•Ill 111 ^^ -^ .^^^ >- ^^'^, o 0^ \#' .'X' ;\: -< '^'■ *^' .<^' r: '^-^^' !',%. ^. ,.^^- •^> ■ o ^' <5^ r^ L. 'Ti-i^ " v"^ ^0 •^o 0^ V' -— ^^. ^' rV %/ : : ^-/^ C- V C>-. ■> ''/- ' ^/ c^ ::'^'. ^ Yoniaii, — aiul attond her f^oy'roio-u word ; And ill lior })rido disdains to ONvn liini lord ! — The widowed Constanee next our pity ehiinis, Calhng- her son by all endearing names, And now refusing to be eheered, for he, Her " pretty one," is in captivity. — Then Juliet, gentle queen of love, appears, And with her tender accents, moves to tears : Or, noble Romeo, Constancy's true knight, Swears to his lady by the moon's pale light; Nor, as that restless orb, to change was given, But steady proved, though all his liopes were riven ; And followed, even to tlie dark, cold grave, The gentle one his fond love could not save ! Now wav'ring Macbeth's awful lady calls On all the ministers of wrath — and palls Iler spirit with the blackest robe of niglit ; That no " compunctions visiting"s" should Wight Her settled purpose — or remoi-se be found T' impede her progress to the " golden round/' Yet still her woman's nature 'woke — lier heart In pity pleads the sleeping Puncau's part, He looked so like her Father as he lay, She could not take liis gentle life away ! IN SOUTH-CAROLINA. 81 The horrid deed accoraplish'd, they are seen, On Scotia's throne, as crowned King and Queen ; Behold them at the royal banquet now, Oh, great King Macbeth ! why that anxious brow? Why those perturbed glances, noble host ? — Lo! where it rises — Banquo's bloody ghost ! The goodly company in terror cry ; And unrefresh'd from the sad banquet fly. Now glides along that sometime haughty Queen, And closes, for the night, the tragic scene ; Her taper placing on a table near, She would the blood-marks from her fingers clear ; But water fails to cleanse the guilty stain. And conscience struck, her efforts seem in vain ; Not all Arabia's rich and spicy land Yields a perfume, can scent that little hand ! Next Comedy with merry mask we see : Priscilla Tomboy romps with childish glee ; Commands the " grocer's prentice" home to trot. For marry him she vows that she will not. — Or, Belmore, from his musty books to rouse. And 'wake to jealousy, his merry spouse, Is flirting with that young and foppish beau ; So well disguis'd, who could fair Harriet know ! 82 LIMERICK, OR COUNTRY LIFE Or deem tliat simple woman e'er could plan, So bright a scheme to cheat the eye of man ! Sometimes we laugh o'er little Pickle's freaks ; Or, Sukey Squall annoys us with her shrieks ; Or, the young Actress of all work appeal's, And smiles upon our plaudits and our cheers. But list those operatic strains so grand ; And see them swift advancing, hand in hand. That gracefid pair ! And " un petit ballet," Is danced this eve, instead of farce or play. The merry girls, composing as they go, Now swiftly fly, on " light fantastic toe ;" Or should the measure pensively incline. They quickly then, slow pantomime combine With the gay dance : And e'en the ballet's Queea Elssler of fleetest foot — could she have seen Our dancing girls, had flung her wreath away, • And ne'er again essayed to dance or play ! But not to pleasure are we always given — Oh no, one social, country, winter's even. Around the chimney's bright, capacious hearth. Is worth an hundred nio-hts of frolic mirth. IN SOUTH-CAROLINA. 83 Or, better still, and to my lieart most dear, Those evenings when aloud, with accent clear. One kindly reads some pleasant, witty tale. In which good sense and honesty prevail ; Or poem, by some master-spirit wrought. Full of pathetic scenes, and lofty thought : Meanwhile the girls their busy needles ply. And every anxious care is made to fly. III. Spring, youthful Spring, with wreath of fairest flowers. Now comes advancing from her fragrant bowers, And as her light foot touches the glad earth, See how the flowerets burst at once to birth! And the sweet birds awake their happy notes To hail their love ! Melodious music floats Upon the air ; the very streams rejoice. And add their murmurs to the general voice Of gladness, that now welcomes smiling Spring, And all the pleasures that around her cling. 'Tis now the maidens pleasant task each morn, To cull the fairest flow'rets, and adorn, The parlour neat. The breakfast quickly o'er. They seek the smiling garden, and explore 84 LIMERICK, OR COUNTRY LIFE The well filled beds, where roses of each hue, From pm*est white to crimson, meet the view ; Where stately lilies lift their heads of pride, And seem to scorn the blossoms at their side ; Where hyacinths and jonquils sweetly grow, And purple violets, and drops of snow : The pleasant arbour on whose top entwine, The yellow jasmine and the bright woodbine ; A brilhant canopy ! beneath its screen 'Tis sweet on sunny day to lie imseen. And list the drowsy hum of honey bee. Or, Mock-bird's voice from yonder Myrtle tree. The mornings now to books and work are given ; But charming walks are had at quiet even. What time the sun begins to seek his rest, Turning his coursers to the gorgeous west, There soon on crimson cushions to recline. While the young moon, with countenance divine. Smiles on him — and the mailed and starry host Around his palace keep their silent post. Through pleasant fields, on river-banks we stray, Where beauteous Cooper \^ands his placid way. Now classic grown, since Irving's spreading fame. Has given it, for aye, a place and name ! IN SOUTH-CAROLINA. 85 Sometimes we join the youtlis as they redine On flowery bank, and throw the baited hne ; Or, watch the cork with graceful movement float, — Or, o'er the mill-pond skim in bonny boat, And as around our prow its waters play. Wake up the echoes with an Alpine lay. Should pensive thoughts arise at close of day, Then to the solemn grave-yard bend your way. Where to his native dust return'd, the slave Rests from his labours, in the quiet grave ; There to remain 'till the dread trumpet's sound, Summons his body from the yielding ground. A lovely spot ! The willow's weeping head. Bends gracefully above the peaceful dead ; Or, as the mournful night-winds pass them by, Sends o'er the graves a solemn, plaintive sigh. 'Tis night — an awful silence reigns around ; But, hark ! there's music on the air — the ground Seems to reverberate with distant tread ; Lo, they approach and bear the sacred dead ! The flaming torches cast a solemn light, As slow they move, upon the face of night ; With chaunt and prayer the mournful scene they close, And leave the body to its long repose. 86 LIMERICK, OR COUNTRY LIFE On Sabbath eve, 0, it is pleasant tlien. To wander far from busy haunts of men ; Beneath the sighing forest-trees to He, And watch the brilhant glories of the sky, Reflections of the dazzling orb of light ; The solemn stillness of the coming night. Invites to thought ; the beauteous scene above, Speaks of that better land of peace and love. Returning, one perchance may careless roam To where the negroes have their village home ; Its cleanly rows, of cottages so neat ; The hearty welcomes that your presence greet ; The quiet calmness that pervades the spot. Show that the sons of Canaan dark, are not The poor depressed mortals they are thought, Tho' they say " master," and are sold and bought ! They but fulfil their destiny. But now, Wo 16 the owner who will not allow His slave to hear the blessed word of heaven ; Or to instruct him has no teacher given. To point the way, lest he the road should miss. That leads the sinner to the realms of bliss. Thy honour'd head, old Limerick, shall ne'er This wo receive, for many a rolHng year IN SOUTH-CAROLINA. 