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GRAHAM'S
AMERICAN MONTHLY
MAGAZINE
EMBELLISHED WITH
MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.
WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING, HENRY
W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, J. R. LOWELL.
MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, MRS. EMMA C.
EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY, MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.
PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.
G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.
VOLUME XXXIII.
PHILADELPHIA:
SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.
.........
1848.
CONTENTS
OF THE
THIRTY-THIRD VOLUME.
JUNE, 1848, TO JANUARY, 1849.
A Night on the Ice. By Solitaire 18 Aunt Mable's Love Story. By Susan Pindar 107 Angila Mervale. By F. E. F. 121 A Written Leaf of Memory. By Fanny Lee 137 An Indian-Summer Ramble. By A. B. Street 147 A Leaf in the Life of Ledyard Lincoln. By Mary Spencer Pease 197 A Pic-Nic in Olden Time. By G. G. Foster 229 A Dream Within a Dream. By C. A. Washburn 233 A Scene on the Susquehanna. By Joseph R. Chandler 275 A Legend of Clare. By J. Gerahty M'teague 278 A Day or Two in the Olden Time. By A New Contributor 287 De Lamartine. By Francis J. Grund 25 Edith Maurice. By T. S. Arthur 284 Fiel a la Muerte, or True Loves Devotion. By Henry W. Herbert 4, 84, 153 Going to Heaven. By T. S. Arthur 13 Game-Birds of America. By Prof. Frost 291 Gems from Late Readings 295 Game-Birds of America. By Prof. Frost 357 Gems from Late Readings 364 My Aunt Polly. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney 34 Mexican Jealousy. By Ecolier 172 Mary Dunbar. By the Author of "The Three Calls" 268 Mildred Ward. By Caroline H. Butler 301 Mrs. Tiptop. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney 325 Overboard in the Gulf. By C. J. Peterson 337 Rising in the World. By F. E. F. 41 Reflections on Some of the Events of the Year 1848. By Joseph R. Chandler 318 Rochester's Return. By Joseph A. Nunes 341 Sam Needy. By Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro 204 Scouting Near Vera Cruz. By Ecolier 211 The Fane-Builder. By Emma C. Embury 38 The Sagamore of Saco. By Elizabeth Oakes Smith\ 47 The Late Maria Brooks. By R. W. Griswold 61 The Cruise of the Raker. By Henry A. Clark 69, 129, 188, 257 The Maid of Bogota. By W. Gilmore Simms 75 The Departure. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens 93 The Man Who Was Never Humbugged. By A Limner 112 The Christmas Garland. By Emma Wood 163 The Unmarried Belle. By Enna Duval 181 The Humbling of a Fairy. By G. G. Foster 214 The Will. By Miss E. A. Dupuy 220 The Bride of Fate. By W. Gilmore Simms 241 The Knights of the Ringlet. By Giftie 253 The Sailor's Life-Tale. By Sybil Sutherland 311 The Exhausted Topic. By Caroline C—— 330 The Early Called. By Mrs. Frances B. M. Brotherson 347 The Lady of Fernheath. By Mary Spencer Pease 349
POETRY.
A New England Legend. By Caroline F. Orne 126 A Farewell to a Happy Day. By Frances S. Osgood 203 A Night Thought. By T. Buchanan Read 219 A Voice for Poland. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer 228 An Evening Song. By Prof. Wm. Campbell 235 A Requiem in the North. By J. B. Taylor 256 A Vision. By E. Curtiss Hine 267 A Lay.
