^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf-XS- ' i.M7^ united states of america. Brooks gurgle -through their mosses, falling o'er Low mimic ledges. Page 45. "^ FOREST LEAVES AND THREE; Or, GENEVRA'S TOWER i^ars f^ulett gonng OMNIA BONA BONIS 33 Second Edition PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON & COMPANY Cambridge, Mass. '"'SSS, /•rSw OF co'v^:^ 8 Y^,J^a^ Copyright, 1887, Bl S. & n. S. YOUNG & CO. All rights reserved. Tht Riverside Press, Cambridge. " Verse is an incantation, tvith dominion over pow- ers of the air. Prose is a sword at one's side to hew a path on earth. " Have nothing to do with poetry if you can help it, — if you can help it ; and if you canH help it, care nothing for my judgment, nor for any man's, hut, writ- ing as little as you can, hide your time." CONTENTS. PASE Proem I. 1 Proem II 3 Proem III 4 FOREST LEAVES The Sense of Beauty 5 Yes, I HAVE worshiped Beauty 6 The Child Genevra 7 Withered Leaves 8 questionis 8 "The Divine Idea of the World" .... 9 Choice of a Home 12 Perfectness in Nature Inanimate more than in Man 13 Genevra 13 Summer .......... 21 Vacation 21 A Memory 22 St. Paul's Grove — Vespers 23 The Dead Tree . . .24 Sonnets. " mind of man, be humble " .... 26 "Friend of my fireside" 26 Impromptu Thoughts and Words .... 27 Thanksgiving 29 A Mood 29 "Humming-bird, I wonder" 30 vi CONTENTS. Hoping against Hope ....... 31 Poetic Dkeams 31 Alone 32 Welcome, O Sun ! 33 " Aspen fluttering soft and low " . . . .33 Prayer 34 Sonnets to Longfellow, ISSO. After reading " Ultima Thule," . . . .35 September 37 Autumnal 38 Something Unexplained 40 December 41 Summer is Coming 43 The Winged Visitor 44 The Maidenhair Fern 45 Forest Musings 46 Wood Violets ........ 47 Epithalamium 47 A Bridal Musing . 49 Wedded Love 50 Gfnevra's Friend. "The smile of the sea" 50 Genevra's Home . 60 Maurice to Genevra 63 Genevra to Maurice 64 To Maurice 69 At Sea 70 The Letter 71 Sonnet of Prayer 72 The Refiner's Fire .73 "Who ever lived, nor learned to know" . . 73 Shadows and Light 74 "Lord, that our Eyes may be Opened" . . .75 The Spirit most Worthy his Care .... 76 Lift up thy Lamp 78 Light-Crowned 79 CONTENTS. Vll Three: or, Genevra's Tower. A June Morning 80 "God is Love" 86 OCTAVIA to GeNEVBA 101 A Note Poem 129 STUDIES WITH HISTOKY AND POETIC MYTH. Mottoes 141 Alexander 142 AiiCrBiADES 145 Cassandra 146 Absalom and his Sister 147 The Prophet's Chastening 151 In the Days of Old 155 The Voice of the Eloquent 157 Endymion Sleeping 160 Cleopatra's Soliloquy 161 The Crucified 164 Two Hours from the Life of Julia Domna, Empress Wife of Septimius Severus .... 165 King Antheric's Envoy 168 A Revery with Early English History . . . 172 Edwy 175 Ethelgiva 176 The Pursuers 177 Anselm 178 The Crusades 179 Berengaria of Navarrte, or, the Marriage of Cceur DE Lion 180 The Fateful Houb 183 Edward Plantagenet the First .... 187 "Once upon a Time" 189 The Gift 192 The Betrothal Ring of St. Catherine . . . 193 Sawda's Dream 194 "The Little Queen" .... ... 195> viii CONTENTS. The Prisoner's Waking Thoughts . , . . . 201 "The Fairest Thing to "Mortal Eyes" . . . 202 Elisabeth 204 constantine the eleventh 205 Orion 207 Our Country's Dead 209 A Fragment 210 Buried from the Battlefield 212 The Voyagers 213 "Let me Weep" 226 My " Angel of the Covenant " 227 PUKITAN AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The White Shield's Motto 228 The Puritan Mother's Lesson 229 The Garden Prayer of the Children . . . 231 Chastening Pain 232 "Take Thou thy Mother's Kiss" .... 233 A Bird's Ministry 234 My Pansies 236 Snow in May 237 The Best Boon 238 An Angel is Ouks 239 Christmas Evening 240 Twilight 241 In Memoriam 244 Genevieve 244 Heard 245 The Last Page 246 FIRST PROEM. Thank Heaven for kingly souls, — For thought that overroUs All littleness, and bright And broad gives back the light Of truth ! . . . Thank heaven for him, One of the seraphim Humbled to earthly woe, With pent immortal fire, With soul a daily pyre Of hopes, — Art's Angelo. For William Shakespeare's name Thank heaven ! His crown of fame Is not a thing that came For swift and light transfer, — Thank heaven for thoughts that were Shaped into deathless words True as the might which girds Eternal justice, — words Immortal as the mind To which they entrance find. Where memory's tide can flow, Onward for joy or woe Still must their presence go. FIRST PROEM. Moved on perforce, what if Weak hands uplift the pen Or marble of the cliff Dare chisel? When, oh, when Can anght but humbleness A spirit true possess? SECOND PROEM. Still leaves of thought, which on a shore un- known From life's tree whispering fell, as the soft tide Of morning air and sea-breeze wandering wide Have swept it, — or the sudden storm- wind blown, — Once more ye are upgathered, and now strown Abroad on flowing waters. Should ye glide Where some still voyager from his shallop's side May trace your half-told meaning, and a lone Sweet sense come o'er him, calm as brooding dove. Softening all pain, and lighting up all light, — The sense of Sovereign, deep, mysterious Love, Pervading joy that makes all beauty bright, ' — Then more than diamond dust were the rich gain — Then, trembling leaves, ye were not strown in vain. THIRD PROEM. Thoughts of poets rustle low- As the leaves when south winds blow. Like the rustling, whispering leaves They are hushed by summer eves. And they listen, hushed, and white, In the starry, silvery night, For an angel's gliding wings, And they keep some words he brings. Thoughts of poets, worship-stilled. Wait a prophecy fulfilled Which the inner life has spoken, Signed and sealed by truest token. Spirit hunger, sweeter far Than the sense-born banquets are. Is the token — 't is the spell Which can rule the earth-life well. FOREST LEAVES. THE SENSE OF BEAUTY. Beauty dwelleth everywhere, O'er the earth, and in the air, — But a sacred chrism must lie On thy heart to clear the eye. Beauty, dowered from above. Smiles alone when pleadeth love, — Hand that toucheth hand with hate Knocks in vain at beauty's gate. Waving tree-tops, closely wed, Benediction on each head, Win the golden sunlight down Through their leaves and branches brown. Daily beauty smiles around, Joys prophetic have been found When the lesson shineth clear, — Beauty means that God is near. FOREST LEAVES. YES, I HAVE WORSHIPED BEAUTY. Yes, I have worshiped beauty — worship still. Where shines this garment of the Holy One I bow to kiss its hem, and feel a thrill To be so near the Might, the Light, the Throne. Throned in God's thought must sovereign beauty dwell, And at his will it glows to mortal view, — In lightning splendor now it flameth well — Now smiles a rose impearled with evening dew. And I have worshiped beauty in the light Of kindling eyes, and lij)s all eloquent When seemed supernal powers unveiled to sight, And words of fire to human thought were lent. Still, I must worsliip beauty. I must keep This rapture to my life — this truant tone Of heaven's full harmony ; and high, and deep, Must seek, and find eternal beauty's throne. FOREST LEAVES. THE CHILD GENEVRA. All day the wind sang its minstrel lays With harmonies varied and quaint, Across the meadows, and through the leaves, Around the gables, and under the eaves, — Now high and proud as a conqueror's praise, Now like hymns of a cloistered saint. Little Genevra in the porch Threw back the chestnut hair From her full white brow, and listening stood While the oak-tree waved to the waving wood. And the maple on high swung a crimson torch For autumn kindled there. Below the meadow grass was swayed Along its level sea. To tossing billowy waves of green, With foam of laughing sunlight sheen, That lightly-curling, wavering, played With the wind in tireless glee. Little Genevra with smiling eyes. Where lights and shadows flit Above their deep so crystalline, Unconsciously yields a worship divine, — Soul's joy in the beautiful, which dies From life if wrona: enter it. 8 FOREST LEAVES. WITHERED LEAVES. FROM THE BOOK OF A DECEASED FRIEND. Ye withered leaves of long ago, Strange is tbe tale ye tell, — Why come ye from your hiding-place To break time's Lethean spell ? O blue deep smiling eyes of love, O waxen white hands crossed, — Alas, that these frail leaves are here And ye to me so lost ! Ache, struggling heart, ache on, ache on, — Thy very pain is cheer; The chains that hurt thee link afar — Ache on, but do not fear. QUESTIONIS. My soul is like a silent listening bird Beneath the darkling j^ine woods flitted lone With noiseless motion ; while a hushing tone Of some sweet mystery is ever heard Through the green harpstrings by a low wind stirred ; And if too near some harsher sound has grown My pained ear waits, my thoughtful moods bemoan FOREST LEA VES. 9 The broken spell, the cabalistic word That lingered passing. Nature's rhythmic dower. Gurgle of rills in springtime, and the throb Of waves against their barriers, or, more strange. The spirit voice of winds, had they the power For us earth's deepest secret forth to sob, — Alas, if 't were but drear material change ! "THE DIVINE IDEA OF THE WORLD." " The Lord answered out of a wliirhviud." " He quieteth the earth with the south wind." " A man who had never seen the sun rise, seeing it for the first time, would discern it to he Godlike." I LIST for a voice that speaks to me From the lingering wind and the waving tree As evening falls with its solemn power, And mystery fills the strange sweet hour. I catch one tone, and I sti'ive in vain To blend the meanings I scarcely gain Into a something which sense and soul Can grasp as part of a teaching whole, — Something is spoken, I fain would know Whence came the whispers, and whither they go. O soul of mine that dwellest dim Beneath the rays of the seraphim, 10 FOREST LEAVES. Hast thou marked the lightning's fiery gleam Or seen the moon with silver beam O'er the tidal swell of ocean's waves Rule mild as love her mighty slaves, — Hast thou heard the rolling thunder's mirth And chanting winds round thy home of earth, — Hast thou caught the far-off cataract's roar Yet learned no more ? Yet learned no more ? Learned only this, a questioning wild? Alas thou child ! alas thou child ! There are voices deep of dread and power. There are whisjDers soft of the spring-tide hour, There are wooing voices of earth and air, There are kindly voices that banish care, — Triumphant voices that stir and thrill With might of a music grander still ; And through these voices, hushed or high, Morn's chorus joy or evening's sigh. One changeless truth all grief beguiles, For us a Father lives, — and smiles; A Sovereign Sire, whose starry state Bids thrones and powers in reverence wait, Speeds systems and worlds on their flying march Through the soundless deep of night's blue arch, - A Father near us, around our way Where raindrops fall, and forests sway, Where grows the grass, or unfolds the flower, Where light o'er the dial tells the hour, — FOREST LEAVES. 11 Yes, nearer still, for He is part Of the kindling eye and beating heart, — Each pulse-throb born of our joy or pain He knows, each toil, nor will leave it vain. By thy childhood's ear deep truth was heard In the summer rill, from the singing bird ; In the soft air's kiss on thy flushing cheek Thou hast felt the love that did not speak, — Trust God, and know that Love wedded to Power Makes hope assurance, gives joy for each hour. Trust God, and know that the griefs which bless, The thirst for a high pure happiness. The sighs for a something still vainly sought, Are no " half-hinges " of fruitless thought. By reason, hopefulness, and right, We learn from the wild bird's southern flight, When autumn chills the clouded morn And gathered all is the ripened corn. That for each white-winged thought that soars > Beyond time's bleak and fading shores To seek another clime more fair Where throbs and smiles congenial air, Such summer clime must surely be A sweet and restful certainty. Trust God, thou trembling soul of mine, Behold his works that breathe and shine ! When shadow-fringed his garment's hem, When dim thy sight to mark the gem * * Love, or love-purpose. 12 FOREST LEAVES. Whose splendor lights a charmed way- Through blinding terrors to Sovereign Day, — Still upward strive from death and dust, From sordid thoughts like cankering rust, From the gathering gloom of grief and pain, — Though worn the heart, and worn the brain, — Still upward strive, through toiling and rest, Still upward to reach the Father's breast. CHOICE OF A HOME. Build not on lowlands. Choose a pleasant height And one still higher, grander, rising near With gleaming crown where skies are ever clear. Live where below are all the mists of night That mildew and obscure our true birthright Of happiness, — do thus, and even here Life beams a new spring morning dear With welcome beauty for the spirit's sight. The far-off sea shall shining crest, and toss With vast rejoicing ; and the drifting winds, With harmonies unheard before, shall cross The bending tree-tops, while the melted snow From cottage eaves a gift in sunlight finds Purer than Eastern pearls to flash and glow. FOREST LEAVES. 13 PERFECTNESS IN NATURE INANIMATE MORE THAN IN MAN. This plume of grass, this fresh rosebud, Though culled in Heaven's own air. Could scarce show more of perfectness Than clothes them now so fair. The stately tree that waves ajoft 'Neath this all-lialcyon sky Might wave as well a graceful part Of scenes divinely high. One thing alone below the sun Keeps not its sovereign charm, And faintly proves its builder's hand, — The marred, mocked human form. One place, most wondrous 'neath the skies With madness oft is rife, — The haunted chamber of the mind, The palace of our life. GENEVRA. I. A Poet's daughter rare and bright. All dreams of beauty, joy, and light 14 FOREST LEAVES. Were to her life a heritage. She needed not the learned page To show that an all-wondrous Power Moves veiled in nature. The high dower To feel, to know, to love, to own His presence, bow beneath his throne, Was hers ere childhood sought to frame In word the mystery of his name. A poet's daughter, — yet her sire She had not known, — his ringing lyre Was dropped to earth, the chords all broken, His life-dream new, his best unspoken. With pale hand o'er her infant head The bright uplifted face he read, And with slow smile and reverent eyes He vowed her to the sovereignties Of all pure thoughts that seal and bless From need of humbler happiness. Then dreamily his memory far Wandered, where bright with morning star And all the heavens' shining crown. Grand snow-white mountain peaks look down In depths of a clear beauteous lake, — As God's white majesty doth make A stainless soul his mirror. Low, And faintly murmuring as the flow Of a spent fountain, " for my sake," He said, " call her Genevra. Child, My daughter, bright one, undefiled, FOREST LEAVES. 15 Thou bearest in thy new life the same Heaven-kindled and undying* flame That rayed my altar. It may be Words yet shall show splendor I only see." Claude calmly slept, — but earth no more Knew his awakening. Morning bore Her light to a hushed room, where lay A statue form of noblest — clay. Lingering there, a youthful wife Refused to weep, — was there not life In the still grandeur of that brow, And soul in the mute eloquence That dreamed like joy of saintly vow On lips of untold beauty ? Whence Should come intrusive tears to shade The haloed vision which death made All sacred now, and yet to be A starry calm of memory. II. The Poet's widowed bride had wealth, Friends of high station, beauty, health. And all that schools and culture give Of treasures that youth's hours outlive. Not hers alone the subtle grace Of polished manner, and the race Of deft white fingers o'er the keys ; But, thoughtfully as one who sees 16 FOREST LEAVES. More than the surfaces of things, Of customs, characters, and brings The tests of reason to decide Questions of passion and of pride, She took her chosen noiseless way. The whispered words half-heard that day When her pale poet closed his eyes Were cherished as the changeless ties Where'er that spirit life might soar To raise her own to it once more. The mother left no menial hand To wield a mother's sacred wand. No menial's sullen frown to blight The soft eyes' kindling, questioning light, No harsh voice answering to the cry Of the young lips that should not sigh ; But, turning from the flattering throng That craved her rich voice in the song, She breathed her infant's lullaby. Full was the guerdon to her breast Of all a mother's heart knows best As, with a beauty half divine, The radiant child, so pure, so fine. Burst forth as from a chrysalis Winged with young raptures, formed for bliss. Not slow love's watchful care to mark The changing eye, now bright, now dark. Nerves quivering with the living thought. FOREST LEAVES. IT The breathless hush with feeling fraught, The languid calm of frame o'erwrought. Time, passing with its changes, soon Mother and teacher merged in one, Wisely, considerately kind. Often as came the summer boon Of flowers, and bird-song, and low wind Among the grasses, they would go. Teacher and pupil, where none know The weary steps of fashion's feet ; And by old forests as they list Or lone lake's mountain mirror sweet, With nature's self they held true tryst, Tar from the mockery and mist That hide her charm we fain would greet. Faint bloom stole through young Psyche's cheek. The thrilling nerves no more were weak ; The father's wasting fire gave way To soothing gladness calm as day. Then brightly for Genevra came School-days at last ; for, too, her name Must stand on the proud record, where Smile learning's stately temples. " Fair And silverly " on her must fall The halo of diploma, — all That fills and brightens the one day Which opens far life's prosperous way, — Therefore the school-days came at last. 18 FOREST LEAVES. With them was opened too the vast Wide world of books Genevra knew But by a rich and chosen few Conned pleasantly in music rare Of her true teacher's voice, with care Selecting and rejecting, so That purest gems, — diamonds that glow With all-unshadowed light must be The earliest setting she can see In memory's chain placed fittingly. III. Like that of forest aisles a shade, Blent with soft rainbow tints, and made Most beautiful the classic hall With its high tracery o'er all Its honored memories. Within Lingered a group of girls to win In playful talk a respite kind After the school-tasks ; and to bind In closer braid their school-girl faith In changeless friendship — a mist wraith Sometimes, yet oft a golden glow Of sunbeams which no setting know. One with chestnut hair all curly On her brow so white, so pearly, Read by a window. FOREST LEAVES. 19 Quickly spoke A frolicsome gay girl, and woke The echoes of the stately hall ; But let the high tone softly fall With sparkling laughter from dark eyes Whose mischief oft in kindness dies. " I do protest, Genevra Hale," She said, " and will o'er hill, o'er dale Proclaim you recreant from our league Of fun to-day. Why now fatigue Your dear eyes longer with that book? Come, talk with us, — I cannot brook A verity to still conceal In which you should some interest feel. Attentively now hear, and know, Sure as the days that come and go, That, of the students in these halls, — The gentlemen of course — it falls, Too, that we have some grand ones here, Worthy your seeing — do not fear, — All are gone mad to know the pale And spirituelle Genevra Hale. There's witchery in your eyes, they say, — And even our stately president To Madam Learned said one day, To your nativity was lent Some moonlight spell of field or wood, You are so wondrous fair and good." Genevra smiled, and the bright eyes Indeed had witchery deep and wise. 20 FOREST LEAVES. Born of ricb. thoughts and sympathies And all-unsullied truth. " Most kind,"^ She said, " are they, if not most blind. I thank them — thank you all, and try, When in my power, to justify Myself from the arraigning skill Of merry Celia. Bear you still With dullness, but my friendship trust. In doing this you will be just." Her fallen pencil and a folding Of paper from the niuUion molding Were gathered with no care to haste As if to linger were time's waste ; But, when the cheerful talk renewed, The topic dresses elegant Worn by a bright belle at Nahant, She glided from the hall, and stood Erelong in a high balcony Above the elm-trees, where the glee Of giddy swingers from below Was heard, not heeded, while with slow Attentive care she turned, and read The fourth book of the Paradise Seen with imagination's eyes By old time's true-souled Milton. Fled, As the deep twilight veiled the page. Was, for Genevra, this dim age. While musings thronged her graceful head Of Eve, and grand old Adam, long since dead. FOREST LEAVES. 21 SUMMER. A BENISON of peace dotli pass Over the world to-day, It waves along the meadow grass, Hallows the free bird's lay. From azure deeps of heaven it beams, And, peace, the hills reply, — The soft white cloudlets, like our dreams, Hover in peace on high. Uplifted forest tops of green Seem hymning of the blest. While on the far lake's glassy sheen The sails, like white souls, rest. God's peace breathes o'er our precious dead Where gentle shadows lie, — ** 'T is not," the deep voice oft has said, " The worst of ills to die." VACATION. The summer winds are sinsrins: Sweet and low — soft and low ; My thoughts like tribute bringing. Calmly flow — grateful flow. 22 FOREST LEAVES. The summer winds touch lightly On the sea — o'er the sea, — A thousand smiles flash brightly Upward free — clear and free. The aspen's light leaves flutter Quick with joy — wild with joy ; Their shadows fleck my shutter Gayly coy — fair and coy. O summer wind, soft straying Near and far — here and far, I know the things you 're saying, — Dear they are — grand they are. " Kiss the sweet air," * my spirit. Soothed and still — glad and still,' Life, Life, thou dost inherit. Feel its thrill — know its thrill ! A MEMORY. Upon a gliding deck the artist stood. And slow before him passed a beauteous scene, — A high cathedral shade of forest green With stately columns, seemed in hermit mood * " Kis3 the sweet air, and worship God, who fills it." — Hindu Saying. FOREST LEAVES. 23 Advancing from the shore its saintly rood, — Its walls a lig'ht and magical soft screen Of vines and summer leaves, while intervene Dark arch, and shrine, and cloister, round which brood The spells that hush with blessing. And before That dreamlike fane of oracles low played The sunbright water, rippling to the shore, On whitened pebbles like fair ivory keys. Ah, God ! such harmonies alone are made For worshipers who wait on bended knees. ST. PAUL'S GROVE — VESPERS. Saceed the scene, when the slant sunbeams fall Along the columns through the oak-trees tall, And to thy eastern front, beloved Hall, The bright lake signals with its witching charm ; While all the whispering leaves around us move Like famed Dodona's, — or, with glad alarm As if they knew the might of living hearts Had set them all pulsating. We must love With truth which ne'er, go where we will, departs The deep-toned memories, that, stirring all Within to life, to toil, to strength, forever call With cadence clear and sweet from our far forest HaU. 24 FOREST LEAVES. THE DEAD TREE. I SAW it with leafy honors crowned By a crystal streamlet's side, And its long fair boughs in their graceful sway Stooped down to the gentle tide. I ling'ered once beneath its shade At the noon of a summer day ; When youth's clear pulse through my temples beat In its swift and joyous way. And busy thought of my questioning brain Went out on restless wing To the unknown's far and shoreless waves Some tidings thence to bi'ing. Blest, blest, and beautiful seemed they all — Green earth, and the holy sky, And sold with its wondrous, fearful gifts, And doom of mystery. Years passed, from distant stranger scenes I came with a colder brow. But, by nature's altars wreathed and pure My spirit still could bow. The crystal stream on its winding way My footsteps traced once more, FOREST LEAVES. 25 While a dim sweet thought of other days Led softly on before. I saw the emerald shore anew Hold the laughing waves to rest For a moment charmed and placidly In its violet-scented breast. And there far down in the stillness glassed, All riven, bleak, and gray. Was a giant form that frowned above, Though lit by the summer's ray. Then a mist came over the sunbeam's light, The breeze passed chillingly, And something mourned within my heart — But not for the blighted tree. A vision came with a pallid brow And stood beside me there, With pride-wreathed lips, and a clear dark eye. Away — 't was a thing of air ! Yet a being like it on earth once dwelt, With mien thus high and cold ; But the valley's clods press heavily And mute o'er the spoils they hold. A deep pall covered the wasted form, A deeper the passing soul, — FOREST LEAVES. A name that stands like the gray sad tree Was the proud man's earthly goal. SONNETS. O MIND OF MAN, BE HUMBLE. O MIND of man, be humble ; for thy themes Thou piercest as but Deity should dare, Nor dread unmeasured spaces beyond air, Nor years half infinite can bound thy dreams ; Yet, while from farthest star the raveled beams Of vibrant light their tidings to thee bear. Filling thy arrogant thought with new and rare Of learning's boastful claim, it well beseems Thou shouldst remember still how little tossed By thy adventurous prow is the vast main Of silent mystery, remember they, Esteemed as most triumphant to have crossed All dimness into truth, have soon from vain Weak moorings drifted, — bend thee still, and pray. FRIEND OF MY FIRESIDE. Friend of my fireside, home, and heart, whose gift Of crystal clear and analytic thought A teaching, prized and true, to me has brought, — Oh, may one shadow from thy spirit drift ! FOREST LEAVES. 27 Oh, may one brightness o'er thy life uplift Its beamy wings, filling the soulless naught Which endless cold philosophies have wrought With an all-cheering Presence ! through some rift Of time's cloud-curtain dare to fix thy gaze, And with the lens of faith's grand telescope Watch patiently until new, wondrous rays, Across the dark slow stealing, light thy hope, — And soon, serenely shining from afar, The deathless splendors of thy Morning Star. IMPROMPTU THOUGHTS AND WORDS. " I dare not be a coward with my lips Who dare to question all things in my soul. I claim the right of knowing whom I serve, Else is my service idle. He that asks My homage asks it from a reasoning soul."^ " We demand To know Him first, then trust Him, and then love When we have found Him worthy of our love, Tried by our own poor hearts, and not before." Thou man of science and of wit, What pleasure can we find Though dark-winged birds of thought shall flit Out from their cage, the mind ? If there 's no God, 't is vain to brand His name for good undone, — 28 FOREST LEAVES. He cannot come and fawning stand To wait our favor won. If there 's a God who rules the skies And sends the sunbeam's light, His power and wisdom will suffice — We need not guide Him right. He never will before the bar Of swollen pride confess That He has erred about a star And blundered in the mess Of whirling fire and awful void Where earth, an atom, hung. Prates boldly of his fame destroyed Since chirping insects * sung. No lowly, reverent mind in vain Looks to the heights above, Nor " spells in syllables of pain " All we may know of Love. * " The inhabitants of the earth are as grasshoppers."" FOREST LEAVES. 29 THANKSGIVING. Give thanks for these : the soft blue sky With fleecy cloudlets fair ; And for soft airs that linger by Nor breathe of doubt and care ; — Thanks for the fresh green sj)ring-time leaves This sweetest morn of May, And that no sorrow inly grieves We could not bear to-day ; — Thanks for the aspen's quivering grace, The elm-tree's stately height ; While all the flushing charm has place Of orchards gladly bright ; — Thanks for the quiet forest shade And sunny flash of waves ; — Thanks for a still heart, calmly rayed With trust that cheers and saves ! A MOOD. Ye winds that come and go With dreary, dreamy flow, Dully I muse to know, Wherefore ? 30 FOREST LEAVES. Ye flowers that live to die Like thoughts too glad and high, I ask with fruitless sigh, Wherefore ? Bright clouds that speed amain Like dreams we dream in vain, We cry from desert pain, Wherefore ? HUMMING-BIRD, I WONDER. Humming-bird, I wonder Can thy quivering wing rest ? What sweet blossoms under Hides thy peaceful spring nest ? Humming-bird, I wonder Can a spirit find rest — Hushed from terror's thunder, Is there yet a kind nest ? Humming-bird, I wonder Where 's thy tiny thought tossed. Atoms small asunder Far, and all unsought, lost ? FOREST LEAVES. 