J\ YJoPurn-e of £)oem.,d) 
 
 By JosEi 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 i|ajt. dujoingli l|o. 
 
 J. ■ 1 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERU A. 
 
WILD-FLOWERS 
 
 ^ Foliimc of Porms. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH DALY. 
 
 " For many days 
 Has she been wandering in uncertain ways, 
 Thro' wilderness and woods ol' mossed oak." 
 
 — Kcais. 
 
 
 BOSTON: 
 STANLEY AND USHER, 
 
 I 8 8 -. . 
 
'^'* 
 
 <- 
 
 r.^< 
 
 Copyright, 1883, 
 Bv Joseph Daly. 
 
TO 
 
 Jlr, SEilliam 1£. ?^atdj, 
 
 WITH THE 
 SINCEREST FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE AND GOOD WISHES 
 
 THIS VOLUME, 
 
 AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF GREAT RESPECT, IS, WITHOUT 
 
 PERMISSION, DEDICATED BY HIS 
 
 THANKFUL FRIEND 
 
 , JOSEPH DALY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface 7 
 
 Prelude 9 
 
 The Maiden 13 
 
 Peace 14 
 
 To G**** 15 
 
 A Short Story 17 
 
 To Heroism 18 
 
 On the Death of Longfellow 19 
 
 Emma 20 
 
 To J * * » * 22 
 
 Pleasures of Solitude 23 
 
 Minnie 25 
 
 On Hand in Hand 26 
 
 Lullaby 27 
 
 The Voyage to Love 28 
 
 Smoke 3° 
 
 Ode. Remorse 31 
 
 The Memento 33 
 
 Stanzas on Leaving School 36 
 
 To Annie 37 
 
 A Meditation 39 
 
 To L**** 40 
 
 Hymn 41 
 
 A Simile 42 
 
 To A Dandelion 44 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mother 45 
 
 A Reverie 46 
 
 To C. A. C 47 
 
 A Pastoral 48 
 
 Sonnets : — 
 
 Memory 51 
 
 The Soldier's Funeral ......... 51 
 
 Death 52 
 
 The Youth 53 
 
 The Minstrel Boys 53 
 
 America 54 
 
 Pity '54 
 
 Belief and Unbelief 55 
 
 -To Ireland 56 
 
 The Power of Love 58 
 
 conradine , 70 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 These poems are the productions of a boy in his teens, 
 mostly written at school during the intervals of sport and 
 study. They may be little worthy of the public's notice, yet 
 the author feels that the friends who have requested him to 
 publish them will be pleased with the volume; and such, 
 indeed, is his sincerest wish. 
 
 Plucked amid merry May-days, from Fancy's wilderness, 
 
 these gatherings may be called Wild-Flowers, without erring 
 
 greatly. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 Branford, Ct., April, 1883. 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 T^THEN stilled is all the noise of earth, 
 
 And hushed the gleeful roar of mirth, 
 Then comes upon the listener's ears 
 The ceaseless music of the spheres, — 
 It springs from some sublime profound, 
 A vast eternity of sound ; 
 There is no silence and can never be. 
 For Nature hymns its endless harmony. 
 
 Each zephyr whistles as it flies ; 
 Each tree has its melodious sighs ; 
 And not a brooklet purls along, 
 But sings to woodland-elves its song ; 
 Each river murmurs to its flow 
 A voice that seems to speak of woe ; 
 And from the cataract throughout all time 
 There is a mighty, mighty voice sublime. 
 
 No creature flaps a busy wing. 
 
 But has a melody to sing ; 
 
 Forever at the songster's will 
 
 The notes are bubbling from his bill, 
 
 As from a pretty fountain pours 
 
 A stream that breaks to crystal showers ; 
 
PRELUDE. lO 
 
 And sadness flies before the singer's word, 
 And cheer with smiles appears when it is heard. 
 
 The bacchanalian merrily 
 
 Pipes forth his jolly songs of glee ; 
 
 The milkmaid, buxom, fair, and sweet. 
 
 Has some love ditty to repeat ; 
 
 And while the rest about are still 
 
 The shepherd whistles on the hill ; 
 And often I within my breast prolong 
 The silver notes of my fair maiden's song. 
 
 Must I then linger silent near. 
 
 In such a happy, tuneful sphere? 
 
 No ; in my idle days I caught 
 
 Unbidden notes that Nature brought, 
 
 And oftentimes my idle hand 
 
 Sweet Poesy's utterance can command ; 
 Hence I will take me to a bowery nook. 
 And sing my fancies in a poet's book. 
 
WILD -FLOWERS. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 THE MAIDEN. 
 
 " T 'LL burst the pregnant pod and see 
 The way that Fate intends for me." 
 So spake a maid, 
 And, as she said, 
 She snapped the bubble right in twain, 
 .And in her glee exclaimed again : 
 
 " Beneath this little villous lid 
 The hope of all my life is hid ; 
 
 'Twill tell a tale 
 
 Of bliss or bale. 
 I wish the best, and yet I fear 
 That many fateful views are near." 
 
 Her girlish tongue began to count. 
 And as she lisped the seeds' amount. 
 
 There sprang a flush, 
 
 A fiery blush, 
 " Will this prediction be my lot — 
 To be, by him I love, forgot?" 
 
1 4 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 But no ; her fingers soon unsheathe 
 Another that reposes 'neath. 
 Then quickly she 
 In heightened glee 
 Exclaimed, "A faithful lover he 
 To watch and tender over me ! " 
 
 A storm came o'er that happy time, 
 For disappointment 'gan to climb 
 
 Her features o'er ; 
 
 And more and more 
 I saw the slowly spreading change 
 All o'er her countenance to range. 
 
 Then satisfaction came with joy. 
 
 " A handsome and a cheerful boy 
 
 To be beside, 
 
 And be his bride," 
 
 She said ; the pod away she threw 
 
 And frolicked slad to tricks anew. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 "VTO fancied joy allures my heart ; 
 
 Nor race I in the boist'rous rout 
 No active, wrangling passions start, 
 
 And shoot hot agitation 'bout ; 
 No study captivates my brain, 
 Nor sink I 'neath rouoh labor's strain. 
 
TO G * * * * . 15 
 
 The sun is dipping to the West, 
 
 And sultry is the shiny beam, 
 Whilst in the maple shade I rest, 
 
 And gaze across the dimpling stream. 
 'Tis now, while all temptations cease, 
 That I am glad in quiet peace. 
 
 The reaper's sunburnt face is wet. 
 
 So hard he labors in the heat ; 
 And on his thrifty son the sweat 
 
 Is oozing with each vital beat. 
 They thrive ; I 'm wealthy not the less ; 
 For highest wealth is happiness. 
 
 O Peace ! most precious gift of Heaven, 
 Dropped from angelic, downy wings, 
 
 And unto youth in kindness given ! 
 What bale the bad to-morrow brings ! 
 
 O, let me hold thee while I may ! 
 
 O, let me dream away the day ! 
 
 TO G * * * * . 
 
 nPHERE is a sweetness in thy smile 
 
 That nowhere else can be. 
 So lovely, calm, and free from guile. 
 That oft I leave my tasks awhile 
 To turn and gnze on thee. 
 
I 6 WILD -FL O WER S . 
 
 There never did more beauteous sight 
 
 Upon the whole world live ; 
 And never form of maiden bright 
 Shed more enchantment and delight 
 Than thou, sweet maid, dost give. 
 
 Thou art too spotless for this sphere. 
 
 This world of toil and woe ; 
 Deceit will set its ambush here, 
 And Flattery hold thy suasive ear, 
 Wherever thou wilt go. 
 
 Within thy softly twinkling eyes 
 There rests the hallowed hue 
 That in high Heaven's pavement lies, 
 And when in thought thine eyes arise, 
 I think of Heaven, too. 
 
 Thou art a lovely angel, strayed 
 
 From Eden's fairest bower ; 
 Some thoughtless angel, who hast made 
 A voyage from Elysian shade, 
 Thou sweet celestial flower ! 
 
 Upon thy memory I will not 
 
 For one remembrance call, 
 Save when young lovers round thee plot. 
 Then let my name be not forgot. 
 For I love thee more than all. 
 
A SHORT STOI?r. 
 
 A SHORT STORY 
 
 17 
 
 T TOOK it softly, slowly up, 
 
 A shiny little buttercup, 
 And its gold leaves I then could see 
 To flutter as to fly from me. 
 And Gertrude, as I turned to her, 
 Espied the little floweret's stir. 
 And quick exclaimed, "Canst thou not see 
 That floweret does not rest with thee ? " 
 
 The little gem she tried to seize, 
 There rustling in the rising breeze ; 
 But I more dextrous drew aside 
 That Gertrude's grasp I might elide. 
 Her faery, velvet finger-tips 
 Just kissed the glossy, golden lips 
 That with their gossamery print 
 Imbrued on her their sun-born tint. 
 
 Just then a childish fiction stole 
 
 Among the workings of my soul — 
 
 I said, " O, maiden, let me see 
 
 If butter is not liked by thee ! " 
 
 She raised her radiant face and smiled, — 
 
 For every lover plays the child, — 
 
 I held the golden chalice up. 
 
 The lifeless little buttercup. 
 
WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 A dubious flame of yellow sheen 
 Was flung beneath the maiden's chin ; 
 And then temptation caught my mind, 
 About her neck my arms I twined, 
 And thinking not I did amiss, 
 I stole from her fair face a kiss. 
 Ah, what rash things will lovers do ! 
 But, frowning man, what less would you ? 
 
 TO HEROISM. 
 
 "DENIGNANT child of freedom born, 
 Thou art as pure as the dewy tear 
 That in the brilliant break of morn, 
 
 Doth pale each swaying grassy spear ! 
 No worldly hope of misty fame 
 
 To danger's crosses prompts thee go, 
 No wish to leave a flattered name, 
 
 The while a mangled form lies low. 
 
 There is a fatherland to save ! 
 
 A Nation's voice peals out its dole, 
 Thou risest 'mong the dauntless brave, 
 
 And throw'st thy magic o'er the soul. 
 Where feit the battle's clash is most, 
 
 Amid the maddest mass of strife. 
 Where even hope itself is lost. 
 
 Thy presence sheds replenished life. 
 
OA' THE DEATH OF LONGFELLOW. I 9 
 
 Thy votaries lie in every land, 
 
 Their names forgotten with their dust ; 
 They feared not death, thy gallant band, 
 
 In heaven alone they held a trust. 
 Perhaps inspired by worthy aim 
 
 ' Gainst whelming lines they urged their main, 
 But though they died with honored name, 
 
 Their ebbing life-blood ran in vain. 
 
 Most hallowed are the names of those. 
 
 Who strove sincere, but lost in strife ; 
 In honored tombs their breasts repose, 
 
 They who recked litde of their life. 
 The gallant soldier's justest pride, 
 
 Celestial spirit pure and -just ! 
 How many patriots have died. 
 
 Upheld by thee, in thee their trust ! 
 
 STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF LONGFELLOW. 
 
 A H, lifeless is the master's hand, the harp's sweet 
 tongue is dead. 
 Yet ceaseless are its echoes : but the harper's day is 
 done ; 
 Though circling is a halo bright of glory round his head. 
 Yet mournful is a solemn voice, that whispers " He is 
 gone." 
 
20 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Pure, spotless is his lengthy life, a bright, unsullied stream, 
 A thornless way of roses, to a brighter, brighter realm ; 
 
 O, beautiful the visions were that floated in his dream ! 
 His guileless breast the thought of bad could never 
 overwhelm. 
 
 A garland wreathes his honored brow, undying in its 
 bloom ; 
 His bearded head is laid to rest, to rest in downy 
 peace ; 
 A nation pays its reverence to him who meets the tomb. 
 And on through future ages hear we honor's voice 
 increase. 
 
 High genius placed her chosen son 'mid brightest of his 
 
 race ; 
 
 He stands the chiefest of our bards, our pride in poesy. 
 
 The psalmist of the life he lived, in fame's most lofty 
 
 place ; 
 
 The tales he told and songs he sung we echo cheerily. 
 
 EMMA. 
 
 'T^HOUGH dark the night, and chilly came 
 
 The flying wind athwart my frame, 
 No cloud obscured the dome of blue ; 
 Each star shone in most brilliant trim, 
 
EMMA. 2 I 
 
 And far away heat-lightning threw 
 Its blaze upon the southern rim. 
 Within her chamber Emma hung, 
 And in the chill, dark stillness sung. 
 
 Her faint first utterance startled night. 
 And sent a transport of delight ; 
 The thought of lovely Emma lent 
 
 Enchanted sweetness to her voice ; 
 It was a pretty song, and meant 
 
 To make a listening youth rejoice — 
 To make a ravished breast prolong 
 Sweet, lovely, black-eyed Emma's song. 
 
 " My lover, long I wait for thee, 
 But you come not to me, to me, 
 
 Can you be true? 
 
 Or is my lover false ? 
 O thou who heard the promise given, 
 Thou listening azure sky of heaven ! 
 
 O, tell me well 
 
 Why my young lover halts. 
 
 " He promised me at eventide 
 He would be at his darling's side, 
 
 But he to me 
 
 Comes not, to-night, to me, — 
 Can there be eyes more black than mine, 
 Whose penetrating siren shine 
 
 Can raise his praise 
 
 When they break on his sight? 
 
2 2 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 " I wait, I wait, for thee I wait, 
 For thee, my love, for thee, my mate, 
 Thus late I wait 
 For thee, fair boy, for thee. 
 I hear not thy sweet whisper near, 
 I hear not thy heart throbbing here, 
 I feel you will 
 Come nevermore to me." 
 
 The window dropped ; no more I heard 
 
 The singing of the black-eyed bird, 
 
 But through the storm that soon came on. 
 
 Amid the thunder's awful boom, 
 When far away from her I 'd gone 
 
 I thought I heard an echo come ; 
 And I her lily-cheek could see 
 From out the dark appear to me. 
 
 TO J * * * * . 
 
 A S some fair cloud at eventide. 
 
 Upon its way athwart the sky, 
 Doth stop a moment and then glide 
 
 Across the welkin steadily — 
 E'en so thine eye, so beauteous, bright, 
 
 In one brief momentary stare. 
 Upon me beams entrancing light, 
 Then rolls about unfixed throua;h air. 
 
PLEASURES OF SOLITUDE. 
 
 But rather would I meet the ray 
 
 Of splendor from the sultry sun, 
 The hottest beam at middle day, 
 
 Than have our looks together run. 
 I cannot tell what bids me shun 
 
 What others fain would deem a prize. 
 But oft methinks that, were it won, 
 
 'Twere fatal pleasure to the eyes. 
 
 For love has hid an arrow there 
 
 Too fatal far for youth to meet, 
 And illy would the youngster fare 
 
 Who might endeavor that to greet. 
 There lives in love much happiness, 
 
 But yet than all the agony 
 The happiness is far the less ; 
 
 And such must every lover see. 
 
 PLEASURES OF SOLITUDE. 
 
 ^OME, Melancholy, throw thy shroud 
 
 Of darkness o'er thy votive child, 
 And whilst I linger 'neath thy cloud, 
 
 Direct my steps where Nature wild 
 Expels all others from that part ; 
 
 And binding, as a love, 
 My meditative, shrinking heart. 
 
 Transports me while I rove. 
 
 23 
 
2 4 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 I hate to mix with mortal-kind, 
 
 '1 he children of hypocrisy ; 
 But in the wilderness I find 
 
 An isolated world for me ; 
 For Nature's million mysteries, 
 
 And music, heaven-born, 
 From meadow-blades and forest-trees, 
 
 Are spells to one forlorn. 
 
 The mellow purling of the brook 
 
 Will gently my attention seize ; 
 Sweet health will glad my idle look, 
 
 While I enjoy each passing breeze. 
 The singing of the little bird 
 
 Will be my lullaby, 
 And when the pretty song is heard, 
 
 I '11 know Contentment nigh. 
 
