~ ~,?~i~!~,,~i~?~~~~~~~~~i ii~ i.........;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~: L:~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 6< / t / t g4 (O 2 A tiL...,, ~ -'! ~,~,,~ i:"'~'~ THE POETICAL WORKS OF CHARLES G. HALPINE (MILES O'REILLY). CONSISTING OF ODES, POEMS, SONNETS, EPICS, AND LYRICAL EFFUSIONS WHICH HAVE NOT HERETOFORE BEEN COLLECTED TOGETHER. WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND EXPLANATORY NOTES. EDITED BY ROBERT B. ROOSEVELT. NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. I869. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. PREFACE. THIS is not intended to be a complete collection of the poetical works of Charles G. Halpine. Some of these are already before the public in "Miles O'Reilly His Book" and "Baked Meats of the Funeral," from which it is not desirable to copy them, as much of their significance, in many instances, depends upon their connection with the prose matter with which they are interwoven. It would be impossible, if it were desirable, to make any extended extracts from those two books without explanations that would render this compilation cumbersome. Some of his earlier productions have been taken from the volume entitled " Lyrics by the Letter H," which he published in the year 1854, and which is out of print, but the great body of the following effusions are now for the first time collected. They are followed by notes describing the circumstances under which some of them were written, and giving personal reminiscences of the author that will grow in interest daily. The habits, mode of thought, manner of work, and many individual peculiarities, although of no import iv Preface. ance when they concern an unknown person, are of interest to the public when they affect a great man, one of the bright lights of his day and generation; and that Charles G. Halpine was a great man, a brilliant genius, and an uncommon intellect, his contelnporaries have conceded, and posterity will confirm by more deliberate decision. The success of one laborer in the literary vineyard encourages others, and the life under consideration is a wonderful example of the effect of hard work when united with great gifts; for it is a remarkable fact that this talented writer invariably denied that he possessed any peculiar genius, and attributed his success simply to hard work and indomitable energy. His career is well worth studying to all those who are wearily toiling along the same hard path, and even the sketch of it which can be given in the narrow limits of this volume teaches a valuable lesson. That this collection will not be as full as it should be is accounted for by the suddenness of the decease of the author, by the confusion in which his papers were necessarily left, and by the haste with which circumstances have compelled this compilation to be made. For the same and other reasons, no attempt has been made at classification, and it may be that omitted poems will have to be added at the last moment. General Halpine had never been in the habit of collecting or preserving his works; his pen was so busy, his brain so fertile, his time so fully occupied, Preface. v that such an attempt would have been a severe tax upon him; and although he had before his death commenced getting together his poetical efforts, the collection, so far as it had proceeded, being incomplete and unfinished, was of little assistance. Although his memory-was wonderful, yet his writings were so voluminous that he actually could not remember them all. For any deficiencies, therefore, this explanation must be the excuse of THE EDITOR. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. CHARLES G. HALPINE was born near the town of Oldcastle, in the county of Meath, Ireland, in the year 1829. His father, the Rev. Nicholas J. Halpine, was an Episcopal clergyman of the Established Church, and a man of extraordinary abilities. A remarkable aptitude for literature, and especially that peculiar branch of it connected with the life of a journalist, existed in the family. The father was editor of the Dublin Evening Mail, and an uncle, Wm. Henry Halpine, was proprietor and editor of the Cheltenham MMail. Charles G. Halpine was the favorite son of his father, and early gave evidences of those abilities which brought him such distinguished honor in later years. At as early an age as the rules of the college allowed he was admitted to Trinity, from which he subsequently graduated with distinction, having won the affection of his fellow-students and the respect of his instructors. Subsequently he commenced the study of medicine, and obtained a superficial but not thorough knowledge of that science, when he surrendered it for the more congenial pursuit of journalism. He contributed to the Irish, and subsequently to the English press, spending several years in London; but feeling that his talents were kept down by the want of a proper opportunity, he determined upon emigration to the Unitied States. viii Biographical Sketch. lie came alone to this country, although he had been married some years previous to his departure from England; but so soon as he was fairly established, he sent for his young wife, who joined him immediately. He established himself in Boston, where for some years he was connected with the Boston Post, and subsequently became leading editor of a paper called the carpet Bag, which had but a short existence in spite of the talent of its conductors, who were Mr. Shillaber (known under the soubriquet of Mrs. Partington), Dr. Shepley, and Chas. G. Halpine. After its failure he removed to New York, where he became associate editor of the Times, with Henry J. Raymond, and shortly afterward acquired an interest in the New York Leader, with John Clancy. To this latter paper he devoted his best efforts; he not only furnished the political matter, but gave sketches and stories, which were so well appreciated that the circulation of the Leader rapidly increased from a few hundred to eleven thousand, and it became a power in the land. At that period he commenced to exhibit his talent for fictitious inventions; and, under a wager that he would produce a sensation at a time when literary matters were excessively dull, he wrote a long account of the resuscitation of Hicks, the pirate, who was executed on Bedloe's Island a short time before. By this production, which was most adroitly done and complete in all minutia of detail, for which his medical knowledge furnished a good basis, he attained his object, and not only set the city wild with excitement, but originated a blind suspicion which was not allayed for many years. He did not, however, restrict his pen to any single Biographical Sketch. ix journal, but contributed to almost all of importance that were published in the metropolis-a story for one, an editorial for