Addie Lucia Ballou.

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Be folded in love's angel arms,

To wander never more.

Dec. 1869.


DKU-TWUi >/>.

Sweet remembrancer of friendship,

( hi thy page a thought I'll (rare.

Thanks, my friend, on memory's tablel
Thine shall bear an honored place.

May you ever live in sunlight,

And no lin;>vrin;r storm-cloud rest

( )'er thy life : enough of tempesl
|ust to form a rainbow's crest.

May thy noon of life hi' vlorious.

Peaceful when thy day declines,
And no friend to thee less faithful
Than the one who pons these lines.

* To " I s< ulapius," Overton Hospital, Memphis, Tenn., Feb. 10,



Away from the docks and the shipping
That tangle the breast of the bay,

From the flutter of hands in the harbor,
Our ship went sailing away.

And as the cannon's brazen lip

Boomed back farewell, from our good ship
A score of snowy-breasted things
Swooped low and drooped their downy wings,
And rose and dropped with every swell,
And cried in flutelike tones, "Farewell."

Up rose the winds, and the water

In fury leaped forward and aft,
And the foam and the spume of the breakers

Dashed over the decks of our craft,
Till rocked upon a gentler swell,
Our gallant ship uprose and fell.

Still followed close those feathered things

Who trip and swoop with noiseless wings,


Those Restless birds, by day and night,

Who seaward wing their ceaseless flisrht.

Away and away o'er the ocean
The track of our destinies lay,

Through the languor of tropical evening-,
Though the tropical languor of day.

While still a thousand leagues from shore

The watery waste we traverse o'er ;
Tike phantoms of an exile troop,
Those pinions o'er the waters droop,
And swing and curve, and dip the main,
Then, rising, lift their plumes again.

And this I asked of the skipper :
" Pray where do the sea-gulls go

When the ships which their white wings follow
(lo down with the wrecks below? "

He smiled, and looking far away

Replied, " Ours do not go that way."

I leaven grant him right ; and yet, and yet
The hearts that break cannot forget
Those who along the sea-gull's track
Go out, but nevermore come back.


With a strange yet a sweet superstition,
A nation as free as their wings

Believe that the bird of the ocean
Good speed and prosperity brings.

The mariner o'er frozen seas

Thinks, too, the souls of men are these ;
That angels of the so-called dead
In these their own bright pinions spread,
And, watchful of the wrecks and shoals,
Bring safe to harbor human souls.

Whatever may be the tradition,

A truth or a -fancy of thought,
May the wing of our angel protect us,

That calamity follow us not,
And lip to lip, and heart to heart,
May all yet meet who, wide apart,

In different ways, by land or sea,

Pursue life's varied destiny.

Oh, white wings, bring at last our spars

To harbor safe beyond the stars.

Shipboard, Zealandia, mid-ocean, June 19, 1885.
Bell, Auckland, N. Z.




I said as I gazed on her ruined life,

I could curse the wretch who had made it so ;

And 1 set my teeth till my purple lips
Were rigid and cold as my heart below.

I clutched my hand till the nails' keen edge
Cut a furrow deep in my rigid palm ;

I groaned aloud, " Has it come to this,

That the wolf has ravished our sweet ewe lamb?"

Oh, (lod ! what a thing is a woman's love,
To be won at the cost of a life accursed,

To be flung like a worn-out sandal off,
To slake the fever of passionate thirst.

Terre Haute, Ind., 1872.



I had a beautiful dream last night,

And bright was the vision that swelled on my sight

As the upper world, and as wondrous rare

As the zones that encircle the 'habitants there.

Sweet fancy lent me her golden wings,
And, swift as an unchained peri springs,
Far, far I sped through the ether blue,
Till the world in its darkness sank from view.

Then in sudden splendor I saw arise

The gates that open to Paradise.

Lo ! the angel who waits in those arches wide

Is flinging the golden barriers aside.

I enter, it seems, with a noiseless tread ;
I float in an air where fragrance is shed
As sweet as the astral zephyr's sigh
O'er the sea where the isles of the spic«s lie.


Now a gush of sweet harmony, liquid and clear,
Bursts forth like a charm on the ambient air ;
Now it falls to a cadence, now rises and swells
Like the pealing- tones of the chiming' bells.

No bough ever waved under tropical skies,
But graces these gardens of Paradise ;
No flower ever bloomed upon earth's fertile sod,
But blossoms more sweet in this valley of God.

