* /^V.>.v ^.. .^ .*^fe.'. V^/ ^.^f^»„ ^^^^^^ , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 <>-'-T77^\c;^ \.*'-''\<^ %'*>5^i^\o*^ '%, 
 
 

 
 £i^^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 -^ 
 
 ■.» .^^"-. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^o. 'o»'*'* A 
 
 
 
 ^^/♦.T 
 
 
 
 V-^^ 
 
 '^P<^• 
 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 in 2011 witin funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/felicearcadianidOObarn 
 
Press ok 
 
 The Maryland Reporter 
 
 Hyattsville, Md. 
 

 FELICE 
 
 A_ii Arcadian Idyll 
 
 ALLECORICAI.) 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPTAIN ALMONT BARNES 
 
 BRENTANO'S, VVASHIN^GTON, D. 
 
 Sales Agents. 
 
 [Copyright Applied for] 
 1911 
 

 
r 
 
 
 ^ ^irttzi^int ^ersttnac 
 
 The Idyllic Womax, from a pen drawing by the author. 
 
 m 
 
 ^ORE gracious than the morning, full ot light 
 
 And dew, and twitter of awakening birds; 
 iMore tender than the evening, when the bright 
 Lights shine in homes which outer darkness gird 
 Until the answering lamps in heaven are set; 
 JMore winsome than the low-voiced rivulet 
 Mid stones that, kissed, release it from its stay 
 Reluctant, full of chiding and soft fret; 
 Yea, dearer is she to our lives alway, 
 Whether we dream by night or strive by day. 
 If we remember, or if we forget; 
 For loving kindness of her deeds and words 
 Feeds our souls strength— is tetter to us far 
 Than best things else indrawn from all things are. 
 
 Tiie Idyllic Man, from a pen drawing by Frederick Tennyson. 1 
 
 J 
 
 BIjEST is the man who with the sound of song 
 Can charm away the heartache, and forget 
 The frost of penury and the stings of wrong. 
 And drown the latal whisper of regret! ' 
 
 Darker are the abodes i 
 
 Of kings, tho' his be poor i 
 
While fancies, like ttie gods, i 
 
 Pass thro' liis door. \ 
 
 So the victorious poet sings alone, I 
 
 And fills with light his soiitarj- home, ] 
 
 And thro' that glory sees new worlds foreshown, 
 And hears high songs, and triumphs yet to come; 
 He woos the air of time 
 
 With thrills of golden chords, 
 And makes the world to climb 
 On linked words j 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 SCENE.— Around the National Capital, and excursive. i 
 
 Time. — B-rom the Palaeolythic Age to the Neosocialistic. 
 
IN pictures old a golden glory glows, 
 And never fades nor faints, 
 In aureoles around the heads of those, 
 The saints. 
 
 Some inspiration makes their faces bright 
 
 With beauty of the skies, 
 And in their hearts the fires are set that light 
 
 Their eyes. 
 
 Enthusiasts of love no less whate'er 
 
 Its object-image is, 
 TJiey seem to walk with steady feet through 
 fear 
 
 To bliss. 
 
 Love luminates their faces. O fair one, 
 So hath he litten thine! 
 
If pictured saints have beauty, who are gone, 
 To shine, 
 
 And make men say: ''Behold how very fair! 
 
 How wondrously serene!" 
 Then should a richer splendor ring thy hair^ 
 
 My Queen; 
 For all the grace and beauty, dead in them, 
 
 In thee do live and move; 
 And I kneBllowand kiss thy garments' Tiem, 
 
 And lovel 
 
IF 
 
 €nntxt tht: IFirst, 
 
 OR days o'er leagues of valley land 
 The wide winds blew, in April bland, 
 And into annual verdure fanned 
 The woods, Felice. 
 
 They blew towards the mountain snow 
 Up quiet valleys, broad and low, 
 With breath of springtimes long ago 
 To me, Felice, 
 
 Until I seemed a farmer lad 
 Again, with dreamy joyance glad, 
 Or lilting heart, that seldom had 
 Heartache, Felice. 
 
