LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.
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UNITI^D STATES OF AMERICA.
rilRl'ADS 1-RUM THE
OOF OF MELODY,
A VOLUME OF ORIGINAL POEMS,
DR. JAMES HENDERSON,
BAD AXE, MICH.
COPYRIGHTED 1891, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
^Kjy
TRIBUNE PUBLISHING CO.,
BAD AXE, MICH.
1891.
^'^ (p
To r^y HRothcp
This little volume of poems, the writing of
which was first inspired by her, is respectfully
dedicated.
C O N T E N S.
PAGE.
Creation 6
Nature 11
The Raven's Reply 13
In The Autumn 16
A Song Of The Heart. 17
By The Rappahanock 18
The Songs Unsung 20
The Flag 22
The Soldier 23
For Ireland 25
Beautiful Rain 27
A Criticism On Tenn y son's Locksley Hall 29
Down To Death 38
The Grave By The Sea 39
Beautiful Star 40
Ode To Labor 41
America 42
The Phantom R der 42
A Sprig Of Heather 43
Song: Eileen Of Dunbwy 4
Lines .45
CONTENTS.
The Shamrock 46
Cities Of The Sea ...4 7
Something To Live 47
The Old Man's Story 48
The Snovvliakes . 51
Beautiful Dreams 51
A Dream Of Chaos 52
The Convict's Di earn 53
In The Meadow iyo
The Woodmui's Child 50
Beautiful Valley 59
The Sailor's Song 60
The Angel Of The Valley 01
Kitty's Farewell To Athlone 62
Garden Flowers 63
The Rustling Leaves 64
The Warning 64
A Christmas Song 67
The New Year Bell 08
Be A Helper 68
When the Ship is Out at Sea 70
Song 71
Over the River 72
CREATION
Chaos ruigned, and the deep and dark iiuiuensitv of space
was infinite.
Not a sound reverberated throiit^heut the void,
As a sea-wave dashinir V'ii'hist some rookbound shore;
Not a ^ieain of htrht, as a distant beacon kept
To warn some weary pilot of a liidden breaker,
(ilinted athwart the sea of space.
Silence seemed to hold the secret of all thfttetemity treasured.
And deep in her bosom lulleil the dream to sleep,
Unmeasured by years or cycles, ran the dawning plan
Of life, as yet inanimate, unformed, unborn;
When, lo! a clanyinii voicc! from out the mighty voi<l
Spake as with all-rulin« power— 'Let there be liyht.'''
And the gentle dawn of natal day spread over the v iid,
And the vapors and mists of unmeasured niji^ht
Slowly began to dissolve themselves and to take form.
Ami the waters roileii around the yet undeveloped world,
Th'} lirmaiuent above briij;hter grew, and more stn'tje,
And lo! on the third day, at the Maker's command.
The floods rolled themselves into mighty seas
And the land appeared, and in rich luxuriance
Grasses and folia^ce bedecked the earth,
And aroma of flowers tille<l the air as with a heavenly balm.
llich and varied fruit grew and ripened
III greatest abiindauce, and untouched remained.
For no creature as yet roamed among the bowers of Eden.
And on the morning of the fourtli day, at the Divine behest,
A glorious orb arose resplendent over tlie Eastern hills .
And filled the earth with a glad and rosy light.
And the shadows betook themselves to glens remote and
caverns wide;
The trees in the forest primevHl, spake unto each other.
And rejoiced and welccjined the beacon of day;
And the tiny flowers upturned their petals
As if to do homage to his form ascending.
6 CREATION.
The blades of grass with each other vied —
And the mosses and ferns as well, with uiistinte i oraise;
The dew drops glittered and hung in the richest splendor
On the tiniest shoot or sprig, each, a very gem.
The zephyrs played across the land, gtmtle and timid.
Loath, it seemed, to disturb the solemn hush
Or tread the sanctuary of a new formed worhi.
In their path, the leaves rustled on the trees.
And the forest pines a glad symphony began;
The grasses waved and nodded, as if in reverence,
And the dews evaporated beneath the sun's warm glow.
The floating vapors, misty and low, betook themselves thence
And to the zenith ascending cabnly sped the orb of day.
Slowly and majestically he betook himself
Oa his journey across the htiavens, on this jirimil day;
And his setting seemed an echo of his first glad rising.
As slowly the ruddy sunset resolved itself into twilight.
Faintly, another light was seen to brighten.
And the fleecy clouds were touched as with silver;
And a pearly glow — soft, and it seemed angelic, and then the
moon
Ar<»8e above the placid lake, and mirrored itself in the water
beneath.
The evening of the fourth day had come.
And nature calmly awaited the events of the morrow.
The si)arkling dews it seemed, had tiowii upward to the sky;
For ever and anon as the darkness grew, a tiny orb
Sent its ray across the dark expanse above.
And untold thousands joined the midnight galaxy.
The pleiades, vera and the Polar star,
Andromeda and the constellations strange,
Seemed as nymphs of the night In sportive mood.
To watch and hold high revel above the sleeping earth.
The night wore on, no voice was yet.
To call a drowys watchman on the city street,
No ratthng of wheels over clanging flag-stonps,
No hurrying thither of busy feet,
And the morning of the fifth day was beauteous and balmy.
CREATION,
The great orb rose and went his course
Upward and onward, to grace and nourish
The teeming earth with his wariuest glow;
To give fresh vigor to tl e struggling flowrets
And gird the oak with an added power.
The Creator again his voice sent fourth over the waters to
everv sea;
To the rivulet, the tnighty river, the mountain lake;
And on the wings of the wind that blew across the lirma"
ment.
And at his command appeared great whales
And fishes, and creatures of unnumbered kinds;
And the heavens were filled argosies of fleet winged birds,
Twittering, and giving to earth a voice
Gentle swans, with easy grace, rested their bosoms on lake
and stream.
And the forest birds sang a song together,
And peace and joy walked this new fouFid scene.
Giunt beasts of the forests, monsters of sea and a'r.
Stalked and sped, on this primal day, as now.
The evanescent vapors had hied themselves to sky above.
And heavy clouds marked portentous storm.
Suddenly a gentle rain sought its way to eartli,
And everything was nurtured by the copious draught.
The clouds rolled by and the lightning's flash
And thunder's voice in the distance died,
And again the sun shed his cherry rays;
And on the sixth day were made the giant creatures-
Cattle, swine and every living, creeping thing;
The noble lion, the tiger of the jungle, the kangaroo,
The mighty elephant and beasts of burden.
The serpent that crawls in the dust beneath;
And the forests and fields were filled with creatures,
Freshly wrought trom God's right hand,
And told to go and multi^jly and fill earth, each with their
kind.
And pausing, He communed with Himself, saying,
"Let Me make man, and Iik3 Myself, even in My own image,
yea,
And he shall I make a lord over all the beasts of earth."
And so saying. He formed him out of Earth's own dust,
And breathed therein the breath of life— a soul;
And man walked fourth a ruler and conversed with his
Creator.
CRKATION.
And looked joyfully upon the beauty of his dominion.
And the first man He called Adam — the first of onr race.
And he walked with Him in Eden's blissful bowers;
And manifold were the thintjs ho learned, whereof 1 have
told.
And there came an hour when God look compassion on Adau),
For his loneliness seeiue I trrievous in His si^hr.
And the pale moon looked down as if to rebuke His h mdi-
work.
Soi casthiK Adam into a deep sleep a new miracle was wrouyrht.
For the Lord resolved that the man, Adam, should be
comforted,
And have a sweet companion to enjoy the beauty of Earth,
new formed;
To ramble the tjroves where all wis peace and innocence.
To commune witti him by day, to sh:4,re hn dreams by ni^rlifc.
And He caused a deep sleep to fail upon Adam
While twdi^ht was fadiui,' and nif^ht was crec^pim^' over tl»^
earth;
And in the holy hush of Even, a miracle was wrouLrht,
For the Lord took a rib from Adam's side and formed a beiufj:,
A woman — beautiful of form, and fair of feature.
And as the rosy orb of day criiiisoned the mountain tops.
And the beauteous bowers that encompassed Eden rourid
about
Had fi:iveM evidences of joy throujj^h the notes of the song-
birds,
Adam awoke; and bef.»re him stood the Lord, and a beautiful
creature.
To whom was given the name of Eve.
Nudb, and of ravishing beauty, ^he stood befor.^ him,
Her waving locks swaying in the mornim;: breezes
And falling in gt^ntle tresses across her bosom
Kellected the glory of the morning sunri-te,
The Lord admoni.^bed them, and to|(i Adam many things.
How he had in His mercy provided Eve as a helpmate
And a comi)aniun to love and to cherish.
And that they should be one in flesh from thenceforth.
CREATION. 9
So the twain linj^ered and dwelt in each other's love,
While they uiarvelled joyfully over the entrancing grandeur of
nature.
The birds twitterio^' in the woodland seemed strange and
sweet,
The music of the brook as it rippled along, held the ear
captive,
And they would linger for hours imbibing its tuneful melody;
The mosses on the banks formed au inviting couch.
And the dnlicate aroma of flowers lulled the senses into the
calmest reverie.
Even the rustling leaves held a charm as they whispered
back an answer
To the music of the pines, and the mystic soliloquy
To^d the story of woodland voices communing together.
Oft would they stroke the lion, majestic and powerful.
Whom Adam christened the king of all the beasts,
And the mighty elei)lmnt who made the earth tremble 'neath
his footsteps.
Laid himself at their feet to be foundled and petted.
Thy sought out the cavernous recesses where they fancied
Echo dwelt.
And childlike wondered why they found him not.
They marvelled at the passing clouds and the whistling of Ihe
winds about them;
The falling of the mountain rill as it broke in spray before
them
Excited their woadur, and they stood amazed thereat.
For food they gathered the manna and wild honey.
And garnished their repast betimes with cresses from the
brookside.
Again, tliey cho^e the fairest of all the delicious fruits of
Eden,
throwing and riptning about them iw the richest abundance.
Of the fruit of one tree growing in the Garden, the Lord for
bade them *o use.
Whereby to try their obedience to Ills Divine command.
But the serpent, crafty and jealous, wrought with Ev9, know-
ing her weakness.
And she becatne envious to partake of that the Lord had for-
bidden;
And at last ate and offered to Adam who shared her disobe
dience.
10 CREATION.
And behold! a change was at once minifest and they felt their
guilt keenly,
And covering their nakedness they shrank from before the
Lord ;
And all the glories of Eden seemed turned to bitterness and
sorrow.
And the Lord sought them out and chilled tliem for their
weakness,
And they stood abaslied before Him, clothed in fig leaves;
Fur thev strove to hide their nakedness, seeing their guilt
was manifest;
And for the first time they beheld the wrath of the Lord
As with an angry voice He spake, saying, as they stood trem-
bling —
"For thy disobedience, Ad^,m, thou and thy generation
Shall toil all the days I have given unto thee and them,
And by the sweat of the brow shall bread be earned;
And thorns and thistles shall spring up in thy pathway.
And many trials shall assail tliee grievously and sore."
And to Eve He spake saying, "O woman, fickle and frail.
Thy lot shall be filled with travail, trials and sorrows.
And the whole Earth shall mourn over thy disobedience^,
And thy seed shall be born in iniquity and in pain.
Hut in good time will I send a Redeemer — a saviour.
And thy seed shall then crush the Serpent's head."
So at His command appeared an angel i-lothed in light,
And with a flaming sword in his hand
He drove the twani before him hu'I out of E leu;
And the gates were from thenceforth shut, a^'aiust thenj,
And by the same voice were they forbidden to return.
So the man and the woman had lost to themselves and to us
Eden
And were outcasts in a strange and adverse world.
Their one short sojourn in that lovely and peaceful garden
Was to ever leave its imprint upon their trouble<l minds.
And remorsefully rankle iw their bosoms, a constant reminder
How oft in their dreams they saw the sweets of Paradise
Again restored, and only awoke to find them a vexatious fan
tas}.
Solemn and sad they went forth, he to toil, she to suffer.
NATURE. 1 1
Suoh is the siuiple uarrative of the misty past,
Handed down by changing generations and musty records,
Covered with the dust of long forgotten ages,
Such the tale of our lost heritage so ruthlessly cast aside,
Surrounded by the trials and tribulations of earth
We look back as wronged children and bewail our parent's
sin.
Lovingly we linger on the entrancing tale of earth's infancy.
And fain would peer back and beyond where all at first was
chaos.
NATURE.
Nature, in her lovliest garb supreme!
Adoringly the artist grasps his pencil, as yon stream
Shimmering in the distance, by the sun-ray kissed.