another, a poem for a third, on any subject and in various styles adapted to each publication. In fact, his very first article for the American press appeared in the Tribune; and it was shortly after his arrival, when he was strongly aliye to the wrongs of his native country, and naturally sympathetic with the down-trodden of every land, that he wrote for that journal a famous poem, the authorship of which has long been falsely attributed to Mr. Greeley, containing the lines,' Tear down the flaunting lie, Half mast the starry flag, Insult no sunny sky With hate's polluted rag." This remarkable versatility has led to the charge against him that he possessed no literary conscience. But this accusation was most false. His temper, it is true, was mercurial, and his views would occasionally vary, but he never prostituted his powers to sustain a lie or to do an injustice. He had no control of many of the papers for which he contributed, and was required to furnish matter that accorded with the views ~and purposes of each, and so far he had to modify his own sentiments; but nothing that he ever wrote was in a bad cause or for an unworthy object, and his course of action was invariably the best that he could follow under the circumstances; but when he was his own master, and in such publications as he controlled, his conduct was guided by the highest sense of duty, often at great pecuniary loss to himself, and invariably to the A2 x Biographical Sketch. disgust of those who would have warped him to their. meaner views. When the war against the Union broke out he laid down the pen and took up the sword. Giving up all his connection with the press, surrendering the liberal income which his literary gifts secured to him, he accepted the moderate pay of a lieutenant in the Sixty-ninth Regiment, commanded by Colonel Corcoran. He rapidly mastered the details of military service, and his peculiar talents led to his promotion to the staff of General Hunter, with whom he served throughout the greater part of the war. His duties as adjutant general, both with General David Hunter, and subsequently with Major General Halleck when he was general in chief, were very arduous. Not only did he have the preparation of all the official correspondence, but he had to perform much literary work for the papers in moulding the public mind to military necessities. At that period the North was in uncertain humor, and the government had to feel its way carefully, and watch, and, so far as in its power lay, guide, public opinion. In his capacity as adjutant general he prepared for General Hunter's signature the first order ever issued directing the enrollment of a negro regiment, for which he was honored by the rebels by being included in the outlawry which was declared against that intrepid soldier, and which directed the immediate execution of both general and adjutant, if they were captured. Both the commanding officers with whom General Halpine had served recognized his eminent merits, and strongly urged upon the government that his rank should be advanced, but the Secretary of War utterly Biographical Sketch. xi ignored their applications, and left this patriot to the last a simple major. The reason for this action the party most affected by it could never clearly understand, but he supposed it was due to some informality; that the application was addressed to the President instead of to the Secretary of War, or for some other such trivial error, if error it could be called; for his final interview with the great organizer of the war dispelled many of his prejudices, and caused a thorough revulsion of sentiment toward one whom he regarded as his enemy for political reasons. His eyesight, which was always weak, having failed from exposure and excessive labor, he had twice sent in his resignation, accompanied with the certificate of the surgeon that farther service would probably result in total blindness. These resignations were not accepted, although a furlough was granted him on the latter-a furlough which, before it was half expired, he surrendered, that he might accompany General Hunter in his perilous expedition down the Shenandoah Valley. When that expedition returned, after enduring incredible hardships, he again applied to be permitted to resign, and obtained an honorable and complimentary acceptance of his resignation at once. The last of his doubts were removed when, in spite of his earnest support of M'Clellan as the presidential candidate of the Democrats against Abraham Lincoln, he was breveted lieutenant colonel, colonel, and brigadier general. Few men sacrificed more for the cause; few men made less by it. If he had been a son of the soil he could have done no more, and was baptized in fire and blood as an American. Forever afterward he regarded xii Biographical Sketch. himself as a citizen by birthright and inheritance instead of by adoption, for he had helped to save what came to others in the natural way and by accident. He had " paid a great price," and was entitled to all the rights of one "born free." His last connection with the army was under General Dix in the city of New York, where he had the congenial duty of arresting and punishing bounty swindlers. The frequenters of Lafayette Hall had deep cause to lament his fearlessness, unwearying resolution, and irrepressible energy. He worked night and day to bring the rascals to their deserts, and his skill in ferreting out fraud and in hunting down corrupt politicians which he had obtained in other walks of life was of vast service to him. It was while he was on the staff of General Dix that the articles from his pen in the daily papers, exposing the corruptions of the municipal government, attracted the attention of the Citizens' Association, which had then just inaugurated its reform movements in that city. As soon as he was released from the army, application was made to him to assume the conduct of THE CITIZEN newspaper, which had been started by the Association. He accepted the position, and finally purchased the entire journal and conducted it until the time of his death. He used it not only as a vehicle for reform in municipal affairs, but as an organ in party politics. With its aid and his own exertions he built up under the name of the Democratic Union an organization opposed to political corruption, and strengthened it by his personal popularity till it became more powerful within the sphere of its action than Tammany Hall itself. But, even when giving the larger part of his at Biogrcphical Sketch. xiii tention to THE CITIZEN, he still found time to contribute many articles to other papers. One of his earliest connections with the press was as French translator for the Herald, and from that period to the close of his career he had relations of the most intimate character with that journal and its editor, who