Beneath the great old apple trees, 
 Wooed by the sunshine and the breeze, 
 'Neath skies with white sailed argosies 
 Of cloud, Felice. 
 
 I drew long breaths of balmy air 
 Deep in my breast, and everywhere 
 Looked and beheld, of all things fair, 
 Your most, Felice. 
 
 Was it the Spring, with liquid tongue 
 Of minstrel brooks, to music strung, 
 Or was it thought that made me young. 
 Of you, Felice? 
 
 What was it? — for until you came, 
 And with you Spring, all years the same 
 Had seemed to me. I could not name 
 A year, Felice, 
 
That bore the rubric sign till then. 
 All had been as they might have been 
 Had I been alien among men 
 Till then, Felice. 
 
 Love seemed unreal, or afar — 
 Light speculative from a star 
 Unknown, with power me to mar 
 Nor make, Felice. 
 
 Yet some strange yearning made unrest 
 For me forever. Tin caressed 
 Was one with grace to make me blest, 
 Somewhere, Felice; 
 
 To break through my life's monotone 
 With concords finer than are blown 
 Through silver bugles, when a throne 
 Is filled, Felice, 
 
First by some happy maiden queen, 
 Meanwhile a nation's joy has been 
 Interpreted in music keen 
 And sweet, Felice. 
 
cf or mnJL VASLASi Ima.o£M, ovu A\fi, cu/v a j^xuyuivueL-, 
 
 SocWcW 
 
 cyuc 
 
 CywMwvofc ftA/cc b€*<yv\^i 
 
 3W Aa ko\AJw iA;&t»^, (^18. C^WOiJUAi fto-vwO^jA inX^^Ul/vxfe, 
 
^xxst Init^xlnitt. 
 
 THERE'S a robin singing in the old 
 elm, yonder — 
 Don't 3^ou hear his song? — 
 Where the brook goes glancing gaily under, 
 
 With a gypsy, tell-tale tongue; 
 The brook, that prattles and gleams and 
 gushes 
 Along, for a little time, 
 And then with a flash down the mill-race 
 rushes, 
 Roaring a watery chime. 
 
lO 
 
 There's a robin sinking in the old elm, 
 yonder — 
 Hark to what he says! 
 There'll a change come soon, and I shouldn't 
 wonder 
 If Violets bloomed, now-a-days. 
 For the lambs lie out on the sunny hillside, 
 
 Like spots of latest snow; 
 And the village girls, how they laugh by the 
 rillside, 
 Where the golden Adders'-tongues blow! 
 
 There's a robin singing in the old elm, 
 yonder — 
 Singing a double tune. 
 Do you see his mate, by the brook-bank, 
 under? 
 Their nest will be full in June! 
 
II 
 
 What romance, or memory of romances, 
 Flits by with each eager wing — 
 
 And there's more in the robin's song, one 
 fancies. 
 More than we hear him sing. 
 
12 
 
 
 THE bland winds warm and wider blew 
 Up the long valleys. Through and 
 through 
 The woods awoke. The earth anew 
 With life, Felice, 
 
 Was glorified. My pulses stirred 
 In concord with the things unheard, 
 That make the music without word 
 Or sound, Felice, 
 
 But find in bud and bloom a voice 
 Interpreting their meanings choice, 
 Whereat all things that live rejoice 
 To live, Felice. 
 
I pruned my orchard, over riffe. 
 With leaf and bloom. The busy knife 
 Directed into fruitier life 
 Its growth, Felice; 
 
 And spray by spray, decked vernal green, 
 Fell and was gathered, while the sheen 
 Of new bloom shone the leaves between, 
 Fair flowered, Felice. 
 
