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 (^FEG 10 1888 V^ 
 
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1887, by 
 
 Moses Gage Shirley, 
 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress. 
 
 IRA C. EVANS, PRINTER, 
 CONCORD, N. H. 
 
prefaee. 
 
 -^t'OK a few years past I liave been thinking- of collecting 
 .some of my best poems, that have appeared in various 
 papers from time to time, and arrange them for publica- 
 tion in book form. After considerable delay the intended 
 volume is now ready and awaits your criticism, which I 
 hope will be fairly given, allowing for the enthusiasm of 
 youth and all unintentional mistakes. 
 
 As I have always lived on a farm many of my poems 
 will doubtless remind you of the woods and the pictur- 
 esque scenes of country life whose various phases every 
 lover of nature ought to enjoy to appreciate more fully the 
 flowers and trees and birds and all those other things that 
 ennoble and beautify our surroundings and our lives. 
 
 To understand poetry well I believe it is necessary for 
 us to adopt the mood or inspiration in which the poet 
 writes — as near as we know how — if we desire to share his 
 thoughts and find companionship with him ; by so doing 
 we shall be able to judge him better and to acquire a 
 truer reverence for the sublime and beautiful wherever 
 found. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 4,4^(3-Jue^i^ •^cs^c^c-- ^iLut'Cc^\ 
 
BOOI^ OF I^OEMS. 
 
 [Shirley Hill.Gofistown, boasts of two natural curiosities called the Tipping 
 Rocks, which weigh several tons and can be moved by a slight pressure of 
 the hand. They are probably relics of the Glacial Epoch.] 
 
 Giants of that stupendous glacial slide 
 
 Which swept the northern mountains to the sea, 
 
 Left here to mark some error rectified 
 In Nature's grand and varied alchemy. 
 
 Cradled by storms, saluted by the sun, 
 
 How many ages past we cannot guess. 
 Though here the Indian came when day was done, 
 
 And wintery forests moaned in bleak distress. 
 
 The fearless eagle flew above thee then, 
 
 Making the silence echo with his cry ; 
 The timid rabbit sought its burrowed den. 
 
 Alarmed to hear the winged hunter nigh. 
 
 Deep in the shade the tawuy deer fell down 
 When vivid lightning lit the tempest's path. 
 
 Startled when thunder shook the wooded ground 
 And filled their peace with unrelenting wrath. 
 
 The scene is changed, and thou art left alone 
 
 Huge Titans of the avalanche's rage. 
 For weaker hands to tip thy walls of stone 
 
 And pluck the moss that covers them with age. 
 
MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Proud mountain throned above the valleys green, 
 Nor distant from some nestling country town ; 
 
 Imbued with every brightness, sunshine flings 
 Its sceptre over all. 
 
 Those sturdy oaks with giant strength among 
 The luring breezes of the whispering pines ; 
 
 Yon landscape as some picture painted new, 
 The ra]3t attention of the view confines. 
 
 The sky above, that canopy of heaven's pure state, 
 Looks down and locks the scenes of closing day. 
 
 With mirrored beauty from the sunset gate, 
 Ye steps of time, when in creation 's dawn, 
 
 These cragged rocks glowed brighter as the morning 
 woke : 
 
 Thy touch has marred them, and the raging storms 
 Their fury o'er the massive boulders broke. 
 
 But thou art loved, O mountains, 
 
 Though loftier heights ascend to view ; 
 Nor less revered as years press in their march. 
 
 Thy grandeur shall be ever old or new. 
 
 P/T)osKea§ F2II5. 
 
 See how the rushing waters leap 
 
 Against the rocks with feathery spray. 
 
 Below the bridge they madly sweep 
 And circle on their devious wav- 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Like unchained demons that have broke 
 The barriers of their prison down, 
 
 They onward rush, and, striving, cope 
 Amid the billow's surges, drown. 
 
 ' Twas here the valiant red man came. 
 In years gone by, to woo his mate. 
 
 And the (ireat Spirit wrote his name 
 In the recording book of fate. 
 
 Flow on, proud river, to the sea. 
 Beneath the city's frowning walls, 
 
 Untramcled as thou still shall be. 
 To cleave thy cragged waterfalls. 
 
 U/ritter} or> a uisit to tl^e pulpit ip Bedford, \l. ){. 
 September 8, 1887. 
 
 Strange work of Nature in thy wooded home 
 I pause and wonder at the sights around ; 
 
 Where mossy boulders tower stone on stone 
 And falling water circulates its sound. 
 
 Long years have gone since the first Indian brave 
 Came down the stairway leading to the pool, 
 
 And paused a moment near the narrow cave, 
 Then wandered out beside the streamlet cool. 
 
 Where once he trod I find another track, 
 
 Some pale-faced maiden's, printed in the clay. 
 
 The flitting siiadows fall behind my back. 
 As to and fro the pendent birches sway 
 
8 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 What power is here? A subtle spell enchants 
 And fills with beauty every nook and place ; 
 
 Upon a rock that to the water slants 
 Some ferns are growing delicate as lace. 
 
 I stand enraptured, musing of the past, 
 Of all the ages since the world began ; 
 
 O'er this great chasm, intricate and vast, 
 I think one time a mighty river ran. 
 
 5o fr\y (T)otl?er. 
 
 I bless her for the hope which she has bourne 
 
 For me along the world's unequal waj^s. 
 Beneath the changing sky that o'er us bends 
 
 My love for her is one vast song of praise. 
 
 Though other poets wake the silent muse 
 
 With themes of passing eloquence more grand. 
 Such humble verses, careless wrote as these, 
 
 Have few pretences of the master's hand. 
 
 Through all the retrospective years th?ct are 
 
 Bound over nature like some golden veil, 
 My mother's memory I shall hold aside 
 
 From every fault when envious griefs prevail. '' 
 
 Yea, love like her's will never cease to be * \ 
 
 In this old human world of sin and shame, ' 
 
 Until the spirit, freed from servitude, bestows 
 On fairer spheres its everlasting claim. 
 
HOOK OF oinCTNAL POEMS. 
 
 'J\)(^ 5^3td(^ of liberty. 
 
 Grand work of genius J we adore 
 
 The liaiids that wrought tliee o'er the sea; 
 We praise thy sculptor, Bartholdi, 
 
 But thauk the generous people more 
 
 Who sent thee as their gracious gift, 
 The offering of sunny France, 
 Freed from the tyrant's bloody lance, 
 
 Upon our shore tliy torch to lift. 
 
 High in the heavens' starry space, 
 A beacon fire whose light will glow 
 Till love shall conquer every foe ; 
 
 Where freedom knows no class or race. 
 
 Again we humbly feel the debt 
 This statue gives for us to claim, 
 We feel a glory in the name 
 
 And chivalry of Lafayette, 
 
 Wiio came when tyranny oppressed 
 Our infant nation with its greed, 
 And by his valor we were freed, 
 
 And every evil was redressed. 
 
 His record on thy shrine we lay. 
 
 Heroic nation, with the dead 
 
 Who lived and suffered, fought and bled, 
 That I>iberty might ever stay. 
 
 Look up and see her symbol grand, 
 
 A noble effigy of Peace ; 
 
 Whose victory will never cease 
 Until it circles every land. 
 
10 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 When thrones shall crumble in the dust, 
 And sovereign kings and rulers die, 
 Mayst thou illuminate the sky, 
 
 And fall with Honor, if thou must. 
 
 f\T) Oeeap Ce^epd. 
 
 [Oakum Bay is a small inlet on the rocky coast of Marblehead, Mass., 
 /here the following tragedy took place many years ago. ] 
 
 Down on the coast of Marblehead, 
 
 The good old people say, 
 Long years ago some pirates sped 
 
 A craft to Oakum Bay. 
 
 In it a lovely girl was brought. 
 
 The villains took ashore ; 
 They murdered her without a thought, 
 
 And hid her in her gore. 
 
 For some base act they never meant 
 
 Her virgin lips should telj ; 
 God pity them whose souls were lent 
 
 To form a league with hell. 
 
 Amid the tempest and the dark 
 
 The natives hear her plead, 
 As when the pirates did embark • 
 
 To do their bloody deed. 
 
 Amid the twilight yet, perchance. 
 
 They see her lifeless ghost 
 When dying sunbeams fall and dance 
 
 Along that rocky coast. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL PoKMS. 11 
 
 let Jmtl;? preuail. 
 
 An ancient king in olden times, 
 Whose throne was in the East, 
 
 Once called his nobles from afar 
 To bide witli him and feast. 
 
 Around the festal board they met. 
 With song and mirthful jest, 
 
 Until the king a question put 
 To each astonished guest. 
 
 " What is the greatest power on earth ? " 
 Some quickly said the king ; 
 The monarch bowed his head and sj^oke, 
 "Nay, truth's the mightiest thing.'" 
 
 Cheer after cheer rang through the hall. 
 
 In that old castle grand. 
 Whose ruler now is in the dust, 
 
 His palace in the sand. 
 
 Tiiank God that truth is potent still, 
 
 To mar the despot's fame, 
 As in the distant ages past 
 
 It first began its reign. 
 
 Have hope amid your duties there 
 
 Beside the rushing loom, 
 () maiden, for your earnest prayer 
 
 Will far out-reach the uloom. 
 
12 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 The shadows soon will pass away ; 
 
 Let courage aid the weak, 
 Till labor can from every land 
 
 Its true expression speak. 
 
 When Peace has sealed the cannon lips, 
 That War's red hosts assail, 
 
 And tyranny shall rule no more, 
 Truth will at last pievail. 
 
 Od(^ toJdJ9(^. 
 
 Warm with the glow of summer skies, 
 Sweet as the blush of maidenhood. 
 Thy beauty over field and wood. 
 
 Is one of marvel and surprise. 
 
 Upon the hills the zephyrs stray, 
 Or wander where the laurels grow 
 In the wide pasture lands below, 
 
 Made beautiful by their array. 
 
 Within the west the shadows flee 
 Beyond the dim horizon's bar ; 
 I see the glimmer of a star, 
 
 And hear the wild bird's minstrelsy. 
 
 Bring back, again, some fond desire 
 Of trust and duty, unto those 
 Who gave an offering of a rose ; 
 
 Yet, filled with love, such gifts inspire. 
 
HOOK OF olUa/NAL POEMS. l:J 
 
 [And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light 
 of the sun, for the Lord God givcth them light, and they shall reign for ever 
 and ever. — Jiible.] 
 
 FoRKVERMORE it's Written, there shall be 
 
 No darkness in that golden city, where 
 Our Christ still lives, who walked by Galilee, 
 
 And sainted spirits breathe through realms of prayer. 
 
 For God shall wipe away all earthly tears 
 
 Of sorrow from our poor delusive eyes 
 Where death will end, and pain and secret fears 
 
 Shall be unknown in His great paradise. 
 
