A TRAVELLER through a dusty road OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe his early vows; And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask beneath its boughs; The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds sweet music bore; It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues, and saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought; 't was old, and yet 't was new; A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. In the days when Earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiAs he fashioned the sword and spear. work! Hurrah for the spear and sword! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord!" To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, And each one prayed for a strong steel blade As the crown of his desire: And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!" OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. But a sudden change came o'er his heart He saw that men, with rage and hate, In their lust for carnage blind. Is to slay their fellow-man." And for many a day old Tubal Cain And his furnace smouldered low. And the red sparks lit the air; "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made"; And he fashioned the first ploughshare. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [U. S. A.] THE LIVING TEMPLE NOT in the world of light alone, The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, Whose streams of brightening purple rush, 219 No rest that throbbing slave may ask, But warmed with that unchanging flame See how yon beam of seeming white Then mark the cloven sphere that holds O Father! grant thy love divine DOROTHY Q. A FAMILY PORTRAIT. GRANDMOTHER's mother; her age, I guess, Lips that lover has never kissed, Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade, — On her hand a parrot green Dark with a century's fringe of dust, - Who the painter was none may tell,- Look not on her with eyes of scorn, Ay! since the galloping Normans came, O damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q.! What if a hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered, No, When forth the tremulous question came That cost the maiden her Norman name; And under the folds that look so still The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill? Should I be I, or would it be One tenth another to nine tenths me? Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes: Not the light gossamer stirs with less; But never a cable that holds so fast Through all the battles of wave and blast, And never an echo of speech or song That lives in the babbling air so long! There were tones in the voice that whispered then You may hear to-day in a hundred men! O lady and lover, how faint and far It shall be a blessing, my little maid! And freshen the gold of the tarnished frame, And gild with a rhyme your household |