Part 2

A SONG OF THANKS 27

NOT YET A POET 32

A BOUQUET 33

AN ODE TO THE SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS' MONUMENT 34

TO A FADED FLOWER 37

DAINTY DORA 39

THE VIOLIN 40

WOMAN 41

THE BACHELOR'S SONG 45

PUT NOTHING IN ANOTHER'S WAY 47

FLOATING WITH THE GALE 50

LULA JOHNSON'S SONG 53

A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR 57

WERE I A BIRD 59

AN ODE TO ETHIOPIA 62

TO J. S. B. 72

THE MAYOR'S RING 73

WHAT'S THE USE? 74

O GOD, WILT THOU HELP ME IN SCHOOL? 76

BEHIND THE BARS 84

HARVARD SQUARE 86

THE END 96

THE SYLVAN CABIN

A CENTENARY ODE ON THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN

O, fairest Dame of sylvan glades, We come to pay thee homage due, Embrace thee softly and to kiss Thy lovely, long-forsaken cheeks; To smooth thy flowing silver locks And bind about thy snowy neck A necklace golden studded full With rarest gems and shining pearls. Our eyes, though sometimes dimmed with tears, In purer lustre sparkle forth Whene'er they fall agaze on thee! Our ears attuned to thy sweet lay Catch every flowing, cadent note And bear it ever safe within Our rapturous hearts, which gladly leap Whene'er thy name is called! Deep in our souls the quenchless fire Of love full brightly burns upon The sacred altar, set apart For sprite commune and sacrifice; Whose high-priest tends with loving care, And unto thee sweet incense burns. Our tongues most gladly sing thy praise, And from it ne'er shall cease--till all The land be free!

A century lonely hast thou stood Here all forsaken and forgot! All men failed thee to visit save Some idle lover of sylvan haunts Who trod, perchance, this hallowed spot, And cast a pensive eye upon This lovely glade, thy sole abode (Full lost in these continuous woods), And brooding o'er thy lowly lot, Oft thus did muse: "This cabin lone Here stands to tell the tale of him, Back-woodsman brave, who having scaled The mystic mountains ne'er returned To them, though loved yet left behind; But here he chose his last abode, These gloomy woods whose blackness stands Up hard against horizon's slope; Grim, spectral, dreaded, and untrod Save monsters great of savage mien, That prowled, or crouched upon their prey; Sent forth a vicious roar that fairly shook Old Sylvia far and near, from vale Through crag to mountain peak! Upon this spot the redskin oft Has danced his 'War dance' and his 'Feast,' His face a reddish hue aglow-- Long locks with eaglets' plumes bedecked; His bow and never-failing dart, And scalper dangling at his side. More brightly gleamed his wary eye, As braves the war-whoop loudly yelled-- A sight more like the fiery fiends From Pluto's ghastly shore returned Than human blood and bone! They all have gone and left no tale But woe which hurled them ever hence To that shore whence no bark returns. Old Cabin, thou, a land-mark art, Of human progress' steady march!"

III

Of thee Thus has time passed with naught more said; For man in his pedantic art Soars far in feeble flights of song From Nature's heart, and thus he fails With Nature's God to hold commune! The bard has slept, dreamed many a dream, But failed to dream one dream of thee. High hangs his lyre on willow reed, And sitting 'neath yon shady nook, He fails to catch one note of thy Immortal song that fills the air. Awake, O bard, from sleep so deep! Attune thy lyre; let Nature breathe In her immortal breath of song; Then wilt thou sing a song most sweet, The song by Nature's vesper choir, Through all the countless ages sung,-- And still is singing day by day. Then all the world will join thy sweet Refrain in praise and ardent love Of this fair forest Dame!