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 BY MRS. ANNA H. DORSEY, 
 
 ADTHORESS OF 
 
 Blenheim Forest, the Sisters of Charity, Tears on the Diadem, the Oriental Pearl, Sec. 
 
 B A L T I iM O R E : 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOHN MURPHY 
 
 No. 178 MARKET STREET. 
 PHILADELPHIA: J. FULLERTON. PITTSBURG: G. QUIGLEY. 
 
 SOLD BY BOOKSELLEFS GENERALLy. 
 
 MPCCCXLIX 
 
 '^^^ 
 
?^*3>^ 
 
 ^^$^ 
 
 Entered, accordiug to the act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight 
 hundred and forty-nine, by John Murphy, in the clerk's office of 
 the District Court of Maryland. 
 
TO THE 
 
 VERY REV. LOUIS R. DELUOL, 
 
 As a tribute of veneration for those Christian virtues, and high 
 
 ennobling qualities which are illustrated in his life— as an indication 
 
 of- undying gratitude to one, vsrho in prosperity taught me humility, 
 
 and in adversity, patience, these unpretending pages are respectfully 
 
 inscribed, by the 
 
 AUTHORESS. 
 
 Hr 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A FEW months ago, it was suggested to us, to collect 
 our simple scraps of poetry together, and publish them in a 
 volume. Many of them have appeared at intervals in the 
 Catholic monthlies, and vreeklies of the country — some few 
 were written at an early age, ere we had found amidst a 
 " weary land," the True, and safe Fold, and were published 
 in certain literary periodicals, which gave them a place of 
 honor, and almost flattered us into believing, we had some 
 poetic talent. It would be offering a gratuitous insult to 
 the public, to affect to depreciate our unpretending melo- 
 dies, and try to shelter ourselves from criticism by pleading 
 "extreme youth," "haste," or a "too active imagination." 
 In truth we can do none of this, and will only say, that, 
 as birds, in certain countries are by cruel artifices taught to 
 sing, so, we, oftimes sighing, and weeping amidst this 
 vale of woe, have poured forth in simple words, the yearn- 
 ings of our soul after Heaven, and soothed our pangs^ 
 when the billow, or the grave, closed over the loved or 
 prized, by chaunting prayerful dirges. We could, and 
 sincerely do wish, we had the genius of Longfellow, or the 
 highly attuned talent of a Hemans ; or even, that the beau- 
 tiful, and holy harmonies, which sometimes stir our own 
 soul, could sweetly escape in language adequate to their 
 perfection ; but these gifts are unattainable to our humble 
 mind ; and in obeying the suggestion of partial friends, we 
 are in doubt, whether or not, we have acted wisely, by 
 bringing in our lone taper amongst brilliant constellations — 
 but we leave the result with our readers, and if we gain 
 naught else, we shall learn but another, costly and good 
 lesson, from experience. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Eastern Miracle, I3 
 
 Italian Mariners' Hymn to the Blessed Virgin, 22 
 
 Sunset among the Alps, 25 
 
 Gloom enshrouds each hope I cherished, 29 
 
 David and Bathsheba, 32 
 
 O'Connell's Heart, 38 
 
 Prayer to the Blessed Virgin, 41 
 
 The Autumn Blast, 44 
 
 There is a brighter world than this, 47 
 
 Isadore, 48 
 
 The Burial 51 
 
 Beatrice, 55 
 
 I would not live alway, 58 
 
 The Bride, , 60 
 
 To a Dove, 66 
 
 The Last Blessing, 67 
 
 The Twins, 71 
 
 Lines on hearing the Litany of Loretto chaunted in St. Mary's 
 
 Chapel, Baltimore, 74 
 
 Three Hundred Years Ago, 78 
 
 Gone Forever, S3 
 
 The Vesper Star, 86 
 
 The Dead Pontiff, 89 
 
 The Convert, 95 
 
 An Old Romaunce, , 97 
 
 The Cities of Silence, 113 
 
 Farewell to the Dead, 115 
 
 Gethsemane, 118 
 
 How will He Come ? 124 
 
 Mary Magdalene ; a Tradition of Nain, 127 
 
 Pio Nono 136 
 
THE EASTERN MIRACLE. 
 
 The gorgeous clouds of summer eve, 
 
 Like things of life, were floating by 
 With outspread pinions, to receive 
 
 The light which glittered o'er the sky. 
 Some furled around the mountain's height. 
 
 Their purple robes and starry fringe, 
 Some caught upon their wings the light 
 
 Of purple hues, and amber tinge, 
 And spread their gleaming banners o'er 
 
 The dimpled waves of Galilee, 
 And lit the palm trees on the shore 
 
 With softer shades of brilliancy. 
 It was the hour when nature's rest 
 
 Hung like a spell above the «arth, 
 And lulled, upon her slumbering breast. 
 
 Each sound of pain and noisy mirth ; 
 
 2 
 
14 FLOWERS OF 
 
 When every bright eyed blossom stole 
 
 A jewel from the crown of even, 
 And man's communion with his soul, 
 
 Had humbler — holier thoughts of heaven. 
 It was the hour when Jesus loved, 
 
 From multitudes, to steal away — 
 Who wondered — doubted — and approved — 
 
 Unto some mountain's height — to pray — 
 And while the world lay hushed beneath. 
 
 And while the sky shone bright beyond, 
 And scarce the solemn wind harp's breath, 
 
 To whispering waves its notes respond ; 
 He pondered o'er the mystery, 
 
 Which clothed in flesh Omnipotence — 
 Eternal from eternity. 
 
 To yield to death's inheritance. 
 And tho' that human part, awhile 
 
 Grew sick with grief, and faint with dread, 
 The God, immortal Spirit's smile. 
 
 Triumphant o'er the darkness shed 
 Light from the living throne on high, 
 
 Strength from tbe might of Deity ; 
 A world hung trembling on his love — 
 
 An Eden sighed to smile again. 
 And see the sapphire portals move, 
 
 Which erst were closed by mortal stain — 
 A world with sin's mortality 
 
 Within its bosom festering. 
 Writhing beneath the wrath of God, 
 
 And every bright spot withering 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 15 
 
 Beneath his just — avenging rod — 
 
 In its own impotence lay low 
 Doomed to transgression's penalty, 
 
 Unless an arm divine, would throw 
 Its shelter o'er its misery. 
 
 His prayer was done, but gloom and sadness 
 
 Swept darkly o'er the stormy skies, 
 And every hue of light and gladness, 
 
 Upon the storm's wild pinion dies; 
 A shadow like the pall of death 
 
 Hung o'er the scenes of Judah's land, 
 Arid fled before the tempest's breath 
 
 Soft breezes which the palm trees fanned ; 
 They swayed, and drooped beneath its wrath 
 
 Like men when sorrows bow them down ; 
 The wind rushed on its stormy path, 
 
 They rose again to meet its frown. 
 It snatched sweet roses from their stem, 
 
 And tore their glowing leaves apart, 
 What recked the sullen storm of them. 
 
 Now broken, like a woman's heart. 
 Whose warm affections scattered quite. 
 
 Or turned aside with harsh disdain 
 Like rose leaves, torn by storm and blight. 
 
 Refuses to be healed again ? 
 
 There was a sullen dash 
 
 Of waves on the shore. 
 And the lightning flash. 
 
 Of the thunder's roar. 
 
16 FLOWERSOP 
 
 Glared on a lone barque 
 
 'Mid the raging sea, 
 While the billows dark 
 O'er its topmast flee ! 
 'Tis borne on the crest 
 
 Of a death like wave, 
 Now 'tis wrapped in the breast 
 
 Of a surging grave ! 
 The mad eddies hurl 
 
 The vessel once more 
 Upon the black whirl 
 Of the water's roar; 
 Her masts are all shattered, 
 
 Her cordage is rent. 
 Her sails torn and scattered, 
 
 Her mariners spent : 
 They sink down, heart-broken, 
 
 Upon the cold deck ! 
 Hope shows no bright token 
 To guide on the wreck ; 
 When, lo ! they see upon the wave, 
 
 A gliding form of light advance. 
 The cowering billows gently lave 
 
 His feet, and tremble at his glance ; 
 The waters, in their stormy pride, 
 
 Cease their wild music at his nod, 
 And leap amazed on either side 
 
 To form a pathway for their God ! 
 
 The conquered winds most softly wail, 
 
 Then o'er the billows calmly die — 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 17 
 
 And tempest clouds withdrew the veil 
 
 Which hid each glittering world on high, 
 And moonlight shines upon the wave, 
 
 While every starry watcher seems 
 The Saviour's path with gems to pave ; 
 
 And as the silvery radiance gleams 
 In brilliant circles o'er his head, 
 
 His followers, who trembling stand 
 Upon the vessel's deck, with dread 
 
 Shrink back, and form a trembling band — 
 " Behold a spirit comes !" they cry, 
 
 And kneel with terror shivering; 
 When, lo ! their Master's words reply, 
 
 Like mellow music whispering, 
 " 'Tis I, be not afraid !" They fell 
 
 Most sweetly on each stricken soul, 
 And hope's triumphant rays dispel 
 
 Despairing nature's dark control. 
 
 But in the soul of one there crept 
 
 Stern doubts, and wild uncertain fears. 
 While in his heart's deep cell now slept 
 
 The hopes which erst had glimmered there : 
 And lifting up his voice on high, 
 
 Which trembled at each word he said. 
 And stretching forth towards the sky 
 
 His hands, which quivered with his dread, 
 He cried, " Oh Lord, if it be thou, 
 
 Who saved us from a watery grave, 
 2* 
 
18 FLOWERSOF^ 
 
 Speak but the word, and bid me now 
 
 Come forth, to meet thee on the wave !" 
 And Jesus gently whispered " Come !" 
 
 And walked along the unyielding sea, 
 To meet his loved but faithless one, 
 
 Who when he saw the billows flee 
 In sparkling beauty round his path, 
 
 And felt the waters, cool and sweet. 
 Which awed him in their tempest wrath, 
 
 Flow swiftly o'er his shrinking feet ; 
 His eyes grew dim, his heart grew weak, 
 
 His pulse more feebly throbs and throes, 
 His palsied tongue refused to speak. 
 
 Until the murm'ring waters close 
 Like mantles of despair around 
 
 His sinking form ! He looks on high ; 
 But cold, and bright within each bound 
 
 Of light, the stars pure mystery 
 Of pencilled beauty shines ! No hope 
 
 Is there ! The dim and far-off shore, 
 Its line of surge, its green hills slope. 
 
 Send back a whisper " Life is o'er ;" 
 He gasps — he sinks ! Why, oh my God, 
 
 Doth man thus doubt when thou art near. 
 Why shun the paths which thou hast trod, 
 
 Or trace them with a slavish fear; 
 Why faint when thou each hope canst cherish, 
 
 And faithless from thy bosom fly ? 
 With arms outstretched, he shrieks, " I perish, 
 
 Save ! Save me. Master, or 1 die !" 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 19 
 
 'Tis thus when stormy billows roll, 
 
 Our summer barques o'er life's wild sea, 
 And threaten to engulf the soul 
 
 In depths of mortal misery, 
 We hear a calm and winning tone, 
 
 Most sweetly whispering, " Tis I." 
 But still afraid, our hearts disown 
 
 The glorious Legate of the sky, 
 Until earth's all of futile dreams, 
 
 And cheating hopes, and charms decay. 
 And e'en immortal pleasure seems 
 
 Like morning mists to fade away ; 
 Then when this false world cheats no more 
 
 With silvery tongue, or Syren song. 
 And hearts are riven to the core 
 
 By deeds of grief — or cruel wrong. 
 And when no more our souls can cherish 
 
 Ambition, or earth's meed of fame, 
 We sink and cry " Save, Lord, we perish, 
 
 We trust in thine Almighty name !" 
 And is it man who thus would render 
 
 Back to heaven the spark it gave, 
 When all else fails, convulsive tender 
 
 Life's fainting remnant o'er the grave? 
 Ungrateful man ! no parallel 
 
 Can with thy faithless will compare, 
 Except that love which angels tell. 
 
 And which ungrateful man may share ! 
 
20 FLOWERSOF 
 
 Did Jesus, as he saved him, chide 
 
 His faithless hope, or doubting love. 
 Or frown on him who thus defied 
 
 His grace ? Like Cyria's plaintive dove. 
 When echoing to the BulbuPs note 
 
 From his sweet throne on Sharon's rose, 
 The tale of love in tones which float 
 
 More softly as the day-beams close, 
 The Master turned his holy brow 
 
 With eyes uplifted to the sky, 
 And while the heavens seemed to bow 
 
 Their thrones to his high majesty, 
 He mildly, and in mercy said. 
 
 To those whose souls with hope expand, 
 " Why from your Lord turn thus in dread, 
 
 Why did ye doubt, ye faithless^ band ?" 
 
 When tears are weeping o'er the dead. 
 
 And the crushed spirit bows its might, 
 And will not be admonished 
 
 That those they loved with fond delight 
 Sleep calmly on the Saviour's breast. 
 
 Safe from this world's distracting care ; 
 And only see their loved and blest 
 
 Within the cold grave, withering there — 
 Turn from the words of sweet assurance. 
 
 Which o'er their hearts wild tempests steal. 
 And yield again to grief's endurance. 
 
 Which consolation's fountains seal ; 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 21 
 
 At length when every heart chord shaken, 
 
 Vibrates with its misery, 
 When from the fountain, then forsaken 
 
 By its burning tears, is dry, 
 All else is fled but desolation, 
 
 And nought to love or peace responds, 
 And shadows spread their devastation. 
 
 Clasped in their earthly, slavish bonds ; 
 The Lord of peace glides o'er the billow 
 
 To shield them from the thrall of death. 
 And while their heads his strong arms pillow, 
 
 Whispers " Oh thou of little faith. 
 Why did ye doubt !" Such blest repose 
 
 Beneath the brightness of his wing, 
 Demands, until life's latest close. 
 
 Our dearest — earthly offering ! 
 
 ir 
 
 r^fl'^^r^ 
 
 
ITALIAN MARINER'S HYMN 
 
 TO THE 
 
 BLESSED VIRGIN. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The moon-lit billows lave our bark, 
 As o'er their surges bright we ride : 
 
 Sancta Maria ! guide and mark 
 
 Our glittering pathway o'er the tide; 
 
 Ora pro nobis. 
 
 And shine upon our life's wild sea, 
 Then bid each cloud and tempest flee. 
 That comes between our souls and thee I 
 
 SINGLE VOICE. 
 
 Rest brothers, rest upon each oar, 
 
 For the night breeze sighs. 
 And steals most sweetly from the shore ; 
 
 Oh, we fall, and rise. 
 As the blue billows round us curl, 
 And balmy winds our sails unfurl. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Regina t^ngelorum I Smile 
 
 Upon our labors and our toil. 
 Save us from dreams of wreck the while, 
 
 We draw our nets and count our spoil. 
 
 Ora pro nobis. 
 
, FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 23 
 
 As thou in purest thoughts excel, 
 
 Oh guard our dark eyed daughters well, 
 
 Preserve them from the tempter's spell. 
 
 SINGLE VOICE. 
 
 Rest brothers ! perils wild forget. 
 
 From the shore now steals 
 The light notes of a castinet, 
 
 And sweet laughter peals. 
 With dance of echoing feet along. 
 Above the surge's whispering song. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Stella Matutina ! bless 
 
 Our homes beneath the sunny vine, 
 Restore us to the loved caress 
 
 Of those who kneel before thy shrine. 
 
 Ora pro nobis. 
 
 Preserve their beauty from decay, 
 And gifts of gold and pearls we'll lay 
 Upon thine altars when we pray. 
 
 SINGLE VOICE. 
 
 Hear, oh Mater Salvatoris, 
 
 Hear our hymn to thee. 
 Spread thy glittering pinions o'er us — 
 
 Scatter rays of love before us ; 
 From Eternity ! 
 
24 
 
 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY, 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Furl the white sails — lay by each oar — 
 We're floating in — the bright sands yield ! 
 
 O soon our bark we'll gently moor, 
 On flow'ry shores thy sparkling keel. 
 
 Ora pro nobis. 
 
 Sancta Maria ! hear us when 
 The niists of death on us descend, 
 Shield from its gloom, our souls — Amen. 
 
 i 
 
SUNSET AMONG THE ALPS.* 
 
 The valleys rest in shadow, and the hum 
 Of gentle sounds, and low toned melodies 
 Are stilled, and twilight spreads her misty arms 
 In broader sadness o'er their happy scenes. 
 And creeps along the mountains' snowy sides. 
 Until the setting sun's last mellow beams 
 Wreathe up in many a gold and purple ring 
 Around the highest Alpine peaks. 
 
 So bright 
 Were these fair coronals, of brilliance, snow, 
 And mist — so sparkling was the rose-like hue 
 Which shed sweet halos round the far-off beams ; 
 So spirit-like each whisper of the winds; 
 So solemn was the wild magnificence 
 Of their high solitudes, that every peak 
 And avalanche, whose rest is like the sleep 
 Of hungry giants, seemed the ministers 
 Of Him who reared those altars to himself! 
 But listen ! 'twas no echo of the winds — 
 I heard a voice from yonder lofty height — • 
 Again— 
 
 * When the sun is setting, the shepherd, whose dwelling is on the 
 highest peak, comes to the door of his cabin, and through a horn exclaims 
 to the inhabitants of mountain and valley — " Praise ye the Lord." The 
 words are echoed from Alp to Alp by those who catch the sound in suc- 
 cession, until the welkin quivers with the pealing hosanna — then all 
 kneel with heads uncovered in silence and prayer. When their devo- 
 tions are over, the echoes are once more startled with their voices, and 
 ringing from cliff to cliff, is heard the social " good night." 
 
26 FLOWERS OF 
 
 ." Praise ye the Lord " — "Praise ye the Lord !" 
 In accents loud the tones demand, and then 
 From Alp to Alp, men's voices catch the note 
 And swelling onward rolls the chorus sweet, 
 Until the valleys dim, and air and sky. 
 And mountain caverns tremble with the song. 
 The chamois pauses on his cloud girt cliff 
 And listens with his head upturned — intent, 
 And conscious ; — the wild gazelle, half startled 
 From her rest, which full of constant peril 
 Is but light, with one foot poised in air 
 Stands ready for a leap beyond man's reach ; 
 But soon distinguishing those blessed sounds 
 From hunter's shout and bugle note, returns 
 Again, and closes her soft eyes in peace. 
 As swelling past the jubilate rings! 
 Louder and louder peals the strain, and chimes 
 Of children's silvery tongues, and women's tones 
 Blend with the anthem's thunder burst of praise — 
 
 Praise ye the Lord ! 
 For He bath spread a guardian ring 
 Of angels round our Alpine path. 
 To shield us from the thundering 
 Of avalanches in their wrath ; 
 Old men, who by your hearth stones stand — 
 And ye out on the mountain's side 
 With flocks around, and crook in hand, 
 Send — send the chorus far and wide. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 27 
 
 Praise ye the Lord ! 
 The mist is floating to the skies 
 With gem-like shadows on its wing, 
 Oh swifter let our anlhem rise 
 From hearts with tears on every string : 
 Fathers and sons ! by hands caressed, 
 Whose love plants roses in the wild ; 
 Young mother! from thy blue veined breast, 
 Lift up in prayer thy sleeping child. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord ! 
 Fair maiden with the thoughtful brow 
 And swelling lips like rose-buds flush ; 
 Ye bright haired ones, with cheeks whose glow 
 With cradled innocence still blush ; 
 Ye dwellers in the valleys dim. 
 Harp loudly on the thrilling chord — 
 Ye hills, and snows, and glaciers, hymn 
 Praise ye the Lord — Praise ye the Lord. 
 
 There was a hush — and by the fading light . 
 
 I saw men kneeling with their heads bowed down, 
 
 And mothers with their guileless babes — and side 
 
 By side, young maidens with their mountain loves, 
 
 All offering up their silent orisons ! 
 
 My God ! how throbbed my heart, and tried in vain 
 
 To hold within its urn, the holiness 
 
 Of sights and sounds sublime. It must have burst. 
 
 Had not a fountain of sweet tears gushed up ! 
 
 Then night came on, o'er steep as well as vale, 
 
28 
 
 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 And like a chime of music o'er the waves 
 Their voices rang again from mountain top 
 To mountain top, until each echo sang 
 The shepherd's and the hunter's last good night, 
 Good night — good night — 
 
 It softly fades away — 
 Good night — good night — 
 
 In gushing tones it rings 
 Again :- 
 
 Mary, mother — fair madonna. 
 
