ASK NOT TO BORROW M E, tl wan nene^ ao wucfv goob of a- faoofa aa vuIWvt IW pooaeoaea ifii&'ta-Mj of frank deland Smith aw. u zoa c< 2 , awvo ^fW p^ico boc wot cj'Zwbcj-c elt i/ui££ boc tJWe mo^o p-Eecioin/Le (slnc^nv t'vuvco aoe imwc?v t'^caow'Le-, OF THE U N I V L R. S ITY OF ILLINOIS &\\ St 33 p UfJIVCRSiTY OF ILUNOiS “ And as entranced he lay , a seraph bright Came softly winging through the gates of light , And caught him up, and to the earth afar Dropped downward swiftly as a falling star The Poet* page 10. Poems BY j. d.stkeli^- Forgive these weak and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth ; Forgive them where they lack in truth. And in thy wisdom make me wise.” — Tennyson San Francisco : GOLDEN ERA COMPANY 1885. All rights reserved by the Author. Printed by H. 6. Parsons, 532 Clay St.. S. K. Si I St 33 0 TO THE MEMORY of my mother, Whose love was a shield in temptation, a refuge in sorrow, in adversity. ; and whose loss was the one great affliction of my life, THIS LITTLE VOLUME is REVERENTLY INSCRIBED. a comfort PREFACE. This little volume, though by no means a complete collection of my compositions in verse, includes most of those pieces which I deem best worth preserving. That some given here might, even according to my own judgment, have better been excluded, I am bound to confess; but a perhaps too partial fondness has led me in all cases to give them the benefit of a doubt. Most of the verses in the first part of the volume were written while living at Ticonderoga, New York, near that beautiful gem of nature. Lake George, between the years 1875 and 1879, which will account for the similarity of the imagery in a number of them. But one I believe, has an earlier date, “A Spring Song,” which was composed in my seventeenth year. It has been my aim to make these selections represent, in a measure, at least, my present habits of thought, and to exclude such verses as belong to the more unformed period of my life. The reader will notice, by reference to my notes, that I have acknowledged most of the instances where I have been indebted to others for distinctive ideas or expressions. I cannot think that any writer should receive credit for a mere combination of words express- ing a commonplace thought; but passages of ideal imagery, which are characteristic marks of the true poet, should be classed in quite another category. I have freely used such where I was unable my- self to find an expression conveying my thought with the same ex- actness. I cannot feel myself compelled to use a weak instead of a strong expression, because some one else may have used similar lan- guage before me. If this be a fault, I think I have atoned for it by giving due credit to the original. The haste with which this little work has been prepared for the press has made it impossible to give the verses it contains that care- ful revision which would have pruned away many serious faults; but, as no one can have so complete a sense of their many imperfections as have I myself, no just criticism they may receive will be other- J. D. Steell CONTENTS, Frontispiece — The Poet’s Birth. The Poet, The Poet’s Soul, The Dying Poet, A Spring Song, The Robin Sings, For a Lady’s Album, The Invitation, The Answer, The Wildflower, Summer, In Judo Time, Summer Morning, The Thunder Shower, After the Storm, An August Day, Evening, A Reverie, Dejection, Compensation, Aspiration, A Prayer, Who Will Lead Me, My Flower, The Seraphs, The Meeting of Summer and Autumn My Love, Thou and I, To a Lady, The Lover’s Watch, The Bells, Recollection, An Invocation, Sorrow, A Memory, Page 9 13 14 16 19 20 21 22 24 26 27 28 29 31 32 33 35 36 38 40 41 42 43 45 46 47 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 57 r s] Autumn Thoughts, Longfellow, My Twenty-First Birthday. Waiting, • Passion, A Canadaian Winter Night, In Memoriam, A Tribute, William Cullen Bryant, Bayard Taylor, Ode on the Death of President Garfield. Montefiore Ode, Burns, The Cry of the People, Sonnets, A Picture of Memory, To My Ideal Lady, Spring, Decoration Day, The Stars, Sonnets on Faith, The Autumn Moon, Success, Despondency, For a Friend’s Album, Keats’ Epitaph, Lake George, The Plague Summer, William Lloyd Garrison, The Brook, Garfield, In Memory of My Mother, Bereavement, On Longfellow’s Death, On the Death of My Brother, Happiness, To Patti, L’Envoy, Notes. 59 61 62 64 65 66 67 71 72 73 75 86 89 91 93 94 94 95 96 96 97 98 99 99 100 100 101 102 103 104 104 105 106 107 107 108 108 109 the poet. While still the poet’s soul, as yet unborn, Lay by the jeweled portals of the morn, A voice from far beyond the golden seas Came floating down through crystal silences, And thus it spake : “O mortal, thou shalt be God’s messenger to men; since unto thee Hath grace been given that thou mayest behold The glories of high heaven manifold, And hear in rapturous songs these spirits bright Sing praises to the fount of love and light. So shall this vision be to thee on earth A sign and symbol of thy higher birth; For wheresoe’er thine erring feet may stray , About thee still the airs of heaven shall play; TJndrowned by all the jarring chords of sm, These harmonies shall dwell thy soul within. Thou shalt in all earth’s loveliness descry A likeness to these brighter realms on high, And view with something of a seraph’s ken The secrets of the marvelous souls of men.” So spake the voice, then died in one vast sound, Re-echoing far to heaven’s remotest bound, And stirred the conscious spirit, and awoke, While from the heaven of heavens a glory broke; 10 POEMS . And toned to ringing trump and breathing lyre. Celestial song soared up like living fire. Then, as with sound melodious open swung The pearly gates on golden hinges bung , 1 He with an unsealed vision did behold Bright, gleaming towers and pinnacles of gold, Down glimmering vistas fading from his sight, Illumined with a great awakening light 2 In still increasing splendor downward poured From the most glorious presence of the Lord, Who on the shining summits sat enthroned By rank on rank of radiant spirits zoned. There cherubim and seraphim ablaze With awful glory did bright faces raise, While lifting star-wreathed harps the glorious throng All heaven awoke with a great burst of song, And ’mid the jeweled courts their music died In murmurs sweet by echoes multiplied. Then thrilled the wakening soul with joy intense, A holy rapture ravished every sensn; And as entranced he lay, a seraph bright Came softly winging through the gates of light, And caught him up, and to the earth afar Dropped downward swiftly as a falling star , 3 As rich with rosy splendors upon earth Bright dawned the morning of the poet’s birth. Thus to the poet, when first his conscious eyes Beheld the glory of the earth and skies, All common things with hidden meaning rife With gleams of richest beauty filled his life. So first abroad a dreaming boy he strayed POEMS. 11 Where o’er the rocks the crystal streamlets played, And saw beyond the cataracts silver veil The many colored rainbows flash and fail. Oft deep in meadow grasses would he lie, And watch white clouds sail through the peaceful sky; Or through the shady forest bent his way, Where through the leaves did quivering sunbeams play; Or in his fairy skiff would lightly glide Across the glassy lake from side to side, And often there would seek some verdant isle Where all around did bright-hued flowerets smile, And on a mossy bank reclining, heard The chime of waves and song of sweet-voiced bird. And ever unseen forms seemed hovering near, And mystic voices murmured in his ear; While lovely dreams, like airy spirits fan, Peopled with beauteous shapes the common air. So ever, year by year, the poet grew; Each day unto his soul gave insight new; And nature’s secret record to his sight Lay like a volume open to the light. To him their stories did the wild-flowers tell, Blossoming on verdant hill, in bosky dell; He read strange meanings in the wild-bird’s lay, Heard sweetest music in the streamlet’s play; For him the soft wind soughing in the trees Told in its cadences wondrous histories; The mighty ocean with a rhythmic tune Chanted for him its mystic ancient rune; And though he dwelt from ways of men apart, 12 POEMS. He read with instinct true the human heart. Yet of the things once dimly seen and heard A memory vague his inmost nature stirred. Oft in sweet visions of the solemn night He caught far gleams of seraphs’ robes of light. He did ’yond sunset’s shining veil behold Bright gleam the heavenly city’s gates of gold; For him the morning’s roseate radiance shone Bright with the glory round the awful throne, And in the mighty thunder’s dreadful roll The voice of God spake to his awe-struck soul; Thus to this soul, by God and nature taught, Each year a higher wisdom came unsought, Until within him woke the speech of song, And thrilled with rapture all the careless throng. For in his music breathed the wood-bird’s lay, The babbling streamlet’s rippling melody, The sound of murmuring breeze and silver shower, The tone of mighty thunder’s voice of power; And more than all, blent in its tuneful strain The under-chords of human joy and pain. So did the common race the poet ordain The lawful guardian of Truth’s sacred fane; To him men wreathes of greenest laurel brought, To crown him monarch of the realm of thought; And still the ages through, in every clime, Held as a treasure were his songs sublime. Thus as God’s sovereign will at first decreed, This gifted soul supplied earth’s higher need. POEMS. 13 THE POETT’S SOUL. The poet’s soul is like a crystal stream 4 That on yon far-off glimmering mountain height Springs from the lowly earthy though horn of heaven. How gushes forth the limpid fount, and flows Down under arching houghs of ancient trees, Where merrily the sweet-voiced song-hirds sing. Along its borders fair wild flowerets grow, And tufts of feathery ferns. It dimples soft Round mossy rocks, and through its crystal shows Bright pehhles, and light drifts of silver sand. And still it ripples on, and gayly sings; While o’er it bright the glittering sunbeams play, And rosy light of dawn, and sunsets’ glow, And the calm glory of the moon and stars, Reflected in its shimmering surface, shine. Then stronger grown, through the green vale it glides, By verdant slopes, and fields of billowy grain, And homes, and hamlets. Then its current swells To a great river, and its mighty flood Sweeps on by populous cities’ busy marts, And bears upon its breast great argosies; Yet still reflects the glory of the skies, Or myriad sparkling lights from happy homes, And bears within its depths, though dimmed and stained, The semblance of its pristine purity. So creature of two diverse elements 14 POEMS. It runs its course, until it finds its rest On the vast bosom of the mighty sea. Thus is the poet’s fate, for thus he shares The common lot of man, yet ever keeps A likeness of a higher state, nor ere Wanders so far but he may faintly hear The distant murmur of the fountain-head, And keep unsullied still his inmost soul. THk DYING POET. The dying poet nigh to the casement lay, While the bright glory of the setting sun Shone o’er his pallid features. Richly gay Along the sky did waves of color run; And nature in that peaceful hour and fair, Like a tired laborer when his task is done, Breathed resfcfully. The cool, soft evening air The damp locks on the sufferer’s forehead stirred, And fell a grateful silence everywhere, Sweet as a benediction. He but heard Afar the tuneful chime of silver bell, And the sweet vesper, song of twittering bird; POEMS. 15 While through the casement wide his glances fell On bright-hued garden plats with bud and flower, And verdant tree-crests fair o’er hill and dell. Far off he saw the purple mountains tower, And at their base the silver waters shine, Lit with the parting sunbeam’s golden shower. “All these, fair nature’s charms, are mine,” /He said, “O Father! yet thy rest is best; I bow submissive to thy will divine. So did he cross his hands upon his breast, Then whispered low a prayer of childhood’s days, And turned again to face the glowing west, And there beyond the golden sunset’s blaze Seemed Heaven s shining portals to arise Whence floated soft, sweet breathing harmonies. Then hovering near before his wondering eyes Appeared fair forms arrayed in pearly white, In semblance of those loved in earthly guise. £o slowly died away the vision bright, And with a murmur “Beautiful!” he passed As gently as the fading sunset light. 16 POEMS. A SPRING SONG. Spring is coming, spring is coming! I can hear her footsteps light, Dancing o’er the fields and meadows With a careless, free delight. I can see her garments flashing Through the woodlands brightly fair, On the morning breezes floating Shines the splendor of her hair. She hath broken icy fetters From the lakes and singing streams, She hath robed the earth in greenness. Lit the air with sunny gleams. ’Neath her shining feet the flowerets From the sod do freshly spring; And where’er she breathes the orchards All are gayly blossoming. Softer blue is in the heaven, Gentle fragrance fills the air; And the landscape round her smiling Doth its brightest aspect wear. Gleaming distant azure mountains Wreathed about in silver mist, Nearer heights in freshest greenness By the golden sunbeams kissed. POEMS. 