Ye Yankee volunteers!
It makes my bosom bleed
When I your story read,
Though oft 'tis told one
So—in both hemispheres
The women are untrue,
And cruel in the New,
As in the Old one!

What—in this company
Of sixty sons of Mars,
Who march 'neath Stripes and Stars
With fife and horn,
Nine-tenths of all we see
Along the warlike line
Had but one cause to join
This Hope Forlorn?

Deserters from the realm
Where tyrant Venus reigns,
You slipp'd her wicked chains,
Fled and outran her.
And now, with sword and helm,

O patron saint of wayfarers,
This traveller from distant lands
Comes home and kneels before your shrine,
A suppliant with uplifted hands.

Grant me a lodging in your shade,
And peace, and shelter from the rain,
A bed with smooth white sheets, a fire,
Till on my way I fare again.

As votive gift accept these flowers
—Gethsemane once nourished them—
This handful of grey earth, this spray
Of olive from Jerusalem.

O patron saint of wayfarers
And beggars, grant that I, who sue
For shelter as a wayfarer,
May never come a beggar, too.

Somewhere the world has a place for you
That is all your own;
Somewhere is work that your hand can do,
And yours alone.
Whether afar over land and sea
Or close at your door may the duty be,
It calls for your service full and free—
Take your place!

Somewhere the world has bitter tears
Your smile might dry;
Somewhere burdened with doubts and fears,
The hopeless sigh.
There are steps that falter, weary, weak,
For strong, brave arm they vainly seek;
Will you pass them by on the journey bleak?
Take your place!

Here sleeps beneath this bank, where daisies grow,
The kindliest sprite earth holds within her breast;
In such a spot I would this frame should rest,
When I to join my friend far hence shall go.
His only mate is now the minstrel lark,
Who chants her morning music o'er his bed,
Save she who comes each evening, ere the bark
Of watch-dog gathers drowsy folds, to shed
A sister's tears. Kind Heaven, upon her head
Do thou in dove-like guise thy spirit pour,
And in her aged path some flowerets spread
Of earthly joy, should Time for her in store

O Star of Galilee,
Shining o'er this earth's dark sea,
Shed thy glorious light on me.

Queen of Clemency and Love,
Be my Advocate above,
And through Christ all sin remove.

When the angel called thee blest,
And with transports filled thy breast,
'Twas thy Lord became thy guest.

Earth's purest Creature thou,
In the heavens exulting now,
With a halo round thy brow.

Beauty beams in every trace
Of the Virgin-Mother's face,
Full of glory and of grace—

A Beacon to the just,
To the sinner Hope and Trust,
Joy of the angel-host.

Warmly wrapped
in its feathered robe—
feet of the wild duck.

The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.

She felt herself supremer,—
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king

Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity,—
The want of diadems!

The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown,—
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.

About Yule, quhen the wind blew cule
And the round tables began,
A! there is cum to our king's court
Mony a well-favour'd man.

The queen luikt owre the castle wa',
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw young Waters
Cum riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind,
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.

Gowden graith'd his horse before
And siller shod behind,
The horse yo[u]ng Waters rade upon
Was fleeter than the wind.

But then spake a wylie lord,

In one day
snow melts to fall again—
cool on Fuji’s peak.

“T ELL me a story—please,” my little girl
Lisp'd from her cradle. So I bent me down
And told her how it rain'd, and rain'd, and rain'd,
Till all the flowers were cover'd, and the trees
Hid their tall heads, and where the houses stood,
And people dwelt, a fearful deluge roll'd;
Because the world was wicked, and refused
To heed the words of God. But one good man,
Who long had warn'd the wicked to repent,
Obey, and live, taught by the voice of Heaven,
Had built an ark; and thither, with his wife
And children, turn'd for safety. Two and two