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 AGED ABOUT 24 
 
#eorge Campbell ®zhtn 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CHARLES H. FISK 
 
 "b 
 
 published for private distribution by 
 Laura Louise Ogden Whaling 
 

 Copyrighted, 19 12, by 
 Laura Louise Ogden Whaling. 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 JENNINGS AND GRAHAM, 
 
 CINCINNATI. 
 
 CCI.A316871 
 
THIS COLLECTION OF POEMS IS 
 PUBLISHED IN 
 
 BY HIS DEVOTED SISTER. 
 
 Six feet of earth and a blanket of snow 
 
 Cover all of our errors, hut heal not our woe. 
 
 May green be the turf that now covers thy grave! 
 
 May the birds warble there, their sweet songs! 
 
 May the heart that once throbbed o'er a physical grief 
 
 Have been stilled by its Maker and preserved by its God! 
 
 L. L. O. W. 
 
(Keorge Campbell flDgtien 
 
 Biographical Sketch by the Editor 
 
 GEORGE CAMPBELL OGDEN, the au- 
 thor of the poems in this compilation, 
 was the son of Samuel Ogden and Mary 
 Barr (Campbell) Ogden. 
 
 He was born at Mt. Auburn, Cincinnati, Ohio, 
 March 10, 184L 
 
 Through his mother he traced his ancestry in 
 an unbroken line to Robert Bruce, King of Scot- 
 land (1306-1329), of whose history it would be a 
 work of supererogation to speak in this connection. 
 
 His maternal great-grandfather, Francis Camp- 
 bell, married Elizabeth Parker, daughter of John 
 Parker and his wife, Margaret McClure. 
 
 The McClures and Parkers as well as the Camp- 
 bells, one of whom was the mother of the subject 
 of this sketch, were of royal descent.* 
 
 One of his maternal aunts was Mrs. Maria 
 McCune Barr Bigelow, of Cincinnati, Ohio, so 
 well and favorably known in that city and vicinity. 
 
 His father, Samuel Ogden, was of the eighth 
 generation in line from John Ogden, known as 
 
 *See " Americans of Royal Descent hy Charles H. Browning— Sixth Edi- 
 tion, Philadelphia, 1905: Pedigree CI 1 1." 
 
 5 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 "The Pilgrim," and was born at Elizabeth, New 
 Jersey, on July 18, 1803, where, on October 17, 
 1839, he married Mary Barr Campbell, daughter 
 of Ebenezer Campbell and Ellen (McCune) Camp- 
 bell. She was born at Shippensburg, Pennsyl- 
 vania, May 14, 1818. 
 
 Samuel Ogden began life as a carriage builder, 
 in New Jersey, and prosecuted that business with 
 success. A little later he removed to Cincinnati, 
 Ohio, and for a time carried on a manufacturing 
 business. In a short while, however, he began to 
 deal extensively in real estate enterprises, and ex- 
 tended his operations not only to the territory in 
 and around Cincinnati, Ohio, but in Indianapolis, 
 Indiana, and Chicago, Illinois. His every move- 
 ment seemed to have met with great success, and 
 he amassed a large fortune. 
 
 It has been recorded of him that: 
 
 "He was a man of marked integrity, charitable 
 in his contact with all men, helpful to the weak 
 and worthy, and especially to young men just 
 starting in business. His life was more eloquent 
 than his words, and his death was deeply lamented 
 by all who knew him."* 
 
 He went to his final reward on February 9, 1881 . 
 
 Three children, two sons and a daughter, were 
 born to him and his wife: George Campbell Ogden, 
 the subject of this sketch; Charles Augustus Ogden, 
 
 *The quotations and historical data as to the Ogdens are from " The 
 Ogden Family, Elizabethtown Branch, by William Ogden Wheeler, 1907." 
 
 6 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 who was born August 13, 1843, and died August 
 14, 1877; and Laura Louise Ogden, born June 26, 
 1846, who, on February 6, 1867, married William 
 A. Whaling, who was born at Keeseville, New 
 York, and died in Chicago, Illinois, May 24, 1874. 
 
 She thereafter married John A. Trimble, of 
 Cincinnati, Ohio, a lawyer, from whom she was 
 subsequently divorced, and permitted by the court 
 to resume the name of her former husband. Mr. 
 Trimble died about a year later in Algiers. 
 
 Mary Barr (Campbell) Odgen survived her hus- 
 band and the second son. She entered into rest 
 April 26, 1889. 
 
 John Ogden, known in history and records as 
 "The Pilgrim," ancestor of this Ogden family in 
 America, was born in Bradley Plain, Hampshire, 
 England, September 19, 1609, where he was mar- 
 ried, on May 8, 1637, to Jane ''(Jaan)'' Bond, 
 daughter of Jonathan Bond. Three children were 
 born to them in England, the last two being twins. 
 
 Early in 1640, John Ogden, with his wife and 
 children, emigrated to America, and landed (prob- 
 ably) at Southampton, on the southern shore of 
 Long Island. On April 17, 1640, a tract of land, 
 known as Shinnecock Hill, adjoining Southamp- 
 ton, was granted to him. He soon became very 
 popular and prosperous, and acquired holdings of 
 valuable real estate in and about Southampton. 
 
 He and his brother Richard were builders of 
 the "Gov. Kieft's stone church" at New Amster- 
 
 7 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 dam, constructed in 1642 in the Fort, pictures of 
 which are still in existence. 
 
 In 1650 he was chosen one of the" Freemen " 
 of Southampton. 
 
 In 1659 he sat in the General Court as repre- 
 sentative of Southampton, and in 1661 in the 
 Upper House, in which he sat at subsequent periods. 
 
 After he had reached fifty-four years of age, 
 and had spent twenty-four years on Long Island, 
 he determined to move to New Jersey, and began 
 disposing of his realty on Long Island. He was 
 named one of the "patentees" of "Elizabeth 
 Town," New Jersey. 
 
 Record of "The Pilgrim's " public life and doings 
 may be found in ''Hatfield's History of Elizabeth.'' 
 He held many important posts and offices under 
 the crown and royal authorities. 
 
 He was made "Deputy Governor" by Gov. 
 Carteret, by a commission dated November 1, 1665, 
 
 "And in the Seaventeenth yeare of the Raigne 
 of Our Soveraigne Lord Charles the second, king 
 of England, Scotland, ffrance & Ireland, Defender 
 of the Faith." 
 
 "The new town (Elizabeth) being so auspi- 
 ciously begun on the broad foundation of fraternity 
 and justice, John Ogden laying the chief corner 
 stone, many colonists were soon attracted by its 
 exceptional privileges and advantages." 
 
 He participated in almost, if not every, matter 
 of importance relating to the town and govern- 
 
 8 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 mental affairs from the time of his arrival in New 
 Jersey until his death. 
 
 In 1668 he was chosen one of the burgesses. 
 After the Dutch had retaken New York, in July, 
 1673, the English colonists had much trouble with 
 their former Governor, and John Ogden and 
 others "petitioned the Dutch for a hearing, upon 
 which the latter granted the colonists all their 
 former privileges." 
 
 On September 1, 1673, he was made "Schout," 
 or sheriff, of six towns. 
 
 Upon a re-establishment of the English gov- 
 ernment, by a treaty of peace with the Dutch at 
 Westminster, England, February 9, 1674, all cap- 
 tured territory was mutually restored, and the 
 Dutch were superseded by the English at New 
 York in November following. 
 
 By reason of a new patent granted by the 
 Duke of York to Sir George Carteret, the latter 
 was invested with sole power "to settle and dis- 
 pose of the country (East Jersey) upon such 
 terms and conditions as he shall see fit." 
 
 The grants issued to the colonists by the former 
 governor, Nicolls, were claimed to have been thus 
 rendered null and void, and the settlers were com- 
 pelled to apply for new surveys and patents for 
 their lands, at which they were greatly incensed. 
 
 "Good old John Ogden" was the very last to 
 submit to this arbitrary ruling, and his application 
 was made as late as October 29, 1678. 
 
 9 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 I join in the following commendation of "The 
 Pilgrim Ancestor:" 
 
 "Let every one of his numerous descendants 
 be devotedly grateful that his illustrious ancestor, 
 John Ogden, displayed more manly courage, pos- 
 sessed better moral fiber, and had a purer quality 
 of patriotic blood than any other man in East 
 Jersey." 
 
 His last will and testament was made Decem- 
 ber 21, 1681, and he passed over the dark river 
 about May, 1682. I can not better close reference 
 to this strong and energetic character than by 
 quoting the panegyric taken from '^Hatfield's 
 History of Elizabeth, and from a disinterested pen,' 
 summing-up the life of this remarkable man: 
 
 "And now 'good old John Ogden,' whose 
 wanderings for forty years had justly entitled him 
 to rank with the 'Pilgrim Fathers,' — the acknowl- 
 edged pioneer of the town, in whose house the first 
 white child of the settlement was born, the ac- 
 cepted leader of the people, a pillar in the Church 
 and in the State, honored and trusted by all, 
 . . . lies down and dies; leaving the impress of 
 his political and religious principles, not only upon 
 his children, but upon the community that he has so 
 largely aided in founding. A man he was of more 
 than ordinary mark — a man of sterling worth; of 
 whom the town, as well as his numerous posterity, 
 should be gratefully mindful. He was called a 
 'malcontent,' and regarded as 'the leading mal- 
 content of Elizabeth Town;' but surely the man 
 that was held in such high esteem by the ac- 
 complished, sagacious and pious Winthrop — the 
 
 10 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 man who, both at Southampton and here (Eliza- 
 beth) had been an honored magistrate, loved and 
 trusted by the people, and, during the Dutch rule, 
 the virtual Governor of the English portion of the 
 Province, is not to be ranked with restless agitators 
 because of his persistent opposition to an arbitrary 
 government. A true patriot, and a genuine Chris- 
 tian, he devoted himself while living to the best 
 interests of the town, and dying bequeathed to his 
 sons the work of completing what he had so fairly 
 and effectually inaugurated — the establishment of 
 a vigorous plantation founded on the principles of 
 civil and religious liberty." 
 
 And well did those sons and their descendants, 
 through many generations, discharge the honorable 
 duties so committed to their hands. 
 
 The surviving sister of the author of the fol- 
 lowing poems, by whom the same are now pub- 
 lished in loving remembrance of a deceased brother, 
 is the last of the family. She has no children, and 
 with her this immediate branch of the Ogden 
 family will end. 
 
 The children of Samuel and Mary Barr (Camp- 
 bell) Ogden were doubly Ogdens, as Ezekiel Ogden, 
 of the sixth generation from John Ogden, "The 
 Pilgrim," married Abigail Ogden, also of the 
 sixth generation from said John Ogden, and thus 
 the two, the husband and wife, went back to a 
 common ancestor. 
 
 ''Charles Augustus, the second child (as above 
 named), was educated and trained as a chemist, 
 and acquired great proficiency in that department 
 
 11 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 of science, but he did not long apply himself to 
 that subject. 
 
 ''He was a man of great versatility of genius, 
 and was an adept at art, poetry, and music. He 
 was specially skillful with the violin, and became 
 very popular because of his talents and acquire- 
 ments." 
 
 He never married. 
 
 The father, two sons, and daughter possessed 
 the happy faculty of expressing their thoughts in 
 poetry. 
 
 In an "Appendix" to the poems of George 
 Campbell Ogden, I have thought well to insert a 
 poem written by Samuel Ogden, the father, and 
 entitled "The Meteor Steed;" and also the follow- 
 ing poems written by Charles Augustus Ogden, 
 the brother: "The Death of Lincoln;" "To Ida 
 S ;" "Intemperance;" "Lines" (adapta- 
 tion of Ben Boldt) ; "Prayer for an Easy Death;" 
 and "John C " 
 
 George Campbell Ogden was prepared for 
 college in the school of Eben S. Brooks, so well 
 and favorably known to early citizens of Cincinnati, 
 and by private tutors. He attended Miami Uni- 
 versity, at Oxford, Ohio, and graduated there in 
 1863. 
 
 At that famous and historic institution he was 
 well and favorably known by faculty and students. 
 
 He and the writer of this article were class- 
 mates and friends. 
 
 At college he was attentive to duties — was 
 12 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 gifted in mathematics — was known and recognized 
 as a poet of marked ability. He was especially 
 fond of classics and the Greek and Latin languages, 
 and was given to delving into mythology and put- 
 ting the old myths into verse after his own manner. 
 His capacity and versatility in all these matters 
 were duly appreciated and are shown by the clas- 
 sical poems and translations in this compilation. 
 
 He was chosen as the poet of the Junior Class, 
 and the poem read by him on the occasion of the 
 "Junior Exhibition," October 18, 1861, ''Re- 
 flections on History,'' has been considered one of 
 the best poems ever written by a student at 
 Miami University. 
 
 To be selected as an "Orator" or "Poet" of a 
 Junior Class at Miami University was considered 
 the highest honor which could be conferred upon 
 a member of the Junior Class. 
 
 After graduating at Miami University, our 
 poet attended the Ohio Medical College, and 
 graduated therefrom and received his degree of 
 M. D. in March, 1866. 
 
 He was interested in chemistry and in the theory 
 of medicine, and gave much time and thought and 
 study thereto, and had he been compelled to give 
 attention to the practice of medicine and the de- 
 velopment of chemical science, he would undoubt- 
 edly have attained a position of eminence and 
 distinction in the medical and scientific world. 
 But he devoted himself to such studies as mat- 
 
 13 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 ters of pleasure and personal gratification, and, in 
 this way, secured for himself that satisfaction 
 which results from a pursuit of study and research 
 simply for the delight of the investigator and not 
 for the purpose of making money or adding to his 
 already ample store of ducats. 
 
 He was an artist of recognized ability. He 
 painted many oil paintings of much delicacy and 
 merit, some of which were sold at large prices. A 
 few of them were given by him to his sister, by 
 whom they are retained and cherished with de- 
 votion. 
 
 He sketched beautifully with the pen, and 
 some of his writings are specimens to attract at- 
 tention and comment. His pen and ink sketches 
 were beautiful in design and artistic in finish. 
 
 He was an adept in stenography, and often 
 wrote poetry in shorthand. Some of his short- 
 hand work can scarcely be distinguished from cop- 
 per plate. 
 
 He remained a bachelor during life. He had 
 passed the allotted threescore and ten years when, 
 on December 1, 1911, he lay down in the slumber 
 of death. 
 
 The poems here presented were compiled with 
 care by the author in a book left with his sister, 
 and she believes it was his wish that she should 
 publish them. Hence this edition of them. 
 
 The poetical fire became developed in the author 
 of these poems at an early age, as will appear by 
 
 14 
 
Biographical Sketch 
 
 the dates upon some, among the best, of his 
 productions. Certainly, some of them were written 
 when he was less than thirteen years old, and the 
 last of them was written when he was not more 
 than twenty-eight. 
 
 As a friend of George Campbell Ogden, it 
 affords me pleasure, in obedience to the request 
 of his devoted sister, to supervise the editing of 
 the poems so assembled and left by him. 
 
 It is to be regretted that (in two or three 
 instances) some of the best of the poems have not 
 been entirely finished, at least that no more of 
 them has been found than is published in this 
 edition of his poetical works. 
 
 Covington, Ky., March 1, 1912. 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Acrostic — Cincinnati iii 
 
 Acrostic — Millcreek Bottoms 133 
 
 Acrostic — Ohio River 181 
 
 Acrostic — Whisky Glass, To a 109 
 
 Asiatic Cholera, Address to the 256 
 
 Agib 66 
 
 Alice, To 190 
 
 Alice H., To 132 
 
 American Patriotism , 278 
 
 Apollo and Daphne 343 
 
 Arctic, The 320 
 
 ^schylus — Translation from Prometheus Vinctus . . . 200 
 
 Ask and Receive 182 
 
 Ass, To an 143 
 
 Atlantis, Fragment from 198 
 
 Battle of Blue Licks, The 324 
 
 Belle of the Evening, The 183 
 
 Boyhood Days, Lines to 166 
 
 Boyhood Days — Lines 330 
 
 Burning Taper, To a 140 
 
 Carrie S., To 306 
 
 Carroll, Doctor Thomas, Lines to 362 
 
 Chapel Bell of Miami University, The 210 
 
 Character, A — Fragment 361 
 
 Christian Prayer 31 
 
 Clear Day in April, A 27 
 
 Close of Winter 187 
 
 2 17 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Coming of Twilight — Fragment 275 
 
 Cosroes and the Three Sages 322 
 
 Creole Girl — Fragment 170 
 
 Creole Girl — Fragment 216 
 
 Death of a Friend, The 199 
 
 Desert of Memory 243 
 
 Desires — Lines 330 
 
 Dialogue — Lawyer and Farmer 105 
 
 Doctor Kane, To 205 
 
 Dog, To a 160 
 
 Dog's Collar, For a 225 
 
 Dream of Lethe, A 191 
 
 Drunkard's Tomb, The 28 
 
 Emma's Leap 237 
 
 Epigram 279 
 
 Eunice, Lines to 331 
 
 Evening Star, To the 332 
 
 Evening Thoughts 37 
 
 Fairy Italian, The 155 
 
 Fannie H., To 157 
 
 Fannie 207 
 
 First of May 32 
 
 First of May 114 
 
 Fish and the Butterfly, The 211 
 
 Fisherman of Gotham, The 244 
 
 Fragment from Atlantis 198 
 
 Fragment 63 
 
 Fragments — Guatimozin 228 
 
 Fragment — Creole Girl 170 
 
 Fragment, From Creole Girl 216 
 
 Fragment — Solitude 180 
 
 Fragment — Summer 35 
 
 Fragment — The Past 105 
 
 18 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Garden Gate, The 184 
 
 George W., To 176 
 
 Girls, The 223 
 
 Goddard's Ascension 195 
 
 Good Bye — Fragment 226 
 
 Helen and Gordon — Fragment 202 
 
 Home of Infancy, 316 
 
 House Cleaning 36 
 
 Human Life 328 
 
 Hymn 30 
 
 Ida S., To. 371 
 
 Intemperance 372 
 
 Istlapalapan 130 
 
 Jennie B., Lines to 159 
 
 Jennie B., To 175 
 
 Jennie, Lines to 192 
 
 Jennie R., To 177 
 
 Jennie R., To 224 
 
 Jilted Willie 234 
 
 Joke, A : 151 
 
 John C 370 
 
 J. R., To 232 
 
 Julia 246 
 
 Junior Class Poem 260 
 
 Kabine, Lines to 340 
 
 Kane, To Doctor 205 
 
 Kill or Cure 34 
 
 Leaf, To a 162 
 
 Leaflet — Lines 318 
 
 Lemnian Shepherds, Song of 127 
 
 Liberty and Chivalry, Lines on 134 
 
 19 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Liberty and Home, Lines on 129 
 
 Life of Mortal Man — Fragment 208 
 
 Lily, The 25 
 
 Lines — Youth's Errors 373 
 
 Lincoln, Death of 374 
 
 Lines — Seasons 54 
 
 Lines — She is Gone 334 
 
 Lines to Dr. Thomas Carroll 362 
 
 Loss of Thor's Hammer — Fragment 317 
 
 Loved and Lost 158 
 
 Mary G., Lines to 108 
 
 Meteor Steed, The 367 
 
 Mice in Council, The 186 
 
 Mind and Countenance 194 
 
 Minnie L., Lines to 167 
 
 Moon and the Pilgrim, The 113 
 
 Mt. Sinai 31 
 
 Musings 26 
 
 Mutability of Nature 188 
 
 Nancy, Lines to 109 
 
 Night 23 
 
 Night — Fragment 189 
 
 Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel, To a 307 
 
 Ocean, The 247 
 
 Ode — Jennie 54 
 
 Ode — A Clear Day in April 27 
 
 Oracle of Ditmarschen 168 
 
 Outcast The 219 
 
 Oxford Q.'j^i 
 
 Parson Gay no 
 
 Past, The 105 
 
 20 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Philanthropy 327 
 
 Pirithuos Transfixed 280 
 
 Prayer for an Easy Death 376 
 
 Prometheus Vinctus — ^^schylus — Translation 200 
 
 Rainy and Dreary Day, On a 259 
 
 Rainy Weather 185 
 
 Red Sea Passage, The 233 
 
 Reflections on History 260 
 
 Remorse 217 
 
 Reply to a Doctor 115 
 
 Reply to a Note from Maud 64 
 
 Reply to a Speech Urging Enlistment 152 
 
 Richard 106 
 
 Robin, The — Fragment 169 
 
 Rose and Evergreen, The 38 
 
 Rural Stranger's Story, A 174 
 
 Seasons, The — Lines on 54 
 
 Sewing Girl's Lament 163 
 
 Shipwreck, A — Fragment 338 
 
 Solitude — Fragment 180 
 
 Spring ; 24 
 
 Springtime — Song 315 
 
 S. R., Lines to 42 
 
 Storm, The 43 
 
 Storming a City 268 
 
 Successful Innovation, A 128 
 
 Summer Wind 172 
 
 Sunset 135 
 
 Sweet Thoughts — Verses 178 
 
 Swimming the Ohio During a Flood 197 
 
 Tempest on the Sea of Galilee, The 336 
 
 Tippling .'236 
 
 21 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Trap for Venus, The ii6 
 
 Two Men of Honor 55 
 
 Uncommonly Mournful Tale, An 270 
 
 Weather Gage and Wheel, To a Noisy 307 
 
 Where Jennie used to Dwell 112 
 
 Will o' Wisp, The 141 
 
 Winter, Lines to 206 
 
 Wish, A 218 
 
 Witch of Vesuvius 144 
 
 Youth's Errors 373 
 
The night has come, the silent night, 
 
 With shadows cold and gray; 
 Low in the West, the lingering light, 
 
 Uncertain, fades away. 
 So sinks the tide of life before 
 
 The cold, dark flood of death, 
 And such a gloom is gathering o'er 
 
 When yields the parting breath. 
 
 The stars come out, with silver hue, 
 
 O'er heaven's arching dome, 
 And glimmer in the depths of blue 
 
 In contrast with the gloom. 
 So are the lights that Faith has placed 
 
 To guide us thro' the grave — 
 They twinkle over Jordan's waste, 
 
 Reflected in its wave. 
 
 The night will hold her reign awhile, 
 
 In awful gloom and shade. 
 But morning soon again will smile, 
 
 In majesty arrayed. 
 So to the traveler thro' the tomb 
 
 Its morning ray is given ; 
 For shines, o'er Jordan's chilling gloom, 
 
 The golden dawn of Heaven. 
 
 23 '^^^ 
 
The robes of winter, chill and pale, 
 
 Dissolve before the breath of spring, 
 And music in each spicy gale 
 
 The feathered warblers bring. 
 Behold the flowers that late were dead, 
 Reclining, withered on their frozen bed. 
 
 In sweetest beauty spring to life, 
 And round, their ethery fragrance shed, 
 
 With health and beauty rife. 
 
 The streams, bound fast in winter's hold. 
 Have broke the tyrant's icy chains. 
 
 And gleam, like threads of winding gold, 
 O'er many a flowery plain. 
 Whose incense breath intoxicates the brain. 
 
 The early insects, in their wanton flight, 
 
 Their airy pinions to the beam unfold. 
 They sparkle with an iris light 
 
 Inlaid with powdered gold. 
 Soft vermil Phoebus dares to throw 
 
 His arrowy light on Morning's dews. 
 Each pearldrop, like a prism, breaks the glow 
 
 Into a thousand mingled hues. 
 
 Lo ! where the lovely, modest lily blooms. 
 Within the lone, sequestered vale, 
 
 And spreads her velvet, rich perfumes, 
 Enchantress to the nightingale. 
 24 
 
The Lily 
 
 He spreads around that lonesome dell 
 
 The wildest strains of music's spell. 
 The truant schoolboy lingers long 
 
 Within the wildwood's dark recesses rude, 
 To hear the wildbird's evening song 
 
 Amid the dreary solitude. 
 Earth seems to be an altar broad 
 
 Returning blessings to her God. 
 The humblest flower, that lifts its head. 
 
 The valley to enliven, 
 Its fragrance on the winds doth shed. 
 
 Returning thanks to heaven. 
 Rock, river, bird, and tree 
 
 Appear in praise combined. 
 Man, wrapped in the philosophy 
 
 Of his presumptuous mind. 
 Takes showered blessings every day 
 
 With far less gratitude than they. 
 
 1854 
 
 The lily seeksfthe lonely vale, 
 
 In solitude to bloom, 
 And when the rays of Summer fail. 
 
 The earth becomes her tomb. 
 
 'T is thus that many a noble mind 
 
 Is left to weep alone. 
 Who, if fair Fortune had been kind. 
 
 Would not have sunk unknown. 
 
 25 ^^^^ 
 
'T IS sweet, upon some grassy mound to lie, 
 To see the clouds sail thro' the sky. 
 'T is sweet to see their golden gleam 
 In the fading daylight's beam. 
 When, in the burning west, a pile 
 Of clouds receive the sun's last smile, 
 I love far o'er the west to gaze 
 Behind his half-extinguished blaze,. 
 Among the fleecy mountains there, 
 And picture them some region fair. 
 Where spirits, freed from all distress, 
 Dwell in eternal happiness. 
 And the deep vault, like an azure sea. 
 Engirdles their shores eternally. 
 And, as I strain my weary eyes 
 To pierce the depths of yonder skies, 
 Wish that I only were a dove 
 Thro' realms of upper air to move, 
 That I might reach that airy shore 
 Where death and sorrow come no more. 
 Alas ! Alas ! It is not given 
 For man to tread the clouds of heaven; 
 No wings are his, to leave the plain, 
 Stern Fate compels him to remain. 
 But when the shades of closing night 
 Withdraw the fairy scene from sight, 
 26 
 
Ode 
 
 And dews, condensing from the air, 
 Fall damp and chill upon me there. 
 And earth grows dim, I rouse and see 
 'T is some deluding reverie. 
 
 1856 
 
 A Clear Day in April. 
 
 The ruddy morning rises 
 
 With gold and purple ray, 
 And shades of night departing 
 
 Reveal approaching day. 
 How bright the trembling sunshine 
 
 Gilds yonder hills of blue; 
 No vapor dims the azure sky 
 
 Or clouds the distant view. 
 
 But yesterday was dreary. 
 
 Incessant fell the rain. 
 We feared that lovely Summer 
 
 Would never come again. 
 'T is thus the clouds of sorrow 
 
 O'ershade our weary way. 
 Behind them lurks to-morrow. 
 
 More lovely than to-day. 
 
 1858 
 
 27 
 
tCfje ISrunfearb's i;omli 
 
 It was a sad and mournful tomb 
 
 Where the drunkard's corpse was laid; 
 No Cyprus shed a somber gloom, 
 
 His resting place to shade. 
 But, from the sod, grass-grown and green, 
 
 By its delicious clusters bent, 
 A humble twining vine was seen, 
 
 A strange but fitting monument. 
 Struck by the sight, I drew more near 
 
 To see what could be meant 
 By this wild vine, thus blooming here. 
 
 With Summer's fruit so bent. 
 I wondered much, but, raised my eye, 
 
 The mystery was clear. 
 And as I gazed I drew a sigh. 
 
 For misery lay here. 
 On a green stone, by sculptor traced. 
 
 His epitaph thus read: 
 "Beneath this earth a wretch is placed, 
 
 Below this vine he rests his head. 
 Like thee, O Passer! he was gay. 
 
 His sky was bright and fair 
 As Heaven on a sunny day ; 
 
 Nor Trouble's clouds were there. 
 Once, in a lordly hall, was he. 
 
 With comrades, blythe and gay; 
 He mingled in the general glee 
 
 And grew as blythe as they. 
 28 
 
The Drunkard's Tomb 
 
 At last, the poison wine was brought, 
 
 So tempting to the look. 
 And when they him to drink besought. 
 
 The draught of death he took. 
 That was the draught that pierced his soul, 
 
 For, from that fatal day, 
 He was a tippler at the bowl. 
 
 And Honor stole away. 
 But why delay the mournful tale? 
 
 O, Passer! do the lesson prize! 
 Advice of friends could not prevail. 
 
 And in the grave he lies. 
 A fearful legacy he left — 
 
 A curse upon his name; 
 His youthful wife of hope bereft. 
 
 His children's lot is shame. 
 He was his aged father's light, 
 
 The bright reward of all his cares. 
 That father grieves in Sorrow's night. 
 
 With furrowed brow and silvered hairs. 
 His life, in mourning, hastes away 
 
 O'er him he sought to save; 
 He loathes the cheering light of day, 
 
 And wishes for the grave. 
 His tender mother, his best friend. 
 
 Who led his steps in early youth. 
 Oh! who can her dark sorrow end. 
 
 Or who her anguish soothe! 
 29 
 
Hymn 
 
 O, Passer! shun the magic bowl; 
 
 Unnumbered ills its bhss attends: 
 If not for love of thy own soul 
 
 In pity for thy friends! 
 
 1856 
 
 I STOOD within the valley's shade, 
 
 When spring had robed the earth around, 
 
 And the gentle streamlet made 
 A dewy moisture o'er the ground, 
 
 And the dark trees seemed to say, 
 
 God is in the valley gay! 
 
 I wandered by the caverned shore 
 That scowls upon the boundless sea; 
 
 I heard the sweeping billows roar, 
 And fancied that they spoke to me. 
 
 Like hollow voices from the grave, 
 
 God rules the ocean's lonely wave! 
 
 I stood upon the desert waste, 
 
 Trodden by no foot of man 
 Save the Arab's, in his haste. 
 
 And the weary caravan. 
 And loudly roared the rising blast, 
 God is in the desert vast! 
 
 1858 
 
 30 
 
iWt. ^imi 
 
 How dark the gloom that veils the brow 
 
 Of Sinai's holy hill, 
 Where God to Moses, filled with awe, 
 Revealed the tenets of His law 
 
 And taught His sacred will. 
 There, from the burning bush of flame, 
 The mandates of Jehovah came. 
 
 That land that once was holy ground 
 
 Is holy now no more; 
 The heathen bows, in fear profound, 
 
 By Akuba's misty shore. 
 Nor softly, in the sunny air. 
 Is heard the voice of Christian prayer. 
 Instead of this, the Muzzien's strain 
 Is heard, at evening, on the plain. 
 Calling the faithful, with measured tone. 
 To bend in prayer to Allah's throne. 
 
 1856 
 
 Cfiristian draper 
 
 No MORE is heard that heavenly strain 
 From darkened Judah's fair domain, 
 
 And all that Bethlehem's prophets told, 
 With God's commands, are laid aside. 
 
 The truths Messiah did unfold 
 Are scattered far on Jordan's tide. 
 
 31 '^^^ 
 
:!FirSt of iWap 
 
 Peeping, with an amber light, 
 From beneath the folds of night, 
 Rises up the golden sun, 
 And the merry May's begun. 
 While, with incense on her wing, 
 With her comes the lovely Spring. 
 Round her feet, in circles, lie 
 Green flowers as she passes by. 
 She spreads, with her benignant hands. 
 An emerald carpet o'er the lands; 
 And, mingled with its brightest green, 
 The diamond dews of night are seen. 
 She drives the clouds from off the sky, 
 And weaves the azure vault on high. 
 From the boughs of some old tree 
 The birds sing out so merrily; 
 From her high nest on the wall 
 The swallow pipes his welcome call ; 
 The flowers that died the former year 
 Above the green earth reappear. 
 With opening buds, to meet the sun, 
 O'erjoyed to find the Spring begun. 
 From blowing bud to blooming tree 
 Wings his way the busy bee. 
 From everything extracting honey, 
 Singing while the days are sunny, 
 32 
 
First of May 
 
 And gathering in his sweetened store 
 
 Of food for Winter's stormy hour, 
 
 When winds are cold and tempests lower. 
 
 Not so, those gilded flies that play 
 
 And glitter in the blaze of day. 
 
 They think not, like the toiling bee, 
 
 To lay up stores for scarcity. 
 
 They sparkle, for a little while, 
 
 In the Spring and Summer's smile; 
 
 Then Autumn comes, with chilling frost. 
 
 And all their golden glow is lost. 
 
 And then I think, with thoughtful mind, 
 
 How beings of a nobler kind. 
 
 Like these ephemeral insects, play 
 
 As if to idle time away. 
 
 Those youthful hours are spent among 
 
 Gay Pleasure's thoughtless, giddy throng. 
 
 While Fortune wreathes her treacherous 
 
 smile 
 They glitter for a little while ; 
 But life is short, and years will glide. 
 Like some swift river's dashing tide, 
 Whose hurrying currents onward flee 
 And mingle with the boundless sea. 
 Old age arrives, slow, creeping on. 
 And all their golden glow is gone, 
 And clouds eclipse their Fortune's ray; 
 Ah! then, like these, they pass away. 
 
 1857 
 
Etil or Cure 
 
 A sharper's son was ill one day, 
 And so he sought a doctor's aid. 
 
 But I must not forget to say 
 
 He first a prudent bargain made: 
 
 And, in a clear, plain speech, he said 
 
 Unto the man to physic bred : 
 
 "If you will save my dying son, 
 
 A thousand pounds you will have won ; 
 
 But if you kill him, all the same, 
 
 A like amount you then may claim." 
 The doctor unto this agreed, 
 
 Resolved to ply his utmost skill — 
 To cup, to bhster, and to bleed. 
 To purge and drug, as the case might need, 
 
 And everything but kill. 
 
 And so he worked from day to day. 
 And used his best prescriptions, 
 
 Gave herbs prepared in every way, 
 And pills of all descriptions; 
 
 And long, with esculapic art, he tried 
 
 To save his patient, but he died. 
 
 When three months' time had rolled away, 
 The doctor came again that way: 
 He rung the bell, as doctors will. 
 And Sharper took the offered bill ; 
 And, glancing over it his eye. 
 Gave an unstudied, cool reply: 
 34 
 
Fragment 
 
 ''You want your fee, but did you kill my 
 
 heir?" 
 "No, indeed, to that I'll swear!" 
 ' ' Well , then , you did not save him . " " Very 
 
 true!" 
 ''Then you have no title to 
 The payment that I promised you." 
 And, mourning o'er his loss of pay. 
 The man of physic went his way. 
 
 1857 
 
 Jfragment 
 
 Pale midnight frowned upon her throne, 
 For she was empress there, alone. 
 
 Of earth and sea and sky. 
 On the hill, or the plain, not a sound was 
 
 heard — 
 Not the boding voice of the woeful bird 
 By whose cry the midnight air is stirred, 
 
 Nor the bacchanal's shout of revelry. 
 
 But the soft wind gave a gentle sigh 
 That sounded along so tunefully. 
 
 And the stars looked down from the sky; 
 Their pale light fell on each winding stream, 
 With a lovely ray and a tender beam. 
 And the heaven was blue as a running stream, 
 
 When the season of Summer is nigh. 
 
 1858 
 
 35 
 
^ouse Cleaning 
 
 There is a season in the year, 
 
 House cleaning time, by women hight, 
 
 A time that has no spark of cheer, 
 For all are in a brawl or fight; 
 The men from home betake to flight. 
 
 The excited dames keep up a wordy war, 
 Now rail at this, and then at that. 
 
 The frightened dog is fled afar; 
 
 And e'en the soft furred, velvet cat 
 No more will 'tempt the kitchen's yielding 
 mat. 
 
 The husband's shirt is gray and foul. 
 No white spot on its bosom seen; 
 
 And in his coat peeps many a hole 
 
 Thro' which his vest of blue or green — 
 No matter which — shines forth unclean. 
 
 The red-armed women come to wash, 
 The tubs with foaming suds they fill, 
 
 And then, with sturdy arms, they dash 
 The compound over sash and sill 
 In such a way as best befits their skill. 
 
 Poor Bill! he stays away from home, 
 
 And tries to swim or fish the time away. 
 
 Not near the house the dames will let him come, 
 Condemning him outside to stay 
 Lest he should soil the paints in play. 
 36 
 
Evening Thoughts 
 
 When Amie's sweetheart comes at night 
 He finds the chairs and table overthrown; 
 
 Scared at the sight, he takes his flight, 
 And leaves the worried girl alone, 
 Who well can tell why he has gone. 
 
 Oh dreadful time ! how glad we are 
 Your advent comes but once a year. 
 
 Evil, indeed, must be the star 
 That rules when thou art near. 
 Thou time of brawls and desolation drear. 
 
 1856 
 
 Cfaenms tEfiouBftts 
 
 When daylight's glory disappears. 
 
 And evening rises in the West, 
 The ills and woes of other years 
 
 Are heavy in my breast. 
 I see how full of blame and strife 
 
 My youthful days have been. 
 And I resolve my coming life 
 
 Shall be unstained by sin. 
 But when the rosy morning's light 
 
 First casts its cheerful ray, 
 Those sad'ning visions take their flight, 
 
 And melt in air away. 
 
 37 
 
tKJje 3^o6t mt Cbergreen 
 
 A ROSE TREE of Celestial hue 
 
 In a monarch's garden grew; 
 
 With graceful curve it bent its head, 
 
 Glittering with Aurora's red. 
 
 Brightly fair and sweet it grew, 
 
 Watered with ethereal dew, 
 
 And its balmy fragrance shed 
 
 On the winds above its head. 
 
 Not a tree, or flower, there, 
 
 With it, in beauty, might compare. 
 
 The idler and the passerby 
 Looked on it with admiring eye, 
 For the king had taken care 
 To water it and give it air. 
 When easy countenanced Morning came, 
 With lips of song and eyes of flame, 
 He drew aside its tender sprays 
 Into the warm, life-giving rays. 
 Each day it gained a redder hue. 
 And further still its fragrance threw 
 And throngs of idle flatterers drew. 
 Above her rosy, glowing crown 
 The nightingale would perch him down 
 To pour his loud angelic strain; 
 But when the Morning came again, 
 And ruddy Phoebus lit his light 
 Emerging from infernal night, 
 38 
 
The Rose and Evergreen 
 
 He flew away; but still his song 
 
 Was not so loud, or clear, or strong 
 
 As it was in repose 
 
 Near his own beloved rose. 
 
 But this everlasting crew 
 
 Of friends and flatterers, she drew. 
 
 Soon made her ladyship so vain 
 
 That at length she scarce would deign 
 
 To view the flowers that bloomed around 
 
 In that garden's royal bound. 
 
 Close by the rose's side was seen 
 A humble, modest evergreen: 
 Self-company alone was hers — 
 She had no gaudy flatterers. 
 The eye, in that low, graceless tree. 
 The rose's charm could never see. 
 Too low to catch the summer gale. 
 Its leaves no fragrance did exhale. 
 
 This groveler soon caught the sight 
 
 Of the rose's eye of light. 
 
 Filled with contempt, she turned her head, 
 
 And, to the humble shrub, she said: 
 
 ''Who placed thee here so near to me? 
 Was I born for such company 
 As thee, poor fool, or such as thou, 
 Who lie forever scorned and low, 
 39 
 
The Rose and Evergreen 
 
 While round my head the soft winds play, 
 Sighing through my every spray, 
 And strive, with softening songs, to move 
 And melt my spirit into love? 
 There 's not a breeze but what will scorn 
 To sweep the earth where thou wert born. 
 No beam of sun will visit thee, 
 But look how many visit me! 
 How many lovers canst thou boast? 
 Around me crowd a ceaseless host. 
 I do not heed the sunbeam's kiss. 
 Nor mournful robin's soft caress; 
 Nor the gay lark, whose pinions rise 
 At morn to trace the azure skies. 
 The sweetest warbler of the vale, 
 My plighted, love-lorn nightingale, 
 Thinks but of me, and only me. 
 And pours his soul in melody. 
 'T is he that wakes these nightly strains 
 That echoes o'er these lovely plains. 
 If a poor fly, or wandering bee, 
 By any chance should notice thee. 
 Your vanity is unrestrained, 
 Believing that a beau is gained. 
 Where is thy incense to arise 
 And bless yon heaven-framed dome, the skies? 
 While every bird can tell the tale, 
 How I, with fragrance, scent the gale, 
 Thou canst not boast a single charm, 
 While all concenter in my form." 
 40 
 
The Rose and Evergreen 
 
 She ceased haranguing, choked with pride, 
 While thus the evergreen rephed : 
 
 "No charm Uke those, I own, have I, 
 Which in your figure I descry ; 
 No friend or flatterer can I call. 
 Neglected and despised by all; 
 But know thou this, real modest worth 
 Is seldom courted here on earth : 
 Internal, hollow, and outward show 
 Admired are by most below. 
 But listen, I will make thee see 
 The difference 'twixt thee and me. 
 When Winter comes, with frowning skies; 
 When o'er the earth the tempest hies; 
 When murky clouds are dark above, 
 And silence reigns through hill and grove; 
 When songsters all have left the vale, 
 And gone thy boasted nightingale, 
 All fled away to other lands 
 To sing their songs on warmer strands, 
 Thy nightingale will soon alight 
 Upon some other favorite. 
 While Winter spreads his spotless robe 
 On all this quarter of the globe; 
 When, with heavy drifts of snow. 
 The garden trees are bending low, 
 And flowers, wreathed in Summer's light, 
 Are covered with a shroud of white, 
 41 
 
To S R 
 
 Thou, in that dreary time, shalt die, 
 Low, with thy fellow flowers to lie; 
 I, with greener leaves, will bloom, 
 While thou art mouldering in the tomb, 
 From the dust of thy descent 
 To draw my own chief nourishment." 
 
 No more the prophetess did say. 
 The rose, affrighted, turned away. 
 And when the North began to blow. 
 And fell from heaven the flaky snow, 
 Oh ! then the rose was lying low. 
 While, above its frozen tomb. 
 The amarynth puts forth its bloom. 
 It may be seen this very day 
 By him who journeys on that way. 
 With leaves that never will decay — 
 Although a graceless, ugly tree, 
 The type of immortality. 
 
 ^0 ^ — E — 
 
 My love has come from a Southern clime, 
 
 Her hair is black as a coal ; 
 Her eyes are dark as the midnight moon, 
 
 And flash with a fiery soul. 
 
 Her face is swarth, and it seems so sad 
 When the smile has faded away, 
 
 Like a murky night, and a cloudy sky, 
 After a sunny day. 
 
 42 ^^'^^ 
 
Now April comes on rapid wing, 
 The second month that marks the Spring. 
 She brings with her a chequered sky, 
 Where lights and shades alternate fly. 
 One moment, all her skies are clear. 
 The next, black clouds are lurking there. 
 And I have thought the life of man. 
 Since first his weary days began, 
 Was marked by every changing dye 
 That glows on April's fleeting sky. 
 Sorrows and joys successive sway, 
 The heart now mourns, and then is gay. 
 The gloom, his fainting spirit wears. 
 Is poured out with his falling tears. 
 And so, from early childhood's happy age, 
 Thro' all his weary pilgrimage. 
 
 All Nature's face is bland and fair. 
 And ruddy Phoebus gilds the air 
 Above, a realm of azure blue 
 Where space alone obscures the view. 
 A gentle breeze arises now. 
 Refreshing to the heated brow. 
 For we, who thro' the live-long seven 
 Remain confined, from morn till even, 
 Amid the heated city's glare. 
 Hemmed in by brick and mortar there, 
 43 
 
The|Storm 
 
 Must feel, when we can breathe the wind 
 For but one hour unconfined, 
 As if, for once in life, that we 
 Knew what was meant by liberty. 
 
 The wind increases, growing strong. 
 Huge clouds of dust are borne along; 
 The forest roars with soughing sound, 
 The lowest branches sweep the ground. 
 Small, straggling, fleecy clouds appear, 
 Dark, sailing on the atmosphere. 
 And, fast increasing in their size. 
 They quickly mount the western skies, 
 Till their awful shade is spread 
 To the zenith overhead. 
 Where, with curtains dark and dun. 
 They shade from sight the lurid sun. 
 From the ocean, now so dull. 
 Seeks the shore the startled gull; 
 The petrel leaves her rocky home 
 And hovers o'er the hissing foam. 
 From forest gloom the beasts of prey, 
 Awed by the darkness, glide away. 
 Tho' in the night they roam for food 
 Through all the confines of the wood, 
 Yet this darkness hath a shade 
 Which the fiercest makes afraid. 
 The lion, of the shaggy dress. 
 Terror of the wilderness, 
 44 
 
The Storm 
 
 Leaves its lonely walks to hide 
 
 In his lair unoccupied. 
 