17 Dewy meadows strewn with shining Dandelions’ stars of gold, Breezy hills and odorous woodlands, Valleys green as emerald; All transfigured by her presence, In their richest dress appear, ’Tis the sweetest, gayest, fairest Season of the varied year. For the air is full of promise Of the glory that shall be: Summer’s ripened charms, and Autumn’s Pomp of gorgeous panoply. With the bounteous waving harvests Gladdening valley, hill and plain; Ricks of scented hay, and glowing, Sunny fruits, and golden grain; All the full and glad fruition That the finished year shall bring, I can see this day foreshadowed In the wakening life of Spring. Every pulse of earth is thrilling With a deep embo unding joy, Like the spirit free and guileless Of an eager-hearted boy. Gayly run the rippling streamlets, Singing sweetly as they flow; 18 POEMS. And the warm south breezes murmur With a music sweet and low; While the merry bees are humming In the hearts of apple blows, And the glorious sun in heaven In unclouded radiance glows. Sweetly in the groves and meadows Do the darting songbirds sing; And all nature to the anthem Of the opening year doth ring. So while all things sing their praises Unto God in their delight, Let me, too, my lyre awakening, Praise the fount of love and light. Let me worship God in nature, Without dogma, without creed; And his voice that breathes around me Shall supply my spirit's need. Here I read a record written As in characters of gold, Of his greatness and his goodness And his mercies manifold; While my raptured soul is thrilling With a holy, calm delight; And my spirit, blindly striving; Reaches upward towards the light. POEMS. 19 THE KORIN SINGS. The robin sings, and all the air Is balmy with the breath of spring. The sweet May-flowers are blossoming. The mountains stand a luminous ring With golden sunshine glittering. The lake lies hushed in peaceful rest, The cloudlets mirrored on its breast. The plum and cherry gayly show Their fairy blossoms white as snow; And all the crowded orchard glows With rosy-tinted apple blows. While brightly bloom the garden flowers, And in the greenwood's shady bowers The sweet wild blossoms fair as they Their radiant loveliness display. The robin sings, and at his call The merry birds come trooping all; Up, up the blue bird starts, and flings The dewdrops from his glossy wings, And in his flight he sweetly sings. Afar through crystal depths I view The swallows darting toward the blue; In the deep^hade of purple woods The lonely phoebe sings and broods; Ever about the open door The chattering wrens are seen once more; 20 POEMS . And in the hush of evening shrill Reiterates the whippoorwill. The robin sings, his merry song Rings through the woodlands loud and long All springtime gladness seems compressed Within the limits of his breast; While on her nest in yonder tree His gentle mate sits patiently, Till the bright days pass swiftly by, And far away her nestlings fly. FOR A LADY’S ALBUM. Behold, ’tis spring, and nature’s breast Is stirring with a sweet unrest. The sky is deeply, darkly blue, The earth is clad in vernal hue; The lakes lie glittering in the sun, The streams with tuneful murmurs run; And nature hails with sounds of cheer The raptures of the opening year. Behold, ’tis spring, and in thy heart New streams of thought and deling start. The world before thee lieth fair And glorious sunshine lingereth there; POEMS . Fond love with flowerets strews thy way, And all thy days are brightly gay. Oh, may all these but prophesy The wealth of golden summer nigh. THE INVITATION. Come, love, and you and I will go a’ Maying! Through the green woods the balmy airs are playing, The sun is warm and bright, And nature’s breast is thrilling with delight. Come, let us this one day Put all life’s cares away, And be like merry children, blithe and gay. Come, we will seek a green and sunny nook, A grassy bank by yonder babbling brook, And I will gather knots of bright-hued flowers And thou can’st weave them in a chap'et fair, That I with kisses on thy brow shall lay, And crown thee sweetest Queen of Love and May. There shall we watch the glittering sunbeams play Along the stream; and tuned to sweet birds’ melody Thou mayest sing of love some tender lay; Or I will read some poet’s melting rhyme Breathing the spirit of the fair Springtime; 22 POEMS. And so will quickly pass the happy day. Then, when in golden glory sinks the sun, Laden with ferns and blossoms will we come, Like children from their play, rejoicing home; And with a lingering kiss will part, and say: Oh, blessed time of love, sweet month of May TTTED ANSWER. I cried aloud in agony, “God help me, or I die!” There fell from out the silent heaven No answer to my cry. And so I lowly bowed my head And sat in speechless woe, The scalding teardrops filled my eyes, My sad heart worked below. But still, with ringing melody, A merry bird did trill From the old apple tree whose boughs Just touched the window sill. “Come forth, come forth,” he seemed to say, “The sun is shining fair; Come forth, sweet nature's ministries Will banish all thy care.” POt MS. 23 Then out I went, and all around Bid nature sweetly smile; The landscape, bathed in golden light, Stretched round me, mile on mile. The rose-hued blossoms of the peach Along the highways glowed; And apple, plum and cherry there Their fairy blossoms showed. The dandelion’s golden stars Had dotted all the green, Glittering on every leaf and spray Were diamond dewdrops seen. All clad in robes of freshest green Appeared the landscape nigh; And softly blue, the distant heights Seemed mingling with the sky. Then forth I went into the wood; The grass was bright with flowers, The glorious sunstine through the leaves Streamed down in golden showers. The stream ran singing on its way Above its pebbly bed; With silver tone the merry birds Sang sweetly overhead. And so at length a sense of rest, A sweet and holy calm, Upon my troubled spirit fell, Like touch of softest balm. 24 POEMS. Through nature’s myriads voices then Methought God spake to me, And on her face I saw his smile Of sweet benignity. Thus unto me assurance came Which did all doubt dispell, That, though his ways are dark, yet still He doeth all things well. THE WILD FLOWER. Beautiful little flower, Blossoming here at my feet, Sweet, so sweet ! Shall I pluck thee and bear thee home, To my close and sultry room, Away from the bright, blue sky, Away from the fresh, green wood, To wither soon and die ? Or shall I leave thee here To bloom in sunshine clear, And bear thine image dear Deep rooted in my heart, Whence it shall ne’er depart ? I leave thee, lovely flower, In thy bright greenwood bower, POEMS. 25 Nor will thy place molest; And thy sweet memory Long hence shall come to me, When weary and opprest, With blissful sense of rest. Let flaunting garden-blooms Adorn wealth’s gilded rooms, Or shine in beauty’s hair. Thou, on earth’s mantle green Only, should e’er be seen, ’Mongst all her treasures rare. Part of the spring thou art, And near to nature s heart D welle th, a thing apart. Here, in the sweet May air, Should thou earth’s bounty share. And glad the weary eye Of every passer-by With modest beauty rare. May none disturb thy rest On thy fond mother’s breast. Part of this lovely scene, Clear brook and verdure green. Bright sun and azure sky, So shouldst thou live and die. 26 POEMS. SUMMER. She comes, she comes,, the goddess of the sun, The glory of the sunlight on her hair, The splendor of the morning on her brow. Her azure eyes are lit with dancing flame, And o’er her features plays a beaming smile. She comes rejoicing from the sunny South, In robes of lustrous green begemmed with dew, About her lightly flung a floating veil Of gauzy golden mist. She slowly wings Her flight o’er billowy fields of grain and plays With the soft breeze in odorous cedar groves, Or kisses folded rosebuds into bloom. She decks the sombre forest with bright wreathes Of fairest flowers; and on the grass-green hill, Or purple mountain, stands and waves her wand O’er all the slumbrous earth that seems to swoon In mellow radiance. All the land arrayed In richest dress looks up in smiling joy Into her shining face. The mirrored lake Reflects her image, and the purling brooks And murmuring rivers sing her praise. To songs Of waking birds, sweet chime of waves, and low, Sweet sigh of winds Tnongst whispering pines, the Mom Flings open wide the jeweled gates, and comes Blushing to hail with gladness her approach. POEMS. 27 The pensive Eve near sunset’s golden wall Awaits to fold her in soft embrace, And queenly Night in majesty enthroned In yon high heaven stoops in gentle love To soothe her with light kisses unto sleep. O glorious Summer, queen of all the year, May man too wake such hymns of grateful praise As nature sings to thee; and ever hail A near approach with thoughts of rapturous joy. «- IN JUNE T'lXIU. The sun is warm, the sky is bright, The circling meadows gleam with light. The silver lakelet sweetly smiles, Soft dimpling round its fairy isles. The purple cliffs tower dark and high Outlined against a sapphire sky. By myriads sweet wild roses blow, Reflected in the wave below. Along the rocks the hairbells blue Are sparkling with the morning dew. In meadows green the buttercup Holds high its golden chalice up; 28 POEMS. And in the valley, dewy wet, Is seen the modest violet. The robin trills his merry song From the high tree-fops all day long. Yonder beside the streamlet's brink Warbles the sweet-voiced bobolink. I cannot choose but sing to-day, My heart is with the sunshine gay; I seem to feel in this glad hour The thrilling life of bud and flower. So in my bosom full and strong Gushes the mystic fount of song; And tuned to nature's harmony My soul seems all one melody. SUMMER MORNING. There is a gush of music from the groves; The sweet-voiced birds that sing their roundelays, And with their gleeful twitterings greet their loves. Fill all the air with joyous melodies. The whole wide earth is bathed in golden haze. Far mountains tower, half veiled in silver mist, In color like the purple amethyst. POEMS. 29 Near heights, gray rocks, and tufted, sombre pines Reflected show in the fair lake that shines Rippling round blooming isles, in winding creeks ana bays . I see above bright blue the arching sky, Around the earth in freshest greenness fair, While blooming flowers of many a varied dye Are strewn in rich profusion everywhere. I drink deep draughts of the cool morning air, Laden with woodland odors strangely sweet, As far away I ha-»te with bounding feet, Along the mountain paths’ free winding ways; And wake with grateful heart a hymn of praise To God wh> in his goodness made the world so fair. the: thunder showe r There is no breath of air; the earth lies sti 1 As with a hush of deep expectancy; Scarce a leaf flutters. Valley, mead and hill In the close, sultry summer afternoon All languidly do lie as in a swoon. The birds chirp shrilly; and as near to be Seems the Jaint babbling of the rippling rill. 30 POEMS. Afar o’er yonder frowning mountain height Dark, threatening hangs a heavy purple cloud From which flash frequently the lightnings bright; And ever louder, like the angry growls Of some great beast, the wakening thunder rolls Echoing from cliff to cliff with bellowings loud Till the earth trembles at its voice of might. Upward the dark cloud rolls till all the sky Is as if with a sable pall o’erspread; Crouching with fear the still earth seems to lie While nearer thunders break with deafening crash; And evermore the dazzling lightnings flash In glowing color, yellow, blue and red, Like flaming swords that blaze and gleam on bigh. It seems as though again did Jove defend From the bold Titians, heaven’s exalted seat. Another crash, the heavens seem to rend. A few large, heavy drops do pattering fall; And then, as by God’s awful mandate, all The gates of heaven are opened, and like a sheet With a great rush the mighty floods descend. But soon ’tis passed, and grateful coolness fills The air, a pleasant scent hath the moist earth ; The sun in glory sinks ’yond western hills, The jeweled drops gleam on leaf and spray, Fair Iris’ bow, with varied colors gay, Spans all the sky; and as with a new birth The whole world with a fresher being -thrills. POEMS. 31 after the storm. The storm is over. Oh, how fair Look earth and heaven, wave and air! The landscape seems a fresher green, And von bright water’s silver sheen Reflect’ s the dory of the skies Rich with the rainbow’s gorgeous dyes; While in the west drops fold on fold A mighty veil of shining gold, All bordered deep with burning flame. The thoughts I cannot even name That rise within my mind and thrill My being with such ectasy. It seems as though I could not be Here upon earth, but rather there, Beyond that glorious curtain fair, Where I in spirit can behold The heave Dly city’s gates of gold, And hear sweet seraph voices raise To God their hymns of grateful praise. Yet earth seems now almost as bright As are those heavenly realms of light. On leaf and floweret glistening The diamond raindrops lightly cling; Beyond the glistening waters stand Blue mountains lit with glory grand, And fair the distant islands seem 32 POEMS . As those of ancient poet’s dream. The mystic glory dies away And evening shadows dull and gray O’er all the landscape swiftly fall While dreary darkness covers all; Yet still a pure and calm delight Makes all my soul so still and bright I would that I could dare to pray The glory of this summer’s day Might never from me pass away. AN AUGUST DAY. How gloriously the August sunshine flashes Along the surface of the silver lake; With what a pleasant sound the wavelets break Along the rocky shores, as my light skiff Glides in the shade of many a towering cliff. I scent the breath of cedar and of pine; I watch the rippling waters round me shine, Floating by verdant islands, headlands, capes. The distant mountains seem to take new shapes In changing lights and shadows; fair are seen The smiling valleys, sombre heights between; Bright blue and cloudless is the arching sky, And slumbering seemeth all the world to lie. POEMS . 