 Bright with a radiance from the eternal cross, 
 
 Telling of Calvary's awful silent dread. 
 Beyond the power of universal loss. 
 
 The heritage of Faith which is not dead. 
 
 f\T) Old prouerb. 
 
 Whatever the grief that binds 
 Its fetters upon our breast. 
 
 And the aching heart confines. 
 We know it is for the best. 
 
 No matter if love shall die 
 
 And leave with the parting guest. 
 
 It is hard to say good bye, 
 
 But sometimes it is for the best. 
 
 Whenever the time shall come 
 That our stars go down the west, 
 
 And our lips are cold and dumb, 
 God grant it be for the best. 
 
14 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 (Jrapt. 
 
 He fell not in the fray 
 
 Amid the battle's smoke, 
 But kept the foe at bay 
 
 With heart as firm as oak ; 
 Upon a huadred fields 
 
 He fought, then strove for peace. 
 Such courage always heals 
 
 The cost of War's release. 
 
 He lived and suffered death — 
 
 To die as others died 
 Before him, and he left 
 
 His memory sanctified ; 
 In chorus let us rend 
 
 A grand memorial chant, 
 For North and South will end 
 
 Above the grave of Grant. 
 
 I '\\)oa<^\)t of \p\j(^. 
 
 I thought of love as an awaking dream, 
 
 Born from the stillness of hope's seeming flight, 
 When kindred passions are with trust imbued, 
 
 And Nature dos't her fondest themes invite ; 
 With hearts resistless, we may know the truth 
 
 From lips that summer has not idly blest, 
 And eyes that evening in its beauty crowned. 
 
 An affluance for duty or for rest. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 15 
 
 5o 39 old (T\apl(^. 
 
 [The following verses are dedicated to a maple tree which stands just 
 across the road from the writer's birtliplace, and which has, in all probability, 
 been growing there for over a hundred years.] 
 
 Beside the roadside grows a maple gray, 
 
 Lifting its giant brandies to the sky ; 
 Guarding witii faithful vigilance the way, 
 
 The self-same presence to the passer by. 
 
 The last progenitor of a long line 
 
 Of lordly monarchs in some massive wood, 
 
 Where nature reigned with every grace benign 
 Within the forest where those worthies stood. 
 
 But they were early days of which 1 speak ; 
 
 Long years before the settler's cabin frowned 
 Upon that wilderness of grandeur bleak. 
 
 And wrapped in desolation most profound. 
 
 There the gray owl reared her brood in peace 
 
 Within the hollow of some massive oak ; 
 The denizens of wildwood did increase. 
 
 For human pity there no themes awoke. 
 
 Thou art a retrospective tree, T know. 
 
 Keeping the history of a vanished time ; 
 Whose boughs have bent with verdure or with snow. 
 
 To bless the idols of some cherished shrine. 
 
 Across the way a rural dwelling stands ; 
 
 One I shall ever prize, it is my home, 
 What power is there, e'en in the distant lands, 
 
 Beloved by strangers and all those who roam. 
 
16 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 An artifice of workmanship, yet rude 
 
 With homely carving- that the worker wrought ; 
 
 Around its portals memory's gems are strewed 
 Like the vague fancies of neglected thought. 
 
 The mountain high above, majestic still, 
 
 Rears upward to the cloud its vaulted height, 
 
 Inviting all to roam as best they will. 
 
 Or watch its shadows darken with the night. 
 
 To view the roseate glow of early dawn 
 Upon its cragged boulders, gray and old. 
 
 Light up a golden mirage moving on. 
 
 Till all the brightness of the day unrolled. 
 
 With other scenes of pictured beauty rare. 
 Youthful with life or hoary with their age. 
 
 Bedeck that hallowed spot beyond compare. 
 The treasures of a banished heritage. 
 
 Thou maple, grafted to the common soil 
 With rooted members that are firmly set, 
 
 Though the rude wind some branches may despoil. 
 Thy surface is unchanged the same as yet. 
 
 And when I come across the strand of years, 
 I hope to greet thee, growing in thy place. 
 
 Amid the world's prosaic joy and tears 
 I'll know thy form as a familiar face. 
 
HOOK OF ORiniXAL POJJMS. V 
 
 J\)(^ Dead Soldier. 
 
 [Respecting the memory of Gen. Geo. B. McClellan who died at Newark, 
 N. J., Oct. 28, 1885. J 
 
 Whkx civil conflict filled our land 
 
 I was not born, but I have read 
 About the cost and understand 
 
 The valor of its noble dead. 
 
 Who fou<;ht for all was dear to them, 
 
 The cause of justice and of right ; 
 They gained as true a diadem 
 
 As victors ever won in fight. 
 
 I^ut the great soldier whom I name 
 
 Died after peace had wrought its sway. 
 
 He fought, but never owned the fame 
 That he would have earned without delay, 
 
 Had party strife been less severe, 
 
 And prejudice been cast aside 
 By love that bound his comrades near 
 
 Although his duties were denied. 
 
 Yet time will eulogise the trust 
 
 His manly spirit strove to gain 
 When jealous passions kiss the dust 
 
 And cruel sabres leave no stain. 
 
 Soldier and statesman, thou art gone 
 Where war's red pilgrimage will end. 
 
 The skies are break i;ig with the morn 
 And angels greet thee as a friend, 
 (2) 
 
18 MOSES GAGE SHIRLETS 
 
 F{emors(^. 
 
 Upon his couch the fettered criminal sank, 
 Worn with unrest ; his sallow face was thin, 
 
 His mind was tortured and reluctant shrank 
 Beneath an evil canopy of sin. 
 
 He fell asleep and dreamed of days agone, 
 When life was full of beauty and of verse ; 
 
 How could it be that he w^as ever born 
 To feel the blight of this relentless curse. 
 
 He saw the fields that he has seen of yore 
 Grow purple as the sun drew down the west, 
 
 And set in splendor as it did before 
 When he was young and never had transgressed. 
 
 And dreaming still he saw a maiden's face 
 Look down in pity from a starry cloud ; 
 
 Why did he leave her, full of love and grace, 
 To seek his fortune in the restless world ? 
 
 Unkind was fate ; he battled with it long, 
 But came no nearer to the promised goal ; 
 
 What would have made his manhood grand and strong 
 He lost when ruin overthrew his soul. 
 
 Again that gentle face w^as bending low 
 Above his own, and he was reconciled • 
 
 To dream of her as in the long ago, 
 
 When he was young and she was but a child. 
 
 Had she come down to ask him to forget. 
 
 From that far place where sainted angels dwell, 
 
 His hasty words that stung him with regret; 
 Had she come down to say to him farewell 'i 
 
BOOK OF OHIGINAL POEMS. 19 
 
 In vain he dreamt across the wide abyss, 
 The stars shone out, but they were keen and cold 
 
 Me longed to feel the pressure of a kiss, 
 Or hear the songs she used to sino^ of old. 
 
 A moonbeam stole into his cell that night; 
 
 The prisoner saw it ; springing up he cried : 
 Remorse lias fought me with an angry spite 
 
 And contpiered," fell upon his couch and died. 
 
 (grosses. 
 
 There are many cross- 
 es that people bear ; 
 crosses of love and 
 hate and care. As 
 they journey onward to their abode 
 some of the burdens press and 
 goad, some of the crosses lightly 
 rest like the downy birds ' neath 
 their mother's breast ; 
 while others fall 
 with a cruel aim 
 till the heart is riv- 
 en with secret pain. 
 It may be well if we 
 turn • aside from the 
 poisoned rivers of 
 worldly pride ; it 
 may be well if we 
 never win a trai- 
 tor's crown or a 
 cross of sin. 
 
20 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 <S\)(^ Ou/l apd t\)(^ C^rou/. 
 
 WHAT THE OWL SAID. 
 
 Said the owl to the crow, I am posted, you know, 
 
 About the climate and weather, 
 And the lay of the land ; what T don't understand 
 
 Is of no more account than a feather. 
 
 I can ferret a mole where he tunnels his hole, 
 Through the ground, if I feel in the mood ; 
 
 One snap of my beak will make a rat squeak 
 Before I convert him to food. 
 
 My eyes, you observe, have a luminous nerve, 
 r can see when the moon doesn't shine ; 
 
 See my talons, old friend, how closely they bend 
 ' Round this limb like a cypress vine. 
 
 Sometimes when I hoot I've an eloquent flute, 
 All the small birds will flutter away 
 
 Or tremble with fear when they know I am near, 
 Because I am seeking for prey. 
 
 One night on a tree I had patience to see 
 
 Two lovers that came underneath ; 
 I heard what was said, they agreed to be wed, 
 
 When they left it was quite a relief. 
 
 WHAT THE CROW SAID. 
 
 Said the crow to the owl, you're as funny a fowl 
 
 As ever invented a joke, 
 But the sound of your flute is not half so cute 
 
 As a thrill of my musical croak. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 21 
 
 I'm a lover of corn, because I was born 
 
 To feed as my gratidfatliers did ; 
 When I follow the plow the farmers allaw 
 
 That I'm seeking a suitable quid. 
 
 r am not much afraid of the tricks they have played. 
 
 Or the snai'es to encumber my tribe ; 
 I'm a hard kind to kill unless 1 am ill, 
 
 So I mean to keep well and alive. 
 
 Just notice my dress, you are jealous, T guess. 
 
 Confound your old luminous eyes ; 
 See the gloss on my coat, you had better take note 
 
 Of the color if you are so wise. 
 
 THE MORAL. 
 
 The moral is plain, but don't read it in vain, 
 Like some book you have laid on the shelf, 
 
 All I wish to impart yoa can soon learn by heart, 
 Don't feel tiuile so proud of yourself. 
 
 I^egret. 
 
 Why do we long for many van"tshed things, 
 For hasty words that are beyond recall, 
 
 And love's sweet token full of truth divine ; 
 
 We might have drank its consecrated wine 
 Before we let the priceless goblet fall. 
 
 Why do we think of all the vanished years, 
 Of fruitful seasons till our eyes are wet? 
 We cannot tell because we do not know, 
 There are so many ills that torture so, 
 
 And memory always brings some vain regret. 
 
22 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 DasI? It Dou/i^. 
 
 You have heard of the suffering, 
 the want, the sin and the vile 
 poDution that kirks herein, 
 of the genius offered upon its 
 goal, and the ruin of many 
 I splendid soul, of the crimes 
 committed without a name, by this 
 lurid demon, to end in shame. 
 How oft the feet of some way- 
 ward lass it has led to the 
 verge of hell, alas ! If 
 you wish to wear a 
 god-like crown, 
 
 be true to 
 
 y 
 
 o 
 u 
 r 
 
 s 
 e 
 1 
 
 f 
 And dash it down. 
 
 lord Byroii. 
 
