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 Chap^ 
 
 S-T 
 
 
 y-'OnUNSTED STATES OF AMERICA. ' 
 
ERSES. 
 
 %. C. f . i 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
 1863. 
 

 6021.1 
 
ROBERT C. WATERS TON, 
 
 ^bc 0crscs 
 
 'J 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/versesaclwOOwate 
 
C O N T E N T S. 
 
 rag-e. 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY 1 
 
 SONG 3 
 
 AFTEE THE CHILDREN'S PARTY 5 
 
 A MORNING HYMN 8 
 
 TO SOPHIA, WITH A GOLD THIMBLE 10 
 
 FOR A CHILD'S ALBUM, WITH SOME PRESSED FL(.IWERS . . 12 
 
 STANZAS: A TRIBUTE TO A FELLOW-TRAVELLER .... 14 
 
 THE MUSICIAN 17 
 
 WHAT THE GREAT ELM SAID TO THE FLOWERS .... 11) 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC a5 
 
 THE FRIGATE 25 
 
 " AWAY " 27 
 
 IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND, THOMAS B. ADAMS, U.S.A. ... 28 
 
 HEARD ANT) UNHEARD 31 
 
 THE WOUNDED INDIAN 3;3 
 
 RACHEL 34 
 
 THjVT MEETING ..." 35 
 
 TWO SCENES 37 
 
 THE ECLIPSE 40 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I'age. 
 
 LINES ON SENDING FLOWERS 43 
 
 THE LOCUST TKEE 4.5 
 
 SONG 47 
 
 ON AN ENGRAVING OF THE CRUCIFIXION 48 
 
 SEEN AND UNSEEN oO 
 
 TO-DAY'S LESSON .j,S 
 
 KAUB, ON THE lilllNE 55 
 
 THE RAINBOW SEEN FROM A CITY 57 
 
 HYMN FOR THE CLOSING SERVICE IN FEDERAL-STREET CHURCH r,9 
 
 A RECORD (11 
 
 AFTER THE STORM (i4 
 
 GARLANDS FOR THE GOLDEN WEDDING (',6 
 
 ON SEEING THE FLAG AGAIN FLOATING OVER CHESTER SQUARE CS 
 
 INVOCATIONS 70 
 
 THE EriFHANY 72 
 
T E 11 S E S. 
 
Y E P^ S E S. 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY. 
 
 The once-green earth in frost is bound ; 
 
 And through the forest-trees, 
 Where not a summer leaf is found, 
 
 Rushes the wintry breeze 
 Like some wild spirit bold and free. 
 
 Who, scorning Winter's chain, 
 Breaks from his iron grasp, to be 
 
 In the wide heavens again. 
 Our Northern sky is cold and clear : 
 
 No Avarm and genial ray 
 Has bade one flowery wreath appear, 
 
 To deck this holiday. 
 
THANKSGIVING DAY. 
 
 But though the summer leaves so fair 
 
 Crown not these festal hours, 
 Yet dearer things are gathered there, 
 
 And sweeter, than the flowers : — 
 For the green bower of home is gay ; 
 
 And happy there we stand, 
 Once more united on this day, — 
 
 The severed household band. 
 Yes, we must feel our fathers chose 
 
 This dreary season well ; 
 That the Thanksgiving, as it rose, 
 
 From out our Homes might swell ; 
 And bade upon the cheerful hearth 
 
 The altar-fires arise, 
 To offer there (best gift of earth !) 
 
 The full heart's sacrifice. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Our buoyant boat is floating far 
 
 Upon the river wide : 
 The sunset glow, the evening star, 
 
 Shine o'er us as we glide. 
 
 Recast within the mirror deep, 
 Yon cloudless heaven is seen ; 
 
 The shelving shore, the mountain steep, 
 And waving woods, between. 
 
 But, oh ! more fair than all beside 
 
 Reflected there I see, — 
 A beauteous face within the tide, 
 
 That lifts its eyes to me. 
 
SONG. 
 
 O careless river ! tliou wilt flow 
 
 In dancing waves as gay, 
 When that bright form thou holdest now 
 
 Has passed from thee away ; 
 
 But, when the Avaves of Time shall sweep 
 
 This happy hour from me, 
 Her image still reflected deep 
 
 Within my soul shall be. 
 
AFTER THE CHILDREN'S TARTY 
 
 Ye are gone, and our play-time has ended, 
 Gay creatures ! Ye bid us adieu, 
 
 With your kisses and thanks sweetly blended ; 
 But owe Ave no thanks unto you ? 
 
 "We have skimmed o'er the carpet in races. 
 Eluding the blind leader's powers ; 
 
 Though unblest with your infantine graces, 
 Have lent every aid Avhich was ours. 
 
 We have led to the music's gay measure 
 Your footsteps so graceful and light ; 
 
 And entered so much in your pleasure. 
 As made it our OAvn for to-night. 
 
AFTER THE CHILDREN S PARTY. 
 
 Indeed, while your voices implored us 
 That Frolic might have her own way, 
 
 It seemed as if time had restored us 
 To childhood and freedom and play. 
 
 Ye are gone, and will sink to your slumbers. 
 
 Pure, holy, refreshing, and light ; 
 And, in dreams, will to Fancy's gay numbers 
 
 Renew every sport of to-night. 
 
 We wake, and the gay throng has vanished ; 
 
 And with them our visions are o'er : 
 For, alas ! the illusion is banished, 
 
 And we — we are children no more. 
 
 "We wake from a moment of dreaming. 
 To find ourselves hampered by years. 
 
 With their wishes, their truth, and their seeming. 
 Their pleasures, their sorrows, their fears. 
 
 We wake, and the world is around us : 
 
 We start, Avith a pang of dismay, 
 To feel how its fetters have bound us 
 
 In trials and cares of to-day. 
 
AFTEE THE CHILDREN'S PAETY. 
 
 But thanks for the love which endears us 
 To hearts in their bright morning hour : 
 
 Like a fount in the desert, it cheers us 
 With freshness and sweetness and power. 
 
