Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye;

The wind is up; so; drift away.

That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly,

I strive, I pray.

II.-WHITE

Soul, get thee to the heart

Of yonder tuberose: hide thee thereThere breathe the meditations of thine art Suffused with prayer.

Of spirit grave yet light,

How fervent fragrances uprise

Pure-born from these most rich and yet most white

Virginities!

Mulched with unsavory death,

Grow, Soul! unto such white estate,

That virginal-prayerful art shall be thy breath,
Thy work, thy fate.

BALTIMORE, 1875.

ΤΟ

WITH A ROSE

I ASKED my heart to say

Some word whose worth my love's devoir might pay

Upon my Lady's natal day.

Then said my heart to me:

Learn from the rhyme that now shall come to thee What fits thy Love most lovingly.

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Uncle Jim's Baptist Revival Hymn

This gift that learning shows;

For, as a rhyme unto its rhyme-twin goes,
I send a rose unto a Rose.

PHILADELPHIA, 1876.

UNCLE JIM'S BAPTIST REVIVAL HYMN

BY SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER

I Solo.-Sin's rooster's crowed, Ole Mahster 's riz,
De sleepin'-time is pas';
Wake up dem lazy Baptissis,

II

Chorus.

Dey's mightily in de grass, grass,
Dey's mightily in de grass.

Ole Mahster's blowed de mornin' horn,
He's blowed a powerful blas';
O Baptis' come, come hoe de corn,

You's mightily in de grass, grass,
You's mightily in de grass.

De Meth'dis team's done hitched; O fool,
De day's a-breakin' fas';

Gear up dat lean ole Baptis' mule,

Dey's mightily in de grass, grass,
Dey's mightily in de grass.

De workmen's few an' mons'rous slow,
De cotton's sheddin' fas';

Whoop, look, jes' look at de Baptis' row,

Hit's mightily in de grass, grass.
Hit's mightily in de grass.

De jay-bird squeal to de mockin'-bird: "Stop! 21
Don' gimme none o' yo' sass;

Better sing one song for de Baptis' crop,
Dey's mightily in de grass, grass,
Dey's mightily in de grass.'

And de ole crow croak:

no;"

"Don' work, no,

But de fiel❜-lark say, “Yaas, yaas,

An' I spec' you mighty glad, you debblish

crow,

Dat de Baptissis's in de grass, grass,
Dat de Baptissis's in de grass !"

Lord, thunder us up to de plowin'-match,
Lord, peerten de hoein' fas',

Yea, Lord, hab mussy on de Baptis' patch,
Dey's mightily in de grass, grass,
Dey's mightily in de grass.

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1876.

THE MOCKING-BIRD

SUPERB and sole, upon a pluméd spray
That o'er the general leafage boldly grew,
He summ'd the woods in song; or typic drew
The watch of hungry hawks, the lone dismay
Of languid doves when long their lovers stray,
And all birds' passion-plays that sprinkle dew
At morn in brake or bosky avenue.

What e'er birds did or dreamed, this bird could say.
Then down he shot, bounced airily along

The sward, twitched in a grasshopper, made song

I

II Midflight, perched, prinked, and to his art again.
Sweet Science, this large riddle read me plain :
How may the death of that dull insect be
The life of yon trim Shakspere on the tree?
1877.

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SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE

OUT of the hills of Habersham,
Down the valleys of Hall,

I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall,
Split at the rock and together again,
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
And flee from folly on every side
With a lover's pain to attain the plain
Far from the hills of Habersham,

Far from the valleys of Hall.

All down the hills of Habersham,

All through the valleys of Hall,

The rushes cried Abide, abide,
The willful waterweeds held me thrall,
The laving laurel turned my tide,

The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay,
The dewberry dipped for to work delay,
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,
Here in the hills of Habersham,
Here in the valleys of Hall.

High o'er the hills of Habersham,
Veiling the valleys of Hall,

The hickory told me manifold

Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall

Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,
Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
These glades in the valleys of Hall.

And oft in the hills of Habersham,
And oft in the valleys of Hall,

The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook

stone

Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl,

And many a luminous jewel lone

-Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,

Ruby, garnet, and amethyst

Made lures with the lights of streaming stone
In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,

In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.

Downward the voices of Duty call

Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main,
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,

And the lordly main from beyond the plain
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,
Calls through the valleys of Hall.

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