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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 
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Sonnets and Lyrics 
 
 BY 
 
 V 
 
 JAMES A. WHITNEY, LL.D. 
 
 r/.: r-' 
 
 . -c^ 
 
 New York : 
 / N. TIBBALS & SON, 
 
 124 Nassau St. 
 18S4. 
 
"Pp 
 
 
 Copyright, 
 
 JAMES A. WHITNEY. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, 
 J^WLJ^ZlJ^Trl WHITNEY, 
 
 WHO DIED THIRTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 A MAN OF KINDLY HEART AND GENTLE WAYS, 
 
 WHO, FROM YOUTH TO AGE, 
 
 FEARED GOD AND KEPT HIS COMMANDMENTS. 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 IS REVERENTLY INSCRIBED. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Santa Rosa, --.... i 
 
 Escambia, - - - - - -2 
 
 Hours in Scotland, - - - - - 3 
 
 On the Hackensack Meadows, - - - 12 
 
 Dies Ir.^, - - - - - - - 13 
 
 The Monk of Capri, - - - - 18 
 
 The Banshee, - - - - - - 21 
 
 Lily and Violet, - - - - - 27 
 
 Asphodels, - - . . _ - 29 
 
 Cymbals, - - - - - - 32 
 
 Zathan the Sadducee, - - - - - 33 
 
 To A Portrait of Nell Gwynn, .. . . 36 
 
 Two Roses, - - - - - - 40 
 
 Magnolia Grandiflora, - - - - 42 
 
SANTA ROSA, 
 
 Broad oaks and trailing moss and barren sand 
 Level and deep and drifted as the snow 
 In the far north where yet the spring tide glow 
 
 Had yet no promise. On the sultry strand 
 The little ebb and flow of sleepy waves, 
 And, from the way apart, a field of graves 
 
 Whereon was sun and silence, and the tomb 
 
 Knew grace of roses budding and in bloom. 
 
 And oft, when cold upon the Tappan Zee 
 
 The north wind blows, comes memory to me 
 Of deep white sands beneath the sultry flood 
 
 Of noontide sunshine; and gray-bearded trees 
 With silence undisturbed by breath of breeze: 
 
 And dream of scentless roses, bloom and bud. 
 
ESCAMBIA. 
 
 Were I a dreamer, seeking only rest 
 
 Or sweet cessation from unwelcome toil. 
 Within these gentle forests, it were blest 
 
 To lie at ease upon this sun-kissed soil. 
 Sharing with nature all her idleness 
 
 And all her bounty of bright summer flowers: 
 Her warm airs gently wafted with the stress 
 
 Such as loved lips may breathe in loving hours. 
 
 For not in Arcady was softer calm, 
 
 And not on Hermon were light winds more free. 
 Nor yet more slender is far Egypt's palm, 
 
 Than are these pines. Nor yet o'er land or sea 
 Lies sky more azure. Here from morn to night 
 
 Might dreamer dream with drowsy, slow delight. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND, 
 
 STIRLING. 
 
 They told me how, in angry winter time 
 
 From out the hills swept storms that marr'd the face 
 Of the broad plain with sombre frost and rime, 
 And locked the waters in their cold embrace. 
 But now from battlements I saw the turn 
 , And glimmer of still rivers. All the strath 
 Wore garniture of blossoms, Bannockburn 
 
 Flowed peaceful from the hills devoid of wrath. 
 
 So from the storm of shiver'd axe and spear, 
 And clanging claymore straken on the shields, 
 
 So long ago, the half a thousand year, 
 On these far lying, low and level fields 
 
 Came forth thy freedom, Scotia. For thy sword. 
 In thine own hand, hath made thyself thy lord. 
 
 3 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 11. 
 CENOTAPH OF THE VIRGIN MARTYRS. 
 
 Here, on the gentle air the white flower's scent 
 
 Is sweet and heavy, from the low slope blown: 
 And shadows of light branches careless blent 
 
 Fall restlessly on oillar and on stone. 
 But not for these my thought. Yon marble shows 
 
 In sculptured grace, the tribute of our day 
 To the fair maidens who, where Solway flows, 
 
 With hearts untroubled trod the martyr's way. 
 
