MEhODlES 
 
 OF fl 
 
 MODERN MUSE 
 
 3y ALiBERT J. HEIU. 
 
fIDeloMee 
 
 of 
 
 H flDobern fllbuse 
 
 t 
 
 b^ 
 
 AliBEHT J. HEIIi. 
 
 Copyright 1900 by Albert Joseph Heil. 
 
 1900 
 
 D. R. P. BARRY COMPANY, 
 PITTSBURGH, PA. 
 
Library of Cofigroi|^ 
 
 GfflCQ Gf tli9 
 
 MAY 1 2 1900 
 
 gegltter of Copyrtglitfe 
 SECOND GOCY, 
 
 
 62026 
 
PART L 
 
 flMflTORlA. 
 
POETS WEDDING. 
 
 /^NE morning fair, to the forest shady 
 ^^ I wandered forth with my sweet lady; 
 Unto her there I faltering said: 
 
 In this deep wood, love, let us wed. 
 
 But she made answer sweet, replying, 
 And all the while so gently sighing: 
 
 We cannot wed in the forest, dear; 
 For lo ! There is no witness here. 
 
 Jack-in-the-Pu'ipit, ihat grave flower 
 Shall bind us, love, in his secret-bower; 
 
 And songful birds shall sweetly sing. 
 When I give thee thy wedding-ring. 
 
 in that cool wood, with thick leaves bedded, 
 The Miise and I were stilly wedded; 
 
 And gentle fairies and gay-clad flowers 
 Were witnesses to that bond of ours. 
 
 In Fancy's realm we have made our home, 
 O pleasant 't is with the Muse to roam. 
 
 And a faithful wife is the Muse to nte, 
 For she bore me songs of Poesy. 
 
6 MELODIES OF 
 
 BUTTERFLY AND FLOWER, 
 
 Dutterfly past gardens fair 
 
 Onward went aslrayingj 
 Heeded not their beauty rare, 
 For she would be playing. 
 
 Flower said to Butterfly : 
 
 Come, my lips are sunny ! 
 I will paint thy wings while I 
 
 Feed thee on sweet honey. 
 
 But in vain the Flower sighed. 
 
 For she would not listen; 
 Light o'er hill and dale she hied; 
 
 How her wings did glisten ! 
 
 Thought, when ev'ning paints the West, 
 
 Flower will be pleading; 
 Then I'll get me couch and rest. 
 
 On her honey feeding. 
 
 Softly ev'ning hastened on, 
 
 Butterfly had wandered; 
 All her morning's cheer was gone^ 
 
 All her beauty squandered. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 
 
 Now she bade the Flower cali 
 Quickly on she hasted; 
 
 Lo ! she found it withered all, 
 And its splendor wasted ! 
 
 Thou sweet maid who readest this, 
 As thro' life thou goest; 
 
 If thou taste not Lovers sweet bliss 
 Nor Love's bidding doest; 
 
 After years have hurried by. 
 
 Thou again returnest; 
 Dead and withered Love shall lie ! 
 
 Vainly then thou yearnest. 
 
 LOVE'S CASTLE IN THE AIR. 
 
 /^OME with me, gentle maiden 
 ^^ To yonder grey old tower ! 
 There 'neath the linden's umbrage, 
 
 I've made for thee, thy bower. 
 There let us sit the live-long day 
 
 And keep young Love with us alway. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 Or when the halls are glitt'ring 
 With feasts and maidens fairy, 
 
 I'll clasp thee to my bosom 
 My love so blithe and airy. 
 
 And we shall dance to harpists' tune 
 Thro' all the golden summer-noon, 
 
 I come, O youthful lover 
 
 To yonder gray old tower; 
 Where we shall hold high revels 
 
 Until the midnight hour. 
 And I thy princess fair shall be 
 
 If thou wilt be the knight to me. 
 
 But when they reached the hillside, 
 Where stood the tower gigantic? 
 
 And where the halls all glitt'ring, 
 And where the bower romantic? 
 
 Alas, for youth and maiden fair ! 
 
 Blind Love had built them in the air. 
 
 So Love, thou vain deceiver, 
 Dost fill us with bright dreams; 
 
 Thou paint'st the future golden. 
 But ah ! It only seems. 
 
 Yet Constancy, a virtue too, 
 
 Oft makes the dreams come fondly true. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 9 
 
 IMMORTAL LOVE AND PSYCHE. 
 
 l/'ISS her cheek, while yet 't is warm 
 
 With health — a charming power ! 
 Death will fan away that charm 
 In one brief solemn hour. 
 
 Meet her eyes while they are bright 
 With buoyant hopes and pleasures ! 
 
 Death, the spend-thrift, maketh light 
 Of those her pearly treasures. 
 
 Love her heart while it doth beat 
 
 With womanly devotion. 
 Death comes onward stern and fleet 
 
 To end its pleasant motion. 
 
 Take these, Death, thou call'st them thine ! 
 
 Still love has life undying; 
 Love lives by her soul divine 
 
 Beyond thine arrows flying. 
 
 Ah, in vain thine ev'ry art 
 
 From Psyche Love to sever. 
 Psyche fears no mortal dart, 
 
 And Love shall live forever ! 
 
MELODIES OF 
 TO STELLA. 
 
 B 
 
 E thy life a path of flowers; 
 
 Sip new pleasures from each day I 
 Health and comfort gild thine hours, 
 As the years pursue their way ! 
 
 Thou fair child of happiness, 
 Let care ply her own wild oars; 
 
 Thou art made to love and bless, 
 Thou art born for happier shores. 
 
 SAPPHO ON THE LEUCADIAN ROCK. 
 
 Sappho was a Greek poetess, who lived about 450 
 B. C. Because she was rejected by Phaon, whom she 
 loved, she is said to have hurled herselt from the 
 Leucadian rock, into the sea. 
 
 /^'ER western sky has twilight sped 
 
 And Heaven's tears tell day is fled. 
 The toiling sea alone is waking, 
 The world about its rest is taking. 
 
 There, on the rock, all sad, alone, 
 Sweet Sappho doth her fate bemoan; 
 Her tresses with the winds are playing, 
 While she unto herself is saying: 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 11 
 
 I shall not stay ! This life full-blown 
 With lust and and pride, let harlots own ! 
 I seek the sphere, where Psyche lonely 
 Might find pure love and pure love only. 
 
 I dare not bid my passion rise, 
 For woman seldom is so wise 
 To hold fair virtue in her courses, 
 When love to Lust doth lend his forces. 
 
 Hence Phaon, let me kill my Love, 
 Lest me to shameful wrong it move. 
 Here, ere the waves my form shall cover, 
 I dream once more of thee, my lover, 
 
 Thus spake the nymph, then death embraced, 
 The mad waves wildly onward chased 
 With roaring noise and wailing clam'rous, 
 As if, of her, they had grown am'rous. 
 
 Lo ! Soft the breeze did touch the strings ! 
 Her harp gave forth sad murmurings. 
 Then silence o'er the scene descended. 
 Where Sappho's life and love had ended. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 LIFE AND LOVE. 
 
 I IFE and Love are linked together 
 
 And if Love you take away, 
 Like the plant in fev'rish weather, 
 Life will sicken and decay. 
 
 But in union linked remaining 
 As our vines to oaks do cling, 
 
 Such is Nature's wise ordaining, 
 Richest produce forth they bring. 
 
 WHERE THY HEART, THERE THY 
 TREASURE. 
 
 UAIRY maid, what treasures fine 
 
 Lie enclosed in that rich mine, — 
 Snowy, lovely breast of thine ! 
 
 I shall steal the richest part — 
 Thy young, noble, virtuous heart; 
 Where thy heart is, there thou art. 
 
