Lady unknown! a pilgrim from the shrine
Of Poesy's fair temple, brings a wreath
Which fame and gratitude alike entwine,
Around a name that charms the monster Death,
And bids him pause!--Amidst despairing life
BIRKBECK's the harbinger of hope and health;
When sordid affluence was with man at strife,
He boldly stripp'd the veil, and show'd the wealth
To aged ignorance, and ardent youth,
Of cultured minds--the freedom of the soul!
The sun of science, and the light of truth,
The bliss of reason--mind without control.

Accept this tribute. Lady! and the praise,
As Consort and the soother of his care!
His offspring's pride--his friend's commingled rays,
And every other grace that man has deem'd most rare!

Of all the sweet visions that come unto me
Of happy refreshment by land or by sea,
Like oases where in life's desert I roam,
Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home.

I climb to the top of the highest of hills
And look to the west with affectionate thrills,
And fancy I stand by the emerald side
Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride.

In distant perspective unruffled it lies,
Except for the packet that paddles and plies,
And puffing its way like a pioneer makes
Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes.

Untroubled except for the urchins that come
From many a haunt that is never a home,
Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade,
Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made.

All placid except for the dip of the oar
Of the ...

He was a failure, and one day he died.
    Across the border of the mapless land
He found himself among a sad-eyed band
Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried
And missed their purpose.    With one voice they cried
    Unto the shining Angel in command:
    'Oh, lead us not before our Lord to stand,
For we are failures, failures!    Let us hide.'

Yet on the Angel fared, until they stood
    Before the Master.    (Even His holy place
The hideous noises of the earth assailed.)
Christ reached His arms out to the trembling brood,
    With God's vast sorrow in His listening face.
Come unto Me,' He said; 'I, too, have failed.'

Dodici donne onestamente lasse.

HAPPY WHO STEERED THE BOAT, OR DROVE THE CAR, WHEREIN SHE SAT AND SANG.


    Twelve ladies, their rare toil who lightly bore,
Rather twelve stars encircling a bright sun,
I saw, gay-seated a small bark upon,
Whose like the waters never cleaved before:
Not such took Jason to the fleece of yore,
Whose fatal gold has ev'ry heart now won,
Nor such the shepherd boy's, by whom undone
Troy mourns, whose fame has pass'd the wide world o'er.
I saw them next on a triumphal car,
Where, known by her chaste cherub ways, aside
My Laura sate and to them sweetly sung.
Things not of earth to man such visions are!
Blest Tiphys! blest Automedon! to guide
The bark, or car of band so bright and young.

MACGREGOR.

[Literally "Dignity of Women."]

Honor to woman! To her it is given
To garden the earth with the roses of heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir
In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing,
She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling,
And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering,
Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps,
With each hasty impulse veering
Down to passion's troubled deeps.
And his heart, contented never,
Greeds to grapple with the far,
Chasing his own dream forever,
On through many a distant star!
But woman with looks that can charm and enchain,
Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again,
By the spell of her presence beguiled
In the home of the mother her modest abode,
And m...

Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude,
With not her either beauty's equal or
Her injury's, looks off by both horns of shore,
Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon's food.
Time past she has been attempted and pursued
By many blows and banes; but now hears roar
A wilder beast from West than all were, more
Rife in her wrongs, more lawless, and more lewd.

Her Perseus linger and leave her tó her extremes? -
Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs
His thoughts on her, forsaken that she seems,
All while her patience, morselled into pangs,
Mounts; then to alight disarming, no one dreams,
With Gorgon's gear and barebill, thongs and fangs.

We may raise our voices even in this still glade:
    Though the colours and shadows and sounds so fleeting seem,
We shall not dispel them. They are not made
    Frailly by earth or hands, but immortal in our dream.

We may touch the faint violets with the hands of thought,
    Or lay the pale core of the wild arum bare;
And for ever in our minds the white wild cherry is caught,
    Cloudy against the sky and melting into air.

This which we have seen is eternally ours,
    No others shall tread in the glade which now we see;
Their hands shall not touch the frail tranquil flowers,
    Nor their hearts faint in wonder at the wild white tree.

Many ages ago, near the high Hartz, there dwelt
A rude race of blood-loving giants, who felt
No joy but the fierce one which Carnage bestows,
When her foul lips are clogged with the blood of her foes.

And fiercer and bolder than all of the rest
Was Bohdo,[1] their chieftain; - 'twas strange that a breast,
Which nothing like kindness or pity might move,
Should glow with the warmth and the rapture of love.

Yet he loved, and the pale mountain-monarch's fair child
Was the maid of his heart; but tho' burning and wild
Was the love that he bore her, it won no return,
And the flame that consumed him was answered with scorn.

Now the lady is gone with her steed to the plain, -
Save the falcon and hound there is none in her train;
She needs none to guide, or to g...

"Why, there's Peace, Jack, come damme let's push round the grog,
And awhile altogether in good humor jog,
For they say we shall soon go ashore;
Where the anchor of friendship may drift or be lost,
As on life's troubled ocean at random we're tost,
And, perhaps, we may never meet more."

Thus spoke Tom; while each messmate approvingly heard
That the contest was ended, their courage ne'er fear'd,
And soon Peace would restore them to love;
And the hearts by wrongs rous'd, that no fear could assuage,
At Humanity's shrine dropt the thunder of rage,
And the Lion resign'd to the Dove!

