LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMEEICA. 
 
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 From TheJ^ountains 
 
 By Robert B. Vance. 
 
 My soul is full of other times ; the joy of my youth returns. 
 Thus the sun appears in the west, after the steps of his bright- 
 ness have moved behind a stdrm ; the green hills lift their 
 dewy heads ; the blue streams rejoice in the vale. — OssiAN. 
 
 Nashville, Tenn. : 
 Southern Methodist Publishing House. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 
 
 1887. 
 
7^ iW^ 
 
 Entered, accordiag to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, 
 
 By Robert B. Vance, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
Ci DEDICATION. 
 
 GOOD PEOPLE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Dear OM Eiglith Koijgressioijal District 
 
 OF NORTH CAROLINA, 
 
 Who for so many years have given 
 
 their support and friendship to the writer, in the public 
 
 affairs of the country as well as 
 
 in the sweet and joyful 
 
 relations of private life, 
 
 The Following Pages 
 
 ARE 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 By the Author. 
 
To THE Reader, 
 
 rjlHE writer does not pretend that these effusions are brill- 
 iant or beautiful. They are the outgrowth of feeling, 
 and were written, for the most part, from time to time, as 
 circumstances suggested them, without any fixed purpose 
 to present them in book form. The author is anxious, 
 and fully purposes (D. V.), to build a church at River- 
 side, N. C, his place of residence; and the profits, if any, 
 arising from the sale of the book will go to that object. 
 
 The prison pieces were written at Fort Delaware in 
 1864-5, which will account for some show of feeling in 
 the great struggle then raging. 
 
 With the earnest hope that these verses may be benefi- 
 cial to his readers, the author commits his little book to 
 their kind consideration. 
 
 R. B. V. 
 
 Washington City, January 14, 1887. 
 
Contents. 
 
 The Old North State ; 9 
 
 Hickory-Nut FhHh, N. C 13 
 
 A Dream 16 
 
 The South 17 
 
 Stanzas to a Lady 18 
 
 Lines to Mrs. Col. W. P. B., Lexington, Ky., etc 19 
 
 Antnmnal Musings 21 
 
 What is Life? 23 
 
 Lines Written in the Autographic Album of Mrs. M. L. Benham, 
 
 of Kentucky 24 
 
 Chain and Cross 25 
 
 There's Beauty Everywhere 25 
 
 Lines 28 
 
 To Cousin Bettie D., of Tennessee 29 
 
 Death in the Bridal Chamber 29 
 
 What is Heaven? 33 
 
 A Prayer 34 
 
 The Picture in My Photographic Album 34 
 
 The Rose 36 
 
 To Lieutenant S., a Fellow-Prisoner 36 
 
 Do They Miss Me at Home? 37 
 
 Lines for a Lady's Album 40 
 
 Darling 41 
 
 Rizpah 43 
 
 The Star 47 
 
 To Mi8s Kate 49 
 
 Dear Mother, Art Thou Standing Near? 51 
 
 Astoria 52 
 
 To a Bouquet 53 
 
 Richmond on the James 54 
 
 My Love 58 
 
 The Step upon the Stair 60 
 
 The Broken Tessera 60 
 
 Litlle Willie 63 
 
 Passing, Passing 66 
 
 Little Maggie's Dress 67 
 
 The Key of the Bastile 69 
 
 Brother 72 
 
 Love Your Enemies 74 
 
8 Contents. 
 
 Lines on Receiving a Box of Edibles for the Mess, etc 79 
 
 I'm Thinking of Thee Now, My Dear 81 
 
 Lines on Receiving a Pillow at Fort Delaware , 83 
 
 Lines Sent to Miss Lizzie W., Chestertown, Maryland 83 
 
 A Mother to Her Babe 85 
 
 Song— Never Take the Oath 87 
 
 Noel 88 
 
 Acrostic 89 
 
 The Dying Soldier— A True Incident 90 
 
 The Two Knights 92 
 
 To Rev. I. W. K. Handy, D.D., Political Prisoner 97 
 
 The Captive Elephant 99 
 
 Good News from Home 100 
 
 The Grape-Vine Line 101 
 
 Sacred Vibrations 103 
 
 The Faded Violets -received from a Young Lady, etc 105 
 
 To Viola 106 
 
 Viola at the Falls 107 
 
 The Mountain Storm 108 
 
 Ephphatha 109 
 
 Dr. Mitchell's Grave Hi} 
 
 The Christ Child 113 
 
 Mary 115 
 
 Behind the Vines 116 
 
 Little Katie 117 
 
 Lines Written in a Young Lady's Album 118 
 
 Little Nice's Epitaph..... 119 
 
 Lines Written on the Fly-Leaf of a Book, etc 120 
 
 To 120 
 
 The Last Rose of Summer 120 
 
 The Missing Step upon the Stair 121 
 
 Multum in Parvo 122 
 
 Wearin' of the Gray 124 
 
 Extract from a Speech, etc 126 
 
 The Dove 127 
 
 True Beauty 130 
 
 The Missing Step upon the Winding Stair , 130 
 
 Lines Written in the Album of Mrs. H., of Maine 132 
 
 War and its Burdens. — Armies of the World 134 
 
 The Governor's Last Pardon 139 
 
 The Camp-Meeting 142 
 
 The Mountain Cross 147 
 
{^eart -Throbs from tlje IJouijtains. 
 
 THE OLD NORTH STATE. 
 
 Hail, good old mother, dear and beautiful 
 In our glad eyes, we worship at thy feet 
 
 With all the ardor of fond, dutiful 
 Children, who with a true affection greet 
 The one whose love has made their lives so sweet ! 
 
 Precious old State ! Each pulse that thrills 
 
 In rushing tide from the full heart, 
 Free as her own swift mountain rills. 
 
 Shall hold for thee a faithful part, 
 While the sun's first streak kisses ocean's cheek 
 And wraps in fire each mighty mountain peak. 
 
 Ah! yes, indeed, 
 We bring our meed 
 To place it on thy honored, queenly brow, 
 That earth may see the chivalry 
 Of sons whose fathers bled for thee — 
 A race as true in days gone by as now. 
 
 When Freedom's banner was unfurled 
 
 In this our glorious Western World, 
 The first dear gush of patriot blood 
 Which for the cause of freemen flowed. 
 
 Where sword and spear gave shining glance. 
 
 Was on thy field — red Alamance ! * 
 
 And there thy sons, with dirk and glave, 
 
 * The battle of Alamance was fought in May, 1771. i 
 (2) (9) 
 
10 Heart-Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Stood forth, a rank as stern and brave 
 As e'er a field of battle trod, 
 And gave their lives for thee and God. 
 
 And further too, it was to thee 
 And thy staunch sons that Liberty 
 
 First gained a foothold in the West; * 
 
 Where, round the fiery " Hornet's Nest," f . 
 The world was called to stand and view 
 The words of men as bold and true 
 As e'er a trenchant claymore drew; 
 
 Who, looking at the Lion's paws. 
 
 Defied his might, denounced his laws; 
 And there,- with stern integrity. 
 Proclaimed this land should ever be 
 Independent, sovereign, free; 
 
 Pledged fortune, life, and honor bright, 
 
 To stand as one for each dear right, 
 
 Or perish on the field of fight; 
 And each honored name is still all aflame 
 In thy people's hearts, who after them came. 
 
 And on thy soil, % 
 With bloody toil. 
 The chieftains of the mountain range 
 Made the patriot cause to change, 
 When not a banner was there seen 
 To wave in all that forest green; 
 When not a drum was heard to beat 
 To sound the charge, or for retreat; 
 When not a bugle broke the air 
 
 *The western part of North Carolina, 
 t Charlotte Declaration of Independence, May 20, 1775. 
 X King's Mountain. The battle was fought October 7, 1780, and 
 the field proper was on the South Carolina side of the line. 
 
Heart -Throbs frojn the Mountains. 11 
 
 To warn the Britons posted there; 
 And not an ambulance had they 
 To bear the wounded from the fray ; 
 
 And not a surgeon with his knife 
 
 To amputate in cause of life; 
 When old Virginia, and the twins,* 
 With stalwart men whose fighting wins, 
 
 With deadly rifles, long and bright, 
 
 Drove the invaders from the height; 
 While high upon the mountain top 
 They nearly caused the war to stop; 
 
 And there each noble name, in living flame. 
 
 They writ upon the fadeless rolls of fame. 
 
 On every field that ran with blood, 
 
 From Lundy's Lane to Mexico, 
 Thy sons have by the shoulders stood, 
 
 And answered well each deadly blow; 
 For coming from the Scot and Celt, 
 Races that always wore the belt. 
 
 With sprinklings of the Huguenot, 
 
 Their 'scutcheon never had a blot; 
 
 And crowning all, like stoutest granite wall, 
 
 The Anglo-Saxon, free from Norman thrall. 
 
 But the heart stands still 
 
 With an anguished thrill, 
 
 * North and South Carolina. Some accounts state that there were 
 present, also, men from Georgia, Tennessee, and Kentucky. This 
 is probably the force: Burke and McDowell, N. C, Colonel Charles 
 McDowell, 160 men; Wilkes and Surrey, N. C, Colonel Benjamin 
 Cleaveland and Major Joseph Winston, 350 men ; Washington Coun- 
 ty, N. C. (now Tenn.), Colonel John Sevier 2'10 men; Sullivan Coun- 
 ty, N. C. (now Tenn.), Colonel Isaac Shelby, 240 men; Washington 
 County, Va., Colonel William Campbell, 400 men; troops under Col- 
 onel George Williams, South Carolina, number not given. 
 
12 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 When once again with banners gay, 
 All harnessed for the dreadful fray, 
 Thy children passed who wore the Gray; 
 
 Who in a cause they deem'd the right 
 
 Showed how the Southrons still could fight. 
 And from Potomac's flowing tide 
 To Texan prairies, fair and wide, 
 
 On many a field, by many a stream, 
 
 They're sleeping now their dreamless dream ; 
 And many a home is lone and sad 
 Which once was by their presence glad ; 
 
 And many a lorn and humble grave, 
 O'er which the lilies gently wave, 
 
 Shall tell where peaceful sleep the brave 
 Who died their Sunny South to save. 
 
 And when our maidens, sweet and fair. 
 With love which has its tender sway, 
 
 Shall come to strew bright flowers there, 
 They'll speak of those who wore the Gray ; 
 
 And they'll drop a tear o'er the lonely bier 
 
 Where the soldier rests with his broken spear, 
 
 But not alone 
 Will sleep our own; 
 
 For side by side where they fought and died, 
 
 The Blue and Gray — our country's pride — 
 Shall rest in peace till Judgment-day 
 Shall call them from their beds of clay. 
 
 And there with millions yet unborn, 
 
 Upon the resurrection morn^ 
 
 Their colors will so joyful blend — 
 Where one begins the other'll end — 
 
 That when we turn our dead to view, 
 
 We'll surely think that all is Blue; 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 13 
 
 But turning then the other way, 
 We'Ufeel convinced that all is Gray; 
 
 And if the brave dead 
 
 From each dusty bed 
 Shall in the joys of peace be ever wed, 
 
 What reason can be 
 
 'Neath Liberty's Tree 
 For bitterest hate in this Land of the Free ? 
 
 Yes, we love thee, dear native land, 
 
 From mountain peak to ocean strand ; 
 Thy giant crags, thy silver streams, 
 Which catch the morning's early beams; 
 
 Thy rock-bound capes, thy ocean spray, 
 
 Where the blue Gulf Stream waters play ; 
 Thy mighty oaks and nodding pines, 
 Thy luscious fruits and teeming vines; 
 
 Thy worthy sons and daughters true, 
 
 Those strong as oak, these light as dew ; 
 Thy storied name among the first 
 On the Atlantic shore to burst; 
 Till our hearts are thine 
 In love so divine 
 
 That death alone can its strong chords untwine. 
 
 HICKOBY-NUT FALLS, N. C. 
 
 [The scenery of Western North Carolina if< unsurpassed in the 
 world. The gifted pen of our fair countrywoman, Christian Reid, 
 has made portions of it famous m such works as " The Land of 
 the Sky," "A Summer Idyl," and other stories. The Hickory-Nut 
 Falls are situated in Rutherford County, on the eastern slope of 
 the Blue Ridge. The water rushes over the rock and mountain at 
 least a thousand feet above the canon below, and over five thou- 
 sand feet above tide-water. To the eye of the traveler on the high- 
 way on the north side of Broad River, the creek— large enough 
 
14 Heart -Throbs f7'om the Mountains. 
 
 beyond the Falls to turn the wheels of a mill — looks, especially 
 in summer, like a lady's veil, as it dashes down the sides of the 
 immense boulder.] 
 
 Thou rock that in thy grand and noble height 
 
 Look'st eternal ! A thousand ages gone 
 
 Thy dreadful front was lifted up in wrath 
 
 By fires volcanic in earth's young bosom. 
 
 How dost thou smile on man and mock his pride, 
 
 And teach him day by day his littleness, 
 
 When once compared to thee in majesty ! 
 
 Only God, the great, omnipotent One, 
 
 Was able to rear thy fearful presence, 
 
 And by his agencies, to us unseen, 
 
 To cause thy Titan head to kiss the clouds, 
 
 And fill the beholder with solemn awe — 
 
 Once seen, to be forgotten nevermore. 
 
 The march of time, feeling for eternity ; 
 The hurricane's sweep, encircling the hills; 
 The earthquake, in its direful, heaving throes, 
 To thee are nothing; thou art planted deep 
 In strength and pillared stability by Him — 
 The God, and Maker, and Monarch of all. 
 
 And you, ye murmuring, glittering waters. 
 
 Which leap in beauty o'er this giant cliii'. 
 
 Your soothing tones have charmed these silent delis 
 
 With silvery music since creation's morn, 
 
 Arrayed in rosy light, was ushered in. 
 
 E'en when the morning stars together sang, 
 
 And all the sons of God shouted for joy. 
 
 Beyond the rock thy silver founts are hid 
 
 Where oft in nature's freedom, sweet and glad. 
 
 The Indian maid hath loosed her raven hair. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 15 
 
 And, joyful gazing at the form there seen, 
 Has decked it gay with fragrant flowers wild. 
 
 And you, ye stately, tall, and shadowing pines 
 Which stand unbent, unmoved by elemental strife: 
 O'er your tops, which tower erect, and proudly nod 
 To heaven's e'erlasting arch, the eagle screams, 
 And, bending from his flight beneath the sun. 
 Upon your boughs his lofty eyrie builds. 
 
 And you, ye mountains high on either hand. 
 Which rear in grandeur dread each hoary crest. 
 And, peering through clouds that hover nigh. 
 Present a monument of power sublime 
 Connected fast with wisdom's wondrous might — 
 From your high peaks the thunder's lifted voice 
 Has ofttimes shook the globe on which we live. 
 And there the lightning's fierce and vivid flash 
 In sportive freak with bright and tiery wing 
 Has wrapped in flame each bare and rugged scalp. 
 
 A.nd oft in days that long have passed away. 
 Upon those clifis that shoot out o'er the vale, 
 The chieftain's eye, all fired with manly pride, 
 Has scanned his hunting-ground; and as the buck, 
 With many a bound secure, went swiftly by, 
 The arrow left the warrior's high-strung bow, 
 And, quivering in the stag's bold heart, gave proof 
 Of the red man's deadly aim and fatal skill. 
 
 . But nevermore, by peak, or fall, or plain, 
 Shall his wild whoop disturb these scenes again. 
 The pale face came — the red man left his home. 
 With saddened heart the i)rairied world to roam; 
 And maiden fair, and victor crowned with glory. 
 Will pause and sigh — so mournful is his story. 
 
l6 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 A BREAM. 
 
 [Written on receiving the photograph of Miss E. D. P., of Louif 
 ville, Kentucky.] 
 
 The bay was calm, the sky serene, 
 
 The sunlight on the island,* 
 And Spring had tinged with robe of green 
 
 The valley and the highland; 
 Sweet flowers, too, were peeping up 
 
 Where Winter' d reigned so hoary, 
 And Nature held her flowing cup, 
 
 Eejoicing in her glory. 
 
 Yet true it' was, though sore to tell, 
 
 Amid this scene of gladness 
 Full many a hero's heart did swell 
 
 With much of manly sadness; 
 For while the waves did lave the strand 
 
 In freedom never broken, 
 The prison'd one from fair Southland 
 
 Was war's most gloomy token. 
 
 The day wore on, and by and by 
 
 The moon shone forth in splendor, 
 While thousand stars bedeck'd the sky. 
 
 Their tribute God to render; 
 And on this plain so wondrous bright 
 
 The weary eye was gleaming, 
 Till host and gem passed from his sight — 
 
 The captive then was dreaming. 
 
 Beside him there fair Ellen stood 
 
 In all her maiden beauty, 
 And with soft voice but glowing mood 
 
 *Fort Delaware is on an island. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 17 
 
 Proclaimed the brave man's duty: 
 " Go, soldier, go ! On yon red field 
 The 'stars and bars' are flying; 
 Nor aught on earth shall make thee yield 
 Where freedom's sons are dying!" 
 
 With joyful breast and flashing eye 
 
 The captive knelt before her; 
 But, O ! alas ! not she was nigh, 
 
 That he might there adore her! 
 Each waking sense spoke forth the truth, 
 
 Though sure it made him sadder ; 
 It was no form of joy and youth, 
 
 But only the bright shadow. 
 Fort Belaware, 1864. 
 
 THE SOUTH. 
 
 My Sunny South ! my Sunny South ! 
 
 Thou land of joy to me; 
 The blissful clime where sinless youth 
 
 Was spent in peaceful glee; 
 To-night from bars and prison walls, 
 
 On pinions light and free, 
 My spirit breaks its many thralls 
 
 And wildly seeks for thee ! 
 
 O'er hill and brake and rushing tide, 
 
 And city's lofty spire, 
 And silver stream and valley wide — 
 
 The home of son and sire — 
 With tireless wing and swelling heart, 
 
 Which nought around may stay, 
 I'll burst these chords and chains apart 
 
 And seek thee far away ! 
 
18 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 The eye may droop, the form may bend, 
 
 The hair be touched with gray; 
 Nor night nor morn bless'd peace may send 
 
 To cheer the captive's way; 
 But sentry's tread, nor musket bright, 
 
 Nor all the dread array 
 Which Northmen use to show their might, 
 
 Can cause the soul to stay ! 
 
 I'll seek thy fields and woodlands wild, 
 
 Thy own savannahs fair, 
 And be again the happy child 
 
 That liv'd and sported there; 
 And when in sleep I view thy streams, 
 
 Which flow forever free, 
 My gladdest, brightest, sweetest dreams 
 
 Shall be of home and thee ! 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 STANZAS TO A LADY. 
 
 [When the author was eighteen years old he had penned these 
 lines on the counter of the old James M. Smith store, in Asheville, 
 N. C, when Colonel P. W. Roberts, his beloved friend, stepped in, 
 saw the lines, rushed to the hotel with them, and gave them to the 
 lady. O!] 
 
 Lady ! could charms like thine inspire 
 
 A humble muse like mine, 
 Then would I grasp the sleeping lyre 
 
 And sing at beauty's shrine; 
 But smiles more bright than poet's skill 
 
 Can weave in song or rhyme, 
 Play o'er thy brow, and, ling'ring still, 
 
 Grace there thy youthful prime. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 19 
 
 The velvet petal of the rose, 
 
 All moist with morning's dew, 
 Is not more soft than ever glows 
 
 Thy cheek's own brilliant hne, 
 That sparkling eye breathes forth a tale 
 
 Of love so pare and deep 
 That one might breast the storm-king's gale 
 
 To that full harvest reap. 
 
 But not alone thy queen-like grace 
 
 Claims tribute as its due ; 
 For mirror'd in thy lovely face 
 
 Is goodness, sweet and true. 
 A heart like thine I know can feel 
 
 That grief which others show. 
 And, with thy winning manner, steal 
 
 A portion of their woe. 
 
 O may thy life be ever blest, 
 
 Nor grief, nor cares, nor fears 
 Disturb thy hope of joyful rest 
 
 Beyond this " vale of tears ! " 
 But, gathering strength each happy hour, 
 
 As faith and love are giv'n. 
 Triumph at last o'er death's dread power. 
 
 And live with God in heaven. 
 
 I 
 
 LmES 
 
 To Mrs. Col. W. P. B., Lexington, Kj\, from whom the author re- 
 ceived a bouquetwhile a prisoner at Camp Chase, Ohio. 
 
 Each weary day the prisoner's languid eye 
 Could only catch the blue and tranquil sky. 
 
20 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains, 
 
 As time, with silent tread, went passing by 
 
 To visit earth and man no more. 
 The hated walls shut out the forest green. 
 The pleasant woodland wild, and sylvan scene; 
 And e'en the birds, which sing the boughs between, 
 
 Were hidden too by lock and door. 
 
 And aching hearts were sadly beating there; 
 
 And faithful ones breathed forth the earnest prayer 
 
 For wife and babes, and sufF'ring country fair — 
 
 The patriot's hope and chiefest joy ; 
 And one I knew whose inmost soal did bleed 
 For his lov'd South, in this her time of need ; 
 And oft his thoughts, with wildest, fondest speed, 
 
 Would seek his love, his land, his boy. 
 
 'Twas thus he felt, when near his keeper stood 
 With chilling look and aught but cheerful mood; 
 "A box," he said, in accents gruff and rude ; 
 *' Come, prisoner, come, and claim your right." 
 Then happy feelings shook the captive's breast; 
 A sweet " bouquet" was to his bosom pressed; 
 The lady's name with warmest words was blessed, 
 Whose hand prepared the lovely sight. 
 
 O mother earth ! by war thy bliss is dead ! 
 Thy comfort's gone, thy beauty too hath fled! 
 And vengeance dire, and curses bitter, dread. 
 
 Hang o'er thee like a chast'ning-rod ; 
 But charming woman's precious, holy love — 
 Thy fragrant flowers, almost like those above — 
 So lift us up that e'en in grief we prove 
 
 We've something left of heav'n and God. 
 
 For her dear sake the soldier dons his brand ; 
 For her he leads his brave, devoted band; 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 21 
 
 And words of cheer and token from her hand 
 
 Are prized as boons which have no peer; 
 And should he fall by foeman's blade or spear, 
 With angel smile, and pity's softest tear, 
 She'll come with flowers to strew upon his bier, 
 And kindly guard them, year by year. 
 
 AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 
 
 (Written in 1860.) 
 
 The solemn season of the year, 
 
 With fitful breezes flying. 
 And wailing voice, is drawing near 
 
 To see the green leaves dying. 
 On yon old hill I see them now. 
 
 As one by one they're fading; 
 And dreary shadows pain my brow, 
 
 So mournful is the shading. 
 
 The oak has rear'd its branches there. 
 
 The hick'ry still will linger; 
 But soon each verdant robe will bear 
 
 The touch of Autumn's finger; 
 The maple, too, with its green cast, 
 
 As, standing with its fellow. 
 Will quickly bow it to the blast, 
 
 And change its coat to yellow. 
 
 The birds are gone, they sing no more; 
 
 The flowers have drooped and wither'd 
 O when, O when on this dark shore 
 
 Will they again be gather'd? 
 
22 Heart -Thf'obs from the Mountains. 
 
 My heart feels sad as thus I gaze 
 
 Upon each waning beauty, 
 And tears I'll shed o'er their last days — 
 
 A sweet and sacred duty. 
 
 O ! could I bear to look upon 
 
 The Summer, as 'tis going, 
 Did not I trust, as time flies on, 
 
 Again to see it glowing? 
 There is a hope my spirit owns — 
 
 How fondly is it cherished! 
 They are not dead, those gentle ones — 
 
 They surely have not perished ! 
 
 Though leaf and flower have taken wing, 
 The trees look bare and hoary ; 
 
 The breath of God in the sAveet Spring 
 Will bring them back to glory ! 
 
 'Tis thus I feel while viewing life, 
 
 As on it passeth ever, 
 And know I'm wasting in the strife 
 
 This side the dark, cold river. 
 The Autumn-time I know has come, 
 
 The Winter soon will meet me; 
 The sorrows of this earthly home 
 
 Full often now do greet me. 
 