A MODERN MUSP]. 13 
 
 THE ARAB'S SERENADE. 
 
 UAIR Fateing, watchest nightly, 
 
 Love-lit eyes, that gleam so brightly ! 
 Blest of Nature, who as dow'ry 
 Gave thee cheeks, like lily fair, 
 Breath as sweet as Ceylon's air, 
 Witching form and raven hair, 
 Happy Moslem houri ! 
 
 Will thou be, O Islam's flower, 
 Sharer of my wealth and power, 
 I shall give thee rarest treasures : 
 Silks and furs from Hindoostan, 
 Fruits from towered Ispahan, 
 All that lover's ardor can 
 For his loved one's pleasures. 
 
 Thou shalt dwell by rocky fastness. 
 While I scour the sandy vastness, 
 On my charger, much caressed, 
 Harassing the caravan. 
 Ah, with pride the scene I scan ! 
 King am I, o'er beast and man, 
 Allah, I am blessed ! 
 
[ MELODIES OF 
 
 Though there blow not Syria's roses, 
 Where our rock-built home reposes, 
 Yet thy smile shall make it flow'ry. 
 For the Heav'n of old Mahound 
 Can not be a fairer ground, 
 Than the spot where thou art found 
 Houri, Moslem houri ! 
 
 TO A NURSE IN ALLEGHENY 
 GENERAL HOSPITAL. 
 
 A RT thou some fairy come 
 Fresh from thy ferny home, 
 With magic art to heal 
 
 The pains which mortals feel? 
 Truly thy light step and voice 
 Make the stricken ward rejoice. 
 
 The patient on his bed, 
 
 With welcome, hears thy tread; 
 For some kind heart must beat, 
 
 To steps of willing feet. 
 Fair one, who can understand 
 The magic of thy soft hand? 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 1! 
 
 Ah, I have felt it, when 
 
 In fever's dreaded den, 
 It felt my helpless arm 
 
 To learn what spite or harm 
 Sickness there had slowly wrought, 
 Who m poor me a victim sought. 
 
 But thy kind care and skill, 
 
 Made me triumphant still : 
 Some knighf in tournament, 
 
 Whose lady's smile hath lent 
 Double strength 'gainst foeman's steel, 
 — Thus, kind angel, did I feel. 
 
 And though the fever's heat 
 
 Hath left its wonted seat, 
 Yet if my throbbing pulse 
 
 Thy willing h^nd consults, 
 Bending o'er me — face above, 
 Thou shalt find me sick w th love. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 THE IRON GATE. 
 
 AJS/HEN I see yon iron gate 
 
 I think again of Kate; 
 Ah ! Winsome, lovely, pretty, 
 
 Was she, my angel Kitty. 
 When I see yon iron gale, 
 
 I think again of Kate. 
 For 'twas here when day grew late, 
 
 My darling used to wait; 
 While on her bosom snowy 
 
 The roses were so showy. 
 And 'twas here when day grew late, 
 My darling used to wait. 
 O, here often did we meet 
 
 To hold our parley sweet. 
 While gentle stars of even 
 
 Were courting m the Heaven. 
 O, here often did we meet 
 To hold our parley sweet. 
 Now my heart is filled with gloom; 
 
 Kate sleepeth in her tomb; 
 Where lilies blow above her. 
 
 She waiteth for her lover. 
 Still my heart is filled with gloom; 
 Kate sleepeth in her tomb. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 17 
 
 THE BIRTH OF DAY. 
 
 AX/ HY this breaking in the East? 
 
 Hold the gods some merry feast? 
 
 'Tis Aurora, blushing red, 
 Hasting on with nimble tread. 
 
 Wanton Phoebus love — oppressed, 
 Seeks to draw her to his breast. 
 
 Skilled with kisses to allure, 
 Makes of her his paramour. 
 
 Hear rejoicings on the earth, 
 From their union Day has birth. 
 
 ^^©^ 
 TO EMMA AND HER VIOLIN. 
 
 W 
 
 HAT is the wooden wooer saying, 
 
 So gently praying, sighing, praying, 
 Like to lover's vague unrest? 
 
 O dulcet ,meilow, violin, 
 Thou liest kissed by her soft chin, 
 On her meek, her maiden breast. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 O tell her to keep on a-playing, 
 That youthful hours are best for Maying, 
 Youth and love make happy Spring. 
 
 Still violin, I envy thee; 
 If thy soft couch were such to me, 
 Truly then, I too would sing. 
 
 M 
 
 O 
 
 LOVE AND OCEAN. 
 
 AIDEN, maiden take my love, 
 And love the cheerful giver; 
 Never failing is Love's stream, 
 But constant as the river. 
 
 Findeth not the wanted rest, 
 Till it doth reach that ocean — 
 
 Thy fair breast with purity, 
 Begemmed and deep devotion. 
 
 A BOLD BEGGAR. 
 
 HEART, what knocking at thy door I 
 
 I hear an infant's clamor, 
 Haste, open thou, and shelter give; 
 
 I think 'lis little Amor. 
 Scarce ope the door when in he came, 
 
 With vehement desire. 
 I gave a corner of my hearty 
 
 Lo ! He did start a fire. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 19 
 
 CYNTHIA'S CONSTANCY. 
 
 CAIR Cynthia, watchful nurse of night. 
 
 In silver robes a queen bedight, 
 
 Thou playest with each favorite star, 
 
 While Heaven's dome is lit afar. 
 
 And Phoebus from Eforts hears 
 
 Thy beauty praised; then boldly steers 
 
 Thy bower toward; thou vail'st thy face, 
 And dost escape his warm embrace. 
 
 So thou art faithful to the night, 
 
 Thou boldest Phoebus from thy sight, 
 
 And guard'st thy stars so motherly, 
 Fit emblem, then, of constancy. 
 
 o 
 
 LOVE'S DEVOTION. 
 
 WOULD I were a rose ! 
 That I might then repose, 
 On thy breast recline, 
 Maiden Evaline ! 
 
 That I might hear the sighs 
 That from thy boiom rise — 
 
 Snowy breast of thine, 
 Witching Evaline! 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 Or would I were the air ! 
 
 That I might oft repair 
 To those cheeks of thine, 
 
 Rosy E valine ! 
 
 Or would I were the mead ! 
 
 That I might feel the tread 
 Of those feet so fine. 
 
 Graceful Evaline ! 
 
 Or would I were the lace 
 
 Which doth thy neck embrace,- 
 Ivory neck of thine. 
 
 Blue-eyed Evaline ! 
 
 Then, if I were thy tomb, 
 I'd make the lilies bloom, 
 
 O'er that grave of thine, 
 Virgin Evaline. 
 
 SONG OF THE ROVER. 
 
 ''T'WAS by the murmuring brooklet, 
 That I did Emma meet. 
 And she had hastened thither, 
 To bathe her snow-white feet. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 21 
 
 Softly sang the maples, blue-bells whispered 
 
 low, 
 When Emma, peerless Emma^ to the brook 
 did go. 
 
 She was lovely as a fairy, 
 
 As timid as the fawn; 
 The sweetest, gentlest maiden, 
 The sun e'er shone upon. 
 Round her graceful neck did flow her browny 
 
 tresses. 
 While zephyrs kissed her cheek with passion- 
 ate caresses. 
 
 'Twas here I spoke to Emma, 
 
 Thro' one sweet ev'ning hour. 
 Until the moon, sweet mistress 
 Sat in her starry bower. 
 At last I took her with me. Emma fair and 
 
 sweet, 
 When she had bathed her tender, dainty, 
 snow-white feet. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 TO E. M. B. 
 
