^ v v> «y ,? % * v ' ««. & '>'•*» \° °u. > .**' -v\ -77," %"<** SS \0 .v- ^ ^ /* *V '^ ^ 1% v ,0 b " ^ V ^. -V s <0 J .# <% -/- ,£ a v ,0 c r0 . % - vV ': ^\* V, « «?>* % ^ - .^'% « I* 8 ' v '"^- ' > I 5 \L- 3 • \* e <^. ui J % 'exciife /' ' accufe^ — I know; but, when the accufation is fure to come, the excufe may as well get the ftart of it ; and turning rhymeiler as I do on the wrong fide of half a century, I venture to entreat you, who bear all burdens fo lightly, to circulate my apologia among thofe who may care to hear it. xii Preface, You, at lean 1 , remember that I cc took " the lyrical fever in the fpring of i860, "in the natural way," as unconfcioufly as Pierre and Elfie caught the meafles, and almoft as fatally as our people have taken the gold-fever. In mining parlance, the difcov- ery of this unfufpected "pocket" of verfe afforded me equal pleafure and furprife. It is true that the bonanza barely "held out" two years, and then cc fplit up into horfes." But all veins, alas ! too often cc peter out," and if mine be, perchance, proven a Maripofa, there are no other ftockholders to be caught by the collapfe. But I little dreamed, when your partiality was commending my early couplets, and your good tafle criticifing their defects, that I should not be quit of the malady until it should have thrown off as many lyrics as the appointed years of man ; frill lefs that, after keeping them three years, inftead of the Horatian nine, I mould have the temerity to publifh them. With my gratitude for your encouraging Preface, xiii readinefs to fhare the rifk and onus of giving flight to thefe fledglings, arifes the regret that I cannot guarantee you againft such difap- pointment as the "manager" in the Poftillon de Lonjumeau would have felt, had his way- fide tenor made a fiafco ; — one muft sing loud to be heard amid the roar of cannon. At leaft, however, I can promife to behave lefs fhabbily than Don Giovanni when he makes orT after his "serenade," and devolves the remain- der drubbing from his own to the fhoulders of Leporello. And this the more readily, that if a man is justly held to greater care in* diftilling the verfes he offers to the public, than in preparing any other eflence of the brain, the true ftandards of fuccefs in this art are fo high that none but a coxcomb need be greatly caft down by falling fhort of them. I am forry to own my inability to work out more extenfively your fuggeftion about the naturalization of the Horatian measures. Some faint imitation of them I have, indeed, attempted in cc The Tree and the Shadow," cc The Chocolatitre" and " Zampita." But, xiv Preface. fince 1800 years have failed to produce a fec- ond Horace — and as many more may elapfe before the appearance of another Beranger — I may furely be pardoned for believing that it was eafier for the Sabine bard, " Princeps Solium Carmen ad Italos Deduxiffe modos," than for any one to adapt them to " Our harfh Northern, whittling, grunting guttural, Which we "re obliged to hifs and fpit and fputter all." Under favor of the great mafters juft cited, I have, here and there, infcribed a lyric to fome one of thofe whofe friendly lamps have lighted me through the dark, when, like the foolifh virgins, I had fuffered my oil to burn to wafte. Inviting a party of friends to assist at the launch of a floop, and then carrying them to fea againfh their will, is, perhaps, sharp practice : but, should the frail craft founder, they muft remember, with good Sir Hum- phrey Gilbert, that " Heaven is as near by fea as by land; " while if the cruife terminates Preface. xv in the "Fortunate Ifles 3 " they will, perhaps, thank me for a pleafant epifode in the Voyage of Life, and I ihall be overpaid, Printing is the coftume of Poetry ; as Hood ufed to fay: "tells the flory." You will find one long piece, " Epimenides " (the Cretan Rip-Van-Winkle), which I fhould fcarcely have ventured to dedicate to our eminently cryflal-minded friend, Mr, Charles O* Conor, in the fomewhat cloudy and indefi- nite fhape it now -wears, had I firfi feen it in the undeceptive daylight of type. It was in- tended to exprefs the natural reflections of a wanderer, long abfent from his quiet village- home, who returns to find it one roar of fpin- dles ; and if it fail to produce a correfpond- ing irnprerlion upon the mind of the reader, I can only fay, like Madame de Pompadour to the country beauty, who gawked and Hum- bled in her unaccuflomed court-drefs, when entering the prefence of the king, cc it is too late to retreat," Like Dr. Newman's "Apology for his Life," this apologetic preface has grown un- xvi Preface, der my pen till itfelf needs too an apology. That — your generous friendship must make for it — and for me. Hide this little book among the pricelefs treafures of your library — a piper of Hamelin's coffin among the golden farcophagi of kings — and remember only, that in it "Je vous donne avecque ma foy Ce qu'il y a de mieulx en moy." s. w. New York Hotel, January 2.7th, 1865. WHEN in my walks I meet some ruddy lad — Or swarthy man — with tray-beladen head, Whose smile entreats me, or his visage sad, To buy the images he moulds for bread, I think that, though his poor Greek Slave in chains, His Venus and her Boy with plaster dart, Be, like the Organ-Grinder's quavering strains, But farthings in the currency of art; Such coins a kingly effigy still wear — Let metals base or precious in' them mix — The painted vellum hallows not the Prayer, Nor ivory nor gold the Crucifix. •£abe nun, act)! sPfctfofo^te, Surijterei unb SJtebictn, Unb leiberaud) 5lt)eo(cgie SuriauS jtubtrt, tnit fyeitsem Semitljn. Xa ft el) 1 id) nun, id) armer Zfyotl Unb bin fo Hug aU rcie juuor. I have, alas ! Philosophy, Juristery and Medicine, And, woe is me ! Theology, At length dug through with study keen, And stand here now a fool as poor In wealth and wisdom as before ! Faust. Tb Henry W. Longfellow. Q\)t ling of th,e ^roubaooure. Rene, King of Provence, when he felt his sceptre glide away, Called upon his minstrels many, each to sing a parting lay : " Song is but Prayer set to music, therefore pray for me, good friends, Not because my waning power scarce beyond these walls extends — But that, with my poor dominion, taketh flight the modest hoard Which enabled me to welcome Art's dear children roimd my board." t THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. Then, in turn their rebecs sweeping, minstrel after minstrel sang, Till, with wailing and with weeping, all the sad- dened echoes rang, Rang a quire of grief lamenting the dispersion of that band Thenceforth desolate as butterflies when storms assail the land. When the last his virelay ended, sobs sighed chorus in the hall As the King, with arms extended, waved a bless- ing over all. Then, as glows the westering sun within a cloud of fleecy white, Beamed his visage, 'mid its silvery locks, with in- spiration's light, As he grasped his crusty viol, woke to life its every wire, Till the notes flew out like sparks when yields the smitten steel its fire ; THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. 5 Sparks that set his aged voice ablaze, until it towered high As a swan's whose folded pinions never more shall cleave the sky. " We have all been too long dreaming ; from our dreams we now awake. Sorrow teaches us God's meaning ; thankfully the lesson take. Man was not made for inaction midst the dal- liances of life, But to labor for His glory who hath led him through its strife. He decrees that you shall sing your way through castle, dorp, and mart, Leaving me to spend my lonely days in culture of our Art ; For, though Charles the Bold and Louis have despoiled the monarch's throne, This poor viol, which they scorned to seize, is still the minstrel's own, » THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. And may prove a sceptre that shall wield a more enduring sway Than his reign which, like a bird of passage, vanished in a day. " What surviveth of the glory of King David's crown and sword, But the Psalms that Monarch hoary sang in honor of the Lord ? Are not Orpheus, Anacreon, and the Sightless Bard of Troy As immortal as Achilles who made war his only joy? When the eagle drops a feather, 'tis divided, and one end Plumes the arrow of the bow that needs Ulysses' arm to bend ; While the other is the Poet's pen, to ages hand- ing down Valiant deeds embalmed by measure in the amber of renown. THE KIN"G OF THE TROUBADOURS. 