[Decoration]

COLUMBUS.

Down in the darkness till earth-crust doth part,
Is the gold of the unwrought mine; Deep in recess of the lowliest heart
Rare diamonds of genius may shine. And as from its earth-bed pure gold is revealed,
To work out the projects of man, So promptings of genius, unraveled, unsealed,
Are but links in eternity's plan.
Onward, aye on o'er the fathomless brine,
From the far Castilian land; 'Neath an ardent sun, 'neath a pale moonshine,
With prow to the halcyon strand. On from the jeers of a skeptical crowd
To the goal of his long life dream; On, on from the taunts of the wisdom-proud
To the summit of vast brain scheme.
On with the aid of a womanly wit,
Which served the high-set purpose well; For the squadron's glittering sails were lit
Through fair Hispania's Isabel. Who had stooped her head, with its regal crown,
And soothed with pity's shapely hand, As to grim Suspicion's withering frown
She raised the sceptre of the land.
Onward, aye on, though the night shadows lower,
Though star lamps burn low in the sky, Onward through hurricane, cloud-rift and shower;
Still onward, whate'er may defy. Calming, controlling a mutinous crew,
The victims of loneness and fear; Deftly explaining phenomena new
With voicings of courage and cheer.
Shifting of compass, strange lights in the sky,
Strange birds on a wandering wing; "On, Oh my comrades! the guerdon is nigh;
Fresh life to my pulses doth spring. Trust me, my comrades! nor wild water-wraith,
Nor phantom his passage e'er bars Whose rudder is set with a firm-bound faith
In that Power who created the stars."
On through the drift-weed; Lo! tranquil blue seas;
With breath of a balmier air; On, hoisting their sails to the landward breeze,
On, ridding their spirits of care. Light through the darkness! bright beacons ahead!
And the mariner's sails are furled, For the errand of genius hath aptly sped,
On the rim of a great New World.
In raiment of splendor the ground he hath trod;
He looks from the sky to the main; He planteth the Cross in the name of his God,
His standard in token of Spain. And on through the cycles, in Temple of Fame,
Though nations and systems decay, The laurels which lustre Columbus' proud name
In freshness shall blossom for aye.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

Time! Ocean of boundless unrest!
Upheaving with tumult of life; While, as foam on the billowy crest,
Floats he who is first in the strife. First in the van of courage and right,
Or foremost in daring to wrong; Time bendeth low to the monarch of might,
Embalms him in story and song.
Yet lives there be which the giddy hours
Tinge lightly, as onward they wing; Rough winds may scatter Hope's fairest flowers,
The dreamer awaketh to sing. And sweet seraph tones, borne from on high,
Enliven the faltering strain; Till a golden rift streaks the dark sky,
And sunlight illumines again.
Eternity! prospect sublime!
Blessed Faith holdeth forth unto view, Where the fleeting illusions of time
Yield place to the lasting and true, Where the song never dies in a wail,
Nor sun ever sinks into gloom; Nor bright life in its splendor doth fail
'Fore darkness of death and the tomb.
When the glare and the glitter shall wane
In glow of the chrysolite sea, For leal hearts that now struggle in vain
Shall the crown of the victor be. And sorrow-dimmed lives shall relight
With warmth from an heavenly ray; And flowerets nipped by an early blight
Shall re-bloom through an endless day.

THE TREE.

WRITTEN FOR ARBOR DAY.