31 HOPING AGAINST HOPE. SONG-BIKD of early spring. Forget not thou to sing, Earth has grown old with care, Faint hope seems half despair, — O might we hear Full notes of joy and praise From all life's common ways Outringing clear ! Sickness of hope deferred Falls o'er man's thought and word,- Send, send some voice of cheer, Bird, poet, saint, or seer. Great King divine, — Some message grand and true, Wakening to life anew This world of Thine ! POETIC DREAMS. Busy dreams that will be dreamed, Heaven-fair and rainbow-gleamed, Have ye made your promise sure ? Have ye charmed the heart-life pure ? To the true heights is your lure, 32 FOREST LEAVES. Dreams, O dreams that seemed divine, Throbbing, fading dreams of mine ? ALONE. Knowest thou what this word meaneth. The loneness of the soul That moves divorced and silent Nor would that aught control In broadened ways to lead it Far from a given goal ? Canst thou bear the heavy silence. When heavier griefs oppress, Of blank, unanswering midnight When clouds no ray confess. And but the dim boughs waving Keep time to consciousness ? Canst thou be alone with the distance Stretched from star to burning star Through the awful voids and spaces — Alone with the near and far — Alone with the whirling terror Of being's freighted car ? Alone with mystery's problem, Here and afar outspread, FOREST LEAVES. 33 Which slow Truth ponders over Nor dares to say, " 't is read," — Alone with the now and the endless, The living and the dead ? Alone with thought and feeling No mortal can help us bear — Alone with trembling and reeling In the arms of black despair, — Alone with God, and kneeling ? — Peace cometh heavenly fair. WELCOME, SUN! Night has been with us, night so cold We half forgot the sunshine gold Could kindle, feebly asked, if light Were ever more than darkness . . . Bright^ Thou comest in the flushing east, Great Bridegroom, for thy wedding feast, — Welcome, true Sun! ASPEN FLUTTERING SOFT AND LOW. Aspen whispering soft and low. What thou meanest I would know ; — Dost thou kiss the summer air ? 34 FOREST LEAVES. Dost tliou feel that God is there ? Is thy worship like our prayer ? Aspen, aspen ! blest thou art, — No wild, aching, burning heart Mars thy gladness, dims thy light, — Aspen, kiss the sunbeams bright, Clap thy hands in joy's pure might ! PRAYER. God of the night and all its majesty, Clouds, and strange whispery winds, and burning stars. To Thee I call, A dimmed yet quenchless spark Of thy own gift of being seeks its source. God of the lightnings, which with blazonry Most wonderful and the triumphant rolling Of swift-wheeled chariots are passing now. To Thee I call — to Thee from out the deeps, Where sad maternal earth all vainly pours The faint sweet odor of her fading flowers And her low, mournful melody of tone On the unresting sense of agony. To Thee, to Thee I call ; for Thou alone Who dost command the lightnings, and they come, Spreading their flame-bright pinions to perform FOREST LEAVES. 35 Thy mandates, — Thou alone canst send from far Along the turbulent waves of human thought Light's silver track, and speak the weariness Of wrong and vain life-questionings to rest. God of my soul, who knowest its aching fear And voiceless heavenward thirstings, bend, oh bend. From thy unseen and awful grandeur now ; And let that kingly hand, whose thrilling touch Gave more than life to Judah's leper, rest Its hallowing blest burden here — even here, On head and heart ! August 27, 1882. SONNETS TO LONGFELLOW, 1880. AFTER READING " ULTIMA THULE," I. Magician of sweet song, thy soft notes swell Along the evening zephyrs, — wilt thou spurn The earnest friend whose listening ear shall turn Won by each murmur of thy clear-toned shell. Whose music charmed, as words but faintly tell, My youthful homage, if I now discern Thy own plain lesson, — though I would not learn — 36 FOREST LEAVES. Life's deepening pathos ? Yes, I read too well, — Crowned poet, thou wouldst lay thy laurels by To stand once more tranced with the " holy night,'* And watch Spain's moon rise o'er Alhambra's. height With youth's warm splendor in thy kindling eye And pulsing breast that never knew a sigh, — Life's fervid glow a lamp of ceaseless light. n. "I know that my being has a purpose in the omniscience o£ my Creator." — Outre Mer, page 292. Thou didst not err, O poet calm and true, Heaven sealed the " purpose," and thy work is wrought Nobly and purely ; long the world has sought And loved the stainless beauty. Hours tliat flew Like carrier-doves, bearing some richly new And peerless treasure from thy loving thought, Were white- winged messengers ; and they have caught Immortal air, and floated on, even through Immortal gates to meet God's welcome. Years I Oh what are years ? or ages ? Far outflies Them all a re-born spirit, — with no fears Of time's slow wreck while grandly it may rise In that Eternal Sun's life-giving rays Which beam omnific o'er all countless days. FOREST LEAVES. 37 SEPTEMBER. As a sweet nameless miracle Around life's common ways Steals tlie enchantment to my soul Of stiU September days. It rests upon the hills and sea, Hushes the forest leaves, And for the restless heart of man A dream of childhood weaves. It lifts the mourner's veil away That grief -shut eyes may see ; And soothed as by the lips of love, Long sorrows cease to be. Whence comes the blest far-reaching power, Nameless by voice or word, While flow'rets die, and faintly clear The cricket's note is heard ? 'T is more than soft and silent air, More than the sunlight's charm, — We feel a Presence at our side, Lean on a viewless arm. 38 FOREST LEAVES. And when the wintry ills we meet Earth's children all have met, The spirit charmed with hope and trust Holds a sure amulet. AUTUMNAL. I. Autumn's deep voice I listen now — A wind-voice deep and low, — A lesson and a history Are in its measured flow. A history of all the past, Life's blissful summer prime, — O chant it, sweet mysterious voice, Thou worship-tone of time ! Tell of the hours to rapture given Of restless, kindling thought, When youth's clear vision, earth and heaven To swell the rapture wrought. Tell of the fireside hours with friends, The gifted, tried, and true. Who crossed as angel guides our way. The blest, the treasured few. And, more than all, tell thou of Him, The holy, heavenly Guest, FOREST LEAVES. 39 Whose presence through all brightness past Beams centrally, the best. Still bring, O rhythmic chronicler, The memories we must love ; And with them breathe a prophecy To lift our hope above. n. Brown Autumn's lesson too be learned, So grand, so full, so clear, — Great Father of the universe, Give us the hearing ear. It tells that winter storms must sweep Across the smiling sky. That souls through doubt and suffering pass To clearer light on high. The summer bloom, the verdant leaf, The ripened fruit, we know Each in its turn must sink to lie Beneath a pall of snow ; But, lightly placed on every bough, That waves afar or near. In axil of each withered leaf Spring's new-formed buds appear. 40 FOREST LEAVES. Thus we, though youth, and love, and life Fade from us day by day, Gaze on the swelling buds of hope Beyond death's icy sway. The autumn daj^s move grandly on, Numbering our years the while, — Father on high, each, as they pass, Stamp with approving smile. SOMETHING UNEXPLAINED. Autumn, thou hast strange power. Let me but hear From the old mountains and the woodlands sere The chanting chorus and the mystic chime Of far-borne music in thy voice sublime. And, lo, I am transfigured; backward roll Upon me joy and strength. The kindling soul Spurns off the hated shackles of dull 3- ears And worn thoughts quivering oft from smiles to tears ; While in their place, a grand uj)lifting hope, White as the cherubim, breaks clearly through Life's shadows, and all fearlessly would ope Heaven's gate, so full the wondrous trust, so new. Read me this mystery, ye woods and vales, Wakened anew by free and freshening gales, FOREST LEAVES. 41 Read me this mystery, thou azure sky, — Nay, all-pervading Spirit, tell me why. As sounds the sure knell of the rosy hours. And fades the wreath from summer's radiant bow- ers. While fair frail things around in ruin lie — Why soars my joy on unseen wings so high ? 'T is like the half-learned lesson of our faith, The lesson deep and sti-ange of life from death. Oh, may we tread the last dark riverside. To find of rushing light the smiling tide ! And as pale joys drop withered from the hand. The soul exultant thus a conqueror stand ! DECEMBER. He is come in his robe of ermine, December, so stately and grand, He chills the warm heart that would greet him, And I touch not his freezing hand ; But sit in my pleasant chamber, Where the pictured faces dear Are all that look on me kindly. Save the sovereign friend still near. I sit and list to the suro-inof Of thought-waves that come and go 42 FOREST LEAVES. On the shore of my spirit's silence With ever varying flow. I question, fancy, and reason — Most conchisive reasonings to me — As I watch the snowflakes whirling Through the plumes of our own pine-tree. The pine with its pleasant story Of the home-life that once was mine, And which stands in ever green beauty Of fadeless joys symbol and sign. I think of two gentle maidens, In the light of their earliest bloom, Who kissed me and stept in the chariot For a land beyond winter's gloom. I think of a face calm and noble — So pale on one desolate day, — Lijjs that smiled like a glad sj^irit's smiling ; Ah, me ! could they pass away ! December is come in his ermine, December so rayless and cold. But for one thing how dearly we love it — The story by shepherds once told ! When the star over Bethlehem beaming Joined the heavenly chorus who sing, FOREST LEAVES. 43 *' Peace on earth and good tidings To life's weary millions we bring." SUMMER IS COMING. The March winds are sweeping In triumph around, — Swelling and leaping, The waves of sound Dash on in their gladness Worn thoughts to beguile, For winter and sadiaess Shall vanish awhile. On, on, goes the greeting. Swift, southern, and warm, Wild harmonies meeting In mystical charm ; Glad voices seem blending With music once dear, To waiting hearts sending A message of cheer. I dreamily listen, And hopes full of joy, Xjike ocean-pearls glisten. Which naught shall destroy. 44 FOREST LEAVES. Yes, summer is coming — The flute-tones prevail Over rushing and booming, The pride of the gale. Far opens the vista Of beauty once more, Through garlands, the misty Old mountains, the shore. Glad welcome ! Life-dreamer, Thy fears all unlearn. And summer, soul-summer, Keturn, return ! THE WINGED VISITOR. Cara, cara, cara, cara! The song comes through the orchard leaves^ It clearly swells by the cottage eaves. Listen, O silent heart that grieves — Cara, carissima, cara. A thing of joy for earth too bright Awakes the ear, and charms the sight, Singing with ever new delight, Cara, cara, cara, cara, Cara, carissima, cara. FOREST LEAVES. 45 The bright bird caged beside the wall Quivers with joy iu his narrow hall ; The stranger lingers with soft, sweet call, Cara, cara, cara, cara ! Like all fair things of earth and sky, The flame-bird spread his wings to fly. And his song, like a faithless lover's sigh, Passed on, carissima cara ! THE MAIDENHAIR FERN. It lay beside my path, a withered thing Tangled with wood-bark which some lowly home Claims for its winter hearth-fire ; but while roam My thoughts regretfully that time should bring Beauty thus delicate to perishing, The fairy leaflets gather hues of chrome And emerald, and, poising, light as foam On stem of silken jet, they seem to swing With breeze-touch of their native wilds once more. Around me come all dewy woodland dreams, — Brooks gurgle through their mosses, falling o'er Low mimic ledges, light empyreal beams Through the high-clustering leaves ; and clearly rings Afar the Gloria a lone thrush sin^s. 46 FOREST LEAVES. FOREST MUSINGS. Welcome as rest, O voices, calmly calling To my glad heart that answers to your calls ! Nature's deep music on my ear is falling, Wavering through summer leaves the sunlight faUs. I hear once more the wind's low murmurous surg- ing Through the far aisles of ancient forests borne, — Wakening from dust long -buried thoughts are urging. Live, act, thy life complete, thou spirit worn. Each forest tree, each bough a work beginning By its firm growth, the greater and the less. Some good for future years is slowly winning, The power at last to shelter and to bless. Shall man, then, man, the sovereign and the living, Creature of hopes and dreams, resign the trust. The right, the joy, the sacredness of giving, And listless, motiveless, pass on to dust ? Life, human life, thovi thing too darkly pondered ! Poor human 1 nasts heave not with shunless woe; Soul, exiled soul, from a far bright hope wandered, Its haunting melodies still round thee flow. FOREST LEAVES. 4T List ! the lone forest wind, now widely rushing, With tone oracular, arrests my ear, As if, the mind's chaotic tumults hushing, It breathed the mysteries we pine to hear. Oh, does it not ? As the low hymn of sadness Mourns wreck on wreck along life's stormy coast, So in the notes of grand and solemn gladness The listening spirit learns, all is not lost. WOOD VIOLETS. Saintly sweet the violets hide Moss the greenest close beside, — Sunlight stealing like love's bliss To them with a dainty kiss. EPITHALAMIUM. Lovely lady, gentle bride. Thou art floating over the tide, — Not a single thought of sorrow, Only of a glad to-morrow. Dark and deep beneath the wave, Laughing, sparkling ripples lave By the yacht's low wavering side, Cheerfully greeting as they glide. 48 FOREST LEAVES. Gentle lady, beauteous girl, With the lightly-waving curl, And the brown and tender eyes Where the soul's pure mystery lies, Lovely form and sweet round arm, — Kind heaven keep thee from all harm ! One of matchless manly grace Heeds thy changing wish or face — Ah ! I know why thou and he Sought this lonely hour with me, Thoughts ye had which none must share, Joys which silence makes more fair. Lovely lady, graceful bride, Floating away with floating tide, Thoughts which follow thee, floating, now, Meeting eyes of thine, a brow From which veiling crape went back In our swift and breezy track May return to thee, and then Memory light will show thee when Love's dear choice with me would stay, Caring, dreaming not to stray. Go, my heart's kiss floats to you. Dear one, loving, lovely, true. Gentle lady, lovely bride. Far away with veering tide. Heart that kissed you hear it say, FOREST LEAVES. 49 One there is whose Sovereign sway Claims us, voyagers o'er life's tide, Claims the chosen by our side. Should death's shadowy sail appear, Dim the sunlight now so dear, May Divinity o'er thee shine, Holiest Life with thine entwine ; May the arm of Him who saith, " I have keys of the grave and death," Shield thee still through life's clear even, Floating onward to thy heaven. A BRIDAL MUSING. O FAIREST, best-beloved, dare not dream That thou canst be an absolute supply Of the soul's craving, or canst hush the cry For pure ideals by the softened gleam That plays in sweet enchantment full, supreme. About thee ; yet, shall love regretful sigh. And to some cavern depth of sorrow fly. Lost the proud sun, and scorned the moonlight's beam? Nay, rather love ye truly, friends, and be The mutual bond your mutual need of love. Wait calmly till life's mystery is wrought To clearness, — some new morning each may see 60 FOREST LEAVES. The kind ones who around us daily move, Retouched of heaven, are all that fancy sought. WEDDED LOVE. It is no dream Which time dispels, Like sounds of bells That dying seem, — This dual sweet dependence. This mystic glad transcendence, Earth's heaven-lent gleam. GENEVRA'S FRIEND. " THE SMILE OF THE SEA." The smile of the sea, the smile of the sea, Showing how gentle God's greatness can be ! Walks He not the sea pavement in splendor to- night, With diamonds new-covered his footprints of light ? Hark, the ripples play softly and musical now, 'Neath the hush of his hand, and the calm of his brow. The smile of the sea, the smile of the sea ! Such smile on the soul-deeps of being may be ; Through sealight and starlight with cleaving prow Westward the Parthia is passing now. FOREST LEAVES. 61 Along the hushed billows may diamond light stream, Across the lone vastness may starry hopes beam ; And the ripples play softly in musical flow With the vastness around, and the deepness below. Through sealight and starlight onward passed The gallant ship ; from the tall white mast Scarce wavered a pennon, but rubies of fire Fell back in the wavelets to expire. Through sealight and moonlight with cleaving prow Westward the Parthia is passing now. I. Enthroned in silvery, starry state, Where courtier moonbeams kneel and wait, Between the sky and gleaming sea, Were two rare beings made to be Crowned with that night's pure majesty. Alike they were, — to poet's dream. There in the brightness they might seem To be that fabled immortal pair, Woman and angel whose love could dare To be immortal yet exiled. Away from heaven though undefiled. Each lip had curves of kindred thought, Each eye its light from truth had caught, Each full white brow wore its graceful hair Alike in hue ; but, softly fair 62 FOREST LEAVES. In loosened rings hers floating lay, His carelessly was massed away. Alike tliey were tliougli kindred none. But in the shadow and the sun One year gone by, their ways had crossed. Two stranger parties travel-tost From the same land, as travelers meet Had met, and wandered on, where street Or palace, art, or ruin hoar, Or aught of mountain, river, shore Seemed fair or worthy ; and not strange To any, as they pass and change, One party's regnant star and pride To find in lingering spell beside The brightness, the white Lyra ray Of all the other. If some stay Of cherished hope were turned aside From other lives, all knew to hide Such truth's unwelcome evidence. Unmarred by pain and brightly thence Passed by for fair Genevra Hale And Maurice Hayne Catesby one True, glorious summer, rarely known To earth's most favored annals. Vale And hill where echo low the wail And triumph of past centuries Had grown familiar ; and with eyes Gentle and studious they looked On work of hands to ashes passed,, FOREST LEAVES. 63 Despite the haughty souls that brooked No thought more low, than, at the last, An immortality. Still, bright, As two fair rivers in the light Flow in one channel side by side, Mingling pure thought-waves, tide with tide, Passed they, until to each were known Their mutual tastes, each spirit tone. Standing before some statue rare, Or master's living canvas, where With nameless skill were flashing out Meanings we worship, such as dart With truth and nature through the heart, Proving beyond all pause for doubt What genius can do, they but raised Their meeting eyes, and words that praised Were needless. Had Catesby gazed Then daringly into those eyes Of Psyche-like, sweet witcheries, Heard day by day that Psyche tone Thrill low and deep, and with his own. As favored escort purely may To aid where steepness mars the way, Touched that fair, womanly white hand. Whose grace and beauty did command A spirit language pure and bland, — Yet heard no whispers such as steal Through manly hearts and bid them feel Love's gentle presence without spot Should lino-er near ? — believe it not. 64 FOREST LEAVES. It was with purpose fixed and true Maurice Catesby gently drew Genevra to the deck that night, And wandered slowly, half in light, Half in the awning's twilight shade. Till the last loiterer's parting made A solitude as true, as fair As anchorite would seek for prayer. 'T was not an hour for thronging words, For plan or thought that overgirds And reins to use ambition's might For battlefields of wrong and right. Well had Genevra seen and known Maurice Catesby was not one Of loiterers vain in foreign lands Dropping waste time with idle hands ; Some acts to do, some words to speak In his land's language and her cause To mold her destiny or laws. She felt there were, and these not weak ; But other thoughts ascend to-night. Heart true as stars, soul ocean bright, With the approving heaven above. His few deep words ask answering love. Graceful and pure Genevra's hand Lay on his arm, — to close the band The other rose as pure, as fair, FOREST LEAVES. 55 And they were clasped in moonlight there, — Yet, in her aspect and her eyes, Which watched the gleaming ocean far In which eve's low descending star Must sink while her clear brightness dies, A questioning lay. That questioning crossed, — Not deeps of pain by passion tossed, But the still measurements of thought To Him whom earnest minds are taught To hold by an unwavering trust As the Creative One who must Guide where He made, since He is just. As sacred things his joy to be Maurice enclasped most reverently Those clinging hands, and bent to place On the sweet, silent, dreamy face The pleading kiss of hopefulness Which still its hope must half repress j But, turning with an earnest grace. Yet playfully, she said, " Not so, — My Pi'ince, my Maurice, champion knight Of all things worthy, good, and bright. You need not this my thoughts to know. The mountain shepherd's lips may kiss His smiling shephei'dess, and this Is well to bind their humble vow. So peaceful and so light ; but thou 56 FOREST LEAVES. And I, if love indeed be true, Must beai' with us a joy which, too, Has wounding. Sweet the joy to feel The mystery around us steal, — The certainty that boldest hearts Can smile on vassalage. Departs For us the doubt that tortures, now, And for all future. I affirm, Knowing eternity its term. To thee my fealty, — yes, bow Thy listening ear — let the words rest In memory's tablet full-impressed. God's name is first — thine second — both Live in my soul as being doth. Still, Maurice, still, we will not walk Togetlier, as they do who talk And breathe of the same air — too near To know each other. Souls revere That which doth beam apart, afar, — Not glorious were the morning star Plucked from its home of grandeur. Thou, My star, I must not see thee bow From thy true place of shining. As Thy life uplifts all grandly white. Mine shall wear pearls and chrysolite, Diamond, and sunlight's pure topaz. Thou hast true purposes, — a thought For me too rises — more and more Takes outlines which must be traced o'er, V FOREST LEAVES. 57 And with all varied hues inwrought Of beauty, truth, and gladness. We May each in each forever see An inspiration, — let this be." " Alas, Genevra, can the heart Bear this of which you speak ? No art Is there the growth to disentwine Of tendrils sensitive and fine Clasping, entangled, as we own Our two loves have together grown. No, no ; thine must not be the hand To rend, to ruin ; and I stand My strength but pain before the thought, I have no power to yield thee. Oui'ht My summer dream to end but thus ? " " No. Maurice, yield me not. For us, — Dost thou not see ? the bridal 's past. Have I not spoken words none speak Even at the altar ? Wouldst thou seek For other vows than those thou hast Already ? This poor earthly life Is but a question of some strife Toward noble ends for a brief space Of years or days, — then face to face We meet transfigured, with no blight Of memories to mar our light." 68 FOREST LEAVES. •* Silent Catesby stood, and thought Over his fine, still features wrought Such magic that Genevra's eye Turned not from gazing on the high Proud study of that form and face Which time no more from memory can displace. At last he spoke, and very low And strange the utterance, and slow. " But from cold marble is the gleam Across thy words, no summer beam Of love's own tenderness that needs An answering love, and daily feeds Its life with it. Genevra Hale, Must I believe that phantom thing Has mocked me which with frantic wail Keats tells of, high and glittering In all her matchless might to snare The heart she saves not from despair ? " With changeless brow her hand once more He sought, it was so fair, and wore On one white finger a rich ring Of sapphires, which to fancy bring Heaven's blue and truth. But lingering To check her voice's trembling throb Genevra spoke ; — she would not rob A tried heart of its right to know Her less than marble, more than snow. FOREST LEAVES. 59 *' Maurice, to thee alone this hand Is given. No other shall demand Nor touch thy guarded claim, — these tears Give answer to distrustful fears. Doubt not pain which is mine to speak, With heart now grown too sadly weak, The words, we part, — we part to-night, Nor meet till in eternal light. If love is spirit-born, it needs no sigh — Must live ; if not, let the false vision fly. Thou canst be grand, my Maurice, love As souls and God do ; time shall prove The moonbeams on thy brow are not more white Than love that dares past death triumphant flight." Maurice had watched with searching eye Her face ; he spoke half haughtily : " Be mine, proud girl, in thy own way ; I cannot doubt thy truth, — yet stay — One moment now — I claim you here Close to my heart. A language clear It has — of such dread meaning, thou Wilt not hold lightly the strange vow By which thy troth is surely given For life and death, for earth and heaven." Faintly but firm Genevra drew Back from his circling arm, and grew 60 FOREST LEAVES. Whiter than he though both were pale, — What might words spoken then avail ? She glided from his side away. He stood a statue stern and cold, The night-breeze curious and bold Whisj)ered in vain, — in morning's gray The Parthia at her moorings lay. With gathered strength and calmly then He passed back to the world of men. II. GENEVRA'S HOME. Enter this library. The gleam Is everywhere, the sunlike beam Of golden beauty from the rich Dark inlaid cases ; and in niche Between them glow some gems the knee Of artist love must own to be Shrine for its worship, — marbles fair From Italy, and canvas rare And wonderful. A mirror wall Beyond doubles the light and all The far perspective, its extremes, The mirrored and tlie true, each seems A fairy-like still garden place. FOREST LEAVES. 61 With avenue and gleaming vase Flower-laden ; w^hile beneath the arch Of festooned laces where the larch Without just meets the lattice vines A chair of quaint old carving twines Its simulated flowers around The cushion where the head reclines And delicate and thoughtful face Of one, the beautiful. A sound Of gurgling water, in soft race Of fountain currents, fills the air Of evening with low music there. The still sweet dreamy eyes, the pearl Of forehead, and the chestnut curl, The slender nestling hands so fair Amid their laces old and rare. The gracefulness of robe and form, The attitude, itself a charm. The nameless something, — spirit tone Of a divineness all her own, To me restore, and to my tale The presence of Genevra Hale. Yet twelve full years have passed away, Twelve slow-paced years of night and day, Years which might bring to others blight But dared not touch that brow of light. &^ Nature is partial, showering oft All gifts of sweetness and of grace, 62 FOREST LEAVES. All beauty of the mind and face On one her petted favorite ; But then the creature is so bright, With pride unbraced, with helmet doffed, One gift away we would not take, But say " 'T is well ! " for love's own sake» Changed is the evening into night, — Genevra stands beneath the light Of the clear lustres which reveal A little sadness that will steal Up all unbidden from the heart Forgetting that it should depart ; And — yes — that hand is slight to frailness And like wan moonbeams in its paleness, — It holds a letter. One short page The letter is, yet heritage Of diamond or of golden store Named in some dear friend's will Was ne'er so tenderly scanned o'er, With tears so bright and still. 'T was gently on the marble laid Where the warm light most clearly played ; And with a slow and thoughtful pace, Dear memories brightening in her face, Genevra crossed the tufted floor, Turned and passed gently as before, Till starting with some quickened thought, A white leaf from her desk was brought, FOREST LEAVES. 63 And, kneeling on a footstool near The table, gleaming, white, and clear, She by the letter traced its mate. Or that which seemed a duplicate ; Yet thus one read — the other should Have been its answer. If we could Throw all the lights and shades of thought Into some language newly taught, It were not vain to lift a pen Or hope to mold the form again Of inmost beauty. None may deem He can read clearly things that seem Most clearly written, — there is still, Unwritten, truer, that whose will No word-shaped utterance can fulfil. MAURICE TO GENEVRA. I CALL thee mine, Genevra, and each year Lived in a world where living still art thou. Lived with but memory light from thy pure brow, — ■ Each year with scars of conflict, scorning fear, A pale-lipped messenger, now calls thee near. Shall they all vainly plead, and whisper how With silenced pride to thee I bade them bow. Nor shunned my vassalage to one so dear ? 