 'T'ELL me not of wood-land faries, 
 Whose fresh beauty never varies, 
 In their sylvan haunts all shady ! 
 
 I know one, who fairer still, 
 Doth my breast with longing fill, 
 And my heart with rapture thrill — 
 Emma, my sweet lady ! 
 
 Ah, fond love, I hear thee sighing, 
 In my moments fleet and trying, 
 
 When o'er field, thro' wood I'm straying, 
 And thy lovely form doth ase, 
 
 Unto mine exultant eyes. 
 Like a soul from Paradise, 
 Or an angel praying. 
 
 Thy sweet voice, it still is singing, 
 In my soul its echoes ringing. 
 
 As of yore in wintry season; 
 
 Ah, 'twas then while winds did blow, 
 
 And without lay drifting snow, 
 
 That my heart, with love did glow, 
 Wilt thou know the reason ? 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 23 
 
 Thy sweet blushes, fondest fairy, 
 Smiles angelic, like St. Mary, 
 In my breast did love enkindle. 
 
 Thy mild eyes are calm and blue, 
 Maiden's heart is young and true. 
 And, my love, I swear anew, 
 Emma shall not dwindle ! 
 
 So, meek dove, we'll live together, 
 Foul or fair may be the weather, 
 
 Thou shalt be my wealth, my gem. Ah, 
 Loved one with the light brown hair, 
 
 To thine arms let me repair. 
 For I find my Heaven there, 
 Darling, my own Emma ! 
 
 MY FLOWER. 
 
 SOUGHT a flower from the bower 
 
 Where Rose stood dreamy-eyed. 
 Then fell a-weeping, o'er the creeping 
 Ivy; thus I sighed: 
 
 Could she discover, how I love her, 
 
 O may some fairy tell, 
 In mists of sorrows, thro' all aiorrows, 
 
 Joyous I would dwell. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 And there is rapture in the capture 
 
 Of maiden's sinless heart; 
 Of bright eyes beaming, softly dreaming, 
 
 Loved one will not part. 
 
 Fair Rose's tresses by caresses 
 
 Of gentle winds were wooed; 
 Round her chastened form there hastened 
 
 Twilight solitude. 
 Her lips, so rosy, held a posy; 
 
 She seemed some woodland fay. 
 Down dropped the flower from her power. 
 
 Lo ! I heard her say : 
 
 Thou seek'st a flower from my bower; 
 
 Well, youth, pray name it me ! 
 Wilt thou a lily for thy stilly 
 
 Chamber's guest to be ? 
 
 No flower rarer and none fairer 
 Than thou thyself, sweet maid ! 
 
 Where thou art planted are enchanted ' 
 Realms of pleasure laid. 
 
 Lo ! Bosom swelling, to my dwelUng, 
 
 In yon meek vale's repose, 
 I bore that flower; to this hour 
 
 Lovely blooms my Rose. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 25 
 
 MANY SINS ARE FORGIVEN HIR, FOR SHE HAS LOVED MUCH. 
 
 CAMILLE. 
 
 HTHIS is her grave; thou prudish world, 
 Veil not thine eyes and shun the sight ! 
 What though to wanton ranks she hurled 
 Her beauty, and made bright the night? 
 
 Perfection never yet did crown 
 The actions of a single wight. 
 
 The rose is hardly yet half-blown 
 When insects eat with venom-bite. 
 
 And Nature never meant we should 
 Stand faultless to her searching eye; 
 
 An evil oft may bring a good, 
 Repentance causes joy on high. 
 
 So plant white lilies o'er her dust, 
 And let her sleep the virgin's sleep ! 
 
 What though she smiled on fickle Lust, 
 Dost know how often she did weep ? 
 
 Tread softly by her silent frame. 
 
 Once animated by a touch ! 
 She was of clay, thou art the same. 
 
 But critic, hast thou loved as much? 
 
26 MELODIES OF 
 
 TO EMMA ON HER NINETEENTH 
 BIRTHDAY, NOV. 5th, 1899. 
 
 CTHERIAL music wake the pallid sky, 
 And mirthful let the fleeting moments fly ! 
 For Emma stands to-day, a peerless queen 
 Of comely, fair nineteen. 
 
 Old mother. Earth can boast of none more 
 
 fair 
 Than thee, sweet love, and excellency rare; 
 Nor maid nor sylvan fairy can be seen 
 More fair at sweet nineteen ! 
 
 Time planted thee, my b)essed, winsome 
 
 flower. 
 And made the sweeter ev'ry little hour; 
 So thou art matchless, Love to-day, I ween 
 At happy, gay nineteen ! 
 
 O hear the call of dreary, chill November ! 
 How stands the blood in ev'ry single mem- 
 ber ! 
 Yet near Love's hearth-stone thou dost 
 friendly lean 
 At gladsome, full nineteen ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 27 
 
 Hence let the winds sweep by ! Thy love- 
 warmed heart 
 Is still most warm and modest; maid thou 
 
 art 
 As constant as the changeless evergreen 
 At rosy, sweet nineteen. 
 
 Though luckless now the rosy fingered 
 
 Spring, 
 To thee doth not her scented garlands bring 
 To deck thy lovely maiden brow serene, 
 At ever-loved nineteen ! 
 
 Yet Autumn blesses thee with hyssop rain; 
 November smiles and counts it as a gain 
 O'er other months, that thy fair natal day 
 Comes neath his ri,.gid sway. 
 
 And matchless Emma at thy happy birth 
 The stars looked envious at their sister 
 
 Earth. 
 So let thy poet-lover hold him blest, 
 When on thy virgin-breast, 
 
 His chestnut- browny locks shall softly lie; 
 There will he dream his dreams of earth and 
 sky; 
 
28 MELODIES OF 
 
 And think it Heav'n to own each single 
 J. art 
 Of Emma's pure chasts heart. 
 
 And love^ live long! Thy life be full of 
 
 blisses ! 
 And let me have to-day my share of kisses, 
 Their number? Well pray count me not so 
 
 mean 
 If I should ask nineteen. 
 
 TO A FLIRT. 
 
 T ITTLE blue-eyed Elsie, 
 Oh, I love you so, 
 Teach me liftle maiden, 
 All your heart to know ! 
 
 Let me gaze upon it; 
 
 'Tis a book, I swear ! 
 Let me see if Amor 
 
 Wrote some story there. 
 
 Has he woven, darling, 
 Your sweet name and mine 
 
A MODERN MUSS. 
 
 In some tale romantic? 
 How the letters shine ! 
 
 Ah ! I see you will not 
 Let me read Love's tale: 
 
 So I'll play Love's critic, 
 Call the story stale! 
 
 YOUTH AND MAID. 
 
 Youth. CWEET Mx\ID, whither go'st 
 
 "^ thou? 
 Maid. But to the brow 
 
 O' yonder hill. 
 Youth. There, 
 
 Where the hut stands? Fair 
 Flower, may I walk with thee? 
 Maid. The night comes hastily. 
 
 The way is steep, good youth, 
 My hut is poor; in truth — 
 Youth. Ah ! Here the trees are tall ! 
 How calm the evening ! All 
 Nature rests. Could not Love dwell 
 here 
 
30 MELODIES OF 
 
 Where Sorrow sheds no tear? 
 Hold ! Give me thy basket, maid ! 
 Where hast thou laid 
 Thy burden? 
 
 Fair youth, thou canst not bear it. 
 
 Voung Love with me shall share it. 
 
 Well, then, if it be thy will. 
 
 Now let us up this hill. 
 
 {Enter A??ior.^ 
 
 What infant have I spied ? 
 Who is it at thy side 
 Borne on golden wings? 
 See how he clings 
 To the burden ! 
 