Seems as a spectre thro' the noonday mist.
And lo! behold o'er the leafy copse
The distant mount where the valley opes.
Meandering along like a silken thread.
We can trace the brook to its fountain head,
Where, perchance the chirp of the chickadee,
TdUs nature is weird, and wild and free.
The loveliest hues, they tell us, lurk
In the forest glades where the shades are murk.
Where the green moss grows like a velvet sward
And the cares of life from the scene are barred.
Should you stroll far out over field and fell
To seek the quiet of such woodland dell.
You will journey on with wondering eye
As the drones of care take wings and fly—
They cannot dwell on the hallowed ground.
So leave you free with your bliss, new found.
Oh, nature, perchance there's a fairer spell
In "'The Better Land" of which poets tell.
But your summer garb and your mid-day sheen,
Doth from mystic lands all my fervor wean.
Content to dwell in your quiet repose
At heat of noon or at twilight's close.
If Heaven is sweeter, 'tis but fancy's freak—
12 NATURE.
Strangers to content always fair Qelds seek;
Blind to the joys that 'round them dwell.
They chase the rainbow o'er field and fell,
Yet find they never the priz'i they sought — '
Pleasure is onlj with contentment bought.
Let them open the volume that 'fore them lies
With its bloom of roses and sunny skies;
Turn not each leaf with a careless hand,
Unmindful of all her treasures grand.
But muse and dwell on each lesson bright.
Clothed in sunny sheen or fair Luna's light.
See the artist's eye now the landscape scan —
Nature breeds delight in the heart of man-
Pain he'd rival with pencil or brush, each hue
Of the woodland garb or the mountain's blue,
The vaulted sky, with each white-flecked cloud,
Or the pastures wi.le, now with life endowed;
For 8 e at the foothills, the lambs at play,
How their pranks add joy to a summer day;
The bleating ewes o'er the commons stroll,
While the young lambs skip o'er each grassy knoll
See the old wood bridge that spans the stream
As it winds the steep clay banks between;
And the old pine stump on the brink still stands,
A sign post used by irreverent hands —
The village merchants liave come and gone
Still the stump in its rustic pride lives on.
The hill hard by with its silent host,
Of time, speaks saddest: and speaks the most —
The old church spire looujs o'er the hill,
Like a finger raised to bid us 'still."
Around the curve in the dusty road
Drives the tarmer now with his market load;
And the country children climb on the stile
To see him pass, each with bashful smile.
The barking dog makes a great ado,
Each passing team gives him work to do;
Old Tige's fierce bark, and snarl, and bound.
Is known to all for miles around.
O'er the country road towers the huge old oak.
Riven long snice by lightning's stroke;
While beside the path doth the top branch lie,
A seat for the weary passer by.
The waving wheat fields are fair to view,
THE RAVEN'S REPLY. 13
Some tiuged e'eu now with a golden hue,
And the tall grass waves us a last farewell,
Ere it has 'fore the blade of the mower fell.
How cool the wood to yon raker seems,
Who seeks a shade from the sun's fierce beams;
With the tilted jug to his dry, parched lips,
How the cooling draught he fondly sips.
Oh Nature, methinks as I quietly gaze.
Of the ?unny hours of my childhood days;
And I feel again a child. In truth
This grim old age is but ripened youth;
For who there is but must feel a thrill
Of the joys of youth if he only will.
Our hearts grow harp in the maze of life;
We leave the pleasure and court the strife;
Wondering then why the world is hard;
Forgetting each act brings its own reward.
Fair landscape, in dreams I'll think of thee!
Oh, Nature! Thy lessons are grand and freel
THE RAVEN'S REPLY,
Call me not "a thing of evil," "'prophet still if bird or devil."
Hush your heart's tumultuous beating — hush it, hush it 1
implore!
Why the dread of shadows falling, can the past bear no re-
calling?
Do you fancy someone's calling up the memories of yore —
Fancy that I bear a message from that angel form — Lenore?
Ah, my dreamer — nevermore.
Let me set beneath your shelter; dream again that you had
felt her
Wild heart beating 'gainst your bosom as of yore—
I have been distressed, belated, and the darkness with me
mated.
Till I tapped and tapped, and waited entrance at your cham-
ber door.
I am not "a thing of evil from the night's Plutonian 8hore;'i
Only bird, and nothing more.
14 THE BAVENS REPLY.
Why distressed and sad and weary, sitting in your chamber
dreary?
Would you not a lone companion, tho' he perch above your
door?
Would you sooner sit reclining, only thoughts of ill divining.
Of the saddened past repining, calling out the word Lenore —
Sit and quaff, as only drunitard can, from out the glass before.
Conjuring up the word — Lenore?
I have not a sentence uttered, nor my feathers even fluttered,
Only listened aa you sputtered and I sat above your door.
I can read your heart's wild dreaming, find a method in your
seeming.
As the lamp behind you beaming casts a shadow on the floor —
Casts a shadow that you fancy is a message from yon shore.
From the sweet and angel maiden named Lenore.
Ah! such wordy, wild afflatus! as I stood without the lattice,
No night belated raven had ever heard before.
And despite the lamplight burning, I had felt like then re-
turning —
All your cosy shelter spurning— back to darkened night once
more.
Back again into the blackness that had spread the landscape
o'er;
Back where strays the sweet Lenore,
In yon slowly dying embers all your souPs wild hope dismem-
bers.
And you live a very echo — echo but of yore.
With your soul's imperuous yearning, with a very sprite's
discerning.
How you read life's pages, turning only disappointment sore.
All the bitterness of sorrow and of blighted hopes before;
While conscience sadly whispers — nevermore.
Cease your bitter fate bemoaning; folly neetis no such atoning;
Let the past with all its travails never cloud the way before.
There is still some earthly maiden, who, with heart, with love
o'erladen —
Never courts the distant Aidenn where love's conquests all
are o'er —
Who might envy all the praises, all the fervent love you
bore —
She, might love, as loved Lenore.
THE RAVEN'S REPLY. 15
J, a simple, feathered raven, am no base or luckless craven
Tho' I perch on bust of Pallas; perch in silence 'bove your
door
If upon tliis midnight dreary I have soui^ht your fireside
cheery.
Know that I too must be weary of some luckless load I bore—
Of some ill-starred, bold adventure on the night's Plutonian
shore;
Be we friends for evermore.
I have seen a maiden sighing for love like thine, undying-
Maiden fair and radiant, as the one you call Lenore.
Eyes like dewdrops, pure at morning; teeth like pearls a
crown adorning;
Soul each base idea scorning; still, with passion bubbling
o'er.
Yes; a pure and sainted maiden, virtuous to the very core.
Seek such maiden, evermore.
When you find such charming creature, fair of form and fair
of feature:
Dwell within your soul's wild rapture, curb your passion I
implore;
For love's dream hath many wakings, many griefs and friend-
ship makings;
Many conquests and forsakings, light and shadows walk be-
fore.
Lo! it is not all of brightness in that love-land still in store;
Shadows flit the landscape o'er.
Your poetic soul inspiring. Love's young dream to fond as-
piring,
'Till a maiden's bosom throbbing 'gainst your own as oft be-
fore.
Will but fan each latent ember that lies dying this December,
And you'll scarcely then remember half the bitterness of yore
In the new found love you'll revel, barely dreaming of Lenore,
You will sorrow nevermore.
Such the wish of midnight raven— 'Tis no wicked wish, nor
craven —
And I leave you now to ponder on the prospects just before:
I will wing my way tomorrow, some lone maiden's thoughts
to borrow;
16 IN THE AUTUMN.
And when darkness like a sorrow shall not spread the land-
scape o'er,
I will search the wide world over for another such Lenore,
This, my tale and nothing more.
IN THE AUTUMN.
In the Autumn — in the Autumn
Whan the leaves have lost tlieir green.
And the golden tints are mirrored
In the mellow woodland stream.
When the song-birds sing no longer
Carols of a Summer day.
And old nature seemeth sighing
For the pleasant hours of May;
In the Autumn — in the Autumn —
Ah, how fleeting are its joys —
Brown and gold and crimson tinting.
Pictures sweet that Time destroy-^i;
Nature decked in richest wardrobe,
Lovely maiden doomed to die,
Fold your hands across your bosom,
Do not ask us why we sigh.
In the Autumn — in the Autumn,
In the blear November days.
When the snow flakes cover over
All the gold of Autumn days.
When we miss the merry song-birds
Piping in the wood below.
And old Nature quietly sleepeth
'Neath the freshly fallen snow!
Farewell Autumn — golden Autumn,
Ripened season of the year.
In the slumbers of long Winter
We will dream you linger near!
We will ramble in the meadow.
We will pluck the fruit again.
We will listen to the reapers
Sing among the golden grain.
A SONG OF THE HEART. 17
A SONG OF THE HEART.
Near to the heart let the muses be clinging,
Drop an odd tear in the song you are singing;
Lighten with humor a line of your lay,
To soften our sorrow, to brighten our way.
Touch the chords tenderly, binding the heart,
Make them lo tremble and trill with your art,
Breathe in sweet cadence a melody low.
Smooth a soft way for the feelings to flow.
Sweep all her chords with the wand of your power.
Harmoniously blending the sweet and the sour,
CalluiK forth passion, or weeping for joy,
Weaving them all in a mystic alloy.
Search out the feelings that deep in the breast
Seek a sweet sleep, or that go unredressed;
Tune all the heartstrings to melody's song.
And sound their glad carols or whisper their wrong.
Touch the cords softly on Memory's lute.
Hearts that were anguished may yield sweetest fruit;
Light up the depths where cruel shadows were cast.
With an echoing note from a song of the past.
Down where the slumbering shadows of pain,
Deep on the heartstrings have heavily lain,
Tremulous strains of your music may go.
To lighten the spell of our sorrow and woe.
18 BY THE BAPPAHANOCK.
BY THE RAPPAHANOCK-
Down by the Ilappahanock,
Where the wavelets kisH the shore,
A soldier boy was dying,
In the strife of sixty-four.
With bis great coat wrapped about him,
Faint and bleeding there he lay,
A knapsack for a pillow;
Soon his life must ebb away.
When before him stood a figure,
Clothed in suit as was his own.
And with a warning gesture,
Spoke she in an undertone;
"Hist! the pickets over yonder!
Speak your wish, and speak it low.
I have fled the gates of Richmond,
And 1 would they should not know."
Lisped the dying boy. in whispers.
As she knelt to catch his voice:
"And have Richmond's walls been taken?
How my comrades will rejoice!"
"I have but an hour to linger,
In the shades of battle, here;"
'Plant a kiss upon my forehead,
Mother would if she were near.
"Seek her out or send a message
Where the tasseled corn rows nod,
Tell her how I faced my duty
On the beauteous Southern sod.
My lips are parched. The river
Runs beside me though so far —
Oh. how helpless are the fallen
Id the blody wake of war!"
There she knelt! a teardrop trickled
Down her cheek and softly fell,
Like a dewdrop fre^h from Heaven,
Down to cool the blasts of hell.
BY THE RAPPAHANOCK. 19
Aud she leaned io loving rapture,
Planting kisses warm and fast;
On the white lips of the stranger.
As the river rippled past.
And she brought him draughts of water
Now, to cool his fevered brain,
And they listened to the rumble
And the boom of of war's refrain.
And she spake, "I chanced to see you.
And I could not pass you by,
I have still the heart of woman.
Though I be a rebel spy.
"Yes I know that I can trust you."
"And I know that I can aid;
I win bear you message Northward
To your home be not afraid.
And before the morning sunlight
I'll be safe beyond the lines.
Seeking out your loving mother,
'Way among the Northern pines."
So she etanched his wounds and left him,
Left him lonely there to die;
And when comrades came to seek him.
Long had flown the rebel spy
So the cannons boomed 'round Richmond,
And the awful flght went on,
Brother still 'gainst friend and brother —
God! the struggle seemed so long!
Sunny day up in the Northland
As a mother pensive stood.
Casting down the path odd glances
To the crossroads by the wood.
When, behold, a woman's figure
Crossed the way and forward came;
Quite familiar seemed her carriage
Yet a stranger it was plain,
20 BY THE BAPPAHANOCK
Soon she stood before the matron,
Bowing low and asked her name;
Then began her doleful story,
Striving gently to explain.
"Something told me that my Willie
Had been wounded — wounded sore —
And I eould not sleep for thinking.
And I watched without the door,
"Ah, the sabre of the foeman
Could not pierce my heart more deep
Than the news that darling Willie
In a shroudless grave must sleep.
And you left him ere his spirit
Winged its flight to realms above?"
