FLOATING WITH THE GALE 50

LULA JOHNSON'S SONG 53

A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR 57

WERE I A BIRD 59

AN ODE TO ETHIOPIA 62

TO J. S. B. 72

THE MAYOR'S RING 73

WHAT'S THE USE? 74

O GOD, WILT THOU HELP ME IN SCHOOL? 76

BEHIND THE BARS 84

HARVARD SQUARE 86

THE END 96

THE SYLVAN CABIN

A CENTENARY ODE ON THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN

I

O, fairest Dame of sylvan glades,
We come to pay thee homage due,
Embrace thee softly and to kiss
Thy lovely, long-forsaken cheeks;
To smooth thy flowing silver locks
And bind about thy snowy neck
A necklace golden studded full
With rarest gems and shining pearls.
Our eyes, though sometimes dimmed with tears,
In purer lustre sparkle forth
Whene'er they fall agaze on thee!
Our ears attuned to thy sweet lay
Catch every flowing, cadent note
And bear it ever safe within
Our rapturous hearts, which gladly leap
Whene'er thy name is called!
Deep in our souls the quenchless fire
Of love full brightly burns upon
The sacred altar, set apart
For sprite commune and sacrifice;
Whose high-priest tends with loving care,
And unto thee sweet incense burns.
Our tongues most gladly sing thy praise,
And from it ne'er shall cease--till all
The land be free!

II

A century lonely hast thou stood
Here all forsaken and forgot!
All men failed thee to visit save
Some idle lover of sylvan haunts
Who trod, perchance, this hallowed spot,
And cast a pensive eye upon
This lovely glade, thy sole abode
(Full lost in these continuous woods),
And brooding o'er thy lowly lot,
Oft thus did muse: "This cabin lone
Here stands to tell the tale of him,
Back-woodsman brave, who having scaled
The mystic mountains ne'er returned
To them, though loved yet left behind;
But here he chose his last abode,
These gloomy woods whose blackness stands
Up hard against horizon's slope;
Grim, spectral, dreaded, and untrod
Save monsters great of savage mien,
That prowled, or crouched upon their prey;
Sent forth a vicious roar that fairly shook
Old Sylvia far and near, from vale
Through crag to mountain