Ballads

By Horatio Alger, Jr.
1875

Contents.

BALLADS.
  Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving
  St. Nicholas
  Barbara's Courtship
  The Confession
  Rose in the Garden
  Phoebe's Wooing
  The Lost Heart
  John Maynard
  Friar Anselmo

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
  In the Church at Stratford-on-Avon
  Mrs. Browning's Grave at Florence
  My Castle
  Apple-Blossoms
  Summer Hours
  June
  Little Charlie
  The Whippoorwill and I
  Carving a Name

IN TIME OF WAR.
  Gone to the War
  Where is my Boy To-night?
  A Soldier's Valentine
  Last Words
  Song of the Croaker
  King Cotton
  Out of Egypt
  The Price of Victory

HARVARD ODES.
  I. Fair Harvard, Dear Guide of Our Youth's Golden Days
  II. As We Meet in Thy Name, Alma Mater, Tonight
  III. Fair Harvard, The Months Have Accomplished Their Round
  IV. there's a Fountain of Fable, Whose Magical Power

OCCASIONAL ODES.
  Bi-Centennial Ode
  For the Consecration of a Cemetery

BALLADS.

GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING

UNDERNEATH protected branches, from the highway just aloof; 
Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof.

Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard,
In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the Third.

Many a time, I well remember, I have gazed with Childish awe
At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door,

Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled)
Of the lurking, savage foeman from whose musket it was sped..

Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn's harvest spoils,
Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies--the guerdon of his toils;

Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green,
While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet, drowsy mien.

Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold;
Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled.

Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost chill,                                              
There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard the hill.

Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace,
As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase.

Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays,
One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways.

Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone,
the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone.

Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled)
Of the lurking savage foeman from whose musket it was sped.    

Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn harvest spoils,                            
Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies--the guerdon of his toils;

Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green,
While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet drowsy mien.                           

Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold;                       
Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled.

Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost and chill,