No bird ever warbled in hawthorn or prune,
But sings in these bowers of eternity's June ;
No hopeless wish of the human breast,
But finds in this heaven its want redressed.

I glanced where the notes of a musical strain
Came trembling up from a grass-green lane ;
There a crystal fount in the sunlight played,
And hanging harps by a breath were swayed ;

There countless groups o'er the wide expanse
Were circling round in a bridal dance.
No harem veil hides half the grains
That "-low amomr their lovclit faces.


And I saw not amid that countless throng
One heart that beat for itself alone,
But each for another more fondly dear,
As if no sin were in loving here.

I sighed as I turned from the evergreen glade,
For I thought, these joys too soon will fade.
For I knew even then it was only a dream
That must die with the dawn like a boreal gleam.

As if answering back, a voice replied, —

'Twas he who waits in those arches wide, —

"Our joys renew with the changing years,

And it's always Saint Valentine's day in the spheres."

I woke ; the vision forever was gone.

Like the hopes that spring fairest in youth's sunny dawn,
"Or the dewdrop that rests on the lip of the flower,
It gladdens the heart though it live but an hour.
Chilton liepublican, Feb., 1861.



Not alone with the night,

For on billows of light,
Like the scintillant rays of the morning's glad sun,

Like a messenger dove,

Wings the spirit of love,
To crown and compensate each desolate one.

Love with love shall be blest,

Heart with heart shall find rest,
When life's turbulent billows shall lash them no more.

Though the waves and the tide.

Wide their moorings divide.
They will touch the same sands on the beautiful shore.

Not alone with the night,

Though the canker and blight
Like a vulture have fed on the quivering heart,

For the spirit of love,

Like the sweet mother dove,
Keeps watch o'er the nest till the young pinions start.


Lip to lip will be pressed,

Heart with heart will find rest,
When these hungering souls span their circlet of years.

Not alone with the night,

For an angel of light
Counts the beads of our worth by the falling of tears.



Auntie. — So the little ones want me to tell them a story?
Well, what shall it be about ?— " Old mother Morey ?"
Or the poor little kitten that drowned in the well?
( >r "Puss in Hoots,'' and what befell
The " King of Carabas " and his brother?
Or " Little Jack," whose indulgent mother
Gave him a bean of such wonderful powers,
That it grew to the sky in a couple of hours,
And when it had grown to a wonderful tree-,
He climbed to its top to see what he could see,
And there in its branches, as snug as a mouse,
A savage old giant had built him a house ;
How he killed the old giant, and got all his money ?

Mary. — No, we want to hear something that's jolly and

Jamie. — Oh, pshaw ! can't you tell us a story that's new ?
I know every one of those old stories through ;
I'd like to hear one that is every bit true.


As long as my arm, and longer too.

Or you can make up one, I guess, that will do.

Auntie. — Well ! let me see ; will Johnnie be good,
And sit in his chair as a little man should ?

Katie. — I guess he had better be put in his bed,
For he'll go to sleep and nod off his head,
Then what shall we do for a Johnnie to tend ?

Jamie. — Put his dress on a pillow, a cap on the end;
It won't make half the muss,

And keep so much stiller,
Nor get up such a fuss,

Our pet, Johnnie's "piller."
Katie. — Oh, go away, Jamie ; don't pester him so ;
You plague him so much he don't get time to grow.
There, Katie will take him right onto her lap,
And then if he likes he can take a nice nap.
And then his clothes, they will be such a pest,
Wouldn't the little boy first be undressed ?
There go his shoes, down onto the floor,
Peep, little feet, I shall catch his toes,
Out and in as they come and go,
Under the folds of his robe of snow.

See, just in this way, before he knows,


There, hush ! Never mind, wc won't tease any more;
There, cuddle his curly pate down on my breast.
Then shut up his eye,
And see how nice little Johnnie will rest.

Auntie. — Well, now for the story. Well, children, <^et
And then if you'll listen well, auntie will try it.
Well, let me sec- ; I must tell it in rhyme.
And begin the old way: "Once on a time.

There lived a man"

Jamie. — That's just the way the story began
About that terribly wicked man,
Who strutted about in his beard of blue.
Who killed all his wives, and hang them, ton.

Katie. — Are you telling the tale? You had better say-
And listen while others are talking, I "iiess.