from the first appreciated his remarkable and striking genius. Such is a brief outline of his career as a journalist. His success as a politician was equally brilliant. In London he had connected himself with the " Young Ireland party." In this country his first essay in politics was as the private secretary of Stephen A. Douglas, and by virtue of that position he became identified with the leading political events of that exciting period. In consequence of his position toward Douglas, he naturally became the embassador between him and Buchanan in the negotiations for a settlement of their difficulties. The cunning sage of Wheatland, however, deceived him and his employer, and never did he forgive the baseness of that treachery toward the beloved leader of the Freesoil faction. It rankled in his heart, and he could not help expressing it when a thoughtless Republican Senate were offering incense on the grave of a double-dyed traitor-a traitor to his friends and his country. For many years he was a member, and of course a most actively influential one, of the Tammany Hall General Committee. He was soon engaged in a reform movement, and his object of attack was no other than Fernando Wood, so notorious as the organizer and leader of corruption in the city of New York, and who, by his skillful combinations, maintained a bad eminence in that city. The struggle was fierce and bitter, but xiv Biographical Sketch. courage and honesty conquered duplicity and venality, and Halpine lived to rout his opponent and break his power. His admission to the army removed him in a great measure from the political arena; but no sooner was he free from military duties and trammels than he returned to an employment that gave especial scope to his talents. His fertility of resource was wonderful, his combinations beautiful and effective, and his grasp of the entire subject most masterly. At the period of his return to civil life, Tammany Hall had again fallen into the slough of iniquity, and, true to his nature, he commenced a battle against an organization that had once been his political home. The first brilliant success of this new combination was his own election to the Registership, a very lucrative office, against an adverse majority on other candidates of nearly fifty thousand. This was quickly followed by other triumphs, and at the time of his decease he was elaborating schemes and perfecting plans which would have rendered inevitable the defeat df his adversaries in the then approaching election. But Charles G. Halpine was more than a journalist, more than a politician; he was a poet and an author whose writings were entitled to no mere fleeting popu-. larity. So occupied was he, however, that he had neglected putting the great body of these productions in permanent form. He was so hidden under the impersonality of newspaper literature that he was hardly known to the public at large until the year 1862, when he assumed the nom de plume of Miles O'Reilly. His assumption of this soubriquet was merely accidental, and the rank of "private in the Forty-seventh New Biographical Sketch. xv York," instead of a similar place in the Sixty-ninth, to which he had belonged, came from the fact that the Forty-seventh was the only Irish regiment at Hilton Head at the date of his military lyrical effusions, and it was essential to his purpose to assume the character of an ignorant but well-meaning Irishman. His series of amusing poems referring to matters at Beaufort-or pretending to be connected therewith-were an immense success, and made his soubriquet a household word throughout the land-far more so than his own true appellation. But it is not generally known that they were written with a praiseworthy object, and for the good of the service. They were followed by his imaginary banquets and other fancy sketches, the force and purpose of which can only be fully appreciated by politicians versed in the mysteries of New York politics. These entertaining and amusing poetic effusions, although so effective, were the least finished of his metrical efforts. Many of his amatory sonnets were exquisite as works of art, and in their delicacy and force of sentiment. He never ignored the passion which rules the world, but never made it gross or prominent. His admiration for woman was too pure and refined to make. such a degradation of her possible to his thoughts or pen. Many of the finest of these are almost lost to the world, and are only preserved in albums and scrapbooks, his life being too full to allow him time to attend to the collection of his productions. Even more beautiful than his love-songs were his poems in memory of the dead who fell in the War for the Union. These were the natural outpourings of his heart; as no xvi Biographical Sketch. soldier crippled, sick, or out of work, ever applied to him in vain for assistance, so his regard for the dead was simple reverence. The poem on the dedication of Gettysburg is thrilling, and only surpassed in vigor by the grand lines of his latest work in commemoration of the Irish Legion-a work which gives evidences of greater capacity than he had then developed, and was the promise of even a higher career for the future, had his life not been brought to its sudden termination. The circumstances under which most of his productions were presented had possibly made him occasionally careless, and it was only for a worthy occasion that he exerted his full powers. He had a slight knowledge of law, having been admitted to the bar, and having for some time held the position of assistant district attorney; but his knowledge was not thorough, and was rarely, except in this instance, put to any practical use. His mastery of a subject or a profession was, by the aid of his powerful memory, easy and rapid; but, unless he had sounded it to the bottom, he laid it aside entirely. As for the circumstances of his death, although most deplorable, they are perfectly simple of explanation. He had always suffered at times from insomnia, or want of ability to sleep. It had been his habit to write without cessation for many hours, often for several days and nights in succession, without rest, until his brain was in so nervously excited a condition that sleep was absolutely banished. Then a nervine or sudorific was absolutely necessary to produce a normal condition of his system. At times he took opiates, but of late he had used ether or chloroform. His medical studies Biographical Sketch. xvii gave him some knowledge of the power of these dangerous drugs, he had seen them applied to Mrs. Halpine when suffering from violent hysterical attacks, and he used them upon himself to produce lethargy and sleep, or even to dull pain. For some two weeks before his death he had been in perfect health, in excellent spirits, and in capital working condition. Early in the last week