 Yet still I'll trust my gracious Lord, 
 Who ne'er a soul harasseth; 
 
 I'll to the grave,^ with his dear word. 
 Till by his anger passeth; 
 
 Then fondly trust, when the great day 
 
 * Jobxiv.13. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains, 23 
 
 Shall open bright and vernal, 
 To leap with joy from earth's cold clay, 
 And enter life eternal. 
 
 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 I SAW a child with beaming eye 
 
 And shining, golden hair, 
 Who chased in glee a butterfly 
 From stem to flowr't fair. 
 "'Tis life," he laughed — the sweet, wee thing- 
 "To watch its happy flight. 
 As o'er the mead its radiant wing 
 Cuts through the mellow light." 
 
 A boy stood by of noble form, 
 
 And firm, elastic tread, 
 Whose dreaming look and ardor warm 
 
 To all around him said : 
 " 'Tis life to pass this youthful hour 
 
 My banner wide unfurled. 
 And with the strength of manhood's pow'r 
 
 Make combat with the world ! " 
 
 A maiden by the altar knelt, 
 
 The true, aflfianced bride 
 Of one for whom she deeply felt 
 
 Love's holy, blissful tide. 
 And softly broke her gentle tone 
 
 Upon my list'ning ear, 
 " 'Tis life to know he is my own I 
 
 Ah! mine alone fore'er!" 
 

 24 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Forth from the crowd a hero came, 
 
 On prancing, dashing steed, 
 Who oft amid the battle's flame 
 
 Had made his foeman bleed. 
 " 'Tis life," he cried, " to sweep the field, 
 
 With keen and flashing blade, 
 Where man, and horse, and broken shield. 
 
 In bloody heaps are laid ! " 
 
 Then long I gazed on child and boy. 
 
 The maiden in her bloom, 
 And scrutinized the bounding joy 
 
 Which gilds the victor's plume; 
 And queried in my inmost heart. 
 
 My soul with feeling rife. 
 Is this for truth our only part? 
 
 Can this, indeed, be "life?" 
 
 As thus I stood, an aged man 
 
 Went slowly, feebly by. 
 Whose hoary locks and closing span 
 
 Proclaimed the time to die. 
 "'Tis life," he said, with parting breath, 
 " To know our sins forgiven. 
 To gain the victory over death, 
 
 That we may live in heaven." 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written in the Autographic Album of Mrs. M. L. Benham, 
 of Kentucky. 
 
 If heartfelt thanks and blessings warm 
 
 For words of kindness spoken ; 
 If true regard may prove a charm 
 
 To be fore'er unbroken : 
 
He art -Throbs from the Mountains. 25 
 
 Then take them, with the earnest prayer 
 
 Of one thou hast befriended, 
 That peace and joy may be tliy share 
 When time itself hath ended ! 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 OHAm AND GROSS. 
 
 [The chain and cross accompanying this note were made by the 
 hands of Robert B. Vance and Lucius H. Smith, of North Carolina 
 prisoners of war, as a memorial of their gratitude for the kindness 
 shown them by Mrs. Mark Cartwright, Nashville, Tenn., to whom 
 they are hereby pi'esented.] 
 
 By loving hands each link was twined ; 
 
 By loving hands the cross suspended ; 
 While fervent prayers and wishes kind 
 
 For her and hers were sweetly blended. 
 The chain will tell with silent tone 
 
 That sin may chain the soul within us; 
 The cross will speak of Mercy's throne, 
 
 And Him who came and died to win us. 
 Fort Delaware. 1864. 
 
 THERE'S BE A UTY EVERYWHERE. 
 
 Beautiful! 
 How beautiful is all this visible world! 
 How glorious in its action and itself! — Byron. 
 
 There's beauty 
 In the baby grace of early childhood. 
 The laughing eye, the softly dimpled chin. 
 The velvet hair, like down on birdlet's wing; 
 The tiny hands that pull at "Papa's" beard; 
 The little mouth, where honey lingers long, 
 3 
 
26 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 And which thrills us with its sweet "My Mamma" 
 'Twas such as these the loving Jesus took 
 Into his arms and, smiling, blest them there, 
 And beauty's stamp is on them each and all. 
 
 There's beauty 
 In the sturdy tread of playful boyhood. 
 The light and gleeful bound and joyous whoop ; 
 The animated shout and echo deep; 
 The fresh young mind, with vigor radiant; 
 The spirit keen, aglow with sunlit hopes, 
 Where disappointment's blight not yet hath fell; 
 A hand to us unseen doth beck him on 
 To fields of fame and deeds of true renown, 
 Casting o'er him its glad and magic spell. 
 
 There's beauty 
 In the fairy step of happy girlhood. 
 The fragile form, so like the tender flower; 
 The bonny face, so lovely in its smile: 
 The gentle heart, so trusting in its truth. 
 Her very weakness — when to man compared. 
 So like the vine which clusters 'round the oak 
 And sheds its fragrance 'mong the leafy boughs — 
 Is passing fair, exceeding beautiful. 
 
 There's beauty 
 In manhood's walk and strong, defiant look. 
 'Mong the things of time there's none so noble. 
 The forest beast of fierce and tameless pride 
 Doth shun his eye and seek again its lair, 
 While high in heaven the keen-eyed eagle bold 
 Doth shriek its fear of him and fly his glance. 
 Yet 'mid it all — though king of earth he be — 
 
Heart 'Throbs from the Mountains. 27 
 
 His heart is strung to womanly goodness, 
 And mercy's works oft beautify his life. 
 
 There's beauty 
 In the chasten'd and mellow eve of age. 
 'Tis like the setting sun of pleasant days, 
 When skies are blue and clouds are glossed with gold; 
 Life's work perchance is o'er, and finished well, 
 Nor cares detain the part immortal here. 
 The friends of years, of manhood, and of age 
 Do gather 'round to catch the whisper'd word. 
 The last of earth, almost the first of heav'n — 
 And see how beauty gilds the dying saint. 
 
 There's beauty 
 Too— charming, grand — in Nature's peerless brow, 
 As the wing'd steeds of wrath are loosen'd 
 In elemental conflict dread and wild. 
 While in the void electric squadrons wheel 
 And measure keep with earthquake strides below. 
 Then, in the calm that storms do leave, the bow 
 Of peace doth span the circumambient air 
 With colors brighter far than painter's dreams, 
 Wrapping the soul in beauty soft and mild. 
 
 But, O ! there's beauty 
 That's " sweeter still than this, than these, than all," 
 In prophet's views, which flash on mortal ken. 
 Of blood-washed bands that chant their songs on high. 
 And banners wave upon the jasper walls 
 And pearly gates of Eden's wondrous home! 
 Nor this alone; the fields of bliss do ope 
 In verdant meads and never-fading flowers; 
 And 'b')ve them all, in beauty unalloyed. 
 The Throne of God abides forevermore ! 
 
 
28 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 [We know a great deal about war now; but, dear readers, the 
 Southern women know more. Blood has not dripped on our door- 
 sills yet; shells have not burst above our homesteads. Let us 
 pray they never ma.y.— Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper.] 
 
 Many a gray-haired sire has died, 
 
 As falls the oak to rise no more, 
 Because his son, his prop, his pride, 
 
 Breath'd out his last all red with gore. 
 No more on earth, at morn, at eve. 
 
 Shall age and youth entwine as one. 
 Nor father, son, for either grieve ; 
 
 Life's race, alas ! for both is done ! 
 
 Many a mother's heart has bled 
 
 While gazing on her darling child, 
 As in its tiny eyes she read 
 
 The father's image, kind and mild;' 
 For ne'er again his voice will cheer 
 
 The widowed heart which mourns him dead, 
 Nor will his kisses dry the tear 
 
 Fast falling on the orphan's head ! 
 
 Many a little form will stray 
 
 Adown the glen ani o'er the hill. 
 And watch with wi'^tful looks the way 
 
 For him whose step is missing still ; 
 And when the twilight steals apace 
 
 O'er mead and brook and lonely home. 
 And shadows cloud the dear, sweet face. 
 
 The cry will be, *' O, papa, come ! " 
 
 Many a home's in ashes now 
 
 Where joy was once a constant guest. 
 
 And mournful groups- there are, I trow, 
 Who've neither house nor place to rest; 
 
Heart' Throbs from the Mountains. 29 
 
 And blood is on the broken sill, 
 
 Where happy feet of erst did go; 
 And everywhere, by field and rill, 
 
 Are sick'ning sights and sounds of woe. 
 There is a God who rules on high — 
 
 The widow's and the orphan's friend— 
 Who sees each tear and hears each sigh 
 
 That these lone hearts to Him may send; 
 And when in wrath He tears away 
 
 The reasons poor which men indite, 
 The record-book will plainer say 
 
 Who's in the wrong, and who is right. 
 Fort Delaware, 18C4. 
 
 TO COUSIN BETTIE D., OF TENNESSEE. 
 
 A TOKEN only is this ring ; 
 
 Its value is but trifling, too; 
 Yet, though 'tis but a tiny thing, 
 
 'Twill speak of friendship pure and true. 
 Dear Bet tie, let it ever cling 
 
 'Eound thy finger, a tribute due; 
 And then our hearts will constant spring 
 
 To bind our souls in love anew. 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 DEATH IN THE BRIDAL CHAMBER. 
 
 An Incident of the Bombardment of Charleston. 
 
 Port Delaware, Del., May 12, 1864. 
 To the Editor of the New York News: You have doubtless seen 
 the '• Incident in the Siege of Charleston." wherein the death of 
 Miss Anna Picliens is recorded. I have clipped the article from 
 the Charleston Mercury and added some verses to it. As the " lines " 
 contain nothing contraband, you can publish them if you choose to 
 do so. They are simple, but such as the heart of a North Carolina, 
 
30 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 soldier feels for his fair and unfortunate countrywoman. Yours re- 
 spectfully, "RoBT. B. Vance, Brig.-Gen., etc., C. S. A. 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN THE BOMBARDMENT OF CHARLESTON. 
 [From the Charleston Mercury, April 24, 1864.] 
 
 The Yankees, from time to time, throw a shell into the city, and 
 nobody seems to mind it. But misfortune willed that yesterday a 
 shell should throw the entire community into mourning. 
 
 Miss Anna Pickens, the daughter of our former Go vei nor, never 
 consented to leave the city. Despite tlie representation of General 
 Beauregard, she remained, braving shells and Greek-fire, tending 
 the wounded and cheering all by her presence. Among the wound- 
 ed officers under her care was Mr. Andrew De Rochelie, a descend- 
 ant of one of the noblest Huguenot families of this city. This young- 
 man was full of the liveliest gratitude for his fair nurse; gratitude 
 gave birth to a more tender sentiment; his suit was listened to; 
 Governor Pickens gave his consent, and the marriage was fixed for 
 yesterday, the 23d of April. 
 
 Lieutenant De Rochelie was on duty at Fort Sumter in the 
 morning, and it was determined that the ceremony should take 
 place at the residence of General Bonham in the evening at seven 
 o'clock. At the moment when the Episcopal clergyman was asking 
 the bride if she was ready, a shell fell upon the roof of the build- 
 ing, penetrated to the room where the company were assembled, 
 burst and wounded nine persons, and among the rest. Miss Anna 
 Pickens. We cannot describe the scene that followed. Order was 
 at last re-established, and. the wounded were removed — all except 
 the bride, who lay motionless upon the carpet. Her betrothed, 
 kneeling and bending over her. was weeping bitterly and trying to 
 staunch the blood that welled from a terrible wound under her left 
 breast. A surgeon came and declared that Miss Pickens had not 
 longer than two hours to live. We will paint the general despair. 
 
 When the wounded girl recovered her consciousness, she asked 
 to know her fate. They hesitated to tell her. "Andrew," she said, 
 " I beg you to tell me the truth. If I must die, I can die worthy of 
 you." The young soldier's tears were his answer, and Miss Anna, 
 summoning all her strength, attempted to smile. Nothing could be 
 more heart-rending than to see the agony of this brave girl, strug- 
 gling in the embrace of death, and against a terrible mortal pain. 
 Governor Pickens, whose courage is known, was almost without 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 31 
 
 consciousness, and Mrs. Pickens looked upon her child with the 
 dry, haggard eye of one whose reason totters. 
 
 Lieutenant De Rochelle was the tirst to speak. "Anna," he cried, 
 'I will die soon, too, but I would have you die my wife. There is 
 yet time to unite us." 
 
 The young girl did not reply; she was loo weak. A slight flush 
 rose for an instant to her pale cheek; it could be .'seen that joy and 
 pain were struggling in her spirit for the raastt-ry. Lying on a sofa, 
 her bridal dress all stained with blood, her hair ui-sheveled, she 
 had never been more beautiful. Helpless as she was. Lieutenant 
 De Rochelle took her hand and requested Rev. Mr. Dickinson to 
 proceed with the ceremony. When it was time for the dying girl 
 to say Yes, her lips parted several times, but she could not artic- 
 ulate. At last the word was spoken, and a slight fo:»m rested upon 
 her lips. The dying agony was near. The minister sobbed as he 
 proceeded with the ceremony. An hour after all was over, and the 
 bridal chamber wa.'* the chamber of death. 
 
 Lieutenant De Rochelle has sworn to perish in battle against the 
 Yankees, and we are sui'e that he will keep his oath. He has now 
 a double motive to hate them and his own existence. 
 
 Our entire community share the grief that afflicts the family of 
 Governor Pickens. The obsequies of Miss Anna will take place to- 
 morrow morning at eleven o'clock. Governor Pickens and Lieu- 
 tenant De Rochelle will be chief mourners. Our ex-Governor de- 
 sires that there shall be no military parade. The funeral cortege 
 will be composed of all our ladies, all our magistrates, all our gen- 
 erals, and the wounded soldiers, many of whom owe their lives to 
 the devotion of the deceased. Never has a woman been followed to 
 the grave by so many regrets— never has one left sadder remem- 
 brances in the hearts of Charlestonians. 
 
 The snow-white robe was placed upon 
 
 The maiden's lithe and graceful form, 
 And near her stood the gallant one 
 
 Who won her in the battle's storm; 
 So proud his glance, so glad her smile. 
 
 With their happy friends beside them; 
 It seem'd that eartli or earthly guile 
 
 Might ne'er again divide them. 
 
32 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 " Dear maiden, art thou ready now ? " 
 
 Thus gently spake the man of God. 
 The bhishing cheek, the calm, sweet brow, 
 
 Proclaimed the power of Cupid's rod; 
 But ah! there's naught on earth secure! 
 
 E'en love itself is sad and brief; 
 The bright young life, the good and pure, 
 
 Are dying like the autumn leaf. 
 
 The missile dread rush'd through the air ; 
 
 It burst upon the peaceful scene; 
 The lovely girl, so brave, so fair, 
 * Show'd death upon her virgin mien; 
 
 And while with sobs the rites were spoke, 
 
 That he his bride might there possess, 
 She struggled ere her spirit broke. 
 
 And e'en in dying answered, "Yes." 
 
 Many a story's writ in gold 
 
 Of withered hopes and broken bliss. 
 But bard nor minstrel ne'er hath told 
 
 A nobler, sadder one than this. 
 Then strike the lyre's most mournful strings 
 
 To music's soft and soothing tone! 
 Let sorrow ope her chast'ning wings 
 
 For her that's gone, and him that's lone! 
 
 0, daughters of the dear Southland ! 
 
 Embalm with tears your sister's fate! 
 'Twill whet her soldier husband's brand. 
 
 And soften, too, his bitter hate; 
 For surely on the red, dun field, 
 
 Though cannon sweep the plain with fire. 
 Her angel soul will be his shield. 
 
 And mercy's smile will change his ire. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 33 
 
 Bat not alone will shadows deep 
 
 O'ercast the face of Southland's maids; 
 Columbia's daughters all will weep 
 
 That one so true so early fades ; 
 And beauty's voice in every clime, 
 
 Though he by some is unforgiven, 
 Will sighing chant a dirge sublime 
 
 For her who thus has passed to heav'n! 
 
 WHAT IS HEA VEN f 
 
 [My friend, General Thompson, has asked me, " What is heaven ? " 
 saying that I thought it " a Methodist camp-meeting." I answer, I 
 know not, but tlie Bible teaches us that " eye hath not seen, ear 
 hath not heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to 
 conceive" of it.] 
 
 Oh, a wonderful place that heaven must be, 
 
 Which thrills all men with hopes so profound. 
 And often we think, when the fancy is free, 
 Of the liappified ones who've passed lis to see 
 Where that city, so lovely, is found. 
 
 No mortal can paint the ineffable shore 
 Which skirteih the boundary of time, 
 Nor picture the pleasures of those gone before, 
 Whose yearnings and heart-aches forever are o'er. 
 In the bliss of that glorified clime. 
 
 Millions of beings, all radiant and bright, 
 
 For whom was blood in agony shed, 
 Are casting their gems, with seraphic delight. 
 At the feet of the Prince whose mercy and might 
 
 Brought crowns of life to honor each head. 
 
 I 
 
 ==■, ii 
 
34 Heart- Throbs frof?i the Mountains. 
 
 No passion that's earthly polhiteth the heart, 
 
 No cares distract when safe at the goal ; 
 No pangs of remorse or repentance shall smart, 
 Nor thorns in the flesh shall their soi rows impart, 
 To war against the rest of the soul. 
 
 But ever and ever, as years roll apace, 
 Number'd alone in the cycles above, 
 Shall knowledge and virtue increase ev'ry grace, 
 And glory enkindle the celestial face, 
 Keflecting the truth that God is love. 
 P'orl Delaware, 1864. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 Let me, O Lord, thy mercy prove; 
 Yea, feel thy never-dying love, 
 And my poor soul for realms above 
 
 Be ready, waiting evermore ; 
 So when the angel shall proclaim 
 That even Time must change his name,* 
 And worlds on worlds are wrapped in flame, 
 
 I'll meet thee oa the heav'nly shore! 
 
 THE PICTURE IN MY PHOTOGRAPHIC 
 ALBUM. 
 There is a picture in my book 
 
 Which smiles upon me day by day, 
 Yet, though there's language in each look. 
 It never has a word to say; 
 
 =■= rime will be swallowed up by eternity. 
 
Heart-Throbs from the Mountains. 85 
 
 And every secret of this heart 
 
 This silent one is getting now, 
 Which sometimes makes me sudden start, 
 
 For 'tis a woman's lovely brow. 
 
 » Each night, each morn I gaze again, 
 
 To see if change is written there, 
 But still the picture soothes each pain 
 
 While looking on the face so fair; 
 And then I think a bosom warm 
 
 With life and hope and love-lit flame 
 Is beating now with many a charm 
 
 From whence this quiet picture came. 
 
 And then regretful thoughts will come 
 
 That this is all I e'er may see; 
 That ne'er, within her happy home, 
 
 Her real face will beam on me. 
 But what of that? — she knows me not; 
 
 My very name to her's unknown ; 
 Nor does she even know the spot, 
 
 The mountain land I call my own. 
 
 But, O, there is a heart doth beat 
 
 And chafe for him who's gone away, 
 And little Jimmie prattles sweet 
 
 About his own, his dear " Papa." 
 Keep back, ye tears — ye must not fall; 
 
 Stern manhood bids ye cease to flow; 
 Our God, our homes, our country all 
 
 Proclaim that none must yield to woe. 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
36 Heart- Throbs froi7i the Mountains. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 [On receiving a beautifully embellished volume of poems from 
 Miss Rose G., of Baltimore, Md.] 
 
 There's not a flower or pretty thing 
 
 That in the garden grows 
 On which the bee can rest It-; win<r 
 
 That's equal to the rose. 
 Each morn unfolds its velvet leaves 
 
 To catch the falling dew, 
 And 'round its stem fond Cupid weaves 
 
 His web for bosoms true, 
 And ties the golden knot of love 
 
 With such a happy string 
 That all the Cupids from above 
 
 Light on the 'trothal ring. 
 Then bloom for aye, fair, gentle Eose, 
 
 While loving, hearts are given, 
 Till ev'ry breast with pleasure glows 
 
 Akin to that in heaven. 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 TO LIEUTENANT S., A FELLOW-PRISONER. 
 
 When years are gone and war is o'er, 
 And hostile hosts shall meet no more 
 With musket bright and pointed spear 
 To try the nerve and shock the ear ; 
 When peace with robe of light hath come 
 To bless again each Southland home; 
 When brooks and rills and mountain dells 
 Shall catch the echo as it swells. 
 And bill and vale and smiling plain 
 Shall shout to hear the happy strain ; 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 37 
 
 When flocks and herds shall quiet graze 
 Through all the pleasant summer days, 
 And lambs shall gambol light and free 
 When birds give forth their minstrelsy; 
 When gather'd 'round our hearths we are, 
 And wife and babes our bliss do share, 
 And love shall raise its beaming eye 
 To Him, our Father, in the sky; 
 Then fancy, tireless, o'er the main 
 Will bring us to these scenes again. 
 When by our our sides the good wife sits, 
 And on the hearth the bright blaze flits; 
 When Jimmie climbs his father's knee 
 To pull his beard with childish glee, 
 And, while without doth fly ihe gale, • 
 Says, "Papa, tell your boy a tale;" 
 Then fields of fight shall rise anew, 
 When cannon peal'd and minies flew. 
 And victors' shouts were sad allied 
 With sighs and groans from those who died; 
 Then prison days shall, too, appear 
 Before the eyes of those who hear. 
 And flowing tears shall wet the cheek 
 With thanks, too deep for words to speak, 
 That all is past, the conflict done. 
 The battle fought, the vict'ry won. 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 BO THEY MISS ME AT HOMEf 
 
 Do they miss me at home? I often ask. 
 As the wearisome hours are passing by. 
 
 When the Northman's chain and the Northman's task 
 Are impaling me here, perhaps to die. 
 
 !■ 
 
T 
 
 38 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Do they miss me there where long, long ago 
 The earth to me was so ( heering and bright; 
 
 Where life's young morn did encha tingly glow 
 With visions of beauty ever in sight ? 
 
 Do they miss me at home since i^utumn's breath 
 
 Hath color'd the woods and scatter'd the leaves, 
 And the beauteous flowers have pal'd in death 
 
 Where but late they stood in their fragrant sheaves? 
 Do they miss me there since tlie birds are gone 
 
 That so sweetly sang in the cherry trees, 
 And soft music made as the day wore on 
 
 With their tinier friends, tlie busy bees ? 
 
 Do they miss me at home when twilight gray 
 
 Hath mantled the world in its sable hue; 
 When the peafowl screams on the hill away, 
 
 And the guineas are roosting in the yew ; 
 When homeward the plowboy taketh his way, 
 
 All glad in his heart for his wnrk is done, 
 And beautiful then o'er the dying day 
 
 The bright stars come out, even one by one ? 
 
 Do they miss me at home when on the board 
 
 The linen is spread and the mejl is laid; 
 When the joyous word which the heart doth hoard 
 
 By each one around is so sweetly said ; 
 When mother's dear face is seen at the head, 
 
 If still she's alive to cherish her child, 
 Though her raven hair has a silvery thread 
 
 Adorning a brow still gentle and mild ? 
 
 Do they miss me at home when 'round the fire 
 The wee ones do frolic with winsome glee; 
 
 When all then are present but him — their sire — 
 To join in the sport so happy and free ; 
 
Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 39 
 
 Whea fondly the wife and mother doth smile 
 On each little head that's passing in view, 
 
 The prayer in her soul that naught may beguile 
 Their innocent feet from ways that are true? 
 
 Do they miss me at home, that precious throng, 
 
 When the hallow'd hour of prayer draws nigh; 
 When lifted above the melodious song 
 
 Is given in praise to Him in the sky ; 
 When the dear old Bible upon the stand 
 
 Is open'd and read with reverent awe, 
 And blessing is.sought for all in the band 
 
 To guide them aright in keeping the law ? 
 
 Do they miss me at home when Sabbath bells 
 
 Are chiming their messages in the air, 
 And ever each note so pleasingly tells 
 
 " There's room for ye all in the house of prayer; " 
 When pastor and flock are wending their way 
 
 To the church as it stands upon the hill. 
 And meekly they bow when they hear him say, 
 
 "The Lord's in his temple — let earth be still?" 
 
