speare's sight,

Strewed moss and grass with diamonds bright.

No fairies in the Mayflower came,
And, lightsome as I sparkle here,
For Mother Bay State, busy dame,
I've toiled and drudged this many a
year,

Throbbed in her engines' iron veins,
Twirled myriad spindles for her gains.

I, too, can weave: the warp I set Through which the sun his shuttle throws,

And, bright as Noah saw it, yet

For you the arching rainbow glows, A sight in Paradise denied

To unfallen Adam and his bride.

When Winter held me in his grip,
You seized and sent me o'er the wave,
Ungrateful! in a prison-ship;

But I forgive, not long a slave,
For, soon as summer south-winds blew,
Homeward I fled, disguised as dew.

For countless services I'm fit,

Of use, of pleasure, and of gain, But lightly from all bonds I fit,

Nor lose my mirth, nor feel a stain ; From mill and wash-tub I escape, And take in heaven my proper shape.

So, free myself, to-day, elate

I come from far o'er hill and mead, And here, Cochituate's envoy, wait

To be your blithesome Ganymede, And brim your cups with nectar true That never will make slaves of you.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY THE GRAVES OF TWO ENGLISH SOLDIERS ON CONCORD

BATTLE-GROUND.

THE same good blood that now refills
The dotard Orient's shrunken veins,
The same whose vigor westward thrills,
Bursting Nevada's silver chains,
Poured here upon the April grass,
Freckled with red the herbage new;
On reeled the battle's trampling mass,
Back to the ash the bluebird flew.

Grow strong as iron chains, to cramp and bind

In formal narrowness heart, soul, and mind.

Freedom is recreated year by year,
In hearts wide open on the Godward side,
In souls calm-cadenced as the whirling
sphere,

In minds that sway the future like a tide. No broadest creeds can hold her, and no codes;

She chooses men for her august abodes, Building them fair and fronting to the dawn;

Yet, when we seek her, we but find a few

Light footprints, leading morn-ward through the dew:

Before the day had risen, she was gone.

And we must follow: swiftly runs she on, And, if our steps should slacken in despair,