 Poet with haman passion strangely bound, 
 Master of song, I only know of thee 
 
 As one who lived and woke thy harp to sound 
 With fancies weird and soul-like melody. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGIN AL POEMS. 
 
 From native soil betieatii a southern sky, 
 Veiled with the splendors of the orient, 
 
 He wandered, seeking tame, alas ! to die 
 Before the fullness of his life was spent. 
 
 And grand those lessons that he taught 
 Of love's great warfare ; they will hold 
 
 Their sway amid the realms of thought 
 When other hearts and lips grow cold. 
 
 Ppril Sl^ies. 
 
 Carp:ssed by southern winds that rove 
 Far from some native orange grove. 
 
 As changeful as the changing sea, 
 Unfathomed with its mystery. 
 
 Begemmed with fleeting clouds or rain 
 The crystal fringes of their train. 
 
 More like a blushing maiden fair, 
 Those fickle spirits of the air 
 
 Enshroud each change of storm and sun 
 With beauty till the day is done. 
 
 Revealing through the shadow land 
 
 Of twilight something vague and grand. 
 
 Beneath these April skies we know 
 Will vanish all our winter's snow, 
 
 And bring the belted-brown bee when 
 The flowers of Spring time bloom again. 
 
24 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 T!?<? Old Year a9d tf?(^ \iew. 
 
 Go backward with the course of time 
 
 Amid the surging spheres, 
 And find a conqueror old and grim 
 
 AVho steals the parting years. 
 He comes and bids the beautiful 
 
 Of earth, to pass away ; 
 No action fraught with pity's fear 
 
 Can mar his frenzied sway. 
 
 Deep in our hearts a sorrow springs, 
 
 A grief akin to pain. 
 Which lingered with the sunny hoiu's 
 
 That ne'er will come again. 
 How^ deep that hidden agony, 
 
 Emotion's voice is still ; 
 For all those promises of praise 
 
 Not one did we fulfil. 
 
 Another year has gone, to fill 
 
 Its mission with the past ; 
 Departed, but its record leaves 
 
 A history that will last. 
 And is it true, that we revere 
 
 The old year tinged with gray. 
 More like the sanctuary form 
 
 Of life's departing day ? 
 
 The glittering host of stars look dowi 
 
 From their paternal sky, 
 Through realms that hold eternity, 
 
 Where years and seasons lie. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Some mystic harp tlie dial fame 
 
 Has shattered, and is gone , 
 But greater talent will arise 
 
 To »'rac<3 our deeds anon. 
 
 Ring out, ye bells, wild, fearless, ring 
 
 At midnight's holy hour, 
 VVlien silence o'er the city broods 
 
 From terraced wall to tower. 
 Rut let thy cadence ring in peace. 
 
 To absent messengers of thought, 
 'Till cares of ours shall be removed 
 
 To reach a place where rank is not. 
 
 At last the frosty morning breaks, 
 
 A glad new year now rules supreme, 
 The lingering phantom of the old 
 
 Has vanished as a fading dream ; 
 Thrice welcome to the new-born day. 
 
 Desire of to-morrow's snn, 
 Hiight imath the pilgrimage of hope, 
 
 Thy mission just begun. 
 
 Within his ledger Time has turned 
 
 Another page more fair, 
 'I'ake heed no error of thy own 
 
 Shall place its record there. 
 'Hie self-same wickedness of eartli 
 
 This hardened age dost hold, 
 The same insinuating sneers 
 
 Will linger and be told. 
 
26 MOSES GAGE SUIRLETS 
 
 Let every lasting motive reach 
 
 The idol of its theme, 
 So let us strive with one accord 
 
 To win the world's esteem. 
 When bm'st the tender buds of spring, 
 
 And summer's sweetest flowers bloom, 
 There is a Power that lives for aye, 
 
 To lift the vapid veil of gloom. 
 
 The same bright sun will shine as fair. 
 
 The cresent moon grow full and wane, , 
 The sowing will precede the harvest, 
 
 And misty clouds will turn to rain ; 
 Man's bravery will be no nobler 
 
 Than chronicled by centuries flown ; 
 While you and I, perchance, dear reader. 
 
 Will live and die unwept, unknown. 
 
 Bear patiently thy share of sorrow. 
 
 Again the pledge of life renew ; 
 Fling off the clods that else would bind thee, 
 
 To find a pleasure lasting true. 
 Avoid the slanderer's artful way. 
 
 Temptation's servile pathway shun, 
 Look upward through the gloomiest hour, 
 
 ' Till grief and pain no more shall come. 
 
 5l?al^espear(^. 
 
 Nearly three hundred years have gone 
 Since thy great spirit passed away ; 
 The acts thou wrote we still portray 
 
 With kindred beauty grandly drawn. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 27 
 
 Beside the Avon's winding stream 
 Thy fancy qnickened into thought 
 With themes that cannot be forgot 
 - And greater than all others seem. 
 
 For thou alone did understand 
 The soul of passion and of love 
 Which brooded o'er thee like a dove 
 
 And came and went at thy command. 
 
 On some fair world I think of thee, 
 Immortal poet, living yet, 
 Where stars of morning never set, 
 
 But sing in choral jubilee. 
 
 Where brighter suns are filled with light 
 
 And planets circle into fire. 
 
 To make at last a funeral pyre 
 Where shadows darken into night. 
 
 Thy record written .here will live, 
 Great genius of the world's applause. 
 Until the critics find no flaws 
 
 In thy great work, and all forgive. 
 
 '\\)(l Ql^iirp, or SpoiJti95 )^or9. 
 
 [This great natural curiosity, so called, is a deep ravine or chasm in the 
 rocky coast of Marblehead Neck, Mass., where the water from the ocean 
 foams and rushes and is sometimes thrown upward to a great height, the 
 upheaval being accompanied by a loud report like the discharge of a cannon. 
 According to geologists the waves are responsible for the indention. In olden 
 times the Neck was a favorite haunt of the Indians; it is now one of the 
 mo.st beautiful and popular summer resorts on the New Englaml coast. | 
 
 Agks ago when the ascending sun 
 
 Across those heaving, turbid waves shone, 
 
 There was no fissure where the waves could churn ; 
 They left in sullen anger to return 
 
 And beat against a massive wall of stone. 
 
28 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 The years went by and many storms were spent 
 
 Before the fury of the raging sea 
 Had done its work, and booming npward sent 
 
 The foaming swirl in furious content, 
 Rejoicing like a demon bold and free. 
 
 And later still a band of Indians came 
 
 When the red light of morning filled the East ; 
 
 They came and stood in wonderment and awe 
 Beside the churn, and heard the billows war 
 
 Beneath them as the surging tide increased. 
 
 Their tale is told ; another people see 
 
 Tlie sights they saw or marvel at their graves ; 
 
 They see the rolling waters inward creep, 
 To thunder up that frowning chasm deep. 
 
 Worn by the ceaseless rush of ocean waves. 
 
 Look down the west, behold ! the kingly sun 
 Is slowly sinking on a couch of gold ; 
 Into the night another day is done — 
 Yes, ended like a story that is told. 
 See, far above the sunset's golden glow, 
 The sky is tinted like a sea of i^earl, 
 It blushes red like some reticent girl, 
 While darkness gathers o'er the earth below. 
 Look out again and watch the fading light 
 Grow fainter as the stars shine from the sky ; 
 Or feel the presence of the balmy night 
 Draw near us from her canopy on high ; 
 Look out and feel a marvelous delight. 
 The tranquil rest her shadowy wings supply. 
 
B()(U< OF OlUaiXAL POEMS. 
 
 OaK Ceai/es. 
 
 IN SUMMKR. 
 
 I saw them in the summer broad and green 
 'upon an oak that grew beside the wood, 
 
 Where song birds came amid the silence deep 
 And sang their songs where playful zephyrs blew 
 Amid the foliage wet with pearly dew, 
 
 Or lulled the warblers as they fell asleep. 
 
 IN AUTUMN. 
 
 I saw them in the autumn dyed with red 
 Upon the oak that grew beside the wood ; 
 
 The birds had tlown while 1 reluctant stood 
 To watch the beauty of each rare design, 
 
 Sweet as the maiden's blush and downward glance, 
 
 Red as the warrior's blood-encircled lance 
 Or crimson berries crushed to ruddy wme. 
 
 Qovuards. 
 
 God pity those who never dare 
 
 To battle for the right, 
 But seek some guiltless soul to snare 
 
 With their malicious spite. 
 
 The craven's touch is on each brow. 
 
 The signature of sin 
 Is written, though we know not how, 
 
 On each false heart within. 
 
 For every evil they have wrought 
 
 Will dwell some conscious pang, 
 It will return to them in thought, 
 A torturing boomerang. 
 
 1>9 
 
30 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 U/ooderaft. 
 
 Among the forests where I go 
 
 The woods are filled with rare delights, 
 
 Wild germs that spring and flowers that blow, 
 On level slopes or mountain heights ; 
 
 Salute me with their fragile art — 
 I cannot name each growing kind, 
 
 Though some a healing power impart. 
 While others life and strength unbind. 
 
 The birds that flutter in the trees. 
 
 And greet the morning with their song. 
 
 Have learned a lesson from the breeze, 
 Which they with amorous joy prolong. 
 
 Sometime perhaps the wood sprites will 
 Allow their secret love confessed, 
 
 But not until my heart is still 
 And I lie dow^n at last to rest. 
 
 Cogie. 
 
 Young man or young woman, whatever you do 
 In this world of creation and blight. 
 
 You better hold fast to the things that are true. 
 If you wish for success and delight. 
 
 You may know how to read and know how to spell, 
 
 And put your thoughts into verse ; 
 But you won't get along in the world very well 
 
 Unless you are good to converse. 
 
HOOK OF ORIGIN A L POEMS. :?! 
 
 fT)odJ9tai95. 
 
 Whekk lofty mountains tower to the sky, 
 There is a charm of varied beauty rare, 
 
 And full of subtle meaning is to me, 
 
 Grander than art and full of poetry, 
 No human poet ever will compare. 
 
 Above the clouds the fearless eagles fly, 
 
 Or seek their homes far from the reach of man. 
 Where storms carouse and avalanches glide 
 Into the yawning chasms deep and wide, 
 Which, mighty boulders overarching, span. 
 
 Those giant forms are growing old with age. 
 
 But growing older they retain the glow 
 Of many summers spent with bees and birds 
 And pasture lands and lowing cattle herds, 
 Or unknown winters lost amid the snow. 
 
 While standing on a crest I often feel 
 
 A reverent passion free from discontent, 
 I think of other mountains far away, 
 That are more holy in their rich array, 
 Because upon them once my Saviour went. 
 
 •' Cet l\s |ju(^ by \.\)(^ U/ay." 
 
 Let us live by the way and never molest 
 
 The peaceful abode of a friend. 
 Yes, the path that is narrow and straight is the best 
 
 For the feet of the children of men. 
 
