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 P O E M S 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY BAYARD CLARKE, 
 
MOSBEs 
 
 ROLLING STONE; 
 
 IDLE MOMENTS OF A BUSY WOMAN. 
 
 TENELLA— Mary Bayard Clarke. 
 
 "Tax not my sloth that I 
 Fold my arms beside the brook ; 
 
 Each cloud that floateth in the sky 
 Writes a letter in my book." 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 RALEIGH, N. 0. ! 
 
 WJT t B» SMITH & COMPANY, 
 MDCCCLXVI, 
 
CtW 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S66, by 
 
 WM. B. SMITH & COMPANY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, 
 
 for the District of Pamlico, North Carolina. 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO MY CHILDREN. 
 
 Dear children, in life's busy round, 
 Some idle moments I have found, 
 In which I "ve paused to gather flowers, 
 To cheer my many busy hour?. 
 Here I have plucked a pleasant I 
 And there a passing fancy caught, 
 Now from the lake a lily took, 
 And then a wild-flower from the brook : 
 Where Texas winds the mesquii 
 I from old Missions gathered moi s, 
 Plucked tropic flowers from Cuba's isle 
 "Neath everlasting- summer's smile, 
 Twined passion flowers of crimson hue 
 With the forget-me-nots pale blue; 
 Then gathered grass from prairL 
 And wove their blossoms in between ; 
 Found here a joy and there a grief 
 Hidden beneath some flower or leaf; 
 A pleasant inem'ry bore from this, 
 From that a smile, a tear, or kiss ; 
 And now I twine, with hope and fear, 
 These gathered flowers of many a yc ar, 
 That if my Moss can do no more, 
 It still may drape a ruin o*er, 
 And gild the wreck which round us lies 
 Of brighter hopes which ne'er can rise . 
 
But see ! reflected in my tears, 
 Hope's rainbow o'er my wreath appears, 
 And I, as in my childish days, 
 Will seek, beneath its shifting rays, 
 The pot op GOLD which may be found 
 Just where the rainbow meets the ground 
 And as my "Moss -1 abroad I send, 
 Trust "Hone will in fruition end." 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING !) 
 
 A PHR( >DITE 23 
 
 THE WATER-SPRITES BRIDAL SO 
 
 LA PURISSTMA CONCEPTION :;<; 
 
 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN :: 
 
 PASSION FLOWERS Hi 
 
 WANDERING TENDRILS 
 
 THE >:PAY NORTHER - > 
 
 THE WINE OF LIKE W 
 
 MY SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE :.'.» 
 
 TOO LATE '.-■] 
 
 THE FALLEN IDOL ! 
 
 GATHERING SHELLS .; 
 
 NIGHT BLOOMING FLOW KRS i;«J 
 
 SHADOWS 71 
 
 BITTER WATERS 73 
 
 THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD 75 
 
 CHE SARA SARA 7S 
 
 SONG— (From the German.) 70 
 
 WHEN DOST THOU THINK OF ME? 80 
 
 WOMAN'S DOWER 88 
 
 FAKEWELL 83 
 
 FORGET THEE? So 
 
 SMILES AND KISSES 87 
 
 TWILIGHT MUSINGS ;.■< 
 
 MY CHILDREN !V 
 
 THE RAIN UPON THE HILLS 
 
 THE MOTHER'S DREAM ,, . ,.,, 
 
\ 1 1 r CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 NEMO SEMPER FELIX EST 103 
 
 [AM THAT I AM 105 
 
 THE POT OP INCENSE 107 
 
 J )AY BREA K 108 
 
 THE FUNERAL OF HENRY CLAY 110 
 
 ANNIE GARTER LEE 113 
 
 AN EPITHANATON 110 
 
 RAL ROBERT E. LEE 118 
 
 UAH EDEN, THE QUEEN OF THE ANT1LES 130 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 ODE SUR \AlM-i EON' id 
 
 LB PET] P UMj 
 
 ART AND THE PEOPLE KV1 
 
 CHILDHOOD'S QNIVERSAL PRAYER 19 
 
 ( ONFRONTA TIONS 1 35 
 
 F -.v.-- I -OR HISTORY 137 
 
 HILDE HAROLD 139 
 
 NUPTIAL HYMN OF THE GREEKS 142 
 
 : ■: BUTTERFLY 115 
 
 LINES OH AN ALBUM 140 
 
 THESNAIL 147 
 
 THE WITHERED LEAF 148 
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAVES 140 
 
 PRAY FOR ME 152 
 
 CLASP THY LITTLE HANDS i§| 
 
 TEARS 150 
 
 WHAT 158 
 
 MUST I FORGET? 150 
 
 BEAUTY AND VIRTUE 101 
 
 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI 10sj 
 
 INVOCATION- TQ DEATH 164 
 
 THE ECHO OF THE HARP 105 
 
 DEATH ., ,,.,,, • , 160 
 
MOSSES 
 
 FROM A 
 
 ROLLING STONE. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF SPRING. 
 
 The Ice-King opened his frozen gate3 to hold high 
 court one day, 
 
 And his liege-men all were summoned there, duti- 
 ful homage to pay. 
 
 His palace was built of vemless blocks, hewn in 
 the frigid zone, 
 
 And lit with a gleam of rosy light from an Aurora 
 thrown. 
 
 His sea-green throne was a frozen wave brought 
 from the northern pole, 
 
 Which seemed with its frozen crest congealed ere 
 it had ceased to roll. 
 
 Drest in his dazzling robes he sat in his council- 
 chamber wide. 
 
10 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 And cast on its strong and lofty walls a glance of 
 
 haughty pride : 
 A sceptre of ice in his hand he held, which glittered 
 
 with many a gem ; 
 While the diamond and opal's changing light 
 
 flashed from his diadem. 
 His mantle of snow around him fell in many a spot- 
 less fold, 
 With an edge of lace-work, rich and light, wrought 
 
 by the Hoar-Frost cold. 
 He smiled as his warriors round him came, clad all 
 
 in frozen mail, 
 Their gleaming swords the icicles sharp — their 
 
 darts the rattling hail. 
 There stood the North- Wind, wrapped in clouds, 
 
 with his dark forbidding face, 
 The piercing East-Wind, clear and cold, with his 
 
 subtle, treacherous grace ; 
 And there was the still and silent Sleet, with his 
 
 armour glittering bright, 
 And the stinging Frost, both Black and Hoar, who 
 
 only work at night. 
 
 " My children," he said, " my liege-men bold, 
 hearken to my command — 
 
THE TKIUMPH OP SPKING. 11 
 
 Meddlesome Spring is seeking again to enter my 
 
 chosen land ; 
 When first she stole on me unawares and melted 
 
 my jewels bright, 
 I swore in my wrath I never would see the mis- 
 chievous, troublesome sprite ; 
 What care I for her bright green leaves, her buds 
 
 and flowers so gay ? 
 My mantle of snow and my icy gems are lovelier 
 
 far than they. 
 And sweeter, too, are my rushing winds with their 
 
 whistle keen and sharp, 
 Than the softest notes she ever drew from the 
 
 strings of her woodland harp. 
 Then hang my jewels on every bough, and let my 
 
 cold winds blow — 
 And, lest she hide in the bosom of earth, go, bury 
 
 it deep in snow. 
 For I'll let her know a king am I whom none dare 
 
 disobey, 
 In fetters of ice I'll bind her fast and sweep her 
 
 flowers away. 
 And if, in spite of my solemn oath, she seeks an 
 
 entrance here, 
 I order you all to drive her forth at the point of 
 
 sword and spear." 
 
