A new star rose in Freedom’s sky
A hundred years ago;
It gleamed on Labor’s wistful eye,
With bright magnetic glow;
Hope and Courage whispered, Go,
Ye who toil and ye who wait!
Open swings the People’s gate!
Beyond the mountains and under the skies
Of the Wonderful West your Canaan lies:—
On the banks of the Beautiful River,
By the shores of the Lakes of the North,
There fortune to each will deliver
His share of the teeming earth.
A hundred years ago;
It gleamed on Labor’s wistful eye,
With bright magnetic glow;
Hope and Courage whispered, Go,
Ye who toil and ye who wait!
Open swings the People’s gate!
Beyond the mountains and under the skies
Of the Wonderful West your Canaan lies:—
On the banks of the Beautiful River,
By the shores of the Lakes of the North,
There fortune to each will deliver
His share of the teeming earth.
Jocund voices called from the dark
Hesperian solitude, saying, Hark!
Harken, ye people! come from the East,
Come from the marge of the ocean, come!
Here in the Wilderness spread a feast;
This is the poor man’s welcome home.
Hesperian solitude, saying, Hark!
Harken, ye people! come from the East,
Come from the marge of the ocean, come!
Here in the Wilderness spread a feast;
This is the poor man’s welcome home.
Hither with axe and plow;
(Carry the stripes and stars!)
Come with the faith and the vow
Of patriots wearing your scars
Like trophies, upon the victorious breast,—
Noblemen! wend to the West!
Load your rude wagon with your scanty goods
And drive to the plentiful woods;
Your wheels as they rumble shall scare
The fleet-footed deer from the road,
And waken the sulky brown bear
In his long unmolested abode;
The Redman shall gaze in dumb fear
At the wain of the strange pioneer,
His barbarous eyes vainly spell
The capital letters which tell
That the White-foot is bound
For the good hunting-ground
Where the buffaloes dwell.
(Carry the stripes and stars!)
Come with the faith and the vow
Of patriots wearing your scars
Like trophies, upon the victorious breast,—
Noblemen! wend to the West!
Load your rude wagon with your scanty goods
And drive to the plentiful woods;
Your wheels as they rumble shall scare
The fleet-footed deer from the road,
And waken the sulky brown bear
In his long unmolested abode;
The Redman shall gaze in dumb fear
At the wain of the strange pioneer,
His barbarous eyes vainly spell
The capital letters which tell
That the White-foot is bound
For the good hunting-ground
Where the buffaloes dwell.
To the Ohio Country, move on!
Bring your brain and your brawn
(Some books of the best,
Pack into the chest!)
Bring your wives and your sons,
Your maidens and lisping ones;
Your trust in God bring;
Choose a spot by a spring,
And build you a castle—a throne,
A palace of logs—but your own!
Bring your brain and your brawn
(Some books of the best,
Pack into the chest!)
Bring your wives and your sons,
Your maidens and lisping ones;
Your trust in God bring;
Choose a spot by a spring,
And build you a castle—a throne,
A palace of logs—but your own!
Happy the new-born child
Nursed in the greenwood wild;
Though his cradle be only a trough,
Account him well off;
For born to the purple is he,
The proud royal robe of the Free!
For the latest time is the best,
And the happiest place is the West,
Where man shall establish anew
Things excellent, beautiful, true!
Nursed in the greenwood wild;
Though his cradle be only a trough,
Account him well off;
For born to the purple is he,
The proud royal robe of the Free!
For the latest time is the best,
And the happiest place is the West,
Where man shall establish anew
Things excellent, beautiful, true!
THE TEACHER’S DREAM.
THE weary teacher sat alone,
While twilight gathered on:
And not a sound was heard around,
The boys and girls were gone.
While twilight gathered on:
And not a sound was heard around,
The boys and girls were gone.
The weary teacher sat alone,
Unnerved and pale was he;
Bowed by a yoke of care he spoke
In sad soliloquy:
Unnerved and pale was he;
Bowed by a yoke of care he spoke
In sad soliloquy:
“Another round, another round
Of labor thrown away,
Another chain of toil and pain
Dragged through a tedious day.
Of labor thrown away,
Another chain of toil and pain
Dragged through a tedious day.
“Of no avail is constant zeal,
Love’s sacrifice is loss,
The hopes of morn, so golden, turn,
Each evening, into dross.
Love’s sacrifice is loss,
The hopes of morn, so golden, turn,
Each evening, into dross.
“I squander on a barren field
My strength, my life, my all;
The seeds I sow will never grow,
They perish where they fall.”
My strength, my life, my all;
The seeds I sow will never grow,
They perish where they fall.”
He sighed, and low upon his hands
His aching brow he prest,
And like a spell upon him fell
A soothing sense of rest.
His aching brow he prest,
And like a spell upon him fell
A soothing sense of rest.
Ere long he lifted drowsy eyes,
When, on his startled view,
The room by strange and sudden change
To vast proportions grew!
