DREAM MUSIC BY FKEDERIC ROWLAND MAEVIN. 3 3 ^ NEW YORK: Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square, MDCCCLXX. 31 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by GEO. W. CARLETON, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, ta Washington, Stereotyped at The Women's Printing Hovsk, Eighth Street and Avenue A, New York. TO MY FRIEND THESE POEMS ARE DEDICATED. CONTENTS Page TO MY MOTHER 9 IN MEMORIAM 11 QUEEN SLEEP 13 PASSING OYER JORDAN IG WINTER IN THE SOUL 18 STARLIGHT IN THE SOUL 20 MUST I DIE YOUNG 21 THE SUMMER-LAND 23 LILIES FOR ROSALIE . 25 LELANGE 26 O' THE WEARY MORROW 28 FARE-THEE-WELL 30 LOVE NEVER DIES 32 THE STATUE 34 THE PHANTOM BRIDE 36 ZENA 39 AN INVITATION 41 A THOUGHT I NEVER HAD BEFORE . . . .43 HE COMES NOT 45 HELENA .47 THE SEA OF DEATH 49 THERE THE WEARY BE AT REST 51 A SUPERSTITION 52 VI CONTENTS. Pa^e THE BEST FRIEND 54 THE FLOWER OF SLEEP 56 DREAMS 57 TO IklARIE 00 THE COLLOQUY 62 DEFIANCE . .65 DESPAIR 66 THE DESPAIRING MYTHOLOGIST 68 MUTABILE SEMPER 70 THE FIRST WOMAN 72 THE WORLD MY IDOL 74 CLING NOT TO EARTH 76 IN HEAVEN IS REST 77 HYMN 78 AMBITION'S PRAYER 80 SWEET SLEEP 82 TO H. E 84 HAPPY DREAMS 86 TO KATE 87 FALSE LAURENE 88 THE TRIUMPH OF PRIDE 90 THE sceptic's PREDICTION 92 MY COFFIN 94 TO A HYPOCRITE 95 AD MINISTRUM 98 ALEXIS AND AZEZA 99 A FRAGMENT 104 MY HEART IS LOCKED 106 DREAM MUSIC. DREAM MUSIC, 5D0 Ps Polljxr. |HEY tell me Imman love was made Awhile to bloom^ and then to fade Before the antnmn chill : They tell me human love is sold — A thing of traffic, bought with gold, And subject to the will. No falsehood this ; and yet I own, There is a love, one love alone, With Instre ever bright. It runs through all my changing years. Forsakes me not in smiles and tears. And fills my soul with light. 10 TO MY MOTHER. That love, beyond all other love, Unselfish, pure as heaven above, Is thine, dear naother, thine. AYliat, then, if clouds around me break ! The fount of joy they cannot take From out this heart of mine. Earth's merry throng may pass me by ; Its honors from my grasp may fly. As leaves upon the blast : I care not, if thou lov'st me still ; Tliy love alone my heart can fill, And hold it to the last. I'll love thee till my latest breatli ; I'll love thee when I'm clasped in deatli ; I'll love thee still on high. While on my tide of life shall flow. My love for thee no end shall know ; 'Twill never, never die. IN ME MORI AM. 11 Jit gttmnrmm. s. L. A. OBIIT MDCCCLXVII. LEEP sweetly now, and take tliy rest ; Thy clay of life is o'er ; The years, with joy and pain, will come Alas ! to thee no more. Oh ! nevermore my voice of love Shall fall npon thine ear : Thy sunny smile, thy winning grace, Ko more my heart shall cheer. Sleep on — I would not end thy rest, Though thou wert all to me : Enough, that lie who call'd thee hence Hath set thy spirit free. Yes, free, I know ; for oh ! I feel Thy presence like a spell, 12 IN MEMORIAM. And, mute with glad surprise, I hear Thy spirit-voice, ''Tis well. And sometimes through the twilight dim Thy spirit-form I see ; And, oh ! thine angel eyes do oft On me beam tenderly. Sleep on — the years shall come and go ; The flowers shall fade and bloom ; And winter winds, unheeded, sweep Above thy lonely tomb : And I, who grieve with stricken heart. Erelong shall know thy rest ; Rejoin thee in the upper w^orld — The home where all are blest. QUEEN SLEEP. 13 ^ SLEEP, fair daughter of Music ! ^1 A queen, and the mother of dreams ; Death is your daughter, whose singing Is like to the music of streams ; That leap from hill to the valley. With shout, and with laughter and song, Whose pulses are lithe as a nereid's, As rapid as Jove's, and as strong. When Time was your foe, I beheld you, Compassionate, proud and supreme ; I claimed the sweet hand of your daughter— A young and a delicate dream. With heart that was tender, maternal, You gave your sweet daughter so true; I kneeled at your altar in silence. And swore an allegiance to you. 14 QUEEN SLEEP. Ill fever, in pain, and in famine, I've worshipped jou ever the same — I kneel and I pray at yonr altar — Confess all my folly and shame, Till the musical voice of your daughter Doth call through the nave of the night, And the lights go ont by the altar, And out go the priests of the night. You were naked, and noble, and fearless, O queen of an endless domain ! Your lovers were passionate, many. But all their caresses were vain. Your limbs would not yield to their kisses, Your arms were too strong for them still ; Their love had outwitted their reason. And wholly converted their will. Time was, when your temple was crowded ; Men worshipped your delicate form ; You bade them do penance that served you. QUEEN SLEEP. 15 And walk all iinclotlied in the stoi^m. Your temple they left, and your altar, But walked not unclothed in the storm — They girt their soft robes up around them — They girt their soft robes, and were warm. But you are my mother, and ever I kneel where your light torches gleam. And the lily-white arms of your daughter Enfold me, a delicate dream. I'll never forsake or betray you — I'll praise you now and liereafter With tender white lilies and roses, Yv^ith music, with song, and with laughter. 