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diff --git a/15553-h/15553-h.htm b/15553-h/15553-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7147118 --- /dev/null +++ b/15553-h/15553-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8826 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics, edited by Frederic Lawrence Knowles. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .blocknarr{margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 20%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: none;} + .footnote {margin-left: 16%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 76%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em;} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 12em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em;} + + .author {margin-left: 10%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Treasury of American Songs and +Lyrics, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics + +Author: Various + +Release Date: April 5, 2005 [EBook #15553] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF *** + + + + +Produced by David Kline, Karen Dalrymple and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<div class="center"><small>[Transcriber's Note: The sequential table of contents was added for +this eBook.]</small></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="384" height="613" alt="Cover of book" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="Page_-16" id="Page_-16"></a>To My Mother.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="338" height="560" alt="Woman in black and white"/> +</div><p> +<a name="Page_-15" id="Page_-15"></a></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>THE<a name="Page_-14" id="Page_-14"></a></h1> +<h1>GOLDEN TREASURY</h1> +<h1>OF</h1> +<h1>AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS</h1> + + +<h3><br /><br />EDITED BY</h3> +<h3>FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES</h3> + + +<div class="center"><br /><i>NEW REVISED EDITION</i></div> + + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/titlepg.png" width="168" height="208" alt="Shield" /> +</div> + + +<div class="center">BOSTON<br /> +<b>L.C. PAGE AND COMPANY</b><br /> +(INCORPORATED)<br /> +MDCCCXCIX<br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="center"><a name="Page_-13" id="Page_-13"></a> +<b>Colonial Press:</b><br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by C.H. Simonds & Co.<br /> +Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.<a name="Page_-12" id="Page_-12"></a></h2> + + +<p>The numerous collections of American verse share, I think, one fault in +common: they include too much. Whether this has been a bid for +popularity, a concession to Philistia, I cannot say; but the fact +remains that all anthologies of American poetry are, so far as I know, +more or less uncritical. The aim of the present book is different. In no +case has a poem been included because it is widely known. The purpose of +this compilation is solely that of preserving, in attractive and +permanent form, about one hundred and fifty of the best lyrics of +America.</p> + +<p>I am quite aware of the danger attending such exacting honor-rolls. At +best, an editor's judgment is only personal, and the realization of this +fact gives me no small diffidence in attempting to decide what American +lyrics are best worthy of preservation. That every reader of the +"American Treasury" will find some favorite poem omitted, there can be +little doubt. But the effort made in this book towards a careful<a name="Page_-11" id="Page_-11"></a> +estimate of our lyrical poetry is at any rate, I feel sure, in a good +direction.</p> + +<p>There appear in the index of Mr. Stedman's "Poets of America" the names +of over three hundred native writers. American verse in the last half +century has been extraordinarily prolific. It would seem that the time +has come, in the course of our national literature, for proving all +things and holding fast that which is good.</p> + +<p>The fact that the title of this compilation instantly calls to mind that +of Mr. Palgrave's scholarly collection of English lyrics need not prove +a disadvantage to the book if the purpose which led to the choice of +name is understood. The verse of a single century produced in a new +country should not be expected to equal the poetic wealth of an old and +intellectual nation. But if American poetry cannot hope to rival the +poetry of the mother country, it may at least be compared with it; and +the fact of such a comparative point of view will aid rather than hinder +the student of our native poetry in estimating its value.</p> + +<p>American verse has suffered at the hands both of its admirers and its +enemies. Injudicious praise, no less than supercilious contempt, has +reacted unfavorably on the fame of our poets. Again and again has some +minor versifier been hailed as the "American Keats" or the "American +Burns." Really excellent poets, though distinctly poets of second rank,<a name="Page_-10" id="Page_-10"></a> +have been elevated amid the blare of critical trumpets to the company of +Wordsworth and Milton. All this is unprofitable and silly. But not much +better is the attitude of certain critics who patronize everything in +the English language which has been written outside of England. Though +America has added—leaving Poe out of account—no distinctly new notes +to English poetry, it has added certainly not a few true ones. A nation +need never apologize for its literature when it has produced such +lyrics—to go no further—as "On a Bust of Dante," "Ichabod," "The +Chambered Nautilus," and the "Waterfowl."</p> + +<p>My method of arrangement is roughly chronological. The First Book, which +is shorter than the others, might be called the book of Bryant; the +Second, of Longfellow; and the Third, of Aldrich. Since the periods must +of course overlap, this division of the poems can be at most only +suggestive.</p> + +<p>I have made it no part of my design to grant to the better known poets a +larger number of lyrics than those given later and younger men. I have +paid no regard to that purely conventional idea of proportion, that +would assign to five or six writers a dozen selections each, and to +another set of poets, in proportion to their popular fame, half that +number. We can safely leave the final adjustment of all <a name="Page_-9" id="Page_-9"></a>rival claims to +Time, the best critic; in the meanwhile having the more modest aim of +selecting, irrespective of contemporary judgments, whatever is best +suited to our purpose.</p> + +<p>A word more should be said about the title. I have not interpreted the +term lyric so rigidly as to exclude sonnets, ballads, elegiac verse, or +even pieces of almost pure description. If I had held to the strictest +sense of lyric, this book would never have been compiled; for I suspect +nothing will strike the reader more forcibly than the fact that, despite +the excellence of the poems included, there is a notable lack of +unconsciousness—of pure singing quality. Such things as Pinkney's +"Health" and Holmes's "Old Ironsides" are the exception. The poems are +composed cleverly, but they do not quite sing themselves to their own +music. The best American verse, while not insincere, is seldom wholly +spontaneous. This is not saying that much spontaneous verse has not been +written in this country; much has been, but the singer's voice has too +often been uncultivated, and the product inartistic.</p> + +<p>The names of many popular poets are entirely omitted. In no case, +however, was this probably due to oversight. I have gone over carefully +a wide field of verse, not without finding much to admire, but never +quite happening upon that final touch of successful achievement where +art and inspiration join. <a name="Page_-8" id="Page_-8"></a>I am especially sorry to leave unrepresented +a writer—more imaginative, possibly, than any American poet except +Poe—whose utter contempt for technique in the ordinary sense places him +wholly outside my present purpose.</p> + +<p>I wish to acknowledge various favors kindly shown by Professor C.T. +Winchester, Professor Barrett Wendell, and Mr. H.E. Scudder. Thanks are +also due Mr. T.B. Aldrich for the privilege of including the six poems +from his pen, which were kindly selected for the book by the poet +himself. The following firms deserve thanks for permitting the use of +copyrighted poems:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Houghton, Mifflin & Co.:</i></p> + + <p>Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Christopher Pearse Cranch, Ralph Waldo + Emerson, Annie Adams Fields, Louise Imogen Guiney, Oliver Wendell + Holmes, William Dean Howells, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James + Russell Lowell, Thomas William Parsons, John James Piatt, Lizette + Woodworth Reese, Hiram Rich, Edward Rowland Sill, Harriet + Prescott Spofford, Edmund Clarence Stedman, Bayard Taylor, Henry + David Thoreau, Maurice Thompson, John Greenleaf Whittier, George + Edward Woodberry.</p> +</div> + +<p>Selections from the works of the foregoing writers are included "by +permission of and by special <a name="Page_-7" id="Page_-7"></a>arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., +publishers of the works of said authors."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>D. Appleton & Co.:</i><br />Fitz-Greene Halleck, William Cullen Bryant.</p> + +<p> <i>Lee & Shepard:</i><br />Julia Ward Howe.</p> + +<p> <i>Porter & Coates:</i>Charles Fenno Hoffman.</p> + +<p> <i>Roberts Brothers:</i><br />Emily Dickinson, Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise + Chandler Moulton.</p> + +<p> <i>Copeland & Day:</i><br />John Banister Tabb, Richard Hovey.</p> + +<p> <i>W.A. Pond & Co.:</i><br />Stephen Collins Foster.</p> + +<p> <i>Clark & Maynard:</i><br />Nathaniel Parker Willis.</p> + +<p> <i>The Cassell Publishing Co.:</i><br />John Boyle O'Reilly.</p> + +<p> <i>The Century Co.:</i><br />Richard Watson Gilder, James Whitcomb Riley + (Poems in the <i>Century Magazine</i>).</p> + +<p> <i>Estes & Lauriat:</i><br />Lloyd Mifflin.</p> + +<p> <i>Lamson & Wolffe:</i><br />Bliss Carman.<a name="Page_-6" id="Page_-6"></a></p> + +<p> <i>Charles Scribner's Sons:</i><br />Henry Cuyler Bunner, Eugene Field, + Sidney Lanier, Richard Henry Stoddard, Henry Van Dyke. +</p></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<h3>(Sequential.)</h3> + +<div><a href="#BOOK_FIRST"><b>BOOK FIRST.</b></a><br /></div> +<ul><li> <a href="#The_Wild_Honeysuckle"><b>The Wild Honeysuckle.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Song"><b>Song.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#My_Life_is_Like_the_Summer_Rose"><b>"My Life is Like the Summer Rose."</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#O_Fairest_of_the_Rural_Maids"><b>"O Fairest of the Rural Maids!"</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Bucket"><b>The Bucket.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Annabel_Lee"><b>Annabel Lee.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Health"><b>A Health.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Serenade"><b>A Serenade.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_City_in_the_Sea"><b>The City in the Sea.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_The_Past"><b>To The Past.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Israfel"><b>Israfel.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Unseen_Spirits"><b>Unseen Spirits.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Haunted_Palace"><b>The Haunted Palace.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_a_Waterfowl"><b>To a Waterfowl.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_Helen"><b>To Helen.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Sparkling_and_Bright"><b>Sparkling and Bright.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_One_in_Paradise"><b>To One in Paradise.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#On_the_Death_of_Joseph_Rodman_Drake"><b>On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Valley_of_Unrest"><b>The Valley of Unrest.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_the_Fringed_Gentian"><b>To the Fringed Gentian.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Crowded_Street"><b>The Crowded Street.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Raven"><b>The Raven.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Battle-field"><b>The Battle-field.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Sleeper"><b>The Sleeper.</b></a></li></ul> + +<div><a href="#BOOK_SECOND"><b>BOOK SECOND.</b></a><br /></div> +<ul><li> <a href="#Nature"><b>Nature.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Hebe"><b>Hebe.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Day_is_Done"><b>The Day is Done.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Ichabod"><b>Ichabod.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Sir_Humphrey_Gilbert"><b>Sir Humphrey Gilbert.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Concord_Hymn"><b>Concord Hymn.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_America"><b>To America.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Old_Ironsides"><b>Old Ironsides.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_England"><b>To England.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Wreck_of_the_Hesperus"><b>The Wreck of the Hesperus.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Bedouin_Song"><b>Bedouin Song.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Skipper_Iresons_Ride"><b>Skipper Ireson's Ride.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Village_Blacksmith"><b>The Village Blacksmith.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Last_Leaf"><b>The Last Leaf.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Old_Kentucky_Home"><b>The Old Kentucky Home.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Black_Regiment"><b>The Black Regiment.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Carolina"><b>Carolina.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Dirge_for_a_Soldier"><b>Dirge for a Soldier.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Battle-hymn_of_the_Republic"><b>Battle-hymn of the Republic.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Farragut"><b>Farragut.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#My_Maryland"><b>My Maryland.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#After_All"><b>After All.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Song_of_the_Camp"><b>The Song of the Camp.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#In_the_Hospital"><b>In the Hospital.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Under_the_Violets"><b>Under the Violets.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Days"><b>Days.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Song2"><b>Song.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Aladdin"><b>Aladdin.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Flight_of_Youth"><b>The Flight of Youth.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#My_Playmate"><b>My Playmate.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Fire_of_Driftwood"><b>The Fire of Driftwood.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Death-bed"><b>A Death-bed.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Telling_the_Bees"><b>Telling the Bees.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Katie"><b>Katie.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#My_Love"><b>My Love.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#She_Came_and_Went"><b>She Came and Went.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Her_Epitaph"><b>Her Epitaph.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Apart"><b>Apart.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Discoverer"><b>The Discoverer.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#At_Last"><b>At Last.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Thalatta"><b>"Thalatta."</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Gondolieds"><b>Gondolieds.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#In_the_Twilight"><b>In the Twilight.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Tide_Rises_the_Tide_Falls"><b>The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Fall_of_the_Leaf"><b>The Fall of the Leaf.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Rhodora"><b>The Rhodora.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Nature2"><b>Nature.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#My_Strawberry"><b>My Strawberry.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Humble-bee"><b>The Humble-bee.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Summer_Rain"><b>The Summer Rain.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_the_Dandelion"><b>To the Dandelion.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Chambered_Nautilus"><b>The Chambered Nautilus.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Thought"><b>Thought.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Stanzas"><b>Stanzas.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Coronation"><b>Coronation.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#On_a_Bust_of_Dante"><b>On a Bust of Dante.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Pan_in_Wall_Street"><b>Pan in Wall Street.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Auspex"><b>Auspex.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Birds"><b>Birds.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Toujours_Amour"><b>Toujours Amour.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Sigh"><b>A Sigh.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#No_More"><b>No More.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_a_Young_Girl_Dying"><b>To a Young Girl Dying.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Port_of_Ships"><b>The Port of Ships.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Paradisi_Gloria"><b>Paradisi Gloria.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Ballad"><b>Ballad.</b></a></li></ul> + +<div><a href="#BOOK_THIRD"><b>BOOK THIRD.</b></a><br /></div> +<ul><li> <a href="#The_Fools_Prayer"><b>The Fool's Prayer.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#On_The_Life-mask_Of_Abraham_Lincoln"><b>On The Life-mask Of Abraham Lincoln.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Song3"><b>Song.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#To_A_Dead_Woman"><b>To A Dead Woman.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Destiny"><b>Destiny.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Kings"><b>The Kings.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Triumph"><b>Triumph.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Evening_Song"><b>Evening Song.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Woods_That_Bring_the_Sunset_Near"><b>"The Woods That Bring the Sunset Near."</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#At_Night"><b>At Night.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Still_in_Thy_Love_I_Trust"><b>"Still in Thy Love I Trust."</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Future"><b>The Future.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Prescience"><b>Prescience.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#In_August"><b>In August.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#That_Day_You_Came"><b>That Day You Came.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Negro_Lullaby"><b>Negro Lullaby.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Womans_Thought"><b>A Woman's Thought.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Flight"><b>The Flight.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Childhood"><b>Childhood.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Little_Boy_Blue"><b>Little Boy Blue.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Strong_as_Death"><b>Strong as Death.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_White_Jessamine"><b>The White Jessamine.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_House_of_Death"><b>The House of Death.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Tropical_Morning_at_Sea"><b>A Tropical Morning at Sea.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Memory"><b>Memory.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_Mood"><b>A Mood.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Way_to_Arcady"><b>The Way to Arcady.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Eves_Daughter"><b>Eve's Daughter.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#On_An_Intaglio_Head_Of_Minerva"><b>On An Intaglio Head Of Minerva.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Hunting-song"><b>Hunting-song.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Parting"><b>Parting.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#When_the_Sultan_Goes_to_Ispahan"><b>When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Night"><b>Night.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#He_Made_the_Stars_Also"><b>He Made the Stars Also.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Sour_Winds"><b>The Sour Winds.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Return"><b>The Return.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Bereaved"><b>Bereaved.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Chariot"><b>The Chariot.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Indian_Summer"><b>Indian Summer.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Confided"><b>Confided.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#In_Absence"><b>In Absence.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Song_of_the_Chattahoochee"><b>Song of the Chattahoochee.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Seas_Voice"><b>The Sea's Voice.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#At_Gibraltar"><b>At Gibraltar.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Jerry_an_Me"><b>Jerry an' Me.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Gravedigger"><b>The Gravedigger.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Absence_of_Little_Wesley"><b>The Absence of Little Wesley.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Be_Thou_a_Bird_My_Soul"><b>Be Thou a Bird, My Soul.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Opportunity"><b>Opportunity.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Dutch_Lullaby"><b>Dutch Lullaby.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Maryland_Yellow-throat"><b>The Maryland Yellow-throat.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Silence_of_Love"><b>The Silence of Love.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Secret"><b>The Secret.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Whip-poor-will"><b>The Whip-poor-will.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Fertility"><b>Fertility.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Veery"><b>The Veery.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#The_Eavesdropper"><b>The Eavesdropper.</b></a></li> +<li> <a href="#Sesostris"><b>Sesostris.</b></a></li></ul> + +<p><a href="#NOTES"><b>NOTES.</b></a><br /></p> +<p><a href="#INDEX_TO_FIRST_LINES"><b>INDEX TO FIRST LINES.</b></a><br /></p> +<p><a href="#INDEX_TO_AUTHORS"><b>INDEX TO AUTHORS.</b></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a><a name="Page_-5" id="Page_-5"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> +<h3>(Alphabetical.)</h3> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents - Alphabetical"> +<tr><td colspan="3" align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Absence of Little Wesley, The</td><td align="left"><i>J.W. Riley</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_280'>280</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>After All </td><td align="left"><i>W. Winter</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_117'>117</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Aladdin </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_128'>128</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Annabel Lee </td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_10'>10</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Apart </td><td align="left"><i>J.J. Piatt</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_149'>149</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Gibraltar </td><td align="left"><i>G.E. Woodberry</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_273'>273</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Last </td><td align="left"><i>R.H. Stoddard</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_153'>153</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>At Night </td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Gilder</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_217'>217</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Auspex </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_192'>192</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ballad </td><td align="left"><i>H.P. Spofford</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_202'>202</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Battle-field, The </td><td align="left"><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_54'>54</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Battle-hymn of the Republic</td><td align="left"><i>I.W. Howe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_108'>108</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Be Thou a Bird, My Soul</td><td align="left"><i>(?)</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_282'>282</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bedouin Song </td><td align="left"><i>B. Taylor</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_85'>85</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bereaved </td><td align="left"><i>J.W. Riley</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_263'>263</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Birds </td><td align="left"><i>R.H. Stoddard</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_193'>193</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Black Regiment, The</td><td align="left"><i>G.H. Boker</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_100'>100</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bucket, The </td><td align="left"><i>S. Woodworth</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_8'>8</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Carolina </td><td align="left"><i>H. Timrod</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_104'>104</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Chambered Nautilus, The</td><td align="left"><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_178'>178</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Chariot, The </td><td align="left"><i>E. Dickinson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_264'>264</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Childhood </td><td align="left"><i>J.B. Tabb</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_230'>230</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>City in the Sea, The</td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_15'>15</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Concord Hymn </td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Emerson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_74'>74</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Confided </td><td align="left"><i>J.B. Tabb</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_266'>266</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Coronation </td><td align="left"><i>H.H. Jackson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_183'>183</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Crowded Street, The</td><td align="left"><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_42'>42</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a name="Page_-4" id="Page_-4"></a>Day is Done, The </td><td align="left"><i>W. Longfellow</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_66'>66</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Days </td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Emerson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_126'>126</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Death-bed, A </td><td align="left"><i>J. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_136'>136</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Destiny </td><td align="left"><i>T.B. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_210'>210</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dirge for a Soldier</td><td align="left"><i>G.H. Boker</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_106'>106</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Discoverer, The </td><td align="left"><i>E.C. Stedman</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_150'>150</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dutch Lullaby </td><td align="left"><i>E. Field</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_284'>284</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Eavesdropper, The </td><td align="left"><i>B. Carman</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_298'>298</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Evening Song </td><td align="left"><i>S. Lanier</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_215'>215</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Eve's Daughter </td><td align="left"><i>E.R. Sill</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_247'>247</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fall of the Leaf, The</td><td align="left"><i>H.D. Thoreau</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_162'>162</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Farragut </td><td align="left"><i>W.T. Meredith</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_110'>110</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fertility </td><td align="left"><i>M. Thompson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_294'>294</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fire of Driftwood, The</td><td align="left"><i>H.W. Longfellow</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_133'>133</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Flight, The </td><td align="left"><i>L. Mifflin</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_229'>229</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Flight of Youth, The</td><td align="left"><i>R.H. Stoddard</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_129'>129</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fool's Prayer, The</td><td align="left"><i>E.R. Sill</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_205'>205</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Four Winds, The </td><td align="left"><i>C.H. Lüders</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_258'>258</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Future, The </td><td align="left"><i>E.R. Sill</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_219'>219</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gondolieds </td><td align="left"><i>H.H. Jackson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_155'>155</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gravedigger, The </td><td align="left"><i>B. Carman</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_277'>277</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Haunted Palace </td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_26'>26</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Health, A </td><td align="left"><i>E.C. Pinkney</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_12'>12</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hebe </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_64'>64</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>He Made the Stars Also</td><td align="left"><i>L. Mifflin</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_257'>257</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Her Epitaph </td><td align="left"><i>T.W. Parsons</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_147'>147</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>House of Death, The</td><td align="left"><i>L.C. Moulton</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_236'>236</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Humble-bee, The </td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Emerson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_169'>169</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hunting Song </td><td align="left"><i>R. Hovey</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_251'>251</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ichabod </td><td align="left"><i>J.G. Whittier</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_69'>69</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In Absence </td><td align="left"><i>J.B. Tabb</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_267'>267</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In August </td><td align="left"><i>W.D. Howells</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_223'>223</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Indian Summer </td><td align="left"><i>E. Dickinson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_265'>265</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In the Hospital </td><td align="left"><i>M.W. Howland</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_122'>122</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In the Twilight </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_158'>158</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Israfel </td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_21'>21</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Jerry an' Me </td><td align="left"><i>H. Rich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_275'>275</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Katie </td><td align="left"><i>H. Timrod</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_140'>140</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a name="Page_-3" id="Page_-3"></a>Kings, The </td><td align="left"><i>L.I. Guiney</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_211'>211</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Last Leaf, The </td><td align="left"><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_95'>95</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Little Boy Blue </td><td align="left"><i>E. Field</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_231'>231</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Maryland Yellow-throat, The</td><td align="left"><i>H. Van Dyke</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_287'>287</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Memory </td><td align="left"><i>T.B. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_241'>241</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mood, A </td><td align="left"><i>T.B. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_242'>242</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"My Life is Like the Summer Rose"</td><td align="left"><i>R.H. Wilde</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_4'>4</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Love </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_142'>142</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Maryland </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Randall</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_113'>113</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Playmate </td><td align="left"><i>J.G. Whittier</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_130'>130</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Strawberry </td><td align="left"><i>H.H. Jackson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_167'>167</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Nature </td><td align="left"><i>H.W. Longfellow</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_63'>63</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Nature </td><td align="left"><i>H.D. Thoreau</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_166'>166</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Negro Lullaby </td><td align="left"><i>P.L. Dunbar</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_225'>225</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Night </td><td align="left"><i>L. Mifflin</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_256'>256</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>No More </td><td align="left"><i>B.F. Willson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_197'>197</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"O Fairest of the Rural Maids"</td><td align="left"><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_6'>6</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Old Ironsides </td><td align="left"><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_76'>76</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Old Kentucky Home, The</td><td align="left"><i>S.C. Foster</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_98'>98</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On a Bust of Dante</td><td align="left"><i>T.W. Parsons</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_185'>185</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On an Intaglio Head of Minerva</td><td align="left"><i>T.B. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_248'>248</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake </td><td align="left"><i>F.G. Halleck</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_36'>36</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On the Life-mask of Abraham Lincoln</td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Gilder</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_207'>207</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Opportunity </td><td align="left"><i>E.R. Sill</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_283'>283</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Pan in Wall Street</td><td align="left"><i>E.C. Stedman</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_188'>188</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Paradisi Gloria </td><td align="left"><i>T.W. Parsons</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_201'>201</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Parting </td><td align="left"><i>E. Dickinson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_252'>252</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Port of Ships, The</td><td align="left"><i>C.H. Miller</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_199'>199</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Prescience </td><td align="left"><i>T.B. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_221'>221</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Raven, The </td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_45'>45</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Return, The </td><td align="left"><i>L.F. Tooker</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_260'>260</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Rhodora, The </td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Emerson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_165'>165</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sea's Voice, The </td><td align="left"><i>W.P. Foster</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_271'>271</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Secret, The </td><td align="left"><i>G.E. Woodberry</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_290'>290</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Serenade, A </td><td align="left"><i>E.C. Pinkney</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_14'>14</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sesostris </td><td align="left"><i>L. Mifflin</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_300'>300</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a name="Page_-2" id="Page_-2"></a>She Came and Went </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_145'>145</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sigh, A </td><td align="left"><i>H.P. Spofford</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_196'>196</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Silence of Love, The</td><td align="left"><i>G.E. Woodberry</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_289'>289</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sir Humphrey Gilbert</td><td align="left"><i>H.W. Longfellow</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_71'>71</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Skipper Ireson's Ride</td><td align="left"><i>J.G. Whittier</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_87'>87</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sleeper, The </td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_57'>57</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song </td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Gilder</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_208'>208</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song </td><td align="left"><i>J. Shaw</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_3'>3</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song </td><td align="left"><i>R.H. Stoddard</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_127'>127</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song of the Camp, The</td><td align="left"><i>B. Taylor</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_119'>119</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song of the Chattahoochee</td><td align="left"><i>S. Lanier</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_268'>268</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sparkling and Bright</td><td align="left"><i>C.F. Hoffman</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_32'>32</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Stanzas </td><td align="left"><i>C.P. Cranch</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_181'>181</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Still in Thy Love I Trust</td><td align="left"><i>A.A. Fields</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_218'>218</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Strong as Death </td><td align="left"><i>H.C. Bunner</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_233'>233</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Summer Rain, The </td><td align="left"><i>H.D. Thoreau</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_172'>172</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Telling the Bees </td><td align="left"><i>J.G. Whittier</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_137'>137</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"Thalatta" </td><td align="left"><i>J.B. Brown</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_154'>154</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>That Day You Came </td><td align="left"><i>L.W. Reese</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_224'>224</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thought </td><td align="left"><i>H.H. Jackson</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_180'>180</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Tide Rises, the Tide Falls, The</td><td align="left"><i>H.W. Longfellow</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_161'>161</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To a Dead Woman </td><td align="left"><i>H.C. Bunner</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_209'>209</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To America </td><td align="left"><i>G.H. Boker</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_75'>75</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To a Waterfowl </td><td align="left"><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_29'>29</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To a Young Girl Dying</td><td align="left"><i>T.W. Parsons</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_198'>198</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To England </td><td align="left"><i>G.H. Boker</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_79'>79</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To Helen </td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_31'>31</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To One in Paradise</td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_34'>34</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To the Dandelion </td><td align="left"><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_175'>175</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To the Fringed Gentian</td><td align="left"><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_40'>40</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To the Past </td><td align="left"><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_18'>18</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Toujours Amour </td><td align="left"><i>E.C. Stedman</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_194'>194</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Triumph </td><td align="left"><i>H.C. Bunner</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_213'>213</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Tropical Morning at Sea, A</td><td align="left"><i>E.R. Sill</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_238'>238</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Under the Violets </td><td align="left"><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_124'>124</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Unseen Spirits </td><td align="left"><i>N.P. Willis</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_24'>24</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Valley of Unrest, The</td><td align="left"><i>E.A. Poe</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_38'>38</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Veery, The </td><td align="left"><i>H. Van Dyke</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_296'>296</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a name="Page_-1" id="Page_-1"></a>Village Blacksmith, The</td><td align="left"><i>H.W. Longfellow</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_92'>92</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Way to Arcady, The</td><td align="left"><i>H.C. Bunner</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_243'>243</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan</td><td align="left"><i>T.B. Aldrich</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_253'>253</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Whip-poor-will, The</td><td align="left"><i>H. Van Dyke</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_291'>291</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>White Jessamine, The</td><td align="left"><i>J.B. Tabb</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_235'>235</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Wild Honeysuckle, The</td><td align="left"><i>P. Freneau</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_1'>1</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Woman's Thought, A</td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Gilder</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_227'>227</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Woods that Bring the Sunset Near, The</td><td align="left"><i>R.W. Gilder</i></td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_216'>216</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Wreck of the Hesperus, The</td><td align="left"><i>H.W. Longfellow</i> </td><td align="right"><a href='#Page_80'>80</a> </td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_FIRST" id="BOOK_FIRST"></a><a name="Page_0" id="Page_0"></a>BOOK FIRST.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AMERICAN_SONGS_AND_LYRICS" id="AMERICAN_SONGS_AND_LYRICS"></a><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Wild_Honeysuckle" id="The_Wild_Honeysuckle"></a><b>The Wild Honeysuckle.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hid in this silent, dull retreat,<br /></span> +<span>Untouched thy honey'd blossoms blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unseen thy little branches greet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No roving foot shall crush thee here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No busy hand provoke a tear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>By Nature's self in white arrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,<br /></span> +<span>And planted here the guardian shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sent soft waters murmuring by;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus quietly thy summer goes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy days declining to repose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a> +<span>Smit with those charms, that must decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I grieve to see your future doom;<br /></span> +<span>They died—nor were those flowers more gay—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flowers that did in Eden bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall leave no vestige of this flower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>From morning suns and evening dews<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At first thy little being came;<br /></span> +<span>If nothing once, you nothing lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For when you die you are the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The space between is but an hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The frail duration of a flower.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">P. Freneau.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Song" id="Song"></a><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a><b>Song.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Who has robbed the ocean cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To tinge thy lips with coral hue?<br /></span> +<span>Who from India's distant wave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For thee those pearly treasures drew?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who from yonder orient sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stole the morning of thine eye?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thousand charms, thy form to deck,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From sea, and earth, and air are torn;<br /></span> +<span>Roses bloom upon thy cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On thy breath their fragrance borne.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guard thy bosom from the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest thy snows should melt away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But one charm remains behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which mute earth can ne'er impart;<br /></span> +<span>Nor in ocean wilt thou find,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor in the circling air, a heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Take, oh, take that heart from me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J. Shaw.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="My_Life_is_Like_the_Summer_Rose" id="My_Life_is_Like_the_Summer_Rose"></a><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a><b>"My Life is Like the Summer Rose."</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>My life is like the summer rose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That opens to the morning sky,<br /></span> +<span>But ere the shades of evening close,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is scattered on the ground—to die!<br /></span> +<span>Yet on the rose's humble bed<br /></span> +<span>The sweetest dews of night are shed,<br /></span> +<span>As if she wept the waste to see,—<br /></span> +<span>But none shall weep a tear for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My life is like the autumn leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That trembles in the moon's pale ray;<br /></span> +<span>Its hold is frail,—its date is brief,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Restless,—and soon to pass away!