IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

(/.

&
%'

%!
^

I.C

I.I

U: 140

25
M

1.8

1.25 IIIIII.4 IIIIII.6

'^^^

z;^

„™ °,«^ V

'•^ *, ^"^

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian ' stitute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

1980

Technical Notes / Notes techniques

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Physical
features of this copy which may alter arv of the
images in the reproduction are checked below.

L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6x6 possible de se procurer. Certains
ddfauts susceptibles de nuire d la quality de I&
reproduction sont not6s ci-dessous.

Ccloured covers/
Couvertures de couleur

Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur

D
□

Coloured maps/

Cartes gdographiques en couleur

Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages ddcolordes, tachetdes ou piqudes

Tight binding (may cause shadows or
distortion along interior margin)/
Reliure serr6 (peut causer de I'ombre ou
de la distortion le long de la marge
int6rieure)

Coloured plates/
Planches en couleur

Show through/
Trar:sparence

Pages damaged/
Pages endommagdes

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppldmentaires

Bibliographic Notes / Notes bibliographiques

D
D
□

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

Bound with other material/
Reli6 avec d'autres documents

Cover title missi.ig/

Le titre de couverture manque

D
D

Pagination incorrect/
Erreurs de pagination

Pages missing/
Des pages manquent

Maps missing/

Des cartes g^ographiques manquent

Plates missing/

Des planches manquent

Additional comments/
Commentaires suppldmentaires

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

Las images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, cornpte tenu de la condition et
de la nettet6 de I'exemplaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conditions du contrat de
filmage.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall
contain the symbol --►(me&;iing CONTINUED"),
or thi» «ymbnl V (meanif\-^ "END"), whichever
applies.

Un des symboles suivants apparaitra our la der-
nidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas:
le symbole — •»' signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole
V signifie "FIN".

The original copy was borrowed from, and
filmed with, the kind consent of the following
institution:

National Library of Canada

L'exemplaire filmd fut reproduit grdce d la
gdndrositd de I'dtablissement prdteur
suivant :

Bibliothdque nationale du Canada

Maps or plates too large to be entirely included
in one exposure are filmed beginning in the
upper Inft hand corner, left to right and top to
bottom, as many frames as required. The
following Ciiagrams illustrate the method:

Les cartes ou Iss planches trop grandes pour dtre
reproduites en un seul clichd sont film^es d
partir de Tangle supdrieure gauche, de gauche d
droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nonbre
d'images ndcessaire. Le diagramme suivant
illustre la mdthode :

■■I

AND ANNA GREY

a IRoniancc of ®I^ IRcvv Bninevvich

MRS. MARGARET GILL CURRIE

TORONTO
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY WILLIAM BRKUJS

WESLKY UUILDIN(JS

1S07

//^/(^

JOHN SAINT JOHN

Entbred according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
tnousand eight hundred and ninety-eeven, by William Brioos, at the
Department of Agriculture.

To THE MEMORY OF

^B Ifatbcr's Sisters
MARGARET AND CATHERINE GILL

(Lale of St. Mary's, A'ew BrummckJ
DAUGHTERS OF A V. E. LOYALIST

THIS POEM IS L()VIN(;lY INSCRIBKI.

M. C. G

JOHN SAINT JOHN AND ANNA GREY.

CHAPTKli I.

Tin: l)i()iul, loiuHl-shouldered ^'iunt, Eai'tli,

Uplx'iirs Jio land iiun-e sweet
Than that wliereon in heedless mirth

Went free my chihlish feet ;
No fairer ri\"r furroweth

With its strong, steel-blue share
The hill-sides and the vales of e.irth,

Than that whieh iloweth there.

For ligid fasting hermit .lolni

The\' named the glorious stn^am,
As seamen on his holy morn

Beheld its liarbor's gleam.
It was like rigid hermit John,

A voice amid the wild,
Tts honey and its fatness drawn

From forests undefiled.

Now that the green is on the plain,

The azure in the .sky,
Wherewith clear sunshine after rain

Decketh the rich July,

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

liroad is the k-af iiiicl bri^'ht tho Howfr ;

Close to the pale, gray saruis
Coarse alder grows, and virgin's bower

(»r;isps it with slender hands.

With honey-suckles, meadow-sweets

And rue the banks are lined ;
O'er wide fields dance gay inarguei'ites

T(» pipe of merry wind.
By the tall tiger-lily's side

Stands the rich golden-rod,
A king's son wooing foi- his i)ride,

The daught(M' of a jrod.

When fi-esh and bright were all green things.

And June was in the sky.
The dandelions made them winsis.

And did as riches tly ;
Now the bright buttercups with gold

Empave a toil-trod road —
Can wayfarers their sheen behohi

Noi- sigh for streets of God ?

The birds are homed amid the boughs

Of oak and elm trees grand ;
As for the snipe, her lowly house

She maketh in the sand ;
The robin loves the dawning's hush,

The eve's the chickadee.
The thistle-bird the garden bush,

The bobolink the lea.

From intervale and swampy dale
Are wafts of fragrance blown,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Of fern and mint and calanius,

And wild iiay newly mown :
CJod's fiery touch hath ivached the earth,

And lo ! its odors rise
Like incense pure of pi'iceless worth

Offered in sacrifice.

In this re^'ion, on a hill-side skirted by the forest dark,

Stood a lo^'-built cottage covered with the hemlock's ruddy bark.

In that lowly wcxxlland cottage, in the years long passed away,

Dwelt the pale and dark -eyed widow of the soldier, Gerald Grey;

And her little daughter, Anna, in the cottage garden played,

Or amid the swaying shadows of the darkling forest strayed.

Where the trees, bright-leaved in autumn, raised tlieir tossing arms

on high ;
Where the trees of lasting verdure breathed the sob, or psalm, or sigh :
Where beside the crystal brot)kIet tiailed the dark and broad-leafed

vine ;
Wliei-e the black and crimson berry ripened in the sununer's shine ;
Where, amid tlie damp, green mosses, grew the violet white and shy :
Where the lovely pink-white may-flower scentetl spring winds

whispering by ;
Where o'er rock the light dry lichens spread their carpet, garnet

gemmed

Where o'er glades sprang thick the wild-Howers, golden-leaved and
hollow-stemmed ;

Where the shining, spotted fishes in the shaded waters leapt ;

Where, from out the rocky fissures, harmless mottled serpents crept :

Where the hills of wiry wild-grass bared their broad backs to the
wind ;

Where roamed free tlie white flocks fleecy and the cows, sweet-
breathed and kind ;

There where bird and bee and chafer whiled the dreamy summer day

And the su lirrel chirped in autumn, trod in childhood Anna Grey.

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Atiiwi (»n\y liiid eyes of liii/.t'I, (Irciiiiiy hs uii Ai'iil) tiilc,
liUstnms ;is the stur of even in the sky of sunset ))iil(' ;
White and hzuit vcintMl her fort'liciul, with l)iiif|il curls of clu'slMut

iTowiicd,
l»»'d licr lips us lipc strawhcrry "mid llir suunncr grasses found.
Sweetly round her in'irlisli li,i,'ui'e, sweetly full lier dimpled face,
I'jNcry <;lanc'e and e\cry motion had a I'are, unstudied j;i'ac<'.
In the ni,i,dits wlien winter wailinu; swept the swaying' forests dim.
And tlie stately trees of shadow trembled in their every limh ;
When tho furious sjirites that sally forth to ride the northern blast
In the hours of darkness, shriekinif, swept the tiny cot ajiast,
Anna (Jrey would rathei* listen to these strains so wild and ;frand
Than to situff of famed musieian ])layiiii,' with a skilful hand.
Volumes old of hea\ v ,i,dldin,n' to the land of e.xile brou<;lit,
lioldinj^ many a jjoet's fancy, many a mighty thinker's thought,
Many a painter's <,'or^eous vision, lo\'e-tale or adventure wild.
Found a true and loxinj; studejit in tho so'dier's orphan child.
Well slie lox'ed to hear her mother stoiies of her youth rej)oat :
She was born where shinin^t Hudson doth the wave of ocean meet,
In an ancient house manorial by her father's i^randsire planned,
Girt by fiekls of <>Tain and ijrasses, orchards <freen arui fjardens j^rand.
Tn the house were winding stairways, lony, broad halls with polish(Ml

flooi's,
Paintinj^s fail and autit|ue \ases, chandeliers and folding doors.
Often thronfj^ed the gay assemblage to her fatlier's festive board
Wheio bright wines in shining gol)lets were by dusky waiters poured.
Dusky butlers laid the silver on the damask white and fine,
Dusky c(X)ks prepared the \iands savory for the guests benign ;
Sh(^ by hands of dusky maidens decked in virginal army.
At tlio mirth-enlivened ban(juet smiled tho gayest of the gay.
Thither to a birth-night suj^per, with a captain's laughing dame,
Decked in epaulette ant. 'acher, Gerald Gre'y, the soldier, came.
It is needless I should tarry the old story to explain,
How the soldiei' lo\'ed the maiden, and the maiden loved again.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

nut

VI.

,'.5

How ((in talcs of love lie novel ? In ;ui juiciciit ISook \\v rnid

Tiiat (jrod'n sons Ix-t'orc tlic l)('lu;,'c Io\<'(i the (ifiu;,'lit('i's of inankiiid.

Love is older tliuii the .<j;iants, love is dlder than the l''all,

Old as Adam in his Kden, as the mother of us all.

An<l the old hut tiirillin;,' story told so oft was lived a^ain

In the life of the youn.i,' ^oldiei' and the maiden iVnna Lane ;

And liefore the brayinj,' trumpet v.oke the fri^'hted lanil to war,

Ere the hoomin-^ of the camion woke the eehoinj,' hills afar,

Ere had elash<'d the .vords of kinsmen or their hlood the meadows

<lyed.
In ltri,!,'ht t;ijier-li<fhted pjirlor (Jei'ald (!iey espoused his bride.
When the orave Columbian armies met their kind's in mortal li,i(ht,
Then in truth he jiobly battled for the eause he deemed the ri,<,dit.
IJorn where blue Virifinian mountains o'er th<' land their shadows

tling,
Yet hv marched beneath the standard of the i.i r, .scutclieoned kiiitjf.
When was past the crurl carnat^e, roar of ifun anci trump sui>])res.sed,
And the striped and stairy l)ainier waved above a land of rest,
Gerald Gro}' his broad possessions of swart slaves and sniilin",' lands
Near Virginia's azure mountains forfeited to stranger's hands ;
With his powerful sword-arm Ijuried under Yorktuwn's hapless held,
Forehead scarred and spirit war-worn, but a heart that scorned to

yield ;
With his c(,nn'ades in the battle — cherished wife and infant band —
Took the home his lot assigned him in a fertile forest land.
But like plants too soon uprooted from the genial soil of birth,
One by one those cliildren languishefl, one by one were borne to earth ;
Then — a messenger of gladness — Anna came to cheer his hearth.
Here to battle with the winter, fierce from the north-eastern main.
Fell the giants of '''e forest, reap the liarvests of tiie plain.
Long the brave but broken soldier had not leave from heaven to stay;
From his weeping, stricken (hirlings suddenly he jtassed away.
Wlien the sky of late September was aflush with sunset gold,
And tlie fiery-foliaged maple lighted u[» tiie sombre wold,

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

^\'ith his locks fium liis pale furehciul hnishtMl, his oiu' hand on his

breast,
Looking toward the <^leaniiiig heavens, sank he to undreaininif rest.
And the band of exiled soldiers, close beside the river l)ri^ht,
Had a fon^st-shaded acre where to hide their dead from si<^ht,
There of glorious resurrection they, in sure and certain trust,
Laid his ashes unto aslies, and his dust unto the dust.

At the time when opes my story half a score of yeai's had sped
Hince the luisband niul the fjither slumbered with the saintly dead ;
Still his pale and pensive widow and her fair and l)rilliant child
Dwelt within the little cottage on the boniers of the wild.
Well they lo\ed the swaying shadows and the forest melody ;
Well they loved the sylvan beauty of the home so lone and free ;
And its tiny casement, curtained by the vijie from woodland stream.
Framed as fair a scene as ever dawned on pastoral poet's (h'cam.
Toward the sunset and the river swift, the verdant hill inclined;
At its base were low dark fir-trees evt>r moaning in the wiiul.
And amid their heavy shadows opened to their eastern view
A green way as broad and level as a castle avenue ;
For the fathers of the countiy in its early, infant day.
Thus o'er woodland, hill and valley planned to lead the kind's

highway.
But maturer counsel brought it neaivr to the smiling river,
And the broad, unfinished passage, crossed by many a bridgeless

stream,
With its thistles and its mosses, and its firs to sob and shner
'Mid the wild life and the shadows, lay like highway of a dream.
Past the belt of sounding fir-trees oped a broader, lower hill,
Pasture clad, where flocks and cattle drank the brooks and grazed at

will.
Sleek and gentle were the cattle, white the tiocks that grazed thereon,
Owned by half the landscape's owner, true; and hearty Hugh Saint

John.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Often, shoulder unto sitouldcr, in tlic fierce and bloody fray,

Fouj^'ht till faintin.u;, ;,'ory, weary, lfui,'h Saint .Volin and Gerald Grey.

They in peace had loved as hi-others, they in war were conn'ades

true.
Here their lots were cast toj,'ether in the region wild and new,
And as father or as brother careth for his very own,
Cared the genei-ous, prospered soldier foi- the maid and widow lone ;
So high heaven's enriching blessing on his happy mansion smiled.
Shone upon his fertile meadows, glanced upon his pasture wild.
There in summer swung the blue-bell, there in -June wind's scented

breath
Filoom of straw and pigeon bei-ry gleamed through grass and amber

heath.
Here and there were trees of shadow, maple of the honeyed juice,
P>irchen white and spr(»ading oak tree, soughing pine and gummy

spruce.

At tlie foot of the pastures there shrank a low valley.
The home of the pied-loon and sweet whip-poor-will ;

A place in which birfls of the autumn would rally,
Which theoverHown liver in spring-time would till.

Beyond the damp valley were broad, fertile meadows
Where wav(Hl in the autumn the rich yellow corn,

And over their clover the billowy shadows

Passed swift in the wind of the gay summer morn.

Their border the river, a fringe of bright jewels.

The highway stretched wavy and brown thro' their lands ;

Now rose they in hillocks, now deepened in dingles.
Or in green level swale met the grey of the sands.

Sturdy orchards that, unfailing, put theii- spring-time blossoms on,
Yielded red or russet fruitage to the home of Hugh Saint John ;

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

l''(>l(ls fill- slice}) ;in(l stalls for cattle, eotes for feathery fowl wt'iv

there,
Aiiii)le hai'iis for store and shelter rjiised their ifahles in the air ;
In the ]»laiti, old-fashioiuMl i^ardeiis white and damask roses blew,
peony hloonied in early sunnner, hoUyhoek and lilac grew ;
There the lowly \t'l\et }»ansy showed its puqde, poet-prai.sed,
Throve tlie hai'dy orani;-e lily and the scarlet tulip blazed ;
Ih-iiiging thoiii,dit of ha])py homestead, comforting and cniwning all,
Looking through its many windows, rose the scjuare suljstantial hall.
Towai'd the north a youthful city raised ambitious sj)ires and domes
Strongly "gainst its thinking tir woods, showing white and happy

homes.
In tlie s(|uare, substantial mansion Hugh Saint ./olm dwelt not alone.
Lighted up by many children was his cheei-y heartli's red stone.
0"ei' the eldest twenty summ(M's had dispensed their sunshine fair,
Tall he was, broad-bi'owed and slender, .John Saint John, tlu' s(jn and

heir.
Often from tlie neighlxir city to the jjleasant mansicm came
Stately judge and jtortly doctor, student i>ert, and silken dame,
He who ruled for (Jeoi'ge of England, captains gay, and gri>v di\ iiu's.
Huu'li Saint John had youthful daughters, Hugh. Saint John had

ancient wines ;
In the low and roomy kitchen, where the wood-Fu'e spai'kli'd red.
For the beggar and tlie Indian, free tlie board and coucli were

spread.
Often spake the loyal soldier, " Friend or foe, or I'ich or {)oor.
By my fault may nevei- wander faint or thirsty from my door."
Miss iSuret, a lady numbering springs and sunnners four times ten,
Taught the daughters of the household how to u.se the brush and jien.
How to curtsey and eml)r()ider, \)\iiy the liarp and the guitar.
Speak and write L'Hamond and Virgil, name the plant and point

the star ; —
Faultless was lier French in accent, and she curtsied like a (jueen ;
Without jarring flowed lier music, true to life her painted scene.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

SliartT ill tlic {ilcasaiit studies, festive rout aii<l rural yaine.
O'rv the pastures to tlie mansion day b}' day tlie or[»han came ;
And the maidens loved as sisters, but the striplinj,', truth must say,
Looked with more than ])r()tlier"s fondness and dt'li^ht on Anna Grey.
They togetlier Iiunted wild-tlowers neath the sky of rainy May :
They with joyous shout oft eoasled down tin' frozen i-iver l)rae ;
And when ehildhood's days wei'c over, rode as stately s([uire and dame
All alonsjf the autumn hi.ichways, where the maples llash(>d like tlamo.
They had danced in lighted i)arlor in the merry Christmas time ;
They liad iloated in tlieir white bark 'neath the shade of woods

suldime ;
They had sung while hoary forests echoed back the joyful sti'ain,
And the brooks and birds gav(> chorus to the free and glad refrain ;
They had walked in gravelled garden 'neath the tender, beaming moon,
When the apple tree and clicrry wore the bridal garb of June,
And the moon ujxtii the waters made a slanting bridge of light.
Whereupon the forest fairies might dispoit the i)almy night ;
They in April e\es returning homeward marked spi-ing's eal•lie^t

charms,
8aw the old moon oft presented in the lu-w moon's slender ai'iiis;
Or, from wintry bantjuet coming, watched tlie stars that Hashed on

high-
Orini old bear and rampant Hon, all the giants of the sky.
Careless were their hearts, and cheery as the jingle of the bells,
As they rode on icy river, or tlirough snowy forest dells :
Thus they loved the golden mornings shining o'er the self-same hills,
The same golden evenings glancing into brilliant, rushing rills ;
The same brown and scarlet autumns, when the reaper l)oun(l his

sheaf,
The same white and glittering winters, the same springs of wind ;uid

leaf.
Theirs were the same {^Ifii^'mt friendsliips formed in (hu's of genial

truth.
Yet far ditrerent were the spirits of tlie maiden and the youth :

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

With a heart awake to duty, passions warm, but temper kind,
Manly oahn and sense of justice tliat no seltisli mist could l)lind ;
Planninj^ for his country's welfare, how to clear her forests dun,
Lead her highways, s|)an hei- rivers, teach her red majestic son ;
Ijoving well the orphan maiden who his dreams of future crowned,
(Thougli no spokeii word of promise either to the other ])ound).
From bright boyhood into manhood sprang the youth beside the shore
Of the broad and sparkling river whose sweet saintly name he bore.
Anna Grey had spirit tameless as the winter wind that fills
Leafless trees along the meadow and the pines upon the hills ;
And sh(; inly longed to mingle in those gorgeous scenes of earth
Where brave knights of sounding title blend with dames of nobli;

birth.
Oh ! if she might tread the chancel of old haughty pictured fanes,
Look on monumental abbeys rising on historic plains,
Or on castles ivy-covered rising high on rocky steeps,
With their halls where kings held wassail, and their moats anci

dungeon keeps ;
Oh ! to enter as the misti-ess love(i and flattered, sought and feared,
In some old and wide-hailed palace in the by-gone centuries reared.
With its orchards, parks and gardens, gateways grand and fountained

springs.
With its vaulted, ghostly chambers, winding stairs and modern wings.
Oh ! to enter, gladly greeted, laughter-echoing banquet hall.
Or saloons where merry music rang from pictured wall to wall ;
Cliul in garl) of richest velvet, fringed with gold and wrought with

pearl,
As the bride of ruling statesman or of coroneted earl.
But she'd waken from these dreamings, sighing, " This may never be ;
1 must wed my honest neiglibor, for he dearly loveth me.
John Saint John hath fair position, kindly heart and fertile land.
But lie lacketh shining talent, goldeix store and lineage grand.
I must, even as his mother, wear a sable, silken gown
Till with years of wear and bi-Mshing it becometh thin and brown ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

T must cliide my idling' maidens, chaffer with the merchant lunj?
That his wares of lasting value I may purchase for a song ;
Ne'er a trice forget my dairy or the produce of my slieep,
Wake to care in early morning and aweary sink to sleep ;
Yet, with all my thrift, be ready fr-'end or wayfarer tt) greet,
Showing to the varied comers welcome warm or coldness meet ;
And as truly seem a lady haggling o'er my maiden's hire
As at game of chess or gammon, laughing by the parlor fire."
Thus would Anna's wilful musing roam her future lot upon.
And she oft would end then, sighing, "I must wed with John

Saint John."
Yet within her heart she'd whisper, "Should a stranger rich and

grand,
Brave as knight in olden story, chance to seek our forest land
Here to woo me, he shall win me. T can shine in courtly life ;
John need not be long in finding one more fit to be his wife."
Hearty Hugh Saint John, who never friendship's .sacred trust

betrayed,
Even as his own fair daughters loved the gifted orphan maid ;
But his stern, industrious partner with a growing coldness saw-
How, with all her numerous household, Anna's wishes wei-e as law.
Often when her son was absent would she speak in shrewish voice :
"Strange that one with John's discernment mak(>s in love so weak a

choice.
Shining eyes or shining talents can't forever charm the heart ;
In our young and rigorous country I'ach must bear a laborer's part.
Anna Grey can dress her ringlets, hang a pendant to hei' ear.
And refurbish for her wearing her weak mother's silken gear.
Thus attired, the pretty maiden is in road or parlor seen
With an air far more befitting for a marchioness or tjueen
Than for one who should be striving h(»w an honest lot to gain.
Marvellous that one so needy should be idle, gay and vain I
Kitty Broadlands tends the dairy of her fathti's twenty kine,
Yet she ran within the parlor e'en as well as Anna shine."

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Thus ivlicvfd, the worthy iiiiitroii would soiuc tlirifty ihyiiic recite
Of the erowiiiiif,' ^'ivice of neatness ov oi' time improved aright ;
Of the exceUence of saving;, how the world is all a stage,
And 1k)w little it doth ditl'er in what part we may en"a<'e •
Uhether tliat of maid or mistress, I'oyal prinee or shei)herd swiir,
Tf we do but aet it rightly we our meed of ])raise should gain.
Thus tlu> days of eaily giilhood oVr the m.iiden flitted fast,
And the years of o])ening maidiood foi- the youth sped swiftly past, -
bringing many !i short-lived heartache, many a trivial care and pain.
Yet tlieir hearts were free from thraldom as the forest bird's refrain :
For tho.se ilays to them were happy with the nameless eharm of

youth,
With the joy of health and beauty, culture, innocence and truth.
Duty-laden, for the mati-on, whirled around the busy years,
For her house, her fold, her dairy, heaitfelt wer*> her hopes and fears ;
And theirlap.se brouglit cares and honors for the noljle Hugh Saint

John :
NN'intej's gay and golden sunnners f<;r tlieir merry daughters shone.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

CMAPTKH ir.

How often 1 (li'cuni of the loved jind the l<;st :

Tliey spefik iiiid tliey move as of old ;
But my inner heart knoweth what botiiid they lia\i> crossed,
And ahoiit them there elin,i,'(>th the ^loom of the ghost,

Th(> shroud and the grave-woini and mould.

I dream of tlieir homes, and their eouehes are there,

Their pictui'es, their books and theii- tlowei's ;
lUit there gleametli a li,<,dit that I may not declare
On the curtain's red fold, in the lamp's yellow glai-e,
Fi'om worlds that are other tlian ours.

I5y riv(Ts all silv'ry they walk in the ni,!,dit,

As the moon is ascending on high.
O'er the fields that to hand of the reaper are white ;
But a so)-row intense for life's jirofitless tlii,'ht

Possesses the wind whispering by.

They walk through their gardens set bright with i)arterres.

On the banks with wild vines over-run ;
But the white bird a dirg(> in its summer-song bears.
And most iieavy and sad are the odoi'ous airs,

Tli'ere falleth a gloom from the sun.

1'*^ John Saint John and Anna Grey:

N(»t oiiiT, us tli<' saints of tlic F></r(l, ^lnri(i(Ml,

Tlu'V rise id ny sluiiilH'i-trjmct'fl si^Lt.
l')Ut Jis those who have toilcil, niounicd, and sun'ci'ctl anil (Hrd
And ai'c huinchcd on a stranj^c shoreless, fathondess tide,

Thev ,i,dide tiiroiiy;h the \isi()iis of niyht.

() ye woodlands, ye have ijloiy when the wintei- walketh white

O'er the mountains and the nu'adows in his majesty and mi,L(ht ;

When the fir t<'ee fretteth fondly and the pine lamentet'ii loud

To the stars and the aurora and the ra<fifed driftini,' eleud.

Often have 1 seen the excn, eold and i-louded, elose around

While the winds, their wide wiiiys folded, slundu-red in the depths

pi'ofound ;
When, before thi' mystii- midnight hour of sju'll was overpast,
Howlinjj; throu<,'h the lioll(»w h(>avens hoarsely blew the hitinj; blast ;
And the full, dark clouds were opened that the ti'easures of the snow,
White and <^litterinj», niij^ht be emptied on the frozen earth below.
Then the ti-ees of leaHess branches shrieked like maniacs throuLfh the

sky.
And the pines anrl (irs and cedars moaned a wild and sad rejdy ;
From behind the hills of shadow and through win(iing wood-way.s

white
There was roaring, there was ra\ in;; in the ghastl}' hours of night.
O ye woodlands, ye have gloiy and a charm F may not sing,
When across your leafless branches comes the pur{)ling of the spring ;
And ye have, in truth, a glor\' when the sunniier reigns o'er all.
When amid your leafy arches rich the rains of midnight fall.
Wetting fern and lady's-slij)per, the grey lichiMi ti[)ped with red.
The green clusterefl wild-giape trailing from the braiiches overhead.
And ye woodlands, ye have glory when, with Hashing flags unfui'led,
Like a king the sheaf-orowned Autunni treads the wide north-western

world ;
When the maple tlameth scarlet, and the bii'ch tree gleameth gold.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

tho

Ami the l)('fcli IrtM' and tlic cliciiv <,'l()\v in tiiitiiiL's iiiiiiiit'olil ;

When the red jiiid I'ipciicd hcnv tVustctli iiiiuiy u forcsi hird,

And the siiii<( of hii'd of autuniii tlirouj^li tin* drcainy aisles iy heard.

Twas a sweet .SeptenilxT even and the niij,dity river lay

Like a mirror 'twixt the forests that tlie early frosts tnade Ljay ;

There the broad oaks saw theii- shadow ;Mid the yiant maples stood,

Like to stui'dy, red-rolx-d captains elos(> heside the j^lassy flood ;

And the tri'es of height less hauji'lity bore their batiners far and

wide,
Or like troops of trained soldiers stood in columns side by side.
On this eve they held a ban(|uet at the mansion of my son^.
Thither tl( oked from town and country youths and maids — a meriy

throiiff —
And the early j^uests arriving in the open doorway stood,
Or with joyous shout and laughter woke the echoes of the wood
As they walked beside the river and unniooi'ed tlie frail white bark,
(.•rasping p.'iddles green to guide them o'er the waters smooth and

dark.
Some were strolling through the gardens, where, of all the wealth of

Mowers,
\'e!y few were left to brighten ev'u those early autunui hours ;
I5ut the rustic seats were pleasant, pleasant were the gravelled way.s,
Ai\d till! l)owers by fair deft fingers fornn^d in early summer days.
Some went roaming through the orchard plucking red or russet fruit
While the yellow gleams of sunset lit the tree.s from bough to root,
lied clouds Hoated from the westward, pile on pile and towei' on

tower,
Forming castles, caves, cathech-als, graceful arch and airy bower.
The fail' daughters of the household welcome gave to every guest ;
Maude the eldest, blonde and gentle, stood of right before the rest.
Hho liad planned for silken garments to bedeck her for tlie night,
But the mother overruled her and slie walked in spotless white.
Kitty Hroatllands by the river walked in pur})le silk arrayed —
Rich it was and bought with cheeses she herself that sunnner made.