 Can ye tell, ye winds that so wildly flee 
 
 From the mountain peak o'er the hill and plain, 
 What tidings from home, the land of the free, 
 
 Ye bear to the captive to cheer him again ? 
 Can ye speak no word in your fierce career 
 
 Of their state and health as ye swift flew on ? 
 Did they miss me at home — ah! did the tear 
 
 Fall sad on the ground for the absent one? 
 
 Yes! thanks be to God! they miss me at home; 
 
 I feel it e'en now in my heart's deep core; 
 And fond ones repeat, " When, when will he come. 
 
 To stray from his home and his friends no more? " 
 
40 Heart -Throbs frotn the Mountains. 
 
 Then, cheer thee, sad soul, in this weary breast 
 
 The blessing ye need will come at the last; 
 Kind Heaven will give thee the happiest rest 
 When these dreary days forever are past. 
 Forfc Delaware, 1864. 
 
 LINES FOB A LADY'S ALBUM. 
 
 This book is clean and pure and beautiful ; 
 
 No stain is resting on its swan-like sheets, 
 Keminding us both that the dutiful 
 
 And pure are those whom highest pleasure greets. 
 
 In your friendship, delicate and tender, 
 You have requested me to place my name 
 
 First on these snowy pages, and render 
 You a pleasure, which is my fervent aim. 
 
 Ne'er did soldier, thirsting deep for glory, • 
 
 Or pilgrim kneeling at a holy shrine. 
 Feel warmer hope than I that my story 
 
 May be pure as this book — my thoughts as thine. 
 
 I would write some word of deathless beauty 
 In this thy book, my faithful, gentle friend — 
 
 Some word to cheer in life's every duty 
 
 Whose far-reaching attraction ne'er shall end. 
 
 How wondrous is the thought! in the regions 
 Of God's galaxy of worlds, in the sky, 
 
 Each star amid the myriad legions 
 
 Attracts the others in their paths on high. 
 
 Let me, ere I write, delay and ponder 
 
 What word of love may be for thee the best 
 
 As along life's stream your feet may wander. 
 Seeking ever there a haven full of rest. 
 
Heart- Throbs fro??i the Mountains. 41 
 
 A thousand streams of joy and love and gladness 
 Come gliding in between the rocks and hills, 
 
 And, though often fleck'd with gloom and sadness, 
 They fill the heart with sweet and precious thrills. 
 
 We cannot safely build below God's heaven, 
 Because the rainbow's form, alas ! will fade, 
 
 And every tint which to the rose is given 
 
 Will leave a grief when they have all decayed . 
 
 Dear friend, life is always in our keeping; 
 
 We wisely act when we shall seek the true ; 
 For e'en when the soul itself is weeping 
 
 'Twill teach us how to live and how to do. 
 
 1 need not tell you all. The deep quiver 
 Of the soul before its God is that thy peace 
 
 On either side of Life's tree and river 
 
 May be with Him with whom all pain shall cease. 
 
 Liist night of Forty-eighth Congress. 
 
 DARLINO. 
 
 I'm all alone, my darling, in the room 
 
 Where thou gavest me the last kiss of earth, 
 And strive to think amid my tears and gloom 
 
 If I can tell thy true and priceless worth. 
 Long since thou camest from thy mountain home 
 
 With trust, and thy tender heart did quiver, 
 As, passing near Mount Mitchell's mighty dome, 
 
 We joyful came to the racing river * 
 In dear old Buncombe, whose bright waters come 
 
 ■^ The French Broad. 
 
42 Heart -Throbs from the Mountaim. 
 
 From the mountain peaks where the wild beasts 
 roam. 
 The bloom of the peach was on thy cheek, dear, 
 
 And thy step as light as the timid fawn's 
 Among tlve wooded hills, afar and near, 
 
 When first the rosy tint of morning dawn's 
 
 Upon the groves, the fiow'ers, and pleasant lawlis, 
 'God blessed iis, darling, in our early morn. 
 
 And gave us much of hope and love to see 
 As loving children unto us were born; 
 
 And our home was glad with joy as the wee 
 
 Toddlers filled all the house with mirth and glee- 
 
 The happiest sight w^hich on the earth may be. 
 But ah, I do remember keenly now 
 
 When first I saw thy step begin to fail, 
 And marked upon thy precious, snowy brow, 
 
 The sign of that which made my heart to quail 
 And bosom beat Avith its ow^n terror pale* 
 
 Then came the w^atching and the aching fears. 
 The constant dread, the shortening of the breath. 
 
 The hectic flush, the eyes too bright for tears; 
 And tliou wert claimed, alas! my love, by death, 
 
 Giving us the grief, thou the Christian's wreath. 
 Now, in the silent watches of the night, 
 
 I call for thee, dear partner of my life, 
 But miss thy loved form, and the beaming light 
 
 Of thy sweet face, which as mother and wife 
 Shone on us all, so good, so pure, so bright. 
 
 Never more, O never more will we hear 
 Thy sweet voice in song, at dear Riverside, 
 
 Thrilling us with its tones, as pure and clear 
 As the streamlet's song, where the waters glide 
 To music, seeking ocean's moving tide. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 43 
 
 We cannot call thee back to us again, 
 
 Love, for thou art gone to that far-off bourn 
 
 Whence " no traveler returns," leaving us to mourn 
 Our irreparable loss. The joy or pain 
 
 Of earth cannot break or mar thy deep rest 
 In ^'the land of the leal," where every strain 
 
 Of joy bursts from radiant throngs, who, dressed 
 In Jesus' robes of spotless white, on plain 
 
 And hill of the restful country, are blest 
 With peace, and love, and joy without a stain. 
 
 But, God be praised ! if we but love the Lord 
 
 And walk obedient to his holy word, 
 We'll go to thee when life and earth are done, 
 And, darling, there we'll be forever one. 
 Washington City, 911 Rhode Island Avenue, 1886. 
 
 BIZPuiH. 
 
 "And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it 
 for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water 
 dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds 
 of the air to rest upon them by day, nor the beasts of the field by 
 night." (2 Samuel xxi. Itt.; 
 
 Saul had stood in majesty in the field 
 Of a fearful battle. O'er the people. 
 
 In shining armor, bearing a sword and shield 
 Of ponderous weight, like some tall steeple 
 
 He towered; from the shoulders upward his form 
 Was far above the mightiest; his locks. 
 
 From under his helmet, in the fierce storm 
 Of battle waved like billows on the rocks 
 When the earth receives the wild ocean shocks. 
 
44 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Before the- closing of that mournful day, 
 
 Mournful to God's afflicted people, the King, 
 
 Deserted by his Maker, afraid to pray. 
 Was dark in soul, a miserable thing, 
 With not a hope to which his soul could cling. 
 
 The beaded sweat was on his forehead high, 
 And his heart in keenest agony riven 
 
 When he saw no spot to which he could fly 
 From the wrath of Jehovah ; the dark heaven 
 Gave no token that peace or help was nigh ; 
 
 And O alas! before the setting sun 
 
 The Philistines their bloody work had done ! 
 
 On Gilboa's lonely mount the wretched King 
 
 Beheld his army beaten ; his brave son. 
 The princely Jonathan, whose strong bow-string 
 
 Had never turned from the mighty, upon 
 Whose form of beauty Israel's fair maids 
 Had gazed with joy, arranging the dark braids 
 
 Of their glossy hair to catch his bright eye — 
 
 Alas, that orie so full of love should die ! — 
 Was wrapped in his bloody garments, his sword 
 
 Beside his flaming shield and his bare head, 
 Resting on the holy soil which the Lord 
 
 In mercy gave the tribes he thither led. 
 And now King Saul, in that most awfiJ hour, 
 
 Was sorely pressed upon the rugged height 
 
 Of Mount Gilboa; the grandeur of his might 
 And all the emblems of his royal power 
 
 Were fading forever from his anxious sight. 
 While 'round him there Elohim's wrath did lower 
 
 No hope had he on earth — none with his God ; 
 
 So, dying there, he rested on the sod. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 45 
 
 King David rested from his stubborn fight 
 
 With those who pame to spoil the place, Ziklag, 
 
 In which he met them in his valiant might, 
 
 And smote them hip and thigh from evening light 
 To eventide again; nor did they flag 
 
 In fight till they destroyed the Amalekite. 
 But as he rested, one from the camp of Saul, 
 
 With his clothes rent and earth upon his head, 
 Cast o'er the King and those around the pall 
 
 Of a great sorrow, saying, '' Saul is dead." 
 Then the King, the Psalmist of Israel, 
 Broke forth in song his royal woe to tell : 
 
 " The beauty of Israel is slain, 
 Upon thy high places it is gone. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ! 
 Tell it not in Gath nor Askelon, 
 Lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice. 
 On Gilboa's mountains let there be no dew, 
 Nor rain, nor fields of offerings, 
 For there the shield of the mighty away 
 Was cast, as though the King was not anointed. 
 From the blood of the slain in battle, 
 From the terrible power of the mighty, 
 The bow of Jonathan turned not back, 
 Nor the sword of Saul to the scabbard empty. 
 Saul and Jonathan were lovely in life, 
 And in death they still were undivided: 
 Swifter they than eagles, stronger than lions. 
 
 '' Daughters of Israel, weep over Saul; 
 He clothed you with scarlet and gave delights ; 
 He put ornaments of gold on your apparel. 
 How are the mighty fallen! 
 
46 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 In the midst of the battle, O Jonathan, 
 Thou wast slain in thine high places. . 
 I am distressed for thee, Jonathan, 
 My brother; pleasant thou hast been to me; 
 Thy love to me, ray brother, was wonderful, 
 Passing even the love of woman. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen! 
 The weapons of war, alas! have perished." 
 
 The famine was sore in Israel. Year 
 
 By year, for three years, the Lord was in wrath 
 Because King Saul had stained his warlike spear 
 
 With the blood of Gibeon, that from his path 
 He might sweep them from the earth, though they'd 
 
 sworn 
 That not a soul should from them e'er be torn. 
 Then David said to Gibeon, " What wish 
 Have you because of Saul, the son of Kish?" 
 " Seven sons of Saul," was their determined word, 
 " That we may hang them all before the Lord." 
 The King delivered Saul's unhappy sons 
 To these unrelenting and cruel ones; 
 And when the barley harvest-time drew nigh, 
 They took these children of their once mighty 
 chief. 
 And brought them to Gibeah, there to die. 
 
 And leave poor Bizpah in her matchless grief. 
 
 There on the rock, in that sad harvest-time. 
 The heroic woman the sackcloth spread 
 
 For herself, that she might with love sublime 
 Watch o'er the bodies of her blameless dead, 
 
 And drive away the carrion birds by day, 
 
 And keep the night beasts from their hapless prey. 
 
Heart' Throbs from the Mountains. 47 
 
 No rest for Eizpah, neither day nor night, 
 But with devotion rare to any given, 
 
 Without complaint, but with a mother's pain, 
 She watched her boys — 0, what a holy sight! — 
 Till God, from out the gentle, loving heaven. 
 
 Gave iier the sweet and happy sound of rain. 
 
 Let Homer sound his harp once more, 
 Search every land from shore to shore; 
 
 Heroic Greece, and valiant Rome, 
 
 And Capitols from base to dome; 
 In England's land, and Scotia's hills. 
 And France, where love of glory thrills; 
 
 The Western World, where Freedom s song 
 
 Hath beauty given to right o'er wrong ; 
 And every spot on God's green earth 
 Where true devotion has had birth; 
 
 But never, never will there be 
 
 A sweeter story told to thee. 
 
 King David, the man after God's own heart. 
 Was told of Rizpah's wondrous, faithful love. 
 
 And in the burial of the dead took part. 
 As well became a man esteemed above; 
 
 And when 'twas done at his own free command. 
 
 The Lord was asked to bless his chosen land. 
 
 18S6. 
 
 TILE STAR* 
 
 One quiet eve — I may not tell thee when- 
 As after toil upon my bed reclining, 
 
 I saw what I have never seen since then— 
 A sweet star upon me softly shining. 
 
 '■• I/homme propot^e, et Dieu dispose, 
 
48 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 It was through the window light I saw it, 
 Serene in all its loveliness and beauty, 
 
 And my soul was energized to draw it, 
 
 That it might shine along my path of duty. 
 
 But O! fond dream — it was too far away 
 
 Among the starry worlds which o'er us glitter 
 
 To heed my cry, yet still it seemed to say, 
 "Go on alone to meet life's sweet and bitter." 
 
 Long then I gazed upon it that lone night. 
 
 Though never once its coldness there upbraided. 
 
 Till do An the sky its sweet and mellow light 
 From my sad heart and view fo'-ever faded. 
 
 But O! when it was truly from me gone, 
 No heed it giving to my earnest calling, 
 
 It seemed as if the day would never dawn, 
 The darkness was so dense and so appalling. 
 
 And often now I turn my anxious eye 
 
 Toward the spot where last I saw it beaming, 
 
 Amid the orbs along the far-off sky. 
 
 And hope, in truth, that I am only dreaming. 
 
 But day by day the outlook is the same, 
 Nor sky nor star give rae the faintest token 
 
 That ever here I may the favor claim 
 
 Of its sweet light upon a hope that's broken. 
 
 Ah ! sometim^es on the toilsome road of life 
 There comes a star across the bosom's vision 
 
 Which with the sweetest, fondest things is rife, 
 And on the heart it makes such deep incision 
 
 That time, nor space, nor grief, nor aching woe. 
 Though seemingly the strong affections killing, 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 49 
 
 Can ever on earth cause it to forego 
 
 The dear memories of a thing so thrilling. 
 
 But I am like the lone and blasted pine 
 Upon the silent and the rugged mountain, 
 
 Around whose form there never more may twine 
 The gentle vine, fed by the snowy fountain. 
 
 Nor should I grieve, for soon the end will be; 
 
 Nor tind it question for the eoul's debating; 
 For o'er the borders of eternity 
 
 My precious ones for me are anxious waiting. 
 
 I hear from on the river's further verge 
 
 Their words of joy, their songs of love and won- 
 der; 
 
 The invitations which they sweetly urge 
 To come, that we no longer be asunder. 
 
 And O, my darlings, to your peaceful home 
 
 My steps, my heart, my soul, my life are tending 
 
 With rapture for the glory yet to come, 
 
 Where love, and peace, and rest, and bliss are 
 blending. 
 
 TO MISS KATE. 
 
 [When she was starting from Washington to Canada.] 
 
 Two ladies sat in easy chairs 
 
 One summer day in '84, 
 Whose charming persons, pleasing airs 
 
 Beguiled the man within the door. 
 
 The one was maiden in her bloom, 
 With gentle eye and blushing face, 
 
50 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 And step as light as heron's plurae, 
 And every motion was a grace. 
 
 The other's brow and queenly form 
 Were 'circled with that sphere of life 
 
 Which woman's love with worship warm 
 Adorns as mother and as wife. 
 
 " Write in my book," the maiden said, 
 
 With low, soft voice and v/inning smile, 
 
 " Before my feet are homeward sped 
 
 O'er hill and brake for many a mile." 
 
 Then spake the matron tenderly — 
 
 Her thoughts along the sleim steed's track: 
 " Write in her book this quest for me — 
 *■ My darling Kat^e, hasten back.' " 
 
 Ah! will she- come? In her own land 
 Perchance some no')le youth may dwell, 
 
 The lightest touch of whose loved hand 
 May cause her, virgin iieart to swell. 
 
 If this be true, no chiding word 
 
 Must from our aching souls be prest. 
 
 For well we know our bonny bird 
 Must surely have her own SAeeL nest. 
 
 If wing and breast and heart be free. 
 Which much we doubt, alack! alack! 
 
 Then let her eye this city see, 
 
 And " darling Katie " hasten back. 
 
 Let floor), nor stream, nor crowded street. 
 Nor city spire, nor sylvan charms 
 
 Pelay nor check her flying feet 
 
 Till she is in her friend's true arms, 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 51 
 
 DEAB MOTHER, ART THOU STANDING NEAR! 
 
 [Written the night bpfore Christmas, 1SG4, at Fort Delaware.] 
 
 Dear Mother, art thou standing near ? 
 
 Is this thy form before me now ? 
 Is this indeel a mother's tear 
 
 Upon my head and in my brow? 
 If 'lis thy form, O let me kneel 
 
 And be again thy baby b y, 
 That this poor heirt once more may f^el 
 
 The thrilling gush of childi-h joy ! 
 
 And, Mother, shall I hang to-night 
 
 My stocking in the same old place, 
 And will Saint Nicholas alight 
 
 And show to me las smiling face? 
 And shall I hear his tiny steeds 
 
 Upon the chim .ey's smoking top, 
 As, bent upon his happy deeds. 
 
 He from the roof shall nimbly hop? 
 
 And, Mother, will the stocking hold 
 
 The but'ernuts and raisins fair; 
 The c;mdy sticks and hearts of gold, 
 
 The fairies with their shining hair? 
 And shall I find the plume and cap, 
 
 The little sword and soldier boots 
 With which, while in their Christmas nap, 
 
 Dear Santa CLius the children suits ? 
 
 And, Mother, when the morning light 
 Shall speak another Christmas come, 
 
 Will thy dear features be as bright 
 As when they graced my boyhood's home? 
 
52 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 And wilt thou smile as fondly still 
 When "Christmas-gift" is prattling said, 
 
 And seek to charm my childish will 
 With pretty toys of blue and red ? 
 
 And wilt thou tell me of His charms — 
 
 Good Mary's babe, the infant Lord — 
 Who lay within His mother's arms, 
 
 According to the angel's word ? 
 And, Mother, may I go again 
 
 To see Him in the manger laid, 
 Where Magi from the star-lit plain 
 
 Their gifts of gold and spices made? 
 
 And, Mother^ wilt thou let me lean 
 
 My weary head upon thy breast, 
 That my fond spirit still may glean 
 
 Sweet comfort from that place of rest ? 
 And let me dream — ah, fondly dream — 
 
 That childhood's hour again is giv'n; 
 And, though 'tis but a passing gleam, 
 
 I'll hope to find it true in heav'n. 
 
 ASTORIA. 
 
 [Written for the Author's faithful friends, the Fosters.] 
 Life is not all tears. There be sunny slopes 
 
 And sweetly gliding streams and smiling plains 
 To break its rugged aspect, though the hopes 
 
 Of youth may have perished in the sad pains 
 Of disappointment, fading, as it were, 
 
 Like the flowers i' the early spring-time; 
 Though the angel of childhood may nowhere 
 
 Bless the anxious eye with the sweep sublime 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 53 
 
 Of her radiant wings, filling the soul 
 
 With pleasures unspeakable; though lone tears 
 May come from the heart's deep fountain, and roll 
 
 O'er the care-worn face, saying that the years 
 Of penceful glee will come no more; yet, O, 
 
 The Avelcome kind, the sympathizing word 
 And gentle smile wring gladness out of wee, 
 
 And leave the heart like some free, happy bird. 
 Belov'd Astoria! 'Tis s ;rely str nge 
 
 That in the din, the rush, the maddeu'd hour 
 Of this most selfish world, so full of change 
 
 Thy scenes should hold with such a pleasing pow'r 
 The heart of him who writes. Scarce twentv days 
 
 Ha-e thrown their light across the field and glen 
 Since first he heard thy sweet, euphonious name; 
 
 And scarce so many hours have fled since when 
 With all a soldier's ardor, he did gaze 
 
 Upon the forms of those who went and came 
 Within thy peaceful walks, and yet, and yet 
 
 Thou'rt now a well-spring of joy gushing up, 
 Destined still to grow till life's sun phall set, 
 
 A sweeten'd draught — in life's most bitter cup. 
 War Time, 1865. 
 
 TO A BOUQUET. 
 
 Sweet flowers! Ye touch a tender chord 
 
 Within my bosom's inm^ st core, 
 And in your gentle language speak 
 
 Of days and hours which come no more; 
 The glad, gay ho -rs of early life 
 
 Spent in my sunny, mountain home. 
 To me the dearest res*ing-place 
 
 This side the heav'n's eternal dome. 
 
54 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 'Twas in those hours in that fair land, 
 
 On many a cliff of lofty height, 
 I first beheld your sisters' bloom, 
 
 Anl pluck'd them with a wild delight, 
 And brought them from the mountain's brow 
 
 With all a brother's tender care 
 To one who watches now fur me. 
 
 And twin'd them in her dark brow:i hair. 
 
 I loved them then, I love ye now. 
 
 Though years on years have fled away, 
 And catch with joy the fragrant breath 
 
 From out your cups and leaflets gay. 
 And yet methinks 'twere best to own 
 
 That ye posse -s a charm more sweet 
 Because my friend's kind hand hath borne 
 
 Ye from your lovely native seat. 
 
 And will ye not in quiet tones 
 
 Proclaim to her that every deed 
 Of kindness to the suffering shown 
 
 Will wreathe for her a fadeless meed — 
 That ev'ry word in kindness said. 
 
 And ev'ry faithful prayer thus giv'n, 
 Will give new flowers to many a heart, 
 
 And bud and bloom for her in heav'n ? 
 New York City, 1865. 
 
 RICHMOND ON THE JAMES. 
 
 A CAPTIVE of the "S;onewall Corps" at grim Fort Dela- 
 ware, 
 
 Where none might feel dear woman's touch or hear her 
 fervent pray'r. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 5S 
 
 Was giving up Lis bright young life, lire hopes which 
 
 bless'd his birth, 
 The cause he truly liad at he <rt, and all he lov'd on earth, 
 When, as his comrades stood around with sad and droop- 
 ing eyes, 
 And gazed upon the wasted form, no more on earth to rise, 
 He murnmr'd of the absent ones and call'd l)eloved names, 
 Then fondly spoke of Richmond — his Richmond on the 
 James: 
 
 " I mourn for thee, lov'd city, since now thy strength is 
 low. 
 
 And o'er thee waves so haughtily the banner of the foe. 
 
 And many a stately building's gone where fond the eye 
 did rest. 
 
 And many a stricken family with house nor home are blest; 
 
 But even as my heart doth break there comes this sooth- 
 ing thought, 
 
 Thy children for their country bled — they have not died 
 for naught — 
 
 Thy suff'rings and thy valor tried, thy heroes and thy 
 dames 
 
 Shall gild fore'er the story of Richmond on the James. 
 
 " E'en now I see my childhood friends, as on the smooth, 
 
 green hill 
 We played beneath the giant oaks close by a silver rill ; 
 And hark! I hear again the shout, the boyish, glad huzza 
 From bands who gaily bounc'd the ball or handled well 
 
 the taw; 
 And ne'er did happier music ring along the greenwood 
 
 wild 
 Than came from out the joyous throat of many a guileless 
 
 child. 
 
56 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 The very sunlight seem'd to smile upon our merry games. 
 But we'll play no more at Ri^ liniond — lov'd Richmond on 
 the James. 
 
 "And evermore there is a form before this failing eye — 
 My mother blesses still her boy each time she's passing by. 
 Her latest kiss is on my lip, which none hath kiss'd away, 
 Though she nor I did think 'twould last until my dying 
 
 day; 
 And as my life is ebbing fast, 'tis sure a grateful thing 
 For me to tell how miserly I to her love do cling. 
 And well I may — 'twas her dear self who taught me life's 
 
 best aims 
 On her honor'd knees at Richmond — dear Richmond on 
 
 the James. 
 
 "And sister, too, is by my bed — how co ild we be apart, 
 
 Since in the peaceful days gone by I liv'd within her heart? 
 
 And did she not with her own hand give me my father's 
 sword, 
 
 And whisper with a glowing cheek the gallant, noble 
 word — 
 
 'Go, brother, go; your comrades stand upon Virginia's 
 shore. 
 
 While " Lee and Stonewall " both are there to face the bat- 
 tle's roar?' 
 
 And yet I fear since that proud day she oft her ardor 
 blames; 
 
 But she did it all for Richmond — brave Richmond on the 
 James. 
 
