LIBRARY OF flfliGRESS. =^5r. f< 7-/€5 o y /^^i^. 'UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. POEMS. Vt BY THEOPHILUS H. HILL. NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 459 Broome Street. 1869. Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by Theophilus H. Hill, in the Clerk's office of the District Court for the Pamlico District of North Carolina. riverside, Cambridge: stereotyped and printed by h. o. houghton and company. .« To REV. CHARLES F. DEEMS, D. D., PASTOR OF "THE CHURCH OF THE STRANGERS," NEW YORK, AS A TOKEN OF SINCERE REGARD, Wfyz&t \Batmi ARE INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. — ♦ PAGE Narcissus i The Star above the Manger 10 A Gangese Dream 14 Love among the Roses 18 Spring 21 Hesper 25 Perdite 27 The Shadow of the Rock 29 Willie 31 Wooed, Won, Forsaken 37 The Sunbeam 39 Reveille 41 Pit and Pendulum ........ 43 Anacreontic 46 Dum Vivimus, Vivamus 50 Dulcamara 53 Indian Summer 55 The Sabbath of the Spring 56 Hope of Heaven 60 Love 63 Joy 65 \g of the Butterfly 66 The Mother's Prayer 70 Ode to Sleep 74 Life and Death 76 Stella . 7S VI CONTENTS. * PAGE The Light of the Lattice 82 St. Valentine's Day . 83 Sunset 86 Darkness 88 My Hopes like waning Watch-fires Glow . . 89 Angela 91 Hope 96 Despair • 100 To L. F. P. 103 Plea of the Prodigal ...... 105 Banished Rome 107 Violets 109 Fireside Fancies 112 Antipodes 115 Proemial Stanzas . . 117 HUMOROUS. A Serio-Comic Poem 121 Lucile 140 To a Lady, on receiving Flowers . . . . 145 Clouds with Silver Linings 147 Qui Capit, Facit 150 Taking a Snooze . . . . . . . .154 POEMS. NARCISSUS. " Pining with sorrow, Nica faded, died, Like a fair aloe, in its morning pride." Chatterton. " The tale Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale." Keats. piNING for the beauty he In himself alone could see, Wan Narcissus, day by day Wasted wofully away : Love-lorn Echo, all in vain, Sought the self-enamored swain, — Calling on his name again, And again, until the woods, In their wildest solitudes — Grown familiar with the strain — NARCISSUS. Syllabled the sad refrain : " O Narcissus ! where art thou ? Dost, in frolic, hide thee now ? Ah ! tis cruel thus to stay From thine Echo all the day : Ere the dreamy twilight shades Purple all the dewy glades, Truant, show thy radiant face ! Hie thee to our trysting-place ! " Sadly sang the sorrow-laden, Weary, wistful, wandering maiden ; Swiftly sped the sparkling river, — Sped the silvery Cephissus, — Like an arrow from the quiver Of the beautiful Narcissus, Heedless of the tears he shed At its far-off fountain-head. Bending, till his golden tresses Floated with the water-cresses, NARCISSI'S. He, athirst, had paused to drink From the fountain's pebbly brink ; He but loitered there to lave, In the pure pellucid wave, Forehead fairer than the sun E'er before had shone upon. Hapless child of Air and Tellus ! Thou that madest Juno jealous ! Seek no further to discover Footprints of thy faithless lover ! In the blue, inverted skies, Star-like splendors greet his eyes ; Echo's eye no more may please, — In himself, himself he sees : When the beauteous phantom first On his ravished vision burst, He, mayhap, was not aware His own face was mirrored there : In the crystal depths, alas ! He but saw, as in a glass, — 4 NARCISSUS. Lips disparted, cheeks aglow, Flushed, for all the world, as though Roses were about to blow, Which had budded in the snow. Ah ! Narcissus, the transfusion — Replication — involution Of those false and real glances Self-idolatry enhances : Even should a chance beholder, Peeping, unseen, o'er thy shoulder, Now essay the true to sunder From their simulacra under Water, flushing into wine With each rosy blush of thine, He would die in the endeavor, An idolater forever ! From the mockery thou viewest, — From the fantasy thou wooest, — Soft responsive smiles ascending, NARCISSUS. With thine own too brightly blending, Weave a web of subtler tissue Than Arachne's loom may issue ; Spell whence there is no awaking ; Chain there is no hope of breaking; Strong as those that bind the gory Martyr of the mythic story To the beetling, bleak Caucasian Crag of an immortal passion ! Who may fittingly express Such unreal loveliness ? Who with truthful touch may trace Pictures, vocal of the grace Which informs the phantom there ? Sylvan gods may never chase Nymph or naiad with a face So ethereally fair ; Never woo to their embraces — Three in one — the sister Graces ! NARCISSUS, Fantasy forever flies One who fain would realize, Undissevered from the real, An indefinite ideal : Who may indicate the ending, Or beginning of the blending, Seven, several hues that shimmer In a rainbow growing dimmer ? Who unravel opalescence In its very evanescence ? Who dispart the tints that glimmer In the faint illusion kindled Ere a real splendor dwindled ? Trace upon a sunlit bubble First an iris — then its double ? Still more futile his essay, Who would vividly portray Scarce perceptible decline, Where the substance and the shade, Interfused — together fade ! Metaphor may not define NARCISSUS. Stealth of gradual decay — Toying with its tortured prey — Growth of shade, decrease of shine, Narcissus, in those eyes of thine ! Alas ! that one so young — so fair — So radiant in his golden hair, Dies in self-love, of self-despair ! Of Echo, in the reedy lake, In the tangled hazel brake, In the green hearts of the dells, In the hollow ocean shells, Only now an echo dwells ; And where young Narcissus died, Bending o'er the glassy tide, Blooms a solitary flower : Beauty is its natal dower ; Fair and fragile is its bloom, Faint and fleeting its perfume ; And it ever leans to look At its shadow in the brook. NARCISSUS, Shouldst thou, like Narcissus, guess Half of thine own loveliness ; Though his fate were surely thine, Echo's never would be mine ! Shouldst thou half thy charms discover, Maiden, peerless as thou art, Hope would droop within thy lover, — Die upon his loyal heart ; Love, though mine, with hope would perish ; I, with life itself would part, Sooner than survive to cherish Thee, as other than thou art ! Knowing all thou wert before, Self thou learnedst to adore ; Seeing what thou then wouldst be, I no more could bend the knee : Love, though mine, would not retain Fond regret for one so vain, Longer than the fountain kept On its bosom ripples made NARCISSUS. 9 By the tears Narcissus wept, When, by self to self betrayed, In the sparkling depths below, He beheld the rosy glow Waning on his cheeks of snow ; While from out his haggard eyes All the light that in them lay, Like the tints of twilight skies, Faded mournfully away ! THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. /^\NE night while lowly shepherd swains Their fleecy charge attended, A light burst o'er Judea's plains Unutterably splendid. Far in the dusky Orient, A star, unknown in story, Arose to flood the firmament, With more than morning glory. The clustering constellations, erst So gloriously gleaming, Waned, when its sudden splendor burst Upon their paler beaming : And Heaven drew nearer Earth that night, — Flung wide its pearly portals, — THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. I I Sent forth from all its realms of light Its radiant immortals : They hovered in the golden air, Their golden censers swinging, And woke the drowsy shepherds there With their seraphic singing. Yet Earth, on this, her gala night, No jubilee was keeping; She lay, unconscious of the light, In silent beauty sleeping. No more shall brightest cherubim And stateliest archangels Symphonious sing such choral hymn, — Proclaim so sweet evangels : No more appear that star at eve, Though glimpses of its glory 12 THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. Are seen by those who still believe The shepherds' simple story. In Faith's clear firmament afar, — To Unbelief a stranger, — Forever glows the golden star That stood above the manger. Age after age may roll away, But on Time's rapid river The light of its celestial ray Shall never cease to quiver. Frail barges on the swelling tide Are drifting with the ages ; The skies grow dark — around each bark A howling tempest rages ! Pale with affright, lost helmsmen steer, While creaking timbers shiver ; THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. I 3 The breakers roar — grim Death is near — O who may now deliver ! Light — light from the Heraldic Star Breaks brightly o'er the billow ; The storm, rebuked, is fled afar, The pilgrim seeks his pillow. • • • • • Lost — lost indeed his heart must be, — His way how dark with danger, — Whose hooded eye may never