 Star whose beams are ever bright. 
 
 On our mountain altars shining. 
 
 Bless, oh bless our last good night ! 
 
 Then came a hush — a deep and solemn hush, 
 Save when some distant echo whispered low. 
 In plaintive cadence — night — good night — good night. 
 
 r^ r^ 
 
GLOOM ENSHROUDS EACH HOPE I CHERISHED.* 
 
 Gloom enshrouds each hope I cherished, 
 
 We shall meet no more on earth : 
 Blossoms one by one haye perished, 
 
 Tears bedew the household hearth, 
 And the dove hath fled for ever 
 
 From the holy roof tree's shade ; 
 Lowly now its branches quiver, 
 
 As the heavenly visions fade. 
 
 Had we known the barque that bore thee 
 
 Waved the death flag from her prow, 
 That she'd ne'er again restore thee 
 
 To the hearts all broken now, 
 Then thou wouldst hav^e left us — never — 
 
 By our gentle mother's side ; 
 Thou wouldst still have watched as ever. 
 
 Humble in thy manhood's pride. 
 
 Gentlest brother ! in my dreaming. 
 Thy dear face hath gladden'd me; 
 
 * Inscribed, with tender affection, to the memory of a beloved and 
 highly gifted brother, whose health becoming impaired from over much 
 study, embraced, with ready gratitude, the offer made him by Captain 
 Dovi^ns, commanding the U. S. Schooner Grampus, to make a cruise 
 with him to the West Indies, in the capacity of captain's clerk ; hoping 
 that a more bland and temperate climate would restore him to his usual 
 vigor, he went— but alas ! never to return. The Grampus with her 
 ill-fated crew went down in some one of the violent storms which pre- 
 vailed along our coast during the two weeks after she left port. 
 
30 FLOWERS OF 
 
 'Till the morning's dewy beaming, 
 Bids my heart's sweet vision flee : 
 
 Still our mother, in her anguish. 
 Her lost darling's footsteps mourn : 
 
 And our father's heart chords languish, 
 Can^st thou— wilt thou not return ? 
 
 Did we dream that storms would crush thee 
 
 On thy dark and gloomy way. 
 That the chill of death would hush thee, 
 
 'Mid the thundering billow's spray ? 
 No ! we fondly hoped to see thee, 
 
 Ere a few short months had fled; 
 Loved one, shall we ne'er behold thee 
 
 'Till " the sea gives up her dead ?" 
 
 Once our Lord, in love and kindness, 
 
 Walked upon the raging sea ; 
 Did he cheer thee in thy blindness. 
 
 Did he gently smile on thee ? 
 In the days now gone for ever. 
 
 Angels bore thy thoughts on high ! 
 Did they now around thee hover. 
 
 While the death storm triumphed by ? 
 
 Oh could I have seen thee dying. 
 
 Watched thy death pangs coming fast ; 
 
 Seen thy spirit, fluttering — flying, 
 The eternal barriers past — 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY 
 
 31 
 
 Kissed thy clay, and knelt while weeping 
 
 Hot tears on thy icy brow ; 
 Seen thee in thy earth cell sleeping", 
 
 Then I could have borne the blow ! 
 
 But 'tis past ! God cheer our sadness ! 
 
 While the outer clouds look dim ; 
 Swell their folds with light and gladness, 
 
 Fringe with hope each gloomy rim ! 
 Watch ye angels o'er the billow 
 
 Which enshrouds our lost one now, 
 Peace stars twine around his pillow, 
 
 Deck with solemn light his brow. 
 
DAVID AND BATHSHEBA. 
 
 The golden hues of eve, now richly blent 
 
 With purple tinge and crimson glow, hung bright 
 
 O'er Israel. The rose of Sharon heard 
 
 The bulbul's plaintive tale of love, and breathed 
 
 A luscious sweetness on the evening air, 
 
 While on the pomegranate's ripe red lip 
 
 The dew distilled its transitory gems. 
 
 Low sang the fountain in the olive's shade, 
 
 And chimed so softly with the fragrant winds 
 
 Which wrestled with the dark bright leaves above, 
 
 That as the weary sentinel passed forth 
 
 And back again across the king's broad court, 
 
 He paused, and, leaning on his javelin, 
 
 Dashed his rough hands athwart his moistened brow. 
 
 And bared his head in sweet refreshment there. 
 
 And uttered thanks. 
 
 Upon the palace roof, 
 Beneath the shadow of the broad-leafed palm 
 Which fringed the terraces. King David sat 
 Beside his harp, upon whose golden strings 
 One hand fell lightly, making, with the breeze 
 That gently whispered there, low melodies. 
 While ever and anon the other paused 
 And fondly smoothed Bathsheba's burning brow, 
 Who, with her white arms clasped upon his knees 
 Whereon her head reposed, sat at his feet, 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 33 
 
 Enduring with a silent agony 
 The death of her first born. 
 
 Her ebon hair 
 In graceful waves hung like a mourning veil 
 Around her sad recumbent form, and swept 
 In glossy rings the marble floor, while back 
 With careless haste, the broad phylactery 
 And jewelled signet of her queenly state 
 Were thrown, as if the brilliance of each gem 
 Were bitter mockery, on that high brow 
 So pale and stricken. 
 
 From her half closed eye, * 
 Tear after tear, gushed o'er her pallid cheeks, 
 And fell unheeded on the costly pearls 
 That decked her purple robes and sandalled feet. 
 The beauty of her ripened lips had paled, 
 The quivering of their rosy pulses ceased, 
 As if the white wing of the mighty one 
 Who froze the warm blood in her darling's heart 
 Had rested there. 
 
 Words, inarticulate 
 At first, the echoes of her wounded heart, 
 Were spoken sadly now, and then the king. 
 Who read her troubled thoughts, clasped tenderly 
 Her folded hands in his, and upward gazed ' 
 With heavenward prayer upon his silent lips, 
 While she in accents low bewailed her child. 
 And stretching forth her hands, called on his name, 
 
34 FLOWERSOF 
 
 As if the boy had risen from the dust, 
 And stood with life's full glory in his smile 
 Beside her knee, then pressing her hot brow, 
 Remembered ' twas a vision which her love's 
 Wild agony had conjured up, and wept 
 Again the lava tears of bitterness, 
 While from the turbid fountains of her heart 
 Came burning words, which, like the siroc's breath,; 
 Were laden with despair. 
 
 " No more, oh king ! 
 Will his soft cheek press thine^ or his dark eye 
 Flash brightness into thine, cold, cold and dim ; 
 The darkness of the lonely sepulchre, 
 With its damp chill, rests on thy darling's brow ! 
 Oh ! why did not the hand that laid thee low, 
 My child, crush me ! why do I live to feel 
 That thou art not, thou, once so bright and fair. 
 So like a dream of some fair heavenly thing ? 
 I miss thy footfall where the fountains play, 
 And hear no more thy laughing bird-like tones. 
 Which with the rosy morn brought joy to me. 
 I feel not on my cheek thy fragrant breath. 
 Or on my brow thy dewy lips ! 
 
 " they're cold— 
 They're stilled, for aye, yet thou, oh ! king, canst smile 
 As when- the soft curls of thy boy's fair head 
 Lay on thy royal breast, like shreds of gold. 
 And sweet caresses from his dimpled hands 
 Lit up thy forehead's majesty with bliss. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 35 
 
 Smile, though the altar where was garnered up 
 Thy heart's best, purest gem, in ruin lies, 
 While the refulgent rays that beamed thereon 
 With an unearthly joy-- " 
 
 A flush of pain, 
 A pallid agony — one hallowed tear 
 Passed o'er King David's face, but this was all. 
 As at his feet Bathsheba sank again, 
 Helpless, and throbbing like a wounded bird. 
 He swept his fingers o'er the golden strings 
 That tuned his harp to melody, and soon 
 Upon the hushed still air of eventide, 
 A plaintive thrill of music came, which fell 
 Upon that stricken mother's fainting heart 
 Like heavenly dews upon a withering leaf. 
 With eyes upraised in peace ineffable. 
 And holy brow, whose rapt expression lent 
 A softened glory to the waving hair, 
 Whose shining masses o'er his shoulders fell, 
 The king, with voice attuned to cadences 
 Of melting richness, sang : 
 
 Weep not, Bathsheba ! 
 Lo ! the God of Israel called him 
 
 To his palaces of light : 
 Wouldst thou like a cloud enfold him, 
 
 Hide him from the Lord of might? 
 
 While he lingered, 
 And the warm blood slowly quivered 
 
 Through each fair and rounded limb. 
 
36 FLOWERSOF 
 
 Prayers that he might be delivered, 
 Mingled with my evening hymn. 
 
 Sackcloth and ashes ! 
 Tears of anguish, days of fasting, 
 
 Minutes, doled by grief's decay, 
 Hope and fear alternate lasting, 
 
 Humbly marked my grief-worn way. 
 
 'Twas vain, Bathsheba ! 
 All my weeping — all my anguish. 
 
 Could not raise him from the dust ; 
 And while here in grief we languish, 
 
 He can never come to us. 
 
 Jehovah loved him ! 
 And the white winged seraphs bore him 
 
 To the shelter of his breast ; 
 Prayers and tears can ne'er restore him 
 
 From that long, eternal rest. 
 
 Calmly, Bathsheba ! 
 • Wait until life's grief-worn story. 
 
 With its dreams, grow cold and dim, 
 Then high o'er yon arch of glory 
 We will gladly soar to him. 
 
 Triumph, O Israel ! 
 For the Lord Jehovah reigneth ! 
 
 We his chosen people are : 
 All of peace, and all that paineth, 
 
 Springeth from our Father's care ! 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY 
 
 37 
 
 And thus the king, in sweet triumphant strains, 
 
 Threw angel halos o'er the boy's fair dust, 
 
 And yielded him, without a murmuring thought. 
 
 Into the hands of Him who gave him life. 
 
 And though the victim seemed the conqueror. 
 
 In all his warlike victories — in all 
 
 His kingly deeds and high triumphant state, 
 
 He ne'er had honored so his royal race 
 
 As when he bowed with meek submission down 
 
 To the great God, who thus had stricken him. 
 
O'CONNELL'S HEART.* 
 
 Bear it on tenderly, 
 
 Slowly and mournfully ! 
 That heart of a nation which pulsates no more, 
 The fount that gushed ever with freedom's high lore. 
 Through years over Erin it brooded and wept, 
 It watched while she slumbered, and prayed when she 
 
 slept. 
 And the Saxon raged on that their chains had not crushed 
 The faith of a nation whose harp they had hushed. 
 
 Bear it on tenderly, 
 
 Slowly and mournfully ! 
 It was broken at last ! when the famine plague's glaive, 
 And the spade turned the shamrock in grav€ after grave. 
 When the angels of God turned weeping away 
 From the want-stricken earth, and its famishing clay, 
 And the wail of the dying arose from the sod. 
 The dying — those martyrs to faith and their God — 
 Came like the wild knell of his hope's fairest day. 
 Is it strange that its life tide ebbed quickly away ? 
 
 Bear it on tenderly. 
 
 Slowly and mournfully. 
 Oh God ! how it struggled to burst the vile chain 
 That fettered thee, Erin — but struggled in vain, 
 
 * The last words of this great and extraordinary man were, ** My 
 body to Ireland — my heart to Rome— and my soul to God." 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 39 
 
 How humble to God — to the Saxon what scorn, 
 
 To thy friends true and loving, thy foes proud and stern ; 
 
 How strong, like a barrier of angels it stood, 
 
 Crying " Justice ! we struggle for justice, not blood," 
 
 And in Christ's holy name, chided back the mad throngs 
 
 Who indignant, were thirsting for blood, for their wrongs. 
 
 Bear it on tenderly. 
 
 Slowly and mournfully. 
 From Erin's sad sunset, to Italy's light. 
 Where the sunshine of glory hath sprung from the night. 
 Where the golden eyed spirit of freedom's new birth. 
 Aroused by a voice which thrills o'er the earth. 
 Will with the fair angels keep vigils around thee, 
 Rejoicing that freed from the fetters that bound thee, 
 Released from its anguish — its watching — its weeping, 
 It rests far above where its ashes are sleeping. 
 
 Yes, bear it on tenderly, 
 
 Slowly and mournfully ; 
 From Lough Foyle's dark waters, to Shannon's broad 
 
 wave. 
 To the rough Munster coast which the ocean tides lave. 
 Comes a sad note of wailing, it swells like the sea, 
 It sounds from the hill tops, it shrieks o'er the lea I 
 Oh Erin — Oh Erin, what crime hast thou done, 
 That the light should be blotted away from thy sun. 
 Thy Faith be down-trodden, thy blessings all flee. 
 And thy sons and thy daughters be martyred with thee ! 
 
40 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 Bear it on tenderly, 
 
 Slowly and mournfully, 
 Where sleep the apostles, where martyred saints rest, 
 Lay it tenderly down near the shrines of the blest, 
 For the spirit that lit up its casket of clay 
 Hath gone with the lustre of faith round its w^ay, 
 Appealing before the tribunal of heaven, 
 Oh Erin for thee that thy chains may be riven. 
 And the day hastens on when the Saxon shall wonder. 
 And flee from the wrath of its answering thunder. 
 
PRAYER TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 
 
 The sea-bird tossed by angry winds, 
 
 Turns to her far-off sheltered nest, 
 Nor heeds the ocean's spray that flings, 
 
 Its sparkling eddies on her breast. 
 She droops — she faints — yet struggles on, 
 
 To reach yon rocky, sea-girt height ; 
 'Tis gained — at last she folds her wings, 
 
 Serene amid the tempest's might. 
 
 Mother of God ! our. souls opprest 
 
 By earth's conflicting pains and woes, 
 Turn with unwavering faith to thee, 
 
 To find amidst its storms repose. 
 Refuge of sinners ! thou hast trod 
 
 This lonely desert, where we weep; 
 Then shield us 'neath thy wings of Love, 
 
 When life's wild tempests o'er us sweep. 
 
 When on thy bosom thou didst bear 
 
 The Prince of Peace, thy Saviour-child, 
 How thrilled thy placid soul with joy, 
 
 While watching o'er his slumbers mild. 
 How first in adoration deep. 
 
 Thy humble spirit kissed the earth. 
 And then upborne on flaming wings, 
 
 Exulted in the mystic birth ! 
 
 4* 
 
42 F L O W E R S O F 
 
 By every bliss that lit tby soul, 
 
 While hovering near thy child divine, 
 By every holy thought, that burned 
 
 Its worship on so pure a shrine. 
 Pray for us, mother ! that life's stains 
 
 Set not their doom, upon our souls. 
 But pass us o'er as yon dim cloud. 
 
 Athwart the fading sun^light rolls. 
 
 Mother of sorrows, by the tears, 
 
 And drops of blood, and scourging blows 
 That marked the Saviour's path of gloom. 
 
 And wrung thy heart with death-like throes : 
 By nature's anguish, as she mourned 
 
 Convulsed beneath his dying nod. 
 By his last looks — his w^ords to thee, 
 
 Thy Son, and yet thy Saviour-God! 
 
 Pray for us sinners ! that earth's dream, 
 
 So richly decked with light and wile, 
 May not defraud our souls of heaven, 
 
 Or chain them 'neath the tempter's smile. 
 Pray, that life's storm-clouds may be lit 
 
 With hues from yonder heavenly shore, 
 And lift our hopes exulting up. 
 
 Like rainbows when the storm is o'er. 
 
 Star of life's sea ! the shadows fall 
 
 In dimness o'er our lonely way, 
 Earth's cherished hopes are bruised and chilled. 
 
 And passing on to sure decay. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY 
 
 43 
 
 Illume our steps, and take the hearts 
 That fettered here, in anguish beat, 
 
 And lay them, with their sins and woes, 
 Sweet mother ! at the Saviour's feet. 
 
THE AUTUMN BLAST. 
 
 It comes, the autumn blast, 
 
 Rushing in sadness past, 
 And tears the trembling leaves away 
 That cling to the dark and withered spray ; 
 What heeded it, that the summer air 
 Had nestled with whispering music there, 
 That the black-bird's note, from amidst the shade, 
 Gushed forth at the hour when sunbeams fade? 
 What cared that blast that the autumn sky 
 Had tinged those leaves with a regal die. 
 That they brightened and glowed, though fading still, 
 And made strange light on the lonely hill ? 
 
 Cease, cease, O wind, thy song ; 
 
 Go battle with the strong! 
 Spare lowly things — the bud, the flower — 
 Hie thee to some mountain for thy dower, 
 Where dark pines quiver beneath the blast, 
 And the craggy rocks are loosening fast ; 
 Where the black clouds, like a marshalled throng, 
 March to the notes of thy shrill wild song ; 
 Go wear, like a conqueror, on thy breast, 
 The pitiless eagle's blood-stained nest \ 
 Scatter his royal plumes on the blast. 
 That all may know where the victor passed. 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 45 
 
 Thou art, thou art like death, 
 
 With thy destroying breath ; 
 The most beloved, and the fairest thing, 
 Bow silently down beneath thy wing. 
 Or, hurled on the waves of some dark river. 
 Are borne from our aching eyes for ever ! 
 Tlie vines, clinging round the household door. 
 Now shelter that holy place no more; 
 And the tree, beneath whose kindly shade 
 'The children at sunset gladly played. 
 Hath yielded its faded leaves to thee ; 
 They add new mirth to thy stormy glee. 
 
 I pray with many a tear, 
 
 Hear, wintry blast, O hear ! 
 It answered me with a loud hurra, 
 And dashed my tears on the earth like spray. 
 And swept along to the dark wild wave 
 That covers the seaman's stormy grave. 
 And shaded the sea with a tempest dun, — 
 It shrieked in scorn at the minute-gun, 
 And thought it a brave and mirthful sound — 
 The mariner's cry, when his barque went down — 
 It rushed along, and the billows high 
 Leaped madly up to the troubled sky. 
 
 It will slumber, that blast! 
 
 Like life's tempests, at last. 
 And the failing soul that hath clung too close 
 To the household tree, like a withered rose, 
 
46 
 
 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORT. 
 
 And recked not the thorn that pierced its heart, 
 
 Or the tears that pressed its leaves apart, 
 
 Will wither beneath the north wind's breath, 
 
 And, shiv'ring, float on the waves of death; 
 
 But not like roses and leaves, that tossed 
 
 On some wild shore, are for ever lost ; 
 
 But, borne along, it will reach that clime 
 
 Where harp-strings, touched by the angels, chime ; 
 
 Where storms are hushed, and the wave grows bright. 
 
 And time wears not on his golden flight ; 
 
 Then quail not, mourner, beneath life's blast ; 
 
 Thy soul will rest when the teoipest's past. 
 
 Vi*^ 
 
THERE IS A BRIGHTER WORLD THAN THIS. 
 
 There is a brighter world than this, 
 
 For man's sweet hope 'tis given, 
 Where rays of pure unsullied bliss, 
 Shine on, and rippling waters kiss. 
 That have their source in heaven. 
 
 There is a holier clime than ours, 
 
 Where no rude storms are driven 
 Across our path, to blight the flowers, 
 Or crush the hopes of sunny hours — 
 For this pure clime is heaven. 
 
 There wearied, broken spirits, rest, 
 
 At peace, secure, forgiven ; 
 No more by anguish sore oppressed ; 
 They have a home among the blest, 
 
 For ever firm in heaven. 
 
 Then, when life's fountains cease to play, 
 
 And being's link is riven. 
 Oh ! may our spirits soar away, 
 And bathe in glory's brightest ray 
 
 Around the throne of heaven ! 
 
I S A D R E . 
 
 I KNEW her in her childhood's time, when blessings round 
 
 her clung, 
 And her baptismal innocence, a halo o'er her flung, 
 Ere the wild world's deep traitor, sin, had drawn her in 
 
 its guile. 
 And heaven lent its own glory down, to dwell within her 
 
 smile. 
 Oh, she was fair ! I'd never seen a thing of earth so fair; 
 With joyous bruw, and dove-like eyes, and waves of 
 
 shining hair. 
 No wonder, for her little heart with trusting footsteps trod. 
 Beneath the Holy Virgin's smile, the path that led to God! 
 
