LOTOS-FLOWERS, 
 
 GATHERED IN SUN AND SHADOW, 
 
LOTOS-FLOWERS, 
 
 GATHERED IN SUN AND SHADOW, 
 
 Qm-^^ 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CHAMBERS-EETCHUM. 
 
 " . . . . Tibi lilia plenis 
 Ecce ferunt Nymphs calathis ; tibi Candida Nais 
 Pallentes violas et summa papavera carpens 
 Narcissum et florem jungit bene olentis anethi." 
 
 V/^V^/^-^ 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COM PA NY, 
 
 549 & 551 BROADWAY. 
 
 1877. 
 
 T 
 

 COPTKItiHT BY 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 1877. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 L'Envoi . . . . • • • ' ^ 
 
 Dolores . . . • • • • ^ 
 
 Semper fidelis . . . • • • .19 
 
 La Notte . . . . • • • 21 
 
 Pall AS- Athene . . • • • . • .41 
 
 Brother Antonio ...... 47 
 
 A Treaty of Eld . . . . . . .59 
 
 A Christian Legend . , . . . . 73 
 
 Agathos , . . . . . . .83 
 
 La Belle Justine . . , . . . 91 
 
 Benny ........ 105 
 
 A Mother's Prayer ...... 109 
 
 Shady-Side . . . . . . . .112 
 
 In Summer . . . . . . .117 
 
 Does he love me ? . . . . . • 122 
 
 Hesperus ....... 124 
 
 On the Bridge ....... 127 
 
 Absent . . . . . . . .128 
 
 Waiting ........ 130 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Leonidas 
 
 octodecima 
 
 A Sea-Shell 
 
 Sea-Weeds . 
 
 Dried Mosses . 
 
 A. Requiem . 
 
 Celestine 
 
 My Queen . 
 
 An Invocation . 
 
 Does he remember ? 
 
 Twenty-one 
 
 Hines 
 
 Elisha Kent Kane 
 
 Amabare me 
 
 Dreams . 
 
 Birthday-Gifts 
 
 Cor unum, Yia una 
 
 Adrian 
 
 The Sainted 
 
 Advent 
 
 A Christmas Carol 
 
 Christus resurrexit 
 
 The Touching of Jesus 
 
 Miserere mei 
 
 Via Crucis Via Lucis . 
 
 MeMORIA in iETERNA 
 
 At Parting 
 
 PAGE 
 
 131 
 133 
 137 
 138 
 141 
 146 
 148 
 151 
 153 
 156 
 158 
 162 
 166 
 170 
 172 
 174 
 176 
 177 
 180 
 185 
 188 
 189 
 191 
 194 
 197 
 199 
 204 
 
L'ENVOI. 
 
 Men give their best to tliem they love 
 
 The sceptre to the queen, the laurel wreath 
 To the rapt minstrel, and the jewelled sheath 
 
 To him whose sword hath stood the battle's test. 
 
 What crown for thee, beloved ? What tempered shield 
 Mightiest of all, to guard and save ? I bring 
 White asphodels no canker-worm may sting ; 
 
 Armour life's fiercest battles have annealed. 
 
 Prophet nor bard nor angel may declare — 
 
 Not Sakya-Mouni with the lotos-flower 
 Nor radiant Gabriel with the lily fair — 
 
 The mystery deep of this thy priceless dower. 
 
 Its miracle thou shalt learn when, from the hells 
 In dreadful joy triumphant, thou shalt bear 
 
VENVOI. 
 
 Thy baby on tby breast and, silent, share 
 Th' immortal life maternity foretels. 
 
 Take, then, my daughter, with these Flowers inwove, 
 Thy sceptre, crown, and shield — a mother's love. 
 
DOLOEES, 
 
DOLOEES. 
 
 In beauty fairer far 
 Than tlie divinest dream of him who drew 
 The stately Eos guiding up the blue 
 
 Apollo's golden car — 
 
 From the dusk realm of IS^ight 
 Comes forth the radiant Morning, brushing back 
 The clouds, like blossoms, from her rosy track 
 
 With diamond dews bedight. 
 
 The priestly mocking-bird 
 Wakens the grosbeak with his early hymn ; 
 And down the slopes and through the woodlands dim 
 
 Sweet, holy sounds are heard. 
 
 Her gold-enamelled bells 
 The tall campanula rings. Midst daisies white 
 
12 DOLORES. 
 
 The litlie, slim plialaris ' flaunts his pennons bright 
 • O'er all the grassy swells. 
 
 The benzoin's breath divine 
 Spices the air ; the jasmine censers swing ; 
 Among the ferns beside the darkling spring 
 
 The mailed nasturtions shine. 
 
 The brown bees come and go ; 
 His cheerful tune the lonely cricket sings ; 
 While the quick dragon-fly, on lightning wings, 
 
 Darts flashing to and fro. 
 
 Pomegranates golden-brown 
 Drop delicate nectar through each rifted rind, 
 And ghostly witch' s-feather ^ on the wind 
 
 Comes slowly riding down. 
 
 The gray cicada sings 
 Drowsily midst th' acacia's feathery leaves ; 
 Around her web the caterpillar weaves 
 
 The last white silken rings. 
 
 ^ The ribbon-grasses {Phalaris Americana) along the shores of the 
 Gulf of Mexico are remarkable for their splendid colours. 
 ^ The down of a species of thistle. 
 
DOLORJES. 13 
 
 September silently 
 His pleasant work fulfils with busy hands ; 
 While, cheering him, floats o'er the shining sands 
 
 The murmur of the sea. 
 
 Deep in the shady dell 
 The cowherd, whistling at his own rude will, 
 Lists, with bared head, as from the distant hill 
 
 Eings out Saint Michael's bell — 
 
 Calling, with warning lips. 
 Matron and maid, albeit the south-winds blow. 
 To climb the height and pray for them that go 
 
 Down to the sea in ships. 
 
 The fishers in the boats, 
 Mending their nets with murmurous song and noise, 
 Stop sudden, as Dolores' silver voice 
 
 From the gray chapel floats : 
 
 They think how, o'er the bay, 
 The sailor bridegroom, from her white arms torn. 
 Sailed in the haze and gold of Michaelmas morn 
 
 One year ago to-day ; 
 
14 DOLORES. 
 
 Then, rocking witli the tide, 
 They reckon np the news of yesterday. 
 And count what time to-day, within the bay, 
 
 The home-bound ship may ride. 
 
 Dreaming, the long night hours, 
 Of white sails coming o'er the tossing deep. 
 At dawn Dolores from her strange, glad sleep. 
 
 Arose to gather flowers : 
 
 Cups honeyed to the brim, 
 And fruits, and brilliant grasses, and the stems 
 Of myrtles, with their waxen diadems 
 
 To offer unto him. 
 
 Beside the chapel porch, 
 The Gloria ended, lingering now she turns 
 To look, as on the brightening spire-cross burns 
 
 The morning's golden torch ; 
 
 Then sees, with sober glee. 
 The swift, prophetic sea-gulls flying south. 
 Far out beyond the landlocked harbour's mouth. 
 
 Into the open sea. 
 
DOLORES. 15 
 
 " Steady, thou freshening breeze," 
 Her dark eyes say, as o'er the sparkh'ng main 
 She gazes — " steady, till thou bring again 
 
 The ship from distant seas ; 
 
 " So, ere his golden wine 
 The setting sun adown the valley pour. 
 Dear eyes may watch with me, beside the door. 
 
 The autumn day decline." 
 
 O breeze, O sea-birds white ! 
 Ye may not bring her, from that rocky coast. 
 The stranded ship, nor wrest the tempest-tost 
 
 From the black billow's might ! 
 
 But when she wearily 
 Shall pray for comfort, of that country tell 
 Where all the lost are crowned with asphodel. 
 
 And there is no more sea. 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS. 
 
SEMPEE FIDELIS. 
 
 She stands alone, on the rose-wreathed porch, 
 
 Gazing, with star-like eyes, 
 On the white moon lighting a silver torch 
 
 In the glowing western skies ; 
 While her cheeks and her tresses kindle and scorch 
 
 In the sunset's fiery dyes. 
 
 Her broad straw hat with its loosened bands 
 
 Falls from her shoulders down ; 
 Idly she frees her slender hands 
 
 From their garden-gauntlets brown, 
 And smiles, as she smooths her hair's bright strands, 
 
 And looks toward the distant town. 
 
 High overhead, 'round the tower's bright vane, 
 
 The circling swallows swoop ; 
 Tinkling along the bowery lane 
 
 The loitering cattle troop 
 
20 SEMPER FIDELIS. 
 
 To drink with the snow-white yonquapene ^ 
 Where Babylon willows droop. 
 
 Black as jet, in the sunset's gold, 
 
 Loom spire and buttressed wall ; 
 Soft as a veil, o'er the tangled wold, 
 
 The twilight shadows fall, 
 While the white mists rise from the valley cold 
 
 And climb to the mountains tall. 
 
 E'ow bounding out to the rustic stile, 
 
 Now crouching at her feet. 
 Her setter's bright eyes wait the while 
 
 Till hers shall bid him fleet 
 Down the dim forest's scented aisle 
 
 With wild- wood odours sweet. 
 
 Of what is she thinking while her hand 
 
 Caresses the fond old hound 
 Fidelio, whelped in Switzerland 
 
 And trained on Tuscan ground, 
 His throat still wearing a golden band 
 
 By kingly fingers bound ? 
 
 1 The familiar name — derived by the Spaniards from the Indians — for 
 the beautiful lotos-flowers so common to the lakes and lagoons in all 
 tropical regions of the Western world. 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS. 21 
 
 Sem^perfideUs : on the clasp 
 
 The glittering legend shines, 
 As when the giver Hnkecl the hasp 
 
 'E'eath Conca d' Ore's vines, 
 Then, silent, sailed where torrents rasp 
 
 The pine-girt Apennines. 
 
 She hears again Saint Rosalie's bell 
 
 From Pelegrino's height ; 
 Ave the fishers' voices swell 
 
 Across the waters bright ; 
 While incense-like from the Golden Shell 
 
 Rose-odours bless the night. 
 
 From Posilippo's poet-shrine, 
 
 Haunted by flower and bee. 
 She sees the peaks of Capri shine 
 
 On the rim of the sparkling sea ; 
 She sings 'neath Ischia's fig and vine. 
 
 She dreams in Pompeii. 
 
 . Where soft Yenezia's mellow bells 
 Float o'er the silver tide; 
 Where bright Callirhoe's diamond wells 
 Deck dry Tlissus' side, 
 
22 SEMPER FIBELIS. 
 
 Or where down the sandy Syrian dells 
 The wild, scarfed Bedouins ride ; 
 
 Bright as in those long-parted days 
 
 Fair classic scene and song 
 In all their magical, phantom grace 
 
 Back to her memory throng; 
 Yet framing ever one thoughtful face 
 
 Their arabesque among. 
 
 Swallow and tower and tree forgot, 
 
 She spans the chasm of years ; 
 She talks with him, by shrine and grot. 
 
 Of human hopes and fears ; 
 Of lives spent nobly, without a blot, 
 
 Of blots washed clean by tears. 
 
 Brilliant and proud that dazzling train 
 
 In the classic lands so fair ; 
 Pilgrims gay from the sparkling Seine 
 
 And the cliffs of Finisterre ; 
 The Austrian pale, and the fair-haired Dane, 
 
 And the Kentish lady rare : 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS. 23 
 
 Yet he turned away with sober grace 
 
 From each haughty, titled hand, 
 And sought the hght of a charming face 
 
 From the distant sunlit strand 
 Where a tamarind-shaded river lays 
 
 Its floors of golden sand. 
 
 Title nor diadem was hers ; 
 
 Yet— true to truth, O fame !— 
 No record in history's graven years 
 
 E'er roused a readier claim 
 To the good man's love, or the coward's fears. 
 
 Than her simple Saxon name. 
 
 So, dowered with her own pure womanhood, 
 
 Kegal in soul as in air. 
 Where coronets flashed with their ruby flood 
 
 And crowns with their diamonds rare, 
 Ever a queen among queens she stood 
 
 Crowned in her braided hair. 
 
 Yet ever, albeit with trembling lips, 
 
 One answer, o'er and o'er, 
 While her bright eyes suffered a strange eclipse, 
 
24 SEMPER FIDELIS. 
 
 She gave to tlie vows he bore : 
 Troth plighted afar, where the wild surf drips 
 Down the cliffs of a Southern shore. 
 
 "What though she felt, with a keen despair, 
 She had grown from that childish vow ; 
 
 That the plodder who won it, though earnest, bare 
 No trace of her likeness now ; 
 
 That the wreath soon to gleam on her chestnut hair 
 "Would circle an aching brow ? 
 
 "What though he urged that the demon Pride 
 
 And the tyrants Chance and Youth 
 Forge chains that forever should be defied 
 
 For the deathless spirit's ruth ; 
 That a false creed's logic should be denied 
 
 For the majesty of truth ? 
 
 Silent, she showed him the quaint old ring 
 
 On her twisted chatelaine — 
 A soldier's gift from a grateful king — 
 
 With its legend's lesson plain. 
 To be worn, whatever the soul might wring, 
 
 Bravely, without a stain. 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS. 25 
 
 Shine on her softly, white moon, to-night ! 
 
 Thou, only thou, dost know 
 How she kept — true child of the belted knight 
 
 Wlio won it long ago — 
 That ring's stern Semjper fidelis bright 
 
 And clean as the Jura snow. 
 
 Softly ! Thou heardst the deep sea break 
 
 At the foot of the terrace sward, 
 When she said — while the words of their doom she 
 spake — 
 
 No fate need he reckoned hard^ 
 Since duty, well done for duty^s sake, 
 
 Is ever its own reward. 
 
 Softly ! J^ext morn thy wraith in the skies 
 
 Looked down on a wraith as pale, 
 Transfixed and deaf to Fidelio's cries 
 
 As he ramped on the terrace rail 
 And bayed the sea, where his mistress' eyes 
 
 Followed a fading sail. 
 
 Kingdoms have risen and fallen since then ; 
 
 Prelate and prince have found 
 2 
 
26 SEMPER FIDELIS. 
 
 Botli altar and throne the scoff of men, 
 
 And glory's dazzling round 
 Summed up, to one thoughtful spirit's ken, 
 
 In the life of a silken hound : 
 
 One spirit on field and council-floor 
 
 Of first and best repute ; 
 Spotless amidst the strife and roar 
 
 Of mad Ambition's suit, 
 Still finding the worm at the bitter core 
 
 Of kingcraft's golden fruit ; 
 
 And pausing midst victory's din, perchance, 
 
 Or the hazard game of power. 
 To dream of a sea where the sunbeams dance 
 
 And the white clouds sail or lower ; 
 To call up a woman's tender glance. 
 
 And a bitter parting hour. 
 
 While she who turned from a throne away 
 
 In steadfast, royal truth — 
 Stemming the tide she might not stay, 
 
 For duty as for i-uth — 
 Hath wrought in a miracle, day by day, 
 
 The promise of her youth; 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS. 27 
 
 Till the one for whom she gave up the ways 
 
 Of a life with high hopes fraught, 
 And chose a place with the commonplace, 
 
 The spell of her spirit caught. 
 And the lustrous gold of a noble grace 
 
 With his coarser fibre wrought. 
 
 Bright with all eloquent, potent things 
 
 This home of quiet peace ; 
 Ebon and palm from the desert's springs, 
 
 With the marble gods of G-reece ; 
 Conch and coral and painted wings 
 
 Of birds from Indian seas ; 
 
 Helmet and shield in the frescoed hall. 
 
 Bronzes beside the door. 
 Clefts where the cool, clear waters fall, 
 
 Waves on the lonely shore. 
 Blossom and cloud and mountain, all 
 
 Teaching their sacred lore. 
 
 Sweet from the gnarled black ebony wood 
 
 Flowers the fragrant snow ; 
 Pure from their rocky solitude 
 
 The singing fountains flow ; 
 
28 SEMPER FIDELIS. 
 
 Fair 'neath the cMsel sharp and rude 
 The living marbles grow : 
 
 So blessing begot of the wakening morn 
 And the peace of midnight skies, 
 
 Feature and form and voice adorn 
 And shine in her amber eyes, 
 
 Aglow with the deathless beauty born 
 Of stern self-sacrifice. 
 
 Shine on her softly, as she stands 
 
 To catch the signal light 
 From a father who waits beside the sands 
 
 To see, o'er the waters bright, 
 A ship sail in from the classic lands 
 
 With a gallant child to-night. 
 
 A sudden gleam through the alleys green ; 
 
 Fidelio flies apace ; 
 Glad voices float on the air serene, 
 
 And then, the fond embrace 
 Of a boy with his father's quiet mien 
 
 And his mother's radiant face. 
 
 They sit 'neath the crystal chandelier 
 And list, with smiling eyes, 
 
SEMPER FIDELIS. 29 
 
 As he talks of the Alpine yodel clear, 
 
 Of the pifferari's cries, 
 Of the lazj song of the gondolier. 
 
 Of Hellas' golden skies ; 
 
 Then, sad, of the carnage in fair Moselle ; 
 
 Of his school-fellows scattered wide. 
 When the convent was shattered by shot and shell. 
 
 Its portals wrenched aside. 
 Where Saxon and Frank who fought and fell 
 
 Were gathered side by side. 
 
 Then one and another strange romance 
 
 Of the battle's ruthless test ; 
 And last, the tale of a princely lance 
 
 With the death-wound on his breast. 
 Clasping close, with a star-like glance, 
 
 A portrait beneath his vest. ^ 
 
 "ISTo one its history could trace ; 
 
 None knew it, except the dead. 
 One of our priests — who had served his race — 
 
 The night before we fled 
 Gave me the picture, because the face 
 
 Was so like mine," he said. 
 