 "And bend your heads, my comrades true; your faces all 
 
 bring near. 
 And do not wonder if my e'e gives forth its last, last tear. 
 A vision comes before me now of loveliness and truth — 
 
Heart - Throbs froffi the Mountains. 57 
 
 'Tis my Anna! 'tis my Anna! in all her witching youth! 
 We grew together as children, and heart was knit to heart, 
 And I was aye the happy lad who took the maiden's part; 
 And both at last that love did own which the wild spirit 
 
 tames, 
 But I'll woo no mere at Richmond — sweet Richmond on 
 
 the James. 
 
 ''Yes, you'll tell them I am dying, and what the soldier 
 
 said, 
 And where my jailer carelessly shall lay their darling's 
 
 head. 
 Too many tears they must not drop o'er this my mournful 
 
 doom, 
 Though some should even seek to carve 'A Traitor ' on my 
 
 tomb ; 
 And, though no woman's fingers white may twine the 
 
 roses there, 
 Nor Fame for m.^ a laurel wreathe, both beautiful and fair, 
 Little I'll reck, little I'll care if I shall ne'er be Fame's, 
 So they take my dust to Richmond — my Richmond on the 
 
 James." 
 
 His head fell back, his eye grew dim, the warm heart 
 ceased to beat. 
 
 And the youthful soldier slumber'd in rest both long and 
 sweet, 
 
 While o'er his brow, by sufF'ring worn, as the last blow 
 was giv'n. 
 
 There came the calm and peaceful look which comes alone 
 from heav'n. 
 
 Then, sorrowful, they turn'd away, his comrades one and 
 all, 
 
 As stranger hands did bear him thence beneath his hum- 
 ble pall; 
 
58 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Nor ever have they seen the spot, upon the river's verge, 
 Where by his grave the breakers make a melancholy dirge. 
 
 But still they hope, when after years have calm'd the 
 hearts of men, 
 
 And Peace has spread her snowy robe o'er mountain, vale, 
 and glen. 
 
 And never more shall war's alarms spread terror and dis- 
 may 
 
 From city, town, and hamlet rude to many a cot away ; 
 
 When kinder words than now are spoke shall of the South 
 be said, 
 
 Nor libels vile, nor falsehoods sheer by prejudice be read; 
 
 Yea, even when all hate is gone, and love shall light its 
 flames. 
 
 To carry his dust to Eichmond — our Kichmond on the 
 James. 
 Fort Delaware, 1865. 
 
 MY LOVE. 
 
 My love lies hidden in my heart, 
 
 But still within my eye ; 
 Though unkind fate doth keep us part, 
 
 Sweet fancy brings her nigh. 
 
 My ear is thrilled with her dear step, 
 
 A step as light as dew. 
 When o'er my soul blest dreams have crept. 
 
 Entrancing, kind, and true. 
 
 Through all the watches of the night, 
 When 'round the sleeping world 
 
 God hangs his banner'd hosts so bright, 
 As onward they are whirled. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 59 
 
 Delicious visions of her form 
 
 Float through the liquid air, 
 And I can feel her breathing warm, 
 
 Though only fancy's there. 
 
 The dear, dear head comes gently down 
 
 Upon my breast to rest, 
 "While the rich lacing of her gown 
 
 Against my heart is prest. 
 
 And o'er and o'er I count each hair 
 
 With rapture never told. 
 Nor would I change with fortune's heir 
 
 A single one for gold. 
 
 The mild, blue eye looks in ray face 
 
 And answers back each glance. 
 And in each sparkle I can trace 
 
 What doth my breast entrance. 
 
 The precious mouth, the ruby lips 
 
 Close tenderly on mine, 
 And while the soul its nectar sips 
 
 The heart has bliss divine. 
 
 The modest face is all aglow 
 
 With tenderness and love, 
 And beauteous blushes come and go, 
 
 Her innocence to prove. 
 
 Ah, me! how truly and how well 
 
 Do I God's image trace 
 In the glad magic of the spell 
 
 That's in my darling's face! 
 
60 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 THE STEP UPON THE STAIR. 
 
 [Lines on receiving a visit from a lady while the writer was 
 quite ill.] 
 
 One night, while silence in the house was deep, 
 And I was passing into dreaming, 
 
 Just half awake, and only half asleep, 
 In each condition only seeming, 
 
 I heard a step upon the winding stair 
 As light as dew-drops on the river, 
 
 Or thistledown in summer's balmy air, 
 Where zephyrs 'mid the roses quiver. 
 
 I listened till it gently moved again, 
 
 As if a work it must deliver — 
 A woman's work — to soothe a brow of pain, 
 
 And give a blessing like the giver. / 
 
 That step still lingers on my listening ear, 
 
 A sound to be forgotten never ; 
 My heart says, soft, its sweet impression's here 
 
 To live forever and forever. 
 
 THE BROKEN TESSERA. 
 
 Thebe were two. One was young, and grave, and fair ; 
 
 Her brow, whiter than snoAV, was lifted up 
 With a wealth of brain, while her glossy hair 
 
 Waved 'round its polished surface, and the cup 
 Of her beauty seemed full in its deep black. 
 
 Each wave of the jetty braids, which he loved 
 With all the ardor of a quenchless joy, 
 
 Filled his soul with new longings, giving him back 
 
Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 61 
 
 Witli tiimnltuoiis bounds — no trifling toy— 
 
 A sweeter hope than ever earth had proved. 
 Her red lips, like ripe fruit on the bough, 
 
 Clos'd gently o'er the shining ivory. 
 Seeming to say to the rapt gazer, " Come, n )w, 
 
 And touch, and taste, and drink to ecstasy." 
 Her form — ali, that was queenly to the eye 
 
 Of the other — tall, graceful, lithe, erect, 
 Fashioned v.'ith an art so grand and so high 
 
 That only one — heaven's great Architect — 
 Did mold it in its likeness to the sky. 
 
 Her mind was clear, strong, and truly gentle, 
 Catching at once the beautiful and true 
 
 Which glow in the physical and mental. 
 Whether on earth, or sea, or heaven's deep blue. 
 
 Her kind heart was brimmed with gentlest mercy, 
 Such as angels feel while they are keeping- 
 Watch o'er suffering; not, indeed, the hearsay 
 Mercy of books, but such as, ne'er sleeping. 
 Lives in deeds, the golden harvest reaping. 
 The other one was neither young nor fair. 
 
 Nor fame, nor wealth, nor pride, nor grandeur his. 
 For time had silvered o'er his own dark hair. 
 
 And left him, in its flight, just simply this: 
 A man whose soul was warm with love and hope; 
 
 Whose eye was glad to see fair nature's dress; 
 Whose heart took in the beatific scope 
 
 Of things that in their holy work would b'ess; 
 Whose heart was ever in his open hand ; 
 
 Nor child, nor maid, nor man need shun with fear 
 His steps — for all from him within his land 
 
 Met this: In joy, a smile ; in grief, a tear. 
 And thus they met. Upon her blameless life 
 
62 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 And n aiden hope, and dream of purest bliss, 
 Had fallen disappointment's blight. The keen knife 
 
 Of despair cut the rootlets of her soul. 
 And she hungered for a fond one's true kiss, 
 
 Deeming true love on earth her long-sought goa\ 
 In agony she cried to him for love, 
 
 This one so framed for love, to her denied ; 
 And nestling to him, like a wounded dove. 
 
 She sought his heart there resting by his side. 
 He gave her love; from his own being 
 
 He drew a deep and ever-blissful tide. 
 Which caused his full breast to dream of seeing 
 
 Joy in this world, with hope for his fair bride. 
 Then in that glad hour, when their souls were knit 
 
 Into one joyous seam of love, they drfink 
 The cup of rapture ; and oft did they sit 
 
 Silent, happy, deeming earth was not blank. 
 Then 'round her swan-like throat, her snowy neck, 
 
 He linked a chain of gold, a tiny chain. 
 With a token, the face- of which no speck 
 
 Of sin might stain, or aught that bringeth pain. 
 In the bright circle a single word was writ — 
 " Lead us not into temptation,'' under it. 
 
 Thus they parted. .... 
 
 When once again they met, all joy was gone, 
 All hope was dead save one — a blessed hope — 
 
 That as the years were passing, passing on, 
 They both might see the sacred city's slope; 
 
 They both might catch the far-off angel song, 
 And lift their eyes to that eternal rest 
 
 Where Jesus keeps his holy, happy throng. 
 And in his bosom they are ever blest. 
 
 With streaming eyes she laid the dead token 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Moimtains. 63 
 
 At his feet — poor Magdalene! — said, "Forgive," 
 
 And watched him as, with his heart all broken. 
 He sadly kissed it, forgave, and bade her live. 
 
 She is gone and he is left. Never more 
 This side life's outermost and boundless shore 
 Shall lip and brow between these loved ones meet 
 In fond embrace and in communion sweet. 
 Their paths have parted on this weary strand, 
 And each looks to the Savior's good red hand 
 To guide them to the peaceful home above, 
 Where all is perfect tenderness and love. 
 
 LITTLE WILLIE. 
 
 [Willie lived on Riverside Farm, North Carolina.] 
 
 Did you know little Willie? On the bank 
 
 Of the river, our own beloved river, 
 Where gentle violets grew, he first drank 
 
 The joys of life, sent him by life's Giver. 
 In the waters of the sweet stream he saw 
 
 The play of the fishes as their sharp fins 
 Cut the clear waves, and knew the wise law 
 
 Of their kind keeps them where their life begins 
 The world to him was beautiful. The peak 
 
 Of the great mountain resting near the sky, 
 Which there doth catch the sun's first crimson streak, 
 
 As rising from its bed it flames on high. 
 Was gay with trees, and birds, and tiny flowers, 
 Children of God, which gladdened nature's bowers — • 
 
 Those he loved. His young, tender soul was full 
 
64 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Of the song of the robin, the squirrel's bark, 
 
 And the soft coo of the sweet dove; no hill 
 Of joy for him, because he heard the lark. 
 
 From the mighty hills he watched the clouds 
 Flying in heaven, forming thunder-heads^ 
 
 And gazed witli awe upon the shadowy shrouds 
 Which by us glide when the earth witli heaven weds. 
 
 Thus Willie lived. Gentle, and meek, and mild, 
 He kindly spoke to every passing one. 
 
 Giving his mother joy in her dear child. 
 Till e'en toil was sweet if for him 'twas done. 
 
 One winter day a stranger at the gate 
 Alighted from a pale and shaggy steed, 
 
 And stamped the ground, as if he would not wait 
 An answer to his knock, because of greed 
 To rob the flock and make their bosoms bleed. 
 
 Tall, and gaunt, and grim, his unbidden form 
 Crossed not alone above the humble sill 
 
 Of that modest threshold ; in calm, in storm. 
 O'er earth, on ocean, plain, and lonely hill. 
 
 In frozen lands, or in the tropics warm, 
 At every hour, the rider, by his will. 
 Pressed on his steed as if his maw to fill. 
 
 A thousand battle-fields had been to him 
 A carnival of joy, as the squadrons swept 
 
 The plain with sword and spear in the fierce vim 
 Of the deadly struggle, where glory kept 
 Crowns for heroes, forgetting those who wept. 
 
 Before the Christ had offered earth his peace. 
 This insatiate one, on his pale horse, 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 65 
 
 Had with the Roman legions charged; no cease 
 
 Of his greed on Arbela's plain, though corse 
 And beast were low before the pride of Greece. 
 
 No human power could stay this dreadful one, 
 For he had no .pity. He struck the child. 
 
 The lonely widow's only hope — her son — 
 And naught of earth has ever yet beguiled 
 This rider and his steed so pale and wild, 
 
 As still he whets his keen and fatal scytlie, 
 And hurls his darts on bigh; the swift arrow 
 
 Of his hate sparing not the sad, the blithe, 
 Nor the feeble — the foe of e'en the sparrow. 
 
 So at the door with dire alarm and dread 
 
 We speechless stood, as if we there could push 
 
 The gaunt fiend from sick Willie's trundle-bed. 
 And drive him out into the night's deep bush, 
 Or to the river where the waters rush. 
 
 But O, not all our cries and bitter tears, 
 
 Our anguished hearts, where affection lingers 
 
 So fondly, could mitigate our sad fears. 
 
 Or keep dear Willie from death's cold lingers! 
 
 If you will go with me upon some eve. 
 
 In this the month of May, I'll show you where 
 
 We laid the little form, and had to leave 
 It till Jesus comes with angels in the air. 
 
 No stone is there to mark the resting-place 
 
 Of the pale boy, but I could joyful see 
 On another, through the tears upon my face, 
 " Suffer little children to come unto me." 
 
66 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 PASSING, PASSING. " 
 
 [Written on a postal card aboard of the fast-mail train going 
 South.] 
 
 Our life is like a mountain stream, 
 Whose surging waters know no rest; 
 
 By hill and plain they flash and gleam 
 Till gather'd on the ocean's breast. 
 
 Sometimes in calm, sometimes in storm, 
 . Now white with wrath, now fleck' d with foam, 
 Then, imag'd in the rainbow's form, 
 They onward move to find a home. 
 
 Sometimes their song is sweet and low, 
 Sometimes 'tis sad, like funeral dirge; 
 
 And then they scarcely seem to go, 
 But steal along the woodland verge. 
 
 But O, at length they sliout with glee; 
 
 Old ocean's roar breaks on each ear; 
 With joy they cry, " The sea! the sea! " 
 
 Our rest will be forever here. 
 
 Wlien lo! the sunbeam, swift and true, 
 Shall kiss them from old Neptune's rod, 
 
 And fogs and mists, o'er fields of blue. 
 
 Shall bear them back through clouds to God. 
 
 Such is our life, asleep, awake, 
 
 vSometiraes in smiles, sometimes in fears; 
 
 Sometimes sweet hope its flight shall take, 
 And leave us pain, and grief, and tears. 
 
 Sometimes the heart beats low and faint. 
 As troubles 'round our path increase, 
 
 And sin, and care, and earthly taint 
 Hide from our view the bow of peace. 
 
 I 
 
Heart-Throbs from the Mountains. 67 
 
 We look ahead and joyful greet 
 
 Some " spot of green," just on before, 
 
 And fondly dream our tired feet 
 Will nestle there forevermore. 
 
 Alas! when near the close of day 
 
 We reach what seem'd the spot so fair, 
 
 We find it farther still away — 
 Mirag'd upon the evening air. 
 
 This much we know: each pulse that beats. 
 Each step we take beside tl)e shore. 
 
 Each day, each hour the trav'ler greets 
 Shall leave him less than were before. 
 
 So, when with us the day is done, 
 When sight is dim, Avhen life is past. 
 
 May God, through his beloved Son, 
 Bring us to rest with him at last ! 
 
 LITTLE MAGGIE'S LBESS. 
 
 Down by the foaming river's side 
 Sweet little Maggie did reside, 
 Who with her mother lived alone, 
 For all the rest were from them gone. 
 Two little brothers, sisters two 
 Had passed away from their fond view 
 And Maggie's father, too, had passed 
 Across the stream which was his last. 
 And in a cabin mean and small, 
 Which held for them their little all, 
 The "wee bit" maid and mother gray 
 Dwelt just along the great highway. 
 
68 Heart-Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 And now 'twas near the picnic day 
 In the sweet and heauteous May, 
 Where all the children bright and gay 
 Were called to meet, and sing, and play; 
 But our Maggie, the tiny mite, 
 Though always joyous as a sprite. 
 Was standing now beside the road. 
 Her heart all heavy with a load. 
 Because she had no dress to wear 
 To meet the children g(»ing there. 
 
 When down the road a farmer came. 
 Who called her by her i)retty name, 
 And said, " Ho, Maggie, tell me (jjiiick, 
 Are you going to the picnic?" 
 The little maiden dropped a tear. 
 And spoke a word into his ear. 
 Who never spoke another word, 
 But down the road his horse he spurred, 
 And sang aloud as on he went 
 About a friend whom God had sent. 
 
 Next eventide the man passed by, 
 But not a soul did greet his eye ; 
 For Maggie and her mother, too. 
 While near at hand, were hid from view. 
 So, gently raising the door latch. 
 While they were working in the patch. 
 He walked unto the humble bed 
 And lifted up the snow-white spread; 
 A moment gazed around him there. 
 Then left a package tied with care. 
 Next time the farmer passed that way 
 Was on the pleasant picnic day, 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 69 
 
 And Maggie met him at the place 
 With her new dress and smiling face ; 
 Placed there her midget hand in his, 
 Put up her mouth to get a kiss; 
 Upon him bent her eyes so blue, 
 Because he seemed he nothing knew, 
 And whispered to him, light as dew, 
 " I know 'twas you, I know 'twas you." 
 
 THE KEY OF THE BASTILE. 
 
 [General La Fayette, in 1789, presented to General Washington 
 the key of the celebrated prison, the Basiile. The key is fastened 
 to the wall in the state parlor at Mount Vernon.] 
 
 THE PRISON. 
 
 Five hundred years have passed away 
 
 Since your proud turrets, grim and gray,* 
 
 Were lifted up in darkest hour 
 
 To signalize a tyrant's power 
 
 Thy walls alone, immense and strong. 
 
 Have been the theme of many a song; 
 
 And many a sad and mournful tale 
 
 Has caused the stoutest heart to quail. 
 
 To mention which the cheek grows pale, 
 
 Of noble men and princes, too, 
 
 Who sudden passed from earthly view, 
 
 And languished in thy dungeons vile. 
 
 Bereft of joy and friendly smile, 
 
 Till naught was left to tell their thrall 
 
 Except the record on the wall, 
 
 *The Bastile was built in 1369. It had eight huge round towers, 
 connected by curtains of masonry. 
 
70 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Which told the time when earth and sky 
 Were shut from them for aye and aye. 
 
 THE PRISONERS. 
 
 And never will there be a pen 
 
 Can give thy horrors unto men, 
 
 Or brush to make tlie canvas show 
 
 The speechless wretchedness and woe 
 
 Of hundreds who were thrust within 
 
 Thy walls of filth, and death, and sin; 
 
 Who never heard a gentle word, 
 
 Or listened to a warbling bird; 
 
 Who never heard a child's sweet laugh, 
 
 Nor did they freedom's waters quaff. 
 
 Nor ever, had a reason given"''- 
 
 Why they were shut from liglit and heaven ; 
 
 But hidden in thy den of pride 
 
 They, lone and wasted, pined and died. 
 
 THE SECRETS. 
 
 No! Never will thy secrets dread 
 
 Among the sons of men be spread; 
 
 For some of royal state were there 
 
 Who perished in their wild despair. 
 
 And never Avas the secret torn 
 
 From those who kept them, for they'd sworn 
 
 That never should a word be spoke 
 
 To those whose lives and hearts they broke ; 
 
 And none who undertook the task 
 
 Did e'er reveal the Iron Mask.f 
 
 THE STORMING OF THE PRISON. 
 
 But Freedom's banner was unfurled 
 
 * The " lettre de cachet" was never explained. 
 I The Iron Mask is a secret to this day. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 71 
 
 To float in glory 'round the yvorld, 
 
 That every land, from sea to sea, 
 
 Might catch the song of liberty; 
 
 And, burning in the sons of France, 
 
 They turned their fiery, flaming glance 
 
 UiJon the stern and hated thing 
 
 Whose walls kept secrets for the King, 
 
 And in their mighty strength they tore 
 
 From off' its hinges the great door; 
 
 And there, before the sun was set, '' 
 
 With shout of joy and loud acclaim. 
 
 Beneath the eye of La Fayette, 
 
 Tiiey stormed the place in Freedom's name, 
 
 Set every helpless prisoner free. 
 
 And to La Fayette gave the key, 
 
 Who, when the brilliant work was done. 
 
 Brought it to our own Washington. 
 
 MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 Where could a spot of earth be found. 
 
 If you should search the world around, 
 
 A place more fit to keep in view 
 
 That sign of what fierce tyrants do, 
 
 Than that where brave Columbia's son, 
 
 The loved, immortal W^ashington, 
 
 Sleeps by Potomac's rolling tide — 
 
 A nation's boast, a nation's pride? 
 
 Himself a son of Freedom true, 
 
 Who dared to do, and well did do; 
 
 Who gave, this side the mighty deep, 
 
 A boon for us to always keep — 
 
 The boon of peace, and joy, and rest, 
 
 Where all the helpless may be blest ; 
 
 And where, we trust, in all the years to come, 
 
 Freedom shall find her sweet and happy home. 
 
72 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 BROTHER. 
 
 Lines on receiving the following letter on my 52d birthday. 
 
 Washington, April 24, 1880. 
 Hon. R. B. Vance, 2'2.3 E Street, Washington, D. G.—My Dearest 
 Brother: Please regard the accompanying present as a small evi- 
 dence of the love and ever-increasing afTeetion of your only 
 brother. You are fifty -two years old to-day; 1 will be fifty on the 
 13th of May. If there has ever been a shadow between us, I do not 
 know it. God grant that the brotherly sunshine may continue until 
 the end. God bless you and all that you love. Your brother, 
 
 Z. B. Vance. 
 
 Thanks, brother, thanks ! Each tender, loving word 
 Hath in my soul a full remembrance stirred 
 Of things in life which have to us occurred. 
 
 I call to mind the spot where we were born, 
 The apple-trees, the fields of standing corn. 
 The mountain peaks bathed in the glowing morn; 
 
 The quiet graveyard on the big, red hill 
 Above the meadow, and the old corn-mill 
 Where the majestic oak is standing still. 
 
 And yonder, too, I once again can see 
 Where, while we sported in our boyish glee, 
 I got a fall from the persimmon-tree.^ 
 
 And doubtless you, like me, remember well 
 The dear old church adown the pleasant dell. 
 Which nor tall steeple had, nor sounding bell 
 
 To call the people tliere to worship God — 
 
 To live in fear before his awful rod. 
 
 That they might sleep in peace when 'neath the sod. 
 
 * True to the old legend— a Carolinian loves persimmons. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 73 
 
 Yes, we remember well that sunny day 
 When the good old man's* hands upon us lay, 
 Who from his face the tears did wipe away, 
 
 As gentle mother, and dear father, too, 
 Brought us to the congregation's glad view,f 
 To show us there the way, so good and true. 
 
 And now there comes a most delicious dream 
 Of years gone by which o'er our spirits gleam, 
 Upon the rushing Tahkeeostee stream.J 
 
 There is the bathing in the wild river. 
 
 To think of which doth make the bosom quiver. 
 
 As on the bright, clear waters rushed forever. 
 
 And memory takes us to that river's side 
 Where by a little grave the waters glide, 
 We think of him — the lovely boy who died. 
 
 And every peak which rose all rugged there, 
 And gleamed in brightness in God's upper air. 
 Hath kissed our flying feet, so red and bare. 
 
 But, O my brother, where's the tongue can tell 
 The joy and grief which in our bosoms swell. 
 As on these things the miser heart doth dwell ? 
 
 Long since in peace our father slept with God, 
 And darling mother, with God's staif and rod,T[ 
 Is laid away beneath the churchyard sod. 
 
 My brother dear, you say, " Unto the end," 
 Which Heaven in mercy to us ever send. 
 That here we may be truly brother — friend. 
 
 * Rev. Mr. Porter. \\'a. the beautiful baptismal rite. 
 
 X French Broad. \ Psalm xxiii. 4. 
 
 6 
 
74 Heart -TJirobs from the Mountains. 
 
 But, brother, is this world " the end," indeed, 
 And earthly good in truth the noblest meed? 
 Or does the glory yet to come exceed * 
 
 The earthly in splendor as yet untold, 
 
 As silver is outshone by the bright gold, 
 
 *0r beds of quartz by diamonds they may hold ? 
 
 And shall we not, beyond this vale of tears, 
 Meet all who shared our joys, our hopes, our fears, 
 And dwell with them through all the endless years? 
 
 God be our trust, our way, our truth, our friend. 
 
 That on his arm we ever may depend. 
 
 And heaven at last the peaceful, happy " end." 
 
 LOVE YOUR, ENEMIES. 
 
 A True Story of the First Eevolution.! 
 It was eve. The full-orb'd sun was setting 
 
 In the far-off west ; the mountain and plain 
 Were bath'd in gold, in the soul begetting 
 
 Joys so keen that they almost seem'd as pain; 
 But, though the earth was lovely, and the sky 
 
 Serene in its unchangeable glory. 
 The red fight all day had raged 'mid the cry 
 
 And death-shout of foeraen grim and gory. 
 