 Child as she was, the stricken ones of earth had called 
 
 her blest, 
 And by the bed-side of the poor, she was an angel guest, 
 And when unto her undimmed faith, the bread of life 
 
 was given, 
 Unsullied tears gushed from her heart, that might have 
 
 flowed in heaven. 
 But years rolled on — the child of wealth must fill her 
 
 station now ! 
 The father's pride, the mother's hopes, lit by ambition's 
 
 glow. 
 Sent forth the trembling, sinless one, to brave the snares 
 
 of earth. 
 When all her sweet aflections clung around the household 
 
 hearth ! 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 49 
 
 The hair that once was flowing free, in many a shining curl. 
 They braided up with glistening gems, and beads of 
 
 costly pearl, 
 They wrapped her in the richest robes, and decked with 
 
 diamonds rare 
 The gentle hands, that she for years had lifted up in 
 
 prayer ! 
 I saw her then — The world had claimed her young heart's 
 
 solemn vow. 
 And bade her kneel before its shrine, and to its idols bow, 
 And lifted up on high with songs its fantasies of light. 
 And laid fair garlands at her feet, that made her pathway 
 
 bright. 
 
 She trembled when those lute-like tones came with their 
 
 magic swell. 
 And wove around her spirit's dream a deep melodious 
 
 spell ! 
 The tempter's breath is on her cheek, — it flushes on her 
 
 brow — 
 Oh maiden, taste not of the cup that he would give thee 
 
 now. 
 But ling'ring still she hears fond tales, of earth's enchant- 
 ing lore, 
 Which tell her that no storms disturb the sunlight of its 
 
 shore ; 
 She smiles, then wanders off to seek, amid life's desert 
 
 maze. 
 The fantasy, that charmed her heart with such alluring 
 
 rays. 
 5 
 
50 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 Alas ! her brow is crowned with light, but not the light 
 of heaven; 
 
 Gh one, by one, those ties of love are by the cold world 
 riven ! 
 
 They melt like snow flakes on the waves of some dark 
 turbid stream, 
 
 And contrite tears are like the thoughts of some remem- 
 bered dream. 
 
 I pity thee, thou erring one, and fain would have thee go 
 
 Back to the crystal fount, from whence the living waters 
 flow, 
 
 Back to the cross — back to the shrine and sweet Ma- 
 donna's smile ; 
 
 Thy guardian angel folds his wings, and lingers near thee, 
 child ! 
 
 / saw her die — like rose leaves tossed upon a wintry wave, 
 Death tore those painted hues away, and left her but a 
 
 grave; 
 I will not tell her agonies, as to its bourne she trod — 
 Her soul went up without a veil, to stand before its God. 
 
 s; 
 
THE BURIAL.* 
 
 'T WAS night, and mists and clouds were brooding o'er 
 
 The sullen sky, and fitful, wintry winds 
 
 Rush''d by with shivering sound, and angrily 
 
 Tore up, in gloomy fragments, every cloud 
 
 That slumbered in its wild uncertain path ! 
 
 You might have seen a twinkling star or two 
 
 Glitter and disappear — then peep again 
 
 Out on the wintry earth — and a few drops 
 
 Of heavy rain, like woman's tears, fall on 
 
 The naked branches o'er the new made grave, 
 
 And patter on the marble tombs that stood 
 
 Around, and sparkle on the coffin lid, 
 
 As sullen light from the red torches glared 
 
 Upon its blazonry, to the sad heart 
 
 Revealing, that the slumberer was young. 
 
 There was a cross reared on a little mount 
 Above the grave, which threw its shadows o'er 
 The dead, like a pure watcher, or a type 
 Of the Redeemer's ever shielding love. 
 
 There was a Gothic chapel near the spot, 
 
 And as the band of white robed priests let down 
 
 The coffin in its grave — a melody 
 
 Of funeral notes from a sweet organ broke 
 
 * Inscribed to the memory of the Rev. John Hoskins, formerly vice- 
 president of St. Mary's college, whose high Christian virtues, dignity of 
 character, and urbane manners, won for him the friendship and respect 
 of all who knew him. 
 
52 FLOWERSOF 
 
 The death-like stillness ; and when the damp clod 
 Boomed down above the dead — a sorrowing cry — 
 A solemn dirge, bespoke their depth of anguish ; 
 
 Farewell young brother, 
 Soon thy dream of life was over— 
 
 Too early hushed thy voice's tone, 
 Low in dust thy form we cover— 
 
 We leave thee here — alone — alone ! 
 
 Rest thee, young brother — 
 Now upon the tomb's cold pillow, 
 
 In its sadness deep and lone, 
 Fades the light that o'er the billow 
 
 Of thy short existence shone. 
 
 We loved thee, brother ! 
 When before our altars bending, 
 
 Where the incense weaves on high. 
 Like a solemn offering wending 
 
 Its pure pathway to the sky ! 
 
 We loved thee, brother ! 
 
 Aged Fathers weeping o'er thee 
 Tell in every tear they shed 
 
 How they bitterly deplore thee. 
 Thou who slumberest with the dead. 
 
 We loved thee, brother ! 
 As we felt our days declining, 
 We exulted in thy rise 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 53 
 
 Like last rays of sunlight shining 
 O'er a new star in the skies. 
 
 Death called thee, brother ! 
 
 And how changed — how changed the story, 
 Still the last beams linger here, 
 
 But the star hath set in glory — 
 Set to rise, immortal — fair ! 
 
 Father Almighty! 
 
 By the truth which thou hast spoken, 
 Saviour ! by thy pleading merit, 
 
 By his every vow unbroken. 
 Now, oh ! now receive his spirit. 
 
 ' Tis over, brother ! 
 
 And like moaning waters rushing. 
 Sighs from every bosom roll — 
 
 Hearts are stricken — tears are gushing 
 From the secret of each soul. 
 
 Farewell, young brother. 
 To the earth we have consigned thee. 
 
 On thy bosom rests its sod : 
 May the resurrection find thee 
 
 On the bosom of thy God ! 
 
 Father Almighty ! 
 By the truth which thou hast spoken, 
 Saviour ! by thy pleading merit, 
 
54 
 
 FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 By his every vow unbroken, 
 Now, oh ! now receive his spirit. 
 
 Like the sad music of a wind harp when 
 The breath of tempest sweeps alon^ its strings 
 Their voices died away, in sighs and tears. 
 
BEATRICE. 
 
 The convent aisles are hushed, and dim, 
 
 Save where the moonlight gilds the floof ; 
 The solemn prayer, and vesper hymn. 
 
 And lofty chaunt are heard no more ! 
 A breath of incense on the air, 
 
 The altar taper, bright and lone, 
 A sweet perfume of blossoms rare, 
 And flowrets o'er the Virgin thrown. 
 Are all now left of hours supremely sweet. 
 When humble spirits kissed the Master's feet. 
 
 Each nun unto her lowly cell 
 
 Has glided quietly away, 
 To slumber 'till the midnight bell 
 
 Shall call her forth to watch and pray. 
 Behold one, o'er whose youthful cheek 
 
 Tear after tear is coursing down. 
 With hands pressed o'er her bosom meek. 
 
 Like snow flakes on that serge of brown. 
 Her eyes upraised, of some deep sorrows tell- 
 But see ! she kneels within her lonely cell. 
 
 There are no luxuries for her — 
 A bed of straw — a table bare — 
 
 A skull the thoughts of death to stir, 
 And picture of her Lord are there. 
 
 No wonder, oh fair child of earth, 
 
 That tears gush from thy bursting heart, 
 
56 FLOWERSOF 
 
 When thou the heir of haughty birth, 
 Dost feel cold poverty's keen smart. 
 But list! she tells between each tear and moan, 
 The bitterness that wrings her spirit lone ! 
 
 Oh Master ! Thou dost mark each sigh 
 
 That troubled hearts send up to Thee, 
 And when the tempest's wrath is nigh 
 
 Thou glidest o'er the raging sea. 
 My heart ! my heart is torn that Thou, 
 
 Hast suffered all life's woes for me : 
 That thorns have pierced that holy brow, 
 
 And scourges left their stripes on Thee ! 
 'Tis strange ! she weeps not o'er the dreams of earth ; 
 Nor sighs to taste again the cup of mirth. 
 
 W by is it, that around my way 
 
 Thy mercies have such blessings shed. 
 When thou hadst not a place to lay, 
 
 A spot to rest, thy weary head ? 
 Why have these feet no rugged vales ? 
 
 No rocky steep these hands to tear? 
 When thine were pierced and torn with nails, 
 
 And thy pure heart rent with a spear ! 
 She wept not for rich robes or costly gem. 
 Or festive halls of light — oh not for them ! 
 
 Oh what to me the splendid beams 
 
 That light the stars on Fame's high brow, 
 
 And what the transient hue that gleams 
 Its radiance o'er life's rapid flow ? 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 57 
 
 Can earth's sweet lure, or glory's smile 
 Light up the pathway to the tomb, 
 
 Can it the trembling soul beguile 
 While passing through the valley's gloom? — 
 With streaming eyes, and quivering lips she prest 
 The crucifix, that hung upon her breast ! 
 
 These sacred wounds shall mark my way 
 
 And shield me when the storm is nigh ; 
 Here let me weep — and watch and pray, 
 
 And at thy feet for ever lie. 
 Here, oh my soul, thy vigils keep. 
 
 Cheered onward by each holy vow, 
 Until amid the night-watch deep. 
 
 We hear " the bridegroom cometh now." 
 
 She started as upon the midnight air 
 
 The solemn bell tolled forth the hour of prayer ; 
 
 And gathering up the veil, she passed along 
 
 To join the nuns that round the altar throng — 
 
 What cares she for earth's rest — its sneers — or pride ! 
 
 Her heart's sweet shelter is the " wounded side." 
 
 
I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 
 
 Though the bright spots of life, like the fair southern isles, 
 Glanced ever around me, in verdure and smiles ; 
 Though the harp notes of angels chimed on the sweet air, 
 And founts 'mid the blossoms made melody there, 
 I would not live al way. 
 
 Though the loved and the lost could return from their rest. 
 With light on each forehead^ and peace in each breast. 
 And the tears that have mildewed our hearts to decay. 
 Should gleam like a torrent of gems o'er our way — 
 I would not live alway. 
 
 Though the glories of Eden my exile might cheer, 
 My spirit would languish and pine for its sphere 
 'Mid the high ringing notes of the seraphim bright, 
 Which ascend to the throne of ineffable light. 
 
 " Oh who would live alway ?" 
 
 Where the blossoms we gather are covered with tears, 
 And smiles from yon heaven are shadowed by fears. 
 Where the soul ever struggles along through life's woes. 
 And sin, like a thorn, festers there till life's close. 
 
 Then who would live alway ? 
 
 But with hope shining o'er me, I'd pass through the gloom. 
 And sweetly repose in the depths of the tomb ; 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 59 
 
 Ah ! I'd heed not the usury laid on death's trust. 
 Of ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust. 
 
 I would not live alway. 
 
 For my soul from her crucible deep in the clay. 
 Would spring from the ashes, the dust, and decay ; 
 • With her spirit wings glancing, in light she'd arise, 
 To kneel at the feet of her Lord in the skies. 
 
 Then who would live alway ! 
 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 Oh, check not now those gushing, burning tears, 
 
 Which spring up from a newly opened fount ; 
 Where glittering hopes are shadowed by sad fears, 
 
 As from its depths dark thoughts unceasing mount, 
 To cloud my brow, and wet my cheek. I know 
 
 Full well, that bridal robes and pearls, and gems. 
 And tears, suit not each other — yet they flow. 
 
 And would flow on, were jewelled diadems. 
 And thrones, and sceptres, with the hopes of love 
 
 Strown at my feet. But when I turn mine eyes 
 Into the dark bright depths of thine, which move 
 
 Me with their earnest tenderness, I prize 
 Thy love, thy smile, beyond earth's all of light ; 
 
 And joy that vows are written in God's book. 
 And graven with a solemn seal, in sight 
 
 Of men, while angels anxious on them look. 
 
 I weep not that my fate is linked with thine, 
 
 'Till Death shall break the mystic chain. I weep 
 To know, my mother's eyes — Which on me shine 
 
 In this tumultuous hour, fraught with a deep 
 And visible tho' silent prayer — may fade 
 
 And close, while wide, rough rivers, and long miles 
 Stretch out their weary barriers, to shade 
 
 Me from the presence of her dying smiles. 
 Farewell, sweet Mother ! Oh 'tis hard to leave 
 
 The bosom where my infant head reposed, 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 61° 
 
 To' trust in promises, which may deceive 
 
 And leave me, ere a few short years have closed — 
 A broken-hearted thing. Man's haughty creed 
 
 Of love, his high and mighty boast of pride, 
 At best leans on a quivering fragile reed, 
 
 Which bends and breaks, while he whose fancy decks 
 It with unyielding strength, grows cold, and turns 
 
 A careless eye upon the shattered wrecks 
 Himself hath made. 
 
 An altar dark, vi^here burns 
 No beacon fire, is woman, when the spell 
 Of Love and hope is past. 
 
 Farewell — farewell — 
 My own sweet Mother — When you at evening bow 
 
 Before God's shrine, bid every tear-drop tell 
 A prayer for me. Oh let me kiss thy brow 
 
 Once more, and then, farewell. 
 
 My father's hand 
 Now resteth on my head, while up to Heaven 
 
 His prayers invisible, to God's bright land 
 Ascend — that, like the dews of summer even, 
 
 His mercies may enshrine my sinful heart, 
 And shield it from the Tempter's baleful breath 
 
 Which planteth in the soul an iron dart 
 Corroding on for ever unto death. 
 
 Now press me to thy bosom, father, dear, 
 And lay thine arms around me, ere I go. 
 6 
 
62 F L O W E R S O F 
 
 Will other lips so gently kiss a tear 
 From my sad cheeks, should anguish bid one flow, 
 
 As thine ? Will he, to whom my vows are given, 
 Bear with my weakness, as thyself hath borne, 
 
 And love me when youth's blooming chain is riven, 
 When rose tints from my lips and cheeks are torn, 
 
 When in the black folds of my shining hair 
 Time spins a thread of white, to mark his way. 
 
 And leaves his foot prints on my forehead fair. 
 And dims my eyes, and chills my heart? Oh say. 
 
 Will he still love me ? 
 
 Brothers, fare-ye-well ! 
 Thou with the gentle brow and thoughtful eye, 
 
 O'er whose soft light two heavy tear-drops swell, 
 As if ye feared that those mysterious ties 
 
 Might win my love from thee, from all 
 Who blest my infancy, my girlhood's light. 
 
 My woman's heart. Words, tears, cannot recall 
 A wandering bird, that seeks a home more bright 
 
 Far o'er some sunny wave in eastern climes, 
 A fancied rest, which dreams had told would last 
 
 Where soft leaves rustled like a thousand chimes. 
 And blossoms waved secure from storm and blast. 
 
 But, brother ! clouds may dim the shining sky. 
 And tempests plough wild furrows on the wave. 
 
 And the poor bird, that soared so joyously 
 As if its flight would reach where star-gems pave 
 
 The walls of Heaven, droops on its weary wing, 
 Closes its aching eyes, till tossed from blast 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 63 
 
 To blast— it faints— then struggles hard to fling 
 Its broken pinions on the air — at last, 
 
 Quivering and dying, with a riven heart. 
 Falls quick into the stormy waves beneath, 
 
 Crushed — cold — and dead. 
 
 And this is woman's part, 
 Too oft in life, to act. Oh softly breathe 
 ( . Upon the blossom of a woman's love, 
 ' My brother ! if in after years, some soul 
 
 May fondly cling to thine. In honor, prove 
 A MAN, nor, with the mysteries untold 
 
 Of woman's first affection slighting play ; 
 For, boy ! they twist around the chords of life ; 
 Crush them, and life itself then wears away, 
 Unable to endure the sickening strife 
 Of this world's pitying scorn. 
 
 I'd rather see 
 Thee in thy coffined shroud — than know that thou 
 
 Would'st live for ends so foul — upon my knee, 
 I'd bless my God, and kiss thy pallid brow 
 
 And thank high heaven for saving thee from sin 
 Like this, a sin, for which thy sister's lip 
 
 Could curse thee with an evil prayer, and din 
 Thine ears with cutting words, that thou might'st sip, 
 
 Unto its nauseous dregs, the bitter cup 
 Thyself had mixed upon the altar-stone — 
 
 On which a broken heart was offered up. 
 O'er which the blighted buds of life were strewn. 
 
64 
 
 FLOWERS OF 
 
 And now, young brother— thou, the beautiful, 
 
 Farewell ! Thy blue veined brow and eagle eye, 
 
 And bounding heart, with life and hope are full. 
 And up, thy buoyant spirit soars on high. 
 
 To drink in gladness. Thou hast been to me 
 A waymark bright in Life's dim w^ilderness, 
 
 By which I measured years and love. 
 
 I see 
 Thine eye's soft lashes resting on thy cheek. 
 
 Like a dark raven's plume, while stealing through 
 Their prisoned grief, tears, slowly gushing, speak 
 
 Big eloquence of wo — Thy forehead's blue 
 And tender veins swell out, and flushing strange, 
 
 Pass o'er thy face, telling most plain, of strife 
 Within thy little heart, which this \vorld's change 
 
 Hath yet no power to crush ! Oh, may thy days. 
 My sweet young brother, be to thee a spring, 
 
 In life's dull holiday, with rainbow rays 
 Spanning thy grief, and hope's bright wing. 
 
 High o'er their arch. 
 
 Almighty God ! now bless 
 This parting hour ! 
 
 Perchance the doom of death 
 Will spread its heavy veil above my breast 
 Ere we all meet again, and every breath. 
 Which tells its minute watch, be breathed upon 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 65 
 
 A stranger's cheek — or they perchance may fall 
 Asleep, within the bourne. Oh holy One ! 
 
 May thy approving voice, each spirit call, 
 
 To smile together, round thy throne in Heaven, 
 
 Unfearing and secure, 'mid hosts forgiven ! 
 
TO A DOVE. 
 
 Not where the spheres to low, soft music, move ; 
 
 Or Indian seas their golden islands kiss, 
 I'd fly, had I thy gentle wings, oh dove, 
 
 To seek a kinder, better land than this ! 
 For still, amid their Eden scenes of light. 
 
 Tears gush, and trusting hearts are slowly broken. 
 And the young rose-leaf but conceals a blight. 
 
 And kindly thoughts are crushed, ere they are spoken. 
 Not here, O dove, upon life's troubled sea. 
 
 Where wild ambition wars man's truth away; 
 Where cherished hopes, like sunlight on a grave, 
 
 But mark the altar of their sure decay. 
 
 Had I thy wings, how gladly would I soar 
 
 Far, far beyond the starry paths of heaven. 
 Until I basked on that eternal shore 
 
 Where earth's redeemed their golden harps are given; 
 But, ah ! how vain to sigh for wings like thine ; 
 
 Life still demands the tribute of our woe, 
 Our drooping hopes — our broken hearts to twine 
 
 In coronals to deck, death's pallid brow ; 
 But when the valley's shadow hath been past, 
 
 The soul by mortal sorrow long opprest 
 Will calmly float far o'er the stormy blast, 
 
 And find repose upon her Saviour's breast. 
 
THE LAST BLESSING.* 
 
 He lay, with death's pale shadow on his brow, 
 That man of God, and as his eyes grew dim 
 And pallid tints now settled round his lips, 
 Which ever moved in prayer, his thin white hands 
 Wherein was freezing life's warm current fast, 
 Clasped lovingly upon his aching breast. 
 The image of the Crucified. 
 
 There was 
 A silent hush in the dark room, save when 
 A smothered sob broke on the listening ear. 
 Or when, with whispered prayer, some saintly hand 
 With trembling fingers counted Aves on 
 The holy beads, or when with ringing sound 
 A blest medallion to a decade linked. 
 Whereon was graven fair the Virgin's form, 
 Fell through their grasp. 
 
 Grief, bitter grief, was there! 
 But in Death's solemn presence it was still. 
 Invisible to us, bright angels hung 
 Within the entrance of the valley's shade, 
 While guarding well the portals of the tomb, 
 
 * This touching scene really occurred a few years ago in this city at 
 the death-bed of one of our most exemplary clergymen. 
 
68 FLOWERSOF 
 
 Hope sat with far off sunshine on her head, 
 And Faith, with her immortal cincture girt. 
 Watched smilingly to cheer his troubled soul 
 As it approached the goal. 
 
