’Twas only a sprig of white jessamine,
That came in a letter she wrote;
But I value it more than the costliest vine
Whose tendrils o’er marble-carved trellis-work twine:
’Twas worn at my darling one’s throat.
A throat that encages the nightingale’s trill,
And sweetens each silvery note,
And I think as I hear, in a rapturous thrill,
Her voice, whose volume can heaven’s dome fill,
That the angels have lent her a throat.
More sweet than exotics that Fashion dupes wear
As through the gay ballroom they float!
In the leaves of my Bible I laid it with care,
More sacredly dear than a buried friend’s hair
Since worn at my darling one’s throat!
THE PARTING SHIP
In pensive mood I stood upon the quay,
Where busy Commerce plied her energy;
Where loading vessels hung their sails at rest,
And rose and fell, upon the water’s breast.
Where busy little tugs with hissing steam
Buried their noses in the foaming stream.
Near by, a steamer in a paneled wharf
Chafed at her chains and panted to be off.
A strange, mysterious ship, no pennon bold
Her nation or her destination told;
No crew was seen, no farewell song was sung,
No parting loved ones to each other clung;
No wife was weeping on her husband’s neck,
No mother blessed her wayward boy on deck.
A ceaseless throng pressed through the cabin door,
As if they longed to leave their native shore;
No backward glance, no tearful farewell view,
And no one seemed to think home worth adieu.
At last the bell was rung, the plank was drawn,
And with a shivering sigh, the ship was gone.
Then as I marked her curving track of foam,
I wondered in what waters she would roam;
I thought of those on board, the reckless air
Of their departure, and I breathed a prayer.
A red-haired man stood turning up a wheel,
That wound a clanking chain upon a reel;
I laid a coin upon his brawny hand,
And asked him, “Who thus leave their native land?”
He leaned upon his wheel and closed one eye,
As if the lid were burdened with a sty;
Then with a laugh he answered, “By the devil’s spleen and liver,
It’s on’y a Fulton ferry-boat a’gwine a’gross East River.”
TO M——, FROM E——
WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF A BIBLE
One year of sweetest love intense!
One year of mutual confidence!
One year of gazing into eyes,
In which the love-light never dies!
One year of clasping hands, that thrill
With throbbing love from life’s red rill
One year of clouds, whose transient shade
The after glory brighter made!
One year of doubts, whose fleeting rust
Could not corrode our links of trust!
One year of prayer, whose pleading tone
Has for each other sued the Throne!
One year together—may it prove
Prophetic of our earthly love!
One year each other’s—may it be
A type of our eternity!