see The star above the manger ! A GANGESE DREAM. T^REIGHTED with fruits, aflush with flowers, — Oblations to offended powers, — What fairy like flotillas gleam At night on Brahma's l sacred stream ; The while, ashore, on bended knees, Benighted Hindoo devotees Sue for their silvery, silken sails The advent of auspicious gales. Such gorgeous pageant I have seen Drift down the Ganges, while I stood Within the banian's bosky screen, And gazed on his transfigured flood : 1 "The Hindoos believe that the Ganges rises immediately from the feet of Brahma." A GANGESE DREAM. I 5 Around each consecrated bark, That sailed into the outer dark, What lambent lights those lanterns gave ! What opalescent mazes played, Reduplicated on the wave, While to and fro, like censers swayed, They made it luminous to glass Their fleeting splendors ere they pass ! O'er each, as shimmering it swung, A haze of crimson halo hung, Begirt by folds of billowy mist, Suffused with purpling amethyst: From these, still fainter halos flung, Lent each to some refracted zone Hues of a lustre not its own, Till satellite of satellite, Eluding my bewildered sight, In gloomier eddies of the stream, Retained no more a borrowed beam. Thus, one by one, their sparkling sails Distended by Sabean gales, 1 6 A GANGESE DREAM. I saw those votive vessels glide, Resplendent o'er the swelling tide, While each, with its attendant shade, Or dusk, or radiant ripples made : These flashing into fiery bloom ; Those smouldering into garnet-gloom ! All this I saw, or else, at night, Pursuing Fancy in her flight, I paused beneath what seemed to be The umbrage of a banian-tree, And down the Ganges of a dream Beheld that gay flotilla gleam. It seems to me but yesterday, Since off the beach of Promise lay The brilliant barges Hope had wrought, And young Desire had richly fraught, (Alas ! how soon such tissues fade !) With fragile stuffs whence dreams are made ! Proud owner of that fleet I stood, A GANGESE DREAM, I 7 Gazing on the transfigured flood, And saw its constellated sails Expanded by propitious gales, Till shallop after shallop flew — As fresher yet the breezes blew — In joyous quest of full fruition, To swift and terrible perdition ! Some in life's vernal equinox O'er desperate seas to wreck were driven ; And others struck on sunken rocks, Or, in the night, by lightning riven, Burned to the water's edge ; while they That, not unscathed, but still unshattered, Survived the storm, were widely scattered: One only kept its destined way, To sink — no friendly consort near — In sight of port, at close of day, When seas were calm, and skies were clear! LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. " In deepest grass beneath the whispering roof Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet scarce espied." Keats' Ode to Psyche. T HAVE found him ! Here he lies, Weary of the chase ; Lured by vagrant butterflies To this shady place : Hat in hand, he ran for hours In and out among the flowers, Following each golden prize With winged feet and wistful eyes. He dreams beneath a drooping vine, Whose graceful trailers intertwine, Weaving above his head a woof Of dark green leaves and crimson flowers : In vain through this umbrageous roof LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. I 9 May noontide sunbeams try to peep ; Here, time is told in twilight hours, While " infant beauty " lies — asleep. Gay birds and gorgeous butterflies Flash through these " purpling glooms," Where zephyrs woo, with plaintive sighs, The hearts of hidden blooms ; Yet heedless of their happy flight, He slumbers still, serenely bright — Transfigured in the shifting light ! The tinkling bells of sylvan streams, Which wind around this cool retreat, Chime to the music of his dreams ; For, sheltered from the glowing heat, Their laughing, sparkling waters meet To ripple at his rosy feet ! Yes ! I've found him ! All around him Blushing flowers bud and bloom ; 20 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. Merrily the birds are singing, Drowsily the bees are clinging (Drunken with perfume) To the lilies and the roses 'Round the spot where Love reposes ! SPRING. HP HE air is balm, for earth is all abloom : The genial skies benignly bent above me, As yet unsullied by a tinge of gloom, Seem, as in earlier, better days, to love me. The rugged hills wear emerald carcanets ; The woodland-wilds are starred with bright oases, Where daisies blow, and virgin violets, Within the leaves, half-hide their con- scious faces. The vagrant breeze, now winnowing my hair, Sways, to and fro, the tender meadow grasses, — 22 SPRING. Green in the shade, but growing golden where The sunbeam brightens when the zephyr passes. Nature, to-day, would woo to her embrace The scanty mite of good that lingers in me, And, by the witching beauty of her face, From wonted gloom to grateful sunshine win me. I gaze and gladden, though oppressed by fear Lest cares, now banished, should too soon surround me ; Put out the light my heart would garner here, And weld again the chains wherewith they bound me. SPRING. 23 My plaintive harp, whose chords of sombre tone Awake responsive to the touch of sad- ness, — Attuned to dirge-like threnody alone, And mute, alas ! to madrigals of gladnes?, In vain essays, in soft idyllic strains, To sing of laughing Spring a rhythmic story, To tell how she has visited our plains, And clad them in a garniture of glory : How every spot of earth, her fairy feet Have kissed, with lissome step, is greenly glowing, Or how her smiles have thawed the wintry sleet, And set the ice-bound fountains freely flowing. 24 SPRING. I hear the brooks, that babble as they go, — Prattling to flowers that blossom on their borders, — Tell how she quelled her immemorial foe, — Wiled from her realm his insolent ma- rauders. But I may not translate, with tuneless tongue, The vernal music all around me ringing ; For birds sing now, as birds in Eden sung : Enough for me, to listen to the singing ! HESPER. " What time the stars first flocked into the blue Behind young Hesper, Shepherd of the eve." Thos. Buchanan Read. 'T^HE brilliant Evening Star to-night Gleams through the dusky air ; As though some seraph in his flight, Through the unclouded realms of light, Had paused an instant there ; — Had paused and silently surveyed The dreaming world below ; Then flown away to Eden's shade Where " living waters " flow. Methinks some bright unearthly gem Fell from his flashing diadem, For when he winged his flight afar, Through the enchanted air, A light remained, — the Evening Star Shone forth serenely there ! 26 HESPER. Tis thus the great — the good depart, And leave a beacon light, To cheer the pilgrim's drooping heart And guide his feet aright : Hence we revere the sage — the seer Of every age and clime ; Whose priceless gems still sparkle here Upon the strand of time. PERDITE. T^AREWELL forever to the dreams, (Alluring dreams !) whose fitful light Revealed a land where sorrow's night Can never veil the golden beams Of life, and hope, and love ! Farewell to Heaven ! Why linger now In wild regret before the Cross ? Tis powerless : Eternal Loss Corrodes my heart, — seals on my brow The blackness of despair. What care I now how long the fire Of life within my bosom burns, Since Mercy now no more returns ; But lets each lingering hope expire, And veils her lovely face ? 28 PERDITE. Ah ! what to me is wealth or fame ? A sunbeam shimmering on a pall ; From some high pinnacle to fall ; To leave on earth an envied name, And then — to pass away. Farewell ! farewell ! I may not stay Where Hope's last "rare and radiant" flower To ashes fell : — in that sad hour, The golden sunlight fled away And left Eternal Shade! THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK. " The shadow of a Great Rock in a weary land." Isaiah xxxii. 