''Yes, and kissed him for his mother
And with all a mother's love,
"And I fled the lines of battle.
Thai I bear his message here;
For that day's sun set on many —
Aye, on many a soldier's bier.
If they ask for news of Willie
Tell them how it came and why,
For I loved that darling bluecoat,
I, a reckless rebel spy."
So that mother, and the maiden
Fresh and lovely from the South,
Sipped the cup of peace together
Far from blazing cannon's mouth;
And the rebel maid was petted.
And the rebel's hand was pressed,
And they shed their tears together
O'er the one that was at rest.
THE SONGS UNSUNG.
There are sweet, wild notes, that human ear. hath never
their cadence heard;
There are the songsters glad where wayward feet have never
their grasses stirred,
THE SONGS UNSUNG. 31
And they dwell alone in their wildwood home, 'mid a grand-
eur, wierd and wild;
Where the rosy sun, since creation's day, so oft on their
haunts hath smiled.
There are sougs unsungi In the human heart is a void too
deep to know,
And love and hate, and grief and joy, alternate come and go.
There are songs unsung that will never be sung, for the lips
tlmt would sing are dumb;
There are words unspoken and vows unshaken— ah yes! since
the world was young.
They have carried their secrets beyond the tomb, be they
treasures bitter or sweet,
And the tale they would tell to some anxious heart, their
plaint can no tongue repeat.
There are songs unsung, and our choicest lays, breathe never
a strain so soft;
And whose meaning we never can fathom quite, though they
flit o'er our memory oft.
The lover hath sung love's impassioned lay and a heart with
his own kept time;
But a song still unsung in his boaom lies, and he cannot re-
peat a line.
The maiden hath sung, when her lover's song hath thrilled
all her being through;
But a something unsung— and forever unsung— dwells deep
in that heart so true.
A mother hath sung to her infant babe, while watching its
slumbers sweet —
Oh, who that can fathom a mother's love; oh, who can her
song repeat?—
Her lullaby song so strangely sad— oh, it is the sweetest they
bring;
But still, and for all, in that mother's heart, is a song that
she cannot sing.
The father hath sung at his honest toil, when the work of the
day went well;
He sung for the loved ones to feed at home, and his song had
so grand a swell;
He sung when the evening shadows spread in peace 'round
his cabin door,
And the little ones welcomed him home again, when the long
day's work was o'er.
THE FLAG
He dandles his babies on his knee, the love of his heart is
told
In the words of the son^ he again has sung, but a song he
must still withhold.
Ah, here again is that sung unsung, he would sing it now but
his voice is dumb;
That unsung song he fain would sing,' 'lis a song of thought,
no words can bring,
The poet hath sung, and in mmy tongues, his thoughts have
an accent found;
He has delved to the farthest realms of mind where mystery
and muse abound,
And he searches still in that mystic realm for gems of thought
to weave.
In the dreary woof of some humble song; but the choicest he
still must leave.
80 we must hope for a better song, for the muses yet are
young.
But the sweetest song will ever be, the song that is left un-
sung.
THE FLAG.
Oh! let the Starry Banner wave
Above the nation's young;
To teach them how our gallant sires
The price of freedom won;
Aye, teach them how on Bunker's Hill,
The dawn of freedom broke,
'Mid yell and shout of swarming foes.
Thro' blood and tire and smoke.
And tell them how they struggled still
To keep it's folds above,
'Till winsome sprite of liberty,
Had won a nation's love;
Oh) tell how soon the '"Starry Flag,"
On land .ind on the sea,
Proclaimed Columbia's sacred right.
To be forever free.
THE SOLDIER. 23
Oh, biJ tlieiu gaze beneath the flajr,
Back in the days of old
And see the heroes then that stood —
The earth had none more bold;
The memory of our first fond dead,
Will serve to still inspire.
The Patriot's heart to deeds more grand,
Anfi plant that flaj? still higher.
Then let it wave, O, let it wave
Above the gilded dome.
Above the mart, above the .school.
That liberty be known.
And 'fore the breeze on every sea.
In foreign climes and far,
T'will be the passport of the free,
The gallant Yankee tar.
So raise it children, with a shout,
As did your sires of yore.
And pray that peace may ever reign,
On fair Columbia's shore.
And guard it with those tender hands,
For all, for each alone —
The glory of our commonwealth,
The pride of every home.
THE SOLDIER.
Oh, they laid him sad and silent,
Where the tall palmettoes wave
And the birds oft' sing a requiem
O'er the soldier's lonely grave;
Where the south winds wafted over
Saddened sounds of war's refrain,
In his coat of blue to slumber,
And he did not fall in vain.
24 THE SOLDIER.
But the zephyrs bear no longer
Echoes of the mighty fray;
And a nations' people sighing,
Stoops above the blue and gray,
For they both are sacred to us.
Each was true to what he thought;
Let UP love them for their valor
And forget they e'er had fought.
Softly from the balmy southland,
Is the echo borne to me,
And I hear a mother weeping,
'Neath the shady forest free.
She has journeyed from the northland
'Till beneath the southern pine.
She beholds the rude Inscription —
"Fell in battle's foremost line,"
1 eau see her proud breast heaving.
As that mother reads the tale.
And methinks I hear her whisper;
"Oh, my son you did not quail!
You had bared your breast to meet them,
As your father did of yore;
When 'fore Mexic's bloody foemen.
He had fallen to rise no more."
And I see the southern woman.
Beauty-famed by friend and foe,
Seek among the the shaggy cypress.
For a loved one stricken low;
For a mound that marks the slumbers
Of a lad who wore the gray;
Long ago he called for "mother,"
As his life-blood ebbed away.
O, perchance a heart is beating.
That may never feel the pang,
That the cruel war re echoes
As we hear the death bell clang.
But our hearts are ever heavy;
For the graves in southland far.
Where the blue and gray are sleeping,
'Mind us of the blight of war.
POft IRELAND. 25
FOR IRELAND.
I'm an Irishman from Kerry,
An' I kem across the say
To see if all is true they tell
About Amerikay.
I was sore distressed at home.
And I hadn't much at hand
To feed my wife and little ones,
A blight was in the land.
The praties dried and rotted,
An' the sky seemed dark by day.
For we knew that want and poverty
Could not stay long away.
Oh, God, bless my native country,
I love her even so;
Although we starve and perish,
'Tls not her fault, I know.
An' sure I've kem across the say
A beggar's mite to cravp,
To keep my wife and little ones
From famine an' the grave;
For praties do not seem to thrive
In Ireland as of yore.
And the wolf is howling loud without
"CDGi^wM lonely peasant's door.
My wife she bade me Godspeed
The day I left her side.
An' prayed to Him to guide me
Across the ocean wide.
The children gathered 'round me.
Each quivering lip was pressed.
And a father, tieavy hearted,
Set hie face toward the west.
26 FOR IRELAND,
They say in fair Columbia,
There's hearts that feel for those
Too youDg to ask for charity.
Too sad to breathe their woep;
And an open purse stands ready
And an arm is reached to save,
Prom a dastard hand our Island Green,
Where Atlantic's billows lave.
God bless my native country,
'Tls her I dearly love;
Although gaunt famine lingers nigh,
A good (iod rules above.
And a million Irish firesides
Bow low in silent prayer.
For His blessing and and protection
To those who hunger there.
I dream each night of Kerry
And the dear ones that I left;
Of their kindly words and glances,
In a strange land I'm bereft.
But I'll sail again tomorrow,
And ae I bid good bye,
I'll pray that God will never send
A cloud o'er Freedom's sky.
Then Heaven bless your giving,
Be it great or be it small.
The heart that beats for Ireland,
Beats for one and beats for all.
And it tells the proud oppressor
That the trampled yet shall rise.
Backed by Freedom's sons and daughters,
All his vengeance to despise.
BEAUTIFUL RAIN.
BEAUTIFUL RAIN.
Oh, the rain, the beautiful rain.
Gently it patters on cornice and pane,
Bearinj? a boon to the suffering earth,
Moist'uini; the eod where the fiow'rets have birth,
Laughing,
Rejoicing,
Hurrying on.
Spoiling the wport of the holiday throng.
Seeking a couch on some fair maid's lip,
Fresh ns the dews that the birdlings sip;
Oh, beautiful rain there's a ballad gay
In your patter and dash as you fall to day.
Oh, the rain, the beautiful rain.
Pilling the meadow with verdure again,
Bringing and laying where Winter was king,
Garlands of flowers on the altar of Spring,
Dashing,
Splashing,
Mellow and warm.
Flushing the earth with your subtlest charm,
Weaving a spell in the woodland and keep.
Waking the ferns from their wintry sleep,
Bright eyes are peeping from doorway and pane
To welcome thy falling, oh, beautiful rain.
Out o'er the dust laden streets of the town.
Out where the crops are so stunted and brown.
At last hath the rain-god his chariot wheeled,
And out from the west hath his clarion pealed
Lightning!
Thundermg!
Dropping at lust!
On comes the summer shower furious and fast;
On, like a troop, when the day was in doubt,
The foemen to scatter and put to the rout-
Once more a boon to the forest and plain.
We welcome and blees thee, oh, beautiful rain.
28 BEAUTIFUL RAIN.
Oh the rain, the beautiful rain,
Cooling the breath of the midsuuimer plain,
Over the mouotaiu it hurries its way,
Over the mead where the lambs are at play,
Rambling,
Gamboling,
Swaying along
Like fair maiden singing a rollicking song.
Bending the spears of the wheat as you go,
Swelling the brook to melodious flow.
Ah, sweet is the sound of your Summer-day strain!
We ioy at your coming, oh, beautiful rain!
Oh, the rain, still beautiful rain-
Autumn is with ue, its gold and its grain —
Come ye and deepen the blush on the pear,
Come, that each wight hath of harvest his share,
Pattering,
Spattering,
Humming aloud,
A friend to us still with your rainbow and cloud.
Over the leaves that are serried and sere.
Over their fall you are dashing a tear.
Out where the crimson leaves cumber the plain —
You murmur in dirges, oh beautiful rain!
Out where November's chill blast must prevail.
Out where the withered reed moans in the gale,
We gaze as we list to the noise on the pane.
And we sigh for the captive, oh, beautiful rain.
Pattering,
Clattering, , , -
Palling in hail.
Hath Boreas chained thee? or wherefore thy wailV
Content we mu.^t be, for Summer has fled
And the brown tints of Autumn have followed the red.
Yet we linger in fancy and list the refrain.
Of your Summer day carol, O, beautiful rain.
"LOOKSIiKY HALL," SIXTY YEARS AFTER. 29
A CRITICISM
ON TENNYSON'S "LOCKSLEY HALL,"
SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
After sixty years of striving, still the spirit finds no rest,
x\.nd the laureate-crowned of poets vainly tries to do his best;
Frail yet fiery in his dotage, fain would he the summit crown,
Of the paltry pile of passion that he wove into renown.
Tennyson, the lord of eigtity, (title now I can't reeali),
Why disturb the fame immortal of your treasured Locksley
Hall?
Why step down from out the peerage, thinking that your
title gives
Power and polish to the God gift, lustre, while your musing
lives?
Why above the Lord of Nations laud you now old England's
name?
Have you, 'neath the ermine mantle, bartered honor's meed
for shame?
Have you learned to scorn your fellows, "fellows of a low de-
gree," .
And at the "jinj^ling of the guineas" bond to royalty a knee?
Take my arm, an hour we wander ere ttie sliades of even fall.
And a mantle-mist of gloaming hides the sight of Locksley
Hall,
To the right, across the moorland — where tlie curlews oft
you hoard!
We will stroll then to where Amy, first your boyish passion
stirred,
I am young, lean well upon me. Why thus start so at tiiat
name?
ILis some vivid recollection through the long years marred
your fame?
We are now nigh to the seashore, where the pebbles strew tlie
beach
And the white waves lashed to fury, oft their limits overreach;
. And the waters in the distance shimmer to the burning sun—
Ah, 'twas here your richest rhyming, ere tliose laurels you
had won.
30 "liOCKSLEY HALL," SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
For the passion, bred of longing for the pleasure passion gives,
Deigns to love its first surroundings — lives as long as woman
lives-
80 you loved your cousin Amy? Thus you sung long years
ago;
And I say your love — your passion — gave to rhyme its sweet-
est flow.
For your heart was all on Amy, and 'twas her inspired your
lay,
Though one love and be rejected, passion still lives on for aye.
For the love that's born of woman is a part of poet's own.
Thus the longing and the passion, surely nature should con-
done.
Yes, the minstrel's finer feelings, in the muses born of Eve,
Must find solace for their longings, so, you would to Amy
cleave.
