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{ LI BRARY OF CQi\GRE SS. - 
 
 jtfllTED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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 THE 
 
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 EXXON'S .MCALE, 
 
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 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THEODORE^TILTON. 
 
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 '^''VVashmi^^^ 
 
 VO^^' 
 
 <t NEW YORK: 
 SHELDON AND COMPANY. 
 
 1867. 
 
 V 
 
76 2^^^ 
 
 l?4 7 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, 
 
 By TUEODOEE TiLTON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED AT THE 
 
 BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, 
 
 4 Spring Lane. 
 
 C. 3. WE3TC0TT & Co., Piinters, 79 John Street, N. Y. 
 
^ 
 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Sexton's Tale 7 
 
 The Great Bell Roland 20 
 
 The True Church 27 
 
 The Mystery of Nature. ....... 41 
 
 The King's Ring 45 
 
 The Parson's Courtship 49 
 
 No AND Yes 57 
 
 The Captain's Wife. ........ 60 
 
 The Cloud of Witnesses 65 
 
 The Flight from the Convent. . . . . 70 
 
 The Fisher's Child 74 
 
 A Layman's Confession of Faith. ... 81 
 
 The Lotus Planter 84 
 
 The Crown of Thorns 88 
 
 (5) 
 
6 CONTENTS, 
 
 Page 
 
 The Sailor's Wedding 92 
 
 The Victory of Life. 94 
 
 A Woman's Letter 103 
 
 Red, White, and Blue 106 
 
 Pierre Cardinal's Faith 109 
 
 The Soldier's Revenge 11 1 
 
 To the Bride Isabel 116 
 
 The Mother's Prayer 120 
 
 The Broken Vow 125 
 
 God save the Nation 129 
 
 The Strange Preacher of Padua. . . . 131 
 
 A Vacation Hymn 138 
 
 Friendship \ . 141 
 
 The Harp of Andrew Marvell 143 
 
 Dying, and yet Living 147 
 
 The Prayer of the Nations 149 
 
 In Memoriam 151 
 
 The Monk's Matin 152 
 
 Maltby Chapel 154 
 
 The Fly .' . 163 
 
 The Two Hungry Kittens 170 
 
P O E xM S. 
 
 THE SEXTON'S TALE. 
 
 Scene. — Jn old English Churchyard. 
 
 Peksoxs. — An aged Sexton {formerly a Duke's henchman) 
 pointing out graves to a Stranger. 
 
 Time. — Thirteenth Century. 
 
 "ism 
 
 ^']£M. KNIGHT, sir, from the Holy Land 
 f^ Came back to claim my Lady's hand. 
 [This grave is his where now we stand.] 
 
 II. 
 
 My Lady's sire, the Duke, had said 
 The Knight and she should never wed. 
 [How thick the leaves are where we tread !] 
 
 (7) 
 
8 THE SEXTON'S TALE, 
 
 III. 
 
 A maid who knows her father's will, 
 And weds against it, comes to ill. 
 [Stand here — the winter wind is chill.] 
 
 IV. 
 
 Xow L for one, am bold to say 
 
 A maid should have her will and way 
 
 In what concerns her wedding-day. 
 
 V. 
 
 So when the Duke took helm and lance, 
 And went to tournaments in France, 
 My Lady saw her golden chance. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If once the holy knot were tied, 
 
 The Duke, nor all the world beside. 
 Could part the bridegroom from his bride. 
 
THE SEXTON'S TALE. 9 
 
 Along the wedding-path were strown 
 So many buds and roses blown, 
 Their happy feet touched not a stone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now how it came, I cannot tell, 
 But never such ill-hap befell 
 The ringing of a wedding-bell. 
 
 IX. 
 
 For while the priest was at the prayer. 
 The Duke — the devil knows from where ! — 
 Uprose behind the married pair ! 
 
 X. 
 
 One faces winter, though it blows 
 
 And frosts one's breath, — and so we rose 
 
 And faced him, though our pulses froze ! 
 
lo THE SEXTON'S TALE, 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Duke had sword, and .shield, and squire ; 
 The Knight was in his wedding-tire ; 
 They fronted, and their eyes flashed Sre ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then turned the father toward his child. 
 And touched her wedding-ring, and smiled^ 
 The Duke (we thought) was reconciled. 
 
 XIIT. 
 
 Quoth he, " My daughter and my son, 
 
 Against my will the deed is done ; 
 
 But twain, whom God hath joined, are one. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Now follow to my castle-hall ! 
 
 Come, old and young ! come, great and small ! 
 
 A feast awaiteth one and all ! " 
 
THE SEXTON'S TALE. ii 
 
 XV. 
 
 It was a He the villain told ! 
 
 His soul was to the devil sold ! 
 
 \_Hic jacet — here's his rotten mould ! ] 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Thus cheated forward to their fate, 
 The lovers reached the castle-gate, 
 Where, hid behind it, lay in wait 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Five henchmen, who — like hounds in check, 
 Yet daring, at their master's beck, 
 To grip a lion by the neck — 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Sprang at the Knight, and girt him round, 
 And hurled him headlong to the ground. 
 And held him like a lion bound ! 
 
12 THE SEXTON'S TALE, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then cried the Duke — the double-faced ! 
 " Thy wife shall be a virgin chaste, 
 And never in thine arms embraced ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 " This wall shall thee and thine divide, 
 And make thee bridegroom to a bride 
 Who shall not slumber at thy side ! " 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Knight, unhanded, never spoke, 
 But stood as dumb as when an oak 
 Replies not to the thunder-stroke. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I watched my Lady's color fade ; 
 She fainted to a ghostly shade. 
 And lay as if her grave were made. 
 
THE SEXTON'S TALE. 13 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Whereat the Duke to me made sign 
 To lift her with these arms of mine, 
 And bear her in, and give her wine. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 I raised my Lady, all aghast, 
 
 And loud behind me, as I passed. 
 
 The gate w^as slammed, and bolted fast. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The groom without, the bride within ! — 
 To sunder whom was mortal sin — 
 For wxdded hearts are more than kin. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 [This gust blows through and through one's 
 
 cloak : 
 Just step in shelter of this oak.] 
 Well, when at last my Lady spoke. 
 
14 THE SEXTON'S TALE. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 She gave a look so full of fright, 
 And wept in such a widowed plight, 
 My soul was melted at the sight. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But woman's love is wondrous strong; 
 I helped to right my Lady's wrong; 
 I shall not make the story long. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 On Christmas night, the castle-wall 
 Was hung with holly, and the hall 
 Was thronged with guests : she fled them all, 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And, mutely as a mouse could stir, 
 To me came down in hood and fur, 
 And asked. Was I a friend to her? 
 
THE SEXTON'S TALE. 15 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 I made obeisance on mv knee. 
 
 " May Heaven be thy reward ! " said she ; 
 
 '' Unlock the gate, and set me free ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 O, when is ever seen or heard 
 
 Such majesty of look or word 
 
 As when a woman's soul is stirred ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 While there she stood to plead her case, 
 She bore so high and grand a grace, 
 I grew abashed before her face. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 I durst have swung that castle-gate 
 Wide open then, had Death and Fate 
 Made groans if any hinge should grate ! 
 
i6 THE SEXTON'S TALE, 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 I slid the bolt at her command, 
 And she — the Lady of the Land ! — 
 Caught up and kissed this rough old hand ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 I heard a champing horse outside : 
 The bridegroom waited for his bride: 
 ''God speed," I cried, '' the wedding-ride !" 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 A single thing I hate to say: 
 
 It pricks me to this very day : 
 
 The Knight threw back his purse for pay. 
 
 XXXVIIl. 
 
 It lies there yet, for aught I know ! 
 The hand my Lady honored so 
 Disdained to lift a bribe so low. 
 
THE SEXTON'S TALE, 17 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The Duke was wroth, but never knew 
 Who drew the bolt to let her through. 
 [There, that 's my Lady's, next to you ! ] 
 
 XL. 
 
 Ah, well ! the ways of God are right : 
 My Lady's babe was born at night: 
 My Lady died at morning-light. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Sweet, fragile stalk ! that grew too rare 
 The burden of its bud to bear, 
 And broke while blossoming so fair ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 In one white sheet they both w^ere dressed ; 
 The babe was placed upon her breast ; 
 And so w^e laid the twain to rest. 
 2 
 
iS THE SEXTON'S TALE. 
 
 XLia. 
 
 The Knight, heart-broken, hardly stayed 
 
 Until my Lady's mound was made, 
 
 But joined King Richard's great crusade. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Three summers afterward, one morn, 
 
 A pilgrim, pale and travel-worn, — 
 
 And in his hand a palm-branch borne, — 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Walked in the churchyard here alone, 
 And at my Lady's grave, moss-grown. 
 Threw down the trophy on the stone ; 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Then crossed himself, and walked away ; 
 And just a month from that same day, 
 I wrapped a shroud about his clay. 
 
THE SEXTON'S TALE, 19 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 So here's the bride, and there's the groom : 
 But come and see my Lady's tomb 
 When summer roses are in bloom : 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 For now the winter wrongs the dead, 
 To plant the pillow of her bed 
 With only thorns about her head. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The groom lies parted from the bride ; 
 But Life and Love, that here divide, 
 Are joined upon the other side ! 
 
 m^ 
 
20 THE GREAT BELL ROLAND. 
 
 THE GREAT BELL ROLAND.* 
 
 Suggested by President Lincoln's First 
 Call for Volunteers. 
 
 ^^ OLL ! Roland, toll ! 
 
 In old St. Bavon's tower, 
 At midnight hour. 
 The great bell Roland spoke ; 
 And all who slept in Ghent awoke. 
 
 *The famous bell Roland of Ghent, as Motley 
 relates, was an object of great affection to the peo- 
 ple, because it rang to arm them when Liberty was 
 in danger. 
 
THE GREAT BELL ROLAND, 21 
 
 What meant the thunder-stroke? 
 Why trembled wife and maid? 
 Why caught each man his blade? 
 Why echoed every street 
 With tramp of thronging feet, 
 
 All flying to the city's wall? 
 
 It was the warning call 
 That Freedom stood in peril of a foe ! 
 And timid hearts grew bold 
 Whenever Roland tolled^ 
 And every hand a sword could hold, 
 And every arm could bend a bow ! 
 
 So acted men 
 
 Like patriots then — 
 Three hundred years ago I 
 
22 THE GREAT BELL ROLAND. 
 
 II. 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
 Bell never yet was hung, 
 Between w^iose lips there swung 
 So grand a tongue ! 
 