 And all my ravishment will steal 
 
 No idle saying from my voice ; 
 For telling what the soul can feel 
 
 Is but an awkward use of noise. 
 O Solitude ! when thee I woo, 
 
 I do not love mankind ; 
 For always plotting and untrue, 
 
 This vicious world I find. 
 
MINNIE. 2 5 
 
 MINNIE. 
 
 "V/flNNIE, brightly beams the sun, 
 
 When the morning is begun, 
 Ere the sultry height is won ; 
 Yet, ne'er would its gorgeous light 
 Seem to shine so purely bright, 
 Wert thou not within my sight. 
 
 Darling little Minnie ! 
 
 Know I where the lilies grow, 
 Know I where the lilies blow, 
 Lovely lilies, white as snow, — 
 Yet, the whitest one I see 
 Speaks not so of purity 
 As the snowy cheek of thee. 
 
 Darling little Minnie ! 
 
 When the wing(§d songster sings, 
 When the sweetest music brings 
 Gladness o'er me with its wings. 
 When enrapturements appear. 
 Oft I feel that naught could cheer, 
 Wert thy smile not circling near, 
 Darling litde Minnie ! 
 
 When the gloomy night steals on, 
 And the rays of warmth are gone, 
 And the cheerful day is done. 
 
2 6 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Then thy prattling tongue I hear, 
 And I know thee smiling near, 
 And my bosom opes with cheer, 
 Darling little Minnie 
 
 ON HAND IN HAND. 
 
 /^N hand in hand with Hope and Joy, 
 A careless and presumptive boy, 
 
 I scampered to the tryst, 
 Where I would meet my life, my love, 
 And none but we and heaven above 
 
 Would hear our vows, we wist. 
 
 We met, and by the moon that beamed. 
 My love, my life, my Gertrude seemed 
 
 More fair than e'er before ; 
 O who of all this mortal race 
 Can tell the beauty of the face 
 
 Of her he doth adore ? 
 
 Far, far from laboring world away, 
 We fervent lovers bent astray 
 
 To Eden's bowery shade. 
 Not e'en a zephyr round us sung — 
 All nature seemed to still its tongue 
 
 To hear the vows we made. 
 
LULLABY. 
 
 I clasped the hand that held mine own, 
 And in our sweetest, clearest tone 
 
 Eternal vows were given ; 
 And Joy sat smiling at my side, 
 But Hope to other strugglers hied, 
 
 For I had won my heaven. 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 A/rAMMA watches o'er her love ; 
 
 Rest, my darling Minnie, rest ; 
 Mamma watches o'er her dove, 
 
 O'er the birdy in its nest. 
 Sleep, my darling, softly sleep, 
 While the moments softly creep. 
 
 Rest, my pretty angel, rest ; 
 
 Sleep, my little cherub, sleep ; 
 Let not wordly thoughts molest ; 
 
 O'er thee watch doth mother keep. 
 Cherubim will never cease 
 Granting Minnie balmy peace. 
 
 Now the birdy sings to thee. 
 Brings my little one repose ; 
 
 Halcyon thy rest will be. 
 
 While the zephyr to thee blows. 
 
 Little infant, kind and calm, 
 
 Mamma's watch protects from harm. 
 
 27 
 
2 8 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Now do thy transparent lids 
 
 Hide thy little ebon eyes ; 
 
 And an angel guardian bids 
 
 . Rest, while all excitement dies. 
 Minnie darling, pretty one, 
 Rest, while mamma watches on. 
 
 THE VOYAGE TO LOVE. 
 
 ^TEADILY slow, 
 Onward we go, 
 
 Skipping on, tripping on, 
 While the soft breezes blow 
 O'er the swift waters' flow ; 
 
 Slipping on, dipping on, 
 
 Onward we row. 
 
 How the cleft waters splash ! 
 
 How the cleft waters dash 
 
 Upward against the prow, 
 
 Upward against the bow, 
 Scattering and spattering upon the white track. 
 
 While the advancing beam 
 
 Plays on the prancing stream : 
 
 And the stars sunken glow 
 
 In the wide path of snow, 
 Dancing and prancing upon the sea's black ! 
 
TH^ VOYAGE TO LOVE. 29 
 
 How the rent eddies flap, 
 
 How the blent eddies slap, 
 
 In the dark rising tide, 
 
 'Gainst the light shallop's side, 
 Doubling the bubbling upon the lit crest ! 
 
 See the strong biliows slide 
 
 On with the rushing tide, 
 
 Rising to kiss the boat 
 
 As it goes on afloat, 
 Tripling the rippling upon the sea's breast. 
 
 In yonder height, 
 
 See yonder light 
 
 Beaming on, streaming on, 
 O'er the wide rolling sea ; 
 O'er the wide waves to me. 
 
 Gleaming on, beaming on 
 
 To my delight. 
 
 In her high chamber there 
 
 Lingers my lady fair. 
 
 Looking across the sea. 
 
 Looking across for me, 
 Rowing and going to my lady love. 
 
 Hark to her rising song ! 
 
 How it swells on along, 
 
 Bidding my heart rejoice 
 
 While I can catch her voice, 
 Swelling, excelling the angels above ! 
 
WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 Fast, faster ply the oar ; 
 
 We are so nigh the shore 
 
 That my heart longs to leap 
 
 Over the darksome deep 
 Distance, resistance to quell in a trice ; 
 
 Lock in a lover's arms 
 
 Maiden of many charms, — 
 
 Black eye and wavy hair, 
 
 Such as fair houris wear — 
 Steer on, and near on to my Paradise. 
 
 Ah, she has espied the wide trailing of foam. 
 And heard us as lightly to her we rowed ; 
 
 And here comes my Gertrude from out of her home 
 To welcome her lover to her abode ! 
 
 SMOKE. 
 
 T^HE old man at the casement sits, 
 And smokes the dusky pipe away 
 
 (There 's comfort in that bowl of clay), 
 And pleasantly the moment flits. 
 
 While round his face the vapors play. 
 
 Half-nodding he sits dreamily ; 
 
 There is a mist before his eyes. 
 
 The spirits of the past arise ; 
 His future fate he cannot see, 
 
 Within the heavy smoke it lies. 
 
ODE. REMORSE. 
 
 Fantastic curlings from the pipe 
 At every breath float into air ; 
 Not sorrowfully doth he stare 
 
 The sweet, sweet past of life less ripe ; 
 For comfort drowns sad memory's tear. 
 
 Age laughs from out that wrinkled face ; 
 
 Contentment has a holy smile, 
 
 Unsullied by deceit or guile ; 
 Sincerity in homely place 
 
 Hides from the false Temptation's wile. 
 
 Asleep from care, smoke on, old man ; 
 
 Let Peace and calm enjoyment yoke. 
 
 Long bless the day thy soul awoke 
 To know in life's fast-fleeting span 
 
 The treasures of a world of smoke. 
 
 ODE. REMORSE. 
 
 "C^ROM all the mortal mass aloof 
 
 Thou holdest thy repentant face, 
 Thou sad possessor of disgrace ! 
 
 Thy piercing sight can view the proof 
 
 Of former unforgotten sin 
 
 (The while that other eyes are dim), 
 And forms of shadowy demons grim 
 
 Can haunt thy memory all within. 
 
3 2 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 The thought of what has been before 
 Makes barren every source of mirth, 
 And makes thee seem upon this earth . 
 
 Like some proud vessel cast ashore, 
 
 Its pride, its beauty all decayed, 
 Its pennant but a tattered strip — 
 The very spirit of a ship 
 
 Upon a coast all worthless laid. 
 
 Why think that man's suspicious eye 
 Can pry the secrets of the past, 
 And from that ocean deep and vast 
 
 Upraise the ghost of frailty ? 
 
 Why think that whisperers will hear 
 And magnify the tale of sin ? 
 Why think man hates thee all within, 
 
 Though friendly to the eye appear? 
 
 Go ! study suits thy saddened mind. 
 Go ! woo the balms of solitude. 
 Or on remembered sorrow brood. 
 
 With memory lingering behind ; 
 
 Dark, frowning misanthrope Remorse ! 
 Thou wert a gay reveler once ; 
 But thought has dried the joyous fonts. 
 
 And mem'ry to thee is a curse. 
 
THE MEMENTO. 33 
 
 THE MEMENTO. 
 
 T O ! even here, upon this gnarly trunk, 
 
 But idle lads, we this memorial sunk, 
 Cut these rude symbols with unskilful mark. 
 Our carved initials on this maple bark. 
 And though the sluggish hand of ruthless time 
 Bids creeping vines the massy bulk to climb, 
 And though the growth seeks also to efface, 
 I still can catch the jackknife's playful trace. 
 Now, how blest memory mirrors to my gaze 
 The best companion of my boyhood's days ! 
 Again I see his agile feet, unshod, 
 That skipped so lightly o'er the velvet sod ; 
 His light, luxuriant, silky waves of hair, 
 His sunburnt face with many a dimple there. 
 And oft, O Albert ! friend forever dear, 
 I think of thee, yet not without a tear ; 
 And pensively to times, my thoughts resort, 
 When frisking lads we joyed in every sport. 
 How many a time we fled o'er peak and plain 
 In careless glee, nor minded sun or rain ! 
 How oft we glided in the gamesome chase, 
 And won the simple laurels of the race ! 
 Canst thou remember how that many a day 
 We frolicked lightly in the tossing spray, 
 And blessed the waves in all their mighty roar, 
 
34 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 That bore us swimming outward from the shore ; 
 
 How flew the ball before our manly stroke ; 
 
 How oftentimes the groups in quarrel broke ; 
 
 And how our league, in hot, unequal fight, 
 
 Most feebly met the bullies' brawny might, 
 
 But, nerved by base oppression to the thrust. 
 
 We won our aim, as ever patience must? 
 
 How mates at school we babbled out our lore, 
 
 And joined each other when the toils were o'er, 
 
 And kings in mischief, chiefs in every sport, 
 
 Held long upon the playground our resort ? 
 
 O, once had I a merry, merry shout, 
 
 And laughed the loudest in each boyish rout. 
 
 But friends who made my childhood dear have fled, 
 
 And left me to cold-hearted men instead. 
 
 Then with thoughtfulness the difference I see 
 
 'Twixt what life is and what 't was wont to be. 
 
 And memory's sad sights of times that were 
 
 A silent sadness in my spirit stir ; 
 
 And, lest among mankind I should intrude, 
 
 I move away to gloomy solitude. 
 
 Still as I go through years, the more I find 
 
 The more I get disgusted with mankind : 
 
 But youth is innocence, and innocence sincere. 
 
 And seems the fairer as draws manhood near. 
 
 So when we move, compelled, through manhood's ways, 
 
 We turn aback to more unsullied days. 
 
 And as we urge our retrogressive glance. 
 
THE MEMENTO. ; 
 
 Each scene repasses in our mental trance, — 
 The turfy field, pavilion green of fun, 
 Where oft we gamboled when our tasks were done ; 
 The rocky height that we were wont to climb 
 When nothing sterner pressed upon our time ; 
 The woods through which we fled amid the game, 
 With native speed that distance could not tame ; 
 The brambly mead that oft we wandered o'er, 
 Young plunderers of the sweet bird's precious store. 
 
 Come, heaven-born simplicity ! and fill 
 A simple breast, and virtuousness instil ; 
 Thy child was I when first I pent my soul 
 In study at the school house on the knoll ; 
 'Twas thou who bade me as a friend to greet 
 The frisky lads that therein I would meet ; 
 'T was thou who taught me first to persevere 
 In all the lengthy, worldly struggle there. 
 Upon that schoolhouse steps, and on the walls. 
 On bench and desk, and all my mind recalls. 
 The boys had etched their names in manner rude ; 
 And 'mongst the rest my epitaph has stood. 
 Such was the custom 'mong our -youthful pack ; 
 We left our names within the jackknife's track. 
 Our fame was with it ; for Tradition's tongue 
 Retold our praises to a future throng : 
 How one fought nobly in the fellest fight ; 
 Another strong ; another studious, bright ; 
 
3 6 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 How one could wrestle, and another swim ; 
 How one was fleet, another tough in limb. 
 These were our pleasures, and all free of sin, 
 For not that monster vexed our breast within. 
 
 But look ahead ! the thorny way of life 
 Will draw me on amid a mass of strife. 
 And as I wander to a world so vast, 
 I pause to take a thought upon the past ; 
 Then go my dubious path, as on his way 
 A pilgrim presses at the close of day. 
 
 STANZAS ON LEAVING SCHOOL. 
 
 PAREWELL, ye days of wild delight ! 
 
 Ye halcyon days of joy ! 
 Sweet season that has taken flight, 
 x'Vnd left me not a boy. 
 
 O, how I basked in happiness ! 
 
 Nor thought in time to be 
 That life would happy be the less 
 
 Than then it was to me. 
 
 Too late to know the worth supreme 
 
 Of days unshocked by care ; 
 They come again in memory's dream 
 
 And steal the muser's tear. 
 
TO ANNIE. 3 
 
 O, that I were the careless child 
 
 That sports on yonder turf ! 
 Or once again a boy, and wild, 
 
 Go tumbling in the surf ! 
 
 But why lament my coming fate, 
 
 Retrace the memory of friends, 
 Who long ere now have passed the gate 
 
 Where youth's fair realm with manhood's blends. 
 
 They do not rest beneath this roof, 
 
 Nor frolic in the playground green, 
 And where is there a single proof 
 
 That e'er they gamboled on the scene. 
 
 Yet whilst I linger to depart, 
 
 I feel the hot out-pressing tear ; 
 And sadness overwhelms my heart 
 
 As visions of my fate appear. 
 
 TO ANNIE. 
 
 A ND must we part? I hate to move 
 
 Away from one I dearly love ; 
 And rove where'er I may, I find 
 That thou art present to my mind, 
 And I for ever do behold 
 The object that could charm of old. 
 
38 WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 O maiden ! wander where I will, 
 Thy girlish smile is with me still ; 
 Thy ringlets droop upon thy dress, 
 With all their wonted loveliness. 
 Ah, maiden ! yet I love to wait ; 
 To say adieu, I hesitate. 
 
 joyful day when I did raise 
 
 From thy sweet tongue a voice of praise ! 
 And ever will thine accents be 
 Enshrined within my memory, 
 And I will, whilst I live, possess 
 That relic of thy gentleness. 
 
 1 know it true, the unbidden tear 
 That drops in secret flows sincere, 
 And doubly gifted if it be 
 
 A sacrifice, sweet love, to thee ; 
 And dearer still if it doth start, 
 Outpressed by feelings from the heart. 
 
 I love thee ; yes, I love, but yet 
 
 My face I ask thee to forget ; 
 
 For I, my beauteous queen, have found. 
 
 That thoughts of happy days will wound ; 
 
 And sure the easy smile, and kiss. 
 
 And glance, relate a tale of bliss. 
 
39 
 
 A MEDITATION. 
 
 Amid the coming hours of stir, 
 
 I '11 dream of happy days that were, 
 
 And, gentle girl, my reverie 
 
 Will urge my drifting thoughts to thee, 
 
 My loving girl, to good to lure — 
 
 My cherished maiden, good and pure ! 
 
 A MEDITATION. 
 
 T SAT encircled by the thick, thick wood, 
 And far above me swung the forest-trees, 
 That chorused loud in every passing breeze ; 
 Behind me high a rugged range there stood, 
 And at its foot were mighty fragments thrown 
 (As mighty empires crouch to mightier still), 
 Adown its side there ran a little rill. 
 And from its barren breast the trees had grown, 
 That proudly looked and tossed above the rest, 
 That proudly looked upon the marsh below, 
 Where in full mass the wilderness did grow, 
 And saw a giant oak, that, bent its crest. 
 Lay splintered into needles at my side. 
 I sat and mused, and as I gazed around. 
 And heard loud Nature's, but no human, sound, 
 Thus in my brain my kindling fancies cried : 
 " I am the only wanderer in the wood. 
 