 Good-night, then : but think not ye leave us, 
 
 Or vanish away from our sight ; 
 For, in dreams which our fancy shall weave us, 
 
 Ye'U gladden all visions to-night. 
 
A MORNING HYMN. 
 
 Awake, my soul ! tlie morning liglit 
 Beams on tlie wave, the grove, the lawn ; 
 Awake ! and, with the shades of night, 
 May all earth's shadows be withdrawn ! 
 
 To that high heaven's celestial blue, 
 So calm and bright, so deep and clear, 
 Look up, and lose the clouded hue 
 Contracted in this narrow sphere. 
 
 Drink in these sounds of joy and life, — 
 The voice of winds and leaves at play ; 
 And let the sound of care and strife, 
 And sorrow's murmur, die away. 
 
A MORNIXG HYMN. 
 
 Watch the gay warblers of the air, 
 That, singing, rise in airy flight ; 
 And follow, on the wings of prayer, 
 Up to the heaven of hope and light. 
 
10 
 
 TO SOPHIA, 
 
 WITH A GOLD THIMBLE. 
 
 Deak Sophie, take this goldeu thimble, 
 To guide and guard your needle nimble, 
 When with a mystic thread it weaves 
 Buds, scollops, hemstitch, dots, and leaves ; 
 And may its future history tell 
 How all its deeds have ended well ! 
 A useful life it will pursue. 
 Guided and worn, my friend, by you ; 
 And let its aid avert the power 
 Of many a dull and weary hour. 
 May such be few ! Ah ! let me rather 
 Suppose it used, Avhen, met together. 
 We round the evening table sit, 
 Listening to learned lore or wit. 
 Perchance that very hour will bring 
 Our ever-welcome Mrs. King, 
 
TO SOPHIA. 11 
 
 Who comes to join our socinl meeting 
 
 With friendly smile and kindly greeting. 
 
 Anon, with grace, and footstep free, 
 
 Comes Eustis in : who gay as he ? 
 
 The reader lays the volume by, 
 
 And then the threaded steel we ply. 
 
 Weave, Sophie ! weave these pleasant hours 
 
 Into the web with fadeless flowers : 
 
 And soon the swift-revolving year 
 
 Will bring another meeting near ; 
 
 And Margaret cometh o'er the sea, 
 
 A blessing and a joy to be ; 
 
 Dear brother Ben — we shall rejoice 
 
 To hear again his gentle voice : — 
 
 Our books will then be thrown aside 
 
 To learn of all that did betide 
 
 Those wanderers into foreign parts, 
 
 Who yet have never left our hearts. 
 
 In hours like these, oft let me view 
 
 My little gift of use to you ; 
 
 And let some thoughts of me, my friend, 
 
 Be ever at your fingers' end. 
 
12 
 
 - FOR A CHILD'S ALBUM, 
 
 AVITH SOME PRESSED FLOWERS. 
 
 TO S. G. A. 
 
 Upon another page doth stand, 
 Fairer than blossoms fresh and white. 
 Recorded by thy mother's hand, 
 Thine own baptismal name and. rite. 
 
 And now another leaf we fill 
 With fragrant flowers that once were gay : 
 They bloomed (ah ! Snsan, prize them still) 
 LTpon thy brother's christening-day. 
 
 Yes, keep them for a future hour : 
 Links to a sacred scene are they, 
 Whose impress soon must lose its power. 
 And from thy memory pass away. 
 
FOR A CHILD S ALBUM. 
 
 13 
 
 Of holy rites they'll tell thee then, 
 And of the many friends Avho came 
 Around thy happy parents, when 
 Their infant boy received his name. 
 
 That name, perchance, they whisper low, 
 Might to another have been given ; 
 But that fair child staid not below, 
 Led by its mother's hand to heaven. 
 
 They'll tell thee that their hues so bright 
 Were born in sunshine, nursed by showers ; 
 And, though they now are faded quite, 
 Tliey once were fair, and still are flowers. 
 
 And they might tell thee, Susan dear, 
 That thou thyself, a human flower. 
 In the Earth's garden doth appear. 
 Where cometli sunshine, storm, and shower. 
 
 Oh, may the light and shade we see. 
 
 Upon thy soul such influence shed, 
 
 That all may fondly look on thee, 
 
 When, like these flowers, thy bloom has fled ! 
 
14 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO A FELLOW-TRAVELLEK. 
 
 I YET may see tliose hills again 
 In all their solemn beauty stand ; 
 Before me the unruffled plain 
 Of the calm lake once more expand. 
 
 The setting sun again will throw 
 Its glory over land and wave, 
 Reflecting in the depth below 
 The parting smile to earth it gave. 
 
 But where will be the earnest eye 
 
 That watched with mine each changing scene, 
 
 Gazed gladly at the glorious sky, 
 
 The dark-blue lake, the mountain screen ? 
 
STANZAS. 15 
 
 Swiftly upon the green hillside 
 That light and eager footstep trod : 
 Where would its rapid motion glide, 
 If I again should press that sod ? 
 
 Or when the shades of evening fall, 
 And in the quiet room we meet, 
 Each scene of beauty to recall, 
 And every glowing thought repeat, — 
 
 Oh ! where will be the words which stirred, 
 And (filled with life) could life impart ? 
 The listening ear, that gladly heard, 
 The ardent soul, the beating heart 'i 
 
 Within thy bosom. Earth, to-day 
 He lies, the falling leaves beneath. 
 That, glowing bright in their decay. 
 Above his grave a garland wreathe. 
 
 His step is stayed upon the hill ; 
 He wakes no echo from the glen : 
 The place which he was wont to fill 
 Is silent 'mid the haunts of men. 
 
16 STANZAS. 
 
 The mountaiu and the lake remain 
 Unchanged, save by the passing year, 
 Which gathers to renew again 
 The hues of life that disappear. 
 
 Thus passed beyond that change profound, 
 So dark and drear to mortal eye, 
 A fresher life he, too, hath found, 
 " Forgetting what it is to die." 
 