30 SEMPER FIBELIS. 
 
 A gold-framed portrait with vermeil dyes : 
 
 A woman, standing pale, 
 In the glow of soft Sicilian skies ; 
 
 And a hound on a terrace rail 
 Baying the sea, where his mistress' eyes 
 
 Follow a fading sail. 
 
 They have sung with the boy a welcome back ; 
 
 They have chanted the evening psalm ; 
 The swallows sleep in the turret black, 
 
 The winds in the desert palm ; 
 Silence broods o'er the bay's bright track. 
 
 And the mountains cold and calm. 
 
 The spicy breath of the deepening night 
 
 Floats through the oriel fair. 
 As the moon looks in with her parting light 
 
 And rests with her silver rare 
 Beneath the bust of a mail-clad knight 
 
 On a woman bowed in prayer. 
 
LA NOTTfi. 
 
 Out of the many contradictory stories concerning Antonio Allegri da 
 Correggio, historical critics have sifted the facts that he lived, unknown 
 and comparatively poor, during the tumultuous opening of the sixteenth 
 century, when the midland cities of the Romagna suffered most from the 
 strifes of the Bianchi and Neri begun centuries before; that his wife, 
 Girolama Merlini, was the model for his finest pictures and the lode-star 
 of his life ; and that just as he was about to set off for Rome, through 
 the influence of Giulio Romano, he died suddenly of fever at the age of 
 five-and-thirty. 
 
 GoLDEX tlie light on Parma's stately fanes ; 
 And spicy-sweet the spring-time's early breath 
 Borne northward from the terraced Apennines, 
 O'er blossoming vines and snowy orchard flowers, 
 And broidered meadows sloping to the Po. 
 
 Golden the light ; yet brighter still the eyes 
 Of a pale dreamer with uplifted face. 
 Lingering a moment on the strada broad — 
 Where stands the mighty angel's statue tall — 
 
32 LA NOTTA 
 
 Then passing, silent, through Saint Michael's gate, 
 Y^^hile yet the angelus vibrates to the noon. 
 
 What though his cheek with fever's subtle flush 
 Is hectic, and the way before him long ? 
 His heart is stouter than his beechen staff ; 
 Cheered by a friendlier wine than that distilled 
 From fair Eomagna's grapes-of-paradise.^ 
 
 He sees the silvery river's twisted streams 
 E'etted with flowery islands. On yon slope 
 Young children play with kids ; and, whistling low, 
 The lithe-limbed, sinewy mulitieri drive 
 Their laden beasts along th' Emilian Way. 
 
 The triple crown, the lilied oriflamrae. 
 The haughty standard of imperial Charles, 
 Flaunting its proud Plus Ultra to the sun. 
 The trumpet's boisterous blare, the flashing lance, 
 The glittering casque, are past, as in a dream. 
 
 War's turbulent clangour silences no more 
 The wild birds in their coverts. Peaceful stand 
 The sentinel poplars in their gold-green plumes 
 
 ^ Uva paradisa, the fine yellow grapes of the Romagna. 
 
LA nottA 33 
 
 Beside the Enzo bridge. Where late the hoofs 
 Of flying squadrons scoured th' affrighted land. 
 The soft cloud-shadows chase each other now 
 O'er violet gardens ; barefoot, laughing boys 
 Plash in the brook ; beneath her cottage porch 
 A white-coifed woman stands with levelled hand 
 Shading her dark eyes from the westering sun. 
 
 All greet him as he passes. By the stile 
 The grandsire gray looks up and blesses him ; 
 The low-voiced mother lifts her prattling babe 
 And prompts its sweet hcon giorno ; in the fields 
 The vintners doff their tall caps f I'om afar. 
 
 Then to each other, one by one, they talk 
 
 Of that grand Easter morning, when, midst wreaths 
 
 Of incense, while the organ's thunders rolled. 
 
 They knelt in Parma's Duomo, every eye 
 
 Fixed on the pictured dome then first unveiled. 
 
 A miracle ! No painted roof is there, 
 
 But this blue sky of Italy, these clouds 
 
 Curled by the south-wind, where with cherub wings 
 
 The little ones they dandle on their knees 
 
 Bear the white Virgin through the quickening air. 
 
 The saints wear household features. There they see 
 
34 LA NOTTA 
 
 The grandsire in Saint Peter glorified ; 
 While he, the grandsire gray, he kneels apart. 
 An d sees, through tears, despite her new-made grave, 
 His daughter, in Our Lady's radiant form. 
 
 The day declines. On yonder sunny bank 
 Beyond the Crostolo for a while he rests. 
 The patient, worn AUegri, all his face 
 Kindling with benediction as he looks 
 Toward far-ofE Mantua's faint horizon line. 
 
 Not all in vain, throughout the battling strife 
 Of Guelph and Ghibelline has he broke the bread 
 Of sorrow, trusting the prophetic voice 
 "Within him — Tceejnng^ earnest year by year. 
 Faith with himself, prime duty, seldom wrought ! 
 
 To him, th' unsought, th' unseeking, there have come 
 ]^o ^ne, court favours. He has never seen 
 Lorenzo's gardens nor the Vatican ; 
 Parma, Bologna, Modena, Mantua, these 
 Inscribe the limits of his narrow world — 
 
 E"arrow yet boundless. Morning unto him 
 Unlocks her gates of pearl. The wizard Noon 
 
LA N0TT£\ 35 
 
 Tells him deep secrets. Sunset, purple-robed, 
 Leads him through halls of chrysolite and gold. 
 And Midnight spins her silver in his dreams. 
 
 The shadows lengthen, yet, entranced, he sees 
 Only the visioned future as he rests ; 
 Mindful no longer of the broken faith. 
 The grudging spite, the cruel scoff and taunt 
 Of recreant churchmen,^ scornful of his worth. 
 
 " Not all in vain," he muses — " not in vain. 
 But yesterday Romano came and went, 
 The brave, frank Giulio, with his noble words 
 Calling the freshness of my boyhood back. 
 Good angels guard thee, Mantua, for his sake ! 
 Giulio, by prince and cardinal sent, and bearing 
 A message from the mighty Florentine. 
 Girolama mia ! We will go to Rome, 
 And the great Angelo shall see from whence 
 La I^Totte's and Saint Catherine's grace are caught. 
 Chaste mother of my boys ! Whose wisdom rare, 
 Eclipsing even thy beauty, through these years 
 
 ^ The ecclesiastics of Parma refused for a long time to pay Correggio 
 for his work in the cathedral, calling its splendidly foreshortened figures 
 un guazzetto di rane — a hash of frogs. 
 
36 i^^ notTj^. 
 
 Of toil and trust my guiding star has been, 
 Well might Romano say I owe to thee 
 The brighter fortune dawning on us now." 
 
 And she — all day within her quiet home, 
 In fair Correggio, she has thought of him ; 
 Counting the busy hours till his return ; 
 Pondering the wondrous message Giulio brought, 
 And singing at her work sweet, thankful hymns. 
 
 Once more across the fields the angelus rings ; 
 
 The golden link that binds the circling hours, 
 
 From chime to chime, and girds the world with prayer. 
 
 'Tis late. She goes to meet him at the spring, 
 
 Pomponio laughing gaily by her side, 
 
 Her baby at her breast. The brook is crossed. 
 
 The hill-path climbed. She sees him lying still 
 
 Under the fig-trees, in the reddening light. 
 
 She kneels beside him, hushing reverently 
 Her children's prattle as she brushes back 
 The tangled meshes of his nut-brown hair : 
 " So tired, so tired 1 O patient, steady heart, 
 Sleep yet a little, while we watch thy rest." 
 
LA NOTTA 37 
 
 Slowly his dark eyes open at her touch. 
 
 The sunset for a moment gilds her hair, 
 
 Her children shine transfigured. Still he lies, 
 
 Smiling with fixed, calm gaze, while darker grow 
 
 The shadows as he feasts upon her face. 
 
 O Sky, whose lazuli ceiling roofs the world. 
 Brood with your tenderest grace of mist and star ; 
 O Earth, whose motherly bosom holds us all. 
 Pour your most precious balsams as she bends 
 To catch his last low whisper—" Not in vain ! " 
 
 It hangs there on the wall, Correggio's Mght 
 Copied by thee, thou of the glorious soul 
 And dauntless spirit ! Sweet beneath it bloom 
 The Parma violets bought that Christmas morn 
 From brown-eyed Florio at the Duomo door, 
 When, all oar labour ended, we had come. 
 Filled with a gentle reverence for him 
 Who lived and loved so purely, to unclasp 
 Our pilgrim-shoon awhile, to rest once more 
 Beside the grand old lions, and once more 
 To pi'ay together. All my lonely nights 
 Are brighter for its presence — may my life 
 Be better for the lesson it has taught ! 
 
PAL, LAS- ATHENE. 
 
PALLAS-ATHENA. 
 0. 0. 
 
 The sages tell us genius is the fruit 
 
 Of centuries. One child alone came forth 
 
 From Scio's golden cycles. With blind eyes 
 
 Turned from without, he tracked the world of thought, 
 
 Counted its fabulous shapes, and gave to men 
 
 That beautiful religion which has made 
 
 Classic and consecrate each Tuscan flower, 
 
 Each Greek and Roman stream. 
 
 One prince alone. 
 Prophet and seer, sprang from the lusty womb 
 Of Europe's last millennium. With bright eyes 
 Gleaming like opals, from each bog and fen 
 Goblin and Avitch he summoned ; from the air 
 Fantastic sprites ; and from the human heart 
 Its hidden skeletons, its demons fierce. 
 Or, with a seraph's high authority, 
 
42 PALLA8-ATHENJE. 
 
 Its godlike virtues and its graces fair. 
 Swift as the lightning, over land and sea 
 His subtle witchery sped. The little child 
 Looking for buttercups, the grandani gray 
 Mending her winter fire, the cow-boy blithe 
 Babbled his wit, not knowing whence it came ; 
 And they whose polished, sensitive ear had caught 
 The magic of his verse, sought far and wide 
 In eager hope that from the lifeless page 
 Some spirit weird as his might call to life 
 The wondrous shapes he pictured. 
 
 Hope had died 
 Or dwindled to the meagre stunted thought 
 That the grand visions of the English seer 
 Were but ideal children, when at length 
 From Avon's Jupiter, armed cap-a-pie, 
 Thou, goddess-queen, didst spring. 
 
 We see thee tread 
 Macbeth's still midnight chamber, and the shapes 
 That haunt our own deep hearts start up, and point 
 Malignant fingers at us. 'Tis not thou 
 We gaze at till our spirits shake with fear, 
 But dark Alecto, born anew of blood. 
 
PALLA8-ATHENjE. 43 
 
 Scene after scene beneath tliy magic wand 
 
 The Stratford wizard's peopled world unfolds. 
 
 We laugh with Rosalind ; we descant with Jacques ; 
 
 Bright Portia's wit and wisdom play at will 
 
 Before our senses ; gallant Henry woos 
 
 Fair Katharine and most fair ; Ophelia comes 
 
 Bedight with rue and pansies ; white-haired Lear 
 
 Distracted sobs, Cordelia^ stay a little ! 
 
 And Juliet sings Ten thousand times good-night. 
 
 We look again, as o'er the enchanted stage 
 Thy proud cothurnus treads. We see the calm 
 And stately child of Ferdinand^ whose firm 
 Castilian courage awes our ready tears 
 Back to congealment. Breathlessly we note 
 The queenly, sad appeal ; the haughty tone ; 
 The lofty bearing, the majestic woe ; 
 Till, at the last, we start to fiud us here, 
 Dwellers in modern time, and from the leash 
 Our fettered pulses freeing, while the blood 
 Leaps through each trembling artery, we feel 
 That life's Erinnys dire in thee become 
 Eumenides indeed. 
 
 Others have trod 
 The Shakespeare world before thee. Some have wept 
 
44 PALLAS-ATHENA. 
 
 Like Juliet and Ophelia ; some have died 
 
 Like Katharine, some have plotted like Macbeth, 
 
 Or jested like gay Rosalind in the v^ood ; 
 
 But thou alone hast conjured, with thy spell, 
 
 All the enchanter's fancies into shape 
 
 And made them speak at will, from grave to gay 
 
 From lively to severe. 
 
 We are most proud 
 To say thou art American, but this 
 Is meagre claim for thee. Unto no land 
 ]^or line dost thou belong ; thou shin'st eterne 
 In the fair parthenon of mimetic lore, 
 Pallas- Athense, helmeted and throned. 
 
BEOTHEE ANTOl^IO. 
 
BEOTHER ANTOOTO. 
 
 The wood-yard fires flare over the. deck, 
 
 As the steamer is moored to a sunken wreck. 
 
 They glare on the smoke-stacks, tall and black ; 
 They flush on the quick steam's flying rack ; 
 
 But shimmer soft on the curly hair 
 
 Of children crouched by the gangway and stair, 
 
 And rest like hands on the furrowed brow 
 Of an old man bent o'er his shrouded f rau. 
 
 Dark sweeps the restless river's tide. 
 While the pall of night comes down to hide 
 
 From the careless gaze of strangers near, 
 The pale thin form on the pine-plank bier. 
 
48 BROTHER ANTONIO. 
 
 Thej had come from the legend-haunted Rhine 
 
 To the grand ]N'ew World where the free stars shine. 
 
 Seeking the fortune thej might not find 
 In the Fatherland they had left behind ; 
 
 And while the proud fleet ship would toss 
 The spray from her wings like an albatross, 
 
 Their shouting children sung with glee 
 Wild, stirring songs of the brave and free. 
 
 They saw the Indian isles of palm ; 
 
 The Mexique shores with their spice and balm ; 
 
 And the Mississippi, an inland main. 
 
 With its orange-groves and its fields of cane. 
 
 Sweet, round the tawny river's mouth, 
 Blew the rare odours of the South, 
 
 And bright in the reeds, as the steamer sped, 
 The white crane gleamed, and the ibis red. 
 
 But the mother's blinding tears would fall 
 As she thought of her own loved Rosenthal ; 
 
BROTHER ANTONIO. 49 
 
 Of the bubbling spring by the minster gray, 
 Of the vesper-hymn at the close of day ; 
 
 Of the yew-tree's shadows, soft and dun. 
 On the grave of Benno, her first-born son ; 
 
 And while the fever, sure though slow. 
 Quickened her life-blood's ebb and flow. 
 
 She saw, in the sunset, the hills on fire; 
 
 She heard, in her dreams, the bells of Speyer ; 
 
 She talked of the chapel-master's child. 
 Brown-eyed Greta, so gentle and mild. 
 
 Who played with Benno beside the door 
 And sang with him in the minster Chor^ 
 
 And loved him best till the stranger came 
 And lured her away with his eyes of flame. 
 
 So, ere they reached the far-off goal 
 Where boundless prairie gardens roll 
 
 From river to mount in their flowery braid 
 
 Like play-grounds by the Titans made ; 
 3 
 
50 BROTHER ANTONIO. 
 
 While all her little ones 'round her crept 
 And looked in her dying face and wept — 
 
 She closed her sunken, faded eyes 
 Forever on alien woods and skies. 
 
 They were far from consecrated ground, 
 And the unshorn forest before them frowned ; 
 
 But a vagrant footfall would not press 
 The lone grave in the wilderness ; 
 
 So, turning away from his cherished dead, 
 With a quivering lip old Hermann said, 
 
 As he looked toward the peaceful, virgin sod, 
 " I'll bury her there, in the name of God." 
 
 They dug her grave in the forest lone. 
 
 While the night-wind murmured a sobbing moan. 
 
 And the wood-yard fires, now red, now dim. 
 Peopled the dark with spectres grim. 
 
 Then laying her in her lonesome bed. 
 Though no funereal rites were read, 
 
BROTHER ANTONIO. 51 
 
 He buried her where the wild deer trod, 
 With a broken prayer in the name of God. 
 
 Captain and crew to the boat go back 
 
 With the motherless, wailing children — alack! 
 
 The rousters ^ sweat, but thej do not sing 
 As the light pine- wood on board thej bring. 
 
 The old man kneels in the sacred place ; 
 On the cold damp clay he lays his face ; 
 
 When out from the gloom of a moss-hung tree, 
 A low voice murmurs, " Pray for me." 
 
 He sees in the thicket a dark-browed man 
 Where the green palmetto spreads its fan ; 
 
 His tall form hid in the darkening night. 
 His face aglow in the flambeau's light. 
 
 A moment more, and a palm-branch fair 
 Is laid on the fresh-heaped hillock there ; 
 
 1 Rousters, or roustabouts, the negro deck-hands on the Lower Mis- 
 sissippi steamers. Their wild songs, as they work, are well known to all 
 Southern voyageiirs. 
 
52 BROTHER ANTONIO. 
 
 The stranger kneels by tlie silent dead — 
 " I, too, have buried my life," he said. 
 
 a ^yfiQ eleison ! " Low and faint 
 
 Old Hermann utters the Church's plaint. 
 
 " Christe eleison ! " The stranger's moan 
 Thrills the air with its rich, deep tone. 
 
 The boat-bell rings ere the prayers are o'er : 
 
 The stranger looks toward the wave-washed shore, 
 
 Then passes away from the flaring light, 
 Saying, " You've saved a soul to-night ! " 
 
 The old man sits, while his children sleep 
 On their steerage pallets, his watch to keep. 
 
 Over his head, in the cabin gay,^ 
 
 The glasses ring and the gamesters play. 
 
 They talk of Baden and Monaco bright ; 
 
 They sing, they jest, through the livelong night ; 
 
 Then, yawning, they ask, as they plan and plot. 
 Why the chief of iheiv partie joins them not. 
 
BROTHER ANTONIO. 53 
 
 And lie — they reck not he is afar, 
 Watched alone by the morning star. 
 
 Still he stands in that lonely place, 
 Seeing only the pallid face 
 
 Of one who has haunted him East and West, 
 Dead, with a dead babe on her breast — 
 
 Outcast, for his sake, from all below. 
 
 Yet chaste, he knows, as the momitain-snow. 
 
