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A deeper, sadder, knoll,

Than sounds for a passing soul,—
Should tell of the Old Year, dying.
Spirits of beauty and light,

Goblins of darkness and night,
From your sunny paths, in the azure sky,
From the Stygian shores, where the shadows lie,
From your coral homes, in the ocean caves,
From the frigid north, where the tempest raves,
Come to the pale one dying:

Hark! to the falling of phantom feet,

Beat, beat, beat, beat,

Like the solemn sounds, when the surges meet,
On the shores of a mighty river—
They are folding the dead in his winding sheet,
To bear him away forever.

A rush of wings on the midnight wind—
The fall of a shadowy portal—

And the good Old Year, so true and kind,
Passed to his rest, but left behind
The record of deeds immortal.

Hope on, hope ever; if thy lot

Be forlorn and lowly,
Thou mayst gain a brighter spot,

Though thy steps move slowly.
Reckless of the rich man's scorn,

On thyself relying,

Strive to win, though lowly born,
Name, renown, undying.

In the path that heaven assigned,
Rest thee idly never;

Work with might, and soul and mind,
And hope on, hope ever.

Hope on, hope ever, while the day
On thy path is shining;
Let no moment bear away
Murmurs of repining.


If I were a memory past alloy,

I would linger where thou art ;
If I were a thought of abiding joy,
I would nestle in thy heart.

If I were a hope with the magic light
That makes the future fair,

I would make thy path on the earth as bright
As the paths of angels are.

-If I were the Light of the Brightest Star.



BETTER trust all and be deceived,

And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had blessed one's life with true believing

O, in this mocking world too fast
The doubting fiend o'er takes our youth;
Better be cheated to the last

Than lose the blessed hope of truth.


In eddying course when leaves began to fly,
And Autumn in her lap the store to strew,

As mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo, Through glens untrod, and woods that frowned on high,

Two sleeping nymphs with wonder mute I spy!

And, lo, she's gone!—In robe of dark-green hue, 'Twas Echo from her sister Silence flew, For quick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky! In shade affrighted Silence melts away.

Not so her sister. Hark! for onward still, With far-heard step, she takes her listening way, Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill.

Ah, mark the merry maid in mockful play With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill!



Low spake the knight to the peasant maid,
"O, be not thus of my suit afraid!
Fly with me from this garden small,
And thou shalt sit in my castle hall.

"Thou shalt have pomp and wealth and pleasure, Joys beyond why fancy's measure; Here with my sword and horse I stand,

To bear thee away to my distant land.

"Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose
A token of love that as ripely blows."
With his glove of steal he plucked the token,
And it fell from the guantlet crushed and broken.

The maiden exclaimed, "Thou seest, Sir Knight, Thy fingers of iron can only smite;

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An' terrified at what they'd done, an' what they meant to do,

I struggled hard to recollect a Riot Act or two; But naught appeared that I could reach on Memory's cluttered shelf,

An' so I had, as one might say, to make one up myself.

I wildly rushed into their midst, an' yelled with all my might,

"See here, now, boys, this school wasn't built to teach you how to fight!"

But still they all kept on their way, as fierce as fierce could be,

An' nor one of them was blessed with sense to listen unto me;

But while I still upheld the right, in words I won't repeat,

Th' apparent cause of all their fuss rolled plump betwixt my feet!

An' then such buffetin' amidst the angry wave of strife

I never yet had come across in all my earthly life.

I've sported in a skatin'-rink, an' helped to dust the floor;

I've served as drift-wood in the waves of Jersey's stormy shore;

I've clutched a tall toboggan-slide, and while my cheek did blanch,

Then, lettin' go, reluctantly become an avalanche; I've entered cars on Brooklyn Bridge 'twixt five an' six o'clock;

But these was only zephyr breaths beside an earthquake shock!

They jumbled me, they tumbled me, some several fellers deep,

Uutil I give up every sense an' feebly fell asleep; An' when I woke, and mildly asked if all my bones was there,

No one contigious seemed to know, or specially to



But several fellers, with their face all black an' blue an' red,

Jumped up an' down, a-wavin' han's, an' shoutin', "We're ahead!"

"Now who's ahead?" says I, when I a listenin' ear could find:

'Whoever 'tis, here's one old fool that'a several rods behind!

Why are you studyin' carnage here-what is this all about?"

An' then they hollered, "Football, Dad-we've gone an' cleaned 'em out!"

Whereat I says, "If this is what you call a friendly game,

Heaven shield me from your courtesies, an' help me dodge the same!"

Then everybody laughed an' joked, rejoicin' it the crimes,

An' said, "Old man, the trouble is, you're 'way behind the times!"

An' then I said: "All right! I'll keep behind 'em if you please;

'Hind anything, to shield me from such goin's on as these;

An' when I'm anxious suddenly from this world to escape,

I'll go an' dance on dynamite, an' do it up in shape!' WILL CARLETON. -Harper's Magazine, November, 1894.


NOT only in the legend does he stand Beside the river current rushing fast A dim-drawn giant figure, strong and vast, His staff within his hand;

But in our own day visible, beside The darker stream of human pain and sin, Our eyes have watched him, battling hard to win For weaker souls a pathway through the tide.

Upheld by him and safely carried o'er The waves which else had overwhelmed and drowned,

How many a faint and doubting heart hath found Glad footing on the unhoped-for, distant shore!

And still as his strong, tireless arm again And yet again their burden raised and took, You read in the deep reverence of his look

He did the work for God and not for men.

Christo-phorus our saint, named now with tears. The deeds he did were Christ's, the words he said, All his strong, vital, splendid strength he laid At the Lord's feet through the unstinting years.

