"Oh, I am so fond of that poem," interrupted Ida, "that I have copied it into my album of poetical selections. Papa wrote it, you say, while visiting you?"
"Yes, he wrote it in the room where the family were all assembled. I recollect sitting beside him and watching his face as line after line flowed from his pen. I had never before seen any one write a poem, and it seemed to me quite wonderful. Read it to me, Ida, if your album is at hand; I do not recollect all the stanzas."
"THE FADED STARS."
BY HORACE GREELEY.
I
"I mind the time when Heaven's high dome
Woke in my soul a wondrous thrill--
When every leaf in Nature's tome
Bespoke Creation's marvels still;
When morn unclosed her rosy bars,
Woke joys intense; but naught e'er bade
My soul leap up like ye bright stars!
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II.
"Calm ministrants to God's high glory!
Pure gems around His burning throne!
Mute watchers o'er man's strange, sad story
Of crime and woe through ages gone!
'Twas yours, the wild and hallowing spell,
That lured me from ignoble glens--
Taught me where sweeter fountains
Than ever bless the worldling's dreams.
III.
"How changed was life! A waste no more
Beset by Pain, and Want, and Wrong,
Earth seemed a glad and fairy shore,
Made vocal with Hope's impassioned song.
But ye bright sentinels of Heaven!
Far glories of Night's radiant sky!
Who when ye lit the brow of Even
Has ever deemed man born to die?
IV.
"'Tis faded now! That wondrous grace
That once on Heaven's forehead shone:
I see no more in Nature's face
A soul responsive to mine own.
A dimness on my eye and spirit
Has fallen since those gladsome years,
Few joys my hardier years inherit,
And leaden dulness rules the spheres.
V.
"Yet mourn not I! A stern high duty
Now nerves my arm and fires my brain.
Perish the dream of shapes of Beauty!
And that this strife be not in vain
To war on fraud intrenched with power,
On smooth pretence and specious wrong,
This task be mine tho' Fortune lower--
For this be banished sky and song."
"How did it happen, mamma," inquired Marguerite, "that Uncle Barnes has not become a distinguished man? Is he not clever like Uncle Horace, or was he not fond of learning? It seems strange that he never left home to seek his fortune in the world."
"Brother Barnes has quite as much genius," mamma quickly replied, "as your Uncle Horace, and under equally favoring circumstances would have made as brilliant a man. A farmer's life was distasteful to him, and it was for years his dream to go away from home, and receive an education that would fit him for the bar or the pulpit, towards both of which 'callings' he was strongly attracted. It would, however, have been impossible for father to have hewn a farm unaided out of the wilderness, and he could not afford to hire any assistance, so brother Barnes generously sacrificed all his own aspirations and preferences, and devoted his life, which might have been a brilliant and successful one, to the dull routine of farm acres."