REV. NORMAN PINNEY.*

I.

CALM Twilight! in thy wild and stilly time,

When summer flowers their perfumes shed around, And naught, save the deep, solitary sound Of some far bell is heard, with solemn chime Tolling for vespers, or the evening bird,

Carolling music in the shady grove,

Sweet as the pure outpourings of first love,

While not a leaf by Zephyr's breath is stirred,

Bright thoughts of those beloved and dearest come,

Like sunset rays upon the azure wave;

And joys which blossomed in the bower of home
The dews of memory with freshness lave.
O, that my last day-beams of life would shine,
As mildly beautiful, calm hour, as thine!

* Born at Simsbury in 1804.

II.

STILL unto thee, my brightest, fairest, best,
The wandering heart returns as the pure dove
Seeking in vain the olive-branch of love,

Nor finding peace save in its ark of rest.

My flight has been wide, o'er the tossing wave:

Nor bower, nor tree, nor mantling vine were there;

And like rich pearls deep in their ocean cave,

Were hidden all things beautiful and fair.
Send me not forth again, though the fair sky
Smile o'er the green enamelling of earth;
Bright joys again be clustered round the hearth,
And the air rife with breathing melody;

Still to its resting-place the dove would flee ;-
Angel of beauty! shall it dwell with thee?

HUGH PETERS.*

I.

AD POETAS.

Quod si me lyricis vatibus inseres,
Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.

YE are a wise and goodly company;
A very worthy noble brotherhood;
Nectar your drink, ambrosia your food;

Ye cannot fail of immortality!

When ye would sleep, sweet will your slumbering be;
For Musa 'neath you spreads a couch of down,
Or airy gossamer with rose-leaves strewn,
Fit hovering place for dreams of phantasy;
And when ye wake, if ye would music have,

For you Apollo wakes his echoing strings ;
Or would ye ride, Pegasus spreads his wings,
And off ye fly through air, o'er earth and wave!
O happy band! I'll "give you honor due,"
If ye will deign admit me of your crew!

Born 1807; died 1831.

II.

TO THE MOON.

HAIL, "great Diana," "virgin Queen of night!" "Pale, silent orb," "mild Luna," new or full, Crescent or gibbous! if thought not too dull, List to the prayer of a poor rhyming wight! Behold thy servant in a piteous plight!

My soul is sad, my coat is growing old; My heart is heavy, and my heels are cold; Both in and out I am a sorry sight;

Ideas and ink are gone, I cannot write,

And when I could, they said I was a loon For offering incense at thy shrine, O Moon ! They call me mad, and that unmans me quite : Regina, hear me ! if I'm not a dunce,

Moonstrike my brain, and make me so at once!

GEORGE H. BOKER.*

I.

I DO assure thee, love, each kiss of thine
Adds to my stature, makes me more a man,
Lightens my care, and draws the bitter wine
That I was drugged with, while my nature ran
Its slavish course. For didst not thou untwine
My cunning fetters? break the odious ban,
That quite debased me? free this heart of mine,
And deck my chains with roses? While I can
I'll chant thy praises, till the world shall ring
With thy great glory; and the heaping store
Of future honors, for the songs I sing,
Shall miss thy poet, at thy feet to pour

A juster tribute, as the gracious spring

Of

my abundance. Kiss me, then, once more.

"Plays and Poems, by George H. Boker. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. 1856."

The sonnets by Mr. Boker are replete with the beauty and harmony of poetic diction, and his love sonnets are almost Shakespearian in their delicacy and plaintiveness. See the Essay on American Sonnets, I. 107-115, where five of his sonnets are already given.