•JO

John Saint John and Anna Grey

\]y licr walked a youtlit'ul escort, somewhat less tliaii she in hi'i.;ht.
(iloryiii,i; in a pea-icreen iieek-eloth and a vest of scarh't l)ri^ht ;
On his eliin scant down was showiniC, and no tlttini,' l>lace lie Found
For his lai'^e and i-estless fini,'ei's when they delved not in the ifround.
Kitty kindly helped his shyness till he lost his look of scaie,
Freely talked of father, mother, Sannny a!id the piehald mar.' :
Dwelling on the hitter's \irtues, soon he felt no more alaiiii
Thari if dri\ im,' hei- Ix'fore him on his fathei's thrivinif fai'm.
lion.y a l)ankruiit captains dauifhter watched them from th" :;.ii'den

hill
With a look of scornful horror mejmt their veiy hearts to chill.
Turninj; to hei' dashing escort : " Hear you, ensign, what tlp'V say !
Sur<> our hosts have lost their senses, tliither hiddini,' such as they. "
Quoth the ensi<j;n : ".John was evei' from the fool a slight remove ;
T have heard him lik«> a Kanter i)reach of duty, truth and love ;
You will find him ere ten sunnners, I'll enyaye my sash and swoid,
L(>adinj^ hands of holy pilj^rims with their faces Zionward.'
This smart sally called loutl laughter from the youths and maidens

nit^li —
Kitty Broadland's youthful escoi't joined in it, he knew not why.
Hut as still thv' guests assenil)led one loved form was wantijiy ther-,
Foi' a week from home had tarried John Saint John, the son and

heir.
Much his .sisters watched to see hin) all that busy autunm day,
And their motlier, though she chid them, slyly watched as well as

they.
And when all the gorgeous landscape was aglint with going day,
Walked 'neath shades of oaks and orchards, Clare Saint John and

Anna Grey.
Toward the king's highway they hasted as they quit the festive hall.
Soon along its wooded windings i'od<> two horsemen swift and tall :
One they knew, their friend and brother — often liad they seeix him

ride —
But a fair-haired, knightly stranger gallojted gaily by his side.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

\\ ell f!i<isc youtlis ii))()Ti tlx'ir cli.'n^'crs, proud of neck uiid pi'iincin^

fiv...
IMiiilit liii\r jiuscd as ciTiuit couct ici's in a talc of cliivali'y.
And ill trudi of courtly liiicai;*' was tlic stiaiiuci' fail- and tall,
C'oiur an idler o'er tlic occaii — .Mariiia<liil\(', of T»'injt('st Hall.
Proudly he Ix-stiodc liis cliari(cr — f^lossy black, of Arab blood —
Tliat. wlifii rciiu'd before the i,Mte\\ay, pawed the <fravel as ho stood.
And the iMai(iei\s formed a picture woi'tliy of the arti.st's power,
As they walked beneath the shadows in the ^^loi'ious sunset hour.
Anrui's wealth of ri]»j)lin!4 tresses shone illuniine(l with its <,'ol(J,
And the briskly I'isiiii; zephyr shook her raiment's snowy fold ;
iJi'i^dit tile eioss upon her bosom, j,'ift of hci' departed sire
To her mother ere their marriai^e, Hashed as vivid llame of fire.
•John Saint John ya/.ed down upon her, and his heart was in his eyes
As sill' --t'eMied to <,dow before him like a brii^ht, escapinif prize.
(Jazed he on her ju'rfect fij^'ure, deep-fringed eyes and radiant brow ;
"Surely," thouu;ht he, '• 1 have never loved her as I love her now.
Or tlie passion of my spirit nuist have breathed in spoken vow."
Even now lie lon,<,'ed to lead her from the merry tlinrnj^ apart,
Press his warm li])s to her forehead, ft)ld her to his ardent heart;
Tell her of the love that j,'overned all the dn-amings of his youth,
Pledu;e to her his ))ure devoticm and his ncv(>r falt'rinjf truth.

anri

All with kindly j^lance re<,'arded Mannaduke, the stranj^er tall ;
Blandly di<l the host and hostess bid him Wv Iconic to the hall;
Maids the fairest smiled upon him ; j'ouths, all hospitably gay.
Told of fabulous adventure with the bear and wolf at bay —
How they on the spreading snow-shoe hunted antlered moose and

deei',
How the speckled trout and salmon leapt in summer waters clear,
How the game of wing and feather thronged the woods in autumn's

piime ;
And they gave him joyous welcome to theii' friendship, sports and

dime.

•)0

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

TIh-ji \vh( m tVll the ^'luaiiiiiij; shadows <i\<'i' ii\('r, (icld aiid rill,
And the 1,'it'at wliitc mkjoii of liarvcst rose hchiiid an castcni hill,
K\»'i V lucny yucst had ciitcrcd at the iiiaiisioirs am|>l(' door —
Lady Carlctori's cliarinim,' daiif^'htcrs came the last with ihaisc and

four.
Well and Ion;,' the liouschold mother on her servants iia<l impressed
Their nioiuentous tasks and duties, and ere coming' of a yuest
She and the deft household teacher had with tlieir own fin^'ers laid
The sn vy (hmiasks on the tables and th(^ shining plate (hsplayed ;
Next the ehina and the crystal <luly rauf^ed in fittest place ;
Kvery \ase and every rose-hud was (lisp(»sed with telling ^raco ;
She ari!iii<,'e(l that rich refi'eshinent waited every coiner there,
From the white-haired neyro niijistrel to the baron's liau^hty heir.

Oft on Annas dream-like beauty Tempest fixed admirinj.,' 'A'<v/.(',

As they 'vhiilcd throuj^di mazy djinces 'neath the waxen taper's blaze;

And a stianiLCe new tlirill of trium])h stirred tlie maiden's boundini<

bi-east
As liis strong yet gentle fingers on lior rounded arm were pressed.
All at orct! her gorgeous fancy flashed with visions wildly giand--
Surely now the airy castles that her hidden thought had planned
Might arise on basis firmer, in propt)rtions just as fair ;
Yet might .she, the young, the brilliant, tread a castle not of air ;
Yet might she with keen enjoyment gras)) each boon that prestige

brings,
Freely blend with nobh^ ladie.s, tread th(! marble courts of kings.
But no change iii her appearance could the keenest watcher spy,
Save perchance a heightened lustre in the sjjarkle of her eye.
Or a shade of deeper crimson in the damask of her cheek.
Wouldst thou hearken now, poor beauty, if a prophet's voice should

speak ?
Nay, if puch a voice could reach thee little wouldst thou heed its say ;
Thou art wise in thine own eyesight, thou wilt have thine own proud

way :

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

For timu iut a wilful wdiiiuii as was fvcr ixnii (if Kvc ;

If thou willst tliiiu' own uiidoiiii,', why should I thy sorrows grieve?

Thou hast had a lovc-hlcst childhood, th(»u hast had a merry youth.

Yet words of Holy Sci'i|)tur»' told set oft arc very truth :

Ah the sp ks of liviiii,' ciiihcrs seek their sire the fiery sun,

So is ever hild of Adam horn a ti'ouhlous course to run.

Often those whose morning' pathway llowei' paved lies 'neath dazzling

skv,
Find thick clouds (lunj,' o'er their zenith eic the hour of luioji is by ;
Those o'er thorns and rocks who travel with brows bared to early rain,
Heav'n oft grants a noon of bi-ightness (»r a gold-t)athed sunset |)lain.
Swift as every tiight befort' it round eaith I'olled that night away,
And its hours with wine and dancing, laugliter light an<l song were

Swift as many a night of triunijih, many a weary niglit . f pain,
Sped the night my song rec<M'deth, ne\eiiMoi'e to fall again.
All were happy, all were merry — even the bankrupt's daughter smiled.
Simpering wiles to lure the stranger chased her scoi'ii and horror wild;
Soon she found a meet occasion of her lineage to boast.
While her escort, broadly smiling, gave the hackneyed jest and toast.
Kitty Hroadlands chatted gaily with the parson, students, clowns,
And, except for slight confusion in hei- pronouns, verbs and nouns,
Hers was not a strain unpleasing, and the youth of scarlet vest
Proved his sense by sitting silent, by the novel scene impressed.
|->ut wliatever friend or stranger chance to Kitty's side might bring.
Well she guai'd(^d against wounding her young escort, Peter King.
"Old inhabitants " *^he parents of the somewhat rustic twain.
Upon rich alluvial meadows lay their fair and broad donuiin.
Of more wealtli and sterner incjrals these in general were possest
Than their lofty mannered neighbors lately coming from the West.
Latly Carleton's eldest daughter swept the hiirp with lily hand,
As she sang this simple ditty by a minstrel of the land :

24 John Saint John and Anna Grey:

THK SOXG OF TllK LOYALISTS.

" T wake to a lay of tin; wotxls 'ind the I'ivcr

My harp that was sti'iuii,' in a suriiiic'r clime ;
Sweet land of adoption, tliy pines as they shiver

Bear to summer's heart thought of the snow and the rime.

"Of their green tass(>led folia.<^e a garland unfading

I would wreathe to the memoi'v of comrades who lie
Hid in earth, while above them new banners parading,
White stars and I'cd stripes meet the blue of the sky.

"Sweet they sleep wliere o'er Yorktown magnolias are growing.
And the myrtle blooms pale by the iJrandywine's waves.
As if lapped in the dust of the land of the loyal.

With the king's soughing pini's to o'ershadow tlieii- gravtvs.

" But our homes, that are guarded by pines of the forest,
Are plenteous and tlower-girt and warm with true love ;
Our heroes are bravest, our women are fairest,

We honor King Ceorge and the Soxereigii above.

"There is rest for the dead, there is hope foi" the living.
We shall labor and love, we shall wed and be gay,
Till, life passed in strongly and ceaselessly striving.

Our heads 'neath the jiine-bearing clods they shall la}'."

Tempest, in his courtliest manner and best grace, led Anna Orey
To the harp, and half connnanding, half imploring, bade her play.
All who saw her thought her taller than herself of formei" days ;
Never had her eye such lusti'e and her form such matchless grace,
And her wondrous modulaticjn and expression most impressed
Those who plumed themselves as singei-s, and the frienfls who knew
her best.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

ANNA'S ,SON(J.

" I could not sleep through all those hours
Of darkness and alfriglit,
So, 'neath the vaulted casement crouched,
I watched the l)(jist'rous night.

"The wild winds on the rugged rocks
Dashed the white foaming spray,
Boomed round the lonely hattlements
And swept the turrets grey.

"The pale light of the gihhous moon

Streamed through the parted clouds-
She hid her silv(;ry face anon
Tn their dim, misty shi-ouds.

"Then saw 1 n)any a white-robed maid
And gallant armetl knight,
'Neath frowning rock and leafy shade,
Glide in the ghastly light.

" 'Ye ghosts of my illustrious siies,'
1 breathed in ardent prayer,
'Have pity on the captive child
Of your last injured heir.'

" Then my Love's signal ud and clear
Thrilled through the turret lone ;
T waited not to braid my hair
Or clasp my jewelled zone.

*' Round me T flung an imple robe,
Fashioned in days ot old,

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Its massive bufklcs (luuiiitly fonnod
Of eineralcl aiui .ruJd.

" That -orgeous r..l.,., w}u>n led to deatli,
My captive mother wuiv ;
1 pushed asi(ie the heavy holts,
And jaiTed the oaken door."

When she ceased all voices elanu.red, '' U'e another son. svould hear "
Nppn, then the household n.other lookin, weary and s^-e "

^he ,n wilfulness selected one 8aint John did ne'er adn.ire
One Ins sisters disapproved of and that roused his motherv! iro.

ANNA'S SKCOND SONG.

" T 11 think no more of sorrow
J 'II dream no more of care,
To-moriow and to-moirow

Shall he fail- and passing fair.

"I'll hind my hurnished tresses
^^ NN'ith the fullest, reddest rose
That suimnei- wind caresses,

And the whitest flower that blows.

" I'll tread the maddest measure,

I'll sing the gayest song,

I'll give my heart to pleasure

All the merry sunnner I

ong.

r'll give my heart to pleasure
All the sparkling winter night,

I'll spare no costly ti-easure
To be royall; bedight.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

" r'll usk the ycvirs to hear inc
lUchcsaiid lii^rh renown.
Hut <,'ivt' tlu'in leave to spare nie
The vaunted silver crown.

" Of jrold jind sparklinn; jew(>ls,

Of silks that shinunej-iiii^ shine,
'I'he rarest and the fairest
And costliest shall be mine."

Thus, as in the years depai-ted, i-ound earth rolled the dark away,
And tlie hours with wine and daiKin,^, laiii^hter li,irht and son^ were

I. .it one young and noble forehead sti-an,i,'er shadows gathered on,
. a new and .sad forebcKling filled the lieai-t of John Saint .John,
When from out the lighted parlors every lingering guest withdrew,
And the stars of autunni morning in the heaven pallid grew,
O'er the hill and o'( r the valley, as they oft had ti-od before,'
Side by .side walk.'d John an, I Anna toward her mother's cttage
door.

Pale wa.s the round moon of harvest with the waxing light of morn ;
Cold wliite mists from off' the river by the early aii- were borne ;
Tn the forest boughs around them chirped the jay and roi»in sweet.
As they broke the dewy cobwel)s with their footsteps light and

Heet.
Silently they cro,s.sed the meadows, valley and deseited road,
Then the ycjuth turned sharp to Anna— in his eyes his sjiirit glowed :
" Anna," spake he with an effort, " whil(> the stju-s are yet alxn («,
And no eye but God's upon us, I would talk to thee of love.
Well and truly have I loved thee— (here he grasped her listless

liand) —

For thy pleasure and well-being all my .schemes of life are plaiuiecj ;
Thee I've loved, and loved thee only, ever sinco our childhood's day
W hen along the woods and river we pursued our meity play.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

1 have jt»y<'<l in thy rfj<)iciii,i(, iiidui-iumI whatever ,1,'ave tliei- pain,
And presuiiuHl, peroliaiiee too fondly, that I have l)een lo\cd again.
Speak, ei't! yet the golden ruler of the day shall elinil) the sky !
Moon of harvest, pale with tlawning, ite oiif witness from oi\ iiigh !
I deelai'e l)efore the morning, and the power that made it liglit,
I will never eease to love thee, ne'er forsake the faith 1 plight.
While 1 liave the power to wield it, this strong arm shall Im* thy stay;
On this l)reast for ivst and shelter thou thy shining head shalt lay ;
Fai" as mortal ])ower availeth from upbraiding, care oi" fear,
Thou shidt find a snic protecti(m and a lasting refuge hei'e.
T<'11 me now, and tell me truly, ere again 1 (piit tliy sid«',
If thou answerest mv passion, and if thou wilt he mv bride."
Silently, with eyelids downeast, all the while fair Anna stood,
Tlien she started as if hearing some strange noise annd the wood —
Though full well slu' knew 'twas oidy wild bird welcoming the day —
Turned, and sighing answered : "John, 1 truly ktiow not what to say.
What you toll is so surprising, atid so little as \ deemed,
Half T look to wake in wonder that 1 have so wildly dreame(l.
I have loved you as a brother, eounted you a generous friend,
And I owe you thanks and blessings that ean never know an end ;
But could T return a passion when 1 knew not of its glow ?
How could T sujjpose you loved me when you never told me sol
Surely T must deem you jesting when you say you loved so well
Through so many years, yet ever failed that love to me tit tell.
Think of all oui- drives togethei', all oui- talks by mooidight fair.
Have you not had ample season all youi' fondness to declare ?
Why should you delay its telling to this chill, untimely houi",
When the misty danip of morning lies so deep on field atid bower !"
(Here she shuddered, though so wai'inly wrapped in soft tine crimson

shawl)
" Mother's wondering what detains me, and I thought T heard her

call.
Let not what I've lightly spoken wound j'our heart or give you pain ;
Duties at your home await you, we may speak of this again."

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

*' Ah. how iiiitulful you .-iro ufrowiii;,' of my (hitics nud your own ! "
Ciit'd the youth, nssumiu:,' somctliini' of the rnuidcirs liirhtvi' toiii'.
" lUit 1(1 have you wail a little, hut to hoar a word from ono
Whom you own a friend and hjothcr, cic the rising,' nf the sun.
Well mi;j;ht you divine T loved yuii ; have I shunned to make display
Of my caic and honor foi- you since my manhood's "ai'li(;st day?
Actions speak, Ijy ail conceded, more than words of empty voice.
And my acts hav(> loudly spoken that you were my hearts own clioice.
1 liave sou.i,'ht and loved your presence, basked in your enchanting

smile.
Deeniini,' that its warmth and laiMance were my own th(> happy wliile.
I ve heen very jealous for you - l)reath (tf censure or of blame
liieathed by friend or stranger of you loused my anger to a tlame.
Fondly, tenderly T've screened you from unkindly winter air,
From the misty damp of autumn or the summer's sultry glare."
"(Jo no further, John, recounting half the debts I owe beside :
Thus y(m think that you have bought me as a savage buys a bride.
Frankly do I own dependence, yet with sorrow and with shame.
Though T <h-eamed not you would mention it with taunt or thi-eat or

blame.
Truly, John Saint John, I'd rather liatden and embiown this hand
As a servant in your kitchen or a laborer on vour hmd
Than bestow it as the guerdon that you now so i)i'oudly claim,
r>asely servile in mv sidiit while T wear a wifely name.
Sold for bread that T have eaten ! JJetter to have died of want,
Or have perished of wild winter than your harsh demand to grant."
Grieved and angry stood the lover; to its utmost height he drew
His tall form and answered coldly: "Since mv words vi>u misconstrue.
And my presence only vexes, T will haste to say adieu.''
Swift tlie maid sped up the pathway to her home embowered in vine.
Through whose leaves in the grey daylight she could se<' the clusters

shine.
There the smell of rare exotics, tended by hei- mother's hand,
Floated through the open casement like a breath from balmy land.

;ui

John Saint John and Anna Grey

.loliii liiul praised tlit'ii' liuisli odoi' as lie stdod beside llieiii last.

Then a parity of deep releiitiiiif o'er lier fitful sinrit passed.

And she hasted to recall him ; hut afai- adoun tlie way

She eould scarce (Uscern his Hi^ure 'mid the shades that round it lay.

Then she watched while faintest outline of his form her eye could .see

'I'ill 'twas hid to her foi'ever by a s])i'ea(liiiji l)ii'eli(!n tree.

Did she think that nevei-, never throu<,di the weary yi'ars again

She .should see his well-known fif^ure comini, up the shady laue ?

Never watch aj^ain his j.;oinj:f over streams aiid leafy fells,

Never walk a,<^ain beside him throu<,di fainiliar j^lades and dells?

Or within her secret spirit did the consciousness arise

That Saint .John to her was dearei- than all else below the skies ?

That the world, with him so cheery, would be blank without his love I

That an arid, tlowerless, desert pilgrimaj^e her life would piove ?

Well she knew her wilful torture of the eai-nest words he spake,

But before her better nature had full season to awake,

Thou<^ht arose of all the ti-iumph of the niijjht yet .scarcely done.

And her tears and her relentin<,'s tied like dew before the .sun.

.lohn the generous and noble, John the honest and the wise.

Matched against the courtly sti'anger' seem<>d but mean in her proud

eyes.
There was znusic in the accents, there was magic in the smile.s
Of the man who from his boyhood studied grace and courtly wiles ;
And to dreamer such as Anna thei'e was charm unspeakable
In the names his careless utterance showed that he had known so

well.
He had paid hei' court and honoj- more than any maiden there.
Lady Carletons eldest daughtei', with her gems and ruddy hair,
With her pale brocaded satin and her brow as marble white.
Looked upon the stranger's homage as her uncontested right ;
fiut with easy grace of manner that no base chagrin displayed,
Hhe of doubtless charms resigned him to the far more gifted maid.
He had a.sked of Anna's dwelling ; she had told her sylvan home ;
He had promised on the morrt)w to her bowery cot to come.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

:i\

Yes, bct'orc aiiotlicr sunset oer the i^lcainiiii,' IfUHlscfipf ^^'lowcd,

She shituld sec his Arab fliari^ci' cdiniii^ up the loiu'ly I'oad.

"I am free tVoiii John," slie iiiurnuued : ''I will banish him from

thought "—
Thus slit' sjK'd along the j)athway and her curtained chamber sought.
But the smell of the exotics brought the thought of him to heart,
As if slie had seen his features from amid their blossoms start.
Still her eyelids could not slumbei- nor her wakened sj)irit rest,
Long she tarried at her window in h(>r festive raiment drest.
A rare garment of her mothers, green an<l shinunering like the .sea -
For its value and its memories cherished always carefully —
She drew forth, and in the suidight of the early morn disj)layed.
J It was splendid, rich and heavy with its lace and silken braid.

Swift she roljed hers(?lf within it, standing where the mirror glowed.
Very lovely was the image that its polished surface showed :
Slender waist and classic shoulder, arm as marble smooth and round,
Eye of light and biow of beauty, shining, rijipling hair unbound.
Then she ])lied her ta])ei' lingers making wreaths of evergreen.
Brightened with the brilliant foliage that oei" all the land was seen.
Or she tied the varied poppies, and the doul)le maiigold,
And whatever other blosst)ms thus far bore the autumn's cold.
Toward the eve again resj)lendent in her silken garments rare,
Making haw and wa.xen berry (piaint adoi'ning for her hair.
Like a wood-nym})h of the forest, like a naiad of the stream.
Like a goddess of the river, like the s])irit of a dream,
Seeme(! the maid ; and lo, a horseman galloped up the shady way.
With plumed liat and coat of velvet, buttcmed breeches, ho.sen gay.
Long it boots not me to tarry all the converse to declare
That ensued tliat olden even 'twixt the gay and gifted pair;
For they talked until the sunset reddened all tlu; bannered land.
And again the moon of harvest showed her visage broad and blaiul :
Talked of autumn and its glories, forests wild and lonely seas.
Lands afar where bright birds gather and sweet spices lade the

breeze ;

:V2

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

Talked of (lowcis and their mute lanyiiaye, inM-tiv and Indian luif,
Kin<,'s and (|Ueens and lords and ladies, palaces and castles hoar ;
()i the passions of the spirit ; and the stranyei' dwelt on lo\e —
Sti'ongest spi'inj^ of huniaii action, slr-on^est jxiucr in heaven al)ove.
Kr«' he \aulte(l to the saddle warm he pressed her slender hand,
Savin;,', " Iloiiri of this heaven, i,'od(|ess of this forest land.
Fairest of all Adam's dain,'liters. sure you will not say nie nav.
If 1 ask ai^aiti to see you when the iiioi'row brings us dav.
I will hrin^' a paUVey for you, we will i-ide amid tin' land,
'Neath the shade of i^olden itirclies an<l the ma]ile's scarlet brand.
Farewell, fairest of the fair ones ! farewell, l)rii,ditest of the hi'iirht I
liook for me adown the jjathway eic the flay is at its height. "
As she watched his stately fi^i'ure down the forest way depart.
Triumj)h, with a stin^ that ve.ved it. lilled to oNcrllow her li-art.
By her window lont,' she linnered looking on the moon that slione
Half as hri^ditly as the morniny o'er the scene so IuisIk d and lone.
Ffir away she saw its radiance lij^htinL;' up the ri\('i's wave,
While a distant watch-do<f's hayini,' ei"h(»es woke in hill and cave.
Anna listeiu'd tt he having ; the hushed scene and mooidii^ht white

►Spake of peace, hut ill her spii'it 'coi'ded with the tpiiet nii,dit.

.■\nd when stai'ry lights were lilinkini; from the windows of the hall

Sickeninj; sens(> of desolation fell upon her like a pall.
How she longed to see the maidens, closest friends of all her youth ;
Longed to own to John her folly, own his kindness and his truth.
But like her of (jrecian fahle who, her dearest wish denied,

Anna Grey, her heart to hai'den, called uj) all her stuhhoi-n pride ;

Called up hurting slurs that often his industrious mothei' threw

Of the useless, fair and llippant youthful maidens that she knew.

Then sht? thought of the descrijition of his costly home afai'

Marmaduke tt^ her had given — there was nauglit its site to mar.

It o'erlooked a sheltered harbor, it o'erlooked a steepled town ;

Round it brooklets, orchards, gardens swept a gentle hill adown.

Tn its halls were waving banners ; there were bla/ed the Tempest arms,

There hung armor, spears and trumpets that of old blared wai's alarms.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

And she (lii'fiiiinl how slic mi,Lrlit cntci' tti tlxtsc tliron^'<!(l iiiid liiflitcd

rodiiis,
Drcst in I'icli hiui-udc iijid v»'l\t't, |ti"<>duct t'uir of Asius Ifxtins.
She sliuuld iLjIfanj in llasliini; dianunids, waslicd from deep (Joleondas

nunc

\Ake the cloudless ni<;lit of winter, she "mid spaiklin^j; throngs should

shine.
Then she sank at last to siuniher, lit hy many a tiouhled dream.
Now she seemed with .lolm to wander "long highway or forest stream :
I'.ut hlack mists would rise I)etween them — -^he would lose him in

their f(»ld ;
From his arm, that strove to shi»'lil her, she l»y might}' force seemed

rolled
IJy sotnf^ strong, resistless current, though she knew not whence its

power.
For it was not fire nor whirlwind. Hood nor plague, that ruled the hour.
Then the seat of his great manor she with stately Tempest trod.
When a lu)llow rumbling earth(|uake rent the ancient, vast abode.
From its heavy oaken rafters down its side of granite rock,
Kven to its vaulted cellars, it was cleft by (me dread shock.
Mighty winds snapped the tall steeples, all unroofed the seaward town.
While the sea with savage bellows rose the frighted land to drown.
"Mid it all she sought for shelter John Saint John's protecting hand,
r»ut she felt that she was distant from him in a stranger land.
Next she trod vine-tangled forests — such she ne'er before had seen —
Where strange yellow lights were floating over all the foliage green.
Olden oaks of gi-owth fantastic there were clasped by tendrilled vine.
There were long and trailing mosses, sturdy nut-tree, hardy pine.
Tracks of ghouls she saw beneath them : awful voices filled the boughs.
Crying woe and desolation unto an accursed house.
Sate a black-robed woman weeping, wailing on the sodden ground —
" Kachel thus bemoans her childnMi, ' cried a voice of hollow sound.
From her couch of troubled slumber on that sweet September night
Anna woke with fright and weeping ere the earliest gleam of light.

John Saint John and Anna Grey

CHAPTEU Til.

On, wlio w ill say tho iuitumn time is sober,
Hidini,' up hill und down dale o'er the land ;

When all the <,deaining banners of October
Are borne by merry woods on every hand ?

They haw the red for valor, gold for glory,
The green foi- victor's palm, for laurel crown ;

The brown for earth— there's naught of earthly story
But bears somewher(> a tint of gravest brown.

Shorn are the grain-fields over all the highlands,
Empty the pastures, Hocks and herds are gone ;

They roam, rejoicing now, the low, green islands,
The river islands of the broad St. John.