 The bird, that all day loves to sing, 
 
 Flies away on skulking wing. 
 
 And hides within her leafy nest, 
 
 With silent throat and quiet breast; 
 
 And, in her airy cradle rocked. 
 
 She hears the tempest wind unshocked. 
 
 The white cap waves begin to sweep 
 
 And race along the leaden deep 
 
 Till their curling crests they pour 
 
 In hollow thunder on the shore. 
 
 On the Heaven the wind god stands. 
 Wreaths of vapor arm his hands; 
 His eyes with livid lightnings glow. 
 And earth hangs trembling far below; 
 A roaring cloud he makes his car, 
 And rushing winds his horses are, 
 While, now and then, his fearful hand 
 Sends bolts of thunder on the land; 
 Hurls crags and mountains from their seat 
 And lays them prostrate at his feet. 
 Beneath his courser's feet the forests fly, 
 And crackling branches sail the sky. 
 From the green earth, fresh and fair. 
 The oak is hurled aloft in air. 
 While, rushing on the deluged plain, 
 Descend whole torrents of sluicy rain. 
 45 
 
 \ 
 
The Storm 
 
 The lightning burns with fitful glare, 
 The bursting bolt is heard in air, 
 Echoing thro' the desert sky 
 Till 't is lost in vacancy, 
 To the empyreum's gale 
 Seeming to reverberate. 
 
 There is a tower, whose lofty brow 
 Is far above the plain below; 
 The watery clouds are thickly spread 
 In whirling folds about its head. 
 Two gloomy clouds, in upper air, 
 Proceed to dreadful battle there: 
 Dark-edged, with hues of purple lined. 
 And skirts far tossing on the wind. 
 Each, frowning stern, selects his place — 
 The lower holds the middle space. 
 The dart is cast: the lightning flash 
 Is followed by the thunder's crash. 
 The huge pile trembles, totters, falls — 
 The vaulted rooms and marble halls, 
 Dashed into atoms by the blow. 
 With grinding thunder rush below. 
 What was the work of many years 
 Thus in one moment disappears. 
 
 Dark night comes on ad own the west: 
 The sun is hastening to his rest, 
 And thicker darkness hurries on 
 To reassume her ancient throne. 
 46 
 
The Storm 
 
 The pale moon hides her troubled face 
 
 And glides, unseen, thro' empty space. 
 
 No star or planet dares appear 
 
 The dreariness of night to cheer. 
 
 Nor does the wind assuage its wrath, 
 
 But rushes swifter on its path. 
 
 It roars around the mountain peak, 
 
 Then, dying low, it seems to speak, 
 
 Like restless spirits moaning low. 
 
 The sad complainings of their woe. 
 
 And thro' the long night, dark and drear. 
 
 Loud crackling noises strike the ear 
 
 As some tall monarch of the wood is riven 
 
 By the red-burning bolt of heaven; 
 
 Or else some rock upon the mountain's crest 
 
 From its firm fastenings released 
 
 By the floods of falling rain. 
 
 Rolls down in thunder on the plain. 
 
 From the tall hill's craggy brow 
 Descend the rapid torrents now. 
 Shoal rivers are to oceans swelled, 
 And valleys are with water filled ; 
 Stables and barns away are torn, 
 And, on the gushing currents borne. 
 Oxen and sheep do onward glide 
 And vainly struggle with the tide. 
 
 The bull, who, but one week ago, 
 Rushed thro' the valley to and fro, 
 47 
 
The Storm 
 
 Uprooting ground and bush and briar, 
 His eyes lit up with angry fire, 
 And, conscious of superior might. 
 Defied his enemies to fight — 
 Hath breathed his last, and even he 
 Now rushes headlong to the sea. 
 
 Nor doth destruction only seize 
 On sheep and oxen, barns and trees. 
 But, in this elemental strife. 
 There is a loss of human life. 
 Mark, where that lonely cottage stands 
 Far out upon the bottom lands. 
 When morning's dawning light shall rise 
 It will not meet the gazer's eyes, 
 But, in its place, alas, will be 
 A lonely void, a desert sea. 
 Which shall roll on, with ruthless waves, 
 Above its inmates' wat'ry graves. 
 
 Nothing can be, in earth or air. 
 But what there is a story there. 
 That wind must be extremely ill 
 That blows unchangingly to kill. 
 Or rushes past us and is gone, 
 Nor brings a joy to any one. 
 Such wind hath never blown on man 
 Since first the turning sphere began. 
 And e'en this tempest and this flood 
 Hath brought to some its share of good. 
 48 
 
The Storm 
 
 There is a cliff, whose stony sides 
 Are hollowed by the dashing tides, 
 For it hath felt the restless spray 
 Till e'en the rock is worn away. 
 The surface of the sea is spread 
 A hundred feet beneath its head 
 When skies are blue and calm; but now 
 The mountain billows lave its brow. 
 
 Upon its top (a barren spot) 
 There stands a lowly fisher's cot. 
 A pensive youth, a sunbrowned man 
 Are lodgers in its little span. 
 The last was robed in garments rude 
 As best befits the solitude: 
 The youth, athletic in his frame, 
 Was to appearance much the same. 
 He was a youth, as fresh and fair 
 As ever breathed the mountain air, 
 As ever trod the sounding shore 
 To hear its foam-capped billows roar. 
 
 For a long and weary while 
 He hath known nothing more than toil. 
 To guide the skiff or frail canoe 
 Along the ocean's surface blue. 
 The gale-inflated sail to set. 
 And how to cast the dripping net 
 To trap the dwellers of the flood, 
 Was all that either understood. 
 4 49 
 
The Storm 
 
 But memory, wrapped in mystic gloom, 
 Displayed to him a former home. 
 His mental eye could almost trace 
 The outlines of his mother's face. 
 It seemed, too, that he could recall 
 An ancient pile, a marble hall. 
 How different, now, this savage cell 
 Where he, in luxury, used to dwell. 
 
 Of all that he remembered there, 
 A little girl, with auburn hair, 
 Most filled his spirit with despair 
 For what his spirit loved the most 
 He deemed was but ''the loved and lost." 
 
 The magnet, placed in Southern clime. 
 Where Spring and Summer fill the time. 
 Heeds not the fragrant breezes there, 
 Nor all the charms of earth or air. 
 But points its index finger forth 
 Towards the ice engirdled North. 
 So, oft, he turned his wandering brain 
 From thoughts of sorrow, but in vain, 
 For memory would but recur 
 To dwell with her, and only her. 
 
 'T was in December, cold and drear, 
 The stormiest month of all the year. 
 That, in the midnight's fearful gloom, 
 A gallant vessel found a tomb 
 50 
 
The Storm 
 
 Beneath the sea; and all her freight 
 Of mortal spirits shared her fate. 
 Both his parents then went down, 
 And he himself was almost gone, 
 Had not this fisher come to save 
 And snatched him from the frozen wave. 
 
 Thus his memory flew back 
 All along life's dreary track. 
 His eyes bent on the flickering lamp, 
 With its hazy glow in the night air damp, 
 And sad his face appeared to be. 
 For his was a mournful reverie. 
 
 But hark! it is a distant gun 
 From the open sea — another one! 
 The youth sprung to the old man's bed; 
 He laid his hand upon his head : 
 "Volta! Volta! awake and dress, 
 I fear a vessel is in distress." 
 
 Volta left his couch of rest. 
 Like the startled bird of the wilderness. 
 He left the lamp-lit, cheerful room. 
 Rushing into the solid gloom. 
 A blinding flash fell on his eye. 
 Unlike the lightning of the sky, 
 And a cannon boomed above the tide — 
 "Bring fagots here!" the old man cried. 
 51 
 
The Storm 
 
 The driest wood is brought, and thrown 
 On the cliff's cold, dampened stone, 
 A lofty pile; the match is struck. 
 The lighting sticks begin to smoke. 
 Until the flames begin to creep. 
 Like shining serpents, thro' the heap. 
 Hotter still, they burn and rise. 
 And cast their sparks against the skies ; 
 And clear they glare, while, all in vain. 
 Upon them beats the drifting rain. 
 And their yellow lustre glowed 
 Far out upon the frothing flood, 
 And Volta saw a distant speck 
 On the broken waves — a mastless wreck. 
 
 But, near the rock, upon the flood, 
 With rapid oars, a life boat rode. 
 Upon the billows, lifted high, 
 At times it catches Volta's eye. 
 It sunk beneath the yawning caves 
 (The valleys t'wixt the mountain waves) ; 
 When it rose, its crew was gone — 
 The life boat floated all alone. 
 
 The youth beheld, amid the storm. 
 By the fire's light, a human form. 
 It was near the rock, and it rose and fell 
 With the water's wild, inconstant swell. 
 'T was human, he knew, and he could not see 
 A being sent to eternity, 
 52 
 
The Storm 
 
 Without a moment to prepare 
 For another world, and a judgment there; 
 And the passive, still, and dead-like form 
 Thus dashed at the mercy of the storm, 
 He firmly resolved should never drown — 
 He would save its life, or lose his own. 
 
 He threw his varnished coat aside 
 And fearfully gazed upon the tide. 
 
 'T was a dreadful thing to dare ! 
 He felt that the chill and restless wave 
 Would be, at best, but a cheerless grave — 
 He could not slumber there. 
 
 Volta beheld him headlong go 
 
 Into the dark abyss below, 
 
 But his cold, white lips were mute. 
 
 And he shook with cold from head to foot. 
 
 As he never had shaken till now. 
 
 And the clammy sweat came over his brow. 
 
 He tried to move, but he thought his foot, 
 
 In the solid flint, had taken root. 
 
 53 
 
0iit 
 
 I ASK not for the shining spoils 
 
 Of Ceylon's azure sea, 
 From Jennie's radiant face, a smile 
 
 Is quite enough for me. 
 The wealth of far Golconda's mines, 
 Where, darkly, lone, the diamond shines. 
 
 Might tempt me; but, to her. 
 The riches that are buried there 
 Would hold no glory in their glare 
 
 Were they not shared with her. 
 
 1858 
 
 I WALKED the grass of early Spring, 
 
 When first its greenness shone. 
 In Autumn, 't was a withered thing 
 
 With all its beauty gone. 
 I saw the brook, in Summer, glide 
 
 With silver-gleaming glare; 
 But Winter, with her frosty gloom, 
 
 Soon wove her fetters there. 
 So, brilliant is the prime of Life, 
 
 Its every promise fair; 
 Old age displays another scene — 
 
 Of Trouble, Grief, and Care. 
 
 1859 
 
 54 
 
i;too Mm of Honor 
 
 Canto First. 
 
 I. 
 
 Parnassian Muses, favor my designs! 
 'T is of no common theme I write, 
 
 But one which could be made to shine 
 In all the colors of the rainbow's light 
 If Genius rose and handled it aright. 
 
 II. 
 
 My scene lies in a Southern cHme, 
 
 Where the gold-gleaming orange glows, 
 
 And the warm spice wind ever blows, 
 And it is Summer all the time; 
 Where, clear and blue, the tranquil ocean 
 flows. 
 
 III. 
 
 There, birds that never visit here 
 
 Sing lovely carols in the forest shades. 
 
 And the blue sky is ever clear. 
 
 And Nature's greenness never fades 
 Off from her own luxuriant glades. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Once, 'neath these overarching trees, 
 The camp fire of another race 
 
 Crackled and flickered in the breeze. 
 
 And flashed on each swarth warrior's face, 
 Who slumbered round it in that lonely place. 
 55 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 V. 
 
 Here was their council, and yon mossy rock 
 Hath shook from its storm-worn sides 
 
 Eloquence, that well may mock 
 
 Any e'er heard beyond Atlantic's tides, 
 Whether from Cicero or Athens' prides. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They have departed, and are seen no more, 
 But the broad forest still remains, 
 
 And blooms as lovely as it did before 
 The white man crost the stormy mains 
 And drove the red men from their native 
 plains. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Enough ! I must not stop to moralize 
 
 On Nature's beauty, or the Indian's fate, 
 
 Or Florida's triumphal skies, 
 
 Nor Alabama's cotton growing State, 
 Or other foreign topics, tho' they may be 
 great. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 There is a city on that rapid river. 
 
 Called "Mississippi," whose swift flow 
 
 Rushes and strives, with mad endeavor, 
 To reach the Gulf of Mexico, 
 New Orleans is its name, I know. 
 56 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 IX. 
 
 Her warf is stacked, for miles and miles, 
 With ships and boats of every kind, 
 
 Loaded with cotton, iron, or tiles, 
 
 And worked by steam, by oars, or wind, 
 Just as their first builders had designed. 
 
 X. 
 
 New Orleans is a town of trade. 
 And many build up fortunes there. 
 
 So, Mr. Argent, when he'd a million made, 
 Was satisfied — for more he did not care — 
 And went to live on Lafayette Square. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The house he dwelt in was of stone, 
 Which cost unmentionably high. 
 
 He liked no cheap stuff, and looked down 
 On those who to expenses had an eye, 
 Or practiced, in the least, economy. 
 
 XII. 
 
 He furnished it with all 
 
 That houses boast of in these modern 
 days, 
 And many a picture decked the wall, 
 One look at which excited praise, 
 Even from those to whom it was a maze. 
 57 . 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 XIII. 
 
 From these, perchance, it may be thought 
 That Argent was a man of mind, 
 
 Which would be thinking him what he was 
 not. 
 He no enjoyments in the art could find, 
 His pictures were for show alone designed. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He had a daughter, who could not be said 
 To be like him in anything. 
 
 She read Lord Bryon ; and her young heart bled 
 When he of sorrow or distress did sing. 
 And teardrops to her eyes would spring. 
 
 XV. 
 
 In youth, she had been sent away 
 
 To get instruction at a boarding school. 
 
 Old Argent wept, but dashed his tears away, 
 For, unto him, it was a rule. 
 Thro' all distresses to keep cool. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 It was two months before the happy day 
 When Alice (for that was her name). 
 
 Accomplished, beautiful, and gay. 
 
 Should come again to that parental frame 
 (Sole cause of all its owner's fame). 
 
 58 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 XVII. 
 
 (Oh Father! Thou who art so just and kind! 
 If I among the great am ever named, 
 
 May it be for some virtue of my mind. 
 I never, never would be famed 
 For lands I own, or buildings I have 
 framed) . 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 (Yet some there are, and Fortune's hand 
 Hath richest blessings round them thrown, 
 
 And they are courted by the band 
 
 Of Fashion's may-flies; if their wealth were 
 
 gone, 
 Silence were theirs, and dark oblivion). 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He knew the glances of her dark brown eyes 
 Were stronger than the chains of fate. 
 
 "Her ears," he said, ''were doomed to hear the 
 sighs 
 And listen to the promise great 
 Of many a kneeling profligate." 
 
 XX. 
 
 And he intended, soon as she came home. 
 That she should have her "bringing out." 
 
 He felt she'd throw all rivals in the gloom. 
 And let the city have a thing to talk about. 
 
 59 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Oh Beauty, thou triumphant queen ! 
 Subjects refuse their sovereigns to obey, 
 
 Revolt, and civil feud are often seen. 
 Pale Goddess ! when hath been the day 
 When men disowned thy gentle sway? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And so he wished that day would soon come on, 
 And thought that time was dragging slow. 
 
 The night is long to those who wait the dawn ; 
 But the gay revelers, ah! they know 
 How soon its hours of pleasure go. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But the bright hour came at last, 
 And with it Alice, and that night 
 
 Between Old Argent and his wife there past 
 What shall be soon revealed in light. 
 
 By Mrs. Argent, first, was silence broke 
 
 (A common thing with her) , and thus she spoke : 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 'Dear husband, it is time we should prepare 
 To introduce our Alice to society, 
 
 For she is in her eighteenth year, 
 And we can do so with propriety. 
 
 She passed, with credit, her examination, 
 
 And she has finished all her education. 
 60 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 XXV. 
 
 She writes with ease, in Greek and Latin, 
 And paints and draws, with exquisite taste, 
 
 And quotes ItaHan, which is soft as satin, 
 Speaks French and German just as fast 
 
 As if each were her native tongue, 
 
 And sings most beautifully for one so young." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Argent replied: "I know these things are true. 
 And my resolve, before you spoke, was made. 
 
 To bring her splendid powers into view. 
 We must not let her linger in the shade, 
 
 'T would be like hiding a clear, burning lamp 
 
 In some lone cavern dark and damp. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The winter holidays will soon be here. 
 
 With balls and parties, and all kinds of fun, 
 
 Then she shall make her debut in the sphere 
 Of Fashion, if it can be done. 
 
 And few there are, I dare aver. 
 
 In dazzling beauty, will compare with her." 
 
 Canto Second. 
 
 I. 
 Pale, frozen monarch of the dying year, 
 
 Hast thou, at last, so soon returned? 
 The winds salute my list'ning ear, 
 
 And, where high Phoebus lately burned. 
 Dark, gloomy clouds of snow appear. 
 And Nature weeps with many a frozen tear. 
 
Two Men of Honor 
 
 II. 
 How silent, from the melancholy sky, 
 
 The cold, white flakes are scattered round. 
 Low roofs are spread, and turrets high. 
 
 The bent trees nearly sweep the ground. 
 Like some lone spirit's fearful cry 
 Falls on my heart the night wind's mournful sigh. 
 
 III. 
 And the last feeble light is gone, 
 
 The dusky twilight creeps upon the day; 
 The night of shades is hurrying on. 
 
 The crepusculum glows, with leaden ray. 
 Above the circle of the sun, 
 
 To show that icy Winter's reign has fully now 
 begun. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This nabob hurries thro' the street 
 To reach the hearthside of his home. 
 
 That pilgrim, with his unprotected feet, 
 Thro' the dark shadowy night must roam. 
 
 Hath he no friends, alas! to greet? 
 
 And, oh how weary! sleep would be so sweet. 
 
 V. 
 
 Child of Misfortune; he hath never known 
 
 A father's voice, a mother's loving smile. 
 No lisping prayer to God, from him, has ever gone. 
 
 His is a life of trouble and of toil. 
 Religion's flowers have never decked his 
 spirit's desert soil. 
 62 
 
Fragment 
 
 VI. 
 
 Child of Misfortune — But thy singer's strain 
 Must turn from all thy miseries away; 
 
 But he shall mourn for thee again. 
 His theme is now the rich and gay, 
 
 For these shall give his heart less pain 
 
 Than pitying thee, lone wanderer, when pity 
 is in vain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And thou, pale Winter! wherefore do I sing 
 Of thy deep snows — and fleeting clouds? 
 
 Thy minstrel's life is in its early Spring, 
 He sees dead Nature in her spotless shroud, 
 
 And thinks of his own death, a bitter thing 
 
 To one whose spirit is as free as wildbird on 
 the wing. 
 
 jFragment 
 
 The black clouds gather on the sky. 
 
 Dark, sailing from the windy west. 
 And, piled in massive columns high. 
 
 Look down upon the mountain's crest. 
 Nature seems hushed, and all at rest. 
 
 No sound flies on the silent air; 
 The eagle seeks his rocky nest; 
 
 The wild beast hastens to his lair. 
 
 63 ^^'^ 
 
Eeplp to a Mott 
 
 Dear Maud, your note of yestereve 
 I did, this early morn, receive. 
 The contents I perused with pleasure; 
 The love you sent, I deem a treasure, 
 And, with my pencil, briefly I 
 Transmit these few words in reply. 
 
 This sending love in notes Laconic 
 
 Is growing rather too Platonic. 
 
 You asked me how, and where, and when 
 
 We might meet face to face again; 
 
 Where we, in voice and language real, 
 
 May tell each other what we feel. 
 
 If we select a place to meet, 
 Don't let it be upon the street. 
 For there are many evil eyes 
 And tongues that love to scandalize. 
 
 There is a spot where, winding slow, 
 The brooklet's gentle waters flow 
 Amid a tract of level land, 
 Extending far on either hand, 
 So low and flat that every year 
 The rising floods submerge it there. 
 64 
 
Reply to a Note 
 
 No foot of man encroaches there, 
 A settled silence fills the air, 
 Save when the whistling train goes by, 
 As fast as steam can make it fly. 
 By the old, fallen bridge of stone. 
 We there can meet and be alone. 
 
 You know the spot as well as I, 
 For it lies full before your eye. 
 Whenever, from your window, you 
 Toward the west direct your view. 
 Come at the hour of half -past seven, 
 When rosy twilight tints the heaven, 
 And daylight's latest glimpses fade 
 Before the night's approaching shade. 
 Next Friday eve, if skies are fair, 
 I will await your coming there. 
 Till then, I pray that Fate severe 
 May in no manner interfere. 
 
 July 14, 18^9 
 
 65 
 
asii 
 
 Lady of Bagdad ! if from thee 
 
 My griefs awaken sympathy, 
 
 If thou shouldst mourn the cruel fate, 
 
 Whose details I will now relate, 
 
 My highest wish in life is gained, 
 
 And all I hoped from Heaven obtained. 
 
 My father was a king, and I 
 Was reared in ease and luxury. 
 Till age had turned his temple gray 
 My father held his gentle sway. 
 His sceptre was his people's love; 
 He strove their burdens to remove. 
 He dried their tears and rendered less 
 Each mourning subject's sad distress. 
 For those in joy he had a smile, 
 Frank, sympathetic, free from guile. 
 For those in grief he had a tear, 
 And proved himself the friend sincere, 
 For, from his private purse, he drew, 
 Rather than ills should meet his view. 
 In my own land, I bore the name 
 Of Agib (not unknown to fame) . 
 He died, and I, his only son. 
 Was placed upon his honored throne. 
 And, being anxious to survey 
 Some distant isles beneath my sway, 
 66 
 
Agib 
 
 I built a ship and, leaving all 
 Affairs within my capital 
 Under a trusty courtier's hand, 
 I left, awhile, my native land, t, 
 And, trusting fickle skies and seas, 
 Sailed for the distant provinces. 
 
 Heaven a prosperous voyage sent 
 Over the treacherous element. 
 The sky was cloudless, in its blue. 
 Old ocean's dark-cerulean hue 
 Was like a mirror; far and wide. 
 With sun-gilt ripples, shone the tide. 
 
 Such was our course; from isle to isle 
 We quickly past, but spent a while 
 In every one, for they were fair, 
 With forests green, and fragrant air. 
 Their people smiled to see my face. 
 From memory of my father's grace. 
 And many a wish I heard from them 
 That I, his son, might be like him. 
 My friendly crew, in pleasures gay, 
 Spent many a long and mirthsome day. 
 And many a sentimental night. 
 Beneath the moon's propitious light. 
 Wine, and the spell of Beauty's eyes, 
 Less truthful than inconstant skies, 
 Made each and all of them forget 
 Their troubles, gone or coming yet. 
 67 
 
Agib 
 
 But soon their fevered bliss was past, 
 For pleasure's dream must end at last. 
 A missive came, which did recall 
 The king back to his capital. 
 From the fair island's dark green side 
 Once more our vessel cuts the tide. 
 We fled before a favoring wind, 
 But many left their hearts behind. 
 
 But, sailing on our homeward path, 
 The tempest met us in its wrath. 
 And drove us, with its windy force, 
 Far distant from our chosen course. 
 Black skies and forky lightning's flash, 
 The howling winds and thunder's crash. 
 The roaring waves, so dark and drear, 
 And Nature's aspect sinister. 
 Made every sailor's heart of steel 
 A terrible emotion feel. 
 And even, I confess, I had 
 Foreboding of disaster sad. 
 And thought, with melancholy mind. 
 Of the bright home I 'd left behind. 
 Where those I loved might mourn in vain 
 For him who ne'er might come again; 
 And my racked fancy gave to me 
 A frightful mass of imagery — 
 Of coral reefs, and polypi grim. 
 And monstrous forms in caverns dim; 
 68 
 
Agib 
 
 Of wasted jewels, scattered o'er 
 The dismal ocean's slimy floor ; 
 Fragments of wrecks, in ruin strown, 
 And many a mouldering skeleton. 
 In fancy, I beheld my form 
 Struggling and sinking in the storm. 
 I thought how hideous fangs would tear 
 My quivering limbs, descending there, 
 While none would know of my last sleep 
 Save the lone Geni of the deep. 
 I thought of things more terrible 
 Than I can e'er find tongue to tell. 
 And all our crew, in their despair. 
 Besieged the throne of Heaven with prayer. 
 And Allah, from the highest Heaven, 
 Heard the sad cry. His grace was given. 
 And, from the perils of that hour, 
 He saved us by almighty power. 
 
 At last the stormy sky grew clear, 
 I saw the black clouds disappear. 
 And calmness settled on the deep. 
 The level waters sank to sleep, 
 But, far from off our pathway thrown. 
 We rested on a sea unknown. 
 Strange waters heaved their boundless tide 
 Around our bark on every side. 
 An unknown sky, above our head. 
 Its canopy of azure spread, 
 69 
 
Agib 
 
 And, when that sky grew dark in night, 
 Strange constellations gave their light. 
 It seemed as if the day star bright 
 Had lost a portion of his light. 
 Less fair the stars appeared to gleam. 
 Less gaily danced the rippling stream, 
 And all that once was beautiful 
 Became monotonous and dull. 
 Such is the mind opprest with woe, 
 So dark a halo it can throw 
 'Round all on which external sense 
 May exercise its cognizance. 
 The heaven, our pilot pondered o'er. 
 Yet these he had not seen before. 
 Although the stars were but a chart 
 That he had known from youth by heart, 
 For he was master of his art. 
 He saw, displayed to him, a sky 
 Whose very light was mystery. 
 We could but trust to God, or chance, 
 Or both, to give His guidance. 
 For we were on the deep alone. 
 With every mode of reckoning gone, 
 And, if should lull the favoring gale, 
 And our supply of water fail. 
 Well did we know the cruel fate 
 That would o'ertake us, soon or late. 
 'T is hard enough, I thought, to yield 
 One's life upon the tented field, 
 70 
 
Agib 
 
 And perish by a foeman's hand, 
 Defending home and native land. 
 Such death is sad, but Honor throws 
 A golden halo round our close ; 
 Our mem'ry in succeeding years 
 Shall be the theme of praise and tears; 
 Our ashes, in that glorious age, 
 The shrine of patriot pilgrimage. 
 To die from hunger and from thirst, 
 Of all Death's varied forms, the worst; 
 To wither slowly, day by day, 
 And pine in agony away. 
 Like the crisp plants that fade and die 
 Under a scorching Autumn sky ; 
 To perish, and yet mark the glow 
 Of the cool, gliding wave below 
 Smiling in mockery, until we fain, 
 Mad with the fever of the brain 
 And goaded to delirious mood, 
 Would plunge into the briny flood. 
 As if it were a luxury 
 To drink one last, long drink and die. 
 
 Upon the far horizon's verge, 
 A dark spot rose above the surge. 
 This, when our skillful pilot saw, 
 His face grew pale with fear and awe : 
 "We all of us are lost," said he; 
 "Yon gloomy object in the sea 
 71 
 
Agib 
 
 Is the black mountain, huge and lone, 
 An isle of adamantine stone, 
 Whose powerful, magnetic force 
 E'en now directs our vessel's course. 
 The iron nails will all be drawn 
 Out of the ship ere morning's dawn. 
 Our craft will all fall into staves, 
 And we, the crew, find watery graves. 
 The mountain sides ascend so steep. 
 From out the bosom of the deep, 
 With rugged summits high in air, 
 That none may hope for refuge there." 
 
 Next day, the sad report proved true, 
 
 So near the fated vessel drew. 
 
 All happened as had been foretold — 
 
 The nails, attracted, lost their hold 
 
 And sought the mountain magnet's side. 
 
 The bark's loose fragments strewed the tide. 
 
 And every friend I had, among 
 
 That lately gay and happy throng. 
 
 Sunk in the ocean's restless wave, 
 
 Now slumbers in a tombless grave. 
 
 But worthier spirits ne'er will tread. 
 
 Along Alserat's trembling thread 
 
 Above the fathomless abyss, 
 
 To kingdom of eternal bliss. 
 
 But fickle Fortune smiled on me 
 And saved me from that fatal sea. 
 
 72 
 
Agib 
 
 When I, exhausted, would have sank, 
 My weary arm secured a plank. 
 This held me up; the waters bore 
 My fainting figure to the shore — 
 And dismal was the prospect there. 
 Extending upward, high in air, 
 Arose the adamantine wall, 
 Slimy, unfissured, vertical; 
 Whose sides showed no projecting edge. 
 Unmarked by any friendly ledge 
 To give the climber's feet support — 
 The shrieking sea birds lone resort. 
 I heard their shrill and lonely cry 
 Ring through the melancholy sky. 
 And saw them wheel their circling flight 
 Around the rocky summit's hight. 
 
 I coasted 'round the mountain's base, 
 It seemed the same in every place. 
 Long hours passed away, and still 
 I found no spot accessible. 
 And deep despair came over me. 
 Reduced to last extremity. 
 When, suddenly, my searching eye 
 A narrow flight of stairs did spy, 
 And, from the flinty rock, they went 
 All winding up the steep ascent. 
 
 I blessed their aid, and did essay 
 The dangers of that narrow way. 
 73 
 
 ' 
 
Agib 
 
 I found the steps at times so small 
 They scarcely gave support at all, 
 And, right and left, the smooth rock's side 
 Went straightly downward to the tide. 
 And, had there been the weakest breeze, 
 It would have whelmed me in the seas. 
 Thus laboring, to the top I went. 
 And reached it without accident. 
 There, on my knees, my praise was given 
 To Him who rules in earth and Heaven, 
 And tears of gratitude intense 
 I shed for my deliverance. 
 
 A brazen dome next caught my sight. 
 Built on the rugged summit's hight. 
 'Neath this, a brazen courser stood. 
 On which a brazen horseman rode. 
 Under this roof I laid me down. 
 And my hard pillow was a stone; 
 But never, in my Hfe before. 
 Came sweeter sleep my eyelids o'er. 
 For weariness hath power great. 
 Beyond the strongest opiate. 
 And failing Nature's broken power 
 Demands, for sleep's restoring hour, 
 A little space to fill the void 
 Of vital energies destroyed. 
 With freshened life, from day to day. 
 Sleep ever combats with decay. 
 74 
 
Agib 
 
 Worn as I was, the flinty stone 
 Seemed softer than the cygnet's down. 
 
 I dreamed a dream : to me there came 
 A man of aged, tottering frame: 
 "Listen, unhappy prince," said he, 
 "To my directions unto thee. 
 When thou dost wake, dig up the ground 
 Beneath thee, and there will be found 
 One bow of brass, three darts of lead; 
 These take from out their hidden bed. 
 These arrows, from the buried bow. 
 Thou shalt against the statue throw. 
 The brazen man, as soon as struck. 
 Will tumble headlong from the rock 
 And sink beneath the unfathomed sea. 
 The horse himself will fall near thee. 
 Him shalt thou bury in the place 
 Whence thou didst take the bow of brass. 
 And let the ground above his head 
 Be that which hid the darts of lead. 
 That action done, this island drear 
 Will in the ocean disappear. 
 The glorious fame will be thy meed 
 That thou, at last, mankind has freed 
 From this, the terror of the seas. 
 The nucleus of calamities. 
 
 And when the isle has sunk so low 
 That round thy feet the waters flow, 
 75 
 
Agib 
 
 Thou shalt perceive, upon the tide, 
 
 A skiff supported, near thy side. 
 
 Inside shall sit a man of brass. 
 
 With giant frame and hideous face. 
 
 Step thou within the boat, and he 
 
 Will row thee through the unknown sea. 
 
 And, when ten days are passed, will moor 
 
 His vessel to a distant shore, 
 
 From whence thou wilt, with ease, repair 
 
 To thy own land and kindred there. 
 
 But bear one caution in thy soul, 
 
 And keep thy tongue within control. 
 
 While gliding through the crystal flood 
 
 Forbear to speak the name of God. 
 
 In this command, if thou dost fail. 
 
 Thy evil genius will prevail, 
 
 And thou, so late from grief set free. 
 
 Will find a new calamity." 
 
 When I awoke, I turned my hands 
 To carrying out these dread commands. 
 I dug, and found the brazen bow 
 And the three leaden arrows, too. 
 I shot them at the horse of brass, 
 And the whole vision came to pass. 
 And each event it had foretold 
 I did, with wondering eyes, behold. 
 When I had filled the courser's grave 
 The island settled in the wave, 
 76 
 
Agib 
 
 And I beheld the heaving sea 
 Come near and nearer rapidly, 
 Until the mountain's topmost crest 
 Was level with the ocean's breast. 
 Nor failed my dream's prediction here, 
 I saw the expected skiff appear; 
 Within, a brazen oarman rode, 
 And dipped his paddles in the flood. 
 On board I stepped, and took my seat 
 In silence, for my awe was great. 
 I looked around, the isle was gone. 
 The trackless waters wandered on — 
 No land in sight, no mortal nigh, 
 Naught round us but the sea and sky. 
 
 I kept my last command with care, 
 No speech of mine disturbed the air. 
 Fearing that dreaded name might slip, 
 By chance, from my unguarded lip, 
 And that new ills on me would fall, 
 I did forbear to speak at all. 
 And felt that all my safety hung 
 Upon the stillness of my tongue. 
 
 Nine days, my grim companion rowed 
 The skiff along the briny flood. 
 Day and night, and night and day 
 His paddle held unwearied sway. 
 
 77 
 
Agib 
 
 The bending blades still dipped and dipped 
 Their mighty owner never slept. 
 His metal sinews, stiff and strong, 
 Drove fast the gliding bark along. 
 
 The tenth day came; its dawning light 
 
 Revealed an island to our sight. 
 
 I saw the green trees waving there. 
 
 On azure mountains high in air. 
 
 A sudden joy thrilled through my breast. 
 
 ** God's name," I cried, "be ever blest." 
 
 No more I spoke ; the skiff was gone, 
 
 I floundered in the deep alone, 
 
 My brass companion disappeared 
 
 The instant that God's name was heard. 
 
 My hapless fate I did bewail. 
 But yet my courage did not fail. 
 From youth, I had been taught to swim, 
 With ease, along old ocean's brim. 
 So did I here, with skill and force; 
 For land, direct, I shaped my course. 
 And, after swimming many a mile, 
 I safely reached the gloomy isle, 
 Rejoiced, alive and well, to stand 
 Once more upon the yellow sand. 
 Where I had never hoped to be 
 Save when the wild surf of the sea 
 Should cast my lifeless carcass there, 
 To moulder in the wind and air. 
 78 
 
Agib 
 
 Scarce was I from the water clear 
 When I perceived a ship appear. 
 Her prow was turned toward the shore, 
 I knew not what, within, she bore, 
 And I, a stranger to these seas, 
 Might find them friends or enemies; 
 I could not tell, but felt a fear 
 At meeting with these strangers here. 
 A giant tree top I did climb. 
 And, seated on a shady limb, 
 Hidden from view in foliage green, 
 I watched the ship, myself unseen. 
 
 A group of slaves soon came on shore. 
 
 Each one of whom a shovel bore. 
 
 They dug beneath the very tree 
 
 Where I was hid so warily. 
 
 Next, came a man with silvery head, 
 
 And he a youth of beauty led. 
 
 Some slaves with these, whose strong arms 
 
 held 
 Large baskets with provisions filled. 
 And, when the digging was complete, 
 These all descended in the pit. 
 Not long did they protract their stay. 
 But shortly rose and went away. 
 Only the handsome boy remained, 
 By a strong load of earth detained, 
 For ere they went the slaves put down, 
 Above the cavern's mouth, a stone, 
 79 
 
Agib 
 
 And this, with sod, they covered o'er, 
 Till all looked level as before. 
 No sign was left to show that man 
 Had e'er been there since time began. 
 This done, they sought the ship again, 
 And launched upon the crystal main. 
 
 I came, when I perceived them gone, 
 From out my leafy covert, down. 
 The stone and earth I cast aside. 
 Beneath, a flight of stairs I spied. 
 When I descended these, I found 
 A rich apartment underground. 
 The Youth was sitting on a couch, 
 And started at my near approach ; 
 He rose, and with a timid grace. 
 He bid me welcome to the place. 
 
 I caused his every fear to cease, 
 By offering to give release 
 To him, from such confinement vile. 
 On which he asked me, with a smile, 
 To sit down by his side and hear 
 The story of his young career. 
 And why, within this gloomy cave, 
 He dwelt within a living grave. 
 
 My father, sir," said he, ''grew old 
 In trade, that filled his chests with gold, 
 80 
 
Agib 
 
 Until his riches grew immense; 
 Yet it had ne'er pleased Providence 
 To grant him a child to share 
 His vast estate, and be its heir." 
 
 Well nigh had he despaired of this, 
 The climax of his earthly bliss. 
 When I was born. With joy and mirth, 
 They hailed my advent on the earth. 
 But soon, my father's boundless glee 
 Was overcast all gloomily. 
 Magicians came who told, for me, 
 My course through dim futurity. 
 My father's heart beat high with hope 
 When first they cast my horoscope. 
 And rent, with magic art, away 
 The veil from many a coming day. 
 And saw, with mental vision clear, 
 The long array of many a year. 
 This hope soon fled, a sense of ill 
 Began his very soul to thrill. 
 W^hen he perceived the paling face 
 Of every wizard in the place, 
 He saw their reverend heads to shake; 
 It surely must be some mistake. 
 They try again; when all is o'er 
 The same result comes out once more. 
 My tale was told ; let none deny 
 The ruling power of Destiny. 
 81 
 
Agib 
 
 And then, with solemn accents dread, 
 
 The master of Magicians said : 
 
 "Sire, from every evil clear. 
 
 Thy son will reach his fifteenth year. 
 
 That fatal birthday is to be 
 
 The crisis of his destiny. 
 
 If he unharmed, that dismal day, 
 
 Shall see its last beam fade away 
 
 Behind the mountains in the west. 
 
 By length of days he will be blest. 
 
 And he will have the privilege 
 
 Of calm contentment in old age. 
 
 But, at that luckless time, will be 
 
 A most tremendous prodigy, 
 
 The huge black mountain will sink down, 
 
 By wandering Agib overthrown. 
 
 Who will, ere fifty days, destroy 
 
 The life of thy unhappy boy." 
 
 ' My father's heart was ill at ease 
 To hear these doleful auguries. 
 He built this subterranean cell. 
 Where I, unknown, might safely dwell, 
 About the time, my fifteenth year. 
 So big with fate, was drawing near. 
 As time passed on, it rendered less 
 His grief and his uneasiness. 
 But yesterday, by chance, he learned 
 That Agib, ten days since, overturned 
 82 
 
Agib 
 
 The brazen statue, and threw down 
 The mount of adamantine stone." 
 
 To make my fifteenth year complete 
 Just forty days are wanting yet. 
 These things renewed his slumbering fear; 
 With utmost haste he placed me here. 
 Here I remain, with willing mind, 
 For Agib ne'er will think to find 
 His victim underneath the ground. 
 Within a desert island's bound." 
 
 When this fair youth had told to me 
 These details of his history, 
 With thrill of deep surprise, I learned 
 Myself so in his fate concerned, 
 And, in my heart, I did despise 
 Those odious readers of the skies, 
 Who dared predict my hand defiled 
 By blood of this poor, artless child. 
 Whose simple, mild, and winning ways 
 Had warmed my heart with friendship's blaze. 
 I bid him cast aside his fear, 
 For danger ne'er could reach him here. 
 With him I offered to remain 
 Till he should be released again. 
 But I forebore, with watchful care. 
 My real adventures to declare. 
 From naught I said, could he divine 
 That Agib's fatal name was mine. 
 83 
 
Agib 
 
 My offer he with joy received, 
 And we, in that asylum, lived 
 Till nine and thirty days were past. 
 And now the fortieth came at last. 
 The youth rejoiced to think how soon 
 His days of danger would be gone. 
 He bathed, preparing to receive 
 His father, who would soon arrive. 
 Next, being weary, he reclined 
 Upon his couch, some rest to find. 
 
 While thus he lay, he did request 
 A piece of melon; I, the best, 
 At once picked out, but searched, in vain, 
 A knife to cut it, to obtain. 
 "There is one," said he, "above my head, 
 Just on the cornice o'er the bed." 
 I saw, and strove to reach it there, 
 With more of quickness than of care; 
 My feet were caught, alas! for me. 
 Fast in the tangled drapery. 
 Upon the unhappy youth I fell, 
 His breast received the fatal steel. 
 Into his heart the weapon passed ; 
 He screamed, and sighed, and breathed his 
 last. 
 
 No power of language can express 
 My dreadful transports of distress. 
 84 
 
Agib 
 
 I beat my breast, I tore my hair, 
 I wept with sorrow and despair; 
 I flung myself upon the ground. 
 And rolled, as if in frenzy, round. 
 
 A calmer frame of mind returned, 
 Though still the sad event I mourned. 
 The blest reflection came to me 
 That I had urgent need to flee. 
 My case, were I discovered thus, 
 Would be extremely dangerous. 
 The father would full soon appear, 
 And should he find me lurking here, 
 And see his precious idol slain, 
 Expostulation would be vain — 
 The tempest of his wrath would shed 
 Its fury on my wretched head. 
 
 I left the cave ; my footsteps pressed 
 Once more the green earth's blooming breast. 
 It was high time, almost too late, 
 A moment more had sealed my fate. 
 For, as I looked toward the strand, 
 The vessel just had reached the land, 
 And the same group I saw before 
 Were disembarking on the shore. 
 I scarce had time to climb the tree. 
 Which once before had hidden me, 
 Ere the entire party stood 
 Around the underground abode. 
 85 
 
Agib 
 
 Their faces showed the signs of fear, 
 They saw some stranger had been here. 
 The slaves, in haste, descend the pit, 
 And, when they rose again from it. 
 They carried all that now remained 
 Of him, my late, unhappy friend; 
 And, in his breast, the fatal knife 
 That drank the current of his life. 
 Remained, for I had not had sense. 
 In my distress, to draw it thence. 
 At this sad sight, the father fell 
 Prostrate on earth, insensible. 
 The slaves, lamenting, woke the air, 
 Yet I was not least mourner there. 
 The struggling pangs within my breast 
 Were scarce, by sense of fear, represt. 
 
 The weeping slaves grew calm once more. 
 They strove the old man to restore. 
 Their basins quickly they supplied 
 With waters from the cooling tide; 
 On his unconscious face they pour 
 A chill, revivifying shower. 
 And chafe his cold limbs till they show 
 The signs of life's returning glow, 
 And shout into his heedless ear 
 Until, at length, he seems to hear. 
 Hard was their heavy task, nor soon 
 They roused him from that deathly swoon. 
 86 
 
Agib 
 
 At length he rose. They dug a grave 
 
 Not distant from the sounding wave. 
 
 With many a sigh and many a tear, 
 
 The hapless youth they buried there. 
 
 The surf's low music will, for him, 
 
 Be an eternal requiem. 
 
 The gray haired father, whelmed with woe, 
 
 Did the first earth upon him throw. 
 
 It made my heart bleed but to trace 
 
 The hopeless anguish on his face. 
 
 If I had known that my own death 
 
 Had brought his poor child back to breath, 
 
 I would have died, thus to restore 
 
 The mourning sire to peace once more. 
 
 The slaves filled up the grave with speed, 
 
 And leveled it, with pious heed. 
 
 Above the silent sleeper's head. 
 
 And left him in that dreamless bed; 
 
 And, on the boundless sea, departed, 
 
 Bearing their master, broken-hearted. 
 
 I saw the vessel's sails of white. 
 
 In distance, vanish from my sight, 
 
 And drew a long breath of relief. 
 
 Set free from fear, but not from grief. 
 
 My hope had been, that in this ship 
 I would have crossed the pathless deep. 
 To reach my country once again; 
 But fate compelled me to remain. 
 
 87 
 
Agib 
 
 I wandered, for a month or more, 
 That island's isles and mountains o'er. 
 The wild fruits of its forests dense 
 Gave me sufficient sustenance. 
 
