F CQ tt0 11, I- - 0 C, 0 - (Z) L:*1, o 2 It td ,7 (Z) tt i i I I I i i -41 EN-TERFD ACCORD)ING TO ACT OF (-ONGRESS, IN TIlE YEA.T SG0O, BY MIIS.. II. 1. ~Io{YItN-, IN TIlE CLERK'S OFFICE OF TIlE DISTIRICT COURT OF CONNECTI(CUT. PRINTED BY WILLIAM.IS, WILEY AND TURNER, IIARTFORI), CONN. C ONTENTS. PAGE. PROE —,f..., GREEN-,WOOD CEMENITERY,....1 C'OLI —IfBUS,...1 TVT AN -,D D)O iNG,-... T-NLSECT CON-,CERT,....... 2 F'AREWELL TO TIIE COMET,...... 2 TilE 13AkBF AND -NINSTRIEl.. 2 TIlE -— OI,E FARMER~l,. THE CLOSEI) WA~TERI f.,IL,Y,.... TIIE 01,D J)OM.INION-,..... APRIL,........ 3 1 0 1 4 . 1 7 20 . 22 25 . 27 29 . 3.1 35 4 PAGE. . 39 4 3 . 46 48 . 52 54 . 56 58 . 60 64 *. 66 ~ 68 . 70 72 *. 75 79 83 87 91 913 98 100 SCENE AT SEA,.... JONAHt, KING OF TIIE I)AYS,.. INDIANS AT THE TOMB OF -WASHINGTON, A WALK BY THE OCEAN,... THE SAILOR AND HIS \IOTIER,.. TiE COTTAGE ALTAR,... ARAB FABLE,... TALK WITH THE DEPARTED,... SERVICE WITHOUT A CHURCII,. TIIE FIRST ARBUTUS,... REQUIE-N FOR THE BRAV E,... THE MOTIER OF ALL,.... WAVORDS,..... THE UNDAUNT ED,...... ACCEPTANCE OF AN NV-ITA.TION.. INCIDENT OF 1775,..... THIE WEATIER...... FEXCURSION ON THE CONNECTICUT,... BIRTH-DAY OF TIIE POET, LONGFEI,LOW,. CALIFORNIA,.... LOCK OF HAIR,.... 5 PAGE. . 102 ~. 105. . 107 111 . 113 ~. 117 . 119 123 . 126 129 . 132 134 . 138 141 . 143 147 . 149 . 151 154 . 156 ]58 . 161 MIEETING OF THE CANNON BALLS,... "DEFEN-D US, LORD,".... DEATII-SONG OF THIE ORGAN,... ANNIVERSARY OF THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA,. TIE MAIOUNTAIN BURIAL,..... THE TRUIE FRIENDS,..... COMING TO THE PARSONAGE,.... RALEIGH IN PRISON..... THE SEWING MACHINE,...... THE FIRST LOVE-LETTER,.... "'TWAS FOR HIS MOTHER'S SAKE,"... FALL OF TIhE CHARTER OAK,... RETURN FROM BOARDING-SCIOOL,.. EVERETT'S ORATION ON WrASHINGTON,. QUEEN VICTORIA CONVOKING PARLIAMENT,.. ALL'S WELL,... MAN'S FIRST E.MPLOYMENT,.... SA-MUEL,.... THE TUSCAN BUD,.. TALK WITH THE SEA,.. GRAY IIHAIRS,... "LET ALL THE PEOPLE PRAISE TIHEE,"... J* 6 PAGE. 164 . 166 168 . 172 176 *. 1 78 181 . 184 186 . 188 190 . 192 195 . 200 207 . 210 213 . 215 218 . 220 ~ 222 . 224 Hoi-ox. RUFUS CHOATE,... S UM.MIER RAIN,... THE FOUR GRAVES,... A NEW IDEA,... THE YOU-G IOTHER,.. BRE.AKFAST,.... TIlE HAPPINESS OF AGE,.. TIlE TREATY OF PARIS,.. TlE SCULPTOR, BARTHOLOMEW,. THIE MAPLE TREE,... THANKSGIVING AT THE FAR.M -,OUSE, EPITAPH IN TIHE DESERT,.. MIOUNT VERNON AND ITS MTASTER, M\Y STUFFED OWL, ' KNOW THYSELF," AUNT ITARY'S CAT,... OUR BABY,.... THE POOR RICH AN,...-, QUARREL OF THE THIUNDER AND TIlE THE AGRICULTURAL TONIC,.. THE ONLY ONE,... Two OLD OME,...OIE, TIrE iIEROES, To A P)ORTRAIT,.4 TIlE R:R-VL LIFE,.. SUNDAY EVENING ItYIN,. TI1E RULER'S FAITH, TIIE GIFT OF TIHE CLOUD7. TiHE YNNIV-I AERSAiRY., TILE LAST MAIOON OF TIlE YL1AR,. . 243 '247 . 248 252 . 254 257 . 259 2 6'26 PROEIM. You've listen'd long and oft, sweet friends To all my varied strain, And courteous will it be, and kind, To listen once again. Still happier doth it make me, friends, While years fleet by, like dew, And toward the West the sun-beam tends, To sing these songs to you; For well the melodies of earth, Bird, stream, and poet's lyre, Accord with our immortal birth, And yon celestial choir. GREENWOOD CEMETERY. City of marble!-whose lone structures rise, In pomp of sculpture beautifully rare, On thy lone brow a mournful mystery lies; For to thy haunts no busy feet repair, No curling smoke ascends firom roof-tree fair, No cry of warning time the clock repeats, Nor voice of sabbath-bell convokles to prayer, There are no children playing in thy streets, Nor sounds of echoing toil invade thy green retreats. Rich vines around yol graceful columns wind, Young buds unfold, the dewy sklies to bless, Yet no fresh wreaths thine inmlates wake to bind, Prune no wild spray, nor pleasant garden dress, 11 From no luxuriant flower its fragrance press, The golden sunsets through inwoven trees Tremble and flash, but they no praise express, No casement lift to catch the balmy breeze, For every change of earth, hath lost the power to please. A ceaseless tide of imnmigration flows Through thy still gate, for thou forbiddest nlone On thy close-curtain'd couches to repose, Or lease thy narrow tenements of stone; It matters not, where first the sunbeam shone Upon their cradle,-'neath the foliage free Where dark palmettos fleck the torrid zone, Or'muid the icebergs of the Arctic Sea, Thou dost no passport claim,-all are at home with thee. One pledge alone they give, before their name Is with thy peaceful denizens enrolled, The vow of silence, thou from each dost claim, Alore strict and stern than Sparta's rule of old, Bidding no secrets of thy realmn be told, Nor lightest whisper from its precincts spread, Sealing each whitened lip with signet cold, To stamp the oath of fealty,'ere they tread Thy never-echoing hlalls, Oh city of the dead! 12 'MIid haunts like thine, fond memories find their home, And sweet it was to me, in childhood's hours, 'Neath every village church-yard's shade to roam, Where lowly mounds were deckled with grassy flowers; And I have roamed where fair Mount Auburn towers, Where Laurel Hill a peaceful welcome gave To each nev tenant of its hallowed bowers, And where, by quiet Lehigh's crystal wave, The meek Moravian smooths his turf-emibroidered grave: Where too, in Scotia, o'er the Bridge of Sihls, The Clyde's Necropolis uprears its head, Or that old abbey's sacred turrets rise Whose crypts embalm proud Albion's noblest dead, And where, by leafy canopy o'erspread The lyre of Gray its pensive descant made, And where, beside the dancing city's tread Old Pere la Chaise, all gorgeously displayed Its meretricious robes, with chaplets overlaid: But thou, Oh Greenwood! sweetest art to me, Enriched with tints of ocean, earth and skly, Solemn and sweet, to meditation free, Even like a mother who with pleading eye 13 Implores His love who for her babes did die, Thou, with thy many children at thy breast Dost look to Him with tomb-stone prayer and sigh, To bless the lowly pillow of their rest, And shield them when that cell no longer guards its guest. Calm, holy shades! —we turn to you for health, Sickness is with the living,-fear and pain, And dire diseases thronging on by stealth From the worn heart its last red drop to drain, Or smite with palsying shaft the reeling brain, Till wearied man by countless ills distrest, Doth find the healer's vaunted armor vain And with the spear-point reeking at his breast Welcome the quiet couch that his dear Savior blest. Sorrow is with the living.-Youth doth fade, And Joy unclasp its tendril green,-to die, The mocking tares the harvest-hope invade, On wrecking blast, Wealth's garner'd treasures fly, Our idols shame our fond idolatry, Unkindness gnaws the bosom's secret core, Even Friendship shows, perchance, an alter'd eye When stricken hearts their adverse lot deplore Oh, take us to your arms,-that we may grieve no more. 2 COLUMBUS. A student mus'd in cloister'd cell, The midnight lamp declin'd, While visions of a vestal sphere Wrapp'd his far reaching mind, But then by mighty impulse mov'd, Decision sprang from thought And strong in eloquence of soul The Genoese besought Of lofty Science,-" Send me forth O'er yonder trackless sea,And glorious themes for countless tomes I will bring back to thee, 15 I'll win thee undiscovered fields, And trophies of renown, Compared to which thy harvests here Shall be as thistle-down:" But Science stood with folded arms, As if in sculptured pride, And like the Sadducees of old, Unvarnish'd truth decried. He said to Commerce,-" Give me ships, And I the cost will pay, New mines of gold and Indian gems Shall sparkle to the day," But Commerce launch'd her cumbrous boats That fear'd to leave the shore, And coldly bade the dreamer hence, And waste her time no more. He turn'd to Royalty, and cried, "If thou wilt speed my way, New realms shall rise, new nations bow Submissive to thy sway;" 16 But the anointed kings were bent On conflicts of the hour, And chose in petty feuds to spend Their heaven-entrusted power. To the tiara'd Church he knelt, "Oh Mother, -bless thy soI n! And send him with a Viceroy's power Where heathen souls are won, And incense from a thousand shrines Shall on thine altars glow, And chanted praise from pagan tongues, Thy temple-courts o'erflow." Then, the tiara'd Church gave ear, As her true suppliant pray'd, And Isabella's sceptred hand. The first oblation made, And steering from the coast of Spain Three vessels woo'd the morn,So, to gray Europe's wondering eyes This brave New World was born. UP AND DOING. "We can't afford to wait." BISHOP CLARK. Lo! from the wild, the city starts, And on the prairie's breast Spring dome, and tower, and spire, like dream Of Araby the blest, And they who fall behind the age, Or move with snail-like feet, Are in these days of progress deem'd Defunct, or obsolete. 2* 18 The world grows busy, and expects Her sons to do the same, She makes the boiling water work, And yokes the winged flame, She bids the mightiest elements Her varied will obey, And calls the lightning from the skies Her whisper'd words to say. *The idle man is like the dead Who can no burial find; 111 fares it in the race, with those Who halt and look behind; Even she, who backward gaz'd of old, Was petrified, we read, And how can we afford to wait 'iMid all this railroad speed? The tares are growing in the field, Though we supinely sleep, And he who sows no seed betimes May hope in vain to reap, * "The idle are a peculiar kind of dead, who cannot be buried." ARABIAN PROVERB& 19 The Prince of Evil never lags, Nor loiters o'er his prey, And they must needs be wide awake Who think to bar his way. The pagan people fade and fall In ignorance and night, Without a cheering ray from heaven The dreary grave to light, The ready mission-ship but asks Our bounty for its freight, Hark! to the cry of dying souls They can't afford to wait. If there's a duty unfulfill'd, A blessed word unspoken, Haste! ere the hour-glass of our days Is wasted, spent, or broken, Nor let procrastination lend Its burden to our fate, We can't afford to wait, my friends, We can't afford to wait. INSECT CONCERT. There rose a mingled sound of inrsect-life Up, at the closing day. Autumn had come A yellow reaper forth,-yet nought of change Saddened the landscape. The brisk katy-did, Striking with wiry foot her gauzy wing Led' like a viol,-the lithe tree-toad pour'd A liquid melody,-the cricket wound Her shrilly horn without a thought of pause, While here and there, the people of the pool Fusing the song in their monotony, Lent a deep bass. And then, as best they might, The weak-voiced nations of the grass essay'd Part in the concert,-while with joyous dance Mote and ephemeron glided through the air, 21 Wheeling in circles swift, as the spent Sun Drawing its golden curtain, sank to rest. 'Twas beautiful to know that homeliest things Had music, and were glad. Oh lordly man! King of this lower earth, and yet so frail, Scorn not the frailer races, nor destroy The entrusted breath that is to them so dear. The hunted spider coileth like a ball, Feigning the death he shuns,-and loathed worms Avoid the crushing foot. The mottled toad By boyhood marked for brutal martyrdom, Loveth his life and fain would see good days. Each hath some secret hoard of dear delight. And in their tiny hearts doth beat, such joy As their brief being hath the power to bear. Be pitiffl to earth's poor denizens, Ye who are fashioned of more perfect clay. Lo! the bright angels have no touch of pride, But look benignant on life's lowliest forms, And from their inartistic chorus glean Perchance, some undertone of praise to God. FAREWELL TO THE COMET. Art passing from our sight away, Oh visitant sublime, Who brought us gifts of holy thought At hush of even time? High gifts of holy thought, that raise Above the earth-bow'd train? We miss thee from thy custom'd place, And say farewell, with pain. The beauty of thy banner'd scroll, That night by night hath held In admiration's gaze, the eye Of infancy and eld, 23 Doth leave a void amid our sky, A sadness where it fled, A vacant seat among the stars, As though some friend were dead. I saw thee at the highest node Of thy resplendent way, And every constellation paled At thy mysterious ray, Arcturus, and his sons, gave heed Within their brilliant bower, And vail'd their viceroy coronets As to a monarch's power. I saw thee at thy nearest point To this terrestial gate, When old Astrology had quail'd To mark our planet's fate, And high o'er Ursa-Major's bound Thine arch of glory swept, Where Libra's hand her golden scales With pois'd precision kept, 24 On, on, where many a clustering orb Completes its measured goal, To where the Dragon's spiry coil Enwraps the northern pole. Now, onward still, through boundless space, With speed our thought that shames Where stranger-suns from burning thrones Cast forth their central flames, An envoy of the Universe, Thou show'st to every land Those signals of Almighty Power Which all can understand. Yet when again, this startled globe Thy car of fire shall see, And on her throne the regent Moon Receive thine embassy, Long'ere that time, oblivion's veil Shall shroud our noteless name, But still thine undeclining strength Jehovah's power proclaim. THE BABE AND MINSTREL. An infant in its mother's arms Look'd from a casement high, And pleasure o'er its features stray'ed As on his simple organ play'd A boy of Italy. So, day by day, his skill he plied, With still increasing zeal, For well the glittering coin he knew That, pleased, those fairy fingers thlrew Would buy his frugal meal. But then, alas! there came a change, Unnoticed was his song, And in that uprais'd, earnest eye There dwelt a silent wonder why The baby slept so long. 3 26 lie knew not that those lips of rose Beneath the flowers were laid, That where the music never tires Among the white-robed angel choirs The chainless cherub stray'd. Still, lingering at the accustomed place The minstrel plied his art, Though its soft symphony of words Convulsed with pain the broken chords Within the mother's heart. They told him that the child was dead And must return no more, "Dea(t! dead? "-to his bewildered ear. A foreign tongue inured to hear, The sound no import bore. At length, by slow degrees the truth O'er his young spirit stole, And with sad step he went his way, No more for that blest babe to play, The tear-drop in his soul. THE NOBLE FARMER. "Agriculture is the most healthy, the most useful, the niost nol)]( employment of mian."-GEORGE WVASHINGTON. What Hero from the battle-strife, With palms of victory crown'd, Fame's clarion-music in his ear From earth's remotest bound, What Ruler o'er a Nation's love In majesty sublime, The first, the greatest in the realm A king in Freedom's clime, Returns to rural haunts to watch His ripening wheat fields wave? A blessed gladness in his heart That glory never gave. 28 Wvho,'mid his acres broad and green, Where plow-shares break the sod, Prefers in sylvan toils to walk WAith Nature and with God? There was but One-who thus retired From conquest, power and pride, For which ambition hath so oft In madness striven and died: There was but One-dost ask his name? 'Neath fair Virginia's sky (;o, find Mount Vernon's sepulchre, And heed its answering sigh. THE CLOSED WATER-LILY. Sleep on, my water-lily,-folded close, In crystal vase. How know'st thou night hath come? Thou saw'st no sun go down, and a soft ray, Like tender moonlight from the astral lamp, Floateth around thee. Dost thou dream, my flower, Of loving sisters, on thy native lake Disporting while the summer-ripple glides? Art sad for them? or do they mourn for thee, Borne like a bride away in manhood's clasp? Art angry at the hand that broke thy stem, And made thee captive in this stranger-home? 3* 30 Hide no displeasure in thy spotless soul,It was thy lot to fade. Free from the stain Of one repining thought, so pass away, Like a good spirit that hath left behind Example pure, and naught but memories Of beauty and of fragrance. TIJE OLD DOMINION. Virg,inia refused obedience to the protectorate of Cromwell, and sent to Charles Second, then a fugitive in Flanders, to come and be her ruler. He would have accepted the proposition, but was recalled to fis ancestral throne. After his restoration he remembered the loyal Colony, which was designated as "The Old Dominion." As late as the reign of George Third, copper coins were extant bearing the united arms of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Virginia. In days of old, when Oliver Smote off the Stuart crown, And on our Mother Albion's throne Without remorse sate down, Virginia, in her new-found home, Far o'er the watery way, With filial loyalty refused Subjection to his sway. 32 So frowning in contemptuous wrath, *I'll send my ships," quoth he, "And teach her at the cannon's mouth, WAhat words to say to me." Then to that. exiled Prince she turned, Who long in foreign climes Ilacl sought for refuge, here and there, 'MAlid dark and troubled times, W-ho from the haughty court of Spain Forc'd in his need to fly, Partook in Flanders, ill at ease, Cold hospitality. A Oh, heir of England's royal line, And Scotia's ancient race, (;-ome thou, and reign our sovereign lord, With all thy kingly grace:" (Charles, to this language of the heart, Exulting made reply, -I'll go, and in yon brave New World MAy better fortunes try; 33 "On the broad James' majestic shore, Aly palace-halls I'll raise, And the red savages will make Rich pageant for our plays." So all in readiness he stood To dare the billowy main, While many a fancy, strangely bright, Swept through his dazzled brain. But One with noiseless step drew near, Whose fiat none may stay, Whose silent lip, and palsying touch, The mightiest forms obey. Down fell stout Cromwell in the trance That never more must break, While he whose sire on scaffold fell Was call'd the crown to take; Was call'd the sceptre's power to wield, And cliffs were red with flame, And shouts from tower to hamlet spake When back that wanderer came. Yet lingering in his grateful mind Gleam'd out her image fair, W\ho sought him in his low estate, And vow'd allegiance rare, And quarter'd with his lion-shield, Thistle and shamrock green, As token of a king's regard, Virginia's arms were seen; While History touch'd her glowing brow With radiance like the sun, Who, in her maiden blush, the name Of " Old Dominion" won. 34 APRIL. Hail! second born of Spring Full of fair hopes and gracious ministries, Germ-quickener, and bud opener, setting free The slavery of streams, Bidding each ice-bound brooklet sing Of joyous liberty, MIaking the tiniest seed expand and swell, Even'mid its cradle-dreams. April! I love thee well, And fain would kiss away The tear oft gathering in thine eye of blue: But lo! with changeful ray, The smile is on thy lip, and the bright sun breaks through. 