Bright are those holms as their encircling river,

And sw(M't with nut-tree, grass, wild-H(jwer and vine ;
And rich with all the wealth that earth can gather
From many a thousand years of storm and shine.

There sweetly, gaily sing birds of l)right feather,

The spirits of the islands in their voice
(While the blue waves and skies rejoice together)

>Say to the merry comer's lieart " Rejoice 1 "

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Tlic kiiu' of ivory ln»rn, red, milk wliite, spottf*!,

The lU'Ccy slifcp, ;in(l stt'cly footed steed,
l)eein tliese tlie iiutiiiiiii Promised l>;iiid, allotted

To all their tribes, and fretfly roam and feed.

From wild fjrape-vine they hrush the rich, ripe eliistei- ;

Their reckless steps quench the red sand-plum's shint> ;
'Neath elms and balm of Gilead trees they muster

Those elms of form to grace a land divine.

Hath till' shore i'ose-l)Ush (juite forgot its blossom.

So fr.iil yet lovely in the lovely June?
Or the anemone, that on its bosom

It bare so sweet a Hower that died so soon !

Ah, so(m will come the darkness of IVcember —

The holms' rich grass, the woods' bright banners gone !

Will litM'ds and steeds in their dim barns rememb(>r
The glorious islands of the broad St. John ?

Since the days when happ'd the story that my song would fain explain
Many a summer's shed its sunshine, many a winter's wept its rain ;
For o'er forest and o'er city, bringing bridals, births and biers.
There liave sped in mirth and mourning seventy* round and rolling

years ;
And the niiglity men that managed then the world so wise and vast,
As the giants ere the iJeluge, are a people of the past.
True, there walk some weary remnants of the race that then bare

sway.
With bowed back and step uncertain, feeble voice, and locks of grey,
C)ft speak to one another of the days of ycnithful mirth.
Of the sad degenerate present and the tleeting joys of earth.

The greater part of this poem was written about twenty-four years ago.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Oft tlicy iiiouiii, "Alas, my hmthcrl uli, liis <,'l<»i'y passed away;'
'I'licy lann'Ut tlicir youth and vi^'u.-, and tlicir life's short wasted

(lay.
And the bride that then in satin or in l.acf of l?el<,'ia stood
Pale an<l pensive by her mirror, in a sweetly silent mood,
With lier ruddy <j;olden rin^'lets, or her stnooth and sliinini,' braids,
Or her wavy raven tresses, decked by hands of dainty maids
With the fra^'rant bud and blossom, or the pearl from Persian deep, —
Doth she walk the earth a spectre, doth she lie in deathly sleep (
She hath found tliat shininj,' rin<,det, shininj^ wave and shinin;^ braid.
In the sun of life's niidsumniei' and tlu> frost of a},'e would fade.

Mornin<j winds were coolly blowinj^ over fields of aftergrass
That might tempt again the mower with his shining steel to pass
'Mid its trefoil thick with blossoms ; and a mansion, low and wide,
Stood with open doors and windows, close beside tlie river's tide.
There the healthful breeze was waving j)arlor curtains gi'ave and stifV,
Into |)lain and tidy chambers entering with a sweet'ning whiff.
Well it cleared the coarse, dark car})et spread on liall and curtained

room,
Product of strong, willing fingers, and the pond'rous kitchen loom ;
Free it entered to the kitchen, with its floors so dainty white,
Ample fire-place, wide red oven, tins in order, scoured and bright ;
Entered, too, the open dairy, cool and pure, where shining rows
Of clean vessels stood awaiting rich new milk when day should close.
Tliere a maid, in homespun habit, moved as l)risk as honey-bee
All around them and among them, humming (|uaint old melody ;
'Tending well her many duties, for the milk of tweiity kine
There was wrought to golden butter and to cheeses plunij) and fine.
Kitty Bro.adlands was the maiden ; well had she that morning plied
Work in chamber and in ki^x-hen, ere she to the dairy hied.
'Twas a liymn of deatli and grave-yards that the maiden chanced to

sing,
P>ut if thought e'er left the dairy 'twas to roam to Peter King.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

When t-lir riiiiid was ulinost rcfuly to (Icjiail the pure duinain,
Staiidiiii,' in tin- open dddrway she hchcld the liasliful s'.vuin,
Str()ii;,'ly clad iti hlucsl lioiiirspun, with broad hat, and sturdy u[oad
Tliat lit' hroui^'ht wliiTf.vitli to hastt'ii his fat bullocks o'er thf road.
Ilr had listi'iicd charuu'd and lent to the maiden's diiyc-likt' sont;,
Watched the wiry, busy flj^ure, with its motions swift and stronj^ ;
Anrl when she had turned toward him and hud j,'ivt'n ^reetirii^s kind,
Much he strove to speak up boldly to relieve his burdened mind.
As they souj^ht the low, wide mansion, walking; j^aily side by side,
Petei' niustpred iittini,' jihrases wherewith to bespeak a bride.
IJustic truly was his diction, but it could his thou<,dit impai't,
Kor it was the wai'in, outspoken lan<,'uaj^e of a maidy heart.
Kitty <,'ave an answei- fitting honest heart and earnest life —
She the towel' of sti'ength as dauj^hter would be tower of strength

as wife.
Well he knew he gained a treasui'e, well that treasure rare he prized,
Many a scheme for nobler living his new-cjuickened heart devised.
" I have somewhat else to tell thee, Kitty," said he. ''More and more
As with the great woild I mingle, lack of learning T deplore.
For one year 1 fain would study, by some famous mastei' taught."
" Oh I " died Kitty, interrupting; "Peter, 'tis a splendid thought!
liaste to put it into action, lest perchance it come to naught.
But one year will not suHice you — study three, or fi\e, or ten ;
You have money, youth and talent, win a name 'mid learned m(Mi.
I will, as my father wishe.s, .seek for help in household way.s.
And devote to mental culture portion of my means and days."

Fair above the ample mansion of Saint John the morning shone ;
Through its many open windows Hoated girlhood's cheery tone
Singing bits of song fantastic, or their tasks arranging gay,
For far more tlian wonted duties waited them that autumn day.
Yester had the house been righted ; every vase and spoon, I trow.
Book and card in nook appointed, peacefully was resting now.
Pure white gowns and table damasks from the wide Hung kitc^heii liiie,

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Flu|)i»ini,' ill tilt' l)i'eo/,o of moriiiiii;, da/zlcd witli their snowy sliiiic ;

I'lUt the iiiiuii^'linif iiiid tlic pressing still before the dau.ghters lay,

And the mother luid a])poinled gathering fruit the self-sanie day.

Missed must be the school-room lei^sons, Miss Buret must lend a hand^

For the help of all her household had the busy mistress planned.

Early on the eve de])arted a swift carrier had brought

A red-sealed and weighty letter, with a thrilling message fraught :

And the writer said that vacant in the Nova Scotian land

Was a post of raiv advantage he for John 8aint John had planned.

"When you slia'' have read this 'etter," said the scribe, "without

delay,
Even with the morning's dawning, set the youth upon his way."'
Warmly in his cause he'd battle as for offspring of his own.
And at need would speed petition unto lioyal George's throne.
"For to you," quoth he, "I'm debtor for my fortune and my fame ;
I)Ut for you T must have perished, outcast, with a sullied name."
It is needless \ should tarry all the writer's warmth to tell ;
Hugh Saint John, the loyal soldier, long had known and loved him

well.
At the letter's close 'twas written, "Mind not farewells or array.
Hut with dawn and favoring breezes set the youth upon his way."
Much was stirred the numerous household with the news the letter

brought :
Hugh Saint John, p(;rple.\ed and doul)tful, jiondered it with anxious

thought.
Though the loving sisters sorrowed that their brotlier should d(>[)art.
Sweetly novel and romantic seemed the scheme to each young heart ;
I>ut the mother grasped the project as tlie crown of her desire-
Breath of honor for her first-born roused her spirit's restless fire.
" Let the youth himself decide it," said the father ; "speak, my boy.
T)o you choose this stately ottice rather than our plain employ?
Though it bring you wealth and honor it will bring y(ju hea\y care,
And amid yon thronging city you a stranger's heart must bear.
If you go or if you tarry at your need all mine is yours.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

And a father's love .md counsel, wliile my niortul life endures.

(io not forth for lack of welcome — freedom, love and j)lenty hero ;

Tarry not if your young spirit panteth for a wider sphere."

John that day on yellow hill-tops, with strong arm hut heart oi)pressed,

Fierce had toiled from eaily nujrning till the sun sloped down the west.

Wreaking upon bearded harvest his pent anger and annoy.

Now the hope of Anna's sorrow at his going gave him joy.

All that day a hird of autumn, chattei'ing in the fringy pine,

To his ears spake these words oidy, " Amia novin- shall be tliine ; "

While a jealous echo answt'red all things fVom the forest's core:

"Anna shall be bride of Tempest ; thou shalt greet her nevermore."

Well he knew the post must bring him wearing toil and constant care,

Hut he hailed it sent of heaven to redeem him from despair.

Spake he, "1 will go, my father, forth into the world <jf men.

Who would not exchange the sickle for the ready writer's pen ?

Surely 'tis as grand to garner lore profound with doctors grey

As to toil on fields with liar\est hoary, as I toiled to-day.

Karnest toil of brain is worthy as the toil of stui'dy arm ;

Care that maketh wise and thoughtful tloth no youthful spirit harm.

Foi- glad childhood, merry boyhood, all my life shall happy be,

r.ut 'tis well the yoke to carry, and 'tis well the woi-ld to see."

Thus he strove, with hearu unseKish, cheery asj)ect to assume.

That home's cherished love-lit circle might not darken with his gloom.

"do, my son," the father answered, "if it be your chosen way ;

.Justly serve your generation, justly fill your hirelinir day.

Do not rest in error, pleading inexperient-e and youth ;

What you would that men should deem you, that become in very

truth.
Truly merit high [jreferment, truly earn your golden wage ;
Free fron, l)lot of bi-ibe or falsehood set your name in history's page :
To the heli)less prove a helper, to the friendless prove a friend ;
On your slight or grief or ailment scanty thought or pity spend ;
Strength of arm may not bi; mentionetl with the strength of mind

and heart.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

At the jKiwt'i' of ilicsf iiftVit,'lit»Ml half tli" ills of life dcpiut.

' ris your mother s (|ii»';Khlt-,,; s)>irif iliat hci' fniitilc tlcsh sustains,

Jicacinj; cafes in youth uinlreaiMed of, wcai'iiiess, jiri\ations, jwiiiis.

Seek the woi'thiest and the lii,i,diest, rest not in tiie n'ood and hii,di ;

Shape your eourse foi-ever tending; ujjward ; < the etei'iial sky.

Think thai men thi'ou^di generations to the sunset hour (»f time

Shall Ije meaner if you i,'rovel, shall Ik- nohler if you elimh.

If, unprosjx'iini!; or dishonored, all l)eside should prove unkind.

In your home and with your fatlier lielj) and suce<»i' you shal) find.

Space noi' tinn- nor shame shall part you from my heart, my hope, my

pi-ayer,
Where you hold tlie jilaee of Hrst-horn, oidy son and foremost heir."
Lon^ the mother (Hd not tarry listening' to tht; counsel sage —
She had sou,i,dit her tii'st-horn's chamber while he conned the written

Saw that hosiery and linen in their fittest place were lain,
l*'ree from hole or rent unsii,ditly, faintest trace of soil or stain ;
And when all seemed duly ordered and the hou.sohold hushed to re-,t,
Still the fond and busy mothei' darnecl and folded, stitche(l and

press<'d :
Mindful of her first-horn's comfort, mindful of her housewife fame.
Still she wrou<;ht a j^ai'mont f<ii' him. hy tlie midnight tapers tlame.
Wearily she often nodded, but she would not let it go —
The last stitch was barely fasteneil ere the cocks began to crow.
Long from open chamber casement .John beheld the moonlight calm,
Heard the rivei- waters singing low their ancient nightly psalm,
Watched the few pale stars attending tlieii' moon (jueen so mihl and

white,
Aiul the silver-winged \esseis resting in tlu' windless night
(On the morn in one bespoken he nmst hasten to depart).
Then his thoughts sped o'er the pastures to the maiden of his heart.
'Pride and anger roused within him to outHare and tjuench his love.
Hut its deathless Hame ■ as burning all their stormy force above.
And young Hope began to whispei', ''She may truly love thee still.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

'Tis a ficak of uirlisli tcinjicf, a strange jihasp <»f woma/s will.

(to thy way, and ulad I'ctui'iiiiij,' wlicn the Christinas wliitcs the wold

*She will meet and ,Lci\<' thee wclconii' as in nu'iry days of old."

Then his heart made answer, " l>e it e\(>n so, and all is well.

I will 1,'reet ami i,'i\e hei' weleoine kinfler than all words ean tell.

Hut if she hath never lo\cd nie, if F have heen all deeeived,

r>y my heart shall truest maiden never l)e ayain l»elieve<l ;

Never will 1 search the thousand, .seeking still the one to find :

iSave niv dear and eherislied kindre<l, unto me all womankind

Shall he us the v«'riest stranj^ers. 1 will seek some better name

Than a ])ortione<l maiden s suitor or a heartless lieauty's Hame.

Tills calm nii,'ht I make a covenant with my heart and witii my eyes,

I will never love tln-ir beauty, nevei' deem their wealth a prize ;

Never shall their wit encice me, never shall their wiles betray ;

T(» my (lod and to mv fellows 1 devote my manhoods day.

Foolish, heartless, misnamefl ]ileasure shall for me no charm possess,

r will ;,'ive my i^oUl and leisui'e dreary want and woe to bless.

I will serve tny kin;^ and country well ;ind truly as ] can.

Hut will risk the wrath of lieaven never for the praise of man.

I will seek His steps to follow, I will supplicate His throne.

Who our darksome eai'th-ways travelled, doin^ <.;ood and <;ood alone.

He liath never scorned noi" slitjhted one who kneeling sou<j;ht His aid.

He hath tasted i(all and wormwood. He himself w;is once betrayed."

Thus Saint .John sank int(» slumber, and the morn belie'd his sail

Down the r(tu;,'h blue river scuddin<,', hasted by a favorin*,' <;ale ;

Later morn Ix'held the mansion as my song before hath told.

Maude Saint .lohn, by chamber mirror combing her long locks of golil,

Said to Melicent beside lier : "Strange that .lohn has gone away

With no word, or line, or token left or sent to AnnaCJrev."

This the mothei' heard, and entered — ".John," said she, "is angered

sore :
He hath very much tV)rgiven, l)Ut lie will forgive no moie.
He hatli heart and ho can sut!'er, he hath eyes and he could see
Her coijuetting with yon stranger in a style so fond and fr(>e.

John Saint John and Anna Grey

When with cup in haiul he bade lier farewell tender, soft and long,
Well she knew they funned a picture viewed by an adniiriiif;; throng :
How she gazed on his e(]uipinents, how slu' dallied with his plume —
Scarce could I resti'ain my anger even in that crowded room."
" Mother/' spake the younger sistei', that the theme might varied be.
" If at Chi'istmas John returneth fron\ that city by the sea,
May T go with him to see it ? oh, they say its sights are fair :
Miss Buret last night was telling they have splendid parties tnere."'
"(Jo? You think of naught but pleasure! Help your sister strip

the vines ;
You may cold in death be lying when another Christmas shines."
Little deathly looked the maiden as she lightly tripped away,
With a girlish shrug of shoulders and a rhyme of ditty gay.
While the lady long d(>scanted of what starving, prisoning lay
In the path of her fair daught<Ms if they did as Anna Grey.
Flushed, impatient, conscience-goaded, Anna Grey her chambei- paced,
Wliile her moth(>r tired preparing viand she might deign to taste —
She could almost weep for pleasure when at last her child paitook,
Ga\e her passirmate embracing and an old-time suiiny look.
lUit the sunshine on lier features and the sunlight in her heart
Were like gleams in days of snow-storm, seldom seen and swift to part.

Ilarvest-nuMi amid the mea(k)ws, woodmen on the forest i-oad,
Indians gathering s})lints for baskets, settlers clearing acres broad.
Saw two tall and stately figures ride that day amid the land —
One a maid on prancing {> 'frey, one a knight on charger granil.
Over hill and over valley proudly did they ride away.
The rich bosses of their gearing Hashing in the sunlit day.
She was di-est in trailing habit, dark hat, tall and narrow-biimiued,
He in garb of black -gi'een velvet with the spotted ermine trimm(vl.
Horns and pistols richly mounted pendent from his shoulder glowed.
While the })lumes upon his forehead nodded as he gaily rode.
Where the singing, mossy brooklet thi'ough the glades its wild way
wound ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

v.\

Whoiv the lavish, spendthrift hiivluvs tossed their ,^(,id upon the

.yround ;
Where the hroud-leaved suyar niapl(« flared in wind its scarlet bla/e ;
Where afar the hiirnt-wood bi-anches shininiei-ed like a smoky Im/e ;
Where the butternut and oak tree rattled doun theii- fiMiitaiie dry ;
Where above the cedar brandies showed broad strips <jf Heecy sky :
Wheie the l)ells of the nii,di city reached them in a holy chime -"
Kode youn^' Marmaduke and Anna in that olden autunm's prime.

John Saint John and Anna Grey;

CHAPTEH IV.

'TwAs ill the sinniiKM-'s early hlooni —

The houi- was early eve

I walked with sullied, sad intent

O'er witliered lio])e.s to grieve.

"Tell me," said T, " thou creseent m.M,n,
Those g<)r<reous clouds ahoxc,
Can lov<. for-et .'—can human heart
Yield up its early love?"

The fireflies ^danced from shrub to ,i,'round
The southern wind swept by,

Hustlin,:^ with <(entle silvery sound
Among the bearded rye ;

Or with a sad, proph(>tie voice.

As of an injured seer,
.Speaking amid the leafy boughs

Of forests standing near.

Tt told of summer storms to fall

Kre many days were fled.
And whispered to my heai-t a feai-

Of storms mor(> fierce and chead.

From the grey shore a nmrmur came—
The murmur of the waves —

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Lappiji^r tlio scattered rocks that hDund
A hill of lonely <fraves.

Perchance ii spii-it in the wind
Whispered the thrillin^r strain

That stin-ed my waking i>assions so
And smote my heart witli ])ain.

A voice amid the hending lye

And leafy foliage near,
Said : " Think not n(jw of earthly love,

Or hate, or hope, or fear.

" Before the mower fills his arms,
Or he who hindeth sheaves
Upon the hills embrowned and shorn
The scattered gleaning leaves;

" Before the leaves, so shining now,
Shall fall in autumn's day,
At beck of wild and hollow winds,
Upon the angry spray,

" Thy flesh beneath its kindred sod
Shall find a ti'an<{uil i-est ;
Seek that thy spirit with its Go(]
Be now and ever blest.

4',

'Tis a world of useless evil, of unprofita])le sin
Where we slight the good that offers and we toil the curse to wir.
{fiercely oft the babe contendeth with its elder for a toy
Which, when given to its clamor, bringeth hurt instead of joy ■
Painfully the truant hideth 'mid cold shades his cowering form'

John Saint John and Anna Grey;

Triumpliiiij? iti thus ('.scfipiiij^ from tlu' schdol-rooin l)right and warm ;
Clovi'rly the yuutli outwittt'tli teaclRT stern and parent kind,
Folhnvin;^ thus a path that leaveth wealth and weal and hope heliint].

Past was all the joy of harvest, ended all of sutmiuM' sweet,
NiLfhtly sn<iws had wi-aj)pe(l the rej^ion in a mighty windin;,' sheet ;
l)ark the clouds hun^ in the heavens, and an icy drizzlin;,' rain
Slowly fell on tlowerless garden, fell t)n empty harvest plain.
Twas the sad and bleak Nt)veml)er of the lealless shrul) and tree.
Of the dark and swollen waters, of the wet and lonesome lea.
Ivuddy eot and ample mansion stood as in the days of old
When NovemluM' rains were falling and November winds were cold ;
But there lacked a hajipy presence all about the dwellings twain
That were wont t(j be most cheery in the da3's of storm and rain.
Still the mansion's first-born sojourned, lonely in the neighbor land.
Melicent, the merriest maiden of the merry girlish band,
Was, though still a laughing maiden, prisoner in a curtained room,
With a cough that sounded hollow as the knell of coming doom.
On her cheek was burning liectic, in her eye a glassy light,
AjkI lier form was swiftly wasting and lier hand was thin and white.
But she bravely kept her courage ; never would she much complain.
Saying that sweet health was coming when glad spring came round

again.
But that morn so dark and lonely forced her young heart to despond,
As the grave seemed oped before her and the shadowy land beyond.
All in view was ghastly terror, howling storm and utter night,
With no promist^ of a morning and no gleam of starry light ;
Then her spirit sank within her a,nd she shuddered in her fear,
Craving some strong arm to lean on, some })rotecting presence near ;
For she thought if but her father's or her elder brother's hand
Might be only stretched to guide her she might tread that fearsome

lami.
But the thought of that dear brother, from his home so far away,
Where no message might recall him for full many a wintry day,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Made lici' sink in iiljjcct wo('{)injjf with lici- tliin Iwinds nvv her face,
As sho spake of faithless Anna and l)eni(»aned her hi-otlier's case.
"Ah!" she sohix'd, '•thoii:L,di at the Christmas dearest .John sliall

hoinewai'd come,
Tlie white shroud shall he my raiment and my home shall be the tomh.
He shall scarce discern my restinj^^-place amid the mounds of snow —
() my father 1 () my mother I was it well that he should go?
Oh, I drca<l to li(> so silent and so icy and so lone,
Far from all the fi'icsnds and kin<lred that my cheerful youth hath

known,
Whei'(> no hurst of youthful lau,!;hter and no sound of human voice,
Nor a ray (»f sunlij;ht enters that the dwelh-rs may rejoice.
Th(! dim shadowy land of sjtirits all alone my soul must tread,
Nor can I return to tell you how my journey shall have sped.
All alone my spirit nuist ap})ear before a holy God —
Would that it with my poor ashes mi,i,dit be hid below the clod."
Gentle Maude and Clare were with her, and with hers were blent

their tears ;
Truly did they mourn her sorrows, truly did they share her feai's.
Then the eider took the IJible in her white; and tri'mbling haiul.
Oped its faded velvet covers, looser! its .sturdy brazen band.
Found where ancient Israels prophet, sacred bard and shepherd kiny:
Doth a song of joy and rapture to the Lord his .Shepherd sing ;
For her eye at first alighted where he said, "Although T go
Through death's gloomy vah; of shadow, yet shall T no evil know ;
For Thy {)resence shall attend me, and Thy I'od and stafl' shall cheer."
*' Ah," she said unto the sullerer, "surely there is comfort here."
Th(!n sh(? read again, where .Jesus to the sad and weary spoke,
JSaying, "Come, and take iVIy burthen, come and bear My easy j'oke."
How He suffered, how they lai(i Him — in a shroud (»f liTien wound —
In the tomb till the third morning rolled its gladsome hours around.
How He blessed His waiting followei-s when to heaven He did ascend.
How He promised to be with them till the years of time should end.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

TluMi sli«' real a liyirui ot' lifavcii t'l'oiii an atu-ituit hook — tlif pri/**
Of a serving maid, who cunneil it often o'er witli weepini,' eyes :

THK HYMN.

"The Lord is our kinjj; and He rul(!s in a land
Tliat is hi'iifliter than morning can lie,
For the excellent glory of (»od and the Lanih
Lighteth river and city and sea.

"The river rejoieetli tlie vales and the sti'eet
Of a city of music and mirth,
Wiiose solid foundations have garniture meet
Of all maiHiei' of jewels of woi'th.

"The sea is of glass, and upon it there stand
The ransomed (»f many a clime,
Who sing to the hai'ps that they lujld in their hands
In a sweet and unfalterinj' chime.

"Their song is of Him who once lived, who was dead,
And who liveth foi'ever again :
Whose blood upon Calvary's mountain was shed
That His people Mount Zion might gain.

" We must pass through a valley all desert and dicar,
W^e must wade through a cold-tlowing stream,
Ei'e that city we reach that as crystal is clear,
And whose light as a jaspei* doth beam.

" IJut our Jesus's hand and His glorious arm,
And the light of His favor shall bring
The souls He hath ransomed from death and from harm.
His praise in that city to sing.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick. 41)

"TIk' Lord is (»iir jud^'c uiid <>ui' luuLciNcr just,
He is kiiif^ ()v<'r present and past ;
Tf we lii»])»' ill His iiJinic, tlmuj,di \vc sleep in llie dust,
We sli.'dl w.'ikeii to jn'aise liiiii at last."

These sweet words her spirit entered, and their entrance ;,'a\t' Iier lii^lit.
Fi'DMi the dreaded, darksome \alley lifted seeiiie(| the veil of iiii,dit ;
For she felt a Father kiiidt-r than hei' own sire rideil that laml,
There a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother was at hand.

Where was she the fair and youthful, she the Ltraeeful and tin' <,'ay,
Bright of liioui^ht and swift of action, jjioud and stylish Anna (Jrey
Slie in white-sailed ship was speeding far upt)ii the dreary main :
Never to her pleasant lessons should she cross the hills again :
Nevermore a dashing beauty she through gleaming woods should

ride.
For ere going of October she became proud Temjtest's bride.
Uride of heartless Tempest — Tempest of the cold grey eye,
Of the broad, receding forehead, Saxon hair and lineage high ;
Seeming ever lavish-handed, knowing well the knightly part,
But in truth a selfish niggard and a craven at the heart.
When the year through leafless branches, howling, mourne(l its early

fall,"
And th(^ lonely, lingering robin answered the weird cat-bird's call ;
When th(! crested, murky waters chafed upon the sombre sand,
And th(^ sunlight of October goldened all the leaf-strewn land.
He had led her to the altar of the elruicel light and fair.
And irrevocably either plighted faith t;_ other there.
Past were all their grand appearings in church, rout and wildwood

grov(! ;
Past the idle talk and wonder that she left her early love ;
Still were vended wondrous stories of the strangei''s power of wealth,
And by many it was hinted John had left his home by stealth ;
That when the great bantpiet ended he had wept and torn his hair.
4

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Cursed his fatlicr, inotlicr, Anna, TiMnjM'st.in his tU^ep despair;
Fearirif; to cctufroiit his rival, liatiii<{ to he seen hy h,i,'ht,
He had eonifiassed his departin;^ under eovert of tlie night.
Others in a lower whisper, witli a wiser look and tone.
Said that Anna knew Ins vices, that to very few were known.
Almost all aj^reed to blame hint, and to ])i'aise the fortune rare
That had joined the dowerless (jrphan to the grand and wealthy heir.
Scarce two moons since first she saw him, scarce two weeks since

they were werl.
Had elapsed when Anna waited one drear morn for Tempest's trejwl.
Thoughts were surging timjugh her bosom like the wind amid the

tre(!s
That upon hei- country's mountains woo'd the wild and wintry breeze.
Could it be that he already wearied of her matchless charms.
And already cursed the passion that had won her to his arms ?
For his manner fast was chilling ; often seemed he sore perple.Ked,
Oft would sit in motKiy silence as if secret trouble vexed.
On the morning after marriage to his hand a letter cai"8 —
He had read it, pale with anger, and consigned it to the tlame,
But it wrought a change within him, and he hastened to depart
To that fair and sea-girt islaiid that is (jueen of every mart.
Often was he seated hjiu^ly, looking o'er the waters gray ;
Aniui's converse could not stay him, nor her song his care jiJlay.
Tliat sad morn she had not seen him, though the hour of noon was

nigh,
And she scare press the teardrops backward fron\ her shining

eye
The poor , of weeping she preforce herself denied,

For it seeui^d but illy suited to a gay and happy bride.
As she fain woukl be accounted by the captain's prying Game
Who full oft with show of frankness to her rich apartment came.
Long that morn tiie lady tarried, taxing Anna's self-control,
Till slie wished for her departing with the fervor of her soul.
When at last her going footsteps and her warbled song were heard —

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Soiif; tliiit sduiulcd riiij.i,, hcaillcss as the note of talkinj^ Wird —
Then the winds s(» sadly sounded all amid the sails and siii'ouds,
TIuMi the rain like floods of weepin;^, passionate burst from low rent

c'l(»uds.
And the salt and sohhinir billows dashed the tall shij)'s oaken side.
Thouj,'hts of })leasures ^one foi'ever overwlielmed the hapless bride ;
Pleasures truly -one forever as if a<^es had o'erpast
In the stead (»f days autumnal, since she tasted of them last.
Sadly as the win<i that wailinj^ swept the lorn and leaden nuiin,
Came her sij,dis from younj,' heart bursting with its bittej', homesick

])ain.
Wretched as the rain that ceaseless, icy, dri/./lin;.', crusted all,
Fell her teai's with no i'elievin<< in their thick and blending fall :
Tossed by hopes and fears of futun^ that she could not fathom ntoro
Than the restless waves that bore her to a dreaded stranger shore.
Long she lay ; at last, ai'ousing, 'twas beside her couch to find
Stately Marmadukc^ astanding, as she thought, with aspect kind ;
Then, forgetful of his grandeur, <jf his coldness, of her pride,
Only feeling that her spirit craved, and would not oe denied,
Sympathy and tender loving such as it had ever known ;
Swift her head was on his bosom and her arms a )out him tiirown.
But as swift he raised her fi-om him, speaking in her tingling ears :
" Anna, you will spoil my i-utHes with your senseless maudlin tears.
Of all sights, my utmost loathing i." to see a woman weep,
For their tears are as deceitful as their hearts are false and deep.
Are ycu mourning for your cottage built of logs upon the wild ?
Or your semi-idiot moth(>r doubtless wailing for her child ?
You to weep ! You should be laughing. \ have all the cause for tears ;
For your sake I've risked a fortune and a name among my peers.
Aye, have dai'ed my mother's anger, all my haughty kindred's scorn —
You to weep, when you have nothing but your poverty to mourn I "
Silent, stunned, amazed she listened — could he speak to wound her

moi'e i
Still his lashing words were falling on her spirit smarting sore ;

r.')