 With restless mind, in roving round, 
 A channel in the sea I found. 
 Which seemed the island to divide 
 From land upon the other side, 
 That, from its vastness of extent, 
 I deemed must be the continent. 
 It was so far away its hue 
 Was strongly tinged with airy blue. 
 Yet Hope, long absent from my breast, 
 Returned once more, a welcome guest. 
 I built a kind of raft, or float. 
 And though that shore was far remote. 
 And my weak craft was sadly tossed, 
 I made my way and safely crossed. 
 It was a dangerous deed to do, 
 For strong and swift the current flew. 
 And would have swept me out to sea 
 Had I not struggled manfully. 
 With aching arms and bending oar. 
 To gain the unknown, distant shore. 
 
 New life and vigor warmed my blood, 
 I turned my back upon the flood, 
 And, inland, bent my sturdy way. 
 Long journeying, through the weary day. 
 88 
 
Agib 
 
 Far off, I saw a wondrous glare, 
 Like some huge fire burning there. 
 With joy, I saw, in my advance. 
 These tokens of inhabitants. 
 I reached the spot, where I perceived 
 What I, as fire, first beheved, 
 Was but the bright beams of the sun 
 Upon a copper castle thrown. 
 
 Daylight withdrew her latest smile 
 Just as I reached this stately pile. 
 Its occupants admitted me 
 With kindest hospitality. 
 They were polite and handsome men. 
 And each was young; their number ten. 
 One thing with wonder filled my mind, 
 That each was, in his right eye, blind. 
 A gorgeous room they gave to me, 
 Furnished with every luxury. 
 And, at their courteous request, 
 At supper I became their guest. 
 And, after this, I did narrate 
 The varied story of my fate. 
 The happy evening hours were spent 
 In jokes and songs and merriment. 
 Midnight at last draws near, and still 
 The frequent wine glass we refill. 
 At length one of my hosts arose: 
 "My friends," said he, "our mirth must 
 close ; 
 
 89 
 
Agib 
 
 The time is here, let each one mind 
 Those duties, by our vows, enjoined." 
 
 A sign was given; as quick as thought 
 Ten basins by the slaves were brought, 
 And one of these was placed before 
 Each of my friends (they passed me o'er) ; 
 And when the basin lids were laid 
 Aside, the contents were displayed — 
 A mixture of a novel kind. 
 Ashes and soot and dirt combined. 
 
 This filthy compound, each one smeared 
 Over his forehead, face, and beard. 
 Such vile disfigurement they bore. 
 That each from each I knew no more. 
 Meantime, their sounding breasts they beat, 
 And wail, as if in sorrow great; 
 While from their swollen eyelids flow 
 The briny torrents of their woe; 
 And in the ear-fatiguing noise. 
 Each one exclaimed, with mournful voice, 
 "This is the fruit of our excess. 
 Debauchery, and idleness." 
 
 Long, with their tears and groans and sighs, 
 They still kept up the exercise. 
 At length they cease; the slaves appear, 
 Supply the ten with water clear, 
 90 
 
Agib 
 
 Wherein they washed; their features, 
 
 stained. 
 Once more their native hue regained. 
 With downcast looks, they left my view, 
 And, silent, to their rooms withdrew. 
 
 I, also, to my chamber went. 
 
 But slept not, for astonishment, 
 
 And much I wondered what might mean 
 
 The strange performance I had seen. 
 
 Next morn, I asked the ten, with zeal. 
 
 Their cause of conduct to reveal ; 
 
 I also sought the reason why 
 
 They each one bore a blinded eye. 
 
 A firm refusal they did give. 
 
 Decided, sharp, and positive. 
 
 To my request ; they told me I 
 
 Indulged a curiosity 
 
 That, till my latest day was spent, 
 
 I should, unceasingly, repent. 
 
 Thus flatly silenced, I forebore 
 To broach the hateful subject more. 
 At their request, I whiled away. 
 With them, another pleasant day. 
 And evening came, and supper through. 
 Their dreadful penance they renew; 
 Their faces all are plastered o'er 
 And look as dismal as before; 
 91 
 
Agib 
 
 They beat their breasts, they weep, and cry, 
 And loud lament, with accents high, 
 "This is the fruit of our excess. 
 Debauchery, and idleness." 
 
 But curiosity, within my soul. 
 
 Had not obtained supreme control. 
 
 I fatally resolved to know 
 
 The cause of all this seeming woe. 
 
 Next morn, I asked my hosts again 
 
 Their mystic manners to explain: 
 
 "How is it, friends," said I, "your nights 
 
 Thus close with penitential sights? 
 
 It seems a marvel to my mind. 
 
 That all your number should be blind. 
 
 How is it you are all bereft 
 
 Of the right eye, and not the left? 
 
 Why should not some among your crew 
 
 Be blinded in the left eye, too? 
 
 Or, in the left alone, deprived of sight. 
 
 Enjoy clear vision with the right? 
 
 Your sad afflictions seem to me 
 
 To have such similarity 
 
 That, in my mind, I am impressed 
 
 Your tale would not lack interest." 
 
 One answered, spokesman for the rest: 
 " 'T is out of friendship for a guest 
 That we have thus withheld from thee 
 The meaning of this mystery. 
 92 
 
Agib 
 
 We still advise you to desist; 
 But if, in searching, you persist. 
 We are compelled by Fate to grant 
 The information that you want. 
 This knowledge will be dear in cost, 
 Your right eye will thereby be lost. 
 When thou art blind, hope not to gain 
 Admission to our wretched train, 
 For, as our number is complete, 
 No increase can be made to it. 
 Cease thy request, be warned again 
 While yet the warning is not vain,!" 
 
 Then I held forth: ''You have not here 
 A prince who can be swerved by fear. 
 Whatever Fortune puts me through, 
 No blame can be attached to you. 
 You all have nobly done by me ; 
 On my own head my actions be. 
 Come life or death, come weal or woe, 
 This thing am I resolved to know." 
 
 Seeing advice was thrown away, 
 The ten proceed a sheep to slay ; 
 Next, they stripped off its woolly skin, 
 And quickly sewed me up therein. 
 Ere I was in this prison pent, 
 A knife, to me, they did present. 
 And thus did their directions give: 
 "Prince! it is now our time to leave; 
 93 
 
Agib 
 
 We go, but soon, with searching eye, 
 The roc thy figure will descry, 
 And, thinking you a sheep, will bear 
 Your form supported through the air. 
 Be not alarmed, but, from his flight. 
 When thou perceivest him alight, 
 Swift, with thy knife, rip up the skin 
 And make quick exit from within. 
 Then, on strong winds, ascending high. 
 The roc will vanish in the sky. 
 Then wilt thou see a palace fair. 
 It is thy fate to enter there. 
 We all of us, by turn, have been 
 That wondrous mansion's walls within. 
 But of the adventures that befell 
 Each of us there, we may not tell. 
 Forbid its mysteries to explain. 
 Farewell! we soon may meet again." 
 
 They left me there alone, and soon 
 The mighty roc came swooping down; 
 The roc, a bird of dazzling white. 
 With bulk enormous to the sight, 
 Whose strength, tremendous, can sustain 
 An elephant from off the plain. 
 And lift it to the mountain's crest 
 To make her famished brood's repast. 
 Borne in his talon's grip, I fly 
 A traceless journey through the sky; 
 94 
 
Agib 
 
 At length, he downward bends his flight, 
 I felt him on the ground alight. 
 With quickness, I my knife applied. 
 And stood, once more, on Earth outside. 
 Again, his waving pinions bear 
 His snowy form through middle air. 
 
 Then did I cast my eyes around ; 
 A palace, vast, adorned the ground, 
 Built with more splendor, I believe, 
 Than aught that fancy may conceive. 
 Straight to its gates I went, and there 
 Was met by forty ladies fair, 
 Gayly attired, one and all, 
 In rich and rare material. 
 
 They led me to a spacious hall. 
 
 Each door that lined its gorgeous wall 
 
 Was framed in carved and curious mould, 
 
 And formed of solid, burnished gold, 
 
 Beset with gems ; large diamonds clear, 
 
 With rubies interspersed, appear 
 
 Over the panels, till the sight 
 
 Grows weary with excess of light ; 
 
 And everything within the place 
 
 Was framed for beauty and for grace. 
 
 Arrived herein, they gave to me. 
 Though I opposed with modesty, 
 A seat exalted o'er their own, 
 A seat as splendid as a throne, 
 95 
 
Agib 
 
 And thus, with charming words, they say: 
 "Thy reign o'er us begins to-day. 
 We are but slaves, you are our lord, 
 And we obey your slightest word. 
 What e'er your regal mind may crave. 
 By merely asking, you shall have." 
 
 Naught could surpass the constant care 
 Of these young girls, of beauty rare. 
 In serving me ; a feast divine 
 They serve, with fruit and sparkling wine. 
 And, after this, my giddy brain 
 With amorous songs they entertain, 
 And ply their limbs in many a dance 
 With easy grace and elegance. 
 
 Next day was in like manner spent. 
 In music, dancing, merriment. 
 In banqueting, and drinking wine — 
 A Paradise of bliss was mine. 
 My fair companions all obeyed 
 Each wish of mine, as soon as made. 
 Their easy virtue could not well 
 Be deemed as any obstacle. 
 At least, I found, opposed to me. 
 It never gained the victory. 
 In such a life my days flew on 
 Until, at length, the year was gone. 
 I grew, confirmed in vice and wine. 
 An idle, drunken libertine. 
 96 
 
Agib 
 
 One day, when I had closed the year, 
 I saw my forty friends appear 
 In my apartments. With surprise, 
 I saw their red and swollen eyes, 
 And they, in measureless distress. 
 Embraced me with deep tenderness, 
 And, while their tears like raindrops fell. 
 They bid to me a last farewell. 
 
 I did conjure them to explain 
 The cause of all this mental pain. 
 And why they were about to leave 
 Me there alone, to pine and grieve. 
 One of my friends replied to me. 
 That they were all obliged to be 
 Absent afar, until the sun 
 Should forty revolutions run. 
 On duties that they would not tell. 
 But which were indispensable. 
 And that their grief arose from fear 
 That I no more would meet them here. 
 "But this depends," continued she, 
 "Upon yourself entirely. 
 The hall adjacent you will find. 
 With doors, a full one hundred, lined. 
 We are compelled to leave the keys 
 Under your care, which open these. 
 And of these rooms are ninety-nine 
 Thou mayst explore, if thou incline, 
 97 
 
Agib 
 
 While we are gone, and thou shalt find 
 Things rare and wondrous to thy mind 
 Within their walls ; but do beware 
 Of the dread hundredth portal there — 
 That is the fatal Golden door — 
 Ope that, and we shall meet no more. 
 It is the fear, lest you should be 
 O'ercome by curiosity, 
 To do this most unlucky thing. 
 That causes all our sorrowing." 
 
 I did embrace them all, much moved 
 To find myself so greatly loved. 
 I gave them my best thanks for this, 
 To me, most flattering distress. 
 With solemn vows, I did declare 
 That all the riches earth might bear 
 Would no inducement give to me 
 For losing their society, 
 By breaking their commands; I swore 
 I would avoid the Golden door. 
 And always pass its entrance by 
 In haste, and with averted eye. 
 From them, the hundred keys I took. 
 With many a backward, lingering look 
 They spoke again their last adieu, 
 And vanished from my longing view. 
 My tears gushed forth w^hen they were gone 
 And I was left once more alone. 
 98 
 
Agib 
 
 My time, till now, had passed away 
 In such a round of pleasures gay 
 That I had felt no wish, before. 
 This wondrous mansion to explore. 
 I now had leisure — forty days — 
 Wherein to search the unknown place. 
 And full access to ninety-nine 
 Apartments, strange and dark, was mine. 
 With wonders filled, that none might guess. 
 And I resolved, with earnestness, 
 That actual sight should gratify 
 My restless curiosity. 
 
 It would be tedious, long to tell. 
 If it were even possible. 
 Of all the various things my eye 
 In these apartments did descry. 
 All that in Nature is most fair, 
 Or elegant in Art, was there, 
 Supremely perfect; and the floor 
 With precious heaps was covered o'er. 
 The wealth in jewels, and in gold. 
 Could not by mortal tongue be told. 
 The wonders, room by room, increased. 
 And each, by turn, I thought the best. 
 The immense collection was so vast 
 That nine and thirty days had past. 
 During my exploration, through 
 The rooms I was allowed to view. 
 99 
 
Agib 
 
 The sight of this enormous treasure 
 Elated me beyond all measure. 
 I felt that it was all my own, 
 And when I thought how very soon 
 My gay companions would return, 
 And bid my spirit cease to mourn, 
 My heart, beneath its sense of bliss, 
 Was all dissolved in tenderness. 
 
 That time was near — one short day more- 
 One door remained — the fatal door — 
 Whose untouched lock withheld from me 
 Something I wished, yet feared, to see. 
 Since my companions went away 
 I ventured near it but by day. 
 And if, while lingering in the hall, 
 I saw the shades of twilight fall, 
 While nigh the accursed spot I stood, 
 A kind of shiver chilled my blood, 
 And I have left the place, so fast 
 That I did smile at my own haste. 
 It was not cowardice, for I 
 Had tested well my bravery. 
 But there was something in the power 
 Of darkness and the lonely hour. 
 And the sad place, that did suggest 
 Drear fancies to disturb my breast. 
 I even exercised a care 
 That night should not o'ertake me there. 
 100 
 
Agib 
 
 But curiosity, with iron sway, 
 Governed my mind that woeful day. 
 My conscience whispered, 't was a sin 
 To break my vows for all within 
 The gloomy place, and still 
 I did not have the strength of will, 
 By weak desires hurried on, 
 To let the accursed lock alone. 
 Like him who feels, in evil hour. 
 The serpent's fascinating power. 
 And gazes on its glittering eye. 
 Deprived of strength to fight or fly, 
 Till, roused from his enchanted mood, 
 He feels its poison in his blood. 
 
 So gazed I on the door forbid. 
 And wondered what behind lay hid. 
 Determination came to me. 
 And boldly I applied the key, 
 But shivered, with a sudden shock, 
 To hear the starting of the lock. 
 The door flew open, and a smell. 
 Too strong, although agreeable. 
 Rushed from the place. The fragrant scent 
 Made me unnerved, grow sick and faint. 
 I rallied soon, but gave no heed 
 To this dread warning, but, instead, 
 Resolved to be deterred no more, 
 I promptly entered through the door. 
 101 
 
Agib 
 
 The scent remained still strong, but I 
 No more felt ill effects thereby. 
 Among the many curious things 
 That filled my mind with wonderings, 
 Was a fine horse, with golden curb, 
 Caparisoned in style superb. 
 His stately head he carried high, 
 And fire glittered in his eye. 
 Lithe were his limbs ; he had a form 
 Endowed with every equine charm. 
 
 I led him forth so that the light 
 Might better bring his points to sight. 
 I mounted on his back, and would 
 Have urged him forward, but he stood 
 In stubborn balkiness, when I, 
 In anger, did the lash apply. 
 No sooner did he feel the stroke, 
 Than forth, in hideous sounds, he broke 
 A neigh between a bray and yell, 
 Ne'er heard I aught so horrible. 
 And swift, extending from his side 
 Wings, till that moment unspied. 
 He spurned the ground, and, mounting high, 
 Bore me in terror to the sky. 
 My self-possession still remained, 
 And firmly I my seat retained. 
 102 
 
Agib 
 
 At length, the flying steed, again 
 Descending, seeks the level plain. 
 We lighted on a terrace, where 
 A lofty castle loomed in air. 
 Then did he, furious, plunge and rear. 
 I tried dismounting, in my fear, 
 But was not quick enough ; the horse 
 Hurled me to earth with stunning force. 
 And having, with his tail, struck out 
 My right eye, on his pinions stout, 
 High, in the boundless fields of air, 
 He flew, and left me wailing there 
 On that lone terrace, for the woe 
 My thoughtless acts had brought me to. 
 
 The castle, where I thus came down, 
 I soon discovered was the one 
 From which the roc had carried me. 
 And soon I was rejoiced to see 
 The kindly ten. My fate I told, 
 And all its wonders did unfold. 
 But neither, by their lips or eyes, 
 Gave they a token of surprise. 
 The tale was old, for every one 
 Had through the same adventure run. 
 And all the bliss I could reveal 
 It had been theirs, by turn, to feel; 
 And all the evils I had past 
 They, too, had borne, from first to last. 
 103 
 
Agib 
 
 They mourned my sorrow, and, for me. 
 
 Wept tears of genuine sympathy, 
 
 Lamenting that their train, complete, 
 
 Could no addition bear to it. 
 
 They bid me turn my weary feet 
 
 To seek the court of Bagdad great, 
 
 Where one, unknown, would meet with me 
 
 Who would decide my destiny. 
 
 So I resolved : this garb of woe 
 
 Over my shoulders I did throw. 
 
 And started on the road, before, 
 
 A weary journey, long and sore, 
 
 Sad as a pilgrimage, or flight. 
 
 And, with this evening's setting light, 
 
 I saw the mosque spires shoot in air. 
 
 Reflecting back the dying glare. 
 
 Such is my tale, and to my thought 
 
 You all have listened, as you ought. 
 
 And I have seen the silent tear 
 
 Stain some fair cheeks around me here. 
 
 It renders my deep sorrow less 
 
 When beauty mourns at my distress. 
 
 But, with to-morrow's earliest ray, 
 To the Divan I wend my way. 
 Where I will cast myself before 
 Illustrious Haroun, and implore 
 The aid he knows not to deny 
 To strangers in adversity. 
 
 Cincinnati, August, 1867 
 
 104 
 
Lawyer — 
 
 Why do n't you hold your head erect and true 
 In the world, as I can do? 
 
 Farmer — 
 
 Brother! see yon field of grain 
 That stretches o'er the smiling plain, 
 The well-filled heads are bent with weight. 
 But empty ones are standing straight. 
 
 Fairmount, February, 1868 
 
 Wsst Past 
 
 You remember, dear Jennie, how darkly the night 
 
 Fell over the blue hill at even, 
 When the stars twinkled forth in their pale silver 
 light. 
 
 And the moon was a crescent in heaven. 
 
 That hillside is fair as it ever was then. 
 
 The sunset is gilding the sky, 
 But the nights that we passed there will never 
 return. 
 
 And I think of the past with a sigh. 
 
 1856 
 
 105 
 
Eicfiarb 
 
 Richard is an awful lad, 
 He has been, from childhood, bad. 
 He lies drunk all night, full oft, 
 In some ditch or stable loft. 
 Drunken brawls are his delight. 
 Though he seldom wins the fight. 
 Oft his mouth and eyes and nose 
 Bear the print of sturdy blows. 
 Richard smokes, and Richard chews. 
 He his mother does abuse. 
 
 Richard's temper 's not the best, 
 Wrath is ready in his breast. 
 Cross him once, and you will see 
 What a snarling cur is he. 
 If his collar fits not fair 
 He will it to tatters tear. 
 When he can't get on his shoes, 
 Damnation's self seems broken loose 
 He will curse and swear, until 
 It will make your blood run chill. 
 
 Richard is light fingered, too. 
 Skillful thieving he can do; 
 He can steal your pocketbook 
 Right beneath your very look. 
 Richard is not fond of work, 
 Duty he will always shirk. 
 106 
 
Richard 
 
 Truth, he will but seldom tell 
 When a lie will serve as well. 
 He is always seen to go 
 With the vicious and the low. 
 
 Richard, like a rake profound, 
 Ruins all the girls around; 
 Black or white, or rich or poor. 
 None from Richard are secure. 
 Spavined hag, and filthy jade. 
 Can not make him feel afraid, 
 Though with foul infection fraught. 
 Death and hell he sets at naught. 
 In all ways he does contrive 
 To be the meanest man alive. 
 
 Richard takes the Devil's eye, 
 Nick will get him by arid by. 
 When he has him safe in hell. 
 He will roast him long and well. 
 He will tie him to a stake, 
 Richard then will quail and quake 
 When he sees the imps prepare 
 Brimstone heaps, to roast him there. 
 He will tell the Devil, then. 
 How, if he could try again. 
 He would keep his morals clear. 
 Day by day, and year by year. 
 He will beg one trial more, 
 (Hell has heard that tune before). 
 107 
 
To Mary G 
 
 Nick, with grin benign, will say: 
 ''Richard, you have had your day, 
 No one made you enter here, 
 The road to heaven was just as clear. 
 You plucked Pleasure's flowers gay, 
 Now the thorns come into play. 
 You the left hand road have tried. 
 Now you must results abide. 
 You are settled in your state. 
 Your repentance comes too late." 
 "Rouse him, devils! warm him through, 
 Let him see what you can do. 
 We will teach the lad, ere long, 
 What is right, and what is wrong. 
 For such fellows, Hell must spare 
 The best upon his bill of fare. 
 Fan the fire, and heap the coal!" 
 Lord have mercy on his soul ! 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 tEDo iWarp # 
 
 O Mary, you are pretty! 
 
 You are almost divine! 
 Why can you not have pity 
 
 And say you will be mine? 
 
 Cincinnati, 1853 
 
 108 
 
Nancy is a fickle maid — 
 
 She changes every day; 
 One hour, all her heart is here, 
 
 The next, 't is far away. 
 I 'd sooner trust the April skies, 
 
 Which either frown or shine, 
 When seas of blue across them fly 
 And stormy tempests rage on high, 
 
 Than think that she were mine. 
 
 1859 
 
 Acrostic to a WWky #las;g 
 
 Who loves not his daily dram. 
 He is hardly worth a damn. 
 I, with him, can ne'er agree; 
 Sober chaps, I hate to see; 
 Keen they feel Misfortune's blow. 
 Yet a gill would ease their woe. 
 
 Give to me a social throng; 
 Let us drink the whole night long. 
 And care, disgusted, will depart; 
 Sell the whole world for a song; 
 Still we '11 all be gay in heart. 
 
 February, 1868 
 
 109 
 
parson (^ap 
 
 I AM a handsome peasant girl, 
 
 Not over wise, they say. 
 And as I walked in yonder glen, 
 
 I met with parson Gay. 
 O, parson Gay! he has a school, 
 
 A sort of female college. 
 I ween the lassies who go there 
 
 Get some queer kinds of knowledge. 
 
 The sly, ensnaring parson, 
 
 His soul is full of art; 
 He wears the garb of Virtue, 
 
 But Vice is in his heart. 
 
 He sat me down upon a bank, 
 
 He said he long had loved me. 
 And he was such a handsome man. 
 
 That much his speeches moved me. 
 He said that he would marry me, 
 
 Ere autumn's blast would whistle. 
 He wronged me of my virtue, next, 
 
 Beside yon hedge of thistle. 
 
 The sly, ensnaring parson, 
 
 His soul is full of art; 
 He wears the garb of Virtue, 
 
 But Vice is in his heart. 
 
 110 
 
Acrostic — Cincinnati 
 
 I Ve a notion to expose him here, 
 
 To all the population. 
 But ah! he is a man who owns 
 
 A spotless reputation. 
 And, if I told this tale on him, 
 
 No person would believe me; 
 They'd swear the parson could not be 
 
 The man who did deceive me. 
 
 The sly, ensnaring parson, 
 
 His soul is full of art. 
 He wears the garb of Virtue, 
 
 But Vice is in his heart. 
 
 Fair mount, February, 1868 
 
 ^cros^tic— Cincinnati 
 
 City, noblest in the thriving West, 
 
 In thee, may Virtue fix her lasting rest. 
 
 Ne'er, from thy streets, may busy Trade depart. 
 
 Courage and Culture, Science, Wealth, and Art, 
 
 In thy broad confines may they ever dwell. 
 
 Ne'er may dark Vice, and Misery, fell, 
 
 Nurture their brood of Crimes in thee. 
 
 Afar thy gates, let Sloth and Ignorance flee, 
 
 Till all thy rival cities 'round shall own, 
 
 In CiviHzation's race, the prize is thine alone. 
 
 February, 1868 
 111 
 
W\)tvt f ennie ^seb to Btoell 
 
 The gate is from its hinges rent, 
 
 The wall is overthrown, 
 My voice but makes the place appear 
 
 More desolate and lone. 
 The autumn weeds are rank and high, 
 
 And screen the broken well. 
 The long grass whistles in the wind 
 
 Where Jennie used to dwell. 
 
 And there the yellow sunflower waves 
 
 Aloft its golden flowers. 
 And the prickly gympsum's snowy bell 
 
 Unfolds in autumn hours. 
 On every stone the moss is green. 
 
 The bat here builds her cell. 
 Beneath the thistle coils the snake 
 
 Where Jennie used to dwell. 
 
 And she is gone, whose smile once made 
 
 The sunlight of my heart. 
 And fate, with cruel hand, hath torn 
 
 Our destinies apart. 
 And still, my memory seeks the place 
 
 That saw our last farewell, 
 My heart inhabits still the spot 
 
 Where Jennie used to dwell. 
 
 112 
 
The Moon and the Pilgrim 
 
 They tell of Eastern palaces, 
 
 Supremely rich and grand, 
 Whose gardens bloom, like Paradise, 
 
 Around, on every hand. 
 More dear to me, yon roofless cot. 
 
 The wall and weed choked well ; 
 There love has built his sacred shrine, 
 
 Where Jennie used to dwell. 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 W^t ilDon anb tl^e pilgrim 
 
 Pilgrim: 
 
 Pale wanderer thro' a desert sky. 
 Where hast thou a home on high? 
 
 Moon: 
 
 Where the heaven's blue walls descend. 
 There my wanderings do not end, 
 Homeless, and without a friend. 
 
 Pilgrim: 
 
 Thou, like me, art cold and lone, 
 Home and friendship from me gone; 
 Thro' the world I wander on, 
 None to love, or hold me dear. 
 Few to hate, and few to fear — 
 Joyless, in a barren sphere. 
 
 1859 
 
 113 
 
Jfirgt of 
 
 Spring has clad the blooming lea, 
 Sunshine gilds the level sea; 
 Loosed from Winter's chains, the stream 
 Tempts us to its banks to dream. 
 
 Young leaves, on the branches spring, 
 Birds, through all the woodlands, sing; 
 From a thousand feathered throats 
 Gladness pours her sweetest notes; 
 
 But those strains, within my mind 
 No responsive echoes find. 
 Jennie seeks a distant shore. 
 Far beyond Old Ocean's roar. 
 I will never cease to mourn 
 Till she shall again return. 
 
 Jennie, when you safely stand 
 In the far-off stranger's land. 
 Will the image haunt thy mind 
 Of one whom thou hast left behind? 
 
 Time, that can the granite wear, 
 Soon will dim thy love, I fear. 
 Thou wilt never more be mine, 
 Still, I am forever thine. 
 Thou art lost to me, as though 
 Cruel Death had laid thee low, 
 And the chill, damp sods were spread 
 Darkly round thy narrow bed. 
 Where shall I another find 
 Half as simple, fair, and kind? 
 114 
 
A Reply 
 
 What care I for fresh 'ning spring? 
 Let the feathered songsters sing, 
 They will fail, with vocal art, 
 To banish sorrow from my heart. 
 Pensive here, I wander on, 
 Loneliest among the lone. 
 I am like yon blasted tree — 
 Lifeless, looming o'er the lea; 
 Bare, its withered boughs are seen. 
 While all else is gay and green. 
 
 Cincinnati, May, 1866 
 
 a ieieplp 
 
 A DOCTOR told a lady fair, 
 
 That if the women ever were 
 
 Allowed in Paradise to dwell. 
 
 Their tongues would make the place a hell. 
 
 ''And if," said she, with face aglow, 
 "Some smart physicians that I know 
 Shall practice in that country fair, 
 Their art would make a desert there." 
 
 January, 1868 
 
 115 
 
Vtijt Ktap for Vtnn^ 
 
 Opening Lines 
 
 When Venus first from Ocean sprung, 
 She rose among the Houri throng, 
 Who led her to the Cyth'ron isle. 
 Where endless Summer wears her smile. 
 From thence to heaven, where ardent Jove 
 Beheld her with the eyes of love. 
 The maid was in youth's earliest prime, 
 And lovelier than her own green clime. 
 Sweet Cythera, what marvel then 
 That gods, of finer sense than men, 
 Enamored of angelic grace, 
 Should give it a celestial place ! 
 
 Not in the heart of Jove alone 
 The light of passion shone. 
 But all the powers of the sky 
 Looked on their god with jealousy. 
 They uttered not their deep distress, 
 For silence dwells with hopelessness. 
 But there was one, whose manly breast 
 Held deeper love than all the rest. 
 And she loved him, tho' not a word 
 From the other's lips had either heard. 
 
 116 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 Scene 1 
 
 RECITAVO 
 
 'T was in the heavenly fields above, 
 The kingdoms of almighty Jove, 
 Just as the early light of day 
 First on the earth began to play, 
 Stern Vulcan by his forge fire stood. 
 And loud his heaving bellows blowed. 
 The unwrought piece was all ablaze. 
 He viewed it with attentive gaze. 
 In that rough piece, his artist eye 
 Bright forms of beauty could descry; 
 Perhaps, a graceful sword or tempered spear, 
 Or armor that a god might wear. 
 But a low footstep strikes his ear. 
 He turns and sees his monarch there. 
 
 {Jove enters.) 
 
 Jupiter — 
 
 Out ! thou miserable abortion ! hence ! 
 
 Thou miscreated piece, contrived 
 
 Of devlish machinery, for a thing of soul 
 
 I can not call thee, for thou dost 
 
 All of thy deeds as an automaton. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 What is thy cause of anger? I 
 Have nothing done to merit it. 
 117 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Jupiter — 
 
 Now, fellow, thou art much too quick 
 At feigning in'cence, yet 't is true 
 No act of thine is worthy blame 
 Since first you came among us here 
 In heaven. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 
 Wherefore, then, 
 Do you thus rail? 
 
 Jove — 
 
 It is because 
 Thy crooked, square backed form 
 Hath grown to be a by-word and a jeer 
 Throughout all heaven. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 
 And yet. 
 My monarch, thou dost know 
 That had the forming of myself 
 Been by myself, I would have been 
 Fairer than any of those starry worlds 
 That trace the deep blue ether sea 
 Under the floor of heaven. 
 
 Jove — 
 
 I know 
 Thy cunning skill. 
 
 118 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Vulcan- 
 
 Thou dost Indeed. It would be strange 
 For any eye of god or man to see unmoved 
 Yon seats that line the crystal walls 
 (Each God hath one, and they are made 
 To glide self-driven from their stations, 
 Biding their owners' word). (And then, 
 You've seen divine Achilles' shield. 
 Where is the work of art will stand 
 And not be dazzled into darkness 
 By its refulgent beauty!) 
 
 Jove — 
 
 Prate no more 
 Of thy consummate skill. We all well know 
 Thou hast the gift of ideality, but this 
 Is not for what I came, at least not all. 
 I bring another message, (though the sight 
 Of thy lame ugliness oft makes me curse, 
 Till I forget all else.) 
 
 Vulcan — 
 
 Speak it out then! 
 
 Jove — 
 
 I '11 tell thee, we, the immortal gods, 
 Last night, in council, sat around 
 Those tables thou hast made, and we 
 Were planning the affairs of men below, 
 119 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Dooming proud kingdoms unto death, 
 And giving over blooming realms 
 That they might be Destruction's prey, 
 Ordaining how, in the lone desert wild. 
 Fair cities from the flinty plains should 
 
 spring. 
 And mingle with the azure sky 
 Of tropic climes, their sun-clad towers; 
 Or casting lot, which would be best 
 For earth's affairs, if Troy or Greece 
 Should in the present struggle fall, 
 When, suddenly, young Mars arose, 
 Who is, as you are well aware, 
 The god who, chief, presides 
 O'er hostile arms and bloody fields. 
 He said, his eye beheld afar 
 A golden age, when men should cease 
 From troubling with each other, when 
 The warrior's tempered sword should be 
 Transformed into the iron share. 
 Then earth shall yield the fairest fruits. 
 That Summer, when she tempts the earth 
 By smiles and tears, can draw 
 From out their dwelling in the darkened 
 
 mold. 
 Then shall the pageantry of war 
 Cease to allure the toiling shepherd swain 
 From his own craggy mountain side, 
 Changing his hard lot for a worse. 
 To fall beneath the skillful blow 
 120 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Of one, who murders him for hire, 
 
 In the arena of the amphitheatre. 
 
 Far from his friend. (No pitying tear 
 
 Fall on his mangled form ; a shallow grave 
 
 Is all that saves him from the beak 
 
 Of the dark-plumed vulture of the cliff.) 
 
 Vulcan — 
 Most happy change ! What more? 
 
 Jove — 
 
 No more the mother's aged eyes 
 Shall weep at parting with her boy. 
 The crimson fields of strife shall grow 
 To their first greenness 'neath the trees. 
 Whose leaves were shattered by the stroke 
 Of swift projectiles; youths and maids 
 Shall whisper love to one another, 
 While not an eye is near to view, 
 Save, on the Sky, the blinking stars 
 And the round moon. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 O Fate, be blessed! 
 That brings to mortals so much peace! 
 
 Jove — 
 
 Not peace alone, but burning love 
 And generous friendship; man with man 
 121 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Shall deeply sympathize; the thing 
 That wakes emotions in the breast of one 
 Shall wake the self-same feelings in 
 The hearts of all his fellows; as 
 When in the deep, immeasurable sea, 
 The smallest pebble alone is cast, 
 The circling waves alike are stirred 
 From continent to continent, 
 And even to the frozen pole, 
 Their hearts shall be all one, 
 Close knit, even as your skillful hand 
 Makes two white-heated iron bars 
 Unite in perfect union. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 
 When 
 Did our fierce war god say 
 That golden age should be? 
 
 Jove — 
 
 'T is near, 
 But first the Grecian arms must win 
 In many a well-fought field ; the walls 
 Of Troy must first be leveled low. 
 And strangers rule in Priam's halls. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 The walls of Troy will bear, unhurt. 
 The fiery brands and darts of Greece. 
 122 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Jove — 
 
 Mars feared these things; he said, 
 The Greeks, with their untempered blades 
 And ill-erected enginery, will never 
 Bear up against the warrior hosts 
 That mighty Priam's mandate sends. 
 All masked, from out the brazen gates 
 Of still unconquered Troy. 
 
 Vulcan — . , , 
 
 And how 
 
 Can, then, that golden age arrive? 
 
 Jove — 
 
 But Greece will conquer yet, tho* now 
 Her fallen fortunes seem to be 
 Presage of inglorious rout, and death, 
 And terrible defeat, yet we. 
 Our war god says, that we 
 Must strengthen, that she may have 
 The power to conquer Troy; and thou. 
 He said, with thy deep craft and skill, 
 Wouldst make a cunning teacher, 
 If thou wouldst leave the upper realms, 
 Bending your course to earth, a while 
 To dwell with mortals. 
 
 Vulcan — ,^,, 
 
 When 
 
 Was it e'er heard a God went down 
 
 And sunk his dignity so low, 
 
 123 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 As being teacher of a common trade 
 Unto a lower race? 
 
 Jove — 
 
 But I command. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 And to obey thee, is my joy, 
 But this I will not do, although 
 Thou art my king. 
 
 Jove — 
 
 Hence with thee! 
 Hie thee down to terrors there. 
 And teach the mortals of that sullen isle, 
 To frame their bows of azure steel. 
 Tempered to springiness ; and let them know 
 A way to tip their feathery arrows 
 With deadly points. Give them the art 
 To forge the softened iron, and the steel, 
 In such proportion, that the blades. 
 Which, from the mixture, are drawn out 
 Beneath artistic blows, may bend 
 From point to hilt, in one round circle. 
 Incapable of breaking; such as shall 
 In days long hence, give such a fame 
 To a rich Asian city, called Damascus ! 
 
 124 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 Vulcan — 
 Thus would I love to do. But never, yet, 
 I '11 leave these blessed fields of heaven 
 For that dull spot of earth. 
 
 Jove — 
 
 Your back 
 Is lifted up against me. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 
 I will not 
 Obey your mandate in this thing. 
 
 Jove — 
 
 Thou hunch-back beast, how darest thou 
 Thus stand before me, face to face. 
 And, in thy coarse, contemptuous style, 
 Thus baffle me! You "will not!" 
 I beg your pardon, we shall see, anon. 
 Whether you will or wont. But first, 
 To edify you, let me say: Last night 
 I passed eternal banishment 
 Upon you. 
 
 Vulcan — 
 And for what was that done? 
 
 Jove — 
 Why, did I curse thee, when I first 
 Caught sight of thee this morning? 
 125 
 
The Trap for Venus 
 
 recitavo 
 
 Vulcan Cast Out of Heaven 
 
 Rapidly was Vulcan sent 
 
 Downward through the firmament. 
 
 His course was full as swift and far 
 
 As a summer shooting star. 
 
 He saw the realms of mighty Jove 
 
 Metling into space above. 
 
 It was morning, when he first 
 
 From the upper regions burst, 
 
 And the evening shadows, brown, 
 
 Were already coming down 
 
 When the green earth came in sight, 
 
 Gilt by Sol's receding light. 
 
 He gave one shrill shriek of pain 
 
 As he struck the grassy plain. 
 
 Then, all stunned, he breathless lay 
 
 Till the twilight died away, 
 
 And pale Luna's tender eyes 
 
 Smiled upon him from the skies. 
 
 1858 
 
 126 
 
^ons of tfje i^emnian ^fjepfjerbs 
 
 (from the trap for venus) 
 
 We are shepherd laddies free, 
 Whose lives are passed in gaiety. 
 Our hearts are free from every care, 
 Sorrow hath no corner there. 
 A crown is but a gilded thing, 
 And riches have a secret wing, 
 Wherewith, in evil hour, they fly 
 And let their vain dependent die. 
 The shining dross is hardly gained. 
 And, with still greater toil, retained. 
 The free and joyous shepherd mind 
 Is not by ties of gold confined. 
 Within his cabin, dwelling lone, 
 He covets not a monarch's throne. 
 And, Nature's nobleman, looks down. 
 Full oft, on him that wears a crown. 
 When slowly sinks the Western sun, 
 And the harvest day is done — 
 When each heavy-loaded wain 
 Drives from off the leveled plain, 
 With our wives and sweethearts fair. 
 Sitting on yon hillock, there. 
 Heedless of the evening gale, 
 We gayly quaff the dark brown ale — 
 Hoping each other peace and rife 
 And immunity from strife, 
 127 
 
A Successful Invocation 
 
 Blest content and perfect health, 
 And every other joy but wealth. 
 Our maidens, they are kind and true, 
 And pure as yonder ether blue. 
 They do not love for wealth or fame. 
 For beauty or a titled name — 
 But strongest love lies in their breast 
 For him alone who loves them best. 
 Thus, our peaceful days are spent 
 In a heartfelt, calm content, 
 And we are shepherd laddies free, 
 Whose lives are past in gayety. 
 
 S ^utttmul iniiocation 
 
 Unfriendly ice, beneath my weight 
 You find your strength is not too great. 
 Ye Gods! if prayers can safely win, 
 I pray you let me not break in. 
 O! now I go, outrageous luck 
 Ordains that I should have a duck. 
 Aforesaid Gods! extend your arm 
 And help me, lest I meet with harm. 
 All thanks! I need your aid no more 
 My feet, at last, have reached the shore. 
 
 1857 
 
 128 
 
%\nt6 
 
 Ring the bells and shout alarms! 
 Children, soldiers, to your arms! 
 Oppression's brow begins to lower, 
 Arm in haste, and rise in power! 
 And show your love of liberty ! 
 
 Look, behold! What meets the sight? 
 Whence doth come yon lurid light? 
 With fire and sword, on every side, 
 Our land is wasted far and wide. 
 And must we suffer tamely? 
 
 No! to your arms! fear ye not shame? 
 Drive back invaders whence they came, 
 And show, to every land on earth. 
 What your own native land is worth 
 For patriotic chivalry! 
 
 And soon Columbia's isle shall smile 
 In Freedom's ray of glory, while 
 No other clime can boast a name 
 Higher on the rolls of Fame, 
 For love of home and liberty! 
 
 November, 1853 
 
 129 
 
Mlapalapan 
 
 The Spanish Camp 
 
 Stern Volcan lifts her airy head, 
 With its eternal glaciers spread — 
 The winds howl round each shattered peak, 
 A wintry cadence, cold and bleak, 
 And clouds, condensed in upper air, 
 Unfold their misty curtains there. 
 And gathering gloom begins to creep 
 From the dark valleys up the steep. 
 The long, warm southern day is done — 
 And dimly sets the Summer sun. 
 Far down upon the level plain. 
 The forest held a lawless train 
 Of every grade, and every kind — 
 Some were luxurious and refined. 
 While others — formed of coarser stuff — 
 Both were, in mind and manners, rough. 
 The camp fire casts its yellow ray 
 Through the shadows, dull and grey. 
 Dispelling half the gloom of night. 
 Flashed on, by the changing light, 
 Many a soldier lay in rest, 
 With his mantle on his breast, 
 And his weapons by his side — 
 The sword, whose temper has been tried, 
 And the broad and massive shield. 
 Which — full often — has repelled 
 130 
 
ISTLAPALAPAN 
 
 The edges of an angry foe, 
 
 Or skillful spearman's well-aimed blow. 
 
 A Soldier's Song 
 
 My home was on the Guadalquiver, 
 Spain's lovely and romantic river — 
 Its current ran before our door, 
 Not three rods from its verdant shore. 
 Fresh teardrops dim my aged eye 
 When all the joys of infancy 
 Rush back upon my inner view 
 As lovely as in Fancy's golden hue — 
 So lovely, that they seem to me. 
 Of present ills, a mockery. 
 I see the friends I knew and loved — 
 With whom the forest depths I roved. 
 But all of these are dead and gone, 
 I know not now a single one ; 
 I am the last, and here, alone, 
 Far distant from my native land, 
 I wander with a motley band. 
 Whose only wish and only sigh 
 Is gold and immortality. 
 The future prospect, too, is drear, 
 Murmurs of discontent I hear. 
 Dissensions in the camp arise 
 As to who owns the shining prize — 
 And Hope, and Love, and Friendship fly, 
 While Hatred reigns, and Mutiny. 
 131 
 
 \ 
 
To Alice H — - 
 
 And fast, our comrades sink below 
 The missiles of an outraged foe. 
 From Famine and from Hardship, some 
 Have sought the silence of the tomb — 
 And, one by one, they drop away, 
 Like Summer leaflets, green and gay, 
 When grey November, chill and drear. 
 Brings down the Autumn of the year. 
 And I shall share their luckless fate 
 And rest from trouble, soon or late. 
 Fair, Fair Guadalquiver, now adieu! 
 No more I scan thy waters blue. 
 And vine-robed hills of sunny Spain, 
 Which I shall never tread again. 
 
 1858 
 
 tKo ^licc W 
 
 Coming thro' the shades last night, 
 Was n't the high moon clear and bright? 
 The scene was so surpassing fair, 
 I could have lingered later there, 
 
 Till the silver stars would set. 
 But had some curious eyes have seen us. 
 We might have felt like Mars and Venus 
 
 When trapped in jealous Vulcan's net. 
 
 1858 
 
 132 
 
^crogtic— iliUcreefe pottomg 
 
 Muddy and filthy, overflowing brook, 
 I know no stream less picturesque in look. 
 Lord! if our City Council would but make 
 Levees along thy shores, for Beauty's sake! 
 
 Glad in sough weeds, the bottom lands appear, 
 Rising Ohio floods them every year. 
 Enterprise and labor might these wastes reclaim, 
 Enormous buildings may loom proudly here. 
 Keen prophecy foresees, and does the truth pro- 
 claim. 
 
 Benevolence commands the work be done, 
 On all sides suffering may be seen. 
 Thousands would gladly toil, from sun to sun. 
 To save their little ones from famine keen. 
 Once well begun, the work need not delay, 
 Much of its cost, the unearthed stone will pay. 
 So may a general good, at small expense, be won. 
 
 February, 1868 
 
 133 
 
When our land with blood was drenched, 
 
 And brave men sunk and died, 
 What kept our freedom's flame unquenched? 
 
 What saved our nation's pride. 
 When every mountain streamlet's flood 
 Was stained with dying valor's blood? 
 
 When famine's pall hung dark before. 
 And Britains' thunder hailed our rear. 
 
 When shades of Death were hovering o'er, 
 Hope's faintest gleam could not appear. 
 