32 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 But broad is the road that will lead thein to sin, 
 If they seek b}^ the wayside each snare ; 
 
 Oh, guide them with patience before they begin 
 Life's troubles and duties to bear. 
 
 If we do what is right our mission on earth 
 Will glow in death's glimmering sun, 
 
 When the angels of (lod shall proclaim our new birth 
 And we hear the glad welcome : " Well done.'' 
 
 Stromas jHood 
 
 He made a picture for all time 
 Of suffering and daily want ; 
 
 The subtle pathos of his ryhme 
 Is living and will ever haunt. 
 
 When we recall the " Bridge of Sighs," 
 The sinful maiden filled with pains, 
 
 Who saw the city's towers arise, 
 And flung her body in the Thames. 
 
 He pled for labor's scanty crust. 
 And sang of penury and woe, 
 
 But yet mankind is still unjust, 
 
 While changing seasons come and go. 
 
 His genius glitters like the gtars, 
 Undimmed by time it flashes out ; 
 
 Although his soul has sought the bars 
 Of sunset on its endless route. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. ^3 
 
 pa^sy piou/ers. 
 
 Oh, pansies blue and purple-eyed, 
 I deem you fairer than the rest 
 
 Of flowers that bloom for beauty's pride, 
 On vernal fields of loveliness. 
 
 Such fields, perhaps, Apollo trod, 
 Among the Ionian maidens fair, 
 
 A fabled myth and demigod, 
 
 With sprays of laurel in his hair. 
 
 The rose may bloom for lovers ' bowers. 
 And evening deck the lily white, 
 
 But give to me the pansy flowers, 
 
 Whose upturned faces greet the light. 
 
 Above my grave when I am gone, 
 
 1 would the pansy flowers might grow 
 
 And blossom as the years sweep on ; 
 No rarer gift could hands bestow. 
 
 1 stood upon the shore one day. 
 The weaves dashed high with foam. 
 
 And crested breakers awe-like swept 
 Across their ocean home. 
 
 The brown rocks, rugged as the hills, 
 
 Precipitous and high. 
 In silent majesty were throned 
 
 Between the sea and sky. 
 (3) 
 
34 MOSES GAGE SHIRLETS 
 
 At last the breakers ceased to rush ; 
 
 Slow faded from my sight 
 The lingering shadows of the day 
 
 Into the darkened night. 
 
 God's mysteries indeed are great, 
 We know not why they are, 
 
 The power that calms the mighty deep 
 Shines in yon distant star. 
 
 Defied. 
 
 There are some who seek for the ways of peace, 
 
 Where only a stony path is made 
 
 For their bleeding feet to the mountain's crest, 
 
 Reached when the tumult of day is done ; 
 
 They catch a gleam of the setting sun 
 
 When the evening shadows have crosssd the west. 
 
 Some wish for the world's undying fame, 
 They tune their havps, but the fickle strings 
 Are full of passion and grief untried ; 
 The singers fail, and their charm is lost 
 Beyond the recall of mind and cost, 
 While angels weep for such gifts denied. 
 
 Yes, there a*e souls unreached by joy, 
 Fragrant flowers that strive to bloom 
 Out of the common, sun-burnt soil, 
 Waiting the touch of some friendly hand 
 To cull the weeds from the fruitless land. 
 But they die at last through neglect of toil. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 There are many hearts that yearn for love 
 
 And plead at its shrine, bnt it does- not come 
 
 To satisfy until hope has fled, 
 
 And the earnest wish is as cold as steel ; 
 
 That true desire no life can feel, 
 
 When the cynic's fancies are born instead. 
 
 Briijf^t Ev/eQJQi? Star. 
 
 I reckon you the fairest gem 
 
 In heaven's starry crown, 
 That seeks the shadows of the west 
 
 Soon as the sun goes down. 
 
 Golconda's wealth would quickly fade 
 Were it compared with thee, 
 
 Wliose orbit lies beyond our own, 
 Shrouded in mystery. 
 
 Fair star of night, thou art the same 
 
 As in that distant time 
 Thy sister stars of morning sang 
 
 In melody divine. 
 
 Still grace those far-off skies above, 
 
 A home of silent spheres ; 
 Though endless cycles have endowed 
 
 Eternity with years. 
 
36 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Again the feathered songsters greet their queen, 
 Enrobed in emerald vestments new and fair ; 
 
 The sky above is one great azure sheen 
 
 Of many sunbeams that have centered there. 
 
 Upon the hills the hardy golden rod 
 
 Is springing, freed from winter's icy bowers ; 
 
 Yon meadows glow with beauty, and the sod 
 
 (jrows green with verdure, or is decked with flowers. 
 
 And love is with the May, and memory 
 
 Has set a seal upon each captive heart. 
 Until from earthly cares its power is free, 
 
 For death no more these mystic lives shall part. 
 
 U/I?at I Qaa(?l?t. 
 
 I did not catch a single trout 
 That day I went a-fishing, 
 
 Although I angled all about 
 The brook and kept on wishing 
 
 That I might haul one beauty up 
 And show my friends a sample, 
 
 But failure has a bitter cup — 
 I found it much too ample. 
 
 I did not "catch " a maiden fair 
 
 As maidens were of old ; 
 I caught, I caught — oh, nothing rare 
 
 I only caught a cold. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. M 
 
 f{ U/JQtry Day. 
 
 How white those tiakes descending fair 
 
 The boundless azure dome, 
 And through their pilgrimage of Hight 
 
 To us they softly come. 
 
 Beyond the forests that were green 
 
 The boughs are bending low, 
 With graceful plumes and fairy forms 
 
 Encased with crystal snow. 
 
 I see the mountain as of old, 
 
 Dim outlined through the storm, 
 Where yet the wild-wood berries grew 
 
 In summer days so warm. 
 
 The stalks of faded garden flowers 
 
 With herbage that is brown. 
 And withered grasses that have died 
 
 Appear above the ground. 
 
 The many objects that we love 
 
 Dear as familiar friends, 
 Are nearly buried, and assumed 
 
 Strange domes and towering ends. 
 
 Our roads are blocked where traverse teams 
 
 Mad shortly passed before ; 
 A drift is heaped with ghostly form 
 
 Around each dweller's door. 
 
 The fields are hid from view ; 
 
 Each tender root's asleep, 
 Where guarded by his care 
 
 The Frost King's vigils keep. 
 
38 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Xorth winds that sadly moan 
 Through serried trees so bare 
 
 Drink with a ravish thirst 
 The coldness of the air. 
 
 Some sparrows which the gale 
 
 Has cruelly oppressed, 
 Fly to the homes of men 
 
 For food and sheltered rest. 
 
 Within the glade the hares 
 
 Have crossed with lithesome feet, 
 
 And trod with willing care 
 The flaky, snow-white sheet. 
 
 Fall with impartial care ; 
 
 Fall down, ye snowy flakes ! 
 We feel the potent thrill 
 
 Of a morning that will break. 
 
 Joy will appease all pain. 
 
 And sorrow be no more ; 
 A mirage of our hopes 
 
 To reach that peaceful shore. 
 
 Where life undying lives. 
 The beacons where no night 
 
 Shall mark with frugal scorn 
 The glories of its height. 
 
 The Father who in love 
 
 Has sent the snow-flakes down. 
 
 Will call His people home 
 To '*win and wear a crown." 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. :5U 
 
 Thk last gray shadows iiave sought the west, 
 Atliwart the mirage that's lifted there ; 
 
 Above the rays of the setting sun 
 
 While earth is wrapped in a strange, sweet prayer 
 
 Those clouds that breast the night are seen. 
 
 Gorgeous with violet and gold, 
 'Till the darker ones of the nimbus hue 
 
 Have spread the curtain of their control. 
 
 A single gem in the heaven'^ deep blue 
 Shines out, ' tis the evening star, 1 ween. 
 
 Which crowned the vaults of that trackless height 
 In other seasons and years that's been. 
 
 The reapers have bound the ripened sheaves. 
 The cradler's voice is less harsti and shrill, 
 
 They are going home with their leader now 
 From the whitened harvest on the hill. 
 
 Beside the river's pebbly brink 
 
 The mill is lulled where the zephyrs play, 
 But hark ! how plaintive that echo sounds. 
 
 As it is uttered and dies away. 
 
 Hush ! it is only the night bird's call 
 We hear from the forest's sombre shade. 
 
 The Hash of wings through the twilight dim, 
 A voice as of one who is afraid. 
 
 How oft ideals are falsely shown, 
 
 In the sterner changes of time and trust, 
 
 Foi' many a hero's unmarked grave 
 Is sacred only as common dust. 
 
40 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 There are hearts that yearn for the even-time, 
 When the world's cold sunset has famter grown, 
 
 To catch a gleam of its beauty rare, 
 And rest with a Father on His throne. 
 
 Some are lost in the chaos of sin, 
 
 Help them, Oh wanderer, to find the love 
 
 For the Prince of Peace that they early lost. 
 And a nobler, purer nature prove. 
 
 Life is a mystery, but it is sweet 
 
 With thoughts undreamt, and our silent fears 
 Of hope's glad morning, sunny shades of noon, 
 
 And evening closing with departing years. 
 
 Let us leave those stars and yon crescent moon 
 
 Gilding the azure depth we see ; 
 Such beacons alone are with the night, 
 
 And cloistered there they will ever be. 
 
 Oy) memory's pa?(^. 
 
 T fain would paint a picture that might live 
 And wake to song this inconsistent sphere, 
 
 From Fancy's roof of meaning strangely wrought, 
 A frame of beauty o'er each fleeting year. 
 
 Time's pitiless power holds an unconquered sway, 
 Though human progress, ever yet the same 
 
 As when creation's early morning broke 
 Upon a world its first triumphant claim. 
 
 And, reaching upward to the vaulted height, 
 It reared an altar 'niong eternal stars ; 
 
 Through that immensity but half perceived 
 We pause to view when dusky twilight bars. 
 
JWOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 41 
 
 Fair gifts of seasons, crowned with many days, 
 Fill up with hope each transient motive blest. 
 
 On that great dial of eternity 
 
 A future's glorious heritage siiall rest. 
 
 Somewhere, they tell us, and it must 1 e here 
 Upon our own terrestrial bound of earth, 
 
 There is a mystery whose name is man, 
 A being gifted with a higher birth. 
 
 One who can make tliat birthright grander still, 
 From dark oblivion up to prospect's height ; 
 
 Or drag it dow^i amid the sordid dust, 
 To rest secluded in relentless nigiit. 
 
 In the great book of life so dearly prized. 
 
 We wi-ite a devious record till its close, 
 When the great Father bears his people up 
 
 And seai-ches every heart that seeks repose. 
 
 Within that book are niar.y pages blest, 
 
 We own its leaves, for they are all our own ; 
 
 But memory's page forever will be blessed, 
 
 Though all the others from the clasp have Hown. 
 