 Fair in the morning's rosy fire 
 Saint Lazarus lifts its silver spire. 
 
 The river circles the garden 'round, 
 
 And the still, bird-haunted burying-ground. 
 
 Children about the cloisters play, 
 And tell, as a tale of yesterday. 
 
 How the corner-stone by the bishop was laid. 
 And Brother Antonio a deacon made — 
 
54 BROTHER ANTONIO. 
 
 Brother Antonio, 'round whose head 
 
 The brown bees hum when the hives are fed ; 
 
 Who pulls the weeds from the garden-walks 
 And shields from the sun the tender stalks ; 
 
 In whose boat the fisher's children ride 
 And sing as he rows to the farther side ; 
 
 About whose feet each helpless thing 
 
 Ma J buzz and blossom and crawl and sing — 
 
 Brother Antonio, who gave his gold 
 To build this home for the sick and old ; 
 
 Who teaches the lads in the village class ; 
 Who helps old Hermann mow the grass, 
 
 Or sits at his door in the twilight dim. 
 
 And sings with his sons their mother's hjmn. 
 
 The ships come in with their emigrant poor 
 Crowded like sheep on the steerage-floor ; 
 
 But smiles on the lips of the feeblest play 
 As Brother Antonio leads the way, 
 
BROTHER ANTONIO. 55 
 
 G aiding tlieir babes with a tender care 
 Down the noisy deck and the gangway-stair 
 
 To the hospital grounds so fresh and cool 
 Where the gold-fish glance in the sparkling pool, 
 
 And the gentle Sisters day and night 
 Watch by the sick on their couches white. 
 
 Many a nook in the graveyard fair 
 Is bright with lilies and roses rare ; 
 
 But one wild spot by the river-side 
 Is fairest at midnight's solemn tide ; 
 
 And there, where the green palmetto's fan 
 Shadows a headstone gray and wan. 
 
 Where the long moss swings and the eddies moan, 
 Brother Antonio prays, alone. 
 
A TEEATT OF ELD 
 
A TREATY OF ELD. 
 
 No zephyr played among the terebinths 
 That shaded Bethel's side. The silvery boughs 
 Of the gray olive-trees that climbed the height, 
 The feathery cassia's lithe and pliant stems, 
 Even the aspen-leaves, hung motionless 
 In the red sunset. The voluptuous breath 
 Of orange-odours freighted the still air ; 
 The faithful benzoin, clinging to the rocks, 
 From leaf and flower distilled its incense line ; 
 The camphire's spicy clusters gave their sweets; 
 But no light-winged convoy came to waft 
 The benison of fragrance down the slopes 
 To the fair camp of Abraham, where, beneath 
 A snow-white tent wrought cunningly with gold 
 Shone Sarah's wondrous beauty, rivalling quite 
 The single mellow star that smiled upon her 
 From the clear eastern sky whose crystal roof 
 Arched the tall palms of Hai. 
 
60 ^ TREATY OF ELD. 
 
 Falling dews 
 Baptized the lowly hyssop ; and the goats 
 Homeward returning brushed its last late flowers 
 And on their silken fleeces bore the faint 
 And precious odour past the patriarch's door. 
 From out her low black tent, barbaric tricked 
 In cloth of crimson woollen, dark-browed Hagar — 
 The gift of haughty Pharaoh unto Sarah — 
 Came, dusky as the night that fell around her, 
 Bearing a jasper vase of spikenard, sealed 
 With Egypt's royal signet. Pacing slow, 
 Her yellow mantle falling prone apart 
 From her smooth shoulders, idly now she watched 
 The distant camp of Lot ; now, curious heard 
 The mellow twitter of the twilight birds ; 
 Till, pausing underneath the clustering vine 
 Draping the branches of an oak that sheltered 
 Her mistress' broidered covert, she unloosed 
 The sandals from her brown and slender feet. 
 And, passing on unshod, stood silently 
 Where the pomegranate with its scarlet flowers 
 O'erarched the purple curtain of the tent ; 
 Then, lifting from the vase its silver lid. 
 She scattered to the air its priceless breath. 
 Reverent came Eliezer of Damascus, 
 
A TREATY OF ELD. 61 
 
 And kneeling with averted face before 
 
 The curtained opening where Sarah's robe 
 
 Of finest needle-work fell delicate 
 
 Over her jewelled sandals and athwart 
 
 The silken couch that held her comely limbs, 
 
 Swung from a golden censer grateful fumes 
 
 Of cinnamon and calamus and myrrh. 
 
 But naught could tempt the stagnant air to yield 
 
 Even unto her, so fair to look upon. 
 
 The courted balm of freshness, sweeter far 
 
 Than costliest gums. 
 
 Westward, across a glen 
 Where smiling waters late had sung between 
 The patriarch's camp and Lot's, dark sullen groups 
 Stood midst their weary herds just driven in 
 From thankless pastures. ISTo benignant cloud 
 Since the new moon at Abib liad bestowed 
 Its blessing, and the raging Lion' now 
 Leading the sun, brought fiery Thammuz in. 
 
 ' The critical reader will remember that, following the familiar law 
 governing the precession of the equinoxes, the aun, in the time of Abra- 
 ham, entered the constellation Leo at the beginning of summer— the 
 Jewish Thammuz answering to a part of June and July. 
 
62 ^ TREATY OF ELD. 
 
 Broad meadows, smiling in the early rains, 
 
 E^ow parched beneath the sevenfold glowing heat 
 
 Gave store no longer even to the ass. 
 
 The mandrakes failed. E^o pleasant hum of bees 
 
 Prophetic smig of honey in the rocks. 
 
 The purple figs were gathered long ago ; 
 
 Eot until Elul, the pomegranate's globes 
 
 Would yield their amber nectar, nor the grapes ; 
 
 And these were meagre food for hungry men. 
 
 The corn from Egypt dwindled in the sacks. 
 
 And the bare olive-trees no promise gave 
 
 Of goodly oil to buy renewed supplies 
 
 From Pharaoh's granaries even should plenty reign 
 
 Until Marchesvan. Morning after morn 
 
 The ruthless Canaanite had dogged their flocks ; 
 
 Day after day the crafty Perizzite 
 
 Hid in some thicket, stealthily had sent 
 
 His barbed arrow to the timid throat 
 
 Of kid or lambkin ; while the swarthy men 
 
 Who tended Abraham's cattle tauntingly 
 
 Boasted of Egypt. 
 
 Gloomily the thoughts 
 Of the proud Syrian herdsmen backward went 
 To Padan-Aram with its friendly tribes 
 
A TREATY OF ELD. 63 
 
 Of pastoral people ; with its corn and wine ; 
 
 Its goodlj rivers and its mellow fruits ; 
 
 And bitterly, as down the rocky bed 
 
 Of the dried streamlet the onagra shy 
 
 Essayed to find some pool to slake her thirst, 
 
 They eyed the herds of Abraham gathered fair 
 
 Upon the eastern slope. There quiet stood 
 
 The camels, patient both of thirst and heat, 
 
 Cropping the juicy locusts from the boughs 
 
 No humbler beast might reach. There Pharaoh's kine, 
 
 A princely gift, contented chewed the cud 
 
 Of barley, by the cunning cow-herd stolen 
 
 From the fast-failing stores. There, fiery-eyed, 
 
 Tossing his silken mane and whinnying low 
 
 Beneath the almond-trees, the desert horse 
 
 Ate the sweet lentils from his keeper's hand ; 
 
 "While the Egyptian, with triumphant glance 
 
 Scoffing the Syrian, stroked each shining flank 
 
 And laughed derision back. 
 
 The shadows dun 
 Gathered on peak and palm ; and one by one. 
 The hosts of heaven in silent majesty 
 Came forth and lent their glory to the night. 
 At Bethel's shadowy foot, erect and firm. 
 
64 A TREATY OF ELD. 
 
 Grasping liis almond staff, the patriarch old 
 Stood with his face toward Salem. In the west 
 The yomig moon, fast declining, reverently 
 Silvered his white hair with her parting beams ; 
 Astarte,^ holding out her golden sheaf, 
 Named unto him, as with an audible voice. 
 The gods his fathers served beyond the flood ; 
 "While red Arcturus, wheeling on his course. 
 Mocked him with treachery to the stately faith 
 That reared the walls of Mneveh, and decked 
 "With marvellous symbols the embattled towers 
 And palaces of Babylon. He had turned 
 His back on proud Assyria with her grand 
 And opulent cities, at the word of God ; 
 "With Lot, liis well-beloved, leading forth 
 Women and men and cattle, he had left 
 The flowery plains of Haran and the grave 
 Of Terah ; he had passed the brazen gates 
 Of fair Damascus ; never looking back, 
 He had come out into this wilderness 
 I^ot knowing whither, only seeing still 
 By faith's clear eye the city with foundations. 
 Whose builder and whose maker is the Lord, 
 Wandering from Sichem and the plain of Moreh 
 
 ^ The constellation Virgo was worshipped as Astarte by the Phoenicians. 
 
A TREATY OF ELD. 55 
 
 In search of greener pastures, Famine sore, 
 Tracking their footsteps like the evening wolf, 
 Drave them to Egypt. There, abundant grain 
 Gave for a season to their murmuring men 
 The rod and staff of hope ; but once again 
 Gaunt Famine glared aloof from hill and plain, 
 And cheerful hearts, erst following lightly on 
 Wherever he had led, now sullen sunk, 
 Weary with hope deferred. 
 
 « 
 
 J^ight came apace. 
 Behind him in the tents the lights went out. 
 Leaving the camps in darkness to essay 
 The fitful sleep of discontent ; yet still 
 Stood Abraham, looking toward the holy hill 
 Where dwelt Melchisedek, the King of Peace. 
 One after one the chambers of the south 
 Hung out their golden lamps o'er Salem's towers ; 
 And drinking in the knowledge of the night 
 Till Dagon,^ sinking low toward Sidon's sea. 
 Foretold the morning watch, he scarce had heard 
 The heavy tread of Lot who, sleepless, came. 
 Preventing the cock-crowing, to rehearse 
 
 ^ We are told that the beautiful star Fomalhaut, in Piscis Australis^ 
 was adored as Dagon by the Phceuiciaus. 
 
QQ A TREATY OF ELD. 
 
 With dark, tempestuous brow, the angry strife 
 Begun already in the wakening tents. 
 
 Abraham remembered Ur — Ur of the Chaldees. 
 There, midst their fathers' honoured sepulchres, 
 His brother Haran lay. Lot, Ilaran's child. 
 Fatherless from a babe, had grown beside him 
 Unto the dignity of man's estate. 
 Together they had learned the wondrous lore 
 Of Mazzaroth from the Chaldean seers ; 
 Together from the towers of Nineveh 
 Had w^atched Orion's glittering bands, and talked 
 With burning hearts of him whose sign they were, 
 JSTimrod the mighty hunter. They had stood 
 By Terah's tomb in Haran's pleasant land ; 
 And firmly side by side with girded loins 
 Together they had left their heritage 
 Obedient to God's mandate. Had they come 
 Into this desert only to be filled 
 With bitterness ? 
 
 They stood beside the stone 
 Where Abraham built an altar to the Lord, 
 When first they came from Sichem. Silently 
 They watched the enkindling lustre of the night, 
 
A TREATY OF ELD. 67 
 
 Till the sweet inflnence of the Pleiades 
 Softly the golden day-spring ushered in. 
 Then, with mild accent : 
 
 " Let there be no strife, 
 I pray thee, between thee and me, nor between 
 Thy herdmen and my herdmen," Abraham said, 
 '' For we be brethren. Is not the whole land 
 Before thee ? Separate thyself, I pray thee, 
 From me. If thou wilt take the left hand, then 
 I will go to the right ; or if thou depart 
 To the right hand, then I will go to the left." 
 
 Lot lifted up his eyes. The morning light 
 Crowned with its topaz fire the stately line 
 Of river-palms that eastward stretched away 
 Toward Zoar. There lay Jordan's fruitful shores 
 Well watered everywhere, even as it were 
 The garden of the Lord ; there cities proud. 
 Vying with Babylon, lifted to the clouds 
 Their haughty turrets. Then Lot chose him all 
 The plain of Jordan ; and while yet the dew 
 Decked with its diamonds the blue hyssop-flowers 
 
68 -4 TREATY OF ELD. 
 
 Tliat grew beside tlie altar ; while the dove 
 Hid in her lonely cleft on Bethel's side 
 Still sung her morning psalm, in heavenly love 
 They parted, each to his allotted way. 
 Separate, yet knit in holy brotherhood. 
 
 A story for all time. No Mine and Thine 
 Drew the shai-p sword of fratricide ; no tannt, 
 Keener than steel, drove with its venomed point. 
 That deadlier shaft w^hich rankles in the soul 
 Beyond the cure of drugs. Though history write 
 The same dark chronicle from Cain to Christ, 
 From Salamis to Sedan, 'tis sooth to list 
 Sometimes to legends friendlier : to dream 
 Of Mispeh's pillar, built on Gilead's slope ; 
 Of Penuel's daybreak, when, the blessing won, 
 Wliile yet the shadowy morning-dusk required 
 ITo sunrise save the golden light that shone 
 'Eound the departing angel, Esau came 
 And standing where the rippling Jabbok sung 
 Its silver time beneath the olives, gave 
 The kiss of peace to Jacob : sooth to know 
 That there have been, and so shall always be, 
 Yirtue and Truth to silence Yice and Shame ; 
 
A TREATY OF ELD. 69 
 
 And spirits ready even midst battle's din 
 To catch the deathless hymn — 
 
 "How beautiful 
 Upon the mountains are the feet of them 
 That bring glad tidings and that publish peace." 
 
A CIIEISTIAJSr LEGEND. 
 
A CHEISTIAN LEGEND. 
 
 The morning shone upon Jiidea's range 
 
 Of rifted marble as a pilgrim pale, 
 
 Journeying from Betliabara, tlie rough 
 
 And gloomy gorges traversed with a band 
 
 Of earnest followers. Behind them frowned 
 
 The baffled wilderness where vultnres preyed 
 
 And hungry tigers crouched. The angered peaks 
 
 Pointed malignant shadows after him 
 
 Like the defiant fingers of a foe ; 
 
 But on before him, bordering the plain 
 
 Of Jericho, serene and flowery slopes 
 
 Knelt down to do him homage. The light wind 
 
 That dallied with the fragrant terebinth 
 
 Or sung to the green fig-tree and the plane 
 
 A careless roundelay, in reverence now 
 
 Hushed its gay melody, and, whispering low 
 
 Among the listening almond-trees, brought down 
 4 
 
74 ^ CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 
 
 An offering of white blossoms to his feet. 
 
 The brooks that wandered from the northern hills 
 
 Seeking the hallowed Jordan, silently 
 
 Floated past barley-fields, or in the shade 
 
 Of ancient olives murmured as in prayer ; 
 
 While, on their fringed borders, hyacinths 
 
 Offered sweet incense from their azure urns, 
 
 And 'neath the pi amy palm-trees galbanum 
 
 Sent up its spicy, consecrated breath ; 
 
 For he who passed was Christ. 
 
 With steady tread 
 He walked toward Bethany, while earnestly 
 Unto each other His disciples talked 
 Of the poor widow and her son, of ISTain ; 
 And hushed their tones to whispers, as they spake 
 Of the great blessing He was soon to give 
 The stricken sisters. On His brow divine 
 Gathered the beaded sweat of weariness. 
 Yet He pressed firmly on, nor paused for rest 
 Within the valley skirting Bethany 
 Until the triune height of Olivet 
 Cast a rebuking shadow toward the fierce 
 And frowning Wilderness, as if to say, 
 " Get thee behind me, Satan ! " 
 
A CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 75 
 
 From the gates 
 Came forth a frantic mourner. Her long hair, 
 Blacker than Egypt's night-plague, heavy hung 
 About her shoulders, and a flood of tears, 
 Bitter and salt as Dead Sea water, scathed 
 Her olive cheek, whose dark tint darker grew 
 Beneath the evening shadows and the cloud 
 Of her o'erwhelming grief. The outstretched hand 
 Of the Anointed clasping, in a tone 
 Wild as the wail of Galilee when winds 
 Dash the black waves on rocky Gadara 
 And the gray tombs give echo — 
 
 "" Lord," she said, 
 " Hadst thou been here, my brother had not died." 
 Turning away then bitterly, her frame 
 Shook like a tall young cedar lashed by storms. 
 
 " I am the Resurrection and the Life." 
 
 Clear as the seraph-tones that spake from heaven 
 
 To Hagar in the wilderness, those words 
 
 Like a deep organ's modulations fell 
 
 Upon the silent air, while the bared heads 
 
 Of the disciples bent in reverence low. 
 
 Gently and long He spake ; and as the dew 
 
76 ^ CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 
 
 Descends on Hermon's blossoms, on her heart 
 
 He poured the blessed balm of tenderness, 
 
 Till the grieved maiden's lithe and rocking form 
 
 Straightened in holy strength. Then looking up 
 
 Calm as the lofty Lebanon when storms 
 
 Have passed away, and the unclouded sky 
 
 Kisses its lifted forehead, she replied, 
 
 " Yea, Lord, I do believe ; " and with a step 
 
 Firm as the patient camel's, bearing on 
 
 Its burthen great and wearisome, she turned 
 
 To go for Mary. 
 
 When the cock crew shrill 
 In the dim, waning night-watch, and the moon, 
 Leading, the morning, with her silver sword 
 Parted the clouds and robed the Olive Mount 
 With light as with a garment, Martha came i 
 
 With Mary and their kindred. O'er the eyes 
 Of her meek sister, that had ever worn ^ 
 
 The upturned look which makes us think of heaven, j 
 The white lids drooped, as in the dewy night \ 
 
 The pale convolvulus closes. The deep folds 
 Of her blue mantle o'er her slender feet ^ 
 
 Trailed heavily, and her slight fingers pressed J 
 
 The veil of linen on her marble brow 
 
A CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 77 
 
 With a pained, weary movement, as she went 
 To meet her Lord. She knelt and kissed His feet. 
 Those sinless feet she erst had bathed with tears ; 
 And casting back her veil, while the bright waves 
 Eippling and golden of her loosened hair 
 Swept o'er His dusty sandals, from her lips 
 Came the low murmur — 
 
 " Lord, hadst thou been here 
 My brother had not died." 
 