33 This is the time to only float and dream. Far oft* the tumult of the world doth seem. Here upoi nature's bosom sweet and mild I feel myself her heir, her favored child, One of the happy throng that sportive play In the bright sunshine of this summer's day. Now sinks the blazing sun in glory down In the far west, beyond the mountains brown, And in its glorious radiance I behold The bright lake as the sea of burnished gold, Like crystal, to the loved disciple shown Before the glory of God’s shining throne, In vision rapt, on Patmos’ island lone. EVENING. From glimmering vistas richly bright Beyond the sunset's gates of light The lovely Evening cometh now. A single star upon her brow Beams with a radiance pure and soft, And in her hand she holds aloft The silver crescent moon; while fair The glory of her streaming hair O'er trailing robes of silver mist Low falleth, and by sunbeams kissed 34 POEMS . The gentle beauty of her face Beams with a pure and heavenly grace. Hail, Evening, pensive and demure! Hail, holy vestal, sweet and pure! Dear nurse of thought — the poet’s friend. With thy approach day’s tumults end, And I, on fancy’s pinions free, Seek mystic realms of poesy; Where circled by the purple seas Smile islands of Hesperides. There by still lakes and crystal streams I wander, lost in glorious dreams; Or on the flowery banks repose, Near where the creamy lotus blows, And gaudy scarlet poppies flame Eich with a glory without name. Then SAviftly close around me throng Star-crowned the godlike sons of song; And loud I hear their harps, glad ring As in a chorus sweet they sing, Till I seem of their company, And strive to ape their minstrelsy. Sweet Evening, in thy peace profound Have I life’s dearest solace found. With thee communing I forget Men’s scorn, and harshness, and neglect. The cares and griefs of busy day Are 'ike worn fetters thrown away. Of all life’s gifts I count the best Thy blessed boon of easeful rest. POEMS. 35 A REVERIE. The silver curtain of the twilight Around me falls. The golden glory of the sunlight fadeth ’Yond mountain walls. The shadows on the purple mountains deepen; And far away The glowing hues of fleecy clouds are changing To dusky gray. The broad moon like a golden shield is lifted O’er yonder height; The rippling lake ’neath her bright beams is flashing With tremulous light. The little birds their vesper hymns are singing. And loud and shrill From yonder covert’s dusky shade is calling The whippoorwill. Then one by one the stars shine forth in heaven, And night is here; And a sweet calm with the still dew is falling Both far and near. Lo, a sweet peace comes to my storm-tossed spirit, A sense of rest, As if the soul of this sweet eve had entered My troubled breast. 36 POEMS . No more the tumult of wild thoug’hts is surging* Within my mind, With restless strivings, vague aspirings, longings All undefined. And so afar from yonder blue expanses Of heaven above, A gentle voice seems whispering to my soul a message Of pitying love. A blest assurance by my dim discerning But vaguely guessed, That though my way is dark there’s one controls it That knoweth best. And that sometime the dark path I am treading Must turn to light, And the great glory of the morning banish The shades of night. DEJECTION. O God, that I might die to-night; That I could close mine eyes and know Yon golden sunset’s glimmering glow Would fade for me in endless night. That ere again the morning bright With rosy radiance bathes the skies POEMS. 37 I should lie still with fast closed eyes That ne'er might open to the light. Could I but turn my wearied eye Where the lake's silver mirror shines, And bordered deep with sombre pines The silent mountains, dark and high, Are lifted 'gainst the glowing sky. And say: “O God, thy world is fair. Yet heavy is the yoke I bear; Oh, let me now in quiet lie ” So laying down my load of sin, And looking up in simple trust To Thee that know I am but dust, And seeth all without, within; At length my storm-tossed soul may win The haven of eternal rest, Where [ may lie supremely blest Beyond the reach of earthly din. I am aweary; let me sleep, While nature, like a mother mild, Watching in patience o'er her child, Shall guard my slumber, long and deep; As o’er my low couch mosses creep And lovely flowers in beauty grow, And summer breezes murmur low, Or silver showers in pity weep. O Father, look, and pity me; Too heavy is my burden here. My life is lonely all and drear, 38 POEMS. Oil, let me now its ending see. In thy great mercy send to me Thy pitying angel, sweet and fair, Soft winging through the crystal air To set me from earth’s bondage free. COMPENSATION. Because my life is cold and drear, Because in hopeless anguish here I wander, void of any cheer, I am so miserable. Because none heed my bitter cry, Because with scorpion stings men try To goad me on that I should die, I am so miserable. Because I seem to live in vain In spite of all my toil and pain, And agony of heart and brain, I am so miserable. Because in sunset’s gorgeous show, And morning’s tender rosy glow. And noontide glorj — joy, I know, I am not miserable. POEMS . 39 Because the purple vault of night Ablaze with countless orbs of light Wakes in me ever new delight, I am not miserable. Because the moonlight, sweet and pale, That spreads o’er earth its silver veil, Can bring a peace that may not fail, I am not miserable. Because the rainbow in the sky Wakes in me aspirations high, And glorious dreams that cannot die, I am not miserable. Because the simplest flower that blows Hath power to give my heart repose, And banish thought of all life’s woes, I am not miserable. Because the merry woodbird’s lay, And murmuring breeze and streamlet’s play Wake in me kindred melody, I am not miserable. Because all nature wears for me A smile of sweet benignity, And I her finer graces see, I am not miserable. Because I have the power to hold Communion wi h the great of old, Who to me higher truths unfold, I am not miserable. 40 POEMS. Because my spirit, like a fire, Still soaring up with strong desire, Doth to a nobler height aspire, I am not miserable. ASPIRATION. I am struggling upward into the light, As a flower towards the sun. Struggling up through the gloom of night. Struggling upward into the light, Into the light of the sun. Around me the morning mists hang gray, But above me I see the sunbeams play, As I struggle up on my dreary way, Upward into the light of day. I am struggling up in the light of truth, Leaving the mists of the past behind, Leaving the dreams of golden youth And earthly shadows that cloud the mind. My feet by the rocks are bruised and torn, And my spirit struggleth faint and worn; But I see before me the blessed bourne And the glorious light of the breaking morn. POEMS. 41 A. PRAYER. Thou knowest all, without, within! Each open fault and secret sin Is ever present to thy sight, Since in the darkness as the light. The record of my inmost soul To thee is as an open scroll. Therefore I come, and make no plea But simply put my trust in thee, Knowing thy pitying love is strong Enough to pardon all my wrong; For thou art as a parent mild In mercy towards an erring child. And vet I would not bid thee spare One pang that thou wouldst have me bear. Happy am I if all the woe And anguish of my life below May purge my soul, as in a fire, Of lawless lust and vain desire. Till, even as a soul new-born I reach the gateways of the morn. I only ask thy hand to guide, Thy gracious presence by my side; And so, in joy or woe, would still With strenuous purpose do thy will, My tasks perform, my burdens bear, 1 42 POEMS . And climbing duty’s rugged stair, Can see it ever grow more bright And know it ends in perfect light. WHO WILL LEAD IVLH? Oh, who will lead me upward toward the light. Oh, who will stoop from yonder glittering steep Where flame the golden splendors of the morn, And lead me upward to the gates of day? I languish here amid the shades of night, My wayward feet can scarce the pathway keep, With strivings vain my soul is overworn. Oh, who will guide me ever lest I stray. Beyond the glimmering summits high o’erhead The hills of glory open to my view, Dawn’s rosy banners stream across the sky, The golden sunshine bathes the crystal walls. Beside the upward pathway I must tread Celestial roses bloom impearled with dew, And pealing from the gleaming slopes on high A mighty voice my spirit upward calls. Around I hear the whir of angels’ wings And see their glistening silver raiments shine; I mark with eager eyes their distant flight, POEMS. 43 With yearning strong their nobler strength to know And quaff with them the Lethian stream that springs ’Mid fadeless blooms beside the throne divine, To leave with crystal tide the fields of light, Running o’er sands of gold with tuneful flow. But still the mists of doubt encompass me, The way is rough and steep, I faint and fail; In weakness pierced with thorns and bruised with stones And struggling ’neath my load of woe and sin. Let me not be forsaken utterly, In blindness groping through this dreary vale With sighs and tears and agonizing groans Towards the goal I scarce my hopes to win. O God! I know my weakness and thy strength; Then grant to me of all thy glorious throng Of angels, one to guide me and sustain. That I may find and keep the better way; And so supported ever may at length, Still striving with a purpose true and strong But spent no more with struggles fierce and vain, Through yon bright portals pass to endless day. \/LY FLOWER. The good God gave into my trembling hand A floweret bathed in dews of Paradise, That I might love and cherish as mine own. 44 POEMS. I pressed soft kisses on its petals fair, And tended it, and watered it with tears, But it was all too fair and frail to thrive On this cold earth, and ever drooped and paled, And at the last an angel from the skies Descending, plucked the blossom from the flower, And left to me the bare and withering stem. O’er this I wept, then laid it in the dust And planted over it earth’s fairest flowers. Sweet violets, and roses red and white. And silver lilies, that they might remind Me ever of its bloom and fragrance gone. I know not why the Lord so soon reclaimed His gift, unless it was that I might thus More surely tread the rough and narrow way That leads me upward to the blessed bourne For when I enter at the pearly gates And peace upon the golden strand beside The crystal river, in those fields of light, Among immortal blooms shall I behold My flower once more, in a new loveliness, Sunned in the glory of God’s perfect day. Then I will gather it, and ever wear The blossom never-fading on my breast; And when I join the glorious, shining throng Of holy angels, clothed in light and crowned With amaranth and gold, that round, the throne Strike jeweled harps and sing with sweet accord Loud hallelujahs, I will lift my voice In glad thanksgiving that the flower I mourned As lost on earth, is found, at last, in heaven. POEMS . 45 THE SERAPHS. Methought that once at the still midnight hour I from deep sleep awakened; and behold, Asudden through the dusky chamber shone, A rich, rare radiance, as on summer dawns The sun slow rising through a bank of shade The whole wide earth in golden glory bathes. Then all the air was filled with odors sweet, As from the perfume of a thousand flowers; And as I lay and wondered, straight appeared Two glorious, shining angels. They were clad In glistening pearly garments; round their brows Were wreaths of fairest amaranth entwined With burning stars. One held a golden scroll, The other, one of silver. And I was made aware That he that held the golden tablets wrote A record of my higher thoughts and purposes — My pity for the sorrowing and oppressed; My kindly deeds, my love of truth and right; My scorn of selfish aims and vain pretense. But he that bore the silver scroll, inscribed The history of my sins and weaknesses — My indolence, my passion and my pride; My hatred and mistrust, my doubts and fears, Lost opportunities and misspent time. And, as he wrote, methought a pearly tear Dropped on the woeful record. Then, my soul O’ercome with sorrow deep, aloud I cried, “Is there no hope?” The angels slowly raised 46 POEMS. Their shining faces, fixed their beaming eyes On mine, and answered sweetly, ‘‘God is Love !' 5 So, with a strain of wondrous music, passed The beauteous vision; and alone I saw The moonlight in a flood of silver flame Shining on wall and ceiling. Then I turned My face away with spirit all composed, And peaceful slumber straight my senses sealed. THE MEETING OK SUMMER AND AUTUMN. Two spirits meet on yonder heaven-kissed height 6 As shines the rosy morning on the hills. The one — with locks like sunbeams, and a face Bright but not dazzling, like the beamy moon; Half veiled in golden cloud, about her brow A wreath of silver lilies, in her hand A sheaf of golden grain, and at her feet Scattered all bright-hued flowers — still lingereth there Upon the purple mountain’s gleaming crown Loth to depart. The other swiftly comes Arrayed in splendor like an Eastern queen. Beneath her feet the running woodbine burns With ruddy flame, the ash and poplar shower POEMS. Their golden leaves upon her, while the oak His scarlet mantle dons, and maples flame In robes of crimson, bordered deep with gold. These spirits meet and kiss; and all the air Is filled with blended odors strangely sweet, As from a perfumed censor, lightly swung By angels far in yon unfathamed blue. A mystic glory clothes the earth; the still lake lies A burnished silver mirror, each bright leaf Glowing reflected in its shining face, While nature's myriad children fondly bid Farewell to lovely Summer’s wondrous charms, And hail with gladness Autumn’s pomp and pride. \l V LOVE. Across the hills she trips along, The sunshine on her golden hair; With ringing laugh and merry song, As blithe as morning and as fair. Beneath her jaunty hat, her face Mingling the lily and the rose, Keplete with every living grace, In blooming health and beauty glows. 