Chapter X

So good-bye; I must be speeding--
Stirring up the Autumn leaves;
I must visit now the farmer
As he binds his golden sheaves.

I must visit now the smithy
And his anvil ringing clear,--
Even now his clanking irons
Do I faintly seem to hear.

Now, adieu; I must be speeding
Where the wild wings swiftly fly,
And the clouds go by me floating,
So I bid you all “good-bye.”

HASTINGS.

Oh, bright the day when England’s crown
Came forth to crown the king;
And in the minds of those around
It seemed no trifling thing.

“Give back the crown!” was William’s word,
“Or my good sword shall pay,
With heavy thrust and bleeding cut,
For this you’ve done to-day.”

For Edward’s will that crown had sent
To grace stern William’s head,
But Harold too had claimed the right,
And for that right he bled.

Aye! bled, and died, and lost the crown
He’d struggled so to save,
And ah! that struggle led him to
His solitary grave.

Yes! Godwin’s son was born to fight--
To chase and not to fly,
And he was born for Hasting’s fate,
And that fate was to die.

Ah! weep ye noble Saxon men--
The last king of your line
Shall sleep the cold, still sleep of death,
That solemn sleep divine.

To-day we merry are and joy
Doth reign supreme around,
And music seems in every noise
And ev’ry passing sound.

To-morrow comes--that joy is gone--
There lies the human clay,
The spirit to its rest has gone
Where brighter shines the day.

We know not when that bidding comes,
That bears us from the earth;
How few the years that stand between
Our death-call and our birth.

Thus was’t with Harold--in the night,
Carousing in the tent,
His joy was great, but ’morrows light,
His knee in suppliance bent.

The cup went round,--and small thought they
Upon the next day’s fight,
That Harold soon in death should lie
Within the waning light.

In William’s camp no cup went round,
But heads were bent in prayer,
And plans were laid; then silence kept
Its peaceful reigning there.

Oh! solemn was the prayer they said--
And solemn was the scene;
The archers with their bows stood by
With grave and silent mien.

The morning came,--the proud array
Stood silent as the dead;
The battle-axes in their hands
Did rise far overhead.

And in the midst, his armor bright,
Stood Harold with his sword,
And far and near around stood those
Who waited at his word.

The banner rose above them all--
Its warrior stood on high,
And precious stones did mark him there
That scarcely wealth could buy.

Duke William led his heroes forth
And gave them to the fray,
Ah, many of those heroes there
Ne’er saw another day.

The battle raged, and sunset came,
And flashed on armor bright,
And all around were mangled men--
It was an awful sight.

King Harold fell, the arrow pierced
And bore him to the ground;
Ah! then was heard a trampling noise--
A wildly flying sound.

The warrior and the banner fell,
And dyed were they in blood
No more the Saxon’s sang their shout:
“God’s rood! aye, holy rood!”

THE TEMPERANCE SHIP.

Drifting down the tide we go?
Nay! we hoist the sail;
Speeding fast and faster still
With the blowing gale.

Come sign the pledge and get on board
And leave behind your woe,
For the sky is bright, and the gale is right,
As like the wind we go.

We sail between the shores of green,
On the waters shining breast;
Oh! sign the pledge and the ribbon don
And forever you’ll find rest;

Sweet rest upon our temperance ship
And leave behind your woe;
For the sky is bright and the gale is right,
As like the wind we go.

THE HALL OF MEMORY.

There is a Hall of Memory
Within a happy land;
The walls are high and marble clear
With wealth on every hand.

The railings on the stairway
Are made of purest gold;
The marble steps below them
Are hard and stern and cold.

I love the Hall of Memory--
I love to linger there;
Sweet visions coming evermore,--
Its pictures bright and fair.

Its walls are decked with pictures
Made by a Masters hand;
The marble figures far and near
Alive they seem to stand.

But there is one fair picture
I love to gaze upon;
It is the picture of a time
That is forever gone.

There is a Hall of Memory,
Its walls are stern and high;
The treasures it contains for me
No wealth can ever buy.

PEACE.

