b'PS \n\nCssr \n\n\n\n\\ \n\n\n\n7old-Tliread. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\n\'^\'^^i \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\'t: f .^\xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\ni^msm:.^ \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n^ \n\n\n\n^\xe2\x96\xa0. \n\n\n\nGOLD - THREAD \n\n\n\nOTHER POEMS \n\n\n\nHELEN M. COOKE, \n\n( LOTTIE LINWOOD.) \n\n\n\n\nNEW YOEK: \n\nE. B. TREAT, 805 BROADWAY, \n\n1874. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by \n\nHELEN M. COOKE, \n\nin the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. \n\n\n\nDEDICATION \n\n\n\nTO \nTHE HON. O. S. HALSTED, \n\nEX-CHANCELLOK OF NEW JEESEY. \nBX \n\nTHE AUTHOE. \n\n\n\nPREFACE, \n\n\n\nThese poems are published by the urgent re- \nquest of friends, many of whose faces I have never \nseen, whose hands have never been clasped in \nmine, but whose sweet sympathies have sprung \ninto life and linked our hearts even as the beauti- \nful Gold- Thread, which creeps through the silent \ndarkness of the ground and hnks its marvelous \nnerve-like tendrils together in thousands of insep- \narable ties, sending up now and then a pure white \nblossom that makes the world more fragrant and \nlovely \xe2\x80\x94 we know not how. \n\nI have called my book Gold-Thread, for it \nseems to me its contents have sprung out of the \nhidden intensities of my woman\'s heart ; that in \nit and with it lie the deepest sorrows and sweetest \njoys I have ever known. \n\nThe world may have seen in its author only the \nmeek white blossoms growing small and low, that \n\n\n\nX PREFACE. \n\nany rude feet could trample over to reach a higher \nand richer bloom ; but to those of my dear readers, \nwhether man or woman, who have been hungry, \ntired, lonely, who have known the great love, and \nhelpless yearnings for humanity, wifli all its losses, \nand failures, who have helped to bear its crosses, \nit will find an answering voice \xe2\x80\x94 a throb of unutter- \nable sympathy, and its mission will have been ac- \ncomplished. To touch a human heart is greater \nthan Fame. I shall be satisfied. \n\nH. M. 0. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nDemcatobt Poem. \n\nA Birthday Song 62 \n\nA Christmas Rhyme 53 \n\nAcrostic 179 \n\nA Fragment 152 \n\nA Hymn 194 \n\nA June Memory 160 \n\nAlas ! 162 \n\nAlways Tired 155 \n\nA Midnight Rhyme 135 \n\nAnticipation 127 \n\nA Prophecy 60 \n\nA Plea for the Aged 95 \n\nA Response 192 \n\nA Song 72 \n\nAt Evening . 47 \n\nAt the Grave ol Mrs. L. H. Sigoumey 120 \n\nA Winter\'s Dream of Summer .". 164 \n\nBecause I Love You 38 \n\nBe Thyself 190 \n\nBetween the Clouds 168 \n\nBeyond, 100 \n\nBitter-Sweet 174 \n\n\n\nx-\'i CONTENTS, \n\nBy-and-By 172 \n\nBye-Bye 80 \n\nBy the Sea 83 \n\nDead Forever . 23 \n\nDream On 139 \n\nEllen Clementine Howarth 44 \n\nGold-Thread 17 \n\nGreenwood Cemetery 132 \n\nHemlock Grove 68 \n\nHope , 146 \n\nHungry and Tired 75 \n\nI Remember 40 \n\nIn Memoriam \xe2\x80\x9e 24 \n\nIn the Sunshine 78 \n\nI Pray for Thee at Nightfall 122 \n\nI will be True to Thee 158 \n\nJuly 36 \n\nKisses 134 \n\nLeaves lOG \n\nLeave us not Yet 102 \n\nLife-time 77 \n\nLilacs 29 \n\nLilla Burt 22 \n\nLines for an Album 104 \n\nLines (Go while, etc.) 89 \n\nLines to Anna M. Bates 137 \n\nMattie 20 \n\nMay-time 74 \n\nMonody 182 \n\nMortality 191 \n\nMy Serenade 18.S \n\nMusic 118 \n\nNewsboys 149 \n\n\n\nC0N2ENT8, xiii \n\nNo Night 48 \n\nOld Memories 116 \n\nOn the Death of 0. D. Seymour, Jr.. . , 147 \n\nOn the Shore 33 \n\nOne More Poet 57 \n\nOur Lizzie 87 \n\nOvertasked 59 \n\nEeverie 131 \n\nSchool\'s Out 141 \n\nSMn I 29 \n\nSympathy 91 \n\nStanzas 42 \n\nTempted . 170 \n\nThe Autumn Wmd 175 \n\nThe Child\'s Prayer 66 \n\nThe Dear Eyes 64 \n\nThe Flower in the Snow 177 \n\nThe Gift of Song. 109 \n\nThe Eainfall 186 \n\nThe Ehyme of an Autumn Day 85 \n\nThe Sainted Picture 92 \n\nThe Silent Room 180 \n\nThe Spirit\'s GaU 143 \n\nThe Magdalen 70 \n\nThe Picture at Goupil\'s 35 \n\n" Thine to the End." 153 \n\nThou Art away 124 \n\nTo Mary 195 \n\nTo the Giver of a Basket of Flowers 31 \n\nTrailing Arbutus 96 \n\nTrinity BeUs 20 \n\nTrusts . 55 \n\nTube Roses 97 \n\n\n\nxiv CONTENTS. \n\nUnbeloved 107 \n\nUnder the Snow-drifts 145 \n\nViolets in November 82 \n\nWaiting 49 \n\nWeary and Bound 27 \n\nWby Ill \n\nWilliam Koderick Lawrence 113 \n\n*\' Write in my Album " 166 \n\nWoman 184 \n\nYou and Me 51 \n\n\n\nDEDICATORY. \n\nTO you on whose broad brow will ever shine \nA more than poet\'s everlasting crown ! \nGenius, and power, and fame are all thine own ! \nLow at thy feet I lay this gift of mine. \n\nThere it has been in days gone by my pride \nTo sit and learn, and listen to each word \nFrom thy wise lips, till all my life was stirred \n\nTo emulate so pure and good a guide. \n\nAnd often thus some pov, er of thine has come \n(As the sweet south wind on the violet. \nThat April in her iearfulness has wet \xe2\x80\x94 ) \n\nTo deepen thoughts of mine to richer bloom ! \n\nAnd thy grand life of earnest searching thought \nHas been to me a warmth, a helping light. \n\n\n\ni6 DEDICATORY. \n\nAnd led me out from Doubt\'s perplexing night, \nTo God\'s great freedom, which so few have sought. \n\nAnd I can lay my hand in thine to-day, \n\nAnd know how safe and sure His promise is ; \nWhen work and song are ended, we are His, \n\nWith gift of life immortal from decay. \n\n\n\nGOLD THREAD. \n\nAM I to blame if in the world of Thought \nI strike low chords, and sing in deepest \nshade, \nWhile happier singers find a sunnier spot, \nAnd pour their lays out in the open glade ? \n\nLong, long and weary years ago there came \nA genial spirit hovering by my side. \n\nAnd talked of poesy, and love, and fame. \n\nAnd fired my soul for all of these \xe2\x80\x94 and died I \n\nI died too, with my bright young hopes and dreams; \n\nDrew back my eager hands that reached for \nfame ; \nMy feet went down to deep and silent streams ; \n\nAnd my mute lips moaned only one dear name, \n\nI surely died then, in the long ago \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHiding my tears and sobs all out of sight ; \n\n17 \n\n\n\n18 GOLD THREAD. \n\nHushed my despair so well that none could know \nOf my Gethsemane, or after night. \n\nYear after year the early violets come, \nAnd summer roses drop around his head, \n\nLike rosaries that slip through hands of bloom \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn voiceless prayers, to bless with peace my \ndead. \n\nAnd over all the darkness and the gloom. \n\nAnd through the longings, and the throbs oi \npain. \n\nThrough all the fading of this earthly bloom ; \nThe thought comes ever, " we shall meet again T* \n\nA fairer light will shine again for me ; \n\nDreams of our past-time brighten into truth ; \nBeyond the cold depths of the silent sea, \n\nWill come the sweet words of our perished \nyouth. \n\nOh hope immortal ! not forever dead ! \n\nThough parted for a little while in tears \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll the sweet memories of the days long fled \n\nWill live beyond Time\'s swiftly rolling years. \n\n\n\nGOLD THREAD. 1\xc2\xa3 \n\nOh, great Hereafter ! great immortal life ! \n\nOh, vast Forever, where no death shall come ! \nWhere endless being unto saints shall give \n\nA perfect joy, a final rest, a home ! \n\nYet underneath this cloud I see him not ; \n\nMy songs still tremble with a stifled sob ; \nI miss him here in each familiar spot \n\nWhere\'er I go, and in the heart\'s low throb. \n\nReach down, oh Hand Immortal, unto me. \n\nAnd through these shadows lead me to the light 3 \n\nAnd give me strength that I may calmly see \nThe clouds of sorrow drifting out of sight ! \n\n\n\nTRINITY BELLS. \n\nWHAT are you saying in tones so sweet, \nMusical bells \xe2\x80\x94 in the soft spring air, \nWhile 1 plod on in the crowded street, \nWeary and sad with my weight of care ? \n\nSometimes you touch on a quivering string, \nWaking some memory dead for years ; \n\nAnd the old-time pain to my heart will spring, \nAnd my eyes are filled with their bhnding tears. \n\nThey are pressing me sore on every side, \n\nWith toil, and care, and the great world\'s strife; \n\nWith the rush and crowd of the city\'s tide. \nAnd the crushing weight of this human life. \n\nBut above it all, like a tireless bird \xe2\x80\x94 \nYour notes ring out, as we come and go, \n\nTill my envious heart with a wish is stirred \nToward the peaceful sleepers that lie below. \n20 \n\n\n\nTRINITY BELLS. 21 \n\nAnd I pause a moment as on I pass, \nTo note how quiet and still they lie ; \n\nNot even a wave in the churchyard grass \nDo their bosoms lift by a sob or sigh. \n\nOh, Trinity Bells ! dear Trinity Bells ! \n\nHow many a sad, sweet thing you say, \nAs your varied chime on the soft air swells, \n\nTo the world of hearts that throng Broadway. \n\nWhile trade, and traffic, and worldly pride, \nAre running riot within thy sound ; \n\nSome tear-stained eyes in the restless tide. \nLook up for rest to the Blue Beyond. \n2 \n\n\n\nLILLA BUBT. \n\nBLUE-EYED Lilla, laughing child ! \nFairest of our household flowers, \nDancing in thy glee so wild, \n\nStealing all these hearts of ours. \nGod hath given thee to our care, \nAnd we hold thee tremblingly, \nFearing lest a bud so fair. \n\nCannot bloom beneath the sky. \n\nWe are thinking when we gaze \n\nIn thy soft and starry eyes. \nWhen we watch thy playful ways, \n\nOf thy mates in Paradise. \nLiving, dying, well we know, \n\nGod protects his lambs from hurt ; \nThough we love and prize thee so. \n\nThou art His, sweet Lilla Burt. \n22 \n\n\n\nY \n\n\n\nDEAD FOREVEE. \n\nES, yes, the dream has fled, \nOur love lies strangled, dead ; \nHeart calls not back to heart with one sweet word. \nThe Past shall ever keep \nWith silence, oh, how deep ! \nThe power to touch for us one answerin,^ chord. \n\nIn one sad hour it died. \n\nSlain by our human pride ; \nNo dear Christ of the past shall bid it rise again \n\nOur hearts have ceased their cry. \n\nStilled all their agony. \nAll their sweet passion, all their bitter pain ! \n\nIn all our future years. \n\nWhether of smiles or tears, \nDrifting apart forever, you and me ! \n\nOver each promise fair \n\nSurges a cold despair ; \nDead, now and always^ through eternity. \n\n23 \n\n\n\nIN MEMOEIAM. \n\nTHERE is a heart-break in the robin\'s singing, \nA note of sorrow in the low wind\'s song, \nAnd the red flower-bells on the uplands swinging, \nSeem tolling a sad requiem all day long ! \n\nHearts that were glad with summer\'s flush and \nglory, \n\nAnd brimming o\'er with joy, one year ago, \nHave learned amid life\'s winter, sorrow\'s story. \n\nAnd shadows creep where\'er their footsteps go. \n\nFor we remember how a great heart perished \nIn all his manly beauty and his pride ; \n\nIn early spring-time, the beloved and cherished \nLaid down life\'s buidon quietly, and died. \n\nOh life, so bitter ! full of pains and cros.^es ; \n\nThere comes one dark Gethsemane to all ! \nOne heaviest woe to all our heavy losses, \n\nThe shadow dropping on the loved one\'s pall. \n24 \n\n\n\nIN MEMORIAM. 26 \n\nWe cannot lift it with our feeble trying, \n\nThough tears fall fast, and our poor hearts \nmake moan ; \n\nThe world is full of losing and of dying, \nOf hearts that break in silence and alone. \n\nAnd so we wait, the shadows growing longer ; \n\nAnd valleys deeper in the churchyard grass ; \nPraying the while that God will make us stronger \n\nFor all the days of loneliness we pass. \n\nSo spring returns with all the buds and blossoms, \nWinds chant their Easter anthems o\'er and o\'er, \n\nShedding their glory on the silent bosoms \nWhere we may rest our weary heads no more. \n\n\n\nMATTIE. \n\nDAEK-EYED Mattie, friend of mine, \nLaughing in thy girlish glee ; \nTell me if that heart of thine \n\nHas one thought of love for me ? \nTell me if those nightly eyes, \n\nPlayful, frolicsome and bright. \nWhere all tameless witchery lies, \xe2\x80\x94 \nE\'er will gleam with love\'s soft light? \n\nNow youth\'s golden morning lies \n\nShining o\'er thine early way ; \nMay no clouds of sorrow rise, \n\nTo enshroud hfe\'s closing day ; \nAnd may Hope\'s pure vestal star, \n\nGuard and keep thy future years; \nLead thee where the angels are, \n\nKeep thy dear black eyes from tears! \n26 \n\n\n\nWEAEY AND BOUND. \n\nWEAEY and bound ! oh, Poetrj, \nBright spirit ! idol of my Heart ! \nI, but an humble devotee, \n\nBow meekly wheresoe\'er thou art. \n\nBlest soul of love, of joy and truth, \nThou fadeless beauty, fresh and free, \n\nThou stream of song, that charmed my youth, \nThe weary bound one cries for thee ! \n\nOh, Poesy ! my spirit swells \n\nTo plunge for aye in thy cool waves ; \n\nIt longs to burst these earthly cells, \nAnd find in thee the bliss it craves. \n\nTo tell the thoughts that upward spring ; \n\nTo break from language\'s dreamy lull, \nAnd with unearthly voice to sing \n\nThese dreams, so bright and beautiful ! \n\n27 \n\n\n\n28 WEARY AND BOUND. \n\nUnrest, unrest ! forever bound, \n\nAnd chafed with restless longing thought; \nWith whispered music all around, \n\nBut my bound spirit answers not. \n\nOh, Earth ! oh. Time ! oh. Thou, my God ! \n\nWhen will this fleshly bondage cease ? \nWhen laid this chain beneath the sod ? \n\nWhen rest the soul in endless peace ? \n\nBy the wild prayers I strive to speak, \nBy the sweet songs of angels free, \n\nBy the strong power I vainly seek. \nBy hopes, tears, loves, oh answer me ! \n\n\n\nLILACS. \n\nPUEP\'LING in, and purp\'ling out, \n\'Moug the emerald