<br /></span> +<span>Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade,<br /></span> +<span>The parent tree will mourn its shade,<br /></span> +<span>The winds bewail the leafless tree,—<br /></span> +<span>But none shall breathe a sigh for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My life is like the prints which feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have left on Tampa's desert strand;<br /></span> +<span>Soon as the rising tide shall beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All trace will vanish from the sand;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>Yet, as if grieving to efface<br /></span> +<span>All vestige of the human race,<br /></span> +<span>On that lone shore loud moans the sea,—<br /></span> +<span>But none, alas! shall mourn for me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.H. Wilde.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="O_Fairest_of_the_Rural_Maids" id="O_Fairest_of_the_Rural_Maids"></a><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a><b>"O Fairest of the Rural Maids!"</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>O Fairest of the rural maids!<br /></span> +<span>Thy birth was in the forest shades;<br /></span> +<span>Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,<br /></span> +<span>Were all that met thine infant eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,<br /></span> +<span>Were ever in the sylvan wild;<br /></span> +<span>And all the beauty of the place<br /></span> +<span>Is in thy heart and on thy face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The twilight of the trees and rocks<br /></span> +<span>Is in the light shade of thy locks;<br /></span> +<span>Thy step is as the wind, that weaves<br /></span> +<span>Its playful way among the leaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene<br /></span> +<span>And silent waters heaven is seen;<br /></span> +<span>Their lashes are the herbs that look<br /></span> +<span>On their young figures in the brook.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a> +<span>The forest depths, by foot unpressed,<br /></span> +<span>Are not more sinless than thy breast;<br /></span> +<span>The holy peace that fills the air<br /></span> +<span>Of those calm solitudes is there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Bucket" id="The_Bucket"></a><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a><b>The Bucket.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,<br /></span> +<span>When fond recollection presents them to view!—<br /></span> +<span>The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,<br /></span> +<span>And every loved spot which my infancy knew!<br /></span> +<span>The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it;<br /></span> +<span>The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;<br /></span> +<span>The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it;<br /></span> +<span>And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well,—<br /></span> +<span>The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,<br /></span> +<span>The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure;<br /></span> +<span>For often at noon, when returned from the field,<br /></span> +<span>I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,—<br /></span> +<span>The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.<br /></span> +<span>How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,<br /></span> +<span>And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell!<br /></span> +<span>Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,<br /></span> +<span>And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,<br /></span> +<span>The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it,<br /></span> +<span>As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!<br /></span> +<span>Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,<br /></span> +<span>The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.<br /></span> +<span>And now, far removed from the loved habitation,<br /></span> +<span>The tear of regret will intrusively swell,<br /></span> +<span>As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,<br /></span> +<span>And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well,—<br /></span> +<span>The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,<br /></span> +<span>The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">S. Woodworth.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Annabel_Lee" id="Annabel_Lee"></a><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a><b>Annabel Lee.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>It was many and many a year ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In a kingdom by the sea,<br /></span> +<span>That a maiden there lived whom you may know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the name of Annabel Lee;<br /></span> +<span>And this maiden she lived with no other thought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than to love and be loved by me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I was a child and she was a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In this kingdom by the sea,<br /></span> +<span>But we loved with a love that was more than love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I and my Annabel Lee;<br /></span> +<span>With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Coveted her and me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And this was the reason that, long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In this kingdom by the sea,<br /></span> +<span>A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My beautiful Annabel Lee;<br /></span> +<span>So that her highborn kinsmen came<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bore her away from me,<br /></span> +<span>To shut her up in a sepulchre<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In this kingdom by the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a> +<span>The angels, not half so happy in heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Went envying her and me;<br /></span> +<span>Yes, that was the reason (as all men know,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In this kingdom by the sea)<br /></span> +<span>That the wind came out of the cloud by night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But our love it was stronger by far than the love<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of those who were older than we,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of many far wiser than we;<br /></span> +<span>And neither the angels in heaven above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor the demons down under the sea,<br /></span> +<span>Can ever dissever my soul from the soul<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;<br /></span> +<span>And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;<br /></span> +<span>And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side<br /></span> +<span>Of my darling,—my darling,—my life and my bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In her sepulchre there by the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In her tomb by the sounding sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Health" id="A_Health"></a><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a><b>A Health.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I fill this cup to one made up<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of loveliness alone,—<br /></span> +<span>A woman, of her gentle sex<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The seeming paragon;<br /></span> +<span>To whom the better elements<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And kindly stars have given<br /></span> +<span>A form so fair, that, like the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis less of earth than heaven.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Her every tone is music's own,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like those of morning birds;<br /></span> +<span>And something more than melody<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dwells ever in her words;<br /></span> +<span>The coinage of her heart are they,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from her lips each flows<br /></span> +<span>As one may see the burden'd bee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forth issue from the rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Affections are as thoughts to her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The measures of her hours;<br /></span> +<span>Her feelings have the fragrancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The freshness of young flowers;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>And lovely passions, changing oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So fill her, she appears<br /></span> +<span>The image of themselves by turns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The idol of past years!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Of her bright face one glance will trace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A picture on the brain;<br /></span> +<span>And of her voice in echoing hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sound must long remain,<br /></span> +<span>But memory, such as mine of her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So very much endears,<br /></span> +<span>When death is nigh, my latest sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will not be life's, but hers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I fill this cup to one made up<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of loveliness alone,—<br /></span> +<span>A woman, of her gentle sex<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The seeming paragon.<br /></span> +<span>Her health! and would on earth there stood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some more of such a frame,<br /></span> +<span>That life might be all poetry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And weariness a name.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.C. Pinkney.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Serenade" id="A_Serenade"></a><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a><b>A Serenade.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Look out upon the stars, my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And shame them with thine eyes,<br /></span> +<span>On which, than on the lights above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There hang more destinies.<br /></span> +<span>Night's beauty is the harmony<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of blending shades and light:<br /></span> +<span>Then, lady, up,—look out, and be<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sister to the night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sleep not!—thine image wakes for aye<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Within my watching breast;<br /></span> +<span>Sleep not!—from her soft sleep should fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who robs all hearts of rest.<br /></span> +<span>Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And make this darkness gay,<br /></span> +<span>With looks whose brightness well might make<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of darker nights a day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.C. Pinkney.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_City_in_the_Sea" id="The_City_in_the_Sea"></a><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a><b>The City in the Sea.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Lo! Death has reared himself a throne<br /></span> +<span>In a strange city lying alone<br /></span> +<span>Far down within the dim West,<br /></span> +<span>Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best<br /></span> +<span>Have gone to their eternal rest.<br /></span> +<span>There shrines and palaces and towers<br /></span> +<span>(Time-eaten towers that tremble not)<br /></span> +<span>Resemble nothing that is ours.<br /></span> +<span>Around, by lifting winds forgot,<br /></span> +<span>Resignedly beneath the sky<br /></span> +<span>The melancholy waters lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>No rays from the holy heaven come down<br /></span> +<span>On the long night-time of that town;<br /></span> +<span>But light from out the lurid sea<br /></span> +<span>Streams up the turrets silently,<br /></span> +<span>Gleams up the pinnacles far and free:<br /></span> +<span>Up domes, up spires, up kingly halls,<br /></span> +<span>Up fanes, up Babylon-like walls,<br /></span> +<span>Up shadowy, long-forgotten bowers<br /></span> +<span>Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>Up many and many a marvellous shrine,<br /></span> +<span>Whose wreathèd friezes intertwine<br /></span> +<span>The viol, the violet, and the vine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Resignedly beneath the sky<br /></span> +<span>The melancholy waters lie.<br /></span> +<span>So blend the turrets and shadows there<br /></span> +<span>That all seem pendulous in air,<br /></span> +<span>While from a proud tower in the town<br /></span> +<span>Death looks gigantically down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There open fanes and gaping graves<br /></span> +<span>Yawn level with the luminous waves;<br /></span> +<span>But not the riches there that lie<br /></span> +<span>In each idol's diamond eye,—<br /></span> +<span>Not the gaily-jewelled dead<br /></span> +<span>Tempt the waters from their bed;<br /></span> +<span>For no ripples curl, alas,<br /></span> +<span>Along that wilderness of glass;<br /></span> +<span>No swellings tell that winds may be<br /></span> +<span>Upon some far-off happier sea;<br /></span> +<span>No heavings hint that winds have been<br /></span> +<span>On seas less hideously serene!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But lo, a stir is in the air!<br /></span> +<span>The wave—there is a movement there!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>As if the towers had thrust aside,<br /></span> +<span>In slightly sinking, the dull tide;<br /></span> +<span>As if their tops had feebly given<br /></span> +<span>A void within the filmy Heaven!<br /></span> +<span>The waves have now a redder glow,<br /></span> +<span>The hours are breathing faint and low;<br /></span> +<span>And when, amid no earthly moans,<br /></span> +<span>Down, down that town shall settle hence,<br /></span> +<span>Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,<br /></span> +<span>Shall do it reverence.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_The_Past" id="To_The_Past"></a><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a><b>To The Past.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou unrelenting Past!<br /></span> +<span>Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fetters, sure and fast,<br /></span> +<span>Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Far in thy realm withdrawn,<br /></span> +<span>Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And glorious ages gone<br /></span> +<span>Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Childhood, with all its mirth,<br /></span> +<span>Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And last, Man's Life on earth,<br /></span> +<span>Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou hast my better years;<br /></span> +<span>Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yielded to thee with tears,—<br /></span> +<span>The venerable form, the exalted mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My spirit yearns to bring<br /></span> +<span>The lost ones back,—yearns with desire intense,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>And struggles hard to wring<br /></span> +<span>Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In vain; thy gates deny<br /></span> +<span>All passage save to those who hence depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor to the streaming eye<br /></span> +<span>Thou giv'st them back,—nor to the broken heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In thy abysses hide<br /></span> +<span>Beauty and excellence unknown; to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Earth's wonder and her pride<br /></span> +<span>Are gathered, as the waters to the sea;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Labors of good to man,<br /></span> +<span>Unpublished charity, unbroken faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Love, that midst grief began,<br /></span> +<span>And grew with years, and faltered not in death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Full many a mighty name<br /></span> +<span>Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With thee are silent fame,<br /></span> +<span>Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thine for a space are they,—<br /></span> +<span>Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy gates shall yet give way,<br /></span> +<span>Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a> +<span class="i1">All that of good and fair<br /></span> +<span>Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall then come forth, to wear<br /></span> +<span>The glory and the beauty of its prime.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">They have not perished,—no!<br /></span> +<span>Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Smiles, radiant long ago,<br /></span> +<span>And features, the great soul's apparent seat;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All shall come back, each tie<br /></span> +<span>Of pure affection shall be knit again;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone shall Evil die,<br /></span> +<span>And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And then shall I behold<br /></span> +<span>Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And her, who, still and cold,<br /></span> +<span>Fills the next grave,—the beautiful and young.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Israfel" id="Israfel"></a><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a><b>Israfel.</b></h2> + +<div class="blocknarr"><p>And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who + has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures.</p> + +<p> —<i>Koran.</i></p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>In Heaven a spirit doth dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose heart-strings are a lute;<br /></span> +<span>None sing so wildly well<br /></span> +<span>As the angel Israfel,<br /></span> +<span>And the giddy stars (so legends tell),<br /></span> +<span>Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of his voice, all mute.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Tottering above<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In her highest noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The enamored moon<br /></span> +<span>Blushes with love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While, to listen, the red levin<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(With the rapid Pleiads, even,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which were seven)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pauses in Heaven.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And they say (the starry choir<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the other listening things)<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>That Israfeli's fire<br /></span> +<span>Is owing to that lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By which he sits and sings,—<br /></span> +<span>The trembling living wire<br /></span> +<span>Of those unusual strings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But the skies that angel trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where deep thoughts are a duty,<br /></span> +<span>Where Love's a grown-up God,<br /></span> +<span>Where the Houri glances are<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Imbued with all the beauty<br /></span> +<span>Which we worship in a star.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Therefore thou art not wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Israfeli, who despisest<br /></span> +<span>An unimpassioned song;<br /></span> +<span>To thee the laurels belong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Best bard, because the wisest:<br /></span> +<span>Merrily live, and long!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The ecstasies above<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With thy burning measures suit:<br /></span> +<span>Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the fervor of thy lute:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Well may the stars be mute!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a> +<span>Yes, Heaven is thine; but this<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is a world of sweets and sours;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our flowers are merely—flowers,<br /></span> +<span>And the shadow of thy perfect bliss<br /></span> +<span>Is the sunshine of ours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>If I could dwell<br /></span> +<span>Where Israfel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hath dwelt, and he where I,<br /></span> +<span>He might not sing so wildly well<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A mortal melody,<br /></span> +<span>While a bolder note than this might swell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From my lyre within the sky.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Unseen_Spirits" id="Unseen_Spirits"></a><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a><b>Unseen Spirits.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The shadows lay along Broadway,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas near the twilight-tide,—<br /></span> +<span>And slowly there a lady fair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was walking in her pride.<br /></span> +<span>Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Walked spirits at her side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Honor charmed the air;<br /></span> +<span>And all astir looked kind on her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And called her good as fair—<br /></span> +<span>For all God ever gave to her<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She kept with chary care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She kept with care her beauties rare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From lovers warm and true,<br /></span> +<span>For her heart was cold to all but gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the rich came not to woo;<br /></span> +<span>But honored well are charms to sell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If priests the selling do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a> +<span>Now walking there was one more fair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A slight girl, lily-pale;<br /></span> +<span>And she had unseen company<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To make the spirit quail,—<br /></span> +<span>'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And nothing could avail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>No mercy now can clear her brow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For this world's peace to pray;<br /></span> +<span>For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her woman's heart gave way!<br /></span> +<span>But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By man is cursed alway.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">N.P. Willis.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Haunted_Palace" id="The_Haunted_Palace"></a><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a><b>The Haunted Palace.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>In the greenest of our valleys<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By good angels tenanted,<br /></span> +<span>Once a fair and stately palace—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Radiant palace—reared its head.<br /></span> +<span>In the monarch Thought's dominion,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It stood there;<br /></span> +<span>Never seraph spread a pinion<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over fabric half so fair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Banners yellow, glorious, golden,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On its roof did float and flow<br /></span> +<span>(This—all this—was in the olden<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Time long ago),<br /></span> +<span>And every gentle air that dallied,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In that sweet day,<br /></span> +<span>Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A wingèd odor went away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wanderers in that happy valley<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through two luminous windows saw<br /></span> +<span>Spirits moving musically,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To a lute's well-tunèd law,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>Round about a throne where, sitting,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Porphyrogene,<br /></span> +<span>In state his glory well befitting,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ruler of the realm was seen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And all with pearl and ruby glowing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was the fair palace door,<br /></span> +<span>Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sparkling evermore,<br /></span> +<span>A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was but to sing,<br /></span> +<span>In voices of surpassing beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wit and wisdom of their king.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But evil things, in robes of sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Assailed the monarch's high estate;<br /></span> +<span>(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall dawn upon him desolate!)<br /></span> +<span>And round about his home the glory<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That blushed and bloomed<br /></span> +<span>Is but a dim-remembered story<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the old time entombed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And travellers now within that valley<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the red-litten windows see<br /></span> +<span>Vast forms that move fantastically<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To a discordant melody;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>While, like a ghastly rapid river,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the pale door<br /></span> +<span>A hideous throng rush out forever,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And laugh—but smile no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_a_Waterfowl" id="To_a_Waterfowl"></a><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a><b>To a Waterfowl.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Whither, midst falling dew,<br /></span> +<span>While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,<br /></span> +<span>Far, through their rosy depths dost thou pursue<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy solitary way?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Vainly the fowler's eye<br /></span> +<span>Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,<br /></span> +<span>As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy figure floats along.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Seek'st thou the plashy brink<br /></span> +<span>Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,<br /></span> +<span>Or where the rocking billows rise and sink<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On the chafed ocean-side?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">There is a Power whose care<br /></span> +<span>Teaches thy way along that pathless coast—<br /></span> +<span>The desert and illimitable air—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lone wandering, but not lost.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">All day thy wings have fanned,<br /></span> +<span>At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span>Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though the dark night is near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a> +<span class="i3">And soon that toil shall end;<br /></span> +<span>Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,<br /></span> +<span>And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven<br /></span> +<span>Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart<br /></span> +<span>Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And shall not soon depart:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">He who, from zone to zone,<br /></span> +<span>Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,<br /></span> +<span>In the long way that I must tread alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Will lead my steps aright.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_Helen" id="To_Helen"></a><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a><b>To Helen.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Helen, thy beauty is to me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like those Nicæan barks of yore,<br /></span> +<span>That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The weary, wayworn wanderer bore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To his own native shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>On desperate seas long wont to roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,<br /></span> +<span>Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the glory that was Greece<br /></span> +<span>And the grandeur that was Rome.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How statue-like I see thee stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The agate lamp within thy hand!<br /></span> +<span>Ah, Psyche, from the regions which<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are Holy Land!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sparkling_and_Bright" id="Sparkling_and_Bright"></a><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a><b>Sparkling and Bright.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sparkling and bright in liquid light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Does the wine our goblets gleam in,<br /></span> +<span>With hue as red as the rosy bed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which a bee would choose to dream in.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then fill to-night, with hearts as light,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To loves as gay and fleeting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And break on the lips while meeting.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Time through Life's dominions,<br /></span> +<span>We here awhile would now beguile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The graybeard of his pinions,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To drink to-night, with hearts as light,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To loves as gay and fleeting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And break on the lips while meeting.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But since Delight can't tempt the wight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor fond Regret delay him,<br /></span> +<span>Nor Love himself can hold the elf,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor sober Friendship stay him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To loves as gay and fleeting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And break on the lips while meeting.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">C.F. Hoffman.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_One_in_Paradise" id="To_One_in_Paradise"></a><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a><b>To One in Paradise.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou wast all that to me, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For which my soul did pine:<br /></span> +<span>A green isle in the sea, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A fountain and a shrine<br /></span> +<span>All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all the flowers were mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ah, dream too bright to last!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise<br /></span> +<span>But to be overcast!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A voice from out the Future cries,<br /></span> +<span>"On! on!"—but o'er the Past<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies<br /></span> +<span>Mute, motionless, aghast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For, alas! alas! with me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The light of Life is o'er!<br /></span> +<span>No more—no more—no more—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Such language holds the solemn sea<br /></span> +<span>To the sands upon the shore)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,<br /></span> +<span>Or the stricken eagle soar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a> +<span>And all my days are trances,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all my nightly dreams<br /></span> +<span>Are where thy gray eye glances,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And where thy footstep gleams,—<br /></span> +<span>In what ethereal dances,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By what eternal streams.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="On_the_Death_of_Joseph_Rodman_Drake" id="On_the_Death_of_Joseph_Rodman_Drake"></a><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a><b>On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Green be the turf above thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Friend of my better days!<br /></span> +<span>None knew thee but to love thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor named thee but to praise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Tears fell when thou wert dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From eyes unused to weep,<br /></span> +<span>And long, where thou art lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will tears the cold turf steep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When hearts, whose truth was proven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like thine, are laid in earth,<br /></span> +<span>There should a wreath be woven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To tell the world their worth;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And I, who woke each morrow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To clasp thy hand in mine,<br /></span> +<span>Who shared thy joy and sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose weal and woe were thine,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a> +<span>It should be mine to braid it<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around thy faded brow,<br /></span> +<span>But I've in vain essayed it,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And feel I cannot now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>While memory bids me weep thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor thoughts nor words are free,<br /></span> +<span>The grief is fixed too deeply<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That mourns a man like thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">F.G. Halleck.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Valley_of_Unrest" id="The_Valley_of_Unrest"></a><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a><b>The Valley of Unrest.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Once it smiled a silent dell<br /></span> +<span>Where the people did not dwell;<br /></span> +<span>They had gone unto the wars,<br /></span> +<span>Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,<br /></span> +<span>Nightly, from their azure towers,<br /></span> +<span>To keep watch above the flowers,<br /></span> +<span>In the midst of which all day<br /></span> +<span>The red sunlight lazily lay.<br /></span> +<span>Now each visitor shall confess<br /></span> +<span>The sad valley's restlessness.<br /></span> +<span>Nothing there is motionless,<br /></span> +<span>Nothing save the airs that brood<br /></span> +<span>Over the magic solitude.<br /></span> +<span>Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees<br /></span> +<span>That palpitate like the chill seas<br /></span> +<span>Around the misty Hebrides!<br /></span> +<span>Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven<br /></span> +<span>That rustle through the unquiet Heaven<br /></span> +<span>Uneasily, from morn to even,<br /></span> +<span>Over the violets there that lie<br /></span> +<span>In myriad types of the human eye,<br /></span> +<span>Over the lilies there that wave<br /></span> +<span>And weep above a nameless grave!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>They wave:—from out their fragrant tops<br /></span> +<span>Eternal dews come down in drops.<br /></span> +<span>They weep:—from off their delicate stems<br /></span> +<span>Perennial tears descend in gems.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_the_Fringed_Gentian" id="To_the_Fringed_Gentian"></a><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a><b>To the Fringed Gentian.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,<br /></span> +<span>And colored with the heaven's own blue,<br /></span> +<span>That openest when the quiet light<br /></span> +<span>Succeeds the keen and frosty night:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou comest not when violets lean<br /></span> +<span>O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,<br /></span> +<span>Or columbines, in purple dressed,<br /></span> +<span>Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou waitest late and com'st alone,<br /></span> +<span>When woods are bare and birds are flown,<br /></span> +<span>And frosts and shortening days portend<br /></span> +<span>The aged year is near his end.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye<br /></span> +<span>Look through its fringes to the sky,<br /></span> +<span>Blue—blue—as if that sky let fall<br /></span> +<span>A flower from its cerulean wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a> +<span>I would that thus, when I shall see<br /></span> +<span>The hour of death draw near to me,<br /></span> +<span>Hope, blossoming within my heart,<br /></span> +<span>May look to heaven as I depart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Crowded_Street" id="The_Crowded_Street"></a><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a><b>The Crowded Street.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let me move slowly through the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Filled with an ever-shifting train,<br /></span> +<span>Amid the sound of steps that beat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The murmuring walks like autumn rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>How fast the flitting figures come!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mild, the fierce, the stony face,—<br /></span> +<span>Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where secret tears have left their trace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They pass—to toil, to strife, to rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To halls in which the feast is spread;<br /></span> +<span>To chambers where the funeral guest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In silence sits beside the dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And some to happy homes repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,<br /></span> +<span>With mute caresses shall declare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The tenderness they cannot speak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And some, who walk in calmness here,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall shudder as they reach the door<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>Where one who made their dwelling dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its flower, its light, is seen no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dreams of greatness in thine eye!<br /></span> +<span>Go'st thou to build an early name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or early in the task to die?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Keen son of trade, with eager brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who is now fluttering in thy snare?<br /></span> +<span>Thy golden fortunes, tower they now,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or melt the glittering spires in air?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Who of this crowd to-night shall tread<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dance till daylight gleam again?<br /></span> +<span>Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Some, famine-struck, shall think how long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cold, dark hours, how slow the light;<br /></span> +<span>And some, who flaunt amid the throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Each where his tasks or pleasures call,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They pass, and heed each other not.<br /></span> +<span>There is who heeds, who holds them all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In His large love and boundless thought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a> +<span>These struggling tides of life, that seem<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In wayward, aimless course to tend,<br /></span> +<span>Are eddies of the mighty stream<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That rolls to its appointed end.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Raven" id="The_Raven"></a><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a><b>The Raven.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<br /></span> +<span>Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—<br /></span> +<span>While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,<br /></span> +<span>As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door.<br /></span> +<span>"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Only this, and nothing more."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,<br /></span> +<span>And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<br /></span> +<span>Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow<br /></span> +<span>From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore,—<br /></span> +<span>For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nameless here forevermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a> +<span>And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain<br /></span> +<span>Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;<br /></span> +<span>So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating<br /></span> +<span>"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,<br /></span> +<span>—Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This it is, and nothing more."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,<br /></span> +<span>"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;<br /></span> +<span>But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,<br /></span> +<span>And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door,<br /></span> +<span>That I scarce was sure I heard you;"—here I opened wide the door:—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Darkness there, and nothing more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;<br /></span> +<span>But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,<br /></span> +<span>And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"<br /></span> +<span>This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Merely this, and nothing more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,<br /></span> +<span>Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.<br /></span> +<span>"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;<br /></span> +<span>Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,—<br /></span> +<span>Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis the wind, and nothing more."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,<br /></span> +<span>In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;<br /></span> +<span>But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—<br /></span> +<span>Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Perched, and sat, and nothing more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling<br /></span> +<span>By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,<br /></span> +<span>"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,<br /></span> +<span>Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore,—<br /></span> +<span>Tell, me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,<br /></span> +<span>Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;<br /></span> +<span>For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door—<br /></span> +<span>Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With such name as "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only<br /></span> +<span>That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.<br /></span> +<span>Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—<br /></span> +<span>Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before—<br /></span> +<span>On the morrow <i>he</i> will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then the bird said, "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,<br /></span> +<span>"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,<br /></span> +<span>Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster<br /></span> +<span>Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of 'Never—nevermore.'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,<br /></span> +<span>Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;<br /></span> +<span>Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking<br /></span> +<span>Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—<br /></span> +<span>What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Meant in croaking "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing<br /></span> +<span>To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;<br /></span> +<span>This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining<br /></span> +<span>On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,<br /></span> +<span>But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>She</i> shall press, ah, nevermore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a> +<span>Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer<br /></span> +<span>Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.<br /></span> +<span>"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels He hath sent thee<br /></span> +<span>Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!<br /></span> +<span>Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—<br /></span> +<span>Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,<br /></span> +<span>Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—<br /></span> +<span>On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore,—<br /></span> +<span>Is there,—<i>is</i> there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—<br /></span> +<span>Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,<br /></span> +<span>It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—<br /></span> +<span>Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting,—<br /></span> +<span>"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!<br /></span> +<span>Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!<br /></span> +<span>Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!<br /></span> +<span>Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting<br /></span> +<span>On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,<br /></span> +<span>And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;<br /></span> +<span>And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shall be lifted,—nevermore!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Battle-field" id="The_Battle-field"></a><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a><b>The Battle-field.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,<br /></span> +<span>And fiery hearts and armèd hands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Encountered in the battle-cloud.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ah! never shall the land forget<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How gushed the life-blood of her brave,—<br /></span> +<span>Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon the soil they fought to save.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Now all is calm and fresh and still;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone the chirp of flitting bird,<br /></span> +<span>And talk of children on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bell of wandering kine are heard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>No solemn host goes trailing by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;<br /></span> +<span>Men start not at the battle-cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, be it never heard again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Soon rested those who fought; but thou<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who minglest in the harder strife<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>For truths which men receive not now,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy warfare only ends with life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A friendless warfare! lingering long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through weary day and weary year;<br /></span> +<span>A wild and many-weaponed throng<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hang on thy front and flank and rear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And blench not at thy chosen lot;<br /></span> +<span>The timid good may stand aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sage may frown,—yet faint thou not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The foul and hissing bolt of scorn,<br /></span> +<span>For with thy side shall dwell, at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The victory of endurance born.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The eternal years of God are hers;<br /></span> +<span>But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dies among his worshippers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When they who helped thee flee in fear,<br /></span> +<span>Die full of hope and manly trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like those who fell in battle here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a> +<span>Another hand thy sword shall wield,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Another hand the standard wave,<br /></span> +<span>Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Sleeper" id="The_Sleeper"></a><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a><b>The Sleeper.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>At midnight, in the month of June,<br /></span> +<span>I stand beneath the mystic moon.<br /></span> +<span>An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,<br /></span> +<span>Exhales from out her golden rim,<br /></span> +<span>And, softly dripping, drop by drop,<br /></span> +<span>Upon the quiet mountain-top,<br /></span> +<span>Steals drowsily and musically<br /></span> +<span>Into the universal valley.<br /></span> +<span>The rosemary nods upon the grave;<br /></span> +<span>The lily lolls upon the wave;<br /></span> +<span>Wrapping the fog about its breast,<br /></span> +<span>The ruin moulders into rest;<br /></span> +<span>Looking like Lethe, see! the lake<br /></span> +<span>A conscious slumber seems to take,<br /></span> +<span>And would not, for the world, awake.