 Old men were there, 
 And children, with bright curls o'er fair young brows ; 
 And mothers, whom he oft had counselled well, 
 And guided ever to their home above ; 
 And in their sombre robes and drooping veils, 
 St. Vincent's holy daughters too — all— all 
 Had come to kneel in reverence down, once more 
 To hear his much loved voice, and feel his hand 
 In sacred benediction on their heads ! 
 
 And now a form, much more than passing fair. 
 With noiseless step glides past, and by his side 
 Kneels lowly down, and with fast falling tears 
 Anoints his death-cold hand. 
 
 Tho' stately she, 
 And floating on the goldfen tide of wealth. 
 Her poor young heart had drank deep bitter draughts 
 From Life's mixed stream ! 
 
 Earth's envy, with its dim, 
 Unholy stains, had clouded o'er her sky. 
 But marred not its high purity, arid she. 
 Along a path of tears, had found the cross ! 
 
 "Father! oh Father! bless me ere you die 
 
 f" 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 69 
 
 He turned his dying eyes on that fair face, 
 
 Uplift in tears to his imploringly, 
 
 And as he thought of all her secret pangs 
 
 And hidden tears! and how, with trusting faith. 
 
 In trial's hour, her heart had nobly clung 
 
 Unto its cross, and bore with patience high 
 
 Its all of agony ! how in the gloom 
 
 Which shaded o'er the spring of her young life, 
 
 Instead of healing up her bruised heart 
 
 With earth's poor vanity, she humbly came 
 
 And laid it, bleeding with its wrongs and woes. 
 
 At Jesus' feet ; he gently laid his hand 
 
 Upon her head, and calling in his thoughts 
 
 Once more from heavenly things, he uttered words 
 
 In tones most clear and strong, that all might hear 
 
 The consolation which he offered her, 
 
 Ere yet he passed from Life's dim shore away ; 
 
 Bless thee, my child ! 
 Yes! with my dying lips I bless thee, 
 
 While my life is ebbing fast! 
 AH that could dismay — distress thee- — 
 
 May it from thy spirit pass. 
 
 Bless thee, my child ! 
 Purer than those who would revile thee. 
 
 Is thy soul still struggling on ; 
 Cheer thee, then, earth can't defile thee, 
 
 On — and heaven will soon be won. 
 
70 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 Bless thee, my child ! 
 Father, enthroned on high, watch o'er her; 
 
 Angels guard my sacred trust; 
 Oh Jesus ! through thy blood, restore her, 
 
 When she rises from the dust ; 
 
 Back — back to heaven 
 Where sad tears will flow, oh never! 
 
 Where the brow is crowned with peace, 
 Where the weary rest for ever. 
 
 Where all WTongs — all anguish cease ! 
 
 Bless thee, my child ! 
 Pray ! and God will still befriend thee 
 
 By his grace until life's close. 
 Virgin Mother will defend thee 
 
 From thy spirit's direst foes. 
 
 She passed forth from the darkened room again. 
 With more of hope within her w^eary heart 
 Than she had known for many a long — long day ; 
 And when once more she came, the tongue which spoke 
 Such blessed words, and with fast failing breath 
 Bade her good cheer, was stilled in death for aye. 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 Like fragrant roses on one stem, 
 
 They blossomed, lived and grew; 
 The sunshine fell alike on them, 
 
 The star-light, and the dew ; 
 Their voices filled the air with glee 
 
 Beside the shining rill, 
 And where the heather waving free. 
 
 Gleamed on the distant hill. 
 
 At eventide they brought fair flowers. 
 
 And blossoms rare and sweet, 
 And threw them down in fragrant showers 
 
 Around their Mother's feet ; 
 And while the regal sunset dyed 
 
 With gold the woods and vine, 
 They wove rich garlands by her side 
 
 To deck the Virgin's shrine. 
 
 Their lips had touched the sparkling rim 
 
 Of life's high foaming bowl. 
 Nor dreamed they that a shadow dim 
 
 Could o'er its brightness roll. 
 On each young heart, like rain-bow hues, 
 
 Fell visions steeped in light, 
 Like rays reflected in a stream 
 
 From holy stars at night. 
 
72 FLOWERS OF 
 
 And their young mother's earnest eye 
 
 Watched daily round their path, 
 With glances where unfathoraed lie 
 
 Loves which no other hath ; 
 And when she parted from each brow, 
 
 Their shining curls at night, 
 She dreamed not that their cheeks' soft glow 
 
 Could wither, or grow white. 
 
 Alas for her ! too fair for earth 
 
 Was their rich beauty's bloom ; 
 They heard strange music by their hearth : 
 
 The angels called them home. 
 And then like blighted flowers they drooped 
 
 And withered by her side, 
 She prayed — she wept — she vainly hoped — 
 
 She saw them w hen they died ! 
 
 She laid their little limbs to rest — 
 
 How will such love expand ! — 
 And scattered roses on their breast ; 
 
 How could a stranger's hand 
 As tenderly move round her dead ? 
 
 Could e'er a stranger's eyes 
 Distil such drops as hers had shed 
 
 Through those wild agonies ? 
 
 No old escutcheon's storied pride, 
 Or waving plumes were there. 
 
 Or gorgeous velvet plumes to hide 
 An inlaid silver bier. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 73 
 
 No solemn music, sad and low, 
 
 Came stealing- round her dead, 
 Or incense, waving to and fro. 
 
 Its spicy odors shed. 
 
 But from the open door there came 
 
 A sound of forest trees. 
 And drowsily the wild bee's hum 
 
 Chimed on the scented breeze ; 
 And as they lay — those Cherubs fair — 
 
 Like marble effigies, 
 A gleam of sunset wandered there. 
 
 Like life-stars o'er their eyes. 
 
 Haply for them, no mortal stain 
 
 Could o'er their spirits brood ; 
 For, far away from priest and fane, 
 
 Was this deep solitude ; 
 Only a few rough hearts dwelt near, 
 
 Rough hearts, with kindly hands ; 
 And they, with many a falling tear, 
 Closed up the coffin bands. 
 
 They laid them where the locust flowers 
 Amid the green leaves hide. 
 Where white leaves fall in fragrant showers — 
 Close by their Father's side. 
 
LINES 
 
 On hearing the Litany of the Blessed Virgin sung 
 AT St. Mary's Chapel, Baltimore. 
 
 The day was waning, and I stood alone 
 Within a holy place. The solemn style 
 Of ancient ages, reigned throughout the pile ! 
 High gothic windows, with their diamond glass — ^ 
 Arch, within painted arch, and cornice carved, 
 With skill elaborate ; with mysterious lore 
 Told wond'rous tales of days gone by, and breathed 
 Religious thought, o'er things inanimate, 
 Until, they seemed to glow with living beams ! 
 The rose-leaf hue, of fading light stole in 
 Through crimson draperies, making rich gloom 
 Around the solemn altar, and long aisle ; 
 And bathed the fluted pillars, like a mist 
 Kissed by the setting sun — ^one single ray, 
 From the far western sky, where folds on folds 
 Of glory lay, in gorgeous piles, streamed through 
 A lofty window, and like some bright gleam, 
 From seraph's wing, or cherub's brow lit up 
 The cross, on which, in chiseled agony, 
 The " Man of Sorrows " hung. 
 
 My soul was still, 
 Save when the unseen spirit, gently breathed 
 Sweet thoughts of contrite tears, and stirred its deep 
 
FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMORY. 75 
 
 With hopes of heavenly birth, which like the beam 
 Of splendor on the cross, illumed the wave, 
 That often tosses roughly, the frail barque 
 That bears us o'er life's sea. 
 
 But footsteps rouse 
 Me from my spirit's calm, and worshippers — 
 The old man, with Time's hoar-frost on his brow — 
 The woman bowed with years — the maiden, youth 
 And fair haired child, in meek simplicity, 
 Kneel silently before their God, while tones 
 Of solemn music, roll in cadence sweet, 
 From the soft organ's peal. The white robed priest, 
 In reverent awe, bows humbly down 
 Before the mercy seat, where shrined in love 
 The spotless Lamb, dwells 'neath the mystic veil. 
 Kyrie Eleison ! softly 'tis intoned ! 
 The first — best prayer, our sinful hearts can breathe, 
 Unto a sinless God ! 
 
 Again it peals ! 
 Kyrie Eleison ! 
 
 Awful splendors round thee stealing, 
 Flashing glory through the skies. 
 
 Seraph forms, before thee kneeling, 
 
 Veil their faces from thine eyes. 
 
 Christe Eleison ! 
 'Mid the harp-notes round thee swelling. 
 
 And the loud hosanna's tone: 
 Hear us from thy holy dwelling, 
 
 Let our cries come near thy throne. 
 
76 FLOWERSOF 
 
 Spiritus Sancte ! 
 Gently o'er our spirits brooding ! 
 
 Token of our Father's love ! 
 Bathed in light around thee flooding, 
 
 Calm our troubled hearts, oh dove ! 
 
 •Sancta Maria! 
 By the Saviour's birth-place holy, 
 
 By the new-born eastern beams, 
 By the Chaldean watchers lowly. 
 
 Roused by angels from their dreams ! 
 
 Ora pro nobis ! 
 Pray sweet mother, — gently pleading 
 
 For us — wanderers through Life's gloom. 
 Be our beacon — brightly leading 
 
 Us to worlds beyond the tomb. 
 
 Ora pro nobis ! 
 JVot to save us from the weary 
 
 Steps along the rugged way, 
 Or to turn aside the dreary 
 
 Cloud, that sometimes dims life's day ! 
 
 Ora pro nobis ! 
 That our spirits meekly scorning 
 
 All the pains and ills of earth. 
 Humbly wait the blessed dawning, 
 
 Of a new celestial birth. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY 
 
 77 
 
 Ave Maria ! 
 Shadows o'er the hill are stealing, 
 
 Gloom is on the quiet glen, 
 Hear us, mother, lowly kneeling — 
 
 Bless our contrite tears — Amen ! 
 
 The prayer was ended, and the shades of night 
 
 Shed gloom, and dimness, through the holy place, 
 
 Save where two tapers burned upon the shrine. 
 
 And the undying lamp sent mildly forth 
 
 Its mellow rays — Yea, all was dimness there 
 
 Unto the outward eye, but to the eye 
 
 That never sleeps, an angel's calm, lit up 
 
 The soul's interior cells, and hope's bright wing 
 
 Made all else radiant with the light of heaven. 
 
 7* 
 
THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO! 
 
 In the land of merrie England, 
 
 Three hundred years ago, 
 The bells were rung, and the mass was sung, 
 And the cross o'er hill and valley still 
 
 Gleamed forth triumphantly ! 
 
 Like pearls o'er merrie England, 
 
 Her pleasant vales among, 
 Rose convent domes, and holy homes, 
 Where saintly forms, hid from life's storms, 
 
 God's love for ever sung ! 
 
 The poor of merrie England ! 
 
 Were they down-trodden then ? 
 Did famine gaunt their homesteads haunt 
 To blight the flowers that decked their bowers. 
 
 And crush God's creatures — men ? 
 
 The convents of old England, 
 
 Three hundred years ago. 
 Kept open door for the hungry poor. 
 And quiet sweet for the weary feet 
 
 Of pilgrim, high or low ! 
 
 And in those golden ages, 
 
 The peasant by his lord. 
 The king in pride, by his noble's side. 
 In humble mood, before the rood. 
 The sacred host adored. 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 79 
 
 And when towards the dyin^ 
 
 Viaticum was borne, * 
 By priestly trains, with solemn strains 
 Of anthem's swell and silvery bell, 
 
 At night, or early morn. 
 
 Forth came the noble barons. 
 
 With humbled steps, and slow, 
 While many a dame and peasant came, 
 With lighted torch, to join the march, 
 
 And chaunt the Tantum Er&o. 
 
 •■ Christ's holy Virgin Mother 
 
 Was honored through the land, 
 Her image crowned, or richly bound 
 With gems and gold, in many a fold, 
 
 Placed there by pilgrim hand. 
 
 And wrought on knightly banners, 
 
 " Auspice Maria " shone, 
 Which hovered bright over the stormy fight 
 Where, like a flood, streamed gentle blood 
 
 To save the king and throne ! 
 
 Throughout the land of England, 
 
 Laudate Dominum, 
 And Glorias were sung in choirs, 
 And prayers were said for the saintly deadj 
 
 All' souls in faith were one ! 
 
 * In speaking of the adorable sacrament, as administered to the sick, 
 the terms, " the viaticum,'^ or " the holy viaticum," are properly used ; 
 may not one, however, with all due reverence for the dignity of the 
 theme, be pardoned for taking advantage of the poet's license ? 
 
80 FLOWERS OF 
 
 But o'er the land of England, 
 
 Three hundred years ago, 
 A whirlwind passed — it felt the blast, 
 And hoi}' fanes, and martyrs' manes. 
 
 Lay in wild ruin low ! 
 
 Alas ! for merrie England, 
 
 And her old ancestral tombs. 
 Where censers swung, when the mass was sung, 
 And anthems rose, for the soul's repose, 
 
 Where lay the victor's plumes. 
 
 Above the victor sleeping. 
 
 With the red cross on his breast, 
 Where saintly shrines, of her kingly lines. 
 And the rich tombs o'er her queens of yore, 
 Lay low like all the rest. 
 
 In the land of merrie England, 
 
 Three hundred years ago, 
 The bells were rung, and the mass was sung. 
 And the cross o'er hill and valley still. 
 
 Gleamed forth triumphantly. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Three hundred years have glided. 
 
 Like phantoms to their tomb. 
 And eyes that wept, o'er the faith that slept, 
 Grow glad and bright, in the dawning light. 
 
 Laudate Dominum ! 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 81 
 
 O'er all the land are floating 
 
 The notes of ancient lays, 
 And gothic piles, where arch and aisles, 
 
 With altars fair, and rood-lofts rare, 
 Faith's noble scions raise ! 
 
 Who with true hearts and loyal. 
 
 Bear old historic names,* 
 Where the prayers of grace, in the holy mass, 
 From early day, to the vesper lay, 
 
 Bless all the wide domains. 
 
 Like homeward doves returning, 
 
 Old England's gifted sons 
 Up Calvary's path, to the ancient faith 
 Return to rest, on her sheltering breast, 
 
 Where rest her martyred ones ! 
 
 From many a holy cloister 
 
 Sweet t^lleluias flow, 
 Matins and JYonc, in solemn tone, ^ 
 
 Exulting chime, like the olden time, 
 
 Three hundred years ago. 
 
 The cross gleams like a blessing 
 O'er all the pleasant isle. 
 
 * See the late accounts of the magnificent church of St. Giles, erected 
 at the sole expense of the Earl of Shrewsbury, in the town of Cheadle, 
 England. 
 
82 
 
 FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 And rapture sweet, at Mary's feet, 
 O'er the pilgrim steals, as he lowly kneels. 
 To rest and pray the while. 
 
 God bless thee, merrie England ! 
 
 Hope's day-stars softly burn, 
 And faith's sad plaints, o'er the isle of saints. 
 Grow faint and low, in the dazzling glow. 
 
 As the olden times return ! 
 
GONE FOR EVER.* 
 
 Lo, THE sad midnight watch has just crept on, 
 And mourners, with their wildly stricken hearts. 
 Kneel round their dead. The taper's fitful light, 
 A trembling shadow flings athwart the bier. 
 And quivers on the still folds of the shroud, 
 As if the quick breath of a sleeper stirred 
 Beneath — But all was still ; the pallid hue 
 Of death had settled on his solemn brow. 
 And dimmed for aye the loving eyes, and pressed 
 Its marble tint upon his gentle lips; 
 And all that looked like life, was the dark hair 
 Which lay in glossy waves on his white brow. 
 As it was wont, when the blue veins beneath. 
 Throbbed with each peaceful breath ! 
 
 And there he slept ! 
 While burning tears, and wildly uttered prayers. 
 Would fain have called that noble spirit back, 
 With all its generous truth and impulse high. 
 To light the. temple, which its vig'rous wings 
 In their wild efforts to be freed from earth, 
 Had made a shattered ruin for the dust, 
 And its decay, and man's forgetfulness. 
 
 * Inscribed to the memory of Dr. Wm. IN. Baker, a late Professor in 
 the Medical University of Maryland. Distinguished by his unusual 
 talents among his companions, he was stricken down in the noon-tide 
 of life, in their midst, regretted much by all who knew and under- 
 stood the true and generous nobility of his soul. 
 
84 FLOWERSOP 
 
 Gone for ever! 
 From life's anguish and its dreaming, 
 
 From its fitful scenes of dread ; 
 From its noontide o'er him gleaming, 
 
 Gone — to slumber with the dead. 
 From the friends, whose love caressed him ;- 
 
 And the lonely household hearth, 
 Hears no more the sounds that blessed him, 
 
 'Mid its gentle smiles of mirth ! 
 
 Gone for ever ! 
 All is hushed amid their weeping, 
 
 Bitter tears their heart-strings burn, 
 Blighted hopes are coldly sleeping 
 
 On his bosom's silent urn. 
 Stricken down amid life's glory. 
 
 Ere his spirit claimed its height ; 
 Hidden from fame's gorgeous story 
 
 By the shadow of death's night ! 
 
 Tears are falling ! 
 Those on whom the world's cold scorning. 
 
 Fell with its undying hate. 
 He had cheered amid their mourning, 
 
 When their souls were desolate. 
 May their prayers to God ascending. 
 
 With the friendless orphan's cry. 
 Go, like angel guards attending, 
 
 To his far eternity ! 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 85 
 
 Gone for ever ! 
 Let each heart that knew, deplore him — 
 
 Soon the earth receives her trust, 
 Oh gently, let its breath pass o'er him, 
 When he slumbers in the dust. 
 
 The w^eary hours of night passed on, and stars 
 
 Grew pale, in the new light of coming day. 
 
 And soon the streets were thronged, with busy men, ' 
 
 And sounds of mirth, and words of careless glee, 
 
 Which fell upon the hearts of those who watched 
 
 Beside their dead, like bitter waters on 
 
 A festering wound ! ^ 
 
 The coffin lid was sealed. 
 And then with solemn tread, and hearts bow'd down 
 With grief, and eyes that sent forth many a tear 
 O'er manly cheeks, they bore him to his rest. 
 
THE VESPER STAR. 
 
 Hail Ihou supreme and omnipresent Power, 
 Who, self-existent, rulest the realms of space ; 
 Thou undivided Three, enshrined in light 
 And mystery, before whose face the host 
 Of shining heaven, in their dazzling robes, 
 Bow down in adoration of thy grace ; — 
 All praise to thee that mortal tongue can sing. 
 
 Behind yon battlement of golden clouds 
 
 The sun-crowned day declines in majesty, 
 
 Scatt'ring its gifts of light upon each tree 
 
 Within the solemn forest's shade, — spreading 
 
 A diamond glitterance o'er every wave 
 
 Which ripples o'er the river's breast. They chime 
 
 In gently whispering notes, and melt along 
 
 The sandy shore, like a sweet messenger 
 
 Who holds communion 'twixt the glorious skies 
 
 And beautiful, though sin-polluted earth. 
 
 The swelling anthems of the music birds 
 
 Now die away, while ever and anon 
 
 One, on whose little nest the gilded light 
 
 Slants down, lifts up its shining head and tells 
 
 A thrilling note of melody, which winds 
 
 Through sinuous shades until the cadence sinks 
 
 Like silent thought away. 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 87 
 
 How peaceful now, 
 How calm and blessed looks the smiling world, 
 As if the doom of sin lurk'd not wathin 
 Its glowing scenes, — as if the seeds of death 
 Sprung not amid its fairest buds, — as if 
 The serpent's trail were not concealM beneath 
 Its gladdest paths ; and thou, oh thoughtless man ! 
 Forgetful of all else except thyself, 
 Dost dare to turn above a skeptic's eye, 
 Or lift in pride, like the vain Pharisee, 
 A self-conceited good tq Heaven. 
 
 Gloom 
 Spreads a shadow o'er the earth, and silence 
 Broods above the solitude, while through 
 The forest dim a sound like a wild dirge. 
 With fitful harmonies, and tone subdued 
 Is sadly heard. 
 
 My soul now feels 
 Her bitterness, and almost dreams she sees 
 Death's signet visible. She turns within 
 Her narrow cell, and seeks to hide from wo, 
 And sin sought out and nurtur'd by herself. 
 But ah, in vain — the spark of Deity 
 Which goodness might have fann'd into a blaze 
 Of noon-day light, tho' almost quench'd by sin. 
 Sheds a faint glow-worm lustre o'er the gloom. 
 Revealing all its horrid stains. 
 