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

'Twas |XM'cliJiiie(' tli(> tVcn/iod un,<;'uisli of hcv wild ov" woke liis fear.
Or a latent sense of manhood roused in shame such words to hear,
For in accents somewhat milder, with a little less of scori».
He pursued: "My brain is maddened since T grasped, that hapless

morn,
The last letter of my motlier's. 8lu^ most harslily hids me come ;
And I dare not longer tariy, though T loathe to seek my home.
As T am with you encumbered. She had formed another plan ;
[ have thwarted her aspirings, and we both must feel her ban.
Little rouses hei' to pjission and her ang(M' long endures.
Yet T soon sliall Hnd my welcome, though I cainiot speak for yours.'
Fen of poet, brush of painter, utnu>st power of both combined.
Could but ill depict the passions stt)i'ming then through Vnna's

mind.
I>urning rage and strong resentment soon most impotent to prove.
And a deep and heart-sick longing for a lost, ujiselfish love
IJorne by one who would have girded on his sword ft>r mortal strife
To defend and proudly honor her lie sought to ha liis wife.
I5ut the greatness of her sorrow bade her rouse lier spirit's strength.
And young hope its drooping })inions stirrer! within her heart at

length.
What a lioon is hope to mortals, ending but with closing life I
Who could far without its helping all tli' oppi-ession and the strife?
Hope portrayed the happy chances that before liei- nn'ght unfold.
Well it was she kiunv so little of the cruel world and cold,
Of the haughty, false and envious hearts, possessed by humankind,
Or the hope tliat then ui)held her, liad been banished from her mind ;
And perchance beneath the waters, lapping swift the vessel's side,
She had sought her form of beauty and her bursting heart to hide
Well she realized so little in that lone and evil hour
All the honor paid to I'iches, all the worshij) ])aid to power ;
How th'' mean man and the mighty and the wise and foolish bend
IJntc. nim whom foi'tuiu> tak(>th by the hand as chosen friend ;
Of how seldom those ipuurtiu'ed upon fortune's lap secure

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Art- uiifoiiscious (»!• fornvtful of their ri^'ht to criisii the poor ;
How till" j^ood niJiirs scornful pity and the evil's scornful hatt^
Come to him who vaiidv struyj'les in the net of adverse fate ;
Of liow futile are the efforts of one soul, however stronj,',
Matched against the will of numbers, the designini^ of a thr(»nt?.
No : ah, no 1 she little fancied that slu' stood alone and poor,
Tliat it must l)e hers in silence to succumb and to endure.
Schemes of vengeance wild she nurtured, as she pale and trembling

stood,
Upon Tempest and his mother, upon all who shared his blood.
But the clouds of heaven grew weary and theii' constant (tripping

ceased.
As the noisy wild toward gloan:ing shifted fi'om the numi)ing east;
From the ^rimson west uprising came a bracing l)ree/.e and strong,
And the clouds before its vigor floated like a spirit throng ; —
Or like troops of lightsome dancers they behind each other whirled,
Or they gleamed like l)iilliant banners on theii' stricken staffs

enfurled ;
Or like liair all gray and ragged, dabbled with the sanguine tide.
Of a heart both fond and faithful that in winning battle died.
Anna listened to confusion of the west wind and the flood.
Looked upon the sunset heavens with their garments rolled in blood.
>Short time since a scene so glorious had her every grief beguiled.
Now as sad she gazed upon it, very bitterly slie smiled, —
Smiled in memory of her childhood, of her girlhood's happy day.
Of a deathless love tiiat blessed it, lost to her ancf lost for aye.
Entering to her lighted cabin she amid her treasured store
Sought for book or gem or trinket that a thought of pleasure bore.
Soon she found a tiny volume, gift of John the year gone by ;
Bound in gilt and azure was it, and she grasped it reverently.
John had writ lier name within it — 'twas a Ijook of pleasant rhyme —
Vividly it ))rought before her the last merry Christmas time.
As an oracle she oped it, on these words her vision fell.
Striking in upon her spirit sadly as a funeral knell :

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

A PHOI'HKCV.

Oh, there is ;i strjin^e evil that waitetli thy coniinj;,
Yctunj? beautiful hride of a week uiul a day :

And there was a strantfe sorrow that tiouhled thy ;,'oiiiu ;
There shall l)e a liorror still hauntiii<; thy way.

Thou shalt dwell in a palace, but stricken and chidden,
And soon from bright garden and taj)estrie(l looin

Tliou shalt ]»ass like a ghost, and thy name shall l)e hiddfti
By (hirkness more dense than tlie sh!wlt)w of doom.

F'or thou shalt not lie down bv the side of thv father,
Twixt shade of the forest and How of the wa\e,

Wher Ml}' mother, in mourning, coM'.es often to gather
The faint-colorevl violets off his lone grave.

Neither shalt thou l)e laid in the sepulchres hoary
Of sires of thy bridegroom ; nor n<'ar to the pile

Whose stained windows memorial, glazed to their glory»
O'erlook dnvimy chancel and echoing aisle.

Neither shalt thou lie down in the light of thy morning.
In strength of thy youth and the blush of thy bloom :

Murky clouds shall have hidden the gold of thy dawning.
Thy lieart shall be weak (Me thou gieetest the toml).

Far away from the fair forest home of thy childluxxl,
The true one who woo'd tliee in youth's early • y ;

To the nmsic of winds and the mirtl' of the wildwood
Tliy life shall l)e shut till thy !o( s shall be gray.

Thou hast dashed from thy own lip the cup of true pleasure
Hast i)lanted the cypress that shadows thy way ;

Tliou hast robbed thy own soul of unspeakable treasure,
Young beautiful bride of a week and a day.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick

After short ;iiul prosperous voya^'o. as tlic iiiylit was turiiiii<,' pale,
Three weeks thence a stately vessel (Irupj)e(l her aiichoi-. furled lier

sai

As the heart}' British sailors shouted foi- theii' native land,
Drearily looked Anna Tempest on a region strange and grand.
.Marinaduke was sitting near her, gloomy as an evil ghost,
l>reaniing, absent, sighing often, all his knightly healing lost.
Atma curbed her lieart to rouse him, .saying : " JIusband, must it l)e
That we seek y<tur angry mother? Ix't us fr<»m her pre.senc'e flee."'
liut she only spake to nuise him, for her fond ambitious heart
Could not yet with a'l its visions of great wealth and grandeur part.
IJlankly then he looked upon her, deigning not to make reply;
Hose ere long and gazing seaward walked with a i-ekindled eye.
When again he .spake to Anna 'twas in hopeful, -gleeful tone —
All his gloom and all his harshness like a morning mist had flown.
"Trust me, Anna, ti'ust me truly, and all things shall yet V)e well ;
Hut be sure to win my mother, for her wrath is fierce and fell.
You must also coui't my sisters — nine there are, botli proud and old ;
One is widowed, with two daughters — these are young and fair and

bold.
More than all things seek their favor, for they rule their motlier well.
And my mother lists to nothing more tha,n to the tales they tell.
As for my bed-ridden father, poor and almost imbecile,
He will sweai' you are an angel if above his couch you smile."
Scarce coul(' Anna curb her anger as these words he lightly spoke ; —
Did he dream of her subjection to the manifolded yoke?
But her proud and sickened spirit could not, would not, frame reply,
As she fixed her gaze upon him scornfully and silently.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

CilAPTKK V

DriJ, \\\r sunlight of Novciiiltci' strun'.ylcfl tlii-ouuli <^y;\.\' ••louds up-

|)ilt'(l
111 a sky that afulicd a laiidse-ajic wliich in soiiilji'c l)cauty .smiled.
St>ft the waters oi the harbor lapju'd where sliips of ini,u;hty mast,
Fishiiiij; craft and pleasui'e shallop dropped their anchors safe and fast-
Jii;jlity trees o'erlnoked tlie harbor, l)owery were the streets and lanes,
l)lo< mini;' Mowers like liapjiy faces peeped from polished window

jianes.
A cathc Iral, shade-environed, from its ivied tower sublime
Sounded fortli the noon and mi<lnij;ht, even-sonif and matin chime.
iNlany a churdi and many a chapt>l bold the ^leamin;;- cross upraised ;
Flags were floating in the sea-breeze, with device and motto blazed.
There were h(tmes of ancient nobles, orphanage and school endowed,
White-washed cot of lowly lab'rer, uuirble dome of banker proud :
Mighty factories, gloomy-windowed, that had never heard the roar
Of the fire-fed, steam-breath 'd monstei', stood anear the pleasant

shore.
There the mercer showefl his velvets, ribbons l)right, and stiff' brocade ;
Tawny Jews pararled jewels rarely polished and inlaid ;
Dingy dustmen, grimy coalmen, sooty sweeps with ragged hair,
Wiry tinkers, noisy hawkers, plied theii* ti-ades or cried their ware ;
Soiled and tawdry gyp"*y beauties told long tales from travellers'

palms :
Ragged cripples hop))ed on crutches, barefoot urchins asked for alms;
Ample coaches, lined with velvet, bore their freight of ladies bright.
Others rinle with swain or servant upon jtalfreys swift and light ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

i)i

HanrliiKiifl trim and liayifjird srainstrcss, <j;ay apincjitirc, laiiLtliinij;

Answt'i-iii",' hearts of youths and niaidciis, niolhi'r kind and soldit-r

])rav(' ;
Hlazinj^ t'orjff and rini^inif anvil, sound of hanniicr and of saw ;
Students j^owned with eaj)s faiitastie, learned doetors of the hiw .
Shal)hy orj>lians lean and decent, widows (h'aped in weeds of woe —
Helped to form an Kn<;iisli eity more than sev(>nty* yeais ai^o.
Here, as liearty l>ritisli sailors shouted for their native land.
Drearily looked Aruii! Tempest on the scenes <i;iotes(jue or j^rand.
Broad and far a street went sweeping from the thron<i;ing town

away —
fiiant oaks and elms with shadow almost shut it from the day ;
Then it merged again to sunlight, wound its way 1)V hillsides green ;
O'er the meadows in tlie distance was the gleaming ocean seen.
Parks uprose in stately order where tlie deei* wei'e browsing free ;
Fleecy Hocks and horned cattle fed on watei'ed j)asture lea :
Gardens gay with bowers of shadow, winding walks and seats of ease
Trees defending from the east-wind curious harps that wooed the

breeze ;
Gateway witli heraldic figui'(>s liewn upon its rocky sheen :
Wreathen garlands, trailing serjjents o'er the solid aich w(>re seeii.
Tliere were huge and maned lions crouching on their graii'te paws,
Harpies with their snaky tresses, stonv eves and brazen claws ;
All about the grounds and gardens fountains leapt and bi'ooklets

streajued ;
Figures culled from classic legend in the purest maible gleamed ;
Peacocks screamed from grassy t(;rraee, prisoned song-birds wai'bleti

deal'.
And the lordly home of Tempest reared its stately turrets near.

On that morning r^july TemjM'st sat within a curtained room,

* Tliis was written moi'e than twonlv years A''o,

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Hung iibdiU with gorgeous cliiiitzos redolent of race perfume,
In an ample eliair encushioned like the curtains, where the blade
Of tall grass, the rose, the tulij), iris lily wei'e displayed.
Here and there \.ere matehing sofas: swaying chairs the tables bore;
(Jilded volumes of embroidt'ry, lace designs and crotchet lore ;
There were ottomans of velvet wrought in wools whose shades outvied
Southej-n Afric's wilding meadows, or an English garden's pride ;
Waxen flowers and marble vases, Parian statuettes were there :
Pearl work-boxes, silk work-tables, horns of shell and wi'eiiths of hair.
Near the grate hung brillifint tire-screens — one of richest silk displayed
Sarah entertaining angels : — she was di'cst in green brocade,
High-heeled boots and JNlechlin head-dress ! From her zone were

hanging keys ;
The ethereal guests wore gii'dles, breeches buckled at the knees,
While the needful wings were springing from beneath the shoulder

blade.
The (jueued Father of the Faithful to the roasted fat ling bade.
I^ady Tempest, clad in canibrii-, wrapjjed about with Indian shawl.
With fierce gesture of impatience clasped her withered hands no

small ;
Clutched her shawl about her bosom, crushed a bi-oidered keichief fine^
Waiting for her two granddaughters and her wealthy daughters nine.
(Sisters nine, but little semblance they unto the Muses l>ore ;
More they seemed like three-fold furies of the fal)led days of yore.)
Most unconnnon was th' appeai'ing of the lady's eyes of jet, —
Never one who looked upon them t-ould their evil light forget.
Her dark brow had many a wrinkle, her dull cheek had many a

seam,
Hers was all in all a visage that might haunt a feverish di'eam.
There was little trace of beauty in her black and restless eye,
liound her mouth so shrunk and purplish, on her brow so daik and

high.
She hfid ti'od a che(|uered pathway, strangt^ adventures iiad she .seen —
She had been a needy maiden ; wetlded anfl a widow, been ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Of lii,i,'li hirtli, l)ut loMu'd of tuituiic that by liglit to ht'i' hclonycd ;
l>y a coarse and cruel ecusin starved and lieaten, eurs(>d and wroii;,'t'd.
Slie in childhood paid her starving,' l)y (Jespoilinjj; trees of fruit,
Smashing; dozens of Madeira, j)luckin,y choice vines from tlie root ;
And slie would i'e{)ay hei* heatiniL; on lare fowl or liorse or hound —
These would stalk all nude of feathers, niaitned or l)earinj^ j,'hastly

w<»und ;
And she lived to liurl hack curs(>s wilder than his jiiaddest tliouyht,
Wronj; unto his ciiildrens childien still with tireless hand she

wi'oujiht.
Since had many a foe and evil risen to o])struct her path,
But she had herself o'erconie them hy her matchless force of wrath :
By her temper all o'erbearini;, Ity the fuiy of her tonj;;ue,
Stronj; she con(juered, weak she tram])led, awed the aged, (juelled the

young.
Fiei-ce she scorned whoe'er submitted, well she gloried in lier power,
For her fury and Uvv riches were her l)ulwark and her tower.
Ne'er to will of any being had her spirit bowed the least —
She was lier own (_}(k1 and pro{)het, hei' own altar, fane and priest.
Fortune she Iwwl once been robbed of to her iiand retui'ned again,
'rh(>n she wed a wealthy merchant trading to the Indian main.
Wondrously had evei- thriven every scheme that he controlled ;
At his touch all ores, all fabrics, were transmuted into gold.
(Jems of India, teas of China, spices borne oer tlesert tract.
Tumbled wealth into his coffers in a yellow cataract,
And full many a needy noble, to his costly pleasures sold,
Pledged his all that might be bartered for the mighty merchant's

gold.
Thus it was the Lord of Tempest felt the bondage and the thrall
Of a deejjly owing debtor to the harsh Ezekiel Small.
< )ne dark day there came a courier to the merchant, in his pride,
Bringing not a word of tidings of his tall ships on the tide.
No : he had anotlun* message, on a dilferent errand came :
Hence away he called the merchant, — Death his awe-inspiring name.

i)0

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

I'uto cjic'li of Ills iiiiH- »l;uiifht('rs Stiiiill u ^'oodly poi'tioii ^javc,
And, ptTcliaiicc ii little t'cuit'til lliiit his wit't' Ix'yoiid tlif <;ravt>
Miiilit pursut' liiiii with hrr t'liiy, thfU such ill iiii^ht not Ix'titlc,
111' hi'stowrd (111 her a |»i>i-tii)ii uiuj)l('r than tlu> whole hesitle.
Many a vessel with its (•ar<,'o came into her t,'rasj>itj<f hands,
.Jud:,'iiieiit bonds on handsome houses, niort;fa;;es on sniilinif lajids.
And the (lel)toi' deemed most hojteles.-. was tiie lieir of TtMupest

towel's.
He had spt'iit, in princely riot, wealth and soul and body's powers —
Debts at every an^le met liim, (lel)ts he could not face noi- tiee.
Loans to bankers, debts of honor, bills to men of low de^jree.
Tli'Mi a bi'iiflit dream dawned upon iiiin -Ijrilliant dreams had i)anned

his life —
To repair his shattered prospects with the fortunes of a wife.
Wh(» more fitting for a jtartner than the dame he (leei)Iy owed !
'Twas her gold that like a vision of delight decked his abode.
Like a barons stately mansion was it in the days gone i)y,
Now it seemed a princely palace fur its grace and luxury.
And 'twas gold of hei-s had gilded car\en cornice, paved the halls.
And in painting rare and sculpture brightened niche and lofty walls.
'' Well,' (pioth he, " T know her hideous, but she's doubtless fond as

I will make her Lady Tempest, she shall bring me store of gold.
I my olden spurts will follow ; once again relieved from care.
Merrily my days will speed them ; hers in 'broidery, buuks an<l prayer,
AVith hei' nine uncomely daughteiv, dully, placidly will tlee —
Should she chouse the mirth and revel it will matter naught to me."
Thus he sought the august widow ; well 1 ween he spake her fair.
She had ever deemed it fitting she a (H)runet should wear,
And she hasted now to grasp it to bedeck her wiiit'ning hair.
They were wed, and of the union — godless, loveless and unblest —
A fair sun was born. Xuw, truly it wuuld seem the last request
Of the lady iiad been answered ; but more haughty grew her will.
And more fiercely raged her passion at each real or fancied ill.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Niiii(> (Mdild couiU oil pf'iU'c and stilhn"^^ in the iiiaiisiini and liii^'li

\s id<^ —
One |»('ivhaiu'(' at dt'ptli nl' iiiidiiii^ht would he suniinoiK'd to her side
To account for peccadillo in sonif coiiici- \vr(»u<^lit l)V <lay
That had not escaped liei- notice lait liad banished sleep away.
If pei'ehanee a seivini,' maiden, kept in weary thrall l)y day,
At the midnight i)enned a letter to lu'r lovei- far away,
My a scanty tallow tafH-i' in aTi attic far on hi,:,'h,
Site was l»roii<^ht in early moiiiinu to confront the huly's eye,
Charged with amor, stealing, witchcraft, laslu'd with many a galling

word.
Till she rued that sh(> had ccr gentle voice (if wooer heard.
As for Cecil, Loi'd of Tempest, he had led a hajtpiei- life
Tn the cell of debtor's prison than with his all-owning wife.
Cook and footman, steward, ])loughman, owned her furious will

alone —
Meaner than the meanest seemed he in the hall so late his own.
Now 'twas hers, and she proclaimed it ; sycttphants took up the

strain,
Strangers slighted, tradei's passefl him, servants snubbed hei" smile to

gain.
As for hei- nine hapless daughteis, if warm hearts were ever tlieirs,
She had well out-srort'ed, out-crushed them in theii' early girlhood's

yeai's.
There had not been kicking suitoi's brave enough to face her wrath
Tn the frantic hope (tf gaining golden paving for life's path.
Vain th(^ hopes of most had proven, but a miser lean and grey
Fa\(»r found and wed the seventh ere her teens wei > (piite away ;
Though she after sti'ove to part them, death yet more alei-t than she
Proving once a friend in trouble, s(-t the ancient husband free.
Th(>n the widow with two daughters to her mothei-'s home resought;
Goodly store of gold and jewels to its stately towei-s slu- brt)Ught.
There th(~ dozen dwelt in grandeur, curious "bioidery their toil.
And their pastime jealous wliispering, slander and unceasing broil.

<3l' John Saint John and Anna Grey:

'Twjis tlicii' wont foi- t\vi» tilt' fort'iiiDst in tlit'ii' niotlicf's kindly

tllOUJfllt —

Day l)y <lJiy to curry to lier (»f the otiuM's ill report ;

I)Ut short time they held the office of informer and of spy,
For the culprits of the yester, on the morrow i-aisetl on hii^h,
Grimly smiled upon the fallen favorites of the day ;jfone hy.
Thus the ei<(ht in fail- succession passed from favor to disgrace,
liut the widow and her daughters ever held the foremost place ;
And th(> grandmother and inotlier i)lanned for the tw(» handsome girls
Consorts rich as eastei-n nabobs, grand as English dukes antl earls.
And the lady had ambitious schemings for hei- comely son,
Though he was both spoilt and vicious and her will had seldom done.
If real love for any mortal warmed her wicked, witheied breast,
'Twas for him, so bright and stately, soon to wear the baron's crest ;
Still his wretched father lingered, palsied now and grudged his

breath,
-Just within life's dreary boundary, just without the gates of death.
On the morning of my story, !nuch oppres.sed the lady's mind.
When at last the widow entered, with the half a score behind,
►She forgot to chide their tarrying, from a gilded box she tlrew
Forth a letter with the Tempest bearings on its textui-e blue.
" Here are tidings from your brother ; arm your hearts and think

of all,
Conjure up all shapes of evil that his pathway might befall.
You cannot imagine greater than he owneth as his lot —
He has wed a squatter's daughter from her father's filthy cut.
Such she must be, for he dwelleth on the fact that she is white.
Rather would I she were Indian, sable as the depth of night.
Then we might ignore the marriage and might send her free again
With .some pretty beads and trinkets to her l)rethren o'er the main.
This base creature as a savage will be odious and unclean,
Yet as full of vain pretentions and as haughty in her mien
As the heiress of a million or a princess of the bUxKl.
Let her be whate'er she may be ; nurtured in a barbarous wood

A Romance ""f Old New Brunswick.

lly

lUlIK

III

liii.

Wht' will not he titliiij,' cinnradc (''(mi for Koliin jit his toil.

yho has tVd on uiicookt'd fishes, reptiles juid the foi'<'st spoil,

Or on nuts and it)«)ts they f,'Hthei' with sharp sticks from out the

;,'rou

T have i'<'ad it of surli iicatures lon;^ a^^o in hook profoutid.
Oh, 'tis fearful hut t«) think of, and it must not, shall not he,
That she should l»e hrou;^ht to min^de e(|ually with you and me.
Tell me," said she. "Maud and Sybil, " ^'a/.inyat the youthful j,Mrls,
Who were lookiiii; wild and (curious thiou^h their wealth of morninj;

curls,
"Where has Marmaduke l>een roaniinfj ? T am sure it was not wiiere
Went your j!;randsire's merchant vessels, yet they called them Indians

there,
[ndians all are savaj^e creatures, whites amonj; them serve their gtxls,
Hideous as their dismal foi-ests, foul as their ohscene alxKles."
Thus she waited not for answer, but pursued her stii-rinj,' strain,
*' How can T, pray tell me, ever face the Countess Lisle again .'
Her young ward, with thiily thousand by the year, T promised fair
Should with Marmaduke be wedded tiuly as he is my heir.'
Then the stout and coarse-browed widow struck witli thought most

rarely bright,
Said : " No doubt, as she is heathen, they were wed by idol i-ite ;
Thus 'twill be a Christian duty, be most proper and most just,
•Swiftly as we maj' to pai-t them and to humble her in dust."
To her words the eight made eclio, from the eldest, sharp and lean,
To tlie youngest, short-liaired, weak-eyed, small and stooped, of

bearing mean.
Then a covered coach as gloomy as if wretch condemned it bore
To the cell of murderers pi'ison, slowly trundled to the door.
[n it sat the youthful Tempest with his beauteous bride beside ;
Pale she was with days of grieving, full with teai-s she scarce could

hide.
And the twelve stood gazing on her as he helped her to alight
As if some strange, hideous object had transfixed them at the sight.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Wliilc In r rart' commfUKliiii,' ItciUity, iiiul tlic ufi'Hc*' <jt' licr attire —
Tli(tlli,'li i! (|((ill)tl<'ss (li*l surprise tlieiii, !illiiust foreed llieiii ti>

adniirc —
Hut their eti\ V roused to fiid them, and the lady's falsest pride
Was that she ne'er uttered falsely — that she iie\er, iicNcr lied.
Tlioui,'!) of Iteauty like a houri's, thou^'h of talent Ht to sway
All the jewel-yicldiii;,' Indies, Russia, IJritain and Cathay,
(iifts in lier, or <;raee or heauty, wei-e hut fuel to tiie wrath
Flainiiiic in the lady's Itosotn, sooji to cross liei- victims path.
Notliiii",' earthly could ava;l her from tliat ill-starred entering' hour
Save the force her foes to huinhle, oi- the yuile t(t Veape their power.
Tlieie was none to Itid her welcome. .Menials howed to Marniaduke ;
In their <^lance at her was mini,ded cold displeasure and i-ehuke.
And he ti'od thron^di hall and pJissaye, while she tremhlin*^ pressed

heside,
Moi'c like !n';i;ht-thief with his Ixtoty tha!i lik(^ hridei^'i'oom with his

bride.
Slie had j)lanned so well to hear her, and such di<,'nity maintain,
That her foes, howe'ei- they hated, would not dare to show disdain ;
But her own heart, turnin<^ traitor in that hour of trial sore,
Clad hotli liome and John in aspects they had never worn before.
Home arose most pure and peaceful, lo\'ely as the sunset liour
When it falls all calm and cloudless upon altar, liearth, and tower.
Often had she l>lushe(l when strangers stv>'jped to pass its lowly

door —
How nuicli fairer tlian the gateway that such haughty bearings bore
Seemed it now to heart and memory, with its over-arching vine,
With its \ista dim before it and afar its river's shine.
Tlien that priceless, loving mother of true heart and voice so mild,
Slie wtadd make it home to Anna even in a liowling wild.
my mother I my mother 1 she c(»uld almost wail aloud,
EveTi in the Tempest mansion Ity the side of Tempest proud.
There wero fragrant white Nile lilies stamiing near the! mansion's
door,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Twus pi'icliaiU'c tlirij' t«'n»U'i' pfituiui' th«>uxl>t "t .ImIiii Saiiil •loliii

that Ixdf.
i'"iiini licr lit'urt she slrdvc lu liariisli llum^'lit of liiiii in \ii(ii(iii» 'lastc,
r>ilt Ik' seemed t(i j^d het'die Iter as tlie Ictrdly liall slie paced ;
Fi\eii as she saw liiiii j^oiiij,' <>ii that wcll-i'eiiieiiilieied iiKuri
When she Ituiii her side dismissed him in siieli riuel uiath and sediii.
Thoiijitit of all his )iatient l<in(hiess wovdd arise within her mind,
All his nohle seor'n of falsehood, all his ;,'entleness retined.
How he felt the claims of weakness, how he feared a?i action hase,
^'et had streni,'tli and tlaminj,' ctiura^e lion of the wild to fa ••.
I']\er Itrase was he in danger, oidy fearftd of the wron.u,
K\<'n as a woman tender, even as a soldier stron^L,'.
Then the ferwnt lo\e he hore her, memoi'y would its tones i'e<'all :
Had liis home been humhle h(»\el in the stead of handsome hall ;
Had his f(»!ni lieeii eoai'se and crooke<' in the stead of lithe and

straight ;
Flad he horne unsightly Itlemish. had he halted in his ^'ait :
Had his hrow Ween dark and heetlini,' in the place of hi'oad and fair,
And his thick speech too unt,Minly all his fondness to declare ;
If the same true heart and }>urj»use, the same eourai,'e. honoi, love,
I'Iacin<f her all other creatures infinitely far ahosc.
Dwelt within him she could lo\e him, in his presence coidd rejoii-c.
Could delii^ht to hear his footsteps and the cadence of his voice ;
l')Ut thei't' were ^I'eat lulls between them, mi^dity I'ivers coursed their

way ;
Like the ;;ulf that sunch'red |)i\('s from the hless'd, the ocean lay.
r>ut much moiH! than mountains parted, moie than oceans r'olled to

se\er ;
Wild the thou^^ht swept o'er hei" spirit, " We are pai'ted now foi'e\er.'
So she sat in stupefaction in the room where Temjx'st led.
With its rarely picture<l ceilirifjf and its carved and curtained bed ;
Sat beneath tlie rustling (-urtiiins white as Solomon s array,
Wi'ought with wreatlis of golden i-oses bright and yellow as the

(hiy.

