I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, i 
 
 \iu Chap. 
 
 I . Shelf ■....:^..^.d' 
 
 UNITED SJATES OF AMERICA. 
 
If 
 
THE TALISMAN 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 
 DJI' C. RICHMAN 
 
 MUSCATINE IOWA 
 
 PUBLISHED BY DEMOKEST & COE 
 
 i86- 
 
 ^ 
 
IV CONTENTS, 
 
 Lines on hearing "Are we amiost There?" 78 
 
 The Consumptive 80 
 
 Nay, Tell me Not 82 
 
 A Thought of Hobie 84 
 
 One of Life's Bright Hours 87 
 
 A Similie 90 
 
 Origin of the Dew-Drop 92 
 
 We will lay Her to sleep 94 
 
 Musings 96 
 
 A Memory 98 
 
 Lines to S. and M 100 
 
 To Rev. A. B. Robbins 103 
 
 Grand Military Review 107 
 
 The Dead Sea 117 
 
 The Beautiful are never Desolate 119 
 
 To MY Wife 123 
 
 Lady, I Come 127 
 
 The Nyctanthes 129 
 
 Boyhood Years 131 
 
 Iowa 133 
 
 The Tableau 151 
 
INVO CA TI ON, 
 
 With no fond, sickly thirst for fame I kneel, 
 
 goddess of the high-born art, to thee; 
 Not unto thee with semblance of a zeal 
 i come, o pure and heaven -eyed poesy ! 
 Thou art to me a spirit and a love. 
 
 Felt ever from the time when first the earth. 
 In its green beauty, and the sky above 
 Informed my soul with joy too deep for mirth. 
 
 1 was a CHILD OF THINE BEFORE MY TONGUE 
 
 Could lisp its infant utterance unto thee. 
 
 And now, ALBEIT, FROM MY HARP ARE FLUNG 
 
 Discordant numbers, and the song may be 
 That which I would not, yet I know that thou 
 The offering will not spurn, while unto thee i bow. 
 
 Mrs. E. Oakes Smith. 
 
DEDICA TION. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER, 
 
 THE GUIDE AND COUNSELOR OF MY YOUTH; 
 
 WHOSE LOVING FAITHFULNESS 
 
 NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS; 
 
 TO MY WIFE, 
 
 DEVOTED, EARNEST AND TRUE — 
 THE CROWN OF MY DAYS; 
 
 TO MY ONLY SON, 
 
 THE JOY AND PRIDE OF MY LIFE; 
 THIS VOLUME IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 The Talisman. Page IH. 
 
 The central idea upon which this poem turns, and tlie closing 
 portion in prose, were taken from an old romance, published 
 many years ago in an Annual called The Memorial. 
 The couplet on page 23 — 
 
 Ere madness fill my tortured brain, 
 And I with grief go wild again — 
 
 Is borroM'ed from Moore's Lalla Rookh — 
 
 "Thy tortured brain 
 
 Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again." 
 
 The Appeal. Page 42. 
 
 A young lady of great worth was engaged to be married to 
 an intimate friend of mine, who died of consumption before 
 the marriage contract was consummated. She survived him but 
 a few years, and died of the same disease. Reference is made 
 to him in " The Consumptive," page 80. His name was Charles 
 Bunting Pearce, of Crosswicks, New Jersey. 
 
 Origin of the Dew - Drop. Page 92. 
 
 This piece was written in reply to a poetical article com- 
 mencing— 
 
 "Beautiful drop, with thy gem -lit eye, 
 Where do thy primitive regions lie ? '" 
 
 Iowa. Page 133. 
 
 "Iowa! Iowa! this is the place." 
 
 A tribe of Sac and Fox Indians, wandering in search of a 
 home, crossed the Mississippi River at Rock Island. Finding a 
 place which they admired, and being satisfied with its appear- 
 ance, they exclaimed: "Iowa! Iowa! this is the place." — Le 
 Claire. 
 
 The Nyctanihes. Page 129. 
 
 The sorrowful Nyctanthes begins to spread its rich odors after 
 sunset. — Moore. 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE SEA. 
 
 'Tis said that, at certain seasons, beautiful sounds are heard 
 from the Ocean . 
 
 MAYOR'S VOYAGES. 
 
 HARK! from the depths of yonder sea, 
 A strain of music soft and low, 
 Is borne upon the ambient air 
 In echoes solemn, sad and slow. 
 
 Whence comes it? from the cavern's deep 
 Beneath old Ocean's briny spray? 
 
 From some soft harp that vibrates sweet 
 When syren fingers o'er it play? 
 
 From some weird lyre of pensive tone, 
 
 By fairy fingers swept along? 
 Or some wild sea-maid, sad and lone, 
 
 Dissolvino' anguish into song? 
 
10 MUSIC OF THE SEA, 
 
 ' Tis passing strange ; yet, oft at night, 
 When other eyes were closed in sleep, 
 
 I've listened to that mournful strain 
 Of solemn music from the deep; 
 
 And wondered if within the sea 
 There dwells a race mysterious, fair. 
 
 Whose plaintive songs are wafted oft. 
 In beauty on the midnight air; 
 
 And who at last, on angel wings, 
 Shall rise from out their coral home 
 
 And join the song whose echoes cleave 
 The air of heaven's eternal dome. 
 
THE CHARITY SERMON. 
 
 ^ry^WAS sabbath eve; I sat within 
 
 --L A gorgeous church, and listened to the man 
 Of God, as, warm and fervid from his lips 
 There fell impassioned words, and eloquent 
 Appeals, that oft would cause a quivering tear 
 To start from many an eye, and many a breast 
 Would heave, as if in tender sympathy. 
 His subject was the poor — the suff'ring poor; 
 "Blessed is he that considereth the poor," 
 The preacher said; and then in earnest tones 
 Went on to picture gay and glit'ring Wealth, 
 And squalid Want, and Wretchedness, and Woe. 
 And then the contrast ! Oh ! 'twas touching, warm 
 And beautiful, and drew from many an eye 
 A sympathetic tear. 
 
 As the preacher talked, I mused and pondered: 
 The poor^ thought I, and have they any poor 
 Within the limits of a town that builds 
 
12 THE CHARITY SERMON, 
 
 Such palaces as this, where the poor man 
 Ne'er would dare to enter, lest he might soil 
 These crimson -cushioned seats and covered aisles. 
 With rough and coarse attire? The poor, methinks. 
 Would start affrighted back, whene'er they caught 
 The reflex of this stained and gilded glass, 
 Through wiiich rays of "dim, religious light" 
 
 scarce 
 Can penetrate: that pealing organ, with 
 Its costly trappings, and those choral songs 
 From hireling throats, would cause the shiv'ring 
 
 poor 
 To pause in w^onder and in sore amaze: 
 And as they turn away, methinks I hear 
 Them say: "This is some kingly palace, where 
 The great and noble keep their august court, 
 And where the rich and beautiful do hold 
 Their nightly festival, while music soft 
 A dreamy languor sheds o'er all the scene. 
 It can not, nay, it can not be that they 
 Are friends of Him. who had not where to lay 
 His tired and aching head, and who expired 
 On Calvary's rugged hight for erring man, 
 And loved the humble poor — oh! no." 
 
THE CHARITY SEB3fON, 13 
 
 Once more: "The poor— the sick — the shiv'ring 
 poor," 
 The preacher said, "Oh, visit, comfort them;" 
 And as he raised his arm aloft, as if 
 To give more force and unction to his words, 
 The costly gold around his neck did gleam 
 And glitter in the softened light, while from 
 His eye there rolled a liquid drop, which he 
 To Pity ga\e, — "'twas all he had — a tear.'.' 
 
 Again I mused: "Why have we any poor? 
 And why must they in want and hunger live. 
 When here within these massive, towering walls, 
 Is spread with lavish hand enough of wealth 
 And rich array to comfort many a sick 
 And bleeding heart?" 
 
 Why not bestow these gifts 
 So costly, on the suff'ring poor? Methinks 
 An humbler fane might here be reared, in which 
 To worship God, and preach the gospel -word 
 Of the "meek and lowly Jesus!" 
 The sermon closed; and as I slow retired 
 Amid the rich and gaudy throng, these words 
 Still lingered in my heart with sad'ning sound — 
 "Jesus and the poor." 
 
FAIR LADY, TOUCH THY LUTE AGAIN. 
 
 FAIR lady, touch thy lute again 
 To that dear, soft, familiar strain, 
 I loved so long ago; 
 It startles from sad Mem'ry's fane 
 Sweet echoes of those chords again, 
 Half drowned in notes of woe! 
 
 It weakens visions of the Past, 
 By intervening years o'ercast, 
 
 And starts the trembling tears ! 
 A voice comes up within my soul. 
 And sways me with a soft control: 
 
 The voice of buried years. 
 
 It brings the luster to that eye 
 
 I saw grow^ dim, when Death was nigh, 
 
 And Hope's bright beam had fled. 
 It wreathes again the angel smile. 
 That played on those dear lips the while — 
 
 Now^ mould 'ring with the dead. 
 
TOUCH THY LUTE AGAIN. 15 
 
 Bat cease: I can not bear those sounds! 
 They bruise anew my healing wounds, 
 
 And start the latent sigh. 
 They bring dark mem'ries of a shroud, 
 A sable pall — a fun'ral crowd, 
 
 And tear-drops to my eye. 
 
 Then, lady, cease thy sad'ning song: 
 And let the chords be swept along 
 
 To some wild, unknown air ; 
 For oh ! I can not bear the spell, 
 Thy lute's soft touch hath woven well,— 
 
 Nay, nay ! in pity spare ! 
 
THE TALISMAN. 
 
 READ BEFORK THE LITERARY ASSOCIATION OF MUSCATINE. 
 
 SOFTLY the length 'ning shadows fell, 
 O'er forest, field, and lonely dell, — 
 With whisp'ring voice the evening breeze 
 Rustled 'mong the summer trees; 
 Far in the west the setting sun, 
 His daily pathway almost run. 
 Sinks 'neath a gorgeous, golden haze. 
 While round his disc in beauty plays 
 A dazzling beam of liquid light, — 
 And clouds with crimson fringes bright 
 Fill up the back -ground of the scene; 
 Far o'er the earth the glit'ring sheen 
 Is gilding tree -top, shrub and flower 
 In aureate beauty, while the hour 
 Of twilight, silently creeps on, 
 T' usurp the day -god's golden throne. 
 
THE TALISMAN. 17 
 
 All, all is hushed, save in that room, 
 Where 'mid the slowly darkling gloom 
 The dying lay; — the labored breath 
 Came difficult and slow; — pale Death 
 In waiting for his victim stood, — 
 And with his wand congealed the blood 
 Which torpid, through each sluggish vein 
 Pursued its path from heart to brain. 
 
 "My son," — the father softly said, 
 And placed his hand upon his head — 
 "My earthly course is almost run; 
 With me, as with yon setting sun, 
 The day is passing; shadows dark 
 Envelope life's frail shattered barque, 
 Just launching in the murky tide 
 Of Death's dark river, spreading wide 
 Before me; — yet no gloomy fears 
 Assail my heart; no sad-ning tears 
 Distress, and call me back to earth ; — 
 For in that land of holier birth 
 To which I go, are fadeless joys, 
 Unmixed with griefs or sad alloys; — 
 And pleasures bloom perennial there, 
 Untainted by a doubt or care. 
 
18 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 Come nearer, boy," — the father said, 
 
 And gently drew him to the bed; — 
 
 "When I have left the shores of Time, 
 
 And Life's enchantments all sublime 
 
 Are spread before thee, —then, my son, 
 
 I'd have thee often look upon 
 
 The talisman graved on this toy 
 
 My father gave me, when a boy:" 
 
 Thus speaking he with trembling hand 
 
 Threw o'er his neck a silver band. 
 
 Or chain, from which depending hung, 
 
 A golden tablet which had clung 
 
 Thereto for many lengthened years — 
 
 Was sanctified by hopes and fears 
 
 Which lived within that father's breast, 
 
 All through his toilsome life's unrest. 
 
 Upon that tablet there was graved 
 
 One only word, — whose power had saved 
 
 That father many a bitter pang. 
 
 When through his soul's deep chambers rang 
 
 Temptation's music — Folly's song — 
 
 To lure him in the path of wrong ; — 
 
 And now in dying, this bequest 
 
 He gave his boy — the noblest, best, 
 
 In joy or sorrow, peace or strife, 
 
 To sanctify his earthly life. 
 
THE TALISMAN, 19 
 
 The old man died, — and filial hands 
 Obeyed the parent's last commands; 
 Closed the sunk eye with tender care — 
 Composed the limbs — then bowed in prayer 
 T ' invoke the orphan's God to bless 
 The fatherless, in his distress. 
 
 And now amid the busy strife 
 That throngs the avenues of life. 
 Our orphan plunges wild and free. 
 Resolved the brilliant world to see. 
 The hue of health is on his cheek, 
 The fire of youth is in his eye. 
 Excitement lures him on to seek 
 The joys that in his pathway lie; 
 His earnest heart beats proud and high, 
 His bosom breathes no sad'ning sigh. 
 And Hope's bright ensign gaily plays 
 In splendor o'er the passing days. 
 The tablet round his neck is hung 
 To shield his soul from harm and wrong; 
 Its magic word is o'er his heart 
 To ward Temptation's subtle dart; 
 And forth he goes — that father's son, 
 .To fight Life's battles all alone! 
 
20 THE TALISMAN, 
 
 Companions gay and light of heart 
 
 Are met within the busy mart 
 
 Of human life, and hand -in -hand, 
 
 A pleasure -loving, seeking band. 
 
 They quaff with zest the flowing bowl, 
 
 Till. Reason's calm and sure control 
 
 Is lost in wild excitement's charm. 
 
 At length with passions stirred and warm, 
 
 Disputes arise, — dark words are given,— 
 
 And then, alas ! O, pitying heaven ! 
 
 Our orphan's arm is raised in fight ; 
 
 When, glit'ring in the evening light. 
 
 The tablet on his breast is seen ! 
 
 A thrill of anguish, sharp and keen. 
 
 Pervades his frame; Conscience recalled 
 
 The sacred past ; with heart appalled, 
 
 The talismanic w^ord he spoke; 
 
 And then, as though the spell were broke 
 
 Which maddened him, with quiet tread 
 
 He went to muse upon the dead. 
 
 Tears — bitter tears — his pillow wet; 
 
 In vain his heart strove to forget — 
 
 In vain his eyelids did he close 
 
 To seek oblivion of his woes; 
 
 His father's image near him stood, 
 
THE TALISMAN. 21 
 
 And terror seemed to chill his blood, 
 As forth was stretched a bony hand 
 Which pointed to the silver band 
 And tablet— while a low, sad tone, 
 Reproached him that so soon he'd gone 
 From Virtue's path, and giv'n his soul 
 To Passion's dark and mad control. 
 