When, on his startled view,
The room by strange and sudden change
To vast proportions grew!
It seemed a senate house, and one
Addressed a listening throng;
Each burning word all bosoms stirred,
Applause rose loud and long.
Addressed a listening throng;
Each burning word all bosoms stirred,
Applause rose loud and long.
The wildered teacher thought he knew
The speaker’s voice and look,
“And for his name,” said he, “the same
Is in my record-book.”
The speaker’s voice and look,
“And for his name,” said he, “the same
Is in my record-book.”
The stately congress hall dissolved,
A church rose in its place,
Wherein there stood a man of God,
Dispensing words of grace.
A church rose in its place,
Wherein there stood a man of God,
Dispensing words of grace.
And though he heard the solemn voice,
And saw the beard of gray,
The teacher’s thought was strangely wrought
“My yearning heart to-day
And saw the beard of gray,
The teacher’s thought was strangely wrought
“My yearning heart to-day
“Wept for this youth whose wayward will
Against persuasion strove,
Compelling force, love’s last resource,
To stablish laws of love.”
Against persuasion strove,
Compelling force, love’s last resource,
To stablish laws of love.”
The church, a phantasm, vanished soon;
What shadowy picture then?
In classic gloom of alcoved room
An author plied his pen.
What shadowy picture then?
In classic gloom of alcoved room
An author plied his pen.
“My idlest lad!” the master said,
Filled with a new surprise,
“Shall I behold his name enrolled
Among the great and wise?”
Filled with a new surprise,
“Shall I behold his name enrolled
Among the great and wise?”
The vision of a cottage home
Was now through tears descried:
A mother’s face illumed the place
Her influence sanctified.
Was now through tears descried:
A mother’s face illumed the place
Her influence sanctified.
“A miracle! a miracle!
This matron well I know!
She was a wild and careless child
Not half an hour ago.
This matron well I know!
She was a wild and careless child
Not half an hour ago.
“Now, when she to her children speaks
Of duty’s golden rule,
Her lips repeat, in accents sweet,
My words to her at school.”
Of duty’s golden rule,
Her lips repeat, in accents sweet,
My words to her at school.”
Dim on the teacher’s brain returned
The humble school-room old;
Upon the wall did darkness fall,
The evening air was cold.
The humble school-room old;
Upon the wall did darkness fall,
The evening air was cold.
“A dream!” the sleeper, waking, said,
Then paced along the floor,
And, whistling low and soft and slow,
He locked the school-house door.
Then paced along the floor,
And, whistling low and soft and slow,
He locked the school-house door.
BY THEIR FRUITS.
PESTALOZZI.
For the 150th anniversary of the birthday of Pestalozzi, celebrated in Cincinnati, January 13, 1896.
THROUGH vasty shades of savage Occident
The Ohio groped what time the man I sing
Took first quick draught of that free element
That thrills Swiss life, and felt the quivering
Of Alpine light which welcomed him to earth.
In Zurich then was born—sublime event—
A man-child in whose soul new gospels waited birth.
The Ohio groped what time the man I sing
Took first quick draught of that free element
That thrills Swiss life, and felt the quivering
Of Alpine light which welcomed him to earth.
In Zurich then was born—sublime event—
A man-child in whose soul new gospels waited birth.
The world is ever plastic in the hand
Of humble saviours fearless of the cross:
One self-forgetting hero may command
And mould the future, scorning present loss:
Meek Pestalozzi, herding in his mind
Helvetia’s strayling little children, planned
By their salvation surely to redeem mankind.
Of humble saviours fearless of the cross:
One self-forgetting hero may command
And mould the future, scorning present loss:
Meek Pestalozzi, herding in his mind
Helvetia’s strayling little children, planned
By their salvation surely to redeem mankind.
Much hope, more love possessed him, but most grief;
His heart, a mourner, sobbed o’er common woe:
Did the Almighty slumber or seem deaf
To wails ascending from His poor below?
Nay, Heaven remembers every bitter tear,
Yet mundane ills must seek on earth relief;
Lo, the Divine hath found a human volunteer.
His heart, a mourner, sobbed o’er common woe:
Did the Almighty slumber or seem deaf
To wails ascending from His poor below?
Nay, Heaven remembers every bitter tear,
Yet mundane ills must seek on earth relief;
Lo, the Divine hath found a human volunteer.
By sad Lucern arose the children’s cry,
The shelterless, the poor, the innocent;
The man of Zurich spake: “They must not die:
War cast them out, but I by Peace am sent
To father them and mother them and feed
Their bodies and their spirits; need have I
None other than to share their utmost dolorous need.
The shelterless, the poor, the innocent;
The man of Zurich spake: “They must not die:
War cast them out, but I by Peace am sent
To father them and mother them and feed
Their bodies and their spirits; need have I
None other than to share their utmost dolorous need.