leaves, \nWeaving beauty round about \n\nThe low and mossy eaves ; \nBringing to our memory back \n\nMany old-time joys. \nWhen we danced on childhood\'s track, \n\nMerry girls and boys ; \nWhen our little hands reached high, \n\ni\'or their clustering bloom, \nTossing upward toward the sky, \n\nIn their sweet perfume. \n\nGolden hours ! the dreamers\' rhyme \n\nCalls for thee in vain ; \nStanding near life\'s harvest-time, \n\n\'Mid ungathered graia ! \n\n\n\n30 LILACS. \n\nAnd the blessed ones who stood \n\nHand in hand with me, \nLooking higher, up to God, \n\nWent beyond life\'s sea ! \nFrom this purple-laden bough, \n\nOft I turn mine eye \', \nWhere they gather blossoms now, \n\nTo the purp\'ling skies I \n\n\n\nTO THE GIVER OF A BASKET OF FLOWERS. \n\n7 ^HERE\'S a charm in every petal, a caress in \nevery leaf ; \n\nIn the roses\' hearts lie folded a beautiful belief ! \n\nOh, white and royal lily, when you bowed your \nregal head \n\nTo the hand that stole your beauty from the \nfragrant garden-bed, \n\nWist ye not how more than kingly was the mis- \nsion that he gave ? \n\nFor in thy silent dying came the blessing that \nI crave! \n\nYe are sanctified by fingers whose lightest little \n\ntouch \nBrings to me the benediction I have coveted so \n\nmuch ; \n\nAnd through all thy subtle perfume floats the \n\ntenderness of ten rs, \n\n3X \n\n\n\n32 A BASKET OF FLOWERS. \n\nDrifting back into the distance all the weary, \n\nwaiting years \nWhen no sunlight and no blossoms beautified \n, the path I trod, \nUnknowing that the darkness led me up to Hope, \n\nand God ! \n\nOh, beloved ! sweet and tender ! in thy hand I \nlay my heart ; \n\nAll its blossoms, all its incense, all its truth to \nthee impart ; \n\nThou canst cast me back to darkness, to a love- \nless, starless night ; \n\nOnly in thy priceless loving finds my woman\'s \nheart its light ; \n\nCrush me not, and leave me dying, like these \nflowers, to bloom no more, \n\nFor no other power thereafter, could one throb \nof hope restore ! \n\n\n\nON THE SHOEE. \n\nLIE still, proud heart, and dream \nOf all thy being craves ; \nFloat down the sunny stream, \nKissed by the cheating waves. \n\nFor only thus to thee \n\nWill happiness be given ; \nThy life\'s intensity \n\nMocks that for which thou\'st striven. \n\nLie still tired heart, and dream \nOf love, that lives and grows ; \n\nThat friends are what they seem ; \nOf hope, trust, and repose. \n\nThat some grand soul with thine \nWill merge to higher thought, \n\nTouching the life divine, \nThat famishes unsought ; \n\n\n\n34 ON THE SHORK \n\nCooling the fevered life \n\nWith tender touch and word ; \n\nHushing the inward strife, \nBy secret longings stirred. \n\nLie still, poor heart, and dream, \nHere by the sighing sea ! \n\nDream that you only dream \nThat these are not for thee. \n\nDream that a sheltering love \nEnfolds thee evermore ; \n\nThat all for which you strove \nLies with thee on the shore. \n\nThat all the waves that come \nTo touch thy weary feet. \n\nBear on their crested foam, \nLife\'s messages complete. \n\nDream on, sad heart, dream on, \nHere by the mournful sea ! \n\nWhile pitying waves make moan \nIn mystery, like thee ! \n\n\n\nTHE PICTURE AT GOUPIL\'S. \n\nIS it an angel\'s face we see, \nWith saintly eyes, and haloed brow ? \nWhere Raphael\'s wondrous touch has left \nA vision of the long ago ? \n\nA chord of music never sung \n\nOn earth rests on those silent lips ; \n\nAs if around their beauty hung \nSome marvellous apocalypse 1 \n\n0, angel child ! what mother\'s heart \nWas wrung with agony and pain, \n\nTo see the light of life depart, \nTo give thee back to God again ? \n\n\n\n35 \n\n\n\nJULY. ^ \n\nB EIGHT, full of dreams and beauty, glad \nJuly, \nWith thy warm kisses on my cheek, \nAnd thy low whispers passing ever by \n\nOn every breeze, I find the joy I seek. \nO world ! so full of life ! O world of mine ! \nThou\'rt like a ceaseless fount of sparkling wine, \nThat stirs my being newly hour by hour, \nWith a bewildering, unresisting power ! \n\nWhy, mid this carnival of bud and bloom, \nAnd merry hum of insects on the wing, \nAnd fragrant odors, and the songs of birds. \nAnd joy, and life, and every happy thing. \nMust come the thought of blight and chill ; . \' \n\nwhy? \nThe thought that these must perish soon and diet \n36 \n\n\n\nJULY. 37 \n\nO, glorious world ! dost hear my rapturous lay, \nAs I forget this golden summer day, \nThat thou and I must fade and pass away ? \nI lay my hand on thy great, throbbing heart, \nAnd hear the harmonies that into music start, \nAnd bathe myself in beauty, fragrance, light, \nDear world, so daisy-crowned and bright. \n\nO royal month, O royal queen, July ! \n\nWhose warm breath billows o\'er the wheat. \nAnd scatters flowers where our loved ones lie. \nWhose tender hands fold down the winding- \nsheet ! \nOnly one little shadow, slanting low, \n\nOn heart, and stream, and flower, and cluster \' \ning vine. \nThat thou art absent, that where\'er I go, \n\nI miss thy voice, my Sweet, my Madaline I \n3 \n\n\n\n"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU." \n\nONLY a sentence, quickly, idly spoken \nBy careless lips, half tenderly, to me ; \nAs a pale spring-flower that has feebly opened \nAmong the dead leaves of an autumn tree. \n\nOnce comes life\'s merry, joyous Spring-time, \nOdor and bloom, and gaily singing birds ; \n\nIts wealth of trust, its loves, its full believing, \nIts matchless music of endearing words. \n\nOnce comes life\'s Autumn, and the fading. \nThe barren, hopeless death of all most dear ; \n\nMy Spring and Autumn now have passed forever. \nNow Winter comes, you may not enter here ! \n\nI will not mock you with an idle seeming \n\nOf what has glided down Fate\'s trembling \nstair ; \nOne place within your Boul will be forever calling \nAnd still be desolate ; I have been there. \n38 \n\n\n\n\xc2\xab BEGA USE I LOVE YOU. " 39 \n\n" Because I love you !" once my heart was given, \nWith all its passions, all of love\'s decrees ; \n\nI would have paused e\'en at the gates of heaven \nTo hear you speak, as now, such words as these. \n\nBut take them back ; the heart\'s cold chill, and \nfever. \nIts broken faith, its waiting all in vain. \nHave filled brim-full at last life\'s tear-stained \ngoblet. \nAnd words like these bring only bitter pain. \n\n\n\nI KEMEMBER. \n\nIKEMEMBEK, I remember \nHow lie whispered very low, \nTelling me to lift the curtain, \n\nAnd to let the moonlight through ; \nHow with trembling hand I parted \nBack the folds o^ snowy sheen ; \nAnd like fairies, merry-hearted, \n\nDanced the moonbeams gaily in ; \nAnd they rested on his pillow. \n\nOn his face, so pale and fair, \nLike a wave of heavenly radiance, \n\nFull of glory, drifted there ; \nThen to me his eyes he lifted \n\nFrom a long, enraptured gaze. \nAnd 1 knew that he was passing- \nOut from life\'s bewildering maze \n" Oh, how beautiful !" he whispered. \n\nAs he, smiling, dropped asleep, \n40 \n\n\n\n1 REMEMBER. 41 \n\nLeaving me a lonely watcher, \nIn the midnight hush to weep. \n\nWhen the next eve-star came dancing \n\nIn the purple of the west, \nAnd the moon, a queen of beauty, \n\nCame again with silvery crest, \nI was still beside that bedside, \n\nAVeeping bitterly alone. \nFor the loved was angel-mated, \n\nAnd life\'s painful dream was done. \nStill the moonlight flickered coldly \n\nO\'er the face I loved so well, \nMocking me, for o\'er my spirit \n\nDeepest, darkest shadows fell. \nNow Beloved, angel-hearted ! \n\nLife is one sad memory, \nHow we met, and loved, and parted, \n\nOne sweet memory of thee ! \n\n\n\nSTANZAS. \n\nDO thy footsteps falter, ever, \nOn the weary march of Hfe ? \nDoes thy strongest heart-endeavor, \n\nAlmost fail with earthly strife ? \nThen remember that beside thee \n\nAngels walk in light and peace, \nAnd their ministry will guide thee, \nTill thy trials all shall cease. \n\nHas thy heart a fadeless treasure \n\nOn the bright eternal shore, \nWhen the dreams of earthly pleasure \n\nFade away to come no more ? \nShadowy life ! and yet so precious \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSad, yet beautiful indeed ! \nHope and faith delight, refresh us, \n\nIn our hours of greatest need. \n\n42 \n\n\n\nSTANZAS. 43 \n\nEarth is beautiful ! so blended \n\nAre the sunshine, shade, and flowers ; \nGratitude and love unended, \n\nShould possess these hearts of ours. \nThough bj death our songs and laughter, \n\nMay be silenced, or subdued, \nFaith\'s sweet voice will echo after, \n\nAnd our souls be angel-hued. \n\n\n\nELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWABTH. \n\nI SAW thee in thy quiet home, \nWith bright-eyed children round thj^ knee ; \nI, but a stranger who had come, \n\nCliarmed by thy wondrous minstrelsy. \nOh mother, poet, child of song 1 \n\nWas it a seraph\'s wing that stirred \nSome unseen harp, by angels strung. \n\nAnd thrilled me with each quivering chord ? \n\nAnd sitting where the morning air, \n\nWent drifting through the casement low, \nLifting the light waves of thy hair. \n\nFrom off thy thoughtful, poet-brow, \nI praised the Father that to thee \n\nA richer wealth than gold was given ; \nThe matchless gift of poesy. \n\nFrom the exhaustless hand of Heaven I \n44 \n\n\n\nELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWARTIL 45 \n\nAnd which is stronger, which more blest, \n\nThe mother \xe2\x80\x94 or the poet-heart ? \nWliich brings thee more of peace and rest, \n\nWhich most of woman\'s joys impart ? \nWhat makes thy face so patient now, \n\nOh sister ! wearied, overtasked ? \nThese questions stih keep ebb and flow, \n\nUnanswered questions, and unasked. \n\nI never knew the holy bhss \n\nOf baby lips upon my breast ; \nOr gave a mother\'s thrilling kiss ; \n\nOr hushed with prayer my child to rest I \nThou hast been nearer to the Christ, \n\nWho blessed the mother on the cross ; \nFor mother-love, like some high-priest, \n\nWill save when fierce temptations toss. \n\nSister of song ! from far I roam \n\nTo hold thy friendly hand in mine, \nAs other, nobler bards have come, \n\nWho longed to see that face of thine, \nI only worship, bending low \n\n\n\n46 ELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWARTH. \n\nAt Genius\' feet, with poesj thrilled ; \nWith famished heart and aching brow, \nAnd longings that will ne\'er be stilled. \n\nFor humbler are the songs I sing ^ \n\nThan the bright offerings of thy soul ; \nMy muse is like the broken wing \n\nOf some tired bird, beyond control \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat gives, oft-times, a saddened tune. \n\nThat rhymes up faintly, e\'en as now \nWhile thinking of that day in June \n\nWhen first I kissed thy cheek and brow. \n\n\n\nAT EVENING. \n\nOH, had we met, had we met before ! \nWhen our hves were youug, and our sphits \nbrave. \nAnd our hopeful barks so near the shore \n\nThat we heard its songs on each answering \nwave ! \nThey are far off now, those isles- of green \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAback in the moaning sea of years; \nTime\'s billows toss and roll between ; \n\nWe can scarcely see for our blinding tears ! \n\nWhy do we sigh, and why regret, \n\nFor the joys we missed in the long ago ? \nThere are greener isles in the distance yet \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOur feet e\'en touch their bright shores now. \nOh, say, ye waves that our souls have crossed, \n\nYe deep, deep seas of Dotibt and Pain, \nThough ye bring not back the years we\'ve lost, \n\nWill ye waft us safe to Peace again ? \n\n47 \n\n\n\n48 AT EVENING. \n\nWe have waited long, we have suffered mach, \n\nWe have yearned for love till our hearts are \nsad; \nThe flowers we nursed with tenderest touch, \n\nWere first to droop, and die, and fade. \nThen drift us out to the shores of Rest, \n\nAs the night comes down, and the daylight \ndies. \nAs the autumn sunset gilds the west, \n\nAnd beautifies the twilight skies. \n\n\n\nWAITING. \n\nHE has not come ! all vainly I have waited ; \nFirst with a flush of hope and quiet joy ; \nThen with a fevered heartbeat, almost fainted \nWith blended fear and anxious pain\'s alloy. \n\nHe has not come ! the night is growing dreary, \nAnd clouds shut out each bright and glowing \nstar ; \n\nThe winds of autumn sing a song so weary, \nAs grieving for some wandering soul afar. \n\nI hear the footfalls of departing summer. \nInstead of coming footsteps that I love ; \n\nMy heart responds its sad, regretful murmur, \nAnd mocks the darkness of the clouds above ! \n\nHe has not come ! oh, whither is he roaming? \n\nI sit alone amid the night\'s alarms; \nEe still, oh, longing heart ! he yet is coming, \n\nI shall find rest within his sheltering arms. \n\n49 \n\n\n\n50 WAITING. \n\n" He yet will come !" the weary wind keeps sigh- \ning ; \n\n" He yet will come !" I hear it whisper now ; \nAnd yet the weary, weary night is dying, \n\nAnd chills like death are on my heart and brow. \n\nHe has not come ! the light is slowly creeping \nWith rosy beauty on the eastern sky ; \n\nThe royal autumn her great feast is keeping, \nAnd yet I watch, and wait, and trust, and die! \n\n\n\nYOU AND ME. \n\nAND I am loved ! oh, how delightful is ifc \nTo know a heart beats fondly with mine \nown ; \nOh, there is naught on earth half so exquisite \nAs when two lives seem blending into one ! \n\nLife has to me no thought of ill or sorrow ; \nNo sadness tinges o\'er my dreamy hours ; \nNo darkness shades the thought of coming mor- \nrow. \nBut paths of sunshine wreathed with beauteous \nflowers. \n\nBreak