 And while I toiled you lingered there, 
 Straw hatted, with wind tangled hair, 
 Long, loose and brown, but golden where 
 Sun touched, Felice; 
 
 With eyes like glints of summer skies 
 That roofed the home in Paradise, 
 What time its inmates first grew wise 
 To sin, Felice — 
 
14 
 
 Nay, like the unfathomable sheen 
 Of lakes at noon, limpid, serene. 
 Blue most, with amber tints now seen, 
 Now lost, Felice; 
 
 With ripe lips neither full nor thin. 
 Smile parting over gleams within. 
 Above a full, round, perfect chin 
 And throat, Felice, 
 
 Turned without fault to meet your breast. 
 That, like a meaning half expressed, 
 Made lovable your tapering vest, 
 Lace edged, Felice; 
 
 And by your simple, exquisite 
 Light summer robe a glimpse of feet. 
 Curves of your form — you, you complete, 
 Revealed, Felice, 
 
15 
 
 Yet hidden were. And lo, 3'our words 
 To me were like the notes of birds 
 Half frig"htened, and then afterwards 
 Full sonp^ed, Felice: 
 
i6 
 
 ethou, touched with the shadow of the 
 sorrow 
 Of years less fair than 3'ears of thine 
 should be, 
 Believe that life hath 3^et a fair to-morrow 
 Of happiness for thee 
 
 He spreads, and not in vain, thy way before 
 thee 
 
 Who giveth others in thy being bliss; 
 That so a human pity bendeth o'er thee, 
 
 Some one doth greet or miss. 
 
 And all around thee, life in life rejoices 
 And triumphs over memories of deca3^• 
 
 Till earth and air are full of bloom and 
 voices 
 To win thee on thy wav. 
 
17 
 
 For thee there lingers on the air a fragrance. 
 To thee the -gracious summer eves belong, 
 
 Thee the brown brooks, those careless min- 
 strel vagrants, 
 Allure with dance and song. 
 
 For thee the lilies bloom ; for thee light 
 lingers 
 
 On shores and dreamy vistas of the sea; 
 Till'sunset, with soft, delicate, bright fingers. 
 
 Makes many a crown for thee. 
 
 And far Infinitude is not too lonelv 
 To echo ''Cheerie!" to a bluebird's call; 
 
 Its care that is for thee, and not thee only, 
 Notes if a sparrow fall. 
 
 So, sweet with love, is even the songbird's 
 sorrow 
 Of song, in sunshine through the tears of 
 rain, 
 If life repays to love what it can borrow, 
 Song to make glad again. 
 
i8 
 
 You sunp: the solo for the choir 
 Of birds whose notes did not aspire 
 In orchard theatre sweet-higher 
 Than yours, Felice; 
 
 Sung to me as 3^ou named that song, 
 The tones that rosaried along 
 Another soul of melody, not long 
 For earth, Felice; 
 
 Sang to the rhythm I wrote one da}^ 
 For cet homme magnifique, ce devoiie, 
 Colliere, Corradi, grand Louis 
 De Paris, Felice. 
 
 The envious birds had ceased anew 
 The trill which bloom was waving through, 
 You raised you eyelids wet with dew 
 Of thought, Felice, 
 
19 
 
 Of the dear friends of happy days 
 And of the time that seldom stays 
 Among the pleasant roundelays 
 Of song, Felice; 
 
 Then saw a robin, on the wing 
 Busy with her new mothering; 
 Which caused your thought heartward to 
 bring 
 To her, P'elice, 
 
 Who held a new babe to her breast: 
 And her with a new song caressed 
 Into its heaven of earthly rest, 
 Like this, Felice: 
 
s 
 
 20 
 
 LEEP, my baby, sleep! 
 Close thy wondering eyes 
 That question me so deep 
 Of life's new mysteries. 
 Close thy tired eyelids free from every care; 
 Thy trust to me is holier than my pray'r. 
 
 Dream, my baby, dream, 
 
 Thy smiles thy dreams reveal 
 Till mother still doth seem 
 
 Through thee, her own to feel. 
 Dream while thou mayest, innocent and pure. 
 Life yieldeth more than dreams may well in- 
 
 Come, my baby, come, 
 
 Out of the dark of sleep! 
 My bosom is thy home; 
 
 Smile, though thy mother weep, 
 Weep for the joy she draws from thy dear 
 
 eyes, 
 O darling of my world and pledge of Par- 
 adise! 
 