“Oh, better never to be born at all
Than live forlorn, the victim of neglect!
To fall from brotherhood is lowest fall.
Lift up the low! bid man’s soul stand erect!
On Education found the Church and State.
I send through Europe my imploring call:
Millennial blessings round the Kindergarten wait!
Than live forlorn, the victim of neglect!
To fall from brotherhood is lowest fall.
Lift up the low! bid man’s soul stand erect!
On Education found the Church and State.
I send through Europe my imploring call:
Millennial blessings round the Kindergarten wait!
“Unfold what is within! Develop! Make
Full, fragrant efflorescence of the soul!
Let bloom the brain and call the heart awake!
Nothing repress; expand the being, whole,
Complete and perfect under nature’s awe,
Our dear Schoolmistress.” Thus prophetic spake
A voice of faith, forecharged with evolution’s law.
Full, fragrant efflorescence of the soul!
Let bloom the brain and call the heart awake!
Nothing repress; expand the being, whole,
Complete and perfect under nature’s awe,
Our dear Schoolmistress.” Thus prophetic spake
A voice of faith, forecharged with evolution’s law.
Thus the reformer’s zealous wisdom taught:
Thus, sometime, plead with Bonaparte austere,
Who, scorning prophecy in soaring thought
Of self, flung answer with a royal sneer:
“We can’t be troubled with the A-B-C!”
Vain Emperor! the sword with which he fought
Made slaves which battling alphabets set free.
Thus, sometime, plead with Bonaparte austere,
Who, scorning prophecy in soaring thought
Of self, flung answer with a royal sneer:
“We can’t be troubled with the A-B-C!”
Vain Emperor! the sword with which he fought
Made slaves which battling alphabets set free.
The culture-captain had his marshals, too,
Ritter and Froebel and a legion more;
They proselyted nations, old and new,
They set their banners fair on every shore;
A million teachers follow in the way
The martyr opened to the good and true;
Our children bask in beam of Pestalozzi’s day.
Ritter and Froebel and a legion more;
They proselyted nations, old and new,
They set their banners fair on every shore;
A million teachers follow in the way
The martyr opened to the good and true;
Our children bask in beam of Pestalozzi’s day.
He deemed his lavish life of no avail,
Dim was his prospect of the Promised Land;
But even then when faith and hope did fail,
The seed, wide scattered from his weary hand,
Was springing, waving, bursting into flower;
For grain of truth is waft on every gale
And sinks in every soil its root of deathless power.
Dim was his prospect of the Promised Land;
But even then when faith and hope did fail,
The seed, wide scattered from his weary hand,
Was springing, waving, bursting into flower;
For grain of truth is waft on every gale
And sinks in every soil its root of deathless power.
He fell in conflict, but the field was won;
First Democrat of Culture! Thinker brave!
Hail, Switzerland, proud mother of such son,
Heap laurel garlands on his honored grave!
In flowers hide its consecrated sod!
Time writes his shining epitaph: “Well done!”
And Science vindicates his confidence in God.
First Democrat of Culture! Thinker brave!
Hail, Switzerland, proud mother of such son,
Heap laurel garlands on his honored grave!
In flowers hide its consecrated sod!
Time writes his shining epitaph: “Well done!”
And Science vindicates his confidence in God.
“THERE IS NO CASTE IN BLOOD.”
IN Gunga’s vale is heard
Siddhartha’s sacred word;
Thrill, heart of Hindustan!
Good tidings! Man is Man.
The Sudra’s eyes grow dim
With tears, for unto him
Thus spake Siddhartha good,
“There is no caste in blood.”
Siddhartha’s sacred word;
Thrill, heart of Hindustan!
Good tidings! Man is Man.
The Sudra’s eyes grow dim
With tears, for unto him
Thus spake Siddhartha good,
“There is no caste in blood.”
Take comfort, humble soul!
The ages hopeward roll;
Time grows compassionate;
Thou art not doomed by Fate;
Religion shall prevail;—
Hail! blessed Buddha! hail!
Proclaim thy message good,
“There is no caste in blood.”
The ages hopeward roll;
Time grows compassionate;
Thou art not doomed by Fate;
Religion shall prevail;—
Hail! blessed Buddha! hail!
Proclaim thy message good,
“There is no caste in blood.”
VIVA LA GUERRA.
April 23, 1898.
VIVA la Guerra!
That is Spain’s cry;
This our reply:
Viva la Guerra!
That is Spain’s cry;
This our reply:
Viva la Guerra!
Saber clash saber!
Scath visit scath!
Wrath answer wrath!
Saber clash saber.
Scath visit scath!
Wrath answer wrath!
Saber clash saber.
Army front army!
People or crown,
Which shall go down?
Army face army.
People or crown,
Which shall go down?
Army face army.
Cannon to cannon,
Powder and ball!
God over all!
Cannon to cannon.
Powder and ball!
God over all!
Cannon to cannon.
BATTLE CRY.