12 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 They bowed them low at his behest, for he was a 
 
 mighty king, 
 And by his sceptre each one swore to conquer 
 
 treacherous Spring. 
 The North-Wind blew his rudest blast to meet the 
 
 Southern breeze, 
 While the silent Sleet, as the rain-drops fell, with 
 
 icicles gemmed the trees. 
 The lowering Snow-clouds veiled the Sun, lest 
 
 Spring should lurk in his ray, 
 And the Hoar-Frost sealed the earth like a stone to 
 
 drive her thence away : 
 And over the fields a pall was cast — a pall of whi- 
 test snow — 
 Beneath whose folds all life was chilled, and 
 
 Nature's pulse beat low. 
 And when from his throne, on the wings of the 
 
 storm, the Ice-King forth did ride, 
 He saw not a nook in all the land where he fancied 
 
 Spring could hide. 
 Each shrub, and tree, and blade of grass, that 
 
 peeped from the snowy pall, 
 Was cased in a sparkling sheen of ice that the Sleet 
 
 had laid on all. 
 The Sun was hid by a murky cloud that hung like 
 
 a gathering frown, 
 
THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 13 
 
 And the air was filled with the driving snow, that, 
 
 ghost-like floated down ; 
 While the breast of earth by the frost was raised, 
 
 as though it heaved a sigh 
 For the genial warmth of prisoned Sjjring, as the 
 
 frigid king rushed by. 
 (i Ha ! ha !" he shouted and dashed along, " this, 
 
 this is but sport to me, 
 The beauties of Spring, what are they, I pray, to 
 
 Winter's boisterous glee ?" 
 And then in his joy he tossed the snow in many a 
 
 drift and mound, 
 Rattling the ice-boughs till they cracked and fell 
 
 to the frozen ground. 
 But he wearied soon of such stormy sport, and slept 
 
 in his palace of snow, 
 " My liege-men " he said, " can conquer Spring, for 
 
 they hold all above and below. 1 ' 
 
 For a while fast bound in a chain of ice the deft- 
 fingered fairy lay, 
 
 But she silently kissed each frozen link till she 
 melted them all away : 
 
 With timid steps she slowly moved, till in every 
 warrior's breast 
 
14 MOSSES FBOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Suspicion of her near approach was wholly lulled 
 
 to rest. 
 Then, with gentle wiles each foe she plies till the 
 
 West-Winds gently play, 
 And the Snow-clouds melt before their breath, or, 
 
 spirit-like float away. 
 The silent Sleet next owns her power, and lets his 
 
 ice-darts fall, 
 As gently from the frozen earth she draws its snowy 
 
 pall; 
 The Frost no longer seals its breast, the fruit-trees 
 
 burst in bloom, 
 While the meek-eyed violet lifts its head and 
 
 sighs a sweet perfume. 
 But alas ! one day in her earnest zeal she bade the 
 
 Zephyrs blow, 
 And their balmy breath was wafted on to the Ice- 
 king's home of snow. 
 ( What, ho !" he cried, and started up, " I felt the 
 
 breath of Spring, 
 The lazy Zephyrs fan my brow, and birds begin to 
 
 sing." 
 Then he called for the treach'rous East- Wind cold, 
 
 and swept the startled land, 
 Till the Hoar-Frost worked and the rain-drops fell 
 
 once more at his command. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 15 
 
 His ice-clad warriors rose from sleep at his rattling 
 
 chariot's sound. 
 They waved their gleaming swords on high and 
 
 scattered their arrows round : 
 They shook the trees till the blossoms fell before 
 
 their stormy wrath, 
 And strewed them with their icy breath in the 
 
 angry monarch's path. 
 The Hoar-Frost stamped on the springing grass 
 
 and seared its tender blade ; 
 And the shivering mock-bird hushed his note, of 
 
 the driving blast afraid. 
 How often thus by Death's cold hand our joys are 
 
 snatched away, 
 While by his breath our bursting hopes are blighted 
 
 in a day ! 
 Yet the wounded heart can better bear affliction's 
 
 stormy night 
 Than the lingering death its love must die if cold 
 
 indifference blight. 
 But rouse ye ! hearts who mourn o'er this, take 
 
 courage from the fay, 
 And strive, like her, by loving wiles to melt the 
 
 frost away. 
 She had bravely fought 'gainst sleet and snow, the 
 
 driving hail and rain : 
 
16 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 She had stilled the North- Wind's rudest blast and 
 
 melted his icy chain. 
 With her balmy breath and her sunny smile she 
 
 worked with right good will, 
 Though the Hoar-Frost keen in the silent night did 
 
 terrible mischief still. 
 Around her steps lay blighted buds and withered 
 
 leaf and flower, 
 Yet she bravely said " I'll never yield to the Ice- 
 King's cruel power ; 
 For I'll hie me away to his frozen court in my robe 
 
 of brightest green, 
 And I'll melt his heart with such tender love he'll 
 
 woo me for his queen." 
 
 The Ice-King sat on his emerald throne — drest in 
 
 his robes of state, 
 But his warriors saw his heart was filled with wrath 
 
 and vengeful hate. 
 With a withering glance of rage and scorn he turned 
 
 to where they stood 
 " And so " he cried " the fairy Spring has made her 
 
 entrance good ; 
 Did I not bid ye ward to keep, and guard 'gainst 
 
 each device — 
 
THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 17 
 
 To bind her fast to the breast of Earth with an ada- 
 mant chain of ice ? 
 
 Ye are faithless servants, one and all, and I trust 
 you now no more, 
 
 But I myself, both night and day, will guard my 
 palace door. 1 ' 
 
 Slowly they turned and moved away, they could 
 not meet his look, 
 
 For a deadly languor o'er them crept, and all like 
 cowards shook. 
 
 But all unmoved the angry king walked slowly up 
 and down, 
 
 And dark and vengeful were his thoughts and ter- 
 rible his frown ; 
 
 He swore in an iceberg, strong and cold, he'd prison 
 the mischievous fay, 
 
 And bind it fast to the northern pole, out of the 
 reach of day. 
 
 Like muttering thunder — deep, not loud — his 
 sounding curses rolled 
 
 Through his spacious courts, his vacant halls, his 
 corridors lone and cold. 
 
 But hark ! a murmuring sound he hears, with dis- 
 tant music low : 
 
 Can it be the song of triumph raised by the con- 
 queror of his foe ? 
 
18 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 As he strode through his lonely silent halls to fling 
 
 the portal wide 
 He little dreamed she was smiling there — just on 
 
 the other side ! 
 
 But he knew her not when he saw her stand — a 
 
 maiden young and fair, 
 With the dewy buds of the pink moss-rose twined 
 
 in her golden hair ; 
 In her little hand a harp she bore, and the music 
 
 from its strings 
 Was the joyous song of the forest bird and the hum 
 
 of the wild bee's wings. 
 Like sporting Cupids by her side, attendant 
 
 Zephyrs danced, 
 And the rugged king forgot his wrath and stood 
 
 like one entranced. 
 Meekly to him she raised her eyes, of the deepest 
 
 violet blue, 
 While a mantling blush stole o'er her cheek like 
 
 the sunset's rosy hue ; 
 " I come," she said, " from a distant land whence I 
 
 fled from a mighty foe ; 
 A refuge I seek in your icy courts and palace of 
 
 sparkling snow." 
 
