lib rary of congr ess. ®^jpx^-.- itip^rig^J l}tx+ Slielfi^i.l3l4- UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Idle Rhymes BY HELEN LOUISE MORIARTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. C. LIXI> CINCINNATI The Robert Clarke Company Press 23 0^7" r 14- ,* i> Copyright, 1895, By Helen Louise Moriarty. Never did Poesy appear So full of Heaven to me, as when I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear. To the lives of coarsest men. • It may he glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High soulv, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century; — But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men! — James Russell Lowell. CONTENTS. /■ Apologia, - - - - - 7 Easter (Illus.), - 9 3. Unsatisfied, - - - - 11 4. Peace (Illus.). - l 3 Estranged, - - 16 O, Wistful Eyes (Illus.), - 17 To a Friendly Scribe, - - 19 5. Too Late (Illus.), 22 9. Sonnet, - - - - ~ -5 Convent Echoes (Illus.), - 26 Musing, - - - - - 28 12. The Corner Porch (Illus.), - - 30 13. Many are Called! - - 33 i^. A June Morning (Illus.), 35 15. Some Day, - - - - "37 16. Dorothy (Illus.), 39 17. The Poet's Song, - - . - 41 18. A Snowy Night (Illus.), - 43 [9. Inconsistency — Contentment, - 45 20. Thoughts after a Sermon ( Illus. i. - 46 21. Dreams, - - - 49 Unrest ( Illus.), - 50 The Sleeper ( Illus.), - - 52 Finis (Illus.), - 55 APOLOGIA. A humble singer on a shadowy slope, Begun one morn to chant a simple lay. Weak was her voice, her harp not strung to play Anthems sublime — she only sung of hope. Too weak her voice to reach the bolder heights Where laurel bends in green profusion round. Where happy voices bid the air resound, And glorious singers taste of Fame's de- lights. g APOLOGIA. Too weak her voice and homely far her lays, Toward themes intense her thoughts were never turned, And vet within her soul such fires burned, As led the bards of old thro' triumph's ways. And so .she sung, nor had she wish to cope With singers grand, whose anthems reach the skies. Her only meed the praise in friendly eyes, This humble singer on a shadowy slope. EASTER. Hark ! To the tuneful glory Of Easter bells ! Eist ! To the old, old story Their music tells. Clear on the air outpealing In joy sublime Gently the words come stealing •* ' T is Easter time !" Hark ! To the bells now singing The tale of Eld ! New hope to sad hearts bringing In bondage held. (9) 10 EASTER. List! For they sing, " mortals, Be blind no more ; Enter the longed-for portals — God's open door !" UNSA TISFIED. \ \ IN SATISFIED. We sigh for Happiness, and when she's come With lagging step to meet us on our way, Draped in strange garments, and with lips all dumb, And eyes that mock our actions, grave or gay ; We sigh again for visions that have vanished, The glorious image we had builded up, Whose tender hands would skillfully have ban- ished The bitter dregs that lurk within our cup. We sigh, perhaps, for Love, and when he halts Our hurrying footsteps with his magic darts, We shrink and shudder at the rash assaults. Striving to hide our wounded, quivering hearts, And sigh again, while from the echoing deeps, Rise the illusions of our life's young day : Stirling within our souls the song that leaps 12 UNSATISFIED. Like mountain stream to meet Love on his way. We sigh again for Peace, O restless, weary sigh ! We sigh for Peace, and lo! she passes heed- less by ! S^ *0S» PEACE Peace be to ye ! Spake the Master, words that ring the ages through. Falling still on weary spirits, as the drops of Heaven's own dew. Peace be to ye ! Still we hear it, tho' the cent- uries gaunt have furled Time's old flag above the ramparts of a doubt- ing, struggling world. Peace be to ye ! Falls the message, and our anxious hearts find rest, Calmed are all the waves of sorrow surging thro' the aching breast. (13) J4 PEACE. Peace be to )e! And forever! Peace may wander far away, Comes she back to find us waiting, patiently the livelong day. Comes she back to find us weeping, o*er a bruised and broken heart. Till she folds her wings about us, sternly bid- ding grief depart. Bright-winged Peace ! The artist paints thee, as a maid of winsome face, Sunlit hair, soft eyes that rival wintry stars in realms of space. But no artist's gifted pencil can thy soothing power portray, As thy words fall on our spirits like the fount- ain's welcome spray. Peace, beloved of God, His angels guide thee with mysterious wands, Into homes, where hearts are heavy, from the weight of sorrow's bands. Guide thee where sad tears are falling, and the moan of breaking hearts, Still is heard above the tumult in the AVorld's deceptive marts. PEACE. 