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"Agreed!" cried North; thought he, This fall
With wheat and rye I'll sow it all;

In that way I shall get the start,
And South may whistle for his part.
So thought, so done, the field was sown,
And, winter having come and gone,
Sly North walked blithely forth to spy
The progress of his wheat and rye;
Heavens, what a sight! his brother's swine
Had asked themselves all out to dine;
Such grunting, munching, rooting, shoving,
The soil seemed all alive and moving,

As for his grain, such work they'd made on't,
He couldn't spy a single blade on't.

Off in a rage he rushed to South,

"My wheat and rye" grief choked his mouth; "Pray don't mind me," said South, "but plant All of the new land that you want";

"Yes, but your hogs," cried North;

"The grain

Won't hurt them," answered South again; "But they destroy my crop";

"No doubt;

'Tis fortunate you've found it out; Misfortunes teach, and only they, You must not sow it in their way";

"Nay, you," says North, "must keep them out"; "Did I create them with a snout?" Asked South demurely; "as agreed, The land is open to your seed, And would you fain prevent my pigs From running there their harmless rigs? God knows I view this compromise

With not the most approving eyes;

I gave up my unquestioned rights
For sake of quiet days and nights;
I offered then, you know 'tis true,
To cut the piece of land in two."
"Then cut it now," growls North;

"Abate

Your heat," says South, "'tis now too late;

I offered you the rocky corner,

But you,
Refused to take it; I am sorry;

of your own good the scorner,

No doubt you might have found a quarry,
Perhaps a gold-mine, for aught I know,
Containing heaps of native rhino;

You can't expect me to resign

My rights"

"But where," quoth North, "are mine?" "Your rights," says t'other, "well, that's funny, I bought the land"

"I paid the money";

"That," answered South, "is from the point,
The ownership, you'll grant, is joint;

I'm sure my only hope and trust is
Not law so much as abstract justice,
Though, you remember, 'twas agreed
That so and so consult the deed;
Objections now are out of date,

They might have answered once, but Fate
Quashes them at the point we've got to;
Obsta principiis, that's my motto."

So saying, South began to whistle
And looked as obstinate as gristle,

While North went homeward, each brown paw
Clenched like a knot of natural law,

And all the while, in either ear,

Heard something clicking wondrous clear.

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Through the windows

blow! bugles! blow!

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through doors burst like a ruthless force,

Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
Into the school where the scholar is studying;

Leave not the bridegroom quiet

now with his bride,

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no happiness must he have

Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain,

So fierce you whirr and pound you drums so shrill you bugles

blow.

Beat! beat! drums!
Over the traffic of cities

Are beds prepared for

blow! bugles! blow!

over the rumble of wheels in the streets;

sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds,

No bargainers, bargains by day no brokers or speculatorswould they continue?

Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums you bugles wilder blow.

Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow!

Make no parley -stop for no expostulation,

Mind not the timid mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,

Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting

the hearses,

So strong you thump O terrible drums

so loud you bugles blow.

FROM "MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN".

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up

for you the flag is flung

for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head!

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

But I with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

MAY 4, 1865.

Hush'd be the camps to-day,

And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons,
And each with musing soul retire to celebrate,
Our dear commander's death.

No more for him life's stormy conflicts,

Nor victory, nor defeat

no more time's dark events,

Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.

But sing poet in our name,

Sing of the love we bore him - because you, dweller in camps,

know it truly.

As they invault the coffin there,

Sing

as they close the doors of earth upon him

For the hearts of soldiers.

one verse,

This dust was once the man,

Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand, Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, Was saved the Union of these States.

BAYARD TAYLOR.
(b 1825 d 1878).

MARIGOLD.

Homely, forgotten flower,
Under the rose's bower,
Plain as a weed,

Thou, the half-summer long,
Waitest and waxest strong,

Even as waits a song

Till men shall heed.

Then, when the lilies die,
And the carnations lie

In spicy death,
Over thy bushy sprays

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