■■

John Saint John and Anna Grey

From the long Jind narrow windows one might look o'er park and lea
( )\ cr fountain, bi'ooklet, garden, even to the gleaming sea.
This was what in dreamy childhood she had strongly longed to see,
What in fancygowrned girlhood she had planned her home should hi.
Thus the promised land of fancy proved a howling wilderness,
Where no Jordan poured its waters, milk nor hoiu>y flowed to bless ;
But sh(* must arouse her spirit ; she nuist liattle foi' Inn" right.
Show the veteran blood within her and for life and freedom tight.
Then she heard a footstep coming briskly up the marble stair ;
Soon her husband stood beside her with a bland and courtly air :
•'Curb your heart, my «jueenly Anna; you must now my motliei-

see.
I>eai' her speech l)y still remembering we shall vei-y sot)n be free.
Swi^'tly doth my fatiier hasten to the shadowy land of death, —
I shall be the Baron Tempest at the going of liis breath —
And a mortal sickness preyeth now upon my mother's life.
ITad T tarried but a little ere T took my bonnie wife
We had stepped at once to freedom, title and unbounded wealth ;
N'ow ni} lovely bride is hidden like a treasure gained by steal tli.
You shall dwell in all the glory of this sumptuous palace home,
lUit al)road by name of Tempest you shall never seek to roam
Tdl in zenith of youi' glory you in blazoned coach shall ride
As th(^ noble Lady Tempest with your leal knight by your side.
Fret not if awhile the household fail to call you by my name,
Or that you ai'c shut from ban(piets thronged by guests of wealth

and fame ;
Truly as my name is knightly, truly as you are my wife,
Truly as I hope for mercy at the close of mortal life,
W'l'ong shall never here befall you, ill shall never here betide.
When I shall be Karon Tempest I shall own you as my bride
if ycru will but keep i.iy counsel, if you will but truly vow
.Ml to leave unto my wisdom and maintain your silence now.
If my mother by the harshness of reproof should chance provoke,
Smile and seem as well contented as if she in kindness spoke.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

It will {ii'()\(' ,1 ii'itliiii,' tii.il for the ciiil ti> \)v iittuinod —
You will sinilc as you recall it when your {)urpost' lias been ^'aiiu'd ;
And no otlicr course is open, for niy mother's Ixuirulless claim
Sti'ijtjx'tli from me ;i.ihI my fathei' all hut title, all hut name.
She would scruple not to ui'^e it if aLfain I crossed her will ;
As 1 had already crossed it y\p had ))lann(*d me ,i,'rie\-ous ill —
Nothing; l)i(t my timely cominif had a\ ailed her wrath to still. "
Anna answei'cd not. She l<ne\\ him fit for the Ijetrayer s ))art,
l)Ut she would not speak lest weepiiiL,' should disclose how weak her

heai't ;
And she knew not whom to tly to, knew not where for helj) to call.
\'il(> suspicions must attend her if an outcast from the Hall :
She who evei' had heen foreuu)st to s})eak, feai'h'ss for liei' claim.
Must consent in aliject silence to foreujo her riyhtful nam(\
" iJut,"' she sighed, " 1 soon shall end it." 'I'hen sfie rose and followed

him
'rhi'i)U,i,'h full many a i;ori,'cous ])ai'lor, tlirou<;li full many a passa^-e

dim :
'i'hrou;,di the h.alls all l)rii,'ht with pictuivs, where sweet dames of

Tempest line
Seenud to smile on hei' with pity in their a/.ure eyes heniicn :
W'iiile the kni,!j;lits, with sword and ai'mor girt upon their liifurt^s

sti'onu,
Seemed as they miiflit jj^rasp their W(?a)u>ns to a\cni,'e hei' cruel wi'ong.
Throu^di hi'r hraiii kept I'inLfini;, linijinj^, " Woe, most hitter woe, to

thee :
Who desj)oiled when none despoileti thee, and who di-aleci'st

ti'eacher'ously.
When thou sh.dt have done despoiling, thou shalt 1m' dtvspoiliHl in

turn :
When thy treadicrous d<'aling ceaseth, thou shalt othei's" fal.seiiess

mourn."
Then she entered where the lady, se,i,ted in lier throne-like chair,
l)i'ey,r in heavy hroidered satin, hril' ts in hei' hoary l»air,

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Was en \ ironed by luT dauj^htcis. Like old mammoth l)utt«'rHit's
Shone they in their silken garments, eoloi'ed w ith the ^'iiudiest dyes

eweiled sfomacheis oppressed them, nmnster diamonds (h'cke*

d tl

leir

hair

Kvery wrist and many a linyei- hore of <;ems a Mil<;ar shai-e.

For they looked that e\<' to weK-ome him thev |ilaiine(| to l)e the

spouse
Of the dasliin^ Sybil Amln'ose, eldest j,'randchild of the house.
Anna turned to look f<tr 'rem[)est, liut he had ali'eady ilown — -
He liad left her at the threshold, 'mid her many foes alone.
Sootli to say, she hore lier proudly "neath the j^deani of wiathfiil eves
Oloatinu on her as a wild l)east ;,doats upon a certJUii pi'ize.
I>iidy rem}iest broke tiie silenee : "Anna (iiey, you enter here
l>y the mistress uninvited, and must look for sorry eheer.
You are fain to blend with no})les, tliouifh most baselv bred and

)orn

It is meet sueh bold intrusion should be met with euttinj^ scorn.
Anna answered : " F have entered heic the duly wedded bride
Of the lawful heir of Tempest. Who pi'esumes my course t(t chide .'
You have sluired mv biith ;iiid breefliny; — vou of eithei- nau'dit can

lOUJ,'

k
h I

now,

cannot boast them noble.

thev

iir(

11 r,

can siiow

For my fathei' was a soldier l)rave as ever drew a sword,

And his sire a wealthy planter, and his ^raridsire Scctttish lord.

Mv deal' mother came of people j^entle since an ancient day,

Dwelling lon^ in wealth where Hudson to the ocean makes its way,

" You are ;irowin<( very woi-dy o'er the glories of your race ;

Tell us somewhat of your riches, we would pray you, of your <i:ra<'e.

Hank is sorry thing to rest on v.hen it liath no golden prop.

And it forms a sorry j)illar when no gold begilds tlie top. "

This was her chief stroke of rhetoric, and she said it very oft — -

Ixirrowed 'twas from some base Hatterer fain to gain her favor soft.

Jiut her daught^'rs felt its beauty, for the meagre eldest smiled,

And the youngest, when her turn came, tittered like a simple chiltl.

illUl

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

And y„u scrc^ly w^ar „ jewel, »l,ii,- vour dress „, uki„ ,„ , ,
Nine »;i»,.„t f„i„|,,. (;,.„, ,„ ,, , ■ , "*■'"•»" P™n »n(i lir,)wii

""«-i;r"^^'-'^-'»"'T„„,,„.s..w.,.e...,,,,^

r..'t not:.. >vl,,. knows „., ,,s,.,,e i,, ,n„,,ys ,.,.,, en..,.. .

.4:.";: j: t;r; ;;::,rr-" ::' "'t ""'■™'" ''*■"■■'•'"■" "■•■•-

mien out t„i clutching the rich curtains at her sid,-
N-..Ud„. .new s,.e when ,,., .,.,. „er ., „e. „„.„.„, ,,.,„ ,„„

(•U?l

John Saint John and Anna Grey

CHAFTIOU VI.

LlKK those rare souls who, tor (Jod's lovinj; jmiisc.

With joy all woi-hlly pomp and pride forego,
Tlic cuith hath j)iit aside hei- l)looriis and havs

To wear the holy yariiierits of the snow.
And slie hath her leward, lier heaven's glow :

With largest stars her hills are crystal bright ;
'I'he melodies midsummer may not know

Are trilled along her winding ways of wliite,

liy hells of pi-aneing steeds, in shining harness dight.

Lilies and wind-Howeis were like my sweet Hose,

Who in high summer of her childhood died ;
liirches and ma{)l's ere ()etol)er"s ilose

Put rohes of otfice and renown aside.
Leaves of the elm and lilar lost tlieir pri(h'.

Yet lingered long, the ghosts of what they wei-e :
The pansies were the liowers that opened wide

To northern blasts, as Ut the balmv air

In green and bloss»)iiie(J age they n»'.r the snow-wreaths
fair.

lUit winters glory is not robes of snow,

lijirge stars of night nor gleaming hilK of m«»rn —

It is that in hei' davs of lontr a<'o

Th*' Son of (Jod was of the Virgin l)orn.

For this th«' grav(^s (»f earth are not forlorn,
The icy wilderness no moi'e is sad ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick. 71

For this the rose of suniiner docks the tliorn,
The little hills, in snows (»r pasture dad,
Shout to our answcM'ing hearts in voices strtuig and f^lnd.

It is the Tweiftli-night, and that word doth bring

Thouj(ht of a ^'learning heaven,
With Mars a rufldy-robed, exalted king,

And Venus star of even,

The se\fn great Oxen that ear the banen skies.

All night around the Pole,
While the encrusted earth beneath theuj lies

White as a shriven soul.

With (juenchless love I ]i,\v the (luenchless stars

Whose sparkling eyes look down
Upon the grass-grown scene of ancient wars.

On the new western town :

That gleam as glorious o\'r Montana's st^^eps,

Where coarse, fierce ruffians ride.
As o'er the dust where warrior Deborah sleeps

By Kishon's ancient tide.

In rare devices is the dark inlaid

With white stars glittering i-lear —
Kagle and beai', hunter and hound and maid,

Herdsman and charioteer.

The tuneful Jubal saw the lyre and down

From Nod's dim plains of old.
And giants grim, in days of theii- renown,

Did gilt Orion behold.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Ksrypt ;ui({ Uv explored the ni;,'litly heaven

To wrest that inystie lore
That freely iiiito ev<'ry man is <,nveu

When (leatli's weii'd rite is nVr.

The j^raiides', dieam of ti-ne was dreamed in Liiz,

Beneath the Milky -way.
And Teman's th(»u<]fhtful ( hief, journeviiii; to t'z,

AVIarked stars in hiijh array.

But ah. what \aried thoii{.rhts possess th(> eves

That now hehold them burn !
The thirsty, siiipwreeked seaman looks and siyhs,

Cold schoolmen look and livii-n.

The poet s(M-s with hurninj.;, raptin'ous thoiiifht,

That words may not declare,
And thousands see. as thou<i;h they saw them not,

And scaree pei-eeixc them fail'.

Behold the Pleiades, whose intluenet* sweet

To our dim eartli extends:
Their hrifjlit ways may he trod by spirit feet

Of our departed friends.

Fn lustrous Oemini our eyes that know

\V<'epin<if and loss and sin.
May see (rod's lighted gates of praise, where go

The saved with singing in.

The same sun that in declining fell atiiwart the silken bed
W'hen^ in down utihappy Anna hid her sorely stricken head,
F<'11 in the full light of mid-day on tlie ocean's western side.
O'er a city sitting (jueenly l)y the dark and wintry tide.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

'I'litTc Saint John in rich black raim«!nt, o'er the scanty, crispy snow,
Mij;;ht he seen at morn or even walkinj^ briskly to anil fivt ;
Clear his eyes an<l Hrin his lips were, witli an ever ready smile,
Though a covert sadness se<Miied to linj^er round them all the whihj.
I*>ut that day within his otHce, with its desks of rosewood tall,
With its charts and maps on rollers hung aj^ainst the jjainttnl wall,
With its <;r«'at hooks raniLfed in ordt^r in their mottled covers hound,
Finely printed, primly worded, ttnlious, dull, yet most profound ;
With its warmly colored carpet, hempen mats, and polished grate
Wh(>re the anthracite was glowing from tlu- morn till evening late,
Siodd the youth, his Tirm lips tightly pressed, his lirow o'ercast with

thought,
And his clear eyes hent intently on some prol)l<;ni that he wrought.
He had vowed his task to coiKjuer, hut his thoughts would wander

still,
Spite of all his strong resolving, spite of all his force of will ;
For a dark and vexing phantom from the visions of the night
Fill(Ml that cheerv loom with shadow, dulled his mtnital ear and

sight.
He had dreamed of home, and Sorrow sat a gutvst in »!very room ;
All the orchards, grounds and gardens were enwrapped in ghostly

gloom.
There his fatlw^' and his sisters seemed some l)itt«!r grief to mourn,
And his mothei- in black garments, weeping, urged his swift return.
Then his dream had turned to Anna — she was kneeling by his side,
Fi'ankly owning all her falsehood, freely mourning all her pride.
Th(»re she sought for his f orgi vene.ss, and with tears and pleadings

strong

Prayed that he would tight to free her from her thraldom and her

wnmg.
Melicent had written to him of her sickness long before ;
He had heard of Anna's marriage almost as she quit the shore.
Hut the j)leasant, hopeful missive from his sister's wasting hand
Bore no fear that sh(> was hasting swiftly to the shadowy land.

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Since that time no wctnl liad reacJied hiiri. for our rouniry in that

(lay
Triisted sail or foi'cst rider all its tidings to convey :
Soriietiines news was swiftly carried hy a fav(»rin^ wind and strong ;
Oft, o|>p<»sed hy adverse breezes, (»n the waves it tarried Umg.
Soon along the white street prancing, halting at the otHce door,
Making all their bright bells jingle, stood Ins patron's ponies four.
There in robes of fur and scarlet, looking sad and worn and grtn',
With H face tui'ned very purple with tlie winter of the day.
Sat the man who evei- for him had a word of kindly cheer,
r>ut who now seejned crushed and silent, as with sudden grief or fear,
".lolm. I am not woTit to bring you evil news," he spake at last ;
" I am e\(M' grieved at seeing any young life overcast,
r>ut the ill I now iiuist tell you <>ometh from riis hanfl alone
VV^ho the universe is i-uling fi-om Mis high and righteous throne.
Kuthless Dc^atli hath snuiched a sistei' from your well-loved liousehold

band."
Here he placed a black-sealed letter in the youth's ext*'nded hand.
.John the missive read in silence : tears of his were .seldom seen,
For his deeply Howing feelings had a surface most .serene.
This was not his earliest sorrt)w, he had tjisted grief before, — -
Hittei' grief, ere he his footsteps turned from his loved homestead's

door.
That same eve across the waters, ciested with their hoary foam.
He with saddened soul was speeding swiftly toward his fnournful

home.
Wlien the wintrv sky was cloudless, wintry earth all stainle.ss white.
And the sun at early setting left the west with primrose blight :
Ere a star, save tender Hesper, yet had showed its diamond eye.
On the Eve so famed and hallowed, of the Christ's Nativity,
.John beheUl the white smoke rising from tlie chimneys of his home ;
Half he looked that his third sister should with merry welcomes

come.
Oh, what memories thronged upon him as he trod the shadows lung

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

<t>

That tFic fi irked orchard l)ranch(>s and the oaken lu'anehes stroiii,'
Threw athwart the dim road h^adin*,' from the hif,'hway to the door.
Two most wont to ^ive him welcome in the liappy days of yore
Now sliould eome with lauf,di and banter u\> that pathway ru-veriiiuiv.
(»iie fair, j,'entle form was lyinj^ 'neath l)rown earth and vir<j;in snow,
liut lier spirit was not hiddeji far tlie chureh-yurd clod l)elow—
N(» ; he felt that as an an^'el slie w.t.'- watehinj; all the scene
Krom the vast, near-seemin.i,' heavt'n of that Christmas Eve serene.
One was ,1,'one. Ah, how .' Ah, whiiher? Could he hear to think
of her

When the thou^'ht such hitter memory and siuli achin<,' ,i,'rief would

stir!
No; she walks perchance ali'eady l^uly Tempest fair and ijraiid,
Second to no baron's lady in all Hn^dand's kni<,ditly land.
Hut the ever-hauntin<,' whisjier from some spirit re«,'ion came :
She is thrust from ris^ditful station, robbed of freedom and of name.
He had now no heart to blame her ; he was fain himself to chide
That when most she needed counsel he had hasted from her side.
Soft the mansion's door he o{)ened, but no sound of ii,'leeful din,
Merry voice of lauji;h or sin<;in,<,' came from the dim rooms within.
Heavy huiii,' the parlor curtains, adding to the twilight's gloom :
The guitar and harp stood covered in a corner of the loom ;
But the logs of birch and maple leapt in red and cheery blaze —
!vike a })rilliant fragment seemed they from the olden wintry days.
Still he stood in silence, gazing dreamily in crimson flame,
As a voice of holy praying faintly fi'oni a chamber came.
When, enwrapped in pensive musing, sought he to ascend the stair,
(diding ghostdike from the chamber, Kitty Broadlands met him there.
T(tward the fire again she led him with a sad and tearful eye.
Saying, " Your sweet sister Clara lieth at the point to die.
Very calmly she is going, even as the other went —
Never was a death more lovely than the death of Melicent ;
For the heaven seemed open to her and she saw her Saviour dear,
Then she said to us beside her, ' I can stay no longer here.'

rti

John Saint John and Anna Grey

As the (lay wjis faintly dfiwninj,', (Tc tlu' nmrniin,' starn ijrcw [talc,
I Icfii'tciH'd liy that joyous vision, entered she the shadowy \ale."
Well I ucen tliat tliei'e was weejiiii^', smiles, and dee|i though

chastened joy,
W hen the sisters met tiieif lirothef. and the parents met their hoy.
Ill a tini ' of storm and tempest, <in the old yeai's linal day,
I lei last \\(ti(ls of heaven and j^lory. i;entle Clara passed away.
To her fi'iends she said eonsolini,', " I )o not mourn that I should ,i,'o
\\ here the ri\<'i's of (lod's pleasures with no retiuent tide do How.
When you wake your harp to music hy the cheerful winter lire,
Think you have two sisters tuning harps of i^old in lieaNen's choir.
\\ hen you weave your howers next summer, think that I and .Melly

stray
\N here the iiowcrs are always Itloomini,', and the ifardens ever ^'ay.
We shall never, never sorrow, we shall never, never sin.
I'ain would I the year that's cominj^ in uiy Father's house he^'in -
That bright house of niany matisions .Jesus sulfered to ))repi).i'e,
With my sister i,'one before me, I would sjiend the New Year there."
Once when .Maude alone was with her, thus (tf .\rma (Jrey she s])ake:
'■ I ca,n not feel anj^ered with her, even for my l>rothei''s sake ;
!>ut r dreamt last night I saw hei' her hrii^ht hair was shorn away,
She seemed (piaintly clad in sahle, scant and livery-like array ;
iiow she spake in tones of anj^uish, with her deep eyes full of woe —
' Rless me, and for>^ive me, Clara, for your l)rother ere you <j;o.'
Then I thought 1 kindly kissed her, and I told her that my love
Toward her still should turn with yearning even from the realms

above ;
And I know and feel that after all her weary way is done,
1 again shall see and love her in the realms beyctnd the sun.
Strange and sad was her misguiding, but she will be found at last-
Sought an<l found of the Cood Shepherd ere her mortal life is past.
Pray for her, my darling sister, j>ray that she may stand with me ;
Pray we all may stand together on the shining crystal sea —
That a sisterhood of glory in our mighty Sire's abode,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

( t

Wlicif tlicy ;,'ivc lliciii imt in riiuiTiiip' as tlic anircls of' uiir (lod —
With our rrrors all f<irj,'i\<'ri, with odi- soirows all ;;oii«' hv.
We may spcrnl in holy t'iifii(lshi|i raptnic-crowruMi ctciiiit v.
Mark how softt-ncd iiiothfr sccincth ; she hath a rcinorscful tVar
Thai it was hci' harshness parted Anna from i»ur hrol her dear.
Much I wondcr'cd yrstcr f\<'ii words lil<f these from her to hear -
'What is wealth that in its winniiii;- hearts of voutli should he

despised .'
What is thrift that more than riches, moie than hope of heaven I

prized :'"

Sadly |)assed a lonely winter; and when the rerurrin^f spring;
Clad the foi'est ways in \crdure, woke the woodland birds lo sinu'.
liit the liea\eiis, loosed the waters from i he wint<'r's icv thrall,
Darkened like eyes lilind with weepiny were the windows of the IImII
'I'hei-e a widow. Wowed and stricken, wept the luishand of her voutli :
Tliere a lonely s(»n and dau<,ditei- mourned their sire in \erv truth :
Oft in dreary months of winter, spake he, "Sin;,' 'The Farewell

Hymn,'
That my niothei' loved and chanted as witii death her eves ^n-ew dim."

'I'HK KAKKWIOI.L HYMN.

" Ye patient years of time, pui'sue
You.r sun-eiieirelini,' i-oad ;
From the dim vales of earth I ^'o

To walk the hills of (jod—
Those hills that have for radiance
The i,dorv of the Lord.

' () f)leasant, sand-foundationed lionies
Of changeful earth, farewell ;

On living rock are built the domes
Where 1 henceforth shall dwell :

John Saint John and Anna Grey

.ilfiiisiuiis (if wall chiilccdony,
Ot' (liaiiKiiKl jiiiiriiU!l»!.

"Oriffiii harp anil of tiiricfiil strain,

.Joy of oui' pili^riin years ;
My .spirit's car is closed to sin,

And even now it licars
The hyinnin<,' of the an^^'cl choirs,

The music of the spheres.

"O f,'or;,'einis, storied scenes of earth,
By hard and hero trod.
My h(>art is pure In' second birth,

And 1 shall look on (lod ;
Shall see His land that lies Jifar,
80 fanned and fair and hroad.

" I'arewell, O friends, the ,i,'ood and deai-.
But not a lon<,r farewell—
The kiss of welcome waits you there,

Where (Unl and an,<;'els dwell ;
The Son of (Jod is hrothei- kind,
His f,'race what ton;,'ue can tell V

T.wnu his loved and trusted servants raised the voice of .^rief aloud;
Many who had fou<,dit beside him came to see him in his shroud;
And th(>y said, ' Alas, liow Heeting are the days of human life !
As a dream the years have vanished since we joined in crimson

strife.
An.l in loss or wounds or winning, Hugh Saint John was ever bi'ave,
l']\ er fii-st in cause of lionor, ever cjuick tlie woiik to save.
And in peace he bore him m^bly— tender husband, parent kind,
(JenerouH neighbor, fricmd and master—hath lie left a foe behind >"

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

To hirt liiHt Umfi rest they laiil him, in an April day of rain,
r)ii the (!onH(M:rat»'(l hill side wIu'It rcposfd his daiij,'litci'.s twain.

ison

avt>,

How spi'd l)y to (;aptiv(> Aiitm all that dark DfccinlM'r time,

Prison('<| amid ^(orj^cous chamhi'i's, t'ai" from invr or native clinu; ;

How sped all the drt'aiy wintrr unto her wIiohc tearful eye

Ijooked not from thi^ hroad and iovous out-door earth to aruhinit skv.

Never sinec! the day she entered at the mansion's carven floor

Had she hy tin; dark oi' daylii^ht passed its mai'hie threshold o'er.

Oft had she essayed eseapini; from her htnely, lofiy rooms,

Whose bright huni; an(J deep, lonji windows seemed hut rifts to let in

•glooms.
Then> was nothini^ sweet in sunshine when it fell u})on her there ;
Moonli;j[ht spake that she was prisoned, stai's looke(l down witli

cheerless stare.
Upward Ixirne in nij^lits of winter, faint as if from far away,
Came the sounds of mirth and ftvistini;, daneeivs' steps and iriusic ^av.
Sometimes would the wish possess her, even then, to move a<jain
In tli(! light of festal j)ailors to a (juick and dulcet strain.
To attract th(^ court and honor that had never heeii denied
To her charms, when wont to miii;^le in her days of mirth and piide
With the joyous and the youthful on the ocean's western side.
JUit the days })assed l)y all lonely, and the eves passed by all <,doom,
And the closinji of the niji:;ht-times seemed like closinuj of the tomb;
While tlu> morn's awakeniuj^ l)roi:<^ht unto her wakened thought and

eye
Gloom of })reseTit, fear of future, memory sad of joys gone by.
Seldom Marmaduk(> approacht^d her, l)ut she .saw him proudly ride
Through the grounds with a fair lady, fuirinl and jewelled, by his

side.
A tall foreign count, with ladies, who were, as she well opined,
Handsome Maude and Sybil Ambrose, often followed close beliind.
Thus she knew that old Sir Cecil still was prisoned in the clay,
For there must be form of mourning while unburied corse he lay.

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

At cacli \insucc{»ssful crtuit to cscjljh' liei' j)ns(>ii fair —

For there was a door fast holted sit tlie foot of the broad stair —

Slie would to her heart make pntiiiise, "I my doom shall triumjih uVr :

! shall rend the dome asunder if I may not pass the door.

1 shall form my chand)er's han<^in<^s to one web and thus deseend

To the earth whose hard, cold bosom 1 shall Ljreet as bri'ast of fjiend.

\ shall bear the cherished witness, written by my pastor's hand.

That to Marmaduke of Tempest I was joined in wedlock's band.

I shall vindicate my lei^al wifely i'i<,dits by strenf^th of law :

I shall make my cruel tyrants from their hau,i,'hty hei<,'hts withdraw

VVh<'n a corse tSir Cecil lietli, J the stairways door shall pass —

At my will it shall be ojiened thoui^h its bars nvv steel or brass !