 When firmest hearts were veiled in gloom, 
 
 What saved our Freedom from the tomb? 
 
 'T was God Himself, who stretched His hand, 
 To guide through dangers, darkness dim, 
 
 Till we should 'mongst free nations stand, 
 A beacon of light to them. 
 
 And Freedom, by command divine, 
 
 Here builds her everlasting shrine. 
 
 November, 1853 
 
 134 
 
How BRIGHTLY sinks the orb of day, 
 Behind the western hills away, 
 
 Before the frown of even ; 
 And, one by one, the stars of night 
 Hang up their pale and trembling light 
 
 Upon the front of heaven. 
 
 The full orbed moon that shows no wane, 
 Resumes her dark, nocturnal reign, 
 
 And leads the starry host; 
 Tree, and flood, and ruin nigh, 
 Beneath her beams of silver, lie, 
 
 In their uncertain lustre, lost. 
 
 At such a moment, in our ears 
 Rings out the music of the spheres, 
 
 Which they, symphonious sung, 
 O'erjoyed at young Creation's birth. 
 Or shouted to the rising earth 
 
 As it from Darkness sprung. 
 
 All seeing wanderers of the skies. 
 Shining through long, long centuries. 
 
 You ' ve seen full many a sight ; 
 And thou, O silver countenanced moon! 
 Tell me the scenes that thou hast known 
 
 In thy unmeasured flight! 
 135 
 
Sunset 
 
 We've seen, o'er this terrestrial ball, 
 Kingdoms arise, and kingdoms fall, 
 
 And vanish from the earth. 
 Time's iron hand hath overthrown 
 Ten thousand kings of ages gone — 
 
 Oblivion hides their birth. 
 
 History may tell of Rome and Greece, 
 Their deeds in war, their arts in peace. 
 
 Their story is a fragment small. 
 Of the sad tale of man's career. 
 Since his creation, on the sphere, 
 
 As emperor of all. 
 
 Tribes have arisen and overcome 
 Ignorance and error's misty gloom. 
 
 And left Barbarity behind. 
 Shedding, on each surrounding nation. 
 The beacon light of Civil'zation, 
 
 And triumphing in mind. 
 
 Next, from the pinnacle of Fame they're gone. 
 Slowly degrading into darkness down, 
 
 Their fortune's sunlight overcast; 
 Savages, fugitives, and slaves. 
 Or lawless pirates on the waves, 
 
 Extinction at the last. 
 136 
 
Sunset 
 
 Such is the tale the past has told, 
 The future will the same unfold ; 
 
 The principle of change is mixed 
 In all earth's elements, and we, 
 As we draw near the grave, will see 
 
 That there is nothing fixed. 
 
 Tremendous mountains rear 
 Their bold and craggy steeps in air, 
 
 And vomit fire and smoke; 
 Anon, their hidden flames are dead. 
 And they, as grassy plains, are spread. 
 
 With their foundations broke. 
 
 Fair islands spring from Ocean's breast, 
 Whose shores afford the petrel rest. 
 
 And nurse the gannet's brood; 
 Then, slow subsiding, sink again. 
 Leaving no mark, upon the main, 
 
 To guide to where they stood. 
 
 The sphinx in far Egyptian lands. 
 The pyramids in desert sands. 
 
 As relics still remain. 
 But generations perished there. 
 Toiling, like slaves, to raise in air 
 
 Those wonders of the plain. 
 137 
 
Sunset 
 
 In Western climes, the Copper race 
 Look, with a sad and wistful face, 
 
 Toward the setting sun. 
 History has turned their final page, 
 Their drama, on life's changing stage, 
 
 To the last act, is done. 
 
 Soon, from the earth, the latest trace 
 Shall vanish, of that fated race; 
 
 The broad Pacific's surge 
 Seems, in its melancholy sweep. 
 In numbers ominous and deep. 
 
 To chant a nation's dirge. 
 
 Clad in the springly garb of green. 
 In many a spot the mounds are seen. 
 
 Of earlier races here; 
 Time hath, from out the hand of Fame, 
 The trumpet snatched, that could proclaim 
 
 Aught of their dark career. 
 
 Tradition's busy lips are still; 
 Their shame or glory — good or ill — 
 
 Alike, are in the tomb; 
 Their joy and hope and fear are hid. 
 With all they saw and all they did. 
 
 In earth's unconscious womb. 
 138 
 
Sunset 
 
 The Mastodon of other days 
 No longer treads the forest maze, 
 
 Lord of the green domains. 
 Save, now and then, some scattered bone 
 That speaks of strength to us unknown. 
 
 No mark of him remains. 
 
 A mortal dies, 't is but alone 
 A drop from out the river gone. 
 
 A taper hath died out in air, 
 A bubble's burst upon the sea, 
 A vapory cloud hath chanced to flee 
 
 From sight, in ether fair. 
 
 He perishes, and Nature's mien 
 
 Is calm, as though he ne'er had been. 
 
 She smiles upon his grave. 
 No trace of Sorrow may be found 
 In heaven above, or on the ground, 
 
 Or in the winding wave. 
 
 The birds will sing their glad, free song, 
 And Childhood's voice will be as strong 
 
 As in the days gone by; 
 If he hath loved, she whom he loved 
 Will weep not long, but grow unmoved. 
 
 And hear a stranger sigh. 
 139 
 
Co a purnina tKaper 
 
 Bright taper, how thy glistening beams 
 
 Irradiate the place. 
 In thee, resemblance great there seems 
 
 To man's ephemeral race. 
 
 Before the world, his acts may blaze 
 
 In brilliancy divine; 
 But death awaits his transient race. 
 
 As darkness waits on thine. 
 
 But, taper, now thy fading ray 
 
 Proclaims thy end is nigh. 
 When I shall reach my latest day. 
 
 Thus peaceful, let me die. 
 
 But now, that all thy wax is burned 
 
 Thy blazing beam is o'er. 
 Thy light to darkness now is turned 
 
 To shine on earth no more. 
 
 But man, when Death's enshrouding gloom 
 
 Shall 'round his body lie, 
 May lead a life, beyond the tomb, 
 
 Of glorious immortality. 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 140 
 
mt Will 0' Wi&p 
 
 Behold, upon the marshy plain, 
 
 A spark of shining light ! 
 Which, breaking through the dark'ning shade, 
 
 Gleams far upon the night. 
 
 Lone, and in melancholy caves. 
 
 See that bright spectre rise ! 
 Too timid for a mortal's touch. 
 
 The flaming meteor flies. 
 
 Thine is an unobtrusive gleam, 
 
 Content to shine unknown. 
 Bright wanderer of the swampy moor, 
 
 Pursue thy way alone ! 
 
 Some evil spirit attends thy path; 
 
 Thine is a sad, ill-omened glare. 
 If e'er I cross, by night, yon swampy land. 
 
 May I not meet thee there! 
 
 The pilgrim, in the night astray. 
 
 Follows thy beam in his distress; 
 The treacherous glimmer leads him far away 
 Into the tangled wilderness. 
 
 Perchance, he may suppose thy glow 
 A lantern in some peasant's hand ; 
 
 Weary and panting, he pursues 
 
 But journeys devious through the miry land. 
 141 
 
The Will O' Wisp 
 
 The slimy quicksands draw him down, 
 He cries for aid; no friend is there — 
 
 The heedless vapor wanders on, 
 
 Or flies aloof, or melts in empty air. 
 
 Or should the luckless wanderer think 
 Thy flame some cottage window light, 
 
 And hope for safety, food and drink, 
 And refuge from the inclement night, 
 
 Vain is his hope; that treacherous star 
 His weary footsteps will beguile, 
 
 Through solitude and darkness far. 
 To trace full many an erring mile. 
 
 The light goes out ; he tries in vain 
 To backward trace his unknown way. 
 
 The wolf's wild howl comes o'er the plain, 
 And it is far from day. 
 
 O! ne'er in that sad solitude 
 Shall morn arise again on him; 
 
 For thirsty tongues will lap his blood, 
 And cruel fangs tear limb from limb. 
 
 Thou art, like every human hope, 
 
 Illusive, evanescent, bright. 
 That lures us on until we grope 
 
 In disappointment's night. 
 142 
 
To AN Ass 
 
 For all our visions fade away, 
 Anticipation is our only bliss; 
 
 The things we love, if we could gain. 
 Would be but nothingness. 
 
 1855 
 
 tTo an ass 
 
 Yon lop eared brute, that sturdy ass 
 
 Who crops the meadow's tender grass, 
 
 Appears from sorrow freer far 
 
 Than most of human beings are. 
 
 The woes by which our hearts are prest 
 
 Are strangers to his tranquil breast. 
 
 Nor does he anxious feel, at all, 
 
 Whether his fellows rise or fall. 
 
 Illusive hopes shine not on him. 
 
 Nor drear foreboding fancies, grim, 
 
 Display the future to his sight. 
 
 In coloring as dark as night. 
 
 Hatred and jealousy and fear, unknown. 
 
 In peace, his happy life glides on. 
 
 Unbroken, in tranquillity. 
 
 With no desire more than grass, 
 
 I own he wakes my envious thoughts. 
 Although he is an ass. 
 
 Oxford, October 20, 1861 
 
 143 
 
®ljc Witt^ of ^esubtus 
 
 'Saga, what should bring your feet 
 Thro' the crowded city's street? 
 Thou hast left thy mountain cell ; 
 Sure, it bodes some miracle. 
 Hast thou wearied of the sky 
 And the tall cliffs looming high, 
 That thou comest, to wander thus. 
 Far from steep Vesuvius?" 
 
 It was the priest of Vulcan spoke 
 To her, the Saga of the rock; 
 She, whose keen prophetic eye 
 Darkly saw thro' destiny, 
 Whose aspect, terrible and grim. 
 Awaked emotions deep and dim 
 Within the rude observer's breast, 
 A fear that would not be represt. 
 Her form was bent, but not with age, 
 Her eye flashed wild, but not with rage, 
 But something which was hard to guess, 
 Which was, yet was not, restlessness, 
 A quick and changing cat-like glance. 
 Now turned direct, and now askance. 
 Yet not one glance was made in vain. 
 Or wrote false entries on the brain. 
 
 Her hair was grey, its backward flow 
 Showed temple sunk, and wrinkled brow; 
 144 
 
The Witch of Vesuvius 
 
 Her shapeless lips fell sadly in, 
 
 And spaces marked, where teeth had been; 
 
 Her trembling frame with palsy shook. 
 
 And shrill her childish accents broke. 
 
 The Saga's face upon him turned, 
 
 On his, her restless, full eyes burned: 
 
 ''Priest of Vulcan! think not I 
 
 Am weary of the clear, blue sky, 
 
 But I have left my mountain home ; 
 
 My feet shall tread the path to Rome. 
 
 The web of Fate is nearly wove, 
 
 That governs earth and heaven and Jove, 
 
 And I have fled that fatal doom, 
 
 There, planned for Herculaneum, 
 
 And for her sister Pompeii, 
 
 Now smiling 'neath Italia's sky. 
 
 My fire is out, my hearth, alone. 
 
 Is cold as the surrounding stone. 
 
 And I am gone, I know not where. 
 
 My life is safe in Rome, not there. 
 
 And were I thee, I too would fly; 
 
 Thou may'st escape thy destiny. 
 
 I wish thee not Destruction's prey. 
 
 My only friend, this many a day." 
 
 The priest looked down and faintly smiled : 
 "Sister, thy foolish fears are wild, 
 They have no base, thy fright is here, 
 There is no cause of danger near;" 
 10 145 
 
The Witch of Vesuvius 
 
 And, as he spoke, his finger prest, 
 With awe, against the Saga's breast. 
 She sighed, and sadly shook her head: 
 "I would that all my fears were bred 
 Within my breast, but well I know 
 The dim, dark things that work below 
 The giant mountains' frame of rock. 
 Demons accursed, of flame and smoke. 
 Are slowly working out that doom 
 That prophecy foretells must come; 
 And now that curse is near fulfilled, 
 Vials of wrath will soon be spilled. 
 Thou never yet hast heard from me 
 An ill-predicted destiny. 
 There is a something in the mind — 
 A vague, dark sense all undefined, — 
 That warns us of approaching ill, 
 And makes the heart feel faint and chill. 
 My hapless lot, my dwelling rude, 
 Its grandeur wild, and solitude 
 Have fostered well that fatal sense, 
 And gave it fresh developments ; 
 And Nature's converse, and the sky 
 Taught me to love sublimity; 
 And solitude, and deep distress. 
 Made me, at last, a prophetess. 
 Some say, by magic, I divine, 
 From evil stars that nightly shine, 
 And that the flight of birds, to me. 
 Foretell of things that are to be. 
 146 
 
The Witch of Vesuvius 
 
 Who ever turned his wandering gaze 
 Toward a still star's silver rays 
 And saw its holy lustre shine 
 From out its azure crystal shrine, 
 And thought its light, so pure and still, 
 Could e'er reveal approaching ill? 
 And the poor birds, those minstrels fair, 
 That wake, with songs, the woodland air, 
 The loveliest race, whose hours are spent 
 Between the earth and firmament. 
 They wanton happy lives away, 
 Lives that are one long summer day, 
 That add a charm to gloomy woods. 
 And break the spell of silent floods. 
 In mountain fastness, wild and rude, 
 The granite throne of Solitude, 
 Their graceful forms, and songs, make less 
 The solitary's loneliness. 
 Would that I was as free from care, 
 And could a sinless spirit bear ; 
 They ne'er anticipate to-morrow. 
 To-day is theirs, for joy or sorrow. 
 Of them no use I ever made, 
 Their ignorance were little aid, 
 But darkly, in this heart's deep cells, 
 The spirit of prescience dwells. 
 That is the book that I consult, 
 I need no magic arts occult, 
 Foretelling hours of joy or gloom, 
 When here is my oraculum." 
 147 
 
The Witch of Vesuvius 
 
 "Sister," the priest of Vulcan said, 
 "Grief seems thy mind to overshade; 
 Thou hast been sorrow's child, I fear, 
 And fain, thy story would I hear. 
 Tell me the tale, thy fears to me 
 Seem without grounds and vapory. 
 My fellow creature's grief, from me, 
 Draw out the tears of sympathy. 
 If, Saga, I can be thy friend, 
 And bid thy foolish terrors end. 
 To smooth thy lot, or render less 
 An outcast's lone unhappiness. 
 So 't were my highest joy to do. 
 Present thy grievance to my view!" 
 
 There was a crevice in the rock. 
 
 And from it steamed the sulphur smoke, 
 
 A thin, white cloud, that hovered there 
 
 Until dissolved in azure air. 
 
 I looked into the fissure's gloom. 
 
 But all was silent as the tomb, 
 
 And cool and dark; a low faint hiss, 
 
 I heard far down in the abyss. 
 
 And sounds like winds on surging water ; 
 
 To me they seemed demoniac laughter. 
 
 I looked again and, in the night. 
 The fissure, with phosphoric light. 
 Was faintly lit; the hovering cloud. 
 With a blue, ghastly radiance, glowed. 
 148 
 
The Witch of Vesuvius 
 
 I saw the slumbering fires there 
 Would soon burst forth to light and air. 
 At times, I felt a sudden shock, 
 And then would come a puff of smoke, 
 A flash of flame, and then, again. 
 Coldness and darkness held their reign. 
 
 I heard a low and wailing moan 
 
 That shook beneath, my feet, the stone. 
 
 It seemed so human, that, to me 
 
 It made me start, I know not why — 
 
 Those sounds, the fires, the sudden jar 
 
 Spoke of an elemental war. 
 
 To which the wars of men were peace ; 
 
 Where nature's furious agencies — 
 
 Fire and flames and winds — ^would be 
 
 Competitors for victory. 
 
 I sought my couch, and when the day 
 Dissolved the mists of darkness grey, 
 I left my hut — my feet were bent 
 To labor up the steep ascent: 
 Cliff after cliff, in toil, I past. 
 And reached the crater's edge at last. 
 But what a vision met my view — 
 A sea of flame, whose sanguine hue 
 Was fiery red, like clotted blood. 
 And, from the surface of the flood. 
 Vapors of poison filled the air. 
 Till all who breathed might perish there. 
 149 
 
The Witch of Vesuvius 
 
 But I was on the leeVard side, 
 
 The smothering fumes, across the tide 
 
 Were borne by winds away from me, 
 
 And I gazed with impunity. 
 
 Miles in extent, on either side. 
 
 Spread out that horrid, burning tide, 
 
 Whose springs of fire were deeply drawn 
 
 From the red Gulf of Plegethon, 
 
 And demons from the gloom of hell 
 
 Stir that infernal crucible. 
 
 Huge billows, inward from the tide. 
 
 Dashed wild against the flinty side. 
 
 Bathing the red hot rocks with fire 
 
 Beneath their fierce, dissolving ire, 
 
 And heat intense; the crater edge 
 
 Yielded before them ledge by ledge. 
 
 O'er the wild scene, there was a glare 
 
 That turned to noon the midnight air. 
 
 Along the verge, the lava spray. 
 
 Cooled by the winds, congealed would lay, 
 
 In slender filaments like hair, 
 
 A mineral vegetation there. 
 
 When all these wonders met my eye 
 I gave a sigh for Pompeii ; 
 I looked upon the fearful fire. 
 Yet, while I looked, could not admire. 
 Its beauty, grand and terrible, 
 Found one unconscious of its spell. 
 Charmless and sad, it seemed to me, 
 Grief cares not for sublimity. 
 150 
 
A JOKE^ 
 
 'T was sunset, and the yellow sky 
 
 Burned with its golden brilliancy. 
 
 I heard the evening eagle shriek, 
 
 Far up upon a distant peak, 
 
 When first I saw the dreadful view — 
 
 But midnight's dark, cerulean hue 
 
 Shrouded the leaping, fiery flood. 
 
 While still I gazed, and morning came, 
 
 Its clear light paled the glimmering flame, 
 
 And lit the upward path I trod, 
 
 To guide me to my lone abode. 
 
 Miami University, Oxford, Ohio, May, 1863 
 
 ^ fofec 
 
 Some men of letters, fresh from town. 
 While ruralizing up and down, 
 With interest, viewed a youthful ass 
 Play merry gambols through the grass; 
 At which the poet of the crowd 
 Was greatly touched, so that he vowed 
 He'd like the frisky thing, to send 
 As present to a distant friend. 
 
 '"T is my advice," responded one, 
 
 "The ass should be forthwith sent on. 
 
 But if I were the poet, I 
 
 Would, round its neck, a motto tie. 
 
 Which should run thus, 'When this you see, 
 
 Kind friend, you will remember me.'" 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 151 
 
To A Speech Urging Enlistment 
 
 You ask me, why I do not go 
 And fight my country's battle, 
 
 And gently hint, I am afraid 
 To hear the cannons rattle. 
 
 I '11 tell the truth ; and shame Old Nick, 
 At least for once I '11 try, Sir! 
 
 If you want men who wish for death, 
 Not on the list am I, Sir! 
 
 I hate to hear the sounding drum, 
 I loathe the science martial. 
 
 Burnt powder makes a kind of smell 
 To which I am not partial. 
 
 I love not much the marches long. 
 When sleety blasts blow chilly, 
 
 In muddy roads, benumbed and cold, 
 In sections, rough and hilly. 
 
 I like still less the soldier's tent, 
 
 The vermin breeding hovel, 
 While I can sit in ease at home 
 
 And read the latest novel. 
 152 
 
Reply 
 
 The people of the sunny South 
 Have never done me wrong, Sir! 
 
 To injure them, why should I take 
 A trip so very long, Sir! 
 
 My muse says, she despises crime. 
 At least, I think I 've heard her, 
 
 And war is seldom less or more 
 Than simply Legal Murder. 
 
 War proves alone a fact well known. 
 As books on physics speak. Sir! 
 
 That when two forces are opposed 
 The strong o'ercomes the weak, Sir! 
 
 A vile appeal to brutish force 
 Can but affect the creature; 
 
 It leaves Man's reason quite untouched, 
 Nor moves his higher nature. 
 
 The Golden Rule of right and wrong, 
 
 Keystone of God's creation. 
 Applies not more to single man 
 
 Than to a mighty nation. 
 
 In this enlightened nineteenth age, 
 Mankind has reached a season. 
 
 In which all questions should be fixed 
 By conscience and by reason. 
 153 
 
Reply 
 
 You speak of wounded hero's fame, 
 
 And of the laurel crown, Sir! 
 The scars of war last longer far 
 
 Than all of its renown. Sir! 
 
 "None but the brave deserve the fair," 
 That was old Dryden's saying; 
 
 If so, the brave oft miss their dues. 
 In their addresses paying. 
 
 The crippled brave at discount are, 
 
 Though oft in lyrics chanted, 
 The unscathed cowards are the ones 
 
 By whom they are supplanted. 
 
 While such opinions sway my mind, 
 (Their truth none may resist. Sir!) 
 
 I think I will not likely be 
 In much haste to enlist. Sir! 
 
 Cincinnati, 1864 
 
 154 
 
^f)e Jf airp Italian 
 
 I WAITED on Hymen, 
 
 And thus did I say: 
 "My heart, a fair damsel 
 
 Has stolen away. 
 Her beauty awakens 
 
 A pang in my breast, 
 My nights are all fevered, 
 
 And broken my rest. 
 
 Her eyes are like midnight, 
 
 But mild is her air 
 As the skies of her birthplace 
 
 In Italy fair. 
 And her long, wavy tresses, 
 
 One source of my woe. 
 All darkly o'ershadow 
 
 Her forehead of snow. 
 O! tell me, I pray thee, 
 
 If thou canst divine. 
 If the fairy Italian 
 
 Shall ever be mine!" 
 
 And Hymen thus answered : 
 "Thy sorrow is great, 
 
 But Mortality's children 
 Are subjects of Fate. 
 155 
 
The Fairy Italian 
 
 The three dreadful sisters 
 
 Have woven thy line, 
 And the fairy Italian 
 
 Shall never be thine. 
 I know that her heart 
 
 Is bestowed upon thee, 
 But he who will wed her 
 
 Dwells over the sea." 
 
 "Thou hast loved her, and lost her; 
 
 (That story is old. 
 But the heart gives it freshness 
 
 As often as told.) 
 The red rose of passion 
 
 We pluck in Life's morn, 
 But its leaves will all wither 
 
 And leave us the thorn." 
 
 "And when time is sprinkling 
 
 His frosts on thy head, 
 Thou wilt grieve over hopes 
 
 That are buried and dead. 
 In summer and winter, 
 
 In sunshine and shade. 
 In valley or mountain. 
 
 In forest or glade, 
 In all times, and all places. 
 
 Thy thoughts will return 
 To the days of thy youth, 
 
 And compel thee to mourn." 
 156 
 
To Fannie H- 
 
 "And when the red embers 
 
 Burn warmly and bright, 
 A picture of beauty 
 
 Will live in their light. 
 And thou wilt live over, 
 
 In fancy alone, 
 With the fairy Italian, 
 
 The days that are gone." 
 
 Fair mount, February, 1868 
 
 tKo jFannie H 
 
 My heart an empire long has been, 
 And ruled by many a different queen. 
 Fair Alice was the first to reign, 
 But Kate soon made her power in vain, 
 And took the government her own. 
 But Maggie stole from her the throne; 
 She ruled it for a good long while. 
 But lovely Eva, by a smile, 
 For she in coquetry was skilled. 
 Usurped the place that Maggie filled. 
 Now Eva, too, with all her grace. 
 Is forced to abdicate the place. 
 All of her power now is thine, 
 The loveliest queen of all the line. 
 
 Cincinnati, May, 1860 
 
 157 
 
Hinti 
 
 Those we love most soonest leave us ; 
 
 Bliss hath but a feeble stay. 
 Hopes are born, but to deceive us, 
 
 Like the clouds, they haste away. 
 
 Thou wert my first love, Dear Mary, 
 
 But the clay is on thy breast, 
 And the wailing winds are dreary, 
 
 Where thy form is laid to rest. 
 
 Thou hast vanished like a vision ; 
 
 Thou hast come and gone from sight. 
 Like a dream of blest Elysian 
 
 On a witching summer night. 
 
 But I never can forget thee, 
 
 Whom I would have died to save. 
 
 God may grant that I may greet thee 
 In a land beyond the grave. 
 
 Where the starting tear of Sorrow 
 From the eye may never flow, 
 
 Where no yesterday, or morrow, 
 Our eternity will know. 
 
 Where the friends whom Death has parted 
 
 Shall unite in love divine, 
 I will weep not, broken-hearted. 
 
 Thou wilt then again be mine. 
 158 
 
To Jennie B 
 
 From thy blissful home in heaven, 
 
 Be my Guardian Angel here, 
 Let thy holy influence, given, 
 
 Lead me upward to thy sphere ! 
 
 January, 1868 
 
 tKo Jennie p 
 
 'T IS spring upon the hilltop now, 
 
 And spring upon the plain; 
 Pale Winter now hath yielded 
 
 His sceptre and his reign. 
 Yes, the Spring is everywhere. 
 All the earth seems free from care. 
 
 Every songster of the grove 
 
 Is singing of his feathered love, 
 And music fills the woodland air. 
 
 But, within my joyless heart, 
 
 Winter still is reigning there. 
 If the sunlight should depart, 
 
 'T were Winter thro' the total year. 
 And Jennie's smile, which was my sun. 
 Beams not upon me, she is gone. 
 
 So, while sweet Spring is breathing round, 
 
 And life emerges from the ground. 
 My Winter is not done. 
 
 Cincinnati, April, 1858 
 
 159 
 
®o a ©08 
 
 O ! THEME sublime, 
 
 For prose or rhyme, 
 I feel my soul inspire ; 
 
 I feel the muse. 
 
 Her warmth infuse, 
 The letters glow like fire. 
 
 O! noble beast, 
 
 Of friends not least; 
 O may I never lose you. 
 
 My fistic skill 
 
 Will work them ill. 
 Who venture to abuse you. 
 
 Your eyes are strong. 
 
 Your sight is long; 
 A mile off you can spy me. 
 
 Your flying feet, 
 
 Then travel fleet 
 Until you gambol nigh me. 
 
 In midnight dark. 
 
 Your honest bark 
 Scares villains worse than thunder. 
 
 They know that you 
 
 Will put them through 
 If they attempt to plunder. 
 160 
 
To A Dog 
 
 Well pleased, I spy, 
 
 In thy soft eye, 
 A touch of honest candor. 
 
 But man's deceit 
 
 Is so complete 
 That it excites my dander. 
 
 Your form is fair, 
 
 Jet black your hair, 
 Your drooping ears hang pretty ; 
 
 Wise is your look; 
 
 If words you spoke. 
 Your sayings would be witty. 
 
 If you could write. 
 
 You might indite 
 Some poems hard to beat. Sir! 
 
 My muse forebodes 
 
 That, in your odes. 
 You'd sing the praise of meat. Sir! 
 
 O Carlo, dear! 
 
 Long on this sphere. 
 May health and ease content you ! 
 
 But when you die, 
 
 With many a sigh, 
 Your owner will lament you. 
 11 161 
 
To A Leaf 
 
 And in that time 
 
 I '11 pen a rhyme, 
 While thou, in dust, art sleeping, 
 
 Thy deeds, in verse, 
 
 I will rehearse 
 Till none can read for weeping. 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 tKo a l.eaf 
 
 Leaflet, thou art yellow now, 
 Cold the winds of Autumn blow 
 Round thy fragile stem. 
 
 Colder still the winds will be, 
 Stronger blasts will rustle thee. 
 
 From skies more dark and dim. 
 
 Soon, from off thy native bough, 
 Lifeless thou shalt sail below 
 To the wintry ground. 
 
 Where once the summer, soft and green. 
 Gently beautified the scene, 
 
 And Zephyr breathed a mournful 
 sound. 
 
 Icy winds, with rapid sweeps. 
 Pile the snow, in drifting heaps, 
 All desolate around. 
 
 Cincinnati, November, 1861 
 
 162 
 
Vetoing (^ivVi Hament 
 
 You ask me, Mother, Why my cheek 
 
 Has lost its color now, 
 And Sadness, like a cloud, has cast 
 
 Its shadow on my brow? 
 
 You ask me. Why my fingers worn 
 
 Their needle fail to ply, 
 And why I turn away to hide 
 
 The tear-drop in my eye? 
 
 Three months have fled since Davie left, 
 
 The lad I loved so well, 
 I felt as if my heart would break 
 
 To hear his last farewell. 
 
 And now he's on the weary deep, 
 
 Where wintry billows roar, 
 A sad foreboding thrills my breast 
 
 That we will meet no more. 
 
 Mother! you on Davie looked 
 With an unkindly eye. 
 
 And, for your sake, I hid my love 
 And choked the rising sigh. 
 
 1 told him that I loved him not, 
 
 My words my soul belied ; 
 The flame that burned between us both 
 Was strongest on my side. 
 163 
 
Sewing Girl's Lament 
 
 And now, when o'er our humble roof 
 
 I hear the tempest rave, 
 I think how Death may overtake 
 
 My Davie on the wave. 
 
 'T is not the deep alone I fear. 
 Nor rocking billow's sway, 
 
 But in far distant regions dwell 
 Maids beautiful as day. 
 
 And he will take another bride, 
 
 Forgotten I will be, 
 And one who loves him less than I 
 
 Will steal his heart from me. 
 
 The songs that Davie used to love 
 
 I can no longer sing; 
 I shun the places where we met 
 
 In twilight hours of spring. 
 
 For all these things but call to mind 
 
 Remembrances of him. 
 That make me shed my bitter tears 
 
 Until my eyes grow dim. 
 
 And if, within the forest shades, 
 
 A rustling leaf I hear, 
 My heart pants, as it used to pant 
 
 When Davie's step was near. 
 1.64 
 
Sewing Girl's Lament 
 
 A lordly lover wooes me now, 
 
 His riches dazzle thee, 
 But he will never fill the void 
 
 That Davie left with me. 
 
 Amid my heavy golden hair. 
 
 His jeweled fingers stray; 
 He little thinks the love he seeks 
 
 Is wandering far away. 
 
 Yes, petrel like, my love has now 
 
 Upon the sea its home, 
 And dwells where Davie's bark is lashed 
 
 By broad Atlantic's foam. 
 
 'T is this that pales my rosy cheek 
 And wastes my early bloom; 
 
 If he returns, 't will only be 
 To gaze upon my tomb. 
 
 O Mother! you have wrought for me 
 
 A cruel web of woe. 
 When Davie asked me to be his, 
 
 To bid me answer. No ! 
 
 Immure me in the convent walls. 
 
 The Black Veil I will take. 
 And dwell in silent solitude 
 
 Until my heart shall break. 
 165 
 
Lines 
 
 No second Davie e'er will come 
 
 To make my spirit glad, 
 And from my lips will never sound 
 
 The bird -like laugh I had. 
 
 O Mother! I was once a child 
 
 From care and sorrow free, 
 But henceforth all the world will seem 
 
 A weary waste to me. 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 The harp that told the tale of Troy 
 
 Waked not the strains I love. 
 Of Hector's might, Achilles' wrath, 
 
 And all-surveying Jove. 
 
 But give to me the simple strains 
 That flow from out the heart sincere, 
 
 The tender loves of boyhood days, 
 
 The hearts that thrill with hope and fear. 
 
 The rapid rill, the water fall, 
 
 The gliding river's rippling moan. 
 
 The forms of those we loved the best, 
 Who now are dead and gone. 
 
 September, 1857 
 
 166 
 
Co iMinme % 
 
 On Seeing Her Portrait 
 
 Minnie, that face is none but thine, 
 Those jetty rings of clustering hair. 
 
 The rosy cheeks, and lips divine. 
 The forehead, pure and fair. 
 
 The Grecian nose, the ruby mouth 
 
 Arching like Cupid's bow. 
 The arched black eyebrows of the South, 
 
 The sad, dark eyes below. 
 
 Those eyes, whose every glancing spark, 
 
 Their heavy, silken fringe 
 Almost restrained, and gave their dark 
 
 A melancholy tinge. 
 
 The little hands, the rounded arms. 
 
 Are copied well by art. 
 Here, harmless, I behold the charms 
 
 That stole away my heart. 
 
 All is not thee, there's not that grace 
 
 That animation gives; 
 One fixed expression lights this face. 
 
 It changes not, nor lives. 
 
 While thine, is like some crystal lake 
 
 Whose tranquil waters lie, 
 And frown in gloom, or smile in light. 
 
 And mirror back the sky. 
 
 ;[57 May 5, 1863 
 
0tatlt of M\tmav6t1)tn 
 
 The land of Ditmarschen 
 
 No more is free, 
 A blight comes over 
 
 The linden tree. 
 
 It pines and withers 
 
 In slow decay, 
 Its leaves of beauty 
 
 Have dropped away. 
 
 The people are humbled. 
 
 Their spirit broke. 
 They bear in silence 
 
 A stranger's yoke. 
 
 But the time is nearing, 
 
 A day will come, 
 When the blighted linden 
 
 Will bud and bloom. 
 
 A magpie shall build, 
 In its boughs, a nest. 
 
 And cherish her young 
 
 'Neath her warming breast. 
 
 A brood of seven. 
 With plumage white 
 
 As the snows that cover 
 The mountain's hight. 
 168 
 
The Robin 
 
 Ere their pinions are trained 
 
 For earliest flight, 
 The tree will flourish 
 
 In beauty bright, 
 
 And the land recover, 
 
 So prophecy says, 
 The glorious freedom 
 
 Of former days. 
 
 Fairmount, January, 1868 
 
 Fragment 
 
 O robin! in your leafy nest. 
 
 No gloomy thoughts invade your breast. 
 
 If you were prisoned in a cage, 
 
 At once would cease your little rage.* 
 
 Your strains are but the wild and free 
 
 Triumphant strains of liberty. 
 
 1858 
 
 *"rage," i. e., enthusiasm, rapture. 
 
 169 
 
Jfragment 
 
 (Creole Girl) 
 
 Luckless pris'ner at the bar, 
 Soon will cease thy passion's war, 
 And among the silent dead 
 Thou at last be numbered. 
 Ere thy spirit pass from here 
 To a distant, unseen sphere, 
 Tell us the tale of former times; 
 Tell us thy early life and crimes. 
 While the latest twilight ray 
 Of thy life's departing day 
 Lingers round thy broken heart. 
 Tell us thy tale, and who thou art! 
 
 Abbot, thy hair is thin and grey; 
 Thou, too, hast nearly seen thy day; 
 Thy feet have reached the latest stage 
 Of life's long, desert pilgrimage. 
 Oh God ! the life that thou hast spent, 
 From what mine was, how different. 
 Within the convent's lonely walls, 
 Far distant from temptation's calls, 
 Thy task was but to curb and bind 
 The wild desires of heart and mind. 
 Hard is that task, thorny and drear. 
 And costing many a bitter tear; 
 But thou hast won, and gained that peace 
 In which the war of passions cease. 
 170 
 
Fragment 
 
 The gloom of thy approaching grave, 
 And cold oblivion's ruthless wave, 
 Bring scarce a terror unto thee, 
 Tho' life is more to you than me. 
 
 Father ! I whisper in thy ear 
 
 The story of my dread career. 
 
 The act I did was desperate — 
 
 I curse, alone, my bitter fate, 
 
 But not myself. I only served 
 
 My victim as she well deserved. 
 
 She was the blight of my young life, 
 
 'T was she who woke this mental strife, 
 
 And fed that fiery passion's flame 
 
 That caused my early death and shame. 
 
 My deed was just, at least, with me, 
 
 I have my own heart's sympathy. 
 
 That heart that knows its inward grief. 
 
 Yet suffers, hopeless of relief, 
 
 Which would have poured its crimson tide. 
 
 To win the love of her who died. 
 
 Oxford, 1862 
 
 171 
 
tKfie Summer Winh 
 
 I 
 
 Thou summer idlers ! would that I had wings 
 Like thee to trace the clear, blue sky. Alone, 
 Far upward, I would bend my flight, 
 Breathing the purest ether, where 
 My spirit might exalt in its own sense 
 Of boundless liberty, and worship more 
 The unseen spirit of the vast 
 And dark arcana of the universe. 
 
 WIND 
 
 Would this be happiness to thee? 
 
 I 
 
 Sublimest bliss, to contemplate 
 The mighty chart of Nature spread below, 
 To mark its mystic changes, and its most 
 Miraculous economy, and how, thro' all. 
 One government prevails, free from the flow 
 Of mortal constitutions, gentler far, 
 Yet more restless, pure as purity, 
 Tongueless and voiceless, speaking out 
 The mute and touching eloquence of action. 
 
 WIND 
 
 Thou seemest to have loved Philosophy; 
 Hath she returned thy adoration well — 
 Storing thy mind with truth? 
 172 
 
The Summer Wind 
 
 I 
 
 Philosophy, 
 — Would she might teach me truth and sense! — 
 In early childhood, was my darling theme. 
 E'en from my cradle I have followed her, 
 As mariners — when the roaring main, 
 Limitless, surrounds — pursue the polar star. 
 And still will follow, till the shade 
 Of Dissolution shall involve my eyes, 
 Hiding the light of Truth and Life. 
 O ! if Almighty Providence shall grant to me 
 A deathless name, an immortality 
 To burst the fetters of the grave. 
 And mock at cold oblivion's sway, 
 May I be written down by men, as one 
 Who followed Nature, from an innate love 
 Of Harmony and Beauty, and whose mind. 
 By smooth gradation, learned, at last. 
 By loving Nature, to adore her God. 
 
 August, 1856 
 
 173 
 
I WANDERED forth one snowy night, 
 And met a frail nymph, fair and bright. 
 "Come on, young man," she said to me, 
 "We'll spend this dull night pleasantly." 
 But I replied, with simple mien, 
 "Tho' I am young, I am not green, 
 Fair girl, I will not go with thee, 
 Tho' I would like your company." 
 "But, what would be the ill," she said, 
 "The gale is chilly overhead, 
 My room is lofty, warm, and bright. 
 Where we may pass the wintry night." 
 I went with her, but will not say 
 How I amused myself till day. 
 We hugged each other, and caressed, 
 And I thought I was truly blest. 
 I left my angel girl at dawn. 
 But soon found out my watch was gone. 
 On further search, I quickly knew. 
 Ten guineas had departed too. 
 
 fairy maid! for so much "tin" 
 You could afford to "take me in," 
 But, if you sell your love so high, 
 
 1 must confess I can not buy. 
 I rued awhile that costly folly. 
 And sunk down into melancholy. 
 The whetstone wears away the blade, 
 But, by that means, an edge is made, 
 
 174 
 
Lines 
 
 And what, in money, left me then, 
 In sharpness was made up again. 
 Stranger, when next your keen eyes see 
 A "fast girl" come it over me, 
 Just tip the wink, and let me know, 
 I am no more a ''sucker" now. 
 
 Based upon Police Report, Cincinnati Daily Times, January 10, 1859 
 
 nines 
 
 To Jennie B 
 
 Fancy! thou, whose magic art 
 Oft beguiles the lonely heart. 
 Bringing back each hope and fear 
 Of many a half forgotten year, 
 With thy skillful pencil, show 
 Jennie's angel face, and brow. 
 'T is done, I see, I more than see. 
 The lifelike image, it is she. 
 Pale, her little face appears. 
 And her eyes are wet with tears. 
 Jennie, if for me you weep^. 
 Let your sorrow go to sleep. 
 The fates, regardless of your tears, 
 Clipt Love's thread with fatal shears. 
 And now, far distant, you and I 
 Follow our different destiny. 
 
 Oxford, September, 1861 
 
 175 
 
Ko (George W 
 
 Dear George, why waste your life in care, 
 For that obtuse, unyielding fair? 
 Another person holds her heart, 
 In vain you ply the winning art. 
 Escape her toils, escape in haste, 
 She is not worth the time you waste. 
 The Hyatt girls are both as fair. 
 Have full as darkly waving hair. 
 And eyes as beautiful in hue, 
 Maud has black, and Alice blue. 
 Enough! 't is vain, describing o'er 
 The charms you knew by heart before. 
 
 'T is strange, that you should need advice, 
 I always thought you over nice; 
 But Venus has a wondrous art. 
 And eyes are subject to the heart. 
 That jade is odious to the view 
 Of every man of taste, but you. 
 Indeed, 't would wound me to the soul 
 To touch her with a ten-foot pole. 
 The net, in which she captured thee 
 Is quite invisible to me. 
 
 May 4, 1857 
 
 176 
 
®D f ennie E 
 
 I 
 
 Thou art quick and inconstant, my love, 
 As the breast of the changeable sea, 
 
 Whose billows in light and darkness move. 
 Why should I be faithful to thee? 
 
 JENNIE 
 
 I am like to the breast of the changeable sea, 
 
 Thou to the immutable sun; 
 No matter how moved its waters may be. 
 
 Still faithful, he ever shines on. 
 
 I 
 
 The sun is too faithful, clouds often divide 
 Him from his fair mistress, the sea. 
 
 When another supplants me, my pride 
 Forbids that I reconciled be. 
 
 JENNIE 
 
 But remember, tho' often the clouds intervene, 
 The love looks, she gives them, are dim. 
 
 But when they are gone, O ! how sweet and serene 
 Are the smiles she bestows upon him. 
 
 I 
 Thou art quick and inconstant, my love, 
 
 As the breast of the changeable sea, 
 Whose billows in light and darkness move, 
 
 But I '11 ever be faithful to thee. 
 
 Cincinnati, 1857 
 
 12 177 
 
Verses 
 
 Sweet is the sunshine, and the shade 
 
 Of dark green forests, and the rippling sigh 
 
 Of brooklets running thro' the grassy glade. 
 The twilight hour, and the mighty sky 
 Studded with stars, and Cynthia high. 
 
 Sweet is the patter of the April rain; 
 
 Its monotone shuts up our sleepless eyes; 
 
 The sound of thunder, and the tossing main. 
 The war of elements, when, thro' the skies. 
 Hissing and hot, the vivid lightning flies. 
 
 Sweet are the thoughtless, happy days of youth. 
 
 When Hope alone, to Fancy's eye. 
 Paints her illusive pictures with the hues of truth, 
 And shows our future, like a cloudless sky 
 Over a waveless ocean, whose attractive glow 
 Dispels all thought of lurking rocks below. 
 
 Sweet is a brimming cup of wine. 
 
 When the faint heart is sunk in care. 
 Our spirits rouse, and images divine 
 
 Drive from our minds the sorrows there. 
 The friendly stimulus, with gentle heat, 
 Gives the dull, flagging heart a steadier beat. 
 
 178 
 
Verses 
 
 Sweet is a city life to him, 
 
 Whom drunkenness and change delight; 
 Brothels, and whores, and alleys dim, 
 Afford him many a welcome sight. 
 Hateful to him, the day has grown; 
 The fitful starlight and the moon 
 Are his lone confidants ; from the sky 
 They witness his debauchery. 
 
 Sweet is a row upon the breast 
 
 Of limpid waters, at the close of day. 
 When tranquil Nature seems almost at rest. 
 And the last ripple dies away 
 
 Behind the oars, as we pass, and, low. 
 The white foam murmurs round the prow. 
 
 Sweet is the maiden, whom our love 
 Transforms from human to divine, 
 Faults turn to virtues; every move 
 Is gracefulness, each common line 
 Of her young features seems so fair. 
 That Phidias' self might find a model there. 
 
 April, 1857 
 
 179 
 
Jfragment 
 
 How LOVELY is the solitude 
 
 To him, whose spirit shrinks away 
 From mortal sympathy, and mourns 
 In silent contemplation of its woe. 
 Whose life is nipped and withered in the bud. 
 Whose heart is broken, and whose eye, 
 Pale Melancholy, with her darkening glass, 
 Hath dimmed to every ray of hope. 
 Behind, a squandered life remains; 
 Around, a darkened, dreary world. 
 How sunless ! when the last faint ray 
 Of Hope's fair twilight has gone out. 
 And Melancholy broods, like night, 
 Over a broken heart. 
 Before, the rainbow never decks the sky. 
 The boundary of his pilgrimage 
 In darkness ends. 
 