7 " Go, then, forth and preach the Gospel of the Lyre in every land, Softening men with its sweet teachings by the voice and by the hand. Let each one, in his vocation, found a kingdom of his own In the People's hearts, which — not his court — sustain a monarch's throne. " Sing the praise of Him who made you, and of all that He hath made ; Sing the charms of woman ; sing the terrors of the warrior's blade, Till, its silk to gold transumed, the thread of song become a chain, Leading men up to the gates of death as in a wedding train ; And I hear rude Northern wanderers troll, be- fore my gate, the lays Sung by Rene and his Trouveres in their young and happy days." 8 THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. Like the leaves that skirt the forest, when they droop with April's rain, Hung the minstrels' tearful eyelids when the king intoned his strain. Like those leaves, when clouds disperse before the charge of Heaven's patrol, Caught their lifted lids the sunshine of the king's undaunted soul. When he ceased, as murmur wind-swept pines, their voices woke the air With a chaunt in which a jubilee gleamed through deep chords of prayer. Then, with souls cheered by his benison, they left him one by one, And, at even, in his banquet-hall King Rene sat alone. Since that day on which those Trouveres left their crownless King forlorn, Full four hundred times have holy chimes rung in the Christmas morn. THE KING OF THE TKOUBADOUKS. 9 Who shall say how many a lay, of church and feast and dance and song, Is an echo of the voices of that poor disbanded throng ? As I sing I hear them ringing through the caverns of the Past, And my feeble breath but wafts some minstrel's cadence down the blast. 1* To John T. Doyle. iriat-£ife. Semi-rigid, half-elastic, Was the pious, old monastic Scheme of life ; When the lenten bread of Heaven With a dash of human leaven Aye was rife. Through dark ages, they kept burning The forbidden lamps of learning In their cells ; As, in Afric's sands, the rover, With protecting stones, doth cover The glad wells. FRIAR-LIFE. 11 And, with extacy, the stainless Mother loved they, who, in painless Travail, bore Him whose birth and crucifixion Loosed the bonds of our affliction Evermore. Lordly herds, on meadows, thriving Under vineyards, they, by shriving Sinners, got. Pious hinds their wealth augmented, And their broad lands tilled, contented With their lot. That the Friars worldly pleasure, In their lay-days, without measure Had enjoyed, And discovered that the madness Of the revel's sinful gladness Left a void, 12 FKIAR-LIFE. Taught them that the peasant's toil On the mute, but grateful, soil Is a fate Happier than their wild ambition, Who aspire unto Patrician Ponrp and state. And the monk, so old and shabby, Seemed the image of his Abbey, Gray and hoary : Winter's rudest blasts defying, With its inward and undying Warmth of glory. Chimed the convent-bell a marriage ? He uncoifed his austere carriage, And was mortal ; As, with benediction saintly, Ushered he the fond ones quaintly Through hope's portal. FKIAK-LIFE. 13 But a sad yet tender riot Sometimes thrilled his pulse's quiet With strange charms, When the holy-water glistened On the new-born infant, christened In his arms. And you saw each waxen finger With unconscious twitchings linger Round the boy ; As though yearnings, pent and hidden, Cried within, for the forbidden Human joy. And his eyes, through fond mists glowing, Saw the babe in stature growing, Till the day When himself its soul might foster, And, with creed and Pater^ioster, Point the way. 14- FKIAR-LIFE. Like the glass a sigh hath clouded, Brighter shone his gaze when, crowded Near the font, He beheld God's children pressing, And bestowed a warmer blessing Than his wont. Called the death-bell's lingering, knelling Prince or peasant from life's dwelling To depart? By those Heaven-sent stewards shriven, Who the imps of sin had driven From his heart, Each a message, when he kissed him, Whispered softly and dismissed him On glad wing ; Like the bark that carries tidings From a Viceroy's distant 'hidings To his King. FRIAR-LIFE, Fiercely they rebuked the scorner, Tearfully consoled the mourner In his sorrow ; Eyes, all moist to-day with sadness, Shone serene midst festive gladness On the morrow. Thus abroad, with zeal unending, Rich and poor alike befriending, Lived the Friars : Vigil, fast, and flagellations Mortified the world's temptations And desires. And when waxed a poor monk paler, Until granted him Life's gaoler His release, Earth's sad stewardship resigning, Homeward flew his spirit, pining, — Into peace, 15 T THE SHADOW. 47 Behind that cloudy height Her rays then set, And chang'd to jet The azure garments of night. Thridding the ghostly glade With clasped hands, (Gold ran Time's sands), In tender converse we strayed, Till changed the midnight bell My joy to sadness And his to madness, With its clang of long farewell ! Dropping her snowy veil, The moon betrayed Within the glade Its skeletons grim and pale. 48 THE TREE AND THE SHADOW. And as I homeward started, I turned rny face To see the place Where Willie and I had parted. Beneath the haunted tree, The oak of blood, My Willie stood ; And it froze roy heart to see His shadow on the sward, Hanging below The fatal bough, At the end of that murderous cord ! JTrnition, [jTJNE.] Lie thou there, black pack of care I have carried full months uine ! Let me seek the greenwood fair While the summer's glory 's mine. Far from me the miser's lot — Beadle of a golden shrine — Whilst, by nature's toil begot, All the summer's wealth is mine. In the masquerade of flowers Let the Cedar, Larch and Pine Mourn stern winter's vanished towers, So the summer's joy be mine. 50 Ninety times the sun shall rise Earlier from his couch of brine, And shall linger in the skies Whilst the summer's bliss is mine. By the stream, as when a child Shrinking from the snake-like vine, I will wander, thrush-beguiled, While the summer's glory 's mine. Sunbeams jewelling the showers Which the knotted clouds untwine, Over thirsty fields and bowers, Are the summer's gems and mine. Strolling through its paths of bliss Skirted by the jessamine, I will sing and dance and kiss While the summer's glory 's mine ; 51 Till the grapes the robins spare Shall redeem their pledge in wine, Let me glean the treasures rare Of the summer's sparkling mine. CeaDea cmb 0tar0, [SEPTEMBER.] Yesterday, when Autumn's fire Flushed the Maple and the Briar Till they crimsoned, as a maid Who her love hath just betrayed, Disappeared my Summer dream, Like the picture in a stream Which the wanton breezes chase From the liquid mirror's face. Was each reddening leaf the ghost Of a precious moment lost ? Else why should the Woodland's glow Thrill me with such sense of woe, LEAVES AND STARS. 53 That from Summer's dying bed, Like a frightened boy, I fled, Hastening to the changeless town "With its stony smile and frown ? Vain the coward hope ! For night Brought a monitor in sight Sterner than those dying leaves, Sadder than September's sheaves. Lo ! Orion stalks between Aldebaran and the sheen Sparkling Sirius, in disdain, Sheds upon the Warrior's train. Warrior — Hunter ! Like a bird Serpent-charmed, thy blazing sword Holds me as it were the blade O'er a prisoned monarch swayed. Sword of menace ! Blade of fear Shearing from my life a year ! Shall I see thee gleam again O'er another twelvemonth slain ? ©ctober £ag. I. — Nature. Stormy day of mid October ! Nature sees thy blasts disrobe her Forests of their charms ; Sees, like sparks from forges flying, Fall the leaves of Summer dying In gray Autumn's arms. As a mother, to her tender Babes, her raiment doth surrender In the wintry hours ; Busy in the tempest's watches, With a quilt of many patches, Covereth she the flowers. OCTOBER LAY. 55 As escape the winged legions Of the air, from Arctic regions, Pale with sunless cold ; Gales, in search of tropic fires Rushing, wake the thousand lyres Of the Druid wold. Green, midst Autumn's fading splendoi. Swing the lonely willow's tender Fringes, o'er the brook ; As though, fresh from Ocean's portal, Some fair Nereid immortal There her ringlets shook. Circling zephyrs, with caresses, Gently sway those drooping tresses Sheltered by the grove ; "Whilst its giant tree-tops, braving Ruder blasts, are madly waving In the air above. 56 OCTOBER LAY. II. — Man. Stormy day of mid October ! I, poor drunkard, waxing sober, Feel thy pelting rain, Fierce as shot, my cheeks assailing, Driven by the blast whose wailing Heralds winter's reigrj. As I plod with weary measure, Conscience tolls the knell of pleasure ; Oh ! the Summer hours ! Gone are now their joys enchanting, Leaving only phantoms, haunting Memory's leafless bowers. On the leaves the wayside strewing, I, in each a moment rueing, Look with tearful eyes ; OCTOBER LAY. 57 Look, as were they corpses serried On a battle-field, ere buried ISTever more to rise. Blows the north-wind sharp and biting, Scatters dreams of bliss inviting, Rain-drops burn like fire, And the fire my breast tormenting, Unextinguished, unrelenting, Withers all desire, Though, like spray from storm-lashed surges, Whip the forest's leaves thy scourges, Fearful Hurricane ! Leaflets, erst Spring's welcome bringing, To the willow fondly clinging, Bright as hope remain. 