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BEN'S ISABELLA 
 
 A NARRATIVE POEM IN THIRTEEN CANTOS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPHINE TYLER 
 
 
 BUFFALO 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
 1895 
 
7&3,/ 
 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By JOSEPHINE TYLER. 
 
 Printed by 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
 Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Off Plymouth Coast 9 
 
 CANTO II. 
 Love's Ideal 20 
 
 CANTO III. 
 The Ball 24 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 Art Dreams. A Dream Dispelled 30 
 
 CANTO V. 
 Ben 44 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 Empires in the Sky 62 
 
 CANTO VII. 
 A Visit to the Inventor's Home 67 
 
 CANTO VIII. 
 Ben Concludes the Lyrics of Tudor, John and Bella 78 
 
 CANTO IX. 
 After the Mists 97 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CANTO X. 
 
 Dona and Isabella by the Lake 101 
 
 CANTO XL 
 After Five Years. Seeking Soul-Gems. James Dun- 
 bar's Story. Crcesus and Susan. Victor's Work. 
 About to Revisit Ben 113 
 
 CANTO XII. 
 Feeding the Lambs • • • • I2 8 
 
 CANTO XIII. 
 A Fair Vision. A Cloud-Burst. Fidelity 149 
 
BEN'S ISABELLA 
 
BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 OFF PLYMOUTH COAST. 
 
 RIDING in solitude through birchen woods, 
 Whose turf moss-muffled and o'erstrewn with 
 leaves, 
 Noiseless received the steps of my brown steed, 
 I came upon a glade, and saw revealed 
 A sea-view splendid with the setting sun. 
 Clouds shining like Heaven's pavement, in sky depths 
 Floated above a wide breeze-fretted bay 
 Of the Atlantic, where the waves were lone, 
 Save that a merchant barque with sails full set, 
 Far to the east was standing out to sea. 
 
 Some paces next along the beach I rode, 
 
 Tuning my meditations to the chant 
 
 Of waves that tabored 'gainst a neighboring crag, 
 
io BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Then drew the rein, that in my happy mood 
 
 I might reposefully absorb the scene — 
 
 Sky, ocean, tide-dashed shore, all glory bathed. 
 
 My horse, too, conscious of that glory's spell, 
 
 Turned shoreward his arched neck, and seemed to gaze 
 
 With wonder beaming from his burnished eye. 
 
 But while I rested rapt and motionless, 
 I marked a sudden tremor of his frame, 
 His ear erect, and nostril widely strained ; 
 Till at a changed direction of his head, 
 I caught a vision thrilling as death's moan. 
 
 Against a granite boulder huge and gray, 
 
 Not twenty footsteps off, a maiden leaned, 
 
 Tall and with beauty dowered and soulful charms. 
 
 Poised in unconscious natural grace she stood, 
 
 With stature rounded to the mold of health ; 
 
 Yet her broad brow lit by the sunset glow 
 
 Was drawn with pain ; her hands in grief's tense clasp 
 
 Were raised and wrung ; her dark impassioned eyes, 
 
 Wildly intense, were fixed on the fair ship 
 
 Sailing the restless waters, outward bound. 
 
 A sudden noise! perchance from fluttering wing 
 Of sea-gull hovering 'neath the jutting crag — 
 
OFF PLYMOUTH COAST. . id 
 
 The maiden startled loosed her close-clenched hands, 
 An instant drooped her head, with listening mien, 
 Then noting not my presence, with quick step 
 Glided to the near forest, and was gone. 
 
 Thus in an hour of peace, my consciousness 
 Saw flitting like a veiled and guarded nun 
 Before its gaze, a proud soul's hidden woe, 
 And just a breath had served to rend its veil. 
 
 Late from the darkening shore my steed and I 
 Diverging o'er a smooth, well-beaten road 
 Of Plymouth County famed from pilgrim feet, 
 Dashed by a score of scattered cottage lights, 
 And sought refreshment at a wayside inn. 
 Vainly we sought, the hostelry was barred. 
 Where spend the night ? 
 
 A villager who passed, 
 A sturdy man of cordial nature, asked 
 My quest, and bade me sojourn at his home — 
 A cottage near. His wife, a matron kind 
 And Sensible, performed a hostess' part, 
 Spreading with willing hands an evening meal, 
 While the good husband to his stable led 
 My faithful horse, who whinnied at my call 
 
12 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 From the near cottage-window, where I sat 
 Waiting the supper , with sharp appetite. 
 
 When all was ready, at their cozy board 
 I supped with man and matron, as with friends. 
 Freely we interchanged our talk, told tales 
 Of travels past, and ventured to propound 
 Some simple questions, such as "Rode you far 
 To-day, sir?" and on my part, " Have you none 
 To share this home-life with you ? " 
 
 To this last 
 'Twas answered, " Our niece only. She retired 
 Just ere you came, sir, being overtired 
 From a long ramble. She's a rare good girl. 
 'Tis pity you go hence at earliest morn, 
 And may not see her comely face, or hear 
 Her voice in song." 
 
 My sleep that night was sound 
 Beneath the roof-tree of my stranger host ; 
 But as the day dawned, waking I lived o'er 
 My vision of the maiden and the ship. 
 Again I saw her gazing o'er the sea, 
 Again I saw her shrink within the wood. 
 
OFF PL YMO UTH COAST. 1 3 
 
 But hark! a voice nearby subdued and sweet 
 Came floating to my chamber. Thus it sang : 
 
 The sails of his ship have faded 
 
 Far in the eastern sky, 
 I have yearned o'er those mocking waters, 
 
 Without a tear or a sigh; 
 For I could not weep, if I willed it, 
 
 My heart is stilled in woe, 
 And pride that is folded round it 
 
 Has chilled my pulse, like snow. 
 
 Love's dread and bitter sorrow 
 
 Was once to me but a word ; 
 Now it curdles the soul within me 
 
 And measures the nature stirred. 
 My spirit is deep as the ocean 
 
 On which he sails from me, 
 And rich as a mine in feeling — 
 
 He might have held its key. 
 
 Could he love, yet give no token 
 
 Save false ambition's sign ? 
 I can see that Sorceress beckon 
 
 His being's course from mine. 
 
1 4 BEN' S ISABELLA. 
 
 Ah! when his white sails faded 
 
 From eyes that spurned the shore, 
 
 Hope sank like an orb resplendent 
 That bursts to shine no more. 
 
 Fain had I ventured to pursue the source 
 
 Of this strange threnode ; save that conscience wrought 
 
 With certain guesses to forbid the search, 
 
 Scorning the subtle larceny that thieves 
 
 Within the privacy of suffering hearts, 
 
 Wresting slain, buried hopes, from out their crypts 
 
 For curious dissection. 
 
 Nor would time 
 Permit my lingering ; for duty called 
 To swift departure. So my punctual host 
 Furthered my haste, with friendliness as true 
 As that which gave me welcome and good cheer. 
 
 I was a busy man in that past time. 
 
 My brain teemed daily with fresh reasonings 
 
 On codes and proofs ; my heart with household joy 
 
 O'erflowed. 
 
 A wife was mine, my youth's true love, 
 The pride and comrade of my manly years, 
 The cynosure of all my social aims, 
 
OFF PL YMO UTH CO AS T. 1 5 
 
 Our children's wise instructress, central ray 
 
 Of our home's galaxy through many a year 
 
 Together passed since then. That ray, alas! 
 
 Some twelve months since, ceased in Time's sphere to 
 
 shine, 
 And now invites my spirit's gaze more high 
 Than earth's domain, toward bliss transcending far 
 Our mortal joys — bliss emblemed here below 
 In wedded love. Blest meanings seem to soar 
 And sing about me, when I note the types 
 Apocalyptic of supernal scenes : 
 The marriage-supper, the appearing Lord, 
 The Bride adorned, the Father's house prepared, 
 The jubilates of adoring hosts — 
 'Till all that life has witnessed of home's love 
 And restful peace ; of triumph, knowledge, gain, 
 Achievement, exaltation, harmony, 
 Seems but a picture on Time's narrow wall, 
 A statue-group within her temple placed, 
 A song or two by tremulous voices tuned, 
 Designed to set forth Heaven in type and sign. 
 
 Now I have leisure, while the shades of age 
 Gather about my path, to contemplate 
 A thousand things my younger gaze o'erlooked. 
 The culturing and growth of harvest fruits ; 
 
1 6 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 The ripe ingatherings after pains and toils ; 
 
 The changes of the seasons, winter's deaths 
 
 And springtime's resurrections ; the strict course 
 
 Of stars and mystic comets swerving not 
 
 Through their stupendous rounds one second's beat 
 
 From their celestial schedules ; — all to me 
 
 Symbol intangible realities, 
 
 Or set forth prophecies in emblem-speech. 
 
 In what a school has heavenly Wisdom placed 
 Earth's children, giving the inquiring gaze 
 E'en to the infant, whose exploring hand 
 Proves every substance to its clinging grasp 
 Accessible; and to man's search mature 
 Submitting things above, around, beneath! 
 How to man's patience do the mysteries 
 Of this great Universe unfold their scrolls! 
 How do the elements of earth and air 
 Become his ministers, yielding him food, 
 Raiment, adorning! He experiments 
 And broods o'er metals, magnets, resins, webs, 
 When lo! there come forth prodigies of force 
 To speed him on; trumpets from shore to shore 
 Proclaim his murmurs in lone chambers spoken; 
 Even his tones creep into waxen sheets 
 To sleep and wake again; his smiles and frowns 
 
OFF PL YMO UTH COAST. 1 7 
 
 Are copied by sun-pencils; flame and heat 
 Spring at his touch; and great lights, that portend 
 Revealings of a final judgment's gleams, 
 Rend midnight's pall before his ships. 
 
 The myths 
 Of Greece, fables of Araby, and tales 
 Of fays and giants spurning rules and space, 
 Which roused our childish wonder, yield the palm 
 Of strangeness to reality; and oft 
 ' Tis asked, "Was dream or fancy yet but finds 
 Somewhere, somehow, its counterpart in fact?" 
 
 Through wit and studious research man cleaves 
 
 Into components e'en the unseen air, 
 
 Chaining each subtile gas. Prying, he finds 
 
 New continents teeming with myriad lives 
 
 Below the senses' ordinary ken 
 
 Hidden by minuteness marvelous. What realms, 
 
 What treasures may become revealed to him 
 
 Who reverent seeks instruction above gold ! 
 
 To him the drill that penetrates a cliff, 
 
 And spade that digs a moat may become keys 
 
 Unlocking Earth's primeval registries 
 
 With fossil hyerioglyphics writ: The flints 
 
 That mar his roads may dainty agents prove 
 
1 8 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 To speed his vision past sublunar skies, 
 
 And star-rays may turn whispers and reveal — 
 
 What stuff their worlds are made of, though 'tis well 
 
 Those worlds remain too distant to distract 
 
 The keenest gaze long from this orb of ours 
 
 With all its countless progenies and forms, 
 
 Its endless movement, changeful harmony, 
 
 And rich complexity of circumstance. 
 
 I find me here amidst this vast display, 
 A tiny flickering speck, yet sharing all 
 According to capacity so fit 
 For such a sphere, that it includes concepts 
 Of Time's long histories, and things to come 
 When Time is past; with sorrows that cry out 
 As deep to deep, and joys that climb the skies. 
 Naught comprehending to complete extent, 
 Yet apprehending God, my soul from out 
 Her fading tent peers toward unfading shores, 
 Nor doubts thereon her heavenly house to find, 
 When these flesh curtains fall. Often she sings 
 Songs of exultant and adoring faith, 
 With gracious foretaste of immortal peace. 
 
OFF PLYMOUTH COAST. 19 
 
 A CHANT OF CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Cradled on the care divine, 
 
 Rest, believing spirit! rest; 
 All thy Maker's power is thine, 
 
 All His wisdom makes thee blest. 
 
 As the duteous stars in space, 
 
 Poised along His circuits roll; 
 So illumined from His face, 
 
 Be thy stately ways, my soul! 
 
 Not for thee th' inconstant course, 
 
 Not its darkness, nor its wrath; 
 Where light streams from light's own Source, 
 
 Love shall gravitate thy path. 
 
CANTO II. 
 LOVE'S IDEAL. 
 
 SOMETIMES, alas! my yearning heart reviews 
 In pensive sorrow those lost happy days 
 Lit by the brightness of a wife's fond smile. 
 Ah! then I prize that crowning gift — true love — 
 Above all earthly boons to mortals given, 
 Bond of pure hearts in Eden, and best type 
 Of Christ's redemptive favor. 
 
 Love! what power 
 Is in thy sway! Thy history is Man's. 
 Diverted like a stream from its safe course, 
 Thou hast spread ruin o'er the fairest climes, 
 Subtly removed foundations, and swept down 
 Broad fabrics of dominion wisely planned. 
 Thou, when corrupted, hast to artifice 
 Changed counsel and made heroes brave 
 Tremble and yield their swords to win a smile; 
 Nor less, when pure, hast made the weary strong, 
 
LOVE'S IDEAL. 21 
 
 And nourished states to honor and renown. 
 
 Strong attribute of human hearts! Thy joys 
 
 And griefs pervade the lore of every land. 
 
 The lyre of ancient Greece is thrilling still 
 
 From the impulses of thy deathless touch. 
 
 From Dante's blue, indulgent native skies, 
 
 To Scandinavia's maelstrom-guarded coast, 
 
 Thy fancies fill the legend and the lay. 
 
 From the rich music of our British harps, 
 
 In sweet progression sounding down the years, 
 
 Thy spell comes stealing o'er the hearts of men; 
 
 It haunts the mystic verse of earliest realms, 
 
 Whence the world's races wandered widely forth, 
 
 Inspires the epics of the sunrise isles, 
 
 Swerves the dimmed crescent in its languid course, 
 
 And spreads 'neath grovey banyan and tall palm, 
 
 A fitful influence tender, gay, or fierce. 
 
 Its power that rent the heart of Priam's son, 
 
 When the Greek snatched a Helen from his side, 
 
 Moved the sad soul of India's Shah Jehan 
 
 To rear o'er Noor-Mahal, once his throne's light, 
 
 The wondrous Taj, noblest of burial shrines. 
 
 Mid Agra's cypress shades, thy pillars shine 
 In melancholy splendor, Taj Mahal! 
 Love's witness mute, yet unto melody 
 
22 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 i 
 
 So prone, that to the softest human sigh 
 Tremblingly floating upward to thy dome, 
 The spaces give back music. 
 
 Thus a heart 
 That long in silence yearned, at Love's first tone, 
 Pours from its prisoned fullness swift response. 
 Fair temple of the heart! in thee Love's sphere , 
 And prime intent are emblemized mid scenes 
 Where Love has been most wounded and betrayed. 
 Love's steadfast strength, engaging harmony, 
 Her graceful blending of complex ideas, 
 Her long remembrance and devotion rich, 
 Her aspiration, purity, and peace — 
 Speak from thy matchless walls, thine airy towers, 
 Thy precious crypt and dome of radiant white, 
 In full perfection of accordant parts. 
 Thou seem'st an oracle on Jumna's banks 
 Telling at dawn, or sunset's tender hour, 
 Or clearest 'neath the glorious Indian moon, 
 Love's prophecy to Asia's hearts and homes, 
 For days that hasten down the slopes of Heaven. 
 Nor speakst thou solely for the orient tribes; 
 For many a pilgrim wand'ring over seas, 
 Lured by thy story to old Agra's seat, 
 
LOVE'S IDEAL. 23 
 
 Returning- shall recount afar the tale 
 
 Of Jehan's love, and loss, and memory true, 
 
 And listening mourners shall reply with tears, 
 
 "So o'er a buried one as dear, as fond 
 
 As Noor-Mahal, would I like tribute rear, 
 
 Were this permitted." Some may be who note 
 
 With changeless features what these travelers tell, 
 
 Whose heart-throbs turned to whispers would speak thus: 
 
 "As wrought the Shah Jehan with costly gems, 
 
 In honor of a Light removed afar; 
 
 So fervently my reft heart heaps and frames 
 
 Its treasures — spoils of patience won through strife, 
 
 Devotion's opals, pearls of tenderness, 
 
 Sapphires of constancy, rubies intense 
 
 Of fondness, crystals of bright sympathy, 
 
 Mid cypress of pathetic loneliness — 
 
 In memory of the far ideal I miss. 
 
 I, too, can comprehend Love's loss." 
 
CANTO III. 
 THE BALL. 
 
 CLARA! my vanished wife — true love and friend, 
 Of thee was I reminded in soft hours 
 Of a bright summer mid New Hampshire hills, 
 When, as perchance I climbed some rugged pass, 
 I met young lovers hand in hand, absorbed 
 In fond communings; or perceived some pair 
 Long mated, sitting 'neath a leafy arch, 
 Restfully happy in confiding speech 
 Or sympathetic silence, their calm smiles 
 No fitful dawn-rays of an early spring, 
 But the rich sunshine of an afternoon 
 Of tried affection. 
 
 " Hail, such lot serene! " 
 I whispered, faring on my lonely path. 
 Sometimes, too, as I rambled in the wild, 
 I pondered subtle problems that perplex 
 Young hearts, no more, for my sake, vexing mine. 
 So an old seaman wand'ring on the verge 
 
LOVE'S IDEAL. 25 
 
 Of ocean may recall strange dangers past, 
 Tempests encountered, wreck-strewn waves 
 And marking, now and then, a ship off shore, 
 Compare the tides and weather with its course. 
 
 Not for himself he fears again the blast, 
 But yearns, for others' safety, to commend 
 Tried rules of sea-craft to new mariners. 
 
 Returning from the wild, one evening bright 
 
 With orbs declaring glory, while fixed law 
 
 Controlled their changes intricate and vast, 
 
 I mused how method and precision mark 
 
 The Universe in all its cyclic modes, 
 
 Through all its measureless expanses, proving 
 
 One authorship, one will ineffable; 
 
 And reasoning from this premise plainly writ 
 
 On all the glittering pages of the heavens, 
 
 And traced in lesser characters around — 
 
 In floating mists suffusing balanced dust, 
 
 In circling dew-drops, and by measured winds 
 
 Whispered — I thence deduced how Peace attends 
 
 Alone on order, in all moral spheres. 
 
 But see! our mountain inn ablaze with lights, 
 And gay with laughter, music, and discourse. 
 
26 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Passing within, I rested half-concealed 
 
 Deep in an alcove of its central hall, 
 
 Closely observant of the showy scenes. 
 
