I 
 
THOUGHTS IN SONG. 
 
HOUGHTS 
 
 IN 
 
 ONG 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES R. DODGE. 
 
 WASHINGTON: 
 
 THE PRlNTlNd c;AI'.IKKr 
 
 1874. 
 
 
^^^^u^ 
 
 #*% 
 
 linicn-ii iiciording tn Ait of Congress in the year lSy4. t>y 
 
 CK'ARLES K. DODGE, 
 In till- O (/he of the Li/'i-ar/un o/ Congress at Washington. 
 
 ''mk 
 
Hill* 
 
 TO MY' WIFE, 
 
 'OR WHOM CHIEFLY THIS LITTLF. 
 
 VOLUME HAS KEF:N PREPARELJ, 
 
 THE KOLLOWINC PAGES ARE 
 
 MOST AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 INSCRIBED. 
 
 
C O N T E N T S 
 
 PACE 
 
 fntrodiicto7-x yji 
 
 By the Sea ' i 
 
 Eventide a 
 
 Tuberose 5 
 
 An Entoiiioloirist in Colorado 7 
 
 Aii^i:;iist in the Citv o 
 
 Croquet j j 
 
 A Afvsterv t . 
 
 ^o 
 
 To Little Spot 16 
 
 A Tale of a Cask 17 
 
 A Revery 20 
 
 ''Our Box'' 21 
 
 To my Wife 2-' 
 
 Kappa Iota Upsilon 215 
 
 To Ella 27 
 
 A T/io//ir/if 28 
 
yj COXT/CN-JS. 
 
 Another Year 2g 
 
 Spring 31 
 
 Father Laurence' s Solihnjiix t^^i 
 
 The Professor 35 
 
 To nix Pencil 37 
 
 Little May 40 
 
 A Serenade 42 
 
 Ttvilight Musings 43 
 
 The Lfaunted Wood 45 
 
 Kudamia' s Feast 46 
 
 Fragments 48 
 
 Ppigrams 50 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Poet I alas! am none, 
 But my songs 'are all my own; 
 Untaught song's, that while I sing 
 The reward of" ])leasure bring. 
 So, the bird upon the spray, 
 Pouring forth rich melody 
 From his little upturned throat, 
 Finds a pleasure in each note; 
 Antl among the busy throng 
 Some may listen to the song, 
 Feeling but the jo)' it brings, 
 Knowing not the l)ird that sinss. 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 (A Re7'e,y.) 
 
 Roll on thy blue waves and dash them to 
 
 spray, 
 'Gainst the bold rocky cliff that defies thee, 
 
 oh! sea; 
 From the turmoil of life I have stolen away, 
 To dwell all alone with my thoughts and 
 
 with thee. 
 
 With the warm sun above, the breeze on 
 
 my cheek, 
 I list to thy music so grand, oh! sea; 
 And I watch the white sails of the fishing 
 
 fleet, 
 That shimmer between the horizon and me. 
 
2 /.')■ II 1 1: SKA. 
 
 O'er the wild waste of waters my vision 
 
 I strain, 
 Far over^ — -beyond thy white sails, oh! sea; 
 And my heart is filled with a secret pain, 
 A longing I fain would utter to thee. 
 
 The dear dreams of youth 1 recall again, 
 
 With their visions of brightness that long 
 since have fled; 
 
 And I sigh for the hopes that were cher- 
 ished in vain. 
 
 Fond hopes, like the autumn leaves, fallen 
 and dead. 
 
 Far o'er thy blue waters, far into the sky 
 So cloudless above thee, beyond thee, oh! sea; 
 I gaze through the tear-drop that starts to 
 
 my eye, 
 'Till lost to the present, myself, and to thee. 
 
A' J- niE SEA. 
 
 'Till lost to the past with its promises fair; 
 'Till hopes and heart-longings, alike, are 
 
 forgot; 
 'Till my dream-vision paints on the thin 
 
 empty air. 
 The picture that often my fancy hath wrought. 
 