<br /></span> +<span>All beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies<br /></span> +<span>Irene, with her destinies!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O lady bright! can it be right,<br /></span> +<span>This window open to the night?<br /></span> +<span>The wanton airs from the tree-top<br /></span> +<span>Laughingly through the lattice drop;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,<br /></span> +<span>Flit through thy chamber in and out,<br /></span> +<span>And wave the curtain canopy<br /></span> +<span>So fitfully, so fearfully,<br /></span> +<span>Above the closed and fringed lid<br /></span> +<span>'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,<br /></span> +<span>That, o'er the floor and down the wall,<br /></span> +<span>Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall.<br /></span> +<span>O lady dear, hast thou no fear?<br /></span> +<span>Why and what art thou dreaming here?<br /></span> +<span>Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas,<br /></span> +<span>A wonder to these garden trees!<br /></span> +<span>Strange is thy pallor; strange thy dress;<br /></span> +<span>Strange, above all, thy length of tress,<br /></span> +<span>And this all solemn silentness!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep,<br /></span> +<span>Which is enduring, so be deep!<br /></span> +<span>Heaven have her in its sacred keep!<br /></span> +<span>This chamber changed for one more holy,<br /></span> +<span>This bed for one more melancholy,<br /></span> +<span>I pray to God that she may lie<br /></span> +<span>Forever with unopened eye,<br /></span> +<span>While the pale sheeted ghosts go by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My love, she sleeps. Oh, may her sleep,<br /></span> +<span>As it is lasting, so be deep!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>Soft may the worms about her creep!<br /></span> +<span>Far in the forest, dim and old,<br /></span> +<span>For her may some tall vault unfold:<br /></span> +<span>Some vault that oft hath flung its black<br /></span> +<span>And wingèd panels fluttering back,<br /></span> +<span>Triumphant, o'er the crested palls<br /></span> +<span>Of her grand family funerals;<br /></span> +<span>Some sepulchre, remote, alone,<br /></span> +<span>Against whose portal she hath thrown,<br /></span> +<span>In childhood, many an idle stone;<br /></span> +<span>Some tomb from out whose sounding door<br /></span> +<span>She ne'er shall force an echo more,<br /></span> +<span>Thrilling to think, poor child of sin,<br /></span> +<span>It was the dead who groaned within!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.A. Poe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a><a name="BOOK_SECOND" id="BOOK_SECOND"></a><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>BOOK SECOND.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Nature" id="Nature"></a><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a><b>Nature.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Leads by the hand her little child to bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Half willing, half reluctant to be led,<br /></span> +<span>And leave his broken playthings on the floor,<br /></span> +<span>Still gazing at them through the open door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor wholly reassured and comforted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By promises of others in their stead,<br /></span> +<span>Which, though more splendid, may not please him more,—<br /></span> +<span>So Nature deals with us, and takes away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our playthings one by one, and by the hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leads us to rest so gently, that we go<br /></span> +<span>Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Being too full of sleep to understand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How far the unknown transcends the what we know.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Hebe" id="Hebe"></a><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a><b>Hebe.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I saw the twinkle of white feet,<br /></span> +<span>I saw the flash of robes descending;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before her ran an influence fleet,<br /></span> +<span>That bowed my heart like barley bending.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">As, in bare fields, the searching bees<br /></span> +<span>Pilot to blooms beyond our finding,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It led me on, by sweet degrees<br /></span> +<span>Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Those Graces were that seemed grim Fates;<br /></span> +<span>With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The long-sought Secret's golden gates<br /></span> +<span>On musical hinges swung before me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp<br /></span> +<span>Thrilling with godhood; like a lover<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I sprang the proffered life to clasp;—<br /></span> +<span>The beaker fell; the luck was over.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Earth has drunk the vintage up;<br /></span> +<span>What boots it patch the goblet's splinters?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can Summer fill the icy cup,<br /></span> +<span>Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a> +<span class="i1">O spendthrift haste! await the Gods;<br /></span> +<span>Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Haste scatters on unthankful sods<br /></span> +<span>The immortal gift in vain libations.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Coy Hebe flies from those that woo,<br /></span> +<span>And shuns the hands would seize upon her;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Follow thy life, and she will sue<br /></span> +<span>To pour for thee the cup of honor.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Day_is_Done" id="The_Day_is_Done"></a><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a><b>The Day is Done.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The day is done, and the darkness<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Falls from the wings of Night,<br /></span> +<span>As a feather is wafted downward<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From an eagle in his flight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I see the lights of the village<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gleam through the rain and the mist,<br /></span> +<span>And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That my soul cannot resist:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A feeling of sadness and longing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That is not akin to pain,<br /></span> +<span>And resembles sorrow only<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the mist resembles the rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Come, read to me some poem,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some simple and heartfelt lay,<br /></span> +<span>That shall soothe this restless feeling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And banish the thoughts of day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Not from the grand old masters,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not from the bards sublime,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>Whose distant footsteps echo<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the corridors of Time.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For, like strains of martial music,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their mighty thoughts suggest<br /></span> +<span>Life's endless toil and endeavor;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to-night I long for rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Read from some humbler poet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose songs gushed from his heart,<br /></span> +<span>As showers from the clouds of summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or tears from the eyelids start;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Who, through long days of labor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And nights devoid of ease,<br /></span> +<span>Still heard in his soul the music<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of wonderful melodies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Such songs have power to quiet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The restless pulse of care,<br /></span> +<span>And come like the benediction<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That follows after prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then read from the treasured volume<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The poem of thy choice,<br /></span> +<span>And lend to the rhyme of the poet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The beauty of thy voice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a> +<span>And the night shall be filled with music,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the cares that infest the day<br /></span> +<span>Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And as silently steal away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Ichabod" id="Ichabod"></a><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a><b>Ichabod.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which once he wore!<br /></span> +<span>The glory from his gray hairs gone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forevermore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Revile him not,—the Tempter hath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A snare for all;<br /></span> +<span>And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Befit his fall!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When he who might<br /></span> +<span>Have lighted up and led his age,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Falls back in night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Scorn! would the angels laugh, to mark<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A bright soul driven,<br /></span> +<span>Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From hope and heaven!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let not the land once proud of him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Insult him now,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>Nor brand with deeper shame his dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dishonored brow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But let its humbled sons, instead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From sea to lake,<br /></span> +<span>A long lament, as for the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sadness make.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Of all we loved and honored, naught<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Save power remains,—<br /></span> +<span>A fallen angel's pride of thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still strong in chains.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>All else is gone; from those great eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The soul has fled:<br /></span> +<span>When faith is lost, when honor dies.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The man is dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then, pay the reverence of old days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To his dead fame;<br /></span> +<span>Walk backward, with averted gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And hide the shame!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.G. Whittier.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sir_Humphrey_Gilbert" id="Sir_Humphrey_Gilbert"></a><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a><b>Sir Humphrey Gilbert.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Southward with fleet of ice<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sailed the corsair Death;<br /></span> +<span>Wild and fast blew the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the east-wind was his breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>His lordly ships of ice<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glisten in the sun;<br /></span> +<span>On each side, like pennons wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flashing crystal streamlets run.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>His sails of white sea-mist<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dripped with silver rain;<br /></span> +<span>But where he passed there were cast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Leaden shadows o'er the main.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Eastward from Campobello<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;<br /></span> +<span>Three days or more seaward he bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then, alas! the land-wind failed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Alas! the land-wind failed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And ice-cold grew the night;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>And nevermore, on sea or shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should Sir Humphrey see the light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He sat upon the deck,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Book was in his hand;<br /></span> +<span>"Do not fear! Heaven is as near,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He said, "by water as by land!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In the first watch of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Without a signal's sound,<br /></span> +<span>Out of the sea, mysteriously,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fleet of Death rose all around.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The moon and the evening star<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were hanging in the shrouds;<br /></span> +<span>Every mast, as it passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seemed to rake the passing clouds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They grappled with their prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At midnight black and cold!<br /></span> +<span>As of a rock was the shock;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heavily the ground-swell rolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Southward through day and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They drift in close embrace,<br /></span> +<span>With mist and rain, o'er the open main;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet there seems no change of place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a> +<span>Southward, forever southward,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They drift through dark and day;<br /></span> +<span>And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sinking, vanish all away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Concord_Hymn" id="Concord_Hymn"></a><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a><b>Concord Hymn.</b></h2> + +<div class="center">Sung at the completion of the Battle Monument, April 19, 1836.<br /></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>By the rude bridge that arched the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,<br /></span> +<span>Here once the embattled farmers stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fired the shot heard round the world.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The foe long since in silence slept;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;<br /></span> +<span>And Time the ruined bridge has swept<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>On this green bank, by this soft stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We set to-day a votive stone,<br /></span> +<span>That memory may their deed redeem,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When, like our sires, our sons are gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Spirit, that made those heroes dare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To die, and leave their children free,<br /></span> +<span>Bid Time and Nature gently spare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shaft we raise to them and thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Emerson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_America" id="To_America"></a><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a><b>To America.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>What, cringe to Europe! Band it all in one,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stilt its decrepit strength, renew its age,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wipe out its debts, contract a loan to wage<br /></span> +<span>Its venal battles,—and, by yon bright sun,<br /></span> +<span>Our God is false, and liberty undone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If slaves have power to win your heritage!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Look on your country, God's appointed stage,<br /></span> +<span>Where man's vast mind its boundless course shall run:<br /></span> +<span>For that it was your stormy coast He spread—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A fear in winter; girded you about<br /></span> +<span>With granite hills, and made you strong and dread.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let him who fears before the foemen shout,<br /></span> +<span>Or gives an inch before a vein has bled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Turn on himself, and let the traitor out!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.H. Boker.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Old_Ironsides" id="Old_Ironsides"></a><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a><b>Old Ironsides.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long has it waved on high,<br /></span> +<span>And many an eye has danced to see<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That banner in the sky;<br /></span> +<span>Beneath it rung the battle shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And burst the cannon's roar;—<br /></span> +<span>The meteor of the ocean air<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall sweep the clouds no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where knelt the vanquished foe,<br /></span> +<span>When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And waves were white below,<br /></span> +<span>No more shall feel the victor's tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or know the conquered knee;<br /></span> +<span>The harpies of the shore shall pluck<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The eagle of the sea!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, better that her shattered hulk<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should sink beneath the wave!<br /></span> +<span>Her thunders shook the mighty deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And there should be her grave;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a> +<span>Nail to the mast her holy flag,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Set every threadbare sail,<br /></span> +<span>And give her to the god of storms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lightning, and the gale!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">O.W. Holmes.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_England" id="To_England"></a><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>To England.</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Lear and Cordelia! 'twas an ancient tale<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before thy Shakespeare gave it deathless fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The times have changed, the moral is the same.<br /></span> +<span>So like an outcast, dowerless and pale,<br /></span> +<span>Thy daughter went; and in a foreign gale<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spread her young banner, till its sway became<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A wonder to the nations. Days of shame<br /></span> +<span>Are close upon thee; prophets raise their wail.<br /></span> +<span>When the rude Cossack with an outstretched hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Points his long spear across the narrow sea,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Lo! there is England!" when thy destiny<br /></span> +<span>Storms on thy straw-crowned head, and thou dost stand<br /></span> +<span>Weak, helpless, mad, a by-word in the land,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God grant thy daughter a Cordelia be!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>[1852.]<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Stand, thou great bulwark of man's liberty!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou rock of shelter, rising from the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sole refuge to the overwearied brave<br /></span> +<span>Who planned, arose, and battled to be free,<br /></span> +<span>Fell, undeterred, then sadly turned to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>Saved the free spirit from their country's grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To rise again, and animate the slave,<br /></span> +<span>When God shall ripen all things. Britons, ye<br /></span> +<span>Who guard the sacred outpost, not in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hold your proud peril! Freemen undefiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Keep watch and ward! Let battlements be piled<br /></span> +<span>Around your cliffs; fleets marshalled, till the main<br /></span> +<span>Sink under them; and if your courage wane,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through force or fraud, look westward to your child!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>[1853.]<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.H. Boker.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Wreck_of_the_Hesperus" id="The_Wreck_of_the_Hesperus"></a><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a><b>The Wreck of the Hesperus.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>It was the schooner Hesperus,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That sailed the wintry sea;<br /></span> +<span>And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To bear him company.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her cheeks like the dawn of day,<br /></span> +<span>And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ope in the month of May.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The skipper he stood beside the helm,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His pipe was in his mouth,<br /></span> +<span>And he watched how the veering flaw did blow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The smoke now West, now South.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then up and spake an old Sailòr,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had sailed to the Spanish Main,<br /></span> +<span>"I pray thee, put into yonder port,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For I fear a hurricane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to-night no moon we see!"<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a scornful laugh laughed he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Colder and louder blew the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A gale from the Northeast,<br /></span> +<span>The snow fell hissing in the brine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the billows frothed like yeast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Down came the storm, and smote amain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The vessel in its strength;<br /></span> +<span>She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then leaped her cable's length.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And do not tremble so;<br /></span> +<span>For I can weather the roughest gale<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ever wind did blow."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Against the stinging blast;<br /></span> +<span>He cut a rope from a broken spar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bound her to the mast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, say, what may it be?"<br /></span> +<span>"'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he steered for the open sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a> +<span>"O father! I hear the sound of guns,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, say, what may it be?"<br /></span> +<span>"Some ship in distress, that cannot live<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In such an angry sea!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"O father! I see a gleaming light,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, say, what may it be?"<br /></span> +<span>But the father answered never a word,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A frozen corpse was he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With his face turned to the skies,<br /></span> +<span>The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On his fixed and glassy eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That savèd she might be;<br /></span> +<span>And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the Lake of Galilee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And fast through the midnight dark and drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the whistling sleet and snow,<br /></span> +<span>Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And ever the fitful gusts between<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sound came from the land;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>It was the sound of the trampling surf<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The breakers were right beneath her bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She drifted a dreary wreck,<br /></span> +<span>And a whooping billow swept the crew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like icicles from her deck.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She struck where the white and fleecy waves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looked soft as carded wool,<br /></span> +<span>But the cruel rocks, they gored her side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the horns of an angry bull.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the masts went by the board;<br /></span> +<span>Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ho! ho! the breakers roared!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A fisherman stood aghast,<br /></span> +<span>To see the form of a maiden fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lashed close to a drifting mast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The salt sea was frozen on her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The salt tears in her eyes;<br /></span> +<span>And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the billows fall and rise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a> +<span>Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the midnight and the snow!<br /></span> +<span>Christ save us all from a death like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the reef of Norman's Woe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Bedouin_Song" id="Bedouin_Song"></a><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a><b>Bedouin Song.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>From the Desert I come to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On a stallion shod with fire,<br /></span> +<span>And the winds are left behind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the speed of my desire.<br /></span> +<span>Under thy window I stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the midnight hears my cry:<br /></span> +<span>I love thee, I love but thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a love that shall not die<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Till the sun grows cold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And the stars are old,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Look from thy window and see<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My passion and my pain;<br /></span> +<span>I lie on the sands below,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I faint in thy disdain.<br /></span> +<span>Let the night-winds touch thy brow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the heat of my burning sigh,<br /></span> +<span>And melt thee to hear the vow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a love that shall not die<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a><i>Till the sun grows cold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And the stars are old,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My steps are nightly driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the fever in my breast,<br /></span> +<span>To hear from thy lattice breathed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The word that shall give me rest.<br /></span> +<span>Open the door of thy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And open thy chamber door,<br /></span> +<span>And my kisses shall teach thy lips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The love that shall fade no more<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Till the sun grows cold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And the stars are old,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">B. Taylor.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Skipper_Iresons_Ride" id="Skipper_Iresons_Ride"></a><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a><b>Skipper Ireson's Ride.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Of all the rides since the birth of time,<br /></span> +<span>Told in story or sung in rhyme,—<br /></span> +<span>On Apuleius's Golden Ass,<br /></span> +<span>Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,<br /></span> +<span>Witch astride of a human back,<br /></span> +<span>Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,—<br /></span> +<span>The strangest ride that ever was sped<br /></span> +<span>Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women of Marblehead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Body of turkey, head of owl,<br /></span> +<span>Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,<br /></span> +<span>Feathered and ruffled in every part,<br /></span> +<span>Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.<br /></span> +<span>Scores of women, old and young,<br /></span> +<span>Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,<br /></span> +<span>Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,<br /></span> +<span>Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women o' Morble'ead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a> +<span>Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,<br /></span> +<span>Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,<br /></span> +<span>Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase<br /></span> +<span>Bacchus round some antique vase,<br /></span> +<span>Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,<br /></span> +<span>Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,<br /></span> +<span>With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,<br /></span> +<span>Over and over the Mænads sang:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women o' Morble'ead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Small pity for him!—He sailed away<br /></span> +<span>From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,—<br /></span> +<span>Sailed away from a sinking wreck,<br /></span> +<span>With his own town's-people on her deck!<br /></span> +<span>"Lay by! lay by!" they called to him.<br /></span> +<span>Back he answered, "Sink or swim!<br /></span> +<span>Brag of your catch of fish again!"<br /></span> +<span>And off he sailed through the fog and rain!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women of Marblehead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur<br /></span> +<span>That wreck shall lie forevermore.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>Mother and sister, wife and maid,<br /></span> +<span>Looked from the rocks of Marblehead<br /></span> +<span>Over the moaning and rainy sea,—<br /></span> +<span>Looked for the coming that might not be!<br /></span> +<span>What did the winds and the sea-birds say<br /></span> +<span>Of the cruel captain who sailed away?—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women of Marblehead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Through the street, on either side,<br /></span> +<span>Up flew windows, doors swung wide;<br /></span> +<span>Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,<br /></span> +<span>Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.<br /></span> +<span>Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,<br /></span> +<span>Hulks of old sailors run aground,<br /></span> +<span>Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,<br /></span> +<span>And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women o' Morble'ead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sweetly along the Salem road<br /></span> +<span>Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.<br /></span> +<span>Little the wicked skipper knew<br /></span> +<span>Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>Riding there in his sorry trim,<br /></span> +<span>Like an Indian idol glum and grim,<br /></span> +<span>Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear<br /></span> +<span>Of voices shouting, far and near:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women o' Morble'ead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,—<br /></span> +<span>"What to me is this noisy ride?<br /></span> +<span>What is the shame that clothes the skin<br /></span> +<span>To the nameless horror that lives within?<br /></span> +<span>Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,<br /></span> +<span>And hear a cry from a reeling deck!<br /></span> +<span>Hate me and curse me,—I only dread<br /></span> +<span>The hand of God and the face of the dead!"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women of Marblehead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea<br /></span> +<span>Said, "God has touched him! Why should we?"<br /></span> +<span>Said an old wife, mourning her only son:<br /></span> +<span>"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"<br /></span> +<span>So with soft relentings and rude excuse,<br /></span> +<span>Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>And gave him a cloak to hide him in,<br /></span> +<span>And left him alone with his shame and sin.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the women of Marblehead!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.G. Whittier.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Village_Blacksmith" id="The_Village_Blacksmith"></a><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a><b>The Village Blacksmith.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Under a spreading chestnut-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The village smithy stands;<br /></span> +<span>The smith, a mighty man is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With large and sinewy hands;<br /></span> +<span>And the muscles of his brawny arms<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are strong as iron bands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>His hair is crisp, and black, and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His face is like the tan;<br /></span> +<span>His brow is wet with honest sweat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He earns whate'er he can,<br /></span> +<span>And looks the whole world in the face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For he owes not any man.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Week in, week out, from morn till night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You can hear his bellows blow;<br /></span> +<span>You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With measured beat and slow,<br /></span> +<span>Like a sexton ringing the village bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the evening sun is low.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And children coming home from school<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Look in at the open door;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>They love to see the flaming forge,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And hear the bellows roar,<br /></span> +<span>And catch the burning sparks that fly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like chaff from a threshing-floor.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He goes on Sunday to the church,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sits among his boys;<br /></span> +<span>He hears the parson pray and preach,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He hears his daughter's voice,<br /></span> +<span>Singing in the village choir,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And it makes his heart rejoice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>It sounds to him like her mother's voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Singing in Paradise!<br /></span> +<span>He needs must think of her once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How in the grave she lies;<br /></span> +<span>And with his hard, rough hand he wipes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A tear out of his eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Onward through life he goes;<br /></span> +<span>Each morning sees some task begin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each evening sees it close;<br /></span> +<span>Something attempted, something done.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has earned a night's repose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a> +<span>Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the lesson thou hast taught!<br /></span> +<span>Thus at the flaming forge of life<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our fortunes must be wrought;<br /></span> +<span>Thus on its sounding anvil shaped<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each burning deed and thought.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Last_Leaf" id="The_Last_Leaf"></a><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a><b>The Last Leaf.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I saw him once before,<br /></span> +<span>As he passed by the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And again<br /></span> +<span>The pavement stones resound,<br /></span> +<span>As he totters o'er the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With his cane.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They say that in his prime,<br /></span> +<span>Ere the pruning-knife of Time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cut him down,<br /></span> +<span>Not a better man was found<br /></span> +<span>By the crier on his round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the town.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But now he walks the streets,<br /></span> +<span>And he looks at all he meets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad and wan,<br /></span> +<span>And he shakes his feeble head,<br /></span> +<span>That it seems as if he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"They are gone."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a> +<span>The mossy marbles rest<br /></span> +<span>On the lips that he has pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In their bloom,<br /></span> +<span>And the names he loved to hear<br /></span> +<span>Have been carved for many a year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the tomb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My grandmamma has said—<br /></span> +<span>Poor old lady, she is dead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long ago—<br /></span> +<span>That he had a Roman nose,<br /></span> +<span>And his cheek was like a rose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But now his nose is thin,<br /></span> +<span>And it rests upon his chin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a staff,<br /></span> +<span>And a crook is in his back,<br /></span> +<span>And a melancholy crack<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his laugh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I know it is a sin<br /></span> +<span>For me to sit and grin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At him here;<br /></span> +<span>But the old three-cornered hat,<br /></span> +<span>And the breeches, and all that,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are so queer!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a> +<span>And if I should live to be<br /></span> +<span>The last leaf upon the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the spring,<br /></span> +<span>Let them smile, as I do now,<br /></span> +<span>At the old, forsaken bough<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I cling.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">O.W. Holmes.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Old_Kentucky_Home" id="The_Old_Kentucky_Home"></a><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a><b>The Old Kentucky Home.</b></h2> + +<p class="center">A NEGRO MELODY.</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky Home;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;<br /></span> +<span>The corn-top's ripe, and the meadow's in the bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the birds make music all the day.<br /></span> +<span>The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All merry, all happy and bright;<br /></span> +<span>By-'n'-by hard times comes a-knocking at the door,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Weep no more, my lady,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Oh, weep no more to-day!<br /></span> +<span>We will sing one song for the old Kentucky Home,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the old Kentucky Home, far away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the meadow, the hill, and the shore;<br /></span> +<span>They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the bench by the old cabin door.<br /></span> +<span>The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With sorrow, where all was delight;<br /></span> +<span>The time has come when the darkies have to part,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a> +<span>The head must bow, and the back will have to bend,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wherever the darkey may go;<br /></span> +<span>A few more days, and the trouble all will end,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the field where the sugar-canes grow.<br /></span> +<span>A few more days for to tote the weary load,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No matter, 'twill never be light;<br /></span> +<span>A few more days till we totter on the road,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Weep no more, my lady,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Oh, weep no more to-day!<br /></span> +<span>We will sing one song for the old Kentucky Home,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the old Kentucky Home, far away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">S.C. Foster.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Black_Regiment" id="The_Black_Regiment"></a><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a><b>The Black Regiment.</b></h2> + +<p class="center">Port Hudson, May 27, 1863.</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Dark as the clouds of even,<br /></span> +<span>Ranked in the western heaven,<br /></span> +<span>Waiting the breath that lifts<br /></span> +<span>All the dread mass, and drifts<br /></span> +<span>Tempest and falling brand<br /></span> +<span>Over a ruined land;—<br /></span> +<span>So still and orderly,<br /></span> +<span>Arm to arm, knee to knee,<br /></span> +<span>Waiting the great event,<br /></span> +<span>Stands the black regiment.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Down the long, dusky line<br /></span> +<span>Teeth gleam, and eyeballs shine;<br /></span> +<span>And the bright bayonet,<br /></span> +<span>Bristling and firmly set,<br /></span> +<span>Flashed with a purpose grand,<br /></span> +<span>Long ere the sharp command<br /></span> +<span>Of the fierce rolling drum<br /></span> +<span>Told them their time had come,<br /></span> +<span>Told them what work was sent<br /></span> +<span>For the black regiment.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a> +<span>"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,<br /></span> +<span>"Though death and hell betide,<br /></span> +<span>Let the whole nation see<br /></span> +<span>If we are fit to be<br /></span> +<span>Free in this land; or bound<br /></span> +<span>Down, like the whining hound,—<br /></span> +<span>Bound with red stripes of pain<br /></span> +<span>In our old chains again!"<br /></span> +<span>Oh, what a shout there went<br /></span> +<span>From the black regiment!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke,<br /></span> +<span>Onward the bondmen broke;<br /></span> +<span>Bayonet and sabre-stroke<br /></span> +<span>Vainly opposed their rush.<br /></span> +<span>Through the wild battle's crush,<br /></span> +<span>With but one thought aflush,<br /></span> +<span>Driving their lords like chaff,<br /></span> +<span>In the guns' mouths they laugh;<br /></span> +<span>Or at the slippery brands<br /></span> +<span>Leaping with open hands,<br /></span> +<span>Down they tear man and horse,<br /></span> +<span>Down in their awful course;<br /></span> +<span>Trampling with bloody heel<br /></span> +<span>Over the crashing steel,<br /></span> +<span>All their eyes forward bent,<br /></span> +<span>Rushed the black regiment.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a> +<span>"Freedom!" their battle-cry,—<br /></span> +<span>"Freedom! or leave to die!"<br /></span> +<span>Ah! and they meant the word,<br /></span> +<span>Not as with us 'tis heard,<br /></span> +<span>Not a mere party shout;<br /></span> +<span>They gave their spirits out,<br /></span> +<span>Trusted the end to God,<br /></span> +<span>And on the gory sod<br /></span> +<span>Rolled in triumphant blood.<br /></span> +<span>Glad to strike one free blow,<br /></span> +<span>Whether for weal or woe;<br /></span> +<span>Glad to breathe one free breath,<br /></span> +<span>Though on the lips of death;<br /></span> +<span>Praying—alas! in vain!—<br /></span> +<span>That they might fall again,<br /></span> +<span>So they could once more see<br /></span> +<span>That burst to liberty!<br /></span> +<span>This was what "freedom" lent<br /></span> +<span>To the black regiment.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Hundreds on hundreds fell;<br /></span> +<span>But they are resting well;<br /></span> +<span>Scourges and shackles strong<br /></span> +<span>Never shall do them wrong.<br /></span> +<span>Oh, to the living few,<br /></span> +<span>Soldiers, be just and true!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>Hail them as comrades tried;<br /></span> +<span>Fight with them side by side;<br /></span> +<span>Never, in field or tent,<br /></span> +<span>Scorn the black regiment.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.H. Boker.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Carolina" id="Carolina"></a><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a><b>Carolina.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The despot treads thy sacred sands,<br /></span> +<span>Thy pines give shelter to his bands,<br /></span> +<span>Thy sons stand by with idle hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +<span>He breathes at ease thy airs of balm,<br /></span> +<span>He scorns the lances of thy palm;<br /></span> +<span>Oh! who shall break thy craven calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +<span>Thy ancient fame is growing dim,<br /></span> +<span>A spot is on thy garment's rim;<br /></span> +<span>Give to the winds thy battle-hymn,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Call on thy children of the hill,<br /></span> +<span>Wake swamp and river, coast and rill,<br /></span> +<span>Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +<span>Cite wealth and science, trade and art,<br /></span> +<span>Touch with thy fire the cautious mart,<br /></span> +<span>And pour thee through the people's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>Till even the coward spurns his fears,<br /></span> +<span>And all thy fields, and fens, and meres<br /></span> +<span>Shall bristle like thy palm with spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I hear a murmur as of waves<br /></span> +<span>That grope their way through sunless caves,<br /></span> +<span>Like bodies struggling in their graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +<span>And now it deepens; slow and grand<br /></span> +<span>It swells, as, rolling to the land,<br /></span> +<span>An ocean broke upon thy strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +<span>Shout! Let it reach the startled Huns!<br /></span> +<span>And roar with all thy festal guns!<br /></span> +<span>It is the answer of thy sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Carolina!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H. Timrod.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Dirge_for_a_Soldier" id="Dirge_for_a_Soldier"></a><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a><b>Dirge for a Soldier.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Close his eyes; his work is done!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What to him is friend or foeman,<br /></span> +<span>Rise of moon, or set of sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hand of man, or kiss of woman?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? He cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As man may, he fought his fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proved his truth by his endeavor;<br /></span> +<span>Let him sleep in solemn night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sleep forever and forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? He cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fold him in his country's stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Roll the drum and fire the volley!<br /></span> +<span>What to him are all our wars,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What but death bemocking folly?<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? He cannot know;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Leave him to God's watching eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trust him to the hand that made him.<br /></span> +<span>Mortal love weeps idly by;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God alone has power to aid him.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay him low, lay him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the clover or the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What cares he? He cannot know!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lay him low!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.H. Boker.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Battle-hymn_of_the_Republic" id="Battle-hymn_of_the_Republic"></a><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a><b>Battle-hymn of the Republic.