 Then silent there. 
 She waited for His blessing. 
 
 Jesus wept — 
 Wept, though He knew their grief would soon be 
 
 changed 
 Into rejoicing at His gracious word ; 
 Wept, though He knew His heavenly hands, ere long, 
 Within their darkened homestead would again 
 Establish and relight the inverted torch. 
 O ye who see along life's sterile paths 
 The wretched and bereft, ye may not bring 
 Back to the parched fields of their barren life 
 Hope's radiant spring-time, nor the holy dews 
 Of love and trust ; but can ye not extend 
 The one, last solace, kindly sympathy ? 
 
78 A CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 
 
 " Where have ye laid him ? " 
 
 " Master, come and see." 
 
 They neared the sepulchre. It was a cave, 
 And a stone lay upon it. " Take away 
 The stone," He said, and lifting high His hands 
 He prayed aloud. With grave, inquiring looks 
 In earnest reverence now the faithful ones 
 Who journeyed with Him gazed into His face. 
 Like the aurora and the dusky night 
 Waiting the resurrection of the morn 
 The sisters watched the open, silent tomb ; 
 And when the sun above the grizzly peaks 
 Of the dread Wilderness a victor rose. 
 And, crowning the calm slopes of Olivet, 
 Made a bright shimmer on the raven hair 
 Of Martha, and among the golden curls 
 Of Mary like a trembling halo lay, 
 Jesus cried : 
 
 " Lazarus, come forth ! " 
 
 His voice 
 Like the quick influence of the opening spring 
 Unlocked the life-streams death had frozen quite ; 
 
A CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 79 
 
 And as tlie sunrise looked into tlie grave, 
 He that was dead came forth. 
 
 So runs the legend. 
 Men tell us now 'tis but a Christian myth ; 
 Yet since men tell us further, that all myths 
 Are subtile truth veiled in poetic guise, 
 We still may cite the miracles of old 
 For noble lessons in that brotherhood 
 Of love and sacrifice which gilds the lines 
 Of all the Bibles saintly men have writ. 
 And shines on all the altars of the world ; 
 One and the same in prehistoric times 
 When the pale Aryan reared his flower -decked 
 
 cairn 
 And sang his psean to the rising sun. 
 As when the Hindoo brought the lotos-blooms 
 To crown the Sacred Symbol, and the lamb 
 Was slain on Hebrew altars. God is God 
 From the beginning ; and each Avatar 
 Reveals the same though ever-crescent truth 
 From Eama to the Prophets of the East, 
 From Krishna and Arjoun to Him whose star 
 In Judea rose to fill the world with light. 
 

 80 ^ CHRISTIAN LEGEND. 
 
 Lazarus disclosed not if in those three days 
 He learnt the secrets of the Unseen World ; 
 Yainly we ask the whereabouts or bounds 
 Of that celestial countr}^ ! Yet enough 
 The legend's heavenly lesson teaches us : 
 That human love is stronger than the grave ; 
 And man may reach, through self-f orgetf ulness 
 And high devotion to some holy end. 
 The calm, the strength, the stature of a god. 
 
A G A T H O S. 
 
I 
 
AGATHOS: 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 IN HOLY MEMORY OF JOHN KEBLE. 
 
 Friend of the gentle heart, 
 I watch the fluttering skylark soar and sing 
 From Fairford's grassy meads, till song and wmg 
 
 Are of the heavens a part. 
 
 Beneath these chestnut-trees 
 Along the Coin, I see the swallows skim 
 And catch the distant sheepfold's tinkling hymn 
 
 Borne on the October breeze. 
 
 The tranquil sky is bright 
 With snowy clouds, as if Saint Michael's guard 
 In holy bivouac kept their watch and ward 
 
 Till All-Saints' perfect light. 
 
84 AG AT HO S. J 
 
 Beside this rustic gate 
 I linger lovingly, and, silent, dream 
 Of a fair boy, to whom each tree and stream 
 
 "Was friend and guide and mate ; 
 
 To whom the mountain pine. 
 The hoary crag, the darkling woodland spring, 
 The ant, the bee, the simplest sylvan thing 
 
 Spake with a voice divine ; 
 
 Wliose clear subjective eye 
 Read Benedioite in the stars of heaven ; 
 Traced the gold legend on the clouds of even, 
 
 And from the dappled sky 
 
 Caught the rare power to string 
 His harp to those high themes that link his name 
 With Ambrose and Augustine in a fame 
 
 The Church shall always sing. 
 
 Through green Saint Aldwyn's lanes 
 I reach the gray church-porch. With reverent feet 
 I enter, my Confession to repeat 
 
 Before these chancel-panes. 
 
AGATHOS. 85 
 
 Softly the prismic rays 
 Flood the pure altar linen and outpour 
 Their rich libation over arch and floor, 
 
 While choir and organ raise 
 
 The blessed Yirgin's hymn ; 
 And as the tide of swelling harmonies 
 Surges through nave and transept, my rapt eyes 
 
 With happy tears are dim. 
 
 E^ow — joy of all most sweet — 
 I see a pilgrim in his surplice stand 
 Beside Saint Aldwyn's priest, with lifted hand 
 
 One Credo to repeat ; 
 
 And when in solemn awe 
 America with England chants the prayer 
 Lighten our darhiess, comes before me there 
 
 The ladder Jacob saw. 
 
 Lighten our darkness, Lord ! 
 Night comes apace — grant us Thy way to know 
 Undoubting ! Nunc dimittis. Calm I go, 
 
 According to Thy w^ord. 
 
] AGATH08. 
 
 O'er Hampshire's billowy down 
 Rise the dark roofs of Winchester. How fleet 
 My thoughts, as I approach, with gladsome feet. 
 
 The grand historic town ! 
 
 In the cathedral old, 
 I drink the beauty of the lights and glooms, 
 The chantries rare, the quaint and storied tombs, 
 
 The stains of green and gold. 
 
 Yon clustered towers beguile 
 My wandering gaze. I pass the gates, and walk 
 Where Herbert, Donne, and Walton, used to talk 
 
 In cloister, stall, and aisle. 
 
 The morning, rosy-red. 
 Flushes this wall. I read the name of Ken 
 Scrawled in a schoolboy's autograph, and then 
 
 With lifted heart and head 
 
 I sing, Awake my soul ! 
 My spirit mounting on exultant wing 
 To those white cloisters where the sainted sing 
 
 Safe in their sheltered goal. 
 
AGATHOS. 87 
 
 But here I may not stay. 
 Tliere is one shrine, belorved o'er all the rest, 
 Where, ere the swift ship bear me to the West, 
 
 I long to kneel and pray. 
 
 How soft this noontide hght 
 On Hursley's quiet vicarage ; how clear 
 These English skies that saw " The Christian Year " 
 
 Complete its chaplet bright ! 
 
 Fair is this room, and grave 
 With sober beauty, roof and tree ; yet keep 
 My eager feet no more, but let me weep 
 
 Where yonder grasses wave. 
 
 I do not kneel — I cling 
 Close to this lowly grave. These All-Saints skies 
 Tell me this sod is precious in the eyes 
 
 Of Christ our risen King. 
 
 Then, Jesu, may not we 
 Love this dear dust which Thou hast said shall be 
 Made glorious in that day when land and sea 
 
 Give back Thine own to Thee ? 
 
] AGATHOS. 
 
 O genius clear and fine, 
 Sounding with subtle skill the cosmic deeps 
 Of mathematic lore, where Wisdom keeps 
 
 Her secrets most divine ; 
 
 O spirit unbeguiled, 
 Neighbour-familiar with the seers of old, 
 Bard, singer, artifex, and prophet bold, 
 
 Yet lowly as a child ; 
 
 honej-laden lips, 
 
 O patient faithful heart, O thoughtful brow, 
 O starry eyes, hid from our fondness now, 
 In death's supreme eclipse ! 
 
 1 lay my tear-stained face 
 
 On this green turf — I break, with reverent touch, 
 This sprig of sage — ^how little, yet how much ! — 
 I turn to leave the place — 
 
 And lo ! the silver sound 
 Of sweet St. Mary's bell has called me back 
 From hallowed contemplation's storied track ; 
 
 I tread no English ground, 
 
AGATH08. 89 
 
 I breathe no English air ; 
 But sit alone beneath these tropic sides, 
 Holding upon my palm, with misty eyes, 
 
 A lock of Keble's hair. 
 
 And thou — what shall I say 
 To thee for this thy gift ? My soul's deep springs 
 Are strangely stirred, as 'midst my precious things 
 
 These silver strands I lay. 
 
 Rare jewels for the gay. 
 Garter and rose for victors ; but to me 
 How dearer far, from friends across the sea 
 
 This faded tress of gray ! 
 
 Sun of my soul ! The East 
 Drapes her red vestments with the spotless snow 
 Of morning's fair cloud-altar. Let us go 
 
 To our communion-feast ; 
 
 And kneeling here alone 
 Where Christ's dear saints have knelt with us of yore. 
 Where still they kneel, though gliding feet no more 
 
 We hear, nor gentle tone — 
 
90 AG AT HO S. 
 
 Pray tliat to us be given 
 Grace so to follow in their path of light, 
 That with them we may sing, in robes of white. 
 
 Sun of my soul^ in heaven. 
 
LA BELLE JUSTINE. 
 
 On field and wood and sea the noontide sun 
 Unpitjing pours his batteries of fire. 
 Along the low horizon, dusky clouds 
 Fade swift, a phantom army, while afar 
 Looms a red haze, like smoke from pillaged homes 
 Burnt and beleaguered. From the bay-trees tall 
 The long, weird moss, in shadowy, gray festoons 
 Droops prone, as in a picture. Motionless 
 The feathery weesatch * spreads its tent of lace ; 
 Like an enchantress, o'er the chaparral dense 
 The love-vine ^ weaves her net, and climbing far 
 From branch to branch her amber necklace flings. 
 Past the dark forest's thick and tangled fringe 
 
 ' A lovely tree of the acacia family. 
 
 2 A parasite of the Southern woods, the stems and flowers — there are 
 no leaves — of a pale amber color. Its seeds take root in the ground, but 
 the creeper soon fastens on some tree or shrub, and, coiling itself there, 
 the root dies and the plant flourishes more vigorously than ever, in the air. 
 
92 J-^ BELLE JUSTINE. 
 
 Of shrub and clambering brier, tbe dusty road 
 Writhes like a serpent in the glaring heat, 
 And all is silent, save, in some lagoon, 
 The gray crane's hollow trumpet. 
 
 In her arms 
 Clasping a sleeping child, a wanderer treads 
 The hot and dusty highway. Hour by hour 
 Her slender feet have trudged since yesterday ; 
 Those tender feet, so lately resting soft 
 On velvet cushions ; careless now of toil 
 Or heat or fear or danger, so they fly 
 From that dread city where carousing mirth 
 Mocks at disease and death ; where gasping groans 
 Gurgle through parching throats that vainly beg 
 For water, in the festering dens of want ; 
 "While reckless revellers in saloon and hall 
 Scatter life's priceless jewel-hours away 
 Like children tossing pearls into the sea 
 Unmindful of their worth. 
 
 She has come forth, 
 But not in fear of pestilence, though the Plague 
 Stalks with his noiseless shoon from door to door. 
 Her hand was readiest the hot brow to bathe, 
 
LA BELLE JUSTINE. 93 
 
 The feverish lip to cool ; her voice to breathe 
 
 Kind solace in the failing ear, beneath 
 
 Death's hammer deadening. But there is a blight 
 
 More fearful than the fever of the South ; 
 
 A wilder sorrow than the helpless cries 
 
 Of motherless children sobbing in the night ; 
 
 A look more terrible than the spirit's gaze 
 
 Striving to pierce the death-iihn : The gray mould 
 
 That settles on the wrung heart's tattered robes ; 
 
 The moan of faith slow perishing amidst 
 
 The trampled flowers of promise ; and the look 
 
 Stony and cold, which, like a jagged flint. 
 
 Is struck into the soul from eyes that once 
 
 Sent forth the silver shafts of love alone ; 
 
 From these she flies, with trembling, pallid lips 
 
 Stammering a prayer for peace. Oh for one voice, 
 
 One faithful voice of breeze or bird or stream. 
 
 To breathe its benediction ! 
 
 Dim, afar. 
 On the horizon's dusky line, arise 
 The roofs and chimneys of her native town. 
 She sees Saint Saviour's dark asylum towers 
 Midst gardens belted by a crystal stream. 
 Where witless, woeful creatures restless flit 
 
94 I'^ BELLE JUSTINE. 
 
 Or aimless stand beneath the embowering trees. 
 
 O changing years ! whose flowers have bloomed but 
 
 twice. 
 But twice, since from yon belfry on the height 
 Pealed the glad marriage-bell ; since, bright with hope, 
 A joyous escort led a joyous bride 
 Along the hill-side path, while, crowding close 
 Behind Saint Saviour's hedge, the wretched ones 
 Smiled on her, tendering thus their broken thanks 
 For many a gentle kindness at her hands. 
 The sunlight glancing from the chapel spire 
 Pierces her like a sword ; she hurries on ; 
 When, near the asylum grounds, a haggard face 
 Eivets her flying feet. Beside the gate, 
 A jabbering figure in a faded gown. 
 Wearing upon her head a threadbare scarf 
 Fantastic wound, sits rocking to and fro, 
 And muttering in the sun, while through her long 
 And bony fingers busily she sifts 
 The ashen dust, repeating now and then. 
 With low and senseless laughter, the refrain 
 La Belle Justine, 
 
 Her own, her household name. 
 Woven into rhymes of compliment and set 
 
LA BELLE JUSTINE. 95 
 
 To the soft measure of a Tuscan tune ; 
 
 La Belle Justine, a lay of love and faith 
 
 And twilight peace and calm, babbled and mouthed 
 
 By this poor drivelling thing ! She knows it now, 
 
 The story rumour whispered long ago 
 
 Of a young girl who dwelt in peace beside 
 
 The pebble-paved Amite, the one sole ray 
 
 Brightening a widowed mother's humble cot, 
 
 Till a light summer traveller who had come 
 
 From the gay capital to drink the strength 
 
 Of the great pine-woods and the simple health 
 
 Of sylvan people, set her innocent pulse 
 
 Aflame with songs of passion ; and with gifts — 
 
 Quaint ear-rings wrought of beaten Mexican gold. 
 
 Chains for her throat and amber for her hair — 
 
 Used all a robber's wiles to steal from her 
 
 The priceless pearl of honour. She had wept 
 
 Over this story of a bad man's craft, 
 
 Nor dreamed 'twas he who sung, in after-years, 
 
 La Belle Justine beside her own low porch. 
 
 And won her from her home, a lawful bride. 
 
 Only to find in his, though princely fair, 
 
 A Tophet of despair. 
 
 Transfixed she stands 
 Beside the lone dementate ; but again 
 
96 LA BELLE JUSTINE. 
 
 With quickened pace she hurries on her way. 
 Why should she linger ? Balm nor aconite 
 Can soothe that fatal sickness, nor kind words 
 Awaken in that soul's discordant strings 
 One vibrant echo. So, while tremors chill 
 Like serpents creep along her tottering limbs, 
 She turns aside into a lonely path 
 And with a shudder lifts her startled face 
 In thankfulness to heaven that she has still 
 The light of reason left. 
 
 The breathless night 
 Broods like an incantation as she sits 
 Beside the deep, dark river. Sobbing low 
 Beneath the sombre arches of the bridge, 
 The waters moan, as if they felt the shame 
 That stays her feet from crossing ; bitter shame, 
 The bitterer for her innocence ! Yonder lies 
 The home which, in her dreary wanderings. 
 Drew, like a magnet, her wild feet at first. 
 Then changed into a terror, as she neared 
 Its peaceful quiet ; so we writhe and shrink 
 When Memory on the tablets of the soul 
 Electrotypes her contrasts. 
 
LA BELLE JUSTINE. 97 
 
 To the sky 
 Again she turns bewildered. In the south 
 The advancing Archer draws his burnished bow, 
 Crafty and silent ; glittering Scorpio coils 
 Beside the crouching Wolf ; while, fold on fold. 
 Through tlie star-meadows blossoming with light 
 Trails the huge Serpent. Must the very heavens 
 Scoff at her wretchedness with symbols dire. 
 And mock her with suggestions 1 
 
 Closer still 
 She clasps her babe, and shuddering sees the night 
 Come darkening down ; when lo ! the child awakes 
 Transfigured, and with smile and prattle looks 
 Up to the brightening sky. Her tearless eyes 
 Instinctive follow his. High overhead 
 Yibrates the golden Lyre ; on soaring wings 
 The Eagle bears Antinous ; through the boughs 
 Of the dark orange-trees the rising moon 
 Shows her bright shield, while o'er the waters dark 
 Shine the soft evening lamps, and flute-like floats 
 A woman's silvery treble, singing sweet, 
 " Keep us, O King of kings ! " 
 
98 J^A BELLE JUSTINE. 
 
 The compline bell 
 Kings from Saint Saviour's tower. Her baby sleeps 
 Safe nestled in tlie old familiar room ; 
 And resting on her mother's heart, Jnstine 
 Hears the brown oriole twittering to the moon 
 Beneath the green veranda's bamboo shade ; 
 She sees the white mists stealing from the sea, 
 While round the dagger-trees the fire-flies gleam 
 And o'er the dewy terrace, incense-like. 
 Sweet garden scents arise. 
 