87 Has fled, since first the Gospel's hallowed sound Has here been heard, by list'ning crowds around. Oh, it is good these meetings to attend, And mark the deep attention that they lend The preached word. "With what devotion bow, As on their knees, they breathe the solemn vow : And as the music of the hymns arise. Their earnest voices seem to mount the skies ! " Saddle our horses — bring them to the door, " This eve we will the pleasant woods explore :" Through shady roads, where lofty pines do sigh, And the sweet jasmines hang their gold-cups high ; Where dogwood pure, and graceful fringe-trees bloom, And fi'agrant honeysuckles lend perfume, , Our course we take : Or, river-road pursue. To where the Cooper bursts upon our view. With the bright landscape stretching far away. Through which its clear, translucent waters stray. St. Thomas' chapel 'mid its towering trees, Whose waving branches whisper to the breeze. And Richmond, seated on its hill of pride. Enrich the charming picture spreading wide. The gentle moon, sweet mistress of the night, Flings o'er our homeward way her pensive light ; 88 LIMER£CK, OR COUNTRY LIFE AVliile fire-flies bright, their fairy himps ilkime, And chase each other though th' umbrageous gloom ; Meanwhile, the whip-poor-will, from wild-wood bower, Sends her plaint note to charm the silent hour. " The carriage waits, and maidens quickly say, " Who will with mo a social visit pay ? " The eve invites." Some, with delight prepare ; The rest, too lazy, with one voice declare, — " The country has of late unsocial grown, " We would as lief be visitino- in town. o " Well, stay at home ; but do not others blame, " And call unsocial, when you are the same ; " And such rare fuss, and good excuse is made, " When a short visit's only to be paid !" To Richmond hill, or Farm-field, we repair, Or Bossis, sylvan spot, where balmy air Revels on sunny day 'mid fragrant flowers, Or gently whispers 'round its woody bowers. Perhaps, on Hyde-Park's breezy hill, we stand ; Or Kensington, whose ancient oaks demand The admiration that we show before The pleasant mansion opes its friendly door ; Where, by its beauteous mistress prest to stay And spend the evening, after short delay, IN SOUTH-CAROLINA. We give consent " How teased the girls will be, *' Waiting at home, for our return to tea !" " A pic-nic ! when ? O, quickly let us hear !" " On Thursday next, at four o'clock ?" " O dear, " How very long the hours will seem, and slow ; " What shall we find to make them swiftly go !" Thus their delight the joyous girls express. But to the youths it causes sore distress : One wishes it may prove a rainy day ; Another vows he means to keep away ; A third is sure he will be sick that eve ; A fourth against the one who did conceive The stupid frolic, turns his wrathful ire ; Nor stops the strife of tongues, 'till they retire ! Sweet scene ! where grace and rural charms delight ; Long may thy music glad the stilly night ; Thy rustic halls be decked with boughs of green, And merry youths, and laughing girls be seen, To form the joyous ring, and dance away, With light, elastic tread, and spirits gay : Where country neighbors meet from miles around, And friendly chat, and pleasant smiles abound. Scene of hilarity and social cheer ! Long may you flourish on, from year to year ; l 90 LIMERICK, OR COUNTRY LIFE, ETC. But, should you onco admit of airs from town, Oh, then in darkness sliall your sun go down ; "When solemn midnight brings the city belle. Old rural sports — ye sweet pic-nics, — farewell ! Old Limerick, to my heart forever dear. Where are thy merry crowds dispers'd. Ah ! where ? Some in the peaceful grave are sleeping k)W ; Too many wear the sable garb of wo ; Some mourn o'er shattered health, or broken vow ; . Some 'mid the heartless world are striving now ; Yet some rejoice. Not many moons have fled, Since, to these walls, thy youthful master led. Dear sacred home, his fiiir and blushing bride. Behold them now, as seated side by side, In sweet contentment, they dispense around The hospitality that erst was found Within thy walls. O, see them bending there, Over that fragile bud of hope, so fair ! The father's manly brow is decked with joy, The mother smiles upon her darling boy With brightly beaming eye ; or sings the while. His little woes and sorrows to beguile. Oh, happy, loved, but inexpcnenced pair ! Would you for aye the crown of honour weai' ? NUPTIAL GIFTS. 91 Then, William, in thy father's footsteps tread, Revere the precepts of the honoured dead. And gentle lady, let thine eye-lids trace Thy mother's virtue, dignity and grace ; She who so many years did here preside — Where could I point you to a safer guide ? Let their example shine again in you, Like them be pious, generous, noble, true ; Then shall the joys of Limerick never cease, But each revolving season close in peace. NUPTIAL GIFTS. Spirits ! that in Eden's bower Blessed the primal bridal hour ; And the sinless, happy pair Blissfully sojourning there, Ere the tempter's venomed breath Shed contagion, ruin, death ! Ere the flowerets drooped and died, Erst that garden's blooming pride ;— Ere was mute the voice of love, Breathing music through the grove ! Or, on man's atfrightcd ear, 92 NUPTIAL GIFTS. Broke the ciirse — depart — despair ! When all heavenly blessings blent, In those bowers of sweet content, Making earth, and sky, and stream, Sparkle with a golden gleam. Borrowed from the light that shone Round the great Creator's throne : Draw ye viewless spirits near — Ladened with your gifts, appear — Let them be as rich a store As to paradise ye bore ; For the pair ye bless to-day Are as innocent as gay. — Hark ! there's music's joyful swell, They obey my potent spell ! Spirits Enter, Spirit of the light and day, What bring'st thou to bless them, say ? FIRST SPIRIT. The perfumed breath of the early flowers. Newly baptized with April showers ; The dewy tear from a violet's eye, NUPTIAL GIFTS. 93 Bright with the hght of she sunny sky ; Secrets that lie in the moss-buds breast ; The sheen of the hly's silvery vest ; A draught of nectar from the cell Of the fragrant jasmin's golden bell ; The joys that in a dove's nest lie, His loving heart — and his faithful sigh : All that is fair — and all that is sweet, I lay at the youthful couple's feet ! Spirit of the starry night, What bring'st thou to bless our rite SECOND SPIRIT. See, the holy fire that glows In the vesper star ; The pure ray that Dian throws From her brow afar : As bright — as fair — May the wedded pair Shine in their own happy sphere. Shedding blessings far and near ! Spirit from the world of light, Heavenly Spirit ! pure and bright, 94 NUPTIAL GIFTS. What of rich and holy things, Bear'st thou on thy silken wings ? THIRD SPIRIT. A drop of love from the fountain bright, Sparkling near the throne of light ; — A gift of hope, with its rainbow hues ; — A gift of Mth, wet with crystal dews ; — The gifts of peace, of joy, — of prayer ; The gift of a hushed and holy fear ! TO OUR BELOVED MOTHER. 95 MES. E. C. B. ON HER FIFTIETH BIRTH-DAY. •Her children arise up, and call her blessed."— Pro». 31 Chap., 28 v. 'Tis sweet in early spring to view, The flow'rets budding fair, The early promise these, and true, Of the rich opening year : And sweet to watch the morning ray, Upon the eastern clouds at play. Forerunner of the orb of day. Up-rising bright and clear. All these are sweet — but summer yields More joys than smiling spring ? And better are the ripened fields, The harvest reapers sing ? — And when the sun's meridian high, Doth not his genial warmth supply 96 TO OUR BELOVED MOTHER. More blessings to tlie eartli and sky, Than to his risings cHng ? And thus thy hfe hath ever been, Our own — our mother dear ! Thy summer freshness, cool and green, The drooping heart could cheer : And if aught good in us be found, Was't not thy sunny rays around, That from the cold and barren ground Brought forth the rij)ened ear ? But now autumnal hues begin To sere thy summer prime, And silently and sad within. We mourn the flight of time ; Yet thou art calm — for fifty years The spirit's seed was nursed with tears, And now the precious fruit appears, Rich as from Eden's clime ! The spirit's clustered fruits — above The grapes of Eschol rare, Wliere peace, and joy, and faith, and love, With gentleness appear ; Long-suflfering, goodness, meekness too. TO OUR BELOVED MOTHER. 97 And sober temperance, here we view ; All, closely clinging, meet in you As fruit on vine-branch fair ! Guard well the valued trust, until The vintage shout be given. And its resounding echoes fill With joy, both earth and heaven ! Still in the holy vine abide — His shelt'ring foliage thee shall hide, Nor may thy branches from his side By cruel hands be riven. God speed thee on, as he hath sped, And grant thee many a year, That we may learn from thee to tread The paths of faith and prayer : And when thy race on earth is run, The battle o'er — the victory won, Receive thee, through th' eternal son, To mansions ever fair ! LINES ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. LINES, ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. I've seen a motlier bending O'er her loved, her only child, And as she kissed its tender cheek, Wept as the infant smiled ; Young mother, why this silent wo ? Why do those burning tear-drops flow ? Flow they in bitter anguish, Because thy lovely boy. The solace of thy widowed heart, Thy comfort, and thy joy. Can never know a father's love — A father's guidance never prove ? Alas ! we know thy sorrow, We know the cruel grief That preys upon thy gentle breast. And yields thee no relief; But weeping mother dry those tears. Thy heavenly father hears thy prayers ! LINES ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. 