15 'T is thy work, for He has willed thee, 'mid Earth's desolate spots to roam, Lifting Heavenward drooping spirits, lighting many a darkened home. As thou floatest gently toward us, drying up our waste of tears, In thy wake there looms a vision, Hope, thy sister sweet, appears. 1(5 ESTRANGED. ESTRANGED. I had a friend I loved — Friend by the tie of blood, By whom thro' time and change My heart's best wishes stood. Though changes came And loosed the chain That bound our love together, Mine walks alone, All unbeknown, Through darkest wintry weather. And she has found a love Stronger by far than mine, To which her heart may cling Thro 1 storm and in sunshine. But still I pray That, day by day, As the years pass briefly on, Her life may be From sorrow free Till the Heavenly day shall dawn. O WISTFUL EYES! () wistful eyes, where shadow lies That love can ne'er dispel ! dainty lips, where Cupid sips, The nectar he loves well ! () radiant smile, a loving wile, That lures my heart away ! O warm, soft hand, whose least command, My will must e'er obey! () eyes once bright, whose earthly light Fate quenched with ruthless hands, (17) 18 O WISTFUL EYES. Thy beauty hid, each fringed lid Opes now in heavenly lands ! O tender heart, from thee to part Seems death ! My one relief Thy glances sweet, in dreams to meet, Tho' waked again to grief. O fair lost love, to thee above My fainting spirit calls! Thy mem'ry here is like the tear, That trembling, never falls ! O eyes so blue, O heart so true, My best days died with thee, And so I live on thoughts that give Thy image back to me. TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. \\) TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. Speak to your Muse about me, My Sprite has strayed away. In new strange lands without me She takes her aerial way. Often we strayed together, My fair lost Muse and I, But in the wintry weather She sought a softer sky. I fear me much I teased her, By careless ways and dreams. My serious moods appeased her, And won her brightest gleams. But still I held her lightly, And let my fancy stray To hopes that shone so brightly— Alas, now flown away ! I fear, tho' she may wander In far and mystic ways, She oft must rest and ponder On the sweet bygone days. 20 TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. When dreaming, we searched the meadows For the flowers of Poesie, That grow in the deepest shadows, By Life's immortal tree. Speak to your Muse, when wooing The strain you long to grasp. Tell her of my undoing — The Sprite I fain would clasp Has fled to fields elysian. When bathed in morning dew, She stands, a beauteous vision, To glad the chosen few. Speak to your Muse when lingering With Pan beside the sea, You watch the magic fingering That sets your fancy free. Speak, while the listening ocean Absorbs the wild refrain, And tells in eternal motion Its sweetness o'er again. Speak, and your Muse attending Shall wing her airy flight, And far-off heights ascending Shall find my wandering Sprite, TO A FRIENDLY SCRIBE. ->\ Who, listing then to the story — A soul's repentant say — Will turn from the fields of glory To brighten my path alway. TOO LATE. Adown the lane he wandered in the gloaming ; His step was slow, wistful and sad his eye. To childhood's home, after long years of roam- in ' Now loud on air the organ music swelling. They reach the chapel door — The sweet faint incense stealing upward, telling T is Benediction's hour. Now low-bowed heads, and hearts to Him ascending On incense laden air. Ah surely Heaven must smile with ear attending The nuns* low whispered prayer. Fond mem'ry lingers on those dim old hall- ways — Lingers and drops a tear, And kind affection drapes the picture always Thro' each succeeding year. 28 MUSING. MUSING. Some fateful years drift silently and slow, Some quickly — for in youth the hours fly, Bringing betimes to pleasure's cheek a glow, Betimes from wounded hearts the hopeless sigh. To-day we laugh, and sun ourselves in Joy, But e'er to-morrow 7 dawns that sun has set. To-day contentment beams without alloy, To-morrow finds us in cold Sorrow's debt. Cold Sorrow? Nay, we must not call her cold ; Sweetness she brings to many a barren life, Softness to many a hardened heart, and bold — Nay, reckless made because of ceaseless strife. The sweetest singers by the world adored, Whose tuneful lyres in hist'ry play a part, Were led by Sorrow's hand to where are stored The chords that touch the universal heart. MUSING. 2!> The tenderest hearts are those to sorrow wed, The sweetest roses in their bloom are crushed, The noblest spirits in their prime lie dead. The bitterest cries within our hearts are hushed. Sweet Sorrow ! At thy shrine awhile we pause To muse and murmur 'gainst this life of ours, Paying sad tribute unto thy great cause, Then on again to worship happier powers, Bending our knees at every wayside shrine, Chasing a phantom that we can not see, Sighing for visions fair that ever shine, But come not near till opes eternity. jflfc THE CORNER PORCH. Upon the dear old corner porch, Under its sheltering care, How oft in happy, joyous groups, We've breathed the summer air. With mirthful jest and merry song The hours flew charmed away, And days were bright and hearts were light And Pleasure held full sway. Upon the dear old corner porch. When moonlight's shimmering haze (30) THE CORNER PORCH. \\\ Was sifted downward thro 1 the trees, That watched our childish plays, We 've sat and sung in careless glee, And dreamed our youthful dreams. And longed to launch our trembling craft On Life's alluring streams. Thore merry groups are scattered all, For, in the swath of years, Who drank awhile from pleasure's cup Soon found it gemm'd with tears. Some sailed afar, and in strange lands Their wandering steps are led, And on the dear old corner porch Some laughed who now are dead. Some sang upon the corner porch, All heedless of the day When joy would turn to bitterness As flowers to decay. Some staked affection's garnered wealth In love's bright golden wheel, And lost, for life is full of strife, And dreams are never real. Some played upon the corner porch — Ah me, those hallowed hours, Secure and sweet are treasured up 'Mong memory's fondest flowers. — 32 THE CORNER PORCH. Who 've since attuned a stranger harp To sorrow's mournful lays, Whose trembling chords are answering words, That meet across life's ways. Upon the dear old corner porch As children we have played ; Upon the dear old corner porch Some tender vows were made. Around the dear old corner porch Our memories have cast A halo bright, that gilds for us The days forever past. MANY ARE CALLED. \\\\ -MANY ARE CALLED." My Lord bath called me to His vineyard— hear His low voice echo thro' the air so clear' My Lord hath called me, but the day is young, T fain would linger these sweet flowers among. My Lord hath called me— but the morn is fair, Its beauty lures me— shall I then compare The fleeting joys that hold my soul in thrall With work that waits me at His earnest call? My Lord hath called me— I am coming soon. I only wait until the heat of noon Is past. Then I shall meet His smile ; He will not miss me -I shall rest awhile. My Lord hath called me— lo '. the sun has gone ! The shadows lie where erst his rays had shone. Fain would I labor while the light doth last ; Fain would I labor— but the day is past ! 34 ' MA X V A R E CALL ED. My Lord hath called me — and the eve is new, The long day faded with the falling dew. Still must I travel onward thro' the night. Lord, Thou hast called me. Help me in Thy might ! « A JUNE MORNING. On the soft grass Night's tears are resting lightly. And stealing onward comes the gentle Dawn ; With lingering footsteps like a timid maiden, Who in strange pathways wanders, wist- ful, on. The air is heavy with a vap'rous sadness, The subtle sorrow of the dying Night; Whose last faint breath on zephyr's wings borne forward Removes the veil that hides the sun's fair light. 