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First let thy Muse be tender; all hearts love
A tender strain, even those which are the rudest:
There is no mystery in tenderness;
The sucking baby understands and loves
A tender nurse

so, first of all, be tender:
School- boys and school - girls and old driveling men
Will steep with tears thy pages, sob “How charming!
How touching sweet! why, he's a very Goethe
Scarce Werther's sorrows make one cry so much.”
But flour, however sweet and good, unmixed,
Makes better bread, mixed with a little bran,
And but for the concluding pistol shot
Even Werther's sorrows were long since forgot;
So, mix a little horror in, judicious,
Feeding with tenderness, with horror seasoning,
And satisfying so both appetites.
Observing these two precepts, thou shalt see
Edition treading on edition's heels,
Ånd the loved name in great six-inch-long letters
Placarded, side by side with Longfellow's,
In every book-shop window; and thy praise
Read in the Quarterlies and Monthlies sung
In flippant, fashionable slang dogmatic:
Observing these two precepts, thou need’st heed
None other; mayst expatiate free as air,
Laughing to scorn not rhythm and measure only,
But science, learning, wit and common sense.


SAID I to my truelove: - “Come, marry me."

But my truelove, she answered, "No." So I turned about and to Cupid said:

“Little Master, you 're free to go.”

But Cupid flew off to my truelove, straight,

And whispered two words in her ear What those two words were I cannot tell,

How could I who did not hear?

But next morning my truelove came back to me,

And said: “Sure I meant to say; Yes.” “It 's a bargain,” said I, and we signed and sealed Had you,

in my place, done less ?

EDENVILLE, Febr. 10, 1859.

“KÉEP the real Virgil far away,” said Dryden, “And with my Virgil thou shalt be well pleased.”

“With my Virgil to be pleased, Thou must beside it close put the real Virgil."

But I say:

EDENVILLE, Oct. 20, 1858.

THERE is a way to be beloved,

One, only way,
And thát one way 's to take good heed

To what you say.

No matter what you think or do,

We máy agree,
So long as on your tongue no word

Displeases me.

But if you say one little word

Cross-grained to me,
That little word is sure to mar

Our harmony.

So whether yours are virtue's ways

Or ways of vice,
Mind well your tongue and keep your friend,

Is my advice

Advice I never took myself,

Nor ever will,
An awkward blurter of the truth,

For good or ill.

EDENVILLE, Febr. 10, 1859.



Following the example of the olden time,
To inaugurate with sweetest sweets the year,
I send thee of my store of virgin honey:
Be the whole year to, thee a honied year!



Lament not, poet, though thou leav'st behind thee
Thy dear-loved Roman hills and Tiber brown,
And house and home and family and friends,
Thou leav'st behind thee, too, the implacable,
Jealous, vindictive, iron-hearted tyrant,
With all his meanness, greatness, pomp and pride.
Lament not, poet, though thou takest with thee

Sad comrades! exile, loneliness, and want,
Thou takest with thee, too, the laurel crown
And all men's sympathy except thy foe's.
Still thou lamentest – ah! I will not bláme thee,
Apollo never but on one condition
Bestows the never-fading laurel crown:
That it be kept perpetual wet with tears.

EDENVILLE, Sept. 9, 1858.

* Ovid, Fasti, I. 185.

THEY call her Morning Red. She is a damsel
Who, every twenty-four hours, in the sky
Makes her appearance ere the rising sun,
To disappear the moment the sun 's risen.
Buoyant and fresh and fair and ever young,
See where she hovers between Night and Day

One cheek in shadow, óne cheek bright and glowing Hope's image, to the life, and prototype.

EDENVILLE, Sept. 14, 1858.

THEY call her Evening Gray. She is a matron,
Who, every twenty-four hours, in the sky
Makes her appearance after the sun is set,
To disappear as soon as stars are risen.
Half in reflected light and half in shadow,
See where she sits, disconsolate and lone,
With drooping lids, wet cheeks, and folded hands
Grief's image, to the life, and prototype.

EDENVILLE, Sept. 15, 1858.

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