 Ideal faces crown its columns fair. 
 
 Now the white daisies bloom above the graves 
 Of those we knew in many vanished scenes, 
 
 The silence of the lonely hour craves. 
 
 Aye, yearns for their companionship again. 
 To view wide fields the sportive zepliyrs swept 
 
 Beneath the light of ei'.rly summer time. 
 
 When Nature's pearly dewdrops cloistering wept. 
 
42 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 On memory's page the seal of love is set . 
 
 With precious pearls, how many may we prize 
 Oh, gentle dreamer, they are changeful yet, 
 
 As they are ever 'neath these changing skies. 
 
 Tried, as a brown bee found the queenly rose 
 Arrayed in beauty's artful store of bloom, 
 
 Pausing to drink a cup of nectar there 
 
 And plume his flight beneath the sun of noon. 
 
 " I will return at evening time," he said, 
 " Again to seek the chalice that was left ; " 
 He came, returning with the shadowy houi-s 
 To find the blossom shattered and bereft. 
 
 Saw in its place a thorn, then flew away. 
 
 " Ah, this is all my lesson," sighed the bee ; 
 Deception plies its sword and ruins some, 
 
 Others, by constant vigilance, are free. 
 
 Yes, it is grand to trace in prose and rhyme, 
 A tribute to the memory nations hold ; 
 
 But there is something nobler, grander still ; 
 It is the history of each human soul. 
 
 What it may be beyond, we cannot say ; 
 
 The dream of Calvary lives through all time, 
 Aiding these pilgrim wanderers to know 
 
 How meagre and ungenerous are their minds. 
 
 Unfathomed is a vista that will crovvn 
 
 With fears, pale hope the epochs yet to be ; 
 
 Of shadows reaching o'er a vale of tears, 
 Vast glories wrapped with immortality. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 43 
 
 Wliere lasting truth no more with age grows dim 
 Omnipotent deeds to shield their brightness evermore. 
 
 Jesus himself, the great high priest and king, 
 Will wear a cross as one for us he hore. 
 
 Nor wonder when this spirit wings its flight to lliui, 
 
 Tiie grave no victory doth hold, 
 The sting of Death through Him will iiave no pain. 
 
 His mansions for us shall be manifold. 
 
 Daisy. 
 
 Born where the rugged hills uplift 
 To heaven their verdant dome, 
 
 A gentle lass, whose purity 
 Earth's sordid gems outshone. 
 
 Whose home was by a mountain brook, 
 
 Where giant forests grew ; 
 Across the sparkling rill beneath 
 
 Their waning shadows threw. 
 
 The pendant fern drooped o'er the stream 
 
 On moss clad boulders gray. 
 Sweet rang the wild bird's plaintive note 
 
 Through all the summer day. 
 
 Wild roses and sweet briars filled 
 
 The open glade with bloom, 
 And tenderly the zephyrs pressed 
 
 Their petals for perfume. 
 
 Here Daisy lived ; her sunny face 
 
 Lent ardor to the spring. 
 Where cloistered graces wove around 
 
 Each gift fond nature brings. 
 
44 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Hers was no idle duty, when 
 She blessed each scene so dear, 
 
 To pluck the wild-wood fruit that grew 
 And ripened every year. 
 
 To cull the flowers that she loved 
 
 From Flora's ample store, 
 Arranging with a careless art 
 
 As few had done before. 
 
 It seems the seasons swiftly pass 
 Their mission ere we know, 
 
 The years have mingled with the flood 
 Of Time's unceasing flow. 
 
 The blithesome little girl had grown 
 
 Into a maiden tall, 
 Whose gentle ways illumed the path 
 
 She trod at Duty's call ; 
 
 Whose eyes were mirrored from the sky 
 That spread its azure shroud. 
 
 As from the boundless space the stars 
 Shine through the rifted cloud. 
 
 Encrhnsoned lips that wistful grew 
 As moved perchance by right, 
 
 To curve with a seducing smile 
 And waking thoughts invite. 
 
 A womanhood, whose spotless morn 
 Was breaking from the sway 
 
 Of childhood realms that had throned 
 And crowned each fleeting day. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 45 
 
 Had she a lover? verily, 
 
 Our words are half expressed ; 
 We lightly speak of others' joy 
 
 And leave our own unguessed. 
 
 She had a heart, withal, 
 
 Whose purpose was to win 
 The love of all divine 
 
 And weaken grevious sin. 
 
 It happened, as the frost king turned 
 
 The emerald le ives to brown, 
 That Daisy left her rural home 
 
 To seek a distant town. 
 
 Sorrow awhile gave way to grief ; 
 
 Nay, do not think her mild, 
 For she had trod those rugged steeps 
 
 When but a wayward child. 
 
 The autumn sky was very clear. 
 
 No clouds to mar its scene ; 
 Deep silence wrapped the fields around 
 
 As held by some mute dream. 
 
 At last the journey reached, she found 
 
 A home among the throng 
 Of motley beings, who did press 
 
 And struggle ever on. 
 
 The worldly man stepped proudly by 
 
 His brother man, with gain ; 
 The morning sun shone down as bright 
 
 And set at night the same. 
 
46 MOSES GAGE SHIRLETS 
 
 Nor should we doubt that Daisy found 
 
 Her idol, in whose breast 
 The manly sympathies arose 
 
 For all that's pure and blest. 
 
 And they were happy in the thought 
 Of life, which is the same, 
 
 When kindred passions strangely sweep 
 Their ardor into flame. 
 
 Her lover found her pure in heart, 
 And treasured all the smiles 
 
 That she, dear girl, would blushing give, 
 Then frown at him awhile. 
 
 But there is something some forget : — 
 That mutual friendships bind 
 
 The golden fetters of a race, 
 The hope of human kind. 
 
 Know we that Love is firmer still 
 
 Than any earthly tie ; 
 It writes its record on a past. 
 
 And it shall never die. 
 
 One morn her gallant suitor came ; 
 
 It was with hurrying feet 
 That Daisy saw him from afar 
 
 Walk down the crowded street. 
 
 They met as children, who adore 
 
 Another with their joy, 
 That mingles only with a trust 
 
 Unmixed with vain alloy. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 47 
 
 He took lier hands in his, and plead 
 
 The yearning of his love ; 
 An old, old story, but again 
 
 Shall it be new above. 
 
 " Oh, Ernest," and her eyelids fell 
 
 Beneath his steady gaze, 
 " i would that I could merit half 
 
 Of all your loving praise." 
 
 " Enough," he said, " but would you trust 
 Your life unto my care ? 
 The trust eternity will keep. 
 It is my fervent prayer." 
 
 " Yes ; " and her lips are pleading now, 
 As with a potent power ; 
 Some silent thought had centered there, 
 To animate the hour. 
 
 " But, Daisy, I am going far. 
 Far from the city's din ; " 
 He spoke, while she in wonderment 
 Looked timidly at him. 
 
 " T shall come back to you again. 
 Please keep your promise true." 
 He faltered, and with lingering step, 
 To bid a last adieu. 
 
 And he had left before she knew 
 Or realized he had gone. 
 " Oh, yes," she said, " he will return 
 To me another morn." 
 
48 MOSES GAGE SHIRLETS 
 
 Vain thought ! three summers soon went by, 
 
 And he did not return ; 
 But Daisy could not tiiink of ill, 
 
 Her prisoned heart did burn. 
 
 Like unto some lured by the storms, 
 
 Repining in the gale 
 Of human sorrow, w^hich descends 
 
 To w^ear its vapid veil. 
 
 " Her eyes were far away," they said. 
 Yet wore a sad, mild hue, 
 As flowers the early frost has nipped 
 Before their beauty grew-. 
 
 They were not blind to know 
 
 That she w^as sinking fast ; 
 Her life had been a transient dream, 
 
 Too beautiful to last. 
 
 " Only those hills I long to see. 
 My cherished mountain home. 
 Whose woodlands yet are dear to me, 
 I fear no more to roam." 
 
 And she w^as carried back to them 
 
 Just such another morn 
 As once she left them long ago, 
 
 Unknown to strife and scorn. 
 
 Here was a spot for quiet rest. 
 
 Where flowed a tiny rill. 
 The autumn foliage w^as wrapped 
 
 With splendor on the hill. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 49 
 
 But patient Daisy's stay was short 
 
 Those rustic views to see, 
 And in her misery she thought 
 
 Of Him by Galilee. 
 
 ' Come unto me." She courage takes. 
 
 " He comes, I see him near," 
 She whispered, and her spirit fled 
 
 Beyond all earthly fear. 
 
 It was but morning in her love, 
 
 That was not vain and cold ; 
 We trust at last she entered in 
 
 The portals of His fold. 
 
 A grave was dug beside the brook. 
 
 And she was lifted down. 
 Dust unto dust, the body cast 
 
 Into the parent mound. 
 
 A granite slab was raised above, 
 
 And sculptured " Only Daisy." 
 Bright shone the mellow light upon 
 
 The distant hills so hazy. 
 
 The hazel's yellow bloom is set 
 
 About" its spray of branches. 
 While yet the brooklet gurgles on 
 
 The course that it entrances. 
 
 Oh, Time ! sweep on with care that's gone ; 
 
 While memory's deeds enligliten. 
 The grief we bear will soon depart. 
 
 And the darkest clouds will brighten. 
 
 (4) 
 
50 MOSES GAGE SHIRLETS 
 
 f{ 5pri9§ Idyl. 
 
 When the cold sway of winter's reign has passed, 
 And wild woods' rule of noisy wind is o'er, 
 
 Another springtime decks each verdant slope 
 With the bright sunlight it has sent before. 
 
 The blithesome song of birds seems strangely new 
 We catch the flash of many showy wings ; 
 
 Spring's choristers of music clear and sweet, 
 Fond Nature revels in the songs they sing. 
 
 Now the arbutus vine doth trail its bloom 
 Rare from the censer of a perfume sweet, 
 
 Bred ' neath the shade of forests' sombre nooks, 
 Unmasked by footprints of the wanderer's feet. 
 
 Adown the mountain side the brooklet strays, 
 Cleaving the firmness of some massive stone, 
 
 With a white spray of water overcast 
 Until it falls and rushes from its throne. 
 
 The morn is bathed in joyous song and light. 
 The opening beauty of the long delay 
 
 From fields encased in snow-bound coldness quite, 
 At last to blossom through the perfect day. 
 
 Yon grove of saplings grows full greener there 
 Beside the dusty roadside, rough and. brown. 
 
 Anon to ope their fulness, with the crest 
 Of summer's emerald crown. 
 
