um^M:^^M^i\V. -mi^MssBmmiii^^Bmmmm&m -.>.n^.„„, .rr^; ....v.. -....,. HELEin; ivi. * k JRD m^r h/^M' 1^1 |||^pp'x^k:v>v-- ■.-•.••■■-■. ^B^^^B^^^BBBBflB^mi'^^!^.^ te| ^^e)^(^,'o HHH[ KiiMMiittlfl!^^ IP 4V Or> lofi-i --e T -BV^^ POETICAL WORKS OF HELEN MARR KURD. ILLUSTRATED BY MISS ALLIE COLLINS, BOSTON: B. B. Russell, 57 Cornhill, 1887. .^ Copyright, By Helen M. Hurd, 1SS7. All Rights Reserved. Electkotyped and Printed by Robinson & Stephenson, 91 Oliver Street, Boston, Mass. PREFACE. If, in coming before the public, any apologies are needed, there are only these that I can offer : At a very early age the gift of arranging ideas in rhythmical measures was manifest, and although my talent may be a limited one, yet I have been advised not to bury it ; also a physical deficiency which renders other methods of maintenance quite difficult, has influenced me to some extent. As regards notoriety, I scarcely know whether I care for it or not ; my impression is a strong reaching out toward a life of seclusion, where my thoughts, imageries and creations might be put forth for the few without being approved or disapproved by the many. As prominent authors have been called imita- tors, so I may also be thus denominated ; under such an accusation my earnest hope would be that my models had been the superior and beautiful iv PREFACE. minds which have gone before me into the en- chanted and beautiful realms of Poesy. Some who seemed not to realize that thought is the great highway of progress, along which laborers climb and upon which the world is pushed toward completeness, and within whose vast course it is sometimes impossible not to step upon the conceptions of other laborers, in order to reach higher and broader, or even in diverse and divers directions, have accused the noblest and most orig- inal intellects of plagiarism, and my lesser intelli- gence may be condemned. However, being con- scious of not having, to my own knowledge, ap- propriated aught that belongs to another, gives me hope of a favorable acceptance of my work, according to its merits. I trust my publishers will permit me to say that their taste, skill and efficiency in the work command my full appreciation, and commendation to others who wish work done neatly and well ; earnest thanks are extended to them for their patience and forbearance with my inexperience. Hoping that none who have patronized me, or may do so in the future, will be disappointed, and with earnest thanks to all for their kind support, I dedicate my book to my friends. H. M. H. CONTENTS. PAGE. A MONUMENT 11 AXE AND PLOW, 50 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE, . . 67 AMO, 92 A LESSON 122 APRIL 2d, 1863, 127 A NEW THING UNDER THE SUN, 153 A TIME OF THE LORD'S SUPPER, 245 A FRAGMENT, 252 A VIEW IN THE PICTURE GALLERY, OF NATURE, . 375 AT THE TRYST, 407 BEARING BURDENS, ... 180 BABY BESS, 184 BARTHOLDI STATUE, 187 BOSTON, 259 BARBARA FRITCHIE, 371 CHANGED, 105 CHRISTMAS CAROL, 211 CALEB AND JOSHUA, 273 CUDLIEF'S VOYAGE, 318 CAMILLA CAMERON, 381 DEIGH AND I, 94 EVIE MARY, 97 ERICSON'S VOYAGE, 317 FRAGMENTS, 108 FEBRUARY 2d, 1883, 253 HAPPINESS, 45 INVOCATION, 9 IN THE DISMAL SWAMP, 13 IN THE COTTON FIELDS, 17 IN MEMORY OF I. W. HURD, 24 IN MEMORY OF JAMES HURD, 26 IN MEMORY OF MRS. A. W. DAVIS, . «... 270 IMAGRIES OF MERCURY, . . . » . . .342 Vi CONTENTS. PAGE. I'VE TWINED A WREATH OF ROSES, . . . .374 JASPER, » . . 132 JANUARY 12th, ...,.., o . 213 KENNEBAGO, o ... 126 KEEP COOL, 235 LIITLE MILLIE, 27 LITTLE NELL, ......... 54 LOVE'S TRYST, 104 LOVE'S FALSEHOOD, 115 LADY LE CLARE, 149 LELL LENORE, 190 LINES, Lovingly Dedicated to Mrs. R. S. Philbrick, . 248 LALLA LEIGH, 264 LEIF ERICSON'S BAPTISM, 313 LEIF ERICSON'S PROPHECY, 315 LOLA ALSLYN, 365 MIDSUMMER MORN 19 MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY, 35 MY MOTHER, . 63 MARTHA, 8G MIDSUMMER DAY, 110 MAMMA'S ECHOES, 258 MINNIE'S BIRTHDAY, . . .261 MY REFUGE, 279 NINETEEN, 46 NEGRO JACK, 398 OUR SOLDIER, 26 OUR PLAY DAY, 359 ON THE RIVER, 363 PICTURES — SOMETHING GAY, 59 PEACE, BE STILL, 124 PROGRESSION — THE SWORD, 303 RIGHT ? OR WRONG ? 88 RECONCILED, 99 ROLL CALL ON THE POTOMAC, 400 SOMETHING RARE 60 SOMETHING GLORIOUS, 61 SORROW, 66 SUSTAINED, 85 SOMEBODY'S DARLING, 87 SOMEBODY'S MOTHER, 128 CONTENTS, Vll PAGE. SOMEWHERE, .......... 142 SIR WHITE, ..».,.,. 345 THE DEARTH, . 21 THE VISION, .... 29 THE THREE PRAYERS, . 32 THE SLAVE MOTHER, . 40 THE COUNTRY SCHOOL, 43 TRUE FAITH, .... 46 THE SUICIDE, .... 47 THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY, 52 TO EVALINE, .... 65 THE DWARFED SHRUB, 102 THE MOUSE, .... . Ill THE WRECK, .... 134 THE DRUNKARD, . . 140 TO SARA AND WILLIE, . 148 THE VISION OF BRENT, 168 TOCASSIE, .... 179 THE MARRIAGE VOW, . 186 THE AMMOOSANTA PLAIN, . 195 THE PARDONED CONDEMNED, 201 THE TWO VOICES. 214 THE FOUNDING OF A CITY, . 238 TO MRS. N. S., ... 261 TO MR. AND MRS. H. E. P., 268 THE PHANTOM LOVER, 280 THE SWORD, .... 804 THE WORD, .... 309 THE WORD AND THE SWORD, 327 THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD, . 328 THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW, 331 THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS, . 336 THE GOLDEN VISION, .... 350 THE MOURNER, 353 THE HOLIDAY, . 360 THE TERRORS, 377 THE BATTLE, .... 390 VENUS AND MARS, 343 WE MEET AND PART, . . 107 WHICH IS BEST ? . . . 206 YESTERDAY EVE, . 96 ILLUSTRATIONS. LiLYBELL Vale, Frontispiece. The Pines, Page 7/ The Silver Birch, ....... " 82t INVOCATION. O ! Infinite, Omniscient God ! Lord of the day, Lord of the night I Thou holdest darkness in Thy palms ; And through Thy hands obedient hght Comes forth ; and heaven and earth evolve, And wax and wane in measured zone Around a Center fathomless, Thyself its force upon Thy throne ! ' All things, minute, mighty, entire,'' At Thy command, spring into life ! Before Thy breath the oak tree bends, And waters in tumultuous strife, Lift up themselves and heave on high, From wrestless deeps, resistless might, And measure wrath with elements Upon the left, upon the right ! Thy laws disgorge volcanic floods ; Thy fiats loose the hurricane ; Then, at Thy bidding, fire, and air. And raging waters sleep again ; And fragrant zephyrs, through Thy lands. Rock forth and back the mignonette ; And in the soft blue of Thy heavens Millions of shining drops are set ! 10 INVOCATION. We know, Thy perfect principles Apply the smallest grains of sand ; That every thought of human heart Is gathered by Thy tireless hands ; We know, Thy Mighty Wisdom works '^A miracle in all we see !" Yet, underneath such Providence, Prone in the dust we know not Thee ! We take the burdens and the yokes Of sin, receive correctien's reed ; And blindly stumble to and fro, With hidden hearts which faint and bleed ! We know not Thee ! know not ourselves ! Nor can we know These as we would, Until the wars within us, cease, Betwixt the Evil and the Good ! Prone in the dust beneath Thy foot, O'erwhelmed by countertides we lie ! In speech confounded lest our tongues Their worthless Babels build too high ! Complexed, to serve Thy purposes. And yet, a unit of Thy care. Receiving, through Thy bounteous gifts, Rich blessings scattered everywhere ! For good come sore calamities ! As scavengers afflictions rise ! And every curse a blessing holds, Which stirs the soul it sanctifies ! And yet, "our thoughts are not Thy thoughts !' *' Our ways are not Thy ways," dear Lord ! We shrink and turn from just rebuke. And fret beneath Thy chastening rod ! INVOCATION. 1 1 Prone in the dust under Thy foot, A contra minded, stubborn race, Fallen, though raised by Perfect Love And cleansed by Everlasting Grace ! O ! Matchless Love ! O ! Boundless Grace ! O ! Limitless and Probeless Power ! Which by our complexed destinies Through travail, purges souls, each hour, Lift us, O ! Blessed Lord ! by means Whichever Wisdom knows is best ! Lead us by whatsoever ways All creatures in Thee may be blessed ! Still exercise Thy perfect Will In mercy, till enlarged and free From complications know we self. And through this medium know we Thee ! A MONUMENT. Look ! and behold a monument ! A huge colossus, reaching out From orient to Occident. Rugged in outline, massive, tall. Its every nerve a beam of might ; Alive with muscles, and in all Its giant bulk a perfect sight ! Strength bounds the overhanging brow Swift genius from the flashing eye Breaks forth ; upon its bosom bow Faith, hope, and charity ; and lie About its nostrils energy And brave desires : 12 A MONUMENT. Fine eloquence leaps from its lips ; On its face health and plenty rest ; Upon its ears refinement sits ; Upon its back content and ease ; Within its broad and roj-al breast Burn loyal fires ! One foot is placed upon dry land ; One foot upon the great high seas ; A giant lever in each hand, Covering the South, covering the North, Continually exercised ! Above its head a band Of glory blazes ! jets of flame Five letters form which spell a name, And labor is immortalized ! Out from whose mighty heart comes forth Continuous tide of surging life ; It leaps down o'er the mighty arm Which sweeps the waiting universe With soft content or fierce alarm, Which covers South, which covers North With its strong lever on the right. And subtle strength and force disburse, And through the great hand, come to sight, And rushing o'er the giant bar. Become a weight whose pressures strike From solid rock rivers of gold That overflow the world, break down Kingdoms o'er vast, or build a crown Whose yellow lustre sways the earth ! Out from whose mighty heart flows forth Upon the left, continuous tide A MONUMENT. 13 That creates South, that creates North Of breath enormous and of length Unmeasured and immeasurable ! The rocks are searched and lapse of years Marked by whose records ! the great deeps Yield up their secrets to whose strength ! Adown the giant bar it rolls Created worlds and probes their bulk, Upon them puts a measurement, And lifts them to their place again! O'er steps their intervening space And reads their orbits at a glance, And tracks them through the firmament ! The balance of immortal soul, Outweighs, and lifts the restless mind — A heavier weight than wood and stone, A heavier weight than golden ore — Upward as high as highest heaven. Or downward than the hell sinks lower ! Order, and law, and chaos bind Issues from this unyielding force Of talent whose maker is God, And labor whose unequalled source. IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. Upon the branches serpents lie ; " Wheel the cicala and the bat ; " Within the jungles moreeains cry, "And fiercely screams the forest cat." Alive the marsh is with complaint ; The she-wolt's lair is in the brake j And sullied by the dropping taint Of poisonous weed expands the lake. 14 IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. Near the great swamp's dismal abyss, With whir of insect on the wing, And screech of beast, and serpent's hiss, Comes the fleet bloodhound's clammoring. Far in the rear of fugitive The whole, swift-footed, roaring pack. With that keen power their nostrils give, Amid the sludge have found the track. And now, God speed the dusky feet Which from the chains of slavery fly ! God strengthen every pulse's beat ! Send cunning both to ear and eye ! A bloody footprint in the soil. Shows the sharp stab of stone and thorn ! A sideway leap avoids the coil Of fangs, but still the trail goes on. Upsprings the wildcat from the bough ; Outdarts the she-wolf from her den ; And deadly fogs from bog and slough Unite with blistering dews of fen ; Yet on and on, more swift, more sure, — Each muscle swollen to a cord ! Each heart-pant stronger to endure, Each footprint firmer in the sod ! But hark ! the uproar in the rear Has reached a pandemonian height ! And in the van waters appear, And deep morass at left and right ! IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. 15 O God ! how shrinks the quivering flesh, As though it felt the steaming breath Of bandog ! how the heart afresh Rebels 'gainst slavery's living death ! O God ! see how the rolling eye In frenzy turns from hand to hand ! Hear how the loud pulsations ply ! Behold each nerve a throbbing band ! Ten paces upon either side Bottomless marshes stretch away ; A pace in front a sluggish tide, And rearward brings the bloodhound's bay ! One moment there upon the bank, Steadfast as marble — motionless — Knee-deep in marosh, lush and dank, She Hsts how near the huntsdogs press ! Now, face to face upon her foe She turns ; and that God-given force In man, if he be high or low, Is dominant to check their course I Thus far they venture, but not near Enough that either lolling tongue Can touch her kirtle ! back in fear, Half crouching on their haunches hung, They, faithful to the hunt and chase, With deafening howls hedge in their prey. Until the captors in the race Come guided by their ceaseless bay. 16 IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. Unmoved she waits the close advance Of her pursuers with their whips ! Then never was the heaven's expanse Rent with such shriek from human Hps ! Master and hound tremble and shrink In superstitious awe and dread ; The negroes cringe ; for from the brink Of hell seem echoes overhead ! Legions of tongues in agony Seem in the startled atmosphere ! Anathamas from every tree Seem slapped against each shivering ear ! Nor driver, prostrate in alarm, Lifts up the turban or the sash ; Nor brute stirs ! nor the slaver's arm Has strength to raise the braided lash I No foot of all her enemy, Lately so valiant in pursuit, Her awful path to liberty Moves to obstruct, or to dispute. Across the bog swiftly she flies Where thousands of quickpits rotate ! And oft her pierced feet seem to rise As though were pinions 'neath her weight ! Foul, smoky vapors from the mires. Hoarse, gulching sounds thrust up to sight ; And spurt erect serpent-like spires From soil engulfed behind her flight ! IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. 