 O King of kings ! 
 Inscrutable ! whose hand alike doth guide 
 Beetle and bird, alike doth trim the lamps 
 Of Lyra and the glow-worm, bid the night 
 Teach her its blessed lesson : That each leaf 
 And shrub and flower that trembles in the air, 
 Each cloud and star and insect silver-winged. 
 Unto the sorrowing and blighted breathes 
 Its silent j9(2a? vobiscum ; and although 
 The crawling reptile treachery has left 
 Its slime upon the blossoms of her life. 
 And the sharp javelins of a destiny 
 Cruel and unrelenting have been thrust 
 Into her spirit, Thou hast power to give 
 
LA BELLE JUSTINE. 99 
 
 Strength like the eagle's to her broken wing, 
 Till, taught in E'ature's temple, she shall reach 
 The shining heights where mildews blight no more 
 And sorrow's wailing minor key is chano-ed 
 To the full anthem of the seraphim. 
 
SO]^GS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
 
I 
 
BENNY: 
 
 A SOUTHERN CIIKISTMAS BALLAD. 
 
 TO 
 BENNY, IN PAEADISE, 
 
 THIS SIMPLE RHYME, 
 
 INSPIRED BY A LOVELINESS OF TEMPER WHICH PIPENED INTO 
 
 A CHARACTER TOO BEAUTIFUL FOR THIS WORLD, 
 
 IS INSCRIBED BY 
 
 HIS MOTHER. 
 
BENKY. 
 
 I HAD told him Christmas morning, 
 
 As lie sat upon my knee 
 Holding fast his little stockings 
 
 Stuffed as full as full could be, 
 And attentive listening to me 
 
 With a face demure and mild, 
 That good Santa Claus, who filled them, 
 
 Does not love a naughty child. 
 
 " But we'll be good, won't we, Moder 'i " 
 
 And from off my lap he slid. 
 Digging deep among the goodies 
 
 In his crimson stockings hid, 
 While I turned me to my table 
 
 Where a tempting goblet stood 
 Brimming high with dainty egg-nog 
 
 Sent me by a neighbour good. 
 
106 BENNY. 
 
 But the kitten, there before me, 
 
 With his white paw, nothing loth, 
 Sat, by way of entertainment, 
 
 Slapping off the shining froth ; 
 And in not the gentlest humour ^ 
 
 At the loss of such a treat, 
 I confess I rather rudely 
 
 Thrust him out into the street. 
 
 Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled ! 
 
 Gathering up the precious store 
 He had busily been pouring 
 
 In his tiny pinafore, 
 "With a generous look that shamed me 
 
 Sprang he from the carpet bright, 
 Showing, by his mien indignant. 
 
 All a baby's sense of right. 
 
 " Come back, Harney ! " called he loudly 
 
 As he held his apron white, 
 " You sail have my candy wabbit I " 
 
 But the door was fastened tight ; 
 So he stood abashed and silent 
 
 In the centre of the floor. 
 
BENNY. 107 
 
 "With defeated look alternate 
 Bent on me and on tlie door. 
 
 Then as by some sudden impulse 
 
 Quickly ran he to the tire, 
 And while eagerly his bright eyes 
 
 Watched the flames go high and higher, 
 In a brave, clear key he shouted 
 
 Like some lordly little elf, 
 " Santa Cans ! Come down de chimney 
 
 Make my Moder 'have herself ! " 
 
 " I will be a good girl, Benny," 
 
 Said I, feeling the reproof ; 
 And straightway recalled poor Harney 
 
 Mewing on the gallery-roof. 
 Soon the anger was forgotten, 
 
 Laughter chased away the frown, 
 And they played beneath the live-oaks 
 
 Till the dusky night came down. 
 
 In my dim fire-lighted chamber 
 
 Harney purred beneath my chair. 
 And my play-worn boy beside me 
 
 Knelt to say his evening prayer : 
 
108 BENNY. 
 
 " God bess Fader — God bess Moder — 
 God bess Sister — " then a pause. 
 
 And the sweet young lips devoutly 
 Murmured — ^' God bess Santa Cans ! " 
 
 He is sleeping — ^brown and silken 
 
 Lie the lashes long and meek 
 Like caressing, clinging shadows 
 
 On his plump and peachy cheek ; 
 And I bend above him, weeping 
 
 Thankful tears, O Undefiled ! 
 For a woman's crown of glory. 
 
 For the blessing of a child. 
 
A MOTHEE'S PEAYER. 
 
 They sleep. Athwart my white 
 Moon-marbled casement, with her solemn mien 
 Silently watching o'er their rest serene, 
 
 Gazes the star-eyed Night, 
 
 My girl, elate or mild 
 By turns — as playful as a summer breeze 
 Or grave as night on starlit southern seas. 
 
 Sedate, strange woman-child. 
 
 My boy, my trembling star! 
 The whitest lamb in April's tenderest fold, 
 The bluest ilower-bell in the shadiest w^old 
 
 His gentle emblems are. 
 
 They are but two, and all 
 My lonely heart's arithmetic is done 
 When these are counted. High and holy One, 
 
 O hear me while T call ! 
 
110 A MOTHERS PRAYER. 
 
 I ask not wealth nor fame 
 For these my jewels. Diadem and wreath 
 Soothe not the aching brow that throbs beneath 
 
 ]^or cool its fever-flame. 
 
 I aslv not length of life 
 Nor earthly honours. Weary are the ways 
 The gifted tread, unsafe the world's best praise, 
 
 And keen its strife. 
 
 I ask not that to me 
 Thou spare them, though they dearer, dearer be 
 Than rain to deserts, spring-flowers to the bee, 
 
 Or sunshine to the sea. 
 
 Bat kneeling at their feet, 
 While smiles, like summer light on shaded streams. 
 Are gleaming from their glad and sinless dreams, 
 
 I would my prayer repeat. 
 
 In that alluring land 
 The future, where, amidst green stately bowers 
 Ornate with proud and crimson-flushing flowers. 
 
 Pleasure with smooth white hand 
 
A MOTHER'S PRAYER. HI 
 
 Beckons the young away 
 From glen and hill-side to her banquet fair, 
 Sin, the grim she- wolf, coucheth in her lair, 
 
 Eeady to seize her prey. 
 
 The bright and purpling bloom 
 Of nio-ht-shade and acanthus cannot hide 
 The charred and bleaching bones that are denied 
 
 Taper and chrism and tomb. 
 
 Lord, in this midnight hour, 
 I bring my lambs to Thee. Oh, by Thy ruth. 
 Thy mercy, save them from the envenomed tooth 
 
 And tempting poison-flower ! 
 
 Thou crucified and crowned. 
 Keep us ! We have no shield, no guide, but Thee ! 
 Let sorrows come, let hope's last blossom be 
 
 By grief's dark deluge drowned ; 
 
 But lead us by the hand, 
 Thou gentlest Guardian, till we rest beside 
 The still clear waters in the pastures wide 
 
 Of Thine unclouded Land ! 
 
SHADY-SIDE/ 
 
 Shady-Side ! 
 Where tlie liriodendrons stand 
 Every leaf an outstretched hand. 
 Every flower a golden chalice 
 Held aloft in Nature's palace 
 With bright nectar overrun 
 From the wine- vats of the snn ; 
 More than all the world beside 
 Do I love thee, Shady-Side ! 
 
 Shady-Side, 
 Where, through vistas green and wide, 
 Arrows from the snn's red quiver 
 Pierce the deep and silent river ; 
 Where the wan white lilies lean 
 Ghost-like 'neath the willows green, 
 
 1 Written, and published in the Memphis Engtiircr, May, 1857. 
 
SHADY-SIDE. ■ II3 
 
 Hiding from the garish light, 
 Waiting till the lonely Night 
 Shall, with spectral fingers, trim 
 Star-lamps in the ether dim — 
 
 More than all the world beside 
 
 Do I love thee, Shadj-Side ! 
 
 Shady-Side, 
 Where the maple-branches swing, 
 While the robins ride and sing ; 
 Where beside a cottage-hearth 
 Crickets make their social mirth ; 
 Where the cattle in the dell 
 Rest beside the cool deep well 
 
 'J^eath the hickory-trees ; 
 
 But 'tis not for these. 
 Bird and tree and lily-blossom 
 Leaning o'er the river's bosom. 
 
 More than all the world beside 
 
 That I love thee, Shady-Side ! 
 
 Shady-Side, 
 Where the bluest, clearest eyes 
 Looked their last upon the skies ; 
 Where the rosiest, sweetest lips 
 
114 SHADY-SIDE. 
 
 Purpled in death's dark eclipse ; 
 Where the softest dimpled hands 
 Stiffened in white muslin bands — 
 
 Where my Jose died. 
 Summer flowers sprang up to meet him, 
 Summer birds sang loud to greet him ; 
 Yiolets at his violet eyes 
 Looked in timid, glad surprise ; 
 And the grosbeak, crimson-crested, 
 Eagle-eyed and golden- vested, 
 
 Kingly troubadour 
 Bringing from far tropic seas 
 Strange, entrancing melodies, 
 
 Perched beside the door ; 
 Perched where bright mimosa-blooms 
 Crowded with their rosy plumes ; 
 
 And, while Jose played, 
 Poured between the rippling falls 
 Of his baby shouts and calls. 
 
 Sweetest serenade. 
 But, one morn, his blue eyes, lifted 
 Skyward, saw the flowers that drifted 
 
 Snow-white down heaven's esplanade ; 
 Outstretched, beckoning baby-hands 
 Wooed him to those Summer-Lands, 
 
SHADY-SIDE. II5 
 
 While a sweeter strain lie heard 
 Than the song of any bird ; 
 So, with mild angelic features 
 Turned aw^ay from earthly creatures, 
 That clear summons following on 
 Through the \^alley dark and lone 
 
 Went he to the sky, 
 As of old a holy child, 
 Hearing heavenly accents mild, 
 
 Answered, Hei^e am I. 
 
 Shady-Side ! 
 I have wandered far and wide ; 
 Where the meek arbutus blows 
 Close beside the northern snows ; 
 Where the bright pomegranate-tree 
 Blushes by a southern sea ; 
 Where Canopus through the dark 
 Skims the waves, a phantom bark ; * 
 
 But I come again 
 Where the lilies lean beside 
 Mississippi's solemn tide, 
 
 ^ Looking southward from Galveston Island, the star Canopus is dis- 
 tinctly seen, for a short time in winter, a few degrees above the surface of 
 the Gulf waters. It is frequently mistaken for the light of a distant ship. 
 
116 SHADY-SIDE. 
 
 Mourning, by the river's sliore, 
 Little feet that come no more ; 
 And my silent tears are falling, 
 As I hear the robins calling 
 
 All day long in vain. 
 Every blossom, every tree, 
 Whispers of the lost to me ; 
 So, to one who loves me best 
 
 I would earnest say — 
 When to my pale lips be prest 
 Death's cold cup of blessing, pray, 
 Dear one, lay my weary head 
 Down to rest beside my dead. 
 
 Where, the livelong day, 
 Sight and sound from Shady-Side 
 Tell how Jose lived and died. . 
 
IK SUMMEE. 
 
 I srr in my still room, 
 And gentle noises, music-f ranglit, steal tlii'ougli 
 My spacious window. The soft morning wind 
 Rustles the oak-leaves, and the gay birds sing 
 Among the hickory -boughs. The kine go forth 
 Contented lowing to the shady wood. 
 The generous wild-flowers ope their fragrant cups 
 Brimming with dew, and busy insects sip, 
 Humming, the delicate nectar. All the earth 
 Rejoices in awakening, but I bow 
 My weary head, and blistering tear-drops blind 
 My sight from the fair picture. 
 
 I was wont 
 To hear, with humming bees and singing birds, 
 A voice whose tones were sweeter far to me 
 Than all earth's melodies. First in early mom 
 
118 IN SUMMER. 
 
 The patter of his little dimpled feet 
 Along the galleiy-floor, and his glad shout 
 Of merry glee as he his sister chased 
 With tiny whip upraised, or frolicked wild 
 Beside his baby-brother, filled my heart 
 With a deep, holy thankfulness and joy 
 That none but mothers know. 
 
 All gentle things 
 Were teachers and playfellows unto him. 
 In the glad spring-time he would sit for hours 
 Beneath the tulip-trees and watch the wren 
 Building her tiny nest, or try his skill 
 To mimic the quaint mocking-bird, whose song 
 Held his young spirit spellbound. In the cart 
 Homely and rude, it was his highest pride 
 To ride far down into the hollows green 
 And gather berries to bring home to me ; 
 And then, with earnest look, inquire if God 
 Had berries and a waggon in the sky ? 
 Oh, well do I remember how he came 
 But a few days before that fever wild 
 Fell on him, and with sober sweetness asked, 
 " Mamma, when will God come ? " I little dreamed. 
 As gently, with my heart hushed low in prayer, 
 
IN SUMMER. 119 
 
 I told him that we must be pure and good 
 
 If we would go to play on golden harps 
 
 AVitli God's good angels — music filled his heart 
 
 With pathos deep and strange — I little dreamed 
 
 The radiant convoy would descend so soon 
 
 From their bright dwelling-place to bear him back. 
 
 Heart-broken, and with wild and aching brain, 
 
 I watched his rounded limbs attenuate grow 
 
 Through those long days of anguish. I beheld 
 
 The strange, bright wandering of his large blue eyes, 
 
 And heard his sweet voice murmuring low, as though 
 
 To unseen spirits. Up to God in prayer 
 
 My spirit went for strength — for strength to bear 
 
 This riving of the first bright golden link 
 
 From out my chain of gems ; this sudden snap 
 
 Of one sweet string from my life's chiming harp, 
 
 Erst in such perfect tune. 
 
 Those starry eyes 
 Beaming with health a few brief days before, 
 Grew dimmer as the death-dew gathered thick 
 About his lips, and in low, tremulous tones 
 He sang, " O Lamb of God ! " our evening hymn, 
 Its simple tune the first his baby-voice 
 
120 . I^ SUMMER. 
 
 Had learned to sing — and with a long, deep sigh. 
 He died. 
 
 Three years ago, I pressed him close 
 To mj proud, throbbing bosom, and my heart 
 Brimming with untold joy sent up its thanks 
 To the kind Giver, for my first-born son. 
 With my own hands I wrought his garments fair ; 
 Day after day I watched the brightening grace 
 Of his young intellect, the beauteous growth 
 Of his symmetric limbs ; and in the years 
 Of the glad future's clear and shining track 
 I saw him in his perfect manhood stand 
 My crown of crowns, my life's best blessing. !Now 
 With my own trembling hands I wrought his shroud 
 And dressed his lifeless body for the grave — 
 So different from his cushioned, cradled sleep 
 Upon a bed of down. What wonder, then. 
 When the glad morning's many voices float 
 O'er the awakened earth, and singing winds 
 Chant through the casement, that I sit and weep 
 For the soft key-note hushed ? 
 
 I see the wren 
 He watched in spring-time as she built her nest 
 
IN SUMMER. 121 
 
 Teacliing her young ones now to try their wings 
 In the clear waves of air, and to my heart 
 It teaches a sweet lesson : that my child 
 On tireless pinions cleaves the cloudless air 
 Of an eternal heaven, untossed by storms, 
 Undarkened e'er by tempests, and secure 
 From the dread fowler's arrows. 
 
 Bleating herds 
 He used to follow to the wood's deep shade, 
 I see returning to the river's banks 
 To browse along its margin, and I think 
 Of my fair boy by the good Shepherd led 
 Beside still waters, or reclining safe 
 On His protecting bosom in the green 
 And everlasting pastures. Full of peace 
 The song they sing to me, these innocent things. 
 The Hand that guides them all, will lead me too, 
 Though rough the road, and stormy be the skies, 
 To the calm shelter of my child at last. 
 
DOES HE LOYE ME? 
 
 Peetty robin at my window, 
 
 Welcoming the day 
 With thy lond and liquid piping, 
 
 Read my riddle, pray. 
 I have conned it waking, sleeping, 
 
 Yexed the more for aye. 
 Thou'rt a wizard, pretty robin — 
 
 Does he love me — say ? 
 
 Lady violet, blooming meekly 
 By the brooklet free. 
 
 Bending low thy gentle forehead 
 All its grace to see, 
 
 Tnm thee from the wooing water. 
 Whisper soft, I pray. 
 
 For the winds might hear my secret- 
 Does he love me — say ? 
 
DOES HE LOVE ME? 123 
 
 Star that through the silent night-tide 
 
 Watchest over him, 
 Write it with thy golden pencil 
 
 On my casement dim. 
 Thou art skilled in Love's sweet magic, 
 
 Tell me then, I pray, 
 Now, so none but I may read it — 
 
 Does he love me — say ? 
 
HESPEEUS. 
 
 I CANNOT tell the spell that binds thine image 
 
 Forever in my heart, 
 ]^or why thy presence seems to my existence 
 
 Its very, vital part. 
 
 But yesterday a weary-hearted stranger 
 
 Chance-hindered in thy way. 
 To-day with thee through thought's wide realm a ranger, 
 
 All sorrow chased away. 
 
 As the clear sunlight drives away the tempest, 
 
 So from thy gentle face 
 The light of heavenly truth illumes my spirit 
 
 With its celestial grace ; 
 
 Calming my billowy soul to holy quiet. 
 Till from all else afar 
 
HESPERUS. 125 
 
 I turn to thee, and grieve, when thon art absent. 
 Like night without a star. 
 
 I read thy favourite books, and trembling linger 
 
 Over each pencilled line. 
 Weeping glad tears to find at last one spirit 
 
 With faith and dreams like mine ; 
 
 Faith in humanity's divine perfection 
 
 And dreams of that fair time 
 When God shall see in us His own reflection, 
 
 Cleansed from all stain and grime. 
 
 I hear thy voice from this my lonely chamber 
 
 Amidst the festive throng. 
 And my heart leaps, as fountains cavern-hidden 
 
 Leap to the wood-bird's song. 
 
 Thy quick, light foot-fall breaks the twilight stillness, 
 
 My pain is all beguiled ; 
 I meet thy gaze, electrical and tender. 
 