Thou! noblest of all nature's growth!
Where'er thy foliage falls, Thy beauty, wed to matchless worth
The willing heart enthralls.
Erst-while the Jewish exiles hung
Their harps thy boughs along And poured their wearied spirits forth
In strains of plaintive song.
So yet, 'neath shimmer of thy leaves
Roll back the waves of time, And exiled souls, in dreams return
To far, serener clime.
Before the German peasant's eyes
Thuringian forests bloom; Whilst ilex of the sunny South
Lights up Italia's gloom. The English hail their country's oak,
Through which great victories came; Since naval power, in danger's hour
Sustained old England's fame.
The ebon cross of Erin's Isle
Bedecks her loyal daughters, In every land, on every strand
Laved by the glittering waters.
Ah! sweetly 'mong the rowan-trees
Ayond the seething brine, The Scotsman hears loved melodies,
From voices o' langsyne.
A landmark thou in vale of years!
White stone in history! Loud publisher of private wrongs,
Or nation's victory.
'Neath agèd oak of Elderslie
Five centuries tell the tale How, at the name of Scotland's Chief
Her enemies turned pale.
An English yew-tree speaks her fate
Who, by a despot's breath In brilliant beauty graced a throne,
Then sank in shameful death.
Trees note the spot where Bonaparte
Surrendered at Sedan Ambition's sceptre, framed of guilt
In blood of brother man.
Whilst ever, through the cycling years,
Judea's olive tree Proclaims the sin-fought conflict gained
On dark Gethsemane.
By soul, that in the greening leaf,
The Great Designer sees, Sweet whispers from the Living Life
Are heard among the trees.
And every changing summer hue
Which decks the forest band Low bends in homage grateful hearts
To Him whose faultless hand
Doth sap the seed, and sun the stem,
And rear the structure high; Till emerald censers incense waft
Through fair, cerulean sky.
Whose artist-touch illumes the doole
Of woodland's waning green, With flashing streaks of red and gold,
Sunlit of glorious sheen.
So Faith may gaze, with restful eye,
Across this desert wold; To find the darksome shades of earth
Relieved by Heaven's bright gold.
So Hope may realize that day,
Beside the crystal river, Where, sheltered by the Tree of Life,
Pure joys flow on forever.

THE SHIPWRECK.

Thou! glorious, pure, unwavering Light!
Let not our light be vain! Grant us to see, through densest night,
Earth's direst problems plain!
A ship held fast on a treacherous reef
Lies quivering to and fro; The wild winds mocking man's relief;
Upheaving ocean's flow.
Bright crimson floods the burnished west,
Red glows the village spire; And the darkening speck, on seething crest,
Low sinks in molten fire.
Ah me! amid the tangled heap
Cast forth ere morning chime, The veteran in his unrocked sleep;
Fair youth, and manhood's prime.
What treasure lieth, tightly bound
Within that sodden vest? Which rude sea-wave hath not unwound
From off the quiet breast.
"Is't gold or pearls? grim sailor, speak!
What doth that case conceal?" But the tear adown the bronzèd cheek
All silently doth steal.
They pass it round with reverend grace;—
Only a picture fair; A woman's, and a baby's face,
And two damp locks of hair.
'Neath peaceful shades they calmly sleep
Who fought the angry wave; Nor maid, nor mother e'er shall weep
Beside her sailor's grave.
For the golden locks will dull to dark,
The brown will turn to grey; But the brave who sailed in that gallant bark
Have bade "Farewell" for aye.

DE PROFUNDIS.

I looked abroad; gloom, only gloom;
Weird, solemn, chill and densely drear; Black curtain over nature's bier; Silence oppressive as of doom.
"Oh soul!" I said, "though morn be bright,
Though gorgeous vistas charm life's day, Descends on every earth-trod way Cold mortal chill, bereavement's night."
Once more I looked; transcendent shine!
The myriad gates of light unbarred; The glowing heavens serenely starred; Dull earth transformed to scene divine.
Then said I, "Soul! would the mercy beams
Shed ever such radiant light, Had'st thou not known dark sorrow's night Or groped within this world of dreams?"

THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.

NOVEMBER 15TH, 1891.