of his life he had written his poem commemorative of the Irish Legion, and on his final Saturday he was at the office of THE CITIZEN until about two o'clock, in gayer humor and more genial mood than usual, although he was invariably a charming companion. Later he was attacked with violent pain in the head, and he had recourse to chloroform. The apothecary, by a well-intentioned but unfortunate error, gave him a diluted article which had no effect, and which he detected as deficient in strength. Then he sent for more, and under the delusion that it also was weak or adulterated, while it was actually of full strength, inhaled too much of it and became insensible. Thus, by a mere accident, a most important life was taken away from the public at its period of greatest usefulness. He died ere more than half his natural term of activity had run, at the age of thirty-nine, at a period when his faculties were in their most perfect development. Such is a brief outline of the life and death of a man who had few equals among his contemporaries. The details are meagre, the statements bald, but they are such as our limits will alone permit. The description of the character of him who has gone from among us is far more difficult; friendship and affection may guide 2 xviii Biographical Sketch. the pen, but will scarcely prove equal to the task; they will fail not from claiming too much, but by doing too little for one who had great talents, many virtues, and few faults. With the public he was a favorite, among his intimates he was beloved. He had a thousand qualities to win esteem, not one to cause dislike or even coldness. His imperfections, and they were but as the spots on the sun, brought suffering to himself alone. He possessed the largest generosity, the strongest affection, the most faithful friendship, the most unsullied honor, and not a single meanness. He was candid, straightforward, honorable, and upright; contact with the world had not dimmed the purity of his soul. He was kind, thoughtful, gentle, considerate to those under him, frank and honest with his comrades. Charles G. Halpine from his earliest youth possessed a power of fascination, was surrounded with an atmosphere of electrical sympathy which it was impossible for man or woman to resist. He won his way to every heart without an effort. Kind to others, he never forgot a kindness to himself; open and frank, he recognized honesty and openness in others. He had a wonderful gift for creating friendship, and never in the course of his laborious life did he fall into difficulty but some one was near who gladly reached him a helping hand. If wronged, he was easily appeased. He was generous to an adversary, was merciful to those who were down; and never, in all his many contests and bitter political feuds, did " he strike below the belt," take an unfair advantage, or pursue a victory into revengefulness. He died almost without an enemy, and the press united as with one voice in expressions of affection to his memory. Biographical Sketch. xix It was innate with him, a part of himself that he could not escape from, to oppose fraud, venality, and corruption. Whether he was Contending for reform in city politics, or ferreting out bounty swindles, or guarding against the corruptions of the quartermaster's departments, he was only obeying a law of his existence. He was once offered a fortune by a quartermaster at Hilton Head, when he was adjutant general, and he had but to shut his eyes and come home rich. The government had utterly ignored his services, and he was retained against his will in the. army, and prevented from earning a suitable income by his independent exertions. It was a sore temptation, or would have been to most men, but he simply ordered the tempter under arrest, and presented charges at Washington. So he could at any time have made terms with his political opponents in this city, and secured any office he wanted; and yet he never swerved from his course, nor even hesitated as to his action. He was generous to a fault. Appeals for charity were almost irresistible, although he might have little evidence that the object was worthy. In this, as in many other matters, he was a representative-a hightoned and noble one-of his race. Lively, kind-hearted, grateful, extravagant, versatile, inconsequent, mercurial, easily guided by his friends, he was a thorough Irish gentleman. Endowed with a wonderful memory, facile as wax to acquire an impression, like adamant to retain it, and possessed of a superior classical education, he had the groundwork for his genius to go upon. The style of his writings has been praised, but in reality he cared nothing for style. He worked for a pur xx Biographic;al Sketch. pose. He used his pen to carve out a certain result, and wonderful was the skill with which he proceeded. This perception was intuitive, and the most effective plans seemed to present themselves of their own volition. He made no pretense to finish and adorn his style, and rarely read his productions except to correct the proof. But he was wonderfully fertile in argument and exhaustless in variety of mode of presenting a point. The most remarkable evidence of his ability to effect a purpose, even when that purpose was an entire revulsion of public sentiment, is furnished by his song " Sambo's Right to be Kilt." That was written to accustom the Irish-who had so great a prejudice against a negro that they did not like him even to be killed in the company of white soldiers-to the idea of negro regiments. Its effect was as astonishing as its arguments were unanswerable. Regiments of blacks were directly and indirectly a necessity of Northern success, and their possibility was mainly due to the wondrously skillful pen of General Halpine. We have endeavored to give a slight insight into the character of the deceased from the point of view of one who knew him intilhately, who understood him thoroughly, and with whom he was in perfect sympathy; but the pen is feeble that attempts this last act of friendship. No power can bring the bright glance into the eye that is dull forever; the smile to the lip that is silent and closed; the glow to the cheek that is cold as marble. No words can describe the fascination of his presence, nothing explain the force of his persuasive eloquence, more powerful in conversation than in dec 'Biographical Sketch. xxi lamation. The death of no single individual in the community would have reached so far, touched so many hearts, and affected so many interests. His activity had ramified into a thousand directions, and allied him with hundreds of public matters, until his death became a national calamity. THE POETICAL WORKS OF CHARLES GRAHAM HALPINE. POETICAL WORKS, ETC. A VESPER HYMN.1 THE evening bells of Sabbath fill The dusky silence of the night, And through our gathering gloom distill Sweet sparkles of immortal light; Such hours of peace as these requite The labors of the weary week; When thus, with souls refreshed and bright, Forgiveness of our sins we seek! Oh! help us, Jesus, to conform Our spirits, thoughts, and lives to thine! Beyond this earthly strife and storm, Oh! make Thy star of Love to shine! When we are sinking in the brine Of doubt and care-oh come, that we, As Peter did, may safe resign Our sinking helplessness to thee! Thy Godhood-whence all glory flowsThou didst not scruple to abase, To rescue from undying woes The sons of a rebellious race! Who can, unmoved, unweeping, trace Thy meek obedience to His will, Whose sole appointed means of grace Thou didst, even to the Cross, fulfill! Our wayward footsteps wander wide, Pursuing Joy's delusive rays; And, in our hours of health and pride, Too oft from Thee our spirit strays; But soon descend the darker days, When youth and strength their lustre hide, And, journeying through a pathless maze, We turn to our neglected Guide! 