16 PASSING OVER JORDAN. passing ©fa^r Jbrbrnt. AUK ! I hear the harps eternal, Hinging on the further sliore, As I near those swollen waters, With their deep and solemn roar. And my soul, though stained with sorrow. Fading as the light of day. Passes swiftly o'er those waters. To the city far away. Souls have crossed before me, saintly, To that land of perfect rest, And I hear them sino-ino; faintly. In the mansion of the blest. Just beyond the river flash eth Jebu-Salem of my God, Where tlie w^iite v^ave, rising, splasheth On the shore by angels trod. PASSING OVER JORDAN. 17 Stop! I see the boatman Hearing ; See, the snowy sail is set, And the oars are floating idly, And the sail is drifting wet. Call my father ! call my mother ! Tell them that the boatman's here ; And another, oh ! another, Unto whom my soul is dear. Call them quick, for I am }3assing Through the valley of the grave ; I am passing with the boatman O'er the deep and sullen wave. 18 WINTER IN THE SOUL. HEEE'S winter in my soul to-night, And the frosts, like death, are at work ; The icicles flash in the pale moon-light, Like the glist'ning point of a dirk ; And the wind sweeps o'er the wreck of my life, Y/ith its poisoning shafts of pain ; And I feel, I feel, in the deep'ning strife, What I never would feel again. There's winter in my soul to-night, And all is cold as the grave ; And the rivers of joy are frozen tight. And there's not a siuirle wave. To wash the ice from the door of my heart. Or give me the courage to pray : — Far down in my breast deep agony dwells, To frighten devotion away. WINTER IN THE SOUL. 19 From out my heart there comes a wail, A wail like the cry of the wind ; And the storm-cloud throws its rattlino; hail. In fury bewild'ring and blind : The sky above me is sable to-night ; The stars have gone out in thick gloom ; And the only light is the iiiania light, Illuming the verge of the tomb. And up before me, deep and dim. The shadows of madness arise ; They smile at me in their mockery grim, And taunt with the glare of their eyes — They come ! they come ! and the heat of theii breath Dissolveth the frost on my lips, While off their fingers, betokening death, The melting agony drips. 20 STARLIGHT IN THE SOUL. Starligljt in tb SrruL IS starlight in my soul once more- All storms have left mj sky ; And no^Y the stars of hope and love Shine brightly from on high. They're gone, the clouds of dark despair, That hung in sombre bars, And now my silent soul receives The pale light of the stars. E'o more athwart my spirit's sky Fly swift the bolts of death ; No more I stand in mute despair, And hold my very breatli ; For now the clouds are roll'd away, The winds are lull'd to rest, And silence reigns, and starlight falls . Within my peaceful breast. MUST I DIE YO UNG ? 21 GOD ! my God ! must I die yomig? My three-score years and ten unspent?— My journey here but just begun ? Wherefore, O God ! was this blow sent ? Must I die young ? Must my bright vision disappear — Vision of golden years to be ? These years, from life's great chain unlinked, And joined unto eternity? Must I die young ? My ripening thoughts — must tliey decay, Not yet matured in life's high noon ? And this frail pencil, prized so well. Drop from my ready hand so soon ? Must I die young ? 99, MUS T I DIE YO UNG ? Must she whom I have dearly loved Through all my changeful years, Henceforth, in widowhood of soul, Walk the dark vale of tears ? Must I die young ? Must all I hold of earth be lost ? — To me no more revealed ? And from these eyes the lire burn out. These lips be ever sealed ? Must I die young ? I murmur not ; I meekly bow, God, to Thy decree. Deprived of earthly gifts, I know 1 shall be joined to Tliee, Though I die young. THE SUMMER-LAND. 2d Summ^r-|.'ani:r. LAKD of glory ! Summer land ! Fair land to wliich I go, I see in dreams thy silver streams ; Tlirongli valleys green tliey flow. I see in dreams thy silver streams, Where spirit boatmen row, And by whose banks in shining ranks. The happy angels go. Anear and yet afar thou art From me, fair land of light — Bright land of peace where sorrows cease And death can never blight. Bright land of peace ! where sorrows cease ; Where I shall reach a height — A height so great the winds of fate My joy can never blight. 24: THE SUMMER-LAND. To thee in dreams, fair land, I go ; In dreams at noon of night, When all is still o'er vale and hill, Enrobed in silv'ry light. When all is still o'er vale and hill My thonghts in ^'ision flj. Yes, fly above to thee where love And joy can never die. LILIES FOR ROSALIE. 25 plus for glcsalb. AISE your heads, ye virgin lilies — Lilies white, so chaste and free ! Bend no more with artless grace, Mirrored in the water's face — Yon shall live with Eosalie. Lift your stems of shining silver ; Open wide your leaves to me ; You shall live, and never fade, When you're with the fairest maid — • On the breast of Eosalie. Lilies, hear you what I'm saying \ Fadeless glories you shall be ; Careful, then, lest wavelets drift you; Stooping low, I gently lift you — You shall live with Eosalie. 26 LELANGE. ^Tclaiuic. ()\'M, will voii no\(M* icivc \\w rt^st '^ riuMH^ is iu» pcnco witliin \\\\ l>rt>Msl ; Miiu^ i>\i>s llu'v I'losc iu>r (lav nor iii;;-lit, \ o\\ UhhI tluMu with soiiu' lu'w dolii^-lit \\\\A\ hour. T t^Mv loan h:u'k thiU 1 mav l)rt>a(lu^ ; Ihit vou, voui* anus moi-i' tii;-htlv w iwitlio Around \\\\ uiH'lv, whiU' 1 Nour t'lu^ok, l'\>r kissini;- of, do i;row more wiMik .lOai'li houi". Vwi" runs throui;-h t^\tM'V swi^lliui;- vcmu, And nanudoss bliss hcronies a }>ain Each hour. LELANGE. 