 Again Temptation's luring power 
 Ensnared him in an evil hour; 
 Within a palace underground, 
 Where voices rang with hollow sound. 
 Mid glare of lights, and rich array. 
 Our orphan sat engaged in play ; 
 The stakes ran high — excitement beamed 
 On every face, — Azs dark eye gleamed, 
 As heaps of gold were swept away. 
 Which he in heavy wagers lay 
 Upon the game; at length his purse 
 Was emptied with a muttered curse, 
 And lost; and then with quiv'ring grasp, 
 He sought to loose the golden clasp 
 W^hich bound the tablet to his heart, 
 When, pierced as by some fiery dart, 
 He wildly sprang, and left the scene: — 
 
22 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 The moonlight's pale and silvery beam 
 Fell on his brow; with troubled soul, 
 And frenzied grief that spurned control, 
 He wandered on in dark despair ; 
 While on the quiet evening air 
 The talismanic word was borne, 
 Like plaintive music sad and lorn. 
 
 Next, in a brilliant, gay saloon 
 With lamps as bright as summer noon, 
 Midst cyprian maids he danced and sang. 
 While mirth and laughter loudly rang 
 Throughout the hall ; soft dreamy eyes 
 Were fixed on his, — while languid sighs 
 Inspired a dark, unholy flame. 
 To lead him on to sin and shame. 
 Fair lips the sparkling wine -cup pressed, 
 While airy forms in splendor dressed. 
 The orphan pledged, with brimming glass. 
 And then with reeling brain, alas ! 
 Joined in the laugh, the song, the jest. 
 As though upon his throbbing breast 
 The talisman no longer hung 
 To guard his soul from sin and wrong: 
 But, hark ! a word by some one spoken 
 
THE TALISMAN. 23 
 
 In thoughtlessness amid that crowd 
 Fell on his ear : " My vow is broken ! " 
 He murmured in a voice not loud, 
 Yet filled with bitterness and woe : 
 "Forth from this presence let me go, 
 Ere madness fill my tortured brain 
 
 And I with grief, go wild again!" 
 
 « 
 
 Once more the orphan meets our sight; 
 Misfortune's hand with chilling blight" 
 Is laid upon him ; — he hath lost 
 The fortune that was once his boast, 
 And now a wreck on Life's wide sea. 
 Without a friend to cheer him, he 
 Floats carelessly upon the tide : 
 A loving wife is by his side 
 Who blest him in his hours of ease. 
 And now in misery's darkest hour, 
 When adverse clouds upon him lower. 
 True to her vows, in good or ill, 
 Clings to his heart, and loves him still : 
 And when he gazed upon that face 
 Of pictured beauty and sweet grace — 
 And thought of all the wond'rous love 
 That naught on earth could shake or move. 
 
24 THE TALIS3IAN. 
 
 AVhich dwelt within that bosom fair, 
 When light and free as summer air, — 
 And still clung to him when the light 
 Of fortune's sun sunk in dark night; 
 He bowed his head in grief and pain, 
 And tear-drops fell like summer rain. 
 
 A darker phase is now revealed 
 Within that heart, alas! congealed 
 By penury, and want and woe ; 
 Sternly he deemed the world his foe, 
 And mused in gloom throughout the night 
 On deeds that feared the day's pure light. 
 Alone within his silent room, — 
 A taper lighting up the gloom 
 With dim and flickering ray, — he dreams 
 O'er all the past, while sadly beams 
 The eye that erst with kindling light 
 Saw naught on earth that was not bright. 
 He takes a pen,— he writes a name. 
 And gazes on it, while with shame 
 A tingling blush mounts on his brow! 
 God help the friendless orphan now ! 
 ' Tis forgery ! — but hold ! — again 
 He writes! it is the talisman 
 
THE TALISMAN. 25 
 
 His pen has traced! as though his hand 
 Were guided from the spirit -land 
 By angels, who had left their sphere 
 To shield and guard the orphan here: 
 He gazed a moment on the word — 
 Breathed a low prayer the angels heard, 
 And bore in pity to the throne 
 Of God; then Consciousness was gone! 
 Alas, poor boy ! down the dark steep 
 Of Crime, another headlong leap 
 He takes; — a father's dying prayer — 
 A mother's love, — in wild despair 
 Forgotten — buried in the past — 
 His sky with darkling clouds o'ercast — 
 And every hope of love and heaven 
 In the wild tempest lost and riven ; 
 He takes the glit'ring steel, to spill 
 Life - blood for gold ! — by stealth to kill 
 His fellow -man, as though the Eye 
 That never sleeps, the crimson dye 
 Should not behold, and mark the crime 
 From His high throne of light sublime. 
 His purpose formed, he wends his way 
 In silent darkness; not a ray 
 
26 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 Lights lip the midnight gloom to tell 
 
 The sleeper Death is near ; no bell 
 
 Strikes the alarm — no pitying eye 
 
 Save God's, looks on the dreadful scene ; 
 
 No arm but His to intervene 
 
 And save two mortals, — one from death, 
 
 The other from himself : — a breath — 
 
 A word — might rouse the one, and change 
 
 The purpose of the other ; — strange 
 
 It comes not, while the lifted steel 
 
 Will soon descend, and darkly seal 
 
 The fate of both ! The victim dreams 
 
 And muses in his sleep; he seems 
 
 About to speak ! he does — a word, 
 
 Whispered faintly ; yet as if stirred 
 
 By some unseen, supernal power 
 
 That brooded o'er that midnight hour. 
 
 The orphan heard the sound — then fled 
 
 In haste away ; — on — on he sped. 
 
 Nor paused in his wild flight till day's 
 
 Soft dawning, and the orient rays 
 
 Of morning found him faint and pale, 
 
 Wooing the soft, refreshing gale. 
 
 O wondrous, magic power concealed 
 
THE TALISMAN, 27 
 
 Within a word, whose name revealed 
 The right and pure, forbade the wrong, 
 And stilled the Tempter's syren song — 
 Which like some weird magician's wand 
 Extended by an unseen hand, 
 Wooes at its will, with magic rare, 
 The object of its tender care! 
 
 Humbled by the chastening rod, 
 Inflicted oft by Mercy's God, 
 To loftier aims the orphan turned 
 His thoughts, — and oft his bosom burned 
 With holier purposes toward man. 
 His father's mystic talisman 
 Was deeply graven on his heart, — 
 And when in acting out his part 
 In Life's great drama, he was met 
 By boon companions ready yet 
 To lure him to their haunts of sin 
 Where oft in other days he'd been. 
 The magic word, like holy prayer, 
 Was on his lips, and banished far 
 The Tempter's once controlling power. 
 In Wisdom's ways each passing hour 
 
28 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 He humbly walked, and sought for praise, 
 For riches, honor, length of days, 
 In simply doing good; and peace. 
 Prosperity, and comfort, ease, 
 And all the blessings earth affords, 
 Were his, with kind and gentle words 
 To cheer him in his life's decline, 
 And cause the light of love to shine 
 Upon him, as with faith and trust 
 His body mingled with the dust. 
 And spirit left its home of clay 
 To dwell in realms of endless day. 
 
 And now, this mystic talisman, 
 Which proved the orphan's endless gain — 
 Which checked him in his downward course 
 To infamy, and waked remorse 
 For all his evil deeds, and saved 
 A soul from death, should be engraved 
 On every heart; — like him whene'er 
 Temptation whispers in thine ear 
 To leave the straight and narrow path ; — 
 'T will save thee from the wasting wrath 
 That clings to sin, and make thy breast 
 
THE TALISMAN, 29 
 
 Th' abode of purity and rest: — 
 
 Cling to this talisman, and though 
 
 From sland'rous lips the venom flow — 
 
 Though friends distrust, and though the blast 
 
 Of calumny, be sent broad -cast 
 
 To crush thee in the very dust — 
 
 Though envy, malice, baleful lust, 
 
 In fearful storm burst o'er thy head — 
 
 Though brimming wine -cups, bright and red, 
 
 Be offered thee — though cyprians woo 
 
 With lecherous gaze, and gamesters too. 
 
 Entice thee to their haunts of sin, 
 
 Thy gold—?in(i worse, thy soul to win — 
 
 Though Crime its hydra -head should* rear. 
 
 And quell within thee every fear 
 
 Of retribution ! — though Distress 
 
 And Want, and Poverty, oppress: — 
 
 Still bind this word upon thy heart, 
 
 Nor let its presence e'er depart ; 
 
 'T will cheer thee in thy darkest hour. 
 
 And bless thee with its magic power. 
 
 And when thy barque meets prosperous gales, 
 
 And breezy hope inflates the sails. 
 
 And thou upon the crested wave 
 
THE TALISMAN. 
 
 Dost ride triumphantly, 't will save 
 
 Thee many a dark regret, if thou 
 
 In humble trust wilt lowly bow 
 
 And breathe that word in whispered tone 
 
 Into thy Father's ear alone : 
 
 This talisman, so pure and good, 
 
 Close by the suff 'ring Saviour stood 
 
 When He in sad Gethsemane 
 
 Gave up his life for you and me; — 
 
 Sustained him in the dying hour 
 
 By more than falt'ring human power; 
 
 Was with Him when from Death's deep gloom 
 
 He rent the vail, and left the tomb; 
 
 Was ivith Him in His upward flight, 
 
 When passing far from mortal sight, 
 
 And fell like dew to earth again, 
 
 To bless a race of sinful men. 
 
 This precious gift, first born in heaven, 
 
 Best boon to erring mortals given, 
 
 Will bless the rich, the lowly poor — 
 
 Will open wide soft Mercy's door, 
 
 And usher in pure Sympathy, 
 
 Faith, Hope, and God -like Charity, 
 
 With all the virtues in their train. 
 
THE TALISMAN, 81 
 
 To soothe and bless the soul of man. 
 'T will teach us that our God is love, 
 And that in Him we live, and move. 
 And have our being ; that His plan 
 Reveals the brotherhood of man — 
 His o;\vn blest Fatherhood o'er all, 
 Who people this terrestrial ball: 
 Without this wondrous talisman 
 Our purest thoughts and deeds to scan, 
 Virtue is naught, — our life a shame, ^- 
 Religion but a sounding name 
 To bolster creeds and win applause 
 For zeal in an unholy cause : — 
 The confidence of man in man, 
 Without this magic talisman. 
 Could not exist; all nations own 
 Its potent power ; by it alone 
 Hold fellowship and intercourse. 
 Without it, contracts lose their force, — 
 The wheels of trade refuse to run, — 
 The social fabric's ail undone; 
 And friendship, virtue, faith, and love, 
 Are worse than sin, unless it move 
 Their secret springs. The gentle maid. 
 
32 THE TALISMAN, 
 
 By lover wooed in evening shade 
 With burning words and tender vows, 
 Would soon her keen resentment rouse, 
 And with indignant scorn repel 
 Those tender vows, unless she well 
 And truly knew that, in his breast, . 
 Her lover kept this mystic guest. 
 At Hymen's altar few would stand 
 To weave with words the silken band 
 Thenceforth to bind their souls — ay, worse 
 Than mockery, — a solemn curse 
 Would be the benison invoked 
 On hearts for life together yoked. 
 Unless this talisman should bind 
 The union with its power refined 
 And pure, as dreams of yon fair land 
 Where, 'mong the bright, angelic band. 
 The purified of earth do meet 
 To walk the city's golden street. 
 Without it, parents, it were best 
 Your children in their graves at rest 
 Were sleeping out the night of death ; 
 And better still, had ne'er the breath 
 Of earthly life their bosoms heaved. 
 
THE TALISMAN. 33 
 
 Nor they the human form received; 
 Oh, then, when first the lisping prayer 
 Is taught, and you with fondest care 
 Yearn o'er these buds of hope — oh, then 
 Be sure this mystic talisman 
 Is gently bound with Love's soft chain 
 Upon their hearts, — 't will save them pain 
 And grief in after years, and stay 
 Their steps from every evil way. 
 
 Young man, just entering on the verge 
 Of stirring life — when passions surge 
 Most boisterously — when skies are bright ; 
 When hearts are joyous, gay, and light; 
 And youthful dreams are fresh and warm; 
 When gay companions nightly meet 
 In Vice's curtained, dark retreat 
 To quaff the poisoned bowl, and play 
 At games of chance, that strangely sway 
 The passions, and excite the brain; 
 When deeds and words that darkly stain 
 Are done and spoken, and the prize 
 Is, favor in a cyprian's eyes; 
 When Honor's path seems tame and cold, 
 
34 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 And Vice, with mein unblushing, bold, 
 Allures, with look of dazzling charm ; 
 Oh, then to keep thy soul from harm, 
 Choose thou this talisman, — ay, choose 
 It, though you thence forever lose 
 Position, power, wealth and fame. 
 And laurels to adorn your name; 
 For oh, without it, wealth and power 
 Are treasures of a fleeting hour. 
 And " Fame's wild visions " pass away 
 As fades the glim'ring light of day. 
 
 Young lady, though thine eye be bright 
 Though ringlets shaming ebon Night 
 Part o'er thy parian brow: though grace 
 And beauty blend upon thy face ; 
 And though thy voice, like music's strain 
 Heard o'er some dim, enchanted plain. 
 Be dreamy, soft and low : and though 
 Upon thy cheek the roseate glow 
 Of health plays changefully — j^et, 
 AVithout this magic amulet 
 To guard and keep thy life from harm, 
 Thy graces lose their holiest charm, 
 
THE TALISMAN. 85 
 
 And thou art but a thing of shame — 
 
 Unworthy of a woman's name. 
 
 Whilst with it — though proud beauty's power, 
 
 And queenly grace be not thy dower — 
 
 Thou art the fairest flower that blooms 
 
 Amid the changing lights and glooms 
 
 Of mortal life, — a talisman 
 
 Thyself^ to wild and reckless man. 
 
 And oh, when falls the mourner's tear, 
 
 And hearts are wrung with doubt and fear ; 
 
 When drops of grief are softly shed 
 
 Upon the loved, the lost, the dead, 
 
 Heposing in the lonely tomb ; 
 
 Oh, darker than Egyptian gloom. 
 
 The prospect, if ihis talisman 
 
 Be not our hope, to soothe the pain, 
 
 The grief of parting, when our dead 
 
 Are laid within their narrow bed, 
 
 To bid us look beyond — to rend 
 
 The veil which hides the friend 
 
 Now gone before, and with Faith's eye 
 
 Behold the land where none shall die ! 
 
