Grandther Baldwins Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems | Page 7

answered, "Reuben Brown."
Ah, love! young love! it is very sweet,
In field, or hamlet, or crowded
mart;
But it burns with the brightest, purest flame
In the hidden
depths of a young maid's heart.

THE LOST HEART.
One golden summer day,
Along the forest-way,
Young Colin
passed with blithesome steps alert.
His locks with careless grace
Rimmed round his handsome face

And drifted outward on the airy surge.
So blithe of heart was he,
He hummed a melody,
And all the birds
were hushed to hear him sing.
Across his shoulders flung
His bow and baldric hung:
So, in true
huntsman's guise, he threads the wood.
The sun mounts up the sky,
The air moves sluggishly,
And reeks
with summer heat in every pore.
His limbs begin to tire,
Slumbers his youthful fire;
He sinks upon a
violet-bed to rest.
The soft winds go and come
With low and drowsy hum,
And ope
for him the ivory gate of dreams.
Beneath the forest-shade
There trips a woodland maid,
And marks
with startled eye the sleeping youth.
At first she thought to fly,
Then, timid, drawing nigh,
She gazed in
wonder on his fair young face.
When swiftly stooping down
Upon his locks so brown
She lightly
pressed her lips, and blushing fled.
When Colin woke from sleep,
From slumbers calm and deep,
He
felt- he knew not how- his heart had flown.
And so, with anxious care,
He wandered here and there,
But could
not find his lost heart anywhere.

Then he, with air distraught,
And brow of anxious thought,
Went
out into the world beyond the wood.
Of each that passed him by,
He queried anxiously,
"I prithee, hast
thou seen a heart astray?"
Some stared and hurried on,
While others said in scorn.
Your heart
has gone in search of your lost wits"
The day is wearing fast,
Young Colin comes at last
To where a
cottage stood embowered in trees.
He looks within, and there
He sees a maiden fair,
Who sings low
songs the while she plies her wheel.
"I prithee, maiden bright,"--
She turns as quick as light,
And
straight a warm flush crimsons all her face.
She, much abashed, looks down,
For on his locks so brown
She
seems to see the marks her lips have made.
Whereby she stands confest;
What need to tell the rest?
He said, "I
think, fair maid, you have my heart.
"Nay, do not give it back,
I shall not feel the lack,
If thou wilt give
to me thine own therefor."
JOHN MAYNARD.
'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse
One bright midsummer day,

The gallant steamer Ocean Queen
Swept proudly on her way.

Bright faces clustered on the deck,
Or, leaning o'er the side,

Watched carelessly the feathery foam
That flecked the rippling tide.
Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky,
That smiling bends serene,

Could dream that danger awful, vast,
Impended o'er the scene,-


Could dream that ere an hour had sped
That frame of sturdy oak

Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves,
Blackened with fire and
smoke?
A seaman sought the captain's side,
A moment whispered low;
The
captain's swarthy face grew pale;
He hurried down below.
Alas, too
late! Though quick, and sharp,
And clear his orders came,
No
human efforts could avail
To quench the insidious flame.
The bad news quickly reached the deck,
It sped from lip to lip,
And
ghastly Faces everywhere
Looked from the doomed ship.
"Is there
no hope--no chance of life?"
A hundred lips implore,
"But one," the
captain made reply,
"To run the ship on shore."
A sailor, whose heroic soul
That hour should yet reveal,
By name
John Maynard, eastern-born,
Stood calmly at the wheel.
"Head her
south-east!" the captain shouts,
Above the smothered roar,--
"Head
her south-east without delay!
Make for the nearest shore!"
No terror pales the helmsman's cheek,
Or clouds his dauntless eye,

As, in a sailor's measured tone,
His voice responds, "Ay! ay!"
Three
hundred souls, the steamer's freight,
Crowd forward wild with fear,

While at the stern the dreaded flames
Above the deck appear.
John Maynard watched the nearing flames,
But still with steady hand

He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly
He steered the ship to land.

"John Maynard, can you still hold out?"
He heard the captain cry;

A voice from out the stifling smoke
Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!"
But half a mile! a hundred hands
Stretch eagerly to shore.
But half a
mile! That distance sped
Peril shall all be o'er.

But half a mile ! Yet
stay, the flames
No longer slowly creep,
But gather round that
helmsman bold,
With fierce, impetuous sweep.

"John Maynard!" with an anxious voice
The captain cries once more,

"Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,
And we shall reach the
shore."
Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart
Responded
firmly still,
Unawed, though face to face with death,-
"With God's
good help I will!"
The flames approach with giant strides,
They scorch his hand and
brow;
One arm, disabled, seeks his side,
Ah! he is conquered now!

But no, his teeth are firmly set,
He crushes down his pain,
His
knee upon the stanchion pressed,
He guides the ship again.
One moment yet! one moment yet!
Brave heart, thy task is o'er,
The
pebbles grate beneath the keel.
The steamer touches shore.
Three
hundred grateful voice rise
In praise to God that he
Hath saved
them from the fearful fire,
And from the engulphing sea.
But where is he, that helmsman bold?
The captain saw him reel,-

His