48 POEMS. The very flowerets seem more fair That blossom ’neath her fairy feet; A brighter glory all things wear, The dewy morning seems more sweet. I wonder if she dreams that I Am waiting for her at the gate, To greet her as she passes by And tell my love and know my fate; If 1 may take her little hand, And, emblem of love’s perfect bliss, Slip lightly on this golden band, And seal our promise with a kiss; And press her fondly to my breast And know her henceforth all my own, My love, the dearest and the best, The sweetest maiden earth hath known. Then whatsoever loss I know I cannot be of hope bereft, Nor wholly yield my heart to woe, Since love, earth’s sweetest joy, is left. POEMS. THOU AND I. I am the mountain spire, And thou the sunbeam on me glittering, Flooding my rugged heights with heavenly fire, Till o’er the dreary wastes the wild flowers spring, And all the merry songbirds soar and sing. I am the lowly earth; And thou the pure, ethereal atmosphere, A rarer element of heavenly birth; Yet to me, dark and sin-stained, clinging near, As through thy crystal shines God’s glory clear. I am the boisterous sea, And thou the gentle, lovely, radiant moon, That with divine effulgence beams on me, While I do in thy glistening splendors swoon, And thy bright course must follow late or soon. I am the sighing breeze, And thou the rich-hued, fragrant, blossoming flower, My weary plaint changing to ecstasies, As with thine odorous breath thou dost o’erpower Earth’s taint, and with thy soul dost me endower. I am the instrument, And thou the gifted master-hand that wakes In me divinest music sweetly blent; By thee inspired its bonds my spirit breaks, And with thine own a higher power partakes. 50 POEMS. I am a sinful man; And thou my guardian angel sent to guide My wayward footsteps up through life’s brief span In light and shadow to the brighter side, Where dwell enraptured spirits glorified. TO A LADY. As one who in the silent night A dulcet strain of music hears, And though his eyes be dim with tears Feels his heart thrilled with strange delight; As when upon a day of storm, Through rifted clouds, we see the light Of sunshine changing dark to blight, And making chilly dampness warm; Or when the clouds have wept all day, Like souls in pain their showery tears, The rainbow in the east appears, And sunset splendors make them gay; So oft I think a kindly thought From one whom we regard a friend, Hath power to put to grief an end, And cheer the heart with sadness fraught. POEMS. 51 Then may this simple rhyme of mine That on thy virgin page I trace, Through all thy future have a grace To solace every pang that’s thine. Through all the chances thou shalt see, Through all the changing scenes of life, Through all its anguish, care and strife, May this a precious amulet be. For ’tis an utterance from the heart Of one whose memory paints thy face So time can ne’er its lines efface, Not mar the joy its charms impart. THE LOVER’S WATCH. Blow gently, summer breezes, blow, Breathe through her casement sweet and low, And through her chamber waft the scent Of blossoming rose or mignonette; Until in dreams perchance she’ll sail Among the spicy Indian isles Where bright eternal summer smiles. Then she mayhap might fancy me Companion on the summer sea, 52 POEMS. Wafted with her by favoring gales In fairy bark with silken sails, To regions fair of tropic calm Where stately grows the feathery palm; And brightly show strange fruits and flowers Among the ever blossoming bowers Where with the sunshine’s glory bright, The very air seems made of light. May such sweet dreams her sleep attend, And angels blest her soul defend. As I do here my love-watch keep While she lies wrapped in slumbers deep; And ever from the peaceful skies The bright stars beam like angels’ eyes, And with a music sweet and low The midnight breezes soitly blow. THE BELLS. Ring gladly, golden-throated bells, My heart with eager rapture swells; Ring glad and free, with merry chime, My pulses to your peals keep time; With bounding step I haste away, My love hath named our wedding day. Ring sadly, golden-throated bells. My heart with heavy anguish swells; POEMS. 53 Toll with deep throbbings, sad and slow, As suits my mood of hopeless woe; For late I saw my loved one lie With dead face lifted to the sky. RECOLLECTION. Still, O love, my heart with fondest yearning, Through mists of time must look again to thee, Still my memory to the past returning. Among the scenes long past away, will be. Again in dreams I hear the brooklets singing, Again I see the woods and fields in bloom; Again thine arm in mine is lightly clinging, While all the air is breathing sweet perfume. Again I murmur low love’s tender story, While brightly streams the sunshine’s golden rain; And over all the earth a mystic glory Transfigures mountain, valley, hill and plain. Oh, tender memories sweet my bosom thrilling With the fond raptures of young hope and love; All my dark life with glorious fancies filling, I prize ye far all other joys above. 54 POEMS . And thou, dear love, though low thy form is sleeping Beneath the village churchyard’s flower-strewn mould, I know thy spirit still a watch is keeping O’er mine as fondly as in days of old. AN INVOCATION. Come to me. love, from the dark unknown, Hover on silvery pinions fair Softly through crystal fields of air, And speak to my heart with a spirit’s tone. Though the ear of flesh be weak to hear Thy voice atuned to the seraphs’ speech, Yet far, faint murmurs at least may reach The soul with a whisper of better cheer. Though thy fair sweet features I may not see, Nor thy pearly glistening raiment’s sheen, I can feel thy presence, although unseen, By the touch of the spirit’s sympathy. So I sit alone in the gloom and sigh Over wasted purpose and vain resolve, And the deep-hid riddles I may not solve Until hope and reason within me die. Woe, sin and sorrow oppress me here, And doubt besets when X strive to see POEMS. 55 The glorious promise of joys to be In realms of light ’yond earths desert dreai. Then come to me, love, let me feel thee near With a sense of holy and blissful calm, To my wounded spirit a touch like balm And a blest assurance to cast out fear. So ’mid all life’s cares I may feel at last New strength to battle, new strength to dare, The grace in patience my loads to bear, And sweet hope of a future when life is passed. SORROW. Whence art thou, spectre, that with set white face Ever confronteth me? Close by my side at every time and place Thy form of dread I see. I hear thy voice in mournful winds that moan Beneath the leaden skies; I wake with shuddering at the midnight lone To watch thy burning eyes; And when bright waters flash and sweet birds sing Among bright blossoming bowers, Still straight before me like an evil thing Thine awful presence lowers. 56 POEMS. No need is there that at my festal board Symbols of death I set. For of each scene of pleasure thou art lord, Nor will thy state neglect. And though I shrink from thy fell presence near, I may not say “Begone,” For I must ever hold surpassing dear Thy features pale and wan. Since in thy ghastly lineaments I mark Likeness to the sweet face Of one who passed beyond the shadows dark Unto death’s silent place. And so I hold thee as an honored guest Through all the weary years, Until the time shall come when I shall rest Free from all hopes and fears. The brimming chalice of sweet memory Full oft with thee I drain, The true napanthe that hath power alway To soothe grief’s bitter pain. I can but think a minister thou art Whom pitying Heaven hath sent. To lead me from the ways of sin apart In paths of sweet content; That when at last arrayed in robes of light My lost love comes to me, And bears within her hand the lily white Of heavenly purity, POEMS. 57 I my be worthy found to enter straight With her those regions fair, Where all high joys the raptured spirit wait, And grace beyond compare. Where the sweet waters of the fount of peace Well -from. the sands of gold, And sorrow is no more, and ne’er shall cease The round of bliss untold. A MEMORY. I kissed and kissed her rose-red lips, I pressed her warm, soft cheek to mine, I whispered, “Be my love, my bride,” She answered, “Dearest, I am thine.” The glory faded from the west, And o’er the mountain’s purple brim The broad moon showed her golden rim, Then lit the lakelet’s rippling breast. The scent of roses filled the air, And softly summer’s murmuring breeze To silvery music woke the waves, And gently whispered through the trees, The waters kissed the pebbly shore, And in the moonlight’s silver beam 58 POEMS. Fair as an angel’s in a dream Her face a heavenly radiance wore. And so we wandered far away, Her little hand was clasped in mine, And oft I stooped my lips to hers And stole me kisses sweet as wine. Oh, vision of that golden time, Thy tender memory haunts me yet Like cadence one cannot forget Of some old poet’s melting rhyme. I walk alone these hills to-night, As fan a moon is in the sky, And glistening ’neath her radiant beams, As bright the rippling waters lie; But all the air is raw and chill, The dead leaves patter on the ground, And evermore with mournful sound The sad winds moan ’round yonder hill. And the hot tears well to mine eyes To think of her, above whose grave The mornful autumn breezes wad, And leafless trees their branches wave. Alas! that sad-eyed Love must see His idol shattered into dust, And know how weak is human trust Where Death must ever monarch be. But well that Hope, still hovering near, In deepest night of dark despair Shows ever glimmering through the gloom A blessed promise shining fair. POEMS. 59 And we may with faith’s vision bright See angels sitting by the tomb, Point upward to the blessed home Where ever dwelleth peace and light. AUTUMN THOUGHTS. I wander o’er the drear November hills, Beneath the silver moon, as faintly dies The golden sunset glimmering in the west; And Hesperus, the radiant star of love, Beams forth in yonder paling sky. So beautiful, so sad, this Autumn eve ! The purple mountains and the gleaming sky, The full-orbed moon and glistening lake where falls Her light, and breaks in showers of sparkling gems. These are so beautiful; but, oh! so sad, so sad, The sombre heights around me bleak and bare, And all the dreary sights and sounds that tell Of death and desolation and decay! Beneath my feet the dead leaves, crisp and sere, Make mournful rustling, and the chill wind blows Across the lake and ’mongst the leafless trees That toss their boughs and moan like souls in pain; While with as plaintive murmur ever breaks The long light ripple on the rocky shore. 60 POEMS. The scalding tear-drops gather in mine eyes, As slow I walk these drear November hills; I think of all sad things — I think of death, Of pale, sweet faces reft of all their bloom, And lifted, cold and rigid, towards the skies; Of the loved forms that molder ’neath the sod, Whose grassy mounds we deck with bright-hued flowers, And on whose names we call in vain, nor catch Nor hint nor whisper from the dark unknown. I think of bitter partings, of fond hearts Asunder torn by Fate’s relentless power; Of those by change or distance severed, each one still Yearning to press again the other’s hand, And look once more on the beloved face. I think of boyhood’s dreams, of youthful hopes, As fleeting as the rainbow in the cloud; Of wasted purposes, of vain resolves, Of useless strivings after something high. All these sad thoughts come thronging to my mind, As slow I wander forth this Autumn eve. Yet still, O silver moon! in radiance fair, Far from yon purple heaven’s light serene, Shines on the cold dark earth thy beaming ray; As ever on my life’s waste places beams Thy glory fair, divinest poesy, And fills with beauty sorrow’s darkest night. Thus far I walk and muse this Autumn eve, While the fair moon climbs high the vaulted sky, And sad and chill night’s mournful breezes blow. POEMS. 61 LONGFELLOW . 1 Like the murmur of pleasant breezes In the leafy month of June, Or the song of the rippling streamlets, O poet, is thy pleasing tune. It comes with its V gentle music ’Micl the storm and stress of life, To still with its tuneful murmurs The noises of toil and strife. It bringeth all sounds of summer; The hum of swarming bees, The voice of seas and forests, And the sweet birds’ melodies. All nature’s mystic volume Lies open to thy ken, And thou knowest well the secrets Of the marvelous souls of men. Yet no rage of contending passions Blend in thy pleasant strain; But life’s sweeter and holier emotions Breathe soft through its sweet refrain. So where’er thy songs are scattered, In every gentle heart, Thy name as a hoarded treasure Is kept as a thing apart, 62 POEMS . And even the little children Love thy sweet and tender lays, And lisp with childish treble Their tuneful cadences. O poet, grand, yet simple, Beloved of old and young, Than thine no sweeter numbers Hath this or English tongue. And so thy melting music For ages yet to be, Shall wake the sounding echoes Of the halls of memory. NIY TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY. May 10th, 1878. How swiftly youth’s bright years have flown, From hour to hour, from day to day, My time unheeded slips away And leaves me with the past alone. I see the seasons come and go, Each with their days of storm and light; Some with the golden sunshine bright, And others dark with clouds of woe. POEMS. 63 Spring with new leaves and opening flowers, And Summer with her golden sheaves, And Autumn who with glowing leaves Bedecks her rainbow tinted bowers. Yet though the years have brought to me No common share of grief and pain; And but a hopeless strife and vain My whole short life hath seemed to be; I do not murmur, nor repine, Since in earth’s varied beauties fair I find such pleasure sweet and rare As thrills my soul with bliss divine. And so I walk, from day to day, The varying round of life alone, Grateful for all the joys I’ve known, Bearing my burdens patiently. And still sweet hopes within me rise, That somewhere in the dark before May lie a better fate in store To come at last a sweet surprise. POEMS . WAITING . 8 He sailed away beneath yon glimmering star, Afar beyond the foam-flecked harbor bar Across the purple sea; And never more; ah, never, never more My love comes back to me! At morn, at night, at noon, and twilight dim, With patient heart I wait and watch for him Beside the misty sea; But wait in vain, for never, never more My love comes back to me! Break, lovely dawn, and bathe in rosy light The cold, gray cliffs; blaze, sun, in glory bright Above the rippling sea; I heed ye not, for never, never more My love comes back to me! Fade, glorious sunset, with far golden gleam; Rise, gentle moon, and shine with silver beam Upon the shimmering sea; Why should I care? since never, never more My love comes back to me! Yet in a realm beyond all pain and care, "Mid ever-blossoming bowers of beauty rare Beside the golden sea, I know he dwells; and ever, ever more Both watch and wait for me! POEMS. 