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HOME, 
 
 AND 
 
 Other Poems 
 
 J 
 
 .^ 
 
 A. H. CAUGHEY. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■^x^. 
 
 PS^: 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ^:|j:>'B^ 
 
 Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway. 
 
 (late RUDD & CARLETON.) 
 
 M DCC(^ LXII. 
 
 ^^yP^^^ 
 
75 13.'/^ 
 .C3 hU 
 
 Eateredaccording to Act of Congress, ia the year 1862, by 
 
 GEO. W. CARLETON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of th3 District Court for the Southern District of 
 New YorK. 
 
 2 n ^ 2,. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Home '^ 
 
 The Court of Death 39 
 
 The Daughters of the Year 44 
 
 Winter's Parting Song 48 
 
 A Railroad Disaster 50 
 
 The Parting Soul 53 
 
 Thought and Truth 55 
 
 Morning 58 
 
 Silence 60 
 
 L-ift the Glorious Banner 62 
 
 The Choral Song of the Stars 64 
 
 A Night in Summer C7 
 
 The Surviving Soldiers of the Revolution 69 
 
 The Prince of Wales at the Tomb of Washington 71 
 
 Mind and Muscle 73 
 
 Revery "^^ 
 
 The Evening Star 77 
 
 Sunday 79 
 
 The Heart 80 
 
 The Ambitious Student's Longings 81 
 
HOME. 
 
Of all the words that grace our English tongue, 
 By peasant spoken, or by minstrel sung— 
 That touch the heart of youth, or like a spell 
 In second childhood's memory sweetly dwell, 
 The tenderest, holiest, loveliest of the throng, 
 Is Ho7ne,—i\iQ theme— the inspirer of my song. 
 
 What thrilling magic in the simple sound ! 
 How, at its utterance, memory at a bound 
 Leaps over gulfs of years, forsakes the things 
 That make our common life, and on her wings 
 Bears us swift backward to the little cot— 
 The quiet, humble, tree-embowered spot, 
 That was our childhood's home. A moment's 
 
 space 
 She leaves us nestling near the dear old place. 
 A mother's pleasant face again we see. 
 And hear the sweet-toned voice that chid our 
 glee. 
 
8 HOME. 
 
 The little sister, darling of our plays, 
 
 Runs out to meet us as in other days. 
 
 The good old watch-dog, slave and friend of boy, 
 
 Enacts his wonted pantomime of joy. 
 
 The winding foot-path, leading from the gate ; 
 
 The trees that drooped around, or stood elate 
 
 In leafy pride ; the vine that climbed the wall, 
 
 And peeped in at the window, filling all 
 
 The air with such sweet verdurous perfume 
 
 As Eden gave when in its primal bloom, — 
 
 All these, and thousand other pleasant things 
 
 Of the old home, flit by, as on the wings 
 
 That Memory lends us we repose. False trust ! 
 
 Sudden she drops us sprawling in the dust 
 
 Of common, cumbering cares, and mean concerns, 
 
 And to her daily tasks and toils returns. 
 
 But home is not in memory. Home is there 
 Where kind hearts mingle — where love sweetens 
 
 care ; 
 Where anger comes not — bickerings ne'er annoy ; 
 Where skill and labor willing hands employ ; 
 Where children prattle — where the daily strife 
 Of growth, and thought, and work, give zest to 
 
 life. 
 Cynics may sneer at home and homely things. 
 And barb their sneers with wit's malicious 
 
 stings : 
 The wdse philosopher may boast in pride 
 Of higher joys than all the world's beside — 
 
HOME. 
 
 Of nobler studies, grander aims than those 
 
 That gather where the cottage ingle glows : 
 
 The wandering cosmopolitan a home 
 
 May find where'er his foot may chance to roam ; 
 
 All lands his country, every spot the place 
 
 That he loves best— his family the race ; 
 
 Yet all the pleasures, sweet contents that home 
 
 Its votaries brings, to them can never come. 
 
 The royal eagle with undazzled eye 
 Eight towards the sun may mount, or sweep the 
 
 sky ; 
 May build his nest far up some beetling cliff- 
 Gibraltar's rock, or storm-swept Teneriffe,— 
 And thence, when waves run high and tempests 
 
 beat, 
 Look down with scorn on all beneath his feet ; 
 Or, darting from his perch in quest of prey, 
 Swoop down where lambkins skip or children 
 
 play ;— 
 
 Yet all the keenness of his fiery eye— ' 
 
 His lofty eyrie on the crag so high— 
 
 His sullen temper, look and port of pride— 
 
 His lofty fiight where storms and clouds abide,— 
 
 Yield not to him the joy that fills the breasts 
 
 Of gentle warblers in their lowly nests— 
 
 Or fiitting o'er the meads, or round the eaves, 
 
 Or twittering gaily 'mid the forest leaves. 
 
 1* 
 
10 HOME. 
 
 II. 
 
 Behold a picture of a liappy liome ! 
 Ten thousand of them — for where'er we roam 
 O'er this broad land they stand as thick and bright 
 As stars upon the blue of Heaven at night, 
 And shed a radiance pure as that above — 
 The light of liberty — i-eligion— love : 
 
 liappy and hearty the family group ; 
 Never love weakens nor spirits droop. 
 Voices are cheery and laughter is sweet ; 
 Jests pass freely and sharp wits meet. 
 Labor is easy and care is light ; 
 Faces are fair and hands are white ; 
 Or faces are ruddy and hands are brown, 
 Just as you please in country or town. 
 Generous plenty covers the board ; 
 Nothing is wasted, and naught they hoard. 
 Never does Poverty leave their door 
 Without a blessing and something more. 
 Pleasant the words of their social speech ; 
 Kindly tliey listen each to each : 
 Never a quarrel, seldom ajar — 
 Frowns at a discount — smiles above par. 
 
 The grandmother sits in her easy chair, 
 Crowned with the crown that the aged wear ; 
 Swaying her frail form back and fro, 
 Conning the thoughts of the long ago. 
 
HOME. 11 
 
 Smiles flit over lier furrowed face. 
 
 Enkindling gleams of the beauty and grace 
 That once were hers. But the vision flies, 
 And she wakes to see in her grandson's eyes, 
 As he gazes in hers witli a wondering stare 
 To see his grandmother look so fair, 
 The self-same light that, years long gone, 
 She saw in the eyes of her trne-loved one. 
 The rogue bursts out with a laugh, and away 
 To follow his boisterous, tireless play ; 
 Or to take his stand at the window pane 
 And watch if, approaching down the lane, 
 He can see from school the children come 
 With frolic and shouts and laughter home. 
 The mother moves with a simple grace, 
 A lightsome step and a pleasant face. 
 Amid the wearisome duties and cares 
 That yet with a cheerful heart she bears. 
 Nothinsr is toil wdiere the heart is o:lad. 
 Pleasure is moil where the soul is sad. 
 Generous the evening meal she spreads. 
 And sunny the light that her fair face sheds. 
 The father comes from his toils and cares, 
 His labor of brain, or the work that wears 
 On muscle and brain alike, and hears. 
 With a joyous heart, as the gate he nears. 
 The gleeful shout of his romping boys 
 As they run to meet him and ask for toys^ 
 Or claim a kiss, or a strong-armed toss 
 Up high over head. For never cross 
 
12 HOME. 
 
 Does their papa appear, nor, gloomy in brow, 
 Does lie push tliein aside and say, "not now." 
 AVitli laughter and boisterous jollity, 
 Tiiey enter their home. 
 
 'Tis a sight to see 
 This happy famil}^ roui»d the boai'd ; 
 To witness the liusli as the solemn word 
 Of grace is uttered — to see tlie twinkle 
 Of little eyes — then to hear the tinkle 
 Of little voices, — at last tlie rattle 
 Of dishes and knives at the evening battle. 
 
 Pleasantly passes the evening hy, 
 As busy fingers the needles ply ; 
 And the children I'omp in their nois)' play, 
 Or con their tasks for the coming day ; 
 Or books are read, or stories are told. 
 Or grandmother talks of the days of old. 
 
 Thus living and loving from day to day, 
 Tney do their duty as well as they may — 
 Nevei' forgetting the time must come 
 When each shall go to a far off home, — 
 Leaving the family one by one. 
 And passing the dark flood all alone ; 
 Bat cheered by the hope in Ilim that died, 
 And the welcomino^ sono^s from the other side. 
 
HOME. 13 
 
 III. 
 
 The happiest home is not forever blest, 
 Nor joy the purest heart's perpetual guest. 
 Changes will come, and still must fall in gloom, 
 On sunniest hearths the shadows of the tomb. 
 
 Bright years have quickly come and swiftly 
 passed. 
 And each seemed brighter, happier than the 
 
 last. 
 Out loved ones are so near we ne'er can think 
 That they must sometime stand upon the brink 
 Of the dark-flowing river; or that soon 
 The bolt may fall, the sun go down at noon. 
 
 The dark woe comes, a little head lies low, 
 And stricken hearts are bleeding at the blow. 
 Mute sorrow broods where once were mirth and 
 
 song, 
 And bursting sobs the dreary hours 23rolong : 
 Sad whispers, heavy sighs, on deaf ears fall, 
 And mufEed footfalls creep along the hall. 
 Here lie the little shoe and jaunty cap. 
 As if just laid aside for baby's nap. 
 The mother, a brief moment, thinks he sleeps. 
 Stung by the sweet deceit, again she weeps 
 More bitter tears, cries out with anguished moan, 
 How can I give thee up, my son, my son ! 
 
14: HOME. 
 