17 Through the foul mists her kirtle gleams ; And over arms and shoulders bare, Upon the sultry breezes streams Her silken wealth of raven hair ! Until is hidden from their view The Quadroon maid, not from his place A foe moves, nor the fear-blanched hue Recedes from any foeman's face ! But now the planter lifts his torch And speaks, " Surely the girl's a witch ! Yet, though our night's work be a botch, God save us from such filthy ditch !" Upon the backward trail they turn, And ere the morn the slaver's whip Vengeance threefold unvexed will earn. And ere the noon with blood will drip ! IN THE COTTON FIELDS. The long and heavy hours of cloudless, sultry day Succeed the sultry hours of cloudless, starlit night ; And tawny sunlight pours amain its molten ray Upon the cotton fields ripened to snowy white. Beneath tropical heat the humbee and the bird Drowse under leafy screen and within waxen cell ; And all the thousand tongues by music's measures stirred, Before the high meridian into deep silence fell. 18 IN THE COTTON FIELDS. Insect and animal in shady coverts hide ; In the oppressive warmth reptile and slug are still : Inert within the depth the finny tribes abide, And not a breath uplifts a leaf upon the hill. Reclined upon his couch 'mid dainty opulence, Serene the planter waits the shadows of the west ; And while the glowing day from heaven flames intense, In indolent pastime all of his household rest. But where the meads are white is unremitting toil ; Manhood in hearty prime, and silver head of age, And woman's helpful hands pick yields from fertile soil, — And youthhood's tender years in almost every stage. And stamped upon each form whose hands labors discharge. When heat intolerant gives nature animate. Dull inactivity, there is the mark at large Which binds its liberties with slavery's servile fate. Some of the aged ones, bending beneath their loads, Once basked 'mid lavish growths beside the flowmg Nile. And near the feathery date constructed rude abodes, And tasted priceless joys of freedom for awhile. Now, in a distant land, filling coffers with gold. Self-profitless and snug under the slaver's scourge, Subject to taskmasters, bartered, and bought, and sold. Into vile vassalage the hapless victims merge ! Sometimes, wearied, and worn, and burdened to the dust. The longings of their hearts to see their native shore. Make them forget their tasks and ser\'itude unjust, And happy visions bring, — and they are free once more ! IN THE COTTON FIELDS. 19 Stretches before their eyes the wealth of Afric's ground ; Mimossa groves and palms, dense woods of creeping vine, Whose bloom, and fruit, and leaf by tropic richness crowned, With balm of sweets are full, and ripe with fragrant wine. Swiftly adown its banks the stately river lowers Under midsummer's sun ; and all the region wide Of inundation thrives. The kingly lion roars ; And they themselves roam free without even a guide ! But ere their frames, fatigued, a moment find repose, And ere their weary feet tarry a moment's space. The pictures of the past, which in their minds uprose. Beneath the cruel lash to present scenes give place ! Blissless reaHties force up their naked shapes ; Cane-brake and cotton-plant their scope of vision bound ; The chain of slavery Hes on their helpless napes ; And endless servitude presents its ceaseless round. MIDSUMMER MORN. Soft languor lies upon the hill : The scattered yarrow in the vale, Among the crowded clover-blooms Lifts phantom faces wierd and pale. Beneath the hazy, sensuous warmth The crimson rose-leaves drop and die ; Quivers the slender harebell's blue, Touched by the serpent gliding by. 20 MIDSUMMER MORN. The wood with heavy emerald crowned, Casts an uncertain, perfumed shade. Stirred only by the transient breath That labors in the sultry glade. The sparrow has not hailed the morn ; The robin's song thrills thin and slow ; The seeth of insect cuts the air, The waters murmur soft and low ; Is heard the clashing of the ferns, JostUng each other in the breeze ; The sharp tongue of the locust breaks Monotony of whispering trees. Where whirred the beetle through the night, Rises the morerain's plaintive woe ; And in its lonesome hiding-place Pulses the cricket's tremulo ; But at the broad'ning day's advance The brooklet seems to laugh and sing ; And fills the valley and the wood The fuller voice of everything ; Then suddenly from leafy screen Outdarts the joyous bobolink, And sparkling drops of melody In bubbling measures rise and sink ; And from the screens of fern and leaf, Afar and near, and all about, In answer from the merry throats The diamond songs come gushing out ; MIDSUMMER MORN. 21 Music seems into jewels turned, Sparkling and dancing on the glow Of tawny sunlight o'er the hill, Which floods with gold the vales below. Still swells the fuller voice of day From air and wave, from branch and sod, Till nature's perfect harmony Rolls forth in rich and grand accord. THE DEARTH. The famine was in the land ! Rich soil which the plow had turned, Under the cloudless heat had burned Until as dry as the sand ! The grass on the hillside was sere ! The valleys were desolate ! The lowing herds at the open gate, And the hungry flocks were near ! Stood in the dawn of morn, And stood at the evening's close, Withered corn in the parching rows, And the tree of its fruit was shorn ! The bog in the marsh was dry ; And upon the river's bed, Beautifully gilt with gold and red, The trout was left to die ! 22 THE DEARTH. Dry stubble were fields of grain ! The red and the purple plum Swiveled where starving birds were dumb, All dying from want of rain ! And still in a sultry sky The glowing tires of the sun Rolled forth till cloudless day was done, And a sultry moon rose high ! The gaunt and the fleshless frame Of man in the bitter need, Were pitiful, woeful things indeed ! As hard the famine became ! But the crying, crying for bread, And the hunger, lean and wild, In the face of the little child, Were terrors to hearts that bled ! Plague and the famine abroad ! What evil had there been wrought Which the terrible curse had brought? What gift v/ould appease the God ? *' Not blood," said the holy man, '' Not blood," said the famished throng " But earnest prayer, and sacred song, Though we feed upon husk and bran 1" Out on the scorching plain, Out by the stubbled wheat, At the altar and in the street The cry went up for the rain ! THE DEARTH. 23 The beautiful Sabbath dawned, Glorious in cloudless heat ; Cots in the valley were white and neat ; The little church was beyond. At the altar matron and maid, The youth and the stalwart sire, A needy throng with but one desire, In the early morning prayed ! The babes with their hands upraised, All meager with hungry pain, Joined in, the longing cry for rain! As the cloudless sunlight blazed ! And still, as the hours went by, The starving people plead. Hundreds were dying, hundreds were dead ! Scarcely parched hps could cry ! High noon into midway space Rolled upward its flaming zone ; And dust o'er the arid hill was blown Where the sunset left its trace. But where the sultry west lay Its circle upon the earth, Seemed as the width of a finger's girth Cloud flecked into golden spray. And a dirty thread in the east Stretched from the north to the south ; And the sea, asleep through the burning drought Surged up into foamy yeast. 24 • THE DEARTH. " Thank God ! " said the holy man ; "Thank God ! " cried the famished throng ! " Famine is bitter, dearth has been long, We have fed upon husk and bran ! **But the purpose of God is good ; His mercies are over all ! Though earth be parched, or the raindrops fall, Or wrath of floods be withstood !" Out on the desolate plain. Out by the profitless wheat, At the altar and in the street, Glad tongues praised God for the rain ! IN MEMORY OF I. W. HURD, Good-bye, dear heart ! we know your worth ! Your brave, true spirit know we well ; And your keen mind of ample girth Wrought in the mold of poet's spell, And sharp and large 'gainst shirk and sham, Brought to the world loss when you fell. Bold in the cause of liberty, A valliant warrior at your post, Ready dispatch and energy Rendered you fit where needed most ; And your undaunted courage held Within your single arm a host ! IN MEMORY OF I. W. HURD. 25 When all the world seemed pledged by fire To slaughter ; and upon the hill Were brooks of blood ; and crimson mire Steamed in the marsh, you, dauntless still, Example to your comrades gave, And led them by your dominant will ! The battle seemed to wane, and waged Fiercer the foe, when on the wall Your trusty sword hung unengaged. And deeper gloom seemed over all. The fortunes of the war seemed turned Against the country at your fall. And in our hearts so dark a void, And in our lives a loss so great, Not only happiness alloyed, But peace fled at the cruel fate Which dragged you to the filthy den Within the rebel's prison gate. O ! noble heart ! — the stagnant drop, The meager portion, and the crust That tortured pain it could not stop ! That could not quench your thirst ; and thrust Death in your blood ! — your' country holds Such souls in memory's sacred trust ! And every hearthstone in the land Becomes an altar where is laid Such sacrifice ; and freedom's hand Gathers the gift, and lease is made Of liberty unshackled, free, Uncursed by an unholy trade / 26 IN MEMORY OF I. W. HURD. Forever shall the nations sing The praise of warriors of the blue 1 And down vistas of time shall ring Their glory ever great and true ; And in our hearts shall ever be Proud love, O noble soul, for you ! OUR SOLDIER, IN MEMORY OF JAMES HURD. He fought for his country and died ; Died nobly, and bravely, and well : Cut down in the beautiful pride Of young manhood ; in conflict he fell 'Mid the booming of cannon and the bursting of shell. No monument, marble, or stone, No shaft in chiseled adornments drest ; Nothing but the sorrowing dome Of the willow weeps over his rest, And the sod which his own feet in battle have prest. Although to the beautiful land Where sorrow is not he is gone, Although he has joined the great band Clad in peace and with grace "clothed upon," And although our dark night is to him brightest morn. Although in a brave soldier's grave, Although the dust over his head, And the flowers which over him wave With the life of the bravest were red. Yet do we regret and do mourn our dear dead OUR SOLDIER. 27 Sits empty beside the hearthstone A chair ; and the sound of a voice Is hushed forever, — and we alone Know how our saddened hearts would rejoice To hear it, — and would we if given our choice. Oh ! we long for the noise of his feet On the rock by the old door-sill ; Oh ! we long his presence to greet, And to clasp the dear hands which are still, And to kiss the lips which lie 'neath sods on the hill ] But love cannot quicken this sleep Which closes his eyes ; nor the test Of sharp woe, nor tears which we weep Can e'er disturb this beautiful rest Which folds his arms peacefully over his breast. LITTLE MILLIE. Our beautiful darling has fallen asleep ; The heavy, wakeless slumbers of death Wrapt her in silence strange and deep ; From her pale, closed lips there issues no breath. As fair as the beautiful flowers of May, In her snowy dress she quietly lies ; Her golden hair is brushed away From her brow, and white lids cover her eyes. Her busy, pattering feet are so still : The little hands are upon her breast : Her cheek is white with death-cold chill, And we are in sorrow who love her best. 28 LITTLE MILLIE. Oh ! only a few short days ago Her sweet voice echoed within the hall ; And o'er the threshold, shaded and low, We heard her restless footsteps fall. Oh ! only a few short hours ago Her kisses were warm upon our lips. Now time drags on with a sense of woe, As one moment into another slips. But our thoughts go back, as our sad hearts grieve, To her hours of pain twixt then and now : We think of the fateful yesterday eve, When dews of anguish were on her brow. When our hearts poured out in earnest prayer To the Father, laded with this request : ** Oh, take her not from us !" she, lying there, Said, '* Mamma, let me go to my rest ! " Like sharp reproach, from the little tongue Came the strange, clear words, as if had spoke Her spirit ; and with bitter sorrow wrung, We yielded, and life's frail thread was broke. Oh, darling ! resting beyond the sin, And care, and trouble of this hard world. Stand at the high gate and beckon us in, Where stainless banners of truth are unfurled. Where peace and happiness crown the land ; Where are heights of joy ever complete ; Guide us, until on the mount we stand. With valley and shadow beyond our feet. THE VISION. 