 Maidens and mothers, youths and men of years 
 
 Drawn from the heated cities of our land, 
 
 To share the mountains' breath and rove the woods, 
 
 Had gathered to commingle in a ball. 
 
 Soft robes swayed near me, fragrance from pure flowers 
 
 Pressed to fair bosoms mingled on my sense. 
 
 In triple waves the slow waltz rippling flowed, 
 
 And lovely forms seemed floating on its tide. 
 
 There came a pause, when at my side appeared 
 A slender maiden, with a pensive eye 
 And rosy flush that woke within my mind 
 Dear recollections of a modest glance, 
 That in my early manhood was a beam 
 Lighting my reverent way to sweet success. 
 
 The music burst, anew the waltz waves flowed, 
 And as an iridescence from the clouds, 
 Vanished my tender dream of other days. 
 Close on the breast of a wine-heated man, 
 Whose gentle wife within a distant home 
 Sang to his babes grief-laden lullabys; 
 I saw the maid, whose blush of tenderness 
 
LOVE'S IDEAL. 
 
 Should be a guerdon rare conferred alone 
 On a true lover's brave and constant faith, 
 Borne through the eddies of the whirling dance. 
 Wives too, from husbands were asunder placed 
 To lean on alien hearts and give a clasp 
 That should be consecrate to sacred trust 
 And love unchanging, for a like return 
 From the beguilers of that idle hour. 
 
 My brain grew hot, as when its early tides 
 Had rushed tumultuous at first sense of wrong. 
 Caution forgot to chide, though oft she seemed 
 To say: "Beware, old man! lest thou misjudge 
 The customs of this new progressive time, 
 The lens of age fits not youth's guileles eyes." 
 Uncurbed by wonted rein my speech broke forth 
 On the surprised ears of a white-haired dame, 
 Who came that instant toward my alcove seat. 
 A wan-smile flickering o'er her hollow cheeks, 
 Not warmer than the moon's ray upon snow, 
 Vanished at my sharp tone; her thin, veined hand 
 Touched her false puffs, then felt her frill of lace 
 To find if aught offended there the mode, 
 To which her shriveled taste and pinioned will 
 Paid humblest tribute. 
 
 27 
 
28 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 In her startled look 
 I read dismay, as though my anxious word — 
 "Madam, are we to sanction these strange ways, 
 Nor voice our protest? " — must imply some law 
 Of fashion slighted, some forgotten brooch 
 Or missing hairpin, leaving dreadful breach 
 In her array. 
 
 At length her timid voice 
 Stole out beyond the music — " Pardon, Sir; 
 What ways have thus offended ? None, I trust, 
 In such a place transgress 'gainst etiquette." 
 " Madam, this sanctioned twining of strange arms, 
 Tho' set to languid rounds of metred noise, 
 Offends my soul. Dancing in our young days, 
 Was, at least, civil, and the minuet 
 Was courteous and stately. In those times, 
 Caresses were Love's characters inscribed 
 Not upon sign-posts in the market-place. 
 Shall morning-dews be dashed by Impudence 
 From Life's spring-buds, on whose unfolding wait 
 The omens of pure love and household peace ? 
 Madam, I hold that e'en this visible frame 
 Of our august existence is a shrine 
 For reverent regard, where but its priests 
 
LOVE' S IDEAL. 29 
 
 Anointed by affection, whitely robed, 
 Should closely wait beside its curtain-folds." 
 
 The dancers paused. The matron's sober gaze 
 Was fixed on mine, as, with a faint quick blush, 
 Reflection of past bloom, that once prevailed 
 Ere heart-throbs were repressed, she said, "Perhaps, 
 Your words are true. I used to speak the like. 
 But then, the young must have their pleasures, Sir; 
 Their social pastimes, ere life's burdens press." 
 
 "Still, let us call no pleasure good," I cried, 
 
 "That dulls susceptibility of soul 
 
 To best emotions, or perverts its sense 
 
 Of ideality, that in Life's spring 
 
 Is tender as the frail anemone. 
 
 I'd cherish fresh aromas of the May, 
 
 Ere strengthened fibre meet the August glare. 
 
 But can we call that social, which precludes 
 All candid converse; or that pastime safe, 
 Wherein a serious word would move dismay, 
 Or play the clown's part of absurdity ? 
 Listen the trifles floated to our ears, 
 Weigh them, if they have weight. 
 
 Pardon! Good-night." 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 ART DREAMS. 
 A DREAM DISPELLED. 
 
 IANTHE! brightest of the stars that gleam, 
 Paris, upon thy histrionic boards, 
 Wearied with nightly twinklings to thy crowds, 
 Withdraws her brilliance to our western clime, 
 And gilds our mountain summits with her beams. 
 Lo! senators and doctors of the law 
 Deeply inclining raise obsequious eyes 
 To win a ray of her defiant glance, 
 While modest wives and studious girls admire 
 Awe-struck, her manners, copying their art. 
 The journals of our land of pilgrim sires 
 Trace out her steps, as sages trace out suns; 
 The press of Britain and of France contend 
 Over her eyelids, as their armies sparred 
 For conquest ere the reign of proud Queen Bess. 
 Is not her stature draped as freakishly 
 
ART DREAMS. 3 r 
 
 As any chief barbaric decks his frame, 
 Posed in each attitude that conscious art 
 Assumes to simulate unconscious grace, 
 Copied in galleries, enshrined in homes, 
 And flaunted in the marts of every town, 
 To lure the wavering fancy of our youth 
 Toward the unquiet paths of her career ? 
 
 She sojourns in our plain New Hampshire inn, 
 
 Whose fame thereon is bruited far and wide. 
 
 Quickly its halls by Fashion's hordes are thronged; 
 
 Slim, perfumed youths, whose fingers ne'er controlled 
 
 A tool more useful than a billiard-cue, 
 
 Dash from swift trains, whose shrieks in Sabbath hours 
 
 Shock th' astonished hills that shriek again, 
 
 And chase Ianthe's shadow with a zeal 
 
 That copies, as their feebler brains allow, 
 
 The impetuous courage of their nobler sires, 
 
 Whose careful toil in frugal early years, 
 
 Won plenty's wreath to crown their honored age. 
 
 How swiftly shall that rich parental crown 
 
 Be rent and scattered on diffusive waves 
 
 Of ease voluptuous, where nerveless limbs 
 
 Untrained in sober Labor's honest schools, 
 
 And guided by no firm instructed will — 
 
 Sink in oblivion's deeps, to rise no more! 
 
32 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 In youth I knew a score of college boys, 
 
 Whose fathers, by long search in Science's mines, 
 
 Had found fair trophies to enrich their race, 
 
 Or had attained of difficult Finance 
 
 The golden heights, and thereon set their sons, 
 
 Whose rising manhood ere full-orbed grew dark 
 
 And sank before Ianthes of those days; 
 
 As white Japonicas take on the shades 
 
 Of brown decay, before a passing breath.. 
 
 Yes, more, I have known men of good renown, 
 Who conquered stigma, braved a hundred wrongs, 
 And dashed from Tyranny his iron crest, 
 Who from beneath the bays a nation gave, 
 Caught some warm glance from an Ianthe cast 
 Amid the glare and witchery of her art, 
 And faded like a star dimmed out of heaven. 
 
 Oft having heard a crash of ruined life, 
 
 And felt the tremblings soul-falls made around 
 
 My standing-ground, whence down th' abyss 
 
 That swallowed men I gazed with fear-strained eyes, 
 
 Should I still calmly view such ruin's source — 
 
 Ianthe-worship ? 
 
ART DREAMS. 33 
 
 No; 'tis as the cult 
 Of Montezumas in old Mexico, 
 That yearly pampered a well-favored youth 
 With all that sensual luxury could give, 
 Then cut his heart out at a twelve month's end; 
 So while its rites were fostered in our inn, 
 While August constellations lit the sky, 
 I sometimes sat aloof mid the parterres. 
 Here to my side would Victor love to stray — 
 A youth with genius gifted, whose warm soul 
 Sought vainly in the throng for kindred minds. 
 
 His fancy generous would fain have clothed 
 
 All beings round him, from its plenteous stores, 
 
 With qualities superlative, yet found 
 
 That real lives oft cast aside in scorn 
 
 His graceful webs, or wore them awkwardly. 
 
 Being untutored in mere artifice, 
 And having but his pale face and plain tongue 
 To match 'gainst flippancy and practiced wiles, 
 He gathered disappointment and dismay, 
 As souls like his are wont, ere skill is theirs 
 To clothe their dream with substance, of desire 
 To forge the resolution that achieves. 
 
34 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 To him 'twas strange, as yet, when beauteous lips 
 Failed to speak perfect sentiments, or praise 
 The aspirations that infused his soul, 
 While men of low ambitions were approved. 
 'Twas mine to probe his spirit with sharp words: 
 "They but deserve defeat who search for pearls 
 In surface foam. Let us not droop and mourn 
 That peacocks will not lend us friendly wings 
 To bear our bulk aloft. 
 
 " You covet ease 
 And fond caressing from papilios gay, 
 Yet still would stalk with lions. 
 
 " Victor, Life 
 Has clear distinctions. Man must firmly choose, 
 And choosing, must relinquish. They who grasp 
 At all, hold nothing surely." 
 
 Thus I spoke 
 One eve to Victor, knowing his sad eyes 
 Pursued a beauteous creature, as she stepped 
 From a piazza, with a dark-faced man — 
 Julian his name, hers Madeleine. Her hand 
 Lay lily-white in Julian's swarthy clasp, 
 
ART DREAMS. 35 
 
 Her golden locks fanned by a gentle breeze, 
 Gilded his shoulder, as they sauntered by. 
 
 Then came an artist famed, of noble soul, 
 
 His head downcast, who stumbling on me, cried: 
 
 "Ah ! so, good friend, you leave the rattling halls 
 
 To watch the stars dance. Please you, I sit down." 
 
 "Welcome," I answered, " Victor will agree 
 
 You are most welcome. I philosophize 
 
 To this young man. Age has broad privilege. 
 
 Victor has stirrings to smite marble, Sir, 
 
 Till it takes on great meanings." 
 
 The famed man 
 Replied "That's well. Marble endures and holds 
 Great meanings long. And is our Victor sure 
 He has his meaning ready for the rock? " 
 "I dream Life has great meanings," Victor said, 
 "Yet Life's experience disappoints my dreams, 
 And leaves my hands too nerveless to carve stone. 
 Unhappily I can not write mere dreams 
 In adamant, I'd see them first set forth 
 In actual modes that still elude my quest. 
 I have an artist's feeling, but the brain 
 Of a mechanic, I must square my thought, 
 
36 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Use plumb-line of experiment, make sure 
 With nail of fact, and screw of certitude." 
 
 Kindly the artist, like a healer spoke, 
 
 "Do not for this despair. In Art's true schools 
 
 There is scant space left for mere fantasies, 
 
 The day has dawned, when men have eyes to see 
 
 That Beauty dwells with Wholesomeness, that Harm 
 
 Is loathsome, Benefit forever fair, 
 
 Though often veiled. Who build unyielding- towers 
 
 Need plumb-lines, proofs, and careful reckonings; 
 
 So they who fashion deathless things in Art, 
 
 Must follow changeless principles." 
 
 "Thanks, Sir," 
 Cried Victor, " By your kindness I am bold 
 To ask if ever plodding care gave birth 
 To fiery eloquence or moving song, 
 Or /rom the canvass or the stone evoked 
 Enchantment? " 
 
 " Nay, I do but certify 
 Conditions that e'en Genius must obey, 
 Though doubtless oft instinctively, or fall 
 Trampled beneath the van-ranks of our time. 
 Meanwhile her meanings must transcend their rules, 
 As swift-wheeled motors flaming o'er their tracks, 
 
ART DREAMS. 37 
 
 Transcend their tracks. Her utterances now 
 
 Must speak to hearts that yearn, and joy, or break, 
 
 In any realm of this broad world of ours. 
 
 Great motives taking hold on destinies 
 
 That touch eternity must Genius feel, 
 
 To reach to highest prize." The artist paused 
 
 Reflective. 
 
 "It was ever thus, in truth," 
 I ventured, "though our race was sometimes blind 
 To grandest revelations. Righteous zeal 
 'Gainst tyranny, love, courage, worship, faith 
 Are meanings that transfuse Art's noblest forms." 
 "Aye, ever thus," he echoed, with full tone, 
 " Her noblest forms were filled, yet meanings base 
 Have won applause, where style was masterful 
 To set them forth, and where the people's thought 
 Was brutal or benumbed. But who now faints 
 With appetite to witness a suttee, 
 Or to see men vie with fierce beasts in strife ? 
 In sunset lands, where Art's new course begins, 
 Men's hearts no longer gloat o'er carnage scenes; 
 But admiration, when Oppression dies, 
 Breaks into raptures. He who climbs henceforth 
 To highest seats of Art, must feel strong hopes, 
 
38 BEN ' S ISABELLA. 
 
 Must meditate great issues, mourn deep woes, 
 Feel his own heart-strings draw in love or scorn, 
 Express sweet joys of innocence, or strike 
 Terror at Evil's infamy and loss. 
 There must be sturdy fibre in the man 
 Who reaches this. 
 
 Yon Julian who passed near 
 Some moments since, aimed high but missed the mark. 
 He had a soul-test that has left him charred, 
 Not seasoned yew tough for the bow-string's strain. 
 His wife, a gracious woman, loved him well, 
 And was beloved of Julian, Julian-wise; 
 But now they live disjoined by his self-pride — 
 A hedge where vipers nest and multiply." 
 
 Here Victor furious interposed "A wife! 
 And he snares stealthily a peerless maid — 
 I'll to the rescue, she shall stumble not 
 Down the fell crater whence his hate has poured 
 Destruction on a wife's peace. 
 
 Victor's hand 
 Will snatch the maid to safety, though a flood 
 Of malice scorch him from that crater's fires." 
 
ART DREAMS. 39 
 
 "Stay, stay," the Artist warned, 
 
 " Yon maid knows all, 
 But loves the crater's brink with Julian near, 
 More than the peaceful vales of Innocence. 
 Not every handsome creature feels disgust 
 At sulphur-fumes; some leave their villa-porch 
 Clematis-wreathed, and decked in roses pure, 
 To walk with villains in hot lava-paths." 
 
 " Can this be true? " groaned Victor, after pause, 
 " Methinks I could be strong with chisel now, 
 Carving a Tempter — not for fame or joy, 
 But wrath. And surely there is room with Art 
 For such a work, wrought with impetuous hand." 
 
 "My friend," the Master answered, " there is room 
 
 For Genius speaking bravely from strong sense 
 
 Of moral differences, room perchance 
 
 For all impassioned honesty to speak 
 
 In marble; but the chisel must be skilled 
 
 That strikes this forth, the hand that guides it nerved 
 
 With purpose having source in a deep soul 
 
 Not used to counterfeit. 
 
 Greece gave us forms 
 Faultless in poise and exquisite in grace, 
 
4 o BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 . 
 Whose shape we may scarce equal, not excel, 
 Whose meanings the attainments of our age 
 Should far surpass. 
 
 Her Pan and satyr stage 
 Shamed her and shames its modern copyists, 
 Who reproduce such grossness, having eyes, 
 Yet seeing not what progress adorns Time, 
 Since Pallas wisest of the Grecian's gods 
 Sank with her Athens into long decay, 
 And from Egina's waves men ceased to gaze 
 With hearts of worship toward the Parthenon, 
 Hailing her image." 
 
 Forth the famed man strode, 
 Leaving us silent neath th' enduring stars. 
 
 Then flashed a falling meteor down the sky, 
 
 Paling the fixed stars with its fleeting glow 
 
 That dying left their tremulous fires undimmed. 
 
 Uprising, Victor cried: " Farewell, I go 
 
 At daybreak from these hill-tops to the town, 
 
 And from these dream-days merge to earnest hours." 
 
 "Be brave," I faltered, "steadily pursue 
 
 The old unvarying orbit of Good Will, 
 
 Nor flash in self-devouring vengeance flames 
 
 To ashes: thus your lot will shine serene 
 
 When meteors are extinct." 
 
ART DREAMS. 41 
 
 His hand seized mine, 
 Pressing it warmly — and he went to rest. 
 While yet his footsteps sounded on the walk, 
 A man dashed toward me, crying, " So one less 
 Among the stars! You saw it burst and sink ? 
 Some tell us stars are worlds. Sir, I say no, 
 They're lights just put there to rule night, the sun 
 To rule the day. That's what the Scripture says 
 And quite enough for me. 
 
 " Let Science go, 
 I say" — here he sat down, grasping my sleeve, 
 "My boy went, Sir, to an Academy, 
 To please his mother, and he would run home 
 With nonsense about angles, arcs, and planes, 
 And say men measure stars and prove their weight 
 Immense, and that the best of them are suns. 
 My daughter went to boarding-school awhile, 
 And came back puzzling over poppy-flowers, 
 And weeds, and daisies, picking them to bits, 
 And calling them hard names; till I said stop ! 
 Enough of this. 
 
 " I left off study, Sir, 
 At twelve, when I could cypher, spell, and write, 
 Then went to work and have worked ever since. 
 
42 . BEN' S ISABELLA. 
 
 My bank-accounts shows what a man can do 
 Who keeps to business strictly. 
 
 " My girl Madge 
 Was courted by that lazy Victor, once. 
 'Artist,' she called him. Strange a woman thinks 
 These visionary youngsters worth a look, 
 I finished that affair. A pretty girl 
 Is Madge — her mother calls her Madeleine — 
 And dutiful, now that I've called her off 
 From weeds and nonsense. I shall marry her 
 To some good fellow who is shrewd at trade. 
 I have one such in view. 
 
 " Why, there is Madge 
 Returning from a moonlight walk with — whom ? 
 Ha! Julian. 
 
 " No; it can not be my child 
 Is roving with that wretch. 
 
 " Yes, yes, 'tis so. 
 I warned her of his ways, and promised her 
 Jewels, gowns, anything, so she refuse 
 His presence. 
 
 "I will hound them — but what use ? 
 She cheats her plain old father. Sir, I'm sick, 
 
ART DREAMS. 43 
 
 And these poor tears — you must not tell the world. 
 I've hoarded riches for my children's sake, 
 And my boy — Sir, I will confess at last — 
 Defies me boldly, since he left the school, 
 Gambling and racing, and forsaking work. 
 But Madaleine, on whom my trust was set, 
 Deceives her plain old father! " 
 
 So he walked 
 Mournfully from me, shedding bitter tears. 
 