Ah! the minstrel's finer fancies string loves fickle, burning lyre,
And a woman's heart Is conquered with the glow of love's
desire.
Love and passion are not strangers, go they ever hand in hand.
One is by the other softened, one is by the other fanned.
But you speak now of your grandson. Counterpart of sire
the son!
Counterpart I say, twice over, since those sixty summers run.
Yes; the same old tale of passion, same the tale of love's
deceit.
Happy he who wins the trophy ere the flow'ret lose its sweet.
Yet the vanquished, crushed and bleeding by cruel Cupid's
dart, lives on.
Lives to dream in manhood moments of youth's follies past
and gone.
Aye, in all his long day dreaming, lives the fickle past again;
Down by cherished memory's well spring, seeks the links of
love's lost chain
Leave the past to j')y or sorrow, speed the plow, look never
back
When it but reflects a shadow, on life's yet unwended track;
Strive to brighten all her moments, for uncertain ones are
they;
Never grieve for "years of Europe," or for "cycles of Cathay."
Lo! a brighter, happier harbor, in the distance shines for all,
For the poor in ''squalid warren," for the lord in Locksley
Hall.
"LOCKSIiEY HALL," SIXTY YEARS AFTER. 31
Are you weary? Let us tarry; here is wreckage cast ashore.
Ah! What tells those splintered mastheads? Lessons every
where in store.
Yes. the God of calm and tempest, God of love and God of
wrath.
Strives to leave an easy lesson in man's ever weary path,
Man is weak; aye man is mortal; man is strange as you and
me,
And he needs a hand to guide him over life's uncertain sea.
Splintered mastheads here before us serve to picture what I
say,
By the billows driven landward, thus to roll and rot away.
Sturdy shout of Britain's sailors oft those stately spars did
hear.
As they bore her flag so proudly— "flag that braved a thous-
and year,"
Long my lord we've tarried — hasten. Let us onward stroll
again.
While the curlews greet our coming o'er the sandy, seagirt
plain,
Yonder lies the copse before us, o'er it looms old Locksley's
form-
Monument of memories olden, worn more grand by sun and
storm.
Same it is, I ween, as ever, in the days of which you sung.
When the world was like your spirit, when the world was fair
and young.
Fleeting joys? Ah, all is fleeting; all but sorrow— earth-born
spawn;
Transient joys and transient follies, sorrow lives when they
are gone.
But enough of woeful brooding; borrowed trouble seems the
worst;
Minds that revel in dark musings, are of all, the most accurst.
"Locksley Hall," I give you greeting, come I with your old
time guest,
Gome I with him to re-enter in the spirit of his quest;
Come I with him, fagged and weary from the busy world of
care,
Out across the scented moorland, here to breathe pure na-
ture's air;
Come I with him, that the present might be bettered by the
past.
And that deep and dark forebodings, from his levered mind
cast.
32 "l,OCKSLEY HALL." SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
1 '
That he by kindly word and pleading, take a higher holier
view.
Of the many now contending 'gainst the grinding ot the few.
Lo! 'tis here, all dim and gloomy, in this aisle so still and
grand,
That the dust of sires find shelter from the touch of vand il's
hand ,
And the graven tablet tells us of a long ancestral line-
Span of years— whose noble fruitage sleeps within one com-
mon shrine.
Ah! And here too lies your Amy; and sweet babe another
owned —
Fate perchance, you think had willed it— love so speedily
atoned! —
"Lies my Amy dead in childbirth"— you were sighing yester-
day—
Ah the mind should stop such musing, when the locks have
grown so gray.
Time methinks should bridge the chasm, span the heart rent
heal the sore;
Pangs you felt in youth's wild moments, in old age should
pain no more.
Go, repent of all harsh language, as you stoop above yon
tomb.
Tomb of him who too loved Amy. He who was the lucky
groom;
He whose feelings sore you wounded, in a hasty, foolish mood.
When your jealous soul was tortured and your heart with
hate imbued —
He who long survived the parting, yet was gathered in at
last —
Go! Erase the lines you pencilled, blot the leaflet of the past —
Go, for time is swiftly chasing shadows over life's worn track,
And tomorrow, faults may journey where you cannot call
them back.
Edith! Ah, the nume is holy! Forty years of wedded life!
How cab passion live beyond itV How can love prolong the
- ■ strife?
Edith, in her last long slumber, tasks are done and all is o'er.
Heard I oft the sacred sentence, "Blest are they who go be
fore."
Moldy spot! How stern those tablets tell of death, and tell
of life.
Tell the tale of life's endeavors, mark the closing of the strife.
"JUOCKSLKY HALL," SIXTY YKARS AFTER. 33
And the forms that lie beneath thetu, prove the truth of
Time's decay,
In the dust of oldest ^'randsire, or the fleHh of yesterday.
Oh, strauf^e lessons {^riiu and trutliful, did we linger we could
learn,
But the day is fading nightward, we must homeward now re
turn.
How this line — my latest sentence — breathes with no uncer-
tain sound!
As life's journey Hears its nightfall, we should all be home-
ward bound.
Yes, our stay was full of pleasure, fur the mysteries of the
mind.
How to muse o'er joy or sorrow, seems a boon of mystic kind!
Think you ever of the cycle— span of thought — an' endless
chain;
Bringing back the web of memories, in an ever wierd refrain?
Ah, the mind is in divining, and the brain is but the dial
That must mark the deep reflection, as the compass marks the
mile
Ever on a sea uncertain, yet the stars are overhead,
When tlie needle fails to guide us wo must go by them in
stead .
O, the mysteries of our being, and the shadows of our fate.
Seem to tell in secret silence of a weak and mortal state;
While a Quger superhuman, points a guidance most divine,
Leading ever on mysterious, filling all the ways of time,
Leave us, spite of deep mind mysteries, torture never weak-
ling's brain,
Waft the echos of the spirits, revel we in the refrain.
But again I've strayed unconscious from our ea?y, human
theme.
Let us deal with men and matters, take them ever as they
seem;
Take the Old World and the New World, older men with
younger mind.
And again a young race rising, dragging old time sores be-
hind.
Progress, claim you, for this broodhngof an old tyrannic rule?
Their's true progress? Progress never rears a tyrant or a
fool.
Fevered mind, again I say it; noble mind it once had been;
Can you scorn your old-time equals, calling "fools" this race
of men?
34 "liOCKSLEY HALL." SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
You have erred and not the masses, Freedom rears them as
her own! —
Lo! has placed to lead her minions, one, in all this world
alone
Premier, poet, moralist, noveliest, essayist, statesman— all in
one;
N>ble man for noblest purpose, calm he leads the millions on.
Squirm not, shrink not, for the future britthter paj^es yet will
turn.
Old time feuds and present follies, soon will fill the future's
urn.
"Celtic Demos," called you wildly, called you madly in your
wrath.
Ghouls imaginative linger like a fiend upon your path,
Painting all the soul's remorses, with the deepest hue.
despair.
Luring peace and sweet contentment, to an all devouring
snare;
Thus with heart and mind besotted with the dregs that fame
bestows.
Gloat you over "Celtic Demos," tell you how a demon rose.
"Hope was ever on her mountains," light of freedom, holy
sheen;
Seven centuries of oppression, finds her every mount as green.
Finds her sous as true and constant, finds her daughters
sweet and pure;
Never theirs the shame you pictured in the "warrens of the
poor,"
Crowded London's vices never find a foothold on her strand.
Wronged, oppressed, outraged and libeled — still I love thee>
Motherland,
"Helpless horse and kiniilier cattle, burnt by miscreant,"
touch your heart.
But for creatures — human equals — victims of the landlord's
art, •
You have not a chord responsive. Ah! that hardened heart
and cold!
You are toasted by "the gentry," primped you are by Britain's
gold.
Sing the songs of England's lordings, make your pen a re-
creant quill.
Hurl those darts of fiery venom, hear we never "Peace, be
still,"
"LOCKSLEY HALL," SIXTY YEARS AFTER. 35
Let the waves of passion surfjing, madly lash the Ship of
State,
Urge the tyrant forth with vengeance, leave the poor man to
his fate.
Holy cause! And thus espousing, pose as champion of despair?
Chaos, cosmos, wreck and ruin, taunt and turmoil rend the
air;
Paint in darkest, cruelest colors, all the crimes of modern
men.
Be your ink the blood of demons, and a flaming sword your
pen;
Ancient sprites — the iujps of hades — leaping up from out the
I)ast,
Urge you on to smile and scuttle, rend the ship from stern
to maet :
"Hold! Enough!" I hear you shouting — *'you, a youth of
thirty years.
Thus to question England's laureate, whom the world so
much reveres?
I had thought that Britain's graybeard should unchallenged
have his say.
When the sands of life are slipping 'neath his footsteps fast
away.
And the pen that oft had written over many a pearly page,
I might bear in kingly triumph, 'mid your plaudits from the
stage.
H.ive I erred in second boyhood? Oh, great God I My brain
doth reel!
I at last among the lowly meet one worthy of my steel.
Oh, my friends, a horrid vision, breaks upon my backward
gaze,
And I see the lamp of reason flash the light of other days.
And a dark abyss lies near me — darker than the shades of
hell;
Have I thither been transported? Tell me! Will some mortal
tell?
Ilavo I leapt the mighty chasm, measured by the lapse of
years.
Thinking that I dwelt in Heaven, safe beyond this vale of
tears?
Has the pomp of regal splendor lured my dreamy soul to
sleep,
That the pencil of the laureate sows what only hate must
reap?
36 "liOCKSLBY HALL," SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
Oh, luy aoul! the horrid vision! Blood and tempest till the
land>
And twin Anarchy and Murder, walk untouched on Lr^ndon's
strand.
Surely, dream it was, or spirit, led my weakened mind astray.
That I mi^ht court fame and folly and repent of both to-day!
JHold, my friends! The veil is lifting! I can see adown the
past,
And the scenes of youth and childhood, flit before my iJ;uze at
last.
See my Amy walk beside me, in the twilight by the sea,
Feel my wild young spirit longing for the years that yet
would be.
See again, when in stern manhood, cruel disappointment
came —
All those years when work and worry led me on and on to
fame.
All the years I worked and pondered, ravelling out the web
of life-
Earning bread for cherished children, gentle E lith, loving
wife
I can read my whole life's lesson in the light that shows the
past,
Did I wander from my fellows, proving recreant at the last?
Till I stand a grim, old graybeard, stand alone upon the stage.
While those friends of sturdy manhood, scowl upon me in
their rage?
"Lived too long" some say. Ah, truly? "Lived his usefulness
beyond;'
Oh, the bitter thought to harbor makes my frail old heart
despond.
And I stand here, weak and weary, relic of poetic lore.
Out of j )int with men and matters, hated for the part I bore.
Let me use the hours still left me, let me live the past again;
Let me cry down all the voices that enslave the hearts of
men •
There is one, (Ah, yes! You know him), one who braved the
blasts of time;
Grand old oak that grew beside \ue, through those years of
storm and shine;
Well I know his proud soul battled for the brotherhood of
man.
Spurning wealth and lordly titles, living only— as a man.
"LOCKSLKY, HALL,,'" SIYTY YRARS AFTKR 37
"GladsToue! Well, the world doth honor, weep it wiil when
thou art aone, •
Who will fill the place of stntesman, who will lead the luil-
lioiiS on?
WiH an evil star liave risen, flauiinj^ in the world's deep blue,
And the red, red rule of demons, uiden scenes of blood renew?
Or will tljere rise majestic, mighty man as ever swayed,
Tiiat the storms of revolution 'ueath his magic hand be stayed?
See I visions of the future, never y«r as eye hath seen.
And the final fate of nations flit before me as a dream;
See I surginj; ^ea« of faces, turnluir to the coining? day.
H )pe"s bright t)eacon leading onward, pointing to the better
way.
Thi.-, when all the arras of warriors, battle staired are laid
aside.
And tlie nation's flags, bespattered, deep in human crimson
dyed,
Have been furled: and furled forever, eve the great inillenial
day;
Mankind walketh e'en as shadows — lb! the mists have cleared
away."
Ah! Old graybeard. thou art dreaming, truly dreaming, deep
and gran(^;
Standing in the outer heaven, reachirig earthward us thy
hand.
'Tis the poet's inspiration, 'tis the mind's mysterious change,
Bringing atoms out of eliaoe— thoughts unborn within thy
range.
At the fount of inspiration, kneel, ah, kneel, tliou footsore
man!
Pv)er within her depths of crystal, mirrored there is life's
groat plan.
Rest thee now, distressed and weary, having climbed the lad-
der bright.
Where the day is wrapt in shadow and you peer beyond the
night.