27 But, Btlll love on. If I must die, My lifeless fonn, wlicre should it lie, If not beside my lo\ e, Lelange ? Lelange. O, THE WEARY MORROtVI 0, Cljt Mmxu ItorroiM ! THE weary, weary morrow ! Birthday of my blinding sorrow O, the longing, weary aching Of a heart that's nio^h to breakinsr — Saying, " lie will come no more ! " O, the weary, weary morrow — Day of darkness, death and sorrow ! Cheerless now am I, and lonely, Now, while I am thinking only — Thinking he will come no more. All my prayers are vain and worthless ; All my bitter tears are nseless ; Each long hour I spend in sorrow Will increase my grief to-morrow — Grief that he will come no more. O, THE WEARY MORROW. 29 But, though vain my tears and praying, Constantly my heart is saying Words which seem life's cord to sever : " Come to me he will, no, never ! Kever come, no, never more ! " 30 FARE- THEE- WELL, imt-i\u-Mt\\. AEE -THEE-WELL ! I loved tliee fondly : Fare-thee-well ! I love thee still ; For the love I bear thee, Dora, Triumphs o'er my feeble will. Once to love thee — oh, hov/ blessed ! Now to love thee must be sin : Still my worshipped idol art thou — Thou enshrined my soul within. Fare-thee-well ! bright joys attend thee. Unalloyed with care and strife ; Calm and peaceful be thy future ; Blessings crown thee all thy life ! FARE- THEE- WELL. 31 Yet when evening shades do gather Round thy home at close of day, To the spot where we were plighted Often let thy vision stray. Oh, forget not him who loved thee — Loved thee as none other could — Loves thee still, so deeply, madly — Loves thee as no mortal should ! Now I part wdth thee, my Dora ; Now from thee my hope I sever : Fare-thee-well — the word is spoken — Fare-thee-well, alas, forever ! LOVE NEVER DIES. Ifofo Ui^fa^r gks. HE fields were red with clover, And the brooks were red with sun Together they blush'd in beauty, But they couldn't blush like One. Birds through the woods went winging, While all the leaves were rinorinsr AYith the song which they were singing, But they couldn't sing like One. And the winds, they gently sigh'd As they fiew to the rising sun, But their sigh, though soft and sweet, Was not like the sigh of One. Said 1, " If my love be thwarted, I would that my love were dead." She lifted her eyes in sorrow — In sorrow meekly said, " Love never dies ; it is not mortal : It passes through the golden portal — The portal of peace and joy." LOVE NEVER DIES. 33 The swift-winged messenger came — My angel was carried from sight — He bore her to beautiful fields, Where flowers are fadeless and bright. I wept ; and I heard, as I murmur'd, " I would that my love were dead." ^ voice — 'twas the voice of my angel — Eepeating the words she had said, " Love never dies ; it is not mortal : It passes through the golden portal — The portal of peace and joy." And now though she never sees me From that beautiful field of light, I know that I never murmur As I travel the field of night. My love is not dead ; my love is not mortal : I know it has passed through the golden portal — The portal of peace and joy. 34 THE STATUE. OR Art with l)nsy hand I wrought : I held the chisel day l)j day, Until the stone I saw assume The form tliat I had sliaped in clay. Alone I wrought, nor would I see The friends that I liad known hefore ; I could not love them less, hut O I loved the marhle statue more ! The stone I shaped with cunning skill, And formed the limbs with tender grace My passion strange and deep I wrought In love upon the upturned face. But, while I wrought, a silver cloud Came softly from the bending sky, — A spirit sent from God, to dwell And beam within the tender eye. THE STATUE. 35 So he who leaves the busy world, In silence shapes a noble thought, From God a life shall see descend Upon the statue he hath wrought. 36 THE PHANTOM BRIDE, t IPI^Htntnm gritr^. ^^1 EE the glorious mooiiliglit falling ^^A Down upon the open bay, And the ripples shoreward dancing, Break aloft in silver sprav. Far alono: tlie breast of waters See the shadows lying deep, Wliere the waves in pensive music Gently rock themselves to sleep. Now, O wa%es, my shallop graceful Glides upon your silver breast, Shoots beneath the rocks and shadows. Where no moonbeams ever rest ; Dowm beneath the arch of granite. To the tower that hangs above. While the stars bright watch are keeping O'er the palace of my love. THE PHANTOM BRIDE. 37 Stars, look out and shine forever ! How I love to gaze on you, Bright-eyed ministers of glory. Guardians of the brave and true. Oft beneath these walls I've floated, Gazing toward the midnight sky, Till the east grew red Vvdth morning, And your starlights died on high. Oft my lute has wakened music Out upon the evening tide, Where the shades of shore's creation Out upon the waters glide. Oft I've rocked beneath the castle Where my idol Laura dwelt, — In the moonlight calm and holy, 'Xeath the castle window knelt. Oft I've seen the stars of evening Kiss the waters of the bay. While they strove to drown the shadows In a shower of silver spray. 38 THE PHANTOM BRIDE. Such a night ! 0_, night remembered ! 