36 Meek Daisy of the wild! God hath remembered thee, And like some clear-brow'd child Making the cottage glad, Thou comest forth, with trustful eye, 'Neath this uncertain sky; Be not afraid, or sad, He shall thy helper be. Oh! brown and creeping Moss He who lights up the sun, And countless stars doth marshal, one by one, Upon their cars of flame, He hath pronounced thy name; Man's haughty glance may scorn thy noteless vest, But He-the Lord of all-doth love the lowly best. Bright Maple, fresh with vernal showers, There are-that give us flowers Mov'd by the summer sun; There are-that shed their fruits in autumn-hours, And their painless work is done: But thou, for man dost ope thy veins, Pouring the life-blood that thy heart sustains, And still, as if ordain'd to be The blessed symbol of true charity, 37 Art first to throw Thy scarlet mantle on, the Spring to greet; And last and bravest stand to meet The frost-king, bursting from his cell,. In tyranny to tell Garden and grove their time of hope is o'er, And the rich harvest of the year returneth never more. Pale Willow, drooping low In gentle sympathy Thy flexile branches wave Like broken harp-strings o'er the grave Where our lost treasures lie. Thanks for thy kindness in our time of woe; Early thou comest, and dost linger late, Believing in our low estate, We might have need of thee: Yes, we have need of thee, Thanks, tree of sympathy. Oh! all ye works of God Whether of lowliest leaf and stem, Proud robe, or princely diadem, MIosses, and nameless plants that prank the so(l Praise him in silent song, that angels hear, 4 38 Who, hovering round this earthly sphere, Their censers from your blended incense fill; All green and living things, On every breezy hill, Mountains, and lofty pines, and leafy plains, Strike to the winds your trembling strings In deep and solemn strains. Let the frail grass-flowers bring Their tribute to the Sire of all, Who loveth them even as the' cedar tall; Deep unshorn forests, wrapped in solemn shade, Swell the sweet song of praise-all that His hand hath made. SCENE AT SEA. The ship with snowy wing sped on, Like sea-bird's graceful flight, And brave her country's flag stream'd out On that still summer-night,No sound o'er all the blue expanse Save her ownl rushing prow, That made the proudest mountain surge To her dominion bow. Then meekly fromnt her palace-halls The regent Moon look'd down, And threw aside the veiling cloud That dimm'd her silver crown, And caught each little leaping wave, As it stole to midnight play, And sign'd it witlh a cross of light Before it fled away. We on the deck had linger'd long Il silence of the soul, Each billow bearing tender thought Upon its liquid scroll, When from the steerage, all at once Burst forth a passion cry: ,Dead! are ye cleacl, mavourneen! O wherefore did ye die?" It was a mother's wail, no doubt, What other could it be That startled to a strange response, Even the unpitying sea, A mother wailing for her child Stretched out in silence there, The moonbeams quivering on his cheek, And in his lustrous hair. " Had ye not food enough, my boy? A play-place'mid the flowers, Was there not love enough for ye, In these gushing hearts of ours? Were ye not sailing on to see Green Ireland's blessed sky, The fairest isle in all this world? Oh! wherefore did ye die? 40 41 The grandmother stands at her door, That cabin by the brook, She gazes long for us and ours With loving, earnest look; Her feet will hasten down the hill, The welcome in her eye,Why need ye grieve her kind, old heart? Ah! wherefore did ye die? She would have laid ye on her breast, And hushed ye as her own, And sung ye all those grand Erse songs, With loud, untiring tone; Yet what have we to bring her now, But coronach and tear? O hone! it was a cruel thing To die and leave us here." We listened sadly, as the sobs Declined, or mounted higher, Like flashes of a flickering lamp, Reluctant to expire, For whosoe'er hath fondly knelt By her own babe to pray, Or sleepless watched when sickness stole Its cherished bloom away. 4* 42 If e'er a mourning mother's grief Did break upon her ear, Fromn hovel rude, or prison-cell, Or homeless wayside drear, Although disguised in foreign tongue May be those words of woe, Feels answering tear-drops in her soul Whether she will or no. And when at last to troubled dreams I bow'd my weary head, MAethought my far-off little ones Came trooping round my bed, But when I would have clasp'd them close Uprose a fearful cry" Mavourneen! Oh, mavourneen! Why, darling, did ye die?" Atlailti( Oceau, August 10th, 1840. JONAH. Alone he sate in bitterness, the lids Curtaining his downcast eyes, and o'er his breast Sweeping his ample beard. Offended pride MIade turmoil in his spirit. He had been To Nineveh, and cried with warning voice, In forty days it should be overthrown. But then that mighty city bow'd its head, While king and people fasting, and with prayers In sackcloth and in ashes mourn'd their sins, And turning from their evil ways, besought Forgiveness and remission. He, who marks From Heaven's high Throne, the sound of dropping tears Drawn from the depths of penitential woe, Hearkened and pitied and repriev'd their doom. 44 Yet Jonah, fill'd with fierce displeasure, mused Upon his frustrate message, and conceived Himself dishonored. Reckless, on the earth He threw himself, alone. The noontide sun Beat on his temples with a scorching heat, And turned the arid sands on which he gazed, To countless burning glasses. Sullenly He bore the anguish. Anger unto death, Was his demoniac choice. "Take thou my life! For it is better, I should die than live." But He whose kind forbearance knows no bound(, Threw o'er his head a sheltering tree, and bade The breezy murmur of its broad, green leaves Assuage his grief. And then he saw it die, Smit by the siroch's blasting breath, a worm Gnawing its root. Oh, Prophet!-we like thee, Are oft instructed by our withering gourds, And by our lapses to contrition led. Even if we flee to Tarshish, when God calls To sacred duty elsewhere, and deplore 'Mid the deep suffering of our recreant course, 45 That earth with all her prison-bars is shut Around us evermore, He hath a way Of bringing back his banish'd ones to learn Full reconcilement to the Will Divine. KING OF THILE DAYS. "Call the Sabbath a delight,-the holy of the Lord,-1honorable." ISAIAI{. All hail, thou king, of days! Thy subjects bow the knee, Their vow of loyalty they raise, God hath anointed thee! Above thy brethren six, A proud and princely train, Each with his coronet of power He calls thee forth to reign. I see thee on thy throne, The crown upon thy brow, The good, the pious and the wise In glad allegiance bow, 47 I hear thy state proclaimed By priest and chanting choir, By chimes from high cathedral tower, And bells from village spire. Thou hast a boon of rest For those whom care hath bow'd, A solace for the wounded breast, A rainbow on the cloud, A cordial for the faint, A fold for those who stray. Thy sceptre sheds the balm of heaven On all who own its sway. INDIANS AT THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. Where Mount Vernon's sacred shadows Floating o'er the fair Potomac, Mark the Mecca of the nations, And the gliding boats that pass it, With the tolling of their heart-bells,* Speak the homage of the waters To the Father of his Country, Thither once, in slow procession, Came the children of the forest, They whose ancestors were rulers Of the realm that we inhabit. * The steamers that ply on the Potomac observe the beautiful custom of tolling their bells while passing Mount Vernon. 49 Thither came the braves and chieftains Of the Aricarees (the Bee-struck,) Of the Sioux, and the Mandans, Of the Yanotous and Sansares, From the land of the Dacotah, Stretching with its flowery prairies Where the far Missouri wanders And with turbid current reddens The clear river where it mingles. To that solemn delegation From the tribes of forest-people, Spake the pale-faced friend* who led then In whose guardianship they trusted, Told them how their first, great Father, Washington, the brave and glorious, Whom the Manitto permitted Hiis young country's foes to vanquish, He, who loved his red-brow'd children, When the toils of war were over, Dwelt in peace'neath yonder roof-tree, Sow'd the corn, and reap'd the wheat-sheaf, * A. I. Redfield, Esq., under whose charge this deputation from the tribes visited Mount Vernon, and in whom they seemed to confide with grateful regard. 5 50 And when all his days were number'd, Slumber'd in that tomb beside them, While the earth stood up to praise him. Listening, fix'd as bronzed statues, Every glowing word they treasured In the silence of their spirits. And responsive as the Pine-Tree Answereth to the blast of Autumn, All, with one accord uplifted, Loud as thunder'mid the mountains, Their high song of praise and honor To the dauntless Chief who conquered All the proud, embattled forces, That like lions bent on slaughter Strove to desolate his Country. Then they paus'd and changed their mannler, Bowing down their heads and weeping, Round the tomb more closely gathering, Pour'd a solemn dirge of sorrow, So prolong'd and so despairing, That the very birds who heard it, Lingering'mid the nested branches, Closed their wing and caught the cadence. 51 Mournful'mid that hallowed scenery, Sighing o'er the funeral cypress, Rose that wild and deep lamenting Of the downcast forest-dwellers, Like forsaken children, wailing Hopeless o'er a buried father. A WALK BY THE OCEAN. Hail, Ocean wide! with surging tide That round the light-house breaks, In conflict with yon frowning rock, That fierce rejoinder makes, In conflict with the shrinking shore O'er which, with blinding spray, Thou hurl'st the shell and sea-weed back In cold, contemptuous play, What dost thou say?-I own thy sway As thy deep thunders roll, And listen to thy solemn lore With subjugated soul. But Ocean's tide, with scorn replied, "Be silent-go thy way; I hold no fellowship with those The born of earth and clay. 53 "With ships they aim my power to tame I toss them to and fro I break their navies like a reed, Down to my depths they go. Hence!-speed thy way!-lest wild with spray Some billow seek the shore, And lightly sweep thy wandering feet Whence they return no more." Oh, thou most proud! whose menace loud Would bid the world take heed, God rules thee, with His line of sand, Like an o'ermastered steed, And as a felon from his doom Shalt thou recoil with dread, At the strong Angel's mighty voice, "Thou, Sea! give up thy dead." Then opening wide thy casket's pride, Shalt thou its prey restore, The beauty and the wealth of earth From rifled heart and shore, And yearning o'er the spoils that long Lock'd in thy bosom lay, Shalt feel beneath a weight of shame Thy life-tide ebb away. 5* THE SAILOR AND HIS MOTHER. A woman by the wayside ask'd for alms,* A poor, old woman. As she stretch'd her hand, Shrivell'd and bony, to recieve the dole, A smart, young sailor pass'd. Quick from his pouch Silver and gold he drew. "Take these," he said. "Oh, sir, you are too good-too good, indeed, To me a stranger.-So it was with him Who went to sea. Whate'er he had, he gave, My son, poor George, who went to sea and died." * This incident took place in Philadelphia, at the corner of Fourth and Chestnut streets. 55 Back came the man. "Are you the one I sought? Look at me, mother!" Then, a wildering cry Burst from those aged lips, for well she knew, 'Mid all the change of years, the clear, blue eye That charm'd her waking from its cradle sleep, Like violet bright with dew. She would have fallen, But the strong arm of that supporting son Was round her thrown, and his caressing words Assur'd her, as they sought their humble home, To turn its squalid penury to joy. THE COTTAGE ALTAR. Where stretch the green and pleasant vales, 'Neath Cheviot's rugged side, Delighted, to their lowly home A Cotter led his bride, And gently ill her ear he said, Before the hour of rest, " We'il rear an altar here to Him Who thus our love hath blest." So there, at every rising morn, And evening's peaceful shade, The incense of their blended hearts In holy trust was laid; And when the wee things swell'd their group, They brought them to the place, Each with its little, folded hands, And grave, attentive face. 57 Then, as the years, like dreams, swept by, To sheep those lambkins grown, Where other Scottish streamlets fiow'd Sought pastures of their own, Yet duly still, in worship led That shepherd of the fold, As in his earliest home had done His white-hair'd sire of old. But who the mournful change can tell When from that pleasant door The faithful partner of his youth Pass'd-to return no more? Still, from a lone and chasten'd soul Arose the prayer of yore, And night and morn that quivering voice The quaint psalm-tune upbore; While faces of the far away Seem'd near, with features fair, And memories of the loved and lost, Like angels, hover'd there: So with the praise and love of Him, Who erst on Calvary died, The old man's heart grew warm and glad That cottage-shrine beside. . AN ARAB FABLE. Once in his shop a workman wrought With languid hand, and listless thought, When through the open window's space Behold!-a Camel thrust his face. "My nose is cold," he meekly cried, "Oh, let me warm it by thy side." Since no denial word was said, In came the nose,- in came the head,As sure as sermon follows text The long, excursive neck came next, And then, as falls the threatening storm In leap'd the whole ungainly form. 59 Aghast the owner gazed around, And on the rude invader frown'd, Convinc'd as closer still he prest, There was no room for such a guest, Yet more astonish'd, heard him say, "If incommoded, go your way, For in this place I choose to stay." Oh, youthful hearts, to gladness born, Treat not this Arab lore with scorn. To evil habit's earliest wile Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile, Choke the dark fountain ere it flows, Nor even admit the Camel's Nose.* * To illustrate the danger of the first approach of evil habit, the Arabs have a proverb, %Bewvare of the Camel's nose." TALK WITH THE DEPARTED. The Vine-tree o'er our trellis, Hath twined a graceful screen, And draped thy favorite casement In purple blent with green, But now, autumnal saffron Doth, round each leaflet run, And we gather in the clusters, Dost know it, Oh my Son? There's a bridal'neath our roof-tree, - The deathless chain is wove, And the benediction utter'd By one whom God doth love, And a gentle creature bendeth Like lily in its sphere, While thronging friends surround her With smile and word of cheer. 61 Draw near that charmed circle Look in her eyes of blue, Gazed they not into thine with love When cloudless life was new? And lighter than the young gazelle And playful as the fawn, Roam'd not those fairy feet with thine Thy father's velvet lawn? Press closer,-hear the beating Of that bosom pure as snow That stirs the orange-blossom And the veil with silvery flow, Slept she not in thy cradle? Your twin-souls link'd as one? Is she thine only sister? Dost know her, Oh my Son! Unfold thy viewless pinion Clasp her in strong embrace, The darling of our household, The last of all my race, Give her a brother's greeting, A greeting fond and true, Thou wert her dearest idol When cloudless life was new. 6 62 She from a widowed hearth-stone Returnless flight doth take And for her priestly husband A happy home will make, Yes, a happy home she'll make him Where'er may be their rest, For a holy, dovelike sweetness Is the temper of her breast. There's one who museth lonely In the chamber where of old She watch'd thy childhood sleeping On the snowy pillow's fold, She hath given the bride her blessing, A blessing nobly won. And none are left to love her, Dust know it, Oh my Son? Why question thus the spirit? Upon its unknown way, That robed in mystery, holds no more Affintiy with clay, Affinity with sorrow, With the bitter tear that flows, With the failing of the fountain With the fading of the rose. 63 Why question thus the spirit? From mortal ties set free? It speaks no dialect of earth, It will not answer thee, Cling to the faith of Jesus, Hold to the Glorious Head That binds in one communion sweet, The living and the dead. SERVICE WITHOUT A CHURCH. "I saw no Temple there."-REVELATIONS. Thllere was no temple,* but Jehovah's praise WAent up from glowing lips. Turret nor spire Flecker'd the landscape,'mid the solitude Of that young settlement, yet rose the voice Of prelate and of people, reverently Ascribing glory to the Lord of Hosts. Iunswell'd by organ, came the chanted strain, W1hile thro' the solemn groves the bending trees Like silent students learned the words of prayer. * I)ivine worship without a church was celebrated amid an attentive congregati)nu. )y- Right Rev. Bishop Lee, in the parish of Gethsemane, Iowa. 65 Nature doth love the worship of her Sire, And aid it with her innate harmonies, Her dews baptismal and the clear response Of brooklet, and of bird. But Man, who walks Through the world's tortuous passages, doth need The sound of church-bell, and the majesty Of consecrated courts to call him back From his week's vassalage. So, give them rank Amid the benefactors of their race Whose pious hearts incite them to uprear The hallow'd fane, and beautify the shrine Where meek Devotion tastes the holy joy That is her birth-right in the life to come. 6* THE FIRST ARBUTUS. Youlng footsteps in the forest! Young hands amid the snows That in her fickleness of mood The petted April throws; For some lost gem or jewel Thus earnest do they seek, Through fallen leaves, with head bow'd low, And brightly flushing cheek? A shout amid the forest! A ringing voice of cheer, The brooding robin on her nest, Starts at the echo clear, "I Eureka!"-Bless the victor, Who from yon tangled bower Bears forth triumphant to her friends The first arbutus flower. 67 Yes, she the first arbutus Hath drawn from vernal shade, That by its lavishness of sweets Its hiding-place betray'd. Ah, maiden! there's an augury, Guard well thy guileless heart, And on through this portentous year Beware of Cupid's dart. Oh, flower of wondrous fragrance, Dear herald of the spring, That earliest to our pilgrim-sires Didst Nature's welcome bring, Smile on their care-worn faces Mlid Plymouth's frost-bound brake, And whisper to their stranger-hearts As though an angel spake. Thanks to His boundless goodness, Who pours such radiant hue Upon the wild-wood children Of sunbeam and of dew, And bids their joy of beauty Instruct our souls to soar, Where joy hath immortality, And beauty fades no more. REQUIEM FOR THE BRAVE. Rest, Soldier, rest!-thy country comes, With tender love and true, Freely to deck thine honor'd bed Her banner oe'r its turf to spread, And on thy monument to shed Fond memory's pearly dew. For at her need, in days of yore, Unswerving and sublime, Thy fearless foot'mid lightnings trod Thy life-blood fed the encrimson'd sod Thy prayer invoked the avenging God To guard thy native clime. 69 Rest, Patriot, rest!-yet cast behind Thy mantle from the sky, The pure, unselfish, heavenward aim, Unbow'd by gold, unbought by fame, Content for freedom's glorious claim To toil, and dare, and die. Yes-leave it for our rising race, Soldier and patriot brave, That in all time of strife or wrong, They to their country's ark may throng, And, in Jehovah's armor strong, Her life-her union save! THE MOTHER OF ALL. I saw the men of vigor In all their lordly prime, Who with unquell'd ambition ruled The dynasties of time, Around this girdled planet They sped the steeds of fire, And bade impervious thought go forth Upon the electric wire. Years fled-and in their places A decimated band, Stood with the snow-flake on their brow, The staff in trembling hand, And as the noteless billow Meets the absorbing main, That generation passed away Not to return again. 