29 THE VISION. I stood by his grave at sunset, On beautiful Indian ridge, While clouds where the lights had gathered Formed into a golden bridge ; And afar in the low horizon, Where evening shuts gates of the day, Moved shades as of souls in the distance, Where the shadowy rafters lay. And then arose to my vision A halo of golden spray, Which seemed to open the vistas To the spirit lands far away ; And unto the shining entrance The beautiful bridge floated in, And spanning etherial spaces, Touched where the eternals begin ; And up through the hazy halo The soul of a poet trod ; Nor paused at the bridge, but passed over To measures of sweetest accord ; And out of the hazy distance These echoing words uprose : " As long as the heart has passions, As long as life has woes 1'^ And clearly a chorus of voices Seemed, out on the heavenward side. Sweetly singing, singing, and singing As earthward voices replied ; And the burden of all the chorus Were words from the poet's song, 30 THE VISION. And melody grandly glorious In the gloaming swelled loud and long. I said, as the poet went over Through music exquisitely sweet, '' The bridge is a beautiful cover, Made of his labors complete ; Truths which his wise tongue has uttered Are formed into luminous beams ; His robes which heaven's breeze has fluttered Are wove of the poet's pure dreams. " Ah ! life as 'tis lived ere the portals Of death have received it, insures After-Hfe restful and perfect. Or to the Inferno inures ! " But scarce had these thoughts an expression, When somewhere a voice seemed to say " Scan the bridge, and let intercession Of truth index heaven's highway." Then suddenly opened my vision Into immeasurable space, Filled with souls 'twixt whom no division To entrance of the bridge had place ! Some ran with the fruits of their labors Like crowns on the burdens they bore ; Some walked with the flashing sabres Of vigilance on guard evermore. And right in their midst and around them Were many tiiat crept in the dust, Bowed down with burdens which bound them, O'erwhclmed with the moth and the rust. Then searching and seeing more clearly, I saw that the burdens were sin ; THE VISION. 31 Those running the race were the strongest ; Those walking and fighting would win. And then I beheld, in amazement, A band like the thread of a skein. That reached from one to the other Who ran, walked, and crept on a plane. And also I saw, as I marvelled. The bonds from the burdens spun ; And the bridge served souls which were creeping, As it served the strong souls w^hich run. And ever as they passed over. These words in the distance uprose : *' As long as the heart has passions, As long as life has woes." And I knew that thoughts of the poet Had leaped to a heavenward height ; And words that his grand soul had uttered Were sung in the regions of light ; And over the distance was wafted The gloriously sweet refrain, To show why the fingers of mercy Made equal the sins on the plane. " As long as the heart has passions. As long as life has woes," The strong shall conquer in battle, The weak be o'erwhelmed by their foes. As long as the heart has passions. The evil thought in the strong Is as foul as the deed of evil Of the weak that stumble along. One in his strength with his burdens Runs in his swiftness the race ; 32 THE VISION One in his pitiable weakness Creeps slowly unto God's grace. *' Oh ! great is the truth that is taught me On beautiful Indian ridge," I said, as I still looked westward At the luminous, golden bridge. But the beauteous, golden splendor Was breaking and floating away, And the marvelous vision had faded Where night shuts gates of the day. But the shadowy rafters, gathered Afar o'er the shadowy vale, Dropped into the rosy likeness Of the beautiful, holy grail. And this was my prayer and its burden, As the shadows of night uprose, *' As long as the hea7't has passions! As long as life has woesp^ THE THREE PRAYERS. The children played at the open door, Or in and out of the house they ran. Around the seats or over the floor, And skipped and danced, while the rush and the roar Of the crowded, busy city shook. And tumbled against the atmosphere, And broke continuous waves of sounds Against the ear. THE THREE PRAYERS. 33 Looking upon the children's mirth, And hstening unto their guileless joy, A woman, heart-sore and weary of earth, Glanced back o'er the arid and cheerless dearth Of life ; and lifting the burdens again, Which had taxed her strength from her early years, She bore them one by one, and weighed Their bitter tears. Backward step by step she trod. Scanning the woes that had scathed her peace And burned her heart ; while up to the God Floated the sounds of the sweet accord Of child-joy cleaving the sunny air, On which came the angels quietly down, That watched o'er the good, and the true, and the brave, Within the town. As over the past the woman grouped, Hunting the memories of sorrow and care. Recalling the failures where she had coped. And the disappointments where she had hoped, Out of the blackness of error and woe, She stepped down into the merry days Of girlhood, ere her young feet had found The rougher ways. Suddenly off from her soul there fell The years of life as a garment falls ; And again a child she rambled the dell. And wished her wish at the wishing well In the magic circle of rosy girls. Decked gaily and treading the mystic round. Where the cowslips, girdling the mystic stones, With gold were crowned. 34 THE THREE PRAYERS. She had breathed a prayer in the name of Christ, ' Instead of a wish ; but so set about Was it with self, that higher priced The simple wishes were paradised, And came toward the Jehovah's ear, While the prayer floated forth and back through space. Waiting for the lips which would breath it again To get more grace. But the years slipped by, and the floating prayer, With repetitions day by day. Grew heavily ladened, and through the air Wavered and waited everywhere ; Still loaded with self, it could not stand, Had it come, before the holy supreme, Until the heart that uttered it broke The soul to redeem. From meditations the children's play Wakened the woman as echoes awoke ; Then the wishing circle, was formed, and to pray Instead of wishing, a demoselle gay, Stepping over the magic ring. Paused ; but not for herself did she plead ; But she asked that the needy, more than she, Be blest indeed ; That instant the weary woman, aware Of the self wrapped closely within her breast, Thrust out with strength in her wild despair, Her foe, and uttered a fervent prayer For the blessings of God and the love of Christ To rest on the children and keep them from sin, By strength and grace ; through the opened Heaven The prayers went in. THE THREE PRAYERS. 35 And met, and floated together away Unto the holy of hohes, where grew The mercies which under the mysteries lay To sanctify through the scourging sway Of ill, or chasten souls with the good, As fitting the spirit, required the flesh ; God heard, and ofl" from the woman's life Withdrew the lesh ; And down on the beautiful, rosy child. Unselfish and pure as the lily's leaf, He poured the strength of endurance, and smiled ; And the maiden forever, howe'er beguiled. Or tempted, or chastened under the rod, Up to old age from her sinless youth. Conquered, and stood on the threshold of heaven, Crowned with her truth. MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY. WRITTEN BY REQUEST OF FRIENDS. Behold, a lurid sun sinks down Upon a brother's wrath ; And myriads of worlds move forth Upon their westward path. In cloud-crowned, dark magnificance Circles the azure dome ; And night comes, spreading out the heavens In one vast, star-writ tome. And earth, holdmg in soil and rock Volumes unread, is shod With speed, and treads the restless air Beneath the breath of God. 36 MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY. Vast fires within its bosom burn, Holding destruction's power, Till 'neath the Great Jehovah's hand Time points the signal hour. Yet man, an atom of the earth And of the Heaven combined, Sees sunset on his scathing wrath, And wrangles with his kind. 'Tis morning. In the flaming east The crimson light of day Floods the horizon ; and night shades Noiselessly fade away. And as morn's golden gate uplifts, "The rising splendor" rolls, And through the glowing gateway pours Its light on angry souls. Sunset and sunrise on the wrath Of brothers ! and again Sunset and sunrise, until hate Rends love ! and frenzied men Stand face to face ; and in one heart Is murder ! and his hand Whose heart is hardened swift obeys The dread, evil command Of dread evil within him ! swift As Satan's promptings came, Steadfast, covers its victim's life The deadly weapon's aim ! No time for thought of death is given ! Only a sudden dread Clutches the nerves ! only these words In quick protest is said : MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY. 37 ^^ Forbear J my brother! " and swift raised, The, hands a signal plead ; But fury hurls its hatred out, Nor to the words gives heed. And hark ! a groan of mortal wound Breaks from a brother's lip ; And from the weapon's shining ridge The drops of crimson drip ! A flood pours, reddening the feet Of the mad murderer ! his hands Are stained with blood ! and sanguined pools Are round him where he stands ! And lo ! with flying feet there comes A fair and youthful dame. She sees her dead mate on the ground ! She sees the evil flame Of heated wrath within the eyes Of the fierce fratricide ; And shrieks of wild, woeful despair Her palid lips, divide ! Upon the prostrate, hfeless form She flings her poor heart down ! Her dark hair dabbles in the blood, And blood is on her gown ! And broken accents, sobbing, say, '' Oh, husband of my choice ! I cannot live to know you are dead ! Speak ! let me hear your voice ! ' Come back to me ! I would have died — I would have died for you ! O love ! O love ! come back to me ! I would have died for you !" 38 MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY. Upon the winds her bitter cry Is borne ! in field and glen ! The wild lament blanches the cheeks Of hardy, stalwart men. A concourse gathers ; from the cot, From farmhouse and from shop Throng horror-stricken faces ! feet Run frantically and stop Before the awful scene ! throats choke With pity, and hot tears Dim many eyes and wet the cheeks Of old and younger years. Frozen with horror, through the streets Courses the hurrying crowd ! And heaven, as if in sympathy. Belches its thunders loud ! And now, across his threshold stair They bear the murdered man, And through the entrance where so oft A baby's footsteps ran To meet papa ; now scared and white The trembling little one By thoughtless hands is lifted up To see his sire ; and son And mother look in soothless grief Upon their silent dead ! She broken-hearted, he in fear And keen, appalling ^read ! The blood stains on the lifeless face ! The pierced and blood-drenched breast ! The heaving crowd like restless waves With horror all oppressed, MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY. 39 Fill up the tender little heart With terror ; and this cry- Bursts from his mouth : " Dear, dear papa ! " The dead eyes where they lie Open expressionless, give back No answer, and away They bear the terror-stricken child ! But when the night and day, And night and day have passed again, And months and years do go, Seems stamped upon the baby's face An incubus of woe ! The prison walls the murderer holds ; The grave contains the dead ; And poignant grief becomes consoled , And o'er the baby's head The fleeting time brings older years, And pleasant days bring joy ; And yet, pitiful, undefined Sadness seems on the boy ! His sparkling eyes, even when they smile, A hidden terror wear, Which, like a subtile, misty veil, Follows him everywhere ; And like the curse of Cain enstamped Within his blood, the woe Sits on his countenance, and tracks His feet where e'r they go ! And still the heavens roll on ; and earth Moves 'neath organic laws ; And from its source the universe lis vital motion draws. 