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 GUILT 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 ■1 ^'EW AUTHOR 
 
 WALTER WILDE. 
 
 JPMJWE FIFTY €EWT8.. 
 
 Ka 
 
 H-^rrcJ 
 
 TO WANDA, PA.: 
 
 PRINTED BY aOODENOUGH & CLAUSON. 
 
 18 7 1. 
 
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 GUILT 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 A XE ]]' AUTHOR 
 
 WALTEE WILDE 
 
 
 TOWANDA, PA. : 
 
 PRINTED BY GOODENOUGH & CLATISON. 
 1871. 
 

 Entered accordiug to Act of Congress, hi the year 1871, 
 
 By S. Z. SHORES, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
PREFACE TO GUILT. 
 
 Thou tiny offspring of my brain, 
 
 Child of niy^early years; 
 Conceived in hope, brought forth in pain. 
 
 And ehei'ished long with tears. 
 
 I now release thee to thy fate, 
 
 A waif upon life's stream; 
 Exposed to bear a critic's hate. 
 
 His jealousy and spleen. 
 
 Perchance to never see the light, 
 
 As one untimely born, 
 A never-ending cheerless night, 
 
 A never-coming morn. 
 
 Yet still thou art, thou wretched waif. 
 
 Of my own soul a part ; 
 Thou sharest still the greater half, 
 
 My undivided heart. 
 
G r I L T 
 
 fill^F all that Ijroke tlie gates oi hell, and o'er 
 The Earth obtained control, the mightiest 
 And most renowned was Gnilt. His form w^as gaunt 
 And bent, resembling age ; upon his face 
 Sat haggard woe and care. His tearless eye 
 Shone glittering beneath his heavy brow, 
 And save that ever and anon a sigh 
 Escaped, he mastered well the deep and strong- 
 Emotions of his breast. Now Innocence 
 Beheld, and fled as from infectious plague. 
 He Avandered lone and sad o'er hill and vale;' 
 Nor to clear springs, or lakes, or crystal streams 
 He came, unless in mist or darkness veiled, 
 Lest he should see himself reflected there. 
 He long had wandered sad, oppressed with grief, 
 'Mid tangled wilds, and wastes, and deserts bare; 
 But now he came unto a spacious cave. 
 Whose dark and somber front invited to 
 Repose. And here for many months he lay. 
 Enjoying one perpetual night. There came 
 No visions to disturb his sleep, or to 
 Amuse his wakeful hours. Well had it been 
 If he in dreamless solitude had still 
 Remained. At length he hears the murmuring sound 
 
a HILT 
 
 Of many voices, and arousing? up 
 
 Beheld the cave with flambeaux glare 
 
 Illumed, -svhile 'round him stand forms once to him 
 
 Familiar, now iinwelcome guests, whom he 
 
 Had least desired should find his place of rest. 
 
 Yet he forbore to speat, for well he knew 
 
 Some great occasion called, else these would not 
 
 His presence seek, but would prefer to fly 
 
 From him, and seek for pleasure or repose. 
 
 First, Malice bending low addressed him thus, 
 
 "With words whose cadence fell like some sad dirge 
 
 Upon his list'ning ear. " O Chief ! we all 
 
 " Regret thus to disturb yoiir sleep profound, 
 
 " But this green earth, so prosperous, so grand, 
 
 " So bright and beautiful, does not unto 
 
 " Our sway as thou didst promise now incline, 
 
 " But rather seems resolved to follow ways 
 
 " Of Adrtue and of peace, of industry 
 
 "And social joys. And should there but arise 
 
 " E'en wdth the child harsh words of passion, lo ! 
 
 " Doth he now hear, from lips whose youthful lisp 
 
 " May not wdth plainness speak, of the dread mark 
 
 " Of Cain, who did his brother slay but with 
 
 " An angry blow. And thus is peace restored. 
 
 " Also the Patriarch oft to his sons 
 
 " Recounts, how God did brand displeasure on 
 
 " His brow, and cast him forth a vagabond 
 
 "Upon the face of the fair earth, which brings 
 
 " To others all a plenteous supply. 
 
 " Meanwhile, th}' servants have observed that true 
 
 " And faithful diligence, belonging to 
 
 " The trust reposed in us, yet have prevailed 
 
 " In naught." Then Guilt arose and thus replied: 
 
 " Existence measures not the sum of years. 
 
GUILT 
 
 " Nor marks the oft returning- seasons as 
 
 " They move perpetual, in ever ceaseless round, 
 
 " But joys and griefs — these weigh man to the tomb, 
 
 " And make of life a lengthened dream, and paint 
 
 " The visions which survive the wreck of time, 
 
 " And chronicle the hours eternity 
 
 " Unfolds to' those who fill its vast profound, 
 
 " Of ages limitless with deeds of good 
 
 " Or ill. Thus childhood walks in flow'ry paths, 
 
 " And lives in the sensations of new life, 
 
 " More years than all the numbers which crowd through 
 
 " His after days. And so might manhood pass 
 
 " With vivid hopes, and warm enjoyments still, 
 
 " And days would seem as long, and life as sweet, 
 
 "And memory as perfect, as when first 
 
 " He learned the Avorld; had not the frost of Death 
 
 " With bhghting mildew stole life's vigor and 
 
 " Its freshness, ere its morning brightness yields 
 
 " To fervid hours of noon. Since life derives 
 
 " Its source the same, and sj)irits bloom in youth 
 
 " Immortal, thence as joyous youth, in clear 
 
 " And sparkHng brilliance, paints with sunbeams that 
 
 " Each scene acquires the substance of a ray, 
 
 " Each hope in soft dissolving colors blends 
 
 " The iris tints, as bright as those that weave 
 
 " The zone of heaven embracing earth. Such is 
 
 " The state of innocence, that thrilling joys 
 
 " Forever welling in the breast difiiise a calm 
 
 " And sweet delight. And innocence is but 
 
 " The law of love — the office of kind deeds 
 
 " Expressed in living acts. Alike this law 
 
 " Expansive runs from lowest sense to God. 
 
 " Behold the man whose life concordant is 
 
 " To ways of peace — beset by many foes 
 
GUILT. 
 
 " Oil every side — lie like the arrow straight, 
 
 " Direct through veering currents swiftly Hies. 
 