not the spell ! oh, let its brightness linger, \nAnd if I only dream, waken me not ! \n\nFor over all my soul Love\'s silent finger \nIs tracing life without one darkened spot. \n\n51 \n\n\n\nYOU AND ME. \n\n\n\nLife were all bliss, thougli all the world forget me, \nIf thou still love me, still art all mine own ; \n\nA band of angels led me where I met thee, \nAnd bound our l^earts forever into one 1 \n\n\n\ny \n\n\n\nA CHEISTMAS EHYME. \n\nWAS it tlie song of the murmuring pines \nThat came to me with a mournful sdiind, \nOr the restless wail of the crying stream, \n\nThat wildly ran through the vale beyond ? \nWas it the strain of a weary bird \n\nThat its mates had left in our wintry clime, \nWith its breast a-tremble, and plumage stirred, \nLike a human heart by a poet\'s rhyme ? \n\nI know that the morning light was clear. \n\nAnd the light wind touched my tear-stained \nface. \nAs in dreams we kiss the face most dear \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOr swung the willows with tender grace, \nAnd played with the leaves that lay all dry \n\nOn the hedge rows sear, where the violets sleep, \nBut it all seemed dark as a winter sky. \n\nAnd I hid my face from it all to weep. \n\n4 53 \n\n\n\n54 A CHRISTMAS RHYME. \n\nThere seemed no rest, though the world was bright \n\nWith the Autumn prime of these Christmairi \ndays, \nAnd I only saw on the hills of light, \n\nThe purple Autumn\'s gathering haze. \nI only thought of a bright young face \n\nPressed down so close \'neath the coffin-lid, \nWho lies so still in the burial place, \n\nFrom our voiceless longings always hid. \n\nSo the stream sings on in its sorrowing rhjme. \n\nWith the homeless wind in the fragrant pines. \nAnd mingles with the Cliristmas chime. \n\nWhile the shadows creep into lengthened lines, \nAnd waves lie deep in the sea of years. \n\nSince the " Song of Peace " on Bethlehem\'s \nplain ; \nAnd a heart-break fills my eyes with tears, \n\nFor the lost who ne\'er comes back agairie \n\n\n\nTRUSTS. \n\nWHEEE is the faith of early years, \nThat beamed with such a holy light ? \nAll faded out \'mid shade and tears, \n\nTo darkle in a world of night ; \nAlas, that w^e should ever know \n\nThe loss of life\'s most precious gem ; \nThat Doubt\'s dark stream keeps ebb and flow, \nAnd we its fearful tide must stem ! \n\nAs music in the distance far \n\nFloats out, and \'mid its sweetness dies ; \nAs melts the brightest shining star. \n\nAt rosy dawn along the skies; \xe2\x80\x94 \nAs on the petals of a flower, \n\nThe rain-drops nestle down to-day, \nTo vanish ere the noontide hour \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSo fade our heart\'s fresh trusts away 1 \n\n\n\nm TRUSTS. \n\nThere is a flower tliat blooms unseen, \n\nA star whose beams of glorious light \nShine on with changeless ray serene, \n\nTo guide us through life\'s darkest night ; \nAnd there is music, whose soft tones \n\nAre not confined to ears of dust. \nThat cheer and bless earth\'s weary ones \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat flower, star, music : Heavenly Trust ! \n\n\n\nONE MOEE POET. \n\nMY heart stood still amid the gathering \ntwilight \nOf this spring day, so full of bud and bloom ; \nIts glory and its beauty quickly closing, \nWith the sad tidings of thine early tomb. \n\nAnd is it so, alas ! thy life all broken. \n\nThy mournful harp forevermore unstrung ? \n\nOne more gone out to that mysterious country, \nWith whom so long my fainter lips have sung ? \n\nOne more gone out to join the dear departed \nWho left us trembling in the long ago ; \n\nOne less to struggle with life\'s pain and fever, \nOne less to learn life\'s weary lesson through. \n\nYear after year thy well-known name was gath- \nered \n\n57 \n\n\n\n58 ONE MOBE POET. \n\nUpon the rhymer\'s page, beside mine own, \nAnd I have hoped with mortal eyes to see thee, \nAnd catch the music of some poet-tone. \n\nBut now, alas ! unknown, unknown forever. \nSave in the world of song, we two shall be ; \n\nMeeting, perchance, in the eternal city, \n\nBoth having crossed the strange and dreadful \nsea. \n\nAnd so the tears fall for thee, stranger poet \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat life went out with thee in manhood\'s \nspring, \n\nAnd chilly shadows over all are creeping, \nDimming the beauty of each glorious thing ! \n\n\n\nOVERTASKED. \n\nIS this the glory crowning all my toil, \nThese throbbing temples, and this weary brain ? \nHave sleepless hours spent o\'er tlie " midnight oil," \nBut wrought for this low brow a wreath of pain ? \n\nIs he not happier who with careless heart. \n\nAnd brain unwearied, hears the songs I sing ? \n\nWho knows no yearning for sweet Poesy\'s art ; \nWJio never tasted from ambition\'s spring ? \n\nOh, soul immortal, crying after God, \n\nLifting thine unfledged wings in vain, in vain ! \n\nOh, thoughts unuttered, classic paths untrod ! \nOh, heart o\'erburthened with an unsung strain I \n\nOh, life too swift to quench the burning thirst ! \n\nOh, veil too thin to keep the spirit masked ! \n\nSweet fount of peace, from vales of beauty burst, \n\nAnd bless the heart, and brain, the overtaske.I \n\n59 \n\n\n\nA PEOPHECY. \n\nIF I have loved thee more than heaven, \nAnd breathed thy name instead of prayer, \nAnd all life\'s fullest joy have given \n\nWith holiest keeping to thy care ; \nEemember, dear, I ne\'er forget \n\nA woman\'s glorious, royal right, \nA power inherent God hath set \n\nTo guard her from deception\'s bhght ; \nAnd though in agony and pain. \n\nShe finds her dearest hope is gone, \nAnd like her Master on the plain \n\nShe weeps, forsaken and alone \xe2\x80\x94 \nIt will be only for a night. \n\nThe soul in lonely darkness cast ; \nAnd she will rise with morning light, \n\nAnd claim her victory at last : \n\nAnd what for thee can expiate ? \n\nTo steal the jewels from God\'s crown \n60 \n\n\n\nA PROPHECY. 61 \n\nAnd give them then, \'twould be too late \n\nTo purchase what was once thine own ; \nFor only once to man is given \n\nA love as passionate as mine ; \nIt will not, when once rudely riven. \n\nAround his heart again entwine ! \nThine eyes will weep, thy heart will bleed. \n\nThy feet will walk alone again ; \nAnd bitterly thy soul will plead \n\nFor the lost love, in vain, in vain 1 \n\n\n\nA BIRTHDAY SONG. \n\nMY heart is full of sobs to-day, \nIts music all is hushed ; \nAnd on the opening doors of May, \nLife\'s blossoms all lie crushed. \n\nThe light that shone with April\'s dawn. \n\nHas faded out and died ; \nLove with it, like a phantom gone. \n\nAnd left me crucified ! \n\nNo evening prayer, no morning psalm, \n\nNo whisperings of rest, \nNo resurrection hope, no calm \n\nFloat through my restless breast. \n\nMy baffled life stands out alone \n\nAmid the shadows dim ; \nWith quivering pain, and stifled moan, \n\nI hear Love\'s funeral hymn. \n\n\n\n62 \n\n\n\nA BIRTHDAY SONG. 63 \n\n\'Tis perished, gone ! the happy dream \n\nOf trust, and joy, and hght ! \nAnd May\'s sweet voices only seem \n\nTo mock my soul\'s deep night. \n\n\n\nTHE DEAR EYES. \n\n,\'T X TAS it the smile of the same dear eyes, \nV V That warmed my heart with a tender \nglow ? \n\nA love-light sent from the olden ties, \nTo draw me back to the long ago ? \n\nOh, sad was the day, though bright and fair, \nThe golden sunshine drifted down, \n\nIn floods of glory everywhere, \n\nO\'er autumn woods, and hillsides brown, \n\nWhen I saw the eyes, so like to thine \xe2\x80\x94 \nBy thin, long, dark, heavy lashes hid ; \n\nAnd the tears fell fast and thick from mine. \nAs they shut them down \'neath the coffin-lid- \n\nSo I gaze to-day on thy stranger face. \n\nWith a beating heart, and an inward moan ; \n\nFor I see in thee a startling trace \n\nOf the face I loved in the days agone. \n64 \n\n\n\nTHE DEAR EYES. 65 \n\nE know full well they are not for me, \nThe smiles that ripple around thine eyes \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nLike the dancing waves of the midnight sea, \n\'Twixt its wondrous depths, and the starry skies. \n\nIt is a dream \xe2\x80\x94 only a dream \n\nThat I bathe my hands in his clustering hair ? \nJust for a moment, oh, let me seem \n\nTo press my lips on the brow so fair ! \n\nFor they haunt me now, those wondrous eyes ! \n\nWith their light and shade, and their tender \nglow; \nSpeak to me. Sweet ! from the far-off skies, \n\nEre my heart shall break with its overflow. \n\n\n\nTHE CHILD\'S PEAYER. \n\nSHE folded up her little hands \nUpon her mother\'s knee ; \nWho parted back her golden hair \xe2\x80\x94 \nA picture fair to see ! \n\nAnd then with upturned cherub face, \nShe breathed her simple prayer ; \n\nMethought in every silent space \nAn angel lingered there. \n\nAnd round her peerless form there shone \n\nA str(iam of holy light ; \nLike rays that light the Eden-land, \n\n" Where there is no more night." \n\nThat vesper hour ! that vesper hour \n\nI never shall forget ! \nAnd though long years have fled away, \n\nIt lingers with me yet. \ntil) \n\n\n\nTHE CHILD\'S PRAYER 67 \n\nThat kneeling form, tliat angel voice, \n\nThat mother sweet and mild ! \nI see them, and as then, I wish \nI were a sinless child. \n\n\n\nHEMLOCK GKOVE. \n\nONCE more I stand within this shaded \ntemple, \nWhere long ago my restless footsteps strayed, \nWhen youth, and hope, and dreams around my \nheartstrings \nA siren song of sweetest music played. \n\nI come to-day with steps grown slow and weary, \nWith loQgings after those I loved before ; \n\nWith life so real, crushing all the music \nThat lingers from the memories of yore. \n\nAs in the olden-time, the birds are singing \nA song of welcome, in their towers of green ; \n\nAnd sounds of laughter through the dim aisles \necho. \nAnd sunshine filters down its golden sheen. \n\nWe walk through purple shades to love the sun- \nshine \n\n68 \n\n\n\nHEMLOCK GROVK 69 \n\nThat the dear Hand drops down along our \nway ; \nLife is not starless, though the night be dreary, \nThough we may seem in vain to " watch and \npray." \n\nEach Spring may decorate this temple newly, \nWhile I grow fainter in my earthly strength ; \n\nBut the sweet life of heaven\'s unfading beauty. \nWill be mine own, mine own! I knou% at \nlength I \n\n\n\nTHE MAGDALEN. \n\nIT hangs upon my chamber wall, \nThat sweet, sweet face, with tearful eyes, \nAnd pensive brow, where shadows fall. \nAnd dreamy thought in beauty lies. \n\nNo meek-eyed Mary ever bore \n\nA fairer face than this, to me ; \nNo face can ever charm me more \n\nThan this, which pleads so silently. \n\nWith folded hands and breathless heart, \nI stand when life is dark, and gaze ; \n\nAnd tears which blmd me quickly start ; \nAnd I grow strong for ah life\'s ways. \n\nThese deep, deep eyes, so full of prayer * \n\nSo full of holy light and faith ! \nThese lips which whisper to mine ear \nOf victory over life, and death ! \n70 \n\n\n\nTHE MAGDALEN. 73 \n\nFor thou hast suffered much sad one ; \n\nAnd thou hast sinned, and been forgiven ; \nThe dear Christ loved thee througli earth\'n \nscorn, \n\nAnd thou at last art safe for heaven. \n\nSo may this ever pleading face, \n\nUplifted to the Crucified, \nTeach me each hour that heavenly grace \n\nOf charity, that masters pride 1 \n\n\n\nA SONG. \n\nTHERE\'S not a song that trembles \nAround mj heart to-night, \nBut thrills with untold gladness, \n\nAnd eloquent delight ; \nFor I have cast the shadows \n\nOf sorrow all aside, \nTo let Hope\'s joyous music \nThrough all mj being glide. \n\nAnd there is not a tear-stain \n\nUpon mine eyelids now, \nNor yet a shade that ruffles \n\nThe spirit\'s merry flow ; \nLife seemeth, O, so joyous, \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nSo blithesome and so bright. \nLike some sweet dream of summer \n\nThat haunts a winter\'s night. \n72 \n\n\n\nA SONG. 73 \n\n\n\nLike rosy childhood inlaying \n\nAmong the early flowers, \nMy happy heart is straying \n\nOn golden-footed hours; \nAnd if I\'m only dreaming \n\nWhen I my ills forget, \nBreak not the blissful seeming \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOh, do not wake me yet I \n\n\n\nMAY-TIME. \n\nMY heart goes Maying, and I gather flowers \nOf hope, and love, and joy, dear one, for \nthee ; \nAs through earth\'s paths my restless feet are \nstraying. \nWith the bright thought of what thou art to me. \n\nAnd the one prayer that on my lips is breathing, \nThat fills my fullest heart, and life, to-day. \n\nThat these sweet flowers that life\'s glad May is \nwreathing, \nMay twine around my heart and thine alway. \n\nAnd when creeps on the chill of life\'s December, \nMay Love\'s sweet flowers still bloom fresh as \nnow, \nAnd holy joy increase as we remember \nThe days so beautiful of long ago. \n74 \n\n\n\nHUNGRY AND TIRED. \n\nI\'^HEY will not come, the words to break the \nstillness \nOf the faint heart that waits, and droops, and \ndies ! \nSilence forever folds her untold chillness \n\nThrough all her crushed and broken harmo- \nnies. \n\nThey will not come ! oh, perished heart, that \nwaited, \n\nWith all thy longings, and thy cries in vain ! \nThou art like winter birds that moan unmated ; \n\nAmid the autumn leaves and winter rain. \n\nThey will not come ! the trust and the believ- \ning ; \nLove\'s sweetest music, and the balm of Rest ! \nFor when Hope\'s wreath is brightest in the \nweaving, \nShe drops the flowers that we love the best. \n\n\n\nTo IIU^GEY AND TIRED. \n\n\'ibey will not come ! the food the gods have \ntasted, \n\nThe rest that mortals long to feel and know ; \nOh ! are these blessings given, lost, and wasted ? \n\nOr do we only dream they come below ? \n\nHungry and tired ! how the sentence presses \nDown on the heart, like marble on the grave ! \n\nThey will not come ! the Love that saves and \nblesses. \nThe Eest from all life\'s weariness I crave 1 \n\n\n\nLIFE-TIME. \n\nDREAR winter follows summer hours ; \nAnd after day, the night ; \nThe brightest birds in woodland bowers \n\nSit plumed for speedy flight ; \nTho music that we love the best \n\nHas sadness in its tone ; \nAnd moments that were happiest, \nOn fleetest wings have flown. \n\nOh, time ! there\'s nought to satisfy \n\nThe soul, in all thy gifts ; \nAs thy rough waves go fleeting by, \n\nAnd man upon them drifts. \nWe sorrow, love, we hope, and die, \n\n"Return to God who gave," \nAnd what remains of you, and I ? \n\nA faded dream, a grave ! \n\n77 \n\n\n\nH \n\n\n\nIN THE SUNSHINE. \n\nAYE shining angels left for us \nTheir footprints on the meadows? \nLeft us awhile \nTheir sunny smile \nTo glad this world of shadows ? \n\n\n\nThese sunbeams give the heart a thrill, \nLike songs of hope and beautj ; \nAnd in their gleam \nWe fondly dream \nEarth has no irksome duty. \n\nThey seem, like friendship, bright and true, \nMan\'s choicest earthly blessing \xe2\x80\x94 \nLike each fond word, \nSo gladly heard, \nOf Love\'s first low confessing. \n78 \n\n\n\nIN THE SUNSHINE. 