 Yes, it is night-fall and the day is done ; 
 
 The idle clouds have cloistered in the west. 
 Bright are the amber ones fast changing now, 
 
 While ebon darkness has proclaimed its rest. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 51 
 
 Then they are pictures ; all the scenes we love 
 From the tirst burst of vernal bloom and sun, 
 
 Until the summer's past and autumn's store, 
 Stern winter coming when the year is done. 
 
 The views of springtime are more gladly prized 
 
 With new poetic changes, that are sent 
 To cheer us for a season, and to make 
 
 The happy glad, to banish discontent. 
 
 Whether we grasp the promise that they bring, 
 And till our way with helpful, generous love. 
 
 Or strew the path with scorn and bitter tears, - 
 Existence will the same tried record prove. 
 
 For us to keep their graces near our hearts, 
 And greet each day as more than power, 
 
 Is hops renewed amid perpetual cares, 
 A dial marked by every fleeting hour. 
 
 A dial, yes ; and growing larger still 
 As years map out the orbit we describe, 
 
 From the low plain oblivion nestles on 
 To heights resplendent with the eventide. 
 
 Though some may strive for those far hills to-day, 
 The hills of fame, of honor's crested height, 
 
 To-raorrow, may forget them in its sway, 
 
 And they no words of faithful knowledge write. 
 
 Ah, life is grand ! too full for us to know 
 A lingering sadness, half in hope and joy, 
 
 To meet the deeds of real and unreal strife, 
 Qr menace them with factors to destroy. 
 
52 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 But let us hold to pure, undaunted truth, 
 
 Kee]>ing it ever, a confiding friend. 
 When the world's ways are dark with malice's hue 
 
 And the dark rifts of sorrow o'er us bend. 
 
 Some frail, unnoticed flower along the way 
 May not seem fair to some deluded eyes ; 
 
 Yet it may blossom, and its petals rear 
 Their beauty radiant to the vaulted skies. 
 
 So be it with our fair page of thought 
 Not yet expounded to unthinking minds, " 
 
 The slumbering soul may spurn the servile fears, 
 And break the fetters that an impulse binds. 
 
 Forget the taunts that others careless give. 
 Or giving, they would gladly have reclaimed ; 
 
 And feel not higher than your genial host, 
 Who welcomes you without a name. 
 
 Withal, be true unto yourself a,nd Him 
 
 Who knows aright the path His people tread ; 
 
 Then you will find that hope is never lost, 
 But over all a blessed halo sheds. 
 
 \\atred. 
 
 Not as the Romans hated long ago, 
 
 When tiie Promethian fire around did burn, 
 And threw a glimmer over vase and urn, 
 
 Or scuptured marble, white as driven snow, 
 
 1 would forgive an enemy that came 
 At last, repentant, wishing a reprieve 
 For every torture that our soul did grieve, 
 
 Through hasty passion kindled into flame. 
 
BOOK or ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Ida (iray. 
 
 [Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm, for love is 
 stronger than death.— Bible. 
 
 Besidk a meadow's verdant slope, 'neath ,<;iaiit willows 
 
 sleeping, 
 A i-Liral cotta:;e graced the spot, wild woodbine o'er it 
 
 creeping. 
 
 The fields lay bright beneath the light, the sumtner's sun 
 
 hung over, 
 k rueful zephyr gently tossed the purpling crests of 
 
 clover ; 
 Hed roses grew beside the door, the columbines were 
 
 blowing, 
 'Twas Nature's holiday, at least, with all the verdure 
 
 growing. 
 
 Within the do-^rway's open space a girlish form was 
 bending, 
 
 Tiie morning glory vines upon the lattice porch were 
 trending ; 
 
 She idly held an op(-!n book, its leaves pressed half to- 
 gether, 
 
 When rose leaves fluttered to her side light as a drifted 
 feather ; 
 
 She plucked one from its resting place, her sad gray eyes 
 were dreaming. 
 
 What fancy could have centered there, or was it only 
 $eeming ? 
 
 Ah, more than that we seldom know the thoughts our 
 
 minds do sever ; 
 It may be love and simply that, but it shall live forever. 
 
54 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Soon Ida threw the volume down, those themes were 
 lightly lifted, 
 
 The setting sun fell on her face, fair as white snow- 
 flakes drifted ; 
 
 And rising from her sheltered couch awhile she mutely 
 tarried 
 
 To bind a rose upon her breast, then from the cottage 
 hurried. 
 
 Adown the lane with hasty steps she heard the cattle 
 lowing, 
 
 The silvery ripple of the brook o'er pebbly bottom flow- 
 ing. 
 
 " You here ?" she turned and half afraid she saw a form 
 beside her, 
 
 The sunset had grown fainter, then the darkening clouds 
 more wider. 
 
 " You know I love you," there he said, the twilight round 
 them bending, 
 
 " The love that T would keep for you is that which has 
 no ending." 
 
 Her eyelids fell ; a fire burned beneath the -dusky lashes, 
 Soon tear drops fell, as from the sky the April shower 
 
 dashes. 
 "You know I do," he said again, " for I have learned to 
 
 love you. 
 Your life to me has been as clear as yon bright star 
 
 above you ; 
 And will you not forgive me, while the night birds still 
 
 are singing 
 Their melody so strangely clear, my soul with sadness 
 
 stinging ? " 
 
liOOK OF OllKilNAL POEMS. 
 
 "I can forgive you tor tlie love," slie said, '' which you 
 
 have spoken, 
 If you'll forgive lup if I hold in trust that' precious 
 
 token." 
 
 "Oh! Ida (-)ray, I never divanit such words to l)e for- 
 given. 
 
 And you are true to nie at last, may it he so in heaven ! " 
 
 His face was wreathed with happy smiles, its inward joy 
 foretelling ; 
 
 Her heart was cheerful with the pledge of love within 
 it dwelling. 
 
 The daisies nodded in the grass, the (histy bees were 
 
 sleeping. 
 And from their dome of blue above bright stars their 
 
 watch were keeping. 
 
 TI?oa(?l?t5. 
 
 Friknd, can you not give a prayer 
 For the needy in despair, 
 Helping them their grief to bear ? 
 
 Let no evil smite thee low, 
 Conquer each unstable foe, 
 .\nd the nnnd's pure trust will grow. 
 
 Let no shadowy moment dwell 
 On your heart a sentinel, 
 Or your secret joys forftell. 
 
56 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Let no spurious motive cast 
 
 Vindication o'er a past 
 
 That with storied fame will last. 
 
 Friendship's sacred vow^s must be 
 
 Woven in humanity, 
 
 Or their worth we ne'er shall see. 
 
 Linguist, let thy wisdom shine 
 O'er the deeds that's pure, divine, 
 As thy parent hopes define. 
 
 Have no hatred for the goal, 
 Wear a true and spotless soul, 
 Like the saints and prophets old. 
 
 Hoard no blighted joys for gain. 
 Let not riches have a claim 
 O'er your spirit with disdain. 
 
 Humbly strive to gain the right, 
 Reaching far into the night, 
 Gilding fame's propitious height. 
 
 Through the future peace will bring 
 Captious talent, teeming spring, 
 Many a victory glorying. 
 
 Where fond memory'.s seeds are sown. 
 
 Be your reaper, one alone, 
 
 'Till the Master calls thee home. 
 
 Home, beyond a shining shore; 
 Where all trouble will be o'er. 
 And to rest foreverniore. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Father, we have learned thy trust, 
 Binding us with trutli that's just, 
 And coMiniitting "dust to dust." 
 
 5l7(^ pmber (5lodd$. 
 
 At sunset's hour the sky was bright 
 With beauty wonderous to behold ; 
 
 Effulgent gliinniers vanished quite, 
 And o'er the silence evening stole. 
 
 Above, the bars of amber clouds 
 Diffused the twilight falling gray ; 
 
 (ireen woodlands, and the fields upon, 
 VVith last pretentions of th^' day. 
 
 Homeward some youthful lovers strayed. 
 Bright smiles the happy maiden wore. 
 
 Her eyes betrayed an earnest thought, 
 Methinks, the same that's been before. 
 
 And he, her valiant lover brave. 
 
 With manly bearing, steadfast, true, 
 
 Uttereil the final words of trust, 
 Vows that are ever old or new. 
 
 The lids o'er her pleading eyes drooped low, 
 A prisoned wish in her bosom burned. 
 
 The thrill of her first great joy confined ; 
 Oh ! woidd it vanish and not leturn ? 
 
 Again, with the world's prosaic \\\( otls 
 In days that unheeded floated by, 
 
 Once more, with age they trembling stood 
 Together and gazed on the eveninu' skv. 
 
58 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Our life is a puzzle ; an unknown song ; 
 
 Its youth with the fairest garlands strewed, 
 The brightest themes are the first to die, 
 
 And pleasure in them is a hope renewed. 
 
 Gradually fading, as amber clouds 
 Sinking to rest with the setting- sun ; 
 
 Binding their mirage with endless delight. 
 When the goal of each conquest 's won. 
 
 FJodr^ey Starl^ $\)\r\Q'j. 
 
 [The subject of this poem was an uncle of the writer, who died August 
 II, 1862, in the i8th year of his age. He was a young man of unusual tal- 
 ent, and would have made a brilliant reputation had he lived.] 
 
 Yp:ar after year the grasses grow ; 
 
 Above his grave the robins sing, 
 And overhead the maples show 
 
 Their scarlet flowers to the spring. 
 
 They tell me that his heart was full 
 Of passion, surging like the tide 
 
 Where ocean billows rush and pull, 
 Before he sickened here and died. 
 
 Like some volcano burning low, 
 And full of strife that had no rest, 
 
 Until Death struck the fatal blow. 
 And all was silent in his breast. 
 
 Alas ! that he should die so young 
 And suffer every mortal pain ; 
 
 And leave his tuneful harp unstrung 
 For me to wake with song again. 
 
BOOK OF ORKHNAI. /'(fj:.\fS. :,!) 
 
 Beyond t\)(^ S^ies. 
 
 \'aguk realms tliroiied where twilight lifts 
 
 Above the stars an endless veil ; 
 Where the bright meteors flash through rifts 
 
 Of vapory clo\ids, and soon grow pale. 
 
 Into that trackless space of time, 
 
 Slowly fading each brilliant gem, 
 There is a mystery grand, sublime. 
 
 Unrecorded by mortal ken. 
 
 It may be bridged l)y tlie milky way. 
 
 Reaching above us its silvery band. 
 Bright with a thousand suns of dav. 
 
 Yet it is ever the wonderland. 
 
 Aye, it will be till these human hearts 
 Have ceased forever their social beat, 
 
 And the cold glimmer of worldly arts 
 Is lost in darkness V)eneath our feet. 
 
 Some time the Father will call us home, 
 
 That great Father we never see. 
 Into his mansions no more to roam, 
 
 And wear a crown of eternity. 
 
 QuWt 
 
 A lovely girl is lying dead, 
 
 Struck down by some assassin's haiul 
 Her mangled breast i.s dyed with red. 
 