99 He whose right hand hath stricken, And taken from thy side The youth, who in his manhood's prime Did win thee for his bride ; Can yet supply thy bitter loss, And sanctify, to thee, thy cross. Oh yes, this lovely stranger. O'er whom thou'rt weeping there, Comes a messenger in danger, From him who heareth prayer. To whisper of that blessed shore. Where " kindred spirits part no more." Then gladly do we welcome. This child of many prayers, And hail him as a comforter Amid thy woes and cares ; And bid the mother wake to joy. While gazing on her darling boy ! HJO FOR MY BIRTH-DAY. FOR MY BIRTH-DAY. Past, past — tlie cares of youtli are past. Its trials o'er ; Past are tlie hidden rocks that line Life's starting shore ! And now from rocks, and sands, and breakers free. My little bark is seen to put her forth to sea 1 In safety now I gaze, upon The sands that he Glistening, beneath the world's bright sun's Hot, scorching eye ; — The sparkhng sands that glow on pleasure's beach, Unmindful of the waves that soon that spot shall reach I Oh ! deem not that the open sea Is always still ; Or, that for aye a gentle breeze Life's sails shall fill ; Alas ! too soon the stormy waves shall rise, And dark and murky clouds veil the bright, sunny skies. Yet dread not e'en the thunder's roar, Or, lightning's flash ; FOR MY BIRTH-DAY. 101 Nor fear against some ocean reef Thy bark may dash ; Fixed be thy gaze upon yon star of light, Set in th' heavens clear blue to cheer thee through the night. Thou art not drifting all alone, On ocean vast ; A pilot, steady, active, brave. And sage, thou hast ; One who well knows what dangers will betide — Trust but his eye and hand, and safe thy bark shall ride. A chart is also given — a chart So truly drawn, Consult thou but its heaven trac'd lines At eve and dawn, And it will teach thee how to steer thy way Safe fi'om the wrecks on which old ocean loves to prey ! With aid like this at hand — my bark Thou canst not fail, Into the haven of the blest. At last, to sail ! And there on peaceful waves, securely lie, Under the bannered cross, in triumph floating high ! 9* 102 LITTLE CHARLES TO A MOTHER. ETC. LITTLE CHARLES. He lay within my arms, tliat infant boy, My sister's cliild — liis blue eyes closed in sleep^ And his wee, taper fingers folded close, As if in prayer ! He seemed the very type Of innocence — so sweet and pure he looked. Perhaps he dreamt of paradise, or held Mysterious converse with the angel, sent To be his guide through life ! For, as I gazed Upon his lovely face, a rosy smile Came dimphng o'er his beauty. Holy One ! Thou, who on earth took children in thine arms, And blessed them, hear me now, from thy high throne Li heaven. Take this child, our little one, Into thy holy keeping ; save through life, And after death receive him as thine own. TO A MOTHER, ON THE FIRST COMMUNION OF HER ELDEST SON. Mother ! my heart beats for thee — and I joy That thou hast seen thy first, thine eldest boy, TO A MOTHER, ETC. 103 Kneel at his Master's table, and receive The sacred food that makes the sinner live ; That he has knelt in faith and penance there, Brought by his Saviour's love, and thy deex), earnest prayer I Oh, happier was that hour to thee, I know, Than when thy woman's heart did first o'erflow With the vrarm gushing of maternal bliss, And on his brow you pressed the primal kiss. Happier, than on the morn he met thy view, Fresh from the fontal bath — bright with baptismal dew. Happier, than when his youthful lips did frame To lisp " my mother ;" or, his father name. In notes far sweeter than the voice of bird, From the surrounding green-wood clearly heard. Happier, than when you clasped his hands to pray, And pointed to the skies where Jesus led the way ! Happier, than when you saw him, kneeling, bow Before the man of God — the holy vow Baptismal, on his youthful head to take, And wear the heavy yoke for Jesus' sake. The heavy yoke, made easy, light, and sweet, By thy all-powerful aid, hfe-giving Paraclete ! 104 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND. Mother ! my heai-t joys for thee — for I know UiDon that day faded each earthly woe, And melted into nothing — every loss Seemed to a blessing turned — as by the cross You knelt, and j^oured the humble, heartfelt prayer ; The prayer of love and faith, to Jesus dying there ! LINES, ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG- FRIEND. IVe been with thee in the merry dance, When far and near, each brilliant glance Flashed with its own bright charm, from eyes All unacquaint with tears ; for sighs Had never yet been known to swell The hearts, where gentle feelings dwell. I've been with thee by the social hearth, In the hours devote to cheerful mirth ; When the spirit quits its load of care. And the merry laugh is ringing near ; When the shafts of wit innoxious fall, And tales are told in the old oak hall. LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND. 105 'Mid the shady wood I've roved with thee, When the bosom leaps from thraldom free, And feels in the tangled, pathless wild. The love and joy of a trusting child. 'Neath the blue sky and the air of heaven, All hurtful things from the soul are driven ! I've stood by thy open grave, and there I have shed for thee, the silent tear ; A tear, to thy youthful hopes all o'er ; A tear, that thy friendly voice no more Shall greet mine ear. A tear — but no, Not for the dead should the tear-drops flow ! G-entle thy spirit while lingering here. Gently it passed, in a whispered prayer. Borne to its heavenly rest : a smile Played o'er thy death-cold hps the while. Oh, may my soul when it leaves the clay. As calmly mount to the realms of day I 106 A SKETCH. A SKETCH. Kate. — Yes ! I could sit for hours, Near tlij side, and hear thee sing, sweet Juha ; For thy rich tones spring from the hidden depths Of thy fond heart, and float upon the air, As hght and buoyant as the silken wings Of viewless spirits, that around us fly At starry eve, filling the wide expanse With harmony and joy. Thy plaintive notes, When deepest feelings in the heart are stirred, Gushed forth all steeped in tears. In lighter mood, Thy voice is as the warble of a bird, Sporting amid the branches that o'erhang The silver lake, upon whose grassy banks We love to lie and listen to his song. Come, once more Strike th' harmonious chords, and let thy voice Join in the melody ; whilst I, reclining Upon this " couch of Ind," shall dream myself In Paradise ! Julia. — Shall it be gay or mournful ? A SKETCH. 107 Kate. — Mournful. O, mournful as the notes that swell From the ^olian harp, when summer winds Kiss its sweet chords, and whisper tales of love. Julia's song. The lute is hushed — the song is o'er, In yon majestic hall ; The voice of joy shall wake no more, — " A dark spell hangs o'er all." Alas ! the dance, the revel there. As in the days of yore, Collect the gay, the young, the fair, The beautiful, no more. And, by the marble fountain's side, No more, at moonlight hour, Is seen that young and gentle bride, Fair as some evening flower : Lamenting for her gallant knight, Who, at his country's call. Bore his proud banner 'mid the fight, Far from his native hall. 108 A SKETCH. For many years the lady wept, And by that fountain's side, Her sad and nightly vigil kept, — That lone and widowed bride ! And now she takes her quiet rest. Beneath the funeral pall : In hall and bower, once so blest, " A dark spell hangs o'er all." Kate. — Oh ! thank thee dearest, — but too sad's thy song : And did the lady die, pining away With grief for her young lord ? Was the knight true. Or was he false of heart ? Died he in war. Or did he safe return ? Julia. — The Poet telleth not. But leaves his fate to us. — I'll think his heart Was true ; and crowned with honours won amid The hottest fight, he to his hall returned Only to find it desolate and lorn. And his young, gentle love beneath the tomb. Kate. — Nay, trust me he was false ; some dark-eyed girl, Bright as a Peri, won his fickle heart I woman's love. 109 From that pale, pensive flower — but heed it not ; — We'll have a sportive lay to dry our tears, And chase thy tale of sorrow from our hearts. WOMAN'S LOVE. She loved him when a boy, While yet a joyous child. All through the live-long day He roved the forest wild ; Or chased the rabbit for his tiny deer, Making the woods resound to his bold voice and clear. And when a few more suns Had tinged his cheek with brown. When proudly with his gun He brought the wild bird down, How gladly then at night she viewed the spoil, Displayed in triumph glad, from his long day of toil ! A few more fleeting years. And then