Th' indifferent smile that nature's grace The sailor praying on his knees And spare his mate that's cursing God; How babes and widows starve and freeze, Yet Nature will not stir a clod; Why Nature blinds us in each act No pitfall from our feet retract, No storm cry out Take shelter, friend; Why snakes that crawl the earth should ply While serpent lightnings in the sky, How truth can e'er be good for them And yet how stern our lights condemn To know all things, save knowingness; To look with pleasure upon pain; Though teased by small mixt social claims, To lose no large simplicity, And midst of clear-seen crimes and shames To move with manly purity; 1876-7. To hold, with keen, yet loving eyes, Art's realm from Cleverness apart, O Psalmist of the weak, the strong, Sole Hymner of the whole of life, I know not how, I care not why, Thy music brings this broil at ease, Yea, it forgives me all my sins, Fits life to love like rhyme to rhyme, An Frau Nannette Falk-Auerbach. Als du im Saal mit deiner himmlischen Kunst Zehn Zungen sagen was der Meister sprach. Die kommt ja näher, wo ein Künstler spielt: Ja, weil mein Arm kein Kind im Leben hielt, Baltimore, 1878. TO NANNETTE FALK-AUERBACH. OFT as I hear thee, wrapt in heavenly art, With thy ten fingers to the people's heart As if ten tongues told news of heaven and hell,— Gazing on thee, I mark that not alone, Ah, not alone, thou sittest: there, by thee, Beethoven's self, dear living lord of tone, Doth stand and smile upon thy mastery. Full fain and fatherly his great eyes glow : From Heaven, my child, I heard thee call (For, where an artist plays, the sky is low): He says, 66 Yea, since my lonesome life did lack love's all, BALTIMORE, 1878. TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD. DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878. I. TRILLETS of humor,-shrewdest whistle-wit,— Such as from off the passionate Indian pyre And sing above,-midnights of tone entire,- II. Ah me, though never an ear for song, thou hast My bird-wit, songs, and all-thy richest freight |