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By Grace Greenwood 310 Angels on Earth. By Blanche Bennairde 324 Brutus in His Tent. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer 115 Death. By Thomas Dunn English 3 Dream-Music. By Frances S. Osgood 39 Description of a Visit to Niagara. By Professor James Moffat 106 Dreams. By E. O. H 196 Death. By George S. Burleigh 256 Erin Waking. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer 360 Gold. By R. H. Stoddart 3 Gautama's Song of Rest. By J. B. Taylor 361 Heads of the Poets. By W. Gilmore Simms 170 Hope On—Hope Ever. By E. Curtiss Hine 171 I Want to Go Home. By Richard Coe, Jr. 213 Korner's Sister. By Elizabeth J. Eames 111 Life. By A. J. Requier 294 Love Thy Mother, Little One. By Richard Coe, Jr. 346 Lines to a Sketch of J. Bayard Taylor, in His Alpine Costume. By Geo. W. Dewey 360 My Bird. By Mrs. Jane C. Campbell 252 My Love. By J. Ives Pease 294 My Native Isle. By Mary G. Horsford 340 My Father's Grave. By S. D. Anderson 361 Ornithologoi. By J. M. Legare 1 Ode to the Moon. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney 251 One of the "Southern Tier of Counties. By Alfred B. Street 329 Passed Away. By W. Wallace Shaw 234 Pedro and Inez. By Elizabeth J. Eames 277 Sir Humphrey Gilbert. By Henry W. Longfellow 33 Study. By Henry S. Hagert 37 Summer. By E. Curtiss Hine, U.S.N. 105 Sonnet. By Caroline F. Orne 106 Song of Sleep. By G. G. Foster 128 Sunshine and Rain. By George S. Burleigh 162 Supplication. By Fayette Robinson 267 Stanzas. By S. S. Hornor 286 Sonnet. By Elizabeth Oakes Smith 340 The Land of the West. By T. Buchanan Read 12 To Lydia. By G. G. Foster 17 The Thanksgiving of the Sorrowful. By Mrs. Joseph C. Neal 24 The Night. By M. E. T. 33 The Bob-o-link. By George S. Burleigh 33 Twilight. By H. D. G. 46 The Sachem's Hill. By Alfred B. Street 52 The Hall of Independence. By G. W. Dewey 53 To an Isle of the Sea. By Mrs. J. W. Mercur 56 To Arabella. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney 56 The Soul's Dream. By George H. Boker 74 To the Eagle. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney 83 The Block-House. By Alfred B. Street 92 To Erato. By Thomas Buchanan Read 110 The Laborer's Companions. By George S. Burleigh 110 The Enchanted Knight. By J. B. Taylor 111 The Sisters. By G. G. Foster 114 To Violet. By Jerome A. Maby 115 The Prayer of the Dying Girl. By Samuel D. Patterson 136 The Spanish Princess to the Moorish Knight. By Grace Greenwood 146 The Light of our Home. By Thomas Buchanan Read 146 The Lost Pet. By Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney 152 The Poet's Heart. By Charles E. Trail 161 The Return to Scenes of Childhood. By Gretta 162 To Guadalupe. By Mayne Reid 174 The Faded Rose. By G. G. Foster 174 The Child's Appeal. By Mary G. Horsford 175 The Old Farm-House. By Mary L. Lawson 175 Temper Life's Extremes. By G. S. Burleigh 187 The Deformed Artist. By Mrs. E. N. Horsford 202 The Angel of the Soul. By J. Bayard Taylor 210 The Bard. By S. Anna Lewis 219 To Her Who Can Understand It. By Mayne Reid 228 To the Violet. By
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class="smcap">H. T. Tuckerman 232 They May Tell of a Clime. By C. E. Trail 232 The Battle of Life. By Anne C. Lynch 266 The Prophet's Rebuke. By Mrs. Juliet H. L. Campbell 274 The Mourners. By Rev. T. L. Harris 317 The Gardener. By George S. Burleigh 328 The Record of December. By H. Morford 335 The Christian Hero's Epitaph. By B. 348 The City of Mexico. By M. E. Thropp 356 To a Rose-Bud. By Y. S. 359 Visit to Greenwood Cemetery. By Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney 53 Zenobia. By Myron L. Mason 185
REVIEWS.
Endymion. By Henry B. Hirst 57 Memoir of William Ellery Channing 58 Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire 58 Romance of the History of Louisiana. By Charles Gayarre 59 The Life of Oliver Cromwell. By J. T. Headley 118 A Supplement to the Plays of Shakspeare. By Wm. Gilmore Simms 119 Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. By Alphonse de Lamartine 119 Hawkstone: A Tale of and for England in 184- 178 The Planetary and Stellar Worlds 178 Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings 179 Calaynos. A Tragedy. By George H. Boker 238 Literary Sketches and Letters 238 Vanity Fair. By W. M. Thackerway 297 Life, Letters and Literary Remains of Keats 297 Principles of Political Economy. By John Stuart Mill 367MUSIC.