 'Twas then, 
 As the shock of battle was drifting slow 
 
 To its final calm, two desperate men 
 
 With matted hair and vengeful eyes, aglow 
 
 Like the tiger's fire in each, closed in strife 
 
 * Romans viii. 18. , 
 
 tThe substance of this piece the author saw in "a tale" some 
 years ago. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 75 
 
 The deadliest man may know; hand to hand, 
 Nor gun, nor blade impending; the dark knife 
 
 Alone was unsheathed and clutch'd — proper brand 
 For those whose hate was mortal. Both were brave, 
 
 And one was Whig, and one with Tory blood 
 Disgrac'd ; and there the unsatisfied grave 
 
 Open'd its mouth, where true and false they stood. 
 
 The struggle's o'er, 
 
 And the dripping knife is descending quick 
 For the felon foe; and the angry shore 
 
 Of the eternal world, a vision thick 
 With awe to traitor hearts, before him came. 
 
 What stays the blow ? The patriot strikes not ; 
 But, while his heart is fire, his eye is flame. 
 
 He bears his foe from that sequestered spot 
 Calmly, till upon the furthermost verge 
 
 Of a startling gorge and precipice deep 
 He halts to throw him thence, that there his dirge 
 
 May be the roar of the river's wild leap. 
 
 " Mercy ! O mercy, now ! " 
 
 The Tory's voice was husk as thus he pray'd ; 
 And dark red spots were on his cheek and brow 
 
 As the strong man still held him there, and played 
 With his fears. " Where's my brother whom ye slew? 
 
 Did you have mercy when with hollow voice, 
 For sake of wife and babes, the ones which grew 
 
 By him, he pleaded they might still rejoice?" 
 He spake, " I could not save him." "Thou liest! 
 And, by Him who rules above, thou diest!" 
 
 Again, 
 With lifted hands and agonizing fear, 
 
 Where yet was seen, in all its darksome stain. 
 The work of blood, he begg'd he might appear 
 
76 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Before the widow'd one of him he'd slain. 
 Then, smiling grim, the patriot bound him fast, 
 
 And through the forest dense and green wild wood, 
 Till sylvan scenes of varied hue were past. 
 
 Led him where the orphans spent their childhood. 
 
 'Twas a lonely home, 
 
 Within a mountain vale and hidden dell, 
 Where rare, if e'er, the great of earth may come; 
 
 But still a gentle place, casting a spell 
 Of witchery o'er the heart as you gaze 
 
 Upon the trailing vine which climbs the door, 
 And in its fragrant boughs at once displays 
 
 A cultur'd hand, though true that hand is poor. 
 
 Not many years had come and gone. 
 
 With light and shade to mark the mourner's face,' 
 As in her home she sat and look'd upon 
 
 The men that came, and in one glance did trace 
 The murderer's guilt. Beside her stood her girl 
 
 In childish grace, and near her stalwart boy; 
 One with proud step, and one with many a curl 
 
 On her sweet head ; and both a mother's joy. 
 The open book of God before her lay; 
 
 And, in the quiet eve and twilight still, 
 Her broken heart in faithful vow did say 
 
 That He alone should guide her by His will. 
 
 He came; the murd'rer came, 
 And, with wild cry and low, despairing tone, 
 
 Embrac'd her knees, and call'd her honor'd name; 
 Begged piteously for life, and did own 
 
 His guilt — the stroke which well his arm did aim. 
 For a moment her Jarow was stern ; the rush 
 
 Of blood to cheek and eye was fierce and free, 
 
Mearf- Throbs frofu the Mountains. ?7 
 
 And then it was calm, in the heart's deep hush, 
 
 As she said, " God shall judge 'twixt thee and me. 
 My boy shall ope this book, his finger rest 
 
 Upon a verse, and it shall speak of death 
 And life." Now see them there : the heaving breast 
 
 Of the guilty one, and the half-drawn breath 
 Of the strong, excited brother; the child, 
 
 As with flushed brow he stands 'tween death and life, 
 And lays his hand that none had e'er beguiled 
 
 ( 'n the bless'd book which bids men cease their strife. 
 'Twas quickly done; the tender hand hath lit; 
 
 And now the boy's is on the mother's eye 
 As, bending down, she sees the word is writ: 
 
 -" The man that did this thing shall surely die."* 
 A cry was heard ; the wretch was closely hemmed ; 
 
 The dreadful knife no longer life will give. 
 "See! see! e'en God's thy guilty soul condemn'd. 
 
 Prepare to die ! Thou canst not, shalt not live ! " 
 
 One effort more he claimed : 
 
 Let little Mary's finger try for him 
 The sacred word; and if again it named 
 
 For death he'd go, though sure the vale was dim. 
 She came — the angel child — so sweet and bright, 
 
 It seem'd a cherub from the upper skies 
 Had pass'd on wings of peace, with a strange light 
 
 Adorning her wee face and tiny eyes. 
 Her hand was laid upon her mother's head, 
 
 Then lifted up, as though her God to please; 
 Then sought the verse, which low the mother read : 
 
 " I say unto you. Love your enemies."! 
 The spell was gone; the voice of mercy spoke 
 
 To each bosom; the dying .Jesus smil'd 
 
 * David and ^Nathan. jJe^us. 
 
l8 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 On their torn hearts ; each chord they silent broke, 
 And loos'd him in the forest lone and wild. 
 
 'Twas night; the battle's stern and dread array 
 
 Was o'er; stillness held the pulse of the world, 
 And many who in life had spent the day 
 
 Were stark and cold, their shrouds around them furl'd. 
 Within tliat cot, now desolate and sad 
 
 For want of his (the father's, husband's) smile, 
 They all were group'd. If he who made them glad 
 
 Could come, they thought, for just a little while 
 And speak, though in dead garb his soul were clad, 
 
 They'd feel e'en yet this earth some pleasures had. 
 Hark ! was't the wind which stirr'd the stilly night. 
 
 Or wild cat's leap, .or panther's stealthy tread? 
 What form is that which darkens now the light? 
 
 O God! 'tis he whom long we thought was dead ! 
 The wife !— she starts, then laughs, then sudden weeps, 
 
 And scarce believes, though kind embrace is giv'n; 
 While 'round his breast each baby sweetly creeps. 
 
 And the lone cot seems now another heav'n. 
 
 His tale was gladly told. The Tory's blade 
 
 Had pierc'd his breast, but not a mortal blow 
 Inflicted ; then true friends the blood had staid. 
 
 And thence he'd come to turn to joy their woe. 
 And now the father oped the book of God 
 
 And joyfully read, his clear voice ringing, 
 " He chast'neth whom He loveth with His rod;" 
 And, pausing, he led the sacred singing: 
 How sweet to know that Jesus' arm 
 
 Is 'round us evermore; 
 To feel we are secure from harm, 
 Though lone, and weak, and poor; 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 7 
 
 To see each day his mercy nigh, 
 
 Protection for each head ; 
 And hear him in the wind's low sigh, 
 
 Or in the thunder dread. 
 Dear Savior, let thy blessed love 
 
 Fill all our hearts with peace, 
 And in thy counsels let us move 
 
 Till life itself shall cease; 
 Then, fondly rising in thy name, 
 
 When life and earth are past, 
 Go back to thee, from whom we came, 
 
 All safe in heav'n at last. 
 
 'Twas then the voice of prayer was heard: how sweet 
 
 It rises on the wings of peace, an incense 
 Holy to Him above; and who doth greet 
 
 The yearning soul, its covert and defense. 
 And she, who'd sorrow'd with most touching grief. 
 
 Who for the dead had mourn'd with widow'd weeds, 
 Look'd forth upon the wondrous night with brief 
 
 Glance at the starry worlds — fiery steeds 
 Of light, which move in their eternal round. 
 
 The far-off gems were sparkling in their orbs, 
 And ev'ry star did seem as if 'twas crown'd 
 
 With jewels; but that which most her soul absorbs, 
 And stirs it to its very depths profound. 
 As though 'twas written there to heal each wound, 
 
 Was this: " The dead's alive! the lost is found! " 
 
 LINES 
 
 Oa Receiving a Box of Edibles for the Mess, at Fort Delaware. 
 
 When first this world was brought to light 
 The Lord made Father Adam, 
 
80 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 But not until all things were right 
 Did He bring out the Madam. 
 
 It was at first, without a doubt, 
 Our Maker's kind decision 
 
 To see if Adam could make out 
 Without that rib incision. 
 
 In order, then, to try the plan, 
 
 And prove it not a hard one, 
 The angels brought the new-made man 
 
 And placed him in the garden; 
 Then pointed out the animals, 
 
 And talk'd about the weather. 
 And not to fear the cannibals, 
 
 But keep his stock together. 
 
 Now, when the beasts went after hay, 
 
 Adam began to name them, 
 Which made the monkeys" romp and play- 
 
 And who, indeed, could blame them? 
 And this a while did occupy 
 
 His time and good intentions; 
 But still his mind, I can't tell why. 
 
 Would think of new inventions. 
 
 And then he walked among the flowers. 
 
 And pull'd the pinks and roses; 
 And saunter'd in the shady bowers, 
 
 The place for rests and dozes. 
 But 'twas no use; his soul was sad; 
 
 All things about did shock it; 
 He sigh'd around, though strangely clad, 
 
 With hands in breeches pocket. 
 
 Then the deai; Lord put him to sleep. 
 With orders not to wake him 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains » 81 
 
 Till Eve should from the lilies creep 
 
 With sly intent to take him. 
 And when he wak'd, the happy dog, 
 
 He rubb'd his eyes a new man ; 
 Unless some thing his sight did clog, 
 
 There sat a pretty woman. 
 
 And ever since, in time of need, 
 
 The darlings do attend us; 
 And when our hearts with ills do bleed. 
 
 They're ready to befriend us. 
 And even when we're scarce of " tack," 
 
 And they should chance to hear it. 
 They send us boxes full of "snack," 
 
 And tell " the mess " to share it. 
 
 FM THINKING OF THEE NOW, MY DEAR. 
 
 I'm thinking of thee now, my dear, 
 
 Behind these bars and prison walls, 
 And list'ning to the music clear 
 
 Of thy lov'd voice, as oft it calls ; 
 And then I see before mine eye 
 
 Thy form and both our children, too, 
 And fancy shows me Jimmie try 
 
 The tricks which seemed forever new. 
 
 There's not a day, and not an hour. 
 Which passeth o'er this weary heart, 
 
 But there's a meeting in thy bovver 
 In which we all do have a part. 
 
 'Tis now we're in the garden walks. 
 Anon beneath the cedar-trees. 
 
82 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Then hand in hand we gave our talks 
 Among the flowers that kiss the breeze. 
 
 And thy dear head is on my breast, 
 
 As fond, as lovingly as when 
 I took thee from the parent nest — 
 
 Thy home up in the mountain glen. 
 And then we sit upon the lawn, 
 
 With both the babies at our feet, 
 While golden hours are passing on, 
 
 To all our hearts surpassing sweet. 
 
 And often, on the lone, gray hill, 
 
 W^e wander to the churchyard, where 
 Our other children lie so still 
 
 Beneath the grass that's growing there ; 
 And once again each little eye 
 
 Grows tender for the wonted kiss, 
 And, though our hearts are breaking nigh. 
 
 We feel they nothing know but bliss. 
 
 And oft in sleep, my darling one, 
 
 While 'round me rears the fort's grim wall, 
 Before the night's dark watch is done, 
 
 I dream of thee, and home, and all; 
 And sure I feel it is thy arm 
 
 Around my neck with warm caress. 
 And in that holy, happy charm 
 
 Forget the chains which on me press. 
 
 Many a fair and lovely form 
 
 Hath crossed my path and bless'd my way; 
 Many a heart and bosom warm 
 
 Hath cheer'd me since my captive day; 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 83 
 
 But ^mong them all, though good they be, 
 
 And well adorn pure virtue's throne, 
 Not one can ever be to me 
 
 What thou hast been, my love, my own. 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On Receiving a Pillow at Fort Delaware. 
 
 Thou lady, kind, it' thanks impart 
 
 A glow of pleasure to the brow, 
 And bringeth gladness to the heart, 
 
 Let me unto thee give them now; 
 For sure I feel thy timely gift 
 
 Hath manifested friendship true. 
 Which makes ray bosom the more swift 
 
 To bless thee, and the pillow, too. 
 
 Each night my head lay on my boots. 
 
 Which total baldness e'er portends; 
 And well I know this illy suits 
 
 The lovely ones I call my friends. 
 But now 'tis gone, the danger's o'er. 
 
 My pillowed dreams are of the fair; 
 And now I feel forevermore 
 
 I'll love them all, and save my hair. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Sent to Miss Lizzie W., Chestertown, Maryland. 
 
 'TwAS evening, and in the far-off west 
 
 The clouds were gorgeous with the lovely hues 
 
84 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Of a strange beauty ; the homes of the blest, 
 
 Whose flowers are moisten'd with celestial dews, 
 May well be like it; and the calm, deep bay 
 
 Did seem as if it was a thing of life; 
 Evincing life, though, only as its spray 
 
 Did lave the shore in frolic more than strife. 
 There was one — a captive — who sadly gazed 
 
 Upon the water, the ships, and the shore; 
 The fields where children play'd and cattle graz'd ; 
 And God^s free air is felt, which e'en the poor 
 May enjoy; and his heart did yearn to break 
 
 His prison bars, and seek the woodland wild. 
 The song of birds, the hum of bees, and take 
 
 One look at earth, as though he were a child 
 Once more; and. then the Sabbath's quiet voice 
 
 Spoke in soothing tones to his weary breast. 
 Bidding him e'en in trouble to rejoice, 
 
 And know the faithful yet shall find a rest. 
 And then the scene was chang'd: the captive slept; 
 
 Before his dreaming eye a gentle home 
 Appear'd ; the jessamines and roses kept 
 
 Watch at the door, and whisper'd ever, " Come! " 
 And words of love were kindly spoken there 
 
 By forms that mov'd about the house, the lawn. 
 And yard. Ah, 'twas a peaceful scene, and fair, 
 
 Such as makes new joys 'pon the heart to dawn. 
 The elder, in the pleasant eve of age, 
 
 A matron good, ihey sweetly hail'd as " Mother," 
 And e'en the bird which nestled in its cage 
 
 The others as sisters knew. One — a brother — 
 Was missing, and well they knew the wild rage 
 Of battle might reach him; and sad presage 
 Was mix'd with hope, which did their fears assuage. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 85 
 
 Blessed seat 
 Of innocence and pleasure ! may no hand 
 
 Break rudely on thy sunny walks and sweet 
 Society; though war devastate the land, 
 
 And thousands — friends and foes — fall in the heat 
 Of the red light, by saber, gun, or brand, 
 
 May they who grace thy halls lead lives of joy, 
 And gain, at last, a rest without alloy. 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 A MOTHER TO HER BABE. 
 
 She was young, pure, and strangely beautiful ; 
 
 Her golden hair, with many a soft curl, 
 So full of witch'ry in the dutiful 
 
 And good of earth, as though she were a girl 
 Even yet, hung 'round her snowy neck, fit 
 
 Companion for the lustrous, speaking eye, 
 The damask cheek, where blushes come and flit 
 
 E'en as a bird which 'mong the boughs doth fly. 
 Her brow was high and noble, the bright stamp 
 
 Of a Master Workman, the living trace 
 Of a glorious Architect; time's tramp 
 
 Had lightly touch'd each true and winning grace. 
 
 But still enough to mold the charming face. 
 
 And joy was there: upon her happy breast, 
 
 The home of innocence and holy love, 
 A sweet wee thing, a birdlet in its nest, 
 
 With cherub form, the gift of Him above, 
 Ope'd its tiny eyes and smiled ; then his hand 
 
 Did pull the sunny curls which fell around 
 His little head, peeping through at the bland, 
 
 Mild face bent o'er him, till the profound 
 
SQ Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Depths of her mother heart with gushing bliss 
 O'erflowed, and lip met lip in one long kiss. 
 
 O, a mother's love! thaiks be unto God! 
 Though the world is selfish, and hard, and stern, 
 
 And o'er our hearts the unpitying rod 
 Of tyranny may sweep, one heart will yearn 
 
 And beat for us till laid beneath the sod. 
 
 The baby slept; and his silken lashes 
 
 Clos'd gently o'er the blue and tender eyes, 
 Those eyes from which such a rapt light flashes 
 As makes us feel 'tis less of earth than skies; 
 And as he slept upon that bosom fair, 
 
 Pillow'd so cozy in his mother's arms, 
 He smiled again, as if while sleeping there 
 
 An angel bless'd him with its pretty charms. 
 Then, bending low, ray face was brought so near 
 
 To his that I caught the rustle which springs 
 From fairy forms and falls upon the ear 
 As music, or the rash of silver wings 
 In the stilly air; and through that still air, 
 
 Like a spirit lute, melodiously strung, 
 A voice was heard, so eloquent, so rare. 
 That fancy said. It is a seraph's tongue: 
 Sleep, little baby, sleep ! 
 
 Thou'rt safe on that true arm; 
 An unseen hand doth keep 
 
 Thee free from earthly harm; 
 Thy mother's care. 
 And earnest prayer, 
 
 Shall hide thee still from all alarm. 
 Sleep, little baby, sleep ! 
 
 For stronger arms than hers 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 87 
 
 Guard thee with care so deep, 
 
 So intent, that it stirs 
 The tender mind 
 And bosom kind 
 
 Of Him whose mercy never errs. 
 
 SONG— NEVER TAKE THE OATH. 
 
 Air: Hey Tuttie Tattie, or Bruce' s Address. 
 [At Camp Chase, Ohio, ftnd Fort Delaware it was quite common 
 for persons—meanino; well, no doubt— to come into the prison and 
 invite the Southern soldiers to take the oath and be released. 
 Hence the song.] 
 
 Soldier, friend, and brother, too, 
 While our flag of " bonny blue " — 
 Emblem of the brave and true — 
 
 Kisses still the gale, 
 Gather up your manhood's might. 
 What! though gloomy be the night, 
 'Tis not Northmen can affright — 
 
 Heroes never quail ! 
 
 Let iheir oath fall to the ground; 
 Pass their offers all around ; 
 Nobler boons than theirs are found: 
 
 Liberty's own call. 
 Voices now are in the air, 
 'Bove us, 'round us, everywhere, 
 Whispering of our country fair, 
 
 L ov'd ones, home, and all. 
 
 Soldier, listen ! do not start ! 
 Freedom's speaking to each heart: 
 " Firmly, sternly act your part 
 
^8 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Till the strife is o'er!" 
 Shall her voice to you be vain ? 
 Shall our fields of trampled grain, 
 Bones of friends which bleach the plain, 
 
 Stir you up no more ? 
 
 See ! the Yankee cohort comes ! 
 See! our charr'd and ruin'd homes! 
 See! around our churches' domes 
 
 Flames are mounting high! 
 God of justice, truth, and right, 
 Kouse the soldier for the fight! 
 Let the fires of freedom light 
 
 When to do or die! 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 NOEL. 
 
 Thou art gone, my brother! No more 
 This side the everlasting shore 
 Shall lip and brow between us meet 
 In fond embrace and welcome sweet. 
 
 Thou art gone, dear brother! The hill 
 Above our home is rugged still, 
 And the tall rock, with jagged head, 
 Keeps watch around thy narrow bed. 
 
 Thou art gone, my brother ! The flower 
 That lur'd lliee in that fatal hour 
 Each year doth bloom with fragrant smell 
 Upon the clifi"* from whence thou fell. 
 
 * In 1840, or thereabouts, he was trying to get a flower on the 
 edge of a precipice, lost his foothold, fell, and received a wound 
 from which he never recovered. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 89 
 
 Thou art gone, my brother! The rush 
 Of the river,"^ with its swift gush 
 Of waters, charms the listening ear, 
 But thine no more, my brother dear. 
 
 Thou art gone, dear brother ! The place 
 Where once was seen thy pleasant face 
 Is lone and wasted; e'en the yard 
 By war's rude tramp is sadly marr'd. 
 
 Thou art gone, dear brother I Thy dirge 
 Upon the river's foaming verge 
 Is the waves' lullaby, soft, low. 
 As if the waters, too, felt woe. 
 
 Yes, dearest brother, thou art gone, 
 And though the march of time is on. 
 Thy noble brow and clear blue eye 
 Are beaming now where none can die. 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 ["Aunt Lizzie" is a very poor old lady in , who toils with 
 
 her needle for the Confederate soldiers at Point Lookout and Fort 
 Delaware, devoting more than half of her earnings to those unfort- 
 unate prisoners of war.] 
 
 All hail to virtue, in its pure and priceless worth! 
 Unknown, perchance, and humble from its very birth; 
 Not kings and princes, with their grand and gaudy toys , 
 The sweeter ends of life attain without its joys. 
 
 * French Broad at Marshall, N. C. 
 
90 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Each day, fore'er, this gift of God more brightly glows, 
 Like rainbow hues when clouds are gone and tempests 
 
 close. 
 In time it schools the soul and lays pure treasures up, 
 Zealous for others' good, a draught which angels sup ; 
 And though it toils in poverty's most lowly vale. 
 By the side of frail forms, whose brows and cheeks are 
 
 pale, 
 Enchanting riches clothe it with the happy power 
 To live again beyond death's painful, trying hour, 
 Heaven being its home, the fields on high its bower. 
 Fort Delaware, 186-1. 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER— A TRUE INCIDENT 
 
 [A Confederate prisoner of war at Camp Chase, Ohio, was lying 
 on his bunk in a dying state. His brother soldiers kept vigil at 
 his side. At length he was quite still, and all thought the struggle 
 over, when he suddenly rallied, opened his eyes, and said, " Boys, 
 never take the oath: the country is safe, the Confederacy will be 
 triumphant," and expired at once.] 
 
 The wintry wind went howling by with drear and pierc- 
 ing breath, 
 
 As on his couch a soldier lay, the victim of grim death ; 
 
 For on him then the icy hand was closing hard and fast. 
 
 His dying sighs commingling sad with evening's solemn 
 blast. 
 
 Not one was there of all he'd known, in better times than 
 
 these. 
 To smooth his brow, to kiss his cheek, or give his bosom 
 
 ease; 
 For far from them the stricken one was failing slow and 
 
 sure, 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 91 
 
 Nor precious pets nor tender friends were there to weep 
 or cure. 
 
 His home was in the bonny South, the land of sun and 
 
 flowers, 
 And far away the household band did pass the weary 
 
 hours; 
 And night and morn they offered up, within his distant 
 
 home, 
 The prayer that God would bring him thence, but still he 
 
 did not come. 
 
 And e'en his babes would query oft of their fond mother 
 
 true, 
 " Why don't dear papa come again to meet with us and 
 
 you?" 
 And broken hearts and tears were there to mark the 
 
 absent one, 
 Who linger'd in his foeman's grasp, life's conflict nearly 
 
 done. 
 
 But not with anguish on his sight this touching vision 
 
 fell; 
 His God, he knew, was kind and just, " He doeth all 
 
 things well ; " 
 From Him they came, to Him he gave. Then, with a 
 
 chasten' d will. 
 He sank upon his lowly bed, till life itself seem'd still. 
 
 We watch'd him as he calmly lay, and thought that all 
 
 was o'er: 
 His martial step and manly voice we'd see and hear no 
 
 more; 
 Nor in the battle's fierce array would he for country stand ; 
 His pure, heroic soul had fled into the dreamless land ! 
 
92 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 But, strange to tell, he mov'd again, and ope'd his dying 
 
 eye, 
 While on his face a smile was seen of purpose noble, high ; 
 "All's right," he said; "reject the oath; my native South 
 
 will win ! " 
 And then his soldier spirit pass'd away from earth and sin. 
 
 A strange, wild thrill ran through us all as these brave 
 
 words were said, 
 And many a stern, undaunted eye the tear of sorrow shed ; 
 And vows were spoke from mouth to mouth by ev'ry 
 
 Southland son, 
 " May God to us do so and more if e'er this thing is done!" 
 