to youth he sprung ; How fondly to him now Her young heart closely clung ; 10 110 How proud to hear of his achievements high, How full of bashful fear when her brave hero's nigh. A treasure safely hid Within a casket fair, — Sweet buds of rarest growth That scent the desert air, — Not more securely lie from sight away. Than she would hide her love, from the bright eye of day. His manhood was a boast, — So bright his prime of day, The glorious sun of noon Shone not with purer ray, Than that which darted from his eye of light. When the warm heart within was stirred with glad dehght. How cruel now the pain Her woman's heart must bear ; How hard to quench the flame Of wild-fires burning there ; But soon she bowed her to the conflict warm. Like flower that graceful bends beneath the driving storm ! Long years have worn away, — His prime of life is o'er, — SONG. Ill And past, — tlie bitter pangs Her gentle spirit bore ; Yet still she loves him with affection pure, And would for him, I ween, the greatest pangs endure. His locks of richest brown Begin to fall away. E'en those that yet remain Are frosted o'er with gray ; But not, though all his locks have silvery grown, Will she expel her love, from her pure bosom's throne. And should he first be call'd To pass the gate of death, Though she may not be near To catch his parting breath ; Ah, who shall weep him with such bitter tears ! Who suffer as will she through life's remaining years ! SONG I SAW thee by the moon's soft light, So beautiful and pale, Like snow-drops of the early spring ; Or, lily of the vale ; 112 SONG. All beautiful and fair wer't thou As clustered rose-buds white, When in a garland they are wreathed For some gay bridal night. And then thy low sweet voice arose, Half timid in its mirth. Like song-bird when it first essays To soar away from earth — To soar away from earth, and sing- High up in ether blue, The song that from its little heart Is gushing fresh and true. What lends thine eye a deeper blue ? What paints thy face so fair ? What makes thy lowest tones to float Like music on the air ? Like music on the summer air. When on the wind-harp's strings, The spirits of the starry night, Strike their harmonious wings. Go ask what paints the blushing rose. Go ask what gilds the ray Of every sparkling star of eve. Or, lights the God of day ; SPRING. 113 Ask all that's beautiful below, All that is bright above, What gives to each its loveliness, The rich response is — Love ! SPRING. I AM far away from the haunts of men, Where the wild flowers grow, — in a woody glen, Where jessamines twine Each tree and vine, And hang their golden cups in view, To catch the drops of the silver dew. Yes, 'tis the season of early spring. The song-birds now are on the wing ; The mock-bird's voice Bids the heart rejoice. Its gladsome thrill Doth the forest fill ; Or dies away on the list'ning ear, Like spirit notes, from a brighter sphere 1 Oh, here could I sit the long bright day, And list to the merry wind at play, 10* 114 TO ANNE- In the old oaks nigh, Which plaintively sigh, As mourners sad their funeral hymn, Their moss-scarfs streaming from each limb. But now the day is past, and see. The silver moonlight tips each tree. And hark ! I hear Through the forest drear, The echoes float Of thy sad note, Lone Whip-poor-will, — young spring's sad guest,- Bird of the silent eve — I love thy wild tones best. TO ANNE. I've heard thy voice at even-tide, When 'round the social hearth, Loved ones united, consecrate The night to song and mirth. And in the gayly festive hall. Where the light-hearted meet, I've heard again thy silvery tones.. So musical and sweet !. TO ANNE. 115 Again, on moonlit summer eve, I've heard it float along, And play upon the buoyant air, Like some fair spirit's song. And in the forest's mighty shade, I've heard it oft resound, Waking the echoes from repose, To emulate the sound. But, never did its music fall Upon my listening ear. So full of tenderness and love, As in the house of prayer. 'Twas not as clear as 'mid the wood, Or rich as in the hall ; Or soft, as when on summer night. We hear its dying fall. But there was something in its tone, That found a ready way Into my heart, and whispering, said — " Fond dreamer ! 'wake and pray." For, oh ! my thoughts had wandered far* From holy things and fair ; 116 TO MY FRIEND MRS. E. C. G, And, with the clearly loved of earth, Was holding converse, there. Yes, to thy gentle voice, dear girl, A holy power was given, To call my roving fancy back From earthly joys, to heaven ! TO MY FRIEND, MRS. E. C. G. The sweet Spring, with her balmy breath, Is whispering to each flower, And song-birds trill their notes of love, Within the green-wood bower ; The bright sun throws a golden gleam O'er field and meadow, wood and stream, And nature hails the genial beam. That re-awakes her power. Yes, nature smiles around, and holds Her annual feast of love. And angel forms appear to glide Athwart the heavens above ; Where not a single cloud is seen. To float upon the blue serene ; TO MY FRIEND MRS. E. C. G. 117 All, all is harmony between The glowing sky and grove ! Or, should a passing cloud obscure Yon azure field of air. By light-winged zephyrs swiftly borne Across the pohshed sphere ; What, if that cloud a glistening dew Flung o'er the rose-buds as it flew, — Like them, in sunny youth, we knew Bright drops, to memory dear ! Sweet season ! when my heart awakes With nature, from her sleep. And brings her treasures forth to light, From her recesses deep ; What, though she miss some flowerets there, Buds of affection, sweet and rare. Or find love's chaplet crushed and sere, — 'Twere foolish now to weep. Pure friendship's garland still is left, With clustering buds and flowers, As fresh as if but newly bathed By April's fleeting showers ; And, lo ! amid the lustrous green, 118 ECHO. Half-hidden by a leafy screen, The emblem of thy love is seen — A gift from Eden's bowers ! There has it flourished many a year. In bright and radiant bloom, Casting a lustre o'er my wreath. Shedding a rich perfume. Undimmed forever be its ray, Cheering me on life's weary way. Lending a gleam to death's dark day. And lighting-up the tomb. ECHO. WRITTEN FOR A VERY LITTLE BOY. What is echo, mother dear ? Is it of the earth or air ? Does it dwell on tree-tops high ? Or, look down from yonder sky ? Oh ! it is right full of glee, FHnging back my words at me ! Should I to the wild-woods hie, ECHO. 119 Would I see it with mine eye? Or, is it a curious bird, Never to be seen, but heard ? When the moon is up at night, And the stars are shining bright, Then how clearly it gives out An answer to our merry shout. Tell me, mother, tell me dear ? Is it of the earth or air ? Echo ! 'tis a fairy thing. Flitting by on noiseless wing ; You can never see it, dear. Though you seek it every where ! Shout within the wild-wood free. It will answer from a tree ; With the bat it hides away. In a ruin old and gray, Crumbhng church or castle, dight With the ivy green and bright. Should you tread beneath such wall, It will mock your footsteps fall, And around you'll peep to see, If some one doth follow thee ! When 'tis heard on mountains high. 120 ECHO. It is many-voiced in cry. Shout, and hark ! how grand the sound Travels it around and round. Now, as loud as thunders dread, RoUing far above your head ; Or, an organ's pealing swell, Filling nature's temple well. Now, melodious sweeps along. Like the music of a song ; Or, from viewless harps around. Fairies 'woke symphonious sound. Till, at last it sinks to rest. On some distant mountain's crest, Like a merry little child, Tired of its joyance wild. Echo ! 'tis a joyous thing ! Happy as the birds of Spring — Merry, rocking full of glee. Flinging back in mockery free, Answers to each question given, Flitting 'twixt the earth and heaven. And, could we its visage see, I am sure 'twould grotesque be ; Like those strange and uncouth things, All composed of head and wings, ECHO. 121 Such as, in some antique hall, Gaze upon us from the wall. Echo — 'tis a tricksy sprite, Full of active, gay delight ; Full of frolic, full of fim, With its mockery never done ; Loving best to fly by night, When the stars are up and bright. But the parentage you'd know, Of this fairy imp — Echo ? From the gi-een earth did it spring, And its sire on viewless wing. Monarch of the ambient air, Saileth 'round all nature fair. With its noble father now. Fast it soars o'er mountain's brow ; Then, upon its mother's knee, Hides its merry face in glee ; Sporting with the earth or air, Echo — echo every where! 