40 MAINSTREAM TRAGEDY. The night walks o'er the purple skies, And drapes a wrangling world ; And ensigns of its beauteous hours Are on the clouds unfurled. Still, do accumulations vast Compile the deed word ; And vengeance in the hearts of men 'Gainst fellow-men is stirred ; And by the waves of influence rocked, The sea of life expands, And lives, and dies ; and earth remains An atom in God's hands. THE SLAVE MOTHER.. IN 1875. In the doorway of her thatch, Sitting in the summer sun, Watches she the slender thread By the wary spider spun. And the fly upon the latch, With its gauzy pinions spread. In the clover on the lawn Sips and sips the drowsy bee ; And the lilies in the mead Stately are and fair to see ; And the rustling of the corn Comes with sounds of bending reed. THE SLAVE MOTHER. 41 Waves the cypress in the breeze ; Droops the willow near the brook ; And above the grassy road Loudly caws the noisy rook, Hidden 'mong the leafy trees Where it feeds and rears its brood. In the fields of ripened grain Stalwart forms, dark-hued and tall, Fleasant-browed as e'er are men, Self-content — at peace with all — Laboring with might and main. Reap the plain and mow the glen. By the sweat of brow their bread Do they earn from day to day ; But no whip behind the back Urges on without delay ; By no chains their feet are led ; And no hound is on their track ! Up and down the trodden road Dusky children loosed from school Chase each other round the run, CHmb the hedge, or wade the pool. Or each one his own abode Seeks as soon as school is done. All of this before her eyes Passes 'neath the summer sun, While well-woven is the thread By the wary spider spun ; And the purple wings of flies In its meshes thick are spread. 42 THE SLAVE MOTHER. Old and wrinkled is her face ; And her hands are lean and thin ; Wool is snow upon her head, And the cheerful strife and din Of the children's merry race Seem a noiseless play instead ; But she smiles upon their joy, And her heart is full of glee, For her ears have heard the peal Of the day of jubilee; And no chains these sports annoy, And she sits 'neath freedom's seal. Swiftly to her aged heart Thrills an everlasting peace, As she rests against her chair. Watching still the spider's leace. And the gay flies as they dart Off and on her snowy hair. When the romping boys and girls, With swart faces in a glow, Mischief-loving, full of fun, Over grandma's locks of snow. Shake their tangled kinks and curls, Death has sealed what time had won. In her easy chair she sits ; Clasped her hands are on her breast ; Slavery's scourge has seared her flesh ; Toilsome years denied her rest ; Pleasure came in grudging bits ; Often bled her stripes afresh ; THE SLAVE MOTHER. 43 But upon her upturned brow Holy faith and love are set ; And the shadow of her soul On her features lingers yet ; And across her face even now Peace eternal seems to roll ! THE COUNTRY SCHOOL. Tinkle, tinkle, the teacher's bell Sounds for the merry jubilee ; And more quickly than tongue can tell Young hearts from arduous tasks are free : Over the threshold in and out Trip the footsteps of rosy girls ; And handsome lads laugh gaily, and shout, As scheme after scheme of fun unfurls. There are dark eyes, blue eyes, eyes of gray Brimming over with innocent glee ; Ethel, and Celia, and Minnie, and May, Pretty and merry as maidens can be : Ivan, gallant, and brave, and gay, Glances over the damsels so fair, Then leads dark-eyed Minnie away To the skating-ground smooth, sparkling and glare. Ghoram, and Eddie, and Nanie, choose Among the girls their mates for the dance ; And pretty Pinkie in pretty shoes. With eyes as bright and keen as a lance, Observes the pretty romances Among the older girls and boys. And unto her childish preferences Confides her pretty griefs and joys. 44 THE COUNTRY SCHOOL. Ephraim, Raymond, Cinclair and Nell, And youths and maids by the name of Grey, And Irving, and Pliny, and Cristabel, All merry, all happy, and all at play ; Augustus, and Arthur, and many more Marking the blackboard with snowy chalk, Wrestling or leaping over the floor, Or measuring their steps to dance or to walk. Laughing, talking, playing the prig. Running over or round a seat. Jumping, racing, dancing a jig, Until the hubbub is quite complete ; — Tinkle, tinkle, the tiny bell Lifts its silvery din in the noise ; And a sudden hush, and a silent spell Of reverence drops o'er the girls and the boys. Before them the arbitress of the law Of their school is standing beside her desk ; Her pencil is lying upon the draw. As her lips pronounce a pleasant burlesque Of the noisy confusion just made still By the tinkling, tinkling sound of her bell ; Then her words, which methods of wisdom fill, Inspire her pupils to study well. By example, and precept, and line upon line, She teaches young minds o'er which she has rule To incline toward merits both high and fine, Thus making a perfect success of her school. Scarce older than some whom she teaches, she lifts Her standard of excellence up to their gaze ; And each little heart reveres her, and drifts Swiftly and surely into her ways. THE COUNTRY SCHOOL. 45 So, not only nobleness crowns her, but power, In fullest accordance to life's perfect law, Exalts whom it touches, and from her full tower Of strength she incites to high excelsior. Thus showing the truth of this maxim of earth : However conditioned in life, no mind Lifts itself to the higher levels of worth. Without helping to strengthen and lift up mankind HAPPINESS, There is no worthier aim than this ; And no attainment which can bless Life with a holier, truer bliss, Than pure unselfish happiness. It comes not with the trumpet tone Of glory to the longing soul, But through the unselfish life, alone, Its calm and peaceful rivers roll. The hands may reach to wealth untold ; The feet may gain the mounts of fame ; But these are heights which only hold, Uplift, engrave, and gild the name. The heart turns into simpler ways. And estimates far, far above The world's salute, the simple praise Of lips whose only gift is love. 4:6 TRUE FAITH. TRUE FAITH. Is that within whose compass sits Self in sublime obscurity ; And through whose open portals flits The wing of holy charity ; Whose ministries are ceaseless brought Within the passing of the hour Where duty circuits ; and is fraught .Whose speech with truth's almighty power; Whose works are love ; whose element Is God-like, self-abstaining, pure ; Which reaches down to hell, and pent With mercy, makes the heaven sure ! NINETEEN. Rollicking, frolicking Carrie Ward, Only nineteen, Telling stories so quaint and odd, Laughing between ; — With Beckie Davis and Annie Fry, All of an age, and all of the three Roguishly looking, looking at me, And making me laugh as tho' I must die ! Into the kitchen with white arms bare, — Whatever work They see that ought to be done, they share ; Never a shirk Is either ; but merry, and blithe, and gay. They are busy as bees from morn till night ; NINETEEN. 47 They work, they play ; Their cheeks are rosy, their eyes are bright. *' Name my apple," three voices say ; — Before my face Three mellow, golden pippins sway As though the fingers which hold them in place Are eager to call A name from my mouth, and the hearts of all, Though merry and free, Leap to their lips ; and plainly I see That the happy three Hold in their bosom the endless law Of woman's lot ; they will love, and pray, And watch and weep Over their idols turned to clay. THE SUICIDE. "WRITTEN WHEN A SCHOOLGIRL. Ghastly, and cold, and still ; 'Neath the gathering storm of a moonless night ; Great sheets of flame most vividly bright. Covering the valley and wrapping the hill. From the heavy folds of the clouds are flung ; And mutterings deep from their entrails wrung, Follow the brilliant flashes of light, And the leaves are stirred where the corpse is hun< Not a word, not a sigh Comes forth from the silent, soulless form In answer to shouts from lips which are warm ! No quick response to the anxious cry ! 48 THE SUICIDE. Speechless ! with the brown hair tossed about By the wind ! and the purple tongue thrust out ! These that love him have braved the storm ; They search for him ! they call ! they cry ! they shout ! Now, out of the awful gloom • That lowers and lies like a thick, black pall In the sky, and the earth, and over all. The tree and its horrible burden loom Beneath a lurid, scathing flash ! Then into the sudden blackness dash ! And the terrible peals of thunder boom. And roll, and rumble, and break and crash ! What was it? a fearful crime That urged his hand ? did his frightened soul Hurry away from the profitless dole Of the heavy wages of awful crime ? In the solemn hours of the deep midnight. Did he plunge the dagger with merciless might Into the breast of a foe ? at what time Was it done, in the depths of quiet midnight? Or by the light of day Was his hand uplifted against a friend Who had wronged him to reach to a selfish end ? Or because it had come in his way Had he betrayed an innocent trust Loving and pure ? or, through his lust Had he tainted his honor until it lay So worthless that life was as worthless as dust ? Or was it terrible woes, A rigid, rank sorrow which sat in his heart, Incurable, bitter, rending it apart ? Who knows ? do his friends or his foes ? THE SUICIDE. 49 Nothing that's foul has just broken the peace Of the people ; good charity on the increase Wonders and pities, but nobody knows ! And the tireless tests of the slanderer cease ! With gravel his grave is sealed ! And the swift-footed years go on and on ! And over his ashes rose and hawthorn Cluster and bloom, but naught is revealed ! Grey threads creep into the widow's hair ; Her brow is wrinkled that was so fair ; And her heart is broken by woe concealed, And her life is blasted by grief and care ! How will the record stand When the books of the great, good Judge unfold, And the cause of the dreadful deed is told ? Will it be shown that destiny spanned What unavoidable fate had willed ? Will doubt, and wonder, and censure be stilled, As the pages open in God's just hand Reveal His purposes well fulfilled? Or will a soul that's lost Cry out from the depths of a yawning hell ? Suffering such torture as none can tell, For sin of which he weighed not the cost ? Although through weakness 'and blemish of kin The yawning deeps had gathered him in, " Will billows of hell rumble, tumble, and tost O'er morbid, inherited, ignorant sin? Who in the God's world knows ? Do the learned, who analyze, sift, and divide The Word, to find if the truth be inside ? Do stolid believers ? or do those 50 THE SUICIDE. Who have God in their hearts, and the welfare of men ? Who so pure are, that one has the wisdom of ten ? Ah ! whereso the wind listeth thereat it blows ! Jehovah is God, Revelation is — when ? AXE AND PLOW. Behold, upon the sloping hill. Behold, upon the plain, A mighty harvest fills its sheaves ; And where the rust had lain Upon the marsh thousands of years, And where the waste-lands lay A hundred years ago, now stand Cottage and hall to-day ! Here, where impenetrable swamps Rocked 'neath the hurricane, Where was a wilderness of trees Ripens the golden grain ! Here, where the wooded valley was, Now sits the giant town ; Its hearthfires burn upon the spot Where once the wolf lay down ! Upon the river's bushy banks Go round the busy mills ; And where once the wild brake grew, The rose its blossom fills. Where once the Indian's birch canoe Sat idly on the main, A thousand masts the glittering rays Of sunlight cut in twain ; AXE AND PLOW. 51 Upon the great, high seas go forth Enough of meat and bread To nourish nations ; and the fen Of reeds bears wheat instead ! Art's mighty revolutions move The world ; its products lie Where labor, leading, tills the earth, And reads the changing sky ; And yonder, where the mountain-tops Reflect the crimson glow Of sunlight, and toward the west These, in their robes of snow, Beyond whose heights no foot had trod A hundred years ago, The soil now treasures yield to hands Which wield the axe and hoe. Wherever clamps the busy mill, Where whirls the ponderous wheel, Where architecture rears its walls To cast the pohshed steel, Wherever commerce stretches out Traffic by car or prow, Before them all right steadily Go forth the axe and plow. Lo ! these are kings upon their thrones I And none of mighty spoil, So kingly in his broad domains As the tillers of the soil ! No valiant conqueror wears a crown So rich upon his brow, As that which marks the husbandman, The king of axe and plow ! 