 This child 
 Is Love, or Cupid styled. 
 Oft hath he on flowered heights. 
 Where gods partake of strange de- 
 lights. 
 Pierced the heart of Jove. 
 
 Maid. Youth, beware ! This Love 
 Has bow and dart ! 
 Too late ! He hath hit my heart ! 
 
 Maid. 
 
 Youth. 
 Matd. 
 
 Youth. 
 
 Maid. 
 
 Youth. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 31 
 
 Youth. Sweet maid, we both are prisoners 
 
 now, 
 Beneath Love's yoke, obedient bow. 
 And though Love's captives both are 
 
 we, 
 O 'tis a sweet captivity ! 
 
 DARING DAN CUPID. 
 
 ONCE besieged a maiden's heart 
 
 With sighs full oft repeated; 
 But all my efforts were in vain, 
 
 So I in shame retreated. 
 
 I gazed upon mine armies fine 
 
 Of arts and words. O pity ! 
 For not a single one prevailed 
 
 To take that stubborn city. 
 
 At last I met a straying boy, 
 Who seemed to me so stupid; 
 
 Bright wings had he, and bow and dart, 
 His name was young Dan Cupid, 
 
S2 MELODIES OF 
 
 •'What wilt thou give" said he to me^ 
 "If I should take its towers? 
 
 My wings can place me on its walls, 
 In less than two short hours." 
 
 "If thou can'st make" I smihng said, 
 "That maiden's heart surrender; 
 
 I'll let thee live with us alway, 
 And treat thee good and tender." 
 
 Lo ! Love flew o'er its battlements, 
 
 Nor did he sink nor tire. 
 Till he had stormed that maiden's heart, 
 
 And set it all on fire. 
 
 It yielded soon itself to me 
 
 With all its pearls and treasures. 
 
 And I am now its happy king 
 And live in golden pleasures. 
 
 So here I sing: Long live this Love, 
 Whom I had thought so stupid ! 
 Long live that heart which I did get 
 Thro' daring young Dan Cupid ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 33 
 
 THE HAUNTED LOVER. 
 
 A S actor Day departs and Night her curtain 
 
 raises, 
 When all the quiet city with million arc-lights 
 
 blazes, 
 Then softer than the zephyr a figure glides 
 
 before me, 
 Her shroud of midnight blackness, a lonely 
 
 fear throws o'er me. 
 I can but murmur faintly — fright doth make 
 
 me shiver, 
 Why com'st thou spirit? Whither go'st thou, 
 
 whither? 
 My echo dies away; her faint lips seem to 
 
 quiver: 
 Love, love, love ! Love has brought me 
 
 hither ! 
 
 Lo ! Midnight hails the morn in yonder 
 
 gothic tower, 
 But still that gorgeous phantom holds me in 
 
 her power. 
 Away, away ! I whisper. Her breast of ether 
 
 hollow 
 Breathes forth sepulchral wailing and bids me 
 
 softly follow. 
 
34 MELODIES OF 
 
 She leads me thro' the streets; she hath my 
 
 soul enchanted; 
 Again I ask: O whither lead'st me, whither? 
 She answers soft : To yonder where the dead 
 
 are planted, 
 Love, love, love ! Love has borne me thither ! 
 
 She leads me to a grave; green myrtle twines 
 above it, 
 
 "A tiny wooden cross ! A blessed name ! I 
 love it ! 
 
 Amanda ! Fickle heart we long ago had 
 buried; 
 
 O bride of Death to his embrace so quickly 
 hurried !" 
 
 One plaintive sigh ! and lo ! The spectre has 
 departed ! 
 
 To spirit-land? To hell or heaven? Whither? 
 
 "We know not that," — the winds and hem- 
 locks moaned sad- hearted 
 
 "But love, love, love has brought her hither !" 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 
 
 AMOR AND THE POET. 
 
 ^'^RITICS scoff not at these verses ! 
 ^''^ Th' amorous Muse to me did lend them. 
 They are meant for maiden bowers; 
 Thither straightway would I send them. 
 
 Need I fear a critic's phrases 
 While young Amor 'round me hovers ? 
 I^et me sing sweet maiden's praises; 
 Poets ever were besl lovers. 
 
PART IL 
 
 PENSflTORlfi. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 
 THE POET'S JOYS. 
 
 B 
 
 With perpetual nectar swelling, 
 Fancy, take thy lawful fill ! 
 Taste eachclassic pool and rill 
 Of the gods' own land of pleasures; 
 Art's fair homestead, land of treasures ! 
 Give dame Muse a consort's kis - ! 
 Fear not Fancy thou to Liorrow; 
 Here to-day and there to-morrow, 
 O the poet's life is bliss ! 
 
 Winding down with artful Venus 
 
 With sweet Music staid between us 
 All the world is one fair dream: 
 Golden landscape, silver stream, 
 Mirth and laughter then may follow, 
 Then come stately, wise Apollo. 
 O ye^ods, what land is this ? 
 Even echo solitary 
 Wantons with the satyr hairy, 
 O the poet's life is bliss ! 
 
 Then let Mars, his trumpet sounding. 
 Set the hi' Is and vales rebounding ! 
 See the valiant ranks pass by 
 
40 MELODIES OF 
 
 Clad in dazzling Panoply; 
 While old Fame comes onward grandly 
 Smiling on the victor blandly 
 
 "Who would all this splendor miss? 
 Seated with the great immortals, 
 Entered at Olympian portals, 
 Poet, true, thy life is bliss. 
 
 MYSTERIOUS ECHO. 
 
 C CHO, plaintive Echo quit thy lonely cave ! 
 Seek my merry bower, dance the rippling 
 
 wave ! 
 Why so sullen dwell'st in yon deserted glen? 
 Why so constant would'st thou shun the 
 
 haunts of men? 
 
 Dost thou mourn, sweet spirit, some dead 
 
 buried love? 
 Why so lonely keep'st thee in yon wood 
 
 above ? 
 Prithee, answer give, for I would mortals tell, 
 Why in solitude thou wilt forever dwell. 
 
 Dost not answer me? Then fare thee well 
 sweet fay ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 41 
 
 Lonesome keep thee ever ! Mock we not 1 
 
 pray ! 
 Hold thy peace, be still ! Lo ! From the 
 
 wooded hill 
 Echo answers gently: Hold thy peace be still ! 
 
 THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 
 
 C EE yonder gleaming marbles 
 
 By sleepy river's bed; 
 And mountains guarding meekly 
 That City of the Dead ! 
 
 Nor life nor cares are dwellers 
 In yonder gray old town, 
 
 For Death has thrown upon it 
 His talismanic gown. 
 
 Friend wouldst thou quit thy labors, 
 And all thy cares and woes, 
 
 And wrap thine earthly sorrows 
 In that still land's repose? 
 
 First must thy heart stand silent, 
 Refuse life-giving breath, 
 
 First must thou grasp in friendship, 
 The gruff, cold hand of Death. 
 
42 MELODIEy OF 
 
 Then 'neath yon fading arches, 
 We'll bear thee to thy tomb, 
 
 And think thy soul is happy 
 
 Where flowers perennial bloom. 
 
 And then with tears and prayers 
 We'll lay thee gently down, 
 
 And leave thee soft to slumber 
 In yonder silent town. 
 
 But, when the Angel's trumpet 
 Shall wake thee in thy bed, 
 
 May'st thou foi-sake, in glory. 
 That City of the Dead. 
 
 METAMORPHOSIS OF THE SNOW- 
 FLAKE. 
 
 OORN in Heaven ! Innocence! 
 
 Crue! Winter drives thee thence; 
 Snow-flnke, Snow-flnke earthward falling, 
 Hear'st thou not bright spirits calling? 
 
