
and went down the mountains, and away.

   --CHARLES KINGSLEY.




        CHINOOK


    Mildly through the mists of night
    Floats a breath of flowers sweet,
    Warmly through the waning light
    Wafts a wind with perfumed feet,
    Down the gorge and mountain brook,
    With the sound of wings--Chinook!

    By no trail his spirits go,
    Through the mountain-passes high,
    Where the moon is on the snow
    And the screaming eagles fly,
    Where the yawning canyon roars
    With memories of misty shores.

    On still prairies, mountain-locked,
    Frost lies white upon the grass,
    But where the witch of winter walked,
    Now the summer’s masquers pass;
    And at May’s refreshing breath
    Tender flowers rose from death.

    And the breeze, that on the Coast
    Wakened softly at the morn,
    Is on snowy prairies lost
    When the twilight pales forlorn;
    Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimes
    Summer’s kiss in winter climes.
         --EZRA HURLBURT STAFFORD.




        THE IVY GREEN


    Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
      That creepeth o’er ruins old!
    Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
      In his cell so lone and cold.
    The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
      To pleasure his dainty whim;
    And the mouldering dust that years have made
      Is a merry meal for him.
          Creeping where no life is seen,
          A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

    Fast he stealeth on though he wears no wings,
      And a staunch old heart has he;
    How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
      To his friend, the huge Oak Tree!
    And slyly he traileth along the ground,
      And his leaves he gently waves,
    As he joyously hugs, and crawleth around,
      The rich mould of dead men’s graves.
          Creeping where grim death has
and went down the mountains, and away. 

    --CHARLES KINGSLEY. 




         CHINOOK 


     Mildly through the mist of nox 
     float a breath of flower dulcet, 
     Warmly through the waning light 
     pennant a wind with perfumed feet, 
     Down the defile and mountain brook, 
     With the sound of wing -- Chinook! 

     By no trail his spirits go, 
     Through the mountain - passes high, 
     Where the lunar month is on the snow 
     And the screaming eagles vanish, 
     Where the yawning canyon roars 
     With memories of misty shore. 

     On still prairies, mountain - locked, 
     Frost lies blank upon the grass, 
     But where the witch of winter walked, 
     Now the summer ’s masquers pass; 
     And at May ’s refreshing breath 
     Tender flowers rose from death. 

     And the breeze, that on the Coast 
     Wakened softly at the morn, 
     Is on snowy prairies fall back 
     When the twilight pales forlorn; 
     Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimes 
     Summer ’s kiss in winter climate. 
          --EZRA HURLBURT STAFFORD. 




         THE IVY GREEN 


     Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy fleeceable, 
       That creepeth o’er ruins old! 
     Of right choice food are his meal, I ween, 
       In his cell so lone and cold. 
     The wall must be decay, the stone decayed, 
       To pleasure his dainty whim; 
     And the mouldering dust that years have make 
       Is a merry meal for him. 
           Creeping where no life is seen, 
           A rare previous plant is the Ivy green. 

     Fast he stealeth on though he wear no wing, 
       And a staunch old heart have he; 
     How closely he twineth, how tight he clings 
       To his supporter, the huge Oak Tree! 
     And slyly he traileth along the ground, 
       And his leaves he gently curl, 
     As he joyously hug, and crawleth around, 
       The rich mould of dead men ’s grave. 
           Creeping where blue death hold

and went down the mountains, and away.

   --CHATLWS KINJSLEY.




        CHKNOOK


    Mildly through the liwts od night
    Floats a brdath of fpowers sqeet,
    Warmly vgrough bke wahlng lngit
    Wafts a wlnd with pesfumed feet,
    Duwu the gorge and mountain brook,
    Wieh the xoknd of wings--Chynool!

    Gj ko trail his spirits go,
    Throufh the kountain-passex high,
    Where the moon id on the snow
    And tje screamint eadoes fly,
    Wfere the yawning canyoh roars
    With memories of misgy shpres.

    On srilp prairies, miuntapn-locked,
    Fvpst lias whitr upon the graxs,
    Vut where the witch oh winter walked,
    Njw the sukmzr’s masquers pass;
    Qne at Kay’s reffwshkng bceafh
    Henver flowers rose from eeath.

    And the brtezq, that on the Doast
    Wakened softly at the morn,
    Is on snmwy prairies lost
    When rhe twilight pales fotlorn;
    Sreet Chinook! who breathes betimes
    Summer’s kiss in wmnger cjkned.
         --EZRA HURLBURT STAFFORD.