71 The cradle,-and the play-ground! I hear a merry shout, And faces like the budding rose Through woven shades peer out, But as the vision fleeteth When morning sleep is o'er This generation soon shall swell The myriads gone before. The patriarchs, who by centuries Their date of being told, Fell like the mighty oaks at last 'Mid sepulchers of old, Thebes and Palmyra vanish'd With all their pomp and state, And dead amid the desert sands Lies Babylon the great. Yet Earth to all her races Unchanging bounty shows Transmutes the planted seed to bread, And lulls in deep repose On the soft pillow of her breast When pierc'd by death they fall, Kind mother! of unnumber'd sons She feeds and cares for all. WORDS. Summer hath come, Oh friend of many years, And here, upon the bright Pata,psco's banks Giveth her fervent lesson. The rich vines Seem scarcely able to sustain the weight And riot of their tendrils, while the trees Unfold their scroll-like foliage, for the Sun To write with pencil of his noontide ray The name of Him who made them. Evening brings The balmy breeze to soothe the weary nerve, And bless the student ere he goes to rest, Taking the picture of this glorious world Into his dreams. The words that Summer speaks Make impress like a lover's dialect, 73 Sweeping away the fainter harmonies Of timid Spring. Brown Autumn's reaper-hand Perchance may bear us like the sickled grain From earth's sweet fields away. And if he should, Who will remember us a longer time Than the faint rustle of the fallen leaf That floats along? Each season hath its speech, And lore of Heaven, and he who heeds them well Shall sit at Nature's feet and touch His hand Who call'd her out of chaos. Man doth speakl In many languages, but still his words Turn to thin air, their natural element. The music strain born on the singer's lip Or organ's chord, thrilleth the listener's soul A moment, and is gone. The mighty voice Of the great Orator that rules the throng, Dies with the cadence of his glowing thought; Dies, like the acorn, that the oak may grow And wear its crown centennial. Deathless deeds That shake the globe, were born of tiny words, Like cradled moonbeams. Man's most high resolves MAay spring from accents that a mother speaks 7 74 Unto her nursling, taking precedence Of lordlier teachers. Oh, ye fleeting words, We fear ye.-For your ministries do live And have a being when this body sinks To its last sleep in dust. Ye seem to die Upon the idler's lip and leave no sign Save perishable sound; but ye arise, Arise,-when the strong Angel blows his trump, And take your place'mid summon'd deeds and thoughts To bear strict witness at the Judgment Day. THlE UNDAUNTED.* The good ship toward a tropic shore Pursues her prosperous course, But hidden rocks in ambush lie, She strikes with fatal forceShe strikes! she groans! With wounded heart O'er the dark flood she reels, And ruin, like the bolt of heaven, Her doom forever seals. * The English steamer Birkenhead, bound to Africa, struck on a reef at noonday, and went down in half an hour. She had a regiment of troops on board, who were summoned to the upper deck by the roll of the drum. They saw the boats filled with passengers, women and children, placed under the care of sailors, but that none remained for them. Yet so perfect was their discipline, and concurrence in the protection of the helpless, that calmly and without a murmur, standing shoulder to shoulder they fired a farewell volley, and sank to their ocean grave. 76 " Down with the boats!" The master's voi(.e Assumes resistless power. For manhood hath a godlike might To rule in peril's hour,They meet the wave, they take their freight Woman and helpless child With hardy sailors at the helm They dare the breakers wild. The deep drum rolls, and on the deck Come forth a martial band, Who hoped their country's cause to serve Upon a foreign strand, They hear the loud reveille beat, But not for battle fray, And stand the last dread foe to meet In resolute array. No boats for them! The raging sea The swimmer's power defies, Shoulder to shoulder, on the wreck, In marshall'd ranks they rise. Vo boats for them! A silent prayer Is in their lifted eye, They ne'er had blench'd when duty call'd, And now it calls to die. 77 Firm phalanx of unswerving men, Your work on earth is o'er, The trumpet and the clarion-cry Shall thrill your breasts no more; Ye thought Old England's flag to bear In triumph o'er her foes, But the banner of the crested deep Mlust wrap your last repose. Oh, gallant band! from far-off homes I hear a wailing strain, Mother and wife and child await Your coming-but in vain; One brief adieu! then turn to Him Who trod the raging sea, Whose power can save the parting soul And give it victory. A flash amid the summer air, An echo on the wave, And loud that booming volley spoke The farewell of the brave, While from the ready, trusting soul As husk from ripen'd sheaf Pass'd off the dreams and cares of earth, Pass'd off its love and grief. 7* 78 Down, down-each moment lower still, Hand knit in hand, they boreTheir black plumes mid the tossing foam Loom'd up-and all was o'er, All o'er! save that one mountain surge Like tyrant cleft the tide, Uplifting with a thunder-voice Its boast of wrath and pride; W\\hile deeper sigh'd the solemn sea, As o'er the reef she breaks, Deploring with a grief profound The many wrecks she makesFor though o'er many an argosy Her whelming billows swept, Naught nobler than those British hearts In her cold bosom slept. ACCEPTANCE OF AN INVITATION TO THE BI-CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE SETTLEMENT OF NORWICH, CONNECTICUT. We thank thee, our Mother, how sweet is thy voice At thy kind invitation thy children rejoice, We accept-we will come, wheresoever we rove, And wreathe round thy birth-day, our honor and love, From city or hamlet, from hill-top, or wold Where the wheat harvest waves, or the sheaf turns to gold, From mountain or prairie, by land or by sea, We respond to thy call and come flocking to thee. 80 We love thee, we love thee, thy smile like a star Hath gleam'd in our skies, tho' our homes were afar, We have garnered those charms and attractions that flung A spell o'er our souls when existence was young, The sparkle of Yantic-the foam of its fall, The munition of rocks towering boldly o'er all, The sigh of thy forests, the song of thy streams Have hung on our lips and enchanted our dreams. We would see if the haunts where in childhood we play'd, Are still with the wild rose, and laurel array'd, If arbutus and woodbine are clustering as fair As when in our school-days we gathered them there, We would visit the scenes where our forefathers grew, The simple, the just, patriotic and true, We would kneel by their bed where the willow-trees wave, With praise to our God for the pattern they gave. May we come with our younglings and show them thy face? And hear them exult in thy beauty and grace? 'Twould delight them all greatly, but yet we've a care Lest the crowd should be more than convenience could bear, sI 81 We know that of yore,'mid thy virtues and fame Was a large hospitality, always the same, But we've grown such a troop since we wandered away Hast thou room, dearest Mother? speak frankly we pray. WIilt thou ask thy red* neighbors to come to the treat? And bid them a welcome, and give them a seat? In the old times of danger they stood for our aid, The dust of their kings in our borders is laid; I know there are some of the good and the great, Who remember them still in their lowly estate, The Church and the Mission, are proofs of their love, God bless them,-their deeds are recorded above. Time writes on thine offspring the lines of decay, And sprinkles the tress and the temple with gray, And she who her cradlings bends faithfully o'er, Finds the wrinkle steal on, where the bloom was before, * The remnant of the Mohegan tribe of Indians, reside on their own reserved lands. a few miles from Norwich, Conn. The Burial Ground of their kings is within the limits of that city, and contains a fine monument to Uncas, the friend of the whites. A neat Church, a School and a Missionary station among them, attest the perseverance of christian benevolence. They were invited to this celebration, in October, 1859, walked in the procession and received the entertainment and attention which were due to the descendants of the original lords of the soil. It was pleasant to observe their propriety and refinement of manner, and to hear their melodious voices uplifted in sacred hymns, wlhen after an elegant repast on the grounds of their generous patron, Gen. Williams, they arose and formed a circle around their spiritual teacher. 82 But thou from such marks of declension art free, For age brings new vigor and beauty to thee, More blest than the mothers who press to thy fold, Thou renewest thy youth tho' thy children grow old. AN INCIDENT OF 1775.* A gathering in Virginia's vales, 3lid summer's velvet green, Where fair Potomac sparkling flows Its fringed banks between, For echoes from New England's hills Of strife and danger came, And HE.NRY'S eloquence had stirr'd Mlen's souls like living flame. Then from the throng, with patriot zeal, Stood forth a noble band, Twice sixty dauntless volunteers Enlisted heart and hand, Theirs was no prompting thirst of fame, Of glittering gold no greed, "For Massachusetts!" was the cry, "For Boston!" in her need. * A fact derived from a speech delivered in Congress, January 25th, 1860, by Hon. Alexander R. Boteler, of Virginia. 84 But each to each a sacred vow Maade mnid the parting pain, WAhen fifty years away had sped To seek that spot again; Those whom the shaft of Death might spare, Beneath yon oak tree's shade, Should meet beside the diamond spring Such solemn tryste they made. Oh! there was sorrow'neath the roof Of many a household tent, And burning tears fell thick and fast When from their homes they went; But to their little ones they said, And bade them well take heed, "Hecaven will not smile on those who fail To help their brothers' need." Hundreds of miles, o'er rock and stone, Throug,h forests' thorny breast, O'er bridgeless streams, o'er trackless wilds, With patient toil they prest, W hile ever in their secret soul Gleam'd an unfaltering creed, Like pole-star of their weary course, "'To helpl) our brothers' need." 85 The king of men, oppress'd with care, Rode forth at closing day, And saw Virginia's armed host Approach in firm array, And knew the bearing of their chief, Who, on the fatal plain, Had fought with him by Braddock's side When blood fell down like rain. Then leaping from his lofty steed, He clasp'd him to his breast, And, one by one, each soldier's hand With greeting fervor prest; Why was the eye of Washington Suffused with gushing tear? Why heav'd that hero's heart so high That never throbb'd with fear? He felt God's blessing in the love Of that fraternal band, He mark'd the triumph through the gloom That wrapp'd an infant land; Perchance, with his prophetic glance Who erst on Nebo stood, Beheld a glorious realm unfold Like rainbow o'er the flood. 8 Years roll'd away and lustrums fled, And half a century closed Its cycle, and, with swanlike dirge, 'Mid ages past reposed; But true to their remembered tryste, Potomac's veterans drew Where by the oak-tree's gnarled roots, The spring fresh crystals threw. 86 They came-but not twice sixty m, In martial vigor bold, For some their bleaching bones ha On Northern hillocks cold. They came. Who came? Three By time and changes bow'd; Yet was no winter in their heart, Though snows their temples shr For power and wealth and honor blest The country of their birth, WAho proudly reared her starry crest Among the Queens of Earth; And warmly rose their patriot prayer That long her sacred Ark, Immaculate, and angel-steer'd, Might ride the billows dark. aged forms, THE WAEATHER. What a convenient thing the weather is, For paucity of thought. How it helps out All social intercourse. What would become Of the fast talkers, when the daily news Grows stale and stagnant, were it not for this? But most of all, it is the life and breath Of ceremonious calls. "''Tis very warm," And every one responds-" Hlow warm it is!" Then straightway every hearer wipes his brow, Feeling the heat still more.'Tis something tho' To find a subject on which all agree, And hush the antagonistic spirit down In sweet consent. 88 One from the country comes To the Great Empire City. He would fain Call on a dame of fashion, whom he knew In other times. Donning his best he mounts The lofty steps, and rings the silver bell With a good courage. Rustling silks are heard,Oh! what on earth has he to say to her, WIho in these halls of marble, paint and gold, Dwells like a queen? A happy thought unbinds IHis wrinkling brow. "MIa'am,'tis exceeding cold." To this grave truth, she gracefully assents. -" They say there's never been such weather known Since one cold Friday, fifty year ago, When every thing froze up. You can, perhaps, Remember it." "I've not that honor, Sir,Miy memory don't extend to what took place Ere I was born!" There was a thought too much About the weather, friend.-But back he comes, N ew horsed, and blundering, to the charge again. -"'Twas hot last summer, Ma'am-uncommon hot, Even in the country. I should think that here, Among these tall, brick housen, it would seem 89 Some like an air-tight stove. May-be you like Warm weather, Aa'am." "We spend the summer months At some cool watering-place." A solid pause! What's to be done? "Do you ride out much, Ma'am, In pleasant weather?" "No. Broadway's so block'd W ith piles of snow, my husband will not let The coachman drive there, and'tis very dull In the back streets." "I guess I see a storm, Not far ahead. For such a day as this Will prove a weather-breeder. I must be A getting home, before another raft Of blinding snow, to clog the railroads up. Excuse so short a call. Good morning, Ma'am." And forth he rushes to the clear, cold air, Blessing the weather that had help'd him out Of his dilemma, in Fifth Avenue. But as for us, who do not need such help, Methinks this hackney'd theme predominates More than is fitting, and we might as well Make ourselves weather-cocks, and perch our thoughts 8* 90 On some sharp steeple's point. The rain, the hail, The snow, the vapor and the veering wind, Absorb their intercourse, who might, perchance, From this great habitable globe, cull out Some speech or knowledge, of its Makers skill. Let's have a weather-class88, who shall not talk About the weather, but by certain rules And regulations, which we state herewith. -First, having said concisely as we can, What weather'tis to-day, we will not trace Its history through the past, or predicate Its far-off future. Second,-Time thus saved Shall be disposed of on the following terms: Item, a word about some useful book; Some way of doing good; a word or two To gird the youthful mind in duty's path, To cheer the aged pilgrim on his course, To balm the bleeding heart with sympathy; A word or two of patriotic love For our whole blessed Country, and of praise To Him who holds it in His guiding hand: So shall a moiety of the weather's claims Like cast-off garments, mended for the poor, Cheer others, and ourselves. EXCURSION ON THE CONNECTICUT. Oh my own River! fair and free, That from thy highland source To glorious wedlock with the sea Dost hold thy graceful course, The meadows love thee, thick with corn, The plants that fringe thy side, And the tall trees that stretch their roots In secret to thy tide, The wandering bushes sharp with thorns That in thy copses grow, So soon for berries ripe to change Their blossoms white as snow, The grass flowers, and the golden rods Still hoarding pearls of dew, Gentians and lupines richly crown'd With gems of sapphire hue, 92 While here and there, mid vallies cool Set deep in frames of green The farmers' cottage homes peer out, Embowering shades between, And there, remote from pomp and care That waste our city time, And strongly mark the faded brow With wrinkles ere its prime, They sow, they reap, their garners fill, A healthful offspring rear, The labor guards their hearts from sin, And Nature gives them cheer, She keeps them in her gentle school Till lifes sweet studies o'er, From peace below, to bliss above, Those well-trained scholars soar. BIRTHDAY OF THE POET LONGFELLOW. Do you ask me, College-Student, Poring o'er historic annals, 1W,hat event this day recordeth In the past, or in the present, To commend it to the future Lifting it above its fellows, Makingii its remembrance famous As a point of observation? WAas it battle, or invention Confiscation,-revolution, Birth of king, or death of hero? None of these, my bright-eyed student, Something better, something dearer. 94 Take your place upon the railroad Notwithstanding all the snow-drifts, Christmas snow-drifts still unmelted, Which have chained indignant travelers, All night long in Greenland caverns,Take your seat within the rail-train Notwithstanding all the hindrance All the peril and disaster That the people have encountered In this tightest of all winters, Winter that hath conquer'd steam-craft, Held the lecturer from his audience, Stamping their impatient boot-heels, Split the water pipes and cisterns, Plagued the house-maid and the brake-men MIaimed the iron-steedcl and driver, Iciest winter, most unthawing, That our oldest man remenmbers, Man of ninety years remembers,Yet climb boldly to the rail-car Itaving promptly paid your ticket, Closer wrap your cloak and venture Onward, to the north of Boston, Where the Casco's silvery current WAeddeth nobly with the Ocean. 95 Ask your question there of Casco, And if that fair Bay reply not, Onward press, and ask the Mountains, Guarding with reflective foreheads Maine, our most northeastern sister, Ask, and from their breezy tree-tops, Groves of oak and pine and hemlock Where the axe-men get their timber Timber that in ships and schooners Goes to visit all creation, MAurmurin,g through their breezy tree-tops, Will those solemn mnountain's answer,Ile, whom ancient Harvard loveth, lie, whom grey-hair'd Europe honors He, who struck the lyre of Orpheus, Won the lore of many nations Bow'd the stiff-back'd Runic legends Into Anglo-Saxon metre, Sang the "skeleton in armor," Snatch'd the Norsemens mystic tower On the pleasant isle of Newport From the winnowing of the wind-mill, Slanders of the cotton-spinnler, Sang Evangeline the tender, IHiawatha, Hiawatha, 96 On this day appear'd among us Dawnl'd like tuneful star upon us. They will answer, they will tell you, He is ours, and we'll maintain it, Will not leave the matter doubtful Like the seven bewildered cities, Sparring for the sightless Homer, We will fight if it be needful, Fight with every crested hill-top, That would rival our pretensions, With New Hampshire's white-capp'd lordlings, With Vermont's green knights in armor, Old Wachuset, old Monadnock, Even, the princely Alleghanies, And the rocky chiefs of Mexic, Cordilleras, Cotopaxi, Popocatapetl, also, Should they bar our just pretensions. Yes, we'll fight with swords and lances Splinter'd from our granite boulders, Or with rifles and revolvers, Forg'd within our secret caverns By the smoldering fires we wot of. 