 Ah! poor heart, drink deep, for long ages 
 
 shall roll, 
 Like the oeean hefc^-e thee so mighty and 
 
 vast. 
 Ere reality's finger shall point on her scroll 
 To one visi(Mi of l)rightness like this that 
 
 has passed. 
 
 And the breakers dash on, while the spray 
 
 jewels fall 
 Back to thy great heaving bosom, oh! .sea; 
 But deep in mine own my hope-treasures, 
 
 all, 
 Will forever lie hidden from earth and from 
 
 thee. 
 
KIKNJIDK. 
 
 Evening shadows thickening (/er 
 Tell the day is nearly passed; 
 
 And with twdight's peacefnl hour, 
 Softlv niyht comes on at last. 
 
 Long ago the king of light 
 In the purple-ch^iuled west, 
 
 Coldly bade the world good night, 
 Softlv sinkinLT then to rest. 
 
 Gathering darkness, near and far. 
 Drapes her ( urtains, one by one; 
 
 Fastening here and there a star, 
 'Till the glorious work is done. 
 
/■:rj-:\ /■//)/■:. 
 
 5 
 
 Now the moon, pale (|ueen of night, 
 Rising in her borrowed sheen; 
 
 Peeping o'er yon mountain height, 
 Gazes down upon the scene. 
 
 Coyly hiding now her face 
 Under yonder cloudy veil, 
 
 Then, assuming cjeenly grace, 
 Softly beams o'er hill and dale. 
 
 Save the cricket, nought is heard; 
 
 Silently the night comes on; 
 All is still — no song of bird — 
 
 E'en the flow'rs to sleep have gone. 
 
 The noisy, busy hum of day 
 
 Ceased, as day drew to its close; 
 
 .And like a weary child from play, 
 Nature sinks in sweet repose. 
 
TUBEROSE. 
 
 From all the flowers I e'er have seen 
 I'd choose thee for my summer queen; 
 Sweetest flower, to me, that grows. 
 
 Fragrant Tuberose. 
 
 For thou seem'st above them all, 
 Nodding from thy stem so tall. 
 Swaying with each breeze that blows, 
 
 Graceful Tuberose. 
 
 Some are sweet, and others fair; 
 Thou art both beyond compare, 
 For no flower thy perfume knows, 
 
 Fair, white Tuberose. 
 
A N ENTOMOL O GIS T IN COL ORADO. 
 
 {A Rocky Mountain Sketch.) 
 
 "Run? thunder 'n ligntnin'! I'll just bet 
 My pile of yaller dust on that — 
 Right there the durned bug-eater* set 
 As sly and knowin' as a cat 
 Watchin' that ar' hole in the ground. 
 'Hello! buggy,' sez 1. — I came 
 A little nigher — ^'What ye found? 
 And what's his edicated name? 
 Some new varmint?' There he sot, 
 A pair o' tweezers in one hand, 
 A bottle on the ground — You'd thought 
 He'd struck a lead there in the sand. 
 'Caught any yit?' sez I. Just then 
 A yaller jacket showed a phiz 
 Above board — -buggy at him, when. 
 Out flew five hundred right at his — 
 
 *ln Rocky Moiint.iin parlance a worthless fellow is a "biig-eater." 
 
J^ AA' hNIOMOLOC!SI/.\ COLOKAJHl 
 
 Run? thunder 'n lightnin'! Well, I'm sore 
 For laughin' to see the cuss git — 
 Clare into camp — and what is more, 
 He ha'n't got that ar' bottle yit!" 
 
AUGUST IN THE CITY. 
 
 I'm tired of living in the heat and the dust. 
 With toil and vexation from morning till 
 
 night, 
 For the long summer day brings at eve no 
 
 sweet rest, 
 And comfort and pleasure are banished from 
 
 sight. 
 