 "With those who seek for pleasure he hath naught; 
 
 " Yet more of happiness to him doth fall, 
 
 "Than doth to others who intent pursue, 
 
 " Through lands remote and smiling verdant isles. 
 
 " Not to sequestered vales, or distant hills 
 
 " Your way doth lie, where shepherds tend theii' tlo(;ks; 
 
 " For these are virtue's ancient fair domains." 
 
 Then Gruile complaisant thus replied: " 'Tis not, 
 
 "Dear Chief, my object now to disapprove 
 
 " Thy well delivered counsel, yet would I, 
 
 " With thy permission granted, speak of what 
 
 " Pertains unto our commoiuvealth, wherein . 
 
 "Is man for our convenience formed, and to 
 
 "Be tried 'so as by lire.' Consider now 
 
 " The means at our command. Earth hath a store 
 
 " Of minerals and gems, of untold wealth. 
 
 " From pastoral pursuits let us now turn 
 
 " The mind of man. Let Avarice, Deceit, 
 
 " Ambition, all be well employed. And let 
 
 " Thy vesture too be changed. For gayest hues 
 
 "Lay sackcloth by, and in this work be thou 
 
 " The Chief, as both by power and wisdom tit." 
 
 Then Guilt made signal with his hand to all — 
 
 They straight retiring left him, now alone. 
 
 And thus in meditation he indulged: 
 
 " Sweet sleej), with calm forgetfulness, farewell ! 
 
 " I shall rcAdsit thee perchance no more. 
 
 "And thou deep shade, which art the mantle of 
 
 " Eternity, I bid thee, too, farewell. 
 
 " Hence shall my footsteps wander, as I frame 
 
 " Resolve, what means may best result in the 
 
 "Complete and total overthrow of good; 
 
GUILT. 
 
 " And in its place establish ill. But first, 
 
 " The way of vice shall be o'erstrewn with flowers, 
 
 " And groves on either side resound with soft, 
 
 "Enchanting melody. And here shaU walk 
 
 " My servants, whom I will make princes, lords, 
 
 " And rtders of the realm. This way shall seem 
 
 " Most fit to walk therein, and much to be 
 
 "Preferred to virtue's rugged path; but lo, 
 
 " It leadeth surely to the gates of death ! " 
 
 Thus musing forth with slow and measured step 
 
 He went unto a mountain, whence the Earth 
 
 Outspreading far before him lay— a map 
 
 With forests and with grassy meads portrayed. 
 
 Death, on the summit of a summer's cloud, 
 
 Above some vast devoted city, where 
 
 The plague her yellow harvest ripe cuts down, 
 
 Eeposes on a molten throne of gold, 
 
 With softest ermine overspread; so Guilt 
 
 Serene, sat on the mountain's height. He sees 
 
 The ways, the walk, the manners, customs, laws, 
 
 The politics and faith of man — observes 
 
 The arts, which captivate and lead astray. 
 
 Then he arose and went unto the shore 
 
 That bounds the ocean's flow and thus he spake 
 
 Unto the watery flood: " Send forth your mists, 
 
 " Those exhalations now that rise, and let 
 
 "Them come and stand in solid marble walls; 
 
 " In beauty let them stand as temples and 
 
 " As palaces, towers, battlements." And lo ! 
 
 The flood obeyed. The mists stood up opaque; 
 
 In solid grandeur stood magnificent; 
 
 And busy throngs with hurried steps, passed to 
 
 And fro in streets that showed a city paved. 
 
 He spake again. " Here come with swiftest wing 
 
10 
 
 " B )i"ne on the billows' waste ye ships. Here bring 
 
 " From every clime the precious ore, rich wrought 
 
 "The fabric fine, and food delectable." 
 
 The ships drew near, and thick as forest pines 
 
 They stood; and here exchange with nations all 
 
 The treasures vast, of gold and silver, pearls 
 
 And precious stones, of myrrh and balm, of corn 
 
 And wine. With even tread, the caravan 
 
 Winds stately o'er the desert plain and bears 
 
 Inland afar, the rich productions of 
 
 The sea, perfume and spice of fragrant isle i, 
 
 The luscious drops from aromatic boughs, 
 
 The texture fine and skiUful wove the woofs, 
 
 Embellishments equal and accurate. 
 
 By nice adjusted looms produced; or else 
 
 Luxuriant in needlework sublime; 
 
 And ornaments that blaze or glow, dazzle 
 
 Or scintillate, of every hue. All these 
 
 Their tribute pay. All these combine to raise 
 
 In wealth, and grandeur vast above compeer3 
 
 This city, where in majesty the throne 
 
 Of kingdoms stood, whose scepter awed in fear 
 
 The ti'ibes afar — whose laws and faith ran with 
 
 The circling sun. Not only were her wealth 
 
 And power, vast, beyond what we can now 
 
 Compare, but she was blessed with fairest skies. 
 
 That ne'er dropped down the snows, intense with cold 
 
 Or hard congealed the frozen hail, but that 
 
 Oft slaked the thirsty earth with genial rain. 
 
 There might be seen the palm, and cedars tall. 
 
 Whose highest boughs seemed in the .sky, and trees 
 
 That goodly were for shade, and trellised vines 
 
 O'erarching walks, with flowers strewed profuse. 
 
 That contemplati<m would aj^prove a smile. 
 
GUILT. 
 
 From these look up the dizzying heights, where gleam 
 
 In solid luster white, abodes of kings. 
 
 With such exact proportions wrought, that each 
 
 Of many parts composed but seems one vast 
 
 Perfected whole. Or look beyond where is 
 
 The scene with temples graced majestic, and 
 
 With yellow rays of brightly burnished gold 
 
 Reflected thence. Or yet around, what walls 
 
 Defend, what gates protect, what guards shut out. 
 
 What towers and battlements environ thee 
 
 On every side ? Or where the crystalline 
 
 Doth meet the earth, behold those mountains stand 
 
 Encircling this — a place as if 'twere barred 
 
 By heaven, save the narrow straight that joins 
 
 In one the ocean wide with this, that seems 
 
 An iuh.nd sea, or where defile winds through 
 
 To distant plains beyond, where harvests large 
 
 The sweaty reapers' toils repay, and sounds 
 
 Of tinkling bell steal o'er the ear. Thus is 
 
 Secure fi'om outward foe, one gate by sea, 
 
 One gate by land except. Thus Gruilt, 
 
 A site to be the world's metropohs 
 
 Fixed on and there presided o'er; but not 
 
 As sovereign, though oft he trode in courts. 
 