13 26 The Poetical Works of Lead back, oh Lord! thy wandering sheepOh, guide us gently to thy fold! Instruct us all Thy laws to keep, And unto Thine our lives to mould! For we are weak, and faith grows coldNor ever sleep the Tempter's powers; Thou art our only stay and holdThrough Thee alone can heaven be ours! A darker shade, a denser gloom Descends on all the folded flowers, While, silent as the voiceless tomb, Above them roll the midnight hours: To-morrow's dawn, and their perfume Again will fill their glowing bowersLord, after death so bid us bloom, Where no frost chills, no tempest lowers! ON RAISING A MONUMENT TO THE IRISH LEGION.2 To raise a column o'er the dead, To strew with flowers the graves of those Who long ago, in storms of lead, And where the bolts of battle sped, Beside us faced our Southern foes; To honor these-the unshriven, unhearsedTo-day we sad survivors come, With colors draped, and arms reversed, And all our souls in gloom immersed, With silent fife and muffled drum. In mournful guise our banners wave, Black clouds above the " sun-burst" lower; We mourn the true, the young, the brave, Who for this land that shelter gave, Drew swords in peril's deadliest hourFor Irish soldiers, fighting here As when Lord Clare was bid advance, And Cumberland beheld with fear The old green banner swinging clear To shield the broken lines of France. We mourn them; not because they died In battle, for our destined race, In every field of warlike pride, From Limerick's wall to India's tide, Have borne our flag to foremost place; Chc7arles Graham fIalpine. 27 As if each sought the soldier's trade, While some dim hope within him glows, Before he dies, in line arrayed, To see the old green flag displayed For final fight with Ireland's foes. For such a race the soldier's death Seems not a cruel death to die, Around their names a laurel wreath A wild cheer as the parting breath, On which their spirits mount the sky: Oh, had their hope been only wonOn Irish soil their final fight, And had they seen, ere sinking down, Our Emerald torn from England's crown, Each dead face would have flashed with light! But vain are words to check the tide Of widowed grief and orphaned woe: Again we see them by our side, As full of youth, and strength, and pride They first went forth to meet the foe! Their kindling eyes, their steps elate, Their grief at parting hid in mirth; Against our foes no spark of hateNo wish but to preserve the state That welcomesall the oppressed of earth. Not a new Ireland to invokeTo guard the flag was all they sought; Not to make others feel the yoke Of Poland, fell the shot and stroke Of those who in the Legion fought: Upon our great flag's azure field To hold unharmed each starry gemThis cause on many a bloody field,' Thinned out by death, they would not yieldIt was the world's last hope to them. O ye, the small surviving band, Oh Irish race wherever spread, With wailing voice and wringing hand, And the wild kaoine of the old dear land, Think of her Legion's countless dead! Struck out of life by ball or blade, Or torn in fragments by the shell, With briefest prayer by brother made, And rudely in their blankets laid, Now sleep the brave who fought so well. 28 The JPoetical Works of Their widows-tell not them of pride, No laurel checks the orphan's tear; They only feel the world is wide, And dark, and hard-nor help nor guideNo husband's arm, no father near; But at their woe our fields were won, And pious pity for their loss In streams of generous aid should run To help them say "Thy will be done," As bent in grief they kiss the Cross. Then for the soldiers and their chief Let all combine a shaft to raiseThe double type of pride and grief, With many a sculpture and relief To tell their tale to after days; And here will shine-our proudest boast While one of Irish blood survives"Sacred to that unfaltering host Of soldiers from a distant coast, Who for the Union gave their lives: "Welcomed they were with generous hand; And to that welcome nobly true, When War's dread tocsin filled the land, With sinewy arm and swinging brand, These exiles to the rescue flew.; Their fealty to the flag they gave, And for the Union, daring death, Foremost among the foremost brave, They welcomed victory and the grave In the same sigh of parting breath." Thus be their modest history penned, But not with this our love must cease; Let prayers from pious hearts ascend, And o'er their ashes let us blend All fquds and factions into peace: Oh men of Ireland! here unite Around the graves of these we love, And from their homes of endless light The Legion's dead will bless the sight, And rain down anthems from above! Here to this shrine by reverence led, Let Love her sacred lessons teach; Shoulder to shoulder rise the dead, From many a trench with battle red, And thus I hear their ghostly speech: Charles Graham Hfalpine. 29 "Oh for the old earth, and our sake, Renounce all feuds, engendering fear, And Ireland from her trance shall wake, Striving once more her chains to break When all her sons are brothers here. I see our Meagher's plume of green Approving nod to hear the words, And Corcoran's wraith applauds the scene, And bold Mat. Murphy smiles, I weenAll three with hands on ghostly swords()h for their sake, whose names of light Flash out like beacons from dark shoresMen of the old race! in your might, All factions quelled, again uniteWith you the Green Flag sinks or soars! AFTER THE BATH.3 A PICTURE IN WATER COLORS. Her skin is moist, and cold, and pink, But warm and red the lips I press, And all her beauty seems to shrink Compacter in her clinging dress; While o'er her shoulders to the hip, O'er swelling bust and far adown, In trailing gold the tresses drip Which form at night her braided crown. No more her eyes in languor swim, But kindle with coquettish strife, And every pulse in every limb Seems throbbing into radiant life; Her cheek hath caught a ruddier stain, And her small feet in sand that sink Are marble-white, with many a vein Down to the almond-nails of pink. Her teeth are white as the flashing surf, Her eyes are blue as the bay in calm, And her breath to the new-mown clover turf Is a rival in its fragrant balm; Oh happy sea that has held her form, Oh happy sands by her white feet pressedWith her beauty the whole bright scene is warm,.Her beauty of gesture, and face, and breast! 