11 122 THE FAIRY GIFT— A BALLAD. THE FAIRY GIFT. A BALLAD. Young Albert was as brave a knight. As ever wielded lance, Or bore in holy Palestine, The banner of his France. But now the battles o'er, he had Returned in triumph home, And with his trusty followers, Graced his ancestral dome. 'Twas on a brilliant summer's day, He sat him down to rest, Within a marble portico, That opened to the west. But, as he there sat reading, he, Chancing to cast a look Towards the fields and meadows rich, At once put by his book. THE FAIRY GIFT— A BALLAD. 123 And, turning to his trusty page, Bade him — " away and see Who form that goodly company, Now wandering o'er the lea." The page did thus his answer give— " One is that trusty knight, Whom I have heard you call your friend, And comrade, in the fight. " And with him are three ladies fair — ■ The first of noble mien, The second just to woman grown, The third a child is seen." ^' Now, haste thee, haste ray merry page, Now haste thee o'er the lea. And quick this goodly company, Bring hither unto me." " My master greets thee well, sir knight, He greets thee by the cross ; And trusts you will not pass him by, With so severe a loss, 124 THE FAIRY GIFT— A BALLAD. As not to have these ladies fair, So beautiful and bright, To grace the revels that are held Within his halls to-night." " Fah ladies, I am at your hest, You must decide, if we Shall turn into this castle nigh, Young Albert's guests to be." Then quickly did the ladies cry — " Oh, let us thither turn, For scorching is this summer's day, Fiercely the sun-beams burn." Thus soon they turned their weary steeds Toward the castle gate, Where to receive his honored guests, Young Albert did await. " Oh, welcome, welcome trusty friend, And welcome ladies all ; And now dismount, and rest you here, Before we seek the hall." THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. 125 He led them 'neath the marble porch, Of that pm-e Grecian fane, Where he reposed when first he spied. Afar, their goodly train. " Oh, let me know from whence you come, And whither you are bound. And, why in such rare company. Old comrade, you are found." " These ladies, from a foreign land, Have come across the sea, Leaving their friends and homes afar, To view a strange countrie. "And I, in honor of our band. Have offered them mine aid. To show them what is worthy note, And save them when in need. "This is the lady Ruth vena, Of widows gayest, best ; " And this her lovely daughter fair, The idol of her breast. 11* 126 THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. " And this the lady Geraldine, Of noble house the pride ; Her father was a loyal knight — In Palestine he died." " Faith ! Hildebrand, old comrade true, Methinks you're highly blest, Thus to conduct through field and hall, These daughters of the west ! " Oh ! would that I could share your trust, Would to my charge were given, The guidance of these ladies bright, I'd wish no other heaven !" Now quick the lady Geraldine Turned pale as pale could be. And cried " I've lost that magic gem By fairy given me." " She charged that on my breast it should Be worn, and kej)t with care — " For of the day you lose this gem, Young Geraldine, beware !" THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. 127 " It was of rarest workmanship, A brilliant true-love tie ; And, in the midst, the sapj^hire's blue " Met the admiring eye. " Oh misery ! lack-a-day ! Who will my gift restore" — But e'er her sentence was complete Young Albert to her bore The brilhant gem — for it had dropt, E'en at his knightly feet ; And, falling on his knee, did thus The blushing maiden greet : — " Bright lady take thy jewelled broach, May it to thee restore. That peace and happiness that now Can gild my breast no more ;" " Unless upon thy sworn true knight, Those bright eyes you would turn — ■ Then far o'er land and sea thy fame, And beauty should be borne. 128 THE FAIRY GIFT— A BALLAD. " And my good helmet's burnish'd disk, From lienceforth shall be drest ^P With true-love-knot : The sapphire's blue Shall glitter on my crest." Then gently down the maiden's cheek The tear-drops 'gan to flow ; Right puzzled was the knight I ween, To guess the cause of wo. But now the lady Ruthvena, Her haughty brow o'ercast, Rising, proposed to seek the hall, For day was waning fast. Then to Sir Hildebrand she said, As thitherward they wend — " This is a sorry sort of youth, You call your chosen friend. *' Has he no better taste, Sir Knight, To sense and beauty true, Than thus, that sickly Geraldine, In supphance to woo ?" THE FAIRY GIFT— A BALLAD. 129 Sir Htldebrand, of ready wit, Tlien to the lady said, " He surely is devoid of taste To choose that timid maid. His lady and his love to be When you, above compare. Oh queenliest lady of the ring, By her was standing near." The l^y's polished brow again To calmness was restored ; And when they gained the castle hall, With ready wit and word, — She praised the goodly furnitm'e. The tapestry so gay ; And to young Albert's guileless heart. She found a ready way. Sweet Geraldine in chamber now, Wept bitterly alone. And to the Fairy of the gift Sent thus her piteous moan. 130 THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. " Oh why this clangorous gift to me, Dread Fairy, did you send ? And threat with dreadful words of wo, The knight whose knee should bend; " And from the ground restore the gift To me, distressed maid ! He should some day for pity cry. But find no ready aid ; " And though he love me e'er so well. And I to him be true, Yet parted we should be (she said) Alone our fate to rue. " For mortal hand may never touch This gem, unless from me, They do receive the same in trust. As now I give to thee. " Then keep it safely, maid — beware ! Again she cried, beware ! And as in wonder I was lost. She vanished into air !'' THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. 131 For many days the princely halls Of Albert young did they graced ; And then toward the sunny bowers Of Italy they haste. His minstrels now no longer charm, And jousts have tedious grown ; The Falcons take a different course From that they should have flown. "To horse, to horse, my trusty page, Let us from hence away ; Within this castle I'll not rest, For aught, another day." The page he saddled soon the steed, Of jet, by Albert rode ; Another for himself also, Of flesh and mettle good. Mounted, the castle walls they leave Far, very far behind. And tow'rd the sunny Italic Their hasty way they wind. 132 THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. There soon he meets that courtly band, That lately graced his hall ; And with the lady Geraldine, Was seen at court and ball. Poor Geraldine, forgetful quite Of the mysterious fay, Dreams only of her happiness On each succeeding day. For ever at her side, is seen That knight of noble fame, Young Albert, " bravest of the brave," Who sounds abroad her name. Late in the tournament had he Proclaimed her matchless eyes. And from a host of valiant knights. Borne off the \^ctor's prize ! A chaplet of the fairest pearls. Pure natives of the sea, From beauty's queen did he receive, Upon his bended knee. THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. 133 But ah ! not long did Geraldine, Enjoy this dream of love ; Too soon the angry spiiit's wrath Was she obliged to prove. For chancing at the gift to look, Behold the brilhant blue Of the rich sapphire, had become Of pale and sickly hue. Then did the Fairy's dismal threats Rush o'er her troubled mind ; And wheresoe'er she turned her thoughts No comfort could she find. For she, to whom she should have looked As counsellor preferred, — The lady Ruthvena, of late Scarce spoke to her a word. And why ? The lady Geraldine The truth could never tell ; But all the ladies of the court Did guess it very well. 12 134 THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD, 'Twas jealousy that moved the dame — The handsome Knight of France, Prefen-ed the lady Geraldine At banquet, court and dance ! Nor could the gallant Hildebrand, With all his polished art, Win from her lips a passing smile, Or calm her stormy heart. Ruthvena's daughter was too young Her friend's distress to share ; Where could she in her sorrow turn ? Where find a pitying ear ? Alas ! there was no help for her But to sit down and weep ; Or, sighing think upon her ills And sorrows sharp and deep I But most did they afflict her when She thought that her true knight, Was doomed to share, in wretchedness. Her sad and mom-nful plight. THE FAIRY GIFT A BALLAD. 