"What wouldst thou know?" again I said, And gently bowing low
I stroked its half-uplifted head.
With chubby hand it grasped the blade
And answered: "Oo will know;
For oo has whixers on oo face,
What makes the grasses grow?"
"Last fall," I said, "a grass-seed fell
To the earth and went to sleep.
All winter it slept in its cozy cell
Till spring came tapping upon its shell;
Then it stirred and tried to peep
With its little green eye, right up to the sky,
And then it gave a leap.
"For the sun was warm, and the earth was fair, It felt the breezes blow.
It turned its cheek to the soft, sweet air,
And a current of life so rich and rare
Came up from its roots below;
It grew and kept growing; and that, my child, Is the reason the grasses grow."
"Oo talks des like as if oo s'pose I's a baby, and I don't know
'Bout nuffin'! But babies and every one knows That grasses don't think; for they only grows. My mamma has told me so.
What makes 'em start, an' get bigger an' bigger? What is it that makes 'em grow?
How could I answer in words so plain
That a baby could understand?
Ah, how could I answer my heart! 'Twere vain
To talk of the union of sun and rain
In the rich and fruitful land;
For over them all was the mystery
Of will and guiding hand.
What could I gather from learning more
Than was written so long ago?
I heard the billows of science roar
On the rocks of truth from the mystic shore;
And humbly bowing low
I answered alike the man and child;
"God makes the grasses grow."
At summer's eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near
"Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus, with delight we linger, to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way,
Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been,
And every form that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.
What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?
With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light
That pours remotest rapture on the sight.
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way
That calls each slumbering passion into play.
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band,
On tiptoe, watching, start at thy command,
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
To pleasure's paths, or glory's bright career.
Angel of Life! thy glittering wings explore
Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's wildest shore.
Lo, to the wintry winds the pilot yields
His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields.
Now on Atlantic waves, he rides afar;
Now far he sweeps where scarce a summer smiles
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles;
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm,
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form.
Rocks, waves and winds thy shattered bark delay,
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.
But hope can here her moonlit vigils keep,
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep.
His native hills that rise in happier climes,
The grot that heard his song of other times,
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail,
His glassy lake and broomwood blossomed vale,
Rush on his thoughts. He sweeps before the wind,
Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind,
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face,
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace.
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear,
And clasps with many a joy his children dear.
Say, can the world one generous thought bestow
To friendship weeping at the couch of woe?
Ah, no! but a brighter soothes the last adieu,
Souls of impassioned mould, she speaks to you.
"Weep not," she says, "at Nature's transient pain,
Congenial spirits part to meet again."
What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew;
What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu,
Daughter of Conrad? When he heard his knell
And bade his country and his child farewell,
Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart,
And thrice returned to bless thee and to part.
"Oh, weep not thus," he cried, "Young Eleanor,
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more,
Short shall this half-extinguished spirit burn,
And soon these limbs to kindred dust return.
But not, my child, with life's precarious fire,
The immortal ties of nature shall expire.
These shall resist the triumph of decay,
When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away.
Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie,
But its immortal life shall never die.
Farewell! when strangers lift thy father's bier,
And place my nameless stone without a tear,
Who then will soothe thy grief when mine is o'er,
Who will protect thee, helpless Eleanor?
Ah! methinks the generous and the good
Will woo thee from the shades of solitude ;
O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake,
And smile on innocence for mercy's sake."
Lo, at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps,
And weaves a song of melancholy joy,
Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy!
Bright as his manly sire the son shall be
In form and soul; but ah, more blest than he.
And say, when summoned from the world and thee,
I lay my head beneath the willow tree,
Wilt thou, sweet mourner, at my stone appear
And soothe my parted spirit lingering near?
Oh! wilt thou come at evening hour to shed,
The tears of memory, o'er my narrow bed?"
So speaks affection ere the infant eye
Can look regard or brighten in reply.
Ah, how fondly looks admiring Hope the while,
At every artless tear and every smile.
Oh, say, without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the home that plighted love endears,
Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh, what were man ?-a world without a sun.
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower.
In vain the viewless seraphs lingering there,
At starry midnight charmed the silent air.
The world was sad, the garden was a wild,
And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled.
Auspicious Hope: in thy sweet garden grow
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe.
Unfading hope, when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul and dust to dust return,
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
Oh, then thy kingdom comes, immortal power!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dreams of life's eternal day;
Then, then the triumph and the trance begin,
And all the Phoenix spirit burns within.
Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind,
But leave, oli, leave the light of hope behind.
Eternal Hope; when yonder spheres sublime
Pealed the first notes to sound the march of time,
Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade.
When all the sister planets have decayed,
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow,
And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below,
Thou, undismayed, shall o'er the ruins smile,
And light thy torch on Nature's funeral pile.
Boy Brittan-only a lad—a fair-haired boy.
Sixteen-in his uniform!
Into the storm-into the roaring jaws of grim Fort
Boldly bears the Federal flotilla-into the battle
Boy Brittan is Master's Mate aboard of the Essex-
There he stands buoyant and eagle-eyed,
By the brave Captain's side.
Ready to do and dare? Aye, aye, sir, always ready.
In his country's uniform!
Boom boom! and now the flag-boat sweeps
And now the Essex, into the battle-storm!
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