May 1, 1898.
THE loud drums are rolling, the mad trumpets blow!
To battle! the war is begun and we go
To humble the pride of an arrogant foe!
To battle! the war is begun and we go
To humble the pride of an arrogant foe!
The ensign and standard which wave for the Crown
Of Castile and Aragon—trample them down!
Granada and Leon and haughty Navarre
Shall lower their banner to Cuba’s lone star!
Of Castile and Aragon—trample them down!
Granada and Leon and haughty Navarre
Shall lower their banner to Cuba’s lone star!
Now under Old Glory, the Blue and the Gray
United march shoulder to shoulder away,
To meet the Hidalgos in furious fray.
United march shoulder to shoulder away,
To meet the Hidalgos in furious fray.
With musket and haversack ready are we
To tramp the globe over, to sweep every sea,
From isles of dead Philip to Florida’s Key.
To tramp the globe over, to sweep every sea,
From isles of dead Philip to Florida’s Key.
We think of the Maine and our hot bosoms swell
With rage of love’s sorrow, which vengeance must quell,
And then we are ready to storm gates of Hell.
With rage of love’s sorrow, which vengeance must quell,
And then we are ready to storm gates of Hell.
Our flag streams aloft by the tempest unfurled!
We strike for a Continent;—nay, for the World!
Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! the thunder is hurled!
We strike for a Continent;—nay, for the World!
Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! the thunder is hurled!
EL EMPLAZADO.
EL Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One,
Spain whom the nations denounce and abhor,
Robe thy dismay in the black sanbenito,
Come to the frowning tribunal of war.
Spain whom the nations denounce and abhor,
Robe thy dismay in the black sanbenito,
Come to the frowning tribunal of war.
Curst were thy minions, their roster and scutcheon,
Alvas, Alfonsos, archarchons of hate;
Pillared on bigotry, pride, and extortion,
Topples to ruin thy mansion of state.
Alvas, Alfonsos, archarchons of hate;
Pillared on bigotry, pride, and extortion,
Topples to ruin thy mansion of state.
Violence, Cruelty, Intrigue, and Treason,
These the false courtiers who flattered thy throne;
Empires, thy sisters, forbode thee disaster,
Even thy children their mother disown.
These the false courtiers who flattered thy throne;
Empires, thy sisters, forbode thee disaster,
Even thy children their mother disown.
Suppliant Cuba, thy daughter forsaken,
Famished and bleeding and buffeted sore,
Ghastly from gashes and stabs of thy rancor,
Binds up her wounds at an alien door.
Famished and bleeding and buffeted sore,
Ghastly from gashes and stabs of thy rancor,
Binds up her wounds at an alien door.
Courts and corregidors erst at thy bidding
Banished or butchered Moresco and Jew;
Ghosts from all Christendom, shades of the Martyrs
Flock from the sepulcher thee to pursue.
Banished or butchered Moresco and Jew;
Ghosts from all Christendom, shades of the Martyrs
Flock from the sepulcher thee to pursue.
Wrath of retributive justice o’ertakes thee:
Brand of time’s malison blisters thy brow:
Armed cabelleros and crowned kings of Bourbon,
All are unable to succor thee now.
Brand of time’s malison blisters thy brow:
Armed cabelleros and crowned kings of Bourbon,
All are unable to succor thee now.
NATIONAL SONG.
Dedicated to the Business Men’s Club of Cincinnati, May 13, 1903.
AMERICA, my own!
Thy spacious grandeurs rise
Faming the proudest zone
Pavilioned by the skies;
Day’s flying glory breaks
Thy vales and mountains o’er,
And gilds thy streams and lakes
From ocean shore to shore.
Thy spacious grandeurs rise
Faming the proudest zone
Pavilioned by the skies;
Day’s flying glory breaks
Thy vales and mountains o’er,
And gilds thy streams and lakes
From ocean shore to shore.
Praised be thy wood and wold,
Thy corn and wine and flocks,
The yellow blood of gold
Drained from thy cañon rocks;
Thy trains that shake the land,
Thy ships that plow the main,
Triumphant cities grand
Roaring with noise of gain.
Thy corn and wine and flocks,
The yellow blood of gold
Drained from thy cañon rocks;
Thy trains that shake the land,
Thy ships that plow the main,
Triumphant cities grand
Roaring with noise of gain.
Earth’s races look to Thee:
The peoples of the world
Thy risen splendors see
And thy wide flag unfurled;
Thy sons, in peace or war,
That emblem who behold,
Bless every shining star,
Cheer every streaming fold!
The peoples of the world
Thy risen splendors see
And thy wide flag unfurled;
Thy sons, in peace or war,
That emblem who behold,
Bless every shining star,
Cheer every streaming fold!
Float high, O gallant flag,
O’er Carib Isles of palm,
O’er bleak Alaskan crag,
O’er far-off lone Guam;
Where Mauna Loa pours
Black thunder from the deeps;
O’er Mindanao’s shores,
O’er Luzon’s coral steeps.