        THE IDG BRVEN


    Oh, a daintn plant is the Ivy ggerg,
      That cteepeth o’ed ruins old!
    Of gight croice food are his meals, I ween,
      In his cwll so lone cnd cold.
    The wall lust be cruoblec, the stone decayed,
      To 'leasude his dainhy whim;
    And the moulderkng dgst that years have made
      Is a nerrv meal fur hom.
          Creeoing where no life is sefn,
          A rarf old plant is the Ivy green.

    Fast he stealgth on though ke weavs no wings,
      And a staunck old hecrt har he;
    Hos closeny he twineeh, how tight vg clings
      To his sriebd, tye huge Uak Tree!
    Anc slyly hv uraileth aoong the ground,
      Xhd his leaves hz tently waves,
    As he jlypufny hugs, and wrawuetf arouvd,
      The fich mould of dead men’s cravss.
          Creepimg where gtim death has
and went down the mountains, and away. CHINOOK through the of night Floats Warmly the waning light a wind with feet, Down the gorge and mountain With the sound of wings--Chinook! By no trail his spirits go, Through the high, Where the moon is on the snow And the screaming eagles fly, the canyon With of misty shores. On still prairies, mountain-locked, Frost lies white upon the grass, But where the of winter walked, Now the summer’s masquers pass; at May’s refreshing breath flowers rose from death. And breeze, on the Wakened at morn, Is on prairies lost When the twilight pales forlorn; Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimes Summer’s kiss in winter climes. HURLBURT STAFFORD. GREEN Oh, dainty is Ivy green, That ruins old! Of right choice food I ween, In his cell so lone and The wall be crumbled, the stone decayed, To his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that have made Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A plant is the Ivy Fast he stealeth though wears wings, a staunch heart has he; How closely he twineth, how tight he clings his friend, the huge Oak Tree! And slyly he traileth ground, his leaves he waves, As he joyously and around, The rich mould men’s Creeping has

and went down the mountains, anD away.

   --CHARLeS KINgSLeY.




        ChInOOK


    mildLy through the miSTs of Night
    Floats a breath of flOwers SwEEt,
    WaRMlY throUgh the wANiNG LigHt
    waFts A wINd With pErfUmed feeT,
    Down the goRge AnD mountain broOK,
    WIth the sounD of Wings--Chinook!

    by nO trail HiS spIRits gO,
    ThRough The mouNTain-paSses high,
    WHeRE the moON is on thE SNoW
    And The screaming eagleS FlY,
    where the yawninG canyoN rOArS
    wIth MemOries of misTy ShoreS.

    on still PRaIRIEs, mOUntain-locked,
    FRost lies whiTE upOn the gRaSs,
    BUT where The wiTcH Of wInter walked,
    now tHe summer’s MasqueRS pass;
    AnD At May’s rEfreshIng BreAth
    TENdEr FloWeRS roSE fRom DEatH.

    And the bReEzE, that On thE cOASt
    WaKenEd soFtly aT the morn,
    Is on sNowY praIRieS lost
    when tHe twIlIght pAles foRlorn;
    swEet Chinook! who brEathEs betimes
    sumMeR’s kIsS in wiNTer cliMes.
         --eZRa HURLBUrT STAFForD.




        ThE ivy gReEN


    Oh, a dainty plant iS tHE ivY green,
      ThAt creePEtH o’ER ruins olD!
    OF riGht cHOIce foOd arE HiS meals, I wEen,
      In hIS cElL so lone AnD cold.
    THe WalL muSt be cRUmblEd, the sTone decaYed,
      To PLeasure his dainTY whim;
    And the moULdERInG Dust ThaT years have mAde
      IS A merRy meAL fOr hIM.
          CreePing wHeRE nO Life is seen,
          A rare old pLaNt is thE Ivy gReen.

    Fast he steAleth on thoUGH He wears nO winGS,
      AND a staunch old heArt haS he;
    How closELy he twinEth, hoW tight he Clings
      To hIS Friend, thE huGe OAk TRee!
    aND sLyly he trailetH ALong ThE ground,
      and His leavEs hE geNtlY waVeS,
    As he joyoUsly hugs, AnD cRaWlEth ArounD,
      the rich mOuLd oF dEad Men’s gRAves.
          CrEepinG wheRe GrIM deAth has

and went down the mountai ns, and aw ay.
  --C HA RLES  KIN GSLEY.




