POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 y 
 
 HORACE Hf HOUGHTON 
 
 
 [(-A7c:.../rf 7 
 
 V^'' 
 
 On 
 
 GALENA 
 H. H. UOUGllTON. PRINTER. 
 
 1878. 
 
 7^ 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1878, by 
 
 HORACE H. HOUGHTON, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Wasbington. 
 
DED ICATION 
 
 To the better feelings of the Human Heart, this Volume of 
 Poems is most respectfully dedicated by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 Galena, December 16th, 1878. 
 
C >" T E N" T S . 
 
 After the Battla, ... 9 
 
 Diicorering the Skip. ... .... .... . 14 
 
 Song — They TeU me thai Jly Heart. <£r . 17 
 
 The Alarm, 18 
 
 O. Angel Hope. ... 19 
 
 •S; — T^.e Blush of the Mom. d'c, ... 20 
 
 The Flag at Haff-Mci>t, 21 
 
 A lacident m the; Searrkfor Sir Johm FrtnUin. - 25 
 
 Wcrl: O 31 
 
 T^ermoMt. . . .... ... ... 33 
 
 The Bcok r I^€. .. 35 
 
 To the EaU Wind, 39 
 
 Song of (he IndiaJi Girl^ .... 40 
 
 A Pernam Storw. .... 4l 
 
 Battle of Buena Yista, .... .... .... 4-1: 
 
 The Beggar vrirh a Golden •S^'Jjf. .... .... ....4S 
 
 Our Country' $ TJag. .... .... ... .... 53 
 
 The Story oj Miriam Gray. .... .... . . .... 56 
 
 W},.it Is Tridh? .. 5S 
 
 Song — O Davghfer, Li^ St. d-c. . . 6*> 
 
 Poor Anna B^U, 61 
 
 Crowing the Desert. ... .... '^ 
 
 5'Tn-'T.*— 7r There's a Wc-rld Mor- Fair than Thi* 6S 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Our Young Men, the Nation^ s Hope, .... .... 69 
 
 Tlie Drunleard's Club, 73 
 
 Within the Heart, die .... .... .... 76 
 
 AUamaJcee, .... .... ... ... . 77 
 
 A Nation's Strengtli^ .... .... .... .... 80 
 
 God Bless Our Country, .... .... 81 
 
 Flow On, Ye Mountain Stream, .... .... .... 84 
 
 Lines To a Friend, .... .... .... .... 85 
 
 Morning BreaJceth, .... .... ..,, .... 87 
 
 A Treasure in Heaven, .... .... .... .... 89 
 
 Battle of Monterey, .... ... .... .... 91 
 
 3Iidnight, ... .... .... ... .... 98 
 
 The Royal Oak of Normandy, .... .... .... 99 
 
 To Sleep, .... .... 103 
 
 Oh, Pray for Me, ... 105 
 
 Communion of Spirits, .... .... . . 108 
 
 Ethan Allen and Benedict Arnold, .... ... .... 109 
 
 The Ttoo-Fold OJice of Genius, 113 
 
 William More, .... .... .... .... .... 117 
 
 A Fragment, .... ... .... .... 121 
 
 Rovcr\i Grave, .... .... .... .... .... 127 
 
 The Red Cross in the Sky, .... .... .... 130 
 
 To the Green Mounfaim, .... .... .... 131 
 
 Memories of Childhood, .... .... .... 135 
 
 Lines Suggested by the foregoing, .... .... .... 137 
 
 A Ballad, .... .... ... .... 140 
 
 Good Will, 142 
 
 New Yearns Address, January 1, 1872 , . . . . .... 143 
 
 New Year's Address, January 1, 1873, .... .... 151 
 
POEMS. 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 The trumpet-call to truce had rung, 
 But to the field the dun smoke clung, 
 As if quite half-ashamed to show, 
 To human sight, the bitter woe 
 That human fury, trained and taught 
 By scientific art, had wrought. 
 
 From out the murky canopy. 
 There came a weary, wailing cry 
 For " water ! water ! " and a groan. 
 To chill a heart — not yet quite stone. 
 At length the dun smoke cleared away, 
 And showed the carnage of the day. 
 
10 AFTER THE BATTLE 
 
 Close by us lay a fair-haired youth ; 
 His features bore the stamp of truth, 
 And e'en his half-shut, death-glazed eye 
 Retained a look of chivalry. 
 His pale cold brow was firmly knit^ 
 About his mouth and chin was writ 
 A firmness that did fear defy. 
 That bade him stand — and bade him die. 
 Three wounds the youthful hero bore, 
 From which still oozed the crimson gore^ 
 That stood upon the cold damp ground — 
 A clotted mass for every wound. 
 What tortured father waits to know, 
 That his son falling, faced the foe ? 
 What mother's riven heart must bleed ? 
 In heaven who answers for this deed, 
 When all men stand, as all men must, 
 And bow assent that-— God is Just ! 
 Perhaps, the tyrant, in his might, 
 Who trode on the beseeching right, 
 Whose wrong the gallant youth withstood. 
 Rises to answer for his blood ! 
 Perhaps, the sneaking statesman there, 
 Uprises, ghostly, in despair. 
 And says : "I fanned the warlike flame, 
 To flatter fools, and gather fame, 
 
AFTERTHEBATTLE. 11 
 
 And hence the desolating strife 
 
 That robbed the fair-haired youth of life ! 
 
 See, on my forehead is the stain 
 
 Of human blood — ^the mark of Cain !" 
 
 Close by the youth, a gray-haired form, 
 That weathered many a battle storm. 
 And waved his country's standard where 
 The bravest hardly dared to dare. 
 His flashing sword, and stalwart arm 
 Had shielded innocence from harm. 
 At the mere mention of his name, 
 The war-wild Indian grew tame, 
 
 And gently sheathed the scalping -knife, 
 
 Upraised to murder child and wife. 
 
 And thus protected from its foes, 
 
 The cabin rested in repose. 
 
 And often round the evening fire, 
 
 Did children listen to the sire. 
 
 To hear his wondrous worth portrayed, 
 
 When men in terror were afraid 
 
 Of secret ambush, night or morn. 
 
 When working in their fields of corn, 
 
 Or, on the holy Sabbath day. 
 
 When they had met to praise and pray. 
 
 With awe and reverence profound, 
 
 The little circle nestled round. 
 
12 AFTER THE BATTLE 
 
 More close and close, until the fire 
 Burns low ; they pray, and then retire, 
 To dream a blessing on his head, 
 Who now on battle-field lies dead ! 
 He lies, the hand upon the hilt 
 Of his good sword. His blood was spilt 
 By cannon shot, that tore in twain 
 The soul and body, without pain — 
 For on his face you well may see 
 The half-told smile of victory ! 
 
 Tell me, ye great, ye wise, ye good, 
 Who answers for this brave man's blood ? 
 Be manly — trace it to its cause ; 
 Who made or violated laws, 
 That broke the bond of brotherhood. 
 Must answer for this brave man's blood ! 
 As God is Just, strange sights there be, 
 In heaven's High Court of Chancery. 
 
 Another here ! The ebbing tide 
 Of life flows freely from his side. 
 The cruel bayonet has found 
 A tortuous passage, hence the wound. 
 But still he lives ; and just between 
 Two worlds, an angel form is seen. 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 13 
 
 To cheer the last lorn march of lite ; — 
 That angel is the soldier's wife. 
 Upon his knapsack she has laid 
 His pale, wan, quivering, drooping head. 
 To staunch his wound, she vainly tore 
 A portion of the dress she wore. 
 To quench the burning fever's pain, 
 She sought with care among the slain, 
 Some precious canteen, yet undrained 
 Of the blest liquid it contained. 
 She placed it to his lips — his cheek 
 Shows what the lips can never speak, 
 True gratitude, that love and worth, 
 Have an abiding place on earth, 
 And that his passage to the grave. 
 Is soothed by mercy that would save. 
 Strange contrast to the maddening will. 
 That day, that only strove to kill ! 
 
 0, greatly is the nation curst. 
 That wars, — whose quarrel is unjust. 
 
14 
 
 DISCOVERING THE S^HIP 
 
 A little girl with flaxen hair, 
 
 Looked out upon the sea. 
 Why is the look of half despair 
 
 In one so young as she ? 
 
 To those who drink so near the spring 
 
 Of life and love, is given, 
 A purer, bright imagining. 
 
 Fringed with the light of heaven. 
 
 And half of hope was on her cheek, 
 
 So faithful, trusting, mild — 
 'Tis said that angels sometimes speak, 
 
 To cheer the sorrowing child. 
 
 List, lo ! a sailor passes by ; 
 
 Hard is the sailor's hand. 
 And brown his cheek, but moist his eye. 
 
 When pity does command. 
 
 She speaks ; the mildly mournful strain 
 Bids him her sorrows share — 
 
 He kissed her cheek, twice, thrice, again, 
 And listened to her prayer : 
 
DISCOVERING THE SHIP. 15 
 
 " 0, sailor, sailor," said the child, 
 
 " See if a ship appears ; 
 Your eyes are steady, strong and mild, 
 
 But mine are dim with tears ! 
 
 " For I have watched upon this spot, 
 
 For many a weary day, 
 While mother works in yonder cot, 
 
 Since father went away. 
 
 " Three years ago : Long time to rest 
 
 Within my memory ! 
 So oft the robin built her nest 
 
 Upon the garden tree — 
 
 " So oft has summer come again. 
 
 With grass and flowers and leaves — 
 So oft the reaper cut his grain. 
 
 And gathered in his sheaves — 
 
 " Since father, on the Dolphin's deck, 
 
 Bade us a long adieu ; 
 I wept and hung upon his neck. 
 
 And mother she cried too !" 
 
 Across his eye his sleeve did pass. 
 
 Because his eye was dim. 
 And then the sailor raised his glass 
 
 To the horizon's rim. 
 
16 DISCOVERING THE SHIP 
 
 And long he watched, a speck, a mote, 
 That large and larger grew. 
 
 Until he saw the Dolphin float 
 Upon the waters blue. 
 
 The joyful tidings to impart, 
 How skipped the child again ! 
 
 And happy was the sailor's hearty 
 For he had blessed the twain. 
 
17 
 
 SONG 
 
 They tell me that my heart is cold ! 
 
 'Tis well we cannot see 
 The hidden windings that enfold 
 
 The heart's strange mystery. 
 'Tis well there is a deeper deep, 
 
 Where better thoughts retire, 
 And kindle sympathies, and weep 
 
 Around the sacred fire. 
 
 'Tis well, there is some secret place, 
 
 Where Mercy can distil 
 Her holier, happier thoughts, and trace, 
 
 Unchilled by shivering chill 
 Of envious pride, those finer lines, 
 
 To mortals rarely given 
 To see, the glory that entwines, 
 
 And wreathes the forms of heaven. 
 
18 
 
 THE ALARM 
 
 Ho ! patriots brave — awak^! awake I 
 
 The battle bas begun ! 
 From bill to hill — from sea to lake. 
 
 Let the alarum run ! 
 It speeds — it speeds ! The lofty hill 
 
 Throws back an answering glare, 
 For men of iron heart and will 
 
 Have long been watching there. 
 
 The faithful minute-gun has rolled 
 
 Its deep and earnest call ! 
 The hero grasps, with clenching hold, 
 
 His musket on the wall ; 
 And his true wife, half sad, half gay, 
 
 Has well the knapsack stored ; — 
 'Tis said, each lady of that day 
 
 Was worthy of her lord. 
 
 The alarm speeds on ! Hard-featured men. 
 
 With hurried strides are seen, 
 Coming from copse, and sheltered glen, 
 
 To meet on Concord Green. 
 And there they bled, when morning broke 
 
 Upon the signal strife ! 
 Their death was the alarm that woke 
 
 A nation into life ! 
 
19 
 
 0, ANGEL HOPE 
 
 0, Angel Hope ! 0, Spirit blessed, 
 
 That waves a cheer to me, 
 That points me to a better rest, 
 
 When this world sets me free ; 
 That gilds the clouds with silver light, 
 
 However dark within, 
 That makes the inner soul so bright 
 
 To mj imagining. 
 
 Angel of Mercy, fail me not, 
 
 However bleak the hour ; 
 However checkered be my lot, 
 
 When sorrows mix and lower. 
 The world without is drear and cold, 
 
 And colder yet within ; 
 I must not shrink, but dare be bold, 
 
 This victory to win. 
 
 But, there is one who by my side 
 
 Doth conquer every doubt, 
 And nerves my heart, and is my guide. 
 
 And puts the foe to rout. 
 It is not me that conquers all 
 
 That would my peace offend. 
 That raises me, though oft I fall, 
 
 'Tis Hope, my Angel Friend. 
 
20 
 
 SONG 
 
 The blush of the morn lit the brow of the cloud, 
 
 And fleeting and dim was the shade, 
 When I heard this sweet ditty, clear, careless and loud, 
 
 That the gale wafted out from the glade : 
 
 "Why say they my dell is uncouth and forlorn — 
 
 For the rude a fit refuge alone ? 
 0, could they be here at the dawn of the morn, 
 
 When the robin's first whistle is blown ! 
 
 "When the cool, cheering breeze flutters round the dear spot. 
 
 And the mists frolic over the fount, 
 When I sit at the door of my rude little cot, 
 
 In the shade of the crag of the mount — 
 
 "And smile as I think of the toil and the strife 
 
 Of those who thus sneer at my bliss, — 
 They would leave ofl" the chase of the phantoms of life, 
 
 And sigh for a refuge like this. 
 
THE FLAG AT HALF-MAST. 
 
 RECEPTION OF THE NEWS OF LINCOLN'S DEATH, 
 AT LAHAINA SANDWICH ISLANDS. 
 
 [The natives of the Sandwich Islands have great veneration for the 
 name and character of Abraham Lincoln, a history of whose life they 
 have translated into their own language from an American edition, and 
 this is about their only book of outside history. During our civil war 
 they were kept well advised of all its principal events, and entered into 
 the spirit of the contebt with great enthusiasm. We were told by a most 
 credible gentleman who had the best opportunities of knowing the native 
 mind, that on the morning of the arrival of the ship bearing the news of 
 Mr. Lincoln's assassination, at Lahaina, the chief town of the Island of 
 Maui, and long before the " Nettie Merrill," — the schooner's name — was 
 visible, many hundreds of the natives had gathered on the beach, who 
 were oppressed with the deepest melancholy, as if some great calamity 
 was impending, and when they got the first glimpse of her flag, flying at 
 half mast, and long before any possible communication could be had 
 between the vessel and those on the shore, the word passed from one to 
 another that Mr. Lincoln was dead, and a wail was set up by the whole 
 dense crowd, not to be forgotten by those who heard it. The writer of 
 the following has taken the liberty of weaving into the narrative one of the 
 most common and deep-seated .superstitions, touching the power of the 
 native sorcerers of those Islands.] 
 
 There was a murmur, soft and low, 
 
 From off the coral reef, 
 Like the low sound of wailing woe 
 
 From out the heart of grief. 
 
22 THE FLAG AT HALF-MAST. 
 
 The winds from out that mountain gorge — 
 
 That gorge so green, so deep, — 
 Where island spirits live and forge 
 
 The pangs that make us weep, 
 And give us warnings of the things 
 
 They cannot help.^^or keep. 
 
 On that calm morn, there was a wail. 
 
 Peculiar, sad and strange, 
 Within the spirit of the gale : 
 
 Old, wise men did arrange 
 The little pebbles that would tell, 
 
 By forms of varied change, 
 What meant the moaning from the dell, 
 
 In sorrowing, saddening tones ; 
 And none but they could read right well 
 
 The teachings of those stones. 
 
 They shook their heads, made signs, then spake 
 
 In whispers, soft and slow : 
 No fire from yonder mount will break, 
 
 In horrid volcano ; 
 Nor will the earth convulsive quake. 
 
 In terror from below ; 
 But, it is something that will shake 
 
THE FLAG AT HALF-MAST 
 
 23 
 
 The hearts of men with woe !" 
 