83)0 TThe Poetical Works of Proudly she stands in her scarlet dress, And my eyes give a quiver and then grow dim As I gaze on her infinite loveliness Of delicate color and rounded limb; And the bright blue bay with its flitting sails, And the silver sands, and the rocks of brown, And the woods that are dark on the distant hills, And the broad green meadows that slope adown, All seem but a frame for my lady brightA frame not worthy her matchless graceHer lips of red, and her eyes of light, And the wonderful charm of her winsome face; Oh, here let me lie and die at her feet, Let my soul in its sighs for her pass awayFor my life hath its climax, and death were sweet With her eyes gazing down on me here to-day! My senses swoon into blissful trance As her small, cool fingers touch my palm, And through all of my veins the currents dance As I feel on my cheek her breath of balm; All the springs of my life are in her control, For though faces more perfect I know full wellIn rich, womanly beauty of body and soul There are none to compare with my seaside belle. The brown rocks glow as she bounds along, And the black weeds thrill in the silver spray. And the birds in the blue sing a gladder song As my lady walks by the shining bay; The waves that have shrined her glowing form Hlave been humanized by the saintly touch, And will spare for her sake in the next great storm Some proud ship from their clutch. THE MAN OF THIIEESCORE.4 A PHILOSOPHIC RANT. Never grieve that youth flies! So the wise Mortal cries. All the pleasure of life In this one maxim lies. ChZarles Graham falpine. 31 Our youth is most dear; But does not the lover A pleasing pain suffer, And is not his smile ever steeped in a tear? Never grieve, etc. To love is to see New charms every hour; But is there a bower Where sweet roses bloom that a thorn will not be? Never grieve, etc. Our spring time departsLet us laugh and not rage; For the laughter of age Brings the sunshine of youth once again to our hearts. Never grieve, etc. Sixty summers have fledPoor, idle, and gay, I am wasting awayBut you can not find thirty gray hairs in my head. Never grieve, etc. With a girl to adore, My godson, at twenty, Is satisfied plentyMy grandmother lives, and I'm glad at threescore. Never grieve, etc. Some people assever, As I have been told, That the world's growing old; But, to my eyes, the world is more merry than ever. Never grieve, etc. Old Momus, whose birth May be traced back for ages, Still laughs on our pages, And reigns o'er us all as the monarch of mirth. Never grieve, etc. Would not grief be destroyed Could we rest us content That our pleasures are spent, And that, though we have lost them, they have been enjoyed? Never grieve, etc. 32 The Poetical Works of If my limbs grow so weak That I can not walk fast, Then I hope at the last That the end of my term will be reached the less quick. Never grieve, etc. And whene'er Death is pleased To forbid our delav, Let us hasten away As an epicure runs from a fast to a feast! Never grieve that youth flies! So the wise Mortal cries; All the pleasure of life In this one maxim lies. FAREWELL TO CLUB COMPANIONS. Adieu to the glory of bachelor parties, The looseness of latch-keys, the cards, and the cup; Old Hymen has caught me-so farewell, my hearties! The game, as we say in the vulgate, is up. No more shall my voice, when'tis mellowed by sherry, Troll out the wild glee of the " Grape and the Boar;" Henceforward, without me, be social and merry, Mv voice shall be heard in your circle no more. Yet sometimes, when Joy her white curtain is flinging Between your rapt eyes and the shadows of careWhen gaming, and dancing, and drinking, and singing Usurp the bronze of the giant DespairLet memory paint me as once, in your middle, I brimmed a full glass to the toast of "The Fair;" When, with trumpet and gong, the cornopean and fiddle, We made the dull folk of our neighborhood stare. Oh, of Hymen beware! Like a lion he's waiting To pounce on the careless who saunter along; He sends a young Cupid, who, laughing and prating, Decoys us away with a smile and a song; He leads up a path that is bordered with roses, A garden with every thing beautiful rife; At the end of the vista a Venus reposesWe clasp her-and Hymen has noosed us for life! Charles Graham Halpine. 33 I Ienceforward the fair one, whose mystical beauty Entranced every fibre and thrilled every bone, Is ours by thie law, and our business and duty Becomes to love her, and to love her alone; But, you see, to the heart so abhorrent is bondage, It hates because right what'twould love were it wrong; And the path, all so green in our youth and our fond age Grows thorny, and tedious, and dreary, and long. I'm married, alas! and, of course, I am happyThe married, you know, they must " all happy be;" But I think of the nights when we " bowsed at the nappy," And drop a few tears in my third cup of tea; No more shall the polka's bewildering gyrations Inspire the warm lips till they whisper of love; I must sit down sedately and shun such temptations, With my thoughts-or my eyes, at least-fastened above! And don't, if you call-this for my sake, remember!D)on't whisper a word of the nights we have had; Declare I was always as cold as December, A youth much religious, and gentle, and sad; A man who detested all noise and confusion, Who cried that a polka was flagrant and vain, And would never permit even the slightest infusion ()f brandy or wine the pure element stain. Above all, not a word of the girl of the ballet You found in my rooms when you called rather late; Never venture a hint about Laura or SallyBe silent, in mercy, and "mum" about Kate! IBut tell her I loved still to linger and dandle The whole evening long o'er religion and tea; lDescribe me a pattern young man, and a model Of all that a husband should properly be! LINES ON READING IN A LETTER FROM PARIS TIAT " LOUIS NAPOLEON SPENDS IIIS EVENINGS EITIER PLAYING BACKGAMMON WITI THE EMPRESS, OR EXAMINING TIIE PRIVATE REPORTS OF TIIE IIIEF OF POLICE." Spirit of him who drove afar Rebellion's hydra-headed brood, And quenched the torch of civil war In tides of foreign blood!.'3 BP 2 3~4 TiThe Poetical Works of Thou, in whose ears the dying groans Of old Tradition ever sounded, Thou, at whose step the reeling thrones Of Europe fell confounded! Spirit of him whose mind did forge At once the weapon and the chainThe prince of princes, and the scourge Of all who were too weak to reign; Behold this jackal of renown, Who from your name its glory snatches. This mannikin beneath your crownThis " king of shreds and patches!" France weeps beneath the idiot sway Of shaveling priests and jeweled fools; The Cross of Honor is the pay For Tyranny's most abject tools; The land that couched the freest lance Now fears the informer's sightless arrow; The eagle of imperial France Has dwindled to a sparrow! And he who staggered to a throne Through broken oaths qnd civic broil, Who sought his perjury to atone By drenching red the Roman soil; This dwarf, tricked out with seven-league boots, This king of thimble-rigging scienceThis rat, who gnaws the hoarded fruits Designed to foster lions. This perjurer, robber, murderer, allReligion's curse and manhood's jibe, Whose only battle is a ball, Whose only victory is a bribeThis rushlight that would be a star (Oh, Jupiter! Immortal Ammon ) Foregoes the glorious game of war For one of mild backgammon. His bulletins police reports, His aid-de-camp the mousing spy, Falsehood the passport to his courts, His life one long-continued lie; And this was all the First did win By Titan toil and daily battles, And such " the pea that now within The giant's helmet rattles!" Charles Gmraham Ilalpine. 35 QUAKERDOM. TIIE FORMAL CALL. Through her forced, abnormal quiet, Flashed the soul of frolic riot, And a most malicious laughter lighted up her downcast eyes; All in vain I tried each topic, Ranged from polar climes to tropic — Every commonplace I started met with yes-or-no replies. For her mother-stiff and stately, As if starched and ironed latelySat erect, with rigid elbows bedded thus in curving palms; There she sat on guard before us, And in words precise, decorous, And most calm, reviewed the weather, and recited several psalms. Ihow without abruptly ending This my visit, and offending Wealthy neighbors, was the problem which employed my mental care; When the butler, bowing lowly, Uttered clearly, stiffly, slowly, " Madam, please, the gardener wants you"-Heaven, I thought, has heard my prayer. "Pardon me!" she grandly uttered; Bowing low, I gladly muttered, " Surely, madam! " and, relieved, I turned to scan the daughter's face: Ha! what pent-up mirth outflashes From beneath those penciled lashes! I-ow the drill of Quaker custom yields to Nature's brilliant grace. Brightly springs the prisoned fountain From the side of Delphi's mountain AWhen the stone that weighed upon its buoyant life is thrust aside; So the long-enforced stagnation Of the maiden's conversation Now imparted five-fold brilliance to its ever-varying tide. Widely ranging, quickly changing, Witty, winning, from beginning Unto end I listened, merely flinging in a casual word; Eloquent, and yet how simple! I-land and eye, and eddying dimple, Tongue and lip together made a music seen as well as heard. 36 The Poetical Works of When the noonday woods are ringing, All the birds of summer singing, Suddenly there falls a silence, and we know a serpent nigh: So upon the door a rattle Stopped our animated tattle, And the stately mother found us prim enough to suit her eye. MY TOAST.5 " THE FIRST, LAST, AND ONLY GIRL I EVER LOVET). Her hair is like a field of wheat By autumn tinged with glistening yellows; Her clear blonde face is always sweet, Her little waist is round and neat, And plump her bust, and small her feetCome, boys! "To Lucie Ellice!" Her gentle hands of tapering whiteThe rings that touch them make me jealous! Her ripe red lips are with smiles bedight, Her large blue eyes have a swimming light, And her fair soft skin with health is brightWe drink to Lucie Ellice! Elastic as the delicate vine That sways in June from the vineyard trellis; hIer step is dainty, her touch is fine, And her breath is sweet as the perfumed wine Which the votarist kisses before the shrineEven such is Lucie Ellice! And then her voice! You mayhap have heard, As dawn in the East to crimson mellows (While the dews on the roses are yet unblurred, And the gossamer web on the grass unstirred), The song of the lark as aloft it whirred-'Twas the voice of Lucie Ellice! And her soul-'tis a spirit of subtle flame, That kindles and softens, illumes and mellows;'Tis an essence pervading and thrilling her frame, And'tis from it her wonderful gentleness cameHer grace, and her beauty, and all that I name, When we drink to Lucie Ellice! Charles Graham I Halpine. 37 But Fortune is cruel, and Love is blindCruel and blinded the fables tell us; For with hearts revolting are hands resigned, And the flowers are sundered that should have twined, And darkly we drift on the path assigned, As I drift from Lucie Ellice! Oh, give me a ruff that once touched her throat, And I ask no gems from a royal palace, Give me a ribbon that once did float Where the swelling lines her form denote, Then send me to die in some land remote, My last thought-" Lucie Ellice!" But why should I offer so pure a toast To the grosser ears of my feasting fellows? To have seen her but twice is all my boast; So back to our euchre, and call the host, And that lad shall be king who can drink the most To the health of my Lucie Ellice! BELLE OF THE BALL. Oh, Lady of Kinsa Dear girl of my heart, With your teeth of cut pearl Where the crimson lips part; And a breast o'er whose white hills With beauty aglow The blue veinlets wander Like streams through the snow. How proud is her glance, Yet how kindly to all, As they halt in the dance For my Belle of the Ball. My Lady of Kinsa! How royal her grace, Yet how bright and how gentle, And winsome her face; And her eyes, large and blue, Are as soft as a fawn's, And her smile is as genial As midsummer dawns; 38 The Poetical Works of And her wealth of brown hairSee its hues rise and fall, Golden, chestnut, and fairIn my Belle of the Ball. My Lady of Kinsa! In silver and green, By the sceptre of beauty A true Irish queen; As she raises her train, For the dancers are fleet, See how small in their white Satin buskins her feet; Oh! to be but caressed By the white arms that fill To the partner now blessed By my Belle of the Ball! My Lady of Kinsa! The clover that dips To the scythe has no perfume To equal your lips; And your little pink ears Crown an ivory neck Which the jewels of empire Might worthily deck; And your voice is as bland As the murmur of streams, And the touch of your hand Is the thrill of my dreams; And I glow in each pulse As I bow to the thrall Of my beauty of KinsaMy Belle of the Ball. TO SHERIDAN. FROM ONE WHO LOVES HIM VERY DEARLY. Phil Sherry was of knightly build, A soldier of renown, His sabre flashed on many a field, His flag o'er many a town; And when the limbs to weakness grow Now filled with youthful flame, Our children'sbchildren yet shall glow To bold Phil Sherry's