 If men be patriots still, 
 At thy first sound 
 True hearts will bound, 
 Great souls will thrill ! 
 Then toll, and let thy test 
 Try each man's breast. 
 And let him stand confessed ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll! 
 Not now in old St. Bavon's tower 
 Not now at midnight hour — 
 
THE GREAT BELL ROLAND, 23 
 
 Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee ; 
 But here! — this side the sea! — 
 Toll here, in broad, bright day ! 
 For not by night awaits 
 A foe without the gates, 
 But perjured friends within betray, 
 And do the deed at noon ! 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
 Thy sound is not too soon ! 
 To arms ! Ring out the Leader's call ! 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll ! — 
 Till cottager from cottage-wall 
 
 Snatch pouch, and powder-horn, and 
 
 gun — 
 The heritage of sire to son. 
 Ere half of Freedom's work was done ! 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! — 
 Till swords from scabbards leap ! 
 
24 THE GREAT BELL ROLAND. 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
 What tears can widows weep 
 Less bitter than when brave men fall? 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll! 
 In shadowed hut and hall 
 Shall lie the soldier's pall, 
 
 And hearts shall break while graves 
 
 are filled ! 
 Amen ! So God hath willed ! 
 And may His grace anoint ns all I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
 The Dragon on thy tower 
 Stands sentry to this hour ; 
 
 And Freedom now is safe in Ghent; 
 And merrier bells now ring ; 
 
THE GREAT BELL ROLAND. 25 
 
 And in the land's serene content, 
 Men shout, ''God save the King!" — 
 
 Until the skies are rent ! 
 So let it be ! — 
 A kingly King is he 
 Who keeps his people free ! 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
 Ring out across the sea ! 
 No longer They, but We, 
 Have now such need of thee ! 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll! 
 Nor ever let thy throat 
 Keep dumb its w^arning note 
 Till Freedom's perils be outbraved ! 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll ! — 
 Till Freedom's flag, w^herever w^aved, 
 Shall shadow not a man enslaved ! 
 
26 THE GREAT BELL ROLAND, 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll! — 
 From Northern lake to Southern strand ! 
 
 Toll! Roland, toll! — 
 Till friend and foe, at thy command, 
 Shall clasp once more each other's hand, 
 And shout, one-voiced, " God save the land ! " 
 And love the land that God hath saved 1 
 
 Toll ! Roland, toll ! 
 
 April i6, i86i. 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 ^ I. 
 
 ^^ NE Sabbath morn I roamed astray, 
 i^ And asked a Pilgrim for the way : 
 
 " O, tell me, whither shall I search, 
 That I may find the one true church?" 
 
 He answered, '' Search the world around ; 
 The one true church is never found ; 
 
 '^Yon ivy on the abbey wall 
 Makes fair the falsest church of all." 
 
28 THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 But fearing he had told me wrong, 
 
 I cried, " Behold the entering throng ! " 
 
 He answered, '' If a church be true, 
 It hath not many, but a few ! " 
 
 Around a font the people pressed, 
 
 And crossed themselves on brow and breast 
 
 " A cross so light to bear," he cried, 
 " Is not of Christ the Crucified ! — 
 
 " Each forehead, frowning, sheds it off : 
 Christ's cross abides through scowl and scoff! " 
 
 We entered at the open door. 
 
 And saw men kneeling on the floor ; — 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH, 29 
 
 Faint candles, by the daylight dimmed, 
 As if by foolish virgins trimmed; — 
 
 Fair statues of the saints, as white 
 
 As now their robes are, in God's light ; — 
 
 Stained windows, casting down a beam, 
 Like Jacob's ladder in the dream. 
 
 The Pilgrim gazed from nave to roof, 
 And, frowning, uttered this reproof: — 
 
 " Alas ! who is it understands 
 
 God's temple is not made with hands ?^ 
 
30 THE TRUE CHURCH, 
 
 II. 
 
 We walked in ferns so wet with dew 
 They plashed our garments trailing through, 
 
 And came upon a church whose dome 
 Upheld a cross, but not for Rome. 
 
 We brushed a cobweb from a pane, 
 And watched the service in the fane. 
 
 " Do prayers," he asked, '' the more avail, 
 If offered at an altar-rail ? 
 
 " Does water, sprinkled from a bowl, 
 Wash any sin from any soul? 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH, 31 
 
 " Do tongues that taste the bread and wine 
 Speak truer after such a sign?" 
 
 Just then, upon a maple spray, 
 
 Two orioles perched, and piped a lay, — 
 
 Until the gold beneath their throats 
 Shook molten in their mellow notes. 
 
 Resounding from the church, a psalm 
 Rolled, quivering, through the outer calm. 
 
 " Both choirs," said I, " are in accord. 
 For both give praises to the Lord." 
 
 " The birds," he answered, " chant a song 
 Without a note of sin or wrono- : 
 
32 THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 " The church's anthem is a strain 
 Of human guilt and mortal pain." 
 
 The orioles and the organ ceased, 
 And in the pulpit rose the priest. 
 
 The Pilgrim whispered in my ear, 
 " It profits not to tarry here." 
 
 " He speaks no error," answered I ; 
 " He teaches that the living die ; 
 
 " The dead arise ; and both are true ; 
 Both wholesome doctrines ; neither new." 
 
 The Pilgrim said, " He strikes a blow 
 At wrongs that perished long ago ; 
 
 $ 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH, 33 
 
 u 
 
 But covers with a shielding phrase 
 The living sins of present days." 
 
 We turned away among the tombs — 
 A tangled place of briers and blooms. 
 
 I spelled the legends on the stones : 
 Beneath reposed the martyrs' bones, — 
 
 The bodies which the rack once brake 
 In witness for the dear Lord's sake, — 
 
 The ashes gathered from the pyres 
 
 Of saints whose souls went up through fires. 
 
 The Pilgrim murmured as w^e passed, 
 " So gained they all the crown at last. 
 3 
 
34 THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 " Men lose it now through looking back 
 To find it at the stake and rack. 
 
 "The rack and stake are old with grime; 
 God's touchstone is the living time." 
 
 III. 
 
 We passed where poplars, gaunt and tall. 
 Let twice their length of shadow fall. 
 
 Then rose a meeting-house in view. 
 Of bleached and weather-beaten hue. 
 
 Men plain of garb and pure of heart 
 Divided church and world apart. 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH. 35 
 
 Nor did they vex the silent air 
 With any sound of hymn or prayer. 
 
 God's finger to their lips they pressed. 
 Till each man kissed it, and was blessed. 
 
 I asked, "Is this the true church, then?" 
 He answered, " Nay, a sect of men : 
 
 " And sects, that lock their doors in pride, 
 Shut God and half his saints outside. 
 
 " The gates of Heaven, the Scriptures say, 
 Stand open wide by night and day : 
 
 '^ So then, to enter, is there need 
 To carry key of church or creed?" 
 
36 THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Still following where the highway led. 
 Till elms made arches overhead, 
 
 We saw a spire, and weathercock, 
 And snow-white church upon a rock, - 
 
 A rock where, centuries before. 
 Came sea-tossed pilgrims to the shore. 
 
 Mv sandals straightway I unbound. 
 Because the place was holy ground. 
 
 I cried, '• One church at last I find. 
 That fetters not the human mind.'* 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH. 37 
 
 " This church," said he, '' is Hke the rest ; 
 For all are good, but none is best." 
 
 Then far from every church we strayed — 
 Save Nature's pillared aisles of shade. 
 
 The squirrels ran to see us pass, 
 
 And God's sweet breath was on the grass. 
 
 I challenged all the creeds, and sought 
 What truth, or lie, or both, they taught. 
 
 I asked, ''Had Augustine a fault?" 
 
 The Pilgrim gazed at Heaven's high vault. 
 
38 THE TRUE CHURCH. 
 
 And answered, " Can a mortal eye 
 Contain the sphere of all the sky?" 
 
 I said, " The circle is too wide." 
 " God's truth is wider ! " he replied. 
 
 " Though Augustine was on his knee, 
 He saw how little he could see ; 
 
 " Though Luther sought with burning heart, 
 He caught the glory but in part; 
 
 '' Though Calvin opened wide his soul, 
 He comprehended not the whole. 
 
 '' Not Luther, Calvin, Augustine 
 Saw visions such as I have seen." 
 
THE TRUE CHURCH. 39 
 
 While yet he spake, a rapture stole 
 Through all my body and my soul. 
 
 I looked upon his holy brow, 
 Entreating, "Tell me, who art Thou?" 
 
 But such a splendor filled the place, 
 I knew it was the Lord's own face ! 
 
 I was a sinner, and afraid ! 
 
 I knelt in dust, and thus I prayed: — 
 
 '' O Christ the Lord ! end Thou my search, 
 And lead me to the one true church/' 
 
 He spake as never man may speak, — 
 
 " The one true church thou shalt not seek ; 
 
40 
 
 THE TRUE CHURCH, 
 
 '' Seek thou, forevermore, instead, 
 
 To find the one true Christ, its Head ! " 
 
 The Lord then vanished from my sight, 
 And left me standing in the light. 
 
THE MTSTERT OF NATURE. 41 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF NATURE 
 
 HE works of God are fair for nought 
 Unless our eyes, in seeing, 
 See, hidden in the thing, the thought 
 That animates its being. 
 
 II. 
 
 The outward form is not the whole, 
 But every part is moulded 
 
 To image forth an inward soul 
 That dimly is unfolded. 
 
42 THE MTSTERT OF NATURE. 
 
 III. 
 
 The shadow, pictured in the lake 
 By every tree that trembles, 
 
 Is cast for more than just the sake 
 Of that which it resembles. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The dew falls nightly, not alone 
 Because the meadows need it, 
 
 But hath an errand of its own 
 To human souls that heed it. 
 
 The stars are lighted in the skies 
 Not merely for their shining, 
 
 But, like the looks of loving eyes, 
 Have meanings worth divining. 
 
THE MTSTERT OF NATURE, 43 
 VI. 
 
 The waves that moan along the shore. 
 The winds that sigh in blowing. 
 
 Are sent to teach a mystic lore 
 Which men are wise in knowing. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The clouds around the mountain peak, 
 
 The rivers in their winding. 
 Have secrets which, to all who seek, 
 
 Are precious in the finding. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thus Nature dwells within our reach, 
 But, though we stand so near her, 
 
 We still interpret half her speech 
 With ears too dull to hear her. 
 
^H THE MTSTERT OF NATURE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Whoever, at the coarsest sound, 
 Still listens for the finest, 
 
 Shall hear the noisy world go round 
 To music the divinest. 
 
 Whoever yearns to see aright 
 Because his heart is tender. 
 
 Shall catch a glimpse of heavenly light 
 In every earthly splendor. 
 
 XI. 
 
 So, since the universe began, 
 
 And till it shall be ended. 
 The soul of Nature, soul of Man, 
 
 And soul of God are blended ! 
 
THE KINGS RING. 
 
 45 
 
 THE KING'S RING 
 
 fe%^ I. 
 
 NCE in Persia reigned a King, 
 Who upon his signet ring 
 Graved a maxim true and wise. 
 Which, if held before his eyes, 
 Gave him counsel, at a glance, 
 Fit for every change or chance : 
 Solemn words, and these are they 
 •' Even this shall pass away ! " 
 
46 THE KING'S RING, 
 
 II, 
 
 Trains of camels through the sand 
 Brought him gems from Samarcand ; 
 Fletcs of galleys through the seas 
 Brought him pearls to rival these. 
 But he counted little gain 
 Treasures of the mine or main. 
 " What is wealth? " the King would say ; 
 " ' Even this shall pass away,' " 
 
 III. 
 