64 FOREST LEAVES. Is not my life-work rounded to thy will ? Have not my days, my nights, been toiling spent ? Couldst thou smile on my task, upclimbing still ? Nay, after toil a kind rest should be lent. My weary way grows dim with gathering mist, — Oh, end this exile, sweet transcendentalist ! GENEVRA TO MAURICE. Thou dost remember, Maurice, that one night. Most lovely that we ever saw, or dreamed. When stars above us and below us beamed. Yet more than theirs, and clearer was our light, — All else lost in a splendor passing sight. That nisfht of ocean stillness was redeemed From earth and dust, and with hoi3es over- gleamed Clear in my breast as they were then, as white. Yes, eagle, yes, thou hast soared proudly. I From the low valley watched thy upward way Forgetting that my wings all idly lay, — I '11 plume them — gain thee yet — heaven grant I may ! If love is spirit-horn, it needs no sigh — Must live ; if not, let the false vision fly. FOREST LEAVES. 65 On every breeze had passed the name Dearer than all its growing fame, While to Genevra ever came Assurance full and blest that he His own unsoiled nobility Through every step had upward borne Where sometimes " honor bright " grows worn. And now again, and yet again Rang out the clangor far and vain Of popular applause for him The eloquent young senator Who asks no honors, will not dim His clear soul with a falsehood, nor His eye's true vision with gold dust ; But holds by virtue right to hold men's trust ; " And in the future cannot lie One honored place for him too high." 'T was thus the people said, — but knew No one that while the echoes grew Fuller and vaster, he they praised Was dying. A slow consciousness Had stolen to his breast, and raised Its voice till reason must confess The sentence clear, death's fingers wait Amidst the heart-strings — near is fate. He heeded not the voice of fame Far trumpeting, but questioning came, — " Will she I love pause here and lay 66 FOREST LEAVES. Her hand on my cold forehead ? Nay, I could not die, though wrapped in dust, Were she beside me, — her firm trust In endless good and purpose high Would find the rays which glorify." Those few words for Genevra's reading, A tender and an earnest pleading, Had thus been written, but not all The truth that wrapped him as a pall. To touch of pity, surest art Holding in sway a woman's heart, He would not owe her presence dear Which love won not to linger near. She read the sonnet with a pain Which, banished, would be felt again ; And though her answer had been traced With shades of sadness all erased. She rose her slow walk to renew In thoughtful mood which ever grew More and more troubled, and a doubt She could not imderstand nor name Sternly within her soul flashed out, A something of contempt and blame. Was it but selfishness controlled The motives held as purest gold ? Had she dared mar the life of one To her as to the heavens the sun FOREST LEAVES 67 By the poor vanity forever At height to seal the truth of love and lover ? Or, now did madness seize her thought, Some folly steal the mind which ought One fixed calm purpose to pursue Life's given work to firmly do ? With light touch of a silver bell. Scarce heard, so soft the summons feU, A woman came — not old — but grave, And by one glance you knew her brave And wise and kindly. Gently passed As if to one with deference met, Genevra said, "It is the last, The midnight hour, dear Margaret ; If you are weary I will let That I would say pass till to-morrow, — 'T is something which may give you sorrow." " Thy words cannot, my mistress dear, Too late nor early be to hear If hearing them can serve thee well — Speak that even now thou hast to tell." *' Call me not mistress ; thou art friend. My mother's choice to still attend Her orphaned daughter's earthly way, — Now, dost thou love her wishes, say, So well that thou wilt willing learn 68 FOREST LEAVES. To love — there may be no return — A foreign home ? This quiet grace Of dreamy luxury I must change. Some sight of rugged mountain range, Some foreign wandering would displace A dullness, which I greatly fear Grows indolence, or very near The same. Henceforth my life to give — Not only take — thus truly live — I would devote. Lake Leman, grand Bright lake, and Alp-crowned Switzerland With these my soul may utterance dare — My father breathed that altar-air, Mother and Maurice too were there. Soon shall I rise o'er doubt and fear. Win back my childhood's vision clear, — See nature as God's radiant throne, — Hear a deep voice and bless its tone In whispers of the evening breeze, In rippling joy of summer seas. In solemn hush of starry night Brooding aboA'e the awful height Of Alp or Jura I shall hear A voice of hope, the strong, the clear, — And joy, sublimely true as great. Shall open still the half -closed pearly gate. " I go, and soon, what dost thou say ? Come, come with me, my Margaret, pray ! ' FOREST LEAVES. 69 " Thine is my service, hold it true, — It is the work I have to do." *' Thanks, Margaret ! Now all is bright — We sail by the White Star. Good-night." TO MAURICE. O PRICELESS friend afar, if thou hast thought I have been wise and calm in loving thee. It is that thou the pale face didst not see A mirror showed me when my ear half caught Thy coming footsteps, or but feigned it ought To hear them. Can I tell why this should be ? Explain the pallid fear, — the ecstasy Of love, which may to pain be overwrought ? As on some dizzy height I seem to stand With splendor all around me, — while a tone, A look, a thought, a breath, may break the wand Of my enchantment, — and my fate command A swift descent from the empyreal throne Which now I proudly claim, through thee, my own. TO FOREST LEAVES. m. AT SEA. Two travelers from the highest deck Of a vast ocean palace gazed On a strange pageantry upraised Of sunset clouds, that wildly wreck Their arch of dread magnificence With ceaseless, towering changes ; whence Unfold stern forms of ruggedness, Crags of aei-ial steeps which dress Their peaks, torn sides, and restless edges With earthlike, tawny gold, while ledges As of some waiting avalanche Lean menacingly forward, yet Are glowing with dusk splendors met Around their awfulness. " Most stanch And brave, dear ladies, must ye be — To-night some turbulence of sea May come ; some days of rocking blast May follow, — such our ship has passed.'* It was the captain standing near With lifted hat and naught of fear. Again he spoke. " This letter brought And left in the last hour before We sailed, by light-boat from the shore, I render to the person sought." FOREST LEAVES. 71 THE LETTER. When my bright lady reads these words of mine The hand that writes them will be coffined, all Be hushed between us while death's curtains fall. Shall those dark curtains rise ? and crystalline Far dreams for which our restless wishes i)ine With a deep-piercing splendor break our thrall. Leading the way to their clear opal hall, And joys no mockery our souls enshrine ? Ah ! shall those curtains rise ? revealing life A calm majestic real, a new birth Of being ? or, shall end the fruitless strife, Lost to our severed love both heaven and earth? Her voice speaks not the answer, yet I trust We wake transfigured from the envious dust. Rise, rise, wild waters of the deep ! Ye would but mock in placid sleep The thoughts that, spurning all control. Barriers of slow-built strength o'erroU ; Nor find below, around, above Nor anywhere but pain of love, — Fearful and lost yet precious thing — Fearful in joy, in torturing ! Genevra turned and leaned to rest Both arms on the stern guard, and pressed 72 FOREST LEAVES. Her face down there, the fixed eyes staring With a strange, hungry look despairing Far in the cold, green, heedless waves, As wondering if below the caves Are deep enough to bury thought, Or if the ocean's pall is wrought So well that it can hide the brain From frenzy. All too vain, too vain Thy cruel trust, O Maurice, in The calm, still strength love could not win To change its purpose ! May it be That letter was but musingly Traced out in some unresting hour Nor meant to wield such crushing power ; But found by stranger hands, was sealed To tell a truth no more to be concealed ? SONNET OF PRAYER. Being of beings, thou whose sovereign name We speak not, lest the all-unmeasured thought Be mocked even by our reverence — Oh ! Sought, Wilt Thou be found ? Shall pinions wounded, lame And trembling, fold in peace beneath the flame Of thy great glory ? Yes, my life has caught Some bright rays that consumed not, but were fraught With love and benediction. One, the same, FOREST LEAVES. 73 Thou ever art, to me tlie same, — oh ! be. Give me no blessing which Thou dost not bless ; Give me no treasure Thou hast not made dear, Give me no love that is not loved of Thee, — That wears not an unsullied loveliness Which welcomed in thy presence may appear. THE KEFINER'S FIRE. Oh, aching heart, be humble, — they are near The solemn altar, and the pallid urn, — The one with unextinguished flame to burn Through all earth-dross till thou art spirit clear, — • The other where, like autumn leaves grown sere, Proud joys have vanished that no more return From night and silence. Wayward heart, now learn In lowly watchfulness and sacred fear, And searching might of the keen altar-fire Life's meaning. In thy agony be strong ; For is not this thine own, thy true desire, — The pain, the hallowing, asked and waited long That thy pure love a diamond blaze may be For the grand brow that knew Gethsemane ? Who ever lived, nor learned to know His mark of birth, or soon, or late, 74 FOREST LEAVES. The shunless lineage stamp of fate, The blazoned and escutcheoned sign Of a long-drawn ancestral line, — The monogram of woe ? SHADOWS AND LIGHT. I LOOKED on a fading landscape When its beauty all had fled, When " the red leaves' bright mosaic " Crushed brown beneath my tread. I watched a sunset splendor, — A gorgeous palace it seemed. Which changed to didl, cold storm-cloud. Where curtains of crimson had streamed. I saw a glorious woman, — Once fairer than morning light ; But the blight of time had reached her, — She turned, and shunned my sight. 1 marked the mournful meaning Of her eye to thought still true, And I knew that the inner blighting Was more than eyes might view. I sighed, " O Father in heaven, — If thy wisdom had seen it so, FOREST LEAVES. 75 Better swift, than this weary dying, Surrendered to living; woe ! " Night came, and a grand old minster, With cloisters shaded and still, The moonlight asleep on the pavement, I entered, and felt a slow thrill As of music afar and enchanting, Whose charm all the spirit compels, — Not a word, not a breath stirs the silence, Yet around the deep harmony swells. The worn woman lowly v/as kneeling With slender pale hands clasped in prayer, While something — a heaven-wove mantle, Lay o'er her transcendently fair. Let autumn leaves fade as they wither, Let night sunset's crimson infold, — O Spirit undying within us. Thou findest the sunset of gold ! « LORD, THAT OUR EYES MAY BE OPENED." We are pleading, ever pleading, Jesus, now, all else unheeding, Prisoned hearts within us bleeding — Open, Lord, our eyes ! 76 FOREST LEAVES. Weary of our wayside blindness, Coming in our groping blindness, To thy heart of pitying kindness, — Open, Lord, our eyes ! Notes of joy are softly pealing, Thoughts of beauty o'er us stealing ; All our hope to Thee is kneeling, Open, Lord, our eyes ! THE SPIRIT MOST WORTHY HIS CARE. "a dream not all a dream." Slow winged the calm gracious-browed angel, His errand was easy and fair, — Just to bring from the low-lying city The spirit most worthy his care. Warmly bright glowed the windows of churches. White pinions furled close at their doors, — Unseen and unguessed, the still angel Passed over the tufted floors. He heard many words, boldl}- spoken. Of faith, consecration, and love ; Golden gifts were proclaimed for the altars, Some talked of a treasure above. FOREST LEAVES. 77 The phylacteries widely were showing, The Pharisee smiled on his own, — White hands stole out from the ermine, And silken robes softly shone. Deep-veiled was the face of the angel — No anger but sorrow he knew — As away to a dim-lighted chamber Unseen and unguessed he withdrew. There he bent o'er a suffering woman Whose racked thoughts in reverence bow, — " I'm weary — so weary — oh, Jesus, O blessed Christ, help me now ! " The children, poor darlings ! are better — Charlie, and Frank, and Louise, And Carrie the dear little orphan Who lay on the cold stones to freeze. " They are better I know, for I held them Each one as the fever burned on, — They are saved, they are well, gracious heaven ! All well, and the pestilence gone. " Now — yes, I will rest just a little — No, hark — let me go, for I see Another all parched with the fever — Another they 're bringing to me ! 78 FOREST LEAVES. " Whose head is this throbbing so wildly ? Whose eyes that now fade from the light ? '^ The angel flashed out all resplendent, And darkness was banished that night. Calm folded by white wings celestial That gently and safely bear, Mounts away with the deep-loving angel The spirit most worthy his care. LIFT UP THY LAMP. Lift up thy lamp. Ask not if other light Shines clearer, farther o'er the storm-lashed sea Where freighted barks toss on in wildering night And the safe waters of their haven flee. What though abroad the night-winds chilling be ? Soon shall an icier cold around thee steal, And thou, when sounds the death-hour's solemn peal Mayest mourn unfinished work with fruitless plea. Lift up thy lamp along life's wilderness, — A world-forgotten, way-worn wanderer there Sinks faintly down at last beneath the press Of woes to strive no more against despair. Lift up thy lamp, — its pale and quivering ray May guide one soul out from a darkening way. FOREST LEAVES. 79 LIGHT-CROWNED. Fkom bases black and dread, From crags all rent and wild The mountain lifts its head Sovereign, benignant, mild. Our life may be uplift From caverns of despair. And, cragged by sorrow's rift A crown-light still may wear. THKEE : OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. A JUNE MORNING. Beautiful earth in thy robe of beams, Girdled and sparkling with silver streams, Wreathed and jeweled and crowned to-day, Fair empress, we praise thee, accept the lay. Glad vivas are sounding from forest and vale. The rose brings thee fragrance, low music the gale. The old mountains smile in their grandeur of rest. And the sea far away like a joy-heaving breast Throbs back a deep murmur of grateful replies To the love that is beaming from halcyon skies. All beauty seems perfect, all hearts are in tune. This morning, rare morning of life-breathing June. Beautiful earth ! which God rules o'er, — Beautiful heaven ! where thought will soar Through smiling dream-lands, which often grow To clearer vistas where hope-lights glow, — Beautiful love ! which is but He, Brightness of heaven, and earth, and sea ! THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 81 I. With musical and lulling sound Lake Leman's waves lapsed in around White pebbles and a rocky stair, — One of twelve more that, rounding fair, Rose to the highest, which spread wide Its marble, bearing from each side Two giant vase-like forms. Around them Soft summer greenery waved, and crowned them. Across a terrace pavement stood An ancient tower in bowering wood Of elm and larch trees. Often came Forth from its portal deep the same Pale lovely lady for her still And musing walk behind the grille Of the o'erhanging terrace. Days Of rarest charm and southland rays She passed down through the pleasant ward Of vine-hung vases which kept guard In sportive livery of a hold That treasures naught but memories old. Genevra stands upon the stair In the clear June's delicious air, 82 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. And the pure face seems very fair, And calm and trustful ; but a cloud Of mourning crape tells of the proud And hermit thoughts, a shadowy ring. That close around her spirit's weary wing. The oars in grasp of two brown hands Of a slight sunbrowned boy, with large, Black, wistful eyes, a tiny barge 'Neath festooned awning floats away Through sunbeams on the rippling play Of waters. Bright above all lands Art thou, Helvetia, — made sublime With beauty. Ancient Chillon stands And to the heart ail-vainly sjseaks Of sorrow, while the glad eye seeks Afar, around, and riots still In perf ectness, — nor asks that time Reveal another, newer clime Its restless craving quest to fill. There was a room in the old tower Made beautiful by all the power Of Margaret's untiring love,* Whose care all other care above Was this, that her dear lady know No shadow on life's summer glow, * Pages 67, 68. THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 83 No slightest dream of wish unmet, No thought to seem as a regret. While chiding the bewildered hour That brought them to the strange old tower, With crimson drapery and lace She veiled the walls in dainty grace ; And, triple carpets covered o'er The rudeness of the cold stone floor. Beneath a window far embayed Where least the deep roof dropped its shade, Stood a round table ; and a pile Of even sheets, all neatly paged. Written one side, and in a style Peculiar but distinctly fair. And all reversed from sight, lay there. One little paper disengaged Was swept as the light breezes move To fall, the written side above ; And Margaret, who sat and wrought Her netting, saw and quickly caught Some words of troubled meaning. Long Within her thought had hid away. Hushed from all utterance day by day, Unwelcome fears, the spectre throng Haunting in all the silence still Despite her utmost wish and will. In vain she mused, " It cannot be — My lady 's well — can I not see ? — 84 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Never so calm, so blest, so white, — What Power could choose sucli life to blight ? And yet, and yet, her eye 's too bright, Her cheek too beautiful and pure, — Oh life, thou shouldst as love endui-e ! *' 'T is said that love is false and vain, Light, fickle as the wandering breeze That flies across the inconstant seas. Falsest of all false dreams that pain The soul which trusts their mockery. Why lives it then though heard no more Are voices loved, — when from before. Behind, around, wakens no tone To say the vanished are not gone ? Why lives it still when lip and eye And whitest form we treasured so Lie faded dust 'neath winter's snow? Yes, I must weep, but will not sigh For her, the loved of eai*th and heaven — Oh, I must weep and ask not why ! All, all I dread, is written here. She feels the truth as I the fear. Something of a sweet sorrow, more Of an upwelling and exhaustless store Of living gladness she has given In these dear lines — alas, how riven From hope and faith — I only see The future veiled all gloomily ! " THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 85 Fast and unchecked the large tears swell, On the white leaf they blistering fell As Margaret bent down her head Upon the paper in a dread Abandonment, — as they can grieve Who seldom weep — they who bereave From pain the right to be expressed. A light hand touched her silvered hair, A loved low voice her ear addressed : " Knows my dear Margaret how fair This day has been, how soothing still, How gladly peaceful ? Never will, I think, the Alps look out again With such clear outline, and attain Such heaven-lit beauty, — and the air Was like a sacred kiss, — oh ! dare Be happy this triumphant day Of God, in wondrous nature, . . . Nay, My foolish sonnet thou hast read Which farther than it ought has led Thy kindly fears. To talk erewhile I wish of all the future, but beguile To-day sweet fancies. Let me try These few words, whispered truthfully. By your true ear, that I may know If they hold rhythm with an}-- thought, If one deep cadence has been caught Of meaning which through life must flow." 86 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. "GOD IS LOVE." Great God, I knew thy charm, Felt thy caressing arm Along my childhood ways ; And sweet thoughts calm and coy Uplifted into joy, Grew bright as heaven beneath thy spirit rays. Thy voice I, listening, heard While the old forest stirred And gladdened to thy might, — While mellow thunders spoke, And reverent silence woke To echoing music with responsive night. Great God, the guileless heart Fears not thy face, — Thou art ! Thou art ! Oh ! seal us j)ure, — Give childhood's blessing still, — Thy wondrous vows fulfil, Thy words of troth and truth, divine and sure. " There, on the cushions, I will talk, — Nay, Margaret, aid me not to walk." *' I still am here, — but when I go Dear Margaret, you alone must know THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 87 Mercy's sweet care. All that I find Except some legacies, declined Wliere none do need them, I have mind To leave with you. Once more I say, Care for the orphans ; nor forget Our strange boy Marcus, — is that way, That look of yours, good Margaret, A half formed frown whene'er his name I speak? I know his genius towers Not yet o'er question ; but no blame Is his if I misjudge his powers And still advise a waste of hours Within the studio. Slow toil Is that of the great artist. Foil, Sometimes, the spirit's fervid dreams The colder hand ; but worthy themes May yet call forth some effort high A master's touch inspiredly. Aid Marcus well. If you had seen The deep light come into his eyes To-day, — the still thought- splendor rise O'er all his features, while between The green cliff shades, with pausing oar. We gazed along the matchless shore And up to the great mountains, — oh ! You never would again be slow To own that wondrous meaning dwells. Of which his life yet faintly tells Behind those eyes' deep blackness." THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. "He Is not a chosen one by me," Said Margaret, " yet do I trust I can and will to him be just. There is a canvas in the room Where Marcus stays, but, in the gloom And shadows that delight him, none Could see its merits, — and, beside, 'T is turned against the wall. Alone I hardly could uplift the wide High frame. When it came here, and how, Me knows — shall I go call Jmii f — now ? " *' Wait still. I never yet have known You, Margaret, a choice to own But you a reason wise could give. Severe you never are, till live The faults to make you so, therefore That which you know conceal no more. Why strangely you so often use Unneeded accents help me muse." *' Genevra, child, try now to bear My folly while I must declare Myself I fail to justify. The truth is this, I ever fly From things which are not as they seem ; Therefore the poet's lovely dream I name a dream ; and when I look Upon the painted side of brown THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 89 Coarse canvas, — from a silent nook Of — is it scorn ? I see deep clown Through it to empty nothing. If, Your Marcus Marcus is, — 't is well, Albeit his vain thoughts should swell Beyond his measure, to a cliff From which he soon would tumble ; but, If that same name of Marcus cut All truth with falsehood, until read Another way ; and if, new led, We add some seven years more of age, Than he has claimed, for your dark page, — Nothing were left but this, to call Him Marcia and a cheat. Here 's all I wish to say." ..." Speak, Margaret, Speak still, — are given no reasons yet, Only suspicions, — tell their cause It is required by truth's plain laws." " Well, when you came, weary and weak, From Florence, and the winds were bleak Across the Jura in late spring, Please to remember that you stayed At fair Vevey, I hastening To build some fires that the cold shade Of the old tower might soften, by Their warmth. And also I would try To let some southern sunshine in Before your coming. Having passed 90 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. On through the vineyards, thus to win My purpose, much fatigued at last I crept slowly and silently Up from the postern door to see How seemed the air in that droll place Hung like a bird's-nest from the wall — Half up — half down — that I must call Your dressing-room. Turning my face, By chance I looked down through the small And pretty arch, yonder where fall The draperies ; and, trust these eyes, I saw, sitting exactly there, And in that very crimson chair, A princess-like proud lady. Wise She looked as beautiful ; but gazed With eyes I would she ne'er had raised Down on the floor most thoughtfully. Her rich robe I could plainly see Piled by her dainty-slippered feet ; And on her brow were jewels meet For a king's wearing. On her breast Flashed out an ancient stomacher Of great pure diamonds. Shall the rest Be told ? " " Yes, all you know of her." *' She rose, and stood in stately height Before this mirror ; but no flight Of vain thoughts passed across her face, — Troubled despite her lofty grace. THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 91 I noted a bright wealth of curl Piled high to, softly mingling, twirl Among the jewels of her brow, And soon — I see it clearly now — That upward glance of mirrored eyes, Black, black, and fixed as by surprise, Which Marcus, Marcus all revealed. Yes, Marcus, with a cheek as fair Almost as yours, was standing there, The thing he is to me unsealed. I loved him not, yet well could trace In all his ways and in his face A gentle culture. Humble place And lowly deferential grace Were feigned so well it proved the same From others he knew how to claim." " What next was done ? " " I half forget — Shame not your silly Margaret Whose brain, bewildered swam with thought Of pleasure far too dearly bought By dwelling in a robber's hold, As helpless victims helpless sold To murder and a nameless grave In our strange home this side the wave ; And all by this pretended boy Who in his holiday may toy With some chief criminal's base wealth Whom he can ably serve by stealth. 92 THREE: OR, GENEVRA\S TOWER. When reasoning came for your defense, A plan by which to extricate You from all danger ere too late, My lady of magnificence Was gone. I did not hear her stir, And now in truth I must aver I know not when nor how she went ; For I most foolislily had bent My head too low in trembling fears, — Such weakness comes with coming years." " It was, I think, no human form," Genevra said, " with currents warm Of youthful blood, — quiet she seemed, You said, as if she only dreamed The past. There may be mysteries cold Which we need not be overbold To know, nor questioning seek, — I would not this with us should speak." " Nay, my Genevra, I must smile If you with ghost-thoughts would beguile Your clearer judgment. Let me say Once more, 't was Marcus, not a fay Nor wandering thing from other years Revisiting its home of tears. I say that she was Marcus, who, — Listen, this very moment, too, — Passes across the landing, high THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 93 Above the postern stairs, which try His claim to ghostship and deny- That he, intangible, can move Without a sound so far above The safe and lowly common sod Where mortal feet have ever trod. To satisfy your latest doubt. When you have dined, I '11 bring about His coming here, — he is not slow To do your pleasure — shall he show To you the picture ? If you ask Of him — a not too pleasant task — Some questions, he will answer true, — None ever speak false words to you." Upon an inlaid table fair Soon had been placed with dainty care A neat small service silver-bright. But brief was the repast and light. The tempting viands borne away, Margaret came once more to say, " At three o'clock young Marcus will, If this your pleasure shall fulfil. Bring in the painting. His desire I speak that your eyes shall retire From his poor canvas till so placed That any merits may be traced In their best light. This, he assures, Some pleasure in the work secures." 