40 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Perhap that here a hundred years ago 
 
 The Indian chased his sustenance to and fro ; 
 
 Perhap e'en here a savage sachem stood. 
 
 Now only boys do imitate the race 
 
 x^nd build rude huts on gleeful holidays, 
 
 While man looks down with scorn upon their plays ; 
 
 The conqueror laughs upon the victim's place." 
 
 TO L 
 
 * * * * 
 
 T3ELIEVE me, when the ruby hue. 
 So bright within a cheek so soft, 
 Meets my enraptured orbs of view, 
 
 I raise my very soul aloft, 
 And calling fancy to my aid, 
 
 I see thy form so falsely nice. 
 That I think of thee, sweetest maid, 
 
 As some sweet rose of Paradise. 
 
 But when 1 see thee capering gay, 
 
 And strongly fill thy snowy throat, 
 To cast the heavy hour away, 
 
 And sweetly give the welcome note, 
 So rapt am I, my maiden fair, 
 
 Through flattering Fancy's dim device, 
 I peer again, and see thee there 
 
 As some fair bird of Paradise. 
 
HYMN. 41 
 
 But when I feel the witchery 
 
 That centres in the bkie profound 
 Of thine irradiating eye, 
 
 And throws its magic spells around, 
 There doth a shadowy mist ascend, 
 
 And cloud my rapture-stricken eye, 
 And soon I think that I have kenned 
 
 A houri come from Paradise. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 TTOLY Mary ! when the morn 
 Wakens in the Eastern sky, 
 And I waken with the dawn, 
 
 Turn my thoughts to things on high \ 
 Let my day in prayer begin, 
 
 In devout humility ; 
 Keep my soul from blighting sin ; 
 
 Let me think of Heaven and Thee. 
 
 Sweet Maria ! when the sun 
 
 Shines its hottest noonday spear, 
 Let my mute attention run 
 
 Far above this earthly sphere ; 
 While the holy angelus 
 
 Rises with my thoughts to thee, 
 Then, Sweet Mother, generous. 
 
 Give a gracious thought to me. 
 
4 2 WILD -FL O IVERS. 
 
 When the star of evening reigns 
 
 In its throne, surrounded, high, 
 Then, Maria, hear the strains 
 
 As our vesper hymns reply 
 To thy goodness and thine aid ; 
 
 Hear my swelling tongue implore 
 Bright forgiveness, half afraid 
 
 Of the darkness hanging o'er. 
 
 A SIMILE. 
 
 JUST ere the day began to die, 
 ^ I saw a spotless cloud of white, 
 A drift of snow upon the sky, 
 
 While all about the dome was bright 
 So o'er our ways, in youthful days, 
 
 As suddenly comes Beauty on, 
 To draw an admirative gaze, 
 
 Enrapturing him who looks upon. 
 
 But soon the brilliant, sunny light 
 
 Was spreading o'er the cloudy fold. 
 And then it grew so gorgeous, bright, 
 
 That looked it a bright mass of gold 
 And so, as we prolong our glance, 
 
 Young Beauty brighter, fairer grows, 
 Until the vision doth entrance — 
 
 'Tis more than human we suppose. 
 
A SIMILE. 
 
 The colors in the cloudlet grew 
 
 More varied, shone more dubiously, 
 And as I gazed I hardly knew 
 
 The tint so fair that I did see : — 
 On Beauty's cheek so comes the smile, 
 
 A maiden's magic charm, the look ; 
 We say 't is love, and in a while 
 
 Our first decision is forsook. 
 
 I still gazed on the feathery drift, 
 
 x'\nd soon I knew ; I ceased to think. 
 No longer did the color shift, 
 
 It stayed, a lovely, lovely pink : — 
 So when there sounds the balmy kiss, 
 
 When vows are told, and ties are wove, 
 And when we feel the height of bliss, 
 
 We say we know 't is surely love. 
 
 A moment more, the pink was lost ; 
 
 As first it was it grew as white, 
 And so remained, until it crossed 
 
 The darkening rim in easy flight : — 
 Doth ever so affection wane, 
 
 And from young Beauty's breast depart ; 
 It doth a season's flame attain, 
 
 Then dies within the fickle heart. 
 
 43 
 
44 WILD -FL O WENS. 
 
 TO A DANDELION. 
 
 TJTALF hid amidst the clustered grass, 
 
 I see thee sparkle as I pass, 
 Thy little hands extended wide ; 
 Beneath thy breast the fairies hide — 
 To them thou art a bossy shield 
 Up planted on the emerald field, 
 And many and many an idle time 
 Upon thy milky stem they climb. 
 
 Bright wheel of splendor ! when the rays 
 
 Of heaven's hot eternal blaze 
 
 Are spent, and when the moonbeams throw 
 
 A silvery dimness o'er thy glow. 
 
 Fairies meet on thy pavilion, 
 
 Giddy through the brisk cotilhon, 
 
 Till the rays of dawning light 
 
 Put the pigmy mass to flight. 
 
 But soon the spoiler is afield. 
 And plucks the brilliant, golden shield. 
 O, bright circumference of gold ! 
 Ere yet thou art a fortnight old, 
 The lad thy dwelling-place has found 
 And torn thee from the sheltering ground. 
 And snapping off the golden gem 
 Exhales rude music from the stem. 
 
MOTHER. 
 
 Or playful comes the little girl, 
 And trims it to a pendant curl ; 
 Or beauteous maiden, in her teens, 
 Is on the sward uprooting greens, 
 And oft the circle bright receives 
 The blade intended for the leaves ; 
 No vestige then of thee is left, 
 Of gem and stem and leaves bereft. 
 
 Bright wheel ! thine is the very fate 
 That doth for eager man await : 
 A season short we have of breath. 
 But that is ended at our death. 
 But wafted to a purer clime 
 We joy through everlasting time ; 
 Yes, both ; for Heaven were not fair. 
 Did not sweet flowers blossom there. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 T~\EAREST, gentlest, kindest one. 
 
 Friend, tho' not one more were true, 
 Loving ever, ever on. 
 
 Steadily as mothers do, • 
 What can I begin to give 
 
 To repay the care I cost ? — 
 But the heart, wherein doth live 
 
 Love that never can be lost. 
 
 45 
 
46 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 'T is a love that never dies, 
 
 Burning steadily for thee ; 
 Never doth a morning rise, 
 
 But thy weal is prayed by me. 
 Mother ! How I love thy name ! 
 
 How its music touches me ! 
 May I love thee still the same ! 
 
 Ever I be loved by thee ! 
 
 Dubious is the lot of man. 
 
 But whatever be my fate, 
 (Bring the future what it can, 
 
 Whether woe or weal await), 
 Mother, I will ever pray. 
 
 Be my journey sweet or hard, 
 Heaven guide us on the way, 
 
 Heaven guide us and reward. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 "VTOW the gorgeous globe of light 
 
 O'er the western rim is sinking, 
 And the little bird of night 
 
 Finds me of my lost Love thinking, 
 Thinking how we parting clung, 
 How the last adieu was sung. 
 
TO C. A. C. 
 
 Bitter was that last adieu — 
 
 Half our feelings were unspoken : 
 
 With affection rent in two, 
 
 Witl^ our youthful bosoms broken, 
 
 How could tongues have life to break 
 
 Words nor look nor sigh could speak ? 
 
 E'en that last, most cruel hour 
 Dearest is of memory's treasure, 
 
 When ambition lost its power, 
 And the soul saw last its pleasure. 
 
 When the soul began to know, 
 
 Joy had built the throne of woe. 
 
 Here this hour I love to stay, 
 
 Lingering in revlsitation ; 
 For this hour of parting day 
 
 Brings to me a sweet relation, 
 Tells of one who truly proved 
 That a boy who loved was loved. 
 
 TO C. A. C. 
 
 T LOOK on thee, as one whom guilt 
 And sin pass by; all spotless, free 
 From clouds temptation might have built : 
 A model of sincerity. 
 
 47 
 
48 WILD -FLO IVERS. 
 
 I love sincerity, and so 
 
 I have an innate love for thee ; 
 
 If one male being e'er can know 
 A love for being such as he. 
 
 But love is as a fleeting flower, 
 And soon falls lifeless in its nest ; 
 
 But friendship will outlive love's hour, 
 And live when love is long at rest. 
 
 And, Charles, my honest old friend true, 
 I know thou 'It sometimes think of me, 
 
 And may those thoughts assume the hue 
 That is in those that drift to thee. 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 
 r~\ COME, Love, come across the fields, 
 
 ' And pluck the sweets that nature yields, 
 O, come, while yet the dewy drop 
 Upon each little leaf doth stop ; 
 And let us now enjoy the hour, 
 And penetrate each fragrant bower, 
 And ruthlessly seize every flower. 
 
 And see, the little pansy swings 
 Its lovely folds, like little wings, 
 
A PASTORAL. 
 
 A little banner doth it seem 
 Here rustling in the rising beam. 
 Oh ! do these children suffer pain 
 When they in myriads are slain 
 By lovers wantoning and vain ! 
 
 The peony's big bloomy crown 
 Is hanging on its gaunt stem down, 
 And presently it will repose 
 Upon thy breast beside the rose. 
 The trees outstretch their tufty hands, 
 Like blossomy, long, stirring wands, 
 And wave sweet incense o'er the lands. 
 
 The currant-clusters hang like beads, 
 And as we snatch the fruit it bleeds 
 Upon where live the lettuce beds, 
 Like crowded youths with curly heads. 
 Kick o'er those little worlds, that fuzz 
 Away before the wild-bee's buzz, 
 That flies through idle tasks it does. 
 
 The clover-leaves are in a group, 
 And, like young children in a troop, 
 Hold up their heads and clap their hands 
 As if it were at Joy's commands. 
 Walk on, my Love, and do not fear. 
 The earliest daisy blossoms here 
 With fragrant, snowy joncjuils near. 
 
 49 
 
50 WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 The trumpets of the cokimbine 
 
 Swing Hght in manner feminine ; 
 
 The fuchsia beauteously rears 
 
 Its httle bunch of tender spears : 
 
 A quiver full of clustered darts 
 
 As soft as those that Cupid's arts 
 
 Send piercing through young lovers' hearts. 
 
 See on the flowery lilac-bush 
 
 The robin with its breast of plush ; 
 
 Mark what a steadfast gaze it gives 
 
 To where the golden crocus lives. 
 
 Come on, and pluck it as we pass ; 
 
 It lies amid the velvet grass 
 
 Like, girt with youth, a lovely lass. 
 
 And see the pretty sky-blue jay 
 Dance up and down on yonder spray ; 
 He has a blithesome moment now, 
 And so have we, my Love, I trow ; 
 And likewise Nature none the less 
 In all her verdant, brilliant dress 
 Exhibits signs of happiness. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 T^ITHEN Pleasure's fitful fleeting moments cease, 
 And cares break not upon the empty hour, 
 
 There is within the brain a mental power 
 Which interrupts the little reign of peace ; 
 And, as this rapt emotion doth increase, 
 
 A mass of thoughts chaotic do devour 
 
 The time, and o'er the spirits shower 
 Such moods that naught but thoughtfulness can please. 
 Upraiser of sad sorrow o'er the ruin 
 Of pleasures past and actions that are dead, 
 Ah, such art ever thou, sad Memory ! 
 For happy moments do depart too soon. 
 And when the muser back to thee is led. 
 Then art thou victor, O Mnemosyne ! 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 
 
 'T^HE pulse is light of the enkerchiefed string, 
 
 And sadly comes its rolling on the ear ; 
 But hark ! for slowly-moving men are near. 
 
5 2 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 And in stout arms a lifeless burden bring : 
 The warrior's spirit has betaken wing, 
 
 And comrades bear the fallen soldier's bier — 
 Mark on their cheeks how drip the drops sincere, 
 And how around no idle words they fling. 
 They lay him low to his eternal sleep ; 
 The parting volley booms above his form 
 (A solace now what terror else should be). 
 Unmuffled now, the drum no more doth weep ; 
 It spirits on the sad ones to the storm. 
 And makes dejected pity light and free. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 A H, yes ! There is a terror in the thought 
 
 That we must meet the end of all we know, 
 That life shall from its mortal dwelling go — 
 Downcast by deeds we fain would have unwrought - 
 To nothingness, from which at first 'twas brought, 
 Like boatman forced at darkest night to throw 
 His feeble bark on mighty seas and row 
 Until he drifts to resting-place unsought. 
 But will the Maker draw our spirits home — 
 The noblest work of an Almighty Hand ? 
 Will we be glad in everlasting bliss? 
 Ah, yes ! our Godlike spirits can roam 
 Through nothingness ; in a celestial land 
 We '11 be repaid for all the toils of this. 
 
THE MINSTREL BOTS. 53 
 
 THE YOUTH. 
 
 A ISHLE from manhood's region paused the lad, 
 '^ And gazed aback upon his young career ; 
 
 He marked the way grown varied year by year, 
 And saw the sweets and trials which he had, 
 Then soon arose his thinking, reason-clad : 
 " I mark the way and see new forms appear, 
 
 Yet, as I tread, within my breast I fear 
 The more I go from youth doth Life seem bad." 
 He looked on to the future ; cloudiness 
 Was there hung thick, and made his vision vain — 
 And yet a star behind the shroud he caught. 
 And as he gazed it grew in distance less : 
 He saw not death ; for in his dreamy brain 
 Were visions of a moment, fancy-wrought. 
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 HTHEY came along from fair Italia's clime, 
 Two dusky lads, with harp and violin. 
 And stopped before the little village inn, 
 
 The young beguilers of the rustics' time. 
 
 Who frisked about in rudest pantomime : 
 And soon did youthful Poverty begin 
 To take the mite he could from Pity win ; 
 
 And in the hat all willing threw a dime. 
 
 Oh ! then thought I, in all that sunny land 
 
54 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Have they not e'en a mother's heart to love ; 
 Or father to uphold them and to cheer ; 
 Or sister to enclasp them in her hand, 
 And tell them seek a brighter realm above, 
 And warn them of the toils and perils here ! 
 
 AMERICA. 
 
 A NATION has its workings, where ago 
 
 Though forests roamed the native savage wild • 
 The wilderness gave shelter to her child, 
 A boon not Nature hesitates to show ; 
 But man with greater instruments of woe 
 
 Came stealing on ; and Progress was it styled. 
 When by one race another's home was spoiled, 
 And greater weapons overcame the bow. 
 A race exulting o'er a race's fall 
 Has built a nation o'er a nation's grave — 
 And thus turns Progress to her brightest leaf. 
 Then was this land relinquished unto all, 
 When tomahawks were laid beside the brave. 
 When bow and spear were buried with the chief. 
 
 PITY. 
 
 A 
 
 MID the dead the wounded soldier lay, 
 When Pity at his side betook her place — 
 She saw the tear upon the bleeding face, 
 
BELIEF AND UNBELIEF. 55 
 
 And with a kerchief brushed the drop away. 
 " I dream of home," she heard the sufferer say, 
 "And of my mother, gentlest of her race." 
 Then Pity said : " A mother full of grace 
 Is guiding thee ; look unto her and pray." 
 She placed her palm upon his heated head, 
 And soothing was the balmy touch she gave, 
 And holy light seemed streaming- from her eye. 
 A prayer to Heaven for happiness was said — 
 A thought of death — a look beyond the grave — 
 And then the soldier shut his eyes, to die. 
 
 BELIEF AND UNBELIEF. 
 
 TN childish days to me 'twas often told, 
 
 This world God's little finger could create. 
 As this are many other spheres as great ; 
 
 Of endless wisdom 't is a moment's mould. 
 
 Now puny minds of men have grown so bold 
 That they would make the future desolate. 
 And think God's mightiness to estimate. 
 
 Disturbing truths a thousand ages old. 
 