 THE TWO KNIGHTS. 
 
 [Look on this Picture.] 
 
 Full knightly, 'mid the clashing 
 Of shining sword and lance. 
 
 Where charged the mailed squadrons 
 Upon the foe's advance. 
 
 Sir Jethrel held in hand 
 
 The banner of his band 
 O'er the red field's expanse. 
 
 Around him were the dying 
 
 In their ghastly array, 
 And far away the shouting 
 
 Was heard along the way, 
 Where men incased in steel 
 Made there their foemen feel 
 
 The sternness of the fray. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 93 
 
 The battle raged with fury 
 
 Throughout the serried host, 
 As breaks the mighty billows 
 
 Upon the rocky coast ; 
 And gallant knight and steed 
 Upon that field did bleed 
 
 Where might was needed most. 
 
 Sometimes the fiery squadrons 
 
 Break through the f e's align, 
 And shout with martial rapture 
 
 Where plumes and helmets shine; 
 But once again the foe 
 Recovers from the blow, 
 
 And forms anew his line. 
 
 Sir Jethrel led his legions 
 
 With glave, and dirk, and spear, 
 
 In the very teeth of battle, 
 Nor felt a twinge of fear ; 
 
 But as his foaming steed 
 
 Bore him to gallant deed, 
 A lance-head pierced his gear.* 
 
 Down in the dread encounter, 
 
 Upon the blood-red field, 
 Wiih stained and broken armor. 
 
 He rested on his shield ; 
 
 Nor shall he rise again 
 
 From oflf that bloody plain, 
 
 Though every foe should yield. 
 I 
 
 And as the evening shadows 
 Are gathering 'round his head, 
 
 * Military harness.— Jawiieson. 
 
94 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 He strains his ear to listen 
 
 For word from those who bled ; 
 
 But all around was still, 
 
 Save a bugle on the hill, 
 
 For other sounds were dead, 
 
 Except the mournful moaning 
 Of some poor wounded one 
 
 Who's fought his fatal battle 
 'Before that setting sun; 
 
 And, by his comrade true, 
 
 Beneath the falling dew. 
 His sands of life have run. 
 
 The dying knight was dreaming 
 Of the' land he loved so well. 
 
 And a fair and stainless maiden 
 Whose love had cast a spell 
 
 Around his manly heart 
 
 Before he did depart 
 To the field whereon he fell. 
 
 But, though his fame was brilliant, 
 And mighty was his arm, 
 
 As, dying in his glory. 
 He felt a soldier's charm ; 
 
 Yet in his dying face 
 
 One could but see the trace 
 
 Of blood, and death, and harm ; 
 
 For only fierce ambition 
 Had led him to the field. 
 
 For the rapture of the conflict 
 As in its might it pealed ; 
 
 And nothing novn was left 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 95 
 
 For that soul of peace bereft 
 But to die upon his shield. 
 
 [Now Look on This.] 
 Along a rugged pathway, 
 
 Upon the mountain side, 
 A knight toiled up the ascent 
 
 To reach the mountain's pride; 
 For just beyond the peak, 
 In a valley on the creek. 
 
 Lay the spot to which he hied. 
 
 His form was tall and manly, 
 
 And in his eagle eye 
 Was seen the lofty courage 
 
 To fight his fight or die; 
 And, armed from head to heel 
 In stronger mail than steel, 
 
 He was clad for daring high. 
 
 His helmet of salvation 
 
 Gleamed in the mountain air, 
 And on his stalwart bosom 
 
 The shield of faith shone fair; 
 And in his willing hand, 
 On that lone mountain strand, 
 
 His blade of truth was bare. 
 
 The breastplate of the righteous 
 
 Was o'er his faithful breast, 
 And the gospel preparation 
 
 'Kound his feet was firmly pressed; 
 Yea, his feet were truly shod 
 With the peace which comes from God, 
 
 As on he went with zest. 
 
96 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 As the soldier mounted higher 
 Along the mountain road, 
 
 And nature in her gladness 
 Around him peaceful glowed, 
 
 His song of bounding joy, 
 
 Without the least alloy, 
 O'er all the forest flowed. 
 
 Salvation was the burden — 
 Salvation for the world — 
 
 Of his grand and holy music 
 As the clouds about him whirled ; 
 
 And the music in the air 
 
 Was of conquest brave and fair, 
 For it all the earth impearled. 
 
 When the soldier reached the station, 
 He found the people there. 
 
 And a song of exultation 
 Was floating on the air: 
 
 "The Lord my shepherd is;* 
 
 He gives me peace and bliss," 
 They sang, and knelt in prayer. 
 
 The soldier used his weapon — 
 A blade of temper keen — 
 
 With skill in every motion 
 As it cut the joints between ;f 
 
 For it proved its metal pure ; 
 
 The thrust that killed did cure. 
 And the dead alive were seen! 
 
 Thus in the mighty battle 
 The soldier fought for God, 
 
 * Psalm xxiii. f Hebrews iv. 12. 
 
Heart Throbs from the Mountains. 97 
 
 And waved the gospel banner 
 
 O'er the hills on which he trod, 
 Till death on his pale horse 
 Left the soldier's manly corse 
 
 To rest beneath the sod. 
 
 Not in the battle's thunder, 
 
 Where cannon flamed with fire; 
 Not where the rushing squadrons 
 
 Might glut their fiercest ire, 
 Did the soldier pass to rest 
 With hands upon his breast, 
 • As if his feet did tire ; 
 
 But 'mid the angels shining, 
 
 As round their squadron swings, 
 The soldiers tall of heaven 
 
 Upheld him with their wings; 
 And, forever borne away 
 To the fields of endless day, 
 
 God's soldier rests and sings. 
 
 TO REV. I. W. K. HANDY, B.D., POLITICAL 
 PRISONER. 
 
 There is a secret tie between 
 
 Our hearts for reasons more than one. 
 Which winter's cold nor summer's sheen 
 
 Can wear away and say begone; 
 I feel it oft in solitude, 
 
 As well as when the crowd is nigh. 
 And sure it gives my spirit food 
 
 To battle on till life is bv. 
 
98 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Yea, often when thy voice is heard 
 
 In earnest plea that all may turn, 
 Methinks I gather from each word 
 
 A love which makes my bosom burn ; 
 For well I know thy inmost thought 
 
 Is that we all may live and do 
 Those things with peaceful blessings fraught 
 
 When earth is gone and heav'n in view. 
 
 The weary months have flown since first 
 
 We met within these prison walls, 
 Not pleasant days like those of erst 
 
 When quiet in our own dear halls; 
 But never, though the iron hand 
 
 Press'd rudely on thy patriot breast. 
 Could aught but patient will be scann'd 
 
 To His wise rule who knoweth best. 
 
 And many here will bless thy name, 
 
 Their teacher in the path of good. 
 Since in their hearts the Spirit's flame 
 
 Hath lit up such a happy mood; 
 For well I ween it was thy care. 
 
 Directed by the Spirit's glow, 
 Which led them to the Savior, where 
 
 All alike may mercy know. 
 
 And now thy footsteps soon shall tend 
 To that dear land we love so well. 
 
 And brighter prospects soon shall blend 
 Beneath the charm of Southland's spell. 
 
 Dear Doctor, go ; I give thee up. 
 With prayer that God will keep thee free; 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 99 
 
 And only ask, when that sweet cup 
 Shall overflow, to pray for me. 
 
 Most fraternally yours, R. B. V. 
 
 Fort Delaware, 1864. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE ELEPHANT 
 
 Soiretimes the newly captured animal lies down, refuses to move 
 or to take food, and in a very short time dies, without the agency 
 of any known or perceptible disease. The natives call it '"dying 
 of a broken heart."— J Peep at the Elephant. 
 
 Poor beast! I deeply sympathize with thy 
 Great sorrow, and wonder not that in a 
 Case so mournful as thine the wheels of life 
 Should cease to move, and e'en thy giant heart, 
 Depriv'd of God's best gift to thee, poor brute, 
 Should break its chords, its mighty strength. No 
 
 more 
 In the jungle wild, nor on the plain, nor 
 In the mysterious valley, the haunts 
 And homes of thy kindred, the very scenes 
 Where thou didst rear thy young, and train them 
 
 there. 
 Shall thy huge form display its dreadful front. 
 Alas! alas! the tyrant holds thee fast! 
 His chains shall rivet close thy pond'rous feet. 
 And the shackles of a feeble race shall 
 Hold thee in " durance vile," an abject slave 
 To his own will, his own low lust of gain. 
 
 Thou'rt not alone, poor beast, in suffering. 
 'Tis written well by one who felt and knew 
 That " Man's inhumanity to man makes 
 Countless thousands mourn : " and 'tis even so. 
 
100 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 The desolated field and burning home, 
 
 The fatherless child and helpless widow, 
 
 The wasted heritage and ruin'd maid. 
 
 And tears, and blood, and death — the black shadow 
 
 Of a nameless woe — all, all proclaim 'tis true. 
 
 O, Liberty! how sweet thou art! 
 When even the untutored beast doth mourn 
 Thy absence, and in his speechless sorrow 
 Lay him down before his time to die! 
 
 Beautiful and blessed spirit! thou cam'st 
 From heaven, and on thy hajlowed wings 
 The smile of God is shining, and thy brow 
 Is radiant with a deathle.^s light. Let 
 Me learn of thee a lesson pure, and do 
 Unto all men a§ they should do to me. 
 Fort Delaware. 1864. 
 
 GOOD NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 Good news from home by mail last night! 
 
 My wife and babies all are well; 
 This morn my heart is free and bright 
 
 With feelings more than I can tell. 
 Thank God! He gives me comfort yet, 
 
 Unworthy, though, and sinful, too; 
 Then O, my spirit, cease to fret 
 
 About the things ye can't undo ! 
 
 Be strong, my soul! trust thou in God! 
 
 These clouds, though dark and gloomy now, 
 May pass thee 'neath His chast'ning rod. 
 
 And burst with mercies o'er my brow. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 101 
 
 Who knows it all? Each darken'd edge 
 May soon be tinged with silver hue: 
 
 Will not the King redeem His pledge 
 To all who try to serve Him true? 
 
 'Tis e'er with us, as with the day, 
 
 The brightest ones do but portend 
 That sunshine clear must pass away, 
 
 And clouds and storms be in the end ; 
 But when they come, we soon shall see 
 
 A rift not made with human hands. 
 And far away a light shall be 
 
 To guide us to the heav'nly lands. 
 
 THE GRAPE-VINE LINE. 
 
 Professor Morse 
 Thought him a horse 
 
 When first he put in motion 
 His 'graphic wires. 
 And lightning flyers. 
 
 From mountain down to ocean ; 
 And ev'ry one 
 Thought he had done 
 
 The grandest thing in nature. 
 But let him come 
 To "Johnny's"* home, 
 
 And see a stranger " crayture." 
 
 'Tis on this isle f 
 He'll grin and smile, 
 And ope his eyes with wonder. 
 
 * Name given Southern soldiers by the Federals, 
 t Fort Delaware is built upon " Pea Patch " Island, in Delaware 
 River. 
 
102 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 When he shall hear 
 
 From far and near 
 The grape-vine speak its thunder. 
 
 Sometimes 'tis heard 
 
 By flying word 
 From t'other side of Jordan,* 
 
 And each dispatch, 
 
 Though hard to catch, 
 Contains some things* unheard on. 
 
 And then again, 
 
 Through mud and rain, 
 It kites around the " bull-pen; " f 
 
 And ev'ry eye 
 
 Grows brighter by 
 The line that so doth gull men. 
 
 But if you want 
 
 To hear us rant, 
 When each his jargon utters, 
 
 Put on your shoes. 
 
 What else you choose, 
 And go out to the sutler's. 
 
 Here we arrange 
 
 For our exchange — 
 Our speedy separation ; 
 
 And when we're back 
 
 We'll not be slack 
 To whip the Yankee nation. 
 
 Long wave the grape ! 
 And let us gape ; 
 
 *The "barracks," where Southern private soldiers were con- 
 fined. 
 
 t The open space, or campus, between the officers' and privates' 
 barracks. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 103 
 
 It's rousing, lively, funny; 
 
 Though surely it 
 
 Each one hath hit, 
 'Tis good for '' Kebby Johnny." 
 
 SACRED VIBRATIONS. 
 
 "Let there be light." (Genesis i. 3.) 
 
 "In the beginning" all things slept; 
 
 The uncreated years and still ages 
 Of a dreamless era, where silence kept 
 
 Its lonely vigils, nor sprites nor sages 
 Did know its history, were shrouded all 
 
 In unbroken nonentity; the dark 
 Form of chaos, like a gigantic pall, 
 
 O'erhung the gloomy void ; nor aught did mark 
 The coming of the mighty angel, Time, 
 
 Though grand his brow, and ev'ry step sublime. 
 On the waters, then. 
 The mysterious, ever restless flood, 
 
 A wondrous Spirit mov'd, the same to men 
 Unknown, but step and look proclaimed Him God. 
 With lifted arm, and wonder-working rod. 
 
 And awful voice, like thunders rolling by, 
 He spake the fiat dread, " Let there be light," 
 
 And forth from the thick darkness o'er the sky. 
 The earth, the surging mass, the home of night 
 
 And bosom of the bill'wy deep, was seen 
 The magic of His will : before His sight 
 
 The hills appear' d, and the tall trees did nod 
 
 And wave their foliage o'er the smooth, green 
 Fields; and far away did star, and gem, and world 
 
104 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Move into being; while in the air, high 
 O'er all, the sun his banner bright unfurled; 
 
 Joy was in heaven, and the melodious spheres 
 Caught the echo; while, through the distant isles 
 
 And mystic chambers of eternity, 
 Sweet sounds, too sweet, alas! for mortal ears. 
 
 Did charm the favor'd audience, the free 
 Spirits who bask in their Creator's smiles. 
 
 Then, as worlds on worlds to their place did wheel 
 In the 'onward march of time, like the sound 
 
 Of many waters as they swiftly steal 
 Upon the rock-bound coast, a voice profound 
 
 Through suns, and hosts, and space did straight- 
 way peal: 
 
 Praise ! Praise ! 
 Him give all praise, 
 "Ancient of days ! " 
 Praise, praise, praise ! praise Him now ! 
 Him of the royal brow; 
 The blessed three in one. 
 By whom this work was done; 
 Sons of the morning, tall, 
 Praise Him as God of all! 
 And you, ye happy throng. 
 Take up the joyous song ! 
 Shout! shout! ye distant hills. 
 And streams, and floods, and rills ! 
 Let ev'ry host and ev'ry gem 
 Catch up the strain from these and them, 
 Till all on earth and all in heaven 
 The meed of praise to Him hath given ! 
 
ITeart- Throbs from the Mountains. 105 
 
 THE FADED VIOLETS 
 
 Received from a Young Lady in the South, while the Writer was a 
 Prisoner at Fort Delaware. 
 
 They were tiny and delicate; the wind 
 
 Might not touch them roughly with its drear breath, 
 
 For children of the sun, to cold unknown, 
 
 And of a sunny land, were they. The hand 
 
 Of God did paint them there; with sweet perfume 
 
 Did fill each little cup, and make fragrant 
 
 The air of their nativity 'round them ; 
 
 He alone did rear the flexible stem, 
 
 And cause the leaf to show its deep, deep green, 
 
 And then the bud to slowly ope its eye 
 
 To the light; and they came forth, soft and fair, 
 
 Strangers, as it were, in a cold, cold world. 
 
 Yet not for nothing did they live: glad eyes 
 Have gaz'd upon them, and white hands have pluck'd 
 The noxious weed from near them ; and many 
 Bright thoughts, perchance, have been about them had 
 By minds that are gentle; and they, doubtless. 
 Did give a softer hue even to these ; 
 Lending e'en to woman's heart, lovely thing, 
 A glow, a joy, and a fadeless beauty. 
 
 And thence, while fading, dying, they did come 
 To bless a dreamer in his prison cell. 
 And did speak him there, and say, whisp'ringly: 
 
 " We are fading, we are fading, 
 
 Like early hopes away. 
 And we soon shall lie forgotten 
 
 Beneath our mother clay ; 
 And nevermore upon the gale 
 
 "Will we our perfume give: 
 
106 Heart 'Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 'Tis said by God — who shall unsay ? — 
 * Naught shall forever live.' 
 
 " We are fading, we are fading, 
 
 Like clouds at break of morn, 
 Or as dieth on the mountain 
 
 Sounds from the shepherd's horn ; 
 Or even as the early dew 
 
 Which falleth on the flowers, 
 And melts before the God of day. 
 
 Hath told the morning hours. 
 
 " We are fading, we are fading, 
 
 As all on earth must fade. 
 Till every thing that liveth 
 
 The mournful debt hath paid. 
 Ahl even she who sent us here 
 
 With kind and gentle hand, 
 And he to whom we now appear 
 
 Will to the dreamless land. 
 
 " But when the spring-time comes once more 
 
 O'er brook, and hill, and plain. 
 We from the precious parent stem 
 
 Will spring to life again. 
 And so of you, and so of her — 
 
 To all the hope is given — 
 The grave is no unbroken sleep. 
 
 To keep ye from your heaven." 
 
 TO VIOLA. 
 
 I NEVER shall forget the place 
 Where first I saw thee, maid divine; 
 
1848. 
 
 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 107 
 
 Such sweetness cloth'd thy youthful face, 
 
 So softly beamed those eyes of thine, 
 Each motion was so full of grace 
 
 That this poor heart no more was mine. 
 Ah! little knew ye what ye did 
 
 On that bright eve when first we met, 
 When Cupid soft unveil'd each lid, 
 
 Strung fast his bow, his arrow set. 
 And sped the shaft that deeply hid 
 
 Within my breast and pierceth yet. 
 Though days, and hours, and years have flown 
 Since first I sought thee for my own. 
 
 1848. 
 
 YIOLA AT THE FALLS. 
 
 I SAW thee there with thy dark hair. 
 
 And witching brow, and sparkling eye; 
 Thy form so rare, so queenly fair. 
 
 That nature's beauties, growing by. 
 Did vainly stare, and seek to share 
 
 The sweetness ling'ring in thy sigh. 
 What! though tlie cascade dash'd its foam 
 
 On that proud cliff with gentle spray. 
 And nature revel' d in her home, 
 
 'Mid flow'ry wilds, surpassing gay; 
 Not they had made my feet to roam. 
 
 Not they had led my steps away; 
 'Twas thy dear self controll'd me still. 
 Thy voice that did this bosom thrill. 
 
108 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 
 Dedicated to Christian Eeid. 
 
 [As one part of the design of the Historical Society is to pre- 
 serve poems written by North Carolinians, or about North Carolina, 
 we insert the following by one of North Carolina's honored sons, 
 and dedicated to one of her distinguished daughters. We would 
 be glad to receive and publish poems by natives o? the State, es- 
 pecially such as have never been put in books. — N. C. Journal of 
 Education.] 
 
 I STOOD upon a splintered peak 
 
 Of my own Southland mountains, 
 And listened to the eagle's shriek 
 Above the snow-white fountains; 
 
 And shouted till the echo rang 
 
 O'er cliff, and crag, and valley, 
 Till the red deer from covert sprang 
 Where swift-foot hunters rally. 
 
 O ! lovely was the peaceful scene — 
 
 The rock, the cascade hoary ; 
 The forest with its shady sheen, 
 
 The summer's crowning glory. 
 
 But noblest, 'mong its fellows proud, 
 
 Of e'en the storm- fiend fearless. 
 The giant oak there kissed the cloud — 
 
 A monarch grand and peerless. 
 
 But soon the wild winds swept the hills, 
 
 Enshrouding them in madness, 
 And tore in shreds each thing that gilds 
 
 The mountains in their gladness. 
 
 The modest flower, the mighty oak, 
 Which fond the eye had cherish'd, 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains, 109 
 
 Were level'd by the fearful stroke, 
 And both alike had perished. 
 
 No starry geni shed soft its light;. 
 
 No moon gave forth its blessing; 
 No sunburst glinted mounlain height, 
 
 As if the world caressing; 
 
 No bird voice floated sweet along; 
 
 No cloud rift showed the haven; 
 I only heard the tempest song, 
 
 And croaking of the raven. 
 
 While round each peak, as if in wrath, 
 
 Was heard the hurtling thunder; 
 And just behind the lightning's path 
 
 The earth seemed burst asunder. 
 
 Ah me! I then cried out in fear. 
 
 Will darkness ne'er be ended ? 
 When, lo ! around me, bright and clear, 
 
 The rainbow's form was bended. 
 
 And graciously, on earth and sky, 
 
 God's everlasting token 
 Proclaimed that, though the earth may die, 
 
 His word shall ne'er be broken. 
 
 EFUPHATHA. 
 
 [Mark vii. 34.] 
 
 His feet were white with the dust of travel. Alone 
 He had come from Tyre and Sidon's heathenish coast, 
 And by Galilee's sea the sad stranger 
 
110 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Stayed his wearj steps and taught. The people 
 
 Wondered who he was, and wheace he came. Prophet 
 
 Indeed he seem'd, and gracious were his words, 
 
 As, with a face of gentle loveliness, he spake 
 
 As never man spake. From his matchless head 
 
 His long hair had fallen on his seamless coat, 
 
 And ne'er had human eye such beauty seen. 
 
 From far his fame had come, and memory 
 
 Stirred men's hearts by deeds that he had done 
 
 In Bethsaida and by fair Gennesaret's shore. 
 
 And now the evening tide was nigh; but still 
 
 He knew no rest, for on his heart men's woes 
 
 Oft pressed for kind relief and safe deliverance. 
 
 I^^ot one of all who came had sued in vain: 
 
 E'en the woman who- hungered for the crumbs 
 
 Which fell from the Master's bounteous table, 
 
 Not deeming it meet to give the bread to dogs. 
 
 In her humility and holy faith 
 
 There found the mild trav'ler a friend and brother. 
 
 Then they brought him one upon whose dull ear 
 
 No sound of joy had ever rested; earth 
 
 To him was soundless; no fond mother tones. 
 
 So soft, so low, so sweet, like zephyr sighs 
 
 'Mid beds of violets, filling the soul 
 
 With love unspeakable, had ever thrill'd him ; 
 
 No child's laugh, almost all we've left of heaven — 
 
 So full of innocence — e'er charmed his soul; 
 
 No feather'd songster, in his leafy home. 
 
 For him had fiU'd the woods with melody; 
 
 Ah ! never had he breath'd a mi^ther's name, 
 
 Nor called his child "my darling;" the strings of his 
 
 tongue 
 Were tied and still, and sighs his only voice. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. Ill 
 
 " They bring unto him," says the sacred word, 
 
 " The deaf," and mutely he stands before the seer, 
 
 While the Master's eyes are on him in love 
 
 And tenderest compassion. Mark the Lord! 
 
 No smile of proud disdain wreath'd His high mien ; 
 
 No shrinking from the touch of wretchedne-^s; 
 
 No sneer curl'd his lip at man's deformity; 
 
 But He who made and own'd unnumber'd world ■>, 
 
 Grand in fatherhood, vast in riches, bowed 
 
 Sad and sorrowful beside the speechless one, 
 
 Leaving this a record : He loved the poor. 
 
 Long ago, God's prophet, stern and holy, 
 
 Look'd through the ages at the woman's seed, 
 
 And beheld Him there, "a man of sorrows 
 
 And with grief acquainted," and now He stood 
 
 With a world's griefs pressing His heart and soul. 
 
 Then, in the calm of eve, as the waters 
 
 Of the lake lay peaceful at His tired feet, 
 
 He led the deaf aside, and, looking up 
 
 To heaven's deep and endless fields of blue. 
 
 He sighed, and softly spoke, " Ephphatha." 
 
 O wondrous word! O thrilling sound! Gentle 
 
 As a mouraer's sigh, light as thistle-down, 
 
 It pierced through cloud, and sky, and far-off star, 
 
 Till Heav'n did also hear; and the deaf ear 
 
 Its portals open'd at its Maker's voice. 
 
 Filling the stricken one with joy and awe. 
 
 Then in his gladness, as tremblingly he stood. 
 
 With tearful eye and swelling heart, gazing 
 
 On Mary's Son, the word he spoke, his first. 
 