 But tears, tliougli hot as heart's blood, ne'er can 
 
 melt 
 The icy fetters which the dead have felt. 
 There can be no release — the precious clay- 
 By tender hands is sadly borne away : 
 Day seems to die — the stars are lapped in gloom, 
 And all life's light seems quenched behind the 
 
 tomb. 
 But darkness is but light withdrawn ; the skies 
 Of sorrow have their dawn. Erewhile will rise 
 In the sad mother's heart, the hope-lit joy. 
 That, thougli can ne'er return her darling boy, 
 Sometime shell go to him, and, in that day, 
 Will clasp him in the mansions far away. 
 Kindly and slow tlie sunshine glimmers back. 
 And sheds a tempered radiance o'er life's track. 
 The wound of grief is still upon tlie heart ; 
 And though quite healed, yet sometimes yields a 
 
 smart. 
 
 lY. 
 
 Many the story, tinged with saddest hue, 
 Of those who left the home their boyhood knew, 
 Lured by the love of gain, or urged away 
 By the same imj)ulse, call it what you may, 
 That makes the birdling leave the parent nest, 
 And seek its mate and own sweet place of rest. 
 
HOME. 15 
 
 The birclling ne'er comes back, and e'en forgets 
 The downy coucli where still the mother sits. 
 And waits, with sad, unreasoning concern, 
 The helpless fugitive's delayed return. 
 
 And so the youth, once parted from the roof 
 That was his childhood's shelter, long aloof 
 Oft holds his wandering feet, kept back by pride 
 From the loved covert wdiere in peace abide 
 The longing ones, who, hourly, down the road 
 By wliicli his w\iy he took from their abode, 
 With straining eyes look forth. At length an 
 
 hour 
 There comes, when love of home asserts its 
 
 power ; 
 And, like the lodestone, wheresoe'er he roam, 
 'Twill point the way, and lead the wanderer 
 home. 
 But many a youth who left home's dear em- 
 brace. 
 Adorned with virtue and with maniy grace. 
 And decked in truth's and honor's spotless robe, 
 To seek his fortune o'er the widening globe, 
 Tlirough power of evil influence has been changed 
 In heart and life, and from his home estranged. 
 To it, now long forgot, he ne'er returns 
 To bless the fond old mother who still mourns 
 Her long-lost son, and in each bitter sigh 
 Prays but once more to see him ere she die. 
 
 But others still, of noble heart and aim, 
 Have borne through tempting ill a S230tless fame, 
 
IG HOME. 
 
 And, far from home's control; maintained abroad 
 Integrity untouched, and faith in God. 
 List to a simple tale of one who left 
 II s humble native home — himself bereft 
 Of all the solid comforts, simple joys, 
 Which he's a fool who recklessly destroys 
 Or needlessly forsakes. 'Tis a true tale 
 Of a brave heart as ever by the gale 
 Of young, adventurous hope was borne away 
 From the fond scenes where peace and friend 
 ship stay. 
 
 Through the steaming streets and alleys 
 
 Of a tar-oif southern town, 
 Seeking victims for his malice. 
 
 Prowls the plague-fiend up and down. 
 JSTone but wanderers he seizes — 
 
 Wanderers from the breezy zone, — 
 Strong young men who scorn diseases, 
 
 Kor the Fever's terror own. 
 But their buoyant strength is futile ; 
 
 Care and skill, of no avail. 
 Love may plead, but still the brutal, 
 
 Fell destroyer will prevail. 
 Here is one — he came but lately 
 
 From the rugged clime of Maine. 
 See ! his j^ort is firm and stately — - 
 
 Brave his heart, and big his brain. 
 Can the Fever fright him? Never! 
 
 Will he fly before the blast 
 
HOME. IT 
 
 Of the Pestilence, or quiver 
 
 When its shadow's on him cast? 
 True, unflinching, and stout-hearted, 
 
 Stands he cahn while thousands fly. 
 But his steadfastness imparted 
 
 No exemption — he must die. 
 In the pest-house is he lying ; 
 
 Strangers watch around his bed. 
 See ! he gasps. Can he be dying — 
 
 And so soon? His spirit's fled. 
 In the street the death-cart's rumbling, 
 
 Coming for its nightly load ; 
 And the cartman coffins tumbling 
 
 Over, cries — " Bring out your dead !" 
 '' Let me Mss him for his mother /" 
 
 'Twas a tender woman lent 
 This sweet phrase, and like no other 
 
 Than a mother o'er him bent ; 
 Kissed the cold brow of that only 
 
 Wanderer from a far-off home, 
 Lying dead, and still, and lonely, 
 
 In that home whence none can roam. 
 Strong men turned away their faces, 
 
 Struggling with emotions deep ; 
 And the hardened undertaker. 
 
 Even he was forced to weep. 
 And when death's sad record reaches 
 
 Mother's, father's, sister's heart, 
 That kind woman's act when told them 
 
 Will assuao:e their sorrow's smart. 
 
18 
 
 HOME. 
 
 V. 
 
 A truce to sadness. Let ns turn 
 To scenes of brighter tint, and learn 
 A tale of love and liome.— Behold 
 A rural neighborhood unfold 
 Its modest scenes. A summer eve, 
 Calm, clear, and soft, begins to weave 
 Its lengthening web of shade and sheen 
 Across the landscape. Cleanly green 
 Tlie meadows spread their grassy skirts 
 Adown the hill-slopes, or with girts 
 Of verdure belt the sedgy pond, 
 Where frogs their shrilly songs resound. 
 The brown-faced fields, now freshly sown, 
 Amid the emerald pastures thrown, 
 Seem but reflections of the clouds 
 That, flushed and golden, gaze in crowds, 
 Down from the sky ; as savage girls 
 Flock round a mirror, and their curls 
 And unveiled charms gaze at, in spell 
 Of wonder tranced — then run pell-melL 
 And o'er the landscape far and neai 
 Low-nestled, quiet ]iomes appear; 
 And close-embracing orchards raise 
 Their bushy roofs, that sift the blaze 
 Of the declining sun ; — or stand 
 Like grim hussars, to guard the land. 
 
HOME. 
 
 19 
 
 . On such an eve, in such a home, 
 Sure naught but happiness could come 
 To hearts of purity and truth, 
 That beat with the quick blood of youth. 
 
 The day was done, the sun had set 
 Beneath the line where earth had met, 
 Or seemed to meet, all day, the earth. 
 The fading light revealed the birth 
 Of myriad stars. More bright they grew, 
 But timidly trembled through the blue, 
 As, peering from their lofty spheres, 
 They viewed the march of earthly years. 
 Ages untold those silent stars 
 Have looked, undinmied, from their far cars, 
 On earth and men. They stood and gazed 
 When this great globe was formed, and praised 
 The mighty Power whose mandate twirled^ 
 Along her course the new-made world; 
 And down the track of time they still 
 Have watched, fast sentinels, and will 
 Till time shall end. And now once more 
 They stand in lustrous silence o'er 
 The gladsome place where worth and youth 
 Have met to plight their love and truth. 
 
 Within the rural mansion's w^alls 
 An unused brilliance lights the halls. 
 And through the half-closed shutter beaming 
 Whitens the greensward with its gleaming. 
 Garlands and flowers, bright and rare. 
 Shed sweetest perfume on the air. 
 
20 HOME. 
 
 But life is needed, and the grace 
 Of movement, and tlie blushing face 
 Of bashful maiden, to bestow 
 On this fair scene its loveliest glow. 
 
 At length, from cottage in the dale, 
 From mansion looking down the vale. 
 From stately home on height or heath, 
 Where cooling gales of summer breathe, 
 The bidden guests begin to come ; 
 And then arise the buzz and hum 
 Of human voices, as they utter 
 The kindly welcomes. Soon the flutter 
 Of fans and finery sets in. 
 With all the bustle and the din 
 Of evening parties. But the crowd. 
 Becoming large and growing loud. 
 Has felt a sudden hush. The glance 
 Of keen eyes turns to where advance. 
 With bashful steps, a youthful pair — 
 A manly form, a maiden fair. 
 In presence of the throng they stand ; 
 Tlie daughter, sister, gives a hand 
 And a heart in it ; while are spoken 
 The vows that never can be broken — 
 That solemn troth which ne'er is given 
 But angels register it in Heaven. 
 
 With tears that will not be suppressed, 
 In anguished fondness, to her breast 
 The mother clasps her darling one, 
 Her dausjhter, now no more her own. 
 
HOME. 
 
 21 
 
 Slie weeps a moment, then imparts 
 
 The kiss that seals two willing hearts, 
 
 And blesses with a mother's prayer 
 
 The loved and happy wedded pair. 
 
 Then greetings follow quick and fast,-- 
 
 Tlie little sisters come in last, 
 
 And timid brothers, scarcely knowing 
 
 Whether to langh or cry, but showing 
 
 Their better sense by doing neither. 
 
 Since there was chance of wrong in either. 
 
 The nuptial martyrs bear their part 
 With noble steadfastness of heart. 
 Tlie jest goes round, and many a laugh 
 Rings out at witless jokes, not half 
 As funny as they seem. But still 
 They serve to send a welcome thrill 
 Of gaiety through the heavy crowd ; 
 As lightning from the summer cloud, 
 When stifling languors load the air. 
 Leaps fiercely out, and all is fair. 
 
 Tlie farewells said— good wishes spoken— 
 The tearful kiss, the simple token 
 Of love bestowed— all fitly blended,— 
 And thus the wedding scene is ended. 
 A few days pass, and then the face, 
 So long the joy, the sun, the grace 
 Of that bright home, must be withdrawn- 
 Only, indeed, to make the dawn 
 Of a new home,— but still the starting 
 Out on a world unknown— the parting 
 
22 HOME. 
 
 From home and all its pleasant things. 
 So prized from helpless childhood, wrings 
 The bitter tears of poignant grief 
 From her young heart. For now how brief 
 Appear those happy, happy years ! 
 What shadows dark tlie future bears ! 
 Yet with a willing heart she goes, 
 Strong in the strength that love bestows, 
 And leaning on the manly arm 
 Of him who swore to keep from harm. 
 And guard and cherish as his life 
 Ilis dear, confiding, youthful wife. 
 