'Thou shalt hear the 'never, never!' whispered by the phan
torn years.
And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears.
For. 1 doubt not, through the ages, one unceasing purpose
runs.
And the thoughts of men are widened, with the process of
the suns."
Through the shadow of the globe, we sweep into the younge''
day.
Better "fifty years of Europe,' than 'a cycle of Cathay."
38 DOW^' TO DEATH.
So we leave you in your uiusings. standing in the outer land,
Lingering yet witliin the twilight, by the evening zephyrs
fanned.
DOWN TO DEATH.
A Tale of the Johnstown Flood.
Down to their death where the torrent ran highest,
Down to their death iu fair Conemaugh's vale;
Down! And they struggled when danger was nighest,
But a breath, and the current had stifled their wail.
Surging and si)lashing and mounting and dashing.
It seemed as if demons were guiding the flood.
Mangled and munched, and the thousands of corpses
Had made of that torrent a river of blood.
Houses and chatties and lives we held dearest.
Riven and dashed in the waters below.
Onward! Borne onward in fiercest confusion.
Oh! Who that can dwell on this orgie of woe?
The babe in the cradle so quietly sleeping,
The father who toiled at the forge 'cross the way,
That mother, who's watch o'er her darling was keeping;
The rich man, the poor man, where are they to-day?
Summoned to death in that turbulent billow
Greed had created, hi.s wants to supply.
How oft we had dre.-imed as we lay on our pillow.
Of dangers that lurked in that death-trap on high!
It hung like a pail and beclouded our li^arthstones,
Till fear to indifference .and folly gave place,
And death thrcnigh the valley ruslu'd onward and onward.
To gather frewli speed in his maddening race,
Oh. God! They are strewn on the banks of that river.
Where oft' in the shades of the even' tliey strolled;
Where wealth and where beauty so soon had to wither,
Before the hii^e wave that relentlessly rolled,
THE GRAVE BY THE SEA. 39
THE GRAVE BY THE SEA,
Here leaoss the simple tablet,
Hoary aud worn by the sea,
Beaten bj' storm autl tempest
Years upon years— ah, lue!
"iSacred,'' it says, to the memory
Ot a sea-rover, fair and bold,
A rakish lad of the briny deep,
Whom a mother loved of old.
Rest, where the sea waves murmur
And break on the beach beside;
Never a^ain to brave tlie blast
On tlie ooeau cold and wide.
Out where the white waves tumble,
Iso more doth the merry song
Of the jolly tar, assurance give
To the good ship's trembling tlirong
Leagues upon leagues on a distant shore,
A watcher a beacon kept,
And night after night, peering out to sea
A mother watched and wept;
Watched for her boy to return again —
Waited and watched in vnin —
For years, long years had the gras.sy sod
O'er that sea-lad's bosom lain.
And the mother, the olil folks say, kept watch.
Demented and aged, by the sea;
And Old Ocean mocked at her faithful tryst
Like a demon with heart aglee;
And no gentle zephyr brought answer back,
N )r whispered the doleful truth,
And the trusting mother laid down and died,
'Way back in our days of youth.
40 BEAUTIFUL STAR.
And SO doth the tablet seem wierd to us,
Uepeatiug a tale of old,
That we ott' had heard at our father's knee,
A tale that our kiufolks told;
It is worn by the blast and browned by ai^e,
'Tis a study fur you and lue,
For it marks the t?rave of a wayward son,
As it stands there alone by the sea.
BEAUTIFUL STAR
[Tlir I'dllowing lines were prompted while driving home at midnight in the
country, the pools of water in the roadway here and there relleciiug the beauty
of the starry sky, the quiet hush of luidnight hour, the peaceful silence that
reigned supreme— all served to inspire the writer's luind.
Beautiful star in the midnight sky
Li^litiug the way lor my steed and I;
Heautiful star, oh, beautiful star!
Kindly the ray from your home afar.
Chilly the night, but the frosty air
Serves to embellish the garb you wear.
The fwinkling gems in the mighty blue
Are pure as drops of the morning dew.
Pure as the dew drops in morn of May
That garnish the brow of a newborn day.
Beautiful star! Oh, ye Nymphs of night!
Winning my heart, to mv muse invite.
Beautiful star of the boundless space —
Slumbering earth, oh how (juiet your face —
Fondly your vigil o'er millions keep,
Now wooing the love of the Maid of Sleep.
Bt^am for the ones I would succor here.
Soften the pillow, and dry the tear;
Whisper of hope for the night is long—
Beautfful star you have won my song.
Plodding my steed through the muddy road,
Faithful and ready for each new load,
Light us, till soon ut our journey's ertd,
()h, beautiful star, we may call thee "friend.
ODE TO LABOR. 41
ODE TO LABOR.
Look lot backward toiler — never!
Keep j'our hand upon the plow.
Cleave the sod that lies before you,
Do not loose your courage now;
Turn the furrow for the seed-time.
Do your part and with a will,
Heaven's hand directs the sowing,
God will bless the land ye till.
Toiler in the earth beneath us.
Wield the pick and bide your time —
Stranger to the sun's warm beaming-
Honest workers of the mine!
Grasp the yellow lumps before you,
Glittering in your lamp's pale light;
Small the portion that rewards you
In the world's unequal fight.
Brawny hand that swings the hammer,
Honest brain that guides the blow,
Standing at the forge, a martyr,
As the long days come and go;
Weld the steel to suit your purpose
Bend the bar and form ihe ehain—
Symbol of the one that binds you—
Toiler, labor is in vain.
Gentle hand that plies the needle
Fainting 'neath your load to-day.
Sighing for a moments respire
From the cares that cloud your way;
Worn and weary, still they goad you
For the paltry mit j you earn-
But a ransom comes to-morrow
And the tide is on the turn.
Toilers! Toilers all! An echo
Passes 'round the world to-day;
'Tis the voice of justice crying
"I am come, prepare the way!''
And we see the hopeful waiting
And we see the despot quad-
Flash the light, the dawn is breaking,
'Tis the day the miilons hail.
42 AMERICA.
AMERICA.
America, great broafleaed sward! —
Land of toil and toil's reward.
Land of fair and vaulted skieo,
'Neath which peace and freedom lies.
Land of daughters sweet and fair,
Sons who nobly do and dare;
Land of slumbering, peaceful might-
Dreaded foe when roused to tij^hr,
Land of science and of skill:
Land where genius wings at will.
Land of learning, land of lore
Stranger than on Egypt's shore.
Land that buried centuries knew;
Land where nations iii review,
Passed, and to oblivions way,
Long before our modern day.
Land o? sweet poetic strains
Prom the woodland und the plains.
Voices of the laughing rills —
Echoing from your countles^s hills.
Land of grandeur bold and wide.
Cataract and inland tide;
Mountain heights that noub- can brave
Standing sentinel by the wave.
Land of stately northern pine,
Southland, where 'tis ever shine
Jjand of east an. I land of west —
O, my country first and best!
THE PHANTOM RIDER.
They say on Chantilly when night casts her shadow,
A horseman is seen to dash over the field;
His soldierly bearing, his fiery eye flashing.
Proclaims him a leader who knew not to yield.
THK PHANTOM RIDER 43
We see his sword wavins?, his sleeve flying armies-;
His teeth grips the rein of the charger he strides,
He turns as if waving his legions to follow,
And on to the timber like demon he rides.
A blast seems to follow the wake of the rider,
As madly he dashes ahead in the pine:
And we know 'tis Phil Kearny who fell in the battle,
While charfe,ing the ridge at the head of his line.
'Tis said, on Cbantiily the iiosts are still waging
The fight as they waged it that morning in Jiiue;
And shadowy legions still follow their leader.
In soldierly order with sabre and plume.
Give back 0, Chantiliy the soul of the leaier; ,
Give back to his comrades the flower of their choice.
Oh, long in our hearts will his memory be cherished;
And long will each one in his valor rejoice.
A SPRIG OF HEATHER.
A sprig of Scottish heather
They have sent me o'er the sea.
From Grarapion's stately mountain foot,
Where oft' I wandered free.
To pluck the wee blue flowers
That won my childish heart
And bound me so to native land.
That death alone can part.
When last I looked on Forfarshire
And Grampion's Hills beside
I felt my blood course faster
And my heart was filled with pride;
For I felt where'er I wandered.
Be it far or be it near.
No home like Scotland's Highlands,
Would to me be half so dear.
Oh welcome, sprig of heather,
You are doubly dear to-day,
As I press you to my bosom
O'er a thousand leagues away;
44 SONG.
And my heart reverts to Scotia
Where the heather cheered my sire;
And I see at foot of Grampion Hills
The bairnes of Forfarshire,
SONG.
EILEEN OF DUNBWY-
NoTK:— This aud the preceeding piece, "A Sprig of Heather;" appear, to-
gether with the author's portrait, on page 596, of '-Poets Of Asuerica.,,
Oh 'twas but a whitewashed cabiii.
On a barren hill beyond,
Hut a something hung around it,
That made the heart y;row fond;
And I gently stopped to listen,
To those notes so full and sweet;
'Twas an Irish maiden singing,
And her words Td fain repeat.
For my heart sank low within me,
And 1 smothered up .i sigh.
As I thought of lonely Eileen,
Lovely Eileen ot Dunbwy;
As she sung to breezes wafting,
Those sweet notes across the sea, —
Oh could her love but listen
To the song that greeted me!
Oh, 'twas Eileen, lonely Eileen,
Faithful Eileen of Dunbwy.
As she strolled without the cabin.
That had caught my wandering eye;
Eileen singing to her lover,
As he dwelt far o'er the main;
True to Ireland still and Eileen,
Safe beyond the Tyrant's chain.
Lonely Eileen sweetly waibletl,
'Till within the cabin door,
Stood her aged mother calMug —
"Eileen! Eileen! Como, asthore!
LINKS. 45
You will break me heart me darlin'.
Don't be strollin' there alone,
Don't be f^reivin' so for Terrance,
He will coine some day ochone. "
Soft the shades of even' gathered,
Soft those notes fell on my ear.
And the waning twilight found me
Deep in thought, still lingering near:
For no fairer maid had ever.
O'er my spirit cast her spell.
Quite unconsious of your conquest,
Faithful Eileen fare you well.
Beauteous Eileen sing your love song.
As the lark sings to his mare.
Dwell upon that barren hillside,
Nature's Queen in rural state;
Charm the heart of each lone minstrel,
That may chance to pass you by,
But be true, be true to Terrance,
Lovely Eileen of Dunbwy.
LINES.
What is this spell that creeps o'er me
Chilling my heart with a timorous pain.
Touching each chord with a finger of anguish
Sounding some sad note again, and again?
Years that are gone, with their doleful impressions
Faces that tell of a sorrowful past
Loom. on my vision and grieve m^ to-night.
Clouding the way where my footsteps are cast.
Cease, oh cruel temptor to trouble my spirit,
Wake not the dreams that I fancied were gone.
Leave me to look at the star of my promise,
Hope with her beacon still beckons m"i on.
Let me forget all the pangs and the passions.
That gilded my youth with a fervor sublime;
That, thro' manhood hours, with their fruitful sucgestions,
To each throb of my heart like a shadow kept time.
4 G THE SHAMROCK.
Leave ine erue! sprite; O, leave me to lau^iruish
la the love I had builded deep Gowri iti my soul;
If it be but a dream, it is sweeter than any
That eupid as yet hath eVe ventured to dole.
Taunt me not now when stern fate with her jjuerdeon
Chains me where sadness must only be mine;
Leave me to hope for a star in tlie future;
Whose rays, tliro' my ^loom, blessfd beacon, may shine.
THE SHAMROCK,
There's a dear little flower called the Shamrock,
That yrows in thai ls!e in tlie sea,
O, the rose-< and hawthorns may blossom,
But tlie Shamrock's the dearest to me.
They may trample .md curse and revile it.
The traitor may sloop ro detile,
They may pluck the loved si)rit; from our t)osou»,
But it still has the power to bejiuile.
Oh! senil me a shamrock to cherish,
A dear lit lie sprig 'cross the sea,
I'll pres.s the loved plant to my bosom,
O. the 811 imro,;kl Tiirf Sia in" x; ; fir m 'I
It asks for no one to defend it,
For stout hearts are beat in;,' to day
And strou:; arms are ready to yuaril it.
Hurrah for the shamrock! Hurrah!
'Tis the sweet little emblem of Ireland,
It ^rows over mountain and moor,
'Tis the pride of the hi^h and exalted,
'Tis the comfort and ho[)t.' of tiie poor,
It's three little leaves are extended,
It offers to hea\en a prayer
For freedom atid peace to old Ireland,
Oh, the Shamrock! The Shamrock so fair.
