Page:Genius, and other essays.djvu/161

STODDARD'S POEMS

I am a white falcon, hurrah!

My home is the mountains so high;

But away o'er the lands and the waters,

Wherever I please, I can fly.

I wander from city to city,

I dart from the wave to the cloud;

And when I am dead I shall slumber,

With my own white wings for a shroud!"

The Horatian touch, that can add a grace to the simplest theme, is visible in these dainty couplets:

TO A FRIEND, WITH A VASE

Poet, take this little vase,

From a lover of the race,

Given to hold—a funeral jar—

The ashes of thy loved cigar.

If for that it seem too fine,

Fill it to the brim with wine,

And drink, in love, to me and mine,

As I drain to thee and thine.

Ashes, though, may suit it best,

(There's a plenty in my breast);

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