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:<br /></span> +<span>He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;<br /></span> +<span>He hath loosed the fatal lightning of His terrible swift sword:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His truth is marching on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;<br /></span> +<span>They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;<br /></span> +<span>I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His day is marching on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:<br /></span> +<span>"As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal;<br /></span> +<span>Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Since God is marching on."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a> +<span>He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;<br /></span> +<span>He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;<br /></span> +<span>Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Our God is marching on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea,<br /></span> +<span>With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:<br /></span> +<span>As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">While God is marching on.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.W. Howe.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Farragut" id="Farragut"></a><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a><b>Farragut.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Farragut, Farragut,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Heart of Oak,<br /></span> +<span>Daring Dave Farragut,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thunderbolt stroke,<br /></span> +<span>Watches the hoary mist<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lift from the bay,<br /></span> +<span>Till his flag, glory-kissed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Greets the young day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Far, by gray Morgan's walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looms the black fleet.<br /></span> +<span>Hark, deck to rampart calls<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the drums' beat!<br /></span> +<span>Buoy your chains overboard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the steam hums;<br /></span> +<span>Men! to the battlement,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Farragut comes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>See, as the hurricane<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hurtles in wrath<br /></span> +<span>Squadrons of clouds amain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Back from its path!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>Back to the parapet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the guns' lips,<br /></span> +<span>Thunderbolt Farragut<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hurls the black ships.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Now through the battle's roar<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Clear the boy sings,<br /></span> +<span>"By the mark fathoms four,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While his lead swings.<br /></span> +<span>Steady the wheelmen five<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Nor' by east keep her,"<br /></span> +<span>"Steady," but two alive:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How the shells sweep her!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Lashed to the mast that sways<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over red decks,<br /></span> +<span>Over the flame that plays<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Round the torn wrecks,<br /></span> +<span>Over the dying lips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Framed for a cheer,<br /></span> +<span>Farragut leads his ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Guides the line clear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>On by heights cannon-browed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the spars quiver;<br /></span> +<span>Onward still flames the cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the hulks shiver.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>See, yon fort's star is set,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Storm and fire past.<br /></span> +<span>Cheer him, lads,—Farragut,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lashed to the mast!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh! while Atlantic's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bears a white sail,<br /></span> +<span>While the Gulf's towering crest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tops a green vale;<br /></span> +<span>Men thy bold deeds shall tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Heart of Oak,<br /></span> +<span>Daring Dave Farragut,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thunderbolt stroke!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.T. Meredith.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="My_Maryland" id="My_Maryland"></a><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a><b>My Maryland.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The despot's heel is on thy shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>His torch is at thy temple door,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Avenge the patriotic gore<br /></span> +<span>That flecked the streets of Baltimore,<br /></span> +<span>And be the battle-queen of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Hark to an exiled son's appeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>My Mother State, to thee I kneel,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>For life and death, for woe and weal,<br /></span> +<span>Thy peerless chivalry reveal,<br /></span> +<span>And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou wilt not cower in the dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>Thy beaming sword shall never rust,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Remember Carroll's sacred trust,<br /></span> +<span>Remember Howard's warlike thrust,<br /></span> +<span>And all thy slumberers with the just,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Come with thy panoplied array,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,<br /></span> +<span>With Watson's blood at Monterey,<br /></span> +<span>With fearless Lowe and dashing May,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Virginia should not call in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>She meets her sisters on the plain,—<br /></span> +<span><i>"Sic semper!"</i> 'tis the proud refrain<br /></span> +<span>That baffles minions back amain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Arise in majesty again,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a> +<span>Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Come to thine own heroic throng<br /></span> +<span>Stalking with Liberty along,<br /></span> +<span>And chant thy dauntless slogan-song,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I see the blush upon thy cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>For thou wast ever bravely meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>But lo! there surges forth a shriek,<br /></span> +<span>From hill to hill, from creek to creek,<br /></span> +<span>Potomac calls to Chesapeake,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Thou wilt not crook to his control,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>Better the fire upon thee roll,<br /></span> +<span>Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,<br /></span> +<span>Than crucifixion of the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a> +<span>I hear the distant thunder-hum,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>The old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland!<br /></span> +<span>She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb;<br /></span> +<span>Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!<br /></span> +<span>She breathes! She burns! She'll come!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She'll come!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Maryland, my Maryland!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Randall.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="After_All" id="After_All"></a><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a><b>After All.</b><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The apples are ripe in the orchard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The work of the reaper is done,<br /></span> +<span>And the golden woodlands redden<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the blood of the dying sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At the cottage door the grandsire<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sits, pale, in his easy-chair,<br /></span> +<span>While a gentle wind of twilight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Plays with his silver hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A woman is kneeling beside him;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A fair young head is prest,<br /></span> +<span>In the first wild passion of sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Against his aged breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And far from over the distance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The faltering echoes come,<br /></span> +<span>Of the flying blast of trumpet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the rattling roll of drum.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And the grandsire speaks in a whisper:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"The end no man can see;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>But we give him to his country,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And we give our prayers to Thee."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The violets star the meadows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rose-buds fringe the door,<br /></span> +<span>And over the grassy orchard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pink-white blossoms pour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But the grandsire's chair is empty,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cottage is dark and still,<br /></span> +<span>There's a nameless grave in the battle-field,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a new one under the hill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And a pallid, tearless woman<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the cold hearth sits alone,<br /></span> +<span>And the old clock in the corner<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ticks on with a steady drone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">William Winter.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> From "Wanderers," copyright, 1892, by Macmillan and Co.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Song_of_the_Camp" id="The_Song_of_the_Camp"></a><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a><b>The Song of the Camp.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The outer trenches guarding,<br /></span> +<span>When the heated guns of the camps allied<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grew weary of bombarding.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The dark Redan, in silent scoff,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay grim and threatening under;<br /></span> +<span>And the tawny mound of the Malakoff<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No longer belch'd its thunder.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There was a pause. A guardsman said:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"We storm the forts to-morrow;<br /></span> +<span>Sing while we may, another day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will bring enough of sorrow."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They lay along the battery's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Below the smoking cannon:<br /></span> +<span>Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from the banks of Shannon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They sang of love, and not of fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forgot was Britain's glory:<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>Each heart recall'd a different name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But all sang "Annie Laurie."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Voice after voice caught up the song,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Until its tender passion<br /></span> +<span>Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their battle-eve confession.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But as the song grew louder,<br /></span> +<span>Something upon the soldier's cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Washed off the stains of powder.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Beyond the darkening ocean burn'd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bloody sunset's embers,<br /></span> +<span>While the Crimean valleys learn'd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How English love remembers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And once again a fire of hell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rain'd on the Russian quarters,<br /></span> +<span>With scream of shot, and burst of shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bellowing of the mortars!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And Irish Nora's eyes are dim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a singer dumb and gory;<br /></span> +<span>And English Mary mourns for him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who sang of "Annie Laurie."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a> +<span>Sleep, soldiers! still in honor'd rest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your truth and valor wearing:<br /></span> +<span>The bravest are the tenderest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The loving are the daring.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">B. Taylor.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="In_the_Hospital" id="In_the_Hospital"></a><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a><b>In the Hospital.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I lay me down to sleep,<br /></span> +<span>With little thought or care<br /></span> +<span>Whether my waking find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Me here or there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A bowing, burdened head,<br /></span> +<span>That only asks to rest,<br /></span> +<span>Unquestioning, upon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A loving breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My good right hand forgets<br /></span> +<span>Its cunning now.<br /></span> +<span>To march the weary march<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know not how.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I am not eager, bold,<br /></span> +<span>Nor strong—all that is past;<br /></span> +<span>I am ready not to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At last, at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My half day's work is done,<br /></span> +<span>And this is all my part;<br /></span> +<span>I give a patient God<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My patient heart,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a> +<span>And grasp His banner still,<br /></span> +<span>Though all its blue be dim;<br /></span> +<span>These stripes, no less than stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lead after Him.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">M.W. Howland.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Under_the_Violets" id="Under_the_Violets"></a><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a><b>Under the Violets.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Her hands are cold; her face is white;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No more her pulses come and go;<br /></span> +<span>Her eyes are shut to life and light;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And lay her where the violets blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But not beneath a graven stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To plead for tears with alien eyes;<br /></span> +<span>A slender cross of wood alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall say, that here a maiden lies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In peace beneath the peaceful skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And gray old trees of hugest limb<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall wheel their circling shadows round<br /></span> +<span>To make the scorching sunlight dim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That drinks the greenness from the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And drop their dead leaves on her mound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And through their leaves the robins call,<br /></span> +<span>And, ripening in the autumn sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The acorns and the chestnuts fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Doubt not that she will heed them all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a> +<span>For her the morning choir shall sing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its matins from the branches high,<br /></span> +<span>And every minstrel voice of Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That trills beneath the April sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall greet her with its earliest cry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When, turning round their dial-track,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,<br /></span> +<span>Her little mourners, clad in black,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The crickets, sliding through the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall pipe for her an evening mass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At last the rootlets of the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall find the prison where she lies,<br /></span> +<span>And bear the buried dust they seize<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In leaves and blossoms to the skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So may the soul that warmed it rise!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>If any, born of kindlier blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should ask, What maiden lies below?<br /></span> +<span>Say only this: A tender bud,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That tried to blossom in the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lies withered where the violets blow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">O.W. Holmes.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Days" id="Days"></a><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a><b>Days.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,<br /></span> +<span>Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,<br /></span> +<span>And marching single in an endless file,<br /></span> +<span>Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.<br /></span> +<span>To each they offer gifts after his will,<br /></span> +<span>Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.<br /></span> +<span>I, in my pleachèd garden, watched the pomp,<br /></span> +<span>Forgot my morning wishes, hastily<br /></span> +<span>Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day<br /></span> +<span>Turned and departed silent. I, too late,<br /></span> +<span>Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Emerson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Song2" id="Song2"></a><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a><b>Song.</b><a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>You know the old Hidalgo<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(His box is next to ours),<br /></span> +<span>Who threw the Prima Donna<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wreath of orange-flowers;<br /></span> +<span>He owns the half of Aragon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With mines beyond the main;<br /></span> +<span>A very ancient nobleman,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gentleman of Spain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They swear that I must wed him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In spite of yea or nay,<br /></span> +<span>Though uglier than the Scaramouch,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The spectre in the play;<br /></span> +<span>But I will sooner die a maid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than wear a gilded chain,<br /></span> +<span>For all the ancient noblemen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gentlemen of Spain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.H. Stoddard.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /><div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> From "The Poems of R.H. Stoddard," copyright, 1880, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Aladdin" id="Aladdin"></a><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a><b>Aladdin.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>When I was a beggarly boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And lived in a cellar damp,<br /></span> +<span>I had not a friend nor a toy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I had Aladdin's lamp;<br /></span> +<span>When I could not sleep for cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I had fire enough in my brain,<br /></span> +<span>And builded, with roofs of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My beautiful castles in Spain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Since then I have toiled day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have money and power good store,<br /></span> +<span>But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the one that is mine no more;<br /></span> +<span>Take, Fortune, whatever you choose,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You gave, and may snatch again;<br /></span> +<span>I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For I own no more castles in Spain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Flight_of_Youth" id="The_Flight_of_Youth"></a><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a><b>The Flight of Youth.</b><a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>There are gains for all our losses,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There are balms for all our pain;<br /></span> +<span>But when youth, the dream, departs,<br /></span> +<span>It takes something from our hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And it never comes again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We are stronger, and are better,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Under manhood's sterner reign;<br /></span> +<span>Still, we feel that something sweet<br /></span> +<span>Followed youth, with flying feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And will never come again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Something beautiful is vanished,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And we sigh for it in vain;<br /></span> +<span>We behold it everywhere,<br /></span> +<span>On the earth, and in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But it never comes again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.H. Stoddard.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> From "The Poems of R.H. Stoddard," copyright, 1880, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="My_Playmate" id="My_Playmate"></a><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a><b>My Playmate.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their song was soft and low;<br /></span> +<span>The blossoms in the sweet May wind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were falling like the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The blossoms drifted at our feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The orchard birds sang clear;<br /></span> +<span>The sweetest and the saddest day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It seemed of all the year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For, more to me than birds or flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My playmate left her home,<br /></span> +<span>And took with her the laughing spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The music and the bloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She kissed the lips of kith and kin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She laid her hand in mine:<br /></span> +<span>What more could ask the bashful boy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who fed her father's kine?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She left us in the bloom of May:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The constant years told o'er<br /></span> +<span>Their seasons with as sweet May morns,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But she came back no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a> +<span>I walk, with noiseless feet, the round<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of uneventful years;<br /></span> +<span>Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And reap the autumn ears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She lives where all the golden year<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her summer roses blow;<br /></span> +<span>The dusky children of the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before her come and go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There haply with her jewelled hands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She smooths her silken gown,—<br /></span> +<span>No more the homespun lap wherein<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I shook the walnuts down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The wild grapes wait us by the brook,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The brown nuts on the hill,<br /></span> +<span>And still the May-day flowers make sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The woods of Follymill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The lilies blossom in the pond,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bird builds in the tree,<br /></span> +<span>The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The slow song of the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I wonder if she thinks of them,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And how the old time seems,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>If ever the pines of Ramoth wood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are sounding in her dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I see her face, I hear her voice:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Does she remember mine?<br /></span> +<span>And what to her is now the boy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who fed her father's kine?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What cares she that the orioles build<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For other eyes than ours,—<br /></span> +<span>That other hands with nuts are filled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And other laps with flowers?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O playmate in the golden time!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our mossy seat is green,<br /></span> +<span>Its fringing violets blossom yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The old trees o'er it lean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The winds so sweet with birch and fern<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sweeter memory blow;<br /></span> +<span>And there in spring the veeries sing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The song of long ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And still the pines of Ramoth wood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are moaning like the sea,—<br /></span> +<span>The moaning of the sea of change<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between myself and thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.G. Whittier.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Fire_of_Driftwood" id="The_Fire_of_Driftwood"></a><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a><b>The Fire of Driftwood.</b></h2> + +<p class="center">DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD.</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>We sat within the farmhouse old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,<br /></span> +<span>Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An easy entrance, night and day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Not far away we saw the port,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,<br /></span> +<span>The lighthouse, the dismantled fort,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wooden houses, quaint and brown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We sat and talked until the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Descending, filled the little room;<br /></span> +<span>Our faces faded from the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our voices only broke the gloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We spake of many a vanished scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of what we once had thought and said,<br /></span> +<span>Of what had been, and might have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And who was changed, and who was dead;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a> +<span>And all that fills the hearts of friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When first they feel, with secret pain,<br /></span> +<span>Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And never can be one again;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The first slight swerving of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That words are powerless to express,<br /></span> +<span>And leave it still unsaid in part,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or say it in too great excess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The very tones in which we spake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had something strange, I could but mark;<br /></span> +<span>The leaves of memory seemed to make<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A mournful rustling in the dark.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oft died the words upon our lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As suddenly, from out the fire<br /></span> +<span>Built of the wreck of stranded ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flames would leap and then expire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And, as their splendor flashed and failed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We thought of wrecks upon the main,<br /></span> +<span>Of ships dismasted, that were hailed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sent no answer back again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The windows, rattling in their frames,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ocean, roaring up the beach,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>The gusty blast, the bickering flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All mingled vaguely in our speech;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Until they made themselves a part<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of fancies floating through the brain,<br /></span> +<span>The long-lost ventures of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That send no answers back again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They were indeed too much akin,<br /></span> +<span>The driftwood fire without that burned,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thoughts that burned and glowed within.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Death-bed" id="A_Death-bed"></a><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a><b>A Death-bed.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Her suffering ended with the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet lived she at its close,<br /></span> +<span>And breathed the long, long night away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In statue-like repose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But when the sun in all his state<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Illumed the eastern skies,<br /></span> +<span>She passed through Glory's morning gate<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And walked in Paradise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Telling_the_Bees" id="Telling_the_Bees"></a><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a><b>Telling the Bees.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Here is the place; right over the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Runs the path I took;<br /></span> +<span>You can see the gap in the old wall still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There is the house, with the gate red-barred,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the poplars tall;<br /></span> +<span>And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the white horns tossing above the wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There are the beehives ranged in the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And down by the brink<br /></span> +<span>Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heavy and slow;<br /></span> +<span>And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the same brook sings of a year ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the June sun warm<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>Tangles his wings of fire in the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Setting, as then, over Fernside farm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I mind me how with a lover's care<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From my Sunday coat<br /></span> +<span>I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Since we parted, a month had passed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To love, a year;<br /></span> +<span>Down through the beeches I looked at last<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the little red gate and the well-sweep near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I can see it all now,—the slantwise rain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of light through the leaves,<br /></span> +<span>The sundown's blaze on her window-pane,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bloom of her roses under the eaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Just the same as a month before,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The house and the trees,<br /></span> +<span>The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nothing changed but the hives of bees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Before them, under the garden wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forward and back,<br /></span> +<span>Went, drearily singing, the chore-girl small,<br /></span> +<span>Draping each hive with a shred of black.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a> +<span>Trembling, I listened; the summer sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had the chill of snow;<br /></span> +<span>For I knew she was telling the bees of one<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gone on the journey we all must go!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then I said to myself, "My Mary weeps<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the dead to-day;<br /></span> +<span>Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fret and the pain of his age away."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But her dog whined low; on the doorway sill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With his cane to his chin,<br /></span> +<span>The old man sat; and the chore-girl still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sung to the bees stealing out and in.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And the song she was singing ever since<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In my ear sounds on:<br /></span> +<span>"Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mistress Mary is dead and gone!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.G. Whittier.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Katie" id="Katie"></a><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a><b>Katie.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>It may be through some foreign grace,<br /></span> +<span>And unfamiliar charm of face;<br /></span> +<span>It may be that across the foam<br /></span> +<span>Which bore her from her childhood's home,<br /></span> +<span>By some strange spell, my Katie brought<br /></span> +<span>Along with English creeds and thought—<br /></span> +<span>Entangled in her golden hair—<br /></span> +<span>Some English sunshine, warmth, and air!<br /></span> +<span>I cannot tell,—but here to-day,<br /></span> +<span>A thousand billowy leagues away<br /></span> +<span>From that green isle whose twilight skies<br /></span> +<span>No darker are than Katie's eyes,<br /></span> +<span>She seems to me, go where she will,<br /></span> +<span>An English girl in England still!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I meet her on the dusty street,<br /></span> +<span>And daisies spring about her feet;<br /></span> +<span>Or, touched to life beneath her tread,<br /></span> +<span>An English cowslip lifts its head;<br /></span> +<span>And, as to do her grace, rise up<br /></span> +<span>The primrose and the buttercup!<br /></span> +<span>I roam with her through fields of cane,<br /></span> +<span>And seem to stroll an English lane,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>Which, white with blossoms of the May,<br /></span> +<span>Spreads its green carpet in her way!<br /></span> +<span>As fancy wills, the path beneath<br /></span> +<span>Is golden gorse, or purple heath;<br /></span> +<span>And now we hear in woodlands dim<br /></span> +<span>Their unarticulated hymn,<br /></span> +<span>Now walk through rippling waves of wheat,<br /></span> +<span>Now sink in mats of clover sweet,<br /></span> +<span>Or see before us from the lawn<br /></span> +<span>The lark go up to greet the dawn!<br /></span> +<span>All birds that love the English sky<br /></span> +<span>Throng round my path when she is by;<br /></span> +<span>The blackbird from a neighboring thorn<br /></span> +<span>With music brims the cup of morn,<br /></span> +<span>And in a thick, melodious rain<br /></span> +<span>The mavis pours her mellow strain!<br /></span> +<span>But only when my Katie's voice<br /></span> +<span>Makes all the listening woods rejoice<br /></span> +<span>I hear—with cheeks that flush and pale—<br /></span> +<span>The passion of the nightingale!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H. Timrod.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="My_Love" id="My_Love"></a><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a><b>My Love.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Not as all other women are<br /></span> +<span>Is she that to my soul is dear;<br /></span> +<span>Her glorious fancies come from far,<br /></span> +<span>Beneath the silver evening-star,<br /></span> +<span>And yet her heart is ever near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Great feelings hath she of her own,<br /></span> +<span>Which lesser souls may never know;<br /></span> +<span>God giveth them to her alone,<br /></span> +<span>And sweet they are as any tone<br /></span> +<span>Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Yet in herself she dwelleth not,<br /></span> +<span>Although no home were half so fair;<br /></span> +<span>No simplest duty is forgot;<br /></span> +<span>Life hath no dim and lowly spot<br /></span> +<span>That doth not in her sunshine share.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She doeth little kindnesses,<br /></span> +<span>Which most leave undone, or despise;<br /></span> +<span>For naught that sets one heart at ease,<br /></span> +<span>And giveth happiness or peace,<br /></span> +<span>Is low-esteemèd in her eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a> +<span>She hath no scorn of common things,<br /></span> +<span>And, though she seem of other birth,<br /></span> +<span>Round us her heart intwines and clings,<br /></span> +<span>And patiently she folds her wings<br /></span> +<span>To tread the humble paths of earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Blessing she is; God made her so,<br /></span> +<span>And deeds of week-day holiness<br /></span> +<span>Fall from her noiseless as the snow,<br /></span> +<span>Nor hath she ever chanced to know<br /></span> +<span>That aught were easier than to bless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She is most fair, and thereunto<br /></span> +<span>Her life doth rightly harmonize;<br /></span> +<span>Feeling or thought that was not true<br /></span> +<span>Ne'er made less beautiful the blue<br /></span> +<span>Unclouded heaven of her eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She is a woman; one in whom<br /></span> +<span>The spring-time of her childish years<br /></span> +<span>Hath never lost its fresh perfume,<br /></span> +<span>Though knowing well that life hath room<br /></span> +<span>For many blights and many tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I love her with a love as still<br /></span> +<span>As a broad river's peaceful might,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>Which, by high tower and lowly mill,<br /></span> +<span>Goes wandering at its own will,<br /></span> +<span>And yet doth ever flow aright.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And, on its full, deep breast serene,<br /></span> +<span>Like quiet isles my duties lie;<br /></span> +<span>It flows around them and between,<br /></span> +<span>And makes them fresh, and fair, and green,<br /></span> +<span>Sweet homes wherein to live and die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="She_Came_and_Went" id="She_Came_and_Went"></a><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a><b>She Came and Went.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>As a twig trembles, which a bird<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,<br /></span> +<span>So is my memory thrilled and stirred;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I only know she came and went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The blue dome's measureless content,<br /></span> +<span>So my soul held that moment's heaven;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I only know she came and went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The orchards full of bloom and scent,<br /></span> +<span>So clove her May my wintry sleeps;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I only know she came and went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>An angel stood and met my gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the low doorway of my tent;<br /></span> +<span>The tent is struck, the vision stays;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I only know she came and went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a> +<span>Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And life's last oil is nearly spent,<br /></span> +<span>One gush of light these eyes will brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Only to think she came and went.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Her_Epitaph" id="Her_Epitaph"></a><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a><b>Her Epitaph.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The handful here, that once was Mary's earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul,<br /></span> +<span>That, when she died, all recognized her birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And had their sorrow in serene control.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Not here! not here!" to every mourner's heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier;<br /></span> +<span>And when the tomb-door opened, with a start<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We heard it echoed from within,—"Not here!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Shouldst thou, sad pilgrim, who mayst hither pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Note in these flowers a delicater hue,<br /></span> +<span>Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or the bee later linger on the dew,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Know that her spirit to her body lent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can;<br /></span> +<span>That even her dust, and this her monument,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>Lonely through life, but looking for the day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When what is mortal of himself shall sleep,<br /></span> +<span>When human passion shall have passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Love no longer be a thing to weep.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.W. Parsons.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Apart" id="Apart"></a><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a><b>Apart.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>At sea are tossing ships;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On shore are dreaming shells,<br /></span> +<span>And the waiting heart and the loving lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blossoms and bridal bells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At sea are sails a-gleam;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On shore are longing eyes,<br /></span> +<span>And the far horizon's haunting dream<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of ships that sail the skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At sea are masts that rise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like spectres from the deep;<br /></span> +<span>On shore are the ghosts of drowning cries<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That cross the waves of sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At sea are wrecks a-strand;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On shore are shells that moan,<br /></span> +<span>Old anchors buried in barren sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sea-mist and dreams alone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.J. Piatt.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Discoverer" id="The_Discoverer"></a><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a><b>The Discoverer.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I have a little kinsman<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose earthly summers are but three,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yet a voyager is he<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Greater than Drake or Frobisher,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than all their peers together!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He is a brave discoverer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, far beyond the tether<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of them who seek the frozen Pole,<br /></span> +<span>Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ay, he has travelled whither<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A winged pilot steered his bark<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the portals of the dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Past hoary Mimir's well and tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Across the unknown sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Suddenly, in his fair young hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came one who bore a flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And laid it in his dimpled hand<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With this command:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Henceforth thou art a rover!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou must make a voyage far,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>Sail beneath the evening star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a wondrous land discover."<br /></span> +<span class="i1">—With his sweet smile innocent<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Our little kinsman went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Since that time no word<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the absent has been heard.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who can tell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How he fares, or answer well<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What the little one has found<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since he left us, outward bound?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would that he might return!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then should we learn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the pricking of his chart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How the skyey roadways part.<br /></span> +<span>Hush! does not the baby this way bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To lay beside this severed curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some starry offering<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of chrysolite or pearl?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Ah, no! not so!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We may follow on his track,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But he comes not back.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And yet I dare aver<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He is a brave discoverer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of climes his elders do not know.<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>He has more learning than appears<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the scroll of twice three thousand years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">More than in the groves is taught,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or from furthest Indies brought;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He knows, perchance, how spirits fare,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What shapes the angels wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What is their guise and speech<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In those lands beyond our reach,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And his eyes behold<br /></span> +<span>Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.C. Stedman.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="At_Last" id="At_Last"></a><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a><b>At Last.</b><a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>When first the bride and bridegroom wed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They love their single selves the best;<br /></span> +<span>A sword is in the marriage bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their separate slumbers are not rest.<br /></span> +<span>They quarrel, and make up again,<br /></span> +<span>They give and suffer worlds of pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Both right and wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They struggle long,<br /></span> +<span>Till some good day, when they are old,<br /></span> +<span>Some dark day, when the bells are tolled,<br /></span> +<span>Death having taken their best of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They lose themselves, and find each other;<br /></span> +<span>They know that they are husband, wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For, weeping, they are Father, Mother!