 Oh, then, let each this talisman 
 
 Seek out, nor let us seek in vain; 
 
36 THE TALISMAN, 
 
 'T is free as air; the high, the low, 
 
 The rich, the poor — ay, all may know 
 
 The name and nature of this charm 
 
 Which wooes and wins the soul from harm; 
 
 'T was meant for all; the gift sublime 
 
 Was sent to earth the morn of Time; 
 
 It bloomed in Eden mid the flowers 
 
 That blest creation's earliest hours; 
 
 With prophet - bards it lingered long. 
 
 Always the burden of their song; 
 
 The shepherds saw it in the star 
 
 Which brought their footsteps from afar. 
 
 The infant Nazarene to greet, 
 
 And lay their treasures at his feet ; 
 
 Apostles preached it, martyrs bled 
 
 That it throughout the earth might spread ; 
 
 Down the dim aisles of hoary Time 
 
 Its music rings in chant sublime; 
 
 In Revelation's holy light 
 
 It softly beams with splendor bright; 
 
 Far in the wilds, with winning voice, 
 
 It tells the heathen to rejoice ; 
 
 Its shining track on History's page 
 
 Is trod by student and by sage; 
 
THE TALISMAN. 37 
 
 It tunes the poet's loftiest strains, 
 
 And lingers in the soft refrains 
 
 Of bards, who sing the want and woe 
 
 Of wretched millions here below ; 
 
 It strikes the fetters from the slave — 
 
 And those in sad Oppression's grave, 
 
 Reanimates, with life and hope ; 
 
 'T is mightier far than King or Pope, 
 
 And oft the despot on his throne 
 
 Is made its majesty to own ; 
 
 It prophesies a time of Peace, 
 
 When dark, unholy War shall cease, 
 
 And Love shall reign supreme, above 
 
 All passions that our beings move — 
 
 When man's last enemy, grim Death, 
 
 Shall yield to Christ his passing breath, 
 
 And the dark mist shall float away 
 
 Which shuts us from resplendent day 
 
 Where fadeless glory lights the hours. 
 
 And bloom the amaranthine flowers: 
 
 Ay, it alone shall solve at last 
 
 The mysteries of ages past — 
 
 Of sentient life — of whence we are, 
 
38 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 And whither go when Death shall bar 
 
 The vague, uncertain lease of Time — 
 
 And we, on wings of faith sublime 
 
 Shall plume our flight toward "that bourne 
 
 From whence no travelers return." 
 
 Yes — when shall pass our fleeting breath. 
 
 And comes the mystery, of Death, 
 
 And we, in fresh, immortal bloom, 
 
 Shall rise from out the silent tomb, 
 
 This talisman, like that pure light 
 
 That beamed upon the Marys' sight 
 
 When at the Saviour's tomb, shall shine 
 
 Upon our souls with rays divine. 
 
 And we in wonder shall adore 
 
 The Source and Giver evermore. 
 
 Now ye who would this mystery see — 
 
 To all our muse has sung, the key — 
 
 And learn the wondrous talisman 
 
 So fraught with benefit to man. 
 
 List ye the words of Yemen's sage. 
 
 The words of wisdom and of age. 
 
 Bestowed upon the youth Banad, 
 
 Who long and fruitless search had made 
 
THE TALISMAN, 39 
 
 For some mysterious, subtle charm, 
 To shield his earthly life from harm. 
 
 *' Father," said the young man, " the words of age, of the Sage 
 of Yemen, are doubtless the words of wisdom; yet I would there 
 were some talisman, which would shield us from enemies whom 
 the strong arm may not approach." 
 
 " My son, such an one there is." 
 
 *' Can you obtain it tor me, father?" 
 
 "No; yet you may win it for yourself." 
 
 "Tell me where, father? My sword shall toe a stranger to its 
 scabbard till I have obtained it: though it be single-handed 
 among the children of Aws." 
 
 " My son, not with sword or spear, or in earthly warfare, is this 
 glorious jewel won. From the deep well-springs of a pure heart 
 it must proceed; — in the quiet serenity of an unsullied con- 
 science, whence shield and buckler, sword and lance, may not 
 rend it, does that pearl of great price dwell." 
 
 "What is it, father?" 
 
 " The talisman is — truth." 
 
VESPER MUSINGS. 
 
 IS silent eve once more: my fav'rite hour; 
 The holy moonlight gleams upon my brow; 
 And Mem'ry, with its all-absorbing power, 
 Is teeming with its vivid reveries now. 
 
 And tireless Thought is on the wing, to scenes 
 Long gone, and joyous hours, too bright to last ; 
 
 Yet oh! their visioned beauties linger still. 
 
 While earth with night's soft shadow is o'ercast. 
 
 The voices of the misty Past still float, 
 In sweetest cadence, on the evening breeze. 
 
 And utter forth their whisp'rings low and soft, 
 Like zephyr -tones among the leafy trees. 
 
 Eyes that once beamed so gently, and so mild, 
 To-night seem gazing with their wonted light; 
 
 And forms once near, in dreamy fancy move, 
 And flit before my longing spirit's sight. 
 
VESPER 3£USINGS. 41 
 
 The Present mingles with the Past ; and oh ! 
 
 I seem a boy again, all wild — all free — 
 And careless as the summer wind that plays 
 
 In wanton daliance with each flower and tree. 
 
 I join the sport; I laugh, and gaily sing 
 With all the merry thoughtlessness and glee 
 
 That erst were mine, ere years had sobered down 
 A heart all filled with mirth and levity^ 
 
 But oh ! the vision fades ! the dream hath fled ! 
 
 As sunlight flies, when clouds obscure the sky, 
 Or like the rainbow tints that gleam awhile 
 
 In gorgeous splendor, ere they fade and die. 
 
 So fly my fond imaginings — back, back, 
 • Into their dusky fane, the darkened Past ! 
 And I am left to muse and brood alone. 
 While shadows dim and dark, my soul o'ercast. 
 
THE APPEAL 
 
 SHE sat in her accustomed place within 
 The house of prayer; and, as the man of God 
 Besought the Throne of Grace in earnest tones 
 For blessings on the sick and the oppressed, 
 She meekly bowed her head upon her hand, 
 While her bosom heaved more tremulously 
 Than before. 
 
 Silently I gazed at her. 
 And sadly mused in sympathetic thought. 
 Impassionedly — and oh, how tenderly 
 With solemn, earnest words, she beareth up 
 Before the majesty of God on high, 
 A loved and absent form ! 
 
 List ! methinks 
 I almost catch the music of that prayer. 
 As soft and low she sighs it forth ; and as 
 
THE APPEAL, 43 
 
 It rises on the air, perfumed with love 
 And holy feeling, angels bear it near 
 The golden throne, and intercede with God 
 In her behalf. 
 
 " Indulgent Lord, hear Thou 
 The prayer thy humble child would pleading 
 
 bring 
 Before thy august throne. Grant me this one 
 
 request — 
 He who doth share my love with Thee; he^ who 
 At warm Affection's shrine hath fondly bowed. 
 And whispered words of love and hope to me ; 
 Hath felt the hand of dark disease upon 
 His manly brow ; hath stood almost upon 
 The very brink of Death's dark, gloomy flood, 
 And tasted of its bitter waters: 
 O God! restore him. Let the glad warm smile 
 Of hope play once again upon his brow ; 
 Give back the bloom to that pale and wasted 
 
 cheek, 
 And let that eye beam with the sunny light 
 Of other, happier days, when all was bright 
 And fair, as rosy spring-time's dewy morn. 
 
44 
 
 THE APPEAL, 
 
 Thou knowest how I love him — how I cling 
 With deep affection's all -pervading power 
 To him — through good or ill — in joy or woe. 
 Then, Father, hear a suppliant's prayer, and grant 
 The boon I humbly crave, in Jesus' name. 
 Through whom to Thee be all the praise. 
 
PRO MEMORIA. 
 
 OH, what a host of memories spring to life 
 As, conning o'er some partial page, that name 
 Gleams on my sight ! What shadows from the vale 
 Of Mnemosyne it casts before my eye ! 
 How looks, and tones, and well - remembered words 
 In sad and mournful retinue pass by! 
 Again that soft, brown eye, with melting glance, 
 Is gazing into mine ; again those locks 
 Of auburn hue, that arched a noble brow, 
 In ringlets fall about that cheek, and rest 
 Against my own, as, bending o'er me oft, 
 She taught me Music's wond'rous, magic skill ; 
 Again I feel that thrill, which in the past 
 Swept o'er my soul, when in rapt attitude 
 I hearkened to the song whose notes swelled forth 
 In that soft melody which she alone 
 Commanded at her will ; again that smile. 
 So winning and so sweet; again that grasp, 
 
46 PBO MEMOBIA. 
 
 So cordial and so true, is felt, and I, 
 In thought recur to those bright halcyon days 
 When life and vigor nerved that mortal frame. 
 But ah! with these sweet memories come the' 
 
 thought 
 She is no move. That form is in the grave, — 
 The bounding pulses of the heart are still,— 
 That melting eye is glazed and dim in death, — 
 That matchless voice, which trilled in sweetest tones 
 On earth, is now attuned to loftier strains. 
 Which break upon angelic ears amid 
 The throng of those who chant the praise of God 
 Around the golden throne of Heaven ! 
 Farewell! Though time, change, grief, tears, all 
 
 shall weigh 
 Upon my soul, and crush me to the earth — 
 Yet thou, sweet friend, shalt be remembered still ! 
 Green in my memory shall thy virtues bloom ; 
 And when thy treasured name shall meet my eye 
 Upon some page, and I trill o'er the notes 
 Thy voice invested with a matchless cb.arm, 
 Fond thoughts of thee shall cluster round my heart, 
 And soothe each grief that may invade my breast, 
 And bless me like some happy dream of Heaven. 
 
MY LAST CIGAR. 
 
 ALL slowly rose the fragrant smoke 
 In graceful columns o'er my head 
 While brightly gleamed the rosy spark 
 
 From out its tiny, ashy bed. 
 I gazed upon it with a sigh, 
 
 As lovers gaze upon a star; 
 I wept — forgive the trembling tear — 
 For oh! it was my last cigar! 
 
 I pressed it fondly to my lips. 
 
 And mused upon the dusky Past — 
 And thought of all its vanished friends 
 
 A crowd — of which this was the last. 
 I puffed again, and, as the smoke 
 
 In wavy volumes spread afar, 
 I uttered low a kind farewell, 
 
 In sadness, to my last cigar. 
 
48 
 
 MY LAST CIGAB. 
 
 Again I touched it to the lamp, 
 
 Inhaling long its sweet perfume, 
 Which wreathed in curling, azure clouds. 
 
 About my lone, deserted room ; 
 I fixed on it one lingering look — 
 
 (What foolish men w^e smokers are) — 
 But spare the weakness — all is past, 
 
 And I have smoked my last cigar. 
 
A CONTRAST. 
 
 ONE only word — a whispered tone, 
 He breathed into her ear ; 
 One only sigh upswelled his breast — 
 
 A sigh of hope and fear. 
 One only pressure of the hand 
 
 That trembled in his own; 
 One wilder throb of earnest hearts 
 
 That beat in unison; 
 One meeting of devoted lips 
 
 That mingled in a kiss; 
 One interchange of beaming looks 
 
 Revealing mutual bliss: 
 And she was his for weal or woe, 
 
 For sorrow or for joy, 
 By ties which nought might overthrow, 
 
 And death alone destroy. 
 The bridal scene ; the orange wreath 
 
50 A CONTBAST, 
 
 Amid her shining hair; 
 The costly garments, snowy sheened; 
 
 The jewels rich and rare; 
 The priestly robe, the solemn vow, 
 
 The lamp -light's radiant glare, 
 The ring upon the trembling hand. 
 
 The blessing and the prayer; 
 The rattling of the carriage - wheels ; 
 
 The opening of the door ; 
 The tears and wishes of each friend - 
 
 And now, the scene is o'er. 
 
 The snowy couch — the paling cheek, 
 
 The dim and sunken eye ; 
 The silent step, the whispered voice ; 
 
 The bitter, choking sigh ; 
 The vials on the little stand ; 
 
 The taper dim and low; 
 The flowers she had loved and trained 
 
 A few short months ago ; 
 The husband with a moistened eye 
 
 And sorrow - stricken tone, 
 Breathing to her soft w^ords of hope; 
 
A CONTRAST. 
 
 She answering with a moan ; 
 The breathing, difficult and slow; 
 
 The features pinched and pale ; 
 The mute farewell, the bursting sigh ; 
 
 The low, despairing wail ; 
 The fixed and slowly glazing eye; 
 
 The anguish deep and sore ; 
 The smile, the struggle — the repose — 
 
 Oh God! the scene is o'er. 
 
TO A FRIEND. 
 
 HAST seen a Summer's morning dawn, all 
 bright 
 And beautiful? Hast seen the orient sky 
 Embathed in golden light, and from his bed 
 The god of Day in aureate splendor rise? 
 Hast seen him in his onward march sublime 
 Toward the zenith of his daily course — 
 A moment hid in fleecy, shadowy clouds, 
 And then emerging, passing proudly on 
 In calm and stately beauty as before? 
 Hast seen him in his path of ether blue 
 Declining in the mellow -tinted West, 
 While crimson clouds a gorgeous canopy 
 Hung o'er him, till the last faint, lingering ray 
 From his broad disc played o'er the distant hills, 
 And glimmered on each lofty spire and dome, 
 Then vanished, while the twilight shadows fell 
 In silent beauty o'er the earth, and all 
 Was tranquil and serene? 
 
TO A FJRIEND. 53 
 
 Thus, thus, my friend, 
 May ever be thy pathway through this life. 
 The morn has dawned all fair and beautiful; 
 And though a passing cloud at intervals 
 Hath cast its darkened image o'er thy way, 
 Yet Hope's bright sun with lambent light hath 
 
 spread 
 Its genial influence o'er thy soul, and caused 
 Thy w^arm young heart to bound with wildest joy. 
 So may thy noon -day sun shine calmly on, 
 Undimmed by Sorrow's dark, tempestuous storms, 
 Until the gathering twilight of thy life 
 Shall come with gentle pace, and earth's brief day 
 Approach its end ; then shalt thou pass 
 Bej^ond the confines of this changing scene 
 To that pure world of light, and joy, and love, 
 Where plays eternal sunlight evermore. 
 
THE BLESSING. 
 
 AS dew distils upon the flowers, 
 In summer evening's placid hours, 
 When night -winds murmur low; 
 So o'er my ardent, longing soul, 
 With silent, soothing, soft control. 
 Thy blessing cometh now. 
 
 It breathes a weird, resistless spell. 
 Like music from a fairy dell. 
 
 That floats at Summer's even ; 
 It steals across my throbbing brain 
 Like zephyrs o'er the wavy main. 
 
 Or sacred thoughts from heaven. 
 
