. After-hours . e blinding snowflakes fell thick and fastAdown at my weary feet. In the drifted snow, near a mansion high, Lay a tender Italian boy,With death on his brow and death in the eye That once flashed with innocent joy. His sweet harp lay mute by his frozen side; Twas the end of its minstrelsy;The harpists life had passed out with the tide That rolls to eternitys sea. How oft he enchanted the passer-by With the strains of his magic art!And yet he was left there alone to die, With the weight of woe on his heart. Luxury reigned in that mansion close by;The rich and the proud reveled the
. After-hours . e blinding snowflakes fell thick and fastAdown at my weary feet. In the drifted snow, near a mansion high, Lay a tender Italian boy,With death on his brow and death in the eye That once flashed with innocent joy. His sweet harp lay mute by his frozen side; Twas the end of its minstrelsy;The harpists life had passed out with the tide That rolls to eternitys sea. How oft he enchanted the passer-by With the strains of his magic art!And yet he was left there alone to die, With the weight of woe on his heart. Luxury reigned in that mansion close by;The rich and the proud reveled there; AFTER-HOURS. 67 But they spurned that one who came with a sigh,And poured out his grief in a prayer. Alone in this city I die, he said • Oh, list to my pitiful plea!Cold, cold is the wind for my aching head. Just this once, give shelter to me. Still the crowd laughed on. Then the harpestdreamed Of a home far over the sea;But in the youths sight bright angels now gleamed, And the fettered soul was set 68 AFTER-HOURS. GENIUS. Tis said a genius is a man Who does the very best he can — Who labors hard while others play Or idly dream the years away. If genius comes from labor, then It could adorn and bless all men, Regardless of the dullest brains j And all who would but take the pains Might reach the heights of fame and power Simply by struggling hour by hour. Absurd assumption—most absurd! Though diligence brings its reward, It cannot to dull souls impart Rare qualities of brain and heart — Those innate powers, supremely great, That years with books will not create; The wretched void no toil can fill, And pygmies are mere pygmies still But the true genius, like a star, Whose lucid beams are seen afar, Shines as a separate beacon-light Far up upon the lofty height; And there he works with book and pen, Evolving thoughts unknown to men. AFTER-HOUKS. 69 TO THE MEMORY OF M. F. M. Brave, tender heart that felt anothers woeSo keenly, and didst willingly bestowIts weal
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