'Twas the season of mj pride, When my wooing won my Laura, — Won a phantom for a bride. Down the years I still am. gliding, But that phantom leaves me not ; N'or the bay, the moonlight, starlight, Nor the castle is forgot. Was e'er bride of earth more constant % Are earth's daughters half so true % Are their cheeks e'en half so rosy ? Are their eyes, say, half so blue % Ah, bright eve, all eves surpassing — Centre of my earlier dreams ! O, deep bay, rise, ebb forever, T7here the pale moon nightly gleams ! Though the years grow dark and stormy, And the future black with woe, I will gaze on years now sleeping ; They their light around me throw. ZENA. 39 RTIST, paint my angel Zena ; Other models nothing seem ; But know this, if thou canst paint her Thou canst paint my spirit's dream. Paint a brow of snowy whiteness. Paint an eye of heavenly brightness, Cheeks of velvet flushed with crimson ; Now begin, begin, begin ! Bring your brush, and bring your canvas. Bring your paint, and bring your bowl. Try if you can paint my Zena, Idol of my raptured soul. Paint two lips divinely fair. Paint the witching smile they wear ; Locks of living darkness, paint them. Now begin, begin, begin ! 40 ZENA, Ah ! 1 see thou canst not paint her She is far beyond thine art ; E'er must she remain uncopied On the canvas of my heart. You may paint all other creatures, But you cannot Zena's features — Angel Zena, never, never ! AN INVITATION, 4:1 ^Svj COME up again to my cottage, Bel ; ySM O ! come up this Spring : Come sit in the porch where you used to sit — A poem I'll read you while you knit, And the robins sing, O! come, and we'll walk where tlie willows grow ; We'll walk and we'll talk of the years ago ; Yfe'll talk of the earlier days of life. Youth's vision of sorrow, its joy and strife. And friends we shall Gce no more. ! come, for I'm weary of study and books ; 1 long to go down by the murmuring brooks, And think of the years now o'er. Only yester-eveniug I read some rhymes, T/hich were written, I know, in olden times, And I want to read them aloud to you ; — 42 AN INVITATION. So come up, and I'll read the volume through. There are joyous stories, and stories sad, Of the rich and poor, of tlie good and bad ; Tales of the land, tales of the sea. Tales of the bond, tales of the free. Come, and I'll read them all to you — O ! come up this Spring, While the robins sino; : Then will I make my promise true — Come, and I'll read them all to you. Say, will you come ? A THOUGHT I NEVER HAD BEFORE. 43 % ^Ij^itgljt I Stbcr fair i^an. SADNESS gathered in my soul, A cloud of discontent — A sadness that my joys were dead, My happy hours were spent. And, while thus mourning pleasures gone, The joys that were no more. There came unto my soul a thought I never had before. You need not ask me what it was — That thought I'll never tell ; But this I'll say : 'twas all about My love, my Isabel. It came, and nestle J like a dove Within my darken'd breast. And, Vv'ith its sweetest melody, Laid all my grief to rest. 44 A THOUGHT I NEVER HAD BEFORE. Sweet Hope tlien shed enliv'iiing beams, To cheer me in my way ; She bade me, too, this lesson learn, — The brave shall wdn the day. I saw" her light ; I heard her voice ; I learned her lesson well ; And thus, made happy by a thought, By Hope inspired, inspired and taught, I won the hand I long had sought — The hand of Isabel. HE COMES NOT. 45 ie Comts lot. EASE, ye winds, your wild contending! I am mad with linman fate. For my Love comes not to meet me, And the hours are growling late. Lighter, lighter drop the shadow^s On the headland far away, And the east is brighter growing — Can it be the coming day ? List ! I hear him ! 'tis his footfall Down among the yellow reeds ! Still, O heart ! 'tis but the wild wind. Ah, thy waiting nothing speeds. Day is coming, night is passing, And the stars are growing gray ; '^ Lo ! I hear the shout of boatmen Out upon the sleepy bay. * This appearance or color of the stars just before daybreak is more noticeable in a southern climate than in ours. 46 HE COMES NOT. Come, O Love ! I'm waiting, weeping, Waiting in the chosen grot, While the stars their watch are keeping, Wondering why thou comest not. Now I hear the voice of morning Far across the shiggish bay ; See the darkness bidding farewell, Farewell to the coming day. No, he comes not. He will never, Ne'er return to me again ; I shall watch, and watch forever, Down beside the narrow fen. Where we parted last forever, Down among the tangled weeds. By the road that meets the village. Out among the soughing reeds. HELENA. 47 HOU sleepest ! lo ! thou sleepest now, The beautiful, the blest ; Death's finger on thy marble brow, His chill upon thy breast. Crumbled the shroud upon thy form, And veil upon thy face ; And now the dark and dampened earth Is thy lone dwelling-place. The heat of summer now may fall. The storm in fury beat ; But they can never reach thy home, Thy silent, cold retreat. The shades of night shall gather round, And years shall come and go ; But thou, beneath the grassy mound, ]^o change of years shall know. 48 HELENA. When ages shall have passed away, And other races tread Above the confines of decay, Above the monld'ring dead, Thou still shalt sleep, the seal of Death Upon thy forehead pressed ; Thine heart, no more instinct with life, Shall know eternal rest. THE SEA OF DEATH. 