The orange and the green they are blending.
And ages of strife ai e no more,
Waile c )aif n-r, ai 1 plea y ir^ wen liu.(
Their way to the cottage-s' door.
C;iTIKS OF THK SKA. 47
Then bloom thou loved Shamrock of Erin.
The rose is no sweeter than thee,
Oh, the roses and hawthorn may blossom,
Bnt the Shamrock's the dearest to me.
CITIES OF THE SEA.
Cities of the sea, strange cities,
Citie.s of the deep, rollinji sea;
Down 'ueath the waves manv fathoms,
Ciiies, strange ijities of the sea.
Safe from the billows and tempest.
Safe in old ocean's deep hold;
Down in those temples of coral.
The love of th'^ mermaid is told,
Down where the winds never trouble
And tempests sweep not in their wrath.
The sea-gods speed fortli in their chariots;
And courtiers t,'uard ever their path.
Down in those cities, strange cities;
Sights stranger still we may see —
Down in those cities, many cities,
Lost in the wild waste of sea.
Down in those cities, strange cities,
Built in some cave of the deep;
There doth the mariner languiah.
There doth the sea-rover sleep
SOMETHING TO LIVE.
OR
THE EBB AND THE Fl^O^V.
Something to live on the ocean of time,
Borne like a waif o'er its storm-riven brine;
Hither and thither and yonder to go.
Changed in its couise by the eVjb and the flow.
Only a snatch of a song, strangely sweet.
Charming the hearts and the ears it may greet.
Touching the strings of sweet melody's lute;
Bearing a burden of love laden fruit
48 THE OLD MAN'S STORY.
Something to live on the breezes that blow,
O'er life's weary path with it's rain and it's sno w ;
Wafting a cadence o'er meadow and lane;
Moaning in pine trees like mortals in pain.
Down where the summer wind swirls thro' the grasp,
Down where the bobolink sings as we pass —
Ever a song in our joy or our woe,
Something to cheer t'wixi the ebb and the flow.
Something to live and to garnish our youth;
Something to aid us in manhood's stern truth ;
Something to cheer as we trembling stand,
Out on the shore of life's nethermost sand.
Watching the surge at the ebb and the flow;
Cheered by a strain that Is mellow and low
Yes, ever seaward our faces are bent,
Scanning the waters for isles of content.
Soft is the cadence that wafcs on the breeze.
Words that were written to comfort and please;
Wove in a song that is hoary with years
And still must it echo, on, on tliro' the spheres.
Weave a sweet aong from the woof of the jiast;
Gather the heartstrings for strands that will lawt
Ever the loom and the shuttle must go.
Weaving a hym n t'wixt the ebb and the flow.
Something to live, ah yes. something; t<) live-:
Something to treasure and soii>eltiing to give;
Something to linger when we are awj y,
A chord tliat re-ecln^es for ever and aye.
Out on the deep t'wixt the ebb and the flovv.
Warning the tar of the deep undertow —
Something t^ live thr/ the m ize of th^ years
Winning our laughter or forcing our teats-
THE OLD MAN'S STORY.
Yes, it's 'zactly so my brothers, every word thaj; you have
heard ;
No, they haven't tried to stretch it, an' they haven't li^d a
word ;
I have lived here long, an' nearly forty years I've tried to
stay;
THE OLD MAN'S STORY. 49
But each one that come seemed harder, harder, harder till
to-day.
'Twas somewhere in the sixties, 'bout the time the war was
made;
The youngsters were growed up then, on the common there
they played;
An' the boys— they were the oldest— Tom an' Steve, I see
them yet,
As they run and jump an' wrestle, till they'd start the honest
sweat;
Not a boy around the common where the cows were pastured
then,
That coHld best them in a tussie, an' there weren't many
men.
It often made my heart glad when I came from work at night
An' I strolled across the common guided by my cottage
light-
There was wife and all the children sittin 'round till supper
time,
Waitin' till I warmed and rested — those were happy days of
mine.
Yes, it kinder seemed like livin', all those sparklin' eyes
about —
Rose and Nell, and baby Clara, how they'd gather all abou
To listen to the story I'd to tell of things in town.
An' the new fandangled notions tliat were alwus comin' roun.
Well, the war came on, and honest Abe was callin' loud for
men,
An' everyone was drillin' for to meet the rebels then;
So my boys they went for soldiers — yes, curly Tom and Steve.
An' perhaps my old heart wasn't sad the day I saw them
leave;
But I choked down all emotion, tho' 'twere pretty hard to do'
An' I waved my hat an' shouted for the gallant boys in blue
Yes, they bore the Flag of Freedom — went to free the dusky
slave —
An' we knew the day they left us they were marchin' to the
grave.
Steve went down at Chlckamaugy, and brave Tom at Round
Top fell
Riven by a dozen bullets, shattered by a rebel shell.
Yes, perhaps it isn't manly to be grievin' 'bout it so,
But I tell you friends it dealt us most a fearful heavy blow.
And the girls they soon were wedded, and left us in their
turn,
50 THE OLD man's STORY.
But what came of baby Clara, not a soul could ever learn.
So it wa'n't long till livin' seemed a very different thing
With no boys and girls about us, and no hopes on which to
cling.
****** * *
Well, the city kept on growin', coming nearer to our door.
And the taxes kept a risin', and we always getting poor;
They kept a buildin' houses, an fenced the common in.
And we had to sell old brindle. which we always thought a
sin;
And today our little cottage, low and mossy and so brown.
Doesn't spem to suit the mansions, they are buildin' all aroun'
We couldn't pay the taxes, they hev rose so awful high.
And it seems that only rich can live— the poor must starve
an' die.
When I hear that grip-car runnin' every minnit by my door,
An' the noise of trowel and hammer; how my old head seems
to roar.
There's a wall 'iongside our cottage, runnin' almost to the sky,
An' another one a buildin', to be finished in July;
Oh, it seems the're bound to crowd us from our little plot of
earth,
Where those heroes of the battle— Steve an' Tommy, had their
birth.
Yes, it's so! that't* why I'm grievin', why I'm hungry, why
I'm weak ;
An' my old heart bids me smother all tl)3 curses 1 might
speak.
There's mother stretched out yonder on that trundle, mean
and low,
An' the old bed quiits that cover make a homely sort of
show;
An' the pillow slips are thready with the wear of many years;
They are often bathed, when thinking, with a flood of bitter
tears;
For our babe was not as lucky as we'd wish a babe to be.
We forgave her — but forgot her? ah, she's still a child to me.
******* *
Heigho! the world is weary of us two old folk it seems;
All the joy that is our portion now can only come in dreams.
Our life has been a shadow with a sunbeam here and there,
An' it seems a gettin' darker for us old an' feeble pair.
There's only the crust that's left us, hard and mouldy on the
shelf;
Yes, a little bite for mother. I can (ough it out myself,
THE OLD MAN'S STORY. 51
Thank you! thank you! O. God bless you! there is still a friend
or two;
We will plead for such ia heaven, with our soldier boys in
blue.
No, we'll not stay Iod^ to trouble, for our time is measured
here;
Let them build their city mansions, build them broad an'
high an' near.
When they place me over yonder with a slat above my head.
Write, "Here lies another parent of the nation's soldier-
dead,"
THE SNOWFLAKES
The snowflakes are falling so plenteous to-day —
They are "picking the geese up in heaven" they say,
Winging their easy and tortuous flight,
Coming to gladden earth's creatures to-night.
Weaving a mantle so pearly and pure.
Welcomed by all, both the rich and the poor.
Yes, let them fall; they will cover the past,
Down where the leaves of the Autumn are cast;
Down where the forms of our loved ones are laid;
Down where we wept, where we lingered and prayed.
Falling so calmly, they will not molest
The sleep of the dreamer, now taking his rest.
BEAUTIFUL DREAMS-
Beautiful dreams! Beautiful dreams!
Beautiful dreams of the sunlight land.
Beautiful dreams, where hope ever beams;
Beautiful dreams of the sunlight land.
Beautiful dreams! Beautiful dreams!
Dreams that I dremt in the long ago.
Beautiful dreams, sumiuerland dreams;
Wafting their music sweet and low.
52 A DREAM OF CHAOS.
One, in my dreams — beautiful dreams,
Oft have I seen tho' she wanders far;
Oh, could I clasp in my beautiful dreams
Her, the sweet sprite,— my own bright star!
Beautiful dreams! Beautiful dreams!
Beautiful dreams still come to me —
Love laden dreams, bliss laden dreams,
Wrapping? my soul in an ecastacy.
A DREAM OF CHAOS.
Yesternight I was troubled, was vexe i in my soul
For a dream of coatentioa old .VI jrph'^us did dole.
As he led me thro' pathways so varied and strange.
My mind was a maze, so momeiituous the change.
We roved a strange country where woman was king
And man only dwelt as a secondary thing;
In the mart, on the hustings she sputtered and spread:
At her skirts pulled wierd creatures beseaching for bread.
The husband, a slave, drudged at home in content.
Scarce dreaming what bluster and petticoats lutsant;
For manhood and womanhood here had no place.
Where woman as man did both titles efface;
Where children were reared against every decree.
For woman as king must be childless and free.
Those children were things of a pre-natel curse,
And forced to exist here where better meant worse;
Where pity and pain were twin blessings to all,
Where something was nothing to rise was to fall.
Here peace and contentment were demon-^ most foul.
Where to laugh was to weep; and to smile was to scow).
Here gojsip was found in her royal robes of st-itp;
And rumor a trio wirh iumUc^p anil h it.e.
Love had no longer a power to resrrain
And jealousy shouteil ••To- lay I inu>»t reii^n ^
A day was a year and a, yerir wax a. diiy;
A moment was ages in p issitig away:
To die was to live and to livt^ wh> to din,
YonM thinU <liil yon T ive-. wii ii \Iorph us and I.
A BREAM OF (.'HAOS. 53
Tlie blue sky above «ra,s as darksouia as ink,
And it seemed thai we stood upon Hell\s very brink;
Here trouble and turmoil vvare Cre niirc!^ in )^t dear
And mercy came not as the price of a tear.
So Morpheus and I took our leave of the place
And traveled, it seemed on the billows of space.
We gazed at the Earth from a somewhere beyond;
Where the moon never beamed or the day never dawned.
We strayed upon stars that bad never gave I'ght;
Nor shoue as the silver-tipped getus of the night,
They were starlets unknown till we journeyed their way;
What they were, where they are, I no longer can say.
We delved to the depths of the waters that roll
'Gainst the bounds of the earth, and from pole unto pole;
And journeyed o'er Continents that ages ago.
Were teeming vith life? Ah, you ask how I know?
Because in the travels of Morpheus and I,
Are sights that come never to commonplace eye,
They are visions transcendent that beam on the sight
And come but as sprites in the stillness of night.
And so thro strange cities in ocean's bed deep,
Old Morpheus and I ever vigil must keep;
And we hear th^ bells tolling that never will toll,
We see the waves rolling that ever must roll.
We leave those strange cities, we enter a cave.
That leads under earth; — it is dark as the grave.
Till we come to a country, as strange as the rest.
Whose b-mncis are not placed by the east or the west.
Here, strange beings dwell and strauge races hold sway;
Strange customs prevail, for night here is day.
Inter-earth is the name of this dreamy ab >de,
And here is the end of earth's pilgrimage road.
I cannot repeat what I witnessed here,
Where no sights greet the eye or no sounds fill the ear;
For "silence is golden," and solemn and still,
Is this land that the dreamer must designate— Nil.
THE CON VICT'S DREAM,
Billy, gimme yer ear for a minute
I've something to tell you to-day
'Bout things thai hev bothered me often
Since inside the bars here we lay.
54 THE CONVICTS DREAM.
My mother, last night, I ain certain
Stood outside the grate over there;
An' her eyes they were heavy with weepin'
An' grey was mixed up in her hair.
* * ■!(■ * *
"Tis years since I left the old homestead
To ramble, a chump thro' the land;
* I longed for a glimpse at the cities
Where things were so stylish and grand;
I left my old parents in sorrow,
They've not seen my face since that day
An' nary a hue from their truant.
Since he left them to wander away.
An' now Billy, now I am lonely;
The first time I lonely hev been,
Since I left my old mother, Gud bless her;
'Till I saw her last night in my dream.
Yes Billy, my heart has been heavy
All day as I lay in my cell;
An' the pangs of a conscience so tortured,
Are worse than the torments of Hell,
I know I am hardened and seedy
An' the Hues that you see on my brow,
Are there from my own cursed scheming;
I hatf for to think of it now.
