HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. Born at Portland in 1807- Professor in Harvard University.
When the hours of day are number'd,
And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul that slumber'd To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor-wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved ones, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherish'd Noble longings for the strife- By the road-side fell and perished, Weary with the march of life! They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore-. Folded their pale hands so meekly- Spake with us on earth no more! And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With slow and noiseless footstep, Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me,
With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Utter'd not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. O, though oft oppress'd and lonely, All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!
Professor in Harvard University- Died in
I'll tell you, friend, what sort of wife. Whene'er I scan this scene of life,
Inspires my waking schemes, And when I sleep, with form so light, Dances before my ravish'd sight, In sweet aerial dreams.
The rose its blushes need not lend, Nor yet the lily with them blend, To captivate my eyes. Give me a cheek the heart obeys, And, sweetly mutable, displays Its feelings as they rise;
Features, where, pensive, more than gay, Save when a rising smile doth play, The sober thought you see; Eyes that all soft and tender seem, And kind affections around them beam. But most of all on me;
A form, though not of finest mould, Where yet a something you behold Unconsciously doth please; Manners all graceful without art, That to each look and word impart
A modesty and ease.
But still her air, her face, each charm Must speak a heart with feeling warm, And mind inform the whole;
With mind her mantling cheek must glow, Her voice, her beaming eye must show An all-inspiring soul.
Ah! could I such a being find, And were her fate to mine but join'd By Hymen's silken tie, To her myself, my all I'd give, For her alone delighted live,
For her consent to die.
Whene'er by anxious care oppress'd, On the soft pillow of her breast
My aching head I'd lay ;
At her sweet smile each care should cease, Her kiss infuse a balmy peace,
And drive my griefs away.
In turn, I'd soften all her care, [share; Each thought, each wish, each feeling Should sickness e'er invade,
My voice should soothe each rising sigh, My hand the cordial should supply; I'd watch beside her bed.
Should gathering clouds our sky deform, My arm should shield her from the storm; And, were its fury hurl'd,
My bosom to its bolts I'd bare ; In her defense undaunted dare Defy the opposing world.
Together should our prayers ascend; Together would we humbly bend,
To praise the Almighty name; And when I saw her kindling eye Beam upward in her native sky,
My soul should catch the flame. Thus nothing should our hearts divide, But on our years serenely glide,
And all to love be given; And, when life's little scene was o'er, We'd part to meet and part no more, But live and love in heaven.
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven- Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar,
[Born in 1789, and passed his youth in Baltimore-Representative in Congress from Georgia-Died 1847, in New Orleans, then Professor of Law in the University of Lou-Like rainbows on the cloud of war, isiana.]
My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scatter'd on the ground-to die! Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see→→→ But none shall weep a tear for me!
My life is like the autumn leaf
That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail-its date is brief,
Restless-and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me!
My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand ! Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea, But none, alas! shall mourn for me!
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE,
Born in New York in 1795-Died in 1820 of consumption, in his 26th year-A beautiful poem to his memory by his friend Halleck is in this collection.]
When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurl'd her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She call'd her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest trumpings loud And see the lightning lances driven,
When strive the warriors of the storm,"
The harbingers of victory!
Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn; And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance And when the cannon mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabers rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall; Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home! By angel hands to valor given ; The stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!
[Born in Boston in 1791-Cashier of Globe Bank, Boston-This poem was written on the accidental meeting of all the surviving members of a family.]
We are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother,
All who hold each other dear. Each chair is fill'd-we're all at home ; To-night let no cold stranger come:
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