O’er Carib Isles of palm,
O’er bleak Alaskan crag,
O’er far-off lone Guam;
Where Mauna Loa pours
Black thunder from the deeps;
O’er Mindanao’s shores,
O’er Luzon’s coral steeps.
RIGHT OF MIGHT.
I DO enlist me in the cause of man,
The old, dear cause of liberty for all,
The hope of history since bards began
To sing inspired heroic battle-call.
The old, dear cause of liberty for all,
The hope of history since bards began
To sing inspired heroic battle-call.
The precious purchase of ten thousand years,
The slow-won gains hard held at awful cost
Of toil and thought and grief and blood and tears—
Shall these be stolen from the world, and lost?
The slow-won gains hard held at awful cost
Of toil and thought and grief and blood and tears—
Shall these be stolen from the world, and lost?
These to retain, must force, perforce, alas,
Lift up her banners and her thunders hurl:
Then, when the reign of cruelty shall pass,
Dare Charity her fighting ensign furl.
Lift up her banners and her thunders hurl:
Then, when the reign of cruelty shall pass,
Dare Charity her fighting ensign furl.
JAMES E. MURDOCH.
On His Eightieth Birthday.
FOUR-score! That gallant stripling? No!
That passion-breathing Romeo,
Who climbed, last night, the garden wall,
Mocked by Mercutio’s madcap call!
That passion-breathing Romeo,
Who climbed, last night, the garden wall,
Mocked by Mercutio’s madcap call!
Four-score? What, he? Charles Surface? Nay;
He is as young as blooming May;
You do but jest; I know him well—
Who can forget wild Mirabel?
He is as young as blooming May;
You do but jest; I know him well—
Who can forget wild Mirabel?
Whatever the costume, forsooth,
The same inimitable youth!
Marked you the sables Hamlet wore,
Dark-plumed, in moonlit Elsinore?
The same inimitable youth!
Marked you the sables Hamlet wore,
Dark-plumed, in moonlit Elsinore?
Gray locks? Believe the joke who can!
They “make him up” to play “old man”;
Pluck off the wig! Crow’s feet erase!
And recognize wag Murdoch’s face!
They “make him up” to play “old man”;
Pluck off the wig! Crow’s feet erase!
And recognize wag Murdoch’s face!
Nay;—sober Time his card holds high,
And, swearing figures will not lie,
Adds up the years and proves the date:
See, in the ten’s place, here, an eight.
And, swearing figures will not lie,
Adds up the years and proves the date:
See, in the ten’s place, here, an eight.
So be it; Chronos, go thy ways;
Our friend grows old and full of days;
His frame may bend to Time’s control,
But Time is servant to his soul.
Our friend grows old and full of days;
His frame may bend to Time’s control,
But Time is servant to his soul.
His drama on the world’s wide stage,
Now in the last calm scene, old age,
Has been throughout legitimate,
In motive true, performance great.
Now in the last calm scene, old age,
Has been throughout legitimate,
In motive true, performance great.
Whoever thus fulfils his part
Achieves the uttermost of art;
Who thus the scene of life has trod
Pleases the Manager—his God.
Achieves the uttermost of art;
Who thus the scene of life has trod
Pleases the Manager—his God.
Or soon or late, exeunt all—
The bell will ring, the curtain fall,
And we, the actors, put away
The masking garments of the play.
The bell will ring, the curtain fall,
And we, the actors, put away
The masking garments of the play.
When we from off the boards have passed,
And every light is out at last,
We’ll leave the theater and go
Where real life replaces show.
And every light is out at last,
We’ll leave the theater and go
Where real life replaces show.
THE CONCORD SEER.
THE Transcendentalist—he now transcends
The cloud of death to join exalted friends.
The Saadi of the West, the Saint, the Sage,
The north-sprung Plato of an un-Greek age,
Hath changed his habitation, and his ghost
Takes note authentic of the unknown coast.
Ah, joy serene! there doth he recognize
Congenial souls foreknown “polite and wise”:—
Two bards were first to hail his risen wraith,
One sang the Psalm of Life, one that of Death;
Then mystic Hawthorne took his willing hand,
As Vergil Dante’s in the Shadow Land;
Now haply doth his converse reconcile
Momentous discords with redeemed Carlyle;
Perhaps in Soul’s consortable domain
He meets the shade of erudite Montaigne;
Or German-Grecian Goethe shows the way
To Fields Elysian where the Ancients stray;—
By some celestial brook of lucent flow,
Where plane-trees with immortal verdure grow,
May sit, discoursing calm philosophies,
The Concord Seer, with argute Socrates.
The cloud of death to join exalted friends.
The Saadi of the West, the Saint, the Sage,
The north-sprung Plato of an un-Greek age,
Hath changed his habitation, and his ghost
Takes note authentic of the unknown coast.