 See'st the sun in yonder sky? 
 
 Now he bids thee sad good-bye. 
 Then thou weepest, Heaven's daughter, 
 
 Till thou art all tears, all water. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 43 
 
 THE RULE OF LIFE. 
 
 y F thou hast thy task to do, 
 ^ Do it with a will; 
 If the water runneth not, 
 Stands the mill-wheel still. 
 
 Sing the song with heart and soul, 
 
 Thro' the live'Jlong day; 
 Let thy life be here on earth, 
 
 One continuous lay. 
 
 Then astonished, thou shalt find 
 
 All thy cares disarmed. 
 And Uke Orpheus see the world 
 
 All about thee charmed. 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 CWEET goddess, who with heav'nly art 
 
 Dost balsam pour upon the heart 
 With sorrow laden, nurse divine, 
 Now let me seek that lap of thine ! 
 And drink new courage from thy breast 
 My soul is sad; I fain would rest. 
 
[ MELODIES OF 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 CRESH'NING heaven-sent dew-drop 
 
 Sparkling on the blade; 
 Cheered by thy light footstep 
 
 Fields are happier made. 
 Helpful, soothing Friendship 
 
 On life's lonely plain 
 Makest drooping bosoms 
 
 Soon revive again ! 
 
 THROUGH THE MISTS. 
 
 ET me stir the ashes of the Past, 
 ' Stir them just once more, 
 Ere Time's night-shades, falling fast 
 
 Dim the land of yore. 
 Come, bright thought that shall inflame 
 
 My drooping heart anew ! 
 Ah ! I have it — Emma's name ! 
 
 I sit and dream of you. 
 
 Fair, sweet spirit of my childhood days, 
 
 Ah, I sec her yet ! 
 Snow-white mantle, smile whose rays 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 4 
 
 I cannot soon forget; 
 Happy playmate, come I pray 
 
 To flow'ry meads and brooks; 
 Come and cheer my dreary day 
 
 With your bright sunny looks ! 
 
 No, it cannot be. You are not here, 
 
 For when your years were eight, 
 Your sweet spirit left this sphere 
 
 For Heaven's far-off gate; 
 Left her mould so sweet and good 
 
 Without a pain or si;j;h. 
 And if angels only could 
 
 Thy death would angels die. 
 
 When I quit this troubled realm of life 
 
 And strike your happy shore, 
 Sin-free, cleansed, for blessings rife 
 
 greet me as of yore ! 
 Snow-white mantle, smile whose ray 
 
 Will teach me not to fret — 
 God, I thank thee ! Some bright day 
 
 1 shall be happy yet. 
 
 :i^S^ 
 
46 MELODIES OF 
 
 ADDRESS TO PEACE. 
 
 ^~\ PEACE, sweet guardian of the world 
 
 Who with thy snowy flag imfurled 
 From heavenly heights descendest 
 
 Erring man thine aid thou lendest; 
 Lovely queen, serene, benign, 
 Full of wisdom, all divine, 
 Keep the erring nations. 
 Free from desolations ! 
 Round thy throne tney gathered are. 
 Keep fiuai them the demon'— War. 
 
 ON BISMARK'S DEATH. 
 
 'T'HOU fallest, mighty oak: thy giant form 
 
 Oft braved and long by opposition's storm, 
 At Death's unerring touch doth gently yield. 
 Farewell, great Teutoii, born w,i;h strength to 
 
 wield 
 Old Prussia's iron hommer, and to shape 
 Germania fair anew ; where sweet the grape 
 Doth mirror in the Rhinish water till 
 Where roaring North Sea doth his fury S] ill I 
 Against the Danish shore, there hath thy hand 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 47 
 
 Untiring wrought and left an empire stand. 
 Nor less thy praise that straying, fair "fierraine 
 And mild Alsatia back to Allemaine 
 Hast boldly called. So may the German oak 
 O'er thy cold corse extend his liberal cloak 
 Of leaves; thine be no tomb from civil pelf ! 
 Thy monument— The German Empire's self. 
 
 LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER. 
 
 C VVEETEST Summer, thou nrt gone ! 
 Thy breath the ruthless north wind 
 stole; 
 No sigh rose from thy fleeing soul 
 But one sv/eet smile did rest upon 
 Thy faded !ins ! 
 Calm thy death, though thou didst know 
 
 That floral fields, which thou mp.d'st bloom 
 Would shed no odors o'er tby tomb, 
 (For Autumn tells of coming woe 
 And hoar-frost nips.) 
 Sweeter thou than Spring, for lo! 
 She flirteth in coquettish way. 
 Nor brings, in truth, a perfect day; 
 For much of Winter's blood doth flow 
 Her Virgin-veins. 
 
48 MELODIES OF 
 
 But in thee dwells gentleness; 
 
 And valued service thou dost give : 
 Thou op'st thy granary; nations live; 
 
 Nor reckest if they fail to bless 
 Thy many pains. 
 
 Kindest daughter of the year ! 
 
 And mankind's liberal nurse and friend ! 
 With death thy charities do end; 
 
 Hast scarce fulfilled thy mission here, 
 When thou must die ! 
 
 Summer let me learn of thee 
 
 In life to scatter gen'ious deeds, 
 
 In death glad smiles; no earthly meeds 
 To seek; then pass with conscience free 
 Without a sigh. 
 
 DEATH OF SUMMER. 
 
 A LREADY doth the day his visits shorten, 
 Who erstwhile did such mirth display, 
 when June 
 Yet stood in loveliness and yonder sun 
 Less warmly breathes upon our earth; for lo! 
 Sad Nature's voice doth herald Summer's 
 death. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 49 
 
 The fields stand stricken by the news which 
 
 fast 
 O'er hill and dale is borne; the mighty wood 
 Once cheerful, singeth now more plaintive, lo • 
 The sylvan choir has ceased its Summer-con- 
 cert, 
 In other climes to feast; the burdened 
 
 orchards 
 Now change their robes and fruits stunned by 
 
 the news 
 Fall from the drowsy tree, and Heaven's self 
 Doth weep unusual tears, for see, the leaden 
 Stcy will not ask comfort of the Sun, 
 Eut pours his grief upon the maddened brooks, 
 Which rushing wildly on, past brush and vale, 
 Bear injury with them. See, yonder swain 
 Wipes from his brow the salty sweat, the 
 
 while 
 With sadness he doth view the drooping 
 
 fields. 
 The sportive child there at his side doth catch 
 The universal sorrow and puts on 
 
50 MELODIES OF 
 
 A graver mien. The mother with her child 
 Now homeward turns and scans the cordial 
 
 house, 
 In which too soon cold Winter shall detain 
 Her prisoner; the maiden, that with fairy 
 Tread did walk the grassy lawn and nurse 
 Her darling flowers, flits sadly by, as if 
 Young Love thrived not in Winter's arms. 
 
 A shock 
 Of sadness shakes the frame of sentient things! 
 O thus is Summer mourned! Thus too, O 
 
 man, 
 Shalt thou be mourned, if, in thy day, thou 
 
 makest 
 Righteousness bring forth her welcome fruit I 
 Thus too shalt thou be wept! And drooping 
 
 friends 
 Shall gather round thy tomb and tearful sayr 
 He was a man of ready hand; his days 
 With charities he filled; now calm and blissful 
 Be his sleep! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 51 
 
 CORS POETAE. 
 
 r\ POET S heart ! O poet's heart ! 
 By cruel cares tormented art ! 
 And tossed about in wicked fashion 
 Upon the hungry sea of passion. 
 
