NEW ENGLAND's poet, rich in love as years,

Her hills and valleys praise thee, her swift brooks

Dance in thy verse; to her grave sylvan nooks

Thy steps allure us, which the woodthrush hears

As maids their lovers', and no treason fears; Through thee her Merrimacs and Agiochooks

And many a name uncouth win gracious looks,

Sweetly familiar to both Englands' ears: Peaceful by birthright as a virgin lake, The lily's anchorage, which no eyes behold

Save those of stars, yet for thy brother's sake

That lay in bonds, thou blewst a blast as

bold

Dear friend and old, they say you shake your head

And wish some bitter words of mine unsaid:

I wish they might be,·

there we are

agreed; I hate to speak, still more what makes the need;

But I must utter what the voice within Dictates, for acquiescence dumb were sin; I blurt ungrateful truths, if so they be, That none may need to say them after me. "T were my felicity could I attain The temperate zeal that balances your brain;

But nature still o'erleaps reflection's plan,

And one must do his service as he can. Think you it were not pleasanter to speak

Smooth words that leave unflushed the brow and cheek?

To sit, well-dined, with cynic smile, un

By shelves that sun them in the indulgent Past,

Where Spanish castles, even, were built to last,

Where saint and sage their silent vigil keep,

And wrong hath ceased or sung itself to

sleep.

Dear were my walks, too, gathering fra

grant store

Of Mother Nature's simple-minded lore: I learned all weather-signs of day or night;

No bird but I could name him by his flight,

No

distant tree but by his shape was known,

Or, near at hand, by leaf or bark alone. This learning won by loving looks I hived

As sweeter lore than all from books derived.

I know the charm of hillside, field, and wood,

Of lake and stream, and the sky's downy brood,

Of roads sequestered rimmed with sallow sod,

But friends with hardhack, aster, goldenrod,

Or succory keeping summer long its trust Of heaven-blue fleckless from the eddying dust:

These were my earliest friends, and latest too,

Still unestranged, whatever fate may do. For years I had these treasures, knew

their worth,

Estate most real man can have on earth. I sank too deep in this soft-stuffed repose That hears but rumors of earth's wrongs and woes;

Too well these Capuas could my muscles waste,

Not void of toils, but toils of choice and

taste;

These still had kept me could I but have quelled

The Puritan drop that in my veins rebelled.

But there were times when silent were my books

As jailers are, and gave me sullen looks, When verses palled, and even the woodland path,

By innocent contrast, fed my heart with wrath,