THE LAST LEAF OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SAW him once before, As he passed by the door, The pavement stones resound, They say that in his prime, Not a better man was found But now he walks the streets, Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said Poor old lady, she is dead That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here; But the old three-cornered hat, And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling. A OLD IRONSIDES OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Y, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more! Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, No more shall feel the victor's tread, O better that her shattered hulk Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, TO THE HUMMING-BIRD JONES VERY CANNOT heal thy green gold breast, Who sits alone within thy nest, No more with him in summer hours Nor seek, when evening darkly lowers, No more thou'lt know a mother's care Their path through fields of sunny air, For thy return in vain shall wait Thy tender young, thy fond, fond mate, Unknown, alas! thy cruel fate, Unheard thy cries! THE BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST JAMES T. FIELDS WE were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep It was midnight on the waters, 'Tis a fearful thing in winter So we shuddered there in silence, For the stoutest held his breath, As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy with his prayers, But his little daughter whispered, Then we kissed the little maiden, |