\i NfTIE. — Well, once on a time, a man and his wife
Who had never done any harm in their life.
Lived in a nice cottage just under the hill ;
And tin- brook that rushed by turned the wheel of the


Where the man worked on from day to day,
Watching the grain from hopper to sieve.
And for a lifetime spent in that way
It was flowery enough for any to live.

For the cows and the pigs, and the colts and the sheep,

That would feed on the hillside or lazily sleep

Under the boughs of the spreading trees,

And that row of hives with their humming bees,

And the corn that grew in the further lot,

And the sunflowers tall that lined the walk

To the spring that welled from the old gray rock,

And the children that clambered upon his knee,

Boisterous with mirth and innocent glee,

Were his, all told ; could he ask for more

To add its weight to his bountiful store ?

Well, the miller worked on from day to day,

As free from care as his babes at play ;

And the brook still flowed in its usual way ;

And music sweet, like the miller's song,

Made cheery echoes the whole day long.

And everything seemed to be taking part

In the roundelay of his merry heart,

Just as everything wears a smile, you know,

When we are happy and see them so.


Amid the din of the dusty town,

Lived in princely splendor a millionaire,
With his wife, a lady of this renown,

For queenly beauty was none so fair.

But gold and glitter and queenly bride

Were as empty bubbles that float on air,

For princes will starve if fed on pride,

And so will the heart of a millionaire.

So, tired of the din of the crowded town,
And loving the quiet of nature's ways,

Ami sick of the chill of his lady's frown,

Viewed under the mask where beauty plays,

He wandered oft where the cooling shade
Flung a darker green o'er vale and hill,

And often paused where the brook was stayed
To turn the wheel of the gray old mill.

" Can you tell me why," said the millionaire,
" Your life is ever so blithe and gay ? i

For your happy heart and rustic fare

I would give my untold wealth to-day. "


" Heyday ! " said the man, with right good will,
As he doffed his cap to the millionaire,

" My thanks are first to my busy mill,

For it feeds the sources of all my care.

" It gives me labor, and that is wealth ;

These sinewy arms are mines of gold :
My cot is aglow with ruddy health,

And virtue and love are never old.

•' So all of the world was made for me,

And I am akin to all that lives,
And whether T whistle to bird or tree,

It always echoes what my heart gives."

The miller paused, but the millionaire

A lesson had learned of priceless worth,

That the hidden springs of happiness are

In the heart's pure fountain that gives them birth.

And now remember, my little pets,

That life isn't always what it seems ;
And never murmur with vain regrets,

Though you fail to attain your golden dreams.


For happiness lies in the reach of all,

And to give of goodness will make it ours ;

And if the shadows and tempests fall,

They but bring us the odor of broken flowers.

Mankato, Minnesota, April, 1S66.
K- P. Journal, Chicago.


AUGUST 5, 1864.

Fair as a dream of Alhambra lay
Along the horizon a line of gray,
As morning crept softly o'er placid bay.

The air was balmy with sweet incense

Which ravished the shore with perfume intense,

For its torpor and heat a recompense.

Laden with odors from orange trees,
Came only a sigh of the lightest breeze,
To quiver the breast of the summer seas,

Like the smile that ushers prophetic gloom,
As calm that presages the dread simoom,
The song of the phoenix triumphant in doom.

While yet the morn's first pennons play,

The fleet already is under way

For the famous battle on Mobile Bay.


Girded together and two abreast,
Octorora and Brooklyn leading the rest,
Forward in line on the enemy pressed.

Boom ! over the waters the first report,

The enemy's challenge comes from the fort;

And, boom ! comes the enemy's quick retort.

Gun answers to gun in quick return.
Vomiting fire : from stem to stern
The ships seem in livid flame to burn.

Wildly the red-lipped cannons shriek,
fixed is the bronzed old Admiral's cheek,
Command and courage his firm lips speak.

On, on, the marshalled mariners sped
Through the hot hail of fire and lead,
Tecumseh, with Cramer, this time ahead.

" Hard a-starboard!" commanded he.
Ami dashed straight on to the Tennessee ;
Oh, Cod ! what a sight was that to see !

Shaken as if by an earthquake shock,

Riven as if by a sunken rock,

A hidden torpedo midway she'd struck.


Headforemost plunging- with all her brave ;
And Craven, while trying his pilot to save,
A hero went down in the pitiless wave.

Point Mobile, a living line of flame,

Red as the fires of Hades became,

But the command kept steadily on the same.

Shrapnel and canister, shell and grape,
Riddled with seam and many a gape ;
What from destruction could hope to escape ?