In her calm, tender, beauty arising
She smiled as she journeyed on high; Till the shadows fled far o'er the pineland,
Till ocean smiled back to the sky. And our souls, in those genial rays basking,
Which glorified river and shore, Soared high from the loved of the life that is,
To the loved of the life evermore.
But lo! o'er the brightness, and beauty and grace
Creeps slowly a dismal, black screen; Now veiled from our eyes is the centre of light,
Earth's shadows have fallen between. A moment obscure, then a clear shining rim,
As gleam of the covenant bow; The veil is withdrawn from fair Luna's bright face,
And the heavens are again in a glow.
Thus basketh the soul in that holier light
Which beameth from Centre Divine; Thus veiled is the radiance uplifting the life
When we kneel at a worldly shrine. Yet steadfast and clear is that earth-clouded Light
The penitent, looking on high, Will view the dark curtain to density glide,
And mercy re-lighten the sky.

ERIN'S ADDRESS TO FREEDOM.

VS. LANDLORDISM.

Thou Freedom! which in years agone
Sat gloriously upon our hills; Through all these verdant valleys shone,
And sang in all those mountain rills.
Oh Thou! for whom my children fought;
Their blood upon thine altar stands; The sacrifice! was it for nought?
Is it for nought these clasp their hands?
Their wills were iron—not their lungs;—
They shrank not from the fiercest fight; Their deeds, more than ten thousand tongues,
Plead loudly for their offsprings' right.
Oh! what to us that golden age
When Athens reigned, or ancient Rome; We need not grope through history's page
To greet the scourge we find at home.
My leal ones crave no wizard wand
With topaz gleams their path to pave; But justice, freedom, fatherland,
A hopeful life, and peaceful grave.
Obedient ever to those laws
Which jar not with that Higher Will; Thou! Leader in their righteous cause,
With beacon rays their spirits fill.
Thou mayst not see—for Falsehood veils,
And Truth retires when tyrants reign— Those scenes 'fore which all nature pales,
Nor list the cry of hunger-pain.
Yet thee we hear in every breeze
That round the lonely hamlet raves; Thy mountains echo to thy seas—
"Ye sons of freemen be not slaves."
Before Despair's dim, hollow eye,
Starvation's wan and wasted cheek, Can soul of man stand idly by?
God of their fathers, aid the weak!
Through centuries of direst gloom
The Afric prayed thy dawn to see; At length there tolled Oppression's doom
Out-rung with notes of jubilee.
Too long, in Sorrow's dusky shroud
Thy glorious mien is hid from view; Now Courage wakes, and calls aloud,
Come forth! thou birthright of the true!
And Thou shalt come! for plaintive song
In minor tone, on bended knee, Shall rise the power to conquer wrong;—
And Erin's Ireland shall be free.

THE GIFT.

A basket of beautiful roses!
Snowflakes in a setting of green; Pure as the pearl that reposes
On breast of the daintiest queen. Not one, but a wealth of sweet roses!
In vases, on table and chair, Small hands, in haste have deposed them;—
Sweet incense in soft summer air.
Long faded, Oh friend! are the roses;
Long faded, and fallen away; But the fragrance such bounty discloses
Doth perfume the wintriest day. Fragrant as breath of thy roses
Thy life-deeds are wafted above;— Short season of struggle and triumph!
Bright crown of ne'er withering love.

EVER FAITHFUL.

Since thy dear love my life hath blessed,
Since thy true heart is heart of mine, Naught fearing, I shall bide the rest;
Though sunlight dim to taper-shine.
Though Time's impress hath marked thy brow,
And silver-streaked thy sunny hair; As autumn winds, before the snow
Of winter, blight the foliage fair,
Yet shall I love thee till the beam
Of lingering soul-light homeward hies; Then, where sweet zephyrs fan the stream,
Where day's bright glory never dies,
Sunned of those ever hallowing rays;
As endless cycles onward move, With glad triumph we'll join to praise
The Centre of unfathomed love.

"ONLY OUR HIRED BOY."

I.