When the nei;,dd)oui's and the kinsmen tlironj^ about the liaron's l)ier,

I shall, calm and ]>roud and stately, in their very midst apftear.

I shall itness of my marriajfc, 1 shall tell my ci'uel wi'ont;-,

Sure my chai'ms, my tale of soi-row will eidist the stran,i(ei- thron*;.

.vlacmadiike in shame shall hasten to a})peai' upon my side,

Owning' mt the Lady Tempest, owniiii^ me his injured l)i'ide.

lint if he shall fail to do so, I shall, "spite his falsehood base,

Fi'ovc tlie t-^uth of all I utter, triumph in his deep dis<:jrace.

i have proof that none can (piestion in the lines 1 cherish here;

r can summon o'er the ocean ample evidence and cleai-,

Koi' the ifood Sir Thomas Carleton <fave me as a bride away.

And the church was thronj^ed with noblest of the rej^ion in that day.'

Yet would sober i-eason whispei'. " Vain voui' hope to "scape youi' caj^e

And the well-wa<j;ed dame that <j;uards you, rii^id, taciturn and sa<fe."'

Slie would hush the voice despaii'in<i, and as cheerful sprin;,'-time came,

She was tended by the gentle dauj^hter of the rii^id d.i?:;. .

She had pleasant words for Anna, pity for her ceaseless tears.

Prai.ses ior her- tci'ilce and beauty, soothintr for nt ;• <,'iief and fears.

Then was hushed all niii'thful clamor : (>ld Sir Cecil had at last

Scaped his wife, and to the freedom of the world of Hpirits passed.

Aur\a, folx'd in flowing irarsnents, <'< ■ iued of velv.'t and of silk,

Sable~hue<l, her briirht haii ripjdiiif; round her brow as white as milk.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

.ilk.

Very pah' und weakly treiiil)iini; with the ♦^uiiuilt of her heart,

And with e3'e too wildh* l)iilHaiit, hasted to enact her part;

Kor the j^eiitle-lieaited inaiden, franiiii^ many a t'alsehood fair.

To avail if Anna sped not, oped the portal of the stair,

Full of stron<^ and liei'ce i-esoh iii^ t(» o'ereoiiie liei' a(l\erse fate.

With a thrill, as if of triumph, Ainia iw airayed in state

Furious ill-eyed l^ady Tempest, looking darkei' than of yoic

In the heavy crape that decked hei- it; the massive cap she woiv;

And the nine around lu'r, forming; a half-circle, ;,Miinly smiled ;

Mai-maduke and his fair nieces lau,i;hin>,dy the time bej^uiled.

Sybil with a pencil sketched upon a card a doctor i^rev ;

Maude beneath wi-ote an amusiun' spe»'cli tluit she had heard him say

Marinaduke the wiy; ungaiidy of a distant kinsman drew,

And poi'trayed the joy unbounded that he felt Iti mourning; new.

Hound them sat the thron<j; of stranncrs, of poor Anna's hopes the l)ase

They were all as paid retainers bent to jj;ain the Lady's yrace.

On that morn not one true-hearted oi- impartial comer })ressed

To the Hall, sav(! one deaf kinsman of th' ungainly wiy jiossessed.

In theii' very midst ajipeai'in;,', pale as yhost from land of shade,

Anna stood a lovely \ision, in her flowing ^arb ari'ayed.

So enjfrossed were all there present that slie stood amid them all

As if from the Hoor uprisin>^, or outu'lidin^^ from the wall ;

Or as if the painted ceiling' had been reft to let hei' down.

Even th' ready Lady Tempest had Jiot time to nnister frown

Fie she spake : " 1 come to tell >'ou, i^atliered here in mournful yuise.

While the late Sir Cecil Tem})est shi'ouded for his burial lies.

That if he who sitteth yonder," — and she pcnnted where was seen

Mai'inaduke with startinj;' eyeballs and a pale and frii^hted mien,—

" Be this stately numor's master. Lord of Tempest fair and yrand,

T as truly am the lady who should sit at his left hand.

He aiul 1 were truly wedded in he by-gone autumn-time —

I can ciill unbounded witness from my distant natal clime' :

That he wed me in a city of tiie woods, o'er ocean's wave,

Here f bear the witnessed writing whi(;h U> me my pastor gave.

8 -J

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

'J'li()ii,i;li I have Ih'cii huscly pi'isoiuMl and t'orsaken siiici' I passed

Til roll Jill tlu'sc poi'tals, I liave l)afH(>(l cruel iiiiiLjlit and j^iiile at last."

I5ut the widow, whom her mother \alned t'oi' her ready thoii<;lit,

Had already words most littin,<;' to eontVoiit her witness sought :

" How has my poor maniae maiden made throu<fli bolted doors her way .'

.Marl' how subtle was her eunniii^' to assuiiK! Maude's rich array !

She was era/ed before the winter fell in whiteness o'er the land ;

I myself have ytMitly tended her as with a inotlier's han<l.

iMir she was so fair and youthful, and withal so kind of yoi'e,

That I feel her loss most keenly and her sorrow 1 deplore.

Weakly dreading to eommit her unto ISedlam's eell of j^looni,

I ha\c ke]it her safely fastened in the mansion's ])added room,

\N'hei'e the late Sir Cecil's mother {)iMed foi' many a year unblest,

I)ri\('llini4 "•^ "• very idiot, <'iv they laid hei' to her rest.

This poor mai<l was seized with fancy that she was the portioned bride

Of my broth(>r while he sojourned on the oceans western side.

Fi\t'r and anon she ravetli of her ]>risoniniL;- and her wron<f ;

She must now be straightly tended and be bound in fettcM's stroii;;-. "

.\nna turned her eyes on Tempest, standing' by his sister's side,

lUit he nave no word or i,'t>sture that the cruel lie denied.

.\ll her ho])!' tuined toward the stranj^ers, but they shrank in fear as

wild
.\s if madness wei'e cijiitayious, or a maniacs breath <lefiled.
Ijike a swift down-rushiiiii' torrent, o'er her spii-it swept the thou.t;iit
How in truth to foes most cruel she was in subjection broui^ht.
'Twas perchance a broad, bright window tilled with tlowcrs that called

to mind
With tVesh force her hom(>, liei' mother, happy youth, and comrades

kind :
For the deep blue sky showed throiii^h it, and the new ly-l)uddin<*

bou,y'hs,
With the sprin;.^ birds 'mid th(>m Hitting;, could a torpid heart arouse.
These her youn^ anfl earnest s})irit saw, and leapt with niiifhty bound
.\nd unutterable lon,L(ings to stand free on tht> fresh ground :

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

To look upwuni to the liciivcns, witli tio ]ii'isoniiin- I'oof hct wccii .
To <lt'lif,'ht her cui' with hird soii^f, iiiul liri' cyr witli IcafiiLjc ;;rt't'i) ;
And to feel the fliiinii, wliicli l;ui,i;iiiii;c is Imt iiK'a^fi'c to jioi'tfay,
hi the earth so hroad and vci'dant. in the n'old and a/.iirr day.
Tht-n slic scoiMici! Imtli wealth and t;iandeur. tlioiiyli siieil worsliijiped

l)otli so lonn' :
Now without a siuli she left them to that |)i-oud. iniiiol\ throng.

Thev liail called the sti'o?li'' male ser\ants, and with teiTor she wa.'-

ailes

|*1>>>,U

wild

As the thought of padded dungeon, fetters aiid sti'ait ^arh defiled

\)v an ancient dri\ linif mania(^ rose ;it once u|>on her mind.

Loud she shrieked, and foiii,dit foi' freedom from the rasping hands

unkind :
Xau^lit I liey heeded of hei' eryinij, hut they Itiuised her shoulders

white.
And hei' arms, all fairly moul<ie(i, with their ijrasp so vice like tiijlit.
Half they drayifed and half they hoi'e her ihrounh loni;' halls and

jiarlors dim.
Hunt; about with costly arras wrought with forms of yohlins yi'ini,
Wide displayini;' yor^'eous pictui'es, \ isions of uiulyiny souls.
There were ifarnered curious treasures from the Indies, from the Poles
And fron\ rvi'vy ciime hetwixt tlx'm; hut they swiftly onward passed;
I'ill they reached a room most lonely, dark and damp and chill, at last.
It had one uncurtained window looking' on the mantled wasc
Of a pool that evil odor to the aii' aluiit it ua\e.

.\nd within the walls wci'e dreary, ;uid the tloor was haid aii<l hare,
riu'i'e was lu'ithei' lamp nor table, neither couch nor cushioned chair.
< )n a lowly stool she sate her as she fixed her wistful eye
( )n the scanty t;"limpse vouchsafetl her of the happy sprini,'-time sky.
Thus sped hy a day of sunsliine, thus s])ed hy a \ ernal iii;;ht,
.^ nd ivnother dav whose dawnini;' was with u'old and crimson l)rii;ht.

John Saint John and Anna Grey

CHAl'TKH VII.

ri'(»N the iiiHL,'*'*!, Iialt'-i-lt'urt'd hills tlic trees

Of t'alleii leaf stand hafe and descilate ;
The north-east wind, whose siifhini;' will not cease.

Insj»ii-es the dark, tall iiines with sori-o\vs weird and Ljreat.

'i'he hlaek and tapeiinn- th- sets every l)ai-l)

To the wild strain that tills the hollow arch ;
Most piteous seems its plaint, most sa<l its i,rarl»,

In this w irul-siiaken, li\id nsoin of middle March.

I liear not now the winds I used to hear

In the sw(>et years so lon,i( and lorijU ,i;oih' hy —
The .iflad, the privileijjed, wasted years, still dear,

Of early youth yone into past eternity.

Then evei'V wind awoke rich thou,i,d;ts and hiyh

Of rohher-haunted woods and castles hoar,
White palaces, and dames of lovelit eye.

Seas, shij)s, and lonj,' farewells, and kniifhts ecpiipped for war.

The winds seem w(vpinn for t , (> early dead — •

And not the l)rilliant early dead alone,
l>ut those of ;^eiitU' eye and falterinif tread.

White hair and true hearts se\en times tried, do they hemoan.

riujtteral)le thinj^s tlu; trees reply.

As if some sor«'r ill than death they mourned :

As burning shame or sin of eiimson dye —

A youth of promise to an evil manluxxJ turned.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Th.-.v srr,„ t,, ,.hi,l,. til.' Marci. uiinls, saying. " Minuu
Not fill tlic suintly dead in earth uli., rest.

-Monrii for the haiiislic.l that may iieer icturn,

For l.rok..M lu>arts. hopes iinfumiled aiul homes ur.l.lessed.

•• For dreary wan-less toil, tor pain and hiame,
For eyes (hat fail for i-ood they never see :

Oh, mourn for crimson sin and hurnin.i; shame,"
I'hey seem .o wail a,i,^iin with <,'as|) of a-^onv.

'I'he white storm eonieth down o'er all the hills :

Still mourn the winds, and still the trees make moan.

•My heart is sad for life's most eruel ills

I '""uni the fair, the wise, the d.-ar. to darkness tlovvn.

I'.eyond my country's ru-;.--.'.! hills of .March.

l']. to the Hills ..f F^el]) I lift my eye:
'I'Ik' I'r-'oht lii-ht far alx.ve the cloudecj arch

Fven now hy faith's anointed \ ision I descry.

(iod sei> Is tlie pitiless, lamh-killin^' storm,

To l)rin<,' foi-th (lowers of May and pasture ,i,n'ass :

He hides awhile in earth a precious form

That ,som<> u-reat good to all may thus he hrout^dit to pass.

lUit. ah : the sin, th' eternal loss and shame .'
For these I m.mrn, for these the Christ of (iod

NN'e[)t hitter tears o'er doomed .Jerusalem
As once a lowly kiny on Olivet He rode.

,sr>

Down dashed the niyht rain upon city and manor.
The sea of the harhoi- broke white on the docks,

I5ri,i,'ht windows were shuttered and furled every i)anner, -
'Tvsas the wild ragin^' storm of the spi'iny e(|uino.x.

II'

^<> John Saint John and Anna Grey:

111 that prisdii lil<i' rndiii in a wiiii; of the iiiaii^ioii

Fair Anna sat lonely ; no t'orui liad she seen
Since morn of tlie yester. ()ii earth's wide expansion

Heart sadder than liers had no Ix'iii},', I u('<'n.

In darkness she sat, tlioui(h ele\(n ha<l sounded

From the loud riii^in^ iiells in tiie ixied ehun-li tower;

Hut it seemed as the dawn to the i^doom that suri-oundeil
Her lonely younju; soul in tliat terrible liour.

Oh, deep were the thouuhts that, hei' spirit )iossessin^',
Hecalled liei- sweet home anil her mother so mild :

Oil. the rest of that home! ( )h, that mothers pure hlessinir !
Oh, the freedom of heart in the woodland so wild !

liut liii'ht though shed pri/ei| the rich ixioii of a mot hei'.

She truly, most truly, would value it now.
Another had loNcd her — she thou.u;ht of that other.

And sereamiiii;' with ]iain claspi^d her luuids o'er her hi-ow.

She was fainting' now with fasting', she was spent with eeaseless tears,
Chilled with dam]), ami all her spirit shuddering; with ^diastlv fears.
Could it lie they planned her starxint;' in that far and lonelv I'oom .'
Was the wall she now was pi'essiiii.'; hut eiielosui'e of her tomh '.

h^ieree she tried the heavy portal, hut .Is lock was fii'in and fast :

Ijoud she cried, — her wail hut inin,y;led with the iii^ht-wind s shi'iekin<^

blast.
Oh, for li,i;'ht. for food the meanest, warmth, or sound of human \oice 1

F-xeii if it spake but chidinii', it would make her heart r'ejoice.

Oh, for freedom iiioi'e than ; 'I t hi i lys ! -freedom, life's best, truest

prize ! —
She would bei^ with thankful spirit, she would toil in lowliest i^uise.
Oh, if Mannaduke would i^ive her freedom she would ask no more, —

He miifht even keep the trinkets that fi'oin }>er far home she bore ;

He mij,dit bar his doors against her, he might (^veii brand her fame.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

She would tli'c whci'c soinu! of 'IVnipcst, wcultli and Lfloiy hcmt caiiic;
Wlici'c tliat tiauic. so loathed and dicadrd. she iiiii,dit ncvcc, iit'\ff

licac.
And licr talr ot' \vi'oiii( and soi'i'ow ne'er should vex a li>tenini; ear.
lUit in lull of siu'ne and Iiowlini;, ut tlie end of the loni,' hall,
She t/oulil Iieai' the sound of footsteps on an echoing' stah'way fall :
Anil the liyht of ixleaniini;' taper underneath the portal stole.
'I'here \v,is sound of eai'iiest whispei's and strange tei'i'or thi'ille<I her

soul,
" ^'ou are come," she shi'ieked, "to slay uie : l)ut oh, spare uie of yoin'

y;raee ;
Oh, have pitv on my tei'ror ; spare me Wut a little spai'e —
Spare me hut until the dawning of anotlier (li;y l)(',i,'in,
Till r plead for hope of heaven, foi- the pardon of my sin !'"
'riieii a, tall male servant entered with a taper in his hand,
.Marma<luki' behind was following-, pale and scornful, urave and

j.,n'and.
Anna sjted to him and knei'lin,!^, cried, "() Tempest, send me forth ;
I will <j;o whei'e'er \'ou hid ine -east or west or south oi' north !
Send me forth in all the darkness, all the unrelentiiiif stoi-m :
I 'neath hefl<^(> or tree till moi'ninu' will conceal my tremhlini,' form.
There is freedom in the nis^ht-winil. there is freedom in the rain,
In the roarinsj; of the tempest, in the sur^in<,' of the main :
And with five and kindly natm'e I a^ain would hear a })art.
Though the watei's drench oi' drown me, thounh th( chill winds pierce

my heart.
None shall guess I ever knew you : I will tlee afai', afar,
\\y the morning's early twilight, !)y the evening's eai'ly star ;
1 will even ta.x the midnight that it hear me fiisni your side,
Then ignta'O oui- pompous marriage, say 1 never was your i)ride.
At your- hand I ask no helping, and no other name I ciave
Save the one so fair and sim{»le that, iingrudged, my father gave."
Here from off her slender fingei- swift she drew her hridal ring -
" Take, oh, take this golden bauble ; 'tis a lying, nu>cking thing !

.^.^

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Would tliat it wccc (larkly lyiii^' with its kindred yellow oi-e,
Yet to j;l;i(ldeii eye of tinder in deej) tnines of (Juiiieji's shore.
Hearken to my al)ject pleadin;,^ spare my life and set me free ;
I will haste t(» some far harbor of the hroad and happy sea ;
I will stri\e to eross its waters that I may he down and die
In the piu'c and tender sindi,i,dit of a htvinfj; mothei's eye."
Tempest took the rin<;- she protU'ered. for he loved the glint of gold,
And it would to eyes of stran<>«*rs hut eonfii'm the tale she told.
Then he spake: " Vdu owe me thanking: I haxc saved you from tlw

gloom.
That- your I'ashness richly merits, of tlit> mansion's padded room.
You did ill my steps to follow, veiy ill indeed for me —
Kveii you had hecMi less wretched in your jtoor ohscui'ity ;
l*>ut it may not now he mendi'd, and it is most kindly now
'\\i bestow you where no thorny coron<>t shall ve.x your hi'ow.
i'^oi' my kindred all assure me that you cannot I'ightly hlenrl
in the gay and splen(li<l circle where I now my days shall spend.
You hav«> neither hirtli nor l)r(>eding, cannot heai' yourself to gain
Swift submission from youi' menials, homage fi'om tlie eoui'tly ti'ain ;
Yet but for your e\ il temjier you might still have dwelt at ease
In a room like royal chaml)er, whei'e l.'oth art and nature ]>lease.
It is vain to ask foi- freedom — do you deem me imlx'cile^
Would 1 have my nanu' resounded through the breadth of England's

isle .'
And you would most surely perisli, for 1 know the cold world well ;
It woulil give you scanty credence, as your })i'etty tale you'd tell.
You would ])erish. or else hide you in son>e den of evil fame.
I ha\e planned a sclieme to shield you safe from mischief, want aii<i

shame."
Anna answeivd not, her si>irit all o'ercome by long restraint,
And hei- frame, with d;i.ni) and fasting, was most deatlily chill and

faint :
On the tloor so bare and cheerless sank she in a hea\ y swoon.
When she woke again, above her o'er torn clouds .sailed tlie fail' moon,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Southern winds wnc Imidly wuiliiiu' i„ il,,- l.i.ii.-lis .iroiiiKl Iwr way.
On ii wiiidiiio. sIk.iv wiis diishiii^' five the wild and saity spiiiy,—
'Twjis lu'iTliiimv the n.ld drops spattcririi;' licr wan l.n.u anuk.- her

tlioiiu'lit,
.\iid sli.. niarvt'ilcd Innu- and fccl.ly l,..w sli.- had l.ccn thith.-r

l)r()u;,dit.
W h.-n she saw the licavy tVaturcs of tht- servant at hi-r side,
•Much she feared some j'oiil or .tfhastly endijii,' to her inidni^dit ride ;
Itiit she was too weal< to rouse her, and tlie se.'ue so ,n|oi-ious lay
•Ml al.ove hei' in the heavens, all around hei' lonely wav.
That, she hh-ssed the win-vd ni,i.ht win<ls, i.lessed the ij:\\>\n>us moon of

.Murch,

IMessed the ra-u-ed elouds that seudded throu-h the deep uni)ounded

a/'eh.
A round holm of era-' and eastle lay not distant from the slum;
Shewin-- to the stormy moordiyht unroofed wall and eolunui hoai-.
And a tin-nin,i.- in the roadway hrou-ht in \ i.-w a church whose spire
liose al<.ft into the heavens, like a holy soul's desire ;
W hile tJie white and scattered tomhstones. in the spacious yani

uround,

Told that ther,. the heai'ts of mortals slept in h(;pe l),>neatli th.-
,i;r'ound.

Anna th..uoht how pure and lovely looked th,- sh-nder cross of

white —
Thou-iit of Him who once <lid sutVer on a cross .,n Calvarv's heioht ;
-Marvelle.l if foi' her He suH'ere.l : thou-ht of crosses she had l.orne,
Crosse.s of her own constructing in the hy-o,,,,,. nionths forh.rn.
Then to him who sat i)eside lier spake slie as to humble frien.l,
Askino- of their journey's purpose, of its len.yth and of its end.'
Her kind speech awoke his kimlness, and he said, " Thouoh no

complaint
Y.>u have uttered, yet, fair lady, you must \>v most weak and faint."
A hrii^dit Hask of cordial nectar (irew he fi'om his doublet bivast ;
Candied fruits and snowy n.mtits in liei- tremhiinu' hands lie prest.

<J0

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

And with tliHiikfiiliicss aii'l hl«'ssint;s, novn- Mi or breathed ))ef<)re,
Ate shi- nt' that iiiciiiars hdunty hy that far and Icmely shore.
Spaki- tin- snxaiit, " He of 'reiiipest jouriicyt'th hy another wav ;
lie will at our journey's eriditii,' meet us at the dawn of day."
So slie uduld not i|ucstioii tdrt'ier. hut h<M' spii-it fraiiii'd the prayer,
" ( ) t ho'i ( Jod of hiifh and low Iv. I coin in it me to tliy ear«' ! "'
Then she mar\rllr(i that so man\' <hivs had passed in wearv woe,
Yet she liad not asked of Hea\rn peaef oi' freedom to hevtoxs,
Thouirh slie knew hii.di llra\tn ihe fountain whence hei' everv ir<>od

must come ;
.\nd with prayer was sweetly i)letnle<i many a tliou;;lit of happy

home.
Now the dawn was redly ri>in?,' from lnhind a mansion i:rand,
'I ree '-uii-oundeil. many w indow ed, hke a nohle s of the land :
Ihit there seemed a lioiroi' cliiii^in;^ all ahout its towers and halls.
And as lii^dit of day ^'rew eleai'ei' and moi'e neai" its sonihre walls,
Anna noted ifratefj windows, s^uaided ijates in walls of stone:
.Ml the truth at once flashed on her, all her (lestiny was kiiowfi.
On a i,dossy chai'Lter mounted, like the first she saw him I'idt',
Maiinaduke advanced to meet the.n. lidini,' from thei^ateway wide.
Housing all the s]iirit left her, wild she ei'ied, " I will he free.
\S ill not (Jod or man ha\e pity on my helpless misery .'
With the Lchastly wails of nuiniacs if) my eai's liy niitht and day,
.\nd the fierce eyes ijleamint,' on me, \ shall <frow as wild as the\'."'
She essayed to ipiit the carria^'e with one strong' aiul mii^hty hound,
Ihit thiek folds of heavy elothini,' rouiul her wasted form wei'e w(airid.
And, heside, a thony of leathei' Itound h.er that she t'ould not tlee ;
Then she, turniIl,i,^ spake to Tenipest in such tones of ai^oriy,
With such tea;'fid, eariu'st ))leadin!,'s that they touehed the servant's

lu'art,
And for,LC('ttin<;- golden guerdon he liad turned liim to flepart ;
liut his master woke the evil in his soul by tauntini^ J^ihe,
And aroused anew his avaiice by anothei' whisjjered b)'i})e.
'Twas indeed most sad to hear her as thev rode tt)ward the d(X(r,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Sohhirijr, iiKtiiTiiiii.'. plrjidiii^', ci'viii',' -surely never one Ix-foiv
With such hitter lariietit.itinM |.;isse(| that <lreary tlireshoM o'er.
" When have F, O Tempest, tell nie. ever done ynii such despite
That ydu iK.w ar<' fain to sliut me tVoni the meanest l)ei,'^'ar's riyht.
Fn.m the freshness df the iiiornini;, from the ijlorv of tlie eve,
Amid sounds to rend my spirit, ann'd si-^lits mine eves to yrieve f
Vou have rol)i»ed of ill (hat maUetli life to he esteemed a prize ;
Yet I pi-i/..- it — I would wander .ylad heneath the friv liliie skies.
F have moved in fashion's circle, where 1 ne'er mav lilend auain.
And I lo\(.(| t'le dance and hanqiiet, loved as heauty"s (picen to

reij^n :
Lo\.'d the <,'iance of admiration, lowd the homa;,'e of the heart;
F with hope of these have parted and F must forever part ;
Hut F love the cheei'ful suidi,t,'ht, and I love the meadows sweet,
f.o\-e (he forest and its wihl wavs, where went free mv <'hildhood's

feet ;

F>o\e th«' flowers and tives ;,nd finita.i,'e, sparklin.i,' wa\c and starrv

niirlii.
And the wintry snow that covers my d.-ar land in rohe of white,
f !lad, kind nature will not scorn me : hirds will siiii;- as sweet to me
As if 1 were ov, ned most freely hride of kiii;;ht of hi,nh dt'.nr'ee ;
Neither will my country's wild hills frown upon mv comitiir more
Than if 1 my ri<,ditful circlet and the arms of Temjiest wore.
Marmaduke, I love my mother: hut restore me to her hreast
And of all your shiniiii,' thou.sands I will make no moiv icMpiest.
All jtre-ocoupied and seornftd. all unheedful. Tempest stood :
Moi'e is moved the ,i,'raiiite houlder hy the dash of summer Mood.
•More aiv moved the Alpine sununits hy the winds that o'er them
hlow

Than was moved th(> heartless hushand hy her tears and frantic woe.

Tliey had reached the ,<.^iarded portal, where all spake of slaveiv

To tlie weeping one who tremhled like the leaf of asy)eri tree.

Soon there came a portly doctor w itli a hald and shining liead.

And a plump and smiling nuitron followeti close ujhhi his trea<I.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

f/.

1.0 !S«- III

I.I

11.25

Its

i;^

1.8

i.4 llllli.6

P/»

/><

%^ %

0-2

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Anna told lici- talc of an^aiisli ; lici- tlicy answered as a tiliild
Who of evcrv faiified <i;ri('van(M' should he niei'rily l)ei;uile(l, —
Tellinj^ her her haughty tyrants should most surely taste their wrath,
Pi'oniising to set her f()otste])s soon U)>on her homeward path.
Anna sat where none seemed pi-esent. in a high, l)right-furnished

room.
Molding naught hut grated windows to im})ress the heart with gloom.
!''rom l)ehind a heavy curtain soon cnu'i'gcd a woman fail'.
With a restless eye and glittering, rol)es of hiack, and sha\en hair,
(luileless was her soul and gentle, and her faith in (Jod was strong;
( >ft she spakc^ in chiming numhei's, glorious was her gift of song.
IMtying glance she cast on Anna, as she sat in ahject woe.
With her rich hair all dishe\ died and hei' thin, pale face i)ent low.
<)pening then a carved piano, thus she sang in minor key :
..\nna raised her head to listen to the sweet sad melody.

THK h.AV.

*• .My memory's earliest dawning light is dark

With ck)udH that soon upon niv spirit liroke
In cold and di-enching rains— 1 stood the mark

For the Herce tempest and the lightning's stroke.
From the high heaven seemed rent away the sln-ouu

The waters from the waters to divide,
And many a leaden, chilling, hursting cloud

Swej)t wildly o'er me as it sought the tide.

Yet in my childish heart was ardent love -

I loved njy mothei' mild, my troubled home ;
1 love it still as dreary earth I rove,

And shall, as hrancled Cain, unresting roam.
A warmei' love sprang up within my heai't,

(Jilding the heaven of my girlish years ;
I (leemed its genial glow would ne'er depait,

Its brightness ne'er l)e dinnned hy mist of tears.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

d;\

I'atli,
shed

DOIll.

rV.

