- 
 pose — 
 The bride were a blooming — Ah ! well — on 
 my life, 
 I think — to be candid — (don't turn up your 
 nose !) 
 That every new wedding should bring a new 
 wife ! " 
 
 ^'And what if it should?" was the laughing re- 
 ply; 
 " Do you think, my dear John, you could ever 
 obtain 
 
 56 
 
Another so fond and so faithful as I, the 
 
 SILVER 
 
 Should you purchase a wig, and go courting wedding 
 
 again 
 
 ■ Ah ! darling," I answered, " 't is just as you say ; " 
 And clasping a waist rather shapely than small, 
 I kissed the dear girl in so ardent a way 
 
 You would n't have guessed we were married 
 at all ! 
 September 9. 1866. 
 
 57 
 
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