94 THREE; OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Genevra turned with quiet smile Her crimson chair to rest awhile Beside a long low window, whei'e The soft and southward sunlit air Waved the light leaf-boughs oft aside, As dreamily to show, then hide The azure waters, and the light Of passing sails against the far Empurpled mountains. Moments are When life, however darkly wrought, Becomes ail-strangely overfraught With something which we name again, Despite long doubt, and dread, and pain. That coldly mock, sweet happiness. Dreams of the beautiful, excess Of a glad consciousness that we Have been, or, yet shall sometime be, All we can wish, will brightly steal Like truth around and make us feel Life-sovereignty. Thus memory And thought — those tides of being's sea — Were swelling, filling the hushed soul Of calm Genevra, and o'erroU All sorrow. Each white distant sail Seems like the welcome wing of peace Hovering above some mind's release To try a new, blest being, — each May tell of gathered friends, and teach That proud and prosperous hours must fail THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 95 Of their full rapture if unshared By truest hearts who for us cared. The trembling voice of Marcus spoke Beside her ear, and quickly woke Genevra from her re very, — Yet he is gone. She can but see A packet placed low at her feet, And hear an earnest tone entreat. " Please you, dear lady, to bid stay Without even Margaret, while you say I have dared far with hope to please His love's elected." To her knees. Even as she might a pleading child, Genevra took the packet, — and, smooth-filed Beneath an ebony casket, found Some papers which from all around Claimed in abandonment her thought. A pallor with deep sadness fraught Stole to her features, and, as fail The last slant sunbeams from the pale Cold mountain tops, and in the room A shadow crept like coming doom, — Yet only twilight, she let fall The papers, rose, lifted her all Of hands and heart and streaming eyes 96 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Up to the slowly-darkening skies, — Then moved as if she knew not why, Without a sound, without a sigh Across the floor. . . . Quick her eye's light Had kindled, fixed, unearthly bright With rapturous proud joy ; yet, low As buried waters weirdly flow. She murmured, " He is come, is come. Maurice, my noble, my heart's home, I have been cruel, selfish, base, — Forgive it all, — have I not grieved For your dear presence ? Oh ! believed I must be. None of all my race Has ever worn black falsehood's mark, — Stay, Maurice, stay — ha, light is dark ! " Not all the papers had been read, Her soul was dim with doubt and dread ; She knew not that a matchless art Had shaped, though vainly for her heart, A form all wondrous, lofty, pure. Calm as a god no charm can lure. She had stretched forth her pale fair hands With pleading tenderness in vain To a mere picture, but so plain. So full the whole resemblance stands She dreams, bewildered, it is he. The lost one loved so loyally. THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 97 " Stay, Maurice, stay ! " A torture cold Grasped all her frame, a pain ne'er told, The agony with which, estranged. The crushed heart shrinks from love now changed. A few faint backward steps were taken. Yielded the strength too deeply shaken, She sank down slowly on the floor Silent and white, and felt no more. When Marcus passed so soon away And asked Genevra to betray His work to her own thought alone, He spoke in humble soothing tone To Margaret, who waited still Within an anteroom the will Which might be spoken. " You were right,'* He said, " not erring was your sight, Good Margaret. My idle play Was truth. I, seen by you that day, Was my true self ; and in one hour I go and leave the dear old tower Where it was blest to linger. Peace Is yours at last, and full release From my unwelcome presence. You Have borne with patience still and true My vexing, — would you aid me well But once to change this deep-blue shell Of feigning for my traveling dress ? " 98 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. With smiling and smooth gracefulness Was raised the blue cloth cap to show, — Poor captives held by cruel foe, — The crushed and shining curls. " To know," Most gravely Margaret said, " I '11 go, That when a fitting garb you wear A woman's virtue will be there." *' Fear not, wise Margaret, I am one You will not in the future own With blushing cheek that you have served. Wild, and too willful I may be, But not yourself would sooner flee Than I one action which has swerved From honor true and lovely. Come, Hasten me now to seek my home." And Margaret went, with her own hands Smoothed out the moist curls' silken bands, And saw them dry in tendrils meet Over white shoulders smooth and sweet ; She saw the brown cheeks fade away To fair ones with a brilliant play Of rose-like beauty on them, and, As deftly she the soft lace band Fastened beneath the dimpled chin, Tears, gushed the sober eyes within ; And, kissing the bright youthful face. She asked in silence that Heaven's grace Might guard and bless the parting one, — That in her life God's will be done. THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 99 Not falsely wandered Margaret's thought, But, listening oft, she almost caught Sound of the light and silver bell Which gently to her ear could tell Its quiet message. Evening fell, And yet she vainly paused to hear One sound to check her rising fear. She sought the dressing-room, and there Walked back and forth in restless care Till she no more could try to bear Her troubled thought, — but drew aside The curtain that no more must hide Fi-om her pained eyes the drooping form Of her dear lady. . . . Utmost skill Hour after hour was fruitless still To fix the steady pulses warm ; But half the reeling senses waken, While thought the new pained form has taken. Wildly Genevra grasped the hand That soothed her forehead to demand, " Say, did he spurn me, did he come And shut my heart out from its home ? Yet I was true, true as the stars, The night, the morning, and the sun, — My soul was wedded. Are these bars Iron, and cold, and dark, that run Between my noble one and me ? I 'm dead or prisoned — Margaret, see! " 100 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. And Margaret gave an opiate, Hushed her own tortured heart to wait In seeming calm. Of all fair things She gently talked, — low murmurings Of summer waves along the shore Or merry laugh of plashing oar, — Talked of Genevra's mother and the days Of happy youth, of wildwood ways Green with their ferns and dewy mosses, And of the fragrant wind that tosses Light, whispering leaves, — the eyes soft closed And the pale brow in sleep reposed. Then Margaret rose, and quickly drew Some draperies down to hide from view The picture, — saw and gathered all The scattered leaves up from the floor, And murmured as she glanced them o'er, This is one mischief more let fall By ill-starred Marcus. I must read That which is written here, and heed To counteract the mocking spite That thrusts Genevra from the light To darkness, and I deeply fear Past hope of any earthly cheer." Who ever lived, nor learned to know His mark of birth, or soon, or late, The shunless lineage stamp of fate, THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 101 The blazoned and escutcheoned sign Of a long-drawn ancestral line, — The monogram of woe ? Poor Margaret turned with troubled sigh And by a shaded lamp slow read That which the pillowed drooping head Still traced in dreams confusedly. II. OCTAVIA TO GENEVRA. LADY of the spotless brow, 1 lingered near thee, and I bow My heart to thy sweet sovereignty; And wonder never more that he Prince Maurice, — well I name him so, — Seemed not to think nor see nor know That others could be fair or bright While dwelling in the memory light Of one like thee, though far away, — Whose spirit's ever brightening ray Shines through a form that is not common clay. Thy being's medium, starry clear, Undimmed by doubt, or grief, or fear, Hides not the vast and gracious plan Which holds the universe and man Safely beneath one sovereign eye. To thee a Father's. . . . With a sisrh 102 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. I look, and, all-distorted pass Dread images across life's glass, Sullen, and scorned, and tortured. Why — I would not, yet must ever ask. Conning an old, a fruitless task, — Why, if our being's Lord so high Is both omnipotent and good. Why have the Moloch altars stood Through all the ages ? blood and fire Mixed hissing on the quenchless pyre Fed with all human agonies. Which, to forget hope vainly tries ? Amidst the wreck of towers and domes, The city's pride, and pillaged homes. Have shrieked to silent heavens in vain Poor violated maids, and pain Of slaughtered infants. Darkly died Faith's fervent martyrs though they sighed Their last breath praying : and deny None can that o'er the orbed earth Goes up the vain pathetic cry Of poor brute creatures, while man's mirth, Childish yet horrible, heeds not Or heeds to mock it ; and no spot May shield them and no mercy spare. — Can God, as man refuse to care ? Oh ! life has been, and is, and must Eemain the same, a misery ; THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 103 Hide it we will, yet ever see, — What power hath said, this shall not be ? We start up, living, from the dust And g-aze around in wonder, smile, And hope, and strive, a little while, — Hate madly — and as madly love, — Dream of a something, thought above, Which, if, and if, and if we may Perchance attain. Then, yea or nay From us availing naught, comes in The ruffian of old age, and rends With ugly weapons the fair face And cracks the tuneful voice, and bends The form, stealing out from their place In eye and lip each gentle grace ; Yet, leaving to its prison thin And cold a conscious human heart, Low beating a funereal part, In life's dread chorus ; haunted still % joys once known, which now but thrill With agony for something lost O'er which a soundless sea Is tossed. Afraid to love one breathing thing, Since all must scorn such offerino", — Too weak to strive, too sad to pray, Such is the record of life's lengthened way. Forgive, thou truest friend, and bless Our parting hour, though bitterness 104 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 0£ thought to strange words found its way And wiser had been silent. Nay, Small need to fear that I can dim The light of holy seraphim, Or that within thy halcyon eyes By breath of my sad sophistries. Something there is which may be told Briefly and sternly — pray withhold All censure and all pity. I am bold In hopelessness, and calm, and cold, And for thy sake will much of truth unfold. My father is a clergyman. To make him so all grace that can Pass over to another's soul From blessing hand and sweeping stole Of the Right Reverend Bishop Lord Of Canterbury was by word And act bestowed ; more freely since True heraldry might all convince His rights ancestral were most clear As third-born son of a true peer. We traveled, pleased, and lingering still, In the new Western world, until Virginia's shore and sleeping bay Had won us, and we chose to stay. Soon we had found a pleasant home On a fair height from which the dome, THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 105 The arch, tha colonnade were ours Of the white capitol, — or bowers Of woodland by the winding river, Still country scenes, and sunbeams ever. One day, I need not name the place, I first beheld that kingly face Which you have seen. I heard the voice Which you have heard ; and must rejoice All hearts that ever felt the jaower Of such a voice, speaking the words Which in that masrical bright hour Came thronging like enchanted birds, And filled a thousand souls with strange Deep music. Now, even now arrange Once more the memories, high and proud. Wondrous and spell-like. Burst no loud And vulgar cheering, but each heart Held lessons never to depart. And I ? I scarcely breathed. My soul Knelt to him as a Deity, — I could have prayed to him as we Pray to the Holiest. . . . Unroll No more, thou vast and hidden scroll On which Time writes from age to age, Sealing each strange and maddening page. Fragments of more than legendry ! That which has been may ever be — 106 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Dread mocking of the earnest heart, Soul-sears infixed with changeless art. The ocean's waves dash vainly o'er Footprints in rock along the shore ; And though some chisel should ejETace An age-formed record from its place, One Might alone can e'er control To crush time's record from the soul. I have no right to think of thee — To think thy thoughts, and, thinking, see Thee as my tranced dream still sees, Thou grand mind-ruling Pericles ! III. I often met him, where I stood In silk and pearls beneath the flood Of magical, all-splendid light Where beauty grows so more than bright. If but my glove were touched by his, I, foolish child, for only this In a fair cabinet rose-lined Kept the poor worthless thing enshrined. He passed through thronging crowds the while His lips just crossed with their slight smile. He spoke with polished courtesy To every other, and to me. And least of all himself would know That he had smiled or spoken so. THREE: OB, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 107 My proud heart spurned at last its chain With frantic violence. " Again," I said, " shall I pretend to be A thing one eye should care to see ? I am a fool, a serf, a slave, — A menial's garb henceforth I crave ! " True to the madness of my pride, My jeweled robes were thrown aside, — I fled from pain I would not bear, — To find a rest my only care. Hidden within a housemaid's dress I sought employment, with success Too soon. A lady said I seemed Most worthy, and, although she deemed It wrong, she meant for once to trust, And I must prove her wise and just. She had been ill, and could not dare To leave the drawing-rooms in care Of common servants ; to her eye — • Not dull to judge — familiarly I knew good houses — would not do As one girl did — spoiling to woe A costly Turner which was hazy And in its finish slightly mazy — So, " Sure," she said, " it was not right — Good claning thin would bring it bright." I followed to a suite of rooms All shadowy with rich velvet glooms, 108 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER And lighted with the artist glow Of grand rare pictures hanging low. " These rooms," — she said, " your work is here,- Keeping them nicely, never fear One censure, for the master's way Is kind, I can most truly say." " The mistress too, — is she the same ? " I asked ; " and will you speak the name Of those I shall be called to serve ? I trust their goodness to deserve." Then musingly the matron said, " You were not in this city bred ; All here know well the senator Whose favor crowds are seeking for. Who is so popular and loved All heed if but his hand is moved. He is unmarried, but they say The cause of it was the strange way Of one who to be wed refused Although she loved him. I have mused How she could do so hard a thing And he, past your imagining, So grand and handsome. You must keep Your heart, my girl, — nay, do not weep, I was but playful ; still, be wise — See not too much with those black eyes. His bell-call do not think for you. THREE: OR, GENEVE A' S TOWER. 109 But for his valet, Franz the true. Myself and husband long have kept This mansion, and to us have swept Gift after gift, more, vastly more Than twice our earnings counted o'er, Till we are wealthy ; farther still, A home is given to us by will. Bound in our hearts and in our life, We serve with only loving strife To show a grateful willingness To pay a debt which grows no less." She left me, — and rushed angry tears, As rain before the dark sky clears. Had I not turned my feet away From rich and haughty life, to stray On desert, dangerous paths, and with No care but this, my monolith And tomb to shape, unheard, unknown. Unrecognized one faintest tone Fraught with a memory spurned and past ? — Yet I was there ! most spiteful cast Of mocking fortune's die ! But she, Dame Moyses, need not think for me ! She cannot know — how could it be ? My father, though with sorrow bowed. Is still by far too calm and proud To pass o'er gossip tongues my name, Nor will by slightest look or word 110 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER, Permit a rumor vile were stirred — He will guard well my maiden fame. Dame Moyses with her gracious mien Is but a servant, ne'er has seen From her life's way, so wise and deft, One dream of all my life has left. What must I do ? — move on unscared As a sure player drops his card. 'T is plain " a tangled web " I weave, Must weave it still though I deceive. He may not see me, — if he should I have not grown so vainly good But he shall learn with deep surprise From stupid and indifferent gaze To hold his memory in some haze Of doubt, though witness his clear eyes. Now let me think : I safely have My diamonds — documents that prove I am her rightful heir, the dear Great-aunt, who gave them but to hear I had the eyes, the brow, the way Of one, not English, thus they say.* I '11 go to her, — then I will write To my dear father, — may the sight Of this imagined letter save Him from a wish to seek the grave. * Note Poem, p. 129. THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Ill Slowly my musing eyes were raised, And from within the mirror gazed Two black, black eyes that burn and gleam — Oh, if I were that mirror dream ! Burst forth in words, — " why must I he f " And pitiful it was to see How, flowing on unheededly A ceaseless fountain, teardrops streak With white the brown-stained hidden cheek, While on the coarse, brown, servant's dress Two white and shapely hands did press. And in them, tightly crushing clasp, Misplaced in that forgetful grasp, A handkerchief of duchess point. One moment, and my lips half said. As to some fiend or witch, " Aroint ! '* For suddenly had burst a dread, Strange, indescribable loud tone Of laughter, — yet, I was alone. The vast rich parlors showed no place To hide a human form and face. Hence, as some awful spell, uprose And round my brain in horror froze The sudden question, " Am I mad ? '* And clearly, as it seemed, the sad Worn face of my loved sire, the fair Sweet mother's, and the sunny air And loveliness around my home, — All my pure blessings which as foam 112 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Of worthlessness I had been spurning Cam^ as in vision slow returning, With contrast of the height I had Deepening the question, " Am I mad ? " The very agony of thought Wrenched forth a strength unknown, unsought, • And, " By this wondrous world," I said, " O'er whose fire-dejiths we safely tread, And by my hope, and by my will. My soul, I am not mad, be still ! By the sweet Power to whom I flee I dare to say, it shall not be." No whisper came of slow debate Whether in early years or late Ood heard or ever answered prayer. Pain of itself I felt covdd bear Me up on faith's full-rushing wave. Could the created being brave So much of feeling, joy or pain. And the Creator still remain A voiceless and half -conscious law Of dread necessity? I saw A Being then, one hope, one way. Swift-sinking on my knees to pray Such prayer as ne'er before had crossed My trembling lips, " Oh, save, or I am lost ! " I rose in utter calmness ; traced As by some skillful hand, and placed THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 113 Before me, was my future way. From England I must write, and say, " Our home, the dear old English home, Amid its parks and streams, is fair, And, once more, bringing gladness there, Will not my honored father come ? " Meanwhile, for an uncertain space Of time, I, in my present place. Some useful lessons well might learn, Seeming awhile the trampled fern. Patience of thought, the cultured hand, Prepare the proudest to command. Young princes may not truly see Things they should know, through luxury Of palace halls. While ever served Obsequiously, too much unnerved Is manly purpose, and they learn No greatness. Bruce of Bannockburn After a rugged strife was crowned, — While Edward's son no honors found, But yielding fled the conflict stern. They who mankind have ably ruled Often in various life were schooled. Great Alfred with the neatherd talked, Brave Henry once with Falstaff walked — So I will be a servant true A few brief days, then smile adieu. 114 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. The duchess point was put aside, My cuffs and collar simply tied, My jetty curls drawn back and braided, And on the cheeks my tears had faded A soft, brown, even tint was spread. And from my hands the whiteness fled. I took ray task with earnest care, Swept the rich carpets clean and fair, Shook clear the curtains, and replaced The silver bands that purely graced Their purple wealth that downward fell From silver cornice mounted well. Soon smiled the pictures forth in new Fresh color, and the violet's hue Of springtime meadows brightly lay Where straying sunbeams found their way To well-brushed cushions. To deface The matchless mirrors was no spot. Nor on the central marble blot Nor dust, where stood a massive vase Of burnished silver. All was done ; Calm pleasure on my spirit fell, — One little something finished well Memory might join with sinking sun. Days passed in pleasant quietness, And I forgot my face to dress In shadowy hues ; but no one heeded, Disguise no longer seemed as needed ; THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 115 For Mrs. Moyses only said, With lifted glass and bended head, " You have a fairness not the worst, — I thought you sunburned at the first." A wealth of leisure hours was mine, Rare books were near as by design ; I read, and sometimes sketched with care A chosen picture passing fair Among the many. It was one That haunted me, — could I have known That scene — 't was English ? What the spell Divine I could not, nor could tell Just in what lines, what soft light's play Its beauty as a magic lay. I could not dravvT it as I would. But failing, more excited grew Till once, beneath thought's eager sway All other claims had passed away. 'T was not an hour I ever knew To bring the senator, — no sound Through all the mansion's quiet bound Had reached my ear, — yet, silent stood The noble Maurice in the room, — And, on his look a stamp of doom. By the deep-heaving chest I saw The fearful agony to draw One breath of crushed and sinking- life. 116 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. It seemed as the last awful strife Must cease forever in his breast Ere I could aid him to a rest On the near cushion, where he sank In a faint helplessness, while dank And fatal on his forehead stood Large drops like death-dew. When I would Have fled for aid, a cold, cold hand Held mine as it had been a band Of adamant. I could but stand. And, in my madness wildly dare Thank God that I, alone, was there. At last the rigid clasp was less, And less convulsive was the press Of the firm manly lips. Ah ! there You should have dried the soft brown hair And the grand forehead j)ale and fair ; For, gratefully, I thought, his eyes Looked up to thank me as one tries To voiceless speak. Again they closed, And with a low voice I proposed To ring for Franz. He said, with pain Scarce whispering, " It would be vain, I sent him to — he is away. — Brave Marcia, do not fear to stay, — I 'm better now, though full assured My last of pain is soon endured." THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 117 Again he rested silently. Erelong more lifelike hues low-burned On cheek and lip, and slow he turned At last his look and thought to me, — One moment gazed, with steady eyes Fixed thoughtfully, — half moved to rise As he had thought by me were claimed Some courtesy as yet unnamed. *' Lady Octavia, may I ask. In painful and self -humbled task," He said, " if you with Mrs. Moyses Will stay, or go where dearest voices Wait, hushed with grief, to welcome you? " O maddening hour ! What could I do ? He knew me — more, he had been telling My father I was safely dwelling A favored inmate of his halls ; He knew the title which for me Unprized was waiting o'er the sea. Till reason should resume her sway, And fruitless dreaming pass away They waited as it oft befalls Wisdom can wait serene and still For change of folly's reckless will. With sudden cold reserve I said, " 'T is much regretted I have led You thus to question. Kindly, sir, Believe a truth which I aver : 118 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. My coming here was chance alone. My Cunard passage has been paid For England ; I have lingering stayed From many ships to choose the one I wish for most, — when safely there, My father will receive with care Assurance of my duteous love — No other claims are his above." Maurice had heard with half-closed eyes, And, if he felt, concealed surprise ; But slowly said, " And will you go Where the full streams of travel flow On to the Continent, the Rhine, Lucerne and Constance and the fine Most rare Geneva, — to Vevey ? I have a friend who sails to-day For Paris in her outward way To dwell by the great mountains. Should You ever meet her, — and I would You may, — love her, and she will bless Your life. Her soul's pure nobleness None can resist, but must breathe-in Her atmosjihere." He drew a thin Small casket from his loosened vest And held it, resting on his breast, A little time, then opened it ; And in a jeweled frame well fit THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER 119 I saw your face. " Her name is here," He mvirmurecl, " and some letters, dear To me as heaven, — be a friend For us." I saw his hand extend To me the casket, — it was gold And ebony, — with it I hold My pledge was asked that I would find The loved, idealized, enshrined, Of that grand heart and ruling mind. I 've found her, and my trust resigned. Thy Maurice kept the picture, — and, The manly-beautiful white hand Closed over it with such expression Of pure and gentle tenderness That a most eloquent confession Had spoken to the soul far less ; And when, with light of the next day From thronging carriages were seen Grave saddened looks, and titled men Paused in the darkly-draperied halls. While mourning dimmed the city walls. Pale, peacefully that hand still lay Above its treasure. None would try To move it, — two alone knew why. The casket had revealed your name, And I had seen the very same Among: the names, the outward bound. 120 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. Thus, since a letter I had found With utmost care sealed and addressed, I hastened it, — you know the rest, — I hastened it by my own hand — 'T was passed in small boat from the strand Too soon. One week, the seventh day I, too, had eastward sailed away. Franz failed to reach you, but, still sealed, Bore back a letter which revealed No word to me, by other eyes Profaned were its pure mysteries. IV. At last I saw you, and had seen Your Margaret ask with cautious mien For a brave trusty lad to row Your barge with skillful care, and slow Pausing beside the lake's fair shores With ready but unhastening oars. A wild and reckless witching thought — Such madness in my frame is wrought I know not how — came hastily. My thought was action, — I could see Full soon in mirrors here or there An elegant boy-sailor, not so fair As was my face at morning hour ; Yet searching eyes forgot to lower THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 121 Nor seem to question of my past. Kindly and pleasant to the last I found your service, — but I go To meet my sire 'midst stately show Of England's high-escutcheoned pride, A youthful earl's affianced bride. An ancient honor still must live By wealth which my good aunt will give Free through my hand, — 't is mockery To fix life's way thus heartlessly ; But, worse the wrong to do no kindness In selfish and too passionate blindness. My masquerades are ended now. Henceforth my coroneted brow Shall ne'er forget its pride of place, But win the reverence, the grace We know is fitting. Have no fears — I know my way, — and sudden tears Tell how my inmost soul reveres England's true honors and historic years. The picture ? All can soon be told. You saw my drawing, kindly thought My hand deserved to be well taught By some great master. With your gold I went to him, the skilled and old, — A master honored ; but I claimed 122 THREE: OR, GENEVHA'S TOWER. No student's place, — I am not blamed For this I trust. All you have given, And, pure as star of summer even. One not small diamond of my own Joined with the name and photograph Of one afar to fame well known. The artist but persuaded half To paint the picture, — still, the face He studied, changing not his place, In a long silence, then drew out From shadow which was all about A full-length canvas framed. He mused Forgetful of my presence, and perused Again the photogi-aj)h with eye That kindled ; slow and silently I left him with no other sign Or answer. . . . To a hasty line From the great master soon received I yielded promptly, standing mild Before him like a well-schooled child Until from questioning relieved By the brown-study mood that fell O'er him once more with speecliless spell. One thing the artist said, to you I well may name. The way he knew Is mystery, but at once it grew As all were fully understood, — And, surely, earnestly he would THREE: OB, GENEVEA'S TOWER. 