 Men wondered what the thing could be, 
 And wandered to and fro. 
 
 From round the point that guards Lanai, 
 
 There rises from the sea 
 A little rod. The sea and sky 
 
 There seem the same to be. 
 It rises, falls, again, again, 
 
 As the tall waves up-bear 
 Or lower sink the noble ship, — 
 The topmost signal there. 
 
 From that mainmast no flag appears ! 
 
 Then eagle-eyes are strained, 
 Till eagle-eyes suffused with tears, 
 
 In weary effort pained. 
 Discern, half-mast, a banner draped, 
 
 In saddened sorrow trained, 
 Wet with the tears of ocean — craped — 
 
 An emblem never feigned. 
 
 Full twenty oarsmen, strong and true. 
 With firm and steady stroke, 
 
24 THE FLAG AT HALF-MAST 
 
 Dashed through the breakers, On they flew 
 
 Till they the vessel spoke. 
 But, by some mystery, ere the crew 
 
 The dreadful news had broke, 
 Of Lincoln's death, by dastard hands, 
 
 From thousands ranged along the sands 
 A wailing song awoke, 
 
 Instinctive of the dreadful deed 
 
 That made the heart of nations bleed. 
 
 The mourning cry upon the gale, 
 
 That came from mount and sea, 
 Was but the echo of that wail. 
 
 The wise men did agree : 
 Nature, in horror of the tale, 
 
 Reversed her sure decree, 
 They said, and all the wide world round, 
 The echo sent before the sound, 
 To warn, before it made the wound. 
 
 So full of agony. 
 
25 
 
 AN INCIDENT 
 
 IN THE SEARCH FOR SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 
 
 [In 1840, Sir John Franklin, in command of the ships Erebus and 
 Terror, sailed from England, to attempt the solution of the problem of the 
 Northwest Passage. The story of their loss, and the perishing of the 
 whole expedition is, perhaps, as well known to the world as it ever will be. 
 
 Among other expeditions sent out in search of the missing men and 
 ships was that under the command of Sir John Richardson In 1849, 
 this party were at Fort Confidence, at the mouth of Deace River, 66 de- 
 grees 54 minutes north, where they spent the winter, [n a narrative of 
 the expedition, published by Sir John, occurs the following passage, on 
 pages 282 and 283 : 
 
 " The only letter-bug that we received during our stay at Fort Confi- 
 " dence came in on the 12th of April, 1849, and brought us home news 
 " up to the 22d of June, 1848, ten months old. This came by the usual 
 " canoe route, and was brought up from Canada with the Red River 
 " mail ; but at the same time we received a single newspaper, which gave 
 " us some Eoglit-h intelligence as late as the 15th of September. The 
 '' history of this newspaper is that of the triumph of the electric telegraph- 
 •' While the English mail packet was steaming up the sound of New York, 
 " on the 30th of September, a summary of European news having been 
 " carried on shore by an express steom vessel, was in the act of being 
 " transmitted by telegraph to the banks of the Mississippi. Within a few 
 '• hours it was ijublished there in the Northwestern Gazette and 
 " Galena Advertiser, (then published by the author of these Poems ) 
 " of which it filled one entire folio. This paper being carried over the 
 " plains to the Red River, by a party which set out on the day following 
 '* its publication, was sent to Great Bear Lake, and gave us the first inti- 
 •■ mation of the rebellion in Ireland."] 
 
26 SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN. 
 
 Franklin had gone. Long time had passed, 
 Since the good tidings — and the last. 
 Month after month, year after year, 
 Till hope had settled into fear, 
 And fear was merging in despair, — 
 But, England's lion heart was there. 
 And, moved by pity and command, 
 Had sent us forth, by sea and land, 
 To rescue him, or else relate 
 Some tidings of his fearful fate. 
 
 We faced the element,^^^our foes 
 Confined us in a waste of snows. 
 That quite remorselessly did bind 
 Ourselves, like those we went to find. 
 And there we tarried, day by day, 
 Till six long months had passed away. 
 Oh, that dread winter ! He is bold. 
 Who does not shiver with the cold, 
 At the mere thought of the dread time, 
 Of waiting, watching in that clime ! 
 Our spirits, not at our command. 
 Wandered around our native land, 
 While our worn bodies, thus bereft. 
 Amid the snowy waste were left. 
 
SEARCHFOR FRANKLIN. 27 
 
 And thus divided, and thus ■whole 
 
 In body, spirit and in soul, 
 
 We watched, and hoped, and yearning felt, 
 
 Or else in supplication knelt. 
 
 Sometimes in journeys, drear and long, 
 (Our sledge was good, our dogs were strong,) 
 We sought in hardy toil to find, 
 A something to relieve the mind. 
 Sometimes a meteoric glare. 
 We thought a signal in the air. 
 Again, the Aurora borealis 
 Would, in the heavens, make us to see 
 The fated ships, the fated crew. 
 In hopeless struggles to get through 
 The iceberg barrier's mighty chain — 
 A hopeless task ! 0, struggle vain ! 
 Sometimes a sturdy Esquimaux, 
 Came to our refuge o'er the snow, 
 Who would have cheerful tidings brought, 
 To warm our hearts, had he been taught ; 
 But, in simplicity, forsooth. 
 He only would relate the truth. 
 Sometimes, from a tall gathering drift, 
 Surely a pure white flag would lift. 
 
28 SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN 
 
 And wave itself, in fold on fold ! 
 Our longings made the fancy bold. 
 We welcomed all things new or strange, 
 For e'en deception was a change. 
 
 The long, long winter's piercing cold 
 Began to lose its iron hold, 
 Enough to make us scarce to know, 
 The sun's soft action on the snow. 
 Its slanting rays, from gems untold, 
 Seemed, day by day, to grow more bold. 
 And gather strength to overwhelm 
 The winter of that dreadful realm; 
 But, still it seemed almost in doubt. 
 Which force would wear the other out. 
 The sun, in nature, place and clime, 
 Had a good constant friend in Time. 
 At length, it passed the equinox ; 
 The small, light footprints of the fox 
 Made deeper impress on the snow, 
 For the south winds did gently blow. 
 The western clouds began to wear 
 A softer look, and sky and air. 
 And all things gave the sign at last, 
 That the cold winter's reign had passed. 
 
 One day, an Indian to us bore 
 A little pouch. No golden ore 
 
SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN. 29 
 
 Could be compared with it in worth. 
 We wept for joy — we danced in mirth, 
 For it contained in little space, 
 A world of love to our embrace. 
 
 0, happy thought ! the human soul 
 Heeds not material control, 
 But casts its image, clear, refined, 
 On other souls, on other mind. 
 With a reciprocating ray. 
 Although ten thousand miles away. 
 
 In that long winter, with what fire 
 Our hearts blazed with the pure desire. 
 That we of friends again might know, 
 And share their happiness, or woe ! 
 At the same time, full many a heart. 
 In glowing love, strove to impart, 
 With words of faith and hope to cheer, 
 The very things we wished to hear ; 
 And sent, with most unwearied care, 
 A messenger, they knew not where. 
 But, a good Providence, so kind, 
 To feed the birds, make soft the winds. 
 Unlock the streamlets to disclose 
 The way to melt the frigid snows. 
 Directs, through all the winding way. 
 By star at night, or sun by day. 
 
30 SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN. 
 
 That faithful messenger, so strong, 
 
 For "whom we watched and prayed so long. 
 
 And further, to our souls inspire, 
 
 By virtue of electric fire, 
 
 Was sent to us, so well prepared, 
 
 By those who little for us cared. 
 
 Swift as the lightning's fiery wing, 
 
 From peasant's cot, from titled king, 
 
 From half-way round the whirling earth, 
 
 News of great moment. Count its worth. 
 
 Strange is the power of thought on thought, 
 When thus in loving contact brought, 
 And distance only seems to lend 
 Force to the love of friend for friend. 
 He only who has felt it, knows 
 What happiness, amid those snows. 
 We felt, as we read o'er and o'er, 
 Each word and line of that good store. 
 That each good heart, in pleasure moved, 
 Had told us all that we were loved. 
 
WORK OK. 
 
 31 
 
 Weary worker for the right, 
 Faint not in the fearful fight ; 
 Work in patience, work in prayer, 
 For God is Truth, and everywhere. 
 He is Almighty as the need 
 Of hearts who struggle on, and bleed. 
 Do good, and cast it in the sea ; 
 The act, the fishes may not see. 
 God sees it all, and will repay 
 The gift that thou hast cast away. 
 Work on in earnest, loving trust ; 
 God is the helper of the just. 
 As is the sun, so is the beam, 
 As is the fountain, so the stream. 
 The sun be hid, the night be dark, 
 The light be as a little spark ; 
 Anon, the darkness clears away, 
 And the sun pours a blaze of day, 
 
32 W R K N 
 
 And the whole soul and voice is stirred, 
 And made to carroll, like a bird ! 
 So, day by day, and hour by hour, 
 Work on in faith, for God is power. 
 Work like the ant upon the wall. 
 Work like the silk worm at her ball ; 
 The one falls often with its load, 
 Yet travels o'er the self-same road ; 
 The other's labors, now unseen, 
 Bedeck the person of a queen. 
 Work on in silence, if the hour 
 Demands the hiding of thy power. 
 Work like the miner 'neath the ground- 
 His richest treasure there is found. 
 Work like the dew upon the grass ; 
 Thy work will into beauty pass, 
 As silent as the moisture flows 
 Into the blossom of the rose. 
 Work like the angel, whose soft breath 
 Is the soul's downy wings at death. 
 When from the weary body riven, 
 They bear it to the gates of heaven. 
 Work on in hope, in love, in fear. 
 Lest the weak fall when thou art near, 
 And fail to find a helping hand. 
 While sinking, sinking in the sand. 
 
33 
 
 YERMONT. 
 
 Land of my birth ! can time or care, 
 Make me forget the love I bear 
 To thee who first a shelter gave ? 
 Air that ne'er blew upon a slave, 
 First moved the currents of my blood ; 
 Thy stubborn hills first gave me food ; 
 There youthful hopes and youthful strife, 
 First trained me in the fight of life. 
 Can aught avail to chain the mind, 
 When such endearments fail to bind ? 
 
 Ye mountain tops, so rude, so green, 
 Where winter's dun and autumn's sheen 
 Were never spread : where bold and high, 
 The hardy hemlock courts the sky, 
 And trains its tendrils, strong and deep, 
 Among the cliffs that guard thy steep ! 
 Around thee memory will stray. 
 And childhood frolic, sport and play ! 
 And just as well the mountain blast 
 May tear those roots, that cling so fast, 
 
34 VERMONT 
 
 From out thy rocks, as I forbear 
 To think of thee — so rude, so rare ! 
 
 When far in other lands I stray, 
 Adown life's stream — a weary way — 
 When doubt grows confident and bold. 
 And friends are few, and hearts are cold, 
 Then, oft in fancy I ret urn 
 To where thy simple hearth -fires burn, 
 And feel, as in my youthful days, 
 The humble zeal that asked no praise, 
 Hope, that no danger could appal, 
 A sympathy, that moved for all, 
 A confidence, in love arrayed. 
 Nor feared betrayal, nor betrayed — 
 And be, as when that little vale, 
 That wooed the breeze, and shunned the gale, 
 And sheltered hearts so kind, so free, 
 Was all the wide, wide world to me. 
 
35 
 
 J HE BOOK OF TIME 
 
 Time hath a book of many leaves, 
 Wherein each man's experience weaves 
 A history of every act, 
 Measures each motion, form or fact, 
 
 And I therein did look ; 
 I read o'er many a varied page. 
 Where youthful spring, and autumn age, 
 Imprinted truth, like saint or sage, 
 
 In that most ponderous book. 
 
 Was it a dream, the sights I saw ? 
 Here swings a poor rogue, by the law — 
 
 The rich one here goes free ! 
 Here virtue shines in radiant light ; 
 
 Here vice, in darkness hid ; 
 Here charity casts in her mite. 
 
 Not knowing what she did. 
 Full many a trifle, many a toy, 
 
 In truthful tint appears ; 
 
36 THEBOOKOFTIME. 
 
 While here a leaf laughs out with joy, 
 
 Here one is wet with tears ! 
 Here penitence in sorrow sighs, 
 
 And prays to be forgiven ; 
 Here brazen blasphemy defies 
 
 The very God of heaven ! 
 Here crime looks from his grated cell — 
 The horrors who but sin can tell ? 
 Here beauty blooms ; here beauty fell ! 
 
 Here hearts are joined — and riven I 
 This world is one of joy and grief, 
 
 Where pains and pleasures flow ; 
 Turn o'er the painful, glorious leaf, 
 
 Since men will have it so. 
 
 Another page : a lovelier scene 
 
 Breaks forth upon the eye : 
 Here fields of corn, and wheaten sheen 
 (Peace, smiling peace dwells here, I ween,) 
 
 In wide profusion lie. 
 Here faith, in spring, scatters the grain, 
 Which, nourished by the sun and rain, 
 Brown toil, in autumn, reaps again — 
 
 The sickle is his sword ; 
 
THEBOOKOFTIME. 37 
 
 He binds with gratitude his sheaves, 
 And gathers in with joy, nor grieves ; 
 The wild bird picks up what he leaves : — 
 
 Man is creation's lord. 
 Here are his pastures, herds and flocks — 
 Hark, how the bleating echo mocks ? 
 What though the world dread tumult rocks, 
 
 Why should it trouble you ? 
 " There is a sympathy in man, 
 " One feeling, and escape who can ? 
 " Wound part, and all are hurt," So ran 
 
 The answer that it drew. 
 
 A little farther : Here's a mill. 
 Where patient art applies his skill, 
 And moulds and fashions at his will. 
 
 How many curious things ! 
 Here the warm woolly fleece is torn, 
 Spun, wove and fitted to be worn ; 
 A thousand spindles whirl and ply, 
 And here a thousand shuttles fly. 
 The crawling worm is made to pay 
 Tribute to art, and day by day. 
 It gives a slender thread, which soon 
 Becomes a flashing, beauteous boon — • 
 
 A mantle fit for kings ! 
 
38 THEBOOKOFTIME 
 
 So on I read, and so the dream, 
 To me reality did seem. 
 In passing down life's varied stream. 
 
 The web my fancy wove. 
 In very texture, warp and woof, 
 Was but the visionary proof, 
 That thoughts of God, in man's behoof^ 
 
 Are sent before in love, 
 To be our armor in the strife, 
 For firm integrity of life, 
 
 On earth and heaven above. 
 
 Hell hath its own geometry: 
 It smites the anvil with a glee. 
 To forge our chains of destiny, 
 
 With persevering skill ; 
 But, evils, too, are measured, weighed; 
 One cheats another in the trade, 
 
 By an o'ermastering will. 
 True virtue, gather all thy might, 
 Strike, strike directly for the right ; 
 And you will, somehow, win the fight : 
 
 God is Almighty still. 
 
39 
 
 TO THE EAST WIND. 
 
 Wh-ere pain upon the pillow low 
 
 Has laid the lofty head ; 
 Where poverty, in silent woe, 
 
 Sits shivering in her shed ; 
 To age bereft of youthful fire ; 
 
 To traveller on his way, 
 There is but little to admire 
 
 In thy long roundelay. 
 
 But I, with mind allowed to glow 
 
 With calm, contented mirth, 
 With fire that burns as bright as though 
 
 It graced a palace hearth ; 
 With wealth beneath the miser's care, 
 
 And heart as far above — 
 For which, great God, receive the prayer 
 
 Of penitential love : 
 
 I listen to thy tender moan. 
 
 As it is borne to me, 
 In gentle rapture, here alone : 
 
 In thee I almost see 
 The imprint of a tender kiss, 
 
 That, hid beneath thy wing, 
 Thou broughtest me ! 0, raptured bliss, 
 
 To which the soul doth cling ! 
 
40 
 
 SONG OF THE INDIAN GIRL. 
 
 They told of the mansion the white man had reared, 
 
 From the home of my wild-wood away, 
 Where the cup and the dance every merry guest cheered, 
 Where pain never wandered, nor sorrow appeared. 
 