 And soon tlie new home, like tlie old. 
 Grows bright, and warm, and glad, as fold 
 The years away their gathered wealth 
 Of life, and love, and joy, and health. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Happy the land where happy homes abound, 
 Wliich equal laws begirt in safety round ; 
 Where the soft wing of Peace, the angel, 
 
 bends 
 In sweet protection o'er them, and defends 
 From shafts of evil and the deathful blows 
 Of plotting traitors as of foreign foes ; 
 Where full prosperity, from boundless stores. 
 On thankful millions lavish plenty pours ; 
 
HOME. 23 
 
 Where virtue saves from love of sordid gain ; 
 Where love of country fires each heart and brain. 
 Thus haj^py was this land when treason flung 
 Its bloody banner out, and madly rung 
 The fearful tocsin of rebellious war, 
 Whose clangings fell on patriots like the jar 
 Of mighty thunderings, and their hearts con- 
 founded 
 As if the knell of Freedom had been sounded. 
 Only a moment's space the horror falls. 
 The lurid flames that blazed round Sumpter's 
 
 walls 
 Burned in each heart, till every patriot swore 
 That, from Atlantic to Pacific shore, 
 The good old flag should wave forevermore, 
 Though steeped in each foul-hearted traitor's 
 gore. 
 The summons was to war ; and from each 
 home. 
 From cot, from mansion, from beneath the dome 
 Wliere busy labor kee})S its constant hum. 
 With ardent hearts the willing warriors come. 
 To go was easy — for the cause was grand. 
 " 'Tis sweet to strive and die for native land." 
 But home is sweet — and O 'tis hard to part 
 With wife and babes ! to wring a mother's heart ! 
 To say farewell when tears and sobs arise 
 As if they'd burst the heart and drown the eyes ! 
 To snatch a kiss from hot and quivering lips, 
 And taste the briny dews that sorrow sips, — 
 
24 HOME. 
 
 And then receive a look from wild, red eyes, 
 Of dumb despair ! — a look that never dies 
 Out of tlie memory, saying, in language plain 
 As words could utter—" ne'er to meet again !" 
 To break from clinging arms, and hear the moan 
 Of sobbing sorrow from the hopeless one 
 Left all alone ! 
 
 O ! he can have no heart, 
 Who, if a home is his, can lightly part 
 From its sweet cares and pleasures, and not feel 
 A pang of cboking sorrow ! Tliough the weal 
 Of native country seem to be his aim, 
 An empty bubble is his boasting claim. 
 
 The million homes that fill this vast domain 
 Of Freedom, mctke our country. All in vain 
 Would be the costly sacrifice of blood, 
 Which patriot heroes pour forth like a flood. 
 If civil power, and right to rule the state 
 Were the sole boon of victory. The great, 
 Transcendent end for wdiich each patriot strives 
 Is to protect his home — preserve the lives 
 And rights of those whose weakness must depend 
 On him for succor. These he must defend ; — 
 And make secure to his posterity 
 The glorious heritage of liberty 
 And righteous laws, transmitted by his sires. 
 Baptized in blood, and scorched in battle fires, 
 Although the bloody and tremendous strife 
 Demand his wealth — his all — ^liis very life. 
 
HOME. 25 
 
 IIow dire the doom that surely must await 
 Those traitors infamous who brought the fate 
 Of horrid war upon this glorious land, 
 And whelmed in misery many a happy band 
 Of helpless ones, and cast o'er many a home 
 The gloom of death, the darkness of the tomb ! 
 
 Behold a scene of every passing day. 
 Slow weeks on leaden wheels have rolled away 
 Since the sad hour when, turning from the gate, 
 The brave young husband saw his gentle mate 
 With tear-blurred face against the window-pane 
 For a last look. O how it stung again 
 His almost burstino- heart ! He could not dare 
 Again look backward, for he knew that there 
 That sad, beseeching face still pressed the glass. 
 Onward in tears he forced himself to pass. 
 Safely he reached his post, and every day 
 Some tidings came. This was the one bright 
 
 ray 
 That lit the gloom that hung around the heart 
 Of the lone weeper — and became a part 
 Of life itself. One day no letter came. 
 Kind comforters essayed to lay the blame 
 On the uncertain post. But love's quick fears 
 Divined a cause more dreadful ; and in tears 
 And boding terrors passed the night away, 
 Next morn came tidings of a bloody fray 
 In which the good cause triumphed. Many read- 
 The news with rapture ; but the list of dead 
 
26 HOME. 
 
 They merely glanced at, giving scarce a tlionglit 
 To those whose lives the victory had bought. 
 
 But see the wretched wife ! With bated breath 
 She scans the fearful bulletin of death. 
 II er fears were but too true. The much-loved 
 
 name 
 Is on that fatal list. Words are too tame 
 To paint the deep despair of that young wife ! 
 The chilling anguish that froze up her life^ 
 And left her stricken, helpless, dumb with grief — 
 A bruised flower — a broken, withered leaf. 
 ISTo comfort soothed her. Moaning as in pain, 
 She only asked a place beside the slain 
 On that far battle-field — on the cold ground. 
 " I'd drive away the vultures hovering round, 
 And wash his bloody wounds, and be so kind" — 
 She murmured in her wanderings of mind. 
 She met him soon — not on the field of blood, 
 But where no partings come, beyond the flood. 
 
 YII. 
 
 The pure delights of home, in all their worth, 
 They lightly estimate who, from their birth. 
 Have lingered near the same old scenes and 
 
 grounds, 
 And, like the sun, have kept their constant 
 
 rounds 
 
HOME, 27 
 
 From year to year — have seen tlie changes traced 
 On Nature's pliant features ; or supphiced 
 By beauties wliich true taste and skill impart, 
 The uncouth products of the first rude art. 
 'Tis he who, knowing once a happy home. 
 Has wandered far and long, and still doth roam, 
 Unsettled and unhappy, that can measure 
 The worth of home, or estimate the treasure 
 "Which they possess who there content remain, 
 Nor toil o'er lands, nor tempt the boisterous 
 
 main. 
 To such an one what visions will arise 
 Of the old homestead, where his infant eyes 
 First saw the light ! How Fancy, airy sprite,— 
 That ever-faithful angel of delight — 
 Will seize her wand, and, quick as lightning's 
 
 flash. 
 Call up a picture, and upon it dash 
 A vivid freshness, like the brilliant hues 
 That early morning flings among the dews. 
 Before him stands, in changeless beauty drest, 
 The quiet home where all that he loves best 
 May still be found. It is a Sabbath morn. 
 The dews of night still gem the blades of corn. 
 A gentle murmur steals along the breeze, 
 As if of bursting flowers and growing trees. 
 The sun in dazzling brightness pours his heat. 
 With glowing pulse the air begins to beat. 
 The sky, so darkly blue at morning's blush, 
 Takes on a delicate whiteness ; and a hush 
 
28 HOME. 
 
 Of deepest stillness spreads o'er all the earth, 
 As when God rested at creation's birth. 
 Even the breeze grows still, and folds its wing. 
 And gives tlie leaf a respite from its swing. 
 The shadows darker grow beneath the trees. 
 Within the house., the musing wanderer see^ 
 Jubt as of old, the father, with a look 
 Serene but serious, poring o'er his book. 
 And drinking in, with greedy thought, the lore 
 Of some strong thinker of the days of yore. 
 There sits the mother in lier wonted place, 
 Or moves among her duties, with a face 
 Of gentle kindness, and the eye of love 
 That seems a reflex of the heaven above. 
 The children, brothers, sisters, all appear 
 Just as they did ^\hen, many and many a year 
 Long gone, the quiet Sabbath morn arose 
 With all its wealth of blessing and repose. 
 The blue-eyed boy that scarce can hold his glee — 
 The prattling thing beside her mother's knee, 
 Lisping her little verse of morning praise — 
 And older ones, who restless sit and gaze 
 Out on the emerald meads where violets grow, 
 And strawberries ripen in the bright sun's glow, — • 
 All plain before him stand just as they were 
 When life was young and all the world seemed 
 
 fair. 
 For memory never travels with the years. 
 The child we've lost forever a child appears, 
 
HOMii:. 29 
 
 And with the cherubs near the Saviour lingers, 
 And strikes a tiny harp with baby fingers. 
 