 In the revels of his court, 
 At the zenith of the S2Dort, 
 When the palms of all his guests 
 Burned with clapping at his jests, 
 He, amid his figs and wine. 
 Cried, " O loving friends of mine ! 
 Pleasure comes, but not to stay : 
 ' Even this shall pass away.' " 
 
THE KING'S RING. 47 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lady fairest ever seen 
 
 Was the bride he crowned his queen. 
 
 Pillowed on the marriage-bed, 
 
 Whispering to his soul, he said, 
 
 " Though a bridegroom never pressed 
 
 Dearer bosom to his breast, 
 
 Mortal flesh must come to clay: 
 
 ' Even this shall pass away.' " 
 
 V. 
 
 Fighting on a furious field, 
 Once a javelin pierced his shield. 
 Soldiers with a loud lament 
 Bore him bleeding to his tent. 
 Groaning from his tortured side, 
 ''Pain is hard to bear," he cried,, 
 '' But with patience day by day, 
 ' Even this shall pass away.' " 
 
48 THE KING'S RING. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Towering in the public square 
 Twenty cubits in the air, 
 Rose his statue carved in stone. 
 Then the King, disguised, unknown, 
 Gazing at his sculptured name, 
 Asked himself, "And what is fame? 
 Fame is but a slow decay: 
 *Even this shall pass away.'" 
 
 VII. 
 
 Struck with palsy, sere and old, 
 Waiting at the Gates of Gold, 
 vSpake he with his dying breath, 
 "Life is done, but what is Death?'* 
 Then, in answer to the King, 
 Fell a sunbeam on his ring. 
 Showing by a heavenly ray — 
 " Even this shall pass away." 
 
THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 49 
 
 THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 I. 
 
 HE story, as I heard it told, 
 I fashion into idle rhyme, 
 To show that, though the heart grows old, 
 Yet love abides in golden prime. 
 
 n. 
 
 An aged parson, on his mare, 
 
 Was riding where his heart inclined, 
 
 Yet wore a sober look and air, 
 As one who had a troubled mind. 
 4 
 
50 THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 III. 
 
 For, when he passed the graveyard gate, 
 His eyes grew dim with sudden tears 
 
 In looking at a slab of slate. 
 
 Where lay his wife of other years. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She, dying, said it wronged the dead 
 To make a wedding on a grave : 
 
 The words kept ringing in his head. 
 And great bewilderment they gave. 
 
 He longed to make a second choice, 
 For every Sunday in the choir 
 
 He heard the Widow Churchill's voice, 
 Until she grew his heart's desire. 
 
THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP. 51 
 
 VI. 
 
 The parson's passion, unconfessed, 
 
 Like smouldered heat within him burned, 
 
 Which never once the widow guessed, 
 Or haply it had been returned. 
 
 VII. 
 
 With hazel branch the mare was switched, 
 And cantered down the winding road. 
 
 And underneath a tree was hitched, 
 At Captain Churchill's old abode. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The dame was busy sifting flour. 
 Nor heard the comer till he said, 
 
 '' Be praise to that Almighty Power 
 Who giveth man his daily bread ! " 
 
52 THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 IX. 
 
 The widow — caught by such a guest 
 In just her linsey-woolsey gown, 
 
 Instead of in her Sunday best — 
 
 Dropped bashfully her eyelids down. 
 
 X. 
 
 Then spake her suitor to her face — 
 " I have a solemn word to say, 
 
 Whereto is need of heavenly grace ; 
 So, Widow Churchill, let us pray ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 Devoutly did the couple kneel — 
 The parson at the rocking-chair. 
 
 The widow at the spinning-wheel — 
 And this the burden of the prayer : — 
 
THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP, 53 
 XII. 
 
 He mourned for uncommitted sin, 
 
 Implored a grace on all mankind, 
 
 And asked that love might enter in 
 And sweetly move the widow's mind. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Uprising from his prayerful knees, 
 " I seek a wife," the parson said, 
 
 "And, finding thee, if God shall please, 
 Nor thou deny, then let us wed ! " 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The widow started with surprise 
 (For women old are women still), 
 
 And answered, lifting not her eyes, 
 " I seek to do the heavenly will." 
 
54 THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The heavenly will was plain indeed, 
 And pointed to the flowery yoke, 
 
 For love is not the human need 
 Of young alone, but aged folk. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 One day, when asters w^ere in bloom. 
 There came a throng from far and near, 
 
 To wish the joy of bride and groom. 
 And eat and drink the wedding-cheer. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 That night, beside the bridal bed, 
 Up spoke the bride in tender tone, 
 
 '' I hold a message from the dead. 
 
 And time has come to make it known : 
 
THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP. 55 
 XVIII. 
 
 " The years are twelve, this very day, 
 Since she whose title now is mine, 
 
 The night before she passed aw^ay. 
 
 Bequeathed to me this written line : — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " ' To thee, O friend of all my life, 
 I vow before my strength be spent. 
 
 That should he wed another wife. 
 If thou art she, I rest content.' " 
 
 XX. 
 
 He gazed upon the well-known hand. 
 Thought backward of the bygone years. 
 
 Thought forward of the heavenly land. 
 And answered not a word for tears. 
 
56 THE PARSON'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A hallowed honeymoon they passed, 
 And both grew young in growing old. 
 
 Till, sweetly fading out at last, 
 
 They left the tale that I have told. 
 
NO AND TES, 57 
 
 NO AND YES. 
 
 ^^^^ I. 
 
 WATCHED her at her spinning, 
 And this was my beginning 
 Of wooing and of winning. 
 
 II. 
 
 So cruel, so uncaring, 
 
 So scornful was her bearing, 
 
 She set me half despairing. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet sorry wit one uses, 
 
 Who loves, and thinks he loses 
 
 Because a maid refuses. 
 
58 NO AND TES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love prospers in the making 
 
 By help of all its aching, 
 
 And quaking, and heart-breaking. 
 
 V. 
 
 A w^oman's first denying 
 Betokens her complying 
 Upon a second tr3ang. 
 
 VI. 
 
 When first I said in pleading. 
 Behold, my love lies bleeding ! " - 
 
 (( 
 
 She shook her head unheeding. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But when again I told her, 
 And blamed her growing colder, 
 She dropped against my shoulder. 
 
NO AND TES. 59 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then, with her eyes of splendor, 
 She gave a look so tender, 
 I knew she would surrender ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 So down the lane I led her. 
 
 And while her cheek grew redder, 
 
 I sued outright to wed her. 
 
 X. 
 
 Good end from bad beginning ! 
 My wooing came to winning ! 
 And still I w^atch her spinning ! 
 
 '^' 
 
6o 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 
 
 ^rw^E c^athcred roses, Blanche and I, for 
 
 r^ little Madge one morning: 
 
 '' Like every soldier's wife," said Blanche, 
 
 '^ I dread a soldier's ftite." 
 Her voice a little trembled then, as under 
 
 some forewarning. 
 A soldier galloped up the lane, and halted 
 at the gate. 
 
 II. 
 
 ''Which house is Malcolm Blake's?" he 
 cried ; " a letter for his sister ! " 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE, 6i 
 
 And when I thanked him, Blanche inquired, 
 ''But none for mc, his wife?" 
 
 The soldier played with Madge's curls, and, 
 stooping over, kissed her : 
 
 " Your father was m}^ captain, child ! — I 
 loved him as my life ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 Then suddenly he galloped off, and left the 
 
 rest unspoken. 
 I burst the seal, and Blanche exclaimed, 
 
 "What makes you tremble so?" 
 What answer did I dare to make? How 
 
 should the news be broken? 
 I could not shield her from the stroke, yet 
 
 tried to ease the blow. 
 
62 THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " A battle in the swamps/' I said ; " our 
 
 men ^Yere brave, but lost it." 
 And, pausing there, — "The note," I said, 
 
 " is not in Malcolm's hand." 
 And first a flush flamed through her face, 
 
 and then a shadow crossed it : 
 ''Read quick, dear May! — read all, I 
 
 pray ! — and let me understand ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 I did not read it as it stood, but tempered 
 
 so the phrases 
 As not at first to hint the worst, — kept 
 
 back the fatal word, 
 And half retold his gallant charge, his 
 
 shout, his comrades' praises, — 
 Till, like a statue carved in stone, she neither 
 
 spoke nor stirred ! 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE, 6^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 O, never yet a woman's heart was frozen so 
 
 completely ! — 
 So unbaptized with helping tears ! — so 
 
 passionless and dumb ! 
 Spell-bound she stood, and motionless, till 
 
 little Madge said sweetly, 
 "Dear mother, is the battle done? and wUl 
 
 my father come?" 
 
 VII. 
 
 I laid my hand on Madge's lips, and led her 
 
 to her playing. 
 Poor Blanche ! the winter in her cheek was 
 
 snowy like her name ! 
 What could she do but kneel, and pray, and 
 
 linger at her praying? 
 O Christ ! when other heroes die, moan 
 
 other wives the same? 
 
64 THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Must other women's hearts yet break, to 
 
 keep the Cause from faihng? 
 God pity our brave lovers then, who face 
 
 the battle's blaze ! 
 And pity wives in widowhood ! — But is it 
 
 unavailing ? 
 O Lord ! give Freedom first, then Peace ! — 
 
 and unto Thee be praise ! 
 
THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 6k 
 
 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 " A?'e they not all ministering spirits ? 
 
 y^x^^ LEANED upon a burial urn, 
 ^^l And thought how life is but a day, 
 And how the nations, each in turn, 
 Have lived and passed away. 
 
 II. 
 
 The earth is peopled with the dead. 
 Who live again in deathless hosts, 
 
 And come and go with noiseless tread — 
 A universe of ghosts. 
 
 « 5 
 
66 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 III. 
 
 They follow after flying ships, 
 
 They flicker through the city's marts, 
 
 They hear the cry of human lips — 
 The beat of human hearts. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They linger not around their tombs, 
 But far from churchyards keep aloof, 
 
 To dwell in old familiar rooms 
 Beneath the household roof. 
 
 V. 
 
 They waken men at morning light, 
 They cheer them in their daily care. 
 
 They bring a weary world at night 
 To bend the knee in prayer. 
 
 9 
 
THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 67 
 
 VI. 
 
 Their errand is of God assigned 
 To comfort sorrow till it cease. 
 
 And in the dark and troubled mind 
 To light the lamp of peace. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There is a language, whispered low, 
 Whereby to mortal ears they speak, 
 
 To which we answer by a glow 
 That kindles in the cheek. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Dear shadows, fairer than the day. 
 
 With heavenly light they wrap us round, 
 
 Wherein we walk a gilded way. 
 And over holy ground. 
 