 And am again a child. 
 
 Strangely my soul is hourly drawing toward thee. 
 Patient of toil or care, 
 
126 HESPERUS. 
 
 If, daily duty done, thou sit beside me 
 Tn the calm evening air ; 
 
 In the calm evening, when from earthly fetters 
 
 My spirit finds release. 
 And rests beneath the wings of that fair angel 
 
 Whose gentle name is Peace. 
 
 I cannot tell the spell that binds thine image 
 
 Forever in my heart ; 
 I only know thou art to my existence 
 
 Its very, vital part. 
 
O:^ THE BEIDGE. 
 
 (From Chateaubriand.) 
 
 'Tis midnight, and you sleep ; 
 You sleep, and I — I am about to die ! 
 What do I say ? Perhaps you watch and weep — 
 For whom ? Hell's friendlier tortures I will try. 
 
 To-morrow, when upon your lover's arm 
 Satiate with joy in search of change you go. 
 Lean for a moment from the bridge, and see 
 How calm these waters flow. 
 
ABSENT. 
 
 Why do I sing no more ? The leaping fountains 
 That laugh in glee when Summer paints the flowers. 
 
 Perish and die when with her glorious beauty 
 She wanders southward to serener bowers. 
 
 Why do I sing no more ? The wild-bird warbling 
 Beneath the splendid midnight skies of June, 
 
 Hushes her love-song, when their starry glory 
 Is blinded by the work-day glare of noon. 
 
 Why do I sing no more ? The evening zephyr 
 That plays with unseen fingers on the air. 
 
 Filling the forest with his witching story 
 
 Of passion for the wild-rose listening there — 
 
 Sinks into silence when the grim November 
 Blasts the fair blossom on her royal stem ; 
 
ABSENT. 129 
 
 Or wailing wild among the leafless branches, 
 Sings only Sorrow's broken requiem. 
 
 And I — the glad, low tones thy presence wakened. 
 How can I tune them, now thou art away ? 
 
 As well invoke the spirit of the fountain 
 
 When Winter rules where Spring was wont to play. 
 
 Through the still midnight, sitting at my window 
 
 With face uplifted to the starry skies, 
 I gaze and gaze, until their silver glances 
 
 Seem the cahii splendour of thy radiant eyes ; 
 
 And listening still, the while my tears are falling. 
 To the soft cadence of the murmuring breeze, 
 
 I hear again thy low and tender whispers 
 Floating beneath the dim and shadowy trees. 
 
 Give me again the blessing of thy presence — 
 Give me the summer brightness of thine eyes. 
 
 And like the breeze, the bird, the leaping fountain. 
 My soul in song will make its glad replies. 
 
WAiTma. 
 
 Waiting for health and strength ; 
 Counting each flickering pulse, each passing hour, 
 And sighing when my weary frame at length 
 
 Sinks like a drooping flower. 
 
 Waiting for rest and peace ; 
 E-est from unravelling life's perplexing woof ;■ 
 Peace from the doubts that crouch like hidden foes 
 
 And glare at me aloof. 
 
 Waiting for absent eyes, 
 Bright as the sunrise to the lonesome sea ; 
 Lovely as life to youth's expectant gaze. 
 
 And dear, next heaven, to me. 
 
 Thou who didst watch and pray. 
 Quicken the pulse, bid doubt and weeping flee ; 
 Or if these must abide, still let me cry, 
 
 Bring back the loved to me ! 
 
LEONID AS. 
 
 Thou art not dead. Still, as I wait and listen, 
 Comes the weird influence of thy radiant eyes. 
 
 And like a lone flower trembling to the night-wind 
 My full heart thrills to hear thy low replies. 
 
 Thou art not dead. Still, in the sober twilight 
 I sit with folded hands the while there comes 
 
 Thine image through the dim and flickering fire-light 
 With saintly lustre lightening all the glooms. 
 
 Thou'rt with me always. When the watchful Mid- 
 night 
 
 Stands by my lonely window, crowned with stars. 
 Thy fingers, O adored and strange magician, 
 
 Ope the dark dungeon that my spirit bars ; 
 
 And taking in thine own my hands confiding. 
 Beneath clear skies, beside clear shining streams 
 
132 LEONWAS. 
 
 Where deathless voices soft and low are singing, 
 
 The long night through we walk the world of dreams. 
 
 Day with its thousand cares around me presses ; 
 
 Night with its thousand memories shuts me in ; 
 Life with its dangers and its dark distresses 
 
 Threatens with sorrow or invites to sin; 
 
 But girding on anew my daily burthen, 
 With patient spirit whence no doubts arise, 
 
 Remembering all thy tender, holy counsel 
 I tread the way that leads me to the skies. 
 
 There where no frowning fortresses are builded. 
 There, where no pilgrim feet are tired and toru. 
 
 We side by side will roam the heavens together 
 Shod with the sandals by the immortal worn. 
 
OCTODECIMA. 
 
 NOEA, BORN IN JUNE. 
 
 Cleab as her cloudless eyes 
 O'er cliff and glen and mountain's distant line 
 Undimmed by haze or mist, serenely shine 
 
 The deep-blue summer skies. 
 
 Fair as her sunny hopes, 
 The red rose bursts, the lilies white unfold, 
 The lotos lifts her chalice lined with gold. 
 
 The star-flowers gem the slopes ; 
 
 And leaping waters play, 
 And gay winds pipe, and lark and linnet sing 
 As if each innocent and happy thing 
 
 Would greet her natal day. 
 
134 OCTODECIMA. 
 
 We bring her gentle gifts : 
 Bright blossoms with their loving type and token , 
 Lichens and mosses ; cm^ious crystals broken 
 
 From hoary cavern-rifts ; 
 
 Music of bard and seer ; 
 Legend and classic song, and ancient rhymes 
 Echoed from far phantasmal century chimes 
 
 To her enraptured ear ; 
 
 And I — I steal apart, 
 As scanning each with loving eyes she stands, 
 Her happy talk, like ripples over sands. 
 
 Cheering my thirsty heart. 
 
 O Saviour meek and mild ! 
 Cradled, Thyself, upon a mother's knee, 
 I kiss Thy precious feet — I beg of Thee 
 
 All blessings for my child ! 
 
 Thou Shadow of a Eock 
 Within a weary land ! Protect her life 
 From misery's desert heat, from sin's mad strife. 
 
 From sorrow's lightning-shock. 
 
OCTODECIMA. 135 
 
 Love's fairest fruit and flower 
 Give unto her, and friendship's holiest ties ; 
 That her existence, like these shinuig skies. 
 
 May brighten every hour ; 
 
 Till, calm from morn to night. 
 Her day of earth a golden day may end 
 Fairest at setting, and forever blend 
 
 With heaven's unfading light. 
 
 Yet nay. Too much I ask, 
 And am too fearful. Only they attain 
 The evening welcome who, with patient pain, 
 
 Fulfil the noonday task. 
 
 Give to her spirit, then. 
 Thy rod and staff to walk the ways of life, 
 Thy shield and buckler to ward off the strife — 
 
 Th' unholy strife of men. 
 
 Each precious lesson point 
 That earth's meek creatures teach. On sea and land 
 Show how each high or lowly thing Thy hand 
 
 "With wisdom doth anoint. 
 
136 OCTODECIMA. 
 
 Whether her lines be cast 
 In the choked city's panting thoroughfare, 
 Or 'midst the blessed woodland's treasures rare, 
 
 Or by the ocean vast — 
 
 Oh, tune her subtle ear, 
 Pained by the discord of earth's warring notes, 
 To know the heavenly prophecy that floats 
 
 From brook and bird-song clear ; 
 
 Show to her serious eyes 
 The golden legend writ as in a book 
 Upon the steadfast mountain-tops that look 
 
 Forever toward the skies ; 
 
 And bid the ocean's roar 
 Tell her of harpers harping with their harps 
 Where shines the light of God, where sorrow warps 
 
 The burthened soul no more. 
 
 So may her heart, replete 
 With holy courage, seek the victor's crown. 
 Till, all her journey done, she shall sit down 
 
 With Mary at Thy feet. 
 
A SEA-SHELL. 
 
 It tells, in its lonely sighs, 
 
 In its misereve wild. 
 Its love for a far-off ocean-home, 
 
 This exiled ocean-child. 
 
 I send it unto thee. 
 
 Type of my own full heart. 
 That sings and sighs for its native land, 
 
 Though doomed to dwell apart. 
 
 And when in thy listening ear 
 
 Its plaintive music rings, 
 Let it tell of the love for thee and thine, 
 
 That flows from my heart's deep springs. 
 
SEA-WEEDS. 
 
 Feiend of the thouglitfiil mind and gentle heart. 
 
 Beneath the citron-tree — 
 Deep calling to my soul's profounder deep — 
 
 I hear the Mexique Sea. 
 
 White through the night rides in the spectral surf 
 
 Along the spectral sands, 
 And all thje air vibrates, as if from harps 
 
 Touched by phantasmal hands. 
 
 Bright in the moon the red pomegranate-flowers 
 
 Lean to the yucca's bells, 
 While with her chrism of dew sad Midnight fills 
 
 The milk-white asphodels. 
 
 Watching all night — as I have done before — 
 
 I count the stars that set. 
 Each writing on my soul some memory deep 
 
 Of pleasure or regret ; 
 
8EA-WEEDS. 139 
 
 Till, wild witli heart-break, toward the east I turn, 
 
 "Waiting for dawn of day ; 
 And chanting sea, and asphodel, and star, 
 
 Are faded, all, away. 
 
 Only within my trembling, trembling hands — 
 
 Brought unto me by thee — 
 I clasp these beautiful and fragile things. 
 
 Bright sea-weeds from the sea. 
 
 Fair bloom the flowers beneath these northern skies, 
 
 Pure shine the stars by night. 
 And grandly sing the grand Atlantic waves 
 
 In thunder-throated might : 
 
 Yet, as the sea-shell in her chambers keeps 
 
 The murmur of the sea, 
 So the deep echoing memories of my home 
 
 Will not depart from me. 
 
 Prone on the page they lie, these gentle things, 
 
 As I have seen them cast 
 Like a drowned woman's hair along the sands 
 
 When storms were overpast ; 
 
140 SEA- WEEDS. 
 
 Prone, like mine own affections, cast ashore 
 
 In battle's storm and blight. 
 Would they could die, like sea-weed ! Praj forgive me, 
 
 But I must weep to-night. 
 
 Tell me, again, of summer fields made fairer 
 
 By spring's precursing plongh ; 
 Of joyful reapers gathering tear-sown harvests ; 
 
 Talk to me — will you 1 — now. 
 
DEIED MOSSES. 
 
 Child of the sylvan height, 
 I hear afar, down the rocky glen. 
 The song of the robin and the wren, 
 
 The tinkle of glancing rills. 
 
 The oak-leaves overhead 
 Mnrmur like fond familiar lips. 
 While, stealing athwart their green eclipse, 
 
 The sun, to my mossy bed 
 
 Comes like an alchemist. 
 Setting a gem in the daisy's hair 
 And crowning the timid violet fair 
 
 With gold and amethyst. 
 
 The playful woodland air 
 Sings in mine ear like a happy child ; 
 Heddens my cheeks with his kisses wild, 
 
 And tangles my loosened hair. 
 
142 DRIED MOSSES. 
 
 I see tlie squirrel leap 
 From the maple tall to the hickorj-tree ; 
 The spotted toad, renowned as he, 
 
 Dives into the river deep ; 
 
 While, on the reedy shore, 
 The oriole pipes, and the grosbeak proud 
 Eyes him askant ; I laugh aloud, 
 
 I am a child once more. 
 
 The peacock blows his horn 
 In the glen where the tall stone chimneys rise ; 
 The black crow caws from the amber skies 
 
 To the scarecrow in the corn. 
 
 I hear my mother sing 
 Her hymn by the open cottage-pane ; 
 My brother whistles along the lane, 
 
 To the partridge by the spring. 
 
 Two faces, heavenly fair. 
 In childish innocence look out 
 From the elder-thicket ; my sisters shout ; 
 
 I bound to meet them there — 
 
DRIED MOSSES. I43 
 
 And bird and flowery land 
 Yanish away. I sit in tears 
 Holding these silent souvenirs, 
 
 Dried mosses in my hand. 
 
 Along these sunny skies, 
 Cloudless and golden though they be, 
 I see no home-bird wander free, 
 
 1^0 cottage-chimney rise ; 
 
 And with a yearning pain 
 I think of the bright Kentucky rill 
 That sings by the graves on the lonely hill, 
 
 And the broken cottage-pane. 
 
 Though lovingly for me 
 Fresh fountains flow in stranger lands. 
 Fresh flowers are culled by stranger hands. 
 
 Fresh fruits from friendship's tree — 
 
 That streamlet always sings 
 Of the sunken roof and the silent dead. 
 Of brambles that choke the violet's bed, 
 
 Of childhood's perished springs. 
 
144 DRIED MOSSES. 
 
 Child of tlie sylvan height, 
 Whose gentle fingers culled for me 
 These fairy creatures of rock and tree, 
 
 My thankful heart to-night 
 
 Goes to the pleasant South, 
 To that fair homestead where thy head 
 I^estles in peace on its downy bed ; 
 
 I kiss thy sweet young mouth ; 
 
 And kneeling by thy side. 
 Soft, lest I break thy happy sleep, 
 Earnest, as flows yon river deep, 
 
 I pray to Him who died : 
 
 Keep her, O Un defiled. 
 White as the lilies of the field ; 
 From sorrow's blast her pure heart shield, 
 
 From sin's sirocco wild. 
 
 Yet nay — each, human way 
 Hath its dark passes. Be her lamp ; 
 Bid Thine archangel, Lord, encamp 
 
 Around her, night and day : 
 
DRIED MOSSES. I45 
 
 So may she reach that land 
 Whither the loved are beckoning now, 
 The morning star upon her brow, 
 
 The palm-branch in her hand. 
 
A EEQUIEM. 
 
 Leaves of the aiitumn-time, 
 Crimson and golden, opalesque and brown, 
 To this new grave-heap slowly rustling down, 
 
 Come with your low, low chime. 
 And sing of her who, spring and summer past. 
 In her calm autumn sought that shore at last, 
 
 Where there is no more rime. 
 
 Flowers of the autumn days, 
 Bright lingering roses, asters white as snow. 
 And purple violets on the winds that go 
 
 Sighing their sad, sad lays. 
 Tell, with your sweet breath, how her spirit fair 
 Through life's declining, kept its fragrance rare 
 
 Fresher amidst decays. 
 
A REQUIEM. 147 
 
 Birds of the autumn eves 
 "Warbling your last song ere ye plume your wing 
 For milder climates, stay awhile and sing 
 
 Where the lone willow grieves ; 
 Tell of a nest, secure from storm and blast, 
 Where her white wing, the shadowy valley past, 
 
 Rests under heavenly eaves. 
 
 Stars of the autumn night. 
 Crowned warders on the ramparts of the skies, 
 With your bright lances, holy mysteries 
 
 Upon her gravestone write : 
 Tell of the new name given to the free 
 In that fair land beyond the silent sea. 
 
 Where Christ is Lord and Light. 
 
 God of the wind and rain. 
 Seed-time and harvest, summer-time and sleet, 
 Stricken and woful, at Thy kingly feet 
 
 We bow amidst our pain. 
 Help us to find her, where no falling leaf, 
 No parting bird, doth tell of death and grief, 
 
 Where Thou alone dost reign ! 
 
CELESTINE. 
 
 Cellie, little Cellie ! 
 
 Underneatli the skies 
 There is not a bluebell 
 
 Bluer than her eyes ; 
 N"ot a lakelet margined 
 
 By a daintier fringe 
 Than her long soft lashes 
 
 With their chestnut tinge. 
 
 Cellie, -little Cellie! 
 
 Through the golden air 
 l^ot a sunbeam dances 
 
 Sunnier than her hair ; 
 Curling o'er her forehead, 
 
 Or, in roguish grace. 
 Pulled by baby-iingers 
 
 All across her face. 
 
CELESTINE. 149 
 
 Cellie, little Cellie ! 
 
 Through the flowery South 
 !N^ot a rose is blowing 
 
 Eosier than her mouth ; 
 Pouting proud, the Princess ! 
 
 Laughing next, to show. 
 With her Grace's kindness, 
 
 Four teeth in a row. 
 
 Cellie, little Cellie ! 
 
 Through the meadows sweet 
 ISTot a lambkin gambols 
 
 Whiter than her feet ; 
 Dainty feet ! but palsied 
 
 By a baleful spell 
 Since that fiery sickness 
 
 Fiercely on her fell. 
 
 Cellie, little Cellie ! 
 
 How we watched and wept 
 While the fever-vulture 
 
 To her vitals crept ; 
 Day by day beseeching 
 
 That the risen King 
 
150 CELE8TINE. 
 
 Might vouclisaf e to spare us 
 So beloved a thing ! 
 
 Cellie ! — Holy Saviour, 
 
 Who from death's dark sea 
 Safely back hast brought her 
 
 With us yet to be ; 
 By her baby patience 
 
 Teach us lessons wise, 
 So Thou mayst receive us 
 
 With her to the skies. 
 
MY QUEEN. 
 J. E. K. 
 
 Tall is my queen ; 
 Lithe as the lily's graceful stem 
 And fair as her snow-white diadem, 
 
 My Josephine. 
 
 Rare is my queen ; 
 My lotos, in her beauty's dower 
 Rivalling the rare Yictoria flower, 
 
 My Josephine. 
 
 Bright is my queen ; 
 The first bright star in the violet skies 
 Borrows its light from her violet eyes — 
 
 My Josephine. 
 
 Gay is my queen ; 
 Birds that all day in the woods rejoice 
 Their gamut have caught from her warbling voice- 
 
 My Josephine. 
 
152 MY QUEEN. 
 
 Kind is my queen ; 
 Kind as the breeze at the noontide hour, 
 Kind as the dew to the fainting flower — 
 
 My Josephine. 
 