 It cometh like some gentle dream 
 That doth upon the senses gleam 
 
 When 'rapt in tranquil slumber, — 
 And drives away all thoughts of gloom 
 
THE BLESSING. 
 
 That shadow forth predestined doom, 
 And oft our souls encumber. 
 
 It gilds the Future like some star 
 That guides the mariner afar 
 
 Upon the surging wave; 
 It whispers words of hope and joy 
 That time nor change will e'er destroy, 
 
 But on my heart engrave. 
 
 It thrills me like some benison 
 An angel -hand hath cast upon 
 
 A votary at her shrine, 
 And brings a joy like that which lives 
 Within the soul when God forgives, 
 
 And whispers peace divine. 
 
ALL DEAD! 
 
 " I asked him — ' Where are the friends of your early days, 
 — your classmates and companions ? ' He replied, ' Dead — all 
 dead, and I am alone.' " 
 
 Rev. a. B. Robbin's Sermon, Nov. 4th, 18o3. 
 
 THEY are dead — all dead, — and I am alone 
 On the shore of Eternity's ocean; 
 They have plunged long ago in the dim rolling 
 
 tide, 
 And breasted the dark billows' motion. 
 
 The friends of my youth have all left me and 
 
 gone. 
 One by one, to their lone silent dwelling; 
 The worm and decay are now busy with hearts 
 That once with emotion were swelling. 
 
 The eyes that once beamed with devotion's soft 
 
 light, 
 And flashed into mine rays of feeling, 
 
ALL DEAD. 57 
 
 Are glassy and lusterless now in some grave 
 O'er which the winged zephyrs are stealing. 
 
 The hands I once seized in affectionate grasp, 
 And that yielded in turn the warm token, 
 Are mouldering now 'neath the emerald sod 
 The fond ties of earth are all broken! 
 
 I'm alone on the earth! they are gone, all gone! 
 I stand 'mid a new generation, 
 And cast a fond glance from the confines of Time 
 Toward the new and the better creation. 
 
 And there, when the toils of this life are all o'er — 
 
 When the last parting sigh shall be given. 
 
 May I meet them and mingle my praises with 
 
 theirs 
 By the throne of Jehovah in Heaven ! 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 FAIR Memory, once again thy sacred halls 
 With gentle step I tread. Down thy dim aisles 
 I wander in a musing mood, pausing 
 Anon, at intervals, to gaze into 
 Thy dimly -lighted niches, gathering 
 Here and there some fondly -treasured relic 
 Of the Past that sweetly stirs within me 
 Old associations, — and shaking off 
 The clinging mold, I bring it to the light 
 And muse upon it, noting oft the change 
 That passing years have wTought. 
 Some sweet memento from a partial friend. 
 It may be, — given at the parting hour, 
 When in the course of life our paths diverged. 
 And, striking hands, we sadly said " Farewell," 
 And passed to other scenes ; or, perchance, some 
 Cherished image of a face that loved me, 
 
3IEM0BY. 59 
 
 And called me by some fond, fraternal name, 
 And gave me counsel in my early years. 
 
 Then softly swells 
 Upon my ear some touching word that lips 
 Now moldering in the dust have spoken. 
 Whose sweetness stealeth o'er my soul in tones 
 Soft as the floating strains that fill the air, 
 When some enchanted lute by siren touched 
 Amid old Ocean's coral bed, awakes 
 Its fairy music ; and I seem to grasp 
 The proffered hand, and see the sunny smile 
 Light up the brow — the roseate flush of joy 
 Steal o'er the contour of the cheek — the eye 
 Rekindle, and its sparkling glance return 
 My ardent gaze, as in the years gone by. 
 And then I gaze on vivid landscapes, green 
 And sloping hills, and murmuring rivulets, 
 Waving poplars, clambering vines and aspens 
 Quivering in the balmy air as if to 
 Bid me to their cooling shade ; and then, in 
 All its sweet simplicity and beauty. 
 My native cot gleams on my mental sight. 
 And startles forth a thousand thoughts of home 
 And youth, and childhood's multifarious sports — 
 
60 
 
 ME3I0BY, 
 
 Of boyish dreams, and airy castles built 
 
 In many an idle hour, now crushed amid 
 
 The sad experience of my riper years. 
 
 And their frail fragments scattered to the winds 
 
 Of heaven. 
 
 And then the vision quickly fades 
 Like sunlight when the gathering clouds spread 
 
 o'er 
 The smiling earth and dim its golden sheen, — 
 And toward the Present I retrace my steps, 
 And mingle with the busy tide of Life. 
 
A HAPPY HOUR. 
 
 HOW sped the winged hours, as beside 
 The lamplight's cheerful glow we turned the 
 leaves 
 Of some fair volume, rich in human lore. 
 And paused at intervals to muse upon 
 Some gem of thought that seemed to find within 
 Our souls a deep and warm response, and thrilled 
 Through every fibre of our hearts. 
 
 And then 
 9\veet Music, the fair dialect of Heaven — 
 The deep, outpouring language of the soul — 
 In soft, harmonic waves fell on my ear. 
 And rapt my senses in a strange delight. 
 Was it the skillful touch and well -trained voice 
 That o'ercame me with their magic power. 
 And caused my throbbing heart to pause lest its 
 Wild beating should cast discord in the song? 
 Or was it that mysterious answering 
 
62 A HAPPY SOUP. 
 
 Of soul to soul, which Music's softest notes 
 Can only breatiie in human ears ? I know — 
 I know not ; yet a spell profound w^as cast 
 About me, and my ardent soul was raised 
 Above the dull, cold world to purer hights, 
 And breathed an atmosphere of perfect peace. 
 Oh, that our life abounded with such hours ! — 
 That each returning day should bear upon 
 Its tide fresh draughts of happiness divine, 
 That ne'er should pall the taste, nor cause 
 A weary feeling to come o'er the heart ! 
 Then were this world a paradise indeed, 
 And each sympathetic soul an angel ; 
 Then were our griefs but floating clouds which steal 
 Athw^art Hope's golden horizon, but leave 
 A wave of sunlight in their lingering train. 
 

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 THE CEMETERY. 
 
 A SUMMER'S day was closing. Beautiful 
 And bright the burnished clouds gleamed in 
 the West, 
 xVs hovering o'er the sinkiiig God of Day 
 They seemed to shroud him in their golden hues, 
 And celebrate his exit from my sight 
 With pageantry sublime. The sighing breeze 
 Swept softly 'mong the emerald foliage, 
 Stirring the leaves to whispering music 
 Low and soft, as when some lingering lute -strain 
 Dies faintly on the ear ; the vesper song 
 Of birds came intermingled on the air 
 With ceaseless music from the droning bee, 
 As, homeward winging, oft he paused awhile 
 To sip his honied food from every flower. 
 Pale Dian flung her orient beams from o'er 
 The distant hills, and shed a softened light 
 
G4 THE CEMETERY, 
 
 Upon the quiet scene ; and glittering stars 
 Crept out like watching sentinels, to guard 
 Her in her pathway to the West. 
 
 * * * 
 
 I was alone beside the place of graves. 
 
 I stood within the sacred precincts of 
 
 The city of the dead, and gazed upon 
 
 The grassy mounds that mark the silent home 
 
 Of each inhabitant. 
 
 Deep, solemn thoughts 
 Stole o'er me, and I mused in reverie 
 Long and silently. Beside me rested, o'er 
 Its pale, unconscious tenant, a stately 
 Marble tomb, that told the virtues of the 
 Dear departed, and marked his transit from 
 A world of care. Hard by grew fragrant flowers 
 Upon an humble grave, that loving hands 
 Had planted, and moistened eyes had watered 
 With their bitter tears ; and in the distance, 
 Amid the twilight's dim, uncertain light, 
 Rose the papal cross, that ancient symbol 
 Of the Church of Christ, and on its frontlet 
 Glimmered in the moon's pale light, "I. H. S." — 
 *' Jesus the Saviour of Men," — touching words ; 
 
THE CEMETERY, 65 
 
 How fit an emblem for " the dead in Christ," 
 
 Expressive of the fadeless hope and trust 
 
 The Christian feels when comes the trying hour. 
 
 Here, side by side in gloomy silence, lay 
 
 The stalwart man and feeble child : the old. 
 
 Full of decrepitude and years ; the young, 
 
 In all the bloom and vigor of life's morn, 
 
 When brilliant visions throng the soul ; 
 
 And those in life's meridian splendor — 
 
 Amid the zenith of ambitious dreams. 
 
 Cut down like oaks before the howling storm. 
 
 * * * 
 
 A few steps more upon the vernal sward, 
 And at my feet in unawakening sleep 
 Reposed the form of one, in other days 
 Far dearer than a stranger. Scarce had he 
 Reached the noon of life ; proud Manhood's bloom 
 
 was 
 On his noble brow ; his eye was bright, his 
 Earnest heart beat high, and yet a summons 
 From the Land of Shadows rang in his ear 
 AVith sad'ning sound, and quickly bade him hence; 
 And by his side, two little mounds bedecked 
 With many a floral gem, told of the past. 
 
66 THE CEMETERY, 
 
 With all its varied scenes of grief and joy. 
 A Mother's hand had placed those flow'rets there - 
 A Mother's eye had freshened them with tears — 
 And oft beside those tiny graves she bowed 
 In bitter grief for those she dearly loved, 
 And breathed to heaven the unavailing sigh. 
 
 Sleep on, ye dwellers in the silent ground — 
 Ye denizens of that lone, shadowy realm 
 Where knowledge cometh not, nor man's device, 
 But earth returns unto its kindred dust. 
 And spirits unto God, their primal source. 
 Sleep on, until the dawning of that morn 
 When all that slumber in the earth shall rise, 
 Shake off corruption's taint, and soar on wings 
 Of light to Immortality. 
 
SONG. 
 
 OH, soft swelling Music ! 
 How wondrous thy power, 
 When tremble thy accents 
 At evening's calm hour ! 
 What purest emotion 
 Steals over the soul, 
 When through its deep chambers 
 Thy harmonies roll. 
 
 How gently it waketh 
 
 Fond dreams of the past, 
 By Time's falling curtain 
 
 But dimly o'ercast ! 
 Fair visions of moments 
 
 Pure, holy, and bright, 
 Whose mem'ry, like incense, 
 
 Will ever delight. 
 
68 
 
 SONG. 
 
 What feelings of pleasure, 
 
 All calm and divine, 
 Thy devotee feeleth 
 
 When bowed at thy shrine; 
 How soareth his fancy 
 
 On silvery wings, 
 When the strain that he loveth 
 
 Is swept o'er the strings. 
 
 Oh, sweet floating Music, 
 
 How witching thy power. 
 When cometh in beauty 
 
 The still vesper hour — 
 Like voices of angels 
 
 That fall on our ears 
 In low, murmured breathings 
 
 From heavenly spheres. 
 
"DREAMS OF THE HEAKT." 
 
 SUGGESTED ON HEARING THE SONG. 
 
 HOW sweetly lingers in my ear " 
 That soft seolian strain, 
 Which told of dreams that pass away 
 And never come again ! 
 How sweet the chords, how sad the words, 
 That blended in each tone ! 
 Like music in the ambient air 
 That mingles with a moan. 
 
 Dreams of the heart ! To-day how bright 
 
 They steal across* the brain ; 
 
 Alas ! to-morrow clouds obscure, 
 
 And tear-drops fall like rain. 
 
 The bright eye sparkles, and the heart 
 
 With earnest hope beats high ; — 
 
70 DREAMS OF THE HEART. 
 
 Then throbs the quiv'ring pulse of fear, 
 And swells the choking sigh ! 
 
 We grasp in love the friendly hand 
 That rests within our own, 
 And gaze into the beaming eye, 
 And list the winning tone. 
 We turn again, and on the cheek 
 That glowed with healthful bloom. 
 We see the pallid hand of Death 
 That pointeth to the tomb ! 
 
 And yet I love that mournful strain, 
 
 E'en though it starts a tear. 
 
 And wakes within my anxious soul 
 
 The hurried throb of fear. 
 
 I love it, and the pensive air 
 
 Will vibrate in my ear 
 
 Whene'er I muse of bygone times. 
 
 And friends that once were near. 
 
 Then touch again the trembling chords. 
 And breathe the plaintive song ; 
 And I will dream of golden harps 
 
DBEA3IS OF THE HEART, 
 
 71 
 
 By angels swept along — 
 Of harps that yield a sad'ning sound 
 When loved ones fade and die, 
 But change to loftier, holier themes 
 When they ascend on high. 
 
AN HOUR WITH MEMORY. 
 
 COME, holy Memory, let us muse awhile 
 In silent reverie o'er the dreamy Past. 
 Unlock thy casket, spread thy treasures out 
 With liberal hand, that I may choose from out 
 Thy varied store some sweet remembrance 
 Clothed in winning garb ; for, there are some 
 I would not choose, whose dark habiliments 
 Reveal sad histories of care and woe; 
 Of sighs and tears, and anxious boding thoughts ; 
 And plaintive tones whose mournful melody 
 Is echoed down the aisles of Time to me ; 
 But let me gaze upon the record fair 
 Of some bright, happy hour that shed its light 
 *Upon my pathway long ago, ere grief 
 And disappointment, like a mantle broad 
 And gloomy, shrouded me within their folds ; — 
 Some record of an hour o'er which sweet Hope 
 Like guardian angel smiled, and thrilled my soul 
 
AJS" 110 UB WITH MEMORY, 73 
 
 With purest joy ; o'er which affection threw 
 Its soft and lambent rays, like sunshine on 
 The rippling river; o'er which sweet voices 
 Cast their magic spell like swelling lute -strains 
 On the balmy air of Summer's even. 
 Some such a boon as this, O Memory, 
 Thy votary craves, to win him from the world 
 That loads his ear with tales of toil and strife, 
 And selfishness and vanity. 
 
