Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs The air to-day, our love is hers!
She needs no guaranty of fame Whose own is linked with Freedom's name.
Long ages after ours shall keep Her memory living while we sleep; The waves that wash our gray coast lines, The winds that rock the Southern pines, Shall sing of her; the unending years Shall tell her tale in unborn ears.
And when, with sins and follies past, Are numbered color-hate and caste, White, black, and red shall own as one The noblest work by woman done.
GODSPEED
Written on the occasion of a voyage made by my friends Annie Fields and Sarah Orne Jewett.
Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one Whose prayer availeth much, my wish should be Your favoring trade-wind and consenting sea.
By sail or steed was never love outrun, And, here or there, love follows her in whom All graces and sweet charities unite, The old Greek beauty set in holier light; And her for whom New England's byways bloom, Who walks among us welcome as the Spring, Calling up blossoms where her light feet stray.
God keep you both, make beautiful your way, Comfort, console, and bless; and safely bring, Ere yet I make upon a vaster sea The unreturning voyage, my friends to me.
1882.
WINTER ROSES.
In reply to a flower gift from Mrs. Putnam's school at Jamaica Plain.
My garden roses long ago Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks; Their pale, fair sisters smile no more Upon the sweet-brier stalks.
Gone with the flower-time of my life, Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride, And Nature's winter and my own Stand, flowerless, side by side.
So might I yesterday have sung; To-day, in bleak December's noon, Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues, The rosy wealth of June!
Bless the young bands that culled the gift, And bless the hearts that prompted it; If undeserved it comes, at least It seems not all unfit.
Of old my Quaker ancestors Had gifts of forty stripes save one; To-day as many roses crown The gray head of their son.
And with them, to my fancy's eye, The fresh-faced givers smiling come, And nine and thirty happy girls Make glad a lonely room.
They bring the atmosphere of youth; The light and warmth of long ago Are in my heart, and on my cheek The airs of morning blow.
O buds of girlhood, yet unblown, And fairer than the gift ye chose, For you may years like leaves unfold The heart of Sharon's rose.
1883.
THE REUNION
Read September 10, 1885, to the surviving students of Haverhill Academy in 1827-1830.
The gulf of seven and fifty years We stretch our welcoming hands across; The distance but a pebble's toss Between us and our youth appears.
For in life's school we linger on The remnant of a once full list; Conning our lessons, undismissed, With faces to the setting sun.
And some have gone the unknown way, And some await the call to rest; Who knoweth whether it is best For those who went or those who stay?
And yet despite of loss and ill, If faith and love and hope remain, Our length of days is not in vain, And life is well worth living still.
Still to a gracious Providence The thanks of grateful hearts are due, For blessings when our lives were new, For all the good vouchsafed us since.
The pain that spared us sorer hurt, The wish denied, the purpose crossed, And pleasure's fond occasions lost, Were mercies to our small desert.
'T is something that we wander back, Gray pilgrims, to our ancient ways, And tender memories of old days Walk with us by the Merrimac;
That even in life's afternoon A sense of youth comes back again, As through this cool September rain The still green woodlands dream of June.
The eyes grown dim to present things Have keener sight for bygone years, And sweet and clear, in deafening ears, The bird that sang at morning sings.
Dear comrades, scattered wide and far, Send from their homes their kindly word, And dearer ones, unseen, unheard, Smile on us from some heavenly star.
For life and death with God are one, Unchanged by seeming change His care And love are round us here and there; He breaks no thread His hand has spun.
Soul touches soul, the muster roll Of life eternal has no gaps; And after half a century's lapse Our school-day ranks are closed and whole.
Hail and farewell! We go our way; Where shadows end, we trust in light; The star that ushers in the night Is herald also of the day!
NORUMBEGA HALL.
Norumbega Hall at Wellesley College, named in honor of Eben Norton Horsford, who has been one of the most munificent patrons of that noble institution, and who had just published an essay claiming the discovery of the site of the somewhat mythical city of Norumbega, was opened with appropriate ceremonies, in April, 1886. The following sonnet was written for the occasion, and was read by President Alice E. Freeman, to whom it was addressed.
Not on Penobscot's wooded bank the spires Of the sought City rose, nor yet beside The winding Charles, nor where the daily tide Of Naumkeag's haven rises and retires, The vision tarried; but somewhere we knew The beautiful gates must open to our quest, Somewhere that marvellous City of the West Would lift its towers and palace domes in view, And, to! at last its mystery is made known-- Its only dwellers maidens fair and young, Its Princess such as England's Laureate sung; And safe from capture, save by love alone, It lends its beauty to the lake's green shore, And Norumbega is a myth no more.
THE BARTHOLDI STATUE 1886
The land, that, from the rule of kings, In freeing us, itself made free, Our Old World Sister, to us brings Her sculptured Dream of Liberty,
Unlike the shapes on Egypt's sands Uplifted by the toil-worn slave, On Freedom's soil with freemen's hands We rear the symbol free hands gave.
O France, the beautiful! to thee Once more a debt of love we owe In peace beneath thy Colors Three, We hail a later Rochambeau!