35 36 A JUNE MORNING. Against the lightening sky the moon gleams palely, Her cold, bright charms eclipsed by morn- ing's King, Who, thro' the mists his way triumphant pierc- ing, Soon o'er the waiting earth his radiance flings. O fair June morning ! Type of life's sweet moments ! Brief as their fleeting beauty and as bright. Untouched by latent fear of storm or sorrow. Too soon thou 'rt ended, leaving starless night ! 60 ME DAY. SOME DAY. Some day — some day, before this life is ended, Some bitter gloomful day, When pain and sorrow through the long years blended, Have swept my strength away ; When life's illusions in the distance fading, So specter-like and dim, Seem shadow-masts of that great ship whose lading Shall be my duty grim ; I know that I shall welcome Death and greet him — Not with youth's fearful face, But as a gentle friend, and haste to meet him, Freed from the world's embrace. Some day. it may be while alone and friend- less, No loving face I see, And the dark road that stretches off so endless (irows no small flower for me. When fainting by the way, my spirit lingers On thoughts of other days, 38 SOME DA Y. 'Whose specters, pointing with their fleshless fingers, But urge me on my way ; When gloomy, dark, the future towers o'er me, Life's pyramid so vast — Ah then shall Death, the Master, stand before me, And claim his own at last ! ., "> V -m Blythe and gay and sweet and winsome, Careless, happy, bright and free, Always smiling, time beguiling, This is blue*-eyed Dorothy. Upstairs, downstairs, always running, Now to work and now to play, Always teasing, always pleasing, This is Dot the livelong day. 39) 40 DOROTHY. Out to romp with chosen playmates, In to see how Mamma fares, Always singing, comfort bringing, Lightening all the daily cares. Then when twilight comes, slow, stealing, With its soft and silent tread, Blue eyes closing, Dot is dozing, Drops to rest her curly head. THE POET'S SONG. 4 1 THE POETS SONG. The Poet sung of love — his pulses stirred, His heart kept time to every tender word ; While Fancy conjured up a picture rare, The one, to him, of all the world most fair, Whose radiant smile for him alone beams sweet, Whose loving glances make his fond heart beat. 11. The Poet sung of love — his glorious theme In answering hearts awoke a slumb'ring dream, And mem'ries sprung to life, whose radiance blest The somber present like a welcome guest ; And lingering still, as twilight deepens fast, Evoke the beauteous shades that graced the past. in. The Poet sung — but as his willing pen The sweet words traced that spake his love again, 42 THE POET'S SONG. The light that shone in lifted eyes waxed dim. And all the world grew dark the while for him. Soon paean song was turned to sorrow's dirge, As grief's dark anchor did his soul submerge. IV. The Poet sung of Heav'n — and lo ! there fell Upon his spirit such a chastening spell, Such deep, full peace — such joy as angels feel, When forth their voices ring in glad appeal. And still his songs re-echo through the years, While hearts in sorrow read them o'er with tears. £ A SNOWY NIGHT. The snow still falls — the night is dark. The time drags weary footsteps on. Falls the white pall o'er all the earth — The earth that waits the coming dawn. Waited by some in joy and mirth, In happy homes — in stately halls. Waited by others but to bring More o-rief within their lowly walls. O J But ? t is a soft and gentle cloak. This white, mysterious snow of ours ; Closely it clasps the grimy earth In frozen folds of wintry showers. (43) 44 A SNOWY NIGHT. Closely enfolding like a Fate. Whose solemn ways we can not gauge; But like a Fate whose advent brings A balm that can our griefs assuage. INCONSIS TENC Y— CO NT EN TMENT. 45 rNCONSISTENCY. O weary days of Sorrow — weary days, When e'en the sun shines with a luster lack, You linger long, and still seem loth to go ; And when you go, we fain would call you back, To make our burdens greater with your woe, And plant your weeds 'mid pleasures shining bays. CONTENTMENT. Contentment! Precious gift that few possess! When we possess you, then we love you less; But when your balm our spirits sorely lack. Ah then we sigh for you and wish you back ! Some few do know you and a few possess, And some mistake you for kind happiness. ( ) blest mistake to him who labors in it ! To feign content doth oft times help to win it ! THOUGHTS AFTER A SERMON. " Why stand' st thou idle here the long, long day; Why stand'st thou here where pillars thee concealed ? " Those words ? woke echoes in my heart to play Upon the chords which conscience left re- vealed. Why stand'st thou idle here, why waste the time Which for His purposes the Lord hath lent thee? (4(5) THOUGHTS AFTER A SERMON. 