Poems

"And there we hunted the walrus, The narwhale, and the seal; Ha! 't was a noble game!

"To the northward stretched the desert, And like the lightning's flame

How far I fain would know;

So at last I sallied forth,
And three days sailed due north,
As far as the whale-ships go.

"To the west of me was the ocean,
To the right the desolate shore,
But I did not slacken sail
For the walrus or the whale,

Till after three days more.

"The days grew longer and longer,
Till they became as one,
And northward through the haze
I saw the sullen blaze

Of the red midnight sun.

"And then uprose before me,
Upon the water's edge,
The huge and haggard shape
Of that unknown North Cape,
Whose form is like a wedge.

"The sea was rough and stormy,
The tempest howled and wailed,
And the sea-fog, like a ghost,
Haunted that dreary coast,

But onward still I sailed.

"Four days I steered to eastward, Four days without a night :

Flew our harpoons of steel.

It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, | Though at times his heart beats wild Ye mariners, the night is gone."

And hurried landward far away,
Crying, "Awake! it is the day."

It said unto the forest, "Shout!
Hang all your leafy banners out!"

It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
And said, "O bird, awake and sing."

And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer,
Your clarion blow; the day is near."

It whispered to the fields of corn,
"Bow down, and hail the coming morn."

It shouted through the belfry-tower,
"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour."

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie.'

THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF

AGASSIZ.

MAY 28, 1857.

IT was fifty years ago

In the pleasant month of May,
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,
A child in its cradle lay.

And Nature, the old nurse, took

The child upon her knee, Saying: "Here is a story-book

Thy Father has written for thee."

"Come, wander with me," she said,

"Into regions yet untrod; And read what is still unread

In the manuscripts of God."

And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe.

And whenever the way seemed long,
Or his heart began to fail,

She would sing a more wonderful song,
Or tell a more marvellous tale.

So she keeps him still a child,
And will not let him go,

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud;

Come to me, O ye children!

And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing

In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?

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