17 
 
 THE MUSICIAN, 
 
 What fairy-like changes 
 
 Flit over the keys, 
 As the hand freely ranges 
 
 With magical ease ! 
 
 How airy that measure, 
 Fit for happier spheres ! 
 
 Once a gay song of pleasure. 
 Now flowing through tears. 
 
 As a dark mountain river, 
 
 'Tis rapid and deep ; 
 O'er it sharp lightnings quiver, 
 
 And rushing winds sweep. 
 
18 
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 
 
 Yet changing from sadness, 
 And sparkling with glee, 
 
 Come sweet notes of gladness, 
 Fresh, brilliant, and free. 
 
 Oh, marvellous melody. 
 
 Magical skill ! 
 Swaying so readily. 
 
 Quite at thy will. 
 
 Those harmonies o-lowina: 
 With joy as they roll, 
 
 Each mingled tone flowina; 
 From depths of the soul. 
 
19 
 
 WHAT THE GREAT ELM ON BOSTON COMMON SAID 
 
 TO THE FLOWERS AVHICH BLOOMED 
 
 BENEATH IT IN 1855. 
 
 Sweet Blossoms, that, beneath my shade, 
 Dauce in the breezes to and fro, 
 With bright and changeful hues ari'ayed, - 
 Whence do ye come ? and whither go ? 
 
 When first in April's genial air 
 My leaves unfolded to the light, 
 Around, in garlands fresh and fair. 
 Flowers gi'eeted then, as now, my sight. 
 
 For, by the west-wind haply flung, 
 A winged seed, wild flowei's beneath, 
 I lay ; from thence to life I sprung. 
 And left below that forest wreath. 
 
20 WHAT THE ELM SAID TO THE FLOWERS. 
 
 How many years have passed away 
 Since then, this massive trunk cloth show ; 
 These branches, that, with mighty sway, 
 Battle with tempests, bloAV for blow, — 
 
 They bear my leafy honors high, 
 Beyond the reach of younger trees : 
 Yet the same sunshine gilds the sky, 
 And evening brings the same soft breeze. 
 
 All else around me now is changed : 
 Here I have watched a City grow, 
 Where once the wolf and wild deer ranged, 
 And wilder men did come and go. 
 
 Little reek I of things so vain ; 
 Above all change, I proudly stand, 
 Casting my shadow o'er the plain, — 
 A watch-tower of the sea-bound land. 
 
 But in this rugged heart there lay 
 The winged seed ; and when, below, 
 I saw your blossoms, flowerets gay, 
 Ye seemed the wreath, left long ago. 
 
WHAT THE ELM SAID TO THE FLOWERS. 
 
 21 
 
 That lay upon the dewy ground, 
 When I from out the forest sprung, 
 And all the wilderness around 
 With the fresh notes of raorninc; runs:. 
 
 How brief to me the changing light 
 Of Time's swift-passing day appears ! 
 I've watched the lengthened centuries' flight : 
 Then what to me are rolling yeai's ? 
 
 Yet sigh not sadly to the breeze, 
 Ye fleeting Blossoms, fair and gay ! 
 That Nature sternly thus decrees 
 To you but one short summer day. 
 
 A little longer shall I wait 
 
 The final destiny of all ; 
 
 And then the Elm of ancient date, 
 
 Like your frail forms, must bend and fall ; 
 
 Forgotten as the wreath which bloomed 
 Within the vanished forest bowers ; 
 To dark decay as surely doomed 
 As ye, O brightly blooming Flowers ! 
 
22 WHAT THE ELM SAID TO THE FLOWERS. 
 
 All ! Nature works with sul)tle art, 
 Bestowing gifts which are not vain : 
 Forms change ; but to her miglity heart 
 Her children cling, and — live again ! 
 
23 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 No, no : sing not that song again, 
 Sweet tliongh its accents be ; 
 
 For, on that 'witching strain. 
 Thoughts all unknown to thee 
 Rush o'er my niemoiy. 
 
 On that rich flood of sound 
 
 Wide-scattered treasures float ; 
 
 Wrecks of life's joys are found, 
 By many a tempest smote : 
 Strike not that liquid note. 
 
 Voices long silent now 
 
 Once sang that song to me ; 
 
 Hearts that have ceased to glow 
 Once felt that melody 
 Deep — full — and free. 
 
24 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 No, no : sing not that song again, 
 Sweet thougli its accents be ; 
 
 For, on its 'witching strain, 
 Thoughts all unknown to thee 
 Rush o'er my memory. 
 
25 
 
 THE F R I G A T E. 
 
 She I'ests upon the swelling sea, 
 
 A bird with folded wing, 
 Wliose flight will soon be far and free, 
 
 That prond and gallant thing ! 
 
 Her masts, which now appear to rise 
 Where fleecy clouds do play. 
 
 Must bend before the stormy skies, 
 When she is far away. 
 
 The booming sea that deck will lash, 
 Where late we gayly stood ; 
 
 And she must dare the lightning-flash. 
 The thunder, and the flood. 
 
26 
 
 THE FRIGATE. 
 
 A few brief days, and she will be 
 
 On the wide sea alone : 
 A thousand blessings follow thee, 
 
 Thou wave-tossed seaman's home ! 
 
 Yet not alone upon the sea 
 
 Will be that Avave-girt band ; 
 For thoughts and prayers can wander free 
 
 From off the distant land. 
 
 Thou gallant Bark ! they follow thee 
 
 Upon the wild sea-foam : 
 Like guardian spirits they shall be, 
 
 Those fervent prayers of home. 
 
 God speed thee through the trackless deep ! 
 
 Thy brave and gallant crew, 
 Who on thy decks their vigils keep. 
 
 Those noble hearts and true, — 
 
 God bless them on the stormy sea, 
 
 And on the distant strand ; 
 And bring the fearless and the free 
 
 Back to their native land ! 
 
27 
 
 "AWAY." 
 
 FKOM THE FRE:<CH. 
 