 At length the days of absence long prolonged, 
 With strange adventures, chances, perils 
 
 thronged, 
 Approach their close ; and the self-banished man, 
 Towards the spot where being had its dawn. 
 Directs his face. O'er many a league of space 
 AVith longing heart he posts ; and now the place, 
 "Where centre all his hopes and thoughts, he nears. 
 The curling smoke-wreath 'gainst the sky appears. 
 The road winds round a copse, when, lo ! he sees 
 The dear old house snug nestling 'mong the trees — 
 But slightly touched by age, a little browned 
 By Time's rude pencil in his mighty round. 
 Who paints a change on all. He stops, o'ercomo 
 By deep emotion, as again his home, 
 So loved, so lost, so oft beheld in dreams, 
 Stands out before him ; and his memory teems 
 Out all its treasures, garnered from the day 
 When childish thought first felt its conscious 
 
 sw^ay. 
 His feelings mastered, on he goes, and soon 
 Upon the threshold stands. O ! what a boon 
 To homeless wanderer, coming from the cold, 
 Unfeeling world, to stand there as of old 
 And know that he's at home ! His mother 
 
 meets him, 
 And with a mother's heart felt blessing greets 
 
 him, — 
 
30 HOME. 
 
 Clasps to her bosom, with the yearning joy 
 A mother only feels, her darling boy. 
 For still a boy slie deemed him when he roved 
 Afar and long, and as a boy still loved. 
 The family gather in from shop and field, 
 And kindling hearts a joyous welcome yield. 
 The blue-eyed boy so full of life and glee, 
 That oft in dreams he saw beyond the sea. 
 Alone was missing. Quick the mother read 
 The anxious glance. " He's gone," she simply 
 
 said, 
 And turned away. The strong man bowed his 
 
 head. 
 And unused tears of bitter sorrow shed. 
 In all things else, although the years had laid 
 On these a weight of age, on those had shed 
 A wealth of youth and grace, home seemed un- 
 changed, — 
 None touched with envy — none in heart 
 
 estranged. 
 In due time all the story's told and heard 
 Of what's been seen and done, and what occurred 
 In that long separation. And at last. 
 The wanderer, all his cares and troubles past, 
 Lays down his staif, content no more to roam. 
 And grants it true that " there's no place like 
 
HOME. 
 
 YIII. 
 
 31 
 
 O let our homes be liappy ! Throw a charm 
 Around them that will shield and keep from 
 
 harm ; 
 That when on the young spirit comes the hour 
 Of deep temptation in its mighty power — 
 When Pleasure's sweet entreaty courts the ear, 
 And deadliest sins in forms of grace appear, 
 The power of home's attractions and delight 
 May wield an influence of resistless might. 
 How dread the thought tliat ruin deep may fall 
 On many a soul, may drag it down a thrall 
 To Satan and his crew, because that place. 
 That should all fond and winsome things em- 
 brace. 
 Is made repulsive, blank, unlovely, cold — 
 A place where snarling enmities may hold 
 Malignant court. 
 
 Whatever may be said, — 
 By whatsoever rules the youth be bred — 
 Whatever learn from many an ancient tome, 
 Rome makes the tnan^ and wo7nan makes the 
 
 home. 
 Her care, her patient toil, her blithesome ways ; 
 Her gentle teachings in our infant days — 
 Her pleasant words, her sunny smile, her face 
 Of beauty or of goodness, and her grace. 
 
32 HOME. 
 
 In manner and in mind — these are tlie spell 
 That draws our willing hearts at home to dwell. 
 There wife or mother, sister, daughter reigns. 
 And by the power of love her sway maintains. 
 Does man resist her will, her rights assail? 
 "She stoops to conquer"— yields but to prevail. 
 Doeshe forsake her— fly from fancied ill? 
 He can't forget her— can but love her still, 
 And soon returns a captive in her chain, 
 And lives her willing, happy slave again. 
 
 For she and home are one, and ne'er apart 
 Can one without the other fill the heart. 
 Home without woman's blessed face would be 
 A garden robbed of flowers — a leafless tree, — 
 A sky without a sun, or stars, or moon — 
 An unstrung lute — a viol out of tune. 
 
 And what a power is this ! to tell the heart, 
 Be happy ! or to say to joy, depart ! 
 To plant the sweetest flowers in home's parterre, 
 Or set the deadly nightshade blooming there ! 
 To make one spot the unfailing place of rest, 
 Where heart-sore mortals may be truly blest, — 
 Or fill it full of passion's rankling stings — 
 Of anger's taunts, or envy's bitter flings ! 
 To train the heart and educate the mind 
 To all that's good and noble and refined — 
 Or leave the royal palace of the soul 
 To run to ruin, and become the hole 
 Of hissing serpents, and the hateful den 
 Of vices worse than beasts or savage men 1 
 
HOME. 33 
 
 But what can make a liome to charm the 
 heart. 
 And save from the seductive power and art 
 That evil, protean-shaped, employs to sway 
 Tlie innocent and young from virtue's way ? 
 What can the mother do to bind her boy 
 By ties that naught can weaken or destroy, 
 To Home and Heaven ? Betimes she must in- 
 fuse, 
 When the soul's soil is mellow, and the dews 
 Of earliest thought are falling, seeds of love 
 For truth and virtue and the God above — 
 That infinite Benefactor who has given 
 All he enjoys on earth and hopes in Heaven. 
 Th' expanding mind to every beauteous thing 
 Should be led on, and taught to lift its wing 
 Above the grovelling things on earth that lie, 
 And soar towards and even beyond the sky. 
 Books should abound, the noblest and the best 
 That e'er have grown from loftiest minds in quest 
 Of truth arid wisdom. Feed the fancy well 
 With poesy's creations — the sweet spell 
 Ot'Shakspeare's numbers, and the lofty theme 
 And trancing thought of Milton's noble dream. 
 And all that boundless world where Heason lays 
 Her treasures, spread before his spirit's gaze. 
 There let him revel. — Give your child a taste 
 For all these glorious things, and then the waste 
 And barren pleasures of the world will never 
 Engage his soul, or from his home e'er sever 
 
34 HOME. 
 
 The close affection that they only feel 
 Who find there both their pleasure and their 
 weal. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But homes are not all happy — if that name, 
 Which touches myriad hearts as with a flame 
 Of holy fire, can be bestowed on hovels 
 Where wretchedness with vice and squalor 
 
 grovels. 
 Would Heaven such homes were not I But yet 
 
 like blots 
 They cover earth's fair bosom, and like spots 
 Putrescent, tell how foul and black within 
 The heart of our humanity is with sin. 
 And some of these were once abodes of rest, 
 And calm contentment nestled in their breast. 
 But as to Eden, so to them there came 
 The Serpent, with his spawn of vice and shame, 
 And laid them waste, and drove out peace and 
 
 love, 
 And all that makes man's home like that above. 
 The cursed greed of gold filled all the soul. 
 And dragged to crime and folly ; or the bowl, 
 Impregned with madness by the serpent's art. 
 Inflamed the brain and brutalized the heart, — 
 
HOME. 35 
 
 The man of lofty tlionglit and aims brought low, 
 And filled his home with death and want and woe, 
 Until 'twas made a very demon's lair, , 
 "Where curses mixed with groans of deep despair. 
 
 But let the curtain drop on such foul sinks 
 Of human vileness — where the spirit drinks 
 Its deepest draughts of misery. Let us turn 
 To where the morning star begins to burn. 
 The glowing presage of that glorious day 
 When all man's vileness shall be cleansed away. 
 That day will rise. Already on the sky 
 The streakings of the dawn decl ire it nigh. 
 Although great sins abound, and direful wars 
 Are raging madly, as if fierce-visaged Mars 
 Were still the god we worshipped, there appear, 
 'Mid all the wrong and misery, signs of cheer 
 That Peace and Righteousness, in fond embrace. 
 Ere long will bless the world. Then every place 
 Where mortals dwell beneath the heaven's blue 
 
 dome. 
 Will be a place of rest — a happy home. 
 
 But there's a home beyond the shining spheres. 
 Which, 'mid the pleasures of these earthly years. 
 Must oft be in our thoughts, — a home that never 
 Can feel earth's loss and changes, but forever 
 Grow bright and beauteous as the ages roll 
 In endless cycles round the eternal pole. 
 That home is where God's boundless host of 
 
 worlds 
 Hold their allegiance — whence his power unfurls 
 
36 HOME. 
 
 The starry banner of his vast domain, — 
 Where countless spirits own his righteous reign. 
 In those bright mansions peace and love abound, 
 And purest pleasures run their ceaseless round. 
 There knowledge from the boundless sea distils 
 Of God's infinite wisdom, and in rills 
 Perennial flows to fill the thirsting soul 
 Long as its years of endless being roll. 
 There may we hope, when life and all its toils, 
 Its pleasures, griefs— even that from wdiich recoils 
 The trembling spirit, fearful death — are past, 
 To reach, through faith in God, a rest at last. 
 There, where no fears disturb, no partings come, 
 The loved and lost on earth may find a happy 
 home. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
THE COURT OF DEATH. 
 
 [DESCmrXIVE of the painting of the " COUKT OF DEATH," BY BEM- 
 * BRANDT PEALE.] 
 
 Within a cavern vast, where sluggish flows 
 Oblivion's stream, and dripping rocks enclose 
 A dismal mist, the king of mortal fate. 
 Enthroned in might, and robed in gloomy state, 
 Holds his mysterious Court. Upon his face, 
 Solemn and calm, the keenest eye can trace 
 No marks of malice ; nor of pity there 
 Does one soft, yielding lineainent appear. 
 Beneath his feet a youthful form lies low, 
 Once proud in strength, and flushed with life's 
 
 full flow. 
 His supple ministers around him wait, 
 On at his bidding fly, with wills elate 
 For deeds of woe. 
 
 On this side ruthless War, 
 With visage stern and vengeful, hies afar, 
 
40 THE COURT OF DEATH. 
 
 Pushing his slaughtering way, with crushing 
 
 tread, 
 'Mid throngs of maddened men made heaps of 
 
 dead; 
 "While 'neath the cruel trampings of the strife 
 Lie crouched the wondering babe and pleading 
 
 wife. 
 Before him, Conflageation, high in air 
 Heaving her flaming torches, flings their glare, 
 Lurid and fitful, on his deathful path. 
 And rushes fiercely onward, red with wrath. 
 Behind him, Pestilence and Famine stalk. 
 Close-pressing on his heels, and making mock, 
 With their most hideous faces, grim and gaunt. 
 Of all the grandeur which he makes his vaunt. 
 His victim, stricken, bleeding, ghastly lies, 
 I^or heeds nor hears th' exulting victor's cries. 
 