 Oh! I long for a run in the beautiful fields: 
 To wander l)y brooksides, and idle awa\ 
 In that exquisite romance that dream-life 
 
 e'er vields — 
 From sunrise to sunset — each beautiful dav. 
 
jQ AL'CL'SV L\ THE CIT)' 
 
 Leave the struggle for fame to recognized 
 
 worth, 
 Or pursuit of the pleasures that wealth seems 
 
 to give, 
 And on the kind bosom of dear mother 
 
 earth 
 My weary head lay, and forget that I live; 
 
 To be my own master — ay! a kind one 
 I'd be— 
 
 And live like the birds, or the wild sum- 
 mer flowers; 
 
 To feel with all nature that I too was free; 
 
 But ah! such rare pleasure can never be ours. 
 
CROQUET. 
 
 He sits beside the pretty lass, 
 
 While balls and mallets 'round them lay 
 
 Where they were left, upon the grass, 
 
 When at Croquet. 
 
 Her dimpled hand upon his arm 
 
 Lay softly and confidingly; 
 
 But yet, for all there is no harm. 
 
 It's not Croquet. 
 
 That arm steals gently 'round her waist — 
 How strange that she should let it stay — 
 Ah! now I understand their haste 
 
 To leave Croquet. 
 
12 CA'(\TrAr. 
 
 She rests her head — take care, voiing miss. 
 Too late— ah! me, that's just the wav; 
 The naughty fellow stole a kiss. 
 
 If that's Croquet, 
 I rather think I'd like the tjame. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 Yoii speak to me of death. And what is 
 
 death? 
 A pausing of the tired heart and breath; 
 A gentle closing of the eyes in sleep, 
 A dreamless sleep that will its silence keep. 
 
 No more? A laying of the head to rest; 
 A folding of the hands upon the breast; 
 A grave — perchance a wild neglected spot, 
 Where only fair flowers breathe, "not quite 
 forgot." 
 
 And is this all, when pulse shall cease to 
 
 beat? 
 And eyes no longer fair earth-scenes shall 
 
 greet? 
 A few fond tears, a softly whispered name, 
 At most but scrawled upon the page of fame. 
 
14 
 
 And this is all of life— ambitious life, 
 
 So filled with hopes and tears, with pain 
 
 and strife; 
 
 With breaking hearts, and longings ne'er 
 
 expressed 
 
 Or satisfied — a few brief joys, then rest. 
 
 Can this be so? The very worm that eats 
 And revels in our mouldering clay but 
 
 meets 
 Unmoved its rest within its narrow home, 
 Feeling full well the bright, winged life to 
 
 come. 
 
 Is there a bright and winged life for me? 
 When from all earthly toil I shall be free? 
 Or, shall I, like a fading meteor light. 
 Soon lose existence, all, in awful night? 
 
A MVSTKKy. J _ 
 
 Oh! yearning soul, thou oft hast answered 
 
 me 
 When music to the heighth of ecstacy 
 Hath lifted me, till all this poor dumb show 
 Of life — unsatisfying — lay below; 
 
 And, eager, I would fain stretch out my 
 
 hand . 
 
 To grasp the infinite. Oh! far off land, 
 This nameless void, this yearning of the 
 
 heart. 
 Mysterious, deep, must be of thee a part. 
 
 Guard well my steps, oh! Heaven, guide 
 
 me aright; 
 That when to earth I bid a long good-night, 
 And death my weary head shall lay to rest, 
 The gra\-e shall ope to regions bright and 
 
 blest. 
 
TO LITTLE SPOT. 
 
 Bright little Spot, 
 So innocent, so full of play 
 And joyous life; ah; who can sa\ 
 
 I love thee not? 
 
 Thy honest face 
 Contrasts with Kitten's knowing gaze; 
 I love thy sprightly, playful ways. 
 
 Thy awkward grace. 
 