 Swift through the green meadow 
 
 Flows the rivulet gay : 
 Fair flowers on the border 
 
 Its course cannot stay. 
 New channels invite it ; 
 
 And, to bathe some far shore, 
 It leaves the green meadow. 
 
 And returns never more. 
 
28 
 
 IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND, 
 
 THOMAS B. ADAMS, U.S.A., OF QUINCY, MASSACHUSETTS, WHO DIED 
 AN OFFICER IN THE FLORIDA WA'K, 
 
 1838. 
 
 Angel of death, thy shadow dims the light, 
 
 As o'er oixr path we hear thy dark wing's flight, 
 
 And feel upon our heai-ts that summons fall, 
 
 To all surprising, though it comes to all. 
 
 Yet when, in childhood's dawn or manhood's prime. 
 
 Thy hand anticipates the work of Time, 
 
 We shrink amazed, nor deemed thy power had SAvay 
 
 O'er things which looked " too glorious for decay." 
 
 Gone is the young and manly one 
 
 From a far-distant shore : 
 The soldier's weary march is done, 
 
 And he returns no more. 
 
IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 
 
 29 
 
 Vanished from earth ! ah ! clearly now 
 That youthful form I see, — 
 
 His curling locks and sunny broAv, 
 And footstep firm and free ; 
 
 As, turning from his home that day, 
 
 He went to meet the strife. 
 And changing fortunes, far away 
 
 In untried scenes of life, — 
 
 Within a heart so true and brave. 
 
 Above all doubt or fear, 
 "We saw the prophecy which gave 
 
 To him a bright career. 
 
 The promise which then met our sight 
 Now shines in his fair fame, 
 
 And sheds another ray of light 
 Upon an honored name. 
 
 But blasted are these fond hopes all ; 
 
 For o'er his early tomb 
 The storm will beat, the sunshine fall. 
 
 And careless blossoms bloom. 
 
30 IN MEMORY OP A FRIEND. 
 
 A mother's cherished treasure sleeps 
 Within that distant grave ; 
 
 And with a hitter grief slie weeps 
 Her beautiful, her brave. 
 
 Angel of death, with all thy potent sway, 
 Nought but the mortal form is borne away. 
 Gifts that are higher thou canst never claim : 
 We cherish still his memory and his name, — 
 Links to the past ; yet, holier far, to be 
 Thoughts which shall bind us to eternity, 
 And to the future, in a land of peace, 
 Where death divides not, and where sorrows cease. 
 
31 
 
 HEARD AND ITNIIEARD. 
 
 I HEARD a thrilling sti-ain last uiglit, 
 Whose liquid notes did ebb and flow : 
 The trumpet lent its blast of might ; 
 The flute and viol answered low. 
 
 The listening croAvd, in that high hall, 
 The trumpet and the viol stirred ; 
 And loud applause rang out from all, 
 Responsive to the chords they heard. 
 
 But not for them a voice had sung ; 
 The minstrel's form they could not see : 
 The air on which these notes Avere flung, 
 A song; did bear to none but me. 
 
32 
 
 HEARD AND UNHEARD. 
 
 Through Memory's hall, that music shed 
 A strain of mingled smiles and tears ; 
 For with its fleeting sweetness fled 
 A voice of song from other years. 
 
33 
 
 THE WOUNDED INDIAN. 
 
 A STATUE BY STEPHENSON. 
 
 Slowly he sinks ; life ebbs, but lingers still, 
 In limbs fit for the battle or the chase : 
 
 How keenly, over vale and misty hill, 
 
 Had flashed the lightning glance of that fixed face ! 
 
 Whence came that arrow ? From no common foe 
 
 Was sent the shaft which caused that blood to flow. 
 
 Fox'm of heroic mould ! in thee we trace 
 
 — Powerful and bold, yet fallen, wounded, dying — 
 A type of that once free and fearless race, 
 
 Whose story should be told with tears and sighing ; 
 That fading race, — their death-song's solemn tone 
 Lingers upon these breathing lips of stone. 
 
34 
 
 RACHEL. 
 
 Enchantress ! In the northern skies afar 
 
 Strange lights shoot np, and flicker wild and "wide, 
 
 Untilthe stars grow dim, and yet anon 
 
 Bathe the deep heavens in hues of blood and fire, 
 
 Fearfully beautiful. And thus hast thou 
 
 Revealed thyself to us, making each night 
 
 Resplendent. 
 
 What can we bring to offer 
 At thy shrine for all thy revelations ? 
 Not glowing gems nor flowery wreaths ; they pale 
 And fade beneath thy burning glance : but tears. 
 Hot tears, Avrung from the eyes that seldom weep ; 
 Griefs long since buried, starting at thy touch 
 From out their sealed sepulchres, — these, these. 
 With the quick throbbing of our beating hearts, — 
 Our memories haimted by each tone and look 
 Of thine for ever, — these are our ofi^erings. 
 Take thou the gifts, O Queen ! not yielded lightly. 
 
T HAT MEETING. 
 
 October 14, 1858. 
 
 Strange that chance meeting for both of us there 
 
 You, lord of an eai'ldom ancient and fair ; 
 
 I, a stranger in garments of sorrow, 
 
 Who came to-day, and must go to-morrow. 
 
 Yet on the parchments, emblazoned with all 
 The skill of the penman, in your high hall 
 You showed me the record, the badge, the name, 
 Of the Norman ancestor both can claim. 
 
 Afterwards, walking together around 
 Your ancient mansion and park, we foimd 
 Something of kindred more true to the soul 
 Than heraldry blazons on parchment scroll. 
 
36 
 
 THAT MEETING. 
 
 Out of the dim past, your own past, aud mine, 
 Destiny spinnetli our life-threads so tine : 
 Weaving and twisting them, now or never, 
 Slie suddenly blent them once together. 
 
 Strange that chance meeting for both of us there 
 You, lord of an earldom ancient and fair ; 
 I, a stranger in garments of sorrow. 
 Who came to-day, aud must go to-morrow. 
 
37 
 
 TWO SCENES. 
 