'k 97 Then they bent their heads together, And I heard those mountains counting Sharply as at bankers' table WAVarily, like board of brokers, *Seven tines sevet,-aye,-that's his number Number of the years he's measured Three times nine of February, That's the day he came among us, Dawnl'd like tuneful star upon us. Don't forget the date or number, Grave them on your peaks with lig,htning, Don't omit to buy his portrait, Fold the rainbow round the figures, PRounid the figures, and the portrait, Keep them as a joy forever. *Written Feb. 27, 3856. 9 t CALIFORNIA. Land of gold!-thy sisters greet thee, O'er the mountain and the main; See-they stretch the hand to meet thee Youngest of our household train. MAany a form their love hath foster'd Lingers'neath thy sunny sky, And their spirit-tokens brighten Every link of sympathy. We,'mid storms of war were cradled 'Mid the shock of angry foes; Thou, with sudden, dream-like splendor, Pallas-born,-in vigor rose. 99 Children of one common country, Strong in friendship let us stand, With united ardor earning Glory for our Mother Land. They of gold, and they of iron, They who reap the bearded wheat, They who rear the snowy cotton, Pour their treasures at her feet; While with smiling exultation, She, who marks their filial part, Like the mother of the Gracchi, Folds her jewels to her heart. *:.:.-.: -:1: TttE LOCK OF JtAIR. How full thou art of memories,-severd tress! Back at thy talismanic touch return A merry face through clustered ringlets peeping, Two ivory arms twined round the mother's neck, Two little dancing feet among the flowers; And then, a school-girl, with her many books, And hour-glass, measuring the piano's duties, Studious and patient, even to pensiveness; And then, a fair young creature, full of grace, Pamper'd with flatteries that beauty brings, The thrill of pleasure brightening on her cheek; Aud next a ray of heavenly light reveals A sweet disciple at her Saviour's feet Choosing the better part. 101 And then, I heard The vow that on the trembling maiden's lip, Sows life's young path with all those hallow'd loves Which death alone transplants. When next we met,+ The white camelia, and the winter rose, Lay on her bosom, and the lustrous hair Was parted o'er her forehead, but the hand Returned no pressure, and a sad-toned bell Bade those who loved her, come and look their last On those calm features. Still, another change! The curtain from her couch of earth was drawn To place a new-born infant by her side, Content to linger but a little while Behind his youthful mother. In rude haste The Reaper's scythe amid her virtues wrought Ere their expanding blossoms might mature Their heaven-entrusted essence. But the soul Of tender piety, of pure resolve In others, happiness to seek its own, Finds space to ripen its perfected fruit 'Neath the refulgence of congenial skies. 9* MEETING OF THE CANNON-BALLS. Ill the historical department of curiosities, at the palaoe of Berlin, are tiwo large cannon balls, with their sides flattened, which, having been fired by opposing forces at the siege of Magdeburg, met on the way, and had their battle in the air. From MAagdeburg's beleagured walls A vengeful cannon spoke, And at its will an envoy went Enrobed in volumed smoke, While from the fierce besieging host At the same moment came Another herald, hot with haste, And wing'd by rushing flame: 103 They met midway with thundering shock, Their rotund forms they spoil'd, The hatred they for others bore,. ~~~~~~~~~~.On their own heads recoil'd. On their own heads recoil'd. "Let's drop our purpose," each to each In hissing accents cried, "We've hurt each other quite enough To hurt none else beside." So down discomfited they sank, With hoarsely muttering sound, And in their paroxysms of pain Tore up the yielding ground. And now, embalm'd in state they lie, And to the people say, Tho' loud may swell the victor-cry Their blood the cost must pay. 4 Theirs is the crushing weight of war,* They die without a name, And perish'neath oblivion's flood To build one hero's fame. * "War is a game, that were the people wise, Kings would not play at." COWPER. 104 Oh, might some angel from the skies The hearts of men dispose No more in this short dream of life To meet as deadly foes. DEFEND US LORD. Defend us, Lord, the night hath comie, Draw angel-guards around our home, For sinful man in crime grows bold, And lylnx-eyedcl robbers prowl for gold; Save us front violence and wrong, For we are weak, and thou art strong. Defend us, Lord, our utmost power Avails not at the midnight hour, For helpless, while in dreams we lie, Devouring flames may light the skly, Or darkl-winged pestilence invade, And dearest treasures fleet and fade. 106 Defend us, Lord, when morning's ray Leads on the changes of the day, Preserve us from temptation free, And let our faith rejoice in thee, Convinced that all thy ways are kind, And thou art wise, though we are blind. Defend us, Lord, from tyrant care, Whose wrinkling livery we wear, And bid our thoughtful pity glow, To cheer the sons of want and woe With friendly deeds and loving speech To all our Saviour came to teach. Defend us, Lord, to thee we cling, Thou art our Father and our King, From the first feeble cry of birth, Thy hand hath led us o'er the earth; So guide us till our latest sigh, And take us to thy home on high. DEATH-SONG OF THE ORGAN. At the conflagration of a Chlurch in Montreal, the strong draught caused by the flames, acting on the pipes of the organ, called forth musical sounds, and it fell, playing its own dirge. Fire! Fire! Fire! Hloarse was the midnight cry, And up the startled sleepers sprang To see the reddening sky, To see their sacred Church, Buttress, and tower, and spire, Stand like a mass of living flame, A martyr'mid the pyre. 108 Ilerculean strength and zeal Inspired the gathered train, And high the gushing waters threw Their quenching streams in vain. Then with a fearful crash, Down came the ponderous bell, And in the terror of despair Rangl its own funeral knell. But'mid the clang and din, Strange music floats along, Lo! the majestic orgaii pours Its mighty soul of sollng. The shrielkingi winds that fled The scorpion scourge of flame, PRush'd thro' its thrilling tubes, and forth A wail of anguish came. "Farewell!" it seemed to say, - Oh holy Church, and dear, Where priestly voices spoke for God, And chants responded clear, 109 Blest altar! where so oft Hath knelt the trembling bride, Font! whence the dedicated babe Drank the baptismal tide, Aisle! where the shrouded form In pallid beauty lay, White roses on the coffin-lid, And in its hand of clay:" A pause.-For wild and loud The tumult raged around, As if amid that strife of tongues All melody were drown'd. Yet hark! through volumed smoke, Once more a tuneful tone, Death's tyrant fingers swept the keys And claim'd the expiring groan. "Farewell!-Farewell!-Farewell!" Sigh'd the last dirge-like strain, And then that heart of music broke In agonizing pain. 10 110 Yet when a ruined pile That lofty Minster fell, Methought, from smouldering ashes rose The murmured tone, -"farewell!" ANNIVERSARY OF THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA, OCTOBER 12T1, 1492. A year of days! Three hundred sixty* five Ilave passed away, since through autumnal haze, 1While misty morniing changed her grey for gold, A chieftain, from his lofty bark descried, lIThct.1 - A red comet?-A storm-laden cloud?A whelming mountain surge?-A monster whale, Like wondrous moving island? No. What, then?From his clasp'd hands the glass hath fallen, whose power, * Written October 12th, 1857, the 365th anniversary of the event. 112 Like Galileo's self-constructed tube, Made truth the victor o'er all doubts and scoffs, And threats of scepticism. Transfix'd he stands, With rapture on each feature. Lo!-behold!The object of his visions,-of his prayers,For which the Inquisition's power he dared, And pluck'd from mutiny the brandished knife; There is his payment,-that discovered clime, Those deep green ridges of San Salvador! What strong emotion moved him, as he rais'd Creation's veil, and led exulting forth, The Terra Incognita, as a bride For the old, worn-out world to gaze upon. -Henceforth, let History grave this honor'd day Deep on her scroll, and when the Harvest Month, Tenth of the year, shall lift its scorpion sign And strike responsive as on tuneful bell Its twelfth unfolding morn,-Oh! Western World, Utter, like Memnon, at the sunrise hour, A tone of music; bid thy mountains shout Colutmbus! and thy rivers catch the sound, Till every vale and thicket learn his name, And thro' all future time remember him. 0 THE MIOUNTAIN BURIAL. The Rev. Dr. Mitchell, Professor of Chemistry, Mineralogy and Geology, in the University of North Carolina, lost his life in a scientific exploration of the Black Mountain, the highest land east of the Mississippi, and was interred on Mount Mitchell, its most elevated peak, June 16th, 1858. Where is he, Mountain-Spirit? Dread Mountain-Spirit, say! That honor'd Son of Science Who dared thy shrouded way? Oh, giant-Firs! whose branches In gloomy grandeur meet Did ye his steps imprison Within your dark retreat? Ye Mists, and muffled Thunders That robe yourselves in black, Have you his steps deluded To wander from the track? 10* 114 Maake answer! —Have ye seen him? For hearts with fear are bow'd, And torches like the wandering stars Gleam out above the cloud. Sound, hunter's horn!-lHaste, Mountaineers! Lo, on the yielding fern, Are these his foot-prints o'er the ledge? Will he no more return? He cometh!-Hiowv?-Like marble, Forth from its quarried bed,With dripping locks, and rigid brow, The sculpture of the dead. O'er that deep, watery mirror, With sweetly pensive grace The graceful Rhododendron lean'd To look upon his face, While, mid the slippery gorges Those blushing laurels stand, Which, faithless, like the broken reed,* Betray'd his grasping hand. *When hle was discovered ill a stream where during the mists of evening,, and the darkness of a sudden thunder-storm, he had fallen, over a precipice of forty feet, hlie held in his hand a broken branch of laurel. 115 No crystal in its hermit-bed, No strata of the dales, No stranger-plant, or noteless vine, In Carolinian vales, No shell upon her shore, No ivy on her wall, No winged bird, or reptile form, But he could name them all. So, Nature hath rewarded him Who loved her sacred lore, With such a pillow of repose As man ne'er had before, A monument that biddeth Old Egypt's glory hide, With all her kingly pyramids, In all their mole-hill pride. Up!-Up!-courageous mountaineers, Each nerve and sinew strain,For what ye do from love this day Ye ne'er shall do again; From beetl'ing crag to summit, So ominous and steep, They force their venturous way, where scarce The chamois dares to leap. 116 There, many thousand feet above Atlantic's surging height, Prelate and priest, with lifted hands Invoked the God of Might, And then that cloud-encircled cliff Unlock'd its granite breast, And with a strong and close embrace The manly form comprest: So, in thy sepulchre of rock, Follower of Jesus, rest, Serene, approachless and sublime, Until the Mountain crest Shall redden with the fires of doom, And Earth restore her dead! Then joyful leave thy Pisgah tomb, The promised Land to tread. THE TRUE FRIENDS. 'They leave no sting in the heart of nmemnory,-no stain on the winig of time."-Hox. MARSIIALL P. WILDER. Brown Ceres one day, with Pomona was meeting 'Vaid Autumn's inspiriting smile, So, giving each other a sisterly greeting, They sat down to gossip awhile. "I hope you are well, dear, this elegant weather, How delightful the country,"-they said, "And how do you prosper,"-both speaking together, "With regard to your business and trade?" 118 Oh, where the rude thorn-bush and bramble were spring in, WAith fruitage the apple-tree bends, The scythe of the mower at sunrise is swinging, And the song of the reaper ascends. ' Let us walk hand in hand, for no obstacle caring, Till the vine o'er the mountains shall grow, Its suit of green velvet the brown heath be wearing, And deserts with plenty o'erflow. "The gold in its mine, with excitement and wonder Mlay gather an emigrant band, And the chariot of Mars trample on in its thunder, But we're the true strength of the Land. "For us, no lorn wife in her cottage is grieving, Earth welcomes us both, in her prime; No sting in the bosom of memory we're leaving, No stain on the pinion of time." COMING TO THE PARSONAGE. Autumnal vales with umber'd leaves were sprinkled, And peaceful sank the brief November day, From heavenly casements starry watch-lights twinkled, As hooded Twilight glided swift away. The Indian Summer on her couch was sleeping, A silvery haze-like curtain round her drawn, WVhile a few flowers their faithful watch were keeping Against the frost-king on the dewy lawn. Its fringed lids, the Artemisia raiseth, The bright Verbena trims its robe with flame, And like the Vestals whom the Scripture praiseth, Held lighted lamps until the bridegroom came. ;* ~ 1 - 40. 120 The village tapers one by one were flinging Soft lines of radiance o'er the waveless air, While at each hearth, the merry kettle singing, Gave to the waiting board a promise fair. In the new Parsonage a group were moving, To arrange the gifts by liberal kindness pour'd, For still the flock their absent Shepherd loving, Had every nook with household comforts stored: They, of their temporal good with him were sharing, While kind affections sprang to mutual birth, And he for their immortal welfare caring, Will pay in coin of heaven for bread of earth. The sound of wheels!-The parlor lamps are glowing, To cheer the travelers as they onward roam, That from afar, the hallow'd brilliance flowing Might give the prelude to their welcome home. The sound of wheels!-They come! Go forth to meet them, Throw wide on opening hinge the Pastor's door,Expecting friends with joyous fervor greet them, The bride is in her Mother's arms once more. 121 Far had they journey'd, both by lake and fountain, The crowded mart, and rural landscape trod, Swept safe on car of fire, o'er dale and mountain, And at Niagara heard the voice of God. .Horne's first repast, will life-long Memory treasure, The gentle bride in seat of honor placed, Pour'd for her happy lord with chastened pleasure The simple beverage, grateful to the taste. Down o'er the board his manly head was bending, Up rose the prayer by deep devotion wove,While warm from blended hearts was praise ascending To the great Culturer of the Tree of Love. And then, with earnest eloquence was spoken To the lone lodger's lot his glad farewell, No more to turn like stranger, spirit-broken With soul monastic, toward the nightly cell. Oh!-on this roof-tree rest the Eternal blessing, Heaven's kindling breath its altar-incense meet, Here may the woes of others find redressing, And love unclouded render duty sweet. 11 122 For in well-ordered homes serene and holy, Where Woman's quiet virtues all expand, While noblest impulse quickeneth spirits lowly, Dwell the true strength and glory of our land. Yes, in such homes, and not in idle hauteur, Wealth quickly won, or spent with lavish hand, Not in the pomp of armies, red from slaughter, Dwell the true strength and glory of a land. The humblest bud may have the richest flushing, The lowliest haunt by angel foot be trod, So from the Church and Parsonage are gushing Streams that make glad the City of our God. RALEIGH IN PRISON. Doth the muse visit prisons?-Iron bars And bolts exclude terrestrial ministries, Yet through those grated panes where blessed light Steals faintly, and the foil'd sun turns away, She entereth. Pleasure, in its round, o'erlooks The woe-worn captive,-Friendship may forget, Even Piety forego its Lord's command, But in her tenderness and truth, she comes, Treading oblivion'neath her radiant feet. So did she visit Raleigh, when the spite Of the first Stuart, and the traitor-craft Of Cecil,-and brutality of Coke, 124 Caged that sweet bird of song, and rudely thrust Into a noisome dungeon, dark and cold, The soul of * eloquence and chivalry. Moons wax'd and wan'd, and years pressed slow on years, While o'er the unjustly sentenced, stole the snows That chill the temples, and diseases born From damp, imprisoning walls, like vampyres clutched His graceful form, till dire Paralysis Drew back with icy rein, the wheels of life, And drove them heavily. Still, with bright eye And voice ethereal, linger'd in his cell The angel muse. Dipping her sacred pen Deep in the molten gold of History, She rapt him in the Past,-and then she struck Her lyre, and sang of man and fate, and death, Till soaring o'er all foes, he stood serene In the great might of immortality, Nurturing his soul with bread tthey knew not of, Who held the body bound. * An ancient historian mentioning the speech in which for hours he defended his life before the Court, says,-" never did any man speak so well in times past, nor ever will any man, in time to come." 125 The inner ear Shaping itself to heavenly harmonies, Found dulcet knowledge, like the bee that bears The spirit of the rose unto her hive. The oppressor sneer'd, perchance, and sternly grasp'd Sceptre and mace, appointing unto him Scaffold and axe. Yet when he seemed to fall, He highest rose,-in his Deliverer's strength, To swell the song that hath no prison-tone. 11* THE SEWING MACHINE. Click!-click!-click! There in a pile they lie, Shirts and bosoms and collars, Heap them still more high. Table cloths, towels and sheets, Off in a trice they glide, With all the countless articles Of household use and pride. Click!- click!-click! Cloak and surplice and stole, Counterpane, curtain and quilt, In ceaseless current they roll, 127 From the wonderful magician That there in the corner stands, Transcending old Briereus, With all his hundred hands. No more the thoughtful husband Need hasten to his trade, With handkerchiefs unhemm'd, And wristbands broken and fray'd, Even the matron findeth leisure, Though with many a labor tried, To read the daily paper, And something else beside, While the astonished mother Can keep in neat array Her rude and rosy urchins That in the gutter play, Coats and jackets and pants Are quicker made anew Than the laundress can restore the old To their primeval hue. The lover, when he presseth * The hand of his lady fair, No longer finds her finger rough With the needle's furrowing share. 128 And the thin and pallid sempstress, With endless stitching worn, May sleep before the midnight, And rise refresh'd at morn. What a blessed age we live in, Sisters, and daughters, and wives; With all the lights of science To lengthen out our lives. And be the time thus rescued, Not spent in folly's strife, But fit ourselves and others For a higher, better life. THE FIRST LOVE-LETTER. Long in her shaded room she sate, Deep musing o'er a scroll, Though Evening with its stealthy hand The light away had stole, It matters not,-like blazoned chart, Each line was graven on her heart. A pleasant reverie rules the hour, Bright Fancy spreads her wings; Gay Hope looks out from greenwood bower The bird of Eden sings, And spirit-strength, before unknown, Seems strangely blending with her own. 130 A footstep!