135 Yet, like a noble woman soon She nerved her soul 'gainst fear, And how to save her gallant knight, Was now her only care I " There is but one alternative," The gentle lady said, " Oh ! that before it came to this I had been with the dead." — That evening, in the festal hall. She sought Sir Hildebrand, And trode with him the graceful dance, Conversing, hand in hand. Young Albert puzzled, strove in vain To gain her listening ear, To find in what he did offend — She heeded not his prayer. Ah ! little could he guess the pain That racked her faithful heart ; Or that it was in hope to save His hfe, she bore the smart ! 136 THE FAIRY GIFT- — A BALLA1>^ And never did he learn the truth, For very soon I ween, He fell in battle 'gainst the foe, In holy Palestine. Yet to the last upon his crest He wore the love-knot, true ; The colour of his scarf was aye The sapphire's brilliant blue I Poor Geraldine I in gloomy cell Of convent dark and drear. She o'er the Fairy's dreadful gift Sheds many a bitter tear. And ever, as she tells the beads Within her lonely cell, She prays that with her lover's soul It may be always well. A PASSION FOR OLD THINGS. 137 A PASSION FOR OLD THINGS. A PASSION for old things — deserted dwelling, Througli which the night-wind sends a hollow sound ; What time the whip-poor-will its plaint note swelling, From yon dark wood, a sadness breathes around. Old faded tapestry, and halls forsaken. From whence the sound of revelry has fled — Long mouldering corridors, whose echoes 'waken The sad and mournful memory of the dead. — This antique chair, with its worm-eaten cover, Invites to sit me here, and dream the while Of those long dead, whose spirits still may hover Around this lonely, melancholy pile. The young, the beautiful, who erst delighted To join the sprightly dance within this hall. Now wandering o'er the world with spirits bhghted, And dark care hanging o'er them like a pall. — Yon ruined fount — how many happy lovers Have breathed theu* fond vows by its flowery side, 12* 138 In those past days, when these forsaken bowers Felt the sweet influence of its gushing tide. This rustic bench — at the sweet sunset hour Of summer eve — here would the traveller rest, To watch the sun slow sinking to his bower Of gorgeous clouds, erected in the west. Yes, every thiug on which old Time has scattered The dust of ages, has a charm for me ; From old cathedral aisle, and turret battered. To mouldering cot, and ivy-circled tree ! THE POET'S DOOM. "' THE BURNING AGONIES OF THOUGHT." — Montgomery. Oh ! envy not the poet's fame, Though a dazzling halo surrounds his name ; For the heavenly spark, from its earliest birth, Was nursed 'mid the ills and woes of earth. Think not his dream was always bright. And his spirit free, and his thoughts all light ; THE poet's doom. 139 No, his blue sky was too oft o'ercast By a dark'ning cloud and a rushing blast. All that has given most joy to thee, From his stricken soul gush'd in agony ; And the thoughts that have stirred thy spirits flow, Came from his heart in its deepest wo ! As on a dark and stormy night. The lightning's flash is most dazzling bright, So feelings nursed amid care and ire, Flash from the soul with a fearful fire. Cares have pressed with their greatest weight, On his spirit, broken and desolate ; And the cruel taunts of a heartless throng- Have met his ear, as he passed along. Long e'er the world shall his genius own. Will his parted spirit afar have flown. To those realms of light, where the weary rest Quiet and safe, 'mid his kindred blest. The sighing night-wind sweeps the spot Where the poet sleeps, but he heeds it not ; His body now free from all earthly care, Resteth in peace and quiet there ! 140 ART THOU OPPRESSED. The heralds of fame, too late proclaim His glorious worth, and his mighty name ; His name, now cleared from its blight and gloom, Blazes, but only to hght his tomb ! ART THOU OPPRESSED. Art thou oppress'd with loads of wo ? Do penitential tear-drops flow ? Go, seek thy heavenly Father's throne, He will not leave thee all alone. Alone, thou could'st not bear thy grief, But he will yield thee quick relief. If, when o'erwhelm'd with sin and loss, Thou plead'st thy Saviour's blood-stained cross. His cross of blood ! be that thy plea. He died in agony for thee ; For thee he felt the cruel blows, And stood unmurm'ring 'mid his foes. Oh, soul, art thou relentless still ? Still would'st thou dare resist liis will ? THE DEPARTED. 141 Oh, where for succour would'st thou fly, When dread, the avenger hurries by ? To earth ? Is safety found in fame ? And what is pleasure, but a name ? To love ? Alas ! it hath no power. To shield thee in the evil hour. Eeligion, only, can bestow The shield that saves fi-om endless wo ; Without her guardian help, thy heart Must dread the doom, must feel the dart ! THE DEPARTED. She died before my heart had learnt. To pour its woes in song ; And, though in rude, unpolished strains, My numbers roll along. Yet she, I know, had joyed to hear My lay, altho' nor sweet, nor clear, Nor such as bursts from bird of air. In cadence rich and strong ! 142 THE DEPARTED. Before all joy had left my heart, Save that the minstrel knows, When o'er his harp he bends, to tell In song, his tale of woes ; Or, that which stirs the poet's soul, When far away the dark clouds roll, And burning thought, without control, From his full bosom flows ! She died ! Those fond eyes cannot trace The burning page, where glow Thoughts, such as only from a heart Surcharged with anguish, flow. 'Tis well — it would have given but pain To her fond heart, to list the strain, Or read the lines whose words remain, A record sad, of wo. She died ! A few more fleeting years, A few more years to grieve, A few more rude and earthly songs, And then the world I leave, For those bright realms of bliss, where ring From harps of gold, with sweetest string, The triumphs of the Almighty King ! — Where angel fingers weave OH LEAVE US NOT. 143 Fresh garlands, for the brows of those From fiery furnace come, Of suffering, for the Saviour's sake, Up to their heavenly home. In this bright realm may we abide. Brought thither by our Saviour-guide, And safely sheltered by his side, Oh, never more to roam ! "OH LEAVE US NOT." Oh ! leave us not ! — I know a voice is calling In sweetest accents from thy native home. Like whispered music on thine ear 'tis falling — " Return, beloved wanderer, wherefore roam ! " Come unto us — within thy father's dwelling, Soon will be gathered all most dear to thee ; Thy brothers, sisters — in their bosoms swelling. Each tender feehng, — love and harmony." That voice ! what fond emotions doth it waken, Rich with the well remembered tones of youth ; Thy mother's low, sweet notes, like dove forsaken, Wooing the rover to his nest and truth. 144 OH LEAVE US NOT. Thy father's deejD-toned diapason sounding In perfect concord o'er the deep bkie sea ; True to that voice, thy fiUal heart is bounding To seek his blessing on thy bended knee. "Oh tarry not!" — and now the voice is dweUing, On all the pleasures of thy boyhood's home, All household harmonies together swelling, Rise to implore thee tenderly, to " come !" Oh leave us not: — what tho' 'tis selfish wishing To keep thee from such holy joys away. Thy mother's kiss — thy father's j)ious blessing ; AVe cannot trust thee — tarry with us — stay ! We cannot trust thee to the joys that cluster Around thy rural and ancestral cot ; We dare not trust thee, when the eyes of lustre Will sparkle on thee : — O, forsake us not. Forsake us not: — although but new the feeling That binds us to thee, yet so deep the spell, Through all our hearis the witchery ptill is stealing, We cannot breathe that little word — farew^ell. THE CONVERT. A SKETCH. RiNALDo, a youth about to relmquish his faith, and em- brace that of Rome, is saved from apostacy by the interces- sion of his sister. Scene. — A small room. Upon a table are seen a crucifix, rosary, skull, and other tokens of the Romish devotion. Rinaldo. — Long have I sought for thee in vain, sweet peace ! But now I trust that I have found thee — found The peace that passeth knowledge, hid within Thy holy sanctuary, O ! blessed church, That, as a nursing mother, woos thy young A.nd wayward child to rest upon thy breast. Thus do I press thee to my lips, in proof Of my new faith, thou sacred cross ! — thus swear ' By thee, to quit the world and all its pomp, The brilliant pleasures that its votaries seek, — The pride of wealth, — th' ambition of a name. The blandishments of love, — with all the false 13 146 THE CONVERT A SKETCH^ And empty joys that earth holds out to tempt From the straight, narrow path, that leads to life. Eternal, and all-glorious, in the skies. Soon shall the monastery's walls enclose This form, to stir from thence no more, save when Solne holy errand calls — t' absolve the soul Just parting from its weak and sinful clay, Or, cheer some lone and broken heart, to whom. Each day brings misery only. Soon, the cowl — Who's there ? Bianca. — My brother — 1 1 Rinaldo. — Bianca ? Bianca. — Yes I Rinaldo. — What brings you here ? Bianca. — I come, e'er 'tis too late. To warn, t' implore you, by those days — Rinaldo. — Peace, girl ! I ask from you no warning, no advice. Bianca. — Those happy days when we together played, In merry childhood, by the fountain's side, THE CONVERT A SKETCH. 