 But not by cruel deeds and carnage dire, 
 By Famine, Plague, and swift-devouring Fire, 
 Does Death his fatal power exert alone. 
 And still the pulse, and force th' expiring groan. 
 These, eager, ready, fly at his command, 
 And pour destruction o'er the doomed land. 
 But other shapes, less fierce, yet strong to kill. 
 Obsequious stand, and wait to do his will. 
 Here Pleasure, luring goddess, plump and fair, 
 "With witching face, and neck and bosom bare, 
 Profilers her cup, with love and beauty graced. 
 And sweetly importunes her guests to taste. 
 
THE COURT OF DEATH. 41 
 
 They drink ; but as the draught their soul en- 
 chants, 
 The giddy, zoneless girl. Intemperance, 
 With hair unbound, flushed cheeks, and leering 
 
 eyes, 
 Impregns with drugs the chalice ; and then plies 
 Tlie half-crazed votary's brain with thoughts of 
 
 woe, 
 That drive him to the death he would forego. 
 Remorse, by liorror scourged, cries cut — " too 
 
 late !" 
 Covers liis face and rushes on his fate. 
 By fiends pursued, Delirium Tremens calls 
 For help in vain, and shuddering, writhing falls 
 In hopeless agony ; while at his side, 
 Maddened with shame, the coward Suicide 
 Plucks from his riven heart his gory blade. 
 Staggers and dies, and flees a frighted shade. 
 But Pleasure still, with sweet, seductive lips, 
 The sparkling chalice filling, gaily sips ; 
 And Drunkenness, her goblet lifting high, 
 Exults to see her victims reel and die. 
 
 But not with War and all his murderous band, 
 !N"or 3'et with reveling Pleasure, hand in hand 
 Close leagued with mad Intemperance, mighty 
 
 waves 
 Of ruin spreading, and thick sowing graves 
 O'er Earth, in all her isles and continents wide, 
 Is Death, the mighty conqueror, satisfied. 
 
42 THE COURT OF DEATH. 
 
 Silent, nnmoved he sits — unpitying still 
 Issues his chaHg:eless mandate, " slay and kill," 
 To other agents, who but wait to know 
 Their Sovereign's will, then haste on deeds of 
 
 woe. 
 Consumption, soft approaching, with her breath 
 Sighs gently on her victim sealed for Death. 
 He loves the vermeil flush that paints her cheek, 
 Nor dreams that 'tis her presence makes him 
 
 weak. 
 Listless he lies ; sweet languors o'er him spread, 
 And dreams of life amuse, till life has fled. 
 Beside him Fever droops, with anguished brow, 
 And frame relaxed, and head reclining low. 
 The parted lips, flushed face and anxious stare 
 The monarch's fatal power and work declare. 
 Here wretched Hypochondria sprawling lies, 
 With half-averted face and straining eyes, 
 Frightened by phantasies, a horrid crew, 
 That still the self-tormented wretch pursue ; 
 While there, the halting prey of Gout appears. 
 And wan Despair, with grief too deep for tears. 
 Far happier he whom Appoplexy dread 
 By one fell blow hurls sudden to the dead. 
 IS'o pangs he feels, not even death's last throes, — 
 While they drag out long years of lingering 
 
 woes. 
 Such be the courtiers that surround the throne 
 Of Death, the monarch, and liis mastery own. 
 
THE COURT OF DEATH. 43 
 
 Each vies with each to inflict the tyrant's doom, 
 And make the earth a pest-house and a tomb. 
 But who is this, of cahn and reverent mien, 
 Bent down with years, but with a brow serene. 
 Who comes before Death's presence stern and 
 
 cold. 
 And craves the boon of dying — who so bold ? 
 It is the aged Christian, whom sweet Faith 
 Cheers and delivers from the fear of death. 
 Safe in her Heavenly arms she bears him up, 
 While joyfully he quafi"s the bitter cup. 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE YEAR. 
 
 I'm the father of motherless daughters — 
 
 (Thus sings the gray-beard year) — 
 I'm the father of brotherless daughters twelve, 
 
 And my lofty palace they cheer. 
 For I live in a palace of splendor ; 
 
 Its walls are azure and gold ; 
 Its floors the broad earth and the sea ; 
 
 It swings in the ether cold. 
 
 My daughters are fair and filial — 
 
 They serve in their turn to me ; 
 They garnish my home with crystal gifts, 
 
 And with products of land and sea. 
 They feed my myriad retainers, 
 
 Reward them for all their toil ; 
 They give them to lie 'neath the starry dome 
 
 Of my grand and magnificent hall. 
 
THE DAUGIITEKS OF THE YEAR. 45 
 
 My eldest is stern and pallid, 
 
 Her mien is stately and bold ; 
 But she loves my people, and laughs to see 
 
 Them merry when she is coid. 
 I call her my January — 
 
 For she opens my palace door ; 
 She walks like a vestal in peaceful white — 
 
 And carpets with snow my floor. 
 
 My second is like her sister — 
 
 Her air more rough and free ; 
 I gave her an nnpoetical name, 
 
 As rugged and harsh as she. 
 Her reign was short; and another — 
 
 My March, with a gentle mien — 
 Assumed the throne of my royal hall. 
 
 And ruled with a sway serene. 
 
 In smiles and tears came April, 
 
 And with her delicate hand 
 She stripped my floors of their carpet cold, 
 
 And invited the breezes bland. 
 She had scarce withdrawn to her chamber, 
 
 "When May, through the southern gate, 
 Tripped in, clad gayly in green and flowers, 
 
 Like a maid to her bridal elate. 
 
46 THE DAUGHTERS OF THK YEAE. 
 
 But Jui^E is tlie Queen of my daugliters — 
 
 A peerless beauty is she ; 
 She scattered to all her brilliant gifts, 
 
 And smiled on^each devotee. 
 She decked my palace with roses — 
 
 Flung verdure and gold from her train ;- 
 With sunny smiles and tears of joy 
 
 She cherished the growing grain. 
 
 July is languid and lovely, 
 
 Warm-passioned — with pouting mouth ; 
 She lazily lounged on her tapestried couch, 
 
 And sighed for the gale of the South. 
 With the perfume of flowers, and warblings 
 
 Of birds, she soothed her repose ; — 
 She suffered the reapers to ravage my halls, 
 
 And smiled as she sunk in a doze. 
 
 She slept — and her sister Augusta, 
 
 A haughty, voluptuous maid. 
 Became the queen of my court and realm, 
 
 And a sceptre of majesty swayed. 
 Her breath was hot as the simoon — 
 
 Her blood beat strong in her veins ; — 
 She painted the palace with gorgeous hues, 
 
 And heaped it with golden grains. 
 
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE YEAR. 47 
 
 A buxom lass is September, 
 
 Her clieek is dimpled with health ; 
 She romped with the zephyr and sighed with the 
 south, 
 
 She smiled at her garnered wealth. 
 She laughed when she looked at the flowers — 
 
 The garlands her sisters had twined ; 
 She filled their places with hiscious grapes 
 
 And apples of brilliant rind. 
 
 October, ISTovember, December — 
 
 This trio has last made me glad ; 
 October was sometimes sunny and bright, 
 
 And sometimes gloomy and sad. 
 A fickle child was ^N^ovember, 
 
 And tempests witli sunshine would twine ; 
 But cold as her eldest sister had been, 
 
 Was December — the last of my line. 
 
 And now wdtli my motherless daughters — 
 
 Queens regent of earth and of air — 
 With my troop of brotherless sisters twelve, 
 
 I am quitting my palace fair. 
 We have ruled in the fear of Heaven ; 
 
 We have measured a cycle of time; — 
 And at last, to our home in eternity's reahn. 
 
 We pass from our natal clime. 
 
WINTER'S PARTING SONG. 
 
 Away, away to my frigid home, 
 
 "Where the ixlitteriiio^ icebei-ofs tower, 
 No more the fields of the South I'll roam, 
 
 Nor scathe its lawns in my power. 
 I long to fly where the Northern blasts 
 
 Fhip wings of feathery frost ; 
 Wliere Night her cloak o'er the white earth casts. 
 
 With streaks of the mornino^ crossed. 
 
 O'er the dark, cold waves of my Northern sea, 
 • That dash on an ice-bound shore, 
 I long to skip in my uncurbed glee. 
 
 And dance to their music's roar. 
 'Mid sunny homes have 1 wandered long. 
 
 And scattered my crystal treasures ; 
 I've marshalled the host of my tempest throng, 
 
 And the winds have served my pleasures. 
 
winter's pakting song. 49 
 
 I flung my robe over meadow and hill, 
 
 My white, unsullied mantle ; 
 I spread its skirts round forest and mill, 
 
 And lapped them soft and gentle. 
 But the bold-faced sun has oped his eye 
 
 On my gifts so white and tender; 
 I'll gather them up, and away I'll hie 
 
 To my palace of crystal splendor. 
 
 I sealed the lake witli my icy seal. 
 
 And locked the stream from its flowing : 
 I laid my hand on the miller's wheel. 
 
 And I stopped the boatman's rowing. 
 But I'll break my seals and loose my bands, 
 
 And free the slaves of my power. 
 I'll hasten back to my frozen lands. 
 
 Where the glittering icebergs tower. 
 
A RAILROAD DISASTER. 
 
 [" The bridge gave way, and the whole train was precipitated into the 
 gulf, a distance of fifty feet. Sixty dead bodies have been taken 
 from the wreck." — Newspaper.] 
 
