[A tribute to Ex-Governor Fairchild.]
God bless the hero of my song!
Six years the chieftain of our State!
We've held him, in our hearts, so long,
And proved him good, and true, and great.
That now, we could not let him go,
Even if he would have it so.
I hear the praises of his name
From east and west, and north and south,
His foes are silenced from sheer shame:
His deeds have silenced Slander's mouth,
And all the little imps of spite
He's crushed beneath the heel of Right.
He dropped an arm one bloody day,
In beating down the walls of wrong,
But no strength went with it away;
His other grew full thrice as strong.
Few men, with their two hands, have done
As noble deeds as he with one.
His soul speaks through his eye of blue,
And all men know him one to trust,
Because his heart is kind and true,
And all his actions prove him just.
I speak for thousands when I cry,
"The people's favorite for aye!"
May God be with him all his days—
With him and all he holds most dear;
And if my little song of praise
Should chance to fall upon his ear,
May he accept the offering,
And know that from my heart I sing.
1872
DREAM-TIME
Throughout these mellow autumn days,
All sweet and dim, and soft with haze,
I argue with my unwise heart,
That fain would choose the idler's part.
My heart says, "Let us lie and dream
Under the sunshine's softened beam.
This is the dream-time of the year,
When Heaven itself seems bending near.
"See how the calm still waters lie
And dream beneath the arching sky.
The sun draws on a veil of haze,
And dreams away these golden days.
"Put by the pen—lay thought aside,
And cease to battle with the tide,
Let us, like Nature, rest and dream
And float with th' current of the stream."
So pleads my heart. I answer "Nay,
Work waits for you and me to-day.
Behind these autumn hours of gold,
The winter lingers, bleak and cold.
"And those who dream too long or much,
Must waken, shivering, at his touch,
With naught to show for vanished hours,
But dust of dreams and withered flowers.
"So now, while days are soft and warm,
We must make ready for the storm."
Thus, through the golden, hazy weather,
My heart and I converse together.
And yet, I dare not turn my eyes
To pebbly shores or tender skies,
Because I am so fain to do
E'en as my heart pleads with me to.
October, 1872.