65 And soon 1 know from yon far gleaming height Will come an angel fair on pinions light Across the glittering sea, And bear me hence; where ever, ever more My love will stay with me! PASSION. My lady smiles upon me With a smile so sweet and rare; Her eyes are blue as heaven, Like the sunshine’s gold her hair. My lady can coo and murmur In a tender undertone; But my lady’s heart within her Is cold and hard as stone. I know the fair enchantress, I have fathomed all her wiles; I know how false are her kisses, How doubly false her smiles. And yet, at my lady’s bidding, I dance in my silken chains; Nor sigh for my once prized freedom While the wealth of her smile remains. 66 POEMS. I smile with mv lady’s pleasure, I sigh when my lady sighs; And all my daylight brightness I find in her lustrous eyes. But I serve for her serene highness As the toy of a passing hour; The slave of her wants and caprices, The proof of her beauty’s power. Alas for a man’s free nature Bound fast in so weak a thrall, To give for so poor a gourdon His life, his hope, and his all! A CANADIAN WINTER NIGHT. . How bright on the roofs of the village is beaming the silvery moonlight! How white lies the covering snow over all the landscape! It lieth in glittering heaps in the streets, it is spread o’er the fields like a mantle. As a casing of purest marble it heavily covers the house- tops. And transforms the most common things into wonders of exquisite beauty. POEMS. 67 The frolic winds hath tossed it about, and whirled itdn eddies, Sweeping it far over valley and hill, and forest and river, And filling the hollows, and covering the fences and landmarks. But now it lies all at peace with the moonlight beaming upon it, And as in the hush of death the form of some beautiful maiden Lies still and cold, yet fair, with the glory of heaven upon her, So seems the earth; as the moon in her beauty resplen- dent Slowly sails through the purple sky and tinges the borders Of fleecy clouds with gold, while the glittering stars near her pathway Wax pale and fade in the light of her glorious presence. IN MEMORIAM . 9 It seems so strange to think that she is dead Who but a few short days ago was full Of lusty life; to think that she must lie So still, whose time ran glad with dance and song And rippling laughter like a mountain brook. Who would have dreamed that saw her in the flush Of her sweet girlhood, with the rose of health Upon her cheek, it sparkle in her eye, 68 POEMS. A playful smile about her full red lips And golden light upon her sunny hair — That she so soon could suffer such a change, That death should come and with his icy breath Should blight the blossom opening to the sun, And even while we watched it in its growth And thought to see it bloom a stately flower That it should wither on the stalk away? J Tis scarce two weeks since she was full of life And hope and joy. Her bounding step Seemed keeping time to inward melody; Her merry voice rang sweet with laugh and song From morn to night. Now naught remains of her But this poor clay, and save for the bright hair About her marble forehead, who would know That this was e’en the fragile tenement That held her lovely spirit? It is strange. So very strange. She was so young to die. And had so much to live for. All this world Was beautiful to her; she seemed to feel A joy in mere existence. Why should she Be taken in the morning of her life W'hen all the future lay in dazzling light Illumined by her fancy’s beaming ray; While on this earth so many weary souls Stagger ’neath heavy loads, or writhe in pain, And call in vain on death to set them free From sin and care, and misery and woe? POEMS. 69 Oh, we will miss her; often we will look For her in her accustomed place, and think She will be coming soon. We oft will list To hear the rippling music of her laugh, Or catch the echo of her dancing feet. Yet when we think what she would have to bear If she had lived; when we reflect on all The sin, the woe, the anguish of this life — How can we dare to wish her back again? If we that knew her but a few brief weeks Can deeply grieve for her, how will he mourn Of whose dark life she was the morning star? And yet he may take comfort from the thought She was free from earthly taint, and fit To meet her Maker. Even in the sad And bitter anguish of her parting hour She did not fear to die, but trusted God And only prayed she might be taken soon. Oh, may we all so live, that when we tooi Shall cross death’s chilly flood, we may not shrink From the dark mystery beyond; but go With such a trusting faith in God, who works Nothing but good. So may our vision pierce The veil that hides them from our mortal view And see the glories of the world to come. 70 POEMS. A. TRIBUTE. F. It. Calkins Died November 17th, 1878. Than this what better can be said Of him that new is with the dead? He was most manly, good and true, And all did love him. He was one Whose soul seemed always in the sun; A genial nature’s breadth of view Was his, and wheresoe’er he went, To all remembrance he lent Where love and gratitude were blent. So all that knew him spake his praise, And on his grave for many days The blossoms of regret shall bloom. The record of his pleasant thought And kindly deeds may well be sought As fit inscription for his tomb. Long will be missed in every place That knew him, his familiar face And figure full of manly grace. Though in the flower of his youth He perished long his manly truth, And converse frank, and pleasing smile, Will be in memory revered, By those whose hearts his kindness cheered Or witty sallies did beguile. POEMS. 71 The world will never hear his name; But what is better far than fame He had, a conscience free from blame. But those who bound by every tie Of love and kinship saw him die, What comfort have they in their grief ? What cheer has she — the one who died Held dearer than all else beside— Save only this, his own belief, That he has only gone before, And when this fleeting life is o’er They’ll meet where partings are no more? And though I could not call him friend, His being ne’er with mine did blend, Bound with affections golden band; Yet still in memory I trace The outline of his pleasant face; And feel the pressure of his hand. For I have felt his kindly heat Of manner when we chanced to meet With friendly greeting in the street. Therefore I now would fondly crave The right to lay upon his grave This simple flower of poesy; Though not the growth of perfect art Its roots were twined about my heart; And it with reverence I lay In earth beside his lowly tomb, Where rooting it perchance may bloom, Or fading leave a faint perfume 1(y . 72 POEMS. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Died June 12th, 1878. At length, O Death ! thy dart hath lowly laid The one whose fearless hand did strip from thee Thy shadowy robes of terror, and disclosed Behind thy hideous mask an angel’s face. For he hath passed who in his manhood’s prime Gazed down the darkened vistas of the tomb, And there saw gently brood the dove of peace, Bedecked with fragrant flowers and crowned with bays,, His silver hair a shining aureole, He seeks his chamber in thy silent halls. A long life and a peaceful end were his, The good old man about whom clustering clung All fond remembrances; for not alone In that his song like a vast river flowed, With ever swelling volume grand and free Was unto him our highest homage paid. His vas the reverence which all men accord To an exalted mind and blameless life; And man and poet a common honor shared. Therefore the snow-white flowers that on his bier By loving hands with mute caress are laid, Are but as symbols of the stainless worth Of his high nature to our eyes revealed In the long years he dwelt among us here. So with the benisons of old and young POEMS . 73 He passed away; and even tbou, 0 Death! With gentle touch did still his heaving breast. The wish he once in flowing song expressed Is gratified; for now in flowery June, When all the rippling streamlets flash and sing, And thrills the woodbirds’ silvery melodies, He goeth to his last , long resting-place. So let him on earth’s fragrant bosom sleep Who loved so truly all her wondrous charms. All nature seems to mourn her worshiper ; The forest trees ’mongst whom he fondly strayed And ever found a sweet companionship Seem as in loneliness to mourn and sigh; And the great rivers’ mournful requiems For him seem chanting as they sounding flow. BAYARD TAYLOR. Died December 19th, 1878. Thou sang for another a funeral song, Nor dreamed so soon to thee With his summons would Death’s angel come As to him across the sea! 11 Thou hast traced the desert’s burning sands,. Tbou hast tracked the Arctic snows, 74 POEMS. And sailed, and sailed the foaming sea With every wind that blows. In every part of the wide earth Have thy feet been wont to roam; And among every race and tribe Of men has been thy home. But now thou hast gone into the realm By human foot untrod, To explore the wondrous mysteries Of the glorious home of God. We shall miss thy pleasant voice on earth, Blended in tuneful song; Yet still its echoes, sweet and clear, Will haunt our memories long. For thee, O traveler and poet. Heaven’s glories now unfold; And the sweet song thou missed on earth Is toned to harp of gold. From age to age thy soul shall see New wonders, more and more; And e’er thy song with grander swell To loftier heights shall soar. For through the boundless realms of space, Thy spirit now may wing; And thou hast learned the wondrous song The raptured seraphs sing. POEMS. 75 ODE ON "THE DEATH OE PRESIDENT GARFIELD. September 19th, 1881. Why breaks that solemn sound On midnight’s hush profound— The toll of deep-toned bells ? To every heart a quick foreboding 1 tells; As welling sad and slow, With voice of almost human woe, Their throbbing tones float out upon the air Until the silence seems to breathe a prayer. Gathering, the people come, And stand with sorrow dumb, Or speak one name alone with labored breath — The name of him the land hath loved so well, Who in the prime of life untimely fell, By vile assassin smitten unto death. How do all hearts recall, How on the July sunshine swift did fall O’er all the land a shadow like a pall; As the sad tidings thrilled the electric wire, That he, our chief, had fallen, and like a fire Enkindling rose the people’s righteous ire, Cursing the dastard wretch whose causeless hate Struck basely down our ruler, wise and great. All think how, day by day, Our hero on his couch of suffering lay, 76 POEMS. And held the grim destroyer long at bay; While anxious millions watched each pulse’s feverish beat, And poured with lavish hand their treasure at his feet. At last, at last, The blow hath fallen, hope is past! Toll, O bells! To all the land the mournful tidings bear: He that did the fiery darts of war withstand Lies stricken by a weak and cowardly hand! He is dead, The evil bolt too surely sped! Toll, toll! And voice the universal woe, Our noble ruler lieth low! No need is there to bid the people mourn, For every heart is with deep anguish torn; Since this was he, the people’s choice. Elected by the people’s voice, To rule the great States’ destinies. The man none knew except to praise, The scholar ripe and sound, The statesman wise of thought profound, The orator whose words of fire Hid holy zeal for truth inspire, The warrior whose sword quickly leapt to light To serve the cause of justice and of right. Such was he, as pure in heart, as sound in mind, N’er too lofty to be kind. Such was he, beloved by high and low, The truest friend, the noblest foe, The tender father, faithful husband, loving son. POEMS. 11 His earthly race is run; Yet rests he now, sure of unfading bays, Crowned with a loyal people’s sacred memories. We reverenced the man and not his high degree, For e’en the poorest could in liim a brother see, Since he hath taught and shown the conscious power Of manhood is an all sufficient dower. To no accident of birth He owed his lofty place on earth; But did the glorious height attain Through steady toil of hand and brain. To him all laurels came unsought. He never earthly place with honor bought; But ever through his life the rugged way Of duty did he follow day by day. He freely lent his service and his life To aid his country in her hour of strife; Yet put aside War’s wreath of higa renown When called by Duty’s voice to lay it down. His voice in the great nation’s counsel hall Rang ever like a mighty clarion’s call; And, with the power of high conviction strong. Spoke boldly for the right, agamst the wrong. So stood he firm amid the shock Of warring factions, like a rock; ’Mid the fierce fire of calumny He walked as walked the faithful three; And through the fiery furnace came Unscathed, nor bore the scent of flame. Thus, following the far-reaching light 78 POEMS. Of noble aims, be scaled the height, From which he saw the promised land disclose Its varied prospect, blossoming like the rose; But e’er his feet its smiling valley trod, His soaring spirit was recalled to God. Alas! that we must mourn His loss, whose hand was firm to guide the Ship of State Thro’ raging winds, o’er treacherous seas! How can it seem aught but relentless fate Which snatched from earth a soul of such high destinies With all its glorious promise unfulfilled? Yet must we we deem it best, for so God willed. Let us knee 1 , And put in words the grief we feel; Yet bow in meek submission to His will Who, while he chasteneth, loveth still; Who leads us upward still by devious ways, And turneth even the wrath of man to praise! Help us, O God, to think it well! Help us to say, “Thy will be done!' 5 For, while all our hearts with this great anguish swell, Behind the clouds we cannot see the sun. But though we hear Faith’s voice speak full and clear, And bid us trust thee still and have no fear, Oh, leave us still the solace of our grief ! Still let us mourn above our fallen chief ! Let the loud cannon’s roar Proclaim his loss from shore to shore! Still let the solemn bells be tolled! POEMS . 