52 THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. O'ercast with a rosy shadow Of the Hght of the rosy morn, Each leaf a beautiful censer Full of sweet incense born Of the day, and giving the breezes More than it took away, Blush-red a beautiful, perfect bloom, In the hand of love it lay. A type of itself, love holding The beautiful, rosy gift, Felt subtile joy fovever Into his pulses drift ; And a presence drawn from the blossom Seemed like a soul ; and then The hand that was holding the dainty rose Could never be empty again. Over the hilltops the evening Was flooding the valley with gold ; And the purple veil of the gloaming, Outspread soft fold upon fold ; Stirred were the withered grasses By low winds out of the west ; And the leafless branch in the purple dusk Rocked gently a desolate nest ; Unbroken the autumn silence Was swathed in the purple gloom. Where the moth 'neath the drooping willow Had woven his silken tomb ; But a presence of life and beauty The summer hours had instilled, THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 53 And upon the tossing, leafless branch The empty nest was filled. '* Lullaby, lullaby baby!" Joyously smote on the ear ; The mother-heart-melody ringing Was a beautiful thing to hear ! The gloaming o'erfuU with the music, Seemed holy with absolute joy ! And mother-love graced the simple words With pearls as she sang to her boy. But alas ! the fierce winds of autumn Sweep over the cottage wall ! And over a desolate cradle Is covered a sombre pall ! Is hushed to oppressive silence Tiie voice that the melody stirred ; Yet, something is filling the empty crib As it filled the nest of the bird. Summer, from opulent treasures. Flung over jubilant earth Her jewels in lavish abundance ; And luxuries of harvest had birth ; Then followed a white desolation By tempests of winter abroad, Yet, clouds in volume o'er volume rolled, Are filled with the forces of God. And upon the hill, in the valley. Wherever a bird tongue has sung, Wherever a green leaf has fluttered. Wherever a blossom has sprung. Where wrapped in the white desolation, Asleep in the .tiniest thing, 54 THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. The germ of vitality folded, Is waiting the advent of spring. The spirit of Life and Beauty Stands in its glory apart, And fills its place as the cradle is filled Which the mother rocks in her heart ; Lingers the subtle presence Of souls of the flowers in the glen ; And the heart once full of a beautiful thing, Can never be empty again. LITTLE NELL. Twelve summers o'er her golden head Had dropped the sunshine and the shade ; The blush of health a rosy red Upon her cheek and lip had laid. A mirror of so fair a soul Was she, so full of lovely grace, The stranger would his haste control To look and wonder at her face. Among her people was not one Who had seen a soul so pure and fair, Nor wisdom which could prompt a tongue, So young to speech, so quaint and rare. And as the years a growth imparts. So with her growth her wisdom grew ; And love was tribute which all hearts Yielded to her, as it were due. LITTLE NELL. 55 The village children in their play Arranged and moved their games with care ; Nor strife nor envy all the day Vexed them if little Nell were there : If absent, and in wrath or glee They strove, some questioned, 'Ts it well To fight, or tease, or disagree, When it would grieve dear, little Nell?" Then quickly all contention ceased ; The mischief-loving boy was kind ; And sullen hearts from cause released Soon clothed with joy the elastic mind ; And each one with the other vied To find some pleasing thing to tell About old games, or new games tried. When they should see sweet, httle Nell. But one day when the lily-bells Were white and fragrant in the vale. When violets blossomed in the dells, Nell's rosy cheeks were wan and pale. A fearful malady had drained Her strength and glazed her lustrous eye ; Her gentle voice was slow and strained, 'Twas certain little Nell must die. No more her busy feet might tread The unmeasured rounds of childhood's hour ; No more where perfumed pathways led, Her eager hand might pluck the flower. 56 LITTLE NELL. No more upon the village green Her merry voice might cheer the game ; Nor might its winsome force between The feuds of childhood peace proclaim. Each one its measure swift to fill, The years would come, the years would go ; But she would sleep upon the hill, 'Neath summer's bloom and winter's snow. The milk-white thorn as it did now Would bud and whiten o'er the place ; The blood-red leaf upon the bough Would sear above her covered face. Still, souls in the eternal race Would run to gain the happy clime ; And records on the page of space Would fill 'neath lightning strokes of time. Among their countless rank and file, In characters of living gold. This record without blot or guile To grace the book of Heaven was scrolled. And. was it finished ? when the sod Should lay above her lifeless clay. And she had hastened up to God, Would she from earth have passed away? Or, as the boundless deep is stirred When but a pebble's weight is cast Within it, would each deed and word Instinct with life, live, till at last, LITTLE NELL. 57 That boundless, measureless, unstill Ocean of influence laps the strand Immortal, where earth's leases spill Their hidden issues 'neath God's hand ? Grief-stricken hearts beside her bed Scarce gave expression to such thought, When dying Nell aroused and said, " Please let my treasures all be brought ! " Then with her almost nerveless hands She chose among them, one by one, Gifts for her little playmate bands. Naming them all, forgetting none. "Tell them," she said, "when I'm asleep If they would not disturb my rest. Never to cause an eye to weep. Never to vex a heart distressed ! " Tell them if they would love to live, And when God calls them, love to die, Some good from their own lives to give To those who have a scant supply. "Tell them in play, at work, at school, That it is always safe and well To keep and use the golden rule ; Please tell them this from little Nell ! " I love you all ! — good-bye, good-bye ! " Upon her brow death's gathering dew Broke forth ! " Pray with me while I die," She said ; each grieved heart backward drew. 68 LITTLE NELL. No moving lip, no bended knee Responded to her last request ! Her death-veiled eyes refused to see ! Her hands were pulseless on her breast ! And yet, upon her countenance. An eager, wistful waiting lay. Increasing still with death's advance. As if expecting them to pray. But suddenly, as moments passed, And heavy silence did pervade The place, her brow seemed overcast With glory, and aloud she prayed ; And this she said, " Now I'm awake Because the light of day has broke I pray Thee, Lord, for Jesus' sake To bless these who have not awoke ! " I praise Thee, Lord, and on my tongue I hold thy new and holy song ; But let me ask e'er it be sung, That these who slumber sleep not long ! ** In this unwholesome, sluggish sleep Let them not mis3 Thy pleasant ways ; Awake them. Lord, and help them keep Strict watch, lest they may waste Thy days ! *' Renew my strength and make me fit For larger labors, which combine Earthly and heavenly work, and sit Near me, that peace and rest be mine ! " LITTLE NELL. 59 From her white mouth the words dropped out, As though her soul within it stood, Well clothed upon and wrapped about By lore from the great source of good, And then, stepped out into that day Which breaks upon the soul through death, Leaving its lovely dress of clay, Speechless and cold, and without breath. Then from that couch which held the dead, Filled with life's unread problem, turned Sore hearts ; yet, from her influence shed, A clearer light within them burned. PICTURES — SOMETHING GAY. Morn aflush with rosy light. Up the eastern sky. Comes, until the shades of night. Hidden in its splendors lie ; And all aflush — and all aflush — The clouds in deep'ning red, — Every one a crimson blush, ' • Floating overhead ; And all aflush in gala dress. The forests glint and gleam. And in the soft, uncertain stress Of rosy light do seem Like shadows of the shifting clouds ; And all the quiet lake Is but a shadow of the heavens ; And all the blue opaque 60 PICTURES SOMETHING GAY. Of mellow atmosphere Overshadowing the lake, Looks like the water's calm expanse ; — Which is the one, there's scarce a chance For choice, until the golden sun, DispelHng shades of night, Touching the shadows one by one, Comes up the distant height, And changes crimson clouds to gold, And floods with golden light. Forests aflame with crimson fire — Afire with golden flame — And ripe in gay abundancy For harvests of the northern wind Which forth with autumn came. To scatter treasures from her hands Far over hill and plain, That after many days break forth In bud and leaf again. SOMETHING RARE. Low, sweet sounds are stealing, stealing Through the air. While the Christmas bells are pealing, Something rare ; Is it echo from the hillside Or the fen? Is it murmurs from the brookside In the glen ? Something lovely, something bright, Something rare Fills my vision in the moonlight ; SOMETHING RARE. 61 Something fair Hangs rich drapery on the willows Over me, Spreads (he lawn with sheeny billows Like the sea ; Spread with delicate white netting Hedge and tree — Sparkling drops in silvery setting, Hangs o'er me. Underneath the lamps of ev'en Lit anew And hung upon the arch of heaven, Silver dew Seems to fill the space between me And the sky ; And rare faces which have seen me, Seem to hie Forth and back behind the curtain, Looking through Oft ; until my heart is certain That the blue Far beyond these silver tissues, And above, Is the heaven, and its issues All are love. SOMETHING GLORIOUS. Spring and Summer hand in hand, Walking over all the lea, Scattering violets in the land. And upon the red rose tree Leaving roses red as blood, 62 SOMETHING GLORIOUS. And adown the sunny vale Pouring forth a fragrant flood Of mayflowers ; primrose pale, And golden cowslips lift their heads Where the purple heather died ; Close beside the myrtle beds Red plums of the ivory hide ; Summer blossoms, blooms of spring, All together ])lush and nod Up the hillside ; everything From the loving Hand of God ; — Here vernal forests, grove, and branch, Alive with music, rock their leaves Beneath soft sunlight ; insects launch Their lances full beneath the eaves Of heaven ; and on the wing Are graceful shapes of bird and bee ; And down the valley, murmuring Waters flow to the open sea ; Shallow brooklets sing aloud, Deeply blued is th' mellow air, And tiny heaps of snowy cloud Dot its surface everywhere ; A mirror upon the waters low, A mirror upon the waters deep, Show the clouds their dresses of snow, Show the litheness of little feet Standing up on the mossy banks. Beautiful, bare, and soft and white. Touching the bell-shaped crimson tanks Of flowers that lie in full sunlight ; Mirrors a wealth of golden hair, Curled, and crinkled, and tossed about The loveliest face ; small hands bare SOMETHING GLORIOUS. 63 Are full of richest blooms culled out. And over yonder in open space, Labor is tilling the soil ; He eats bread by sweat of the face, And his hands are hard with toil ; But his glad soul is well content, And his broad lands well tilled ; And progress widened, forces spent. Bring promises fulfilled. Spring and Summer hand in hand, Earth with pregnancy of spring, Large with growth throughout her land, In hard travail laboring ; Everything of mortal birth, Every insect on the wing. Every fiber of the earth With hard travail laboring ! MY MOTHER. My mother, whe«i the young new year In garments white dawned bright on me, Its beams recalled an image dear Which first my waking fancies see. Deep, golden shadows, soft and fair. Floated across the azure's blue ; I looked upon their beauty rare. And thought, and longed for home and you. O ! how the glittering, snowy sheet Spread out in spotless depths afar ! Pure as the paths 'neath angels' feet. Where human footsteps did not mar 64 MY MOTHER. Its ermine softness ; and the sun Came at its' own appointed time And touched the nightshades, one by one, And left a radiance rich and fine. Just so did your love, mother mine, Touch the dark shadows of my youth ; And lighted was the old "lang syne " By your clear views of blessed truth. Just as the sparkles gild the snow, Because the glorious orb of day Shines on it, so my feet do know, By your pure life, the better way. How often, when the day was past. And you from daily labor free, Our childish toys away were cast. And we gathered about your knee, Each little, eager, upraised face In truth's great cause becoming bold ; Each little heart receiving grace And strength from every story told. And often, when my truthful sire With you his evening fare did sip, I've treasured, sitting by the fire, Rich precepts from his bearded lip. And when he taught, your gentle eyes, A sure approval answering. Looked up to him with sweet surprise, As if to you he were a king. MY MOTHER. 6^ Ah ! mother, mother, be my love, And joy, and pride in your true hearty A constant gladness far above What other blessings yield in part. And be my love and pride of birth, Though I were poor and lowly born^ Greater than that of worldly worth Which of true honesty is shorn. Be truths to which my sire adhered. And noble purposes and aims, So imitated and revered, That on my days shall rest no stains. And may your heads when crowned with, age, Be also with rich honor crowned By uprighteousness in every stage Of life among your children found.. TO EVALINE. How well do I remember when. Long, long ago, We rambled over brook and glen, And valleys low ; And laughing gaily hand in hand, Went to and fro, Climbing rough rocks and up high land, Long, long ago. 66 TO EVALINE. How we bounded over the lawn So smooth and green ! And last at eve and first at dawn '' Hunted the bean." O ! we were happy then, and gay, And bUthe and free ; Life to us a perfect way Did seem to be. But dark grief gave us a cup Full of swift woe, And we drank its contents up, Long, long ago. And many thorns have pierced our feet In Flora's bowers ; And oft we've drank from Lethe's deep^ Since those sweet hours. Yet, we will love, and trust, and pray Beneath the rod, And surely we shall find the way Up to our God. SORROW. Little brooklet, in thy song All of joy partaking, Hush thy babbling all day long, For my heart is breaking I Every sound in earth and air. All thy shouted surges, SORROW. 