God-beams of mercy, gleam through the dull haze;
Sunlight and soften the dark rocky ways!
Harmony pealeth o'er mountain and plain;
Alien sin-nature chimes not in refrain.
That holier season was nigh at hand
When the sympathies of the soul expand.
From the warmth and light of the fireside glow
I walked abroad o'er the glistening snow.
When a black cloud over my pathway set;
It loometh before my memory yet.
No hearse, no mourners, no tolling of bells
The one sure fate of humanity tells.
A rough-fashioned sleigh with its motley load,
Glideth quickly over the churchyard road.
The rude pine coffin is set on a stone;
Hastily earth from its earth-bed is thrown.
Lowered the dead; heavy shovels ply fast;
A few brief moments—the vision hath passed.
Nought of lamenting; no vestige of woe;
Just a dark heap, a foul blot on the snow.
Entering the gateway, I reasoned why?
Questioned the scene with a tear-bedimmed eye.
"Only our hired boy!" He carelessly turned;
My innermost soul in my bosom burned.

II.

"Only your hired boy! yet nurtured in wealth,
Gifted of beauty, and glowing with health.
"Sunned in the rays of an era sublime,
Lulled in the lap of a Christian clime.
"Suddenly fatherless, suddenly poor;
Brave mother-hands keeping want from the door.
"Oh! how the widowed heart clung to that child,
Her one bright star on the darkening wild.
"Welded in sorrow, bereavement and pain;
Time nor eternity severeth twain.
"Hard for new toilers, though strong be the will;
Weary the way up the steep, rugged hill.
"Friendship in fortune is hollow at best;
Sunset of splendor, illuming the west,
"Sinketh unseen 'fore the blackness of night,—
Her spirit reached forth to the land of light;
"She folded her boy to her aching heart,
And you—you promised to do your part.
"With a calm, sweet smile on her lips she died,
And you drew the child from his mother's side.
"Oh! well for him had he sunk to his rest,
Pillowed in peace on that motionless breast.
"Far better his fate had his young eyes closed,
Mantled in shroud where his mother reposed.

III.

"You took him home. Ah what record of shame!
To the falsity of a home in name.
"Oh stony heart! hard as his frozen bed;
Cold as the snow-drifts which sweep o'er his head.
"Your baby secure, in infancy blessed;
Warm-cradled as bird in the parent nest.
"Your elder boys safe as lambs in the fold;
That mother's loved one left out in the cold.
"Chilled by the coldest of winter's cold days;
Fevered by heat of the sun's hottest rays.
"Lodged in an outhouse, exposed to the sky;
Beasts underneath in a shelter all dry.
"Rest for the horses, but work for the slave;—
Tyrant! thy betters were death and the grave.
"Sick—yes! he told you with faltering breath;
Lazy you termed it, you beat him in death.
"Bridge you the river he crossed to atone?
Drown you with orgies the orphan's sad moan?
"Nay! for those wailings will ring in your ear;
Haunt your night visions, and follow your bier.
"Whilst that mighty Power which hath mother-love given
Will surely unite what asunder is riven.
"And fill with choice music the one silent tone,
By yielding to mother-love all of its own."

IV.

Ponder life's teachings; con each of them well;
Man, made in God's image, should earth be a hell?
Where were the justice if earth were our all!
Where, if life's limits were girt of the pall!
God of the fatherless! heard'st Thou that cry!
Wail of the orphan-soul piercing the sky.
Yes! Thou didst hear it; that bitter cold night
When the ground was crisp with its coat of white.
Thou sentest Thy angels to bear him away
From his storm-beaten garb of fragile clay.
Tired-out, aching limbs! weary frozen feet!
Ceaseless, toilsome toil! rest—Ah sweet! how sweet!
No mourner knelt down by that lowly bed;
No kindly hand pillowed that dying head.
Nought, save the starlights of loftier space
Beamed tenderly over that still, pale face.
What matter! the billows may rage and foam,
The heaven-bound soul will reach its home.
What matter! the sorrows of earth are o'er;
He hath landed safe on love's native shore.
Where glory-lit mansions resound with joy;
For the mother who lost, hath found her boy.
And glad Hallelujahs bright seraphim sing;
For the once hired boy is a crownèd king.
[Decoration]

LAURELS.