21 
 
 Song lipped to little, mother croon 
 *'Rock-a-bye-Baby"-ed to the tune 
 Of tree-top swinging, neath the moon 
 Twilit, Felice! 
 
 So come to every mother's lips 
 And soul the soothings that eclipse 
 Time, ere from human nature drips 
 Its soul, Felice. 
 
 You ceased your sympathetic strain, 
 Which waiting birds made bright again, 
 As sunshine trickles through the rain 
 Of May, Felice; 
 
 Or oriels, of the templed sky. 
 Through waving rumorous canopy 
 Of leaves and bloom, stained splendidly 
 For praise, Felice, 
 
\Hautfl^»n'augl% books! 
 
 tow K.th'^**.r£rr^^f 
 
22 
 
 Or for epithalamia 
 Of souls upon the marriage day, 
 Wined in Judaea's old Cana 
 By Him, Felice! 
 
 You sung again, the strain of birds, 
 Full-songed in heaven afterwards 
 No doubt, song blooming into words 
 Of joy, Felice. 
 
 Joy made 3'^ou by your wonder strain 
 A "Rossignol Americaine," 
 O "Ruisignor" of sunny Spain 
 Men call Felice, 
 
 And truer, "Mockingbird," at home. 
 That sings, as Romans must in Rome, 
 Varying to listeners who may come 
 From far, Felice. 
 
23 
 
 Such strains you sung to tropic Isles 
 Beneath that Southern Cross, that smiles 
 Upon the singer who beguiles 
 Sailed seas, Felice: 
 
 But your new joy was of all souls 
 Of Happy Birds, that, scan the scrolls 
 Colliere, impassioned in his rolls 
 Of song, Felice; 
 
 Sung as heard in Marini's Hall 
 In Eta street, at festival 
 Capitaline; and, to recall, 
 
 Encored, Felice, • 
 
 While trill waltzed to the undertone, 
 The gayest joy, the sweetest moan 
 That wedded song had ever known, 
 Was that, Felice. 
 
24 
 
 But your joy, here predominant, 
 Made sadness seem the mendicant 
 Of song, with a permission scant 
 To breathe, Felice. 
 
 Ah, Saint Cecilia! How you sung! 
 As far and soft the echoes clung 
 To shaking blossoms, till I rung 
 Hand-thanks, Felice — 
 
2.5 
 
 4.fJt|j|jg Wtvb'3: 
 
 or* little bird on a tree 
 A\f Is singing', over the way: 
 If he could sing to 3'ou for me, 
 What would the little bird say? 
 
 Anything sweet you ple?t.se 
 
 The birds in ever\' wood 
 Should sing to you, from all the trees- 
 
 There's nothing for ycu too good. 
 
 But, if there were notes 
 
 It saddened you to hear, 
 I could shut the mellov/ throats 
 
 Of the little birds, mv dear. 
 
 Ah, if we are glad, 
 
 Acadian at your feet, 
 Don't think the birds and I are mad- 
 
 We are happy for you, my sv/cetl 
 
26 
 
 The twit and twine of mating' time 
 Saw May to Summer clinging climb 
 Through bloom and fruit, with life to rhyme 
 To life, Felice; 
 
 And into June flower-blushing Mav 
 Sent queenly, rich Magnolia, 
 Swan song of life that fades away — 
 Like thine, Felice? 
 
 *'Be JOYOUS, for what doth remain, 
 Without, we only grieve in vain; 
 I^ife's joys are upon heaven i^regain,'"' 
 You sung, Felice, 
 
^'itmmer — tkij iHagmtlin 
 
 THE Summer bridelike comes, with trail- 
 inp^ bloom. 
 Her soft warm breath, love rich with thy per- 
 fume, 
 Makes tropic-scented languor in m\^ room. 
 
 Magnolia. 
 
 Remembrance of thee hath been with me 
 
 still 
 In brown of Autuinni and the winter chill. 
 Until, Spring passing. June days with thee 
 
 fill, 
 
 Mag-nolia. 
 
 Slow grew the glossy green into thy dress, 
 That curtains half way from watchfulness 
 Thy swelling whiteness, which but winds 
 caress, 
 
 Magnolia. 
 