 True is my queen ; 
 Glad with the glad — Christ's word to keep — 
 And ready to weep with them that weep, 
 
 My Josephine. 
 
 O silvery sheen 
 Of sky ! O birds, O lilies white, 
 Bless with your breath, your song, your light. 
 
 My Josephine ! 
 
 And ye, I ween 
 Dearest of all the Angelic Nine ' 
 Seraphim, guard with your sleepless eyne 
 
 My Josephine ; 
 
 Till, pearl-serene. 
 She stand, heaven's light in her ransomed eyes, 
 At the jasper door of Paradise — 
 
 My Josephine ! 
 
 ^ " Les seraphins, 6 Dieu, les esprits d'amour, qui sont les plus sublimes 
 de tous les celestes escadrons, ceux que vous mettez le plus pres de vous." 
 
 BOSSUET. 
 
AN mVOCATION. 
 
 Beneath the tulip-tree, 
 
 O spirit I adore, 
 Come while the evening shadows hide 
 
 The clouds on yonder shore. 
 Above the waters dim, 
 
 'Night like a dark bird broods, 
 And, like a mourner, the low wind 
 
 Sobs in the lonely woods. 
 
 From human love, my soul 
 
 In silent son-ow turns ; 
 And while Arcturus through the trees 
 
 Like a red watch-fire burns. 
 With lifted face I cry 
 
 Beneath the tulip-tree, 
 O spirit of the beautiful, 
 
 Vouchsafe to dwell with me ! 
 
154 -^N INVOCATION. 
 
 Love's flowers are very sweet, 
 
 But blossom to decay ; 
 Love's singing birds are gay and bright, 
 
 Yet mocking-birds are tliey. 
 Twine with thy spirit-hands 
 
 "White amaranths for my head, 
 And sing thy deathless spirit-songs 
 
 Around my midnight bed. 
 
 Bend low thy blessed eyes ! 
 
 They have no human ray 
 To mock me with the treacherous light 
 
 That kindles to betray. 
 Oh, fold thy pinions white 
 
 Around my weary heart. 
 And say, though human love forsake, 
 
 Yet thou wilt ne'er depart. 
 
 Teach me the sacred lore 
 That whispers in the trees ; 
 
 That writes within the lily's cup 
 Its strange, deep mysteries ; 
 
 Lift to my thirsting lips 
 
 The cup of Thought divine ! 
 
AN INVOCATION. I55 
 
 Its pure cool draught is sweeter far 
 Than Love's red, flaming wine. 
 
 O rare and radiant guest, 
 
 O spirit I adore, 
 "While sombre evening shadows hide 
 
 The clouds on yonder shore, 
 With lifted face I cry 
 
 Beneath the tulip-tree. 
 Thou spirit of the beautiful, 
 
 Forever dwell with me ! 
 
DOES HE EEMEMBEE? 
 
 Does he remember ? 'Twas a golden summer, 
 Summer among the proud, pine-crested hills, 
 
 Where the gay south wind, idle, playful hummer, 
 Laughed, like a truant, with the garrulous rills. 
 
 Young vetches, clambering up the broad-leaved guelder. 
 Peeped roguish, like the blue eyes of a child. 
 
 And 'neath the white tent of the blooming elder, 
 Stood the wakerobin like an Arab wild. 
 
 Does he remember ? Nature, holy teacher ! 
 
 Told through each living thing her lofty lore ; 
 But one voice only answered the beseecher 
 
 That still had begged a benefaction more. 
 
 Kind words he spake — kind words, though never lov- 
 ing— 
 Which, o'er the billowy After, drear and blind. 
 
DOES HE REMEMBER? 15 7 
 
 Came softly back, like sea-gulls to the roving, 
 Telling of all the green land left behind. 
 
 On her young forehead, sorrow-sore and throbbing, 
 She wears the prickly Calvary-crown of fame ; 
 
 And praises follow all her steps, but sobbing 
 
 Through the blank night, she breathes one hoarded 
 name. 
 
 Thinking how gladly she would yield her title 
 To fame's ambrosial food and brilliant bays. 
 
 If she might feast her soul on one requital. 
 The simple therf -bread of his earnest praise. 
 
TWENTY-OI^E. 
 
 Beight summer sun, to-day 
 Mount with thy glancing spears, a cohort proud, 
 O'er cliff and peak, and chase each threatening cloud. 
 
 Each gathering mist, away. 
 
 Fair, fragrant summer flowers, 
 Lily and heliotrope and spicy fern. 
 Exhale your sweets from leaf and petalled urn 
 
 Throughout the golden hours. 
 
 Thou deep-voiced western wind, 
 The stately arches of the forest fill 
 Till oak and elm to thine andante thrill 
 
 As mind replies to mind. 
 
 Take up the song, and sing, 
 O summer birds, until the joyous strains 
 Ring through the hills, chant in the blooming plains. 
 
 Gurgle in brook and spring. 
 
TWENTY-ONE. 159 
 
 And thou, O river deep, 
 Send from the shore thy message calm and plain, 
 As, bearing ship and shallop to the main. 
 
 Thy mighty currents sweep. 
 
 Sing, while the golden gate 
 Swings open, and reveals the thronging hopes 
 Winged and crowned, that crowd the flowery slopes 
 
 Of manhood's first estate. 
 
 Yet soft and low ! The door 
 Is closing, as ye sing, on childhood's meads ; 
 The garrulous trump of youth's heroic deeds 
 
 Is hushed forevermore ; 
 
 And shining shapes that blaze 
 Like lodestars, with occasion wait, to lure 
 The dazzled soul o'er crag and fell and moor 
 
 From wisdom's peaceful ways. 
 
 Tell him, O sunshine bright. 
 How clouds of lust and mists of evil thought 
 By chastity's white beams are brought to nought 
 
 Throui^h virtue's silent mio-ht. 
 
160 TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Tell him, ye blossoms sweet, 
 How Charity divine her perfume rare 
 Exhales alike in pure or noxious air, 
 
 With holy love replete. 
 
 O brook and bird and spring, 
 Babble yonr simple sermon ; say. Behold 
 Contentment better far than gems or gold 
 
 Or crown of sceptred king. 
 
 Tell him, thou deep-voiced wind, 
 How a brave, earnest spirit may awake 
 Responsive thought till distant cycles take 
 
 Their orbits from his mind ; 
 
 And thou, O river wide. 
 Tell how a steady purpose gathers strength 
 From singleness of aim nntil at length 
 
 On its resistless tide 
 
 It bears both great and small 
 With equal, silent, comprehensive love 
 To that great sea whose calm no storm can moye, 
 
 God's grace o'erarching all. 
 
TWENTY-ONE. 161 
 
 So maj his spirit clear, 
 Untroubled by the scoff, the sneer, the sting 
 Of different creeds, find heaven a real thing, 
 
 And walk with seraphs here. 
 
 Thou great Triune ! Thy sign 
 Is on his forehead ; may he, manful, fight 
 Under Thy banner till upon his sight 
 
 Fair Paradise shall shine ; 
 
 Till, crown and palm-branch won, 
 He shall before Thee stand without a fear. 
 Wearing the bright and morning star, and hear 
 
 The Master say. Well done ! 
 
HIlsrES. 
 
 A STOEY OF NEW OELEANS. 
 
 He sat on the humble door-step ; 
 
 His hand, which held a cup, 
 Looked like a crazy jackknife 
 
 "With long blades half closed up. 
 His thin limbs, all distorted, 
 
 Were tangled in a gown. 
 And from his knotted shoulders 
 
 A pinafore hung down. 
 
 Light-hearted, laughing children 
 
 Were playing in the street. 
 And mock-birds in the live-oaks 
 
 Made music wild and sweet. 
 He tried to join their chorus, 
 
 But from his palsied tongue 
 Came only wordless discord. 
 
 As if by witches sung. 
 
HINES. 163 
 
 The boys played ball and hop-scotch ; 
 
 They flew the paper kite, 
 And hallooed as its white wings 
 
 Grew dark upon their sight. 
 All, all but poor Hines, shouted ; 
 
 Their fun was not for him, 
 For strange and ruthless fetters 
 
 Enchained him mind and Hmb. 
 
 Through all his childish summers 
 
 Beneath the cottage-eaves 
 Each morn his mother placed him, 
 
 "Where, shimmering through the leaves. 
 The sunshine like an angel 
 
 Came down and kissed his head. 
 And vestal orange-blossoms 
 
 Their incense round him shed. 
 
 He laughed to see the sunshine. 
 
 He nodded to the trees ; 
 But most of all, young children 
 
 His idiot heart could please. 
 His thin blood, as he watched them. 
 
 Would strangely flush his cheek, 
 
164 HINES. 
 
 And strangely would his sealed lips 
 Essay their joy to speak. 
 
 JSTow whining he pursued them, 
 
 "With sad and witless stare, 
 As down the green lane flying 
 
 Their laughter filled the air ; 
 When, suddenly, they halted — 
 
 " Poor Hines! " they said, and then 
 Back to the vine-clad cottage 
 
 They quickly came again. 
 
 One bade the boy good-morrow ; 
 
 Another smoothed his hair ; 
 Another filled with water 
 
 The cup he offered there ; 
 While one bright, blue-eyed urchin 
 
 Stepped through the open door 
 And brought him out a toy-whip 
 
 He could not reach before. 
 
 Then to their sports returning, 
 They frolicked glad and free. 
 
 And poor Hines cracked his toy-whip 
 And chattered in his glee ; 
 
HINE8. 165 
 
 "While through the bowery lattice 
 The morning sea-breeze snng, 
 
 And golden flecks of sunlight 
 Lay all the leaves among. 
 
 O sweet, unconscious teachers ! 
 
 Ye prove that all of heaven 
 From our strange, sinful natures 
 
 Has not been darkly riven ; 
 And that while little children 
 
 Are left below the skies, 
 We may be safely guided 
 
 To our lost Paradise. 
 
ELISHA KENT KANE. 
 
 A BALLAD FOE MY CHILDREN. 
 
 Little ones at my knee, 
 
 The New- Year chimes ring sweet, 
 Silver-clear on the frosty air 
 
 The blithe New- Year to greet. 
 But while the shouting world 
 
 Its vivat sends to heaven, 
 List as I tell you a stirring tale 
 
 Of buried Fifty-seven. 
 
 Once, when on glittering skates 
 
 Blithe Januarius came, 
 Fleet as a reindeer leaving far 
 
 His polar halls aflame. 
 Over the wintry hills. 
 
 Beside the frozen streams. 
 
ELISHA KENT KANE. 167 
 
 One story strange he told by day, 
 One tale by night in dreams. 
 
 Wherever an icicle hung, 
 
 Wherever the snow lay white, 
 Wherever the gleaming boreal fires 
 
 Lit up the winter night ; 
 On every icy rift, 
 
 On every frosted pane, 
 With the busy skill of a weird fakir 
 
 He wrote the name of Kane. 
 
 Kings on their jewelled thrones, 
 
 Grave councillors of state 
 Trying, in diplomatic scales, 
 
 The nations as by weight, 
 Each politic scheme forgot. 
 
 Listened, with eyes grown bright. 
 As Winter whistled the epic grand 
 
 Of that savage arctic fight. 
 
 He fought with sickness gaunt, 
 
 He grappled with hunger fierce ; 
 He stifled, with firm, courageous words, 
 
 Dark Mutiny's muttered curse ; 
 
168 ELISHA KENT KANE. 
 
 Seeking, 'midst crunching bergs 
 
 Where the white bear growled alone. 
 
 Some token for her whose grief had roused 
 The nations with its moan. 
 
 He fought with the drifting floes, 
 
 He fought with the hummocks wild. 
 Looking to God, 'midst the trackless snows, 
 
 With the heart of a little child ; 
 And bursting the silent gate 
 
 To the land of dark and dole, 
 A trophied conqueror he returned 
 
 With the secret of the pole. 
 
 A victor he came ; but the spears 
 
 Of the monster he defied 
 Had pierced to the core of his brave young heart, 
 
 And chilled its crimson tide ; 
 So, while the welcome home 
 
 Still rang from mount and lea. 
 He voyaged out to that Unknown Land 
 
 Where there is no more sea. 
 
 The Genoese, who first 
 
 Made strange, adventurous way 
 
ELISHA KENT KANE. 1G9 
 
 Over the seas, had golden dreams 
 
 Of beautiful, far Cathay ; 
 And, fired with the magical show 
 
 Of blossoming grove and plain. 
 With an eager heart and a flashing eye 
 
 Sailed over the pathless main. 
 
 But he, our martyr brave. 
 
 There lay before his eye 
 Only a sullen, desolate waste 
 
 Where bones of dead men lie : 
 Wastes where no sound is heard 
 
 But the crash of the di'ifting ice, 
 No language writ, save, quaint and grim, 
 
 The frost-work's wild device. 
 
 Victors from battle-fields 
 
 Have come with banners gay, 
 But none with a braver heart than he 
 
 Whose story I tell you to-day. 
 Little ones at my knee. 
 
 Remember its lesson plain, 
 And keep in your hearts, as a precious thing, 
 
 The memory of Kane. 
 
 8 
 
AMABAEE ME. 
 
 When the white snow left the mountains, 
 When the spring. unsealed the fountains, 
 When her eye the violet lifted 
 Where the autumn leaves had drifted 
 '^N^eath the budding maple-tree, 
 Amabare me. 
 
 Now the summer flowers are dying, 
 Kow the summer streams are drying ! 
 Yet I cry, though lone I linger 
 Where the autumn's wizard finger 
 Burns along the maple-tree, 
 Amabare me ! 
 
 As the wild-bird, faint and dying. 
 Follows summer faithless flying, 
 
AMABARE ME. ^71 
 
 So my heart, doubt's blank air beating 
 Broken-winged, is still repeating 
 While it follows, follows thee, 
 Amabare ine. 
 
 Soon will Winter, gaunt and haggard. 
 Shroud a new grave, sodless, beggared ; 
 Still, though not a flower be planted, 
 Not a requiem be chanted, 
 N^ot an eye with tears be laven. 
 On a gray stone will be graven 
 'JSTeath the leafless maple-tree, 
 Amabare me. 
 
DEEAMS. 
 
 Deeams of a summer land 
 Where rose and lotos open to the sun, 
 Where green savane and misty mountain stand 
 
 By lordly valour won. 
 
 Dreams of the earnest-browed 
 And eagle-eyed, who late, with banners bright, 
 Rode forth in knightly errantry, to do 
 
 Devoir for God and Right. 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder, see 
 The crowding columns file through pass and glen ! 
 Hear the shrill bugle ! list the turbalent drum 
 
 Mustering the gallant men ! 
 
 Resolute, year by year, 
 They keep at bay the cohorts of the world ; 
 Hemmed in, yet trusting to the Lord of Hosts 
 
 The Cross is still unfurled. 
 
DREAMS. 173 
 
 Patient, heroic, true — 
 Counting but tens where hundreds stood at first. 
 Dauntless for right, they dare the sabre's edge, 
 
 Tlie bomb-shell's deadly burst ; 
 
 While we, with hearts made brave 
 By their proud manhood, work and watch and pray 
 Till, conquering Fate, we'll greet with smiles and tears 
 
 The conquering ranks of gray ! 
 
 O God of dreams and sleep ! 
 Dreamless they sleep — 'tis we, the sleepless, dream ! 
 Defend us, while our vigil dark we keep. 
 
 Which knows no morning beam ! 
 
 Bloom, gentle spring-tide flowers, 
 Sing, gentle winds, above each holy grave, 
 While we, the women of a desolate land. 
 
 Weep for the true and brave ! 
 
BIRTHDAY-GIFTS. 
 
 FOR NOEA. 
 
 Peaels for my pearl ; 
 White as the snow of her gentle breast, 
 Pure as the thoughts in her heart at rest — 
 
 Pearls for my pearl. 
 
 Flowers for my flower ; 
 Lilies, fresh culled where the water flows ; 
 Poses, to crown my one sole rose — 
 
 Flowers for my flower. 
 
 Birds for my bird ; 
 To twitter and list, with eye askant, 
 Her rivalling voice in song or chant — 
 
 Birds for my bird. 
 
BIRTHDA Y- GIFTS. \ 75 
 
 God of the lone ! 
 Left in my life's fair morning-tide 
 "With but this child, I crouch beside 
 
 Thy mercy's throne ; 
 
 And folding close 
 Her curly head on my broken heart, 
 Checking my sobs lest I make her start 
 
 With my bitter woes, 
 
 To Thee I cry ! 
 
 Long is the way, and black and wide 
 
 Gathers the tempest. Be our Guide, 
 Thou Lord Most High- 
 Till from the swirl 
 
 Of earth, secure in heaven's repose. 
 
 Angels bring roses for my rose. 
 Pearls for my pearl ! 
 
COR UNUM, VIA U]^A 
 
 Sat tliis, beloved, of mej 
 When from my dead heart Southern roses spring 
 The whole year round where bee and mock-bird sing 
 
 Their low sweet jubilee — 
 
 Say this : Through life's strange day 
 Of joy and sorrow, studying to be true, 
 With bleeding feet stern duty to pursue. 
 
 She kept one hearty one way. 
 
ADKIAN. 
 
 Cheery as summer simsliine, 
 
 Pure as the fresh-fall'n snow. 
 Fair as the early morning, 
 
 Fleet as the forest roe ; 
 Bright as the wild red roses 
 
 Along the cliff's gray side, 
 Gay as the mountain streamlet, 
 
 Was the lovely boy that died. 
 
 Summer on shining summer 
 
 Lighting the pleasant skies, 
 Deepened the blue, calm beauty 
 
 Of his frank and earnest eyes ; 
 Spring after spring-time gathered 
 
 With buds and blossoms wild, 
 Fresh wreaths of thought and feeling 
 
 For the forehead of the child. 
 