 These were thy heroes, Scotland. And more great 
 Were they than were the chieftains who, elate, 
 
 Flung wide their banners on yon castled ridge. 
 And I, — for that within these veins of mine 
 
 Flows blood of Bunker Hill and Bothwell Bridge — 
 Do stand with head uncovered by their shrine. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 III. 
 HOLYROOD. 
 
 Gray walls unroofed, and with the open sky 
 
 Serene and clear above the grass within. 
 And o'er the tombs, wherein no longer lie 
 
 The ashes of dead kings, grow mosses thin. 
 Through the unwindowed arches, soft and sweet 
 
 Blow summer winds; and lowly, golden crowned 
 And rayed with silver petals, at my feet 
 
 The wild weed-blossoms dot the hallow'd ground. 
 
 Like to an old refrain, the moral kenn'd 
 
 When wild flowers bloom where walls of stone decay, 
 
 And roofs are fallen so the high clouds send 
 Far sailing shadows, soft and silver gray. 
 
 Along the floor of ruined nave and aisle 
 
 Where on the stones the mosses sleep the while. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 IV. 
 VENNACHAR. 
 
 I rode along the edge of Vennachar, 
 
 The wild rock-roses nodded by the lake. 
 Slow swept the evening breezes. Thrown afar 
 
 The shadows waver'd on the branching brake: 
 And on the rock-rose shone the setting sun, 
 
 Unshaded by the light clouds drifting by. 
 The wild rose sprang above the herbage dun, 
 
 So, thus it blooms, I said, 'neath ev'ry sky. 
 
 And then I thought of many a story told 
 To my far childhood, how ayont the sea, 
 
 Lang syne my people dwelt. And cote and fold. 
 And lake and rugged hillside, seemed to me 
 
 Like pictures from old songs. So, far and nigh 
 
 Hath Scotland kindred under ev'ry sky. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 V. 
 ACHRAY. 
 
 Upon the lake the dusk fell dreamily, 
 
 The coppice at its edge was damp and chill. 
 Careless I flung a wild rose, wide and free 
 
 The scattered petals floated where the hill 
 Cast its broad shadow on the waters, dark 
 
 And darker growing while the shadow waned 
 Into the deeper darkness: and the mark 
 
 White lined along the shore, alone remained. 
 
 Then Una's legend, to my wayward thought, 
 Took newer form as by the marge I stroll'd. 
 
 And of the myth my fervid fancy wrought 
 A picture fonder than was that of okL 
 
 For Benvenue a couchant lion lay, 
 
 And like a maid asleep was fair Achray. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 VI. 
 KATRINE. 
 
 The sunlight on bright waters, then the shade 
 
 Of sudden gathered clouds. Anon, the burst 
 In wayward impulse of the rain that made 
 
 A dotted level of the waves that first 
 Were joyous in bright motion. Then again 
 
 Lay light on lake and on the mountain brown. 
 While purpler still from cooling touch of rain 
 
 The tufted heather from the cliff looked down. 
 
 Then, as we passed by Ellen's bosky isle, 
 Thou hast beheld, I said, of all thy days 
 
 The pictured reflex. Sun that shone the while 
 Thine heart was careless, and whose mellow rays 
 
 Died in the shadows, and the kindly sway 
 
 Of light that came when storm was passed away. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 VII. 
 ARKLET. 
 
 Loch Arklet hath of fame but little share. 
 
 Its narrow banks are broidered with the sedge 
 Amid whose sleiider stalks the silt doth bear 
 
 No harvest of sweet blossoms. At its edge 
 No bourgeons of green branches droop and sway. 
 
 Nor maze or vista opens at its side: 
 The bracken cover'd braes are dusk and gray 
 
 And no bright ripples on its breast abide. 
 
 But yet beside its banks, a little space, 
 The traveler lingers, for the tale is told 
 
 That this dull water mirror'd back the face 
 Of the fair Helen whom Macgregor bold 
 
 In yonder shealing wooed; that Rob Roy's bride 
 
 Had humble birthplace by yon mountain side. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 VIII. 
 OBAN. 
 
 A resting place was Oban for a night. 
 