 There are those things too much for man to know, 
 
 Things unbegun, yet ever without end. 
 
 And God himself, the grandest mystery ; 
 
 But man would o'er his crimes a vesture throw, 
 
 And unbelief to guilt doth dimness lend 
 
 With subtle minions of hypocrisy. 
 
5 6 WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 TO IRELAND. 
 
 /^REEN Erin ! Nature's fair and lovely land 
 Why do thy sons desert thy turfy soil, 
 
 And go like slaves to foreigners to toil ? 
 'Tis not at thine, ah ! is it Fate's, demand? 
 Killarney has not power to command 
 
 Their residence, where crystal currents coil ; 
 
 Nor where the waters meet in wild turmoil 
 In Sweet Avoca's valley rest thy band. 
 The State is crushed beneath a t}Tant hoof, 
 And warlike fleets pass on along the shore ; 
 The mastiff-minion eyes the peasant's home, 
 The traitor ventures 'neath the humble roof. 
 And, stealing for his tale the precious store 
 Of patriot thoughts, relates 'tin castle dome. 
 
 O Land of eloquence and poesy, 
 
 Of Goldsmith, Moore, of Grattan, Fox, and Burke, 
 
 Why do such ills within thy bosom work. 
 Where still should all thine ancient glory be ! 
 Where still should thrive thine ancient liberty ! 
 
 Is there no nobler weapon than the dirk ? 
 
 Great Brian ! why do thus thy children shirk 
 From danger, death, and shame thy memory? 
 Young Emmet's noble spirit now has fled, 
 
TO IRELAND. 57 
 
 For Erin comes no Hoche now to fight, 
 O'Connell is no more to speak her cause ; 
 And Tyranny, fell lion, is not dead ; 
 For Heroism hath long betaken flight. 
 And weak souls unto foreign monarchs pause. 
 
THE POWER OF LOVE. 
 
 T^HE April day has gone to its death, 
 
 And the evening steals on with a wintry breath, 
 The ragged half-moon is afloat on the stream, 
 And the river itself has a chilly, cold gleam. 
 The grass stoop anear, for each little spear 
 Is fairer and greener than it doth appear ; 
 And it takes a warm day, sunny, smiling, to bring 
 Us the tidings so fair that we're drifting through Spring. 
 
 II. 
 Llewellyn was afield before the dawn, 
 And loitering stood beside the garden gate ; 
 He echoed to himself the first good-morn, 
 With which the bird sang greeting to her mate. 
 And lazily he thereabout did wait. 
 When home the laborer came to snatch his meal ; 
 And now as darkness forms, like goblins great^ 
 And ventures out, he is an idler still ; 
 But he is not at rest, appear he what he will. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Turns he straightway to his cottage home. 
 Walks right in, but presently comes out, 
 As might a bee around his castle roam. 
 
THE POWER OF LOVE. 59 
 
 A giddy thing, not knowing what 't is 'bout. 
 Ah, Disappointment ! why put Peace to rout ? 
 Why lay Hope and Joy so very low? 
 Thou art but a hateful one, no doubt, 
 To be so cruel with thy bitter bow, 
 To peaceful realms invade, and happiness o'erthrow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 There was a rustle of a lady's dress, 
 And soon behind the young Llewellyn stood 
 A woman of celestial loveliness, 
 Admiring, as a loving mother should. 
 Her noble son, as true as her own heart ; 
 But when she saw his meditative mood, 
 She sought its source, and conjuring her art. 
 She said, " How fair the eve " — at which her son did 
 start. 
 
 v. 
 The tide of time has brought a little news, 
 And thrown his mind upon one barren thought ; 
 And, notwithstanding all that he may use 
 Of counterfeited feelings, he is caught ; 
 And says his mother, " Darling, is there aught 
 Of sadness that doth trespass near thy heart? 
 Ah ! 't is a hovering memory, that is fraught 
 With some done dream, and ere it doth depart 
 It leaves a little sore, a still unpleasant smart." 
 
60 . WILD -FLOWERS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 *'' 'T is no such thing. I am not sad at all ; 
 But was divining how, another moon, 
 And we would see the vine ascend the wall ; 
 And then how May would pass so very soon, 
 And we would have the sunny days of June. 
 Beneath the velvet cheek of yonder hill 
 I fancy flowers ; and then how Summer's noon 
 Will blight and blast and scorch them, and will kill. 
 
 If they die not in days when plowmen tear and till. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " The violet is stirring in the womb, 
 The pansy sleeps beneath the sod we tread, 
 The peony is bursting from the tomb. 
 The buttercup is buried, but not dead ; 
 We cannot see the lily's chalice-head, 
 But know it lies within the earthy deep ; 
 The coy anemone is yet abed. 
 Until a zephyr whistles it from sleep, 
 
 Till dandelions gayly from the meadow peep, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Soon the wild-bee will to the garden rush, 
 And from that heaven steal its sustenance ; 
 The castle-blossoms of the lilac-bush 
 Will then have half their sweetness gone, perchance, 
 
THE PO WER OF L OVE. 6 1 
 
 Will then have lost the haughty robin's glance ; 
 For he will elsewhere perch, and long relate 
 Unto his patient, mute, attentive mate, 
 Some carolled tale, some balladed romance, 
 When morning rises up, and when the hours grow late." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Llewellyn, I do nothing but rejoice 
 At what thou say'st ; but surely thou hast lost 
 The very strength and spirit of thy voice. 
 Ah ! surely there is something that hath crossed 
 Thy dreamy plans — say. Disappointment's frost 
 Chills ere it kills the very fretful hope. 
 Come, tell me, — for I love thee, — 't will but cost 
 A moment ; and when secrets blindly grope. 
 
 They lock and sully breasts that Conscience seeks to ope. 
 
 X. 
 
 He would not tell her, and within went she. 
 But hardly had her footsteps ceased to beat. 
 When to his ear came more, and well knew he. 
 Before he saw, the lightly lighting feet 
 Of Marion, the maid he loves to meet. 
 She is the star that lights the dubious sky, 
 And as the rainbow after storm is sweet, 
 And as it tells of fairer seasons nigh. 
 So now doth she, and seems Hope, Struggle, Victory. 
 
6 2 W/L D -FL O WERS. 
 
 For he is on the verge of twenty-four, 
 The froHcs of his college-days are done, 
 The study of the dreary lawbooks o'er, 
 And practice in the village just begun ; 
 Prosperity's first sunshine he has won, 
 And brighter skies seem in the future near — 
 For public men have wrote from Washington 
 That they will push him on in his career ; 
 And he will thrive and be a star unto his sphere. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And he and Marion are true in love. 
 
 And on her finger dwells the binding ring ; 
 " She '11 be his bride, as sure as Heaven 's above," 
 
 And other whispers fall from Gossip's wing, 
 
 As she flies off with every happening. 
 
 But why rushed back his venturing hopes pell-mell? 
 
 What message did the latest post-boy bring? 
 
 What makes Llewellyn act like one unwell ? 
 Dear me ! I cannot say ; I '11 let my story tell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 When Marion bade good-evening unto him, 
 
 His answer was in voice unnatural. 
 
 As if its very poetry grew dim. 
 
 And now she read how tecih, sharp, sure, and small, 
 
THE POV/ER OF LOVE. 63 
 
 Were stealing from his cheeks the beauty aU. 
 She said : " My own, what is it has begot 
 This change ? " " What change ? " " Don't be equivo- 
 cal ; 
 For if thou only know'st it, I will not, 
 Until the matter 's told, stir from this very spot." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Well, Marion, I have full many a day 
 
 In hope, nay, even in presumption, spent. 
 
 Imagining the time not far away 
 
 When I would be repaid for service lent 
 
 In putting in our party's President. 
 
 Was promised unto me a lofty place 
 
 Worth more than many a year's accomplishment \ 
 
 A mile the one, the other but a pace. 
 No wonder that I show a disappointed face. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " For when the Chief had all but wrote his hand. 
 Came Thomas Clark, whom I have know from youth, 
 And sneeringly he said : ' It is well planned. 
 Do not appoint him, for, to tell the truth, 
 His talents would not weigh an ounce ; forsooth, 
 I know him. Sir, he has a horrid dower 
 Of sloth and dulness, everything uncouth. 
 And, sir, the times demand a man of power. 
 And wc must cull the best, the purest of the shower.' 
 
64 WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " The varlet's lying lips were listened to, 
 His jealousy and meanness did their work ; 
 And I was told to wait a year or two, 
 And never from stern Duty's plowshare shirk ; 
 To read the lives of Webster and of Burke, 
 And imitate, endeavoring to excel : 
 Thus insult in ingratitude did lurk. 
 But it was Clark who wrote it, I can tell, 
 
 In school he did no better, if as well. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " He was the boy that robbed the robin's nest 
 And always cheated in a jackknife trade — 
 No good at fighting, ready to molest, 
 Yet shirking from the doom his mischief made. 
 And yet, when grown to manhood, it is said, 
 He squeezed to place official, grand, and high 
 With inborn ease and politicians' aid. 
 And yet my honest neighbor wonders why 
 
 Clark should be clerk about the nation's treasury. 
 
 " Then, Marion, to trudge and trudge and try, 
 Without a single gleaming of success, — 
 Ah ! this it is that makes Ambition die. 
 When Disappointment drinks its eagerness ; 
 
THE POWER OF LOVE. 65 
 
 Ambition loathes a life of weariness. 
 So, lady-love, if I begin anew, 
 Thy pity '11 calm my dull unhappiness, 
 And thou shalt say what phantom I '11 pursue, 
 Or what dim way I '11 go and what I am to do." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 O, what a wealth is a true woman's love ! 
 To man there 's naught so full of happiness 
 Beneath the sky, and little more above. 
 O Heaven on earth ! to have a comfortress 
 Whose nature is all love and tenderness, 
 Who comes when we are worsted in the strife, 
 To pity, heal, direct us in distress, 
 And hide the furrow of the spoiler's knife ; 
 The while, like Spring, she breathes and gives replen- 
 ished life. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And such is she ; and grand emotions now 
 Rush out and rescue from deep, dark despair ; 
 As valiant tars cling to a wrecking prow, 
 And seem not labor and not life to spare. 
 Her every word takes off a ton of care 
 From sad Llewellyn's heart. She is a star 
 That shines and beams light, grandeur, unaware, 
 When Darkness rolls upon her dewy car. 
 Descends, dissolves, and conquers Day without a jar. 
 
66 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Her words came low, her manner from above, 
 Her attitude was grand, serenely so, 
 And thus she said, in sympathy and love, 
 " Ah, my Llewellyn ! with Ambition low 
 Is action lifeless. By a jealous blow 
 A wanton scvthe plucks hope, and leaves no root ; 
 But there are brighter tasks that thou canst do ; 
 Thou hast a youthful and an agile foot. 
 Both wit and wisdom too, and where must all be put ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " To me thy pack of manuscripts was shown 
 The day I learned how fled thine idle hours ; 
 I praised the height to which thy pen had flown. 
 And I was almost spell-bound with thy powers. 
 Now genius is the best of Nature's dowers ; 
 Better than beauty, and sure it thou hast. 
 Nay — laugh not ; for the fairest of all flowers 
 Knows nothing of the cup of beauty vast 
 
 That in its lovely cheek and lovely lips is cast. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Now, what if what was written through a whim 
 Were published now, I 'm sure 't would raise thee high 
 Success would swell its tide above the brim 
 Of dubious, empty Hope." " Nay ; 't will not fly. 
 
THE POV/ER OF LOVE. 67 
 
 That airy sky-lark seems to droop and die, 
 
 For it has fallen lifeless on a wreck, 
 
 And drops the wish it cannot satisfy." 
 " But thou hast tied a millstone to its neck, 
 Which we '11 unbind, and it will answer to our beck." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 At length he knew her praise not flattery, 
 And that her words were more than Fancy's tongue. 
 And spoken were in deep sincerity ; 
 So while entreating him still Marion clung, 
 Aside all doubts young bold Obedience flung, 
 And gave his word that he would shirk no speed 
 In publishing his work. And so, among 
 His actions, came the task he had agreed 
 To do with all his might, and which he did, indeed. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Love won its own, and ruled Love wisely now ; 
 For hardly were his writings from the press, 
 When Fame began its wreath about his brow ; 
 And well his purse fared on this smart success ; 
 He wrote and wrote, but cared for law the less, 
 And when his third effusion was but hot 
 From printers' hands, he closed in willingness 
 His office doors ; like one, as I have thought. 
 Who came and saw a clime and left, but conquered not. 
 
68 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Just as his genius showered its brilliant glow 
 And struck all people with astonishment, 
 Just ere to glory's palace he did go, 
 His life with lovely Marion's was blent 
 By marriage. Loving always, diligent, 
 And kind, they made a home of bliss ; 
 And in or storm or calm she ever lent 
 Care, love, and joy ; and nothing went amiss. 
 Though flattery sweetly spoke, and gave its horrid kiss. 
 
 Three children bright, with lovely locks and eyes. 
 Were Heaven's blessing, sent to glad the two : — 
 And pure as morning, when the sunbeams rise 
 To gild bright Eden's grand pavilion blue, 
 Their home is still. God send them sorrows few ! 
 But in the meantime of my story's tide. 
 At Washington, the captain of the crew, 
 The President, was changed, and to abide 
 Within the White House came an honest man of pride. 
 
 And Hke a stately steed, that paws the ground 
 On which he paces, stirring every stump, 
 This President began to look around. 
 Where offices were gathered in a clump ; 
 
THE POWER OF LOVE. 69 
 
 And clerks began to tremble, fear, and jump, 
 As he began to turn the teUing leaves. 
 Erelong he saw the books an obscure lump, 
 And muttered thus : " If not my eye deceives. 
 This government doth clothe and feed a swarm of 
 thieves." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And so it was ; and all this dressy pack 
 Had families, with gems and silks begirt ; 
 And while the honest plowman bent his back, 
 Or laborer made the hot veins ooze and spurt 
 With energy, these rascals would pervert 
 The precious coin that honest people lent 
 To build the State, by which they might assert 
 Their stations, and their part of government. 
 This was the unknown world, where half the taxes went. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And high among the clan was Thomas Clark, 
 Who made his life a wicked, wretched tale ; 
 Whose footprint was a stealthy serpent's mark. 
 And wandered from a mansion to a jail, 
 Where all his plotting went to no avail ; 
 But see Llewellyn on the other hand : 
 His name floats on and up in Glory's gale. 
 An honor and a jewel to his land, 
 While books are wrote and read, as long as letters stand. 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The balmy summer's day was done, 
 And moonlit eve had stolen on, 
 When I passed up the roadway's bend 
 With Lionel, my little friend ; 
 And hearing distant music sweet, 
 We paused our fast-advancing feet, 
 And listened to the tune, that stole. 
 Enrapturing each silent soul. 
 Young Lionel uprose his head, 
 • And in his boyish voice he said : 
 " It sounds quite sweet thus far away, 
 And at this moolit hour of day. 
 'T is Jamie, and he plays upon 
 His silver-tipped accordion." 
 I answered meet, for as he spoke, 
 I from the passing rapture broke, 
 And then, perhaps for leisure joy, 
 Went, prattling with the bright-eyed boy 
 The half of me in age and size. 
 With blue, forever-laughing eyes, 
 And tresses light of graceful growth. 
 We loved each other kindly both, 
 
CONRADINE. 7 ^ 
 
 For he, so childish, often sent 
 
 O'er me a flood of merriment, 
 
 And I could glad him, too ; I taught 
 
 Him things his young ambition sought. 
 
 At length we saw a pretty cot. 
 
 Built on an elevated spot. 
 
 By foliage hidden half from sight ; 
 
 And dimmer in the misty light ; 
 
 While there beneath the ebon shade 
 
 The family assemblage made. 
 