 And oft the streets, and entered oft the domes, 
 
 Came to the chamber where lay sleepless forms. 
 
 Sometimes by multitudes was seen and heard. 
 
 But oftener, with stealthy tread unseen 
 
 He glided through the crowds of passers by. 
 
 Say where in climes remote or near at hand 
 
 Stood this, the populous and powerful ? 
 
 What era chronicled in time was laid 
 
 Her corner stones ? What name inscribed was hers ? 
 
 Her date is fixed before the age of Troy. 
 
 11 
 
12 GUILT. 
 
 Her name, her founder's name, alike was Guilt. 
 
 Within her courts was gayety and sound 
 
 Of -vdols soft, where join the circle gay 
 
 In dance, while lamps their softest lustre shed 
 
 O'er lovely forms bedecked with gems, that glow 
 
 In Avoven wreaths like stars that garnish o'er 
 
 The sky. On every side what matchless splendor glows. 
 
 Behold yon statues how divinely wrought, 
 
 What skill displays the cast that genius lends 
 
 The gi-aceful form, and stamps the hero's brow; 
 
 And paintings rare and beautiful, of kings 
 
 And conquerors in coats of mail, or dressed 
 
 In coronation robes, of landscapes gay, 
 
 With smiling cottages, and lovely lakes. 
 
 And mountains clad in richest vernal hues; 
 
 The train the monarch led m pageantry, 
 
 Displaying spoils of war from distant lands. 
 
 In tapestry are seen the champions 
 
 That fight in single combat and decide 
 
 The fate of arms, and gloomy fortresses. 
 
 Took by surprise, by storm or stratagem, 
 
 Their massive walls throAvn down or undermined; 
 
 The city's piUage 'midst devouring flames. 
 
 Historic, deeds commemorative of, 
 
 That settled all the realms in empire one, 
 
 By ancestors performed of those who now 
 
 Have met, in revelry to spend the night. 
 
 There sat in quiet thought, retired from gaze 
 
 Direct an uninvited guest. And thus 
 
 His musings ran: " Behold that haughty form, 
 
 " With glittering star, ensign of royalty. 
 
 " Is happiness within — whose acts show that 
 
 " He dreads each morsel that he eats, each cup 
 
 " That bears his drink, each sword that guards his sleep, 
 
GUILT. 13 
 
 " The kneeling suppliant imploring grace, 
 
 "Whose eye severely scans each day precipe; 
 
 " The mien and countenance of those he chose, 
 
 " His favored friends. Nor dares in solitude 
 
 " To pass a single day, whose nights afford 
 
 " No quiet peaceful rest, refreshing sleep, 
 
 " Who lives in dread of death before his time. 
 
 " How many toil, deprived of all that man 
 
 " May claim as a reward, their naked limbs 
 
 " Exposed to scorching heat, their bodies, bent 
 
 " By grievous weights imposed, or in the mine 
 
 " 'Mid damp and noisome vapors rank; urged on 
 
 " Unto their utmost strength that one may hve 
 
 "In splendid guise." Then Guilt stepped forth among 
 
 The guests; his mood was pensive, yet a smile 
 
 Oft played upon his face. Nor wanting was 
 
 The aiiy jest, the quick reply, when was 
 
 Occasion first. In dance he graceful moved, 
 
 And lightly quaffed the red and sparkling wine. 
 
 But now the tables groan with food piled high. 
 
 To suit the nice fastidious taste, were sweets 
 
 And tarts and savory bits, which epicures 
 
 Employ to urge the absent appetite. 
 
 In festive glee and blithesome song they spend 
 
 The hour of gay repast. When done, the Lyre 
 
 Was brought, and still in hst'ning attitude 
 
 Was each inclined, to catch the faintest sound; 
 
 Then stepped the Lyrist forth, a youth he seemed, 
 
 With eyes of blue, and golden hair that waved 
 
 As hght as passing breeze. Then he commenced. 
 
 And to his Lyi-e, which all the while responds 
 
 "In sweetest melodj- began: "My Lyre 
 
 " Of aught inanimate e'er Hves, then thou 
 
 " Dost feel along the chords the thrill of life 
 
14 GUILT. 
 
 " That wakes an ecstacy and trembling joy, 
 
 "Beguiling man his tears. I've loved thy sweet 
 
 " Converse, soft as the ze|)hyr's wing and soothing all 
 
 " The stormy passions that disturb the breast, 
 
 " Thou hast of deeds heroic often sang, 
 
 "And which pertains unto the glory of 
 
 " Our state. The p?ean song triumphal 
 
 " Hast often led, and all that Avorthy was, 
 
 " Thy lays did celebrate. But now, alas ! 
 
 " I know, a sj^ell is on thy strings, for I 
 
 " Can nijthing sing but love. Ye walls attend, 
 
 " And vibrate soft, ye statues breathe fresh life, 
 
 " With glances warm, relax your stony gaze, 
 
 " And chiefly you ye fairest forms of Earth 
 
 " Attentive list while I relate of love. 
 
 "Young love had broke the gates of heaven, and thence 
 
 " Escaped; o'er all the Earth he roamed at will, 
 
 " At length unto the bower of beauty came, 
 
 " A sultry summer afternoon. Asleej) 
 
 " Before him beauty lay. The wanton wind 
 
 " Had cast her gauzy covering aside, 
 
 "And then had died. Love gazed upon the round 
 
 " And smoothly polished limb — the perfect full 
 
 "And gently heaving breast, each feature scanned, 
 
 ' ' Saw nought but loveliness, and yet she was 
 
 " As yonder statue, calm, and white and pure. 
 
 "Love said: 'I am a god. Tore-create, 
 
 "A subject here before me lies'. He plucked 
 
 " The lily and the rose, their softest hues 
 
 " He laid upon her cheek, then stooi^ing down 
 
 " He kissed her lips, and soon her face o'erspread 
 
 "With blushes, dimples, smiles. She trembhng woke; 
 
 "Love met her eyes; alas! for him, for in 
 
 " That fatal gaze he lost his sight. And thus 
 
G U I I, T . 15 
 
 " 'Tis said of Love: ' 'Twas beauty made him blind.' 
 