 How like a tree our spirits are — 
 Green, blooming in its native grove. 
 Rain, wind, and sunshine, fail to harm 
 Its tender sprays; with latent life 
 It drinks the pure, sweet ether of the sky. 
 Its rootlets pierce, with strengthening power, 
 
 Deeply, its grassy bed. 
 And soon it stands the monarch of the wood. 
 And mocks the whirlwind that casts down 
 Man's mightiest palaces in dust. 
 180 
 
Acrostic — Ohio River 
 
 The fair, greenftree, 
 Transplanted, feels the heavy weight 
 Of foreign earth above 
 Its tender rootlets torn. 
 A foreign sky o'erhead. 
 Strives its green leaves to thrill 
 With wonted stamina and life. 
 Down to the earth its branches stoop, 
 Its foster mother's breast 
 Becomes its early grave. 
 Its leaves are withered, and its bloom decayed. 
 Its beauty and its life are gone. 
 
 Oxford, October, 1861 
 
 O DEAREST, sweetest stream of all the earth! 
 Hard by thy margin stands the city of my birth. 
 If Fate, to other lands, e'er banish me, 
 Oft shall my memory wander back to thee. 
 
 Rambling along thy level, sandy shore, 
 I, and the early friends I knew. 
 Vain pleasures followed, but no more, 
 Ever, shall meet that faithful crew — 
 Reckless and happy as in days of yore. 
 
 Fairmount, 1868 
 
 181 
 
There was a man whose locks were grey, 
 He loved a damsel, fair and gay. 
 And feeling that they 'd had enough 
 Of moonlight and romantic stuff. 
 He sought out the obdurate fair, 
 And made an offer, plain and square. 
 
 "My dear," said he, "perhaps you've read 
 The words which Jesus Christ has said, 
 And which are these, as I believe. 
 If you shall ask, you will receive, 
 If I should ask your hand of thee, 
 You'd hardly let him tell a lie." 
 
 "Indeed I would," she answered back, 
 "You can not reach me by that track; 
 You ask me for my hand, in vain, 
 'T is what you never will obtain." 
 
 The old man's eyes, with anger flashed, 
 His teeth together sharply gnashed : 
 "Tut hity! tity! tell me why 
 You thus so coldly pass me by. 
 What have I done? for, from the start 
 I've done my best to win your heart." 
 
 "I can't complain," the flirt rejoined, 
 "You always have been very kind. 
 But why you do n't receive, is this, 
 It is because you ask a-miss." 
 
 J[ g2 Cincinnati, May, 1856 
 
^i)t pelle of tljc €tjenins 
 
 You reigned the empress of the hour, 
 A heart of flint might scorn your power; 
 But none there are of mortal mold, 
 Could view you with emotions cold. 
 Your eyes, while whirling thro' the dance, 
 Sent cupids forth at every glance. 
 You showed yourself suprem'ly, then, 
 A victress when among the men. 
 
 O! had we a Leucadian steep, 
 From which despairing beaux might leap. 
 What a gymnasium it would be 
 For thee alone, and only thee. 
 Were all who struggle in your toils 
 To stretch their necks and end their ills, 
 They'd number such a monstrous troop, 
 'T would surely raise the price of rope. 
 
 O! peerless one, they truly tell, 
 You '11 pass thro' life, the reigning belle, 
 Gifted with beauty, wit, and sense, 
 Smiles, painted cheeks, and confidence. 
 And if kind Fortune should, on you. 
 This brightest gift of all bestow, 
 Which many a former belle has lacked. 
 Exemption from becoming cracked, 
 The man who gains your little hand 
 Will be the happiest in the land. 
 No hard complaints his lips should pass, 
 His belle will be the purest brass. is^o 
 183 
 
The garden gate, the garden gate, 
 
 Around its posts no flowers cling, 
 Where you and I were wont to wait, 
 And whisper, till the hours were late, 
 
 When Zypher brought the deepening Spring. 
 
 The smiles in which your face was wreathed. 
 
 Again I almost seem to see. 
 The bashful words of love we breathed 
 
 Are freshly kept in memory. 
 
 My mental vision still retains 
 
 A trace of every object there; 
 And oft renews forgotten pains 
 
 And ill-resisted care. 
 
 The murmuring brook is bubbling near, 
 
 Pale Cynthia sails the sky. 
 Your lovely face inclines to hear 
 The words I can not speak, for fear. 
 
 Lest, cruelly, you might deny. 
 
 Sweet Alice, by the garden gate 
 
 No more we'll whisper loving words; 
 
 No more the branches, bent with weight, 
 Shall shelter Summer's warbling birds. 
 184 
 
Rainy Weather 
 
 But where art thou? hath Fate severe 
 Impelled thee to a distant shore, 
 
 Or art thou close beside me here, 
 
 Or journeyed to that region drear. 
 Whose colonists return no more? 
 
 Oxford, 1861 
 
 Well, I declare! it is too bad, 
 'T would almost make an angel mad. 
 Last night, a rainbow spanned the sky. 
 The bow of promise hung on high, 
 Giving us hope of weather dry. 
 We wake to find the sign in vain. 
 At morn, descends the hateful rain, 
 I hear it clattering in the spout. 
 There'll be, to-day, no stirring out. 
 
 Since Wednesday last, a week or more. 
 It has been one incessant pour. 
 The gutters rush all night, the sky 
 Is filled with electricity. 
 And frequent is the forky flash. 
 The sudden glare, the heavy crash. 
 Our hopes are futile, and our sighs, 
 For sunny days and starry skies, 
 While clouds above and mud below 
 Fill up the measure of our woe. 
 
 Cincinnati, April 10, 1860 
 
 185 
 
Cfje iiltce in Council 
 
 At midnight's lone and solemn hour, 
 The mice convened in all their power. 
 They came, alas! to sigh and mourn 
 For friends, whom hostile cats had torn. 
 In council, they assembled so, 
 To plan some safety from their foe. 
 A young, but learned mouse arose. 
 And thus held forth in pithy prose: 
 "Brethren, I am your sober friend, 
 I come to help you gain your end. 
 The cat's step is so light and soft, 
 She takes us by surprise full oft. 
 But if we had some means to know 
 The presence of the odious foe. 
 We would be placed in danger never, 
 From any cat or beast whatever. 
 I have a plan, I 'm sure will be 
 A most effective remedy. 
 Suppose the cat should wear a bell. 
 That when she moves the sound will tell, 
 By which each cautious mouse can hear 
 When his great enemy is near, 
 And will have ample time to flee 
 Into his hole's security." 
 
 Shouts of applause, vocif'rous, swell. 
 Long live the planner of the bell ! 
 
 186 
 
The Close of Winter 
 
 On which, a mouse quite grey with age, 
 Arose before the council sage. 
 Said he, "My brother plans quite well, 
 But tell me how we'll hang the bell; 
 And, furthermore, I wish to ask, 
 Who'll undertake the risky task?" 
 
 Cincinnati, 1857 
 
 i;f)e Close of Winter 
 
 The wintry winds are sunk, the clouds. 
 
 At the approach of vernal spring, have left 
 
 The face of heaven a field of blue. 
 
 Not yet the sunshine, with congenial warmth. 
 
 Hath waked the vitalizing breast of earth, 
 
 Our own great mother, to bloom forth, 
 
 Renewed in beauty, from her lengthened sleep. 
 
 Up, the clear air, the curling smoke 
 
 Sails in blue volumes, and the setting sun 
 
 Casts a red glare that tells of coming spring. 
 
 O scene of beauty! quietude profound! 
 
 Would that my spirit might partake 
 
 Thy blest tranquillity! But bright, above, 
 
 The evening star twinkles in the west, 
 
 A burning, solitary lamp in heaven. 
 
 Hail ! beauteous stranger, thou hast come 
 
 After long absence, like a ray of hope, 
 
 To one, whose spirit is crushed down 
 
 By a long, wasting night of sorrow. 
 
 ][g7 April, 1857 
 
iWutaftilttp of J^ature 
 
 Rose, with soft and sweet perfume, 
 
 No flower with thee may vie ; 
 How lovely is thy summer bloom, 
 
 Yet thou shalt droop and die. 
 
 Tall oak, with branches stern and strong, 
 Greeting the cloud that wanders by. 
 
 Thy firm, green trunk may flourish long. 
 But Fate commands, and thou shalt die. 
 
 Huge ruined tower of solid rock, 
 From which the boding owlets call. 
 
 Time, deadlier than the earthquake's shock. 
 Shall bid your scattered fragments fall. 
 
 Pale, silver planets, who, on high. 
 
 Traverse from pole to pole. 
 Your glory shall desert the sky. 
 
 Your fiery orbs shall cease to roll. 
 
 And thou, the Almighty's masterpiece, 
 
 A mingled deity and worm. 
 Fate marks thee out a narrow lease, 
 
 Thy spirit will soon quit thy form. 
 
 This mighty earth, this rolling sphere. 
 With all on it, must soon decay; 
 
 The sun and stars will disappear. 
 And darkness gulf the living day. 
 188 
 
Night-Fragment 
 
 There is a spark of heavenly fire 
 
 Which can not, will not die, 
 The soul, eternal as its sire, 
 
 Shall flourish in the sky. 
 
 Cincinnati, 1858 
 
 i5i8t)t=jFrasment 
 
 When gathering night comes dimly down, 
 
 And wraps, in gloom, the forests brown, 
 
 Far in the west, the fading day, 
 
 In sombre twilight, melts away. 
 
 Broad shadows spread the glimmering glade. 
 
 And dark ravines are hid in shade. 
 
 In the deep thickets' leafy gloom. 
 
 Insects resume their evening hum. 
 
 Yon ploughman leaves the furrowed plain. 
 
 And seeks his cottage hearth again. 
 
 Thro' tranquil air, and skies serene. 
 
 The distant city's domes are seen. 
 
 From many a lofty chimney there. 
 
 The blue smoke mounts the evening air. 
 
 That far-off hill, whose rocky brow 
 O'erlooks the valley far below. 
 Seems almost, to the gazer's eye. 
 As frescoed on the twilight sky. 
 Dread silence reigns, the constant roar 
 Of the broad city is no more. 
 And the last broken ray of light 
 *Hath yielded to approaching night. 
 
 I on Cincinnati, 1859 
 
tKo aitce 
 
 The fleeting sun 
 The day has done, 
 
 And evening comes at last. 
 Forth from the west. 
 Awaked from rest, 
 
 FHes out the frequent blast. 
 
 I must away. 
 Thro' shadows grey. 
 
 Sweet Alice is my dear, 
 Her eyes are bright 
 As stars of night. 
 
 When Summer's skies are clear. 
 
 Her hair is brown. 
 And wanders down 
 
 A neck like marble, fair. 
 Her blushes hue, 
 I liken to 
 
 Some rose's crimson glare. 
 
 The wicked thing, 
 With silken string, 
 
 Has caught my foolish heart. 
 Why won't the fair, 
 Her mind declare. 
 
 And bid my fears depart? 
 190 
 
A Dream of Lethe 
 
 And, by one word, 
 The bonny bird 
 
 Could make me live or die. 
 If she say yes, 
 'T is heavenly bliss. 
 
 But death, if she deny. 
 
 Cincinnati, February, 1858 
 
 ^ ©ream of Xctijc 
 
 Dear Kate, last night I dreamed I stood 
 
 By Lethe's darkly gliding flood ; 
 
 And stooping, from the flowery brink, 
 
 I drank that chill, infernal drink 
 
 Which blights the drinker's memory. 
 
 Alike to joy or misery. 
 
 If his past Hfe is full of woe, 
 
 A pilgrimage of grief below. 
 
 But if ill actions have a smart, 
 
 And conscience goads him to the heart. 
 
 That water is a blest relief 
 
 For all his care and all his grief. 
 
 From memory thy form departed. 
 
 And I, so lately broken-hearted. 
 
 Experienced, with a heavenly truth, 
 
 The sweet sensations of a second youth. 
 
 1861 
 
 191 
 
Sweet Jennie, with thy little face, 
 How well my memory holds thy trace; 
 The dark brown hair, the changeful eye, 
 As azure as the Summer sky. 
 The rounded arms, the waxen neck. 
 The ruddy lips, and rosy cheek. 
 And long eyelashes, dark as death. 
 I sadly sigh and gasp for breath. 
 When, from the mist of other years. 
 Thy form, revivified, appears. 
 And Memory brings the past again. 
 With all its mingled joy and pain. 
 
 Perchance, the dreary, backward view 
 May bring a galling pang to you. 
 When things that happened you and me 
 Come crowding on your memory. 
 Of those fair, unforgotten days 
 When weak, seemed every word of praise 
 My feeble lips could use to tell. 
 Of charms and merits loved so well. 
 
 'T was not the charm that beauty gave, 
 'T was not the dark hair's heavy wave. 
 Nor perfect features, to enhance 
 Expression's light in every glance. 
 Tho' these were there, thy spirit bore 
 A charm to me attractive more, 
 192 
 
Lines 
 
 A kind of modest gentleness 
 That reassured my bashfulness; 
 'T was this that urged my passion on, 
 But Fate be cursed, for, still unwon, 
 I see the treasure, that to me 
 Seemed lovelier than divinity. 
 
 Perhaps some other may admire 
 Thy gentle self with purer fire. 
 Some worthier spirit yet may move 
 Thy spirit with congenial love. 
 I pray that this may be your lot, 
 Yet mourn to think I am forgot. 
 Tho' I myself am shut from heaven, 
 I ask to see none other driven 
 Out from its blest abodes, to be 
 A partner in my misery. 
 O no! I rather wish for you. 
 And thy successful lover, too, 
 A bliss that I can never view. 
 Nor may a mournful memory 
 E'er wring a bitter tear from thee. 
 In pity for his lonely lot, 
 Who mourns to find himself forgot. 
 
 June, 1860 
 
 13 193 
 
iWinb anb Countenance 
 
 Some love a lip of ruby hue, 
 
 And face of purest white, 
 With eyes of dark and dreamy hue, 
 
 Or like the diamond's light, 
 A brow like that aerial bow 
 
 That spans the April skies, 
 When weeping clouds prepare to go. 
 
 And rain o'er thorn and flower lies. 
 They love a cheek of blushing red. 
 
 Like that sweet scented flower 
 That lifts its Summer-tinted head 
 
 Over its native bower. 
 
 But give to me a noble mind : 
 
 That will my heart best please 
 Of anything of earthly kind. 
 
 Nor will compare with these. 
 And Darkness, every waving tress. 
 With hyacinthine hues, may bless; 
 The sea shell's pink and pearl may form 
 The pure complexion's colors warm. 
 
 Yet, these will fail to move, 
 If, underneath them, lies no charm 
 
 We can not love; 
 And eyes of amber's loveliest brown, 
 
 Or heavenly sapphire's darkest blue. 
 Wake love within the breasts of none. 
 
 If they express no feeling true. 
 
 ^ 9^ Cincinnati, 1858 
 
#Dbbarb'3 Ascension 
 
 Now, her viewless pinions bear 
 Aloof the phantom ship of air. 
 Slowly, from the plain, she glides, 
 Surging on the airy tides. 
 Leaning o'er the wicker car. 
 Stands the fearless voyager. 
 And a Godspeed! burst from all. 
 At the slow, ascending ball. 
 
 Higher yet I see it rise. 
 Now, upon the dark blue skies 
 Is its rounded outline placed 
 As if it were by pencil traced, 
 Lighted by the fading rays 
 Of the sun's descending blaze. 
 Now with fainter force it shines, 
 Dimmer grow its edging lines, 
 Till, in liquid air and light. 
 It dissolves from mortal sight. 
 
 Farewell, voyager of air. 
 Lovely scenes will greet thee there. 
 Far below, thy eyes may view 
 Ocean's rippling waters blue. 
 Narrow creeks, and rivers wide. 
 Glimpsing with a silver tide 
 'Neath the pale beams of the moon. 
 Or the fiery flash of noon ; 
 195 
 
Goddard's Ascension 
 
 Scenes of life and scenes of death, 
 Sublimity above, beneath. 
 Looking downward to the plain. 
 Thou mayst see the homes of men, 
 Cities broad, with crowded squares. 
 Ever crowded thoroughfares. 
 There, thou mayst behold below, 
 Men, like mice, go to and fro. 
 These are creatures of a day, 
 Thou, like them, art formed of clay. 
 
 When the moon is gleaming bright, 
 When the earth lies bathed in light. 
 And the hollow dome of blue 
 Bounds thy far extending view. 
 While the pale stars light the sky, 
 Look not with unfired eye 
 On that vast sublimity. 
 Think of him who made it so, 
 Him who taught the stars to glow. 
 Him who marks the pathless trace 
 Of planets in unmeasured space, 
 Guiding, with a force unseen, 
 Awful Nature's whole machine. 
 
 Thou wilt feel a speechless love, 
 Born within thy spirit, move; 
 In the chaos of thy mind, 
 A definite religion find. 
 Thou wilt learn to know and feel 
 Him who holds thy woe and weal 
 196 
 
Swimming the Ohio During a Flood 
 
 In the hollow of his hand. 
 And when thou again shalt stand 
 Safe on earth, thy tranquil breast 
 May be with holier feelings blest, 
 Feeling how small and weak are we, 
 Compared with God's immensity. 
 
 Cincinnati, 1860 
 
 Dark flowing river, I have passed 
 
 Thy rapid channel, safe at last. 
 
 Its waters, swelled by weeks of rain, 
 
 Have tried to baffle me, in vain. 
 
 You did your best to bear me down 
 
 Below the creek that skirts the town ; 
 
 But I, with lusty limbs and skill. 
 
 Still rode thy white capped billows well. 
 
 And straightly crost, from shore to shore, 
 
 Despite thy sounding current's roar. 
 
 Fair river, if I safely glide 
 
 Through Hfe, as on thy bounding tide. 
 
 Unscathed by all the dangers there, — 
 
 Sorrow, Affliction, and Despair — 
 
 And every ill and every strife. 
 
 The driftwood of the tide of Life, 
 
 And reach, in peace, the heavenly shore, 
 
 As I did thine, I ask no more. 
 
 ]^97 June, 1857 
 
Jfragment 
 
 From Atlantis 
 
 And I awoke, and thought 
 
 Upon the past, that solemn drama 
 
 Of Comedy and Tragedy that, here. 
 
 Is ever acting on the stage of Time, 
 
 With God for its composer, who alone 
 
 Can tell its awful argument. 
 
 And we, beholding thro' a darkened glass. 
 
 May wonder at its pantomime, 
 
 Unknowing of the plot. And, then, 
 
 I thought of that strange consciousness 
 
 That lies within us, and by which 
 
 The unseen and the infinite are placed 
 
 Within our vision, and by which 
 
 The inner spirit hath a fleeting glimpse. 
 
 Hath power to cast aside 
 
 The curtain of Futurity and see 
 
 The fearful. Will be 
 
 To display 
 Honor and fame and happiness 
 To thoughtless boyhood. To maturer years, 
 A hard and rugged road, thick-strewn 
 With cares and disappointment, and to age. 
 The grass, the churchya,rd, and the grave. 
 Or, with reverted glance, to see 
 The actors of a former age 
 Portrayed with loving imagery, 
 198 
 
The Death of a Friend 
 
 With color, motion, light and shade, 
 And all the attributes of light and life, 
 Till they become realities, and we. 
 Absorbed in their grand action, grow 
 To be a part of it, and feel. 
 And see, and breathe, and live like them. 
 Such scenes the spirit sees, and feels 
 As if, while sleep's oblivious hand, 
 With chill, black fingers on our eyes. 
 Weighed down our sensuous natures, she 
 
 could go 
 Short journeys to another world. 
 
 1863 
 
 Cije ©eati) of a jFrienb 
 
 Enough ! I will no longer weep, 
 Fruitless, my tears are given, 
 
 Tho' I have lost a friend on earth, 
 I have one more in heaven. 
 
 Cincinnati, 1860 
 
 199 
 
tKranSlation 
 
 FROM ^SCHYLUS — PROMETHEUS VINCTUS 
 
 Now, AT creation's utmost bounds, we come 
 
 To Cythra's waste, a trackless wild. 
 
 Vulcan ! 't is thine the message to perform 
 
 Which Jove decreed, against the rocks 
 
 This daring wretch to bind 
 
 In links indissoluble, of rock formed chains. 
 
 Thy glorious prerogative he stole, and gave 
 
 To mortal men the glow of fire. 
 
 Aider of every art. For this foul crime, 
 
 'T is fitting that he should atone, 
 
 That, hence, he may be taught to fear 
 
 The sovereignty of mighty Jove, 
 
 And curb his philanthropic soul. 
 
 Cratus and Bia, as to you 
 Jove's mandate its fulfillment has. 
 No farther obstacle remains — 
 But I am fearful thus to bind, 
 Perchance, by violence, a kindred god 
 Fast to this winter beaten cliff. 
 But 't is a stern necessity to me 
 To summon courage to my heart. 
 Alas ! it is a fearful thing 
 To disregard the words of Jove. 
 Thee, thou enthusiast vain, the child 
 Of right directing Themis, I 
 Shall rivet to this barren rock. 
 200 
 
Translation 
 
 Here, thou shall neither mortal voice nor form 
 
 behold. 
 Scorched by the withering glare of day, 
 Thou 'It lose the bloom of beauty, and the night, 
 Joyful to thee, with spangled robe. 
 Shall overshade the lingering light. 
 Joyful, again, the rising sun 
 Shall lift the hoary mist of morn. 
 And ever, the ills of present woes 
 Shall rock thee, for unborn as yet 
 Is thy release. Thou hast reaped 
 A bitter harvest from philanthropy. 
 A god, free from the wrath of other gods. 
 Thou hast bestowed to mortal men 
 Honors more numerous than just, 
 For which thou shalt stand sentinel 
 Upon this lonely and deserted crag — 
 Upright and sleepless — not bending a knee, 
 And sadly shalt thou utter forth 
 Many a futile tear and groan. 
 Jove's heart is hard to supplicate, 
 And stern are those with recent power. 
 
 201 
 
jFrasntent 
 
 Helen — 
 
 Thou seemest mournful. 
 
 Gordon — itt n • ^ ^i 
 Well, in truth, 
 
 I am not happy, for the light 
 
 That buoyed up my spirit, now 
 
 Hath, like that setting sun, 
 
 Sunk to the verge of night. 
 
 ^*^^«- But thou 
 
 Hadst better, if it is a blow, 
 Bear it in patience, and ere long, 
 Time and our mother Nature will, 
 Like skillful nurses, cure 
 The wounds of temporary grief. 
 
 Gordon — 
 
 Temporary grief! O! never more 
 Shall time eradicate the scars 
 Left by thy heartless perfidy. 
 Once I had happiness and peace. 
 The peace of childhood's gentle hours. 
 Those days of innocence are gone. 
 And sorrow comes — but yet I think 
 That I remember ecstasy and bliss, 
 Only three weeks ago ; how dark 
 And dismal is the contrast now! 
 202 
 
Fragment 
 
 Helen — 
 
 Grief follows joy 
 As night's black darkness follows on 
 Behind the footsteps of the day; 
 But still it does not last — 
 The rosy light shall shine again 
 Thro' her eyelashes, damp and cold, 
 And Nature smile at coming dawn. 
 
 Gordon — 
 
 Night's blackness is too feebly dim 
 To be a simile, compared 
 Unto the darkness of the soul. 
 To him, that hath a broken heart, 
 No day, with radiating beams, 
 Ever shall dawn. 
 
 Helen — 
 
 Thou 'It soon forget 
 That ever such a being lived as I. 
 For there are lovelier climes than this. 
 And faces fairer far than mine, 
 Which, by an inadvertent glance, 
 Hath done so much to wound thee; 
 And hearts more worthy of thy love, 
 And willing to return thy passion, 
 Which my cold nature can not do. 
 Thy beauty and thy gentleness 
 Are lovely, and they will be loved. 
 Thou 'It soon forget. 
 203 
 
Fragment 
 
 Gordon — 
 
 The grave shall close 
 Deeply around me, and the soil will bloom 
 In darkest green above my narrow bed ; 
 The sun shall glimmer from yon sky, 
 Over my silent dwelling place. 
 Ere I forget thee. I shall sleep, alone. 
 In peace. I ask not happiness. 
 
 Helen — 
 
 What do you say? Will you dismiss. 
 By the keen edge of glittering steel, 
 Or by the force of powder, or of lead, 
 Thy spirit to the unknown land? 
 Or poison drugs? O! do not do 
 This action rash. We do not prize 
 The cheerful sunshine of this world, 
 Till it is gone from us forever. 
 Would 'st thou shut up, alas! thy ear 
 To the soft music of the Summer wind. 
 Thy father's or thy mother's voice. 
 And thy sweet sister's accents soft? 
 Or would 'st thou close thine eyes 
 Forever on the stars, the forests, and 
 The forms of those you love 
 And who love you? O no! 
 Sooner than see so sad a fate 
 Pressing upon thee, I would link 
 My life eternally with thine. 
 
 1861 
 
 204 
 
Ko ©octor ^ane 
 
 Ah! why does that bell pour its wail on the air, 
 And whence are those mourners in sorrows array? 
 
 O! why beats the muffled drum notes of despair, 
 As they wend on their desolate way? 
 
 The sailor has past to his home in the skies, 
 
 And the heart of his country is sad and forlorn. 
 
 And the mourners that follow with watery eyes 
 Shall deposit his dust in its urn. 
 
 Near the home of his childhood they'll lay him 
 to rest. 
 And the grass in the Spring will bloom fair o'er 
 his brow. 
 By the love of his country his soul shall be blest. 
 And his tomb will be honored below. 
 
 There, calmly he'll rest on his pillow of mold. 
 All his hardships and troubles are o'er. 
 
 His form shall not shiver with Labrador's cold, 
 No breakers around him shall roar. 
 
 A tombstone they'll place on the spotwhere he's laid, 
 
 But in time that will sink to decay. 
 While the monuments left in our hearts will not 
 fade. 
 
 But grow brighter and brighter as years sweep 
 
 away. Cincinnati, 1856 
 
 205 
 
Black clouds hang threatening on the sky, 
 
 Bleak Winter holds his reign on high. 
 
 No more, on yonder hills, we see 
 
 The green leaves in their dancing glee — 
 
 But frozen, rustling boughs, and bare, 
 
 Rattle at every changing air. 
 
 The pond and rivulet are closed, 
 
 Whose clear, blue waters once amused 
 
 Our boyish hearts; from its green side 
 
 We cast our tackle in the tide, 
 
 And watched the light cork, with impatient 
 
 eye. 
 Till the pale starlight lit the sky. 
 
 The night wind howls a blustering tone. 
 The vacant streets are sad and lone. 
 Around the well-filled, glowing hearth, 
 Vainly we make attempt at mirth. 
 A gloom seems on our spirits cast. 
 We sigh to hear the mournful blast. 
 
 Such thoughts were mine, but, by my will, 
 I keep my boding liver still. 
 No dreary thoughts ascend my brain 
 To goad me with an inward pain. 
 Great Homer now demands my care. 
 The bard who sung the Trojan war, 
 
 206 
 
Fannie 
 
 And the light strains that Horace sung, 
 That man was gay when he was young. 
 These studies, with mathematics, fill 
 The time that others can not kill. 
 But, when the Spring returns again. 
 And grass redecks the withered plain. 
 When Nature, with her brightest green, 
 Shall clothe and beautify the scene. 
 And vocalize the vales and hills 
 With warbling birds and tumbling rills. 
 Then shall my sloth be laid aside; 
 You'll find me by the streamlet's side. 
 
 Cincinnati, 1858 
 
 jFannie 
 
 When I, the streamlet's wave, can bind, 
 Or fetter up the wanton wind, 
 Or bid the fleecy clouds to fly 
 In altered courses, thro' the sky, 
 Then, Fannie, will I try to win 
 Your fickle heart, and not till then. 
 
 I860 
 
 207 
 
Jfragment 
 
 The life of mortal man, how brief, 
 How changeful, and how full of grief! 
 O ! when the spirit bursts the chain 
 That binds her to this house of pain, 
 To what far region does she fly? 
 To yonder orbs that light the sky? 
 Or does the wheel of cruel Fate 
 Compel her to a darker state, 
 A dim existence, far below 
 The one we walk and breathe in now, 
 When, lost to any fixed abode, 
 She haunts the place thro' life she trod. 
 Or, mingled with the viewless air. 
 The light winds waft her everywhere? 
 Or do we course a living chain 
 Of birds and beasts, and come again 
 To view the starlight and the sun. 
 When a full thousand years are gone? 
 O! when the road of death is traced. 
 Must we behold black Pluto's waste, 
 The shadowy Styx, the doleful sky. 
 Unlovely to the pilgrim's eye? 
 Shall Hermes, with his fearful wand. 
 Conduct us to the silent land. 
 And Styx, with nine involving rounds, 
 Confine us in infernal bounds? 
 Shall Lethe, with oblivion's stream. 
 Make life a sad, forgotten dream? 
 208 
 
Fragment 
 
 Or, are our Christian teachings true? 
 Does yonder ether hide from view 
 A land of peace, a happier heaven, 
 Where thosfe may dwell who are forgiven? 
 I know not this, I know, alone, 
 That life is short, and quickly gone. 
 The turf will bloom above our heads. 
 And daisies deck our narrow beds. 
 On us the lurid Summer sun 
 Shall dart his burning arrows down. 
 And cold November's sleety sky 
 Shall spread her mantle where we lie. 
 And those we loved so long and well, 
 How long will grief within them dwell? 
 Our friends may weep, yet soon forget, 
 And other lovers will be met; 
 And we will pass from memory. 
 And none for us may breathe a sigh. 
 While the great world will move once more, 
 As careless as it moved before. 
 
 Cincinnati, 1858 
 
 14 209 
 
tKfje Ctjapel pell of iWiami ®mbersiitp 
 
 The Chapel Bell, the Chapel Bell 
 
 Rings out its wailing sound ; 
 Disturbing, by its heavy swell. 
 
 The air for miles around. 
 
 At its fell stroke, from off my eyes 
 Sleep's dull enchantment quickly flies. 
 
 And sweet dreams say farewell. 
 When shall I ever cease to curse 
 
 That hateful Chapel Bell! 
 
 I lose my breakfast every morn — 
 
 Compelled to hurry up, 
 I leave the griddle cakes untouched, 
 
 The coffee in the cup. 
 
 Across the green, in haste, I fly, 
 While, loud, against the morning sky. 
 
 Rings out the constant swell. 
 Would that I had an iron tongue 
 
 To curse the Chapel Bell! 
 
 Oxford, 1861 
 
 210 
 
tKfje jFisif) anb tfje putterflp 
 
 A Fable 
 
 They tell a tale of yonder spring 
 Which winds its way, meandering, 
 And sparkles as it gently flows 
 From the deep fountains, whence it rose. 
 It winds its way thro' lone recess. 
 Thro' forest, gloom, and wilderness. 
 Where the dark trees, overhead. 
 Eternal shadow, on it, shed. 
 The boughs so thick together grow 
 The sunlight, thro' them, can not glow, 
 And it has run its winding maze 
 Since Father Adam's ancient days. 
 
 'T was in that season of the year 
 When Beauty meets the eye and ear, 
 And Nature, to our eager gaze. 
 Her most enchanting works displays ; 
 When bower and grove and blooming hill. 
 With warbling birds, are never still. 
 And Zephyr, from his emerald bowers, 
 
 An odor flings 
 
 From off his wings. 
 As if it were a land of flowers. 
 That, wearied, with his lengthened chase, 
 And seeking for a resting place, 
 A painted fly espied the brook. 
 Delighted, by its shady look, 
 211 
 
The Fish and the Butterfly 
 
 He closed his tired Wings and sank 
 Upon a stone, which near the bank 
 Just Hfted up its sHmy sides 
 Above the surface of the tides, 
 So that the topmost part was laved. 
 When a light wind the water waved. 
 There sat, and listened to the sound 
 The shallow ripples made around, 
 And lulled, by its harmonious swell. 
 Into a strain of musing fell. 
 For sweet sounds have a magic spell, 
 And even tones produced by art 
 Inspire with lofty themes the heart. 
 
 But Nature, with a softer strain, 
 
 Can touch the heart with magic power. 
 
 Recall the days of bliss again. 
 
 And shed a light in Sorrow's hour. 
 
 Thus, longer had he sat, when, lo! 
 A fish espied him from below. 
 And, lifting, from the waves, his head. 
 Thus to the butterfly he said : 
 ''May I your bright acquaintance seek? 
 Tho' king, I am your servant meek. 
 'T is long since I have seen so fair 
 A mingling of all colors rare. 
 And many a bird of richest hue, 
 With gaudy feathers, hath met my view. 
 My brother reigns, some miles above, 
 His stream is not o'erhung by grove. 
 212 
 
The Fish and the Butterfly 
 
 The skies of Summer, blue and bright, 
 
 Are all presented to his sight. 
 
 Once I remember being there. 
 
 When clouds were dark, and skies unfair. 
 
 The rain was falling thick and fast. 
 
 The forest waved before the blast. 
 
 My brother's heart was sunk in fear. 
 
 And e'en my own not free from care. 
 
 So much was swelled, the streamlet's tide 
 
 A sweeping torrent grew, and wide. 
 
 From dawn till late in afternoon, 
 
 The showery rains came pouring down. 
 
 But just before the sun was set, 
 
 While yet the eastern clouds were wet, 
 
 A bending arch o'erspanned the air. 
 
 And every hue of heaven was there. 
 
 I took it for a sign of peace; 
 
 It bade the storming tempest cease. 
 
 The wind was still, the torrent sunk away. 
 
 And earth was gilded by departing day. 
 
 Thy fanning wings are like that bow — 
 
 On both, the self -same colors glow, 
 
 And Beauty gave thy gaudy hue. 
 
 As sunshine paints the morning dew!" 
 
 The flattered fly an answer gave: 
 ''Dweller of the dreary wave, 
 I doubt not but you say the truth. 
 Since my very earliest youth 
 213 
 
The Fish and the Butterfly 
 
 The members of my airy race 
 Have given me the highest place, 
 And all of my commands obey, 
 With true subservience to my sway. 
 But who art thou (for I must know), 
 Who dwells the sighing waves below. 
 Who so anxious seems to be 
 To come, with friendly terms, to me?" 
 
 The fish, from out his native tide. 
 
 With sophic words, again replied: 
 
 "The monarch of the stream am I, 
 
 Few kings with me in splendor vie. 
 
 My palace is a mossy block. 
 
 And caves are hollowed in the rock. 
 
 There is a courtier, in my hall, 
 
 Who traced this stream o'er dam and fall, 
 
 And swam thro' all the watery plain 
 
 Where leviathan holds his reign. 
 
 He says the coral reefs divine 
 
 Equal not this rock of mine. 
 
 I have no sparkling gems, 't is true. 
 
 Diamonds and pearls I never knew; 
 
 But my pure stream is far more clear 
 
 Than ocean's brightest tints appear." 
 
 " 'T is true, your stream is clear and bright. 
 The weary pilgrim feels delight. 
 When first, thy rippling waters blue 
 Come sparkling to his distant view, 
 214 
 
The Fish and the Butterfly 
 
 And, from the noontide scorching heat, 
 Does to thy shaded banks retreat." 
 
 "Since thou art empress of thy race, 
 While I hold power in this place. 
 Since wearied by protracted flight 
 Far from thy own regions bright, 
 (Soon will fall the shades of night) 
 On friendly terms, we ought to be. 
 Accept my hospitality! 
 If you admire my realm, above, 
 My grassy banks and shady grove. 
 Come, view my rocky halls below, 
 Where far more wondrous beauties glow. 
 The laden board 's already spread 
 To supply a monarch's need — 
 A couch, on which thy limbs to lay 
 And sweetly dream till dawn of day, 
 Softer than that slimy stone 
 Which you now are sitting on. 
 And see! 't is clouding in the west, 
 The winds are waking from their rest. 
 Haste ! for should it rain and blow 
 Thy rocky isle will overflow." 
 
 Off from the rock she lightly flew 
 And lighted on the wavelets blue. 
 One bound, the fish is at her side. 
 His cruel jaws are opened wide, 
 A single snap, and all is o'er. 
 The butterfly will sail no more. 
 
 215 Cincinnati, April 4, 1858 
 
Jfragment 
 
 From Creole Girl 
 
 As IF chill winds and frozen skies 
 Forbid our warmer natures rise, 
 And drive our wild desires in, 
 To smoulder and burn out within, 
 Beneath the equinoctial line, 
 Where scorching suns arise and shine, 
 Where endless Summer charms the eyes 
 With tranquil nights and starry skies. 
 
 Love is not that cold, heartless thing 
 
 To bloom an hour and then take wing. 
 
 As if in nature, as in clime. 
 
 That love is warm, and mocks at time. 
 
 Disinterested and intense, 
 
 A passion, less of mind than sense. 
 
 Such love was hers, she did not think, 
 
 She did not fear Destruction's brink. 
 
 She only felt; she only knew 
 
 She loved him, who, before your view. 
 
 Now lingers on the verge of death 
 
 And whispers, with his failing breath, 
 
 A story that he hates to tell, 
 
 Which only, by the fear of hell. 
 
 Is dragged from out that silent cell. 
 
 Its slumbering place, for many a year 
 
 Unknown to human eye or ear. 
 
 216 
 
Remorse 
 
 Father! there is a sympathy, 
 
 A warm, unseen, magnetic tie, 
 
 That binds our hearts in chains of Love 
 
 With those whose hearts, responsive, move. 
 
 1862 
 
 The mind that weeps o'er bloody crimes, 
 
 Despair and anguish riven, 
 Tho' done, they were, in former times 
 
 And feels 't is unforgiven. 
 All earth to him 's a prison lone. 
 
 Within his breast, despair, 
 His heart, though harder than a stone. 
 
 Is pierced by torment everywhere. 
 
 Like him, who on Caucasus bound. 
 
 Whose vitals were a vulture's prey. 
 But yet, still more of substance found 
 
 As they were rent away. 
 By his confiding passions tost, 
 
 He tries, in vain, to flee 
 And drown his sorrows with the host, 
 
 Who pass their days in jollity. 
 In vain, naught can his night dispel. 
 
 No ray of Hope is given. 
 This earth to him's an early hell, 
 
 He sees no future heaven. 
 
 217 ^*^^ 
 
O ! THAT a little cot were mine, 
 
 Within the gloomy wood, 
 Its windows hung with fair woodbine, 
 
 And near the running flood, 
 Where I might spend my peaceful life, 
 Far from the city's noise and strife, 
 To watch the seasons, in their round, 
 First deck, then desolate, the ground. 
 And, in the gloom of middle even. 
 Hold converse with the lights of heaven. 
 
 What tho' my lone abode were rude. 
 Far in the desert solitude, 
 I would not leave its quiet walls 
 To dwell within the richest halls 
 That man can frame, or art can give. 
 If there, in peace, I could not live. 
 I could not breathe the poisoned air 
 Of courts, for degradation there 
 Stalks rampant, while my woodland home, 
 Half hidden in the forest gloom, 
 And shaded by the foliage dense. 
 Seems like the type of innocence. 
 If Jennie, there, with me would dwell. 
 That spot were not a little cell ; 
 Her gentle looks and loving eyes 
 Would make the place a paradise. 
 
 1857 
 
 218 
 
tKfje ©uttasit 
 
 By Ohio's banks of green, 
 When the Summer paints the scene, 
 'Neath a locust's waving shade. 
 Dwelt a long-forsaken maid. 
 From Georgia's sunny land she came, 
 None knew her history or name, 
 Save that misfortune made her roam, 
 And, once, she had a happy home. 
 
 In some balmy, summer night, 
 
 'Neath the moon's unclouded light. 
 
 You might have heard her warbling, there, 
 
 Notes of sorrow and despair. 
 
 Thro' the summer, green and long. 
 
 Still she sang her cheerless song. 
 
 She sang of youth's commencing scene. 
 
 The happy home where she had been, 
 
 How cheerful, with its fitful glare. 
 
 The hearth fire burned at evening there. 
 
 She was the flower, whose early grace 
 Cast beauty in that humble place. 
 Her parents hoped (Hope often errs) 
 That, when arrived at later years. 
 Her angel presence would assuage 
 The closing of their pilgrimage. 
 219 
 
The Outcast 
 
 Alas! Alas! those hopes were air, 
 Their place was taken by despair; 
 They fell away, like July's rose, 
 Beneath the blast that Winter blows. 
 Or, as that Winter's frost work, frail, 
 Dissolves before the Summer's gale. 
 
 A stranger came from far away. 
 From Albion's clime of vapors gray. 
 By words of gentleness, he moved 
 The maiden's heart until she loved — 
 Yet, never crowned the foolish bliss. 
 Or changed her youthful name to his. 
 When her affections he had gained. 
 He saw that Honor still remained. 
 Nor could he rest till that was gone. 
 Then left her ruined and undone. 
 
 She left her home and sunny clime. 
 Where Spring and Summer fill the time. 
 And lived the life of those who err, 
 On the wide earth a wanderer. 
 Since then, her wretched course had been 
 A mingled web of grief and sin. 
 And now, an outcast, sad and lorn. 
 Her breast by every passion torn. 
 All feelings gone, but grief and pride, 
 She dwelt by lone Ohio's side. 
 
 220 
 
The Outcast 
 
 The Autumn winds, o'er rock and hill, 
 Now shriek, with hollow wailings shrill. 
 The white caps in the rapid river 
 Rush upstream with a mad endeavor, 
 And the deep waters, once so blue. 
 Look cold and cheerless to the view. 
 The sun had sunk, with feeble light. 
 And quickly came the wintry night. 
 
 From out her weary house of pain, 
 She went, but ne'er returned again, 
 And sought the river's rocky side. 
 Where, churned to foam, the yellow tide 
 Soughed up the bank before the wind. 
 As if enraged to be confined. 
 She cast her countenance to the sky. 
 The cold moon, and the stars on high. 
 Once more, she said, "Farewell to you," 
 Pale denizens of ether blue. 
 Oft I have watched your course in heaven, 
 At midnight, and at early even. 
 If Nature's God, on Nature's face. 
 Did outlines of expression trace, 
 I 've fancied I have seen, in thine, 
 A sympathy for griefs like mine. 
 Farewell again ! my weary breast 
 Hath long wished for its final rest. 
 The waves may wash above my head, 
 And cold and cheerless be my bed. 
 221 
 
The Outcast 
 
 I look upon them without care, 
 My wanderings will be ended there, 
 And the cold waters, with their gloom, 
 Shall be a quiet, peaceful tomb." 
 
 The night has past, the driving storm 
 Hath dashed on shore, a female form, 
 To molder in the open air, 
 And lodged upon a sandbar there. 
 'T is she, the lone, forsaken maid, 
 Who dwelt beneath the locust's shade. 
 They raised her from the restless wave, 
 And placed her in a fitting grave. 
 Above her, blooms a hemlock tree. 
 Whose verdure glows eternally; 
 A willow, too, that bends its head 
 As if in mourning for the dead. 
 And fragrant roses scent the air. 
 And gentle winds are blowing there. 
 The river's silver ripples sigh, 
 As, gliding fast, they hurry by 
 And sing a lullaby of peace, 
 A music that will never cease. 
 No more will fell invading care 
 Disturb her peaceful slumbers there; 
 No more despair and sorrow come 
 To rack her in her narrow home. 
 
 1858 
 
 111 
 
O! THE girls, the girls, 
 With their beautiful curls, 
 
 Whatever was done without them ! 
 They're the soul of life, 
 And the cause of strife. 
 
 They are fickle in mind. 
 And, with spirits gay. 
 
 They change like the wind 
 On an April day. 
 
 But that's not all about them. 
 
 They make one's heart burn, 
 But they love in return. 
 
 Who would not be lonely without them? 
 When their affections are set, 
 They never forget. 
 
 Their souls are as pure 
 As a fount in the shade. 
 
 Their delight is to cure 
 The wounds they have made. 
 
 And that is all about them. 
 
 1856 
 
 223 
 
tKo 3tmit ^- 
 
 December's winds are wailing, 
 
 How bitterly and cold ; 
 The flaky snow is paling 
 
 The wintry frozen mold. 
 
 I stand where grew the hawthorn hedge, 
 No hawthorns now are there, 
 
 The elms extend their leafless boughs, 
 And waver, cold and bare. 
 
 The owlet, in the forest. 
 