THE TRIUMPH OP SPRING. 19 
 
 " Come in, come in," the monarch said, " a beauti- 
 ful thing art thou, 
 With thy velvet robe of living green and the 
 
 flowers upon thy brow ; 
 And it may be our foe's the same — the mischievous 
 
 fairy Spring — 
 But she's worse, by far, than e'er I dreamed, to 
 
 harm such a tender thing. 
 Nay, shrink not, fair one, from my touch," he said 
 
 and kissed her brow, 
 " Thou hast sought a home in my icy courts — a 
 
 home and a heart hast thou." 
 And as he gazed on the lovely sprite his heart 
 
 began to glow, 
 For love sprang up in his frozen breast like violets 
 
 in the snow : 
 The gentle Zephyrs from his dress, unheeded, 
 
 plucked each gem, 
 They bore his sceptre of ice away and reft his dia- 
 dem; 
 He did not see his palace walls were melting fast 
 
 away, 
 He gazed alone with passionate love on that bright 
 
 and sparkling fay. 
 She nestled close to his frozen heart, its haughty 
 
 pride to melt, 
 
20 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Till he led her gently to his throne and at her foot- 
 stool knelt. 
 
 "Joy, joy!" she cried, u I've triumphed now, the 
 Ice-King kneels to Spring |" 
 
 He said not a word, but he bowed him low to the 
 tiny radiant thing, 
 
APIIIIODITK. SI 
 
 APHRODITE. 
 
 'Twas in the Spring-time of the world, 
 The sun's red banners were unfurled, 
 And slanting rays of golden light 
 Just kissed the billows tipped with white, 
 And through the water's limpid blue 
 Flashed down to where the sea-weed grew ; 
 While rainbow hues of every shade 
 Across the restless surface played. 
 Then, as the rays grew stronger still, 
 They sought the sea-girt caves to fill, 
 And sparkled on the treasures rare, 
 That all unknown were hidden there. 
 Roused by their warm electric kiss 
 The ocean thrilled with wak'ning bliss, 
 Its gasping sob and heaving breast 
 The power of in-born life confest. 
 But, though their waves were tossed ashore. 
 Upon their crests no life they bore. 
 
 Deep hidden in its darkest cave 
 Unmoved by current, wind or wave, 
 
$2 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 A purple shell, of changing shade, 
 
 By nature's careful hand was laid ; 
 
 The clinging sea-weed, green and brown, 
 
 With fibrous grasp still held it down 
 
 Despite the water's restless flow ; 
 
 But when they caught that deep'ning glow 
 
 They flushed with crimson, pink and gold, 
 
 And from the shell unclasped their hold. 
 
 Its shadowy bonds thus drawn aside, 
 
 It upward floated on the tide ; 
 
 But still its valves refuse to yield, 
 
 And still its treasure was concealed. 
 
 Close shut upon the waves it lay 
 
 Till warmly kissed by one bright ray, 
 
 When lo I its pearly tips unclose, 
 
 As ope the petals of the rose ; 
 
 And pure and fresh as morning dew 
 
 Fair Aphrodite rose to view. 
 
 First— like a startled child amazed — 
 
 On earth, and air, and sea she gazed, 
 
 Then shook the wavy locks of gold 
 
 That o'er her neck and bosom rolled, 
 
 Loosened the cestus on her breast, 
 
 'Gainst which her throbbing heart now prest ; 
 
 For ah ! its clasp could not restrain 
 
 The new-born life, that thrilled each vein, 
 
APHBODITE. 
 
 Flushed to her rosy fingers' tips, 
 And deeply dyed her parted lips, 
 Spread o'er her cheek its crimson glow 
 And tinged her heaving bosom's snow. 
 Conscious of beauty and its power 
 She owns the influence of the hour. 
 Instinct with life attempts to rise, 
 Her quick-drawn breath melts into sighs, 
 Her half elosed eyes in moisture swim, 
 And languid droops each rounded limb ; 
 With yielding grace her lovely head 
 Sinks back upon its pearly bed, 
 Where changing shades of pink attest 
 The sj>ot her glowing cheek hath prest, 
 There all entranced she silent lay, 
 Borne on 'mid showers of silvery spray, 
 Which caught the light and backward fell 
 In sparkling diamonds round her shell. 
 Thus, wafted by the western breeze, 
 Cythera's flowery isle she sees ; 
 Its spicy odours round her float, 
 And thither glides her purple boat ; 
 And, when its prow had touched the land, 
 There stepped upon the golden sand 
 With life, and love, and beauty warm, 
 A perfect woman's matchless form> 
 
24 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 The tale is old, yet always new 
 To every heart which proves it true ; 
 The limpid waters of the soul 
 In snow-crowned waves of feeling roll, 
 Until love's soft pervading light 
 Has into colour kissed the white. 
 And in its deep recesses shown 
 Rich treasures to itself unknown, 
 Though many restless sob and sigh 
 Nor ever learn the reason why ; 
 Whilst others wake with sudden start 
 To feel the glow pervade their heart, 
 Flash down beneath its surface swell 
 And shine on Passion's purple shell, 
 Change to the rainbow's varying hue 
 The ties it may not rend in two ; 
 Till doubts and fears which held it fast 
 Beneath Love's glow relax their grasr> ; 
 Slowly the net.work fades away 
 Like fleecy clouds at opening day, 
 And Passion woke by warmth and light 
 In dcep'ning shades springs into sight. 
 
 Cut man the shell too often holds, 
 Nor sees the beauty it enfolds ; 
 Its close shut valves refuse to part 
 And show the depths of woman's heart. 
 
APHBODITE. 25 
 
 And tossing on life's billows high 
 The purple shell unoped may lie, 
 Till cast on Death's cold, rocky shore, 
 Its life and longing both are o'er. 
 But if Love's warm entrancing light 
 Shall kiss the parting lips aright, 
 And wake to life the beauty rare 
 Which nature's self hath hidden there, 
 Beneath his soft enraptured smile 
 'Tis wafted to the flowery isle, 
 And Aphrodite steps ashore 
 A perfect woman — nothing more. 
 
26 MOSSES FROM A~ROLLING STONE. 
 
 THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 
 
 The Rio San Antonio is one of the most beautiful streams 
 in Texas. It bursts from a basin of white lime-stone, twenty 
 feet deep and nine or ten in circumference, the irregular sides 
 of which are covered to the bottom with water-cresses in every 
 stage of vegetation, from the vivid green of the half-open leaf 
 to the crimson and yellow of the passing one ; so the Spring, 
 when the sun shines into it, seems lined with a tapestry of 
 jewels woven on a ground-work of silver. Near it may gen- 
 erally be found in bloom a small white lily, as fragrant as the 
 tube-rose, Avhich springs up after every shower, and, in a sin- 
 gle night, will cover the prairie as the stars the heavens. Ita 
 pure white chalice is a fit emblem of the perfect love shadowed 
 forth in the following allegory : 
 
 On the borders of a river 
 
 i 
 In our sunny southern land, 
 
 Long ago a fairy princess 
 
 Dwelt with her attendant band. 
 Hidden from all mortal vision 
 
 Was each tiny elfin shajDe, 
 Seeming now a darting sunbeam 
 
 'Mid the olive and the grape : 
 Now a sparkle on the river 
 
 As it gurgling glides along, 
 
the water-sprite'sjbridal. 27 
 
 Whilst its ever murmuring ripple 
 
 Was the echo of their song. 
 Sporting in its limpid coolness 
 
 If they splashed the water high, 
 It was but the cascade foaming 
 
 When it met a mortal's eye ; 
 If in fairy frolic leaped they 
 
 From the river in their play, 
 Instantly they seemed bright rainbows 
 
 Woven in the dashing spray. 
 If they lurked 'mid leafy shadows 
 
 Quivering sunbeams sparkled there, 
 If they danced upon the meadow 
 
 Dewy fragrance filled the sir. 
 Lights and sounds of nature were they 
 
 Unto mortal eye and ear, 
 But the Water-Sprite might see them 
 
 In their fairy forms appear. 
 Hid behind the cascade's curtain, 
 
 Lurking in the golden sand, 
 Peeping from some mossy crevice, 
 Oft he watched the fairy band. 
 Carelessly they bathed and sported, 
 
 Little dreaming they were seen, 
 Feeding thus his growing passion 
 For their loved and lovely queen. 
 