 We climbed the steps, the gate we passed, 
 
 And up the pathway hastened fast, 
 
 To where upon the verdant lawn 
 
 The party pleasantly was drawn, 
 
 And Jamie still was playing on, 
 
 With skill, his sweet accordion ; 
 
 But seeing us, he flung it by, 
 
 Caught up his crutches speedily, 
 
 Sprang to us, caught my hand, said, " Come 
 
 And find yourself, my friends, at home. 
 
 How are you, Lionel, my boy? 
 
 I 'd pitch you up against the sky, 
 
 If I could fling these twin sticks by." 
 
 The father and the mother shook 
 
 My hands with warmth, and fairly took 
 
 In arms the bashful Lionel, 
 
 And kisses on his red cheeks fell. 
 
7 2 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 We seated down, and changing then 
 
 From theme to theme, from health to men, 
 
 Thence on to deeds of sword and pen, 
 
 Discussing, laughing, joking, till 
 
 Our lips were anxious to be still ; 
 
 So I bade Jamie then to play 
 
 A tune to while the hour away. 
 
 But he replied : " You might as well 
 
 Ask laughing little Lionel." 
 
 Next Lionel pressed for the boon, 
 
 The father and the mother soon, 
 
 Till Jamie recommenced the tune 
 
 Our coming broke, and air on air 
 
 He gave within the moonlight there, 
 
 Rehearsed the old familiar store, 
 
 Played many a tune from Burns and Moore, 
 
 And sang, till sudden breaking off, 
 
 He said : " I guess you 've heard enough." 
 
 We praised him, thanked him, and again 
 
 Talked long of pencil and of pen, 
 
 Joked pleasantly, retold in truth 
 
 The many incidents of youth, 
 
 Before Aiifliction's cruel clutch 
 
 Stole Jamie's strength and left his crutch. 
 
 As if one thought to others led. 
 The father unto me then said : 
 " But now think well, and see if not 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 Some pleasant pastime is forgot, 
 In which yourself have played the chief. 
 Ay, look again upon that leaf 
 And find the records I now touch, 
 That make your name applauded much. 
 Can you not boast of honor won 
 For fictions at the moment spun ? 
 Yes ; even here oft Jamie told 
 The stories that you made of old." 
 
 "You might as well," burst Jamie in, 
 
 "Say that a fish-horn can begin 
 To imitate a bugle note, 
 As his words come from my rough throat ! 
 Why he, unheeding, many a time. 
 Has told his promised tale in rhyme. 
 I tell his tales ! Why, I suppose 
 A rosebush you would call a rose ! " 
 
 We hid the stirring smile ; once more 
 
 The father said : " Search well your store ; 
 
 Call once again remembrance back ; 
 
 Imagine us your youthful pack, 
 
 And tell your task. Take hero, clime, 
 
 And anything to feed the rhyme ; 
 
 Name regions likewise, all to liv'e 
 
 But in the story you will give. 
 
 You still say no ; pray, Jamie, how 
 
 Is it we set no fiction now? " 
 
 11 
 
7 4 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 " I know the why," quick Jamie burst, 
 " We ahvays had to coax him first." 
 The mother was the next to ask, 
 And so I undertook the task. 
 But meanwhile she still further sought 
 That for the subject might be brought s 
 In Love and War. " In which same theme," 
 The father said, " All 's fair, we deem, 
 Save treachery, and," — pausing there, 
 The son broke in, " And what 's unfair. 
 Now one calls for the tale in rhyme ; 
 Another names the theme ; 't is time 
 The third should speak. He deems it well 
 The lines should be like Lionel." 
 " How, full of life? " " No, short and sweet. 
 But come ; be not so slow ; repeat 
 The story you have promised us." 
 So urged, I soon obeyed them thus. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 I. 
 
 A vernal, soft, ambrosial breeze 
 
 That gently stirs the budding trees, 
 
 One fragrant, sweet, enticing breath 
 
 That fans the anemones from death, 
 
 FHes o'er this blooming place. 'T is Spring ; 
 
 And clearly sweet the woodnotes ring. 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 That in the thicket rise and sink ; 
 Which, living on the river brink, 
 Throws far its chilly shade aside 
 Upon the river's murmuring tide. 
 From midway up the cloudless sky 
 The genial, sunny arrows fly, 
 And gentle energy they yield, 
 And fling a brilliance o'er the field ; 
 Not such as in o'ercoming rays 
 Is shed from summer's torrid blaze, 
 But mild and soothing to the sight. 
 Makes glad the heart from burden light ; 
 For every leaf and every flower 
 Has caught the splendor of the hour 
 And toss about a scented shower, 
 That, rising as the blossoms stir, 
 Goes mingling with the gossamer. 
 
 II. 
 Far, dimly o'er the woods arise 
 Yon lofty turrets to the skies ; 
 The warm beams gild each slender spire 
 Into a blaze of dancing fire, 
 And hurling round their magic light. 
 Illume the castle's proudest height. 
 Where in his grand ancestral dome 
 The Baron has his gorgeous home, — 
 Sir Nicholas who wisely reigns 
 O'er rich and widely stretched domains. 
 
 75 
 
^(y WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 The mighty Baron's Gothic home 
 
 Has many a turret, many a dome, 
 
 And, though it seems a rugged pile, 
 
 It is the strongest in the isle ; 
 
 And to it many deeds belong. 
 
 Both said in story, sung in song. 
 
 'T has stood for years full twenty-score, 
 
 Yet never gushed upon its floor 
 
 The ebbing life-blood of a foe ; 
 
 And never the besieger's blow 
 
 With patient, lingering thrust was sent 
 
 Against its lofty battlement : 
 
 Nor Nature wished the isle to know 
 
 The conquering onset of a foe ; 
 
 For all the isle is girt with rocks 
 
 That well withstand e'en Nature's shocks. 
 
 And as for man, what foe can boast 
 
 Of anchoring on that rocky coast ? 
 
 Vain stranger he, who would essay 
 
 About the island's edge to stay ; 
 
 Upon that rugged coast his ship 
 
 Would be as powerless as a chip ; 
 
 Outflung a toy upon the surge, 
 
 His hulk the waves would soon submerge, 
 
 And winds would hymn his endless dirge. 
 
 No other than a native prore 
 
 Can rest upon that rocky shore ; 
 
 The secret task of harboring near 
 
CONRADINE. 77 
 
 Can fill no islander with fear, 
 
 For years of toil have taught him how 
 
 And where to sink his pausing prow. 
 
 When first the gathering tale of war 
 Comes with the sea-breeze from afar, 
 And calls the warrior to life. 
 The seamen ready for the strife. 
 And readier still their homes to save, 
 Sink down their nets beneath the wave, 
 That, far below the water's marge, 
 Will trap the venturing foeman's barge, 
 And pierce its too-endeavoring side. 
 Ere it can essay to elide. 
 
 III. 
 Long years ago a fell disease 
 Sprang from the billows of the seas, 
 And pestilence in shortest while 
 Waved deadly over all the isle, 
 Nor high nor low could stay the scourge. 
 But crouched below the blighting surge. 
 The plague disturbed a happy time : — 
 Sir Nicholas was in his prime, 
 And hot from arms victorious came 
 Upborne by vigor and by fame ; 
 Appeared the mighty Baron then 
 The happiest of happy men. 
 
7 8 WIL D -FL O WERS. 
 
 Long feasting crowned the blithesome day, 
 And many a game, and many a play, 
 And music ringmg from each dome, 
 Proclaimed the warrior welcome home. 
 
 The blossom at our feet to-day, 
 To-morrow morning dies away ; 
 As fleeting was that hour of mirth : — 
 Two princely sons of princely worth, 
 Who oft stood at the Baron's side, 
 Their father's image and his pride ; 
 The one up grown to twenty-one, 
 The other's nineteenth year begun ; 
 They took the pestilential breath, 
 And sank, the victim boys of death. 
 Another spirit, de'arer still, 
 Departed at just Heaven's will, 
 For soon the dread affliction slew 
 The lady-mother of the two : 
 A flower, the fullest in its bloom, 
 The fairest sharer of the doom, — 
 But ere she died, brief while before, 
 A daughter babe that mother bore, 
 One boon unto the Baron left 
 Of consort and of sons bereft. 
 
 Succeeded long a reign of gloom, 
 When they had vanished to the tomb ; 
 
CONRADINE. 79 
 
 There poured not from the castle door 
 The joyousness that pealed before, 
 And on the massy walls of stone 
 The climbing vines had overgrown, 
 And gave a heightened, solemn grace 
 Of mournfulness about the place ; 
 A sign of sympathy was worn 
 By Nature that would else adorn. 
 The noble, great, and goodly chief 
 Grew gray, so full his cup of grief; 
 
 In nought could e'er he find rehef ; 
 
 'T was dreadful loneliness that clung 
 
 To him, and o'er his spirits hung ; 
 
 And from that day unto this hour 
 
 Has ne'er in tent, in hall, or bower, 
 
 Loud niirth released the darksome frown 
 
 From his stern face of sunborn brown ; 
 
 And never from his rended heart 
 
 The sad remembrance will depart. 
 
 Of that ill-fortuned, distant day, 
 
 That consort took and sons away. 
 ' Although he knows their sins forgiven, 
 
 Although he knows them glad in Heaven, 
 
 Full many a time within a day 
 
 For them he doth to Heaven pray ; 
 
 And when he hears each castle bell, 
 
 A rosary he stops to tell. — 
 
 How wearisome his moments pass ! 
 
8o WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Look up to Heaven and say x-\las ! 
 For good and great Sir Nicholas. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Among a mass of mountain piles, 
 Above the castle many miles, 
 A turbid river owns its source ; 
 And as its wild and tumbling course 
 Through bushy brake and vernal vale. 
 And woody wilds and marshy dale, 
 In all its winding path doth go, 
 It tends right. hitherward its flow; 
 And from its brim the summits rise, 
 That fade within the Western skies ; 
 And likewise as the mountain trends, 
 So, skyward, yonder slope extends. 
 It is, enrobed in verdant dress, 
 A scene of vernal loveliness ; 
 As if, indeed, a nymph of Spring 
 Did hither her sweet children bring. 
 As if she found a dwelling-place 
 For all her young and blooming race. 
 
 v. 
 But lo ! see yonder youngster creep 
 With steady step adown the steep, 
 Who, hurrying by the riverside 
 Doth up the hill so verdant glide ; 
 
CONRADINE. 8 1 
 
 But now he falters ere the top, 
 And doth in mild recumbence drop, 
 And rests his head upon his arm, 
 As yet the sun is not too warm. 
 He lies alone upon the hill. 
 And listens to the woodnotes shrill. 
 And dreams that never did he meet 
 With sleep or pleasure half as sweet 
 As these few moments, when he steals 
 From nothingness the joy he feels. 
 
 'T is Conradine, who, proud of lore, 
 
 Accumulates his knowledge more, 
 
 By dwelling with his brain and eye 
 
 Upon the objects he may spy. 
 
 Few flowers grow up in any bowers. 
 
 That he knows not their name and powers ; 
 
 And worlds, that in the blue air swim, 
 
 Unlock their mysteries to him ; 
 
 And penetrates he every star. 
 
 That shines from out the dome afar. 
 
 And who is he, commanding more 
 Of the great sea of bookish lore ? 
 Possessionless he is of peers 
 Among the many of his years, 
 And he can meet the bearded sage, 
 As great in wisdom as in age. 
 
8 2 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 VI. 
 Lo ! careless caperers on the ground, 
 Just in the wood beyond the bound, 
 Is yon congenial, girlish troop, 
 A pleasant yet a plotting group ; 
 It is the train of Evaleen, 
 That wanders in the woodland green, 
 That in the castle park doth stray 
 To pluck the flowers of to-day. 
 In truth, the leader feminine, 
 Is none but she, fair Evaleen \ 
 And chosen maids are round her seen. 
 For now her father's dearest'pride, 
 He places comfort at her side ; 
 In faith, he loves his daughter so, 
 That anything he will bestow, 
 Be gotten it from shore'or seas, 
 That will his darling daughter please ; 
 And has not more solicitude 
 The robin o'er her helpless brood. 
 Than be for his sweet daughter gives ; 
 In truth, 't is for his child he lives. 
 They glide apast the bosky glade, 
 Apast the bright tree's chilly shade, 
 And now with careful tread they pass 
 Adown the tufty slope of grass ; 
 Adown, adown, they steal, unseen 
 By unsuspicious Conradine. 
 
CONRADINE. 83 
 
 Ah, thoughtless youth ! 'tis sweet to dream 
 While life is halcyon in its stream, 
 To let the restless fancy stray 
 Along its airy, boundless way. 
 And gild each flower with brilliant glow. 
 And over truth a vesture throw ; 
 Whilst in our dreaaiiness there rise 
 Imagined towers to the skies. 
 Dream on, sincerely, Conradine, — 
 Life's sterner days are yet unseen ; 
 Dream, knowing not Care's blighting touch. 
 Or haggard Disappointment's clutch. 
 
 The ruddy current in its course, 
 
 Fast pelting on with steady force. 
 
 Enlivens with its healthy streak 
 
 The youth's full-blown and pulpy cheek ; 
 
 His eyes are held in emptv stare 
 
 Upon the azure dej^th of air, — 
 
 And yet from out their azure deep 
 
 I see a thousand passions leap. 
 
 But now that thoughtful attitude 
 
 Has vanished with his gloomy mood ; 
 
 Exultant feelings spread their trace 
 
 In sweet expression on his face ; 
 
 Some rapture has a dimple wrought 
 
 Where just before the deepened thought 
 
 A sternness o'er the spot had brought ; 
 
84 WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 And as the dimples climb along, 
 His gladness outbursts into song ; 
 One inspiration swells his throat, 
 And full and clear, in boyish note, 
 To while the leisure hour away 
 He scatters idly forth the lay ; 
 Not easier carols yonder thrush. 
 That dances on the hawthorn bush. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " Like a vicious hag, bearing a sweet and good child, 
 Has the Spring been begotten of Winter so wild, 
 
 And nourished with showers 
 
 And brightened with flowers, 
 It gladdens man's eye, wherever it gaze ; 
 
 For river and fell, 
 
 And valley and dell, 
 
 Have some little spell, 
 
 To charm and delight 
 
 Voluptuous man's sight, 
 While mellowed is all by a vernal sun's rays. 
 
 " When the summits no longer were covered with snow, 
 And a fresh tint of verdure peeped up from below, 
 
 And valleys grew green, 
 
 And beauty was seen 
 To rise from her covert, and bloom in all parts ; 
 
 Then went I to rove 
 
 In garden and grove, 
 
CONRADINE. 85 
 
 And ever to love 
 Each roseate nook, 
 Where Nature fair took 
 A love for itself, from our wandering hearts." 
 
 Half-listening, advancing half, 
 
 The girls move on, nor dare to laugh ; 
 
 No unapt sound their prank betrays, • 
 
 No accident their movements stays. 
 
 Can not the dreaming youngster hear 
 
 The loud hearts fluttering so near "t 
 
 No ; as the maidens steal along, 
 
 The youth bursts louder in his song. 
 
 " So to life is our j^outh as the Spring to the year, 
 A season unknown to the bondage of care : 
 
 A season of mirth, 
 
 The fairest of earth : 
 A season of joyousness, luxury, love. 
 
 O, what would Age give 
 
 Once more to revive 
 
 Sweet Youth, and relive 
 
 That season of mirth, 
 
 * 
 
 And knowing its worth 
 
 Imagine it sweet as existence above ! " 
 
 Another anxious moment still 
 Ere they can win their earnest will ; 
 'T is but a lengthy, cautious pace. 
 Ah ! thev are masters of the race. 
 