 Hoots out his omened tale 
 And casts his dismal prophecies 
 
 Upon the howling gale. 
 
 Beneath this birch tree's shadow. 
 When Summer held her reign, 
 
 We spent its moonlit evenings. 
 My unforgotten Jane. 
 
 'T is not drear Nature's aspect 
 That spreads the place around, 
 
 'T is not the icy mantle 
 
 That robes the frozen ground. 
 
 That makes me feel so mournful. 
 
 For if 't were leafy June, 
 My spirit would be just as sad. 
 
 My heart as much cast down. 
 224 
 
For a Dog's Collar 
 
 For she is gone, who was the charm 
 That bound the spot to me. 
 
 The sunshine, in her absence, here 
 Would dull and cheerless be. 
 
 But now, that Winter comes to make 
 The dreary scene more drear, 
 
 My very heart within me dies, 
 I can not linger here. 
 
 I go away, to move among 
 
 The busy paths of men. 
 My eyes shall not behold this spot 
 
 For many a year, again. 
 
 1856 
 
 Jfor a Bds'si Collar 
 
 My name it is Caesar, 
 
 From Newfoundland I came; 
 I was raised by my master, 
 
 James Wilken, his name. 
 My teeth know their duty, 
 
 I 'm hardened to fear. 
 Beware, rogues and plunderers. 
 
 Come not too near! 
 
 1856 
 
 15 225 
 
:!frasment 
 
 Some may blame his cold indifference, 
 And he would merit their severity, 
 Had not his pilgrimage have been 
 A tale of sorrow scarcely yet begun ; 
 His heart a history, he alone, 
 Skilled in its mystic language, knows 
 The loves and griefs recorded there. 
 
 And he reads, day by day, its leaves, 
 And pores above the unforgotten past. 
 Alone, in silence. Few would dream 
 That reckless face could ever wear 
 The look of grief it often does. 
 'T is not for present ills he mourns, 
 But for a long gone happiness. 
 He thinks of lovely forms that he beheld 
 In his remotest boyhood. Still, 
 His memory makes them live again, 
 Almost as lifelike as before. 
 He seems to see their deep eyes shine, 
 The long rings of their waving hair 
 Catching the purple light, and over necks 
 Swanlike and snowy, streaming down 
 In darkness and inimitable grace. 
 
 And he remembers one, whose lineaments 
 Wore an angelic loveliness, 
 Which simple beauty never yet could give, 
 Nor artist, with his pencil, trace 
 226 
 
Fragment 
 
 On canvas, nor sculptor's hand 
 Chisel from cold and lifeless stone. 
 He loved her. Long his heart 
 Bowed down, with deeper adoration, 
 Before her beauty, than it would before 
 A loftier and more sacred shrine. 
 
 And yet, 
 He feared to tell her all, and still 
 He fancied that his burning love 
 Met with a full return. 
 But as the darkness follows on the tracks 
 Of sunlight, so the change 
 In human life, from happiness to grief. 
 The time for parting came at last; 
 They heard each other's last farewell. 
 How different they were ! His spirit felt, 
 Crushed by the blow, as the tall elm. 
 When leveled by the fiery wrath 
 Of Summer thunder storms, but still 
 His face betrayed no outward mark 
 Of passion, or of sorrow, for he saw 
 She cared not for him. All his pride 
 Revolted, so the secret died with him. 
 Or rather lived, and like a canker, gnawed. 
 She never knew that he, she left. 
 Was other than a friend, and, as from one. 
 She parted; grasping his hand, she said. 
 Sweetly and murmuringly, "Good-bye!" 
 And the next moment she was gone. 
 
 1859 
 
 227 
 
^fragments; 
 
 Night's gloom was on the silent sky, 
 The crescent moon was riding high, 
 Over the blue, ethereal plain, 
 Surrounded by her starry train. 
 I stood upon a boundless plain, 
 
 Dark Volcan rose before my eyes, 
 I tried to see its crest, in vain, 
 
 That pierced the deep blue skies. 
 Every way the scene was fair, 
 Not a cloudlet dimmed the air, 
 And the pale stars, with watchful glow. 
 Looked dimly down on all below. 
 Their light fell on each sharp peak, there, 
 That reared its summit high in air. 
 Until, it seemed, the mountain's sides 
 Were coursed by liquid, silver tides. 
 So did each music rippling stream 
 Twinkle in the lunar beam. 
 
 There is a language in the sky 
 That tells the tale of destiny; 
 And every orb's uncertain light 
 Shows something to the seer's sight. 
 Of mystic knowledge, he can see 
 What has been and what yet will be. 
 Such language hath belonged to me 
 Since my remotest infancy. 
 228 
 
Fragments 
 
 A necromancer I was born, and know 
 All the arcana, dark, can show; 
 The secrets of the air and skies. 
 And earth, and ocean, meet my eyes. 
 My art can tell where darkly shine 
 The diamonds of the unfathomed mine, 
 Or where, in earth's capacious store, 
 Is hid her wealth of golden ore. 
 Then spoke the king, with brow severe: 
 "To brag, thou art not summoned here. 
 If thou hast skill, thy better part 
 Will be to show, not boast, your art. 
 You gazed on Volcan and the sky 
 When the pale stars were beaming high. 
 What fate, for us, lurked in their sheen. 
 Was good, or evil, most therein?" 
 
 In yonder star-gemmed field of blue, 
 A vision met my eagle view, 
 A lovely city decked the plain. 
 Around it was a lawless train. 
 I saw the camp-fire's ruddy glare, 
 I heard the conversation there. 
 Their brows were knit in angry mood. 
 And all their speeches were of blood. 
 
 I looked again — the city fair, 
 In smouldering heaps, was lying there; 
 And many a corpse was strewn around. 
 And sanguine stains were on the ground, 
 229 
 
Fragments 
 
 And warriors, not of Aztec race, 
 Walked darkly through the ruined place, 
 And searched for gold that might be hid 
 Within each half -burnt pyramid. 
 
 I looked once more, this time I saw 
 A sight that froze my blood with awe — 
 There was a man of haughty mood, 
 And, clamoring fierce, around him stood 
 That lawless train — they seized on him; 
 With chains they wrapt each manly limb ; 
 They bound him strongly to a tree, 
 
 With lighted fagots at his feet. 
 He did not blanch, the sight to see, 
 
 Nor writhed before the heat. 
 Scorched, by the fast arising flame. 
 His hissing flesh cooked on his frame, 
 Yet not a single sound gave he 
 As outward sign of agony. 
 The glow of his calm eye was clear, 
 His lip but held a bitter sneer. 
 And when he drew his latest breath 
 He seemed victorious in death. 
 
 My trance was gone ; and all around 
 Was silent, solitude profound. 
 But as I woke, the hoot owl's cry 
 Wailed on the winds discordantly. 
 O ! luckless sound ; O ! vision drear, 
 Some evil to the land is near. 
 230 
 
Fragments 
 
 "O Guatimozin! king, beware! 
 Thy every footstep guard with care! 
 Far better would have been thy fate 
 Had'st thou been born in lower state, 
 And oped thy infant eyes to see 
 The bitter ills of poverty. 
 Instead of reigning on the throne 
 Of Montezuma, dead and gone." 
 *'Yes, even now," Malmistic cried, 
 ''Our foes are round on every side. 
 Who knows, but on the dawn of light 
 Black cinders mark our city's site." 
 
 Fear seized on Guatimozin's soul; 
 That, iron will could not control. 
 The cold blood hurried to his heart. 
 Causing every nerve to start. 
 And the dense ringlets of his hair 
 Stood bristling upright in the air. 
 
 But pride soon came to his relief — 
 He felt he was the people's chief. 
 He would not let a sign appear 
 To show them he could suffer fear. 
 And, with a trembling voice, he spoke; 
 How changed his husky accents broke: 
 
 ''Malmistic, dost thou come to prate 
 And scare me with thy dreams of fate? 
 Thy tale may fright some craven thing. 
 But not a fearless Aztec king, 
 231 
 
To J. R. 
 
 The scion of an ancient line, 
 
 The favorites of the power divine. 
 
 When, tell me, was it ever said, 
 
 In noonday's light, or midnight shade. 
 
 That Guatimozin was afraid? 
 
 E'en if I thought firm fate's decree, 
 
 Foreshadowed in thy prophecy 
 
 And thy ill-omened visions, true, 
 
 Their terrors could not blanch my view.' 
 
 Co I. 3^. 
 
 Bring the planet readers here, 
 
 Put their science to the test. 
 Madam Blanche will make it clear, 
 
 What is dwelling in my breast. 
 "O! what change is wrought by care! 
 
 Sorrow, Gloom, and Love, we see. 
 Happiness that should be there 
 
 Is gone ; a mournful wreck is he. 
 Let us bring the cause to view. 
 
 Whence this grieving and despair. 
 See! a girl, with eyes of blue. 
 
 And wavy locks of golden hair. 
 Diviner! quickly tell her name, 
 
 Let me know the girl you view! 
 Jennie R — r, by the flame 
 
 That burns within me, it is true! 
 
 232 1859 
 
 1855 
 
tKije Eeb ^ca ^asisiase 
 
 Upon the Red Sea's lonely shore, 
 
 A band of Hebrews stood, 
 The cloud of fire shone, before, 
 
 Above the briny flood. 
 
 But what a marvel, to be told, 
 
 The dark and dreadful tide. 
 Like glassy walls, apart is rolled 
 
 And stands on either side. 
 
 Led by the flaming cloud on high, 
 They crossed to Persia's strand, 
 
 While Egypt's hosts, behind them, fly 
 With sword and spear in hand. 
 
 But, with a roar, the salty brines 
 Round Egypt's thousands close. 
 
 While, safe on shore, the Hebrew lines 
 Behold their drowning foes. 
 
 Equestrian, footman, charioteer. 
 Whelmed in the ocean's power. 
 
 Their monster gods deserted there 
 In that last trying hour. 
 
 And Pharaoh's wealth, and glory vain. 
 
 Are buried in the tide; 
 And he who dared dispute with God 
 
 Is punished for his pride. 
 
 Cincinnati, April 6, 1855 
 
 233 
 
f tUeb ^tllic 
 
 Blithe Willie was a stately lad 
 
 As Nature e'er designed. 
 One might ride all a Summer's day 
 
 And not his equal find. 
 He loved a little black-eyed lass, 
 
 As lovely as a filly. 
 The saucy Bess, of Lexington, 
 
 Was all the world to Willie. 
 
 There came a strapping youth from Maine- 
 
 That enterprising nation ; 
 The winsome Bess waked in his heart 
 
 Hymenial inclination. 
 But all the gossips sneered at him, 
 
 And said he must be silly. 
 With such a face as he possest, 
 
 To dare to rival Willie. 
 
 Quoth he, "To charms of face or form 
 
 I make but small pretension — 
 Bowlegged am I, and spindle shanked. 
 
 My mouth needs no extension. 
 My mother's ugliest brat was I, 
 
 Except my sister Tillie — 
 But O ! I 've got the Yankee grit 
 
 To soon dispose of Willie." 
 234 
 
Jilted Willie 
 
 He had two yellow, squinting eyes, 
 
 His hair was rather sorrel. 
 And pimples made his face appear 
 
 As red and rough as coral. 
 He told the artless Bess that she 
 
 Was fairer than a lily, 
 And that the Lord had brought him out 
 
 From Maine to rival Willie. 
 
 He bragged about his farm at home, 
 
 His wealth in land and cattle. 
 When Mammon fights on Cupid's side. 
 
 They're bound to win the battle. 
 He probed her heart with golden dart. 
 
 Her manner grew less chilly. 
 He married her, and carried her, 
 
 In triumph, off from Willie. 
 
 Now, Willie seeks the silent glen 
 
 And spends his days in weeping; 
 And oft his sighs are heard to rise 
 
 When happier men are sleeping. 
 May Fortune make that Yankee's life 
 
 A rough road, harsh and hilly! 
 He 's done an awful spurt of work — 
 
 He's broke the heart of Willie. 
 
 Fairmount, January 10, 1868 
 
 235 
 
Heed not thou Temptations' speech, 
 
 Nor drink the rosy wine — 
 Its poison to the soul doth reach, 
 
 Though brightly it may shine. 
 'T is pleasant to the ruined taste, 
 
 And calms the sorrowed brain, 
 But walking after, in hot haste, 
 
 Disease and Death are in its train. 
 I 've seen a man of rosy hue. 
 
 With all his prospects fair; 
 The next time that he met my view 
 
 I saw him in despair. 
 And when I asked his comrades, why 
 
 He was in that sad state. 
 They gave a cold and hard reply — 
 
 That he was an inebriate. 
 Then, tho' among the young and gay 
 
 They tempt thee to the wine. 
 And try to laugh thy fears away, 
 
 In firmness, still decline. 
 Hast thou not heard of Maelstrom's tide 
 
 That rolls in thundering sound? 
 No ship that dares o'er sea to ride 
 
 Will tempt her giddy round. 
 Do thou of drunkenness beware ! 
 
 'T is like the Maelstrom's wave, 
 And myriads, on life's ocean fair, 
 Engulfed within its vortex drear. 
 
 Have found an early grave. 
 
 236 ^^^^ 
 
€mma's i.eap 
 
 Mount Reisingberg stands vast and high, 
 With snowy summits in the sky, 
 Far o'er the level of the main 
 Where everlasting frosts remain. 
 There vernal Zephyrs fail to melt, 
 And summer suns pass by, unfelt, 
 And stainless, now appears that snow. 
 As when, a thousand years ago, 
 Its rocky caves of solitude 
 Sheltered the heathen giant brood. 
 Below it, spreads, on either hand, 
 Bohemia and Silesia's land. 
 
 The daughter of the mountain king — 
 Fair Emma, once, in early Spring — 
 Beheld the giant Bohdo near, 
 Who fixed on her his lustful leer. 
 And he was mounted on his steed, 
 In ancient legends, famed for speed. 
 
 In all Bohemia's forests 'round, 
 No match for Bohdo might be found. 
 His fellow monsters shrunk with fear 
 Whene'er his form was hovering near. 
 No danger could his courage daunt. 
 No mortal knew his evening haunt. 
 For weapon, he, a sturdy oak, 
 Short off its giant stem, had broke. 
 And formed a club, that, in the fight. 
 Left tokens of its wielder's might; 
 237 
 
Emma's Leap 
 
 That slew the wild-wolf in his lair 
 
 And, lifeless, stretched the mangled bear. 
 
 Full long had Bohdo sought to move 
 The tender maiden's heart to love. 
 She sighed, 't is true, but not for him, 
 Nor cared for strength or stratagem. 
 In vain, his tears and prayers and sighs, 
 She looked on him with scornful eyes, 
 And when he saw his suit had failed, 
 Fierce anger in his heart prevailed. 
 And, in his wrath, he did declare, 
 By all the powers of earth and air — 
 He would all obstacles defy 
 And make the damsel his, or die. 
 
 When Emma saw his frowning brow, 
 And called to mind his angry vow — 
 In wild affright, she spurred her horse 
 To save herself from death or worse. 
 Stern Bohdo saw; he slacked his rein. 
 And gave pursuit with might and main. 
 Through many a various scene and place, 
 They urged that swift and deadly race. 
 From cliff to cliff, from vale to vale. 
 Leaving, behind, the mountain gale. 
 Through the dark forest shades they pass, 
 And over many a deep morass. 
 And, fast, their flying coursers press 
 Through wild Thuringia's wilderness. 
 238 
 
Emma's Leap 
 
 But Bohdo's steed on Emma's gains, 
 Short space between them now remains; 
 When, shooting far aloof in air, 
 She sees the rocky Hartz appear. 
 Up the steep sides, her smoking horse 
 Toils, faithful, with his failing force. 
 Until they gained a distant hight. 
 Here a deep chasm met her sight, 
 Dark, and terrific with the sound 
 Of waters in its depths profound. 
 Before that drear, aye blasting, sight, 
 Her courser paused, in sudden fright. 
 With Death before, and Death behind. 
 Despair came over Emma's mind. 
 
 With thundering tread and headlong speed, 
 
 Behind, came Bohdo's panting steed. 
 
 (The rushing torrent's rapid flow 
 
 Rolled full a thousand feet below). 
 
 She saw; with virtuous wrath she burned, 
 
 Her self-possession all returned. 
 
 Before her was the dread abyss. 
 
 Behind, the fate of being his; 
 
 The first was hard ; the second worse, 
 
 She, backward, flung her parting curse. 
 
 She called her father's sprites, to aid — 
 And next, the dreadful leap she made. 
 The powers unseen their strength supplied. 
 And, safe, she crossed the chasm wide. 
 239 
 
Emma's Leap 
 
 So strongly did her courser press, 
 With his hind hoofs, the precipice; 
 That full four cubits in the rock 
 His feet were driven by the shock; 
 And to this day, the mark remains. 
 Though stormy winds and beating rains 
 Have made the hollow less, yet they 
 Will never wear that dent away. 
 But, in the spring, her golden crown, 
 Into the dark abyss, went down. 
 
 His flying steed, did Bohdo urge 
 Until he reached the fatal verge. 
 Undaunted, by the frightful leap, 
 He strove to spring from steep to steep, 
 And, as he left the rock, 't is said. 
 He called infernals to aid. 
 And dreadful demons heard the spell. 
 And hastened from the shades of hell, 
 Resolved to serve their master there 
 And bear the leaping horse in air. 
 But vain their aid, and vain his spell. 
 For darkly, downward Bohdo fell. 
 Beneath the seething river's spray 
 He vanished from the light of day. 
 
 And on that spot, where lies the print 
 Of horse shoes in the solid flint. 
 The fiend of evil comes, 't is said, 
 When night hath her black mantle spread 
 240 
 
Emma's Leap 
 
 Above the sleeping world, to hold, 
 With his foul train, his orgies bold. 
 And it is told, and told with awe, 
 By those whose gifted vision saw — 
 By those whose spirit strengthened ear 
 Had superhuman power to hear — 
 That, in the witching noon of night, 
 A hell flame lights the lonely hight; 
 Infernal music wakes the air. 
 Infernal forms seem dancing there; 
 And horrid rites are all night done, 
 From twilight till the rising sun. 
 A tale, too fearful to be told 
 Except to men of natures bold. 
 That makes the children wail with fear, 
 Unfit for pregnant dames to hear. 
 
 To Bohdo, in the wrath of heaven, 
 A hideous canine form was given; 
 Vast and terrific to the sight, 
 And blacker than the noon of night, 
 And, in the roaring gulf, alone, 
 He holds his guard o'er Emma's crown. 
 No miser, in his thirst for gold — 
 No diver, in his art grown bold — 
 Shall lift it from the vortex drear 
 To glitter in the upper sphere. 
 But once, in long, succeeding days — 
 A youth, impelled by fame and praise, 
 16 241 
 
Emma's Leap 
 
 Descended in the deep, 't is said, 
 To drag the treasure from its bed. 
 At first, by fickle Fortune blest. 
 He raised it to the water's breast. 
 So that assembled nations there. 
 Beheld, above, its jeweled glare. 
 But, as he swung the crown on high, 
 In pride's untimely ecstasy. 
 It slipped and sunk; again he dove, 
 But ne'er returned to light above. 
 Aghast, the pale spectators stand 
 Like statues carved by sculptor's hand, 
 When they beheld, upon the flood, 
 A rising stream of crimson blood. 
 
 Since then, the weird and frightful scene 
 Hath no abode for mortals been. 
 With dread, the pilgrim nears the place. 
 With awe, beholds the footmark's trace. 
 Night's shadow veils the lone abyss. 
 The gulf and giddy precipice. 
 Eternal silence reigns around, 
 No voice in Nature gives a sounds 
 Except the growling, hoarse and low. 
 The hollow whirlpool makes below; 
 And wintry winds that sweep the sky 
 As if they fain would hurry by. 
 No bird, that wings the upper air, 
 Will build her nest or warble there. 
 242 
 
Desert of Memory 
 
 The mountain huntsman will not dare 
 To linger till the twilight, there. 
 Afar, the buzzard guides his flight. 
 The eagle seeks a distant hight. 
 The voiceless spot remains alone 
 A solitude of wave and stone. 
 
 Fairmount, January 10, 1868 
 
 JSes^ert of iHemorp 
 
 There 's a desert called Memory, pathless and wide. 
 Its broad plains are barren, no green thing is spied. 
 The pilgrim, who presses its sands with his feet, 
 Is wearied by distance, and faint by the heat. 
 But, scattered along in the desert, are seen 
 Small, lovely oases, covered with green. 
 Where the leaves of the palm groves are waving in air. 
 And the hearts of their children unshadowed by care. 
 O! who would not wish through those forests to 
 
 rove. 
 In those islands of pleasure, those gardens of Love! 
 But the pilgrim strays far on the hot sandy plain. 
 He searches for cool running streamlets in vain, 
 The mirage displays its fair visions to view. 
 He follows them, only to find them untrue. 
 The shadows of darkness descend in the air, 
 Far, far on the desert he sinks in despair. 
 His heart has one thought, and that thought is his 
 
 last. 
 Of the gardens of Love upon Memory's waste. 
 
 243 ^*^^ 
 
Ki)t jFisJfjerman of (^otfjam 
 
 Twelve men of Gotham went to fish, 
 
 A wise and witty band — 
 And some did in the water wade, 
 
 And some stood on the land. 
 
 But, as their homeward way they went, 
 
 One of the troop did say: 
 "In wading, we have done some feats 
 
 Most marvelous, this day." 
 
 "I hope, when we do come to look, 
 
 That it may not be found 
 That any of our crew from home 
 
 Have come here to be drowned." 
 
 "Nay, marry! " said another chap: 
 
 "About that let us see. 
 For when we did from home set out, 
 
 A crowd of twelve were we." 
 
 Then, speedily, themselves they told. 
 
 Each did eleven tell; 
 For each forgot to count himself, 
 
 And grief upon them fell. 
 
 "Alack!" said they, "this woeful day 
 
 Some one of us is drowned. 
 Let us go back and see; perhaps 
 
 His body may be found." 
 244 
 
The Fisherman of Gotham 
 
 So up and down the brook they went, 
 
 With lamentations great, 
 BewaiUng much the fate of him 
 
 Who now was fishes' bait. 
 
 Then came a courtier, riding by, 
 Who asked them what they did. 
 
 "Alas!" said they, "we have a friend 
 Beneath this water hid." 
 
 "To catch the fish within the brook, 
 
 We did come out this day, 
 And twelve of us did come along. 
 
 Twelve goodly men, and gay. 
 
 "Some one of us has here been lost, 
 
 We know not why or how ; 
 For, in our number told, there's but 
 
 Eleven of us now." 
 
 "What" asked the courtier, "will you give 
 
 If I the twelfth man find?" 
 "All that our pockets hold," said they, 
 
 "With free and ready mind." 
 
 The courtier took the cash, and, next. 
 
 The counting was begun. 
 He rapped the first across the back, 
 
 Remarking — "Here is one." 
 245 
 
Julia 
 
 Thus, one by one, the courtier told — 
 
 Eleven of the train; 
 And every one he struck, he made 
 
 Roar lustily, with pain. 
 
 "Here is the twelfth," said he, and well 
 
 He ''walloped" him around. 
 "All thanks," replied the Gothamites, 
 
 "You have our brother found." 
 
 Cincinnati, 1867 
 
 gulia 
 
 Julia hath no lustrous eye, 
 
 No trim and fairy form, 
 No snowy forehead, arched and high. 
 
 Where clustering tresses swarm. 
 She hath no light and tiny hand 
 Like that which waves a spirit's wand, 
 
 Red lips, and rosy tinted cheeks, 
 She ne'er possessed at all. 
 The magic that she exercised 
 
 Was more than physical — 
 It was her heart, that beat so warm, 
 That gave her such a nameless charm. 
 
 1856 
 
 246 
 
Ki)t 0ttm 
 
 How sweet to be 
 
 Aside the sea, 
 And watch the swelling waves, 
 
 To hear the shore 
 
 Return the roar 
 When loud the tempest raves. 
 
 Or, where the blue 
 
 Extends to view 
 A sky reflecting plain, 
 
 A boundless tide. 
 
 Where, far and wide, 
 Great Neptune holds his reign. 
 
 No mortal man, 
 
 Since time began. 
 E'er saw the frozen pole, 
 
 No ship e'er found 
 
 The utmost bound 
 Where billows cease to roll. 
 
 What plummet line, 
 
 E'er cast in brine, 
 Its mysteries could show? 
 
 What diver here, 
 
 From human sphere. 
 Can tell what is below? 
 247 
 
The Ocean 
 
 Fierce monsters dwell 
 
 Beneath the swell. 
 Of grim, terrific look, 
 
 The cuttles lay, 
 
 In wait for prey, 
 Behind the slimy rock. 
 
 The coral race, 
 
 In that dark place, 
 Their rocky homes uprear. 
 
 Though brief their day, 
 
 Their works will stay 
 Till earth shall disappear. 
 
 Beneath the deep, 
 
 Ii;i his last sleep. 
 Full many a sailor lies. 
 
 And many a bark, 
 
 In caverns dark, 
 Becomes the polyp's prize. 
 
 Yon whale, at ease. 
 
 Stretched on the seas. 
 Does, from his nostrils spout, 
 
 Against the beam, 
 
 A lucid stream 
 Of sparkling water, out. 
 248 
 
The Ocean 
 
 Alas! full soon, 
 
 The dread harpoon 
 His harmless life will close. 
 
 Yon stately ship, 
 
 Upon the deep, 
 Bears his most cruel foes. 
 
 Boats leave her side, 
 
 And swiftly glide 
 Towards him, on the brine. 
 
 With lifted hands. 
 
 The Captain stands 
 To give the fatal sign. 
 
 With stealthy care, 
 They near him there.. 
 
 At once the harpoons fly, 
 Through air they sail, 
 And reach the whale, 
 
 Aimed skillfully and nigh. 
 
 Around, the tide 
 
 With blood is dyed. 
 His bulk heaves to and fro. 
 
 He can 't survive, 
 
 He gives the dive 
 And draws the rope below. 
 249 
 
The Ocean 
 
 But still the boat 
 
 Remains afloat. 
 The cord the fish confines. 
 From struggles vain, 
 
 He calms again, 
 And slacker grow the lines. 
 
 But now, anew, 
 
 On Ocean's blue. 
 For breath — they see him rise- 
 
 And to that place 
 
 The tars give chase; 
 The whale before them flies. 
 
 They ply their oars 
 
 With all their powers — 
 And swiftly scud the main ; 
 
 In his wake. 
 
 They overtake, 
 And wound him, once again. 
 
 The streaming flood 
 
 Of vital blood 
 He pours on Ocean's waves. 
 
 From every wound 
 
 It spouts around 
 The boat, in crimson laves. 
 250 
 
The Ocean 
 
 With sinking strength 
 
 He dies; at length, 
 The sailors seize the spoil. 
 
 The lamp whose light 
 
 Now aids my sight, 
 Perhaps, consumes his oil. 
 
 Beneath her waves, 
 
 In coral caves, 
 The sea is all alight. 
 
 For diamonds lay 
 
 Beneath the spray, 
 Where all besides is night. 
 
 Her depths enfold 
 
 Cargoes of gold. 
 Below the surface far, 
 
 The conquerors' spoils 
 
 The fruits of toils. 
 The wealth of peace and war. 
 
 These shall lay 
 
 Till that great day 
 When the last trump shall sound 
 
 From overhead, 
 
 To wake the dead 
 From their long sleep profound. 
 251 
 
The Ocean 
 
 'T is well, if they 
 
 Forever stay, 
 And never rise above. 
 
 Their shining spoils 
 
 Are seeds of broils 
 That break the bonds of love. 
 
 And hatred great, 
 
 They do create 
 'Twixt man and fellow-men. 
 
 Beneath the main 
 
 If they remain. 
 It is far better, then. 
 
 The man who pores 
 
 Along the shores 
 Will much instruction gain, 
 
 While rush along 
 
 The finny throng. 
 In their unnumbered train. 
 
 He stops to think, 
 
 Upon the brink. 
 Who made the myriad swarm. 
 
 He feels his mind 
 
 Toward God inclined. 
 With love and reverence warm. 
 252 
 
The Ocean 
 
 Not in one place 
 
 Alone, we trace 
 The present Deity. 
 
 In wind, and air, 
 
 Yea! everywhere, 
 His goodness we can see. 
 
 God made, O! man, 
 
 When time began, 
 This goodly world for you. 
 
 All through your life, 
 
 In peace and strife, 
 Your welfare is his view. 
 
 Then praise his name. 
 
 For he may claim 
 Thy highest praise from thee. 
 
 On all below. 
 
 He does bestow 
 Blessings, incessantly. 
 
 The friends of earth. 
 
 Though great their worth. 
 Can all be weaned away. 
 
 But he above 
 
 Holds constant love. 
 And guards you night and day. 
 253 
 
The Ocean 
 
 The swift yawl glides 
 
 Along the tides, 
 With Pleasure's party filled. 
 
 Their sails of white, 
 
 The yellow light 
 Of sunset seems to gild. 
 
 With skillful hands. 
 
 Its crew commands 
 Their ship upon the seas. 
 
 To catch the gale, 
 
 They hoist the sail. 
 And glide with swanlike ease. 
 
 But see arise 
 
 Upon the skies, 
 A dark and gloomy cloud ! 
 
 The thunder roars, 
 
 The shower pours. 
 The vessel's mast is bowed. 
 
 The light'nings fly 
 
 Along the sky, 
 And gild the mountain waves. 
 
 Loud groans the sphere, 
 
 Chaos is near. 
 The angry ocean raves. 
 254 
 
The Ocean 
 
 The brave bark leans, 
 
 Whirls, and careens, 
 The waves dash o'er her side. 
 
 Before the blast. 
 
 Her creaking mast 
 Almost bestirs the tide. 
 
 The sounding deep 
 
 Now goes to sleep — 
 A lull comes o'er its breast. 
 
 The wild wind's roar 
 
 Is heard no more, 
 All Nature is at rest. 
 
 Now, on the skies. 
 
 With thousand dyes, 
 Far shines the painted bow. 
 
 Beneath its arch, 
 
 Cloud warriors march 
 As from the field they go. 
 
 Now, from the West, 
 
 A sunbeam, blest, 
 Steals o'er the waters blue. 
 
 Thus Phoebus gives. 
 
 Before he leaves, 
 To Neptune, his adieu. 
 
 Cincinnati, March, 1855 
 
 255 
 
jabbress to tfje Asiatic Cljolcra 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 All hail ! Old fellow ! you have been 
 Tracking around the world unseen, 
 Yet not by any means unfelt, I ween, 
 
 By those, whose luck 
 Ordained that, by thy arrow keen, 
 
 They should be struck. 
 
 Though born by sacred Ganges' side. 
 No long time didst thou there abide. 
 The Eastern hemisphere was, far and wide, 
 
 By thee oppressed. 
 Next, thou didst cross Atlantic's tide 
 
 To reach the West. 
 
 Three thousand miles before you lay. 
 Yet vain did Science strive to stay, 
 By quarantine, your trackless way. 
 
 You reached our nation, 
 And here, renewed thy dismal sway 
 
 In desolation. 
 
 Doctors who knew you long and well, 
 Tales, much to your discredit, tell. 
 They say, you ugly thief of Hell, 
 
 That, in night's gloom,. 
 You enter where your victims dwell, 
 
 And seal their doom. 
 256 
 
Address to the Asiatic Cholera 
 
 You come not, like a noble foe — 
 Fair in the open daylight's glow. 
 The time, if you would let us know, 
 
 Of your attack, 
 We might anticipate your blow 
 
 And drive you back. 
 
 Some how, grim foe of human kind, 
 I 've always thought that you designed 
 Some ill against me, in your mind, 
 
 In stealthy way. 
 But if you come for me, you '11 find 
 
 No easy prey. 
 
 Your friend, Old Small Pox, just in play, 
 Did oft whole tribes of people slay. 
 Till Doctor Jenner came that way, 
 
 And Mary Montague. 
 He got his ''bitters" on that day, 
 
 Between those two. 
 
 I 've always thought, you murdering sprite, 
 Some one would check you in your might. 
 Who knows but I may be the wight 
 
 Who '11 save my race, 
 And thrash you off, in hasty flight. 
 
 To your own place. 
 17 257 
 
Address to the Asiatic Cholera 
 
 REPLY 
 
 I 've half a mind, you prince of sots, 
 To cramp your muscles into knots, 
 And start a rumbling in your guts 
 
 And turn you blue. 
 I '11 make you think some sober thoughts 
 
 Or put you through. 
 
 I am the cause of many sighs, 
 And persons who are good and wise 
 Look on me, but with serious eyes. 
 
 It's my opinion, 
 Old Nick should have you, as his prize, 
 
 In Hell's dominion. 
 
 If you do n't cease your idle ranting — 
 And, in your fancied prowess, vaunting, 
 Some time, when I for game am hunting, 
 
 For you I '11 steer. 
 And Faith ! your courage will be wanting 
 
 When I come near. 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 I have my weapons at command. 
 Grim bottles frown on every hand, " 
 Brandy and camphor, opium and 
 
 Hydrary submurias. 
 These will thy sly attack withstand, 
 
 However furious. 
 258 
 
On a Rainy and Dreary Day 
 
 But Winter comes, and you must flee 
 To warmer lands beyond the sea. 
 In the slant sunbeams, soon will be 
 
 Not much caloric. 
 Adieu! We drink a health to thee, 
 
 In paregoric. 
 
 0n a Eainp anb Brearp ©ap 
 
 Some days there are, when people feel 
 Like making use of lead or steel. 
 Or coiling round their necks a rope. 
 And curing disappointed hope. 
 
 A day like this is now on hand. 
 Come all ye suicidal band. 
 Whet up your knives, your pistols load— 
 Or, if ye choose a gentler mode. 
 Infuse some strychnine in your bowls! 
 Hell 's tired waiting for your souls. 
 To give you courage for the deed 
 A day like this is all you need. 
 
 259 
 
Reflections on Historp 
 
 There is a passion, deeply cast 
 
 Within the human breast, 
 Which makes the memory of the past 
 
 An ever welcome guest. 
 Events that long have past away 
 The remnants of a former day. 
 
 Torn from the grasp of Fate, 
 And nations whelmed in deep decay, 
 
 Man loves to contemplate. 
 
 How, in the lonely forest wild, 
 
 Where the Indian war whoop rung. 
 The village rose, the garden smiled ; 
 
 And the broad city sprung 
 In Nature's dark and deep recess; 
 Far, in the shady wilderness, 
 
 Art cast aside the gloom; 
 And industry, unchecked by toil, 
 Ploughed up the hard and stubborn soil, 
 
 And reared her smiling home. 
 
 We look along the mournful waste 
 Of Hoary years already past; 
 And tho' the contemplative breast, 
 By gloomy thoughts, may feel opprest. 
 The inner spirit owns the view, 
 Tho' painful, to be pleasing, too. 
 260 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 The thoughts that flood our memory 
 
 Are Hke the night owl's hooting cry — 
 
 Breaking forth, with startUng power, 
 
 From some old and ruined tower. 
 
 Where, from the crevice of some stone, 
 
 She calls out, to the blanching moon, 
 
 Notes that make her hurry by 
 
 On her journey thro' the sky. 
 
 Or frights, with trills of grief or woe. 
 
 The weary traveler below. 
 
 Till each widely parted hair 
 
 Bristles horrent in the air. 
 
 And the cold sweat damps his brow. 
 
 Fain, from the spot his feet would go. 
 
 But that loud, unearthly yell 
 
 Holds him with an iron spell. 
 
 Let him struggle as he will, 
 
 Yet, he is its prisoner still. 
 
 Though those notes foretell of care, 
 
 Sorrow, grieving, and despair. 
 
 And a myriad of woes. 
 
 Still he lingers till they close. 
 
 The page of History appears 
 Thick with the records of preceding years, 
 Like to a crowded cemet'ry. 
 Where, 'neath the marble tombstones, lie 
 The buried dead of ages by — 
 And every sentence is a tomb — 
 The last, and the eternal, home 
 261 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 Of some great action, or some name, 
 To keep its glory, or preserve its shame; 
 Perhaps, the mightiest monument 
 Of lives, for Fame and Empire spent. 
 
 O ! had the heroes of an era past 
 
 Known the short space their fame would last, 
 
 That, after they were dead and gone, 
 
 The world around would still go on. 
 
 That generations would arise and die, 
 
 Their fame melt to obscurity, 
 
 And naught remain to show that they had 
 
 been 
 Saving those names to, now and then, 
 Adorn the cold and lifeless page, 
 As relics of a former age. 
 They never would have squandered life 
 In troub'lous war and bloody strife. 
 The thrones they reigned on are now laid in 
 
 dust. 
 The glittering sceptres are bedimmed with rust, 
 The palaces wherein they dwelt 
 Time's paralyzing touch have felt, 
 Their broken pillars yet remain. 
 Looming o'er many a desert plain. 
 
 Around the shafts, the wild weeds climb, 
 And thick moss gathers in the lapse of time. 
 Arch after arch, and stone on stone. 
 Beneath a burning summer sun, 
 262 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 Or the beating wintry rain. 
 Fall, to strew the wreck-filled plain, 
 And the vast pile dissolves away, 
 Hour by hour, and day by day, 
 Like misty vapors of the air 
 Beneath the sun's meridian glare. 
 
 The fields, on which they fought and won, 
 The grass and flowers have overgrown. 
 And woods, and spreading forests dense, 
 Smile in their green luxuriance. 
 As if the ashes of the dead. 
 And gallant blood, that there was shed, 
 Immingled in the green earth's breast. 
 Had waked a life that could not rest. 
 But rose, to strengthen every limb. 
 And rust'ling bough and fragile stem, 
 Thro' all that forest dense and dim. 
 
 Death is the common lot of all, 
 This transient world's material — 
 Stone, brass, and iron, own. its sway, 
 Their time is only a longer day. 
 How vain is every effort of art. 
 And vain are the feelings of every heart. 
 Tho' the future seems like a cloudless sky 
 To the sunny mind of infancy. 
 With not a cloud to darken o'er 
 The flowery path that spreads before. 
 Yet, it asks no prophet of wondrous skill 
 The last and fatal end to tell. 
 263 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 In a narrow span of his mother earth, 
 In the bosom that reared and gave him birth, 
 The pilgrim sleeps, when the fitful scene 
 Of this world's trouble and strife have been, 
 And friends will weep him, and tears be shed, 
 On the lonely spot of his narrow bed, 
 For a little while, till grief grows less 
 In the lethean wave of forgetfulness. 
 
 And strangers turn a careless gaze 
 
 On the slendor stone, with its sculptored 
 
 trace. 
 Telling the name and time of death 
 Of him, or her, who sleeps beneath. 
 To those who neither know, nor care. 
 When they died, or who they were. 
 Till wind, and winter, and stormy weather, 
 Death, and fell decay, together. 
 Have crumbled away the very stone. 
 Then who is the mourner left? 
 For the last of his race is dead and gone. 
 And the latest tie is cleft 
 That links those mouldering ashes grey 
 To the cheerful world and the light of day. 
 
 Nations have risen and sunk away. 
 In the wreck of ages, where are they? 
 Where are their people, their gods and kings? 
 Gone like the rest of mortal things. 
 Fame, from the ruins, hath seized a part 
 Of the learning rich, and the classic art, 
 264 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 Which, reared by kindly culture, sprung 
 
 In earlier days when life was young, 
 
 And the river of Time hath borne them 
 
 down 
 From that far era to our own. 
 
 In Florence, the Phidian Venus stands, 
 And lives in marble, with drooping hands, 
 
 Which the chisels of artists now 
 Can borrow — alone — but not create. 
 
 Divinity sits on her low, white brow 
 And her profile delicate. 
 To her faultless form, each grace is given 
 That mortals can gain from a favoring 
 
 heaven. 
 Where Beauty and stone, in one magic tie. 
 Are linked till the gazer draws a sigh. 
 That the beautiful form he looks upon 
 Is only, alas! a lifeless stone. 
 
 The works of their poets still remain. 
 And a freshness breathes in every strain, 
 Till we scarce can think the heavy weight 
 Of a thousand weary years have sat 
 On the minstrels' grave, since first he sung 
 What, to the heart, must be ever young. 
 
 And still we hear the frequent name 
 Of him of Macedonian fame. 
 We hear the battles he fought and won. 
 And nations who, by him, were overthrown, 
 265 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 Till o'er happy tribes, who once were free, 
 He swept the rod of his tyranny, 
 Till all was conquered, all was gained, 
 And nothing more on earth remained, 
 When he, wistfully, turned toward the sun, 
 And wept because there was no world but 
 one. 
 
 But a future day will come at last, 
 When our age will be called the past. 
 When the antiquarian's feet shall tread 
 Over the ashes of our dead, 
 And science exert her magic might 
 Each mouldering relic to drag to light, 
 And Fame, with her impartial pen, 
 Shall write our story out for men. 
 
 O! ne'er may she tell that a nation, wide 
 Like ours, worthy her children's pride. 
 That has struggled long, and among the free 
 Is the altar and shrine of liberty, 
 Was overthrown by the fractious few, 
 A plundering wicked and pirate crew 
 Of traitor foes, who never knew 
 What it was for a human heart to feel 
 A throb of care for its country's weal, 
 Whose limbs are weary to press a throne, 
 Whose heads are aching to wear a crown. 
 And whose fingers have a nervous thrill 
 That a sceptre's touch alone can still, 
 266 
 
Reflections on History 
 
 Who could see each river's limpid flood 
 
 Dyed with the crimson hue of blood, 
 
 Or hear the mild and pure air rent, 
 
 To the very wall of the firmament. 
 
 With the widow's moans, or the orphan's 
 
 cries, 
 If horrors like these could make them rise. 
 
 No! rather let swift destruction sweep 
 O'er their hellish concoctions, dark and 
 
 deep. 
 Let them, and their actions, doubly be 
 Drowned in the tide of Infamy. 
 May the Fury's galling scourge be lent 
 To quicken their fearful punishment 
 With the pangs of Remorse, if ever they flee, 
 From mortal wrath, o'er the deep blue sea. 
 Let them find no peaceful, happy stage 
 In their long and weary pilgrimage. 
 Till they faint from dread, and loudly call 
 On overhanging mountains to fall, 
 And shield them, under their Atlas load, 
 From the wrath of their country, the world, 
 
 and God! 
 
 spoken at the "Junior Exhibition " at 
 Miami University, October 18, 1861 
 
 267 
 
Storming a Cttp 
 
 Against the tall gates' cupreous frame, 
 They point the cannon's jaw of flame. 
 Beneath, the balls went, rank on rank, 
 Down, and left a mighty blank. 
 So, from Etna's crater driven, 
 The rocks ascend against the heaven, 
 So, from out her mountain crest, 
 After ages past in rest. 
 Such a light pervades the air 
 That heaven itself reflects the glare, 
 And earth is rent with thunder there. 
 Thus, from the Christian army came 
 The storming shot and wreathing flame. 
 Huge clouds of heat and vapor rolled 
 And curled, in many a winding fold, 
 O'er Fortune's charmed and deathless band, 
 And settled darkness wreathed the land. 
 Rock, bolt and bar are rent away 
 Before each swift projectile's sway. 
 Death and Destruction worked among 
 The Aztecs' mingled, motley throng, 
 The sword grew looser in their hands. 
 Yet one and all made stubborn stands. 
 They felt a fear, they knew not why; 
 It was not from a dread to die. 
 They thought they saw, before their eyes. 
 The subjects of the prophecies, 
 268 
 
Storming a City 
 
 That dim-dark race, whose feet would come 
 
 To drag the Aztec from his throne, 
 
 Whose cruel heart and withering hand 
 
 Should desolate their native land ; 
 
 A pale-faced race, who could not die, 
 
 Who owned the gift of immortality. 
 
 Whose bloody hand, accurst, could wield 
 
 The elements the Volcan held 
 
 Beneath its fearful breast of rock, 
 
 The lightnings flash, the earthquakes shock, 
 
 Whose deadly arrow none could see, 
 
 Who sent a death that none might flee. 
 
 They saw that Destiny unfold. 
 
 As priests of former days foretold. 
 
 They felt they were called out to die. 
 
