OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smouldered low. And the red sparks lit the air; And he fashioned the first ploughshare. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [U. S. A.] THE LIVING TEMPLE. Nor in the world of light alone, -- 219 No rest that throbbing slave may ask, But warmed with that unchanging flame See how yon beam of seeming white Then mark the cloven sphere that holds O Father! grant thy love divine DOROTHY Q. A FAMILY PORTRAIT. GRANDMOTHER's mother; her age, I guess, Lips that lover has never kissed, Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade, — On her hand a parrot green Dark with a century's fringe of dust, — Who the painter was none may tell, Look not on her with eyes of scorn, Ay! since the galloping Normans came, O damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q.! What if a hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered, No, When forth the tremulous question came That cost the maiden her Norman name; And under the folds that look so still The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill? Should I be I, or would it be One tenth another to nine tenths me? Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes: Not the light gossamer stirs with less; But never a cable that holds so fast Through all the battles of wave and blast, And never an echo of speech or song That lives in the babbling air so long! There were tones in the voice that whispered then You may hear to-day in a hundred men! O lady and lover, how faint and far It shall be a blessing, my little maid! And freshen the gold of the tarnished frame, And gild with a rhyme your household OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. ROBINSON OF LEYDEN. HE sleeps not here; in hope and prayer His wandering flock had gone before, But he, the shepherd, might not share Their sorrows on the wintry shore. Before the Speedwell's anchor swung, Ere yet the Mayflower's sail was spread, 221 Still cry them, and the world shall hear, Ye dwellers by the storm-swept sea! Ye have not built by Haerlem Meer, Nor on the land-locked Zuyder-Zee! THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE; While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY." The pastor spake, and thus he said : "Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! God calls you hence from over sea; Ye may not build by Haerlem Meer, Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee. "Ye go to bear the saving word To tribes unnamed and shores untrod: Heed well the lessons ye have heard From those old teachers taught of God. "Yet think not unto them was lent All light for all the coming days, And Heaven's eternal wisdom spent In making straight the ancient ways: "The living fountain overflows For every flock, for every lamb, Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose, With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam." He spake with lingering, long embrace, With tears of love and partings fond, They floated down the creeping Maas, Along the isle of Ysselmond. They passed the frowning towers of Briel, The "Hook of Holland's" shelf of sand, And grated soon with lifting keel The sullen shores of Fatherland. No home for these!-too well they knew The mitred king behind the throne;The sails were set, the pennons flew, And westward ho! for worlds unknown. -And these were they who gave us birth, The Pilgrims of the sunset wave, Who won for us this virgin earth, And freedom with the soil they gave. The pastor slumbers by the Rhine,— Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the Little of all we value here Do! I tell you, I rather guess Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large; Take it. -You 're welcome.-No extra charge.) Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed But there stood the stout old one-hoss All at once the horse stood still, --- Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground! You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, — |