 Dear little Spot, 
 Play on, for kittenhood is brief; 
 The full grown cat soon comes to grief, 
 
 And is forgot. 
 
A TALE OF A CASK. 
 
 On the steamer Alexander, 
 For New York City bound, 
 
 There was a lad whose fate it seemed 
 In misi'hief to be found 
 
 Two-thirds of the time. 
 
 His tricks became annoying 
 
 To such a high degree, 
 For pimishment ye Captain 
 
 In a water cask jnit he. 
 
 Leaving ye bung out. 
 
 That night there was a mighty storm, 
 Wind blew and thunder roared; 
 
 Ye ship it gave a sudden lurch, 
 Y^ cask pitched overboard, 
 
 But lit bung-hole up. 
 
J J^ A I ALE OF .1 C-ISA'. 
 
 Full thirty hours upon the wave 
 
 Ye boy thus had to ])ass. 
 Before ye cask it washed ashore 
 
 Upon ye beach St Bias, 
 
 Pronounced St. Bla. 
 
 Ye bov tried hard, then, to escape, 
 
 But no one heard his cry; 
 'Twas all in vain, and in despair 
 
 He laid him down to die, 
 
 As well as he could. 
 
 No, not in vain, some friendly cows 
 Had noticed this strange sail. 
 
 And walking 'round it one of them 
 In ye bung- hole switched her tail. 
 It being fly-time. 
 
 Ye gods! ye lad he grabbed ye tail 
 And held with might and main. 
 
 While frightened cow two-hundred yards 
 Ran, bellowing loud with pain, 
 
 Down ve beach. 
 
A lALE or A CASK. 
 
 Nor did she stop her mad career, 
 
 But went it with a dash, 
 Till 'gainst a log she struck ye cask, 
 
 And knocked it all to smash. 
 
 When ye boy rolled out. 
 
 borne fishermen upon ye shore, 
 
 Who had enjoyed ye fun. 
 Now came to where ye youngster lay 
 
 As hard as they could run. 
 
 Under the circumstances. 
 
 And now this tale must have an end — 
 
 Of course all very true — 
 Suffice to say, they picked him up, 
 
 And finally brought him to 
 
 Appalachicola. 
 
A R EVERY 
 
 Fading embers now are lying, 
 Lying scattered o'er the hearth. 
 
 And the year is slowly dying, 
 Dying ere the New Year's birth. 
 
 Shadows darkly o'er us falling, 
 While we whisper hopes and fears; 
 
 Voices of the past seem calling 
 From the graves of buried years. 
 
 Steadily the stream is flowing 
 Onward, onward to the sea; 
 
 Each glad New Year coming, going, 
 Nearer brings eternity. 
 
''OUR BOY." 
 
 To Mrs. J. //. J.— Ill Memoriam. 
 
 Peacefully my boy is sleeping 
 With the sunlight in his hair, 
 And his little face so fair 
 
 Upward turned to mine — yet sleeping. 
 
 Oh! so lovely — do not wake him — 
 From all sorrow he is free — 
 Would he might once wake to me 
 
 Ere the angels come to take him. 
 
 Why am I these sad tears weeping? 
 He has only gone before, 
 To open wider heaven's door 
 
 For "papa," "mama." Cease thy weeping- 
 
Dry thy tears; in goodness (lod 
 Doeth all things well, 
 And some day will tell 
 
 Why He led thee 'neath the rcjd. 
 
TO MY WIFE. 
 
 In Absence. 
 
 I am lonely to-night, lonely to-night, 
 Though the coals on the hearth are all aglow. 
 And the gas burns 'bright with a steady flow. 
 Yet I'm lonely, darling, lonely to-night. 
 
 I am lonely to-night, lonely to-night, 
 For my darling is far away from me, 
 Far among strangers — friends they may be- 
 And for this I am lonely, lonely to-night. 
 
