PS 586 .F45 1848 Copy 2 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDD0BTt.fib7fi * Or ^ *" o « ^ A^ « • • "'. DICKINSON & CO. PREFACE In this little Tolume the compiler has endenvored to unite a collection, -which, by combining poetic talent and high moral sentiment wiih the social and intellectual, should form an elegant and appro- priat Congenial Spirits, OcLsis, • The "World as it is, Anon, ■ The Will, Longfellow, My Mountain Home, Anon, True Friendship, G. G. 46 Forget me Not, Halleck, 47 The Merry Heart, Milman, 48 Madrigal, Wolcot, 50 To a Canary Bird, Fletcher, 51 Lines in an Album, Anon, 52 The Tulip and the Eglantine, Sigourney,- • • • 53 Mid-summer, Smith, 54 By-past Hours, The Lost Flower, The Anemone. To ,• • • • Flowers, Mutability, Mother, Home and Heaven, Anon, The Departed, Benjamin, • • • Ta])pan, • • 'Durivage, 'Anon, •••• 'Smith, ••• 'SJielhj, ... 55 5S 57 58 59 60 61 CONTENTS. Tii The Motherless, Chester^ 63 The Harmony of Nature, Anon, 66 The Heart's Guest, Orne, 67 On a Tear, Rogers, 68 The Moon, Landon, 70 Unseen Spirits, Willis, 71 The Pilgrim Fathers, Pierpo?it, • • • • • 73 A Poet's Epitaph, Elliott, 75 The Costliest Gift, Broivne, 76 The Broken Heart, Hogg, 79 Farewell, Byron, 81 Life, Headley, 82 The Floweret, Everest, 84 Is it not Sweet, Moore, 86 Wishes, Olive Branch, 87 He is thy Brother yet, Bufford, 88 Whene'er I see, Moore, 90 Rely on Right, Osgood, 91 Go Forward, Colesivorthy, • 92 Lines on the death of C. J. Fox, • • • • Warland, • • • • 94 The Life Clock, Anon, 93 It is not always May, Longfellow, • • 93 The Nettle, Edgarton, • • • • 99 W^eep for Yourselves, etc. Sigourney,' • • • 102 .Tiii CONTENTS. Sonnet, • Cowjjer, 103 Maj, Wordswoi-thf • 104 Lines written in an Album, Fletcher, lOS Peace and Glory, Moore, 107 Wee WilUe, Anon, 109 Nature, Wordsworth, • 112 Nature's Beauties, Sleeper, 113 The Worship of Nature, Whittier, 115 Youth, Blackwood,- • • 117 Is there a Heart, A?ion, 119 Love, Wordsworth, • 120 Pure Affection, Croly, 120 The Denouement, Osgood, 121 Lines To , Montravillc, . . 122 The Southerner to a Yankee, Osgood, 123 Early Woo'd and Won, Ahdy, 124 Love Everywhere, Willis, 126 Remembrance. Bowles, 128 %^ THE GOLDEN GIFT, My Native Land,— My Native Place. My thoughts are in my native land, My heart is in uiy native place, Where willows bend to breezes bland, And kiss the river's rippling face ; Where sunny shrubs disperse their scent, And raise their blossoms high to heaven, As if in calm acknowledgment For brilliant hues and virtues given. My thoughts are with my youthful days, ^VTiere sin and grief were but a name ; When every field had golden ways, And plejisure with the daylight came. 10 THEGOLDENGTPT. I bent the rashes to my feet, And sought the water's silent flow, I moved along the thin ice fleet, Nor liioughc upon the death below. I culled the riolet in the dell, "\"\liose wild -rose gave a chequered shade, And listened to each village bell, So sweet by answering echo made In God's own house, on God's own day, In neat attire, I bent the knee ; Pure sense of duty made me pray, — Joy made me join the melody. Thus memory, from her treasured urn, Shakes o'er the mind her spring-like rain ; Thus sreueb turn up and palely bum, Like night-lights in the ocean's train. And still my soul shall these command, "^Vliile sorrow writes upon my face ; My thoughts are on my native land, My heart is in my native place. Axon. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 11 Remember Me. Remember me when not a cloud of sorrow Its wshadow flings across my sunny way ; When all is bright, and Hope bespeaks the morrow As undisturbed and happy as to-day ; "UTien throbs my heart with pleasure, and its foun- tain Is sending forth a stream of joy and love ; And clothes in beauty, every vale and mountain, And all the glowing canopy aboTe. But when a tear is starting, and a sadness Is gathering o'er me, and my spirit's light Is being veiled, and all its cheering gladness Enshrouded in gloom like that of night ; And scenes that once were beautiful, are dreary, Fond hopes ere I can realize them, flee ; And when my soul has struggled till 't is weary ; — With kindly heart, oh then, remember me ! W. A. Sleeper. 12 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Home of my Youth. How well I remember My boyhood's sweet home! How oft in my sadness Its memories come ! For there with the beings On earth I loved best, I lived but too happy, Too happy to last. I remember the cot, So peaceful and still. So sweetly it stood, on The green sloping hill : The hill where I oft, 'neath The spreading oak's shade, From morning till sunset, Have gamboled and played. The silvery brook, that \ Went wandering through The mossy green mead, where The strawberries gi*ew, The garden, the orchard, Th«' grove, and the lane, Are hIK all still fresh, In memory's chaiu. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 13 I would not forget them, Th«y 're tiear to my heaxt, Audi often my fancy Will still take a part ; Still play on the hill -side, Still roam in the groTe ; A father and mother, Sister and brother, That cherish aud love. J. M- F. Departed Friends. The beautiful, — the beautiful Are failed from our track, We miss them, and we mourn them, liut cannot lure them back ; For an iron sleep hath bound them In its pjissionless embrace ; We may w«^p. but cannot win them From their dreary resting plat-e. W. H. Burleigh. ;14 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Album. My name is Album, pretty name. As ladies of: do say ; I tell of beauty, love, and fame, And all that 's bright and gay. Come, give to me, that I may give Unto my lady fair, Bright visions which in thought do live, Fresh from the poe;'s lair. Cull me the sweetest of the sweet, The purest of the pure, That aU that 's brightest, best, may meet In Album's fold secure. Hatnes. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 15 If I could Love. If I could loTe, I 'd find me out A roguish, lauj^hing eye, A cheek to blush, a lip to pout, A pure kind heart, to sigh. A fairy hand, to touch and glance, From note to note with glee, A fairy foot to trip the dance And lead it down with me. A soul to share in all my fun, And feel for all my woes, And as our little life should run To take it as it goes. ' And 0, when follies all have fled And solemn thoughts shall rise. To soothe me on my dying bed And meet me in the skies Such thoughts are Tain, too vain, yet why Should you such thoughts reprove ; pity, pity Die, for I Am poor, and cannot love. Brainaed. 16 THE GOLDEN DIPT. The pity of the Park FoitataiiL 'T vras a summery day in the last of May, — Pleasant in sun or shade ; And the hours went by tia the poets say, Fragrant and fai'* on their flowery way ; And a hearse crepr slowly through Broadway, And the Fountain gaily played. The Fountain played right merrily, And the world look'd bright and gay; And a youth went by, with a restless eye, Whose heart was sick and whose brain was dry ; And he prayed to God that he might die, — And the Fountain played away. Up rose the spray like a diamond throne, And the drops like music raug, — And of those who marvelled how it shone, Was a proud man, left, in his shame, alone ; And he shut his teeth with a smothered groan, - And the Fountain sweetly sang. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 17 And a rainbow f^panned it changefully, liike a briycht riujr broki^ in twain ; And fbe pale, fair girl wlio stopped to see, Whs sick with pangs of poverty, — And from hunger to guilt she chose to flee Ari the rainbow smiled again. And all was gay, on another day, The morning will have shone ; And at noon, unmask'd, through bright Broadway A hearse will take its silent way ; And the bard who sings will have passed away, — And the Fountain will play on ! N. P. Willis. 18 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Our Yankee Girls. Let greener lands and bluer sides, If such a wide earth shows, — With fairer cheeks and brighter eyes Match us the star and rose j The winds that lift the Georgian's veil, Or wave Circassians curls, Waft to their shores the Sultan's sail, — "V^Tio buys our Yankee girls ? The gay grisette, whose fingers touch Love's thousand chords so well ; The dark Italian loving much, But more than one can tell ; And England's fair-haired blue -eyed dame Who binds her brow with pearls, — Ye, who have seen them, can they shame Our own sweet Yankee girls ? And what if court or castle vaunt Its children loftier bom, — Who heeds the silken tassel's flaunt Beside the golden corn ? They ask net for the courtly toil Of jewelled knights and earls, The daughters of the virgin soil, Our free-born Yankee girls. «M»— .