1850-60.] COATES KINNEY. 531 RAIN ON THE ROOF. When the humid shadows hover Over all the starry spheres, And the melancholy darkness Gently weeps in rainy tears, What a joy to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed, And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead ! Every tinkle on the shingles Has an echo in the heart ; And a thousand dreamy fancies Into busy being start, And a thousand recollections Weave their bright hues into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. Now in fancy comes my mother, As she used to, years agone, To survey her darling dreamers. Ere she left them till the dawn ; O! I see her bending o'er me. As I list to this refrain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. Then my little seraph sister, With her wings and waving hair. And her bright-eyed cherub brother — A serene, angelic pair ! — Glide ai'ound my wakeful pillow. With their pi'aise or mild reproof. As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof. And another comes to thrill me With her eye's delicious blue ; And forget I, gazing on her, That her heart was all untrue : I remember but to love her With a rapture kin to pain, And my heart's quick pulses vibrate To the patter of the rain. There is naught in Art's bravuras. That can work with such a spell In the spirit's pure, deep fountains. Whence the holy passions well. As that melody of Nature, That subdued, subduing strain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the raiB. THE HEROES OF THE PEN.* In the old time gone, ere came the dawn To the ages dark and dim. Who wielded the sword with mightiest brawn, The world bowed down to him ; The hand most red with the slaughtered dead, Most potent waved command, And Mars from the sky of glory shed His light like a blazing brand : But fiery Mars among the stars Grew pale and paler when. At the morn, came Venus ushering in The Heroes of the Pen. Not with sword and flame these heroes came To ravage and to slay, But the savage soul with thought to tame. And with love and reason sway ; Nor good steel wrought that battles fought. In the centuries of yore. Was ever so bright as they buiTushed thought. To cut into error's core ; And in the fight for truth and right. Not a hundred thousand men Of the heroes old were match for one Of the Heroes of the Pen.
- Written for, and read to, the Ohio Editorial Conyen-
tion held at Cincinnati January 10th, 1854. t