 I am lor.el\' to-night, lonel\' to-night;. 
 Your bright loving smile in my dreams I see, 
 And I whis])er, darling, come back in me. 
 Without thee I'm lonelv. loneb r( --^i'/ht 
 
24 
 
 l() .!/)" W Ihl: 
 
 1 am lonely to-night, lonely to-night; 
 Return thou, dearest one, home, home again; 
 I anxiously wait thy coming, and then. 
 No longer alone, the evenings how bright! 
 
To my Brothers i» "Kappa lota Upsilon." 
 
 Thou mystic signet, badge of gold, 
 Hast thou thy story ever told? 
 Or hast thou sworn to keep it well? 
 A secret thou canst never tell? 
 
 In thy fair form what do I see? 
 Nought, save the cabalistic "three," 
 That seems to mark with easy grace 
 The every feature of thv face. 
 
 Tell me thy story, and betime 
 I'll sing it to the world in rhyme; 
 Hast thou no romance to unfold? 
 No legend of the knights of old? 
 
2b 
 
 Still as the grave! — hast thou not hean! 
 My supplication? Not a word 
 Responsive to my call, and cold, 
 Expressionless thy face of gold. 
 
 Thy secret, has it ne'er been breathed? 
 When fame or bright success hath wreathed 
 Thee with its laurel fresh and green? 
 And men paid homage to thy sheen? 
 
 Or hast thou ne'er on proud knight's breast, 
 When golden curls and warm cheek pressed 
 Thy face, lisped softly in her ear 
 Those mystic words I long to hear? 
 
 Ah! like the grave thou ne'er will tell; 
 I'll ask no more of thee — keep well 
 Thy charge, and hold forever true 
 The secrets of thy K. I. U. 
 
TO ELLA. 
 
 A souvetiir oj a Hvetzty-iiiiie ride in jo Jttinutes on the 
 
 Cmvcatclwr of a loceinotive on the Union Pacific 
 
 Railroad, through Nebraska. 
 
 1 
 
 Twined with sunny, golden hair 
 Of a maiden, bright-eyed, fair, 
 Silken tie of azure true — 
 Charming contrast, gold and blue. 
 
 II 
 
 'Neath this golden badge I twine. 
 Maiden, now, this blue of thine, 
 Keeping still together true — 
 Mine and thine — the gold and blue. 
 
A THOL/GHT. 
 
 As a weary winged bird . 
 Far o'er the blue wave; 
 When it spies the bold cliff that protects 
 its loved nest, 
 
 So the mariner tossed 
 By the tempests that rave, 
 Hails with joy the first view of the haven 
 of rest. 
 
 When o'er life's changing sea 
 The dark night cometh on, 
 And perils and dangers are borne on the 
 blast, 
 
 With what unfeigned joy 
 We hail the first dawn 
 Of the morning that tells us all danger is 
 past! 
 
ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 An Extract from a Reunion Poettt 
 
 Another year? 
 Yes, gone, and vVe are growing old — 
 Though young, the story soon is told, 
 
 And then the bier. 
 
 How fast they fly! 
 These vears that swiftly come and go- 
 We would enjoy, but ere we know 
 
 They pass us by. 
 
 We meet to part; 
 A hajipv hour of bovish fun; 
 .\nother fond farewell — 'tis done, 
 
 And tears will start. 
 
30 
 
 Thus through our age. 
 Though living in the present, vet 
 Anticipation and regret 
 
 Fill out the page. 
 
IVith Inter/hwations by a Grumbler. 
 
 Hail! spring, a season of the year 
 
 That makes a jest of everything 
 
 By me most loved. I hold thee dear 
 
 At any price, oh! fickle spring, 
 
 For all the joys thou bring'st to me 
 
 Alas! are hollow mockeries. 
 
 In two-fold measure, lavish, free. 
 
 Why should I love thy gushing ways? 
 