 The dark ridge rose behind. The sea before 
 Swept rippling westward to the rosy light 
 
 That heralded the eve. The clouds remote 
 Were level lines of silver; and thereby, 
 
 And interwove, the crimson lay afloat 
 
 Upon the deep'ning azure of the sky. 
 
 Aye, red and white and blue. In mine own land, 
 These hues are of the sunrise and the dawn. 
 
 Yea. From my dwelling on its eastern strand, 
 Where now my children play upon the lawn, 
 
 To fair Pacific coasts where soft and slow 
 Upon my feet the wave lapped long ago. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yea. Red and white and blue. The wand'rer calls,. 
 
 Back to his thought thy colors, where the skies. 
 Are alien o'er his head; though round him falls, 
 
 The voice of kindred speech, nor yet denies 
 He fondness for the vales his people knew 
 
 In the old days, ere thou, my native land 
 Had raised thy starry banner, white and blue 
 
 And sunrise-crimson on the distant strand. 
 
 In the old days. Aye. That the seeding time. 
 And these the realms wherein was freedom sown. 
 
 Its harvest whitens in the happier clime 
 
 Of mine own land beyond the western foam. 
 
 Twas thus I ponder'd when the sunset burned: 
 
 And in the morn my face was homeward turned. 
 
ON THE HACKENSACK MEADOWS, 
 
 Clear, wild, and free upon the twilight plain 
 
 The prairie fire swept on with lightsome dance. 
 Now stooping to the earth, then high again 
 
 Darting toward the sky with tongue and lance: 
 With wreaths of serpents coiled in smoky gold. 
 
 And transient stars that blazed and fell away: 
 While to the stream its fervid volume rolled 
 
 Where quench'd its flame in scatter'd ashes gray. 
 
 Lo. Fitter symbol than an arrow's flight, 
 
 Or grass that grows to fall beneath the scythe — 
 
 Of transitory life is this weird light 
 
 Entwined with cloud so both together writhe. 
 
 And drift and waver, till their glamour dies 
 
 In the low sedge where yon dark river lies. 
 
DIES IR^. 
 
 Day of anger lurid breaking 
 On the earth in ashes quaking, 
 To its doom at last awaking. 
 
 Through the cloud by lightning rifted 
 See afar the Throne uplifted, 
 Now shall every thought be sifted. 
 
 III. 
 
 Clear and far the trumpet calling 
 Stirs the dead from sleep enthralling 
 Into consciousness appalling. 
 
14 DIES IR^. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Coming fearful, sadly, slowly, 
 There the proud and there the lowly 
 Gather in the Presence holy. 
 
 V. 
 
 Where the open volume's story 
 Shows, of all the ages hoary. 
 All of shame and all of glory; 
 
 VI. 
 
 None his record there denying; 
 None unto the Judge replying; 
 There, through justice, hope is dying. 
 
 VII. 
 
 How shall I, to sin assenting. 
 
 Guilty, evil, unrepenting. 
 
 Meet the Vengeance unrelenting, 
 
DIES IR^. 15 
 
 When the righteous, timid, fearing, 
 Scarce are saved Thy presence nearing, 
 And Thy words of judgment hearing? 
 
 IX. 
 
 Pardon, Father, my offending: 
 For my weakness, vigor lending; 
 To my doubting, faith extending. 
 
 Hearken, Christ, Thy promise olden 
 Clasp I now as anchor golden. 
 That I from the wrath be holden. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yea, for me Thy anguish bearing 
 Long ago, the thorn crown wearing. 
 Wilt Thou leave me now despairing ? 
 
i6 DIES IR.^. 
 
 XII. 
 
 While my scroll of life is reading 
 Aid me with Thy interceding 
 While there yet is time for pleading. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Humbled, bent, and bowed, and broken, 
 Of Thy love I ask the token 
 That Thy word for me be spoken. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 While I trust Thy mercy blending 
 With the justice that, unending. 
 But for Thee would be unbending, — 
 
 XV. 
 
 So that while the wicked, flying 
 From the wrath, intense, undying. 
 Fill the gloom with bitter crying,— 
 
DIES IR^. 
 
 17 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Let me, as the sheep are riven 
 From the goats to darkness driven, 
 Place at Thy right hand be given. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Safe from terror, dark, assaiUng; 
 From the doomed ones' woe and wailing; 
 At Thy fiery Throne's unveiling. 
 