name. (harles Graham Ilalpine. With stormy oath and bugle-blast, And eyes of kindling fire, When the skies of war were overcast, And hope might well expire, Our Phil with gleaming hand and heel Led on his fiery flock, And the victor foe would turn and reel Beneath his desperate shock. Who has not heard, with tears and smiles, Of the hot and headlong ride, When, after twenty galloping miles, lie checked the rebel tide? And how, when Lee was brought at length To final bay or flight,'Twas Phil that hurled our final strength, And won our final fight? Oh, gallant leader of the brave, Whose fame for aye endures, Soil not the crest that victory gave Jly work that is not yours. Leap in the saddle once again, Let your wild plumes outflow, Nor help to crush the beaten men Who sank beneath your blow. To baser hands, to meaner souls, Resign the odious task-'Tis love this passionate cry controls,'Tis for your fame I ask. I want you still an image high, Niched in my heart-its king; Oh, once more let your pennons fly, Let " boots and saddles" ring!" You were not framed-the soul God placed Within your fiery clayThat rarest gift of heaven to waste In the wranglings of to-day; The base intrigues, the ready lies, Tile cold and coward hatesThe barb that in the darkness flies, The pitfall at the gates These form the'politician's tradeToo base for you to know; To fight deceit you were not madeYou need a manlier foe; 40 The Poetical IVortls of And I tell you, Phil, I'd rather seek For friends in the foes we fought, Than trust any " loyal" Southern sneak Whom success to our side has brought. TO RAYMOND ON HIS TRAVELS.Oh, your boat is at the pier, And your passage has been paid, But before you go, my dearest dear, Accept this serenade! For with friendliness we burn, And rejoicing come the rhymes To toast the health and safe return Of him who rules the Times! To toast the health and safe return Of him who rules the Times. If we all could get away From this town of cares and frets, To wander round the Elysees, And kiss the gay grisettes, Such skedaddling there would be As was never known beforeTen thousand steamers out at sea, And not a man on shore! Ten thousand steamers out at sea, And not a man on shore! But oh! delusive dream, For us no chance remains; Mere drudges of the desk we seem, With dull and throbbing brains; glut, though we must stay at home To earn the painful dimes, Let us all rejoice that he can roamOur brother of the Times! Let us all rejoice that he can roamOur brother of the Times! Oh, safely may he sail, And safely sail he back; His virtue like a proof-of-mail, To ward off each attack; Charles Graham a Halpine. 41 No beauty of the Boulevard, Or nymph of other climes, To win even half a thought's regard From him who rules the Times! To win even half a thought's regard From him who rules the Times! Were I Marble of the World, Or young Bennett debonair, Do you think I'd see his sails unfurled, And not his voyage share? By this wine-cup in my hand, By my hope of famous rhymes, My foot should quit Manhattan strand With him who rules the Times! My foot should quit Manhattan strand With him who rules the Times! THE TWO VOICES. FIRST VOICE. Of all light troubles to heart or head, The lightest of troubles are from the dead. SECOND VOICE. False teacher, no! All griefs I crave, Save the grief that whispers me from the grave. FIRST VOICE. The grave is silent, and death is dumb; No hint of reproach from the dead may come. SECOND VOICE. The living accuse us of folly or crime, But the white ghosts whisper us all the time. FIRST VOICE. The living can witness with threatening eyes, But never a witness from death may rise. SECOND VOICE. Cruel and coldly your thoughts keep track, But I'd give my life could the dead come back. FIRST VOICE. A source of division, of care, and dreadWhy seek to recall the now happy dead? 42 The Poetical Works of SECOND VOICE. To breathe a few farewell words in the ear, "In heaven try forgive any wrongs done here." FIRST VOICE. Regrets for the dead can but torture the heartWhether living or dead, you were forced to part. SECOND VOICE. Living, though seas might between us roll, AWe would still have communion of soul with soul. FIRST VOICE. And your life would wither, your head turn gray, With the sorrows that Destiny cast in your way. SECOND VOICE. Oh, sainted and loved! could I call back thine, How gladly the burden of life I'd resign! FIRST VOICE. The living may change, but the dead abide In the passion that crowned them as they died. SECOND VOICE. IHad the years estranged us and changed the heart, It were gentle; but death tore us roughly apart. FIRST VOICE. But a living change were a little woe; The love that died loving must ever glow. SECOND VOICE. ()h, friend! that was thought in a kindlier veinAll my joys in the grave of the dead remain. FIRST VOICE. The soul is immortal-the body dies; The dead smile down pity with holy eyes. SECOND VOICE. I try to believe it-to see the dead stand As my guardian angel in God's bright land. FIRST VbICE. So think! And, thinking it, henceforth move That the dead beholding you may approve. ACharles Graham Hlalpine. 43 SECOND VOICE. I shall try, my friend; but a cold, dumb pain Swims up from the soul to the clouded brain; And I'd give-had I power-all beneath the sky For the dead to revive, and myself to die! A BREEZY DISSERTATION. Two breezes in the forest met A little way from town, The one was blowing up to it, The other blowing down; They whispered kindly through the trees, Through foliage, branch, and forkAnd that one was a country, breeze, And this was from New York. They tossed the crimson leaves about, And whirling danced around, They laughed to see the forest rout Fall eddying to the ground; To shaking nests and stripping boughs, And such like sports they fell, Till, tired at last, one said, " Suppose What each has seen we tell." The country breeze-the sweeter farFull pleasantly replied, "I've driven upon my cloudy car O'er landscapes far and wide. I've seen the harvest gathered home By ruddy men and maids, I've cooled me in the cascade's foam, And slept in quiet glades. "But most of all I loved to force My way through those old woods, Upon whose murmurs, warm and hoarse, No human voice intrudes;'Tis pleasant, too, to breast the top Of yonder snow-clad hills, Then down into the valleys drop, And chase the flying rills. "O'er lakes that glumbered in the sun Like mirrors broad and bright, My path has been a pleasant one Of perfume and of light. 44 The Poetical Works of And now I seek the city-there I hear are glorious thingsCome, tell to me, my sister fair, Where you have spread your wings." So loudly then the other sighed, She made the branches sway; The squirrel, perching overhead, Affrighted, leaps away: "Oh, sister! bless'd hath been your lot; Far different mine hath been; Now hear my tale, and you will not