4:9 O^^ HEEE is a sea, the sea of death — ^,ll6j A boundless sea and deep ; And o'er its surface, smooth and still, No vital shadows creep. No eager wind its peace disturbs ; 'Tis quiet as the grave : Its placid bosom never feels The motion of a wave. No orb of day, no starry lamps, Emit their splendor there ; It rests in darkness, blacker far Than blackness of despair. The solemn years do onward glide ; The days as quickly go, — All, filled with good, oppressed with sin, Eeplete with joy and woe. 4 50 THE SEA OF DEATH. They bear us, too, with noiseless step, To that lone ocean drear. Upon vv'hose bosom, dark as night, No sun, no stars, appear. Many there be, erst wearied ones, 1^0 more oppressed with care. Have reached in hope that boundless sea, In answer to their prayer. Their prayer is mine — I too would reach. In hope all pure and blest. That wide expanse, where silence deep, And deeper darkness, rest. Prepare thou, then, my soul, prepare For that lone ocean drear. Upon whose bosom, dark as night, ]^o sun, no stars, appear. " THERE THE WEAR Y BE AT REST." 51 Job III. 17. FEW more days, my weary heart, And thou shalt know thy rest ; A few more days, and earthly ills Shall thee no more molest. A few more sighs and bitter tears, A few more throbs of grief, And thou shalt reach thy journey's end, Where night shall bring relief. Then bear thy pain while life shall last, l^or ever be dismayed — The night shall bring the rest for which In sorrow thou hast prayed. 52 A SUPERSTITION, % S«prslttt0iT» EEEEE is a voice that ever falls upon mine ear : Each day it calls with mournful tone, come ! When in the gilded halls of mirth with careless men, I curl the lip at Superstition's fear, e'en then I hear that low sad voice — and I am dumb. And in the twilight dim, when, free from daily toil. And free from care, I give myself to rest, That voice, still low and sad, doth come to me ao^ain. As one awaken'd from a dream, I start; aud then No peace, no joy, abides within my breast. A SUPERSTITION. 53 Sometimes, at night, and by my side, a form I see, — Filmy and grey, intangible as air ; Sometimes, a shadow on my wall tliat will not And then, again, that voice I hear, still sad and low, Enforcing me to seek relief in prayer. And as I pray, the form dissolves, tlie shadow fades. And fainter grows that voice within mine ear : But when the name of Cheist I speak, I find a peace Before unknown ; my dark and dismal bodings cease ; And with Amen I bid farewell to fear. 64 THE BEST FRIEND. Wilt %t^i Jfrbnir. HEOB on, sad heart, throb on 'Twill soon be o'er ; Soon Death, sad lieart, shall bid Thee throb no more. The rustle of his robe, My heart, I hear : He's our best friend. O heart ; He'll soon appear. I see his shadow fall — He's come ; he's come — Oh, fear him not, though he Be cold and dumb. Yes ; our best fi-iend is he, O ! joyless heart — A friend no adverse fate From us can part. THE BEST FRIEND. I feel his loving touch, Of magic power, As soft as summer air At twilight hour. Idle! — I die! — Idle! — We die, sad heart ! Our friend has come — with him Let us depart ! 55 66 THE FLOWER OF SLEEP, t Jfbter of SltJ^p- WEET sleep, loved flower, pale flower of night, Thy leaves so pure unfold to nie, And breathe thine opiate frao^rance o'er me now, That I may hide myself in thee ! The tears I weep shall water thee ; And thou shalt grow the while more bright ; Until glad dreams do sparkle on thy stem — The pendent fruit of blessed night ! DREAMS. 57 O sleep, and manufacture dreams From out the web of day ! To glorify the hours of night, Is more than childhood's play. 'Tis more than sound philosophy — To say the very least — To spread from fragments of the day An evening's gorgeous feast ; To build an Indian palace high From mud-huts of the day, To glitter through the starry night And melt at morn away. Then give me for the woes of earth The solace of a dream ; Give me, if not life's nobler joys, At least the ones that seem. 58 DREAMS. O, give me, when the darkness falls, The pure and holy light, The silver music of a dream Which sanctifies the night. 'Tis well to build our castles high, E'en though they tumble fast : They leave more room for other ones. Which soon are with the past.- I would not miss my evening dreams Before the old log-fire. For all the maids in Cashamere, For all the wealth of Tyre. The only hours I really live Are those I spend in sleep ; Then strangest fancies, weird and wild, To double being leap. DREAMS, 59 I love to sleep, but more to dream The silent hours away, Until the sombre pall of night Is streaked with light of day. 60 TO MARIE. Co Sam. THE soft and dreamy lustre Dwelling in thy gentle eye, Like a tender starlight trembling In the midnight's mystic sky ; Though thy face be fair, — as faultless, As if carved by Grecian art ; Though men bow before thy beauty, I will love thee for thy heart. There are thoughts of living brightness Hiding in thy spirit cells. As young humming-birds of summer Hide among the lily bells. I will pray no storm may drive them Rudely from their fairy nest ; Drive them through the chill and darkness. Worn of wing with bleeding breast. TO MARIE, 61 It were more than death to leave thee Idol of my youthful heart ; Oft I ask the sacred angels, May we never, never part ! Yet the years must bring us changes, But where'er thy steps may go, May, O may thy fate be brighter, Love than I can hope to know. 62 THE COLLOQUY. Wilt CcIIcquii. IIHEE ladies sat by the cheerful fire — The daughters three of a noble sire : And all were happy and gay save one ; And she was sad and fair — Pale as a lily, with mild blue eyes, And wealth of golden hair. They talked of silk, and they talked of lace ; They talked of beauty of form and face ; And said, " To be plain is no disgrace To those who come from an ancient race." And they spoke of love in a trifling way, And they laughed to think of the word ohey^ Which the bride repeats on her wedding-day. Thus laughing, and talking in thoughtless tone, The eldest said : " My heart is dead, Yet I will wed THE COLLOQUY. 