 Within the ancient church, which stands 
 O'erlooking Freyburg's cliffs and streams, 
 We heard the grand okl organ-peals 
 Flung through the aisles, 'mid sunset-gleams ; 
 
 And while that surging sea of sound 
 Broke on the shore of silence there. 
 Beside us stood a fair-haired boy, 
 Of Britain's crown the prince and heir. 
 
 A touch upon those chords had thrilled 
 Old England's hymn of praise and joy 
 Into a tender prayer for her, — 
 The Queen, and mother of the boy. 
 
38 
 
 TWO SCENES. 
 
 That master's toucli upon the stops 
 Then swept a storm, — its rush, its flash : 
 Through the old arches' echoing stones 
 The tempests shriek, the torrents dash. 
 
 But gentler melodies intwined 
 The twilight of that closing day. 
 As in the ancient church we paused. 
 While England's Prince went on his way. 
 
 And one, who Avalked beside us then, 
 In beauty lit the old gray aisle, 
 As, Avith her calm and holy look, 
 
 She met the Prince's peaceful smile. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A few years fled. — I stood within 
 Our own New England's choral liall : 
 It was alight with glow and life ; 
 Flag's of two lauds waved over all. 
 
 And gathered there were men who stand 
 Worn with life-toil for fame, or truth : 
 'Mid veterans, rich with lore and age, 
 I saw again that fair-haired youth. 
 
TWO SCENES. 39 
 
 And England's antliem rose once more : 
 No organ's deep time-mellowed note 
 Now pealed ; but on the vocal air 
 A thousand tuneful voices float. 
 
 White-robed, and crowned with youth and flowers, 
 Like wingless angels seemed that band, — 
 Fit messengers to breathe a prayer 
 For him, the child of a great land. 
 
 He smiled ; — and from my vision fled 
 That crowded, lighted, bannered hall : 
 In the old Switzer church we stand. 
 Gray twilight stealing o'er us all. 
 
40 
 
 THE ECLIPSE. 
 
 To-NioiiT I look into tlie heavens, 
 Where high the queenly moon doth ride 
 For her alone the concave seems 
 Fittingly formed, vast, silent, wide. 
 
 In that bright splendor, stars are lost. 
 And clouds are all forgotten things : 
 The orb which sails so proudly there. 
 No shadow near her glory clings. 
 
 Transmuted by celestial gleams. 
 The silent sti'eets beneath me lay, 
 Robed in a garb of woven light, 
 Such as tli^y never wear by day. 
 
THE ECLIPSE. 
 
 41 
 
 And now, from out this radiant sphere, 
 I hear the sound of wheels, which bring 
 Gay figures from the festal hall. 
 The banquet's cup, the dancers' ring. 
 
 Yes, crowned with flowers fair brows should be, 
 If hearts are young and gay to-night : 
 To them the world is filled with joy. 
 
 And ruled by one bright orb of light. 
 
 # * * * * 
 
 A mystic power has flung a spell. 
 
 Through which these casements strangely shine : 
 
 I see reflected, scenes of youth ; 
 
 The vanished past again is mine. 
 
 Far off, this power has borne me now 
 To other days, whose morning light. 
 Mingling with such a cloudless sky, 
 Sheds fuller lustre on the night. 
 
 " 'Tis worth a midnight watch," I cried, 
 " To feel this strong, mysterious sway, 
 Bidding life's fairest joys appear. 
 Bearing its darker dreams away." 
 
42 
 
 THE ECLIPSE. 
 
 While thus I spake, a faint, cokl chill 
 Ran through my veins ; upon my arm 
 A viewless icy hand was laid 
 In parting, to dissolve the charm. 
 
 Startled, I raise my eyes again 
 Up to the heavens : oh, woful sight ! 
 I see a darkening shadow thrown 
 Upon the moon, so dazzling bright. 
 
 Deeper and deeper grew the gloom, 
 As the grim shade the victory gains. 
 Until the Queen of light was gone : 
 A dim, discolored orb remains. 
 
 No passing cloud was on the air, 
 
 Whence fear could change or tempest borrow 
 
 The spell had left me : now I knew 
 
 That shadow of a world of sorrow. 
 
43 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON SENDING FLOWERS TO CHARLES SUMNER, AND CRAWFORD 
 THE SCULPTOR. PARIS, MARCH 28, 1857. 
 
 Blossoms of beauty ! fair ye are together ; 
 
 Companions meet, yet now to part for ever ; 
 
 Go, greet two friends : for them the wreath I sever. 
 
 These flowers fresh, and bright with rosy hue, 
 On which the sunbeam scarce has dried the dew, 
 Bear welcome unto him whose manly brow, 
 Baptized in blood, is doubly sacred now ; 
 Welcome him back to health, to hope, to life, 
 And to fresh vigor for a glorious strife. 
 A paler tint these tender blossoms wear ; 
 And in their cups, half hid, our tears they bear. 
 
44 
 
 LINES ON SENDING FLOWERS. 
 
 Go to the shrine of genius : not in vain, 
 If on his lips ye wake a smile again. 
 Breathe a farewell to him Avhose mid-day sun 
 Sinks in eclipse ere half its race is run. 
 Upon each brow the crown of sutFering lies, — 
 (That circling glory in a dai'k disguise ;) 
 Meekly they bear the sign of martyr-pain, 
 Which marks them victoi'S on life's battle-plain. 
 One, dying, leaves behind a deathless name, 
 Enduring as the marble of his fame : 
 The other lives, with strength renewed, to be 
 Champion of Truth and Right and Liberty. 
 
 Go, fleeting Blossoms ; but in higher bowers 
 Await those fairer wreaths of fadeless flowers. 
 Bestowed by higher, holier hands than ours. 
 
45 
 
 THE LOCUST TREE. 
 
 This tree fell, in full blossom, July 4, 1844. These verses associate it with the death 
 of GUSTAVUS GOSSLEK, of Hamburg:, which occurred the day previous. 
 
 Fair stands the tree at morning prime : 
 
 Its blossoms long and white, 
 Through Avhich the rising sunbeams play, 
 
 Are pleasant to the sight. 
 
