A nameless grace is round him-- A something, too refined To be described, yet must be felt By all of human kind-- An emanation of the soul, That can not be defined. Then blessings on the minstrel-- His faults let others scan: There may be spots upon the sun, Which those may view who can; I see them not--yet know him well A POET AND A MAN. The Bacchanal Beside a cottage-door, Sang Ella at her wheel; Ruthven rode o'er the moor, Down at her feet to kneel: A spotted palfrey gay Came ambling at his side, To bear the maid away As his affianced bride. A high-born noble he, Of stately halls secure; A low-born peasant she, Of parentage obscure. How soft the honeyed words He breathes into her ears!-- The melody of birds! The music of the spheres! With love her bosom swells, Which she would fain conceal-- Her eyes, like crystal wells, Its hidden depths reveal. While liquid diamonds drip From feeling's fountain warm, Flutters her scarlet lip-- A rose-leaf in a storm! As from an April sky The rain-clouds flit away, So from the maiden's eye Vanished the falling spray, Which lingered but awhile Her dimpled cheek upon-- Then melted in her smile, Like vapor in the sun. The maid is all his own! She trusts his plighted word, And, lightly on the roan, She springs beside her lord: She leaves her father's cot, She turns her from the door-- That green and holy spot Which she will see no more! They hied to distant lands, That lord and peasant-maid: The church ne'er joined their hands, For Ella was betrayed! Torn from her native bower, That modest rose of May, Drooped, in his stately tower, And passed from earth away. They laid her in the ground, And Ella was forgot-- Dead was her father found In his deserted cot. But Ruthven--what of him? He ran the story o'er, And, filling to the brim, He thought of it no more! Twenty Years Ago 'Twas in the flush of summer-time, Some twenty years or more, When Ernest lost his way, and crossed The threshold of our door. I'll ne'er forget his locks of jet, His brow of Alpine snow, His manly grace of form and face, Some twenty years ago. The hand he asked I freely gave-- Mine was a happy lot, In all my pride to be his bride Within my father's cot. The faith he spoke he never broke: His faithful heart I know; And well I vow I love him now As twenty years ago. National Anthem. Freedom spreads her downy wings Over all created things; Glory to the King of kings, Bend low to Him the knee! Bring the heart before His throne-- Worship Him and Him alone!-- He's the only King we own-- And He has made us free! The holiest spot a smiling sun E'er shed his genial rays upon, Is that which gave a Washington The drooping world to cheer! Sound the clarion-peals of fame! Ye who bear Columbia's name!-- With existence freedom came-- It is man's birthright here!