123 Unto the limit of his power The sweet Genevan of the tower Please in the picture. " It would be," He said, " an hour prized wondrously If I could see her sitting here. Art's true Madonna, without fear I to the world could proudly give If she would deign to bid it live." Dear, gracious lady, grant his prayer, And, if I may so rashly dare, Let two grand pictures, as thy heir, Be mine at last, the dearest light Of ancient halls now storied bright With history's outstanding forms Of might and beauty. Deeply warms My inmost heart with a strange love That lifts my thoughts all pain above Near thee ; and half I 'm pining still To hold thy oars, and gently fill My life with the white Alps, and thee, — Yet will I go — Heaven guard the yet to be ! VI. Genevra lived, — again, again Life's tortuous links of living pain Resumed their sway of heart and brain. Genevra lived, but in her breast An unseen blade had pierced its rest. 124 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. " If once he loved, he loves not now " Infixed the death-light of her brow, — And yet she smiled to questioning eyes, And all kind far-sought counsels wise Heard patiently, the trusted ways To lengthen out life's wasting days. No more she shunned the proffered aid Of Margaret's arm ; but, kindly stayed And leaning tremblingly, she walked, And gently, though but rarely, talked. Soon, soon she walked no more, but lay Pale, pure, in beautiful decay. With clasped hands, in grieving deep, At times she silently would weep For some slight wavering of thought Where others ne'er had error sought, — But oftener far in radiant calm, On brow and lip a voiceless psalm, She waited patiently and stiU Beneath the Sovereign Father's will. And Margaret watched in wordless pain By the bent lily without stain. Once only with low steady voice Of one too humble to rejoice. Words told from pure Genevra's breast Its guarded hope, its strength of rest. " Soon will my earth-life pass away, This form will be but lifeless clay, — THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 125 O friends, ye will not think me dead, — But, passing onward without dread In endless being. The blest word Of full assurance now is heard, A music low and wondrous. All My life lies hushed to list the fall Of its deep benediction, — word Of joy ! the thirty-first and third Of a prophetic page, left there To beam, on, on ! and when my last Of mortal breath will quick be passed, Place my cold finger pointing where The true great God, with aspect mild, Will read his thought, nor spurn the child Who trusted it. I shall know how To die, — die into better life. Charmed free from passion strife. Beneath the bright benignant brow That never will misjudge I kneel. My soul kneels, evermore to feel That holiest brow, that Highest Name Shall light eternity, the same." VII. The spring-time came once more, and brought Its glow of hope and promise, caught The lingering wind and breathed away Its roughness. Gentle was the sway As rules some gracious princess, — soon 126 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. The smmy-warm liglit of the noon Brought benisons of beauty, — for This earth we tread, like human love Responds to sun-bright kindness, nor Withholds from loving smile above Its glad smile. . . . Coos a snow-white dove Along the brown and moss-fringed eaves Of the old lakeside tower, nor leaves His place when no white kindred wing His soft calls through the elm-boughs bring. Within, a face than lilies far more white Leaned on its pillow in morn's early light. The eyelids rest, and not one faintest breath Now shades the small bright mirror — is it death ? "Might he not come," one said, "and speak aloud? It cannot harm her ; but this full and ]>roud Success, we know, might almost wake the dead To hear it." With incautious and firm tread A stranger came. He spoke with tone That startled by its full and lone And bell-like clearness in strange power The stillness of that room and hour. He spoke, but briefly, thus : " I bring Two pearl-bound volumes glittering. The loving care of some most bold True friends, proving how dear they hold THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. 127 The costlier gift, thy treasured thought All gems and gold, this casket wrought To guard it well." The clear bright eyes And with no look that seemed surprise, Opened once more as in a last Full recognition of the life soon passed. They rested not with the soft fold Of tinted leaves in pearl and gold, But wandered steadily away And eagerly. The table stood Beneath the window, and there lay The open page. Beside it, good. Pale Margaret wept, — to that fixed look She answered, rose, and brought the Book ; And the pure finger placed above, " Loved with an everlasting love," Smiled out death's charm of all-mysterious grace. In spirit halo lay the sweet dead face. Fulfilling a firm promise given To Maurice ere his life was riven, One came who waited silently, — And none forbade that this should be — To claim the slumbering vision fair That he the slumberer might bear Back o'er the azure ocean dim To the ancestral tomb of him 128 THREE: OR, GENEVRA'S TOWER. The honored, and the ever true ; And in their marble home these two Dwell peacefully, — their meeting joy- Passed up to Heaven, where no alloy Mingles with love, — God's worship love, Nor humbler, which may rise to Him above. A NOTE POEM. ** My diamonds — documents wliich prove I am her rightful heir, — the dear Great-aunt who gave them but to hear I have the eyes, the brow, the way Of one — not English, — thus they say." I. Two sisters of a noble name, Of beauty rare and spotless fame, Both loved, as sisters sometimes do, One lover. He was noble too. And foreign-born, — they orphaned were, — No meddling kindred might demur Though one should wed the Count Alfonso, The other some brave true Alonzo. And he, the Count, how shall he choose ? His heart most wisely, fondly woos The Lady Ellinor ; yet soon Young Ethel's witchcraft, sealed in ice, Has all confused his paradise. One summer eve the crescent moon Shone o'er her and the marble floor. And pillars vined, and half -shut door, — She stood as a white statue stands With gleaming brow and folded hands, 130 A NOTE POEM. With snow-white robe and haughty eye Where dwelt no dream of lover's sigh, — Yet to the Count near lingering, She seemed earth's one enchanted thing. In silent gray of the next morn. Ere the sun kissed his day new-born, Young Ethel waited calm beside Her sister's conch. Soon opened wide The Lady Ellinor's blue eyes From sleep, and gazed with still surprise To read her silent sister's mien. " I came to wait as you have seen," Fair Ethel said, " your wakening, And now to speak the words I bring. 'T is you, my Ellinor, must wed With Count Alfonso. I have read Fate's book, and it is written there. You are, my Ellinor, more fair Than I, and fair with coming years Will grow, I fading. Nay, no tears ! " The elder sister gently said, " Come, pet, and rest with me your head And listen so. But yesternight He watched you in the sweet moonlight And all his soul spoke from his eyes, — No faintest veil did truth disguise. Since then strange peace on me has gleamed. He loves you more than I had dreamed." A NOTE POEM. 131 " Hush, EUinor ! I will not hear One word like this ; my way is clear. Again I say, fate's book is read, — 'T is you, not I, that shall be wed With Count Alfonso. In one week I shall crush out a fancy meek, If such now lives. The Count shall bless His lucky stars of blessedness That he is safe, and shall decline To share my moods. All must combine To prove my words a prophecy — 'T is you, dear Nell, can yield — not I." II. A few bright moons had come and shone, And Lady EUinor was gone To dwell where Roman, Goth and Moor Reared well majestic arch and door Of stately piles, — and Christian art With lines of stone wrought high its part Of cloistered grandeur, wondrous all, To shajDC Spain's ancient capital ; And oft Alfonso blessed the hour That lit his hearthstone and his bower, That gave his home, his heart, his life A true and fair, an English wife. The Lady Ethel lived unwed In her ancestral home, and fled 132 A NOTE POEM. All questioning eyes of noble friends, — Though prompt her watchful ear attends When plead the sorrowful and poor, And none in want must leave her door. Of all who came no one might trace Nor tell of Lady Ethel's face, — Her words were few, her ways unfold Only her pity and her grace, — Her mien reserved, though, scarcely cold, Subdued all eyes the overbold. She came and went a priestess veiled. None dared to dream of grief bewailed. Her lofty bower was opened fair O'er graceful park and breezy hills Beneath earth's freshest, bluest air Which every nerve with vigor thrills. A gallery wide o'erhung the lawn Where fountains plashed at early dawn. And rippled musically low To evening's footsteps soft and slow. No busy maid nor serviteur Was ever called to enter there, To that high room so still and rare, — The Lady, — all unseen by her Were wondering eyes sly-peeping. Soon Most marvelous tales, a welcome boon, Spread far and wide, — the gossips say That place where quiet Ethel dwelt, A NOTE POEM. 133 And sometimes wept, and often knelt, Was like a home for any fay, All draped in soft and costly lace, — And silver lamps alone had place. And velvet rich, and books gold-clasped, And pictures which whole fortunes grasped, — While something shone like large bright stars From ceiling veiled by silken bars Alternate with the filmy cloud Of airy lace that waved and bowed Above rare flowers upheld below From polished urns that flush and glow. One summer eve, the air was still, — The lady's door was closed ill Or slightly, — and it parted slow — Then closed and parted without sound. A new tale went the hamlets round, — The Lady Ethel had been bound Hour after hour in trance before A lofty knight who armor bore. His mantle hid yet grandly showed His stately form — a broad plume flowed Above his high and crested brow. Black, silken, magic curls, and eyes Where starry midnight ever lies. Pride and sweet dreadf ulness were there — What woman should such danger dare ? What woman's heart that would not bow ? 134 A NOTE POEM. III. A lady, the one grandchild heir Of that most noble wedded pair Who looked from their strong castle bold On Spain's Toledo famed and old, Her nearest kindred buried all. Shadowed by sacred mourning's pall, Came to her English friends and land. One year, and love's and wedlock's band With a great earl's third son was laid On her young life. The priests had prayed And blessed the ring, and voices low Were whispering, "How strange things go ! She should be Countess, she so fair, — Ne'er can our Earl's new bride compare With this new Ellinor, who looks And smiles as true and good as she Who smiled in youth so graciously — Countess, — in Spain, — her name 's in books." Yes, lovely Ellinor anew Came forth from mourning robe and veil An English beauty, blonde, not pale, With English curls of flaxen hue. In lapse of time, her daughter, named Octavia, had most fidly claimed. A NOTE POEM. 135 Each trait except the olive clear That made more perfect and more dear His manly cheek, her great grandsire The Count Alfonso ; all dark fire Of his black eyes, his silken curls Black as the eyes, though vain their twirls Upon her forehead and her cheek To hide the English blush-rose hue Or dim the lily mingling through, — Of her strange beauty all would speak. When she, a child, heard words of this. She deemed the childish pastime bliss To stain her face to olive clear And bid the smiling servants near : " Say now ' Dona,' and never ' pet,' Attend, and never more forget." Of things that entered as a spell This maiden's life she best can tell. A paper found in later years Is copied with misgiving fears, For stamped upon the leaf appears A coronet. As fair as proud One stately head no grief e'er bowed. The starry mind, the strong true heart Dwelt palaced safe from ill apart. She would not frown though others share Some whispers from a life so fair. 136 A NOTE POEM. IV. " When first Aunt Ethel thought of me, A child of three years, bounding free Among the butterflies and flowers, Counting my life by joy-filled hours, She sent her carriage and behest — That I must come, her one request. I went, for I had ne'er known fear, — A something new was ever dear, — I went alone, — it was not well To grant more than her wishes tell. *' She took me kindly to her heart. Talked things to win with childlike art ; She bore me to her eyrie bright And wonderful with artist light That softly filled the magic place. I kissed the white cheek by my face And whispered, ' Is this Paradise ? Have you been good and always nice. So you can always, always stay When naughty ones are sent away ? ' Warm kisses fell and, too, a tear, Upon my face, — ' You will not fear. Dear child,' she said, — ' what if I can Bring from the dark a bold brave man ? ' *' ' I never fear, dear auntie, no ; But tell me, is he happy so. A NOTE POEM. 137 Shut in the darkness ? do I know Him ? will you let him go ? ' " My good aunt laughed right cheerfully, And with one motion of her hand A starred dark velvet glides above, — I spring, and fearless, eager, stand. " ' Can you tell who it is, my love ? ' Aunt Ethel said, ' 'T is grandpa,' I, ' My own grand-grandpa. Mamma names Me Spanish, and I play at games I am a queenly Lady proud In castle of a sunset cloud With silver shining door.' *' ' Now, darling, hark, and tell me more. How can you know your great-grandsire ? You never saw his face, 't is plain, And, though his portraits all admire, There 's not in shadow nor in sun Like this you see another one In England nor in Spain.' " Well might the Lady Ethel say Such words, for her own hand that ray Of wondrous spirit life had given — It cheered and saved when lonely riven — To the dead canvas ; and she knew Her noble friend, grand as he stood. 138 A NOTE POEM. On her deep inmost life ne'er threw Such splendor, nor her spirit's mood So ruled as this insensate form Shaped from her young love's deathless charm. She knew it was not he, was more, — And in that form she covild adore A Being conscious, all divine, Her Christ, her king, and feel forgiven, — As in a life drawn near to heaven Could win a joy, a sacred sign, A reflex light with her to shine, A dream of one great Perfectness, Found at the last to fully bless. *' ' I must have dreamed it, auntie, then,' I puzzled out at last; and when My aunt had heard, ' Dream on, my sweet,' She said, ' and never fail to meet The Count Alfonso for one day Each week, — and tell me now, and say, Old James was careful of my child ? The horses were as kittens mild ? I bade him drive as he had care To bring a crystal mirror fair Or vase of pearl too white and rare.' " I loved Aunt Ethel, and she grew From week to week more sweet and true. No end e'er came of gentle art A NOTE POEM. 139 To win and keep my childish heart, — No end of stories quaint and old, No end of histories true and bold. No end of minerals, gems, and shells From cabinets and unseen wells ; She taught in ways that charmed my youth, Science and wisdom, taste and truth. And thus I grew Aunt Ethel's child. Faithful to her, if sometimes wild, — Her treasure, the unconscious heir Of her vast wealth, which without care Grew steadily to more and more, Unspent her annual income store. III. " I was sixteen. One summer day My eyes grew dim, before me lay In velvet cushions an array Of large old diamonds, dazzling bright. Heirlooms filled with historic light. And they were mine, and I might wear And use them when I would and where. *' That day the young earl, titled high With all his late-lost sire laid by, Curbed his strong steed to moveless stand Where by a liveried page's hand My carriage-door was held aside With form and state of titled pride ; 140 A NOTE POEM. And I had entered wondering why My parents with quick tear and sigh Did not 'midst kisses bid me go, Yet say the hours woukl move too slow Till my return, — but, near beside Earl Edmund saw, and so I tried To act my ' Lady's part ' full well, — How sad it seemed I will not tell. " His dress of deeply mourning hue A manly form gave to my view. From foot in silver stirrup's curve To the young stately head he bent In graceful defei'cnce when he went No line from elegance could swerve. " A kind and courteous wish he spoke That for my journeys would invoke All pleasant scenes, and peaceful hours, And safe retreats, and cheerful bowers. ' I may not fondly, rashly, dare To say that I will meet you there,' He murmured low, v/ith questioning mien, 'The Lady Ethel will decree Five years of banishment for me. For you five years of girlhood free, Her reason is not clearly seen ; But, guarded by your noble sire You are, reluctant I retire.' " STUDIES WITH HISTORY AND POETIC MYTH. " Well speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast! Yet all unworthy of its trust art thou If with dry eye, and cold unloving- heart Thou tread' st the solemn Pantheon of the Past ; By the great Future's dazzling hope made blind To all the beauty, power, and truth behind." Whittier. *' Wondrous and awful are thy silent halls, kingdom of the Past ! " Lowell. " Great men are the Fire-pillars in this dark pilgrimage of man- kind ; they stand as heavenly signs, everlasting- witnesses of wliat has been, prophetic tokens of what may still be, the revealed, embodied possibilities of human nature ; which greatness he who has never seen, nor rationally conceived of, and with his whole heart passionately loved and reverenced, is himself forever doomed to be little.' ' — Carlyle. "How majestically they walk in history, some like the sun, others wrapped in gloom, yet glorious as night with stars ! " — Longfellow. — *' God's witnesses, the voices of his will Heard in the slow march of the centuries still." Whittiek. Te human hearts perished, Through erring and loss, In scenes where wild passions TJieir ocean-waves toss, Our human hearts seek you Time's wide gulfs across. Ye loved as we \e loving, Ye dreamed as we dream. Ye sighed for the glorious, Watched, dying, its beam ; We too die while grasping Some far hope we seem. ALEXANDER. Prophetic truth at last ! * Quake, Xerxes' throne and heir ! One Grecian heart beats hot and fast To think a foe's bold footsteps passed O'er Hellas proud and fair. * Daniel viii. 5-7. STUDIES WITH HISTORY AND MYTH. 143 The mocking shame rests there On Hellas, vale and hill, And Persia's vain luxurious state Must feel the tread of coming fate, A stern and deadly thrill. Held by the Sovereign will Stood he of princely line, His white plume shone, his clear eye smiled. Ambition breathed yet undefiled, — He felt a might divine Above him rule and shine ; And, swift as eagles press. He passed with bold defiant wing Beyond Thermopylae, a king By his own kingliness. The grave Amphyctyons bless The youthful conqueror's way, Look on his bright imperious face, Nor breathes one sage out from his place Dissent from his felt sway. In vain with God his stay May hostile arrows hiss, — Granicus rolls behind him. Tyre Is won ; and soon despair and fire O'erwhelm Persepolis. 144 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Lived he for this, for this, To bend at Amnion's fane And dream an idol-god was by To nerve his arm, to light his eye And shield from death and pain ? Left in his valor vain He braves the javelin, — His fainting brow before the foe Is bent upon his shield full low, The barb his breast within. No more all hearts to win His grace a bond may twine,* But he who wept Darius dead Life-blood of his true friend can shed, Grown fierce with rage and wine. Left by the hand divine. The vengeful Furies seem To scorch his brain, to move his hand, To change his sceptre for a brand That waves like frenzy's gleam. * "The character of Alexander of Macedon, with all its dark shades, has a nobleness and sweetness that win our hearts. No one else so gained the love of the conquered. . . . Nor have any ten years left so lasting a trace on the history of the world as those of his career." He was noble and true after the best models he had to study, and he firmly believed in a Supernal rule of his destiny. AND POETIC MYTH. 145 Left in his dying dream, Deep pales that fevered face, — The haughty strength, the young brave heart No more in valor's deeds have part, — The death-car now has place. The death-car ? Nay, what trace Of all that ponderous pride Has earth to-day ? What velvet fold ? What mourning state ? what jewels ? gold ? Vain search ! — we know he died. ALCIBIADES. Kestsman of Pericles, Pupil of Socrates, Curled Alcibiades Lived but in vain. Base from proud Pericles, False from true Socrates, Passed Alcibiades Ruin to gain. 146 STUDIES WITH HISTORY CASSANDRA. Phantom of unread meaning, Thou pale and tortured one, Apollo-loved and gifted, — A mockery was thy sun. Thy mournful eyes saw ever Beneath the fairest bloom, Beneath all glow, all beauty, The shadows and the doom. Thou couldst not choose but see them When crested Hector stood Supreme in strength, in valor, — The wounds, the dust, the blood. Yet vain thy full, far seeing. All vain the loved to save, — The god-gift asked so wildly But made thy heart a grave. Cassandra, O Cassandra, Know'st thou the home of peace? Vindictive bright Apollo Should give thy woe surcease. Hast thou in nature's bosom, With eyelids softly sealed, AND POETIC MYTH. 147 A dream untold and painless, Thy torn heart fully healed ? Ah yes ; yet earth has sorrows, — No shadow-griefs are they, Heart aches that may not slumber Forgetfully to-day. ABSALOM AND HIS SISTER. By her rich mantle and its clasping gems, She was the daughter of the king — the fair Bright sister of the princely Absalom, — But ah, so changed ! Prostrate on the bare earth, The frail spring flower o'er which some countless host Has passed with hurrying feet seems not a thing By half so crushed and trampled. Absalom For days and months and years had held vain strife With his own thoughts, — the consciousness of powers. Perchance his best and loftiest, which life's bound Shut in too painfully, — the burning dream Of noble deeds well done, — of wrongs avenged, — The grateful honors of a people blessed Upon his name, — all that ambition breathes To stir the eager heart ere guilt is there. 148 STUDIES WITH HISTORY For this deep-haunting phantasm of his brain There was one spell of soothing, the soft voice And murmuring harp of Tamar ; for she knew To touch the trembling chords even with her sirens Own mastery ; and when she sang some rich Low melody of love and sacred rest, Or, sweetly-solemn from her reverent lips Fell the Jehovah's name, an inward voice Proclaimed it, and he bowed to the calm might Of loftier thoughts than seemed his own high dreamings. A cold hush fell upon her brother's home, — The princess went with kindly ministry, — It was the King's wish and express command — Where pined the young prince Amnon, he whose brows. Destined to wear the consecrated gold Of Judah's crown, were fevered with the blood Of wild-impassioned manhood. Absalom, The beautiful, stood by the city gate At noon, with mien of idlest musing, while Men passed and did him loving reverence ; But one, a cunning sycophant, drew near And bent him low to kiss the jeweled hand, That lay pressed carelessly upon the hilt Of a still-useless sword, and murmured, " Live, Live Absalom, whom God has stamped a king! " AND POETIC MYTH. 149 The prince turned haughtily away, and went To his lone chamber, for his life's quick fiend Was troubling him. The evening came and night, But c;;nie not rest. His sleep was weariness From bad yet tempting visions, and the ray First seen of the pure dawnlight wooed him forth To diiak in freshness from the morning air Amon j- the cedars, — thus they met, that brother And that sister. A moment he stood still And gazed like one bewildered — then the whole Black truth was fathomed ; for, when last within The palace gates the king's sons had been gathered, While the sole daughter fair and queenly shone, — His own fair, peerless Tamar, and his eye Had watched her graceful steps with all the pride Of his true brother heart, — as if forewarned, He turned all suddenly to mark, fixed too On her, the dark, licentious gaze of Amnon. And now, she lay there on the pitiless earth Grave-hued, and chill, and motionless as death. The full, proud lips of Absalom blanched slightly, And over his smooth brow a penciled vein Showed clear in swollen, darkening channels — these Were the sole signs of that fixed, wrathful vow Which shrank not from its hour of dread fulfil- ment. 150 STUDIES WITH HISTORY He bent in calmness by the prostrate one, And raised lier head, gathering the long bright hair Up from the soiling dust ; and in those tones Of low and thrilling gentleness which none But Absalom could use, he soothed her grief. Oh ! there are agonies which cannot bear The softest velvet touch of sympathy ; And hers were such, — for when she saw his face The thought of all she must forever be, A thing to blush and weep for, in his sight, Her true, proud, generous brother, was too much For the strained chords of the deep-struggling heart. With one keen, quivering cry that pierced the ear Of Absalom as swords might never pierce, She sprang off from his bosom, and the look That glared to his from eyes once beautiful As starlight of the eastern heavens, was one That told of madness. At his feet once more She sank, while from her whitening lips the last Frail breath of agonized existence seemed As parting. Nervelessly he bent to raise That tortured one, and with slow reeling steps Regained the shielding silence of his home. Dark were the deeds of Absalom, and stern And terrible the maledictions are Around his blighted name ; yet David loved The rebel wanderer, and who shall say How oft would the regretful son have turned AND POETIC MYTH. 151 Back loyally to the king-father's knee But that a pallid face, all its sweet ligl;t Burned out, pale lips that, wordless, vainly moved> Rose hauntingly where'er he looked until The tig'er of his heart burst forth to claim A hecatomb of victims ? THE PROPHET'S CHASTENING. " Son of man, behold I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke ; yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep. " Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thy head upon thee ; and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and cover not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men." EzEKlEL xxiv. 16. The lonely river, far Chaboras, lay Beneath the hushing twilight. Its low tone Of rippling waters by the sedgy shore Reached not the arches of its clustering shade, — Nor stirred the voiceless, brooding mystery where' Knelt captive Judah's prophet. Since high noon. He had bowed lowly thus, but the damp brow, Half hid in the dark mantle's fold, bore not On its worn loftiness the radiant calm That told of high communings, — and yet, God Had met and spoken with him. Grief and care Had been the stern companions of each step Through all the prophet's life-path. He had turned 152 STUDIES WITH HISTORY With the sick weariness of a pure heart From haunts of foul idolatry ; and when, Soul-thrilled with ti'embling earnestness and awe, He told the certainty of coming wrath, Had seen it disregarded. Through long days And nights, with the bare earth and silent heaven Alone he had kept vigil, heart and soul Mysteriously wrung by guilt not his ; And yet those words that lie not have decreed A new deep sense of suffering. The sole chord Unswept of pain's harsh fingers, must awake, — That chord which in the depth of human life. Though hung in loneliness on mourning willow. Or with relentless hand strained to a task Of other themes, still in rich undertone Will breathe its music out of human love. There was a creature with an angel brow And soft dark floating tresses, who had dwelt Within the prophet's home. There was a hand, Fair as the gleaming ivory of Tyre, Whose light caressing touch failed not to smooth The deep lines from his forehead, and could woo His spirit oft from its dread tension back To cliildlike joy. Oh ! beautiful she was, And bright, and young; and her rich maiden heart And peerless beauty, all, were freely given To the stern prophet. Naught to her were locks Of shining darkness, nor the ruddy glow AND POETIC MYTH. 153 On youthful manhood's cheek, when calm he stood, And to the high commission sealed in light, — In heaven's own kindling glory, on his front, Strong rebel might, that yielded not, would stoop ; And if at times an awe — almost a fear — Came o'er her love, she thought of other hours When he, so raised above Innnanity, So clothed with mystery by God's own hand, In very human weariness would seek A humbler ministry. She was the link — The one pure priceless link through which he felt The might, the charm of human brotherhood, Yet she for Israel's sake — must die. No rest Came to the prophet's pillow, and the hum Of busy crowds brought no forgetfulness ; For the mysterious power that dwelt within Ceased not its boding whispers to his heart. He sought his place of prayer ; and as he knelt. Sudden and swift as darts the lightning's flash Across his spirit came a consciousness That the still joy which held him at her side. His bosom's dove, bore in heaven's sovereign eye The dark seal of idolatry. To earth in dread humiliation bent Was the majestic brow from which had shone So oft inspiring Godhead ; but no words Of lowly sad confession had found way Ere the felt voice of all-unearthly peace 154 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Had hushed the troubled waters of this grief ; And the one error of a chastened heart Had found forgiveness. Once again he raised Beseeching hands on high, and would have asked That He who had forgiven, yet would spare ; But then, no utterance came. He knew the cup Might not pass from his lips ; and yet he knelt Hour after hour, with all his aching heart Of sorrow bared before the Merciful. The glassy stream rolled on. Soft, starry light Stole through the breathless palm -boughs, and white flowers Looked up with dewy eyes. With one brief prayer For strength that might not fail, the j)rophet rose And sought his home. The iron lamp hung low And wrought on the stone floor in ebon shade Its semblance ; but a clear full i^adiance fell Where, on a snow-white couch, lay droopingly A silent form. Apart, yet in that room Stood one with dark robes, and tight-folded arms, And stern still breast, — Jehovah's prophet looked Upon his dead. Her cold transparent cheek Had scarce a fainter tint of the pale rose Than it had worn before, and the hushed lips Had their own serious sweetness in each curve ; But, hovering where the silken eyelash lay AND POETIC MYTH. 165 Too strangely still, was a soft mournfulness Which seemed to plead for but one tear. And he Who was so desolate must look on her, Remembering all her swerveless truth, her calm, And holy love ; and then turn back the tide Of swelling tenderness on his own heart ; And that heart must not break, but bear its bur- den. With his firm footstep and uplifted brow He must go forth, and, binding on his robes And priestly mitre, meet the gaze of men Who wondering gazed. 