Chapter I: REMEMBER--why, yes! God bless me! and was it so long ago?

I fear I'm growing forgetful, as old folks do, you know; It must have been in 'forty--I would say 'thirty-nine-- We talked this matter over, I and a friend of mine.

He said, "Well now, old fellow, I'm thinking that you and I, If we act like other people, shall be older by and by; What though the bright blue ocean is smooth as a pond can be, There is always a line of breakers to fringe the broadest sea.

"We're taking it mighty easy, but that is nothing strange, For up to the age of thirty we spend our years like Change; But creeping up towards the forties, as fast as the old years fill, And Time steps in for payment, we seem to change a bill."

"I know it," I said, "old fellow; you speak the solemn truth; A man can't live to a hundred and likewise keep his youth; But what if the ten years coming shall silver-streak my hair, You know I shall then be forty; of course I shall not care.

"At forty a man grows heavy and tired of fun and noise; Leaves dress to the five-and-twenties and love to the silly boys; No foppish tricks at forty, no pinching of waists and toes, But high-low shoes and flannels and good thick worsted hose."

But one fine August morning I found myself awake My birthday:--By Jove, I'm forty! Yes, forty, and no mistake! Why, this is the very milestone, I think I used to hold, That when a fellow had come to, a fellow would then be old!

But that is the young folks' nonsense; they're full of their foolish stuff; A man's in his prime at forty,--I see that plain enough; At fifty a man is wrinkled, and may be bald or gray; I call men old at fifty, in spite of all they say.

At last comes another August with mist and rain and shine; Its mornings are slowly counted and creep to twenty-nine, And when on the western summits the fading light appears, It touches with rosy fingers the last of my fifty years.

There have been both men and women whose hearts were firm and bold, But there never was one of fifty that loved to say "I'm old"; So any elderly person that strives to shirk his years, Make him stand up at a table and try him by his peers.

Now here I stand at fifty, my jury gathered round; Sprinkled with dust of silver, but not yet silver-crowned, Ready to meet your verdict, waiting to hear it told; Guilty of fifty summers; speak! Is the verdict _old_.

No! say that his hearing fails him; say that his sight grows dim; Say that he's getting wrinkled and weak in back and limb, Losing his wits and temper, but pleading, to make amends, The youth of his fifty summers he finds in his twenty friends.

FOR THE FAIR IN AID OF THE FUND TO PROCURE BALL'S STATUE OF WASHINGTON

1630

ALL overgrown with bush and fern, And straggling clumps of tangled trees, With trunks that lean and boughs that turn, Bent eastward by the mastering breeze,-- With spongy bogs that drip and fill A yellow pond with muddy rain, Beneath the shaggy southern hill Lies wet and low the Shawinut plain. And hark! the trodden branches crack; A crow flaps off with startled scream; A straying woodchuck canters back; A bittern rises from the stream; Leaps from his lair a frightened deer; An otter plunges in the pool;-- Here comes old Shawmut's pioneer, The parson on his brindled bull!

1774

The streets are thronged with trampling feet, The northern hill is ridged with graves, But night and morn the drum is beat To frighten down the "rebel knaves." The stones of King Street still are red, And yet the bloody red-coats come I hear their pacing sentry's tread, The click of steel, the tap of drum, And over all the open green, Where grazed of late the harmless kine, The cannon's deepening ruts are seen, The war-horse stamps, the bayonets shine. The clouds are dark with crimson rain Above the murderous hirelings' den, And soon their whistling showers shall stain The pipe-clayed belts of Gage's men.

186-

Around the green, in morning light, The spired and palaced summits blaze, And, sunlike, from her Beacon-height The dome-crowned city spreads her rays; They span the waves, they belt the plains, They skirt the roads with bands of white, Till with a flash of gilded panes Yon farthest hillside bounds the sight. Peace, Freedom, Wealth! no fairer view, Though with the wild-bird's restless wings We sailed beneath the noontide's blue Or chased the moonlight's endless rings! Here, fitly raised by grateful hands His holiest memory to recall, The Hero's, Patriot's image stands; He led our sires who won them all!

November 14, 1859.

THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA A NIGHTMARE DREAM BY DAYLIGHT

Do you know the Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea? Have you met with that dreadful old man? If you have n't been caught, you will be, you will be; For catch you he must and he can.

He does n't hold on by your throat, by your throat, As of old in the terrible tale; But he grapples you tight by the coat, by the coat, Till its buttons and button-holes fail.

There's the charm of a snake in his eye, in his eye, And a polypus-grip in his hands; You cannot go back, nor get by, nor get by, If you look at the spot where he stands.

Oh, you're grabbed! See his claw on your sleeve, on your sleeve! It is Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea! You're a Christian, no doubt you believe, you believe You're a martyr, whatever you be!

Is the breakfast-hour past? They must wait, they must wait, While the coffee boils sullenly down, While the Johnny-cake burns on the grate, on the grate, And the toast is done frightfully brown.

Yes, your dinner will keep; let it cool, let it cool, And Madam may worry and fret, And children half-starved go to school, go to school; He can't think of sparing you yet.

Hark! the bell for the train! "Come along! Come along! For there is n't a second to lose." "ALL ABOARD!" (He holds on.) "Fsht I ding-dong! Fsht! ding-dong!"-- You can follow on foot, if you choose.

There's a maid with a cheek like a peach, like a peach, That is waiting for you in the church;-- But he clings to your side like a leech, like a leech, And you leave your lost bride in the lurch.

There's a babe in a fit,--hurry quick! hurry quick! To the doctor's as fast as you can! The baby is off, while you stick, while you stick, In the grip of the dreadful Old Man!