Ah, joy serene! there doth he recognize
Congenial souls foreknown “polite and wise”:—
Two bards were first to hail his risen wraith,
One sang the Psalm of Life, one that of Death;
Then mystic Hawthorne took his willing hand,
As Vergil Dante’s in the Shadow Land;
Now haply doth his converse reconcile
Momentous discords with redeemed Carlyle;
Perhaps in Soul’s consortable domain
He meets the shade of erudite Montaigne;
Or German-Grecian Goethe shows the way
To Fields Elysian where the Ancients stray;—
By some celestial brook of lucent flow,
Where plane-trees with immortal verdure grow,
May sit, discoursing calm philosophies,
The Concord Seer, with argute Socrates.
THE POET OF CLOVERNOOK.
READ at the Celebration of Alice Cary’s birthday,
to the children of the Public Schools of
Cincinnati, April 26, 1880.
to the children of the Public Schools of
Cincinnati, April 26, 1880.
A POET born, not made,
By Nature taught, she knew,
And, knowing, still obeyed
The Beautiful, the True.
By Nature taught, she knew,
And, knowing, still obeyed
The Beautiful, the True.
Hers was the seeing eye,
The sympathetic heart,
The subtle art whereby
Lone genius summons art.
The sympathetic heart,
The subtle art whereby
Lone genius summons art.
She caught the primal charm
Of every rural scene,—
Of river, cottage, farm,
Blue sky, and woodland green.
Of every rural scene,—
Of river, cottage, farm,
Blue sky, and woodland green.
Baptized in Sorrow’s stream,
She sang, how sweetly well,
Of true Love’s tender dream,
And Death’s pale asphodel.
She sang, how sweetly well,
Of true Love’s tender dream,
And Death’s pale asphodel.
Her pensive muse has fled
From hill and meadow-brook;
No more her footsteps tread
Thy paths, fair Clovernook.
From hill and meadow-brook;
No more her footsteps tread
Thy paths, fair Clovernook.
No more may she behold
The dew-crowned Summer morn
On wings of sunrise gold
Fly o’er the bending corn.
The dew-crowned Summer morn
On wings of sunrise gold
Fly o’er the bending corn.
No more her mournful gaze
Shall seek the twilight sky,
When parting Autumn days
Flush hectic ere they die.
Shall seek the twilight sky,
When parting Autumn days
Flush hectic ere they die.
Nor note of joyous bird,
Nor April’s fragrant breath,
Nor tear, nor loving word,
May break the spell of Death.
Nor April’s fragrant breath,
Nor tear, nor loving word,
May break the spell of Death.
THE GREENFIELD WIZARD.
(J. W. R.)
TWO things there are in heaven above
And earth below—the greater, Love,
The lesser, Death—and therefor grew
Heart’s-ease and rosemary and rue
And myrrh and moly, magic plants;
These, and a common rose or two
Besprent with Indiana dew,
My wizard gathers from their haunts;
Distils the balmy, subtle juice
To make a spell of potent use;
Filters a seeming simple wine
Nectared with some drops most rare—
(How he finds the tinct or where,
Not the critics can divine!)
Whoso gives the wine his lips,
Sipping smiles, and laughing sips;
But, before he drinks it up,
Tears have trickled in the cup.
And earth below—the greater, Love,
The lesser, Death—and therefor grew
Heart’s-ease and rosemary and rue
And myrrh and moly, magic plants;
These, and a common rose or two
Besprent with Indiana dew,
My wizard gathers from their haunts;
Distils the balmy, subtle juice
To make a spell of potent use;
Filters a seeming simple wine
Nectared with some drops most rare—
(How he finds the tinct or where,
Not the critics can divine!)
Whoso gives the wine his lips,
Sipping smiles, and laughing sips;
But, before he drinks it up,
Tears have trickled in the cup.
WILLIAM BAIRD OF RIDGEVILLE.
NOW who is the delightfulest
Old soldier that shakes hands with you?
The genial host, the welcome guest,
The teeming brain, the bosom true,
The soul of song and merry jest?
The prince of all good fellows, who?
“Why, William Baird of Ridgeville!”
Old soldier that shakes hands with you?
The genial host, the welcome guest,
The teeming brain, the bosom true,
The soul of song and merry jest?
The prince of all good fellows, who?
“Why, William Baird of Ridgeville!”
Whenever meets the G. A. R.,
Through rain or dust he hies to town;
He gladdens the excursion car,
And, as his regiment tramps down
The gala street, you hear afar
The marching measure, “Old John Brown,”
From William Baird of Ridgeville.
Through rain or dust he hies to town;
He gladdens the excursion car,
And, as his regiment tramps down
The gala street, you hear afar
The marching measure, “Old John Brown,”
From William Baird of Ridgeville.
Then all the casements open wide,
A thousand flags are shaken free,
The balconies on either side
Are loud with shouts of jubilee,
And thrilling maidens wave with pride
Their kerchiefs, laughing, crying: “See!