86 WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 A twinkling, and the lieadmost girl 
 Throws o'er his eyes two palms of pearl, 
 And sooner than by me 't is said. 
 They cast a garland qn his head, 
 And, laughing in unstinted glee, 
 Adown the grassy slope they flee. 
 • None, none of all the girlish train. 
 Save one brave maiden, doth remain ; 
 'Tis she, the high-born Evaleen, 
 Who chains the captive Conradine, 
 And holds in tenderest control 
 The little windows of his soul. 
 But he, with instant impulse rough, 
 Breaks from the soft, encircling buff, 
 And kens the trick with mental view. 
 And deeming punishment is due, 
 Doth seize the maid in ruthless grasp ; 
 His arms around the maiden clasp ; 
 And bent on momentary bliss 
 The pilferer, giving, steals a kiss. 
 But quickly, as he doth release. 
 To her companions back she flees. 
 Who, all regardless of the blush 
 That spreads along its crimson rush 
 Upon the face of Evaleen, 
 Joy at the fate of Conradine, 
 And pour in wild, obstreperous shout 
 Their jubilant emotions out. 
 
CONRADINE. 87 
 
 And, as they go their homeward track, 
 Fling many a furtive glance aback 
 To where the loiterer lingers still 
 Upon the velvet-breasted hill. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But why their simple thoughts still dwell 
 Upon him there, ah ! who can tell ? 
 And why, as they pursue their walk, 
 Bear they him in their idle talk? 
 If 't is his brilliant orbs of view 
 Some inner beauty outward threw, 
 Yet is the color of the sky 
 Much fairer far than is his eye ; 
 Cerulean both are, yet 't is true, 
 The sky is of the purest blue ; 
 Albeit his cheek 's of rosy hue. 
 The rose is lovelier to view. 
 
 And what at that same moment made 
 Such agitation seize the lad ? 
 'T was not his will to feel so gay, 
 With sprightly spring to bound away. 
 A mass of pleasant day-dreams sways 
 His mind and sets it all ablaze. 
 That not alone within his brain. 
 But o'er his spirits spread its reign ; 
 As if the awakened soul espied 
 The very thing for which it sighed, 
 
88 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 And now enlivened, wild, and free, 
 Exulted in its victory. 
 
 But who is it, that charmed him so. 
 That lovely face he did not know ? 
 'T was only left for him to guess 
 (As she had worn a peasant's dress), 
 That she was some fair peasant- maid 
 Who had across his pathway strayed. 
 And now their ways so sweetly crossed 
 Were each unto the other lost. 
 
 vni. 
 On sailed the Spring through Time's calm tide, 
 And in the Summer's warmth it died ; 
 The torrid season waned away 
 To Autumn's cheerless, chilly day ; 
 A dreary Winter came with frost 
 And death for every clime it crossed : 
 The leaf fell lifeless from the twig. 
 Each branch diminished to a sprig ; 
 Each trunk a skeleton appeared, 
 High in the frigid air upreared. 
 And as it met the keen, cold wind, 
 Like one it seemed, who, living, sinned, 
 And, dead, repentant, sad, and dreary, 
 Bespoke his own sad miserere. 
 
 And nowhere stayed an only trace 
 Of all the beauteous, blooming race ; 
 
CONRADINE. 89 
 
 For long before it had been slain 
 By some harsh blast from Winter's train. 
 Though sere by Summer's burning beam, 
 And numbed 'neath i\.utumn's fitful gleam, 
 A tinge of green was lingering still 
 In vernal beauty on the hill ; 
 And ruthless Winter, wroth to find 
 That lovely vestige left behind 
 Of lovelier seasons gone before, 
 From Nature's breast the fresh tint tore ; 
 Each blade received the fatal blow, 
 And sank to dust beneath the snow : 
 As some brave youth, with vigorous life. 
 Presents himself amid the strife, 
 'Mongst shattered lines that, fallen hope, 
 'Gainst mighty foeman weakly cope, 
 And but endeavors to contend. 
 As some hot message tells his end ; 
 But dying, as he fought, a man. 
 Dies last and bravest of his clan. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And oftentimes through glen and glade 
 The steps of Conradine have strayed. 
 And mountain, mead, and village street 
 Knew well the beating of his feet. 
 Full many a maiden in the isle. 
 He knew, but none who wore the smile 
 
go WILD -FL O WER S. 
 
 And lovely eyes, that he had seen 
 
 To beam from lovely Evaleen ; 
 
 And yet, within his ruffled mind, 
 
 A fancy told him he would find 
 
 The maid for whom his bosom pined. 
 
 So rapturous was that only glance, 
 
 It made his recollection dance ; 
 
 Her being haunted him for aye ; 
 
 And 'gain to feel that ecstacy, 
 
 Which shot o'er him its rapid thrill, 
 
 When he had met her on the hill, 
 
 He 'd venture aught — nay, risk his breath. 
 
 Nor tremble afterward for Death. 
 
 But dreamt he not in sumptuous tower 
 
 Did she beguile full many an hour, 
 
 Nor that she sat in sumptuous ease. 
 
 Begirt by aught and all that please ; 
 
 That slaves bent low at her command, 
 
 Obeyed each motion of her hand, — 
 
 Not such imagined Conradine : 
 
 A peasant maiden he had seen ; 
 
 Her simple garb did not possess 
 
 The brilliance of a noble's dress ; 
 
 And ne'er dreamt he a peasant's guise 
 
 Could satisfy a noble's eyes. 
 
 And Evaleen for once had bowed, 
 
 From her high station, lofty, proud ; 
 
 For once a beins; she had caught 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 Who stole her sweetest, dearest thought, 
 On whose rare face high genius sate, 
 And virtue, placed to captivate 
 A youth, who held in mild control 
 The recollections in her soul. 
 Rich princes, fair in limb and face, 
 Left far away their dwelling-place, 
 And at nobility's behests 
 Became the mighty Baron's guests ; 
 But none of all them, gifted, fair 
 As one who never ventured there ; 
 Of all the gallant princes seen, 
 None could so charm like Conradine. 
 Yes, it was he. the scienced lad 
 That made her hopeful bosom glad. 
 She saw him not ; yet Nature's law 
 Made dearer whom but once she saw ; 
 For it was love ; yes, love, that bound 
 Her heart and mind to thoughts profound. 
 
 X. 
 
 One day within his father's hall, 
 Where pictured were his fathers all 
 Upon the high and gorgeous wall, 
 Sir Nicholas in silence sate, 
 And deeply seemed to ruminate, 
 Till, rising, his stilled tongue awoke 
 And, " Evaleen," in loudness spoke ; 
 
 91 
 
9 2 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 He scarcely reached again his seat, 
 When, lo ! his eyes in gladness meet 
 His Evaleen, his daughter, pride ; 
 She 's gliding to her father's side. 
 She, seeing him still mute, she near. 
 Said, gently, " Father, I am here. 
 Why is it that I see thee sad ? 
 I would I saw thee gay and glad. 
 
 Father ! tell what cares enchain 
 Thy wise and good and watchful brain ; 
 But tell me, and I '11 mass my might 
 To put thy dismal foe to flight. 
 
 1 oft have soothed thy troubled breast 
 By singing passion's wave to rest ; 
 And e'en now may that power belong 
 Unto a simple maiden's song." 
 
 He said, " I recognize thy power, 
 But 't is for singing not the hour. 
 It fits thine age, it seems to me. 
 To break my settled mind to thee. 
 Oft wish I, and I often pray, 
 That Sorrow's tear may seldom stray 
 Across thy cheek, nor Joy resign 
 Its flowery throne to Sorrow's line. 
 That wish, I pray my child to keep. 
 Albeit all other memories sleep. 
 I 've lived a long and varied while 
 The honest chieftain of this isle. 
 
CONRADINE. 93 
 
 I 've gloried in the fullest health, 
 Yet all my place of treasured wealth. 
 E'en did it thousand-fold increase 
 I 'd give it all to purchase peace. 
 
 " We cannot Fate's decision tell ; 
 Hope, only, pictures all as well. 
 Yet for the youthful feet we lay 
 A flowery and a lengthy way ; 
 And think the child may long live on, 
 While parents will be dead and gone. 
 So, ever, daughter, bear in mind 
 That to thee I was just and kind ; 
 And every action done for thee 
 Was from sincerest love from me ; 
 So let that truth forever rest, 
 
 My Evaleen, within thy breast. 
 
 I tell thee this, for three days more 
 
 And thou must pass the castle door, 
 
 And dwell within a cloistral dome, 
 
 To leave thy father and his home. 
 
 And though we, upward from thy birth. 
 
 Have taught thee heavenly truths on earth. 
 
 Yet those, to Heaven bound votively, 
 
 Will tell more holy things to thee. 
 
 Nay, lose not now a precious tear ; 
 
 'T is but a short and single year. 
 
 And 'gain thy footsteps will be here." 
 
94 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 So said the wise Sir Nicholas, 
 x\lthough the child, in eagerness, 
 With frequent interruptions broke 
 The train of what the baron spoke ; 
 And as he ceased, she, at his side 
 And looking in his face, replied : 
 " O Father ! when my days are done, 
 May Eden's bowers be not won, 
 If, traitor to thy daughter's heart. 
 My love for thee will e'er depart. 
 Yes, Father " — " Yes, my jewel, yes ; 
 Thy mingling feelings I can guess. 
 But let not sad emotions stay, — 
 Come ! smite thy harp and raise the lay." 
 She took the proffered instrument. 
 And spirit to its strings she lent. 
 " It is the evening hour," she spoke, 
 " And meet it now seems to invoke 
 The Holy Mother of us all ; 
 Now on her Holy Name I call : 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " Virgin spotless, Heaven's Queen, 
 Harken to us supplicating ! 
 
 Gracious gifts from thee we 've seen. 
 Other graces still awaiting. 
 
 Guard us, watch us, we beseech ; 
 
 Shield us, father, daughter, each. 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 Happy throbs the maiden's pulse, 
 
 When she soothes a father's spirit ; 
 Happily her breast exults, 
 
 When a father's love is near it. 
 Mother, these are boons from thee ; 
 Never let these gifts then flee ! 
 " Keep us in sweet unison, 
 
 Keep us bound in sweet affection, 
 Let our two hearts beat as one, 
 
 Underneath thy sweet protection. 
 Then, Sweet Mother, ever yield 
 Unto us a trusty shield. 
 Be our guardian evermore, 
 
 In woe, weal, or pain or pleasure ; 
 Unto us sweet virtues shower 
 
 With unstinted, boundless measure ; 
 Ever Guardian at our side, 
 Help, Sweet Mother, help, and guide." 
 Then sounded Duty from his place. 
 And with a long, sincere embrace, 
 The father left the guileless child. 
 Who in her resignation smiled. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Night fell upon the day ; day went, 
 And time came, and night's reign was spent, 
 And when light in her chamber broke, 
 From sleep fair Evaleen awoke. 
 
 95 
 
96 WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 A matin prayer ran from her breast 
 At true Devotion's mild behest ; 
 And as she rose from downy rest, 
 A thought, like lightning, to her sped, 
 With sweet remembrance to her head ; 
 And thus ideas 'gan to rave : 
 "A year has vanished to the grave 
 Of cold eternity, since he 
 Lit on my pathway suddenly, 
 Sung a sweet song and flew away ; 
 Yes, 't is a year this very day. 
 'Tis Spring again, and I will haste 
 O'er spots my fancy calls a waste, 
 Though there the brightest flowers are blown ; 
 And Beauty holds the place her own. 
 And I will don the peasant's guise. 
 For it is beauteous to my eyes ; 
 Neglected has it lain away, 
 Since just a year aback to-day ; 
 Ana now 10 wear it as before 
 Will but endear it all the more." 
 
 When robed, her father did she meet. 
 And, with embrace, good-morning greet, 
 Then passed to take her morning fare, 
 Ere she would taste the scented air. 
 She hurried outward to the road, 
 She hurried from her rich abode, 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 And o'er the thymy fields and leas 
 She walked, exultant in her ease. 
 Most pleasant is that solitude 
 On which no sadness doth intrude ; 
 Such time as can the heart employ 
 Alone in unpolluted joy : 
 Such happiness it was that lent 
 To Evaleen high ravishment. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A little grassy line there lay, 
 Which led the maiden's easy way, 
 That level lengthened out at first, 
 But soon to elevation burst ; 
 And as she strayed across, her eye 
 From side to side ran carelessly ; 
 For thereabout grew many a gem ; 
 And where the dandelion's stem 
 Held high its golden burden up, 
 Beside the yellow buttercup, 
 She stooped to tear it from its nest 
 And place it sparkling on her breast. 
 But lo ! as she rose fi-om the green, 
 Advancing toward her was seen, 
 A stone-shot ft-om her — Conradine. 
 
 Surprised, but joyous in surprise, 
 While such an object held her eyes, 
 
 97 
 
98 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 Rubescence gathered in her face, 
 And ran her thoughts in wildest chase. 
 His steps came nearer ; msiant met 
 Two azure eyes and two of jet ; 
 And as he was to pass the maid, 
 He doffed his peasant cap, and said : 
 " Fair one, methinks this tongue not strange 
 That speaks to thee, so wont to range. 
 Hence, maiden ; not bevond yon grove 
 Should you alone attempt to rove ! 
 For there within the Baron's park, 
 Which stretches southward long and dark, 
 A band of lawless, ruthless men 
 Have seized the woodland as their den. 
 O, go ! in other portions stray, 
 But strive not to pursue this way ! 
 I said no stranger do you see 
 In me, who would ward harm from thee. 
 'T was once, a year ago, we met ; 
 That meeting I can ne'er forget. 
 And, maiden, may I question thee 
 If thou dost recollect e'en me?" 
 " In sooth I do ; " she answering said, 
 " For my remembrance is not dead : 
 Thou 'rt he whose carol we did hear, 
 Thou thinking not a heart beat near. 
 We stay. My thanks what words can say 
 For warning me of yonder way? 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 What words can tell ? " " Think not of them. 
 
 I know thou lov'st a flowery gem, 
 
 So take this blue forget-me-not ; 
 
 I tore it from a bloomy spot. 
 
 O, take it ; and when thou wilt see, 
 
 Then I, within thy memory 
 
 Will be reflected back to thee ! " 
 " I know not why," she made response, 
 " That though I saw thy face but once, 
 
 Yet I — the rest I fear you guess ; 
 
 And, truth ! 't is idle to confess. 
 
 Farewell ! we yet may meet again ; 
 
 But, Youth, I tremble to think when. 
 
 An orphan, now for aid I call 
 
 To Heaven, and seek the convent hall." 
 
 A moment, and his feelings broke 
 From all restraint, as thus he spoke : 
 *■' Then, ere thou must away, O, take 
 The words with which my tongue doth break. 
 I love thee ; yes, about my heart 
 I feel the glad pulsations start 
 Whene'er I catch a thought of thee, 
 Sweet, shining star of memory. 
 T know not thee ; yet still 1 deem 
 That my first fancy was no dream ; 
 For oft a glance can read the whole. 
 E'en penetrate the deepest soul ; 
 
 99 
 
I OO WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 And thou, fair one, hast made me feel, 
 
 I 've loved, I love, and ever will ! " 
 
 Again she spoke : " I love thee, too ; 
 
 Such words are weak in others' view ; 
 
 But thou, who feel'st what passions live 
 
 Within my bosom here, can give 
 
 Thy heart to me, — and now, to prove 
 
 That what my bosom feels is love, 
 
 I give thee this. May'st keep it true ! 
 
 And now, unknown, loved Youth, adieu ! " 
 
 A twine beta'en of tresses fair 
 
 She dropped among his fingers there, 
 
 And straightway turned, and way was ta'en 
 
 Across the grassy lea again. 
 
 So quick, the youth delayed to tell 
 
 His slowly muttered, sad farewell. 
 
 When hearts are fullest, tongues forsake 
 
 Their duties, and when oft to break 
 
 Their messages of high import, 
 
 They into idleness resort, 
 
 And muter grow, when darksome gloom 
 
 Hangs o'er hot passion like a doom, 
 
 And seems to lead it to its tomb. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 She flew ; but in the hearts so cleft 
 There was a firm affection left, 
 That, born upon a happy day, 
 Not parting pangs could pluck away. 
 