 Soft breathes the wind among the leaves ; 
 
 And, with a gentle sound, 
 It seems to whisper to the flowers, 
 
 That shed their fragrance round. 
 
 The noon comes on, the sun shines bright, 
 
 The breezes faintly blow ; 
 Yet, on the grassy plain beneath, 
 
 The flower-crowned tree lies low. 
 
46 
 
 THE LOCUST TREI 
 
 It fell by no relentless hand ; 
 
 No storm the wreck had made, 
 Nor scorching heat had blighted it : 
 
 Why did its beauty fade ? 
 
 The evening sun, whose morning light 
 
 Had been so fair to see, 
 Now shone upon a vacant sod : 
 
 There was no bloomine: ti'ee. 
 
 Thought we not then of him — the young. 
 
 The hopeful, and the gay — 
 Who passed away, all suddenly. 
 
 In the noontide of life's day ? 
 
 Strange are these marvels to our sight ; 
 
 They are no work of Time : 
 Why fell the fair tree in its strength ? — 
 
 The young man in his prime ? 
 
 All outward things we vainly ask : 
 
 They have no thrilling tone. 
 Bearing an answer to our souls : 
 
 It rests with God alone. 
 
47 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Free-hearted, happy oue ! 
 
 Where is thy home ? 
 Unto this world of ours 
 
 Why hast thou come, 
 Bringing that joyous smile 
 
 Where grief doth reign ? 
 Unto a fairer sphere 
 
 Hasten again. 
 
 Art thou a messenger. 
 
 Sent from above 
 To win us to heaven 
 
 With seraph-like love ? 
 Fly from us, dear one ! 
 
 If such thy hope be, 
 Or the heaven of our happiness 
 
 Centres in thee. 
 
48 
 
 ON AN ENGRAVING OF THE CRUCIFIXION, 
 BY HENRY GOLTZIUS. 1583. 
 
 Work of a hand wliose graver cut 
 Deep in the steel the vision given 
 Unto unsealed eyes of Faith, 
 When ancient Art drew nigh to heaven ! 
 
 Dark roll the awful clouds ahove 
 The city of the faithless crowd, 
 While on tlie rude and bark-stript tree 
 The thorn-croAvned head is meekly bowed ; 
 
 And, gazing on the Sufferer there, 
 
 Three friends are watching through the night ; 
 
 Yet falter not : they know the sign 
 
 That makes death, life ; and darkness, light. 
 
ON AN ENGRAVING OF THE CRUCIFIXION. 49 
 
 Between me and that scene is thrown 
 No hue of color : to my eyes 
 The gulf of time is spanned, and bears 
 The impress of the sacrifice. 
 
 I know the sign, and fain would cling 
 In hope beside the faithful Three ; 
 And watch the mighty love upraised 
 Upon the blood-stained, bark-stript tree. 
 
50 
 
 SEEN AND UNSEEN. 
 
 A GAKDEN, near my dwelling, 
 Is rich with opening flowers ; 
 
 The sound of falling waters 
 Gladdens the sultry hours. 
 
 And oft, beside the fountain, 
 
 I see the children play, 
 Blooming as are the roses, 
 
 Fresh as the sparkling spray ; 
 
 Bright human blossoms, mingled 
 With flowers and summer leaves, ■ 
 
 A wreath, laid on Earth's bosom, 
 Which God's hand interweaves. 
 
SKEN AKD UNSEEN. 51 
 
 And, when the sunset lingers 
 
 To meet the rising moon, 
 There walk the elder sisters 
 
 In the soft air of June. 
 
 I see the gentle maidens 
 
 In summer raiment gay : 
 Beneath my shaded Avindow, 
 
 The groups pass on their way. 
 
 I hear their voices mingle 
 
 Upon the eveuing breeze : 
 Earth holds no dearer treasure 
 
 Than maidens fair as these. 
 
 The children by the fountain 
 
 Gaze on me as I pass ; 
 They watch my sombre garments 
 
 Wave amid flowers and grass. 
 
 Yet pleasant are these greetings ; 
 
 For, looking in my eyes, 
 They see, with ready knowledge, 
 
 A link between ixs lies. 
 
52 SEEN AND UNSEEN. 
 
 The girls, whose passing footsteps 
 
 And joyous tones I heard, 
 SaAv not my quiet figure, — 
 
 Dreamed not of thoughts they stirred. 
 
 Tlie link that lies between me 
 And the children there at play, 
 
 The mystic bond Avhich binds me 
 To maidens fair and gay, 
 
 Will not be known to-morrow, — 
 
 Cannot be read to-night : 
 'Twill be revealed hereafter 
 
 In Heaven's own holy light, 
 
 When amid fadeless blossoms. 
 
 Where living waters glide. 
 They see, with clearer vision, 
 
 Two angels by my side. 
 
53 
 
 TO-DAY'S LESSON. 
 
 Julj, 1862. 
 
 An official paper, from Major-General Banks, makes the following statement: 
 "My attention was attracted by a little girl about eight years of age, who was toddling 
 over the stones by the wayside. I asked how far she had travelled. ' From Winchester,' 
 she said. We were then about twenty-seven miles on our march. I requested tlie can- 
 noneers to give her a lift; and the gallant men, who had hung upon the rear of the 
 column for its defence the greater part of the distance, answered with alacrity. It Is not 
 in:]tossible that her little limbs had been strengthened by some vague dream of liberty to 
 be lost or won in that hurried night-march." 
 
 " He took a child, and set it in the midst of them. 
 
 O MEN and Avomea of the North ! 
 Read ye the story told to-day 
 By one who, in the nation's cause, 
 Blends mercy's deeds with martial sway 
 
 That little child he lifted up, 
 Foot-wearied on the war-van grim, 
 A message bears more thrilling far 
 Than fervent speech or battle-hymn. 
 
54 
 
 to-day's lesson. 
 
 Christ held on high a little child 
 To symbolize his heavenly fold : 
 To-day the qnest of armed men 
 Meets the same answer as of old. 
 