79 \n\nDance on, bright sunbeams, gailj dance, \nO\'er mountain, wood, and river ! \nDance to the breeze \nThat rocks the trees \nWith trembling music ever I \n\nAll this long summer afternoon \n\nI\'ve watched thy phantom fingers \n\nTrace everywhere \n\nA picture fair \nThat in my memory lingers ! \n\nFold up thy net- work, golden Sun ! \nAnd call each sunbeam thither ; \n\nThe summer day \n\nHas passed away, \nGrey twilight\'s on the heather I \n\n\n\n" BYE-BYE." \n\nBRIGHT eyes will watcli at the window, \nAnd dinner will wait till I come ; \n\'Tis time now to leave you, darling, \nI hate to \xe2\x80\x94 and hasten home. \n\nMy wife don\'t bore me with questions, \nThat\'s one lucky thing on my side ; \n\nShe says that she trusts me truly, \nAs when she was first my bride. \n\n" Do I love her ?" Well\xe2\x80\x94 after a fashion, \nYes ; she is the mother, you know, \n\nOf my two beautiful babies, \nAnd two who lie under the snow. \n\n" Pretty ?" Not very ; she\'s faded, \n\nThere\'s gray in her ringlets of gold ; \nShe grieves for the children, and sickness \n\nHas made her look sadder and old. \n\n80 \n\n\n\n\'^ BYE-BYE." 8] \n\nDeuce take it ! a man can\'t be bothered \n\nWith family ties all the time ! \nShe never was half so bewitching \n\nAs you, sweet, e\'en in her prime. \n\nBut kiss me good-bye, love. What ! pouting ? \n\nWhat ! jealous of my little wife. \nWho busy at home in the kitchen, \n\nIs not half so dear to my lifo ! \n\nI kiss off the tears from your eyelids \xe2\x80\x94 \nLoved eyes of such heavenly blue ! \n\nOh, trust me, believe me forever, \nMy dearest ! / love only you! \n\n" Bye-bye !" Oh, I almost forgot it- \nHere\'s a hundred, my birdie, my pet. \n\nGet the lace that you liked so at Stewart\'s, \nAnd be ready at eight^ \xe2\x80\x94 don\'t forget. \n\n\n\nVIOLETS IN NOVEMBER. \n\nWHAT are you doing out here in the cold, \nBeautiful azure-eyed children of Spring? \nWandering and lost, like lambs from the fold ? \nOr have you some message of wisdom to bring? \n\nThe world is too blighting, frosty and chill. \nFor delicate life and bloom such as yours ; \n\nThe death dews of Autumn each chalice will fill ; \nNo beauty so frail its poison endures. \n\nSweet innocent Violets, over the world ! \n\nWith hearts full of yearning freshness and \nbloom ; \nOh, better by far, than to stray from the fold, \nShut your sorrowful eyes, and lay down in the \ntomb I \n82 \n\n\n\nBY THE SEA. \n\nALL day long tlie changeful sea, \nSings, and moans, and talks to me ; \nArt thou crying to the shore, \nFor some joy that comes no more ? \nWhat are all the wondrous things \nBound up in thy whisperingc ? \nIs there passion yet untold \nFor this hungry, famished world, \nThat would fill our human need. \nThat would be the spirit\'s meed ? \nAre thy bright waves, fringed with light, \nSinging of that home more bright, \nThan this darkened earth can be. \nWhere there shall be no more sea "? \nArt thou wailing in despair. \nThat thou hast no entrance there ? \nMust thou vanish quite away. \nSea ! so beautiful to-day ? \n\n8;J \n\n\n\n84 BY THE SEA. \n\nE\'en the bird that dips his wings, \nFlying landward, sadly sings \nAs if he had caught a strain \nFull of sorrow and of pain. \nFrom amid thy coral caves, \nOr thy silver-crested waves ; \nFrom thy billows, wide and deep, \nWhere the dear dead lie asleep ; \nComes there never a reply, \nAll is \'witching mystery ! \n\nWhen my mortal pain is gone, \nWhen I lay life\'s crosses down, \nAnd I reach the eternal shore. \nShall I talk with thee no more ? \nO, in heaven, beloved sea, \nI shall sigh, and pine for thee ! \n\nSo they come in troops to-night. \nLike the stars in yonder height\xe2\x80\x94 \nQuestions full of wild unrest, \nBy no faintest answer blest. \nBut amid thy moaning shells \nMystery forever dwells. \n\n\n\nTHE KHYME OF AN AUTUMN DAY. \n\nTHE maples are hanging their banners \nOf crimson, and brown, and gold ; \nAnd I weep, oh beautiful summer, \n\nTo hear thy requiem tolled ! \nThe gentlest, tender est summer \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe saddest of all my life ! \nThe sweetest with dear home-quiet ; \nThe saddest with distant strife. \n\nI hurry away from the city, \n\nWhose dusty, noisy street, \nIs crowded from morn till even. \n\nWith hurrying weary feet ; \nAway to the woods whose silence \n\nBroods o\'er the lulling streams ; \nAway where a thousand poems \n\nFloat through my restless dreams. \n\n6 85 \n\n\n\n86 AN AUTUMN DAY. \n\nOh summer, of all most real, \n\nAlas, thou hast brought no rest ; \nAnd fear like a cold hand presses \n\nSo heavily on my breast ; \nI hear the tramp of the army, \n\nBorne on the breeze to-day : \nHumanity\'s cry comes wailing ; \n\nI only can weep, and pray. \n\nOh woman, so sad and helpless 1 \n\nWhat can thy mission be here ? - \nTo know of the wide world\'s sorrow, \n\nTo suffer, to weep, and to bear? \nTo strive for the beautiful heaven, \n\nForgetting her heaviest loss ? \nTo kiss the thorns that pierce her, \n\nAnd silently bear her cross ? \n\n\n\nOUK LIZZIE. \n\nAS a birdling flies from its uest away \nTo a South-land bright with blooms ; \nOr the brilliant clouds of a summer day \n\nMelt when the evening comes ; \nOr, as the gentlest rose-leaf\'s fall, \n\nWhen touched by the frost\'s chill breath \xe2\x80\x94 \nSo answered she thy meaning call, \nOh, stern, relentless Death ! \n\nI remember well her warbling tones. \n\nWhich my inmost heart has thrilled ; \nNow the harp-strings loosed, and the minstrel \ngone, \n\nAnd the pale hands cold and stilled ! \nYet the music floats on the summer air, \n\nAs I sit \'neath the white June moon, \nAnd dream of a maiden young and fair, \n\nAnd weep that she sleeps so soon. \n\n87 \n\n\n\n88 OUR LIZZIE. \n\nOh, the young, the good, the gifted, all \n\nThat best we love, must die ! \nThe flowers wreathe out their trembling pall \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWinds chant their litany ; \nBut the angels sing when the good of earth \n\nLie down in their graves to sleep ; \nAnd they strike their harps for another birth, \n\nIn the land where they never weep. \n\nOh, Comforting Hand, that heals the heart I \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThou, who alone hast power ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe sweetness of Thy love impart \n\nIn this afflictive hour ; \nAnd round that lonely home now throw \n\nA light from heaven divine. \nAnd mingle with the tears and woe, \n\nThe words : Lord, she was Thine I \n\n\n\nLINES. \n\nGO while tlie star of Hope is shining, \nSo brightly on the flowers that strew thy \nway; \nGo, on thy bended knees reclining, \nAnd lift thy happy heart to Heaven, and pray. \n\nGo when Hope\'s star is almost clouded, \nAnd adverse winds have borne the flowers \naway ; \n\nWhen all thy life with gloom is shrouded, \nGo, \'tis the happiest time for thee to pray ! \n\nGo when the friends you deem the truest. \n\nShall chill the heart where love has held its \nsway; \nAnd, when the friends of earth seem fewest. \nThou hast a friend in Heaven, go thou, and \npray. \n\n\n\n90 LINES. \n\nGo when disease shall make life wearj, \n\nAnd sombre clouds hide every lingering ray ; \n\nGo, there is rest for all the weary, \n\nFor this, thy promised rest, go thou, and pray. \n\n\n\nSYMPATHY. \n\nNOT all the purest joy is given \nTo those who love, are loved again, \nTill sorrow clouds our earthly heaven, \nAnd sympathy gives rest to pain. \n\nShe never sleeps ! her watchful eye \nSees every heart that aches or bleeds ; \n\nShe hears the mourner\'s lowest sigh, \nShe feels and knows our greatest needs. \n\nShe comes in silence, when our hearts \nCan bear no lightly spoken word ; \n\nAnd all her quiet grace imparts \n\nWhen sorrow\'s deepest founts are stirred. \n\nOn aching brows she lays her hand, \nHer cool soft hand ! to ease our pain ; \n\nShe has not through this weary land. \nLit up her starry crown in vain. \n\n91 \n\n\n\nTHE SAINTED PICTURE. \n\nMY life is like the midnight skies, \nLit by the radiance of thine eyes ; \nThey haunt my troubled memories, \nLike thoughts that purify and bless. \nAnd bring us peace and happiness ; \nLike prayers which make us strong and brave, \nThat sanctify, and soothe, and save ; \nA wealth of deathless love there lies \nBeneath thine eyes \xe2\x80\x94 thy wondrous eyes ! \n\nAnd thou wert mine, thou poet-bird ! \nThose tender lips, though never stirred \nBy one sweet uttered human word \nThat I shall hear on earth again, \n(For thou hast passed life\'s broken pain) \nIn trembling music yet I hear \xe2\x80\x94 \nThose tender lips \xe2\x80\x94 those lips so dear ! \n92 \n\n\n\nTHE SAINTED PICTURE. 93 \n\nI know the harvest moon makes light \nThe letters of thy name to-night, \nUpon the tablet gleaming white ; \nThat tablet standing cold and stark, \nIt seems to me so false and dark ; \nFor in this silent face I see \nThe fond eyes smile again on me, \nAs if in living constancy, \nTo guard and bless me till I die ! \n\nOh, when I saw thee dead, no tear \nDropped on the white flowers of thy bier \nMore fraught with anguish than mine own ! \nMy selfish heart stood all alone ; \nThou in heaven\'s morn, I in earth\'s night, \nLove passing with thee out of sight. \n\nBut looking now beyond the vail. \n\nAnd hope has hushed the heart\'s low wail \n\nThat came and went like prayers unsaid. \n\nWhen life seems crushed and words are dead, \n\nI look upon this sweet, sweet face. \n\nThat wears its old-time love and grace, \n\n\n\n94 THE SAINTED PICTURE. \n\nAnd fee] thou art forever mine, \n\nBy all on earth, by all divine ; \n\nFor thou hast loved me once, and Heaven \n\nWill never take the gift thus given. \n\nThis picture, which I press to-day \n\nClose to my lips, close to my heart. \n\nHeeds not the tender words I say, \n\nNor yet the tears which sometimes start ; \n\nAnd yet, immortal beauty lies \n\nOn lips and brow and tender eyes ; \n\nAnd as the meek nun kneels at eves \n\nBefore the Virgin at her shrine. \n\nMy soul Love\'s grandest offering leaves \n\nBefore this sainted face of thine. \n\n\n\nA PLEA FOR THE AGED. \n\nOH, sweet Compassion ! lead and bless \nThe aged ones, whose weary feet \nHave wandered long life\'s wilderness, \nTo reach the "City\'s golden street." \n\nTheir eyes are dimmed by many tears ; \n\nTheir hearts with sorrows overflow ; \nThe burdens of the sad, slow years, \n\nNone but their secret hearts may know. \n\nSmile softly on them, Human love. \nSpeak tenderly, and let the light \n\nOf youthful eyes Avith kindness prove, \nThat they are precious in your sight. \n\n95 \n\n\n\nTRAILING ARBUTUS. \n\n^ I ) BING me arbutus flowers all pale, and drip- \n\xc2\xb1-J ping, \n\nWith sweetness from the dim old leaf-strewn \naisles, \nOf* nature\'s wild cathedrals, where are tripping \n\nHer floral fairies, in the sunbeam\'s smiles ! \nGive me these pearly gems, these waxen flowers, \n\nMade glorious by the impress of our God ; \nWhose sweet eyes open with the first spring \nshowers, \n\nThat bloomed in paths my early childhood trod. \n\nAnd now the winter-king is softly hushing \n\nHer noisy children, and the songs of spring \nCome like glad music o\'er our spirits gushing, \n\nAnd dewy wreaths of hope are blossoming ! \nYes, bring arbutus flowers, for with their coming \n\nThere are such thoughts of dear ones in the sky, \nWho \'mong eternal flowers now are roaming, \n\nAnd I shall gather with them by and by. \n96 \n\n\n\nTUBE KOSES. \n\nGOD sends us tliese from lands we know \nnot of, \nPure and unsullied, unperverted, true ! \nFree from the passion of our human love ; \nOur hearts are safe to rest, dear flowers, with \nyou. \n\nWe lay them in the hands of those most dear ; \n\nOn the white bosoms of the cherished dead ; \nFree gift for all hfe\'s weary children here ; \n\nGod\'s blessing in the perfume that they shed I \n\n\n\n97 \n\n\n\n"A \n\n\n\nNO NIGHT. \n\nND there shall be no night," and tears \nof sorrow \n\nFrom all our eyes be kindly wiped away ; \nNo day made dark by dread of coming morrow ; \nNo shadows following the words we say. \n\n" And there shall be no sea I" whose ceaseless \nheaving \n\nDashes its wild waves o\'er us, uncontrolled ; \nEach swift-receding wave of feeling leaving \n\nAn added wound of anguish on the soul. \n\nAnd "there shall be no curse!" no more un- \nloving, \nNo weary waiting to be loved again ; \nNo broken friendships, such as life is proving \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo partings sweet, or worse than hopeless \npain. \n\n98 \n\n\n\nNO NiaHT. 