28 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Eagerly lie watched her daily 
 
 As she laid her robes aside, 
 And, with her attendant maidens, 
 
 Plunged into the cooling tide. 
 There each day she longer lingered 
 
 Whilst his passion stronger grew, 
 Till he almost was a mortal 
 
 In the suffering that he knew. 
 Now with rainbow hopes elated, 
 
 Then in deep and black despair 
 Trembling with his sweet emotion, 
 
 Swayed by trifles light as air. 
 Luring her with wiles most loving 
 
 To the shady river side, 
 Rushing, when he saw her coming, 
 
 'Neath the lily leaves to hide. 
 
 But one day the fairy came not, 
 
 In the meadow did not stray, 
 Though he listened, watched and waited 
 
 Through a long, long summer's day. 
 Bursting then each fear that bound him 
 
 All his passion uncontrolled 
 Wildly leaping in his bosom, 
 
 Through his veins like lava rolled. 
 Eagerly he sought his treasure 
 
 All along the river side, 
 
THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 29 
 
 Burning now to tell the feeling 
 
 Heretofore he sought to hide. 
 In a wooded dell he found her 
 
 Weeping 'neath a linden tree, 
 Not a thought of self came o'er him 
 
 As he lowly bent his knee. 
 " "Who hath wounded thee, my darling ? " 
 
 Were the words that from him burst — ■ 
 Not his passion, but her sorrow — 
 
 Stirred his gen'rous spirit first. 
 Starting from him in amazement, 
 
 Up the little beauty sprang, 
 And the pride of all her lineage 
 
 In her startled accents rang : 
 " Wherefore do you dare to seek me 
 
 When I fain would be alone ?" 
 But he saw surprise was struggling 
 
 With the anger of her tone. 
 Lifted were the gates of silence, 
 
 Love, like wine, now made him bold, 
 Wondering at his former shyness 
 
 AW his passion then he told. 
 Anger vanished as she listened, 
 
 Trembling with a new-born bliss, 
 Timidly she nestled to him 
 
 Ancl returned his glowing kiss. 
 
30 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 In a warm, bright stream, electric 
 
 To her lip his passion thrilled, 
 And with rosy hues advancing 
 
 All her wakened spirit rilled. 
 Like a lily-bud unfolding, 
 
 In the flowery month of May, 
 To his love her soul expanded 
 
 As upon his heart she lay. 
 Love — the pure ethereal passion — 
 
 Wells from nature's throbbing heart, 
 And, though mortals quaff it deepest, 
 
 Spirits also claim a part. 
 With its joy they taste its sorrow, 
 
 So the Wood-Nymph and the Sprite 
 Found that nature's bright elixir 
 
 Was not all unmixed delight. 
 Waking from his blissful reverie 
 
 In her ear he whispers low, 
 " Wilt thou wed with me, my darling V 
 
 And she sighing answers, " No ; 
 Knowst thou not that woodland fairies 
 
 Only wed among themselves ? 
 We are flowers, and, like them, wither 
 
 If we mate with other elves. 
 Should I yield me to thy wooing 
 
 I'd no longer be a fay, 
 
THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 31 
 
 Wedded to a Water-Spirit 
 
 All my power would fade away." 
 « But," lie pleaded, " in my kingdom 
 
 Thou wilt share the power that's mine, 
 For the moment that I clasp thee 
 
 Half my nature melts'in thine ; 
 Queen of both the land and water 
 
 Shall my little princess reign, 
 Neither land nor Water-Spirit, 
 
 But a mingling of the twain." 
 
 Thus he wooed — and wooing won her ; 
 
 Doubts and fears were laid aside, 
 And she passed into the river 
 As the Water-Spirit's bride. 
 To his bosom fondly clinging 
 
 Downward from the light of day, 
 Downward from the sun and'flowers, 
 
 Sank the half unconscious fay ; 
 Down to where earth's deepest fountains 
 
 Bubbled from their sands of gold, 
 And her subterranean rivers 
 
 From theiivhidden; sources rolled. 
 Cold and dark tocher those caverns, 
 
 Which to him were warm and bright, 
 And but half a Water-Spirit 
 Soon she trembled with affright. 
 
MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Tenderly he soothed and cheered her, 
 
 Drew her closer to his side, 
 
 As her lingering fairy nature 
 
 Vainly she essayed to hide. 
 
 But he felt it quivering in her — 
 
 Saw his bliss to her was pain, 
 
 And so true and pure his passion 
 
 That he bore her back again. 
 Then, the long imprisoned river 
 Following as he upward went, 
 With a mighty leap exultant 
 
 Through its rocky arches rent — 
 Rent them as love rends the fetters 
 
 Prudence doth 'gainst passion urge, 
 When the glowing waves of feeling 
 
 In a mortal's bosom surge. 
 Darkly through its hidden caverns 
 Still the river might have rushed, 
 But the rock by love was smitten 
 
 And its waters outward gushed. 
 Onward, upward, bubbling, gurgling 
 
 In a silver stream they rise, 
 Till in sunlight 'mid the flowers 
 
 Once again the fairy lies. 
 Welling from a rocky basin, 
 Shaded by o'erhangingMnes, 
 
THE WATER-SPRITE'S BRIDAL. 33 
 
 Peaceful as a sleeping infant, 
 Now the placid water shines. 
 
 Thus the fairy legend telleth 
 
 Yonder winding river first, 
 As a Spirit's bridal chamber 
 
 From its rocky sources burst. 
 Not for it the small beginning 
 
 " Winning tribute as it flows," 
 But at once in perfect being 
 
 Aphrodite-like it rose. 
 Sacred unto Sprite and Fairy 
 
 Still its lovely birth-place seems, 
 For the sparkle of their presence 
 
 On its water ever gleams. 
 Rainbow tints are o'er it glinting, 
 
 Silver rocks around it shine, 
 Whilst like tapestry the cresses 
 
 All its inner chambers line. 
 Every hue that autumn flingeth 
 
 O'er the leaves that wave in air, 
 Mingled with the green of summer, 
 
 Have the fairies woven there ; 
 Shining through the limpid waters 
 
 Every perfect leaflet bright 
 Sparkles like a brilliant jewel 
 
 With an opalescent light. 
 
34 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Wood-land flowers of every color 
 
 Round the rocky sides are hung, 
 Whilst o'er all a misty vapor 
 
 Like a silver veil is flung. 
 Snowy lilies round it glisten 
 
 Shedding fragrance on the air, 
 Emblems of the tricksy spirits, 
 
 Who are ever hov'ring there ; 
 " Almanitas," I have named them, 
 
 For it meaneth " little fairy, 1 ' 
 And, like Sprites, they come and vanish 
 
 From the bosom of the prairie ; 
 Springing after every shower, 
 
 Soon their starry blooms appear, 
 Fresh and pure as crystal dew-drops, 
 
 In all seasons of the year. 
 Neither land nor water-lilies, 
 
 But a mingling of the twain, 
 Seeming from the clouds descending 
 
 In the falling droj)s of rain. 
 