Wreaths for the warrior brave!
He conquered in the fight, Bright day chased sable night, Wave banners! proudly wave!
Laurels for statesman bold!
Men wake from callous sleep, As tones, in pathos deep, A people's wrongs unfold.
Sweet flowers with poesy chime;—
Gay-deck those poet lays Which incense care-worn ways, Raise souls to heights sublime.
Rare flowers of spotless hue
For heralds of the cross, Who fear nor shame nor loss, But type the Christ-life true.
Richest of nature's gems
Within His courts we bring; Ours, and all nature's King; King of heaven's diadems.
Chaplets for brow of toil!
Rough hands, but heart all rich, Who fitly fills his niche On God's life-giving soil.
Flowers for the suffering throng!
Oh meek! long-during band! High in the painless land Sad plaint will rise to song.
White-wreathe we infant tombs!
Where breathes no chilling blast, Where skies ne'er over cast, Hope's full fruition blooms.
Be-crown the aged heads
With sprays of evergreen! Earth waneth, heaven serene Undying lustre sheds.
Bright-fringe, Oh fragrant flowers!
Life's ever-changeful day; Till shadow's flit for aye, In amaranthine bowers.

ST. PATRICK'S DAY.

The standard of Erin! unfurl it on high!
To greet the bright day which her children hold dear; Gay joy-bells of gladness ring out to the sky!
Ring out for the Patron, the Saint, and the Seer.
Whose blessed advent woke from the dole of the grave
The nation long shrouded in paganish gloom; As with tidings of Him who suffered to save,
He pointed to life beyond death and the tomb.
This day the exile retraceth wide ocean,
To rest for a space in his far native land; Whilst minstrel-soul, tunèd to deepest devotion,
Doth chime in the music which beats on that strand.
Though tuneless the harp that rich melody poured
On the whispering zephyrs which fan thy clear streams, And voiceless the halls where thy orators soared,
In fancy full flushed with ne'er realized dreams.
Though silence reigns drear o'er Killarney's sweet lakes,
And dark cloudlets brood over loved Arranmore; Though wave of Loch Neagh in murmuring breaks
And dashes in foam on a desolate shore,
Yet, Erin! thy glory, long prisoned in night,
Will rise to shine forth in effulgence again; And Hope's rich fruition will bask in the light
Of splendor illuming each mountain and plain.
Thy shamrock may droop by thy clear sparkling fountains,
It bloometh anew o'er this far western wave; The spirit which rose[Note] 'mid the wild Kerry mountains
Yet lives in the soul of thy loyal and brave.
Not by untoward plots, or feats of the sword,
Shall thy stainless honor and truth be maintained; By purpose of right, and with help of the Lord
Shall the fondest wish of thy leal hearts be gained.
Then mourn not the ages of sorrow and wrong,
But aye keep thy future of blessing in view; Sad weeping shall merge into triumph's glad song;—
To God, to thy sires, and to Erin prove true.

TO THE POET.

I.

Ho, poet of the soul refined!
The muse within that soul enshrined,
Think'st thou to mould unto thy mind
Base, common clay?
Within the church—most holy place—
Endowed of Heaven's especial grace,
The weeds of evil grow apace,
Why not without?

II.

And yet—tis passing sad that rhyme,
Most fitting garb for theme sublime,
Should trumpet, in high sounding chime,
The thoughts of wrong.
With eagle flights all may not soar,
Nor bask in fields of richest lore,
Yet, poesy a balm should pour
O'er worldly woes.

III.

Earth's glamour fails, it cannot mar
The calm, pure radiance of the star;
Discordant music floats afar
From real song.
Essence divine! leal hearts will sing
Though baser souls mean offerings bring;
True anthems o'er the false shall ring
Eternally.

TO THE OCEAN.