99 \n\nOh, liow we moan for the dear dead that left \nus \n\nIn the glad freshness of their love\'s clear light ; \nOh, how we cry to Him who hath bereft us, \n\nFor that safe home that has no sorrow\'s night ! \n\nWe stretch our arms in vain for the departed, \nWho in their beauty left us, and passed o\'er \n\nThe silent flood, and we all broken-hearted \nStanding alone upon the moaning shore. \n\nNo night, no sea, no tears, no curse, none weary ; \n\nOh, home among the stars ! oh, home so blest ! \nWe, on the shore of life\'s lone stream so dreary, \n\nWait for one glimpse of thee, our home of rest. \n\nIt is for thee, oh, dark-robed mourner, crying \nAmid thy faded hopes, and silent graves ; \n\nThough you may hear no voice of peace replying, \nHe that hath bruised thee, sanctifies and saves ! \n\n\n\nBEYOND. \n\nOFT there comes in midnight dreams, \nSaint-hke voices, low and hushed ; \nPassionless as songs of streams, \n\nWhich the morning sky has flushed ; \nAnd I, sitting here alone, \n\nHear sweet voices from the skies, \nQuivering like the parted tone \n\nOf rich music ere it dies ; \nFeeding the immortal springs \n\nOf my being with new life. \nRound my soul a halo flings, \n\nMingled not with mortal strife. \n\nE\'en the future, like a star, \nTrembling in the middle air \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDraws me to the spheres afar. \nPromising a welcome there ; \n\nAnd the Past is like a dream, \nShadowy with its joy and woe ; \n100 \n\n\n\nBEYOND. 101 \n\n\n\nAnd I watch the silent stream \nUnto which my footsteps go ; \n\nI can see its ebbless tide, \nBut a little way before, \n\nWhere my weary feet will ghde \nWhen the naarch of life is o\'er. \n7 \n\n\n\nLEAVE US NOT YET. \n\nLEAVE us not yet, oh, Summer ! bright and \nglowing, \nWith all thy rapturous dreams of love and hope ; \nWith the sweet life thy fuUness is bestowing, \nThat fills with sunshine all our being up. \n\nLeave us not yet, oh Summer pure and holy ! \n\nWhoso meek eyes gaze on me from \'far to-night ; \njStill lead us on, although the way be lowly. \n\nAnd the dim tears may almost cloud our sight. \n\nLeave us not yet, oh Summer, golden -hear ted ! \n\nWith all thy song and beauty, bud and bloom ; \nTake them not yet, lest, all we love departed \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWe sit like mourners in the winter\'s gloom. \n\nI know the Autumn, with its richer beauty, \n\nWill scatter all the dreams which thou hast \nbrought ; \n102 \n\n\n\nLEAVE US NOT YET. 103 \n\nAnd the drear Winter, with its sterner duty, \nWill bring forgetfulness which thou hast not. \n\nBut, oh, not yet dispel these holy dreamings, \nThat seem like pearls strung from the dear, \ndear Past, \n\nBroken, alas ! forever \xe2\x80\x94 they were only seemings\xe2\x80\x94 \nBoiled out ungathered in the dark at last ! \n\nSo we who journey toward the great white heaven, \nMust walk with shadows creeping by our side ; \n\nHowever hoping, longing, morn and even, \n\nEor the sweet days so tender, that have died 1 \n\n\n\nLINES FOE AN ALBUM. \n\nALINE for thine album, dear Mary ? \nOh, what shall I write, love, for thee, \nWhose songs, sweet as music from Eden \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHave been so delightful to me ? \nPerhaps there has never a shadow \n\nCrept over thy breast, gentle girl. \nAnd it sleeps in its own olissful dreamings. \nUnsullied and pure as a pearl. \n\nAnd perhaps some bright angel has braided \n\nThy infancy, childhood, and youth. \nIn love-wreaths that never have faded. \n\nOr lost the sweet freshness of truth ; \nAnd hours like the sunbeams have parted, \n\nThe mist that hung over life\'s ways. \nAnd laughed back the tears when they started, \n\nAnd led thee down softly life\'s maze. \n104 \n\n\n\nLINES FOB AN ALBUM. 105 \n\nI would thou wert ever as joyous, \n\nAs happy and trusting as now, \nThat shadows of sorrow He Hghtly \n\nAcross thy young innocent brow ; \nBut more do I wish for thee ever. \n\nCalm strength for thy heart, from above, \nTo meet with life\'s earnest endeavor, \n\nWhatever thy future may prove. \n\n\n\nLEAVES. \n\nTHEY are falling slowing over the world, \nSilent and sure as the autumn hours ! \nDropping away to a fragrant mould. \n\nAnd fade from sight like summer\'s flowers. \n\nThey are floating away on the moaning tide, \nKissed and hidden by sighing waves, \n\nLike the blessed human loves that died, \nWhose lips we\'ve touched by wayside graves. \n\nWe are summer leaves ! we are fading all ; \n\nWe float away on the stream of time ; \nSome of us toss on the storms that fall ; \n\nSome float off like a summer rhyme. \n\nThey are dropping slowly over the world, \nCherished and fond ones, great and small ; \nOnly a tale that is quickly told, \nAnd our hps are mute through the heart\'s wild \n\ncall! \n106 \n\n\n\nUNBELOVED. \n\nYES, it is over, the sweet dream is ended ! \nThy heart and mine are more than strangers \nnow ; \nThere are such bitter memories with it blended, \nWith tearful eyes I give thee back thy vow. \n\nThou canst not mate with one whose love is burn- \ning \n\nIts own dear idol on the vestal shrine ; \nWhose high proud heart would be forever turning \n\nTo life\'s intensity its all, like mine. \n\nThou art of calmer mould; chine eye ne\'er bright- \nens \nAt my quick footsteps, though we rarely meet ; \nThy hand when clasped in mine ne\'er thrills, and \ntightens\xe2\x80\x94 \nAt my fond words, though they be ne\'er so \n\nsweet. \n\n107 \n\n\n\n108 VNBELOVED. \n\nThou ne\'er didst love me ! how this thought has \nchilled me \n\nLike the cold hand of Death upon the brow ; \nAll the sweet joy that in the old-time thrilled me, \n\nHas lost the light and music of its flow ! \n\nThe eyes that watched for thee are vainly weep- \ning, \nNot for my own heart\'s pain, this love has cost ; \nBut oh, for thee, when thou shalt wake from \nsleeping, \nAnd seek in vain the treasure thou hast lost. \n\nFor I have loved thee ! given thee sweetest rhym- \nings \nThat sing unanswered through a mortal\'s \nbreast ; \nNow they have melted to funereal chimings. \nYet in the pain of loving found no rest. \n\nAlas for human hearts that are forever dying, \nWith watching, waiting for love\'s tender words ; \n\nWasting their music with a helpless crying. \nLike the lost carols of unmated birds ! \n\n\n\nTHE GIFT OF SONG. \n\nTHE gift of song ! who would not feel \nThe thrilling of a poet-heart ? \nThe joy where angels set their seal, \n\nThe fount where love and beauty start ! \nI have not that delicious art, \n\nTo trill my lyre in numbers sweet, \nTo vibrate softly through the heart \nWith poesy and joy replete. \n\nBut if a thousand worlds were mine, \n\nAnd all more brilliant than our earth, \nThe gift of song were more divine \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI\'d give them to possess its worth ! \nUntaught and wild the songs I sing, \n\nNo genius high enstamps my brow ; \nA humble votive now I bring, \n\nA wild refrain, breathed soft and low. \n\n109 \n\n\n\n110 THE GIFT OF SONG. \n\nBut he who soars a heavenward fliglit \n\nThrough the green bowers of poesj \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat paints from thence Promethean light, \n\nO\'er scenes most beautiful to me\xe2\x80\x94 \nSends to my heart a charm divine ; \n\nAnd in life\'s golden chalice pours \nAmbrosial draughts, \'round which entwine \n\nWreaths everlasting, fadeless flowers ! \n\nThe moon that trembles o\'er the sea, \n\nThe winds that on the uplands blow, \nThe flowers that blossom on the lea, \n\nThe woods, and rocks, the brooklets flow\xe2\x80\x94 \nWith gushing beauty fill my soul. \n\nWith joy that I can never sing ; \nMy longings arj beyond control \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA tameless bird with broken wing ! \n\n\n\nWHY ? \n\nDO not teacli my heart to love thee, \nWith thy tender words and tone ; \nTurn me not from life\'s endeavor ; \nLeave me with my cross alone. \n\nOn the sea of change and sorrow, \nThrough the dark I\'ve drifted far, \n\nFrom Love\'s shores of human sunshine, \nClinging to life\'s broken spar. \n\nWhy recall the life so wasted. \nThat is nearing Peace at last; \n\nThat has learned to wait, and suffer, \nReconciled to what is past? \n\nWhy call back the longing spirit \nTo those flowery shores again ; \n\nW^here the blossoms fade with plucking. \n\nAnd the thorns alone remain? \nIll \n\n\n\n112 WHY? \n\nTeach, oh, teach me not to love thee ; \n\nTurn away thy searching eyes ; \nLest they win me with their beauty, \n\nFrom the fairness of the skies. \n\n\n\nWILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. \n\nWE who have walked life\'s pleasant vales \ntogether \nMust now walk separate paths, and far apart ; \nThy feet will tread on fadeless flowers in heaven ; \nMine through earth\'s darkness with a weary \nheart. \n\nAnd I shall come at evening when the shadows \nAre gathering over scenes to both so dear ; \n\nAnd crushing back the tears of unsub mission, \nBreathe out wild prayers that none but God \nwill hear. \n\nAnd I shall gird my armor for hfe\'s battle, \n\nFor earth\'s rude friction, and Death\'s heaving \nsea ; \n\nFor over all thy pale hand now is reaching, \nAnd beckoning like an angel unto me. \n\n113 \n\n\n\n114 WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. \n\nSleep while the red light of the autumn waueth, \nAnd drifts her clouds of gold and crimson leaves ; \n\nSleep till the Resurrection morn ! while memory \nHer deathless wreath around our spirit weaves. \n\nRest poet-friend ! thy cool soft grave is guarded ; \n\nAn angel sitteth o\'er the fragrant mold ; \nRest, weary one ! an eye above thee watche\'th, \n\nThat never sleeps, nor yet forsakes His fold. \n\nAnd shall we mourn thee, beautiful departed, \nWhose bright barque moved so noiselessly from \nshore. \n\nLike a lit sea-wave that a zephyr started, \n\nTo come back sighing earthward never-more ? \n\nFor thee, whose earthly songs were hushed so early. \nWhose poet-harp chimes heavenly music now ; \n\nMourn that thy feet, grown weary, wandered out- \nward \n" Into green pastures, where still waters flow?" \n\nSigh on, ye winds of autumn ! sing your dirges ; \nLike a wild chant ye charm my spirit now, \n\n\n\nWILLTAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. 115 \n\nTo which my feet grow strong and firm with \nmarching \nDown to the river\'s edge, toward which they go. \n\nPeace, restless soul ! Faith like an angel bids thee \n\nWipe off the baptism of eternal tears ; \nLift up the wings that sadly droop with mourn- \n\nAnd wait with patience ; God holds all thy \nyears I \n\n\n\nOLD MEMOEIES. \n\nLIKE a golden gleam of sunlight, \nGlistening o\'er the icy trees, \nWhere have danced the summer leaflets, \n\nTo the music of the breeze, \nAre the dreams of childhood\'s summer, \n\nTo the aged, weary heart, \nBringing back the home-lit circle, \nWhere ten thousand memories start. \n\nBlest those memories ! though they sadly \n\nLeave an impress on the soul ; \nYet like way-marks on our pathway. \n\nCheer us to our future goal. \nBlest those memories ! though they chase us \n\nThrough the flight of passing years ; \nOn their track they leave a lovelight. \n\nWhere may flow our mournful tears. \n\n116 \n\n\n\nOLD MEMORIES. 117 \n\nHow around the choicest tendrils \n\nOf our hearts they careless play ; \nLike a soft and gentle zephyr, \n\nSporting \'mid the locks of grey \xe2\x80\x94 \nHolding there a sweet communion, \n\nWith our secret hearts alone ; \nBringing back familiar faces, \n\nLong-loved scenes forever gone ! \n8 \n\n\n\nMUSIC. \n\nWHEN the crimson morning peeps \nO\'er the hills and mountain steeps ; \nAnd at Noon\'s bright, stilly hour, \nMusic, let me feel thy power ! \nA.nd when Night, with noiseless step, \nComes to lull the flowers to sleep, \nBcattering moonlight o\'er the sea \xe2\x80\x94 \nCharm me with thy melody ! \n\nThere is music in the stream. \nBlending with the poet\'s dream ; \nIn the woods, and on the air ; \nMusic, music everywhere ! \n\nStars \xe2\x80\x94 ye that together sing; \nBirds that carol on the wing ; \n\n118 \n\n\n\nMUSIC. 119 \n\n\n\nTell this yearning, longing heart, \nMusic, tell me what thou art ! \nFor no other power so blest, \nLulling weary hearts to rest. \nSoftening sorrow, soothing woe, \nAs thy numbers sweetly flow. \n\nGive me music when I die, \nSoft as summer\'s leafy sigh; \nSpirit-music, low and dear, \nSuch as angels list to hear. \n\n\n\nAT THE GKAVE OF MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. \n\nTHERE was strange music in the leaves \nAs I, a mourner, paused to tread \nWhere Autumn tint a glory weaves, \n\nIn silent tribute to the dead ! \nAnd oh, methought an angel paused \n\nBeside me there, to touch the wires, \nTill thrilling melodies from heaven , \nCame quivering from a thousand lyres. \n\nAll tremblingly my feet were pressed \n\nTo the green grave of one whose song \nAnd love dwelt in my breast, \n\nWith tender friendship, deep and strong. \nAnd, bending o\'er that silent mound, \n\nWhere maples drop their leaves like tears, \nI folded back the drapery \n\nOf mist, that hid the faded years. \n\n120 \n\n\n\nAT THE GRAVE OF MRS. L. K SIQOURNET. 