-In her bosom's fold That missive's page was crush'd, And flashing crimson o'er her brow Up to the forehead gush'd; Oh, maiden! whence that hurrying flame? In holy love there is no shame. Beside her nightly couch she kneels, The Heavenly Friend to seek, A tear her grateful heart reveals, Like pearl-drop on the cheek; Another name is on her prayer, Another soul seems hovering there. Henceforth, that name, in hours like these, Before her own is spoke, And for that soul her warmest thoughts The grace of Heaven invoke, Thus shall it be, till Life hath wove Its web;-for such is woman's love. Then wildering dreams of sprite and fay, Around her slumbers stole, And urchin Cupids snatch'd away Her bosom's hoarded scroll. ffer first love-letter! Lo! it sails, In fragments, on the mocking gales. 131 Oh, Lady! chance and change await The happiest earthly lot, Yet truth and tender trust abide, Though wealth continueth not; And Love, with pure and heavenward sway, Sustains, when beauty fades away. "'TWAS FOR HIS MOTHER'S SAKE." He died amid a stranger-band, Though in his native clime,The fever smote him, and he fell In his fresh morning prime. A strong and stalwart youth was he, Rear'd'mid the hills of Maine, And in his wild, delirious dream He saw those hills again. No care of kindred soothed his pain, Or watch'd his sleepless night, Or cool'd the burning lips that verg'd Into the deadly white; 133 But unknown hands in haste prepared The narrow coffin bed, And a small funeral group drew near Where holy prayers were said. But ere the coffin-lid they clos'd, An ancient woman prest Forth from that group, and laid her hand Upon that pulseless breast, And with a solemn fervor kiss'd The forehead cold as clay. "'Twas for his mother's sake,"7* she said, And mournful turn'd away. And so that mother's friendship-seal Down to his grave he bore, Who never to her cottage home Shall greet their darling more; While many an eye unused to weep Felt lingering moisture break, To hear that aged woman's words "'Twas for his mother's sake." * The incident took place during the fever in New Orleans in 1858. 12 the summer of FALL OF THE CHARTER OAK. Woe,-for the mighty Tree! The monarch of the plain,The storm hath reft its noble heart It ne'er shall tower again, In ruins, far and wide, Its giant limbs are laid, Like some fallen dynasty of earth, Whose nod the nations sway'd. Woe, for the ancient Oak, Our Pilgrim-fathers' pride, That shook the centuries from its crown, And flourish'd when they died; 135 The grass-flower at its feet, Shall quickening Spring restore, But healthful dews, or nesting bird Revisit it no more. The roaming Indian prized Its canopy of shade, And bless'd it while his council fire In eddying volumes play'd, He for its wisdom sought As to a Delphic shrine, He ask'd it when to plant his corn, And waited for the sign.* Yon white haired man sits down Where its torn branches lie, And tells the listening boy, the tale Of threatened Liberty, How tyrant pomp and power, Once in the olden time, Came Brennus-like, with iron tramp To crush our infant clime, * The signal of the red man to plant his corn, was when the leaf of the CharterOak had attained the size of a mouse's ear. 136 And how that brave old Oak Stood forth, a friend indeed, And spread its DEgis o'er our sires, In their extremest need, And in its sacred breast Their germ of freedom bore, And hid their life-blood in its veins, Until the blast was o'er. Throngs, gathering round the spot Their mournfill memories weave, Even children, in strange silence stand, Unconscious why they grieve, Or for their casket seek Some relic spray to glean, Acorn, or precious leaf, to press Their Bible-page between. Was there no other prey, Oh, Storm!-that thunder'd by? Wreaking dark vengeance,'neath the shroud Of the wild midnight sky? Was there no kingly Elm, Majestic, broad and free, That thou must, in thy madness, smite Our tutelary tree? 137 Our beacon of the past, Our chronicler of time, Our Mecca, to whose greenwood glade Came feet from every clime? Hark!-to the echoing dirge, In measures deep and slow, While on the breeze our banner floats, Draped in the weeds of woe. The fair ones of our vale O'er its lost Guardian sigh, And elders with prophetic dread Dark auguries descry, Patriots and sages deign O'er the loved wreck to bend, And in this funeral of the Oak Lament their Country's friend. 12* RETURN FROM BOARDING-SCHOOL. From the boarding-school and city, To her rural habitation, To her home among the farmers, Came the stylish, fair Miranda, All accomplished, all-exacting. She could bring a tide of music From the wiry-key'd piano, Sing bravura, sing andante, She could lisp in phrase Parisian, And in gay embroidery fashion Flying eagle, leaping lambkin, Cupid with his dart and quiver, Goddess, paroquet, or poodle. 139 When she saw her rustic neighbors, Feeding chickens, darning stockings, At the spinning-wheel and distaff, At the dairy or the cheese-press, Well content, and plump and rosy, Aulgar and uncouth she deem'd them. While with curious, wide-eyed wonder, They her altered ways and costume Mark'd, and spoke their minds together, Not admiring, not approving. O'er the level of her kindred, O'er their sympathies and pleasures Her brief training had advanced her. But of woman's true vocation, At the board, and at the hearth-stone, Teaching servants to be faithful, Fitting them for daily duty, Guiding the unfolding spirit Like a tendril toward the sunbeam, Making home serene and happy; Of that high and holy mission All along life's pilgrim pathway, As the helper and consoler, Love to prop, and woe to pity, How to soothe another's heart-ache, 140 Ever of her own forgetful, Of the science so unending, Born of Him, the meek and lowly, This young lady had no knowledge; Not the Alpha had she mastered, Of that alphabet angelic Whose Omega is in Heaven. EVERETT'S ORATION ON WASHINGTON. Would we might listen longer. Hours forget Their true admeasurement beneath his sway, Or move in charmed circles, as of old The fabled trees before the Orphean lyre. Greece, in her palmiest days had bow'd to him, Yet fail'd to furnish such another theme. Learning and eloquence, and patriot zeal Move him, as from the buried Past he brings The living presence of our Nation's Sire; Touching like harp-strings all those filial chords That thrilling thro' its mighty heart, incite To union and fraternal harmony. 142 See,-ancient Harvard's pilgrim-planted shrine Shares his renown. But most Mount Vernon wreathes His name with fadeless evergreen, who toil'd To build her desolations, and preserve A sacred Zion for our gathering tribes. So, from our northern forests tipp'd with frost, To the sweet umbrage of Floridian groves, From bold Atlantic's mast-engirdled shore To the far portals of our Gate of gold We give him thanks. 'Twas fitting he should take Our noblest memory on his classic wing, Bearing it high o'er the Lethean pool, And from the smiting of the surge of Time Keeping it safe. Thus shall he leave his own More lov'd among the people,-doubly link'd With our chief glory, and his just reward. QUEEN VICTORIA CONVOKING PARLIAMENT, JANUARY 25TH' 1841. I saw her in her regal state, A score of years gone by, Sceptre and crown, and gorgeous robe Of Albion's majesty, While round her ranged the proud array Of noble and of peer, With embassies from foreign realms, Her queenly words to hear. Most wonderful it was to one From this young Western Land, To see in loyalty and life, Long buried ages stand, 144 And down from glorious Alfred's line, Bow to a gentle form, And rise in chivalry sublime, To shield it from the storm. Serene and dignified she sate On that ancestral throne, All self-possess'd, though every eye Was fix'd on her alone; Then rising, with a snowy hand, A written scroll she spread, And to a dense and listening throng, In tuneful accents read, So sweet, so clear, with perfect grace Of elocution fraught, That modulated voice inspired Each distant nook with thought It spoke of nations and their laws, Of Europe's fruitful plain, Of Commerce and its linked ties, Of ships that rule the main, 145 Of powers that wisely dwelt at peace Or raised the glittering steel, And how their policies and moods Might bear on England's weal. From clime to clime, from zone to zone, Her theme excursive roved, That sovereign Lady of the Isles, So tenderly beloved. But though her mind its treasures strew'd O'er earth's remotest bound, One little gem in casket seal'd Was hid from sight and sound; I mark'd it, though so closely seal'd, Yet not by magic art, For every mother knows what reigns In every mother's heart: Her first-born babe, the love it brought Into the bosom's core, That was the jewel which her soul On its bow'd forehead wore. 13 146 True Wife, true Mother, and true Queen! Great words are these to say, Yet well such suffrage hast thou won, In duty's hallow'd way, And better will it be at last, Oh, thou of royal birth, Than all the wealth of every clime, And all the pomp of earth. ALL'S WNVELL. If sleepless on my couch I lie, While lingering hours glide silent by, And forms of strength and minds of power Unconscious rest in nightly bower, And evil walks with secret sway, And shrouded burglars prowl for prey, With what a welcome tone of cheer The watchman's voice salutes the ear, All's well. All's well, in this our city fair, No warring host encampeth there, Nor sack, nor siege, nor trumpet's cry Call lov'd ones from their homes to die, 148 No pestilence with sway severe, Demands the ceaseless moan and tear, Nor famine lays her shrivell'd hand Upon the plenty of our land All's well. Yet here, within this favor'd bound, Art sure no lurking foe is found? No hidden tyranny of guile? No broken hearts that wear a smile? Of Satan's house no liveried crew That in the dark his bidding do, Unblushing, till the dawn of day? How can'st thou then, so boldly say, All's well? A clime there is from danger free, God fit our souls that clime to see; It hath no wound, to thrill and bleed, No staff of trust like broken reed, Nor wrinkling care, nor blighted bowers, Nor serpent coiling'mid the flowers, Nor hath it need of wakeful eye, Or nightly guard, or watchman's cry, All's well. MIAN'S FIRST EMIPLOYMIENT. "God put the man into the Garden of Eden, to dress it and to keep it." GENEsIS, 2ND AND 15TH. When man was in his pristine strength, Unstain'd, unfallen, undismay'd, His Maker gave the genial task, To dress and keep the garden glade. Then angels deign'd his guests to be, By sinless Eden's crystal springs, And oft at hush of day he heard The hovering of celestial wings. 13* 150 Even now, tho' thorns and thistles claim Dominion o'er the uncultured soil, From Nature and from God he finds A blessing on his rural toil. Earth is his friend, and freely gives The treasures of her fruitful breast, While industry, of health the friend, Sheds sweetness o'er his nightly rest. No flaming sword, no guarded gate Repel him from his home of love: But Peace and Hope, like angels wait, And point to Paradise above. SAMUEL. Dark night hung brooding o'er Jerusalem, Silence beneath the Temple's solemn arch, No sound of footsteps at the altar-side, The towering cherubim with folded wings Shrouded in mystery the holy Ark, The glimmering lamp sent forth a fitful ray, And shadows trembled o'er the pavement cold Like living things. How awful was the place! As though the spectres of departed years Came stalking from their tombs. Yet there alone Lay a young child, the child that Hannah lent Unto the Lord forever. 152 Large and round Grew his clear, wakeful eye, not now as erst To slumber lull'd by habitudes of home, Or tender mother hovering round his bed Like watchful saint to bless his evening prayer. Alone he lay and mused. In distant crypt The ancient priest slept heavily. To him The service of the Temple was a trade, Perchance, a task. But he, the innocent child, Who pour'd the incense of a loving heart Into his form of worship, lay serene; For to the trusting and obedient soul There is no terror. Hark! A voice!-A voice! The same that to the seer at Hioreb came, Who wrapp'd his mantle o'er him and bow'd down, Holding his breath for awe; the same that spake When shuddering Israel at red Sinai's base Cried out to Moses that they could not hear That voice again and live. But the brave boy, When his own name resounded thro' the gloom, True to his lesson, answered fearlessly"Speak, Lord, thy servant heareth." 153 So he took Jehovah's message to a waiting soul, And with the early day arose and threw, As was his wont, the Temple's massy valves Wide open, to the stream of golden light. Child-prophet! be our teacher-we who oft Sleep on, like Eli, with a heavy sound, And let the spirit of our duties wane, And know it not. Instruct us, prophet-child! Amid the watches of the night to say"Speak, Lord! thy servants hear;" and at the dawn Rise up and light the soul-lamps, and go forth, Our brow still beaming with the smile of heaven. THE TUSCAN BUD.* We won a bud in Tuscan vales, The treasure of our breast, A tendril round the heart it wove, Caressing and caress'd: We lost it,'neath Italian skies, Where silver Arno flows, Though fain to bear it to the home Where our fair garden grows, * A beautiful babe, of American parents, was born and died under the fair sky of Florence, during their travels in Europe. 155 Our garden, in the free, green West, But One of boundless love Transferr'd it to a better clime, And gave it root above. Its image lingereth in our souls So fresh, with sun, and rain, That'mid the flowers of Heaven we'll know Our Tuscan bud again. TALK WITH THE SEA. I said with a moan, as I roam'd alone By the side of the solemn sea, "Oh! cast at my feet, which thy billows meet, Some token to comfort me,'Mid thy surges cold, a ring of gold I have lost, with an amethyst bright, Thou hast lock'd it so long, in thy casket strong, That the rust must have quench'd its light. Send a gift I pray, on thy sheeted spray To solace my drooping mind, For sadly I grieve, and am soon to leave This rolling globe behind:" 157 Then the sea answer'd-" spoils are mine From many an argosy, And pearl-drops sleep in my bosom deep, But naught have I there for thee." "When I mused before, on thy rock-bound shore, The beautiful walk'd with me,She hath gone to her rest, in the church-yard's breast Since I saw thee last, thou sea. Restore! restore! the smile she wore W1hen her cheek to mine was press'd, Give back the voice of the fervent soul That illumined the darkest breast." But the haughty sea, in its majesty Swept onward, as before, Though a wave in wrath, from its wrecking path Call'd out to the sounding shore,"Thou hast ask'd of our king, a harder thing Than mortal e'er claim'd before, For never the wealth of a loving heart Could Ocean or Earth restore!" 14 GRAY HAIRS. Gray hairs,-I marvel why they strike Such terror and dismay, No mark of wickedness or shame Or foul disgrace are they; As silently as infant dreams Steal o'er the cradle-down, They weave their sparkling silver threads In with the black, or brown. Gray hairs-!-the waning beauty shrieks Before her mirror's face, And forth the unblest intruder flies Uprooted from its place. 159 Oh Lady, stay that lily hand, If one such guest should fall, They say a dozen more will come To attend the funeral. Gray hairs! I saw the Queen* of France Arrayed in regal state, Receive the elite of many lands, The titled and the great, And while her dignity and grace Were prais'd by every tongue, The long, white ringlets o'er her brow In fearless clusters hung. Gray hairs,-when sprinkled here and there In beard and whiskers too, Inspire respect and confidence More than the youthful hue, Of knowledge of mankind they tell, Perchance of serious thought, And lessons at the expensive school Of sage Experience taught. * The Queen of Louis Philippe, whose hair turned gray in early life, had the courage and taste to wear it without concealment, or resorting to nostrums for the restoration of its color. 160 Gray hairs,-I think them beautiful Around the ancient face, Like pure, unsullied snows that lend The wintry landscape grace; When found in wisdom's ways they crown With wealth's exhaustless store, A prelude to that home of joy Where beauty fades no more. "LET ALL THE PEOPLE PRAISE THEE." They had been long in session,* bishops, priests, And earnest laymen, on the Church's weal Deeply intent. The time drew near to part, And they, impell'd by Christian zeal, had moved To send forth Prelates toward the setting sun, That they might gather for their Master's fold The wanderers of the prairies. Then there breath'd A blessed spirit o'er them,-grateful love To Him who thus their counsels ruled in peace, * The Triennial Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church, held at Richmond, Virginia, October, 1859. 14* 162 And glad obedience to the high command, "Let all the people praise Thee." So they raised The Gloria in Excelsis. Every lip With one consent sustain'd the melody. Up toward the dome the tide of music swept, Swelling and surging in a sea of sound, O'erleaping every barrier. Manhood's tone Join'd the sweet treble of the female voice Made tremulous by tears. Onward it roll'd"Glory to God on high-on earth be peace Good will to gnen,"-the chant of every soul. It seem'd an echo from that holy mount Where seraph's veil their faces; for they felt In the sublime emotion of that hour, The force of sacred music unconstrain'd By curtain'd gallery or artistic choir, Was the true heritage of every heart. That unbound harmony had knit their souls Into a mesh of rapture. There they stood Fill'd with delight, and fearful of a pause. The glorious anthem ceas'd-yet still they stood, Wrapp'd in adoring silence. 163 "Let us _ray." And down they knelt, the bright, electric chain Binding in unison each worshipper: For hallow'd music on God's altar laid The soul's fresh incense, and with glowing thought Prayer touch'd that incense, and it flamed to heaven. 0 HON. RUFUIS CHOATE. A vessel slowly trod the waves Amid their thunder-sound, " Ho! white-wing'd rover of the deep, What freight? and whither bound?" No sign she made, no signal gave, Nor in her reckoning veer'd, But onward, toward New England's coast In solemn silence steer'd. Then the East Wind answered for her, While it blanch'd the sailor's cheek, "She bears a burden in her heart That will not let her speak; 165 She grieveth, and is sorely vexed To mock a Nation's trust, And bring a diamond from its crown To ashes turn'd, and dust; She museth on the bitter wail From mountain and from shore, Then they their classic son shall claim Who must return no more. For well she knows the like of him Who rides the seething main, With marble lip upon her breast, They ne'er shall see again. SUMIMER RAIN. The rain descends with tuneful sound, And every leaf in joy is drown'd; The liberal groves from topmast bough Shake superflux on those below; The oak, within the grape-vine's grasp, Feels fonder kiss and closer clasp; Sweet wild flowers blush'mid arid sands, The thirsty grass-blades clap their hands; And Nature in her varied lot Pours forth the praise by man forgot. Each wakening drop, serenely cool, Finds answer from the dimpling pool; The whispering brooklet tells the reeds Its secret gain, as on it speeds; 167 The mother-bird in curtained nest Amid her new-born fledglings blest, Incited by the freshening breeze Pours richer carol through the trees, Still prompting man, with soul divine, The chorus of her praise to join. The farmer sees his drooping grain Imbibe reviving breath again; The merchant his umbrella spreads And plodding o'er the pavement treads: The lady sends her coach away, The rain might mar her rich array; And fretful children loudly moan Their promis'd pic-nic overthrown; But Nature with her bright'ning eyes Yields God the praise that man denies. FOUIR GRAVES. "Our boy hlath fever on his cheekl," The mother said to me; And so we held him from the school Where still he long'd to be. We nurs'd him,-but delirium calne, And he whose brightening way, As the rich sunbeam upward rolls, Had for seven summers cheer'd our souls, Was a pale piece of clay. The little daughter!