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.H. Stoddard.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> From "The Poems of R.H. Stoddard," copyright 1880, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Thalatta" id="Thalatta"></a><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a><b>"Thalatta."</b></h2> + +<p class="center">CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND.</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I stand upon the summit of my years.<br /></span> +<span>Behind, the toil, the camp, the march, the strife,<br /></span> +<span>The wandering and the desert; vast, afar,<br /></span> +<span>Beyond this weary way, behold! the Sea!<br /></span> +<span>The sea o'erswept by clouds and winds and wings,<br /></span> +<span>By thoughts and wishes manifold, whose breath<br /></span> +<span>Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.<br /></span> +<span>Palter no question of the dim Beyond;<br /></span> +<span>Cut loose the bark; such voyage itself is rest;<br /></span> +<span>Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,<br /></span> +<span>A widening heaven, a current without care.<br /></span> +<span>Eternity!—Deliverance, Promise, Course!<br /></span> +<span>Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.B. Brown.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Gondolieds" id="Gondolieds"></a><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a><b>Gondolieds.</b></h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p class="center">YESTERDAY.</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Dear yesterday, glide not so fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, let me cling<br /></span> +<span>To thy white garments floating past;<br /></span> +<span>Even to shadows which they cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cling, I cling.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Show me thy face<br /></span> +<span>Just once, once more; a single night<br /></span> +<span>Cannot have brought a loss, a blight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon its grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Nor are they dead whom thou dost bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Robed for the grave.<br /></span> +<span>See what a smile their red lips wear;<br /></span> +<span>To lay them living wilt thou dare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into a grave?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know, I know,<br /></span> +<span>I left thee first; now I repent;<br /></span> +<span>I listen now; I never meant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To have thee go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a> +<span>Just once, once more, tell me the word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou hadst for me!<br /></span> +<span>Alas! although my heart was stirred,<br /></span> +<span>I never fully knew or heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was for me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O yesterday,<br /></span> +<span>My yesterday, thy sorest pain<br /></span> +<span>Were joy couldst thou but come again,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet yesterday.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Venice, May 26.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<h3>TO-MORROW.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>All red with joy the waiting west,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O little swallow,<br /></span> +<span>Couldst thou tell me which road is best?<br /></span> +<span>Cleaving high air with thy soft breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For keel, O swallow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou must o'erlook<br /></span> +<span>My seas and know if I mistake;<br /></span> +<span>I would not the same harbor make<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which yesterday forsook.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I hear the swift blades dip and plash<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of unseen rowers;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>On unknown land the waters dash;<br /></span> +<span>Who knows how it be wise or rash<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To meet the rowers!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Premì! Premì!<br /></span> +<span>Venetia's boatmen lean and cry;<br /></span> +<span>With voiceless lips I drift and lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the twilight sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The swallow sleeps. Her last low call<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had sound of warning.<br /></span> +<span>Sweet little one, whate'er befall,<br /></span> +<span>Thou wilt not know that it was all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In vain thy warning.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I may not borrow<br /></span> +<span>A hope, a help. I close my eyes;<br /></span> +<span>Cold wind blows from the Bridge of Sighs;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kneeling I wait to-morrow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Venice, May 30.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.H. Jackson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="In_the_Twilight" id="In_the_Twilight"></a><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a><b>In the Twilight.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Men say the sullen instrument<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That, from the Master's bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With pangs of joy or woe,<br /></span> +<span>Feels music's soul through every fibre sent,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whispers the ravished strings<br /></span> +<span>More than he knew or meant;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old summers in its memory glow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The secrets of the wind it sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It hears the April-loosened springs;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mixes with its mood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All it dreamed when it stood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the murmurous pine-wood<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Long ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The magical moonlight then<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Steeped every bough and cone;<br /></span> +<span>The roar of the brook in the glen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came dim from the distance blown;<br /></span> +<span>The wind through its glooms sang low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And it swayed to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With delight as it stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the wonderful wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Long ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>O my life, have we not had seasons<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That only said, "Live and rejoice?"<br /></span> +<span>That asked not for causes and reasons,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But made us all feeling and voice?<br /></span> +<span>When we went with the winds in their blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When Nature and we were peers,<br /></span> +<span>And we seemed to share in the flowing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the inexhaustible years?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have we not from the earth drawn juices<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Too fine for earth's sordid uses?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have I heard, have I seen<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All I feel and I know?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doth my heart overween?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or could it have been<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Long ago?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sometimes a breath floats by me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An odor from Dreamland sent,<br /></span> +<span>That makes the ghost seem nigh me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a splendor that came and went,<br /></span> +<span>Of a life lived somewhere, I know not<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In what diviner sphere,<br /></span> +<span>Of memories that stay not and go not,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like music heard once by an ear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That cannot forget or reclaim it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A something so shy, it would shame it<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>To make it a show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A something too vague, could I name it,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For others to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if I had lived it or dreamed it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if I had acted or schemed it,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Long ago!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And yet, could I live it over,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This life that stirs in my brain,<br /></span> +<span>Could I be both maiden and lover,<br /></span> +<span>Moon and tide, bee and clover,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As I seem to have been, once again,<br /></span> +<span>Could I but speak and show it,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This pleasure more sharp than pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That baffles and lures me so,<br /></span> +<span>The world should not lack a poet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such as it had<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the ages glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Long ago!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Tide_Rises_the_Tide_Falls" id="The_Tide_Rises_the_Tide_Falls"></a><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a><b>The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The tide rises, the tide falls,<br /></span> +<span>The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;<br /></span> +<span>Along the sea-sands damp and brown<br /></span> +<span>The traveller hastens toward the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the tide rises, the tide falls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Darkness settles on roofs and walls,<br /></span> +<span>But the sea in the darkness calls and calls;<br /></span> +<span>The little waves, with their soft, white hands,<br /></span> +<span>Efface the footprints in the sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the tide rises, the tide falls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls<br /></span> +<span>Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;<br /></span> +<span>The day returns, but nevermore<br /></span> +<span>Returns the traveller to the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the tide rises, the tide falls.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.W. Longfellow.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Fall_of_the_Leaf" id="The_Fall_of_the_Leaf"></a><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a><b>The Fall of the Leaf.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The evening of the year draws on,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fields a later aspect wear;<br /></span> +<span>Since Summer's garishness is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some grains of night tincture the noontide air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Behold! the shadows of the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now circle wider 'bout their stem,<br /></span> +<span>Like sentries that by slow degrees<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Perform their rounds, gently protecting them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And as the year doth decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sun allows a scantier light;<br /></span> +<span>Behind each needle of the pine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There lurks a small auxiliar to the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I hear the cricket's slumbrous lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around, beneath me, and on high;<br /></span> +<span>It rocks the night, it soothes the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And everywhere is Nature's lullaby.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But most he chirps beneath the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When he has made his winter bed;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>His creak grown fainter but more broad,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A film of Autumn o'er the Summer spread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Small birds, in fleets migrating by,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now beat across some meadow's bay,<br /></span> +<span>And as they tack and veer on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With faint and hurried click beguile the way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Far in the woods, these golden days,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some leaf obeys its Maker's call;<br /></span> +<span>And through their hollow aisles it plays<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With delicate touch the prelude of the Fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Gently withdrawing from its stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It lightly lays itself along<br /></span> +<span>Where the same hand hath pillowed them,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Resigned to sleep upon the old year's throng.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The loneliest birch is brown and sere,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The furthest pool is strewn with leaves,<br /></span> +<span>Which float upon their watery bier,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where is no eye that sees, no heart that grieves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The jay screams through the chestnut wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The crisped and yellow leaves around<br /></span> +<span>Are hue and texture of my mood,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And these rough burrs my heirlooms on the ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a> +<span>The threadbare trees, so poor and thin,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are no wealthier than I;<br /></span> +<span>But with as brave a core within<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They rear their boughs to the October sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Poor knights they are which bravely wait<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The charge of Winter's cavalry,<br /></span> +<span>Keeping a simple Roman state,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Discumbered of their Persian luxury.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.D. Thoreau.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Rhodora" id="The_Rhodora"></a><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a><b>The Rhodora.</b></h2> + +<h3>ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER?</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,<br /></span> +<span>I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,<br /></span> +<span>Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,<br /></span> +<span>To please the desert and the sluggish brook.<br /></span> +<span>The purple petals, fallen in the pool,<br /></span> +<span>Made the black water with their beauty gay;<br /></span> +<span>Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,<br /></span> +<span>And court the flower that cheapens his array.<br /></span> +<span>Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why<br /></span> +<span>This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,<br /></span> +<span>Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,<br /></span> +<span>Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:<br /></span> +<span>Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!<br /></span> +<span>I never thought to ask, I never knew:<br /></span> +<span>But, in my simple ignorance, suppose<br /></span> +<span>The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Emerson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Nature2" id="Nature2"></a><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a><b>Nature.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>O nature! I do not aspire<br /></span> +<span>To be the highest in thy quire,—<br /></span> +<span>To be a meteor in the sky,<br /></span> +<span>Or comet that may range on high;<br /></span> +<span>Only a zephyr that may blow<br /></span> +<span>Among the reeds by the river low;<br /></span> +<span>Give me thy most privy place<br /></span> +<span>Where to run my airy race.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In some withdrawn, unpublic mead<br /></span> +<span>Let me sigh upon a reed,<br /></span> +<span>Or in the woods, with leafy din,<br /></span> +<span>Whisper the still evening in.<br /></span> +<span>Some still work give me to do,—<br /></span> +<span>Only—be it near to you!<br /></span> +<span>For I'd rather be thy child<br /></span> +<span>And pupil, in the forest wild,<br /></span> +<span>Than be the king of men elsewhere,<br /></span> +<span>And most sovereign slave of care.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.D. Thoreau.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="My_Strawberry" id="My_Strawberry"></a><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a><b>My Strawberry.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>O marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause<br /></span> +<span>To reckon thee. I ask what cause<br /></span> +<span>Set free so much of red from heats<br /></span> +<span>At core of earth, and mixed such sweets<br /></span> +<span>With sour and spice: what was that strength<br /></span> +<span>Which out of darkness, length by length,<br /></span> +<span>Spun all thy shining thread of vine,<br /></span> +<span>Netting the fields in bond as thine.<br /></span> +<span>I see thy tendrils drink by sips<br /></span> +<span>From grass and clover's smiling lips;<br /></span> +<span>I hear thy roots dig down for wells,<br /></span> +<span>Tapping the meadow's hidden cells;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whole generations of green things,<br /></span> +<span>Descended from long lines of springs,<br /></span> +<span>I see make room for thee to bide<br /></span> +<span>A quiet comrade by their side;<br /></span> +<span>I see the creeping peoples go<br /></span> +<span>Mysterious journeys to and fro,<br /></span> +<span>Treading to right and left of thee,<br /></span> +<span>Doing thee homage wonderingly.<br /></span> +<span>I see the wild bees as they fare,<br /></span> +<span>Thy cups of honey drink, but spare.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>I mark thee bathe and bathe again<br /></span> +<span>In sweet uncalendared spring rain.<br /></span> +<span>I watch how all May has of sun<br /></span> +<span>Makes haste to have thy ripeness done,<br /></span> +<span>While all her nights let dews escape<br /></span> +<span>To set and cool thy perfect shape.<br /></span> +<span>Ah, fruit of fruits, no more I pause<br /></span> +<span>To dream and seek thy hidden laws!<br /></span> +<span>I stretch my hand and dare to taste,<br /></span> +<span>In instant of delicious waste<br /></span> +<span>On single feast, all things that went<br /></span> +<span>To make the empire thou hast spent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.H. Jackson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Humble-bee" id="The_Humble-bee"></a><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a><b>The Humble-bee.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Burly, dozing humble-bee,<br /></span> +<span>Where thou art is clime for me.<br /></span> +<span>Let them sail for Porto Rique,<br /></span> +<span>Far-off heats through seas to seek;<br /></span> +<span>I will follow thee alone,<br /></span> +<span>Thou animated torrid-zone!<br /></span> +<span>Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer,<br /></span> +<span>Let me chase thy waving lines;<br /></span> +<span>Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,<br /></span> +<span>Singing over shrubs and vines.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Insect lover of the sun,<br /></span> +<span>Joy of thy dominion!<br /></span> +<span>Sailor of the atmosphere;<br /></span> +<span>Swimmer through the waves of air;<br /></span> +<span>Voyager of light and noon;<br /></span> +<span>Epicurean of June;<br /></span> +<span>Wait, I prithee, till I come<br /></span> +<span>Within earshot of thy hum,—<br /></span> +<span>All without is martyrdom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When the south wind, in May days,<br /></span> +<span>With a net of shining haze<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>Silvers the horizon wall,<br /></span> +<span>And with softness touching all,<br /></span> +<span>Tints the human countenance<br /></span> +<span>With a color of romance,<br /></span> +<span>And infusing subtle heats,<br /></span> +<span>Turns the sod to violets,<br /></span> +<span>Thou, in sunny solitudes,<br /></span> +<span>Rover of the underwoods,<br /></span> +<span>The green silence dost displace<br /></span> +<span>With thy mellow, breezy bass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Hot midsummer's petted crone,<br /></span> +<span>Sweet to me thy drowsy tone<br /></span> +<span>Tells of countless sunny hours,<br /></span> +<span>Long days, and solid banks of flowers;<br /></span> +<span>Of gulfs of sweetness without bound<br /></span> +<span>In Indian wildernesses found;<br /></span> +<span>Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,<br /></span> +<span>Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Aught unsavory or unclean<br /></span> +<span>Hath my insect never seen;<br /></span> +<span>But violets and bilberry bells,<br /></span> +<span>Maple-sap and daffodels,<br /></span> +<span>Grass with green flag half-mast high,<br /></span> +<span>Succory to match the sky,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>Columbine with horn of honey,<br /></span> +<span>Scented fern, and agrimony,<br /></span> +<span>Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue,<br /></span> +<span>And brier-roses, dwelt among;<br /></span> +<span>All beside was unknown waste,<br /></span> +<span>All was picture as he passed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wiser far than human seer,<br /></span> +<span>Yellow-breeched philosopher!<br /></span> +<span>Seeing only what is fair,<br /></span> +<span>Sipping only what is sweet,<br /></span> +<span>Thou dost mock at fate and care,<br /></span> +<span>Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.<br /></span> +<span>When the fierce northwestern blast<br /></span> +<span>Cools sea and land so far and fast,<br /></span> +<span>Thou already slumberest deep;<br /></span> +<span>Woe and want thou canst outsleep;<br /></span> +<span>Want and woe, which torture us,<br /></span> +<span>Thy sleep makes ridiculous.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Emerson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Summer_Rain" id="The_Summer_Rain"></a><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a><b>The Summer Rain.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large<br /></span> +<span>Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And will not mind to hit their proper targe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our Shakespeare's life were rich to live again,<br /></span> +<span>What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor Shakespeare's books, unless his books were men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,<br /></span> +<span>If juster battles are enacted now<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If red or black the gods will favor most,<br /></span> +<span>Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Struggling to heave some rock against the host.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a> +<span>Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For now I've business with this drop of dew,<br /></span> +<span>And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>This bed of herdsgrass and wild oats was spread<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use;<br /></span> +<span>A clover tuft is pillow for my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And violets quite overtop my shoes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And now the cordial clouds have shut all in,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gently swells the wind to say all's well;<br /></span> +<span>The scattered drops are falling fast and thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I am well drenched upon my bed of oats;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But see that globe come rolling down its stem,<br /></span> +<span>Now like a lonely planet there it floats,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And now it sinks into my garment's hem.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Drip, drip the trees for all the country round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And richness rare distills from every bough;<br /></span> +<span>The wind alone it is makes every sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shaking down crystals on the leaves below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a> +<span>For shame the sun will never show himself,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who could not with his beams e'er melt me so;<br /></span> +<span>My dripping locks,—they would become an elf,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.D. Thoreau.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_the_Dandelion" id="To_the_Dandelion"></a><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a><b>To the Dandelion.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,<br /></span> +<span>Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First pledge of blithesome May,<br /></span> +<span>Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they<br /></span> +<span>An Eldorado in the grass have found,<br /></span> +<span>Which not the rich earth's ample round<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow<br /></span> +<span>Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor wrinkled the lean brow<br /></span> +<span>Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now<br /></span> +<span>To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,<br /></span> +<span>Though most hearts never understand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To take it at God's value, but pass by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou art my tropics and mine Italy;<br /></span> +<span>To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime;<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>The eyes thou givest me<br /></span> +<span>Are in the heart, and heed not space or time:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee<br /></span> +<span>Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment<br /></span> +<span>In the white lily's breezy tent,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,<br /></span> +<span>Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where, as the breezes pass,<br /></span> +<span>The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,<br /></span> +<span>Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue<br /></span> +<span>That from the distance sparkle through<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some woodland gap, and of a sky above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee;<br /></span> +<span>The sight of thee calls back the robin's song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, from the dark old tree<br /></span> +<span>Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I, secure in childish piety,<br /></span> +<span>Listened as if I heard an angel sing<br /></span> +<span>With news from heaven, which he could bring<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>Fresh every day to my untainted ears<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">How like a prodigal doth Nature seem,<br /></span> +<span>When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou teachest me to deem<br /></span> +<span>More sacredly of every human heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam<br /></span> +<span>Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,<br /></span> +<span>Did we but pay the love we owe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And with a child's undoubting wisdom look<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On all these living pages of God's book.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Chambered_Nautilus" id="The_Chambered_Nautilus"></a><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a><b>The Chambered Nautilus.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sails the unshadowed main,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The venturous bark that flings<br /></span> +<span>On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings<br /></span> +<span>In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And coral reefs lie bare,<br /></span> +<span>Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wrecked is the ship of pearl!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And every chambered cell,<br /></span> +<span>Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,<br /></span> +<span>As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Before thee lies revealed,—<br /></span> +<span>Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Year after year beheld the silent toil<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That spread his lustrous coil;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Still, as the spiral grew,<br /></span> +<span>He left the past year's dwelling for the new,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>Stole with soft step its shining archway through,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Built up its idle door,<br /></span> +<span>Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Child of the wandering sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cast from her lap, forlorn!<br /></span> +<span>From thy dead lips a clearer note is born<br /></span> +<span>Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">While on mine ear it rings,<br /></span> +<span>Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As the swift seasons roll!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Leave thy low-vaulted past!<br /></span> +<span>Let each new temple, nobler than the last,<br /></span> +<span>Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till thou at length art free,<br /></span> +<span>Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">O.W. Holmes.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Thought" id="Thought"></a><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a><b>Thought.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>O messenger, art thou the king, or I?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou dalliest outside the palace gate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till on thine idle armor lie the late<br /></span> +<span>And heavy dews. The morn's bright scornful eye<br /></span> +<span>Reminds thee; then, in subtle mockery,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou smilest at the window where I wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state<br /></span> +<span>My days go on, while false hours prophesy<br /></span> +<span>Thy quick return; at last, in sad despair,<br /></span> +<span>I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at my feet.<br /></span> +<span>Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to buy<br /></span> +<span>I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.H. Jackson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Stanzas" id="Stanzas"></a><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a><b>Stanzas.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thought is deeper than all speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Feeling deeper than all thought;<br /></span> +<span>Souls to souls can never teach<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What unto themselves was taught.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We are spirits clad in veils:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Man by man was never seen;<br /></span> +<span>All our deep communing fails<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To remove the shadowy screen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Heart to heart was never known;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mind with mind did never meet;<br /></span> +<span>We are columns left alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a temple once complete.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Like the stars that gem the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far apart, though seeming near,<br /></span> +<span>In our light we scattered lie;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All is thus but starlight here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What is social company<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But a babbling summer stream?<br /></span> +<span>What our wise philosophy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the glancing of a dream?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a> +<span>Only when the sun of love<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Melts the scattered stars of thought;<br /></span> +<span>Only when we live above<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What the dim-eyed world hath taught;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Only when our souls are fed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the Fount which gave them birth,<br /></span> +<span>And by inspiration led,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which they never drew from earth,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We, like parted drops of rain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swelling till they meet and run,<br /></span> +<span>Shall be all absorbed again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Melting, flowing into one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">C.P. Cranch.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Coronation" id="Coronation"></a><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a><b>Coronation.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>At the king's gate the subtle noon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;<br /></span> +<span>Into the drowsy snare too soon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The guards fell one by one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A beggar went, and laughed, "This brings<br /></span> +<span>Me chance, at last, to see if men<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fare better, being kings."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The king sat bowed beneath his crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Propping his face with listless hand;<br /></span> +<span>Watching the hour-glass sifting down<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Too slow its shining sand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The beggar turned, and, pitying,<br /></span> +<span>Replied, like one in dream, "Of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nothing. I want the king."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Uprose the king, and from his head<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shook off the crown and threw it by.<br /></span> +<span>"O man, thou must have known," he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"A greater king than I."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a> +<span>Through all the gates, unquestioned then,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Went king and beggar hand in hand.<br /></span> +<span>Whispered the king, "Shall I know when<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before <i>his</i> throne I stand?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were wiping from the king's hot brow<br /></span> +<span>The crimson lines the crown had traced.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"This is his presence now."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>At the king's gate the crafty noon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unwove its yellow nets of sun;<br /></span> +<span>Out of their sleep in terror soon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The guards waked one by one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Ho here! Ho there! Has no man seen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The king?" The cry ran to and fro;<br /></span> +<span>Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The laugh that free men know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>On the king's gate the moss grew gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The king came not. They called him dead;<br /></span> +<span>And made his eldest son one day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slave in his father's stead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.H. Jackson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="On_a_Bust_of_Dante" id="On_a_Bust_of_Dante"></a><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a><b>On a Bust of Dante.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>See, from this counterfeit of him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whom Arno shall remember long,<br /></span> +<span>How stern of lineament, how grim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The father was of Tuscan song:<br /></span> +<span>There but the burning sense of wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Perpetual care and scorn, abide;<br /></span> +<span>Small friendship for the lordly throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Distrust of all the world beside.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Faithful if this wan image be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No dream his life was,—but a fight;<br /></span> +<span>Could any Beatrice see<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A lover in that anchorite?<br /></span> +<span>To that cold Ghibelline's gloomy sight<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who could have guessed the visions came<br /></span> +<span>Of Beauty, veiled with heavenly light,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In circles of eternal flame?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The lips as Cumæ's cavern close,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin,<br /></span> +<span>The rigid front, almost morose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But for the patient hope within,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>Declare a life whose course hath been<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unsullied still, though still severe;<br /></span> +<span>Which, through the wavering days of sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kept itself icy-chaste and clear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Not wholly such his haggard look<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed,<br /></span> +<span>With no companion save his book,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Corvo's hushed monastic shade;<br /></span> +<span>Where, as the Benedictine laid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His palm upon the convent's guest,<br /></span> +<span>The single boon for which he prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was peace, that pilgrim's one request.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Peace dwells not here,—this rugged face<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Betrays no spirit of repose;<br /></span> +<span>The sullen warrior sole we trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The marble man of many woes.<br /></span> +<span>Such was his mien when first arose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thought of that strange tale divine,<br /></span> +<span>When hell he peopled with his foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The scourge of many a guilty line.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>War to the last he waged with all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The tyrant canker-worms of earth;<br /></span> +<span>Baron and duke, in hold and hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>He used Rome's harlot for his mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime;<br /></span> +<span>But valiant souls of knightly worth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Transmitted to the rolls of Time.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O Time! whose verdicts mock our own,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The only righteous judge art thou;<br /></span> +<span>That poor old exile, sad and lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is Latium's other Virgil now:<br /></span> +<span>Before his name the nations bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His words are parcel of mankind,<br /></span> +<span>Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The marks have sunk of Dante's mind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.W. Parsons.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Pan_in_Wall_Street" id="Pan_in_Wall_Street"></a><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a><b>Pan in Wall Street.</b></h2> + +<h3>A.D. 1867.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Just where the Treasury's marble front<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations;<br /></span> +<span>Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To throng for trade and last quotations;<br /></span> +<span>Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Outrival, in the ears of people,<br /></span> +<span>The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Trinity's undaunted steeple,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Even there I heard a strange, wild strain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sound high above the modern clamor,<br /></span> +<span>Above the cries of greed and gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The curbstone war, the auction's hammer;<br /></span> +<span>And swift, on Music's misty ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It led, from all this strife for millions,<br /></span> +<span>To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And as it stilled the multitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,<br /></span> +<span>I saw the minstrel, where he stood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At ease against a Doric pillar:<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>One hand a droning organ played,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashioned<br /></span> +<span>Like those of old) to lips that made<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The reeds give out that strain impassioned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>'Twas Pan himself had wandered here<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A-strolling through this sordid city,<br /></span> +<span>And piping to the civic ear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The prelude of some pastoral ditty!<br /></span> +<span>The demigod had crossed the seas,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr,<br /></span> +<span>And Syracusan times,—to these<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far shores and twenty centuries later.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A ragged cap was on his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But—hidden thus—there was no doubting<br /></span> +<span>That, all with crispy locks o'erspread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His gnarlèd horns were somewhere sprouting;<br /></span> +<span>His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them,<br /></span> +<span>And trousers, patched of divers hues,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He filled the quivering reeds with sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And o'er his mouth their changes shifted,<br /></span> +<span>And with his goat's-eyes looked around<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where'er the passing current drifted;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>And soon, as on Trinacrian hills<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him,<br /></span> +<span>Even now the tradesmen from their tills,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With clerks and porters, crowded near him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The bulls and bears together drew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Jauncey Court and New Street Alley,<br /></span> +<span>As erst, if pastorals be true,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came beasts from every wooded valley;<br /></span> +<span>The random passers stayed to list,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A boxer Ægon, rough and merry,<br /></span> +<span>A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A one-eyed Cyclops halted long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In tattered cloak of army pattern,<br /></span> +<span>And Galatea joined the throng,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;<br /></span> +<span>While old Silenus staggered out<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From some new-fangled lunch-house handy,<br /></span> +<span>And bade the piper, with a shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A newsboy and a peanut-girl<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like little Fauns began to caper:<br /></span> +<span>His hair was all in tangled curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her tawny legs were bare and taper;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>And still the gathering larger grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gave its pence and crowded nigher,<br /></span> +<span>While aye the shepherd-minstrel blew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His pipe, and struck the gamut higher.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O heart of Nature, beating still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With throbs her vernal passion taught her,—<br /></span> +<span>Even here, as on the vine-clad hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or by the Arethusan water!<br /></span> +<span>New forms may fold the speech, new lands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Arise within these ocean-portals,<br /></span> +<span>But Music waves eternal wands,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Enchantress of the souls of mortals!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>So thought I,—but among us trod<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A man in blue, with legal baton,<br /></span> +<span>And scoffed the vagrant demigod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And pushed him from the step I sat on.<br /></span> +<span>Doubting, I mused upon the cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Great Pan is dead!"—and all the people<br /></span> +<span>Went on their ways:—and clear and high<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The quarter sounded from the steeple.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.C. Stedman.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Auspex" id="Auspex"></a><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a><b>Auspex.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>My heart, I cannot still it,<br /></span> +<span>Nest that had song-birds in it;<br /></span> +<span>And when the last shall go,<br /></span> +<span>The dreary days, to fill it,<br /></span> +<span>Instead of lark or linnet,<br /></span> +<span>Shall whirl dead leaves and snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Had they been swallows only,<br /></span> +<span>Without the passion stronger<br /></span> +<span>That skyward longs and sings,—<br /></span> +<span>Woe's me, I shall be lonely<br /></span> +<span>When I can feel no longer<br /></span> +<span>The impatience of their wings!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A moment, sweet delusion,<br /></span> +<span>Like birds the brown leaves hover;<br /></span> +<span>But it will not be long<br /></span> +<span>Before their wild confusion<br /></span> +<span>Fall wavering down to cover<br /></span> +<span>The poet and his song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.R. Lowell.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Birds" id="Birds"></a><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a><b>Birds.</b><a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Birds are singing round my window,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tunes the sweetest ever heard,<br /></span> +<span>And I hang my cage there daily,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I never catch a bird.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>So with thoughts my brain is peopled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they sing there all day long:<br /></span> +<span>But they will not fold their pinions<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the little cage of Song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.H. Stoddard.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> From "The Poems of R.H. Stoddard," copyright, 1880, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Toujours_Amour" id="Toujours_Amour"></a><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a><b>Toujours Amour.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin,<br /></span> +<span>At what age does Love begin?<br /></span> +<span>Your blue eyes have scarcely seen<br /></span> +<span>Summers three, my fairy queen,<br /></span> +<span>But a miracle of sweets,<br /></span> +<span>Soft approaches, sly retreats,<br /></span> +<span>Show the little archer there,<br /></span> +<span>Hidden in your pretty hair;<br /></span> +<span>When didst learn a heart to win?<br /></span> +<span>Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Oh!" the rosy lips reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I can't tell you if I try.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis so long I can't remember:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ask some younger lass than I!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Tell, oh, tell me, Grizzled-Face,<br /></span> +<span>Do your heart and head keep pace?<br /></span> +<span>When does hoary Love expire,<br /></span> +<span>When do frosts put out the fire?<br /></span> +<span>Can its embers burn below<br /></span> +<span>All that chill December snow?<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a>Care you still soft hands to press,<br /></span> +<span>Bonny heads to smooth and bless?<br /></span> +<span>When does Love give up the chase?<br /></span> +<span>Tell, oh, tell me, Grizzled-Face!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Ah!" the wise old lips reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Youth may pass and strength may die;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But of Love I can't foretoken:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ask some older sage than I!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.C. Stedman.