63 For what I shall own, for the riches alone, Which shall come to me : My lord shall deal in ships and gold, And priceless gems my lord shall hold." Then, gleeful, the youngest, uprising said, " List now, and I'll tell thee whom 1 shall wed : A sailor bold from over the sea. Whose only love is the love of me ; And we'll live and be happy together, In the brightest and darkest of weather Ay, happy we ever shall be ! " But she, the lady, pale and fair. With mild blue eyes and golden hair — She, bowing low, and weeping, said : "My heart is ever with the dead — Ah, w^oe is me ! I ne'er shall see My own, my loved, my plighted one ! And can it be Again to me He'll never come, no, never come ? 64: THE COLLOQUY. Ah, woe is me ! In vain the storms around him sweep ; In vain the rain-clouds o'er him weep ; In vain the stars through all the night. Shed o'er his grave their pallid light : He will not wake. O love, thy name to me is grief ! O God ! wilt thou not send relief ! Must this heart break \ " DEFIANCE. 65 O tliee, grim Death, I come, I come : I sliudder not, nor am I dumb With fear. Thee have I met before. And vanquished 'mid the ocean's roar, And when the crested wave around In wrath did me o'er-leap. As sound Of peahng thunder, thou didst laugh, And I was not afraid. And dost thou think to fright me now ? To pale my cheek, to blanch my brow % A soul unmoved, resolved, I bring. To conquer thee, thou tyrant king. Tlien strike with all tliy strength ; strike well, And let eacli blow upon me tell. Thou canst not better nerve my arm With thee to fight, and thee disarm — To vanquish thee again. 5 66 DESPAIR, HE storm shall howl around my path, And night shall deeper fall ; The rain shall drip like tassels dark That dangle from a pall ; The wind shall chant a requiem wild For all my buried hope, Wliile on and on, through deepening night, My rayless path I grope. No star shall gild my lonel}' way ; No hand shall shield my form ; The night shall wrap me in her fold. And hide me in the storm. For others Hope will spread her light Across their earthly track. And gild with beauty what's to me The blackest of the black. DESPAIR. 67 For others stars of love will shine, Or night be turned to day ; No ray of beauty e'er shall gild My dark and lonely way. By slow degrees the night shall close Around me like a wall, Till silence winds me in her shroud. The dark funereal pall. (jS the despairing mythologist. AUK ! blindino; rain ! shiveriiii? liail ! Hark ! winds driv'n by merciless fate They come, tliey come like a rushing blast From chambers deep in the hidden past : Yile mimics — the offspring of hate. They mimic my torturing fears, My agony bred of despair ; My doubts, reveal'd in a flood of tears Like those which fall at funeral biers Of dead men who die without prayer. Oh, blinding rain ! shivering hail ! ^Vhicli come from the cell of despair : Now strike, oh ! strike like a demon fell, This bosom, rank with the growth of hell, And lit with Tartarean glare ! THE DESPAIRING MYTIIOLOGIST. G9 Oil winds, born where never is hope ! Blow fierce on mj corrugate cheek, And pale mj lips with your blighting breath, And bear me quick to the stream of death — The Stygian river I seek. But hold ! shall I yield to Despair ! No, never ! I'll conquer the foe ; Put out the torch of the Furies three. And hold their lash till my soul is free — Yes, free from its burden of woe. 70 MUTABILE SEMPER, ITLED by passion, not by reason, Is this feverish heart of mine ; All she wraps in fire consuming, I within my heart enshi-ine. Changing, changing, ever changing ; I am like the restless sea. Tossing, tossing, never ceasing, In my struggle to be free. Hopes I cherish nov/ so fondly, Friends the dearest of the dear, Soon are lost — yes, lost, forgotten, In my wild and mad career. What to-day I worship wildly Passes in the next away ; All it had of life and beauty Turns to mingle with decay. MUTABILE SEMPER. 71 Lo ! to-day I clasp in fondness Some fair idol to my heart ; Bnt the morrow brings another, Which, alas ! shall soon depart. Daily, daily, withont ceasing. Do I build my castles high, Till they pierce the starry summit. Melt, and vanish in the sky. Though they fade, yet still I build them, Careless what may be their fate ; All to-day I prize so dearly, On the morrow I shall hate. 7'J THE FIRST WOMAN, Clje Jfirst Marnatt* THOU wert more fair than the daugh- ters of men, For thou wert the daughter of God ! More blooming thy cheeks than the bhishing rose That down on the bank of the river grows, And scatters its perfume abroad. Thine eyes, all divine, had a light that is lost, Belon-. Will not atone for that deep Vv^rong, Laurene, Laurene. 90 THE TRIUMPH OF PRIDE. t Sriumplj 0f ^ritr^. E seem not all we are — we are not all we seem, For wayward Pride, with colors bright, paints life's short dream : And where the days are dark, and where the skies are black. Upon the fading hours she leaves her golden track. On yonth her subtile fingers trace, with skill complete, An hour when ardent love with regal fame shall meet ; And age she bids upon a future day rely, — Regardless of the silent moments as they fly. THE TRIUMPH OF PRIDE. 