THE MONK OF CAPRI, 
 
 The boats that rocked by Capri's shore 
 
 Were blest by priest the summer morn; 
 But I, a reckless youth, forebore 
 
 To bow my head, and laughed to scorn 
 The prayer low-toned, and benison: 
 
 Despite the grieving words I heard 
 From one I loved and wooed and won 
 
 Where Capri's almond branches stirred 
 Beside the sea. I cried, The voice 
 
 From sable cowl is not for me, 
 The brave and strong; await, rejoice, 
 
 I yet return to wed with thee. 
 
 The fishers of the coral deeps 
 
 By buoyant winds were borne away 
 
THE MONK OF CAPRI. jg 
 
 Far to the South, where Afric sleeps 
 
 Beneath the glow of tropic day. 
 Our dredges from the deck we cast 
 
 Through many a week of weary toil 
 Amid the reefs; until at last 
 
 Our boat was weighted with the spoil. 
 Then day by day the joyous sun 
 
 Our shadows threw upon the foam, 
 Until, the northward journey done, 
 
 We saw the towering cliffs of home; 
 And signalled gayly, while a song 
 
 Broke from my lips in cadence free; 
 Oh, maiden, list, the time was long. 
 
 Yet I return to wed with thee. 
 
 Ay, arms as brown as almond husk 
 Shall clasp me as I come, I said. 
 
 And soft eyes glancing in the dusk 
 Are mine to greet ere eve be fled. 
 
THE MONK OF CAPRI. 
 
 They hailed us as we touched the pier 
 
 With shout and laugh from one and all, 
 
 But not for me were hail and cheer, 
 I of it only this recall: — 
 
 The cowl thrown back from steadfast eyes, 
 
 The low voice toned in sympathy, 
 That said, My son, awake, arise. 
 
 Though death its woe hath sent to thee, 
 Our Father's peace be on thy brow; 
 
 The light that yet on sea or land 
 Hath never shone illumes her now: 
 
 Hearken and pray and understand. 
 
 Now, sable cowled, as he before, 
 
 I bless the boats that sail to sea, 
 
 And send to them from Capri's shore 
 The benison not meant for me. 
 
THE BANSHEE. 
 
 Where shone the firehght dying, I, a wee boy was 
 lying 
 Long ago, the while the grandames told in whispers 
 low and wise, 
 How on mountain and in valley, in broad mead and 
 forest alley. 
 The Banshee calls in sorrow before each mortal 
 dies; 
 And how a man wayfaring with full heart joyaunce 
 bearing, 
 May sudden hear the wailing voice and chill with 
 horror grow: 
 For he knows his home forsaken by one whose flight 
 is taken 
 When calls the mournful spirit from the meadow or 
 the snow. 
 
THE BANSHEE. 
 
 And I said, with childish valor, neither fear, nor faint, 
 nor pallor 
 Would come to me should e'er I hear the sad wraith 
 crying lone: 
 I would search until I found it, I would hold until I 
 bound it, 
 And wrenched from out its shadowy lips the secret 
 of its moan. 
 But not in summer's glory, nor yet in winter hoary. 
 Though many a year of change and chance to me 
 did come and go, 
 Heard I the Banshee calling, till once, mid snowflakes 
 falling, 
 A voice came wailing, crying, from ayont the drifted 
 snow. 
 
THE BANSHEE. 23 
 
 I had ridden far, yet royal strode my bonny horse so 
 loyal 
 That with slackened rein I rode him across the 
 broken ground, 
 Till he sprang aside, affrighted, and his eye, with ter- 
 ror lighted, 
 Gleamed on me as I turned him when he started at 
 the sound. 
 For, with me, he heard the wailing, us both with fear 
 assailing, 
 And I scored him with the rowels and I gave him 
 stroke and blow 
 Till, while the snowflakes glistened, he trembling 
 stood and listened. 
 Listened with me to the crying that came from o'er 
 the snow. 
 