 To shorten the songs of the gay. 
 
 I have seen that tall mansion away from my wild, 
 
 Famed so greatly for feasting and glee, 
 Whence sorrow was banished, and joy ever smiled. 
 Where the song, and the dance, and the wine-cup beguiled. 
 
 But, nought were its pleasures to me. 
 
 My own little wigwam more gaily I'll trim ; 
 
 I'll spread the sweet-fern for the floor; 
 The reed and the ozier, tall, supple and slim, 
 I'll weave with the laurel and fir's shaggy limb, 
 
 And with wood-moss I'll cover it o'er ; 
 
 And there of the wild-rose a garland I'll braid, 
 
 For him that's more valued than all. 
 And the song be as sweet that enlivens the glade, 
 And the dance be as merry beneath the cool shade, 
 
 As though held in the far-distant hall. 
 
41 
 
 A PERSIAN S:T0RY. 
 
 In Persia, once, there stood a mill ; 
 No doubt, its wheels are turning still, 
 Unless gaunt famine has destroyed 
 The work in which it was employed, 
 For there the corn was brought and ground 
 For all the neighborhood around. 
 And thus a thousand souls were fed, 
 With healthful food, and wholesome bread. 
 
 All Millers do this rule observe : 
 " The first that comes, the first I serve." 
 
 By chance it happened on one morn, 
 Five customers brought there their corn : 
 Five sturdy peasants ; each a sack. 
 Graced the strong, patient donkey's back. 
 At the same moment of the day. 
 Each one arrived ! Strange thing, you say. 
 You'll also say, it must be true — 
 'Twas told to me — I tell it you. 
 
42 APERSIANSTORY. 
 
 The man is surely very bold, 
 
 Who will dispute a thing twice told. 
 
 It was unfortunate, as strange ! 
 
 How could a miller so arrange, 
 
 As to apply the rule to each ? 
 
 They all were clamorous of speech, 
 
 And each in an indignant burst, 
 
 Declared he'd have his grain ground first. 
 
 Say, had he not an equal right 
 
 To be served first ? Or else he'd fight. 
 
 Though all agreed they equal were — 
 
 Each one would have the lion's share. 
 
 Each drew his hanger from his side, 
 At once his sure defence and pride ; 
 For, be it known, however poor — 
 Though loud the wolf howls at the door — 
 None are so low as not t' afibrd 
 Some gilded trappings, and a sword. 
 
 One sought a corner, and defied 
 The whole united four beside. 
 One stroke he gave — a peasant's arm 
 Hung by the flesh — the blood gushed warm- 
 But, as the second stroke he made, 
 The handle parted from the blade. 
 
APERSIANSTORY. • 43 
 
 And all the help he could command, 
 Was the bare handle in his hand. 
 
 He only raised his hand for truce — 
 A sign ne'er made to meet abuse, — 
 And asked a moment, just to scrawl, 
 In deep indenture on the wall. 
 These simple words: " Whoever draws 
 " His weapon in a warlike cause, 
 " Should see well to it that his blade, 
 " Is BY A Rivet Firmly Stayed, 
 " To A Strong Handle." Then he stood. 
 And sealed the wisdom with his blood. 
 
44 
 
 BATTLE OF BUENA VISTA 
 
 0, glorious, dreadful was the day, 
 That witnessed^Buena Vista's fray, 
 When hill and mountain echoed back 
 The cannon's roar, the rifle's crack. 
 And death howled out a dreadful moan, 
 And souls departed with a groan. 
 Vengeace the purple life-blood quafl'ed. 
 And Malice shook her snakes, and laughed 
 Sierra Madre moved with fright, 
 And Mercy trembled at the sight, 
 And came from heaven — sad change to tell- 
 When Clay, and Yell, and Hardin fell ; 
 And, weeping at the piteous sight, 
 Drew down the curtains of the night — 
 Bade terror sieze upon the breath 
 Of him whose one command was — death — 
 
BATTLE OF BUENA VISTA. 45 
 
 And from the weary field of strife, 
 He now commands to flee for life. 
 With him depart the fiends that mar, 
 And plunge humanity in war. 
 Destruction, Malice, Env^y, Wrath, 
 With dead and dying strew his path. 
 League after league is strewn with blood, 
 And vultures have their fill of food. 
 
 Mercy remained. In light arrayed, 
 From heart to heart the angel strayed. 
 Melted in graceful love the breast, 
 That erst was moved by other guest ; 
 Unknit the brow of war, and bade 
 The soldier rest the weary blade. 
 The wounded toeman's life to save! 
 Blest be the merciful and brave. 
 
 Lo, now the chief who stood the shock, 
 Firm as the adamantine rock, 
 When charge met charge, and strife met strife. 
 And life was offered up for life ; 
 When victory hung in balanced scale, 
 And doubt even made the brave turn pale. 
 Then his whole soul rose up to save 
 Five thousand heroes from the grave. 
 
46 BATTLE OF BUENA VISTA 
 
 Arid beat back, by the set of sun. 
 Of Mexicans, full five to one ! 
 
 The victory won, the lighter cares 
 He leaves to other hands, and wears 
 Compassion's sober smile, and speeds 
 To where the wounded soldier bleeds — 
 Quenches his thirst, wipes oflf his tears, 
 Raisecs, invigorates and cheers. 
 
 Now, o'er the bed of death he bends, 
 To bear the message that ascends, 
 For friend, for brother, parent, wife, 
 As wanes the flickering flame of life. 
 The dying wishes are obeyed — 
 In simple, mournful lines conveyed, 
 He does the aged father tell. 
 How his son bravely fought and fell ; 
 Directs the soldier's wealth — his sword — 
 Back to his home with care restored. 
 Therenow it hangs, upon the wall. 
 To inspire the son, to fight and fall, 
 As did his sire, in contest well. 
 At Buena Vista, where he fell. 
 There his bones moulder, but his name 
 Is woven in a nation's fame. 
 
BATTLE OF BUENA VISTA. 47 
 
 He is a hero who can strike 
 For country and for self alike ; 
 More than a hero who can groan 
 For other's woes as for.his own. 
 Brave chief, a happier, brighter star, 
 Summoned thee from the field of war. 
 Honors shall with all time increase. 
 As strong in war, as strong in peace. 
 Blest be the heart whose currents move 
 Obedient to his country's love. 
 
48 
 
 THEBEGGAR W IT H A GOLDEN STAFF. 
 
 " 0, Lord of lords, and King of kings, 
 Who sees our very thoughts as things, 
 To whom each thought in form appears^ 
 To suit the character it bears. 
 And not, in arrogance as we, 
 In pride would have the thing to be. 
 O, teach me, teach me to decide 
 Between humility and pride, 
 In the best actions that we live. 
 If I am rash, God, forgive." 
 'Twas thus the struggling spirit prayed — 
 In wisdom was the prayer obeyed. 
 
 Then at the door a knock I heard ; 
 It opened with a welcome word, 
 And there an aged beggar stood. 
 And humbly craved a little food. 
 His voice was tremulously low, 
 His beard was white as driven snow. 
 
THE BEGGAR WITH A GOLDEN STAFF. 49 
 
 His head was bald, his raiment thin, 
 And very wrinkled Avas his skin. 
 He leaned upon his staff, well worn, 
 It may have been a limb of thorn, 
 And by long use, it seemed to be. 
 Unstable help for such as he. 
 ] I gave him food, and warmth of fire, 
 Such as the wants of age require. 
 I gave, moreo'er, in phrases nice, 
 What plenty gives to want-=-advice. 
 And then his humble staff I viewed, 
 Remarked the texture of the wood, 
 Its uncouth form, and how decay 
 Had well nigh ta'en its strength away, 
 And wished he had a better friend, 
 In his lone wanderings to attend. 
 
 I looked again, and now, behold. 
 The beggar's staff had turned to gold ! 
 In just proportions, dazzling bright, 
 Its beauteous structure charmed the sight. 
 The beggar stood entranced, amazed. 
 As in astonishment he gazed : 
 Was such a wonder ever known ! 
 And he could call that staff his own ! 
 
50 THE BEGGAR WITH A GOLDEN STAFF, 
 
 He surely must be good or wise, 
 To merit such a worthy prize, 
 And he ahead would surely stand 
 Of all the beggars in the land. 
 
 He left the door, elate with pride, 
 No beggar was so blessed beside. 
 And he forgot to leave, 'tis said, 
 His wonted blessing on my head. 
 And I, as much in wonder stood. 
 That I had done him so much good. 
 
 He left ; but soon he came to grief ; 
 The police took him for a thief. 
 For, surely, only but by stealth. 
 The mendicant could get such wealth. 
 E'en other beggars looked awry — 
 " He has a better staff than I." 
 Thieves followed him by day. At night 
 He could not sleep f>r very fright. 
 Mobs followed him from street to street. 
 And gave no rest to his worn feet. 
 And thus he lived amid alarms — 
 For none would give a beggar alms, 
 Nothing more hearty than a laugh, — 
 " A beggar with a golden staff !" 
 
THE BEGGAR WITH A GOLDEN STAFF. 51 
 
 So hungry, weary, faint, once more, 
 The beggar sought my welcome door, 
 And asked his way-worn, humble cane. 
 That he might trudge his round again, 
 From pride and affectation free. 
 Protected by his poverty. 
 He said, and voice and tearful eye 
 Bespoke an inward agony : 
 The staff of gold, you plainly see, 
 Was but a terror unto me. 
 It brought me peril, care and dread. 
 And want of rest, and want of bread. 
 And in my calling, out of place. 
 Gave jeer, and insult, and disgrace. 
 Unstable as the shifting tide 
 We stand, when leaning on our pride. 
 My humble buckthorn gave me rest. 
 When worn by travel, and distressed; 
 It plead for charitable deeds. 
 Which satisfied my simple needs ; 
 Among my fellows, poor as I, 
 It gave respect and sympathy ; 
 It was my badge, that did reveal 
 To thieves, that I had nought to steal ; 
 The bailiffs had no thought of strife 
 With my poor, simple way of life. 
 
52 THE BEGGAR WITH A GOLDEN STAFF. 
 
 That staff, like me, was worn ; each hour, 
 
 Its very weakness was my power. 
 
 Even as the little infant draws 
 
 Its life, by sympathetic laws, 
 
 By power of love, and not, of course, 
 
 By power of pride, and giant force. 
 
 Then, all at once, his burnished gold, 
 Had changed to his old staff of old, 
 In pith and surface, in decay, 
 Just as it had been, day by day, 
 Ere he the experiment had tried. 
 To clothe humility in pride. 
 
 Then I awoke. Strange it may seem, 
 That this was nothing but a dream. 
 My prayer was heard. The thing I sought 
 Was shadowed in the lesson taught ; 
 And how our cherished actions tried, 
 May bear the bitter fruit of pride, 
 Though they appear to us to be, 
 The pattern of humility. 
 
53 
 
 OUR COUNTRY'S FLAG 
 
 That flag, it was the patriot gift, 
 
 Of other, darker days ; 
 When'er the breeze its graces lift 
 
 We feel to utter praise. 
 We think how dear that flag was bought 
 
 With blood our fathers shed ; 
 Each stripe was by a battle wrought — 
 
 A life for every thread ! 
 It tells of Lexington, where first 
 
 A band of heroes stood, 
 And vowed a tyrant's chains to burst, 
 
 And sealed it with their blood ; 
 And Bennington and Bunker Hill, 
 
 Trenton and Yorktown too, 
 Repeated with an iron will — 
 
 And made the promise true. 
 
54 OUR COUNTRY'S FLAG 
 
 And, since that day at Queenstown Heights, 
 
 At Erie and Orleans, 
 It tells, when Freedom names her rights. 
 
 What Freedom really means. 
 
 It waves above a mighty land, 
 
 Unquestioned in its right, 
 The signal emblem of command, 
 
 In justice, truth and light. 
 In war, a signal sign of power, 
 
 Forever let it wave ! 
 Let him who strikes it down, that hour, 
 
 Sink to a coward's grave. 
 
 But, say ye, was the price too high 
 
 For such a little thing. 
 That shakes and quivers in the sky, 
 
 Like to an eagle's wing ? 
 Go ask the heart, in other lands, 
 
 Bowed, sickened and forlorn. 
 Doomed by a tyrant's hard commands. 
 
 To be a thing of scorn — 
 Go ask him what may be its worth. 
 
 That shields man, as a man. 
 Beneath its folds, in all the earth ? 
 
 He'll tell you — if he can. 
 
OUR COUNTRY'S FLAG 
 
 55 
 
 Go ask the sailor on the sea — 
 
 Yea, ask your very soul, 
 What is it worth to you and me, 
 
 To each one, and the whole ? 
 And then, in thanks to Him that gave, 
 
 Give all the heart can pray, 
 That it in Freedom's power may wave. 
 
 Forever and for aye ! 
 
56 
 
 THE S T R Y F MIRIAM GRAY 
 
 " The sun has sunk down, and the mists of the night 
 
 Have gathered," sighed Miriam Gray; 
 " The meal is prepared, and the fire glimmers bright, 
 
 But Everdon lingers a\Yay." 
 
 To his bough-covered shelter the hunter has fled, 
 
 And the wild deer has gone to his grot, 
 And the hearth-fire has died, and the night-prayer is said, 
 
 Yet he tarries away from his cot. 
 
 And the wind whistles wild, and the storm gathers fast, 
 And the slcies are more dreary and black, 
 
 And the scream of the panther is heard on the blast, 
 And the she-wolf is out on the track. 
 
 But he came not — for far on the mountain's rough side, 
 
 He wandered, oppressed with the cold ; 
 And what though each nerve was with vigor applied, 
 
 And his heart was still fearless and bold ? 
 
THE STORY OF MIRIAM GRAY. 57 
 
 And what though he fancied the cottage afar, 
 
 And the light from the window so dim ? 
 Not a taper, nor moonbeam, nor twinkle of star 
 
 Shone forth as a beacon to him. 
 
 The pity-drawn tear-drop froze fast to his cheek, 
 
 And hope 'gan to tremble and fly, 
 His nerves lost their strength, and his limbs they grew weak, 
 
 And at last ceased to labor and try. 
 
 A death-seeming dizziness came o'er his brain, 
 
 And deadened and glazed was his eye — 
 But, " Miriam !" rang from his lips once again. 
 
 As he sank down in sorrow to die. 
 
 But he died not — for Miriam stood at the door, 
 
 And her ear caught the sound as it fell. 
 She rushed through the storm, and she seized and she bore 
 
 Her Everdon back to his dell ! 
 
 There the soul-cheering cup to his lips was applied. 
 
 And the death-phantom flitted away. 
 Bright eyes brighter glow with the purest of pride, 
 As they tell of the fete on the mountain's rough side. 
 
 Of the faithful old Miriam Gray. 
 
58 
 
 WHAT ISTRUTHI 
 
 Truth is the Word of God, divine, 
 By which he perfects each design, 
 In all the earth, in heaven and hell, 
 Where matter rests, or thought can dwell. 
 By this God moveth every force ; 
 He guides the planet in its course, 
 On principle, without a flaw, 
 In the exactitude of law. 
 By it, God weaves the landscape fair, 
 Mixes the elements of air, 
 Fashions the varied forms of light. 
 Fixes the eye, to give it sight, 
 Unchains the vapor, makes it rise 
 Above the earth, and cloud the skies ; 
 Appoints the winds to lash the seas, 
 Or woo them with the gentle breeze ; 
 Organizations, one and all, 
 In nature's realm, the great, the small, 
 
WHATISTRUTH? 59 
 
 In virtue of God's Word, or Truth, 
 Creates and moves all things, forsooth. 
 By it the eagle cleaves the sky, 
 By it the insect learns to fly, 
 By it the tides of ocean flow, 
 By it is formed the flaky snow. 
 By it the blossom of the spring 
 Is made just so in every thing ; 
 The pathway that the prophets trod 
 Was fashioned by the Word of God. 
 All nature's web, in warp and woof. 
 Is woven by God's Word, in proof, 
 It is all perfect. Sun and flower. 
 Are like expressions of His power. 
 0, God of love, in age or youth, 
 Inspire us with Thy Word of Truth ! 
 