 The air is laden with the breath 
 
 Of dying winter, while the hosts 
 
 Of fair flowers, that so late in death 
 
 Lay stark, look blue as when their ghosts 
 
 Seemed sleeping; and the merry bird 
 
 Dreams but of June. No song of his 
 
 In meadow, or in forest tree is heard. 
 
 His little toes arc almost friz. 
 
J 2 .s/'AVTvr;. 
 
 Dame Nature's robes of frost and snow 
 
 (So bad for colds,) as poets sing, 
 
 Are changed to green as March winds blow, 
 
 But poets lie, it's no such thing; 
 
 And smiling through her April show'rs, 
 
 While yet we grieve for »ight weeks lost. 
 
 She brings us May, and fruit and flow'rs. 
 
 N. B. Provided there's no frost. 
 
FATHER LAURENCE'S SOLJLOQUY. 
 
 From t/ir /ii<rUi,/ii,- oj •• Koiiifo and Juiu-t:' 
 * * :;: ^ :{: 
 
 Path. What is the time of day? 
 (looking at his Elgin.) Humph: nearly four? 
 Too early most for breakfast, I declare! 
 But hold! I'd (|iiite forgot this little care, 
 As them 'ere laundry folks will wash to-day, 
 This sack must go to them without delay; 
 For, as sin must needs have absolution, 
 So dirty linen needs ablution 
 To cleanse it from those foul iminirities 
 That make it so unsightly to our eyes. 
 
 How true a man is like the clothes he wears. 
 Sometimes quite perfect, often full (^\ hires; 
 Again how unlike, seemingly the same, 
 Each with like virtues only in the name; 
 One, perfect, must be holy, but we see 
 The other holey ne'er can perfect be. 
 
,, lArill.K I.Al'KI'.XCi:^ SOI.liAiQiY. 
 
 .54 
 
 Then, too. a man that's wholly given to 
 sin 
 
 Js like soiled garments with the dirt rub- 
 bed in — 
 
 He must be cleansed — alasl too often seen. 
 
 You wear him out in trying to get him clean. 
 
THE PJiOFESSOR. 
 
 Little cares he for the world, but sits 
 Till evening, from earliest dawn, 
 
 And figures and etthes and writes 
 And the work goes bravely on; 
 
 And a monument grows, day by day, 
 That shall tell to the world his fame 
 
 When marble has crumbled away— 
 And he silently carves his name, 
 
 Carves it in Nature's soft lines. 
 
 With a graver skilled and true: 
 And the acid eats till the eve defines 
 
 The outline of promise in view. 
 
,5 iHE rKOFESSOK. 
 
 And the days and the years go fleeting by 
 Tasks are finished and new ones set; 
 
 Still the end is not, nor draweth nigh — 
 There are pages unwritten yet. 
 
 Pages unwritten that ever will be, 
 For the longest life is a span — 
 
 That his dream may approach reality, 
 He is working while he can. 
 
TO MY PENCIL. 
 
 Come, pencil. I am sad to-day, 
 Yet know not why; 
 
 Help me to drive the thoughts away 
 That make me sigh. 
 
 The summer flowers 'tis true are fair, 
 Their perfume free, 
 
 But then, the flowers most sweet and rare 
 Bloom not for me. 
 
 My hopes have blossomed with the flowers. 
 Some clambered high; 
 
 And how I've waited for the hours 
 That saw them die. 
 
5jj /(' .)/)■ j'K.wn.. 
 
 I wrote my name upon the sands 
 
 Down by the sea; 
 The waves effaced it with rude hands. 
 
 And laughed at me. 
 
 I'd write it on the scroll of fame, 
 
 Could I alone; 
 But in the splendor of some brighter name, 
 'T would ne'er be known. 
 
 I caught a butterfly, with wings 
 Of gold, one day; 
 
 While I admired the gauzy things 
 It flew awav. 
 
 Fair fortune's wings are brighter gold — 
 I've chased them too; 
 
 And when the prize I fain would hold, 
 Away It flew. 
 