'T was done ; and as the throng Gathered around, with eloquence well-taught By the deep spell of conquered agony, He spake what was commanded. IN THE DAYS OF OLD. "Moses hid his face. And He (God) said, I -will certainly be ■with thee." " Enoch walked with God .... and he was not, for God took him." "0 man greatly beloved, be strong, yea, be strong! " Daniel X. 19. There were hearts of gold In the days of old. And lives that were grand and long, 156 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Eyes that drooped low 'Neath a solemn glow Of God-light that made them strong. Yes, men were rare And women fair In a bright and unworn mould, — And their words were wise, And their prayers and sighs God heard in the days of old. The grand old book With the reverend look "Which our fathers trusted well Scorns not to speak Of a ruddy cheek. Nor the might of love's wondrous spell. We smile as we stand On a desert land And dream of the ancient men, — Yet sigh for the light To our straining sight Through life's dusk that guided then. AND POETIC MYTH. 157 THE VOICE OF THE ELOQUENT. "Which spell of thine, O Music, say, O'ev passion and thought holds mightiest sway? is it the shrilling clarion note On fields where conquering banners float, Where the haughty heart's stern will is done, Where life-blood flows and fame is won ? Is it the swift and joyous strain From pillared halls and the festal train ? Or, mounts it with the solemn power Of oi'gan-swell in reverent hour Where hoary minsters answering thrill, And ages tread the deep aisles still ? Dwells there most true in nature's charm Thy might to bless and grief disarm Where lapsing waves on the silver strand Throb low and sweet to an unseen hand ; Or slow the plumy pine-trees wave To the wind's soft hymn by a forest grave ; Or where along some moonlit vale Gurgles the song of the nightingale, " Telling a thousand mournful things " To the zephyrs that pause on gentle wings ; — Which of thy tones, O Music, tell, Subdues the soul with strongest spell? List, with the hush of yon breathless crowd ! The clear light falls on a forehead proud, — 158 STUDIES WITH HISTORY And that eye, — what splendor is beaming thence ? The glow, the might of eloquence ; As slow its magic charm is waking, A human voice the stillness breaking. Have ye heard this voice in mystic power — A godlike gift, a mortal's dower — When it brings high hope to the sinking soul And electric thoughts on its full tide roll, While beneath its strength an undertone Runs deep and clear and sweet and lone, Revealing from the heart's pure well Some holier truth than words can tell, — Oh, who has heard yet never confessed, While chained a captive his willing breast, That of music tones that thrill to bliss There is none so wonderful as this ? Back through the ages with their vast Stern freedom conflicts of the past, In council halls was felt the shock Of mighty minds, and wildly rock Ill-fated thrones to ruin hurled When wise words mold anew the world. Far down the ages dimly known Diamonds and pearls of thought are strown. Pause well at the Forum where Cicero spoke, And where the brave Gracchi Rome's manhood awoke, — AND POETIC MYTH. 159 Then back, till clearly the inner eye sees The glory of Athens, her grand Pericles. With pride o£ the noble in soul and mien, He ruled for the people, content if unseen. That Athens, the perfect, the child of his hand, To the oncoming ages art's model might stand. He curbed his own spirit, and, this conquest made, A sceptre of might he wondrously swayed Over men from the land, over men from the ships, With " weapons of Jove " on his beautiful lips. Tell ye of Demosthenes, later and strong. Whose thunders to present years echo along ? Yes, tell of Demosthenes, patriot proud Who died when his country to Macedon bowed, — Yet he of deep eloquence, fervor and fire Was but the true son, another the sire. O mind of man, mysterious power, That dwell'st in dust, thy dreamings tower And dome themselves full loftily ! Upbuilt with fitting words, like stones Polished and cut in tracery To shape thy immaterial tones Of grandeur and of beauty. Yet Where lift thy matchless aisles, with fret Of roof and mullioned arch, faint moans As of a dreary night-wind steal Numbing the wearied sense to feel 160 STUDIES WITH HISTORY That even consummate templed art No shelter gives man's homeless heart. Ye burning words of other years When truth was truth, and haggard fears And all-embracing doubt, unknown Were all undreamed, while life still sought A something dear, hoped for, and fraught With blessing, — ah, from zone to zone, Ye words of fire be heard once more ! Sinai, we kneel, — we may adore — Thy awful voice sounds from afar. And Hermon glows with love's bright star. ENDYMION SLEEPING. — A SCENE most fair, the Latmos hill From which the trees droop low and still Upon a crystal gleaming lake — No softest sounds the silence break Where lies Endymion sleeping. A white swan dreams upon the wave That loves her snowy breast to lave, — A temple whiter than her wing. Stands where the j)alm-tree shadows cling, And lies Endymion sleeping. AND POETIC MYTH. 161 The temple's marble steps are near, The moonlight waters shming clear, The palm-leaf shadows softly lie, — A soundless-soft voice calms its sigh To leave Endymion sleeping. The flowers are clustered at his feet, Narcissus fair and red rose sweet, The hyacinth dark-purpling lies — And shine above the sad pure eyes That light Endymion sleeping. His dark curls on the marble rest, His white hands on a peaceful breast, His lips of matchless godlike mold Smile with a joy for earth too bold. — Ah, leave Endymion sleeping I CLEOPATRA'S SOLILOQUY. 'T WAS more than love, O Casar. I lay hushed In sleepless dream beside thy beating heart To learn the fate of empires, and I knew Not all the thunder gods so feared and famed Of far Olympus, — no, nor Psyche's love, Eros the beautiful who veiled his face In night from eyes that to behold him pined, Could bless me as thy presence, lofty one. 162 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Am I, am I alone ? and witli thy kiss Of parting- didst thou counsel the loathed vow To bind my life with that of the poor boy, Young Ptolemy ? Caesar is gone. Oh, word Of ruin to my heart and fame ! and yet I would not have him stay and thus become Less high, less conquering. That I saw, I won My life's proud dream, its first and sovereign lord Whose word can sway the world, — this joy is mine ; And had his heart been iron, each word a death, I still had loved him ; but my Caesar was Gracious and gentle, in his kindness great, Sovereign beyond all thought in everything. Lost ! lost ! I look before and see a path I cannot shun, while black fiends mock at it. My young bright womanhood must hated live, Divorced from gladness, truth, hope, love, and light, Or, I must die — by my own hand must die, Before my life has grown too hateful far That I may bear it. Not one chance remains To change the web which the accursed ones Have woven. The noble Caesar would have made My life his own, as j^rinces should be wed In honor and in faithfulness, but they. Those upstart Romans, scorn the pure Greek blood That flowed to me from just below the throne Of mighty Macedon, — but I '11 not weep — AND POETIC MYTH. 163 Nay, there is sternei* work to do, — to curb My rebel lords to a due reverence, And keep my crown for Caesar's son, and mine. I will go celebrate my mock of nuptials And hush all murmurs thus against my right To reign in Egypt, — reign in truth I will. And never shall a false nor rightful heir Of all the Ptolemies usurp the place Of my true prince, my most imperial-sired Csesarion, — who bounding, clinging, comes With baby fondness to my maddened heart. Oh ! 't is too much — myself am half a child. Yet through the long black years I nevermore Must see the proud one, baby boy, who gave Thy fairest life. Nay, — there are galleys light And strong, and the blue sea I ever love Bears where I will. A crowned queen has right In foreign courts to queenly welcome, — Rome, > I will behold thy mighty hills, and him, — And if vexed Rome and vexed Calphurnia So vex great Caesar that his mien is cold And formal in my welcome, — then, ye fates. The dagger-point's keen sympathy remains. I '11 rend the swelling coils that prison now This burning blood, whose crimson current glows Too passionate beneath the burning sun Of Egypt, — and the form he praised shall lie Cold-pure and harmless at his pitying feet. 164 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Perchance tlie hour is near, — why comes this thought ? When Caesar too shall know the searchitig power Of such sharp sympathy to cure life's ills. THE CRUCIFIED. Night hovered o'er the garden strange and still. The Roman guard gathered beside the stone Which lay upheaved defiantly, and barred The rock-hewn tomb of Calvary. Those hours Which ushered in the " third day " were at hand, And still the linen folds held the pale form Of Jesus. Death's cold seal yet pressed those lijjs ; But the calm holy brow was eloquent ; And as the night waned onward to its close The sorrowing lines of that most sacred beauty Kindled to all on which immortal eyes Alone could look. O Saviour, Thou art risen ; But we still trace with deepest reverent love Thy footprints here, those hallowed scenes that tell How far a God could stoop with purposes Of mercy. Not as they who saw Thee once Pale from the agony of Pilate's cross, And touched thy pierced hands, and gently wound Back from thy drooping head its crown of thorns, May we bow down to worship ; but our day AND POETIC MYTH. 165 Of sackcloth and of silence, when amid The ashes of a desolated life And the strown wreck of the high-altars reared In madness to our idols, we have learned The pure deep lesson of humility, Shall own thy Presence near. Comest Thou not To faith's sweet prayerful stillness — when the heart Has utterance more than words, and winged soul Seems half enfranchised into angel life. Oh, then, do we not clasp thy feet, and share The pure compassions of thy sovereign eye ? — And earth, with its cold painted brilliancies And vapory joys, dim hope, and trustless love, Seems far too poor one sigh or smile to win From the high-wedded trust. TWO HOURS FROM THE LIFE OF JULIA DOMNA, EMPRESS WIFE OF SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS. I. " It was no augur's dream. The bright stars which adorn 166 STUDIES WITH HISTORY The brow serene of ancient night Wrote with their rays o£ living light, ' A royal child is born ! ' " Thus spake one glowing morn The Syrian maiden rare ; And to her forehead and her eye Come earnest thoughts enkindling high, — No crown she needs to wear To prove how grandly there Soul-life itself enthrones By its own nobleness, — by right Of a grand nature's gift of might Which all of life enzones. No petty king who owns Plis realm by Roman grace But Rome's great emperor has sent And, with the stars in full consent, Proffers their child her place. Henceforth her footstep's trace Shall be where Rome's behest May prompt her warlike emperor forth With world-wide sway to South or North, To East or sea-bound West. AND POETIC MYTH. 167 II. On a pale mother's breast A pale young prince is lying, Slain by an elder brother's hand, Who in his crime could dare to stand That mother's heart defying. With the still dead is vying The hue of Julia Domna's face ; But when the fratricide is gone And Geta's look puts slowly on The glad triumphant grace Of one whose life apace Is drained by fatal wound, The mother's eye sees naught beside. To her swift dream he has not died Blood-drenched within the bound Of arms that close him round — Her dearest and her own, With love all measureless and fond, She feels the solemn, sacred bond Of motherhood alone. She murmurs in soft tone. As listening and not dead. Were he, her gentle and sweet prince. 168 STUDIES WITH HISTORY His look might any eye convince Again with agile tread, He must by honor led Go forth to claim his right, — Must wed as his young heart inclines The last child of the Antonines And reign in virtue's might. Ah, peaceful second sight For racking human woe Just on the verge of frenzy ! Read Even from the rapt look of our dead, It charms, it saves us so ! KING ANTHERIC'S ENVOY. *' Haste, haste, Theudalinda, the guest -cup to fill,— Your father commands, the Envoy waits still Whom the Lombard Autharis,* famed through the land, Has sent to King Garribald asking thy hand. Haste, haste, Theudalinda, 't is Monhild that calls, — The mandate is his who is lord of these walls. * The names are given in the verse as Gibbon gives them. AND POETIC MYTH. 169 Thou knowest not wisely our feet linger still When the stern and the strong have spoken their wiU." One touch to the light golden ringlets she gave That loved on the snow of her forehead to wave, While earnest thought looked from the clear eyes blue, And flushing, and paleness, the changing cheek knew. She passed from her bower to answer the call Of the Sire long waiting for her in his hall. " Cease, cowardly tremors," she murmured aloud, " Like a slave's who was born 'neatli a lash to be bowed ! Autharis demands me, yet, I may love My home and my kindred his best claim above. I know him not, care not that warriors praise. And for him the loud minstrels ring forth their lays ; If he is but a stern bloody tyrant, I hate — Will spurn him though death the next hour be my fate. " Serene to the hall of the gods let me rise, And Odin may smile, or, the slow-beaming eyes Of some warrior who knew how to pity and love May be met as I pass to the palace above, — I heard of One such, — 't was a beautiful tale," — 170 STUDIES WITH HISTORY She raised her young- face, calm, dreamy, and pale. As a white-breasted swan in slow grace might glide, She entered the hall of the guests in the pride Of her beauty unrivaled whose far fame had brought The trusted envoy of Autharis who sought To make the rare maiden his own chosen bride, — But, the stranger sat silent by Garribald's side. The haughty old king of Bavaria's pride Rose high in his bosom, and '' dares he, the hound. To believe a fairer on earth can be found ! " Was the thought quickly kindled to fire in his eye,— But pause, — Theudalinda moves gracefully by With the cup, borne as hostess, high-born and at ease, To honor the guest she cares not to please. And lo, ere he tastes it, he kneels at her feet, And from his fixed eye steals forth hers to meet Love, love all resistless, — the cup's golden band Told not that he clasped it around her white hand. The maiden looked down on the form and the face, Low bending before her in manliest grace, BevvilJered, then quickly passed out from the hall. Told soon to her kind foster-mother was all, — How he, the false baron, her hand thus had pressed, The words of his CMrand unspoken, unguessed ; AND POETIC MYTH. 171 Forgetting the king's love, by gesture and mien He rashly had dared cause his own to be seen. " But oh ! he was noble, my good Monhild dear ! With eyes dark and deep his forehead was clear In the beauty of Balder ; and closely was curled From lips all unrivaled I 'm sure in the world, Not the beard of the Lombard, but, soft as brown foam, 'Twas like the eddying river of Rome." The kind foster-mother knew not how to speak, She kissed and soothed fondly the rose-flushing cheek, Half-fearing some vague nameless horror to come From heart-choice in wooing with ruin its sum. Below in the hall calm Garribald smiled. The guest to the Sire bent low as a child ; And asked that his pleading might quickly be seut To the proud gracious princess, with love reverent, Once more the sweet light of her beauty to bring To Autharis the Envoy, Autharis the King ; Who will evermore honor the maiden who knew To spurn the bold love, too hasty though true. Thus Garribald's daughter went forth we are told Content at the side of Autharis the bold ; And year after year as his radiant queen, Beloved for her beauty and virtue was seen ; 172 STUDIES WITH HISTORY And when to the spirit's far shadowy shore The valiant Autharis had passed, slie still wore The crown of the Lombards, and prized far before Its costliest jewels in number twice ten Its nail from the cross of the Saviour of men. A KEVERY WITH EARLY ENGLISH HISTORY. It is not in dreamland, It is not in sleep, But millions pass by me ; And silence more deep Than silence of slumber The thronging hosts keep. The present departing, The past to my soul Comes proudly, comes sadly, All thought to control ; The mists slowly vanish. Cloud-curtains uproll. Back, back through the time-land I turn to behold Humanity's pageant The real, the bold, AND POETIC MYTH. I73 The high forms, the fair ones Of centuries old. 'T is night, and the moonbeams Fall weirdly and still On rough shaggy forest, On river and rill ; And Stonehenge gleams ghastly, With boding of ill. Wild, fearful, the faces That gloomily lower Where night-loving Druids Seek mystical jDower, And rites all unholy Have sway of the hour. Beside the dread altar A pale maiden stands, Her golden hair rippling O'er thong-tortured hands, — Oh ! woe for the bright blood That gushed on the sands I From Britain the ancient The Caesars are gone, Caractacus, Vortigern, Vanquished pass on ; 174 STUDIES WITH HISTORY O'er Hengist and Horsa The death-dust lies strown. Morn breaks on the hilltops, And through the blue air The shrines of the Christ-king" Rise grandly and fair ; And Aldan and Cuthbert And Bede are there. No more the pure bosom Of beauty is bare To the knife of fiend -worship ; But, earnest and rare St. Hilda is claspnig The cross in her prayer. Crowned Alfred too bendeth To Him who was crowned With thorn-wreath of sorrow Where hills wait around The far olden city In mysteries bound. THE SCRIPTORIUM. AND POETIC MYTH 175 EDWY. In young glowing manhood A bright form I see Of Alfred's own lineage For whom may not be The right to be happy, The right to be free. Fair Edwy, young Saxon, Thou droopest alone, And dim is thy crown's light. Grief-shadowed thy throne ; Thou askest no echoes Of fame's trumpet tone. The thought of thy lost bride Insulted, maligned, Despised and torn from thee, To tortures consigned, O'erwhelms with death's darkness And frenzy combined. 176 STUDIES WITH HISTORY ETHELGIVA. Above a wild and lonely heath Stern-frowned a wintry sky, And whirled beneath was the snow's cold wreath As the wailing blast went by. The wailing blast from a leafless tree Passed chill to a forehead fair, And snowflakes be, and pearled jewelry Both in soft-clustered hair. Dim day went out in the darkening west, More wildly the storm-wind rose — Unblest, unblest, is the tender breast That finds no home's repose ! Why strays she there ? 't were dread to guess, And strange seems there, I ween. The bright excess of her loveliness Like that of a sceptred queen. A queen she was, though none had wrought For her a diadem. Unless far sought where a burning thought Out-glows a flashing gem. AND POETIC MYTH. 17T THE PURSUERS. They come ! they Lave found her, The bloody fangs tear, The hunted roe dieth In agonies there — O Christ of Gethsemane, Hear her mute prayer ! Christ of Gethsemane, Lain on thy heart Are the woes of long ages For us thy keen part. "We trust that earth's anguish Is healed where Thou art ! From the realm of the present Past sorrows we see, And, wronged Ethelgiva, Most tenderly we Will turn from red war-chiefs To Edwy and thee. For better is, surely, Love's grief-frenzied dream Than hatred of stern hearts More cruel than gleam The swords they dye crimson In life's wasted stream. 178 STUDIES WITH HISTORY ANSELM. Anselm of Aosta With beautiful brow Of light like the Christ-king's, We bless thee, even now ! Thou taughtest grand wisdom In gentleness, thou ! No hunted hart perished Unpitiecl, in vain, At the feet of his palfrey. Which paused on the plain While passed a scared victim To gladness again. Before the Great Norman, Pure, gentle, and true. He stood with calm counsel ; And, wakening new, The best of a stern heart Smiled up into view. Anselm of Aosta With beautiful brow Of light like the Christ-king's, We bless thee, even now. Thou taughtest grand wisdom In gentleness, thou. AND POETIC MYTH 179 THE CRUSADES. The Hermit comes with fervid eye And lifts the sacred cross on high, His rough serge mantle girt with care, His pilgrim foot worn gaunt and bare, — To eastward far he points the way, Kisses the cross and kneels to pray. Bernard with solemn voice and slow Proclaims, " God wills it thus," and, lo ! The nations move ; while far and wide Float kingly banners in their pride. Crowns glisten back the sunlight's beam, Plumes wave, and starry lances gleam ; The war-horse lifts his arching neck. And high baronial symbols deck And cloth of gold his plaited mail. Each strong bold charger boldly bears A knightly form erect who wears His armor-proof against the hail Of battle's ringing blows When chief to chief with brand to brand Or lance to lance from iron hand In awful conflict close. — But, hushed as death's own silence now The warriors pass with helmed brow ; 180 STUDIES WITH HISTORY And, prouder, bolder than the rest De Lion rides with mailed breast, With stalwart form and England's crest. Earth's conquerors by land or sea, Ye pride of war and chivalry, Your fame once flew from shore to shore. Your humbled dust earth finds no more, - And if a louder trumpet note Than ever rang across the moat Of leaguered castle smite the tomb To call from ages' slumbering gloom — Not barons, kings, to fancy's ken. But forms that once were mortal men, — Ah ! who will be the conquerors then ? BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE, OR, THE MARRIAGE OF CCEUR DE LION. Over the fair, the Cyprus isle Where Aphrodite from the sea Came floating, and her goddess smile Brightened in flowers on shore and tree, The sun still kindly, warmly shone, A freshening beauty wide was strown Thouffh armed hosts filled the island bowers And crushed to dust the spring-time flowers. AND POETIC MYTH. 181 A mediaeval pile is bright With courtly splendor, and full light Beams from an altar. A small form White-robed and delicate is there With dainty cheek and lustre warm Of Spanish eyes, and hand so fair To touch it scarce should moi'tal dare, — Yet she, that creature of the air, Yields it to one whose giant strength Foes fear through Europe's breadth and length ; And though mail-glove is laid aside, That hand is one of martial pride, — For she is Cceur de Lion's bride. Diamonds and gold flash back the light From his broad breast and sword-hilt bright, And sapphires flash his sparkling eyes ; While closely curled in beauty lies Beneath his broidered headpiece rare On a white brow his golden hair. Ah, lion-heart, veiling thy might In satin fold and mantle white ! Ah, warrior, has the spell been found By which thy burning thoughts are bound To gentle scenes of quiet ? Nay : Lover and poet for a day May Coeur de Lion be, — Then onward to the surging strife Where death is lightly met as life 182 STUDIES WITH HISTORY His eager way we see ; And on the fields of Palestine He sweeps along the lengthened line Of wai'i'ing hosts, and fiercely free Strikes for the pilgrim's shrine ; Or, reins his brave war-horse with care, His lance firm-poised aloft in air, And challenges each foe, — While no dire Paynim wrath its storm Against that towering Mars-like form Dares hurl with fruitless blow. But ah ! erelong a prison's bound Shall close that fearless strength around, — And few the years now lingering Till death shall claim the haughty king. Within her distant abbey pile The gentle bride of Cyprus isle Shall kneel in saintly, shadowy stole And weep, and pray, " God rest his soul ! " Or, standing by her open gate, Watchful to bless the poor shall wait With daily generous dole ; And 'midst the grateful piteous crowd Sigh low one name, " My Richard proud, — God rest, God rest his soul ! " AND POETIC MYTH. 183 THE FATEFUL HOUR* FIRST VOICE. Lion of England, king, Thy past was lived to bring Thee to the mystic ring Of this one hour. For this thy lion-heart, For this thy warlike art, Thy fame, which may depart. Were wrought to power. Arise in all thy might Up to the crowning height Of deeds now made thy right And service high ; Rise to thy pride of fame, With Godfrey's carve thy name * " The king was led by one of his train to a height from which Jerusalem could be plainly seen. With tears in his eyes, he threw down his arms, and, hiding his face with his shield, ex- claimed that he who was unable to rescue was unworthy to look on the sepulchre of Christ." — Strickland'' s Queens of Eng. " If Richard had gone forward with his accustomed bravery, the force he had would have taken the city ; for Saladin, already failing in health, was absent from Jerusalem, and the small gar- rison, dismayed at the coming of Richard, expected to surren- der." — Old History. 184 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Rayed in the sacred flame Whicli cannot die. SECOND VOICE. Nay, Richard, pause, — fame might suffice If Godfrey's height you win, — Though wasting oil of sacrifice Burned his pure breast within ; And all he won from careless hands And weak ones passed away, — Across these chosen promise-lands Came back the Moslem sway. FIRST VOICE. Richard of England, king, Thy past was lived to bring Thee to the mystic ring Of this one hour. For this thy lion-heart, For this thy warlike art, Thy fame, which may depart. Were wrought to power. Thou may'st not choose thy way — The will thou know'st, obey. And God, thy strength and stay Shall ever be. AND POETIC MYTH. 186 The city's towers behold, They and the Moslem gold, And victories untold Are all for thee. In spirit-strength arise. Dash sin's cloud froiu thine eyes, Strike, fearless, for the prize That waits thee yet. Philip is gone, — 't is well — Not his the favoring spell, — Thy name deep whispers tell, Plantagenet. SECOND VOICE. "What is the charm of this far land, These hills reared barrenly, This sun-scorched waste of blinding sand, > King Richard, what to thee ? What yields this land of hoary age — This land of Palestine ? Hunger and thirst, and fever's rage If touched the ruby wine. In pleasant France thy duchies smile With purple vineyards fair, — And Philip, with his hate and guile. Is busy, busy there. 186 STUDIES WITH HISTORY FIRST VOICE. Oh, lion-strength so brave, The desert and the cave Thy kingdom and thy grave Should chosen be. Vineyards, and feasts, and joy ! Let weak ones idly toy, And the shamed hours annoy With revelry. Lift thou thy mailed hand. Victorious warrior stand On yonder walls more grand Than Caesar won. Dream not of thronging foes, Of desert pains and woes, — Saladin swiftly goes Where war is done. Thy way is smoothly cast, Long shall thy victory last This fateful hour once past With strong true heart. Alas, too weak, too weak ! Tears on a haughty cheek ! — Tancred, De Courtenay, speak,- Nay, ye depart. AND POETIC MYTH. 187 Woe for a coward choice ! Thy future has no voice To bid thy pride rejoice, Lion no more. A prison's walls await, A purchased freedom late, — Basely to die thy fate, For fame is o'er. BOTH VOICES. tChy work undone to other hands High heaven will not assign. Blood shall o'erquench the thirsty sands, It shall not win the shrine. EDWARD PLANTAGENET THE FIRST. Englajjd's great Edward, knight and king And earnest statesman, thought can bring Once more thy stern and war-worn face, And near thee on the canvas place Thy Eleanor, and him, the fair, Bright baby Edward, — nay, I dare Not look upon that picture ! Tears Forced and prophetic, scorning fears, O'erflow the dark and haughty eyes Crown-shadowed. Gorgon faces steal 188 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Across the distance. SplencTors reel Like castellated clouds and sink In dai-kness, — gazers scarcely think How bold the outlined turrets rise Ere they have vanished. A prince dies Dishonored, and a worthier one, Cressy's young hero, his work done, In sculptured marble gleaming cold, His brave deeds by their trophies told, Lies on his early tomb, — around, Beyond, a darkly-closing bound Of prison-walls. O'erwhelmed by fraud And cruelty, proud Empress Maude, Perished thy last Plantagenet, Pale star in utter darkness set.