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Sigh" id="A_Sigh"></a><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a><b>A Sigh.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>It was nothing but a rose I gave her,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothing but a rose<br /></span> +<span>Any wind might rob of half its savor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Any wind that blows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When she took it from my trembling fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a hand as chill,—<br /></span> +<span>Ah, the flying touch upon them lingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stays, and thrills them still!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Withered, faded, pressed between the pages,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crumpled fold on fold,—<br /></span> +<span>Once it lay upon her breast, and ages<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cannot make it old!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.P. Spofford.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="No_More" id="No_More"></a><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a><b>No More.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>This is the Burden of the Heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Burden that it always bore:<br /></span> +<span>We live to love; we meet to part;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And part to meet on earth No More:<br /></span> +<span>We clasp each other to the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And part to meet on earth No More.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There is a time for tears to start,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For dews to fall and larks to soar:<br /></span> +<span>The Time for Tears, is when we part<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To meet upon the earth No More:<br /></span> +<span>The Time for Tears, is when we part<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To meet on this wide earth—No More.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">B.F. Willson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_a_Young_Girl_Dying" id="To_a_Young_Girl_Dying"></a><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a><b>To a Young Girl Dying.</b></h2> + +<h3>WITH A GIFT OF FRESH PALM-LEAVES.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>This is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day,<br /></span> +<span>I bring palm branches, found upon my way:<br /></span> +<span>But these will wither; thine shall never die,—<br /></span> +<span>The sacred palms thou bearest to the sky!<br /></span> +<span>Dear little saint, though but a child in years,<br /></span> +<span>Older in wisdom than my gray compeers!<br /></span> +<span><i>We</i> doubt and tremble,—<i>we</i>, with bated breath,<br /></span> +<span>Talk of this mystery of life and death:<br /></span> +<span>Thou, strong in faith, art gifted to conceive<br /></span> +<span>Beyond thy years, and teach us to believe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then take my palms, triumphal, to thy home,<br /></span> +<span>Gentle white palmer, never more to roam!<br /></span> +<span>Only, sweet sister, give me, ere thou go'st,<br /></span> +<span>Thy benediction,—for my love thou know'st!<br /></span> +<span>We, too, are pilgrims, travelling towards the shrine:<br /></span> +<span>Pray that our pilgrimage may end like thine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.W. Parsons.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Port_of_Ships" id="The_Port_of_Ships"></a><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a><b>The Port of Ships.</b><a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Behind him lay the gray Azores,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Behind the Gates of Hercules;<br /></span> +<span>Before him not the ghost of shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before him only shoreless seas.<br /></span> +<span>The good mate said: "Now must we pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For lo! the very stars are gone.<br /></span> +<span>Brave Adm'ral speak,—what shall I say?"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Why, say, 'Sail on! Sail on! and on!'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"My men grow mutinous day by day;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My men grow ghastly, wan and weak."<br /></span> +<span>The stout mate thought of home; a spray<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.<br /></span> +<span>"What shall I say, brave Adm'ral, say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"<br /></span> +<span>"Why, you shall say, at break of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Sail on! Sail on! Sail on! and on!'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Until at last the blanched mate said:<br /></span> +<span>"Why, now not even God would know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should I and all my men fall dead.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>These very winds forget their way,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For God from these dread seas is gone.<br /></span> +<span>Now speak, brave Adm'ral; speak, and say—"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He said: "Sail on! Sail on! and on!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They sailed! They sailed! Then spake the mate:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"This mad sea shows its teeth to-night;<br /></span> +<span>He curls his lip, he lies in wait<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With lifted teeth, as if to bite!<br /></span> +<span>Brave Adm'ral, say but one good word,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What shall we do when hope is gone?"<br /></span> +<span>The words leaped as a leaping sword:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Sail on! Sail on! Sail on! and on!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">C.H. Miller.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> From The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Paradisi_Gloria" id="Paradisi_Gloria"></a><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a><b>Paradisi Gloria.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>There is a city, builded by no hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And unapproachable by sea or shore,<br /></span> +<span>And unassailable by any band<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of storming soldiery for evermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There we no longer shall divide our time<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By acts or pleasures,—doing petty things<br /></span> +<span>Of work or warfare, merchandise or rhyme;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But we shall sit beside the silver springs<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>That flow from God's own footstool, and behold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sages and martyrs, and those blessed few<br /></span> +<span>Who loved us once and were beloved of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To dwell with them and walk with them anew,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In alternations of sublime repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Musical motion, the perpetual play<br /></span> +<span>Of every faculty that Heaven bestows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the bright, busy, and eternal day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.W. Parsons.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Ballad" id="Ballad"></a><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a><b>Ballad.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>In the summer even,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While yet the dew was hoar,<br /></span> +<span>I went plucking purple pansies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till my love should come to shore.<br /></span> +<span>The fishing-lights their dances<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were keeping out at sea,<br /></span> +<span>And come, I sung, my true love!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come hasten home to me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But the sea, it fell a-moaning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the white gulls rocked thereon;<br /></span> +<span>And the young moon dropped from heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the lights hid one by one.<br /></span> +<span>All silently their glances<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slipped down the cruel sea,<br /></span> +<span>And wait! cried the night and wind and storm,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wait, till I come to thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.P. Spofford.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_THIRD" id="BOOK_THIRD"></a><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a>BOOK THIRD.<a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a></h2> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Fools_Prayer" id="The_Fools_Prayer"></a><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a><b>The Fool's Prayer.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The royal feast was done; the King<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sought some new sport to banish care,<br /></span> +<span>And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The jester doffed his cap and bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And stood the mocking court before;<br /></span> +<span>They could not see the bitter smile<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Behind the painted grin he wore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He bowed his head, and bent his knee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon the monarch's silken stool;<br /></span> +<span>His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be merciful to me, a fool!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"No pity, Lord, could change the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From red with wrong to white as wool;<br /></span> +<span>The rod must heal the sin: but, Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be merciful to me, a fool!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;<br /></span> +<span>'Tis by our follies that so long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We hold the earth from heaven away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a> +<span>"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Go crushing blossoms without end;<br /></span> +<span>These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Among the heart-strings of a friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The ill-timed truth we might have kept—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?<br /></span> +<span>The word we had not sense to say—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who knows how grandly it had rung?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Our faults no tenderness should ask,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;<br /></span> +<span>But for our blunders—oh, in shame<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before the eyes of heaven we fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool<br /></span> +<span>That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be merciful to me, a fool!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The room was hushed; in silence rose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The King, and sought his gardens cool,<br /></span> +<span>And walked apart, and murmured low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Be merciful to me, a fool!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.R. Sill.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="On_The_Life-mask_Of_Abraham_Lincoln" id="On_The_Life-mask_Of_Abraham_Lincoln"></a><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a><b>On The Life-mask Of Abraham Lincoln.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>This bronze doth keep the very form and mold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That brow all wisdom, all benignity;<br /></span> +<span>That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold<br /></span> +<span>Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For storms to beat on; the lone agony<br /></span> +<span>Those silent, patient lips too well foretold.<br /></span> +<span>Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As might some prophet of the elder day,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brooding above the tempest and the fray<br /></span> +<span>With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A power was his beyond the touch of art<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or armèd strength: his pure and mighty heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Gilder.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Song3" id="Song3"></a><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a><b>Song.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Years have flown since I knew thee first,<br /></span> +<span>And I know thee as water is known of thirst:<br /></span> +<span>Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight,<br /></span> +<span>And thou art strange to me, Love, to-night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Gilder.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="To_A_Dead_Woman" id="To_A_Dead_Woman"></a><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a>To A Dead Woman.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Not a kiss in life; but one kiss, at life's end,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I have set on the face of Death in trust for thee.<br /></span> +<span>Through long years keep it fresh on thy lips, O friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At the gate of Silence give it back to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.C. Bunner.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> From "The Poems of H.C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, +1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Destiny" id="Destiny"></a><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a><b>Destiny.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down<br /></span> +<span>Each with its loveliness as with a crown,<br /></span> +<span>Drooped in a florist's window in a town.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The first a lover bought. It lay at rest,<br /></span> +<span>Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The second rose, as virginal and fair,<br /></span> +<span>Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The third, a widow, with new grief made wild,<br /></span> +<span>Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.B. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Kings" id="The_Kings"></a><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a><b>The Kings.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>A man said unto his angel:<br /></span> +<span>"My spirits are fallen thro',<br /></span> +<span>And I cannot carry this battle;<br /></span> +<span>O brother! what shall I do?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The terrible Kings are on me,<br /></span> +<span>With spears that are deadly bright,<br /></span> +<span>Against me so from the cradle<br /></span> +<span>Do fate and my fathers fight."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then said to the man his angel:<br /></span> +<span>"Thou wavering, foolish soul,<br /></span> +<span>Back to the ranks! What matter<br /></span> +<span>To win or to lose the whole,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"As judged by the little judges<br /></span> +<span>Who hearken not well, nor see?<br /></span> +<span>Not thus, by the outer issue,<br /></span> +<span>The Wise shall interpret thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Thy will is the very, the only,<br /></span> +<span>The solemn event of things;<br /></span> +<span>The weakest of hearts defying<br /></span> +<span>Is stronger than all these Kings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a> +<span>"Tho' out of the past they gather,<br /></span> +<span>Mind's Doubt and bodily Pain,<br /></span> +<span>And pallid Thirst of the Spirit<br /></span> +<span>That is kin to the other twain,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"And Grief, in a cloud of banners,<br /></span> +<span>And ringletted Vain Desires,<br /></span> +<span>And Vice with the spoils upon him<br /></span> +<span>Of thee and thy beaten sires,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"While Kings of eternal evil<br /></span> +<span>Yet darken the hills about,<br /></span> +<span>Thy part is with broken sabre<br /></span> +<span>To rise on the last redoubt;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"To fear not sensible failure,<br /></span> +<span>Nor covet the game at all,<br /></span> +<span>But fighting, fighting, fighting,<br /></span> +<span>Die, driven against the wall!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L.I. Guiney.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Triumph" id="Triumph"></a><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a><b>Triumph.</b><a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The dawn came in through the bars of the blind,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the winter's dawn is gray,—<br /></span> +<span>And said, "However you cheat your mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The hours are flying away."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A ghost of a dawn, and pale, and weak,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Has the sun a heart," I said,<br /></span> +<span>"To throw a morning flush on the cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whence a fairer flush has fled?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As a gray rose-leaf that is fading white<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was the cheek where I set my kiss;<br /></span> +<span>And on that side of the bed all night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Death had watched, and I on this.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I kissed her lips, they were half apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet they made no answering sign;<br /></span> +<span>Death's hand was on her failing heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his eyes said, "She is mine."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a> +<span>I set my lips on the blue-veined lid,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Half-veiled by her death-damp hair;<br /></span> +<span>And oh, for the violet depths it hid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the light I longed for there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Faint day and the fainter life awoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the night was overpast;<br /></span> +<span>And I said, "Though never in life you spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, speak with a look at last!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For the space of a heart-beat fluttered her breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As a bird's wing spread to flee;<br /></span> +<span>She turned her weary arms to Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the light of her eyes to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.C. Bunner.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> From "The Poems of H.C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, +1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Evening_Song" id="Evening_Song"></a><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a><b>Evening Song.</b><a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea,<br /></span> +<span>How long they kiss in sight of all the lands.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! longer, longer, we.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine,<br /></span> +<span>And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'Tis done,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Love, lay thine hand in mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands.<br /></span> +<span>O night! divorce our sun and sky apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never our lips, our hands.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">S. Lanier.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> From "Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyright, 1884, 1891, by +Mary D. Lanier, published by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Woods_That_Bring_the_Sunset_Near" id="The_Woods_That_Bring_the_Sunset_Near"></a><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a><b>"The Woods That Bring the Sunset Near."</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The wind from out the west is blowing,<br /></span> +<span>The homeward-wandering cows are lowing,<br /></span> +<span>Dark grow the pine-woods, dark and drear,—<br /></span> +<span>The woods that bring the sunset near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When o'er wide seas the sun declines,<br /></span> +<span>Far off its fading glory shines,<br /></span> +<span>Far off, sublime, and full of fear,—<br /></span> +<span>The pine-woods bring the sunset near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>This house that looks to east, to west,<br /></span> +<span>This, dear one, is our home, our rest;<br /></span> +<span>Yonder the stormy sea, and here<br /></span> +<span>The woods that bring the sunset near.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Gilder.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="At_Night" id="At_Night"></a><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a><b>At Night.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The sky is dark, and dark the bay below<br /></span> +<span>Save where the midnight city's pallid glow<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lies like a lily white<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On the black pool of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way<br /></span> +<span>Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To where the eddying tide<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Strikes hard the city's side!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For there, between the river and the sea,<br /></span> +<span>Beneath that glow,—the lily's heart to me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A sleeping mother mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And by her breast a child.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Gilder.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Still_in_Thy_Love_I_Trust" id="Still_in_Thy_Love_I_Trust"></a><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a><b>"Still in Thy Love I Trust."</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Still in thy love I trust,<br /></span> +<span>Supreme o'er death, since deathless is thy essence;<br /></span> +<span>For, putting off the dust,<br /></span> +<span>Thou hast but blest me with a nearer presence.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And so, for this, for all,<br /></span> +<span>I breathe no selfish plaint, no faithless chiding;<br /></span> +<span>On me the snowflakes fall,<br /></span> +<span>But thou hast gained a summer all-abiding.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Striking a plaintive string,<br /></span> +<span>Like some poor harper at a palace portal,<br /></span> +<span>I wait without and sing,<br /></span> +<span>While those I love glide in and dwell immortal.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">A.A. Fields.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Future" id="The_Future"></a><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a><b>The Future.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>What may we take into the vast Forever?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That marble door<br /></span> +<span>Admits no fruit of all our long endeavor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No fame-wreathed crown we wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No garnered lore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What can we bear beyond the unknown portal?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No gold, no gains<br /></span> +<span>Of all our toiling: in the life immortal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No hoarded wealth remains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor gilds, nor stains.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Naked from out that far abyss behind us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We entered here:<br /></span> +<span>No word came with our coming, to remind us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What wondrous world was near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No hope, no fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Into the silent, starless Night before us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Naked we glide:<br /></span> +<span>No hand has mapped the constellations o'er us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No comrade at our side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No chart, no guide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a> +<span>Yet fearless toward that midnight, black and hollow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our footsteps fare:<br /></span> +<span>The beckoning of a Father's hand we follow—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His love alone is there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No curse, no care.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.R. Sill.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Prescience" id="Prescience"></a><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a><b>Prescience.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The new moon hung in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sun was low in the west,<br /></span> +<span>And my betrothed and I<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the churchyard paused to rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Happy maiden and lover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreaming the old dream over:<br /></span> +<span>The light winds wandered by,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And robins chirped from the nest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And lo! in the meadow-sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was the grave of a little child,<br /></span> +<span>With a crumbling stone at the feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the ivy running wild—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tangled ivy and clover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folding it over and over:<br /></span> +<span>Close to my sweetheart's feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was the little mound up-piled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Stricken with nameless fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She shrank and clung to me,<br /></span> +<span>And her eyes were filled with tears<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a sorrow I did not see:<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a>Lightly the winds were blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Softly her tears were flowing—<br /></span> +<span>Tears for the unknown years<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a sorrow that was to be!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.B. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="In_August" id="In_August"></a><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a><b>In August.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>All the long August afternoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The little drowsy stream<br /></span> +<span>Whispers a melancholy tune,<br /></span> +<span>As if it dreamed of June<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And whispered in its dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The thistles show beyond the brook<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dust on their down and bloom,<br /></span> +<span>And out of many a weed-grown nook<br /></span> +<span>The aster-flowèrs look<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With eyes of tender gloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The silent orchard aisles are sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With smell of ripening fruit.<br /></span> +<span>Through the sere grass, in shy retreat,<br /></span> +<span>Flutter, at coming feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The robins strange and mute.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There is no wind to stir the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The harsh leaves overhead;<br /></span> +<span>Only the querulous cricket grieves,<br /></span> +<span>And shrilling locust weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A song of Summer dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.D. Howells.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="That_Day_You_Came" id="That_Day_You_Came"></a><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a><b>That Day You Came.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Such special sweetness was about<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That day God sent you here,<br /></span> +<span>I knew the lavender was out,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And it was mid of year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Their common way the great winds blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ships sailed out to sea;<br /></span> +<span>Yet ere that day was spent I knew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mine own had come to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As after song some snatch of tune<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lurks still in grass or bough,<br /></span> +<span>So, somewhat of the end o' June<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lurks in each weather now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The young year sets the buds astir,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The old year strips the trees;<br /></span> +<span>But ever in my lavender<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I hear the brawling bees.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L.W. Reese.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Negro_Lullaby" id="Negro_Lullaby"></a><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a><b>Negro Lullaby.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Bedtimes' come fu' little boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>Too tiahed out to make a noise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>You gwine t' have to-morrer sho'?<br /></span> +<span>Yes, you tole me dat, befo',<br /></span> +<span>Don't you fool me, chile, no mo',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You been bad de livelong day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>Th'owin' stones an' runnin' 'way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>My, but you's a-runnin' wild,<br /></span> +<span>Look jes' lak some po' folks' chile;<br /></span> +<span>Mam' gwine whup you atter while,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Come hyeah! you mos' tiahed to def,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>Played yo'se'f clean out o' bref,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a>See dem han's now,—sich a sight!<br /></span> +<span>Would you ever b'lieve dey's white!<br /></span> +<span>Stan' still 'twell I wash dem right,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Jes' caint hol' yo' haid up straight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>Hadn't oughter played so late,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>Mammy do' know whut she'd do,<br /></span> +<span>Ef de chillun's all lak you;<br /></span> +<span>You's a caution now fu' true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Lay yo' haid down in my lap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>Y'ought to have a right good slap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +<span>You been runnin' roun' a heap.<br /></span> +<span>Shet dem eyes an' don't you peep,<br /></span> +<span>Dah now, dah now, go to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Po' little lamb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">P.L. Dunbar.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Womans_Thought" id="A_Womans_Thought"></a><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a><b>A Woman's Thought.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I am a woman—therefore I may not<br /></span> +<span>Call to him, cry to him,<br /></span> +<span>Fly to him,<br /></span> +<span>Bid him delay not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And when he comes to me, I must sit quiet:<br /></span> +<span>Still as a stone—<br /></span> +<span>All silent and cold.<br /></span> +<span>If my heart riot—<br /></span> +<span>Crush and defy it!<br /></span> +<span>Should I grow bold—<br /></span> +<span>Say one dear thing to him,<br /></span> +<span>All my life fling to him,<br /></span> +<span>Cling to him—<br /></span> +<span>What to atone<br /></span> +<span>Is enough for my sinning!<br /></span> +<span>This were the cost to me,<br /></span> +<span>This were my winning—<br /></span> +<span>That he were lost to me.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a>Not as a lover<br /></span> +<span>At last if he part from me,<br /></span> +<span>Tearing my heart from me—<br /></span> +<span>Hurt beyond cure,—<br /></span> +<span>Calm and demure<br /></span> +<span>Then must I hold me—<br /></span> +<span>In myself fold me—<br /></span> +<span>Lest he discover;<br /></span> +<span>Showing no sign to him<br /></span> +<span>By look of mine to him<br /></span> +<span>What he has been to me—<br /></span> +<span>How my heart turns to him,<br /></span> +<span>Follows him, yearns to him,<br /></span> +<span>Prays him to love me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Pity me, lean to me,<br /></span> +<span>Thou God above me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R.W. Gilder.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Flight" id="The_Flight"></a><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a><b>The Flight.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Upon a cloud among the stars we stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The angel raised his hand and looked and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Which world, of all yon starry myriad<br /></span> +<span>Shall we make wing to?" The still solitude<br /></span> +<span>Became a harp whereon his voice and mood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made spheral music round his haloed head.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I spake—for then I had not long been dead—<br /></span> +<span>"Let me look round upon the vasts, and brood<br /></span> +<span>A moment on these orbs ere I decide ...<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What is yon lower star that beauteous shines<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And with soft splendor now incarnadines<br /></span> +<span>Our wings?—<i>There</i> would I go and there abide."<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He smiled as one who some child's thought divines:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"That is the world where yesternight you died."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L. Mifflin.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Childhood" id="Childhood"></a><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a><b>Childhood.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Old Sorrow I shall meet again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Joy, perchance—but never, never,<br /></span> +<span>Happy Childhood, shall we twain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See each other's face forever!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And yet I would not call thee back,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dear Childhood, lest the sight of me,<br /></span> +<span>Thine old companion, on the rack<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Age, should sadden even thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.B. Tabb.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Little_Boy_Blue" id="Little_Boy_Blue"></a><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a><b>Little Boy Blue.</b><a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The little toy dog is covered with dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But sturdy and stanch he stands;<br /></span> +<span>And the little toy soldier is red with rust,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his musket moulds in his hands.<br /></span> +<span>Time was when the little toy dog was new<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the soldier was passing fair,<br /></span> +<span>And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kissed them and put them there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"And don't you make any noise!"<br /></span> +<span>So toddling off to his trundle-bed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He dreampt of the pretty toys.<br /></span> +<span>And as he was dreaming, an angel song<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Awakened our Little Boy Blue,—<br /></span> +<span>Oh, the years are many, the years are long,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the little toy friends are true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each in the same old place,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a>Awaiting the touch of a little hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The smile of a little face.<br /></span> +<span>And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the dust of that little chair,<br /></span> +<span>What has become of our Little Boy Blue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since he kissed them and put them there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E. Field.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> From "A Little Book of Western Verse," copyright, 1889, by +Eugene Field, published by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Strong_as_Death" id="Strong_as_Death"></a><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a><b>Strong as Death.</b><a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>O death, when thou shalt come to me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From out thy dark, where she is now,<br /></span> +<span>Come not with graveyard smell on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or withered roses on thy brow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Come not, O Death, with hollow tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And soundless step, and clammy hand—<br /></span> +<span>Lo, I am now no less alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than in thy desolate, doubtful land;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But with that sweet and subtle scent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ever clung about her (such<br /></span> +<span>As with all things she brushed was blent);<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And with her quick and tender touch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>With the dim gold that lit her hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Crown thyself, Death; let fall thy tread<br /></span> +<span>So light that I may dream her there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And turn upon my dying bed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a> +<span>And through my chilling veins shall flame<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My love, as though beneath her breath;<br /></span> +<span>And in her voice but call my name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I will follow thee, O Death.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.C. Bunner.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> From "The Poems of H.C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, +1896 by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_White_Jessamine" id="The_White_Jessamine"></a><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a><b>The White Jessamine.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I knew she lay above me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the casement all the night<br /></span> +<span>Shone, softened with a phosphor glow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of sympathetic light,<br /></span> +<span>And that her fledgling spirit pure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was pluming fast for flight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Each tendril throbbed and quickened<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As I nightly climbed apace,<br /></span> +<span>And could scarce restrain the blossoms<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When, anear the destined place,<br /></span> +<span>Her gentle whisper thrilled me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere I gazed upon her face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I waited, darkling, till the dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should touch me into bloom,<br /></span> +<span>While all my being panted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To outpour its first perfume,<br /></span> +<span>When, lo! a paler flower than mine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had blossomed in the gloom!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.B. Tabb.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_House_of_Death" id="The_House_of_Death"></a><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a><b>The House of Death.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Not a hand has lifted the latchet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since she went out of the door—<br /></span> +<span>No footstep shall cross the threshold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since she can come in no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There is rust upon locks and hinges,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And mold and blight on the walls,<br /></span> +<span>And silence faints in the chambers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And darkness waits in the halls—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Waits as all things have waited<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since she went, that day of spring,<br /></span> +<span>Borne in her pallid splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To dwell in the Court of the King:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>With lilies on brow and bosom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With robes of silken sheen,<br /></span> +<span>And her wonderful, frozen beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lilies and silk between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Red roses she left behind her,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But they died long, long ago<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a>'Twas the odorous ghost of a blossom<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That seemed through the dusk to glow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The garments she left mock the shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With hints of womanly grace,<br /></span> +<span>And her image swims in the mirror<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That was so used to her face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The birds make insolent music<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the sunshine riots outside,<br /></span> +<span>And the winds are merry and wanton<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the summer's pomp and pride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But into this desolate mansion,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where Love has closed the door,<br /></span> +<span>Nor sunshine nor summer shall enter,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since she can come in no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L.C. Moulton.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Tropical_Morning_at_Sea" id="A_Tropical_Morning_at_Sea"></a><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a><b>A Tropical Morning at Sea.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sky in its lucent splendor lifted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Higher than cloud can be;<br /></span> +<span>Air with no breath of earth to stain it,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pure on the perfect sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Crests that touch and tilt each other,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jostling as they comb;<br /></span> +<span>Delicate crash of tinkling water,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Broken in pearling foam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Plashings—or is it the pinewood's whispers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Babble of brooks unseen,<br /></span> +<span>Laughter of winds when they find the blossoms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brushing aside the green?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Waves that dip, and dash, and sparkle;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Foam-wreaths slipping by,<br /></span> +<span>Soft as a snow of broken roses<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Afloat over mirrored sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Off to the east the steady sun-track<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Golden meshes fill<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a>Webs of fire, that lace and tangle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never a moment still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Liquid palms but clap together,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fountains, flower-like, grow—<br /></span> +<span>Limpid bells on stems of silver—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out of a slope of snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sea-depths, blue as the blue of violets—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blue as a summer sky,<br /></span> +<span>When you blink at its arch sprung over<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where in the grass you lie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Dimly an orange bit of rainbow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Burns where the low west clears,<br /></span> +<span>Broken in air, like a passionate promise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Born of a moment's tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thinned to amber, rimmed with silver,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Clouds in the distance dwell,<br /></span> +<span>Clouds that are cool, for all their color,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pure as a rose-lipped shell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fleets of wool in the upper heavens<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gossamer wings unfurl;<br /></span> +<span>Sailing so high they seem but sleeping<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over yon bar of pearl.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a> +<span>What would the great world lose, I wonder—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would it be missed or no—<br /></span> +<span>If we stayed in the opal morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Floating forever so?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Swung to sleep by the swaying water,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Only to dream all day—<br /></span> +<span>Blow, salt wind from the north upstarting,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scatter such dreams away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.R. Sill.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Memory" id="Memory"></a><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a><b>Memory.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>My mind lets go a thousand things,<br /></span> +<span>Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,<br /></span> +<span>And yet recalls the very hour—<br /></span> +<span>'Twas noon by yonder village tower,<br /></span> +<span>And on the last blue noon in May—<br /></span> +<span>The wind came briskly up this way,<br /></span> +<span>Crisping the brook beside the road;<br /></span> +<span>Then, pausing here, set down its load<br /></span> +<span>Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly<br /></span> +<span>Two petals from that wild-rose tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.B. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Mood" id="A_Mood"></a><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a><b>A Mood.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>A blight, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness—<br /></span> +<span>Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness;<br /></span> +<span>A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's insistence;<br /></span> +<span>A tense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone existence;<br /></span> +<span>A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken—<br /></span> +<span>Such hurt perchance as Nature feels when a blossomed bough is broken.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.B. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Way_to_Arcady" id="The_Way_to_Arcady"></a><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a><b>The Way to Arcady.</b><a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Oh, what's the way to Arcady,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>To Arcady, to Arcady;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Oh, what's the way to Arcady,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Where all the leaves are merry?</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, what's the way to Arcady?<br /></span> +<span>The spring is rustling in the tree—<br /></span> +<span>The tree the wind is blowing through—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It sets the blossoms flickering white.<br /></span> +<span>I knew not skies could burn so blue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor any breezes blow so light.<br /></span> +<span>They blow an old-time way for me,<br /></span> +<span>Across the world to Arcady.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, what's the way to Arcady?<br /></span> +<span>Sir Poet, with the rusty coat,<br /></span> +<span>Quit mocking of the song-bird's note.<br /></span> +<span>How have you heart for any tune,<br /></span> +<span>You with the wayworn russet shoon?<br /></span> +<span>Your scrip, a-swinging by your side,<br /></span> +<span>Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide.<br /></span> +<span>I'll brim it well with pieces red,<br /></span> +<span>If you will tell the way to tread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a> +<span><i>Oh, I am bound for Arcady,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And if you but keep pace with me</i><br /></span> +<span><i>You tread the way to Arcady.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And where away lies Arcady,<br /></span> +<span>And how long yet may the journey be?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Ah, that</i> (quoth he) <i>I do not know—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Across the clover and the snow—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Across the frost, across the flowers—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Through summer seconds and winter hours.