2. I OST in Sahara's trackless wilds, in vain Wouldst thou shake off the darkness of despair ; Thou reelest blindly in the noontide glare, Athirst and weary o'er the burning plain : Long hast thou trod beneath thy bleeding feet The glowing sands, a fearful death to die, While sparkling fountains burst upon thine eye, And grouping palm-trees spread a shelter from the heat : Far, far away, beside a gloomy hearth, Where feebly now the fading embers burn, Thy hoary sire, and she who gave thee birth, 30 THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK. Heart-broken wait to welcome thy return : God shield thee I hapless straggler from the flock, And hide thee now within the Shadow of the Rock! WILLIE. Born January 16th, 1863 ; died June 24th, 1865. " God's ringer touched him, and he slept." In Memoriam. PHE things he used to play with Lie in the corner there ; And yonder hangs the worsted cap That he was wont to wear ; Beneath his dimpled chin I see Its crimson tassels tied, And clasp once more with fond caress Our " little boy that died." I hear the restless rosy feet That patter on the stair, And now he runs to Mamma's seat To nestle fondly there : He climbs upon my knee again, 32 WILLIE, Or, on my foot astride, I toss the darling of my heart Who clamors for a ride. The labor of the day is done : Home to a glowing hearth I hasten, ere the set of sun, The happiest man on earth ; A mother, standing at the door, Looks out, adown the street, Elate with joy, as runs her boy — His father first to greet. Ah, then right merrily we romp ! And noisy is our glee, For each, to please the household pet, Must horse or driver be ; He brings " his blocks,'' and begs Papa " A church " for him to rear, But knocks the fabric down before The steeple can appear. WILLIE. 33 His marbles next, and then his ball, Till, weary of our play, He sups on mother's lap, and folds His little hands to pray-: And " Now I lay me down to sleep " That immemorial prayer — In faltering phrases soft and sweet, Makes musical the air. He sleeps : the fire is burning low, And shadows on the wall, Like those he wondered at and feared, Grotesquely rise and fall : Night — rayless night — overwhelms my soul, And yet, in my despair, I sometimes almost smile to think There is no shadow there ! Tis Summer-time again, and I Sit mournfully for hours, 34 WILLIE. And watch the painted butterflies That woo his favorite flowers ; They hover unmolested here, Yet, dreaming of the chase, I see the hunter s flashing eyes, — His flushed and eager face ! How oft I've seen the jocund boy Return from garden play, His Summer-hat of plaited straw With larkspur blossoms gay ! The hand that decked it thus need not Renew the garland now, For seraphim and cherubim Twine amaranth for his brow ! Strange silence broods o'er all the house From dawn to close of day ; The little drummer beats no more Tattoo or Reveille ; WILLIE. 35 His feathered cap and plaided cloak, And broken drum remain, — But he who wore them once may ne'er Come back to us asrain. V &4 , It almost breaks my heart to see The dog he daily fed, Crouch at my feet and mutely ask The living for the dead ; I cannot harshly drive him out, Though keener grief than mine Bursts forth afresh each time she hears His wistful — piteous whine. " But wouldst thou call him back to earth, — Have him again to wear The crimson-tasseled worsted cap Upon his golden hair? Wouldst have thine angel lay aside His diadem of light — 36 WILLIE. Change crown for cross, and blindly grope Beside thee, through the night ? " 11 Ask me no more," l for flesh is weak : Our idol was a part Of every earth-born hope that blessed Mine and his mother's heart ! " Ask me no more : " help us, O God, This bitter loss to bear — To kiss Thy chastening rod, and live To find " our treasure," there ! 1 "Ask me no more, lest I should bid him live : Ask me no more." The Princess. WOOED, WON, FORSAKEN. FROM "VIOLA," AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 11 And where the Spring-time sun had longest shone, The violet looked up and found itself alone." Thos. Buchanan Read. PHOU art languishing and pining, Blue-eyed one ! Thou art drooping and declining, And thou faintest for the shining Of the sun ; For the sunbeam came to sue thee, — To worship thee and woo thee, But to ruin and undo thee Lovely Bloom ! He smiled but to deceive thee, — To blight thee and bereave thee Of perfume, — Then heartlessly to leave thee To thy doom ! 38 WOOED, WON, FORSAKEN. Thou hopest in thy sorrow, He will come again to-morrow, Nor depart (His long delay forgiven) To his bright abode in heaven, Until his smile has driven From thy heart The weight which now oppresses, And the grief which now distresses; While he murmurs, as he blesses Thee with ravishing caresses, 11 How beautiful thou art ! " But alas ! thy hopes are failing, And thy tears are unavailing, For wintry winds are wailing As they fly ; Thou shalt sleep without awaking — Thy heart no longer aching — When morning beams are breaking On the sky ! THE SUNBEAM. r I "HING of beauty! brightly beaming, Softly through my lattice streaming, To my spirit thou dost seem Like " a sweet thought in a dream : " Linger yet a little while ; Still my loneliness beguile ! Brilliant sunbeam ! thou dost bring On thy gleaming golden wing, Life and gladness, light and love, From the firmament above ; Thou dost change the morning mist Into sparkling amethyst ! Messenger from realms of li^ht ! Thou art beautiful and bright : 40 THE SUNBEAM. How resplendent then is He, Sunbeam, who created thee, — Called thee from chaotic night, — Bade thee sparkle in His sight? Shining harbinger of Spring ! Earth, for thee, is blossoming ; At the earliest " peep of dawn," In the woodland, on the lawn, Songs of welcome may be heard, - Matins of the mocking-bird. Welcome ! bright, celestial ray ! Where thou dwellest it is day ; When thou wanderest afar, When I hail the evening star, Then, sweet Sunbeam, I shall see But a burning type of thee ! REVEILLE. A WAKE ! Arise ! No longer be A laggard in the race ! O thou who wouldst thy fellow free, Burst first the chains which shackle thee ■ Insignia of disgrace ! Arise, and muster all thy might ! Stand foremost in the van ! He who unfurls the flag of Right Must march a hero in the fight — Must be himself # man ! To Arms ! Let sluggards idly stand ■ Let cravens skulk and cower ! Tis thine to wield a battle-brand, 42 REVEILLE, Whose touch will nerve thy failing hand With supra-mortal power! In vain may stalwart foes assail The champion of Right ; For, panoplied in triple mail, The true of heart can never fail — Are never put to flight I PIT AND PENDULUM. r^HE poets say there is a golden chain Binding our planet to the throne of God, Whose burnished links unbroken yet remain, Though earth — no more by shining seraphs trod — Is swinging madly o'er a dread abyss : Should some malignant spirit sunder this, — Should this frail chord of sympathy be riven, And our lost world, by gravitation driven, Plunge through the outer dark, impenitent, unshriven, — Who could in one wild syllable portray The speechless horror of that direful day, 44 PIT AND PENDULUM. When light first wings its everlasting flight, And the lost plummet sounds the ghastly gloom of night ? A soul whose prayers, like incense from the sod When flowers awaken with the dawn of Spring, Arose in child-like earnestness to God, — Whose covert was the shadow of His wing; Who bore the cross, — caught glimpses of the crown, But growing weary, laid his burden down ; Who clung in safety to a golden chain, Endued with strength the feeblest to sustain, While they in God an humble trust retain ; But who, alas ! in an unguarded hour, Insanely yielding to the tempter's power, Bade hope for all futurity farewell, And fell to fathom an apostate s hell, — riT AND PENDULUM. 45 Who — who but he may, in one word, por- tray The tongueless terror of that awful day, When light first wings its everlasting flight, And the lost plummet sounds the sullen gloom of night ? ANACREONTIC. 11 1 awoke the next morning with an aching head and feverish frame. Ah, those midnight carousals, how glorious they would be if there were no next morning ! " Pelham. " An angel would be all the better for a good night's carouse in honest Moritz's wine-cellar; even to the ruffling of some of , his feathers. What a sorry appearance though would the dreadful next morning bring ! " Kimball's St. Leger. F! TLL up! fill up! The poison-cup With Lethe to the brim; I yearn — I pine — I faint — I thirst To see the brilliant bubbles burst Around its rosy rim : Then let me drain The bowl again, And fill it up once more ; For fearful phantoms haunt my brain, And at the open door ANACREONTIC. 47 A ghastly group of fiends appear — Their hollow laughter racks my ear ; See ! how malignantly they leer Upon the wreck they Ve made : They little care that honor, wealth, And home, and happiness, and health Are blighted and betrayed ! Fill up ! fill up ! The sparkling cup ; It is with Lethe fraught ! It drowns reflection, palsies thought, Binds Memory in chains, And bids the hot blood leap and dart, Like molten lava from my heart To fire the sluggish veins ! * Fill to the brim and I will drink, " To Memory and Thought, Eternal Death." — For O, to think 1 " These were days when my heart was volcanic." — Poe's Ulalume. 