The Last of the Bourbons. A French Patriotic Song. Written by Alexandre Pantoléon. Music by J. C. N. G. 54 "Think Not that I Love Thee." A Ballad. Music by J. L. Milner 116 "'Tis Home where the Heart is." Words by Miss L. M. Brown. Music by Karl W. Petersilie 176 The Ocean-Buried. Composed by Miss Agnes H. Jones 236 Voices from the Spirit-Land. Words by John S. Adams. Music by Valentine Dister 362ENGRAVINGS.
Ornithologoi, engraved by W. E. Tucker. Lamartine, engraved by Sartain. Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. The Departure, engraved by Ellis. The Portrait of Mrs. Brooks, engraved by Parker. The Sisters, engraved by Thompson. Angila Mervale, engraved by J. Addison. The Lost Pet, engraved by Ellis. Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. A Pic-Nic in Olden Time, engraved by Tucker. The Unmarried Belle, engraved by A. B. Ross. Paris Fashions, from Le Follet. Edith Maurice, engraved by J. Addison. Supplication, engraved by Ellis. Mildred Ward, engraved by A. B. Ross. Overboard in the Gulf, engraved by J. D. Gross. Portrait of J. B. Taylor, engraved by G. Jackman. Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
TABLE OF CONTENTS—ISSUE #1
ORNITHOLOGOI. 1 DEATH:—AN INVOCATION. 3 GOLD. 3 FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION. 4 THE LAND OF THE WEST. 12 GOING TO HEAVEN. 13 TO LYDIA—WITH A WATCH. 17 A NIGHT ON THE ICE. 18 THE THANKSGIVING OF THE SORROWFUL. 24 DE LAMARTINE. 25 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 33 THE NIGHT. 33 THE BOB-O-LINK. 33 MY AUNT POLLY.
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34 STUDY. 37 THE FANE-BUILDER. 38 DREAM-MUSIC; OR, THE SPIRIT-FLUTE. 39 RISING IN THE WORLD. 41 TWILIGHT.—TO MARY. 46 THE SAGAMORE OF SACO. 49 THE SACHEM's HILL. 52 VISIT TO GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 53 THE HALL OF INDEPENDENCE. 53 THE LAST OF THE BOURBONS. 54 TO AN ISLE OF THE SEA. 56 SONNET:—TO ARABELLA. 56 PROTESTATION. 56 REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 57
GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
ORNITHOLOGOI.
[1]
BY J. M. LEGARE.
[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]
Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,
Dost see the far hills disappear
In Autumn smoke, and all the air
Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread
Are yellow harvests, rich in bread
For winter use; while over-head
The jays to one another call,
And through the stilly woods there fall,
Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er
The squirrel, perched in upper air,
From tree-top barks at thee his fear;
His cunning eyes, mistrustingly,
Do spy at thee around the tree;
Then, prompted by a sudden whim,
Down leaping on the quivering limb,
Gains the smooth hickory, from whence
He nimbly scours along the fence
To secret haunts.
Dost see the far hills disappear
In Autumn smoke, and all the air
Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread
Are yellow harvests, rich in bread
For winter use; while over-head
The jays to one another call,
And through the stilly woods there fall,
Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er
The squirrel, perched in upper air,
From tree-top barks at thee his fear;
His cunning eyes, mistrustingly,
Do spy at thee around the tree;
Then, prompted by a sudden whim,
Down leaping on the quivering limb,
Gains the smooth hickory, from whence
He nimbly scours along the fence
To secret haunts.
But oftener,
When Mother Earth begins to stir,
And like a Hadji who hath been
To Mecca, wears a caftan green;
When jasmines and azalias fill
The air with sweets, and down the hill
Turbid no more descends the rill;
The wonder of thy hazel eyes,
Soft opening on the misty skies—
Dost smile within thyself to see
Things uncontained in, seemingly,
The open book upon thy knee,
And through the quiet woodlands hear
Sounds full of mystery to ear
Of grosser mould—the myriad cries
That from the teeming world arise;
Which we, self-confidently wise,
Pass by unheeding. Thou didst yearn
From thy weak babyhood to learn
Arcana of creation; turn
Thy eyes on things intangible
To mortals; when the earth was still.
Hear dreamy voices on the hill,
When Mother Earth begins to stir,
And like a Hadji who hath been
To Mecca, wears a caftan green;
When jasmines and azalias fill
The air with sweets, and down the hill
Turbid no more descends the rill;
The wonder of thy hazel eyes,
Soft opening on the misty skies—
Dost smile within thyself to see
Things uncontained in, seemingly,
The open book upon thy knee,
And through the quiet woodlands hear
Sounds full of mystery to ear
Of grosser mould—the myriad cries
That from the teeming world arise;
Which we, self-confidently wise,
Pass by unheeding. Thou didst yearn
From thy weak babyhood to learn
Arcana of creation; turn
Thy eyes on things intangible
To mortals; when the earth was still.