24 THE BANSHEE. 
 
 I thought — I am belated, but for thirty years I've 
 waited 
 Since they told to me the legend of the death 
 wraith's warning cry; 
 And the marvel I'll be sounding if this horse of mine, 
 rebounding, 
 In the gully does not throw me where the broken 
 branches lie. 
 So, from the roadway drifted, through the field where 
 deeper sifted 
 The flakes like feathers floating on the night wind 
 blowing slow, 
 On through the wintry weather, the horse and I to- 
 gether 
 Plunged on to meet the Banshee far wailing in the 
 snow. 
 
THE BANSHEE. 
 
 25 
 
 So, the horse and I, his master, went onward fast and 
 faster, 
 While the snow spun Hght behind us as from the 
 storm the spray. 
 And the sound seemed far, and nearer, now duller 
 and now clearer. 
 Till- he reared upon his haunches with sudden snort 
 and neigh, 
 For standing right before us where the rapid gallop 
 bore us, 
 A slender form was swaying, a wee bit form and 
 low, 
 With the snow wreaths heaped around her, my baby 
 girl, I found her: 
 My little girl, I found her, sadly crying in the 
 snow. 
 
26 THE BANSHEE. 
 
 I knew not she had wandered and the dying daylight 
 squandered, 
 Chasing for the feathers that were falHng from the 
 sky, 
 I her to the saddle lifted and through the snowbank, 
 rifted 
 By the heavy horse's gallop, we bore her, he and I. 
 Half an hour — the journey ended — light and shadow 
 interblended 
 Where the fire upon my hearthstone shone clear 
 with steady glow, 
 While the mother watch was keeping; in her low crib 
 softly sleeping, 
 Lay the weary little maiden, the Banshee of the 
 snow. 
 
LILY AND VIOLET. 
 
 I. 
 
 I saw a Calla lily's stately growth 
 
 Swerve in the passing breeze, in garden soil 
 Nurtured with gentle care. And nothing loth 
 
 To wear its beauty, I with eager toil 
 Strode far to grasp it, till its pallid grace 
 
 Lay captive in my warm enfolding hand. 
 But soon I murmured — I did foolish chase 
 
 A phantom charm. For not in all the land 
 Blooms there a flower so scentless: drooping lies 
 
 The veined, involute leaf. The golden core 
 Scatters dead dust: nor evermore shall rise 
 
 The waxen stateliness I knew before. 
 Vain is my trust, and all my hope is vain — 
 
 I flung it by, nor sought for it again. 
 27 
 
28 LILY AND VIOLET. 
 
 11. 
 
 Calm and sedate, as one who, dangers past, 
 
 Forever hence takes heed upon his way, 
 I sought a forest's shade where sunshine cast 
 
 Through slow stirred branches many a soft ray 
 In wav'ring fretwork. There in mellow light. 
 
 Amid the shadowing ferns, a violet grew 
 In waxen beauty. And my envious sight 
 
 Noted its slender grace that charmed anew 
 With each new glance. So, Fain was I to wear 
 
 This white, sweet bourgeon of the dreamy day. 
 With petals trembling as I reached it, fair 
 
 Within my folding hand it cherished lay. 
 It still I hold while eve with day is blent; 
 The treasured o-uerdon of a heart content. 
 
ASPHODELS. 
 
 In summer time, in sunny France 
 
 Eight hundred years ago 
 Tl:>e sunset shot with dart and lance 
 
 Through branches dense and low, 
 
 On courtly knight and lady fair: 
 
 In garden all ablown; 
 Its odors sweet upon the air, 
 
 And colors gayly strown. 
 
 He gather'd gently from the ground 
 Three flowers of varied hue, 
 
 Lo, Here, he said, a sign be found 
 Of that which thou shal't do. 
 
 29 
 
30 A SP HO DELS. 
 
 Here, purple to its heart, the rose; 
 
 The lily's snowy breast. 
 And here the asphodel that grows 
 
 Where holy saints have rest. 
 
 So hold them, while in yonder cloud 
 The crimson fades to gray; 
 
 And tell me ere the vesper loud 
 Hath closed the pleasant day. 
 
 Is not the rose more fair, more sweet, 
 
 Than is the lily's bloom. 
 Or golden asphodels that meet 
 
 The sunshine on the tomb? 
 
 Her soft eyes drooped; afar the sky 
 
 To silver ashes grew; 
 While still the twilight wind crept by 
 
 And slowly fell the dew. 
 