CONRAD I NE. lOI 
 
 She went, a maiden true, devout. 
 Who left a pleasant world without, 
 And ceased the song and said the prayer, 
 The votary sincerest there. 
 Long season after season went, 
 Nor any hour so sternly spent 
 Appeared the maiden to regret, 
 But past enjoyment to forget. 
 
 But time fled on, and now no more 
 Was she to tread the convent floor, 
 But to meet her bearded sire. 
 And don a noble girl's attire. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 One day when she had been brief while 
 
 At home upon her father's isle. 
 
 Sir Nicholas, in guiding word. 
 
 Said, " Evaleen, I should be heard 
 
 In my intention, as thy year 
 
 Of womanhood is drawing near. 
 
 Oft thou hast heard me speak in love 
 
 Of one, whose regions lie above 
 
 The northern summits ; him I mean, 
 
 Count Michael, Lord of Palmyrene. 
 
 He is my truest friend in life, 
 
 Save thee, and her, my sainted wife ; 
 
 We met at school, and, leagued in strife, 
 
I02 WILD-FLOWERS. 
 
 Our joined battalions to the King 
 Did mighty acquisition bring. 
 And since his marriage he has won 
 A gallant, noble, duteous son ; 
 And often each, our child, we said. 
 Should be unto the other's wed : 
 Hence know thyself a happy one, 
 If thou win'st Robert, Michael's son." 
 
 Amazed, she said : " E'en though his hand 
 
 Be raised the stoutest in the land, 
 
 K'en though his breast most gallant heave, 
 
 Him as a mate I 'd ne'er receive, 
 
 Did my best judgment deem him what 
 
 My heart in love entreasured not." 
 
 " What ! " cried the Baron, " so to hokl 
 Contempt, unladylike and bold, 
 For customs aged as thy race ! 
 For him who gave thy being place ! " 
 
 "Ay, if I must." "Then see thy sire 
 For once by thee is wrought to ire. 
 I leave to quell my passion's fire." 
 His words were calm, yet did she know 
 That seldom was he spoken so ; 
 
C ONRADINE. 1 03 
 
 She know him loth to e'er be heard 
 To speak to her in chiding word ; 
 Unhappy he who flameth, wroth 
 At what his bosom's treasure doth. 
 Yet were the act to be anew, 
 As done before she 'gain would do ; 
 For to her breast did naught belong, 
 That spoke to her of action wrong. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Time went, and, lowly clad, she stole 
 To find the idol of her soul ; 
 They met ; and frequent were their trysts. 
 (Before Love's eyes are ever mists, 
 And he but sees the golden ray 
 That serves to illume the glad to-day.) 
 Time went, but — each to each unknown — 
 Each oped to each the heart alone ; 
 For when she asked his station, he 
 Thus reasoned in philosophy : 
 " When I have sought thy name and lot. 
 Thou answered to my queries not. 
 And till those things are told me first, 
 My secret neither will I burst." 
 And feared she her disguise to undo 
 Would cleave united hearts in two ; 
 Yet felt she consciousness within, 
 That secresy is all but sin. 
 
1 04 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 At length, while they were wont to stray 
 
 Along some fair, sequestered way, 
 
 A horseman, known to Evaleen, 
 
 Clad grand and sumptuously, was seen, 
 
 With traitorous, penetrating eye, 
 
 To pass the strolling lovers by ; 
 
 And Evaleen bethought those eyes 
 
 Reached what was 'neath her simple guise. 
 
 No erring guess ; for as she crept 
 
 On through the castle gate, there stepped 
 
 With fitting bow, a faithful groom. 
 
 Who said : " Within his audience-room 
 
 My Lord awaits thee ; yes, 't is thee ; 
 
 And, faith, he waits impatiently. 
 
 Send thee to him, is his behest; 
 
 Hence, on ! his head is not at rest." 
 
 His arm upon the mantle there — 
 His seemed a meditative air ; 
 And well his features, as he turned. 
 Bespoke high passion in him burned ; 
 And such the feelings were that woke 
 The words the Baron softly spoke ; 
 "Oh ! Evaleen, it rends my mind, 
 When ill against thy name I find. 
 Oh ! that e'en now I could believe 
 That me thou never wouldst deceive, 
 
CONRADINE. 105 
 
 But now these things are true, I see, 
 That I would wish not done by thee. 
 Thy mother, and my holy wife — 
 (What better being lived a life? ) 
 Thou knew'st not her ; her holy worth 
 Was prized by fitter than this earth. 
 She, as she sank to endless rest, 
 Gave me a last, a dear behest : 
 To teach thee, treasure, and to guide 
 And love thee as I did my bride \ 
 Such were her wishes ere she died ; 
 And if I erred from her command, 
 May Heaven show its blighting hand ! 
 Stern Duty held me in its way ; 
 'T was left for thee to disobey. 
 Thou 'st taken an unseemly guise. 
 And stolen from thy guardian's eyes. 
 Sought company of subject low. 
 How couldst thou sway to error so?" 
 
 Hot tear-drops crossed her cheek ; in shame 
 
 She sobbed, to hear her stainless name 
 
 So spoken of with guilt and sin. 
 
 Soon firmness she began to win. 
 
 And told her tale in truth ; nor prayed 
 
 That mercy should be fitly made, 
 
 When dignity had downward strayed. 
 
 But said she : " Oh ! it was his heart ; 
 
1 06 WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 He did but a true lover's part. 
 I knew him true, and sought not more, 
 Spell-stricken to my bosom's core. 
 No more than once not e'en his name 
 Or station have I asked ; the same 
 Had he once mine ; I was not bold 
 Enough to tell, so his was told 
 Not unto me. Unknown we loved, 
 And in the height of love we roved ; 
 But Love endeavored not to win 
 Its votive children into sin. 
 O Father ! if thy child did err. 
 Than mine the fault more Nature's were." 
 She dropped upon her knee, and cried : 
 " O Father ! fling this mask aside ; 
 Do not be rough ; for, know I grieve ; 
 Now in thy love for me, forgive. 
 Form on thy plan ; seek Palmyrene ; 
 Bring Michael's son to Evaleen, 
 And I will act to thy command. 
 And take the gallant Robert's hand, 
 And chase this love from out my breast, 
 Obedient to my sire's behest." 
 
 •' Becoming speaks my daughter now ; 
 And, truth, I could but wonder how 
 That thou couldst love a youth so low ; 
 Sincere he is, and true I know : 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 The wisest youth, that breathes about ; 
 But from our line he is without. 
 I hear his name applauded much, 
 And well I love to hear it such ; 
 But never pulse within him ran, 
 Bespeaking him a nobleman ; 
 Though Conradine be wise and true, 
 His veins hold not the high-born blue." 
 
 " What ! what ! " exclaimed she : " Has it been — 
 Is he the studious Conradine ? 
 How often have I heard that name 
 Come in the fitful guests of fame ! 
 'T is he ! who have great minds as he, 
 Can love as strong in mystery." 
 
 Sir Nicholas was loth to hear 
 
 That maiden's talk, though 't was sincere, 
 
 And interrupted thus : '" I mean 
 
 To go, at morn, to Palmyrene. 
 
 But see ! the courier doth await ; 
 
 Pray, meet him at the outer gate." 
 
 She raced away ; at length she brought 
 The packets. As the Baron caught 
 One tinged with black and white, he saith : 
 " Methinks this message tells of death." 
 He seized it, cleft the waxen seal. 
 And thus read what it did reveal : 
 
 107 
 
1 08 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 " O, bitter blight ! O, bitter doom 
 
 That sudden and undreamt doth come ! 
 At Palmyrene, as day rose fair, 
 Count Michael had a healthy air ; 
 But as at noon the steeple rang, 
 Athwart his breast a sudden pang 
 Ran rapidly unto his heart, 
 And tore his soul and life apart." 
 
 When he in failing voice had read, 
 " God speed his soul to Heaven ! " he said ; 
 And as he dropped the unbidden tear, ^ 
 He saw his silent daughter near. 
 And in a mournful, trembling tone 
 He whispered : "■ Let me be alone." 
 She went ; and there he sat and wept. 
 And mused till on the evening crept ; 
 And day betook an early flight 
 Before the ebon powers of night. 
 Still there he mused of times before. 
 And mourned the friend whose life was o'er. 
 But sleep came o'er his aching breast. 
 And led his troubled mind to rest ; 
 And there the watchman on his round 
 The mute and dreaming Baron found, 
 But let him peacefully recline. 
 As if that mind he did divine, 
 And as if loth to wake that brain 
 To Sorrow's long and lingering ])ain. 
 
COXRAD/.VE. 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 I. 
 
 'Tis night, the deepest hour of night, 
 And dark and clouded is the sky ; 
 There 's not a gleam of Nature's light, 
 Save when the rapid lightning-waves 
 Spring instantly from skyey caves, 
 And set the whole ablaze on high, 
 Alit but momentarily. 
 The wind is wild upon the wave. 
 And o'er the isle its voices rave ; 
 And often, as each hurrying breeze 
 Descends upon the restless trees, 
 Do mighty, thunderous voices leap 
 From out the forest, tiark and deep ; 
 While far out on the billowy seas, 
 As sharply darts the instant flash ; 
 The awful sudden thunders crash, 
 And strong the rolling surges dash 
 With thunderous and continued shock 
 Against the rugged shores of rock. 
 The lantern on the castle height, 
 That shines alone so purely bright 
 At this dark, awful midnight hour, 
 Is in the lonely watchman's tower ; 
 While all below is wrapt in night, 
 A gloomy object to the sight. 
 
 109 
 
I I o WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 O, where is one can linger here 
 And feel not an unearthly fear ! 
 
 II. 
 But hark ! O Jesus, shield us ! Hark ! 
 What is it ? and the night so dark ! 
 O, can it be, that coward fear 
 Makes us unearthing things to hear ? 
 Or are they my true senses tell 
 That peals the castle's danger-bell. 
 
 Christ ! it is the dread alarm ! 
 
 May Heaven protect the isle from harm ! 
 
 The watchman paced about his room, 
 Impatient, lonely in the gloom ; 
 Not many times he hurried o'er 
 Ere other steps were on the floor ; 
 For Nicholas from sleep profound 
 Had started at the bell's first sound, 
 And hastening up the marble stair, 
 Paused at the watchman's chamber there, 
 And cried : " Alonzo ! why this bell? " 
 
 He answered : " Lord, I cannot tell. 
 Short while before, I caught the rays 
 Outshooting from yon beacon blaze — 
 'Tis reddening all the northen sky ; 
 
 1 fear, my Lord, there 's danger nigh. 
 
CONRADINE. \ \ \ 
 
 'T is ours to speed the signal out 
 
 Across the island to the south." 
 
 The lightning-flash a moment lent 
 
 Illumination swift, and went ; 
 
 And in the watchman's hand, upreared 
 
 Aloft, a black, black ball appeared, 
 
 That, hurled along an airy track. 
 
 Soon struck a towering pile as black. 
 
 And lo ! the heap is all afire ; 
 
 The flames are climbing, higher, higher ; 
 
 And gathering round the blazing pile 
 
 Are all the clansmen of the isle. 
 
 And near and nearing torches swarm 
 
 In answer to the dread alarm ; 
 
 While round the yard are hasty troops 
 
 Preparing all in bustling groups. 
 
 An hour did this assembly wait, 
 
 When fleet hoofs halted at the gate. 
 
 And a cloaked man sprang from a steed, 
 
 And bade all men to instant heed. 
 
 A thousand hearts made not a stir 
 
 As he, the royal messenger. 
 
 Did a long, royal-written scroll 
 
 Before the multitude unroll, 
 
 Shook once his drenched and spattered cloak, 
 
 And reading in the torchlight, spoke : 
 
I I 2 WIL D -FLOWERS. 
 
 " Sir Nicholas, Rebellion lives 
 Where unrestrained ambition thrives ! 
 Five years are to oblivion sped, 
 Since Palmyrene's late lord lay dead ; 
 To whose son 't is fated to belong, 
 To deem a just reproof a wrong, 
 And league to attack a liege's crown, 
 And seek to tear an empire down 
 To w^hisper round in cautious tongue 
 The words from traitorous reason wrung ! 
 (In sooth, with him a mass rebel, 
 And hundred thousands must we quell). 
 Hence, Nicholas ! I bid thee yield 
 Thy hand upon the battle-field ; 
 Be prompt ! for this rebellion dies 
 Ere falls three suns in western skies ! 
 Your sovereign Liege." All, all was still, 
 As Nicholas replied, " I will ! " 
 
 A sudden stroke, a sudden lash, 
 And off a horse and horseman dash ; 
 The freshest stallion, Hve and fleet, 
 Has now its swiftest task to meet. 
 And they, who stay the skilful oar, 
 So soon to speed him from the shore ; 
 For he 's the messenger sent out 
 To rouse the country in the South. 
 
/ 
 
 CONRADTNE. II 
 
 III. 
 Sir Nicholas the Baron stood 
 Before the silent multitude, 
 And while he watched the flying steed, 
 He muttered out, " And he to lead 
 Against his own, his father's lord. 
 Against his friends, this rebel horde : 
 The King's most faithful friend, the sire ; 
 The son, the foe of fiercest ire. 
 I, too, his friend, to take the field 
 And sword and shot against him wield. 
 But he is young and galhmt ; aye, 
 He may do wonders ere he die. 
 His ranks are stout ; methinks we meet 
 A mass not easy to defeat. 
 And ere three times the Western sun 
 Goes down, the battle will be done. 
 Hence, up ! my men ! each to his task ! 
 No quarter will the rebels ask 
 Or give, as their designs are known 
 Just as the bud is all but blown. 
 Then up ! for all our island force 
 At noon in warlike barges cross 
 The sea, with cannon and with horse ! " 
 
 When morning beamed, the soldiers stood 
 A well-equipped multitude ; 
 
I 1 4 WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 But none more loyal is there there, 
 
 Than the exulting volunteer 
 
 Whose arm, trained up from early life 
 
 To bear the patriotic strife. 
 
 Was rising 'mongst the dauntless first, 
 
 When forth Rebellion's war-cloud burst. 
 
 As Nicholas surveyed the men. 
 
 Assembled 'fore his master-ken. 
 
 Ere they would man the massy barge 
 
 That waited at the ocean's marge, 
 
 He met with one whose fame and mien 
 
 Was know to him. 'T was Conradine. 
 
 And as he marked his guileless face, 
 
 He said : " Young man, is this thy place? 
 
 Hear'st not the voice of science call 
 
 To studious vigil in her hall? 
 
 Hast not thou now a scholar's fame? — 
 
 Why seek to win a soldier's name? 
 
 Thy years are but a score and one. 
 
 Thy day of glory but begun — 
 
 Why quit a world of brightest hope, 
 
 And come with battling men to cope? " 
 
 " My Lord," he said, " not death I fear ; 
 An inner voice I only hear. 
 A patriotic spirit guides 
 To where Death's dreadful angel rides. 
 
CONRADINE. II5 
 
 'T were wrong to hold a laureate name, 
 And hold as naught a country's claim ! " 
 
 " But hast not thou, so young, to part 
 With some close being of the heart? " 
 
 " Ay, Lord ; but when the strife is done, 
 And halcyon peace again is won, 
 Then meet again that One I can, 
 And saying, ' Now, I am a man ! ' " 
 
 " Brave ! brave ! " the Baron said ; and passed 
 Among the hardy warriors massed. 
 So admirative had he grown, 
 All prejudice he did disown. 
 His feelings overcame his will, 
 Though lordly pride was reigning still. 
 
 On o'er the water fled the sail. 
 The soldiers frolic as the gale ; 
 Till, anchors dropped, the island band 
 Stepped forth upon the royal land, 
 And mingled all their robust groups 
 Amid the patriotic troops ; 
 While squadrons gather every hour 
 To magnify their sovereign's power. 
 