3* 0ong of -tfjc ttJren. The summer's joyous warblers away Have flown from November's frown, And, midst the palsied woodland's decay, I reign on my perch of hemlock spray, A monarch without a crown. In early spring came the Oriole, To foster her orange brood, Ere crept the rattlesnake from his hole Or the dormant Owl his stern patrol Resumed, in the tropic wood. The Throstle brown and the Catbird gray, With the timid Redbreast came, And the Blackbird and the Bobolink gay, With answering notes took up the lay Of the Groesbeck's throat of flame. SONG OF THE WEEX. 59 Out of last years leaves and grasses sere And the gray rock's mossy beard, In tufts, or copses shrouding the mere, Or 'neath the Catalpa's napping ear, Their nests they merrily reared. While lasted the spring-tide's quickening hours, Their carols the forest thrilled, They summoned the bee to opening flowers When honey, from April's balmy showers, The sim in their cups distilled. To quiet their nestlings' plaintive cry Like flashes they clave the air, Now chasing the golden dragon-fly, ISTow preying upon the insect fry Or the spider in his lair. Like guests wiio flit from a summer fete, Aweary of dance and play, Ere the motley fireworks scintillate, In starry pennons, before the gate Of night, and awake the day ; 60 SONG 0E THE WEEN. They fled when the hoar frost first congealed On the clovei*'s flower-reft blade, And Autumn her tawny dyes revealed, In the scattered spoils by road and field Of the Summer's masquerade. They fled as worldly parasites fly From the prodigal's dying bed, And the only mourner left am I To witness the funeral pageantry Of Nature burying her dead. The squirrel sleeps in the hollow tree Or munches his winter store, The partridge crops fat berries in glee, The quail roams gleaning the stubble free, And the meadow-lark the moor. When spread the Oak his pall o'er the flowers, The silver Maple grew pale, And a crimson flushed the ivied bowers "Where 'neath the Dogwood, in fervid hours, Had blossomed the Orchis frail. S0KG OF THE WEEK. Gl The Hickory's green to gold then turned, Yet clave to the fruitful bough, While the Catbriar, like a miser spurned In death, was stripped of its leaves, which burned Like coals in the muddy slough. The Gum's leaves will with the rainbow vie Till from the Heavens, o'ercast With frowns no longer checked by the eye Of the sun, rebellious snows shall fly On the ruthless Arctic blast. But bis realms their absent Lord again, In Spring, shall awake from sleep, And my sisters will cheer their little Wren With newest songs from the grove and glen, Where the mocking-birds vigil keep. To Julia Romana Howe. jTalconrg. Sokceeer. " If, to avert, O king, The doom of death at dawn, My voice had summoned thee, I should deserve thy scorn. " To save my worthless life These lips shall frame no prayer Nor ask a boon of thee ; But if thy daughter fair, falcoistjy. 63 " What time the noose shall bind My throat at break of day, Will smile npon me from Ton lattice o'er the way ; "And round her snowy neck The lilac sash will wear Which girt her waist that eve My hand was torn from there ; " And let its waving bands, Which fell below her knee, Appear to hold her looped . As will the halter me : ' And last — if, when I drop, Her head shall sink beneath The casement-sill, as though Resolved to share my death, 64 FALCONRY. " Pledge this, and ask what boon A wizard may impart — A spark to fire thy veins, A hoard to freeze thy heart." King. "All this and more I grant — Thy life and her white hand, The sceptre and the crown By which I rule the land, " Whereof thou shalt be king, And I will go my ways, So thou 'It impart the spell Of never-ending days." Soeceeee. " The kneeling boor, whose shoulder Is smitten by thy sword, Arises, by the spell Of kingly words — a lord. FAXCONEY. 65 " But whom my wand shall touch, Be high or low his birth, My whispered charm can make The richest of the earth. "The shibboleth of life Would lose my soul, if told, For what I ask, be thine The charm of endless gold." King. " So thou wilt prove that spell Upon the chains that hold Thy body, and transmute Their iron into gold ; " My daughter from yon lattice Shall smile on thee, nor falter When, in the morn, the hangman Shall loop thee with the halter: 66 " The lilac sash she wore, The night I found thy grasp Around her in the garden, Her snowy neck shall clasp: "And on the lattice-bow Its waving ends I'll tie, That she may seem to thee Like thee about to die ; " And when beneath thy feet The fatal bolt is sped, I swear that she shall bow, Saluting thee, her head." Sorcerer. " Now cross yon hazel wand Upon thy royal sword, And swear by Him who died That thou wilt keep thy word. FALCONRY. 67 " 'T is well — dismiss these slaves, Now take the hazel wand : The serpent-head in thine, The tail in my right hand. " Thine ear bring close and listen, And after me recite The measured incantation, And grasp the hazel tight. " Nay, open not thine eyes So wide, as in dismay ; No coward will the Gnome Who guards the mine obey. " The Sprite must know a master Or else the master he : The second rune is faster ; Repeat it after me. 08 FALCONET. " Thy face is pale, O monarch ! And all alive thy hair. Pause not ! or of the malice Of Gnome and Sprite beware. " 'T is said — now touch my chains, Ha ! they grow yellow straight, And from my wrists I feel Them hang with heavier weight. " Now get the charm by rote ; A word misplaced rebounds As from a rock the ball Which him who shot it wounds. " Ah, so ! these chains thou fain Wouldst in the furnace try ? Exchange them — and thou 'It find Their gold no jugglery." FALCONE r. 69 At dawn, beneath the gibbet, Serene the wizard stood ; And saw within the lattice The princess he had wooed. Around her neck the sash As round his throat the cord ; Then knew he that the king Had kept his royal word. For, by its fastened ends, The lilac noose was hung As from the gallows-tree The rope, that held him, swung And, when their glances met, Upon her lip and eye He saw a radiant smile, And said — " Now let me die," 70 FALCONET. And when the trap was sprung The princess dipped her head; But when they came to raise her, They found her spirit fled ; And, 'twixt those corpses twain, They saw a falcon bear Aloft, with cleuched talons, A white dove through the air. To Fitz Greene Hailed. Wc\i Poet's 2Ute. Down the mountain as I wandered, And upon the landscape pondered, Where, as in a net, Lordly hedge and stately railing With the farmer's wooden paling Intersecting met, Compassing the field of azure Of the lake no rigid measure Mapped unequally, I bethought me, " Such division Of the plain is a derision ; " When my roving eye 72 THE POET S ACRE. Rested on the sexton's barrow Shrinking near the portal narrow Of the churchyard green, Where fill prince and peasant places Equal as the chessboard's spaces, Hold they pawn or queen. Still the zig-zag path descending, Came I to a painter blending, On a tinier scale, Under April's sunshine merry, Meadow, lake and cemetery Sparkling in the vale. And, with passionate expansion, Free from envy, I the mansion And the cot surveyed, Coveting nor manor pleasant Nor the patches which the peasant Vexed with hoe and spade. THE POET'S ACEE. 13 Happy, though without an acre, While supplies the paper-maker Sod like this fair page Into which, at Fancy's hours, I transplant the wayside flowers Of my pilgrimage. %M^ Sio 3Ufrci> ©mngson. A curate, in a lonely hamlet preaching, Nor heard beyond Until with rumors of his saintly teaching Echoes respond, And then into a broader field translated With ampler fold, As soldiers are to higher grades elated For actions bold — Cries, when he hears assembled hundreds voicing Responsive prayer, Hosanna ! in yet bolder strains rejoicing The distant air. TO ALFKED TENNYSON. 75 So thou, in humbler days, didst hymn a wailing For Claribel, Which on the outer world like unavailing Entreaty fell ; But friends around thee shared thy tuneful weeping, And treasured .long The memory of that hapless maiden sleeping Within thy song. I see thee now in Art's great Temple throning, A Hierophant, And hear glad voices from far peaks entoning Thy larger chaunt. Ho Charles O 'Conor. €$immxbtB. i. Yois - hamlet, 'twixt the river-bank And swelling slopes that grow to hills, Now rings with iron clang and clank ; The restless voice of labor thrills Its peace. On Autumn's early snow, The wayward cinder-woven wreaths The wind's wild flickering currents show. The fevered forge forever breathes From yon tall chimneys grim and stark, Whose dial-shadows, earthward thrown, The sun can never see, nor mark Their mystic march betray his own. EPIMENIDES. . 