5 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 Oh God ! 
 Is this creation of thy might, this world, 
 Which thou didst form in wisdom infinite, 
 Unloos'd from its deep moorings in thy love — 
 Cast forth upon a sea of guilt and sin. 
 To battle with the storms until a wreck 
 Floats back to thy eternal shore ? 
 
 To Heaven 
 In wondering sorrow my sad eyes were rais'd — 
 There, mid a flood of roseate softness, shone 
 The Vesper Star. That beacon light, above 
 The far-off crystal gates which bound the skies, 
 That isle where blessed spirits love to rest, 
 When sent from Heaven to earth, to guard 
 The ways of men, and carry back reports 
 Of good. Its beams reproached my faithless heart- 
 I thought of the new eastern star, once seen 
 Of old by shepherds — of the lowly place 
 To which it guided them — the Child Divine, 
 The promised light of everlasting day. 
 I saw in it a type of Mercy's birth 
 And peace ineffable, as 'mid&t the twilight gloom 
 It calmly beamed, the herald of the skies 
 Which ushers in the constellated stars 
 And radiant moon. 
 
 I wiped a falling tear 
 And blessed the Vesper Star. 
 
THE DEAD PONTIFF.* 
 
 Morn on the hills of Rome ; light on her graves ! 
 
 Her Christian fanes, her ruins and her founts, 
 
 Which whisper dreamy sounds, gleam through the mist ! 
 
 The last bright star hath paled on night's fair brow, 
 
 While from the orient gates of light steal forth. 
 
 One after one, a train of shadowy gems; 
 
 And golden bordered clouds, which the bright dawn 
 
 Hath frescoed with a splendid crimson tinge, 
 
 And softly shaded with a regal hue. 
 
 The fragrant dew still hangs, in pendant gems, 
 
 Upon each spray, or in the lily's cup, 
 
 Hides deep, like pearl drops 'neath a bridal veil. 
 
 Or, trembling, fall like fragments of a star, 
 
 As from their nests the birds spring forth to sing 
 
 Their matin hymn. 
 
 Like waves of burnished gold, 
 The Tiber's waters sweep its reedy banks, 
 Making low music ! 
 
 At a lowly shrine. 
 Beneath the shadow of th' imperial hills. 
 Kneel peasant maidens at their orisons, 
 And toil-worn shepherds, with their hardy hands 
 elapsed meekly, while their eyes, with hope uplift 
 To the SWEET Mother of our Lord, within 
 
 * Gregory xvi. 
 
90 FLOWERSOF 
 
 Think in their simple faith, the marble smiles, 
 
 When the bright wreath of summer buds, which hang 
 
 Upon her brow, stirs in th"e morning wind. 
 
 Creation smiles, and dreams of Eden's vale, 
 
 While the soft music of her golden spheres 
 
 Rolls on with more seraphic cadences. 
 
 As the morn's flashing beams fall on each cross 
 
 Reared high on Rome's Basilicas, until 
 
 They glance, like sapphires, on the walls of heaven ; 
 
 Or gems, plucked from an angel's crown, which God 
 
 Hath set thereon to mark his own. 
 
 Below, 
 The crumbling Coliseum, and old fanes, 
 Where sacrifice was offered to the gods 
 In olden time, are wrapped in gilded mists, 
 Which cast a glory o'er their slow decay. 
 
 Rome's ancient ways, her streets of palaces 
 
 Begin to throng with life, but lo ! the air 
 
 Is burdened with the solemn chime of bells, 
 
 And men walk forth with mournful steps and slow. 
 
 No joyful greetings part their lips with smiles; 
 
 But clasping silently each other's hands, 
 
 They sternly glide along. 
 
 And tears are there, 
 Amid that manly throng, which men care not 
 To hide. 
 
 Long sombre trains of cowled monks, 
 With folded hands, and heads bowed down, pass by, 
 And de ProfuncUs chant in wailing tones, 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 91 
 
 Instead of Sancta dei Genetrix. 
 
 The lofty windows of the Quirinal 
 
 Are closed, while, floating from its turrets high, 
 
 The banner of the triple crown droops round 
 
 Its staff in gorgeous folds, and shrouds in gold 
 
 Its rich insignia; while sentries grim 
 
 March with their arms reversed, — -for death hath been 
 
 Within, and stricken down a shining mark. 
 
 The sovereign lord of Rome, the mighty head 
 
 Of the great church on earth, God's chosen one, 
 
 His power vice-regal o'er his children's faith. 
 
 The father of the poor — the friend of all — 
 
 Hath passed from the dim shore of life away, 
 
 And left fair lustre in its shadowy sands 
 
 Where'er his footsteps fell. 
 
 His regal robes 
 Fell lightly o'er his saintly heart ; the gems 
 That burned like stars upon his earthly crown 
 Shone on a brow, which long had yearned to rest 
 Its wearied pulses at his Master's feet. 
 
 Solemn and slow, an hundred mighty bells 
 Heave to and fro, and organ notes steal forth 
 In mournful requiem, while white robed priests 
 Swing from their golden urns pale, fragrant clouds 
 Of burning spices, as his hallowed clay. 
 Upon its jewelled bier, is slowly borne 
 Alon^, to rest where he was wont to pray. 
 The princes of the church, her croziered lords, 
 Her learned fathers, and her saintly monks. 
 
92 F L O W E R S O F 
 
 Throng the funeral train, and sadly chant 
 The solemn dirge, while music soft and low 
 Burdens the air: 
 
 Slowly and mournfully, 
 Through the arched door of the cathedral old,* 
 O'er mosaic floors, through spacious aisles bound in 
 By polished marble shafts ; past altars rich, 
 Gleaming with jewelled stars, by sculptured saints 
 And golden cherubim, whose pearly wings 
 Seem trembling, as the softened light sweeps down 
 Through wreaths of incense, from the lofty dome ; 
 They bear him on, the saintly lord of Rome — 
 And while the stifled sob from manly hearts, 
 And sighs from woman's lips, blend in wild tones 
 With the loud organ's mighty requiem, 
 They lay his reverend form most gently down 
 Before the altar of the Sacred Host.f 
 The crowd throng on — the vassal with his lord — 
 Then came low uttered words, and as they knelt 
 To press their lips upon his way-worn feet. 
 Thus plaintively bewailed : 
 
 " Thou the mighty ! 
 The faithful shepherd of our wandering souls : 
 The leader of God's armies through earth's wild ; 
 Our father, and our friend, could death have found 
 No lower mark than thee? 
 
 Thy years were full 
 Of high brave-hearted deeds, and saintly acts. 
 And generous labors for thy people's good, 
 
 * St. Peter's. t The chapel of the Blessed Sacrament. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 93 
 
 Which, when onr heads lie low in dust, will stand 
 Through ages yet to come, like way-marks fair, 
 Along the shore of time. 
 
 Lowly and meek ! 
 Thy triple crown, thy sovereign state, thy robes 
 Of regal woof, were less than naught to thee. 
 Save for their high prerogative, which gave 
 Thee clement power, and dauntless will 
 To shield the contrite, and th' oppressed defend. 
 Thy spirit's w^ays, unseen by all save God, 
 Shed its own halo round thy daily path. 
 While the still pressure of its unshod feet, 
 Sought out the hallowed footsteps of thy Lord 
 Up Calvary's holy steep. 
 
 Laid low ! laid low 
 The solemn beauty of thy aged brow, 
 And closed those heaven-lit eyes, which erst flashed forth 
 The lightning fires of a father's wrath 
 On a rude despot,* who had dared to come 
 Before thee, with thy martyred children's blood 
 In tell-tale stains amid the costly gems 
 Of his imperial robe. 
 
 Thy arms^of love, 
 Open to all the world, were closed to him. 
 The dastard scion of a royal line; 
 Thy lips, so used to prayer and gentle words. 
 That no rude lines made harsh impressions there. 
 Poured forth such bitter truths, and told such tales 
 
 ♦The Emperor of Russia, 
 
94 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MExMORY. 
 
 Of vile, dark deeds, wrought by his minions bold ; 
 That he, the lord of countless slaves, whose nod 
 Made rulers, or filled up unholy graves — 
 Who ne'er had trembled at a mortal's word- — 
 Grew pale, and quailed, and cOwered silently 
 At the majestic mien thy age put on. 
 Alas ! 'twas but life's last upflashing spark — 
 Atid thou didst die — our shepherd and our guide ! 
 Shall we behold no more thy sacred hands 
 Uplift the white veiled Lamb of God ? — no more 
 Thy blessing share on holy festival ? 
 
 No more, no more ! thy pilgrimage is done ! 
 
 In yon fair land of peace — the angels' home — 
 
 The kingdom of thy God, thy wearied soul 
 
 For ever folds its wings, for ever rests ! 
 
 For ever— for ever — rests — for ever !" 
 
 In low sweet cadences, in solmen tones 
 
 And voices rich with faith's own melody, 
 
 They echoed back the words, for ever — rests— 
 
 Until it seemed as if the white-winged dov.e 
 
 Of the celestial king descended there 
 
 And breathed high strains of peace— of rest — for ever. 
 
THE CONVERT. 
 
 " Our daughter has recovered; she is rescued from death ; but alas she 
 has become a Catholic V'—My Father's Letter. 
 
 Oh, Father ! when the spark of life 
 
 Was dimly, coldly beaming, 
 And on death's shore the chilly waves 
 
 About my feet were gleaming — 
 When sweet affections could not cheer 
 
 My heart's wild tribulation, ^ 
 God in his love sent angels down 
 
 To whisper consolation. 
 
 Alas ! the dreary gloom that came, 
 
 Around my heart o'ershading, 
 Alas! for childhood's earth-born "creed, 
 
 How dim its hopes were fading. 
 Oh Father ! 'twas an hour when truth 
 
 From mortal ties was riven, 
 And left my spirit free to clasp ^ 
 
 The golden hopes of heaven. 
 
 Then angels led me to a cross 
 
 With halos round it stealing, 
 While at its foot with brow serene, 
 
 A form of light was kneeling ; 
 Within her arms were borne like lambs 
 
 The rescued from Life's w^eeping, 
 And on her breast in calm repose, 
 
 The martyred saints were sleeping. 
 
96 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 How madly o'er the holy spot 
 
 The tempests wild were rushing, 
 While from above through shade and storm, 
 
 A stream of light was gushing, 
 And there I saw Hope's shining brow, 
 
 And Faith eternal given ; 
 And wearied, starving souls, receive 
 
 Bread which came down from heaven. 
 
 Father ! I knelt, and veiled my eyes 
 
 In trusting adoration. 
 For I had found amid life's waste, 
 
 The rock of my salvation. 
 How sweetly rests my wearied soul. 
 
 Where rescued from life's weeping, 
 The fainting sons of earth repose 
 
 Where martyred saints are sleeping. 
 
AN OLD ROMAUNCE. 
 
 O'er Waldo's towers stern and old, 
 
 Which frowned upon their rocky height, 
 The sunbeams through a mist of gold 
 
 Came floating like a dream of light; 
 The moss-grown walls, the turrets hung 
 
 With darkling leaves of ivy vine, 
 The ruined tower where owlets clung, 
 
 In festive splendor seemed to shine ; 
 While the low murmur of the seas — 
 
 The rustling of the forests dim, 
 Kept time melodious with the breeze 
 
 Which chaunted soft its vesper hymn, 
 And floating, where in sullen mood 
 
 The lordly banner downward swept, 
 Spread out upon the sunset flood 
 
 Those folds, where shame had never wept, 
 Whose silvery sheen, whose azure bars 
 
 In battle strife, or wild foray. 
 Had marshalled on like morning stars 
 
 Old Waldo's lords to glory's day. 
 But all was still, no thrilling shout 
 
 Of armed retainers met the ear, 
 No stirring battle cry rung out, 
 
 No clang of arms, or words of cheer ; 
 9 
 
98 FLOWERSOF 
 
 But moving on with solemn tread 
 
 One yeoman paced the walls alone, 
 While motionless as are the dead 
 
 One paused upon the bridge of stone ; 
 And leaning on his rusty arms 
 
 Gazed on the dreary moat below, 
 While mem'ry with her thousand charms 
 
 Beguiled his heart of thoughtful woe : 
 He -dreamed of well earned victories 
 
 Beneath Lord Waldo's standard won, 
 He thought of all the high emprize 
 
 And loyal deeds of sire and son, 
 And how^, when w^ith their victor train 
 
 They homeward turned with many a spoil, 
 Their honor still without a stain, 
 
 To rest, as soldiers rest from toil ; 
 He thought of all the noble mirth 
 
 Which filled those ancient halls with light, 
 Of songs beside the castle hearth, 
 
 Of barons bold, and ladies bright. 
 When Waldo bore his gentle bride 
 
 From southern lands to grace his home, 
 Whose beamy eyes sought not to hide 
 
 Tlie joy which lit her beauty's bloom ; 
 And how in tilt or tourney gay. 
 
 In hawking revel, or beside 
 The bed where some poor colter lay, 
 
 Or kneeling in the chapel dim, — 
 She told the beads which pilgrim hand 
 Brought from the sepulchre of Him 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 99 
 
 Who meekly died in Holy Land; 
 
 Or when she wandered slowly forth 
 With Waldo on the ocean shore, 
 
 She bloomed as sweetly in the north, 
 And hung upon its ancient lore 
 
 With faith and pride in all he told 
 Of battle rout and border fray. 
 
 Of legends wild and barons bold 
 Of elfin haunts in ruins gray — 
 
 As where the southern roses fall. 
 And gladness made where'er she trod — 
 
 In lordly court or castle hall 
 All blessed her in the name of God. 
 
 While thus the yeoman dreamed alone, 
 
 Night's shadows had the day absorbed. 
 And o'er the dewy earth now shone 
 
 The pearly moon in glory orbed; 
 The stark old towers looked dim and drear, 
 
 The lonely owl shrieked forth her woes, 
 The beagle howled in mortal fear 
 
 And started echo from repose, 
 But still in memory's dreams the while 
 
 The yeoman would have revelled on 
 Had not a page with mal'pert smile 
 
 Strode o'er the lonely bridge of stone, 
 And bowing with fine mockery 
 
 In mincing accents called his name. 
 Then peering in old Roderick's eye. 
 
 And plucking without blush of shame 
 
100 FLOWERS OF 
 
 The locks which o'er his shoulders hung, 
 
 Cried, " ho ! old sleeper, dost thou dream ?" 
 One start — one bound^ — one shout which rung 
 
 In echoes wild o'er vale and stream, 
 And Roderick grasped the childish thing. 
 
 But when he saw beneath the moon 
 The boy with terror quivering, 
 
 And heard him humbly cry '' a boon ! 
 Good Roderick grant my life to me, 
 
 I'll never pluck thy beard again, 
 I'll never more be rude to thee, 
 
 Or whisper aught to give thee pain !" 
 " Thou /" growled old Roderick, " is it thou 9 
 
 Methought it was some elfin sprite, 
 Hence, or my stalwart arm will throw 
 
 Thee, in yon moat to sleep to-night !" 
 
 " Nay ! nay, good Roderick, I but came 
 
 To bear my lady's word to thee — 
 And if I trifled do but blame 
 
 The elfin sprite which ruleth me; — 
 The lady Ida all the day 
 
 Hath talked of our departed lord, 
 And wiled the dreary hours away 
 
 By tears, and many a mournful word, 
 While I — methought some wizard's wand 
 
 Had changed me to an owlet grave ; 
 I moped and sighed, I vainly conned 
 
 My lute notes o'er. I watched yon wave 
 Until I longed — yea longed to fly — 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 101 
 
 To swim — to laugh — to dance — to shout — 
 But tears flowed from my lady's eye, 
 
 And I, leaned down my head — to pout, 
 When she — I love my lady fair — 
 
 Bade me come hither at full speed 
 And say, good Roderick leave thy lair — 
 
 Thy post — and follow where I lead !" 
 
 '' No doubt," quoth Roderick:, " thou art bold 
 
 Jkid while I leave my post awhile, 
 Pace here and there, watch yonder hold 
 
 And tell thy beads the time to wile ; 
 And mark me, boy, I've seen this night 
 
 Strange phantoms passing to and fro, 
 Some clad in mail, some clad in white. 
 
 Some bright and gay, some pale and slow ; 
 Then say thy Paters, decades tell. 
 
 Our Lady's grace and aid implore 
 To ward away the solemn spell 
 
 Until the midnight hour is o'er, 
 ril hie me to our lady's bower 
 
 And weep with her our absent lord — 
 These eyes looked on his natal hour — 
 
 These hands girt on his maiden sword.'" 
 Old Roderick paused — a tear unhid 
 
 Fell on the furrows of his face. 
 His rough dark hand the jewel hid, 
 
 Then dashed it from its resting place. 
 " Oh brave good master, leave me not," 
 The frightened page now vainly cried, 
 
102 FLOWERS OF 
 
 "I fear this wild and haunted spot, 
 
 'Twas here the robber chieftain died, 
 When pressed, like a poor wounded hound 
 
 By raging beasts, he turned at bay. 
 Then leaping with a sudden bound — 
 
 His corse beneath yon waters lay — 
 I'll die — ril faint — God grant me grace — 
 
 Oh, Roderick, bind me not so fast. 
 Or stay — just stay in this drear place 
 
 Until the weird-wild hour is past !'^ 
 But Roderick with his stalwart arm 
 
 Had bound him to a column stone. 
 And heeding not his wild alarm 
 
 Stalked on his moonlight path alone. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Within a bower rich and rare. 
 
 With gems and silks and vases decked. 
 And cushions piled with eastern care 
 
 And cabinets with jewels flecked. 
 The Lady Ida knelt — her shrine — 
 
 A niche within the marble wall. 
 Where flow'rets had been taught to twine 
 
 And o'er the Virgin's image fall ! 
 A scented taper upwards threw 
 
 Perpetual incense at her feet. 
 While downward, through the golden hue 
 
 The infant Jesu smiled most sweet 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 103 
 
 On the lone mourner, whose pure heart 
 Resigned to woe, clung closer there 
 
 When anguish caused each pulse to start 
 And almost burst with its despair. 
 
 The southern flower was drooping low, 
 But northern blasts had chilled it not ; 
 
 Its leaves had lost their summer glow 
 And faded 'neath a weary lot. 
 
 " Oh heaven !" she prayed, " my spirit aid, 
 
 It weeps — it yields not to thy will ; 
 1 fain, oh Jesu, would have laid 
 
 It throbbing — wounded — bleeding — still 
 Submissive down, and lived to pray 
 
 For his dear soul, who died to win 
 Thy Tomb from Moslem power away^ — 
 
 Thou who didst die to cancel sin — 
 But pardon thou my human pangs, 
 
 Wipe thou away these flooding tears. 
 Aid thou my soul which only hangs 
 
 On thy dear love amidst its fears ! 
 And thou, oh thou, sweet Mother, hear ! 
 
 Whose heart was pierced on Calvary's brow, 
 Who at the cross and tomb didst share 
 
 The stigma of his passion too ; 
 Upon that soil thus holy made 
 
 My brave crusader met his doom — 
 In desert sands his form they laid — 
 
 Unwept — unhonored by a tomb — 
 
104 FLOWERS OF 
 
 There — on that soil the god-man trod 
 
 Where ye did watch his birth and death 
 Didst hover round thy hidden God 
 
 And feel upon thy cheek his breath, 
 Until the wondrous revealing 
 
 Of divine powers w^ere known — 
 Until the dead, bereft of feeling, 
 
 Arose at his majestic tone ! 
 Until the storm cloud o'er the seas 
 
 Dispersed at his supreme command. 
 Until the leper's foul disease 
 
 Was healed by his almighty hand — 
 Still by the cross — amidst the stir, 
 
 And wailing on that awful hill. 
 Unto the lonely sepulchre 
 
 Thy bleeding heart clung closer still ! — 
 That sacred soil, my loved and lost 
 
 Sought, with the red cross on his breast, 
 To battle with Saladin's host 
 
 And o'er their Paynim bodies press, 
 As one by one the chivalry 
 
 Of all united Christendom 
 Marched on, with banners waving high, 
 
 To die — or win the Saviour's tomb ! 
 He fell, but not in battle fray 
 
 'Mid clanging arms and battle shout 
 With gallant deeds to mark the day 
 
 Which dawned upon the pagan rout ; 
 He fell, but not beneath the folds 
 
 Of banners waving o'er his head, 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 105 
 
 Or where with prayers the fainting souls 
 
 Of thousands from their bodies sped — 
 He died alone. — The plague-spot burned 
 
 A few short hours upon his brow ; 
 Afar his comrades wept, yet turned 
 
 Affrighted from their leader now — 
 And thus he died — on those bare sands — 
 
 He who deserved a nobler fate — 
 Unknown — uncared for in those lands 
 
 Which give a Christian — all their hate. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The arras moved^-old Roderick stood 
 
 Like some grim marble effigy — 
 While she, engulphed in memory's flood. 
 