 Resisting dark Necessity ; 
 
 Their nerveless fingers lost the art 
 
 Of sending the unerring dart — 
 
 Their hearts grew faint, their sight grew 
 
 dark. 
 Their wandering arrows missed their mark. 
 
 May, 1861 
 
 269 
 
^n ^mommonlp ilournful W^alt 
 
 Once, I, who tell this tale of rhyme, 
 
 Sat near my hearth, in winter- time. 
 
 While Old Jack Frost was holding sway, 
 
 And strove to while the hours away, 
 
 By reading, in a novel yellow. 
 
 How urchin Cupid shot a fellow. 
 
 And how this wounded chap walked through 
 
 More ills than most of persons do. 
 
 His love; she was a dashing sprite; 
 
 Perfection's self, revealed to sight 
 
 Love, Wit, and Beauty, ail good things; 
 
 The author should have mentioned wings. 
 
 It was the old tale, ever new; 
 I did not read the volume through. 
 But I will wager full enough 
 Of brandy, gin, or meaner stuff, 
 To set the sturdiest bummer born, 
 In soaring bliss, from night till morn, 
 That, at its end (if it had any). 
 The two accomplished matrimony. 
 
 But I digress; my pen I took 
 To write no critic on a book. 
 But tell a tale ; 'T was Winter drear. 
 The frost was keen, the sky was clear. 
 With snow the distant hills were white, 
 With recent ice the pond was tight. 
 And on that ice did skaters wheel, 
 In antic rounds, on shoes of steel. 
 270 
 
An Uncommonly Mournful Tale 
 
 Just then my comrade, Nobby, stood 
 Before my chair in rueful mood, 
 A look was on his honest phiz 
 That showed disaster had been his. 
 His well-drenched clothes were frozen hard, 
 They rattled stiff as Bristol card; 
 His hat was gone, his wet hair chill 
 Showed many a dangling icicle. 
 Jack Frost, with frozen mud and sleet, 
 Had made his armor all complete. 
 And thus, with many a plaint and wail, 
 He told his more than mournful tale. 
 
 "This morn, the ice that spans yon flood 
 Put me into a skating mood. 
 I took my Shirley's, and, ere long, 
 I glided midst the frolic throng. 
 I did some feats not often done, 
 And admiration great I won. 
 Aloft in air I flung my leg. 
 And spun like top upon its peg; 
 Back circles, on one foot, I tried, 
 And whirled, and turned, and swayed in pride. 
 Upon the crystal pane, with ease, 
 My skates wrote down their a b c's. 
 And last, as record of my fame. 
 Upon the ice I traced my name. 
 I did it with such grace and skill 
 That all applauded v/ith a will. 
 But scarce had ceased the rousing cheer 
 That greeted my delighted ear, 
 271 
 
An Uncommonly Mournful Tale 
 
 When lo! the ice, yet weak and thin, 
 
 Gave way beneath, and let me in. 
 
 Then did I flounder round, and dash 
 
 With many an awkward lunge and splash. 
 
 The cold bath took away my breath, 
 
 I felt not far remote from death. 
 
 I tried to crawl out, in vain. 
 
 Each time I sliddered back again. 
 
 Bedaubed with mud, drenched through and 
 
 through, 
 My mind was puzzled what to do. 
 And worst of all, the blasted crowd 
 That late had cheered me long and loud. 
 Looked on, with many a jeer and grin. 
 As if rejoiced to see me in. 
 Some fellows there were hale and stout, 
 But lent no hand to help me out. 
 At last, an effort, stronger far 
 Than any of my others were, 
 Raised me from out my vile position 
 And put me in a safe condition. 
 Full quickly, I my skates untied. 
 Mid roaring laughs on every side. 
 Some beastly fool aloud did bawl: 
 'Pride always goes before a fall.' 
 'Stay,' said another senseless lout, 
 'Your mother does not know you're out.' 
 'He's damned good looking,' said a third. 
 Broad grinned, the blackguards as they 
 
 heard, 
 
 272 
 
An Uncommonly Mournful Tale 
 
 And every thief, the gang among, 
 Some taunt at my appearance flung. 
 Had I been only warm and dry, 
 I had not passed these insults by. 
 I would have showed them, very short. 
 That they were at unhealthy sport. 
 Wrath fired my soul; I choked it down, 
 I could not thrash them all, alone. 
 There are some men who are but beasts, 
 Devoid of manners are their breasts, 
 They need hindlegs and longer ears 
 To rig them for their proper spheres. 
 But, in my travels round the town, 
 I '11 come across them, one by one. 
 And, by the Lord's especial blessing. 
 Each one I catch will get a dressing." 
 
 Then I replied, but not in rhyme, 
 I tuned the thing another time: 
 "The slippery ice appears to me 
 A type of man's prosperity. 
 The chilling waves that lurk below 
 Have semblance great to human woe. 
 A thin partition lies between 
 Man's highest bliss and sorrow keen, 
 And fickle Fortune, any day. 
 May rend the frail support away. 
 The men who jeered you, you will find 
 Like all the rest of human kind. 
 18 273 
 
An Uncommonly Mournful Tale 
 
 While blest by Influence, Wealth, and Fame, 
 
 They'll greet you with a full acclaim, 
 
 But if, in evil, you go down. 
 
 They'll let you struggle all alone. 
 
 Your very pangs, they will deride, 
 
 Rejoiced to see your towering pride 
 
 Meet with a check ; he who depends, 
 
 In adverse hour, on former friends, 
 
 Will see them all desert him then; 
 
 He need not blame ; they are but men 
 
 To raise the high to higher place, 
 
 The lowly, to still more abase. 
 
 So, since revolving time began, 
 
 Hath man done by his fellow-man. 
 
 Men are but men ; so Heaven did make them, 
 
 And as we find them, we must take them." 
 
 Nob listened ; in his calming breast 
 His wrathful feelings sank to rest. 
 He said he would his foes forgive. 
 And let them somewhat longer live. 
 Their insults now, but seemed to be 
 Signs only of humanity. 
 A compliment he paid to me, 
 Which was, yet was not, flattering. 
 He swore that I had full enough 
 Of just the very kind of stuff 
 Stowed in me, by the hand of Nature, 
 To make a most tremendous preacher. 
 
 Fairmount, January 15, 1868 
 
 274 
 
jFragment 
 
 The Coming of Twilight 
 
 'T IS the evening's purple hour, 
 
 Now the sun begins to lower, 
 
 And his western course is bent 
 
 Steeply down the firmament. 
 
 The clouds, that Phoebus' warmth and light 
 
 Had lifted to their airy flight, 
 
 Of his beams deprived again. 
 
 Condensing, sink toward the plain, 
 
 And the twilight, cold and grey. 
 
 Comes, slowly creeping, on its way. 
 
 The peaks return the farewell glow. 
 
 The landscape slumbers dark below. 
 
 And over vale, and over hill. 
 
 As death, the heavy air grows still. 
 
 Nature, all voiceless seems, and dumb. 
 
 Save where is heard the myriad hum 
 
 Of insects in the shadows cool. 
 
 Winging above their parent pool. 
 
 From the shadowy treetops bright. 
 
 The owlet wings her nightly flight, 
 
 The moon comes up, the blush of day 
 
 Gives place to later evening's grey. 
 
 1858 
 
 lis 
 
(Bxtotti 
 
 Of all the God-forsaken holes 
 My eyes have chanced to meet, 
 
 This classic region takes the horns 
 For dullness hard to beat. 
 
 Eternal silence reigns around 
 Through all the live-long year; 
 
 Those who are fond of quietude 
 Can surely find it here. 
 
 Sometimes a grunting hog appears, 
 Or thoughtful cow; perhaps a sheep; 
 
 And, but for these, all nature round 
 Would seem to be asleep. 
 
 The students are a selfish set, 
 
 Virtuous, tame, and slow; 
 Smooth, on the straight and narrow path, 
 
 With stolid step, they go. 
 
 The ladies are confined, by rule. 
 
 Like convicts in a cell. 
 Taught to avoid a gay young man, 
 
 As though he came from hell. 
 
 O! for an amour rich and rare! 
 
 I ' ve had some two or three of such ; 
 But e'en to hope for such a thing 
 
 In Oxford, is too much. 
 276 
 
Oxford 
 
 The faculty are worthy men, 
 
 And well they tend their classes; 
 
 They are as shepherds to the sheep, 
 And drivers to the asses. 
 
 The muses whisper in my ear, 
 
 (The nine sweet, charming lasses) , 
 
 They hardly will select this spot 
 To build a new Parnassus. 
 
 Oxford, October 20, 1861 
 
 111 
 
American ^atriatisim 
 
 There Is a land the patriot loves — 
 
 It is his native home; 
 He loves its streams and rocks and groves, 
 
 Nor will he from them roam. 
 All that can make existence dear, 
 All that he loves on earth, is here. 
 
 And when Invasion's thunders sound, 
 And War's wild tempests gather round, 
 
 He'll strive his land to save. 
 He'll rush, all dauntless, on the foe, 
 Though in his face their bayonets glow. 
 And he will conquer them. Although 
 The hissing bullet lays him low. 
 
 And hurls him to the grave. 
 He will esteem it sweet to be 
 A martyr, slain for Liberty. 
 
 Such are the sons of our soil. 
 
 Since first they stood on Plymouth rock. 
 For, from the rage of Britain's isle. 
 
 They 've stood full many a battle shock, 
 And should the foe come on again. 
 
 The valor of the free 
 Will render all their fury vain, 
 
 Against the shrine of Liberty. 
 278 
 
American Patriotism 
 
 For here, the Goddess Hghts her flame 
 
 Upon Columbia's shore, 
 And bids its lustre burn the same 
 
 Till Time shall be no more. 
 And may the traitor, who would dare 
 
 To quench its holy light. 
 Meet all the ills that Hell can spare ! 
 May shame fill up his dreadful share. 
 And friends, his parted spirit, bear 
 
 To everlasting night! 
 
 Cincinnati, 1853 
 
 epigram 
 
 They who delight in Opposition 
 are like weather cocks (wind 
 mills), always facing the gale. 
 
 279 
 
Scene I: The Entrance to the Infernal Kingdom 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 The air grows dark, the thundering roar 
 Of Phlegethon falls on my ears, 
 Terrific, horrible; the folding gates 
 Stand high aloft, with brazen bars 
 Impassable to human strength. 
 Far, far behind, our native air 
 And Grecian climate we have left. 
 Now, at creation's utter bounds. 
 Shuddering, we view the dark abyss 
 That mars the Acherontian fields. 
 I hear the roar of waters near, 
 And clank of many links of chains. 
 Say, Theseus, dost thou feel afraid? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Not I ; this darkness hath a charm 
 To changeful natures, such as mine. 
 Ever in quest of new adventure, 
 Though it may come in danger's form. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Full soon enough will danger come, 
 For, by the immortal gods, who rule 
 Events that happen in the world of light, 
 The wife of Pluto shall be mine. 
 280 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 Not for a frolic, have I come so far, 
 
 To trace the rugged, rocky road to hell. 
 
 But for a deed, at which the cheeks 
 
 Of mortals might grow dim and pale ; 
 
 And cold, the life stream curdle on their hearts. 
 
 Say, Theseus! for thou art my friend, 
 
 Say ! will this fiery ordeal touch thy heart, 
 
 To make thee fly from me, perchance. 
 
 If hell's grim monarch should oppose? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 No! by yon flood, accursed, that shines 
 
 With glimmering, baleful light, afar 
 
 Through the brass gates, I trebly swear, 
 
 Should hell arise in sevenfold rage, 
 
 To spurn the weak invaders from her soil, 
 
 Her thousand horrors will not fright 
 
 My spirit to desert my friend. 
 
 O! when far ages speak my name. 
 
 Let not the tongue of man aver 
 
 That, from the cradle to the grave. 
 
 Fear ever seized the heart of Theseus. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 The darkness grows, the gloomy way 
 Appears precipitous, thro' shrouds of mist. 
 Whence, glimmering, piercing rays of light 
 Gleam from the fiery depths of Phlegethon. 
 The gates themselves, reflecting light, 
 Glow like the redhot iron bars 
 281 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 Of living furnaces ; meanwhile the smith 
 Urges the fiery rage with rapid blasts. 
 What grizzly porter by the lintel stands 1 
 
 horrid shape! terrific to behold. 
 Alas! Alas! 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 O! light of heaven, 
 Protect thy children now; this hideous form 
 Might turn the gazer into stone. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 1 will not fear, tho' it should nail 
 My figure, spellbound, to the rocks, 
 Changed into flint, thro' speechless horror. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Gods! avert this woeful sight! 
 E'en now my heart begins to fail. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 1 'd sooner see thy members rent 
 And scattered piecemeal, than behold 
 Thee, my best friend, inglorious, fly. 
 Urge up thy strength, a warrior's soul 
 Is measured not by want of fear. 
 But by his power of conquering it. 
 But the huge gates are now at hand, 
 
 I will lead on, but follow close, 
 282 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 With careful footsteps, in my trail, 
 Lest the dim, wavering light mislead. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Look! Look! Pirithuos, at the bars 
 The grinning monster stands ; a treble head, 
 Dog shaped and foul, surmounts his frame. 
 Fly back! his evil eyes behold, his jaws. 
 With teeth white glistening in the light, 
 Chatter with rage. O horrid death ! 
 What if he draws the iron bolt 
 And rushes forth ! 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Our tempered swords. 
 Our bows, and brass-bound shields, 
 Are constant friends, and when they fail 
 All heaven can not avail to save. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Madness alike, to fight or fly. 
 Yon fiend hath sword and shield 
 As well as we, and horrid fangs. 
 Speed in pursuit, and cruelty, 
 And all capacities for death. 
 O ! had I thought the land of hell 
 Gave birth to monsters such as these, 
 I never would have left my home. 
 283 
 
PiRiTHUOs Transfixed 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 I question not thy bravery of soul, 
 For thy case is not Hke to mine. 
 While simple Friendship leads thee on, 
 Love and Revenge, my motives are. 
 I owe no love gifts to the king 
 Of this dark region, while my father hangs 
 Bound to the circle of a rapid wheel. 
 His brain, all dazzled by deluding stars, 
 Flashes of light, and seven hued forms, 
 Bred from the swift and dizzying whirl. 
 I tell thee, Theseus, that I would not fear 
 To send an arrow thro' the heart 
 Of Hell's foul tyrant, but the queen, 
 Too lovely for so vile a lord, I swear 
 To carry to the upper world of light; 
 The Lapathae shall call her queen. 
 Come on, approach these solid gates! 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Whom do I see, both bearing shields. 
 Swords and strong bows, and clad 
 Complete in garments of the upper world? 
 Say wretches, in what luckless track 
 Do your foul, impious footsteps tend? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Unbar the gates; we come to bring 
 A weighty message to the king! 
 
 284 
 
PiRiTHUOS Transfixed 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Nothing of flesh and blood has past 
 This threshold since my watch began ; 
 Nothing but shadowy forms of air, 
 Thin and delusive, have gone in. 
 And, having gone, returned no more. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 But we shall go, and shall again return. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Thou goest, then, above my corse. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Fate may ordain the thing e'en so. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Thou hast a flattering view of Fate, 
 For Fate ordains the thing. Not so, 
 But THUS ; much low-born insolence 
 May rankle in my mind, until 
 I draw the bolt; in good truth, then. 
 Thou shalt come in, for I, enraged. 
 Shall smite thee unto death, and send 
 Thy soul, deprived of corporeality, 
 Into the gates, never to return. 
 285 
 
PiRiTHUOs Transfixed 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Thou art a pretty sentinel, to stand 
 And block a foreign legate's way, 
 Who bears a message to your king. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 From what far kingdom do you come? 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 We own the sovereignty of Jove, 
 The son of Saturn, he who rules 
 The course of Nature, by his law 
 Inflexible. The smiling Spring, 
 The soft, green Summer, and the Fall, 
 When the brown leaves drop off 
 At every changing blast that blows. 
 And the sad Winter, solstice of the year, 
 When the dim day star casts his rays 
 Slanting and cold, and sleety snow 
 Shrouds the deserted breast of Earth, 
 Come, and depart, as he commands. 
 And act out his divine decree. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Thou speakest things I know not of; 
 I 've heard of Spring, of Summer, Winter, Fall, 
 But no such changes happen here. 
 Here, one perpetual, blustering season reigns, 
 Hot as the desert waste of Lybia, 
 Frequent in whirlwinds and in storms. 
 286 
 
PiRiTHUOs Transfixed 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 We did not speak to you of Jove 
 
 And seasons over which he rules, 
 
 Only, that thou mayest know, perchance, 
 
 To what divinity we bow, and hence, 
 
 That thou mayest give to us 
 
 A speedy passage and a safe return; 
 
 The privilege, which nations owe 
 
 To legates to a foreign land. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Jove hath no need of aught with us, 
 Nor we of him ; this broad domain 
 Sends no ambassadors to upper air, 
 Nor shall 't receive one. Here below. 
 We hold an independent monarchy. 
 Nor would we anything with Jove. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 The gates are closed against us, then? 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 They are. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Not thus I will depart, 
 After long toil so far; Unbar the gate 
 I say, or, by the god, I swear. 
 The infernal Pluto, I will pierce 
 Your malformed figure with a dart ! 
 287 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Well then, come in! {opens the gate) I've 
 
 thought 
 'T were just as well; to let you pass 
 Within the gate is in my power. 
 Now, bear your message and, again. 
 When you return, let Pluto send 
 A trusty guide to bid me let you pass, 
 Else you may meet an evil end. {they enter). 
 
 Scene II: The Palace of Pluto. Proserpina 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Now have we past the gate, 
 The grizzly porter, and the waves 
 Of stagnant Styx, and Charon's boat 
 Hath landed us not distant far 
 From the black palace of the king. 
 Lo ! yonder spire, whose glimmering top 
 Shoots, sparkling, to the infernal sky, 
 Red with effulgence, not of earth. 
 No weary pilgrimage awaits our feet. 
 The terminus is close at hand. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 The sight of these gigantic walls, 
 Immeasurable and vast, disarm 
 My spirit of its strength again. 
 
 288 
 
PiTITHUOS TeANSFIXED 
 
 The naked grandeur of the pile, 
 Whose every column would support 
 The load of Atlas, well declare 
 The might of their great architect. 
 Ah me ! a dim presentiment 
 Tells me, this threshold, and this gate, 
 Our footsteps never will recross ; 
 This place will be our tomb. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Well let it be, not even Earth, 
 Our mighty mother, could afford, 
 On all the regions of her breast, 
 From the cold Hyperborean tract. 
 Lit by the Arctic and the Bear, 
 To the soft plains of Sicily, 
 Green with eternal Spring, 
 To grant a nobler sepulcher. 
 But now, within the vestibule 
 We stand, but here she comes, 
 The wife of the Tartarian king. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Is this indeed Proserpina, 
 
 Whose beauty thou hast lauded so? 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 It is, be still ! 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 Whom do I see? 
 19 289 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Hail ! queen of Tartarus ; for such 
 Your royal looks declare you are ; 
 Thou see'st thy servant Pirith'os, 
 And this, his comrade, Theseus. 
 We come to this terrific land 
 To bear Jove's greeting to your lord. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 He is not here, but soon will be; 
 A hasty messenger can go 
 And bring him hither presently. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Impose no trouble on thyself. 
 There is no need of haste, for we 
 Can tarry till your husband come. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 But what can be your message here? 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 'T is a command from mighty Jove, 
 But, as thou art thyself concerned 
 In its full consummation, much 
 'T is fit that thou should 'st know. 
 'T is this, Jove sends command 
 To gloomy Pluto, to release 
 His stolen bride, and send her back 
 To breathe again in upper air. 
 290 
 
PiRiTHUOS Transfixed 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 My will is with you, and, in truth, 
 Not sorrowing, I will depart 
 From this dark place ; I 'd rather 
 Be a poor shepherd girl on earth, 
 And pass my life in poverty, 
 Than be the queen I am. I came 
 Not hither by my own consent. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 The legends of my native land, 
 That earth was thy first biding-place. 
 Have taught me long ago. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 Jove was my father, and my mother Ceres. 
 I grew to lovely womanhood 
 Amid the groves of Arcady. 
 But, once, when in my sixteenth year, 
 I wandered by a rippling stream, 
 In the fair, fruitful month of May, 
 A grim and hideous form approached, 
 Accosting me with words of love. 
 And, with soft flattery, compared 
 My beauty to the flowers around. 
 While I repulsed his blandishments. 
 But scorn seemed only to inflame 
 His luckless passion. Filled with rage, 
 He next tried force, and, not in vain, 
 291 
 
PiRiTHUOs Transfixed 
 
 He ravished me, and brought me down 
 To this dim, shadowy land to dwell. 
 He calls me wife, and every day 
 I feign a love I can not feel. 
 Lest his fierce, frantic jealousy 
 Should make my fate more terrible. 
 Ah me! would that my eyes 
 Might see my native Arcady again ! 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 And thou shalt see it, but allow 
 Me and my friend to guide. 
 And we shall lead you to the land 
 Over which Jove, in justice, reigns. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 I give consent, I go, even now, 
 But move with haste; ere long 
 The loathsome monster will return. 
 Take this straight path. Alas! I fear 
 Much for our fortunes, if, perchance, 
 He thwarts our desperate design. 
 But fail not, for the lack of speed ! 
 
 292 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 Scene III: Pluto and Cerberus Waitings Pluto 
 concealed 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Well, thou black monster, we have come. 
 Nor have we waited long. 
 Draw back and let us pass. 
 Why standest thou so still ! 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Hath Pluto sent a guide with thee? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 A guide! what meanest thou, declare? 
 Thou see'st the queen. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 I see no guide. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 The queen comes as a guide herself, 
 So draw thy swarthy carcass black. 
 And let the path be clear! 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Say, wretch ! hath not a queen the power 
 To make her subjects ope the gates 
 Of her dominions! 
 
 293 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 This one here 
 Can answer that most readily. 
 
 PLUTO (Coming from Concealment) 
 Not if the king says no. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 Alas! 
 O heaven above! all, all is lost! 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Quick, Theseus! lend your aid, she faints. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Reserve thy aid for thy own need, 
 But, as to her, there let her lie. 
 Here, Cerberus; in tenfold chains. 
 Wrap these two villain men, 
 Disarmed completely, let them be. 
 Unable to resist. When I have heard 
 Their stories, I will deal with them 
 In such a manner as is fit. 
 They'll find, I fear, no lenient judge. 
 Your names? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Pirithuos and Theseus. 
 294 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Speak shortly what you have to say ! 
 If aught there be that justifies 
 Thy trespass, I will weigh it well. 
 If not, prepare for hideous woe. 
 From what clime are ye come? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 From fruitful Arcady. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Both, then, are Greeks. 
 She came from Arcady in Greece. 
 It is no use, the game is up. 
 I doubted of the seeming love — 
 It seemed too much like policy. 
 I thought a lingering desire 
 To view once more her native land. 
 Rested upon her heart, but thou — 
 Art thou her lover? Speak! — 
 Thy silence answers yes, I know 
 What dastard motive brought you here, 
 As well as if it were confessed. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Trust not in guessings, plainly, now — 
 I give my narrative in simple style. 
 Jove sends us hither, to bring back 
 The fair Proserpina to Earth. 
 Our errand unto her we told. 
 295 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 But when she saw us mortafl men, 
 
 In mortal garments, it brought back 
 
 The land of light to memory. 
 
 The happy hours of her early youth; 
 
 When, in sweet Arcady, the fair. 
 
 She led the sheep to pastures green, 
 
 Or wandered by the murmuring brooks, 
 
 Her days were peaceful as her clime. 
 
 Her eyes alone accustomed to 
 
 The melting azure of the Summer sky, 
 
 And birds and flowers, and verdant hills, 
 
 Her ears trained to the shepherds' lute 
 
 And Nature's ceaseless melody. 
 
 And, with that dim, dark memory 
 
 Of childish sports and happiness. 
 
 Came a strong, yearning wish 
 
 To view that blessed clime again — 
 
 The cradle of her infancy. 
 
 Thou knowest that a mortal heart, 
 
 Lit by a spark of true humanity. 
 
 Never forgets its native land. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 I know the mortal heart is hard. 
 Perverse, and fractious, and I know 
 Its strong proclivity to lie. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 The story he has told is true. 
 She had no thought of wronging thee, 
 296 
 
PiRiTHUOS Transfixed 
 
 But Jove's strong summons moved her on 
 At memory of her native land. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Thy story hath a smack of truth — 
 'T is plausible at least, and, thus. 
 Thou hast exonerated her from blame, 
 But hardly hast thou cleared thyself. 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 Are we to blame? 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Indeed, why not? 
 
 THESEUS 
 
 We came to bear Jove's embassy. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Jove's embassy shall have, in truth. 
 No hasty answer; let him wait. 
 But now that I have heard, at last. 
 The story of your luckless raid, prepare 
 To suffer terrible revenge. 
 You thought your pretty stories of 
 Arcadian fields and purling streams, 
 Birds, azure skies, and flowery groves, 
 Perchance, might soften down my heart. 
 Now learn, at last, your error great. 
 297 
 
PiRiTHUOs Transfixed 
 
 Here, Cerberus, seize Pirithuos, 
 
 And trebly bind him in unyielding chains! 
 
 A fitting morsel, he shall be, 
 
 When Hunger, next, with cruel pangs. 
 
 Urges thy jaws to violence. 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 Alas! 
 Our bows, our bows are left behind. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Had'st thou a bow? 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 In truth I had; 
 A sturdy bow, which none 
 With arms effeminate might bend. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Thou grievest at its loss? 
 
 PIRITHUOS 
 
 And if I do. 
 Thou mayest rejoice, for to its loss 
 Thou owest thy security. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 By Styx! 
 Thy talk is fierce; on earth. 
 Dull mortals might pronounce thee brave. 
 298 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 But I am greatly at a loss, 
 
 In finding, whether in your brain 
 
 Insanity or fury most presides. 
 
 But thou, swarthy visaged brute, {to Cerb.) 
 
 Why do I see these free from chains! 
 
 Some moments back, I ordered you 
 
 To link them trebly, in unyielding bonds. 
 
 Late as it is, obey my order! 
 
 CERBERUS (seizing Pirithuos) 
 
 Now, where are all your mighty threats? 
 Now, pierce my malformed figure with a dart! 
 Death comes to every mortal man ; 
 Before long, he will come to you. 
 Act not unhandsome, you are safe. 
 You need not wear your muscles out — 
 You might, as sensibly, attempt 
 To burst a tenfold chain of iron, 
 As free thyself from my stern grasp. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Bind him securely; stay! 
 
 I'll lend a hand, and link 
 
 These clasping nippers to his wrists. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Now he is safe, his legs are tied, 
 Fast to each other, with a cord ; 
 And he is handcuffed, and his arms, 
 A galling chain, behind his back, 
 299 
 
PiRiTHuos Transfixed 
 
 Firmly retains, and winding round 
 His figure, with its brazen rings. 
 Bears its metallic pressure on his chest. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 His limbs are useless; I would think 
 He was reduced to helplessness. 
 But that appearances so oft mislead. 
 Legs, arms, and neck, and head are safe, 
 But such men have more legs than two — 
 And arms, and double heads, have they, 
 By which they always find a mode 
 To free themselves from every ill. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 We have secured him full as well 
 As it lay in our power to do. 
 If he can free himself, he ought. 
 For if he hath that much of skill. 
 He well deserves his liberty. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Now chain him to this brazen bar! 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 The act is done, at last; what next? 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 But I must hasten to the palace now, 
 The queen seems waking from her trance. 
 300 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 O, heaven! is this some painful dream, 
 Or dread reality : O ! where am I ? 
 Am I on earth, in lovely Arcady, 
 Or still in gloomy Tartarus below? 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 This hardly can be called a dream, 
 But as to where thou art — 
 Whether at home in Arcady 
 Or Tartarus, look round thee well. 
 Does yonder sunless cavern dim. 
 The doleful sky, the unlovely plains, 
 Have aught, in look, of Arcady? 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 Ah no! O! unrelenting Fates! alas! 
 Why have you wrought for me 
 A texture, web on web, with woes? 
 O! Jove, supreme! 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Call not on Jove ! 
 Jove rules in heaven, but here 
 I am sole monarch and supreme. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 But where are his ambassadors? 
 301 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Yonder they are, one trebly bound, 
 And fastened, firmly, every limb. 
 Doomed, by irrevocable Fate, to be 
 A supper to yon ruthless fiend ; 
 The other one, as yet, is free. 
 
 PROSERPINA 
 
 O! merciless and cruel lord! 
 What is there that I may not fear? 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Fear nothing, for their stupid tale 
 Acquitted thee from every blame, 
 Save that of verdancy, but well I know- 
 Most women are not hurt with sense. 
 I do forgive thee, and not much 
 I wonder, that thou should 'st believe 
 That Jove sent these marauders down. 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 The sight of mortal, living, man 
 In this dark kingdom, is a sight 
 So strange and marvelous, that one, 
 Having beheld it, would be credulous. 
 I half believed, myself, that Jove 
 Had sent them hither, for they seemed 
 To be so confidant, and so strange withal, 
 I doubted that weak-minded men 
 302 
 
PiRiTHUOS Transfixed 
 
 Could come so far and not depend 
 
 On something stronger than themselves. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 Let us depart, we tarry long — 
 Our palace waits us. Free thyself 
 From nerveless stupor and arise! {she rises) 
 Cerberus, we go, that other wretch — 
 That Theseus — bind in brazen links, 
 The same as his companion is, 
 And place him in the glimmering depth 
 Of that dark cave, and let Pirithuos 
 Live till I come, for I may change 
 His sentence, for his crime deserves 
 Something more terrible than death ! 
 Watch them, like Argus, with a thousand eyes! 
 {Exit Pluto) . 
 
 Scene IV 
 
 CERBERUS 
 
 Thou art soon back. 
 
 PLUTO 
 
 I 've well considered 
 The crimes of these two men, alone, 
 In solitude, and coolness, and now. 
 Can give a sentence, justly, free 
 From every bias; and not more 
 303 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 Of justice could they have, altho' 
 Before the tribunal of Jove himself. 
 
 {To Pirithuos and Theseus) 
 
 This is your sentence; you shall stand, 
 Mounted in air, upon this rugged cUff 
 Thro' all eternity. The chilling air 
 Of Autumn, and the biting blast 
 Of Wintry snow storms, and the sky, 
 With its cold tears of sympathy. 
 Shall soften down your froward hearts. 
 
 {To the Furies) 
 
 Come hither, fatal sisters, and amuse 
 Their sinking spirits with a strain ! 
 
 SONG OF THE FURIES 
 
 May the charms of gentle sleep 
 Far from cursed marauders keep! 
 Let these wretches, day by day, 
 Wither, and sigh, and pine away! 
 Let the wet clouds from the main 
 Lash them with descending rain, 
 And hail, and drifting sleet 
 On their forms, defenseless, beat! 
 Let them mourn, and let them sigh. 
 Let them suffer, but not die! 
 May their fair complexion's bloom 
 Long precede them to the tomb ; 
 304 
 
PiRiTHUos Transfixed 
 
 Burning suns, and arid blasts, 
 
 Hot across the desert wastes, 
 
 Bleach their gloomy locks to grey 
 
 Long before the proper day! 
 
 Let them grieve, with weeping eye. 
 
 O'er their distant Arcady! 
 
 Let them weep, for tears are vain, 
 
 They fall, as futile as the rain! 
 
 Ne'er shall they behold, again, 
 
 Home, or friends, or native land, 
 
 Scenes of childhood, or of youth, 
 
 Now reproduced, by Memory's wand. 
 
 With vividness and truth. 
 
 Such memories can gall the heart 
 
 Until they seem to grow a part 
 
 Of our own deep vitality, 
 
 A cankerworm that can not die. 
 
 20 305 
 
Ko Carrie ^- 
 
 If there's, in all the world, a lass 
 That I would wish to marry, 
 
 To have forever by my side, 
 It is the charming Carrie. 
 
 When she appears upon the stage, 
 
 She's winsome as a fairy. 
 No girl in all the ballet troupe 
 
 Can be compared with Carrie. 
 
 Love darted from her soft brown eyes 
 The shafts I could not parry. 
 
 Her witching smile has won my heart, 
 I am the slave of Carrie. 
 
 And not for all the gold that glows 
 
 In Indian caverns dreary. 
 Would I exchange my place within 
 
 The gentle heart of Carrie. 
 
 If I were placed in heaven above, 
 E'en there I could not tarry, 
 
 Unless I still might have the sweet 
 Companionship of Carrie. 
 
 306 
 
tKo a Moi^p ^eatfjer #age anb ^fjeel 
 
 You restless, never idle, mill — 
 You might, at dawn at least, be still. 
 Your buzzing clatter, sharp and shrill, 
 
 Disturbs my rest. 
 And brings me to a world of ills. 
 
 From visions blest. 
 
 You taxed my utmost skill and art. 
 To make, and fit you, every part. 
 With pride, I saw your motion start 
 
 Before the airs — 
 But now I wish, with all my heart, 
 
 I 'd been at prayers. 
 
 The swallow, once, constructed here 
 Her nest, and did her children rear. 
 Thy furious discord filled, with fear, 
 
 Their little hearts. 
 Now, to some spot, from danger clear. 
 
 The throng departs. 
 
 On yester eve, at set of sun. 
 An urchin came this way, alone. 
 Who hurled at you a large-sized stone; 
 
 Wrath fired his eye, 
 I looked to see your fragments strown, 
 
 It went so nigh. 
 307 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 But had his hand the missile sent, 
 With aim as good as his intent, 
 Into a thousand atoms rent, 
 
 Your pieces would 
 Some aid, unto the cook, have lent, 
 
 As kindling good. 
 
 I wish the stone had chanced to go 
 More to the left, an inch or so. 
 It would have silenced, at a blow, 
 
 Your noisy strains. 
 And might, of hauling you below, 
 
 Spared me the pains. 
 
 It is not fit, your idle play 
 
 Should fright the timid birds away. 
 
 You are more useless far than they. 
 
 Less fair to view. 
 If either of you here must stay. 
 
 It can't be you. 
 
 I 'd let you bide your time, if I 
 Thought any tempest's fury, high, 
 Would overset you, by and by. 
 
 But you're too tough. 
 And scorn the powers of the sky, 
 
 However rough. 
 308 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 You are of stubborn hick'ry made, 
 
 Well joined together, screwed and stayed. 
 
 Who waits thy fall, I am afraid, 
 
 Will, ere that day, 
 Perceive his youthful locks to fade 
 
 In silvery grey. 
 
 Now, blustering March comes on, and high 
 The blasts from every quarter fly. 
 For sake of morning slumbers, I 
 
 Must close your song. 
 I '11 take you down, and you shall lie 
 The rubbish 'mong. 
 
 But as the veriest wretch, whose ear 
 Did e'er his final sentence hear, 
 Has still, at least, a moment clear, 
 
 Wherein to show 
 Why he should 'scape his doom severe, 
 
 I '11 treat you so. 
 
 If you have any reasons true. 
 
 Why this should not be done to you, 
 
 Present them plainly to my view 
 
 In brief narration. 
 And I will give them all their due 
 
 Consideration. 
 309 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 REPLY 
 
 Well, I will tell my simple tale, 
 And all I ask, if it prevail. 
 Is that I freely in the gale 
 
 May sing and turn ; 
 But make me fire wood if I fail. 
 
 And let me burn. 
 
 I have one virtue, you will find, 
 But seldom seen in human kind. 
 While candor never warms their mind, 
 
 All truth am I. 
 I give no false reports, to blind, 
 
 And scorn to lie. 
 
 Upon this single merit's weight. 
 You ought to save me from the fate 
 Of lumber room and kitchen grate ; 
 
 For, ere you die. 
 Truth you will learn to estimate 
 
 At value high. 
 
 There is no man, within whose breast 
 A love of nature e'er was placed, 
 With noble philosophic taste, 
 
 Who can not see, 
 As I hang whirling in the blast, 
 
 A charm in me. 
 310 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 Sometimes, towards the South I face, 
 And spin around, in rapid race, 
 Whereby a coming rain you '11 trace. 
 
 Though skies are clear. 
 The smiling blue will soon give place 
 
 To hues more drear. 
 
 Oft, in some dismal, murky spell. 
 When rains have, days together, fell. 
 You, rueful, look for me to tell 
 
 How long 'twill last. 
 If to the North I point, 't is well. 
 
 Your fears are past. 
 
 For, though the gloomy West may seem 
 With hosts of stormy clouds to teem. 
 Full well you know, the morrow's gleam 
 
 Shall brightly play 
 On hill and forest, vale and stream, 
 
 With tintings gay. 
 
 When to the South I turn, you know 
 You, safely, may your tackle throw 
 Upon the glad waves' gentle flow. 
 
 The dwellers there 
 Will throng around your bait, below, 
 
 Nor heed the snare. 
 311 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 When Northward does my index stand, 
 You keep yourself at home on land. 
 No lines or rods, then, arm your hand. 
 
 The fish won't bite. 
 But, downward diving, seek the sand, 
 
 And pebbles white. 
 
 I wake you up at dawn, you say. 
 You're wroth at this, but tell me, pray, 
 Who sleeps beyond the break of day, 
 
 Except the lazy? 
 Your wits, if you keep on that way, 
 
 Will soon grow hazy. 
 
 If you were either good or wise. 
 You'd look upon me as a prize. 
 And be content, at morn, to rise 
 
 At my alarms. 
 To see Aurora deck the skies 
 
 With countless charms. 
 
 Then gayly shines the dew upon 
 The grass tips of the sparkling lawn, 
 And, on the hill- top, beams the sun 
 
 With golden ray; 
 The fields awake to hail the dawn 
 
 With joyful lay. 
 312 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 The mists, around the summits curled, 
 By Sol's warm beams, are upward whirled 
 His burning fires awake the world. 
 
 With floods of Hght. 
 Grim Darkness, from his throne, is hurled. 
 And takes his flight. 
 
 Who would prefer his downy bed. 
 When scenes like this around him spread. 
 With light and music overhead? 
 
 Hard is his breast, 
 His soul, to beauty, must be dead. 
 
 And strange his taste. 
 
 You'll please yourself, to take me down, 
 But it will be yourself alone. 
 Aggrieved, the neighbors, every one. 
 
 Will mourn my fate, 
 And sadly feel, when I am gone. 
 
 Their loss how great. 
 
 The schoolboys, in their homeward way, 
 As, near the spot, their footsteps stray, 
 Stand mute, and watch my circling play. 
 
 In my high station, 
 I am the wonder (so they say). 
 
 Of all creation. 
 313 
 
To A Noisy Weather Gage and Wheel 
 
 Music may in my voice be found, 
 Methinks my rattling, merry sound 
 Relieves the loneliness around, 
 
 Of wood and hill, 
 Whose solitude were too profound 
 
 If I stood still. 
 
 And now, my honored master dear, 
 Must this day close my glad career? 
 Must I, in ashes, disappear 
 
 To boil a pot. 
 Or, mouldering in the woodhouse drear, 
 
 Be all forgot? 
 
 Mount me in some location, where 
 The gentle birds I will not scare. 
 Where constant breezes sweep the air, 
 
 And let me hum ! 
 Inaction's what I can not bear, 
 
 And silence dumb. 
 
 314 
 
The Spring time is coming 
 
 In beauty and bloom; 
 The Winter has fled, 
 
 With its frost and its gloom. 
 Thro' emerald meadows 
 
 The daisies are bright, 
 And the swift-rushing streamlet 
 
 Is flashing in Hght. 
 
 Then come to the arbor, 
 
 My own blushing fair. 
 Where nature is breathing 
 
 Soft incense in air. 
 She is decking the valley 
 
 With green garlands fair. 
 Come and see how its beauty 
 
 With thine will compare. 
 
 We '11 walk in the silence 
 
 And shade of the grove; 
 The city's wild turmoil 
 
 Is fatal to love. 
 Farewell to thy chamber. 
 
 Why dwell in its gloom? 
 The Springtime is coming 
 
 With beauty and bloom. 
 
 Cincinnati, May 4, 1855 
 
 315 
 
Though I may roam a foreign shore 
 
 Beyond the azure sea, 
 My early home, at evening time, 
 
 I will remember thee! 
 Perhaps my dreary lot is cast 
 
 Near to the frozen pole, 
 Where hoarsely howls the wintry blast, 
 And cold the billows roll. 
 The burning sands, my feet may tread, 
 
 And torrid suns may scorch my brow; 
 Or, I may stand on Etna's head 
 
 Of everlasting snow. 
 A southern clime may meet these eyes, 
 With softer stars and milder skies, 
 
 And green savannahs fair; 
 And maids, whose beauty, in its prime, 
 Shall put to shame their starry clime. 
 
 May, from my breast, expel despair. 
 
 And wake a lovelier feeling there. 
 
 These scenes shall be, ere cheerless age 
 Shall darken round my pilgrimage. 
 My feet are destined yet to go 
 Thro' many a path of joy or woe. 
 I knew so, in my early years, 
 I think so still, in smiles and tears. 
 Enough ! wherever I may be. 
 In fortune or adversity, 
 316 
 
Fragment 
 
 On desert sand, or Alpine snow, 
 Or where soft Indian breezes blow, 
 Still, memory shall turn her eye 
 Back to the home of Infancy. 
 
 1858 
 
 Jfragment 
 
 Loss OF Thor's Hammer 
 
 Thor raised his hammer, with intent 
 Of giving signal punishment. 
 Warned by his eyeball's burning glow, 
 Utgarda Loki dodged the blow. 
 And the swift missile, hissing, went, 
 Like lightning, through the firmament. 
 Thor looked once more, that look was vain. 
 Before him, spread the vacant plain, 
 Where not a single sign was seen. 
 Of where the city late had been. 
 Utgarda Loki passed from sight. 
 And vanished like the mists of night. 
 
 1867 
 
 317 
 
Leaflet, thou art dying now, 
 Cold the winds of Autumn blow 
 Round thy fragile stem. 
 
 Colder, yet, the winds will be. 
 Stronger blasts will rustle thee, 
 From skies more dark and dim. 
 
 Soon, from off thy native bough, 
 Lifeless, thou shalt sail below 
 To the wintry ground. 
 
 Where once the summer, soft and green, 
 Gently beautified the scene, 
 
 And Zephyr breathed a mournful sound, 
 
 Icy winds, with rapid sweeps. 
 Pile the snow, in drifting heaps, 
 All desolate around. 
 
 Such as thine, shall be the fate 
 Of him who mourns thee, soon or late. 
 Age and dull decay, 
 
 Hastening on life's glowing prime, 
 Till, from off the branch of time, 
 He shall drop away. 
 318 
 
Lines 
 
 Thou shalt die, and, darkly rolled, 
 Perish, in the silent mold, 
 In eternal sleep. 
 
 He may his hereafter know, 
 Softer skies for him may glow- 
 In a kindlier sphere. 
 
 In the blue depth of boundless space, 
 Heaven may have a dwelling-place, 
 A land without a tear. 
 
 Where love and friendship both are true, 
 Where none may disappointment rue, 
 Where all we sigh for here 
 May be found. 
 
 319 
 
Arctic 
 
 Who so joyous were at the break of day, 
 Ask of the winds that so gently moan 
 Above the waves with mournful tone, 
 Ask of their monarch, can he tell 
 Whether they be in heaven or hell? 
 That heavy question ne 'er will be 
 Solved by mortal scrutiny. 
 But silver planet, thou who guides. 
 From shore to shore, the rolling tides, 
 Let thy waters sweep their bodies o'er, 
 And bear them near to their native shore. 
 They have gone to coral reefs, there to sleep 
 Fast in the arms of their gloomy deep. 
 They sunk to their rest, without a knell 
 Rung at their wat'ry funeral. 
 But the deeply heaving and groaning surge 
 Shall be their everlasting dirge. 
 But yet, they have a restless pillow 
 Cradled by the tossing billow. 
 They have no light to disperse the gloom 
 That curtains around their ocean tomb. 
 Hushed, at their homes, around the hearth, 
 Is now the joyous laugh of mirth. 
 The laugh of pleasure is now o'er. 
 And the humorous jest is heard no more. 
 But they are gone to a fairer sphere. 
 Freed from the cares that perplex us here. 
 320 
 
Arctic 
 
 The few survivors on the raft, 
 Perchance, the winds to shore may waft. 
 For three long days, upon the seas. 
 They sailed before contrary breeze. 
 Each day, the quick-revolving sun 
 Saw them sinking, one by one. 
 By famine and by thirst opprest, 
 To their last eternal rest. 
 That frail craft not many bore 
 Safely to their native shore, 
 And few escaped the common fate 
 Their dreadful story to relate. 
 