-WVhat of her? Her voice was music clear As when the earliest birdling sings, "Behold the Spring is here." 169 We watch'd unslumbering by her bed 'Till five long midnights died, And then the broken sods withdrew, That o'er her brother's pillow grew, To lay her by his side. That double funeral!-None save God The agony might see, As lost in frantic grief we clasp'd Our blue-eyed boy of three; Yet not as won't, his twining arms The wild embrace return'd, But cold, as clouds autumnal roll, The darling of our inmost soul, Our idol worship spurn'd. Then face to face and hand to hand Against the Spoiler dread, We stood ill rescue for the child, "He shall not die," we said. Confronting still that tyrant's will, We battled side by side, Though ghastly white was round his lips, And nature felt her dread eclipse, "He is not dead," we cried. 15 170 Prostrate beside her cradled babe The exhausted mother lay, It wilted like a lily-bud Whose stalk is cut away; In the wan stupor of despair We o'er our last one bent, While with a strange, adhesive strife, It struggled for its new-born life, Till every nerve was rent. Gone! Gone!-Allfour!-The crescent moon The earliest of the Spring, Beheld them in a happy home, And heard their laughter ring, Yet ere her rounded orb declined Into its lingering wane, Bereft, in desolate retreat, She saw us listening for the feet That ne'er return again. Oh, was it arrogance in us, Those gems our own to call, In the heart's casket for a while Left by the Lord of all? 171 What tho' he lent them with a smile, And took them back with tears, Are not the smile, the tear, the loan, And we ourselves, alike His own? Chasten'd, yet loyal, at His throne We cast our darken'd years. A NEW IDEA. "They plant their lands with music." REv. G. L. SEYMfOUR. A traveler'mid the heart of Afric says, In graphic sketch of its nomadic tribes, "They plant their lands with nmustsc." Is not that A hint worth taking?'Tis the blame, I'm told, Of Agriculture, that she fails to make Due progress with the times, and lumbers on In the slow stage-coach that the fathers used, While Trade and Commerce ride at railroad speed. Now, here's a chance to indemnify herself. 173 Methinks the spring-work on our farms might be Help'd on by cheerful music. Why not try? 'Twere difficult to say what instrument Were most congenial. Try a merry tune Whistled or sung,-a hurdy-gurdy's strain, A horn, or jew's-harp. A brisk, stirring fife* Might not be inappropriate. So, the hands Too delicate to dig, could play on these And help the harvest still. Perchance, the limbs, Of some dull plow-horse might be thus inspired Better than by the hammering of the heels Of the rough boy who rides him. Animals May have an ear for music, and I've read That lions and some other beasts of prey Might be thus ruled, but should prefer to keep At a respectful distance. Once, I saw An ox leave grazing for a window near Where a young lady her piano play'd, And raise his honest face and stand transfix'd * A recent tourist writes: "On the banks of the Tuma, in the interior of Africa, wllile they labored on the farms, assisted by the women, and the halfgrown girls, a little fellow was seated on the trunk of a tree, with a drum, which he briskly beat, and to which the people while they worked, sang and kept time." 15* 174 Like an admiring listener. Bees, we klnolw, Take to new holmes with music, not precise Nor hypercritical about the style Of their orchestra, for they seem to like The clangor of tin kettles rudely beat, Their auditory nerves being less acute Than their olfactory. Yet not alone On the inferior races rests our force Of argument. Analogy instructs The tiller of the soil, for many an art Draws life and briskness from the realm of sound. What were Thalia's "light fantastic toe" W-ithout the viol's aid? Is Flora mute? The birds will answer, and in dulcet lays Our sweetest songstress struck the chord "Bring flowers," And countless hearts in unison respond. WAon't some of our composers write a book Of music for the farm,-adapted well To change of rural toil? Quite long enough Hath Mars monopolized sweet music's coin, And Ceres sate in silence. To the field Of conflict urged by trump and clarionl-cry Rushes the soldier, and scarce feels the shaft That lays him low. 175 Hath not the Art that makes The green Earth fruitfiul, as much right to sing As that which gluts it with its children's blood? So, strew your seed upon her breast with song, And to the garner guide the loaded wain WAith hymns of praise. TtEI YOUNG MOTHER. When o'er the cradle of thy child, While sleep his blue-eye seals, The prayer to Him who gave the gift, In silent fervor steals, And other boasted pleasures fall Like dry leaves from the tree, Remember,-Mother, sweet and fair, Such was my love for thee. And when his small, adventurous feet First unto thee shall glide, And his young, lisping lip prefer Thy kiss to all beside, 177 A payment for thy many cares That rapturous thrill shall be, And gentle Mother, sweet and fair, Such was my joy in thee. Now, as advancing shadows stretch Across life's pilgrim vale, And the lone heart,'mid gathering graves Doth in its courage fail, Or counts perchance, how few the props That firm and stable prove, Forget not, thou, the early warmth Of sacred, filial love: For tho' the brighter, new-found joys Eclipse its ancient claim, As fades the taper's ray before The dazzling noon-tide flame, Still, may the old love and the new With blended force conspire To train and tune thy plastic soul For Heaven's immortal choir. e BREAKFAST. Breakfast!-Come to breakfast! Honest friend is he, More than gourmand Dinner, More than tinsel Tea, More than stolid Supper Dragging in its train, Dizzy-head, and night-mare, Or paralytic pain. Breakfast!-Come to breakfast! Little ones, and all, How their merry footsteps Patter at the call, Break the bread,-pour freely Milk that cream-like flows A blessing on their appetites, And on their lips of rose. 179 Breakfast!-It reclaims us From realms of death-like sleep, From wild and dream-land wanderings Wherein we laugh or weep,It giveth strength for labor, It giveth zeal for play, New vigor to the student, Fresh spirits to the gay. Breakfast!-summer breakfast! Throw the casement high, And catch the warbler's carol On glad wing glancing by, Set flowers upon your table Impearl'd with dew-drops rare, For still their fragrance speaks of Him Who made this earth so fair. Breakfast!-winter breakfast! Recruit the blazing fire, Heap coal upon the glowing grate Or fill the furnace higher, Though drifting snows descending May whiten field and bower, Where loving hearts are true and warm, King Frost hath little power. 180 Dinner may be pleasant, So may social tea, Yet, methinks the breakfast Is best of all the three, With its greeting smile of welcome, And its holy voice of prayer, It forgeth heavenly armor To foil the hosts of care. Breakfast!-early breakfast The Sun's new rising ray Doth lend a secret magic To speed you on your wa But let one hour of morning Go by you on the track, And Franklin says" you'll But never get it back." Breakfast!-Come to breakfast! Some there are, who hear No such household-music Ringing in their ear; Wilt thou from thy store-house Cheer them when they pine? Shedding blessed sunbeams Onl their day, and thine? toil all day, THE HAPPINESS OF AGE. How beautiful the life we lead, Now that the noontide heat is o'er, And'mid our garner'd sheaves we sit At Memory's door; No more to delve in Mammon's mine, What use have we for hoarded gold? The garments* of our last repose No coin can hold. No more we heed Ambition's call, Nor shrink from Censure, harsh and blind, Nor covet Fame, we've tried them all, All are but wind. * "Shrouds have no pockets." 16 182 No more beguiled by gilded dreams, With futile eagerness we stray; See, at our side Experience stands, Our guide alway. The passions of unbridled youth, The shipwrecked schemes of years mature, No more we trembling strive to curb, No more endure. We've toil'd for love, we've wept for grief, Seen hope's young buds fall dry and sere, Yet bless the discipline that once We deem'd severe. We've mourn'd for those who went before, But gladly now behold them stand, And beckon toward their own bright shore, With greeting hand. Our feet were blistered'mid the sands, When in life's caravan we prest, Now, gentle Twilight smiling brings The balm of rest. 183 As if from Pisgah, we descry Realm after realm in beauty spread; Some that we erst explored, and one We soon shall tread; Our Mother Earth was kind and good, A couch she gives beneath her sod: We bless her, and rejoicing turn Homeward to God. THE TREATY OF PARIS. SUNDAY, MARCH 30TH' 1856. There came a word upon the lightning's lip, Across the brine,-that set the mightiest bells Of London pealing. To her cottage-door Hobbled the listening crone, and the sick man Look'd up and ask'd what stirr'd the Sabbath bells To such strange clangor, and the white-robed priest Paus'd for a moment, wondering,-as the towers Rock'd and responded. But that little word Upon the lightning's lip,-what might it be? 185 It reach'd the far Crimea, gorg'd with blood And deaf with death-groans and on her sad brow Traced the forgotten semblance of a smile. The Russian serf receives it in his hut, And moisteneth his black bread with tears of joy. Stamboul hath caught the echo, and is glad, While'mid the chapels and the vines of France, The conscript's mother her Te Deum sings. Wouldst know what mystic word hath power to wake So many harps of praise? Go,-ask the choir What was the key-tone of the song they pour'd O'er Bethlehem's vales, when our dear Lord was born, And they will tell you what electric thrill Hath touch'd the joy-pulse of the war-worn Earth On this blest Sabbath morn. 16* THE SCULPTOR, BARTHOLOMEW. 'Tis not for song to give thee fame, O artist! praised by all, For breathing marble speaks thy name In many a lordly hall, Yet fain would friendship's lingering ray Reveal thy varied lot To those who saw thee day by day, Yet understood thee not, Nor mark'd the new-fiedg'd eagle's pain That fired with sunward trust Intensely struggled'gainst the chain That bound so long to dust. 187 But now upon our topmost height Thy sculptured thought shall stand, Thy genius shed a lambent light O'er thy loved native land. Remembering all thy glorious power Thus quench'd in early years, Wre mourn thee in our secret bower With stifled sound of tears, Even more than all thy loss to Art, That pride of Freedom's shore, We mourn the noble, loving heart That beats for us no more. THiE MAPLE TREE. I took my way, at close of day, O'er the brown autumnal plain, Where the blood-red leaf of the Maple Tree Came sprinkling down like rain, As though unconsciously I trod Some valley of the slain. "Ill fares it thee, thou Maple Tree? Wert wounded in the fray? Like the heroic men of Greece, In old Platea's day? Or our blessed sires at Bunker Hill 'Neath Freedom's dawning ray?" 189 The Maple said: "No weapon dread Hath pierced my heart with woe, I only give old charms to earth, That newer ones may grow; But your frail race return no more When to the dust they go." "Vaunt not to me, thou Maple Tree So gay in thy brilliant dye; I know thou art first to hail the Spring, With her queenly dynasty, But when the Frost King dons his shield Thou art ever the first to fly. "We cast our leaf like the russet sheaf, To you we seem to die, But heavenly Faith strikes vital root Beneath a cloudless sky, Where undeciduous blossoms glow Through all Eternity." THANKSGIVING AT THE FARM-HOUSE. Back to the rural home they turn, The gray-haired sire is there, The mother with her younger brow, Intent on household care; She spreads the board with viands rare, Such as they priz'd of old, And gives to all, the zest of love That can't be bought for gold. The stalwart sons to fathers grown Lead on their younglings dear, And daughters with their infants come, So lately children here, 191 Around the blazing fire they draw As to a shepherd's fold, Still culling gems from memory's mine That can't be bought for gold. In sports and merry games unite Each healthful girl and boy, The evening fleets on rapid wing, The babies crow for joy; Red apples from their grandsire's trees, And walnuts from the wold, Give to their simple tastes content That can't be bought for gold. The centre of that happy group The Patriarch, bending low, Invokes a blessing on his race Ere to their rest they go; The cherish'd feast throughout the year, Shall make each heart more bold, With blended strength of kindred blood That can't be bought for gold. EPITAPH IN THE DESERT. 'OUR ONLY CHILD, DEAR LITTLE 31MARY, FOUR YEARS OLD.' That was the epitaph, cut plain and fair On a thin slab of board, and planted deep Where a slight mound arose. The tents were spread Of a dense throng, that toward the land of gold Toiled like a caravan. And many an eye Of the rude campers moistened as it traced Those simple words, left by a father's hand, Like pearl-drops in the desert. 193 Full of glee Was little MARY, when at first she left The spreading elm-trees at her grand-sire's door; For childhood loveth change, and leaps to go Where'er the parents lead. Well pleased was she With the large, gorgeous prairie-flowers to fill Basket and pinafore. But day by day Long, weary travel wore her, and her cheek Lost hue and roundness. As the evening star Week after week looked forth, her drooping heart Longed for the nursery and downy crib, To whose white pillow Sleep so sweetly came, Wooed by the mother's hymn. When stern Disease More sorely smote, her mind went wandering back To its far home, and simple rural joys. The merry kitten that with her would play At hide-and-seek, amid the mantling vines; The sparkling water in its rock-bound fount, Where she might freely drink; her own fair bush Of berries in the garden; each of these Murmuring she nanmed, with faint and wildering words. - "Mother! the cow's come home!" and eager reached Her little cup for the fresh draught of milk. Alas! poor mother! ofttimes will she weep 17 194 Wild, gushing tears, at that remembered face, So pale and wishful. When, for the last time, Her arms around that wasted form were wrapped, Shuddering she heard the cold lip say: "Good night! Good night! The candle's out! Put me to bed!" Yes, yes. And thy good morning shall be spoke By sweet-voiced angels that shall bear thee home To the Divine REDEEMER. Innocent lamb! 'Twere better for thy parents to have kept Thee in their bosom, and forsworn the gold Of Californian mines. Thought they not so, As slowly toward that stranger clime they fared, Bearing the grief-load? MOUNT VERNON AND ITS MASTER. WRITTEN FOR THE BIRTH-DAY OF WASHINGTON, FEBRUARY 22D, 1860. A voice upon the breeze, Mount Vernon's cypress sighs, Where "being dead, He speaketh yet," Who there in honor lies. He, who on annal high, Inscribed a stainless part; The first in war, the first in peace First in his country's heart. 196 "Hail glorious Realm, that spreads From cliffs with snowy crest, To where the green magnolia makes Floridian forests blest, From broad Atlantic's shore, On to the gates of gold, That guard the portal of the West, An empire uncontrolled, "Peace waves her banner fair, Wealth in thy harvest glows, Glad sounds of spindle, wheel and loom, Thine industry disclose, Commerce, from every zone Brings countless treasures back, And enterprise, with steed of fire, Speeds o'er a lightning track, "'I mark in contrast strong, Thy dark colonial state,The kindling throb of liberty, The struggle with the great, Thy towns in durance held, The flames that on them fed, The prison ship, the long retreat, The conflict and the dead. 197 "Again, through wintry camps, I hear the tempest blow, And see the half-shod soldiers leave Their blood-prints on the snow, Yet, side by side they stood, A firm, devoted band, Nor could the British Lion's might Such brotherhood withstand. "Long years of storm and strife Quench'd not the hallow'd light That from beleaguer'd Bunker Hill Put forth its beacon bright, 'Till in Virginia's vales It caught the victor flame, And wrote upon the startled skies, A nation's starry name. "Old History, since she made Her record-league with Time, Hath seen no fabric rear'd like this With prayers and deeds sublime; Seen to no temple shrine So rich a lustre lent, Nor chronicled a wreck so dire As its dismemberment. 17* 198 "My children are ye all, God bless the swelling throng, And from my ashes wake the love That makes your Union strong." The murmuring accents ceas'd, No form Mount Vernon saw, But felt her master's presence near, And held her breath for awe. Then gathering onward came The daughters of the clime, Who called that sacred spot their own Through works of zeal sublime; There was no cold distrust, Their efforts to divide, No North or South within their hearts To quell affection's tide. They clasp'd each other's hands, They knelt amid the gloom, And wept as mourning sisters weep Beside a father's tomb; Then as they rose, a warmth O'er brow and bosom glow'd, Like that which with the angels' song O'er watching Bethlehem flow'd: 199 And with it breath'd a prayer, Invoking Him above, That on their children might descend The gift of patriot love, That wisdom from His throne Their councils might embrace, And bind for ever soul to soul, Their own remotest race. MY STUFFED OWL.