28 
 
 Loth to unfold th}' rich excess of Rrace, 
 Luxurious queenliness came to thy face 
 As though it had in flowers no other place, 
 
 MagnoH?!.. 
 
 Thine odor, clinging like love's clinging kiss, 
 Voiceless proclaims thy apotheosis. 
 Thy glorious bloom sufficient language is, 
 
 Magnolia. 
 
 Thee, watching, golden hearted as the day 
 I see thee slowh" come, to briefly sta.y, 
 And feel perfection leaves few words to say, 
 
 Magnolia. 
 
 I mind me of a Maiden, beauty whole 
 
 For that brief time her summer o'er her 
 
 stole — 
 But our poor bloom is fretted v/ith a soul, 
 
 Magnolia. 
 
2Q 
 
 Well if, her mission o'er, no more she be, 
 But shed her creamy lilies montbed with 
 
 thee. 
 And leaves while i^oue a sweet white mem- 
 ory? 
 
 Mao'noHa. 
 
 The roses with their thorns, when thou art 
 
 dead, 
 Will meet the later days with bloom unshed; 
 But none shall be like thee remembered, 
 
 Magnolia, 
 
 A sylvan nymph, upon 3'our throne 
 Pan given, conscious though of none 
 Of your own loveliness, alone, 
 And sway, Felice, 
 
 You sat where three great limbs spread wide 
 From one gnarled tree bole, not aside 
 Reclining, your blue scarf untied 
 And spread, Police, 
 
Upon your lap, and full of bloom 
 Of apple blossoms; with perfume 
 Around 3^ou, and all li^'ht to illume. 
 Crown you, Felice^ 
 
 And never since I knew this light 
 Had I beheld so fair, so bright 
 A vision. With the fateful might 
 Of love, Felice, 
 
 My being thrilled. The immortal pain. 
 Without which all lives live in vain. 
 Missing its trouble and its gain, 
 Was mine, Felice, 
 
SAILING away! Sailing away! 
 Dear native land, farewell! 
 I feel alon^ the broadening bay 
 
 The billows 'neath me swell; 
 And so my heart grows full in me, 
 My eyes with tears are blind: 
 Though I may cross the windv sea, 
 I leave my heart behind. 
 
 Sailing awa\% sailing away! 
 
 Sailing away, sailing away, 
 
 Across the stormy deep; 
 For many a wear}^ night and da}^ 
 
 Far shall I wake or sleep; 
 But in my thoughts and in my dreams. 
 
 Wherever 1 may rove, 
 The darkness will be lit with gleams 
 
 Of faces that I love. 
 
 Sailing away, sailing away! 
 
32 
 
 Sailing away in wind and storm, 
 
 The welcome of the sea: 
 The exile of my heart is v^rd^rni 
 
 With many a memory 
 To teach, 'till I return avv^ain, 
 
 Mv fealty will be true, 
 As when I bade, to cross the main, 
 
 Dear land and love adieu. 
 
 Sailing away, sailing awa}^ 
 
T morn and eve behold, 
 Against a sky of gold 
 And clouds like smoke of blood, unceasingly 
 I see the great ships come, 
 White visions of the foam, 
 Or vanish towards lands beyond the sea. 
 
 They rise, and fall, and ride 
 Rocked by the restless tide. 
 
 And float their flags of sinuous moving fold, 
 And flap their snowy wings, 
 Like huge heart-moved things, 
 
 And melt into the azure and the gold- 
 
 But let them come or go 
 
 Their wide ways to and fro, 
 And beat the storms and baffle well the sea, 
 
 And proudl}^ ride the bay 
 
 That ends their well-won way, 
 They bring at last no call nor cry to me. 
 
34 
 
 1 sit with listening ear, 
 
 Aching once more to hear 
 The voice that love might lift, across the roar, 
 
 The tempest — baffled know. 
 
 And yet so sweet and low 
 That I should catch the tone, and ask no more. 
 
 Come out of morning's shine, 
 
 Sail into day's decline, 
 O ships, that bear no hostages to me! 
 