 O poet's heart ! Thou poet's heart, 
 
 Full oft dost feel the burning smart 
 Of injured pride and love's rejection, 
 
 In sober moments of reflection. 
 
 Thou poet's heart, thou poet's heart 
 Meek vessel thou and ample mart; 
 
 To what glad land dost steer thy treasures, 
 Thy native joys and dreamed pleasures? 
 
 Thou poet's heart, thou poet's heart, 
 Thou drifting vessel, onward dart ! 
 
 And when life's storms have sunk thee under; 
 When thou art gone, the world will wonder. 
 
52 MELODIES OF 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF W. E. 
 GLADSTONE. 
 
 T O ! Death has from our ranks a leader 
 
 stolen; 
 Whose voice spake peace and praised the 
 
 course ot justice. 
 Where antique England sits securely guarded 
 By gallant ocean's waves, one universal 
 Cry is heard : Wise Gladstone fell ! Fell not 
 By cursed assassin's steel, but by the hand 
 Of watchful death. Thou mighty sun, whose 
 
 setting 
 Was as thy course of life — serene and bright. 
 And meek Hawarden mourns thee now. O 
 
 voice 
 All potent as the wind, which hastens on 
 And bears th' unwilUng branches onward. 
 
 Whether 
 In Parliament, loud, free and joyous sangst 
 The note of justice or in the household circie 
 Soothing — helpful — thou wast welcome ! Eng- 
 land, 
 Made rich by his bequeathing — honesty 
 And righteousness of heart, go set the nations 
 Thy fair sisters, meet example ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 53 
 
 EVENING SENTIMENT. 
 
 O 
 
 'ER the woodland, 
 O'er the fields 
 Ev'ning fair and gentle 
 Sceptre wields; 
 And the brooklets seem to say: 
 Fare thee well, O dying Day ! 
 On the village 
 On the roofs. 
 Sun so softly sets his 
 Golden hoofs : 
 Slowly then he sinks to rest 
 In the curtain-gilded West. 
 
 Yet the birds sing 
 Ev'ning hymns; 
 Flatt'ring zephyrs kissing 
 Trembling limbs. 
 Still is then the atmosphere ; 
 In the sky the lights appear. 
 Yet my soul doth 
 Musing wake. 
 Quiet lies o'er 
 
 Valley, hill and lake. 
 Come, my soul, lie down^to dreams 
 While life still so happy seems. 
 
54 MELODIES OF 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 \^/HAT spirit stirs among the mountain- 
 groves, 
 And turns to alchemy whate'er it moves? 
 Now hov'ring by the flowry streaa.let's side, 
 Now lost upon the prairie deep and wide; 
 Or blessing in the forest grand and old 
 The Makers wisdom — powers manifold? 
 It is thy spirit, Bryant ! Thy great soul, 
 With poesy o'er charged could not control 
 'Mid city's din, her fury; hence she flees 
 To wilds sublime, where giant hills and trees 
 And roaring waters enter in thy dreams. 
 O mighty bard ! How sounding are the streams 
 In that rich land of thine ! In thee we hail 
 First favorite of the native Muse; the trail 
 To Poesy's fair land thou struckest first 
 Of all our home-born bards; how brightly 
 
 burn'st 
 The light of thy full genius on the throng, 
 As with grandeur, fatherly along 
 The ever-pleasant fields of Nature thou 
 Did'st lead; on thee sat Homer's fertile brow ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 55 
 
 The bearded sage of antique Dane looked not 
 More powerful. Now though old Death, who, 
 
 caught 
 By thy rich strains, such master sought to win, 
 Did tear thee from thy harp; yet still, within 
 Our circle doth thy spirit live and bound 
 With awe, we know not how thy praise to 
 
 sound. 
 
 IF INWARD THE HEART BE BRIGHT, 
 
 T^HE wild winds howl, 
 The snow-drifts scowl, 
 Like ghosts in the darksome night ! 
 The white church-tower 
 Tells midnight hour, 
 And demons are loose to fright. 
 
 Now loud the moan 
 Of North Wind's groan, 
 As if of a dying wight; 
 My window shakes,' 
 \ Thick fall the flakes, 
 
 But inward the hearth burns bright. 
 
56 MELODIES OF 
 
 Thus cry life's cares, 
 
 And wild despairs, 
 As 'round us the fall with might. 
 
 But heed them not 
 
 O happy lot — 
 If inward the heart be light. 
 
 LEGEND OF THE MARIGOLD. 
 
 A T the tomb there sat the Virgin 
 From her eyes the tears did start, 
 And sad did sound the sobbing 
 
 From the depths of her pure heart. 
 
 And her tears fell like the dew-drops 
 On the plants and flowers nigh; 
 
 Which straightway bowed respectful. 
 When they heard our Lady sigh. 
 
 Now a tear fell on a thistle 
 From the Blessed Mary's eye/ 
 
 Lo ! It soon began to wither 
 Till it seemed as if 'twould die. 
 
MODERN MUSE. 
 And it said unto the Virgin, 
 
 In these meek words and brief: 
 May I not O gentle Lady, 
 
 Be partaker in thy grief? 
 
 See the wonder ! From the Heaven 
 
 A glitt'ring angel sped; 
 And he touched the drooping thistle, 
 
 And then these words he said : 
 
 Since thou would 'st be partaker 
 In the Virgin's grief untold,. 
 
 Be thou hence, O kindly Thistle, 
 Be thou hence the Marigold! 
 
 Now in all our flower-gardens, 
 
 Its golden head appears; 
 Still it greets the dews of morning. 
 
 As the Virgin Mary's tears. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 REVERIE IN A WOOD. 
 
 TTESPER'S shadows fall 
 O'er the plains and all 
 The household cares are quiet now; 
 I hear the watch-dog bark, 
 While shadows weird and dark 
 Do drive the sweat upon my brow. 
 Soft these oaks narrate 
 Legends of the fate 
 Of red-skinned warriors of the wood : 
 How they did seek the shade, 
 Ere yet within the glade 
 The haughty pale-face cottage stood. 
 Warrior sought his bride, 
 — Chieftain's light and pride — 
 And built for her the wigwam free. 
 How loud the war-whoop rang ! 
 How bold the warrior sprang. 
 When foemen threatened slavery ! 
 Gone the mighty race ! 
 Left no ling'ring trace, 
 Save where the mossy mound stands high; 
 Oi where the hunter's trail 
 Still tells old freedoms tale; 
 O God rain vengeance from the skies ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 59 
 
 OLD PENNSY. 
 
 IT AIL, mighty state, the keystone State ! 
 Hail, ancient nurse of Freedom's fate ! 
 For in the day of tyranny, 
 Thy sister states looked up to thee, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 'Neath thy protection firm and true 
 Sweet Liberty to beauty grew; 
 And Independence, with full throat 
 In thy glad ear first rang his note, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 The Union's cause was thy first ward; 
 Thy willing sons its body-guard. 
 How well they kept that trust for thee, 
 Thy storied past shall witness be, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 For when rebellion's thunder-clap 
 Cast Lee's brave legions on thy lap, 
 How glad thy sons embraced the fray, 
 The gleaming tomb-stones tell to-day, 
 Old Pennsy. 
 
60 MELODIES OF 
 
 Near Gettysburg, there lies a town, 
 Where flowers weave the hero's crown; 
 Here kind Remembrance thro' the years 
 Shall strew the nation's saddest tears, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 Nor this alone, that vale and wood 
 Are hallowed by our fatheri' blood — 
 Thy mountain-chests have costly yields 
 And Nature loves to feed thy fields, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 Where Industry hath built her nest, 
 From coal-banked East to steel-clad West, 
 The feet of Labor march along 
 And Progress shouts her welcome song, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 Throughout this globe, by land and sea. 
 Are thousand fabrics born of thee; 
 These are thy pride, th y mighty boast; 
 Hence let the world give thee the toast. 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 61 
 
 And should, same day, the monarch Fate, 
 Pluck down the flag from Freedom's gate, 
 Of all the stars it wears to-day. 
 Be thine the last to fade away, 
 Old Pennsy! 
 