 If it be thine, O, Pain! to rouse his soul 
 
 From a long servitude to sordid Greed 
 
 By sense of wounded fatherhood, thy part 
 
 Shall be angelic in its ministry, 
 
 Though thou affright the captive striking off 
 
 His chains, and leading him to freedom's light. 
 
CANTO V. 
 
 BEN. 
 
 TT7HILE still sojourning mid the Hampshire hills, 
 
 ^ ^ As bright September used to cast the glow 
 And shade of her delicious afternoons 
 O'er the ripe landscape, I would often seek 
 My favorite seat, a moss-upholstered couch 
 Formed by the twisted and protuberant roots 
 Of two old oaks, whose boughs above my head 
 Loftily intermingled, while below 
 Their nether fibres knitted in the soil 
 Strengthened the hillside that supported them. 
 My fellow guests were won't to pass near by 
 Toward sites more distant, seeking dizzy views. 
 Often while musing in my solitude, 
 I saw their garments glinting through the leaves, 
 And sometimes yearned for fitting comradeship. 
 
 At length, one day, beneath the mated oaks, 
 My heart was cheered by a congenial friend, 
 Whose coming was an unexpected joy. 
 
BEN. 45 
 
 We had been college class-mates, Ben and I. 
 Then he had settled northward, I to west 
 Had journeyed, tarrying in a frontier State 
 A year or two, ere to my native East 
 Returned to enter on a strenuous course 
 Of study, followed by a long career 
 Of practice in the courts; and soon it fell 
 That intercourse between us was at end. 
 Ben says he toiled most sternly to surmount 
 The steeps and tangles of his chosen paths, 
 And found the way so hedged, the goal so far, 
 He dared not turn aside to Friendship's meads, 
 But pushed straight on. 
 
 With me capacity 
 Found full employ through years of strength. 
 
 Of late 
 Retired from bustling cares and pensive grown, 
 Like housewife who recalls at twilight hour 
 Her children's pretty prattle and sweet looks, 
 The ways and speech of lately vanished guests 
 Marked lightly mid the duties that had pressed 
 At noontide, mindful, too, meanwhile 
 How daylight wanes and stars come forth on high; 
 So I would recollect life's common scenes 
 
46 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 And summon histories that from long sleep 
 Awake refreshed. 
 
 Oft had I asked myself 
 "What has become of Ben? He must have reached 
 Some shining point, with that aggressive brain 
 Curbed, it is true, \>y caution and reserve, 
 Yet charged with force like the electric storm's, 
 And waiting but some clear, far-reaching track 
 To be a highway for its energies." 
 
 I pictured, too, his tall and massive frame, 
 
 His eyes whose fire made ambush 'neath deep brows, 
 
 His noble head crowned with a raven wealth — 
 
 Till once when murmuring his familiar name, 
 
 " Strange! " thought I, "it finds counterpart exact 
 
 In that of the inventor, which of late 
 
 Goes ringing through the land! Can he be Ben ? 
 
 If so, he chose no road prepared and plain, 
 
 But bade his genius hew its own Simplon." 
 
 While I was pondering thus, my ancient heart 
 Gave a young bound; for 'neath the oaken boughs, 
 My very Ben bearing the weight of years 
 Not wearily, looked with no faded glance 
 Into my eyes, and strongly grasped my hand! 
 
BEN. 
 
 He said my name had sparkled in the list 
 Of the sojourners mid his native hills, 
 Like a lost gem he long had sought in vain, 
 Now glistening close beside his daily path. 
 
 A breeze from new-mown valley hayfields blown 
 To our retreat was like the balmy sense 
 Ben's coming brought of gentle memories; 
 And like that lowly landscape to our view 
 Compact in distance, was the glimpse I showed 
 Of past experience to my questioning friend. 
 
 Reminding him how I was early taught 
 By parents, whose example to their speech 
 Was as the coast well-measured to its chart, 
 To seek Heaven's guidance and prime tribute pay 
 To Being's Source, I told him that my heart 
 Restrained by reason from the trackless wilds 
 Where fancy roves unchecked, had early found 
 In Clara Raye a loving, well-loved wife. 
 
 Union in purpose, powers proportionate, 
 
 Full confidence, and heart preference made 
 
 Our home-life glad. Her prudence made my toil 
 
 Effective amply to content our needs 
 
 In days when fortune showed a wavering scale. 
 
 47 
 
48 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 But whether dollars were hard-won and few. 
 
 Or more abundant, as the years advanced, 
 
 For open worship and for private alms 
 
 We gave first fruits, spending in praise and prayer 
 
 An early fragment of each busy day, 
 
 And shared in hospitable ministries 
 
 Service and store, receiving unawares 
 
 Angel-like visitors ; till home became 
 
 A tranquil Bethel in earth's wilderness. 
 
 Oft to our sons and daughters we rehearsed 
 The lore of Holy Writ, its histories 
 Of faithful lives, and prophecies that rise 
 Like hill-tops that first catch the rays of dawn. 
 
 I spoke of all this humbly, minding well 
 
 My inward failings and my frequent faults, 
 
 Yet fain to witness to the faithfulness 
 
 Of this sure Word : Who seeks Heaven's kingdom first 
 
 Shall lack not common gifts. 
 
 This had we proved 
 Dear wife and I, with love and plenty blest. 
 Nor had our sons departed from our way, 
 Though sadly tempted by corrupting wiles, 
 In life's fresh years, and led to waver oft 
 
BEN. 
 
 49 
 
 Concerning" those strong tenets whence ring forth 
 Dread warnings < 
 Loud danger sign 
 Make shipwreck. 
 
 Dread warnings o'er the waves where souls embark — 
 Loud danger signals that must sound, or men 
 
 Now with steadfast eyes, my sons 
 Discern those lights that from the vast expanse 
 Of the eternities illume Life's sky, 
 Too high for creature hands to touch or change, 
 Yet for the guidance of attentive minds, 
 Sufficient, and in Revelation's chart 
 Laid down to guide the mariners of Time. 
 Ruled by these lights each steers his household bark, 
 Bearing on freight of love's unwithering fruits, 
 And gold of wisdom, for their fellow men. 
 
 "Your sons have households ; does your daughter bloom 
 
 Still 'neath your roof-tree, making gladness there ? " 
 
 My dear Ben questioned, dreaming not what pangs 
 
 Pierced my fresh wounds, as I responded " No ; 
 
 She blooms on high, beside the mother-plant, 
 
 Transported both to fadeless fields of bliss. 
 
 But tell me kindly, to divert my thought 
 
 From grief that stirs at recollection's voice, 
 
 Some chapter of your past ; or from your muse 
 
 That sang soft numbers in our college days, 
 
 Choose some refrain. 
 
50 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 " Your vigorous brain equipped, 
 To search new realms, was like a huntsman armed 
 For quest of largest game ; yet from whose belt 
 Hung a sweet bugle, that in restful hours, 
 Woke sylvan echoes with a melody." 
 
 Ben's eyes grew dreamy, then with inward beams 
 They seemed illumined, as in low rich tone, 
 He told this simple lay of youth and love ; 
 
 BELLA AND TUDOR. 
 
 See you yonder little town 
 
 On the hill's breast nestling 
 Where the mountain stream comes down 
 
 With the mill-wheels wrestling, 
 
 Whipped amid resistance, 
 
 To enforced assistance, 
 
 Till ashamed of riot 
 
 More subdued and quiet, 
 
 Under drooping willows 
 
 Shading its white billows, 
 On it glides with roar subsiding, 
 'Mid the groves of Delia hiding. 
 
 Fair the town with gardens green 
 Bowered amid the larches, 
 
BEN. 
 
 Pleasant happy homes were seen 
 Under elm-tree arches. 
 
 One such home was Bella's, 
 
 Fairest of fair dwellers. 
 
 Brown her eyes, with lashes 
 
 Veiling half their flashes, 
 
 Glossy locks seemed wreathing, 
 
 Classic beauty breathing, 
 When her twentieth summer brought her 
 Love, and Love's first lessons taught her. 
 
 Tudor, youth from Georgia's clime, 
 Brought his books to Delia, 
 
 But his heart that summer time, 
 Studied only Bella. 
 
 Sang the oriole golden 
 
 In the pear-tree olden, 
 
 "Belle! Belle! Isabella!" 
 
 Tudor answered "Tell her 
 
 That I love her dearly." 
 
 " Love her ! love her" clearly 
 
 Trilled the oriole upward steering, 
 
 Till in sunshine disappearing. 
 
 , As he walked to church betimes — 
 Ah! the pious fellow — 
 
 5i 
 
52 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Tudor deemed the Sunday chimes, 
 Pealed forth "Isabella!" 
 Her sweet alto ringing 
 Seemed an angel's singing. 
 Close he watched the preaching, 
 Not to note the teaching, 
 But to mark its ending, 
 When her way attending, 
 He might catch the pleasure glowing 
 In her smile with joy o'er flowing. 
 
 Often when in garden bower, 
 Bella wandered seeming 
 
 Quite absorbed in vine and flower, 
 She was only dreaming. 
 
 Strange! from out the thicket, 
 "Tudor!" chirped the cricket. 
 Strange, too, and amusing — 
 Birds are so confusing — 
 That a bird should flutter 
 Near, each morn, and utter, 
 
 Eyeing her — the sly intruder — 
 
 "Tudor! Tudor! Tu-Tu-Tudor! " 
 
 Tudor had a gallant's art, 
 Keen of apprehension 
 
BEN. 53 
 
 He could speak to Bella's heart, 
 By a pink or gentian. 
 
 John the sturdy farmer 
 
 Was not such a charmer; 
 
 Bashful, shy, and steady, 
 
 He was oft unready, 
 
 Though before some others 
 
 Praised by prudent mothers, 
 To his birthright fields devoted, 
 And for study somewhat noted. 
 
 To her grandsire's Bella went, 
 
 At the claim of duty, 
 And, ere half a week was spent, 
 Came a city beauty, 
 
 Tudor's cousin Ella, 
 
 To the town of Delia, 
 
 And his hours beguiling, 
 
 Oft beside him smiling, 
 
 Through the green lanes walking 
 
 Set the gossips talking, 
 Till their rumor wildly flying 
 Pierced a heart in distance sighing. 
 
 Strange the letter white and fair, 
 Folded o'er a locket, 
 
54 
 
 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Sent to her in grandpa's care, 
 In the inner pocket 
 Of his coat lay hiding, 
 While sad weeks were gliding. 
 Ere her late returning 
 Filled with grief and yearning, 
 Tudor had departed, 
 And she walked proud-hearted, 
 But no more the same glad Bella, 
 In the sere home-bowers of Delia. 
 
 At the questioning farewell word 
 Left for her by Tudor, 
 
 All her jealousy was stirred, 
 Else had love subdued her. 
 Ah! how pride concealing 
 A hurt maiden's feeling, 
 Makes her seem uncaring, 
 Gives her strength and daring! 
 No one guessed how weary 
 Was the winter dreary, 
 
 How its winds sighed " Farewell! " only, 
 
 While the river whispered "Lonely." 
 
 John was steadfast, John was true, 
 John would be contented 
 
BEN. 55 
 
 With a gentle word or two, 
 And her lips consented, 
 When he came renewing 
 His long baffled wooing. 
 Wherefore should they tarry ? 
 He was fain to marry, 
 His lone mother needed 
 Bella near, he pleaded; 
 So ere early corn was springing, 
 Wedding bells were gaily ringing. 
 
 Now silence fell between us for a time, 
 Till suddenly, as from a dream awaked, 
 Ben clasped my hand, and rising turned to go, 
 But I restrained him with entreaty. 
 
 "Stay, 
 The sun is high; your idyl was too brief. 
 Surely your muse too cordially has sung 
 To have grown weary of her theme. 
 
 " I'd hear 
 The echoes of those festive Delia chimes, 
 E'ert to their last refrain, here mid these hills, 
 Where sound melodious is not broken off 
 Like the dull thud of counterfeited coins, 
 
56 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 But in and out among the rocks and pines 
 Reverberates and winds. 
 
 So let your words. 
 Prolong that village music in my thoughts." 
 He gravely smiled, then from his vesture drew 
 Some folded pages. 
 
 " I've been scribbling here, 
 Of late," he said, "but my once daring Muse, 
 After a rest of years, has grown so shy, 
 Like novice first before, an audience placed 
 Who stands on either foot alternately, 
 Now on one metre, first, her blushing weight, 
 On other next she rests. Small faculty 
 Has she to clearly sing the ample score 
 That stands complete before my spirit's eye. 
 In varying rhythm a fragment, here and there, 
 Is all she dares attempt, and for this hour 
 Sings only the ' New Problem ' for your ear." 
 
 THE NEW PROBLEM. 
 
 SCARCE conscious of his fulness of content, 
 John watched the tranquil Summer strew his plains 
 With golden increase, till her time was spent, 
 And mild September breezes shook the grains. 
 
BEN. 57 
 
 Problems of Science, when the farm's demands 
 Were simplest, mid the leisure of dull days, 
 
 Would fill with strange experiments his hands, 
 And lead his thoughts in theoretic maze. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Dear was the sight of mother and of wife 
 Beneath their roof, at morning, noon or eve; 
 
 They were eachother's now, henceforth for life, 
 
 For aught beside, why should they yearn or grieve ? 
 
 • 
 Still, youth was seed-time, and he willed that age 
 
 Should find his mental garners richly heaped ; 
 As those broad barns that were his heritage 
 
 Appeared when harvests had been freshly reaped. 
 
 He watched the course of stars, he gaged the tide, 
 He noted matter's laws, with care intent ; 
 
 Yet studied not the spirit at his side, 
 
 Nor marked the signs of sorrow imminent. 
 
 His trustful heart, where Bella was adored 
 
 Too truly, too profoundly for remove, 
 Was to himself a province unexplored, 
 
 Till anguish cried within to slumbering love. 
 
58 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 One day his mother sought him in the field 
 Apart from all ; fear from her streaming eyes 
 
 Looked forth, as tremblingly her voice revealed 
 A :grief, whose stress the sufferer shares, or dies. 
 
 "Alas'! my son, rouse thy poor heart from sleep, 
 To shield the honor of thy house from foes, 
 
 See, down yon vale, her tryst not first to keep 
 Thy: faithless wife,, with .stealthy footstep goes." 
 
 She ceased, and pointed 'neath a fading bough, 
 Down a steep hill-side, where a mounted man 
 Leaned from his saddle toward a woman's brow, 
 ■■■■. As though in speech their hearts commingled ran. 
 
 'Twas Bella's' scarf that in the fickle breeze, 
 Touched a strange shoulder in the lone ravine, 
 
 While son and mother through the upland trees 
 Gazed like chill statues mutely on the scene. 
 
 Not like swift ripples of a shallow stream 
 
 John's purpose wrought ; but slowly as the wave 
 
 Swells on a wide shore 'neath the moon's sad beam, 
 While pallor spread upon his features grave. 
 
BEN. ,59 
 
 The world's perplexing vast machinery 
 
 Seemed wildly whirled — somehow he must be caught 
 Between the shaftings — crushed ? or if 'twas she ? 
 
 Then to the rescue ! coolness ! courage ! thought '! 
 
 *' Hush ! mother, make no sign, this is your hour 
 To do us kindness ; for my sake, be still." 
 
 Firmly he turned her back : she took her way, 
 And left him silent on the sheaf-strewn hill. 
 
 A half-hour later, at their evening meal 
 
 The three were gathered, Bella cold and white 
 
 Revealing nought her inmost heart might feel, 
 Though starting at a passing horseman's flight. 
 
 Then first John saw how wasted was her cheek, 
 How self-absorbed and anxious was her air, 
 
 How her lip quivered when she tried to speak, 
 As though her mind took hold upon despair. 
 
 The moon was veiled in restless clouds of gloom, 
 The mother sought her couch and Bella said: 
 
 "Your problems thrive best in a vacant room, 
 I, too, will seek a pillow for my head." 
 
60 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 John sought the outer air, though wild winds rose 
 
 And roared through woodlands near, and smote his 
 frame; 
 
 The long dark watches brought him no repose, 
 Nor dawn that surly o'er the mountains came. 
 
 His nature stood aroused in wondering awe 
 
 At its own peril-ravaged wide domain; 
 • Cosmos,'* nor * Mecanique Celeste '*j- gave law 
 
 Of guidance to his pressed and wavering brain. 
 
 Life's ground seemed rent before him; what soul-skill 
 Should viaduct the chasm before his feet, 
 
 Or smooth the jutting crags, the valleys fill, 
 
 And plant the slighted blossoms~once so sweet ? 
 
 Self's tactics can not fully engineer 
 
 Paths for a man's heart o'er a cleft like this: 
 
 As Roebling'sJ art his causeway could not rear, 
 Save as a wife's eyes kept their watch with his. 
 
 How dark the mountain-passes ! sudden lowers 
 The thundering cloud, while on my poet's brow 
 
 • *Humbolt's " Cosmos " 
 fLa Place's Mecanique Celeste. 
 
 JThe wife of Engineer Roebling assisted him in carrying forward his grand plans of the 
 " Brooklyn Bridge." 
 
BEN. 6 1 
 
 Lowers the deep shadow of his reverie, 
 Through a still moment. 
 
 Then he wrings my hand, 
 Starts up, shoots down at me one falcon glance, 
 Cries "Tom! you'll seek me at my highland lair 
 A mile due east, by yonder forest road," 
 And plunges swiftly downward and away. 
 
 To westward, leaning on my sturdy stick, 
 I hasten mindful of the sounding skies. 
 
CANTO VI. 
 
 EMPIRES IN THE SKY. 
 
 WEARY I reached the sheltering halls where swarmed 
 My fellow guests. 
 
 Soon thence with awe we watched 
 Forked lightning blades cleaving the roaring skies. 
 
 Hushed by the terrors of the storm, each soul 
 Within itself interpreted its voice. 
 
 Near me, on a low seat, a mother cowered, 
 With three bright little ones about her knees. 
 Her beauteous eyes uplifted in alarm 
 Betrayed a Romance lineage; her hands 
 Burdened with glittering circlets, clasped a cross, 
 Whence rubies shot forth their mysterious fires. 
 