 " Jove sslw his plight, and in revenge gave him 
 
 "The bow, and arrows gave, and bade him shoot, 
 
 " With instinct's true unerring aim; 
 
 " No arrow flies amiss its chosen mark, 
 
 " Now beauty's self complains with sighs and tears, 
 
 " That in her heart the shaft of Love remains." 
 
 Then Gruilt ghdes through unseen, the outer gate, 
 
 And swift he wends his way until he came 
 
 Unto a jagged cliff, that overlooks 
 
 The sea, and thus he spake: "Hear me, ye winds, 
 
 "Whose sport is tempest-wrecks all idly strown. 
 
 " Go ye with softest step where revelers, 
 
 " With song and sparkling wine and dance, 
 
 " Do spend the somber hours of night — who gloat 
 
 " Their eyes on forms they deem surpassing fair, 
 
 " With headache and with languor fill, until 
 
 "I shall prepare a.t length more potent ills." 
 
 Then straight he went unto the gates of hell; 
 
 He needed not a convocation to 
 
 Assemble, that he might be heard, for hell 
 
 To utmost bound was ever sensitive 
 
 When e'er he spake. And thus her fiends addressed: 
 
 " All ye who have from Earth descended here 
 
 "Before your time; have fell from hand of the 
 
 " Assassin, unprepared to stand before 
 
 "The bar of G-od, a respite hence I grant, 
 
 " That ye may execute upon th« sons 
 
 " Of men my purpose and your dehght. 
 
 " Go ye and tread the Earth — on this, my sole 
 
 " Condition, go — ye shall with lying words 
 
 " Deceive the multitude that seek for signs, 
 
 " And trust not in the providence of God. 
 
 "If called by magii then ye shall appear 
 
16 GUILT. 
 
 " And feig^n yourselves the sons of heaven. Disguised 
 
 " These sons ye shall by imitation seem, 
 
 " Unmasked, ye shall afflict the bad — shall haunt 
 
 " The scenes in which ye feU. Not yours the task 
 
 " To prompt to actions bad. This leave to those 
 
 " That fell from spheres of light." Then like a host 
 
 Of flying locusts, filling all the air 
 
 With darkest clouds in night — so then advanced 
 
 Those murdered ghosts, and ere the sun had shed 
 
 His beams, had settled all the realms of Earth, 
 
 While (xuilt in haste, fast gathered up the dust 
 
 That strewed the way of fi'equent concourse there, 
 
 And cast it on the winds of Earth to sjDread 
 
 Contagion in horrid forms. Meanwhile 
 
 The Lyrist's song went on, with compliments 
 
 To those who heard attentive, while he sung 
 
 In rapturous strains of love. And many wept. 
 
 Yet smihng through theii' tears, so strong the sway 
 
 Of love in passion's ecstacy. But not 
 
 The infinite iinbounded love of Grod 
 
 He sung, nor plans advised that should bind up 
 
 A single wound, alleviate distress. 
 
 Or would a benefit bestow cm those 
 
 Who heard. And had not Guilt his purpose fixed. 
 
 He had not seized occasion trivial such 
 
 As this to vent his sjDite, but rather had 
 
 Been pleased to find from seeming pure at first. 
 
 It quite lascivious became. When done 
 
 The dance went on, and wine in circles fleet 
 
 Again went swiftly round. Thus pass the hours 
 
 Until faint streaks of light steal o'er the sky 
 
 Portentous of the morn. At length the sun 
 
 Climbs o'er the verge that sepai-ates the day 
 
 From night, when stretched on softest couch lav those 
 
17 
 
 Who gayest seemed the night before. In drowse 
 
 They feel dull pain pervading all their frame, 
 
 Or as unconsciousness creeps on, night hags 
 
 Are ever ready there to bind their nerves 
 
 With bands of steel. But why delay ? The day 
 
 Was passed, which was as bright as other days ; 
 
 Yet ere its close was found in quiet grove, 
 
 Where he for meditation had retired, 
 
 With severed head the Lyrist's form. His Lyre 
 
 Lay broken by his side. By envy done 
 
 The deed. Nor yet the muse can pause to shed 
 
 A tear; such is the fate of genius in 
 
 The world. Now while in brightness shone the sun, 
 
 There walked as oft in innocence before. 
 
 The fairest form of earth; upon her cheek 
 
 Was passion's glowing flame, ignited from 
 
 Love's altar by the Lyrist's witching song. 
 
 Her way wound through a thick and tangled copse 
 
 And near a bright pelliTcid stream, where was 
 
 A pool — but deep and clear, and hid from sight. 
 
 But why relate sad virtue's piteous fall ? 
 
 The muse doth grieve that one so passing fair 
 
 Should be so frail — that from her cheek the rose 
 
 Should be so rudely snatched and thrown away. 
 
 Now shadows creep o'er all the vales and wrap 
 
 In darkness the wide plain and mountains round — 
 
 Deep gloom in thickest blackness comes, and it 
 
 Is night. There lay beside her, whom his love 
 
 Had pledged, one who by vows had led from paths 
 
 Of rectitude a being fair ; and yet 
 
 Whose easy virtue he had deemed fit theme 
 
 For merriment till she, desponding, sought 
 
 An early grave. But now he starts in fear 
 
 As he beholds her come. With solemn step 
 
18 GUILT. 
 
 And slow, she wends her way, and at his side 
 
 She stands and fixes gaze severe. Cold sweat 
 
 Now gathers on his forehead. Shaken with 
 
 A palsy's unresisting force he Ues; 
 
 He hears a shriek as if in anguish wrung, 
 
 And she is gone. Yet oft 'tis said returns 
 
 This spirit and bodes of future ills. Away 
 
 On billows borne was he who sought to flee 
 
 The stroke decreed for those whose hands imbrue 
 
 Another's blood. He looked, and soon descries 
 
 Approaching sail as borne by swiftest winds; 
 
 And lo ! there stands him whom he met and slew. 
 
 Nor pity showed, nor prayers allowed. He starts 
 
 In fear, yet tripped by hatches falls into 
 
 The sea; and as his dying wail is lost 
 
 The i^hantom ship dissolves from sight. There sat 
 
 Amid his hoarded dust, the miser wan 
 
 With care. Around him flocked those he had drove 
 
 Unalmsed away, though perishing with want. 
 
