BREAK not his sweet repose Thou whom chance brings to this sequestered ground,

The sacred yard his ashes close,

But go thy way in silence; here no sound Is ever heard but from the murmuring pines,

Answering the sea's near murmur;

Nor ever here comes rumor Of anxious world or war's foregathering signs.

The bleaching flag, the faded wreath, Mark the dead soldier's dust beneath, And show the death he chose; Forgotten save by her who weeps alone, And wrote his fameless name on this low stone:

Break not his sweet repose.

Perennial.

When culled the fields around Still calling up the great for wisest talk, Or singing clear some fresh, melodious stave,

Not sickly-sweet, but like ripe autumn fruit,

Of which not one but all the senses taste,
And leave uncloyed the dainty appetite.
Great English master of poetic art,
In these late times that dandle every

inuse,

Here mayst thou air all day thine elo quence,

And I a never weary listener,

If thou at eve wilt sing one witty song, Or chant some line of cadenced, classic hymn.

BOS'N HILL

THE wind blows wild on Bos'n Hill,
Far off is heard the ocean's rote;
Low overhead the gulls scream shrill,
And homeward scuds each little boat.

Then the dead Bos'n wakes in glee

To hear the storm-king's song; And from the top of mast-pine tree

He blows his whistle loud and long.

The village sailors hear the call,
Lips pale and eyes grow dim;
Well know they, though he pipes them all,
He means but one shall answer him.

He pipes the dead up from their graves,
Whose bones the tansy hides;
He pipes the dead beneath the waves,

They hear and cleave the rising tides.

But sailors know when next they sail
Beyond the Hilltop's view,
There's one amongst them shall not fail
To join the Bos'n's Crew.

DANDELIONS

Now dandelions in the short, new grass, Through all their rapid stages daily pass; No bee yet visits them; each has its place,

Still near enough to see the other's face. Unkenn'd the bud, so like the grass and ground

In our old country yards where thickest found;

Some morn it opes a little golden sun,
And sets in its own west when day is done.
In few days more 't is old and silvery gray,
And though so close to earth it made its
stay,

Lo! now it findeth wings and lightly flies,
A spirit form, till on the sight it dies.

SONG FROM A DRAMA ·

THOU art mine, thou hast given thy word;
Close, close in my arms thou art clinging;
Alone for my ear thou art singing
A song which no stranger hath heard:
But afar from me yet, like a bird,
Thy soul, in some region unstirred,
On its mystical circuit is winging.

Thou art mine, I have made thee mine own;

Henceforth we are mingled forever: But in vain, all in vain, I endeavor― Though round thee my garlands are thrown, And thon yieldest thy lips and thy zone — To master the spell that alone

My hold on thy being can sever.

Thou art mine, thou hast come unto me! But thy soul, when I strive to be near it

The innermost fold of thy spiritIs as far from my grasp, is as free, As the stars from the mountain-tops be, As the pearl, in the depths of the sea, From the portionless king that would wear it.

THE DISCOVERER

I HAVE a little kinsman

Whose earthly summers are but three,
And yet a voyager is he

Greater than Drake or Frobisher,
Than all their peers together!
He is a brave discoverer,
And, far beyond the tether

Of them who seek the frozen Pole,

Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll.

A one-eyed Cyclops halted long

In tattered cloak of army pattern,
And Galatea joined the throng, —
A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;
While old Silenus staggered out
From some new-fangled lunch-house
handy,

And bade the piper, with a shout,
To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy!

A newsboy and a peanut-girl
Like little Fauns began to caper:
His hair was all in tangled curl,

Her tawny legs were bare and taper;
And still the gathering larger grew,

And gave its pence and crowded nigher, While aye the shepherd-minstrel blew His pipe, and struck the gamut higher.

the sign:

Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his

laugh rang the louder,

This was the hand that knew to swing The axe-since thus would Freedom train

Her son and made the forest ring,

the whole line!"

A conscious leader's will obeyed,