 Was this, " Kabboni." 
 
112 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 
 DB. MITCHELL'S GRAVE. 
 
 On the highest peak "-■• of a mighty chain 
 
 Of hill and mountain fastness, 
 Where nature doth her primal rule maintain 
 
 Amid their solemn vastness, 
 There's a lonely grave that the mountains gave, 
 Which the sorrowing moonbeams gently lave. 
 
 No echoing sound of the city's hum 
 
 Shall reach the peaceful sleeper ; 
 No note of joy or grief to him shall come 
 
 From plow-boy or from reaper ; 
 But silent he'll sleep, while the ivies creep. 
 
 And the angels their sacred vigils keep. 
 
 The deafening peals of the thunder's voice 
 
 Shall never break his dreaming, 
 Though the tempests wild in their might rejoice 
 
 Amid the lightning's gleaming; 
 His rest still is deep on the mountain steep. 
 Though his pupils mourn and his loved ones weep. 
 
 The tremulous trills of the mother bird, 
 
 As she sings her songs so lowly. 
 Though a sweeter tone the ear never heard, 
 
 Touch not a rest so holy ; 
 For God keeps him there, in the upper air. 
 Sleeping and waiting for the morning fair. 
 
 The clustering blooms of the flowerets wild. 
 Their fragrance sweet distilling, 
 
 * Seven thousand feet above tide-water — the highest peak of the 
 Appalachian chain. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains, 113 
 
 Thougli ever himself kind nature's fond child, 
 
 Break not the tryst he's filling; 
 For God knows so well the spot where he fell 
 That nothing but Heaven can unlock the spell. 
 
 The summer and autumn, they come and go, 
 
 Old winter ofttimes lingers, 
 And spring rhododendrons after the snow 
 
 Lift up their beautiful fingers; 
 But changes may sweep over land and the deep, 
 Yet nothing disturbs his satisfied sleep.* 
 
 In Alma Mater'sf halls voices and tears 
 May speak the heart's deep yearning, 
 
 And oft to the eye Mount Mitchell appears 
 When fancy's lights are burning; 
 
 But the tolling bell and its mournful knell 
 
 Shall bring him no more, for he resteth well. 
 
 But a morn shall come, O glorious morn ! 
 
 When the trumpet's shrill sounding 
 Shall reach every soul that ever was born, 
 
 And life anew be bounding • 
 And God in his might, from the mountain height, 
 Shall wake his servant to the wondrous sight. 
 
 THE CHRIST CHILD. 
 
 [Written for the Sunday-school Children of the Mountains.] 
 
 'Tis eighteen hundred years gone by, 
 
 While shepherds kept their watch by night. 
 That one with grandest form drew nigh 
 
 * Psalm xvii. 15. -j- The University of North Carolina, 
 
114 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 To fill their souls with strange delight ; 
 And there on the plain a heavenly strain 
 Began its glad march o'er the land and the main. 
 
 " Tidings of joy," the angel said, 
 
 " I bring to you and all the earth. 
 You'll find in the manger's lowly bed 
 
 A holy babe of royal birth; 
 And His ' swaddling's ' hem in fair Bethlehem 
 Shall prove His right to highest diadem." 
 
 " Glory to God! " the angels spoke, 
 
 As they praised His name with happy will, 
 
 And ne'er hath sweeter music broke 
 On earth or the heavenly hill; 
 
 And the joyous song of the angel throng 
 
 Through the years and the cycles speeds along. 
 
 Ten million worlds were in the sky, 
 And sacred beauty clothed the scene, 
 
 While that sweet song sped soft on high 
 'Mid gem, and host, and starry sheen, 
 
 And every star in the depths afar 
 
 Spoke forth His name whose workmanship they 
 are.* 
 
 In every land beneath God's sun, 
 
 On the mountain peak and the plain. 
 
 Where faith's dear fight is fought and won. 
 Men joyful shout the glad refrain. 
 
 Till the story old, more bright than gold, 
 
 O'er the souls of earth hath its glory rolled. 
 
 Yes, so old, when the morning stars 
 
 Shouted their holy matin hymn. 
 And tlie rosy light through the stellar bars 
 
 * John i. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 115 
 
 Glinted creation's wondrous rim, 
 Thy sweet life began, and the endless span 
 Of the ages but sweetens Thee to man. 
 
 Yet so new, e'en the morning's blush 
 On the leaf, on the flower, the stream, 
 
 When it wakes the world from the hush 
 Of a rapt and enchanting dream, 
 
 Is not more new, with its violet hue, 
 
 Than the.story of Jesus — loving, true. 
 
 So, when the holy Xmas morn 
 
 Shall greet our grateful hearts once more, 
 We'll sing anew, "A child is born " — 
 Great Maker of the sea, the shore — 
 Our banner unfurled, its glory impearled, 
 Our rapturous song shall gladden the world. 
 Riverside, N. C, Xmas, 1884. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 [Lines written in a Lady's Album.] 
 I NEVER till this moment knew 
 
 The name my gentle friend doth bear; 
 And then the thought upon me grew, 
 
 Where is another that's more fair ? 
 
 Historic page and deathless song 
 Have crown'd it with immortal hue, 
 
 And every Pge hath borne along 
 Its record, beautiful and true. 
 
 Old Scotia's sad and fateful queen 
 Shall live in every noble soul. 
 
 And memory keep her sorrows green 
 Where mountains rise and oceans roll. 
 
116 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 In our own land, the great and free, 
 Another trophy hath it won, 
 
 And wreath'd with glory ever be 
 The mother of our Washington. 
 
 Gentle and sweet, a loved one sat 
 At Jesus' feet, while Martha serv'd, 
 
 And joyful there she listened at 
 
 The words which Heaven has preserv'd. 
 
 But lifted up in matchless grace 
 Was she who stood beside the cross. 
 
 When Jesus turned his dying face 
 And bade dear John to fill his loss.* 
 
 I hope my friend will bear in mind 
 The name which causes me to write. 
 
 And in her earthly journey find 
 
 The peace of God, so sweet and bright. 
 
 BEHIND THE VINES. 
 
 There is a spot upon the river's verge. 
 
 Behind the vines that thickly cluster there, 
 
 Where oft my soul doth its petitions urge 
 Upon the Master's love and tender care. 
 
 The waters, like the stream of human life. 
 Are passing, passing, ever passing by. 
 
 Sometimes in calm and then in angry strife. 
 With breakers white, then gentle as a sigh. 
 
 ** John xix. 26, 27. 
 
Heart-Throbs from the Mountains. 117 
 
 My soul doth catch the river's tender song, 
 A farewell song to mountains left behind; 
 
 And ever, as its wavelets gush along, 
 
 They leave on peak and glen their blessings kind. 
 
 Thus hath my life its many way-marks passed, 
 "While memory holds them in her fond embrace; 
 
 And through the scenes on which her glance is cast 
 There gleams a vision of a precious face. 
 
 And as my soul sends up its fervent prayer, 
 My knees low bent upon the fragrant sod, 
 
 Each winged thought cuts through the balmy air 
 And begs a blessing for it from my God. 
 
 O, sweet the faith that comes behind the vines, 
 And sweet the face that smiles upon me there; 
 
 And sweet the hope which all my heart entwines. 
 While for my darling I am locked in prayer! 
 
 Riverside, N. C, June, 1885. 
 
 LITTLE KATIE. 
 
 No toddling step is on the winding stair 
 Where once sweet Katie's feet were gliding; 
 
 No childish prattle breaks the stillness there. 
 Nor sound that answers to my chiding. 
 
 No low-toned whisper falls upon my ear 
 So soft that love alone may listen ; 
 
 No tiny hand to wipe away the tear 
 Which in my eye doth sadly glisten. 
 
118 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 No sound is heard from Katie's sleeping-room, 
 That once was fragrant with her breathing; 
 
 Nor snow-white arm dispels the thick'ning gloom, 
 Around her head its halo wreathing. 
 
 No heaving of the gentle little breast, 
 The sweetest thing that God has given; 
 
 Nor can I see the dear wee face at rest 
 As, e'en in dreams, it looked to heaven. 
 
 Poor Katie sings not in the earthly nest 
 As once she did, her music ringing; 
 
 Alone in dreams her songs to me are blest. 
 And mem'ry to them still is clinging. 
 
 Her step is gone ; the warbling voice is still ; 
 
 The eye, the form, elude me ever; 
 And seek her when and where I will, 
 
 The child is gone from earth forever. 
 
 The child can never come to me, 
 
 Because she's in the Master's keeping; 
 
 But faith's SAveet vision lets me see. 
 Beyond the dying and the weeping, 
 
 That she is by her mother's side, 
 Who lately crossed the silent river ; 
 
 And with dear Eobbie for their guide. 
 They're resting where the roses quiver. 
 
 1886. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S 
 ALBUM. 
 
 " Wbite in my book," the maiden said. 
 With gentle smile and pleading eye, 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 119 
 
 And a pleasant nod of her pretty head, 
 Which made me say, " Well, I will try." 
 
 What shall I write ? Did not she say 
 That love had left her " fancy free ? " 
 
 And did she not, quite light and gay, 
 Suggest that this would always be?* 
 
 If so, her friend will wager now, 
 
 If Fannie's life shall pass that way. 
 That some male heart will blee.l, I trow, 
 
 And beg her change to "yea" her " nay." 
 
 But I will hope that she may be 
 
 A happy bride in God's good time, 
 And in her earthly journey see 
 
 The peace of heart which is sublime. 
 
 LITTLE NICE'S EPITAPH. 
 
 [Written for an Afflicted Mother in North Carolina.] 
 
 We will not say our darling's dead. 
 
 Though gone each charm, so softly pearled; 
 Though her sweet face and golden head - 
 
 May never gladden this bleak world. 
 There is a land so sweet, so fair, 
 
 That only faith can glint its shore. 
 And Nice's feet shall wander there 
 
 Where Jesus leads forevermore. 
 
 *She "jumped the broom-stick" in 1886. 
 
120 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 LINES 
 
 Written on the fly-leaf of a book presented to on her twenty - 
 
 seventh birthday. 
 
 When year by year this day shall bring 
 Some mem'ries of the past to thee, 
 
 With those that to thy bosom cling 
 I ask thee to remember me. 
 
 TO 
 
 [Written on a fly-leaf of a copy of Burns.] 
 
 I CANNA tell how true, and sweet, and well 
 
 I hope that all thy life may be; 
 But trust there'll dwell within thy bosom's cell 
 
 Some kind remembrances of me. 
 
 THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 
 
 [Moore's " Last Rose of Summer" is exquisite, but it always ap- 
 peared to the writer to be introduced abruptly. He has therefore 
 ventured to add a stanza for the beginning.] 
 
 There's a rose in our garden 
 
 Whose loveliest tint 
 Is but waiting for autumn 
 
 To give its soft glint ; 
 But my soul fills with sorrow 
 
 As on it I gaze, 
 For the winds of to-morrow 
 
 Will shorten its days. 
 " 'Tis the last rose of summer," etc. 
 
Heart -Throhs from the Mountains. 121 
 THE MISSING STEP UPON THE STAIR. 
 
 [When the author penned the lines called '' The Missing Step 
 c.pon the Stair" a copy was sent to Col. Silas McDowell, a vener- 
 able friend, of Macon County, N. C— very fond of writing verses 
 himself. In answering the note accompanying the verses, he said, 
 " You were too short; you should have allowed your imagination 
 to have full play." This poem, and the one following, called " The 
 Missing Step upon the Winding Stair," have followed. The dear 
 old friend, however, never saw them, for " God took him."] 
 
 Again, when silence in the house was deep, 
 
 Upon my bed my form reclining, 
 The long, dark shadows o'er my heart did creep, 
 
 Fantastic shapes around me twining. 
 
 I listened for a step upon the stair 
 
 That once had thrilled me with its lightness. 
 
 And sought once more a form surpassing fair 
 To gild my chamber with its brightness. 
 
 My hungry soul cried out in bitter pain. 
 The darkness 'round me too unbroken, 
 
 And eye and ear were constant in their strain 
 To catch some sign, of her a token. 
 
 And then I knelt with lorn and heaving breast 
 To God, who hears the faintest whisper ; 
 
 Who watches o'er the mountain sparrow's nest, 
 And listens to a childish lisper; 
 
 And called to Him whose wisdom does not err 
 
 That once again to me be given 
 The sound of her light step upon my ear. 
 
 Ere heart and soul from earth be riven. 
 
 But all was vain; no gentle sound of feet 
 Like snow-flakes on the forest falling; 
 
 No rustle of the dress my ear did greet. 
 Nor voice that answered to my calling. 
 
 9 
 
122 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains, 
 
 No thrill of joy did cause the soul to bound, 
 As was its wont, to give her greeting; 
 
 But mournful silence closed mj spirit 'round 
 Unbroken, save my heart's low beating. 
 
 And still I'm watching by the winding stair, 
 And wistful through the darkness peering ; 
 
 But still no form of light and joy is there 
 To give my soul its pleasant greeting. 
 
 And now the almond bloom is on my head. 
 And soon I'll reach that solemn ocean 
 
 Beyond whose silent waves the happy dead 
 Shall feel no more earth's sad commotion. 
 
 And there, on His eternal, peaceful hills, 
 'Mid quiet vales where pleasures quiver, 
 
 I'll find her, if the loving Savior wills, 
 And guide her by Life's tree and river. 
 
 MULTUM IN PARVO. 
 
 Sometimes, while on the road of life, 
 
 We see a mountain in the distance dim, 
 Around whose top the fearful strife 
 
 Of the lightning reddens the cloud's dark rim ; 
 And we stand in awe 
 Of the wondrous law 
 From whence these things their gorgeous grandeur 
 draw. 
 
 Sometimes we stand upon the shore 
 Of gray old ocean, with its rocky bed, 
 
Heart 'Throbs from the Mountains. 123 
 
 And listen to the breakers' roar 
 
 Beneath the storm king's fierce and awful tread, 
 Till the heart stands still 
 In the holy thrill 
 Of a soul that bows to Elohim's will. 
 
 Sometimes we measure with our eyes 
 
 The starry worlds upon their endless march, 
 And turn our eyes o'er the blue skies 
 
 To count each star within the glowing arch ; 
 But our numbers fail 
 Ere the moonbeams pale 
 Have faded away o'er the hill and dale. 
 
 Sometimes we see an eagle's flight 
 
 Amid the storm and in the angry air, 
 Careering with a wild delight 
 
 Where thunders roll and forked lightnings glare, 
 And know that his eye, 
 In his flight on high, 
 Is bright with joy as the clouds roll by. 
 
 Sometimes we feel a trembling fear 
 
 When unseen forces in the earth's deep core 
 Shake all the world from far and near, 
 And we scarcely speak, 
 For the mountain peak 
 Has bowed to God, and taught us we are weak. 
 
 While thus we gaze upon these things. 
 
 We think that they alone are truly great. 
 And each one to us ever brings 
 
 Food for the mind, on which we meditate; 
 But they'll perish all 
 In a moment's call, 
 From the mighty star to this earthly ball. 
 
124 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 But ne'er forget, a drop of dew 
 
 Upon the rose's fresh and tiny leaf 
 May, by a sun ray clear and true, 
 Before it ends its life, so very brief. 
 Become a part 
 Of the electric dart * 
 Which tears from the tough oak its mighty heart. 
 
 Remember still, a gentle word, 
 
 Though whispered low, as if 'twas but a breath. 
 Comes like the song of some sweet bird 
 
 To cheer the heart, and to outlive e'en death; 
 And o'er and o'er, 
 By the radiant shore, 
 It will thrill and bless us forevermore. . 
 
 WEABIW OF THE GRAY. 
 
 Air : " Weariri' of the Green.'''' 
 
 [Written just at the close of the war, and set to music in 1866. 
 The kind friends who had the musib arranged embellished it with 
 a gray cover.] 
 
 Oh, Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately 
 spread, 
 
 That never more the Southern Cross must rear its stately 
 head? 
 
 The " White and Red's " forbid by law, so Northmen proud- 
 ly say, 
 
 Nor you nor I can e'er again be " Wearin' of the Gray." 
 
 * A drop of dew is filled with electricity. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 125 
 
 And when we meet with strangers kind, who take us by the 
 
 hand, 
 Inquiring warmly of the South, our own beloved land, 
 We're bound to tell the woeful truth, let cost whate'er it 
 
 may, 
 That some are threatened e'en with death for " Wearin' of 
 
 the Gray." 
 
 Then since the color we will wear is of the victor's blue, 
 The children of the " Sanny South" must be to mem'ry 
 
 true. 
 Ah ! take the cockade from their hats and tread it 'neath 
 
 the feet, 
 And still, though bruis'J and mangled sad, 'twill speak a 
 
 language sweet ; 
 And buried in our heart of hearts the precious words lie 
 
 hid, 
 Where oft they call the bitter tears to wet the drooping 
 
 lid; 
 But let them fall — they do us good through all the mourn- 
 ful day, 
 While constant we do call to mind the " Wearin' of the 
 
 Gray." 
 
 And if at last our fathers' law * be torn from Southland's 
 heart, 
 
 Her sons will take their household gods and far away de- 
 part, 
 
 Kememb'ring still the whisper'd word to weary wand'rers 
 giv'n, 
 
 That justice pure and perfect rest are found alone in 
 heav'n. 
 
 * The Constitutlbn. 
 
126 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains, 
 
 Then on some green and distant isle, beneath the setting 
 
 sun, 
 We'll patient wait the coming time when life and earth 
 
 are done; 
 Nor even in the dying hour, while passing calm away, 
 Can we forget or e'er regret the " Wearin' of the Gray." 
 
 EXTRACT 
 
 From a Speech made on the floor of Congress by the Author, May 
 4, 1876, on the subject of Fraternity. 
 
 " I have no idea of separating the fame of the Gray and 
 the fame of the Blue. They met in the stern and dreadful 
 array of battle. They grappled as strong and brave men, 
 and many of them died with their fingers stiffened around 
 the flag-staff. God forbid that I should stand up in this 
 House, or any other part of this broad land, and take away 
 one iota from their just and glorious fame! This is the 
 spirit ihat animates the people of the South, and in this 
 spirit we are training our children. I will relate a little 
 circumstance I had from a gentleman who was traveling in 
 the South — a stranger — in the month of May. He stopped 
 near a burial-ground, and through the trees could get 
 glimpses of a number of litt'e girls dressed in white. Each 
 one had a basket on her arm filled with flowers. On one 
 side slept the Blue and on the other the Gray, and the 
 children were singing and strewing flowers upon the graves 
 of the dead of both armies." 
 
 Under the sod and under the clay 
 
 Here sleep the Blue, there sleep the Gray; 
 
 Light be our footsteps as falleth the dew, 
 
Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 1 27 
 
 Tears for the Gray and tears for the Blue. 
 Come, sisters, come, let's scatter anew 
 Wreaths for the Gray and wreaths for the Blue. 
 Soft be our hearts through all the sweet day, 
 Smiles for the Blue and smiles for the Gray. 
 
 THE BOTE. 
 
 But the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot." (Gen, viii. 9.) 
 
 When earth was young and lovely, 
 
 And flowers were fresh and sweet, 
 God looked on men from heaven, 
 
 His awful judgment-seat, 
 And He saw that they were guilty 
 
 Of crimes of darkest hue; 
 Nor stood they in awe of His holy law. 
 
 To which they should be true. 
 
 Then God with them was angry, 
 
 And said, in his fierce wrath: 
 I'll sweep away forever 
 
 These creatures from my path ; 
 Their dwelling-place so beautiful 
 
 Shall perish in a day. 
 For the waters wild shall be upward piled 
 
 Till all have passed away. 
 
 But there was one man faithful, 
 
 Who kindly preached to men,* 
 And warned them of their sinfulness 
 
 By hill, and dale, and glen; 
 But never would they listen 
 
 * 2 Peter ii. 5. 
 
1 28 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 To his prophecies so dark, 
 But both night and morn they laughed him to 
 scorn 
 As he worked upon the ark. 
 
 And when the ark was finished, 
 
 Well pitched without, within, 
 The animals of the kingdom 
 
 Began to enter in ; 
 And Noah and his family, 
 
 Truth-loving persons, eight, 
 With strong faith in God and his mighty rod, 
 
 Passed in and closed the gate. 
 
 Then came the rain in fury. 
 
 And gave the flood its birth. 
 Till the fierce and maddened billows 
 
 Swept o'er the startled earth, 
 And its dazed inhabitants. 
 
 With terror and despair. 
 Fled in sore affright to the mountain height 
 
 To only perish there. 
 
 For upward foamed the waters 
 
 Till all the earth was gone, 
 Save the tallest of the uplands, 
 
 Which o'er the breakers shone; 
 And 'mid the awful ruin 
 
 Of man, and beast, and bird, 
 A woman's wild shriek on the highest peak 
 
 Was the saddest sound earth heard. 
 
 But God, from out his glory, 
 
 Looked on men's daughters fair. 
 Whom the sons of God had taken,* 
 
 ■'■ Genesis vi. 2. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 129 
 
 Their destiny to share; 
 And when he saw them weeping, 
 
 Their hearts with f^nguish riven, 
 He caught their tears on the sunbeam's spears 
 
 And formed His bow in heaven. 
 
 And when the billows' raging 
 
 Had hid the world from sight, 
 And the thunder of the tempest 
 
 Was booming in its might, 
 The ark was grandly sailing 
 
 Above the foam and spray, 
 And God's servant's song Wcis borne along 
 
 Upon the fearful way. 
 
 For when the highest mountains 
 
 Came into view again, 
 And the deep had stopped her fountains 
 
 From ocean unto main, 
 The dove was sent for tidings 
 
 Of the world beneath the flood ; 
 But the gentle thing, with its tireless wing, 
 
 Found neither rest nor food. 
 
 But with her rapid pinions 
 
 S: e sought the ark once more, 
 Till the waters were abated 
 
 To the ocean's wonted shore; 
 For while the billows mounted 
 
 O'er all the earth below, 
 No place would suit for the sole of her foot, 
 
 So to the ark she flew. 
 
 So, to our Father's glory, 
 
 When 'round our feeble bark 
 The waves of sin are dashing, 
 
130 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 There's safety in God's ark.* 
 And it is grand in finish, 
 
 With room for all to come ; 
 And the ship will sail on the upward gale 
 
 Till we are safe at home. 
 
 TRUE BEAUTY. 
 
 [Written for a Child's Album.] 
 There's beauty in the gentle form, 
 
 The rosy cheek, the laughing eye, 
 The beaming face with pleasure warm. 
 
 And in the forehead fair and high. 
 
 There's beauty still of nobler kind, 
 Because it never here will fade; 
 
 It is the beauty of the mind, 
 Which lives when all beside's decayed. 
 
 But better yet than these, than all. 
 Is the sweet beauty of the soul. 
 
 Which still shall live when angels tall 
 God's circling years shall onward roll. 
 
 THE MISSING STEP UPON THE WINDING 
 STAIR, 
 
 [This little poem can no longer be considered an imaginary feel- 
 ing of the writer, as it comes to him now with all the anguish of 
 reality.] 
 
 The stricken days to me are passing on, 
 
 But silence still is on the winding stair; 
 Nor can I catch a sound of her that's gone. 
 Though heart and ear are ever listening there. 
 
 ■r The Church is a safe refuge for God's children. 
 
Heart 'Throbs from the Mountains. 131 
 
 When morn has come, and all its glories beam 
 Across the hills and o'er the mountain peak, 
 
 I fondly dream — 'tis only but a dream — 
 
 That she will come, her old sweet words to speak. 
 
 When noon shall throw its threads of burnished gold 
 On walks and paths traversed so long ago, 
 
 The sweetest thrill my spirit there shall hold 
 Is that her love at last will soothe my woe. 
 
 When eventide, with soft and mellow light, 
 
 Shall gild the clouds and glint the deep blue sky, 
 
 My heart will throb, amid its bitter blight, 
 That she will come and bless me ere I die. 
 
 When midnight glows with many million stars. 
 And worlds are shining in their far-off home, 
 
 My soul will leap beyond its earthly bars, 
 And beg of God that she to me may come. 
 