" I said, 'Hi<;li Heaven is evei- just and kind :

The clouded moniing hi-ings a shining noon ;
Th- triueller whose day is dark shall find

His evening-; way Ht by the stars and inoon.'
liut where we dwelt v.as near the Noi-thern Sea.

Our dwelling had its base upon the sand ;
Then the wild storm arose in savage "dee,

And lashed the waves to foam and shook the land.

"Our pleasant dwelling by the Noi-tluM-n Sea

Was reared amid the glorious sununer hours ;
Its walls were elad with \ines, the home of bee,

While round it sang the birds and bloomed the flowei-s.
] looked, and all my joy was darkened o'er,

The mirth of all the land was mute and gone.
And ei'e the night were strewn along the shore

The ruins of the jtleasant Ikmdc of morn.

"And little knew F of the wondious way

Of Hiin who is as merciful as just ;
He stays his i-ough wind in the east winds day.

Hut levels oft oui- cherished hopes in dust.
Hut still that love, shut from u'y outward sky,

Liveth in memoiy to cheer tlie night ;
The many waters and the tempest high

Were jutwerless to outtlare or »iuench its light."'

When the hiy was done she sat hei- close to surt'ering Anna's sid(>,
Saying, "Strange you do not know me — 1 am Countess Bertha Clyde
liut full well 1 know youi- bearing, we have oft each other seen
Til (.ui- days of youth and pleasui-e, at the palace of the Queen.
Well I knew and well I loved you— you are La<ly Lillian Lake ;
Much I mjirvelled you so eai-ly shouM the royal coui-ts forsake.
Now I know you <|uit the palace for ihe self-same c.iuse t'lat I

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

W as iiuliiwd tlif hollow sj)l('n(loi' of its marhlt* courts to fly.

r>ut 1 niiiy not stay discussiii;i^- all the trials we have seen ;

I rejoice that you are growinat more content and more serene.

Thou<;li we have been sorely chastened, 'twas hy our own Fathei-, (jiod ;

lie hath scouri^ed us with our follies back unto His own abode. "

Uertha j)laced a ponderous liible, that lay oped on polished stand,

On th(! velvet couch beside her, close to Anna's restin<( hand ;

And the type so clear and open she, thou<ijh scarcely conscious, read ;

"Tsvas where God vo ancient Israel by the prophet Hosea said,

"Come and let us humbly hasten our return to God the Lord ;

He liatli torn, and He will heal us; llv hath smitten with His rod,

I hit will bind our smitten spirits." Evimt word seemed meanint^

fraught.
And most strangely new to Anna, wakinsj; many a searching thought.
Thus began a life for Anna, destined thus to })ass away,
Half as l(»ng as Scottish INIary pined in gloouiy Fotheringay.
Doctors, servants and officials termed her Mistress Anna Grey,
Till she half forgot that other name she bore in })rouder day.
With the ]);'tients joined she little, but the harmless Bertlia Clyd^
ibianied at will through hall and parlor, and was often at her side.
IJcst she lo\ed to .sit beside her at the closing of the day,
And recite [)ro])hetic Scripture or some wild or plaintive lay.
Once she came in early morning, saying with a j)leading glance,
As if fearing snub or coldness, *' [..isten to my rhymed romance."

CIRCKLINDA.

A KIl.UiMKNT KI:AI> TO ANNA liV fOrSTKSS HKUTHA CLVDK

As morn flashed up oer the wide, wide water,
The ancient wife awaked hei' daughter.
She spake and said : " From home 1 warn you;
For twenty tedious yt>ai's Tve boi'ne you.
And you never gained me a silvej' p(>nny.
What use are vt)U here? 1 know not anv.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

1)5

An(i never a suitor has come awooini,'

Go see what men in tlie uoi-ld are duiw^.
You have a sire ; ini earth's expansion
He (Iwell.'th in a inai'hle mansion."
I'lie maid rose up. as well Iteeame liei\
(Tlie (lame the wliih' was tain to hlam(> her).
Forth went she with a sln'nini;- slipj^-r
And a tlowin^^ rolie that was wont to trip h(!i'
Hei' -rolden hair was eurl(>d and hraided,
She w<jre a eha],)let somewliat fa(.ied ;
Hei- eye was hi'iirht as a .sappiiirc jewel
Ard not like the old dame's— I)iaek and cruel
Her teeth like pearls of distant oeean,
Lik.- the airy breeze h<"r .i^raceful motion.
She went by \a!e and lofty mountain
And o;ushinj,^ stream and «iir-lin,y fountain ;
She roamed by meadows richly j)lanted,
She trod dark woods and vales enchanted ;
Sli(> saw the birds that ,i,'ather eai'lv
Amid the li-lds of wheat and barley ;
Sli(> saw the hinds that labor dailv,
And j)lumed youn.i^- nobles ridiiiu ir,iilv ;
She saw the city's dashing daughters'
iJide with their lovers by the waters.
She found a grr,ve as night was falling,
Where she heard the turtle its fellow\-alling ;
So she said hei' j.rayers 'neath a shady wilNnv,
And laid her h(>ad on a rockv pillow,
To dream, like him of Scripture stoi-v,
A dream of joy and light and glory.
When she awoke at morn dark lowering,
A wretcJied form was by her coweiing.
With tangled haii- all long and Mowing.
'• \\ iience I am como and whither going,"

9r,

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

He said, " 1 am lotb to tell, fair iiiaiticii,

For Miy mission is sad and mystery laden.

1 eame last iii<^lit to yonder city,

l>iit 1 could not Hnd a man to pity;

For my j»urse was empty and jj;arments se(-dy,

And the rich care nau,<i;ht for the poor and needy.

I slept witli the sky for roof and awning.

And have nauijht to break my fast this dawniny.'

Now, the old dame, ,i.frud<^in<.; and half unwilling,

Had u;iven an ancient silver shilliiiij;,

And a store of cakes iji a wicker basket,

And her linen in a leathern casket.

She shared her cakes with the liunj^ry stranger.

And thouj^ht not (»'er-wisely of coming dan<4ei-.

He sj)ake of the joiu-ney he must tra\cl

.Vnd the mystery he must needs uni-avel.

She hade him take the ancient shilling ;

lUit he seemed doubtful and unwillinsj;,

And turned it o'er and f^azed upon it,

As tli" liirht of mistv morn shone on it.

ememner

was car\e(l upon tne ea<rk

til

And "me" upon the statue re<i;al.
He i^rasped the coin and l)ackward started,
With look half wild, half broken-heaired,
Then said : " !t makes me melancholy.
For it calls back days oi youthful folly.
T take it — thou art blessed in yfiviny,

1, to

), am liappy m I'eceivinj

When I return from my k»nely mission
With I'ealized dreams of my youths jiiiibition,
T will sixty-fold i-eward thee duly —
Ilememl)er, T have spoken ti'uly.
Hut how into thy jj;entle Hngei's
Came this unjjuKllv coin, where linixers

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

The traces of tlie witch-like .sneerin,!;',

Tlic .siunc malevolent f4»i)eai-in,i<

Tliat stamped the features of the i-ivei-

When I was the accursed receiver/'

" My mothei- ^ave it yester nio-nin^' ;

Wlie hade me leav.^ with wrath and scoi7iin-

The}- call her ' Ancient Jean the Lady ; '

She dwells within a cottage shady

'Mid ,^'roves of „ak and elm and wilh.w,

Down close beside the soundin-- billow.'"

He said, " What name to thee is <,'iven,

Thou angel, bright as one from Jieaven ?"

" 'Tis Circelinda." '< Heaven bless thee,"

Quoth he, "and gracious saints caress thee.

Thy name unique, that never story

Nor song hath graced, shall yet have glory.

Adieu ; thou art a lady (|ueenly,

And I a knight, though seen so meanly.

T go to seek my lordly brother.

To j)i-o\e what wizard told my mother."

The sun dispelled the jnist of morning.

Hut she journeyed onward, tlie distance scorning ;

For her footsteps, light as touch of feather,

Scarce dented grass or hazy heather.

She came to a hill that, gently sloping--

A vista of rarest beauty opin"-

Displayed the drooping elm and willow.
And sappln're, sunshine-ci-ested billow; '
The shore in cove and portlet wending.
And paths the farther banks ascending.
That entered forests high and hoary,
Clad in their robe of summer glory.
Down rushed tlie noisy streamlet toward her ;
Rich meadows stretclied to the i-iver's border;

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

T\w hills hchiiui sloped upward from her

Aiirl met th(^ lair<,']nn<( sky of summer ;

The trees rejoiced in their heiji^ht and j^reenness,

The ,L(ray rocks stared in their naked leanness ;

Tall shining grass in the fields was growing,

And the rose and thyme their sweet breath blowing

The birds of dusk and of shining feather

Held concert on spray and rock together ;

Till it seemed like a song she had heard of heaven,

The rest of the weary and sin-forgiven.

So she sat 'neath a shrub of blossoms yellow.

Beside a streamlet bright and shallow.

And thought of the days of vanished childhood

By the caverned shore and tangled wild-wood ;

But from her reverie awaking

She started, for the eartli seemed quaking,

And a snorting steed passed close beside her,

Saddled and bridled without a rider.

Frighted she fled along the meadow

Beneath the elm and willow's shadow.

Till her flying steps unpondered brought her

Close to the edge of the shining water.

Where, faint and wet and soiled and gory.

There lay a form in manhood's glory.

She turned to fly, but thought came o'er her

That one who suiTered lay before her.

She raised his liead and gently laved it,

And water brought- -his hot lips craved it.

And eager drank, till strength returning

And in his eye the life-hre burning.

He said : " What god or kindly spirit.

Or whim, perchance of little merit.

Hath brought thee, woman's fairest daughter.

To this far, unfrequented water,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

To soothe ill weakness. w(,un(Is arid danger,
A lonely, fate-unfavored stran<,'ei- >.
For thou|,di of noble hirth and standing,
And wealth in vulgar eyes co(ni„an(iing,
Tn early youth my heart was blighted ""
l>y tenderest feelings unrecjuited.
T loved my proud, imperious mother-
Such love I never bore another.
I well recall lier broad, white forehead ;
I raised my eyes, that ne'er had sorrowed.
With k)ve and confidence and duty
To gaze upon her matchless beauty.
Her eye.s were lustrous, dark and Hashing,
But, ah ! her wrath, like thunder crashing,
Like mountain storm or torrent's clangor,"'
Fell fierce on all who dare(i her anger.^
IJut me, her loving child and onl,-
In this wide world so cold and Kmely,
She left, beneath the base direction
Of one my father's kind protection
Had raised from want to fair {)osition.
Yet who was filled with vile ambition'
To rob him of his dearest treasure,
And give him sorrow without measure.
Why should my memory dwell upon her?
My sainted father's tarnished honor.
My own— shame whispers it were better
That I forever should forget her."
The gentle girl hath laved his bruises
And bound his wounds, while thus he chooses
To speak with such impassioned feeling,
So nxuch of dark disgrace revealing.
At length he rose and bade her follow.
O'er swelling mound and grassy hollow.

100

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

His clu'st wfis hruiul, his li«'ii,'lit was regal,

His ( ye like tliatof mountain eagle ;

His ample curls were black and shining,

Around his high white brow entwining ;

His years a score and t«'n or younger,

Dut in his eyes the spirit-hunger.

And round liis l)eai'ded mouth exjyression

Of goading care or deep depression,

Might strike at first the chance belndder

As those of one full ten years oldei-.

He asked her t)f her destination,

And to that far nook of creation

What kindly lifij)j)y chance had sent hei', —

For sure superior strength was lent her

To roam o'er plain and mountain by-way

Such distance from the royal highway.

She frankly told him that her mother

(She deemed her such and knew no othei)

Tn the bright early dawning yester

Forever from her home dismissed her ;

Since when she roamed o'er height and hollow,

Striving each path she saw to follow,

Till, frightened by the steed that passed her-.

And fearing much some sad disaster.

She wildl}' tied she knew not whither,

O'er brake and marsh and heath and heather

And found his form so helpless lying

She ti'uly deemed him swiftly dying.

And much he spake of tender pity,

And oi" his home beside the city.

Where pressing want and worse temptation

Might ne'er assail ; where education

And pleasant home of wealth should greet her,

A prudent elder dame should meet her,

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

101

To teach hei- of her ri^jlu domoaniri",',

From slanderous tongue her fair name screenin,<;.

'Twas thus they passed o'er vale and meadow,

'Neath trees of fruit, and Hower, and sliadow.

They came to hills where herds were feeding,

Tliey saw afar the higliway leadino

i'.y villas tall, 'mid ^cjardens tlowery,

By pastures green and orchards howery.

The sun was hot in summer heaven,

No cloud across th(> arch was driven ;

The maid was sore of foot and weary,

And in her eyes the land, so cheery,

Looked sickening, hcjpeless, homeless, dreary.

He strove her drooping heart to rally.

And told her of the sunset valley,

The gardens with their sparkling fountains,

And southward far the misty mountains,

That purpled in the light of inorning

All th'>se his palace home adornini;-.
With sculptured forms and pictured heauty.
And silver bells that woke to duty,
She should enjoy, with kind protection
And virtuous wisdom's sage direction.
They reached the highway portal-\auIted,
And passed beneath its arch exalted.
There came a man with locks so hoary
They decked him like a crown of glory ;
Though bent with age, he hasted, ciying,
" Lord Hugh, thy ancient nurse is dying,
I little thought so near to find thee.
She bade me that T should remind thee,
That once the year that's gone she told thee
Before she died siie nmst behold thee,
Because she holds a secret pressing,

■9SI

102

John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Thfit "(oads luT t'Vfr to ftoit'cssiriic,

Its wci^'ht (tf guilt is so (listicssing,

She cannot breathe hei- last in blessing."

I/>ni Hugh looked on tlie maiden slender,

With none to succor or defend her.

Then swift she spake, " O lordly stranger,

Thy nurse's soul hath grievous langer ;

Hasten that she may yet be shriven.

And win at last to holy Heaven ;

The angels strong are my protection."

Then came, he deemed by Heaven's direction,,

Along the trampled gravel dashing,

A carriage in the sunlight Hashing.

He bade the driver take the maiden

Into his carriage, lightly laden,

Anfl bear her to the Manctr Shalley,

Heside the city of the valley.

Within the coach of velvet lining

The weary girl, at ease reclining.

Was startled by its sudden halting.

Into its door a youth came vaulting,

Of stately height and slender moulding,

Who stared, its occupant beholding,

Nor I.eeded aught her crimson blushes,

(For to her brow the red blood rushes).

" T much rejoice, as is my duty.

To see you here, my languid beauty.

Home guardian sprite or generous fairy

Hath seen me desolate and weary.

And in her anxious wish to cheer me

Hath placed such lovely being near me,

With sweet and tender smiles to bless me,

And in my solitud aress me."

The maid up-rose with feai- and trembling,.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Her iivivi uiul jin^'tT luit disscmhling ;
In v«'ry ti-uth slu' spakf not ruciinly —
Her iiidim'nation niiuh; her (|U('enIy.
She bade the servant cease liis (h'ivins'.
He sai(i he wouhi when safe arriving
At Shalley Manor, there to leave lier.
He spake it only to deceive her ;
He knew the humor of his inaster,
And urg(>d his fiery coui'sers faster,
Until the plea ^nt Manor Shalley,
The i;ity and the sunset valley.
Were far beliind and mingled dimly
With distant hills in twilidit irrindv.

They reach Lord Paul's domain enchan'
|{ich odors came from gardens planted,
rt was the far-famed Chandos Manor,
Of hall bedecked with bust and banner.
Lamps blinked in trees both tall and shady,
And marble infant, knight and lady
Were crowned with golden lamplets blazing —
The sight was brilliant and amazing.
Fountains from marble swans came hissinir :
The maiden, half her fears dismissing.
Sprang from the coach as help was offered.
And spurned Lord Paul's white fingers proffo-cnl
Like frightened fawn she foj-ward darted
Where the long, leafy branches parted.

103

How sped Tord Hugh, who left the maiden
At duty's cad ere fell the even ?
He found his nurse with sorrow laden.
Most distant from the gate of heaven.

101 John Saint John and Anna Grey:

sill' ci'ird, '• I,(»ril ilu^li, l'<)i'^i\t' tlir i'\il
That I IifiM' (litiic or licljH'd ii- ilniiij^':
l'\)r its I It -I 'I I L;iiilt the aiiL^ry |)c\il
Is to tlif (Iratli my soul pui'snip'^-.
'I'lii- licli rstiiti's nt' Cliiindos Maiioi'
Air all tliy n\s ri \)\ iii;htt"iil liciriiiy."

r.citlia ((ascd and wliis|M'n'd i^aily, " I of this uill tell voii iiion-
W'lii'ii ymi siiit; lo iiir a ditty nt' the ((ccan's wrsti'in slmfc."
Anna was inn suit in spirit y»'t tu speak of days ^onr hy,
( »i' swrcl lioiiif land, s(i ranvssiin;' Itcrtha vcvy tenderly.
She replied, " I eaniiMt tell yoii of my happy western home;
At its mention tears would hlind me, and the sohs tempestuous
come.

"Tell me. then, of joyous nature, of tlie rohin's early soiiy,
( )f the yreeii fields and the waters — I have pined for these so loni;."
As they stood within the easement, they could see the clouds uprise
White and spirit like o'er hill tops, driftiii<^' northward through the

skies.
"Sinn',' said she, "of clouds of summer that drop fatness o'er the

land :
They are ni,uli and tliev are i;'lorious, sint; of them in niimhers urand."
Anna iiad no heart for siii,niii;j;, scarce a knack of pleasant rhyme,
N'el she saiiu' to cheer her comi'ade, and to while the weary time.

rHK CI.OL'DS.

'• I'p from hehiiid the hills that hound my vision,
( )ut of the southern sea.
The rich white clouds arise: hiest is their mission,
And sweet their ministrv.

" .Moi-e excellent in hei<flit, in slight more ijflorious
Are they than iiills of prey ;

• A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

AihI .ill tlif nH;.s thai llauiit u'cr hosts virlorinus
Arc not N<» hriiflit as they.

"Tlit'V stand in order now like seven mountains,
Seven rii-^'ned lulls of li<fht,
Whose sid(.s ar." pierced l,y aju-rtures, vvheme fountains
(Jusli foauiirii,', featlierv wliite.

"A ^iant sits upon a summit ra<fi,'ed,
And feasteth with his hrjde .
With their vast hoard sprea.j out o'er hillocks jaH-ed,
Throu^di air suhlime they r'ide.

I hey vanish, and now comes a woman slendi'.-

VN'ith lioar, dishevelled hair :
W'epin;,^ like llachel for her children tender.
She clasf)s her hands in prayer.

"A «,drded, mitred priest is eiiterin(< slowly
W ith censer fumijii,' pale,
And rohes l)ell-l,order<'d, to some cloud -scneried \[,:.y
Of holies, through the veil.

" And .•ountlcss fitrures more are still uprisiiiir
From the far southei-n sea.
The while I sit with fancy fond devisimr
The forms that they mav be.

" Lofty tiiey are and pure, and hope inspirini;- ;
They i)riii<f no thouifht of care,
Nor l)lame, nor toil, di.stasteful. vvai^eless, tirint,^;
Sweet dreams an<i ^rand they hear.

*'() vault of heaven! thy stars are passim- -lorious,
Tender thy moon and fail';

I Of)

106 John Saint John and Anna Grey:

Thy sun, a royal biidej^iitorn, rides victorious
Tlii'ougli thy blue wastes of air ;

" Hut the sweet clouds seem nearer, more of kindred,
Than these: they lia<l tlieir birth
On this our j^lobe, and have tliey not meandi'red
The dark, dull ways of eaith ?

" And though so vastly lower than Orion,
Or sun, or moon, they be,
They may have fallen in latter rain on Zion,
Or laved Gethsemane.

" Now far away the seven hills have drifted,
The giant at his feast.
The weeping Rachel with her hands uplifted.
The ricli-robed, girded priest.

"They crowd together in the northern heaven.
They mingle in the west,
To fall, before the balmy dusk of even.
On hills and pastures blest."

I'eitha clasped her hands and listened, joyous as a happy child :

On her forehead was no shadow, in her eye no anguish wild.

Then she spakt' : " How sweet your song is ! To my weary brain tis

rest :
Often sing to cheer and lull me, sing of scenes of nature blest."
The gliul thought arose to Anna : "Thus T may beguile my hours
Striving to bring joy to others with my spirit's utmost powers.
As I ha\(' been basely thankless to sweet mother, lover, friend,
Now 111 seek to render kindness to the sad till life shall end."

Oft did Bertha tell to Anna legends fair, but incomplete —
Kven as her reason risen, as her nature rich and sweet.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

107

THE COMIXC HOME OF (JUV I'HILIl'.

A FKAtlMK.NT RKAI) TO ANNA BY COr.NTKSS BKHTHA ( I.VDK.

Theiv is ii palace .staii(liii.:;f

Tn a wild lonely land,
Its lordly site commanding'

A view of waters grand.

Behind are mighty mountains

That prop the bending sky,
Wlierefrom there glitter fountains

That never yet were dry.

For though tlieir sides are covered
Witli woods that greenly grow.

Their topmost peaks are sniotliered
In everlasting snow.

The doors are quaintly garnished,
And carved in figures strange ;

By weather all untarnished,
With time they do not change.

Two hundred years have vanished
Since from the enchanted bound

The living foot was banished,
And voice forbid to sound.

Within is voice of weeping,

C)f pleading and of prayer,
And noise of footsteps creeping

On the broad marble stair.

They are unhappy spii-its,

That weep, and plead, and pray.

108

John Saint John and Anna Grey

II(»])iiij;' thcii' loiin' (leiuei'its
TIk'v iiiiiy ;it lust repay.

Fi'Oin Hends tliat taunt and harass
Tlu'Y swift and ceaseless ,i(lide,

Kound neatli the lieavy arras,
And up the stairway wide.

AVrouiLjht DU the silken arras
Are scenes of war and love:

Helen in tli,i,dit with Pai'is,
The n'lorious court of .Jove,

The tent of stronj,' Achilles,

JU'fore the Trojan wall ;
Fair nymphs with droopinjjf lilies

Crowned for hiyh festival ;

Ulysses o'er the billow

Sailiiiif, stranufe lands to see ;

Sad Dido with her willow.
And staid Penelope.

( )ne chamber, at a distance
From parlor and fiom hall,

IJears token of resistance

Made to foul thrust and tin-all :

Such as bi'i<iht tresses scattered,

And w(>apons ,l(oi'v dim.
Snapped chain, and blood-bespattered

Floor, wall and window yi-im.

Thus pass the weary atfes,

Above the hmely land
Where, all unknown t(; saf;'es,

The hills and palace staiid.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick. lOD

Tfu'ic u-ilK'th a cavern 'twixt palace and wave,

All gloomy and dank as a wide open grave,

And from it their cometh a murmuring sound

< )t' waters afiowing afar under ground.

When the southern winds rouse the wild clouds fro,,, the sea,

Tliey rusli o'er the mountains in turbulent glee ;

Tliey empty their fatness on meadow and hill,

They raise to a torrent each murmuring lill.

"I'ls then that the river, so rapid and swoll'n,

No more in its old gravelly ',ed will be lioln ;

liut swift it o'eipasseth its guardian bank,

And leaps with a roar down this cavern so dank :

For its ceaseless endeavor and clamorous shock

Have opened a rift in the masonried rock

That shows, wlien the waters have slackened away,

Wide cavernous cells to the light of the day.

Ah, me 1 for the legend that cleaves to these cells.

Ah, me ! for the tale that their history tells.

Of sorrow, opj)ression, of passionate love,

Oi hate that no tears and no curses could move.

Of crimes that a reprobate mortal will dare,

Of daj'k retril)ution and hopeless despair.

In the long vanished ages this pfilace arose

At the will of Aloiizo, the dread of his foes,

Hut the loved of his monarch, his country, 'his friend.

So wise to give counsel, so strong to defend.

He builded his palace of marble and stone,

Nigh the waters at foot of the mountains, alone.

'Fhere he girt it with gardens of glorious tre(^s,

The home of bright birds, the sweet haunt of the bree/e.

The hands of the i)ainter and sculptor were there,

As a bower of the houris its chambej-s were f;..ir. '

There he lived, there he died, by that murmuring ri..od,

A\ ith the Liuly Matilda, a princess of blood ;

110

John Saint John and Anna Grey

AikI there ilsvelt Iiis sons in ii lutiir loval line —

'i'liere wus IJieliiud the sturdy, and Hu<:;h the heniifn,

There was Thomas the faithful, Sei^isinund t!ie wise,

And niuny more named foi- their deeds of emprise.

Of tlieii' hidthers, some warred on the i)oisterous s«!a,

Some had mitre and cap of the lii<,diest de<i;ree ;

Their sisters were wed with the issue of kings,

Who dowei'ed them with realms when thev yave them their rinirs.

The one the most famous for beauty and truth

Was a Sistei' of Mei'cv, and died in her youth.

Tluis in wealth and in glory the ages sped on

Till the days of (iuy Philip two centuries agone.

(luy Philip had wedded his bride by the sea,

NN'hen summer o er all things reigned gloriously ;

.And proud beat his heart a.s swift over the foam

Itode the snowy-winged vessel that carried liim home.

There was l)raying of trumpets, loud ringing of bells ;

There were echoes of gladness through village and dells ;

There were ihaplet-crowned maidens, and dames in tht^r prime,

Mowed grandsii'es whose heads were o'er-frosted by tim« ;

Strong young men, slim striplings and infants so fair,

With kith and kin, waiting to welcome them there.

.\n arch of white Howers they had reared on the shore.

With a golden-hued carpet the sands were spread o'er,

And the coach which awaited the jubilant l)an<l

Was drawn by six coursers from Araby's land

That arched their proud necks and ojted wide th»nr brown eyes

As their gold gearing flashed in the light of the skies.

Theic was one who in silence awaited the ship.

His eye dull and sightless, and shrivelled his lip.

His start" he was bearing, for great was his age —

"Twas .Michael the hermit, the prophet, the sage.

Though wrinkled ard palsied and grievously <M,

For a century over his white head had rolled ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Ill

Yet piercingly keen was his vision of mind,

And l;is ti-eniulous accent was clear and reHned.

While the blessings, the welcomes, were deafening to hear,

He spake not, he moved not. ('uy Philip drew near ;

Full gently he haih^l him : "<) Michael the goo(i,

Thou eremite, prophet and sage of the v ood,

Say why on my jubilant coming you frown ;

My grandsire and sire for your blessing knelt down.

Their- swords never faltere(i ; but mine is as true,

As brilli.int as ever a con(|ueror drew.

My Heet steed hath borne me o'er fields of the slain ;

I hav(! reaj>ed n»e green laurels on red battle plain."

The seer raised aloft one gray tremulous hand —

It was skinny and thin as a .sorcerer's wand —

Then gray-beards, uncovered, all reverently stood,

To list to the prophet and sage of the wocxi.

And the young hushed their mirth that the prophet nnght spt\ik.

'Twas the ghost of a tlush dyed his saffron-hued cheek

As he spake : " O thou warrior, youthful and bold.

Why look'st thou for boon to one helpless and old?

Thy vassals are legion, thy lady is fair,

Thy fine gold can buy thee both blessing and {)rayer."

" Sage Michael, I crave not for prayers that are sold,

T ask not for beni.sons purchased with gold ;

But such blessing of love and such tribute of worth

As thou gavest my sires who are passed to the earth."

*' I would fain not awaken thy turbulent ire ;

1 Aould fain bless the heir of thy grandsire and .sire.

Thou askest my blessing, thou cravest my prayer,

Thou wouldst bribe me with glittering gold didst thou dare.

But e'en if I would that my gifts should be sold.