^ - »,«■,■■, \ THE GOLDEN GIFT. 19 By every hill, whose stately piuea Wave their dark anus above, The home where some fair being shines To warm the wilds with love ; From barest rock to bleakest shore, Where furthest sail unfurls, That stars and stripes are floating o'er, — God bless our Yankee girls ! O. W. Holmes. To a Friend. 'T is o'er ! but never from my heart Shall time thine image blot ; The dreams of otlier days depart, — Thou shalt not be forgot. And never in the suppliant's sigh Poured forth to him who swayed the sky, Shall mine own name be breathed on high, And thine remembered not. Anon. 20 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Acrostic. Lines to a Sister. Long have thy sweet smiles, beloved sister, Answering mine so oft, bes])oke thy love ! Unchanging as the ceaseless course of time ; Remaining true, in illness and in health, A fountain, rich, of fond, undying love. May thy anxious desires for my good, And acts of kindness, prompted by thy love, Receive a just reward in heaven. 'T is now I see, and value them ; now thou 'rt absent, And 1 am left with none who love like thee. Fond sister ! in the quiet midnight hour, Lonely and silent, I think of thee. Thou Enterest my thoughts, like some pure spirit, 'Till my heart is full to overflowing. Comes fortune to us, sister, good or ill, Hours of sorrow, or of happiness ; Ever the same may we still live through life, Remaining true to love, and to each other. J. M. F. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 21 A Mother at the Grave of her Child. Yon spot in the churchyard, How sad is the bloom That summer flings round it In flowers and perfume I It is thy dust, my darling, Gives life to each rose, 'T is because thou hast withered, The violet blows. The lilies bend meekly Thy bosom above, But thou wilt not pluck them, Sweet child of my love ; I see the green willow Droop low o'er thy bed, But I see not the ringlets That decked thy fair head. I hear the bee humming Around thy bright grave : Can he deem death is hidden Where lovely flowers wave? From the white f loud above thee The lark scatters song, But 1 listen for thy voice, Uow long ! Oh, how long ! 22 THE GOLDEN GIFT. How long, and how vaiiily, The night and the morn, But leave, a5 they find me, A mourner forlorn ; Light comes to the summer, And rain to the tree, But never, oh, never, Comes comfort to me. I walk now in darkness, "Wich thee went the day, And pleasure died with thee, And love paled irs raj* ; I see but the shadow Of things as they were, And the world hath no dwellers But Grief, Death and Care. come back, my darling. And come back to-day ! For the .>jou1 of thy mother Grows faint with delay ; The home of thy childhood In order is set, The couch and the chamber, — TTliy com'st thou not yet ? THE GOLDEN GIFT. 23 " Oh mother, sweet mother ! Whose love, like the wave, Ilid treasures aud jewels, And also a grave. Too strong in its fullness, Too deep in its power, Oh, hush, precious mother, The grief cf this hour I *' I walk 'mid the pahn trees, And drink of the rills, That on earth are but types of IHiat God here fulfils ; The joys of my childhood, IIov/ dim they appear ! Yes, dim are the hi ightest, AVhen looked on from, here I " Then stay not, then mourn not, * Then yield not to foars ; The fiowers iove has. planted, steep not in tears ; There 's beauty, there 's blessing, On earth left for thee, Eut bid me not share them. There 's more hero with me." M. J. Fletcher. THE GpLDES GIFT. Tlie li^osegay. I Tl poll a bunch of bud? and fiowen, And de a ribbon round them. If vtHi 'II but think, in your londj boon. Of the sweet littJe girl that bcwnd them. 1 11 cull the earliest that pot forth. And thoe^ that Last the longest ; And the bud that boasts the fairest Inrtii, Shall cling to the stem that ^ s I ^ run a^4>ut the garden walks, And larxrched among the dew, or ; These fhtgrant flowers, these tender ^alks, I *Te plucked them all for you, sir. So here *? your bunch of buds and flowcfs, A Oil here 's the ribbon round them ; And here, to cheer your saddened hours, l£ the sweet Iktle ^1 that bound them. Bkaisaxd. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 25 Cheerfulness. Oh ! why delight to wrap the soul In pall of tiinftied sadness ! 'T were best be merry while we live, And paint our cheeks with gladness ; What if hope tells a " flart<^ring talc," And mocks us by deceiving, 'T is better far to be content, — There 's nothing made by grieving. The girls, heaven bless their precious souls I Are thick as bees about us ; And every mother's son well knows, — They could not do without us ; They 're dangerous, though, to meddle with, For they, too, are deceiving ; They '11 win and laugh, then Hirt you, — yet There 's nothing made by grieving. Lawrence Labree. 26 THE GOLDEXGIFT. To an. absent Friend. Thou art not gone ; thou couldst not go ; True frientls can never part ; Our prayer is one, our hope is one, And we are one ia heart ! Nor place, nor time, can e'er divide The souls which friendship seals ; But still the changing scenes of life, Their mutual love reveals. Body from body may be placed Remote as pole from pole ; But can our tieslily frailties bind The fellowship of soul ? 'T is when removed from grosser sense My spirit claims her right ; My friend is often least away When absent from m^' sight. His form and look, in memory's glas3, I still distinctly see ; His voice and words, in fancy's ear. Are whispering still to me. The stars which meet his pensive eye Are present still to mine ; The moonlights, which surround liis path, Around my footsteps shine. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 27 Beneath the same fair dome we dwell, By fhe same hand are fed, And, pilgrims in one narrow way, Are by one spirit led I To the great presence of our God, By hourly faith we come ; And find in sweet communion, there, One everlasting home I Our hope, our joy, our life, our soul, In our one Saviour meet ; And what in earth or heaven shall break A union so complete ? I blest are they who seek in Him A union to their friend ; Their love shall grow through life's decay. And live when life shall end. And blest be He whose love bestows A friendship so divine, And makes, by oneness with Himself, ^ly friend for ever mine I Amulet. m 28 THE GOLDEN GIFT. A Psalm of Life. WHAT THE HEART OF THE TOU>'0 MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST Tell me not in mournful numbers, " Life is but an empty dream I " For the soul is dead tliat slumbers, And tilings are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; *Dust thou art, to dust returnest," "Was not spoken of the soul. Xot enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow FLid us farther than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muftied drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. I -11 THE GOLDEN GIFT. 29 In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Ptust bury its dead ; Act, — act in the living Present, Heart within, and God o'erhead. Lives of great men aH remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind U3 Footsteps on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brothier, Seeing shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, \>'ith a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Leai-n to labor iuid to wait. LONGFEUOW. 30 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Disappointment. Playful she turned that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on ; But when she marked how mournfully His eyes met hers, that smile was gone ; And, bursting into heartfelt tears, "Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears, My dreams have boded all too right, — We part, — for ever part, — to-night ! I knew, I knew it could not last, — 'T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 't is past ! Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I 've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower. But 't was the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die." T. Moore. # THE GOLDEN GIFT. 31 The Eainbow. The eyening -was glorioiis and light through the trees riay'd the sunshine, the raindrops, the birds and the breeze ; I'lie landscape, outstretching, in loveliness lay- On the lap of the year in the beauty of May. Tor the queen of the spring, as she passed down the vale, Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale : And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, "VYhile rank in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. The skies, like a banner, in sunset unrolled, O'er the west threw their splendors of azure and gold; But one cloud at a distance, rose dense, aid in- creased Till its margin of black touched the zenith and east. We ga.7;ed on the scenes, while around us they glowed, When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud ; *T was not like the sun, as at mid-day we view. Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through starlight and blue. ^ THE GOLDEN GIFT. Like a spirit ir came in the van of the storm, And the eye aud the heart hailed its beautiful form ; For it looked not severe like an angel of wrath, And its garment of brightness ilium "d its dark path. In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood O'er the river, the village, the fields and the wood ; And river, fields, village and woodland grew bright, As conscious they felt and afforded deUght. 'T was the Bow of Omnipotence l>ent in His hand, Whose grasp at Creation the universe spanned ; 'T wa5 the presence of God in a symbol sublime, His vow from the Hood to the exit of time. Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind he pleads, When storms are his chariot, and lightning his ssteeds ; The black cloud? his banners of vengeance unfurled, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world ; In the breath of his presence, when thoasands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with tire, AVhen the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the plain, And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain. Not sjtck was the Flainbow, that beautiful one I ^Vll0se arch wiis refraction, — its keystone the sun ; A pavilion it seemed, which the Deity graced. Ami justice and mercy met there and embraced. Awhile. — and it sweetly bent over the gloom, Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb ; THE GOLDEN GIFT. 33 Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, As love had just vanished, or hope had expired. I gazed not alone on the source of my song, To all who beheld it these verses belong ; Its presence to all was the path of the Lord ; Each full heart expanded, grew warm, and adored. Like a visit, the converse of friends, and a day. That bow from my sight passed forever away ; Like that visit, that converse, that day, on my heart. That bow from remembrance can never depart. *T is a picture in memory distinctly defined With the strong and unperishing colors of mind ; A part of my being beyond my control. Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul. J. Holland. 84 THS GOLDEN GIFT. Wealth not Happiness. I have tasted each varied pleasure, And drank of the cup of delight ; I have danced to the gayest measure, In the halls of dazzling light. I have dwelt in a blaze of splendor. And stood in the court of kings ; I have snatched at each toy, that would render More rapid the flight of time's wings. But vainly I 've sought for joy or peace In the life of light and shade ; And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home. That home where my childhood played. When jewels are sparkling round me. And dazzling with their rays, I weep for ties that bound me In life's first early days. I sigh for one of the sunny hours, Ere day was turned to night ; For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers, Instead of those jewels bright. Mrs. Norton. I THE GOLDEN GIFT. 85 To Harriet B — , two years of age. Sweet little girl ! thy 'witching smile That beams so pure and bright ; Thy merry playfulness, betokes Thy innocent delight Such loveliness ! I know not which Our hearts would sooue?t win, The pearls within thy little mouth, Or dimples in thy chin. Thy little hands, so pure and white, So cunningly the test ; So young, and yet thou k no west well, The ones that love thee best. May future years still give to thee A clear unclouded brow ; And innocence and loveliness, Be with thee, then as now. J. M. F. 33 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Sunset. The sun sinks broadly in the west ; And fainter as his radiance glows, Scarce heeded falls o'er nature's breast The languor of a soft repose. Each breeze is hushed, — each leaf is still, — The wild bird pours his song no more ; And ghding round yon graceful hill. The meek stream laves the silent shore. Oh, vain as fair, thou fleeting hght ! "Who now may in thy charms confide ? So shine earth's pageants, false and bright, And pass hke sails on ocean's tide. In swifu succession onward go To hve and fail, — day after day ; Thus human joys deceitful glow. And fade hke waning hght away. I 've wandered oft; amid these bowers, And heard sweet notes from every bough ; And quaffed their fragrance from the flowers, "\Yhere all is sad and silent now. But those in ruddy morning's smile Shall hve and bloom as bright again ; I, constant in my grief the while, I, gloom unchanged aJone remain. E. F. Ellet= TUE GOLDEN GIFT. 37 Hearts we Love. They talk of homes amid the wild, And fancy decks them forth With every charm that eyer smUed To beautify the earth ; Yet sure I am the purest flame E'er humau heart did move, Is that sweet light that burneth bright In happy hearts we love. The sailor sails upon the sea ; His heart, his home is thert ; The spirit's veriest witchery Comes in that spot and air ; He proud will roam and dare the foam^ And all its wonders prove, Yet sure we are no rest is there Like that in hearts we love. And one will find his homo in fame, Another in his gain. And some despise a glorious name And riot in the mean ; With different mind they each will find A joy, a thing to move ; And such it is, but not the bliss That lives in hearts we love. 33 THE GOLDEN GIFT. And some hare thought the martyr's crovm, So full of glories bright, Had joys, from its fire chclet vron, To thrill with vrild delight ; Such vrill receive. — such crown will give A joy like that abore. Yet nothing sure than bliss more pure That burns in hearts we love. Others hare thought the poet's fire Unearthly pleasure has, And hght there is around his lyre That do:h in heaven blaze ; He strikes the string, his numbers ring, Eapt is his soul above ; And yet his bliss is not like this Found in the hearts we love. When morning comes we go abroad Upon the vernal earth. And feel the very breath of God Is in its shouting mirth ; The heart *s not still, with wildest thriU Its hving pulses more. Yet co'mes there not with aU tliis thought The bliss of hearts we love. THB GOLDEN GIFT. The warrior dares the angry path Where death-doomed surges swell ; The madness of its awful wrath He seeks, — it pleases well ; Yet go to him when stars burn dim O'er those life late did move ; Ask if his pleasure has that large measure Poured from the hearts we love. Then give me one in which my own Shall ever centred be, And I will spurn the monarch's throne, — The richer man than he ; There 's not o'er all this earthly ball One joy like this to move, — A happy heart that dwells apart, And lives in our own love. W. T. Bacon. 40 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Memories of Youth. As the lengthened train of years shall roll, And forever pass a-n-ay, The glad thoughts of youth shall hold my soul In thek everlasting sway. Though my eyes should lose their sense of sight, And my limbs should lose their power, Yet I 'd think of airy visions bright, "Which were dreamed in youth's glad hour. Should the years of manhood o'er me fling A dark veil of toil and care. Yet aroimd my youth my thoughts would cling, And most fondly cluster there. When away from this, my native soil, I shall roam in distant lands, Then around my soul youth's ties shall coil, — Those most pure and sacred bands. When the forms of grim disease and pain Shall distract my weakened powers. My exhausted spirit then wiU fain Once recur to youthful houi-s. J. R. Dodge. 