147 That, with its cooHng waters blessed the spot — The lovely valley where we both were born, And dwelt in peace and happiness, 'till war, Dread war, with awful fury bursting forth. Above our heads, expelled us from our homes. Our flocks and herds, their pasturage consimied. Roamed to the desert mountains, there to seek A scanty herbage, 'mid eternal snow. Our gardens rifled of their fruit — the flowers Crushed by the iron heel of brutal strife. Shall ne'er again their beauteous leaves unfold. To hail the sun. You weep for our lost home ? Oh ! think of those who made that home so dear ! Of her from whose loved lips we learned first To lisp our infant prayers. She, by the hand. Would gently lead us forth, amid the groves, And, seated on some grassy bank, retired From busy hum of men, would tell us tales Of the old martyrs, from that sacred book, The Holy Bible, which she bade us love, And part with but in death. And then, at night. Seated around our cheerful hearth, our sire, The labours of the day all passed and o'er. Would still implant those lessons in our minds. Which bade us, by our hopes of heaven above, 148 THE VILLAGE MAIDENS. Never to quit our faitli, our simple faith, Tauglit by that holy man, our village priest ! Was it not sweet ? Did we not love to go, When he, the Saviour's lambs all gathering round On the sweet Sabbath, would, with pastoral care. Feed them with bread of life — the sacred bread Which then — Binaldo. — Oh ! my most precious sister, by a word Thou'st won me back to my first love. From hence I put away the church of Rome, and thus Trample her idle tokens in the dust. Let fiery persecution do its worst, I have no cares, no fears ! It can but crush This weak and mortal body, in the dust. By torturing engine, or consuming fire. The soul will find escape, — the enfranchised soul, — And mounting free, on wings of love to heaven. Exult that martyrdom has brought it life ! THE VILLAGE MAIDENS. I HAVE been among the maidens, — A young and joyous set, THE VILLAGE MAIDENS. 149 Whose hearts have never heaved a sigh ; Whose cheeks were never wet With hot and burning tears, that flow From broken hearts, surcharged with wo. It wiled me from my wretchedness, It made my spirit glad, To see this fair and happy group, Their youthful bosoms clad. With all the rainbow hues that jjlay. Around sweet girlhood's early day. Yet ever, as their cheerful mirth Grew lighter and more gay, I thought, how soon the hand of time Would tear those hopes away ; And sighed, that sorrow's bitter draught Must by those rosy lips be quaflf'd. Sad thoughts, away ! — And, gentle girl, Fair mistress of the f6te, I trust that many happy days, On thy young beauty wait, And that the fleet and passing hours, May only strew thy path with flowers I 13* 150 THE VILLAGE MAIDENS. Yet, should dark sorrow's gloomy cloud, O'ercast tliy sunny sky, There is a calmness on thy brow, A spirit in thine eye, That bids us not for thee despair, Thine is a noble heart to bear ! Behold, those graceful sisters fair, With eyes so starry bright I Oh, may their hopes be never less — Their spirits still as light — And love, for each, a garland weave, Without one hidden thorn to grieve ! " Cheer thee, my gentle cousin, cheer. There's sadness on thy brow ; This is no time for thoughtfulness. Look up in gladness now ; And, 'mid the other maidens be, As blythe, as merry, and as free !" Young rose-bud of the village, say, How shall I sing of thee ? Thou art so gentle in thy mirth. So full of witchery. Sweet Julia ! is thy heart as fair. As all thy outward graces rare ? A BATTLE CALL. 151 If SO, we need not tremble, dear, "When dreaming o'er thy lot ; Or wish that, 'mong thy many gifts, Thy beauty were forget : Combined, such purity and grace, We scarcely in a mortal trace ! Yes, happy group of maidens fair, I've passed a day with you. And it has cheered my sorrowing heart. Your frolic mirth to view ; I, for a while, forgot my pain. And lived my girlhood o'er again ! A BATTLE CALL. Arouse thee ! arouse thee ! the hour is at hand. The call of the war-trump is heard through the land ; Arouse thee ! arouse thee ! for now is the hour To strike for our country — crush tyranny's power. Give a lingering glance to your bright sunny bowers, And take the last look at their beautiful flowers ; Go, press to your bosom your loved one once more. And kiss the dear prattlers that play round the door. 152 A BATTLE CALL. Ah ! many the warriors that never return, And the widow, in tears, for her partner shall mourn ; Ah ! many the brothers that fall on the plain, And gallant young heroes we see not again ! Arouse thee ! arouse thee ! 'tis glory who calls, She crowns with her garland each hero that falls ; Ai-ouse thee ! arouse thee ! 'though death be the meed, 'Tis sweet for our country, and freedom to bleed. Oh, bright is the chaplet that graces the brow, Of the hero who, true to his country and vow, Swerves not from the contest, nor thinks of his pain, But rushes to glory o'er heaps of the slain. The bright glowing laurel — the myrtle of fame. Are bound in the chaplet that garlands his name ; In the temple of glory they ever shall bloom, Unfaded by time, or the damps of the tomb ! Arouse thee ! arouse thee ! 0, who would not give Whole cycles of ease, thus immortal to live ? Arouse thee ! arouse thee ! no longer delay. Let's strike for our country and freedom to-day. THE FADED FLOWER. 153 THE FADED FLOWER. Amid gay bowers, where every floweret grew, Of form and colour, beautiful to view, A half-blown rose, a lovely thing and fair, Ul^on its slender stalk was withering there ; With head bent low, like one of sorrow's clime, Too frail to meet the chilling blasts of time. Young Love once roaming in this sweet parterre, Espied this lovely floweret fading there ; A soothing pity filled his gentle breast. He raised the flower, and tenderly carress'd. Brushed from its leaves the soil and stain of earth, And called on zephyr, who, in frohc mirth. Was sporting near, with the young joyous Spring, To fan it gently with his dewy wing. Meanwhile, young Love collects the silvery dew. In cup of tulip, bright with every hue ; This, on the bud, he pours with tender care, And soon its beauties open to the ah. 154 THE GRAVE. THE GRAVE. Who dreads the grave ? To me it seems A quiet place of rest, To whicli my weary spirit turns Like tired-bird to lier nest. Her peaceful nest within the wood, — And there my grave shall be, Far from the busy haunts of men, Beneath the old oak tree. The wild birds there shall sweetly sing, Throuo'h the lono- summer hours. Their songs of happiness and love Amid the fragrant flowers, That bloom above the quiet spot Where I shall calmly sleep ; No more to feel earth's weariness, Or, o'er its sorrows weep. But if the silent grave to thee Appears a dread abode. THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH. 155 More frightful tlian earth's wretchedness And all hfe's crushing load ; Then turn thy troubled thoughts on high, To yon celestial sphere, For, seated on a throne of light, Thy Saviour reigneth there. Nor did he surely there ascend, Ere first he laid his head Upon the cold sepulchral stone, Amid the quiet dead. Then dread no more the peaceful grave. But view it as the door. To heavenly mansions, where the soul Finds pleasures evermore. THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH. Oh ! there are cruel hands would throw thee down, Holy and ancient mother, from thy seat, Ever exalted from the earliest time ! 156 THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH. Could those who aided in thy building up, — Heaven-gifted men ! — could they have seen thee thus, Under the foot of man trampled and crush'd — Rivers of tears had then streamed from their eyes ! — Could they have dreamed thy sons would aid thy foes. How had their bosoms heaved with agonizing throes. Lo, she shall rise and free her from the dust ! In hallowed blood from his own side, her Lord Vouchsafes to wash her earthly stains away ! Even as bright as in her early day, Soon shall she shine — the lovely spouse of heaven. Each faithful son rejoices in her might — Vainly the wanderers now bewail that they Ever forsook their mother, — went astray, Roaming in crooked paths that led from heaven away. LINES. 