 Like a shining silver ribbon, 
 Waving in a gentle breeze, 
 .Onward glides the winding river 
 
 Under overhanging trees. 
 Sleeping now in darkest shadow 
 Still and deep its water flows, 
 
THE WATER-SPRITE 'S BRIDAL. 35 
 
 Flashing like a stream of diamonds, 
 
 Laughing, leaping, on it goes ; 
 But a magic spell is o'er it, 
 
 Haunting all its winding way, 
 With the mem'ry of that wooing 
 
 And the Spirit's bridal day. 
 
36 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 LA PURISSIMA CONCEPTION. 
 
 The Spanish Missions in, and around, San Antonio de Bexar 
 are the most interesting features of the place ; the Alamo is too 
 well known to need more than a passing notice. It is within 
 the city limits and is used by the U. S. government as a quar" 
 ter master's depot; but La Purissima Conception, San Josa 
 and San Juan de Capestrana are given up to the owls, bats and 
 a few Mexicans of the lowest class. They all lie on the San 
 Antonio river, the towers of one being just visible from tha 
 roof of the next. They were originally strongly fortified. The 
 chapel and cloisters of the monks stood in the centre of a pla- 
 za which was surrounded by a stone wall, against the inner 
 side of which were the jacals, or huts of the Indians under 
 their care ; at the gate of this wall was a guard-house in which 
 were the quarters of the Spanish soldiers, a certain number of 
 whom were allowed to each Mission for protection. La Garita 1 
 or the watch-tower, stands on an eminence about a mile from 
 the city, in the American cemetery. It commands a view of 
 the country for miles around, and when the war parties of the 
 hostile Carancahues, or "flesh-eaters," who, as their name 
 eignifies, were cannibals, came down, it was the duty of the 
 sentinel stationed there to light a fire on its roof. This signal 
 could be seen at La Conception, thence it was passed to San 
 JoBe and San Juan, and the flocks of the good fathers, warned 
 by the loud tolling of the bell, hurried from the fields around 
 to the fold of the Mission until the danger had passed. 
 
 Where the hills of GaudaloupG into rolling prai- 
 rie sink, 
 
 Stands a quaint old SjDanish Mission close beside 
 the river's brink : 
 
LA PUHISSIMA CONCEPTION. &7 
 
 For a hundred years deserted, still it grimly lifts 
 its head 
 
 Like a skeleton all ghastly, speaking of the moul- 
 dering dead. 
 
 La Purissiina Conception it was called in other 
 days, 
 
 When its gray old walls resounded with Francis- 
 can hymns of praise. 
 
 As the deep-toned Spanish soldier answered to the 
 
 holy friar, 
 Whilst the dusky Indian maidens sweetly chanted 
 
 in the choir. 
 
 Then, the effigies unbroken, of the Virgin and her 
 
 child, 
 High above the pointed door-way on the simple 
 
 people smiled; 
 
 And the bell at morn and even gently called them 
 unto prayer, 
 
 Or with loud and solemn ringing sent its warning- 
 through the air. 
 
 Now, its glory has departed. La Purissima no 
 
 more, 
 Steads were in the chapel stabled, camp-fires lit 
 
 upon its floor ; 
 
38 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Cross and altar both have vanished, and the figures 
 
 cut in stone 
 Looking downward from their niches, gaze upon a 
 
 wreck alone. 
 
 For the vacquero is dwelling in the cloister of the 
 
 friar, 
 And the bat comes forth at even from the rafters of 
 
 the choir. 
 
 Here one eve I upward clambered, whilst the rub- 
 bish round me fell, 
 
 Till I stood within that tower where was hung the 
 mission bell ; 
 
 At my feet the rolling prairie, like a boundless 
 
 ocean lay, 
 And the snowy horned poppies crested every wave 
 
 with spray ; 
 
 Here and there, like white feluccas, anchored in a 
 
 sea of green, 
 Cots of ranchSros were standing, whilst the cattle 
 
 grazed between. 
 
 Like a crowded port the city lay beside a fringe of 
 wood, 
 
 In the midst its old cathedral, like a battered war- 
 ship stood. 
 
LA PURISSIMA CONCEPTION. 39 
 
 Northward lay the Verimandi where the gallant 
 
 Milam died, 
 And La Casa de la Garza stood upon the other 
 
 side ; 
 
 Both baptized with blood of patriots at the storm- 
 ing of the town, 
 
 They will stand in freedom's story when their walla 
 have crumbled down. 
 
 Watching o'er them, to the eastward, rose the far- 
 famed Alamo, 
 
 With the ashes of its heroes mould'ring in the soil 
 below. 
 
 To Sparta from its glorious field Thermopylae sent 
 
 one — 
 To bear its message of defeat the Alamo had 
 
 none. 
 
 Southward by the winding river loomed the towers 
 
 of San Jos6,* 
 While San Juanf de Capestrana on the blue horizon 
 
 lay. 
 
 Like a light-house La Garita rose alone amid the 
 dead, 
 
 * Pronounced San Ho-say. 
 t Pronounced San Whan. 
 
40 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Whence of yore the fiery beacon, warning of the 
 savage, spread. 
 
 For in those old days of peril every Mission was a 
 
 fort, 
 And the carv6d saints yet standing watched above 
 the soldier's court. 
 
 Which with massive walls protected priest and 
 
 neophyte from harm ; 
 Winding round the church and cloisters, like a 
 
 strong encircling arm. 
 
 For a fell simoon descending came the fierce Car- 
 
 ancahue,* 
 Sweeping o'er the startled country, like a ravening 
 
 beast of prey. 
 
 And a sentinel watched ever in the belfry square 
 
 and high, 
 For a sign from La Garita that the savage foe was 
 
 nigh. 
 
 If its beacon smoke ascended, then, the great bell's 
 
 booming sound, 
 Gathered in the friendly Indians from the country 
 
 all around. 
 
 * Pronounced Carankaway. 
 
LA PURISSIMA COXCErTION. 41 
 
 For the Mission gates were opened offering refuge 
 
 unto all, 
 \Yhile the sacred cross uplifted stood uponthe outer 
 
 wall. 
 
 Now, their battlements have fallen, but these grand 
 
 old chapels gray, ' 
 Though deserted, stand defying ruthless man and 
 
 time's decay. 
 
 Nobly wrought those brave Franciscans, head com- 
 bined with heart and hand, 
 
 And the towers of these old Missions as their sacred 
 tomb-stones stand. 
 
 Oh ! as such let all respect them, and whatever faith 
 
 they hold, 
 Guard from vandal desecration monuments so 
 
 grand and bold. 
 
42 Wmm FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 "IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." 
 
 " It might have been." *Jn these tour \ronls how 
 
 much of feeling lies ; 
 No sadder wail can from a emptied and bleeding- 
 heart arise. 
 For grief is e'er most bitter, when with skillful 
 
 artist hand 
 She bids the joys which might have been before 
 
 the sufferer stand. 
 Whilst happiness glows like the diamond yet more 
 
 purely bright, 
 If with black sorrow we contrast its opalescent 
 
 light. 
 As tears will from the eyelid with both joy and 
 
 sorrow start — 
 " It might have been \ n bursts with each wave of 
 
 feeling from the heart. 
 When Death, the reaper, leaves the fields of ripe 
 
 and golden grain, 
 To wield his sickle 'mid the flowers which round 
 
 our hearths we train, 
 >Yhen withered buds and blossoms mark his sten 
 
 |jrom door to door. 
 
W IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." 43 
 
 Till scarce a threshold's left his foot has not passed 
 
 o'er. 
 How will the mother on whose hearth-stone he has 
 
 failed to tread, 
 When for the grave she wreaths some lovely little- 
 golden head, 
 Sigh in the fullness of a heart surcharged with 
 
 solemn joy, 
 For this it might have been my fate to deck your 
 
 brow — my boy — 
 While the crushed heart of her, whose bud wa s 
 
 blighted ere 'twas blown, 
 Turns from each smiling babe to cry, " thus might 
 
 have been my own.'' 
 When in the mellow ripeness of its love the soul 
 
 doth strive 
 To keep the dead cold ash.es of a youthful flame 
 
 alive, 
 And, with the richness of life's tide throbbing in 
 
 every vein. 
 Seeks in another heart to pour its rare old wine 
 
 again. 
 Bringing a tempered, glowing passion to the self- 
 same shrine 
 On which in earlier years the leaping, changing 
 
 flame did shine. 
 
44 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 How often Avill it find its golden image turned to 
 
 lead, 
 Its wild flower wreath of feeling withered — all its 
 
 rose-buds dead — 
 "Whilst in that barren soil the passion flowers of 
 
 later life 
 Refuse to spread their crimson petals with rich 
 
 perfume rife. 
 Oh ! then will it not cry, u had I been wiser in my 
 
 spring, 
 What bright and fragrant blo3sons might my glow- 
 ing summer bring." 
 And, as it sighing thinks how fair its present might 
 
 have been, 
 Crush all love's genial warmth and tenderness — not 
 
 out — but in. 
 For, like green moss on crumbling walls, there's 
 
 many a heart which lives 
 Feeding itself but on the thoughts the past unto it 
 
 gives ; 
 Whilst in its core remorse with its relentless hand 
 
 doth turn 
 The barbed grief, which there unseen doth ever fret 
 
 and burn, 
 Seeking no sharper, fiercer torture to avenge a 
 
 sin 
 
" IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." 45 
 
 Than thai which hidden lies wrapped in the 
 
 thought, tv it might have been. 11 
 Then, in the night, like ghosts, neglected duties 
 
 rise, 
 And whisper to the conscious heart, " 'tis here the 
 
 evil lies ; 
 It' thisjou had but done, or thai had but forborne 
 
 to Clo, 
 The pang which pierces now your soul might have 
 
 been spared to you." 
 For ah ! we truest measure sorrow — not by present 
 
 grief— 
 But by that rankling' pang to which time brings 
 
 us no relief; 
 lie who has not Written on "the red leave-- of 
 
 \\\> heart " 
 ■• It might have been^ knows not griefs keenest-, 
 
 sharpest dart ; 
 V^v in life's wake these solemn words forever more 
 
 must glide, 
 Feeding, like a grim shark, on the dead hopes 
 
 we've east aside. 
 
46 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 PASSION FLOWERS. 
 
 Some time beside her path a stately tropic plant 
 
 had stood, 
 And though she knew that it could bloom, she 
 
 dreamed not that it would ; 
 So, carelessly she brushed its leaves aside, and 
 
 'neath their shade 
 She sought pale lilies of the vale, which, wet with 
 
 dew, she laid 
 Upon her bosom, where more fragrant every hour 
 
 they grew, 
 And, though their bells might droop, their perfume 
 
 was forever new. 
 Well may the French in liquid accents call them 
 
 " Je vous aime,'' 
 No other flower so well becomes a soft and loving 
 
 name ; 
 Fit emblem of that peaceful love that passion never 
 
 knows, 
 Which like a glistening pearl beside a flashing dia- 
 mond glows. 
 
PASSION FtOWEKS. 47 
 
 'Twas in an atmosphere of this unchanging love 
 
 she dwelt, 
 Drew in its subtle fragrance with each breath — 
 
 unseen — but felt. 
 No deep emotion stirred the placid waters of her 
 
 soul, 
 But loving words and tender looks like low, sweet 
 
 music stole 
 O'er every sense ; it was a melody made in the 
 
 heart, 
 This love which with her grew, until of life itself 
 
 it seemed a part. 
 One morn, ah ! I remember well, she stood trans- 
 fixed — amazed— 
 For lo ! that stately plant burst into bloom e'en 
 
 while she gazed, 
 If buds it had, so like the leafy green to her they 
 
 seemed, 
 She had not looked for flowers, and fancied still 
 
 she dreamed. 
 " What !" said she, " is this beauty and this fra- 
 grance all my own, 
 Or has some spell of magic power been o'er me 
 
 thrown ?" 
 The summer breeze bent down the boughs with 
 
 floral treasures hung, 
 
48 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 And at her feet the gorgeous blossoms lavishly 
 
 were flung ; 
 Their long curved pistils outward fxnit liMe tongues 
 
 of flame. 
 And from each crimson tithe n rich ami subtle 
 
 essence eamf, 
 A sweet perfume, as though all India's spicy odors 
 
 blent. 
 To overwhelm with one intoxicating, fragrant 
 
 scent. 
 Subdued and overpowered— she stood awhile like 
 
 one afraid, 
 Then suddenly to grasp a llower most eagerly 
 
 essayed ; 
 With nervous haste she caught the thickly falling 
 
 blossoms up, 
 And breathed the fatal incense streaming' from each 
 
 scarlet cup. 
 Unheeded at her feet the unobtrusive lilies 
 
 lay, 
 Which, till that mora, she had been wont to gather 
 
 every day ; 
 For now the diamond's brilliaail ray iir>t flashed 
 
 upon her sight, 
 And with its shifting rainbow hues obscured the 
 
 peaiTs pale light. 
 
PASSION FLOWERS. 49 
 
 Not * w Jcvous aiine," but Passion Flowers upon her 
 
 heart she laid, 
 And fondly fancied — all ! vain hope — their beauty 
 
 could not fade. 
 More and more lovely— for a while — and far more 
 
 fragrant, too. 
 "flic broad green leaves and rich red blossoms to 
 
 her fancy grew, 
 Whilst she — luxuriating in their beauty and their 
 
 scent — „ 
 Too late discovered all was in their opening glory 
 
 SIKllf. 
 
 Unlike the >- Je vous aime,' 1 still, fragrant when 
 
 their bells were dead, 
 These Passion Flowers were scentless ere their 
 
 crimson hues had fled ; 
 Xo wintry blast, no summer's storm their glowing 
 
 netals tried. 
 Burst by a single breath in bloom — as suddenly 
 
 they died. 
 Remembering them all other flowers to her have 
 
 scentless grqfvn, 
 And now, along life's weary path, she finds but 
 
 thorns alone. 
 
50 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE!. 
 
 WANDERING TENDRILS. 
 
 As the frail vine, which closely elings 
 
 Around the tree it hath entwined, 
 Some wandering tendrils outward flings, 
 
 Another resting place to find ; 
 So did my fancy turn to thee, 
 
 And fate the search has kindly blest ; 
 For though the vine quits not the tree, 
 
 Some of its tendrils round thee rest. 
 
 By careless eyes these links unseen 
 
 Shall lengthen whereso'er I go, 
 And memory keep each tendril green 
 
 Which fancy from my soul may throw. 
 Though brighter flowers for thee may bloom, 
 
 Or greener vines may closer twine, 
 My heart shall feel no jealous gloom, 
 
 Contented with its share of thine. 
 
 Then murmur not, nor e'er repine 
 That fate has cast our lots apart. ; 
 
 For fancy's tendrils still shall twine 
 Elastic links around thy heart. 
 
