He raised his voice — the scornful smiled,
A jeering rabble came to hear;
The statesman mocked, the mob reviled,
Pulpit and press gave little cheer.

He raised his voice — the scoffer frowned,
Disciples gathered day by day;
In him the living Word was found,
The light, the life, the truth, the way.

He raised his voice — the crowded hall
Answered to eloquence and right;
And statesmen heard at last the call
Of freemen rising in their might.

He raised his voice — the shackles fell,
And all beneath the stars were free.

SOLD ON BEHALF OF A HOSPITAL

The buyer gapes and stammers: " What!
You mean to tell me I have got
To read these Plays — to read them all!
Oh! no — the man's a criminal,
With twenty-seven mortal sins! —
Ye little fishes and your fins!
Too hot! It comforts me to think
They must have driven him to drink! "

Ah! yes, they did; and that is why
I make the buyer this reply:
" Far better burned than read, poor buyer;

If I were asked to take my pick
Of all the creatures fantastic,
Gryphons and phaenixes and such,
Dragons and dolphins, and the much
Reported serpent of the sea,
Vampires, whichever they may be,
March hares, mad rabbits, or the Sphinx,
Or all the many missing links —
Well!
There's something to be said for fauns —
But I should choose white unicorns!

Who would commend thee, friend! and thinks 't may be
Performed by a faint hyperbole,
Might also call thee but a man, or dare
To praise thy mistress with the term of fair.
But I, the choicest of whose knowledge is
My knowing thee, cannot so grossly miss.
Since thou art set so high, no words can give
An equal character, but negative.
Subtract the earth and baseness of this age,
Admit no wildfire in poetic rage,
Cast out of learning whatsoever's vain,
Let ignorance no more haunt noblemen,
Nor humour travellers, let wits be free

1.

Fairest, when thy eyes did pour
A crystal shower,
I was persuaded that some stone
Had liquid grown;
And, thus amazed, sure, thought I,
When stones are moist, some rain is nigh.

2.

Why weep'st thou? 'cause thou cannot be
More hard to me?
So lionesses pity, so
Do tygers too;
So doth that bird, which when she's fed
On all the man, pines o'er the head.

3.

Yet I'll make better omens, till
Event beguile;
Those pearly drops in time shall be
A precious sea;

A little shallop floating slow along
The fair Potomac's tide,
The oarsman, pausing for a simple song,
Sung softly at his side; —

A quaint, old-fashioned love-song, such as stirs
All tender souls, and thrills
To sudden youth the hearts of grandmothers,
Among New England's hills.

Great boughs of laurel garlanding the boat,
Won from the bloomy store
Of forests, lying purple and remote
Along the eastern shore.

Far off, the city and the growing dome
Of the fair Capitol, —
White and ethereal as the feathery foam

DEDICATED TO MRS. JAMES A. GARFIELD .

The fountain gives birth to the stream,
The stream glides on to the sea;
The sun looks down, and its beam
Lifts moisture to gladden the lea;
The hills and the mountains rejoice,
The valleys with deep verdure lined;
One chorus the elements voice —
With love every law is entwined.

The rose leans over the brook,
And blushes its beauty to trace;

As scriveners sometime delight to see
Their basest writing, Nature has in thee
Essay'd how much she can transgress at once
Apelles' draughts, Durer's proportions;
And for to make a jest and try a wit,
Has not (a woman) in thy forehead writ,
But scribbled so, and gone so far about,
Indagine would never smell thee out,
But might exclaim, here only riddles be,
And Heteroclites in physiognomy.
But as the mystic Hebrew backward lies,
And algebra's guess'd by absurdities,
So must we spell thee; for who would suppose

I.

Dear Friend! I have a dread and glorious home,
Just where two inland rivers gently meet,
And the young Cherwell's haunted waters come,
Isis, their queen, to greet.

II.

Far in the woodland heart of this green isle
To their own banks those streams are tinkling now,
Where many an ancient church and gorgeous pile
Throng in to hear them flow.

III.

But I have yet another home as fair,
Though my sweet southern streams are far away,
And two wild mountain rills are meeting there
As musical as they.

IV.

Still herald of the morn, whose ray
Being page and usher to the day,
Doth mourn behind the sun, before him play;
Who sets a golden signal, ere
The bat retire, the lark appear,
The early cocks cry comfort, screech owls fear.

Who wink'st while lovers plight their troth,
Then falls asleep, while they are loth
To part without a more engaging oath:
Steal in a message to the eyes
Of Julia, tell her that she lies
Too long, thy lord the sun will quickly rise.

Yet is it midnight still with me,
Nay worse, unless that kinder she