THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON (1823-1911)

To Duty

Light of dim mornings; shield from heat and cold;
Balm for all ailments; substitute for praise;
Comrade of those who plod in lonely ways
(Ways that grow lonelier as the years wax old);
Tonic for fears; check to the over-bold;
Nurse, whose calm hand its strong restriction lays,
Kind but resistless, on our wayward days;
Mart, where high wisdom at vast price is sold;
Gardener, whose touch bids the rose-petals fall,
The thorns endure; surgeon, who human hearts

Searchest with probes, though the death-touch be given;
Spell that knits friends, but yearning lovers parts;
Tyrant relentless o'er our blisses all;-

Oh, can it be, thine other name is Heaven?

GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824-1892)
Ebb and Flow

I walked beside the evening sea,
And dreamed a dream that could not be;
The waves that plunged along the shore
Said only-"Dreamer, dream no more!"

But still the legions charged the beach;
Loud rang their battle-cry, like speech;
But changed was the imperial strain:
It murmured-"Dreamer, dream again!"

I homeward turned from out the gloom,—
That sound I heard not in my room;
But suddenly a sound, that stirred
Within my very breast, I heard.

It was my heart, that like a sea
Within my breast beat ceaselessly:
But like the waves along the shore,

It said "Dream on!" and "Dream no more!"

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (1824-1903)

Hans Breitmann's Party

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

Dey had biano-blayin ;

I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau,
Her name was Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und ven dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in two.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty.
I vent dere you'll be pound.
I valset mit Madilda Yane

Und vent shpinnen round und round.
De pootiest Frauelein in de House,
She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she give a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,
I dells you it cost him dear.
Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks
Óf foost-rate Lager Beer.

Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in,
De Deutschers gifes a cheer.

I dinks dat so vine a barty
Nefer coom to a het dis year.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty;

Dere all vas Souse und Brouse,
Ven de sooper coomed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house;

Dey ate das Brot und Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst und Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
We all cot troonk ash bigs.

I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane
Und she shlog me on de kop,

Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks
Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty-
Where ish dat barty now?
Where ish de lofely golden cloud

Dat float on de moundain's prow?

Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern-
De shtar, of de shpirit's light?

All goned afay mit de Lager Beer-
Afay in de Ewigkeit!

The Two Friends

I have two friends-two glorious friends-two better could not be,

And every night when midnight tolls they meet to laugh with me.

The first was shot by Carlist thieves-ten years ago in Spain. The second drowned near Alicante-while I alive remain.

I love to see their dim white forms come floating through the night,

And grieve to see them fade away in early morning light.

The first with gnomes in the Under Land is leading a lordly life,

The second has married a mermaiden, a beautiful water-wife.

And since I have friends in the Earth and Sea-with a few, I trust, on high,

'Tis a matter of small account to me-the way that I may die.

For whether I sink in the foaming flood, or swing on the triple tree,

Or die in my bed, as a Christian should, is all the same to me.

BAYARD TAYLOR (1825-1878)

Song

Daughter of Egypt, veil thine eyes!
I cannot bear their fire;

Nor will I touch with sacrifice

Those altars of desire.

For they are flames that shun the day,
And their unholy light

Is fed from natures gone astray
In passion and in night.

The stars of Beauty and of Sin,
They burn amid the dark,
Like beacons that to ruin win
The fascinated bark.

Then veil their glow, lest I forswear
The hopes thou canst not crown,
And in the black waves of thy hair
My struggling manhood drown!

Bedouin Song

From the Desert I come to thee
On a stallion shod with fire;
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand,
And the midnight hears my cry:
I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

Look from thy window and see
My passion and my pain;
I lie on the sands below,

And I faint in thy disdain.
Let the night-winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh,

And melt thee to hear the vow

Of a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

My steps are nightly driven,
By the fever in my breast,
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.

Open the door of thy heart,
And open thy chamber door,
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

JULIA CAROLINE RIPLEY DORR (1825-1913)

Two Paths

A path across a meadow fair and sweet,

Where clover-blooms the lithesome grasses greet,

A path worn smooth by his impetuous feet.
A straight, swift path-and at its end, a star
Gleaming behind the lilac's fragrant bar,
And her soft eyes, more luminous by far!

A path across the meadow fair and sweet,

Still sweet and fair where blooms and grasses meetA path worn smooth by his reluctant feet.

A long, straight path-and, at its end, a gate
Behind whose bars she doth in silence wait
To keep the tryst, if he come soon or late!

JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER (1825-1906)

The Fight at the San Jacinto

"Now for a brisk and cheerful fight!"
Said Harman, big and droll,

As he coaxed his flint and steel for a light,
And puffed at his cold clay bowl;
"For we are a skulking lot," says he,
"Of land-thieves hereabout,

And these bold señores, two to one,

Have come to smoke us out."

Santa Anna and Castillon,

Almonte brave and gay,

Portilla red from Goliad,

And Cos with his smart array.
Dulces and cigaritos,

And the light guitar, ting-tum!
Sant' Anna courts siesta,

And Sam Houston taps his drum.

The buck stands still in the timber-
"Is it patter of nuts that fall?"
The foal of the wild mare whinnies-
Did he hear the Comanche call?
In the brake by the crawling bayou
The slinking she-wolves howl;

And the mustang's snort in the river sedge
Has startled the paddling fowl.