 Within the camp was warlike work ; 
 No preparation did they shirk ; 
 
I 1 6 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 For message came, that said no cheer, 
 But told the full-swelled foemen near, 
 And all the country giving way 
 Unto the rebel Robert's sway, 
 Who marches on against the King, 
 All confident of conquering. 
 
 Behind the mountains of the West 
 The sun has rolled his golden crest. 
 The stars are dancing in the skies ; 
 And high the camp-fires' flames arise. 
 The darkness is alive ; for all 
 Are stirring, for, behind the wall 
 Of summits, marches on the foe — 
 To-morrow all will battle know ; 
 For Robert's men are coming forth 
 With stout, strong legions from the North, 
 Time fleeting passes ; on they near ; 
 Upon the summits they appear, 
 But pause to bivouac through the night. 
 And rise again at morning's light. 
 The sun is up, the rebels move ; 
 While many a far-off State doth prove 
 Its loyalty with brawny men. 
 Aroused from mountain, vale, and glen. 
 High danger's signal bade them speed 
 Where earnest arms are held in need, 
 And now the trusty soldiers show 
 Resistance to the advancing foe. 
 
CONRADINE. II7 
 
 VI. 
 
 But lo ! they dash along the right, 
 
 Where stout Lord Alfred leads the fight ; 
 
 The rebel lines have oped the strife, 
 
 And answers volley on their life. 
 
 Now rides the Angel of the Tomb ! 
 
 From line to line the cannons boom. 
 
 And flaming missiles arch the air ! 
 
 While, when the thundering tongues could spare 
 
 A silent instant, bugle-blares 
 
 Were mingled in discordant airs, 
 
 With voices, in chaotic din, 
 
 Encouraging each host to win ! 
 
 The Warrior- King rode up along 
 
 Unto the sturdy central throng, 
 
 And shouted : " Soldiers ! with this fray 
 
 Our nation lives ! or dies away ! 
 
 We fight for life ! Gaze, gaze ! and heed 
 
 How nobly doth Lord Alfred lead ! 
 
 All bravely stand in bold array, 
 
 As now the battle waves this way ! " 
 
 Hours fly; 'tis noonday. Everyman, 
 
 Of royal or of rebel clan, 
 
 Who breathes, contends still on, nor heeds 
 
 What comrade round about him bleeds ; 
 
 Few 'fore the deadly missives flinch 
 
 To give the foe a conquering inch. 
 
I I 8 WILD -FL O WEBS. 
 
 VII. 
 But now Lord Robert makes advance 
 Upon the King, whose vigilance 
 Deserts him not, but prompts him use 
 Strong judgment in each warlike ruse. 
 Rash is Lord Robert thus to guide 
 Against so courageous a side ; 
 The battle thickens, and amain 
 He wavers on the battle-plain ; 
 He falls aback from place to place, 
 The old King hot in active chase ; 
 And now the failing lines begin 
 To lose the hope that prompts to win ; 
 The royal troop, enlivened, use 
 Advantages the others lose. 
 
 Along the north there rose a hill, 
 That Robert's men were holding still ; 
 And now stole news that whelming aid, 
 By difficulties long delayed, 
 Was speeding on to join the fray, 
 And was but furlongs five away ; 
 And that in less than half an hour, 
 It would adown the summit shower 
 Upon the patriotic power. 
 For he, by rebel tenets won, 
 Bold Roland, Lord of Edwinton, 
 With men half-savage, stout, and strong, 
 Who sought not right, nor heeded wrong, 
 
CONRADINE. IIQ 
 
 Had now a mighty arm to wield 
 For Robert on the battle-field. 
 
 " Lord Alfred ! " shouts the King, " lead on ! 
 For yonder summits must be won ! 
 Let bayonets gleam the while to break 
 The foeman's files, and yon hill take ! 
 The centre will support thee ! Go ! " 
 A word, and Alfi-ed's legions throw 
 Their forward form from the fair South, 
 Afront of many a cannon's mouth. 
 
 But mark that sudden plunge, that cry 
 That smites the ear so painfully ! 
 Doth not brave Lord Alfred fall 
 A victim to a rebel ball ? 
 Not far he leads, ere from his horse 
 He rolls afield, a bloody corse ; 
 And, colors tattered, at his head 
 The standard-bearer brave is dead ; 
 And all disheartened, in dismay, 
 Half-coward, turn to fly away. 
 
 But lo ! again they face the foe ! 
 For one from out the headmost row 
 Sprang to the stallion's vacant back. 
 And shouted : " Follow in my track !" 
 While from his upraised sword, in lieu 
 Of colors gone, a kerchief flew. 
 
I 20 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 As sure as ever truth is saith, 
 The leader hath no fear of death. 
 But who is he? He has no pkune. — 
 O, hears he not the cannon's boom 
 Right in his face, or sees the might 
 Concentred on the lofty height? — 
 He 's shielded ])y some power divine. 
 He waves his hand. 'Tis Conradine ! 
 
 And at his back the island band, 
 
 The force most loyal in the land, 
 
 And faithful legions crowd along 
 
 Amid the big advancing throng, 
 
 That seems but hastening to the dead ; 
 
 For thousand missiles overhead 
 
 Descend, death-dealing ; and before 
 
 A thousand cannons belch and roar. 
 
 But what is death to men who know 
 
 That they are gaining on the foe? 
 
 'T is Hope seized from Destruction's claw ! 
 
 On to the fateful hill they draw ; 
 
 But to it still the rebels cling. 
 
 And slaughter on the assailants fling. 
 
 But fast the fearless legion nears ; 
 
 Into the foeman's iiles they pierce. 
 
 The hill is won ! the rebels fly ! 
 
 As now the central mass is nigh. 
 
 Lord Roland comes ; the rebels stay 
 
 To meet the fiercest, fellest fray. 
 
CONRADINE. 12I 
 
 Again the force, recuited large. 
 Breaks on the foe with cruel charge, 
 Who still contend, but all in vain : 
 The bravest rebel on the plain, 
 The young chief, Robert Bold, is slain. 
 'Mid hottest warring, without fear, 
 He fell aground a lifeless bier. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Tis twilight; all along the plain 
 
 Are ghastly heaps of warriors slain.. 
 
 But war is stilled, Rebellion dead ; 
 
 Dead with its chieftain, with its head ; 
 
 And he, who was the first to pierce 
 
 That chieftain's ranks with onset fierce, 
 
 Is circled by the noble all ; 
 
 And from each tongue quick questions fall ; 
 
 And hearly words of true applause 
 
 The young and gallant soldier draws. 
 
 Thus saith the King, and wrung his hand : 
 ''And thou art of the island band, 
 And Conradine thy name ! — In sooth. 
 We owe great debts to thee, brave youth ; 
 Thy quick thought held for me my crown. 
 'T is true — our kingdom would be down. 
 Sir Nicholas, with thee I knew 
 That loyalty and wisdom grew. — 
 
I 2 2 WIL D-FLO WERS. 
 
 Now Palmyrene's last lord is dead, 
 O that his days were spotless sped ! 
 (Before him, search his lengthy race, 
 And once find dark dishonor's trace. 
 'Twas wild Ambition spurred him on 
 To reach its brilliant, airy throne. 
 He bravely died ; let it be said 
 He went not praiseless to the dead.) 
 
 Then, young man, let another line 
 
 Begin with thee ; so, Conradine, 
 
 Assume the name of him, who fell. 
 
 And on the vacant acres dwell ; 
 
 Be Palmyrene's domains thine own. 
 
 Thou bow but to thy sovereign's throne. 
 
 Erelong, with ceremony meet, 
 
 This installation we '11 repeat. 
 
 His bursting thanks the King not heard, 
 
 But in important action stirred ; 
 
 For night is creeping from her realm. 
 
 And darkness soon will overwhelm. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ne'er happier blazed an ardent soul. 
 
 Ne'er faster did there pulses roll. 
 
 Than those in him, the Island Lord, 
 
 From whose lines flashed the conqueror's sword. 
 
 Pleased with both Conradine and the King, 
 
 Sir Nicholas was glorying ; 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 Amazed, his breast with rapture fired, 
 He thought the youth whom he admired 
 More hero than himself, and now 
 With worth}' deed he sought to show, 
 With worthy deed he sought to prove, 
 His admiration, — nay, his love. 
 And speaking, secret from the throng 
 That circled Conradine for long. 
 With just applausive benison 
 For dignity and battle won. 
 Soon said, in slower, careful word. 
 The speech his inner feelings stirred : 
 " Count Michael was my dearest friend, 
 And when he went by sudden end. 
 The dream to make our children one 
 Was from Hope's fitful vision gone. 
 Thou know'st the rest, — young Robert died, 
 'T was well — she would not be his bride. 
 
 " My daughter had her will. I ween. 
 She loved the line of Palmyrene, 
 But owned young notions. 'Gain I bind 
 My former purpose to my mind ; 
 I mean that may my Evaleen 
 Be lady yet of Palmyrene. 
 Think not I jest when, Conradine, 
 I say my Evaleen is thine." 
 
 123 
 
I 2 4 WILD -FL O IVERS. 
 
 " My Lord. I know her not. Dost dream, 
 To think that she would have esteem 
 For me, who art unknown? " — 
 
 " Unknown ! 
 I feel thou speakest true, I own ; 
 And yet thou knowest her. Hast thou 
 Not pledged to her a lover's vow? 
 Hast thou not broke beyond thy race, 
 And met her in thy wonted place ? 
 Kneel not, speak not ; I know it all . 
 Why thus for vain forgiveness call ? 
 Well wroth I was, when first I heard ; 
 But 'twas ancestral pride, that stirred 
 Embosomed ire ; but, Conradine, 
 Since thou art level with my line, 
 Sincere, with love, unbidden, free, 
 I give my Evaleen to thee." 
 
 ■ A fervent pressure of the hand. 
 Obedient to the heart's command. 
 He gave, and softly muttered soon : 
 
 " My Lord, I '11 take thy cherished boon." 
 Then silently they went again. 
 But thoughtful, from the battle-plain. 
 
 The youth, that climbed to glory's hill. 
 Has hopeful dreams more golden still. 
 And, thrilled to fullest ecstacy. 
 Sees sure events of times to be ; 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 And sees, all radiant at his side, 
 His unknown love, long-wished-for bride. 
 Time stole away in easy flight, 
 And evening died in moonlit night, 
 And day ot laborsome action led 
 To halcyon slumber's peaceful bed ; 
 But ere they were in slumber laid, 
 Sir Nicholas at parting said : 
 ' It was my wish that E^valeen 
 Would wed the son of Palmyrene. 
 Count Michael wished with me ; we strove 
 To have that symbol of our love. — 
 
 many a weary day I've spent ! 
 My daughter was the one that lent 
 A balm for sorrow bad as death ; 
 And many a time my heart hath saith 
 A prayer to Heaven for her weal ; 
 And Heaven answered my appeal. 
 Was sable once this beard of snow ; 
 It took its oldish garb from woe. 
 For many and many a saddened day 
 
 1 have not tasted pleasure gay. 
 
 Thou makest me glad ; I feel, in sooth, 
 The happiness that fled in youth. 
 With thee my golden dream is won ; 
 To thee I give my benison. 
 She loves thee true ; may comfort bless 
 Your plighted lives with happiness ! 
 
 125 
 
I 2 6 WILD-FL O WERS. 
 
 And ma}'- fore'er the isle of mine 
 
 Be faithful unto thee and thine, 
 
 And be in steady union strong 
 
 With Palmyrene for ages long ! 
 
 Be this Old Age's benison : 
 
 My dream is won ! my dream is won ! " 
 
 For parley more he did not wait, 
 
 But turned abrupt, and parted straight ; 
 
 Not e'en a minute's space he stood 
 
 To hear the spoken gratitude 
 
 Of Conradine, but off he flew ; 
 
 And now alone the youth withdrew. 
 
 To rest his weary limbs in sleep ; 
 
 For there was an oppressive heap 
 
 Of thought upon his tossing brain, 
 
 Half of delight and half of pain, 
 
 That with its weight severe oppressed 
 
 His mind, and made him long for rest. 
 
 X. 
 
 'T is night ; the moonbeams white illume 
 With dubious gleam the silent room. 
 And on the slumberer they lie, 
 Who slumbers as if dreamingly. 
 To-morrow in a palace hall 
 Upon his brow the crown will fall. 
 To-morrow goes the youth to meet • 
 The lady he loves most to greet. 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 Shine gloriously, thou moon, afar, 
 On one who won in love and war. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 As children dabbling in a brook, 
 With eager eyes, enraptured, look 
 Upon the cuiTents, while they play 
 Apast the fingers in their way. 
 And, never staying, wind still on 
 Until the final goal is won ; 
 E'en so did Jamie's parents throw 
 Applause before my story's flow, 
 Which I did not appear to mind, 
 But let my rambling fancies find 
 Their outlet and their end ; and I, 
 Just as my tale began to die. 
 Could Jamie right before me see. 
 And smiling, but still staring me. 
 As doth a pleased beholder face 
 A person winning in a race. 
 
 The task then done, within we went. 
 And there a pleasant hour we spent ; 
 Recalled past pranks, and friends of old, 
 And many tales of mischief told. 
 Each sang, the parents, son, and I, 
 And Lionel, the little boy. 
 ^Ve talked of heroes, poets, aught ; 
 At length a comely handmaid brought 
 
 127 
 
I 2 8 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 A tra}; with home-made wine and calce, 
 And soon did we a banquet make. 
 
 Of Jamie's idle hours a part 
 
 Was given to the tasks of art ; 
 
 And now the parlor walls were graced 
 
 By paintings that his hand had traced. 
 
 And while I lingered, looking on 
 
 What Genius for itself had won, 
 
 In silence, admiration, rapt, 
 
 My arm was by a finger tapped, 
 
 And Lionel in whisper said, 
 
 'T was long apast his hour for bed. 
 
 Then I arose ; wished all sweet rest ; 
 
 Again my hand was warmly pressed. 
 
 And hopes ran out again we 'd come. 
 
 We bade them visit us at home, 
 
 And heard them wishing us good-night 
 
 As we passed out. The scene was bright ; 
 
 Each object by the silver moon 
 
 As visible as at bright noon. 
 
 The moon was higher up than when 
 
 We came ; more numerous then 
 
 The stars were ; many now forsook 
 
 The places that at first they took. 
 
 Not e'en a zephyr crossed the hill. 
 
 And, save our footsteps, all was still. 
 
 While passing downward to the gate, 
 
 I heard the father's voice : " But wait, 
 
CONRADINE. 
 
 And I will see you out." I turned; 
 His home was at my eye : " I 've learned 
 To love this peace that you enjoy ; 
 No big ambitipn need annoy 
 You while you have your home." 
 
 " No ; ease 
 Your mind of worldly wishes. Peace 
 Should be your object. Be not bold, 
 And you '11 enjoy it ere you 're old. 
 Take all the wealth upon the earth, 
 And what is it all, doubled, worth ? 
 But peace and virtue come from God, — 
 It is a weary way we plod. 
 And faith must cheer us on. Good-by ! 
 How quick the time is passing by ; 
 The hour is nigh eleven. When 
 You think to visit us again. 
 You 're welcome." 
 
 Outward then we went 
 In silence, meditation blent 
 With admiration of the sight 
 In all the grandeur of the night. 
 We crossed the hills and meadows o'er. 
 And reached at length my young friend's door. 
 To Lionel I bade good-by, 
 .And passed the little fellow by. 
 Then went along the silent road 
 That lead unto my own abode ; 
 
 129 
 
1 30 WILD -FL O WERS. 
 
 I won it : mother patiently 
 
 Was in her chair awaiting me ; 
 
 And I thanked God, and prayed him blesn 
 
 Both her and me with happiness. 
 
 THE END.