* The gateways open stand to one wide hall, Unwelcomed and unspurned the guests come all ; King, prince, and peasant each finds ample room, Curtained, and still, and restful, — 't is not gloom» Life is the death, — if selfish, base. Then all is darkness. The white brow Lies down unsullied, and its place Speaks but of blessing when we bow And lis'-eii. Thou wast like thy race, Most Titan-like Plantagenet, * Richard II. AND POETIC MYTH. 189 Proud and invincible ; and yet Edward of England's pictured face Wears troubled thought, and " sudden tears Forced and prophetic scorning fears, May well o'erflow the dark deep eyes C ro wn-sliado wed. ' ' Though thy England rise And name thee great and good and wise, The conqueror's stain rests full on thee — Blood, blood ! Oh, may thy tears yet be A mercy fount from justice stern To soften judgment. Thou didst learn In life, and from life's future borrow — Heaven pity thee ! — lessons of sorrow. "ONCE UPON A TIME." The stars were out, and the moon rode high Through the sapjjhire arch of the midnight sky, — But the revelers heeded not as she passed, Though saintly sweet was the smile she cast On lawn and forest and glassy stream, Fairer than all the festal gleam. 'Twas a stately hall of the olden time. It had echoed oft to pleasure's chime, And again o'er the walls were garlands fair, — Soft wondrous music charmed the air, And the lamps shone down on a mazy throng 190 STUDIES WITH HISTORY That floated in music grace along. One joined them not. With nobler mien Than else in that gleaming hall was seen, Sternly and silent he turned aside, And his lips half -cursed, — was it pain or pride ? He gazed with cold and changeless eye While the jeweled train swejit gayly by. Then came a creature young and fair, — Almost a child, with waving hair, With stainless forehead, and dark bright eye, With spirit pure and lovely and high ; And the stern lips smiled, the eye grew mild, — He spoke in tones which oft have beguiled. To the maiden's heart stole their spell of might, — Her eyes confessed no softened light. Her lips smiled not, and you sought in vain On her marble cheek for the red-rose stain. Little they know love's fateful power Who wear it in joy for the festal hour ; Little they know of the deep soul's strife Who can shape to expression the wasting life. Some hearts there are that never know Of peace the tranquil and rippling flow, — Their pleasure scarce can the thrilled frame bear. Their pain is the horror of despair. Their love is a torrent's mad excess Which flows far more to waste than bless ; Yet with a still, unruffled mien And ivory brow they oft are seen, — AND POETIC MYTH. 191 Such was the heart of that princess fair With the dark bright eye and silken hair. Oh ! why did he, her loftiest one, Of the haughty glance and low deep tone, Who had grasped all that earth can give of joy And turned in scorn from the mocking toy — Oh ! why did he wake from their lovely rest The jarring chords in that youthful breast ? Perchance he knew not what depths were stirred In that reckless hour by each low-breathed word, — Perchance he dreamed not in later years When all had been tested more bitter than tears That voice would come like the wintry blast, Not to bring sweet thoughts of a springtime past j But with cold mockery in its tone Haunting the silent spirit lone ; While from the corse of feeling dead Would wake self-scorn, the vampire dread. Away with the wearying, oft-told tale, — The novelist's dream and the poet's wail! This heart was one of a thousand more Which at idol fanes their wealth outpour, Crouching the high soul God has given. Kindred of angels and heir of heaven, To a worship low that cheats the quest With semblance of a portion blest, — Its loftier claim, the Indwelling Good, The pure heart's Light since creation stood. 192 STUDIES WITH HISTORY THE GIFT. It was a snow-white dove ; and as it curved Its soft and stainless neck, and threw around The bright quick glances of its changeful eye, The lady watched it silently, and thought That thus in form a spirit guest might come From the far isles dreamed of, but never seen. And Rudolph stood before her. There was bound A slight and silken baldric on his breast, And a chased hunting-horn, and wavy hair Lay carelessly pressed back as he had come From woodland wandering. O'er that smooth brow Had passed the balmy and unruffling breath Of but some twenty summers, — but the eyes, Deep-veiled by long dark lashes from her sight When Constance came, were lit with fire and pride, And the stern haughty mold of all his features Had graced a high-born Roman in the age Of Caesars. The white dove was beautiful, But as she careless held against her vest Its pearly form, that calm-eyed lady's mien Grew troubled ; for she knew that while her life Was fading, and a shadow from the wing of time Had touched the brightness of her beauty, AND POETIC MYTH. JQg The first proud passionate love of a deep heart Was hers alone. . . . Lifting the snowy dove Toward the Italian heaven, she gently threw It ofp from her white hand, — to freedom's flio-hfc. THE BETROTHAL RING OF ST. CATHERINE. A MAIDEN sat in the glowing morn, And wove her garland fair Of leaves and buds and opening flowers, And her thoughts were a wordless prayer. The King came near — He wore no crown What joy can one moment bring ! " Be mme," He said, and his voice was sweet, — " Take from me this betrothal ring." She went her way as a priestess robed. Calm splendor serened her brow ; Nor to humbler joys and meaner loves Might her sealed young spirit bow. Yet her step grew faint on a desert path Where she saw no sheltering wing, The King stayed long, and, — oh, bitter pain I Lost was the betrothal ring. She sank down lowly in deepest nio-ht Where the maiden once sat in the morn, 194 STUDIES WITH HISTORY And tears wet the garland, all broken and dim, As memory whispered forlorn. Then One came near in robes of light, — 'T was the glorious, radiant King ! He breathed not of wrath, but graciously gave Anew the betrothal ring. " Wait, calmly wait, my loved, my bride," His kind voice murmured low, — " Thy richest treasures of life and soul Must be wrought by a process slow. Wait, calmly wait, in truth and love Till thee to my home I bring ; Then shalt thou know an unmeasured trust Was this, thy betrothal ring." SAWDA'S DREAM. She nursed his child * And loved her well, Bound to the sire By riveless spell. He loved not her,t — She did not weep ; Her own heart's love 'T was joy to keep. * Fatinia, t Sawda was Mahomet's unloved wife, — the only unloved one* AND POETIC MYTH. 195 Sundered afar, In visions came The palm-like form, That eye of flame. Those dark, deep eyes That burned and gleamed 'Neath turbaned brow — Ah, fondly dreamed — Looked kind on her, — And, seeking rest. The Prophet's head Lay on her breast. "THE LITTLE QUEEN." A mistake with regard to Isabella of Valois, wife of Richard II. of England, is gathered from Shakespeare, where she is made to use language which could only be possible for a matron of mature years. Eichard, being required to marry that the direct royal line of Plantagenet might last, selected the most fair and good of the fair daughters of Charles VI. and his queen Isabeau. When his ministers objected to the youth of the princess, a child of nine years, the king replied, " It is a fault which will daUy grow less." We may conclude that he wished, while caring for the beautiful child as for a sister, to give his own heart the time to forget the loss of his first beloved and excellent queen, Anne of Bohemia. The king, at the time of his second marriage, was twenty-eight years of age. 196 STUDIES WITH HISTORY The love which gradually developed between Richard II. and Isabella of Valois was a thing delicate and lovely among the loves of earth. The memory of his beautiful face, his refined tender- ness, and his cruel fate, made the child-widow averse to the utmost persuasion of Henry IV. and his warlike son, then Prince of Wales, to remain in England and again be England's Queen. She died at the early age of twenty-two years. (lady de courcy speaks.) " Sweet Queen and Princess Isabel, Now leave thy harp, I pray, Before the morning hours are passed The King will come to-day. When earliest matin chants were played I saw, where the sunrise shone Across his favorite colonnade. King Richard stand alone In his mantle with its ermine white, And he waved his hand with a smile most bright To say he would see his bride. Now come from lessons, my Lady Queen, He loves thy beauty in jewel sheen — Leave harp and books aside. " I will robe thy form in pale-rose silk, — Thy flesh as the spotless, creamless milk Is wholly and sweetly fair. That thy foot shall shame a fairy sprite, Thy girdle the slender wood-nymph's bright Will need no earnest care. AND POETIC MYTH. 197 Thy curls shall be held in the pearl's soft grasp, Thy sleeve shall have a diamond clasp, And filmy lace shall fall, A modest charm, a witching spell. That suits thy virgin youth full well, A white mist over all ; And when with pleased surprise The king shall see his jewel set In jewels, he will all forget In one glance of thy radiant eyes. The earnest truth, the childlike light Shall seem than jewels far more bright." King Richard came, and a gentle smile Played o'er his lips at the j^retty style Of his baby queen with the black bright eyes In the ivory field that around them lies. He gallantly lifted the lace-robed form And kissed the red lips soft and warm, Then playful knelt to the jeweled hand And said, " Is your will, my Lady grand, To smile on my heart to-day ? Will you sing a song, and show your power To wile me away to a magic bower And treasures of genii display ? " " I will do just this, my king and lord, I wiU lead you safe through watch and ward, 198 STUDIES WITH HISTORY I will show you many a precious thing Which none from genii reahns can bring, — Nor need we leave fair Windsor's halls, We may find our quest within these walls. First let us go to the cloisters dim, I would sing a sacred morning hymn, — The brightest hours will brighter be For a worship thought's pure ministry." The hymn was sung, and its cadence mild Repeated soft the joyful child As they wandered through the ancient tower Historic still of Norman power. Erelong they reach the chosen place Where, later, dwelt her royal grace, The brave and proud Elisabeth ; • And where their first of mortal breath Drew princesses and princes fair, — And some to sigh in sorrow there. Young Isabella sought no sign Of the coming great or joyless line Of England's royalty ; But, gayly bounding, she said, " I '11 hide, — King Richard, follow and find thy bride, — May it not weary thee ! " He saw her glide with a smile away, And quickly followed in mood as gay Where, courteous in parting, with graceful sway AND POETIC MYTH. 199 He saw her white arm tossed. He passed through stony arches old, — Their shadows fell like sudden cold On pulses that brooked not the stern and drear. But were true to love, and knew not fear. Where could the princess fly so fast? Had she from earth forever passed She could not seem more lost. A look of pain on his features fell, He called, " Come back, my Isabel ! " And the sorrow of the tone Brought soon from shadows far and dim The welcome joy-bird back to him. The dove which too far had flown. He drew her closely to his side And murmured, " Say, my fairy bride, When a few more years are past Will you love me true and love me well ? Can it be, my winsome Isabel, I shall gain thy heart at last ? " She raised her look with still surprise, — But a smile soon dawned in the earnest eyes ; She spoke in gentle flattering grace, Playfully scanning his form and face. *' Thine eyes are clear as the morning light. Thy cheek rose-hued, thy brow is white, 200 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Thy teeth are perfect, thy lips a spell To steal the heart of Isabel ; Thy ermined mantle is gracefully worn — Thou art king of England this merry morn, Thou art good and kind as a brother dear, — Why should I not love thee ? never fear. And now go hide in the loneliest spot, — And see if thy little queen finds thee not." *' Nay, talk not, sweet, of lonely places, Nor of hiding away from best-loved faces. Let us walk where toward the sparkling river The gallery hangs, and in sunlight and breeze We can see on the shore the emerald trees With joy and thankfulness quiver. Thy hand on my arm, thy smile in my heart, I will dream that a king in life's gladness has part — Let us look on the fair-flowing river." Ah ! leave them now in their stainless love While yet their sky shines blue above, — The one who of sorrow knows no dream, And the one who forgets it awhile in the beam That brightens o'er him and the river. Yes, leave them, nor think of coming hours When another shall claim the king's high bowers : Leave them, nor draw the veil aside Prom Richard's fate, — his brave child-bride Shall be true to her heart's last quiver. AND POETIC MYTn. 201 THE PRISONER'S WAKING THOUGHTS. "Ah, who can name them all, the ills of humanity, in their manifold pale dispensations ? There are crime and sickness, the shriek of despair, and the long deep silent torture. ' ' — Bremer. The wintry morn once more With dreary, chilling, and unwelcome glare Finds the barred horror of my prison-door. Where lurks despair. Too soon thou tak'st thy flight, Oblivious sleep, this wasted life's best boon, And thou, O kindly-shadowing night. Far, far too soon. Though weary dreams must lie Where lies this weary head, and lurid gleams Flit o'er my sleep's serenest sky. They still are dreams : But morning brings worse dole Of maddening thoughts with its ungentle beam Which tell in anguish on my soul. They are no dream. Without, the northern blast Sweeps whirling on, and from each desolate bough The last frail withered leaves are cast Unpitied now. 202 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Fixed is dire winter's reign, — Each pale untimely flower from the cold skies Shrinks low to the unsheltering plain — No more to rise. Bright visions cherished long, Youth's holy hope and aspiration high, Beneath worse storm of hate and wrong, Ye, too, must die. « THE FAIREST THING TO MORTAL EYES." * " My lady, my lily," — ah, where am I now ? The breath of thy lips touched light on my brow. But thy filmy robe floated away through the night, " Thou fairest thing to mortal sight." 'T was a dream, yet so lovely she bent o'er my sleep I waken to bless her, I waken to weep ; * Charles, the poet Duke of Orleans, was by order and will of Henry V. of Lancaster consigned to a severe imprisonment of twenty-two years in the Tower of London, for no fault but his virtues, added to the fact that he was second in heirship to the crown of France ; and the other fact, it may be, that for one year ho was the husband of the beautiful Isabella of Valois, whom Henry, as vainly as persistently, had sought to win. Orleans came into the hands of Henry V. as prisoner of war at Agincourt, and all ransom for him was refused. The imprisoned Duke mourned for the dead Princess by tho titles quoted in the poem. AND POETIC MYTH. 203 Peace hushes ray spirit, my lone heart still sighs, " Thou fairest thing to mortal eyes." " My lady, my lily," thy beautiful form No grief can restore me, no tenderness warm ; Cold, lonely, and silent and sacred it lies, And seen no more by mortal eyes. She loved him, ah, truly, her Richard, the king. She wept when our kindred, unresting, would bring The pale royal flower to my bosom a bride, — They brought her, and here on my bosom she died. King Richard had won her with saintliest art That spared the sweet form while gaining the heart, — She turned to his memory, the martyred, the dead, As a youth-dream unfinished, a page left unread. Fierce Henry, in vain that bold hand of thine Was laid on the outermost gate of the shrine Where thy victim could dwell love-remembered each hour Beyond thy fell hate and the craft of thy power. I loved her, — I loved her, the truthful and fair, For her Henry's prison could willingly dare, — If I die here, what sorrow ? my heart daily dies For my lady the rarest to mortal eyes. 204 STUDIES WITH HISTORY ELISABETH. Geeat margin queen, Thy weary name Should rest with fame, Far from the scene Where owl dominion Of blind opinion For faults will glean. We cannot say Thy lily hand Ne'er moved the brand In fearful way, Despite its beauty And sovereign duty, 'Neath passion's sway. We will not dream Thy woman's heart Held light its part To quench love's beam, — Love vainly loyal, Love high and royal, A varied gleam. Yet all must own This ever true. AND POETIC MYTH. 205 Thy England grew Around thy throne And life all "•lowinof, — While peace bestowing With welcome tone. CONSTANTINE THE ELEVENTH. Alone in a winter midnig'ht Which solitude made drear, I read from history's volume With the frequent starting tear. Without my study windows The pine-trees, sighing low, Kept time to my mournful musing O'er a page of human woe. It told of him, the latest, The brave, sad Constantino, Whose bright imperial eagles Veiled low their golden sign, Whose crown of unmeasured sorrow- Came to his brow unsought, — Its splendor, its shame, and its torture. In the shadows of destiny wrought. 206 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Oh! grand were the forms lowly kneeling,* The last of the worthy and brave, In the Church of St. Sophia Faith's emblems that " last night " to crave. Oh ! the wail of despair from his palace ! Oh ! the grief of his deep-heaving breast, As Constantine rode through the darkness, The lost one — the doomed, — yet the blest I His Georgian princess is waiting For his galleys to come o'er the sea And bear her in joy and in beauty His empress bride to be ; And noble hearts gather around him, Steel-true to his latest breath, — No change can seal him a tyrant. And ages shall honor his death. I started — my lamp burned no longer, Raindrops plashed without on the snow, — I blessed them that they were weeping For a grief of long ago. * " They wept, they devoted their lives. The Emperor paused a few moments in his palace, which resounded with cries and lamentations. Mounting a horse, he then rode through the city, visiting the guards and watching the enemy. ' ' — Gibbon. AND POETIC MYTH. 207 ORION. He comes when comes the storm wind's wrath To the ocean-wanderer's way ; He moves on his stern and awful path When the wrecking surges sway ; And yet he seems an envoy rare From all that is holy and high, And we list for the message his bright stars bear In the hosts of the nightly sky. O wouldst thou speak ! thou who hast been With the march of the nameless years, — Thy searching eye has surely seen What we dream of with hopes and fears. Thou mayest be near to the land of wings With knowledge full-orbed thy estate, Mayest echo the lofty song that rings Through Alcyone's pearly gate. O wouldst thou speak ! but our eager thought Unanswered trembles back, Mysterious space is thine, and naught Unveils thy boundless track. Vast, silent splendor, shining still O'er earth with its life and death. We know thou art his whose regnant will Makes peaceful our daily breath. 208 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Thy starry " bands " flash diamond light To the toiling restless brain, We see thee changeless, calm, and bright Beyond earth's power or pain ; And we think of priceless gifts, like thee That neither fade nor die, But smile above time's troubled sea Till night and shadows fly. Thou art an emblem of all things rare And best to our human thought, Strength, constancy, truth, are surely there With thy heraldry inwrought ; For thy watching form has never failed Its heaven-appointed hour Since first the hills the sunlight hailed Or the moon lit the forest bower. Once gazed on thee clear glorious eyes Whose light to earth is lost, As thine when cloud mists darkly rise And our way by storms is crossed. The clouds pass by, and thy silver ray Is part of a purer even, — So the proud light veiled from our shadowed way May glow once more in heaven. AND POETIC MYTH. 209 OUR COUNTRY'S DEAD. Ah ! gently name them, — that noLle band. Brave manly forms are sleeping, And brows once grand with kingly thought Cold blood-stained graves are keeping. They went from the halls of learning fair, Calm sage and yovmg aspirant. From the statesman's desk and the temple gate, • Hands which ne'er struck with tyrant. Their blood, their lives, they valued not In truth's great cause contending, — Wrong was the foe they sternly fought. Justice and right defending. They fought, they fell, and vacant mourn Their dear and honored places, — More dimly yet lone hearth-fires burn Unlit by cherished faces. And he,* our truest, worthiest name Still in strange heart-throbs spoken, — Ah, vain our grief ! How sadly vain Each monumental token ! * Lincoln. 210 STUDIES WITH HISTORY He sleeps in dust whose lofty soul Bore a dark, heavy burden, — And for that wasting toil of years The traitor's blow his guerdon. No, no ! not thus — not thus the doom Our deathless martyr beareth, — Eternal years alone can sum The jewel crown he weareth. A noble band are our country's dead, — Brave manl}'^ forms are sleeping ; And they who sowed in deathless hope Have passed to glorious reaping. A FRAGMENT. There was a being once — My brother ? yes, I name him so. A mind Free, self-dependent, high, had stamped command On all the marble of a regnant brow ; And seemed his eye like an unfathomed wave, A full dark wave, by the sweet morning beam Of warm and pure affections kindled. It Was beautiful. Oh, I have seen him stand With that mysterious light the spirit sheds AND POETIC MYTH. 211 When, the dull clay o'ermastering, it asserts Its own unearthly lineage and trust, Paling his features ; and a thousand gazed With pausing breath, and life-pulse wildly stirred As by a trumpet's tone. And soon I marked A tear, strange visitant, steal to stern eyes. While in a voice low, musical and deep As is the flow of an earth-hidden river, New thrilling thoughts, fraught with a chastening power, Sank to the searchless caves of each hushed life To linger there forever. It is blest Here in this mocking world, where even love, Which some esteem a brimming cup of joy, Tasted, can scarce be told from bitterness — It is most blest if mind, if reasoning thought. May bend them too in all the heart's quick homage. I proudly loved. Beneath the one broad bough' Of a rent oak I rested feai4essly Nor dreamed of darkened sky nor hurrying sweep Of the cold, blighting north-wind, — yet they came. He drooped — even he — and wearily lay down In the damp churchyard ; and he would not speak, Though in the very tone once loved I breathed His name, and kept long vigil drear and cold Mantled in more than graveyard darkness. Yet once — oh, once he came ! It was not there Where boughs wave calmly and the senseless clods 212 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Press on the pulseless heart ; but I had strayed Along the fair aisle of a sanctuary, And there, consumed of all the wretchedness Within me, stood among the worshipers. Low tones, sweet, sacred, solemn, rose and sank, — Then rose and swelled to music such as might Be heard in heaven, earth's deepest sorrowing prayer Blent with an angel anthem. Swiftly then The tight black cord of selfish pain was riven And my free spirit knelt before its God. Thoughts came, white-winged and softly beautiful As altar doves, shedding their light around. And he too came. Unseen by other eyes He brightly stood beside me, while his hand Lay on my aching forehead, — never since The kindling fever of the heart's unrest Has mounted there. BUEIED FROM THE BATTLEFIELD.* Over his mantled breast, turf lie thou lightly, — Stranger hands smooth it, oh ! gently and rightly, — Beautiful boughs should wave over his resting, Sunbeams he loved should the scene be investing. * The Wilderness. AND POETIC MYTH. 213 By our young soldier's grave breathe a deep prayer, Heaven's peace enclasp him now, saved from all care ; War of its tumult wild leaves not a seeming — Hushed is the throbbing pulse, voiceless his dream- ing. Soft on the marble brow dark hair is lying, Slow from the placid lips memories are dying, — Soul of the hero's form, where art thou straying ? Hearest thou a wondrous harp — or the boughs swaying ? Over his mantled breast, turf lie thou lightly. Far from this earthly scene, spirit soar brightly. Low stoop the angel guard, hymning sweet morrow, Child of the Lord of life, thou hast no sorrow ! THE VOYAGERS. This poem was suggested by a remark as follows : — "I sometimes think of the temptations of life as islands, where we are allured to stop, and relinquish the grand object of our quest, the land of Beulah or union with God." The first island passed by the voyagers of the poem is Worldli- ness ; the second. Worldly Pleasure. They are then allured by the rich and varied voices of Science, Learning, and Poetry to the high rocky island of intellectual Self- Worship. Under this island is the dangerous cavern of Unbelief. The example portraits it is unnecessary to recognize. 