ASPHODELS. 31 
 
 No words were hers, to cheer or chide. 
 
 She gave the asphodel, 
 And low and broken words replied 
 
 In brief and sad farewell. 
 
 The roses drooped, the lilies died 
 And snows lay on the plain. 
 
 Anon, There brought the summer tide 
 Its garden blooms again. 
 
 Of asphodels upon her pall 
 With careful hands they laid. 
 
 Gather'd beside the convent wall 
 In cold and ashen shade. 
 
 In mail he lay, in alien land, 
 
 On field of battle won; 
 With asphodels in glaived hand 
 
 That grew on Ascalon. 
 
CYMBALS. 
 
 The distant voice of clanging cymbals broke 
 
 Upon the air; a gypsy's wanton feat 
 Of rattling music. Yet its echo woke, 
 
 To the day-dreamer idling in the heat 
 Of fervent noon, the sounds of far off lands 
 
 And days remote. Of Magyar warrior's tread,- 
 Of Moorish maiden's mirth, of voice of bands 
 
 Rejoicing where Hebraic altars shed 
 Of frankincense and myrrh their odors rare. 
 
 Aye, of the elder time, when Egypt's hosts 
 Went forth against the Assyrian land and there 
 
 Made captive kings; returning with the boasts 
 Of high wrought conquerors. And clamor high 
 
 Of Bacchic dances where no longer fills 
 The cup from Libyan vines: the frenzied cry 
 
 Of Corybantes on the Phrygian hills. 
 And joy of Jepthah's daughter ere her moan 
 The cymbals silenced in far ages flown. 
 
 32 
 
THE REVERIE OF ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 
 
 Far on from the fountains of morning to the deep 
 flowing rivers of night, 
 I pause for a moment and ask me: O wherefore the 
 warmth and the hght ? 
 For the heat of the noontide but wearied, and the 
 glow of its splendor denied 
 To mine eyes the fair view of its glory in the blue 
 of the heavens descried. 
 
 And wherefore the cool of the twilight, for the herbage 
 is drooping and dank. 
 While the lizards creep out from the covert by the 
 spring where the camels have drank; 
 And I learn not the riddle eternal, why follows the 
 night on the day, 
 So that all that the sunlight hath gilded by the even 
 is hidden away. 
 
 33 
 
34 Z A THAN THE SADDUCEE. 
 
 Thus blinded I toil in the noontide, and wearied I 
 wait in the dusk: 
 Shall I seek some oasis of silence sweet scented 
 with roses and musk ? 
 Shall I listen to voices persuading, that ask me to 
 cease in the quest ? 
 The low soft songs of Dalilah, slow lulling to treach- 
 erous rest ! 
 
 Shall I trust in the joy of the cymbal ? sounds blythe 
 as of birds in the air: 
 The calm of the fast and the vigil, the passionate 
 peace of the prayer; 
 They linger awhile and elude me, they cheer and then 
 vanish away. 
 As the cloud that one moment is crimson, at another 
 drifts sodden and gray. 
 
ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 
 
 35 
 
 So the journey is vain and the labor, and the yearn- 
 ing is vain and the trust, 
 As the flower that springs up by the wayside and 
 withers again to the dust. 
 
 As the harvest that waves to the zephyr, with vigor 
 and beauty aHve, 
 Sinks into the ground with the earth-worm, and 
 dies that another may thrive. 
 
 And naught is the task I accompHsh, and naught is 
 the journey I go; 
 For even as was the beginning, thus even the end- 
 ing, I know. 
 But a vanishing dream and a troubled, from the foun- 
 tains that dance in the dawn 
 To the sad, sullen waters that ripple where the glint 
 of the sunshine is gone. 
 
TO A PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 
 
 I. 
 
 With winsome smile, as if alive: 
 
 She looks from Lely's canvas fair. 
 Upon her cheeks the roses strive 
 
 With lilies on the bosom bare. 
 'Tis but a dream. Ten score of years 
 
 Agone, she passed beyond the vale 
 Of shadows, whence no form appears 
 
 To tell the burden or the tale. 
 
 Yet. As I joy to see the sun 
 Shine placidly on field and lea; 
 
 Or sparkle of bright waters run 
 
 From forest fount to brimming sea; 
 
 So, gladsome, to mine eyes appear 
 
 These beauties, dust two hundred year. 
 36 
 
PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. yj 
 
 Aye. Gladsome smiles she on the wall. 
 