 Heard not his mailed heel ringing nigh ; 
 He paused and with respectful awe 
 
 Thrice crossed himself and bowed his head, 
 But when her pallid cheek he saw 
 
 And heard her thus deplore her dead, 
 One sob burst forth from his brave heart, 
 
 Like night winds wailing through the storm 
 He clasped his hands with sudden start 
 
 And weeping, drooped his giant form 
 And murmured low, " Oh God, oh God, 
 
 Ignobly in that Paynim land 
 He fell where he had victor trod — 
 
 The noblest of that Christian band — 
 
106 FLOWERSOF 
 
 And / who oft upon this breast 
 
 Had borne him when a laughing child 
 
 Far — far away in slothful rest 
 
 Knew not the hour so dark and wild 
 
 That saw him die." 
 
 The ladye sprung 
 
 Affrighted from her lowly place 
 Back every tress she wildly flung 
 
 And gazed distracted in his face. 
 " I knew not it was thou," she said, 
 
 " God save thee, Roderick, dost thou weep 
 And vigils hold around the dead 
 
 Who o'er the rolling billows sleep ? 
 Come hither ! I would talk with thee 
 
 Of him who prized and loved thee well 
 For thy high deeds of bravery 
 
 Which many a minstrel song doth tell — - 
 Tell me about his boyhood bright 
 
 His rambles on the mountain side 
 His boldness in the Lowland fight — 
 
 The spurs he won with manly pride ! 
 I cannot sleep — come, Roderick, near. 
 
 And rest thy aged limbs awhile, 
 And as the gentle tale I hear 
 
 Methinks I'll see him move and smile! 
 But list ! hushed is the beagle's howl, 
 
 And yonder in the moon's fair ray 
 I see a form with cloak and cowl 
 
 With warning hand keep them at bay ; 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 1 07 
 
 What meaneth it — he onward glides 
 
 Like some lone phantom in a dream, 
 Now pausing, where the willow hides 
 
 The water from the stars sweet gleam — 
 And see — old man dost thou not see 
 
 Beneath the serge a snowy vest, 
 And as yon cloud's soft shadows flee, 
 
 A red cross gleaming on his breast ? 
 Go ! go ! it is some palmer worn 
 
 From Holy Land with weary feet, 
 Or phantom from the grave upborne 
 
 In troubled mood my' soul to greet — 
 But no — he weeps — I see him dash 
 
 His hand athwart his shaded eyes 
 His rosary in the moonbeams flash, 
 
 And scallop shell of goodly size — 
 Roderick, my brain is aching now, 
 
 Perhaps I dream — perhaps I'm mad ; 
 Now rapture's pang, throbs on my brow 
 
 Now fear and terror make me sad : 
 But go — nay pause — was that a note 
 
 Of lutestring on the silent air? 
 Oh God ! — what tones are those which float 
 
 Like angel music on mine ear?" 
 
 She grasped the old man's mail-clad arm, 
 
 And from her casement leaning o'er, 
 Gazed, like some sybil on her charm, 
 
 Or man of eld on mystic lore, 
 
108 FLOWERS OF 
 
 On that lone wanderer of the east 
 
 Whose hands the grave had scooped, perchance, 
 Where Waldo's clay was laid to rest, 
 
 Whose eye had met his dying glance. 
 But now with minstrel hand he rings 
 
 Upon his lute sweet harmony^ 
 Then sweeping o'er the golden strings 
 
 Attuned his voice to melody. 
 
 A HERO sought the battle plain 
 
 His chieftains by his side, 
 A plumed morion on each brow 
 
 And falchions by their side 
 O'er many a brawny breast was thrown 
 
 A flowing silken band, 
 With wrought device of golden thread, 
 
 Placed there by lady's hand. 
 
 Prayers followed forth that noble host, 
 
 And woman's tear fell fast 
 As from the castle court they rode 
 
 In proud and stately haste : 
 But woman's tears — nor life's sweet boon 
 
 Or hearthstone dim and cold, 
 Could from the holy wars detain 
 
 Or win those heroes bold. 
 
 But soon upon those eastern sands 
 That gallant host lay low. 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 109 
 
 Some falling 'neath the Paynim's sword, 
 
 Some 'neath the plague spot's glow ; 
 But all that fell, like warriors died. 
 
 Their thoughts on heaven and home, 
 Their last words, ' From the Saracen 
 
 Rescue the Saviour's tomb. 
 
 But one returned — his heart was sad, 
 
 His home looked desolate, 
 No welcome beacon on the wall, 
 
 No yeoman at the gate ; 
 No starry beams from love's soft eye. 
 
 Or voice of love's sweet tone, 
 Cheered him with promises of joy — 
 
 That pilgrim sad and lone." 
 
 With cadence sweet, the gentle song 
 
 In mournful numbers died. 
 And o'er the pilgrim seemed to throng 
 
 Pale mem'ry's phantom tide ; 
 His lute fell ringing at his feet. 
 
 His head drooped on his breast. 
 Back dropped the cowl, and breezes sweet 
 
 His flowing locks caressed. 
 While on his brow a single ray^ 
 
 Of silver moonlight fell. 
 And on his cheek, dark fringes lay 
 
 Which hid his eyes deep spell. 
 " All fled — all lost," he murmured low, 
 
 " My southern flowret dead ; 
 10 
 
110 F L O W E R S F 
 
 Death's chill upon that sunny brow, 
 
 Its dust upon her head ! 
 Oh cruel palmer, what avail 
 
 Was all thy skill to me, 
 Why did I live to hear the tale, 
 
 Which brought such woe to me, 
 Of how my lady's cheek grew wan, 
 
 Of how her life's sweet bloom, 
 In hope's wild fleeting dreams had gone 
 
 To grace the lonely tomb ? 
 Oh, palmer—why a life restore, 
 
 Why cool each scorching vein, 
 To hear a tale which evermore 
 
 Scorches both heart and brain ?" 
 
 Why starts the lonely pilgrim now? 
 
 What weird-like power hath 
 That white veiled figure bending low, 
 
 So wildly in his path ? 
 His eyes with awful rapture shine. 
 
 He kneels, as one might kneel 
 In prayer, before some holy shrine 
 
 Stamped with angelic seal, 
 And gazing in those shadowy eyes 
 
 Which drank the light of his : 
 " Oh, spirit from the grave !" he cries, 
 
 " Thank thee for love like this. 
 Which death's chill fetters could not hold 
 
 In durance while I live and breathe — 
 Come hither, shade, and cheer my soul, 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. Ill 
 
 And as of yore around me wreathe 
 Thy pure embrace," 
 
 With one wild cry 
 
 The Lady Ida to him fled, 
 " Thou art no phantom from yon sky, 
 
 Or I a spirit from the dead ! 
 We live, my Waldo— oh my God ! 
 
 I die, I faint with joy's excess ; 
 I cannot stem this sudden flood 
 
 Of more than earthly happiness ; 
 On thy dear breast thus to repose. 
 
 To feel, to know, that thou art nigh ; 
 Oh Waldo, softer than the close 
 
 Of summer sunset thus to die !" 
 She lay upon his stalwart breast 
 
 Like a pure lily on the wave — 
 Or bird within its long lost nest — 
 
 Or weary heart within its grave. 
 
 The sun rose bright, on Waldo's towers 
 
 The trumpet note was heard once more, 
 Tiie banner decked with plumes and flowers, 
 
 Glanced in the sun, and floated o'er 
 Those proud old walls. The ramparts gleamed 
 
 With yeomen and with archers bold, 
 Whom Roderick, ere the morning beamed. 
 
 Had summoned from each mountain hold, 
 To welcome home with solemn rite 
 
 Lord Waldo to his proud domain ; 
 
112 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 The chapel altar 's rich with light, 
 
 Surrounded by a priestly train 
 Who wait to chaunt the sacred lay 
 
 Of holy sacrifice divine 
 For joy that Waldo lived that day^ 
 
 And those who sleep in Palestine— 
 When forth, with stately steps and slow, 
 
 Came Waldo and his gentle bride — 
 A shout arose — above — below. 
 
 While sturdy men wept tears of pride ; 
 W hen he, returning with high grace. 
 
 The welcome of their honest cheer. 
 Raised his plumed morion to his face 
 
 To hide — what honored him — a tear.^ 
 
THE CITIES OF SILENCE. 
 
 '•By this very poetical and appropriate name the Mohammedans call 
 their burial places." — Washington Irving. 
 
 I STOOD alone amid the tombs a weary wanderer; 
 
 By high and noble monument, and princely sepulchre — 
 
 Beneath them lay the great and good, the beautiful and 
 fair — 
 
 The flowers of worth and chivalry were calmly slumber- 
 ing there. 
 
 I gazed upon the lowly graves, but they were sweet and 
 
 gay, 
 With buds and blossoms hanging o'er in rich and bright 
 
 array ; 
 Some wreaths were gemmed with dewy tears by pure 
 
 affection shed. 
 And glittered like a crown of pearls, above the silent 
 
 dead. 
 
 Within this lonely place, the scene was very sad and fair. 
 And memory with her magic spell, will often linger there, 
 Above — the fleecy clouds flew on along the brow of night, 
 Beneath — pure streams were gaily glancing in the moon's 
 mild light. 
 
 The melody of gushing founts, from their deep hidden 
 
 cells. 
 Was dirge-like, as they glittered o'er the green and 
 
 flow'ry dells ; 
 10* 
 
114 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 And as the summer winds passed o'er, and dimpled every 
 
 wave - 
 
 The low, sweet, rushing sound, was but fit music for the 
 
 grave. 
 
 The lonely wild dove left her home, within the cypress 
 
 tree, 
 And chanted her soft thrilling note all sad and mournfully ; 
 And then she rested on a tomb, to dress her plumage 
 
 bright, 
 i thought it was a spirit there, she looked so pure and 
 
 white. 
 
 She gazed above, as if her home were in the star-gemmed 
 
 sky ; 
 Then left the city of the dead, among those gems to fly, 
 And seek, perchance, a purer home amid that glittering 
 
 throng, 
 And listen to the melody of bright creation's song. 
 
 On— on she flew, until a cloud lit up with silver light, 
 Sailed on and closed the lonely dove, forever from my 
 
 sight; 
 I left the silent place of tombs, and wiped a falling tear, 
 And almost envied those who slept, so^^calmly sweetly 
 
 there. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE DEAD.* 
 
 A FUNERAL train with solemn steps and slow 
 Came gliding* past. Men's faces wore a shade 
 Of grief, and eyes which seldom felt the dew 
 Of tears, were wet, and manly cheeks grew pale 
 As feeling ushered up each burning drop 
 From their full hearts ; for he who lay beneath 
 The gloomy pall and nodding hearse plumes, died 
 While Life was young, and in its brightest flash 
 When rain-bow arches seemed to span each wish. 
 And cast a star-like brilliance o'er a world 
 Of hopes and smiles, when every dream perchance 
 Was but a dream of joy — of love— of home. 
 And yet he died far from that sweet bright home ! 
 How like a glance of light his thoughts pierced through 
 The flight of time— along the length of years 
 Until they reached his aged father's hearth, 
 And heard from every lip the silvery tones 
 Of gladsome joy and love's own welcome sweet. 
 And gazed upon the scenes his childhood knew — 
 The sun-lit vines and trees — the bright blue stream, 
 But Death chilled that fond dream, and all of life 
 And light was slilled„ 
 
 * Inscribed to the memory of Wm. Jenkins, Jr., who died suddenly — 
 at night— in New Orleans. 
 
116 FLOWERS OF 
 
 The lonely sentinels 
 Which beam on high, to cheer the midnight watch 
 Kept vigils o'er him in Death's agony, 
 Its brief and bitter pain-^and these were all 
 For slumber, and its heaviness of dreams 
 Sealed up the eyes of those who would have wept 
 Warm tears, and murmured words of kindly thought 
 To soothe the stranger's passage to a stranger's grave. 
 
 They laid him in the silent mould, beneath 
 
 The fragrant orange trees whose blossoms wave 
 
 In a perpetual and balmy air. 
 
 As balmy in that southern land, as if 
 
 The winds stole past, the gates of Paradise. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 A father's tears like rain drops gushing 
 
 Fall upon thy memory's shrine — 
 A sister's brow, with anguish flushing 
 
 Tell a sadder dirge than mine. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Thy brothers' silent woe give token 
 
 Of grief which fond hearts only feel, 
 To see so rudely — sadly broken, 
 
 The chain around love's signet soul. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Thy mother's spirit sure will greet thee 
 
 In that far off shadowy bourne. 
 And guardian angels smiling meet thee, 
 
 Telling of hopes that never mourn. 
 
LOVE ANDMExMORY. 
 
 117 
 
 Farewell! 
 God — and our holy Mary speed thee 
 
 To thine everlasting rest ; 
 The prayers of saints and martyrs lead thee 
 
 To thy Saviour's sheltering breast. ■ 
 
GETHSEMANE. 
 
 Now turn my harp to loftier lays 
 To sadder themes of other days, 
 
 And ring a note, a long:, loud tone, 
 And every earth-born melody 
 
 Of music's witchery disown ; 
 Let strains from vast eternity 
 
 Inspired by an Almighty hand, 
 Sweep o'er in rolling extacy 
 
 And every note of love expand ; 
 Lend — lend your wings, ye angels bright, 
 
 With harps and crowns by Jesus given, 
 Who fly along the glittering heights 
 
 And drink the brilliant streams of heaven 
 Oh bend ye everlasting hills, 
 
 Replete with light and brilliancy. 
 From whence the joyous gushing rills 
 
 Of glory spring eternally. 
 And dance along the bowers of bliss ; 
 
 While every golden music wave 
 Grows brighter as it stops to kiss 
 
 The lips of some fair flower, or lave 
 
 The blooming banks of that bright river 
 
 Which from the throne flows on forever. 
 Be still, my soul — the theme is given : 
 The gift of Christ, the hope of heaven. , 
 
FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMOKY, 1 19 
 
 The moon is shining soft and clear 
 Upon the earth, as if no tear 
 Had e'er been shed, or heart been riven 
 Beneath her calm and cloudless heaven. 
 On Moab's far-off purple hills, 
 
 On Judean mounts where palm trees waved. 
 Where flow Siloa's fountain rills, 
 
 Or where with costly marble paved 
 The Temple in lone splendor stood — 
 
 Or in that vale where prophets sleep,* 
 The billows of that radiant flood 
 
 In soft and solemn splendor steep 
 The dreamy mists which o'er them brood ; 
 Then with a brighter, clearer gleam 
 Smiles sweetly on a dimpling stream. 
 Which in its gladness floats along 
 In love with its own light and song; 
 And in a softer mood reposes 
 Where the lily pale, and roses 
 Clustered around the glowing bowers 
 Which glittered, as the dewy showers 
 Distil from heaven, and softly fall 
 
 On every hanging leaf and spray, 
 Where late the wild bird's gushing call 
 
 Burst out to greet the dying ray 
 Of setting sun, and rosy light, 
 
 Which jewelled o'er the brilliant sky, 
 And quivered on the mountain height- 
 Like spirits when they gently fly 
 * Valley of Jehosaphat. 
 
120 FLOWERS OF 
 
 Along the glowing paths of even, 
 Sent from a higher — holier sphere 
 
 To sing the poesy of heaven 
 
 And drink the light which revels there. 
 
 But wild bird's thrilling melody 
 
 No longer echoes sweetly through 
 
 The bowers of Gethsemane ; 
 With closing eve away she flew 
 
 To hide within her sheltered nest, 
 Upon the hills where clustering grew 
 
 The vines wherein she loved to rest : 
 All — all is still, and nought is heard, 
 Save bowering leaves by night winds stirred, 
 And silence reigns, supreme — alone, 
 Her sceptre night, the moon her throne. 
 But list! is that a plaintive moan 
 
 Of wounded dove upon the air. 
 Or echo of a broken tone 
 
 From some wild wind harp hanging near ? 
 The sighs steal on — oh who could weep 
 
 Within that garden's fairy wild. 
 Where e'en the blossoms hung to sleep 
 
 Their rosy heads, where breezes mild 
 
 Chaunted a soothing lullaby, 
 
 Where every sound was melody ? 
 'Twas HE — rejected of his own, 
 
 The God-man bringing peace to earth, 
 Treading the wine press all alone 
 
 In sorrow from his mystic birth — 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 121 
 
 The Saviour, who in agony, 
 
 By many a deep and bitter sigh, 
 And plaintive prayer, tells mournfully 
 
 Of the dark hour, which draweth nigh . 
 On Calvary's rugged steep. A flood 
 
 Of burning tears gush from his heart, 
 And mingle with the drops of blood. 
 
 Which mortal fear hath caused to start 
 Upon his brow. Alone ! — alone ! 
 
 By earthly aid forsaken now, 
 And every human friendship flown — 
 
 He raised his throbbing — blood stained brow, 
 Towards the bright and silent sky. 
 
 Where on a glittering throne of light 
 His Father reigned, and angels fly 
 
 On wings with glorious lustre bright 
 From heaven — to heaven repeating clear, 
 
 And high hosannas to the Lamb ! 
 He prays, and from the skies appear 
 
 A sudden light, and lo ! a band 
 Of seraphs downward urge their flight, 
 
 And hover o'er the God-man's form, 
 With radiance from the source of light, 
 
 To cheer his grief's unpitying storm. 
 Their harps were hushed, and every wing 
 
 Hung drooping with a solemn fear. 
 And when perchance a golden string 
 
 Was quivered by the balmy air, 
 The sound rung out so mournfully — 
 
 As though the notes of glory fair 
 
 11 
 
122 FLOWERS OF 
 
 Refused to echo harmony, 
 
 But in His sorrow claim a share ! 
 Upon the earth he prostrate lies, 
 
 Around him fall the dews of night, 
 And tears distilled by seraphs' eyes 
 
 Flash like bright gems amidst the light ; 
 Which fading softly and serene 
 
 O'er heaven's plains, fled quick away, 
 And flickered o'er the midnight scene 
 
 Like wasted tapers' dying ray ; 
 The tints of angels, glowing clouds, 
 
 Are wrapped in deep, profoundest gloom, 
 And hang upon the air, like shrouds 
 
 Above a long forsaken tomb. 
 
 He prayed — the Saviour of the world ; 
 
 Who could in majesty have hurled 
 The earth, with all her power and might 
 
 In fragments, to chaotic night 
 From whence, she sprung ! One — one command 
 
 Breathed forth by him to glory's land. 
 Could bring a legion from the skies. 
 
 With royal state, and welcome cries, 
 To bear him to his Father's throne — 
 He might have spoke — they would have flown 
 Where the eternal lustre springs. 
 And caught its gems upon their wings, 
 And borne the flowers of bliss away, 
 And twined each bright and glittering ray 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY 
 
 123 
 
 From heaven, around that lonely wild, 
 
 And heaven on earth would there have smiled. 
 
 But lo ! " Thy will, not mine be done," 
 
 Is heard in plaintive accents now. 
 His love, the chalice will not shun. 
 
 But drinks its deep and bitter flow, 
 Altho' its nauseous lees are death. 
 
 With pain, and shame, and agony. 
 Until his life's last failing breath 
 
 Ebbs in wild, lonely pangs away : 
 Then saved — redeemed — a new born light 
 
 Of joy would cheer the fallen world. 
 And millions shout through ages' flight 
 
 " Glory to him who hath unfurled 
 Redemption's hope, eternal, sure ; 
 Man can be saved — a being pure." 
 
HOW WILL HE COME? 
 
 Not on that hoar and awful hill, 
 
 Where Israel's mighty leader stood, 
 Amidst the thunder's veiling cloud. 
 Wrapped in lightning's dazzling shroud, 
 Receiving solemn laws from God. 
 
 Not there, though holy is the spot ; 
 
 And worlds seem gleaming o'er the waste 
 Where'er the desert mirage smiles; 
 While seen from all the hills defiles. 
 
 The Red Sea's shining billows pass. 
 