 While rapid bolts pealed loudest, as from shock 
 
 Of planets shattered into asteroids, 
 
 She moaned petitions in the Portuguese. 
 
EMPIRES /A THE SK\. 63 
 
 This was a high-born lady of Brazil. 
 
 Her husband honored by that government, 
 
 A leader of its commerce on high seas, 
 
 Was of New England blood, reared on the coast 
 
 Where Pilgrim feet first rested from long flight. 
 
 Our guests called her the " Dona," with round eyes 
 
 Watching her movements, though in shy constraint; 
 
 Save that some few had ventured, now and then, 
 
 To seek her notice, bowing as she passed, 
 
 Saying "Good Morning, Princess! " or "Good Night!" 
 
 And tendering compliments, or converse kind. 
 
 Among these was a singer of fond lays, 
 
 With tenor voice, a slim and dainty man, 
 
 Who used to overtake her in her walk, 
 
 Or lend his hand upon the stairs — a Don, 
 
 'Twas said, with proud estates in Spain-. ■*-• 
 
 She heeded none on that tempestuous eve, 
 Till all the trumpets of the clouds were still. 
 
 Then saw we vapor pictures in the sky. 
 
 First darkly spreading, with huge outlines dim, 
 
 Suggesting structures of Antiquity. 
 
64 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Vast pyramids appeared, and pylons broad 
 Guarded by sphinxes, hinted Egypt's fanes. 
 
 Some seraph Watt seemed with his brush unseen 
 
 To symbol Karnak on the gloomy vault, 
 
 Then blotting this design, to trace towered walls 
 
 With gates of bronze, where winged lions crouched. 
 
 Gardens were seen o'erhanging palace-walls; 
 
 Rich Babel grandeur flashed an instant forth, 
 
 Looming in purple vistas vague and far, 
 
 Till melted in a sea of flame and blood. 
 
 O'er this was spread a haze of tender tinU,,. 
 
 Then Tyrian galleys seemed to toss on waves, 
 
 And wreck themselves against a lofty coast, 
 
 Where lifted on a stately portico, 
 
 Athena's image gleamed, and lessening heights 
 
 With temples, forums, theatres, were crowned. 
 
 Swiftly this shadowy classic scene dissolved 
 To vaporous elements, whence rolled to shape 
 The likeness of Rome's eagle huge, whose wings 
 Hovered o'er porches grand, high capitols, 
 And amphitheatres, that, while we gazed, 
 Broke into floating arches pearly white, 
 Within whose vista seemed a feathered throne 
 Glittering to symbolize the Mogul power 
 Dissolving. 
 
EMPIRES IN THE SKY. 65 
 
 Next a dragon-head glared forth 
 Beneath a seven-roofed shrine, that toppling merged 
 Into a proud pagoda glistering 
 With crests of gold; this moving into shade, 
 Left for an instant's glance a dreamy mosque 
 With crescents shining over minarets. 
 
 Then were the scattered vapors fused and blent 
 Into one cloud, that with strong impetus 
 Advanced to meet a brightness from the west 
 Breaking, till all its colors were suffused 
 In that new glory flooding earth and skies. 
 
 Nor rose succeeding cloud-types on our sight 
 Emblazoning the heavens with empire-signs; 
 Nor marked I how the last fair beams declined, 
 Till day had passed to dawn on orient climes. 
 Long musing I recalled the chronicels 
 Of fallen empires mighty in their prime; 
 And present realms now shaken to their depths 
 Reviewed, discerning, amid baseless shapes, 
 Pillars well-grounded in eternal Right 
 Now here, now there, rising amid wrecked wrongs, 
 With capitals glowing in beams of Truth. 
 Hailing these tokens that our living Christ 
 
66 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Bears on His shoulder still Dominion's key, 
 
 And resting on His word of promise sure — 
 
 " I come again," my soul swelled with a joy 
 
 Deeper and nobler than my youth e'er knew , 
 
 Or could have compassed, ere the scope and strength 
 
 Of consciousness enlarged through thoughtful years. 
 
CANTO VII. 
 A VISIT TO THE INVENTOR'S HOME. 
 
 WHEN next I wandered forth, my heart grown young,. 
 Impelled my footsteps toward my early friend. 
 O'er the broad land, the late September poured 
 Its liquid bronze that filtered through tall oaks, 
 Maples and elms, upon my lonely path. 
 Sometimes an ash contrasted its soft green 
 With the dark pines; or poplar's sheeny leaves 
 Quivered like ruffles o'er a maiden's heart. 
 In the light breeze that swayed no sturdy bough. 
 Some autumn colors flecked the full-leaved trees — 
 Gold, red, or brown, since now and then, a chill 
 Had in the night-hour fallen. 
 
 Round my feet 
 Sprang spicy mint, and brake with juicy root 
 Sought by the school boy, when his appetite 
 Wakens upon the homeward way from school. 
 
 Close on the forest, where a winding road 
 Nears a low bridge, that spans a singing brook 
 
68 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Flowing from upland meadows, on a knoll 
 
 Stood a plain school-house, whence young voices rose 
 
 Mingling their tune with the stream's melody. 
 
 The singing waters chanted toward the sea; 
 
 But toward eternity the children sang. 
 
 I paused to listen at the open door, 
 
 And saw — a bright-haired wood-nymph ? Ah! 
 
 A gentle teacher with small hand upraised 
 
 To guide the measures. 
 
 With ingenuous smile, 
 To my obeisance low she bowed reponse; 
 When hark! the music nagged, and each small head 
 Golden or brown was toward the stranger turned, 
 And curious all surveyed me. 
 
 So I fled, 
 Leaving the fair young ruler to restore 
 The harmonies of her distracted realm, 
 Yet murmuring with myself "A pretty guide! 
 But have her girlish powers the master-grasp 
 For tasks so grave as to start human thought 
 On its life quests, equip mind for Time's wars, 
 Curb the expanding will ? Can this wood-nympth, 
 Do such exploits ? " 
 
A VISIT TO THE INVENTORS HOME. 69 
 
 Viewing the scalloped prints 
 Of little feet impressed upon my path, 
 I felt; a rising dread for youthful lives 
 So soon to meet the rush of perilous years, 
 Till by the wayside wall of boulders brown, 
 Astor and golden-rod, red cardinal flower, 
 And clustering sumac laughed upon my care; 
 While starry-mayweed from the narrow strips 
 Of turf between the tracks of wheels illumed 
 My trust in Him who bade it shine just there, 
 Who taught the locust sound, the bee her skill, 
 Gave to the toad clear vision and quaint mien, 
 Commissioned bright-winged birds and butterflies 
 To glitter o'er me through the wholesome air; 
 Yea, whose deep wisdom taught the very ant 
 Art, order, and affection for its kind. 
 
 A carriage dashing o'er the rustic bridge, 
 A glimpse of silver trappings, two swift bays, 
 Bright liveries, and the Dona's flashing eyes ! 
 Beside her sat her husband, with blonde locks 
 And russet beard, a tall and stalwart man, 
 Who to their little ones around them grouped, 
 Pointed the features of the rural scene. 
 
 Dust rose along the highway, as they passed, 
 Its slight, thin column strangely glorified, 
 
7 o BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 When the sun smote it in an open place, 
 Where meadow-lands spread out beyond the wood. 
 If sunshine thus transmutes the lowly soil, 
 Why doubt of spirtual alchemies ? 
 
 I saw the carriage slowly climb the hill 
 Crowned by the mansion of my early friend, 
 The famed Inventor, and beyond the gate 
 Vanish, some moments ere I gained the slope, 
 And, aided by my staff, trod joyfully 
 A smooth broad Walk that led me to the porch, 
 Here standing in his doorway, with a shout 
 Of hearty fellowship; Ben greeted me. 
 
 The house o'ershaplowed by two giant elms, 
 Was partly fashioned in colonial days, 
 By a wise Pilgrim of Will Brewster's sort, 
 Who loved ideas above display or mirth. 
 From sire to son it fell, till the brave heir 
 In' freedom's contest fell at Bennington. 
 His grandson and great grandson led pure lives 
 On the home-acres herited by Ben-^- 
 Rich cultured acres spreading on all sides 
 About the house, which each successive heir 
 Had amplified, while stirring not a stone 
 Of first foundations. 
 
A VISIT TO THE INVENTOR'S HOME. 71 
 
 ■ 
 On the corner blocks 
 
 And central chimmey-tower was graved the date 
 
 Of founding, and within, on cross-beams broad 
 
 And mantle-frames of solid oak were carved 
 
 The name ancestral, rimmed with oaken leaves. 
 
 At first we sat within the jasmined porch, 
 
 I spoke of the fair Dona, told the tale 
 
 Of her far birth and union with a man '"*• Jf* 
 
 Of Massachusetts noted for his deeds 
 
 Of enterprising commerce in south seas, 
 
 Their name repeating in the garrulous style 
 
 Of age. 
 
 "I saw them as they passed," said Ben; 
 "And now I think upon it, I recall 
 The man — a native of the Plymouth coast, 
 James Dunbar, Philip Dunbar's eldest son. 
 I saw him down near Plymouth, ten years back — 
 No, nearer twenty, at my sister's home, 
 And prophesied for him a strong career. 
 This leads my mind back, Tom, to troubled times, 
 When these home-lands were mortgaged, and my girl 
 Was dwelling with her loving only aunt, 
 And teaching village children how to read. 
 
72 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Young, but wise, she cheered me to achievement, 
 Smothering for my sake, the sole sharp grief 
 She knew — a mother's loss. 
 
 Now I can call 
 This freehold ours; old helpers are returned, 
 And my sleek cattle feel no alien's lash. 
 
 But come, and scan with me our household haunts, 
 The ancient rooms my fathers framed, and nooks 
 But lately added, as our fancies craved." 
 
 We passed together through the square great hall 
 Ben called the Summer-room, whence stairs arose 
 In varied angles, fenced by railings prim. 
 A stately English clock three centuries old 
 Ticked at their base. 
 
 A parlor on the right 
 Was beamed above,"and wainscoted around, 
 A glass-doored buffet filled with china thin 
 And rare graced the far corner, and above 
 The carven mantle, from a deep recess, 
 Brass candlesticks and silver tankards gleamed. 
 
 Across the hall, an ample "keeping-room" 
 Invited rest upon its wide arm-chairs, 
 Their feet like lion's claws. 
 
A VISIT TO THE INVENTOR'S HOME. 73 
 
 But on we walked 
 Through the long dining-room and buttery large, 
 That smelt of richest cream. The kitchen wide, 
 In which we peeped, held tables of white boards, 
 And shone with tin. 
 
 From its stone chimney-place, 
 As from a cavern, smiled a dusky maid, 
 In shy and curious surprise. She hung 
 A chain of corn-ears joined by braided husks, 
 On pegs for drying in that warm recess. 
 A swarthy matron from an oven arched 
 Within the wall beside the chimney, took 
 With holders gay, a steaming loaf of brown. 
 A dark male servant at a sounding churn 
 Turned toward my host a glance of fond respect. 
 Each won from Ben a brief approving word, 
 Ere we went on into a bright-hued room 
 Within a modern portion of the house, 
 That seemed to speak some cheerful presence near — 
 Or was it that the flowers from field and bed 
 Clustered upon the window ledges, breathed 
 In subtle fragrance such a pleasing hint ? 
 
 Ben smiled to see my questions in my face, 
 And might have answered, but such chatter rose 
 
74 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Above us, as at first precluded speech, 
 Then merged into coherent utterance 
 That half betrayed the secret of the room. 
 A brilliant parrot from his cage high hung 
 Amid fresh blooming plants shrilled cheerily 
 " Good morning, Isabella ! Papa ! Sir !" 
 
 Glancing at various pictures on the walls 
 
 And some unhung, fresh from their painter's brush, 
 
 I cried " A studio ! " 
 
 "Yes and boudoir," 
 My dear host said, " I may as well admit — 
 I'm somewhat proud to have an artist child. 
 Here near this window hangs her likeness, Tom, 
 Beside her mother's; here's her violin, 
 That's wont to feel the motion of her soul 
 Thrill from her hand along its answering chords. 
 And here's her light guitar, companion oft 
 Of woodland wandering, when she takes it forth, 
 And to its strains, by lake, or rock, or stream, 
 Sings tender ballads learned in childhood's days. 
 She's sketching- somewhere now among- the hills. 
 
 Sometime, when feeling suits her and your will, 
 She'll sing you gentle songs her mother sang. 
 
A VISIT TO THE INVENTOR'S HOME. 75 
 
 My child loves, too, the grand old music, Tom, 
 That moved our souls in youth, which has rung on 
 From voice to voice, since Mozart caught the pitch 
 From Asaph's choir, and Handel, Haydn, Bach, 
 Swelled the world's scores with harmonies that lead 
 The reverent spirit captive through the depths 
 Of holy awe, or bear it up the heights 
 Of praise, to catch the themes of seraphim. 
 
 And now come with me up these winding-stairs 
 
 Of this new tower o'erlooking many a mile. 
 
 Here is my workshop; here you see my books 
 
 And instruments, and tokens of success 
 
 Attained by pioneering some hairs' breaths 
 
 In the advance of others, who, like me, 
 
 Sent forth conjectures to pre-empt new fields 
 
 In Law's domains, where use may take on wheels, 
 
 Relieving human shoulders from old loads." 
 
 I had pursued him rather haltingly 
 In step and hearing, since I gained a glance 
 At those fair portraits in his daughter's room — 
 Her mother's and her own. 
 
 Deep tenderness, 
 With calm and thoughtful earnestness suffused 
 
7 6 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 In quiet gladness, in the former seemed 
 To blend their quality with some past view 
 Of features in the second picture traced. 
 Some strong impression played coquettishly 
 With memory, refusing to be won. 
 
 At length, o'ercoming my abstraction, glad 
 At heart for all the blessings of my friend, 
 I freely quaffed the stream of fellowship. 
 
 From a high circling window of the tower, 
 He, for my notice, culled the choisest views; 
 Then talked of his experiments, and showed 
 The use of apparatus intricate, 
 Wherewith he hunted nature's secrets down, 
 Or led them captive, with a zest more keen 
 Than that of sportsman in successful chase. 
 
 " 'Tis a brave sight," I answered, "this array 
 Of tools and lore pertaining to a realm 
 Whose fruits I taste, but can not cultivate. 
 I like to witness how you hold the plow, 
 And sow, or reap on scientific fields. 
 But now I'm sentimental in my mood, 
 And want a love tale. 
 
A VISIT TO THE INVENTOR'S HOME. 77 
 
 Tell me more, I pray, 
 Of "John the sturdy farmer" and his bride, 
 And how the problem of his heart was solved. 
 Found he in its solution peace or woe ? " 
 
CANTO VIII. 
 
 BEN CONCLUDES THE LYRICS OF TUDOR, 
 JOHN, AND BELLA. 
 
 THUS pressed, Ben seized the rhythmic warp and 
 woof 
 He late had woven beneath the mountain oaks, 
 But left unselvedged: thereunto he joined 
 In new designs of numbers, skeins of thought, 
 Whereby the fabric of his web became 
 First, Bella's answer to her husband's prayer 
 For her full confidence; then John's response, 
 And Tudor's parting witness and farewell. 
 
 BELLA, JOHN, AND TUDOR. 
 
 John's life wore on in wretchedness and fear, 
 And Bella made no sign of peace or cheer. 
 Slow, silent, sad she moved from room to room, 
 Through days wherein the skies were wrapped in gloom. 
 But once when sunbeams broke through clouds of storm, 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 79 
 
 And mount and valley in their smile grew warm, 
 They saw her wand'ring toward the trysting glen. 
 Late thence with wavering steps she came. 
 
 'Twas then, 
 Though crushed with ceaseless agony, John strove 
 To burst her bondage by the might of love, 
 And share her care, from whate'er source it came, 
 Whether distrust, infirmity, or blame. 
 "Tell me thy grief, my only love, my bride, 
 Fear not thy burden fully to confide; 
 Though weakness, trial, even fault be thine, 
 No heart can yield thee pity more than mine." 
 She shrank a moment, at his words amazed, 
 A moment on his grief-worn features gazed. 
 Then o'er her marble face a rosy flush 
 Stole tenderly, and tears began to gush. 
 Long time they flowed, but when her sobs had rest, 
 Without reserve her burden she confessed. 
 
 BELLA TO JOHN. 
 
 Strong is thine hand on my own; but thy voice has its 
 tremor; 
 
 Wells are thine eyes, though I once deemed them shal- 
 low of feeling, 
 
 Lonely I came to the glen, not for Tudor — that's ended. 
 
80 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Tudor has long tryst with Death, in the house of his 
 kindred, 
 
 Yonder its white gable gleams through the trees of the 
 roadside. 
 
 Now as thy footstep approached, and thy voice smote 
 my sad ear, 
 
 Bidding me speak of my ways, I divined in a thought- 
 flash, 
 
 "Some one has peered out my steps in the weeks that 
 are closing, 
 
 Some one has mingled a potion of gall for thy drinking." 
 
 Fury arose in my bosom, where bitterness rankly 
 
 Grew in the spaces thy care had neglected to nurture. 
 
 Fury, the serpent sprang forth from the weeds of 
 resentment. 
 
 Lo, thou hast smitten him low, with love's lightning 
 outglancing 
 
 From brows where I deemed that for me were storm- 
 bolts of thunder. 
 
 Yes, I will lay at thine ear all my secret; it may be 
 Rest, long a stranger will steal to my side, for a season. 
 
 Mine is a nature that bounds with full strength to 
 decision: 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 81 
 
 Having misjudged my young lover, I harshly renounced 
 
 him. 
 Mine is a conscience that clings to its bond, though that 
 
 slay me: 
 Having wed thee, my will ever was loyal to thee, John: 
 Having met only neglect, I esteemed thee unloving. 
 
 Thou wert a sage self-possessed; I a pride-wounded 
 
 woman, 
 Thus once at nightfall I strayed in the graveyard of 
 
 Delia, 
 Musing how neither the loves, nor the griefs of the 
 
 sleepers 
 Roused their swift heart beats again — hark ! a step, it 
 
 was Tudor's. 
 Wan was his cheek with disease — 'twas but hectic that 
 
 flushed it, 
 Trembling had seized on my frame, at the stroke of his 
 
 presence. 
 Now came a funeral train bearing mourners and gossips. 
 " Meet me," he whispered in pleading and hoarse words, 
 
 "just once more, 
 When the moon shines, in the vale by the cliff near the 
 
 willows. 
 I have a story to tell, ere I die, and a favor 
 
82 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Meet for thine ear and thy granting, though thou art 
 another's." 
 