79 Let every home the weeds of mourning show; And the people, with deep anguish bowed, behold Across the land the mournful pageant sweep, Bearing that sacred form locked in eternal sleep, By the vast northern lake to lay it low. ’Tis meet that we to him all honor pay, Who served the land so long and faithfully; Who bore so long for us the heavy cross of pain, And did for us at last Death’s bitter chalice drain. ’Neath no sky-mocking dome, Nor stately minster’s fretted roof, Beside the bones of mighty kings, Where through the stained panes a glory shed Shines on the rich armorial blazonings, We lay our honored dead; But still, as fair mausoleums We build, which shall not crumble nor decay, In the great nation’s halls of memory. There the rich treasures of our love we tribute bring. And round each hallowed shrine The fragrant blossoms of remembrance twine. And by whom hath a higher place been won? Who on his tomb should fairer garlands bear Than him we mourn to-day, our best loved one, Who fell in the full pride of manhood fair, 1 His glorious lifework yet but just begun? Once more, his mother State, to thee Beturns thy noblest son. His work on earth is done. 80 POEMS. Bid all thy sorrowing children gather near, As warriors brave surround their leader’s bier, And wakes the mournful requiem’s loftiest swell. While to all eyes hot tears unbidden well, And in deep reverence lowly bows each head; Let, in tones of awe, the solemn prayers be said, And to the sound of martial music breathing low Let the long, long procession go, And lay him down to rest IJpon thy faithful breast. Oh, peaceful may his slumbers be Near thy fair city by the inland sea. While thou above him watcbeth sweet and mild As doth a mother o’er her sleeping child. To him, great State, let all thine honors be, Who shall eternal lustre lend to thee; Yet thou alone no more can claim The glory of his lofty fame; It is the great world’s legacy. Lo! Freedom, from the gleaming height Where she sits throned in awful light, Stoops downward, holding high her blazoned shield, On which, upon an azure field, Circled with lilies white, Forever more his name shall be Enscribed in characters of flame With those she counted free from blame. While on her scroll of honor shines as bright The chronicle in which her sons shall ages hence de- light; Where show T s his childlike trust in higher power, POEMS. 81 His zeal to do God service hour by hour, His humble reverence for all righteous laws, His high devotion to a noble cause, His courage in the hour of danger shown, His tender love for those he called his own, His Christian patience on his couch of pain, His noble manhood without spot or stain That record shall not fade, But evermore shall shine, Perfect in every line, By the long lapse of ages brighter made; And be to noble souls of every age and clime A high incentive to a life sublime. We mourn that noble life, We watched so long expand in sun and shower, Should perish e’er we saw its perfect flower; Yet are we not so blind but we can see How e’en in such affliction an allwise decree Maketh still a higher good to be. . How spake the holy one, God’s well beloved Son: ‘ ‘Unless the grain of wheat hath died, It must alone abide; But if it die, it forth much fruit shall bring.” So from his grave shall spring For every age the generous seed, Fruitful in thought and deed, Which, scattered wide to all the winds that blow, Shall cause o’er all the earth the’ flowers of Christian love to grow. 82 POEMS . Already we the glad fruition see. Since men of every section, party, race and creed Above his grave clasp hands in amity; And this great people, with a sense of common loss to day, That they are one, at last, may truly say. And shall that influence grow from more to more, Until from shore to shore This mighty nation, grand and free, United all in holy brotherhood shall be? O wretch, abhorred of God and man ! O crawling worm, too mean to hate, That stung to death the truly great ! What vengeance could we wreak on thee That would not shame our dignity? Go, smitten by a nation’s curse ! God’s vengeance falleth soon or late. The child unborn thy name shall execrate; While he, thy victim, aye shall live, Embalmed in poet’s immortal verse. Or on historian’s page of gold, Ranked with the deathless ones of old Whom all mankind in reverence hold. Queen of our heart and hands, Although of lofty station now bereft. As royal by thy right divine As are the crowned heads of other lands; Since thou art ours and we are thine. O’er fifty million loyal subjects reignest thou this day POEMS. 83 And none thy right gainsay, But the whole world to thee doth homage pay. We watched with bated breath Thy hero’s long unequal fight with death; And saw thy tender ministries sustain His soul through weary days and nights of pain. Now do we mourn with thee That all thy clinging love and anxious care, Thy trusting faith and agony of prayer, Could not avail that precious life to save; And keep with thee sad vigil o’er his grave. In every happy home in this broad land to-day Loved ones look on their households’ prop and stay, And turn with eyes o'erflowed with tears to thee, And tender hearts from far beyond the sea Waft to thee fervent words of sympathy; While England’s widowed Queen, Who hath so long and truly mourned her noble mate Throwing aside the pomp of regal state, By thee in gracious womanhood is seen. Be strong, great woman’s soul, Though round thee surging waves of trouble roll, Be not cast down with sorrow utterly. About thee cling the nation’s sheltering arms, Strong to defend thy soul from all alarms. She kneels with thee beside the sacred biei Of him, her martyred son, she held so dear, And pledges thee anew her fealty. Rest, circled by the people’s love, And strong in faith in Him above. Lift up to heaven thy streaming eyes, 84 POEMS. For lo! the heavenly dove, descending, brings To thee the balm of healing on his wings. Thy children shall arise And call thee blessed; And that great light which close beside thee shone, And filled thy life with radiance divine, Though passed from earth, still evermore shall shine Upon thee from the dark unknown, As the departed sun lends light To the fair moon to glorify the night. O sons who bear a heritage sublime From him who was the glory of his time, Still doth his unseen presence hover near About your path, to comfort and to cheer. He speaketh, although dead; And not in feeble human words alone, But in that higher speech of grand example shown, Teaching the lesson dimly understood, That simple duty is earth’s highest good. His admonitions heed. Be resolute in thought, and word, and deed. Seek first the holy will of God to do, And all things shall be added unto you. And thou, sweet maiden, like an opening flower Just bursting into gracious womanhood, Bearing the burden of this evil hour With the true grace ,of Chfistian fortitude. May the fond sufferer’s benediction rest On all thy future life, an influence blest; POEMS . 85 And of his counsels e’er the memory Be as a light to guide thee on thy way. Fond mother, that did rear Thy noble son from earliest infancy To walk the narrow path of rectitude With reverence for God and love of good! He, to the precepts learned beside thy knee, Did ever through his after life adhere; And bore, ’mid all the honors he attained. His boyhood’s faith intact, his childhood’s purity un- stained. So didst thou see with conscious pride On him men’s commendation well bestowed, Knowing how much to thee he owed, Who, ’mid the grinding toil of poverty. Molded his soul in frame of true nobility. And well .did he thy loving care repay, Being to thee in life’s declining day An ever constant comforter and stay. But in his loss the consolation still may be That he now waits for thee Upon the shining shore Of that bright realm where partings are no more. Rise, stricken nation, from thy dark despair, And mourn no more for him Who now hath passed beyond Death’s portal dim, And hath already reached those regions fair, Where by the morning gate, The star-crowned angels wait 86 POEMS. To welcome him with glad acclaim. For in the book of life is writ his name, And he shall enter in Among that glorious throng made pure from sin, Who, robed in spotless white, Circle rejoicing round the throne of light, Since they, in life’s great battle overcame. The race is run, The battle fought, the victory won, The holy bliss of heaven begun. Lo! he the crown of thorns hath worn, The heavy cross of suffering nobly borne, Henceforth the crown of life eternal he shall wear. So, let us leave him in God’s sacred care; But let his precepts still our hearts inspire, Till this great nation mount from high to higher. Until, at last, on glory's loftiest height Enthroned, it shall unto the whole wide world give light. ODE. Bead at the Montifiore Centenary Celebration, Portland, Oregon, October 26, 1884. Ye bards of silver tongue, Let not alone his praises loud be sung, Who comes with garments stained with gore. Greeted by mighty cannons’ thunderous roar. POEMS . 87 From fields of blood, where clang of conflict rang; But in his honor sing The truer hero of a nobler strife, Who the rich trophies not of death, but life, Doth offering to the world’s great altar bring. All hail to him whose silver hair The auriole of a noble life doth wear ! On whom a century's light Hath shed the glory of its radiance bright ! His name all men in common reverence share. A life of noble deeds Unto no clime or people can belong; O’er the whole earth it shineth full and Strong- Above all bounds of systems and of creeds. To him is homage due Who, to the highest call of duty true, Hears from afar the helpless sufferer’s cry, And with a hand of succor swift doth fly O’er sundering seas, or trackless deserts through; Whose name in many a clime The sorrowing hosts of downcast and opprest, With fervent prayer oft uttered, long have blest In chorus swelling o’er the seas of time. Fitly our patriarch bears his name, Who regal station changed for brand of shame; And, choosing with the lowly and the poor, Their evil lot to suffer and endure, In their just cause, the proud ones overcame. He, Moses of our day, 88 POEMS. Whose noble deeds the world hath grateful seen, His good gray head, unwreathed with laurel green, Shine3 like a light upon men’s onward way. His people’s constant friend, About whose name all fond affections blend, His memory shall ages hence endure In all their hearts, an image bright and pure. And on his head their blessings oft descend. Not old, but ever young— Though on him showered a hundred winters’ snows — Since in his heart the fire of kindness glows. And round him e’er love’s joy-bells sweet are rung, Ye also who the faithful followers be Of him, the holy one of Galilee, Hear ye the words he spake, God’s well-loved son, 1 ’ < £ Who hath to these my brethren kindness done So even hath he ministered to me;” And to him homage pay The great and good, whom love hath sanctified, Kindred in soul to him who lived and died That on the earth might break love’s holy day. Thank God, since time began For those whose gospel was man’s love for man; Apostles of the time when peace profound Shall spread abroad unto earth’s utmost bound, And all the sky God’s bow of promise span Already may we see The first faint radiance of the morning ray; And soon, ah! soon, shall break the perfect day And swiftly all the shades of darkness flee. POEMS. 89 Hasten, O Lord, that blessed time The fulness of the great earth’s glorious prime! Long since by bard’s and prophet’s lips foretold, The reign of holy love, the age of gold; And make no more our faith a dream sublime: Then in earth’s temple fair, All those high spirits who in deed or thought Have for the race in loving patience wrought Shall high enshrined men’s reverent homage share. BURNS. Read before the Caledonian Club of Portland, Oregon, January 26, 1885. Sweet singer, dear to Scottish hearts, Through all the years their pride and glory, How fragrant still in every clime Thy memory breathes through song and story! From no slow growth of labored art Was born thy song’s melodious measure* So near thou wast to Nature’s heart She showered upon thee all her treasure* The burn that laughed down rocky glen, The lark at morn’s light, bright portal singing. Mingled their music in the strain Through thy lay’s melting cadence ringing. 90 ' POEMS. And as a maid herself adorns With anxious care to please her lover, So Nature to thy loving eyes Did every grace and charm discover. All common things, unto thy sight Transfigured, wore a mystic glory; The tiny floweret at thy feet Told to thy heart its simple story. The heather bloom, the daisy fair, The sweet wild rose and hawthorne blossom, Deep rooted in thy tender heart, With eager transports thrilled thy bosom. And knowledge beyond lore of men Gave to thy soul a deep discerning, And stirred anew its trembling depths With sympathetic fervor burning, Until the inmost soul of man, Its secrets to thine eyes revealing, Found utterance in thy tuneful song, Throbbing with warm and generous feeling. So ever yet thy tender lays, Oft sung by Scottish maid and lover, Wafted abroad o’er sea and land, Are echoing sweet the whole world over. And still by Scotland’s groves and streams Thv memory breaches with love undying, And the de*r burden of thy name The very winds are softly sighing. POEMS. 