48 ANACREONTIC. Is with such horror fraught — That hell would be A heaven to me Were Memory no more ! Aye ! could I never think again, — Never the past deplore, — I should no longer here remain ; For hell can have no penal pain, In all its fiery domain, So fearful unto me, As the scorpion-sting Of that terrible thing Which we call Memory ! • • • • • To dream of all that I am now, — Of all I might have been ; The crown of thorns upon my brow, — The gnawing worm within ; Of all the treasures I have lost, Like leaves autumnal, tempest-tost, — Of sunbeams into clouds withdrawn, ANACREONTIC. 49 Their momentary sparkle gone, — Of murdered hope, and blighted bloom — God ! how horrible my doom ! Yet fill, fill up! The crimson cup With frenzy to the brim ! 1 wildly burn — I madly thirst To see the blushing bubbles burst Around its ruby rim ! "DUM VIVIMUS, VIVAMUS." " Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." St. Matt. vi. 34. T7ARTH is not an El Dorado, Nor is life a Summer-day; Every sunbeam hath a shadow Chasing it away, — Frail ephemera that perish, — Doomed to disappear ; Those we love, caress, and cherish, May not linger here : Pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, Here, alternate, come and go : Which of these we'll have to-morrow, Who may ever know ? Gather flowers — blushing flowers — Which, at present, blow; " BUM V1VIMUS, VIVAMUSr 5 I Leave the buds, they are not ours, — They for others grow. If it now be pleasant weather, Let us merry be ; Let us laugh and sing together, Nor repress our glee By vain speculations whether, In the future, we Shall be gloomier or gladder ; Be that as it may, Such reflections overshadow Beautiful " To-Day ! " Fretting — murmuring — repining Darkens every sorrow, With unconscious fingers twining Cypress for the morrow : Then remember, Love — remember In thy darkest day, That the drearier December, Brighter is the May ! 52 "DUM VIVIMUS, VIVAMUS." Earth is not an El Dorado, Nor is life a Summer day ; Every sunbeam hath a shadow Chasing it away ! DULCAMARA. /^\FT when the sunlight's golden gleam Has died upon our sorrow, We sink in sleep, — perchance to dream Of happiness to-morrow. We fain would banish thoughts of ill, Or smile at their intrusion ; And oft deluded, fondly still Cling to each sweet illusion. Dawn brings no day, and Spring no bloom, Earth seems a sad Sahara ; Till Hope returning gilds the gloom And leads to — wells of Marah ! Yet is it not far better thus To yield to her beguiling ? 54 DULCAMARA. How dark were all the world to us Did we distrust her smiling ! What though our castles, reared in air, Begin so soon to crumble ? Hope is a refuge from despair When all their turrets tumble ! Then blest are dreamers to the last, Who dream not they are dreaming ; Their skies no cloud may overcast — To them, all is that's seeming! But woe to those who wake to weep The visions they have cherished, And may not find again in sleep The phantoms which have perished ! One such I know, within whose heart Hope has no more a dwelling, — From whose dark dreams no whispers start Of peace and joy foretelling! INDIAN SUMMER. (a fragment.) PHESE are mild delicious days; Gleaming through the golden haze, Which around the landscape plays, Every object now assumes Mellow lights, or dreamy glooms : Things once distant now are near ; Fainter seem the sounds we hear ; Feebler now is Zephyrs sigh, And yet lower the reply Of the rills that murmur by. • • • • • High upon his airy throne (Girdled with a misty zone) Rides the pallid sun at noon, Seeming but a brighter moon ; Lazily his tempered rays Measure these enchanting days. THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. " The flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." The Song of Songs ii. 12. A GLORIOUS change is come to pass: An April sky is overhead ; Like emerald glows the growing grass, And flowers are rising from the dead : Renewed — rejuvenated trees Resume their leafy liveries, And, bursting from their icy prison, The golden buttercups are risen ! Aroused from their hibernal sleep, The jacinth and the crocus leap Into the lap of Spring, and bare Their scented bosoms to the air : With downcast eye and mien demure, The pensive snow-drop, pale and pure, THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. 57 Seems listening to an ardent wooer; Later from Winters realm to sally, The loitering lily of the valley Begins to bud ; and sweeter yet, The darling, blue-eyed violet, Who — cloistered in the twilight shade Which her luxuriant leaves have made — By her own breathing is betrayed. Above me now the honeyed cells Of purple Persian lilac bells Pulse perfumes on the wandering breeze ; And lured by these, The golden bees Are come, with hummings of the hive, Till every cluster is alive — Till all their bells together chime With murmurs drowsier than my rhyme, — More softly somnolent than those That wooed from Hybla's beds of thyme And clover-gardens in their prime 58 THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. The weary to repose. At noon — as tipsy as the bees — The languid zephyrs lie Around these nectared chalices, Unwitting how to fly ; For O ! the luscious lilac flowers, While giving sigh for sigh, Breathe opiate balm that overpowers The triflers till they die ! Blush-tinted petals of the new Peach-blossoms lend a rosy hue To fields that widen on the view, To where — withdrawn into a mist Of crimson haze and amethyst — The sky puts off its living blue. The winged choristers of air Are making music everywhere ; Ere dawn emerges from the dark Are heard the matins of the lark ; THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. 59 The thrush sings in the hazel brake ; The mocking-bird is wide awake ; The blithe hedge-sparrow chirrups by ; The swallows twitter in the sky ; And faintly — far adown the glen — Is cheeping now the russet wren, — Birds, bees, and flowers, Sunshine and showers, To grace and gladden hill and plain, Bring Sabbath to the world again ! HOPE OF HEAVEN. " O where shall rest be found, — Rest for the weary soul ? " Montgomery. f~\ THERE is naught upon this earth of ours The restless longings of the soul to fill : We pant for fairer fields and fresher flowers, For purer fountains still. Our drooping souls, like captive eagles, pine To breathe, once more, their native at- mosphere, — To soar above the cloud, where sunbeams shine And shadows disappear. For what are all the rosy, dazzling dreams, The glowing hopes and fleeting joys of earth, — //( WE OF HE A VEN. 6 I Its fading smiles, its evanescent gleams Of happiness and mirth ? Faint, glimmering moonbeams falling on a pall, Or lighting up the pathway to the tomb ; Wild flowers that blossom on a ruined wall ; Oases in the gloom ! These are the joys of earth; but tell me where Are its wild sorrows, its harassing fears ? Where are the clouds — the shades of dark despair, That haunt " this vale of tears ? " O, where shall rest be found ? — a stormy tide Is rushing madly onward to the sea, Immortal spirits down the current glide Into Eternity. 62 HOPE OF HEAVEN. Thrice happy he, to whom the change of time And tide may leave one solitary rock, — An Ararat, eternal and sublime, Unshaken by the shock ; A Hope of Heaven, whose summit in the skies (The only refuge of a ruined race) Smiles through the storm — the swelling surge defies, And stands — a resting-place ! LOVE. " Love is a lamp unseen Burning to waste, or, if its light is found, Nursed for an idle hour, then idly broken." N. P. Willis : Parrhasius. \T OT so ! Not so ! Love's lamp is not unseen ; It never burns to waste, is never quenched : His is a vestal lamp, whose virgin flame Illumes the dark with pure and steady glow ; And should its feeblest scintillation fall, It would not lie unheeded where it fell, — It might not perish there, or otherwhere ; For Love, coeval with the throne of God, Is coexistent with Eternal Life ! Love moves on earth — a page in Beauty's train ; He follows her, — a rapt idolater, — 64 LOVE. Gloats on her glances, feeds upon her smiles, Lights, with his lamp, her pathway through the dark, And keeps a lonely vigil while she sleeps ; He only knows her worth, and spies in her A thousand graces others may not see : Beauty would live for him — He die for her ; They cannot breathe apart; they came from Heaven, Heirs of immortal life ; and when at length She vanishes from earth, he flies with her. They seek together undiscovered lands ; They float, like Summer-birds, on halcyon plumes, To blend the myrtle with the orange- flower, — To build, in brighter climes, their bridal bower ! JOY. " The laughing Hours before her feet Are scattering spring-time roses." Paul H. Hayne. \ 11TITH light upon her rosy lip And laughter in her eye, Whence came the maiden ? Did she slip, With sunbeams, from the sky, — Steal from the gate of Paradise, When no one else was by ? How merrily she seems to skip ! What mirthful songs arise, As, bounding like an antelope, Who (full of fear, as she of hope) The baffled hunter flies, She leaveth me, alone, to mope — A melancholy misanthrope ! SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY. " What more felicity can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with liberty." Spenser : Fate of the Butterfly. W/HO is merrier than I ? " Quoth the golden Butterfly; " In the shining court of May Whose apparel half so gay ? I reflect each sparkling hue Of her radiant retinue ; I have kissed the Lilys cheek ; I have played at ' hide and seek,' Veiled Violet, with you ! Who is merrier than I ? " Quoth the golden Butterfly. ii. " I have flirted too, with thee, Tremulous Anemone ! SOXG OF THE BUTTERFLY. 