There came a day at summer's full
Entirely for me;
I thought that such were for the saints,
Where revelations be.

The sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new.

The time was scarce profaned by speech;
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at sacrament
The wardrobe of our Lord.

Each was to each the sealed church,
Permitted to commune this time,
Lest we too awkward show
At supper of the Lamb.

The hours slid fast, as hours will,
Clutched tight by greedy hands;
So faces on two decks look back,
Bound to opposing lands.

And so, when all the time had failed,
Without external sound,
Each bound the other's crucifix,
We gave no ...

Daughter of Col. SAMUEL and Mrs. ELIZABETH COLT, died January 20th, 1862, aged 7 months and 27 days.

THE MOURNING MOTHER.


A tomb for thee, my babe!
    Dove of my bosom, can it be?
But yesterday in all thy charms,
Laughing and leaping in my arms,
    A tomb and shroud for thee!

A couch for thee mine own,
    Beneath the frost and snow!
So fondly cradled, soft and warm,
And sheltered from each breath of storm,
    A wintry couch for thee!

Thy noble father's there,
    But the last week he died,
He would have stretched his guarding arm,
To shelter thee from every harm,
    Nestle thee to his side.

Thy ruby lip skill'd not
    That father's name to speak,
Yet wouldst thou pause mid infant play
To kiss his pi...

DAME FORTUNE often loves a laugh to raise,
And, playing off her tricks and roguish ways,
Instead of giving us what we desire,
Mere quid pro quo permits us to acquire.
I've found her gambols such from first to last,
And judge the future by experience past.
Fair Cloris and myself felt mutual flame;
And, when a year had run, the sprightly dame
Prepared to grant me, if I may be plain,
Some slight concessions that would ease my pain.
This was her aim; but whatsoe'er in view,
'Tis opportunity we should pursue;
The lover, who's discreet, will moments seize;
And ev'ry effort then will tend to please.

ONE eve I went this charming fair to see;
The husband happened (luckily for me)
To be abroad; but just as it was night
The master came, not doubting all was ri...

I.

(Feb. 23, 1869.)

Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days;
At thy name all our hearts own a thrill,
We turn from life's .highways, its business, its cares,
We are boys in thy tutelage still.
And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore,
Returns with impetuous flow,
Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours
In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago.

Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread,
And we dream youth's fair dreams once again,
We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right,
We are knights without fear, without stain;
Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide,
Its prizes seem easy to win,--
We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might,
And we long for the race to begin.

Th...

Oh to have you in May,
To talk with you under the trees,
Dreaming throughout the day,
Drinking the wine-like breeze,

Oh it were sweet to think
That May should be ours again,
Hoping it not, I shrink,
Out of the sight of men.

May brings the flowers to bloom,
It brings the green leaves to the tree,
And the fatally sweet perfume,
Of what you once were to me.

Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
‘Well, am I late?’ Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock’s golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.

‘I brought you this . . . ‘ the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. Sh...

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
A kitten both in size and glee,
I thank thee for my purse.


Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love;—that gem’s too dear
For richest rogue’s to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above
The best things kept within it.

    We gentler grow by sorrow; not the breast
        That never crouches in the nights of tears,
        That never bends beneath the loads of years,
    Has sympathies that are the kindliest.
    There is a strength in agony that best
        Can link the careless heart with human fears,
        And teach it that fond kindness which endears
    The millions that with sadness are oppressed.

    Grief softens while it saddens; pleasure smites
        The timid soul with harshness, till it knows
        Small earnest of the great world's grievous woes
    And little of its struggles; sorrow plights
    Her troth with sorrow, and in tears unites
        Man unto man and hatred overthrows.

As Cloe came into the Room t'other Day,
I peevish began; Where so long cou'd You stay?
In your Life-time You never regarded your Hour:
You promis'd at Two; and (pray look Child) 'tis Four.
A Lady's Watch needs neither Figures nor Wheels:
'Tis enough, that 'tis loaded with Baubles and Seals.
A Temper so heedless no Mortal can bear
Thus far I went on with a resolute Air.
Lord bless Me! said She; let a Body but speak:
Here's an ugly hard Rose-Bud fall'n into my Neck:
It has hurt Me, and vext Me to such a Degree
See here; for You never believe Me; pray see,
On the left Side my Breast what a Mark it has made.
So saying, her Bosom She careless display'd.
That Seat of Delight I with Wonder survey'd;
And forgot ev'ry Word I design'd to have said.

Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys,
The least of which wronged Memory ever makes
Bitterer than all thine unremembered tears.

How long, Perenna, wilt thou see
Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart.

Let it not your wonder move,
Less your laughter, that I love.
Though I now write fifty years,
I have had, and have, my peers;
Poets, though divine, are men,
Some have lov'd as old again.
And it is not always face,
Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace;
Or the feature, or the youth.
But the language and the truth,
With the ardour and the passion,
Gives the lover weight and fashion.
If you then will read the story,
First prepare you to be sorry
That you never knew till now
Either whom to love or how;
But be glad, as soon with me,
When you know that this is she
Of whose beauty it was sung;
She shall make the old man young,
Keep the middle age at stay,
And let nothing high decay,
Till she be the reason why
All the world for love m...

She came—she is gone—we have met—
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)—
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.


The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delay’d
By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charm’d with a tone,
Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had witness’d her own.


My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine,
As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine.
The longer I heard, I esteem’d
The work of my fancy the more,
And e’en to my...

"Adieu, my love, adieu!
Be constant and be true
As the daisies gemmed with dew,
Bonny maid."
The cows their thirst were slaking,
Trees the playful winds were shaking;
Sweet songs the birds were making
In the shade.

The moss upon the tree
Was as green as green could be,
The clover on the lea
Ruddy glowed;
Leaves were silver with the dew,
Where the tall sowthistles grew,
And I bade the maid adieu
On the road.

Then I took myself to sea,
While the little chiming bee
Sung his ballad on the lea,
Humming sweet;
And the red-winged butterfly
Was sailing through the sky,
Skimming up and bouncing by
Near my feet.

I left the little birds,
And sweet lowing of the herds,
And couldn't find out words,
Do...

Until we meet again!    That is the meaning
Of the familiar words, that men repeat
    At parting in the street.
Ah yes, till then! but when death intervening
Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain
    We wait for the Again!

The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow
Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay
    Lamenting day by day,
And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow,
We shall not find in its accustomed place
    The one beloved face.

It were a double grief, if the departed,
Being released from earth, should still retain
    A sense of earthly pain;
It were a double grief, if the true-hearted,
Who loved us here, should on the farther shore
    Remember us no more.

Believing, in the midst of our afflictions,
That...

    Like a thousan' birds o' brightness from the isles o' summer seas,
    Rickollections, full o' gladness, come with songs and lullabies,
    An' I listen to the carols that with gentle voices roll,
    Full o' tenderness an' beauty, down upon my weary soul,
    Fer thar's one thet keeps a-singin' with a song thet's never done,
    An' I see the bendin' willers on the banks o' Turkey Run.

    An' agin' I be a youngster with a youngster's foolin' dreams,
    With his high-falutin' notions an' his fiddle-faddle schemes;
    With the laughin' an' the cryin', with the sorrow an' the joy,
    Thet is jumbled up together in the bosom o' the boy;
    An' agin my arly fancies in a fairy loom are spun
    Underneath the dancin' shadders on the banks o' Turkey Run.

    An' ag...

Friends . . . old friends . . .
One sees how it ends.
A woman looks
Or a man tells lies,
And the pleasant brooks
And the quiet skies,
Ruined with brawling
And caterwauling,
Enchant no more
As they did before.
And so it ends
With friends.

Friends . . . old friends . . .
And what if it ends?
Shall we dare to shirk
What we live to learn?
It has done its work,
It has served its turn;
And, forgive and forget
Or hanker and fret,
We can be no more
As we were before.
When it ends, it ends
With friends.

Friends . . . old friends . . .
So it breaks, so it ends.
There let it rest!
It has fought and won,
And is still the best
That either has done.
Each as he stands
The work of its hands...

Fare thee well, love!--We must sever!
Nor for years, love; but for ever!
We must meet no more--or only
Meet as strangers--sad and lonely.
            Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love!--How I languish
For the cause of all my anguish!
None have ever met and parted
So forlorn and broken-hearted.
            Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love--Till I perish
All my truth for thee I'll cherish;
And, when thou my requiem hearest,
Know till death I loved thee, dearest.
            Fare thee well!