 Upon an alien shore, 
 
 Where hungry waters roar, 
 I, hunger, feed its pebbles to the sea. 
 
35 
 
 THE stormy sea behind us raves— 
 We're sailing home! 
 Welcome the tumult of the waves — 
 
 We're sailing homel 
 If our good ship her course shall keep, 
 We reck not dangers of the deep; 
 The waves leap not as our hearts leap- 
 We're sailing home, sailing home! 
 
 Ah, greet us well, eyes that are dear—- 
 
 We're sailing homel 
 The stormy seas give little cheer 
 
 But sailing home. 
 Yet if old friends unfaithful be, 
 Or love keep not its constancy, 
 Better the darkness in the sea 
 
 Than sailing home, sailing homel 
 
36 
 
 But ah, we trust that hearts are true 
 
 When sailing home; 
 We cherish still the last adieu 
 
 While sailing^ home. 
 Then let our ship her swift way keep 
 Amid the dangers of the deep; 
 Waves leap not as our glad hearts leap 
 
 We're sailing home, sailing home! 
 
F 
 
 AIR vision of a springtime fled! 
 
 The orioles lighten overhead 
 Among the leaves; the robins wed 
 And build, Felice, 
 
 Alow in the old apple trees; 
 The grass susurrous at m}^ knees; 
 From yielding blossoms ardent bees 
 Draw sweets, Felice; 
 
 The lark soars to the cloudless sky; 
 The breeze, scent-laden, lazies b}^; 
 All seems as all seemed; only I, 
 Alone, Felice, 
 
 Toil since the days with you, while heat 
 Browns my strong hands, my face; but sweet 
 And low 3^our name I call, repeat; — 
 Felice! Felice! 
 
c: 
 
 HANGING like life's sea, and rest- 
 less as waves of the sea, 
 !s the restless desolate heart, this 
 human heart of me — 
 Full of a mighty yearning of passionate 
 
 tenderness 
 For one now unreturnin^ form and the gen- 
 tle love caress 
 Of one dear hand. O lady, ever to me fair, 
 My thoughts go out to meet you, and find 
 
 you ever\^where! 
 Find and greet you joyfully, glad in the 
 
 very grief 
 That throbs in them, as waves throb and 
 
 fall on a hidden reef. 
 O to be with you if even under the bitter sea>' 
 Holding you forever fast, unwon Felicity — 
 
39 
 
 Holding you pressed close for aye, each 
 with each intwined, 
 
 The weltering waters dim above, the wail- 
 ing of the wind 
 
 And ever\^ troublous sound shut out, to 
 onward ceaseless fare, 
 
 With only we twain dreaming alone, 'neath 
 the shimmering seabow^s there. 
 
 Dreaming a long and gentle dream, forgot 
 by tears and pain, 
 
 Your face as bright as the face of flowers, 
 uplifted, after rain! 
 
40 
 
 IN gloomiest autumn days, 
 Though rises sullenly the sun and sets, 
 And lights obscurely the leaf-saddened ways, 
 I smell the violets! 
 
 They never cease to spring 
 
 Timid and sweet, in Memory's secret nooks, 
 As when the old times softly vanishing 
 
 Brightened them b}' the brooks. 
 
 They hide and hold apart 
 
 Treasure of passion autumn cares to know 
 So little, that now 3^earnings of my heart 
 
 Are bliss of long ago; 
 
 And back through the hot tears, 
 
 That 'gainst the frost of time love vainly 
 frets, 
 
 I smiile across the waste of cruel years™ 
 I smell her violets! 
 
41 
 
 THE i^reat World shines around me as a 
 ring: 
 And from its thither edge evanishing 
 In amethyst and gold, recedes onrolled 
 O'er oceans vastnesses the Sun, of old, 
 That through our little lives and vapor names, 
 Time's one immortal diamond, gleams, and 
 flames! 
 
iJ^utqqva, la.yx.hvn.a.fia..) 
 
42 
 
 (Lite iPr^Jtitt tif Meihz^. 
 