 The yellow hair is tilled with sand. 
 
60 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 Her lips are motionless and still, 
 But the mild pleading in her eyes 
 
 Is left, for death can never kill 
 
 Such beauty through the soul's disguise. 
 
 'J'hose lips are silent now, to speak. 
 Or feel the thrill of love's romance ; 
 
 For fate her youthful life did seek, 
 And she lies dead by cruel chance. 
 
 But the accursed fiend will pay 
 His penalty of guilt somewhere. 
 
 Though time may shelter by delay 
 Till justice takes him unaware. 
 
 Only a picture here is made 
 
 Of daily mutiny and guilt, 
 For those who draw the shining blade 
 
 And plunge the dagger to its hilt. 
 
 All crime is sin, and wrong and lust 
 
 Will poison like the upas tree ; 
 Oh let the bloody sabre rust, 
 
 Until from guilt the wofld is free. 
 
 p^d Sijel; is Cif(^. 
 
 " Oh, give me love ! " the longing maiden prayed : 
 " I am athirst ! Oh, give me love,". she plead. 
 Her prayer was granted ; she became a slave 
 Of passion, and one morning she lay dead. 
 
 " Oh, give me sympathy ! " the poet prayed ; 
 " My life is short ! " he 'ate of sorrow's bread. 
 The people came when his rare gifts they weighed 
 To pay their tribute, but his soul had fled. 
 
imnK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 01 
 
 It'sQomiQi?. 
 
 " The spring is 'most here," says the haiul-orgnn man, 
 " When into the country I go, • 
 
 So I'll make all the music now that I can, 
 No matter how much people blow." 
 
 " The spring is 'most here," says the school maiden fair 
 " T soon shall swing on the gate ; 
 Oh goodness, how nice, I really don't care. 
 For T love to trifle with fate." 
 
 " Tlie spring is 'most here," says the dude with a smile, 
 " I must visit my tailor to-day, 
 And order a suit that is ' bang-up ' in style, 
 To wear when the snow gets away." 
 
 " The spring is 'most here — caw, caw," says the crow, 
 " T must tell all those neighbors of mine ; 
 For I want them to come and make all the show 
 They can when the weather is fine." 
 
 " The spring is 'most here," sighs the 3''oung lady, " well, 
 I am sorry the parties have passed ; 
 I might have done more, for I heard people tell 
 That I cut quite a swell at the last." 
 
 " The spring is 'most here," says the doctor in glee, 
 And he whistles a melody shrill. 
 While he thinks of the climate and then of the fee 
 He will ask for attending the ill. 
 
 " The spring is 'most here," says the editor grim. 
 As he brushes the dust from his clothes, 
 An extra edition I soon shall begin, 
 
 And publish more poetry than prose.'' 
 
62 MOSES GAGE SHTRLETS 
 
 (Tlemer^toes. 
 
 • 
 
 In a casket somewhat dusty 
 
 With the tinge of by-gone years, 
 
 I have found a treasure lasting, 
 Far outreaching all my fears. 
 
 Glimmers from a past long silent, 
 Memories the heart will keep, 
 
 Pleasure fleeting as the sunbeams 
 Lulled at noontime unto sleep. 
 
 Other days have cast their shadows 
 In the twilight's fading hours, 
 
 Marked the youthful hopes upspringing 
 As the germ of summer flowers. 
 
 Pictured recollection's fancy 
 
 O'er a future yet to be ; 
 Oh, the hidden words of anguish 
 
 That might fill eternity. 
 
 In that casket folded portraits 
 
 Still arrest me ere I stray, 
 Holding thoughts in close communion, 
 
 Though they all have passed away. 
 
 Features wearing in expression 
 
 Volumes that tht- tongue might speak 
 
 Of the spirit's prisoned longings, 
 Greater motives they would seek. 
 
 One, with eyes of deepest azure, 
 
 Looking upward unto rest. 
 Where, let us believe he found it. 
 
 Weary pilgrim, and was blest. 
 
nOOK OF OlUniNAL POEMS. 03 
 
 Another, a youthful poet 
 
 Impassioned his inward low. 
 Whose day on earth was fleeting 
 
 As the clouds wliich float above. 
 
 Inspn-ation hound him, 
 
 Emotion claimed his name ; 
 Bright was life's sky above him, 
 
 His treasured orriflame. 
 
 And genius, she might love him, 
 
 Her strange luaturing child. 
 While pity would implore him 
 
 To stay with her awhile. 
 
 One day, 'mid bloom and gladness, 
 
 .\ sudden darkness reft . 
 'J'he light from out that household, — 
 
 It was the conquerer, Death. 
 
 In vain our hero struggled. 
 
 His once strong voice was low ; 
 For surely he was dying, 
 
 Scarce had he hoped to go. 
 
 Another jnorn was breaking, 
 
 He saw its wondrous light. 
 And passed into its dawning, 
 
 Where nevermore is night. 
 
 But there are missing faces. 
 
 No likeness ever seen ; 
 For fate their names were written, 
 
 Enshrouded in a dream. 
 
64 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 And they are gone ! long years have flown 
 Since they from earth were riven; 
 
 Within the portals of- His love, 
 We trust they are in heaven. 
 
 Wild winds of winter, softly wrap 
 
 YoLir mantle as a screen, 
 'Till summer rears her verdant bowers, 
 
 Then will the graves be green. 
 
 Their valor was esteemed the more 
 By those who knew them well ; 
 
 Yet time will be when they are not. 
 And stern oblivion dwell. 
 
 The sun will shine before a storm, 
 
 No night but has its day ; 
 And such is life's despondency 
 
 Its grief will wear away. 
 
 Enough to think of our beloved 
 With tenderest reverence due. 
 
 Revising some fond tribute left. 
 Endearing as it's true. 
 
 No fragile deed of theii-s remain, 
 Whose purport harbored strife. 
 
 Calm and serene as placid seas 
 Shall be this after life. 
 
 Our daily action shall renew 
 The trust we hold for thera ; 
 
 For dealings bound with honesty 
 They gave their fellow men. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 05 
 
 Hiislied is the voice of slauderiro tongues, 
 
 Bring' they no vain alloy 
 To mar the gaib of purity, 
 
 R'en superstitous joy ? 
 
 Well is it said : " The good outlive 
 
 Eartii's vanity and sin." 
 What though unto a Father's care 
 
 Have they been gathered in. 
 
 My fears do far exceed each hope 
 
 My inward spirit craves. 
 To pay a tithe of homage due 
 
 To those within their graves. 
 
 No fragment of forgotten song. 
 
 Or harp with silver strings 
 Can praise the just emolument 
 
 The present ever brings. 
 
 While veneration dost revere 
 
 And watches o'er the right, 
 Remembrance gilds each passing thought 
 
 Tiie pen is mute to write. 
 
 Look up, O mortals, unto peace. 
 
 Ye woe-begone and sad ! 
 For happiness to crown anew 
 
 The virtues which thou had. 
 
 Pale stars of evening time, look down 
 
 Upon those early graves. 
 As beams a beacon light afar 
 
 Across the surging waves. 
 (5) 
 
66 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 My love for them shall be as vast 
 As was each kindred mind, 
 
 While constancy describes its course 
 Among the human kind. 
 
 Time can but half reveal its wiongs, 
 Sorrow must have its pain ; 
 
 Each weary gleaner shall be blessed 
 At harvest's hour aeain. 
 
 8u9ris(^ OT) (^astl(^ I^ocl^. 
 
 One morn I stood upon that rugged height 
 
 Which overlooks the deep ; 
 Below the waves came rolling in their might 
 
 With grand majestic sweep. 
 
 Came dashing in against the rocks beneath, 
 
 But farther on 
 The sky was blossoming with a w-reath 
 
 Of early morn. 
 
 Across the waves I saw the gleaming east 
 
 More brighter grow, 
 Until the light of morning had increa.sed 
 
 To one vast glow. 
 
 Then from the purpling sea uprose 
 
 The kingly sun ; 
 And bursting into beauty like a rose 
 
 The day begun. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 67 
 
 Old Ouil Odt. 
 
 Afteii the sun went down in the west 
 
 CJiie night, like a golden scout, 
 The birds were awakened from their rest 
 
 By the voice of an old owl out. 
 
 He lived by himself in the hollow heart 
 
 Of a giant hemlock tree — 
 A bachelor owl who took no part 
 
 In his comrades' revelry. 
 
 Whoo ! hoo! he sounded his slogan clear. 
 
 Then flew to the highest limb 
 Of the tree he had lived in year by year. 
 
 And his woodcraft kept with him. 
 
 He was wise in the wisdom he had gained 
 Of the woods and changing skies; 
 
 For all the other birds proclaimed 
 And knew he was weather-wise. 
 
 Sometimes when t!~e sky was clear and blue, 
 
 Or no distant haze was seen, 
 Around the forest he often flew 
 
 And hooted, but couhJa't dream. 
 
 For he knew that a storm was coming, sure, 
 
 And his foxl was getting low ; 
 So a new supply he would [)rocure 
 
 'J'o help him along, you know. 
 
08 MOSES GAGE SHTRLETS 
 
 He ruffled his feathers and thought of men, 
 Of the love that reaches youth ; 
 
 It's very queer, but he faltered then, 
 They tell more lies than truth. 
 
 Ah-eady the stars had begun to hide, 
 The shadows were not so deep ; 
 
 Day lifted the curtain of night aside 
 And the old owl went to sleep. 
 
 fHarel?. 
 
 Once more the winged winds repeat 
 Their cadence to the wood and vale ; 
 
 Another changeful March we greet 
 With shadowed sunshine or with hail. 
 
 The east is beaming, and the dawn 
 Is breaking over skies of gray ; 
 
 Those golden arrows of the morn 
 At last to waken into day. 
 
 And soon upon the northern shore 
 The surging waves shall fall asleep ; 
 
 From cragged rocks white sea-gulls soar 
 Away to liover o'er the deep. 
 
 The king is dead — our winter king 
 Will die before the vernal throne 
 
 Of spring-time, when the bluebirds sing 
 And bring the flowers we have known. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGIXAL POEMS. 09 
 
 Jol?9 Q. uyi7ittier. 
 
 [Lines commemorating the poet's eightieth birthday, December 17, 1887 J 
 
 A greeting I would send to thee, 
 
 Our loved New Kuglaiul bard, 
 Whose lioine is down beside the sea, 
 
 \Vliose sougs are glory-starred. 
 
 Like Passaconawav of old, 
 
 Erect our poet walks, 
 Though eighty years their tale have told 
 
 Upon his whitened locks. 
 
 Our poet, like the Indian seer, 
 
 Has called the seasons back. 
 In sweeter tones that we hold dear, 
 
 Along the Merrimack. 
 
 Where we have read his poems through 
 
 And feel a home delight. 
 To know he is our poet true 
 
 From coast to mountain height. 
 