Heaven smil'd on the olive that Reason had rear'd,
With her rich pearly tribute sweet Pity appear'd,
And plac'd it on each brilliant eye;
'Twas the tear that Compassion had nurs'd ...

"Work to-day in my vineyard!"


Hast thou, then, been called to labor
    In the vineyard of thy Lord,
With the promise that, if faithful,
    Thou shall win a sure reward? -
Look! the tireless sun is hasting
    Toward the zenith, and the day,
Which in vanity thou'rt wasting,
    Speedeth rapidly away!

Lo! the field is white for harvest,
    And the laborers are few;
Canst thou, then, oh, slothful servant!
    Find no work that thou canst do?
Sitting idle in the vineyard!
    Sleeping, while the noon-day flies!
Dreaming, while with every pulse-beat
    Some unsaved one droops and dies!

Waken! overburdened lab'rers,
    Fainting in the sultry ray,
Cry against thee to the Master
    As thou dream'st the hours away
...

O Neptune! Neptune! must I still
Be here detain'd against my will?
Is this your justice, when I'm come
Above two hundred miles from home;
O'er mountains steep, o'er dusty plains,
Half choked with dust, half drown'd with rains,
Only your godship to implore,
To let me kiss your other shore?
A boon so small! but I may weep,
While you're like Baal, fast asleep.

"O Life, O Beyond,
Thou art strange, thou art sweet!"
--Mrs. Browning.


Dread phantom, with pale finger on thy lips,
    Who dost unclose the awful doors for each,
        That ope but once, and are unclosed no more,
            Turn the key gently in the mystic ward,
            And silently unloose the silver cord;
        Lay thy chill seal of silence upon speech,
    And mutely beckon through the soundless door
To endless night, and silence and eclipse.

Even now the soul unfettered may explore
    On its swift wing beyond the gates of morn,
        (Unravelled all the weary round of years)
            And stand, unfenced of time and crowding space,
            With love's fond instinct in that primal place,
        The distant north...

Night of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying,
Like priestly hands thy holy touch is lying
Upon the world's wide brow;
God-like and grand all nature is commanding
The "peace that passes human understanding";
I, also, feel it now.

What matters it to-night, if one life treasure
I covet, is not mine! Am I to measure
The gifts of Heaven's decree
By my desires? O! life for ever longing
For some far gift, where many gifts are thronging,
God wills, it may not be.

Am I to learn that longing, lifted higher,
Perhaps will catch the gleam of sacred fire
That shows my cross is gold?
That underneath this cross - however lowly,
A jewel rests, white, beautiful and holy,
Whose worth can not be told.

Like to a scene I watched one day in wonder: -
A ...

Dedicated By A Contributor To The Collegian, 1830, To The Editors Of The Harvard Advocate, 1876.

'T was on the famous trotting-ground,
The betting men were gathered round
From far and near; the "cracks" were there
Whose deeds the sporting prints declare
The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag,
The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag,
With these a third - and who is he
That stands beside his fast b. g.?
Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name
So fills the nasal trump of fame.
There too stood many a noted steed
Of Messenger and Morgan breed;
Green horses also, not a few;
Unknown as yet what they could do;
And all the hacks that know so well
The scourgings of the Sunday swell.

Blue are the skies of opening day;
The bordering turf is green with May;
The ...

Through every minute of this day,
        Be with me, Lord!
Through every day of all this week,
        Be with me, Lord!
Through every week of all this year,
        Be with me, Lord!
Through all the years of all this life,
        Be with me, Lord!
So shall the days and weeks and years
Be threaded on a golden cord,
And all draw on with sweet accord
Unto Thy fulness, Lord,
That so, when time is past,
By Grace, I may at last,
        Be with Thee, Lord.

When the wine-cup is smiling before us,
    And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true,
Then the sky of this life opens o'er us,
    And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue.
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,
    We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus;
For him but two bright eyes were shining--
    See, what numbers are sparkling for us!

When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
    While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams,
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,
    To disturb even a saint from his dreams.
Yet, tho' life like a river is flowing,
    I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on,
So the grape on its bank is still growing,
    And Love lights the waves as they run.

Two young lads from childhood up
Drank together friendship's cup:
Joe was glad with Bill at play,
Bill was home to Joe alway.

On their friendship came the blight
Of a little thoughtless fight;
Then, alas! each passing day
Farther bore these friends away.

There was grief in either heart,
Bleeding deep from sorrow's dart,
When in thoughtfulness again
Each beheld the other's pain.

But the shades of night are furled
When the morning takes the world,
And the Christmas days of peace
Make our little quarrels cease.

Bill and Joe on Christmas Day
Met as in the olden way;
Bill put out his hand to Joe,--
It was Christmas Day, you know.

Bill and Joe are friends again,
And to them long years remain;
Time may take ...

Fate is a mahout astride a large elephant, impersonal
as dark sun with winds raging across a desert. Fate is
the old bones of dead Indians being resurrected as
ground mist on the edge of a salt marsh.

And not knowing what to call personal destiny we
resort to the clunker "fate"    -    "beggar and king"
enjoying, or so it is said, the dust together. I prefer wet
leaves breaking canisters of restraint and calling to
the earth as little paws digging into the humus of the
sky.