Mirror of might and of splendor!
Type of immensity! Smiling in face of the upper blue;
Beautiful! crystal Sea! Yet, under thy brilliant beaming,
As chills at the heart of love When a smile o'er-gilds the placid face,
Cold under-currents move.
Over thy glistering waters,
Out of the purple haze, Thrilleth the chords of memory
With touch of other days. Once more, by thy rim, bright Ocean!
A youthful, happy band We course along the yellow sands
Afar, in fair Scotland.
Once more we plash our childish feet
Amid thy shining waves; Or shelter from the sudden gust
Within thy border caves. Ho! voices of the summer sea!
Ho! voices sweet and low! Ye mournful chant their requiem,
Those days of long ago.
He sailed upon thy whitened crest,
The choicest of our band; Thy seething surges wail his dirge
On far New Holland strand. That other sleeps—we know not where,
Who early braved thy tide;— Sing wavelets! we shall meet at length
Upon that further side.
Yes, mighty Ocean! all thy storms
Shall lull to perfect peace; And all thy weary monotones,
With rhythms sad shall cease. So now, we stand upon thy brink;
Whilst 'yond thy sparkling foam, We hear sweet voices calling us
To our eternal home.

"I GAVE HIM AN ORANGE."

FROM DR. CONROY'S EVIDENCE.

Beside the lowly couch of pain,
They watched the flickering breath; They knew that mortal skill was vain
To stem the tide of death.
For ruthless hands, and heart impure,
Though unprovoked by strife, Had aimed the missive all too sure
Which dulled the warm young life.
When skill had failed, love took its place;
The little gift was given; One moment's brightness lit the face,
And life from death seemed riven.
Oh! deep within each mother's soul
This deed of love shall tell; While He who made the wounded whole,
Such acts He noteth well.
Yea, Who the reins of right doth hold
'Yond tortuous frauds of time, Sees brazen vice, ungilt by gold,
And poverty no crime.
He shall adjudge in righteousness,
And sickness, woe and dearth, With mammon fall; and Heaven's own bliss
Outweigh the wrongs of earth.

ST. ANDREW'S DAY.

WRITTEN FOR THE CALEDONIAN CLUB.

Another year hath passed away!
Once more, a joyous band, We hail with mirth thy Natal Day,
Saint of the Heather Land.
For, though we love our Island home,
Our "home upon the wave," In Fancy's flights those shores we roam
Which Scotia's waters lave.
True Scottish hearts, in every clime,
This day lift up their voice; And Memory's joy-bells sweetly chime,
And wearied souls rejoice,
As gorgeously, to longing eyes,
Comes forth, in glory bright, Those mountains which the nearing skies
O'er-flood with purple light.
Again we climb Ben Ledi's steep,
Or skim Loch Lomond's tide; Or muse where sunbeams softly creep
Through haunts of byegone pride.
Again we tread the Solway shore,
Or banks of bonnie Dee; Or watch the Forth's proud waters pour
Into the Northern Sea.
Or gaze upon that tragic field
Which ancient minstrel sang; Where warrior died upon his shield
As shouts of battle rang.
Or hark through Bothwell's ivied towers
Soft winds sonatas play; Whilst Clutha, sparkling 'yond the bowers
Lights youth's long, golden day.
Fair land! beyond all other lands
The theme of tale and song; The present and the past clasp hands
Thy glory to prolong.
Disgrace be his, and lasting shame
Who heeds not Heaven's just laws; And, traitor to the Scottish name
Who owns not freedom's cause.
But hallowed be their memory
Who kept thy honor bright; Thy great of every century,
Even down to Wallace wight.
Now drink we to the heath-clad hills
Beloved of bard and sage; The silvery lochs, the rippling rills,
The blood-bought heritage!
And drink we too, with heart of grace,
Victoria the Good! Our queenly queen of Stuart race,
That reigned in Holyrood.
All honor to our Highland Chief!
White-wreathed of glory's crown; Who dignifieth[Note] honors brief
His sun shall ne'er go down.
And last we honor each and all
Of Celt, or Saxon blood; Whose acts attest, in hut or hall
God's type of brotherhood.

GOOD-BYE AND GOOD-NIGHT.

