English

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,

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;

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, —

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

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,

1.

Farewell! Nay, prithee turn again;
Rather than lose thee I'll arraign
Myself before thee! thou (most fair!) shall be
Thyself the judge:
I'll never grudge
A law ordained by thee.

2.

Pray do but see how every rose
A sanguine visage doth disclose;
O! see what aromatic gusts they breathe;
Come, here we'll sit,
And learn to knit
Them up into a wreath.

3.

With that wreath crowned shalt thou be;

Adown Potomac's stream the vessel glides
Swiftly as arrow from the slackened bow,
Bathes in receding streams her swelling sides,
And cleaves the surface with her foam-washed prow.
Far, far behind the city clusters now,
A shapeless mass all but yon noble dome,
Upon whose snowy slope the sunlight's glow
Dwells brightly, Freedom's temple and her home,
The grander capital of a more powerful Rome.

Lo! yon unsightly shaft, whose corner-stone