Beneath some friendly blade of grass The lazy beetle cowers; The coffers of the air are filled With offerings from the flowers. And slowly buzzing o'er my head A swallow wings her flight; I hear the weary plowman sing As falls the restful night. TO PFRIMMER (Lines on reading "Driftwood.") Driftwood gathered here and there Along the beach of time; Now and then a chip of truth 'Mid boards and boughs of rhyme; Driftwood gathered day by day,-- The cypress and the oak,-- Twigs that in some former time From sturdy home trees broke. Did this wood come floating thick All along down "Injin Crik?" Or did kind tides bring it thee From the past's receding sea Down the stream of memory? TO THE MIAMI Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one! I love thee more for that thou changest not. When Winter comes with frigid blast, Or when the blithesome Spring is past And Summer's here with sunshine hot, Or in sere Autumn, thou has still the pow'r To charm alike, whate'er the hour. Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy lips; Throbs fast my heart e'en as thine own breast beats. My soul doth rise as rise thy waves, As each on each the dark shore laves And breaks in ripples and retreats. There is a poem in thine every phase; Thou still has sung through all thy days. Tell me, Miami, how it was with thee When years ago Tecumseh in his prime His birch boat o'er thy waters sent, And pitched upon thy banks his tent. In that long-gone, poetic time, Did some bronze bard thy flowing stream sit by And sing thy praises, e'en as I? Did some bronze lover 'neath this dark old tree Whisper of love unto his Indian maid? And didst thou list his murmurs deep, And in thy bosom safely keep The many raging vows they said? Or didst thou tell to fish and frog and bird The raptured scenes that there occurred? But, O dear stream, what volumes thou couldst tell To all who know thy language as I do, Of life and love and jealous hate! But now to tattle were too late,-- Thou who hast ever been so true. Tell not to every passing idler here All those sweet tales that reached thine ear. But, silent stream, speak out and tell me this: I say that men and things are still the same; Were men as bold to do and dare? Were women then as true and fair? Did poets seek celestial flame, The hero die to gain a laureled brow, And women suffer, then as now? CHRISTMAS CAROL Ring out, ye bells! All Nature swells With gladness at the wondrous story,-- The world was lorn, But Christ is born To change our sadness into glory. Sing, earthlings, sing! To-night a King Hath come from heaven's high throne to bless us. The outstretched hand O'er all the land Is raised in pity to caress us.