6S THE CLOUD OF JVITNESSES. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O, what a wondrous life is theirs ! — 
 To fling away the mortal frame, 
 
 Yet keep the human loves, and cares, 
 And yearnings still the same ! 
 
 X. 
 
 O, what a wondrous life is ours! — 
 To dwell within this earthly range. 
 
 Yet parley with the heavenly powers — 
 Two worlds in interchange ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 O, balm of grief ! — to understand 
 That whom our eyes behold no more 
 
 Still clasp us with as true a hand 
 As in the flesh before ! 
 
THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES, 69 
 
 XII. 
 
 No longer in a gloom profound 
 
 Let Memory, like a mourner craped, 
 
 Sit weeping by an empty mound 
 Whose captive hath escaped ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So, turning from the burial urn, 
 
 I thought how life has double worth, 
 
 If men be only wise to learn 
 That heaven is on the earth. 
 
70 FLIGHT FROM THE CONVENT. 
 
 THE FLIGHT FROM THE CON- 
 VENT. 
 
 SEE the star-lights quiver, 
 
 ^^C* Like jewels in the river ; 
 The bank is hid with sedge ; 
 What if I slip the edge? 
 
 I thought I knew the way 
 By night as well as day : 
 How soon a lover goes astray ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The place is somewhat lonely — 
 I mean, for just one only. 
 I brought the boat ashore 
 An hour ago, or more. 
 
 Well, I will sit and wait ; 
 
FLIGHT FROM THE CONVENT. 71 
 
 She fixed the hour at eight : 
 Good angels ! bring her not too late ! 
 
 III. 
 To-morrow's tongues that name her 
 Will hardly dare to blame her : 
 A lily still is white 
 Through all the dark of night : 
 
 The morning sun shall show 
 A bride as pure as snow, 
 Whose wedding all the world shall know. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O God ! that I should gain her ! 
 But what can so detain her? 
 Hist, yelping cur ! thy bark 
 Will fright her in the dark. 
 
 What! striking nine? that's fast! 
 
 Is some one walking past? 
 Oho ! so thou art come at last ! 
 
72 FLIGHT FROM THE CONVENT, 
 
 V. 
 
 Now, why thy long delaying? 
 Alack ! thy beads and praying ! 
 If thou, a saint, dost hope 
 To kneel and kiss the Pope, 
 Then I, a sinner, know 
 Whei'e sweeter kisses grow — 
 Nay, now, just once before we go ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nay, twice, and by St. Peter 
 
 The second was the sweeter ! 
 
 Qiilck, now, and in the boat ! 
 
 Good by, old tower and moat ! 
 May mildew from the sky 
 Drop blindness on the eye 
 That lurks to watch our going by ! 
 
FLIGHT FROM THE CONVENT. 73 
 VII. 
 
 O saintly maid ! I told thee 
 No convent walls should hold thee. 
 Look ! yonder comes the moon ! 
 We started not too soon. 
 
 See how we pass that mill ! 
 
 What ! is the night too chill ? 
 Then I must fold thee closer still ! 
 
74 THE FISHER'S CHILD, 
 
 THE FISHER'S CHILD 
 
 I. 
 
 WEAVE a tale of old and new ; 
 ^^^£i The half a fact, the rest a dream ; 
 Yet many dreams are wondrous true, 
 However strange they seem. . 
 
 II. 
 
 So silent was the summer day, 
 
 That one could hear the far-off bees, 
 
 Till winds from over fields of hay 
 Came down to rough the seas. 
 
THE FISHER'S CHILD. 75 
 
 III. 
 
 A fisher brought his nets to land, 
 And just above the water's reach 
 
 Drew out his boat upon the sand. 
 And hurried from the beach. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Along a reedy water-edge, 
 
 His little son ran up and down, 
 
 And, breaking oft^ the spears of sedge, 
 Entwined them for a crown. 
 
 Now, when the urchin spied the craft. 
 He clambered up the side in glee. 
 
 And tossed his laurelled head, and laughed, 
 And wished himself at sea. 
 
76 THE FISHER'S CHILD, 
 
 VI. 
 
 The boat, amid the watery roar, 
 Was like a warning finger, laid 
 
 Across the lips of sea and shore. 
 To hush the noise they made. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A breaker, with a headlong swell. 
 Ran up around it where it lay. 
 
 And rolled so high that when it fell 
 It launched the boat away. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The poplar trees grew tall and green 
 Between the fisher and the tide, 
 
 And sadder sight was never seen 
 Than there they stood to hide. 
 
THE FISHER'S CHILD, 77 
 
 IX. 
 
 By rushing winds, the drifting hull 
 Was blown beyond the harbor-light, 
 
 Till, seaward, like a fiying gull, 
 It dwindled out of sight. 
 
 X. 
 
 The father never called his child 
 Until the west was all aflame. 
 
 And then, except an echo wild, 
 No voice in answer came. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Whereat, as with a giant's hand, 
 The frantic fisher seized a boat, 
 
 And dragged it down the griping sand, 
 And through the surf afloat. 
 
78 THE FISHER'S CHILD, 
 
 XII. 
 
 He pulled his oars for thrice a league, 
 And down his brawny beard ran sweat. 
 
 But not a sinew felt fatigue, 
 For hope inspired him yet. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The mantle of the night was dark. 
 Wherein his eyes were folded blind, 
 
 And so he chased the truant bark, 
 To seek, but not to find. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 At last his strength was overspent, 
 And down against his panting breast 
 
 His hot, bewildered head he bent. 
 And swooned, and lay at rest. 
 
THE FISHER'S CHILD, 79 
 
 XV. 
 
 He dreamed that through a yawning wave 
 A child, with sea-grass on his head, 
 
 Went down within a boundless grave, 
 To wander with the dead : 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Thence rising to a wondrous land, 
 The human creature grew divine : 
 
 And when the fisher waved his hand, 
 The child gave back a sign. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The dreamer woke with sudden start, 
 And, shuddering in the chilly dew, 
 
 Knew well, by token in his heart. 
 The vision must be true. 
 
8o THE FISHER'S CHILD. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 In sorrow homeAvard he returned, 
 And sank aweary in his chair, 
 
 And, gazing where the embers burned, 
 Beheld an angel there ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And in the old familiar place 
 
 Which on the earth it loved the best, 
 A figure with a shining face 
 
 Is still the fisher's guest. 
 
 XX. 
 
 O. pleasantest of mortal things I — 
 That angels dwell in homes on earth, 
 
 Where silently, with folded wings, 
 Thev tarrv by the hearth I 
 
CONFESSION OF FAITH. Si 
 
 A LAYMAN'S CONFESSION 
 OF FAITH. 
 
 other men have creeds, so I have 
 mine : 
 
 I keep the holy faith in God, in man, 
 And in the angels ministrant between. 
 
 I hold to one true church of all true souls ; 
 Whose churchly seal is neither bread, nor 
 
 wine. 
 Nor laying on of hands, nor holy oil. 
 But only the anointing of God's grace. 
 
 I hate all kings, and caste, and rank of birth : 
 For all the sons of men are sons of God ; 
 6 
 
82 CONFESSION OF FAITH, 
 
 Nor limps a beggar but is nobly born; 
 Nor wears a slave a yoke, nor czar a crown, 
 That makes him less or more than just a 
 man. 
 
 I love my country and her righteous cause : 
 So dare I not keep silent of her sin ; 
 And after Freedom, may her bells ring 
 Peace ! 
 
 I love one woman w^ith a holy fire, 
 Whom I revere as priestess of my house ; 
 I stand with wondering awe before my 
 
 babes. 
 Till they rebuke me to a nobler life ; 
 I keep a faithful friendship with my friend, 
 Whom loyally I serve before myself; 
 I lock my lips too close to speak a lie ; 
 
CONFESSION OF FAITH. 83 
 
 I wash my hands too white to touch a bribe ; 
 I owe no man a debt I cannot pay — 
 Except the love that men should always 
 owe. 
 
 Withal, each day, before the blessed Heaven, 
 I open wide the chambers of my soul, 
 And pray the Holy Ghost to enter in. 
 
 Thus reads the fair confession of my faith. 
 So crossed with contradictions by my life. 
 That now may God forgive the written lie ! 
 Yet still, by help of Him who helpeth men, 
 I face two worlds, and fear not life nor death ! 
 O Father! lead me by Thy hand! Amen. 
 
 1862. 
 
84 THE LOTUS PLANTER. 
 
 THE LOTUS PLANTER 
 
 BRAHMIN on a lotus pod 
 
 Once wrote the holy name of God. 
 
 II, 
 
 Then, planting it, he asked in prayer 
 For some new fruit, unknown and fair. 
 
 III. 
 
 A slave near by, who bore a load. 
 Fell fainting on the dusty road. 
 
THE LOTUS PLANTER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Brahmin, pitying, straightway ran 
 And lifted up the fallen man. 
 
 V. 
 
 The deed scarce done, he looked aghast 
 At touching one beneath his caste. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Behold!" he cried, "I stand unclean: 
 My hands have clasped the vile and mean ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 God saw the shadow on his face. 
 And wrought a miracle of grace. 
 
86 THE LOTUS PLANTER, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The buried seed arose from death, 
 And bloomed and fruited at His breath, 
 
 IX. 
 
 The stalk bore up a leaf of green, 
 Whereon these mystic words were seen : — 
 
 X. 
 
 First count men all of equal caste ; 
 Then count thyself the least and 
 last. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Brahmin, with bewildered brain, 
 Beheld the will of God writ plain ! 
 
THE LOTUS PLANTER. 
 
 87 
 
 XII, 
 
 Transfigured in a sudden light, 
 The slave stood sacred in his sight. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thenceforth within the Brahmin's mind 
 Abode good will for all mankind. 
 
88 THE CROWN OF THORNS. 
 
 THE CROWN OF THORNS. 
 
 •I. 
 
 HY head was crowned with thorns : 
 What crown shall be for mine? 
 Are there for me no scoffs, no scorns, 
 Since only such were Thine? 
 
 II. 
 
 Or, having named Thy name, 
 
 Shall I no burden take? 
 And is there left no wound, no shame. 
 
 To suffer for Thy sake? 
 
THE CROWN OF THORNS, 89 
 
 III. 
 
 Unscourged of any whip, 
 
 Unpierced of any sting, — 
 O Christ, how weak my fellowship 
 
 With Thy strong suffering! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet Thy dread sacrifice 
 
 So fills my soul with woe, 
 That all the fountains of mine eyes 
 
 Well up and overflow. , 
 
 The spear that pierced Thy side 
 Gave wounds to more than Thee. 
 
 Within my soul, O Crucified, 
 Thy cross is laid on me ! 
 
90 THE CROWN OF THORNS, 
 
 VI. 
 
 And as Thy rocky tomb 
 
 Was in a garden fair, 
 Where round about stood flowers in bloom, 
 
 To sweeten all the air, — 
 
 TII. 
 