 Hast none 
 To give, sweet Memory ? Oh, canst thou not 
 Among thy musty tomes show one fair page 
 Whereon no tear hath quivered ? Canst thou not 
 Point me to some passage that shall regild 
 The Past with gorgeous hue, and cause a smile 
 To radiate where gloom hath settled long ! 
 Ah ! it comes — with influence gentle as the 
 Breeze that fans the fevered cheek, or dallies 
 With the locks that arch the brow of beauty ; 
 A memory of my Mother ! — of her eye 
 That beamed with love upon her wayward child, 
 And watched beside him oft when pale Disease 
 With skeleton embrace clung to his form 
 Tenaciously ; — a mem'ry of her voice 
 
74 AN HOUR WITH MEMORY, 
 
 That counseled and restrained when sin allured ; — 
 That soothed and comforted in sorrow's night, 
 And taught his lips to say, "-Thy will be done; — '''' 
 A memory of her earnest love — deep, pure, 
 And holy as a Christian's to his God — 
 A love that purifies and elevates 
 The soul, that guards it in temptation's hour, 
 And wooes it back again to truth ; — a love 
 That steals upon me softly, even now. 
 With influence sacred as a thought of heaven; 
 A memory of her parting blessing 
 As I lingered on the threshhold of a 
 Fondly - cherished home, ere I went forth 
 To mingle with the busy, restless throng 
 That crowd the avenues of human life. 
 And with it now come other memories. 
 By dear association linked to those 
 That cluster 'round a mother's cherished name, 
 All laden with their wealth of smiles and tears. 
 To win me to their shadowy embrace. 
 * * * 
 
 But, Memory, w^e must part. The Present calls. 
 And I must say. Adieu ! Fair Mnemosyne, 
 I thank thee for thy gentle guidance down 
 
AN HOUR WITH MEMORY. 75 
 
 The Past — for glimpses of departed joys 
 Whose shadows hover o'er me like the mists 
 Of twilight softly gathering 'round the earth. 
 Lock up thy jewels, keep the casket bright, 
 And when in musing mood I seek again 
 The precincts of thy temple, welcome me 
 With beaming eye, and kind, inviting smile, 
 To spend an hour in thy mysterious realm, 
 And gaze upon thy treasures. 
 
TO POWERS' GREEK SLAVE, 
 
 OH, can insensate marble speak 
 In earnest, pleading tone, 
 And injured Innocence look forth 
 
 From eyes of solid stone ? 
 Can Parian lips their moving tale 
 
 With eloquence impart, 
 And start the quiv'ring sigh within 
 The rapt beholder's heart ? 
 
 Oh, god -like Art! Oh, wondrous skill. 
 
 That thus can sweetly trace 
 Upon the rough, unsightly rock, 
 
 A pure, angelic face ! — 
 That thus can form the swelling bust, 
 
 And round the snowy zone, — 
 Can carve with matchless skill each limb 
 
 From cold and lifeless stone ! 
 
TO POWERS' GREEK SLAVE, 11 
 
 Oh, form divine ! upon whose brow 
 
 Sits Purity enthroned — 
 The contour of whose cheek is fair 
 
 As ever angel owned, — 
 Whose tapering arm of rarest mold 
 
 Rude manacles confine, 
 Whose quiet attitude of grace 
 
 Is perfect and divine, — 
 
 To thee we fain would tune the lyre, 
 
 And breathe upon the string 
 ^olian strains — low, soft, and sweet — 
 
 As when the angels sing. 
 Thou art the fair embodiment 
 
 Of all the soul might dream. 
 When fairy visions throng the mind, 
 
 And on the senses gleam. 
 
 In thee, we worship and adore 
 
 The Beautiful enshrined, 
 And praise the Master -hand whose skill 
 
 The peerless theme designed. 
 On thee we gaze till heart and soul 
 
 Are led entranced away, 
 And thought and feeling rapt, enchained, 
 
 Bow to thy mystic sway. 
 
LINES. 
 
 WRITTEN ON HEARING H. AND C. SING, "ARE WE 
 ALMOST THERE?" 
 
 OH, sing for me that gentle song 
 Of harmony and love ; 
 Its notes so pure that heaven's throng 
 Might catch the strain above. 
 
 Sing of that frail and dying one. 
 Whose eye beamed soft and fair, 
 As gently she pronounced the words, 
 "Are we not almost there?" 
 
 Sing of " the nook " and shady bower ; 
 The gushing waters free ; 
 The "sculptured niche" and tow'ring mount ; 
 Oh, sing that song for me ! 
 
LIJVJES. 79 
 
 Slug of that pale one's dying wish 
 To rest within the bower, 
 Where she had often gaily roved 
 In budding Childhood's hour. 
 
 Sing of the weeping, stricken hearts 
 That gathered 'round her bed, 
 To gaze upon that fragile form. 
 Now, motionless and dead. 
 
 Oh, sing for me that tender song ; 
 Its melancholy tone 
 Awakes a chord of sympathy 
 Before untouched, unknown. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 
 
 THE Winter's frost had fled away, 
 And sweetly bloomed the vernal flowers ; 
 The hum of bees, and song of birds, 
 Re-echoed in the sylvan bowers. 
 
 All nature seemed created new ; 
 The earth was robed in fairest green, 
 And brightly gleamed on flower and tree 
 The jeweled dew-drop's glittering sheen. 
 
 But ah ! that Spring brought not to one 
 Pale brow its wonted healthful bloom ; 
 One only rose clung to that cheek — 
 An emblem of an early tomb ! 
 
 The morn of life had only dawned. 
 The sunbeam just begun to play, 
 When, in the distance rose a cloud, 
 To chase that pure, bright beam away. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 81 
 
 Ah, frail one, thou so pure, so mild, 
 
 So gifted, in life's early day. 
 
 How soon hath fled thy young heart's dream, 
 
 All chilled by premature decay. 
 
 Yet still thou ling'rest on the earth, 
 Close to the crumbling verge of death, 
 Like some frail flower, upon whose leaves 
 Hath blown stern Autumn's wasting breath. 
 
 But courage, frail one ! soon thou I't be 
 On that mysterious, distant shore 
 Where Autumn comes not, and the flowers 
 Of endless Spring bloom evermore ! 
 
 There, blight, nor care, nor pain, nor death, 
 Shall reach thee with their sad'ning gloom, 
 But all be smiles and sunlight then, 
 In heaven's eternal, fadeless bloom. 
 
NAY, TELL ME NOT. 
 
 NAY, tell me not thou canst not trill 
 Thy lyre to tones of kindred song — 
 That o'er thy soul no magic thrill 
 Steals as the chords are swept along. 
 
 Nay, tell me not thy thoughts refuse 
 In currents musical to flow — 
 That thou hast vainly touched the harp 
 With gushing feeling all aglow ; 
 
 For oft within thy soul -lit eye, 
 As listening to some fervid line, 
 I've watched the softly - sparkling beam 
 As Fancy grasped the thought divine. 
 
 There lives within thy soul the spark 
 Promethean that from heaven came, 
 Which, fanned by some congenial breeze. 
 Would burst into a glowing flame. 
 
NAY, TELL 3fE NOT. 83 
 
 Then doubt no longer ; touch the strings, 
 Though tremulous may be the tone ; 
 'T will find an echo in some heart 
 That throbs responsive to thine own. 
 
A THOUGHT OF HOME. 
 
 A THOUGHT of home ! How softly stole 
 The feeling o'er my heart, 
 While all unbidden to mine eye 
 The trembling tear would start ! 
 A thought of home, amid that throng 
 Of spirits wild and gay, 
 Thrilled through my soul all glad and warm. 
 Like blessings when I pray. 
 
 A thought of home ! Ah, little dreamed 
 
 That noisy, laughing throng. 
 
 As rang their voices light and free 
 
 In that familiar song. 
 
 The memories it startled forth. 
 
 And fixed before my sight — 
 
 Pure visions of departed hours. 
 
 Illumined with delight! 
 
A THOUGHT OF H03IE. 85 
 
 Ah, little thought they, weary miles 
 
 On Fancy's tireless wing. 
 
 My thoughts went out to meet the Past, 
 
 As birds to meet the Spring. 
 
 Like them, as from an exile clime, 
 
 They speed their winged way, 
 
 So I, on Memory's pinions glide 
 
 To scenes far, far away. 
 
 A thought of home ! that holy place 
 Where first a mother's care 
 Restrained and guided me in youth, 
 And taught the lisping prayer; 
 And where a fond, paternal hand, 
 Was laid upon my brow, 
 And loving words were told to me 
 That thrill me even now. 
 
 That mother's breast whereon I lay. 
 And wept my childish grief, — 
 How glad I'd seek that refuge now, 
 Assured of sweet relief! 
 But weary distance intervenes, 
 And many a hill and vale. 
 Whose echoes, as I call her name. 
 Come mocking on the gale. 
 
A THOUGHT OF HOME, 
 
 Dear cherished home ! can I forget, 
 
 Through Time's unpausing flight, 
 
 The sparkling joys that circle thee 
 
 In aureate splendor bright ? 
 
 Thou world of love, within whose realm 
 
 Unkindness holds no sway, 
 
 Be thou my calm and sure retreat, 
 
 When other hopes decay. 
 
ONE OF LIFE'S BRIGHT HOURS. 
 
 TT^WAS silent eve, and through the clouded sky 
 JL A moonbeam dimly shone with feeble light, 
 While, in the distant West, one only star 
 Peered through the misty canopy of night, 
 Like some lone sentinel with sleepless eye, 
 Who guards a sacred trust. 
 
 In whisp'ring tones 
 The evening zephyrs swept o'er hill and vale. 
 And dallied with the elm trees' quiv'ring leaves, 
 Or murmured music through their swaying limbs. 
 Hard by, a lake its crystal waters spread 
 In sheeny beauty in the uncertain light. 
 And mirrored in its silver tide the moon 
 And that lone star. 
 
 How calm the hour, how sweet 
 The scene, as, low reclining on the mossy bank 
 'Neath that umbrageous elm, we silent gazed 
 
8S ONE OF LIFE'S BRIGHT HOURS. 
 
 Afar, as on some fairy realm, bedecked 
 
 In all the weird and shadowy beauty 
 
 Of legendary tales of olden times. 
 
 Our minds, as swayed by some supernal might, 
 
 Drank in the nameless magic of the hour ; 
 
 And thoughts deep, beautiful, and all sublime. 
 
 Swept o'er our souls, and filled our hearts with joy. 
 
 Instinctively, as if in sympathy. 
 
 We gazed into each other's eyes, then turned 
 
 To muse upon the grandeur, dim and wild. 
 
 That seemed to woo us with resistless power. 
 
 Our hands were gently clasped, and in each breast 
 
 A thrill of pleasure sweetly stirred the heart, 
 
 While murmured words, with soft and dreamy 
 
 sound, 
 Fell from our lips, as if our tongues had caught 
 The inspiration of the witching hour. 
 And feared a louder tone would break the charm, 
 Dissolve the spell, and bring us back to life. 
 But oh, as ever thus with all that's bright 
 And beautiful on earth, some dissonance 
 Must mingle and destroy the potent spell ; 
 So, with a harsh, discordant, grating sound, 
 A voice unmusical disturbed the scene. 
 
ONE OF LIFE'S BRIGHT HOURS. 89 
 
 And roused us from our dream -like reverie 
 O'er unreal things ; and our ephemeral world 
 Was borne away like vapory mists before 
 The Day -God's orient beams, and left a void 
 Within our hearts — a niche unfilled, where late 
 Bright fancies reveled unrestrained and free. 
 
 Long years have fled since then, and I have drank 
 Of Sorrow's chalice many a bitter draught, 
 And drained the brimming cup of frenzied joy ;— 
 Have mingled with the gay and heartless world, 
 And stood beside the charnel vault where sleep 
 The dearly loved and cherished ones of earth ; — 
 But still the memory of that sacred hour ; 
 Its moonlight and its isolated star ; 
 The clasped hand ; the softly beaming eye ; 
 The peerless form that lingered by my side ; — 
 Clings to my soul like some mysterious charm, 
 And stirs the smould'ring embers of my hope 
 Into a flickering, momentary flame. 
 
A SIMILE. 
 
 A.' 
 
 N op'ning bud exhaled its odors sweet, 
 Xjl. And spread its fragrance o'er a shady bower 
 And many a limpid dew-drop, pure and bright. 
 Was glistening in the bursting flower. 
 
 It bloomed awhile ; but ere its roseate tints 
 Were fully limned, a scorching sunny ray 
 Too rudely shone upon the beauteous gem, 
 And soon it drooped — its freshness fled away. 
 
 Its petals closed ; the leaves began to fall, 
 And, one by one, its gorgeous tints to fade, 
 Till, at the dewy eve, its fragrance gone, 
 A wreck it lay within the vernal shade. 
 
 Thus earthly hopes decay ! 
 Their visions pass away 
 
A SUIILE, 
 
 91 
 
 Like morning mists before the sun, 
 That vanish ere the day is done. 
 
 Thus fades life's fitful gleam — 
 
 Its short-lived airy dream. 
 
 Oft, ere the twilight hour appears, 
 
 Our bark is wrecked and we 're in tears. 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE DEW-DROP 
 
 FAR, far adown dark Ocean's depths, 
 Beneath the surging wave, 
 Is a weird palace, bright and fair — 
 A mermaid's coral cave. 
 A siren here doth tune her harp 
 To sweet and witching lays. 
 When linger in the glowing West 
 The sun's declining rays. 
 
 Far above, in the blue expanse, 
 A light - winged seraph dwells ; 
 Tinged cloudlets form his palace rare, 
 "And grace his airy dells. 
 This seraph on a mission, kind. 
 Went o'er the trackless sea, 
 (To cheer some broken heart, perchance. 
 With fairy minstrelsy), 
 And as he spread his azure wings 
 O'er Ocean's briny way, 
 
ORIGIN OF THE DEW- DROP. 93 
 
 Sweet sounds from out its caverns came — 
 
 A soft and gentle lay. 
 
 The seraph, charmed, resigned his flight. 
 
 He sought the mermaid's cave. 
 
 And there, with her, did gaily sing, 
 
 And 'neath the waters lave. 
 
 But presently the parting came, 
 
 And gently they drew near ; 
 
 The seraph breathed a parting sigh^ 
 
 The siren shed a tear. 
 
 That tear, enshrined within his breast, 
 
 The seraph bore above ; 
 
 'T was sacred, holy, for it was 
 
 A pledge of fairy love. 
 
 But as he sped in upward flight. 
 
 The tear escaped and fell 
 
 Far down to earth, and rested in 
 
 A lonely, sad hare -bell. 
 
 Thus came to earth the dew-drop bright. 
 
 To gladden leaf and flower, — 
 
 To nestle in the choicest gems 
 
 That grace each floral bower. 
 
WE WILL LAY HER TO SLEEP. 
 
 W 
 
 E will lay her to sleep in the cold, cold 
 ground, 
 
 And heap on her grave the soft, grassy mound. 
 We will plant the rose and violet there, 
 And hallow^ the duty with many a prayer. 
 
 We '11 talk of her beauty and winning grace; 
 Of her childish smile and love - lighted face ; 
 Of her wavy hair and soft, black eye ; 
 And her spirit that 's wafted above the sky. 
 
 We '11 think of her oft as an early rose 
 
 That bloomed in the morning, but ere the day's 
 
 close 
 Folded its petals, and tranquilly slept, 
 While night- dews of sympathy over it wept. 
 
WU WILL LAY HER TO SLEEP. 95 
 
 We '11 think of her oft as an angel bright. 
 Spreading her wings in the realms of light — 
 Singing her anthem of infantile praise 
 Where the sunshine of heaven eternally plays. 
 