 Not humbly in a manger laid ; 
 
 As once He came to Judah's land ; 
 Incarnate God in human guise ! 
 The Lamb foreseen by prophet eyes, 
 
 To bear the stigma of earth's shame. 
 
 Nor where the dove o'er Jordan's flood 
 
 Came brooding o'er the God-man's head, 
 Which dripping with baptismal dews, 
 Filled all the silent air with hues. 
 Of glory, from the Father shed. 
 
 Or on thy brow, fair Olivet, 
 
 Which bore this pure imperial gem. 
 And heard the sighs, and drank the tears, 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 125 
 
 That Jesus shed for future years, 
 And thou, oh doomed Jerusalem ! 
 
 Nor yet on Thabor's lofty height, 
 
 Where erst the beatific day. 
 Of things celestial, lit the air. 
 And shone resplendently, and fair, 
 
 Upon the lonely mountain way ! 
 
 He will not come — oh Lord of love 
 
 Remember all thy agony ! — 
 Where with his fainting — failing breath. 
 He drained the chalice unto death, 
 
 On thy dark altar, Calvary ! 
 
 But filled with glory brighter far 
 
 Than saint's or prophet's eye e'er saw. 
 
 Stern in avenging majesty 
 
 Throned on the stars that light the sky. 
 He'll come a trembling world to awe. 
 
 Cherubic legions round his throne 
 
 In glittering files will wait his nod ; 
 While seraphs from each heavenly steep, 
 And angel cohorts downward sweep, 
 
 T' adore the splendor of their God ! 
 
 The lightning cloud, that veils the beam 
 
 From the eternal centre bright. 
 The Virgin Mother, throned and calm 
 Amidst the blood-washed of the Lamb, 
 
 And myriads clothed in shining white, 
 
 11* 
 
126 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 
 
 Will grace with beauty more serene, 
 
 The solemn glory of his throne ; 
 Where filed in gorgeous bands around. 
 The princely martyr's song will sound, 
 Of « Glory to the Lamb alone !" 
 
 While Calvary, once so dark, and drear ; 
 
 Shall a new Thabor, gleaming stand. 
 Where every pang, and every wo 
 The GoD-MAN suffered there, shall glow 
 
 Like suns, resplendent o'er the land. 
 
 While we — oh trembling — earth-stained souls ! 
 
 With Christ our Judge — and Calvary ! — 
 The thought, oh God of love, o'erwhelms 
 The soul — the mind, that vainly stems 
 
 Such awful visions, after thee ! 
 
 Then welcome pangs — grow bright ye tears ! 
 
 Be glorified on Calvary ! 
 There planted on the blood-stained mound 
 The angel ladder may be found 
 
 Which bears us upwards, Lord, to thee ! 
 
MARY MAGDALENE; A TRADITION OF NAIN. 
 
 Mary arose from the crimson pillows on which she 
 had been reposing, and approaching the window, drew 
 back, with a silken rope, the heavy draperies of purple 
 inwrought with gold, which shaded the apartment from 
 the direct rays of the sun, and gazed with a thoughtful 
 brow out on the quiet streets of the city of Nain. Beyond 
 its walls lay the tranquil sea, whose waters reflected back 
 to heaven the thousand resplendent lights and shadows scat- 
 tered along the western horizon by the flashing rays of the 
 setting sun, and in the far distance, like a streak of gray 
 clouds, lay the mountains of Judea. Many a shallop richly 
 laden, was gliding over the the still waters ; some bound 
 outwards, freighted with the rich dyes and stuff's of Na- 
 zareth ; some coming into port bearing treasures of gold 
 and jewels from distant lands ; others with costly silks and 
 fine paintings — polished mirrors of steel, and silver, and 
 pearls, and wrought ivory, from the Ionian isles. The 
 chaunt of the oarsmen as their oars plashed lazily in the 
 glowing waters, came faintly and sweetly on the ear, and 
 the white sails, scarcely swelling in the breeze, looked 
 like safi'ron-tinted clouds. Then came stealing and chirp- 
 ing on the stillness, the vesper hymns of the birds, and 
 blending as they did with the gradually decreasing hum 
 of the city, as the evening mist brooded over it, were 
 sounds which shed over the spirit of Mary Magdalene a 
 something like peace. A band of young and beauteous 
 
128 FLOWERS OF 
 
 maidens now tripped along with jars filled, frow) the 
 purest well in the city ; then came a crowd of children 
 dancing to the sound of symbols, and lutes, and trailing 
 after them long vines of flowers and interwoven wreaths, 
 and sending out their joyous laughter and sounds of mirth, 
 which well accorded with the sweet harmony of music- 
 Mary Magdalene turned her eyes wearily away from 
 those tokens of peace and joy, and leaning her head 
 against a marble pillar, wept, A low sweet voice aroused 
 her, singing an old Jewish song which told in sad poetry 
 the tale of a broken heart. The singer w^as a young and, 
 lovely girl just blushing into the morning of life, her skin 
 was like polished ivory, save where a rose tint flushed 
 her cheeks and dyed the tips of her taper fingers. Her 
 large blue eyes were cast downwards, and the full red 
 lips, just parted enough to reveal two rows of pearl-like 
 teeth — her exquisitely formed arms and bust, combined 
 with a slight and graceful figure, now half hidden by a 
 profusion of sunny hair, which fell back from her sad 
 childish forehead, and swept the Mosaic pavement ; com- 
 pleted the beautiful picture. Mary started, as the voice 
 told her, that her slave had been a witness to her emotion, 
 and raising her magnificent form to its utmost height, while 
 her commanding black eye flashed with anger, exclaimed, 
 " Thou here ! away slave ! how dost thou dare see me 
 weep .'"' 
 
 The timid voice was stilled, and the fair young head 
 bowed in silence and tears. After gazing on the young 
 maide'n a few moments, during which short space, anger, 
 contempt, and an expression of mysterious bitterness alter- 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 129 
 
 nately changed her countenance, the touching and beauti- 
 ful grief of Addi, moved her better spirit, and chased 
 away every feeling, except pity. " Come hither Addi — 
 come hither poor bird. Forgive thy mistress' wayward 
 mood, and sing again — but sing something, to lighten my 
 heart, for it is heavy and sad, child — sing something to 
 stir the still fountain of its gladness — sing — sing — Addi — 
 is not thy cage a gilded one — then wherefore sad and 
 silent?" 
 
 " The star that lit my path, lady, is gone out. Zimri, 
 the widow's son, is dead." 
 
 " Ha ! dead ? poor child, I pity thee ! Yet, Addi, come 
 hither; 1 would tell thee, maiden, to cherish a love for 
 the dead — let it not go out, and leave thy heart, like the 
 waters of that sea, whose sullen waves cover those olden 
 cities which were destroyed in their might and glory by 
 Jehovah. Thou hast heard of the fruits which grow on 
 its banks ?" 
 
 " Yea, lady !" 
 
 " Let love for the dead go out, and thou wilt become 
 like — like — me — yes, Addi, me — beautiful and bright to 
 the eye, but within bitterness and ashes !— but hark !" 
 
 *' Oh, lady," sobbed the young slave — " that sound of 
 grief, is the wail of Zimri's mother and kinsmen — they 
 are bearing him past to the grave" — and Addi rushed to 
 the window, and straining her eyes through the misty 
 twilight, saw the bier on which was laid the dead body 
 of Zimri, and over it the bended form of his widowed 
 mother, weeping ; and by the torches' light which they 
 carried, the sorrowful faces of his kinsmen. 
 
130 FLOWERS OF 
 
 " They are coming, lady,-' she cried to Mary, who 
 had thrown herself again on the crimson pillows of her 
 couch — "Oh, Zimri, is that still form never more to 
 move ? Methinks, I see now the smile on his white lips, 
 and the waves of shining hair on his gentle brow. See, 
 lady! they are beneath the window, and the pall has 
 fallen so closely around him, that you can see the beauty 
 of his form even in death — ha ! why do they stop ! — a 
 crowd approaches — who — what — aha ! it is the Prophet ! 
 Jesus, and his followers !" 
 
 Mary started from her recumbent posture, and throw- 
 ing back the tresses of long black hair, which had fallen 
 like a veil around her, with a look of intense anxiety 
 gazed on the face of Addi, who still, unheeding her 
 mistress' emotion, continued — " He is like one of our 
 mountain palms in his majesty — his brow is like the 
 evening star, and his serene lips drop honey. He ap- 
 proaches the widow — he looks on her tears with eyes of 
 tender pity — he speaks — he raises his face towards 
 heaven, and reaches forth his hand and lays it on the 
 dead — God of my fathers ! the dead !"^ — and with a loud 
 and piercing shriek, she rushed forth into the streets. 
 
 Mary started up with an expression of dread and won- 
 der, and looking down on the crowd below, saw the 
 youth arising from his bier at the command of Jesus. 
 She saw him, with the warm breath of life in his nostrils, 
 who a few moments past was dead and cold. And as the 
 shouts from the assembled people rent the air, many of 
 whom were now willing to believe on and worship Him 
 who had wrought the miracle, he bowed his head meekly 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 131 
 
 on his bosom, and gathering the folds of his garment 
 around him, glided noiselessly away from the multitude. 
 
 After long hours of abstraction, Mary lifted her head 
 from her bosom, and approaching a mirror, folded her 
 arms, and gazed on her image with an expression of scorn 
 and bitterness ; anon tears coursed over her flushed cheeks, 
 and her bosom heaved as if some pent up agony wrung 
 her heart. 
 
 " Why art thou weeping ?" said a voice near her — 
 " why art thou weeping, Mary ?" 
 
 " Ha ! Phelon ?" 
 
 " Aye, Phelon," he answered — " Phelon, the King's 
 son, who abides here in the common garb of a Publican, 
 to be near thee." 
 
 " Go to thy father's palace again, Phelon," answered 
 Mary, sadly, and without turning to look on the beautiful 
 youth, with his brown curling" hair and dark blue eyes, 
 which gazed with incredulous wonder on her. 
 
 " Mary," said he, " thou art angered with me^— I came 
 but to bring a parting gift, Mary. My father is wroth 
 against me, because I am not at the head of his soldiery, 
 and hath sent his chief officer to bring me to his presence ; 
 but I will go out of the city to-night, while he sleepeth, 
 and ere the first watches of the morning, Phelon will be 
 on his war-horse with helm and battle spear and plume, 
 ready for the fight." 
 
 Her lips quivered and paled as she turned and looked 
 on him, and her voice was plaintive as she replied — " Go 
 Phelon !(thou art bright and beautiful in mine eyes, and 
 
132 FLOWERS OF 
 
 verily have I loved thee ; but go, I pray never more to 
 see that face again — I pray never more to hear the words 
 of thy silvery and honeyed tongue again — I have sinned — 
 go from me." 
 
 He looked steadfastly and sternly on her while she 
 spoke, and with a searching glance, said — " Hast thou 
 seen the Nazarene who calleth himself Jesus ?" 
 
 " I have," she answered calmly — " and to-morrow, 
 while thou art going to battle, I shall be kneeling in the 
 dust at his feet." 
 
 Phelon laughed tauntingly, and turning on his iron shod 
 heel, replied : 
 
 " Look on my gift, Mary " — and he laid an exquisitely 
 wrought casket at her feet. The light from the scented 
 lamp which threw upward delicious odors from its silver 
 pedestal, shone down on the interior of the casket, and 
 glittered on the gold and precious stones that were there- 
 in, in many hued sparkles of brilliance. There was also 
 an alabaster box set round with jewels, which contained 
 spikenard and ointment, such as queens used. 
 
 " Hence, tempter," she shrieked — " hence ! or I will 
 send thy name out on the ears of the sleepers of Nain 
 like tenfold thunder. — Hence, I say, for the devils which 
 tear my soul are raving within me !" 
 
 Unaccustomed to her strange mood, he left the apart- 
 ment hastily. She threw herself prostrate on the floor, 
 and pressed her burning forehead against the cool marble, 
 and writhed and wept, and sorrowed mightily — for 
 mightily, had the Magdalene sinned. When she arose 
 from her humble posture, it was past the middle watch of 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY 133 
 
 the night, and the inhabitants of the city had gone to rest, 
 and all was silent save the watch-cry of the sentinel as 
 he passed the wall, and the occasional clang of his armor 
 as he changed from hand to hand his heavy spear. The 
 rippling of gentle waves on the distant sea came singing 
 past, mingled with scented winds, which had been sleep- 
 ing through the day amid the orange groves and blossoms, 
 and the moon, like a crescent of diamonds, showered a 
 flood of serene and beautiful glory over the earth ; but 
 still Mary could not slumber, or rest. A costly robe of 
 crimson, confined around the waist by a girdle inwrought 
 with precious stones, fell in rich folds around her volup- 
 tuous form, and the long black braids of hair, which, 
 when unconfined, swept the flioor as she stood, were 
 gathered up in plaits and curls, and secured by bodkins 
 of gold, and strings of rubies and pearls. Her arms, 
 bared almost to the shoulders, were entwined with links 
 of precious stones and silver, and as she paced with a 
 rapid step to and fro the apartment, the constant glitter 
 of her feet displayed a costly taste in her sandals, which 
 were embroidered with tiny pearls and gems, and fastened 
 by clasps of highly polished silver. She looked out on 
 the heavens — peaceful and bright, in their glory of azure 
 and silver — then scanned with a restless eye the calm 
 landscape below — all were at rest, the very dogs had 
 ceased baying at the moon, and were slumbering quietly 
 in their chains. She turned and gazed round her apart- 
 ment — the singing birds were sleeping with their glossy 
 heads behind their wings, undisturbed by the fountain 
 which bubbled from the marble laver, and trickled down 
 12 
 
134 FLOWERS OF 
 
 its sides with a ringing sound. Addi, the beautiful one, 
 was dreaming of Zimri, for there was a tear stealing over 
 the roses of her smiling cheek. No where that she 
 turned, could Mary see, or hear aught, to still the agonies 
 which tore her heart. She snatched her harp, and com- 
 menced many soothing melodies, but her fingers trembled, 
 and her hand fell along the chords, and crushed the music ; 
 that was thrown aside, and crossing her arms over her 
 bosom, she lifted her now pallid face, and closing her 
 eyes, as if to shut out every object, which had grown 
 familiar, sat like some breathless statue, awaiting the 
 touch of Promethean fires, to start it into life; but soon 
 her breast began to heave, and her white ghastly teeth 
 were pressed on her lips, until the red blood gushed from 
 beneath them— she threw her arms on high, and with a 
 cry of anguish cast herself on her knees in all the des- 
 pairing sorrow of a repentance like hers. She tore from 
 her hair the gems, which fell like a shower of glory 
 around her ; and trampled beneath her feet \he casket of 
 precious jewelry, until the floor was strewed with its rich 
 contents ; and beat her bosom in her agony, and sprinkled 
 ashes on her head, and wept tears, such as had never 
 welled up from her heart before ! 
 
 Addi, who had been awakened by the unrestrained 
 grief of her mistress, ran and knelt at her feet and clasped 
 her knees, and comprehending well, from her expressions, 
 the cause of her woe, exclaimed — " Go to Him, lady — 
 go to Him who raised the dead !" 
 
 "And wherefore, O maiden, should I, the sinful, go to 
 Him.?" 
 
LOVE AND MEMORY. 135 
 
 " Oh lady ! if the sleeper in the shadow of death heareth 
 His voice, thy spirit can hear it — and to hear it, is to live." 
 
 The mild and consoling words of Addi, as she told of 
 what she had seen and heard at the raising of the widow's 
 son, and of what the disciples preached daily, soothed 
 Mary's troubled spirit ; and something like hope of even- 
 tual peace sprung up in her heart; and she drooped her 
 head gradually on the bosom of her hand-maiden, who 
 clasped her beauteous arms around her, and laid her cool 
 innocent cheek on her burning, throbbing brow. And 
 thus the two sat — one breathing hopes of forgiveness, the 
 other lisfening as if life hung on each word ; until day 
 began to dawn behind the blue hills. 
 . On that day, while the Master sat at meat with Simon, 
 a rich and learned Pharisee of Nain, a woman came and 
 knelt at his feet, and bending her veiled head low to the 
 floor, watered them with her tears, and unbinding her hair 
 wiped them with the heavy, shining curls, then kissed His 
 feet, and anointed them with ointment, the perfume of 
 which filled the vast room. And He knew that she was 
 a sinner, who thus humbly and silently asked for pardon, 
 and said — "Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven 
 thee — thy faith has saved thee — go in peace." 
 
 Mary Magdalene was no more seen in Nain. After 
 kneeling at the Saviour's feet, and hearing his assurance 
 of forgiveness, she sold her gold and silver, and gems, and 
 gave much goods to the poor. She was no more seen in 
 Nain in the flushed glory of her beauty, but went forth alone 
 into the wilderness ; and in the solemn solitude of its si- 
 lence raised an altar to Him who had forgiven her sins. 
 
PIO NONO. 
 
 His way girt round with storms ; his brave heart 
 
 wounded oft by shafts of ire 
 Sped from misguided hands — his upward steps, 
 
 which climb a thorny path 
 Filled with dark perils; placid and calm, midst the 
 
 surrounding gloom; 
 The lustre of his soul's high virtues shine, like the 
 
 fair evening star 
 Through the rift tempest, when the maddened winds 
 
 tear the dark veil. 
 And open views of heaven ! Or like an isle filled 
 
 with rich treasures — 
 Glowing with fadeless light ; and planted on its 
 
 firm foundations, 
 Which spring up from the Sea's unfathomed depths, it 
 
 floats like a rare gem. 
 Which the wild billows, may with thundering roar, 
 
 threaten with ruin. 
 But threaten in vain — which the tornado may 
 
 pass wildly over — 
 And triumph at a seeming wreck — but conquered 
 
 itself — sweep by 
 In sullen rage, to see the isle, blooming unmoved 
 
 in the great 
 Hollow of Jehovah's hand. Or, like Jacob — when 
 
 his foes 
 Plot dire events, and make night fearful with 
 
 their mad intents ; 
 And when they sleep ; dream hideous dreams, of bloodj 
 
 and writhing scorpions : 
 
FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY, 137 
 
 He rests — he slumbers — in his visions passing 
 
 back and forth 
 With angels, on the Ladder which the Patriarch saw ; 
 
 from earth to Heaven ! 
 Or like a Titan, moving with a single hand 
 
 the Lever 
 Of a people's noble destiny, while 
 
 with the other. 
 Ignoble souls, who fain, would bind the mighty * 
 
 thoughts of his great mind 
 With threads of sand — .are kept at bay — he stands 
 
 without his peer ; 
 A burning planet o'er that eastern Hemisphere, 
 
 the nations ga:?ed 
 On the bright beams, and rousing from the trance 
 
 of ages, turned 
 And offered gifts to Freedom |*#####*# 
 
 12* 
 
J. MURPHY'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Just published, Ji New Edition, in a beautiful 18rno. volume of about 800 pages, ittm 
 traled with splendid Steel Engravings, Sec. 
 
 ST. VINCENT'S MANUAL, 
 
 CONTAINING A SELECTION OF PRAYERS & DEVOTIONAL EXERCISES 
 
 For the use of the Sisters of Charity int the United States of 
 
 America, with the approbation of the Superiors. 
 
 Second edition, Revised, Enlarged, and adapted to general use. 
 
 The first edition of this prayer book, which was compiled and published for 
 the especial use of tlie Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph, being out of print, 
 tlie undersigned has the pleasure to announce that he has made an arrangement 
 with the Superior for the copy-right, and has issued a second edition of the work 
 with such alterations and additions as adapts it to general use, and to all occasions 
 of public and private devotion. The book, in its original form, was very com- 
 prehensive, embracing, besides the ordinary exercises of piety, a vast amount of 
 useful instruction on various subjects ; but the prayers and instructions which are 
 superadded, with the careful revision that has been bestowed upon the work, ren- 
 der it the most complete and most accurate manual of Catholic piety that has ever 
 been issued from the press in this country. 
 
 This work is comprised in an 18mo. volume of about 800 pages, illustrated with 
 several fine Steel Engravings, an Illuminated Title, Presentation Plate, &c. It 
 is printed from new type, on fine paper, and is sold at the following very low prices, 
 viz.— neatly bound in Black Roan, at $ 1.00 per copy ; in Roan, gilt edges, $1.50 ; 
 in Arabesque, at $2.00; in Turkey Morocco, sup. extra, with Illuminated Title, 
 &c., $2.50; Extra fine copies in Turkey sup. extra Flexible Backs, &c., $3 per 
 copy. A few copies will be done up in Superb Velvet Bindings, with Cases, &.C., 
 at prices varying tirom $ 8 to $ 10 per copy. 
 