4 THE GOLDEN GIFT. 41 Congenial Spirits. Oh ! in all the varied scenes of lifo, Is there a joy so sweet, As when, amid its husy strife. Congenial spirits meet ? Feelings and thoughts, — a fairy band, - Long hid from mortal sight. Then start to meet the master hand That calls them forth to ligtit. "WTien turning o'er some gifted page, How fondly do we pause, That dear companion to engage In answering applause. And when we list to music's sigh, How sweet at every tone. To read within another's eyes The raptures of our own ! To share together waking dreams, Apart from sordid men. Or speak on high and lofty themes, Beyond the worldling's ken. 42 THE GOLDEN GIFT. These are most dear, but soon shall pass That summons of the heart ; Congenial spMts, soon, alas ! Are ever doomed to part. Yet those to whom such grief is given, Mourn not thy lot of woe ; Say, can a wandering light from heaven E'er sparkle long below ? Earth would be all too bright, — too blest, With such pure ties of love ; Let kindred spirits hope to rest Save in a rest above. Nashua Oasis. I THE GOLDEN GIFT. 43 The World as it is. The world is not so bad a world As some would like to make it ; Though whether good, or whether bad. Depends on how we take it. For if we scold and fret all day, From dewy morn till even, This world will ne'er afford to man A foretaste here of heaven. This world in truth 's as good a world As e'er was known to any Who have not seen another yet, And these are very many ; And if the men, and women, too. Have plenty of employment, Those surely must be hard to pleaso Who cannot find enjoyment. This world is quite a clever world, In rain or pleasant weather. If people would but learn to live In harmony together ; Nor seek to burst the kindly bond By love and peace cemented, And learn the best of lessons yet. To always be contented. 44 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Then were the world a pleasant world, And pleasant folks were in it, The da}'- would pass most pleasantly To those who thus begin it ; And all the nameless grievances Brought on by borrowed troubles, Would prove, as certainly they are, A mass of empty bubbles. Anon. Tli8 Will. The star of the unconquered will, It rises in my breast, Serene and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. I fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long. Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strorg. Longfellow. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 45 My Mountain Home. I love my own dear mountain home, And o'er its hills I love to roam To Tiew each varied scene ; The gurgling rill and vraters bright As forth they pour from mountain height, And woods all glad with green. And I a walk delight to take At times beside the limpid lake To view the birds around ; To hear them chant their joyful lay Upon some lone deserted spray Just by the margin found. And when the sun sinks in the west, And weary nature seems to rest, It gladdens me to hear The nightingale's loud, thrilling songs^ ■\^liile she her music oft prolong>s, Until the stars appear. And then as sinks the morning star, To hear the cuckoo from afar Commence her gladsome lay ; 46 THE GOLDEN GIFT. And with the lark, in notes of glee, With spirit pure and ever free To usher in the dav. Ah, yes ! I loye my mountain home, And o'er its hills I love to roam To seek the fiow'rets fair ; The daisy and the evergreen Beside the primrose oft are seen To yield theh fragrance there. Anon. True rriendsMp. There are some spirits fitly strung, To echo hack the tones of mine ; And those few, cherished souls amoug, I dare, dear friend, to number thine. Angels attend thee ; may their wings Fan every shadow from thy brow ; For only bright and loving things Should wait on one so good as thou. And when my prayers are pure and strong, As they in my best hours can be, Amid my loved and cherished throng, I then will count, and pray for thee. G. G. I I THE GOLDEN GIFT. 47 Forget me Not. There is a flower, a lovely flower, Tinged deep with Faith's unchanging hue, Pure as the ether in its hour Of loveliest and serenest blue. The streamlefs gentle side it seeks, The silent fount, the shaded grot, And sweetly to the heart it speaks, Forget me not, forget me not ! Mild as the azure of thine eyes, Soft as the halo-beam above. In tender whispers still it sighs, Forget me not, my life, my love ! There where thy lost steps turned away, Wet eyes shall watch the sacred spot, And this sweet flower be heard to say, Forget ! ah, no ! forget me not. Yet deep its azure leaves within, Is seen the blighting hue of care ! And what that secret grief hath been, The drooping stem may well declare. The dew-drops on its leaves are tears. That ask " Am I so soon forgot ? " Repeating still amidst their fears. My life, my love ! forget me not ! Fr-T. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 76 A Poet's Epitaph. Stop, mortal ! here thy brother Hes, The Poet of the poor, His books were rivers, woods, and skies, The meadow and the moor ; His teachers were the torn heart's wail, The tyrant and the slave. The street, the factory, the jail, The palace and the grave ! Sin met thy brother every where ! And is thy brother blamed ? From passion, danger, doubt and care, He no exemption claim 'd. The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm, He fear'd to scorn or hate ; But, honoring in a peasant's form The equal of the great. He blessed the steward whose wealth makes The poor man's little more ; Yet loath 'd the haughty wretch that takes From plunder'd labor's store. A hand to do, a head to plan, A heart to feel and dare, — Tell man's worst foes, here lies the man ^Mio drew them as they are. F.LLTOTT. 76 THE GOLDEN GIFT. The Costliest Gift. The everlasting hills Eear their cold crested summits to the sky, While m their hidden chambers treasures lie, Brighter than e'er shall dazzle mortal eye, Pour from their golden rills. No ! — from our best beloved I Put far the gross, the treacherous, sensual thing ; i Dimmed by the moth from off his "wing, — Slack'ning the soul-harp's most melodious string, False hath the ghtterer proved. The diamond-lighted grot Of deep Golconda hath a blazing store ; And ocean cells "with glorious gems run o'er. Till coral coffers can contain no more, Bid them pour largely out. No ! no ! — affection's debt Can ne'er be cancelled by a boon hke this. Pride, in its strong tumultuous excess, Or passion's favor may in such find bliss : Love must search deeper yet ! THE GOLDEN GIPT. 77 Bring then the holy flowers, — The subtlest spell Omnipotence hath wrought, — The truest autographs of worldless thought, — Ever with blessing and wild worship sought : Yes, — bring the sacred flowers. No I — they are pure and fair, And meet on friendship's altar stone to lay : But oh I their glory hath a swift decay Before the storm-breath, or the sun's fierce ray Hurled through the fragrant air. Search not the generous earth ; Rob not her bosom of its cherished things, — Nor take the morning's blue and golden wings To drain full goblets from ethereal springs ; These have but dying worth. Hath love no more to give ? No greener garland for its idol's fane ? Are there no lodgings crushed to earth again ? No great aspirings, clogged by care and pain, Whose chains its hand may cleave ? Give, then, to overbear Folly, temptation, weakness, fear and sin, Give from a nectary that lies deep within, "U'hflt life and medicine to thy soul hath been ; Give " helping tears " and prayer. 78 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Unfold the glorious way Which spirits of an immortal name hare trod, — Who scorned to grovel for a worthless clod, But claimed their hneal parentage in God, — Linked lovingly to clay. Light to regain the track, (Lost for a while 'mid those that downward tend,) Strength to press onward, bravely onward, lend Till Hope and Faith triumphantly shall blend, Ne'er to turn faltering back ! Oh ! 't is a nobler thing, One earth-wrought bond from off a soul to break, One godlike longing in its depths to wake, One darkening cloud from off its glance to take, Than wealth of worlds to bring I S. H. Beownb. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 79 The Broken Heart. Now lock my chamber-door, father, And say you left me sleeping ; But never tell my step-mother, Of all this bitter weeping. No earthly sleep can ease my heart, Or even awhile reprieve it ; For there 's a pang at my young heart That never more can leave it ! Oh ! let me lie and weep my fill O'er wounds that heal can never ; And 0, kind Heaven ! were it thy will, To close these eyes for ever ; For how can maid's affections dear Recall her love forsaken ? Or how can heart of maiden bear To know that heart forsaken ? Oh ! why should vows so fondly made, Be broken ere the morrow, — To one who loved as never maid Loved in this world of sorrow ! The look of scorn I cannot brave, Nor pity's eye more dreary ; A quiet sleep within the grave Is all for which I weary ! THE GOLDEN GIFT. Farewell, dear Torrow's mountains green, And banks of broom so yellow ! Too happy has this bosom been . "Within your arbors mellow. That happiness is fled for aye, And all is dark desponding, — Save in the opening gates of day, And the dear home beyond them ! II06O. THE GOLDEN QIFT. 81 Farewell ! Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer For others' weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, — But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'T were yain to speak, to weep, to sigh : Oh ! more than tears of blood can tell, TVTien wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word, — Farewell ! Farewell ! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by. The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns, nor dares complain. Though grief and passion there rebel ; I only know we loved in vain, — I only feel, — Farewell ! Farewell ! Byeon. 82 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Life. A boat lay on the summer sea, The light waves round it leaping ; While laughing sunbeams, bright and firee, Played o'er an infant sleeping ; And far away, that bark in glee Was o'er the bright deep straying ; While all around the dimpling sea With zephyrs soft was playing. Oh ! it was sweet around that child To see the ripples dancing, And o'er its brow so soft and mild The sunbeams brightly glancing ; And then I prayed that naught might break The angel spell that bound it, I Or from its dreams the spirit wake That played so soft around it. But when far off upon the sky I saw the tempest lower, A mournful tear bedimmed mine eye For that unconscious flower ; For still that bark rocked gay and light, The ros}'- hours beguiling, And still within, as fair and bright, That infant form lay smiling. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 83 I turned away ; for who could see That child awake to sorrow ? The brightest smile so swiftly fee That Earth from Heaven may borrow ? For well I knew the angry wave Would soon in wrath surround it, And make its ^nld and lonely grave Mid ocean-weeds that bound it. Ah ! thus, methought, on life's bright tide We make our youthful pillow, And gaily o'er its waters glide, From billow on to billow ; But oh ! too soon the angry storm Blots out each vision brightest ; And oft, alas ! it wraps the form In which the heart beats lightest. J. T. Headley. H THE GOLDBS GIFT. The Floweret I marked, vben. the mommg son shme Ivlg^hft) Where a floweret in beanity^ grew ; lis petals oped io tibe rosy lig^ As it luttgjhfA in the gparitling dew ! And a gratefol tragcance Vbe bloBBOin flung To tlie spordve winds that play ; TVhile o-er it a zaptored wHd bird hong. And carolled his lore-taoe^ lay. I came again, wfatoi an hour had flown. And soDg^ for my floweret fur ; All Tain, alas, fiir the binwwm was goat, And sad was ibs alent air ! I mourned when I thought on its i And remembered its look of prade ; I bowed me in grief where its bu aii ^ giW} And wept where my floweret died. Then I tamed my gaae to the aaore d^Tt And thoo^it on the God above, TTho hearetfa (he hongzj ravea% ay, And whose holiest name is Lore. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 85 And I dried my tears, as my fancy roved To the realm by angels trod ; For I knew that the blossom from earth removed, Bloomed bright in the gardens of God I Oh ! ye, who have watched o'er its fragrant birth As it oped to the balmy day, "Weep not that no longer it smileth on earth, To gladden yom: weary way. No more shall ye fear for the morning's blight, Nor dread the cold chills of even ; For afar, in a realm of celestial light, Your floweret is blooming in heaven, C. W. Everest THE GOLDEN GIFT. 1 Is it not Sweet. Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, TThen the spirit leaves this sphere, Love, -svith deathless vrings, shall waft her To those she long hath moum'd for here ? Hearts, from which '£ was death to sever, Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, There, as warm, as bright as ever, Shall meet us and be lost no more. "When wearily we wander, asking Of earth and heaven, where are they, Eeneath whose smile we once lay basking, — Blest and thinking bliss would stay I Hope still Ufts her radiant finger, Pointing to the eternal home, j Upon whose portal yet they linger, ! Looking back for us to come. | Alas I alas I doth Hope deceive us ? j Shall friendship, — love, — shall all those tiefi \ That bind a moment, and then leave us, ■ Be found again where nothing dies ? ; Oh I if no other boon were given. To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, '• Vilio would not try to win a heaven AYhere all we love shall hve again ? T. Moore. THE GOLDEN GIPT. 87 Wishes. Oh '. give me back the sunny smile Of childhood's happy days, Ere mj' unwearied feet had learned, To tread life's -wildering maze. Yes, give me hack that smile of joy, That sinless smile without alloy. And once again, oh I give me back My happy, careless heart, — A heart which never had been pierced, By sin's envenomed dart ; A heart untainted, free from sin, And sweet untroubled peace within. 'T is vain I such wishes all are vain ! Those days can come no more ! They 've passed adown time's rolhng wave, To dark oblivion's shore. Though past, in memory still they dwell, And cheer me with their magic spell. Those smiles so sweet, can ne'er again Illume with radiance bright, The heart whilfti once no sorrow knew, Can never more be light. No ! life's bright morning sun has passed, And o'er my brow a shade has cast. Olive Branch. THE GOLDEN GIFT. He is thy brother yet. What though his erring feet Have stumbled in the way, And in a thoughtless hour He has been led astray ; The great Creator^s seal Upon his brow is set, And fallen though he be. He is thy brother yet. Look with a tender eye Upon that clouded brow, And win him if you can To paths of virtue now ; But oh ! forbear to bend Thy cold and distant gaze Upon thy early friend, The loved of other day^. Will not the happy hours That blessed your younger years, When he was by thy side In mirthfulness and tears, — Will not the thought of these Within thy heart beget A sadj yet sweet response. He is my brother yet ? THE GOLDEN GIFT. And when in later life, Where science holds her sway, You travel'd hand in hand The devious, winding way, Until hidden mines Of rich mysterious lore Had paid you for the ease You bartered, to explore. Behold the path of fame That opens to your view, And tremble when you tread Its giddy mazes too ; And if you do not ask, Some higher power to guide Your ever varying bark, As on the storm you ride, — That proud majestic step, And lofty soul of thine. May all be made to bow, To dark misfortune's shrine ; And then, when trials come. You never will regret You ovraed the wayward one To be thy brother yet. J. L. BUFFORD. 90 THE GOLDEN GIFT. 1 V/lieno'er I see. Wliene'er I see those smiling eyes, All filled with hope, and joy, and light, As if no cloud could ever rise. To dim a heaven so purely bright, — I sigh to think how soon that hrow In grief may lose its every ray, And that light heart, so joyous now. Almost forget it once was gay. For time will come with all his blights. The ruin'd hope, — the friend unkind, — The love that leaves, where-er it lights, A chill or burning heart behind ! While youth, that now like snow appears, Ere sulhed by the darkening rain. When once 't is touch'd by sorrow's tears, Will never shine so bright again. T. Moore. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 91 Eely on Eiglit. If sorrow come, resist it not, Nor yet bow weakly to it ; Look up to meet the heaven-sent storm, But see the rainbow through it. And seek not bliss on airy heights, Whose dizzy power doth rally ; The fragrant little hearts-ease lights The lowhest, humblest valley. The gem that clasps a royal robe, The worldling's eye may dazzle. But love will light his glow-worm lamp In cot as well as castle. If comes a blow from friend or foe, With earnest good avenge it ; " The sandal-tree, with fragrant sigh, Perfumes the axe that rends it." Be like the sun, whoso eye of joy Ne'er on a shadow lay, love ; Be hke a rill that singeth still, Whate'er be in its way, love. If once a purpose pure and high You form, for naught forego it ; " The mulberry leaf to silk is changed, By patience," says the poet. IMrs. Osooot). 92 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Go Forward. Go forward, — press onward, — 'T is wiser bj far, Than moping and sighing In fear where you are ; "MThatever j^our calling, Your aim or pursuit, In hand with true Wisdom, You '11 bear precious fruit. A Putnam and "V\^arren, 'R'Tiat made them to be Remembered forever By the good and the free ? 