11 There, though now 'tis sad November, Of my spring-time, I remember How the chimes, at early morn, Sang, " Another day is born." " Lasses, quick ! your kirtles don, Kneeling, ask His benison ; Up, lads, up ! The day hath broke, Waits the patient steer his yoke ! " From the housewife's tidy table Strode the ploughman to the stable, Stalked the sower to the field, Casting broad for Autumn's yield. Oh ! those ancient days were fair, Heralded by chime and prayer ; God, in sky, field, wold and air, Light and fragrance everywhere, ^8 EPIMEjSIDES. When the sun, his heavenly dome, Like some saintly pilgrim, clomb Till, in the mid-zenith blue, Resting, half his labor through, Shone he, poised on golden wings As the lark his matin sings ; Noon, from the old village spire, Rang, as rings the tinkling quire, When the mystic Elevation Thrills the kneeling congregation ; From that bright aerial dwelling Every clang to glory welling, Glory, full of grace to all, In the field and in the hall, Full of peace, and full of grace ! Unto all in every place ! I forbear the urchin's horn, Requiem of the day half-worn. " Ite missa est." God's rest Attend ye all, for all are blest. EPIMENIDES. 79 I forbear the vesper song, Doubly sweet, when all day long One has bravely paid the vow, ' Thou shalt live by sweat of brow," And the dance upon the green, Circling round fair May's new Queen, Rustic sighs and rustic bliss, Freshly- wedded happiness. Faded now the spring's dear flowers, Faded, too, those spring-tide hours ! Sweet as childhood's sleep the times When I heard those village chimes ! II. See ! the noon's consummate fire Glows above a city's spire, Noon, that warmed the field and fell, Burns o'er street and citadel ! 80 EPIMENIDES. But no chime from belfry holy Calls to prayer the high and lowly; And no herdsman's mellow note Preaches 'peace to tower and cot ; But, like fierce alarms of fire, Labor peals her tocsin dire, And, from factory-prisons tall, Tramp, as to a funeral, Women, sad with trailing paces, Children, wan with joyless faces, Men, with toiling grim and chill, Shivering at the whistle shrill. Cheerless noontide! whilom blest, "With thy boon of shade and rest, Bailiff now of want and fear, In gray garrets, where men hear EPEtfEXIDES, 81 Imperious scream, The strident steam, Whoop ! whoop ! whoop ! whoop ! N"o play to-day ! Away ! obey ! March ye to the workshop dreary, Well or ailing, fresh or weary. III. In yon forest green, Where the hunt was seen, Following the hound O'er the scented ground Or the Falcon's flight At the Heron white, Horns no more awake Echoes in the brake. Startled, the timid trees Shake with the rushing breeze, 4* 82 EPIMENIDES. When speeds the dragon by, Yelling his warning cry : " Tramp ! tramp ! on, on, away, Tramp ! tramp ! by night and day, Throb ! throb ! black heart ! burn, burn ! Fill ! fill ! thy funeral urn ! Fly all ! my soul is fire ! Fly all ! my wrath is death ! My speed's intense desire Makes lightnings of my breath ! " Dread Genie of that mystic Lamp, Through centuries by sages trimmed In turret lone and cavern damp, Earth's vestal light of thought undimmed ! Lamp, fed by many a martyr's life, How purple tyrants from thy flame Have fallen, shrivelled in their strife With angry wings to quench its gleam. EPIMENIDES. 83 Dread Genie ! to that Lamp subdued, Whether, on earth, the captive train, Or winged ark, through tempest rude, Thou waftest swiftly o'er the main, Or, like old Rhcetus chained below The Cyclop's forge, thy struggles speed The patient lathe, the hammer's blow, And all the wheels of. labor feed : Man's slave ! and yet with wary eye He watcheth thee as, in his cage, The master's magnet, holds in sway The desert-king's electric rage. Man's creature ! yet his tyrant too ! Relentless iron Frankenstein ! How hard the doom that bids him woo- And win those furnace-lips of thine ! 84 EPIME^IDES. No compact, on enchanted ground, In midnight glen blood-sealed and signed, With closer chains the soul e'er bound Than thine, dread rival of the Wind ! For this, at least, the iiend of old, In ransom, to his vassals gave The flush of wine, the blaze of gold ; They reeled in rapture to the grave ! But thou, insatiate ! cloud and gloom, The fast, the vigil, and the scorn Of careless crowds, prepare the tomb Of sages in thy service worn ; Nor though a thousand paeans rise Above their wasting dust — to me, Shall summer thoughts and summer skies Seem wisely lost, for fame and thee. EPIMEKTDES. 85 To me, the mossy bank that charms, With flowers, the mirror floating by, And priestly elms, that bend their arms In benediction, where I lie, These still remain* My heart can find Far off, but not too far from men, Some still retreat for heart and mind, Some wind-swept silence of a glen. There, when the gales exultant rush From cloud-capped peaks to genial plains, Each murmuring tree, each whispering bush, Shall wake to soft Eolian strains. To them my gorge shall still be free ; But thou, mailed champion of the plain ! My panoply of rock, shall see Thy fiery charge, renewed in vain ! 86 EPIMEOTDES. There, pausing on the soft descent Of slopes where rest the pine and birch, The shepherd's hut and hunter's tent Shall nestle near the Alpine church ; Whose housewife bell, when day is gone, With silver metes the pall of night, And, when the stars have left their throne, Marks day's brocade with measure bright. And when the goatherd's children stray Down the long hill to my lone nook, Their shouts shall win me to their play, To wander with them by the brook ; There shall our hands the osier weave, And plait the flowers in garlands bright, With talk and laugh, till fostering eve Recalls them to their cottage height. EPIMENIDES. 87 When frost and winter drive the herds To towns, where men and herds are sold, They '11 leave me with the winter birds, Star-watched, within my sacred fold ; And when the yule-log lights the hearth. The peasant groups shall chat of me, And kindly wish me with the mirth Around their humble Christmas-tree. And one shall whisper to his friend New marvels of the mystic glen, And grieve for me self-doomed to end My graybeard days afar from men. To S. T. Wcdlis. ttJaking team. Westwaed, looking thro' my window, Venus shone ; Lit the room where I had all night -dreamed alone ; "Woke her lustrous eye the slumbering depths of mine, Kindling sparks among the ashes of lang-syne. Vainly strove the dawn's first glories through the gloom : Like my heart, the lonely chamber seemed a tomb Where sweet ghosts, in sad procession, seemed to flow Past my bed, become a bier, and there bestow Grief's last kiss upon my brow. — Each tender glance Thrilled my soul with joy and pain ; as in a trance Shrank within my palsied lips all utterance. WAKING DEE AM. 89 Fading in the dawn the Morn- Star disappears, And dispels the tender throng, but not my tears ; For I wake with sorrowing heart and aching head, Wake to find sweet Venus vanished and Love dead. # To Eliza H. Ward. (Drcfjcirfr iFantaeio. Behold yon hale old apple-tree, In its wrinkled skin with mosses bound, Yield to the south wind's sportive glee The blossoms it scatters recklessly, Like snowflakes, over the ground. Like snow, in a night they will disappear, Absorbed by the yearning earth ; But the fruits it hath borne for many a year, The joy of urchins far and near, That tree shall again bring forth. 0ECHAED FANTASIA. 91 And as those blossoms sown by the wind Leave teeming germs on the bounteous tree, So gentle words and charities kind, Though man prove thankless, leave behind Sweet germs for the hoards of memory. And when deathward sighs the bosom heaves, Though the kindly deeds we have done on earth Should seem to us but as withered leaves, While our sins, like serpents, in living sheaves Daunt the soul on the verge of its second birth ; The blossoms shall flower in Heaven again, Where no wild breeze shall waft them away ; And the clang of the blow that breaks our chain Shall drive the emblems of sin and pain, The serpents, back to their dens of clay. (&'m me %o#. When age its wrinkles and its snows Had laid on Talma's cheek and brow, 'Tis said he made the mournful vow, " No friend shall see my eyes unclose." For every form he looked upon Revealed a ghastly skeleton ! This earth was bright when first, a toy, Life in my youthful hands was placed, But now its waters have no taste — Bring me the wine-cup ! Give me joy ! Like Talma, in the Present dim And Future dark, I see abound, In silvery age and youth just crowned With beauty's wreath, but spectres grim. GIVE ME JOY. 93 E'en Fortune's ingots lost and won Are watched by Care, the skeleton ; Kay, power, wealth and pleasure cloy, 'Tis ail the same sad change of tone From smile to tear, from laugh to groan. Bring me the wine-cup ! Give me joy ! Though youth has fled, affections still With steady glow my heart may cheer : Come hither, wife and children dear ! Come, ere the cup again I fill, Come, ere each loved shape looked upon Shall seem to hide a skeleton. What ! was thy smile but a decoy ? And ye to whom I Ve given breath ! Do ye already wait my death ? Quick ! quick ! The wine-cup ! Give me joy ! Begone, ye vipers whom I've nursed, And cherished with my heart's best blood ; Beldame, avaunt ! with all thy brood And be ye all like me accurst ! 