 IF there are happy Isles in some g^reat 
 river 
 Far, far awa\', by whose shores lilies quiver 
 On palpitating waves, with liearts all golden 
 And laz\'-anchored leaves, tbot have groYvn 
 
 olden 
 In one lon^- vouth; if from those emerald 
 
 islands 
 Far inland rise to silence stately highlands 
 Above whose outlines verdurous, 'atidulatiag, 
 Bright clouds by day and stars by night seem 
 
 waiting; 
 If from high secret springs pure streams nre 
 
 swelling, 
 And glad tales never wholly told are telling 
 To wandering breezes flattering ciirnson 
 
 roses, 
 
Or lapping in soft languor shaded closes 
 Of silvery sanded bays; if from the shadow 
 Of birch or aspen, edged upon some meadow 
 Whose waving wealth ne'er fell before the 
 
 mower, 
 Whose increase is for Time, the eternal 
 
 sower, 
 Comes now and then a song out of the silence 
 And dies beyond the borders of those islands, 
 Enticing happ}^ wanderers to wander 
 In search of melody that still is yonder; 
 That land to which such peace and bloom 
 
 are given, 
 Those Islands far and fair— that must be 
 
 Heaven! 
 
 There should be angels— such as we have 
 
 known them — 
 Dear faces, bright with good bestowed, or 
 
 shown them. 
 
44 
 
 Th^ere should be welcome far the wear}^ 
 
 groping 
 In search of hope too long- for an}^ hoping. 
 There words we yearn our lives through to 
 
 hear spoken 
 Should still us into blessed tears. There 
 
 broken 
 And withered garlands love in old time gave 
 
 us 
 Should suddenly rebloom, and wholly save us 
 Distrust of all our past, or of the present — 
 As out of a wan, weak, forgotten crescent 
 A full moon rounds and fills the night with 
 
 glory. 
 There should we learn the meaning of our 
 
 story; 
 The good of patience, benefit of sorrow, 
 And why toda}^ was longing for to-morrow. 
 
45 
 
 Ah, is there such a spot, worth each one's 
 knowing, 
 
 Where what we miss is gone, where we are 
 going? 
 
 Where saints we knew, who fell by waysides 
 weary 
 
 Of battled sins, find rest and welcome cheery? 
 
 Where man meets man, brother shoulder 
 to brother, 
 
 And human e\'es look kindly on another? 
 
 Where gods impose no penances for living? — 
 
 Give us this heaven while 'tis worth the giv- 
 ing! 
 
46 
 
 NOTES TO FELICE. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS:— Scene on Rock Creek. D. C. from pho- 
 tograph by the poet-artist, Mr, Charles Richards Dodge, of Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 Scene in garden of Orchard Farm, D. C, from pen drawing by 
 the author. 
 
 Scene from painting of "Summer." in Louvre Gallery, Paris, 
 by the French artist Collins. 
 
 End piece of poem Felice, from pen drawing of tropical moth, 
 by the author. 
 
 Final drawing of the Arcadian, taken by himself at the age of 
 76, while in search of Felice. 
 
 On page 40 mention is made of White Violets, an unusual flower 
 but one which is found occasionally within the limits of a trolly 
 car ride of this city. Yellow violets have been found b.v the 
 writer in similar locations, and both kinds have pronounced and 
 exquisite odor, and delicate, diminutive blossoms. Both are 
 evidently rare, and they seek the sunshine and not the shade 
 where the usual wild kinds abound. 
 
 The late Louis Corradi Colliere, mentioned, was the author 
 of the music of the song, "Happy Birds," He lived many years in 
 Washington, and died in the abbey of the Trappist monks at 
 Gethsemane, Nelson county, Kentucky, as Father Joseph, on De- 
 cember 8, 1886. He was born in Paris in iSra, of Italian parents, 
 and of a distinguished family of Corsica, neighbors of the Bona- 
 partes, and left Paris on the morning of the Revolution of 1848, for 
 New Orleans, after having been appointed, daring the night before 
 iirst baritone by the Academy of music of Paris. He was an artist, 
 a composer of music, and a notable singer in oratorio, and finally 
 in this city was a teacher in some of the best families, including 
 among his pupils the then Miss Nellie Grant, and the i'oung 
 lady who sung the song herein named, first at a charity select 
 concert at the furniture warerooms of Mr. Wm, B. Moses, 7th 
 street and Market Space, at which Mr. John Tweedale contributed 
 to the entertainment; and secondly, at the then popular music 
 
47 
 
 hall oE Signer Marini on E street, near gth. The song was sent for 
 publication to a music house which failed, and the score was lost. 
 