Hear dreamy voices on the hill,
In wavy woods, that sent a thrill
Of joyousness through thy young veins.
Ah, happy thou! whose seeking gains
All that thou lovest, man disdains
A sympathy in joys and pains
With dwellers in the long, green lanes,
With wings that shady groves explore,
With watchers at the torrent's roar,
And waders by the reedy shore;
For thou, through purity of mind,
Dost hear, and art no longer blind.
Of joyousness through thy young veins.
Ah, happy thou! whose seeking gains
All that thou lovest, man disdains
A sympathy in joys and pains
With dwellers in the long, green lanes,
With wings that shady groves explore,
With watchers at the torrent's roar,
And waders by the reedy shore;
For thou, through purity of mind,
Dost hear, and art no longer blind.
Croak! croak!—who croaketh over-head
So hoarsely, with his pinion spread,
Dabbled in blood, and dripping red?
Croak! croak!—a raven's curse on him,
The giver of this shattered limb!
Albeit young, (a hundred years,
When next the forest leaved appears,)
Will Duskywing behold this breast
Shot-riddled, or divide my nest
With wearer of so tattered
So hoarsely, with his pinion spread,
Dabbled in blood, and dripping red?
Croak! croak!—a raven's curse on him,
The giver of this shattered limb!
Albeit young, (a hundred years,
When next the forest leaved appears,)
Will Duskywing behold this breast
Shot-riddled, or divide my nest
With wearer of so tattered
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vest?
I see myself, with wing awry,
Approaching. Duskywing will spy
My altered mien, and shun my eye.
With laughter bursting, through the wood
The birds will scream—she's quite too good
For thee. And yonder meddling jay,
I hear him chatter all the day,
"He's crippled—send the thief away!"
At every hop—"don't let him stay."
I'll catch thee yet, despite my wing;
For all thy fine blue plumes, thou'lt sing
Another song!
I see myself, with wing awry,
Approaching. Duskywing will spy
My altered mien, and shun my eye.
With laughter bursting, through the wood
The birds will scream—she's quite too good
For thee. And yonder meddling jay,
I hear him chatter all the day,
"He's crippled—send the thief away!"
At every hop—"don't let him stay."
I'll catch thee yet, despite my wing;
For all thy fine blue plumes, thou'lt sing
Another song!
Is't not enough
The carrion festering we snuff,
And gathering down upon the breeze,
Release the valley from disease;
If longing for more fresh a meal,
Around the tender flock we wheel,
A marksman doth some bush conceal.
This very morn, I heard an ewe
Bleat in the thicket; there I flew,
With lazy wing slow circling round,
Until I spied unto the ground
A lamb by tangled briars bound.
The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side,
Bleat to her young—so loudly cried,
She heard it not when it replied.
Ho, ho!—a feast! I 'gan to croak,
Alighting straightway on an oak;
Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant
The little trembler lie and pant.
Leapt nimbly thence upon its head;
Down its white nostril bubbled red
A gush of blood; ere life had fled,
My beak was buried in its eyes,
Turned tearfully upon the skies—
Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries.
The carrion festering we snuff,
And gathering down upon the breeze,
Release the valley from disease;
If longing for more fresh a meal,
Around the tender flock we wheel,
A marksman doth some bush conceal.
This very morn, I heard an ewe
Bleat in the thicket; there I flew,
With lazy wing slow circling round,
Until I spied unto the ground
A lamb by tangled briars bound.
The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side,
Bleat to her young—so loudly cried,
She heard it not when it replied.
Ho, ho!—a feast! I 'gan to croak,
Alighting straightway on an oak;
Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant
The little trembler lie and pant.
Leapt nimbly thence upon its head;
Down its white nostril bubbled red
A gush of blood; ere life had fled,
My beak was buried in its eyes,
Turned tearfully upon the skies—
Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries.
No longer couldst thou sit and hear
This demon prate in upper air—
Deeds horrible to maiden ear.
Begone, thou spokest. Over-head
The startled fiend his pinion spread,
And croaking maledictions, fled.