 1855 
 
 21 321 
 
In days of old, when Cosroes' hand 
 The sceptre held in Persia's land, 
 The monarch summoned, to his throne, 
 Three sages, wide for wisdom known, 
 And bid them, then and there, to tell 
 The state of man, most miserable. 
 
 Then answered one: ''It seems to me. 
 Old age, combined with poverty, 
 Gives all the full excess of woe 
 That man can suffer here below." 
 
 Then said the other: "To my mind. 
 The fate of him seems more unkind. 
 Who, by disease's pangs distressed. 
 Longs for the grave's eternal rest; 
 Whose w^eary days are full of woe. 
 Whose e^^es no nightly slumbers know." 
 
 The third one spoke: ''For him, I sigh, 
 Who bears the scourge of Destiny, 
 Whom cold Misfortune follows fast. 
 And shipwrecks with her bitter blast; 
 Whose hopes have all been rendered vain 
 By ills on ills, a deadly train. 
 Till zeal, and strength, and courage gone. 
 Dark Misery's vortex draws him down." 
 322 
 
COSROES AND THE ThREE SaGES 
 
 Then answered Persia's Grand Vizier, 
 Revered in peace, renowned in war: 
 "These ills are weary, to endure, 
 'T is cheerless to be old and poor, 
 And, for his sake, I shed a tear, 
 Who groans in agony severe. 
 Nor can I see, with eyelids dry, 
 The ruined child of destiny; 
 His broken heart, and weary state. 
 Are mournful things to contemplate. 
 But, sad as all these evils are, 
 I know of one more hopeless far. 
 
 It is the fate of him, who hath, 
 Through life, pursued the evil path. 
 Whose hands no pious act have done, 
 Whose works are wickedness alone, 
 Till cruel Death, with aspect grim, 
 All unexpected, meets with him. 
 And drags him, from a life of ill, 
 Before that awful tribunal. 
 To render his account to Him 
 Whose final judgment is supreme." 
 
 May, 1868 
 
 323 
 
K\)t l^mlt of plue Uttfes 
 
 Many a year has passed and gone, 
 Since that sad and fatal dawn — 
 Yet memory, with reverted eyes, 
 
 Sees the battle fought again, 
 And the green rock's native dyes 
 Spoiled by slaughter's crimson rain. 
 
 O tranquil Licking! did you dream. 
 
 On the morning of the fray, 
 When your silver-winding stream 
 Like a glassy mirror lay. 
 
 That, before the summer sun 
 His journey thro' the sky had done, 
 And his last departing beam 
 Had gilt thy forest and thy stream, 
 Thy waves, so clear and blue, 
 Now glistening far and wide. 
 
 Would take a deadlier light and hue, 
 A red and swollen tide? 
 
 Here, by this stone, so greenly mossed, 
 McGary, to the battle crost. 
 And upward, to the fatal plain. 
 Led on the brave and warlike train. 
 Alas! how few again returned. 
 Whose hearts, with valor, in them burned. 
 Who little recked or thought that they 
 Would ever be the wild hawk's prey? 
 324 
 
The Battle of Blue Licks 
 
 How many ever called to mind 
 The homes, so lately left behind, 
 With thoughts of a foreboding kind? 
 For, tho' their brown hands waved adieu 
 While yet their cabins stood in view. 
 How could they think, as on they past, 
 Flow long that farewell was to last? 
 
 In yonder thicket's banks of shade, 
 Flashes of ceaseless lightning played, 
 As, on the Autumn's smiling plain, 
 Thick falls the rows of yellow grain 
 
 Beneath the reaper's sway; 
 As mists that cloud the morning air, 
 Beneath the sun's ascending glare 
 
 Melt silently away, 
 
 So thick and fast they fell ; 
 And, high above the clanging blows, 
 As bravest heroes fell, arose 
 The frightful, savage yell. 
 
 The slain are slumbering 'neath my feet. 
 Their bones are moldering below; 
 
 No tomb the pilgrim's eye can meet, 
 No urn contains their ashes now. 
 
 The Summer morning paints the earth, 
 
 And gilds the winding wave. 
 But morning never comes to cheer 
 
 The tenants of the grave — 
 
 325 
 
The Battle of Blue Licks 
 
 Those who have left the stage of time, 
 While acting in a part sublime. 
 For them, the lyre of Fame is strung, 
 Their deeds in later days are sung. 
 The child of Freedom, as he treads 
 The ground above their narrow beds, 
 Shall pause to think of former days, 
 Of those who fought for fame or praise. 
 Ambition cast their honor down 
 And pointed to a distant throne. 
 For this alone, their people bled, 
 Their fields were covered with the dead. 
 When all was conquered, all was gained, 
 And nothing more on earth remained. 
 Their wistful eyes pursued the sun. 
 And wept, there was no world but one. 
 More sacred were the deeds of these 
 Whose homes were mid the forest trees. 
 
 But tho' those homes were humble things, 
 Not mod 'led to the pride of kings. 
 To them, there was no place more fair, 
 For all affections centered there. 
 The magnet, placed in southern clime. 
 Where endless summer fills the time. 
 Still points its index finger forth 
 To the chill mountains of the north. 
 
 As if its heart was there. 
 So these, if placed in marble halls. 
 Far distant from their native walls, 
 326 
 
Philanthropy 
 
 Had felt their hearts, in grief and gloom, 
 Still yearning for their woodland home, 
 
 And sunken in despair, 
 And thought how, when they used to dwell 
 Within their little clay-built cell, 
 
 They lived in freedom there. 
 
 I860 
 
 I AM on good terms 
 
 With mortals and worms — 
 
 They are the same fabric as I. 
 But yet, I care not. 
 If they both go to pot 
 
 I neither will blubber nor cry. 
 
 1853 
 
 327 
 
iluman ILiit 
 
 A FEW short years shall come and go, 
 
 When in the dust we '11 lie ; 
 Our lives are as a shooting glow 
 
 Upon the midnight sky. 
 
 It gleams a moment on its way, 
 
 Then melts in azure space, 
 And, of the brightness of its ray, 
 
 It leaves no single trace. 
 
 The magic light springs up at night 
 
 Above the marshy plain, 
 And gleams, a while, with baleful light, 
 
 Then sinks to earth again. 
 
 'T is thus we take our rise from dust, 
 And dust, thus, awhile we burn, 
 
 Until the moment when we must 
 Back to the dust return. 
 
 To him who journeys o'er the sand 
 
 Of Africa's desert wide. 
 Delusive pictures take their stand 
 
 Around on every side. 
 
 He sees broad lakes before him spread. 
 With verdant palm trees lined. 
 
 And their green branches overhead 
 In motion by the wind. 
 328 
 
Human Life 
 
 'T is thus false hopes too often take 
 
 Our visionary sight, 
 And, when we almost reach them, break 
 
 And turn to darkness quite. 
 
 The Spring comes on, then, lovelier still, 
 The Summer, soft and green, 
 
 Last, Autumn browns the vale and hill, 
 And saddens all the scene. 
 
 So come our boyhood and our youth, 
 And manhood's happy prime; 
 
 Then trembling age at last, and Death, 
 Our exit from the stage of Time. 
 
 1856 
 
 329 
 
I WISH I were again a boy, 
 
 With free and careless brow^ — 
 For then, at least, I had more joy 
 
 Than soothes my spirit now. 
 Those days are gone, forever fled, 
 The friends I knew and loved are dead. 
 And those who loved me, too, are gone 
 To slumber 'neath the silent stone. 
 Some sleep beneath a foreign sky, 
 I know not where their ashes lie. 
 
 And many a scalding tear I give 
 
 Over their hapless lot, 
 And those who died and those who live 
 
 Shall never be forgot. 
 Their names are rendered dear to me 
 By many a scene in memory. 
 With them I wept, with them I played 
 On sunny hills, in greenwood shade. 
 Or bounded in the light canoe 
 Along the winding river's blue. 
 
 But all alike have passed away, 
 
 I view them now no more; 
 They've left my sight, this many a day, 
 
 By the creek and river shore. 
 And other friends are linked with me 
 In manhood's heartless sympathy. 
 330 
 
Lines to Eunice 
 
 But memory reverts her gaze 
 Towards my fair infantile days, 
 And drags from out their moldering urn 
 The joys that never will return. 
 
 Cincinnati, May 4, 1855 
 
 %mt^ to Cunice 
 
 Eunice, that little head so brown, 
 Those eyelashes drooping down, 
 Those rosy cheeks and darting eyes 
 Make new and strange emotions rise — 
 Pleasing, yet ending, all in pain. 
 For, while I sigh, I sigh in vain, 
 My rival, Henric, claims thy charms, 
 And clasps thee in a husband's arms. 
 
 1857 
 
 331 
 
Co tf^t Cfaenma ^tar 
 
 Sweet, lovely orb who gleams above, 
 My spirit turns to thee in love — 
 When over sorrowing thoughts I brood, 
 In silence and in solitude, 
 Or wander on the lonely shore. 
 Or where, down hill, the torrents pour, 
 When far removed from mortal view, 
 From out thy depths of melting blue, 
 Thy mournful gaze is on me still. 
 With more a look of good than ill. 
 And I, a pilgrim here below. 
 Enduring many a secret woe, 
 From whom the light of Love is flown 
 And Friendship's milder glory gone, 
 Now turns to thee his wandering eye 
 And seeks thy silent sympathy. 
 If I believed the spangled heaven. 
 So red with burning stars at even. 
 Was an unfolded scroll on high. 
 The azure page of Destiny, 
 
 And every planet's burning glare 
 That glimmers thro' blue midnight's gloom, 
 Prognostic of some mortal's doom. 
 
 Was but a fiery sentence there. 
 Then would I joy to think that mine, 
 Thou bashful light, was writ in thine. 
 If every star 's a place of rest. 
 The peaceful "Islands of the Blest," 
 332 
 
To THE Evening Star 
 
 I would not fear to lose my breath 
 And pass the shadowy vale of death. 
 Then will my unchained spirit trace, 
 On seraph wings, the realms of space. 
 O ! then how quickly will I come 
 And choose thee for my future home. 
 
 Cincinnati, May 5, 1855 
 
 ?>?>?> 
 
%int6 
 
 The purple light of evening 
 
 Is fading in the west; 
 The woods are dimly darkening, 
 
 The bird has sought her nest. 
 
 The stars are up, the moon grows bright, 
 
 The midnight hastens on. 
 I seek my home, she is not mine, 
 
 My latest hope is gone. 
 
 Yet, still, the rosy twilight 
 
 Around each tree-top glows, 
 Though every trunk around me 
 
 A fainter shadow throws. 
 
 While I stand here, in waiting 
 
 For her who does not come, 
 While I have been a wanderer. 
 
 Hath she remained at home? 
 
 Is she in yonder mansion, 
 
 Where once she used to dwell. 
 
 When in my early boyhood 
 I felt her beauty's spell? 
 
 She had that childish artlessness, 
 
 That purity of soul. 
 That waked within my spirit 
 
 A love that spurned control. 
 334 
 
Lines 
 
 I fought the wars in Palestine, 
 
 I envy those who fell, 
 'T were manliness to die for Christ 
 
 Before the infidel. 
 
 335 
 
The storm was loud on Galilee, 
 The waves rolled dark and high, 
 
 A gloom had fallen on the sea, 
 The blast rushed whistling by. 
 
 The shivering sails are rent apart. 
 The mast yields to its power; 
 
 And fear had seized on every heart 
 In that tremendous hour. 
 
 But Jesus did not head the clouds. 
 
 The winds, or waving sea. 
 He heeded not the shivering shrouds, 
 
 For fast asleep was he. 
 
 Then came his followers to him. 
 And spoke, with words of fear: 
 
 "Lord, save us, for we perish. 
 Why art thou sleeping here?" 
 
 Then Jesus spoke: "Give up your fear, 
 
 O ye of little faith ! 
 How can you, when your Lord is near. 
 
 Thus heed the ocean's wrath? 
 
 And he rebuked the leaden sky, 
 And bid its lightnings cease. 
 
 He stretched his hand across the sea, 
 Its billows sank in peace. 
 336 
 
The Tempest 
 
 Disciples, O ! how could ye doubt, 
 
 Or ask for proof again? 
 It surely is the Son of God, 
 
 Who thus can rule the main. 
 
 Thus, when the cares of life awake 
 The tempests of our soul, 
 
 Our Father, grant the saving aid 
 Of Thy divine control ! 
 
 Till every passion lulled to rest. 
 Our breasts grow full of thee, 
 
 And, o'er our spirits, comes a calm 
 Like that on Galilee! 
 
 1856 
 
 22 337 
 
Jfragment 
 
 A Shipwreck 
 
 The fated ship, before the gale, 
 
 With rigging rent, and ragged sail, 
 
 Is driven, in its headlong course, 
 
 By wind and water's mingled force. 
 
 And vain is all the pilot's skill. 
 
 The tempest guides her at its will. 
 
 Now lifted on the billows high. 
 
 Her masthead mingles with the sky. 
 
 Then, viewed by lightning's fitful glow, 
 
 She plunges to the depths below. 
 
 The yellow, dashing, foaming tides 
 
 Are lashed to spray against her sides, 
 
 And, thrown upon the highest deck. 
 
 Drenches, in brine, the laboring wreck — 
 
 And, through the strained hull's gaping seams, 
 
 The hissing ocean pours in streams. 
 
 Now, from the distance, rising clear, 
 The sound of breakers greets the ear. 
 All hope is lost; the sailors wait. 
 In breathless silence, for their fate. 
 And, by a transient gleam, their eyes 
 See horrid rocks before them rise. 
 Another moment, all is dark. 
 And, hurled on high, the shattered bark 
 338 
 
Fragment 
 
 Descends upon them; far and wide 
 The broken fragments strew the tide. 
 Their cries for aid are all in vain, 
 Unheard amidst the roaring main, 
 And, yielding to the maddened wave, 
 They sink, and fill a seaman's grave. 
 
 Cincinnati, March, 1859 
 
 339 
 
%inti to Eabine 
 
 Kabine, your diabolean hole 
 
 Has ruined many a young man's soul. 
 
 There, they drink the worst of beer 
 
 Till their senses disappear. 
 
 The rifle whiskey that they get, 
 
 The stoutest mule would overset. 
 
 There, is heard the drunken howl, 
 
 There, breaks forth the midnight growl 
 
 Its dilapidated walls 
 
 Are the scene of fights and brawls. 
 
 In it, we're not afraid to bet. 
 
 Some one will be murdered yet. 
 
 'T is strange the watchmen of the beat 
 Do n't lug you up to Hammond Street 
 Arraigned before the frowning judge, 
 All your excuses would be fudge. 
 You 'd exercise your lies in vain 
 The work of Justice to restrain. 
 The judge, with face severe, would say 
 ''Take the foul, drunken brute away 
 And lead him to the dens below. 
 Nor let him thence for one month go; 
 In Marshal Robinson's hotel 
 We '11 let him have a taste of hell." 
 340 
 
Lines to Kabine 
 
 In iEsop's pages, you may read 
 How once a wolf of subtile breed, 
 Among a flock of sheep did stray. 
 And seemed to be the same as they. 
 The wolf, he had a sheepskin on. 
 And all his wolfish look was gone. 
 The shepherd, with a cunning eye, 
 Right soon beheld the treachery. 
 He seized him by his woolly hide. 
 And round his neck a rope he tied. 
 One end above a branch he threw. 
 And then the noose he tightened, too, 
 With rage depicted in his eye, 
 He swung the howling brute on high. 
 
 So you, in sheepish garb arrayed. 
 Your dwelling in the place have made. 
 As decent, for a time, you passed, 
 But we have found you out at last. 
 And we, perhaps, may give to you 
 A most extensive trotting through. 
 Judge Lynch is here with us, by far 
 Most influential at the bar. 
 Vacate your dog hole quick, and run. 
 Or something monstrous will be done! 
 
 I should not w^onder, if you stayed in town, 
 The folks would tear your kennel down. 
 Break up your barrels, drink your beer. 
 And order you to move from here. 
 341 
 
Lines to Kabine 
 
 Upon a rail they 11 let you ride, 
 
 With a tar and feather hide. 
 
 Ah, Kabine! that hide will stick so close 
 
 You can not easy cast it loose. 
 
 For rum, it can't be pawned away, 
 
 'T will keep you warm for many a day. 
 
 Take my advice, fly hence! in time, 
 
 I speak the truth, although in rhyme! 
 
 1858 
 
 342 
 
Apollo anb ©apfine 
 
 Dramatis Personae 
 
 Cupid, 
 
 Apollo, 
 
 Mercury, 
 
 Venus, 
 
 Daphne 
 
 CUPID 
 
 Would, in some unlucky hour, 
 I might find it in my power 
 To make proud Phoebus writhe and smart 
 Beneath my far extending dart ! 
 He seems to scorn my puny strength. 
 But ah! a time will come at length, 
 A time, and at no distant day, 
 When he will think a different way. 
 Because the arrow from his bow 
 Hath chanced to lay the Python low. 
 His heart is brimming full of pride. 
 All feelings crowded out beside. 
 For this, alone, I do not care, 
 But that at me he dares to sneer, 
 And mocks at every weak attempt 
 With most ineffable contempt. 
 343 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 But amply will I have revenge, 
 If once he comes in shooting range 
 Of this good bow ; a dart like this 
 Will not be very apt to miss. 
 With such a marksman, too, as I, 
 Who has the skill to make it fly 
 So truly as to hit a hair. 
 He hardly can take too much care. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Not vainly, have I tried to prove 
 Myself a genuine child of Jove. 
 Against my valor and my skill. 
 The Python vainly strove, and fell. 
 Now, moldering alone, he lies 
 Beneath the rude, inconstant skies. 
 Little he thought to bite the dust; 
 Crissa has 'scaped a dreadful pest. 
 Since when broad Ocean's surging tide 
 Rolled over Terra, far and wide. 
 And Pyrrho and Deucalion stood. 
 Close by the fast receding flood. 
 On Parnass' top, and sent above 
 Their thanks to flight bestowing Jove, 
 Foul Python hath a terror been. 
 To waste and scourge the world of sin. 
 But I have bade this evil cease. 
 And Delphi hails returning peace. 
 
 344 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 Thou hast done much, this action's praise 
 
 Should be sent down to other days. 
 
 Not one of all the Gods above — 
 Not Pluto, of the shades below. 
 Where Styx's leaden waters flow 
 In leaden currents, dark and slow, 
 
 Not even earth creating Jove 
 
 Could send so vile a pest again. 
 
 To desolate the homes of men. 
 
 But were I thee, a temple high. 
 
 Pointing toward the silent sky. 
 
 Should upward, from the green earth, swell, 
 To mark the spot where Python fell, 
 
 A monument of victory. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 This, by my father, Jove, I'll do. 
 
 The fane shall rear. 
 
 Aloft in air. 
 Its spires toward the depths of blue. 
 And here, in Delphi's woody gloom. 
 Henceforth shall be my chiefest home. 
 My spirit shall inspire the place, 
 And unto many of mortal race 
 The mazy future shall be shown, 
 As well as actors past and gone. 
 
 345 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 There, many a lovesick youth will try 
 To read his hapless destiny, 
 And, with my strong, inspiring aid, 
 Not vainly, will he woo his maid. 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 You're Loxias now, how can you give 
 What you yourself did never have? 
 You, who have failed one heart to move. 
 To talk of righting other's love. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Hermes, you judge me not aright, 
 In love I have received no slight. 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 You have n't! but, by Lerna's lake, 
 I 'm laboring 'neath a sad mistake 
 If thrice you have not tried, in vain. 
 The hearts of some I know, to gain. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Who were they? Come, speak out and tell! 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 You know; you are an oracle. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 You speak in riddles that I can not guess. 
 346 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 So, then, your weakness you confess. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 I fail your meaning, but, I will declare, 
 Not for the depth of art that 's there. 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 I speak no riddles; to be plain. 
 
 Thrice has your courtship been in vain. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Tell me the name, at least of one, 
 And let our argument be done. 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 Well, of Batina I will tell; 
 She loved you most exceeding well. 
 Romantic was her death ; she died 
 Beneath the crystal river's tide. 
 Rather than yield to you her love. 
 So much did you her passions move. 
 But, look there! sitting in the shade 
 
 Is Daphne, solitary in the grove, 
 In truth she is a lovely maid. 
 
 Why do n't you go and win her love? 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Daphne would hardly look at me. 
 347 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 You yield by far too easily, 
 A moment back, and one would think 
 To hear you talk, that, by a wink, 
 The haughtiest maid that ever pressed 
 Our mighty mother's verdant breast 
 You'd mould completely to your will. 
 So vaunted you, upon your skill. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 I did not vaunt — I only said 
 I 'd like to see that iron maid 
 Whom I have ever loved in vain. 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 If yonder Daphne you can gain, 
 I will acknowledge that you are 
 Not so unfortunate, by far. 
 In love affairs, as I had thought. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Not easily will she be wrought. 
 But I must go, the sun declines. 
 More and more slantingly he shines. 
 
 {exit Apollo) 
 
 MERCURY 
 
 What strength self confidence can give, 
 'T is more than energy; we strive, 
 348 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 Who have it, with a youthful strength, 
 Tho' envious, wasting time, at length. 
 Has bleached, with many a Winter's snow. 
 Our silver hairs, and stamped our brows 
 With many a mark; while those who want 
 This helping sentiment may toil and pant. 
 From blooming youth to helpless age. 
 Their lives a weary pilgrimage. 
 Much as I feel contempt for vanity, 
 Still 't is a pleasant sight to me 
 To see one on himself depend, 
 Feeling himself his trustiest friend. 
 
 CUPID 
 
 Now is my chance. I '11 glut my hate. 
 Come, my good bow, the range is great, 
 Yet thou hast sailed an arrow o'er 
 A greater space than this before; 
 Directed by my skillful arm. 
 Thou 'It do my foes a deal of harm. 
 Aid me, my mother! tho' 't is dark, 
 A skillful shot may strike the mark. 
 
 VENUS 
 
 I grant my aid and blessing too. 
 The will and courage rest with you. 
 Put on the string the golden shaft 
 At which he hath so often laughed. 
 Now pull, with all strength, the springy bow, 
 Measure the mark, and now let go! 
 349 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 CUPID 
 
 Heaven! how swift that arrow flew! 
 It whizzes thro' the ether blue; 
 Straight is its course ; the mark is struck. 
 Now, Phoebus, wail, and curse your luck, 
 Confess that he thou didst despise 
 Hath skillful hands and wary eyes ! 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 O! Father Jove, what — what is this 
 That comes with such a sharp, quick whiz 
 And wounds me to the very heart ! 
 A glittering shaft, a golden dart. 
 O! heaven above! some secret foe 
 Is trailing my lone footsteps now. 
 Avenging Jove, extend your aid. 
 And guide me thro' the gathering shade! 
 And Themis, thou who wert to me 
 A nurse and friend in infancy. 
 On thee I call, for, wounded sore, 
 I suffer pangs unknown before. 
 Here am I, friendless and alone. 
 By craft of hidden foes o'erthrown. 
 Wounded to death, I sink, I die 
 Unseen, and far from sympathy. 
 O ! Father Jove, whose universal sight 
 Recks not for sunshine or the gloom of night, 
 But views alike the fiery glow 
 Of Etna's burning lakes, whose flow, 
 350 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 With lurid and intensest flame, 
 Chars and torments the writhing frame 
 Of thy gigantic Titan foe, 
 Whom thou hast prisoned there below, 
 Or the illimitable Ocean's floor. 
 Let this close peril hustle o'er! 
 O ! yes, I see that even now 
 Thy influence warms my heart and brow; 
 Chill terror flies, and strength again 
 Courses thro' every half-chilled vein. 
 But I will leave this direful place. 
 Who may he be, of mortal race 
 Or of Olympian gods, whose arm 
 Is lifted up to do me harm? 
 Fain would I know, unnerving fear 
 Else will pursue me everywhere. 
 Of that most wasting, torturing kind. 
 Formless and blank and undefined. 
 With which the hell-born sisterhood 
 Scourge those with hands imbrued in blood. 
 
 {walks off) 
 
 VENUS 
 
 Well done, my child! that shot was good. 
 He took it in no laughing mood, 
 He'll truly find, before he's done. 
 Your darts are equal to his own. 
 And, if my judgment prove not wrong. 
 He'll feel the painful wound ere long. 
 351 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 CUPID 
 
 Look how he walks! (I hate him so) 
 And how, aloft, he holds his bow, 
 As if he would shoot down all foes 
 Who dare his footsteps to oppose. 
 But see! he turns, his wandering eye 
 Discerns the lovely Daphne nigh. 
 The poison works, I plainly see ; 
 He looks on her admiringly. 
 
 VENUS 
 
 This instant he may but admire. 
 But yet his veins, with liquid fire, 
 Shall burn with true adoring love. 
 And, vainly, will he strive to move 
 The maid, whose cold, indifferent heart 
 Shall yield not to his boasted art. 
 Her soul is braced upon the chase; 
 Of Love for him I see no trace. 
 She loves the mossy rocks and woods, 
 Or tumbling cascade's frothing floods, 
 The silver river, deep and wide. 
 The narrow vale, or mountain side; 
 Harsh to the beasts of shaggy dress, 
 Wild dweller of the wilderness. 
 
 CUPID 
 
 She flies at his approach, I know. 
 As I have oft seen damsels do 
 352 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 From those desired to pursue, 
 
 But Phoebus hath the power to win, 
 
 If earnestly he once begin. 
 
 For he is fair to please the sight, 
 
 Proportioned well, and tall and straight. 
 
 Look at his face and wavy hair. 
 
 And say no charms are lurking there. 
 
 Those features are the purest Greek, 
 
 (The parted lips appear to speak). 
 
 With every separate loveliness 
 
 That aught that's Godlike may possess. 
 
 O! my revenge is not complete, 
 
 Some other thing is wanting yet. 
 
 If I have made proud Phoebus burn 
 
 With love that Daphne will return. 
 
 My plans are bungling, void of skill, 
 
 I 've given joy, instead of ill. 
 
 O mother ! 
 
 VENUS 
 
 Call not on me to save. 
 When you yourself the power have. 
 Where have you placed your leaden dart? 
 'T will render vain Apollo's art. 
 Nor will the fickle nymph be won, 
 If Jove himself should aid his son. 
 But see! he hath approached the maid 
 Beneath that oak tree's quivering shade, 
 23 353 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Sweet Daphne! long, In secret, I 
 Have given the winds my futile sigh. 
 Long has my heart, in secret, burned 
 From pure affection, unreturned. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 What cruel maid, with patent art. 
 Hath stolen from thee thy manly heart, 
 And filled thy spirit with despair, 
 Revenge, and jealousy, and care, 
 Allowing thee, alone, to brood 
 O'er cursed wrongs, in solitude? 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 She is a simple huntress maid. 
 Her home is in the woodland shade. 
 Her have I seen, with bow and spear, 
 Hotly pursue the panting deer. 
 Dead to the love of mortal men. 
 Delighting in some savage glen. 
 Her days, monotonous and slow, 
 Destroy the beauty on her brow. 
 Nor man, as yet, nor God above, 
 Have ever waked her heart to love, 
 But woman's heart is known to you, 
 For thou thyself art woman, too. 
 Advise me, therefore, what to do. 
 354 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 'T is not a thing to teach and learn ; 
 Your own true judgment will discern 
 A better way. Tell your beloved 
 With what a passion you are moved ; 
 Detail to her, how she inspires 
 Your soul with more than Etna's fires. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 This will I do, but yet I fear 
 Her ears may not incline to hear. 
 What if, perchance, she say, that I 
 Am but a friend, O! sad reply, 
 Or even worse, another one 
 Possessed her youthful heart alone. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 Fair Fortune ever aids the brave, 
 On earth, or on the rolling wave. 
 In times of war, or when sweet peace 
 Hath bid the deadly strife to cease. 
 When towns repay the victor's arts, 
 Or when the lighter prize is hearts, 
 Fortune alike exerts her power 
 And aids the brave to win the hour. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Is Fortune friendly to the brave? 
 Then should I feel her power to save, 
 355 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 For none beneath the concave sky 
 
 Have aught of courage more than I ; 
 
 And I might almost say, above, 
 
 Saving alone my father, Jove. 
 
 The impious Titans sought to gain 
 
 His throne in heaven, but strove in vain. 
 
 Black thunder and fierce lightnings hurled 
 
 Have swept them from the upper world. 
 
 One, on Caucasus, bleak and bare. 
 
 The sport of windy sky and air, 
 
 Extended lies, held by a lock 
 
 Of ad'mant and eternal rock. 
 
 Another, Typhon, with his hell-born soul. 
 
 Burnt by Jove's lightnings to a coal, 
 
 Who, in Sicilian caverns dim, 
 
 Defied all heaven, alas for him! 
 
 Now lies supine, his daring breast 
 
 By Etna's burning entrails pressed. 
 
 I, too, possess a heart of fire; 
 
 What marvel? sprung from such a sire! 
 
 But of my acts I need not tell. 
 
 Thou knowest by whom the Python fell. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 More shame to thee! to thus prevail, 
 Yet in a simple courtship fail — 
 Thou who hath slain the vilest pest 
 That ever sprung from Earth's green breast. 
 Go tell her all! there is no maid. 
 Of loving words who is afraid — ■ 
 356 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 But who's the maid, and what her name, 
 That wastes thee with this tender flame? 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 I 'd tell thee, but, somehow, I fear 
 
 'T will both surprise and vex your ear. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 Out with it, for I do declare 
 That who she is I little care. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Well, well, then Daphne is her name, 
 Whose beauty sets my heart aflame. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 What Daphne? who, and what is she? 
 Your meaning, yet, I hardly see. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 To bring things plainer to your view. 
 That Daphne is none else than you. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 Shame ! were your Delian mother here, 
 How promptly she would box your ear; 
 For 'proaching, with pretended love, 
 A damsel in the nightly grove. 
 357 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Pretended love ! — by father Jove, 
 Whose word is law in heaven above ; 
 By Stj^'s waters, foul and drear, 
 An oath that all the gods revere ; 
 These words I speak are trebly true, 
 I live, I speak, I breathe for you. 
 To prove that love's sincerity 
 For thee, I would not dread to die. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 What! dost thou say the gentle fire 
 That I within thy breast inspire 
 Commands thee, so that thou wilt do 
 Whatever deed I ask thee to? 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Yes ! truly, I am but thy slave ; 
 For thee I 'd dare the Stygian wave, 
 And exercise my father's might 
 To drag vile Cerberus to the light, 
 To rend the horn and ivory gates. 
 And loomless, make the sister Fates. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 Well, go then to the shades below, 
 Where never light presumes to glow, 
 Dismiss sad Ixion from the gloom, 
 And turn his wheel till I shall come. 
 358 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 Sad day! I now perceive that I 
 
 Have wasted all my gallantry. 
 
 The love that long in secret burned 
 
 Must, after all, be unreturned. 
 
 But Daphne, tell me ere I go — 
 
 An exile in my utter woe — 
 
 Is there no corner of thy heart 
 
 Where I, perchance, may claim a part? 
 
 If thou dost hate me, tell it, speak! 
 
 My ear shall hear, though heart shall break 
 
 If I remain thy lover still, 
 
 What will my fate be? good or ill? 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 Divine thyself! for thou canst see 
 Into the dark futurity. 
 
 APOLLO 
 
 My prophecy points out success. 
 
 But thou hast power to alter this. 
 
 If I thy fickle heart can move 
 
 To render back one-half my love. 
 
 Not fortune, though her power be great, 
 
 Can bless, in aught, my happy state. 
 
 DAPHNE 
 
 So long as I possess thy love 
 I '11 envy not the gods above. 
 359 
 
Apollo and Daphne 
 
 Let not thy feelings range from me, 
 And mine will ever cling to thee, 
 As long as stars in ether glow. 
 As long as streams to ocean flow. 
 
 CUPID 
 
 See her bright eyes, how they shine ! 
 Hateful Phoebus, she is thine. 
 Would to heaven! I could destroy, 
 Instantly, thy promised joy! 
 
 VENUS 
 
 Cupid, stretch thy springy bow, 
 
 Fit the leaden arrow now! 
 
 Soon Apollo's vain success 
 
 Shall become as nothingness. 
 
 Take thy aim — the arrow flies — 
 
 It strikes — and see! the damsel's eyes, 
 
 In their dark, impulsive glow, 
 
 Less of admiration show. 
 
 What, just then, inspired love. 
 
 Now, can but aversion move. 
 
 360 
 
gl Cfiaracter=jFraBment 
 
 There was a youth who dwelt within 
 
 A broad-built city of the West. 
 His ears were used to hear the din 
 Of business that could know no rest. 
 His heart, e'en in his early youth, 
 Became familiar with the ways of men — 
 
 Less with their virtues than their want 
 of truth— 
 And judged alike the million and the ten. 
 
 And rumors were afloat of him, 
 
 Which, had they truth to back them up, 
 Would leave his reputation rather slim. 
 And friends advised him, oft, to stop 
 And mend his ways and contradict 
 Their lies (they said) which sullied his fair 
 name. 
 He did not heed, abased and wrecked, 
 He plunged still deeper into shame. 
 
 24 361 
 
nines 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE LATE DR. THOMAS CARROLL 
 
 We miss thee in the walks of Hfe, 
 
 And in the ways of men, 
 And long the void thy absence makes 
 
 Will in our hearts remain. 
 
 The mansion and the lowly cot 
 
 Shall long lament thy end ; 
 For both alike in thee have lost 
 
 A counselor and friend. 
 
 In hours of danger and distress 
 Thou wert their constant stay; 
 
 And sweet voiced Charity found thee 
 Her servant every day. 
 
 Thou hast not fallen in the Spring 
 
 Or summer of thy prime; 
 For long thy manly brow has borne 
 
 The Winter marks of time. 
 
 Fate measured out thy full career, 
 And when thy summons came, 
 
 Thy Father's purpose was fulfilled^ 
 And we must bless his name. 
 362 
 
Lines 
 
 For in the honor of good works 
 Thy spirit took its leave, 
 
 And thy clear record hath no spot 
 To blame or to forgive. 
 
 The seeds of many a gentle act, 
 Along thy life-path strewed, 
 
 Have grown in many a humble spot 
 To flowers of gratitude. 
 
 And some, whose eyes may view the spot 
 
 Wherein thy silent ashes sleep. 
 May cast those flowers upon thy grave 
 
 And turn away to weep. 
 
 Long shall the graces of the man 
 The theme in Friendship's circle be, 
 
 While mourning science shall lament 
 Her fallen votary. 
 
 And on thy tomb, they well may say, 
 Who knew thy life and mind and heart, 
 
 ''Here lies a man who in his day 
 Hath acted well his part." 
 
 Cincinnati, March 13, 1871 
 
 363 
 
^[ppentiijt: 
 
tKl^e iWeteor ^teeb 
 
 When the signal bell was rung, 
 Forward on the track he sprung. 
 The charioteer then touched the thong, 
 When, rolled the ponderous train along. 
 With one loud, wild, and piercing neigh 
 He bounded on his winding way. 
 On, hissing, went o'er bridge and brake, 
 Where oft had rushed the hissing snake. 
 From out the bush, the partridge whirred, 
 Affrighted, flew the timid bird. 
 The Eagle, from her rock on high. 
 Sent forth a loud and piercing cry — 
 Then swiftly to her eyrie flew 
 To guard her young as near he drew. 
 She whet her beak on flinty rock. 
 Prepared herself for battle shock, 
 Then gave one loud, defiant shriek 
 When by he went like lightning streak. 
 And on, with speed of wind, he flew, 
 With graceful ease, the train he drew. 
 Here, his wild neigh, loud, shrill, and clear, 
 Started from copse the mountain deer. 
 The roaming tenants of the wood, 
 Affrighted, ran, or, trembling, stood. 
 367 
 
The Meteor Steed 
 
 Alarmed, within his secret lair, 
 Arose and fled the prowling bear. 
 The stealthy wolves, that miscreant clan, 
 Rush, howling; to their coverts ran. 
 Fiercest of which in forest roam, 
 The wildcat, seemed, in mountain home, 
 Jealous of all who dare invade 
 Her lonely haunts in mountain shade. 
 Madly she sprang from limb to limb. 
 Rushed o'er the track, for leap at him. 
 She made the bound, but missed her aim 
 And lit a mile behind the train. 
 Poor, foolish puss! to make such dash, 
 And think to catch a lightning flash. 
 The fires within his bosom burned. 
 And, round, the heated axles turned. 
 The thieving fox forbore to prowl, 
 And, silent, sits the boding owl. 
 The buzzards winged their circling flight 
 Around the mountain's topmost hight. 
 While, in these solitudes profound. 
 The shades of evening fell around. 
 When night her sable wings unfurled 
 And spread her mantle o'er the world. 
 What need of light, while, in his ire. 
 His eyeball shone like blazing fire! 
 He, through the pitchy darkness, dove 
 Like flaming thunderbolts of Jove. 
 And on he went, with thundering sound, 
 Measuring his length with every bound, 
 368 
 
The Meteor Steed 
 
 On, through the mountain's deep defiles, 
 And through the valley's silent wilds. 
 And on, and onward, drew the train. 
 Whose echoing thunder shook the plain ; 
 And on, and on ; his meteor gleam 
 Paled only with the morning beam. 
 As arrow from the bow is sent 
 As swiftly to his goal he went; 
 More swift and fleet than mountain hind. 
 And beautiful, this sired of mind. 
 Such was the steed, and this my lay; 
 He rolled me o'er his winding way. 
 Now thanks to that protecting power 
 Which kept me safe through danger's hour 1 
 
 Samuel Ogden, 
 
 369 
 
5 ofm C — - 
 
 On Fairmount's misty hills of clay 
 How sweet the wild birds sing, 
 
 How mournful sounds the sweeping winds 
 That through its forests ring. 
 
 On Fairmount's misty hills of clay 
 
 Death hath cast a gloom, 
 For old John C 's passed away 
 
 To realms beyond the tomb. 
 
 And ne'er again at dusk of day 
 We '11 see him homeward walk ; 
 
 No more upon his winding way 
 He '11 stop with friends to talk. 
 
 We'll miss the tales he used to tell, 
 
 His voice so full of cheer. 
 To all except himself he was 
 
 An honest friend sincere. 
 
 The good he had we will applaud, 
 
 And hold in memory dear, 
 But let his faults and weakness claim 
 
 Forgiveness and a tear. 
 
 Although the social glass he did 
 
 With friends too freely fill. 
 Yet in his honest heart there was 
 
 Much good and little ill. 
 370 
 
To Ida S- 
 
 And now when round the nightly bar, 
 For drinks convened we stand, 
 
 We fill our glasses to his health 
 In a far better land. 
 
 c. A. 0. 
 
 Co Sba B>- 
 
 Where the ivy green is creeping 
 
 And flowers wildly bloom, 
 Ida, calm in death, is sleeping 
 
 Within the silent tomb. 
 
 When summer birds were warbling. 
 The day was bright and fair; 
 
 Around her grave all weeping, 
 To rest they laid her there. 
 
 Sleep on! thou withered flower, 
 Thou wert thy parents' love. 
 Like mist before the sunbeam's power 
 
 Thy spirit passed above. 
 
 c. A. , 
 
 371 
 
Sntemperance 
 
 Drink not of the sparkling glass 
 
 That flows with ruddy wine ; 
 The joy it wields will quickly pass 
 
 And a throbing heart be thine. 
 
 Beware of the drunkard's doom, 
 
 His wajrward, staggering gait; 
 His life is one of gloom, 
 
 An early grave his fate. 
 
 Hast thou not seen his wife forlorn, 
 As she, trembling, waits his form to meet, 
 
 Ill-clad, in garments torn. 
 With hardly shoes upon his feet! 
 
 Hast thou not heard the stifled cry 
 
 On the cold and wintry blast, 
 As, by his dark abode of misery, 
 
 With quickened step you passed! 
 
 Beware! for many a noble mind 
 
 Has been ungulfed by the liquid flame, 
 
 Who might have left on earth behind 
 An honored and immortal name. 
 
 c. A. 0. 
 
 372 
 
%m9i 
 
 O ! DO n't you remember the boys, my friends, 
 
 The boys so young and gay, 
 Who met, with delight at the coming of night, 
 
 In the old bar-room to play! 
 
 And do n't you remember the barkeeper! 
 
 How merry and happy was he. 
 When, over the counter, we shook the dice 
 
 To see whose the drinks would be. 
 
 And do n't you remember Joe Pons, my friends, 
 
 How jolly and full of play, 
 When around the bar in a crowd we stood, 
 
 And Joe for the drinks would pay! 
 
 Alas ! we made a woeful start 
 
 In childhood's earliest day, 
 A few short years will pass, and we 
 
 In drunkard's graves will lay. 
 
 The fleeting years will bear away 
 
 The mem'ry of our boyish hours, 
 While, in the old graveyard, we lie 
 
 Asleep beneath the flowers. 
 
 O ! that our youthful steps had been 
 
 But turned the other way. 
 Long life and honor had been ours, 
 
 Instead of swift decay. 
 
 373 ^- ^- ^' 
 
Mf)t ©cati) of ^Lincoln 
 
 Our foundering bark has lost its guide, 
 Its banners stream mournfully on the air, 
 
 The pilot was a nation's pride, 
 Its banners emblems of his care. 
 
 He died amid a weeping throng, 
 
 A patriot kind and true; 
 Death has broke the chain so strong 
 
 That Love had wove anew. 
 
 And when Life's flickering light grew dim, 
 
 By Jordan's shore 
 A band of angels were there to meet him 
 
 And waft him safely o'er. 
 
 That night, that fatal night! 
 
 Who thought before the morrow 
 That a single hand alone could blight 
 
 And cloud a nation's brow in sorrow! 
 
 Go, thou emblem bird! 
 
 With pinions wild and free. 
 And bear the mournful tale thou 'st heard 
 
 Across the stormy sea. 
 
 There comes a voice from o'er the deep, 
 
 The wild and briny main. 
 Which says, "We weep, we weep. 
 
 For the martyr, a fiend hath slain." 
 374 
 
The Death of Lincoln 
 
 How grates that voice on traitor's ears, 
 
 When people of a foreign clime 
 Say, "With thee, America, we are in tears 
 
 For the martyr guiltless of crime." 
 
 He is gone to meet the martyred group 
 Who sleep beneath the surging billows — 
 
 They that sank with the scuttled sloop 
 
 And have naught but the sea-rock for pil- 
 lows. , 
 
 Moan low! ye balmy winds, so sweet. 
 
 From off the flowery plain. 
 The patriot's heart is forever mute. 
 
 The martyr Booth has slain. 
 
 And the clouds hung dark, o'er earth a pall, 
 
 The sun shed not a single ray. 
 When I saw him in the martial hall 
 
 As there in state he lay. 
 
 There I saw Love's mute token, 
 'T was flowers wreathed together. 
 
 That said a nation's heart was broken. 
 Laid o'er him to wither. 
 
 And the dirge, how sad were its sighs. 
 
 When from the dark-draped walls its echoes 
 fell; 
 I saw tears starting in the passers' eyes 
 
 As on the martyr they gazed their last 
 farewell. 
 
 375 
 
Prayer for An Easy Death 
 
 The heavens, too, were weeping, 
 Their tears were in raindrops shed 
 
 For the martyr calmly sleeping 
 Forever with the dead. 
 
 c. A. 0. 
 
 draper for ^n €assp BeatI) 
 
 When death, with his resistless might 
 And unrelenting hand, shall come 
 
 To bid my spirit take its flight 
 To its eternal home, 
 
 As melts the glorious orb of day 
 Within the purple sky of even — 
 
 So, calmly, may I pass away 
 From the dark earth to heaven. 
 
 c. A. o. 
 
 376 
 
AUG 7 1912