 (J^ Clergymen and Superiors of Religious Institutions, mill be supplied with all the 
 copies they may obtain subscribers for, at the usual discount. 
 
 Just published, 1 vol. l&no. cloth, gilt, .50 cts.; cloth, sup, ex, gilt edges, 75 cts. 
 
 FENELON ON THE 
 EDUCATION OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 This little work, from the pen of the illustrious Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, 
 is now, for the first time, presented to the American public. Like all the other 
 productions of that distinguished Prelate, his " Education of a Daughter," ad- 
 dressed to Christian parents, on the vital subject of the education of youth, has been 
 universally admired for the excellence and wisdom of its instructions, the beauty 
 of its maxims, and the intrinsic worth of its counsels. The name of Fenelon will, 
 no doubt, be a sufficient recommendation to introduce it to the favorable notice of 
 all who feel an interest in the virtue and happiness of the youthful and innocent 
 portion of the community. To assist in promoting that happiness, and preserving 
 that innocence and virtue, in the hearts of children, is the principal motive of the 
 present publication, and hence it is confidently hoped that parents and Teachers 
 will give it a favorable reception. 
 
 Just published, in a beautiful 94mo. volume, with fine illustrations, 
 
 THE CATHOLIC BRIDE, 
 
 OR MORAL LETTERS ADDRESSED TO JULIA, 
 
 DAUGHTER OF COUNT SOLARO BELLA MARGARITA, 
 
 ON OCCASION OF HER MARRIAGE WITH COUNT EDOARDO DEMORRI DI CASTELMAGNOt 
 
 Translated from the Italian, by Charles Constantine Pise, D. D. 
 
 These highly instructive Letters abound in wise and practical counsels. They 
 have been translated in Dr. Plse's usual graceful and happy style. They are 
 printed and bound in a style of elegance and neatness commensurate with their 
 merits. 
 
J. MURPHY'S RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE PROSE AND POETICAL WRITINGS OP THE MILFORD BARD, 
 Illustrated with several fine Engravings. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, gilt edges,. .1 50 
 This work is very handsomely gotten up in the publisher's usual style of precision 
 and elegance. The frontispiece is a neat engraved likeness of the " Milford 
 Bard," w^hile several other embellishments are found in the body of the work. 
 The contents are exceedingly interesting, and of a high order in a literary point of 
 view. We have read several of the articles both in prose and poetry, and found 
 Ihem always instructive, and sometimes delightful and thrilling. This publication, 
 apart from its superior mechanical execution and intrinsic merits, has a peculiar 
 claim upon the public in view of the interesting position of its author, and we 
 should therefore be glad to hear of it« meeting with prompt and general patronage. 
 
 Lut. Observer. 
 Who that has ever read the touching essay of the author on the sufferings of our 
 Saviour, or anj^ of his most humorous poems, exhibiting at once the elasticity and 
 versatility of his mind and talents, would be without the whole of such a writer's 
 productions, when offered at so cheap a rate. N- O. Crescent. 
 
 " The pDfttical and prose writings of John Lofland, M. D., the Milford Bard, con- 
 taining moral, sentimental, humorous and patriotic poems and essays." Who has 
 not heard of tlie iMilford Bard, and his erratic course, like a comet. In this volume 
 he appears at rest, in his cuhninations, and with concentrated light, diffuses his 
 rays. The volume is a pretty one, will be read with pleasure, and on the whole 
 will make a very pretty Christmas present. BaU. Clipper. 
 
 WASHINGTON THE MODEL, OF CHARACTER FOR AMERICAN YOUTH. 
 
 8-2mo. fancy paper, 13 
 
 This is the title of a very neatly executed small work, peculiarly adapted for the 
 perusal of youth. It is an address delivered to the boys of the public schools, by 
 the Rev. J. N. M'Jilton, A. M., Chairman Central High Sehool of Baltimore, and 
 it is worthy of general circulation ; as such we cheerfully recommend it. The aim 
 of the author in preparing this address was its usefulness, and we doubt not every 
 boy into whose hands it may tall will be improved by its perusal. In the language 
 of the writer, " the model which is here presented in the illustrious Washington 
 will be found to contain what is excellent and valuable in character," and worthy 
 the emulation of our youth. N. Y. Truth Teller. 
 
 LOVE AND MATRIMONY. A Letter to a Betrothed Sister. By a 
 
 Lady of Baltimore. 32mo. fancy paper, gilt edges, '.25 
 
 Although this is a little work, it contains much sensible advice, conveyed in 
 brief, but strong language; and being from a sister to a sister, it is written in the 
 style of the purest affection. We may add, that the typographical execution is 
 very beautiful, the publisher having spared no pains in the getting of it up. It ia 
 very suitable for a present. Lut. Observer. 
 
 BIBLE QUADRUPEDS. The Natdral History of the Animals mentioned 
 IN Scriptdre. Illustrated with 1& splendid Engravings. A new and beautiful 
 
 edition. I6mo. embossed cloth, 75 
 
 The same. Gilt edges...... 1 00 
 
 This little work is got up in a style of neatness which, exclusive of its merits, 
 cannot fail to recommend it to, the notice of families. It is a book which ought to 
 be put into the hands of tlie rising generation — containing, as it does, much useful 
 information. N. Y. Truth Teller. 
 
 POPE'S ESSAY ON MAN. 32mo. cloth, 13 
 
 DISCOURSE ON THR LIFE AND CHARACTER OF GEORGE CALVERT, 
 The first Lord Baltimore, by Hon. J. P. Kennedy, before the Maryland 
 
 Historical Society. 8vq. fancy paper, ., 85 
 
 MEMOIR OF MAJOR SAMUEL RINGGOLD, U. S. A. Read before the Mary- 
 land Historical Society, April, 1847, by James Wynne, M. D. 8vo paper,.. 13 
 SILABARIO CASTELLANO, para el Uso de Los Ninos, bajo, un Nuevo Plan, 
 Util y Agradable ; reuniendo la Ensenanza de las Letras, Urbanidad, Moral, y 
 
 Religion, ,.25 
 
 SILABARIO CASTELLANO, para el Uso de Las Ninas, bajo, un Nuevo Plan, 
 Util y Agradable , reuniendo la Ensenanza, de las Letras, Urbanidad, Moral, y 
 fieUgioBv .,....>. «.^ .....33 
 
J. MURPHY'S RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 
 CATHOLIC TALES. 
 
 PAULINE SEWARD, a Tale of Real Life. By John D. Bryant, Esq. 
 
 New American Catholic Novel. 2 vols., 12mo. embossed cloth, gilt,....l 50 
 The same. Embossed cloth, gilt edges, 2 00 
 
 This work unites in an eminent degree pleasing incidents with useful instruc- 
 tion. Through a story well conceived and ably sustained, the author has infused 
 the teachings of the Catholic church in a manner eminently calculated to correct 
 tlie errors and prejudices with which her adversaries would obscure her practices 
 and doctrines. The author of this work is a convert to Catholicity ; and knowing, 
 from his past experience and associations, what are the principal difficulties with 
 Protestants in relation to our religion, he has sought to apply the instructive por- 
 tions of his work to their explanation and removal. In this he has not been less 
 happy than in the story itself. The work has only to be read to be admired — and 
 no Catholic should be without a copy. 
 
 The substance of the work involves the whole controversy between the church 
 and her repudiatnrs, and the common arguments are urged with a conviction in 
 their truth and with a force of language which give them a character of novelty. 
 We may therefore commend Pauline Seward to the Catholic communi y as a very 
 interesting person, whose acquaintance we recommend them speedily to cultivate. 
 
 London Tablet. 
 
 No branch of Catholic literature has been so little attended to as that of which 
 the present work is destined to form one of the brightest gems. It is written in the 
 most chaste and beautiful style. The interest thrown around the tale is singularly 
 happy and intense. Cath. Her. 
 
 If not the brightest eem m the Catholic literature of this country, the story 
 
 9f Pauline Seward is certainly unsurpassed by any effort of the kind heretofore 
 
 made on this side of the Atlantic. U. S, C. Mag. 
 
 FxlTHER OSWALD, A Genuine Catholic Story. ^ new and improved edition. 
 
 18mo. fancy paper, 38 
 
 The same. Cloth, gilt, 50 
 
 <'' " Cloth, ex. gilt edges, 75 
 
 This work is intended to be a refutation of Father Clement; and as the author 
 has been signally successful in accomplishing his design, the circulation of this 
 work is well worthy the zeal of those who have at heart the honor and propaga- 
 tion of the true faith. The work is well worthy the commendations which the 
 press has every where bestowed upon it; and we do not hesitate to welcome it 
 among the productions which are to be the most popular and influential means of 
 removing anti-Catholic prejudice, and leading the Protestant. mind to the discovery 
 and acknowledgment of truth. The present edition has been carefully revised, 
 corrected and improved throughout. 
 MOORE'S TRAVELS OF AN IRISH GENTLEMAN IN SEARCH OF A 
 
 RELIGION. r2mo. full bound, cloth, with a neat and appropriate stamp,.. 73 
 
 This standard wnrk is well known in the Catholic world, as combining more of 
 
 wit, style, various and happy illustration, interest of narrative, and withal, a greater 
 
 store of learning than most controversial works of the same class. 
 
 THE STUDENT OF BLENHEIM FOREST, or the Trials of a Convert. 
 
 By Mrs. Anna H. Dorsey. 32mo. cloth...... 50 
 
 The same. Gilt edges, 63 
 
 LORENZO, OR THE EMPIRE OF RELIGION. By a Scotch Non- Conformist. 
 
 Translated from the French. 32mo. plain cloth, 25 
 
 The same. Gilt edges,. 38 
 
 PRASCOVIA, OR FILIAL PIETY. Translated from the French. 32mo. cloth, 
 
 gilt edges, 38 
 
 THE CHAPEL OF THE FOREST, Christmas Eve and other Tales. 
 
 Translated from the French, ^mo. cloth, gilt edges, 38 
 
 PERE JEAN, OR THE JESUIT MISSIONARY, A Tale of the North 
 
 American Indians. By J. McSherry, Esq. 32mo. cloth, gilt edges, 38 
 
BURNAF'S SPHERE AND DUTIES OF WOUIAN. 
 
 BRIEF EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The duties of woman, and especially of American females, are ably defined, and 
 correctly animadverted on. We take pleasure in recommending it as a work tlial 
 all parents should place in the hands of their daughters, and the husband in that of 
 nis wife. — iV. Y. Lady's Companion. 
 
 We commend the book to the attention of every female, whether young or old, 
 ^nd whatever station she may fill. They will find a true friend in the author, and 
 rannot fail to draw iiriprovement from his admonitions. — Boston Courier. 
 
 The subject itself is important and inviting. The style in which it is treated, is 
 easy and graceful, the tone of thought, energetic, and the expression of the senti- 
 ments pointed, and frequently striking by their biilliancy. These lectures are emi- 
 nently deserving moi-e tlian praise — patronage. — National Intelligencer. 
 
 Tlie style is siitficiently ornate, without being ambitious — the sentiments pure and 
 elevated. We would recommend the ladies to purchase, for, unlike the fashiona- 
 ble publications of the day, this work instructs vvliile it amuses.-iV. 0. Crescent City. 
 
 It is devoted to a series of admirable lectures on the " Sphere and Duties of 
 Woman," and other subjects, which were some time since delivered in Baltimore, 
 by the Rev. George W. Burnap. The volume is one that we commend cheerfully 
 and heartily. It inculcates admirable lessons at once agreeable and delightful. 
 
 Penn. Courier ^ Inquirer. 
 
 We liave iiad occasion to notice the practical excellence of Mr. Bamap's lec- 
 tures, in calling attention to those that were addressed to the young men, and we 
 now invite attention to a series on other subjects, no less interesting — no less ad- 
 miral)ly written. The lecture which speaks on the condition of American women, 
 will be read with interest. There is one portion of the volume which may be 
 Jailed remarkable — it is that " on the moral constitution of man." — U, S. Gazette, 
 
 A very neat volume has recently been published in Baltimore, entitled " Lec- 
 tures on the Sphere and Duties of Woman, and other subjects,— by George W. 
 Burnap, of Baltimore." The author presents his views, which are of a practical 
 character throuahout, in plain and forcible language — and we could wish that his 
 book might have a large circulation. It contains many remarks and suggestions 
 which would, doubtless, prove profitable to our friends. — Boston Mercan. Journal. 
 
 It is unnecessary for us now to enlarge on the literary merits of this gentleman, 
 to refer to the estimate put on his former course of lectures, both in Fngland and 
 America, or to speak of the literary credit derived to Baltimore from his labors as 
 an author. We have already spoken of these things, and given copious extracts 
 frou! the lectures themselves. In addition to this course, we hope, — a hope which 
 we expressed some weeks since, and now repeat — to see a second edition of the 
 former course, " the lectures to young men." This is necessary to put a complete 
 sel into t!ie hands of every admirer of tliem, and we trust tlie suggestion will not 
 be lost. — Baltimore Sun. 
 
 The subjects selected by the lecturer were not only calculated to excite the irt- 
 terest of his hearers, but eminently fitted to instruct and benefit society. And Mr. 
 Burnap has been successful in accomplishing both. He has attained a desirable 
 popularity among the elite, wliile at the same time ho is listened to and read by the 
 humbler "classes that are in quest of useful knowledge. His lectures or essays all 
 maintain a iiigh moral and intellectual tone, breathe a spirit of pure patriotism, and 
 inculcate many valuable philosophic lessons. Nor is he wanting in practical 
 utility. If he has labored effectively to impress upon the minds of his hearers the 
 proper moral regulations to be observed, he has at the same time done justice to 
 the domestic " duties." The volume will doubtless have a great run. His pub- 
 lished lectures to young men some time since had a tremendous sale. His style is 
 very plain and pleasing. — Saturday Visiter. 
 
 The author recently published a series of lectures which he delivered before the 
 young men of Baltimore, which were remarkable for the intelligent spirit which 
 they displayed, and the sound moral instructions which they "conveyed. The 
 present volume is written in the same spirit, and is a worthy offering to those to 
 whom it is dedicated — the ladies. It deserves to be extensively read by them, for 
 it i^ calculated to improve both mind and heart. The brwk is published in a hand- 
 Bome style, and beautifully printed. — Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 The work should be in the hands of every young lady who is desirous of mental 
 and moral improvement. We are really gratified that such a book should have 
 Issued from a Baltimore press. — Meth. Protestant. 
 
 5 
 
LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN, 
 
 ON THE CULTIVATION OF THE MIND, THE FORMATION OF 
 CHARACTER, AND THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 
 
 BY GEORGE W. BURNAP, 
 
 JiiUhor of Lectures on the Sphere and Duties of Woman, Sfc. <5'c. ^'c. 
 
 In announcing a tliiid edition of tliese popular lectures, it is deemed unnecessary 
 10 say any thing in the way of commendation ; the high estimation in which Mr. 
 Uurnap's writings are held in this country, and in Europe, are the best evidence 
 of their general utility. These lectures, having passed through two large editions 
 in England, have taken rank as •' Standard American Literature^" and are, accord- 
 ing to the statements of the English press, destined to become a household book. 
 For such as may not be acquainted with their general character, we select a few 
 Brief extracts from notices of the first editions. 
 " Great books are great evils." Mr. Burnap has acted up to this aphorism, and 
 given to the public another admirable little book, brim full of practical utility. 
 Every young man througliout the land, who has an education to learn, a profession 
 to follow, or a character to form, may take up this volume with pleasure, and lay 
 it down with profit. It contains many practical lessons, much good advice, and 
 many sound doctrines ; — all forcibly put, affectionately urged, and eloquently 
 argued. Southern Lit. Messenger. 
 
 Notice of second edition. Mr. Burnap has rendered a valuable service to his 
 country, by explaining to her young men, in terms so clear and forcible, their 
 capacities and moral resources, — their means of usefulness, and their powers of 
 good. He has drawn a chart for the young, and laid down with great accuracy the 
 quicksands and shoals which beset the path of youth. No young man who heeds at 
 all the dictates of truth, oc the lessons of experience, can read this book and fail to 
 profit by the perusal. Parents and guardians should urge it on the attention of 
 their sons and wards. Southern Lit. Messenger. 
 
 We can recommend no work to young men more strongly for their perusal in 
 their leisure hours, which combijies interest with usefulness, than the work before 
 us. N. Y. Times if Star. 
 
 These lectures, in a plain, common sense manner, point out to the young man 
 the sure and only safe path to a prosperous and happy life, while they give with 
 graphic truth, the inevitable ruin and desolation that follows the opposite one. 
 We have read the work with a great deal of interest, and cheerfully recommend 
 every young man to purchase a copy, and peruse it seriously and thoughtfully. 
 
 Boston Pilot. 
 As the title implies, this work particularly addresses itself to young men just 
 entering on the stage of life, to whom the author, in the form of lectures, offers 
 some excellent advice, and in a way calculated to make a deep impression. We 
 recommend it to their perusal with much confidence. N. Y. Cour. ^ Inquirer. 
 It is a book that every young man ought to read. N. Y. Sunday Mercurxj. 
 
 The subjects selected by the lecturer were not only calculated to excite the in- 
 terest of his hearers, but eminently fitted to instruct and benefit society. His lec- 
 tures or essays all maintain a liigh moral and intellectual tone, breathe a spirit of 
 pure patriotism, and inculcate many valuable philosophic lessons.— Sa(. Visiter. 
 
 ENGLISH NOTICE OF THE LONDON EDITION. 
 
 " This, we can foresee, is destined to become a Household Book. It is a long 
 time since we met with any work better deserving of such distinction. We do 
 not know of any work on the same subject of equal excellence, and those of our 
 readers, who are wise, will buy and study it." The Jijtfrentice. 
 
J. MURPHY'S LIST OP JVEW PCBLWATIONS. 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED, 
 
 A HISTORY OF MARYLAND, 
 
 From its Settlement in 1634 to the year 1848, 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 ACCOUiXET OP ITS FIRST DISCOVERY, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 VARIOUS EXPLORATIONS OF THE CHESAPEAKE BAY, 
 
 ANTERIOR TO ITS SETTLEMENT, 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED A 
 
 COPIOUS APPENDIX, 
 
 Containing the Names of the Officers of the Old Maryland Line; the 
 Lords Proprietary of the Province, and the Governors of Maryland, 
 from its settlement to the present time, Chronologically Arranged ; the 
 Senators of the State in the Senate of the United States ; together with 
 Tables of the Population of the Counties, at each Census, of the whole 
 State, from its foundation ; and a Chronological Table of the Principal 
 Events in its History, for the use of Students. 
 
 BIT JAMES McSHBRRY, Esq., 
 
 OF THE FREDERICK BAR, 
 
 The work will be comprised in aa octavo volume of about 400 pages, 
 embellished with 6 fine engravings. It will be neatly printed, on fine 
 paper, and furnished to subscribers at the low price of $2 per copy. 
 
 THE ORIENTAL PEARL, a Catholic Tale, by Mrs. Anna H. 
 Dorsey. 
 
 THE CATHOLIC CHRISTIAN'S COMPANION to Prayer, 
 the Sacraments, and the Holy Sacrifice of the Massj illustrated with 
 fine Engravings. The design of this little work is to comprise, in a 
 small Pocket Volume, all the Prayers and Devotions necessary on the 
 ordinary occasions of Catholic piety and worship. 
 
 ETIQUETTE AT WASHINGTON, 
 
 TOGETHER WITH THE CUSTOMS ADOPTED BY POLITE SOCIETY IN 
 THE OTHER CITIES OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 " Courts are the true centres of politeness.^' — This little hand book 
 has been prepared, with great care by a gentleman, well qualified for 
 the task, with the view of supplying a want, so long felt, by persons 
 visiting our great Metropolis, either on business or pleasure. 
 
 11^ PR E88. 
 
 COBBETT'S HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION, a new and 
 cheap edition. 
 
 THE CHAPEL COMPANION, containing Pious Devotions at Mass, 
 Morning and Evening Prayers, the Litanies, Vespers for Sun- 
 days. &c. ; printed from large type, on fine paper. 
 
 LINGARD'S HISTORY AND ANTIQUITIES OF THE ANGLO- 
 SAXON CHURCH, with a Map of Anglo-Saxon Britain, &c. 
 
 C 32, 89 i 
 
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