 We '11 strew o'er her grave the choicest of flowers, 
 Freshened in hue by Spring's early showers ; 
 And sadly resign her to death and the sod, 
 But think of her only as dwelling with God. 
 
MUSINGS. 
 
 HOW oft when evening shadows softly fall 
 In silence o'er the earth, and weary man 
 From labor rests, and seeks a calm repose. 
 Steal o'er us pleasing reveries and dreams 
 That seem to lift us far above the dull 
 And plodding world, and fill our ardent souls 
 With anxious longings for the unattained. 
 Some gentle train of thought we choose from out 
 The mass that crowds upon our teeming brain, 
 And follow captive wheresoe'er it leads. 
 Perchance it points us to some quiet vale 
 Where waving poplars rustle in the breeze 
 That plays among our locks, all redolent 
 Of soft perfume from many a budding flower ; 
 And far adown the slope our fancy sees, 
 Embow'red 'mid the clamb'ring vines, a cot 
 With trellised front, and lawn of emerald green, 
 Each casement half - concealed by buds and flowers 
 
3IUSIJVGS. 97 
 
 Of every hue, — while near the door a spring 
 Its purling stream sends forth to mingle with 
 The rolling tide below. Within that cot 
 We fancy Truth and Innocence to dwell. 
 The rustic maid who trains those vines and flowers, 
 We deck in simple garb of fairest white ; 
 Her melting eye seems fixed at intervals 
 Upon our own ; her soft and genial smile 
 Like sunlight sweetly breaks upon her face. 
 Anon we hear the silvery tones that 'fall 
 From those pure lips which, parting, now display 
 The dazzling pearls within, while laughter clear 
 And soft rings on our ear, as drawing near 
 Her aged sire who smokes his pipe beside 
 The cottage door, she lists some merry tale 
 Of other days when he was young and gay, 
 And ardent blood coursed through his youthful 
 
 veins. 
 They two — the blooming maid, the hoary sire — 
 So happy seem beside their cottage home, 
 We fain would catch the spirit of their mirth. 
 And strive to bend our footsteps hitherward, — 
 When lo ! the spell dissolves — the vision flies, 
 Like mists that melt before the rising sun. 
 
A MEMORY. 
 
 AS o'er the dusty path of Life 
 I bent my plodding way, 
 With alternating hopes and fears 
 To comfort or dismay, 
 I paused beneath a shady bower, 
 Where grateful zephyrs strayed 
 About each clamb'ring vine and flower, 
 And beams of moonlight played. 
 
 A sound of music caught my ear, 
 And chained me with its spell — 
 So low and soft its spirit tones 
 In dreamy beauty fell. 
 I listened, and a lute -like voice 
 Poured forth a warbling strain. 
 Weird -like and beautiful as that 
 Of sirens 'neath the main. 
 
A ME3I0BY, 99 
 
 The obedient hand with skillful touch 
 Swept o'er the quiv'ring strings, 
 Which murmured low a touching air, 
 Sweet as some angel sings. 
 Enrapt, I listened till the sound 
 In fainter cadence fell — 
 Revived again — then died away 
 In soft and ling'ring swell. 
 
 Long years have floated by since then, 
 
 And still I tread Life's way, 
 
 And muse upon its checkered scenes 
 
 When fades the light of day ; 
 
 And oft the memory of those sounds, 
 
 That voice and leafy bower, 
 
 Steal o'er me like some soothing dream. 
 
 And charm me with their power. 
 
LINES TO S. AND M. 
 
 " Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! 
 Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled ; 
 You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, 
 But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still." 
 
 MOOBE. 
 
 HOW oft — as o'er Life's checkered path 
 With sadclen'd step we tread, 
 And muse upon the varied Past, 
 Its joys and sorrow's fled — 
 Steal o'er us glowing thoughts of hours 
 Filled with intense delight. 
 When silvery voices rang in glee, 
 And eyes were beaming bright. 
 
 How vividly revives again 
 
 Each winning look and tone ; 
 
 Each smile that played o'er Beauty's brow, 
 
 And on us softly shone ; 
 
 How form's departed softly gleam 
 
LINES TO S. AND 3L 101 
 
 Upon the mental sight, 
 
 And move amid the crowds that throng 
 
 The Past's illumined night. 
 
 Yes, deeply mirrored in my heart 
 
 Such images remain ; 
 
 And when I muse in thought, they seem 
 
 Instinct with life again. 
 
 Like fairy music float the tones 
 
 That thrilled me long ago, 
 
 And Mem'ry's picture showeth scenes 
 
 Time can not o'erthrow. 
 
 And bright among them long shall live 
 
 The memory of one hour — 
 
 O'er which the light of pleasure beamed, 
 
 Without a cloud to lower. 
 
 Kind words and looks and genial smiles. 
 
 Like Lethean balms for pain. 
 
 Soothed each discordant note of woe. 
 
 And joy was mine again. 
 
 A sweet memento still remains 
 To bless that sacred hour — 
 
1(»2 LINES TO S, AND M, 
 
 A souvenir of holy things — 
 
 A fair and fragrant flower ! 
 
 O, may its emblem, pure and high, 
 
 My watchword ever be, 
 
 And "virtue" guide my watid'ring barque 
 
 O'er Life's uncertain sea. 
 
 And round your hearts, dear, cherished friends. 
 
 May clust'ring virtues twine, — 
 
 Religion's peace pervade each soul, 
 
 And calmest joy's divine. 
 
 And when the sparkling eye grows dim. 
 
 And pales youth's roseate glow. 
 
 Be yours the hope that cheers, sustains, 
 
 The Christian's life below. 
 
TO REV. A. B. ROBBINS. 
 
 ON HIS FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 THE fiftieth cycle of the rolling years 
 That mark the decades of thy life has come, 
 And with it, prosperous gales to waft thee on 
 Still further in the surging tide that beats 
 And foams about thy life - barque's filling sails. 
 Ah, what a retrospect is thine ! How much 
 Of joy and brightness, sadness, gloom. 
 And mystery, checker the pathway of 
 Thy toilsome, busy life ! Thou hast seen first 
 The tender blade put forth its feeble growth 
 In soil of native richness, 'mid the blooms 
 Of Western wilds, and oft with wearied heart. 
 And patient toil, hast thou the tender plant, 
 Encouraged in its growth by kindly care, 
 Until the ear put forth its milky fruit 
 To bless the hand that nourished and sustained - 
 
104 TO BEV, A. B, BOBBINS. 
 
 It in the storm and drouth, and heat and cold 
 Of many a passing hour ; and then the soft, 
 Distilling dew, and gentle rain and sun, 
 Brought forth the golden ripening corn. 
 
 Thou too 
 Hast seen the dearly loved depart and leave 
 
 The scenes of earthly toils ; the help - meet of 
 Thine earlier years, and children in the bloom 
 And freshness of life's morn, have one by one. 
 Gone down to death, to silence, and the grave ! 
 And of thy flock, the stalwart and the strong ; 
 The aged and the weak ; and precious lambs, 
 Are sheltered in the Shepherd's arms within 
 The Everlasting Fold ; while some remain 
 With others, gathered since by gentle words 
 From sin's delusive paths, to cheer and bless 
 Thee in thy work of love. 
 
 Thine the bold heart 
 And earnest word to battle with the hosts 
 Of sin and wickedness where'er they lift 
 Their arms defiant of the Right and True, 
 Be it the wine - cup's poison, or that dark. 
 
TO BEV. A, B. BOBBINS. 105 
 
 Insidious foe of human liberty 
 
 Now trampled in the dust ; or any form 
 
 Of wrong and outrage that doth mar and blight 
 
 The image of the noblest work of God. 
 
 Thine the firm soul, the Puritanic will 
 
 That bends nor swerves to right nor left to court 
 
 The wooing breeze of favor or renown, 
 
 But with unflinching courage draws the line 
 
 Beyond which none may go and yet remain 
 
 Consistent followers of Him who died 
 
 In attestation of the glorious truths 
 
 He uttered while on earth, to bless and save 
 
 A wretched, sinful, dying race. 
 
 Press on. 
 Brave soldier of the cross, to nobler hights, 
 AM loftier themes evoked from that deep mine 
 Of truth where delve the purest minds of earth. 
 Until at last, when youth and vigor fail 
 With passing years, and earthly armor shall 
 Be changed for shining robes and heavenly crown, 
 The mem'ry of thy life shall still survive, 
 
 8 
 
106 
 
 TO BEV, A, B. BOBBINS. 
 
 Like some sweet legacy of priceless worth, 
 
 To teach the Way, the Truth, the Life, to those 
 
 Who linger still upou the changing earth. 
 
GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 
 
 AT WASHINGTON, MAY 1, 1865.* 
 
 TWO hundred thousand burnished arms 
 Gleam in the golden light of day, 
 While guns and steeds and stalwart men 
 Make up the gorgeous, grand array. 
 
 Gay banners cleave the balmy air, 
 And martial music's stirring strain 
 
 Thrills every heart, whose ringing shout 
 Welcomes each hero back again. 
 
 Bright wreaths and gaudy chaplets rare, 
 
 By loving fingers deftly wrought, 
 Grace many a form that late before 
 
 On sanguinary fields had fought. 
 
 * Read at the celebration of the Fourth of July, 1865, at Musca- 
 tine, Iowa. 
 
108 GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 
 
 Vast crowds, with long and loud huzzas, 
 The passing ranks of veterans cheer ; 
 
 While 'kerchiefs flutter in the breeze, 
 And words of welcome catch the ear. 
 
 There stands the hero of the war — 
 The matchless, swerveless, tried, and true 
 
 Who never, in the darkest hour, 
 Doubted the noble boys in blue. 
 
 Silent and taciturn he stands, 
 And looks upon the moving scene ; 
 
 No outward sign betrays the thoughts 
 His patient brain and bosom screen. 
 
 With acts^ not words, with glorious deeds 
 He fills the measure of his fame, 
 
 And leaves his country to declare 
 The fadeless honors due his name ! 
 
 Before him in review now pass 
 The veteran hosts he oft hath led. 
 
 Who ne'er recoiled in battle's shock, 
 Nor Rebel shells and bullets fled. 
 
GRAND MILITARY REVIEW, 109 
 
 With quickened step and kindling eye 
 They catch their chieftain's earnest gaze, 
 
 While Mem'ry wings them swiftly back 
 To other, darker, drearier days. 
 
 But noW: the smoke of battle past — 
 The dreadful days of carnage o'er — 
 
 Their hearts are filled with brighter thoughts, — 
 Of home and happy scenes once more. 
 
 Make room, then, for the soldiers ! — room 
 For Sherman, Sheridan, and Meade ! — 
 
 For all the heroes, brave and true. 
 Who served our country in her need ; — 
 
 For those with muskets in their hands. 
 As well as those who bear the sword ; 
 
 For those who charged at each command, 
 And drenched with blood the emerald sward. 
 
 Yes, make them room ! A nation's love 
 
 And endless gratitude are theirs ; 
 A nation's homage and its care, 
 
 And oh, a nation's holiest prayers ! 
 
no GRAND MILITARY REVIEW, 
 
 Close by their side a viewless throng 
 March to inaudible command — 
 
 Celestial music guides their steps 
 In echoes from the Spirit Land — 
 
 Brave comrades, lost on many a field 
 Where flaming War's red billows rolled, - 
 
 With silent tread join in the crowd, 
 The gorgeous pageant to behold. 
 
 O, noble dead ! O, martyred brave ! — 
 
 Of Liberty the seal and sign. 
 The bloody, human sacrifice 
 
 Is perfect, and the end divine ! 
 
 What means this pageant ? Nothing more 
 Than banners, music, and the tread 
 
 Of conquering hosts from battle-fields, 
 By gallant chieftains proudly led ? 
 
 A festive scene ? a gala day ? 
 
 Triumphal arches, wreaths, and flowers, 
 That flash a moment on the sight 
 
 And vanish with the passing hours ? 
 
GBAND MILITARY BEVIEW. Ill 
 
 Oh, infinitely more than these ; — 
 
 Oh, loftier, grander, holier far, 
 Than all the glit'ring " pride and pomp 
 
 And circumstance of glorious war ! " 
 
 It meaneth that the sacrifice 
 Of blood hath full atonement made 
 
 For all the long, dark catalogue 
 Of wrong and sin upon us laid. 
 
 It meaneth that the bond are free ! 
 
 The gyves and fetters of the Slave 
 Are broken, and Oppression's might 
 
 Hath sunk in its eternal grave ! 
 
 It means that Freedom, Equal Rights, 
 With Law and Order in the scale, 
 
 Have found their level, and that stern, 
 Unyielding Justice shall prevail ! 
 
 It means that yon bright, starry flag, 
 Though torn, and soaked with human gore. 
 
 Shall wave o'er free men, and shall mock 
 The weary, cringing Slave no more ! 
 
112 GBAJSD MILITARY REVIEW. 
 
 It meaneth Progress, Power, and Might ! 
 
 A nation's proud, undying fame ; — 
 That God defends and saves the Right, 
 
 And covers Wrong with endless shame. 
 
 It means that traitors who would lift 
 Their dastard hands to strike us down, 
 
 Must meet inevitable fate. 
 And wear a halter — not a crown. 
 
 It meaneth Peace, whose whisp'ring gales 
 O'er hill and vale, and wood and stream. 
 
 Shall gently breathe in music soft 
 As sometimes mingles with a dream. 
 
 And while, with hearts yet blanched with grief. 
 For him — our country's savior — slain. 
 
 We mourn the noblest, truest, best, 
 With drops like soft, distilling rain ; 
 
 Yet, looking upward to the light 
 That breaks in beams of splendor o'er 
 
 Each mountain, hill -top, tree, and glen, 
 We doubt and hesitate no more. 
 
GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 113 
 
 Like him, " with firmness in the right, 
 As God shall give us strength to see," 
 
 We will maintain the cause his blood 
 Did consecrate to Liberty ! 
 
 And here, upon this natal day 
 Of Freedom's life, with all the past — 
 
 Its memories, hopes, its doubts and fears. 
 Now shining and now overcast — . 
 
 Redeemed and purified by War's 
 
 Red blast ; regenerate and saved 
 From Anarchy and Sin and Death ; 
 
 By all the dangers we have braved, — 
 
 We pledge anew our sacred faith. 
 
 And by the memory of our sires, — 
 Their struggles, hopes, and fervent prayers, 
 
 Ascending from their altar fires, — 
 
 By the vast hecatombs of slain, 
 That slumber 'neath the springing sod. 
 