 A trotos of E street N. W., it was, from Judiciary Square to 
 14th street, a pleasant walk in rememberd times, one of the 
 notable places in Washington, because of the dignity of its 
 families and institutions, and its representation of remarkable 
 talents. To mention for that street, Salmon P. Chase, later Eu" 
 jjene Hale, the doctors Walch, Morgan, Stewart Eldridge, of the 
 Georgetown faculty' in anatomy, the art loving and patronizing^ 
 McGuire, the music-homer, Marini, and the places of theatricals 
 and operas, is to awake pleasant memories. 
 
 Among the influences of the street was the First Presbyterian 
 Church, long under Rev. Dr. Byron Sunderland, and now near it 
 and the A venue stands the bronze statue of the great governor, 
 Alexander Shepherd, and at the continuation, west of the Execu- 
 tive grounds, the splendid Corcoran Gallery and Art school, which 
 at its last annual class included among its students members of 
 three known families having direct descent, through separate 
 lines, from the Normans of the time of William the Conqueror. 
 
 And to celebrate one portion of the street the following record 
 may well close these notes: 
 
 No. 903 E street N. W., May i, 1874. 
 Madamoiselle: 
 
 I inclose the lines .vou like so well, and hope for a few words in 
 return from you. Believe me, I did not know until very recently 
 that your first name was Felice, being too happy to care. I need 
 add nothing but that I remember this is your latest birthday. 
 
 Devotedb'. 
 
 The Gentle.man from Arcadia, 
 
48 
 
 AN ATHALAMIUM 
 
 O fair: C) sweet! 
 
 No billows beat 
 So lonelil.v on any shore. 
 
 As on m>' heart 
 
 The thoughts, thou art 
 Not iiere, nor wilt be with me niDre. 
 
 Alone, to-night 
 
 The sun's last light 
 f.ow from the west looks back, on me. 
 
 And sives. meanwhilte, 
 
 A parting smile, 
 Full of the old beni.gnity. 
 
 But from this shade. 
 
 Where thou hast strayed 
 With me, and made the moments bright. 
 
 To yon set sun, 
 
 Whose day is done, 
 1 say "'Good night !"'— and it is night. 
 
 For sun nor thou 
 
 Art with me now. 
 Vet each makes bright my merno-ry. 
 
 As yet in June, 
 
 The mother moon 
 ?\takes silvery splendor on the sen., 
 
 O best to me 
 
 Of all that be 
 Where'er the face of woman is^ 
 
 Onb' The Rose, 
 
 In Heaven that blows, 
 Kver so sweetly human is ! 
 
4^T 
 
 The foreyoiny rh.vnie-s are ilie last written which tlie collector 
 and editor of this little -volume possesses. The last time he 
 ever thought he heard the Arcadian Idyllists, they were sing- 
 ing comfonably at the piano a simple Spanish song he had pre- 
 sented to them years before, the ending line of which can be 
 rendered almost exactly in Latin, French. English, Portuguese, 
 and Spanish, and which singers render: 
 
 Tr 
 
 MK VID.\ HAS SEMBRADO DE II.ORES. 
 
si 
 
 PH16 tl' 
 
 IWl 
 

 
 
 
 (J> ^ o « o 
 
'0^ 
 
 0" ^ 
 
 <^ 'o • <^ * A 
 
 1 1' • _ 
 
 <A.^ -^ - . S * - G 
 
 
 ^^ •:^^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 py 
 
 
 
 * av *^ 
 
 
 -- '> 
 
 ^^°.«> 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^^- 
 
 
 
 ^^0^