 DEATH OF GOETHE. 
 
 /Wl ORE light! More light! That restless 
 
 spirit cried, 
 As clouds of death drew round him dark and 
 
 wide. 
 Now, mighty Goethe, sinks thine ardent fire, 
 As Death bears off the last note of thy lyre. 
 The bonds of nature loosed, thou seek'st the 
 
 vast unknown, 
 Where even poet's Fancy dreads to walk 
 
 alone. 
 Now closed life's book and earthly wisdom, 
 
 thou, 
 A shadow art to Goethe's wisdom now. 
 More light ! O soul of his, drink now thy fill ! 
 Infinity remains unfathomed still. 
 O soul of man ! O wondrous spirit ! Death the 
 
 sage, 
 Will ope eternity, teach Wisdom's grandest 
 
 page. 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 WANDERER'S PRAYER. 
 
 pvARKNESS fast is shrouding 
 Yonder twilight-sky; 
 All the world is sleeping, 
 Sad alone am I. 
 
 Here are hemlocks sighing, 
 In the grave-yard old; 
 
 While I too, am dreary, 
 Shiv'ring in the cold. 
 
 Hail, bright star, so lonely, 
 
 In the distant West, 
 Lead me on, I pray thee, 
 
 To eternal rest ! 
 
 Lo ! The bright star falleth! 
 
 — Wand'rer's soul has fled !- 
 There a corpse he lieth, 
 
 Sleeping with the dead ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 63 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE MINNESINGERS. 
 
 /^^ONE are all the minnesingers! 
 ^"^ Deep in their graves they lie; 
 Hushed their voices and the fingers 
 
 That once woke melody 
 In love-fed Europe's bowers, 
 
 Can swell no more the lyre 
 Or raise hot passion's fire 
 
 In grey old castle towers. 
 Thro' the by-gone Middle Ages 
 
 Did their sweet music chime; 
 As we look upon their pages, 
 
 We think of thnt fair time 
 When Love was ruler ever 
 
 In yonder transatlantic 
 Europe's bowers romantic. 
 
 By some enchanted river. 
 But, though the Minnesingers 
 
 Forgotten are and dead, 
 Yet their spirit unseen lingers 
 
 Where Beauty 's born and bred. 
 And when we sing soft praises 
 
 To maidens' charms and powers, 
 Or seek to make them ours 
 
 Love's voice that spirit raises. 
 
64 MELODIES OF 
 
 NAPOLEON ON THE BELLEROPHON. 
 
 A LL about the white sea roars 
 
 And day is fading fast; 
 Far away from Gallia's shores 
 And struggling 'gainst the blast 
 
 Sails the Bellerophon. 
 Like an eagle with his prey 
 She bears away 
 Napoleon. 
 
 Farewell, Napoleon Bonaparte ! 
 
 Farewell, O Gallia's warlike heart ! 
 Farewell, O genius sprung 
 
 From Corsica's sun-kissed shore! 
 
 The cannon's song, so often sung 
 Thou hence shah hear no more ! 
 For Albion's ire 
 Shall spend its fire 
 
 On thy unconquered will 
 Till soon thou lay 
 Far, far away 
 At the foot of some wooded hill. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 
 
 Then, bear him gently, murmuring wave 
 
 O'er the wild sea, blue and deep; 
 Bear him kindly to his grave 
 There peaceful may he sleep ! 
 And o'er his tomb, 
 Soft 'mid the gloom 
 i.Iay Helena's sighing trees 
 Sing to him his victories. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL ALLEGHANY. 
 
 pROUD old river, thou that chantest 
 
 Songs so gay and free, 
 To thy woodland and thy valleys, 
 Many a century; 
 
 Often hast thou heard the war-whoop, 
 
 Ring upon thy shore, 
 Where now strong the pale-face dwelleth 
 
 And grim Vulcan's forges roar. 
 
 Coming from thy sylvan birth-place — 
 
 From the distant North, 
 Thou dost hear the lonely night-owl 
 
 Give her sorrows forth. 
 
66 MELODIES OF 
 
 Thou art queen of gentle rivers I 
 
 And the pines stoop low, 
 When they hear thy royal footstep, 
 
 And thy garments flow. 
 
 Often, native graceful river, 
 
 Have I gave gazed on thee; 
 
 As thou threw'st thy curly wavelets 
 'Round thee am'rously. 
 
 So flow on, mild Alleghany, 
 
 With soft, romantic rhyme ! 
 
 Wander long thro' wooded landscape, 
 Heed not draughts of time ! 
 
 ■ >— I — 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 WENICE ! Venice ! Lovely sea- nymph, mer- 
 maid fair and bright. 
 
 Queenly seemest thou beneath the starry roof 
 of night ! 
 
 Often doth to thee the sea his am'rous tale 
 repeat, 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 67 
 
 Falling down adoringly to kiss thy chastened 
 
 feet. 
 While the moon, in silver clad, thy watery 
 
 streets doth wade, 
 Casts her jealous eye on thee and many a 
 
 lovely maid. 
 Hark ! How soft the breezes bear unto my 
 
 willing ears. 
 Laughter of thy black-eyed daughters, songs 
 
 of gondohers. 
 Quaint old city, thou and haunt of poet's fair- 
 est dreams. 
 How my heart beats gayly when thy vision on 
 
 me streams ! 
 Let me praise thee long as doth the wanton 
 
 love-sick sea: 
 Be thou mother to my dreams, fair daughter 
 
 of Italy ! 
 
68 MELODIES OF 
 
 JEHOVAH'S MIGHT. 
 
 I WILL not brave Thy wise commands 
 O mighty Elo"him, who hold'st our globe. 
 Aglow with life, within Thy hands. 
 Thou, great Jehovah, dost the seasons robe 
 With varied splendor and Thy power 
 
 Shines thro' the working of each hour. 
 
 The million planets praise Thee, Lord, 
 Which in the boundless firmament rehearse 
 
 Their daily actions in concord. 
 O vast, stupendous, giant Universe ! 
 Great off -spring of the Maker's will, 
 
 Which liveth unexhausted still. 
 
 And helpless man, lost 'mid the mass 
 
 Of countless things created, thy weak force 
 
 Of what avail, if He, alas! 
 Should strike the rolling planets from their 
 
 course 
 And rain their wrath on thee ? Hence bow 
 
 With starry wonders to His brow . I 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 69 
 
 TALE OF THE WIND. 
 
 UAR out in the sea, where the breakers do 
 
 meet, 
 Their tales of destruction so boldly repeat; 
 Where lonely the stars look down from the 
 
 sky 
 And murmuring sadly the South-winds pass 
 
 by; 
 There sheeted and shrouded and dancing so 
 
 lightly, 
 Wild spirits appear and they revel there 
 
 nightly. 
 And all in the dancing and revelry join — 
 The ghosts of the dead of the fated Bourgogne. 
 
 There far, far away at the hours of night, 
 Revengeful and tearful they curse the sea's 
 
 might — 
 Fair maidens, meek matrons, gay sailors and 
 
 men 
 
70 MELODIES OF 
 
 Whose bodies lie now in the deep's horrid 
 
 den. 
 Now moan they aloud, recalling with sorrow 
 The turbulent scene of that fatal morrow, 
 When creakingly, slowly the vessel sank low 
 In the slime of the sea, where dread monsters 
 
 grow. 
 