60 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " daughter, list not to the tale, 
 
 That Henry breathes to thee, 
 For, gentle words do oft prevail, 
 
 To bind what else were free : 
 A spider's web — the recompense, 
 
 The spider's cruel art ! 
 Words are but things to soothe the sense, 
 
 And cheat the guileless heart." 
 
 The maiden rested on her wheel — 
 
 A tear stood in her eye ; 
 She felt as only maid can feel, 
 
 x\nd sighed as such do sigh. 
 When darkness lets its curtain fall, 
 
 To hide some angel ray. 
 That in the mind hath silvered all 
 
 The fancied future way. 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother, say not so, 
 
 For Henry's heart is kind, 
 The flashing eye, the cheek's warm glow, 
 
 Bespeak the truthful mind ; 
 His voice — it has my father's tone. 
 
 When I was but a child !" 
 When Henry took her for his own, 
 
 The mother's blessing smiled ! 
 
61 
 
 room ANNA BELL 
 
 Poor, wandering, innocent and kind^ 
 
 Of fitful gaze, with tatters laden, 
 With sunken cheek, and reeling mind 
 
 Is Anna Bell, the phrenzied maiden. 
 O, view her with a generous look ; 
 
 Cast not the eye of scorn upon her. 
 For she, in younger youth partook 
 
 Alike of beauty, wealth and honor. 
 
 I knew her well ere on her cheek. 
 
 Time had commenced its cruel slaughter ; 
 
 Then, even envy cried. " How meek ! 
 How beautiful !" So nature taught her. 
 
62 POOR ANNA BELL. 
 
 A heart more generous and warm, 
 
 God ne'er gave out to earthly mortal ! 
 An eye so formed to please, to charm, 
 
 Has seldom glittered in its portal ! 
 The tale it told of gaiety, 
 
 Is known full well to those who've seen her ; 
 It told of heavenly ecstacy — 
 
 Of love, perchance, but nothing meaner. 
 
 She had a sire, and fortune dealt 
 
 To him of wealth a goodly portion : 
 Wherever vernal gale was felt. 
 
 His name was known upon the ocean. 
 Fate gave the sign, and on the sea 
 
 His sails were strown, his wealth was scattered ! 
 Foes taunted of his poverty, 
 
 And whither now the friends that flattered ? 
 
 She had a sire : Death threw his dart. 
 And palsied was the hand that fed her ! 
 
 A lover, too, possessed her heart — 
 He saw her poverty — and fled her ! 
 
POOR ANNA BELL. 63 
 
 She had of friends full many a score, 
 The next to whom her soul retreated ; — 
 
 Small was the sympathy they bore — 
 And Anna's misery was completed. 
 
 He hath a holy, heavenly mind. 
 
 Who freely gives to want a measure ; 
 Who shields the naked from the wind, 
 
 In charity — he hath a treasure. 
 He hath a greater who can feed 
 
 With consolation — heavenly manna — 
 The lorn, the famished souls that bleed, 
 
 And weep in want. Few heeded Anna ; — 
 
 And Anna fell ! Her reason flew, 
 
 Even as the winds the rose leaves scatter ; 
 And Frenzy, with her crazy crew, 
 
 Came and beset her with their chatter. 
 One night she left, while others slept. 
 
 That home, at once of bliss the centre. 
 Where she had hoped, and loved, and wept — 
 
 She left it, never more to enter ! 
 
64 POOR ANNA BELL. 
 
 And now she wanders, sad and lone, 
 
 With sunburnt brow and tangled tresses^ 
 See, when the meagre mite is thrown, 
 
 How sweet she smiles ! how humbly blesses ! 
 She bares her bosom to the sky ; 
 
 She threads the waste, unheeding danger. 
 0, scorn her not ! Let pity's sigh 
 
 Be given to the phrenzied stranger. 
 
65 
 
 \ 
 
 CROSSING THE DESERT 
 
 The desert, it was hard to pass, — 
 Nor tree, nor flower, nor blade of grass, 
 Nor hill, nor beetling cliff of gray, 
 Arose to change or cheer the way. 
 But, far as vision could command. 
 The sky appeared to meet the sand, — 
 The sand, that by the wind set free, 
 Moved like the wavelets of the sea. 
 
 On, on we strode, in weary haste, 
 Across that dreary, drifting waste. 
 Of priceless worth was then and there, 
 The Arab's skill, the camels care ! 
 The one looked out upon the sky. 
 With watchful, penetrating eye. 
 Unseen by him, no sign could pass, 
 O'er sea of sand, or sky of brass. 
 By day, some cloud, or changing air, 
 Warned him of danger to beware ! 
 
Q6 CROSSING THE DESERT 
 
 At silent night he saw afar 
 His peril, by some faithful star ! 
 E'en the lost pilgrim's whitened bones, 
 To him were monumental stones, 
 Wherein he read the lesson o'er. 
 That men had gone that way before. 
 The record of their last sad strife, 
 Served as the finger-post of life. 
 
 The camel, faithful, patient, true, 
 Taught by unerring instinct, knew 
 Of the approaching deadly blast ; 
 With longer stride he hurried fast, 
 Or lingered slow, to 'scape the wrath, 
 That lay along the Simoon's path. 
 But, if it came, by God's command, 
 He plunged his nostrils in the sand. 
 And humbly, lowly gathered there, 
 God's pure invigorating air! 
 When parched with thirst, he told which way 
 The sparkling, cooling fountain lay. 
 There, in the waving palmtree's shade, 
 We drank, and gathered strength, and prayed. 
 
 Almighty God ! could these dim eyes, 
 Thus read thy teachings in the skies ! 
 
CROSSING THE DESERT. 67 
 
 And, as my journey, day by day, 
 
 Across Life's desert wears away ; 
 
 Could I thus strive by truth divine, 
 
 To study each unerring sign, 
 
 In law, in promise, in command. 
 
 That points me to the better land, 
 
 Where purer light and air prevail. 
 
 And cooling fountains never fail ! 
 
 When death o'ertakcs — die all men must — 
 
 How happy, if the trembling dust. 
 
 Can point to others in the strife, 
 
 The Avay of safety and of Life ! 
 
 Teach me, in wisdom, to discern, 
 
 The truth that humbler instincts learn: 
 
 When dangers threaten and surround, 
 
 May I, low prostrate on the ground. 
 
 Look up to Thee, in humble prayer. 
 
 For health, protection, safety, care. 
 
68 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 If there's a world more fair than this, 
 
 Where sorrow cannot overwhelm, 
 Where shines a single ray of bliss, 
 
 0, let me hasten to that realm ; 
 And I will school this weary mind, 
 
 To shrink not at the last sad strife. 
 When death unties the cords that bind 
 
 My heart to all, my heart to life. 
 
 With me, life is a wilderness, 
 
 A dreary waste, a desert shore, 
 With few to cheer, and none to bless — 
 
 Who would not wish the desert o'er ? 
 Condemned to tread the darksome way. 
 
 To face, to brave the world's cold frown, 
 Who would not sigh, who would not pray, 
 
 To lay life's weary burden down ? 
 
 But why, alas, this dismal dream ? 
 
 Life hath its joys, yea, even mine, 
 And oft some blissful, heavenly beam 
 
 Will through the grief-told tear-drop shine. 
 And Hope, the cherub, oft will lift 
 
 The soul above its earthly woe. 
 And, while it grasps the heavenly gift. 
 
 Forget that it is chained below. 
 
69 
 
 OUR YOUNG MEN, THE NATION'S .HOPE. 
 
 Years, years agone, our nation stood, 
 With just before, a sea of blood. 
 It lay, a signal curse, so strong, 
 Of a long, deep and stubborn wrong. 
 That bloody sea no more exists, 
 Save where blest memory's gathering mists. 
 In solemn, melancholy dun. 
 Shows the forgetfulness begun. 
 But, we should not forget too soon 
 How the red sun went down at noon, 
 On one-fourth million loyal youth, 
 Martyrs to liberty and truth, 
 Who bared their bosoms to that strife, 
 That saved a noble nation's life. 
 The dead are gone : the living live ; 
 While we remember, we forgive ; 
 What e'er forget, as much we must. 
 Let us be merciful and just. 
 
70 T II E N A T I N ' S II P E . 
 
 And while we trust in God profound, 
 Remember that, well girt around, 
 With youthful hearts and youthful hands, 
 A rampart strong, the nation stands. 
 And you, manly, generous youth. 
 Whose brow is but a name for truth, 
 Within whose bosom burns a fire 
 Of love of country, as for sire ; 
 Or, warmer still, like to the strife. 
 Between yours and your mother's life. 
 When the soul beaming from the eye. 
 Says each would for the other die. 
 
 Go on, go on ! Cherish that love, 
 And may some angel from above. 
 Touch with a coal of living fire, 
 Your lips unloose, your hearts inspire, 
 To walk where your forefathers trod, 
 Fearless for liberty and God. 
 With hand uplift, with forehead bare. 
 By Freedom's altar stand and swear, 
 That, live or die, or stand or fall. 
 By the great God that governs all. 
 Whose breath can touch the tyrant's chain, 
 And it dissolves ! Again — again — 
 
THE NATION'S HOPE. 71 
 
 Thrice swear that you will ever stand, 
 Life, body, soul, and heart and hand, 
 In patient struggle, while you can, 
 For Freedom, Country, God and Man. 
 
 The nation's hope, the nation's good, 
 Flow in the currents of your blood. 
 Faith sees the purifying flame. 
 Burn free and pure, untinged with shame. 
 Its smoke is but a wreath of light ; 
 The cheek glows warm, the eye is bright. 
 Hope cheers you on, truth guards your name, 
 As pointing up the hill of fame. 
 Where Lincoln stood, and Grant the Just, 
 And under God, the nation's trust. 
 
 All honor to you ! Distant climes 
 Shall speak your praise in after times. 
 Millions unborn, with souls sincere, 
 Shall smile whene'er your names they hear. 
 The modest maiden, wooed to love 
 By earnest swain, shall point above. 
 And make your patriotic truth. 
 The balances that weigh the youth. 
 
72 THE NATION'S HOPE. 
 
 And he'll be judged as false or true, 
 
 As he contemns or honors you. 
 
 And thus your patriotic faith, 
 
 That faced all peril, even death, 
 
 While the world stands, shall grandly prove, 
 
 And live for aye, the test of love. 
 
73 
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S CLUB. 
 
 I sing the Drunkard's Club ! Kind reader know, 
 *Twas not a cudgel, nor a wooden billet, 
 
 Such as the drunkard often does bestow 
 Upon his shadow, in attempts to kill it — 
 
 With which to bruise a sign post for a foe, 
 Or wage a deadly battle with a skillet, 
 
 But, 'twas a merry few who met to chat 
 
 Of politics, and whiskey, and all that. 
 
 'Twas held at Weathersfield ; that pleasant ville, 
 Whoe'er has passed, and passing thought to scan it, 
 
 As I'll aver all have and ever will 
 
 Who wander thither in that land of granite — 
 
74 THE DRUNKARD'S CLUB, 
 
 They've seen a house perched on a little hill, 
 
 But human beings long have ceased to man it. 
 It stands a wondrous bugbear to the village, — 
 For rogues a shelter and for rats to pillage. 
 
 'Twas once a tavern ; on its front it wore, 
 
 " St. George's Inn," marked out in uncouth letters. 
 
 The Club was formed of, some say, twenty-four, 
 Stout, valiant and long-winded jug besetters, 
 
 It mattered light what character each bore — 
 All met alike, the felon from his fetters ; 
 
 The youth unthinking, the adept in gin. 
 
 The black in conscience and the black in sin. 
 
 And there they sat and quaffed, night after night, 
 And joked, and sang, and wrangled o'er their liquor, 
 
 Till madness stole away their reason quite, 
 
 And burning fever made each pulse beat quicker. 
 
 Full many a maiden's eye did wax less bright 
 
 With vigils kept ; the poor wife's tears fell thicker ; 
 
 To children's cheeks a paler hue was given. 
 
 And prayers more fervent winged their way to heaven. 
 
THE DRUNKARD'S CLUB. 75 
 
 But all did not avail, for still they quaffed ; 
 
 Strong limbs grew weak, and noses red and fiery — 
 Old three-score withered as he sucked the draught ; 
 
 Alike the youth whose nerves were strong and wirey ; 
 Death came along and shook his horrid shaft, 
 
 And, " Ready, Sir ?" was never the inquiry. 
 Sin gave a hellish laugh, and shook her clutches. 
 Pain groaned a smile to hear them call for crutches. 
 
 But, many years have passed. Some slily fled 
 When friends, and cash, and credit 'gan to falter, 
 
 And many more went down among the dead. 
 
 With pains that pills and potions could not alter : 
 
 One grew an honest man, and old, 'tis said. 
 Another perished by the sheriff 's halter ; 
 
 Another still, prefering not to pull it. 
 
 Cut life's frail thread in virtue of a bullet. 
 
 If any live — aud living some there may — 
 
 Old age has given their bones a woful racking. 
 
 And I predict, not distant is the day, 
 
 When some good faithful sexton will be packing 
 
 Their bones in the receptacle of clay, — 
 
 Their citadel the death worm will be sacking. 
 
 Such, reader, is my story. Ponder well. 
 
 How Broad and Plain is the Descent to Hell ! 
 
76 
 
 WITHIN THE HEART 
 
 Within the heart there is a spot, 
 
 That sorrow never deigned to know ; 
 Where sin, in cursing us, forgot 
 
 To place the signet seal of woe. 
 'Tis where peace dwells — that fairy dame — 
 
 And keeps beneath her blest control, 
 A brighter spark, a purer flame, 
 
 To lighten up and cheer the soul. 
 
 There Friendship, too, her council holds, 
 
 With spirits sent from other hearts, 
 And binds them closer in her folds ; 
 
 And there love sits, and points his darts; 
 And there he ever gaily weaves 
 
 His silken net and golden chain, 
 And, in affection's fondness, leaves, 
 
 That ONE that nature fashions twain. 
 
77 
 
 ALLAMAKEE. 
 
 Allamakee was an Indian chief, 
 
 Of Northern Iowa. 
 His stride, it was long, but his words were brief, 
 
 When he had aught to say. 
 His eye, it was keen, and I had as lief 
 
 Have a tiger, with me for his prey. 
 As to have had him. How he came to grief. 
 
 Is the terminus of this lay. 
 
 Old Allamakee sat by his fire. 
 
 And his warriors lay on the ground ; 
 
 He was telling his tales of dangers dire. 
 When his enemies had provoked his ire, 
 
 And how, in his wigwam, their scalps hung higher, 
 As ornaments around. 
 
78 ALLAMAKEE. 
 
 The night was dark, — the lowering clouds 
 
 Hung far adown the sky, 
 Even as the sable pall enshrouds 
 
 That coffin that's passing by. 
 But, now and then, the lightning's flash, 
 Would be followed by the thunder's crash, 
 And the rain came down with a torrent's dash; — 
 
 Old Allamakee looked sly. 
 
 For, he somehow felt, that lurking about, 
 
 There was danger in the air; 
 It was such a night as this, on a scout. 
 
 He had lifted his enemies' hair ; 
 And he thought, perhaps, their ghosts were out, 
 
 To give the old warrior a scare. 
 And he thought, also, that something more stout. 
 
 Than a ghost, might be lurking there. 
 
 So, he laid his ear close to the ground, 
 
 And pressed it flat and firm, 
 And what he heard — was it the sound 
 Of the 'coon's soft footsteps creeping around. 
 
 Or the crawling of a worm ? 
 The warrior knew well, it was idle and tame. 
 
 Such questions as these to propound. 
 