 Swiftly he vanished, his plea roused my heart to repent- 
 ance. 
 
 What if my error had slain him ? I felt as one dying 
 
 Bearing blood-guilt on my soul, without peace of remis- 
 sion. 
 
 Eager I rushed by the moon, to the glen of the willows. 
 
 There as a priest Tudor stood, stayed my life, that had 
 parted 
 
 Under his blame, with the healing of frank words of 
 pardon. 
 
 Balm for his hurt there was none, though he came, at my 
 asking, 
 
 Twice to the vale by the cliff, where I strove with wise 
 counsels, 
 
 E'en at the borders of death, to set purpose before him. 
 
 Idle my task. At last parting, life's tide drops were 
 oozing 
 
 Forth from his lips. He lies low in the house of his kin- 
 dred. 
 
 Woe that for him Time is all, with its idols and shadows! 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 83 
 
 Woe that for him the death-shades are the shroud of 
 
 the spirit ! 
 Shone there not through my pain's gloom, stars of mercy 
 
 eternal, 
 Sending their rays from beyond, I had perished in silence. 
 So have I broken the seal of my sorrows and Tudor's. 
 
 "Thanks for these pages, Ben, that, like bright 
 
 blades, 
 Sever suspicion from your heroine's fame. 
 And still you leave me eager; tell, I pray, 
 What said the husband to the candid wife. 
 Did jealousy possess him, like a fiend ? 
 'Tis strange how these creations of your muse 
 Flit in my brain among true histories, 
 Perplexing consciousness with likenesses 
 And hints, till she grows ready to accept 
 Their shapes as substance. Added elements 
 May by thought's alchemy resolve my doubts 
 To clear perceptions. Let me listen on." 
 
 The white leaves quivered in the poet's hand, 
 And o'er and o'er he turned them for awhile; 
 Then read the husband's answer to the wife. 
 
8 4 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 JOHN TO BELLA. 
 
 Thy sorrow be mine, and thy burden, 
 Earth has not for me joy or guerdon 
 
 Remote in my purpose from thee. 
 Thy heart is a citadel shaken; 
 Admit me, it ne'er shall be taken, 
 
 Thy husband its safety shall be. 
 
 For this, this alone, be my chiding, 
 That thou didst withhold thy confiding; 
 
 Thy husband alas ! is no seer. 
 He failed, for his insight is human — 
 To read the deep soul of a woman; 
 
 Forgive him, as he forgives, dear. 
 
 If sadness nor danger were near thee, 
 What merit to shield, or to cheer thee, 
 
 Or hear thy glad songs with delight ? 
 To sigh with thy sighing were better, 
 To rend from thy soul every fetter, 
 
 And gird thy true purpose with might. 
 
 The love of thy girlhood is dying, 
 Thou weepest, repress not thy sighing, 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 85 
 
 Less tender, less lovely thou wert; 
 My heart lately torn, comprehending 
 All anguish, shrinks not from befriending 
 
 A brother, whatever his hurt. 
 
 Lead me, then, where Tudor is lying, 
 I go to the bed of the dying, 
 
 My vigil to keep at thy side. 
 Haste we to illumine with kindness 
 The way he is passing in blindness — 
 
 We three in one furnace are tried. 
 
 My poet pausing, from my heart surcharged 
 Flowed approbation for his hero's part. 
 "Alas! " I cried, "that husbands are so few 
 Who, like your John, are wise to apprehend 
 And zealous to prescribe for ills of heart, 
 Though skilled toward lesser maladies, in those 
 To whom they promised comfort till death's hour. 
 Griefs cankering to despair might oft find cure, 
 If beams of loving candor o'er them fell. 
 Shame on that heart of man which nurses hate, 
 Nor risks a wound, that it may foil a dart, 
 Or break a spell against home's priceless peace. 
 Your scholar, Ben, found no such recompense 
 
86 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Attendant on his algebra, I ween, 
 
 As when he solved that unknown quantity 
 
 That formulated a wife's deepest grief. 
 
 I prophesy the sequel of your song, 
 
 Was growing happiness and lasting love. 
 
 I wait your closing stanzas with charmed ears. 
 
 Shades lengthened o'er the hills. Ah! day by day, 
 The heavens and earth in changing hues and shapes 
 Befit the changing story of man's life. 
 No scene remains, but flits or glides apace, 
 While frail humanity acts out its plot. 
 
 The part of Tudor seemed to suit the shade 
 Of the great evening curtain as it fell, 
 While Ben invoked his image, as he told 
 The dying chant of Tudor to his friends. 
 
 TUDOR TO HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Hark! gentle friends, the tolling burial knell 
 Will echo soon for me a last farewell. 
 Yet first, my weakening accents would confess 
 My strengthening joy, my growing thankfulness. 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 87 
 
 Mirth ruled my careless mind in earlier days, 
 Things near and glittering filled my eager gaze; 
 Till love awoke to prove my spirit's might 
 To feel. 
 
 One rapid summer of delight 
 And one long year of anguish made me great 
 In knowledge of man's saddened human state. 
 The potency of feeling over clay, 
 And that we live or perish from its sway, 
 I learned, nor deemed the learning worth my test, 
 To solve one doubt remained the only quest 
 That promised slightest solace for my mood, 
 What if she never truly understood ? 
 I'd know the truth from her who once made heaven. 
 I gained my quest, forgave, and was forgiven, 
 Then murmuring at the mystery of breath, 
 Sank helpless toward the mystery of death. 
 
 John came — the "gift of God," and witness bore 
 To fadeless hopes by me undreamed before. 
 The constant shining of his spirit shed 
 No transient sparks self-kindled round my bed. 
 
 Skilled, through my stern experience, to prove 
 The source and elements of earthly love, 
 
88 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 I traced his motives toward an origin 
 More high and strong than I could find within 
 My cold proud soul, that, as a prism, caught 
 Their halcyon rays to analyse in thought. 
 Faith, reconcilement, patience, love were shown 
 Rays from a sphere high as creation's throne. 
 
 I yearned in me such heaven-shed peace to feel, 
 
 Till from the Sun of Truth it fell, to heal. 
 
 As John, the herald of Messiah — " God's grace, 
 
 In deserts showed th' Anointed to his race; 
 
 So to my soul that knew no helper near, 
 
 This John has made its Light, the Christ appear. 
 
 Grieve not that once I suffered, thus to know 
 The noblest friendship man can share below; 
 Grieve not to see this outward death begin, 
 For Christ, the hidden Life expands within. 
 
 "Thus ended Tudor's witness, as his soul 
 Set forth exultant on the wings of hope. 
 His mourners laid the empty clay to rest 
 'Mid Delia's graves, and sang a song of Heaven — 
 That higher Heaven, whose beams thenceforth have 
 seemed 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 89 
 
 T' infuse the visible skies above that place, 
 
 While there the soft-robed songsters of the groves 
 
 Sing not of mortal, but eternal Love, 
 
 To us who visit Tudor' s grave — and hers." 
 
 "Ah! Ben, say not that Bella wept out life 
 Because of anguish — " 
 
 Gently answered Ben, 
 While his eyes sought the first clear evening star, 
 "No, not from grief she died; though life was brief, 
 'Twas deeply joyful. 
 
 John, by Tudor taught 
 Love's language and in heart-philosophy 
 Grown wise through suffering witnessed and endured, 
 Wooed his wife's spirit, tamed its fancies coy, 
 And made his proud plans to her intellect 
 Pay tribute of respectful confidence. 
 Call it not condescension that he stayed 
 Invention on its chafing, eager wing, 
 Till she was ready to speed on the flight. 
 Her counsel and perception keen were lent 
 To his instructed energy, whose power 
 Sustained her timid thought in giving forth 
 Suggestion, grace, embellishment to his. 
 
9 o BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 How rich was their communion! how love filled 
 Their home with gladness, and their mother's heart 
 With peace whose light was as the mellow beams 
 That flood fair harvest days ! 
 
 Those happy hours 
 Alas ! how brief, when having to their arms 
 Clasped a new life called by the sacred name 
 Of Daughter, they beheld it day by day 
 Unfold in mind and stature. 
 
 Ere this bud 
 Expanded in youth's fulness, sudden drooped 
 The mother-roses, one by frosts of Age 
 Lightly but surely smitten, one by touch 
 Of some mysterious agent, cast to earth. 
 Since then, a score of sober years have gone." 
 
 "This latest flower still sheds upon John's home 
 Its influence, let me hope. For scarce I deem 
 You paint an idle myth." 
 
 "Then know," said Ben, 
 "This daughter lives and of the long-lost wife 
 John sees in her the image, hears the tones 
 Repeated amid scenes they once made glad. 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 91 
 
 'Twas by fresh springs of filial love revived, 
 His fainting courage took on strength anew, 
 And 'twas a daughter's zealous thought prepared 
 By youthful discipline, that trained and warmed 
 His spreading aspirations, till they bore 
 The ripened clusters of assured success. 
 
 Here rests the story — lay it on the shelf 
 Among your odd collections, to be bound 
 And numbered later, should you chance to find 
 Its full relations, and the place it fits. 
 Yet first set these notations at its close: 
 Solos are good in music, when one soul 
 Sings forth to others what it solely feels; 
 But for high themes touching the general hopes 
 And grand advances of Humanity, 
 And for full worship and adoring praise, 
 All clefs must blend. 
 
 The bass, though deep and strong, 
 Is not enough; it lacks the power to soar. 
 You comprehend ? 
 
 I mean, dear Tom, we men 
 In great attempts, need woman at our side. 
 In all the world's uplifting and reforms, 
 
92 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Her part is vital. For Time's triumph chants 
 We want sopranos, every part indeed — 
 Altos and tenors helping. 
 
 Hark ! my child — 
 She must have entered, and beguiles the hour, 
 Thinking me absent. 
 
 From this window lean. 
 She's on the lower balcony, we'll catch 
 Her tones that float on evening's quiet breath ! 
 
 THE DAUGHTER'S SONG. 
 DEPARTED. 
 
 Forth in the pure twilight air I wander lone and in sad- 
 ness, 
 
 Desolate are my steps toward the marge of the once 
 glad river; 
 
 Charming no more to my soul are now the visions of 
 nature. 
 
 Thou, who wast light to my heart ! art thou departed 
 forever, 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 93 
 
 Leaving my life gloom-veiled, that bliss may illumine 
 
 another ? 
 Seemeth the river-wave to sing me a sorrowful sonnet. 
 
 Seemeth an evening bird concealed in yon evergreen 
 
 branches, 
 Reading my secret woe, the dream of no human diviner, 
 Sudden, in one wild strain, to sing thee departed forever. 
 
 We listened till the clear sweet minor tones 
 Were silent, then' we rose and grouped our way 
 Along the stairs and hall-way to the room 
 Where supper waited. 
 
 "You must tarry, Tom, 
 Till Lord's day morning, in whose hallowed beams 
 We'll go to worship at our woodland church," 
 Ben said, ere from the hall his queenly child 
 Received us. 
 
 As he placed her hand in mine, 
 And called her Isabella, I was stilled, 
 And fell to musing. 
 
 Not till thanks were said, 
 And the brown damsel of the chimney-place, 
 
94 
 
 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 She who had hung the corn-ears in our sight, 
 Had carved the Indian loaf, and heaped our plates 
 With steaming food leguminous, well-flanked 
 With savory salad, could my brain discern 
 That all around was but a real scene, 
 And not a vision. 
 
 I was blithe to see 
 Susan, the wood-nympth of the rural school 
 Before me face to face, a "frequent guest 
 And friend congenial" of my hostess fair, 
 They told me. 
 
 Soon we ancients merrily 
 Bandied our playful speeches, till our talk 
 Took on solidity. There was no need 
 For vapid chatterings. Isabella chose 
 Her questions wisely, and the younger girl 
 Naive, artless, reverent, the grace betrayed 
 Of a rare nature eager to be taught, 
 Intuitive of wisdom, and of taste 
 Unspoiled and delicate. Each maiden seemed 
 The other's complement. The elder one 
 In dignity and knowledge, as in height 
 Of frame excelled; Susan still bore the charm 
 Of early youth, its winsomeness, its glee. 
 
TUDOR, JOHN, AND BELLA. 95 
 
 Some tales of college seasons were recalled 
 
 Above our fragrant cups of guileless cheer, 
 
 And toasts proposed were pledged in sparkling draughts 
 
 From mountain-springs, where-at the host enquired 
 
 " Perchance, friend Tom, you miss the vineyard's blood 
 
 Frenzied to wine ? But 'tis debarred our board. 
 
 We yield that privilege of luxury 
 
 For higher privilege to take away 
 
 Occasion of offence from wavering souls." 
 
 Joyous I answered, "Friends, I am not bound 
 To wine's indulgence, nor to somnial fumes 
 Nicotian; ye have taken not my gods 
 In your denials. Proud am I to see 
 This home-tent pitched within the promised land 
 Of freedom from those idol-thralls of sense, — 
 The land whose borders have begun to rise 
 Before our trammelled race, a land where Mind 
 Makes Appetite the servant of the brain." 
 " Pledge to the gallant champion of home's peace 
 And native clime's new freedom! " Bella cried, 
 And the clear bell-toned glasses rang accord 
 To silvery maiden laughter innocent. 
 
 At close of our repast, to Ben I spoke — 
 
 "I've found some views from life to suit the tale 
 
96 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 We know of, and a niche the volume fits." 
 A swift ray glinted from his deep-browed eyes 
 Toward his fair daughter, as he shyly said, 
 "Then bind the pictures with the humble leaves, 
 And set the book amid memorial tomes. 
 I trust the volume will be strongly clasped." 
 "You gave the keeping of the leaves to me," 
 I cried; "then ask not to control their clasps, 
 There may be that among them that shall serve 
 And gladden loving eyes in years to come, 
 I will translate your silence, spite your frown, 
 As saying, I will trust your conscience, Tom." 
 
CANTO IX. 
 AFTER THE MISTS. 
 
 THAT night the rustling boughs stirred by fresh gales. 
 Whispered a thousand fancies to my brain. 
 Again I saw my Benjamin in youth 
 Wave cheerily at Alma Mater's gates 
 The parting hand; then saw him culturing 
 His natal fields; or bent with arduous thought; 
 Or lifting his wide brow when o'er it stole 
 Gleams of Invention's triumphs. 
 
 I recalled 
 His gentle songs, — did they not signify 
 The story of his life ? Was he not John ? 
 Did not his Isabella bear the name 
 And sing the melodies to Delia's groves 
 Familiar, where her mother lived and loved, 
 Whom Tudor wooed as maid, and Ben espoused ? 
 
 How thin his riddles proved by morning light ! 
 And ah ! the child of love refined by pain, 
 
9 8 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Who welcomed us at early time of prayer, 
 In full and beauteous maiden-womanhood — 
 Was one the secret of whose heart surprised 
 My idle consciousness, long seasons gone, 
 On Plymouth coast, where a wood meets the sea. 
 Her eyes, whose tender luster shines serene 
 As planet's from sky-depths, once unawares 
 Transfixed mine with their glitter of despair, 
 What time they turned from an out-sailing ship 
 Fast gliding o'er the far horizon's bound ! 
 Her soul, a fount of worship new and praise, 
 Had hidden its anguish, like a wounded dove, 
 That pierced mid joyous flight by wanton dart, 
 Flutters in quivering silence down the sky, 
 To hide its torn breast 'neath a covert sedge. 
 
 Oft had I wondered if that girl-dove's hurt 
 
 Was unto death, or if inherent strength 
 
 Had re-inforced her heart; if balm of hope 
 
 Had healed the breast that might ne'er lose its scar. 
 
 Now after years, she wears no lover's name, 
 
 Yet melancholy shades not eye or brow, 
 
 Nor dims reflectively her father's smile. 
 
 But there was pathos in her voice that filled 
 The woodland chapel, or melodious soared 
 
AFTER THE MISTS. 99 
 
 Amid its arches framed of forest boughs; 
 
 While Ben's deft fingers ruled the organ's breath, 
 
 And the fresh voices of a hamlet choir 
 
 Sang the full chorus: "Christ the conqueror, lives." 
 
 The morning lessons ended, notes of praise 
 
 Pealed forth again — deep basso, tenor sweet, 
 
 Rich alto, and our clear soprano sang 
 
 Of God's high sovereign glory; and this theme 
 
 Rang in our spirits through the soft, low prayer 
 
 Of benediction, and seemed e'en to fill 
 
 The woods and skies around our homeward path. 
 
 HAIL SOVEREIGNTY DIVINE. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Hail Sovereignty Divine! whose glory's blaze 
 
 To blindness smites the proud revolted gaze; 
 
 Or, seen through doubt's refracting lurid mist, 
 Is a destroying fire, whence terrors dart — 
 With sight made clear to see Thee as Thou art, 
 
 We hail Thy truth and might, by which all things consist. 
 
ioo BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Hail, Sovereign Will! that mindest to make free 
 A race, self-bound, and lift them up to Thee, 
 Thou art Earth's Rest, and Heaven's immortal Theme, 
 From Thee discentred, thoughts to chaos tend, 
 Thou art Law's origin, support, and end, 
 Hail, Sovereign Will! Hail, Mind of Love supreme! 
 
CANTO X. 
 
 DONA AND ISABELLA BY THE LAKE. 
 
 WHILE autumn smiling wore her festal robes, 
 Often I traced the paths to Ben's abode. 
 Was he ensconced 'mid books and instruments, 
 With Science tete-a-tete, soliciting 
 Her confidence, as favorite preferred, 
 I sent no greeting to his airy shop. 
 
 Yet seldom were my footsteps soon returned, 
 Since Isabella would invite my stay 
 To share the noon-repast. 
 
 Her father then 
 Would join us, and, at times, propose with me 
 To take a mountain-ramble, till the dusk. 
 
 Ere noon the freedom of the library 
 Was mine with all its treasuries, its store 
 Of influence magnetic from charged brains 
 Evolved t' invigorate the faculties, 
 
102 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Or with volts of strong thought to stimulate 
 Convictions. 
 
 Isabella oft would say 
 "Our house demands the grace of silvery locks, 
 And friendly feet make echoes sweet to hear." 
 