 And yet he knew his doors were barred against 
 
 Ino-ress. Whence then had entered these, to him. 
 
 Most hated visitors, that seemed to beg 
 
 In plaintive accents, told of pressing wants ? 
 
 These nightly came to mock his grudging soul, 
 
 By prayers, or fiercely take what he withheld. 
 
 In troops these ghosts wallced round the Earth, nor stopped 
 
 Wherever angel guard did watch the sleep 
 
 Of innocence. Amazement fills the hearts 
 
 Of kings and people all at sights like these. 
 
 Then hasten to their temples, bring the kine, 
 
 And sacrifice to sun, and moon, and stars. 
 
 To figui-es wrought of wood, and stone, and brass; 
 
 Of silver and of gold, in forms of man. 
 
 Beasts, fishes, insects, reptiles, birds. And call 
 
With loudest voice upon their gods for help, 
 
 That shades of men no more may walk the Earth. 
 
 Yet vengeance crying from the gi'ound, appeals 
 
 To God and wakes His wi-ath, for Earth is Med 
 
 With violence. The saints and prophets of 
 
 The Most High walked amid her cliffs, and caves, 
 
 And dens, in sheepskins and in goatskins clad. 
 
 Were persecuted, afflicted, tormented; 
 
 Were sawn in sunder, thrown to beasts, stoned, slain; 
 
 Of whom the world was not worthy. And God 
 
 Doth see. Parched was the ground— no rain the heavens 
 
 j^ord— hot as a furnace glowed the sun, 
 
 And there was deai-th and famine in the land; 
 
 Men's hearts did fail for fear. The Earth her mouth 
 
 Opened wide and swallowed cities up. 
 
 In i-uins broken down the waUs, and laid 
 
 In dust were palaces. Or deeply sunk 
 
 Beneath the wave were seen theii- gilded spires. 
 
 The winds no longer pure, spread death and pain 
 
 In many horrid forms. The leper gi'oped 
 
 Beside the stagnant pool, and bathed his brow, 
 
 Burned with the tire that sears within, and wet 
 
 His parched lips, and cried to aU that passed: 
 
 Unclean ! unclean ! The dread su'occo's blast 
 
 In hazy glare laid low the caravan, 
 
 And sweeping far, entered the camp and strewed, 
 
 Ere battle came, the dead. Smote by severe 
 
 And sudden pain, the strong man gasps in death. 
 
 On eveiy hand are seen the coi-pses of 
 
 Those who but now had walked as if they feared 
 
 Not boding ills. And m the streets, they lay 
 
 In heaps. Nor cared the ox for toil. The horse 
 
 At large, selects his food as suits him best. 
 
 Nor yet observes his master, while doth rage 
 
20 GUILT. 
 
 The pestilence. Man flies his foe and seeks 
 
 Escape. Inveterate the plague pursues 
 
 Him still. No place is sacred — none where he 
 
 Can find retreat secure. And now the ships 
 
 Rode free ujDon the surge, and careless of 
 
 The guiding helm. At length was stayed the stroke, 
 
 That desolation should no more invade 
 
 The land. The city Guilt for ills reserved, 
 
 Was at its highest pitch of power and pride; 
 
 Excessive were her luxuries, vain her 
 
 Displays. These di-aw afar the idle crowds. 
 
 Whose envious eyes behold ^^rofuse the stores 
 
 Of untold wealth. The nation's eager thirst 
 
 For spoil is roused, and then confederate 
 
 They form, and like a pack of hungry wolves 
 
 Descend for plunder. Yet the pass with troops 
 
 Was guarded well by land, by forts, the pass 
 
 At sea. But when the foe arrives, with ease 
 
 Do bribes compass what might could never do. 
 
 Thus soon the gates give way, and then in flames 
 
 Were wrapped her domes, in gore was laid her sons. 
 
 With spoils enriched, his homeward way the foe 
 
 Pursues. Before him songs proclaim his deeds, 
 
 Behind the vulture reaps the last rewards 
 
 Of victory. An age went by, and Guilt 
 
 Again walked through the streets that once belonged 
 
 To her; he called his name upon. And lo ! 
 
 In ruins mouldered pleasant palaces. 
 
 And where was once the scene of gayety, 
 
 Wasnow-the den of unclean beasts, the caee 
 
 Of unclean birds. Heaps stood in place of walls 
 
 And fortresses. The ruin wide brought back 
 
 Reflections of her ancient state, for here 
 
 Were broken columns, ruined arches — these 
 
21 
 
 Immense in magnitude, were wrought in forms 
 
 Of beauty, symmetry and grace. 
 
 Guilt smiled as lie surveyed the wreck, nor stayed 
 
 More time that would suffice to overlook 
 
 This vast and dreary solitude of art; 
 
 Then straight he went his way to other lands. 
 
LL PE,mERO. 
 
 From murky towns afar I rove, 
 
 'Mid forest shades, where woodnymjohs oft 
 Steal forth, with footstej^s fleet and soft, 
 
 And beauteous forms of fondest love. 
 
 Where j^ale wild flowers do sweetly bloom, 
 And mosses, every hue, are spread; 
 Where bowers protect my aching head. 
 
 And temper the hot breath of noon. 
 
 Who shall from this, " The nuTses' seat," 
 Tempt me to stray through dusty fields; 
 Though wealth, the daily travel yields, 
 
 And leave this blest obscure retreat. 
 
 Alas ! I must full soon ex('hange, 
 
 For bliss, for love, and " Sacred sonj^ 
 A war for con(iuest with the strong. 
 
 Among a people rude and strange. 
 
 Through dusty streets my feet must go, 
 Through dull and dreary towns afar. 
 Though wearied all my senses are. 
 
 And thoiTgh my heart be full of woe. 
 
FAIBY-LAJ^D. 
 
 In the dells my feet have wandered, 
 Seeking for the pretty fairies, 
 Over hiUs of greenest verdure, 
 Over meadows soft as velvet: 
 Gayest landscapes lay before me, 
 Brightest flowers, and glades the deepest, 
 Light, the mildest, there was streaming; 
 Brooklets ran with music sweetest, 
 And a song I could not hinder, 
 Woke the echoes from their slumber. 
 