 So, in my heart of stone 
 
 I sepulchre Thy death. 
 While thoughts of Thee, like roses blown, 
 
 Bring sweetness in their breath. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Arise not, O my Dead ! — 
 As He whom ISIary sought. 
 
 And found an empty tomb instead. 
 Her spices all for nought, — 
 
THE CROWN OF THORNS. 91 
 
 IX. 
 
 O Lord, not so depart 
 
 From my enshrining breast, 
 
 But lie anointed in a heart 
 That by Thy death is blest ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Or if Thou shalt arise. 
 
 Abandon not Thy grave, 
 But bear it with Thee to the skies — 
 
 A heart that Thou shalt save ! 
 
93 THE SAILOR- S WEDDING. 
 
 IfeJ^ 1. 
 
 THE .SAILOR'S WEDDING 
 
 \^P LOITERING ship !" a sailor cried, 
 "p^^^ "Now speed me home to wed my 
 bride!" 
 The ship, through flying spray, 
 Went bounding on her way. 
 
 II. 
 
 " O midnight bells ! my watch is done ; 
 
 O happy morrow ! haste thy sun." 
 Then down he lay and slept, 
 And in his dream he wept. 
 
THE SAILOR'S WEDDING. 93 
 
 III. 
 
 He dreamed that suddenly the waves 
 Stood fixed and green, like churchyard 
 graves, 
 
 And then a mournful bell 
 
 Rang out a funeral knell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Land ho ! " the deck-watch called, with 
 
 cheers ; 
 The sleeper wakened from his tears. 
 
 '' O, day of joy I " _ he said ; 
 
 '' This night shall I be wed." 
 
 With eager feet he leaped ashore. 
 And stood at Mary's cottage door : 
 
 The bride, in white all dressed, 
 Was in her grave at rest ! 
 
94 THE VICTORY OF LIFE. 
 
 THE VICTORY OF LIFE 
 
 I. 
 
 7^ 
 
 ONCE made search, in hope to find 
 •^^ Abiding peace of mind. 
 
 II. 
 
 I toiled for riches — as if these 
 
 Could bring the spirit ease ! 
 
 III. 
 
 I turned aside to books and lore, 
 Still baflfled as before. 
 
THE VICTORY OF LIFE, 95 
 
 IV. 
 
 I tasted then of love, and fame, 
 
 But hungered still the same, 
 
 V. 
 
 I chose the sweetest paths I knew, 
 Where only roses grew. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then fell a voice from out the skies, 
 With warning in this wise : 
 
 VII. 
 
 " O my disciple ! is it meet 
 
 That roses tempt thy feet? 
 
96 THE VICTOR r OF LIFE. 
 
 VIII, 
 
 " Thy Master, even for His head, 
 Had only thorns instead ! '■ 
 
 IX, 
 
 Then, drawn as b}^ a heavenly grace, 
 I left the flowery place, 
 
 And walked on cutting flints and stones. 
 And said with tears and groans : 
 
 XI, 
 
 '' O Lord ! my feet, where Thou dost lead. 
 Shall follpw, though they bleed ! " 
 
THE VICTORY OF LIFE. 97 
 
 XII. 
 
 As then I saw He chose my path 
 For cllsciphne, not wrath, — 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I walked in weakness, till at length 
 I suffered unto strength. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Yet never were my trials done, 
 But only new begun. 
 
 XV. 
 
 For when I learned to cast disdain 
 Upon some special pain, — 
 
 7 
 
98 THE VICTORY OF LIFE. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He gave me sharper strokes to bear, 
 And pierced me to despair ; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Until, so sorely was I pressed, 
 I broke beneath the test, 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 And fell within the Tempter's power 
 But, in the evil hour, * 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Bound hand and foot, I cried, " O Lord ! 
 Break Thou the threefold cord ! " 
 
THE VICTORY OF LIFE. 99 
 
 XX. 
 
 And while my soul was at her prayer, 
 He snatched me from the snare. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I then drew nigh the gate of death, 
 
 Where, struggling for my breath, 
 
 XXII, 
 
 I shook my coward knees in fear, 
 Aghast to stand so near ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet while I shivered in the gloom, 
 Down-gazing in the tomb, 
 
loo THE VICTORY OF LIFE. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "O Lord!" I cried, "bear Thou my sin, 
 And I will enter in!" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But He by whom my soul w^as tried 
 Not yet was satisfied. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For then he crushed me with a blow 
 Of more than mortal w^oe, — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Till bitter death had been relief 
 To my more bitter grief. 
 
THE VICTORY OF LIFE, loi 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Yet, bleeding, panting, in the dust, 
 I knew His judgment just ; 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And as a lark with broken wing 
 
 Sometimes has heart to sing, — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 So I, all shattered, still could raise 
 To His dear name the praise ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Henceforth I know a holy prayer. 
 To conquer pain and care. 
 
102 THE VICTORY OF LIFE, 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 For when my struggling flesh grows faint, 
 And murmurs with complaint, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 My spirit cries, " Thy will be done ! " 
 And finds the victory won ! 
 
A WOMAN'S LETTER, 103 
 
 A WOMAN'S LETTER. 
 
 3^Y friend (mark, only friend^ and 
 nothing more), 
 To-night, in parting from you at the door, 
 I meant to speak what now I haste to wa*ite. 
 You saw me stand awaiting your good night ; 
 You asked me for my lips, — I answered 
 
 nay; 
 You then let fall my hand, and fled away. 
 
 The rose you gave me, — will it not decay ? 
 Am I a fool, to think that love endures? 
 I knew a tongue whose words were fair as 
 yours ; 
 
I04 A WOMAN'S LETTRR. 
 
 If he was false, the rest may prove the same. 
 You too! If this be harsh, am I to blame? 
 Are bitter things that go by some sweet name 
 Less bitter? Love is but a sweet-named gall ! 
 
 A heart can never trust until it knows ; 
 A heart can never know until it trusts ; 
 A heart is never safe that loves at all. 
 Love is the pain of pains, the woe of woes ! 
 Let women's bosoms turn to marble busts ! 
 
 You have a right to know ; so be it known, — 
 I have no other heart except a stone ! 
 
 I have not said that every man deceives ; 
 Nor do I say no woman's heart hath burned, 
 Like mine, with love, and found the love 
 returned ; 
 
A WOMAN'S LETTER, 105 
 
 I onl}^ know the lesson I have learned ! 
 Since then, I have not loved ; I love not 
 
 now ; 
 I shall not love again. Not any vow 
 Which any man may make — not yours 
 
 to-day — 
 Not were it crowmed with every bud of 
 
 May — 
 Would change this final answer, which is 
 
 Nay! 
 
io6 RED, WHITE, AND BLUE. 
 
 RED, WHITE, AND BLUE.* 
 
 Mr 
 
 ED Cypress ! Thee I pluck to-day. 
 S All flowers have meanings, poets say. 
 The legend of thy leaf 
 Is death and grief: 
 Thou growest for the sake 
 Of hearts that break. 
 And since so many hearts have bled. 
 Thy star hath grown blood-red. 
 Thee on my breast I wear, 
 To show a heart bleeds there ! 
 
 * Written in 1863, when everybody' was wearing 
 a rosette of red, white, and blue. 
 
RED, WHITE, AND BLUE, 107 
 
 II. 
 
 White Rose ! Why pluck I not the red ? 
 
 The red rose is for love ; 
 And love I not my dead? 
 
 What speaks the v^^hite rose of? 
 Of love in its despair ! 
 This woe is mine to bear — 
 So I the w^hite rose v^ear. 
 
 III. 
 
 Blue Harebell ! Swing thyself in toll 
 
 For a departed soul ! 
 
 Grief is thy other name ; 
 
 Grief bendeth down thy head ; 
 
 Grief boweth mine the same — 
 Grief for my dead ! 
 But grief, most grieving, is most blest ! 
 
io8 
 
 RED, WHITE, AND BLUE. 
 
 O, heart of mine ! beat not my breast. 
 God knoweth best: 
 So be at rest! 
 
PIERRE CARDINAL'S FAITH. 109 
 
 PIERRE CARDINAL'S FAITH. 
 
 OOD bishop, prithee, listen to my 
 tale ! 
 
 Pierre Cardinal, a troubadour of France, 
 Who bore a hundred years of troubled life. 
 Fell sick, and called his friends, and spake 
 
 these words : 
 "Now since I have not lived in fear of death, 
 I trust I shall not die in fear of hell ; 
 Yet when ye shall array me for the grave, 
 Clench fast this parchment in my folded hand, 
 That I may read it at the judgment day." 
 
 The scroll ran thus — now rotting with his 
 bones : 
 
no PIERRE CARDINAL'S FAITH, 
 
 " O God ! I think the Devil should be slain ; 
 For many a soul were saved to Thee thereby. 
 Yet since Thy hand hath formed me prone 
 
 to sin, 
 If Thou art wroth at seeing me so made, 
 Unframe me till I be again unborn. 
 But if thou wilt not so undo my birth, — 
 And if I was, and am, and shall be, — then, 
 O Giver of my hundred years of pain ! 
 Deny me not, I pray. Thy peace at last ! 
 My Father ! welcome Thou Thy child. 
 
 Amen." 
 
 Here stopped the writing, and the minstrel 
 died. 
 
 Good bishop, art thou wise? Then, prithee, 
 
 tell, — 
 Is old Pierre Cardinal in heaven or hell? 
 
THE SOLDIER'S REVENGE. iii 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S REVENGE. 
 
 A. D. 1655. 
 
 HIS golden legend first was told 
 ^^"^ When Swedes and Danes were foes 
 of old. 
 
 II. 
 
 One morn the Swedes gave way so soon 
 The battle ended at the noon. 
 
 III. 
 
 Two foes lay sweltering on the sand, 
 Each wounded by the other's hand. 
 
112 THE SOLDIER'S REVENGE. 
 
 IV- 
 
 The Swede exclaimed, '' O day accurst, 
 That sees a soldier die of thirst ! " 
 
 The Dane replied, with anguish wrung, 
 My water-flask shall cool thy tongue : 
 
 (( 
 
 VI. 
 
 " I filled it at a mountain spring ; 
 Drink thou to Denmark and the king ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 '' But precious loss if any drips ; 
 So hold it steady to thy lips ! " 
 
THE SOLDIER'S REVENGE. 113 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Swede replied, '' If thee I kill, 
 Thy flask is mine to drink my fill ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then drawing poniard from his girth, 
 He struck a blow, but stabbed the earth, 
 
 X. 
 
 The Dane exclaimed, '' O wretched Swede ! 
 How durst thou do so base a deed ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 " By Heaven ! I take revenge, O knave ! 
 Then snatching back the flask he gave, 
 8 
 
114 ^^^ SOLDIER'S REVENGE. 
 
 XII. 
 
