has

Although not a literary man by profession, yet he written extensively, and has gained a high position in the literary world. His composition is always smooth graceful, and many of his sayings are among the finest specimens of American humor.

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brilliant manner.

Holmes combines science and philosophy, wit and humor, in poetry and prose,' in a most happy and His poems, written for class reunions other special occasions, are so happy that they make Holmes "the fountain of perpetual youth" m American literature.

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The Old Man's Dream.

H, for one hour of youthful joy!
Give back my twentieth spring!
I'd rather laugh a bright-haired boy,
Than reign a gray-haired king.

Off with the wrinkled spoils of age!
Away with learning's crown;

Tear out life's wisdom-written page,
And cast its trophies down.

One moment let my life-blood stream
From boyhood's fount to fame;
Give me one giddy, reeling dream
Of life, and love and fame.

My listening angel heard the prayer,
And calmly smiling, said:
"If I but touch thy silvered hair,
Thy hasty wish had sped.

"But is there nothing in the track, To bid thee fondly stay,

While the swift seasons hurry back, To find the wished-for day?"

"Ah, truest soul of womankind,
Without thee what were life?

One bliss I can not leave behind-
I'll take my precious wife."

The angel took a sapphire pen,
And wrote in rainbow hue,
"The man would be a boy again,
And be a husband, too."

"And is there nothing yet unsaid, Before the change appears? Remember all thy gifts have fled

With these dissolving years."

"Why, yes, I would one favor more:

My fond parental joys—

I couldn't bear to lose them all;
I'll take my girls and boys."

The smiling angel dropped his pen-
"Why, this will never do;

The man would be a boy again,
And be a father, too!"

And so I laughed. My laughter woke
The household with its noise;

I wrote my dream when morning came,
To please my girls and boys.

B

The Silent Melody.

RING me my broken harp," he said;

"We both are wrecks-but as ye will

Though all its ringing tones have fled,

Their echoes linger round it still; It had some golden strings, I know, But that was long-how long!-ago.

"I can not see its tarnished gold,

I can not hear its vanished tone,

Scarce can my trembling fingers hold
The pillared frame so long their own;
We both are wrecks a while ago

It had some silver strings, I know.

"But on them time too long has played

The solemn strain that knows no change,

And where of old my fingers strayed

The chords they find are new and strangeYes, iron strings-I know-I know—

We both are wrecks of long ago.

"We both are wrecks-a shattered pair-
Strange to ourselves in time's disguise. * *
What say ye to the lovesick air

That brought the tears from Marian's eyes?
Ay! trust me-under breasts of snow
Hearts could be melted long ago!

"Or will ye hear the storm songs crash

That from his dreams the soldier woke,

And bade him face the lightning's flash

When battle's cloud in thunder broke? * *

Wrecks-nought but wrecks!-the time was when
We two were worth a thousand men."

And so the broken harp they bring

With pitying smiles that none could blame;

Alas! there's not a single string

Of all that filled the tarnished frame!

But see! like the children overjoyed,

His fingers rambling through the void!

"I clasp thee! Ay *** mine ancient lyre. Nay, guide my wandering fingers * * there! They love to dally with the wire

As Isaac played with Esau's hair.

Hush! ye shall hear the famous tune

That Marian called 'The Breath of June!'"

And so they softly gather round:

Rapt in his tuneful trance he seems:
His fingers move; but not a sound!

A silence like the song of dreams.

"There! ye have heard the air," he cries,
"That brought the tears from Marian's eyes!"

Ah, smile not at his fond conceit,

Nor deem his fancy wrought in vain;
To him the unreal sounds are sweet-
No discord mars the silent strain
Scored on life's latest, starlit page-
The voiceless melody of age.

Sweet are the lips of all that sing,

When nature's music breathes unsought,

But never yet could voice or string
So truly shape our tenderest thought

As when by life's decaying fire
Our fingers sweep the stringless lyre!