WANDERTNC. TENDRILS. 
 
 51 
 
 And though wc meet not face to face, 
 Yet soul to soul we still may cling, 
 
 And feel We've each a resting place, 
 
 Where wandering tendrils we may fling. 
 
MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 THE GRAY NORTHER. 
 
 The northwest winds, or as they are culled in Texas, " North- 
 ers " are of three kinds, known as wet, clear and gray North- 
 ers: these last are by far the most severe, as they are not 
 accompanied by rain, which generally moderates the wind, or 
 cheered by thai bright sunshine which renders a Clear Norther, 
 when not too violent, rather exhilarating than otherwise.' The 
 Gray Norther, on the contrary, seems lo depress man and beast, 
 mind and body; il is preceded by a deep sullen silence: 
 not a cloud or ray of sunshine enlivens or variegates the skies. 
 all is one deep, sombre gray; the cattle leave the plains and 
 seek the shelter of the hollows ; cows, deer, horses, and even 
 wolves, are sometimes seen huddled together. Suddenly the 
 dead silence is broken by a distant rumbling noise which 
 increases as the wind advances, until, like a. ila^li of lightning, 
 it breaks with full force on the plain. 
 
 Th; 1 sky i-; all our leaden gray, 
 No shifting clouds across it play, 
 No gleam of sunshine there appears, 
 No rain falls clown like softening tears, 
 No thunder mutters in the air, 
 No quivering lightning flashes there. 
 The earth's as changeless as the sky. 
 The prairie doth all waveless lie. 
 No sound the fearful silence breaks. 
 No wind the feath'ry Mesquite shakes. 
 
THE GRAY NOIiTIIER. 53 
 
 Its long dry pods of brownish red 
 
 Hang by a single withered thread, 
 
 But not a leaf comes rustling down. 
 
 Though every shrub is sere and lu-own, 
 
 Save where the Frejolillo* green 
 
 Weaves round yon spring a sheltering screen. 
 
 The prickly Cactus, long and round, 
 
 Stands on each spot of barren ground, 
 
 Or, like green serpents in the grass, 
 
 Lurks prompt to wound us as we pass. 
 
 All leafless stand the tall Pecans, f 
 
 The dry GuizacheJ shows its thorns 
 
 "Which hidden hieath its foliage lay, 
 
 But reft of that, stand bare and gray. 
 
 From tree to tree no birds now fly, 
 
 All shivering in their nests they lie, 
 
 While every creature frightened looks ; 
 
 The cattle cower in sheltered nooks, 
 
 And with them herd the timid deer, 
 
 While both stand trembling — mute with fear ; 
 
 Awe-stricken nature, hushed and still, 
 
 Expectant seems of coming ill. 
 
 Now o'er the prairie's broad expanse 
 
 The cold Gray Norther doth advance, 
 
 * Pronounced Frc-ho-lile-yo. 
 t Pronounced Pccauns. 
 ; i'ronounced^We-satch-ee, 
 
54 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 On, on it comes, with sullen roar, 
 
 Like waves upon a distant shore, 
 
 It strikes the trees — they groan and shake. 
 
 The dead leaves fall, the dry pods break, 
 
 While surging waves across the grass 
 
 In quick succession rise and pass. 
 
 Tis thus with life — how gray it seems — 
 
 No ray of sunshine o'er it gleams 
 
 When summer friends have east their green. 
 
 And bare and sharp its thorns are seen, 
 
 Or lurking in our comforts lie, 
 
 To wound us sharper, by and by. 
 
 When withered hopes hang by a thread, 
 
 Or day by day fall sere and dead ; 
 
 And fancies, fluttering warm and bright 
 
 Upon each branching thought to light, 
 
 Lie hushed and still within the breast 
 
 Like timid birds upon their nest. 
 
 When Heaven itself is hid by clouds, 
 
 And dark despair the spirit shrouds, 
 
 As in the future, more and more 
 
 We mark the coming Norther's roar. 
 
 It strikes our hearts — they shrink and quake 
 
 And from them wails of anguish break, 
 
 As o'er the past we wildly weep, 
 
 When surging waves of memory sweep 
 
THE OB AY KOBTHEB. 55 
 
 Acroea the present, sere and dry 
 As prairies 'neath a winter sky. 
 But yet, the heart that seeks aright 
 Will always find some green in sight, 
 If life's cold Northers, wet or gray, 
 Sweep not its sheltering faith away. 
 Which rooted in eternal springs 
 Around the soul its mantle flings. 
 
56 MOSSES FKOM A KOLLIKG STONE. 
 
 THE WINE OF LIFE. 
 
 k - Friendship is the wine of our lh e8.''— Dr. Young 
 
 Yes, friendship is the wine of life 
 
 That from the heart is pressed, 
 And those for whom it freely flows, 
 
 And only those are blessM. 
 I would not give the cheering draughts, 
 
 From many hearts I've won, 
 For all the riches of the earth, 
 
 Or jewels 'neath the sun. 
 As different grapes yield different wines, 
 
 So does my heart distil 
 A different love from every friend, 
 
 Its many wants to fill. 
 
 When o'er my soul no shadow hangs, 
 
 When all within is well, 
 I long for sparkling, bright Champagne, 
 
 Or calm, but pure Moselle. 
 When doubts, like thorns, beset my path, 
 
 When trials press me near, 
 I need the strength Madeira gives, 
 
 My troubled soul to clear. 
 
THE WINE OF LIFE, 57 
 
 And when I droop 'neatli sickness' wing, 
 
 When mind and body sink, 
 Or sorrow's curtains round me fall, 
 
 Of generous Port I'd drink. 
 
 Some hearts there are that yield me all ; 
 
 In whom I may confide 
 For every wine that friendship hath, 
 
 Whatever fate betide. 
 Who give me strength when trials press, 
 
 And hope in hours of pain, 
 Or for my pleasure freely pour 
 
 Moselle and bright Champagne. 
 While others whom I truly love, 
 
 Unyielding as the rock, 
 Will disappoint my thirsty soul, 
 
 Or give me bitter Hock. 
 
 Then, as I tread life's winding path, 
 
 I'll pluck from every vine 
 The grapes that seem most like to yield 
 
 My soul its spirit wine. 
 Though some may fail to soothe or cheer, 
 
 In others still Til trust, 
 For I must love, although life's wine 
 
 Is only poured en dust,- 
 4 
 
58 MOSSES FBOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 So shall niy heart, untouched by age. 
 Believe in friendship's truth, 
 
 And feel that time hath not the power 
 To steal away its youth. 
 
MY SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE, 59 
 
 MY SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE. 
 
 I've been, since I left thee, -with friends, warm ant] 
 
 true. 
 And my spirit hath tasted affection's pure dew ; 
 But yet, like the lily which droops for the sun, 
 I've pined for thee sadly, my own darling one. 
 
 As the gem hath no brightness when light is 
 
 denied, 
 So, dark is my soul if away from thy side; 
 For thy love is the sunlight beneath whose bright 
 
 ray 
 The sparkles of feeling most brilliantly play. 
 
 And now that the wave of affection doth meet 
 "With the barrier of absence, it casts at thy feet 
 The treasures it brings from the depths of my 
 
 heart, 
 And, ''spray-like," doth into "bright utterance" 
 
 start. 
 
 I know that my portrait still hangs in thy soul. 
 The sweet notes of mem'ry across it still roll. 
 
GO MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 Like the perfume that lingers when the roses are 
 
 crushed, 
 The echo of song, when the music is hushed. 
 