But what was the thunder of shot and shell ?
What were the fires of that threatening hell ?
His was to do, and to do it well.

And out of that day of smoke and flame
Rose many a hero's honored name,
And gave to the Admiral added fame.

For victory followed their deeds that day.
Who followed where Farragut led the way,
In that battle of ships on Mobile Bay.

San Francisco, Cal., May 3, 1883.



Since scores of friends indite the muse,

In poesy to greet you,
Though mine can never fill their shoes,

And limping goes to meet you ;

Though others drink the choicest wine

To you in pledges vernal,
Whose friendships are more close than mine,

Though none the more eternal,

Accept at least one wish sincere,

Though silent its expression,
Unless the angel of good cheer

Inspire you by impression :

Believe at least, though prone to sin. —
You know sin came through woman, —

No heart e'er brat a breast within
More true to all that's human.
Impromptu, Album, Wm.M. Ryder, San Francisco, Nov. [881.




Hail ! comrades of the loyal host,

Who wear the badge of honor,
Who, faithful to the nation's trust,

When treason sat upon her,
Took up the armor of defense,

Unswervingly to wear it,
To break the sword that gave offense,
And tame the traitor spirit !
So here's a toast
To Lincoln Post,
We'll pledge it every one ;
Heaven prosper all,
And bless the hall,
We name for Washington.

Here oft on memory's well-fought field,

With riddled banners flying,
Will scattered foes retreat and yield

Their captured dead and dying.


For time shall make these walls replete

With many a thrilling story,
Which aging veterans repeat
Of anguish and of glory.

So here's a toast

To Lincoln Post,
We'll pledge it every one ;

Heaven prosper all

And bless the hall
We name for Washington.

Here pictured be the hallowed past,

In memory's rehearsal,
As echoes on our dreams are cast,

Successes or reversal.
Bivouacked on the tented plain.

The camp fires smoldering glimmer,
With tramping armies through the rain,
The lines of bayonets shimmer.
So here's a toast
To Lincoln Post,
We'll pledge it every one ;
Heaven prosper all,
And bless the hall,
We name for Washington.


The picket and the skirmish line,

That fluid in canteens, boys !
The forage, and the countersign,

The mess of pork and beans, boys !
The contraband, the ambulance,
The song and dance and juba,
The rebel matron's scornful glance,
The "Glory hallelujah."
So here's a toast
To Lincoln Post,
We'll pledge it every one ;
Heaven prosper all,
And bless the hall,
We name for Washington.

And sweetly still those oft-told tales

Their text will be repeating ;
Nor lost until remembrance fails

To bring her welcome greeting.
Whate'er the chances to forget,

Some note will still remind ye,
Some cherished chord make dearer yet

"Thegfirl I left behind me."


So here's a toast
To Lincoln Post,
We'll pledge it every one ;
I leaven prosper all,
And bless the hall,
We name for Washington.

We'll pledge anew our cause to-night,

Renew the grip fraternal,
God and our country in the right !

lie loyalty eternal !
May charity, that star most lair

( )f all the constellation,
Hless with her all-protecting care
Tin' saviors of the nation.
So here's a toast
To Lincoln Post,
We'll pledge it every one;
I [eaven prosper all,
And bless the hall,
We name for Washington;



O bleeding feet that steadfast climb

The toilsome heights that rise afar !
sleepless eyes whose light sublime

Pales not the reflex of the star
Whose torch through night trails up the morn !

suppliant hands that clasp for aye !
O hearts with vigils racked and torn !

Pierced is the brow that wears the Bay.

He may not reap the golden grain,

Too late his sickle for the sheaf,
Nor feel the cooling plash of rain,

Where burning sands invoke relief,
lie may not pause where pleasures lure,

Nor youth renew where children play,
But ever on with purpose sure

Pursue, whose brow would wear the Bay.


He hears the cooling waters drip

Down rocky basins, deep and cool,
Nor slakes the fever of his lip

Beside the summer-verdured pool.
No moss-grown bank beguiles his rest,

He may not note the nestling's lay,
Nor pause to clasp a maiden's breast,

Thorns so entwine the crown of Bay.

lie may not quaff the festive bowl,

'Mid flowing wit and merry jest,
Hut he must heed the trumpet's call.

And nerve his arm to greater zest.
Nor stay the tide on weltering field

Of carnage red, where brothers slay,
To grave his name on glory's shield,

And wear the blood-stained crown of Bay.

