Tallyho! the old Virginia gentry gather to the baying! In they rush'd and kill'd the game, shooting lustily

away;

And whene'er they slew a rebel, those who came too late for slaying,

Not to lose a share of glory, fired their bullets in his clay;

And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,

Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between them laid him down.

How the conquerors wore their laurels ; how they hasten'd on the trial;

How Old Brown was placed, half dying, on the Charlestown court-house floor;

How he spoke his grand oration, in the scorn of all denial;

What the brave old madman told them,—these are known the country o'er.

"Hang Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown!".

Said the judge—" and all such rebels!

judicial frown.

with his most

But, Virginians! don't do it! for I tell you that the flagon,

Filled with blood of Old Brown's offspring, was first pour'd by Southern hands;

And each drop from Old Brown's life-veins, like the red gore of the dragon,

May spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your slave-worn lands?

And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,

May trouble you more than ever, when you've nail'd his

coffin down!

November, 1859.

PAN IN WALL STREET.

JUST where the Treasury's marble front
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations,-
Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont
To throng for trade and last quotations,-
Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold
Outrival, in the ears of people,

The quarter-chimes, serenely toll'd
From Trinity's undaunted steeple ;-

Even there I heard a strange wild strain
Sound high above the modern clamour,
Above the cries of greed and gain,

The curbstone war, the auction's hammer, And swift, on Music's misty ways,

It led, from all this strife for millions, To ancient sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians.

And as it still'd the multitude,

And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,
I saw the minstrel where he stood
At ease against a Doric pillar:
One hand a droning organ play'd,

The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashion'd
Like those of old) to lips that made

The reeds give out that strain impassion'd.

"Twas Pan himself had wandered here A-strolling through this sordid city, And piping to the civic ear

The prelude of some pastoral ditty! The demigod had cross'd the seas,

From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr,

And Syracusan times,―to these

Far shores and twenty centuries later.

U

A ragged cap was on his head:

But-hidden thus-there was no doubting That, all with crispy locks o'erspread,

His gnarled horns were somewhere sprouting: His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes,

Were cross'd, as on some frieze you see them, And trousers, patch'd of divers hues,

Conceal'd his crooked shanks beneath them.

He fill'd the quivering reeds with sound,
And o'er his mouth their changes shifted,
And with his goat's-eyes look'd around
Where'er the passing current drifted;
And soon, as on Trinacrian hills

The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him,
Even now the tradesmen from their tills,
With clerks and porters, crowded near him.

The bulls and bears together drew

From Jauncey Court and New Street Alley, As erst, if pastorals be true,

Came beasts from every wooded valley;
The random passers stay'd to list,-
A boxer Egon, rough and merry,—
A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst
With Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry.

A one-eyed Cyclops halted long
In tatter'd cloak of army pattern,
And Galatea join'd the throng,-
A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;
While old Silenus stagger'd 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 pea-nut 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.

O heart of Nature, beating still

With throbs her vernal passion taught her,Even here, as on the vine-clad hill,

Or by the Arethusan water!

New forms may fold the speech, new lands
Arise within these ocean-portals,
But Music waves eternal wands,-
Enchantress of the souls of mortals!

So thought I;-but among us trod
A man in blue, with legal baton,
And scoff'd the vagrant demigod,
And push'd him from the step I sat on.
Doubting I mused upon the cry-

66

Great Pan is dead!"—and all the people Went on their ways:—and clear and high The quarter sounded from the steeple.

TOUJOURS AMOUR.

PRITHEE tell me, Dimple-Chin!
At what age does Love begin?
Your blue eyes have scarcely seen
Summers three, my fairy queen!
But a miracle of sweets,

Soft approaches, sly retreats,
Show the little archer there,
Hidden in your pretty hair;
When didst learn a heart to win?
Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin!

"Oh!” the rosy lips reply,
"I can't tell you if I try.
'Tis so long I can't remember:
Ask some younger lass than I!”

Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!
Do your heart and head keep pace?
When does hoary Love expire,
When do frosts put out the fire?
Can its embers burn below
All that chill December snow?
Care you still soft hands to press,
Bonny heads to smooth and bless?
When does Love give up the chase?
Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face !

"Ah!" the wise old lips reply,-
"Youth may pass and strength may
But of Love I can't foretoken:
Ask some older sage than I!"

die;

THE DOORSTEP.

THE Conference-meeting through at last,
We boys around the vestry waited
To see the girls come tripping past,
Like snow-birds willing to be mated.

Not braver he that leaps the wall
By level musket-flashes bitten,
Than I, who stepp'd before them all
Who long'd to see me get the mitten.

But no! she blush'd and took my arm :
We let the old folks have the highway,
And started toward the Maple Farm
Along a kind of lovers' by-way.

I can't remember what we said,-
'Twas nothing worth a song or story;
Yet that rude path by which we sped
Seem'd all transform'd and in a glory.