You snub me with a pitying " Where Were you in the September Gale?" Both stared entranced at Lafayette,

Saw Jackson dubbed with LL. D. What Cambridge saw not strikes us yet As scarcely worth one's while to see.

Ten years my senior, when my name

In Harvard's entrance-book was writ, Her halls still echoed with the fame Of you, her poet and her wit.

"T is fifty years from then to now:

But your Last Leaf renews its green, Though, for the laurels on your brow (So thick they crowd), 't is hardly

I scarce distinguish yours from mine, And don't we make the Gentiles yawn With "You remembers?" o'er our wine!

If I, with too senescent air,

Invade your elder memory's pale,

Whose verb admits no preterite tense

Master alike in speech and song

Of fame's great antiseptic-Style, You with the classic few belong Who tempered wisdom with a smile.

The moral? Where Doubt's eddies toss and twirl

Faith's slender shallop till her footing reel,

Plunge if you find not peace beneath the whirl,

Groping, you may like Omar grasp a pearl.

ON RECEIVING A COPY OF MR. "OLD WORLD

AUSTIN DOBSON'S
IDYLLS."

I.

AT length arrived, your book I take
To read in for the author's sake:
Too gray for new sensations grown,
Can charm to Art or Nature known
This torpor from my senses shake?

Hush! my parched ears what runnels slake?

Is a thrush gurgling from the brake?
Has Spring, on all the breezes blown,
At length arrived?

Long may you live such songs to make,
And I to listen while you wake,
With skill of late disused, each tone
Of the Lesboum barbiton,

At mastery, through long finger-ache, At length arrived.

II.

As I read on, what changes steal O er me and through, from head to heel?

A rapier thrusts coat-skirt aside, My rough Tweeds bloom to silken pride,

Who was it laughed? Your hand, Dick Steele !

Down vistas long of clipt charmille Watteau as Pierrot leads the reel; Tabor and pipe the dancers guide As I read on.

While in and out the verses wheel
The wind-caught robes trim feet reveal,
Lithe ankles that to music glide,
But chastely and by chance descried;
Art? Nature? Which do I most feel
As I read on?

TO C. F. BRADFORD

ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM pipe.
THE pipe came safe, and welcome too,
As anything must be from you;
A meerschaum pure, 't would float as
light

As she the girls call Amphitrite.
Mixture divine of foam and clay,
From both it stole the best away:
Its foam is such as crowns the glow
Of beakers brimmed by Veuve Clicquot;
Its clay is but congested lymph
Jove chose to make some choicer nymph;
And here combined,-why, this must
be

The birth of some enchanted sea,
Shaped to immortal form, the type
And very Venus of a pipe.

please,

JEFFRIES WYMAN.

Happy man's doom! To him the Fates were known

Of orbs dim hovering on the skirts of

space,

Unprescient, through God's mercy, of his

own!

SONNET.

TO FANNY ALEXANDER.

SHY soul and stalwart, man of patient will Through years one hair's-breadth on our Dark to gain,

Who, from the stars he studied not in vain, Ilad learned their secret to be strong and still,

Careless of fames that earth's tin trumpets fill;

Born under Leo, broad of build and brain, While others slept, he watched in that hushed fane

Of Science, only witness of his skill: Sudden as falls a shooting-star he fell, But inextinguishable his luminous trace In mind and heart of all that knew him well.

sweet

THE wisest man could ask no more of Fate Than to be simple, modest, manly, true, Safe from the Many, honored by the Few;

To count as naught in World, or Church, or State,

But inwardly in secret to be great;
To feel mysterious Nature ever new;
To touch, if not to grasp, her endless
clue,

And learn by each discovery how to wait. He widened knowledge and escaped the praise;

He wisely taught, because more wise to learn ;

He toiled for Science, not to draw men's gaze,