My face wore a sweeter expression
In days I would fain live again.
Bat the hell we must hev is our making
An' on earth we must suffer it's pain.
I dreamed that I rambled in childhood
A barefooted boy down the lane.
An' the birds were againsinging sweetly
Just after a warm summer rain;
An' I puddled along with my brothers.
With pants tightiv rolled 'boye'my knee.
Where the water laid deep in the hi>llow,
Down undt>r the old elm tn-e.
Yes Billy, I seemf'd twice as happy —
I can't tell you why it was so,
As the time that I realy was livin'
'Way back in the sweet long ago,
When the cops were not after my scalp-lock;
When no safes were beside me to crack;
IN THK MKAnOW. 55
When the swag did not burden my conscience
'Till I longed to be leavin' it back.
But Billy, since now we are in it,
'Tis no use to wealien and faint;
For people would never respect us.
If our lives equaled those of a saint.
All the same, I can't cast from my memory
The dream I had there in my cot,
An' I hope my old mother's a stranger
To what is her boy's cursed lot.
IN THE MEADOW.
In the meadow, where t,he toepath winds along,
Hard beaten by the press of many feet,
And the tall grass grows thriftly and strong,
See the children how they, pluck the clovers sweet.
And softly in the hush of spring-day noon.
Comes the gladsome notes of dinner bell beyond,
A welcome call in those long days of June
To the farm boy, so ready to respond.
Through the meadow, in my childhood years ago,
I remember well the toepath's every turn;
And the old log stile I see, where used to grow,
By the woodland low. the bluefl ig and the fern
Just where the wood and meadow meet —
I've tried to forget it all those years;
In the summer eve I'd wait the sound of feet
That nevermore will tread this vale of tears.
I can see hor fair form, within the meadow now,
As she gently trips the old toepath along;
And the bob-o link his sweetest note repeats
To mingle with the sound of Annie's song.
Yes, oft I have waited on the stile;
Waited for the evening shades to fall;
Down in the meadow all alone.
Waited for my Annie, for my all.
But over where the tall grass is waving.
Over in the graveyard on the hill.
Lies the fair one, I courted in the meadow.
Her I loved— madly loved,— am loving still.
56 THE woodman's CHILD.
Yes, love from the heart ne'er can vanish
Love for my Annie lying low;
Tho' slowly the lon^ years are passing,
And slowly the seasons come ami uo.
THE WOODMAN'S CHILD,
A Ron-ianee of the Michigan Backwoods.
Tom Gannon was a "chopper,"
Ami he lived on "the divide"
In a little backwoods cabin
Upon the mountain side.
Tom Gannon was a worker,
An honest man I'm told.
Who toiled for those who loved him
And envied no man's gold.
He had a wife and daughter —
A loving wife and true,
Whose every act was kindnes.s
Whose virtues were not few.
His daut;hter was a damsel,
A being of tender grace.
With form like any Venus
And a very angels face.
This girl had golden ringlets
And a bright and limpid eye.
And one that mocked the very blue
That charmed the sumiu'-r sky.
She liveil within that humble home
Like a forest flower, forgot;
A tender thing, that highest rank
Or wealth, would fain have sought
She rambled thro' the wiidwoud
In the pleasant hours of spring.
And often with her laughter
Would the forest pastures ring;
In the beauteius summer twiliirht
Oft the echo of her song
Joined ihe ripple of the brooklet
As it swiftly sped along.
THE WOODMAN'S CHILD. 57
Here she lived, this tender rosebud,
Of tlie lorest flowers the queen;
All her parents had to treasure.
Though a treasure rare I wean.
She laad never known of sorrow,
And life's cares had not began;
One among earth's favored creature?
Was Tom Gannon's Mary Ann.
Slowly plodding through the brushwood.
Came a rich man's son one day;
A huntsman, bold and youthful,
From a city far away.
Raven hair and manly feature.
With a bold and winning eye;
Why should this scion tarry.
Where the woodman's treasures lie?
He had heard beyond the chopping
Of this budding forest flower;
He has met the ans^el maiden
In a weak and fateful hour.
See her rosy blush — she loves him —
He is her ideal — tell me why?
She has read his soul's deep rapture,
In the depth of hazel eye.
■X * * * * *
Soft the balmy breath of June day
Casts a mellow hazb beyond,
And a spell as of misfortune,
O'er her spirit now has dawned.
Her heart now throbs with passion.
Love-light flashes in her eye;
For to-day she joins her lover.
She must bid a fond goodbye.
She strolled beside the cedars.
Where the brooklet seeks the dell.
Dreaming in the pleasant June day,
As the breezes rose and fell;
Listening to the gladsome carols.
Of the wild bird's happy song;
Living yet within her haven,
Far beyond a city's throng.
Comes her lover down the clearing.
He returns to claim his bride;
He must rob the burly chopper
58 THE WOODMAN'S CHILD.
Of his treasure, of his pride.
Came to bear her to the city,
Lilse a lily from the wild;
There to rei^jn ia worldy splendor,
Now no more a forest cbild.
Sad the hearts that weep her parting;
Honest Tom, why j^rieve to-day?
Mother dear give up your jewel.
Sunshine cannot always stay!
"Farewell, mother; farewell, father;
I will soon be back again." —
But no answer did they give her
For their hearts were stilled with pain.
The tall pines seemed to whisper,
"Oh, sweet roseoud, do not go."
And the nodding boughs wer« waving
A sad farewell, and low;
The song birds ceased their singing,
And those parents' heart were sad,
For their only hope was leaving—
The girl was all they had.
She is gone! Without the cabin
All seems desolate and still.
And Tain Ganaon joins h=s sorrokV
With the murmur of the rill.
When the wind sweeps o'er the forest
Now. it seems to moan and sigh.
And the distant glades re-echoj
"Annie dear, a fond good-bye."
And so upon the hillside lone.
Within their humble cot.
The woodman and his cherished wife
Bear nobly with their lot;
And in dreams they oft are living
In the years that long have gone.
And they hear the merry music
Of sweet Annie's childhood song.
*****
'Tis the autumn; and the rustle
Of the yellow leaves and sere.
And the moaning of the pine trees
Breathes a requiem ©'er the bier
That within an humble cabin,
Where the country folk have come —
'Tis the form of gentle Annie;
They have borne the lily home.
BEAUTIFUL VaLLKY.
59
LoDg that one short spell, since Annie
In the bloom of health had gone,
And the zephyrs missed the cadence
Of the tender maiden's sonjj.
Doomed the rosebud was to wither
In the city's poisoned breath;
And the sickle gleaned a harvest,
For the bony hand of Death.
What is all your gold and glamour,
Pomp and passion, sin beguiled,
To the wild and happy pastime
Of a simple forest child?
What are all your costly mansions
To an humble cabin here.
Where sorrow seldom cometh
And contentment e'er is neai?
So they bore her forth to slumber
On the hillside where she played;
And a wreath of flowers above her
Oft by tender hands are laid.
Seek not 'mong the city mansions
For the lily of the wild —
'Neath a mound within the forest,
Sweetly sleeps the woodman's child.
BEAUTIFUL VALLEY.
Beautiful valley amang the green hills;
Oft have I dwelt in your sunny repose;
Oft have I waded wi' breeks 'bove my knees,
Down m the streamlet at even's glad close.
Mither wad call tae us, come ye my bairnies;
Come tae yer cot for the daylight is gone;
An' she'd tuck us a' in wi' a cauda' ye doon;
Saying, bless them and keep them, O, Lord everyone.
Saft were my slumbers whea dooo in yoa villey;
Not a eark u jc a ctre hi i I evec tj feel.
Mang the bonnie blue heather that bloomed on the hillside,
I rambled and romped as if Nature's ain cheil.
Sing to me ever the songs of old Scotia;
Carry me back if 'tis only in thought;
Set me again 'ueath the shade of the arbor,
That shelters the thitch of my fathers I >w cjt.
60 THE SAILOR'S SONG.
THE SAILOR'S SONG.
Softly the Beacon-light beams o'er the sea;
Patiently loved ones are waiting for me.
Waiuing's the twilight on shroud and on spar,
Brighter the glow of yon twinkling star.
Softer the breezes as onward we go.
Eager to fondle the loved ones we know.
Now on the shore may be watching bright eyes;
Watching the sails that to far leeward lies.
Watching and waiting and eager to learn
If those they are seeking, to-night will return;
Darker the shadows grow, wider apace
Seem we to dwell as the waves slowly chase.
Softly the beacon-light beams now for me,
Darker the shadows that compass the sea,
See the gray streak of the twilight afar,
See the bright beams of the evening stai.
Steady the good ship so gallantly manned.
Sailors ahoy! We are uearing the land;
Swiftly flittiug's a bird 'cross our ttow.
Skimming the waters as onward we plow.
Nearer the beacon light, brighter the glow.
Flashing a welcome where ocean waves flow;
Friendly breeze bears us along to the shore;
Safe from our journey, we'll wander no,more. ,
Loved ones are waiting, fond hearts are_beating,
Softly a prayer for our safety repeating;
To-night we will slumber with soft arms about us;
Dear ones that waited and never could doubt us.
Fond is the greeting and warm it muvst be
That welcomes the sailor-boy home from the sea
THE ANGEL OF THE VALLEY.
61
THE ANGEL OF THE VALLEY:
An Incident Of The Great Flood, Johnstown, Pa , 1889.
They found her in the valley,
Where the wreck nave up its dead;
And the pitying angels hovered,
Silent watchers overhead;
There she knelt amon^j the driftwood,
As if still in holy prayer;
But the damps of death were on her.
In her eyes the glassy stare.
They had seen her when the torrent
Bore the city's thousands down,
Like a i-upplient angel pleading;
And hfjr face wore not a frown.
As s^lie swept within the chasm,
We had hoped she would not die,
That some timely hand might succor,
That some help would yet be nigh,
Soon the darkness settled over
All the valley of the dead
And a night devoid of starlight
Black as ink was overhead
And thro' all that night of sorrow
■ We could not forget the child;
We could see those eyes still pleading
And could fancy still she smiled.
The fitful dawn of morning
Seemed to pause within the east,
As if loath to lift the curtain
Where grim death had spread his feast;
And no sunlight flecked the mountains
As it oft was wont to do;
And no sound disturded the silence
But the wailing of the few.
There we sought among the debris
Strewn within that vale below;
For the angel of the torrent
That no watcher seemed to know,
63 SONG.
A.nd at last we found her kneeling.
Riven hair and gard of white,
With those eyes upturned to heaven —
On her face a holy liglit.
And the rough men turned in anguish
Turned to wipe a tear away
For that pale face looked so plaintive
And those lips seemed still to pray.
Say ye not all good has vanished
From this evil world of ours,
For choicest buds are bursting still
Among the wayside flowers.
SONG.
KITTY'S FAREWELL TO ATHLONE-
Athlone, dear Athlone, I must lave you,
'Tis breaking my heart 'cause I go;
'Tis sad to be lavin' Old Ireland
With her beautiful Shamrocks I know;
But the lad that I love he is dwelling
Far over the billows to-day,
An' he says, "come, oh come, my own darling.
To the land where no tyrant can stay."'
(Chorus )
Farewell Erin, 'tis cruel I should lave^you;
But crueler t' would be did I stay;
For Dennis is watching each white sail,
That travels the ocean to-day.
Then farewell dear Athlone, a!i larewell now,
Those green fields where fair shamrocks grow;
Farewell, those tall mountairis'uprising
And sweet vales of beauty below;
Those dells where I oft used to wander;
Those rills that went ripplit)g by;
Oh say. will they ne'er miss my footstep?
I must lave them, ah yes with a sigh.
(Chorus.)
GARDEN FLOWERS 63
Farewell friends, farewell Ireland forever;
Old Athlone, I must bid you adeau;
When the night closes over the ocean,
I'll dream of the faces I iinew;
But I fly to tlie arms of my lover;
He dwells in that land of the free;
We will live, we will love and be happy; —
My hero, my darlini^ and me.
(Chorus.)
GARDEN FLOWERS.
There are plenty of flowers in the garden, Maud,
All fragrant and fair to see
But one above all in the grand array
Is the sweetest by far to me.
Can you guess my choice of the roses, Maud,
Of the tulips and daisies fair
Of the blue bells and pinks; and the helitrope
That flavors the evening air?
You are awfully sweet on the flowers, John,
And a gardener you ought to be.
But your choice of the fairest flower, John,
Is a trivial thing to me.
I can guess your choice of the flowers, John,
And guess you through and through;
But I think, just over the garden wall
Is a flower that blooms for you.