 The hour of four approaches. Groups of men, 
 Upon the platform standing here and there, 
 Hold idle converse on the current news — 
 The hundred themes of j)assing interest that 
 The minds engage of thoughtless, or, perchance, 
 Of thoughtful, mortals. Here, some sit apart. 
 Communing silent with their souls ; or dreaming 
 Some lovely dream of home ; or building castles 
 Of future happiness, or wealth, or fame. 
 With step impatient others walk from point 
 To point, anxious to hear the signal sharp 
 That shall announce the moment of departure — 
 Departure whither ? Ah, they know it not ! 
 There sits, with much of patience in her look 
 And mien, a calm-browed mother. In her lap 
 An infant sprawls, and chirrups in its glee, 
 Or, tired and restless, whimpers out its plaint. 
 
A RAILROAD DISASTER. 51 
 
 And yonder stands the Inige and ponderous 
 
 engine, 
 As quiet as an Arab's conquered steed — 
 Bnt strung with might, and with a heart that 
 
 strains 
 To burst its pent-up fury forth. The hot 
 Steam hisses spiteful through its nostrils ; while 
 The engineer, with look of confidence, 
 Assured that all is safe, leans carelessly 
 Against the mighty giant's brow, or lays 
 His arm caressingly upon his back. 
 
 But see! The monster moves ! He seems to live ! 
 With strong but gentle impulse back he pushes 
 The train of passive cars. And now they stand 
 Beside the platform. Fiercely shrill the whistle 
 Sends forth the startling signal of departure. 
 The people press with selfish haste within 
 The cars and drop upon their seats, as though 
 Each feared there were not room enough for him 
 And all the rest. Again that piercing shriek 
 Eesounds. A belch of steam and smoke, a quick 
 Jerk, and a running clanking from end to end — 
 And slowly the lengthened train moves on its 
 
 course. 
 Each moment gives increase of speed, till like 
 A storm, with rush and roar, 'mid clouds of dust 
 It flies along with grand and terrible power. 
 Now suddenly it stops, as though the spirit 
 That gave such fearful strength and motion were 
 At once withdrawn. Again it starts — again 
 
62 A RAILROAD DISASTER. 
 
 It flies, and fiercely flaps its iron wings 
 Till all the earth doth tremble. On it speeds 
 As if ten thousand demons gave it chase, 
 Eesolved to drive it down some dreadful gorge, 
 With all its precious load of life, and love, 
 And worth, and wealth, and dash and crush 
 
 them in 
 Promiscuous ruin. But hark ! that steam-shriek 
 
 sounds 
 A fearful note ! Another, more terrific. 
 And fiercer ! See ! an awful chasm yawns ! 
 Madly the engine plunges down the gulf. 
 Writhing and broken ; and the train, with all 
 Its helpless freight of terrified men and women, 
 Leaps after. Down they dash an endless depth, 
 And in a moment sink beneath the waters — 
 And all is still. 
 
 The ruin was complete 
 As fearful. Three-score souls but heard the 
 
 shriek 
 That was their death-knell — lieard and knew no 
 
 more 
 Until tliey woke to consciousness among 
 The habitants that throng the eternal spheres. 
 A few, wlio passed through all of death except 
 The waking beyond the bourne of the unknown, 
 Were rescued. These rejoice, and thank the God 
 Of Heaven that they were saved from death. 
 
 Who knows 
 But that the dead rejoice that they were not ? 
 
THE PARTING SOUL. 
 
 I STAND upon the utmost verge of earth, 
 And gaze with prying, craving eye to pierce 
 The dread, obscure, and yet half-opening mist 
 That stretches like a veil of unknown height 
 And length and depth along the bourne of time. 
 
 for one glimpse beyond that hindering veil ! 
 
 1 long to see the wonders there, the strange, 
 Unknown, nnthought of, awful things, that fill 
 The immeasurable realm of Him whose name 
 Is Infinite — His sway Omnipotence. 
 
 And yet I seem 'to shrink ; and while I long, 
 Yet almost dread to meet the bursting glories. 
 O Earth ! and must I leave thee ? leave thee 
 
 now — 
 Forever ? — leave my home ? my dear loved 
 
 friends ? 
 Must I be torn away from all that winds 
 A close and tender tie around my heart — 
 
54 THE PARTING SOUL. 
 
 This failing, throbbing heart ? O draw me back, 
 Kind friends ! How can I venture all alone 
 Into the deep "rapt mystery" that bounds 
 And darkens all yon vast eternity ! 
 You cannot ! E"o, you need not. Earth, fare- 
 well ! 
 Though beautiful, and loved, and fair — farewell! 
 No more will day and night to me return. 
 'No more yon gorgeous sun, that rides so high 
 In brightness, will around me flood his beams. 
 E'en now his light seems darkness on my sight, 
 And all the beauteous colors that he wakes 
 Are fading ; and my straining eyes ache with 
 Their unmet stare. But see ! the mist-cloud 
 
 lifts. 
 Light, strange and beauteous, breaks u23on my 
 
 soul. 
 And thronging shapes of matchless nobleness 
 Salute my spirit's vision ! Yast and grand 
 And glorious, a universe of light 
 And life and beauty stretches boundless on. 
 Farewell, farewell ! I willing go to meet 
 Those beckoning spirits, and forever live 
 In very presence of the Lord of Life. 
 
THOUGHT AND TRUTH. 
 
 In this our mortal being, tlionght can live 
 
 But in its manifestation. As the light 
 
 Of heaven cannot be seen unless it strike 
 
 Our opaque earth, and be reflected by 
 
 The things whereon it doth impinge, in hues 
 
 Of varied kind ; so thought may nerve itself, 
 
 And grapple with the most stupendous things 
 
 Of earth and heaven and the abyss below, 
 
 Subdue and conquer them ; yet when the truths 
 
 Are mastered, all in vain the victory. 
 
 Unless they 're cribbed within the soul, or flung 
 
 Out on the world bound in the steel-linked chains 
 
 Of human language, so that memory — 
 
 A treacherous custodian at best — 
 
 May not allow them to escape her grasp. 
 
 As language is the embodiment of thought, 
 Truth is its soul. And trutli is infinite. 
 They who imagine that its boundless realm 
 Has been exhausted, and that in tlieir brain 
 
66 THOUGHT AND TKUTH. 
 
 (A small receptacle, indeed,) there lies 
 
 The universe of knowledge, do but show 
 
 Their ignorance and conceit. Its grand expanse 
 
 Is but begun to be explored. 'Tis like the sea. 
 
 Its surface only has been furrowed o'er 
 
 Bj frail and venturous barks, each following in 
 
 Its predecessor's timid track — with care 
 
 Avoiding rocks and shoals, or places marked 
 
 As dangerous, but rejoicing, with a joy 
 
 That feels no fear, to sail o'er depths that have 
 
 Been traversd o'er and o'er from age to age. 
 
 'Tis only now and then amid the slow 
 And heavy-moving centuries, that, by stress 
 Of intellect, perhaps by force of fate. 
 Or inspiration of the Omniscient One, 
 A Homer, Shakspeare, N'ewton, drives his bark 
 Across the unvisited, uncharted wastes 
 Of unknown truth, and bears an argosy 
 Of priceless wealth back to the shore. They go, 
 They come, and bring their treasures ; but the 
 
 bearings 
 And distances to those rich mines, none but 
 Those mighty intellects have ever known ; 
 Or, if discovered, they've been found to be 
 But empty caves, where precious gems once 
 
 glittered. 
 But may there not be other mines of thought, 
 Ajid other mighty spirits who may search 
 Them out, and other precious cargoes fetch 
 Of intellectual treasures which to scatter 
 
THOUGHT AND TRUTH. 57 
 
 Among earth's greedy minds? Yes, there must 
 
 be 
 A world of sealed ideas. But who and where 
 Is he who bears the high credentials that 
 Import the power and give the right to break 
 The seals, to ope the vault, and seize and take 
 The treasure ? 
 
 Truth is God's ; and he who dares 
 A hand profane upon it place, or all 
 Unbidden, and with curious eje, to press 
 Within the holy place to gaze, commits 
 A sacrilege. But with an earnest heart, 
 In modest confidence, let him who would 
 Be wise, and learn the wondrous things that lie 
 Still undiscerned, though all uncovered and 
 Abroad in the great universe, address 
 Himself to studious and patient thought — 
 ISTeglecting nothing for its littleness, 
 Kor shrinking from the vast ; remembering, 
 Who seeks the highest may attain thereto — 
 Who strives not after never gains the prize. 
 
 3* 
 
MORNING. 
 
 See you that soft and mellow tinge of liglit 
 That tints the border of the eastern sky — 
 Scarce brio^hter than the maid's unconscious 
 
 smile, 
 The glimmer of tlie happy soul within ? 
 The stars that glowed so clear and bright upon 
 Heaven's azure frontlet, now grow pale and dim, 
 And sink away in ether's whitening deptlis. 
 