 Rescue this child of dusky hue 
 From night and fear and danger's face ; 
 In God's great name, protect and shield 
 This daughter of a captive race ! — 
 
 A type of what the world shall see, 
 When fratricidal strife shall cease, 
 And, resting 'mid the silent guns. 
 The ransomed slave-child whispers Peace ! 
 
55 
 
 KAUB, 
 
 ON THE RHINE. 
 July 6, 1857. 
 
 The castle standeth on the height, 
 Above the old Rhine-town ; 
 
 And, with the pride of former times, 
 It looketh sternly down. 
 
 The river flows in quiet waves 
 The ancient Pfalz around ; 
 
 Within whose walls, in dreary days, 
 Proud dames a refuge found. 
 
 Along the narrow street I move. 
 Its windings quaint to trace ; 
 
 For in the past there is a link 
 Which binds me to the place. 
 
56 
 
 KAUB, OX THE RHINE. 
 
 Far, far I gaze through vanished years, 
 
 And see a househokl band 
 Looking tlieir hist on castled height, 
 
 And on tlie dear Rhine-hmd. 
 
 A home beyond the ocean's wave. 
 In simple faith, they sought ; 
 
 And blessings which are mine to-day 
 Their cares and trials bought. 
 
 I come, from out that distant home, 
 
 Across the stormy sea, 
 To make a filial pilgrimage, 
 
 O Father Rhine ! to thee. 
 
57 
 
 THE RAINBOW SEEN FROM A CITY. 
 
 Resplendent arch, whose glorious hues unfold 
 On you dark cloud from whence the thunder rolled, 
 How oft in childhood have I watched thee rise 
 Like a bright angel in the stormy skies. 
 Shedding o'er earth and sea a heavenly ray. 
 Reflected from thy beauty far away ! 
 But now I view thee from a city's walls. 
 Upon no groves or lawns thy radiance falls ; 
 And, to my sight, thy bow of light doth span 
 Nought but the crowded dwelling-place of man. 
 If, then, thy bright appearance in the sky 
 Is sent to raise our hearts and hopes on high, 
 Much art thou needed here, celestial sign ! 
 (A promise written by a hand divine,) 
 
58 
 
 THE RAINBOW SEEN FROM A CITY. 
 
 Where, cold and deep, life's current darkly bears 
 Through crowded channels many griefs and cares. 
 That Power, whose mystic messenger thou art, 
 Has formed and tried and knows the human heart. 
 He leaves us not to darkness or despair : 
 Hope is his gift, for ever bright and fair, — 
 Hope, which survives the tempest's stormy strife, 
 And paints a rainbow on the clouds of life. 
 
59 
 
 HYMN 
 
 SUNG AT THE CLOSING SERVICE IN FEDERAL-STREET CHURCH, 
 WHERE, FOR MANY YEARS, THE KEV. W. E. CHANNING 
 
 PREACHED. 
 
 March 13, 1859. 
 
 Farewell to aisle and altar ! 
 
 What bear Ave forth to-day, 
 As from these sacred portals 
 
 We slowly pass away ? 
 
 Not fragrant censers, flinging 
 Sweet vapors on the air ; 
 
 Nor pictured saints and angels. 
 Nor sacred vessels rare. 
 
 But, from our hearts arising. 
 Incense of prayer and praise ; 
 
 And, clear on Memory's canvas, 
 The forixis of other days : 
 
60 
 
 A FAREWELL HYMN. 
 
 For here stood one who taught us, 
 With thrilling word and look, 
 
 Divinest truth and highest 
 From out the holy Book. 
 
 Words, men of wisdom uttered 
 Within this house of prayer ; 
 
 Thoughts of the loved and vanished, 
 Upon our hearts we bear. 
 
 Each treasure we have gathered 
 Of memory, faith, or love, 
 
 Go with us from this temple 
 To our Father's house above. 
 
61 
 
 A RECORD. 
 
 "We met in a quaint city, 
 
 Beyond the Atlantic tide : 
 (He had been wandering far then, 
 
 Where India's rivers glide :) 
 He told us of his journeys 
 
 Over the sea and land ; 
 His was a manly frankness, 
 
 Kindly of heart and hand. 
 
 Again we met in Florence, 
 The ancient and the fair ; 
 
 And, in the gay Cascine, 
 He rode beside us there. 
 
62 
 
 A RECORD. 
 
 In Rome, whose every fragment 
 Memory has written o'er, 
 
 We parted for a season, — 
 
 He bound for his native shore. 
 
 But, ere another meeting 
 
 After that day in Rome, 
 A change and a heavy sorrow 
 
 Came to my heart and home. — 
 Once more I saw him numbered 
 
 With men in stern array : 
 War was within our border. 
 
 And he bravely marched away. 
 
 Now that a year has vanished, 
 
 Record of waste and woe, 
 The slow march of our leaders, 
 
 The fierce fire of our foe, 
 I read of a hai'd-fought field, 
 
 Terrible hours of strife : 
 There, in the enemy's front. 
 
 Closes his battle of life. 
 
A RECORD. 63 
 
 Nor has lie fallen in vain, — 
 
 He, nor his comrades brave : 
 Not for the souls of the true 
 
 Is there on earth a grave ; — 
 For, were our eyes but opened 
 
 To see the things revealed, 
 A host is on the hillside, 
 
 And on the battle-field. 
 
 They urge us to the struggle ; 
 
 They urge us yet to save 
 Our country from the traitor, — 
 
 Striking shackles from the slave. 
 The spirits of the valiant 
 
 Sweep down from ages past, 
 And listen for the echo 
 
 Of Freedom's trumpet-blast. 
 
64 
 
 AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 A REMINISCENCE OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 
 
 I DO remember, tluit, long years ago, 
 After a fearful night of storm, He came, 
 " The old man eloquent," whose vital soul 
 Lived much with Nature ; and he said, " I stood 
 Last night watching the tierce encountei'-shock 
 Of two great clouds, on hostile currents borne. 
 In the mid-heavens they met : the thunder-bolts 
 Were hurled between them, and with fire and hail 
 They battled, — a night to be remembered. 
 The air is sultry yet : no thunder-storm 
 Clears off the noxious vapors all at once. 
 But " — and he said it with his heavenly smile — 
 " Wait till to-morrow for a purer air." 
 
AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 65 
 
 mighty soul, uplifted now above, 
 
 Into serener heights ! from thence look down 
 
 Upon the encountering battle-clouds 
 
 Which burst upon tlie land thou once didst love 
 
 And rule. Oh ! while the hostile currents roll, 
 
 Hurling all fiery elements together, 
 
 Iq this the nation's hour of stormy night, 
 
 Repeat the hopeful lesson, " Wait : clearer 
 
 And purer shall the future daAvn." 
 
66 
 
 GARLANDS FOR THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MR. AND MRS. WATERSTON. 
 
 Dec 25, 1810. — Dec. 25, 1800. 
 
 Floweks for a bridal Avreath to-day, 
 With pure white hues uutaded, 
 
 Like one which fifty years ago 
 A fair young brow o'ershaded. 
 
 Flowers, rich with sunset tints, for them 
 
 Whose hearts in love united 
 Have kept for fifty years the vows 
 
 That first in youth they plighted. 
 
 Flowers on their path, from viewless ones, • 
 Forget-me-nots of Heaven, — 
 
 Still, still their OAvn, though long ago 
 To ancrel g-uardians siven. 
 
 r 
 
GARLANDS FOR THE GOLDEN WEDDING. G7 
 
 Flowers from the well-beloved band, 
 
 Who stand in strength around them ; 
 Whose love, through many changing years, 
 
 With joy and jieace have crowned_^them. 
 
 Flowers frona the younger hearts and hands 
 
 That gladly here surround them, 
 Where children's children, rising up. 
 
 In living wreaths have bound them. 
 
 Flowers from the angel-three, Avho now, 
 
 Celestial joys possessing, 
 From Paradise fair garlands bring. 
 
 With God's divinest blessing. 
 
 Flowers fresh from Earth, and pure from Heaven, 
 
 By loving hearts commended 
 To those whose lives of truth and trust 
 
 Through fifty years have blended. 
 
68 
 
 ON SEEING THE FLAG AGAIN FLOATING 
 OVER CHESTER SQUARE, 
 
 AFTER THE STAFF HAD BEEX STRUCK BY LIUHTNIMG. 
 
 Again the flag floats broadly oixt ; 
 The breeze blows fresh through flower and tree 
 We welcome back the sign which claims 
 To be the banner of the Free. 
 
 Above onr homes a storm had burst, 
 And the tall staff was rent in twain ; 
 But high above the lightning, soared 
 The Eagle through the fire and rain ; 
 
ON SEEING THE BANNEK. 69 
 
 True omen of that lightning flash, 
 Rending the staff Avhere Slavery clings, 
 Which leaves onr Eagle soaring yet 
 Above us with her nnclipt wings. 
 
 Beneath a clearer sky shall float 
 Our banner on the north-wind free, 
 And the whole earth shall hail with joy 
 The stainless flag of Liberty. 
 
70 
 
 INVOCATIONS. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF B. D. G. 
 
 October IC, 1802. 
 
 Receive, O Earth ! the form of him 
 "Who kucAV and loved your glories well ; 
 Droop o'er his grave, ye forest-trees ! 
 Chime in the breeze, each flowery bell ! 
 
 And join the sweet and solemn sounds 
 That through this autumn morning float, 
 The rustle of the falling leaves, 
 The squirrel's stir, the Avood-bird's note. 
 
 Close to your heart, O Nature ! hold 
 All that from us must now be given : 
 A soul, harmonious with your life, 
 Forth to a higher sphere has risen. 
 
INVOCATIONS. 71 
 
 Receive him, angel Mother, there : 
 He left thy arms a little child ; 
 But ■walked through many years beloAv, 
 So firm and true and undefiled, 
 
 That, though he held the world's best gifts, 
 "Was learned in the lore of men. 
 Unchanged in simple love and truth, 
 Mother ! receive thy child again. 
 
 Receive him, angels of our life ! 
 We need not breathe your mortal names ; 
 Bear with him, to the throne above, 
 Prayers which the lip but faintly frames. 
 
72 
 
 THE EPIPHANY. 
 
 ' And the star stood over where the touxg child lay.' 
 
 January 6, 1841, 
 (the birthday of h. r. w.) 
 
 In life's horizon rose a star 
 
 Upon that sacred night : 
 The light it brought from Avorhls afar 
 
 Blest seventeen years of sight. 
 
 It shone upon a Northern home, 
 — A star of morning fair, — 
 
 Glanced on the ocean's stormy foam, 
 And gladdened English air. 
 
THE EPIPHANY. 73 
 
 O'er Alpine mountain-tops it glowed ; 
 
 And with a gentle ray, 
 Where Rhine and Neckar calmly flowed, 
 
 Lit up a poet's way. 
 
 It passed o'er far Italian lands, — 
 
 The fairest earth can show ; 
 Where Genius at Art's altar stands, 
 
 And flowers of beauty grow. 
 
 The steep Etruscan towns are seamed 
 With age and wound and scar ; 
 
 Yet hues of youth upon them gleamed, 
 Reflected from that star. 
 
 Light on old storied Rome it shed, 
 (By time and tempest riven ;) 
 
 While many there looked up, and said, 
 " It is a light from heaven." 
 
 But where the tideless sea of blue 
 
 Reflects a burning height, 
 God took that star of heavenly hue, 
 
 And shut it from earth's sight. 
 
 10 
 
74 
 
 THE EPIPHANY. 
 
 Since then, the sun and moon have shone, 
 
 Orbs fair by day and night : 
 Dimly they shine to me, alone, 
 
 Without that holier lisht. 
 
 But life's horizon widens round. 
 
 Beyond their path afar ; 
 And, when I pass their circle's bound, 
 
 I shall behold my star. 
 
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