 And e'en in sleep my soul will linger still. 
 And anxious wait, with more than miser care, 
 
 For God to send her by his holy will 
 To meet me yet upon the winding stair. 
 
 But O, I know that this can never be, 
 For, lifted up in fearful wrath and foam, 
 
 The waves of death rolled o'er life's troubled sea, 
 And parted us for all earth's years to come ! 
 
 And then I ask, when through the clouds I see 
 A world of joy not made by human hand, 
 
 If she will know me in eternity, 
 
 And love and bless me in the better land. 
 
132 Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 I wonder if that world of light and love 
 Contains for higher flights a winding stair, 
 
 Upon whose steps her graceful form will move 
 To bid me welcome in the upper air. 
 
 I only know I'm on the winding stair, 
 And wistful waiting for her slender feet 
 
 To fall once more, like dew-drops on the air, 
 And give my soul a comfort rich and sweet. 
 
 But knowing they can never come again, 
 
 As once they did, when to my soul they spoke, 
 In heaven, I trust, there'll be no parting pain, 
 And ne'er a loving, faithful heart be broke. 
 Washington City, D. C, January 8, 1887. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written in the Album of Mrs. H., of Maine. 
 
 Our homes in life in distant States have been ; 
 
 Yours in the East, where the Atlantic's thunder 
 Breaks on the coast; mine, where with silver sheen 
 
 The Southern Cross beams on savannas under. 
 
 From out your home the gallant men in Blue 
 
 Came forth at once to meet our sons in battle, 
 And every spot where they their claymores drew 
 . Shall tell of those who faced the volley's rattle. 
 
 Together on many a dreadful field 
 
 These brothers true have left to us this story: 
 
 Their beating hearts were their loved country's shield. 
 And side by side the dead ones sleep in glory. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 133 
 
 The shrill reveille in the early morn, 
 
 The sweet tattoo when evening stars are shining,* 
 
 The wild bird's song among the rastling corn, 
 Break not the rest in which they are reclining. 
 
 Ten thousand cannon on the flaming ridge, 
 With rifles bright in more than countless number, 
 
 May wrap in fire the valley, peak, and bridge, 
 But nothing earthly can disturb their slumber. 
 
 The rushing steed, the banners in the air, 
 
 The victors' shout, the wounded and the dying. 
 
 And breaking hearts for those who are not there. 
 They heed no more where peaceful they are lying. 
 
 I love to think that both the Blue and Gray 
 
 Have common fame which naught on earth can sever; 
 
 And though hate may seek to tear it all away. 
 Yet, thanks to God! their fame is one forever! 
 
 Why should the living not be friends as well 
 As those who side by side in death are sleeping. 
 
 Since interests more than my poor pen can tell 
 Are in our hands for safest, dearest keeping? 
 
 Closing hours of Forty-eighth Congress, 1885. 
 
 *No soldier will ever forget the sweetness of the tattoo after a 
 day of toil and danger. 
 
134 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 WAR AND ITS BURDENS-ARMIES OF THE WORLD. 
 
 V 
 
 Countries. 
 
 Austro-Hungary 
 
 Argentine Republic. 
 
 Belgium 
 
 Bolivia 
 
 Brazil 
 
 Canada 
 
 Chili • 
 
 China 
 
 Colombia . . 
 
 Cuba 
 
 Denmark 
 
 Egypt 
 
 France 
 
 Germany , 
 
 Great Britain , 
 
 Greece 
 
 Guatemala 
 
 Hawaii , 
 
 India, British 
 
 Italy 
 
 Japan 
 
 Luxembourg 
 
 Mexico 
 
 Netherlands 
 
 Nicaragua 
 
 Norway 
 
 Persia , 
 
 Peru , 
 
 Portugal , 
 
 Roumania , 
 
 Russia 
 
 Servia 
 
 Spain 
 
 Sweden 
 
 Switzerland 
 
 Turkey 
 
 United States 
 
 Uruguay 
 
 Venezuela , 
 
 Regular 
 Army, 
 
 284,071 
 
 7,518 
 
 47,084 
 
 3,021 
 
 13,500 
 
 2,000 
 
 13,926 
 
 300,000 
 
 4,000 
 
 25,653 
 
 35,727 
 
 10,900 
 
 529,269 
 
 445,402 
 
 181,971 
 
 29,368 
 
 2,180 
 
 400 
 
 190,476 
 
 750,765 
 
 37,790 
 
 377 
 
 22,330 
 
 65,113 
 
 703 
 
 18,750 
 
 30,000 
 
 13,200 
 
 33,994 
 
 19,512 
 
 780,081 
 
 18,000 
 
 152,895 
 
 40,758 
 
 117,500 
 
 160,417 
 
 26,383 
 
 4,500 
 
 3,000 
 
 Annual Cost 
 
 of Army. 
 
 49,116,248 
 5,800,000 
 9,208,046 
 2,148,000 
 7,466,120 
 3,840,000 
 16,326,095 
 75,000,000 
 
 2,461,955 
 
 121,061,600 
 
 84,968,140 
 
 90,901,630 
 
 3,312,140 
 
 87,201,250 
 
 41,098,611 
 
 9,263,713 
 
 75,680 
 
 8,252,352 
 8,464,000 
 
 1,628,440 
 3,800,000 
 
 5,099,105 
 
 5,463,550 
 
 125,508,474 
 
 2,072,890 
 
 24,524,415 
 
 4,322,860 
 
 3,341,260 
 
 23,841,064 
 
 39,429,603 
 
 -Spoford's American Almanac. 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 135 
 
 Notwithstanding the magnitude of the regular armies of the 
 world, as shown on the preceding page, Von Moltke and Bismarck 
 both clamored in the German Reichstag for an increase of the Ger- 
 man Army, which is now 445,402 strong, at an annual cost of $85,- 
 000,000. The effect of this, if carried out, will be an increase of all 
 the European, and perhaps the Asiatic, armies. 
 
 Let us have peace. — Gen. Grant. 
 
 "And He shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many 
 people; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and 
 their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword 
 against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." (Isa. ii. 4.) 
 
 'Tis nineteen hundred years since when 
 
 The Lord of Life came unto men, 
 
 Himself the gentle Prince of Peace, 
 
 Who taught the world that war should cease; 
 
 Who never spake an unjust word, 
 
 Or bade a mortal draw a sword ; 
 
 Who ne'er oppressed a man or child 
 
 In city full or desert wild; 
 
 Who never caused a tear to flow 
 
 From human kind because of woe; 
 
 Who never had His guard of state 
 
 Upon His royal will to wait; 
 
 Who ne'er had armies at His will 
 
 With sword and lance to thrust and kill; 
 
 Who ne'er with royal purple robe 
 
 Sat out as if to rule the globe; 
 
 But who, with love and matchless grace. 
 
 Was brother of the human race. 
 
 And yet — great God, inspire my pen ! — 
 He was the very prince of men; 
 For when He came to visit earth. 
 And bless the world by His glad birth, 
 
136 Heart- Throbs from the Mountains, 
 
 Though .cradled in the ox's stall, 
 Where it was feeding by the wall, 
 Or resting on his mother's knee 
 With not a sign of majesty — 
 Except what Avas to men unknown — 
 The swaddling clothes should hint a throne 
 Above thy stable, Bethlehem, 
 Brigliter than monarch's fairest gem, 
 The wondrous star stood still at last, 
 And o'er the scene its glory cast; 
 While coming from the glowing plain. 
 Where angels sang their sweet refrain, 
 The Magi, kneeling at His feet, 
 Expressed their joy in praises meet, 
 Which every' loving soul doth stir, 
 And gave their gifts of gold and myrrh. 
 
 Yes, what a wondrous prince was He, 
 
 One with God in eternity. 
 
 Before the morning stars e'er shone 
 
 In all their glory 'round His throne; 
 
 Before a single world was thrown 
 
 By power which truly was His own,* 
 
 To take its place in the grand race 
 
 Amid the fields of endless space; 
 
 Or e'en before the Spirit's might 
 
 Had spoke the words, " Let there be light; " 
 
 And who was Chief when there were sent, 
 
 Along the glowing firmament. 
 
 Ten million worlds, with banners fair, 
 
 To flash and sparkle in the air. 
 
 And shout with energy divine, 
 
 "The glory, Lord, 's forever thine! " 
 
 * John i. 3. 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 137 
 
 If Jesus had designed to reign 
 As monarch, with a monan^h's train, 
 Behold the worlds he brought to view- 
 Along the sky's cerulean blue, 
 Where, numbered with our earthly ball. 
 He was the maker of them all; 
 And, ready at a moment's word. 
 Twelve legion angels would have stirred* 
 In arms of heavenly temper keen, 
 With eyes of fire, and lofty mien ; 
 With wings of light, and pennons fair, 
 Their armor flashing in the air, 
 Above, below, upon the hill, 
 Waiting to see their Prince's will; 
 But, wondrous thought! He was so great, 
 So skilled to plan, and to create, 
 That with amazing power and grace 
 He spun the worlds in far-off space; 
 Caused all the wheels of worlds to go. 
 The suns to shine, the stars to glow; 
 And, painting all with fingers deft. 
 He placed the mountains by his heft; 
 Set oceans on their endless roll, 
 And poised the worlds from pole to pole ; 
 When finished all, He paused to rest, 
 That He might build a sparrow's nest. 
 
 Behold the petty kings of earth 
 Who strut in purple from their birth, 
 And teach in story and in song 
 " The king can never do a wrong;" 
 Forgetting God, the one true King, 
 
 * Matthew xxvi. 53. 
 10 
 
138 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains, 
 
 They on the world such anguish bring — 
 A grief so deep, a woe so fell — 
 That human pen it may not tell; 
 And burdens 'round the cabin door, 
 Forever pressing down the poor, 
 Until the soul grows faint and sad 
 O'er miseries by earth's children had. 
 
 Great God ! when, rising to our view, 
 
 Earth's battle-fields pass in review. 
 
 And, tracing down the track of time, 
 
 We see them in their shock sublime — 
 
 The Roman tall, the graceful Greek, 
 
 Who, dead, yet by their deeds they speak ; 
 
 The Briton, and the child of France, 
 
 Who by the javelin and lance, 
 
 On many a famed and martial field, 
 
 Were thrown beneath each bloody shield; 
 
 The stalwart Scot, the Irish brave, 
 
 Who died their liberty to save; 
 
 And all the brave in the Old World, 
 
 Where war's dread banner was unfurled ; 
 
 And coming westward to the New, 
 
 Where met in strife the Gray and Blue; 
 
 And, calling up the widows' tears. 
 
 Their anguished hearts, their frenzied fears; 
 
 The orphan's cry and lonely head, 
 
 Each dear protector with the dead ; 
 
 The shallow graves which held our own, 
 
 Their bloody blankets 'round them thrown ; 
 
 And all the agony and pain, 
 
 Though wrapped in glory be the slain, 
 
 Which round the field of battle glows 
 
 Where sleep together the brave foes, 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 139 
 
 We beg of Thee to show Thy might, 
 And stop forever the mad fight. 
 
 THE GOVEBNOBS LAST PABJDON. 
 
 Dying Alexander Stephens said : " You think that because I have 
 been ill so many times and got well, I shall get well now, but you 
 are mistaken; I will not recover. Where is that letter by that 
 woman in the penitentiary? I think she has suffered enough. As 
 near as I can tell, she has no friends. Bring me that paper, that 1 
 may sign her pardon." A gentleman standing by, thinking this too 
 great a responsibility for the sick man, said, "Governor, you are 
 very sick now; perhaps you had better wait till to-morrow; you 
 may feel stronger, and you may feel better." Then the eye of the 
 old Governor flashed, and he said, " I know what I am about." Put- 
 ting his signature to that pardon, he wrote the last word he ever 
 wrote, for then the pen fell from his pale, and rheumatic, and dying 
 hand forever. O my soul, how beautiful that the closing hours of 
 life should be spent in helping one who had no helper I—Georgria 
 Newspaper. 
 
 The good old man was drawing near 
 The river, flushed with human fear. 
 
 His feet were in the waters cold. 
 And near him then the billows rolled. 
 
 The feeble form, the brilliant eye * 
 Said plainly 'twas his time to die. 
 
 Nor did he fear the heaving tide, 
 But calmly viewed the other side, 
 
 Where bands, to human eye unseen, 
 Were waiting in their splendid sheen, 
 
 * It is often true that the eye of a good person grows very bright 
 as death approaches. 
 
140 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 To lift him from the waters cold, 
 And give him welcome to the fold. 
 
 And while his feet were passing o'er 
 There came unto him from the shore — 
 
 The other shore, the happy shore 
 Which he had. never seen before — 
 
 Seraphic music from the throng 
 Who beautified the shore along. 
 
 " Come, father, come," they joyful sang, 
 And O how sweet the music rang, 
 
 As, lifted o'er the ranks around 
 Which covered all fair Salem's ground. 
 
 They waved his palm, his robe of white, 
 Which glittered in the holy light. 
 
 And bade him cpme, they could not wait, 
 But wished to see him pass the gate.* 
 
 But suddenly the old man stayed 
 His parting feet, and gently said 
 
 To those who watched beside his bed. 
 With rev'rence for his honor'd head, 
 
 " You think that I'll be well again. 
 And health and wonted spirits gain ; 
 
 "But you are wrong, I'll never be 
 Upon this earth from suffering free; 
 
 ♦Revelation xxi, 25. 
 
Heart- Throbs froin the Mountains. 141 
 
 "And voices now are calling me 
 To pass life's utmost boundary; 
 
 "And yoa may think I'm wrong in mind, 
 But wait a moment, you shall find 
 
 " That [ have time, while near the end, 
 To act for one who has no friend: 
 
 " Bring the petition sent to me 
 By the woman who would be free." 
 
 And there, while nearing the last shore, 
 He ope'd for her the prison door; 
 
 When lo! from on the other shore 
 The throng in white sent greetings o'er; 
 
 And far away, o'er liills of heaven, 
 A shout of joy for him was given. 
 
 Then, calm and mild, death's stream he trod. 
 To dwell forever with his God, 
 
 Dear Savior, when my time has come 
 To pass the river's chilling foam, 
 
 May heart and soul be gentle too. 
 To life's best feelings still be true; 
 
 So, when I reach the farther side, 
 I'll find among the glorified 
 
 A welcome warm, a sweet embrace 
 From those who passed me in life's race. 
 
142 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 THE CAMP-MEETING. 
 
 [Dedicated to the Memory of the Sainted Dead.] 
 
 High up along the slopings of the Carolina mountains, 
 Where westward turn so rapidly the waters of the rivers; 
 Where Tahkeeostee rushes toward the foaming Holston, 
 And all the streams are seeking the mighty Mississippi ; 
 
 And when they all have gathered into its raging currents, 
 And mingled with the spoutings from off the Rocky 
 
 Mountains ; 
 From out the forest masses and worlds of prairie flowers; 
 And, shrieking, foaming, dashing, go thundering to the 
 
 ocean ; 
 
 Adown the French Broad valley, below the Swannanoa, 
 Upon the hills of Buncombe, the old and famous county. 
 Where a college now is standing in pretty Weaverville, 
 Along the famed old highway that leads to County Yancey ; 
 
 I call to mind a vision, a sweet and joyful memory, 
 Of times that now are olden, and happiness all golden, 
 In the sunny days of childhood, when, with our darling 
 
 mother. 
 We camped at the camp-meeting, to hear the holy gospel. 
 
 The stand wa^s large and spacious for the holding of the 
 people, 
 
 The altar fixed with neatness to welcome there the mourn- 
 ers; 
 
 And when we reached the meeting, the neighbors all were 
 gathering. 
 
 And every tent was filling by bosoms that were willing 
 
 To labor for the Savior,' in singing and in praying, 
 And to show to all His glory by telling the old story, 
 
Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 143 
 
 And pointing out with gladness the peaceful road to 
 
 heaven, 
 That nothing might be lacking at holy, solemn Salem.* 
 
 It was in the sweet October, when all the woods were saf- 
 fron, 
 Deep green and palish yellow, with touches of carnation, 
 Which make our gorgeous forests so wonderful and lovely, 
 From the frost-work of the hickory to the variegated 
 maple.f 
 
 And on the mountains distant, above the Reems Creek 
 
 valley. 
 Around the lofty Pinnacle, and stern old giant Craggy, 
 The clouds were piled like billows upon the restless ocean, 
 And the sun's departing splendors were on them softly 
 
 shining. 
 
 The apple-trees were bending beneath their juicy loading. 
 And all the earth was giving good token of the harvest. 
 And teaching us the lesson that while the earth is stand- 
 ing 
 There nevermore shall fail us the sowing and the reaping. 
 
 How faithful is our Father! the Lord of earth and heaven. 
 Whose hands are always open to bless His loving children ; 
 Whose bosom is a refuge from toil, and pain, and sorrow. 
 For servants who are faithful in all things great and little. 
 
 Thus to the sacred camping our happy way we'd wended 
 Along the racing river and up the river mountains. 
 Till we were snugly settled beneath the tent's low roofing. 
 And eventide was resting on the hills and on the meeting. 
 
 * The name of the camp-ground. 
 
 fThe forests of Western North Carolina are exquisitely beauti- 
 . ful in October. 
 
144 Heart- Throbs frojtt the Mountains, 
 
 Then, as the Lour of twilight was liiding the lone forest, 
 And the starry hosts of heaven were glowing in the ether, 
 The preacher's trumpet sounding called all the worship- 
 ers 
 To come unto the altar to make the sweet beginning. 
 
 Sweet was the prayer of gratitude which to the Lord as- 
 cended 
 
 From strong and holy brothers, and tender, loving sisters, 
 
 That once more in life's glad journey they'd joined their 
 hearts in giving 
 
 Sweet praises to the Master, their keeper and their maker. 
 
 How wondrous was the lighting of the hallowed place of 
 
 meeting. 
 As on a wooden platform, with soil alone for covering. 
 The flaming of the torches upon the stand and altar 
 Keflected back the faces of the worshipers of Jesus. 
 
 Tall and strong was the good preacher, who went into the 
 
 pulpit 
 And gazed upon the brothers, and on the faithful sisters. 
 With eyes of deep affection and tenderest emotion, 
 To preach the opening sermon on that occasion holy. 
 
 Long years had he been telling the story of the passion 
 
 Of Jesus, our Redeemer, who came unto the sinful, 
 
 And walked amid earth's sorrows, the humble, poor, and 
 
 lowly. 
 To show the road to heaven, Himself the door to enter. 
 
 Uncle Jacob* was the preacher, whose text and earnest 
 
 calling 
 Eesounded in our hearing upon that sweet occasion : 
 
 * Rev. Jacob Weaver. 
 
Heart - Throbs from the Mountains. 145 
 
 "Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye unto the waters, 
 And satisfy your thirsting in the sweet gospel fountain." 
 
 His liymn was in accordance with the text's most precious 
 
 teaching, 
 For it taught the soothing doctrine that the pearly gates 
 
 of Eden * 
 Stand open eve and morning to let believers enter, 
 For night shall never darken the city sweet and restful. 
 
 And when the sermon ended, in which were kindly blend- 
 ed 
 
 The most earnest admonition with words of tender com- 
 fort. 
 
 The congregation kneeling, with sweetest, truest feeling 
 
 Drew near the throne of mercy, led by our cousin Montra- 
 ville.f 
 
 And there, at dear old Salem, God sent his Spirit holy 
 The souls of men to quicken. His own word to glorify ; 
 And many came to Jesus whose after-lives were given 
 To His dear and joyous service forever and forever. 
 
 But soon the hour was nearing when the happy, peaceful 
 
 meeting 
 Should end its holy service, and all the friends be parting; 
 When, standing in the pulpit to give a parting blessing, 
 A form in black apparel, J in whose hands the gospel 
 
 weapon 
 
 Had oft been truly shining, as the sacred hours were going, 
 Spoke there unto the people, and thanked them for their 
 
 kindness, 
 Their patience truly gentle to neighbors and to strangers, 
 
 * Rev. xxi. 25, j- Rev. M. M. Weaver. J Rev. E. F. Sevier, P. E. 
 
146 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Which things were duly written in the good book ot 
 Heaven. 
 
 " But there is one lone stranger, whose feet are white with 
 
 travel, 
 Whose locks are wet with dewdrops as he was gently 
 
 standing 
 Beside the altar railing, or near the spacious arbor. 
 Whose pure, benign demeanor should have given him 
 
 warmest greeting ; 
 
 " Whom some have not invited, nor gave to him a welcome, 
 Though lovely in his person and in his manner gracious; 
 Who truly could have bless'd them, and gave them double 
 
 portion 
 For all they'd to him given, on the earth, or in sweet 
 
 heaven." 
 
 Just near the gracious preacher a little boy was standing. 
 Who listened in grave wonder to the preacher's painful 
 
 story ; 
 Who gazed upon the people to see the gentle stranger, 
 To take him to his bosom and satisfy his hunger. 
 
 But the people all were weeping, and looking at the 
 preacher, 
 
 As his voice of touching sadness fell full upon their hear- 
 ing; 
 
 And none of them did answer the little boy so eager. 
 
 So he went unto his mother and asked her in a whisper 
 
 Who was the slighted stranger who had no place for rest- 
 ing, 
 
 That he might bring him thither to sup with him and 
 mother. 
 
 The tear-drops then did glitter beneath the lady's lashes 
 
Heart- Throbs from the Mountains. 147 
 
 As she took him to her bosom and softly said, " Thy Sav- 
 ior." 
 
 Then said the little fellow, " I'll be His friend forever, 
 If He will with us tarry in our home beside the river ; •• 
 Nor shall His feet be smitten by the chilling winds of win- 
 ter; 
 Nor night his locks bedewing, for we'll have Him in our 
 keeping." 
 
 Not many now are living who were at the happy meeting 
 Upon the hill of Salem, in French Broad's goodly valley; 
 For they've crossed the river over, and on the hills of 
 
 heaven 
 They've had a happier meeting, which never will be 
 
 ended. 
 
 But in the raging battle, and in the lonely prison; 
 Down in the lowly valley, and in the mighty city, 
 The boy has loved the stranger who 'round the camp did 
 
 wander 
 At the long-ago camp-meeting at holy, solemn Salem. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN CROSS. 
 
 [Just after the traveler passes the celebrated Painted Rock, at 
 the border of North Carolina and Tennessee, he will find the train 
 passing between two stupendous mountains, the French Broad 
 River between the two. Standing on the rear platform, he will see, 
 near the top of the mountain, a white cross, which seems a way- 
 mark for heaven.] 
 
 As down the dashing river 
 
 The trav'ler speeds his way, 
 He sees upon the mountain 
 
148 Heart -Throbs from the Mountains. 
 
 Above liim far away, 
 Just where the rock is riven 
 By the bursting of a flood,* 
 On that awful height, a cross, snow-white, 
 To point his soul to God. 
 
 Down there the boiling waters 
 
 Arise, and foam, and swell, 
 And in a voice of thunder 
 
 They startle all the dell ; 
 But high above the rushing, 
 
 Just near the peaceful sky. 
 That most holy sign of a love divine 
 
 Swells out to greet the eye. 
 
 And while the eye is gazing 
 
 Upon that sign so sweet, 
 He forgets the rushing river 
 
 Where the mad waters meet ; 
 And his soUl is filled with gladness 
 
 That in his mountain land. 
 With a matchless grace, for the human race. 
 
 The Lord holds out His hand. 
 
 I love thee, racing river, 
 I love each lofty crag; 
 I love the mighty mountains. 
 The home of the fleet stag; 
 , But dearer to my vision, 
 And sweeter to my heart. 
 Is the land of the leal, so dear, so real, 
 Where loved ones never part. 
 
 * It is the opinion of scientists that a great lake once covered 
 the valley of the French Broad. 
 
Heart' Throbs from the Mountains. 149 
 
 Roll on, thou rushing river! 
 
 Stand up, ye mountains tall! 
 And rock, and hill, and canon 
 
 Grace well this earthly ball ; 
 And white cross on the mountain, 
 
 Stand out on the high peak, 
 And with thy true hand point to the sweet land 
 
 Which trav'lers all should seek ! 
 
 The End.