ALLAMAKEE, 
 
 He sprang to his feet and called his men, 
 
 Who were swift as the spoken word. 
 To answer the call of their leader, when 
 
 His rallying cry was heard ; 
 For, his instinct was true, as it told him then, 
 
 As the hunter's dog to the bird. 
 They knew they had work on hand again, 
 
 Though scarce a leaf had stirred. 
 
 Each one had scarce reached his chosen tree, 
 
 Before a piercing yell, 
 With a whiz of arrows, one, three, 
 
 To each of the warriors fell. 
 One went to the heart of Allamakee ! 
 
 The legends mournfully tell. 
 How his dogs would whine and fondle and smell. 
 And leap on his ghost, which they seemed to know well. 
 But, which none but his dogs could see. 
 
 79 
 
80 
 
 A NATION'S STRENGTH 
 
 Where lies a nation's strength ? 'Tis not 
 In scoflBng at the poor man's lot, 
 Nor yet in palaces well filled 
 With lordly pride, in cunning skilled ? 
 Nor yet in coffers filled with gold — 
 These only make th' invader bold. 
 Tis not in making people feel 
 The hardness of a tyrant's heel. 
 'Tis not in rivers, broad and deep. 
 Quite hard to cross, nor mountains steep, 
 That hinder armies in their course 
 Of desolation, by rude force. 
 'Tis not in genius how to plan, 
 New dread machines, to murder man ; 
 Nor in the power of men of state, 
 To make the people think they're great. 
 'Tis not in commerce of great wealth. 
 Nor yet in kingdom's, won by stealth ; 
 But, deep within the honest heart 
 Of the plain people. The rampart 
 Is there in truth, and thei"e alone. 
 Is built a Nation's Power and Throne. 
 
81 
 
 GOD BLESS OUR COUNTRY 
 
 God bless our Country ! Weak the arm, 
 
 That strives to guide the state ; 
 That moved by impulse, active, warm, 
 
 Trenched in the faith of fate. 
 With only human strength to bear 
 
 The great and mighty trust. 
 Along the line of wisdom, where 
 
 The merciful and just 
 Do meet in love, — but firmly stand. 
 
 Imploringly, but true, 
 To every instinct of command 
 That pleads to dare and do. 
 
 God, by thine Almighty hand, 
 Make plain that glorious line, 
 
82 GODBLESSOUR COUNTRY 
 
 And, nerve the heart of that good band, 
 Whose heart-strings are but thine ; 
 
 Who plead for one, who plead for all, 
 The greatest good to crave. 
 
 Who make their hearts and prayers a wall, 
 The weak to help and save. 
 
 0, cheer the statesman as he treads 
 
 'Mong pitfalls of despair, 
 And guide his feet, with silken threads, 
 
 In every path of care. 
 Lead him to shun the hidden rocks. 
 
 Beneath the shoals of strife ; 
 Or where the yielding quicksand mocks 
 
 Depths of a nation's life. 
 
 Firm be his hand upon the helm. 
 
 That guides the ship of State, 
 Laden with riches of a realm, 
 
 On earth with none so great. 
 With all the hopes that move the heart 
 
 Of patriotic truth, 
 In all the world and every part. 
 
 The aged and the youth. 
 
GOD BLESS OUR COUNTRY. 83 
 
 God bless the statesman, who thus bears 
 
 Upon his burdened soul. 
 Responsibilities and cares 
 
 That permeate the whole 
 Of such a people, such a State ; — 
 
 May the Almighty hand, 
 Uphold, up-bear, as God is great, 
 
 And bless my native land. 
 
84 
 
 FLOW ON, T.E MOUNTAIN STREAM 
 
 Flow on, flow on, ye mountain stream, 
 
 With chattering, tinkling song, 
 That minds me of the silvery dream, 
 
 That never was too long, 
 For it would shorten every hour, 
 
 Divided as by three ; 
 Was it the brooklet's tinkling power, 
 
 That so bewildered me ? 
 
 Or, was it that the loving soul, 
 
 Whose arm was linked in mine. 
 Had power to change the minute's whole, 
 
 Into a lesser line ? 
 And, thus permitting us to live, 
 
 Only one-third as long, 
 And yet, to square the balance, give, 
 
 In joy, to right the wrong. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, ye mountain stream, 
 
 For youthful lovers still, 
 Are raptured with the same old dream, 
 
 That made our hearts to thrill ; 
 And as they, trembling, soft and low. 
 
 In whispers tell their love, 
 Thy laughing, chattering, tinkling flow, 
 
 Will witness bear above. 
 
85 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Say, who is happy ? Is it he, 
 Who lives from sickening pains most free? 
 Whose wished for wealth is poised between, 
 The spendthrift vain, and miser mean ? 
 Whom the small word, " enough," restrains 
 From heaping up ungodly gains. 
 Yet, teaches him to fix the price 
 Of prodigality and vice ? 
 Who lives unknown to earthly fear ? 
 Of liberal hand — of heart sincere ? 
 Whose friends are many, firm and true. 
 Even as such as yours to you ? 
 Who knows no mortal guilt, nor shame, 
 Has much content, wants little fame. 
 A heart affectionate and warm, 
 Free to forgive, but not to harm ? 
 And, in a line, who is possessed, 
 Whate'er on earth can make men blessed. 
 
86 LINES TO A FRIEND 
 
 He's happy. But, far happier they, 
 To "whom is given the faith to pray — 
 To rightly praise — to weigh the worth 
 Of the poor meagre joys of earth — 
 To humbly ask our God to give — 
 To watch in hope, to love, to live — 
 To heaven the wretched soul to lift — 
 To reach, to grasp the precious gift ; — 
 To whom the last sad mortal strife, 
 Is but the opening of life. 
 Thus may heaven bless, direct, defend. 
 Thyself and thine for aye, my friend. 
 
87 
 
 MORNING BREAKETH. 
 
 Morning breaketh ! Morning breaketh ! 
 
 Light is creeping up the sky ; 
 Man from a long sleep awaketh, 
 
 Not by shout of battle cry — 
 Xot by glare of burning dwelling — 
 
 Not by cannon's sulphurous breath — 
 Not by murderous passions, swelling, 
 
 Surging on the tide of death. 
 
 Morning breaketh ! Faith can view it — 
 
 Not in gorgeous robe of fame, 
 Made to dazzle, while unto it. 
 
 Clings the putrid blanch of shame ! 
 Not where wealth is crowding, rushing, 
 
 To the chancel's silver door — 
 But it shineth, trembling, blushing. 
 
 Cheering, raising up the poor ! 
 
88 MORNING BREAKETH 
 
 Morning breaketh ! Light is streaming ! 
 
 Faith and Hope can see it, where 
 The humble cottage fire is beaming 
 
 On the circle, hushed in prayer : — 
 Prayer, that up to God ascending, 
 
 Writes i answer on the skies : 
 Power so humble, unpretending. 
 
 Pride scarce deigneth to despise. 
 
 Morning breaketh ! Lowly meekness 
 
 Knoweth of his place of strength ; 
 He who works in power — by weakness, 
 
 Will arise in power, at length. 
 When the poor do look, with pleading, 
 
 From the oppressor, up to God, 
 He their cry is surely heeding — 
 
 He will break the scourger's rod. 
 
89 
 
 A TREASURE IN IIEAYEN. 
 
 [ A feeble-minded Scottish girl, of Glasgow, once said : " I have no 
 Soul. I had one once, but Jksus Christ came axd took it 
 
 AWAY, AND IS KEEPING IT FOR ME IN IIeAVEN.] 
 
 A little fairliaired Scottish girl 
 
 Was out on Glasgow Green ; 
 The breeze waved lightly many a curl 
 
 That did her forehead screen. 
 That forehead once betokened thought, 
 
 Pure as an angel's tears, 
 And wisdom, gentle and untaught, 
 
 Quite wondrous for her years. 
 
 One night — how strange the mystery 
 
 That veils the human mind ! 
 She says, " Christ spake in words to me, 
 
 Soft as the gentle wind ; 
 His look -was love, his voice was heaven, 
 
 As thus he said to me, 
 ' Give me thy soul,' and it was given, 
 
 ' I'll keep it safe for thee, 
 
90 TREASURE IN HEAVEN 
 
 Against the time, when time shall cease, 
 
 And all danger o'er, 
 The treasure, then, embalmed in peace, 
 
 To thee I will restore.' 
 'Tis strange that Christ, so good to bless. 
 
 Almighty and divine, 
 Should be so anxious to possess, 
 
 That little soul of mine." 
 
91 
 
 BATTLE OF MONTEREY. 
 
 AN INCIDENT CONNECTED THEREWITH 
 
 The Battle op Monterey, in Mexico, was fought in October 
 1848. The Incident referred to in the gallant action of 
 the Young Lif.utexant was told us years before he was 
 
 KNOWN to world-wide FAME AS A GREAT GrENERAL, AND AS 
 
 President of the United States, U. S. Grant. 
 
 In Northern climes the summer sun 
 Had drawn its rays, and autumn's dun 
 Had covered o'er the forest leaves : 
 The farmer here had threshed his sheaves ; 
 But, while he gathered in his corn, 
 In IMexico the war had torn 
 Its terrible and rugged way 
 From Rio Grande to Monterey ; 
 And there, from home and friends afar, 
 Our soldiers threshed the sheaves of war. 
 
92 BATTLE OF MONTEREY 
 
 Taylor, the brave, was in command, 
 With heart as noble as his hand. 
 His stern integrity of word 
 Was just as true as his good sword. 
 Beside him stood the noble Worth, 
 Fit leader of the stalwart North, 
 Whose eye flashed fire when told, that day, 
 That he must conquer Monterey. 
 
 The town lay beauteous in the sun, 
 Fit prize for warrior to be won, 
 Described by pencil and by pen, 
 And guarded by ten thousand men. 
 
 From rank to rank the word was passed : 
 And gathering fancies crowded fast 
 Around the minds of those that day, 
 Who were to conquer Monterey. 
 The brave man girded on his might, 
 Laid down his knapsack for the fight. 
 He busied him with those affairs 
 For which the friend or lover cares 
 More than he does for his own life, 
 Writes to his mother, or his wife, 
 
BATTLE OF MONTEREY. 93 
 
 And lays it carefully away, 
 To be dispatched another day, 
 By other hands, if his are cold, — 
 The brave are loving, prudent, bold. 
 Small is the space such time affords, 
 And short and true the soldier's words. 
 The bugle sounds — the ranks advance, 
 On bayonets the sunbeams dnnce , 
 Drums beat a quickened step ; flags wave 
 And cheer the onset of the brave. 
 Some seize the forts, the hills that crown. 
 Worth's duty is, "to take the town, 
 " Crush all in arms, but well beware, 
 " The women and the children spare.' 
 
 So spake the chief, in tone subdued, 
 To make it better understood — 
 For words, in modest form arrayed. 
 Are often sharper than the blade 
 That e'en the sternest man can draw 
 
 To vindicate the righteous law. 
 
 A single word has sometimes shown 
 
 Itself more potent than a throne, 
 
 And here it sent Worth's ranks away. 
 
 Far up the streets of Monterey, 
 
94 BATTLE OF MONTEREY 
 
 Mid cannon's roar, and crushing shell, 
 And wild hurrah, and wilder yell, 
 And shouts that onward urge attack, 
 And musket roll, and rifle crack, 
 And bombshell hissing out its wrath. 
 As it pursued its well-curved path ; 
 But, onward, onward still they go — 
 Each house a castle for the foe — 
 Each street an ambush, which awhile 
 Withstood the shock of rank and file, 
 Till, finally, one-half gave way, — 
 One-half we held, the other they ; 
 And then across the narroAV street. 
 Where muzzle would a muzzle meet. 
 Where windows were the portholes made, 
 And eye met eye, quite undismayed. 
 Our heroes fought, with bated breath. 
 Gave wound for wound and death for death. 
 
 Who that way fought and that day fell 
 Is better known in heaven and hell, 
 For earthly records oft are blear 
 For those who have few frindships here. 
 And less to mourn, and none to love ; 
 A better roll is kept above. 
 
BATTLE OF MONTEREY. 95 
 
 For, even do the best we can, 
 God is more merciful than man. 
 
 So pass our gallant soldiers on, 
 Until the Grand Plaza is won, 
 When sudden ceased the cannon's roar : 
 A sergeant came — a message bore 
 To the brave chief. He bends to hear : 
 " No powder has come from the rear ; 
 But fourteen cartridges remain, 
 Our hard position to maintain." 
 A narrow street, the only way, 
 Two nations fought for on tliat day. 
 The gallant Worth cries, " Who will bring, 
 The powder from the Walnut Spring ? 
 Who volunteers ? The finest steed 
 Is his to do the dangerous deed." 
 
 A young lieutenant, modest, mild, 
 With manners simple as a child, 
 Stepped forth, saluted, " I will go. 
 And in God's strength, defy the foe." 
 The steed was brought. From ofi" the ground. 
 He mounted with a single bound ; 
 And, as Comanche Indians ride. 
 
96 BATTLE OF MONTEREY 
 
 He threw his hody on one side, 
 
 With one f'rm hand he grasped the mane, 
 
 One foot the crupper did maintain : 
 
 He bade his steed, Away ! Away ! 
 
 It was a novel sight that day, 
 
 To see the horse, fearless and fleet, 
 
 Pass down the twice-beleaguered'street. 
 
 The young lieutenant planned it so, 
 To throw his body from the foe. 
 Who thus would little care to shoot 
 Their ammunition at a brute — 
 While he exposed his body fair, 
 To those who would not harm a hair 
 Of that fair head, but sooner they. 
 Would fall themselves at Monterey. 
 
 The horse was strong and sure of hoof. 
 As thus he gave the ample proof. 
 For he his noble charge did bring, 
 In safety to the Walnut Spring. 
 And he returned with forces strong. 
 Who captured, as they bore along 
 A good supply of what that day, 
 Sent terror into Monterey. 
 
BATTLE OF MONTEREY. 97 
 
 Time passed. A nation's gratitude, 
 Gave unto Taylor all it could. 
 Time passed. The young lieutenant's name, 
 Encircled with a wreath of fame, 
 Becomes a nation's praise and power. 
 God, protect, as in that hour, 
 When his good steed bore him away, 
 Down that dread street of Monterey. 
 
 A prophet's ken that day might see, 
 Though clad in war's dread panoply, 
 Two civil rulers, great in name. 
 Who yet would fill the world with fame, 
 Who, rapt in duty, on that day. 
 So bravely stood at Monterey. 
 Two Presidents, whose stubborn worth. 
 Would fill with praises the whole earth, 
 Whose noble actions would reveal. 
 What their own modesty would seal. 
 
98 
 
 MIDNIGHT 
 
 I love the hour when midnight thrown 
 
 Her starlight from the sky, 
 When the dull spirit of repose 
 
 Invades the weary eye ; 
 When envy lays her dart aside, 
 
 And pain forgets its woe, 
 And hatred, vanity and pride 
 
 Alike their toils forego. 
 
 0, there is something in that hour 
 
 My soul despairs to name ; 
 A sweet, a calm, a soothing power, 
 
 That lights devotion's flame. 
 Something that draws the weary mind 
 
 From earthly cares away. 
 And makes the stricken soul resigned, 
 
 Submissively to pray. 
 
 And when the heart is faint and worn, 
 
 And friends assail and flee, 
 And say that it shall be forlorn. 
 
 It can commune with thee ; 
 And thus, when love, and hope, and mirth, 
 
 Withdraw their witching power, 
 It still retains a friend on earth— 
 
 The peaceful midnight hour. 
 
99 
 
 THE ROYAL OAK OF NORMANDY. 
 
 In Normandy, 'tis said, there grew, 
 An oak, and I believe it true. 
 Of a vast height, and ring by ring. 
 It came to be a mighty king 
 Of all the forest. Far and near, 
 The trees all bowed to it, in fear, 
 Or reverence ; though others thought, 
 The winds those forms of homage wrought, 
 And all of the surrounding trees. 
 Bent thus, alone themselves to please. 
 Much as do people sometimes think. 
 That the world trembles at their wink. 
 When the world cares, the selfish elves, 
 Only about their precious selves, 
 And bend their genuflective knees, 
 Only their vanity to please. 
 