What a beautiful open countenance John,
As it stands over there alone.
And right in the heart of that big sunflower
You will find as much love as your own.
So good evening John, good evening.
My mammy is calling for tea.
And hearafter think no more, John,
Of making a flower of me.
Moral,
So boys have a care when you flatter
The girls and the garden flowers.
For taffy don't always stick boys,
In this slippery world of ours.
64 THE RUSTLING LEAVES.
THE RUSTLING LEAVES-
Out thro' the forest, with nature eouiUiUuinK,
Far thro' the tangle of briar and weed;
'Yond where the shades of the purpling mountains
Are tlin^iaj? their colors in fanciful speed.
Down the cool bowers we hn;<er and listen.
Imbibing the charm of the summer's glad eves;
Watching the shadows grow dark in the distance,
Breathing the zephyrs that rustle the leaves.
On, we are strolling while twilight is closing.
Now we are breathing the fairest perfum.';
Naught to disturb the quiet Im-ih, save the cric'.iet
And firefly, that fitfully lights up the gathering gloom;
The shrill notes of robin melodiousl y piping
His last farewell song to another day's close;
And the rippling rill but a step down ihe tangie,
Ever laughing and surging as onward it flaws.
Oh sweet is the charm of the beautiful even.
When forest bowers call us in fanciful quest;
'Tween the gold that is tinting the far distant m juntaius'
And the rost"-light that lingers beyond in the west;
When the phantoms of Day fall asleep on the liillside
And the Nymphs ot the twilight their vigil relieves;
When the birds of the wildwood are chanting a vesper,
And the zephyrs still toy with the rustling leaves.
Oft in the charm of a summer day even
I lived all the hours I am dreaming to-day;
Lived, — and existence seemed bt-autiuu.-i as heaven:
Idly I cast all their treasures away.
Give me an hour from the cares that oppress me;
Worry and toil oft the heart sadly grieves;
Let me go do^^u to the cool of the woodland
And list' to the sound of the rustling leaves.
THE WARNING,
When pomp's weak m'glit ass ills the strong
Till Saxons wake lo a sense of wrong;
When greed, oppression, lordl}- right
Seems but the end of England's light;
THE WARNING. ^5
Allowed no part in country's pride,
The poor, downtrodden, (rights denied,)
Long suffering, patient, steeped in woe
At last arise their power to show.
The sleeping giant with ominous mein
Lifts up his head with eyes agleam;
And indignation, wrath, shows plain
Upon dark visaged brow, ah vain
Seems England's power and might
When Right's made wrong and Wrong's called right;
When Royal seal's afHxed to all
That can coerce, repress, enthrall;
And few, in might ride milliions down.
Is God's will done by State or crown?
Oh vain's the boast that laws are just
When millions hunger for a crust
And golden savers, glistening shine
Around the board where lordlings dine;
And quaff and chaff in drunken band
About their slaves in every land.
Ah "slavery days" are with us yet
More dire than Afric's trades beget.
Oh, Isle of Serfs what galls j^ou most?
The hungry belly's empty toast.
The cry for bread, the anguished face
That marks the index of your race?
Or, when you know that this be true.
To hear the boastings of the few.
Who laurel decked by Royal hand
And fenced by steel on sea and land.
Proclaim it loudly to the earth.
That Saxon ne'er shall be a serf?
The Century hand has traced the dial.
Since haughty France with haughtier smile.
In feudal manner sneered at Right;
'Till trampled millions rose in might.
To face oppression backed by steel
And force the doors of dark Bastile.
How futile then, how weak their might
As God's requiting rose in sight,
And blazing Paris lit the gloom,
Wherein was writ the Tyrants' doom!
66 THE WARNING,
Oh boldeaed Serfs of former years
How mock you at the "Master's"' tears.
Revengetul wrath, loug taunted rage,
How gloat ye in this blood steeped age
And cheer yon head now borne on high
On gory spear that passe th by!
So ends the pets of haughty France,
AVhose ink was blood, whose pen a lance .
Take warning England, Century worn;
The load you court can not be borne
For God's requiting follows near;
The Spectre seen by Sage and Seer.
That Cowper's words are doubly true.
Your tottering power proclaims anew.
You laud your might, you laugh to scorn
The troubled sky of early morn —
The murky cloud that shades you o'er.
Of Irish wrath and Martyrs gore.
Give up the wrong, give in to right
And yield to Heaven your olden plight
The worms at your vitals now,
Are eating canker like I trow.
Self bred by wrong and inward sin,
Put off the old, the new bigin —
New life that Nation yet or State
Has ere attempted 'till to late.
Oh England. loud on thee I call;
Whose wisdom yet doth States apall,
Send forth your name to ages down
That myriad hosts may bless your crown.
Your greatest danger's froiu|your own,
Whose drink is gall, whose bread a stone.
If in your house contentions reiga
Think not to guard a captive's chain
"When rampant riot rules your streets
And wealth and rank seek safe retreats;
When "powers, that be" show wild alarm —
Like reeds. that totter in a storm,
Stand mute aside and hold their breath,
Know ye a Nation walks to death.
'Tis time! 'Tis time a Seer proclaims
To change the course, to lose t.he chains;
Ere pent up wrath doth ruin employ
And blazing London weeps for Troy.
THE CHRISTMA.S SONG 67
A CHRISTMAS SONG-
The same old story, the same old story.
Oft told as the years go by;
Of a shiveriug form and a garbless waif
Out under a wlutery sky.
Out under the storm in the cold, cold stre«t
Exposed to the aujjry blast,
Where the bells of the rich make music sweet
As they glide in their cutters past;
Where muffled and warm, the great high born
In their richest robes come out,
From the hearthstones charm, that from night till mora
Puts sorrow and want to rout.
The same old story, the same old story.
The whole wide world around;
Where the rich are richest, the poor are poorest
And charity seldom is found
But 'tis Christmas eve and we all should leave
Our sorrows and trials away;
And be retidy to greet with lightsome h^sart-s
The dawning of God's own day.
"Peace upon earth to men of good will
And glory to llim above."—
Oh, 'twas never to be that cruel poverty
Should cancel those words of love.
Then go to that shivering waif without;
Bring him to your fireside bright;
For a cheering smde or a gentle word
Makes poverty's burden light,
O, the far off years— those future years,
Hath many a crook and turn;
And he, that's a shivermg waif to-night
May all of your love return.
Yes, go to the sorrowing poor to-night,
Oo search thro" the dim lit street;
And follow the path through the chilling snow,
Those tracks of the half clad feet.
Go, enter the cabin, the cheerless cot.
Where wierd light from each smoldering coal.
But too plainly speak of the poor and weak—
This, this is dread poverty's goal.
68 THE NEW YEAR BELL.
Oh lightea the hearts of the poor to-aight,
But comfort them for a day;
And the blessing of thousands will smoothe your path,
As the years speed fast away.
For Chrismas comes that we all have cheer,
So surely for once our mite
Should go to the help of the needy poor
And make every fireside bright.
THE NEW YEAR BELL-
Silvery chimes of the New Year Bell
Out on the air are ringing;
Loudly they peal; — what a merry peal?
And this is the song they are singing —
"Joyful and glad we should ever be.
Bury the past with its sorrow.
Stop not to grieve o'er a wasted hour!
Strive to do better to-morrow."
Speed on the wings of the wintry winds
Chimes of your sweetest sounding;
Echo each peal to the leafless groves
The voitie of your glad rebounding;
Ring thro' the spaa of the coming year
With seldom a sadened knell;
That we love your voice as we do to-day,
O, ye caroling New Year Bell.
Sweetest of harmony greets the ear
As ye ring in your joy together;
And we fancy we hear in tuneful rythm
The meade of your praises ever.
Echoing, echoing, echoing on
With a rapture no tongue can tell.
Thro' the city sireet and the haiulet fair
Sweet voice of the New Year Bell.
BE A HELPER.
Be a helper, be a helper
As you journey on thro* life;
Aid your brother in the struggle
Should he falter in the strife!
BE A HELPER. - 69
Clouds of sorrow hang above us,
Fitful is each transient ray
Happiness and pleasure deigneth—
Night seems longer than the day.
Some by fortune kissed and fondled
Others lashed by every storm;
Each, to weave the living picture
Grief and joy alternate form-
Poverty within her hovel;
Wealth with luxury enshrined;
Sin and sexual passions raging;
Saint and sinner, all combined,
'^e a helper, be a helper!
Stand upon the sunny side;
Reach a hand to save the fallen
Sweeping down the darksome tide;
Press them gently to your boAom,
Kiss remorseful tears away
Beg them hope thro' hope seems madness
Joy may o'er their pathway stray.
Be a helper, be a helper.
Never push the faltering do^vn;
Brighten, uu the pat,h& they follow.
Do not greet them with a frown;
And some day within the futiire
Brighter beams will 'round you shine.
Life will ever grow the sweeter
As you tread the walks of time.
Aged footsteps have a meaning,
Read life's story in the gait,
Loiterinsr, faltering;, yet they journey,
Slowly journey as they wait.
See the light of heaven beaming
On that countenance so mild,
See the palsied form of eighty-^
Man again a simple child.
Be a healper, be a helper;
Cheer life's pathjrom end to end;
Never stop to stint a favor;
Judging not whom you befriend!
Good seeds scattered by the wayside
Bears for fruit, an honored name;
Tares cast by the hand of hatred
Yields the blighted fruit of shame.
70 WHEN THE SHIP IS OUT AT SEA.
Be a helper, be a helper!
SuQAbine comrth for us all;
Never seek the dark recesses
Where Daiue sorrow spreads her pall.
Budding flowers are ever noddini;
'Round the earthly paths we tread;
Loving Nature, for our comforts,
Hath her board of bounty spread.
WHEN THE SHIPJS OUT AT SEA,
How oft we watch the water
In the distance toss and foam;
And fancy thro' the rigging
We can hear the sea breeze moan;
And we dream of happy sailors
Who are ever gay and free.
As they brave the rolling billows,
When the ship is out at sea.
So to-day I dream of sailors
Tossing on the sea of life;
Where the waves incessant surging
Moans a monody of strife;
An«i a rifting sunbeam seldom
Flits across the lowering sky.
Further oeeanward they're drifting
Aud no friendly port is nigh.
I can see the sweet faced maiden,
I can see the romping boy.
Start upon life's weary voyage
With a sportive, "ship ahoy!"
While a trusting mother waves them
Farewells as to you aud me;
But her heart is ever with them
When their ship is out at sea.
There's a sail upon the billows.
That I watch for night aud day;
And 1 dream 1 see it bringing
SONG. 71
Him who wandered far away;
Bringing back my truant Willie,
Who was ever kind to me;
Many years I've watched his coming
But the ship is still at sea.
Chorus.
When the ship is out at sea,
When the ship is out at sea,
And a tempest sweeps the water,
There's a sadness comes to me.
SONG.
There's a great wide river ''way up yonder
Where the roses bloom,
'Way where my Chloey used to wander
Long in de days of June;
Sweet were the little birdies singing.
Softly the dew drops fell.
Love to my heart still is bringing
Memories of flower and dell.
Glad was the flow of yon peaceful river.
Sweetly the waters sojourned.
Silently singing a hymn sad and lonely —
Preams that have often returned
Spirit-like now 'long that vanishing river
I fancy I stroll in my dream,
And Chloey is walking beside me as ever —
How sweet doth remembrance seem!
Glad were the sdunds 'long yon pearly river,
Carols of melody sweet,
Pond were the tales of our love told together,
We parted — and never to meet.
Memories oft haunt me of evening twilight.
Trysts ot the sweet long ago;
When my heart was all sunshine and fervor,
Dreaming of Ch!o, darling Ohio.
72 OVER THE RIVER.
OVER THE RIVER.
Over the river of life we gaze >
Where myriad sails are seen
Like nodding plumes in a summer wind —
Out thro' the shadow and sheen.
Over the river of life we gaze,
Far over her placid breast;
Youth hath the reins on this welkin day
And the Avinds and the waters rest.
Over the river, aye, once again;
Every sail is bent to the breeze;
A picture of duty, a round of toil
In life's great go-as-you-please.
Over the river of life alas,
Yes after the storm is spent;
We look to behold full many .a wreck;
And many a sail is rent.
Out on the river — for many y,et
Are sailing its waters wide.
We gaze to behold the bending bow
Still stemming the treacherous tide.
Out on the river, 'tis growing late' "■
And night closes o'er the scene.
'Tis the near approach of the shadqw hour.
We bid a good bye to the sheen.
Over the river we gaze to-day
And think of the shadow and sheen;
With only a moment of life at most,
To all of our lessons glean.