67 All the voices everywhere Seem like lonesome dirges ! Sad as wailings o'er the grave, Is thy joyous sweeping ; Let the North Wind still thy wave To a silent weeping. Let the West Wind from His sheath Fling an icy quiver, Till thy waters underneath Silent meet the river ! Little brooklet, clear and strong. Laughing, tumbling, shaking, Hushed to silence be thy song While my heart is breaking ! A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. Sweet, guardian angel, loved mother dear ; Oh ! how I do wish just now you were here, To glide along softly, as oft you have done. To peep o'er my shoulder with eyes full of fun ; For I'm somewhat sad, and desire now to rest In your magic presence, awhile to be blest. Oh ! mother, I crave, as I craved when a child, The love in your dark eyes so tender, so mild. How vivid the picture of soft, dusky hair, Smoothly drawn from a brow calm, lofty, and fair ; A patient deportment, a life without blame, 68 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. In joy or in sorrow forever the same, Steadfast, pure, exalted, loving, and true ; How vivid this picture in full thoughts of you ! Also, in my vision there rises to view. This morning, the home valley glistening with dew ; Each leaf and each spire in the low, grassy mead With rare jewels are decked as the shadows recede ; And the rustling corn, and the rich, flexile grain, A sheeny green spotted by sheen-golden stain ; And the cool, circling wood, the hills, one by one, Coming out of the shades to full light of the sun ; Eastward, are the voices of babbling brooks ; Westward, in its course through the prettiest nooks. Leaps, surges, and rushes the noisiest stream That e'er caught in its ripples a golden sunbeam ; There are glades on the hillside and glades in the glen, Retreats fair as gardens, the brake and the fen ; There are soft, mossy banks and rose-red bowers, And valleys of lilies snow-white with sweet flowers ; And over it all to-day the blue sky Is intense in its azure where foam-white clouds lie. Oh ! fair is the picture, as fair is the spot Whose beautiful prospects can n'er be forgot ; But as glories of morning in benison fall. So the dear, mother love beautifies all ; As garnished by dewdrops all nature the while Is alive in the sunlight, so under your smile All hearts in the valley enliven and glow ; Your love is a safeguard, a swift overthrow To evil temptations, your example is set Like a rock in those lives which your influence has met. And mother, dear mother, my heart, as I roam, Reaches back to the hearts in the humble, old home ; Yet the skies are as bright and the earth is as fair A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 69 Wherever I go, and friends everywhere ; Wit, music, the dance, the pen, and the tome Instruct, please, and bless, but there's " no place hke home." Our Queen of the Valley, the fairest of all. With dark, lustrous eyes, and dark braids which fall On her neck, with glossy crimps combed from her face. And a form like a fairy's all beauty and grace, Resides in her own green, beautiful dell. And the new ties which bind her, by her are loved well ; But immortal and precious are dear ties of old. Her innermost being their sweet cords unfold ; And we, as a unit in earnest home-thought, On the wings of the mind in swift ardor are brought To the valley. We hear in your sweet, gentle words How we have been missed ; how the songs of the birds Seemed less gay since the dark and the golden-hued hair. And dark eyes of Queen and blue eyes were not there ; And I ask, " Did you miss my wild voice?" you say " Yes." And my heart says, ''That is the most you did miss ;" For I sang with the birds as they sang in the bowers ; I sang to the babes, and I sang to the flowers ; I sang at my labors, and sang in my plays. And measured to music my own roundelays ; And ah ! to what wild and extravagant grace The things of my imagery always gave place ! How lavish with loveliness beings were crowned. Whom our Nympth of the Forest and I often found In our plays ! invisible, courtly, and wise, Unsought and unseen by all other eyes ; And she, our sweet Nympth, was as pretty and gay As imaginary folks which she gave to our play. Ah ! is she less happy and merry just now. When I am not with her to wreathe her white brow With silex, and myrtle, and lilies so pale, 70 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYEELL VALE. And blushing wild roses from Lilybell Vale ? And at twilight's lone hour, so dreary, so still, When she steals out to list' to the sad whippoorwill, Oh ! then does she miss me who makes lengthy stay From the fair, lovely, Lilybell Vale far away ? Methinks I see tears ; so give her a kiss From my letter, and into her ear whisper this : " However by fortune our fates be arranged. However by new joys or by sorrow be changed My life, and if it be castled or granged. My love for my darling cannot be estranged." How fleetly swift memory speeds off on the track Of our joys, sports, and mischiefs, bringing them back With so sure, exact vividness, scarcely behind In the past seem realities fresh to my mind ; And mother, I laugh out aloud as I write, When I think of dear Nympth and myself in delight Frightening the grave fleecy flocks or the herds Of cattle, when, tired of chasing the birds And butterflies, tired of pictures, of rhyme. And of play ; how well I remember the time One clear Sabbath eve, when the day had been long With large, sacred teachings and old, sacred song ! Permission was given us quite early to go And drive home the cows ; the green meadows were low Where they fed ; their tapered horns, slender and white, Ever and anon, from the left to the right. Were tossed at the insects ; and near the high shore. Abrupt in its slope to the fine sandy floor Of the edge of the stream, the large-eyed, red ox Cropped grass 'twixt the knolls of ivory and box ; And just at the brink of the thick, woody mere. Half feeding, half looking at us, the wild steer And the younger part of the herd, to the knee, , A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 71 Stood in the lush grass. Then Nympth looked at me, And I looked at her. " We'll scarethem," she said ; Then laughed, and so roguishly nodded her head ; I seized with avidity at the idea, And hid myself under the bars, which stood near. Taken down, and all ready for them to pass through ; But the herd feared some mischief as near them they drew, And raced away, scattering out over the brake. And Nympth scampered after, armed with an old stake ; But when her brave efforts the cattle had brought Back in sight of the bars, with a bound and a snort The wild steer dashed outward toward the thick bush, And kicking and leaping with many a push Of their horns at each other, again they ran off; Then Nympth her neat sunbonnet quickly did doff. And prepared with resolute purpose to speed In their tracks, determined that she would succeed ; Again the whole herd was gathered ; the chase Had been hard, and rosy was brave Nympth's sweet face ; But just as Wild Buck, two grave cows between, Came forward, dear father appeared in the scene ; The scared-looking herd he observed with surprise. Then full upon Nympth turned his wondering eyes ; " What's the trouble," he said, " with the cattle to-night? They seem to be nervous, half crazed with affright ! Just look at that bullock, whose head is so high. And whose nostrils distended — just look at his eye ! It beats everything that I ever saw ! Terrup, Brindle ! whoa, Buck ! gee, Golding ! gee ! haw ! '' I could see darhng Nympth, as I peeped through the bars ; Her whole face was startled ; her eyes were like stars ! I said to myself, " She would give me some sign If she wished me to rise, so the feat must be mine To bide in my hiding-place snug as a mouse, 72 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. Till they have passed over and gone to the house !" So quietly tucking myself in Just where the far end of each bar on its pin Was resting, I waited ; at last, so hard driven, The creatures came forth to the fate they had striven To resist ; the sober old moolies came f.jfst, And I should have frightened them much, had I durst ; But where I lay, quietly, sideways they cast Their glance and shied nimbly away as they passed ! The stout ox came next, and surely by half, Ran faster than ever before since a calf ! Then the yearlings — and then with tail and head high, Wild Buck leaped the bars half way up to the sky, And bellowed as loudly as thunder,, it seemed, To my starded eyes and scared ears ; and there gleamed A glossy black streak in the pathtrodden hard, Which led from the pasture right into the yard ! Confounded, dear father looked over the line Of -fence. "'Tis queer," he said ; then straight into mine Looked his eyes ; for, scared half to death, I had risen And stood just outside of my self-imposed prison ! No lasiguage, however expressed on the earth, Can describe father's face ! from half amused mirth And wonder into huge merriment it broke. While comical efforts at sternness there spoke In every lineament ; but ah, how in vain Were serious attempts ; he glanced once again At Nympth and at me, and then back posture took, And with ill-suppressed laughter most heartily shook ! We had feared, Nympth and I, that a hasty reproof Would punish us justly ; but standing aloof. We looked at each other and laughed on the sly To see father laugh ; and yet, by and by. The punishment sure to o'ertake us we knew A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 73 Would come when his tempest of laughter withdrew ! At last, towards us he turned ; then he said So gravely that all of our jollity fled : *' My girls, I am displeased, quite displeased by the fact Which shows me so plainly how interest you've lacked For me, while my love, and labor, and care Must provide all those comforts in which you both share ; Still, you frighten my cattle and frighten my sheep ; Among calves, pigs, and poultry such capers you keep, So careless you are of my grass and my grain, I fear through your mischief great loss to sustain ; To-night, some accident might have occurred To the very most valuable of my healthy herd !" While he was thus speaking, a culprit I seemed Of flagrant ingratitude ; Nympth's blue eyes beamed Also with quick gleams like the glancing of light Through raindrops, as stalking out into the sight Of conviction of mind, came a goodly array Of mischievous deeds not performed in one day. First, there rose to my vision a great flock of sheep. In the picture, obliged high upward to leap In frenzy at something outstretched on the ground, That looked like a girl whirling round and around. And queerly manceuvering with movements grotesque. Which terrified wild sheep and troubled the rest. Then, dashing up swiftly, the same fleecy flock Seemed crazy with terror from some sudden shock, And ran, leaped, and hustled, and swept in a ring. And scattered, and crowded, and fled from something Which 'scampered close to their heels and appeared Like a sheep with a huge quilted head and a beard. Three bows linked together comprised a queer yoke For yearlings, which idle girls thought should be broke ; But the yearlings, whose thoughts must have differed, with ease 74 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. Had turned in their yoke, and braced at the knees, In sport butted fiercely, each embryo horn Tipped down at its neighbor or deftly withdrawn : The wit of cute mischief, whose chance never fails, To keep them in order, interbraided their tails ; The sturdy, young bullocks, not liking such fun, Jerked forward and backward, then went on the run, Each one pulling sideways, and each its apt heel Kicked viciously out -with oft renewed zeal ; The big doors of the barn were open ; for these The young quadrupeds aimed still braced at the knees ; And doubling 'midst outward pulled hard at the head And hard at the tail as right onward they sped ; But alas ! before the great entrance they reached, The bow in the middle was suddenly breached. And their heads torn apart as if wrenched by strong gales, Left no bond betwixt them but the close braided tails ; Now, such a queer spectacle none may declare Who ne'er sav/ the like ; each snug woven hair At its roots was much straightened and strained at its best, x'\s each calf, now this way, now that, stoutly pressed ; But the one that in the cool barn wished