 "Thirst thou," he cried, "while I shall 
 
 quaff; 
 Thy throat shall swallow only half! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "I meant to bid thee drink the whole: 
 So curse thy loss, thou dastard soul ! " 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The King of Denmark overheard, 
 And smiling at the deed and word, 
 
 XV. 
 
 Proclaimed, in sight of all his train, 
 ''I dub thee knight, O noble Dane!" 
 
THE SOLDIER'S REVENGE. 115 
 
 XVI, 
 
 Uprose a noise of Danish cheers — 
 Heard yet through twice a hundred years. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 So every hero hath reward — 
 
 Of men, of kings, or of the Lord ! 
 
ii6 TO THE BRIDE ISABEL. 
 
 TO THE BRIDE ISABEL. 
 
 ENCLOSING A HEART'S-EASE. 
 
 MAIDEN, I who, many miles away, 
 '^ This way-side letter of remembrance 
 send. 
 To intercept thy coming wedding-day. 
 That hastens hither ere the roses end. 
 Send with it (better than a rose) a flower 
 Less fair, yet fitter for thy feast ; 
 A flower worth all the gardens of the East, 
 And rich enough to be thy bridal dower: 
 For, having heart's-ease, hast thou not 
 enough ? 
 
TO THE BRIDE ISABEL, 117 
 
 But heart's-ease is a perishable stuff — 
 
 A fading flower that hath not long to live — 
 
 A mocking gift that is not mine to give. 
 
 Yet as I give the emblem, I uplift 
 
 A prayer that God w^ill add the perfect gift. 
 
 But w^e who pray know not for what we 
 
 plead. 
 If He who knoweth every human need 
 Should overrule my gift, and make it vain, 
 And then bestow instead His gift of pain ; 
 If at His finger-touch thy heart' s-ease fade. 
 And wither into heart-break, — O fair maid ! 
 Who knowest now of love, but not of grief, 
 Go question all the sorrows of the world. 
 And thou shalt find that sorrowing love is 
 
 chief! 
 
ii8 TO THE BRIDE ISABEL, 
 
 As if a wedding-tress should burst its braid, 
 Or twisted ringlet droop and hang uncurled, 
 And shake its orange-blossoms to the ground, 
 So love at last may loose what first it bound. 
 And drop the joys wherewith it once was 
 crowned. 
 
 But as a bird that hath a heavenward wing 
 May shed a plume, yet shall not cease to 
 
 sing, 
 So love, despite her losses, waxeth strong, 
 And bears above them all a cheery song. 
 
 When thou, like other brides w^hose hearts 
 
 have burned 
 With over-joy of love, hast also learned, 
 And wept in learning, that through all the 
 
 years, 
 
TO THE BRIDE ISABEL. 
 
 119 
 
 Love often hath her bosom pierced of spears. 
 Learn thou, by discipline of thorn and sting, 
 That sorrow also is a sacred thing. 
 There never yet was any wedding-ring 
 That did not make a marriage unto tears. 
 When thou this fading flower away shalt 
 
 fling, 
 May love, that hath no earthly sorrow, bring 
 Thy bosom heart' s-ease from celestial spheres. 
 
 =.^#^ 
 
I20 THE MOTHER'S PRATER. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S PRAYER 
 
 pu^ITH eager arms a mother pressed 
 \^^ A laughing babe against her breast. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then thus to Heaven she cried in prayer 
 " Now even as his face is fair, 
 
 III. 
 
 '' O Lord ! keep Thou his soul within 
 x\s free from any spot of sin." 
 
THE MOTHER'S PRATER. 121 
 
 IV. 
 
 From heaven the Lord an answer made : 
 '' Behold ! I grant as thou hast prayed." 
 
 V. 
 
 Within her door the darkness crept, 
 And babe and mother sweetly slept. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The belfry rang the midnight bell ; 
 The w^atchman answered, "All is well." 
 
 VII. 
 
 The mother, by the cradle-side. 
 Awoke to find the babe had died. 
 
122 THE MOTHER'S PRATER, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With grief to set a woman wild, 
 
 She caught and clasped the marble child, 
 
 IX. 
 
 Until her heart against his own 
 Was broken, beating on a stone ! 
 
 X. 
 
 '^ O God ! " she cried, in her despair, 
 
 '^ Why hast thou mocked a mother's prayer?" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then answered He, ''As I have willed, 
 Thy prayer, O woman ! is fulfilled : 
 
THE MOTHER'S PRATER. 123 
 
 XII. 
 
 "If on the earth thy child remain, 
 His soul shall gather many a stain 
 
 XIII, 
 
 " At thy behest, I stretch my hand 
 And take him to the heavenly land ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The mother heard, and bowed her head, 
 And laid her cheek a^^ainst the dead, 
 
 XV. 
 
 And cried, '' O God ! I dare not pray - 
 Thou answerest in so strange a way ! " 
 
124 2"^^ MOTHER'S PRATER, 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In shadow of a taper's light, 
 
 She moaned through all the livelong night ; 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But when the morning brought the sun, 
 She prayed, "Thy will, O God, be done! 
 
 If 
 
THE BROKEN VOW, 125 
 
 THE BROKEN VOW. 
 
 A woman's soliloquy. 
 
 HIS spot is where we parted ; and 
 
 I think 
 That had he not turned back, to give the 
 
 chain 
 That bound our hearts another golden link, 
 I might have suffered, when it snapped, less 
 
 pain. 
 But, parting here, he loitered in the lane, 
 Then stopped, and, leaning on the garden 
 
 gate, 
 He whistled like a robin to his mate ; 
 Till I, with merry mocking of his call, 
 Ran down to meet him at the garden wall. 
 
126 THE BROKEN VOW, 
 
 Uplifting both his hands, he seized a vine 
 And shook a storm of dew upon my hair ; 
 Then, spying roses near, " O maiden mine ! " 
 He said, '' I pluck for thee a bud so fair, 
 That had it grown in any Eastern clime, — 
 Where love is writ in flowers instead of 
 
 thyme, — 
 And were it folded, thus, within thy hand, 
 Mayhap a woman's wit would understand 
 That her departing lover hies to bring, 
 With swift returning steps, her wedding- 
 ring ! " 
 
 I heard, and trembled, and stood queenly 
 
 crowned. 
 But cast my eyes, bewildered, to the ground, 
 And asked myself, How could it be that I, 
 So lowly-born, should mate with one so high ! 
 
THE BROKEN VOW, 127 
 
 I turned my face to brush away a tear. 
 He bent his head, and whispered in my ear, 
 "Dear love, my loitering feet, so loth to go. 
 Shall speed me back before the bud shall 
 blow." 
 
 He went. That day was like a golden 
 
 dream — 
 And he the light that set the day aglcw, 
 And I the mote that floated in his beam. 
 
 Tnen on the marble mantel of my room 
 I placed the bud, and nursed it into bloom. 
 And kissed the very thorns from day to day ; 
 And yet the laggard truant staid away. 
 At first I saw the calyx swell and crack — 
 And break the promise of his coming back. 
 
128 THE BROKEN VOW. 
 
 Then through the empty days, I asked 
 
 myself, 
 ''Why comes he not?" At last the chilly 
 
 shelf 
 Whereon the fiery petals fell had grown 
 Like sandal wood for fragrance, or the stone 
 That pilgrims kiss within the prophet's tomb. 
 Outspread like pages of the book of doom, 
 The leaves too sweetly told my bitter fate. 
 His feet returned not to the garden gate ; 
 His face I have not looked upon since then ; 
 His name is written with the rich and great ; 
 His fame is high among the famous men. 
 O Thou who sittest on the judgment throne ! 
 Forbid my heart to harbor hiunan hate. 
 But henceforth let me trust in Thee alone. 
 
GOD SAVE THE NATION, 129 
 
 GOD SAVE THE NATION 
 
 A WAR HYMN. 
 
 
 r^^lCHOU who ordainest, for the land's 
 ^^k P salvation. 
 
 Famine, and fire, and sword, and lamenta- 
 tion, 
 Now unto Thee we lift our supplication — 
 God save the Nation ! 
 
 II. 
 
 By the great sign foretold of Thy appearing. 
 Coming in clouds, while mortal men stand 
 
 fearing. 
 Show us, amid the smoke of battle, clearing, 
 Thy chariot nearing. 
 
 9 
 
I30 GOB SAVE THE NATION, 
 
 III. 
 
 By the brave blood that floweth like a river, 
 Hurl Thou a thunderbolt from out Thy 
 
 quiver ! 
 Break Thou the strong gates ! every fetter 
 
 shiver ! 
 Smite and deliver ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Slay Thou our foes, or turn them to derision ! 
 Then, in the blood-red Valley of Decision, 
 Clothe Thou the fields, as in the prophet's 
 vision. 
 With peace Elysian ! 
 
 -=^ 
 
 
THE PREACHER OF PADUA, 131 
 
 THE STRANGE PREACHER 
 OF PADUA. 
 
 PADUAN Minorite lay deathly 
 sick, 
 
 And cried, '' O God ! if I should die to-day 
 (Who thought to preach to-morrow), send a 
 
 monk 
 With grace from heaven to pluck the church 
 from hell ! " 
 
 Next day at matins, while a thousand eyes 
 Were gazing at a shaft of fluted stone, 
 To which (as when a swallow builds her 
 
 nest 
 Against a beam) the pulpit clung, uprose a 
 
 monk, 
 
132 THE PREACHER OF PADUA, 
 
 Who said, " The holy friar whose face ye seek 
 Hath left his corpse outstretched upon his 
 
 bed, 
 And upward mounted to his crown in 
 
 heaven ! 
 Be warned, O Paduans ! turn and flee from 
 
 hell ! " 
 
 As if he then had hurled a shaft of fire, 
 He stung their cheeks to scarlet, like their sin. 
 In anguish for their souls, some knelt and 
 
 prayed ; 
 Some uttered groans ; some faded ghostly 
 
 white. 
 Each sinner felt an earthquake in his breast. 
 And when at last the monk intoned the creed, 
 The choir were thick of throat — too choked 
 
 to sing; 
 
THE PREACHER OF PADUA, 133 
 
 The organ blew no breath through any 
 
 pipe — 
 The player's hands could only prop his 
 
 brows. 
 Then walked the stricken people from the 
 
 church, 
 As mourners mutely scatter from a tomb. 
 
 The preacher, wnth two friars, strolled out 
 
 beyond 
 The city's gate — their bare feet in the grass. 
 Their bare heads shaded by the orange trees. 
 Their voices answering to the lark's w^ith 
 
 song. 
 
 Behind them followed — staggering, panting, 
 
 pale. 
 Scarce half alive — the priest they left for 
 
 dead : 
 
134 2"/f^ PREACHER OF PADUA. 
 
 Who, having learned the marvel of the day, 
 Sprang out of bed, made chase to catch the 
 
 monk, 
 Espied a club-foot underneath his gown, 
 And cried w^ith voice that hushed their happy 
 
 hymns, 
 " O friends bew^itched ! I swear by Heaven 
 
 above, 
 This preacher is the Devil from below ! " 
 
 With mildewed spots and warts, the preach- 
 er's face 
 
 Turned to a toad's — then changed and 
 seemed a monk's. 
 