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I've trod the way my whole life long,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And know not now where it may be;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>My guide is but the stir to song.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That tells me I can not go wrong,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Or clear or dark the pathway be</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Upon the road to Arcady.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But how shall I do who cannot sing?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I was wont to sing, once on a time—<br /></span> +<span>There is never an echo now to ring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>'Tis strange you cannot sing</i> (quoth he),<br /></span> +<span><i>The folk all sing in Arcady.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But how may he find Arcady<br /></span> +<span>Who hath not youth nor melody?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a> +<span><i>What, know you not, old man</i> (quoth he)—<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Your hair is white, your face is wise—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>That Love must kiss that Mortal's eyes</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Who hopes to see fair Arcady?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>No gold can buy you entrance there;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But beggared Love may go all bare—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>No wisdom won with weariness;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But Love goes in with Folly's dress—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>No fame that wit could ever win;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But only Love may lead Love in</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>To Arcady, to Arcady.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ah, woe is me, through all my days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wisdom and wealth I both have got,<br /></span> +<span>And fame and name, and great men's praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Love, ah, Love! I have it not.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There was a time, when life was new—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But far away, and half forgot—<br /></span> +<span>I only know her eyes were blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Love—I fear I knew it not.<br /></span> +<span>We did not wed, for lack of gold,<br /></span> +<span>And she is dead, and I am old.<br /></span> +<span>All things have come since then to me,<br /></span> +<span>Save Love, ah, Love! and Arcady.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a> +<span><i>Ah, then I fear we part</i> (quoth he),<br /></span> +<span><i>My way's for Love and Arcady</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But you, you fare alone, like me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gray is likewise in your hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What love have you to lead you there,<br /></span> +<span>To Arcady, to Arcady?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Ah, no, not lonely do I fare;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>My true companion's Memory.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With Love he fills the Spring-time air;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>With Love he clothes the Winter tree.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Oh, past this poor horizon's bound</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>My song goes straight to one who stands—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Her face all gladdening at the sound—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>To lead me to the Spring-green lands,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>To wander with enlacing hands.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The songs within my breast that stir</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Are all of her, are all of her.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>My maid is dead long years</i> (quoth he),<br /></span> +<span><i>She waits for me in Arcady.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Oh, yon's the way to Arcady,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>To Arcady, to Arcady;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Oh, yon's the way to Arcady,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Where all the leaves are merry.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H.C. Bunner.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> From "The Poems of H.C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, +1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Eves_Daughter" id="Eves_Daughter"></a><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a><b>Eve's Daughter.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I waited in the little sunny room:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cool breeze waved the window-lace, at play,<br /></span> +<span>The white rose on the porch was all in bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And out upon the bay<br /></span> +<span>I watched the wheeling sea-birds go and come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Such an old friend,—she would not make me stay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While she bound up her hair." I turned, and lo,<br /></span> +<span>Danaë in her shower! and fit to slay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All a man's hoarded prudence at a blow:<br /></span> +<span>Gold hair, that streamed away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As round some nymph a sunlit fountain's flow.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"She would not make me wait!"—but well I know<br /></span> +<span>She took a good half-hour to loose and lay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Those locks in dazzling disarrangement so!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.R. Sill.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="On_An_Intaglio_Head_Of_Minerva" id="On_An_Intaglio_Head_Of_Minerva"></a><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a><b>On An Intaglio Head Of Minerva.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Beneath the warrior's helm, behold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flowing tresses of the woman!<br /></span> +<span>Minerva, Pallas, what you will—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A winsome creature, Greek or Roman.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Minerva? No! 'tis some sly minx<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In cousin's helmet masquerading;<br /></span> +<span>If not—then Wisdom was a dame<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For sonnets and for serenading!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I thought the goddess cold, austere,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not made for love's despairs and blisses:<br /></span> +<span>Did Pallas wear her hair like that?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was Wisdom's mouth so shaped for kisses?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The Nightingale should be her bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And not the Owl, big-eyed and solemn:<br /></span> +<span>How very fresh she looks, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She's older far than Trajan's Column!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The magic hand that carved this face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And set this vine-work round it running,<br /></span> +<span>Perhaps ere mighty Phidias wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had lost its subtle skill and cunning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a> +<span>Who was he? Was he glad or sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who knew to carve in such a fashion?<br /></span> +<span>Perchance he graved the dainty head<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For some brown girl that scorned his passion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Perchance, in some still garden-place,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where neither fount nor tree to-day is,<br /></span> +<span>He flung the jewel at the feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Phryne, or perhaps 'twas Laïs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But he is dust; we may not know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His happy or unhappy story:<br /></span> +<span>Nameless, and dead these centuries,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His work outlives him—there's his glory!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Both man and jewel lay in earth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath a lava-buried city;<br /></span> +<span>The countless summers came and went<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With neither haste, nor hate, nor pity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Years blotted out the man, but left<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The jewel fresh as any blossom,<br /></span> +<span>Till some Visconti dug it up—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O nameless brother! see how Time<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your gracious handiwork has guarded:<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a>See how your loving, patient art<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has come, at last, to be rewarded.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Who would not suffer slights of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And pangs of hopeless passion also,<br /></span> +<span>To have his carven agate-stone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On such a bosom rise and fall so!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.B. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Hunting-song" id="Hunting-song"></a><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a><b>Hunting-song.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor,<br /></span> +<span>When the horn is on the hill? (<i>Bugle</i>: Tarantara!)<br /></span> +<span>With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,<br /></span> +<span>And a ten-tined buck to kill!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Before the sun goes down, goes down,<br /></span> +<span>We shall slay the buck of ten; (<i>Bugle</i>: Tarantara!)<br /></span> +<span>And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e venison,<br /></span> +<span>When we come home again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let him that loves his ease, his ease,<br /></span> +<span>Keep close and house him fair; (<i>Bugle</i>: Tarantara!)<br /></span> +<span>He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger<br /></span> +<span>And the joy of the open air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But he that loves the hills, the hills,<br /></span> +<span>Let him come out to-day! (<i>Bugle</i>: Tarantara!)<br /></span> +<span>For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,<br /></span> +<span>And the hunt's up, and away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">R. Hovey.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Parting" id="Parting"></a><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a><b>Parting.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>My life closed twice before its close;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It yet remains to see<br /></span> +<span>If Immortality unveil<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A third event to me,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>So huge, so hopeless to conceive,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As these that twice befell.<br /></span> +<span>Parting is all we know of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all we need of hell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E. Dickinson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="When_the_Sultan_Goes_to_Ispahan" id="When_the_Sultan_Goes_to_Ispahan"></a><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a><b>When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>When the Sultan Shah-Zaman</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Goes to the city Ispahan</i>,<br /></span> +<span>Even before he gets so far<br /></span> +<span>As the place where the clustered palm-trees are,<br /></span> +<span>At the last of the thirty palace-gates,<br /></span> +<span>The flower of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom,<br /></span> +<span>Orders a feast in his favorite room—<br /></span> +<span>Glittering squares of colored ice,<br /></span> +<span>Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice,<br /></span> +<span>Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates,<br /></span> +<span>Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces,<br /></span> +<span>Limes, and citrons, and apricots,<br /></span> +<span>And wines that are known to Eastern princes;<br /></span> +<span>And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots<br /></span> +<span>Of spicèd meats and costliest fish<br /></span> +<span>And all that the curious palate could wish,<br /></span> +<span>Pass in and out of the cedarn doors;<br /></span> +<span>Scattered over mosaic floors<br /></span> +<span>Are anemones, myrtles, and violets,<br /></span> +<span>And a musical fountain throws its jets<br /></span> +<span>Of a hundred colors into the air.<br /></span> +<span>The dusk Sultana loosens her hair,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a>And stains with the henna-plant the tips<br /></span> +<span>Of her pointed nails, and bites her lips<br /></span> +<span>Till they bloom again; but, alas, <i>that</i> rose<br /></span> +<span>Not for the Sultan buds and blows!<br /></span> +<span><i>Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman</i><br /></span> +<span><i>When he goes to the city Ispahan</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then at a wave of her sunny hand<br /></span> +<span>The dancing-girls of Samarcand<br /></span> +<span>Glide in like shapes from fairy-land,<br /></span> +<span>Making a sudden mist in air<br /></span> +<span>Of fleecy veils and floating hair<br /></span> +<span>And white arms lifted. Orient blood<br /></span> +<span>Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes.<br /></span> +<span>And there, in this Eastern Paradise,<br /></span> +<span>Filled with the breath of sandal-wood,<br /></span> +<span>And Khoten musk, and aloes and myrrh,<br /></span> +<span>Sits Rose-in-Bloom on a silk divan,<br /></span> +<span>Sipping the wines of Astrakhan;<br /></span> +<span>And her Arab lover sits with her.<br /></span> +<span><i>That's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Goes to the city Ispahan</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Now, when I see an extra light,<br /></span> +<span>Flaming, flickering on the night<br /></span> +<span>From my neighbor's casement opposite,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a>I know as well as I know to pray,<br /></span> +<span>I know as well as a tongue can say,<br /></span> +<span><i>That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Has gone to the city Isfahan</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">T.B. Aldrich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Night" id="Night"></a><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a><b>Night.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Chaos, of old, was God's dominion;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas His belovèd child, His own first-born;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And He was agèd ere the thought of morn<br /></span> +<span>Shook the sheer steeps of black Oblivion.<br /></span> +<span>Then all the works of darkness being done<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through countless æons hopelessly forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out to the very utmost verge and bourn,<br /></span> +<span>God at the last, reluctant, made the sun.<br /></span> +<span>He loved His darkness still, for it was old:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He grieved to see His eldest child take flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when His <i>Fiat lux</i> the death-knell tolled,<br /></span> +<span>As the doomed Darkness backward by Him rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He snatched a remnant flying into light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And strewed it with the stars, and called it Night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L. Mifflin.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="He_Made_the_Stars_Also" id="He_Made_the_Stars_Also"></a><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a><b>He Made the Stars Also.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Vast hollow voids, beyond the utmost reach<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of suns, their legions withering at His nod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Died into day hearing the voice of God;<br /></span> +<span>And seas new made, immense and furious, each<br /></span> +<span>Plunged and rolled forward, feeling for a beach;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He walked the waters with effulgence shod.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This being made, He yearned for worlds to make<br /></span> +<span>From other chaos out beyond our night—<br /></span> +<span>For to create is still God's prime delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The large moon, all alone, sailed her dark lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the first tides were moving to her might;<br /></span> +<span>Then Darkness trembled, and began to quake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Big with the birth of stars, and when He spake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A million worlds leapt into radiant light!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L. Mifflin.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Sour_Winds" id="The_Sour_Winds"></a><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a><b>The Sour Winds.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wind of the North,<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the Norland snows,<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the winnowed skies and sharp, clear stars—<br /></span> +<span>Blow cold and keen across the naked hills,<br /></span> +<span>And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films,<br /></span> +<span>And blur the casement-squares with glittering ice,<br /></span> +<span>But go not near my love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wind of the West,<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the few, far clouds,<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands—<br /></span> +<span>Blow fresh and pure across the peaks and plains,<br /></span> +<span>And broaden the blue spaces of the heavens,<br /></span> +<span>And sway the grasses and the mountain pines,<br /></span> +<span>But let my dear one rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wind of the East,<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the sunrise seas,<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh rains—<br /></span> +<span>Blow moist and chill across the wastes of brine,<br /></span> +<span>And shut the sun out, and the moon and stars,<br /></span> +<span>And lash the boughs against the dripping eaves,<br /></span> +<span>Yet keep thou from my love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a> +<span>But thou, sweet wind!<br /></span> +<span>Wind of the fragrant South,<br /></span> +<span>Wind from the bowers of jasmine and of rose—<br /></span> +<span>Over magnolia glooms and lilied lakes<br /></span> +<span>And flowering forests come with dewy wings,<br /></span> +<span>And stir the petals at her feet, and kiss<br /></span> +<span>The low mound where she lies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">C.H. Lüders.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Return" id="The_Return"></a><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a><b>The Return.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Now at last I am at home—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wind abeam and flooding tide,<br /></span> +<span>And the offing white with foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And an old friend by my side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glad the long, green waves to ride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Strange how we've been wandering<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the crowded towns for gain,<br /></span> +<span>You and I who loved the sting<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the salt spray and the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the gale across the main!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What world honors could avail<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Loss of this—the slanted mast,<br /></span> +<span>And the roaring round the rail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sheeted spray we cast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Round us as we seaward passed?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As the sad land sinks apace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With it sinks each thought of care;<br /></span> +<span>Think not now of aging face;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Question not the whitening hair:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Youth still beckons everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a> +<span>And the light we thought had fled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the sky-line glows there now;<br /></span> +<span>Bends the same blue overhead;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the waves we used to plow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Part in beryl at the bow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Hours like this we two have known<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the old days, when we sailed<br /></span> +<span>Seaward ere the night had flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or the morning star had paled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the shy eyes love has veiled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Round our bow the ripples purled,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the swift tide outward streamed<br /></span> +<span>Through a hushed and ghostly world,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where our harbor reaches seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a river that we dreamed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then we saw the black hills sway<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the waters' crinkled glass,<br /></span> +<span>And the village wan and gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the startled cattle pass<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the tangled meadow-grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Through the glooming we have run<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Straight into the gates of day,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a>Seen the crimson-edgèd sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Burn the sea's gray bound away—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Leap to universal sway.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Little cared we where we drove<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So the wind was strong and keen.<br /></span> +<span>Oh, what sun-crowned waves we clove!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What cool shadows lurked between<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Those long combers pale and green!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Graybeard pleasures are but toys;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sorrow shatters them at last:<br /></span> +<span>For this brief hour we are boys;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trim the sheet and face the blast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sail into the happy past!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L.F. Tooker.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Bereaved" id="Bereaved"></a><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a><b>Bereaved.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let me come in where you sit weeping,—aye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let me, who have not any child to die,<br /></span> +<span>Weep with you for the little one whose love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have known nothing of.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed<br /></span> +<span>Their pressure round your neck; the hands you used<br /></span> +<span>To kiss.—Such arms—such hands I never knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May I not weep with you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fain would I be of service—say some thing,<br /></span> +<span>Between the tears, that would be comforting,—<br /></span> +<span>But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who have no child to die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.W. Riley.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Chariot" id="The_Chariot"></a><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a><b>The Chariot.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Because I could not stop for Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He kindly stopped for me;<br /></span> +<span>The carriage held but just ourselves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Immortality.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We slowly drove, he knew no haste,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I had put away<br /></span> +<span>My labor, and my leisure too,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For his civility.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We passed the school where children played,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their lessons scarcely done;<br /></span> +<span>We passed the fields of gazing grain.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We passed the setting sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>We paused before a house that seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A swelling of the ground;<br /></span> +<span>The roof was scarcely visible,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cornice but a mound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Since then 'tis centuries; but each<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Feels shorter than the day<br /></span> +<span>I first surmised the horses' heads<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were toward eternity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E. Dickinson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Indian_Summer" id="Indian_Summer"></a><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a><b>Indian Summer.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>These are the days when birds come back,<br /></span> +<span>A very few, a bird or two,<br /></span> +<span>To take a backward look.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>These are the days when skies put on<br /></span> +<span>The old, old sophistries of June,—<br /></span> +<span>A blue and gold mistake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,<br /></span> +<span>Almost thy plausibility<br /></span> +<span>Induces my belief,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,<br /></span> +<span>And softly through the altered air<br /></span> +<span>Hurries a timid leaf!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, sacrament of summer days,<br /></span> +<span>Oh, last communion in the haze,<br /></span> +<span>Permit a child to join,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thy sacred emblems to partake,<br /></span> +<span>Thy consecrated bread to break,<br /></span> +<span>Taste thine immortal wine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E. Dickinson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Confided" id="Confided"></a><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a><b>Confided.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Another lamb, O Lamb of God, behold,<br /></span> +<span>Within this quiet fold,<br /></span> +<span>Among Thy Father's sheep<br /></span> +<span>I lay to sleep!<br /></span> +<span>A heart that never for a night did rest<br /></span> +<span>Beyond its mother's breast.<br /></span> +<span>Lord, keep it close to Thee,<br /></span> +<span>Lest waking it should bleat and pine for me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.B. Tabb.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="In_Absence" id="In_Absence"></a><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a><b>In Absence.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>All that thou art not, makes not up the sum<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of what thou art, belovèd, unto me:<br /></span> +<span>All other voices, wanting thine, are dumb;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All vision, in thine absence, vacancy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.B. Tabb.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Song_of_the_Chattahoochee" id="Song_of_the_Chattahoochee"></a><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a><b>Song of the Chattahoochee.</b><a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Out of the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span>Down the valleys of Hall,<br /></span> +<span>I hurry amain to reach the plain,<br /></span> +<span>Run the rapids and leap the fall<br /></span> +<span>Split at the rock and together again,<br /></span> +<span>Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,<br /></span> +<span>And flee from folly on every side<br /></span> +<span>With a lover's pain to attain the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far from the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far from the valleys of Hall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All down the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All through the valleys of Hall,<br /></span> +<span>The rushes cried <i>Abide, abide</i>,<br /></span> +<span>The wilful waterweeds held me thrall,<br /></span> +<span>The laving laurel turned my tide,<br /></span> +<span>The ferns and the fondling grass said <i>Stay</i>,<br /></span> +<span>The dewberry dipped for to work delay,<br /></span> +<span>And the little reeds sighed <i>Abide, abide</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Here in the hills of Habersham</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Here in the valleys of Hall</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a> +<span class="i1">High o'er the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Veiling the valleys of Hall,<br /></span> +<span>The hickory told me manifold<br /></span> +<span>Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall<br /></span> +<span>Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,<br /></span> +<span>The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,<br /></span> +<span>Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,<br /></span> +<span>Said, <i>Pass not, so cold, these manifold</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Deep shades of the hills of Habersham</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>These glades in the valleys of Hall</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And oft in the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And oft in the valleys of Hall,<br /></span> +<span>The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone<br /></span> +<span>Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl,<br /></span> +<span>And many a luminous jewel lone<br /></span> +<span>—Crystals clear or acloud with mist,<br /></span> +<span>Ruby, garnet and amethyst—<br /></span> +<span>Made lures with the lights of streaming stone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the beds of the valleys of Hall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But oh, not the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And oh, not the valleys of Hall<br /></span> +<span>Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a>Downward the voices of Duty call—<br /></span> +<span>Downward to toil and be mixed with the main.<br /></span> +<span>The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,<br /></span> +<span>And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,<br /></span> +<span>And the lordly main from beyond the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Calls through the valleys of Hall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">S. Lanier.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> From "Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyright, 1884, 1891, by +Mary D. Lanier, published by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Seas_Voice" id="The_Seas_Voice"></a><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a><b>The Sea's Voice.</b></h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Around the rocky headlands, far and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wakened ocean murmured with dull tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till all the coast's mysterious caverns rung<br /></span> +<span>With the waves' voice, barbaric, hoarse, and drear.<br /></span> +<span>Within this distant valley, with rapt ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I listened, thrilled, as though a spirit sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or some gray god, as when the world was young,<br /></span> +<span>Moaned to his fellow, mad with rage or fear.<br /></span> +<span>Thus in the dark, ere the first dawn, methought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sea's deep roar and sullen surge and shock<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Broke the long silence of eternity,<br /></span> +<span>And echoed from the summits where God wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Building the world, and ploughing the steep rock<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With ploughs of ice-hills harnessed to the sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The sea is never quiet: east and west<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The nations hear it, like the voice of fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a>Within vast shores its strife makes desolate,<br /></span> +<span>Still murmuring mid storms that to its breast<br /></span> +<span>Return, as eagles screaming to their nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is it the voice of worlds and isles that wait<br /></span> +<span>While old earth crumbles to eternal rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or some hoar monster calling to his mate?<br /></span> +<span>O ye, that hear it moan about the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be still and listen! that loud voice hath sung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where mountains rise, where desert sands are blown;<br /></span> +<span>And when man's voice is dumb, forevermore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twill murmur on its craggy shores among,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Singing of gods and nations overthrown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">W.P. Foster.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="At_Gibraltar" id="At_Gibraltar"></a><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a><b>At Gibraltar.</b></h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>England, I stand on thy imperial ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I feel within my blood old battles flow,—<br /></span> +<span>The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found.<br /></span> +<span>Still surging dark against the Christian bound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wide Islam presses; well its peoples know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy heights that watch them wandering below;<br /></span> +<span>I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound.<br /></span> +<span>I turn and meet the cruel turbaned face;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">England, 'tis sweet to be so much thy son!<br /></span> +<span>I feel the conqueror in my blood and race;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day<br /></span> +<span>Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Startles the desert over Africa!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou art the rock of empire, set mid-seas<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between the East and West, that God has built;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Advance thy Roman borders where thou wilt,<br /></span> +<span>While run thy armies true with His decrees.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a>Law, justice, liberty,—great gifts are these;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Watch that they spread where English blood is spilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lest, mixt and sullied with his country's guilt,<br /></span> +<span>The soldier's life-stream flow and Heaven displease.<br /></span> +<span>Two swords there are: one naked, apt to smite,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy blade of war; and, battled-storied, one<br /></span> +<span>Rejoices in the sheath and hides from light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">American I am; would wars were done!<br /></span> +<span>Now westward look, my country bids Good-night,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Peace to the world from ports without a gun!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.E. Woodberry.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Jerry_an_Me" id="Jerry_an_Me"></a><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a>Jerry an' Me.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>No matter how the chances are,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor when the winds may blow,<br /></span> +<span>My Jerry there has left the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With all its luck an' woe:<br /></span> +<span>For who would try the sea at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Must try it luck or no.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>They told him—Lor', men take no care<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How words they speak may fall—<br /></span> +<span>They told him blunt, he was too old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Too slow with oar an' trawl,<br /></span> +<span>An' this is how he left the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An' luck an' woe an' all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Take any man on sea or land<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out of his beaten way,<br /></span> +<span>If he is young 'twill do, but then,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If he is old an' gray,<br /></span> +<span>A month will be a year to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be all to him you may.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He sits by me, but most he walks<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The door-yard for a deck,<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a>An' scans the boat a-goin' out<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till she becomes a speck,<br /></span> +<span>Then turns away, his face as wet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As if she were a wreck.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I cannot bring him back again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The days when we were wed.<br /></span> +<span>But he shall never know—my man—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lack o' love or bread,<br /></span> +<span>While I can cast a stitch or fill<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A needleful o' thread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>God pity me, I'd most forgot<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How many yet there be,<br /></span> +<span>Whose goodmen full as old as mine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are somewhere on the sea,<br /></span> +<span>Who hear the breakin' bar an' think<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O' Jerry home an'—me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H. Rich.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Gravedigger" id="The_Gravedigger"></a><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a><b>The Gravedigger.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, the shambling sea is a sexton old,<br /></span> +<span>And well his work is done;<br /></span> +<span>With an equal grave for lord and knave,<br /></span> +<span>He buries them every one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,<br /></span> +<span>He makes for the nearest shore;<br /></span> +<span>And God, who sent him a thousand ship,<br /></span> +<span>Will send him a thousand more;<br /></span> +<span>But some he'll save for a bleaching grave,<br /></span> +<span>And shoulder them in to shore,—<br /></span> +<span>Shoulder them in, shoulder them in,<br /></span> +<span>Shoulder them in to shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, the ships of Greece and the ships of Tyre<br /></span> +<span>Went out, and where are they?<br /></span> +<span>In the port they made, they are delayed<br /></span> +<span>With the ships of yesterday.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He followed the ships of England far<br /></span> +<span>As the ships of long ago;<br /></span> +<span>And the ships of France they led him a dance,<br /></span> +<span>But he laid them all arow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a> +<span>Oh, a loafing, idle lubber to him<br /></span> +<span>Is the sexton of the town;<br /></span> +<span>For sure and swift, with a guiding lift,<br /></span> +<span>He shovels the dead men down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But though he delves so fierce and grim,<br /></span> +<span>His honest graves are wide,<br /></span> +<span>As well they know who sleep below<br /></span> +<span>The dredge of the deepest tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, he works with a rollicking stave at lip,<br /></span> +<span>And loud is the chorus skirled;<br /></span> +<span>With the burly note of his rumbling throat<br /></span> +<span>He batters it down the world.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He learned it once in his father's house<br /></span> +<span>Where the ballads of eld were sung;<br /></span> +<span>And merry enough is the burden rough,<br /></span> +<span>But no man knows the tongue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, fair, they say, was his bride to see,<br /></span> +<span>And wilful she must have been,<br /></span> +<span>That she could bide at his gruesome side<br /></span> +<span>When the first red dawn came in.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And sweet, they say, is her kiss to those<br /></span> +<span>She greets to his border home;<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a>And softer than sleep her hand's first sweep<br /></span> +<span>That beckons, and they come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, crooked is he, but strong enough<br /></span> +<span>To handle the tallest mast;<br /></span> +<span>From the royal barque to the slaver dark,<br /></span> +<span>He buries them all at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,<br /></span> +<span>He makes for the nearest shore;<br /></span> +<span>And God, who sent him a thousand ship,<br /></span> +<span>Will send him a thousand more;<br /></span> +<span>But some he'll save for a bleaching grave,<br /></span> +<span>And shoulder them in to shore,—<br /></span> +<span>Shoulder them in, shoulder them in,<br /></span> +<span>Shoulder them in to shore.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">B. Carman.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Absence_of_Little_Wesley" id="The_Absence_of_Little_Wesley"></a><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a><b>The Absence of Little Wesley.</b></h2> + +<h3>HOOSIER DIALECT.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sence little Wesley went, the place seems all so strange and still—<br /></span> +<span>W'y, I miss his yell o' "Gran'pap!" as I'd miss the whipperwill!<br /></span> +<span>And to think I ust to <i>scold</i> him fer his everlastin' noise,<br /></span> +<span>When I on'y rickollect him as the best o' little boys!<br /></span> +<span>I wisht a hunderd times a day 'at he'd come trompin' in,<br /></span> +<span>And all the noise he ever made was twic't as loud ag'in!—<br /></span> +<span>It 'u'd seem like some soft music played on some fine insturment,<br /></span> +<span>'Longside o' this loud lonesomeness, sence little Wesley went!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Of course the clock don't tick no louder than it ust to do—<br /></span> +<span>Yit now they's times it 'pears like it 'u'd bu'st itse'f in two!<br /></span> +<span>And let a rooster, suddent-like, crow som'er's clos't around,<br /></span> +<span>And seems's ef, mighty nigh it, it 'u'd lift me off the ground!<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a>And same with all the cattle when they bawl around the bars,<br /></span> +<span>In the red o' airly mornin', er the dusk and dew and stars,<br /></span> +<span>When the neighbers' boys 'at passes never stop, but jes' go on,<br /></span> +<span>A-whistlin' kind o' to theirse'v's—sence little Wesley's gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And then, o' nights, when Mother's settin' up oncommon late,<br /></span> +<span>A-bilin' pears er somepin', and I set and smoke and wait,<br /></span> +<span>Tel the moon out through the winder don't look bigger'n a dime,<br /></span> +<span>And things keeps gittin' stiller—stiller—stiller all the time,—<br /></span> +<span>I've ketched myse'f a-wishin' like—as I dumb on the cheer<br /></span> +<span>To wind the clock, as I hev done fer mor'n fifty year,—<br /></span> +<span>A-wishin' 'at the time bed come fer us to go to bed,<br /></span> +<span>With our last prayers, and our last tears, sence little Wesley's dead!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">J.W. Riley.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Be_Thou_a_Bird_My_Soul" id="Be_Thou_a_Bird_My_Soul"></a><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a><b>Be Thou a Bird, My Soul.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Be thou a bird, my soul, and mount and soar<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Out of thy wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till earth grows less and less,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Heaven, more and more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Be thou a bird, and mount, and soar, and sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till all the earth shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Vibrant with ecstasy<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Beneath thy wing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Be thou a bird, and trust, the autumn come,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That through the pathless air<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thou shalt find otherwhere<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Unerring, home.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Opportunity" id="Opportunity"></a><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a><b>Opportunity.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:—<br /></span> +<span>There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;<br /></span> +<span>And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged<br /></span> +<span>A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords<br /></span> +<span>Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner<br /></span> +<span>Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.<br /></span> +<span>A craven hung along the battle's edge,<br /></span> +<span>And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel—<br /></span> +<span>That blue blade that the king's son bears,—but this<br /></span> +<span>Blunt thing!"—he snapt and flung it from his hand,<br /></span> +<span>And lowering crept away and left the field.<br /></span> +<span>Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,<br /></span> +<span>And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,<br /></span> +<span>Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,<br /></span> +<span>And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout<br /></span> +<span>Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,<br /></span> +<span>And saved a great cause that heroic day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E.R. Sill.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Dutch_Lullaby" id="Dutch_Lullaby"></a><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a><b>Dutch Lullaby.</b><a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—<br /></span> +<span>Sailed on a river of misty light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Into a sea of dew.<br /></span> +<span>"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The old moon asked the three.<br /></span> +<span>"We have come to fish for the herring-fish<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That live in this beautiful sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nets of silver and gold have we,"<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Said Wynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Blynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Nod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The old moon laughed and sung a song,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As they rocked in the wooden shoe;<br /></span> +<span>And the wind that sped them all night long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ruffled the waves of dew;<br /></span> +<span>The little stars were the herring-fish<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That lived in the beautiful sea.<br /></span> +<span>"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,<br /></span><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a> +<span class="i1">But never afeard are we!"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So cried the stars to the fishermen three,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Blynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Nod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>All night long their nets they threw<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the fish in the twinkling foam,<br /></span> +<span>Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bringing the fishermen home;<br /></span> +<span>'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As if it could not be;<br /></span> +<span>And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of sailing that beautiful sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I shall name you the fishermen three:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Blynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Nod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Nod is a little head,<br /></span> +<span>And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is a wee one's trundle-bed;<br /></span> +<span>So shut your eyes while Mother sings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of wonderful sights that be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a>And you shall see the beautiful things<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As you rock on the misty sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Blynken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Nod.