67 And the blue-eyed Pimpernel Is superlatively blest, Should I for a moment rest Down in yonder grassy dell : Little doth she dream that I From her soft caresses fly, But to breathe the rare perfume Of the pale Magnolia bloom ; Or to spend a listless hour In the cool, secluded bower Of the pining Passion-flower ! Blither wooer, who than I ? " Quoth the gallant Butterfly. in. 11 When the shades of evening fall, Like the foldings of a pall ; When the dew is on the flowers. And the mute, unconscious Hours Still pursue their noiseless flight Through the dreamy realms of night ; 68 SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY. In the shut or open Rose Ah, how sweetly I repose ! Zephyrs, languid with perfume, Gently rock my cradle-bloom ; Myriads of fire-flies From the dewy leaves arise, And Dianas starry train, Sweetly scintillant again, Never sleep while I repose On the petals of the Rose ! Who hath sweeter couch than I ? " Quoth the brilliant Butterfly. IV. 11 Life is but a Summer day, Gliding goldenly away ; Winter comes, alas ! too soon — Would it were forever June ! Yet, though brief my flight may be, Fun and frolic still for me ! When the Summer leaves and flowers ■ SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY. 69 Having had their holiday — In the chill, autumnal showers, Droop and fade, and pine away, Who would not prefer to die — What were life to such as I? " Quoth the flaunting Butterfly! THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. " But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the chil- dren's bread and to cast it to dogs. u And she said, Truth, Lord : yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master's table." — St. Matt. xv. 26, 27. ^RUTH, Lord: it is not meet That Thou shouldst give me bread ; Yet famished dogs where children eat, May on their crumbs be fed. " I may not let Thee go While I have heart to pray ; Nor wilt Thou hear me pleading so, And cast me quite away. " They say that Thou canst save, And I for mercy call : No crumbs to me Thy children gave, But Thou art Lord of all. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 7 I u Vexed by my sore distress, ' Send her away ! ' they cry ; Yet through the murmuring throng I press, Low at Thy feet to lie ! 11 Rebuke has chilled my heart ; But Lord, how dare I brook, If homeward, hopeless, I depart, My frenzied daughter's look ! " A fire burns in her brain. And fiends torment her soul ; All other help I Ve sought in vain : Lord, make my daughter whole ! " Prone on the earth she lay, Clutching the Master's gown, And turned her tortured face away, Fearing a darker frown ! Then all grew still as death ; They who had gathered there, 72 THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. Like her, await with bated breath The answer to the prayer. A face divinely sweet — The human face divine — Beams o er the suppliant at His feet A radiance benign. A voice — a tender voice, Replete with tearful grace — Bids the poor sufferer's heart rejoice Ere she beholds His face I In loving accents He The woman's faith commends : " Even as thou wilt, so let it be," — The benediction ends. Abashed His followers stood, Then reverently made way For her of alien speech and blood They had despised that day. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 73 And rugged hands were brushed O'er eyes that seldom wept, As home that joyful mother rushed — Where, lo ! her daughter slept ! * How should this story cheer Sinner, no less than Saint, To call on Him while He is near — To pray and never faint. To-day, as yesterday, the same, He heeds the mourners cry ; To seek — to save the lost He came — Fly — to His bosom fly! 1 St. Mark vii. 30. ODE TO SLEEP. i. (~*0 ME, gentle Sleep! and hither bring to me The beetle's drone, the buzzing of the bee, — All slumb'rous sounds which Silence loves to hear, — Which steal like balm into the drowsy ear ; Let Summer rain fall softly from the eaves, While fragrant zephyrs whisper through the leaves. ii. To every care some sweet nepenthe bring — Benumb each sense — bid sorrow cease to sting ; From dreamless rest let him awake no more, Who only lives existence to deplore ; ODE TO SLEEP. 75 Haste ! Siren, haste ! low lullabies to sing, Until I die beneath the shadow of thy wing ! in. Haste, soothing Sleep! bring with thee noiseless Night, For I would now no more behold the light, Since dawn of day comes only to betray Hope's brightest blossoms withering away, — Unveils before unsympathizing eyes, A heart whose woe no masking may dis- guise, — Cimmerian gloom — Egyptian shadow, now, Chase the accursed sunlight from my brow ! LIFE AND DEATH. T IFE is the tossing here awhile On a tumultuous sea ; With now and then a sunlight smile, Or glimpse of an enchanted isle, Far in futurity. Death is the closing of the day — The lulling of the wind — The twilight shades, in sad array, Bearing the setting sun away, And leaving night behind. Life is the never-ending day, Beyond the set of sun ; The passing of each cloud away — One blooming, bright, eternal May, Where love and hope are one ! LIFE AND BE A TIL J J Aye! Death, like Night, bids Morning rise Beyond the misty sea, — The sun to glow in brighter skies, — The soul to dwell in Paradise Through all Eternity! STELLA. " Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land ! " Edgar Allan Poe. O TAR of my soul ! I saw thee rise In trembling beauty o'er a sea, — A silent sea, — the past, that lies Asleep in memory ! My spirit caught the hallowed beams That fell on the enchanted air ; Nor to Endymion, in his dreams, . Were Dian's half so fair. Around me hung a golden glow, That flushed the amaranthine flowers, Whose censers, swinging to and fro, Perfumed the midnight hours : STELLA. 79 For Hope, who long on wanton wing Coquetted coyly with Desire, Then deigned to robe the- meanest thing In scintillant attire. Cradled in my too happy heart, Love whispered in my rosy dream, That thou wouldst nevermore depart — Wouldst never cease to beam. At anchor off the flowery strand, Hope's fragile bark — " The Venture " — lay, And, lured by her, I sought a land Of Promise far away. At first propitious breezes blew, And swiftly from the starlit shore Our yacht, a dancing feather, flew The bounding billows o'er. 80 STELLA. But now, beneath an angry sky, O'er alien seas the wreck is driven ; Nor dare I look again on high, To miss my star from heaven ! Star of my soul ! My Morning Star ! Fair almoner of living light ! Thy brilliant beams are shed afar On other hearts to-night! Thou heraldest a Sabbath morn, And shinest unto perfect day, While I am tossed at sea — forlorn Of thy benignant ray. Arise and shine ! I pine for thee ! Flash through the rifted clouds afar ! Earth has no other light for me — My sky, no other star ! STELLA. 8 1 Beam — brightly beam ! dispel my gloom ! Drive fear and shadow far away ! Bid hyacinthine hopes to bloom, And Spring forever stay! THE LIGHT OF THE LATTICE. A FRAGMENT. CHE little dreams that I to-night Peer out, through the mist and the rain, To catch one glimmering gleam of light From a far-off window-pane ; But the light that shines Through the Jasmine vines, Which around her casement creep, Dispels, with its beams, The sweetest of dreams, And awakens me out of my sleep ! ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. TJ IDDEN no longer In moss-covered ledges, Starring the wayside, Under the hedges, Violet, Pimpernel, Flashing with dew, Daisy and Asphodel Blossom anew. Down in the bosky dells Everywhere, Faintly their fairy bells Chime in the air. Thanks to the sunshine ! Thanks to the showers ! They come again — come again Beautiful flowers ! 