91 And To, to mortal man she gives immortal name ! Upon the venal altar of his frozen heart She strews her jewels rare, and lights her baleful flame. With more than human skill she hides all trace of shame : Beneath her glass our vice and virtue are the same. She scorns all human life — she spurns the fear of death ; With gems and jewels rare she mocks the failing breath. She triumphs over Tnne, and sits upon tlie throne Of human mind — with power supreme she reigns alone. 92 THE SCEPTICS PREDICTION. t Saptic's ^rtiridioit. UK day of life ! our niglit of death ! The last, how near ! 'Tis but a breath Before we reach the tomb. I know that to the mighty throng Who pass with liurried step along, The dark-robed Monster oft appears, Unmindful of the burning tears. Regardless of the prayers and fears Awakened by his gloom. But let him spread his blackened pall, And let his darkening shadows fall Like storm-clouds over me. My soul Avith dread he cannot shake ; My heart with grief he cannot break ; ]^o deep regret my heart shall swell When, faintly, I, my \^^i fareioell Shall speak to those I've loved so well : Then happy I shall l)e — THE SCEPTICS PREDICTION. 93 Yes, liappy ! breathing life away So gently, like a summer day Receding in the west. And when I'm prisoned close in death, Breathe not an eulogistic breath ; E"o monumental pillar raise. To give my name to other days ; But fold my hands, my eyelids close, And bear me from the mighty throng Who pass with hurried step alono- — In silence bear me to the o-rave. There I shall dwell in deep repose, Unmoved by praise, by flattering breath — A sleeper in the arms of Death, Forever. 94 MV COFFIN. lllJ CoffilT. ET it be smooth, and dark, and long ; Mounted with silver, tight, and strong ; AYith oval top, and graven plate — • Mj time of birth, and mortal date ; Well lined with satin, soft, and white. And trimmed witli gold from left to right. Make it, I charge yon, strong and tight. That it may last throughout the night ; That when the ages all have flown, It still may hold me bone to bone. No matter what may hap my kin, When I am safely locked within. TO A HYPOCRITE, 96 THOU accursed son of godless wrath ! O, thou vile monster, in whose slimy path Base envy crawls, and blushless stalks revenue ! Pale is thy visage as tlie sheeted dead. But black as hell thy heart, to virtue dead. Thou canst, dissembler, every guise assume ; I know thee well — and now I speak thy doom : O'er thy putrescent form no flower shall bloom, Nor shall a friend lament above thy tomb ; But dark Despair, that ruthless fiend, shall wave Her ebon wand, and gloat, above thy grave. O, thou canst weep ! yes, but thy tears do flow Cold as the streams that from tlie mountain snow Descend, submerging all the vale below : 96 TO A HYPOCRITE, And thon, with honeyed speech, canst smile, but not deceive ; For none, e'en fools, thy words or smiles believe. O, thou incarnate Lie ! I know thee well, And shun thee as I would the path to hell. Why seek a Christian's sphere, and mimic grace ? Begone, thou Judas ! haste thee to thy place ! And bring no more on sacred things disgrace. We see the serpent in thine evil eye ; And yet we hear thee tell us how to die ! Some give their children to thy watchful care And think thee good, because thou mockest prayer. Move on, my righteous pen, nor fear to say Of shameless deeds performed in open day. Tell how the poor for bread must toil in pain, While he, with greedy hand, secures the gain. Tell how, by knavish plan, he strives to rule The weak dependant and the witless tool. TO A HYPOCRITE. 97 Tell of his lengthy prayers, and pious psalms, His broken promise, and his stinted alms. Enough — should'st thou his ev'ry vice portray. Thy work would cease not till my latest day. 98 AD UINISTRVM. ^tr Piitbtem* Translated from Horace, Liber I., Ode 38. HE Persiiin garlands please me not, Nor chaplets tied witli linden-rind ; Then ask no more where dwells the rose, In wreaths around the head to bind. Add naught to simple myrtle leaves, Nor roses in the hair entwine ; The myrtle crown becomes thee well. And suits me quaffing 'neath the vine. * Horace had probably invited some of his friends to supper, and his slave was making an extraordinary preparation for their entertainment. — Sana- don. The ancients used to crown their heads with mjTtle at their teasts, not only because it was sacred to Venus, but because they thought it dispelled the vapors of their wine. — Lamb. ALEXIS AND AZEZA. 99' ALEXIS. OST tliou remember, O Azeza, all the flowers I to tliee in autumn gave % They caused more pain to me than they did pleasure bring to thee. AZEZA. Why caused you pain ? Had I foreseen what now I know, I would not have received them from your hand. ALEXIS. Then they would have caused me greater pain. Within my lingers, like the wax within the flame, they would have melted. Azeza, thou didst kiss the flowers full many times, and thou didst press them fondl}^ to thy breast. But thou didst never 100 ALEXIS AND AZEZA. kiss the giver. O Azeza, this it was that caused me pain. One night, npon my bed, of thee I dreamed. I dreamed that thou an island wert whereon no man had ever trod — an island whereon the palm-tree flourished. Sweet smell- ing herbs and spice trees rare sent up their odor- ous breatli to where Sandalphon waits to gather up the prayers of saints ; and I did dream that I the great and mighty ocean was, with waves for arms, and sj)ray for hair, and sparkling salt and dark sea-shells for eyes. With waves I clasped thee, and did hold thee fast until the morning came. I covered thee witli spray, while thou for joy didst breathe so low I scarcely knew that thou didst breathe at all. AZEZA. Speak on ! Your voice is music to my trem- bling soul. I cannot choose but hear. Say if your love be still alive ? ALEXIS AND AZEZA. 