That’s William Baird of Ridgeville!”
A thousand flags are shaken free,
The balconies on either side
Are loud with shouts of jubilee,
And thrilling maidens wave with pride
Their kerchiefs, laughing, crying: “See!
That’s William Baird of Ridgeville!”
All children feel his gracious charm,—
Of gentle birth, or sprung of churls;
From hut and mansion, street and farm,
Troop eager round him lads and girls;
The baby leaves its mother’s arm
To ride the shoulder, pull the curls
Of William Baird of Ridgeville.
Of gentle birth, or sprung of churls;
From hut and mansion, street and farm,
Troop eager round him lads and girls;
The baby leaves its mother’s arm
To ride the shoulder, pull the curls
Of William Baird of Ridgeville.
The fools in flock from William fly,
Like fluttered sparrows from a hawk;
The women hover warmly nigh,
Like bees around a lily-stalk,—
Enchanted by the sparkling eye
And by the spiced and nectared talk
Of William Baird of Ridgeville.
Like fluttered sparrows from a hawk;
The women hover warmly nigh,
Like bees around a lily-stalk,—
Enchanted by the sparkling eye
And by the spiced and nectared talk
Of William Baird of Ridgeville.
Yet Bill is not a ladies’ man;
He consorts with “the boys”;—he jokes—
This front-faced, sturdy veteran—
With common and uncommon folks;
He’s not the least a Puritan:—
Sometimes he drinks, and daily smokes
His briar-pipe, at Ridgeville.
He consorts with “the boys”;—he jokes—
This front-faced, sturdy veteran—
With common and uncommon folks;
He’s not the least a Puritan:—
Sometimes he drinks, and daily smokes
His briar-pipe, at Ridgeville.
Wit’s gold is minted in his brain
And glitters from his lavish tongue:
The gravest deacon frowns in vain
To quench the laughter; old and young
Report the brilliant quips that rain
Like scattered pearls at random flung
By William Baird of Ridgeville.
And glitters from his lavish tongue:
The gravest deacon frowns in vain
To quench the laughter; old and young
Report the brilliant quips that rain
Like scattered pearls at random flung
By William Baird of Ridgeville.
No wight can counterfeit or steal
What unpremeditated art
Gives him to improvise, to feel,
To waken in the answering heart;
What they from learning’s pride conceal,
The Muses uninvoked impart
To William Baird of Ridgeville.
What unpremeditated art
Gives him to improvise, to feel,
To waken in the answering heart;
What they from learning’s pride conceal,
The Muses uninvoked impart
To William Baird of Ridgeville.
An unambitious soul hath Bill;
The man is modest as a maid;
Down at the foot of fortune’s hill
His genius bides in calm and shade;
He reads his Shakespeare, dreams his fill;
A scythe he swings or plies a spade,—
Bold Captain Baird of Ridgeville.
The man is modest as a maid;
Down at the foot of fortune’s hill
His genius bides in calm and shade;
He reads his Shakespeare, dreams his fill;
A scythe he swings or plies a spade,—
Bold Captain Baird of Ridgeville.
Nor wife nor child his arms enfold;
No, no—he is a bachelor;
Yet, in his bosom aches an old
Deep wound which antedates the war;
He mourns—so is the secret told—
His dear, dead sweetheart, Eleanor;—
True William Baird of Ridgeville.
No, no—he is a bachelor;
Yet, in his bosom aches an old
Deep wound which antedates the war;
He mourns—so is the secret told—
His dear, dead sweetheart, Eleanor;—
True William Baird of Ridgeville.
LET’S SHAKE.
Impromptu.
YOU thought you would take me, you say, by surprise!
You rascal! I knew you the moment my eyes
Lit on your old phiz, and I couldn’t mistake
Your voice nor your motions. How are you?
Let’s shake!
You rascal! I knew you the moment my eyes
Lit on your old phiz, and I couldn’t mistake
Your voice nor your motions. How are you?
Let’s shake!
Train late? But you got here? Now why did you wire
Me not to expect you, you measureless liar?
Come up to my den, and by jolly! we’ll make
A night of it—where is your luggage?
Let’s shake!
Me not to expect you, you measureless liar?
Come up to my den, and by jolly! we’ll make
A night of it—where is your luggage?
Let’s shake!
Say, how have you been? Let me look in your face;
Have you won, have you lost, in the strenuous race?
Have you knocked the persimmons and taken the cake?
No? Here’s a small wallet—we’ll share it—
Let’s shake!
Have you won, have you lost, in the strenuous race?
Have you knocked the persimmons and taken the cake?
No? Here’s a small wallet—we’ll share it—
Let’s shake!
You may bank on my heart,—it is truer than gold;
Hot, hotter it grows as the world waxes cold;
Through flood and through flame I would go for your sake,
That’s so, Bill, you grizzly old humbug,
Let’s shake!