 Whose silent graves, with pleading voice, 
 All solemnly look up to God, — 
 
114 GBAND MILITARY REVIEW, 
 
 By the lone widow's scalding tears; 
 
 By the sad orphan's plaint of woe; 
 By the maimed soldier, wounded, sore, 
 
 Who meets our sight where'er we go ; 
 
 By all the vict'ries we have won ; 
 
 By each defeat that laid us low ; 
 By every sword and every gun, 
 
 Captured from the infuriate foe; 
 
 By every port, and town, and State, 
 Released from Buin's fatal grasp, 
 
 And placed once more by w^illing hands 
 Within the Union's loving clasp ; 
 
 By all the suff'ring, pain, and woe; 
 
 By all the anxious thought endured ; 
 By all the joy and ecstasy 
 
 Of peace and victory secured, — 
 
 We swear before high heaven to-day 
 Our glorious Union to maintain ; 
 
 Our rights and liberties to keep. 
 Unsullied by a single stain. 
 
GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 115 
 
 From sire to son the rich bequest, 
 Uninarred, untarnished, and secure, 
 
 Shall pass — a priceless legacy — 
 While rolling ages shall endure. 
 
 And when, in future days, on History's page, 
 Shall glow the record of this time. 
 
 Our Country and our Country's cause 
 Shall live in theme and song sublime. 
 
 Ours the proud record that we won 
 
 In Liberty's ennobling cause — 
 Subdued our traitors, freed our slaves. 
 
 And vindicated righteous laws. 
 
 Then rear the structure broad and high ; 
 
 Lay the foundations deep and strong. 
 And dedicate the fabric rare 
 
 With fervent ode and joyous song. 
 
 And keep, oh, keep the temple pure — 
 Pure as when first our Washington 
 
 Knelt meekly at its sacred shrine, 
 W^ith thanks to God for Freedom won ! 
 
116 GBAND MILITARY REVIEW, 
 
 Pure as when Lincoln bowed his head 
 And shed a martyr's crimson blood ! — 
 
 Yes, pure as when a nation's grief 
 Poured forth its unavailing flood ! — 
 
 And pure as now, when, joyfully, 
 We meet to celebrate this day, 
 While gushing sunlight's gilded beams 
 In softened splendor o'er us play ; — 
 
 Pure as a dream of yonder heaven — 
 As glit'ring dew - drops on the sod ; 
 
 Pure as the theme that angels sing, 
 Pure as some holy thought of God ! 
 
THE DEAD SEA. 
 
 THOU " curst of God,'' what mighty wonders 
 rest 
 Beneath thy veiled and misty deep ! 
 What haughty heroes who defied the Lord, 
 Within thy lifeless bosom sleep ! 
 
 Here rest the doomed of Sodom's sinful race, 
 And dark Gomorrah's treacherous sons 
 Lie buried far beneath the briny wave, 
 That here in sullen silence runs. 
 
 Here blows the dread simoom in fury wild. 
 And here the fierce sirocco's blast 
 Pursues both man and beast, while heav'n above 
 With gath'ring gloom is overcast. 
 
118 THE DEAD SEA. 
 
 Here Desolation dwells ! A burning sun 
 Beams o'er the parched and sterile earth ; 
 And Silence — sad, oppressive Silence — reigns, 
 Where men of other times had birth. 
 
 Mysterious Sea ! when, at the Lord's command, 
 Thou givest up thy sleeping dead. 
 What forms, what relics of an ancient age, 
 Will spring from thy dark, murky bed ! 
 
 Till then, thou 'rt silent, save when rocked by 
 
 winds 
 Thy waves put forth a plaintive moan. 
 Or w^hen the lonely Bulbul's song is heard, 
 High o'er thy bosom's bursting foam. 
 
 Thou rollest on, deserted, wild ; no bark ; 
 No cheerful sail upon thy wave ; 
 No human form upon th' accursed tide 
 Which guards the ancient cities' grave. 
 
"THE BEAUTIFUL ARE NEVER 
 DESOLATE."* 
 
 DO bright eyes never shed a tear ? 
 Do gay hearts never throb with fear ? 
 Nor merry voices quiver? 
 Do roseate hues unfading glow, 
 Like soft, auroral tints on snow, 
 On Beauty's cheek forever ? 
 
 Do lips that part in sunny smile, 
 And speak a joyous word the while, 
 
 Ne'er give a sorrowing token ? 
 Do formless dreams that haunt the mind, 
 And with a soft persuasion bind, 
 
 Forever charm, unbroken ? 
 
 Ah, no ! the brightest eye will fill — 
 The gayest heart will sometimes chill, 
 When gloomy doubt o'erpowers ! 
 
 •Bailey's Festus. 
 
120 NEVER DESOLATE. 
 
 The glowing cheek will fade and pale ; 
 The emerald earth appear a vale 
 Of tears and darksome hours ! 
 
 Lips that never a sad word own 
 Will mourn in plaintive monotone 
 
 O'er ties the Fates dissever; 
 And airy castles, towering high, 
 Will be demolished with a sigh, 
 
 And vanish, aye, forever. 
 
 But oh, that beauty of the soul 
 That permeates with sweet control 
 
 Our every thought and vision. 
 Begets no spirit of unrest — 
 Is never desolate, oppressed, 
 
 But roams in fields elysian ! 
 
 It calmly meets misfortune's hours, 
 
 And sees 'mid darkness, light and flowers 
 
 And sunshine on its way. 
 It turns within, when all is dark. 
 Where scintillates the kindling spark 
 
 Of hope and brighter day. 
 
NEVER DESOLATE. 121 
 
 And finds sweet comfort, all unknown 
 To those who pine and sigh alone 
 
 Beneath the shade of night. 
 It guides us in the path sublime, 
 Where costly gems from Thought's deep mine 
 
 Illumine with their light ; 
 
 Directs us to the pathless wood ; 
 Invokes the charm of solitude, 
 
 And bears aloft the mind 
 On bright Imagination's wings, 
 And over each a radiance flings, 
 
 By limit unconfined. 
 
 It leads us on through grots and bowers, 
 All redolent of perfumed flowers, 
 
 And vocal with the strain 
 Of music from the morning lark, 
 Or nightingale, when shadows dark 
 
 Envelope earth again. 
 
 From nature up to nature's God," 
 Despite Affliction's scathing rod, 
 
122 NEVER DESOLATE. 
 
 It gently leads the way ; 
 It soothes, and wooes, and charms. 
 And frees the soul from dread alarms 
 
 That sadden and dismay. 
 
 It gilds the Future with its light ; 
 Illumes the Past with mem'ries bright, 
 
 And points us to the skies. 
 Where Love Supreme, with kindling ray, 
 Revivifies unending day, 
 
 And Beauty never dies ! 
 
TO MY WIFE. 
 
 Twelve years ago, 
 With hearts aglow. 
 
 And solemn promise high, 
 
 We wove the silken tie 
 
 That bound each soul 
 With sweet control, 
 
 To walk in Hymen's way 
 
 In unison for aye ! 
 
 And now, to-day. 
 Love's kindly ray. 
 With softly beaming light, 
 Still glow3 and shines as bright 
 As when we vowed 
 Amid the crowd, 
 To tread life's path together, 
 In fair or stormy weather. 
 
124 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 Some sad'ning fears, 
 And briny tears, 
 
 Have dimmed the passing hours ; 
 
 The cloud that darkly lowers 
 Alike on all, 
 With gloomy pall, 
 
 Its drops of grief hath shed 
 
 Upon our sleeping dead ! 
 
 The care and ill, 
 
 That sadly fill 
 So much of human life 
 With pain and restless strife. 
 
 Have left their trace 
 
 Upon each face. 
 And shadows gather now 
 About each eye and brow ; 
 
 And yet the joy 
 (With its alloy) — 
 The blessings kindly given 
 To draw us nearer heaven — 
 In plenteous showers 
 Have crowned the hours. 
 
TO MY WIFE. 125 
 
 Subduing every grief, 
 And bringing sweet relief. 
 
 We 're only three, 
 
 With you and me — 
 The boy that still survives 
 To bless our earthly lives ; 
 
 The other — well, 
 
 He went to dwell 
 With God in early life, 
 XTnstained by human strife ! 
 
 Then, on this day 
 
 That marks our way 
 Through life's uncertain maze, 
 With gratitude and praise 
 
 We '11 look above 
 
 All earthly love. 
 To Him who guides and saves 
 Our barque ainid the waves 
 
 That surge and beat 
 Around our feet 
 
126 TO MY WIFE, 
 
 Upon life's treach'rous tide, 
 And to the baven wide 
 Of endless light 
 Directs our sight, 
 When Death, with chilling gloom, 
 Shall wrap us in the tomb ! 
 
LADY, I COME. 
 
 LADY, I come ! an airy sprite. 
 To whisper in thine ear 
 A word of hope, a word of love, — 
 And oh, a word of fear. 
 
 Lady, thy heart is young and warm ; 
 
 Thy voice is wild and free ; 
 Thy mild blue eye is beaming soft, 
 
 And Life goes cheerily. 
 
 Lady, thou lovest ! A master hand 
 
 Hath woven round thy soul 
 A spell which naught may overthrow. 
 
 Nor thou thyself control. 
 
 Lady, is he thou lovest true ? 
 
 Lives there within his breast 
 A flame which glows like that in thine ? 
 
 And does he guard the guest ? 
 
128 
 
 LADY, I COMB. 
 
 Lady, I know not if he 's false ; 
 
 I know not if he 's true ; 
 I know not if he loves thee well, 
 
 Or would thy heart undo. 
 
 Lady, I go ; my task is done. 
 
 I 've whispered low to thee 
 A word of hope, of love, of fear ; 
 
 Choose thou among the three. 
 
THE NYCTANTHES. 
 
 THE stillness of the twilight hour comes on ; 
 The din of labor and of strife is past ; 
 The song of birds is hushed — in sylvan bowers 
 They sweetly rest, while night's dark shadows 
 last. 
 
 The perfumed flowers, in many a garden fair, 
 Have closed their petals with the sun's decline; 
 
 Not so the sad Nyctanthes, which, at eve. 
 Expands and blooms amid the pale moonshine. 
 
 Unfolding, modestly, its charms, which shrank 
 From daylight's gleam and noontide's burning 
 ray, 
 
 It sadly blooms in sympathy with those 
 Who nightly mourn the friends now passed away. 
 
13(» THE NYCTANTHE8. 
 
 While Flora's gems yield incense to the morn ; 
 
 When dew-drops sparkle in the sunlight's glare, 
 The sorrowful Nyctanthes, weeping, sheds 
 
 Its gentle fragrance on the midnight air. 
 
 Like hearts that have some secret anguish known, 
 And wept unseen beneath the shades of night, — 
 
 So this lone flower, at the dim, vesper time. 
 Unfolds its sadness with the waning light. 
 
BOYHOOD YEARS. 
 
 THE voice of other years — of boyhood years — 
 How oft its cadence lingers in my ear, 
 And stirs the fount of Memory by its. 
 Music, soft and sad. Scenes long, long agone, 
 And forms, to dear remembrance sacred, rise 
 And greet me with their holy memories. 
 The school - house, with its quaint old desks and 
 
 doors ; 
 The master, with his low'ring brow of gloom, 
 And pitiless gray eye that gazed on one 
 Reprovingly and stern ; the young and gay 
 Companions there I met, now scattered far 
 And wide — some happy, blest, and good, and some 
 Bewrecked within the wave of dark despair ; 
 And many, cold and silent in the grave ; — 
 All, all bestrew sad Memory's mystic fane 
 In dim and dark and sorrowful array I 
 Ah, Time, how changeful are thy ways ! A few 
 
132 BOYHOOD YEARS. 
 
 Brief years may sever kindred hearts, and breal?: 
 In twain the cherished bands of hope and love ! 
 And yet, there are a few green spots to glad 
 And cheer us in Life's dreary way : a few 
 Warm hearts that fondly linger near us still. 
 Whose love yet binds us by the tend'rest ties. 
 To earth and earthly scenes. To these, to these 
 Oh, let me ever firmly cling till Life's 
 Brief hour is fled, and Death, with all its gloom, 
 Shall bid me breathe a long and sad farewell 
 To all I love. Then may I calmly lay 
 Me down to sleep that dreamless sleep 
 Which knows no waking but the trump of God. 
 
 e)/(s 
 
IOWA. 
 
 READ BEFORE THE ALTJMNI OF IOWA STATE UNIVERSITY, JUNE 27, 186T. 
 
 IOWA! Iowa! "this is the place,'/ 
 Said a chieftain bold of the red man's race, 
 As with darting canoe and pliant oar 
 He touched the Mississippi's western shore. 
 'T was at day's decline, and the autumn sun — 
 His pathway diurnal in splendor run — 
 Sank with hazy beam in the golden West, 
 'Neath a crimson halo of clouds to rest. 
 How wild was the scene as the wigwam fire, 
 Fanned by the breeze, blazed higher and higher. 
 And the simple savages gathered round, 
 Silently seating themselves on the ground. 
 The trees of Rock Island gleamed in the light. 
 Evening was mingling its shadows with Night, 
 The whippowil's notes with a plaintive sound 
 Were heard in the primal forest around ; 
 
134 IOWA, 
 
 The howl of the wolf in his distant lair 
 With lonely vibrations fell on the air, 
 While the Indians smoked their pipes in peace, 
 And sought in deep slumber a brief release 
 From the toils and cares, and the daily strife 
 That mar both savage and civilized life. 
 Fair Luna looked down with silvery sheen ; 
 Stars flashed their radiance upon the wild scene, 
 While lofty old oaks like patriarchs stood, 
 Casting their shadows upon the dim flood 
 That silently rolled in grandeur below. 
 To mingle with Ocean its restless flow. 
 
 * * ^ 
 
 How changed the picture ! Years have fled, 
 In time's unfailing, ceaseless tread ; 
 And now, where late the Indian stood 
 In dim, benighted solitude. 
 Beside the smould'ring village fires, 
 To mark the graves where lie his sires. 
 Or bend above some emerald mound 
 Where rest the loved in sleep profound, 
 " The course of empire takes its Wciy," 
 With ruthless steps that none may stay; 
 And here, beneath his native skies. 
 
IOWA, 135 
 
 With ardent zeal and enterprise, 
 Erewhile came an adventurous band, 
 Who left their home and fatherland 
 To rear their altars on a shore 
 Where white man never trod before; 
 Where stalwart Indians idly roved, 
 Or through their native forests moved 
 In savage grandeur and wild pride; 
 Or in their councils, side by side, 
 Framed their rude laws at quiet ease. 
 And smoked the forked pipe of peace. 
 But now, where erst their fires blazed. 
 And where the deer and bison grazed, 
 Bings clear the hunter's lusty shout ; 
 The settler's axe the wood throughout; 
 The anvil's and the trowel's chime; 
 As in the onward march sublime 
 They clear the desert and the soil. 
 And cause the wilderness to smile. 
 Proud palaces and stately halls. 
 Firm masonry and towering wails, 
 Bise o'er each hill and grassy dale 
 Where late was heard the panther's wail, 
 And -railway courses trace each plain 
 
136 IOWA. 
 
 Toward Pacific's briny main. 
 