This demon prate in upper air—
Deeds horrible to maiden ear.
Begone, thou spokest. Over-head
The startled fiend his pinion spread,
And croaking maledictions, fled.
But, hark! who at some secret door
Knocks loud, and knocketh evermore?
Thou seest how around the tree,
With scarlet head for hammer, he
Probes where the haunts of insects be.
The worm in labyrinthian hole
Begins his sluggard length to roll;
But crafty Rufus spies the prey,
And with his mallet beats away
The loose bark, crumbling to decay;
Then chirping loud, with wing elate,
He bears the morsel to his mate.
His mate, she sitteth on her nest,
In sober feather plumage dressed;
A matron underneath whose breast
Three little tender heads appear.
With bills distent from ear to ear,
Each clamors for the bigger share;
And whilst they clamor, climb—and, lo!
Upon the margin, to and fro,
Unsteady poised, one wavers slow.
Stay, stay! the parents anguished shriek,
Too late; for venturesome, yet weak,
His frail legs falter under him;
He falls—but from a lower limb
A moment dangles, thence again
Launched out upon the air, in vain
He spread his little plumeless wing,
A poor, blind, dizzy, helpless thing.
Knocks loud, and knocketh evermore?
Thou seest how around the tree,
With scarlet head for hammer, he
Probes where the haunts of insects be.
The worm in labyrinthian hole
Begins his sluggard length to roll;
But crafty Rufus spies the prey,
And with his mallet beats away
The loose bark, crumbling to decay;
Then chirping loud, with wing elate,
He bears the morsel to his mate.
His mate, she sitteth on her nest,
In sober feather plumage dressed;
A matron underneath whose breast
Three little tender heads appear.
With bills distent from ear to ear,
Each clamors for the bigger share;
And whilst they clamor, climb—and, lo!
Upon the margin, to and fro,
Unsteady poised, one wavers slow.
Stay, stay! the parents anguished shriek,
Too late; for venturesome, yet weak,
His frail legs falter under him;
He falls—but from a lower limb
A moment dangles, thence again
Launched out upon the air, in vain
He spread his little plumeless wing,
A poor, blind, dizzy, helpless thing.
But thou, who all didst see and hear,
Young, active, wast already there,
And caught the flutterer in air.
Then up the tree to topmost limb,
A vine for ladder, borest him.
Against thy cheek his little heart
Beat soft. Ah, trembler that thou art,
Thou spokest smiling; comfort thee!
With joyous cries the parents flee
Thy presence none—confidingly
Pour out their very hearts to thee.
The mockbird sees thy tenderness
Of deed; doth with melodiousness,
In many tongues, thy praise express.
And all the while, his dappled wings
He claps his sides with, as he sings,
From perch to perch his body flings:
A poet he, to ecstasy
Wrought by the sweets his tongue doth say.
Young, active, wast already there,
And caught the flutterer in air.
Then up the tree to topmost limb,
A vine for ladder, borest him.
Against thy cheek his little heart
Beat soft. Ah, trembler that thou art,
Thou spokest smiling; comfort thee!
With joyous cries the parents flee
Thy presence none—confidingly
Pour out their very hearts to thee.
The mockbird sees thy tenderness
Of deed; doth with melodiousness,
In many tongues, thy praise express.
And all the while, his dappled wings
He claps his sides with, as he sings,
From perch to perch his body flings:
A poet he, to ecstasy
Wrought by the sweets his tongue doth say.
Stay, stay!—I hear a flutter now
Beneath yon flowering alder bough.
I hear a little plaintive voice
That did at early morn rejoice,
Make a most sad yet sweet complaint,
Saying, "my heart is very faint
With its unutterable wo.
What shall I do, where can I go,
My cruel anguish to abate.
Oh! my poor desolated mate,
Dear Cherry, will our haw-bush seek,
Joyful, and bearing in her beak
Fresh seeds, and such like dainties, won
By careful search. But they are gone
Whom she did brood and dote upon.
Oh! if there be a mortal ear
My sorrowful complaint to hear;
If manly breast is ever stirred
By wrong done to a helpless bird,
To them for quick redress I cry."
Moved by the tale, and drawing nigh,
On alder branch thou didst espy
How, sitting lonely and forlorn,
His breast was pressed upon a thorn,
Unknowing that he leant thereon;
Then bidding him take heart again,
Thou rannest down into the lane
To seek the doer of this wrong,
Nor under hedgerow hunted long,
When, sturdy, rude, and sun-embrowned,
A child thy earnest seeking found.