 The brethren stared to see two human 
 
 shapes — 
 One risen out of death, one out of hell ! 
 
THE PREACHER OF PADUA. 135 
 
 '' O enemy of God ! " exclaimed the friar, 
 " Before I strike thee with this crucifix, 
 Give answer why thou chidest men from 
 
 hell, 
 Since thou wouldst lure them in?" The 
 
 Devil quailed, 
 And said, '' I warn men of their sins that 
 
 when, 
 Once warned, they sin again (as straight 
 
 they do), 
 Their double guilt shall bring them double 
 
 doom ; 
 For at the judgment I shall say, ' O Judge ! 
 The souls that charged their fall to trick of 
 
 mine 
 Speak shameless lies; — for, tempting not, I 
 
 warned ; 
 And, snaring not, I pointed out the snare ; 
 
136 THE PREACHER OF PADUA. 
 
 And, seeing them upon the burning brink, 
 With tears I bade them back; — yet down 
 
 they plunged ! 
 Condemn them now to me, and to the 
 
 flame ! ' " 
 
 So saying, as a diver cleaves the sea, 
 He, diving, cleft the earth, and sank to hell. 
 
 With hands uplifted toward the city's 
 
 walls, ' 
 '• O Padua ! " cried the friar, '' what tears 
 
 these eyes 
 Have wasted, weeping for your souls not 
 
 saved ! " 
 Uprose he then sublime of stature, clenched 
 His hands, gave up the ghost, and fell a 
 
 stone ! 
 
THE PREACHER OF PADUA, 137 
 
 All Padua, when it heard the tale, stood 
 
 dumb. 
 No man but vowed to live a whiter life ! 
 O fickle human heart ! Thy brittle vows 
 Are dashed to pieces on thy stony self ! 
 The sinners sinned afresh ! The Devil went 
 Not back to St. Antonio's church ! No need ! 
 For St. Antonio's church went back to him ! 
 
138 A VACATION HTMN. 
 
 A VACATION HYMN 
 
 ON CLOSING SCHOOL FOR THE SUMMER, 
 
 E sine a song, and then we part! 
 
 rieMi^ . . . . r 
 
 •^^^^^ How swiftly time is winging ! 
 But sweet are farewells of the heart 
 
 When they are said in singing. 
 The roses climb the garden wall ; 
 
 The buds have long been blowing ; 
 The summer's breezy voices call, 
 
 And we must now be going! 
 
A VACATION HYMN, 139 
 
 II. 
 
 The blue-bird trembles in her nest, 
 
 Which every wind is swaying ; 
 The robin sings and shows his breast. 
 
 While we are here delaying ; 
 The bees have set their pipes in tune 
 
 On every head of clover ; 
 And we must haste to hear them soon, 
 
 Or summer will be over ! 
 
 III. 
 
 O God of every lowly heart 
 
 And every lofty feeling, 
 Be Thou adored for what Thou art 
 
 In Nature's own revealing ! 
 
I40 A VACATION HTMN. 
 
 Wherever summer's grass is green, 
 Or winter's snow is hoary, 
 
 The hiding of Thy face is seen — 
 We know Thee by Thy glory ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 If we who sing a parting song 
 
 Have mortal meeting never, 
 There is a journey, short or long, 
 
 Where summer lasts forever. 
 All hail, O fairest land of lands, 
 
 Whose blossoms never wither ! 
 Although we here unclasp our hands^ 
 
 Our feet shall travel thither. 
 
FHIENDSHIP. 141 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 f^ 
 
 TO E. S. L. 
 
 TRUE and noble friend ! — (too far 
 
 ^/!^^ away : 
 
 Thou on the prairie, I beside the sea) — 
 The spring, that should be here, makes long 
 delay, 
 And not a flower is open to the bee. 
 Meanwhile, from thee, the west wind comes 
 to say, 
 Thy feet are walking where the fields are 
 
 fair, 
 And nests are in the boughs that late were 
 bare. 
 Thou hast the early season, I the late. 
 
142 FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 For thee the blossoms of the orchard blow ; 
 On me the sea-gulls and the fog-wreaths 
 
 wait. 
 But shall the leagues between us loose the 
 
 band 
 By which, though hands unclasp, yet hearts 
 may cling? 
 I ask myself, shall we, who, months ago, 
 Through frosty days, and in a frozen land. 
 Built up a friendship on the winter's snow. 
 Behold it melt and vanish in the spring? 
 False friendship was it, if it perish so : 
 True friendship is an everlasting thing. 
 There runs a record that not only saith. 
 He " loved his own," but " loved them to 
 
 the end." 
 So evermore a man shall love his friend, 
 With friendship that outliveth life and death ! 
 
HARP OF ANDREW MARVELL. 143 
 
 THE HARP OF ANDREW 
 MARVELL.* 
 
 "And if we would speak true, 
 Much to the man is due 
 
 " Who from his private gardens, where 
 He lived reserved and austere 
 (xVs if his highest plot 
 To plant the bergamot), 
 
 "Could by industrious valor climb 
 To ruin the great work of time. 
 And cast the kingdoms old 
 Into another mould." 
 
 Marvells Ode on Cromwell, 1650. 
 
 I. 
 
 MARVELL'S harp ! I dare to wake 
 '^ Thy silent strings for Freedom's sake. 
 To sing how vain thy boast 
 Of Cromwell's conquering host ! 
 
 * ^' These verses are an echo of Marvell's Ode to 
 Cromwell. The Commonwealth of England, which, 
 
144 HARP OF ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 II. 
 
 O Marvell's self! arise instead, 
 To warn the living by the dead, 
 
 ^ How Freedom may be lost, 
 
 Though won at bloody cost! 
 
 III. 
 
 A nation, weak amid her might, 
 Sent forth her lowliest to the fight. 
 Until by men enslaved 
 The free themselves were saved. 
 
 by a successful war, was placed upon a sure founda- 
 tion of freedom, was then, by an unsuccessful * recon- 
 struction,' set back upon the old corner-stone of 
 monarchy. Let not the Republic of America, after 
 a like struggle, suffer a like fate!" — The Indc' 
 pendent ^ New York, Nov. i6, 1865. 
 
HARP OF ANDREW MARVELL. 145 
 
 IV. 
 
 But, O victorious state ! — unjust, 
 Perfidious, false to Freedom's trust ! — 
 Thy feet are trampling now 
 The men who crowned thy brow ! 
 
 Before the Judge of all the earth, 
 Men hold an equal rank of birth, 
 
 An equal law of breath, 
 
 An equal dust of death. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O Freedom ! open thou a grave, 
 Where every king, where every slave, 
 
 Shall cast in crown and chain, 
 
 Till only men remain ! 
 10 
 
146 HARP OF ANDREW MARVELL, 
 
 VII. 
 
 Meanwhile, I lay thee on the ground, 
 O harp ! nor smite thee to a sound, 
 For now a poet's stroke 
 Is vain to break a yoke. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But when the tardy earth hath rolled 
 Her kingdoms to the age of gold, 
 
 A poet by his song 
 
 Shall crumble down a wrong! 
 
DYING, AND YET LIVING. 147 
 
 DYING AND YET LIVING. 
 
 yi^^HE died — yet is not dead! 
 
 Ye saw a daisy on her tomb : 
 It bloomed to die — she died to bloom 
 Her summer hath not sped. 
 
 She died — yet is, not dead! 
 
 Ye saw her jewels, all unset;, 
 Bpt?^ Qod; let fallja coronet* 
 
 To crown her. ransomed head.. 
 
148 DYING, AND YET LIVING, 
 
 III. 
 
 She died — yet is not dead: 
 
 Ye saw her gazing toward a sky 
 Whose h'ghts are shut from mortal eye : 
 
 She lingered — yearned^ and fled. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She died — yet is not dead ! 
 
 Through pearly gate, on golden street, 
 She went her way with shining feet : — 
 
 Go ye, and thither tread ! 
 
 M^^L^^3)S. 
 
 -^^k^%^^^ 
 
PRAYER OF THE NATIONS. 149 
 
 THE PRAYER OF THE NATIONS. 
 
 M 
 
 THOU by whom the lost are found, 
 ^fi^^ Whose cross upon the mountain 
 
 stands. 
 Let now its shadow on the ground 
 
 Spread east and west through all the lands 
 Until it wrap the earth around ! 
 
 II. 
 
 O Christ, by this Thy conquering sign. 
 Let Thy extended arms outreach 
 
 To all who dwell from palm to pine. 
 To bind each human heart to each. 
 
 And all, O Crucified, to Thine ! 
 
I50 PRATER OF THE NATIONS. 
 
 III. 
 
 The morning stars give forth a song, 
 But, like a discord in the strain. 
 
 The earth, through all her years of wrong, 
 Forever moans as one in pain, 
 
 And cries. How long, O God ! how long ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet not a star of all the sky- 
 To Thee hath fairness like the earth, 
 
 That rolls her zones before Thine eye 
 To show to Heaven Thy place of birth, 
 
 And sepulcher where Thou didst lie ! 
 
 V. 
 
 O Thou who cleansest men from sin. 
 The Heaven of heavens, impatient, waits 
 
 Till round the earth Thy reign begin I 
 O be ye lifted up, ye gates, 
 
 And let the King of Glory in ! 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 151 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 HESE roses, planted on her grave, 
 
 have blown : 
 Her memory, still too fresh for graven stone. 
 Endures as w^ritten on our hearts alone. 
 O loving friend ! w^hen thee we hither bore. 
 Dim were our eyes, and black the weeds we 
 
 wore : 
 Our grief hath since grown less — our love 
 
 grown more. 
 Sweet gift of God ! * whose gift we could 
 
 not keep ! — 
 If ever angels watch where willows weep, 
 A wall of folded wings shall guard thy sleep ! 
 
 * T/ieodosta, '' Gift of God." 
 
.IC2 THE MONK'S MATIN, 
 
 THE MONK'S MATIN. 
 
 \^^p^UR night has vanished like a dream ; 
 j^k^ Too fast the witching hours flew by ; 
 The moon too kindly veiled her beam ; 
 We might have feared a clearer sky. 
 
 II. 
 
 We could not see each other's face, 
 For not a firefly lit a spark: 
 
 May Heaven forgive the mad embrace, 
 For we were blinded bv the dark ! 
 
THE MONK'S MATIN. 153 
 
 III. 
 
 Within our garden of delight, 
 
 We thought the rose without a thorn : 
 And so we plucked the sweet at night, 
 
 Nor ever felt the wound till morn. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The shadows bring the hours of bliss 
 The sunbeams that on lovers shine 
 
 Dry off the dews from lips that kiss, 
 Till love is left but half divine. 
 
 V. 
 
 But could the joy be unrestrained, — 
 And could the love go free of blame, 
 
 O, would the midnight never waned. 
 And would the morning never came ! 
 