The cold moon-light is shining clear;
The tall trees shadows throw,
And all is spectral far and near
As far as eye can go.

A peaceful calm rests o’er the scene,
The clouds no longer fly.
The busy world is hushed and still--
Its cares have passed us by.

But when to-morrow’s light has come,
Then comes the care and pain--
The strife and warfare of our lives
Is rushing on again.

But still the white clouds fleck the sky,
And Peace is reigning on;
But soon the beauty of the night
Will fade and fast be gone.

THE SUNSET LAND.

Far in the west is the sunset land
Where flows a mighty river;
It flows right o’er the crimson clouds
And it follows the sun forever.

The stars come chasing through the sky,--
They chase and they twinkle and play,
And they love the clouds of the sunset land
That soon will be far away.

And the twilight jealous and sombre and sad
Comes down with his robes of gray,
And he chases the light of the sunset land
Far from the west away.

STANZAS.

When the weary day at last
With its cares and strife is past;

When I lay me down to sleep,
While the angels vigils keep,

Comes an echo far away
Of the doings of the day.

Ere my weary eyelids close,
Ere my being seeks repose.

Comes a voice from far away:
“What hast thou performed this day?”

Yes the air is full of spirits,
Many does each man inherit.

But at night each one will say:
“What hast thou performed this day?”

Ere my weary eyelids close;
Ere I calmly seek repose,

Comes an echo far away:
“What hast thou performed this day?”

THE SHIPWRECK.

The seagull screamed and flopped his wings
And hied him to his home;
The breakers dashed upon the shore--
Their crests were filled with foam.

The briny mounts were thrown on high
Where reeled a ship; the gale
Had shorn her of her masts, and torn
In shreds each flying sail.

Alas! a wail comes o’er the deep--
The ship is sinking fast--
The mighty mountains of the sea
Are aided by the blast.

’Tis morn again, the rosy morn
The storm at sea is o’er;
The elements are calm and still;
The wreck is on the shore.

Then take good care in future life,
While near the billows roll;--
Take care lest your own self be lost
By shipwreck of your soul.

Then never let the breakers roll
To whelm the bark within,
As in the world you sail around
The blackened sea of sin.

CLEOPATRA’S NEEDLES.

It was in Africa’s torrid clime,
Two sisters stood alone,
And what they witnessed was a sight
To melt a heart of stone.

The English came and carried off
One sister, far away;
And now in London’s haunts she stands
And sorrows all the day.

They took her from her native spot,
Where she was wont to stand,
And placed her in a foreign clime,
Within a foreign land.

Ah! how she feels, with other eyes
Than on bright Egypt’s shore;--
She stands where she had never been--
To stand for evermore.

The others came with iron bonds,
Her sister, too, they brought,
To grace America’s bright parks
Where pity ne’er was thought.

Ah! yes, in New York city’s haunts
That sister is to be;
Between the two the waters lie--
A dark and stormy sea.

Ah! now when I to Egypt’s plains
Do wend my careful way,
I’ll seek the spot where once they stood,
And there respect I’ll pay.

But, oh, the beauties will be gone--
The sisters are not there,
Insulted by a grosser race,
They stand where naught is fair.

SONNETS.

SONNETS.

WINTER.

The snow is lying deep upon the ground,
And naught disturbs the quiet, bitter air
Except the distant jingling sleigh bells sound,
Which seems to banish from my heart all care.
The trees are barren of their waving leaves,
The limbs are swaying sadly to and fro;
It seems as though it for its verdure grieves,
As down it shakes the flakes of shining snow.
Oh, thou to me forever art a friend--
I would that you were for the whole year round,
And He on high those blessings by you send
That always in your bounteous lap are found;
And you and I would be as angels here
And sorrow never know nor ever shed a tear!

SUNSHINE.

Thou dancing sunbeams through the happy day
Dost cheer me on my onward path through life,
You show to me more clear my stumbling way
And lighter make my almost ceaseless strife.
Thou art to me a greater friend indeed,
Than others I have loved up to this hour;--
They are oft but a wildly growing weed--
But thou art like a shining summer flow’r.
The world could not exist if not for thee,
The Ice-King would possession then obtain;
The light and beauty from all things would flee,
And naught but lasting, dark’ning chaos reighn.
But now we have the cheerful, glittering light
That keeps the universe alive and bright.