To him in sweet and modest tone
Thou madest straight thy errand known.
With gentle eloquence didst show
(Things erst he surely did not know)
Beneath yon flowering alder bough.
I hear a little plaintive voice
That did at early morn rejoice,
Make a most sad yet sweet complaint,
Saying, "my heart is very faint
With its unutterable wo.
What shall I do, where can I go,
My cruel anguish to abate.
Oh! my poor desolated mate,
Dear Cherry, will our haw-bush seek,
Joyful, and bearing in her beak
Fresh seeds, and such like dainties, won
By careful search. But they are gone
Whom she did brood and dote upon.
Oh! if there be a mortal ear
My sorrowful complaint to hear;
If manly breast is ever stirred
By wrong done to a helpless bird,
To them for quick redress I cry."
Moved by the tale, and drawing nigh,
On alder branch thou didst espy
How, sitting lonely and forlorn,
His breast was pressed upon a thorn,
Unknowing that he leant thereon;
Then bidding him take heart again,
Thou rannest down into the lane
To seek the doer of this wrong,
Nor under hedgerow hunted long,
When, sturdy, rude, and sun-embrowned,
A child thy earnest seeking found.
To him in sweet and modest tone
Thou madest straight thy errand known.
With gentle eloquence didst show
(Things erst he surely did not know)
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class="i0">How great an evil he had done;
How, when next year the mild May sun
Renewed its warmth, this shady lane
No timid birds would haunt again;
And how around his mother's door
The robins, yearly guests before—
He knew their names—would come no more;
But if his prisoners he released,
Before their little bosoms ceased
To palpitate, each coming year
Would find them gladly reappear
To sing his praises everywhere—
The sweetest, dearest songs to hear.
And afterward, when came the term
Of ripened corn, the robber worm
Would hunt through every blade and turn,
Impatient thus his smile to earn.
How, when next year the mild May sun
Renewed its warmth, this shady lane
No timid birds would haunt again;
And how around his mother's door
The robins, yearly guests before—
He knew their names—would come no more;
But if his prisoners he released,
Before their little bosoms ceased
To palpitate, each coming year
Would find them gladly reappear
To sing his praises everywhere—
The sweetest, dearest songs to hear.
And afterward, when came the term
Of ripened corn, the robber worm
Would hunt through every blade and turn,
Impatient thus his smile to earn.
At first, flushed, angrily, and proud,
He answered thee with laughter loud
And brief retort. But thou didst speak
So mild, so earnestly did seek
To change his mood, in wonder first
He eyed thee; then no longer durst
Raise his bold glances to thy face,
But, looking down, began to trace,
With little, naked foot and hand,
Thoughtful devices in the sand;
And when at last thou didst relate
The sad affliction of the mate,
When to the well-known spot she came,
He hung his head for very shame;
His penitential tears to hide,
His face averted while he cried;
"Here, take them all, I've no more pride
In climbing up to rob a nest—
I've better feelings in my breast."
He answered thee with laughter loud
And brief retort. But thou didst speak
So mild, so earnestly did seek
To change his mood, in wonder first
He eyed thee; then no longer durst
Raise his bold glances to thy face,
But, looking down, began to trace,
With little, naked foot and hand,
Thoughtful devices in the sand;
And when at last thou didst relate
The sad affliction of the mate,
When to the well-known spot she came,
He hung his head for very shame;
His penitential tears to hide,
His face averted while he cried;
"Here, take them all, I've no more pride
In climbing up to rob a nest—
I've better feelings in my breast."
Then thanking him with heart and eyes,
Thou tookest from his grasp the prize,
And bid the little freedmen rise.
But when thou sawest how too weak
Their pinions were, the nest didst seek,
And called thy client. Down he flew
Instant, and with him Cherry too;
And fluttering after, not a few
Of the minuter feathered race
Filled with their warbling all the place.
From hedge and pendent branch and vine,
Recounted still that deed of thine;
Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er,
Gladly—more heartily, be sure,
Were praises never sung before.
Thou tookest from his grasp the prize,
And bid the little freedmen rise.
But when thou sawest how too weak
Their pinions were, the nest didst seek,
And called thy client. Down he flew
Instant, and with him Cherry too;
And fluttering after, not a few
Of the minuter feathered race
Filled with their warbling all the place.