91 By banks and braes of bonny Boon, And fresh green birks of Ayr’s bright river, Thy gentle spirit fondly strays And dwells a living soul forever. And so afar, ’neath alien skies, Where Scotia’s sons’ true tearts are beating, They ever hail thy natal day With kindly thought and friendly greeting. And as they drain the brimming cup, To home and kindred loyal ever, Forever blended in their thoughts Thy name and Scotland’s go together. LEtTR CRY OR THK PEOPLE . 13 Through the centuries comes a cry From the weak and sorrowing poor: How long, O God! how long Must we suffer and endure ? How long must we groan and sweat In the thrall of a useless toil ? How long must the fruit of our busy hands Be the proud oppressor’s spoil? As the years roll on and on, Still o’erflows our brimming cup; Where is he Christ to be That will lift the sorrowing up? 92 POEMS. For the rich sit far apart, Nor will heed our bitter cry; Why should they know or care, Though of want their brethren die? Let the haughty ones beware Lest the hour of vengeance come; And a storm of terror burst Round each stately, gilded home. Not of us they need have fear, For patient we and meek; But we may not stay a power From whom aid we do not seek. For a wallowing monster lies In the haunts of sin and crime, And oft lifts his horrid head From his slough of filth and slime. And threateningly he stirs, When he hears our bitter cries; Though he feeds upon our souls, Yet he heeds our groans and sighs. Often, in days of yore, Hath that monster waked in power, And o’er the earth hath raged, To ravage and devour. And who shall bind him down, Lest again his wrath we know: And the evil and the good Be o’erwhelmed ’neath floods of woe? POEMS. 93 SONNETS. Beloved one, my spirit thrills to thee As doth the wind-harp to the breeze that plays, Now sweet, now wild, discordant melodies. What strain thon wouldst, that canst thou wake in me ; I am but that which thou wouldst have me be. Exert thy power, then, love, my soul to raise And purify, exalt and not debase; My guardian angel let me find in thee. Then if my feeble songs can make thy name Bemembered, in the future men will say: Behold, this poet’s lady did not scorn His passionate love, nor brand his life with shame; But from her faithfulness and purity A nobler nature was within him born. The gentle moon controls the boisterous sea, And leads his billows wheresoe’er she list; With all his strength he cannot her resist; And so, beloved, neither can I thee; But still in all things must thy follower be. Eor since my brow by thy sweet mouth is kissed, Though far above me among clouds and mist Thou shinest, still, O love, thou leadest me Upwards towards thee and heaven. But I, alas ! Chained to the earth, can never mount to thee. Though ’gainst the rocks my spirit’s billows dash, Beyond their boundaries I cannot pass. Yet since such aim I have, though vain and rash, Not wholly lost thy faith and purity. 94 POEMS. JV Picture of Memory. A lovely picture hangs on Memory’s wall, Bright with perpetual sunshine; and whene’er My life is dark, I gaze upon it there In those still cloisters where rich glories fall In golden splendor, and its charms recall My spirit’s gladness. How surpassing fair That picture ! bhining rings of pale-gold hair, A brow of marble whiteness, blue eyes all Aglow, cheeks softly tinged with rose, Like ocean shells, and full red lips that smile Upon me, aye; but, more than all, a look So trustful, and so childlike, without guile. Below her eyes’ clear depths pure thoughts repose, Like diamond pebbles ’neath a crystal brook. To My Ideal Lady, Often, sweet lady, do I see thee glide, At the dim hour of twilight, through the gloom Of darkening shadows githering in my room. When sunset splendors fade in golden tide, There, in the pale half-darkness, by my side I see thee stand, in all thy youthful bloom; Trancing the senses like a sweet perfume, Or sound oi mellow music floating wide Through night’s still chambers. Oh, so brightly fair I see the glory of thy floating hair Flooding thy form like sunshine! and thine eyes Gazing on me with glance of pitying love ! Didst thou alone from fancy’s dream arise, Or art thou some bright angel from above? POEMS. 95 SPRING. Come, lovely Spring, and with soft kisses wake The torpid earth from her long winter’s sleep. From off the streams their icy fetters break, And let them, glad with golden sunshine, sweep, Rejoicing in their freedom. O’er the lake Breathe soft and low, and, as its waters sleep In peaceful beauty, stir its breast and make It quiver into billowy gold. O’er steep Hillside, and vale, and downy mead, come, shake Ambrosial odors from your wings, while flowers Blossom beneath your footsteps, and up springs The crisp young grass, and all the mountains take Hew beauty, clad in vernal green; and sings The wood-bird sweetly in the new blossoming bowers. When all the world rejoiceth, and is glad In the new life of Spring; when every tree And flower, and leaf, is thrilling with the joy Of young existence, why should man be sad? Why let life’s petty griefs and cares annoy, When all things else are gay? With merry glee The brooklet gambols, and the breeze is glad That plays among the blossoming trees; and rings Creation with God’s praise. From the greenwood, And hill, and vale, and plain, a thrilling voice I hear; while Nature’s choir an anthem sings That bids man, too, praise God, and says, “Rejoice, And glorify the Lord, for he is good! Let all things join the song! Rejoice, rejoice!” 96 POEMS. Decoration Day. May 30, 1879. >Tis well that thus, with each recurring year, We deck with bright -hued flowers the dewy mold Of grassy graves whose narrow confines hold The holy dust of those to memory dear. Our deathless ones, whose fame shines bright and clear On History’s page, emblazed in lines of gold. Meet is this honor to those spirits bold Who nobly rose, untouched by craven fear, And crushed tbe traitorous band that sought to tear Down the great temple of our liberties. For as, in love and reverence, we bring To grace their lowly tombs these blossoms fair, Sweet children of the fragrance-breathing Spring, The world the nation’s grateful homage sees. The Stars. Ye burning stars, whose glittering hosts on high Bestud yon cloudless heaven’s dusky blue, When daylight fades in many a varied hue, Your queen, sweet Hesperus, with dewy eye, Arises in the glowing west, and nigh The paley moon beams bright. Then, called anew To your bright watch, ye come, until the blue Expanse of heaven is all ablaze; and I Long at my casement watch your gleaming fires, Marveling to ihink such shining specks are suns Or planets like our own, more vast than they. Yet still a deeper wonder He inspires Whose mandates all creation’s sons obey, While round his throne the chain of ages runs. POEMS . 97 SONNETS on Faith. Dedicated To S. C., A Romae Catholic. Our faith is one, though thou wouldst worship God In stately minster, where, in iris Rues, The stained panes day’s golden rays diffuse, In glory, on mosaic pavements, trod For centuries by reverent feet. The sod Floors my vast temple; and myself X lose In pillared shades, the sunbeams bright suffuse With undimmed radiance. The wild roses nod Upon mine altars. I with reverence tread Upon an emerald pavement, tesselate With flowers ; and with a spirit rapt and hear e a e, In reverence due, I lowly bow my head Beneath the bright dome of the azure sky, And there in silence worship Him on high. The pomp of solemn ritual— with blaze Of waxen tapers, clouds of incense, flowers, Sweet-breathing odor that the soul o’erpowers, Fair sculptured saints, rich paintings, harmonies Of mighty masters which sweet voices raise To the deep organ’s tone, as silver showers Mingle with mighty thunder’s voice- empowers Thy soul to fitting utterance of God’s praise. My choir’s the bird’s, my organ plays the breeze Amongst the pines ; streams chant my litanies. I breathe faith’s prayer, though in no stated forms, And still God’s light of love my being warms. Can He the worship of the spirit scorn? If so, why is such hope within me born? 98 POEMS. You say that I, in having cast away The worn incumbrance of an old belief, Have left my soul without a single stay, Or refuge in life’s anguish, pain and grief. It may be so ; yet while in flower and leaf, And all the wondrous charms God’s works display, I find so sweet a joy, and ne’er am deaf To Nature’s hymns of praise, not far astray I deem myself from Him. Believe me, friend, I trust with thee His hand will guide aright My spirit groping blindly towards the light. Howe’er we differ, then, this is the end; Thou wouldst not doom me to the stake or rack, And I can find in thy pure faith no lack. The Autumn Moon. How beautiful the full-orbed autumn moon, Rising above the mountains. First her light, With a faint rosy radiance, tinges bright The sky beyond yon tapering pines. Then, rising soon,. In full-orbed majesty, as earth doth swoon In purple shades of even, to the sight, Like a god’s golden shield, she comes bedight In all h r pristine glory. O fair moon, How soon is lost thy brighter, richer glow! Yet shining with a purer, fairer ray; St 11 mounting upward, thou to me dost seem Like some sweet maiden’s soul while round whom stream The rays of dawning womanhood, from below Borne to the heights of immortality. POEMS. 99 Success. I know, let men deny me as they may, That God hath given to me this gift of song For his good purpose! Though it may he long “Lodged with me useless”; 14 yet, some future day, There’s one will hear this simple melody That soothes my solitude, and the strain prolong, Until the world shall listen to my song. But it may be as he that hears the lay Of dying swan, and, raptured by the strain, Hastes to the water’s brink; but comes too late, And finds the spirit of the singer fled. So I may die; but I in patience wait. My work will last when I am with the dead, For God decrees man cannot live in vam. Despondency. 0 God, thou knowest I would not complain Of this, my life, howsoe’er dark it be, Should only this poor boon be granted me: That all mine efforts be not wholly vain: But that, in all this toil of hand and brain, At length some little profit I may see. This is my sole request— God grant it me! 1 am so weary of the tug and strain In which no gain appeareth. Only show The end, though distant, still in view, and 1 Am well content to bear my load of woe. But if no good I win, howe’er I try, Nor ever reap, no matter how I sow; Then, Father, in thy mercy, let me die ! 100 POEMS. F"or a Frierd’s Album. Dear friend, if thou shouldst pass when I shall lie Silent and motionless, where o’er my grave The wild flowers blossom and green branches wave; Wilt thou not, though all others pass him by Whose name was writ in water, pause to sigh O’er one so miserable, to whom life gave Naught he desired; who, although stout and brave, In his life struggle vanquished, could but die ? And think, perchance, had happier fate ordained My ways, a higher place had I attained, And won the laurel leaf for which I sighed. Yet count me not all hapless, since on me Hath ever shone divinest poesv, And brought sweet solace, though the world denied. — Keats’ Epitaph . 15 “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” 0 sad-eyed bard ! not thine the hapless fate Thy dying voice in mournful tones expressed ; For thou, exalted with immortals blest, Hast won men’s reverent homage, though too late. But I that, crippled, by the wayside wait — Until at length sweet Death, the king of rest, Shall still with gentle touch my troubled breast — Would fain thy bitter phrase reiterate! Lo! I have borne the storm and stress of life, The useless struggle, without hope of gain. 1 am a soldier vanquished in the strife, To whom no laurel solace gives to pain. For me is thy sad plaint with meaning rife; Mine let it be, since I have lived in vain. POEMS. 101 Lake George. Fair lake, whose ever changeful beauty gave To my enraptured spirit strange delight, When, as a child, I saw thy waters blight, With ripple soft, thy pebbly margin lave— Though long beside Missouri’s dusky wave I since have dwelt— my fancy, day and night, Hath painted thee. And now my eager sight Once more beholds this scene, for many years I, save In too soon fading dreams, could never view. Of more than earthly beauty seems thy reach Of shining, crystal waters, and thy hills, In gold and crimson, changed afar to blue Or richest purple; and my spirit thrills To hear thy rippling wavelets’ silver speech. Bright dawns, and glorious sunsets, and the blaze Of noontide glory, on the silver lake; And waters that with tuneful murmurs break Along the rocky shores; sweet melodies Of warbling birds; soft breathing harmonies Of whispering winds ’mongst murmuring pines that shake Their waving crests. All these partake, And are a part of the sweet summer days I here have spent, as lost in blissful dreams, I wandered oft through shady greenwood bowers Along the banks of crystal mountain streams; Or glided soft where many a gray cliff towers O’er the still lake bestrewn with flashing gleams, Near verdant isles and headlands bright with flowers. Of all how grateful now the memory seems. 102 POEMS. Tii e Plague Summer. August, 1878. Borne on the southern breezes comes a cry, Of awful desolation and despair, From fever-stricken cities, where the air Breathes pestilence, and all the sky Is black with Death’s o’ershadowing wings, that fly O’er all the groaning land; while he doth bear With him gaunt Famine, and from regions fair Comes forth a prolonged wail of agony. But with warm pity thrills the nation’s heart, And hands are reached to succor and to save; While many — be their memory ever green — Undaunted at the call of Duty, start, And in her name the fell destroyer brave, Which proves our age not sordid, all, nor mean. Thank God for every kindly human heart, For every hand in pity stretched to aid A suffering brother. Though a gloomy shade O’ershadows our dark earth; while far apart Among strange nations do love’s courier’s start, And winging land and ocean undismayed, Bear balm to those affliction low hath laid — I can but feel, O Father, that thou art Shaping to some good end men’s destinies. Not vain though all the ages past have run, Entoned by bard and sage glad prophecies, Of the true golden age. We see begun Its glorious dawn; though but by slow degrees The dark world swingeth nearer to the sun. POEMS. 