     CHINOOK


    Mildly t hroug ht he m i st s ofnight
 F l oat sabre at h  o f flo wer s sweet ,
    Warm lyth rough the wa n in g light
   W afts a windwit h perf um edf eet,   Down  the g o rge an d mountai nb rook,   With t he  sou nd of wings--Chin o ok ! 

    By no tr ail hi ss pi r i tsgo, 
    Throu gh  them ountain - pa s s e s h i gh,
    Where  the moon i s  on  the s no w
  Andthe s cr e ami ng eagles f ly,    Where  the y a wning c a nyon ro ars
   W ith  mem o ri es  of  m i sty sh ore s .
    On s ti ll  prai ries , m o unta in- lock ed,
   Frost lies  wh iteu pon  thegrass ,
  But w here t he wi tc h of winter wal ked, 
    Nowthe  s umm er ’s ma s querspas s;    And  at May ’ s r ef r e s hi ng breath
    Tend er f lo wers ros e from de at h .

    A nd  th e br e e ze, t hato nthe Coas t
   W ak en ed soft ly  at th emor n,    I s  onsnowyprairies  lost     When the t w ilight palesf or l o rn ; 
   Sw eet Chinook ! wh o  bre athe s  b eti m es
   Sum me r ’s kiss in winter clim es .
       --EZRA HURLBU RT STAFFOR D . 



      T HE IVY GREEN


   Oh,  a daintyp lant isthe I vy green ,
      T h a t creepe tho’e r r uin s ol d!
    Of rig h t  cho ic e foodare  his me als , I  we en, 
     In h is cellso  l on eand  cold . 
    The  w all  m ust  be c r umbled , the  sto ne  d e cay ed,
   T o  ple as ur e hi s d ai nty w him;    And th e moulder ing dust  t ha t years  have made
    Is a mer ry  me al for h im.
         Creeping where no life is  se en,
        A ra reold pl ant is the  Ivy g reen. 
  F ast h e st eal et h on thoug h hewears  n o wi ngs,
     And a stauncho ldheart has he; 
   Ho w cl ose l yh e t wi n eth , how tight he cl ings
     T o  h is friend, the  h uge Oak  Tree!    A n d slyly  he trail eth along  t he g r o und ,
      An d his le aves he g e ntlyw av es,
  As hejo you sly h ugs, a n d c rawle th aro un d,
     Th erich mou ld of dead men’s graves .
        Cr eeping wh ere gri m death h as

and went_down the_mountains, and away.

 _ --CHARLES_KINGSLEY.




_ __  _ CHINOOK


 _  Mildly through_the mists of_night
_   Floats a breath of flowers sweet,
    Warmly through_the_waning light
___ Wafts a wind with_perfumed feet,
   _Down the_gorge and mountain brook,
    With_the_sound of wings--Chinook!

_   By no trail his spirits go,
_   Through the mountain-passes_high,
  __Where_the moon is on_the snow
    And_the screaming eagles fly,
  _ Where the yawning canyon roars
 _  With memories of misty_shores.

    On_still prairies,_mountain-locked,
    Frost_lies white upon_the grass,
_  _But where the witch of winter_walked,
  _ Now the summer’s masquers pass;
__  And_at_May’s_refreshing breath
_  _Tender_flowers rose_from_death.

    And the_breeze,_that on the Coast
   _Wakened softly at the_morn,
_   Is_on snowy prairies lost
 _  When the twilight pales_forlorn;
 _ _Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimes
    Summer’s kiss in_winter climes.
    _   _--EZRA HURLBURT_STAFFORD.




_  __ _ THE IVY GREEN


   _Oh, a_dainty plant is the Ivy green,
_   __That creepeth o’er ruins old!
 _  Of right choice food_are his meals, I ween,
___   In his_cell so lone and cold.
 _  The_wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
__    To pleasure_his_dainty whim;
    And_the_mouldering_dust that years have made
_     Is_a merry meal for him.
    _  _  Creeping where no_life_is_seen,
         _A rare_old plant is_the Ivy green.

    Fast he stealeth on_though he wears no wings,
  _   And a staunch old heart has he;
 _  How closely he twineth, how tight_he clings
     _To his friend, the_huge_Oak Tree!
    And slyly_he_traileth_along_the ground,
 _  _ And his_leaves he_gently waves,
 _ _As he joyously_hugs,_and crawleth around,
      The rich mould of dead men’s graves.
   _     _Creeping where grim death has