/(' J/J- rH.XCIL. 
 
 So pencil, all my fancies fade, 
 
 I know not why; 
 And sometimes sunlight brings but shade. 
 
 This makes me sigh. 
 
LITTLE MAY. 
 
 I 
 
 'Neatli the niajjles on the lawn. 
 When the noon-day sun had gone, 
 In her carriage, sleeping, lav 
 
 Little May. 
 
 Brother Fred ant! play-mate Will, 
 Near, with voices hushed and still, 
 Watching, in their quiet plav. 
 
 Little Mav. 
 
 Beautiful and fair to view — 
 Will beside her gently drew; 
 
 Kissed her as she sleeping lay — 
 
 Little May 
 
Li', TLF. MA )■ 
 
 41 
 
 II 
 
 Twenty years have come and gone; 
 Boyish Will, to manhood grown. 
 Thinks no more of childhood's play, 
 Or little Mav. 
 
 Far frt)m scenes (jf L)o\hood Miss, 
 Mabel claims his first love kiss 
 Since that happy summer day 
 
 With little May, 
 
 Happy Will, with manly pride. 
 Leading forth a fair, young bride. 
 Finds upon his wedding day 
 
 Little Mav, 
 
A SERENADE. 
 
 Twinkling stars in heaven are gleaming, 
 While soft breezes to thine ear 
 
 Whisper, darling, in thy dreaming, 
 Thv fond lover watches near. 
 
 Rosy visions of life's morr()vv, 
 Wafted on the wings of night. 
 
 Breathing nought to us of sorrow, 
 Only tell of fond delight. 
 
 Wake, my darling, from thy dreaming. 
 While mv love I breathe to thee: 
 
 And the fair moon, o'er us beaming 
 Softly, shall my witness be. 
 
TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 When the day at last is sleeping, 
 And the night its vigils keep; 
 
 When the stars jn heaven are peepin< 
 From the moon-lit azure deep; 
 
 When the little birds have folded 
 Their heads beneath their wings; 
 
 And the cricket 'neath your windov 
 Its plaintive ditty sings; 
 
 When the night-breeze, gently floating 
 Through the casement, fans your brow, 
 
 And the eye-lids droop, half closing, 
 While the tired head bends low: 
 
44 
 
 Itr/LICH/ MIS/.XCS. 
 
 When a dreamy blissful feeling" 
 Whispers of bright regions blest, 
 
 Aiul soft music, gently stealing, 
 Lulls the s])irit-life to rest; 
 
 And when bright angel-visions 
 
 Seem to hover 'round voiir head- 
 
 IVhy, goodness gfaciousf wake up.' 
 For if s time to go to bed. 
 
THE HAUNTED WOOD. 
 
 /■'roiii till' '■ /.egi->i(i (>/ h'liyiyoit." 
 
 'Tis midnight, and the waning moon 
 Shines mihilv over wood and stream; 
 The soft breeze wails a mournrul tune 
 Among the cedars, and they seem 
 To whisper darkly and to sigh. 
 As if for deeds committed here 
 Beneath their shadows, while the cry 
 Of whip-poor-will falls on the ear 
 With mcnirnful cadence. In the marsh 
 Is heard the noisy bullfrog's croak; 
 Anon, with note discordant, harsh, 
 An owl pijjes forth from vender oak. 
 And vvith the beetle's humining flight, 
 'J'he cricket's chirp, and brooklet's trill 
 And all the voices of the night, 
 The haunted forest is not still 
 
EUDAMIA'S FEAST. 
 
 /■'ri'iii thf " Lei^cnd oj Kayiyou." 
 