'T was active exertion, — Indomitable zeal, — And minds that were tempered With wisdom and steel. A Franklin and Davy, A Fulton and Watt, Like thousands that perished Would now be forgot ; By active exertion, And a diligent mind. They left, ne'er to perish, A glory behind. THE GOLDEN GIFT. Go forward, — press onward, — Oh, live not in Tain, — There 's wisdom and honor, And glory to gain ; The path is before you, You 've only to choose ; You win, if you 're active, — If slothful, you lose. Go forward, — press onward, — A moment's delay May thicken the shadows That rise o'er your way ; This waiting and wasting The summers that fly, WUl leave you a sluggard. To linger and die. D. C. COLESWOETHir. S4 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Lines on the death of Charles J. Fox, Esq,, OF NASHVILLE, N. H. The scholar's brilliant light is dim, And on his brow Death's signet set ; Oh ! many an eye that welcomed him, With sorrow's burning tear is wet ; His was a noble heart and true, — His w^as the strong and gifted mind ; And Fame and Love around him threw Their wreaths, with choicest flowers entwined. His mind lay like a gem within A fretted and a slender frame, Which oft it buoyed to health again. Unknowing whence the healing came. The jewel through the casket frail. Shone with a clear and perfect ray, As if its light would never pale Before e'en Death's triumphant sway. He wore awaj', — no lovelier clime With fairy scenes and gentle breeze, — The grandeur of the ocean chime, It^Iia's skies nor India's seas, — Kot these could brace his wasting frame, — Nor home with all its memories dear, — ^ Eat calmly, when the summons came, His soul soared to a brighter sphere. P THE GOLDEN GIFT. 95 His was the scholar's gentleness, — " The faculty and power diyine," — "Which leave on all their strong impress, And glow in every thought and Une. Truth found in him a champion, t Clad in her armor burnished bright, — And error's clouds sauk one by one, Before his clear, serener hght. His was the Christian's hoUness, — Whose beautiful and placid ray Beam'd on his soul, its flight to bless Along its bright, celestial way, — Undimn^ed in life's long last eclipse. When Love its midnight vigils kept, — WTien press'd to his her pale, pale lips, And gentle eyes above him wept. Tread lightly where the scholar sleeps, Within his cold and narrow bed, Per one her bridal vigils keeps. Above the wept and sainted dead. Tread lightly by his rural tomb, — And o'er it plant the gentle flowers, Sweet symbols of his spirit's bloom In a far brighter land than ours. J. n. AVarland. THE GOLDEN GIFT. The Life Clock. There is a little mystic clock No human eye hath seen, That beateth on and beateth on From morning until e-en. And when the soul is wrapped in sleep. And heareth not a sound, It ticks and ticks the Hvelong night, And never runneth down. Oh ! wondrous is that work of art Which knells the passing hour ; But art ne'er formed or mind conceiyed This life clock's magic power. Nor set in gold, nor decked with gems, By wealth and pride possessed. But rich or poor, or high or low. Each bears it in his breast. ^Yhen life's deep stream mid beds of flowers AU still and softly glides ; Like the wavelet's step, with a gentle beak, It warns of passing tides. f THE GOLDEN GIFT. 97 When threat'ning darkness gathers o'er, And hope's bright visions flee, Like the sulUm stroke of the muffled oar, It beateth heavily. When pa.«!sion nerves the warrior's arm For deeds of hate and wrong, Though heeded not the fearful sound, Its knell is deep and strong. When eyes to eyes are gazing soft, And tender words are spoken, Then fast and wild it rattles on, As if with love 't were broken. Such is the clock that measures life, Of flesh and spirit blended. And thus 't will run within the heart Till that strange tie is ended. Akon. THE GOLDEN GIFT. It is not always May. The sun is bright, the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately elms I hear The bluebird prophesying spring. So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new, — the buds, the leaves That gild the elm tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves ; There are no birds in last year's nest. All things rejoice in youth and love, The fullness of their first delight ; And learn from the soft heavens above. The melting tenderness of night. Maiden ! that read'st this simple rhyme. Enjoy thy youth, — it will not stay ; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh I it is not always May I THE GOLDEN GIFT. 99 Enjoy the spring of love and youth, To some good angei leave the rest ; For time will teach thee soon the truth, — There are no birds in last year's nest. Longfellow. The Nettle. 'Neath the -willow's golden plumes, On a little mossy seat. Where the snow-white violet blooms. Where the air is cool and sweet, — nere, reposing, full of dreams, I the vernal noontide spent. Watching how, in fitful gleams, » Sunbeams came, and shadows went. Broken were my dreams, ere long, l^y a low and mournful sound ; 'T was the Nettle's plaintive song, Uttered to the flowers around. " Sorrows are the common lot ; Where, on all tliis f lir green earth, Lives the soul that bears them not, — Has not borne them from its birth ? 100 THE GOLDEN GIPT. " But of all that live in woe, None 60 wretched, half, as I ; "^lierefore has God made me so, Save to curse his name, and die ? " Not a child with sweet caress E'er salutes me in its play, But with terror and distress I the gentle deed repay. " Not a maiden near me springs, In her wild and careless sport, But with subtle poisonous stings, j I the playful touch retort. I "So, repulsing all I love, I Giving pain where I would bless, I Who can blame me, if I prove I Impious in my wretchedness ? " I " Nay,'' I whispered in reply, j " Question not the love of Heaven ; But, with courage firm and high, Bear whate'er of ill is given. " Tluman spirits, cui-sed like thee, Have a more un pitied lot ; Thy repulse can freely be, And it always is, forgot THE aOLDEN GIFT. 101 **But the wretched soul, that darts Passion -fire at every touch, Wounding loved and loving hearts, Suffers wrongfully and much. " None his hasty speech forgives, None suspects his mental strife ; Thanks to Heaven, one Being lives "VVlio can judge the inward life." S. C. Edgarton. 102 THE GOLDEN GIFT. *'Weep for yourselves, and for your CMldren." "We mourn for those who toil, The slaTe who ploughs the main, Or him who helpless tills the soil Beneath the stripe and chain ; For those who in the world's hard race Overwearied and unblest, ' A host of restless phantoms chase, — Why mourn for those who rest ? We mourn for those v.'ho sin, Bound in the tempter's snare, Whom syren pleasure beckons in To prisons of despair, "Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn, Are wrecked on folly's shore, — But why in sorrow should we mourn For those who sin no more ? We mourn for those who weep, "WTiom stern afflictions bend With anguish o'er the lowly sleep Of lover or of friend ; — But they to whom the sway Of pain and grief is o'er. Whose tears our God hath wiped away, Oh ! mourn for them no more ! Mrs. SiGouftNET. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 103 Sonnet. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair "Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, Borne from its native genial airs away, That scarcely can a tender bud display ; So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare, Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there. While thus. Oh, sweetly scornful ! I essay Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown, — And Thames exchange for Amo's fair domain ; So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown, That what he wills, he never wills in vain. Oh ! that this hard and sterile breast might be To him, who plants from heaven, a soil as free. CowPER. lOi THE GOLDEN GIFT. May. Though many suns have risen and set Siuce thou, blithe May, wert born, And bards, who hailed thee, may forget Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn ; There are who to a birth-day strain Confine not heart and voice, But evermore throughout thy reign Are grateful and rejoice ! Delicious odors ! music sweet, Too sweet to pass away ! Oh ! for a deathless song to meet The soul's desire, — a lay That, when a thousand years are told, Should praise thee, genial Power ! Through summer heat, autumnal cold, And winter's dreary hour. Earth, sea, thy presence feel, — nor less, If yon ethereal blue With its soft smile the truth express, The heavens have felt it too. The inmost heart of man, if glad, PartJikes a livelier cheer ; And eyes that cannot but be sad. Let fall a brightened tear. THE QOLDEN GIFT. 103 Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, IIow many wan and faded cheeks Ilave kiudied iuto health I The old, by thee revived, have ssdd, " Another year is ours ; " And wayworn wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon their tlowers. Who tripping lisps a merry song Amid his playful peers ? The tender infant who was long A prisoner of fond fears ; But now, when every sharp-edged blast Is quiet in its sheath, Ilis mother leaves him free to taste Earth's sweetness in thy breath. Thy help is with the weed that creeps Along the humblest ground ; No cliBf so bare but on its steeps Thy favors may be found ; But most on some peculiar nook That our own hands have dressed, Thou, and thy train are proud to look, And seem to love it best. 106 THE GOLDEN GIFT. <» And yet how pleased we wander forth "When May is whispering, " Come, Choose from the bowers of virgin Earth The happiest for your home ; Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves ; Drops on the mouldering turret's head, And on your turf-clad graves ! " Wordsworth. Lilies written in an Album. Passing through hfe's field of action, Lest we part before its end, Take within your modest volume, This memento from a friend. Passing through it, may we ever Friends continue as begun ; And till death shall part u^, never May our friendship cease to bum. J. M. F. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 107 Peace and Glory. WRITTEN AT THE COMMENCEMENT OF WAR. Where now is the smile that lighten'd Every hero's couch of rest ? Where is now the hope that brightened Honor's eye, and pity's breast? Have we lost the wreath we braided, For our weary warrior men ? Is the faithless olive faded, Must the bay be pluck'd again ? Passing hour of sunny weather, Lovely in your light awhile. Peace and glory wed together, Wander'd through the blessed isle ; And the eyes of Peace would gUsten, Dewy as a morning sun, When the timid maid would listen To the deeds her chief had done. Is the hour of dalliance over ? Must the maiden's trembling feet Waft her from her warUke lover To the desert's still retreat ? Fare you well ! with sighs we banish Nymph so fair and guest so bright ; Yet the smile, with which you vanish, Leaves behind a soothing light. 108 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Soothing light ! that long shall sparkle O'er your warrior's sanguine way, Through th«r field where horrors darkle, Shedding Hope's consoling ray ! Long the smile his heart will cherish, To its absent idol true, "While around him myriads perish, Glory still will sigh for you ! T. MOOEB. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 109 Wee WilUe. Fare thee well, our last and feirest ! Dear wee Willie, fare thee well ; He who lent thee, hfist recalled thee Back wit:h Him and His to dwell. Fifteen moons their silver lustre Only o'er thy brow hath shed, TVhen thy spirit joined the seraphs, And thy dust the dead. Like a sunbeam through our dwelling Shone thy presence bright and calm ; Thou didst add a zest to pleasure, — To our sorrows thou wert balm ; Brighter beamed thine eyes than summer ; And thy first attempt at speech Thrill'd our heart-strings with a rapture Music ne'er could reach. As we gazed upon thee sleeping, With thy fine fair locks out-spread, Thou didst seem a little angel, Who from heaven to earth had sfcray'd ; And, entranced we watch'd the yisioii) Half in hope and half affright, Tjcst what we deem'd ours, and earthly, Should dissolve in light. 110 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Snows o'ermantled hill and valley ; Sullen clouds begrim'd the sky, When the first drear doubt oppress'd uSj That our child was doom'd to die ! Through each long niglit- watch, the taper Showed the hectic of thy cheek ; And each anxious dawn beheld thee More wore out and weak. 'T was even then Destruction's angel Shook his pinions o'er our path, Seized the rosiest of our household, And struck Charlie down in death ! Fearful, — awful I Desolation On our hntel set his sign ; And we turned from his sad death-bed, Willie, round to thine. As the beams of spring's Arst morning Through the silent chamBer play'd, Lifeless, in mine arms I raised thee, And in thy small coffin laid ; Ere the day-star vnth the darkness. Nine times had triumfliant striveiij In one grave had met your ashes, And your souls in heaven ! THE GOLDEN QIPT. Ill Five were ye, the beauteous blossoms ' Of our hopes, and hearts, and hearth ; Two asleep lie buried under, — Three for us yet gladden earth. Thee, our hyacinth gay CharUe, — Willie, thee our snow-drop pure, Back to us shall second spring time Never more allure ! Yet while thinking, — ! our lost ones ! Of how dear ye were to us, "Why should dreams of doubt and darkness, Haunt our troubled spirits thus ? Why across the cold dim church-yard, Flit our visions of despair ? Seated on the tomb, Faith's angel Saith, — " Ye are not there." "Where then, are ye ? With the Saviour Blest, — forever blest are ye, 'Mid the sinless little children, "Who have heard his " Come to me ! " 'Yond the shades of death's dark valley. Now ye lean upon his breast. Where the wicked dare not enter, And the weary rest. 112 THE GOLDEN GIFT. "We are wicked, — we are weary ; For us pray and for us plead ; God, who ever hears the siuless, May through you the sinful heed. Pray that through Christ's mediation, All our faults may be forgiven ; Plead that ye be sent to greet us At the gates of heaven ! f Anon. Nature. I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity ; Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. WORDSWOETH. THE QOLKEN GIFT. UB Nature's Beauties. There 's beauty in her -svhen she springs From slumbers of the darksome night, And bears upon her joyous wings The cheerful beams of morning light. The sunlight sporting on the hills Illumes the dewy drops of morn ; With iris hues the welkin fills, And gorgeous tints the east adorn. When evening mantles earth and air, • And silence reigns in bower and hall, And peaceful quiet, resteth where Were heard the merry laugh and call ; And up the sky its empress rides, Attended by her starry train ; And many a phantom round us glides. By woody marge, and duslcy plain. And, too, when Spring chill Winter's cloaJc Throws off, and comes forth gayly free ; And every icy fetter 's broke, And wintry blasts with swiftness flee j — Then softly comes on every gale, A voice of joyousness and love ; And zephyrs wafted from the vale Seem spirits from the Land above. 114 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Imbedded in their pebbly track, The crystal riv'lets wind along ; A gentle echo throwing back Like distant tones of fair}' song. Sweet perfumes come on breezes mild, The offering of the opening flowers, And warbling songsters in each wild, Invite us to her festooned bowers. Autumn can beauties boast, though fast The wreaths of summer to decay Are falling, and the piercing blast, Flits sadly on its wintry way. Through leafless boughs and naked trees, The wind a mournful requiem sings For days departed, and the breeze A tale of sadness with it brings. In all her aspects, sad or gay, Ar« seen the beautiful and grand ; And on the spirits ever play Her messengers, with thrilling hand. \ W. A. Slbepib. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 115 Tlie Worship of Kature. The ocean looketh up to heaven, As 't were a living thing ; The homage of its waves is given In ceaseless worshiping. They kneel upon the sloping sand, As bends the human knee, A beautiful and tireless band. The priesthood of the sea I They pour the glittering treasures out Which in the deep have birth. And chant their awful hymns about The watching hills of earth. The green earth sends its incense up From every mountain shrine. From every flower and dewy cup That greeteth the sunshine. The mists are lifted from the rills Like the white wing of prayer ; They lean above the ancient hills, Aa doing homage there = 116 THE OOLDZN GIFT. The forest-tops axe lowly cast O'er breezy hill and glen, As if a prayerful spirit pass'd On nature as on men. The clouds weep o'er the fallen world, E'en as a repentant love ; Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurl'd, They fade in light above. The sky is as a temple's arch, The blue and wavy air Is glorious with the spirit-march Of messengers at prayer. The gentle moon, the kindling sun, The many stars, are given, As shrines to bum earth's incense on, The altar-fires of heaven ! J. G. Whittieb. I THE GOLDEN GIFT. 117 Youth. How beautiful the sqenes of youth Awaken to the mind ! Scenes, like the summer ocean smooth, Serener, — fairer far, than truth On earth shall ever find I Time is a tyrant, — months and years Pass onward like the sea, that leaves A solitary isle, which rears Its passive bosom, and appears Between the rolling waves. In life there is no second spring, — The past is gone, — for ever gone ! We cannot, check a moment's wing ; Pierce through futurity ; or bring The heart its vanished tone ! Kesplendent as a summer sky, When daylight lingers in the wesfc To retrospection-s loving eye, The blooming fields of childhood lie, By Fancy's finger dresfc. 