121 \n\nAnd then I heard her harp again, \n\nI heard her step along the walk, \nAnd listened with a longing pain \n\nTo hear again her pleasant talk, \nAs when I heard, and saw her last, \n\nIn the cool quiet of her home. \nAnd parting held my hand so fast. \n\nWithout one shadowy thought of gloom. \n\nSister of song ! whose harp was tuned \n\nTo the sweet sounds thy spirit heard. \nSay, dost thou know how that dear hour \n\nHath all my restless heart-strings stirred? \nWe shall not meet on earth I know. \n\nThou wilt not press my hand in thine, \nYet, still thy soothing members\' flow, \n\nGo answering back this heart of mine ! \n\n\n\nI PRAY FOR THEE AT NIGHT-FALL. \n\nI PRAY for thee at night-fall ; \nThere is no hour so sweet \nAs when the golden daylight \n\nAnd evening shadows meet ; \nFor those we prize so dearly, \n\nSeem nearer by our side ; \nThe dear ones God has spared us, \nThe loved ones who have died. \n\nThe quiet hours of night-fall \n\nAre free from earthly care ; \nAnd sounds of heaven steal o\'er us. \n\nThe music of a prayer; \nAnd as the dewy rose-bud \n\nFolds in her beauteous leaves, \nMy spirit-love enfolds thee, \n\nFor thee a casket weaves. \n\n\n\n122 \n\n\n\n/ PRAY FOB THEE AT NIGHTFALL, 123 \n\nI praise Him in the niglit-fall, \n\nFor thy dear love to me ; \nThe purest star that ever \n\nShone o\'er life\'s troubled sea ; \nThese breathings of devotion, \n\nThe ave-song and hymn, \nI give to thee forever, \n\nTill life\'s brief day grows dim. \n\n\n\nTHOU AET AWAY. \n\nTHOU art away, beloved ! no music trilling \nIts softest, sweetest notes around my heart. \nCan chase away the memories dear and thrilling. \nThat linger round thee, absent though thou art. \n\nI have no hope in life, but there is blended \nSome thought of thee, a ray serenely pure ; \n\nNo hope of life beyond, our wanderings ended \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut whispers that our love will still endure, \n\nI hope beyond the grave ! with one thought only \nIs doubt of peace beyond the river\'s swell ; \n\n\'Tis that, while on earth I wandered lonely, \nI met and loved, aye, worshiped thee too well ! \n\nIs this vain worship, that like some evangel \nHas breathed a sweetness through my very \nsoul? \nTell me, oh Truth, thou never-erring angel \xe2\x80\x94 \nHave mortals over love a calm control ? \n124 \n\n\n\nTHOV ART AW AY. 125 \n\nTell me, if iu the laud of fadeless flowers, \nWhere fountains of all happiness impart \n\nTheir glorious beauty o\'er celestial bowers, \nWill love-ties e\'er be riven from the heart? \n\nAnd loves, that earnest spirits here may cherish, \nOh, will they die, like flowers of earthly bloom V \n\nIf this be so, how gladly would I perish \nTo live no more beyond the narrow tomb. \n\nI would be with thee now, my own true-hearted ! \n\nMy Beautiful ! I would that thou wert here ; \nBut even though by weary distance parted, \n\nI feel the presence of thy spirit near. \n\nI hear thy voice among the leaves at even, \nWhen fairies dance beneath the moon -lit sky ; \n\nIn every breeze, like music-tones from heaven \xe2\x80\x94 \nTones like thine own, go floating sweetly by. \n\nI hear my name from thy dear lips come breath- \n\nWhen the bright dew is on the nodding flowers ; \nAnd thy warm kiss around my cheek is wreathing \nA holy sweetness with the starry hours. \n\n\n\n126 THOU ART AWAY. \n\nEach morn and noon, and at the shadowy vesper, \nI fold my hands in silent prayer for thee ; \n\nThat God will guard thee, and the angels whisper \nWooing thy spirit\'s presence back to me. \n\n\n\nANTICIPATION. \n\nEABTH is not cold, nor dreary now, \nSince thy sweet love lies o\'er my way, \nAnd I forget beneath its glow, \n\nWhere all life\'s lingering shadows stay. \n\nThought after thought goes after thee, \nMy hopes and dreams, I give thee all ; \n\nAs one by one, sure, silently, \n\nThe Summer\'s blooming rose-leaves fall. \n\nFor thou hast made a summer-time \nOf endless bloom within my heart ; \n\nI cannot weave in simple rhyme. \nThe joy thy worship doth impart. \n\nLow prophet-whispers hour by hour. \nLike some rich symphony repeat, \n\n127 \n\n\n\n128 ANTICIPATION. \n\nTill I exist by their sweet power \xe2\x80\x94 \n" We soon shall meet !" " we soon shall meet !" \n\nOh, that dear hope, all rainbow-hued \xe2\x80\x94 \nHath stilled my life\'s unrest and pain ; \n\nMy waking hours are all bedewed \n\nWith hopes that we shall meet again ! \n\n\n\nSLAIN. \n\nHE has murdered my love ! it is dead, it is \ndead ! \nLying passionless, perished, chilly and stark ! \nLike a flower that has royally lifted its head. \n\nAnd, suddenly severed, lies crushed in the dark. \nOh, mother of sorrow ! in pity say why \n\nThe great tide of womanhood thus should be \nchilled ; \nWhy may we not fold up our pale hands and die. \nEre the music of life in our hearts has been \nstilled? \n\nA dream may repeat itself ; this is no dream ! \n\nNo flashes of light will appear on the hearth ; \nThe ashes are white, and too surely they seem \n\nTo scatter themselves all over my path. \n\n129 \n\n\n\n130 SLAIN. \n\nPerhaps we shall meet again over the sea \nThat is deepest, and fearfully, billowy cold\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut never again will there come back to me. \nThe love that he murdered, my heart knew of \nold! \n\n\n\nEEVERIE. \n\nSTANDING here within the casement, \nWhere we stood last winter-time ; \nThinking of the year\'s sad changes, \nWeaving fancies into rhyme. \n\nAll the loved and lost that left us \nFor the world far out of sight, \n\nSeem to come with tender presence, \nWith the old-time love to-night. \n\nAnd we watch the feathery snow-fall. \nPure as the last kiss they gave \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nKnowing how it coldly flutters, \nDown upon the lonely grave. \n\nSweet to turn from life\'s wild tumult. \nFrom its mourning and unrest ; \n\nAnd to know no heavier burden \nThan the snow-flakes on our breast. \n\n131 \n\n\n\nGEEENWOOD CEMETERY. \n\nBLEST angel of Love ! methinks tliou art \nhere, \nScattering thy flowers where the Beautiful \nsleeps ; \nAffection has left in each chalice a tear, \nA symbol of that which our memory keeps. \n\nWave lightly ye blossoms ! thy delicate sheen \n\nHas caught the bright beauty and glory of love ; \nThe hands that have mingled thy petals with \ngreen, \nHave nursed the fair flowers that are blooming \nabove. \n\nThe shadows that creep here the long summer \nday, \nRemind me of footprints the mourners have left , \nThough faith may be shining all over life\'s way, \nThe shadows of sorrow hang o\'er the bereft. \n132 \n\n\n\nGREENWOOD CEMETERY. 133 \n\nAl] freiglitecl with music from southlands have \ncome, \nThe birds of the greenwood to weave their soft \nnest ; \nTo hghten the darkness and Kngering gloom, \nAnd wave their bright wings where treasured \nones rest. \n\nOh, fair is the garden where blossoms above \nOur dear buds of promise, that wither on earth ; \n\nFor Jesus sheds o\'er them his infinite love. \nAnd carefully guards every petal of worth. \n\nSing softly, my lyre! the gifted and good. \nThe treasures of hearts that are bleeding, lie \nhere ; \nAnd let not the song of a stranger intrude. \nFor it trembles with hope, and is sung with a \ntear. \n\n\n\nKISSES. \n\nHE presses kisses on my brow, \nAs softly as the rain-drop\'s fall ; \nLike fragrant blossoms of the spring, \n\nAnd sweeter, sweeter than them all 1 \nAnd fresher, purer than the winds \n\nThat lift the petals of the flowers ; \nThey gladden all my fevered life \nWith new and renovating powers. \n\nSweet kisses from the lips 1 love. \n\nStrung on the heart\'s most tender chords, \nLike pearls, that tremble with my joy. \n\nToo beautiful for human words I \nSo press them ever on my brow. \n\nThey soothe the pain that\'s throbbing there, \nThey are the richest diadem \n\nMy woman\'s soul aspires to wear I \n\n134 \n\n\n\nA MIDNIGHT RHYME. \n\nOH, darkened heart, whose hopes of yore \nCame dancing gaily unto me, \nAnd Hke the laughing waves of sea, \nLost all their music on the shore ! \n\nOh, lonely heart, whose early loves \nSang sweeter than the birds of spring \nSing, with the first flowers\' opening ; \n\nNolo moaning Uke a widowed dove ! \n\nOh, aged heart ! the little years \n\nThat passed o\'er thee are swift and few ; \n\nDead all youth\'s fragrance and its dew ; \nIts light all quenched in midnight tears. \n\nOh, weary heart 1 that sits and waits, \nAnd longs for something yet to come ; \n\n135 \n\n\n\n136 A MIDNWHT BHYMK \n\nFor light, and love, and hope, and home, \nFor rest beyond the "golden gates." \n\nOh, thankless heart ! alas for thee ! \n\nBe patient till the day is done ! \n\nThe glory of the setting sun \nShall shine across the jasper sea. \n\nOh, hush, proud heart ! what hast thou done ? \nBe patient, for thy weary beat \nIs playing marches for the feet \n\nThat bear the cross, to gain the crown. \n\nBe strong, oh, suffering heart, and brave ! \n\nThe stars beyond the darkness shine ; \n\nThou\'lt be immortal, soul of mine, \nIn thy fair home beyond the grave ! \n\n\n\nLINES TO ANNA M. BATES. \n\nNOW, while the low winds murmur sadly, \nAnd moonbeams shine athwart the lonely \nsea, \nAnd stars from out their depths are smiling gladly, \nI come in dreams of poesy to thee^ \n\nAs on some stranger shore a bird repining \nTo rest a weary wing within its nest, \n\nMy eager heart around thy form is twining. \nAnd in thy gentle love I fain would rest. \n\nOut from the shadows of the past are peering \nForms, some as bright as poets see in dreams ; \nAnd to mine ear come whispered words endearing. \nWhose love-light fills my soul with hallowed \nbeams. \n\n137 \n\n\n\n138 TO ANNA M. BATES. \n\nYet thine the form that comes to me the nearest, \nThine are the lips that fondest press to mine ; \n\nThe happiest smile, the tenderest word, and dear- \nest. \nThat thrill my soul to-night, dear one, are thine. \n\nOh, may thy hymnings, like a crystal river, \nGiving sweet music on its pebbly way. \n\nSwell on our listening ear "their tones forever, \nAnd guide thy life-bark to a brighter day I \n\n\n\nDREAM ON. \n\nDBEAM on, nor let the minstrel\'s tread \nDisturb thy slumbers now ; \nThcit Peace may her sweet blessing shed, \n\nAround thy youthful brow. \nFor oh, not long may mortals rest. \n\nIn this brief world of care ; \nAnd sleeeping hours are happiest, \nIf dreams of love be there. \n\nDream on, perchance thy lost come back, \n\nThe loved of long ago ; \nAnd forms of joy, on memory\'s track. \n\nFloat softly to and fro. \nEnjoy thy rest, we would not fright \n\nThy angel-guests away. \nWhile \'neath the midnight\'s starry light. \n\nWe chant or simple lay. \n\n139 \n\n\n\nMO DREAM ON. \n\nBut like the night wind\'s lowly rhyme, \n\nAround thy casement now ; \nWe breathe to thee our parting hymn, \n\nOur blessing ere we go. \nDream on, dream on ! may angels keep \n\nThee guard by night and day, \nTill thou shalt sleep thy dreamless sleep, \n\nThen rest in heaven alway. \n\n\n\nSCHOOL^S OUT. \n\nTHERE\'S a sound of distant laughter \nFrom the children at their play ; \nAnd the echoes follow after, \n\nThrough the rocks and glens away. \nRosy childhood ! rosy childhood ! \nHow I love thy guiltless mirth ; \nFairer than the flowery wildwood \nIs thy sinless course on earth ! \n\nDearer than old tales of fiction \n\nAre their tell-tale faces now, \nAnd an angel\'s benediction \n\nSeems to rest on every brow. \nAnd their httle raptured faces \n\n\'Mind me of the young Christ-child, \nAnd I sigh that through life\'s mazes \n\nThey must tread, and be defiled. \n\n141 \n\n\n\n142 SCHOOL\'S OUT. \n\nDarling children ! in life\'s morning, \n\nIn life\'s fresh and dewy spring \xe2\x80\x94 \nI will not, with one sad warning, \n\nTo your trusting spirits bring \nDoubts, or thoughts that life now golden, \n\nWill not be thus bright alway ; \nThese are tales too sad and olden ; \n\nLaugh, glad children, while you may 1 \n\n\n\nTHE SPIBIT\'S CALL. \n\nCOME, spirit, while the evening light is weav- \ning \nIts crimson folds along the western sky ; \nAnd golden bars of sunUght all are leaving \nTheir try sting-places on the mountains high. \n\nCome back to me, the shadowy clouds are wreath- \ning \nTheir glorious images, like poet\'s dreams ; \nAnd voiceless prayers our inmost lives are breath- \ning, \nAs wave meets wave along the silent streams. \n\nCome ! \'tis the vesper hour ! I would be holding \nA secret worship now, dear love, with thee, \n\nWhile children\'s rosy hands are meekly folding \nFor evening prayers, upon a mother\'s knee. \n\n143 \n\n\n\n144 THE SPIRIT\'S CALL. \n\nTo poet- thoughts to-night I fain would listen, \n\nThat ever throng thy soul, more fair and bright \nThan worlds of stars, that o\'er us softly glisten \xe2\x80\x94 \n^ My spirit yearns for that Promethean light. \n\nSay, hearest thou not my restless spirit calling \nFor thine, O poet ! from the land of dreams, \n\nWhile night\'s dim drapery around is falling, \nAnd silent stars send down their silvery beams ? \n\nAh, sweeter were they than Provencial roses, \nThose flowers of thought we gathered long ago ! \n\nThine is the heart where happiness reposes, \nAnd sacred streams of Love go murmuring \nthrough ! \n\n\n\nUNDER THE SNOW-DEIFTS. \n\nUNDER the snow-drifts, chilly and deep, \nOur beautiful lily-bud hes asleep ; \nVelvety hands that were warm and soft, \n\nDear httle cheeks we have kissed so oft. \nRed cooing lips we deUghted to hear. \n\nAll lying dead with the flowers of last year. \n\nOut in that world where flowers never fade, \nWhere never a grave, or snow-drift is made \n\nMusic of lips, and beauty