to stop, For the one that wished to stay out was de trap, And pulled him clear over the threshold at length ; But the spunky young ox, quickly gathering strength, Braced his hoofs on the planks where the big entrance gapped, iVnd pulled until both extremities snapped ! The terrified girls, turning round and about, Expected each moment the tails would come out ! At last, with brave firmness each girl did enclasp The neck of a calf, with such tenacious grasp, That, panting and puffing, the creatures forebore To struggle, and stood just within the big door ; But immediate action quite surely began A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 75 The moment their arms were removed from the span. And thus moments passed through which hours seemed to press, And neither dared call for help in distress Which was caused by mischievous pranks, so steadfast They held to their purpose, and conquered at last With two handfuls of fragrant, red-clover hay ; The bond being loosed the two girls ran away To hide in some nook, where, unseen and unheard, They could weep and rejoice, and each give sure word That never, however should need to be broke Young yearlings, should tails braided help at the yoke ! Another picture that to memory's canvas slipped, Was an empty hay bay and a goose with wings well clipped ; She brooded on a nest where ten eggs, warm and white, Waited their habitants to wake to life and light ; The patient, watchful gander, in a dark cloak and cowl, A portion of his time stood near the mother fowl ; Ate he breakfast, dined, or supped, then straightway did he put Himself as sentinel and stood upon one foot ; Or near his partner, with head beneath his wing, Contentedly he slept through changeful nights of spring. Now, mother, by your mandate each child had been forbidden To look toward this goose, whose nest was only hidden By boards nailed to the posts upraised upon the sill Betwixt th' floor and th' bay, lest we should make her kill Her younghngs ere they hatched by jostling in her nest ; Or lest the eggs should break by being too hard pressed ; And mother dear, your word more strictly was obeyed Than e'er it would have been, had we not been afraid Of that fierce, dark, old gander, which gave immediate chase The moment that our eyes glanced at the magic place. But one bright afternoon, after Nympth and myself Had washed quite clean and put each dish upon the shelf, We went into the barn to frolic and to play, 76 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. And after running round and round, we climbed upon the hay ; Now, we had heard it said that goose and gander talk At the pipping of an egg ; so softly we did walk Toward the edge of the mow, and kneeling on the hay, We peeped cautiously down into the empty bay ; Directly we decided that eggs were surely pipped, When ganders reaching forward, their ugly bills well tipped Toward their mates, talked soft and fast, and lower down we bent To see if goslings were not pipped, what the gander meant. Nympth, more daring far than I, o'er the scaffold leaned ; Her eager face from my scared sight by a wool hood was screened. And then, as quick as thought, her dusky head was bare ! And up above her nest the goose whirled in the air, Crying aloud with fright, while the fierce gander stood With outspread wings and straining eyes, scanning the hood ! From Nympth's head, fallen, it had fluffed with sudden whack Straight down into the bay near the fierce gander's back ! In consternation we, in helpless terror gazed, Upon the deafening hubbub ; and more and more amazed Were we when with loud, shrill, spiteful, earcutting shrieks. Both pounced upon the offending hood, fighting with beaks, And wings, and feet, beating, biting, with venomed zeal. So often and so fast, it seemed the hood must feel ! At last, exhausted, triumphant they withdrew ; And stretching out their necks they talked and boasted, too, About the brave chastisement which they had given the foe ; Then smoothing out her plumage as clean and white as snow Upon her breast, and bidding him watch at his best, The expectant mother fowl went back unto her nest. Closely scrutinized was the object of offense By this fierce old gander, who gave it search intense, Hissing a vengeful challenge until upon one foot He stood guard, and 'neath his wing his ugly head he put. A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 71 This gave to Nympth and I a gladness quite supreme, For it seemed that miles around had heard the creatures scream ; And each minute seemed an age, in which we did expect Your presence, mother, our mischief to detect. Appearances against us, and by conscience condemned For thoughtless curiosity, we saw ourselves condemned By all obedient children ; but as the moments flew By with anxious thought, nor brought father nor you, Hopeful courage filled our hearts, and quickly we resolved To take the lengthy rake that stood where Star was stalled, And slyly lift the hood, and softly draw it out. Before that fierce old gander knew what we were about. According to our plans so noiselessly we did ; But, ere we got the hood, off from the rake it slid, And fluffed again with sudden thud before the goose ! Ah, then it seemed, indeed, that Bedlam was let loose ! Shrieking round and round swift flew the mother fowl ! Yelling at his utmost, with bristling wing and cowl ! In angry terror stood her spouse, scanning the foe ! Although sorry, yet we laughed, and you'd have laughed, I know. Serious thoughts and plans soon at ideas strained ; But within our sinking hearts not a hope remained That such Bedlamia as those two geese had clacked One moment more could fail your notice to attract. Yet, determined not to shirk blame nor even to skulk, We called the goose a fool, and called her spouse a hulk ; We boldly put the rakestaff down to lift the hood, But stubborn as a stubborn mule the creatures stood. And hissed, and gabbled much, and boasting at their will, Chastised the hood ; and we, waiting, till they were still. Sat down upon the hay and closely watched the door. Expecting you ; but ceased as it had ceased before The tumult : and as sentinal again the gander stood. When Nympth instant sprang down and caught up the crushed hood. 78 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. Escaping with the gander's teeth close to her fleeing feet. How hastily we did secure a safe retreat ! But as the days passed on no goslings did appear. This filled our troubled minds with secret, haunting fear ; And you may guess, dear mother, our joyous, full surprise, When nine wee, yellow, downy things one day met our eyes ! While all of these naughty pranks whirled through my mind, Dear father regarded us — never unkind — But now very grave with displeasure he said : " My girls, if again by mischievousness led. You risk harm k) my interest whatever it be, There'll be a stern credit between you and me." And always a man of prompt tact, even his next Words were as loving as though never vexed ; And we understood quite clearly the part We had acted, and each was repentant at heart, And promises made, as we walked by his side. To try to be good more than we'd ever tried. And when left alone on the smooth, grassy lawn, In the soft afterflush of the day that was gone. Dear Nympth turned her sweet, serious face toward mine. And it seemed to us both we were bad half the time. And beside our thoughtless and mischievous sport With dumb animals, there was the homely report Of conduct to mamma, when asked to amuse Our Blossom, and Lone-Flower, and Sylph ; to refuse To comply with requests outright we dared not ; But we formed almost an immediate plot To be as ungracious and cross as we could ; And once when we wished for a romp in the wood, With almost the swiftness of winds we pursued Our course to the beautiful, grand solitude. Unmindful of dear little feet in the rear That tried to o'ertake us, but faltered in fear ; THE PINES. As swept by the north winds the whispering old pines Spread out in the sunlight their tasseled ensigns. A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 79 As swept by the north winds the whispering old pines Spread out in the sunHght their tassled ensigns. How vividly now to my mind is portrayed Every inch of the ground we passed o'er, as 'tis laid In the fair, living picture by memory's pen ; The field, the green vale, the mossy-knolled glen. Young forests of cedar so fragrant and green, With slender young gum-trees and fir trees between ; And then the grand sweep of the stately old wood, And back in the distance Mount Ledye's dark hood ; With what distinct utterance now comes to my ear Those shrill, pleading voices ; one lisping and clear, And reverberant amidst the great wood, as a bell. Appealed to our hearts ; ah, dear little Lell, Our Prince of the Valley ! could we have but known That ere the days of the springtime had flown Again o'er the northlands with birds and with flowers, Pale death would garnish some niche of his bowers With beautiful graces of his lovely soul, How swiftly the woodland, the field, and the knoll Would have been retraversed by the two pairs of feet So heedlessly treading their flowery retreat ! How few would the fast, fleeting moments have been, Ere sisterly arms had gathered him in To assurance of love and protection ! ah ! yet Retrospection of that hour brings thorns of regret ! O mother ! how early in life there begins The small, self-asserting, self-indulged sins ! How often, dear, I might have lightened your care And your labors, quite fully I now am aware ; And hard on my heart subtile memory lets fall Delinquencies you recollect not at all ; Or, if recalled, they are tenderly crowned By sweet palliations in mother-love found. 80 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. But mother, dear mother, my soul, overjoyed. Seizes at tidbits of peace unalloyed, When memory some page of time's volume unfolds, Exhibiting some priceless hours which it holds, Whose moments were filled with a glad sacrifice Of ease, that sweet slumber might visit )'Our eyes ; And bring rest to your tired and o'er wearied frame, From the cares which with increased motherhood came. Quite often I hushed, on my little fond breast, The babes, and sang softly, till soothed and at rest They lay in my arms as I trod at midnight Forth and back right athwart the squares of moonlight. Or rocked forth and back when the flickering glow Of fire seemed to kindle flames out in the snow. With the hush of my voice a silence profound Held empire around me ; no footstep, no sound. Except the soft breath of the babe fast asleep, And the breath on my own lips broke stillness so deep. So strange, so awful to my childish mind. That I made all haste to leave it behind ; And noiselessly gliding away to your bed. So carefully yielded the babe's helpless head To your breast, that you, scarcely roused, could repeat But half of your approval, to my ears so sweet. Then stealing again to the great, silent room. And darting out swiftly away from its gloom. By the light of the moon or the stars' silvery gleams, I went to the beautiful land of gay dreams. And, mother, dear Nympth was as tender as I With the babes, though she could not, when they would cr}', Soothe them so quickly, for each little thing At a very young age loved to hear people sing ; And, mother, if we were rude and ran off To the woods to shirk duty, and were often loth A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 81 To yield our amusements and give up our plays To those who were younger, yet there were whole days When Listra, our Blossom, her dark violet eyes Dilated with pleasure and joyful surprise, As guiding her gently, we carefully stept To show her the nests where the little birds slept ; And May, our frail Lone-Flower, and Martha, our Sylph, Who called river 'iver and called the rill rilph, x\nd peeped with such big, bright, gray eyes at each bird, And wanted to take it ; and when we demurred, Nympth and I, quite wilfully they would insist. Till they had been scolded, then cuddled and kissed, And bribed by odd frolics so funny and gay. That forgetting the birds they were pleased with the play. And, mother, my conscience is given so much balm In gathering these tidbits, there can be no harm In bringing them forth. So now just one more Good deed I'll recount, sure of an encore From your loving Hps, if only a thought Suggested that into my heart could be brought A pleasure by telling my story again To you ; so now* I begin : It was when The jubilant bird-songs began to surcease. As clover-fields yielded their fragrant increase, And, swept by the sultry winds, rocked to and fro, Their canopies green all aflush with the glow Of their rosy lamps. One bright afternoon When the rickman was handling his gleaming spontoon With vigor, each haycock being placed on the load At advantage and trodden well down as he rode. While betwixt the two streams in luxuriant meadows Dear father and I were raking the winrows ; Breeze melodies mingled with the swish of the hay, And