For him envenomed tongues distill

Their viperous breath, to blight and curse,

With maledictions loud and shrill

His noblest deeds would fain reverse ;

But happy he, vvhate'er the cost,

When stars light up his closing- day,
Whose shield denotes no honor lost

That he might wear the crown of Bay.

High as the overarching bars

That gird the ever-widening skies,
Far-reaching as the eternal stars,

O soul, for fame's imperial prize,
O'er rocks and deserts' boundless sands,

Through haunted caves obscured of day,
Famished, unfed, on bounteous lands,

Death brings at last the immortal Bay.

O'erwrought and toilful to the end,

Sowing for other hands to reap ;
Soul-hungering for a faithful friend,

Unmourned, at last, to rest and sleep.
A century — and his resting-place

Denotes his worth in tardy praise ;
A benefactor to his race,

A saint in marble, crowned with Bays.

Argtcs, San Francisco, Christmas, 1891.



Farewell to thee, comrade ! Death's silence is over thee ;

Cold is the hand once so brave to defend
The emblem whose folds now so tenderly cover thee ;
Peace to thee, patriot, comrade, and friend.
All of life's history,
All of death's mystery,
And all that the triumph of waking makes known,
Through rest, in promotion, at last is thine own.

Farewell to thee, comrade ! Where duty was known to
Faithful and true as the star to the pole ;
What was life's crucifix leave we alone to thee ;
Only the angels may question the soul.
Nature's supreme decree, —
Death's final reveille, —
Summons thee higher and gives thee release;
Be cherished thy memory ; rest thou in peace.

* Suggested at the funeral of comrade Capt. C. P. Kelly, San Francisco,
April, 1883.


Farewell to thee, comrade ! Life's battle is o'er for thee ;

Death but endears what it cannot restore ;
Surely eternity holds much in store for thee,

Angels make welcome whom we most deplore.
Close in with rank and file,
We, too, must pass erewhile,
When ripe for the summons that none can foretell.
Peace to thee, comrade ! Till then fare thee well.



One morn at the legislative gate

A woman stood disconsolate,

For well she knew, in her despair.

That none of her sex could enter there ;

Whate'er her grievance or great her wroi

The lesser must yield to the will oi the strong.

Awliile she listened to the din

( >f arguments that clashed within,

Yet all with good intentions tending,

The people's honest cause befriending,

And caught a glimpse of the gold that flowed

From the people taxed, for their good bestowed.

" Alas ! " she said, " it is awfully hard

From these rich endowments to be debarred."

" How happy," she thought, "these men must be,

In their cushioned chairs and abandon I

• A n impromptu with a meaning, during the legislature of 1SS0. Sacra-
ni n to Bee,


Well fed and warmed." And yet she knew
They were weary with too much nothing to do.
" Why may not to me some sweet crumbs fall?
A common mother created us all."

The august Solons heard her pleading

For the orphaned lives that were interceding,

Then turned away witlx crocodile tear.

" Alas ! no woman can enter here,

At least — unless — well, hardly any.

You see, my dear, they number so many.

But stay," he cried, " one chance might be ;

Put in your claim for a clerk," said he.

" Child of a frail, angelic sex,

To aid your cause we would break our necks.''

Then a partisan imp flew down from the wall,
And in passing gave an unearthly squall.
" They are giving you taffy — he ! he ! ha ! ha !
I wish you success. Farewell, ta-ta ! "

" I'll go," she said, " to the richest cavec
In the sea of memory's murmuring waves.
There's a pearl wrought out of a grateful tear,
Down, down in the past of a scarlet year."


So lifting the wing of a speeding thought,
She trembling stood by the hallowed spot.
On a smoking field, with carnage red,

One face she lifted, her loved and dead.

"See, this I gave, but rest thou alone"

Away she sped to a dying- moan.

And a smile lit up the parching lips

As they quaffed the cool drink, and her finger-tips

Strayed gently over his fevered head,

Then on to the next, and to each she said,

" ( rod bless you, boys, and the mothers of men

Who made you so noble." They answered, "Ainen.

"See, see 1 " she i ried, as she stood at the gate

Whose hinges turn on the pivot of state —

■ ' See, here is bl< >od on a h >ck of hair,

And the grateful wish of a loved one's prayer,

Soldiers restored to the thinning ranks."

" For this the country returns you thanks.

Be thus contented, for that, you know,"

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