NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. [Born in 1807, died in 1867. While still at college, he acquired a showy but unstable reputation by certain Scripture Sketches in verse; and continued producing various metrical and more numerous prose compositions, of a light and miscellaneous kind for the most part. He travelled in England and in Europe; making numerous acquaintances, some friends, and not a few enemies, by his social talents and his pen]. THE CONFESSIONAL. I THOUGHT of thee-I thought of thee, We furled before the coming gale, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Are many as the leaves in June: Is pregnant with impassioned thought, With one warm meaning only fraught. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, In wonders of the deathless arts; I strayed to lonely Fiesole On many an eve, and thought of thee. 1 I thought of thee-I thought of thee, To Time's forgetful foot and mine. When moonlight touched the ivied stone, Reclining, with a thought of all That o'er this scene hath come and gone, The shades of Rome would start and flee Unconsciously-I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, By life's rude changes humbler made. I thought the cowl would fit me well; I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Like dust of silver, slept the moon. Bore back the lover's passing sigh; I thought of thee-I thought of thee With wise Ulysses by the sea, Old Homer's songs around me playing; Or, watching the bewitched caique That o'er the star-lit waters flew, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, And heroes with it, one by one; I lay at noontide in the shade— I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Each wave some sweet old story tells; Which sleeps by Ilium's ruins old. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, All palace-lined from sea to sea : And ever on its shores the daughters Of the delicious east are seen, Printing the brink with slippered feet, And O the snowy folds between, What eyes of heaven your glances meet! Peris of light no fairer be; Yet, in Stamboul, I thought of thee. I've thought of thee-I've thought of thee, Through change that teaches to forget; Thy face looks up from every sea, Into the far and clouded west; I think of thee-I think of thee! THEODORE S. FAY. [Born in 1807. Became a barrister; settled in Europe in 1833, and has for the most part resided there since then, having been appointed Minister to Switzerland in 1853. His chief poem is named Ulric, or the Voices, 1851-55: but he is better known as a writer of prose fiction]. SONG. A CARELESS simple bird, one day Fluttering in Flora's bowers, Fell in a cruel trap which lay All hid among the flowers, Forsooth, the pretty, harmless flowers. The spring was closed; poor silly soul, Unhurt at length away he flew. And now, from every fond regret And idle anguish free, He singing says, "You need not set Another trap for me, False girl! another trap for me." THOMAS WARD. [Born in 1807. Adopted the medical profession; but eventually quitted it for literature and general studies. Passaic, a Group of Poems touching that River, published in 1841, is his leading work in verse]. TO AN INFANT IN HEAVEN. My grief is quenched in wonder, Our hopes of thee were lofty, The little weeper tearless, The sinner snatched from sin; And I, thy earthly teacher, Would blush thy powers to see; Thou art to me a parent now, And I a child to thee! Thy brain, so uninstructed While in this lowly state, Now threads the mazy track of spheres, Thine eyes, so curbed in vision, Now range the realms of space Look down upon the rolling stars, Look up to God's own face. |