Good-bye! it quivers through the years,
Low-breathing of despair; The sunniest flower of life it sears,
And dulls the summer air.
It echoes through the falling leaves,
Through ocean's ebb and flow; In Spring's soft gales, in Autumn sheaves;
Sore parting, bitter woe.
It speaketh through the vacant chair
To every yearning heart; Howe'er so noble, gifted, fair,
Earth-born on earth must part.
Good-night! Oh eyes long used to weep!
Faith spans the mist of years; High o'er life's toil, death's darksome sleep,
Heaven's fair, sweet dawn appears.
Refulgent with its glorious rays,
O'er earth, o'er ocean's foam; Where'er the weary wanderer strays,
To light the spirit home.
Home to the painless, sinless land,
The never darkening sky; Where hearts ne'er break with clasp of hand;
Where friends ne'er say Good-bye.

THE ROSE.

She passed as a ray of sunshine
O'er the dark, piazza floor; And the gloaming turned to noonday
As she neared the open door, And in her white and dainty hands
A precious gift she bore.
Thou baby rose! from parent stem
Far traveller from my heart's first shrine; Sweet breathings of the olden days
Speak from each tiny leaf of thine; Thou! velvet-clad in robes of state;
Rich-crimsoned of the Hand Divine.
Sweet art thou as the dreams of youth
Or dew-drops glist 'neath orient ray; Still, smiling in thy fair, young bloom
Thou'rt frail and perishing as they; Yet, aftermath of glory-light
Doth rise o'er darkness and decay.

HOME FROM SCHOOL.

Oh! sweet the whispers of the Spring
Which stir the greening leaves; And sweet the melodies which ring
Through Autumn's golden sheaves. Oh! sweet the prattle of the rill
As, in its youthful pride, It danceth down the smiling hill
To join the foaming tide.
But, sweeter far than nature's chime
Unto a mother's ear; More tender than the river's rhyme
Those tones she longs to hear. Those notes unset to music's rule;
Those high-strung notes of joy, Which herald coming home from school;
The coming of her boy.
Oh! beauteous are the rainbow hues
Which deck the oriole's wing; And sparkling bright the pearly dews
Which 'round fair morning cling. Oh! lovely are the flowers which wreathe
Heaven's hope o'er earth's dark wold; And grander far than aught beneath,
Those orbs of gleaming gold.
But, unto mother-love aye true,
More bright than amber sky That boyish form against the blue,
With ensign cap swung high. The beauty of that fair young face
Outshines heaven's clearest star; Nor ills of time will blur its grace,
Nor fate impress one scar.
The waning year is nigh its round,
The air is crisp and cool; Though footsteps linger, love, unbound,
Doth greet my boys from school. I feel the shadows lengthening,
The twilight slipping fast; Yet, through the good God strengthening,
Dark night is soon o'erpast.
Methinks, even in that holier land,
I'll cross the pearly floor, And by the blessed angel stand
Who guards the hallowed door. And, while seraphic voices soar,
Amid supremest joys, From earth's hard school, I'll list once more
To welcome home my boys.
[Decoration]

TO
H. M. S. BLAKE.[Note]

Hail to Britannia's noble ship!
Whose pendant, streaming high Doth shadow forth a nation's might
Athwart our placid sky.
Thou comest not in pomp of power,
Nor din of battle's roar; Thy cannon wake no trembling hearts
Upon our peaceful shore.
Hail to Britannia's sailor sons!
Great sons of greatest fleet! We tender ye a welcome true
Unto fair Abegweit.[Note]
Our happy hearths, our blooming fields
We owe to such as you; For Nelson, Howard, Frobisher
Were of the "boys in blue."
Long live our noble Admiral!
May his noble deeds afford That crown which lustres poortith's brow,
And graceth prince or lord.
May bonds of sympathy unite
Great Neptune's greatest sons With lowliest tar, within whose veins
The blood of fealty runs.
And ne'er forget, on whiche'er sea
The tide of time sweeps past, Port La Joie[Note] prays you, 'yond all storm
Safe anchorage at last.

RETROSPECT.