 O, Fairies bright, with eyes of light, 
 
 And wings of gossamer; 
 Now tell me true if I may view, 
 
 The place your dweUings are. 
 
 That pretty place your bhthesome race 
 
 Have chosen for their clan ; 
 Must be as nice as Paradise, 
 
 Delightful Fairy-land. 
 
 Soon a voice beside me singing. 
 Made reply in dulcet music; 
 Like the sound of beUs of silver, 
 Sti-uck with hghtest tiny hammers. 
 
 In childhood's way, the fairies stray. 
 
 The livelong happy hours; 
 Where lovers walk, where lovers talk, 
 
 Or rest in sweetest bowers. 
 
24 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Should waking eyes their forms surprise, 
 Now standing still or sitting; 
 
 Then soon you'll see that they will be, 
 Flying swift, or flitting. 
 
 In dreams alone, behold their throne. 
 Among the mighty mountains; 
 
 There is theii- queen, the fairest seen. 
 Beside the sj^arkling fountains. 
 
MARGARET. 
 
 r ^|||WIS autumn's saddest days. The wintry frost 
 
 t^^^ Hath blasted leaves and flowers, and mournfully 
 The win .1 sighs o'er the wreck of beauty lost. 
 Now oft the rain, with somber clouds we see, 
 As even nature, not from pain was free, 
 But wept pure crystal tears, her ha2:)less doom; 
 And life resigns the plant and aged tree ; 
 Earth shall, with vestments clean and white, full soon 
 Commit hercelf, with all her frailties, to the tomb. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet there shall stand amid this dreary waste. 
 The hardy shrub, all freshly green and fair; 
 Defying snow and ice, and in the face 
 Of death inhale the freezing wintry air. 
 This shall no useless weeds of mourning wear, 
 But richly dressed in nature's livery; 
 Think not its icy heart no grief may share : 
 Its drooping boughs shall hang all tearfully 
 Above the earth, where even they will buried be. 
 
26 MARGARET 
 
 ^ 
 
 III. 
 
 This is, in truth, a melancholy tale; 
 Let those unused to weep at fancied woe, 
 Pause here; for even now, bright cheeks are pale, 
 And eyes all wet with tears are drooping low, 
 That fate should ruthless mark her courses so. 
 There's mourning in the stately gothic hall; 
 The door soft closes, and the foot falls slow. 
 And by the cottage gate there winds a pall; 
 The country suffers from a common hapless fall. 
 
 IV. 
 'Twas said that Henry Osgood, Alfred's sire, 
 Was of a family in standing good : 
 In England, he had been at least a squire. 
 But early traveling amid these woods. 
 He came to where an humble cottage stood, 
 "Where dwelt a Frenchman, who had fled before 
 The Revolution ; which, with scathing lire 
 Hath swept the land. He landed on our shore 
 With his two daughters and his wife, and nothing more. 
 
 V. 
 He left in France his goods and his estate. 
 And left a noble's ancient, worthy name; 
 But goods and titles all were coniiscate. 
 And none are left to prove his ancient claim. 
 He called himself DeLambert, when he came. 
 And seemed to bear complacently his lot. 
 He wrought to soothe, not change his hapless fate; 
 The neighbors helped to rear his humble cot. 
 Where love alone was left to consecrate the spot. 
 
MAKGARET. 27 
 
 VI. 
 
 It was a thing both strange to hear and see, 
 The meeting of these men of foreign birth, 
 Whose feud hath been the nations' rivalry; 
 That hath robbed both of much their dearest worth. 
 And left full many a corpse upon the earth. 
 The Frenchman, at his ease, led the discourse. 
 Was elder far a nobleman — and he 
 Knew well the power of tyranny — the source 
 Of frightful discord, and of man the fatal curse. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Too near the throne, he felt not unconcerned. 
 That when it fell its props should be cut down. 
 And skilled to mark the public mind, he turned 
 To see if aught of safety for the town 
 Remained. To his experienced eye, around 
 The horizon were nought but tempest clouds. 
 With fire surcharged, that fanned, would blaze and burn 
 Amid the havoc of a glutted crowd. 
 While ■'■reatness should betake itself unto the shroud. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Twas thus he said he left his native shore. 
 Exchanged a life of pomp and peril for 
 The wilderness; exhausted all his store 
 Of means, until he learned to levy war 
 Upon the forest tribes, rich bearing fir. 
 His daughters, too, acquired the art to spin ; 
 And when the long day's toils at length were o'er. 
 He took more comfort then his cottage in. 
 Than e'er in youth he had in Paris reveling. 
 
28 MAKGARET. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And Henry now forgot his prejudice, 
 And to the fair Annette full soon was wed. 
 She was the younger; had the softer eyes, 
 And gentler voice ; was called the sweetest rose 
 Of all the gay j)rofiision which composed 
 The court of France. The other was, 'tis true, 
 Less fail". But then, a close resemblance 
 Existed between these sweet sisters two, 
 With hair luxuriant of darkest raven hue. 
 
 X. 
 
 Long years are past since Henry saw his prime; 
 And of a numerous family. 
 But one survived, Alfred, and he a fine 
 Athletic youth as you would wish to see. 
 His father thought him quite a prodigy: 
 He had his mother's hair and eyes of jet, 
 A form true to the sculptor's rule and line, 
 A temper where the graces all have met: 
 What more is needless jDraise and vain additions set. 
 
 XI. 
 
 DeLambert and his wife are gone to rest, 
 AVithin the churchyard's quiet, peaceful shade; 
 No more with cares of State or friends distressed. 
 The birch tree shades the spot where late the spade 
 Hath formed for them their last sweet heritage, 
 And early strews its leaves upon their bed, 
 A covering that doth lightly press 
 Upon the spot where lie the noble dead, 
 That once were little less in power than crowned heads. 
 
MARGARET 
 
 29 
 
 XII. 
 