157 LINES, WRITTEN IN hook's " CROSS OP CHRIST," AND PLACED IN A BRIDAL CHAMBER. Nay, start not, lady, tliat I place Within thy bower of bliss. The holy cross of Christ, nor deem Its station there amiss ; It will not fright thy pure heart's mirth, But sanctify the joys of earth. The flowers of love will bloom and chng Around the sacred tree. With brighter hue and sweeter scent, Than those on pleasure's lea ; Its precious dews enrich the ground. And shed a hallowed influence 'round. It checks the growth of baneful plants, Dispels the venom'd breath Floating around the flowers of earth. Spreading infection, death ! Then, lady, keep it aye in sight, From the gay bridal, to the parting night. 14 158 THE FAIR YOUNG STUDENT. THE FAIR YOUNG STUDENT. A FAIR and lovely creature — one of those Sweet, fragile forms, on whom " the winds of heaven," Should never blow, save when they whispering tell Of love and spring ; or, breathe the balmy breath Of summer ; for ought else were far too harsh For gentleness hke hers ! Oft have I seen. In that old library and ancient chair. Her form — with ponderous volume open wide, Upon her knee ; and there for hours, she still Would sit, and read, and meditate — then read And think again. And thus, her mind she stored With many things, and drank sweet draughts of truth, And wisdom, such as come alone through toik Most of all works, she loved the quaint old poets. The sovereigns of the antique ; and most, of these. Him who so sweetly sung, in " Faery" realms. Of gentle Una, and the Red-Cross Knight. Sometimes, an antique gem, from yonder old, Worm-eaten cabinet, would claim her thoughts : On one of these I've seen her gaze for hours. And, ah ! how often have I seen her stand, At even-tide, — the toils of day at end, — In pensive thought, watching the setting sun. THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 159 As if she read deep lessons in its march. And now her sun has set ; and naught remains Of her sweet self, but this dim portraiture. THE YOUNG SOLDIER, Is HE not princely, even in repose ! The battle now is over, and the field Is gory with the dying, and the dead. Of either party ; for the fight was warm, And many met that day, who did not part. 'Twas our young hero's maiden field ; and now, Exhausted from the flight, within his tent, He rests upon his couch, and vainly tries To find relief in sleep. It cannot be — His thoughts are all too busy, and his heart Beats as 'twould leave his side. " Now, may he sit, Among the warriors at the council-board ;" Nor, can he e'er again be called ' a boy !' His maiden field ! But, well his trusty sword Hath done its duty — hj his stalwart arm, Wielded that day in battle, till at last It turned the scale of victory, and gave 160 A WISH. The triumph to his cause ! These glorious thoughts, Mingled with others of a serious kind, The natural j&'uits of a first battle field ! — Dim, glassy eyes, seemed gazing wistfully Within his face ; and mingled sighs and groans Assailed his ear, from yon grim bed of wo. He thought of widowed mothers, sonless wives. Of gentle maidens weeping for their dead. And almost wished he ne'er had heard of war. And then again, with thankfulness, he thought Of his own life, in mercy spared, to bless His widowed mother, and his sisters dear, iV.nd one sweet maid he hoped to call his own. A WISH. Hidden with Christ in God, Oh ! that my life could be ! Then from the cares and ills of earth, My spirit would be free ; Mounting aloft on eagle's wings. Communing with the King of Kings ! A WISH. 161 How calm when howls the storm, Would be my spuit then ; How still amid the angry strife — The rage of cruel men ; How firm, in black temptation's hour.^ Resting upon a heavenly power. And, in the halls of mirth. Unfriended, sad, forlorn. My soul would sweetly rest within, Nor heed the glance of scorn, Darted upon my loneliness ; — The Saviour would be there to bless. But, ah ! it is not thus — Mine is a life of strife ; A heart half-weaned from the world, With sin and sorrow rife ; One moment struggling to be free, Then joying in captivity ! Nought but a Power Divine, Can break the galling chain. Can ease me from the heavy weight, The agony, the pain ; Can drive the demons from my breast And sanctify it for his rest. 14* 162 THE BRIDAL WREATH. " Draw me within the veil, — Let me be hid with God ; Nay, drive me thither. Spirit di'ead, Though with a cruel rod ; For, oh ! if I am left alone, I am forevermore undone. THE BRIDAL WREATH. A BRIDAL wreath for a lady fair. To bind her tresses of raven hair ! Wilt twine it of the lily pale, That blossoms fair in the lowly vale ? No, for the lily's sickly hue Naught but the paUid corse should strew ! Roses ? For every bride they bloom, Many will offer their sweet perfume ; Ruddy and white they will smile around, Roses shall not in our wreath be found ; We, afar, o'er the flower-strewn earth, Seek for a bud of rarer birth ! Here is a bank of violets blue, Modest and sweet they hide from view ; THE BRIDAL WREATH. 163 From tlieir green retreat their lovely eyes Look up in love to the sunny skies ! Shall we not weave our chaplet here ? Where shall we meet with a flower as fair ? Violets, though they deck the heath, They are not meet for a nuptial wreath ; The blue for love, and the modest white. Let both be there on the festal night ; Their fragrant breath perfume the gale. That softly stirs the bridal veil. The orange pure, and the myrtle flower. Bloom but to grace the fleeting hour ; The lovely peach and the almond — these, With that little smiling one, heart's-ease, And jasmines white and yellow, see. From a sunny clime I bring to thee. Oh ! earthly flowers are witching things, A holy joy to their presence chngs ; Their rich and fragrant odours tell Of a happier sphere where spirit's dwell ; Glorious — but, ah ! their beauties fade. Even while the bridal crown is made ! 164 THE BRIDAL WREATH. Alas ! tlie plant we seek on eartli, Takes, in a heavenly land, its bnth ! Yet those below are fair, I ween — Let their hidden worth in your life be seen ; Then, th' immortal amaranth's bloom, Shall form thy crown beyond the tomb ! See, I have formed my wreath of the very flowers I dis- carded at first — lilies, roses, \dolets ; the blossoms of the myrtle and orange trees, with those of the almond and peach. Golden and white jessamines all are here; and, speaking to the heart, bid thee adorn thyself Avith the seve- ral virtues of which they are emblematic. And that little cunning thing, heart's-ease, with her smiling eyes, peeps from the green leaves of the chaplet, and merrily exclaims, " Forget me noV CONTENTS. Page. The Huguenot Daughters; or, Reasons for Ad- herence TO the Faith into which Churchmen are Baptized, 5 A Vision of the Temple, 22 Sonnets, i. — " O, how amiable are thy Dwellings, THOU Lord of Hosts," 23 " II. — " My soul hath a desire and longing to enter into the courts of the lord," . . 24 " hi. — The House of Prayer, 25 " IV. — "Lead me to the rock that is higher THAN I," 26 " v.— The Church, 26 " VI. — A Country Grave Yard, 21 " VII. — The Blasted Tree, 28 " VIII. — The Chapel, 28 " IX. — The Resurrection, 29 The Church's Prayer in Lent, 30 Good Friday, 31 Lines, Suggested by a scene witnessed on Easter- Day, 36 166 CONTENTS. " Can Ye Drink of the Cup that I Drink Of," . . 38 The Broken Vow, 39 God's Word Comforts the Despairing Soul, ... 41 Mutability, 43 A Song of Praise, 45 " Lord, save us, WE perish," 46 Lines to the True Sons of the Church, .... 49 "Weep with them that Weep." 51 The Virgin's Lamp, 53 The Cross, 54 The Burial, 57 The Death Angel, 60 Limerick; or. Country Life in South-Carolina, . GQ Nuptial Gifts, 91 To our.beloved Mother, Mrs. E. C. B., on her fif- tieth birth-day, 95 Lines on the birth of an infant, 98 For my birth-day, 100 Little Charles, 102 To A Mother, on the first communion of her eldest SON, 102 Lines on the death of a young friend, . . . . 104 A Sketch, 106 Woman's Love, 109 Song, Ill Spring, 113 CONTENTS, 167 To Anne, 114 To MY TRiEND, Mrs. E. C. G-., 116 Echo, WRITTEN FOR A VERY LITTLE BOY, 118 The Fairy Gift — A Ballad, 122 A Passion for Old Things, 137 The Poet's Doom, 138 Art Thou Oppressed, 140 The Departed, 141 "Oh LEAVE us NOT," 143 The Convert — A Sketch, 145 The Village Maidens, 148 A Battle Call, 151 The Faded Flower, 153 The Grave, 154 "The Holy Catholic Church," 155 Lines, written in Hook's " Cross of Christ," and PLACED IN A Bridal Chamber, 15*7 The Fair Young Student, 158 The Young Soldier, . • . 159 A Wish, 160 The Bridal Wreath, 162 ^B9 «tg ' °- /■ /c^^. 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