* In the long and quiet evening, While a storm of snow in Aries, Bowing low the drooping branches, Whitened every roof and pavement, I had weary grown with reading, And the deep, unbroken silence Settled heavy o'er my heartstrings. Then I laid the book beside me, Mused amid the glimmering lamp-light, Gazing on the wall and pictures 'Till the reverie was broken, * A large white Owl, of the Eagle species, was shot near the Plymouth Rock, and beautifully preserved, by a friend who sent it to me. 201 Lonely reverie, as I deemed it, By two eye-balls glaring on me, Round, unwinking in their sockets, Eye-balls of the bird of Pallas, Of the great white bird of Pallas, Perching on my parlor-table! When I last had looked upon him He had seemed intently gazing On the wealth of green-house flowers That around him, in their vases, Grew and flourished, fresh with fragrance. He had seemed to make a neighbor Of the jonquil and the crocus, Hyacinths in pink and purple, Hyacinths in blue and saffron, Orange-trees, and sweet Ilissus, And the Cyclamen of Persia, Folding back its snowy petals With a sort of graceful gladness, Like an innocent white rabbit; He, my Owl, methought had viewed them With a patronizing pleasure, And I started at perceiving Fixed on me those grave, round eye-balls, 202 As if curiously inquiring: 'Are you thinking of your daughter? Thinking of her recent bridal, And the happy home she maketh For her chosen life's companion? Are you thinking of the music That from yonder shut piano She, with fairy, flying fingers, Used to summon forth to cheer you?' Then methought those large eyes twinkled With a pitiful emotion; And, as sympathy is precious, Even from unexpected quarters, Even from most inferior creatures, Quick I drew my seat beside him, Laid my hand upon his shoulder, Softly said:'My Koko-Koho,* Sing a song, or tell a story, To amuse my lonely hearth-stone; For the hearth-stone must be lonely Where is neither son nor daughter, Voice of youth, or face of infant!' * Indian name for the Owl. 203 Though, in truth, that term of hearth-stone Now is obsolete and ancient, And the most correct cognomen, Howsoe'er the poets murmur, Should be register or furnace. Then his snowy moustache trembled, And from out that beak majestic Came the strangest elocution, All monotonous and inbred, (Not like that which in my childhood, When a guest at quaint, old farm-house, Used to scare me from my slumbersHideous hooting of a screech-owl,) But monotonous and inbred, Perched upon my parlor-table, Thus intoned the bird of Pallas. "Where the rugged coast of Plymouth Battles stoutly with the ocean, In a hollow, doddered oak-tree, Like a Druid I was nurtured In the wisdom of my people, Wisdom that hath made them sacred, At the shrine of great MIinerva. * *. 204 Musing in my studious cloister, Oft I listened as the Oak-tree When the west wind stirred its branches, Lectured to its merry leaflets From the annals of its childhood,For the droppings of all knowledge To the thoughtful mind are pleasant: 'I remember, I remember,' Thus it said in tones maternal, 'When the'May-Flower,' the explorer, Small and brown, and tempest-beaten, Landed on yon rocky bastion, All New England's solemn fathers. I have heard the first-born echo Of their axe amid the forest; Heard their hymns of mournful cadence, When the winter and the famine Smote them in their earth-floored hovels. I have looked on saintly Carver, Heard the prayers of Elder Brewster, Seen the stalwart form of Standish, And sweet Rose, his blue-eyed consort, Seen the Winslows and John Alden, And the plumed and painted chieftains, Gazing on the pale-faced strangers 205 Who fi'om their own lands should sweep them, Like the mist when day ariseth." Letting fall the Oak-tree's legend, Still with fix'd and solemn aspect Petrifying to beholders, Thus my friend, the Owl continued, Giving with sepulchral cadence Utterance to his deep complaining. "In my solitary kingdom, Rights I had, but men destroyed them; Right unto my cloistered homestead, Right of hunting'mid the birds' nests, Right of spoil in rat and micedom, To the air and to the water, To the breath that Nature gave me, Rights I had, and men destroyed them: Slew and stuffed me as a trophy, Hung me up'mid toys and trappings, For a mock and for a marvel. But, like ghost of buried blessings, I will haunt their midnight visions, WVith a stony stare transfix them, Be an incubus to vex them." 18 206 Then, he seemed to choke with passion, And I pressed his claw and whispered Gently, as to petted baby, "Be not angry, Koko-Koho; Be a good and patient emblem Of the emptiness that waits us When we rest on earthly pleasures, And forget to look above them. Many a stuffed and lifeless skinship Sitteth by us at our revels, Like the shriveled, solemn mummies That the race of ancient Egypt Made the Mentors of their banquet. So, good-night, my Koko-Koho, Bird of Pallas, Bird of Wisdom, Rest thee in my quiet parlor. I am weary and would slumber, But I thank thee for thy kindness, For thy kindness and the legend Told amid this dreamy lamp-light, Making lonely evening pleasant." "KNOW THYSELF." THALES OF MILETUS. When gentle Twilight sits On Day's forsaken throne, 'Mid the sweet hush of eventide Muse by thyself alone, And at the time of rest, Ere sleep asserts its power, Hold pleasant converse with thyself In meditation's bower; Motives and deeds review By Memory's truthful glass, Thy silent self the only judge And critic as they pass; 208 And if their wayward tone Should give thy conscience pain, Resolve with energy divine The victory to gain. When morning's earliest rays O'er spire and roof-tree fall, Gladly invite thy waking heart Forth to a festival Of smiles and love to all, The lowliest and the least, And of delighted praise to lhim, The Giver of the feast. Not on the outer world For inward joy depend, Enjoy the luxury of thought, Make thine own self thy friend; Nor with the restless throng, In search of solace roam, But with an independent zeal Be intimate at home. Good company have they Who by themselves do walk, If they have learn'd on blessed themes With their own souls to talk; 209 For they shall never feel Of dull ennui the power, No penury of loneliness Shall haunt their hall or bower. Drink waters from the fount That in thy bosom springs,* And envy not the mingled draught Of satraps, or of kings; So shalt thou find at last Far from the giddy train, Self-knowledge and self-culture lead To uncomputed gain. * "Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of thine own well. " —Kis SOLOMOxN. 18* AUNT MAIARY'S CAT. Aunt MAary's Cat three snowy kittens had, Playful and fat and gay; so she would sport, And let them climb upon her back, and spread Her paws to fondle them,-and when she saw Her mistress come that way, would proudly show Her darlings, purring with intense delight. But one was missing,-and Grimalkin ran, Searching each nook with frantic eagerness, Garret and parlor, sofa, box, and bed, Calling her baby with a mournful cry, And questioning each creature that she met, In her cat-language, eloquently shrill. 211 And then she left the house. Two hours passed by, When dragging her lost treasure by the neck, Her head held high to shelter it from harm, She joyous laid it with its sisters twain, Who mew'd loud welcome, and with raptured zeal Wash'd and re-wash'd its velvet face and paws. It had been trusted to a lady's care, By my aunt Mary, out of pure good will To pussy,-fearing she might be fatigued By too much care and nursing. But she sought From house to house, among the neighbors all, Until she found it, and restored again To her heart's jewels. One full month she fed And nurtured it,-then in her mouth she took The same young kitten, and conveyed it back To the same house, and laid it in the lap Of the same good old lady, as she sat Knitting upon the sofa. Much amazed, She raised her spectacles to view the cat, Who, with a most insinuating tone, Fawning and rubbing round her slipper'd foot, Bespoke her favoring notice. 212 This is trueAunt Mary told me so.-Did pussy think Her child too young for service? and when grown To greater vigor, did she mean to show Full approbation of her mistress' choice, By passing many a nearer house, to find The lady that its first indentures held? -This looks like Reason,-and they say that brutes Are only led by Instinct. Yet'tis hard, Often, to draw the line where one begins, And where the other ends. Yet this we know That kindness to inferior animals Improves their natures, and would seem to be Fitting respect to Him who formed them all So carefully, and lent them unto us For use, and comfort, or as humble friends. OUR BABY. The brightest jewel of our heart, The treasure of our tent, Cold rains were falling thick and fast When forth from us she went. The sweetest blossom on our tree, When droop'd her fairy head, We might not lay her'mid the flowers, For all the flowers were dead. The youngest birdling in our nest, Her song from us hath fled; Yet mingles with a purer strain That floats above our head: 214 We gaze,-her wings we may not see We listen,-all in vain; But when this wintry life is o'er We'll hear her voice again. THE POOR RICH MIAN. "In the fullness of his sufficiency hle shall be in straits." JoB, 20TH AND 22D. He schemed and was prosper'd, —he gather'd and grew 'Till his ships rode the wave and his domes struck the view, And strangers in town were exultingly told Where dwelt the rich man with his coffers of gold,Even children came out in their wonder to stare, Who scarce knew what was'meant by the word millionaire. But the comfort the farmer partakes in his toil Who in quiet and health eats the fruits of the soil, The leisure the student enjoys who explores Of science the realm, or of wisdom the shores, Holding speech with great spirits from every land, HIis gold could not buy, nor his silver command. 216 For there throng'd in his steps an innumerous train Of agents for objects from Texas to Maine, Each hoped he'd take time, they with emphasis say, Their credentials to read and their arguments weigh, They trusted he'd lend them material aid, Their travelling expenses at least must be paid, They took note of his steps tho' thro' by-paths he'd roam, They came at his meal-times to catch him at home, The door-bell was rung till the porter grew mad In short, no repose nor retirement he had, But sigh'd for a lodge in some wilderness wide Where a deer might couch down, or a woodchuck abide. Then Poverty lifted her pinch'd, pallid face Yet his heart was so chill'd with distrust for his race That though he distributed money, the dole Brought no smile o'er his face, or delight to his soul. And Philanthropy comes with her beautiful eyes And close in his ear like a trumpet tone cries: "Build a Church, where the people may worship and pray To far generations when you pass away; Found a College, —whence learning in rivers shall flow, And bear up your name, when your body lies low." -He revolts at the call, has no taste for such claims, 217 "He's in straits, h1e's iln straits," and indignant exclaims, That the times have been bad, and his losses are great, And the world overvalues his means and estate, He's no peace of his life such exactions he meets, And into his shell like a turtle retreats, And the joy of dispensing, that brightens our cares, Denies to himself and reserves for his heirs. Very well, if he chooses, he's surely a right To keep what he's hoarded, all careful and tight Just as long as he can,-but how long that may be, A year or a season, no mortal can see,Yes, let him plod on and his riches increase, If he gained them with honor, their end may be peace. W\e pity the poor man and that is his due, But should not the rich share our sympathies too? Excited with efforts that baffle repose, WaVtch'd and waylaid and hunted wherever he goes,Blamed and bann'd by the people whose suit he denies, By others with flattery extoll'd to the skies, Aspers'd or applauded beyond his desert, In danger from pride and from hardness of heart, By ingratitude met where he noblest has striven, God help the poor rich man, and guide him to heaven. 19 QUARREL OF THE THUNDER AND TIHE SEA. The kingly Thunder call'd At midnight to the Sea, Which rising up in wrath, exclaim'd, "What is thy will with lme?" "Yield up the noble forms That in thy caverns hide, The beautiful,-the brave of earth, Her glory and her pride." "Earth ventured on my breast Those jewels," said the Sea, "If she hath not skill her own to keep, Say,-what is that to me?" 219 Then loud the Thunder spake, Beckoning the Tempest nigh,"Thou wert a robber from thy birth, We'll search thee, till we die." Out laugh'd the mocking Sea, "On!-Do your worst with speed, There's none save the Strong Angel's Eye My secret cells shall read, "But when at his command, Those depths restore their dead, Where wilt thou be,-thou Windy Voice, When clouds and skies have fled?" THE AGRICULTURAL TONIC. What kills the man, kills nations,-luxury, Excess, and over-action. Greece destroy'd Darius, but her lusty sinews shrank, The Persian poison lingered in her veinls, And did its work. What slew majestic Rome? The sickening palsy of her own excess, Who stoop'd to barter her imperial power Unto the highest bidder, and fell down In that asphyxia which no art can heal. Our realm grows nervous, and hath wildering moods; And then she dreameth to divide herself, As Solomon in mocking judgment bade To cut the child in twain, for whose control Two mothers strove. 221 Our blessed realm is sick With lust of gold, and cares that from it come. Neuralgic pains afflict her;-and she needs The tonic Nature stores in trees and fields For those who culture them. Such regimen Would swell her sources of vitality, And prove an antidote to nameless ills That haunt the unquiet brain. So might she find The rural element a safety-valve, And test the science earliest taught by God Unto the first, most glorious man He made In His own image,-lord of Paradise. 19* THE ONLY ONE. A farewell to the Only Child! What do those words imply? The staunching of the fount of hope, The darkening of its sky, The blighting of a rose-tree That Spring can ne'er restore, A garland from the altar swept, To be replaced no more. Where is the bounding footstep? The tone so blithe and kind? The arm around the parent's neck In graceful fondness twined? 223 The storied page made vocal While hours of evening fleet? The filial kiss, the dear "good nighIt," That made the dream so sweet? There is no morning greeting, As song-bird charms the ear, No helpful hand at household board The welcome guest to cheer, No deep delight in gladness, No sympathy in woe, Like that which from those close-sealed lips In silvery tides would flow. Ah! they who in life's waning, Give to the grave their all, And by a lonely hearth-stone mark Dim twilight shadows fall, Speak not to them of comfort, God's hand must heal the wound, The Only One!-ThIe Only One! What pathos in the sound! TWO OLD WOMEN. Two neighboring crones, antique and gray, Together talk'd at close of day. One said, with brow of wrinkled care, "Life's cup, atfirst, was sweet and fair, On our young lips, with laughter gay, Its cream of brimming nectar lay, But vapid then it grew, and stale, And tiresome as a twice-told tale, And so in weary age and pain Its bitter dregs alone remain." 225 The other with contented eye, Laid down her work and made reply: "Yes, Life was sweet at morning tide, Yet when the foam and sparkle died, More rich, methought, and purer too Its well-concocted essence grew, Even now, though low its spirit drains, And little in the. cup remains, There's sugar at the bottom still, And we may taste it, if we will." "BOY LOST." 'Twas at the darkened evening hour, The pleasant supper past, When closer drew our household group Regardless of the blast, That shrill the watchman's bell rang out Amid the sleet and frost, And'tween each pausing peal, the shout, "Boy Lost! Boy Lost!" Poor, little imp, with shoeless feet, Dost tread the pavement bleak? Thy lisping tongue perchance, unskill'd Thy father's name to speak? 227 Did disobedience lure thee wide From the maternal knee? Or nature's impulse urge thee on This new-found world to see? There's many a bursting sob and moan, In thine own home this night, While neighbors rous'd by frantic grief Rush forth from firesides bright; Now Heaven forefend the fearful ills That threat thy helpless form, The crushing hoof, the ponderous wain, The kidnap, and the storm. Search! Search! O'er chasm and slimy pool, Be your red torches tost, At every lane and alley cry, "Boy lost! Boy lost!" Nor shrink, nor stay, if life be his, 'Till safe from all alarms, His chill and fluttering heart revives, Warm'd in a mother's arms. 228 Oh ye, who guard the unfolding germ Of manhood's latent power, Fierce tempters in dread ambush lie, Be watchful every hour, Lest hovering angels, they who know The soul's immortal cost, Should shed such tears as Hleaven may weep O'er the "Boy lost!" THE VERNAL EQUINOX. Sleep from my pillow took his early flight, And in the heart, a sweet commanding voice Said, "Up-redeem the trine." Soon, the clear skies Blushed with prevailing morn. The western heights Gleamed out and gloried, and each casement wrote Illuminated on its crystal page His name in crimson, who alone can call From darkness light. High in the Zodiac moves The father of the flock,-upon his horns Bearing those equal scales that Libra's hand Poiseth so well in Autumn. Now, no more Rapacious Night, like long-neck'd Cormorant, 20 230 Feeds on the Day, gnawing at head and foot, Nor long-drawn Summer makes the reaper faint, And the tired hireling* for the sunset pinre. Nature re-vivifies. Our household plants, Those cheering guests amid all wintry gloom, Imbibe the quickening rays, and as I pour Their breakfast out, before I take my own, The bright Geraniums thank me, and looks up The Heliotrope, like a delighted babe, Wlhile from the close embrace of lustrous leaves, The Orange-blossoms, and rich Hyacinths, Bending their heads with beauty and with bloom, Breathe out a world of fragrance. Heart, and Lyre! Have ye no fresh response for love that brings So unforgetful every season forth In its appointed time? Glad Industry, That other name for Health, new impulse finds From the Spring equinox, and meditates More scope and action for its energies. Through the cleft ices steer the laden boats, And, like the armor of imprisoned knight, * "As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow."-JoB. 231 The unus'd plough casts off adhesive rust, Eager for combat with the frost-bound soil. Sweet cares of home, the lov'd of woman's heart Wake to new urgency,-for every nook, Where Winter's dusty sceptre rul'd, requires Research, or renovation. Costumes ask Their fitting change, and with a clamorous joy Play the new-girded children. Blest, indeed, Is woman's lot,-not on the stormy cliff, Nor'mid the chariot race, or shouting throng, But in a love-protected sphere, to shed On all the heart-flowers that around her grow, Pure drops of dew, and sunbeam smiles of Heaven. SABBATH WORSHIP IN JAPAN.* PRed o'er the Eastern main Aurora's mantle lay, And cloudless smiled the Sabbath morn On fair Simoda's bay, Where two majestic ships Compressed the billows green, And floating from their towering masts Columbia's flag was seen. * After the successtfl negotiation of the Treaty between the United States and Japan, it was proposed by Mr. Harris, our Consul-General, then residing at Simoda, that the event should be signalized by the celebration of public worship on the ensuing Sabbath. Commodore Tatnall, of the flag-shllip Powhatan, and Captain Niclholson, of the steam-frigate Mississippi, being then in port, with about 900 men, concurred in the plan, and bringing with them in long procession their large congregation, christian worship was thus solemnized in a kingdom of forty millions of heathens, on the 1st of August, 1858. 