Chapter I: Preface

To my many friends who have been so lenient in their criticisms of my former work, and to the several editors and literary men who have given me so much encouragement, I wish to return my sincere thanks.

All the request I have to make, is, that I hope my efforts this time will receive no more condemnation than my other.

I take pleasure in launching my little volume upon the wide sea of literature. The author is fourteen years of age, but many of the poems were written at a much earlier age.

Yours, most respectfully,

THOMAS HALL SHASTID.

POEMS.

CHRISTMAS NIGHT.

Be peace on earth, good will to men;
And let this now our carol be:
If on the land, or on the sea,
We still will sing the glad refrain;
And in the closing light of day
Good words of peace and cheer will say.

The Babe that in the manger born
Has risen high above the star,
To judge in peace, or judge in war,
To judge at night or judge at morn.
The star that told us of his birth
Has given us joy and lasting mirth.

The Man that suffered on the tree
Is risen high above all men;
Then swell the glad refrain again--
He died for me, He died for thee:
Then peace be ever on the earth
To one and all of human birth.

FALLING OF THE APPLE TREE.

The apple tree has fallen, now--
The axe has laid it low;
The blossoms sparkled ere it fell,
But now they wither so.

Its shade we now shall seek in vain--
The spot we loved so well
Has vanished since the apple tree
So loudly crashing fell.

No more the wind sings through the leaves,
The song so dear to me;
Ah! yes, that rustling far above
Was one of melody.

No more we see that staunch old tree--
The axe has laid it low,
And much we’ll miss it, evermore,
That fall was one of woe.

THE ANGELS.

The Angel of Peace flew over the land,
And the country was wild with glee;
And she stilled the wave in the stormy night
On a rolling and restless sea.

But the Angel of Death flew over the land
And a babe was taken that night.
And an angel sweet in heaven appeared
In the land of glory and light.

THE SPECTRES.

In a palace sad and lonely
Flit two spectres all the day--
Spectres chasing joy and brightness
From each window far away.

One is Sorrow clad in raiment,
Sombre as the shades of night,
While her trailing robes of darkness
Chase away each ray of light.

But the other one is Envy
Clad in blackness, clad with woe,
Sorrow’s only sad companion,
Flitting ever to and fro.

By the windows ever gliding,
Filling all with thoughts of pain;
All who gaze are doomed forever,
Ne’er to see bright joy again.

THE YEARS.

All around us, ever floating,
Silently yet swiftly on,
Pass the years in quick succession--
Years that are forever gone.

Years that soon are past recalling.
Years of gladness or of woe;
We can never stop their fleeting
But forever they will go.

Years of sorrow passing round us,
Dark and dreary as the night.
Years of gladness quickly follow
Bringing thoughts all fair and bright.

Still the years continue passing
Swiftly as the years can be,
Till we leave our pains and sorrow;
Till we find eternity.

MY THOUGHTS.

I would I had some magic pen
That would my thoughts convey.
There were a mighty pen that would
The world astound to-day.

They come and go as fountains flow:
Unceasing, always flowing,
For while some thoughts are coming fast
The others fast are going.

BY THE FIRESIDE.

On the bright red coals before me,
Pictures come and pictures go--
Pictures of the waiting future
Filled with gladness or with woe.

By the fireside do I picture
To myself my destiny.
Who knows but these golden raptures
May be real unto me.

Though the storm outside be raving
And the snowflakes drift on high;
By the fireside I am safely
Counting on what may be nigh.

All the flames fly ever upward
Coiling into every form.
Fairies circle ever round me
Heedless of the outside storm.

Still I watch the weird wild raptures
Of the golden dream so nigh.
Let us love our happy fancies
E’er the time has passed us by.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

See the grass upon its threshold;
See the ivy on its wall;
Vacant are its crumbling windows,
Vacant is its mossy hall.

Ah! the step of man upon it
Shall resound along no more,
For the spirits of the dead ones
Ever flit about the door.

There the whisperings of the voices
Of the spirits of the dead;
Those of friends and enemies
Ever murmur ’round your head.

Let us leave the haunted ruin;
Spirits walk the crumbling floor;
Light their step, but oh! their voices
Haunt the building evermore.

THE KINGDOM OF THE DEAD.

Peaceful be for we have reached it
Lighter, lighter ever tread,
’Tis a sacred spot and hallowed:
’Tis the kingdom of the dead.

Silent kingdom, sad and lonely,
Though so many in it dwell.
Who can number all its people?
Who, ah! who can ever tell?

Still and peaceful is their resting
In their last and humble bed.
Tread ye lightly, ’tis the kingdom
Of the sacred holy dead.

THE WIND.

Hear ye not the howling wind,
Sad and wild?
In its wake come dismal fancies
Never mild.

Like the moaning of the lost
Comes the wind:
Moaning, sighing--viewless phantoms
Come behind.

In the darkness come the spirits
Of the night,
Howling, with their dismal groaning
In their flight.

Absent friends come in our fancies
Evermore,
As the demons flee from Hades
Rush and roar.

Hear ye not the moaning wind
Moan and quiver
Like the moaning of the lost--
Lost forever?

THE SONG OF THE WIND.