100 THEROYALOAKOFNORMANDY 
 
 And so the oak kept spreading wide, 
 Its branches out on every side, 
 Wove deeper roots among the rocks. 
 Gave shade and shelter to the flocks, 
 And it became a great retreat 
 For bashful lovers' wandering feet. 
 Who, 'neath its broad protecting boughs. 
 Whispered their everlasting vows, 
 That were as strong, 'tis also said,'.^ 
 Between the man and modest maid. 
 As were the fibres of the tree, 
 That likened well their constancy. 
 Nought strange in this — oaks everywhere 
 Grow strong — and lovers do declare 
 Their passion sacred, firm and true. 
 As any oak that ever grew. 
 
 Once on a day, a little germ. 
 Among the leaves appeared; 'twas firm 
 In texture, shapely, half afraid, 
 Like to some blushing, bashful maid, 
 To look upon the outward world ; 
 So in its little home it curled. 
 Like to a bird within its nest. 
 Just to look out, and take its rest. 
 
THE ROYAL OAK OF NORMANDY. 10] 
 
 Wise men of vast and learned lore, 
 Said 'twas an acorn — nothing more. 
 
 Within that acorn, we'll suppose — 
 Since to the contra no one knows — 
 There dwells a spirit, form or force, 
 That fashions all its future course, 
 To make of it a tree more rare 
 In form and strength, than it that bear 
 The little twig, the little nest, 
 That gave it home, protection, rest. 
 So infancy, in mother's arms, 
 Clings to the breast that feeds and warms — 
 The mother's ecstacy and pride. 
 More valued than the world beside. 
 
 The acorn, it kept on to grow, 
 Swung by the breezes to and fro, 
 Til] on a day, its spirit, soft 
 As the fine mist that floats aloft, 
 Whispered that it would some day be. 
 As mighty as the parent tree. 
 
 As yet there was no sign of strife, 
 Bach had one being and one life. 
 But now there was loosened link — 
 The acorn once had dared to think 
 
102 THE ROYAL OAK OF NORMANDY 
 
 Of, also, being tall and great, 
 
 And this one whisper sealed its fate. 
 
 The oak bethought, that very day, 
 
 To drive the acorn far away. 
 
 Thence, for a time, it gave it food 
 
 Of pulp and fibre, almost wood. 
 
 At length the jealousy grew strong ; 
 
 The wild winds whispered a new song 
 
 Among the branches of the oak, 
 
 And, one day, the connection broke. 
 
 And on its wings the acorn bore 
 
 Away a hundred feet, or more. 
 
 A squirrel laughed to see the broil. 
 
 And buried it beneath the soil. 
 
 And thence it grew a mighty tree, 
 
 Worthy the lord of Normandy. 
 
 Thus in all nature and all life. 
 
 There is a war of love and strife, — 
 
 Ot love of self, and love of kind, 
 
 And jealousy, that's always blind. 
 
 The one attracting with great power. 
 
 And then repelling the next hour. 
 
 And thus the lines thus formed and curled, 
 
 Give power and beauty to the world, 
 
 And all the progress that we see, 
 
 Is moved by this strange rivalry. 
 
103 
 
 TO sleep:. 
 
 Angel spirit, why away, 
 Till the morning breaketh gray ? 
 Till the busy hum of life. 
 Wakes the world anew to strife. 
 And each waiting, rousing sense. 
 Locks thee out, and drives thee hence, 
 From the chambers of the brain, 
 Till the stars shine out again ? 
 
 Gentle spirit, come unto me — 
 Hasten quickly, I would woo thee ! 
 Spread thy wings — fly faster, faster ! 
 Be my more than friend — my master ! 
 Touch me softly with thy pinion ; 
 I will bow to thy dominion. 
 Each involuntary motion 
 Will give up to God devotion. 
 
 In forgetfulness enfolded, 
 Visions of the mind are moulded, 
 Curiously by spirit fingers ; — 
 Still away Sleep tarries, lingers ! 
 
104 TO SLEEP. 
 
 Tell me, whither are ye stealing ? 
 Say, what eyelids are ye sealing ? 
 
 His, with care and toil o'erladen ? 
 Hast thou kissed the weary maiden, 
 That by bedside has been grieving, 
 While the snowy shroud is weaving ? 
 Art thou with the sailor, keeping 
 Watch on topmast ? He is sleeping ! 
 Yet, he grasps the shrouds so tightly, 
 Taught by thee, all seemeth rightly. 
 Art thou with exhausted nature. 
 Smoothing down the troubled feature. 
 Whispering to the soul, be careful, 
 Be all-wakeful, watchful, prayerful, 
 Lest my presence bring disaster. 
 While his body T o'ermaster. 
 Art thou where the fever burning. 
 Keeps its victim tossing, turning — 
 List, list his quiet breathing ! 
 Round his temples thou art wreathing 
 Blessings that no art can borrow ! 
 He'll be better on the morrow. 
 Then, Sleep, with Mercy go — 
 Minister to pain and Woe. 
 
 Could I thus unseen, impart. 
 Solace to the bleeding heart, 
 I would be forever going. 
 From first night-fall to cock-crowing. 
 
105 
 
 on, PRAY FOR ME. 
 
 " Oh, pray for mo !" What of despair 
 And hope, is shadowed in this prayer ! 
 Weak, weary, faint, in darkness bound, 
 For some sure help, I grope around, 
 For some heart purer than my own. 
 That can approach th' Almighty Throne, 
 And see the light I cannot see, 
 To pray for me — To pray for me ! 
 
 " Oh, for some power that can approach 
 The sympathy I dare not touch ! 
 Some spirit, softened and annealed. 
 Whose wounds, with penitence, are healed, 
 Whose soul from sin has been set free, 
 To pray for me — to pray for me !" 
 
 So plead the earnest soul for prayer ; 
 The answer showed that God was there, 
 
106 PRAY FOR ME. 
 
 Whose word is Truth, whose name is Love, 
 Who8e symbol spirit is the dove ; 
 And something said, or seemed to say, 
 Men prayed for thee, and thou must pray : 
 Pray for the friendless and forlorn, 
 For those whose heritage is scorn ; 
 For him whose lot is cast in strife. 
 Whose greatest burden is — his liie; 
 Thy true petition may impart 
 Coirage to his poor sinking heart; 
 And though thou art to him unknown, 
 Thy prayer may glitter from God's throne. 
 And strength and hope and succor give. 
 And the poor suicide may live. 
 
 Pray for the sailor on the deep, — 
 He may have none for him to weep, 
 And the kind ear of God to fill, 
 That he may bid the storm be still. 
 Pray for the prisoner in liis cell — 
 God's spirit doeth all things well. 
 And it may thus in love control, 
 The dread temptation of his soul. 
 If innocent, it can throw light, 
 When all around is dark as night, 
 
PRAYFORME. 107 
 
 Lest erring justice to the State, 
 Consign him to a felon's fate. 
 
 Pray for yon quivering, tottering form, 
 Which bends like th' ozier to the storm, 
 And, with a careful, fearful tread, 
 Asks pity for her daily bread. 
 Pray for the proud, whose lordly power, 
 Has but the ruling of an hour. 
 C>j pray ye, Avith unceasing prayer, 
 For God is mercy, and will spare 
 The weak and fainting sons of need, 
 For whom his loving children plead. 
 
 Pray for thy country. Strive to bear 
 The burden of the statesman's care. 
 He needs, however wise the sage, 
 God's power to keep the heritage, 
 Safe in its destiny sublime — 
 A blessing to the end of time. 
 
 Pray in the depths of thine own soul, 
 For human nature as a whole, 
 For, he who sees the sparrow's fall. 
 Encompasses each one in all. 
 And, by one effort of his mind. 
 Can bless the millions of mankind, 
 And his pure, shining image place, 
 In nature, in the human race. 
 
108 
 
 COMMUNION OF SPIRITS 
 
 " Light is the heart with seeming glee, 
 That -watches, waits so long for me. 
 And faint and weary is the step. 
 That strives to have the promise kept, 
 That I would meet her ere the sky 
 Is lightedVith the moon so high, 
 As measured by a handspike's length, — 
 God, give me courage — give me strength." 
 
 So prayed the sailor, and so strove 
 The earnest soul to meet his love. 
 And thus the two, in equal strife. 
 In spirit one, but twain in life, 
 By all the clinging power of love. 
 Inwoven by a smile above, — 
 Who will deny, the spirits twain — 
 That of the lover from the main, 
 And her's who longed for him again, 
 Might not in actual essence meet, 
 Each other grasp, each other greet, 
 The same as if the earthly clay, 
 Did not still keep themselves away ? 
 
109 
 
 ETHAN ALLEN AND BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 THETEST OF COURAGE. 
 
 [ iSoon after the commencement of the Revolutionary War, ouc of the 
 first expeditions against the enemy resulted in the capture of Ticonderoga, 
 in New York, a fortress that had been built at great expense, for the 
 purpose of commanding the navigation of Lake Champlain. Two leaders, 
 unknown to each other, set out with small bodies of men, to effect its 
 surprise and capture. Etban Allen commanded one, gathered from 
 the mountains of Vermont, and Benedict Arnold, from Connecticut, the 
 other. By mere accident, the two parties met at Castleton, Rutland 
 county, Vermont, where a rude fort existed. As both were men of great 
 resolution and ambition, and as each one was determined to command the 
 expedition, and as one must give way to the other, an open quarrel was 
 imminent. Tradition says it was settled in the way set forth in the 
 narrative, and the precise spot is pointed out where the test took place. 
 The incident is so characteristic of the two men, that it may well be 
 believed to be true.] 
 
 Across the fire, two iron men 
 
 Sat gazing, face to face ; 
 A firmness, indescribed by pen, 
 
 On brow and lip had place. 
 
110 THETESTOFCOURAGE 
 
 Neither had done their country then, 
 
 Great honor or disgrace. 
 Around about them, on the ground, 
 
 Tavo bands of foemen lay — 
 They were all friends, but each was bound 
 
 His chieftain to obey. 
 The one from Bennington had found 
 
 The other on his way. 
 
 'Twas night. The woods of Castleton 
 
 Were silent, save the streom. 
 That murmured in its passage on ; 
 
 The crackling fire did gleam. 
 And now and then, the wild wolf's howl, 
 
 Defied the panther's scream. 
 
 The chiefs were sullen. With one aim, 
 They traversed tangled woods, 
 
 Each bent on victory and fame, 
 Through all those solitudes. 
 
 Ticonderoga was the game, 
 
 That caused their anxious moods. 
 
 Like as a tiger, strained to leap. 
 And fasten on its prey, 
 
THE TEST OF COURAGE. Ill 
 
 Meets with a lion, crouched to keep 
 
 The other beast away, 
 One hoarsely growls, the other roars, 
 
 Both angry, stand at bay. 
 
 Arnold, with fierce ambition fired, 
 
 Determined to command ; 
 Allen, whose temper never tired, 
 
 When there was work on hand, 
 Was equally resolved to hold 
 
 The force in his strong hand. 
 
 Each plead his cause, and urged the right, 
 
 Until the words ran high. 
 And it was feared that Arnold might 
 
 Fight Allen, and not Ti; 
 But, all at once, Allen bethought 
 
 Another test to try. 
 
 Warmed by the fire, from out the brake, 
 
 A loathsome reptile crawled. 
 Allen proposed : " You sieze the snake, 
 
 And shrink not, unappalled ; 
 I do the same. Which e'er may flinch. 
 
 No leader sball be called. 
 
112 THE TEST OF COURAGE 
 
 The twain assented. Arnold first, 
 To guard against the thing, • 
 
 Seized by the tail, the snake accurst, 
 To give it a quick fling 
 
 Into the fire. The head came round, 
 
 With fang prepared to sting. 
 
 Arnold, in horror, started back. 
 With an instinctive spring. 
 
 Then Allen, as an eagle bold, 
 
 Strikes for his writhing prey, 
 Firm as a vice, to seize and hold. 
 
 He chose his own right way, 
 And near the head, his iron grasp, 
 
 Was wound, as if in play. 
 What care^ he for the serpent's clasp, 
 
 For he had won the day. 
 
 Who has not heard, how Allen bold. 
 
 With fifty chosen men, 
 ( The story it has oft been told, 
 
 And will be oft again,) 
 Captured the stubborn fortress hold, 
 
 Across good Lake Champlain ? 
 Ticonderoga evermore. 
 
 Is coupled with his name. 
 
113 
 
 THE TWO-FOLD OFFICE OFGENIUS. 
 
 IT HAS DOUBLE PLEASURE OR DOUBLE PAIN- 
 ONCE IN FAITH— ONCE IN FACT. 
 
 " In one hour more the strife begins ! 
 The battle joins — the strongest wins ! 
 In this great contest for the right, 
 Our weapon of success is might. 
 God give us more than mortal power, 
 To face the dangers of this hour. 
 
 " See those long breastworks, mile on mile. 
 From yonder hill to yon defile 
 The line extends, and every yard 
 Has a good soldier for its guard. 
 Who knows his weapon and his place ; — 
 That line our gallant troops must face. 
 The bugle sounds at half-past four 
 The assault. In thirty minutes more 
 
114 GENIUS— ITS DOUBLE OFFICE 
 
 Our loyal lines retire again, 
 Depleted by five thousand men !" 
 
 So spake our hero, and his eye 
 Flashed fire, that spoke of agony, 
 As he, in his prophetic mood. 
 Saw this great loss of human blood : — 
 Of fathers, sons and husbands slain, 
 The wounded, writhing in their pain. 
 He thought of longing, watching fears, 
 Of widow's wail, of orphan's tears, 
 Of hopeless hopes, of wasting care. 
 Of sorrow, ending in des{air, 
 For those, who weltering in their gore. 
 Return to their loved homes no more. 
 
 Prompt at the hour the word is given. 
 The lini s advance. The pickets driven 
 Within their works, give sign to ail. 
 To firmly stand, or fighting fall. 
 Near and more near our lines advance, 
 The sunbeams on their muskets dance, 
 Till volley upon volley poured, 
 Enwreath both bayonet and sword 
 In the dun smoke that covers all 
 With its impenetrable pall, 
 
GENIUS— ITS DOUBLE OFFICE. 115 
 
 Till each advancing soldier can, 
 Scarce twenty feet, discern a man. 
 
 Then, all at once, the breastworks dire, 
 Seemed but a flame of living fire ; 
 And, as the smoke curled round and rolled, 
 Looked like a serpent, fold on fold, 
 With deadly fangs, and poisoned breath, 
 Whose look was pain, Avhose touch was death. 
 
 Tis not for me the names to tell. 
 Of the brave men who fought and fell. 
 Nor of the living, who elate 
 With noble courage, faced their fate. 
 Nor yet, amid the deadly strife, 
 How each man dearly sold his life ; 
 Nor, how the foe was made to see. 
 It was a dear-bought victory. 
 
 Nor will we but relate the proof 
 Of genius, in our friend's behoof. 
 Who felt twice o'er the bitter pain, 
 From action he could not restrain — 
 Once in the forecast of his thought, 
 And once by hardy contest bought. 
 
116 GENIUS— ITS DOUBLE OFFICE 
 
 Such is the lot of those who feel 
 So deeply for their country's weal, 
 That by some strange mysterious light, 
 Their faith becomes a second sight. 
 'Twas thus, Adromache, in pain, 
 Saw living Hector, prostrate, slain 
 By great Achilles, who in joy. 
 Dragged the corpse round the walls of Troy ! 
 So Hector saw his soul, his life, 
 Adromache, a captive wife. 
 In Argive looms, compelled to trace, 
 The woven tale of their disgrace. 
 Our hero, too, by light that shone 
 Within his soul, saw things unknown 
 ( By impulse moved, by genius fired,) 
 To other men, not thus inspired. 
 
117 
 
 WILLIAM MORE. 
 