214 STUDIES WITH HISTORY The storm represents the outbiirsting' malice of the soul-tempt- er ; after which the weary voyagers are wafted to Beulah's Isle, close by the Eternal Shore. I. Freighted witli hope, unwearied and unworn, A venturous band o'er smiling seas were borne. A venturous band in youthful presence rare, And clad for voyaging with shrewdest care, At morn unmoored their new and brave trireme. Each graceful form erect, they boldly seem To grasp for life or death the ready oar Ere drawn the vigorous strokes that spurned the shore. No galley slaves were these, chained to a task, Who vainly for heaven's light of beauty ask, — But freeborn souls to one great purpose given, A j)urpose like the vaulted skies unriven. Sweet, full, and clear arose their parting song. Which shoreward rocks in echoes still prolong. Away. Away, away to the unknown land. Wherever its bright hills lie, — To the gleaming founts and the golden strand — Away, away to the wondrous land — Strong oars, and steady eye ! Away ! before us the white dove flies, And signals are shining fair. AND POETIC MYTH. 215 Bright banners that waving, floating, rise Till they seem white clouds of the summer skies, Love's wordless meaning there. Away, away from the haunted isles Where the High-king dwelleth not, Where comes no light of his greeting smiles, But a siren song the ear beguiles. And dark is the wanderer's lot ! Away, away, while the life-bells toll, — Listen, and hear them say That vain is the vision, and false is the goal Which meets not the pleading and sigh of the soul ; Away, to life's home, away ! Onward they passed amid the waters blue. As if with unseen wings their swift ship flew, — And soon they marked, a slow mist swept away^' That on their left a long low island lay. Unnumbered ships were anchored at its side, And countless throngs beyond might be descried, A city's walls, too, plainly might be seen. And from those walls — no grateful pause between. Stole out a busy hum, a restless clang, — The voyagers swept on, and gladly sang. No tempting lure to young and guileless soids Are the world's thronging marts where ever rolls 216 STUDIES WITH HISTORY The deep and sullen tide of selfish thought, — Where conscience, pity, love, are sold and bought, Where nature's purer voices all are hushed, — Where God is forgotten, and hearts are crushed. II. Erelong the sun rose high with fervid heat, — The rowers paused just where a cool retreat, A beauteous isle lay close beside their track, — It seemed lost Paradise slow-floating back. Green, velvet lawns for weary feet were there, Leaves rustled music to the sunbright air, On fairy arches graceful garlands hung. Light creeping plants round sculptured vases clung, Statues and bowers, and gorgeous flowering trees Threw out a halo on the clasping seas ; And on the shore, close by the waters cold, W^as spread a rich pavilion, all of gold And royal purple wrought. Beneath was one In kingly robes at ease reclining. None, Save maidens strangely beautiful and fair. With pearl-bound tresses of long wavy hair, Were linger in c: near him. His averted face The voyagers saw not, but marked the grace Of a slight hand, white as the lily's whiteness, Glowing with gems of matchless diamond brightness. With trailing oars, with thoughts and eyes intent, Nearer their floating prow and nearer went AND POETIC MYTH. 217 Until a heaving wave with gentle guile Stranded it fully on the ocean isle. The kingly form slowly his head upraised, And turning with fixed face in silence gazed. That face ! ah, who on it would look again ? — So haggard, pale, as with despair or pain ! Though fiery light lay in the sunken eye, 'T was light on wreck, revealed more fearfully. In blank amaze the youthful band drav/ near. A creeping horror seems almost a fear. Until a voice, low, tremulous, and weak, Grown old before its time, was heard to speak. " This is the treacherous isle of Pleasure ; fly — Fly while you may, ere you are chained — to die ! " With deepest pity moved, " And go thou too," Orestes gently said, " for it is true A land is found where tortured souls may rest, - A land where mercy dwells and love is blest ; That peaceful land we seek, beyond the waste Of ocean, — there no danger larks — oh, haste ! " And gathering near, low-toned with earnest care, Young lips breathed out their song like humble prayer. Hushed grew the notes, for bitter, bitter pain Convulsed those pallid features, — " it is vain — Too late — the winecup, Myrrha ! " and he tried 218 STUDIES WITH HISTORY To touch the golden cup once more, — but died; And royal hands in mocking jewels drest Sank, pale and pulseless, on a pulseless breast. Sadder and wiser, on the waves once more. The voyagers give thanks, with lifted oar ; And frequently, with chastened lips, they say The watchword of their song, " Away, away ! " III. Steals from afar a music strange and sweet, — Quick-listening ears strain tensely still to greet The wandering notes. Is it the welcome home ? Are they in sound of harping from the dome Of far-sought mansions ? No ! — above, around, Before them and behind them wakes the sound Bewitching and bewildering, — and, listen ! A piercing sadness bids the teardrop glisten. Ah ! haunting melody, too sweet for earth, Too sad for heaven, whence hadst thou thy weird birth? They had not swerved to right nor left their track, Nor with spent force nor carelessly turned back. When, close-revealed to their astonished gaze. Veiled in a robe of purple-golden haze, An island stood, rock-girt and mountain-crested ; And from its beetling crags which the waves breasted AND POETIC MYTH. 219 Hung clustering vines ; and foliage rich and rare Of high majestic groves rose here and there. Amidst them beings moved, and wings seemed glancing, Trumpets, and plumes, and banners seemed advan- cing. Naught could the voyagers know, for a rich maze Grew all things through that gorgeous-purple haze. With impulse deep each mind essays to bring Back from a brief and troubled wandering The thoughts which ever can full brightly wing Life with undying gladness ; but, lo, now A rushing galley just across their bow, Sweeping to foam the waters, dashed its prow. Within it rose a form, erect and bold, — His gleaming forehead a bright history told Of thought's all-wondrous power. His graceful hair Fell back in clustered curls from temples fair As, oarless, helmless, on his dazzling way. His haughty mien, though silent, seemed to say : If as a master I my hand shall lay Upon the " ocean's mane," it will obey. To the veiled island his bright darkening eye Looked forth as might a conqueror's — but why That sudden veering ? Has remorseless, dire Though unseen fate tracked him with stealthy ire? 220 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Alas ! alas ! for now tlie voyagers mark A vast and deep-mouthed cavern yawning dark Beneath the vine-wreaths of the magic isle ; And to it tending, like some fatal wile, A swift, resistless current. He is there, The proud, fair, fearless masker. Vain the prayer The trembling voyagers breathed, — he passed from sight Within the rocky cavern black as night. Sad were the young bright brows low-drooping o'er The hands which grasped the pausing oars once more ; But soon another wanderer passed before Their loitering way. Not proud and bold the glow Of his pale, chiseled features, — one miglit know Naught save soul pain could waste the cold cheek so. A shadow raven -black, a fearful thing, Sat on his shallop's prow with folded wing. O dark and dying spirit ! yet the light Of genius, rare and beautiful and bright. Beamed in his downcast eye. Deep pity shook Each gazer's heart, as wrai:)i3ing o'er his breast With a dark mantle's fold he slowly took His devious way — oh ! might it be — to rest. Wrung with sad doubt, the voyagers wildly cried, " Father in heaven, save from the cavern tide ! " They turned in haste to shun the dangerous spot, — Again in fear they look, they see him not. AND POETIC MYTH. 221 Then low each voice as with concerted thought Joined, by a deep impulse divinely taught, Each other, thus : " Never my dwelling be In realms where worship finds no Deity, — Where man, poor favorite of a passing hour, Bui" (Is tinsel shrines and claims his meagre dower Of gifts and incense till another near, With gaudier tinsel and no virtuous fear. Passes and spurns him, — while earth's myriads pine With lingering hopes that more and more decline ; And in life's waste the shallow cisterns burst Ail-vainly trusted for their spirit thirst." Away, away, while the life-bells toll, — Listen, and hear them say That vain is the vision, and false is the goal That meets not the pleading and sigh of the soul — Away — to life's home — away ! To the land where are no weeping eyes, Where death no more is found — Where, under the pearly pitying skies, All pain is lost, all sorrow flies, And the key-notes of being sound ! Away, away to the wondrous land Where our hopes and wishes stray — To the gleaming founts and the golden strand —" Away, away to the unseen land — To the Beulali land away ! 222 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Away ! Before us the wliite dove flies, And signals are shining fair, Bright banners that waving, floating, rise Till they seem soft clouds of the summer skies. Love's wordless meaning there. " Speed ye, brave voyagers, to find the land Of ' gleaming fountains and the golden strand ' Which ye are seeking with so earnest mien ! Is it so fair ? have ye, — ah, who have seen ? " Thus mocked a half-heard voice through waves or air And bade the voyagers of foe beware. They turned their eyes where lay their compass true Pointing still onward, and in vigor new Bent to their oars ; then with assurance bright They said, " At evening time it shall be light.'* But, lo ! instead of light, a darkness crept Along the waters. Slowly onward swept And heavily the growing waves before A dread advancing tempest. More and more Upreared the foam-capt surges, till a whirled Chaos of elemental strife unfurled Its ensigns, and fierce winds and blinding spray Breasted and tossed and maddened round their way. AFTER THE STORWI. AND POETIC MYTH. 223 Now shall true hearts grow weak and feebly shrink From the wild terrors, then forever sink ? Shall the brave voyagers their trust deny, And back to Pleasure's isle for shelter fly? They only grasp their oars with deeper care And raise their thoughts to heaven with wordless prayer. Safely they floated, as the ancient ark, For standing there within their favored bark When night sank on the ocean, was a bright Peace messenger, and made the darkness light ; And peace was breathed to each tired voyager's breast While 'neath the angel's wing they sank to rest. IV. Far was their sailing ere the morning broke, > By might of heavenly ministry. They woke With anchor dropped in a clear circling bay, Whose lucid waves in slow sweet music play On the bright pebbles of a fairer shore Than they, except in dreams, had seen before. Green graceful slopes led upward from the beach. Varied with groves, far as the eye could reach ; And midst the sylvan beauty of the scene Distant uprose a lofty fountain's sheen. 224 STUDIES WITH HISTORY A form drew near with white-browed thoughtful face, And cl;id in robe of full and stainless grace, — He tuiiied him to the shore and raised his hand In couitsous welcome. Soon beside him stand The voyagers who, by their looks besought Answer to all the mystery of their thought. With smiling speech the stranger answered : " No : To reach the ' Father's house ' you still must go Out on the waters one brief voyage more ; But then the Father's barge will touch this shore And safe will be the convoy. This fair isle Is Beulah, calm in heaven's unceasing smile, Where weary voyagers find welcome rest And learn the one pure language of the blest. " In the bright land of ' mansions ' fountains flow Whose new sweet waters earth may never know ; But sometimes to fair Beulah floateth o'er The gleaming pearl light of that other shore ; And shine the crystal sea, and life's far river, — Praises eternal be to Him, the Giver ! " Come now with me to our high fountain. There We draw our life, and gladly learn to wear Even as a garland the Great Father's will, — We touch its waters and our pulses thrill AND POETIC MYTH. 225 With rapturous joy; while all our robes grow white Beneath the benediction of its light." As they draw near more frequently they see The blest inhabitants pass courteously. Fair white-souled maiden friends with arms en- twined Move slowly in sweet converse. Peaceful mind Looks out from every eye, and oft a face Is fraught with meanings of unearthly grace On which some far-off glory seems to shine — A light, a crystal beauty all divine. That wondrous Fountain ! lo, each voyager stands Beside it with upraised and clasping hands. The grand majestic cross uplift in air Bears not the stainless victim suffering there. Its rugged arms a loved memorial seem, O'erhung, as in the beauty of a dream, With passion-flower. Close by its foot upsprung. High and afar in sparkling currents flung. The hallowed fount, — one half in diamond light, One half to crimson flushing. From the bright Clear wealth of living waves no marble rim Turned back the eager step that sought its brim ; But golden sands, pearl-sprinkled, led the way Where even an infant's feet may safely stray. 226 STUDIES WITH HISTORY Thou, sacred Fountain, into crimson blushing For man's deep shame, within thy Presence hushing My spirit kneels. Strength in the place of weak- ness, Warmth over all thought's realm of dreary bleak- ness, Light through the darkest clouds still softly shining, Immortal hope around death-sorrow twining, — These are thy gifts, — Thine, Living Fountain, Thine, Kedeemer, Saviour, — ours ! and yet Divine ! LET ME WEEP. *'The broken and the contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise. ' ' Yes, let me v/eep, — it soothes my heart When wearied and oppressed, — Vain hopes and earth-born joys, depart — Oh, let me weep, and rest ! Yes, let me weep ; and the earth-stain Is gently borne away, — The stain infixed by wrong and j)ain That hides the soul's pure ray. Yes, let me weep ; for then arise Within my troubled breast Faith tluough the world's Great Sacrifice, And love that giveth rest. AND POETIC MYTH. 227 MY « ANGEL OF THE COVENANT.'* " Ah, blessed vision ! " O Angel of purity, Angel of light, The gleam of thy wings o'er life's terrible night Has passed, and I worshiped thy beautiful form Which lighted the darkness, and banished the storm ! O Angel of purity, Angel of light, Than snows whirled around Thee thy cheek was more white. Thy look was too holy for mortal to see, — Thine eyes sadly drooping, I knew mourned for me. O Angel of purity, Angel of light, In the dust I am weeping, — Thou sacred ^ and bright. Forsake not my pathway, oh, never, nor now ! But lay the white death-snow in peace on my brow ! O Angel of purity, Angel of light. Let me follow Thee far ere Thou passest from sight, — Let me fly from the danger, the doubt, and the pain, Let me win from thy presence soul-gladness again I PURITAN AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE WHITE SHIELD'S MOTTO- " Thee, ever Thee." In life's new morning how the sparkling eye, The stainless forehead and the glowing cheek Grow brighter still with joy, and kindle high In wakening thought the lips know not to speak ! The waving woods, the soft and sunlit air, The varied music of the silver sea, All, all speak raptures to the spirit fair, And bid it worship Thee, Creator, Thee. Firm manhood comes, and the instructed mind Moves to one mastering sway, — a work is given, An earnest work its goal and joy to find Where o'er it lies the dawning smile of heaven. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 229 Far in youth's beaming past he gathers light To mingle with a splendor yet to be ; Within, without, he finds a blest birthright, — Life's service-love to Thee, its Sovereign, Thee. Sorrow has found his pathway. One by one The music voices of his home are still, And hollow, strange, upon his own hearthstone His single footstep sounds with shuddering thrill. No more the heart may strive to all restrain Its sense of desertness, nor from it flee, — Whence shall refreshing come as summer rain ? From Thee, O Crucified, from Thee ! Death's icy arm enclasps the form of clay. The weary heart-throbs rise more faintly slow ; But soft and clear on the pale features play Joy- lights transcending all youth's raptured glow. The dreaded way has grown a shining gate With beauty garlanded, by which to free The soul too brightly filled on earth to wait By thoughts of Thee, O Glorified, of Thee. THE PURITAN MOTHER'S LESSON. You are looking around you, my darlings, On the world as it sheens to the eye. And you deem there are wondrous flowers, 230 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And gems, for your seeking that vie. You reach eager hands out, my darlings. To grasp those treasures so dear, — But list to her whisper who loves you, You never will gain them here. Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, You never will find them here. Young companions come trooping, my darlings. Before you in beauty and mirth, And you dream of sweet joyous friendship To gladden your pathway on earth. You dream of friendship, my darlings. That knows not of failing nor fear, — But list to her whisper who loves you, You never will find it here; Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, You never will find it here. You pass by the gateway, ray darlings. That leads to some beautiful home. Soft quiet sleeps there in the shadows, — You think peace and love cannot roam. This, this is earth's sweetest dream, darlings, This home-dream of joys never sere, — But list to her whisper who loves you, You never will find it here. Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, You never will find it here. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 231 Yet grieve not and fear not, my darlings, When false lights shine dim on the past ; There are beauty and truth all unmeasured Which may surely be won at the last. " Come to me " is the language, my darlings, Of Him, the all-perfect and fair ; He points us to love-lighted mansions, — And oh, He will meet with us there ! Look away, look to heaven, my darlings, All blest dreams are waiting you there. THE GARDEN PRAYER OF THE CHILDREN. AN INCIDENT. LOUISA. There are beautiful tints in the morning sky, I love them well ; There are birdie songs in the tree close by, — Of joy they tell. GENEVBA. There are whispers sweet in the breezy air, — How deep their tone ! God's voice — I seem to hear it there. Hushing my own. LOUISA. O sister, let us kneel and pray While He is near ; 232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The soft sky and the warm sun say, He '11 kindly hear. And they lowly knelt, those sisters sweet, With eyes of blue Like the spring violets at their feet — How reverent too ! List'ning aside with trembling thought Of life's far way, Rough, cold and drear for feet untaught, — I too will pray. O Father, Saviour, Holy Friend, Shield from all harm ! Clasp them while earth's strange woes impend Safe in thy arm. CHASTENING PAIN. Pain ! pain ! ah yes, I know that thou wilt cling Around my life, and ceaseless strive to bring Thy chains to bind my soul a captive. Yet Ungentle power, my soul may not forget Its spell to master thine. Have I not stood. When the swift dream of all things fair and good Eose like a memory to my inward eye, In such tranced joy, so wondrous and so high, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 233 That a pure seraph breast might feel no more, And death were a light pang to win such htore ? Thou wilt return, stern monitor, and guide Till, wisely calm, my life renounce its pride ; But oh, deal gently with the wasting form Blighted and worn by the long desolate storm, — Deal gently with the tried and trembling heart — Let the Love- Voice be heard ere I depart ! TAKE THOU THY MOTHER'S KISS. Take thou thy mother's kiss, my slumbering one, — Though marble-cold thy brow, and unreplying Thy breathless lips, — yet take thy mother's ki«s And bear it with thee down to the death-chamber. Oh ! is there not some might in the fond love' Which clasps thee now, and goes with thee, even like These stainless flowers, down to thy shadowy bed, To make it fairer for thy gentle head ? Take thou, free spirit take this trembling kiss And bear it with thee up to where Christ dwelleth. When He shall smile, blessing his little one. Then tell Him of thy sad, sad mother — pray That his true light may rest on her wild way ! My last, my maiden sweet, has gained the shore. 234 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The far, the shining shore where pain and death Can never follow her. Sternly thy bark, Thy slender quivering bark was tossed amid The deepening surges ; but they toss no more. White ministering hands of sister angels were Stretched out to welcome thee, and thou art borne On 'midst the golden streets and mansion walls Of the pure spirit-dwelling, with the Lord. His benediction o'er thy being now Has healed death's bitterness, and thou art know- ing What means Life's crystal river brightly flowing. A BIRD'S MINISTRY. I THANK thee, O bird, for choosing To build thy springtime nest So near to my gentle sleepers, — Not thou canst startle their rest. They have not heeded thy gliding In and out of the low cypi'ess-tree Where a fair and temple-like chamber Is greenly encurtained for thee. They heard not the whir of winglets Passed over them day by day, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 235 Nor the sweet home talk with thy nestlings Stirred to life in the fragrant May : But it seems as I watch thee in silence — And the fancy is soothingly dear — Thou knowest the dead were gentle, And, living, would welcome thee near. It seems as a benediction With thy presence were falling around On the turf and the flower and the sorrow, — Oh lowly bird, how art thou crowned ! Our Father, who teachest the sparrow To cheer us, while soft airs caress, — May we learn, may we dare to believe them As they tell of thy graciousness. The lesson, the lesson we cherish But fain we would learn it of Thee, — We live, and we love, and we perish, Is there more of our life than we see ? Hush, hush, all my soul from this question — Clasp the treasure that is thine own, Forgetting the words which are spoken. Thou would st doubt if God spake from the throne. 236 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MY PANSIES. Sown in the earth my violet seeds. My pansies bright and rare, Attentive eyes oft turned to meet A springing greenness there. Still, sought I not alone fair form Nor fair hues to the sight, White streaked with azure, " paly gold '^ Nor purple flashed with light : For in the dear earth's wondrous power To yield back every trust We read slow rhythms of prophecy That rise o'er death and dust. Low in the earth my violet seeds, My pansies bright and rare Were laid, but now the bursting blooms With beauty charm the aii\ The pearly white, the royal dark, Even as I hoped appear ; Praised be heaven's grace in little things In great we need not fear. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 237 Low in the earth my loved ones lie, My violets white and rare, They wait the coming of their spring — A new life grandly fair ; And upward from their lowly bed My pansies brightly smile, — I wait the slower, richer joy With fervent faith the while. SNOW IN MAY. The snows came down in the air of May, The brown earth hid them soon away ; The flowers smiled through the driving white, They looked afar to a kinder light. And thus, I thought, is a loving heart, — > If sorrow come it will bear its part — Through driving snow and stormy strife It holds the pledge of its better lifco For each awaits a welcome hour — For loving heart and storm-beat flower, — To each is near the Sovereimi care Unfolding its beauty for summer air. 238 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE BEST BOON. Yes, where to low-voiced winds the boughs are waving In the green covert of a leafy dell, Where streamlet dew white forest flowers are laving The charms of quiet and of freshness dwell. But griefs are ours, life's life too sternly gleaning. Which can kind nature's soothing spell defy. Eyes that from earth must turn in troubled mean- ing While worn hearts feel — 't were lovelier to die. When the full organ with harmonious thunder Stirs the strong pillars of majestic art Why pales the kneeling listener's cheek, and under Each shut and quivering lid the quick tears start ? It is that through the spirit-deeps far stealing The calmer music of an unseen sphere Brings echoes of some pure and vast revealing Of being's mystery denied us here. In love's young dream, when noble ones are loving. Who may deny the beauty and the power ? Not they who feeling's wordless depth are proving In the charmed circle of its ruling hour. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 239 Yet even there will come a lone misgivinor Soul-whispered through love's truest, purest sigh, Till saddened o'er is the rich joy of living With thoughts that own, 't were holier to die. Thou, kind fair earth, hast many cups of gladness Which thou from murmuring lips withholdest not; And thine are many tones to cheer the sadness Brooding full oft above our exile lot ; But the one priceless boon for which the spirit Renders deep thanks and bows to suffering's rod, The best and last with thee we may inherit. Is a calm deathbed in the smile of God. AN ANGEL IS OURS. Haek, the bright hills along the reverent song And the harps of the radiant towers ! I know a voice in that chorus blest, A voice that is telling of heavenly rest, — 'T is an angel — that angel is ours. O ! sweet and dear was her melody here. And precious her earthlife's brief hours When we looked on her form and her floating hair And her fair brow that told of a spirit more fair, — yp But an angel — an angel is ours. 240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To this darkened clime come not back, where time And blight mar the fairest of flowers ; Though the light of home since thou passedst away No more on our hearts nor our dim walls may play, Thou angel, blest angel of ours. Thy dwelling we 've sought, far, far beyond thought And the reach of its loftiest powers ; But mayest thou stray in thy purity near This realm of our grief with whispers of cheer, Calm angel, bright angel of ours ? We know not — we bow — ceased vain questioning now ; We trust that, wherever thy bowers. Thy satisfied soul with his likeness is blest Who promised, and gives thee a fullness of rest, Loved angel — saved angel of ours. CHRISTMAS EVENING. Sweet hours, from us and all the living Ye glide once more away ; Bear with you our full hearts' thanksgiving, O blessed day ! Young voices ripj^le clear and purely The sacred hymn and line, — MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 241 Thy world's rejoicing, Christ, oh, surely ! Thou knowest, — and mine. Ne'er can the heart — the world grow weary Of one all-radiant Name ; Through morn, and eve, and midnight dreary, It shines the same. Dear Light ! we feel — we feel thy brightness Guiding mysteriously, — Love's glow in more than starry whiteness, We worship Thee ! TWILIGHT. The evening twilight comes, — and how the room"^ We saw but with a careless eye by day Grows magical, and answers back to thought In meaning spells of sweet companionship ! Alone, the world might say, in gloomy night Of deep midwinter, where, without, the snow Weighs on the sighing pines till they arc hushed^ As when cold grief sinks slow upon the heart And has no language. — Nay, alone ? alone ? Why, in my fair and fire-glowed study-room I 'm royally attended. There, behold. 242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Just far enongli upon the wall to seem As honored guests are large-browed Whittier, And Lowell, — not too far, Italian Tasso With graceful mien, the courtly soldier bard. Turning in my slow carjjet ramble back, I linger long to meet the fixed grave eyes Of Albert Diirer, — and the kindlier gaze Of him, majestic for his goodness, loved, Yet passed away ; — a still, clear, starry light From us occulted.* Here upon the easel A picture leans of childlike innocence Touched with the charm of coming womanhood, A pearly ray of something more than light, — This, too, occulted. On the marble lie Beneath my lamp Carlyle's best essays. He Will speak his thought, his best, as loftily As 't were a king's ear heard, I listening well, As kings not always are when wise men speak. O thunderer, speak now, and I shall hear The boom of ocean, and the awful voice Of all infinities, — infinity Of space, of time, of life, of death, of woe, And, fellest, mournfulest of all, the voice Of mind's infinity of mocked despair. Thou master spirit, couldst thou never find In all the range of thy wide stormy way * Longfellow. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 243 One smiling hope, one golden sunset glow To light the dark of our humanity ? Couldst thou not hear sometimes the whispers low Of spirit-love hovering in all the air? Then was thy hearing false, for they are there, And hallowing through the cold material force. I '11 bring Lord D'Encourt Tennyson — 't is true I 'm royally attended. I can share Even at my will the heart-toned melody An Empress long has loved, — so, as I say I bring Lord Tennyson ; and lose myself In Idyls sweet of joy and nobleness. If God so loved the world as to create And people it, somewhere they are, the grand, The good, the knightly true, — Arthur, brave Lan- celot, And white Sir Galahad. I have believed In these ; and will believe that I have found Their counterpart in life's wild tournay, men Whose looks were victories, whose thoughts were more Than bugle echoes aud the lance's point ; Men whom the bounding steed of well-earned fame Bore proudly on, and yet, if they would speak The voice was low ; and, listen, they were telling How bravely rode and conquered other knights. 244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. EST MEMORIAM. Snows drift across thy grave, my friend. Snows drift across my heart ; We walked together in life's way, — We must, yet cannot part. Lowly they laid thy earth-form there, Lonely I wander here, Broken the tie, unclasped the chain Whose severed links are dear. Yet something of thy soul I know Is lingering still with me, — Would I could know some thoughts of mine Dwell kindly still with thee ! Our hearth-fire brightly burns, O friend. And in its glowing light A chair stands waiting as of old For thee — for thee to-night. GENEVIEVE. My heart-beloved, my sweet Genevieve, Earth has thy form, — but never will I grieve For thee for this. Thy pure poetic dreams, Born of fresh youth and heaven's caressing beams MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 245 As lilies are, shall evermore be bright, — For what can fade, O spirit, in that light Where God is seen ; and fear and doubt are things That fetter not again life's upward wings. HEARD. The words were true — my dream, my dream ! The words were true — my dream ; When sorrow-tost, thou loved and lost, Thy whispers near me seem, O friend, Thy whispers near me seem. The dreamings are so sweet, so sweet, The dreamings are so sweet, I will not, vain, ask heart nor brain If they 're a fond deceit, O friend, If they 're a fond deceit. It lingers still anear, anear, It lingers still anear, — Thy welcome tone, my loved, my own, Thy greeting kind and dear, O friend. Thy greeting kind and dear. 246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE LAST PAGE. My work is finished, — shall cold scorning meet Thoughts I have loved ? Their fate let me con- fide To Sovereign judgment ; what earth may decide I shall not know in the low slumber sweet Which waits me where no voice my ear can greet That comes not wafted from the spirit side Of the still mystery which doth divide Present from future as a calm retreat. Of all the vanished loved no one returns, No eye unseals with us to smile or weep ; Its trust from Thee, O God, my spirit learns. Through all the boundlessness of thought's lone deep. Thine is the guiding light that purely burns, The welcome thine for which my faint life yearns. Ill ill ill nil I 111 015 863 832 \ V^X^ V \ xN