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">E. Field.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> From "A Little Book of Western Verse," copyright, 1889, by +Eugene Field, published by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Maryland_Yellow-throat" id="The_Maryland_Yellow-throat"></a><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a><b>The Maryland Yellow-throat.</b><a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>While May bedecks the naked trees<br /></span> +<span>With tassels and embroideries,<br /></span> +<span>And many blue-eyed violets beam<br /></span> +<span>Along the edges of the stream,<br /></span> +<span>I hear a voice that seems to say,<br /></span> +<span>Now near at hand, now far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Witchery—witchery—witchery</i>."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>An incantation so serene,<br /></span> +<span>So innocent, befits the scene:<br /></span> +<span>There's magic in that small bird's note—<br /></span> +<span>See, there he flits—the yellow-throat:<br /></span> +<span>A living sunbeam, tipped with wings,<br /></span> +<span>A spark of light that shines and sings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Witchery—witchery—witchery</i>."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You prophet with a pleasant name,<br /></span> +<span>If out of Mary-land you came,<br /></span> +<span>You know the way that thither goes<br /></span> +<span>Where Mary's lovely garden grows:<br /></span> +<span>Fly swiftly back to her, I pray,<br /></span> +<span>And try, to call her down this way,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Witchery—witchery—witchery</i>!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a> +<span>Tell her to leave her cockleshells,<br /></span> +<span>And all her little silver bells<br /></span> +<span>That blossom into melody,<br /></span> +<span>And all her maids less fair than she.<br /></span> +<span>She does not need these pretty things,<br /></span> +<span>For everywhere she comes, she brings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Witchery—witchery—witchery</i>!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The woods are greening overhead,<br /></span> +<span>And flowers adorn each mossy bed;<br /></span> +<span>The waters babble as they run—<br /></span> +<span>One thing is lacking, only one:<br /></span> +<span>If Mary were but here to-day,<br /></span> +<span>I would believe your charming lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Witchery—witchery—witchery</i>!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Along the shady road I look—<br /></span> +<span>Who's coming now across the brook?<br /></span> +<span>A woodland maid, all robed in white—<br /></span> +<span>The leaves dance round her with delight,<br /></span> +<span>The stream laughs out beneath her feet—<br /></span> +<span>Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Witchery—witchery—witchery</i>!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H. Van Dyke.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> From "The Builders and Other Poems," copyright, 1897, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Silence_of_Love" id="The_Silence_of_Love"></a><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a><b>The Silence of Love.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oh, inexpressible as sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love takes my voice away;<br /></span> +<span>I cannot tell thee, when we meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What most I long to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But hadst thou hearing in thy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To know what beats in mine,<br /></span> +<span>Then shouldst thou walk, where'er thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In melodies divine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>So warbling birds lift higher notes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than to our ears belong;<br /></span> +<span>The music fills their throbbing throats,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But silence steals the song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.E. Woodberry.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Secret" id="The_Secret"></a><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a><b>The Secret.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Nightingales warble about it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All night under blossom and star;<br /></span> +<span>The wild swan is dying without it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the eagle cryeth afar;<br /></span> +<span>The sun he doth mount but to find it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Searching the green earth o'er;<br /></span> +<span>But more doth a man's heart mind it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, more, more, more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Over the gray leagues of ocean<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The infinite yearneth alone;<br /></span> +<span>The forests with wandering emotion<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thing they know not intone;<br /></span> +<span>Creation arose but to see it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A million lamps in the blue;<br /></span> +<span>But a lover he shall be it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If one sweet maid is true.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">G.E. Woodberry.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Whip-poor-will" id="The_Whip-poor-will"></a><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a><b>The Whip-poor-will.</b><a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Do you remember, father,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It seems so long ago,—<br /></span> +<span>The day we fished together<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along the Pocono?<br /></span> +<span>At dusk I waited for you,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beside the lumber-mill,<br /></span> +<span>And there I heard a hidden bird<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That chanted, "whip-poor-will,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad and shrill,—"<i>whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The place was all deserted;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mill-wheel hung at rest;<br /></span> +<span>The lonely star of evening<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was quivering in the west;<br /></span> +<span>The veil of night was falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The winds were folded still;<br /></span> +<span>And everywhere the trembling air<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Re-echoed "whip-poor-will!"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad and shrill,—"<i>whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a> +<span>You seemed so long in coming,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I felt so much alone;<br /></span> +<span>The wide, dark world was round me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And life was all unknown;<br /></span> +<span>The hand of sorrow touched me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And made my senses thrill<br /></span> +<span>With all the pain that haunts the strain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of mournful whip-poor-will.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad and shrill,—"<i>whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What did I know of trouble?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An idle little lad;<br /></span> +<span>I had not learned the lessons<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That make men wise and sad,<br /></span> +<span>I dreamed of grief and parting,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And something seemed to fill<br /></span> +<span>My heart with tears, while in my ears<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Resounded "whip-poor-will."<br /></span> +<span>"<i>Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad and shrill,—"<i>whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>'Twas but a shadowy sadness,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That lightly passed away;<br /></span> +<span>But I have known the substance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of sorrow, since that day.<br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a>For nevermore at twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beside the silent mill,<br /></span> +<span>I'll wait for you, in the falling dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And hear the whip-poor-will.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad and shrill,—"<i>whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But if you still remember,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In that fair land of light,<br /></span> +<span>The pains and fears that touch us<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along this edge of night,<br /></span> +<span>I think all earthly grieving,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all our mortal ill,<br /></span> +<span>To you must seem like a boy's sad dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who hears the whip-poor-will.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"<i>Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A passing thrill—"<i>whippoorwill!</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H. Van Dyke.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> From "The Builders, and Other Poems," copyright, 1897, +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Fertility" id="Fertility"></a><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a><b>Fertility.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Spirit that moves the sap in spring,<br /></span> +<span>When lusty male birds fight and sing,<br /></span> +<span>Inform my words, and make my lines<br /></span> +<span>As sweet as flowers, as strong as vines,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let mine be the freshening power<br /></span> +<span>Of rain on grass, of dew on flower;<br /></span> +<span>The fertilizing song be mine,<br /></span> +<span>Nut-flavored, racy, keen as wine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let some procreant truth exhale<br /></span> +<span>From me, before my forces fail;<br /></span> +<span>Or ere the ecstatic impulse go,<br /></span> +<span>Let all my buds to blossoms blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>If quick, sound seed be wanting where<br /></span> +<span>The virgin soil feels sun and air,<br /></span> +<span>And longs to fill a higher state,<br /></span> +<span>There let my meanings germinate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Let not my strength be spilled for naught,<br /></span> +<span>But, in some fresher vessel caught,<br /></span> +<span>Be blended into sweeter forms,<br /></span> +<span>And fraught with purer aims and charms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a> +<span>Let bloom-dust of my life be blown<br /></span> +<span>To quicken hearts that flower alone;<br /></span> +<span>Around my knees let scions rise<br /></span> +<span>With heavenward-pointed destinies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And when I fall, like some old tree,<br /></span> +<span>And subtile change makes mould of me,<br /></span> +<span>There let earth show a fertile line<br /></span> +<span>Whence perfect wild-flowers leap and shine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">M. Thompson.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Veery" id="The_Veery"></a><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a><b>The Veery.</b><a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring,<br /></span> +<span>When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring.<br /></span> +<span>So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie,<br /></span> +<span>I longed to hear a simpler strain,—the wood notes of the veery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather;<br /></span> +<span>It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together;<br /></span> +<span>He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie;<br /></span> +<span>I only know one song more sweet,—the vespers of the veery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure,<br /></span> +<span>I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure:<br /></span><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a> +<span>The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery,<br /></span> +<span>And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing;<br /></span> +<span>New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing:<br /></span> +<span>And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary,<br /></span> +<span>I fain would hear, before I go, the wood notes of the veery.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">H. Van Dyke.</span></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><br /><br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> From "The Builders, and Other Poems," copyright, 1897, by +Charles Scribner's Sons.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Eavesdropper" id="The_Eavesdropper"></a><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a><b>The Eavesdropper.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>In a still room at hush of dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My Love and I lay side by side<br /></span> +<span>And heard the roaming forest wind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stir in the paling autumn-tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I watched her earth-brown eyes grow glad<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Because the round day was so fair;<br /></span> +<span>While memories of reluctant night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lurked in the blue dusk of her hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Outside, a yellow maple-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shifting upon the silvery blue<br /></span> +<span>With small innumerable sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rustled to let the sunlight through.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The livelong day the elvish leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Danced with their shadows on the floor;<br /></span> +<span>And the lost children of the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Went straying homeward by our door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And all the swarthy afternoon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We watched the great deliberate sun<br /></span> +<span>Walk through the crimsoned hazy world,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Counting his hilltops one by one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a> +<span>Then as the purple twilight came<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And touched the vines along our eaves,<br /></span> +<span>Another Shadow stood without<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gloomed the dancing of the leaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The silence fell on my Love's lips;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her great brown eyes were veiled and sad<br /></span> +<span>With pondering some maze of dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though all the splendid year was glad.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Restless and vague as a gray wind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her heart had grown, she knew not why.<br /></span> +<span>But hurrying to the open door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Against the verge of western sky<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I saw retreating on the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looming and sinister and black,<br /></span> +<span>The stealthy figure swift and huge<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of One who strode and looked not back.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">B. Carman.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sesostris" id="Sesostris"></a><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a><b>Sesostris.</b></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sole Lord of Lords and very King of Kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He sits within the desert, carved in stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Inscrutable, colossal, and alone,<br /></span> +<span>And ancienter than memory of things.<br /></span> +<span>Graved on his front the sacred beetle clings;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Disdain sits on his lips; and in a frown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scorn lives upon his forehead for a crown.<br /></span> +<span>The affrighted ostrich dare not dust her wings<br /></span> +<span>Anear this Presence. The long caravan's<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dazed camels stop, and mute the Bedouins stare.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This symbol of past power more than man's<br /></span> +<span>Presages doom. Kings look—and Kings despair:<br /></span> +<span>Their sceptres tremble in their jewelled hands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dark thrones totter in the baleful air!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="author"><span class="smcap">L. Mifflin.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOTES" id="NOTES"></a><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a>NOTES.</h2> + + +<p>American poetry before Bryant was considerable in amount, but, with few +exceptions, it must be looked for by the curious student in the +graveyard of old anthologies. Who now reads "The Simple Cobbler of +Agawam in America," "The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung up in America," "The +Day of Doom," "M'Fingal," or "The Columbiad?" Skipping a generation from +Barlow's death, who reads with much seriousness any one of the group of +poets of which Bryant in his earliest period was the centre: Halleck, +Pierpont, Sprague, Drake, Dana, Percival, Allston, Brainard, Mrs. +Osgood, and Miss Brooks? A few of them, to be sure, are remembered by an +occasional lyric,—Halleck by "Marco Bozzaris," a spirited ode in the +manner of Campbell; Pierpont by his ringing lines, "Warren's Address to +the American Soldiers;" Drake by "The American Flag," conventional but +not commonplace, and marked by one very imaginative line; and Allston by +two rather excellent lyrics, "Rosalie" and "America to Great Britain." +The first poet to accomplish work of high sustained excellence was +Bryant. His poetry, though never impassioned, is uniformly elegant. It +is often as chaste as Landor at his best. But it never surprises; it is +not <a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a>emotional, personal, suggestively imaginative. In fact, Bryant's +muse is not lyrical. With the exception of Pinkney and Hoffman, whose +"Sparkling and Bright," if technically defective, is a true song, we +must wait for our lyric poet till we reach Edgar Allan Poe, the +greatest—one inclines to say the only—master of musical quality in +verse whom America has produced.</p> + +<p><i>The Wild Honeysuckle.</i>—Philip Freneau, born in 1752, was a soldier in +the American Revolution. Though never rising quite into the highest +class of poets, he is our first genuine singer. "The Indian +Burying-ground" and "To a Honey-bee" are only less successful than the +graceful lines quoted.</p> + +<p><i>A Health.</i>—Poe was an enthusiastic admirer of this poem. He pronounced +it, in his essay entitled "The Poetic Principle," "full of brilliancy +and spirit," and added: "It was the misfortune of Mr. Pinkney to have +been born too far south. Had he been a New Englander, it is probable +that he would have been ranked as the first of American lyrists by that +magnanimous cabal which has so long controlled the destinies of American +Letters, in conducting the thing called <i>The North American Review</i>." +This passage, very characteristic of Poe's criticisms, illustrates both +his championship of favorites, and unmerciful scourging of foes.</p> + +<p><i>Unseen Spirits.</i>—The earnest sincerity, evident in every line of this +poem, removes it at once from the company of those gay society verses +sparkling with conceits which won for Willis the satiric comment of +Lowell in "A Fable for Critics:"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a> +<span>"There is Willis, all natty, and jaunty, and gay,<br /></span> +<span>Who says his best things in so foppish a way,<br /></span> +<span>With conceits and pet phrases so thickly o'erlaying 'em,<br /></span> +<span>That one hardly knows whether to thank him for saying 'em;<br /></span> +<span>Over-ornament ruins both poem and prose,—<br /></span> +<span>Just conceive of a Muse with a ring in her nose!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Had Willis written more such lyrics as "Unseen Spirits," his fame could +hardly have proved so ephemeral. Poe considered this poem Willis's best, +and I see no ground for calling the critic's judgment in question.</p> + +<p><i>To Helen.</i>—This brief lyric, written in the poet's youth, is not only +among the most exquisite from his pen, but it furnishes one of the most +famous among current quotations:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The glory that was Greece,<br /></span> +<span>And the grandeur that was Rome."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><i>On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.</i>—These manly lines have yielded +another phrase to the world's memory. Hardly any quotation is more +hackneyed than the last two verses of the first stanza. Drake was a +young poet, the intimate friend and literary co-laborer of Halleck, who +died September, 1820, in his twenty-fifth year.</p> + +<p><i>To the Fringed Gentian.</i>—This lyric well illustrates what Mr. Stedman +has aptly termed Bryant's "Doric simplicity." Nothing of Wordsworth's is +freer from ornament or from the least trace of affectation.</p> + +<p><i>The Raven.</i>—Though not belonging to the highest order of poetry, "The +Raven" still maintains its position <a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a>at the head of its class. No more +astonishing <i>tour de force</i> can be found in English literature.</p> + +<p><i>Nature.</i>—Generally regarded, I think, the finest of Longfellow's, if +not of American, sonnets.</p> + +<p><i>Ichabod.</i>—Occasioned by the defection and fall of Daniel Webster. It +is worthy a place by the side of Browning's "Lost Leader." In later +years, Whittier wrote a poem on the theme, which, while not a retraction +of his former position, is penned in a tenderer, more tolerant mood, +"The Lost Occasion" is its title, and it is only just to the poet to +read this second lyric, hardly less successful, in connection with the +first.</p> + +<p><i>Old Ironsides.</i>—"Old Ironsides" was the popular name for the frigate +<i>Constitution</i>. Dr. Holmes's poem appeared in the Boston <i>Advertiser</i> +"at the time when it was proposed to break up the old ship as unfit for +service."</p> + +<p><i>Bedouin Song.</i>—One of the most spirited, most genuinely lyrical of +American poems.</p> + +<p><i>Skipper Ireson's Ride.</i>—These lines have an easy, swinging quality +that is quite inimitable. One inclines to agree with Mr. Stedman: "Of +all our poets he (Whittier) is the most natural balladist."</p> + +<p><i>The Village Blacksmith.</i>—The directness and homely strength of "The +Village Blacksmith" have made it deservedly popular. One questions +whether the last stanza might not have been omitted with advantage both +to the unity and force of the poem.</p> + +<p><i>The Last Leaf.</i>—This masterpiece of mingled humor and pathos was a +favorite poem of Abraham Lincoln.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a><i>The Old Kentucky Home.</i>—The sincere and tender sentiment of this +song, no less than its popular melody, has made it for many years a +favorite. Even better known is Foster's "Old Folks at Home," which is +said to have had a larger sale than any other American song.</p> + +<p><i>Carolina.</i>—The concluding lines of this lyric have an imaginative +vigor rare in American poetry. Four stanzas are omitted.</p> + +<p><i>Dirge for a Soldier.</i>—Boker's Dirge was written in memory of General +Philip Kearney.</p> + +<p><i>Battle-hymn of the Republic.</i>—Written in December, 1861, while Mrs. +Howe was on a visit to Washington. Soon after the writer's return to +Boston the lines were accepted for publication in the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> +by James T. Fields, who suggested the title of the poem. The song did +not at first receive much notice, but before the Civil War was over had +become very popular.</p> + +<p><i>My Maryland.</i>—A poem of great strength and beauty, though of uneven +merit. It is unfortunately marred by a few rather intemperate +expressions. The sincerity of feeling is everywhere so evident, however, +that these must be forgiven. The lines were written by a native of +Baltimore, Prof. James Randall, and were first published in April, 1861. +The author of the famous song was teaching in a Louisiana college when +he read in a New Orleans paper the news of the attack on the +Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore. This newspaper +account inspired the verses.</p> + +<p><i>In the Hospital.</i>—This poem, which has enjoyed at <a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a>best a newspaper +immortality, deserves to be more widely known. Its simplicity, +directness, and truth of feeling are quite beyond praise. According to a +story which one dislikes to believe apocryphal, these lines were found +under the pillow of a wounded soldier near Port Royal, South Carolina, +in 1864.</p> + +<p><i>Days.</i>—Regarded from the point of view of artistic form, perhaps +nothing of Emerson's is quite so flawless as "Days," a poem which for +conciseness and polish is worthy to be called classic.</p> + +<p><i>A Death-bed.</i>—This is a worthy companion-piece to that other miniature +classic, Thomas Hood's song, beginning, "We watched her breathing +through the night."</p> + +<p><i>Telling the Bees.</i>—"A remarkable custom, brought from the Old Country, +formerly prevailed in the rural districts of New England. On the death +of a member of the family, the bees were at once informed of the event, +and their hives dressed in mourning. The ceremonial was supposed to be +necessary to prevent the swarms from leaving their hives and seeking a +new home." This poem of Whittier's is almost his highest achievement. +Lowell said, in writing of the Quaker poet (Appleton's Cyclopedia of +American Biography, VI.): "Many of his poems (such for example as +'Telling the Bees'), in which description and sentiment mutually inspire +each other, are as fine as any in the language." I often think, however, +that Whittier will live longest by his hymns and poems of purely +religious devotion. I know of nothing similar in English that surpasses +"The Eternal Goodness," and perhaps half a dozen other poems.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a><i>Katie.</i>—About one-third of Timrod's graceful poem which bears this +title. This is one of the few cases where I have ventured to make +omissions.</p> + +<p><i>Thalatta.</i>—Regarding this poem, Thomas Wentworth Higginson says, in +"The New World and the New Book:" "Who knows but that, when all else of +American literature has vanished in forgetfulness, some single little +masterpiece like this may remain to show the high-water mark, not merely +of a single poet, but of a nation and a generation?" The author of +"Thalatta" was a Dartmouth graduate, a teacher, and a disciple of +Emerson.</p> + +<p><i>The Fall of the Leaf.</i>—Thoreau's prose is known universally; his verse +has not won as yet the recognition it deserves. It has little lyrical +quality, but for unconventionality, charming turns of phrase, and the +intimate knowledge of Nature it reveals, it is almost alone in American +poetry.</p> + +<p><i>The Rhodora.</i>—"The Rhodora" has a conciseness and unity too rare in +Emerson's poetry, which, beautiful in details, is strangely uneven. We +sigh as we think what an unrivalled lyric poet Emerson would have been +had he been sustained at the heights he was capable of reaching. No one +surpasses Emerson at his best; he is almost a great poet.</p> + +<p><i>The Chambered Nautilus.</i>—Many think this Holmes's finest poem. It is +taken from "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," 1858.</p> + +<p><i>Thought.</i>—Helen Jackson is, perhaps, the most gifted of American women +poets. Emily Dickinson is more <a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a>imaginative, but her utter scorn of form +in composition makes her work, unique as it is, less satisfying. Mrs. +Jackson was a favorite with Emerson, and he is said to have liked best +among her poems this sonnet, "Thought."</p> + +<p><i>On a Bust of Dante.</i>—Parsons, one of the best of American poets, is +one of the most neglected. Stedman is inclined to think "On a Bust of +Dante" the finest of American lyrics (see "The Nature of Poetry," 254).</p> + +<p><i>The Port of Skips.</i>—In a recent review of American Literature in the +London <i>Athæneum</i> occurs this sentence: "In point of power, workmanship, +and feeling, among all poems written by Americans, we are inclined to +give first place to the 'Port of Ships,' of Joaquin Miller."</p> + +<p><i>Evening Song.</i>—No poem of Lanier is more free from his characteristic +faults. One regrets that so much of his work, highly imaginative as it +is, is marred by over-elaboration and artificiality.</p> + +<p><i>A Woman's Thought.</i>—The striking reality and directness of this lyric, +its immense emotional undercurrent, and its abrupt, almost gasping +metre, admirably suited to the impassioned mood of the speaker,—these +are a few of the qualities that combine to make "A Woman's Thought" one +of the most remarkable poems in the book.</p> + +<p><i>The White Jessamine.</i>—One of the most charming of Father Tabb's +lyrics. The verse of this poet is uneven in merit. He is too prone to +merely fanciful conceits. But at his best Tabb is imaginative, as, for +example, in the lines where he says of Angelo that he—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a> +<span>"From the sterile womb of stone,<br /></span> +<span>Raised children unto God."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Always artistic, Tabb's verse usually suggests workmanship; it is more +thoughtful than spontaneous. His religious poetry presents, in the main, +a rather striking similarity to the work of George Herbert.</p> + +<p><i>The Battle-field.</i>—Miss Dickinson has much of the witchcraft and +subtlety of William Blake. Many verses of the shy recluse, whom Mr. +Higginson so happily has introduced to the world, are not only daring +and unconventional, but recklessly defiant of form. But, as her editor +has well said, "When a thought takes one's breath away, a lesson on +grammar seems an impertinence." Emily Dickinson had more than a message, +more than the charm of unexpectedness, more than the gift of +phrase,—she had (and of how many Americans can this be said?) an +intense imagination.</p> + +<p><i>Fertility.</i>—This selection appears in the collected poems of Maurice +Thompson (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1892), under the title of "A +Prelude."</p> + +<p><i>Sesostris.</i>—Of this poem Mr. Stoddard has the high praise that in +imaginative quality it is unequalled in nineteenth century literature, +unless by Leigh Hunt's sonnet on the Nile. The same critic does not +scruple to declare of Mr. Mifflin that he has a "glorious imagination," +and to prophesy for him a distinguished future. Seldom indeed has a +first book of verse won such instant and universal appreciation as Mr. +Mifflin's volume of sonnets, just issued as the "American Treasury" goes +to press.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDEX_TO_FIRST_LINES" id="INDEX_TO_FIRST_LINES"></a><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a>INDEX TO FIRST LINES.</h2> + +<p>A blight, a gloom, I know not what; <a href='#Page_242'>242</a> </p> + +<p>All that thou art not, makes not up the sum; <a href='#Page_267'>267</a> </p> + +<p>All the long August afternoon; <a href='#Page_223'>223</a> </p> + +<p>A man said unto his angel; <a href='#Page_211'>211</a> </p> + +<p>Another lamb, O Lamb of God, behold; <a href='#Page_266'>266</a> </p> + +<p>Around the rocky headlands, far and near; <a href='#Page_271'>271</a> </p> + +<p>As a fond mother, when the day is o'er; <a href='#Page_63'>63</a> </p> + +<p>As a twig trembles, which a bird; <a href='#Page_145'>145</a> </p> + +<p>At midnight, in the month of June; <a href='#Page_57'>57</a> </p> + +<p>At sea are tossing ships; <a href='#Page_149'>149</a> </p> + +<p>At the king's gate the subtle noon; <a href='#Page_183'>183</a> </p> + +<p>Ay, tear her tattered ensign down; <a href='#Page_76'>76</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Be thou a bird, my soul, and mount and soar; <a href='#Page_282'>282</a> </p> + +<p>Because I could not stop for Death; <a href='#Page_264'>264</a> </p> + +<p>Bedtime's come fu' little boys; <a href='#Page_225'>225</a> </p> + +<p>Behind him lay the gray Azores; <a href='#Page_199'>199</a> </p> + +<p>Beneath the warrior's helm, behold; <a href='#Page_248'>248</a> </p> + +<p>Birds are singing round my window; <a href='#Page_193'>193</a> </p> + +<p>Burly, dozing bumble-bee; <a href='#Page_169'>169</a> </p> + +<p>By the rude bridge that arched the flood; <a href='#Page_74'>74</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Chaos, of old, was God's dominion; <a href='#Page_256'>256</a> <a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a></p> + +<p>Close his eyes; his work is done; <a href='#Page_106'>106</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Dark as the clouds of even; <a href='#Page_100'>100</a> </p> + +<p>Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days; <a href='#Page_126'>126</a> </p> + +<p>Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way; <a href='#Page_175'>175</a> </p> + +<p>Dear yesterday, glide not so fast; <a href='#Page_155'>155</a> </p> + +<p>Do you remember, father; <a href='#Page_291'>291</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>England, I stand on thy imperial ground; <a href='#Page_273'>273</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Fair flower that dost so comely grow; <a href='#Page_1'>1</a> </p> + +<p>Farragut, Farragut; <a href='#Page_110'>110</a> </p> + +<p>From the Desert I come to thee; <a href='#Page_85'>85</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried; <a href='#Page_119'>119</a> </p> + +<p>Green be the turf above thee; <a href='#Page_36'>36</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Helen, thy beauty is to me; <a href='#Page_31'>31</a> </p> + +<p>Her hands are cold; her face is white; <a href='#Page_124'>124</a> </p> + +<p>Here is the place; right over the hill; <a href='#Page_137'>137</a> </p> + +<p>Her suffering ended with the day; <a href='#Page_136'>136</a> </p> + +<p>How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood; <a href='#Page_8'>8</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>I am a woman—therefore I may not; <a href='#Page_227'>227</a> </p> + +<p>I fill this cup to one made up; <a href='#Page_12'>12</a> </p> + +<p>I have a little kinsman; <a href='#Page_150'>150</a> </p> + +<p>I knew she lay above me; <a href='#Page_235'>235</a> </p> + +<p>I lay me down to sleep; <a href='#Page_122'>122</a> </p> + +<p>I saw him once before; <a href='#Page_95'>95</a> </p> + +<p>I saw the twinkle of white feet; <a href='#Page_64'>64</a> </p> + +<p>I stand upon the summit of my years; <a href='#Page_154'>154</a> </p> + +<p>I waited in the little sunny room; <a href='#Page_247'>247</a> </p> + +<p>In a still room at hush of dawn; <a href='#Page_298'>298</a> </p> + +<p>In Heaven a spirit doth dwell; <a href='#Page_21'>21</a> </p> + +<p>In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes; <a href='#Page_165'>165</a> </p> + +<p>In the greenest of our valleys; <a href='#Page_26'>26</a> <a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a></p> + +<p>In the summer even; <a href='#Page_202'>202</a> </p> + +<p>It may be through some foreign grace; <a href='#Page_140'>140</a> </p> + +<p>It was many and many a year ago; <a href='#Page_10'>10</a> </p> + +<p>It was nothing but a rose I gave her; <a href='#Page_196'>196</a> </p> + +<p>It was the schooner Hesperus; <a href='#Page_80'>80</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Just where the Treasury's marble front; <a href='#Page_188'>188</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Lear and Cordelia! 'twas an ancient tale; <a href='#Page_78'>78</a> </p> + +<p>Let me come in where you sit weeping,—aye; <a href='#Page_263'>263</a> </p> + +<p>Let me move slowly through the street; <a href='#Page_42'>42</a> </p> + +<p>Lo! Death has reared himself a throne; <a href='#Page_15'>15</a> </p> + +<p>Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands; <a href='#Page_215'>215</a> </p> + +<p>Look out upon the stars, my love; <a href='#Page_14'>14</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Men say the sullen instrument; <a href='#Page_158'>158</a> </p> + +<p>Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; <a href='#Page_108'>108</a> </p> + +<p>My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read; <a href='#Page_172'>172</a> </p> + +<p>My heart, I cannot still it; <a href='#Page_192'>192</a> </p> + +<p>My life closed twice before its close; <a href='#Page_252'>252</a> </p> + +<p>My life is like the summer rose; <a href='#Page_4'>4</a> </p> + +<p>My mind lets go a thousand things; <a href='#Page_241'>241</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Nightingales warble about it; <a href='#Page_290'>290</a> </p> + +<p>No matter how the chances are; <a href='#Page_275'>275</a> </p> + +<p>Not a hand has lifted the latchet; <a href='#Page_236'>236</a> </p> + +<p>Not a kiss in life; but one kiss, at life's end; <a href='#Page_209'>209</a> </p> + +<p>Not as all other women are; <a href='#Page_142'>142</a> </p> + +<p>Now at last I am at home; <a href='#Page_260'>260</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>O Death, when thou shalt come to me; <a href='#Page_233'>233</a> </p> + +<p>O fairest of the rural maids; <a href='#Page_6'>6</a> </p> + +<p>O marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause; <a href='#Page_167'>167</a> </p> + +<p>O messenger, art thou the king, or I; <a href='#Page_180'>180</a> </p> + +<p>O Nature! I do not aspire; <a href='#Page_166'>166</a> <a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a></p> + +<p>Of all the rides since the birth of time; <a href='#Page_87'>87</a> </p> + +<p>Oh, inexpressible as sweet; <a href='#Page_289'>289</a> </p> + +<p>Oh, the shambling sea is a sexton old; <a href='#Page_277'>277</a> </p> + +<p>Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor; <a href='#Page_251'>251</a> </p> + +<p><i>Oh, what's the way to Arcady</i>; <a href='#Page_243'>243</a> </p> + +<p>Old Sorrow I shall meet again; <a href='#Page_230'>230</a> </p> + +<p>Once it smiled a silent dell; <a href='#Page_38'>38</a> </p> + +<p>Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands; <a href='#Page_54'>54</a> </p> + +<p>Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary; <a href='#Page_45'>45</a> </p> + +<p>Out of the hills of Habersham; <a href='#Page_268'>268</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin; <a href='#Page_194'>194</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>See, from this counterfeit of him; <a href='#Page_185'>185</a> </p> + +<p>Sence little Wesley went, the place seems all so strange and still; <a href='#Page_280'>280</a> </p> + +<p>Sky in its lucent splendor lifted; <a href='#Page_238'>238</a> </p> + +<p>So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn; <a href='#Page_69'>69</a> </p> + +<p>Sole Lord of Lords and very King of Kings; <a href='#Page_300'>300</a> </p> + +<p>Southward with fleet of ice; <a href='#Page_71'>71</a> </p> + +<p>Sparkling and bright in liquid light; <a href='#Page_32'>32</a> </p> + +<p>Spirit that moves the sap in spring; <a href='#Page_294'>294</a> </p> + +<p>Still in thy love I trust; <a href='#Page_218'>218</a> </p> + +<p>Such special sweetness was about; <a href='#Page_224'>224</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>The apples are ripe in the orchard; <a href='#Page_117'>117</a> </p> + +<p>The dawn came in through the bars of the blind; <a href='#Page_213'>213</a> </p> + +<p>The day is done, and the darkness; <a href='#Page_66'>66</a> </p> + +<p>The despot treads thy sacred sands; <a href='#Page_104'>104</a> </p> + +<p>The despot's heel is on thy shore; <a href='#Page_113'>113</a> </p> + +<p>The evening of the year draws on; <a href='#Page_162'>162</a> </p> + +<p>The handful here, that once was Mary's earth; <a href='#Page_147'>147</a> </p> + +<p>The little toy dog is covered with dust; <a href='#Page_231'>231</a> <a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a></p> + +<p>The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring; <a href='#Page_296'>296</a> </p> + +<p>The new moon hung in the sky; <a href='#Page_221'>221</a> </p> + +<p>The pines were dark on Ramoth hill; <a href='#Page_130'>130</a> </p> + +<p>The royal feast was done; the King; <a href='#Page_205'>205</a> </p> + +<p>The shadows lay along Broadway; <a href='#Page_24'>24</a> </p> + +<p>The sky is dark, and dark the bay below; <a href='#Page_217'>217</a> </p> + +<p>The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky Home; <a href='#Page_98'>98</a> </p> + +<p>The tide rises, the tide falls; <a href='#Page_161'>161</a> </p> + +<p>The wind from out the west is blowing; <a href='#Page_216'>216</a> </p> + +<p>There are gains for all our losses; <a href='#Page_129'>129</a> </p> + +<p>There is a city, builded by no hand; <a href='#Page_201'>201</a> </p> + +<p>These are the days when birds come back; <a href='#Page_265'>265</a> </p> + +<p>This bronze doth keep the very form and mold; <a href='#Page_207'>207</a> </p> + +<p>This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream; <a href='#Page_283'>283</a> </p> + +<p>This is Palm Sunday; mindful of the day; <a href='#Page_198'>198</a> </p> + +<p>This is the Burden of the Heart; <a href='#Page_197'>197</a> </p> + +<p>This is the ship of pearl, which poets feign; <a href='#Page_178'>178</a> </p> + +<p>Thou blossom bright with autumn dew; <a href='#Page_40'>40</a> </p> + +<p>Thou unrelenting Past; <a href='#Page_18'>18</a> </p> + +<p>Thou wast all that to me, love; <a href='#Page_34'>34</a> </p> + +<p>Thought is deeper than all speech; <a href='#Page_181'>181</a> </p> + +<p>Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down; <a href='#Page_210'>210</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Under a spreading chestnut-tree; <a href='#Page_92'>92</a> </p> + +<p>Upon a cloud among the stars we stood; <a href='#Page_229'>229</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Vast hollow voids, beyond the utmost reach; <a href='#Page_257'>257</a> </p> + +<p> </p> +<p>We sat within the farmhouse old; <a href='#Page_133'>133</a> </p> + +<p>What, cringe to Europe! Band it all in one; <a href='#Page_75'>75</a> </p> + +<p>What may we take into the vast Forever?; <a href='#Page_219'>219</a> </p> + +<p>When first the bride and bridegroom wed; <a href='#Page_153'>153</a> </p> + +<p>When I was a beggarly boy; <a href='#Page_128'>128</a> <a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a></p> + +<p><i>When the Sultan Shah-Zaman</i>; <a href='#Page_253'>253</a> </p> + +<p>While May bedecks the naked trees; <a href='#Page_287'>287</a> </p> + +<p>Whither, midst falling dew; <a href='#Page_29'>29</a> </p> + +<p>Who has robbed the ocean cave; <a href='#Page_3'>3</a> </p> + +<p>Wind of the North; <a href='#Page_258'>258</a> </p> + +<p>Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night; <a href='#Page_284'>284</a> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p>Years have flown since I knew thee first; <a href='#Page_208'>208</a> </p> + +<p>You know the old Hidalgo; <a href='#Page_127'>127</a> </p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDEX_TO_AUTHORS" id="INDEX_TO_AUTHORS"></a><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a>INDEX TO AUTHORS.</h2> + + +<p>James Aldrich, 1810-1856; <a href='#Page_136'>136</a> </p> + +<p>Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1836-; <a href='#Page_210'>210</a>, <a href='#Page_221'>221</a>, +<a href='#Page_241'>241</a>, <a href='#Page_242'>242</a>, <a href='#Page_248'>248</a>, <a href='#Page_253'>253</a></p> +<p> </p> +<p>George Henry Boker, 1823-1890; <a href='#Page_75'>75</a> , <a href='#Page_78'>78</a> , <a href='#Page_100'>100</a> , <a href='#Page_106'>106</a> </p> + +<p>Joseph Brownlee Brown, 1824-1888; <a href='#Page_154'>154</a> </p> + +<p>William Cullen Bryant, 1794-1878; <a href='#Page_6'>6</a>, <a href='#Page_18'>18</a>, <a href='#Page_29'>29</a>, <a href='#Page_40'>40</a>, <a href='#Page_42'>42</a>, <a href='#Page_54'>54</a> </p> + +<p>Henry Cuyler Bunner, 1855-1896; <a href='#Page_209'>209</a>, <a href='#Page_213'>213</a>, +<a href='#Page_233'>233</a>, <a href='#Page_243'>243</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Bliss Carman, 1861-; <a href='#Page_277'>277</a>, <a href='#Page_298'>298</a></p> + +<p>Christopher Pearse Cranch, 1813-1892; <a href='#Page_181'>181</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886; <a href='#Page_252'>252</a>, <a href='#Page_264'>264</a>, <a href='#Page_265'>265</a></p> + +<p>Paul Lawrence Dunbar, 1872-; <a href='#Page_225'>225</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803-1882; <a href='#Page_74'>74</a>, <a href='#Page_126'>126</a>, +<a href='#Page_165'>165</a>, <a href='#Page_169'>169</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Eugene Field, 1850-1896; <a href='#Page_231'>231</a>, <a href='#Page_284'>284</a></p> + +<p>Annie Adams Fields, 1834-; <a href='#Page_218'>218</a></p> + +<p>Stephen Collins Foster, 1826-1864; <a href='#Page_98'>98</a></p> + +<p>William Prescott Foster, 18-; <a href='#Page_271'>271</a></p> + +<p>Philip Freneau, 1752-1832; 1<a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Richard Watson Gilder, 1844-; <a href='#Page_207'>207</a>, <a href='#Page_208'>208</a>, <a href='#Page_216'>216</a>, <a href='#Page_217'>217</a>, <a href='#Page_227'>227</a></p> + +<p>Louise Imogen Guiney, 1861-; <a href='#Page_211'>211</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Fitz-Greene Halleck, 1790-1867; <a href='#Page_36'>36</a></p> + +<p>Charles Fenno Hoffman, 1806-1884; <a href='#Page_32'>32</a></p> + +<p>Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1809-1894; <a href='#Page_76'>76</a>, <a href='#Page_95'>95</a>, <a href='#Page_124'>124</a>, <a href='#Page_178'>178</a></p> + +<p>Richard Hovey, 1864-; <a href='#Page_251'>251</a></p> + +<p>Julia Ward Howe, 1819-; <a href='#Page_108'>108</a></p> + +<p>William Dean Howells, 1837-; <a href='#Page_223'>223</a></p> + +<p>Mary Woolsey Howland, 1832-1864; <a href='#Page_122'>122</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Helen Hunt Jackson, 1831-1885; <a href='#Page_155'>155</a>, <a href='#Page_167'>167</a>, +<a href='#Page_180'>180</a>, <a href='#Page_183'>183</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Sidney Lanier, 1842-1881; <a href='#Page_215'>215</a>, <a href='#Page_268'>268</a></p> + +<p>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882; <a href='#Page_63'>63</a>, <a href='#Page_66'>66</a>, <a href='#Page_71'>71</a>, <a href='#Page_80'>80</a>, <a href='#Page_92'>92</a>, <a href='#Page_133'>133</a>, <a href='#Page_161'>161</a></p> + +<p>James Russell Lowell, 1819-1891; <a href='#Page_64'>64</a>, <a href='#Page_128'>128</a>, <a href='#Page_142'>142</a>, <a href='#Page_145'>145</a>, <a href='#Page_158'>158</a>, <a href='#Page_175'>175</a>, <a href='#Page_192'>192</a></p> + +<p>Charles Henry Lüders, 1858-1891; <a href='#Page_258'>258</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>William Tuckey Meredith, 1839-; <a href='#Page_110'>110</a></p> + +<p>Lloyd Mifflin, 18-; <a href='#Page_229'>229</a>, <a href='#Page_256'>256</a>, <a href='#Page_257'>257</a>, <a href='#Page_300'>300</a></p> + +<p>Cincinnatus Hiner (Joaquin) Miller, 1841-; <a href='#Page_199'>199</a></p> + +<p>Louise Chandler Moulton, 1835-; <a href='#Page_236'>236</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Thomas William Parsons, 1819-1892; <a href='#Page_147'>147</a>, <a href='#Page_185'>185</a>, +<a href='#Page_198'>198</a>, <a href='#Page_201'>201</a></p> + +<p>John James Piatt, 1835-; <a href='#Page_149'>149</a></p> + +<p>Edward Coate Pinkney, 1802-1828; <a href='#Page_12'>12</a>, <a href='#Page_14'>14</a></p> + +<p>Edgar Allan Poe, 1809-1849; <a href='#Page_10'>10</a>, <a href='#Page_15'>15</a>, <a href='#Page_21'>21</a>, +<a href='#Page_26'>26</a>, <a href='#Page_31'>31</a>, <a href='#Page_34'>34</a>, <a href='#Page_38'>38</a>, +<a href='#Page_45'>45</a>, <a href='#Page_57'>57</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>James Ryder Randall, 1839-; <a href='#Page_113'>113</a></p> + +<p>Lizette Woodworth Reese, 1860-; <a href='#Page_224'>224</a></p> + +<p>Hiram Rich, 1832-; <a href='#Page_275'>275</a></p> + +<p>James Whitcomb Riley, 1853-; <a href='#Page_263'>263</a>, <a href='#Page_280'>280</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>John Shaw, 1778-1809; <a href='#Page_3'>3</a></p> + +<p>Edward Rowland Sill, 1841-1887; <a href='#Page_205'>205</a>, <a href='#Page_219'>219</a>, <a href='#Page_238'>238</a>, <a href='#Page_247'>247</a>, <a href='#Page_283'>283</a></p> + +<p>Harriet Prescott Spofford, 1835-; <a href='#Page_196'>196</a>, <a href='#Page_202'>202</a></p> + +<p>Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1833-; <a href='#Page_150'>150</a>, <a href='#Page_188'>188</a>, <a href='#Page_194'>194</a></p> + +<p>Richard Henry Stoddard, 1825-; <a href='#Page_127'>127</a>, <a href='#Page_129'>129</a>, <a href='#Page_153'>153</a>, <a href='#Page_193'>193</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>John Banister Tabb, 1845-; <a href='#Page_230'>230</a>, <a href='#Page_235'>235</a>, <a href='#Page_266'>266</a>, <a href='#Page_267'>267</a></p> + +<p>Bayard Taylor, 1825-1878; <a href='#Page_85'>85</a>, <a href='#Page_119'>119</a></p> + +<p>Maurice Thompson, 1844-; <a href='#Page_294'>294</a></p> + +<p>Henry David Thoreau, 1817-1862; <a href='#Page_162'>162</a>, <a href='#Page_166'>166</a>, <a href='#Page_172'>172</a></p> + +<p>Henry Timrod, 1829-1867; <a href='#Page_104'>104</a>, <a href='#Page_140'>140</a></p> + +<p>L. Frank Tooker, 18-; <a href='#Page_260'>260</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Henry Van Dyke, 1852-; <a href='#Page_287'>287</a>, <a href='#Page_291'>291</a>, <a href='#Page_296'>296</a><br /></p> + +<p> </p> +<p>John Greenleaf Whittier, 1807-1892; <a href='#Page_69'>69</a>, <a href='#Page_87'>87</a>, <a href='#Page_130'>130</a>, <a href='#Page_137'>137</a></p> + +<p>Richard Henry Wilde, 1789-1847; <a href='#Page_4'>4</a></p> + +<p>Nathaniel Parker Willis, 1806-1867; <a href='#Page_24'>24</a></p> + +<p>Byron Forceythe Willson, 1837-1867; <a href='#Page_197'>197</a></p> + +<p>William Winter, 1836-; <a href='#Page_117'>117</a></p> + +<p>George Edward Woodberry, 1855-; <a href='#Page_273'>273</a>, <a href='#Page_289'>289</a>, <a href='#Page_290'>290</a></p> + +<p>Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842; <a href='#Page_8'>8</a></p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Treasury of American Songs +and Lyrics, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF *** + +***** This file should be named 15553-h.htm or 15553-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/5/5/15553/ + +Produced by David Kline, Karen Dalrymple and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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