 The hand of Labor strikes its blows, 
 
 And deserts " blossom as the rose ! " 
 
 The plowshare turns the virgin sod 
 
 Till now by human feet untrod, 
 
 And prairies, decked with bud and bloom 
 
 And springing verdure, now make room 
 
 For fields all flecked with waving grain 
 
 That drinks the Summer's genial rain, 
 
 And rustles in the passing breeze 
 
 Like leaves that drop from autumn trees ; 
 
 And deep beneath the teeming soil 
 
 The dusky miner's delving toil 
 
 Evokes the rich, metallic ore, 
 
 And brings to light the hidden store 
 
 Of coal and stone, that wait the hand 
 
 Of Labor to enrich our land. 
 
 Where erst the Indian village stood 
 
 Amidst primeval solitude, 
 
 Where Mississippi's waters glide, 
 
 Or rolls Missouri's turbid tide ; 
 
 Where spreads the prairie's wide domain. 
 
 On sunny slope, or sea -like plain. 
 
 Arise the thrifty cottage home. 
 
IOWA. 137 
 
 The Church's spire and Learning's dome; 
 
 The Capitol, where laws are made ; 
 
 The Court of Justice, mart of trade ; 
 
 The city's restless, thronging street; 
 
 The Orphan's Home ; the Blind's retreat ; 
 
 The sad Asylum ; and, as well. 
 
 The place where thieves and robbers dwell. 
 
 Nor these alone. Where is the State 
 Of our years, and growth, and weight. 
 That boasts of nobler public men 
 Who wield the sword or mightier pen, 
 When some foul wrong rebuke demands. 
 And gets it, from unsparing hands ? 
 Or who, with questions of the hour. 
 Deal with more vital force and power ? 
 A Harlan and a faithful Grimes 
 Honor the Senate of our times ; 
 While AViLSON and his learned compeers 
 Have proved the House's wisest seers ; 
 And rulers to our country true, 
 Were Stone and Kirk wood, in the hour 
 
 When Treason's cloud of blackest hue 
 10 
 
138 IOWA, 
 
 Did o'er the nation wildly lower ; 
 While in our legislative halls 
 Were men whom danger ne'er appalls, — 
 Who, 'mid the storm, unswerving still, 
 Declared the people's sov'reign will. 
 And made a record proud and high, 
 That ne'er on earth shall fade nor die ! 
 We yield in reverence for the law 
 To none ; from purest fountains draw 
 Those principles that guide the Court 
 Established as the last resort 
 For all whom Right and Wrong divide 
 The high and low on every side. 
 To this tribunal, great and learned. 
 Whose judges faithfully have earned 
 The proud distinction they enjoy, 
 Which passing years can not destroy, — 
 We point with lofty, honored pride, 
 And trust its wisdom long shall guide 
 The student, lawyer, and the sage, 
 Who read upon its printed page 
 The record of its wise decrees, — 
 Not written to amuse or please 
 The dreamer, but to clearly trace 
 
IOWA, 139 
 
 Those rules and principles that place 
 Our fabric on the solid base 
 Of Justice, Truth, and sovereign Right, 
 Instead of Kingly Power and Might. 
 
 We laud the Pulpit of our State 
 For all its wealth of labor great; 
 In costly Fane with fretted aisle, 
 Or in the lowlier, humbler pile ; — 
 That with unfailing voice and heart 
 It doth the Way, the Truth impart ; 
 Denounces with unsparing hand 
 The sins that blight our goodly land, 
 And wooes us with soft, winning word, 
 To shun the guilt we have incurred. 
 And seek the better, holier way 
 That leadeth to unfading day. 
 
 We thank the almoner of good 
 For those rich stores of mental food 
 Benignly cast with liberal hand 
 O'er every portion of our land. 
 The School- house, with its open door, 
 Invites alike the rich and poor 
 
140 IOWA. 
 
 To freely enter, and enjoy 
 Its feast of knowledge, and employ 
 The hours in garn'ring up secure 
 Those treasures which for aye endure ; 
 While schools of higher grade prepare 
 The student for the College, where 
 Fountains of exhaustless flow 
 Well up their blessings, to bestow 
 On all who thirsty spirits bring 
 To drink from the Pierian spring. 
 
 When dark Rebellion reared its head, 
 And armed hosts by traitors led 
 Laid hold the fabric Washington 
 Presided o'er and breathed upon, — 
 In those dark moments when the light 
 Of Liberty was feebly bright, 
 Our soldiers caught the first alarms 
 And sprang with eagerness to arms. 
 And left on many a bloody field — 
 Where Treason was compelled to yield 
 To war's red tide in fury rolled — 
 The evidence of prowess bold : — 
 Of quenchless love of liberty, 
 And hatred of the tyranny 
 
IOWA, 141 
 
 That bound in chains a myriad throng 
 Of human beings, old and young, 
 With souls immortal and divine, 
 And form and face like yours and mine. 
 We mourn the brave, heroic dead, 
 To battle and to victory led ; 
 We crown the living with the bays 
 And laurel wreath, and banners raise 
 In triumph, while our joy -bells' chime 
 Breaks forth in psean grand, sublirde ! 
 But ah ! can this atone for all 
 Who in the wholesale butchery fall ? 
 For all the mourning, widowed throng. 
 That to the soldier's heart belong ? 
 Who wait his coming morn and even, 
 And for his safety breathe to heaven 
 The yearning sigh and heart -felt prayer, 
 Too often mingled with despair? 
 O War, thou great iniquity, — 
 Thou relic of antiquity. 
 Barbaric! fiendish! When shall dawn 
 The day that marks thy mission done — 
 And Peace, with universal sway, 
 O'erspread the world with softest ray, 
 
142 IOWA, 
 
 And earth's inhabitants, where'er they move, 
 Be guided by the milder law of Love? 
 
 We bless the Giver of all good. 
 That scenes of slaughter and of blood 
 No longer stain the land we love — 
 Our native home — where'er we rove, 
 The spot to which we longing turn — 
 For which our best affections yearn,— 
 Within whose breast, when life is past, 
 We hope to slumber at the last ! 
 Progress, — that mighty, magic name, 
 As with a pen of fiery flame — 
 Is traced upon our country's scroll; 
 And o'er the land its echoes roll. 
 From boreal climes to southern pole! 
 God save our country! May she long, 
 The stateliest amid the throng 
 Of- nations, spread her genial sway. 
 Increasing with each passing day. 
 And scatter priceless blessings o'er 
 Th' oppressed from every foreign shore! 
 Proud may her starry banner wave 
 Above the free and truly brave; 
 
IOWA. 143 
 
 And still, through every coming time 
 Present the spectacle sublime, 
 Of sovereign People, in their might, 
 Proclaiming Liberty and Rights 
 To all who claim a freeman's dower 
 Beneath the scepter of her power! 
 'Long may our star of hope beam bright; 
 Long may pure " Freedom's holy light " 
 In aureate splendor shine upon 
 The land we owe to Washington. 
 And patriot sires, whose memory warm 
 Surrounds us with a holy charm; 
 To martyred Lincoln's precious blood, 
 That pleaded silently with God 
 For vengeance on the dastard hand 
 Uplifted to destroy our land ; 
 To Grant, who Treason's tide withstood — 
 Proud victory from disaster wooed. 
 And thrilled us in the darkest hour 
 With deeds of superhuman power! 
 To all the heroes, bold and true, 
 That rebel missiles madly slew ; 
 As well as those who still remain. 
 The plaudits of the world to gain. 
 
144 IOWA. 
 
 Among the band of sister States 
 
 That bent their energies the weights 
 
 And throbs, and throes of civil war 
 
 To meet, and with high courage bear 
 
 Stood Iowa. Her boys in blue, 
 
 (God bless them, and her women too); 
 
 With fortitude and faith sublime 
 
 Without a parallel in time. 
 
 Beat back the foe, and victory wrenched 
 
 From traitors who had madly drenched 
 
 The land in red, fraternal blood. 
 
 That cried all solemnly to God 
 
 For peace ! While Woman's ready hand 
 
 With tenderness met each demand 
 
 From suff'ring heroes, when the light 
 
 Of life was fading, and the night 
 
 Of death with gathering gloom 
 
 Prepared them for a common tomb ! 
 
 One moment pause, and muse beside 
 The hecatomb of slain ; 
 Where Iowa's brave, manly sons 
 In battle's din were lain. 
 
IOWA. 145 
 
 In silent awe gaze on the ground 
 
 Yet stained with human blood 
 
 Which mingles with each bud and flower 
 
 That springs above the sod ! 
 
 Oh, let the solemn dirge be sung 
 
 With measured accent slow ; 
 
 The requiem wail its saddest notes 
 
 In mournful numbers low. 
 
 Twine ye the cypress o'er the graves 
 
 Where Southern zephyrs sweep ; 
 
 And starry night and dewy eve 
 
 Eternal vigils keep ! 
 
 With reverent hand lay deep the stone, 
 And rear the column high, 
 Emblazoned with each glorious name 
 Whose memory ne'er shall die! 
 And on the tablet of each heart. 
 In characters of light. 
 Stamp every martyr's record pure, 
 And keep, oh keep it bright! 
 
14r) 10 WA, 
 
 But War's Avild horrors fright no more ; 
 The carnage and the strife are o'er ; 
 The song of Peace, on vvhisp'ring gale, 
 Is softly borne o'er hill and vale ; 
 The soldier lays his trophies down, 
 And for the perils and renown 
 Of battle-fields, seeks friends and home. 
 Without the wish to longer roam ; 
 For sword and gun, the axe and plow 
 Become, instead, his weapons now; 
 And armed with these, he wages far 
 Mightier battle in peace than war. 
 No longer with relentless hand 
 Seeks he to devastate the land ; 
 But thrift and order, beauty, law — 
 Pure fountains from whence all may draw 
 Spring up whene'r he strikes a blow 
 To lay some grand old forest low ; 
 Or sets a tree, or plants a flower ; 
 Constructs a home, or rears a tower ; 
 Or mingles in the busy tide 
 Of life and toil on every side. 
 With pride we cast our eyes abroad 
 Upon our chosen, fair abode ; 
 
10 WA. 147 
 
 A nobler heritage than brings 
 
 Corrupted wealth and power to kings 
 
 Who sit upon uneasy thrones, 
 
 Unheeding of the cries and groans 
 
 Of Poverty, and Want, and Woe, 
 
 That fill the air where'er they go ; — 
 
 A land where all are sovereigns, who — 
 
 With patriotic impulse true — 
 
 Proclaim that Liberty and Law 
 
 Are the sure talismans to draw- 
 
 From the deep well-springs of the soul 
 
 Those charities that e'er control 
 
 The heart which seeks its country's fame, 
 
 And loves her pure, unsullied name. 
 
 And here, to-day, within this hall 
 Where duty, pride, and pleasure call 
 The great and honored of our State, 
 At Learning's hallowed shrine to wait. 
 And magnify the blessings grand 
 That permeate and bless our land ; 
 By all the mem'ries of the Past, 
 Sometimes by gath'ring clouds o'ercast. 
 Then gleaming like the golden ray 
 
148 IOWA, 
 
 That vivifies resplendent clay ; 
 By all the gloomy doubts and fears 
 That hovered round despondent years ; 
 By all the marvelous success 
 That blossomed in the wilderness ; 
 By War's red stain, by Vict'ry's song, 
 On peaceful zephyrs swept along ; 
 By all the Future's glorious beam, 
 That kindles like some fairy dream, 
 To nerve, to stimulate, and thrill 
 The patriotic heart at will ; 
 By all indulgent skies have given 
 To draw us nearer yonder heaven — 
 We swear to keep the record pure 
 While rolling cycles shall endure ; 
 With loftier hope and nobler zeal 
 To seek our country's common weal, 
 And write her proud, untarnished name, 
 High on the glittering arch of fame, 
 To watch and guard with jealous care 
 The precious jewel, rich and rare. 
 And hand it down from sire to son, 
 A priceless legacy, that none 
 May dare pollute in thought or deed, 
 
IOWA, 149 
 
 Unworthy of a freeman's creed ; 
 And as along the surging tide 
 Of rolling years, on every side 
 We meet and mingle in the strife 
 That fills the avenues of life, 
 With conscious step and voices free, 
 Our proud, exultant song shall ' be — 
 
 Fair Iowa, gem of the far-reaching West, 
 
 To exile and wand'rer a haven of Vest ; 
 
 To seekers of Fortune and Fame by the way, 
 
 A star that illumines with kindling ray ; 
 
 To student and statesman a coveted prize, 
 
 A home for the thoughtful, the prudent, and wise; 
 
 Where the downtrodden poor, and the children of 
 
 Toil 
 Find a guerdon secure in the rich, teeming soil ! 
 
 Thy hills and thy valleys, so fair to the eye ; 
 Thy woods, and thy streams, and thy blue arching 
 
 sky; 
 Thy sunlight and Summer; thy rich autumn trees; 
 Whose leaves murmur music on each passing breeze; 
 
150 
 
 IOWA. 
 
 Thy broad, rolling rivers, that eagerly press 
 Thy green, swelling prairies with giant caress ; 
 We hail thee, the home of the brave and the true, 
 A picture more lovely than painter e'er drew ! 
 
 May this beautiful land — by heaven's decree, 
 Smiling far away from the dim, surging sea — 
 Be ever the dwelling this heart shall desire ; 
 The shrine of devotion where home's altar -fire 
 Shall scintillate softly in life's quiet even, 
 Like glim'ring stars in the far distant heaven ; 
 The land of all others beneath whose green sod 
 This body would rest, when the soul seeks its God ! 
 
THE TABLEAU. 
 
 AYE Mary, holy mother, 
 List the maiden devotee, 
 While she tells the pater noster 
 On her lowly, bended knee. 
 
 See those orbs uplift and radiant, 
 Beaming from her forehead fair, 
 
 While each decade 'neath those fingers 
 Marks the solemn vesper prayer. 
 
 See those locks of softest auburn 
 O'er her neck and bosom stray. 
 
 And, as if by zephyrs lifted, 
 O'er the polished shoulders play. 
 
152 THE TABLEAU. 
 
 Mark the attitude so humble, 
 Mark the silent, earnest gaze ; 
 
 Mark the dreamy smile so holy. 
 That upon her features plays ! 
 
 Falls the curtain : all is over ; 
 
 Fades the vision dimly bright ; 
 Pensive nun, farewell forever ! 
 
 Thou hast vanished from our sight. 
 
 1 
 

 
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