94 GIVE ME JOY. Thank Heaven, thy witching beauty 's gone And leaves thee but a skeleton ! Come, friend beloved ! Thou since a boy My more than brother ! Thou 'It not fail ! Away, thou death's-head grim and pale ! Fill, fill the wine-cup ! Give me joy ! Thou'st changed the wine ! my throat it burns, 'Tis bitter as ingratitude ! What ! say'st thou from the grape 't was brewed ? Within my lips to gall it turns ! Bring me the glass ! O Death ! thou 'st won ! I see myself a skeleton ! And that weird shape was once a boy, To whom each scene below shone fair ? God ! How its eyeless sockets stare ! Is there no cup will give me joy ? "No ! not the bowl ! The chalice bring, Exhaustless with the Paschal blood That purified sin's sable flood, And still flows from Thee ! thorn-crowned King ! GIVE ME JOY. 95 In whom mine eyes behold alone A Saviour, not a skeleton ! Oh ! touch the hearts of wife and boy, And friend, with quickening grace divine. Thou wilt ! Then let me life resign, Sipping Thy last cup's heavenly joy ! & - : - ; - ? Ttf Leonard Woods. 2tska. When first my infant eyes took in the glory Of this fair earth, Ere on them fell the shadow of the story Of mortal birth, The blessed light above seemed but one fusion Of many a sun, And, closing, they imprisoned the illusion That Heaven was won. When I looked forth again, God's bright creation Revealed its forms ziska. 97 Beneath the orb which every constellation Illumes and warms. I then discovered 'mid the heavenly spaces Yast depths of blue, And on the earth the landscape's myriad graces. Of varied hue. Unconscious that, as cleared the golden vision, It darker grew, I revelled in green fields and groves Elysian With joy all new. The sun a dictionary seemed for reading Nature's great book, O'er which I pored wherever fancy, leading, My footsteps took. Oh ! then, Aladdin-like, I gathered treasures On golden stems ; First fruits and flowers, then clutched at empty pleasures, As precious gems. 98 ZISKA. But soon these luresome objects lost their shimmer, As in a ball, When waxlights wane, the waltzer's eyes flit dimmer Around the hall. To childhood's lively joys, succeeded sorrows Poignant and stern, As he who silver from a miser borrows Gold must return. For manhood hath no sportive recreations Like schoolboy plays ; No anguish keener than when, in vacations, Come rainy days. And soon my soul began its second training, With new-born zest ; I thought to spend one half of life explaining What meant the rest : And found the problem solved and the equation, Like some tall peak Attained, which reaches but the adumbration Of what you seek. And when, with every sense alive to Nature, By day and night, Familiarly I knew her every feature Shaded and bright ; With adolescence came an empty craving For the unknown ; As thinks the spendthrift butterfly of saving When summer 's gone. And then, the sad reflection realizing — How brief is life — Behold the soul against the senses rising In bitter strife. Existence, like the fleeting year, had seasons, And, in the end — I could not through its gloom divine the reasons — Must graveward tend. Through misty tears, a God-like face and lowly In rainbows beamed, Around Whose bleeding brow a radiance holy, Upshooting, gleamed. 100 ZISKA. But though, toward earth, big drops of blood, still rolling, Did lingering fall, He said with tender voice, His pain controlling, "I died for all." Since from His bow-shaped lips, like golden arrows Those words did speed, No more my heart an endless craving harrows With hunger's need. Already, when I lift my eyes to heaven, I see but light, And scenes once fair below, from mora to even, Are dark as night. To Julia Ward Howe. i$t£temps!K!)0£>X0, The God, the Hero, and the Sage, Nor sceptre, sword, nor myrtle crown, Nor e'en a drop have handed down Of "bubbling blood to this our age. Caught in the marble or the brass, They smile or frown their joy or grief, From statue, coin or bas-relief, Which, though in fashion they surpass 1 02 METEMPSYCHOSIS. The chiselled thoughts of modern days, Bring to our eyes but traits of men, Who, like ourselves, on earth have been The shrines of Life's ephemeral blaze. But deeds and words embalmed in song, In after ages — like the seed From royal mummies drawn to feed The tribes which Egypt's river throng — Dilate fresh hearts and sublimate The lowliest blood with flames heroic, And fortify with valor stoic The weak against the storms of fate. Yes ! as the shivered chord's complaint Floats onward through the murmuring air, Until some unison as fair Responds unto its whisjDer faint, METEMPSYCHOSIS. 103 So, when it severs earth's last thread, The soul pursues its journeying, And swells, on fleet and tireless wing, The shadowy army of the dead ; Until it chance a kindred chord, Within some brother's sleeping heart, To wake, and its own life impart, To sage's lips or warrior's sword. Napoleon fought with Caesar's blade, Dante was god-like Homer's son, Timoleon prompted Washington, And Paul stout Luther's fierce crusade. Nor in such mighty souls alone Do kindred spirits breathe their fire ; The humblest heart's untutored lyre From shadowy voices takes its tone. 104 METEMPSYCHOSIS. Until they sound, bend every string Thy hand can grasp, with zealous care ! Though from thy lyre but hoarse despair, Fate's ruthless sweep at first should wring. Strain on ! until thy spirit's Sire Awake that chord of happier fate Whose jubilance shall modulate Thy woe to joy's celestial quire. Ho my Daughter, Mrs. Margaret Astor Chanler. tftfje Wxst Jftaften. Mastee. Pkithee, why forever sweeping, Maiden, this poor room ? Ever stirring, never sleeping, Seems thy restless broom. Prithee, why forever praying, Those pure lips within ? — Art, I fear, too dearly paying For but fancied sin. 5* 106 THE WISE MAIDEN. Maid. Though I'm ever sweeping, master, Did my zeal grow slack, Than it disappeareth faster Would the dust come back ; And my praying is but sweeping This poor sinful breast, Into which fresh dust is creeping, When from prayer I rest. Mastee. Never does my eye remember, Maiden, to have seen, When thy care hath swept my chamber, Speck of dust within. THE WISE MAIDEN. 107 Maid. May the angel on my sweeping Praise like this impart, Who, his master's mansions keeping, Comes to search ray heart. To Edward Cunard. tlje ©18 Hope. " Father ! what is this old rope ? " Boy ! 5 T was once our vessel's hope When the billows rose in rage her decks to whelm. In that wild September gale, Which had rent our every sail, With that bit of rope I lashed down her helm. Had its strands then given way, We had been the fishes' prey, And their banquet in the sea's deep caves, But I never lost my grip Of that rope which held the ship Till the winds had made peace with the waves. THE OLD ROPE. 109 How the mariner exults, When he feels the throbbing pulse Of the ocean lashed to fever by the gale, And his hand directs the course Of his vessel, like a horse Madly tearing over hill and over dale. Ah ! the boldest charioteer Were beside himself with fear. If a steed in his teeth the bit should take, Not on solid hill or plain, But across the slippery main, Where your path writhes beneath you like a snake. There be those that gather nests Down the Orkneys' sea-girt crests, Who are lowered by a rope like this, And who, when their scrips are full, Give the signal-cords a pull, To be hoisted up out of the abyss. 110 THE OLD ROPE. Yet the boldest ne'er dissemble How much now and then they tremble, When they feel their lives hang on such a bight, Though those fowlers, when they climb, Risk but one life at a time, While this rope held a score of us that night. But no feeble hand of man Thus from parting kept its span, And our vessel from the trough of the sea; It was God who held it there, For I breathed a breath of prayer, Like the fishers on the Lake of Galilee. When I'm summoned by the Lord, Round my coffin let this cord Drop me like a fowler seeking for a nest ; And another boon I crave Is that by me, in the grave, This trusty old friend of mine shall rest. THE OLD ROPE. Ill Dare an unbeliever say That, on Resurrection day, It may not serve to raise me from the grave ? Like the fowler with his scrip, Or our storm-imperilled ship, Which its strands from destruction helped to save ? <£l)e ©too Jttitrore. A skipping urchin, gay and fair, With eyes like sapphires beaming, Pranced np my path, his flaxen hair In tangled ringlets streaming ; And, in his dimpled grace, Dull memory sought to trace An image of the face That shone with kindred joy When I too was a boy ; But Time held off the glass so far, I only saw the Evening Star, And, by its twinkling glimmer, read On my own face, as on a stone With moss and grave-grass overgrown, The legend — "Here thy youth lies dead." THE TWO MIRRORS. 