84 ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. Twittering sparrows flit Merrily by ; Skylarks triumphantly Warble on high : Echo, who slumbers So long in the glen, Awakens to mimic The song of the wren : For, thanks to the sunbeams ! Thanks to the showers ! They bud again — bloom again ■ Beautiful flowers ! The mocking-bird, too — The sweetest of mimes — Is prodigal now Of his jubilant rhymes ! And my heart is so light, So cheery to-day, I fancy I hear, In his rapturous lay, \ ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 85 The music I heard In those halcyon hours, When Love to my heart (Like Spring to her bowers) First came to awaken Hope's beautiful flowers ! SUNSET. T T OW splendidly those yet unpurpled clouds Flush as they float into intenser floods Of sunset-glow ! Pure fleece becomes pure gold — Gold that, anon, porphyrogene appears : Tint into tint, or flashes now, or fades, Turkois and topaz softly interfuse, And garnet, kindling, into ruby burns ; Until yon Titan-group of thunder-crags, That gather gloom to intercept the light, — Colossal shapes, thrown into bold relief By the refulgence of the Occident, — As though convulsed by fierce intestine fires, Dissolve their solemn league : each beetling brow i SUXSET. 87 A lurid lustre wears; each shaggy breast Is seared and seamed with sanguinary scars ; And from a chasm, cleft in their bloody base, That yawns into the semblance of a hell, In long, red, forked, wildly flickering tongues, Flames, as from Tophet, leap ! DARKNESS. A S when, with eager straining eyes, We gaze on gloomy twilight skies Until we falsely dream that we, For one brief instant, dimly see The smile of some capricious star Flash through the murky clouds afar ; So my bewildered heart to-night Gropes blindly, seeking hidden light : Its mournful introverted eye, Now fixed upon a darker sky, Would fain explore the mirksome maze, Dispel the twilight's misty haze, And call to its enraptured gaze, From out their petulant eclipse, The smiles that shone on Laura s lips. MY HOPES LIKE WAXING WATCH-FIRES GLOW. TV /T Y hopes like waning watch-fires glow, Whose lurid flames, though burning low, Still flicker wildly to and fro : They brightly gleam, again retire ; Revive and sparkle to expire, Yet, loth forever to depart, Back to the ghastly embers start, And die to leave eternal shade Where erst their fitful flashes played. ii. My hopes are like the hopes that fail The seaman shipwrecked in the gale, — Unheeded by the passing sail: 90 MY HOPES LIKE WANING WA TCH-FIRES GLOW- As fades the sunlight from the clouds, The smiles that hailed her snowy shrouds Die on our lips : His drifting spar, By raging billows borne afar, Perchance may safely reach the shore ; But mine — is tossed forevermore ! in. My hopes are songs a siren sung, And flowers her fairy fingers flung Upon a rock, to which they clung : They bloomed awhile in beauty there, Then perished in its Alpine air ; And now that rock is bare and bleak ; The lichen shuns its haggard peak ; And he who haunts the lonely shore, Will hear the siren sing no more ! ANGELA. A S pearls from wave-worn caverns brought Retain the rainbow-Jiues they caught, When, riven from the envious shell, They into sudden sunlight fell, Receive right royally a sheen Their dark abodes had never seen, And wear it as a diadem Long wrongfully withheld from them ; So she — unconscious of the grace That more than beautifies her face — Reflects the glory looked upon, Till light, from introspection won, Irradiates — refines the sphere Of tender ties that keep her here ! 92 ANGELA. Not of this world, though in it, she Seems but a visitor to be ; A messenger from realms above, Sent 911 an embassy of love, Whose sympathies, entwined with ours, Would draw us to her native bowers ! Waiting her mission to fulfill, Submissive to the Master's will, She walks the earth a type of good Self-abnegating womanhood, And tells a rosary, whose beads Are loving thoughts and kindly deeds ! Esteeming other gain but loss Beside the crown beyond the Cross, Each day in blessing others spent Finds her, at eve, a penitent ; Yet priest hath shrived nor saint, nor sinner, With less of worldliness within her, ANGELA. 93 And all who know her fain would guess What one so sinless could confess : It may be, that by being lowly Her soul, in self-abstraction, wholly Forgives, forgets, until the morrow, All neighborhood of sin and sorrow ; Evokes from purer contemplations Sublimer faith, serener patience, To tread the thorny path of trial, — To lose itself, in alien losses, And stoop, nor deem it self-denial, To lift and bear another's crosses ! Her prayers to every living thing Celestial benison would bring ; The gentle glances of her eyes Tell of communion with the skies ; And all along the narrow way, That broadens into perfect day, Her lips are almoners, whose smile Wins through its innocence of wile; 94 AXGELA. For in her soul, benignly blent, Above the shrine of pure intent, The oriental beams of truth Illumine still the dew of youth, Divinely sent at dawn to dower With priceless pearls so sweet a flower ! O ! were there many such as she, Elate, aglow with love divine, On our benighted ways to shine, How beautiful this life would be ! 1 Faith, Hope, and Charity like hers Should fill the world with worshippers ! With faces where all graces blend, With spirits luminous to lend The glory of supernal spheres To gladden this sad " vale of tears," And make the sin-accursed clod A glorious footstool for its God ! Then, were the fields bereft of ftowers, Through dearth of sunshine or of showers, ANGELA. 95 The winter-blight, the summer-scath, Alike would vanish from their path ; Birds, songless erst, again would sing Wherever they were wandering, And, bourgeoning to burst its gloom, The arid waste would soon resume, As in the genial warmth of Spring, The blushes of its vernal bloom : Their smiles, their tears might well suffice To make the wild — a Paradise ! HOPE, i. T) RIGHT hopes blossom day by day- Blossom but to leave us ; Those that linger longest stay That they may Still more heartlessly deceive us : Yet in sorrows darkest hour They have power Light and rapture to impart ; As the sunbeam to the shower, Hope! thou art! When thou shinest, rainbows start From the gloomy clouds which lower Over my desponding heart ! hope. 97 II. Hope! those ruby lips of thine (So beguiling!) Mingle April shade and shine In their smiling: Why relievest thou my pain, But to fly away again, — Leaving me alone to mope, A repining misanthrope ? Teasing — tantalizing Fay ! « Stay — stay ! Hasten not so soon away! in. Thou art here anon, and then Pipest in some lonely glen ; Noiu thou hauntest dark morasses, Swathed in dank and dewy grasses, Far from the abodes of men : There thy fairy lamp is lighted — Thither its illusive ray 7 98 HOPE. Leads the credulous, benighted, Way-worn wanderer astray ; And when he has lost his way (Sink or swim) In the dark, thou leavest him ! IV. Incarnation of the Graces ! Let me hear once more the sweet Falling of thy faery feet ! Come and scatter bright oases In this gloomiest of places ! Hither, from thy far retreat, Haste to cheat me ! Thy deceit I have never chidden yet ; 'Tis the cruel undeceiving I regret ! There can never — never be In my heart a shade of grieving, Save when thou Art, as now, On the eve of leaving me ! hope. 99 V. Witching Fairy ! Airy Sprite ! Must I bid thee, now, " Good night ? " And shall my sad heart in vain Pine for thee to call again ? Promise, that at dawn of day I shall see thy plumage gay ! Then sweet " Phantom of Delight," Thou mayst wing thy wanton flight, Bidding me " Good Night ! Good Night!" If that night — Good night can be When I bid adieu to thee ! DESPAIR. I HAVE naught to hope or dread ; All save sentience is dead ; Peace, with Innocence, has fled. To the gloom in which I dwell, This world's darkest dungeon-cell Were as heaven unto hell. Ye, who yet may hope or fear, Shun this sad sepulchral sphere ! Rather die than enter here ! Each unto himself is fate, — Carver of his own estate, — Be it blest or desolate ; DESPAIR. ioi Hence, how soothing is the thought — With what sweet nepenthe fraught — I have all this ruin wrought ; / with Sorrow chose to sup, — Madly drained her bitter cup, — Having had — the filling up ! Fairest flowers soonest die ; Summer-friends are first to fly; Memory alone is nigh ! Of the many, only she Yet remaineth true to me : Like the echo of the sea, In the shell upon the shore, She abideth, evermore Murmuring of heretofore, 102 DESPAIR. In my heart — a stranded shell, Dashed, by passion's stormy swell, On