 But lo ! When the stars all fade in the dome. 
 And day wakes again in his far eastern home; 
 When loudly the sea-gulls murmur and shriek, 
 The breakers again conspiringly speak; 
 Then deep comes a wail from cavern-beds 
 
 hollow; 
 Up rises a billow ! Lo ! Others then follow! — 
 But led by a cherub or some gentle fay. 
 Those phantoms to spirit-land scamper away. 
 
 THE TYRA.NTS OF THE HEART. 
 
 I ET me sing a land, whose worth 
 ^ Greater is than that of earth; 
 In fair portions set apart — 
 
 All is named the human heart. 
 Passions are the land-lords fine; 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 71 
 
 Unto these doth life assign 
 Each and all an equal share, 
 
 Ah ! Strong rulers govern there ! 
 
 First is Love, the maiden sweet, 
 
 Fair of form with smiles replete; 
 Clad in vestment of the snow, 
 
 Flaxen tresses softly flow. 
 Kiss the blushes on her cheek, 
 
 Praised be Love ! Her reign is meek. 
 And within her kingdom fair, 
 
 Grows no pain, nor woe, nor care; 
 But glad thoughts do blossom pure, 
 
 And with these doth Love allure; 
 They are nurtured by the streams — 
 
 Hope and dews of youthful dreams. 
 Oft doth music with her flute 
 
 To dame Love pay just tribute; 
 While in merry play and shout 
 
 Gay young Cupids dance about. 
 Soft idyllic as the May, 
 
 Love's fair realm has endless day; 
 Ah ! No fairer realm is seen, 
 
 Than thine own, O heart's best Queen! 
 
MELODIES OF 
 
 Next comes Pride, whose broad domain 
 
 Boasts best honors of the plain. 
 Builds his home of splendor all, 
 
 Woe to him if that should fall ! 
 Oft he rides on summer-day, 
 
 Of his land makes vain survey; 
 Scorns young Labor, Care and Pain, 
 
 Pomp and power is all his gain. 
 Pride, a tyrant lord art thou, 
 
 Draw'st the sweat from Labor's brow 
 
 Weak-souied Avarice, friend of Pride, 
 
 Hath his kingdom by his side; 
 Mines rich-wombed in pearl and gold, 
 
 Yet he is most stern and cold. 
 Oft doth he a beggar-saint 
 
 Of his poortith make complaint. 
 And in spite of all his pelf, 
 
 This grim master starves himself. 
 
 Bold Ambition, too, doth reign; 
 
 Honors follow in his train. 
 At his chariot Justice bound. 
 
 Hears the mock-crowd's jeering sound; 
 But she walks without demur 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 73 
 
 For to grace her conqueror. 
 Rapine, Havoc loud proclaim 
 
 Praises for Ambition's name. 
 Ah ! Rash tyrant ! Thou shalt see 
 
 Nature never destined thee 
 For a life of honeyed ease, 
 
 Never sought thy will to please; 
 But with restless longing hurled 
 
 Break-neck speedest thro' the world, 
 Till thyself forsooth, art laid 
 
 In the ditch for others made. 
 
 Nor canEnvy, tortured soul, 
 
 O'er her longing hold control. 
 Bleak and barren are her lands. 
 
 Honors thrive not at her hands; 
 Now doth she to Love repair, 
 
 Notes the peace and pleasures there; 
 Or she sends the dwarfish spy — 
 
 Treacherous Hypocrisy; 
 Smooth of tongue and fair of eyes, 
 
 Speaketh though most serpent-wise. 
 Now she passeth unto Pridt, 
 
 And her grimace scarce can hide. 
 
74 MELODIES OF 
 
 When she sees the wealth and power 
 
 Of this ruler haughty — sour. 
 Tortured by an endless thirst; 
 
 Envy, Envy, thou art cursed ! 
 And dull mistress, fie ! Thy shame ! 
 
 Slanderest fair maiden Fame. 
 Yet thou too shalt soon expire, 
 
 Murdered by thy very ire. 
 
 See yon plumed knight pass by, 
 
 Decked in all so pompously 1 
 From his eye shines bold distrust, 
 
 He is named the rapcr — Lust. 
 O foul tyrant ! Cursed be thoul 
 
 Whither go'st thou seeking now? 
 Stainer thou of chastity, 
 
 Half the world is owned by thee. 
 Not content with maiden's vows, 
 
 Flatter est thy would-be spouse: 
 But when passion has beed fed, 
 
 To thy dungeon she is led; 
 Where she can but stay and die, 
 
 Poisoned by thy damned lie. 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 75 
 
 Often too, dost Love decoy 
 
 And her maiden charms employ, 
 But to catch our sisters fair 
 
 And to rape fhem in thy lair. 
 Filthy Lust, thine ev'ry breath 
 
 Is the atmosphere of death. 
 When false passion set afire 
 
 By thine own unshamed desire, 
 Doth invade thy wretched frame, 
 
 All thy strength grows feebly tame. 
 Thou shalt be, though young — all cold 
 
 And foul and horrid to behold. 
 Thus thyself shalt punished be 
 
 For the crimes that spring from thee. 
 
 These the passions which abide 
 
 In the heart with more beside. 
 Yet think not the world is lost 
 
 Though it be thus passion-tossed. 
 God, the primal, boundless cause, 
 
 Has implanted His wise laws 
 Deep in Nature's sterhng heart; 
 
 O creation's better part ! 
 And t' obey them, man or woman, 
 
 Is to be but simply human. 
 
76 MELODIES OF 
 
 But to qiiell the passions fine 
 Is a mark of the Divine. 
 
 Keep thou then, by deep reflection, 
 These strong rulers in subjection; 
 
 And of empires thou shalt call 
 Heart's own empire — best of all. 
 
 GLORY IS MORTAL. 
 
 A URORA, open up thy golden gates, 
 
 And bid me enter thy fair eastern realm ! 
 Here sits thy wealth; O wondrous wealth 
 
 with which 
 Old am'rous Jove hath decked thy wonted 
 haunts, / 
 
 O blest Aurora ! 
 
 See there, by Phoebus' graceful finger traced, 
 Sit gilded hills and slumber-drinking vales; 
 Broad plains, a-quaffing of the limpid dews 
 Which nymphs, like hyssop, strew before thy 
 feet 
 O fair Aurora ! 
 
A MODERN MUSE. 77 
 
 And there the waking forests feel thy breath; 
 While willing birds begin their hymn to thee; 
 And man deserts his mistress — Sleep — for thy 
 Embrace; all nature greets thy joyous march 
 O great Aurora ! 
 
 Yet goddess, all thy splendor is shoit-lived! 
 For soon the vast blue vault turns dark and 
 
 stern, 
 Thy former home is plundered by rude storms, 
 Quick lightnings, thunders; thou art nowhere 
 found — 
 How short is glory ! 
 
 Moral: Such is life. 
 
 RETROSPECT. 
 
 r^ LADSOME hath our Fancy wandered 
 ^-^ 'Mid flowered wealth profuse; 
 And we leave with mingled sorrow 
 This Garden of the Muse. 
 
 4,dra 
 
78 MELODIES OF A MODERN MUSE. 
 
 Where we spend the pleasant hours 
 
 And love to Hnger long; 
 Where we make of visions joyful 
 
 A healthy wreath of song. 
 
 And we think here at the parting, 
 How care-worn hearts may be 
 
 Cheered by these small gleanings 
 Of maiden Poesy. 
 
 Fare ye well, O pleasant flowers, 
 Whose splendor doth confuse ! 
 
 Till again our Fancy visit 
 
 The Garden of the Muse. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 905 912 1 f