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A NAME

Addressed to my grand-nephew, Greenleaf Whittier Pickard. Jonathan Greenleaf, in A Genealogy of the Greenleaf Family, says briefly: "From all that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors of the Greenleaf family were Huguenots, who left France on account of their religious principles some time in the course of the sixteenth century, and settled in England. The name was probably translated from the French Feuillevert."

The name the Gallic exile bore, St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, Became upon our Western shore Greenleaf for Feuillevert.

A name to hear in soft accord Of leaves by light winds overrun, Or read, upon the greening sward Of May, in shade and sun.

The name my infant ear first heard Breathed softly with a mother's kiss; His mother's own, no tenderer word My father spake than this.

No child have I to bear it on; Be thou its keeper; let it take From gifts well used and duty done New beauty for thy sake.

The fair ideals that outran My halting footsteps seek and find-- The flawless symmetry of man, The poise of heart and mind.

Stand firmly where I felt the sway Of every wing that fancy flew, See clearly where I groped my way, Nor real from seeming knew.

And wisely choose, and bravely hold Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, Like the stout Huguenot of old Whose name to thee comes down.

As Marot's songs made glad the heart Of that lone exile, haply mine May in life's heavy hours impart Some strength and hope to thine.

Yet when did Age transfer to Youth The hard-gained lessons of its day?

Each lip must learn the taste of truth, Each foot must feel its way.

We cannot hold the hands of choice That touch or shun life's fateful keys; The whisper of the inward voice Is more than homilies.

Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, What can my evening give to morn, My winter to thy spring!

A life not void of pure intent, With small desert of praise or blame, The love I felt, the good I meant, I leave thee with my name.

1880.

GREETING.

Originally prefixed to the volume, The King's Missive and other Poems.

I spread a scanty board too late; The old-time guests for whom I wait Come few and slow, methinks, to-day.

Ah! who could hear my messages Across the dim unsounded seas On which so many have sailed away!

Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, And let us meet, as we have met, Once more beneath this low sunshine; And grateful for the good we 've known, The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, Shake bands upon the border line.

The favor, asked too oft before, From your indulgent ears, once more I crave, and, if belated lays To slower, feebler measures move, The silent, sympathy of love To me is dearer now than praise.

And ye, O younger friends, for whom My hearth and heart keep open room, Come smiling through the shadows long, Be with me while the sun goes down, And with your cheerful voices drown The minor of my even-song.

For, equal through the day and night, The wise Eternal oversight And love and power and righteous will Remain: the law of destiny The best for each and all must be, And life its promise shall fulfil.

1881.

AN AUTOGRAPH.

I write my name as one, On sands by waves o'errun Or winter's frosted pane, Traces a record vain.

Oblivion's blankness claims Wiser and better names, And well my own may pass As from the strand or glass.

Wash on, O waves of time!

Melt, noons, the frosty rime!

Welcome the shadow vast, The silence that shall last.

When I and all who know And love me vanish so, What harm to them or me Will the lost memory be?

If any words of mine, Through right of life divine, Remain, what matters it Whose hand the message writ?

Why should the "crowner's quest"

Sit on my worst or best?

Why should the showman claim The poor ghost of my name?

Yet, as when dies a sound Its spectre lingers round, Haply my spent life will Leave some faint echo still.

A whisper giving breath Of praise or blame to death, Soothing or saddening such As loved the living much.

Therefore with yearnings vain And fond I still would fain A kindly judgment seek, A tender thought bespeak.

And, while my words are read, Let this at least be said "Whate'er his life's defeatures, He loved his fellow-creatures.

"If, of the Law's stone table, To hold he scarce was able The first great precept fast, He kept for man the last.

"Through mortal lapse and dulness What lacks the Eternal Fulness, If still our weakness can Love Him in loving man?

"Age brought him no despairing Of the world's future faring; In human nature still He found more good than ill.

"To all who dumbly suffered, His tongue and pen he offered; His life was not his own, Nor lived for self alone.

"Hater of din and riot He lived in days unquiet; And, lover of all beauty, Trod the hard ways of duty.

"He meant no wrong to any He sought the good of many, Yet knew both sin and folly,-- May God forgive him wholly!"

1882.

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