POEMS.

PAST AND PRESENT.

Let us now improve the present,
Waiting not for something more;
For the past is gone forever
And its troubles all are o’er.

Let us hope not in the future
Golden days will be at hand;
Try, keep trying, for that country,
In a fairer, better land.

Up, be doing in the present,
Waiting not for something more;
For the past is gone forever
And its troubles all are o’er.

Those who wait are ne’er receiving--
Those who act are always blest;
Up, be doing, still be acting,
This is not a time for rest.

Let us now improve the present,
Waiting not for something more;
For the past is gone forever
And its troubles all are o’er.

GONE TO REST.

Little Ada now has gone
To that land above,
Where no trouble ever comes;
All is brightness, all is love.

Now an angel far away
In that land of light;
Cheer up, oh, afflicted ones,
She is gone where all is bright.

Father, cheer the grieving parents;
Help them now to bear the woe;
Pity us, thy simple children,
In this land so far below.

Angels carried her to heaven,
Clothed her in their robes of light;
She is gone, but not forever,
From the loving parents’ sight.

Little Ada now has gone
To that land above,
Where no trouble ever comes,
All is brightness, all is love.

A DREAM.

On the summit of a mountain
Stood I in the twilight gray,
There were many standing with me
In the closing light of day.

Two paths led out from the summit--
One to lands so clear and bright,
And the other to a dark land
Where reigned eternal night.

Many chose the road to darkness--
Pathway leading down to hell;
Few there were that took the other--
They that chose it, chose it well.

’Twas a dream I dreamed in slumber,
But ’tis real every day;
Many take the downward path,
Few that go the brighter way.

THE LAST DRINK.

An old man entered a dram-shop,
He staggerd and stumbled in;
His face was as hard as granite,
His hair was light and thin.

The bar-keeper’s daughter entered
In a dress of purest white,
And she looked as sweet as could be
In her nice new clothes that night.

The old man stopped, and reasoned,
For his own dear child he knew
Was shoeless and cold and ragged
And his wife was starving, too.

So the dime that lay in his pocket,
Bought bread for his wife that night,
And the old bar-keeper’s daughter
Still dressed in her snowy white.

But soon ere the winter was over
The drunkard was drunkard no more,
And the wife and child were happy
As they never had been before.

IN SPRING TIME.

Oh, fresh from the woodland comes the breath--
The breath of the beautiful spring;
And the gentle zephyrs that float about
Scents from the meadow and forest bring.
And in every tree
A robin in glee
Is chanting a joyous melody.

Oh the sweet calm breath of beautiful spring--
And the azure sky is bright above,
And the warm sunshine makes the whole world glad
For every beam is a message of love.
And in every tree
The robin in glee
Is chanting a joyous melody.

The warm sun shines and the sweet flowers bloom,
But ah, the wild winds will be raving amain,
And the cold gray winter will ravish our joys--
The beauties of earth will be vanished again.
From every tree
The robin will flee
And fly to the South with his melody.

But let us enjoy these transient delights
And gaze on their beauty while linger they here.
Let us thank our dear Father such grandeur may come
While spring claims her place in every year;
And in every tree
A robin will be
Chanting a beautiful melody.

THE RAIN STORM.

Through the din of patt’ring rain drops
Comes the thunder in the night,
While the bold electric flashes
Dazzle for a while the sight.

Patter, patter come the rain-drops
Streaming down the window-pane.
On the roof, unceasing, patter
Noisy little drops of rain.

All the stars have left and hidden
And the cresent is no more;--
When will come the day and sunshine
As it came in days of yore?

But the patter of the rain-drops
Music to my thoughts they make,
When the rumbling peals of thunder
Rhyme and even rhythm break.

May we thankful be for sunshine
May we thankful be for rain;--
Come again, oh patt’ring rain-drops,
With your music come again.

SOLFERINO.

_A Poem of Six Stanzas in Blank Verse._

SOLFERINO.