William B. O. Peabody and Oliver W. B. Peabody. AMERICANS. William Bourne Oliver Peabody (1799-1847) and Oliver William Bourne Peabody (1799-1848) were twin brothers, natives of Exeter, N. H., and sons of Judge Oliver Peabody. They entered Harvard College together at the early age of thirteen, and graduated in 1817. Both were men of fine intellectual endowments, gentle and affectionate, keenly sensitive to all that is beautiful and good in nature and in art. Both brothers studied divinity, and became clergymen. William was settled over the Unitarian Church in Springfield, Mass., in 1820, and continued in his pastorate till his death. Oliver was settled, in 1845, over the Unitarian Church in Burlington, Vt. Both brothers wrote poetry, very similar in style; and both were so indifferent to fame that neither made a collection of his writings. A selection from the sermons and poems of William was published in 1849. The noble "Hymn to the Stars" (see page 544) is believed to have been from the pen of O. W. B. Peabody, but is not in his MS. collection. The poetical faculty is not unfrequently inherited, and this was notably so in the case of Colonel Everett Peabody (1830-1862), son of William, and who wrote the following spirited song, which was sung at a supper given in 1852 by the Boston Independent Cadets : "We have met again to-night; we're hand in hand once more, A century behind us, eternity before; Then let the wine-cup circle round; like the cavaliers of old, In the revel we'll be joyous, in the hour of battle bold. Fill the cup, brimming up; by its light divine, We swear he is no true Cadet who shuns the sparkling wine. "For the wine-cup and the sword are married since the day When King Arthur spread the festive board, and led the battle fray. And shall we part what Heaven hath joined? No! thunders forth with might The ghost that you have summoned up, one of his knightsto-night. Fill the cup, brimming up, etc. "And if the armies of the foe invade our native land, Or rank disunion gathers up its lawless, faithless band, Then the arm upon our ancient shield shall wield his blade of might, And we'll show our worthy brethren that gentlemen can fight. Fill the cup, brimming up, etc." The result showed that Colonel Everett Peabody was no mere hero on paper. The last stanza is prophetic of his own high daring and honorable death. He was acting Brigadier-general in the battle of Shiloh, near Pittsburgh Landing, in which the Twenty-fifth Missouri regiment took part, in 1862. If it had not been for his vigilance in sending out a scouting-party, the whole of the brigade under his command would have been captured by the Confederate army. While waving his sword, and bravely rallying his men in the action that ensued, a Minie-ball struck him in the upper lip, passed through his head, and killed him instantly. There was no officer more beloved by his men, or whose loss was more deplored. THE AUTUMN EVENING. W. B. O. PEABODY. Behold the Western evening light! The winds breathe low; the withering leaf So gently flows the parting breath, How beautiful on all the hills, The crimson light is shed! "Tis like the peace the dying gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast! 'Tis like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night, So faith springs in the hearts of those But soon the morning's happier light Its glories shall restore; And eyelids that are sealed in death Shall wake to close no more. THE ALARM. W. B. O. PEABODY. Look there! the beacon's crimson light The rocket's signal star! And now the warning trumpet peals! The bravest heart that moment feels Where seraphs strike the golden lyre In ever-during notes of praise ? Oh, who would heed the chilling blast That blows o'er time's eventful sea, If bid to hail, its peril past, The bright wave of eternity! And who the sorrows would not bear Of such a transient world as this, When Hope displays, beyond its care, So bright an entrance into bliss! HYMN OF NATURE. W. B. O. PEABODY. God of the earth's extended plains, That lowers upon the dale below, God of the dark and heavy deep! The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale Serenely breathes, "Depart in peace." God of the forest's solemn shade; When, side by side, their ranks they form, God of the light and viewless air! Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might, The fierce and wintry tempests blow,All-from the evening's plaintive sigh, That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry Breathe forth the language of thy power. God of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs The tented dome of heavenly blue Suspended on the rainbow's wings! Each brilliant star that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud that wanders free, In evening's purple radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to Thee. God of the rolling orbs above! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that glows alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, Were kindled at thy burning throne. God of the world! the hour must come, Her incense-fires shall cease to burn: Grenville Mellen. AMERICAN. Mellen (1799-1841) was a native of Biddeford, Me. He graduated at Cambridge, and studied law; but a tendency to epilepsy prevented all professional success. He resided at times in Boston, Washington, and New York. A man of singular elevation and purity of character, and a true poet in feeling, he lacked the artistic gift by which expression is made to interpret and impart, in aptest, briefest form, what is powerfully felt. The chief collection of his poems, "The Martyr's Triumph, Buried Valley, and other Poems" (of which few copies are to be found), was published in Boston in 1833. THE BUGLE. "But still the dingle's hollow throat O wild enchanting horn! Whose music up the deep and dewy air Swells to the clouds, and calls on echo there, Till a new melody is born;— Wake, wake again! the night Is bending from her throne of beauty down, With still stars beaming on her azure crown, Intense and eloquently bright! Night, at its pulseless noon, When the far voice of waters mourns in song, And some tired watch-dog, lazily and long, Barks at the melancholy moon! Hark! how it sweeps away, Soaring and dying on the silent sky, As if some sprite of sound went wandering by, With lone halloo and roundelay. Swell, swell in glory out! Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, And my stirred spirit hears thee with a start As boyhood's old, remembered shout. Oh, have ye heard that peal From sleeping city's moou-bathed battlements, Or from the guarded field and warrior tents, Like some near breath around you steal? Or have ye, in the roar Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise, Shriller than eagle's clamor, to the skies, Where wings and tempests never soar? Go, go! no other sound, No music that of air or earth is born, John Imlah. Imlah (1799-1846), a Scottish song-writer, was a native of Aberdeen, the son of an innkeeper, and the youngest of seven sons born in succession. On completing an ordinary education at the grammar-school, he was apprenticed to a piano-forte-maker. Excelling as a pianotuner, he got employment in that capacity in London. He composed songs from his boyhood. In 1827 he published "May Flowers," a 12mo volume of lyrics, chiefly in the Scottish dialect. His second volume of poems appeared in 1841. THE GATHERING.' Rise, rise! Lowland and Highland men, Bald sire to beardless son, each come, and early; This song has been erroneously ascribed to James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. |