113 The boy danced by, and I o'ertook A graybeard's footsteps trembling ; His palsied hand and vacant look No ills of age dissembling. Beyond! a churchyard drear — 'Neath skies that dropped a tear Upon a freighted bier — Said to my saddened eye, " Soon, thou too, here shalt lie ; " For Time now held the glass so near That I could share the miser's fear, Who thinks how soon his grated door Must yield its silver plate, to score His name upon the coffined cell Where Rich and Poor at last must dwell. '.'. Stye tytbnxo ^Iptyabet Come, my little Hebrew lad, On thy task look not so sad. Only learn it, and thou 'It feel Writing is in prayer to kneel ; Writing, in His sacred tongue, Words His holy prophets sung ; Writing out the Law bequeathed Unto Moses, when He breathed, Near the burning bush, the Word Then as now, " I am the Lord." First we'll learn to spell the name Sinai heard in clouds and flame. Write the Aleph — every sign Let thy pen with love design. THE HEBREW ALPHABET. 115 Aleph is bright Eden's token, Ere our race by sin was broken. Daleth follows in the spell Loved in Heaven, feared in Hell. Aleph, Daleth, then again Aleph taketh up the train. Aleph, Daleth, Aleph now On our bended knees we bow, Ere unto the Holy Rune We append the closing Nun. Adon Adon, clap your hands Hills ! while joy elates the lands ; Aleph add, and, with a Tod, Tremble at the name of God ! God with whom none others vie, God of Israel ! Ado^ai. ®l)e ©lb <£eart)er. TUTOR DO^IIXI IXCIPIUM SAPIENTIAE. Encotjtsterixg last week upon the street A gray and year-bent man, Whose eye lit up, with salutation sweet, His features pinched and wan — " Your pardon, sir," — said I, — "Where have we met ? " Then he — " 5 T was I taught you your alphabet." I pressed his trembling hand aud took him home ; Infirm he was and poor, Threadbare his coat as some black-letter tome Marked " sixpence," in a store. A worn epitome of weary strife With cares that cloud too oft a blameless life. THE OLD TEACHER. 117 For years on thankless labor's treadmill spent — Each one the former's twin — His only prop in age's steep descent Was now a pension thin. ~Nov could the wealth of Harpagon but gild, "Not sweeten, his poor cup with sorrows filled. His wife, long gathered to the tomb, had left A helpless family ; My fancy pictured him, of her bereft, With their poor children three, Whose names he scarcely knew, till then engrossed In teaching syntax to his boyish host. The eldest son " went early to the bad " — The second to the sea, And with his daughter and her children sad He shared his penury ; His pittance eked an ailing husband's gains, His mind's full coffers stored their children's brains. 118 THE OLD TEACHER. The Lapp consumes his endless summer day In gathering a store Of food, against the long and sable sway Of winter's icy war. But each day for that stricken household drear, Was, though in miniature, an Arctic year. A cup of water may the pilgrim bless, Though on his way to die Near that lone tomb, within the wilderness, Where his forefathers lie ; And on the old man's heart, with tender zeal, I poured the balm that soothes, but cannot heal. Nay, more — ere many days, my memory traced Some ancient schoolmates, still Within this vale of tears, whose youth had graced His Greek and Latin drill. The poorer ones each gave a cheerful mite ; The richer mostly but a shrug polite. THE OLD TEACHEE. 119 'Tis not my Blender kindness to display, By unthrift far too scant, Nor to inspire your pity, prompts this lay, Oft sung in nobler chaunt. Distress abounds ; but this exemplar taught A lesson with a solemn meaning fraught. It set me pondering how through childhood's vales, Our steps are swayed by fear ; We dread the nursery's hobgoblin tales, A father's glance severe ; Until the climax of dismay we own Before the schoolmaster upon his throne. How changed our lots to-day ! His for the worse — Mine by no misery bent — Smaller than his my share of Adam's curse, Greater my discontent. I felt rebuked, to see so meek and pale Him at whose frown my boyhood used to quail ! 120 THE OLD TEACHER. Whose rod was for my good. From its controul Since years have set me free, No dread of the old master keeps my soul Bowed in humility, As erst, till he released us for the day To sports and games beyond his ferule's sway. But now, where'er we roam, at task or play, A sterner Master's eye And keener rod direct our every way And action, from on High. Nor court our eyes the nod, that shall dismiss Our souls to endless woe or endless bliss. $l)e tftryei. An hour too early in the grove ! An hour for blissful dreams, Which countless starry eyes above Will gladden with their beams. Through leaves and twigs they peep at me, Like frolic elves at play, Who slip behind rock, bush or tree, Whene'er oae looks their way. The varying screen through which I gaze Fantastic shapes assumes, As with its breath the south wind sways The tree-tops' yielding plumes ; 6 122 THE TRYST. Till rests my wandering glance upon The steadfast star of Jove, As lovers' eyes all others shun Save those that drink their love. I hearken to the village chime ; The first half hour is past ! With what a funeral march cold Time Sets forth upon the last ! A dark cloud, sailing by, puts out My lone star's radiant light ; Its shadow dims with sombre doubt Fond hopes but now so bright. Anon, upon the thirsty leaves The pattering rain-drops fall, The sky its swelling bosom heaves And clouds each other call. THE TETST. 123 In place of heaven's fair face, alive With kindly twinkling eyes, Remote volcanoes seem to rive The cloud-peaks of the skies, Up-flaring, like the beacon's flame, Which darts from crag to brow On Alpine summits, and the gleam Of arms reveals below. The zephyr which, with fond caress, The prostrate leaves just stirred, Until methought her rustling dress And fairy foot I heard, Like a startled hind, now holds its breath, As the north wind's eager pant With a hiss, as of serpents bristling its path, Conies driving the rain aslant ; 124 THE TRYST. Swaying the saplings of the wood And its giants of stalwart form, Who toss their arms, like a multitude Applauding the voice of the storm. Soon, from the battlements of night, Fierce lightning shafts are hurled, Like meteors pre- Adamite In the old chaotic world. A roar, as of a smitten shield, Responds to those red brands, As when Salmoneus scorned to yield To Jove's divine commands. A roar as of caissons over a vault — Each armed with a loaded gun — Which, on its summit a moment halt, Then topple down one by one. THE TEYST. 125 They are fired ! first singly, and then pell-mell, And the startled air is men By thunder crashes like echoes from Hell Of its fiends besieging Heaven ! Appalled, I clasp in pallid dismay The tryst-tree in the glade, While gods and Titans in frantic affray Ply round me their cannonade. When lo ! in the midst of that riot fell, Through its bolts of deadly fire, The silvery voice of the midnight bell, Speaks from the village spire, As waved by a spell, the battle turns ; Its wild alarums cease ; The moon again in the zenith burns ; All nature is at peace. 126 THE TEYST. At chime the twelfth, my whispered name,- And then — an angel's kiss ! Would I renew that fearful dream For the wealth of that waking bliss ? To Eustace IV. Barron. Palmistry ♦ " Maidens ! Bonnie maidens three, Stop a while and list to me, By the hedge, beneath the tree ! ' Let me read each mystic line, Fate's or Fortune's future sign, In those tender palms of thine." Spake the first, whose thoughtful eyes Took their hue from azure skies, " Much I dread thy prophecies." 128 PALMISTRY. And the next, with hair of gold, " I have had my fortune told, Yet comes not the lover bold." But the third, with lips compressed, " I will try thee, if the rest — Nay, alone — Here, read thy best." Then the crone with swarthy cheek, Eyes ablaze but manner meek, Spoke, as though the hand could speak : " Power wantest thou and gold — Both shalt have when thou art old, Joyless riches then shalt hold ; " Here I see two broken hearts, Neither thine!" The maiden starts - " Loose my hand ! I spurn your arts." PALMISTKY. 