47 The hill of life is yet for thee to climb ; Begin thy work, else all too late, repent thee ! Thy burdens may be many — yes, 'tis true, But why shouldst thou exempt from bur- dens be? Wouldst careless walk whilst all thy brethren sue For help, their way thro' dark'ning clouds to see? Why like the Pharisee stand'st thou afar, Thanking thy God (stifling thy rising qualms) That thou needst not thy peaceful lot to mar, By wailing prayers and penitential psalms? Canst thou remember not those warning words, Which with great love thy Lord hath sent to thee? Hast never to its depths thy soul been stirred ? " Who humbleth himself shall yet exalted be ! " Ah soul, so erring in poor human lights, Which still the image of thy Maker beareth ; Retrace thy straying steps — a pathway bright. Choose, and Him seek who for thy welfare careth. 48 THOUGHTS AFTER A SERMON. Doubt not, that He who notes a sparrow's fall Canst see thy fainting spirit helpless stand. Doubt not, that at thy earliest, earnest call, He will outreach to thee a helping hand. DK/CAMS. 4«) DREAMS. We dream fair dreams by night — Day comes and swift they vanish. They go, but leave behind a light, That sunshine can not banish. Their shadows linger in the air — Their impress — what you will. And tho' the dreams have flown fore'er, Their beauty mocks us still. s* UNREST. Play me a tender tune to night, My spirit longs for rest. Repose hath fled mine eyelids quite, Play softly — that is best. Play me a tender tune to-night, Its cadence sweet and slow, (50) UNREST. 51 Will fall upon my weary heart Like love-words whispered low. Play me a tune in minor chords, And let the sweet refrain Steal thro' my listening senses, Like happiness thro' pain. For in thro' the murmuring music The plaintive air will creep, Like the chorus that surges ever From the heart of the briny deep. And as the monotoned murmur, From the depths of the sea that springs, Has balm in its deeper music To loosen the bound heart-strings, So the soft-toned minors blended With the sad and mournful air, Will bring to the soul a message Of peace that is like a prayer. So play me a tender tune to-night, Play softly, sweet and slow. And phantom thoughts will glide away With the music's ebb and flow. THE SLEEPER. Across the cool, dim chamber, the deepening twilight stole, The sun had long since sunk to rest within a crimson bowl. Swathed in the rising moonlight the quiet sleeper lay Asleep at last — a dreamless sleep — to last with her for ave ! 01' THE SLEEPER. 53 Asleep at last ! No phantom dreams disturb thy slumbers now ! Sin and the world have writ their last upon that marble brow ! The saddened impress of the years that found and left thee young, A blighted life — a broken heart — a requiem unsung ! Hovering above that lonely couch with droop- ing wings outspread, An angel of thy childish days keeps watch above thy head ; And chanting low the record of those gentlier, happier years, He drops upon thy flitting soul his cleansing, pitying tears. O wasted life ! Fit type art thou of dreams that fade away, And life's alluring blandishments, that live but for a day ; And hopes that bloom and promise fair, yet like thee die too soon, As dies the pale young primrose with the wan- ing of the moon. 54 THE SLEEPER. O fair pale form ! G dead cold face ! Calm now in Death's embrace, Too soon thy feet grew weary in life's mad and bitter race ; Too soon thy gentle spirit broke — too soon thy strength s^ave way ! Alas, that such things e'er must be as long as life holds sway! So let us weep about thy couch before thou'rt laid away, And violets plant above the mound that hides thy lonely clay ; Praying that winds like zephyrs light may ever gently sweep Around that small and lowly home where thou dost peaceful sleep. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 909 549 6 L