of face. \nDeepen forever with infinite grace ; \n\nBeautiful world! we do not know where- \nShelter of safety ! our Beulah is there ! \n\n145 \n\n\n\nHOPE. \n\nHOPE is a paradise-bird ! and she sings \nDown in the depths of each desolate \nheart ; \nOver them folding her beautiful wings, \n\nBlending her smiles with their tears when they \nstart ; \nLighting our passage-way down to the tomb, \n\nSweet is her ministry, lovely her guise ! \nAll ! she is wooing us up to our home ; \nPromising weary ones rest in the skies. \n\n\n\nON THE DEATH OF O. D. SEYMOUR, JR. \n\nIHEAED how the billowy deeps, and the \nnight \nOf sorrowj and anguish, and desolate pain, \nHad hushed all the music, and dimmed all the \nlight \nIn the home that had blessed me again and \nagain. \n\nOh, where was the promising light of the sky ? \nLooking upward the shadows were dreadful \ninstead. \n" Eternal Compassion, have mercy I" cried I ; \nKo answer came back, save the one, " He is \ndead." \n\nHe is dead 1 while the flowers of summer still \nbloom, \n\n147 \n\n\n\n148 ON TEE DEATH OF 0. D. SEYMOUR, JR. \n\nAnd Autumn, great mourner, weeps over his \n\nheart ; \nYet memory will bring us a sweeter perfume, \nTo bless our sad hours, than earth\'s roses \n\nimpart. \n\nWe know there is Rest in the beautiful land, \nWhere the night never comes, with sorrow or \ntears ; \n\nAnd over the river his welcoming hand \nIs beckoning forever to silence our fears. \n\nThe winter of sorrow is cold while we wait \n\nTo grasp the dear hands that are warm in \nthe Fold; \nBut never a chill enters in through the gate, \nWhere he passed in his beauty to " cities of \ngold." \n\n\n\nNEWSBOYS. \n\nSUEELY as the cool of evening \nFollows on the day of heat, \nAnd the dew his diamonds scatters \n\nOn the city\'s dusty street ; \nJust so surely comes the calling. \n\nThrough the bustle and the noise, \n.Here and there, like echoes falling \xe2\x80\x94 \nFrom these restless wandering boys. \n\nOft I\'ve met them on the pavement \nAs they sped along their way, \n\nListening to the earnest singing \nOf their tireless business lay. \n\nSo together each pursuing, \n\nSome accepted, favorite dream. \n\nWe are only weary travelers, \n\n10 1*9 \n\n\n\n150 NEWSBOYS. \n\nFloating down life\'s rapid stream I \nAnd I look with interest often \n\nOn each little upturned face, \nSeeking if the inward spirit \n\nLeft not there some outward trace ; \nAnd one\'s eyes reflected sunshine \n\nFrom the founts of mirth and joy, \nAnd my heart beat quicker, gladder, \n\nFor that merry-hearted boy. \n\nThen a few more steps would lead me \n\nTo another face, perchance, \nWhere a saddened heart was speaking \n\nOf its grief in every glance ; \nTelling that life\'s stern endeavor \n\nBrought its suffering to his heart. \nAnd that earnest toil had early \n\nLeft with him its endless smart 1 \n\nOh the care that crushes children \nWith its weight, in tender years, \n\nEobbing them of childhood\'s sunshine. \nGiving back a tide of tears ; \n\n\n\nNEWSBOYS. 151 \n\nDrowning all the music-laugliter, \nWith their surging ebb and flow ! \n\nOh, the blight that follows after \xe2\x80\x94 \nWould to God it were not so I \n\n\n\nA FRAGMENT. \n\nSAD that the world so beautifully bright \xe2\x80\x94 \nShould have one cloud to mar its holy light ! \nSad too, that man has lived, has fallen, died ! \nThat change still bears him on its restless tide. \n\nWhat is the soul ? it wanders after God, \n\nKnd all his works, through paths mysterious, trod \n\nBy millions o\'er and o\'er, yet understood \n\nNot here, save that He is most wise and good ! \n\n\n\n152 \n\n\n\n" THINE TO THE END." \n\nu ryiHINE to the end!" mine own to love and \nJL cherish, \n\nMy friend in blessing, mine in happiest hours ; \nWhen life grows weary and its sweet hopes perish, \n\nAnd sorrow\'s cloud of d\'arkness o\'er me lowers. \n\nMine, mine ! God bless thee for the sweet words \nspoken \nWhen the worn heart most needed healing \nbalm ; \nWhen life\'s great sea of joy seemed wild and \nbroken. \nAnd moaned in vain for light and holy calm. \n\n" Thine to the end !" I hear thy dear lips saying. \nThough we are parted now by land and sea ; \n\n153 \n\n\n\n154 THINE TO THE END. \n\n" Thine to the end !" my heart is ever praying \nTlie boon of lengthened hfe for thee and me ! \n\nFor well I know the path of sternest duty, \nIf lighted by thy truthfulness, loved friend, \n\nWould be to me a path of peace and beauty ; \nAnd I should hear sweet music " to the end." \n\nWe may not meet again this side the river. \nWhose shoreless waters sing to me to-day ; \n\nYet, knowing thou wert true to me forever. \nWould take the bitterness of death away ! \n\n\n\nALWAYS TIRED. \n\nI\'M tired of dreams when the night is gone ; \nAnd tired of work when night comes on ; \nOf the glare, and heat, and feverish strife, \nThat crowd the days of my little life. \n\nWeary of work, more weary of play \xe2\x80\x94 \nOf watching the swift hours pass away ; \nWeary of asking and wondering why \nThe good God made us to live and die. \n\nWeary of asking, pleading in vain \nFor the blessing I never shall know again ; \nFor the love of a hfe so strong and brave, \nThe beat of a heart asleep in the grave. \n\nOh, peace to the hearts that at rest to day \nLie where the shadows of summer play ! \n\n155 \n\n\n\n156 ALWAYS TIRED. \n\nLife\'s agony over, why sliould ive weep \n\nFor those who He dreamless, in safety asleep ? \n\nThreads that are golden lie thickly between \nOur weary hearts and the world, unseen ; \nThey draw us hence with a stronger power \nThan the gilded charms of this passing hour. \n\nAnd out from the far Beyond there swells \nA sweeter sound than the chime of bells ; \nThe earth-bound soul as he lists inspired, \nWrithes enchained and moans, " I\'m tired !" \n\nAh ! the wintry earth \xe2\x80\x94 how it smiles again, \nWith flowers and fruit, and the golden grain ! \nBut you, poor heart, must hush your cry, \nAnd bear your pain, though you may die. \n\nFor its bloom is past, its summer died ; \nIts dearest hopes lie crucified. \nAnd its tenderest ties are rudely riven \xe2\x80\x94 \nLife brings no spring this side of heaven. \n\n\n\nALWAYS TIRED. 157 \n\n\n\nOh, tired of work, and tired of play ! \n\nOf watching the sad hours go away ! \n\nOf unspoken thoughts, till the brain is fired ; \n\nAnd the whole heart whispers, I\'m so tired \' \n\n\n\nI WILL BE TRUE TO THEE. \n\nTHE golden dream of life may fade, \nAnd joyous hopes may. die ; \nAnd round thy path the darkest shade \n\nOf care and sorrow lie ; \nAnd friends may thy frail bark forsake \n\nOn Time\'s most treacherous sea ; \nI\'ll love thee still for thy sweet sake, \nI will be true to thee. \n\nAs in the present, and the past, \n\nMy heart will cling to thine ; \nSo through each change around thee cast \n\nOh, trust this heart of mine ; \nAnd when in hours of weariness, \n\nThine own beats wearily. \nAnd there are none to love and bless, \n\nI will be true to thee. \n158 \n\n\n\nI WILL BE TRUE TO THEE. 159 \n\nAnd when our feet shall tread the verge \n\nThat borders Death\'s dark stream, \nOur souls in sweetest life shall merge \n\nTo joys beyond earth\'s dream. \nSo twining through the web of life, \n\nOne golden thread I see ; \nOne peace-branch on earth\'s sea of strife, \n\nThat I am true to thee ! \n\n\n\nA JUNE MEMOEY. \n\nIN the fresh June-time, ere the roses break \nlu blushing beauty from their emerald buds, \nAnd the low winds in softest numbers wake, \n\nLike spirit-harps among the flowers and woods, \nAnd the red clover blushes at their kiss, \n\nAnd the wild bee goes humming thro\' the air. \nAnd song and fragrance, and sweet happiness, \n\nFloat like a cloud of incense everywhere \xe2\x80\x94 \nThus in the June-time of the glowing year \n\nWe met, with Hope\'s sweet blossoms in our \nhearts. \nAnd the soft hand of gladness stayed the tear, \nThe dimming tear, that with life\'s changes \nstarts. \n\nNoiv, in the June-time, in my silent room, \nThat memory comes back again to me, \n160 \n\n\n\nA JUNE MEMORY. 161 \n\nAnd sheds around me all the old-time bloom, \n\nAnd low winds whisper, " I am true to thee,\'\' \nAs the red leaves in all their sweetness lie, \n\nClose-folded in the roses\' hearts to-day, \nSo fragrant memories, as the June hours fly \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nLie closely in my heart of hearts alway ; \nAnd though we meet no more this side the grave, \n\nThy hand no more in friendship pressed in \nmine, \nOn life\'s dark sea there\'ll be one sun-lit wave. \n\nRadiant with pleasure it will ever shine. \n\n\n\nALAS! \n\nIS it a dream that I have loved thee so ? \nA phantom I have chased with wild dilight, \nThat strange bewildering joy, this hidden woe, \nThat glorious morning light, this starless night ? \n\nWhy hast thou perished, beautiful, my own ! \n\nMy heart\'s fixed star, my inspiration, all ! \nSee\'st thou the midnight o\'er my spirit thrown ? \n\nHearest thou the moaning of my lone heart\'s \ncall? \n\nAh, the low music of remembered words \nThy lips have spoken in the years agone, \n\nCome back to me like songs of early birds, \nE\'en while the summer of my hfe is flown. \n\nThy meek eyes gaze upon me tenderly, \nWhile into mine the tears of anguish start ; \n162 \n\n\n\nALAS I 163 \n\nFor I remember how this soft spring skj, \nSmiles iuto bloom the myrtles on thy heart. \n\nOh, would that these were dreams, these hopeless \nhours. \n\nThat waste away the life with hidden sighs ; \nThese memories of the past, these faded flowers I \n\nAlas, alas ! they are realities. \n\n\n\nA WINTEK DEEAM OF SUMMER. \n\nI SIT in the gathering twilight, \nAnd dream of the summeT days, \nWitli their wealth of buds and blossoms \nAnd myriad songs of praise. \n\nAnd I close my eyes to listen, \nNot to the wild wind\'s song. \n\nAs he raps my frosty casement, \nWith hands so loud and strong. \n\nNot of the path so lonely, \n\nUp by the mountain\'s side ; \nWhere the merry boys are shouting, \n\nAs over the snow they glide. \n\nA dream of the dear old summer \n\nComes back with its light to me ; \n\nAnd I seem to hear the murmur \n\nOf the great and wondrous sea ! \n\n164 \n\n\n\nA WINTER DREAM OF SUMMER. 165 \n\nOh, sea, with your sighs and laughter I \n\nWill you haunt me evermore. \nWith the voice that followed after \n\nI left thy dreamy shore ? \n\nThat summer of light and beauty \n\nStill warms this wintry night, \nAnd softens every duty, \n\nAnd makes each burden light 1 \n\nOh, life ! so sweet and holy, \n\nSo full of joy and love ! \nA promise leading slowly, \n\nTo the great Eest above. \n11 \n\n\n\n"WRITE IN MY ALBUM." \n\nI KNOW not what to write for thee, \nThis wild, tempestuous night ; \nAs dreamily beside the grate, \nI watch the flickering light. \n\nFor sitting by the hearth so warm, \n\nWith quiet comfort blest, \nI ask if the dear Shepherd\'s arm \n\nWill give life\'s wanderers rest. \n\nFor out upon the wintry world, \n\nGod\'s weary children roam, \nBhghted at heart with dark and cold. \n\nWithout a friend or home. \n\nFrom some glad eyes there comes a smile, \n\nFrom many tear-drops fall ; \nAnd yet the Father all the while, \n\nKeeps watch above them all 1 \n166 \n\n\n\n\' WRITE IN MY album:\' 167 \n\nAnd thoughts of human suffering \nSurge o\'er me, sad and strong ; \n\nAnd all the weariness they bring \nHas hushed the up springing song ! \n\nSo not to-night, my httle friend, \n\nYour album words I\'ll write ; \nMy thoughts, like these poor embers, end \n\nIn ashes, still and white. \n\n\n\nBETWEEN THE CLOUDS. \n\nYES, I am dying with the light and beauty \nThat has been gilding all this fruitful \nyear ! \nFrom all life\'s bitterness\xe2\x80\x94 the cross of duty \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI turn to-day without a sigh or tear. \nLife, more than death, makes sadly vacant \nplaces \nThat chill our hearts, or make us wish to die ; \n\'Tis not the grave alone that hides dear faces, \nAnd shatters all the spirit\'s harmony. \n\nThe autumn leaves, like gorgeous plumage falling, \nDrop not more softly on yon stream to-day, \nThan the sweet voices that to me are calling, \n\nTo turn from all life\'s winter-chill away. \nI feel the flush and the unrest of fever. \n\nOn heart and brain, on wearied pulse and \nbrow ; \n168 \n\n\n\nBETWEEN THE CLOUDS. 169 \n\n\n\nAnd the dread cliill which follows after ever, \nLeaving the tides of being ebbing low. \n\n\n\nAnd when the robins chant their matins over, \n\nIn the first gush of next year\'s welcome spring, \nAnd the gay bee hangs on the honeyed clover, \n\nAnd fragrant woods and fields are blossoming, \nOne heart the less will thrill at their returning*, \n\nIn the deep silence of its dreamless sleep ; \nNo fires of life\'s intensity be burning \n\nWith throbs of pain, and weary eyes that \nweep. \n\nOh, earth ! so full of beauty, e\'en thy crosses \n\nCould not estrange my wondrous love for \nthee ! \nAmid my human needs, my heart\'s deep losses, \n\nThou wert my soul\'s unfailing poesy. \nThou, thou wert true, thy glory all unblemished, \n\nWhen mortals failed me, in life\'s bitter pain, \nI turned to thee, like one aweary, famished, \n\nI turned to thee, and never yet in vain ! \n\n\n\nTEMPTED. \n\nOH, what to me are words that fill, \nMy woman\'s heart with throbs of bliss ? \nOr fond caresses, that can thrill \nWith momentary happiness? \nOr promises, whose joy and light \n\nShut out the holy light of heaven ; \nThat only lead me where the night \nHas not one golden star of even? \n\nSweet Mother of my tempted soul! \n\nSweet woman, with thy face divine \xe2\x80\x94 \nCome now, and let thy love control \n\nThis weak and longing soul of mine. \nThou knowest how thy weary child \n\nHas longed and suffered all these years, \nThe yearnings for affection wild, \n\nThe lonely nights of pain and tears. \n\n170 \n\n\n\n\\ \n\n\n\nTEMPTED. 