 The herald star of morning, as she floats 
 In august majesty among the orbs 
 Of lesser lustre, fast the blue vault mounts, 
 As if to escape the brightening robe of liglit 
 That morning flings upon the extended sky. 
 But all in vain. Her radiance soon is wrapped, 
 Concealed and lost in day's more brilliant blaze. 
 Brighter and still more brightly glows the East, 
 As wheels the sun his burning chariot toward 
 The sapphire rim of Heaven. The lofty trees 
 Rejoice, and wave their heads, and smile, as 
 Morn, 
 
MORNING. 59 
 
 Unveiled, baptizes with a radiance pure 
 
 And white tlieir topmost bonglis. Adown their 
 
 trunks 
 It slowly creeps, enveloping them as with 
 A veil of pure transparency. At length 
 The sun, in full-risen splendor flings his light 
 Like a vast carpet o'er the outspread earth. 
 The crystal dewdrops — tears of sorrow wept 
 By eyes of angels o'er a sin-cursed world — 
 Sparkle like gems on blade, and leaf, and flower. 
 All. nature seems inspired with life and love, 
 And in a sweetly blending melody 
 Of light, sound, odor, sends her orisons 
 Of purest joy up to the eternal throne. 
 Where sits Creation's glory-mantled King. 
 Mists brooding o'er the cool and grassy lawn. 
 Or lingering by the brook's meandering course, 
 As if enchanted by its soft, sweet music. 
 Fly swiftly on the sun's quick-darting rays, 
 And dissipate amid the upper air. 
 The earth, o'er all its hills, through all its vales 
 Rejoices and is glad, and sunny smiles 
 Fill every dimple of her roughened cheeks. 
 Such almost heavenly loveliness and joy 
 Succeed night's gloom, and usher in the day. 
 
SILENCE. 
 
 And what is silence? Go into the depths 
 
 Of yon thick forest. Go when burning noon 
 
 The dewless greensward scorches, and dries np 
 
 The tiny rivulet that morn beheld, 
 
 So clear and limpid, rippling o'er the smooth 
 
 And cooling pebbles. Penetrate among 
 
 The giant oaks, that stretch and intertwine 
 
 Their powerful arms, and nod their leafy crests 
 
 In majesty ; and 'neath the shade of the 
 
 Unfading hemlocks, to the very heart 
 
 Of that dark wood, which never sunbeam 
 
 pierced. 
 Ko sound is heard, but stillness like the deep. 
 Dead quietude that reigned when earth and man 
 Were yet unformed, oppresses ear and soul. 
 Kow whispers a low murmur, as the breeze 
 Skims o'er the lofty tree-tops. But it melts 
 Into unbroken noiselessness again. 
 
SILENCE. 61 
 
 Even tlioiiglit seems quite unlike the tliouglits 
 
 tliat lise 
 Amid the jargon of the bustling world. 
 So pure, so vivid, so unbound, it seems 
 To soar upon etherial wings, and strength 
 Celestial gather. 
 
 But not alone in dark. 
 Deep, noiseless forests hangs the unmoved air 
 Of silence. Seek it on the lonely couch, 
 Amid the darkness of the midnight hour. 
 The aching ear grasps greedily to catch 
 Eemotest semblance of a sound. The blood, 
 Tliat, slow and sluggish, throbs along the veins, 
 Makes its pulsations almost audible, 
 llie breeze without — whose fannings soft could 
 
 scarce 
 On glowing cheek of fairest maid be felt — 
 With murmurs distant, low, and sweet as voice 
 Of angels heard by ancient seers, brings to 
 The mind, all throbbing with the oppressive 
 
 stillness, 
 "Welcome relief. 'Tis then the soul, alone 
 With its own being, like a point of life 
 And feeling fixed in an infinity 
 Of nothingness, turns inward on itself, 
 And feasts delighted on its own reflections ; 
 Or, fancy-winged, the vast invisible 
 It mounts, which stretches infinite around 
 The all-attracting throne of Deity. 
 
LIFT THE GLORIOUS BANNER. 
 
 Ye sons of sires who bravely dared 
 
 In Freedom's name to fling 
 The gauntlet down, and meet the hosts 
 
 Of Britain's haughty king — 
 Arouse your strength ! shake off your sloth ! 
 
 And prove your birthright true ! 
 By the Constitution and Union stand, 
 And the flag of red, white and blue ! 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner high ! 
 Shout, shout as its folds sweep against 
 
 the sky ! 
 Seize sword and rifle, and swear you'll 
 
 be 
 True Sons of the Heroes of Liberty ! 
 
 "When foreign foes our land assail, 
 
 Or traitors treason plot ; — 
 If prosperous days bring wealth and ease, 
 
 And even Virtue's bought ; 
 
LIFT THE GLOEIOUS BAI^NER. 63 
 
 Forget not, but remember still 
 
 Tlie price for Freedom paid — 
 The blood, the treasure, sufferings, tears, 
 
 On your country's altar laid. 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner, &c. 
 
 United let our country be — 
 
 ]N"o strifes of State with State ; 
 Let North with South and East with West 
 
 Hold friendship strong as fate. 
 Oh ! crush with mighty hand the fiend 
 
 Whose tempting words would lure 
 One State to break the sacred band 
 
 That keeps our Union sure. 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner, &c; 
 
 Almighty Ruler, God of Truth ! 
 
 Still guide us by thy grace, 
 And make this broad and goodly land 
 
 A heritage of peace. 
 Allay all malice, quell all strife, 
 
 Exalt the good and true ! 
 Oh God, may not one star be torn 
 
 From our flag of red, white and blue I 
 
 Then lift our glorious Banner, &c. 
 
THE CHORAL SONG OF THE STAKS. 
 
 TwAs ISTew Year Eve, the stars were glistening. 
 
 And 'neath their gaze a poet was listening. 
 
 He thought to hear the song they sing 
 
 As through the universe they ring 
 
 The story of the closing year, 
 
 And all the thoughts and hopes tliat cheer, 
 
 Depress or pain, exalt or thrill. 
 
 The thousand million souls that fill 
 
 Earth's mighty continents. He heard, 
 
 Or seemed to hear, as 'twere had stirred 
 
 A spirit's breath among the chords 
 
 Of some sweet instrument ; and words 
 
 Came softly floating and touched his ear 
 
 In melodies sweet as the angels hear. 
 
 His soul mounts up on celestial wing 
 
 And lists to the song that the stars do sing : 
 
 Arise, thou beautiful, gladsome Earth ! 
 
 We chant thee a 'New Year song ; 
 The delicate chords of a million rays 
 
 We strike in a countless throng. 
 
THE CHORAL SONG OF THE STARS. 65 
 
 'Tis many a linndred ages since 
 
 We looked on thy primal liglit, 
 And " sang together " in praise of Him 
 
 Who stationed thee in our night. 
 
 All hail ! thou world of the azure sky ; 
 
 Of the moonlight's quiet gleam ; 
 Of hill and meadow, and forest and vale, 
 
 Of the lake and rippling stream ! 
 Of the winter's floor of marble ice, 
 
 And his carpet of downy snows ; 
 Of the anthem grand that the tempest sings 
 
 "When abroad in his might he goes ! 
 
 But not for these do we chant thy praise, 
 
 Thou star of Heaven's delight ; 
 Though all these beautiful things and forms 
 
 Still hallow thee in our sight. 
 Because thou art the abode of man, 
 
 In the image of God create, 
 Do we strike the harp of the Universe, 
 
 And sing of thy high estate. 
 
 A mansion of love to him thou art, 
 
 A liome of delight and joy, 
 Where simple Content may fold her wing, 
 
 And Yirtue have sweet employ ; — 
 A look-out point o'er the realms of space, 
 
 Whence rational man may scan 
 The wonders of God's omnipotent power, 
 
 And learn his magnificent plan. 
 
66 THE CHORAL SONO OF THE STAES. 
 
 And not the meanest of man's delights 
 
 Are oft his griefs and sorrows ; 
 Tliey are rosy clouds in an evening sky 
 
 The shadows of brilliant morrows. 
 And death — it is but the gloomy gate, 
 
 Through which earth's myriads pass 
 To people the empty worlds that lie 
 
 Tlirough tlie realms of iniinite space. 
 
 Koll on, bright world, in thy grand career! 
 
 A million stars look on 
 From afar, and wonder, and watch thy course, 
 
 As they did through ages gone. 
 Though small thy lamp in the vast concave 
 
 Of night's unnumbered hosts, 
 Thou'rt great in His sight whose eye takes in 
 
 Creation's uttermost coasts. 
 
 And now as again thou'st filled thy round 
 
 Of a billion miles, O Earth, 
 We take our place in the waltz of worlds 
 
 And joyously sing thy birth. 
 Welcome, thrice welcome again art thou ! 
 
 To join our heavenly choir. 
 And mingle thy note of the lost and saved 
 
 With the tones of the universe' lyre. 
 
A NIGHT IN SUMMER. 
 
 Pkoud Day withdraws his head, 
 And drops about his bed 
 
 His crimson curtain ; 
 While Evening, dusk and pale, 
 Puts on her azure veil 
 
 And starry mantle. 
 The air with heat is dull — 
 And Darkness seems to cull 
 
 . A nosegay fitting 
 Por his sweet ebon queen, 
 The odors of every scene 
 
 The wind has ravished. 
 
 The bhishing twilight grows 
 More pale, like damask rose 
 
 In spot sequestered ; 
 Till all the concave blue 
 Dips o'er the earth's broad view, 
 
 And shuts her lattice 
 
68 A NIGHT IN SUMMEK. 
 
 That opened towards the "West. 
 And now comes sweet-eyed Eest 
 
 With lethe laden, 
 To bathe the brow of care 
 And steep the temples fair 
 
 Of love-lorn maiden. 
 
 Grim I^ight, in trailing robe, 
 O'er the half-conquered globe 
 
 Star-crowned advances. 
 Around his car a troop 
 Of dreams and phantoms group. 
 
 That fling their glances 
 Upon each sleep-shut eye. 
 As silently they hie 
 
 Upon their mission. 
 Far from the path of day 
 They hold their trackless way — 
 
 A shadowy vision. 
 
THE 
 
 SURVIVING SOLDIERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 Ye last of all the hero band 
 
 Who with our AVashington did stand, 
 
 And stayed his arm of strong command 
 
 In Freedom's holy strife ! 
 We greet you, venerable sires ! 
 To loftiest notes we strike oar lyres ; 
 Our hearts, ablaze with patriot fires. 
 