 The student lingers as he looks, 
 So he, forgetful, may recall 
 
 His memories of the history books. 
 For these the lips that, near the throne, 
 
 And these the eyes, to prince and peer, 
 Spake words of power in dulcet tone. 
 
 Gave glance that boded woe or cheer. 
 
 For thus since Eden's apples fell 
 
 Hath of the world been will and way. 
 
 Nor evermore shall stories tell 
 
 Of hearts controlled by gentler sway, 
 
 In evil days, when truth was fled. 
 And courage faint, and honor dead. 
 
38 PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 
 
 III. 
 
 Full frail this lady was, and fond 
 
 Of all that hermits feared and spurned. 
 Not her's the pages saints have conn'd! 
 
 Nor her's the lessons martyrs learned. 
 Not her's the peace that mothers know 
 
 Who call their children to the knee, 
 And tell in whispers soft and low 
 
 The legend sweet of Calvary. 
 
 'Though rose and lily contrast yet 
 
 On cheek and bosom languid shown — 
 
 'Twas thus the rose and lily met 
 
 Ere yet two hundred years were flown— 
 
 They show unto the thoughts of men 
 The beauty of the magdalen. 
 
PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 
 
 39 
 
 IV. 
 
 Severe the thought. A shifting cloud 
 
 Gave changing Hght on face and hair. 
 On swelUng bust and forehead proud 
 
 And hquid eye, as thought was there. 
 Then in the look there seemed a touch 
 
 Of soft reproach, as who would say: 
 Ah. Life was sad, and overmuch 
 
 Of warfare mingled with the play. 
 
 The little play of laugh and smile 
 Atoned by sorrow's secret hour; 
 
 The strife with evil, need, and guile 
 Where love doth yield and duty cower. 
 
 So seemed to say, with meaning clear, 
 
 The soft eyes, closed two hundred year. 
 
TWO ROSES. 
 
 There grew twin roses, each on swaying stalk, 
 
 In the pale splendor of an Asian morn, 
 When passed the angel Azrael by the walk 
 
 That led from Eden, where of hope forlorn 
 Earth's first transgressor went. And one was red, 
 
 Full blown, luxuriant, and the gleaming dew 
 Nestled in fragrance in its petals spread. 
 
 And one was budding yet, and white, where through 
 The dark green foliage slow the sunbeams crept 
 
 To kiss it coldly. Softly there the twain — 
 Passion and pureness — in the morning slept. 
 
 And which will wither when I come again I 
 Low whispered Azrael in the dawning day: 
 
 For love may die; and love may live alway! 
 40 
 
TJVO ROSES. 41 
 
 II. 
 There clung two roses, when the Asian sun 
 
 Touched the horizon at its western rim, 
 And twilight fell. In glowing purple, one 
 
 Dropped withered petals to the shadows dim, 
 On the dark earth beneath. And one, like snow. 
 
 With heart unfolded to the azure sky. 
 Lay fair and bright while darkness gathered slow. 
 
 And Azrael, whispering softly, drew anigh. 
 Which of the twain has withered? Stainless lies 
 
 The calm, white bloom, from dawn to dusk and on 
 To farther morn ? And then in sober wise. 
 
 He gathered the red petals and was gone. 
 The white flower bloomed when shone the farther 
 
 day — 
 For love may die; and love may live alway. 
 
MAGNOLIA GRANDIFLORA. 
 
 It bore the blossom of a southern land, 
 
 The leaf that sways where summer ever glows. 
 Beside it grew the oak, on either hand 
 
 The buoyant foliage of the maple rose. 
 And purple beeches drooped. From wooded hills 
 
 Came winds that had the coolness of the shade 
 And freshness of the growing grass that fills 
 
 The dusk recesses of each mountain glade. 
 
 A tropic bud on adverse air had thrown 
 The odor of its heart, its snowy bloom 
 That withered ere to northern foliage known 
 
 Was touch of frost or autumn's softened gloom- 
 So One I knew died 'neath earth's alien skies, 
 Child of the sunnier land of old called Paradise. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS