Family

Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.--OVID, Fastorum, Lib. vi.


"O Caesar, we who are about to die
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.

O ye familiar scenes,--ye groves of pine,
That once were mine and are no longer mine,--
Thou river, widening through the meadows green
To the vast sea, so near and yet unseen,--
Ye halls, in whose seclusion and repose
Phantoms of fame, like exhalations, rose
And vanished,--we who are about to die
Salute you; earth and air and sea and sky,
And the Imperial Sun that scatters down
His sovereign splendors upon grove and town.

Ye do not answer us! ye do not hear!
We are forgotten; an...

A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely: but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve,
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook!
Which all, methinks, would love; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who, in his youthful years,
Knew just so much of folly, as had made
His early manhood more securely wise!
Here he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing ...

    Of all the swains that meet at eve
    Upon the green to play,
    The shepherd is the lad for me,
    And I'll ne'er say him nay.
    Though father glowers beneath his hat,
    And mother talks of bed,
    I'll take my cloak up, late or soon,
    To meet my shepherd lad.

    Aunt Kitty loved a soldier lad,
    Who left her love for war;
    A sailor loved my sister Sue,
    Whose jacket smelt of tar;
    But my love's sweet as land new ploughed;
    He is my heart's delight,
    And he ne'er leaves his love so far
    But he can come at night.

    So father he may glower and frown,
    And mother scold about it;
    The shepherd has my heart to keep,
    And can I live without it?
    I'm sure he will not part with it,

Is brotherhood to flesh confined?
Is there no kinship of the soul?
To have it thus, I am resigned,
If 'tis my God-appointed goal;
For there are those whom I hold dear,
Who claim with me a common sire,
That we, with one accord, revere,
And love holds out midst flood and fire.

But is the family so small
Of which I fondly claim a part?
Is there no other I may call
A brother, and within my heart
Cherish for him, whate'er his name,
Or rank, or color, or his creed,
A love of pure and changeless flame,
And feel I render but his meed?

Thank God for brotherhood so broad
That all the human race may share
A kinship, never yet outlawed,
Tho' types of it have been too rare.
But bigotry is doomed to die,
And hate, a relic of the past;

We have opened the door,
Once, twice, thrice!
We have swept the floor,
We have boiled the rice.
Come hither, come hither!
Come from the far lands,
Come from the star lands,
Come as before!
We lived long together,
We loved one another;
Come back to our life.
Come father, come mother,
Come sister and brother,
Child, husband, and wife,
For you we are sighing.
Come take your old places,
Come look in our faces,
The dead on the dying,
Come home!

We have opened the door,
Once, twice, thrice!
We have kindled the coals,
And we boil the rice
For the feast of souls.
Come hither, come hither!
Think not we fear you,
Whose hearts are so near you.
Come tenderly thought on,
Come all unforgotten,
Come from ...

Beloved! your hair was golden
As tender tints of sunrise,
As corn beside the River
    In softly varying hues.
I loved you for your slightness,
Your melancholy sweetness,
Your changeful eyes, that promised
    What your lips would still refuse.

You came to me, and loved me,
Were mine upon the River,
The azure water saw us
    And the blue transparent sky;
The Lotus flowers knew it,
Our happiness together,
While life was only River,
    Only love, and you and I.

Love wakened on the River,
To sounds of running water,
With silver Stars for witness
    And reflected Stars for light;
Awakened to existence,
With ripples for first music
And sunlight on the River
    For earliest sense of sight.

Love grew upon ...

The Wife

The house is like a garden,
    The children are the flowers,
The gardener should come methinks
    And walk among his bowers,
Oh! lock the door on worry
    And shut your cares away,
Not time of year, but love and cheer,
    Will make a holiday.

The Husband

Impossible!    You women do not know
The toil it takes to make a business grow.
I cannot join you until very late,
So hurry home, nor let the dinner wait.

The Wife

The feast will be like Hamlet
    Without a Hamlet part:
The home is but a house, dear,
    Till you supply the heart.
The Xmas gift I long for
    You need not toil to buy;
Oh! give me back one thing I lack -
    The love-light in your eye.

The Husband
<...

    Illustrious fathers of the human race,
    Of you, the song of your afflicted sons
    Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far,
    Unto the Great Disposer of the stars,
    Who were not born to wretchedness, like ours.
    Immedicable woes, a life of tears,
    The silent tomb, eternal night, to find
    More sweet, by far, than the ethereal light,
    These things were not by heaven's gracious law
    Imposed on you. If ancient legends speak
    Of sins of yours, that brought calamity
    Upon the human race, and fell disease,
    Alas, the sins more terrible, by far,
    Committed by your children, and their souls
    More restless, and with mad ambition fixed,
    Against them roused the wrath of angry gods,
    The hand of all-sustaining Natu...

I

My life has been like a bee that roves
Through a scented garden close,
And 'tis I who have kept the honey of love,
The hoarded sweetness and scent thereof,
For all I forget the rose.

Oh, exquisite gardens long forgot
That have made my store complete,
Though winter fall upon blossom and bee,
Yet the kisses I garnered remain with me
Forever and ever sweet.


II

The Priest hath had his word and said his say--
A word i' faith more honest than beguiling--
But now he turns upon his gloomy way--
Good soul, he leaves me smiling.

I may not ponder much on future wrath;
Of all those loves of mine, some six or seven,
Surely ere this have climbed that thorny path
That leads at last to Heaven.

My bold, brown beau...

I saw fond lovers in that glow
    That oft-times fades away too soon:
I saw and said, 'Their joy I know -
    I, too, have had my honeymoon.'

A young expectant mother's gaze
    Held earth and heaven within its scope:
My thoughts went back to holy days -
    I said, 'I, too, have known that hope.'

I saw a stricken mother swayed
    By sorrow's storm, like wind-blown grass:
I said, 'I, too, dismayed
    Have seen the little white hearse pass.'

I saw a matron rich with years
    Walk radiantly beside her mate:
I blessed them, and said through my tears,
    'I, too, have known that high estate.'

I saw a woman swathed in black
    So blind with grief she could not see:
I said, 'Not far need I look back -
    I, too, have kno...

        Old lady, put your glasses on,
            With polished lenses, mounting golden,
        And once again look slowly through
            The album olden.

        How the old portraits take you back
            To friends who once would 'round you gather
        All scattered now, like frosted leaves
            In blustering weather.

        Why, who is this, the bright coquette?
            Her eyes with Love's bright arrows laden
        "Poor Nell, she's living single yet,
            An ancient maiden."

        And this, the fragile poetess?
            Whose high soul-yearnings nought can smother
        "She's stouter far than I am now,
            A kind grandmother."

        Who is this girl with flowing curls,
    ...

Take this rose, and very gently place it on the tender, deep
Mosses where our little darling, Araluen, lies asleep.
Put the blossom close to baby kneel with me, my love, and pray;
We must leave the bird we’ve buried say good-bye to her to-day.
In the shadow of our trouble we must go to other lands,
And the flowers we have fostered will be left to other hands:
Other eyes will watch them growing other feet will softly tread
Where two hearts are nearly breaking, where so many tears are shed.
Bitter is the world we live in: life and love are mixed with pain;
We will never see these daisies never water them again.

Ah! the saddest thought in leaving baby in this bush alone
Is that we have not been able on her grave to place a stone:
We have been too poor to do it; but, my darling...

Now as even's warning bell
Rings the day's departing knell,
Leaving me from labour free,
Solitude, I'll walk with thee:
Whether 'side the woods we rove,
Or sweep beneath the willow grove;
Whether sauntering we proceed
Cross the green, or down the mead;
Whether, sitting down, we look
On the bubbles of the brook;
Whether, curious, waste an hour,
Pausing o'er each tasty flower;
Or, expounding nature's spells,
From the sand pick out the shells;
Or, while lingering by the streams,
Where more sweet the music seems,
Listen to the soft'ning swells
Of some distant chiming bells
Mellowing sweetly on the breeze,
Rising, falling by degrees,
Dying now, then wak'd again
In full many a 'witching strain,
Sounding, as the gale flits by,
Flats...

    Ah, well can I the day recall, when first
    The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said:
    If this be love, how hard it is to bear!

    With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground,
    I saw but her, whose artless innocence,
    Triumphant took possession of this heart.

    Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me!
    Why should affection so sincere and pure,
    Bring with it such desire, such suffering?

    Why not serene, and full, and free from guile
    But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore,
    Should joy so great into my heart descend?

    O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so,
    Why with that thought such anguish should be blent,
    Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught?

    That t...

Your gran'ma, in her youth, was quite
As blithe a little maid as you.
And, though her hair is snowy white,
Her eyes still have their maiden blue,
And on her cheeks, as fair as thine,
Methinks a girlish blush would glow
If she recalled the valentine
She got, ah! many years ago.

A valorous youth loved gran'ma then,
And wooed her in that auld lang syne;
And first he told his secret when
He sent the maid that valentine.
No perfumed page nor sheet of gold
Was that first hint of love he sent,
But with the secret gran'pa told--
"I love you"--gran'ma was content.

Go, ask your gran'ma, if you will,
If--though her head be bowed and gray--
If--though her feeble pulse be chill--
True love abideth not for aye;
By that quaint portrait on the ...

When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom,
And life can shew no joy for me;
And I behold a yawning tomb,
Where bowers and palaces should be;

In vain you talk of morbid dreams;
In vain you gaily smiling say,
That what to me so dreary seems,
The healthy mind deems bright and gay.

I too have smiled, and thought like you,
But madly smiled, and falsely deemed:
Truth led me to the present view,
I'm waking now, 'twas then I dreamed.

I lately saw a sunset sky,
And stood enraptured to behold
Its varied hues of glorious dye:
First, fleecy clouds of shining gold;

These blushing took a rosy hue;
Beneath them shone a flood of green;
Nor less divine, the glorious blue
That smiled above them and between.

I cannot name each lovely...

The ferny places gleam at morn,
The dew drips off the leaves of corn;
Along the brook a mist of white
Fades as a kiss on lips of light;
For, lo! the poet with his pipe
Finds all these melodies are ripe!

Far up within the cadenced June
Floats, silver-winged, a living tune
That winds within the morning's chime
And sets the earth and sky to rhyme;
For, lo! the poet, absent long,
Breathes the first raptures of his song!

Across the clover-blossoms, wet,
With dainty clumps of violet,
And wild red roses in her hair,
There comes a little maiden fair.
I cannot more of June rehearse--
She is the ending of my verse.

Ah, nay! For through perpetual days
Of summer gold and filmy haze,
When Autumn dies in Winter's sleet,
I yet will ...

MAY 30, 1878,

Dying for victory, cheer on cheer
Thundered on his eager ear.
            - CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN.

I

Deep, tender, firm and true, the Nation's heart
    Throbs for her gallant heroes passed away,
Who in grim Battle's drama played their part,
    And slumber here to-day. -

Warm hearts that beat their lives out at the shrine
    Of Freedom, while our country held its breath
As brave battalions wheeled themselves in line
    And marched upon their death:

When Freedom's Flag, its natal wounds scarce healed,
    Was torn from peaceful winds and flung again
To shudder in the storm of battle-field -
    The elements of men, -

When every star that glittered was a mark
    For Treason's ball, and every rippling ...