118 THE GOLDEN GIFT. A greener foliage decks the grove, A brighter tint pervades the flowers ; More azure seems the heaven above ; The earth a very bower of love, And man within that bower ! And even when the storms of Fate Come darkening o'er the star of life, We backward turn to renovate Our thoughts with freshness, and create An antidote to strife. Thus dead and silent are the strings, As legends say, of Memnon's lyre ; Till, from the orient, Phoebus flings His smiles of golden light, and brings Life, harmony and fire I Blackwood^s Magazine. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 119 Is there a Heart Is there a heart that never loyed, Or felt soft woman's sigh ? Is there a man can mark unmov'd Dear woman's tearful eye ? Oh ! bear him to some distant Or solitary cell, 'VVTiere nought but savage monsters roar, "Where love ne'er deign'd to dwell. For there 's a charm in woman's eye, A language in her tear ; A spell in every sacred sigh, To man, to virtue dear ; And he who can resist her smiles, With brutes alone should live, Nor taste the joy which care beguiles, That joy her virtues give. Ano5. 120 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Love. Mightier far Than streDgth of nerre or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is lore, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast. TVOEDSWOETH. Pure Affection. Oh, woman's love ! at times it may Seem cold or clouded, but it bums With true, undeviating ray, And never from its idol turns. Its sunshine is a smile, — a frown The heavy cloud that weighs it down j A tear its weapon is, — beware Of woman's tears. — there 's danger there ! Its sweetest place on which to rest, A constant and confiding breast ; Its life to meet, — its death to part, — Its sepulchre, a broken heart C&OLY. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 121 The Denouement, They stood within a recess shady, Apart from all, — and thus he said : " Dear cousin, wouldst thou know the lady, ■^Vliom I do love, whom I would wed ? " A moment glowed her youthful cheek, — A moment flashed her timid eyes, In mute reply, — she dared not speak ; Alas ! how soon her sweet hope dies ! ,' " I '11 lead thee to her, — yonder, dearest ! " He took her hand, — 't was deadly cold ; They crossed the hall, — " AVhat is 't thou Look up, Julie I — my love behold ! " With sudden pride she dashed aside The curls that hid her drooping brow, " I welcome her," she proudly cried, And raised her eyes, — what sees she now ? No highborn dame to mock her shame, No rival robed in rich array ! Back to her cheek the color came. And warmer rose her pulse's play. Before her stood, in simple guise, Retlected by a mirror bright, Iler own f;iir form ! — her own blue eyes B«turned her gaze of wild delight ! F. S. Osgood. 122 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Lines to . They tell us oft of the beautiful That dwells in woman's face ; Of the soul-lit eye, and fairy form, The poetry of grace. And gather from, every language, The terms that best impress ^ Upon the young and ardent fancy, Her gentle loveliness. But vain, I fear, are love's fondest words, Sweet girl, to tell of thee ; As pure, as heavenly beautiful, As poet's dream could be. The liquid eye, and the snowy brow, The smile, and dimple's play ; I know of nothing in earth or sky, As soft, as sweet as they. And the crimson hue that oft is seen Upon that cheek to start, With a deeper eloquence than words, It speaks the woman's heart. Yes ! beautiful is that youthful face, That form so light and free ; And sweet, oh I sweet, that silvery smile, That fondly rests on me. FSANK. MOXTBAVILLE. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 123 The Southerner, to a Yankee. "WTiat ! write a burning billet-doux On common colored paper, And melt the wax to seal it, too. Within a tallow taper ! Not thus we woo our Georgian girls, They 'd scorn so poor a letter ; They 'd twist with it their silken curls, And bid us writ* a better. We seek a sweeter, purer leaf, To bear our passion to them ; Our vows are beautiful as brief ; I '11 tell you how we woo them. Deep in our southern forest-glooms, Our tempests proudly braving, The pure magnolia richly blooms. Its peerless blossoms waving. i We pluck the leaf of perfumed snow. We trace love-verses on it, And as the quick thoughts breathe and glow. The flower makes sweet the sonnet. j i We tell the maid it mocks, in hue, Iler fair and virgin forehead ; We say her lips' delicious dew The blossom's balm has borrowed. 124 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Our sweet appeals in secret bower, "We bid her con apart, And trace it on as fair a flower, Her own unsullied heart. 'T is writ wi'h plumes from Cupid's wing, — With passion's kiss we seal it, Then free to zephyr's care we fling Our light and blooming billet ! "Well guarded from blockade and breach, Must be that heart unsleeping, Such fragrant vows would fail to reach. Or fail, when reached, in keeping ! F. S. Osgood. Early Woo'd and Won. Oh ! sigh not for the fair young bride. Gone to her opening bloom. Far from her kindred, loved and tried, To glad another home ; Already are the gay brief days Of girlish triumph done. And tranquil happiness repays The early woo'd and won. THE aOLD£N GIFT. 125 Fear shall invade her peace no more, Nor sorrow wound the breast, Her passing rivalries are o'er, Her passing doubts at rest ; The glittering haunts of worldly state Love whispers her to shun, Since scenes of purer bliss await The early woo'd and won. Here is a young and guileless heart, Confiding, fond, and warm, Unsulhed by the world's vain mart. Unscathed by passion's storm ; In " hope deferred " she hath not pined. Till Hope's sweet course was run ; No chains of sad remembrance bind The early woo'd and won. Her smiles and songs have ceased to grace The halls of festal mirth, But woman's safest dwelling-place Is by a true one's hearth ; Her hours of duty, joy, and love, In brightness have begnn ; ' Peace be her portion from above, The early woo'd and won. Mrs. Abdy. 128 THE GOLDEN GIFT. Love Everywlisre. LoTe knoweth every form of air, And ever}^ shape of earth, And conies unbidden, eTerywhere, Like thought's mysterious birth. The moonlit sea and the sunset sky Are wi'itteu with Lore's words, And you hear his voice unceasingly, Like song in the time of birds. He peeps into the warrior-s heart From the tip of a stooping plume, And the serried spears and the many men May not deny him room. He '11 come to his tent in the weary night And be busy in his dream ; And he '11 float to his eye in morning light Like a fay on a silver beam. He hears the sound of the hunter's gun, And rides on the echo back, And sighs in his ear, like a stirring leaf, And flits in his woodland track. The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the river, The cloud and the open sky, — He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver, Like the light of your very eye. THE GOLDEN GIFT. 127 The fisher hangs over the leanmg boat, And ponders the silver sea, For Love is under the surfiice hid, And a spell of thought has he. He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet, And speaks in the ripple low, Till the bait is gore from the crafty line, And the hook hangs bare below. He blurs the print of the scholar's book, And intrudes in the maiden's prayer, And profanes the cell of the holy man, In the shape of a lady fair. In the darkest night, and the bright day-light, In earth, and sea, and sky, In every home of human thought, Will Love be lurking nigh. N. P. Willis. 128 THE GOLDEN GIFT. 1 Remembrance. I shall look back, when on the main, — Back to my native isle, And almost think I hear again Thy voice J and view thy smile. But many days may pass away, Ere I again shall see Amid the young, the fajr, the'gay, -^ One who resembles thee. Yet when the pensive thought shall dwell On some ideal maid. Whom fancy's pencil pictured well, And touched with softest shade, — The imaged form I shall survey, And, pausing at the view, Recall thy gentle smile, and say, " Oh ! such a maid I knew ! " Bowles. C 3Z 89 vM N '^v-/ .^^ ^ Cl°^ .%^''^. ■ \/ \/ .'Mi- \/ -^ % y *^j^S^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. I Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 ^^^.. r^^^>^.* . -^^ -^ -J V°-^* ^0< 5^^ ^^'^r^ :?mig^: j^