317 A POET'S APOLOGY. How little he cares if in shadow or sun They see him who gaze from the shore! He looks to the beacon that looms from the reef, As he drifts on the blast, like a wind-wafted leaf, Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted caves The dreamers who gaze while we battle the waves, Yet true to our course, though our shadow grow dark, And stand by the rudder that governs the bark, Nor ask how we look from the shore ! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. A Poet's Apology. `RUTH cut on high in tablets of hewn stone, TRUTH Or on great columns gorgeously adorned, Perchance were left alone, Passed by and scorned; But Truth enchased upon a jewel rare A man would keep, and next his bosom wear. So, many an hour, I sit and carve my gems Not for kings' diadems, Some amulet That may be worn o'er hearts that toil and plod, - EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. WH The Mowers. HERE mountains round a lonely dale Come night or morn, the hissing pail With yellow cream o'erflows; The fog drawn up the mountain-side Gay sunlights o'er the hillocks creep, The good-wife stirs at five, we know, The noontide brings its welcome rest Our toil-wet brows to dry; Anew with merry stave and jest The shrieking hone we ply. White falls the brook from steep to steep Among the purple heather— A scythe-sweep, and a scythe-sweep, We mow the dale together. FARM-YARD SONG. For dial, see, our shadows turn; A scythe, an hour-glass, and an urn- 319 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. Ο Farm-yard Song. VER the hills the farm-boy goes, His shadow lengthened along the land, A giant staff in a giant hand; In the poplar tree, above the spring, The katydid begins to sing; The early dews are falling; Into the stone-heap darts the mink; 66 Cheerily calling, 'Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" Farther, farther, over the hill, Faintly calling, calling still, "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!" Into the yard the farmer goes, With grateful heart, at the close of day; In the wagon shed stand yoke and plough; The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, The whinnying mare her master knows, "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" While still the cow-boy, far away, Goes seeking those that have gone astray, — Now to her task the milkmaid goes, While the pleasant dews are falling; "So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so!" To supper at last the farmer goes, The housewife's hand has turned the lock: The household sinks to deep repose; But still in sleep the farm-boy goes Singing, calling, "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" And oft the milkmaid in her dreams Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, Murmuring, "So, boss! so!" JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE. HAUNTED HOUSES. 321 A Haunted Houses. LL houses wherein men have lived and died We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear. We have no title-deeds to house or lands; The spirit-world around this world of sense Our little lives are kept in equipoise 14* |