101 ALEXIS. It lives, and brighter burns each hour of life. I've brought again some flowers to thee, my love, a tuberose and leaves of rose-geraniums. AZEZA. A tuberose ? Dangerous pleasures '^ — do I tread on sliding sand? But oh, 'twere joy to lose one's footing; and to slide into an ocean such as thou didst dream of, were no sin. ALEXIS. And I have green geranium leaves for thee, my love, that in their language mute \ do speak unto thy soul, and say that I have chosen Azeza. Kiss these flowers for me, and when the volume of the day is closed between the covers of the night, and thou dost lay thee down to rest, then place these flowers upon thy sinless breast, that * Tuberose signifies dangerqus plegpSUfes. t The geranir.m leaf says ■•choseQ," 102 ALEXIS AND AZEZA. they the pulse of tliy young heart may feel, and, fillecl with nameless bliss, forget to wither and to die. Dream then of me, the one who gave them thee, O fairest of the fair ! AZEZA. I dream of yoii not only in the night, but you are all the day my fond delight. The hills and valleys, painted with the clover blossoms red and white, the racing brook, the sunburnt rock, and shady nook, derive their all from you, for me. ALEXIS. Then sit no more in gloom, Azeza. ]^or longer me repulse. What though in youth, before thy years were well advanced, thou didst dream thy- self in love with one who was unworth}^ thee ? What though thou didst, in girlish passion, fling before his feet thine all — the price of thy be- trayal ? Speak but one short word, and I will bi'eak the chain that binds thy perfect nature to ALEXIS AND AZEZA. 103 its couch of ice, and chain thee to myself, not as a servant to a lord, nor even as a saviour to the saved, but I will bind thee with the cords of love — will bind thee fast w^ith threads of fire. AZEZA. But I am bound by all the chains that law has forged — am bound so fast that nothing but the power of God can make me free. ALEXIS. But I, Azeza, have the power of God, which power is love. AZEZA. I yield. Now strike the galling chain from off my waiting soul, and make me wholly free. Let friends, let home, let wealtli depart — I find them all, and more, in you. Now be the ocean that you dreamed you were, and I will be the lit- tle island in your arms. 104 A FRAGMENT. HE days they come, the clays they go, and the years mo\e by, and the seasons change. A7e change with them, and the stream of life runs smooth and cleai", as onr dreams may be ; we change with them, and the stream of life runs wild and dark as the angry sea, and \\q say of it all. His vain, Vis- vain j w^e relax our hold on the things of time, and the sands of life from our fingers flow ; all the delicate sands and white, like snow, fall in the river of death below. Each day of my life new faces I see, but what in a year are these faces to me ? Lily-white fingers they beckon to me, l)ut where in a year will the beckoners be ? A FRAGMENT. 105 I stand where the play and the music abonnd ; I hear through the scenes the soft notes sound, and down in an orchestra seat I see two vio- let eyes all intent on me ; they smile, I smile, and tlie play goes on ; but where have they gone when the play is done ? Yet I know where change can never be found, where the same sweet strains shall ever re- sound, is a land where all shall gather again, the nations and races and tribes of men. There flowers never fade — forever they bloom in that strange suimy land beyond the dark tomb. There o'er the green fields roam wild the glad deer, unchased by the hunter, un- touched by a fear ; soft, silent Night, with her veil of bright stars, woos the spirit of man to a gentle repose, and the angel of peace, till break of the morn, holds guard where they slumber the dark hours away. 106 My HEART IS LOCKED. ITlT iKtrt is f otiwir. Y heart — no lire upon its lieartli-stone burns — 'Tis covered o'er with dust ; I^or ever on its liinges turns the door, Wliose lock is lilled with rust. Oh, once love's golden hcj, v>'ith jewels set, Unlocked that hidden door : Oh, once upon its hinges wide it turned ; 'Twill open wide no more. No more? no more? — 'Sad words — no more. I weep, I murmur o'er and o'er ; In anguish, too, I say, " Alas ! alas ! the da}^ Deatli stole the key away ! ^' The feet of busy years move by ; Friends come and go, friends live and die : But what, oh ! what is that to me ? My heart is locked : death holds the key. MV HEART IS LOCKED. 107 The changeful seasons come and go — The cold white winter filled with snow, And then the merry spring ; And so the snmmer swiftly comes, And all the vales do ring With songs of birds that sing, Of every name, and every shade, Beneath the sun : And then the crimson antnmn comes ; And one by one The birds depart, and winter fills The vales with snow, and all the hills It wraps in white. Bnt what, oh ! wdiat is that to me ? My heart is locked : death holds the key. THE END.