103 William Lloyd Garrison. Died, May 24, 1879. Who among heroes can thy place deny, Since, when to thee, in dawning manhooi, came Tbe voice of Freedom, calling on thy name. Full ready was thine answer: “Here am I!” And straight with arm of strength didst thou let fly Her winged arrows, tipped with burning flame, At the giant evil of the nation’s shame. The might of branded wrong didst thou defy, Armed with the thunders of God’s righteous law. Thine iron purpose would not bend or break. Nor threat nor curse thy steadfast soul could awe ; Nor raging mob’s brute violence could shake. But since the right thy mind’s clear vision saw, All wouldst thou undergo for conscience’ sake. O grand, heroic soul! ’twas well for thee That, ere in thee was quenched youth’s fervent heat, Upon thy head the raging tempest beat And spent its force ; so, ere life’s ending, free From all thy toil and striving, thou couldst see Thy finished life-work rounded and complete. After so fierce a struggle rest is sweet. Yet ’mongst the great of earth, how few they be Who, serving ideal good, as thou hast done, Ere the dark shades of evening round them fell Could find so sweet a peace at set of sun ! And while the world’s acclaims did doubt dispel, From, the long-wished-f or goal in triumph .won, ^ Gould say: “Life’s work is finished; it is well!” 104 POEMS. The Brook. Sweet brook, that gambols down the mountain-side, How soft thy pleasing murmur greets mine ear! And glad I see thy waters gushing clear, Among thy mossy stones, in crystal tide. When sweet wild flowers are blossoming far and wide, In pleasant thought, I love to wander here, Recalling scenes to memory ever dear; Or on some grassy hillock by thy side Reclined, to let my fancy roam at will. Then, in my summer dreams I oft behold Thy Naiad pouring from a silver vase, In some lone cavern on yon misty hill, Thy limpid waters, ever fresh and cold. From her hast thou thy wild and wayward grace. Garfield. November 12, 1880. Hail, Garfield, hail! the nation’s chosen head! A type of noble manhood dost thou stand, Self crowned; the peer of that illustrious band Whose names a glory on our annals shed. Although thou wast in lowliest station bred, E’er didst thou labor strong, in heart and hand; And so didst Fortune’s adverse powers withstand, Until about thy brow Fame’s halo spread. Ne’er didst thou honors seek; but, brave and strong. Didst simply walk where duty led the way. Thou wouldst not do thy nobler nature wrong, By lights of .false ambition led astray; And so, though slanderous hate assailed thee long, Thine acts stand all approved in open day. POEMS. 105 In Memory ok My Mother, Died, November 20, 1880. Oh, dearest mother, little did I dream, When on my brow thy last fond kiss was prest, My glance might never more upon thee rest, Nor thine in tender love upon me beam! O God, how dreary all this world must seem, Bereft of thy sweet presence! Grief opprest, Oft have I yearned to lie on Nature’s breast In peaceful slumber: since I needs must deem, Thrice happy they by God’s love purified, Who rest in holy sleep, the happy dead. And when I knew earth’s highest joy denied, And saw thy gentle soul before me fled, How, in an agony of grief, I cried: “Would, God, I could have perished in thy stead!’ 1 Sweet mother, when I think on thy dear face, I see it radiant with the light it bears Before the pearly throne. Of earthly cares On its pure lineaments remains no trace; But evermore a pure and heavenly grace. A smile of peace ineffable, it wears Sign of the joy thy raptured spirit shares With blest immortals in the holy place. It cannot be so sweet a soul as thine Could linger in the grave’s abyssmal night. Thou must, encircled by a love divine, Have found a higher life of pure delight, Where, ever more and more, God’s glories shine; In those celestial regions calm and bright. 106 POEMS. I strive to count thee happier in a sphere Beyond the fret and toil of this low earth, Where souls immortal joy in higher birth; Yet, oh, beloved, I yearn to feel thee near! All earth seems now to me a desert drear, I am so sad and lonely. Little worth Seems all life’s struggle, since I knew the dearth Of thy fond love, which was my solace here. Be with me, then, in spirit, still to guide My footsteps, so that when life’s tasks are done I may, with thee, beyond death’s swelling tide, The peace of God’s most blessed home have won; And, ’mongst the throng His grace hath glorified, Shall find my true existence just begun. Bereavement. Oh, wherefore in the Scriptures do we see So writ: ‘The bruised reed he will not break, Nor quench the smoking flax;” when we must wake So oft that bitter cry of agony Wrung from the blessed one of Calvary: . “O God, my God! Why dost thou me forsake?” Is there no water our soul’s thirst to slake ? No balm to heal our wounded hearts? Must we Alone here, in the darkness, moaning lie, In hour of bitter sorrow desolate; And hear no pitying answer to our cry Of anguish, as our loved pass through the iron gate? Or is it so, or whence this whisper nigh: ‘Fear not, but trust his mercy — only wait?” POEMS . 107 Longfellow. Died, March 24th, 1882. Sweet singer, who hath passed from earth away, Through the still valley of thine honored age, Closing at length in peace thy pilgrimage — We pay our tribute at thy bier to-day, Enshrining in our hearts thy memory. Let all the coming years their tumult wage; They naught can mar thy fame, howe’er they rage; For peoples yet unborn thy melting lay Shall move with sense of ever new delight. Thou art not dead, and can never die. Though passed forever from our mortal sight; Still may we feel thy living presence nigh, Or see thee sitting, throned in awful light, With all the godlike bards of days gone by! On the Death of My Brother. T. A. Steell, Murdered at Coeur d’ Alene Mines, Idaho. June 20th, 1884. Alas! my brother, sleeping far away. Where all the wailing winds make dreary moan Among the silent mountains sad and lone, How quickly quenched thy young life’s ardent ray! E’en while about thy path in colors gay, By fancy painted, wondrous visions shone Of golden treasure hid in crypts of stone, Thy heart was in a moment stilled for aye. Eor as asudden, smote by lighting’s flash, Falls, in the forest lone the stately oak, So thou, in pride of brave young manhood, fell. Why should Death from thy hand life’s goblet dash. Brimming with golden wine ? This awful stroke Of cruel fate, how can we think it well? 108 POEMS. Happiness. Fair, fleeting phantom, men thy steps pursue, And ever must desire thee more and more; Yet can but see thee flitting just before, And miss thee still, then join the chase anew. Sometimes thy form, half lost in distance blue, Seems hovering some far mountain’s summit o’er, Sometimes thou beckonost to some distant shore; Then amid mists and shadows fade from view. Some fancy that thou dwellest in warrior s tent; Some that in pleasure’s hall thou hast thy throne; Others that gold can lure thee. He most bent, To seize thee, and to claim thee for his own, Must lose thee seeking far; for called Content Dwellest thou oft by many a quiet hearthstone. To FtA/TTI. O peerless songtress, with such sweetness rare Thy voice upon the perfumed air doth ring That all the raptured soul is listening! Forgotten are the glitter and the glare, The jostling throng, the close and sultry air. My spirit, like a disembodied thing, The wave of sound, melodious, on light wing, To an enchanted region seems to bear. Then when thou cease, and deafening thunders break Of long applause, while blossoms strew thee round, As one arousing from a heavy swound, Trembling, I from my blissful dream awake. God-gifted one, where, to earth’s utmost bound. May such a marvelous gift as thine be found Which doth of heaven’s very soul partake ? San Francisco, March 14th, 1885. POEMS . 109 Iv’ ENVOY. Sweet spirit, who hath led my feet to stray Through the dim aisles of song, where echoing sound Soft breathings of immortal melody; Guiding me where, with fadeless garlands crowned, On fame’s high summits throned in luminous ring, The world's great minstrels sit and sweetly sing. And so hast taught my faltering voice to raise Faint echoes of their divine harmonies, Wandering with thee where rippling streamlets play Through greenwood shades, or where the still lakes shine, Circled by mountains fringed with fir and pine, Or grassy meadows, strewn with flowerets g ay. Forsake me not; be with me still, I pray! Bearing for all life’s ills a grateful balm From the enchanted region, sweet and calm, Which is thy home. So shall my spirit aye Thrill with a rarer, sweeter melody, As thou by pleasant ways my steps shall guide To loftier heights of thought, as yet untried. THE END. no POEMS. NOTES. “THE POET.” (1.) Page 10.— “Heaven opened wide ; Her ever during gates harmonious sound On golden hinges turning.” — Milton’s “ Paradise Lost.” (2.) “The next night It came again with a great wakening light.” Leigh Hunt: “ Abou Ben Adhem .” (3.) “And with the selting sun Dropped from the zenith like a falling star. — Milton’s “ Paradise Lost.” “THE POET’S SOUL.” (4.) Page 13. — As there is some similarity between the general idea of this piece and that of Goethe’s fine lyric, “Die Seele des menschen ist gleich Wasser,” I will state, in justice to myself, that it was written several years before I had read the exquisite lines of the great German poet. “THE THUNDER SHOWER.” (5.) Page 29.— Ever since I have been able to overcome my childish dread, thunder-storms have had great attractions for me, as among the most sublime phenomena of nature. Theseverses give a very inadequate, but by no means exaggerated, description of some of the storms I have witnessed. “the meeting of summer and autumn.” (6.) “A station like the Herald Mercury Newly lighted on the heaven kissing hill.” J — “Hamlet. “LONGFELLOW.” (7.) Page. 61. — In connection with these lines and the sonnet written at the time of his death, I cannot forbear giving here the following letter, received from the great poet, in reply to one of mine, inclosing some im- mature verses, as an illustration of his kindness of heart. POEMS. Ill Cambridge, Feb. 8th, 1879. “Dear Sir: ^ . ... Want of time and other considerations render it impossible for me to examine manuscripts and give critical opinion of their merits. Of the sonnets you send me, I can only say that I have read them with pleasure. The only criticism I have to make upon them is, that they do not strictly conform to the laws of the sonnet, as laid down and followed by the Italians, who have carried that kind of composition to its greatest per- fection. I allude to the interlacing of the rhymes, in which English writers, from Shakespeare down, have taken liberties, injurious to the complete- ness of form. This I suggest as worthy of consideration. Yours truly, Henry W. Longfellow. WAITING.' ’ (8.) Page 64=.— I find these lines to be little more than an imitation of a beautiful poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen, published some years since in the Atlantic Monthly under the title of “The Silver Bridge.” The re- semblance, however, only consists in the use of the same refrain and some similarity in the tone and rhythm. As the imitation was at first uncon- scious, I have given the verses a place here in order to illustrate the effect produced on my mind by Mrs. Allen’s fine lyric. “IN MEMORI \M.” (9.; Page 67.— These lines were written in memory of Della E. Soules, a little schoolmate who died of diphtheria atLacole, Canada, in the winter of 1877. The exact date I have not been able to verify, owing to the haste in which this volume was prepared. “A TRIBUTE.” (10.) Page 70.— “And this poor flower of poesy, Though little cared for, fades not yet ; But since it pleased a vanished eye, I go to plant it on his tomb, That if it may it there will bloom, Or fading, there at least may die.” Tennyson's “ In Memoriam.” 112 POEMS. “BAYARD TAYLOR.” (11.) Page 73.— Taylor’s Ode on the death of Bryant was published in Scribner’s Monthly , I believe, almost simultaneously with the an- nouncement of his own death. MONTEFIORE ODE. (12.) Page 89.— These words are not intended to present a claim of the Messiahship of Jesus. I speak of him here solely as the apostle of the great gospel of humanity. As a very liberal Christian, I believe the great essential of his teaching to beexpressed in the words of James: “True re- ligion and undefiled before God is to visit the widows and the fatherless and to keep oneself unspotted from the world,” a common ground on which good men, both Jew and Christian, may unite. I believe Sir Moses Montefiore is a very orthodox Jew, and I respect his faith in that it has prompted him to a life of lofty aims and beneficent deeds. I write of him, however, only as a man whose services to humanity have not been confined by any narrow bounds of sect or creed. This stanza was omitted when the poem was read out of deference to the wishes of the gentlemen comprising the committee of arrangement; it is given here, however, in order to show more fully the standpoint from which the piece was written , and to preserve the sequence of the thought and rhythm. “THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE ” (13.) Page 91.— I have no sympathy with the extravagant theories usual among those calling themselves socialists; but I believe some relief for the struggling masses -not in the way of alms-giving, but through the adoption of a systematic plan for bettering the condition of the wage- workers— is necessary, in order to avert dangers to the State, which, in the end, our form of democratic government will serve rather to augment than to check. “SUCCESS.” (14.) Page 99. — “Lodged with me useless.” —Milton’s sonnet on his blindness. “KEATS’ EPITAPH.” (15.) Page 100.— This sonnet was published in a prose, sketch by the author. *