Like the Moabite seer of the mountains of old.

The strange scenes to my visionless eyes that are brought

And the wonderful words to my tongue that are taught

HL>

John Saint John and Anna Grey

AiIm' from tlic t'utlioinifss f'(»a)it;iiii uf triitli

Like the \viit»'rs that fW'd this c-lt-jir stivain in its >iiiitli

T1m»s«' \isi(tnf;, those words list' lik<' w-itcrs in sj)rini(;

Now listen, my (•iiiUhcn, your pioplict shall sini;

As loud i in itiii((>iints loni; vanishctl away,

Wlicn the liand of a <;l(>i'ious rhieftaiii I/arr sway.

i tell thee, (Juy Pliilij), a year hatli not rolled

Sinee "twas i^ivt'n my visioidess eyes to heliold

A stran^^e thi'illint; scene — 'twas tliy liaui^lity form stood

In a far northern land, hy a foani-crestefl flood,

The lialtics cold wfi.c, on its waters to Hiui;

The (•orj)se of the heir of old Narroway's king.

Not a foe nor a stranger, hut friend of thy youth,

Who loved thee, who sought thee, who ti'usted thy truth.

Thy sword, which thou hoastest so good hath been jtroNcd,

is dark with a stain that may ne\'r be remover! ;

And tliy fleet red-roan charger hath gore »»n his mani'

l^'rom a warm heart out-crushed on the far seaside plain.

I speak not to tell how thou plightest thy sooth

To the Lady Ach'lla *vho loved thee in truth.

And didst lea\(' her all desolate, I'uined and sad.

With strong tetters bound in the l.t»me (tf the mad.

'rom

her 1

one.

ated

casemen

tsl

le casts her wild eyt

" Haste, seize the gray dotard and finish his lie I "

Aloud cried (4uy Philip, half choking with ire.

Pale, trembling with rage and astonishment dire.

" Haste, bind him, ye vassals! Why stand ye ama/ed ?

y lords, ye pe

I'ceive that the blind f(»ol is crazed

And

neer n

ad I

le I'cac

hed t

o so

hid

eo\is a staite

Of blinded and palsied and idiot age,

Were it not that ft»r ci'inies tliat the tongue cannot tell

The fiends would not harbor his presence in hell.

Long ago (.uight that nieagre and trenudous form

To have furnished repast fi»r the greedy gi-ave-worm ;

A Romance of Old New Brunsv/ick.

Or, s.. littlr ,.f Hfsh ill its substaiu-c is f.mnrl,
It l.ctt<'i- lijMl tVustcd tlu' raven and lumnd.
W«' ina.v net at his a-c, for his !iicain"n;,'lcss word,
l><'V()t(' hiii; a victim to hM.!t<'r or sword :
So hind him and oa- Iiini, and l)car him away,
That iiis presence oHend not the h'.yht of tliellav."
Two tall swarthy youths the chiefs mandate obeyed,—
They had com.' with the ship and were siran-elv arrayed
'I lie scjirf's of their tui-hans were white as the i nil k ;
Their knee-reaciiin,-; tunics were emerahl silk ;
'I'heir sashes and liosen were yeHow as day ;
With jewels the hilts of their da,-oe,..s wer<. -ay.
Twin l)rothers were they from the" Nuhian hiiul :
They lived init to speed at Guy Philip's c(,nnnand.
Hut heed thee, Guy Philip, pray have thou a care :
I hey forge thee a yoke that no mortal can hear ;
T!ie bondage to them thy fair daughter shall feel,
More galling than fettei-s of brass or of steel.
Tliey grasi)ed the unconcj'rable Nestor and boiv
His shadowy figure away from the shore.
Then the aged men frowned, and the voungei- m.-n place-d
Then- hands on the hilts of tluMr dagge.s in haste,
But none spake out boldly and n<.j)e raised a hand
To rescue from outrage the seer of the land.
Now a murmur was growing to tumult and noise,
In a crowd, neai- the chieftain, of stnplings and boys.
From a jewel-clasp(.d j,ui-se he cast handfuls that rolled
Mid the sedge-grass and pebljles in coinage of gold.
The youths grasped the guei'don and rent the broad sky
^^ ith " A curse to the dotard, a curse to liis lie !
But blessings of welcome and greetings of faim-
To the heir of a house of a glorious niime :
And the La<ly Theresa, Ic.ng may she abide
To teach us and bless by this murmuiing tide."

Jl;3

114

John Saint John and Anna Grey :

'Hie si.imnci' wjis j(lt»rious ai-ound tlicin tluit day,

( )Vr inouiitHiii, o'er nifiiduvv, oVr l)r()(»kl('t and hnic,

O'er blue, houiidii)!^ river, o'ci- ca.stirs, o'vr caves.

It j^lcamcd on the trees, it illumined the waves ;

Tlie broad azun^ heaven was full of its Uj^ht,

\t pierced to tli(> depths, it surmounted the hei^^ht.

The I'litV of the mctUMtain by summer was dressed

in the i)rakes and the lichens that clun^ lo its crest;

And in deep forest dint(les of ever;.(reen siiade,

Where the li,i,'ht of the winter might never invade,

Through some tortuous rift a bright glance it threw,

To cheer the pale plants that in deep sliadow grew ;

And in opener glades where tlie nmrmuring brook

l>eside the broad willows its winding way took.

On that h»ng vanished day the sweet sunnner's glad shine

Dressed the ruddy-red rose and the venomous vine,

The glistering buttercups, blosson»s of fi-uit.

And velvety violets, round far-reaching root.

The pathway that led from the heart of the wood

Through shadow and shine to the brink of the Hood,

Was decked with free hand by the summer serene.

Who ruled thi-ough its length like a (juiet young (|ueen.

The sununer was genial o'er fields of the vine.

That promised theii- <lresser a wealth of red wine ;

O'er sturdy old orchards whose branches hung low

With the weight of young fruitage on every bough,

That ere many morrows in richne.ss would vie

With the Eve-tempting apples of ages gone by ;

O'er grain-bearing m(>adows, where bearded heads rolled

Tn the azure of morning or eventide's gold.

Or slept on their stalks in that sleep wherewith noon

Husheth all the fair earth in the dream-days of June.

O'er kiosk-decked gardens where fountains at play

Threw heavenward ever their glittering spray ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

O'er ohurch <.f the Virgin that .^mv.-.inJ.Hl su..i
iNot tar trom the palace aruJ „i.jh U) the fl.,,Ki
There h.st the full .rl„w „f the sun put t<. shan.e
I he tapern that bur„e.i with a sanctifie,! Harne
Upon the hi^rh „,ltar, its splenrl,,,- was shorn
By the stain of the windows that looked to the ,norr. •
But softened it fell, richly tinted ar.d faint.
On the picture and bust of apostle -md saint •
On the (.Id Hebrew fisher who bare Heaven's keys
And the harlot who washe<J holy feet on her knees'
And the loved and the lovely aposth,. who die(i '
In a lone haunted isle of the ^^rean tide.
The light of the summer streamed down on the crowds
r glowed on the ship of white sails and gray shrouds ;'
More brightly above all the clear heaven shone
Ihan the glittering crystal or lazuli stone,
And richer around was the garniture green
Than the silk arras woven for Arabic queen •
More brilliant beneath was the carpet of bloom
Than the pnxluct of Persian or Ottoman hn>m
In all that broad region there was but one spot
Where the gladness and glow of the s.mmer came not ;
rwas the old mansion dungeon midway to the wave. •

Bertha, ceasing, turned to Anna : "Surely you are sad no more.
You are innocent and youthful and you weep not as before ;
Now I listen for a ditty of the Ocean's western shore."

A POEM READ FOR BERTHA BY ANNA.

-The memories of my childhood are of wild-flowers on the hill,
O the whi e bxrch m the wild-wood and the shallow mossy ril ;
Of he fir hat moaneth ever as in pain or fear or grief, '

Of the willows by the river, the gray poplar's restless iLaf •

II;

116

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Of the pine w1k)8«^ bninclu'.s southward jire so full iiiid loii;^ jiiid \\'uU\
Hut so scant upon the northward, foi- a compafs and a j^uide ;
Of the roaring hhist of winter laden with the <lrifting snow,
Clamoring as it fain would enter to the Hrelight's luddy glow.
fjong our blustry northern winter raves above wirje forest lands,
Where the grinj frost binds the waters with its strong and glittering

bands.
Tlie gay Spring, with witching music of her winds and liirds and

showers,
Charmeth long the southern regions ere she deigna to visit oui's.
When her face she turneth toward us and our thankful hop(>s awake,
Many times the fickle maiden south again her way will take ;
Then the North Wind iioars triumphant and the white showers clothe

the plain.
Turning back the April morning to the Christmas time again.
Still the May-tlowe"s wait her coming witli a pure anfl patient heart :
From beneath the melting snow-drifts do the waxen blossoms start ;
As a queen is the sweet May-fiower, and in her royal train
Violets and dandelions come to deck the grassy plain ;
Then the white and purple trill iums, the yellow adder's tongue.
The primrose and spring-beauty, grow the forest ways among.
( ) the glory of those forests, gay with bright or dusky bird,
There the matin of the wax wing in the cedar boughs is heard.
When the herald winds awaken to the day of song and feast
All the wild life of the forest, reptile, insect, bird and beast.
The red deer, that never started at the noise of hound or horn,
In the lovely forest chambers waken in the early morn ;
Then they cast their mild eyes upward to the rifted wreathen roof,
Stamping moist and verdant mosses with the slender parted hoof ;
Swiftly haste they toward the sunrise goldening the eastern hills.
There to toss their hornless foreheads as they (juaff the crystal rills,
(ilad the chafer and the dayfly, dragon-fly and humble-bee
With their myriad kindred mingle in the day of feast and glee."

,. i

i(l«\

11(1
r)the

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

<)...■ wild aiKht ii. (I,.,,th of winter IJcitha Clyd.- ^rew wholly sane,
Passing Ht the early dawning to the heaven she longed to gain.
Anna soirowed foi- Iwv going, yet rejoiced to see her lie
With no irk of latiuit madness in lier l-istrous raven eye;
For thou;, "V T lueek and gentle, sometimes even glad and bright
Oft she knew !• yr ,lays of anguish, nights of horror and aHrighl '
'•^ong,"said snc, "my thought hath wandered in a strange perplexing
dieani,

Through thick elouds my reason striving to transmit a guiding b'.am.
Kare-thee-well, my sist t Anna, seek to meet me in that land
Where our Cod's unfal homed doings we at last shall understand."
Anna had in truth heea striving the celestial land to gain.
Even sinc^> the morn she journeyed to the home of tlufinsane.

art :
rt;

•t".

Is.

Ii8

John Saint John and Anna Grey

CHAPTER VITT.

I SOJOURNED once within a mighty city

And walked on hallowed ground,
Within whose bound the fair and proud and witty

Of old their rest had found.

There was the marble shaft and mausoleum

To saint and hero raised ;
On crumbling tombstones carved with quaint inscriptions

With reverent eyes I gazed.

To point the trembling hope of sorrowing mortals

To One above who saves,
A church of gleaming windows reared its portals

And towers above the graves.

One stone there was, sunken amid the grasses,

That nothing but the name
Of " Charlotte Temple " told ; the stranger passes

And knows not oft her fame.

No smile of scorn, no tear of tender pity

Can reach her dust-hid face ;
The rocky earth of the great Empire City

Laps her in strong embrace.

The wooing birds, the tender flowers of summer
About her death-couch are ;

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

Not distant is tlie freighted liarbor's murmur,
Near is the Hying car.

Near is the phice wliere merchant princes min,<'le

And niighty dies are cast :
She heeds not these, nor all the Babel jangle

That fills the city vast.

So long her spirit feet have prest the mountains

Of the far spirit sjjhtM-es ;
So long her spirit lips have (|uafled the fountains

Of the eternal years ;

119

A spirit's judguK nts, loves and aspirations

Have ruled her life so Ion".
Can she but wonder that earth's gross terapta:i(ms

Should lure the human throng '/

A throng as truly spirit as th' archanL'el.

Yet as the insect frail ;
Deathless and strong, in (;o<i's light all things seeing,

They pass witl.m the veil.

Ample time for contemplation Anna had in pai-lors dim,
Guarded walks and lonesome ga.-dens, where the trees stood grand

and prim.
Ott she thought of days of childhood, of the forests free and wild,
Whose bright brooks and paths of shi. . )w her unfettered feet

beguiled ;

Thought of moonlight on the watei-s, when Saint John the fragile

craft
(Juided o'er them, wliile his sisters ami he.-self in gladness laughed ;
Thought of festive nights of winter v hen she moved in mazy dance^
Or in antic play was mingling, meeting oft his loving glance ;

120

John Saint John and Anna Grey

Thouijht of ridos in golden autumn undernoath tlio elm trees tall ;
Thdught of lon^ and pleasant lessons at the li<^lit aiuJ sunny hall ;
Thought of Sal)baths fair and hallowed, musical with sound of hell
That eame floating, zephyr- wafted, over woody hill and dell ;
Thouglit of the old church, its chancel and its slender altar rail,
And its wind ws wliere the sunlight streamed in crimson, gold or
pale ;

The staunch pulpit, velvet-cushioned, the square pews so richly lined
(Carleton's bore his crest and motto, ITugh Saint John's was close

behind).
She could seem to see tlie pastor with his gray and revej'end head ;
The small clerk in wig and breeches that the loud responses read.
Up the dn-amy aisle, in order time or change could not destroy,
Pas.sed Sir Thomas and his daughters, Lady Carletrn, Captain Foy,*
Hugh Saint .John, broad-browed and florid, his pale wife with sharp,

dark eye ;
John in habit trim and tasteful following very .soberly;
Maude Saint John with golden ringlets, Clare Saint John with braid, ^

of blown,
Melicent, the merriest maiden in the country or the town ;
Miss Buret of primmest manner but of tender, gentle heart,
Ever seeking sweet instruction to the youthful to impart :
Her o\/n mother with her garments black as widow's weeds could l)e
Soft eyes, waxen cheek and forehead and a form of symmetry.
Oft she thought what base re(|uital she had made for all the good
Heaped upon her helpless childhood and her early womanhood.
She had tuiiied her back on incrcy, love and hope and peace and

light,
A proud, shadowy phantom following into dark despair and night.
Long at thought of cruel Tempest thrilling anger stirred her heart,
Bidding sunset gold of meraor}', dawning hope of heaven depart.

* Lady Carleton's son by a former marriage.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

1-Jl

Oft at dripping of the night-rain, wail of storm-foretelling wind,

Her lone soul would break with longing for the life she'd left behind ;

Often from shriek-riven midnight till the crimson dawn of day

She would mourn, with bitter weeping, joys forever passed away.

She at length beheld that jewel Heaven doth sell, that may be ours,

If we meekly yield to gain it all possessions, passions, powers;

Then for joy of (Jod she bartered wailings o'er lost joys of eartli,

Sold her hati-ed of the Tempests for that pearl of priceless worth.

Now she moved in tlie asylum as a comfort and a light ;

>4ervants loved her, sutt'eiers blest her, for her gentleness was might ;

Sometimes seemed a vexing demon at her song awhile to fly.

Often could she (|uell the wildest with her strong and steadfast eye.

When the purple clouds paraded ii the east, foretelling day,

V the last faint gleam of primro.se passed from sunset heavens

away,
Through the days of placid sunshine, in the storms of tliund'rous roar,
Anna prayed, "O God, restore me to my mother's arms once more."
Fondest letters to her mother, blurred with penitential tears,
Had evoked no answering tokea through the weary, lagging years;
So with deeds of tcnderest mercy she would still beguile her stay.
Till some door of hope should open, some star rise to guide her way.
Often when the news of nations, wafted on their wings of white.
Visited her lonely dwelling, she would read with .strange delight;
Then with agony of longing she would pray again to dwell
In the fair, broad world unprisoned, fa. from grate, or gyve, or cell.

As she read one suuniier morning, lo, these words her eyes espied :
" Marniaduke, the Lord of Tempest, at the Tempest Manor died- -
Died in the full strength of maidiood, in the glow of seeming health,
Loved for his unnumbered virtues, master of unbounded wealth."
Much there was of lyii g flatt'ry penned to meet his mother's eye,
(All from fear or hope of guerdon .sought her favoring smile to buy).
Anna read with mingled feelings — she could not rejoice to know
Even that her proud oppressor sank to everlasting woe.

122

John Saint John and Anna Grey;

Her (Juds rod had taught and chastened, Tempest felt th" avenger's

blow ;
Yet they both were greatly guilty : he had holiest vows betrayed,
She had once a young life blighted, good with evil had repaid.
As she passed to seek her chamber in its silent light to pray.
Thus sh(^ heard a voice she knew not to the chief physician say :
*' On the morrow I a stranger from the western world will bring,
Lady of a learned doctor, Mrs. Catherine Broad lands King.
She a hapless dame is seeking. Lady Tempest, once Miss Grey,
Dwelling here, though not a maniac — they were friends in early day.
She indeed is Lady Tempest, as her seeker surely knows.
But denied her name and station by her harsh and daring foes."
At the thought of coming freedom, joy that she could not control,
Like the long-lost joy of childhood, thrilled through Anna's inmost

soul ;
But what wonder-working fairy had arrayed by magic rare
Peter King and Catherine Broadlands as the famous and the fair.
Sure their patois must betray them — he the honest rustic clown.
She the faithful household toiler — how had these achieved renown 1
" Ah," she mused, " they used their talents while my own were

wrapped away.
Rusting, useless, self-enfolded, hidden from the light of day.
They were willing to be useful, sought not much to be admired.
But what merits admiration they with all their souls desired.
Unto such the god of this world, though arrayed in garments bright,
Stands revealed a foe malicious and a fiend of foulest night.
(Jiving heed to words of knowledge, heark'ning unto wisdom's cry,
They in mercy are delivered from his ancient, specious lie :
That the soul that spurneth duty, love and truth in joy may live ;
That cold gold antl hollow splendor to warm hearts can comfort give."'

Though the stranger named the morrow, ere the sun had sunk to rest,.
Crimsoning the southward mountains and the heavens of the west.
She who faithful in a little filled so well the household sphere.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

1 -J.-J

Faithful ill a greater matter to the guarded gates drew near —
Not as oft in days of girlliood on her willing, nimble feet,
But in shining open cariiage drawn by horses black and Heet.
Strong her husband sat beside her with full brow and steadfast eye.
Looking towai'd the gilded mountains and the happy evening sky.
It may be some thought came o'er him of his boyhood o'er the seas,
When the piebald mare he followed, ploughing over fertile leas ;
But six years of earnest study, three of toil in noblest ways,
Had divested speech and bearing of all faults of earlier days.
In the latest glow of sunset Anna passed the guarded gate
That she entered one gray morning wild with terror for her fate.
Ix)ng in high, bright-lighted parlor talked the friends, until tiie break
Of the balmy summer morning did the watchful cock awake.
Catherine told how death had darkened all the region once so gav :
That fair Melicent and Clara pa.ssed to earth in girlhood's day ;
That their fonrl and gallant father, at the coming of the spring,
Sank in .sleep that to this mortal life knows no awakening.
F^right-haired Maude, a wife and mother, five short years had leave

to stay
Kre from bliss and beauty summoned by the voice of death away.
.John with Anna's widowed mother, fondly cherished, and his own,
Lived, to all dispensing blessings, till nine years their course had

Hown.
Fearing not the frown of mortals, soon his name was spi-ead aV)road
As of one who hated evil, loved his fellows and his God ;
Kind and generous, like his father, but his deeds his sire's surpassed,
Where he held the merry banquet John Saint John held holy fast.
Such a fast as God appi'ovetli, fo!" he rightly counted love
Better than all sacrifices, whole burnt-offerings far above.
He with bread made glad the hungry, brought the desolate and poor.
That could render no retjuiting, to his sheltering home secure ;
From the rooms where once had .sounded music gay and dancer's heel,
Rose the voice of fervent praying, rose the psalm in solemn peal.
Heaven pro.spered all his doings ; with unstinted hand lie gave

•24

John Saint John and Anna Grey;

To convoy tlin joyful tidings of the Cross o'er oct'jin's wave.
Tlirough tlie years no certain tidings came of Anna o'er the seas,
'I'hough the l)irds of air seemed whispering that she was hut ill at

ease ;
Tiien there came a dark-browed stranger, emigrant from England's

shore —
While Saint Johfi reaped golden harvest, he a laborer souglit liis door.
.\s he toiled among the reapers, ere the setting of the day,
lie beheld the widowt'd mother of the lady of my lay.
Still her form was slight and stately, clear her eye, her forehead fair
llichly crowned with wavy tresses of the brightest hoary hair.
Swift he asked her name and station, and with start of strong surprise
Cried, " My way hath all been ordered by the hand that rules the

skies."
Then to .lohn Saint .lohn was uttei'ed a .sad tale of cruel wrong,
Waking all the Haming spirit of his youth repressed .so long.
For this stianiicr was the servant that to fainting .Vnna gave
Kindly cordials as they journeyed that wild midnight by the wave.
He him.self had ne'er forgiven f(jr the evil part he played,
lie for gold had helpe;d to bury a young life in dreaded sliade ;
He for gold had hidden evil, l)ut it Hed his grasping still.
As was meet for wage of sinning, buying only grievous ill.
Penniless and self-reproachful he forsook his nativt^ shore,
I'^ain to drown the captive's pleadings in the mighty ocean's I'oar.
»>lill that voice his mental hearing vexed by <lay and woke by night,
Still lie saw tiiat weeping figure in the dark as in the light.
While at Tempest Hall he tarried, oft it woke his trembling sleep ;
It had followed all his rovings o'er the land and o'er the deep.
When lie saw the widowed mother 'twas as if that lovely face,
.Marked by time and bitter sorrow, rose to haunt the distant place.
He recalled the captive's pleadings that she might return again
To tlie bo.som of her mother o'er the mighty western main.
Well lie knew it was the mother who was standing in his ga/e,
That the daughter's fate to .show her he had wended all his ways.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

I2o

Tlius t(. Ji.hn Saint .John he utr».ir(i all the talc of Anna's ill,
Praisin- still Ihm- -race and ho-.nity, lu-r base lord cond.'.nnin,!,' still.

John was niark(Ml of the Destroyer; w,.ll h(. knew h,. soon must pass
To Ins couch l,esi.le his kin(h-ed 'neath the wavin- church-yard grass.
Peter King, the famed physician, 'tend.'d him with all his art; "
Catherine, gentle, strong and faithful, wrought for him a sister's part,
Cheered him, counselled, watched with, p,-ayed with, soothed with '

many a promise fair
From that book that doth (!od"s kindness to His suffering ones declare.
<;iad his soul laid hold on promise, he was willing to depart;
I'.ut for his thrice stricken mother would a pang assail his he'art.
Much he soiTowed for another, widowed long and desolate ;
All liis spirit liurned to rescue Anna from hei- crut'l fate.

Hlue as tlie sapphire of the heaveidy pavements
C littered the cloudless sky of winter morn ;

Wliite as the linen vestments of the ransomed
Seemed the pure garb by liill and valley worn.

The woods of evei-green stood l)lack but C(»mely,
^^ Cresting the little hills, the mountain's brow';
The spectral leaves of winter beech were tapping,
With eve.y breath of wind, botli trunk and huuah

Then .John Saint John fi-om couch of weary languor.

Looking o'er beauty of the wintry land.
Spake thus with cheer to his pale mt)ther watching

Witli love-lit eye, ceaseless at his right liand :

" I love the glory of this brilliant landsc-ipe,
But rarer glory decks my liome above,
Wliere dwell my honored sire, my gentle sisters,
In sunlight of our Klder Bn.ther's love '

I2G John Saint John and Anna Grey;

Tltrou^h all the years he had not inentionod Anna,
Save that of late ht; often named a scheme

To free her from the grasp of the oppressor,
Hfi' mortal life from Ixjiidaue to redeem.

Now freely spake he of his youth and Anna,
Of her great beauty and her mirth of old,

Of his sure hope that she would yet he gathered
l»y the Good Shepherd to His heavenly fold.

*' I had," said he, " in youth ambitious longings;
I planned to win Jis statesman high degree ;
Ihit He who ruleth over men and nations
Onlained that I a king and priest should be.

*' I hoped to wear the honors of my country.
To win the laurels of a just renown ;
Christ hath enwrought for me a robe of glory.
Hath fashioned for my brow a jewelled crown.

" 1 histe to wear them in my Father's kingdom,
My fair, my happy land of birth, farewell.
Farewell, my widowed friend ; farewell, my mother ;
A little while, and you with me shall dwell."

Then his fancy seemed to wander — he was faintly heard to say,
"Tell poor Anna I forgive her-; give my love to Anna Grey."
Once again he roused and shouted, " Lo, with songs and joy I come !
See my band of angel sisters waiting to escort me home.
Fare thee well, my dearest Anna ; in our I'^ather's house above
We shall meet as God's own angels and discourse of heavenly love."
Then, his radiant eye of a/.ure with a gleam celestial fired,
Earnest gaze he fixed on Catherine, sighed " Remember," and expired.

A Romance of Old New Brunswick.

127

All the meanin-r of - llomrmber" Catherino knew, for pnnnise sum

Mie l.a.l |.l(.d-o<l in ai.l „f Anna sa-ast counsel to secure ;

.She had pledged, despite opposin- powers of Tempest, to'restore

Her the loved an<l unforgotten to her mother's arms once more •

Her the loved and unforgotten, for of forests rich and wil,J

John had willed her many an acre, many a mead that gaily smiled •

Flocks and herds and watered pasture, silver, gold, and i-'easant ho.m^

Looking to the south and westward, to the sparkling river's foam

Catherine well performed her mission; none, in truth, her course

oppose<i.
Anna heard with bitter weeping all the story she disclosed.
Hers were tears of true repentance, tears of holy, tender love
For the form in darkness sleeping, for the soul the sky above
'Gainst the haughty house of Tempest she would urge no rightful
claim ;

Soon across the mighty waters to her western land she came.
Thin had grown her rounded figure, silver-streaked her chestnut hair
riound her mouth were lines of sorrow, o'er her brow was shade of care'
Yet a charm that rivalled girlhocKi's, in her graci.^us pre.senee slione '
Long she cheered her widowed mother, cheered the mother of Saint
John ;

Cheered and blessed whoe'er she met with as the ways of earth she
trod ;

Carried light and smiles and comfort into many a drear abode
Little children loved her coming, feeble age her presence blest.
To the burdened and the weary thought she brought of heavenly rest
For she was no harsh ascetic ; she went forth among her kind
Bearing wine and oil of kindness, seeking bleeding hearts to bind
Her pure heart held sweet communion and a league of love with
waves,

All earth's gentle speechless creatures, clouds and winds and stones
and caves ;

Flowers that deck the wood and meadow, stars that shine in nicrhtlv
skies, ° ^

128

John Saint John and Anna Grey.

As ,n..st precious frien.ls and conmulo^ ]wv ncli nature learnod t.,
[)ri/«'.

(Jarl, she wf.re of .l.-epest inournin- till they hii.l her down to rest
On the hill where kith and kindred j.ore the clods on hrow and

breast -
Mournin-,' with no ,i,deamin.,' trinket to relieve its heavy fold,
Fiut she shone with an adorning rarer far than gems and gold,
r^ong in death the mournful widows slept hy their beloved dead,
Kre the fair and gentle Ainia hid in dust her whitened head.
On the consecrated hill-side where is heard the sound of waves
And the whispering of the forest from amid the grass-grown graves
To lier .|uiet rest they bore her one sweet pensive Autuuui day,—
Si<le by side in death they slumber, John Saint John and Anna'drey

THE KND.

110(1 to

rest
\v and

lives,

Git

•oy