 A marble slab proclaims their virtues, yet 
 Not all. Nor all their nobleness of heart, 
 Nor these in pompous phrase were duly set, 
 But simply told the stranger that a part 
 Of nature's honest, rarest workmanship, 
 Was here reposed. Near by were lesser mounds; 
 The largest of these was Alice's, whom regret 
 "VVe all. An angel she, which doth account 
 Why she should seek so soon her native mount. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 There is to some a grace divinely lent, 
 Like flowers that early brighten to decay, 
 Too pure for love's warm breath, or love's intent. 
 But which doth draw admiring eyes away 
 From grosser forms and more enduring clay. 
 Now Alice lived until her sixteenth year; 
 Her steps did lead wherever Alfred's went, 
 She shared his daily toil, his hopes and fears. 
 His childhood's way^^ardness in sunshine and in tears. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 She was his elder by three years, and when 
 She faded, like to some midsummer's dream, 
 Leaving the senses half bewildered then, 
 If she a real presence e'er had been. 
 Or some reflection from a world unseen; 
 Then Alfred sought companionship with those 
 Among the neighborhood, whom he might deem. 
 Where none were rich he Little had to choose. 
 And all were ignorant alike of virtue's foes. 
 
30 MARGARET 
 
 XV. 
 
 Yet these were not the world's dull peasantry, 
 But people from whose loins statesmen have sprung. 
 And warriors of renowned abiHty, 
 And orators, upon whose words have hung 
 Admiring senates — those have poets sung. 
 Their care with schools their offspring to provide, 
 And leave them wise, as well as gi'eat and free ; 
 With skillful hands their fortunes to decide, 
 'Mid life's boisterous waves and evQr veering tides. 
 
 XVI. 
 There was, from Henry Osgood's residence. 
 Distant a mile, within a pleasant vale, 
 A cottage, of no very great pretense; 
 Who entered there found welcome, never fail. 
 Its occupant was William Doane, a hale 
 And thrifty man, who Hved with all in peace. 
 And lent his surplus to his needy friends, 
 And took in jaayment note, or bond, or lease, 
 Or mortgage, which he deemed were good securities. 
 
 XVII. 
 His native home was by the Kennebec ; 
 And from the land of steady habits he 
 Had emigrated with his wife, to seek 
 A kinder soil, where honest industry 
 Returned the husbandman a larger fee. 
 A daughter shared their smiles and household cares; 
 Of quiet, gentle manners, Margaret 
 Was to the whole community endeared; 
 And rarest beauty was to her the gift of years. 
 
MARGAKET 
 
 31 
 
 xvni. 
 
 Hers was the very soul of loveliness, 
 Expressed in firm, yet calm and living clay. 
 A Venus, nor with care or love distressed, 
 No flashing warmth o'erspread her cheat, to stay 
 A moment there and then to fade away. 
 Like sunset glories joined to silver sheen, 
 Of grandeur's airy domes entire possessed. 
 She walked 'mid nature's handiwork, and seemed 
 In humble homes, or palaces, a regal queen. 
 
 XIX. 
 Dear Susquehanna's vales, my native chme ! 
 Where else should beauty find her dwelling place ? 
 Where else should poesy beguile the mind 
 With dreamy visions, while doth run apace, 
 The sands of life, as yet, to nought but waste ? 
 Ye are the work of the enchanter's wand. 
 Whose mystic power hath never painted space. 
 More picturesque, with primal forests crowned. 
 Or with the harvest sheaf of golden ingots bound. 
 
 XX. 
 
 He who hath lost upon the toilsome road, 
 Must back return and search about, 
 Lest he to market come without his load ; 
 So I must now retrace my steps; no doubt 
 My story's heavy freight hath faUen out. 
 Three pupils sat with books, and map, and slate. 
 In Henry Osgood's elegant abode. 
 And there Mademoiselle Marie sedate, 
 Annette's sweet sister, toiled for them early and late. 
 
32 MARGARET, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 These three were Alice, Alfred, Margaret; 
 The last a child with pretty, winning ways, 
 And harmless innocence, a chosen pet. 
 And when the gentle Alice left — her days 
 Were then divided; half at home she stays, 
 The other half was with these dearest fiiends : 
 And Alfred early came, the sim as yet 
 O'er the horizon, scarcely seen to bend — 
 With her he goes, with her returns when day doth end. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 With him, it was a boyish pride to walk 
 Beside her then, beguiling her of fear. 
 And entertaining her with cheerful talk. 
 He was her elder more than three full years; 
 She was to him a sister, far more near 
 Than sisters mostly are, or seem to be. 
 'Twas thus it happened: she was taught 
 French, Latin, painting and embroidery, 
 With nmsic, mathematics, ethics, history. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 It was the avitumn, and some years have passed 
 Since Alice's death ; the nuts are on the ground, 
 And withered leaves are strewn by wintry blasts : 
 As thickly they are lying now around. 
 The foot doth jjress them with a inistling sound. 
 The husbandman, now cheerful, counts his store. 
 And reckons how much better than the last, 
 This autumn's gain; how much to add, before 
 He will enlarge his farm one hundred acres more. 
 
MARGARET. 38 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The apples dropping from the parent tree, 
 Require the aid of willing, youthful hands; 
 From far they gather for the rustic bee, 
 In groups arrive, those hale and gleeful bands, 
 From hillside farms and river bottom lands. 
 Thus Alfred joined his comrades on one eve; 
 The next, and he was half way to the sea; 
 His sad farewell his fi'iends at home receive. 
 As from his father, mother, aunt, he takes his leave. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He stopped at William Doane's, to say farewell 
 To Margaret, and bade her think of him 
 Until he should return. He could not tell 
 How long his stay would be — at least some years; 
 Thus bade the youth the child adieu. Benign 
 His smile, expressing aU a brother's heart; 
 A tear stood in his eye, and then it fell ; 
 Yet manfuUy he tore himself apart, 
 To tread the hallowed shrine of learning and of art. 
 
 XXVI. 
 There is a sickness, like some mystic spell. 
 Comes o'er us when we leave the parent roof, 
 No more for us beneath its shade to dwell — 
 No more the tender word, the kind reproof, 
 For faults that could not keep the heart aloof — 
 A sad reflection that the world less kind, 
 Shall meet us, and that death's drear, hollow kneU 
 Shall hide from sight some loved and valued friend, 
 Whose memory within our hearts is sacredly enshrined. 
 
