FOUR POEMS FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.
I.
TO THE POET WHITTIER. ON HIS 70th BIRTHDAY.
From this far realm of pines I waft thee now
A brother's greeting, Poet, tried and true;
So thick the laurels on thy reverend brow,
We scarce can see the white locks glimmering through!
O pure of thought! Earnest in heart as pen,
The tests of time have left thee undefiled;
And o'er the snows of threescore years and ten
Shines the unsullied aureole of a child.
II.
TO O. W. HOLMES, ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
Dear Doctor, whose blandly invincible pen
Has honored so often your great fellowmen
With your genius and virtues, who doubts it is true
That the world owes in turn, a warm tribute to you?
Wheresoever rare merit has lifted its head
From the cool country calm or the city's hotbed—
You were always the first to applaud it by name,
And to smooth for its feet the harsh pathway to fame.
Wheresoever beneath the broad rule of the sun,
By some spirit elect, a grand deed has been done—
Its electrical spell like the lightning's would dart,
Though the globe lay between, to thrill first in your heart!
Philanthropist! poet! romancer! combined—
Ay! shrewd scientist too—who shall fathom your mind,
Shall plumb that strange sea to the uttermost deep,
With its vast under-tides, and its rhythmical sweep?
You have toiled in life's noon, till the hot blasting light
Blinds the eyes that would gauge your soul stature aright;
But when eve comes at last, 't will be clear to mankind,
By the length of bright shadow your soul leaves behind!
III.
TO EMERSON.
ON HIS 77th BIRTHDAY.
“I do esteeme him a deepe sincere soule; one
that seemeth ever to be travailing after the
Infinite!”—
Sir Thomas Browne.
Ah! what to him our trivial praise or blame,
Who through long years hath raised half-mournful eyes
Yearning to mark some heaven-descended flame
Light his soul's altar rife with sacrifice?
The offering of far thoughts, profound as prayer,
And starry dreams, still rhythmical of youth,
With travail of brain that pants for loftier air,
To the veiled mystery of immaculate Truth:
No Orient seer—wild woodlands, 'round him furled,—
Building his shrine 'mid virginal vales apart,
E'er watched and waited in the antique world,
For fire divine, with more ethereal heart!
Can life's supreme oblations still remain
All undiscerned? or hath some marvellous levin
Hallowed his gift, and down his rifted pain
Flashed the white splendor of God's grace from heaven?
IV.
TO HON. R. G. H.
UPON HIS 78th BIRTHDAY.
Close to the verge of fourscore crowded years
Your heart is strong, your soul serene and bright;
As when confronting first life's hopes and fears—
The star of manhood crowned your brow with light.
Clear thoughts are spells to keep the lifeblood pure,
Brave aims are medicinal, rife with balm;
What wonder then, with thee life's joys endure,
And life's majestic sunset smiles in calm!
For thou art one whose brotherhood supreme
Hath touched all circles of benign desire;
Therefore, thy days like some unclouded dream,
Are slowly melting into heavenly fire.
