Seem kin' o' sad, an' roun' the hearth
Of empty places set me thinkin'.

Beaver roars hoarse with meltin' snows,
An' rattles di'mon's from his granite
Time wuz, he snatched away my prose,

An' into psalms or satires ran it;
But he, nor all the rest thet once

Started my blood to country-dances,

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110

Can't set me goin' more 'n a dunce

Thet hain't no use for dreams an' fancies

Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street

I hear the drummers makin' riot, An' I set thinkin' o' the feet

Thet follered once an' now are quiet, White feet ez snowdrops innercent,

Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, Whose comin' step ther' 's ears thet won't, No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'.

Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee?
Did n't I love to see 'em growin',

Three likely lads ez wal could be,

Hahnsome an' brave an' not tu knowin'?

I set an' look into the blaze

Whose natur', jes' like theirn, keeps climbin3,

Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways,

An' half despise myself for rhymin'.

Wut 's words to them whose faith an' truth On War's red techstone rang true metal, 105 Beaver Brook, a tributary of the Charles.

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Who ventered life an' love an' youth
For the gret prize o' death in battle?
To him who, deadly hurt, agen

Flashed on afore the charge's thunder,
Tippin' with fire the bolt of men

Thet rived the Rebel line asunder?

Tain't right to hev the young go fust,
All throbbin' full o' gifts an' graces,
Leavin' life's paupers dry ez dust

To try an' make b'lieve fill their places:
Nothin' but tells us wut we miss,

Ther''s gaps our lives can't never fay in,
An' thet world seems so fur from this
Lef' for us loafers to grow gray in!

My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth
Will take to twitchin' roun' the corners ;

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I pity mothers, tu, down South,

For all they sot among the scorners:

At Jedgment where your meanest slave is,

I'd sooner take my chance to stan'

Than at God's bar hol' up a han'

Ez drippin' red ez yourn, Jeff Davis !

Come, Peace! not like a mourner bowed

For honor lost an' dear ones wasted,

But proud, to meet a people proud,

With eyes thet tell o' triumph tasted!

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15%

Come, with han' grippin' on the hilt,

An' step thet proves ye Victory's daughter!

Longin' for you, our sperits wilt

Like shipwrecked men's on raf's for water.

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Come, while our country feels the lift
Of a gret instinct shoutin' "Forwards!
An' knows thet freedom ain't a gift

Thet tarries long in han's o' cowards!
Come, sech ez mothers prayed for, when

They kissed their cross with lips thet quivered An' bring fair wages for brave men,

A nation saved, a race delivered!

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THE FIRST SNOW-FALL

[In a letter to Sydney H. Gay, dated Elmwood, December 22 1849, Lowell wrote: "Print that as if you loved it. Let not & comma be blundered. Especially I fear they will put gleaming' for 'gloaming' in the first line unless you look to it. May you never have the key which shall unlock the whole meaning of the poem to you!"]

THE snow had begun in the gloaming,

And busily all the night

Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara

Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,

The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down
And still fluttered down the snow.

9. The marble of Carrara, Italy, is noted for its purity

10

I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;

How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,

Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below,

Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high,

I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding

The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father

Alone can make it fall!”

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow,

THE CHANGELING

I HAD a little daughter,
And she was given to me
To lead me gently backward

To the Heavenly Father's knee,
That I, by the force of nature,
Might in some dim wise divine
The depth of his infinite patience
To this wayward soul of mine.

I know not how others saw her,

But to me she was wholly fair,

10

And the light of the heaven she came from
Still lingered and gleamed in her hair;

For it was as wavy and golden,

15

And as many changes took,

As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples
On the yellow bed of a brook.

To what can I liken her smiling
Upon me, her kneeling lover,

How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids,
And dimpled her wholly over,

Till her outstretched hands smiled also,
And I almost seemed to see

The very heart of her mother

Sending sun through her veins to me!

She had been with us scarce a twelve-month, 25 And it hardly seemed a day,