I have looked on the face of the Bore, of the Bore; The voice of the Simple I know; I have welcomed the Flat at my door, at my door; I have sat by the side of the Slow;

I have walked like a lamb by the friend, by the friend, That stuck to my skirts like a bur; I have borne the stale talk without end, without end, Of the sitter whom nothing could stir.

But my hamstrings grow loose, and I shake, and I shake, At the sight of the dreadful Old Man; Yea, I quiver and quake, and I take, and I take, To my legs with what vigor I can!

Oh the dreadful Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea He's come back like the Wandering Jew! He has had his cold claw upon me, upon me,-- And be sure that he 'll have it on you!

INTERNATIONAL ODE

OUR FATHERS' LAND

GOD bless our Fathers' Land! Keep her in heart and hand One with our own! From all her foes defend, Be her brave People's Friend, On all her realms descend, Protect her Throne!

Father, with loving care Guard Thou her kingdom's Heir, Guide all his ways Thine arm his shelter be, From him by land and sea Bid storm and danger flee, Prolong his days!

Lord, let War's tempest cease, Fold the whole Earth in peace Under thy wings Make all thy nations one, All hearts beneath the sun, Till Thou shalt reign alone, Great King of kings!

A SENTIMENT OFFERED AT THE DINNER TO H. I. H. THE PRINCE NAPOLEON, AT THE REVERE HOUSE, SEPTEMBER 25,1861

THE land of sunshine and of song! Her name your hearts divine; To her the banquet's vows belong Whose breasts have poured its wine; Our trusty friend, our true ally Through varied change and chance So, fill your flashing goblets high,-- I give you, VIVE LA FRANCE!

Above our hosts in triple folds The selfsame colors spread, Where Valor's faithful arm upholds The blue, the white, the red; Alike each nation's glittering crest Reflects the morning's glance,-- Twin eagles, soaring east and west Once more, then, VIVE LA FRANCE!

Sister in trial! who shall count Thy generous friendship's claim, Whose blood ran mingling in the fount That gave our land its name, Till Yorktown saw in blended line Our conquering arms advance, And victory's double garlands twine Our banners? VIVE LA FRANCE!

O land of heroes! in our need One gift from Heaven we crave To stanch these wounds that vainly bleed,-- The wise to lead the brave! Call back one Captain of thy past From glory's marble trance, Whose name shall be a bugle-blast To rouse us! VIVE LA FRANCE!

Pluck Conde's baton from the trench, Wake up stout Charles Martel, Or find some woman's hand to clench The sword of La Pucelle! Give us one hour of old Turenne,-- One lift of Bayard's lance,-- Nay, call Marengo's Chief again To lead us! VIVE LA FRANCE!

Ah, hush! our welcome Guest shall hear But sounds of peace and joy; No angry echo vex thine ear, Fair Daughter of Savoy Once more! the land of arms and arts, Of glory, grace, romance; Her love lies warm in all our hearts God bless her! VIVE LA FRANCE!

BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SISTER CAROLINE

SHE has gone,--she has left us in passion and pride,-- Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side! She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow, And turned on her brother the face of a foe!

Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, We can never forget that our hearts have been one,-- Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name, From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame!

You were always too ready to fire at a touch; But we said, "She is hasty,--she does not mean much." We have scowled, when you uttered some turbulent threat; But Friendship still whispered, "Forgive and forget!"

Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold? Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold? Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain That her petulant children would sever in vain.

They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil, Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil, Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their eaves, And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves:

In vain is the strife! When its fury is past, Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow Roll mingled in peace through the valleys below.

Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky Man breaks not the medal, when God cuts the die! Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal!

Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, There are battles with Fate that can never be won! The star-flowering banner must never be furled, For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world!

Go, then, our rash sister! afar and aloof, Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof; But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore, Remember the pathway that leads to our door!

March 25, 1861.

NOTES: (For original print volume one)

[There stand the Goblet and the Sun.] The Goblet and the Sun (Vas-Sol), sculptured on a free-stone slab supported by five pillars, are the only designation of the family tomb of the Vassalls.

[Thus mocked the spoilers with his school-boy scorn.] See "Old Ironsides," of this volume.

[On other shores, above their mouldering towns.] Daniel Webster quoted several of the verses which follow, in his address at the laying of the corner-stone of the addition to the Capitol at Washington, July 4, 1851.

[Thou calm, chaste scholar.] Charles Chauncy Emerson; died May 9, 1836.

[And thou, dear friend, whom Science still deplores.] James Jackson, Jr., M. D.; died March 28, 1834.

[THE STEAMBOAT.] Mr. Emerson has quoted some lines from this poem, but somewhat disguised as he recalled them. It is never safe to quote poetry without referring to the original.

[Hark! The sweet bells renew their welcome sound.] The churches referred to in the lines which follow are,-- 1. King's Chapel, the foundation of which was laid by Governor Shirley in 1749. 2. Brattle Street Church, consecrated in 1773. The completion of this edifice, the design of which included a spire, was prevented by the troubles of the Revolution, and its plain, square tower presented nothing more attractive than a massive simplicity. In the front of this tower, till the church was demolished in 1872, there was to be seen, half imbedded in the brick-work, a cannon-ball, which was thrown from the American fortifications at Cambridge, during the bombard-ment of the city, then occupied by the British troops. 3. The Old South, first occupied for public worship in 1730. 4. Park Street Church, built in 1809, the tall white steeple of which is the most conspicuous of all the Boston spires. 5. Christ Church, opened for public worship in 1723, and containing a set of eight bells, long the only chime in Boston.

[INTERNATIONAL ODE.] This ode was sung in unison by twelve hundred children of the public schools, to the air of "God save the Queen," at the visit of the Prince of Wales to Boston, October 18, 1860.