 Thank Heaven that gave you life. 
 
 When battle-thunders shook the ground. 
 And stern hearts trembled at the sound ; 
 When death on- gory fields was found- 
 Steadfast ye kept your posts. 
 Ye fought like men at Bunker Hill, 
 And felt the patriot ardor thrill 
 Your inmost soul, and nerve you still 
 To meet the oppressor's hosts. 
 
70 THK SURVIVING SOLDIERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 On Monmouth's bloody plain ye stood; 
 Ye crossed tlie Delaware's wintry flood ; 
 At Yorktown proved your courage good ; — 
 
 Unwavering tilled your place 
 On ever}^ well-fought battle-field, 
 Where comrades' blood their valor sealed ; 
 To deadliest onset ne'er did yield, 
 
 Nor ever turned your face. 
 
 Hail ! honored braves ! once more receive 
 The homage that your sons would give ; 
 And O, a patriot's blessing leave 
 
 Before you pass away ! 
 Your number dwindles year by year ; 
 Your steps to Heaven draw ever near ; — 
 Your glory grows more bright and clear, 
 
 As dawns tli' eternal day. 
 
THE PRINCE OF WALES 
 
 AT 
 
 THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON 
 
 Above the strand where, soft and slow, 
 
 The waters of Potomac flow, — 
 
 Upon a gentle lift of land. 
 
 Where solemn trees majestic stand, 
 
 Sole sentinels to guard the spot 
 
 Most sacred in a patriot's thought — 
 
 A royal cortege silent pass 
 
 Along the walks, and through the grass. 
 
 They stop, — the heir of Enghmd's throne 
 
 Bows at the tomh of Washington. 
 
 Scarce four-score years since, from that spot, 
 Might have been heard, as brother fought 
 With brother, the dread cannon's roar 
 That echoed up from Yorktown's shore. 
 Now he who fought that final fight. 
 And won the victory for the right, 
 
72 PEINCE OF WALES AT TOI^IB OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 Lies here in simple, grand repose — 
 His tomb a slirine for friends and foes ; 
 While he whose royal ancestor 
 Sent forth his myriad troops to war 
 'Gainst filial and fraternal foes, 
 Who dared resist unrighteous laws, 
 Stands reverent, with uncovered head, 
 In presence of the mighty dead ; 
 Paying, tliough late, the liomage won 
 From England's throne by Washington. 
 And when, as monarch on that throne, 
 Past whose deep-rooted base have flown 
 The tides and storms of a thousand years, 
 The crown of Britisli might he wears, 
 In memory may he hold the hour 
 When,'neath that still, sepulchral bower, 
 He knelt before the mighty name 
 Of him with more than kingly fame *, — 
 And may the act a hostage prove 
 Of lasting harmony and love. 
 
MIND AND MUSCLE. 
 
 Swell the mighty song to Heaven 
 
 Of the men whose toil has given 
 Eclen blessedness to earth ; 
 
 Let the wings of Poesy rustle 
 
 O'er their fruits of tlionght and muscle- 
 Shout, in every tongue, their worth ! 
 
 Priests are they of Earth and Ocean, 
 Light, and Air, and Power, and Motion- 
 Worshippers at Nature's shrine ; 
 Theirs no bloody conqueror's story — 
 Theirs no statesman's hazy glory — 
 Theirs are honors more divine. 
 
 Rank they spurn aristocratic ; 
 Arts they use not diplomatic — 
 
 They are equal, free, sincere. 
 To be patient, their tuition ; 
 To be. useful, their ambition ; 
 
 Hope their beacon, firm they steer. 
 
74 MIND AND MUSCLE. 
 
 Thought and Labor Yirtue greeting—^ 
 Earthly spirits Heavenly meeting — 
 
 Clasp in fond and pure embrace. 
 Art, Religion, Knowledge, Labor, 
 Each to other friend and neighbor, 
 
 Join to win Time's glorious race. 
 
 Men of Genius, men of merit ! 
 Strive — be strong ! ye shall inherit 
 
 Earth, when wars and thrones are past. 
 Truth your aim, and Truth your power, 
 Peace your angel. Fame your dower — 
 
 Work and conquer to tlie last. 
 
REVERY. 
 
 How oft, when still awake, we seem, 
 To wake to life as from a dream- 
 To startle at a sudden thought, 
 And view the hours past as naught! 
 When care has long our muids engaged, 
 Or when with passion we have raged; 
 When tossed from wave to wave of troubles— 
 When joy and pleasure burst like bubbles ; 
 'lis then, when reason bids us rise, 
 Eeligion beckoning to the skies, 
 Wettart, and stare, and scarce believe 
 The world the same in which we live ; 
 So changed our thoughts and feelings now- 
 So changed the earth, we scarce know how. 
 The soul feels but a burning speck 
 Of consciousness, amid the wreck 
 Of dull, dead, worthless stuff that lies 
 Within its scope ; and lifts its eyes 
 To scan, by fancy's mighty power, 
 The wondrous things that sweep and tower 
 
76 
 
 KEVERY. 
 
 Beyond the bourne of earth's small star, 
 Where God's immense creations are. 
 
 Ah, these are moments when the seal 
 Of immortality we feel 
 Upon our inmost soul — can swear 
 By Him whose finger placed it there, 
 And by His inspiration taught 
 The blissful, the tremendous thought, — 
 That we will never, cannot die. 
 But live throughout eternity. 
 
THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Bright Star ! how many eyes have gazed 
 
 Upon thy pure and steady ray ! 
 In thee how many glances kissed 
 
 The glance of loved ones far away ! 
 
 How many tears of grief or pain 
 
 Have sparkled in thy quiet gleam ! 
 
 How many smiles more brightly glowed, 
 Enkindled by thy joyous beam ! 
 
 Sweet, constant, faithful, holy Star ! 
 
 Emblem of love, and hope, and truth! 
 Thou'st coursed the heavens, untired, unchanged, 
 
 Since first thou walked in. virgin youth. 
 
 When Earth first sprang from chaos night 
 
 Into the warm embrace of day. 
 Thy gentle beams, like friendship's smile. 
 
 Cheered her along her untried way. 
 
78 
 
 THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 On thee has looked, with anxious eye, 
 The storm-tossed sailor far at sea, 
 
 And thought of her, the faithful one. 
 
 Whose love-smile brightened even thee. 
 
 Amid the pain, and groans, and death. 
 
 Of fields wliere fought and fell tlie brave. 
 
 On thee the stricken warrior gazed. 
 
 And prayed to Ilini with power to save ; 
 
 And sent a thrilling, last farewell, 
 
 In thought, to loved ones far away, 
 
 Who, looking anxious up, received 
 
 The mystic message through thy ray. 
 
 O may'st thou be to him, to all 
 
 Who look on thee from field or wave, 
 
 A token of the blessed hope 
 
 That tells of life beyond the grave. 
 
SUNDAY. 
 
 A DAY of rest for the weary and lorn ; 
 
 A day of peace for the driven and worn; 
 
 A day of hope fa- the sunk in despair; 
 
 A day of release for the harrassed with care ; 
 
 A day to forget our sorrows and woes ; 
 
 A day to forgive our penitent foes : 
 
 A day to be kind to the troubled and sad ;~ 
 
 A day to be earnest, and thoughtful and glad 
 
THE HEART. 
 
 Like the liarp whose sweet, sad tones 
 Are stirred by the zephyr's kiss — 
 
 Tones sweet as the airs that Angel's sing 
 In their Eden bowers of bliss — 
 
 Is the heart that throbs in the youthful breast 
 
 With the joy of innocent peace still blest. 
 
 Ever mute the harp remains 
 
 When rudely the tempest sweeps ; — 
 
 O'er its strings in vain do the fingers stray — 
 All silent its music sleeps : 
 
 When the unseen wing of the breeze flits by 
 
 'Tis moved to the tenderest melody. 
 
 So the heart, engulfed in griet\ 
 
 Or driven by passion's gale, 
 Will remain unmoved as the beetling rock 
 
 That the leaping waves assail ; 
 But touched by the breath of a friendly word, 
 With emotions tender and strong 'tis stirred. 
 
THE AMBITIOUS STUDENT'S LONGINGS. 
 
 Can Fame be mine ? Cannot arise 
 To me tlie hues of gorgeous ray, 
 
 That glow before tlie piercing sight 
 Of those whose memories ne'er decay ? 
 
 Why feels my soul these struggling thoughts, 
 If they, unborn, must melt away ? 
 
 From childhood's playful, nestling hour 
 My spirit's arms have seemed to wear 
 
 A might which yet my soul would lift 
 Far up the cliflfs of fiime, and bear 
 
 It proudly to the haloed top 
 
 Of great renown, and leave it there. 
 
 Ko feeling this mere moment-bred, 
 "Which storm, or calm, or moon, or star 
 
 Can stir or light to life. It has 
 
 A home within me, though from far 
 
 Has flown the spark that lit its birth. 
 'Twill live while God and nature are. 
 
82 THE AMBITIOUS STUDENt's LONGINGS. 
 
 Say you 'tis all a dream ? A dreani 
 
 Then let it be. And yet 'tis sore 
 To feel a burning, crisping thirst, 
 
 When at the very spirit's door 
 There seems a gem-walled well, whence dew^s 
 
 Fresh dropped from Heaven unceasing pour 
 
 Fill my embrace, whate'er thou art! 
 
 Sea-froth — a bubble— empty air ! 
 Tliough thou sliouldst prove all vain — not worth 
 
 My spirit's lowest, meanest care — 
 Fame ! I would know thy emptiness — 
 
 Thy lightest vanity would share ! 
 
 THE END 
 
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