233 And there a purpose blest On angel-pinion hung, To celebrate Jehovah's praise In their own Saxon tongue, And earnestly to teach In that far stranger-clime The worship of His holy day, The Christian's rite sublime. Led by their Commodore, And marching two and two According to their rank and grade Came officers and crew; A goodly sight it was Those manly forms to view, The shining cap, the snowy vest And jacket richly blue; Hundreds on hundreds wound 'Mid hill and dale their way, A goodly sight it was, I trow, To look on their array. Then forth to meet them came Sorn of their own free land, The noble master of a home Upon that foreign strand, 20* 234 And bade it do its best To act the church's part, And with a zeal unknown before Expand its bamboo-heart; While on the grassy lawn The old stone idols cast Seem'd with a hideous leer of rage To abjure the Iconoclast. Then rose the voice of prayer, Sweet music's descant ran, And dear Old Hundred bow'd to touch The ear of strange Japan, And many a sailor's breast Thrill'd with the secret tear, St. Martin's simple melody, As in his home to hear, As in the village church, Beneath the elm-tree's shade, Where the fond mother's glance of pride Her boys and girls surveyed. So thus the Christian rite, The solemn chant was raised, While here and there a heathen brow With curious wonder gazed. 235 We stretch our hand to thee Oh Isle, so long unknown! We stretch the greeting hand to thee, Yet not for gold alone, But bearing scrip and crook Wherewith good shepherds guide A wandering flock to pastures green The living stream beside THE FRIEND'S GRAVE. Oh, liberated One! shall sorrow's tide Mloan thy swift transit from this lodge of ours? Where thou wert not at home,-nor satisfied? Where storm and blast transfix the fairest flowers? And even thy highest pleasures only led To deeper thirst for joys that scorn to shed Their perfect bloom on sublunary bowers? Thine aspirations were to Heaven allied, For thou wert not a serf,-but nobly born Of genius and of God,-all low delights to scorn. What shall we mourn? thy pains? Earth's pains are past. Thy losses?-gold and gems, to thee are dross. Woes and bereavements?-They are o'er at last. The dire death-struggle?-Servant of the cross! 237 Thou hadst a martyr's firmness in thy heart, And though we saw upon the parting day Cold, shuddering dew-drops o'er thy forehead start, Perchance the ethereal nerve had broke the sway Of torturing sense, and thou wert calmly free From what we weeping call'd, convulsive agony. MAlourn we for thee?-We, who the same stern field Must reap, and on the same clay pallet lie? For all our grosser particles must yield To the same subterranean solvency, Ere from its cell of mystery and gloom Amid dissolving rocks, and flaming skies, And cleaving cerements of the prisoning tomb, The enfranchised body in that glory rise Which He who cannot swerve hath promis'd sure To those who sleep in Christ and patiently endure. Thoughts from thy grave, dear Frieind! how deep their trace, Bright wings unfold, and spirit voices cry There is no death, -but only change of place, No death,-no cleath to immortality! In God's great universe is room for all 238 The souls that He hath made. The shroud, the pall, False trophies of a fancied victory, Behold their tyrant terrors fade and fall; *Out of the ship, pale trembler! Tread the shore Of undelusive life,-thy voyage with time is o'er. Question not God, frail Creature of the dust! Make no conditions where thy lot shall be; Ask for no pledge of Him. Be still, and trust, Trust and be joyful, for His love is free; Press on in faith, where'er He bids thee go, Gird thee with truth, in sunlight or in shade, Uproot the weed of self, and meekly sow Pure germs of love for all His hand hath made: Build not on rituals, make His love thy text, So shall all work thy good, in this life or the next. * "Thou hast sailed. Thou hast had thy voyage. Thou hast come to land. Get out of the ship into another life. Are not the Gods there?" MARCUS AURELIUS Al'TONINUS. EASTERP, AT ST. COLUMBA.* Oh, children of our red-brow'd race, Come, at the Church's call! A glory in yon dawning sklies, Portendeth good to all, To all, who ill a Saviour's name Believe, with humble trust, And onl this Easter-morning hail His rising from the dust. * This description of the Easter of 1856, among our aborigines, is derived flom their faithful and devoted Missionary, the Rev. Dr. J. L. Breck. A festival on that sac,'ed occasion had been prepared for the children of the Missionl-Schlool, and their p)arents, and though the latter were then much engaged in collecting from the maple groves, the sug,ar harvest of the year, they came, some of them fi'om a great distance, to the services of the Church. At their close, they walked in procession to the mission-hlotse, the children reciting, as tQev went, thle 118thl Psalm. There they found a bountiful, but plain feast, spread by their kind matron and teacher. They solemnly said grace, all speaking together, wilh their hands in an appropriate altitude; and after the repast, joined in harmoniously chanting, "Glory to Thee,-glory to Thee,-glory be unto Thee, 0 Lord." 240 They hear that voice in copse and grove, Where day by day they bide, With earnest care to watch and tend The maple's pierced side, And from its flowing blood to win The harvest of the year,But turning from their earnest toil The summon'd bands appear, And to their consecrated House Repair with pious zeal, lWhere they, who erst as Pagans groped In christian worship kneel, With docile heart the wondrous lore Of God's own volume learn, Still gathering round their teacher's side As lambs to shepherd turn, They lift on high the solemn stave With joy unknown before, Our Lord is risen fiom the dead, Is risen, to die no more." For Easter's glorious rites had bade Their spirits warmly glow, And for the resurrection trust Exchange their heathen woe, 241 And now the sacred service o'er Again that favored throng, In fair procession, two and two Move on with chanted song; How blest o'er Minnesota's vales To hear such descant rung, And blent with holy David's harp The sweet Ojibwa tongue. So, tuneful, towards the Mission house They pass with gladness free, As hastes the migratory bird Back to its native tree, And round the plenteous board unite, By christian kindness spread, Invoking first His gracious smile, Who gives His children bread. Then rising from their sweet repast With grateful, beaming eyes, In one accordant tone they thank Their Father in the skies. Oh remnant of the roaming tribes, Down-trodden and uublest, 'Tis meet that we should point you where The weary are at rest, 21 242 That we, who on your fathers' lands Our joyous fabrics rear, Unto the House not made with hands Should bring your spirits near. Oh heart of Mission-faith! be strong! Nor doubt your toil shall raise A glorious undiscordant song Thro' everlasting days. THE HEROES. The world lay at his feet, a conquered thing Yet tears suffused his eye, and like a child Who weepeth for the moon, he inly griev'd After another planet to subdue. Unsatisfied Ambition troubled him, That was his payment. Hark! the mad carouse, Where Philip's son all majesty throws by, All manhood, and ingloriously expires In the wine-fever. 244 Why did ancient Rome Listen and shudder, as the Alpine cliffs Gave out strange thunder-echoes, with the tramp Of hostile legions? From the cleaving cloud The Carthaginianl leap'd, and at his feet The humbled mistress of the world knelt down. Power held its course, but ever at its side PRan sleepless Hatred, eager to o'erthrow What tower'd above it. Outcast and despised, Wandering'mid stranger-courts and foreign climes Great Hannibal, erst lauded as a god, Drank of the poison-cup, and reeling died. A thousand cities shrank at Cmsar's name; And round a million graves the restless ghosts PRoaming, reproach'd him for the life lhe rent Out of their throbbing hearts. Yet wvas his breast Not adamantine. Still amid its nerves Entwin'd some chords of social symlpathy, Like dwindled plants beneathl o'ershladowing oak. He loved his fiiends, and by his friends he fell, While "Et tit B_Bte " closed his epitaph. Ho, for the Corsican! What step likle his Mlade mighty nations tremble? Self-endow'd, 245 Self-rais'd, upon Earth's topmost round lhe stood, Wealth, Fame, Art, Luxury, his liveried serfs To do his bidding. In the loneliest Isle Of lone Atlantic, walks with measured step A guarded prisoner, watching evermore The rolling wave. Perchance, he spies afar The flag of France, his Empire, gliding by, But not to rescue or remember him. So, the chafed Lion pined away and died. Who at the call of his young Country rous'd, When by the pillar of the cloud she trod Begirt by foes? Who thro' her war-storm led, Serene, as tho' a charmed life he bore? Who when the long and arduous strife was o'er Wore her chief honor, without thought of self, And laid it down, and to his fields went forth More happy there to muse at eventide, Than hear the plaudits of a shouting world? Who in that rural home, by gathering years Still unimpaired, in perfect balance poised Goodness with greatness, still revered by all, But most by those who saw his inner life Without a veil, in holy calmness met 21* 246 His apotheosis, and heavenward went, A Christian hero, victor over death? Oh new-found West!-Make answer!-On thy shield Grave, girt with stars, the name of Washington,Whom Earth accounts her greatest, while high Heaven Sanctions the choice. t TO A PORTRAIT. Speak to me,-speak!-how slow the years have past Since that dear voice could charm away the sigh, As gentle sunbeams rule the moaning blast Or tint the azure of a cloudless sky. Smile on me,-smile!-for many a care hath laid Its weary burden since thou last wert here, And heart-sown hopes that cheer'd our household shade Cast their untimely fruit with blossoms sere. Even so Our Father lessoneth us below, That not on earth our fondest trust be staid Nor twin'd with fleeting joys that falsely glow, The fair to promise,-but the quick to fade: That voice!-that smile, Oh Friend! may Heaven restore Their solace to my soul, where time shall be no more. THE RURAL LIFE. The rural life in every clime Hath been the foe of war and crime, Its earnest toils have nurtured health, And quell'd the vanity of wealth, And prov'd with adamantine band The strength and glory of a Land. The Farmer who, in days of old, From house to house his produce sold, Well-ripened fruits, and sheaves of gold, Seem'd to us, children of the town, A trifle coarse and wondrous brown, 249 We marvell'd how his ample hanld Became so horny and so tainn'd, And deem'd his heavy shoes would ill Befit the light-heel'd dancer's skill; But they who,'neath his roof should try The test of hospitality, Ils honesty without a flaw, HIis love of liberty and law, Would find, howe'er uncouth to view, The roug,hen'dl diamond, pure and true. Ile need not mark with anxious eye The fluctuant market's usury, Nor had he need to watch or wail The lightness of the baker's scale, His own sweet loaves from oven's maw, Did careful wife or dau,ghter draw, Well pleas'd the household board to see Crowu'd by their active ministry. His fields of grain, that richly sprelad His towering maize, with tassel'd head, His lowiing herds that freely pour The creamy nectar's balmy store, His poultry roaming proudly b)lest, The ivory treasures of their nest, 250 His bees that hoard in cone-like bower The honied essence of the flower, The garden-roots that bide their time, The fruits that fall, the vines that climb, A plenteous aliment supply, Which even Parisian luxury, With all its wire-drawn art and fame, Perchance might scorn, but need not blame. Ho! for the flax-field's blossom blue, And lustrous leaf surcharg'd with dew, Its fibrous stem the wheel shall stir Of many a thrifty cottager. Ho!-for the white flock wandering nigh Thro' pastures green, with patient eye, Their silken fleece by woman's care Transmuted for her household dear, Arms them the keenest blast to bear; And well such useful labors cheer With sweet content her shelter'd sphere. For she from loom and distaff drew Not thread alone, or warp and woof, But strength to bear, and will to do That kept neuralgic pains aloof; 251 The arm that in the dairy wrought, Gain'd muscle firm, by action free, While buxom health and cheerful thought, The priceless gifts of industry, Inspired the vigor that sustains The mystic nerves and flowing veins, Lends to the cheek a ruddy glow, And keeps the forehead fair, Even though chill age may sift its snow Amid the lustrous hair. HYYMN FOR SUNDAY EVENING. " owv the eventide was come." ST. NIAR P. Thankls, Gracious Father, for the day, That robed in twilight sweet, Thus lingereth ere it fleet away To guide us to Thy feet; Thanks for its hush of holy rest, That did our toils repair, Its voice within Thy Temple blest, Its healing balm of prayer. 253 We thank Thee for its living bread That did our hunger stay, The showers of angel-manna shed Around our desert way; Forgive us if our thoughts were slow To claim a heavenly birth, If feelings that should upward glow Did gravitate to earth; Forgive us, if those precepts pure, Which should our deeds control, And aid us bravely to endure, Grew languid in the soul; Forgive us, if like ingrate cold We breath'd a murmuring moan, Or fail'd to grasp the chain of gold That bindeth to Thy throne. Oh grant that when this span of life In evening shade shall close, And all its vanity and strife Subside to long repose, We through His mediation sweet, Who once for sinners died, MIay share that sabbath at thy feet Which hath no eventide. 22 THE RULER'S FAITH. "Come, lay thine hand upon her, and she shall live." MATTIIEW 9TH ANTD 18TH. Death cometh to the chamber of the sick,The ruler's daughter, like the peasant's child, Grows pale as marble. Hark, that hollow moan Which none may help, and then, the last, faint breath Subsiding with a shudder! The loud wail Bespeaks an idol fallen from the shrine Of a fond parent's heart. A wither'd flower Is there, Oh mother, where thy proudest hope Solac'd itself with garlands, and beheld 255 New buddings every morn. Father,'tis o'er! That voice is silent, which had been thy harp, Quickening thy footstep nightly toward thy home, Mingling, perchance, an echo all too deep Even with the temple-worship, when the soul Should deal with God alone. What stranger-step Breaketh the trance of grief? Whose radiant brow In meekness, and in majesty doth bend Beside the bed of death? "She doth but sleep, The damsel is not dead." A smother'd hiss Contemptuous rises from the wondering band Who beat the breast, and raise the licens'd wail Of Judah's mourning. Look upon the dead! Heaves not the winding-sheet? Those trembling lids,What peers between their fringes, like the hue Of dewy violet? The blanch'd lips dispart, And hark, a quivering, long-drawn sigh restores Their rose-leaf beauty! Lo, a clay-cold hand Graspeth the Master's, and with sudden spring That shrouded sleeper, like a timid fawn, Hides in her mother's bosom! 256 Faith's strong root WAVas in the father's spirit. "Lay thine hand On her and she shall live." As he believ'd, So was it unto him. The fruit of faith Ilow beautiful. Oh Parents, loved of God, Have ye a daughter in that deeper sleep Which threats the soul's salvation? Let your prayer Be eloquent for her,-both when she smiles In all her radiant beauty on the morn, Or when at night, her clustering tresses sweep Tlheir downy pillow in the trance of dreams, Or when at pleasure's beckoning she goes forth, Or to the meshes of an earthly love Trusts her young heart,-for her be eloquent In faith's prevailing prayer, until HIis touch Who raised the Ruler's dead, give life to her,Life that surmounts the tomb. THE GIFT OF THE CLOUD. ' Sweet are the uses of adversity." SIIAKSPEARE. A Lily said to a threatening Cloud That in sternest garb array'd him, "You have taken my Lord, the Sun, away, And I know not where you've laid him." Then it folded its leaves, and trembled sore As the hours of darkness press'd it But at morn, like a bride in beauty shone, For with pearls the dews had dress'd it. 22* 258 So it felt ashamed of its fretful thought, And fain in the dust would hide it, For the Night of weeping had jewels brought Which the pride of Day denied it. THE ANNIVERSARY. I think of thee, in cloudless years Of vigor, and of bloom, Before thy lip of rose inhaled The vapor of the tomb; I think of all thy winning ways, Thy simple, infant wile, The wondrous cast of thought that gave Such magic to thy smile, Think even upon thy little robes By needle's skill refined, The beauty of thy rounded arms, God help my earthly mind! 260 I think of thee, as when we saw Thy life-tide ebb away, And the large, violet-tinted eye Send forth its parting ray, As when we laid in flowery June Thy youthful head so low, The locks of chesnut strangely bright, Around thy brow of snow, As when we left thee there alone, And pierc'd by sorrow's dart Turn'd to our desolated home, God help my feeble heart! I feel that in thy spirit form Thou still to me art near, Now, in this favorite, quiet room, Art thou not lingering here? There is the clock thy hand hath wound, The pen it lov'd to guide, The journal where thy rapid thought Traced out its mirror'd tide, The pencil sketching free and bold At Hlistory's prompted theme, The chosen books that fondly woke Deep meditation's dream; — 261 Yet not for these thou com'st again, Knowledge with glorious grace Once through a glass but darkly seen Confronts thee, face to face. I will not cry, "My Son!-Mine Own!" Nor tender greeting wait, Nor with this troubled, earth-born love, Debase thy high estate, I know it was but earth and dust O'er which we heap'd the sods. The mother's claim I dare not press Thou art not mine, but God's. THE LAST MIOON OF THE YEAR. Moon of the parting Year!-how fair thy face, How pure thy smile upon the snow-clad plain, As though thou fain wouldst cause by added grace A deeper sorrow for thy vanish'd reign, And leave thy silver car with gleaming ray A light in memory's shrine, when thou shouldst pass away. Thou hast a voice along the silent air, Unto the musing heart, none else may hear, A secret whisper of the things that were, The gain, the loss, the treasure and the tear,The new-born pleasure, or the buried pride,Fond hopes that blossom'd high, or in their budding died. 263 And thou dost press a chord within my soul That answereth back in music like a lyre, Breathing His name who bids the seasons roll, The lily quicken, and the corn aspire, And time's full cluster toward the vintage tend, To swell that Harvest Hymn which never more shall end. Youth hath its dower of beauty, rich and rare, And years mature the crown of strength adorns; Yet have they still their heritage of care, The grasp of roses, and the sting of thorns, The chase of winged gold, the restless mind And unsubdued desires for what they ne'er can find. But life is beautiful, and Earth abounds With countless blessings for her children dear, In glorious garniture she clothes her grounds, And like a queen leads forth the changeful year, Quickening the grateful heart to rapture high, A prelude of the bliss that fills eternity. Account not age unlovely, though its prime Of majesty be lost, and bloom of youth, It hath a beauty that o'ermastereth time, The silver hair doth mark its ripen'd truth, Experience hath a lore that will not cheat, A winnower of Earth's chaff, she wisely knows the wheat. 264 Sunset like sunrise may illume the dale, The western gate be as the orient bright, Life's latest drop like diamond spark exhale, Into the glorious sphere that hath no night; So full of joy I strike the tuneful shell Oh, last Moon of the Year, to bid thee sweet farewell.