129 " Go thy way ! The Gipsy scorn — Roses now thy cheek adorn Which may fade before the morn." ]S"ow she of the auburn tress, In her " steel-eyed loveliness," * Ventures near the sorceress, Who, untouched the silver aim Lying in the proffered palm, Curious heeds that gaze so calm. As the jewel which, at night, Still retains day's vanished light, Shone the Gipsy's vision bright. Like that jewel's rugged trace On the crystal's polished face, In that eye she read disgrace. * Washington Allston. 130 PALMISTRY. And a cold and glistening ray Flashed, ere turned her glance away, On the silver as it lay. " Since my sister Sibylline Read to thee its hidden sign, Pressed hath been this hand of thine. "Many a tear and many a groan . Hast thou shed and breathed alone ; The lover bold hath come and gone." Waved her hand with haughty grace, Burned like sunset's glow her face, As the maid stepped back a pace. " Dare not wrong my spotless fame ! Lo ! this ring protects from shame Love I may not yet proclaim ! PALMISTRY. 131 " Though but lowly my degree, Yet a noble proud and free Plighted truly is to me." In those eyes the tears that shone Seemed to soothe the ruthless crone, Seemed to touch her heart of stone. " Ah ! I see. Its bitter foes, Pride and rank, the love oppose Which upon thy cheek now glows.' "If a knight my lover be, Soon his gallant form I'll see ; If a caitiff! He is free." Then the maid with eyes of blue, Clasping her companion, threw One hand to the Gipsy's view. 132 PALMISTEY. As that gentle palm she grasped, On its lines the weird one cast Eyes in which tears gathered fast. Bright as pearls a diver bold Brings up from the sea-deeps cold, From her lids' dark eaves they rolled. " Dearer is the hand I hold Than the mine's discovered gold, Than the hoarder's wealth untold ; " Lines of hope and lines of truth, Lines of pure and peerless youth," Sobbed the crone with joy uncouth. Scarce these words exultant said, When a glittering cavalcade Fills the path adown the glade. PALMISTEY. 133 Knights in gorgeous bravery, Steeds that neigh a proud reply To the horn's wild hallali ! When their chief in armor bright Met the steel-eyed damsel's sight, Crimson blushed her cheek so white; Faded, then, like evening's sun From the snow when day is done. " Lo ! here comes my champion ! " Still ! oh, fluttering heart, thy fears ! Though a monarch he appears, And a royal morion wears ; " On, beneath its golden gleams, Tenderly as ever beams All the glory of my dreams." 134 PALMISTRY. Then the King, with joy and pride, Sprang down to the maiden's side, " Mother ! rise and bless my bride." At his spur's impatient clank, At his voice so glad, and frank, Rose the Gipsy from the bank. Vanished then her dreamy mood, Downward shrank the cloak and hood, And a queen revealed she stood. Then advanced with face of pride, Blessed her son and blessed the bride Nestling speechless at his side. Motionless the blue-eyed maid, As to break the spell afraid, Stood beneath the elm-tree's shade ; PALMISTRY. 135 Till the queen, with courtly phrase, *' Prithee, sweet, thine eyelids raise, Lovely art thou beyond praise." From long lashes glancing under, Starts the blue-eyed girl in wonder, Like a child at sound of thunder ; Starts with cheek of scarlet hue ; For the page in doublet blue Timidly who near her drew, Was the same, she now bethought her, "Who once, offering holy water, With a wishful look did court her ; Once, too, passing from the church. In procession through the porch, Lit her taper with his torch. 136 PALMISTRY. From her eyes, in blissful maze, Timidly responsive rays Meet his fond and sparkling gaze. Soon the joyous cavalcade, Bearing Gipsy, bride and maid, Homeward prance adown the glade. Seething spite in every vein, Chose the proud lass to remain, Envying her companions twain. To IVilliam G. IVard. Jtlinstrelsg. Es" the weary tramp of life, Midst its din of clanging strife, They who foot it in the ranks Fill their duty without thanks. They want water, and not rhyme, Food, when up is marching-time, Sleep, when, supper over, they Weary heads on knapsacks lay. Yet, when comes an eve of leisure, Oh ! how eager they for pleasure ; "Pass the goblet — fill the bowl — Drink we to the better soul." 138 MINSTKELSY. Ear and heart then crave a song, All intent the listeners throng ; Crave no Bacchic roundelays, But the chaunts of boyhood's days Sings the minstrel strains of war ? Eyelids quiver, glasses jar. Tunes his viol hymns of love ? Moistened cheeks their magic prove. Glancing one upon his glass, Mirrored sees the blue-eyed lass Gifted first with power to thrill His young heart that knew no ill. And another, in the wine, Imaged sees the face divine, Which when loved and wooed and won, Yanished, like the setting sun ! MIXSTKELSY. 139 And another, as he sips The nectar eager for his lips, Meets in fancy the caress Which those lips shall never press ! Thus all, in a dreamy fever, Would the song might last forever; Sighing when the magic strain Drops them back to life again. Bat to-morrow ! " Shoulder pack," Farewell to the bivouac, Onward march with drum and fife, Footsore up the path of life. So the Poet would he win Sympathies the heart within, Must not urge his song, but wait For the clamor at the gate ! T FIDDLER. And all these fragrant flowers has twined About ray heart, a fiddler blind ! The poet hath no keener sight, Than this old man with vision blight, Who, piercing with the spirit's eye The veil of his infirmity, Hath, with his viol's quickening spell, My pinions warmed to break their shell : If I accomplish half the task He wrought on me — 'Tis all I ask. DIALOGUE. Round my heart thy viol flings Rapture, with four magic strings. If thy bow, with but the spell Of twelve semitones, can tell, THE BLIND FIDDLER. 167 Like the rod that gold divines, All the ear's unfathomed mines, Spells how many wields the pen, To delight the hearts of men ? Countless as the shore's gray sands Are the spells the pen commands ; Earth, and they who on it dwell, Space and Ocean, Heaven and Hell. Be thy soul with these chords strung Fervently, and pen and tongue, Thrilling deeper, hearts shall raise Higher than my lowly lays. By the measure thou hast taught I will sell what life hath bought, I will give thy song a shape, Ere its fleeting tones escape. THE BLIND FLDDLEK. Mock thou not my humble art ! With my bow, God touched thy heart, And to Him ascend its strains, While thy song on Earth remains. To Frederic Berly. Keco Jttnstt Yott hear an air that thrills your ears With memories of bygone years. Forgetting age and care and pain, Your soul puts on its youth again ; And she who shone in beauty's pride, Long faded, sparkles at your side ; And as, in spring, old wines ferment When buds and leaves on vines are blent, So through your quickened pulses pour The effervescent joys of yore. Again her name drops from your lip Into the brimming cup you sip ; 8 170 NEW MUSIC. Nay, in the amber wine you trace The image of her cherished face. Oh days of youth and wild delight ! Oh gladdening waters, sweet as bright, Which memory's melodious spells Uncover like the Desert's wells ! .,_ Another sits in gloom and pain Whilst you drink in the rapturous strain. As East winds open ancient wounds, His bleed afresh at those sweet sounds ; It is the air, that lured him on To wretchedness in days bygone, Which now relumes the witching gaze Of those dark eyes whose treacherous r To ashes burnt his youth so fair, And left his life one long despair : His mistress by a rival bought, Or worse, his wife's dishonor wrought, Recur, as with those notes arise His heart's burnt-offerings to the skies, NEW MUSIC. 171 And leave it, when the strains expire, An altar blackened by the fire. The sun grows pale, the air is chill, Grim skeletons his vision fill ; Ah ! in the tomb no terrors lie, For thus to suffer is to die ! N"ow, like fond brothers, hand in hand, Both tread some fair and unknown strand, In measure ; when the magic wand Of Schumann sways the tuneful band, Or Wagner's glorious voices smite The ear, and unsipped joys unlock, As when the Patriarch Israelite With faith-tipped rod struck Horeb's rock. One, wafted to the fairy isle On ocean's softest summer smile ; One, 'scaped with life and nothing more From ocean's fiercest wintry roar : 172 NEW MUSIC. Both drink its odors breeze — beguiled From thicket and savanna wild ; Both taste its tropic fruitage filled With sweetness from the sun distilled : Both bask in blooms that never change From seaside up to mountain range ; Till to their ravished senses seem Life's bliss and bale an equal dream, And each, in extacy, forgets The past — its joys and its regrets. Sirabumrms. When the viol hath been strung, And the master's hand hath wrung Speech from every hermit-tongue That unseen dwells Within its cells ; Hoarse its voices until taught With his rapture to consort, Or, in sweet concent, to show Sympathy with human woe ; Then, in their retiredness, Craving constantly to bless Air and ear with tuneful stress, Each mellower grows In its repose, 174 STEADIYAKIUS. Till a fuller choral swell, And a softer waning spell, Are the echoes that respond To the master's magic wand. When the viol's tones aspire Upward, like the breath of fire, Does the master's soul inspire Alone its sighs And symphonies ? Or, do angels with the strain Seek their long-lost home again, Soaring in melodious throng On the pinions of his song ? When a friend hath ceased to groan, While we o'er his coffin moan, And deplore his spirit flown, Dare we maintain That ne'er again STBADIVARIUS. 