What spectres from the strawberry bowl Flit through the galleries of the soul, With shrill voice crying, “Grieve his heart; Come like shadows; so depart!” Strawberry cake, preserves, and jam! I see thy mild eyes moisten, Sam Perchance at memory of the closet Where once was stored the rare deposit, High ranged upon the topmost shelf, A skillful mother’s richest pelf. I see thee steal, at dead of night, With cat-like footsteps, soft and light; I see thee open slow the door, Peep in, and cautiously explore; I see short Sam the boxes pile, Humming Longfellow’s psalm the while: “The heights to which the great have stept, Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night.” I hear a sudden scream--a crash-- I see a candle’s fitful flash-- Tableau--A boy with downfallen breeches, Loud sobs and screams and stinging switches. GOOD-NIGHT. Heap high the bowl and pour the cream! How bright the rosy berries gleam-- Red fruit and Jersey cream upon it, The colors of my lady’s bonnet. In hues like these the western sun Descends to rest when day is done; And round his flaming couch are rolled Bright curtained clouds of red and gold. Not greedily the fruit devour; Prolong the raptures of the hour; Stain not with juice your linen fair, And of the “strawberry nose” beware. Think of the lovely--the sublime-- Niagara--California’s clime; The Mammoth Cave--Alaska’s shore, Where glaciers plunge and billows roar; Balance each berry in your spoon, Sink back in a delicious swoon, And murmur in a Romeo’s sigh: “I have seen Naples--let me die!” O, vital sparks of heavenly flame! Whate’er your lineage, land or name, Pink buds which Mother Nature clips From infant cherubs’ finger tips, Or earth-born babies’ little toes, Tinted like sea-shell or the rose, Or notes from songs of home and love, Which floating to the skies above Are crystallized in heaven’s pure air And turn to crimson berries there-- Ambrosial fruit of heavenly birth, By Ariel’s fingers dropped on earth-- Come o’er me and possess my soul, Sweet spirit of the Strawberry Bowl! For all the world’s a strawberry bowl, Life the red fruit which fills the brim, The daily papers spoon the whole, And women are the sugar and cream. Melrose Garden, May, 1880. HYMN. [Sung at the Dedication of the Jefferson Davis Memorial Church, Fairview, Kentucky, November 21, 1886.] Inscription on a marble tablet in the wall of the church: Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, was born June 3, 1808, on the site of this church. He made a gift of the lot March 10, 1886, to the Bethel Baptist Church, as a thank-offering to the Lord.