the burning beach of hell ! I have naught to hope or dread ; All save sentience is dead ; Peace, with Innocence, has fled ! TO L. F. P. /^\ WHEN the dark, tumultuous tide Of life is ebbing fast, — When every earthly hope has died, Thy memory shall still abide, An Eden in the waste — " A diamond in the desert," where A silver fountain sings, And birds of summer fill the air With merry carolings ; A land of beauty and of bloom Whence zephyrs, freighted with perfume, On wings of woven light, convey Somewhat of Paradise away ! When all is drear and desolate, — When o'er the waters dark 104 TO L. F. P. (Like thistle-down before the blast, Or dead leaves on a torrent cast), My soul — a helmless ark — Is wildly, madly driven on Before the dread Euroclydon Of unrelenting fate, — Then brighter than the sparkling bow, Whose sky-born splendors sat, Like gems, upon the regal brow Of rugged Ararat, — Over the dusky waves afar, Love's scintillant unchanging star, From the fair portals of the past A .flood of golden light shall cast, To gild the gloomy twilight air, And show engraven everywhere Thy Name — the first — the last ! PLEA OF THE PRODIGAL. " I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son." St. Luke xv. 21. T^ATHER! from a far-off region, Famished I come home to die ; Devils — and " their name was Legion" — Failed to put this purpose by ! I, on husks, no more could hunger, Yet I had not left the swine, And had died a houseless alien But for love of thee and thine ; Love that smouldered while I squandered All my substance in excess ; Love that stung me while I wandered, With unlanguaged bitterness ; I06 PLEA OF THE PRODIGAL. Love that lived, suppressed and hidden, Through the frenzy of despair ; Love that burst forth all unbidden, Voicing bitter midnight prayer ; That once more I might behold thee : Father ! — if thou yet be mine — Let thine arms again enfold me — Call once more the wanderer " Thine!" BANISHED ROME. 11 Tell him you saw Caius Marius sitting, an exile, amidst the ruins of Carthage." History of Rome. A "117 HEN earthly hopes have flown away; When skies are dark and drear, Why should the weary spirit stay Repining here ? Why, like yon Roman, linger where The wreck of pomp and power, — The crumbling column, reared in air, The fallen fane, the time-worn tower, — Tell of a brighter hour ? The laurel from his haughty brow Has fallen long ago ; Why seeks the hapless exile now Memorials of woe ? 108 BANISHED ROME. Is there a luxury in grief, — And do the wretched find relief, In feeling that their lost estate Is shared, however desolate ? It must be so ! A type thou art, O Carthage, in decay! Of many a noble Roman heart Whose hopes are swept away ! Low in the dust of desolation laid, Well may the fallen seek thy friendly shade — The exile find a sister now in thee, Who art no longer Empress of the Sea ! VIOLETS. (from "viola.") " A violet by a mossy stone, Half-hidden from the eye." Wordsworth. T N unfrequented places, Where sunbeams cannot peep, — Where Echo's faintest echo Is lying fast asleep, — These timid woodland graces From dewy leaves arise, Unveil their modest faces, Uplift their beaming eyes, Less fearful in seclusion, Of impudent intrusion, Or surprise : Yet each of these recluses, While budding into bloom, IIO VIOLETS. Unconsciously diffuses Sweet perfume ; For ere they seem aware, The censers which they bear Reveal unto the air Where they dwell ; And the breezes, as they blow To and fro, In sweetest odor tell Of dingle and of dell, As yet unshone upon By the sun : They guide, on eager feet, To the shadowy retreat Of the JVun, All who love to stand Awhile on holy land ; Who feel assured again — So long as these remain — That Innocence, on earth, Yet lingers, loth to fly ; VIOLETS. I I I Vaunts not her heavenly birth To heedless passers by, Nor wholly hides her worth From Love's observant eye ; But waits to drop in death, Terrestrial disguise, When, with the parting breath, A radiant seraph flies ! • • • • • Alas ! too often we Externals only see ; Look with disdainful eyes On those in lowly guise ; Nor know until they disappear That guardian angels hovered near! FIRESIDE FANCIES. "O ING-WORMS of fire in chimney- soot From single scintillations shoot ; Each separate sparkle ere it dwindles A wider conflagration kindles, — ■ Ignites incendiary tinder, Then dies into a sable cinder: Afloat, in fiery revolution, The riddle still defies solution ; For all are always changing places, And one, it seems, another chases, Itself pursued — until pursuing Ends in reciprocal undoing. A winged, wanton, wizard rout, On glowing feet they glide about, Again, and yet again renewing Their mazy waltzes in and out, FIRESIDE FANCIES. I I 3 Reluming now their earlier ashes With fitful, evanescent flashes ; Until, though wintry is the night, My Fancy takes a summer flight, And sees from out the dusk arise A twinkling swarm of fire-flies ! Ah ! fleeting, fluctuating fires ! He who your brilliancy admires Is saddened by the thought that springs From tracing your meanderings ! As embers ye have left resume The mantle of primeval gloom! Ye type the visionary beams That tinted youth's elysian dreams, Or, blent in grand auroras, lent Rose-color to its firmament ; For all unconscious that I dreamed, And realizing all that seemed, I wandered then through realms of flowers, Or gazed in mute delight for hours, 114 FIRESIDE FANCIES, While life (a new kaleidoscope Revolving in the hands of Hope) Entranced me — at each turn unfolding New beauties to a new beholding ! ANTIPODES. /^ N those dismal Polar plains, Where relentless Winter reigns, - Where, amid eternal snow, Dwell the squalid Esquimaux, — When morning awakes And laughingly shakes The light from her luminous hair, How bright are the beams Which scatter the dreams Of the shivering slumberers there ! When the sleepers arise, How sweet the surprise Of radiant skies, Whence Aurora exiles With her scintillant smiles, 1 1 6 ANTIPODES. The gloom of an Arctic night! Yet O ! there are times, In sunnier climes, When shadow is sweeter than light, ■ When weary of day, And sick of its shine, We languish and pine For its passing away ! PROEMIAL STANZAS TO A POEM RECITED BEFORE THE " LADIES' MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION" OF RALEIGH, N. C, AUGUST, 1867. T F aught that I have ever said or sung May cause one more memorial flower to bloom Where plaintive harps, on Southern willows hung, Wail, Memnon-like, amid perpetual gloom ; Where, bowed with bleeding heart and eye of stone, The South, a nobler Niobe, appears, Murmurs, with quivering lips, " Thy will be done ! " And seeks relief from agony, in tears ; I I 8 PROEMIAL STANZAS. If when her trembling hands, unclasped from prayer, Begin the light of votive flowers to shed, Exhaling sweets — illumining the air Above the graves of her Confederate Dead, She chance to touch and haply intertwine, Mid flowers of balmier breath and happier hue, A daisy or forget-me-not of mine, That erst, unnoticed, by the wayside grew; This — this would be far dearer than the meed Of praise awarded to the festive strain, Blown from a pipe of Carolina reed, Which, at your bidding, I awake again ! HUMOROUS. A SERIO-COMIC POEM. DELIVERED BEFORE THE PITTSBORO SCIENTIFIC ACAD- EMY, 1867. T N the moonshiny matter of " wooing the Muses," A poet may do pretty much as he chooses ; He may woo one or two, or, if he design To make * a ten-strike,' in the rhythmical line, He may ogle and flatter the whole of " the Nine!" . Still, I must confess I have never had any Reason to think /could manage that many ; For, though I have often addressed them in rhyme, They always have jilted me, one at a time ! 