From hedge and pendent branch and vine,
Recounted still that deed of thine;
Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er,
Gladly—more heartily, be sure,
Were praises never sung before.
Beholding thee, they understand
(These Minne-singers of the land)
How thou apart from all dost stand,
Full of great love and tenderness
For all God's creatures—these express
Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct
All things that are, to thee are linked
By subtle ties; and none so mean
Or loathsome hast thou ever seen,
But wonderous in make hath been.
Compassionate, thou seest none
Of insect tribes beneath the sun
That thou canst set thy heel upon.
A sympathy thou hast with wings
In groves, and with all living things.
Unmindful if they walk or crawl,
The same arm shelters each and all;
The shadow of the Curse and Fall
Alike impends. Ah! truly great,
Who strivest earnestly and late,
A single atom to abate,
Of helpless wo and misery.
For very often thou dost see
How sadly and how helplessly
A pleading face looks up to thee.
Therefore it is, thou canst not choose,
With petty tyranny to abuse
Thy higher gifts; and justly fear
The feeblest worm of earth or air,
In thy heart's judgment to condemn,
Since God made thee, and God made them.
(These Minne-singers of the land)
How thou apart from all dost stand,
Full of great love and tenderness
For all God's creatures—these express
Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct
All things that are, to thee are linked
By subtle ties; and none so mean
Or loathsome hast thou ever seen,
But wonderous in make hath been.
Compassionate, thou seest none
Of insect tribes beneath the sun
That thou canst set thy heel upon.
A sympathy thou hast with wings
In groves, and with all living things.
Unmindful if they walk or crawl,
The same arm shelters each and all;
The shadow of the Curse and Fall
Alike impends. Ah! truly great,
Who strivest earnestly and late,
A single atom to abate,
Of helpless wo and misery.
For very often thou dost see
How sadly and how helplessly
A pleading face looks up to thee.
Therefore it is, thou canst not choose,
With petty tyranny to abuse
Thy higher gifts; and justly fear
The feeblest worm of earth or air,
In thy heart's judgment to condemn,
Since God made thee, and God made them.
DEATH:—AN INVOCATION.
BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.
Thou art no king of terrors—sweet Death!
But a maiden young and fair;
Thine eyes are bright as the spring starlight,
And golden is thy hair;
While the smile that flickers thy lips upon
Has a light beyond compare.
But a maiden young and fair;
Thine eyes are bright as the spring starlight,
And golden is thy hair;
While the smile that flickers thy lips upon
Has a light beyond compare.
Come then, Death, from the dark-brown shades
Where thou hast lingered long;
Come to the haunts where sins abound
And troubles thickly throng,
And lay thy bridal kiss on the lips
Of a child of sorrow and song.
Where thou hast lingered long;
Come to the haunts where sins abound
And troubles thickly throng,
And lay thy bridal kiss on the lips
Of a child of sorrow and song.
For I can gaze with a rapture deep
Upon thy lovely face;
Many a smile I find therein,
Where another a frown would trace—
As a lover would clasp his new-made bride
I will take thee to my embrace.
Upon thy lovely face;
Many a smile I find therein,
Where another a frown would trace—
As a lover would clasp his new-made bride
I will take thee to my embrace.
Come, oh, come! I long for thy look;
I weary to win thy kiss—
Bear me away from a world of wo
To a world of quiet bliss—
For in that I may kneel to God alone,
Which I may not do in this.
I weary to win thy kiss—
Bear me away from a world of wo
To a world of quiet bliss—
For in that I may kneel to God alone,
Which I may not do in this.
For woman and wealth they woo pursuit,
And a winning voice has fame;
Men labor for love and work for wealth
And struggle to gain a name;
Yet find but fickleness, need and scorn,
If not the brand of shame.
And a winning voice has fame;
Men labor for love and work for wealth
And struggle to gain a name;
Yet find but fickleness, need and scorn,
If not the brand of shame.
Then carry me hence, sweet Death—my Death!
Must I woo thee still in vain?
Come at the morn or come at the eve,
Or come in the sun or rain;
But come—oh, come! for the loss of life
To me is the chiefest gain.
Must I woo thee still in vain?
Come at the morn or come at the eve,
Or come in the sun or rain;
But come—oh, come! for the loss of life
To me is the chiefest gain.