English

I gazed forth from my wintry tent
Upon the star-gemmed firmament;
I heard the far-off sentry's tramp
Around our mountain-girdled camp
And saw the ghostly tents uprise
Like specters 'neath the jeweled skies.
And thus upon the snow-clad scene,
So pure and spotless and serene,
Where locked in sleep ten thousand lay
Awaiting morn's returning ray, —
I gazed, till to the sun the drums
Rolled at the dawn, " He comes, he comes. "

A legend has told us that Cupid and Death
Were driven by stress of the weather,
To an inn where they reveled in mischief and fun,
And cracked a full bumper together.
But Cupid, the rogue, with the arrows of Death.
A bunch from his own quiver mingled;
Thus oft an old swain is smitten by love,
Whom Death for a victim has singled.

INTENDED FOR THE QOAKER.

Thou man of firmness turn this way,
Nor time by absence measure,
The sportive dance, the sprightly lay
Shall wake thee into pleasure:
Spite of thy formal outward man,
Thou'rt gay, as we shall prove thee;
Then cheer thee, laugh away thy span,
And let the spirit move thee.

II.

None are more just, more true, more fair,

The morning brightness showereth down from heaven;
The morning freshness goeth up from earth;
The morning gladness shineth everywhere!
Soon as the sun, in glorious panoply,
Parting the crimson curtains of his tent,
Begins the day's proud march, the voice of song
And flush of beauty live along his way!
The maiden flowers, whom all the dreamy night
The starlight vainly wooed, with wan, cold smile,
Blush as his presence breathes upon their bloom,
And feel his kiss through all their glowing veins,

We, on the present hour relying,
Think not of future, nor of past,
But seize each moment as 'tis flying,
Perhaps the next may be our last.

Perhaps old Charon, at his wherry,
This moment waits to wast us o'er;
Then charge your glasses, and be merry,
For fear we ne'er should charge them more.

II.

With brow austere, and head reclining,
Let envy, age, and haggard care

They say a tempest is abroad to-night;
They tell me of its fearful sights and sounds, —
Of driving rains, the rush and roar of winds,
The plunge of torrents o'er the mountain side,
The burst of thunder, and the lurid track
Of the quick lightning, leaping down the skies!

But deeper midnight and a colder gloom
Enwrap my life, — within my bosom reigns
A wilder, sterner strife, — while bows my head,
Bared to the peltings of a mightier storm!

I sing Ulysses, and those chiefs
Who, out of near a million,
So luckily their bacon sav'd
Before the walls of Ilion.

Yankee doodle doodle doo,
Black negro he get fumbo,
And when you come to our town
We'll make you drunk with bumbo.

II.

Who having taken, sack'd, and burnt,
That very first of cities,
Return'd in triumph, while the bards

Mr. Noel Coward
Was disillusioned and soured
By the lukewarm reception of his comedy
Introducing a real dromedary.

My foot's in the stirrup, my hand's on the rein,
My proud steed is tossing his longflowing mane;
Yet, stay for a moment! I'll wave ere we part
Another farewell to the girl of my heart.

How blest was the evening I knelt by her side,
And watched the Miami's deep willow-fringed tide,
And dreamed a fair dream that love would flow ever,
As smooth and as bright as the beautiful river.

“Oh, stay!” said the rose to the wind, as it sped;
Alas! in a moment the sighing wind fled.
“Oh, stay!” said the lily, “nor leave me alone,”

Ecclesia D EI

Who is she that stands triumphant
Rock in strength upon the Rock,
Like some city crown'd with turrets
Braving storm and earthquake shock?
Who is she her arms extending,
Blessing thus a world restored;
All the anthems of creation
Lifting to creation's Lord?

Hers the kingdom, hers the sceptre!