 Sometimes, bearing her easel and guitar, 
 
 I walked beside her to a lakelet's beach, 
 
 Making the timid wildfowl swiftly dart 
 
 Toward their green shelters, as we took our seats 
 
 On logs or mossy boulders, thence to scan 
 
 Some scene for copy, and to greet the sound 
 
 Of Susan's light step, when, the school-work done, 
 
 She, too, might come. 
 
 Perchance we three then climbed 
 By a steep pathway, to a rugged peak 
 That overlooked the village of my inn. 
 There Isabella sketched a farm-house red 
 And woman at the well-sweep by its door 
 Gazing, with eyes hand-shaded from the sun, 
 Adown the rustic lane, as if in hope 
 A guest drew near. 
 
 She most loved scenes 
 Where human life has part, saying: " For me 
 
DONA AND ISABELLA BY THE LAKE. 103 
 
 A picture lacks completeness, wherein nought 
 Seems conscious of existence. I'd depict 
 Some fellow-being 'mid my rocks and trees; 
 Or, at the least, set some brute creature there, 
 Or give my skies a flying bird or two." 
 
 One day we sat beside the lake. She sketched, 
 While I discoursed of young days spent with Ben — 
 A theme that ever yielded joy to both. 
 Lo! from a leafy copse emerged a pair 
 Ten yards at right — a tall and slender man, 
 A dark-eyed woman with rich beauty dowered; 
 James Dunbar's wife, and the slim Tenor they. 
 Scarce granting us the notice of a glance, 
 They lightly sprang upon a tiny skiff, 
 And shot far outward o'er the placid flood. 
 
 "Pray, Guardian Mentor!" Isabella cried — 
 
 For thus she styled her venerable knight — 
 
 " Know you these favoring mortals hasting forth 
 
 To fill a void that made my picture poor ? 
 
 See now ! they rest their oars, and see, I mark 
 
 Their outlines midway of my canvass." 
 
 Hark! 
 Swift footsteps, clamoring childish tongues " Mamma ! 
 
io4 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Come back, Mamma ! " And as soft echoes cry 
 " Come back, Mamma ! " six little feet impress 
 The clayey beach, six chubby arms are waved 
 Toward the gay boatlet, and the Dona's voice 
 Ripples in silvery laughter toward the shore; 
 
 "Ho! Lucia, Jamie, Philip, I go home, 
 
 I sail afar to beautiful Brazil." 
 
 But when the children shrieked and sobbed aloud, 
 
 " Mamma ! Mamma ! O do not go away — 
 
 We'll be Brazilians, we will all be good " — 
 
 "I come, my children " rang the Dona's voice 
 
 Sweet as a song-bird's of Castilian groves. 
 
 The boatlet glided swiftly to the strand, 
 
 Where the bright matron kissed each tear-stained cheek, 
 
 Till rainbow smiles succeeded stormy tears. 
 
 The storm retiring sought the Tenor's brow, 
 
 As moodily he cast him on the beach 
 
 To wait the " Princess's " pleasure. 
 
 She was fain 
 To gaze on Isabella shyly with amaze, 
 Admiring her fine stature, chiselled brows, 
 And speaking eyes, that with a wondrous light 
 Fell on young James, the Dona's eldest boy, 
 
DONA AND ISABELLA BY THE LAKE. 105 
 
 Whose name, whose eyes of blue, and sunny locks 
 Were all paternal copies. 
 
 "I am James," 
 He said, as Bella rose to greet the group, 
 41 And this is Philip; this is Baby Lu — 
 Such little things ! But I am tall and eight ! 
 This is Mamma: my Papa's name is James — 
 James Dunbar. He has such great boats at sea ! " 
 
 Dear Isabella ! now had come thine hour 
 Of comprehension full. In the fair prime 
 Of thy life's morning, thou didst feel the touch 
 Cold, hard, and deathly of the unyielding Nay 
 Of thine existence stealing round thy heart; 
 And now it meets thee at thy rising noon, 
 With mocking smiles defiant. 
 
 Hast thou proved 
 A Yea whose strength and worth are grand enough 
 To match this Nay and thy heart's peace defend ? 
 
 Where stands thy Yea ? Not in thy hoary knight 
 Already glancing toward the western heavens, 
 To question as an hireling of day's end. 
 Thy father ? Canst thou set his closing days 
 
106 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Against these children's years, his autumn's rays 
 Against a long bright summer fellowship ? 
 
 My own heart-scars seemed opening, as I saw 
 The pallor steal o'er Isabella's cheek. 
 Rising, I took her quivering hand in mine, 
 And forced my cleaving tongue to spare her own, 
 By speaking for her. 
 
 Was not I alone 
 The sharer of her heart's deep mystery? 
 Perhaps her shielding Angel had decreed 
 To lead me toward her in her crucial hours. 
 
 There have been secret burials where men stood 
 By those who in their anguish dared not sigh — 
 Stood with averted look and mirthful eye, 
 Though trembling with unuttered sympathy. 
 Thus I stood veiling Isabella's part 
 With flimsy curtains of fantastic speech, 
 Till she had stilled her heart-throbs, ruled her tones; 
 Aye, curbed, as was her wont, her patient soul. 
 
 " See, Mamma ! pretty picture ! " Philip shouts, 
 Brown-curled and roguish, spying Bella's sketch; 
 And "Mamma! will'oo make zish mushic shing ?" 
 
DONA AND ISABELLA BY THE LAKE. 107 
 
 Piped Baby Lucia, dragging from its case 
 Bella's guitar. 
 
 The Dona blushing chid 
 The babe so like her, with its rosy bloom, 
 Pearl teeth, and brilliant eyes. 
 
 One saw how looked 
 The rose at budding-stage, and what would be 
 The fulness of the bud well-blown, as rose. 
 
 The baby's wish was wisdom to us all. 
 Kind Isabella tuned the loosened strings; 
 The mother smote them, and with pensive grace, 
 Sang tenderly a song of heart and home. 
 
 THE DONA'S SONG. 
 
 Tall are the boughs of stately trees, 
 In our South clime of wonder, 
 
 Above them on the mountain-breeze, 
 The eagle and the condor 
 
 Float from their eyries far and high, 
 Where peaks of Andes hold 
 
108 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 The first dawn-rays that cheer the sky, 
 
 The eve's last beams of gold; 
 Yet jessamines and roses spring 
 In gentle vales, where thrushes sing. 
 
 My lover's race sailed forth of yore, 
 
 By unknown seas undaunted, 
 Till boldly on the New World's shore, 
 
 Their Lisbon banners flaunted. 
 His soul was with like daring led, 
 
 His eyes like zeal expressing, 
 On mine Love's spell enchanting shed, 
 
 Their glance his love confessing. 
 Alas! they never more unclose, 
 He wakes not from his long repose. 
 
 Sweet Lusitanian songs he sang 
 
 Chimed with the Napo's rushing, 
 As toward broad Amazon it sprang, 
 
 From crag-born fountains gushing, 
 Speeding in swiftness, like the hours 
 
 When Caspar sat beside me 
 Mid fragrance rich from balsam bowers- 
 
 Ah! now what woes betide me! 
 Where Napo's ceaseless torrent falls, 
 Deserted are my Caspar's halls. 
 
DONA AND ISABELLA BY THE LAKE. 109 
 
 - Chill are the northern everglades 
 
 Where songsters faintly warble, 
 And hearts are chiller than their shades, 
 
 Aye, cold and chill as marble. 
 My heart is pining for its home, 
 
 For evermore a rover; 
 Nor more beneath the starry dome, 
 
 Shall I behold my lover. 
 Farewell! ye palms of Napo's dell, 
 And, Caspar, vanished love, farewell! 
 
 The baby slept upon her nurse's arm — 
 The Spanish nurse, dark Lena, whose soft eyes 
 Dropped tears, her lover, mayhap, being dead. 
 Jamie and Philip from beside her culled 
 Smooth pebbles, James to cast them in the lake, 
 Philip to build, he said, "a great, high house." 
 Sir Tenor praised the " Princess " and her song 
 With melting looks, then stole the dark guitar, 
 Thrumming its strings and humming, as to show 
 He, too, might sing, 
 
 The Dona lacked the taste 
 For tenor, then, she had no eyes, nor ears 
 That moment, save for Bella. 
 
 " Sing me, pray, 
 
no BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Some favorite lay. I have surprise to see 
 
 A Senorita of this northern land 
 
 In open air to sit with her guitar! 
 
 She sings not Love. She sings, I must believe, 
 
 'Tis duty to be wise and read large books. 
 
 My husband is of the New England coast; 
 
 He tells the virtues of his country's wives," 
 
 She gravely spoke, and ended with a sigh. 
 
 Graciously Bella sought the dark guitar, 
 
 And bending closely o'er it said, " I, too, 
 
 Sing oft of Love; I sing my mother's songs. 
 
 You shall hear one that pleased her husband well, 
 
 When tired of clashing wheels, and clanging bars, 
 
 Or voices resonant of rudest force, 
 
 He turned at eve by his home hearth to meet 
 
 His wife's true welcome, and his babe's glad smile." 
 
 THE WAITING WIFE. 
 
 What shall I do, Love, the long, lonely day 
 
 Without thee ? Shall I stray 
 
 With the throng down yon city highway ? 
 
 That were lonely for me; 
 
 For I want to see thee, Love — 
 
 Not crowds, Love, but thee. 
 
DONA AND ISABELLA BY THE LAKE. nr 
 
 Shall I then stay in this cosy home-nook, 
 
 Oft thy haunt ? Shall I look 
 
 For content, in some favorite book ? 
 
 'Twill not come thence to me; 
 
 For I want to read thee, Love; 
 
 Not books, Love, but thee. 
 
 Strings thou hast tuned shall I wake, and repeat 
 Strains I learned at thy feet ? 
 Nay; too sad were those melodies sweet 
 Chanted only by me. 
 "Love, I'd sing but with thee; 
 Not alone — but with thee. 
 
 Let the day speed, for its darkness is great, 
 
 Wanting thee, and I wait 
 
 As for light, thine approach, be not late, 
 
 Come at first stars to me. 
 
 O I yearn not for worlds, 
 
 But for thee, Love, for thee. 
 
 Dona's slight jewelled hand concealed her brow; 
 ^Yet scarcely could a web of sheerest lace 
 Absorb the glistening drops she fain would hide. 
 But as her group departed, her soft palm 
 
1 1 2 BEN' S ISABELLA. 
 
 Pressed ours, then resting on her elder boy's, 
 Sought not the Tenor's arm. 
 
 "Let me yet hear 
 This lovely voice," she cried, "and learn to sing, 
 Though weakly, the sweet lays thy mother sang. 
 These glades are not so chilly as I dreamed " 
 
CANTO XL 
 
 AFTER FIVE YEARS. SEEKING SOUL-GEMS. 
 
 JAMES DUNBAR'S STORY. CROESUS 
 
 AND SUSAN. VICTOR'S WORK. 
 
 ABOUT TO REVISIT BEN. 
 
 T^IVE years have sped, since near my world-famed 
 
 -*- friend, 
 
 My broad-brained Ben, I spent mid Hampshire hills, 
 
 A glad September, meeting oft his child, 
 
 The queenly Isabella. 
 
 Since those days, 
 From actual scenes each year through wintry months, 
 They've studied city life among the poor. 
 Dear Benjamin in an o'ercrowded ward 
 Of our Metropolis has sought mid men 
 The sources of prevailing misery, and means 
 For remedy; while Isabel from streets 
 Polluted to the eye of sense and soul, 
 Has gathered a few scores of little ones, 
 And o'er them set the gentlest of her sex 
 
ii 4 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 To lift them out from squalor and neglect — 
 Great Froebel's teachings being guiding lights 
 To rule her course. 
 
 These poor unfostered babes 
 Stretched gladly toward her their confiding hands, 
 And now are taught to note God's handiwork, 
 And put their tiny faculties to use. 
 Cleanliness, order, gentleness they learn, 
 And sense of brotherhood toward all their mates. 
 
 The sun-like sphere teaching of God; the cube — 
 
 Sign of the earth and all things mineral; 
 
 The cylinder — an emblem of all life; — 
 
 Were Froebel's symbol "Gifts," whereby young hands 
 
 May reach, with all the zest of childish play, 
 
 The borders of fair Industry's domains, 
 
 And tender thoughts at infant pace advance 
 
 Within Truth's beams, there to expand toward Heaven, 
 
 Fed duly from the written Word sincere; 
 
 While Music, favorite pastime of the skies, 
 
 Her influence toward life's good beginning lends. 
 
 These "Gifts," these methods were the chosen aids 
 
 Of Isabella, as her infant ranks 
 
 She led along Instruction's flowery paths. 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. 115 
 
 And now when August smiles on Hampshire hills, 
 She gives them summer' welcome to Ben's home, 
 His heart being warm toward babes. 
 
 Now at my side, 
 Upon the table where a few old books — 
 Rare fountains whence refreshing streams have sprung 
 To lift the heads of those who nobly strive — 
 Are handy for my use, her letter lies. 
 She writes, my blossom of the ages writes: 
 " We're at the old Home, a fine folding-place 
 For all my lambs. 
 
 O how they frisk by day 
 In our wide fields! and how at feeding-time 
 They crowd and caper to obey my call! 
 'Tis a strange joy to watch their pretty heads 
 Resting at night upon their little cots 
 In our quaint chambers, where the gay bouquets 
 Upon the paper-hangings seem prepared 
 For just this festival of childish bliss. 
 Their colors never looked so bright before, 
 Perhaps because we shut the sunlight out 
 In those long seasons when no child's voice sang 
 Through our lone corridors and quiet halls. 
 
 Dear father's grown so gay he's quite a boy 
 
1 1 6 BEN 1 S ISABELLA. 
 
 Among the children, in their twilight games. 
 
 Sometimes I think he's ceasing to form schemes 
 
 For binding forces of the elements 
 
 In bands material, for the aid of men, 
 
 And studies how to gird the lively powers 
 
 Of young Humanity for progress true, 
 
 And uses pleasing to the Lord of all. 
 
 We have great joy, and every day abounds 
 
 In peace, yet miss our helper and dear friend. 
 
 We wish your counsels farther, having framed 
 
 Your former wise suggestions into deeds." 
 
 I'll go; for now my children home returned 
 From August wandr'ings, will supply my place 
 To those who from close city tenements 
 Watch, wistful for my frequent ministries, 
 My sons in public councils, too, will sit, 
 And bear our part not meanly in the gate. 
 
 This eve, as from my window I o'erlook 
 The stateliest of our city avenues, with park 
 Of garden verdure stretching toward the east, 
 Where rich and poor may meet, and where the glad 
 May gaily rove, the grave retire apart — 
 I hear the pattering of countless feet, 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. " 117 
 
 And see keen lights electric mock the stars 
 That hang above them. 
 
 Let my eyelids close, 
 While Revery brings the scenes that five years since 
 Marked the September's close. 
 
 James Dunbar's wife 
 Loved Isabella for her gracious mien 
 And gift of song, when first beside the lake 
 They met, and sang each to one soft guitar. 
 Three times his Dona sought the maiden there, 
 And found her not. 
 
 Three times I sought Ben's home 
 And missed her presence, " She is tired," he said. 
 
 'Twas strange James Dunbar three times crossed my 
 
 path 
 Within the forest. Twice he questioned me 
 Of the Inventor's daughter skilled in art, 
 And sweet in song; then lured me at the last, 
 To sit beside him on a grassy slope, 
 And scan an Indian arrow he had found. 
 Then plucking grass-spires with a nervous hand, 
 He talked of failures to be wise in youth, 
 
1 1 8 BEN' S ISABELLA. 
 
 And murmured he was tired of foreign ways 
 And foolish brains. 
 
 I marked his face was lined 
 About the brows, and that his frequent laugh 
 Lacked the clear ring of hearty merriment. 
 "I've won some prizes in my time," said he, 
 " And left my rivals sighing in the rear 
 When I went racing — there's delight in that, 
 'All's fair in love and war' has been my rule." 
 
 I dropped forth altruistic thoughts, to sound 
 
 His nature. They touched bottom speedily. 
 
 " Years since," he told me, " my will wavered much 
 
 Between ambition and that carefulness 
 
 Which turns aside at every feather's point 
 
 Opposed to straight-lined sanctity. 
 
 "Perchance," 
 I questioned, "there were those esteemed 
 For earnest purpose toward strict rectitude, 
 Who lured you toward them on that prudent way 
 Which seems, 'tis true, to turn aside from gain, 
 Yet in its progress, on a clearer view, 
 Tends ever with directness to content." 
 " 'Tis true," he cried, "you've strangely touched a string 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. 119 
 
 That vibrates latterly at slightest breath. 
 
 I loved a woman once, or feared I loved, 
 
 Who would have brought my proudest aims to halt, 
 
 Had I not stopped to reckon costs betimes. 
 
 Lately I dreamed — no; I'll be candid, sir — 
 
 I saw her yesterday up yonder crag. 
 
 You see " — and here he laughed — "I learned as boy, 
 
 To trace a song-bird through the densest shades 
 
 That e'er held nests, or on the loftiest boughs, 
 
 And I'd been tracking her day after day." 
 
 " Our Isabella! " this with anger I. 
 
 He laughed again. " Judge not so harshly, sir. 
 
 'Tis over; and I think the woman's mind 
 
 Will prove her kingdom. I quite missed my chance 
 
 Of ruling there. 
 
 I breathed her well-known name, 
 And clasped her hand. She reeled and paled, 
 Nor spoke a word, till half my tale was told — 
 No matter what the import of my speech. 
 
 She needed not to wave me from her side, 
 Nor read me o'er with tremulous bloodless lips, 
 A lesson on the sanctity of bonds 
 Whose hold she's free from; or extol my sons 
 And toddling babe above all worldly gifts. 
 The woman would persuade me I am walled 
 
120 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Within an Eden, with my little flock, 
 
 And that 't were treason to send forth one glance 
 
 Beyond its pale, and blasphemy to ask 
 
 Is Life worth living to the best of us. , 
 
 I had not counted to surprise her thus, 
 
 In truth, I missed my wife that morn, and deemed 
 
 She had pursued the singer to her haunts — 
 
 My wife, a foreign lady spoiled by praise, 
 
 A toy I fancied, paying dearest price." 
 
 " A beauteous creature with a heart of worth. 
 I've seen her, Captain, with her infant train — 
 Rare group! Now bear a word from elder lips, 
 This is your hour of power. 
 