178 ADRIAN. 
 
 Adrian — ^just as noble 
 
 In soul as name was he ; 
 Kegal in form and feature, 
 
 And brave as tnith can be ; 
 Leader among his fellows 
 
 At ball or hoop, or swing, 
 Tenderest with the weakest, 
 
 And generous as a king. 
 
 Mother who sittest lonely 
 
 Beside the vacant door, 
 Conning with tears in silence 
 
 Each garment that he wore, 
 With troops of sainted playmates 
 
 He breathes heaven's holy air, 
 Robed in the spotless raiment 
 
 That Christ's dear children wear. 
 
 Father who listenest vainly 
 For light and bounding feet 
 
 Gladdest in prompt obedience 
 Thy simplest wish to meet. 
 
 With lifted face he waiteth 
 On Christ the Master now, 
 
ADRIAN. 179 
 
 Learning the lore of angels 
 With earnest seraph-brow. 
 
 Warders along the ramparts 
 
 That guard the flowery shore 
 Where wander all the little feet 
 
 Earth's darkened homes deplore, 
 Blow with your silver trumpets 
 
 And tell, in tonies elate. 
 Another good and noble child 
 
 Has passed the Heavenly Gate. 
 
 Thou who wast born of Mary, 
 
 Child at a mother's knee, 
 Thou who didst not forget her 
 
 On dreadful Calvary, 
 Bind up the broken-hearted. 
 
 Their Perfect Comfort be. 
 And gently lead them to the lost. 
 
 Beyond Death's icy sea. 
 
THE SAmTED. 
 
 She has heard the solemn summons, 
 
 She has listened to the swell 
 Of the lofty anthems ringing 
 
 Where the white-robed spirits dwell ; 
 And with sweet and willing courage 
 
 She has girded her, and gone 
 Through the mystery and shadow 
 
 Of the silent vale, alone. 
 
 Cordial greetings met her presence 
 
 At the proudest mansion-door ; 
 Blessings followed her light foot-fall 
 
 From the humblest cottage-iloor ; 
 She was busy as the sunshine. 
 
 She was gracious as the rain, 
 But the Master called her heavenward. 
 
 And she might no more remain. 
 
THE SAINTED. Igl 
 
 We shall miss her when a stranger 
 
 Strikes the organ's stately keys ; 
 When we bow, in deep adoring, 
 
 At The Supper's mysteries ; 
 But our grieved hearts will remember 
 
 That with seraphs now she sings. 
 And that Christ has led her footsteps 
 
 To imperishable springs. 
 
 Holy Father ! who dost send us 
 
 Angels sometimes from on high, 
 By their gentle lives to teach us 
 
 How to live and how to die, 
 Give us grace her bright example 
 
 So to follow, that at last 
 We may dwell with her forever 
 
 When this life is overpast. 
 
CHEISTIAN HYMIsTS. 
 
ADVENT. 
 
 Clear as the silver call 
 Of Israel's trumpets on her holy days, 
 Beckoning her children from all walks and ways, 
 
 The Church's accents fall. 
 
 With sweet and solemn sound. 
 Where winter's ice imprisons lake and stream, 
 Where tropic woods with fadeless summer gleam, 
 
 They make their joyful round ; 
 
 Joyful, and yet how grave ! 
 Bidding us kneel with faces to the east. 
 And watch for Him, our Sacrifice and Priest, 
 
 Who Cometh strong to save. 
 
 As at a mother's feet 
 The children of one household sit to learn 
 Some sweet domestic lesson, each in turn 
 
 His portion to repeat ; 
 
186 ADVENT. 
 
 So, at this holy tide, 
 Calling us round her for exalted talk, 
 From each loved haunt, from each familiar walk 
 
 She bids us turn aside^ 
 
 And list, while she relates 
 The blessed story, old yet ever new. 
 Of Him, the Sun of Righteousness, the true, 
 
 Whose dawn she celebrates. 
 
 IS^ow the rapt prophets sing 
 Their anthems in each bowed and listening ear ; 
 ITow the bold Baptist's clarion-voice we hear 
 
 Down the glad centuries ring ; 
 
 Till, fired with joy, as they 
 Who spread their garments 'neath His precious feet, 
 With rapture we go forth our Lord to meet. 
 
 Our glad hosannas pay. 
 
 Yet list ! Another note 
 Blends with the holy song our Mother sings, 
 And high above the harp's exultant strings. 
 
 Clear, trumpet-like, doth float : 
 
ADVENT. 187 
 
 He comes to judge tlie world ; 
 To garner up His wheat, to purge His floor, 
 While into flames of Are forevermore 
 
 The worthless chafl is hurled. 
 
 Lord, we would put aside 
 The gauds and baubles of this mortal life, 
 Weak self-conceit, the foolish tools of strife, 
 
 The tawdry garb of pride ; 
 
 And pray, in Christ's dear name. 
 Thy grace to deck us in the robes of light, 
 That at His coming we may stand aright, 
 
 And fear no sudden shame. 
 
A CHKISTMAS CAEOL. 
 
 FOE BABY. 
 
 EiNG, ring, cheerily ring, 
 Churcli-bells, loud and long ; 
 Eing as the happy children sing 
 The holy Christmas-song. 
 
 Church-bells ring, 
 
 Children sing. 
 Cheerily, merrily, ring and sing, 
 Hail, All-Hail, to Christ the King ! 
 
 Sing, sing, merrily sing. 
 Little ones, one and all. 
 Sing to-day, of a Sinless King 
 Born in a stable-stall. 
 
 Church-bells ring, 
 
 Children sing. 
 Cheerily, merrily, ring and sing, 
 Hail, All-Hail, to Christ the King! 
 
CHEISTUS KESUKEEXIT. 
 
 AN EASTER CAROL. 
 
 BiED and beast and creeping thing, 
 
 Trees and flowers and fountains, 
 Tell the plains of Christ the King, 
 
 Thunder back, ye mountains ! 
 This is Nature's jubilee. 
 
 Let no discord vex it ; 
 Sing, O winds and waters free, 
 
 Christus resurrexit ! 
 Hesurrexit non est hie, 
 
 Christus resurrexit ! 
 
 Wrestling in the wilderness. 
 On the mountains praying, 
 
 Now He walks the wave to bless, 
 Terror's tempest staying. 
 
190 CHBI8TUS RE8URREXIT. 
 
 Soul, this is thy day of light, 
 Let no doubt perplex it ; 
 
 Lift thine eyes with rapture bright, 
 Ghristus resurrexit I 
 
 Past, the garden's bloody sweat ; 
 
 Past, the bitter trial ; 
 Jewish scoff and Gentile threat, 
 
 Peter's dark denial ; 
 Calvary's cross and spear are done. 
 
 Death and hell perplexed ; 
 Angels rolled away the stone, 
 
 Ghristus resurrexit ! 
 
 Magdalen the tale hath proved, 
 
 Magdalen, the winner ; 
 Seven ways sinning, sevenfold loved 
 
 Coming as a sinner. 
 Hear her voice Rabboni say — 
 
 N^ow no sorrow checks it ; 
 Sinner, sing with her to-day, 
 
 Ghristus resurrexit ! 
 Resurrexit non est hie, 
 
 Ghristus resurrexit ! 
 
THE TOUCIimG OF JESUS. 
 
 Travel-worn, among tlie brambles 
 
 Grope I, sick and lone, 
 Yainlj searching for tbe pathway 
 
 All with thorns o'ergrown. 
 Holy angels ! to the Healer 
 
 Guide my trembling soul ! 
 If I may hut touch His garment, 
 
 I shall he whole. 
 
 Pleasure's red and purple blossoms 
 
 "Wooed my foolish feet ; 
 Busily the buds I gathered 
 
 Filled with nectar sweet. 
 Far and farther on I wandered, 
 
 Drinking deadly wine 
 From each deep and gaudy flower-cup 
 
 As a draught divine. 
 
192 THE TOUCHING OF JESUS. 
 
 Then — tlie noonday snn o'ertook me 
 
 In a desert dread, 
 Where, 'midst faded wreaths of purple. 
 
 Lay the unshriven dead ; 
 Wild Eemorse the only watcher 
 
 By their graveless bed — 
 Stricken Eachel, still refusing 
 
 To be comforted. 
 
 I have fled away affrighted, 
 
 But each leprous vein 
 Carries up the hated venom 
 
 To my reeling brain. 
 Still I see, though dim and distant, 
 
 Christ the Nazarene ; 
 Holy angels ! lead me to Him ! 
 
 He can make me clean. 
 
 Through the clouds that throng about Him, 
 
 Lowliest of all 
 Come I, with my spotted raiment 
 
 At His feet to fall. 
 Holy angels, nearer, nearer 
 
 Guide my starving soul ! 
 
THE TOUCHING OF JESUS. 193 
 
 If I may hut touch His garment^ 
 I shall he whole. 
 
 Master, from the bitter apples 
 
 Gilding pleasure's tree, 
 I am come, repentant, begging 
 
 Bread and wine of Thee. 
 In the dnst I crouch before Thee, 
 
 Waiting my release — 
 Waiting till Thy tender mercy 
 
 Bid me Go. in peace. 
 9 
 
MISEKEEE MEI. 
 
 Here by the sounding sea, 
 
 My knee, O God, I bend ; 
 And while the chanting waves to Thee 
 
 Their solemn worship send. 
 In humble penitence I pray 
 That I be heard as well as they. 
 
 They, that Thy holy hand 
 Placed in the ocean palaces to dwell, 
 Dare never to transcend Thy right decree. 
 But ever do Thine awful bidding well ; 
 Thundering amidst Thy storms, or, still and dumb, 
 Heeding the mandate, Hither shall ye come. 
 
 And the glad voice they send 
 Up to Thy throne beyond the vaulted skies. 
 Passes unchallenged through the jasper gates 
 To blend with heaven's triumphant harmonies, 
 
MISERERE MEL 195 
 
 And certify that Nature's awful mirth 
 Proves Thou hast still a witness on the earth. 
 
 But I — I who have strayed 
 
 Far from the peaceful paths that lead to Thee, 
 Gathering the Sodom-fruit of earthly joy, 
 
 Forgetful that it grew by Sin's Dead Sea, 
 How will mine accents, trembling, low and grieved, 
 'Midst Nature's joyful anthems be received ? 
 
 I, whom Thy holy hand 
 
 Fashioned in Thine own image, and endowed 
 With Thine immortal spirit, unto gods 
 
 My feebleness erected, low have bowed ; 
 Laying on earthly altars fruits and flowers 
 Thou hadst demanded for Thy heavenly bowers. 
 
 O Father, all are gone . 
 
 Low in the dust my cherished idols lie ; 
 Lily and asphodel I should have kept 
 
 For Thee, amidst the bright wrecks droop and die. 
 Send rain and sunshine ! Bid my blossoms spring, 
 Peace-offerings which to Thee I yet may bring ! 
 
196 MISERERE MEL 
 
 Teach me to heed each tone 
 
 Spoken by bird, and flower, and wind, and sea ; 
 Teach my torn heart each wish and hope and joy 
 
 That stirs its depths, to consecrate to Thee ; 
 So, when the sea and earth give up their dead, 
 Thy blessing, Lord, may rest upon my head. 
 
YIA CEUCIS VIA LUCIS. 
 
 Dakk Calv^ary's Cross ! Thy holy, mystic sign, 
 Traced with the sacred wave, our foreheads wear. 
 
 In solemn token that, by grace divine 
 
 With faithful courage we thy load must bear. 
 
 Dark Calvary's Crown ! Thy thorns are sharp indeed, 
 And weary temples throb beneath thy weight ; 
 
 Yet we have vowed, albeit we faint and bleed. 
 To hold thee better than our best estate. 
 
 Bright Calvary's Cross ! Though abject be thy shame, 
 
 Thy slender tree to Faith's uplifted eye 
 Transfigured stands, like Jacob's stair, aflame 
 
 With shining shapes that lead us to the sky. 
 
 Bright Calvary's Crown, thou queen of diadems ! 
 
 Thy thorns are golden rays that blaze afar ; 
 And lo ! where blood-gouts were thine only gems. 
 
 Shines, in their stead, the bright and morning star. 
 
198 VIA CRUCIS VIA LUCIS. 
 
 Fair Catholic Church, on land and sea unfold 
 
 Thy standard blazoned with the Cross and Crown, 
 
 While we, the children of thy fostering fold, 
 Exultant sing a Saviour's high renown. 
 
 Thou gentlest Jesu, Crucified and Crowned, 
 
 Keep us, when pleasures smile, when sorrows frown ; 
 
 So, bearing Calvary's cross, we may be found 
 Worthy at last to wear bright Calvary's crown ! 
 
MEMOEIA m ^TEENA. 
 
 Unto thy golden sands, 
 Bright tropic country of my love, once more 
 I come with exiled feet — how travel-sore ! — 
 
 From cold and distant lands. 
 
 Brightly the sun still shines ; 
 'Midst living green, white blow the magnol-flowers ; 
 The mocking-bird, throughout the circling hours, 
 
 Sings in the clustering vines ; 
 
 Fair as Damascus gleam 
 The city gardens in their opulence 
 Of rose and myrtle, flooding sight and sense ; 
 
 And hill and glen and stream 
 
 Glint in meridian light. 
 Or smile beneath the full and silvery moon. 
 As if no black eclipse could blot the noon, 
 
 No tempest blight the night. 
 
200 MEMORIA IN STERNA. 
 
 O gentlest friend ! We sit 
 Beneath these drooping ehns ; the wind blows sweet 
 Among our Psestmn roses ; bright and fleet 
 
 The finches sing and flit ; 
 
 Yet wearily we turn 
 From their soft wooings to these hallowed grounds 
 Along whose silent, consecrated mounds 
 
 The flres of sunset burn. 
 
 What shall I say to thee 
 Of him, the patriot just ? how, stammering, tell 
 The virtues of that heart now resting well 
 
 Beneath the myrtle-tree ? 
 
 From blue Atlantic's bound 
 To the deep Bravo's mango-bordered shore, 
 His trumpet 'midst the battle's shifting roar 
 
 Gave no uncertain sound ; 
 
 But, firm and true and clear. 
 Cautioned the rash, inspirited the weak. 
 Rebuked the venal, nor forgot to speak 
 
 Eare, noble words of cheer 
 
MEMORIA IN STERNA. 201 
 
 To brave men fainting white 
 In hospital wards, to children in their tears, 
 To women strong in faith and strange to fears. 
 
 Toiling by day and night ; 
 
 And when disaster dire 
 Furled the red cross whose light had dazed the world, 
 His voice was first to blunt the arrows hurled 
 
 By a flushed conqueror's ire. 
 
 And these — what shall I say 
 Of these, in battle-order side by side 
 Drawn up, to wait that time which shall decide 
 
 Where Right and Honour lay 1 
 
 Dark day of overthrow, 
 
 Vulnus immedicahile ! for thee. 
 
 If in the future's Gilead there be 
 
 A balsam yet to grow. 
 
 Its healing shoot will spring 
 From holy lives laid down for freedom's sake. 
 From bold emprise whose clashing song shall make 
 
 The echoing ages ring ; 
 
202 MEMORIA IN JETERNA. 
 
 Its blessing will distil 
 From haunts made classic by heroic deeds, 
 From Shiloh's plain, from Chickamauga's reeds, 
 
 From Malvern's bloody hill. 
 
 How proud these memories vast ! 
 Giving us each a dignity and strength 
 !N"ot born of earth. They make us one, at length. 
 
 With the dim, fabulous past. 
 
 Gathered from each red plain. 
 Brave, silent phalanx ! kneeling by your graves 
 I hear the rush of those eternal waves 
 
 Whose hymn has one refrain. 
 
 Ay — vanquished though we be — 
 O heart ! beat rhythmic with my sorrow ! — ye 
 Are of the Heraclidse — mount and sea 
 
 Attest your high degree. 
 
 Another classic age 
 Dawns from Potomac to the Mexique strand ; 
 With Hector and Leonidas ye stand 
 
 On history's blazoned page ; 
 
MEMORIA IN STERNA. gQS 
 
 And from the sulphurous rim 
 Of black defeat, je join the deathless shapes 
 Whose giant forms, like cloud-girt mountain-capes, 
 
 Loom through the centuries dim. 
 
 Let bloated, vain Success 
 Be worshipped by the millions of To-day ; 
 Righteous Defeat, uncrowned, hath silent sway 
 
 To-morrow will confess. 
 
 Strike deep, though silently, 
 O Southern oaks, your roots in Southern ground, 
 And lift, O palm and laurel, victor-crowned. 
 
 Your branches to the sky ; 
 
 The rivers heaving floods. 
 The mountain-tops, the steadfast stars shall say 
 Unto the cycling ages. In that day, 
 
 Lo ! there were demi-gods ! 
 
AT PARTING. 
 
 Faeewell — shall it be farewell ? 
 Farewell, said lightly when the careless part; 
 Farewell, said coldly by the estranged in heart, 
 
 And serving but to tell 
 The empty dearth of cold Convention's shell — 
 
 Nay, not farewell. 
 
 Good-bye — shall it be good-bye ? 
 Good-bye, low whispered amidst blinding tears ; 
 Good-bye, presaging sad, long-parted years. 
 
 Telling, with sob and sigh. 
 Of change or thwarted plan or broken tie — 
 
 Nay, not good-bye ! 
 
 Good-night — shall it be good-night ? 
 Good-night, which means to-morrow we may meet ; 
 Good-night ! I fain my foolish heart must cheat, 
 
 Though morning's golden light 
 
AT PARTING. 
 
 205 
 
 Shine on a lone ship leagues beyond thy sight, 
 Yet still good-night. 
 
 Yea, best beloved, good-night ! 
 Good I^ight, best JSTight, with all thy fairest dreams, 
 Good Night, best E'ight, with all thy starriest beams, 
 
 Watch by her pillow- white. 
 And tell her all my love, thou gentlest Night ! 
 
 Good-night, good-night ! 
 
 THE END. 
 

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