34 MAKGARET, 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Five years were j)assed ere his return; each brought 
 Its change, and when they all at length were spent, 
 He, with degrees from Alma Mater, sought 
 Again his native land, now scourged and rent 
 By the grim hand of war which God hath sent, 
 To make us just unto the toihng poor, 
 Wliom He regards with constant, tender thought; 
 For His elect hold not high seats of power, 
 But dwell content within the quiet cottage door. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 E'en as he crossed the threshold of his home. 
 He felt a loneliness within, for they. 
 The comrades of his youth away were gone, 
 Their names enrolled upon their country's page 
 Of honor, or asleep within her graves. 
 A wail came from the prisons, where grim want 
 Of food its thousands slew, with slow but none 
 Less sure and mocking torture, while their gaunt 
 And bloodless frames did wander moodily and faint. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Yet Alfi'ed strove to cheerfully discourse 
 Of sights and scenes in Europe, and forget 
 His country's needs; and yet each sad reverse 
 Brought new sorrow unto his honest heart. 
 At length he asked that he might now depart. 
 To join the soldier's long and weary march; 
 To share his tent, his toils, his viands coarse, 
 To bear his luggage over woodland marsh. 
 And thus with patience build their triumphal arch. 
 
MARGARET. 35 
 
 XXX. 
 
 His father gave consent, reluctantly; 
 And he enhstecl and was soon away, 
 Yet ere he went he called once more to see 
 His friend, sweet Margaret. She had that day 
 Returned from where the Kennebec doth stray, 
 'Mid forest mountains and deUghtful vales. 
 One sound alone in all there seemed to be, 
 The sound of clashing arms, of warriors' mail, 
 Or of the widows' and the lonely orphans' wail. 
 
 XXXT. 
 
 "Had I but seen her," he pondered oft, 
 As forth he went, " I had not joined the ranks; 
 But now to well deserve of her, aloft 
 I'll climb ambition's airy way. Her thanks 
 Shall be my chief reward." He reached the banks 
 Of the Potomac's fearful, bloody stream. 
 And soon, by deeds of daring, gained the first 
 Promotion; and as death and wounds did seam 
 And rend, he upward rose in rank and in esteem. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 At length there came the warm and gentle spring. 
 
 And vpith it, peace; with banners torn and gray. 
 
 And homeward marches brave men welcoming. 
 • Then for the nation in its holiday. 
 
 Arose a fearful dirge, as shrouded lay, 
 
 Its ever kind and honored magistrate. 
 
 The days sped on, and good and ill they bring. 
 
 To flowers succeed the chiUy winter's hate — 
 So man doth bow before the dark decrees of fate. 
 
36 MARGARET. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 Alfred now sat at home, a wounded man. 
 As weeks flew by not much of strength returned; 
 His breast, from which the Hfe-blood fi-eely ran. 
 On the last battle-field, now seemed to burn 
 With smouldering fire and lambent flame, 
 Which Hghted up his face, like to the glow 
 That evening glides the clouds surcharged with rain; 
 While darkness gathers thick and fast below, 
 The harbiuger of dreary night and bitter woe. 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 Yet oft he spoke in cheerful tones, of past 
 Dehghtlul scenes, and of the field of strife ; 
 Spoke of the mighty chief, whose skiU at last 
 Succeeded in preserving whole the nation's life. 
 Whose calm resolve was stronger than device 
 Of wily foes; or chiefs renowned of old, 
 Exemplar that the simple virtues hath. 
 Whose honor may be neither bought or sold 
 By bribes of power or heaps of glittering gold. 
 
 XKXIV. 
 
 The tranquil radiance one sunuuer's eve, 
 Stole through the leafy screen, suftiising all 
 The arbor with a halo such as weave 
 The fairies in our dreams, as night doth fall. 
 In viewless silken curtains from the wall 
 Of God's empyreal domains. There sat 
 Alfred and Margaret. Hand doth cleave 
 To hand, and while the day advances late, 
 A lover's tale is told and love bewails its fate. 
 
MARGARET. 37 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " I've loved thee, dearest, kindest Margaret, 
 With love too pure for earth; too strong for death. 
 For soon I must go forth to join the great 
 And ever marching ranks, devoid of breath : 
 Yet I will wait thee there where God hath said, 
 There is no pain, no sorrow's fearful blight. 
 To damp our joys; where love is only met 
 By love eternal, 'mid the spheres of light. 
 Where joy's unmixed with grief, to day succeeds no night. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 " My life's a sacrifice to liberty; 
 The world shall date good government begun 
 With this, the greatest act of history, 
 Wherein hath been achieved the rights of man. 
 The martyrs of this war shall lead the van. 
 'Tis sweet for one's country to die: yet sw3et 
 'Twould be to live, blest with thy comj)any. 
 No more ! No more ! I fear thou shouldst regret 
 My fate, and haste my shade beyond the tomb to meet." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 To these words Margaret did not rejjly. 
 But starting up and bidding him good night, 
 Returned unto her home; tears in her eyes 
 Stood trembling, yet restrained, so that they might 
 Not witness bear, to any other sight. 
 And Alfred sought his couch, from which, alas ! 
 He never went forth until the day 
 When he Death's open gates was called to pass. 
 So fades man's glory, like as to the tender grass. 
 
38 MARGARET. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The autumn came; and when the chilly wmd, 
 With storms of sleet and frost had turned the leaves 
 A russet hue, one eve we went to find 
 Alfred was dying. O'er him much did grieve 
 His parents and his aunt, sole relatives. 
 And he, their hope, cut off in early years 
 Of manhood's usefulness. The neighbors kind 
 Stood round with words of sympathy. Their fears 
 In whisper tones expressed, or silent dropped their tears. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Farewell ! Thou sleepst in dreamless slumber crowned 
 With laurel wreath — thy name enrolled within 
 Historic page — peaceful sleep ! The mound 
 That holds our soldier's dust shall ever be 
 To liberty a consecrated shrine. 
 The bard of future times, with sweetest lay, 
 Shall mark your battle-fields as holy gi'ound. 
 Your deeds redeem from memory's decay. 
 And shed the bright effulgence of eternal day. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Margaret ! No lips of thine 
 Have told the tale of early love's distress; 
 But o'er thy countenance, a glow divine. 
 Of resignation and of gentleness, 
 The fniit of keenest suffering, no less 
 Hath blended all thy charms, and added grace, 
 Until thy wondrous beauty peerless shines, 
 Saintlike and sad, that seems on earth misplaced: 
 That while thou hast the form of clay, an angel's face. 
 
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