 Hold fast your prize — 
 A wife's love trembling in the balance now 
 'Twixt doubt and trust. Drink pure affection's draughts 
 From your home-wells, by tenderness made deep, 
 By loyalty defended; like those founts 
 Digged by the Hebrews in the chosen land, 
 And left to children's children sacredly 
 As priceless boons. 
 
 Conjure not vanished dreams 
 From the past's tomb. Reality now deals 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. 121 
 
 With thee and thine, and shall demand with force 
 
 Imperative her dues, in waiting years." 
 
 He listened, but with melancholy frown 
 
 Which vexed my heart, that yearning o'er him, strove 
 
 To fathom his resolve. 
 
 " Too late," he said 
 While dawned his scornful smile, "too late for me 
 To tread those narrow, beaten, ancient paths 
 That pleased your youth. 
 
 What have you ever known 
 Of grand, aspiring, daring enterprise ? 
 I have, Sir, that at stake in old Brazil 
 That shall surprise a world, with glory won, 
 Can I but make it sure. 
 
 One point attained, 
 One little point, and I could find content, 
 Were there contentment in a sphere like this — 
 Too scant for joy." 
 
 "And if you fail, my son," 
 I pleaded, "be no cynic. I may speak 
 As a reviewer of men's ways, no doubt; 
 It may be, too, from deeper processes 
 
122 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Of feeling, strife within more passionate, 
 And spiritual tumults more confused and wild, 
 Than seems potential from your point of thought. 
 Be no 'Timon of Athens' indiscreet, 
 While free to act as impulse may propose, 
 Yet wanting just discrimination; fierce, 
 Implacable, when thwarted by constraint, 
 And shorn of homage. 
 
 Braver 'tis to bear 
 All life's vicissitudes with changeless will, 
 Discerning things unchangeable that hide, 
 And yet abide above us and around. 
 By the intents you cherish estimate 
 Your worth, and never reckon lost the act 
 Of virtue born, that seemed to miss its goal, 
 Weigh not your life by gains exterior. 
 Write that Success which reaches usefulnes, 
 That Failure, which leaves human welfare less." 
 
 His look was softer, as we turned apart 
 To meet not since. 
 
 He sailed from Boston Bay 
 Next day, they said, with wife and children three. 
 Rumor now runs that from a dizzy height 
 Of influence commercial, in the strifes 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. 123 
 
 And tumults of Brazilian state affairs, 
 He late was hurled to penury, and fallen 
 From rank political, now exiled roves, 
 While citizens aver — "He never loved 
 Our peace; but trafficked with our liberty." 
 
 Lately I met another who was guest 
 At Hampshire, five years since — the man of wealth, 
 Whose daughter Victor loved, but Julian base, 
 Whom first self-pride, then passion led astray — 
 Had snared, and her not sole of maidens fair. 
 'Twas in a mart of books I noticed him 
 Buying a dozen volumes of huge size, 
 And glittering covers. 
 
 By his bristling hair 
 Outstanding from his crown, and straight, broad shape, 
 I knew the man, who, as he spied me, cried, 
 "Halloo! well met, sir! So you are not dead." 
 "You, too, my friend," I answered, "cling to life, 
 And find it, I hope, happier than when last 
 We met high in the Hampshire wilderness." 
 
 "Look, now," he whispered cautiously, "my girl 
 Went from us wilful, strong, and beautiful. 
 We brought her back a shadow weak and wan, 
 To die with broken heart. 
 
124 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 When our own hearts 
 Were breaking — dawn, you know, comes close on night- 
 My Ned went floundering in a sea of love 
 After the mistress of a country-school, 
 A poor girl, but as good as she is fair; 
 With sense and wit, although she's scholarly. 
 The boy left trifling, married her, and turned 
 Again to books. 
 
 'Father,' says she to me, 
 * Good books are tables clean, whereon the wise 
 Have set well-seasoned wholesome food, or choice 
 And nourishing dainties for our hungry minds 
 That, unless fed, turn weaklings, or go wild. 
 Some minds mayhap find nurture for themselves, 
 But most of us — like Ned, here, must have books 
 Or living teachers.' 
 
 So I'm buying books 
 For these our children — Edward and his bride. 
 We change, Sir, in our thinking, now and then." 
 
 ■" But will your son seek to digest his lore 
 Through exercise of mental food acquired ? 
 And will he share his pabulum of thought 
 With starving minds ? " I said. 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. 125 
 
 " Talk common sense," 
 Laughing he plead, "I don't know Latin yet; 
 Though wife and I have started to grow learned 
 With listening to our youngsters." 
 
 "Pardon then," 
 I answered, "I but ask if they will place 
 Their learning to good purpose, and provide 
 That some less-favored than themselves may learn." 
 "You've hit the nail, Sir, squarely on the head," 
 He cried, and clapped my shoulder heartily, 
 " But here comes Susan, my son Edward's wife; 
 She'll tell you for herself what schemes and plots 
 She's laid to trap our pockets and our wits, 
 And make the poor laugh. 
 
 Susie, here's the Judge 
 I met one summer in your native town." 
 
 The little lady bright-haired and sweet faced 
 Turned her blue eyes upon me, and we smiled 
 In joyous recognition. Bella's friend, 
 The gentle wood nymph of the Hampshire school 
 Was now the Crcesus' daughter! 
 
 Well-a-day! 
 Her "schemes and plots " from Bella take their cue, 
 
126 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 And favor city children and sad youths 
 Pining for knowledge, knowing not their lack, 
 Thus she declared, and said, with tender eyes, 
 " My Edward's heart is bent upon our plans — 
 A heart far richer than my own deserves; 
 And father here indulges us in all. 
 I've found a father and a mother, sir, 
 Long orphaned. Ought not I, of all the world, 
 Divide my good with those who are deprived? " 
 
 Yes, I will haste to Ben. 'Tis sweet to hope 
 The morrow's eve will find us face to face, 
 Ho! give me lights. 
 
 And now my study beams 
 With cheerful radiance. Soon my precious sons 
 Will come to greet me. 
 
 I will feast my eyes 
 Till then, on this fair marble, their last gift, 
 Victor's own work, expressing Benefit — 
 Not Vengeance. 
 
 'Tis well named " The Swimmer's Prize." 
 A stalwart swimmer muscular and tall, 
 With sea- drops trickling o'er his valiant brow, 
 
AFTER FIVE YEARS. 127 
 
 Grasps with right hand a wave-dashed, storm-swept rock, 
 With left uplifts a pale youth from the spray. 
 The group is touched with colors. 
 
 Victor dares 
 Thus vivify his statues, choosing not 
 To leave them death-like, because centuries 
 Have robbed the Grecian relics of the hues 
 They doubtless wore in all their wondrous prime. 
 
 " What! tears, my father?" cries my eldest born, 
 
 Whose step I heard not — "Yes, son, tears of joy. 
 
 This work of Victor, how it melts my heart! 
 
 You boys outwit me with your pranks and tricks. 
 
 Last year that sketch by Bella startled me 
 
 On yonder wall — 'The Smile of Heavenly Hope,' 
 
 Where light on one plain face, at the low door 
 
 Of a poor cabin seemed to cast a beam 
 
 Of cheer along a lonely woodland path. 
 
 Now, rogues, you pelt me with this sculptured stone! 
 
 1 Tis well I can run far from you awhile. 
 
 To Ben's protection. 
 
 Ah! what friends! what peace! 
 What children! an old pilgrim may enjoy." 
 
CANTO XII. 
 FEEDING THE LAMBS. 
 
 AT Ben's, his guest this score of happy days, 
 Now can I watch the river of his life 
 Broadening and brightening, as it flows to joint 
 Th' eternal tides, greening the banks it laves. 
 Next week we go with Bella to the town, 
 Conducting her young flock, lambs, for Christ's sake 
 Led here to frisk and feed in pastures green, 
 Ere to their narrow lodgings in pent streets 
 Returned for winter life. 
 
 Still, in those homes 
 Her care and Susan's will benignly watch 
 And kindly guide them. From the Croesus' hoard 
 By his loved son dispensed, and the wide purse 
 Of generous Benjamin enriched, these two 
 Will spread those wise expenditures that yield 
 Return some sixty, some an hundred fold 
 To all communities, where youthful feet 
 Are led devoutly to their proper place 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 129 
 
 With the world's husbandmen and builders — 
 
 They who search out natural forces, and subdue 
 
 All to men's service; or pass on earth's gifts 
 
 Already furnished, to meet Need's quick grasp; 
 
 Or those who, by long comtemplation, gain 
 
 Brain potency to share with minds deprived. 
 
 For this and like ends, for a sisterhood 
 
 Hampered and sore distressed in city haunts, 
 
 I'll join my favor and best aid to their's, 
 
 Happy in age if I may claim a part 
 
 In their glad counsels who plan human peace, 
 
 And meditating on the law divine, 
 
 Are found as trees by water-courses set, 
 
 In leaf and fruit unfailing to the end. 
 
 But is dear Isabella's fancy joined 
 
 By fleeting motives to her present tasks ? 
 
 Or spring her deeds from radical intends 
 
 Conditioned on her spirit's life, that grows 
 
 And blossoms into aims benevolent ? 
 
 I met her in my rambles yesterday, 
 
 And bade her sit some moments in the shade, 
 
 As guardians may command. 
 
 I challenged her 
 To paint me her vocation in clear words, 
 As in her contemplation it stands forth. 
 
130 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 "It is, dear counsellor," she kindly said, 
 After a pause of revery, " to guard 
 And tend the young will, as it first expands 
 From Infancy's frail beauteous clay-rind, 
 Praying God's added re-creative touch 
 To wake to nobler life that understands 
 Himself with growing energy of love, 
 While aspirations, tendrils of the mind 
 Are trained to climb above their primal rests. 
 I long to tune young laughter to such keys 
 As shall with Duty's utterance harmonize, 
 In all the future's years. 
 
 I'd teach young souls 
 To feel a falsehood, by their sense of right, 
 And by allegiance early bound to Heaven, 
 Have no will left to worship or to serve 
 Heart-idols." 
 
 " You pursue a fond ideal, 
 My child," I answered, sternly testing her, 
 " Scarce guessing how the idol-cult prevails 
 In lives most rich in outward benefits," 
 
 "Lives may be rich in their due estimates 
 Of benefits possessed, who yet seem poor 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 131 
 
 Beside their neighbors, who are laden down 
 With visible dower. 
 
 Perhaps," she said, "those prize 
 Most heartily the fountain's crystal depths, 
 Who may but pause to snatch a precious draught, 
 Lest night descend on their bewildered march; 
 And those most gladly hail the sun, who catch 
 Only a few rays, through dull attic panes 
 Struggling mid clustering roofs. 
 
 These might e'en guess 
 The rapture of the Parsee, who adores 
 Yon circling Light, whence each new day is born; 
 Though others 'neath its. equatorial beams 
 Ignore it, worshipping a fetish clod." 
 
 "I see, wise Isabella, you transcend 
 
 My hoary wisdom, with your woman's wit. 
 
 And, doubtless, you will teach most wittily, 
 
 Proving abstract ideas, with similes, 
 
 Make younglings greet with joy their country's flag, 
 
 Incipient patriots — through your bed-time tales, 
 
 And by their marbles set forth equity." 
 
 "Justice has simple rules," musing she spoke, 
 
1 32 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 "A child may grasp all with his guileless thoughts." 
 "What! all?" I cried, 
 
 "Yes, all," she said and turned 
 On me her eyes lucent with inner light. 
 "Straight lines are shortest between points, and right 
 In its first principles, to normal view 
 Is clear. Do not complexity and doubt 
 Come from false precepts mingled with the true ? " 
 
 "Yet, dreamer, only after length of days, 
 
 Can your hoped harvests bless the hungry world. 
 
 Gather, I pray you, the fresh early fruits 
 
 That blush around you in your years of strength." 
 
 "Fear not, my gentle Guardian," she replied, 
 
 "That I shall fail of blessing, while I wait; 
 
 The day is come, when, dearer than all joy 
 
 That finds in self a centre, or affords 
 
 A solace solely for these fleeting hours, 
 
 I value Christ's permission — aye, command 
 
 To take my woman's place among the bands, 
 
 Who strive with zeal unwavering to uplift 
 
 Our race into the glory of His smile. 
 
 And yet I boast not to have lived exempt 
 From idol-fascinations, that appeal 
 To all in some fair guise. 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 
 
 I shudder oft 
 At soul-thralls witnessed round us, as one might, 
 Who, having passed by night a fearful chasm 
 In our Sierras, by a taper's ray 
 Guided along its brink, returns at morn 
 To gaze adown its mile of sheer descent, 
 Quaking at horrors by a hair's breadth missed. 
 
 Yet poets praise idolatory, men talk 
 Of idol-seeking, as of Heaven-pursuit! 
 
 I'll tell the questioning little ones such tales 
 
 Of idol-mischief, point such triumphs won 
 
 By moral valor, as shall warm young wills 
 
 To hold all things material under tax 
 
 For soul-promotion; nay — my words offend 
 
 My meaning. I will bind with fervor true 
 
 On holiest altars, in devotion glad, 
 
 My purpose and my deeds; yet know the fire 
 
 That fell on Carmel's stones, in Ahab's reign, 
 
 Must fall, else all my offerings will be vain." 
 
 "I praise you, child," I answered, "for your aims 
 
 Against idolatry however masked. 
 
 An idol lost, that still is loved and mourned, 
 
 i33 
 
134 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 How in its place comes frantic suicide, 
 Morose despair, or gloom insane to stand 
 Beside the vacant throne! 
 
 An idol raised 
 Within a heart permits no purpose there 
 To thwart its vain control, though it be guised 
 As fond affection, or as angel fair. 
 Be it your privilege, with instinct keen, 
 By truthful revelations wisely chosen, 
 To guide the soul's unfoldings, the new gleams 
 Of curious reason to direct with awe 
 To Purity's white temple, that clear eyes 
 May see her perfect loveliness, and form 
 Their standard by this view. 
 
 Then, as soft feet 
 Pass on to opening life-paths, satyrs bold 
 Or sirens false can not hallucinate 
 Conscience or reason; if but Reverence 
 Of a pure Presence mindful of all thoughts 
 And waiting for communion with all souls 
 Be your ally." 
 
 " O fount of tenderness 
 Forbearing, kind — maternal love! of thee 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 135 
 
 I drank in helpless years," my listener breathed 
 
 Departing from my themes. "Thy sources deep 
 
 In woman's nature rise, and from them spring 
 
 Her pitying sympathy for all her race." 
 
 "No, child," I cried, "permit my age to chide. 
 
 Ascribe to thy mortality no wells 
 
 Of sympathy perennial, which methinks 
 
 Has elements divine. 
 
 Great Milton sang — 
 * Daughter of God and man, immortal Eve! ' 
 And were I poet, thus would I express 
 My praise of women who have blessed my life." 
 She smiled. " But, Guardian, what unfathomed deeps 
 Are in the human soul! " 
 
 Responsive I 
 Related how a murderer wild and fell — 
 A prisoner half a century and more — 
 Twice nine years chained, at four-score years grew mild 
 Calling " Dear Mother! " as his death drew near; 
 And how a youth's cry, in his dying hour 
 Rang in his mother's ears — " Forsake me not! " 
 She having failed to teach his hand to loose 
 Its grasp on her frail palm, to reach instead 
 The Hand whose touch gives immortality. 
 
136 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Alas! that Woman should presume so far 
 As to retain the weight of a man's soul 
 To her indulgence bound for anchorage, 
 Where waves of an eternal sea may rise 
 Upon Time's shallows. 
 
 "'Yet 'tis true," she said, 
 "That many a woman, e'en in this fair land, 
 And countless more in realms beyond the seas, 
 Are by exactors driven, by tyrants wronged, 
 Tempted and starved because of cruel greed 
 In pampered men of courteous mien, and state 
 Respected and admired. 
 
 Mothers who toil 
 And pine in closets dank, for little ones 
 Who have no foot of the green, plenteous earth 
 To stretch their growing limbs on, in their play; 
 And maidens frail, untrained, unguarded, pressed 
 With early cares come to my dreams in sleep. 
 
 A noble friend, who often threads dim streets 
 In your proud city, seeking human gems 
 Amid their slime, told me a woman once 
 Holding a babe in arms, looked forth mid pools 
 And sheds of refuse by dark tenements, 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 137 
 
 And asked " Are you to get us a park here ? 
 
 I wish to God you would! We need it most. " 
 
 But much the friend is grieved because of those 
 
 Who say, "We have not eaten aught to-day. 
 
 Is there no work for us ? We would earn bread," 
 
 Who have nor tutored minds, nor skillful hands 
 
 For useful labors that befit our sex. 
 
 She longs to gather maidens by the scores, 
 
 Set them in classes before matrons wise, 
 
 And teach them such plain arts as homes demand; 
 
 The needle's use, the management of babes, 
 
 Food preparation, thrift, and gentle care 
 
 Of those who languish with disease or pain — 
 
 And so give efficacy to their cry 
 
 For well-earned recompense. 
 
 Let me not crush 
 In woman or in child the noble wish 
 For worthy independence; but forestall instead 
 The chance of helplessness. 
 
 I am resolved 
 To join my humble ministry to theirs 
 Who unloose heavy burdens, and raise hands 
 That droop." 
 
138 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 "Dear child," I cried, " He who came down 
 As Burden-bearer to the race of men, 
 Who quenches not the smoking flax, nor breaks 
 The bruised reed — can point you to success, 
 Nor is there help beside. 
 
 Strive as we may. 
 To heal sad hearts, and lift the languid hands, 
 There will be those who turn away the ear, 
 From His voice saying "Heavy-laden ones, 
 Come unto Me and I will give you rest! " 
 But send that word and follow as He leads. 
 So shall you be Restorer of safe-paths, 
 Making waste places smile; and souls that starved 
 To sit at feasts transformed as royal sons, 
 And daughters of the King." 
 
 As thus we talked 
 Sitting beside a sweet-brier hedge, a shout 
 Of childish merriment resounded near. 
 
 Peeping above our fragrant battlement, 
 We saw the children trooping toward their bower,. 
 Foremost was one called Allyn auburn-haired 
 And rosy. 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 139 
 
 Leaning- on a stick he trod 
 Right measu redly, with roguish eyes down-cast. 
 Beneath his left arm were a pamphlet large, 
 And an old battered plaque. 
 