171 \n\nThe hopes, so sweet ! that early died \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe faded dreams, thou knowest them all\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nOh, let not love unsanctified \nBy thme approval, on me fall. \n\nSo in the fullness of thy love. \n\nThe greatness of thy woman\'s strength, \n\nLook in thy mercy from above. \n\nAnd lead me safe to peace at length. \n\n\n\nBY-AND-BY. \n\nI WAIT, dear love, on the sea so wide \xe2\x80\x94 \nTill the threatening storm from my life is past, \nWith the cheering hope that side by side \nOur sheltered life-barks rest at last. \n\nI shall toss no more on the drifting sea, \nWith my eager cry, and my hopeless wail. \n\nAnd the voiceless love that breathes to thee, \nWith yearnings wild as the restless gale. \n\nOh, the fearful burdens, iron hands \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat hold my mortal life with care ! \n\nAnd Poverty, whose bony hands \n\nClutch at the heart with fierce despair ! \n\nThey have made me old in my early years, \nAnd saddest mid the scenes most glad ; \n172 \n\n\n\nBT-AND-BT 173 \n\nAnd chased away my smiles with tears, \nAnd clouded every joy I\'ve had ! \n\nBut I wait, dear love, till the storm be past, \nFor the sun to shine in a cloudless sky ; \n\nTill side by side our barks be cast, \nTo rest for ever, by-and-by ! \n\n\n\nBITTER-SWEET. \n\nHE loves me yet, that sainted one \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat perished in life\'s summer-time, \nWho left me standing here alone, \n\nTo breathe this simple, untaught rhyme. \nI know not if he sleeps, or if \n\nHe walks above the stars in light ; \nOr if with me he dwells unseen, \nTo guide my erring feet aright. \n\nIt is no changeful dream that comes \n\nTo perish like an autumn day ; \nNo phantom which I cannot clasp \n\nBefore it vanish quite away ; \nBut in my inmost soul I know \n\nHe loves me fondly as of yore ; \nThis blessed thought is joy enough ; \n\nIn hfe, or death, I ask no more. \n174 \n\n\n\nTHE AUTUMN WIND. \n\nHOW the chilly winds of Autumn, \nSob and sigh around my door ! \nAnd the dropping leaves are whispering \n\nOf the joys that died of yore ; \nOf the voi(3e that spake so softly, \n\nOf the soft, caressing, hand. \nAnd the eyes, so deep and tender \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll that love can understand ! \n\nHow the dear, dear days of summer \n\nFled away hke golden clouds. \nAnd the heart\'s bright sky at sunset \n\nWreathed itself in sable shrouds. \nThey are gone, alas ! forever ; \n\nFriend and summer ! and alone \nNow I walk amid the shadows. \n\nListening to the sad wind\'s tone! \n\n175 \n\n\n\n176 THE AUTUMN WIND. \n\nList! it sings a miserere \n\nOver Memory\'s cheerless urn ; \nO\'er the fading of the glory \n\nWhere the lonely heart may turn. \nSo it sobs, and sighs, and whispers, \n\nLike a homesick heart in pain, \nWailing out the perished passion \n\nThat will never live again. \n\nGolden summer ! all thy beauty \n\nGone forever to the past ! \nClasp me in thy deathless memory, \n\nHold me, bless me to the last ! \nTill the white tents in the distance \n\nGleam out from the farther shore, \nAnd I know I shall find shelter, \n\nThat shall fail me never more. \n\n\n\nTHE FLOWER IN THE SNOW. \n\nAH me ! \'tis almost winter, and the snow \nHas three times fluttered \'round my win- \ndow-pane, \nAnd homeless winds upon the uplands blow, \nAnd all the trees stand leafless on the plain. \nWhat dost thou here, dear little stranger, now ? \nI found thee blooming on a cherished grave, \nWhere the dead grasses o\'er a treasure wave, \nAnd the cold moonlight flickers to and fro. \n\nDid some fair angel on his pinions bright. \nWhile keeping guard, waft thee from flowery Ian ds \nWhere blooms ne\'er fade \xe2\x80\x94 the great eternal \nheight ? \nWert ever culled and twined by seraph\'s hands \n\nTo some sweet harp whose tones of slow delight \nWere tuned in unison to songs of heavenly bands ? \n\n177 \n\n\n\n178 THE FLOWER IN THE SNOW. \n\nBut thou art withering, \'tis true, alas ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMy earthly touch hath made thee droop aud \nfade ! \nOh, will this vile mortality soon pass \n\nTo bloom eternal, out of cold and shade ? \nFor how I long to fling aside this mass \nOf sure decay that to my being clings, \nAnd find my counterpart with fadeless things ; \nLong to be free from life\'s deceitful farco ! \n\nLead me, dear Father ! where the sinless are, \nAnd make me pure, that spirits may not shrink \n\nAway in fear when on their shores, so fair, \nI shall have passed beyond Death\'s silent brink ! \nDear dying iiower, the chain that binds me \nthere \nShall find in thee another beauteous link. \n\n\n\nACEOSTIC. \n\n\n\nA, \n\n\n\n.H I what achievement has this human hfe, \nllicher with glory when this hfe is past, \nThau mastery of seU\' amid earth\'s strife \nHearing the welcome words of recompense at last, \nUttered from lips divine, the blessing won ? \nKeward and victory ! " TJtou hast well done /" \n\n\n\nTHE SILENT ROOM. \n\nTHE smile has died on each pictured face \nThat hangs to-day on the ghostly wall, \nOpen the casement, and give place \n\nFor the sun\'s bright light, and warmth to fall. \n\nOh, the chill of this shadowy room ! \n\nAll hushed with fear my heart stands still ; \nThe painful years, with their darkening gloom \n\nCome throb by throb each space to fill. \n\nThere\'s a sad despair in each tender eye, \nAnd a heart-break lies on the mute white lips ; \n\nNo brightening gold in the tresses lie. \nSilent and dim with Death\'s eclipse. \n\nWhy in this beautiful world of light, \n\nWhere hearts are glad, and loves so sweet, \n180 \n\n\n\nTHE SILENT ROOM. 181 \n\nMust shame and sorrow, and death and bhght, \nCrush out and wound with reckless feet ? \n\nAnd why to-day in this silent room, \n\nOnce made so bright with love\'s low talk, \n\nAnd trusts as sweet as heaven\'s own bloom \nShould only ghostly shadows walk ? \n\nThe hearts are broken, and low in death \nThe folded hands lie pressed with pain ; \n\nThe dust lies on the bridal wreath \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe same old story told again ! \n\nSo close the casement, lest once more \nReturn the light, and joy, and bliss ; \n\nAnd other hearts be crushed and sore. \nAnd come to silence such as this! \n12 \n\n\n\nMONODY. \n\nI AM glad she sleeps to-day \n\'Neath the crimson roses ; \nWhere the softest winds of May \nSing while she reposes. \n\nFull of conflicts was her life ; \n\nBitterly they bound her ; \nAnd amid the fiercest strife, \n\nDeath\'s sad angel found her. \n\nTenderly he kissed her brows, \nStilling all their beating ; \n\nSweeter words than earthly vows \nTo her soul repeating. \n\n182 \n\n\n\nMONODY. 183 \n\n\n\nI am glad the May moon\'s light \nFalls in wondrous glory \n\nOn her marbled name so white, \nTelling victory\'s story ! \n\n\n\nWOMAN. \n\nAH woman\'s heart must mask it well, \nThe love she is too proud to tell ; \nAnd so her weary feet must tread \nPaths where her sister\'s feet have bled, \nTill the soft grave shall rest upon \nThe restless bosom it has won. \n\nOh, woman\'s heart I oh, woman\'s strife I \n\nOh, restless sea of human life ! \n\nOh, woman\'s love, and woman\'s woe, \n\nIn surging tides of being flow ! \n\nWhat, what shall whisper " peace, be still," \n\nWhile bearing crosses up life\'s hill ? \n\nOh Mother ! Mary ! Christ divine I \nFill up life\'s chalices with wine \n\n184 \n\n\n\nWOMAN, . 1^ \n\nSuch as the martyrs long ago \nDrank to assuage their human woe, \nAnd give the famished heart the love \nThat drops like manna from above. \n\n\n\nTHE EAIN-FALL. \n\nSWEET to listen to the rain-fall \nOn the leafy trees of June, \nAs it plays among the branches \n\nIn a slow, melodious tune. \nThere is no sweeter music \n\nThan rain-drops on the leaves, \nOr whispering on the casement \xe2\x80\x94 \nOr the quaint, old-fashioned eaves. \n\nAnd I love at night to listen \n\nTo its music on the roof. \nBuilding castles so unreal \n\nThat can never have their proof. \nThen come the old-time voices \n\nThat I never more may hear, \nSoothing all my restless longings, \n\nSo delusive, yet so dear ! \n186 \n\n\n\nTHE RALN\'FALL. 187 \n\nAnd I love the silver rain-clrops, \n\nWhen the sunbeams gild them o\'er, \nBeautiful enough for jewels \n\nThat some olden goddess wore. \nOr the gems we read of, gleaming \n\nOn the golden gates above, \nThat will fade not, hke our dreaming, \n\nWhen we meet the friends we love. \n\n\n\nMY SERENADE. \n\nI HEAR it now ! like memory-bells \nIt calls the sweet Past back to me ; \nMy heart with silent rapture swells \n\nWith its delightful harmony ! \nAnd since that still mid-summer night \n\nWhen stars together sang on high, \nIt haunts me with a strange delight, \nAnd will forever till I die. \n\nYe who have learned to reach the heart \n\nWith music\'s ever welcome strain ; \nYe who have learned the blessed art \n\nOf soothing weariness and pain, \nTo thee, to thee my spirit sings, \n\nFor thee the choicest blessings crave ; \nYe have a richer crown than kings, \n\nA stronger power than monarchs have. \n188 \n\n\n\nMY SERENADE. 189 \n\nI would earth had no cares, no fears, \n\nNo mourning hours for such as ye ; \nNo weary paths, no sorrowing tears, \n\nNo restless waves to stir life\'s sea ! \nAnd yet, perchance the tones I heard \n\nWere born in sorrow\'s bitter hour, \nWhen some poor spirit\'s deeps were stirred, \n\nRevealing its immortal power. \n\nNow while the mournful autumn breeze \n\nComes whispering round my window pane, \nAnd whirls the red leaves from the trees, \n\nI seem to hear those tones again. \nAs if a low-voiced angel came. \n\nBaptizing me with tears of praise. \nThat my full heart can only name, \n\nTJie spirit of Departed days. \n\n\n\nBE THYSELF. \n\nSWEET ! be thyself, whatever Hfe may bring ; \nPain, tears, and care ; or every earthly \ngood. \nLet thoughts, thy aims, and actions, ever spring \n\nFrom holy fountains of true womanliood ! \nThen will thy heart be ever brave and strong, \nThy feet tread safely over life\'s rough ways, \nHope\'s star shine brightly, though the night be \nlong\xe2\x80\x94 \nThy songs be victory, with mingled praise. \n\n\n\nMORTALITY. \n\nGRAVE WARD tending till the shadows \nAll are lost amid the gloom \nOf the night that surely gathers \n\n\'Round the stern rapacious tomb ! \nEveu though our footsteps falter \n\nAs we near the future goal, \nAnd a shrinking fear oppresses \n\nWith its weight, the untried soul, \nStill we journey on forever, \n\nNever tarrying on our way, \nAnd the flow of Time\'s swift river \n\nWill not let us pause or stay. \nFar beyond the grave\'s low darkness, \n\nOr the gloom of life\'s short even, \nBeams of fadeless light are shining. \n\nEarth is merging into heaven. \n\n\n\n191 \n\n\n\nA EESPONSE. \n\nTHANKS, noble poet ! how thy Hnes \nThrilled through my heart at eventide ; \nSweet as the winds of orient climes, \n\nThat through the palms and olives glide. \nLast eve I read each friendly word, \nLimned with a poet\'s glorious art. \nAnd oh I their music strangely stirred \nAn echo in my grateful heart. \n\nI know that we have never met. \n\nMy hand has ne\'er been clasped in thine ; \nI have not heard thy voice, nor yet \n\nThy soul-lit eyes gazed into mine ; \nBut Fancy paints a golden dream \n\nOf truth and poesy, to me ; \nAnd forms of beauty round me gleam, \n\nAnd then I fondly picture thee! \n192 \n\n\n\nA RESPONSE. 193 \n\nI wonder if some singing-bird \n\nHath built within thy heart its nest, \nAnd warbled forth the strain I heard, \n\nThat soothed me to luxurious rest ? \n3Ii7ie is a wild and untaught rhyme. \n\nSuch as the winds at evening sing, \nThat, floating down the stream of Time, \n\nOn some chance wave I dare to fling. \n\nAccept this offering, poet, friend. \n\nPenned with the kindest thoughts to thee ; \nAccept a place till Time shall end, \n\nWithin my heart\'s sweet memory. \nAnd if to thee dark hours shall come. \n\nAnd weigh thy soul with grief and care, \nThen hft thine eyes to heaven \xe2\x80\x94 thy home, \n\nAnd trust in God, and meet me there! \n\n\n\nA HYMN. \n\nMAKE me pure and meek and holy \nThou who for my ransom died ; \nBy thy cross I bend me lowly, \nDear Redeemer, crucified ! \n\nNow to-day upon thine altar \n\nAll I consecrate to Thee ; \nLet me never fail nor falter, \n\nEre I cross Death\'s fearful sea 1 \n\nAnd when earth grows dim and dying, \n\nTo the closing mortal eye ; \nMay I, on thy word relying, \n\nHope for immortality. \n\n194 \n\n\n\nTO MARY. \n\n^r^HESE precious flowers, sweet friend of mine, \n\nX That shed their perfume round me now, \nAre beautiful enough to twine \nAround a sinless angel\'s brow ! \n\nI love them Mary, for they oreathe \nA thousand cherished things to me, \n\nSuch as we dreamers love to wreathe \nIn voiceless songs of poesy, \n\nI love them that they are thy gift, \nAnd hallowed by thy touch and love, \n\nAnd gazing on them now they lift \n\nMy thoughts to fadeless blooms above. \n\nOh, may this little bunch of flowers \nMake blessed all oiir love\'s fond ties, \n\nTill in those never-fading bowers, \nWe gather flowers in Paradise. \n\n19S \n\n\n\naM"^\'^ \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nill \n\n\n\n'