 Close on the borders of a village, 
 Low, and with green moss covered o'er, 
 Surrounded well with copse and tillage, 
 Stood the lone cot of William More. 
 It was a meagre, humble dwelling 
 At which the proud might stare and start ; 
 But what one, let the world be telling. 
 Has ever housed a better heart ? 
 
 His mind was calm, her cheek was healthy ; 
 Vice never did his heart allure ; 
 Among the poor was reckoned wealthy ; 
 Among the rich accounted poor. 
 Wherever charity was needed, 
 No grudging hand or look denied ; 
 Want never passed his door unheeded, 
 Nor yet departed unsupplied. 
 
118 WILLIAM MORE 
 
 To ease the pains of the afflicted, 
 To turn the storm of grief aside, 
 To cheer whom fortune had restricted 
 And help them stem misfortune's tide. 
 Did William live. How sadly melting 
 To his warm heart the orphan's cry ! 
 The child whom misery was pe'ting — 
 He shared his sorrow, breathed his sigh, 
 
 O, Charity ! 'tis good, 'tis gracious, 
 In even him for fame who gives ; 
 But it is lovely, heavenly, precious, 
 When from the heart where Mercy lives ! 
 When some poor traveler benighted, 
 Sought the protection of his shed, 
 How was the heart of Will delighted, 
 To give the passenger a bed ! 
 
 When winter came, and snows collected 
 
 Forbade the aged beggar roam, 
 
 His board supplied,' his roof protected. 
 
 And by his hearth he found a home. 
 
 And there he sat and ate and fatted, 
 
 And quite forgot his former woe, 
 
 And gaily laughed and joked and chatted, 
 
 Till summer summoned him to go. 
 
WILLIAM MORE. 119 
 
 If Death were ever fond of giving 
 Of years to man a greater score, 
 According to good deeds while living, 
 Long would have tarried William More. 
 But age will come. The good, the vicious, 
 The man of peace, the man of rage, 
 The great, the stupid, the ambitious. 
 Alike lall captive to old age. 
 
 Age came on liim with all its ris^or. 
 And William Avaxed exceeding gray ; 
 His nerves grew weak and lost their vigor, 
 Time pilfered fast his strength away ; 
 And his old eyes grew dim of seeing. 
 Deep were the furrows of his skin — 
 And all saw William's life was fleeing. 
 He was so wrinkled, old and thin. 
 
 The village sighed, and wept and pitied ; 
 
 All were the sharers of his pain ; 
 
 And many a cheering draught was fitted, 
 
 To raise the lamp again. 
 
 In vain were all their simples tasted. 
 
 In vain was all their art applied; 
 
 The fire of lite was fairly wasted — 
 
 Old William drooped, and smiled and died. 
 
120 WILLIAM MORE. 
 
 Then sadly at the cot assembled 
 
 The rich, the poor, the old, the young, 
 
 And heart and voice in sorrow trembled, 
 
 As the last lonely dirge was sung. 
 
 Then to the silent grave they bore him. 
 
 Where many a rural father slept, 
 
 And as they placed the green turf o'er him, 
 
 They lingered long, and sighed, and wept. 
 
 The rich who strive to guard by splendor 
 Their name from Oblivion's control, 
 Shall be forgot, while his defender — 
 A noble and a generous soul — 
 Shall sentry keep. Long shall tradition 
 His deeds of goodness number o'er. 
 And many a rustic's great ambition 
 Shall be, to equal William More. 
 
121 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING THE MEXICAN WAR OF 1848. 
 
 Now, look to other scenes. A glare 
 Of fire light's up the midnight air ! 
 Peal follows peal, flash answers flash, 
 And bombshells burst, and tear and crash. 
 Ah, what availeth towers and walls, 
 When Scott assails ? The Castle falls ! 
 
 Lo, Cerro Gordo's long defile : — 
 Hills rise o'er hills, a frightful pile ; 
 And, on each hill, row after row, 
 Do cannon stare, and belch out woe. 
 
122 A FRAGMENT 
 
 Brave men advance, and brave men fall-^ 
 Such hearts no terror can appal. 
 Contending with the steep, they strive, 
 With shouts they rush, with terror drive, 
 Till floating each rampart above, 
 Waves the fair flag that Freedom wove. 
 
 Why tell of what Contreras saw, 
 That filled the Mexicans with awe ? 
 Or Cherubusco's dread combat ? 
 Sure, all the world has heard of that ! 
 And well they know our sentry calls, 
 From Montezuma's palace walls. 
 There the proud Aztec starts in scorn, 
 As sounds the booming gun at morn, 
 And scowling, offers up a prayer. 
 In answering to the hail — '" Who's there." 
 
 Why ti'ead strange feet these palace halls? 
 Why float strange bannei's on these walls? 
 Why do these thousands from afar, 
 Rule with the iron rule of war ? 
 Behold them pass, a small array — 
 The millions curse them — and obey ! 
 Why is all this ? Are numbers nought ? 
 Great power consists in mighty thought. 
 
A F R A G M E N T . 123 
 
 When vanity, with lofty words, 
 
 Talks of the mass, as flocks and herds. 
 
 And puffed up rulers jaunt and jeer 
 
 The poor man's woes, the poor man's cheer ; 
 
 When flaunting meanness, as he treads 
 
 On human hearts, and human heads, 
 
 And seeks to rise on others' woes, 
 
 And says the only prayer he knows : 
 
 "■ Thanks to the great all-seeing ken, 
 
 I'm better far than other men !" 
 
 He dregs the people with his sins ; 
 
 They drink, and then decay begins. 
 
 True freedom ever is denied. 
 To love of country, based on pride, 
 For, that good spirit cheers the mind. 
 By wishing well to all mankind. 
 And would raise up, as best it can. 
 The man, because he is a man. 
 This lacking, though fenced round with walls, 
 High as the heavens, the nation falls. 
 Its pomp, its grandeur and its gold, 
 But serve to make the invader bold. 
 
124 A FRAGMENT 
 
 However rich in breadth and length, 
 It dies, for weakness is its strength. 
 Such testimony Athens bore, 
 And Thebes, and Babylon of yore. 
 
 Say, rests there in the womb of Time, 
 A period, when vice and crime, 
 Shall breathe on us their fetid breath. 
 To breed destruction, woe and death, 
 And desolation's pathway tell 
 The footprints of the hosts of hell ? 
 Must OUR LAND siuk beneath the wave, 
 Where Greece and Rome have found a grave ? 
 Shall here her wing Oblivion flap. 
 And dread forgetful ness enwrap 
 Our towns and cities in a cloud. 
 Dreadful as ancient Egypt's shroud ? 
 Is it a sign that heaven has sent. 
 To tell a nation's life near spent. 
 When grasping avarice gnaws the heart, 
 Scoffs at the poor man's humbler part, 
 Makes merchandise of righteous law, 
 Studies, in truth to find a flaw, 
 Is happy when the good man's fall 
 May earth astound and heaven appal, 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 125 
 
 And scoffs at virtue's righteous joy, 
 And thirsts and hungers to destroy. 
 
 Away ! A brighter hope is given ! 
 Forbid it earth — forbid it heaven ! 
 Restrain the heart ! Draw back the hand, 
 Stretched forth to spoil. Save, save the land ! 
 Shall an unworthy power unbind 
 The hope of freedom and mankind ? 
 Shall States a central force disown, 
 Each seek an orbit of its own. 
 And meeting, crashing, fall a prey 
 To wild confusion and dismay ? 
 
 By all that wisdom calleth good — 
 Religion, honor, patriot's blood — 
 By mercy, love and truth sublime — 
 All that perpetuates in time — 
 By all that makes the Christian pray, 
 To find a better world away — 
 By every principle combined, 
 That move to elevate the mind — 
 Almighty power stretch forth thine arm, 
 Our glorious country shield from harm. 
 
126 A F R A G M E N T 
 
 Bind down— tread, tread beneath thy heel, 
 What e'er may threat, or quench or steal 
 The fire for which our fathers stood, 
 And circled with their warm heart's blood, 
 Where freedom sits with heavenward eyes, 
 And offers up her sacrifice. 
 
 Our Country ! Where its name is heard. 
 Let tyrants tremble at the word. 
 Where e'er its banner is unrolled, 
 Let blessings fall from every fold, 
 And let its name forever be 
 The watchword of the brave and free. 
 
127 
 
 ROVER'S GRAVE. 
 
 The sweet-brier and the wild moss rose, 
 
 Twine there the roots these hands have planted, 
 
 There a friend takes his long repose, 
 No fortune swayed, nor danger daunted. 
 
 I knew him well, — for sad the round. 
 And long the way we travelled over ; 
 
 A better friend or better — hound 
 
 Hath never lived, than honest Rover. 
 
 Where yonder oaken branches wave, 
 In measure to the wind's low whistle, 
 
 There is a humble, quiet grave. 
 
 Well guarded by the thorn and thistle. 
 
128 ROVER'S GRAVE. 
 
 When wealth and beauty intertwined 
 
 Their tendrils round my heart to bless me- 
 
 How Rover sported, leaped and whined, 
 In every way he could caress me ! 
 
 When I grew poor, and saw how vain, 
 
 Were all that fortune gathered round me — 
 
 And friendship pressed — to give me pain. 
 And beauty only smiled — to wound me ; 
 
 And pride passed by ; yet Rover still, 
 Thy faithful friendship faltered never ! 
 
 In summer's heat and winter's chill, 
 He licked my hand as glad as ever. 
 
 Or, at my side, or at my heel, 
 
 Strange distant climes we travelled over ; 
 He watched my bed, and shared my meal ; 
 
 A trusty, honest friend was Rover. 
 
ROVER'S GRAVE. 129 
 
 But thou art gone. The wild fox stops 
 To lap the stream that runs before thee ; 
 
 The little timid red deer crops, 
 iJnscared, the bough that dances o'er thee ; 
 
 And, closely crouching by thy side, 
 The rabbit clips the ruddy clover. 
 
 All earthly pomp, and power, and pride, 
 Will lie as low as faithful Rover ! 
 
130 
 
 THE RED CROSS 
 
 The sun sinks low. The mountains bold 
 Are shining like a mass of gold, 
 As they in joyous rapture, show 
 The taking leave of all below 
 Of the great orb that giveth day 
 To other lands and worlds away. 
 
 We were four boys, who, tired of play, 
 Were resting at that close of day ; 
 When, all at once, each up-turned eye, 
 Saw a strange thing. Low 'neath the sky, 
 Passing, in measured speed along, 
 With motion steady, slow and strong, 
 A red cross, not in fiery flame, 
 But more like red-hot iron, tame, 
 As from a blacksmith's forge, it glows. 
 Ready to court his moulding blows. 
 We were not moved at all by fear, 
 Minds more matured than ours might wear, 
 And yet no weakness e'en betray. 
 For, a strange sight it was we saw — 
 And oft we've tried to know the law. 
 By which kind nature did conspire. 
 To show us four that Cross of Fire. 
 
131 
 
 TO THE GREEN MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Ye rugged hills, though stern thy brow, 
 Full many a lovely charm hast thou, 
 In rock, in glen, in brook and tree, 
 That binds my very heart to thee : 
 For, once in boyhood's happier hours, 
 I breathed thine air, and beat thy bowers, 
 And grew in heart and tongue unskilled, 
 Almost as wild as nature willed — 
 Unknowing of the fight of life, 
 Of worldly fame, of worldly strife. 
 
 Ambition cursed ! Why didst thou stroll 
 Within the precincts of my soul ? 
 Say why, alas, couldst thou molest 
 A heart so simple and so blest ? 
 So raptured with contentment's charm? 
 So true, so trusty and so warm ? 
 
132S T^O THE GREEN MOUNTAINS 
 
 So firmly bound by friendship's twine ? 
 So fond of rural life as mine ? 
 But, thou didst come, and I did hear 
 Thy story with a raptured ear. 
 
 Even as a mist is gently curled 
 From out some glen, till it unfurled, 
 Becomes a cloud, and high in air. 
 Around some peak, so bald and bare. 
 It makes a home whence lightning's flash, 
 And thunders tremble, leap and crash, 
 Till finally, condensed in rain, 
 The mist returns to earth again ; 
 Then in some babbling brooklet flows. 
 Gives life-blood to the mountain rose, 
 Or, mixed with light, in beauty seen. 
 Gives color to the mountain green, 
 Or, higher beauty to adorn, 
 It nourishes the waving corn, 
 And hence a higher state attains. 
 It courses through a maiden's veins. 
 And thus the mist, in cloud and flower, 
 In waving corn, proclaims its power ; 
 Nor ceases here — in maiden cheeks. 
 In modest blush, its power bespeaks. 
 
TO THE GREEN MOUNTAINS. 133 
 
 Again, its influence to impart, 
 
 It flutters in a manly heart, 
 
 Where new and beauteous wings are given, 
 
 To waft the dew drop up to heaven ! 
 
 And thus the human soul is tried 
 
 In various forms, till purified, 
 
 With soothing joy or sharp distress, 
 
 It weaves it an immortal dress. 
 
 Thus, gently lured from mine abode, 
 Among my mountain hills, God, 
 Make me, refined with all thy care, 
 In humble faith my lot to bear. 
 And trusting in thy righteous will. 
 Embrace the good through seeming ill, 
 Or if in quiet or unrest, 
 Know that Thy way is surely best. 
 
 And thou, fair Mount, whose, rugged sides. 
 The wild and shaggy fir-tree hides, 
 Whose foliage ne'er has blushed or seen 
 Aught but thy native living green, 
 Whom autumn frosts have never seared, 
 Nor dreary wintry winds have sheared, — 
 
134 TO THE GREEN MOUNTAINS 
 
 I love thee. Even as the child, 
 When traversing life's dreary wild, 
 "With want his lot, and pain his share, 
 Sighs for his home, a mother's care, 
 I sigh for thee. And when the chill 
 That death deals out, this heart shall still. 
 When life shall fail, and soul shall flee, 
 And friends loathe what remains of me, 
 Then let the worthless dust be hied, 
 To some green spot upon thy side, 
 There like an infant e'er to rest, 
 Within its faithful mother's breast. 
 
135 
 
 MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 BY JAMES GLYNN, Esq. 
 
 How sweet to recall the loved scenes of my childhood, 
 
 As visions of fancy they pass in review; 
 " The cot of my father," with«all its surroundings, 
 
 And every loved spot that my infancy knew. 
 
 The meandering brook in its course thi-ough the meadow, 
 
 The red berry sumac and butternut tree, 
 The wide spreading forest of sweet sugar maples, 
 
 Were objects of " exquisite pleasure" to me. 
 
 Just over the way, and in view of our cottage, 
 A moor, overflowing with water in spring ; 
 
 There oft have I listened in twilight of evening, 
 To hear the sweet linnet and nightingale sing. 
 
136 MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 How pleasing my rambles for childish amusement, 
 Through woodland, o'er hill top ; in forest and glen, 
 
 Allured by sweet songsters, diverted by phantoms , 
 Though visions to-day were realities then. 
 
 How often does memory turn to the orchard, 
 
 With fruit in its season deliciously fine, 
 Each tree named descriptive of kind and location, 
 
 And one near the pathway they always called mine. 
 
 The old cooper's shop standing near to our cottage. 
 Though rude in appearance, a source of our wealth ; 
 
 The roses of Summer, the harvests of Autumn, 
 The lilac's sweet blossoms, pure emblems of health. 
 
 Each holds a dear place in the fond retrospection. 
 That carries me back to my childhood once more, 
 
 As parents and children, with friends re-united. 
 Seem gathered again near the old cottage door. 
 
 But now, far removed from the old habitation. 
 
 Earth's pleasures receding and death drawing nigh. 
 
 By faith I am seeking a heavenly Kingdom, 
 A mansion in glory, a dwelling on high. 
 
MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD. 137 
 
 How transient and fleeting are life and its treasures ; 
 
 To me, in old age, they appear like a dream ; 
 How short is the pathway I yet have to travel, 
 
 How fast I am nearing the bank of the stream. 
 
 I soon shall pass over the dark turbid river, 
 
 From kindred and loved ones shall soon pass away. 
 