 Beside him Ruth — 
 A tiny round-eyed child, bore with grave look 
 Her favorite toy — a mimic violin. 
 A beard of white from flimsy paper cut 
 Hid Allyn's dimpled chin, and my soft cap 
 Perching in wrinkles on his curly pate 
 Surprised our peering eyes. 
 
 The tiny Ruth 
 Feigned Isabella's stateliness of gait, 
 Wearing on her brown head, a bit of gauze, 
 Whose scarlet had adorned our tall brunette. 
 
 They climbed unsmiling on two rustic chairs, 
 And spoke in borrowed tones of "this young flock," 
 While peals of mirth and antics full of grace 
 Attested approbation from their mates. 
 Then Allyn rising placed the pamphlet large 
 Against a shrub, and made the broken plaque 
 Rest o'er it, as an artist's canvass might 
 Depend upon an easel. 
 
i 4 o BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 "Children, hark!" 
 He cried, and waved his hand till silence reigned — 
 " Your Garden Teacher will make melodies 
 And sing a 'kinder'-song. 
 
 You must keep still, 
 And those who listen best shall first stand near 
 And look at the fine pictures she has made." 
 
 Then Ruth's small fingers smote on the toy-strings, 
 And her sweet voice of silver piped a lay. 
 
 RUTH'S KINDER-GARTEN SONG. 
 
 If you would make the corn grow, 
 
 You have to plant the seeds; 
 Soon you must hoe 
 By every row, 
 
 Or else there will be weeds: 
 
 And the sun must shine, the rain must fall, 
 
 Or you will get no corn at all. 
 
 You must not chase the mother-hen, 
 
 But give her drink and food, 
 And leave her then 
 Safe in her pen, 
 
 To raise her pretty brood. 
 
 She'll shortly teach them what to do, 
 
 And be a better nurse than you. 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 141 
 
 Our hands can only do their share 
 Of all that must be done, 
 
 But if we bear 
 
 Our part with care, 
 
 Others will help us on, 
 
 And God will send the sun and* rain, 
 
 For growing children, birds, and grain. 
 
 " Ho 1 Ben, my boy," called Allyn in deep tone, 
 Turning abruptly; as a seven year lad 
 Wrapped in the folds of the Inventor's coat, 
 And trailing it upon the grass, drew near, 
 Ben's hat in hand, low bowing to the troop, 
 And answering with assumed authority: 
 "Come, Isabella, Tom, and little ones ! 
 Let's have a game or two upon the lawn, 
 Till supper-time." 
 
 Here laughter rippling flowed 
 Dissolving his droll soberness to fun. 
 Sweet Ruth sincere e'en in her play, looked on, 
 While Allyn and the seven year lad enrobed 
 Or tangled in Ben's luckless summer coat, 
 Joined with their mates in gambols. 
 
 Suddenly 
 Dashed the maid Phyllis down npon their ranks, 
 Like raven mid young dovelets — " O you rogues ! " 
 
1 42 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Panting she cried, " Give back the master's coat, 
 And Judge's cap ! Give back Miss Bella's sash — 
 Or Mammy'll make no muffins for your tea." 
 
 She should have hidden her white teeth with her lips, 
 And borrowed sternness — but forgot to chide, 
 And joined her laughter to the general mirth, 
 Holding her sides and shouting — " O you rogues ! " 
 And driving homeward all the little romps. 
 
 Then we who had been peering o'er the hedge, 
 Took our own turn at laughing. 
 
 "What think you, 
 
 guardian Knight ! of Comedy and Farce, 
 Or e'en of Melody to Action joined ? 
 
 As native to our species ? " Bella asked, 
 "Action may serve Truth well; but let not Truth 
 Transfer her scepter to the servant's hand," 
 
 1 answered. "Whatsoe'er upbuilds the mind, 
 And qualifies our being for high deeds 
 
 Is worthy; though in this there are degrees 
 Of worth, and he who takes by choice the less, 
 While greater is before him, is not wise. 
 As for mere feigning, as a life-employ, 
 To aid one's fellows to forgetfulness, 
 And dissipation of their fairest wealth — 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 143 
 
 The priceless hours — methinks it must re-act 
 Upon the feigner making- him play false 
 With conscience, duty, and all serious things. 
 A mask wins not confiding sympathy, 
 That so enriches the life-pilgrimage." 
 ■" All young things imitate, and thus afford 
 A mirror to their elders," Bella said. 
 
 'The mimicry of children," I rejoined, 
 *' Renews our youthful fancies, and makes 
 Gay our thought; while oft its exercise 
 Educes and makes strong their faculties. 
 *Tis not performance, artifice, or trick; 
 But nature's method. 
 
 Still it follows not 
 That mimicry should rob from Earnestness 
 The foreman's office in Life's busy shop, 
 Where men and women must do careful work, 
 Or harm uncounted interests. 
 
 A whim 
 Caught by an imitative baby boy 
 From a weak mother, like a single mote 
 In a bright eye, may trouble his soul's sight 
 
i 4 4 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 When he shall stand with statesmen and make laws. 
 Till he shall veer back on the dial-plate 
 His country's sign; or make a man of lore 
 Lose step with all the progress of the age." 
 
 "Yes, Knight, and she who trains the little hands 
 That when grown strong shall engine-levers move; 
 Or e'en those fingers that shall soon forge wheels 
 On which ride travellers daily, may make lives 
 Secure, through her example of good work, 
 Of faithfulness and patience in small things, 
 Set before youthful eyes." 
 
 " You speak a word 
 Of wondrous sense — example. 
 
 Thence I draw 
 A present lesson. Your old knight perceives 
 He strides too stiltedly for yonder lads 
 To keep their twinkling feet in step with his. 
 He'll try to dream himself a boy again, 
 As Ben your father needs not, being still 
 Boy-like, thus knowing a child's heart. 
 
 He's wise 
 To graduate his reasoning to young brains." 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. 145 
 
 We walked now by the roadside toward the lawn, 
 
 Whither the children had run frolicking 
 
 With Phyllis at their heels, to sport as wont 
 
 With the Inventor, ere their supper-call. 
 
 A creaking wagon lumbering toward his house 
 
 Here overtook us wending thither, too. 
 
 It bore a laundry-dame, with baskets wide 
 
 Teeming with children's garments, seeing which, 
 
 Our Bella hastened through a by-path home, 
 
 To summon nurses to bestow the robes 
 
 As needful for their charges. 
 
 At my bow, 
 The laundry-woman pleased grew talkative. 
 Checking her nag, with curious looks, she spoke: 
 "You are Miss Bella's uncle, I've no doubt? " 
 
 "A friend, good Madam." 
 
 "Well, she's a nice girl, 
 Mister. 
 
 I've known her these ten years or more, 
 And found her kind. I'm sorry she's alone 
 On this great farm." 
 
146 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 "She has her father, Ma'am." 
 
 " But she's no husband," here she whipped a fly 
 From her horse's flank, as he jogged at my gait — 
 "It's a great shame." 
 
 She sighed and shook her head 
 Sun-browned, with ribbons red strained on the breeze. 
 
 "You're married, doubtless, Madam, and have proved 
 A husband's worth, through blest companionship ? " 
 "I, married?" she returned with glance surprised, 
 " O yes. My husband has the rheumatiz 
 This seventeen year. 
 
 He gets out in the sun 
 On pleasant days. We're trying some new herbs. 
 1 Children ? ' Yes, I have eight. My oldest girl 
 Married a drinking man; so she's come home 
 With two fine babies. My next girl is lame, 
 But good as any minister or saint. 
 Jimmy ran off to sea. I lie awake 
 When the wind roars at night, afraid he'll drown. 
 If it was not for my eldest girls that stay 
 At home, and the two babies, when the five 
 Go off to school, I should be lonesomer 
 Than any owl — without 'twas for my work. 
 
FEEDING THE LAMBS. i 47 
 
 You see I have to scrub, and wash, and mend, 
 From morning candle-light, till long past dark. 
 I tell you, Mister, such a family 
 With a sick husband, keep my hands afly; 
 But then, my cares are nothing to what some 
 Bend under — 
 
 Here we are ! and here she comes. 
 A nice girl." In a whisper — "What a shame 
 She has no husband ! 
 
 Thank you, kindly, Sir, 
 For helping me across this wheel. I weigh 
 More than I used to, when I jumped a fence 
 As nimbly as a ribbit. 
 
 Thank you, Sir." 
 
 'Tis evening. Isabella's voice was heard 
 A half hour since, above us, murmuring 
 A lullaby to her loved lambs. 
 
 Then all was still. 
 But now her feet draw nigh upon the stairs, 
 And now beyond a drapery that hides 
 Her father's presence and my own from hers, 
 She charms our twilight silence with a song. 
 
i 4 8 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 ISABELLA'S HEART-SONG. 
 
 My heart's a fountain springing, 
 
 Singing, upward flinging 
 Joyfully its spray; 
 
 How have earth-storms quelled and shadowed it in scorn- 
 ful fray ! 
 
 But the tempest only swelled the sources 
 Of its earnest happy forces, 
 Till they hasted more triumphantly along their way. 
 
 As storm-clouds overflowing 
 
 Leave more glowing 
 Growing plants and flowers, 
 
 While the river chants fresh anthems in its woodland 
 bowers; 
 
 So thy purposes, my heart ! are purer 
 
 For thy pain, thy hopes are surer. 
 Life ! thy nobler victories crown thy conflict laden hours. 
 
CANTO XIII. 
 A FAIR VISION. A CLOUD-BURST. FIDELITY. 
 
 '' I MS autumn late. My home-life is resumed 
 -*- In the great city; whither Ben has come 
 With Isabella to their winter lodge 
 Nearby my door. 
 
 Not far off Susan dwells 
 In Crcesus' mansion with her Edward fond, 
 And my loved sons are close at hand. 
 
 Of late 
 At Crcesus' bidding, we have often met 
 Within his stately dwelling, to resolve 
 And plan for the accomplishment of hopes 
 Toward bettering the dismal ward, where live 
 Bella's babe-pupils. 
 
 Edward wills to rear 
 At willing Crcesus' charges, three strong blocks 
 Inclosing pleasant courts in outer air, 
 Where youths may sport, and weary elders rest, 
 
i 5 o BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 While roofs shall give broad views and promenades. 
 
 Within shall rooms be modelled for home-life 
 
 In fair conditions, and there shall be halls 
 
 For worship, lectures, books, and pastimes pure, 
 
 With class-rooms for child learners, and for boys 
 
 Trade shops, where skillful masters shall instruct 
 
 The hand untrained. 
 
 Mothers and maidens, too, 
 May find provision to become expert 
 In fitting lore, and all the arts of home. 
 
 Not without woman's counsel, we devise, 
 Dreading the dreariness and waste of schemes 
 Wherein her quick perception has no part — 
 But draw forth Susan's wit, and Bella's care 
 For deft arrangements suited to all aims; 
 While Crcesus' wife suggests economies 
 Of space, and my sons' partners fair 
 Suggest best contiguities, and hint 
 Fit furnishings. 
 
 Victor once so disdained 
 By Crcesus, has won favor in his eyes, 
 And came to our last conclave, at my call, 
 To lend artistic insight to our thought. 
 
A FAIR VISION. 151 
 
 All's well, and we to-morrow shall give forth 
 Our full requirements to an architect 
 Apt to fulfil or wisely modify 
 Our joint design. 
 
 But see, upon the street, 
 There's tumult — I'll look forth. 
 
 Hark ! sudden cries — 
 " Stop the assassin ! " " Seize the murderer ! " 
 " Beware the bomb ! " — and what fierce notes are these: 
 " Down with the rich ! " " Let Capital beware ! " 
 Ah ! now swift messengers press to my side 
 Stammering, l ' Croesus by a villain's hand 
 Is dead within his home, his wounded son 
 Lies fainting there beside him. Go not forth, 
 There's rage against your children and yourself. 
 You have been tracked by anarchs envious, 
 Who say you're plotting foul monopolies, 
 To drain the life-blood of the trampled poor." 
 
 Alas ! 'tis true still, as in ancient days, 
 
 That Jealousy is cruel as the grave. 
 
 Slain friend ! who learned, though late, to serve mankind, 
 
 Who yearned to uplift the ignorant and give 
 
 The guilty time and privilege to change — 
 
 I mourn, thee, brother ! 
 
1 5 2 BEN' S ISABELLA. 
 
 Patience dwelt in thee 
 For the fierce poor. The laborer's lot was thine 
 Through years of thrift; yet thou hadst hope to make 
 The improvident wiser, better, happier. 
 Must such as thou unflinchingly endure 
 Thy neighbor's hate, waiting for his proud soul 
 To learn obedience to God's will, and grow 
 Forbearing; while he heeds not thy heart's pain. 
 And scorns to wait for thy soul to unfold 
 In knowledge and fraternal kindliness ? 
 Fair vision of Philanthropy ! that rose 
 Before our earnest souls — those happy halls 
 Whence children of the needy should go forth 
 Redeemed from want, equipped for life's career — 
 Must thou dissolve, while we, who mourn the dead 
 Lose heart and shrivel to indifference ? 
 Such questionings oppressed my sinking heart 
 Beneath my study's evening rays, when Ben — 
 With thoughtful Victor, silent at his side — 
 Came striding in with firm and bouyant step, 
 Beaming on me the luster of an eye 
 Undimmed by disappointment. 
 
 " Tom ! dear boy," 
 He said with mellowed voice, " 'tis bad, but worse 
 Might have befallen us, for Edward lives. 
 
A FAIR VISIOA. 153 
 
 Our Bella is with Susan, and reports 
 
 His wound may heal in time. This mercy helps 
 
 His mother and young wife- Victor's strong soul 
 
 Is ours in fellowship: his energies 
 
 Are roused and chafe for noblest exercise. 
 
 Then hand in hand we sat, and long I spoke 
 
 Of the departed; of his kindling hopes 
 
 Cruelly quenched; of my despairings dark 
 
 Succeeding brightest dreams of helpfulness 
 
 Toward those whose fury, like a whirling flood, 
 
 Strands now our fair ambitions." 
 
 " Hold ! " cried Ben, 
 "Thou'rt small of strength, if in adversity 
 Thou faintest. We must flag not in our zest 
 To serve our generation by God's will. 
 There's promise for our race. We must press on 
 To conquest. 'Tis not ours to choose a course 
 Across the wilderness. There'll be a cloud 
 For that by day, by night a fiery sign. 
 He who conducts the march, judges the poor, 
 And for the meek argues with equity. 
 Until in all the earth justice is crowned, 
 Christ fails not, nor lacks courage. Righteousness 
 Girdles His loins, and faithfulness His heart. 
 
i 5 4 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 May be God wills not that we few shall wield 
 
 Wealth's sceptre freely. In monopolies, 
 
 E'en for philanthropy, dangers of pride 
 
 Or power may lurk. We have time thrust on us 
 
 For prudence, as for patience; not for waste. 
 
 Let us watch well our course, and weigh all means 
 
 In balances of righteousness, beware 
 
 Lest one dishonest method, or one wedge 
 
 Of gain held through oppression falsely wear 
 
 The sign of mercy. 
 
 We must bear scorn well, 
 Win reasoning minds, use present aids, and look 
 For helpers from the common ranks of men. 
 Good will is more than riches, thought than things, 
 Teachers are above school-rooms, and the ends 
 We seek must come through faithful ministries. 
 
 I have a picture in my spirit's eye, 
 
 That cheers me. I will paint for you in words 
 
 A vision of Fidelity, convinced, 
 
 Your insight shall discern what my faint rhythm 
 
 Can but suggest — what valorous holy strength 
 
 What glorious ardor in the subject dwells, 
 
 Whereby our hearts should quicken and be strong: 
 
A FAIR VISION. 1 55 
 
 " With the tread of a warrior Fidelity goes 
 
 Clad in armor of mail, 
 
 His resolved brow is pale, 
 He has firmly set lips, and there glows 
 
 In his eye softly bright 
 
 Love's unquenchable light. 
 
 "A thousand keen archers have shot at his form, 
 
 But his bow still is strong; 
 He has warred in fierce battles, faced many a storm, 
 
 And he bears scarce one treasure along-. 
 But a strong unseen Angel behind him; I'm weening, 
 A burden of trophies is steadily gleaning 
 
 From numberless fields: — 
 
 There are Israel's marred shields, 
 There's a branch from Moriah's lone wood, 
 Where with Abram Fidelity stood 
 
 By the dearly loved lad; 
 
 There are mantles the old prophets had, 
 Joseph's robe, Moses' rod, Daniel's necklace of gold, 
 
 David's harp, the sweet balm Mary brought, 
 
 With a tent-cloth by Paul's fingers wrought, 
 And goods of the martyrs of old. 
 
 There are patriot-swords blood-encrusted, 
 Robes fond, patient women have made, 
 
1 56 BEN'S ISABELLA. 
 
 Gold once to the needy entrusted, 
 And all with due increase repaid, 
 
 Worn implements guided by hands scorched and failing, 
 Thus made for the rescue of many availing, 
 And flowers young disciples who 'dared to be true, 
 Have strewn in Christ's path, where the blossoms were 
 few. 
 
 "With the tread of a warrior Fidelity goes, 
 
 And I mark where his iron-shod feet 
 Have tracked the broad desert the bright springing rose 
 
 Makes all that drear wilderness sweet. 
 He shuns the gay dwellings of ease, and I know 
 For the joy set before him, to death would he go. 
 He passes in shade; but afar I behold 
 His tall helmet gleam in the splendor of gold. 
 
 " How stately the vision ! I long to pursue, 
 
 While the diligent Angel who garners the spoils 
 From out the wide fields where Fidelity toils, 
 
 Turns whispering, 'What may I gather from you ! ' " 
 
 Ben ceased, and after pause spoke Victor, "Thanks 
 For this portrayal. 
 
 Would my hand could carve 
 This warrior-image from the lasting rock ! 
 
A FAIR VISIOA. 157 
 
 But more I long to set it forth in life, 
 
 With steady action and a constant will, 
 
 Mid scorn or favor, as all souls have done 
 
 Who have wrought progress, or o'er mastered wrong " 
 
 "Amen ! " we elders said, deeming his words 
 
 Prophetic of exploits sublime. 
 
 Anew 
 Our courage rose to be of those who dare 
 Embrace the promise whose fulfilment waits 
 Afar, who guage the near and tangible 
 By the unseen eternal, and endure 
 As seeing Him who is invisible. 
 
 THE END. 
 
...yjRAJjY OF CONGRESS 
 
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