154 MALTBT CHAPEL. 
 
 MALTBY CHAPEL. 
 
 TO M. A. B. 
 
 ^^^: 
 
 ^ALTBY Chapel, as you know, 
 ^'fi^m^ Fell two hundred years ago. 
 Hardly now is left a stone, 
 Save upon the graves alone. 
 If your feet should chance to pass, 
 Weary, through the churchyard grass, 
 Rest them by a marble tomb 
 Crumbling over bride and groom. 
 Who, when they were hardly wed, 
 Found the grave their bridal bed. 
 
MALTBT CHAPEL, 155 
 
 II. 
 
 Flowering in the wall on high, 
 
 Like a garden in the sky, 
 
 Stood a window of the fane, 
 
 Whence, through many a rosy pane, 
 
 Lights of purple, blue, and red 
 
 Down through nave and aisle were shed. 
 
 Central in the fair design 
 
 Hung the Sorrowing Man divine ; 
 
 Near him, gazing, knelt or stood 
 
 Mary's weeping sisterhood ; 
 
 Next, v/ith colors interchanged, 
 
 Holy emblems round were ranged, 
 
 First a light, and then a dark ; — 
 
 Here the lion of St. Mark ; 
 
 There the eagle of St. John ; 
 
 Cherub heads with pinions on ; 
 
156 MALTBT CHAPEL. 
 
 Virgin lilies, white as frost; 
 
 Palm and olive branches, crossed ; 
 
 Picture of the Paschal Lamb ; 
 
 Letters of the great I AM ; 
 
 Last and topmost, Cross and Crown, 
 
 And a White Dove flying down. 
 
 Such a window, in the light, 
 
 Was itself a wondrous sight ; 
 
 But the eyes that on it gazed 
 
 Saw devoutly, as it blazed. 
 
 Not the purple panes alone, 
 
 Not the sun that through them shone. 
 
 But, beyond the lucent wall. 
 
 Heaven itself outshining all ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Up through Maltby's dusty road 
 Cromwell and his pikemeu strode, — 
 
MALTBT CHAPEL. 157 
 
 Six and twenty hundred strong, — 
 Roaring forth a battle song ; 
 Who, in marching to the fray. 
 Passed the chapel on their way ; 
 Never dreaming how, inside, 
 Knelt a bridegroom and his bride, — 
 vShe the daughter of a peer, 
 He a knight and Cavalier. 
 Qiioth the leader, " Rub the stains 
 Out of yonder painted panes ! " 
 Glancing at a mark to strike. 
 Then a pikeman raised his pike, 
 Drew it backward half its length, 
 Hurled it forward with his strength. 
 Sent it whizzing through the air, 
 Sped it with a pious prayer. 
 Winged it v/ith a holy curse, 
 Barbed it with a vScripture verse, 
 
158 MALTBT CHAPEL. 
 
 Heard it dash through pane and sash. 
 Till, above the tinkling crash, 
 Loud his shouting mates exclaimed, 
 '' Bravo, Ironsides ! well aimed ! 
 So may every church of sin 
 Have the light of God let in." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Like the spear that pierced the side 
 Of the Saviour crucified, 
 So the w^eapon that was hurled 
 Smote the Saviour of the world ; 
 Tearing out the sacred tree 
 Where he hung for you and me ; 
 Curving downward, flying fast 
 Where the streaming rays were cast; 
 Flashing from the shaft each hue 
 Which it caught in quivering through ; 
 
MALTBT" CHAPEL. 159 
 
 Plunging toward the bridal pair 
 While they yet were bent in j^raye^ ; 
 Then, like very Death's own dart, 
 Pierced the maiden to the heart ! 
 Back she fell, against the floor, 
 Lying crimson in her gore, 
 Till her bloodless face grew pale, 
 Like the whiteness of her veil ! 
 
 Years may come, and years may go, 
 Ere a mortal man shall know 
 Such a more than mortal pain 
 As the knight felt in his brain ! 
 Long he knelt beside the dead, 
 Long he Idssed her face and head. 
 Long he clasped her pulseless palm, 
 He in tempest, she in calm ! 
 
i6o MALT BY CHAPEL. 
 
 Stricken by his anguish dumb, 
 Neither words nor tears would come ; 
 Till at last, with groan and shriek, 
 Brokenly he thu-s did speak : 
 '' O sweet body! turned to clay — 
 Since thy soul hath fled away, 
 Let this lingering soul of mine 
 Lift its wings and fly to thine? — 
 Wed us in Thy Heavens^ O Lord I " 
 Rose he then, and drew his sword. 
 Braced its hilt against the wood 
 Of the altar where he stood. 
 Leaned his breast against its point. 
 Stiffened every limb and joint. 
 Clenched his hands about the blade. 
 Muttered words as if he prayed, — 
 Then, with one ecstatic breath. 
 Cast himself upon his death ! 
 
MALTBT CHAPEL, i6i 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hence the tomb was made so wide 
 Both could shimber side by side. 
 But, though lovers fall to dust, 
 As their mortal bodies must, 
 Still, to souls that interblend. 
 Love itself can never end. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Rupert, flying in defeat. 
 Checked at Maltby his retreat, 
 Thought the chapel bullet-proof, 
 Camped his men beneath its roof. 
 Stood defiant for a day. 
 Fiery as a stag at bay. 
 Made a grim defence, but vain, — 
 Then, in darkness and in rain, 
 II 
 
i62 MALTBT CHAPEL, 
 
 Fearful of the morrow's fight, 
 Stole away at dead of night. 
 When the Roundheads saw with rage 
 How the birds had quit the cage, 
 They, in spite, with blow on blow. 
 Fought the chapel for a foe ! 
 So it came that tower and bell, 
 Roof and spire, together fell, — 
 Battered down, in name of Heaven, 
 April, sixteen fifty-seven! 
 
THE FLT. 163 
 
 THE FLY.* 
 
 A RHYME FOR CHILDREN. 
 I. 
 
 ABY Bye, 
 Here's a Fly : 
 Let us watch him, you and I. 
 
 How he crawls 
 
 Up the walls — 
 
 Yet he never falls ! 
 I believe, with those six legs, 
 You and I could w^alk on eggs ! 
 
 There he goes. 
 
 On his toes. 
 
 Tickling Baby's nose ! 
 
 * These lines have been set to music by Lowell 
 Mason ; they may be sung also to the tune of 
 *' Lightly Row." 
 
i64 THE FLT, 
 
 II. 
 
 Spots of red 
 
 Dot his head : 
 Rainbows on his wings are spread ! 
 
 That small speck 
 
 Is his neck ; 
 
 See him nod and beck ! 
 I can show you, if you choose, 
 Where to look to find his shoes : 
 
 Three small pairs 
 
 Made of hairs — 
 
 These he always w^ears, 
 
 III. 
 
 Black and brown 
 Is his gown ;- 
 He can w^ear it upside down! 
 
THE FLT. 165 
 
 It is laced 
 
 Round his waist; 
 
 I admire his taste. 
 Pretty as his clothes are made, 
 He will spoil them, Tm afraid, 
 
 If to-night 
 
 He gets sight 
 
 Of the candle-light ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the sun 
 
 Webs are spun : 
 What if he gets into one ! 
 
 When it rains 
 
 He complains 
 
 On the window-panes. 
 Tongues to talk have you and I 
 
i66 THE FLT. 
 
 God has given the little Fly- 
 No such things ; 
 So he sings 
 With his buzzing wings. 
 
 V. 
 
 He can eat 
 
 Bread and meat; 
 See his mouth between his feet! 
 
 On his back 
 
 Hangs a sack, 
 
 Like a peddler's pack. 
 Does the Baby understand? 
 Then the Fly shall kiss her hand ! 
 
 Put a crumb 
 
 On her thumb : 
 
 Maybe he will come ! 
 
THE FLT, • 167 
 
 VI. 
 
 Round and round, 
 
 On the ground, 
 On the ceiling he is found. 
 
 Catch him? No: 
 
 Let him go : 
 
 Never hurt him so ! 
 Now you see his wings of silk 
 Drabbled in the Baby's milk ! 
 
 Fie, oh fie ! 
 
 Foolish Fly ! 
 How will he get dry? 
 
 VII. 
 
 All wet flies 
 Twist their thighs: 
 So they wipe their heads and eyes. 
 
i68 * THE FLT, 
 
 Cats, you know, 
 
 Wash just so : 
 
 Then their whiskers grow. 
 Flies have hair too short to comb ! 
 Flies go barehead out from home ! 
 
 But the Gnat 
 
 Wears a hat: 
 
 Do you laugh at that? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Flies can see 
 
 More than we — 
 So how bright their eyes must be ! 
 
 Little Fly, 
 
 Mind your eye — 
 
 Spiders are near by! 
 Now a secret let me tell : 
 Spiders will not treat you well ! 
 
THE FLT, 
 
 169 
 
 So I say 
 
 Heed your way ! 
 
 Little Fly, good day! 
 
 ^^■^^^%^^^^^^' 
 
I70 THE HUNGRY KITTENS. 
 
 THE TWO HUNGRY KITTENS. 
 
 TO BE RECITED AT A CHILDREN'S PARTY. 
 
 WO Kittens grew hungry with licking 
 their feet, 
 
 And ran around snooping for something to 
 eat. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Me-ow ! " said the Curly-tail, " milk would 
 
 be nice." 
 ''Ska-fitch !" cried the Smutty-nose, "/shall 
 
 eat mice ! " 
 
 II 
 
THE HUNGRY KITTENS, i^i 
 
 III. 
 The house of the mice was a hole in the floor, 
 Too small for the kits to get in at the door. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So puss-in-the-corner they silently sat, 
 And waited awhile for the mice to grow fat. 
 
 V. 
 
 "Who comes?" cried a beautiful mouse, at 
 
 her cheese. 
 The kittens replied, "We are rats, if you 
 
 please." 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Not rats ! " said the nibbler ; " your paws 
 
 are not pink. 
 Your eyes are too big, and your tails have a 
 
 kink ! " 
 
172 THE HUN GET KITTENS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 u 
 
 Come out ! " quoth the kits, " and our tails 
 and our eyes 
 Will then look exactly the natural size! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Sweet mouse ! we invite you to go to the 
 
 fair, 
 And you shall have plenty of combs in your 
 
 hair ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 The mouse said, " Excuse me, for I am 
 
 engaged ! " 
 At which the two kittens grew fiercely 
 
 enraged. 
 
THE HUNGRY KITTENS. 173 
 
 They flew at the mouse-hole, they awfully 
 
 squalled, 
 They fought one another, they tumbled, they 
 
 sprawled, 
 
 XI. 
 
 They twisted their whiskers, they tangled 
 their tails — 
 
 Then, scat ! how they scampered to milk- 
 pans and pails! 
 
 XII. 
 
 The mice and the kittens no longer are 
 
 friends ; 
 Which every one knows — so the story here 
 
 ends! 
 
I wi -.'»rT»»',',T ■ 
 
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