 First, gather from the fields rare flowers 
 T(j tie in graceful knots, and wreathe 
 In bright festoons vour leafy bowers, 
 So that the very air may breathe 
 To them sweet welcome. For our feast. 
 The daintiest food that e'er was seen 
 By mortal eyes — * " ''' 
 
 The tender leaves of wintergreen. 
 With its bright berries; dro|)S of dew 
 That cling like crystals to the tips 
 Of lily petals; honey, too, 
 From fair flowers, gathered ere the lips 
 Of roving bees have robbed their store; 
 And pollen, taken ere its showers 
 Of golden grains are scattered o'er 
 The leaves and grass, from flowers 
 
/■:r/)AM/A\S FKAST. ,- 
 
 Ripe to decay; grassliopper eggs, 
 Served on a tiny mussel shell; 
 For forks, the slender sjjiny legs 
 Of tiger beetles, serving well 
 The purpose, while the winged seed 
 Of maple trees, plucked by the wind, 
 Will make us knives, and acorn cups 
 Shall serve as goblets. Who shall find 
 And add a mushroom to our store, 
 \Vill doubly please our (pieen; but g )l 
 For moments soo i makj hours; wliat more 
 Our tables need vou well must kiow. 
 
FRA GMENTS. 
 
 A TOAST. 
 
 Fill liiL^'h your l)eakers, boys, here is the 
 
 toast, 
 And stand while we drink — tJiose that love 
 
 us mast. 
 
 Our glasses uplifting, 
 The white foam drifting. 
 How it sparkles and dances, o'erflowing 
 again I 
 
 With frosty ice clinking — - 
 Ye gods! there's no drinking 
 To equal a glass of this foaming Cham- 
 ' pagne. 
 
/■KACME.y/S. ,^. 
 
 I love thee, smiling, happy June, 
 Sweet month, when nature's dress 
 Is fairest; when the summer moon 
 Beams forth in all her loveliness, 
 So softly mild; the very air, 
 Laden with the breath of sweet flowers, 
 Whisp'ring of dream-life; oh! how fair 
 Thou seem'st to make this earth of oursi 
 
 I'AREWELL. 
 
 C/osiiig staiizit (if RcKiiion Poem. 
 
 Farewell! for now we part; 
 And as we leave this hall 
 May each ask in his heart 
 That God j^rotect us all. 
 And grant — life's journev o'er, 
 Its cares and sorrows flown — 
 Upon the shining shore 
 Reunion 'round His throne. 
 
KJ'IGRAAfS. 
 
 TO H. M. D. 
 
 On his faxt, iiiiti; a /•a(Xcig^i--chirk to his coat. 
 
 Fast youth, that yon should need a chcc 
 
 Is nothing strange or new; 
 But then, to see you check yourself 
 
 Seems f.ir more strange than true. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Who loTi-s )iot wisely, hut a considcrahh- iiiiiiil'i-r -avU. 
 
 Will gets actjuainted with a Miss. 
 
 Then talks of love and kisses — 
 Strikes me. he'll re er do more than this, 
 
 And count his loi'cs as misses. 
 
/■J'lCRAAfS. _ 
 
 TO MATTIE. 
 
 -•(// hiipiomfitii on one of lie r I'erscs. 
 
 Thanks! Mattie, for your little rhyme, 
 The reading gives me pleasure; 
 
 Bnt hold! dear miss, another time 
 Be eareful of your measure. 
 
 TO MISS w 
 
 ( '/; hi-r si'jiiiiiii; a kiss hy Ifttcr. 
 
 A maiden's kiss is not amiss 
 If from her lips 'tis taken. 
 
 But sent hy mail, they ever fail 
 Emotions soft to waken. 
 
 TO MRS. A. S. C. 
 
 \v\(\ so 1 lied, to state it true. 
 
 Because your question I would jjarry- 
 
 Sad case, indeed — 'twixt serving you 
 It lay, or, serving the Old Harry. 
 
-2 /:/'!(: hWMS. 
 
 AN OPEN CJUESTION. 
 
 Said Kitty to her spouse one day, 
 "I have the better judgment, any way." 
 Says he: "to that I give my voice; 
 A case in point — our marriage choice.