I knew just how beautiful, 'neath the bright ray 82 A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. Of the sun were the waters ; how sparkHng and cool ; How shady the brake was beside the still pool ; And ever the perfume came up from the vale, From the cups of the lilies ; and dainty and pale, I knew they were standing almost in a row With the rich, vivid red of the canna, graced low On its tall, slender stem, with its velvety sparks Of color, so frail that if crusfied, blood-red marks Seemed the petals between whose tracery of veins » The fingers seemed touched by more delicate stains ; Then there was the giant oak tree, 'neath whose limb The silver birch flourished lithe, graceful, and slim, Beneath which were mossed banks o'erlooking the ledge That sloped from midwaters toward the clear edge. With all of this loveliness, comfort, and ease Around me, which I might enjoy, should I please To tell father I was too tired to assist In gathering the hay, that I did resist The temptation, (being but in the last years Of childhood) would be strange, as now it appears, Without doubt, even to you, mother, when you recall The fact that young years love the hoop, and the doll, And romps in the sunshine, and rest in the shade. And the gathering of blossoms in glen and in glade ; Indeed, mother dear, so intense was desire To break from my task and hide from the fire Of the great, blazing furnace which stood in the sky, Making green grass look so withered and dry, I almost decided when out to the end My long swath was raked ; but I turned at the bend Near dense woodlands, and eagerly glanced over the range Of work to be done ; how lonesome and strange The solitary figure of father appeared In the great field of labor ! his brow and his beard r fr'^;^'^'^^15 SILVER BIRCH. The silver birch flourished lithe, graceful, and slim. A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 83 Dripped moisture ; the sleeves of his frock were all wet, As though dipped into water, by hot, pouring sweat. And as he drew nearer, my shocked eyes beheld Exhaustion so great that quick was expelled All desire from my heart to frolic about, And taking my rake, I helped his swath out. And all through the hours of that bright afternoon The swish of the hay seemed fully in tune With voices of waters and rustling of leaves, And all of the songs beneath the blue eaves Of heaven ; and pleasure, tenfold, seemed to rise In my happy heart, up as high as the skies' Afterward, whenever I helped rake the hay, And father behind at hard labor alway, When my lighter part of the winrow was done •I helped his part up with mine in each one. And was happy ; but, somehow the time for our rest, Ere beginning again, at dear father's behest. Was lengthened ; and blithe was the merry recess. And often odd puzzles were given us to guess ; Yet, oftener our minds, for some practical lore. Through father's plain teaching, became a sure store ; And, mother, your sympathy scarce can compute My regrets for misdeeds since his dear lips are mute In death, nor measure the joys which reflect A double proportion of peace, as collect The meager account of good deeds ; but you'll say Ten bad days in childhood weigh against one good day ; And his voice would answer approval to you, Could he speak, when with comfort my mind you imbue. Oh mother ! how sadly we miss him ! how rough The swift days have been, and burdened enough, God knows, for us all with labor and care. Since his pulseless hands have omitted their share ! 8i A LFITER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. And your heart, dear mother, has sorrows beside. Deeply traced for the two lovely boy babes that died Before I was born, and for Lell, our sweet Prince, And tiny Lavony, whom we've buried since ! But their rest is unbroken, their peace undisturbed, Their holy ambition for grace never curbed By elements which in this world so conflict, That means of attainment confuse and convict. And, mother, our loss being their blissful gain. Whom we love, should forbid our tried hearts to complain. So let us be hopeful, and trust in the love And strength of the pitiful Father above, Whose mercy afflicts, and whose chastening rod Brings souls out of darkness into full light of God. And now, mother, tell them at home, one by one. How fully I love them ; with sweet Nympth begun. Continue to Blossom, then Lone-Flower, then Sylph, Who called river iver, and called the rill rilph. Then Florence, our Fairy, comes next ; (and so rare In beauty) just part her wavy, brown hair On her forehead, and give her a tender caress Like the one I gave her, when in her long dress She ate from my hand ; and her dark eyes so bright Were a baby interrogation at sight Of the cup whose fount her hungry mouth pressed. So different, dear mother, from your snowy breast ; And our Baby Prince, dear, five-years-old Will, Who in his long dress nestled snugly and still, When I walked o'er the squares of brilliant moonlight, And sang him to sleep in the solemn midnight. Give him many kisses and much love from me, And ask him if he remembers when he And Fairy tripped gaily along the old lane, To see the swift waters just after the rain, A LETTER TO THE FOLKS OF LILYBELL VALE. 85 And asked me droll questions the half of the time, That would puzzle a head much wiser than mine. Oh mother ! I wish that my shadow was thrown Just now on the walls by the lamp with your own ; But the hour for home-coming I still must abide, And eager home-yearnings a gay smile must hide ; My eyes must be merry, my voice must be glad, Lest Queen's heart be rendered uneasy and sad ; So, mother, just take to your own lovely self A whole heart full of love from your odd, naughty elf Who writes you a letter in rhyme, crude and dry, And lengthy, perhaps, but which ends with good-bye. SUSTAINED. Amid the conflicts and the strife Upon life's busy battle-field. Faith in my weary heart is rife, For God is Rod, and Staff, and Shield. He is a Rod to sound the deeps Within me under sloth concealed ; He stirs my soul whene'er it sleeps, And probes the fruits my efforts yield. He is a Rod to search my ways, And rouse me when my zeal is low ; He proves my speech and counts my days, And chastens me through stubborn woe. He is a Rod to urge my strength, A Staff, when tired I fain would die ; And when the foe is armed full length, A Shield where venomed arrows fly. 86 SUSTAINED. He is a Staff, steadfast and sure, When through the cheerless wastes I go A Shield almighty to endure, When lurking hell would strike a blow. Faith is my sword both keen and bright, Upon life's busy battle-field ; My peace by day, my rest by night. For God is Rod, and Staff, and Shield. MARTHA. What ! Martha "lying in state ?" And " clothed upon " with the grandeur of death ? It was only last night, and the hour was late, That I touched her hand ! It was warm with life and love ; And her pure, sweet lips, when they met with mine — I said " she's a stately, peaceful dove ;" As I saw her stand Within the circle of light Where the phantom shadows begin their dance, When flickering flame is now dim, now bright. Why ! pain strikes hard at my heart At the thought that she never can speak again ! If I had but known that we must part So soon ! so soon ! But where is the little child ? Alive at the cost of its mother's life ? In snowy flannel and drapery piled. And fed with a spoon ! Oh babe ! the richest and best Of all God's blessings was taken away With your mother's voice and your mother's breast ! faith's to-morrow. 87 FAITH'S TO-MORROW. Sweet is rest, and joy is dear, And good is chastened sorrow ; But never a doubt and never a fear Troubles faith's to-morrow. Gay is mirth as the merry breath Of zephyrs over the hill ; Deep as the sable shades of death, The cup despair does fill. Pure and white as a dove is peace, And hopes small troubles borrow ; But true as the needle's point is the lease Of royal faith's to-morrow. Content with ease fills up the soul ; Sweet love soufietimes brings sorrow j But up as high as the heavens roll, Is loyal faith's to-morrow. SOMEBODY'S DARLING. Somebody's darling, pure and white, With hands folded over her breast. Lying "in state" — In beautiful, solemn rest. Somebody's darling hushed in repose Silent, and sacred, and deep ; Somebody's pet, Dreamlessly, sweetly asleep. 88 somebody's darling. Somebody's darling " clothed upon" With peace which knoweth no strife ; Someone's treasure Up with the angels in Life. RIGHT ? OR WRONG ? ' War right? or wrong?" he repeated and laughed ; '' How strange that any should think it wrong ! " Then was raised red wine to his lips, and quaffed, And he turned again to the earnest throng. Spreading his hands with the gracious mein Of wealth, he resumed : " Life must not omit In its drama so awful and grand a scene As battle with fire of the cannon lit ! " A man would scarcely withhold his arm From combat, knowing that serried hosts Would never stand in the awful calm Before the conflict, all at their posts ! "'Tis worth the death to look at a sea Of faces set to desperate fight ! Yea ! war's worth what it brings ! such force must be, Even to strengthen the standard of right !" His questioner stood with his back to the wall ; Silently listened an eager score ; For higher in rank and wealth than all, Were Reuben Stein and Ralph St. Levore. RIGHT? OR WRONG? 89 In eighteen hundred and sixty-one, Both had paused with their hands on spade and plow, To Hsten to echoes of Sumpter's gun ! To hear the rash Secessionist's vow ! In eighteen hundred and sixty-four, There was Reuben Stein with an empty sleeve ! In the list of the wounded was Ralph St. Levore ! And Audley Kene had got a reprieve ! He had slept at his watch one weary night, When he had done double duty by day ; And one face had paled with pained affright, As he was condemned and led away ! Then there was desertion ! roll-call failed To elicit an answer from Benton Ray ; And to tell his mother a letter was mailed. When his place was empty day after day. Time rolled on ; and the hour drew near When Audley Kene was to suffer death ! They were leading him out ! men at the rear Held muskets, with shut teeth and hard drawn breath ! But forward swiftly there rode in their midst A messenger bringing a hasty reprieve ! And there also appeared in their midst A man so jaded he scarcely could breathe ! A union soldier his garments bespoke ; But ragged, faint, and as pale as a shroud : He looked at the lines, their rank was unbroke. And he stood in the van with his haggard face bowed ! 90 RIGHT? OR WRONG? " Ben Ray !" the soldiers exclaimed in a breath ! " Where has he been ? How dared he come back ?" Asked one. '^ Somehow he's saved Kene from death ! " Said another ; at that moment, from lack Of food, Ben Ray fell down at their feet. And comrades bore him away to the tent ! He opened his eyes as the drum was beat With the glad salute of the regiment ! The volleys boomed on the echoing air, And scarcely the men forebore to shout ! For Kene was a favorite everywhere ; Of his faith and courage there ne'er was a doubt. Ever his hand helped any in need ! All knew how helped he that fatal day A comrade ! and now, when pardoned and freed, Made he haste again to aid Benton Ray ! But when the roar of the cannon was loud, And echoes awoke up on every side. And Kene in the midst of a jubilant crowd, Ben Ray starved and jaded had silently died ! As the news spread abroad the officers came ; The tent was surrounded and thronged by the men, All earnest to give only praise and not blame. And eager to hear everything about Ben. But paper shut hard in his cold, wasted hand Only was found ; upon it this outlined : " I give retrieve to his friend, and command Pardon for him !" A. Lincoln was signed. RIGHT? OR WRONG? 91 To-day, as Stein looked at Ralph St. Levore, And heard his light speech, he remembered that time Of horrors, and lived its terrors once more ! And he thought, " Ralph speaks from strength of red wine ! " How vividly old Libby prison uprose In horrors appalHng and filth to his mind ! And Andersonville, bringing all its vile woes, As clearly as e'er in the past, was defined ! He shuddered, and said as he turned straight away From Ralph and the wine, " War and wine alike, Are evil, and 'gainst them Progress, some day. In all of its glorious power will strike ! '' The words clearly cut pressaged argument ; But just at that instant Ralph St. Levore, Aware of a presence, lovingly bent To greet his dear little son at the door ! Unnoticed for moments, had listened and thought, Earnest and eager, the fair little child ; Now he asked, " Papa, in battles you fought, Did you kill a man?" Seemed in Ralph's face compiled Varied emotions at contest ! downcast Avoided his eyes the innocent glance ! " I hope not, my darling," he answered at last, " Such things, in battle, are decided by chance ! " As the fair little son espied in the street His playmates, and joined them with laughter and glee, Ralph said, " When sinless, guileless, complete Innocence questions thus, /