And now beside that Lord in highest Heaven, Past the dark stream of Death, which all must tread,

He rests secure, with joy upon his head,

And a "New Name" which hath to him been given.

But still to memory's eye he stands the same, A stalwart shape where the deep waters run, Upbearing, aiding, strengthening every one, Carrying them onward in his Lord's dear name. SUSAN COOLIDGE.

-The Independent, November 15, 1894.


SHE wore the leaves of roses in her hair
To-night, and was so marvelously fair!
Her eyes behind the fringes of their throne
Were dancing a delightful waltz alone,
The while her dainty feet came down the stair.

And waiting with a score of rivals there,
Who deemed her loveliness beyond compare,
We vowed because she was a rose half blown,
She wore the leaves !

Some new caprice had made my Love forswear
The violets and hyacinths, and wear

The deep green leaves of hope. Could she have known

That I would know those rose leaves for mine own? Was it to lift a heart from out despair

She wore the leaves?


-Peterson's Magazine, November, 1894.


So blithe the birds sang in the trees, The trees sang in the wind,

I winged me with the morning breeze, And left cares far behind.

But now both birds and trees are mute
In the hot hush of noon;

And I must up and on afoot.

Or Care will catch me soon. WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. -Harters Magazine, December, 1894.


WHO are the men that good men most despise ?
Not they who ill-begot, and spawned in shame.
Riot, and rob, and rot before men's eyes;
Who basely live, and, dying, leave no name.
These are the piteous refuse of mankind;
Fatal the ascendant star when they were born,
Distorted in body, starved in soul and mind.
Ah! not for them the good man's bitter scorn.
He only is the despicable one

Who lightly sells his honor as a shield
For fawning knaves to hide them from the sun.
Too nice for crime, yet, coward, he doth yield
For crime a shelter. Swift to Paradise
The contrite thief, not Judas with his price!

-Harper's Weekly.


O NAZARENE! down nineteen hundred years
We hear the angel-chorus ring once more;
We see the star, the manger, and the store
O precious gifts, which there the Shepherd-Seers
Laid at Thy feet in thankfulness and tears.

O, Christos! may thy children, rich and poor,
Kneel like the Magi on that day of yore,
And offer Thee their homage and their prayers.
In cottage and in palace let the knee
Be bent in adoration on this day;
In lonely forest, or by moaning sea,-

Where roses bloom, or winter holds its sway;Let all hearts turn to Bethlehem again,

And hear the tidings,-"Peace, good-will to men.” LOUIS A. ROBERTSON. -Overland Monthly. December, 1894.


MACAULAY. "Virginia." The immediate cause of the downfall of this execrable government was said to have been an attempt made by Appius Claudius upon the chastity of a beautiful young girl │of humble birth. A vile dependent of the Claudian house laid claim to the damsel as his slave, but the girl's father, a brave soldier, saved her from servitude and dishonor by stabbing her to the heart in sight of the whole Forum.

NASH. The touching lines, "Sister, I must go!"' were written upon the occasion of the enlistment in the late Civil War, by Miss Hapgood's brother, Henry Hapgood, whose young life of 21 (twentyone) years was sacrificed on his country's altar.


Above the Earth and Time.

Abraham Lincoln.




Ad Mortem.


After the Ball.

After the Rain.

Aged Stranger, The

Ah! Just to Live is very Sweet.

Alice Cary's Last Poem.

Allen G. Bigelow.

"Allons Donc."

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Welty 409

Ballade of the Book Hunter.

Lang 128

Carlyle 296

Ballade of the Dream.

M. F. Ham


Ballad of Metz, A

Prentiss 437

Perry 403

McGrath 286

Harte 390


Gluck 53
Cary 83


Ballad of the Sea, The
Battle Call.


Beaver Pond Meadow.
Because of Thee.

Bedouin Song.


J. Bailey

Beggars' Horses.


Belshazzar Had a Letter.


Before the Dawn.

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Gibson 100
J. Riley
Guiney 236
Bragdon 360

Wade 42
Martin 334

Cruttenden 113

Walton 235
Conway 74
Phoebe Cary 84
Parke 41
Allen 164

D. Williams
E. Williams


Better Moments.

Betwixt my Love and Me.

Bird and Song.
Blacksmith, The
Blemished Offering, A
Blond and Brunette.
Blossom Time.

Blue and the Black, The
Blue and the Gray, The


Blue Jay, The


Osgood 495

Tripp 133
Coyle 401
J. Riley

Blue Ribbon, A

Boat Song.

Bobolink, The

Bob White.

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D. Williams 130

Tennyson 113



McKay 493

L. M. Willis


Marion 242

Held 254
Peckham 489

Van Fredenberg 23
Kenyon 243
Van Santvoord



Van Santvoord 208
C. Jay Smith


Olmsted 484

Mixer 60

Rogers 115


May 524

Held 255

M. F. Ham 432

Jackson 236

Ward 27

Bois Ton Sang, Beaumanoir!"

Bonnie Girzie O' Glenbrae.

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Lang 129
Guiney 101
Robinson 345
Fitspatrick 500
Winter 152
Beers 62
Thaxter 176
B. Taylor 464
Thaxter 179
M. C. Smith 320
Martin 334
Hopkins 349
Dickinson III
M. F. Ham 435
Eberhart 328
R. T. Cook 203
Joseph Cook 228
Willis 123
E. Williams 319
Noxon 275
R. T. Cook 203
Cowl 271
Wright 107
Preston 148

F. H. Tupper 422
Gould 90
Winter 154
Ware 499
Dorr 18

M. Douglas 477
Morris 430
Allen 162

M. F. Ham 432
Osgood 495
Taylor 357
Howard 419
Hinds 413
Cutting 327
Brown 157
Barker 46

D. M. Craik

M. Clemmer
W. S. Bigelow

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