175 Shall that unstrung harp be wound And the Master's glory sound ? May not, then, the lute enshrine Unseen spirits half divine ? To William Young. fgne© Jattti. A deeam the LiranerSs waking eyes May strive to seize As vainly as the bark that flies Before the breeze ; A strain that flutters in the ear Yet shuns the throat, As hushes, when you draw too near, The linnet's note ; Ad echo which, within a vale, Responds no more Than a beloved one, by the gale Cast dead ashore ; IGNES FATTJI. Ill The stations of the stars at noon, The silvery wake Poured by the horn of last night's moon Upon the lake ; The memory of April's grace When trees are bare, Or of December's frosty face When June is fair ; To strike from air those sparks of bliss, In solitude, Which seemed eternal when your kiss Its fellow wooed ; To ask a friend the boon yourself Had freely given, And find him dearlier prizing pelf Than Love or Heaven ; 8* 178 IGXES FATTTI. To toil from dawn till day is old With bleeding hands, Yet fail to find one grain of gold In mocking sands ; So seem and such the shapes that throng Him who pursues — Endeavoring to entrap in song — The wayward muse. To John E. Russell 21 cram at Jtttimigljt Alone upon the Spouting Rock I hear its voices roar, And watch the baffled surges shock Against the iron shore. The wind grows bolder — not a cloud Restrains the sweeping breath I've seen rend ships — till mast and shroud Whirled in a dance of death. 180 DAWN AT MIDNIGHT. Against the sky, with swollen sail, A bark now ploughs the deep ; Her freight, perchance, but seed this gale Shall sow, and Ocean reap. God speed those whom the winds pursue This wild yet starry night ; And keep my heart until I view Her casement's promised light. Sail on ! O bark, through every change Of season and of sky ; Within the haven of yon grange My hopes at anchor lie ! ®l)c Charge. Canter on ! canter on ! gaily we go ; Let no betrayal our trumpeters blow; Till we behold on yon summit the foe, Loose not the bugle's wild breath ; Then to its sound we will bound o'er the ground, Jubilant unto the death, Slacken your pace as we rise yonder slant ; Tighten your girths ! let your weary steeds pant. Hark ! 't is the . enemy's rude battle-chaunt : Grow to your saddles, my men ! We 're on the hill ! — blow your will, bugles shrill ! Now for a crash in the glen ! ®l)c Jttocm anb % Seacon. Honey moon ! Honey moon ! Though — this April night — Ocean, bay, and dark lagoon Revel in thy light, Will to-morrow see thy rays VV here to-night they gleam, And my young bride's tender gaze Still with gladness beam ? Beacon light ! Beacon Light ! On yon lonely shore, Shining, faith-like, every night, Where the breakers roar ! THE MOON AND THE BEACON. 183 Like a beating heart, thy flash, Fed by human care, Cheers the Mariner when crash Tempests through the air. Maiden fair ! Maiden fair ! While the orange wreath Sheds its fragrance o'er thy hair, Let thy balmier breath Vow that, like the Beacon's light, Thou wilt ever shine For the lover who to-night Links his fate to thine. £ct €l)ocolatterc. Bright are thine eyes, my pretty little maid, As diamonds sunk in jet ; Brown is thy cheek, as shadows in the glade By eve for lovers set. Lissome and smooth thy fairy-moulded shape Which gossamer muslins press, As clouds around the Jungfrau's summit drape Her snows with mute caress. Sometimes a thrill shoots through the sweet repose In which thou art enchained, And like the flush of summer-lightning glows Thy cheek with azure veined. LA CHOCOLATIEEE. 185 Say ! dost thou, then, a song of spirits hear, Inaudible to me ; Or, on his throne in Dreamland's moonlit sphere, Thy young heart's monarch see ? Say ! if the black braids of the silken hair In which thy face is noosed Are but a witchingly-devised snare To pinion souls seduced ? For — that thy fawn eyes bait no ambuscade Could I but fondly trust — I'd kneel so low to thee, O pretty maid, My brow should kiss the dust ! To my Niece Louise. Dolor C0. Hee ear to all the litanies Of brooks and whispering leaves alive, Pure as the violet-laden breeze, Dolores hath no sin to shrive. By fawns she \s welcomed in the fields ; In groves by birds with vying throats, To swains nor lords no heed she yields, But in sweet peace serenely floats, i 187 Till, in the twilight hour, she hears A voice that wakes her sleeping heart, Now, breathing tones that melt to tears, Now, blasts at which her pulses start. Sphinx-like her face, while tender fires Soften the glaciers of her breast, And pleasing fears and new desires Like fairy voices thrill her rest. Her ear thenceforth his trumpet is ; Her soul a lyre within his hands ; Her eye sees only light in his, Who twines her fate with silken strands. Titian to 0tdla, I love thee that thou dost inspire My ice-bound heart with quickening fire, And makest me forget, One silver moment, that I'm old, When warms thy breath my lips, from cold Indifference to regret. As, in gray autumn's dreary days, Their pallid cheeks the asters raise, To catch the sun's stray kiss ; So, ere the Arctic night sets in, Thy radiance shall my last thread spin With rapture's golden bliss. TITIAN TO STELLA. 189 Oh, thrilling touch ! Oh, glowing eyes ! Whose beams, like stars in wintry skies, Shine harmless on the snow ! Harmless as when, in tempest dark, The palmer from the steel's cold spark A kindling flame would blow. Yet, phantom dear of buried days That veilest, with a sunset haze, The future's gloom and sorrow, Stay ! that the thought of thee may With one bright ray of happiness, The dark clouds of to-morrow ! To Julia. 2tt last I "What care I whence the cold wind blows, Or if yon skies be drear, Now that my longing arms enclose Her whom I hold most dear ! Wbat care I for the wealth and power That light an emperor's throne, Since that kiss made — 'tis scarce an hour — Those tender lips my own ! Qtt'importe d'ou souffle la bise Qui teint en gris les cieux, Puisqu'enfin, dans mes bras, Elise Kepond a tous mes voeux ! Qu'importent la puissance et l'or Qui luisent pres d'un Roi, Puisque, cedes leurs doux tresors, Ses levres sont a moi ! 192 at last! Let Warriors chase the phantom-light Of glory o'er the field, And Tyrants with oppression's might Make sullen nations yield. Let Orators with stormy breath Upheave the human seas, And Heirs rejoice when pallid death Gives them the golden keys ! I'll only live henceforth for her Who only lives for me ; The Vine that clasps the hoary Fir Makes glad the lonely tree ! What though death lurk in its embrace, Both men and trees must die ; What matters then my resting-place, Or when I in it lie ! enfin! 193 De la gloire que le soldat Cherche le feu follet, Et de son sceptre les appas Le Tyran deteste. Que l'Orateur, comme l'orage, Souleve l'assemblee, Et l'aine, de son heritage, Touche la clef doree. Desorrnais pour elle je vis Qui pour moi seul existe ; La vigne verte autour de lui Rejouit le sapin triste ! Que ses baisers cachent la mort, Tout sapin doit mourir ; Qu'importe quand le meme sort Me condamne a perir ! 9 194 AT LAST ! Her tears shall bless with flowers my grave, Until her soul take wing ; As o'er the fallen Fir shall wave The vine-bells many a spring. 195 Ses pleurs eclateront en roses Dessus mon toit dernier ; Comme, du pin dechu ecloses, Les fleurs de visiie en Mai. 0ttU ! Slaked is the burning desert-thirst, And thou art wholly mine ! Stilled is the heart I thought must burst When throbbing close to thine ! Calmed the strange sense of vague unrest That shipwrecked mariners feel Ere, through the tropic breaker's crest, They launch their untried keel : Framed of the lordly tree which gave Them shelter from the blast, When, beachward high, the strong-armed wave Their senseless bodies cast. 197 Like them on desolation's isle My heart was doomed to rove, Until beneath thy sunny smile It woke to hope and love. With fire they carved the giant bole Unconscious of its fate ; With flame I shaped thy stately soul To carry mine as freight. In it, through passion's surges driven, I float beyond their roar. And we, O Love ! are nearer Heaven Than when we left the shore. . *, \\~> ,0" ,9' * Y * ° f c> tf ? ^ ; ^^ ^ V

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