122 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. A short time ago, when I undertook To give to my Muse a serious look, — Besought her, with all that I knew of per- suasion, To behave herself well on the present occa- sion, And bade her assume the sober demeanor, , Befitting this presence, — I wish you had seen her! In the mouse-colored robe of a feminine Quaker, And wearing the bonnet best known as " a Shaker " — With a pout on her lip, an arch gleam in her eye, As irresolute whether to laugh or to cry, She endeavored to mimic the drawl of her teacher, To talk like a book, and to prose like — a preacher ! I tell you 'twas no easy task to persuade her A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 2 3 To wear, at rehearsal, the dress I had made her, And it soon became very apparent to me, Euterpe and I would never agree. She pertly suggested that best-behaved folks Paid smallest regard to conventional yokes ; That a girl might be playful, without being rude; "I am weary," she added, " of playing the prude : A Muse should amuse ; will I be amusing, If I take the monotonous tone you're choos- ing. And twist into rhyme a prosaic oration ? — Is this your idea of Euterpe's vocation ? Well, sir ! cuddle your whim and cudgel your brains, While a glimmer of sense in your noddle remains ; Sit up late every night, and be stirring be- times, — 124 A SERIO-COMIC POEM, Have 'Walker' at hand, for 'allowable rhymes : ' May your ear be displeased with the count of your fingers, While the ghost of a tune in your memory lingers ; May the best line you write find only a fellow Too seedy to purchase Pope's patent pru- nella ; May others accord with the general jingle, Like water with oil, — refusing to mingle, — And, ' married, not mated,' despite all your trouble, Deny they had ever intended to double ! I have told you before, and I tell you again, sir, If / sing, it shall be in a different strain, sir: I shall reel, if I choose, in the dizziest dances, And give a loose rein to my frolicsome fancies ; A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 25 Then, you, at the close, May whine through your nose, A few of your humdrum, heavy-weight stanzas, As foils for my exquisite extravaganzas ! " • • • • • " Why should I appear in this primitive dress, Take my hair out of curl, and primly repress The humor within that impels me to sing — As a mocking-bird does — for the fun of the thing ! You know very well, that you never, sir, never ! Have written a line that was passably clever, When — deeming yourself another Apollo — You refused absolutely my bidding to follow!" Matters grew worse and worse ; / was firm — She perverse ; 126 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. At length the young lady declined to re- hearse, And crying aloud, as if fit to break her Heart, she declared the Furies might take her, The Graces disown, and her sisters forsake her; But Jupiter Tonans y himself, couldn't make her Put on any more that horrible " Shaker ! " A day or two later, Euterpe repented, — At least, I may say that she half-way re- lented ; For when I had wasted much of my time In drearily scratching my head for a rhyme, That lady, impelled by remorse or com- passion, Bounded in, all ablaze in the tip of the fashion ! I would not again awaken her ire A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 27 By describing minutely her brilliant at- tire, Nor could, if I would, however expert ; For the fan in the hand of the exquisite flirt, — The pendulous swing of her balancing skirt, — The grace of her walk, And the way she did talk, And her musical laugh, all taken together, Bewildered me so, that I couldn't tell whether Of sunshine or moonshine her raiment was made ; Suffice it to say — though she dazzled my sight — I am fully convinced the colors were right ; For, whoever blended the light and the shade, Euterpe's too fast, for them ever to fade! 128 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. If I rightly remember, her head had upon it That next thing to no thing — " a love of a bonnet." It was sent, she assured me, directly from Paris, Per Cable Atlantic, by one Mrs. Harris, Who flirted and fluttered in Vanity Fair, Or flaunted her feathers in Madison Square, A few years ago, With a lady you know, Who claimed all the pity the city could spare, Because she (poor woman!) had "nothing to wear ! " But this, by the way: I was just on the eve Of grieving, as only a poet can grieve, If the muse of his heart be taking her leave, When I suddenly spied what made the im- pression That led me so far in the path of digression : My verdancy may be refreshingly vernal ; A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 29 But again I digress, to observe it resembled, 'Mid the gauze and the gewgaws that over it trembled, In shape and in size, an outside internal Revenue stamp, tied down to her head By the filmiest sort of a gossamer thread ! With dolorous sigh, Almost ready to cry At having to bid the dear creature good- by, I was turning away to conceal my emotion, Lest her head should be turned, And I should be spurned, For displaying an extra amount of devotion, When, delaying a moment her final de- parture, With the accurate aim of a Parthian archer, She flung at my head the original verses, Which now at her bidding, your poet re- hearses ! 9 I 30 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. " Look at me, my friend, and directly de- clare The manifold charms of the toilet I wear: Retract your assertions, your errors confess, And own that Euterpe, in matters of dress, Displays a degree of decided good taste, As superior to yours as a diamond to paste ! Learn, sir, that this mass of illusion and roses, — My bonnet, — this truth, if no other, dis- closes : That only a woman may fitly combine Intellectual endowments exalted as mine With matters domestic and every-day duties, Extracting from each its appropriate beau- ties ; Can fashion, with consummate talent and tact, An exquisite union of fancy and fact, Contriving with womanly wisdom to find The perfect proportion of matter and mind ! A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 3 I "Imprimis, this evident moral I draw From my ' love of a bonnet ' — your 1 Shaker ' of straw: Though lorcj of the law, and king of creation, Man's mind is a bedlam of hallucination Where woman's concerned; so that sensi- tive creature, Endowed with a learning no logic can teach her, Strikes straight to the root of a subject, and finding The knot, which her freedom of action is binding, Too tough for her delicate hands to undo it, With the blade of her wit cuts a passage clear through it. Her lord — he may swell, And attempt to dispel The feminine fancies no reason may quell, But never can he, with his uttermost skill, Stop woman from following the way of her will ! 132 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. Philosophy, then, and self-interest teach, Attempt not to gain what is out of your reach : Tell your Pittsboro' friends, as they value their ease, To be dainty in dealing with delicate Sizes — And remember to let them do just as they please ! Never argue with woman, — wife, sweet- heart, or sister, — But humor her fancies, and gently enlist her Sympathies first ; for the sensible part Of a man is his head ; of a woman — her heart ! Boast then of the victories won from your- selves ; Be only too glad when the obstinate elves Their wills to your wishes can quietly yield ; And remember that they, like the beasts of the field, Know not their own strength ; for were they to dream A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 33 What power they possess — they would soon be supreme ; Men — monarchs, at once, from their thrones would be hurled, And the bandbox — the bandbox would £Ov- ern the world ! " Would you learn by what magic my sex is controlled ? Bend your ear, my dear Poet, and let me unfold The wonderful secret ; but lest you abuse it, First solemnly promise me never to use it, Unless it be needed for self-preservation Or to save from a shrew some worthy re- lation : Hold your breath, while the mystical words I impart, — 1 To conquer a woman, creep into her heart /' Once snugly ensconced in that delicate thing, She will hail you triumphant, an absolute king, 134 A SERIO-COMIC POEM, And deem life itself an oblation scarce meet To be laid by her love at your idolized feet! " Yet do not suppose it in every man's power To gain for himself so peerless a dower Of perfect devotion : there may be a few Of the sex, who, as blind as Titania, do As ridiculous things — love a snob, or a fool — And fill with musk-roses the ears of — a mule ! Yet trust me, that he, who a hero would stand In the heart of a woman, must wholly com- mand Her reverence due — not won by deceit: All other foundation is treacherous sand; But tempests may blow and billows may beat On immutable honor's immovable rock, And the nests of true lovers feel never a shock ! A SEKIO-COMIC POEM. I 35 "What grandeur — what glory we women- folk scan In our ideal Beau — beau-ideal of Man ! Not the hybrid that fashion and folly have made, Compounded of idleness, ignorance, pride, In the strength of a pitiful weakness arrayed, And to falsehood and cowardice fitly al- lied ; Not the creature of essences, ogles, and airs, All eye-glass and impudence, simpers and stares, That minces along with the stealth of a cat, Its whole soul absorbed in its flashy cravat, Preferring creation in chaos should crash To losing one sprout from its scanty mous- tache ; Viewing woman, ' as wathaw a n