Hot, hotter it grows as the world waxes cold;
Through flood and through flame I would go for your sake,
That’s so, Bill, you grizzly old humbug,
Let’s shake!
You’re married, I dare say, or leastwise, in love?
Speak out, for you know we are like hand and glove;
I used to think you and Belle Esmond would wed;—
Yes, yes, as I wrote you, the baby is dead;—
I feared for awhile that my wife’s heart must break;
Your hand, dear old comrade—don’t mind me,—
Let’s shake!
Speak out, for you know we are like hand and glove;
I used to think you and Belle Esmond would wed;—
Yes, yes, as I wrote you, the baby is dead;—
I feared for awhile that my wife’s heart must break;
Your hand, dear old comrade—don’t mind me,—
Let’s shake!
God bless you! I’m awfully glad you are here,
You must not make fun of this womanish tear;
He was only a baby, scarce two Aprils old,
But, William, I tell you they do get a hold
Of the heartstrings, these babies, and, since ours went,
Why, somehow or other, we’re not quite content
With this planet;—but when all our miseries here
Are over, I hope we may strike a new sphere
Up yonder, where hearts never hunger nor ache;—
You’ll get there, I reckon, if I do?
Let’s shake!
You must not make fun of this womanish tear;
He was only a baby, scarce two Aprils old,
But, William, I tell you they do get a hold
Of the heartstrings, these babies, and, since ours went,
Why, somehow or other, we’re not quite content
With this planet;—but when all our miseries here
Are over, I hope we may strike a new sphere
Up yonder, where hearts never hunger nor ache;—
You’ll get there, I reckon, if I do?
Let’s shake!
A WELCOME TO BOZ.
Impromptu.
IN immortal Weller’s name,
By Micawber’s deathless fame,
By the flogging wreaked on Squeers,
By Job Trotter’s fluent tears,
By the beadle Bumble’s fate
At the hands of vixen mate,
By the famous Pickwick Club,
By the dream of Gabriel Grubb,
In the name of Snodgrass’ muse,
Tupman’s amorous interviews,
Winkle’s ludicrous mishaps,
And the fat boy’s countless naps,
By Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer,
By Miss Sally Brass, the lawyer,
In the name of Newman Noggs,
River Thames and London fogs,
Richard Swiveller’s excess,
Feasting with the Marchioness,
By Jack Bunsby’s oracles,
By the chime of Christmas bells,
By the cricket on the hearth,
Scrooge’s frown and Crotchit’s mirth,
By spread tables and good cheer,
Wayside inns and pots of beer,
Hostess plump and jolly host,
Coaches for the country post,
Chambermaid in love with Boots,
Toodles, Traddles, Tapley, Toots,
Jarley, Varden, Mister Dick,
Susan Nipper, Mistress Chick,
Snevellicci, Lilyvick,
Mantalini’s predilections
To transfer his “dem” affections,
Podsnap, Pecksniff, Chuzzlewit,
Quilp and Simon Tappertit,
Weg and Boffin, Smike and Paul,
Nell and Jenny Wren and all,—
Be not Sairy Gamp forgot,—
No, nor Peggotty and Trot,—
By poor Barnaby and Grip,
Dora, Flora, Di and Gip,
Perrybingle, Pinch and Pip—
Welcome, long-expected guest,
Welcome, Dickens, to the West.
By Micawber’s deathless fame,
By the flogging wreaked on Squeers,
By Job Trotter’s fluent tears,
By the beadle Bumble’s fate
At the hands of vixen mate,
By the famous Pickwick Club,
By the dream of Gabriel Grubb,
In the name of Snodgrass’ muse,
Tupman’s amorous interviews,
Winkle’s ludicrous mishaps,
And the fat boy’s countless naps,
By Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer,
By Miss Sally Brass, the lawyer,
In the name of Newman Noggs,
River Thames and London fogs,
Richard Swiveller’s excess,
Feasting with the Marchioness,
By Jack Bunsby’s oracles,
By the chime of Christmas bells,
By the cricket on the hearth,
Scrooge’s frown and Crotchit’s mirth,
By spread tables and good cheer,
Wayside inns and pots of beer,
Hostess plump and jolly host,
Coaches for the country post,
Chambermaid in love with Boots,
Toodles, Traddles, Tapley, Toots,
Jarley, Varden, Mister Dick,
Susan Nipper, Mistress Chick,
Snevellicci, Lilyvick,
Mantalini’s predilections
To transfer his “dem” affections,
Podsnap, Pecksniff, Chuzzlewit,
Quilp and Simon Tappertit,
Weg and Boffin, Smike and Paul,
Nell and Jenny Wren and all,—
Be not Sairy Gamp forgot,—
No, nor Peggotty and Trot,—
By poor Barnaby and Grip,
Dora, Flora, Di and Gip,
Perrybingle, Pinch and Pip—
Welcome, long-expected guest,
Welcome, Dickens, to the West.