ECTIVE
WITH A PAIR OF GLOVES LOST IN A WAGER
SIXTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY
INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT

LAST POEMS.

HOW I CONSULTED THE ORACLE OF THE GOLDFISHES
TURNER'S OLD TEMERAIRE
ST. MICHAEL THE WEIGHER
A VALENTINE
AN APRIL BIRTHDAY--AT SEA
LOVE AND THOUGHT
THE NOBLER LOVER
ON HEARING A SONATA OF BEETHOVEN'S PLAYED IN THE NEXT ROOM
VERSES, INTENDED TO GO WITH A POSSET DISH
ON A BUST OF GENERAL GRANT

APPENDIX.

I. INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND SERIES OF BIGLOW PAPERS
II. GLOSSARY TO THE BIGLOW PAPERS
III. INDEX TO BIGLOW PAPERS

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

INDEX OF TITLES

EARLIER POEMS

THRENODIA

Gone, gone from us! and shall we see
Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,
Those calm eyes, nevermore?
Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright,
Wherein the fortunes of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
Oh stern word--Nevermore!

The stars of those two gentle eyes 10
Will shine no more on earth;
Quenched are the hopes that had their birth,
As we watched them slowly rise,
Stars of a mother's fate;
And she would read them o'er and o'er,
Pondering, as she sate,
Over their dear astrology,
Which she had conned and conned before,
Deeming she needs must read aright 19
What was writ so passing bright.
And yet, alas! she knew not why.
Her voice would falter in its song,
And tears would slide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
Oh stern word--Nevermore!

The tongue that scarce had learned to claim
An entrance to a mother's heart
By that dear talisman, a mother's name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!
I loved to see the infant soul 30
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its untutored meekness!)
Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,
Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile
That more than words expressed,
When his glad mother on him stole
And snatched him to her breast!
Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, 40
That would have soared like strong-winged birds
Far, far into the skies,
Gladding the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,
Had he but tarried with us long!
Oh stern word--Nevermore!

How peacefully they rest,
Crossfolded there
Upon his little breast,
Those small, white hands that ne'er were still before, 50
But ever sported with his mother's hair,
Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore!
Her heart no