 And as we read, some of his rhymes 
 
 Seem bound with forest withes, 
 We hear the murmur of the pines 
 
 Through legends and through myths. 
 
 We tliank him for the songs he's sung, 
 
 So free from worldly taint; 
 We honor him, both old and young, 
 
 Who is our poet saint. 
 
70 MOSES GAGE SHTRLEY'S 
 
 We bless him, but when all is said — 
 Our prayers and fond requests, 
 
 We know that on his aged head 
 God's benediction rests. 
 
 Dr. p. F- Qarr. 
 
 They tell me he has passed avray, 
 Who lived among us long ; 
 
 How can my feeble words portray 
 His attributes in song ! 
 
 But while I write, within my heart 
 A reverent feeling springs 
 
 For him who nobly bore his part 
 Amid life's joys and stings. 
 
 His sympathies were with the weak, 
 The suffering and the sad. 
 
 All those who came his aid to seek. 
 He gave the best he had. 
 
 Along the hillsides where he went, 
 
 In sunshine and in snow, 
 Methinks, the winds for him lament, 
 
 The trees in grief bend low. 
 
 In many homes his fame will stir 
 And kindest thoughts commend ; 
 
 His name is on life's regirster, 
 Physician, neighbor, friend. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 71 
 
 Oh, let all hatred disappear 
 
 Upon its marshy coast, 
 For memory will hold him dear, 
 
 In spite of churlish boast. 
 
 Praise Him who led him to attain 
 The heights he now has reached, 
 
 Xor count it loss, for death is gain 
 The olden prophet preached. 
 
 Crowned with true honors, let him rest ! 
 
 He wears a victor's crown ; 
 And comfort those that he loved best, 
 
 Kind people of the town. 
 
 Dissolatioi^. 
 
 When this frail spirit goes from earth away 
 To seek the glories of another si>here, 
 
 I wonder, when it finds the promised land, 
 
 If I shall hear and see and understand 
 
 More greater marvels than are noticed here ; 
 
 I wonder if the same resplendent sun 
 
 Will lead me onward to those portals wide. 
 
 Where death will end and every mortal dread 
 
 Shall be forgot ; where the unsinning dead 
 Will be revered, and virtue glorified ; 
 
 When I shall stand upon that mystic shore 
 And watch the splendor of some radiant orb, 
 I wonder if my human heart will throb 
 
 With some sweet passion never felt before. 
 
72 MOSES GAGE SHIR LETS 
 
 I9 /T\G/T)oriam. 
 
 [Sa 
 Johns 
 
 'Sacred to the memory of Helen I., daughter of Mr. and Mrs. S. D- 
 ison of Shirley Hill, who died of consumption, Saturday morning, Jan- 
 uary 9, 1886, after an illness of eight months, aged fourteen years, eleven 
 months and eight days. Miss Helen attended the same school as the writer, 
 and was regarded as a ge.ieral favorite among schoolmates and friends.] 
 
 Weep not for her — .she is at rest ; 
 
 My.sterioa.s it seems 
 To ]^:now God's ways are ahvays best, 
 
 Though sorrow intervenes. 
 
 And deatli has claimed our loved ones here 
 
 In spite of human skill ; 
 God's ways are ours, if we revere 
 
 His providential will. 
 
 Grieve not, dear friends ; upon her brow 
 
 The Saviour's hands have set 
 Their seal of loving kindness ; now 
 
 Her eyes no more are wet 
 
 With earthly tears, for they are dried ; 
 
 All suffering and pain 
 His magic touch has swe})t aside 
 
 Like drops of summer rain. 
 
 Her sainted girlhood will be kept 
 
 Inviolate with Thee ; 
 Great Prince of Peace, oh I still accept 
 
 The pure of heart and fiee. 
 
 Bend low above the loved ones left 
 
 As when on earth Thou trod ; 
 Still comfort those who are bereft — 
 
BOOK OF OniaiNAL POEMS. 73 
 
 And bear tliis maiden's spirit up 
 
 To dwell with Thee, we pray; 
 (iive her Thy love, no bitter cup 
 
 Shall pass Jier lips lor aye. 
 
 She is at rest — her soul has lied 
 
 Far from this world of ours ; 
 At rest where angels crown the dead 
 
 With Heaven's immortal flowers. 
 
 Jo a 5o9?~5p3rrou;. 
 
 Welcome, sweet singer! when I hear thy song 
 I know another winter has been spent ; 
 
 [ welcome thee regardless of the throng 
 Of idle warblers singing tlieir content. 
 
 I welcome thee as any poet should, 
 
 Hearing thy song melodious and sweet, 
 
 Deep in the shade of som:i primeval wood, 
 Secluded from the sun's incessant heat. 
 
 I notice thee because of thy dull dress 
 Compared with other songsters' rich array 
 
 Of plumage ; yet their melody is less, 
 
 For thou dost carol sweeter notes than they. 
 
 Sing, tiny bird, and till my heart with love ; 
 
 Thinking of Him who would one .sparrow miss 
 1 turn my eyes to shining worlds above, 
 
 And dream of beauty never found in this. 
 
74 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 5o a \iJ\)\t(^ F{os(^. 
 
 How fair thou art ; more beautiful to see 
 Than other roses stained with crimson dyes, 
 Emblems of passion that we soon despise — 
 
 I flin,!^- them from me when I think of thee, 
 So pure and white — no wonder that the bees 
 
 Delight to gather in thy snowy cup, 
 
 To breathe its fragrance while they stay and sup, 
 For thy sweet nectar all their wants appease. 
 
 I try to do thee justice with my pen, 
 And picture thee as any poet ought ; 
 
 Oh, queenly rose ! I turn to thee again. 
 
 But all my mind is filled with common thought. 
 
 A type of innocence to me thou art. 
 
 Pure as a maiden's love-awaking heart. 
 
 C^o/npai^iopsl^ip. 
 
 I know of many ways that nature holds 
 
 Communion with us in our lonely hours ; 
 
 There is society in trees and flowers 
 
 For those who need it ; unto longing souls 
 
 A sympathy as pure as girlish love 
 
 Is ever kept ; while in the stars above 
 
 The poet sees new wonders, many things 
 
 Denied to those vv^ho favor sordid kings, 
 
 Or follow pleasure that will bring them woe. 
 
 Choose what you will, but where cool waters drip 
 
 O'er mossy stones, I find companionship. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 75 
 
 Anckstral blood is surging througli my veins, 
 My heart is filled witii passion I'roni the dead, 
 
 For 1 am theirs ; what fealty remains 
 
 Has filled my soul with unsuspecting dread. 
 
 Yet 1 am proud to be a part of each, 
 
 To feel the love that they undaunted felt. 
 
 On Freedom's shore beyond oppression's reach. 
 Where ties of faith were soon together welt. 
 
 Before they came across the ocean wide 
 
 Their blood was shed to slack religion's thirst 
 
 Oh ! base desire beyond the rolling tide, 
 Thy guilty deeds will be forever cursed. 
 
 It has been spent, the persecution made, 
 And time is silent with its murd'rous past ; 
 
 Ancestral fires will my heart invade. 
 
 While life and duty here on earth shall last. 
 
 Ql?eer5 ^Vjd Jears. 
 
 Chkeks for the one who has won the prize 
 
 Of worldly honor; applause is sweet 
 To him who has conquered, whose banner files 
 
 In triumph over his foe's defeat ; 
 Tears for the one who has sought in vain 
 
 To I'each the height where Fame's laurels grow, 
 And dies in sorrow and want and pain, 
 
 W^ith secret longings we never know. 
 
76 MOSES GAGE SHIRLEY'S 
 
 (Jra9ite5. 
 
 Tf you would woo a Goffstown maid, 
 Please have it understood, 
 
 Before you undertake the job, 
 That your moral traits are good. 
 
 You may praise a man for his noble brow, 
 And his face will glow with pride ; 
 
 But if you call him a wooden-head, 
 lie would not in you confide. 
 
 *** 
 If you want to get rich 
 
 Like a big millionaire, 
 And loom up in the world, 
 
 You had better be square. 
 
 Among the follies of the present time 
 
 One evil is advancing, 
 And often leads to sin and crime— 
 
 I mean the art (?) of dancing. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
BOOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 77 
 
 I pdex. 
 
 Page 
 
 TIk' Tipping Rocks '^ 
 
 Uiicanoonuc Mountains ^ 
 
 Anioskeag Falls • ^ 
 
 The Pulpit ■ • "^ 
 
 To My Mother '^ 
 
 Tlue Statue of Liberty 9 
 
 An Ocean Legend ^'^ 
 
 Let Truth Prevail 1^ 
 
 Ode to eJune 1- 
 
 Xo Night There ^'^ 
 
 An Old Proverb 1'^ 
 
 Grant ^^ 
 
 I Thought of Love 1^ 
 
 To an Old Maple 1'5 
 
 The Dead Soldier ^7 
 
 Heniorse ^° 
 
 Crosses 1^ 
 
 The Owl and the Crow 20 
 
 Regret -^ 
 
 Dash it Down! 22 
 
 Lord Byron 22 
 
 April Skies 23 
 
78 MOSES GAGE SHIRLETS 
 
 The Old Year and the New 78 
 
 Shakespeare 26 
 
 The Churn, or Spouting' Horn 27 
 
 An Evening Sonnet 28 
 
 Oak Leaves 29 
 
 Cowards 29 
 
 Woodcraft 30 
 
 Logic 30 
 
 Mountains 31 
 
 " Let us Live by the Way.". 31 
 
 Thomas Hood 32 
 
 Pansy Flowers 33 
 
 On the Shore 33 
 
 Denied 34 
 
 Bright Evening Star 35 
 
 Love is with the May 36 
 
 What T Caught 36 
 
 A AVintry Day 37 
 
 With the Night 39 
 
 On Memory's Page 40 
 
 Daisy 43 
 
 A Spring Idyl 50 
 
 Hatred . ." 52 
 
 Ida Oray 53 
 
 Thoughts 55 
 
 The Amber Clouds 57 
 
 Rodney Stark Shirley 58 
 
 Beyond the Skies 59 
 
nnOK OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 79 
 
 Guilt ^9 
 
 And Such is Life 00 
 
 It's Coming 61 
 
 Mementoes 62 
 
 Sunrise on Castle Rock 60 
 
 Old Owl Out 67 
 
 March 68 
 
 John G. Whittier 69 
 
 Dr. A. F. Carr 70 
 
 Dissohition 7 
 
 In Memoriam 72 
 
 To a Song-Sparrow 72 
 
 To a White Rose - 74 
 
 Companionship 74 
 
 Kindred 75 
 
 Cheers and Tears 75 
 
 Granites 7fi 
 
 ^W 
 
^\(^^ 
 
UBRARY OF _CONGRESS 
 
 015 971 990 A