The year's last, loveliest smile,—

Thou comest to fill with hope the human heart, And strengthen it to bear the storms awhile, Till winter days depart.

O'er the wide plains, that lie

A desolate scene, the fires of autumn spread,
And nightly on the dark walls of the sky
A ruddy brightness shed.

Far in a shelter'd nook

I've met, in these calm days, a smiling flower, A lonely aster, trembling by a brook,

At the quiet noontide's hour.

And something told my mind,

That, should old age to childhood call me back, Some sunny days and flowers I still might find Along life's weary track.

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS.

Born at Portland, Maine, 1807-died 1867.

THE ANNOYER.

LOVE knoweth every form of air,
And every shape of earth,
And comes unbidden everywhere,
Like thought's mysterious birth.
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky
Are written with Love's words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
Like song in the time of birds.

He

peeps into the warrior's heart From the tip of a stooping plume,

And the serried spears, and the many men,

May not deny him room.

He'll come to his tent in the weary night,

And be busy in his dream,

And he'll float to his eye in the morning light,
Like a fay on a silver beam.

He hears the sound of the hunter's gun,
And rides on the echo back,

And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf,
And flits in his woodland track.

The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the river,
The cloud and the open sky,-

He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver,
Like the light of your very eye.

The fisher hangs over the leaning boat,
And ponders the silver sea,

For Love is under the surface hid,
And a spell of thought has he;

He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet,
And speaks in the ripple low,

Till the bait is gone from the crafty line,
And the hook hangs bare below.

He blurs the print of the scholar's book,
And intrudes in the maiden's prayer,
And profanes the cell of the holy man
In the shape of a lady fair.

In the darkest night, and the bright daylight,
In earth, and sea, and sky,
In every home of human thought

Will Love be lurking nigh.

TWO WOMEN.

THE shadows lay along Broadway,
"Twas near the twilight-tide,
And slowly there a lady fair

Was walking in her pride.

Alone walk'd she; but, viewlessly,
Walk'd spirits at her side.

Peace charm'd the street beneath her feet,
And Honour charm'd the air;
And all astir look'd kind on her,

And call'd her good as fair,—

For all God ever gave to her
She kept with chary care.

She kept with care her beauties rare
From lovers warm and true,

For her heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to woo,—
But honour'd well are charms to sell
If priests the selling do.

Now walking there was one more fair,—
A slight girl, lily-pale;

And she had unseen company

To make the spirit quail,

"Twixt Want and Scorn she walk'd forlorn,

And nothing could avail.

No mercy now can clear her brow

For this world's peace to pray;

For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman's heart gave way!

But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven By man is cursed alway!

SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

I LOVE to look on a scene like this,
Of wild and careless play,

And persuade myself that I am not old,

And my locks are not yet gray;

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,

And makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice,

And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walk'd the world for fourscore years,
And they say that I am old-

That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death,
And my years are well-nigh told.
It is very true—it is very true-

I am old, and I "bide my time;
But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on! play on! I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing.
I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smother'd call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,
And I care not for the fall.

I am willing to die when my time shall come,
And I shall be glad to go-

For the world, at best, is a weary place,
And my pulse is getting low;

But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail
In treading its gloomy way;

And it wiles my heart from its dreariness
To see the young so gay.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.*

Born at Haverhill, Mass: 1807.

SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE.

Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,—
On Apuleius' Golden Ass,

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human hack,
Islam's Prophet on Al-Borak,-

The strangest ride that ever was sped
*See Note 12.

Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead !
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarr'd and feather'd and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead !

Body of turkey, head of owl,
Wings a-droop like a rain'd-on fowl,
Feather'd and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Push'd and pull'd up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limb'd, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,

*

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, Over and over the Mænads sang:

66

'Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Small pity for him!-He sail'd away
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,-
Sail'd away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's-people on her deck!
"Lay by! lay by!"-they call'd to him.
Back he answer'd- "Sink or swim!

Brag of your catch of fish again!"

And off he sail'd through the fog and rain! Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart Tarr'd and feather'd and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead !

* See Note 13.