 Farewell ; till we meet in the blessed forever, 
 And bask in the sunshine of eternal day. 
 
 LINES, SUGGESTED BY THE ABOVE 
 
 Friend of my youth — friend of my age — 
 In every intervening page 
 Of busy life, thy friendship shines, 
 Like to the beauteous rainbow lines, 
 That span the heavens, when storms are o'er, 
 That promise safety, peace once more. 
 In that fair light of other days, 
 When boyhood's charms, and boyhood's praise, 
 
138 A VISIT WITH AFRIEND. 
 
 Was all we asked, and even more, 
 
 Than were for us sometimes in store. 
 
 My soul shall go with thee to look, 
 
 Once more upon that dancing hrook ; 
 
 Upon the shop where labor delves, 
 
 And was such treasure to ourselves, 
 
 And of good thrift gave constant sign : 
 
 Your wants, and helps, and joys were mine ; 
 
 For early instinct taught us soon, 
 
 That friendship was our common boon. 
 
 And it has stood the test of times, 
 
 That changed our fortunes, changed our climes, 
 
 And changed, (in philosophic lore,) 
 
 Our bodies, at least five times o'er. 
 
 But, thy good spirit hath no change. 
 
 Save that it takes a wider range^ 
 
 And searches deep the wells of truth. 
 
 And drinking there, renews its youth ; 
 
 Then to its native home returns. 
 
 Watches the hearth fire as it burns, 
 
 Lists to the sire as he repeats, 
 
 Of warlike onsets and retreats. 
 
 At Bunker Hill ; at Trenton too. 
 
 Where his good aim, for once, was true. 
 
 And there it sings the song above, 
 
 Of objects of your childhood's love. 
 
AVISITWITHAFRIEND. 139 
 
 Sing on, good friend — eternity 
 Will soon begin, with you and me, 
 And we can then talk o'er and o'er 
 The mysteries of the world before, 
 And the new song we hope to sing, • 
 In presence of our Heavenly King. 
 
140 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 [Dr. W.H. Harrison, of this County, volunteered to go South, as 
 a Physician, after the breaking out ox" the late epidemic. He reported 
 at New Orleans for assignment to duty He was sent accordingly to Port 
 Hudson, where the pestilence was sweeping every thing before it. All 
 of the physicians, eight in number, died before his arrival. Though, in 
 due time, the Doctor himself was taken down with the disease, he reco- 
 vered, and of the three or four hundred who had the fever and were 
 treated by him, he lost but a single patient.] 
 
 Men heard that hands were wanted, 
 
 In pestilential air, 
 And hearts responded to the call, 
 
 And hearts and hands were there. 
 From distant cities, lo they come. 
 
 With mercy in their eye. 
 To help to save the stranger, 
 
 Or yet themselves to die. 
 They went not in the garb of War, 
 
 To ravage and destroy, 
 But, in the power of living peace. 
 
 To bear the cup of joy. 
 
A BALLAD. 141 
 
 So heard our noble Harrison ; 
 
 Port Hudson's dying wail, 
 Touched his good, kind, heroic heart, 
 
 Well clothed in faithful mail. 
 In mercy wove, to help the weak, 
 
 When other strength gave way : 
 He seized the serpent in his grasp, 
 
 And won the fearful day. 
 
 Eight others fell before him. 
 
 In science taught to save ; 
 A grudge the serpent bore him. 
 
 And marked him for the grave ; 
 But, God's good hand was stronger, 
 
 Than all its vcnomed might. 
 And he arose, full doubly armed. 
 
 And conquered in the fight. 
 
142 
 
 GOOD AVILL 
 
 'Tis said by many funny folks, 
 Not given to ordinary jokes. 
 That each good wish, how great the host ! 
 Lives as a sort of fairy ghost, 
 And all around vour dwelling wait : 
 Some guard your heath-stone, some your gate, 
 To see that other fairies rude, 
 On your good welfare don't intrude. 
 Some curl the toddling infant's hair ; 
 Some others bend its knees in prayer ; 
 Some teach the lisping tongue to sound 
 The words that his ambitions bound ; 
 Whether these things be, so and so, 
 I do not positively know ; 
 But, it is just as well to give. 
 Small credence to them, as you live, 
 For this grand truth, sublime, profound, 
 Is everywhere and all around, 
 That you are watched and guarded all, 
 By Him who marks the sparrow's fall, 
 And of good wishes, such as these, 
 He can make fairies, if he please. 
 
143 
 
 NEW-YEAR'S ADDRESS, 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE PRESS, J AN UARYl, 1872. 
 
 Patrons and Friends, with bow profound, 
 I come my customary round, 
 Laden with song that ne'er grows old, 
 Though thousand times ten thousand told : 
 A Happy New Year ! Gentle strain, 
 That comes, and goes, and comes again ! 
 0, loving wish ! 0, pure desire ! 
 1 hat makes all baser thoughts retire, 
 That it may take complete control 
 Of the best instincts of the soul ! 
 
 Far, far away, where morning light 
 Dispersed the shadows of the night, 
 Good angels saw the glowing flame, 
 Sacred to Friendship's power and name. 
 In circling form, surround the earth, 
 In honor of the New Year's birth. 
 And, with the sunlight floats the strain, 
 That cheers the hearts of all again. 
 
144 NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 
 
 In one accord. The tiny child 
 
 Breathed it to age. The father smiled, 
 
 And blessed the household with the words, 
 
 Far sweeter than the song of birds. 
 
 And so the wave of sunlight spread 
 
 Across the land. The darkness fled, 
 
 And hearts were warmed, and words prolong 
 
 Till now, the cadence of the song, 
 
 And each emotion was a prayer, 
 
 A Happy New Year Everywhere ! 
 
 And thus, in jewelled light impearled, 
 
 The song goes all around the world. 
 
 0, charming hope, so well exprest. 
 That warms and moves the loving breast ! 
 Makes heart with heart in concert blend, 
 Makes of an enemy a friend, 
 Entwines its tendrils round and round 
 The broken heart, and heals the wound, 
 Bids the torn, quivering feelings cease • 
 Their torturing pain, and rest in peace. 
 So, let to-day to hope be given, 
 To bear away its song to heaven, 
 To be returned, should sorroAV try 
 The way-worn heart and tearfu[ eye, 
 And be, should darksome days enshroud, 
 " The silver lining to the cloud." 
 
NEWYEAR'S ADDRESS. 145 
 
 The past is passed. 'Tis vain to tell 
 What many a worn heart knows so well, 
 Of golden dreams, too much alloyed 
 For happiness, scattered, destroyed. 
 'Twere vain to try to paint the glare 
 Upon the clouds — the burning air. 
 The leaping, scorching, withering flame, 
 That naught could quench, that naught could tame. 
 That wrapped, with mad destruction dire, 
 Chicago's palaces with fire ! 
 
 Sad was the hour — the dreadful day. 
 When the fire-fiend took, armed for the fray, 
 The lightning's speed, the wild wind's wings. 
 And laughed at all the boastful things, 
 That man had fixed tor time of need, 
 To bate his force, or chain his speed. 
 Say, what cared he for bolts and locks, 
 For hardened adamantine rocks. 
 For iron, tempered with great skill ? — 
 All crumbled, melted at his will. 
 
146 NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS 
 
 Rough-shod, the fiend rode o'er the town, 
 And in his power he trampled down 
 The mansion proud, the humble home. 
 The merchant's mart, the sacred dome, 
 Disclosing, as the smoke unrolls, 
 A hundred thousand homeless souls ! 
 A hundred thousand, yesterday. 
 The wise, the proud, the sad, the gay. 
 The good, the bad, the rich, the poor, 
 Have now no cupboard, bed or store ! 
 The rich, the poor, the bad, the good, 
 Alike want water, raiment, food ! 
 
 The cry is heard, and near and far. 
 The world responds, and hearts unbar 
 Their careful gates, and kindly turn 
 To those who stricken thus, thus mourn. 
 With no imaginary grief, 
 And send in haste the kind relief. 
 From distant cities, distant lands, 
 Doth charity extend her hands, 
 With such gifts as her store affords, 
 With lifting hopes and strengthening words. 
 
NEW YEAR'SADDRESS. 147 
 
 Who can refrain, atnid our cheer, 
 To drop a sympathising tear 
 For those who, by the fiery blast. 
 Mid burning pines, breathed out their last, 
 When Death, with ploughshare, red -with woe, 
 Drove o'er the fields of Peshtigo, 
 And sowed the seeds of fiery pain, 
 And harrowed in the purple grain ! 
 Great was his harvest gathered there. 
 Of hundreds sinking in despar. 
 
 Why need I tell how Paris mourned 
 Its thousands slain, its treasures burned? 
 How holy men, who gave no pain 
 To living thing, were coldly slain ? 
 The fires within fit emblems were 
 Of those who danced beneath their glare 
 The booming shot, the bursting shell, 
 Made Paris a fit type of hell. 
 
 Strange contrast this. Our citizen 
 Stood firmly for his country then. 
 
148 NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 
 
 Our banner floated grandly free, 
 When fear made other nations flee, 
 And its broad folds an emblem were, 
 Of its protection everywhere. 
 
 Men cannot but be brave who share, 
 The smiles of the Galena fair ! 
 Such friends to cheer, such hearts to hold, 
 Must make the very coward bold, 
 To dare, in raptured thought refined. 
 To grasp the nation and mankind. 
 Sages have told us, in all time, 
 How hard the Hill of fame to climb. 
 Galena's sons can echo strong 
 Each note and cadence of their song. 
 Go on ! Go on ! Carve deep your name, 
 On every hill, in endless fame. 
 
 Enough of this. And now, good friends. 
 My lamp burns low, my story ends 
 As it began, in wishing health. 
 To every one ; to each one wealth 
 In store sufficient for his needs, 
 And heart for charitable deeds, 
 And of good friends, a bounteous store, 
 
NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 149 
 
 And blessings many, more and more, 
 With love unbound that casts out fear, 
 And, in a word, — A Happy Year. 
 Happy in all that makes life dear — 
 Happy in friends and friendly cheer — 
 Happy in love that closely binds 
 Two hearts in one, in wedlock joined ; 
 Happy in patriotic strife, 
 That loves one's country more than life. 
 Happy in being true and just ; 
 Happy in making God your trust. 
 
151 
 
 NEW-YEAR'S ADDRESS, 
 
 OP THE 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE PRESS, J ANUA RY 1, 18 7 3 
 
 The wild wind, at the window pane, 
 Whistles a year to sleep again. 
 By the same sign, in cheerful glee, 
 Comes EmHTEEN Hundred Seventy-Three ! 
 It comes with smiles of radiant lisht. 
 It comes with hopeful visions bright, 
 It comes in modest blushes clad. 
 To make the weary heart quite glad. 
 To make old ago its years recall — 
 The type of youth, the friend of all. 
 
 As the worn soldier, faint with toil, 
 From weary marching, mile on mile, 
 With hunger faint, with thirst opprest. 
 Longs for the night to bring him rest : 
 
152 NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS 
 
 He sleeps ; he dreams. A bugle blast 
 Calls to new strife — perhaps the last ! 
 Even so that wind calls me, betimes, 
 To battle with a host of rhymes ! 
 Armed for the fight, in faith and hope, 
 With these long syllables I'll cope. 
 In fair field fight, by siege or storm, 
 I'll batter each line into form, 
 And conquer well, or else I'll run. 
 As other soldiers oft have done. 
 
 And to begin, I will recruit 
 My army — dragoons, horse and foot, 
 And in review, cause them to file 
 Apast. Kind reader, do not smile ! 
 
 And first, I cause to pass along 
 Good wishes, full ten thousand strong. 
 See, each and all are things of beauty, 
 All clad in smiles, for instant duty, 
 Without a halt, without a fear, 
 Ready to welcome in the year. 
 
 I order up my second corps, — 
 They number just ten thousand more. 
 Of the same kind, in kith and kin. 
 Armed for the fight, with smiles to win. 
 
NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 153 
 
 My thirtl corps hoav I order out — 
 All friendly wishes, -without doubt. 
 Alack ! the same. Indeed, I'm bound. 
 The rogues are circling round and round, 
 And I have counted, o'er and o'er. 
 Each wish, at least three times, or more ! 
 Well, this I knew, and as I live, 
 I've little else on earth to give ; 
 So, by the law of heaven above, 
 I must contend in living love. 
 And concentrate my whole, whole force, 
 Summoned from every resource. 
 And firmly, without doubt or fear, 
 Wish one and all a Happy Year ! 
 
 A Happy New Y^ear ! What lies hid 
 Beneath that silken coverlid, 
 That covers all its days of time, 
 With trembling fears, with hopes sublime ! 
 So, whistle on, ye winds, and bear 
 My store of wishes everywhere, 
 Wherever beats a human heart, 
 That can receive, or can impart 
 A human sympathy, to cheer, 
 And welcome in the new-born Year ! 
 
154 NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 
 
 0, Human Sympathy ! 0, gift divine, 
 For which so many weep and pine ! 
 Whose angel wings, and angel voice, 
 Rustle, and flutter, and rejoice ; 
 Go raise the fallen, or bespeak 
 A kindly sentence for the weak. 
 And try, sometimes, even to conceal. 
 Errors you cannot cure or heal. 
 Some call you weak ! Once when you spoke, 
 How soon the slave's strong fetters broke ! 
 One instant, in a point of time — 
 0, majesty and might sublime ! 
 When Lincoln wrote a single name, 
 Like flax, touched by the fiery flame, 
 Four millions pairs of fetters fell. 
 That centuries had welded well. 
 On the small point of that brave pen, 
 Marshalled the force that made them men ! 
 
 A year agone, Chicago's halls 
 Of revelry were blackened walls. 
 Her churches, where the good man prayed— 
 Her splendid palaces of trade — 
 Her wealth of merchandise untold 
 By precious gems, or weight of gold. 
 
NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 155 
 
 Became, in ore sad night of glare, 
 A skeleton of black despair ! 
 Then Human Sjmpathy arose, 
 Covered with love those wounded woes, 
 Soothed the faint heart and tottering form, 
 That staggered from the fiery storm — 
 Even bade once more the city rise, 
 In grateful beauty to the skies ! 
 
 I will not tell how Gkeeley tried 
 To stem ambition's tireless tide, 
 Or how, with weary, struggling oar. 
 He sank in sleep, to rise no more ! 
 I knew him when the flaxen boy 
 Was working in the one employ 
 We both had chosen, he and I. 
 I knew him in the after years, 
 When wisdom ruled, beyond his years ; 
 I knew him when ambition bold. 
 Had grasped him with a giant's hold. 
 I knew him when a phrenzied brain. 
 Remanded him to earth again. 
 Oh, weary brother of the hour, 
 Thy weakness shall go forth in power! 
 
156 N E W Y E A R ' S A D D R E S S , 
 
 Thine eyes no more sliall wake to weep, 
 In pitying love. Sweet be thy sleep. 
 Warm, generous hearts shall clothe thy name, 
 In endless monumental fame. 
 Long shall they tell, as such hearts can, 
 Of one who dared to be — A Man ! 
 
 Nor shall my song be faint or low, 
 With straggling and uncertain flow. 
 When fair Galena's sons, so famed 
 In all the world, in praise are named, 
 Yet, low and faint, the loudest done, 
 Compared with what their worth has won. 
 True to their country and its cause, 
 They dare to rule by generous laws. 
 And plant themselves upon the right, 
 With all a mighty Nation's might. 
 Honor them as they honor you ; 
 Point your sons to the brave and true ; 
 Make your hills famous. Those of Rome 
 No higher are than those at home ; 
 Your air is purer, and your skies 
 Are just as near to Paradise. 
 Your daughters — does the whole world wide, 
 Contain more beauty, worth and pride ? 
 
NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 157 
 
 And now, good friends, you have my cheer, 
 At opening of another year, 
 Not given with a grudging soul ; 
 You have not half — you have the whole ; 
 For, 'tis a foolish thing to give, 
 But half a loaf on which to live, 
 When the whole loaf depletes no more 
 The poet's sentimental store.