 I feel that my image time cannot efface — 
 Yet I fear that another may sit in my place, 
 That my seat by thy hearth, where affection doth 
 
 burn. 
 May not always be vacant until I return. 
 
 But I will not believe it, the spirit doth keep 
 Its vigil by night, when the sense is aslee]) ; 
 And then on the pinions of love I will flee, 
 For strength and for comfort, my darling, to thee. 
 
 Say, comes there not unto thee moments of bliss, 
 When the Past and the Future seem stooping to 
 
 kiss ; 
 When Mem'ry is holding the torch-light of Hope, 
 And time-withered pleasures beneath it rc-ope \ 
 
 When all that was sad in its glow disappears, 
 And pleasure, long hoped for, so vividly nears. 
 That the present is lost in the light that is cast, 
 By mem'ry and hope o'er the future and past ? 
 
itl SPIRIT IS CALLING TO THINE. 01 
 
 Then, then, when these mingled rays oyer thee 
 
 shine, 
 Oh, think that my spirit is calling to thine; 
 And let thy soft answer come back on my ear 
 So thrilling!}* sweet, that, though sleeping. I'll 
 
 hear. 
 
02 MOPRES FROM A ROLLTNG STONE. 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 ••And here again was the Bcarlet misery glittering on the old 
 ppot ! So it ever is, whethether typified or no, that an evil 
 deed invests itself with the character ol doom."— Hawthorn. 
 
 I hear it forever ! It sounds in my ear 
 
 Like the sigh of the Pine when the wind-cloud is 
 
 near, 
 Or the moan of the ocean that sobs on the shore, 
 When wailing the wrath of the storm that is o'er 
 
 As the ghost of the miser, in slumber unblest, 
 Haunts ever the spot where its treasure doth rest ; 
 Sad mem'ry returns unto days that have fled. 
 And the "deadpast" seeks vainly to "bury its dead." 
 
 No hope hath my soul this refrain shall cease, 
 Time doth not assuage — Death will not release. 
 More sad than the raging of passion or hate 
 Is the voice of despair, when it whispers c> toolate!" 
 
 Too late to amend — too late to atone, 
 
 'Tis grief unavailing that's left me alone. 
 
 For the red stain of sin, though we steep it in tears 
 
 Like a scar on the soul, through life re-appears. 
 
TOO LATE. 68 
 
 The head of the mountain, though hoary with 
 
 snow, 
 Cools not the fierce fire that rages below ; 
 And if the hot lava has rolled down its side, 
 Kind nature seeks vainly the traces to hide^ 
 
 Oh, Faith, canst thou whisper no comfort to 
 
 those 
 Whose hearts, like the Geyser, boil e'en in repose ? 
 Untamed by misfortune, unsated with sin, 
 Yet longing for peace and comfort within. 
 
 Still paving the road which leads unto death, 
 With good resolutions that melt with a breath- 
 Still hoping 'gainst hope that they backward have 
 
 prest 
 The fiery passions that boil in each breast, 
 
 That belief is triumphant, and banished each doubt, 
 The Geyser extinct— the volcano burnt out — 
 Till despair lowly whispers, "This, this is thy fate, 
 To yield to the stream, and lament when too late-^ 
 
04 MOSSED FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 THE FALLEN IDOL: 
 
 I'll rend not tlic veil of my spirit £tpart : 
 The silence of midnight shall circle my heart ; 
 None, none shall suspect there is deep in its core 
 The beak of the Raven, who croaks " Neverpiore.' 1 
 
 I'll show not to any the skeleton guest^ 
 
 That unbidden is making its home in my breast ; 
 Like the Spa?rtah, the wolf in my bosom I'll hide. 
 And cover my wound with the mantle Of Pride. 
 
 Oh, have you ne'er watched the cold ashen gray. 
 That steals o'er a cloud, as the sun fades away \ 
 His light gave the beauty it seemed to enfold ; 
 And with it departed the crimson and gold. 
 
 'Tis thus with the idol my bosom enshrined — 
 Green, green were the tendrils around it entwined ; 
 Now, the image is shattered, and with it my trust ; 
 And the vine of affection is withering in dust. 
 
 But I'll gather the fragments and raise it again ; 
 The world shall not know that my worship was 
 vain. 
 
THE FALLEN IDOL. <>•> 
 
 Pride, prid.* shall spring nj> where affection once 
 bloomed, 
 
 And watch o'er the spot where my love is en- 
 tombed. 
 
 Though changed is the priestess who knelt and 
 
 adored, 
 The shrine shall be decked, and the idol restored. 
 If love could fling o'er it the sunset's bright glow. 
 Pride, pride shall preserve it unsullied as snow. 
 
 Now Duty shall see that each rite is observed, 
 As though Love at the altar still joyously served ; 
 And dressed in the robes that Affection once wore. 
 Shall fling clown an oflering as rich as before. 
 
 If the garland is scentless ike priestess alone 
 Will miss the sweet fragrance that o'er it was 
 
 thrown ; 
 For the incense of Pride, as it rolls through the air, 
 Shall hide from the world that Love is not there. 
 
06 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 GATHERING SHELLS. 
 
 Wandering on the shores of mern'ry, 
 
 Gathering up the fragments, cast 
 By the surging waves of feeling 
 
 From the ocean of the past. 
 Here a shell and there a pebble, 
 
 With its edges worn away 
 By the rolling of the waters, 
 
 By the dashing of the spray. 
 
 Some lie smooth and many tinted 
 
 High upon the glistening sand, 
 Others, sharp and freshly scattered, 
 
 Wound when taken in the hand. 
 Here a Wreck of by-gone treasures, 
 
 Garnered in our early years, 
 Gathered now in hidden caverns 
 
 Crusted with the salt of tears. 
 
 Every hope and every sorrow 
 
 That the heart hath ever known — 
 
 Vessels launched in youth's bright hour. 
 On the shadowy beach are thrown ; 
 
FATHERING SHELLS. 6$ 
 
 Here are pleasure-boats that glided 
 
 O'er smooth waters for a while. 
 There, rich argosies of feeling 
 
 Freighted with a tear or smile. 
 
 Joy that vanished e'er 'twas tasted, 
 
 Is but sea-weed wet with spray : 
 Eagerly we seek to grasp it — 
 
 Lo, its beauties fade away ; 
 Floating in the brilliant future 
 
 It was dipped in rainbow-dyes, 
 But upon the sands of inem'ry 
 
 Now in tangled masses lies. 
 
 Here are wrecks of early friendships, 
 
 Living only in the past, 
 Vessels which were far too fragile 
 
 To withstand life's cutting blast. 
 By them nobler barks are lying, 
 
 Barks that weathered every gale ; — 
 Till on death their life-boats shattered — 
 
 These were never known to fail; 
 
 Round about are fragments lying 
 Of the cargoes which they bore ; 
 
 And on each these words are graven : 
 " Friend, we've only gone before.'' 
 
68 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Oil, it gives both pain and pleasure 
 To reflect that when we die, 
 
 Shattered on the sands of mcni'iy 
 Thus in loving hearts we lie. 
 
SIGHT BLOOMING FLOWERS, 09 
 
 NIGHT BLOOMING FLOWERS. 
 
 My heart lias leaves it does not opu to every ga- 
 zer's view ; 
 My happy thoughts I give to ail, my sad ones to 
 
 but lev,-. 
 My soul must drink " the wine of life " which 
 
 openeth wide the heart, 
 Its inner petals to unfold, its fragrance to impart. 
 Nor is it every one I love, who holds its magic 
 
 key : 
 The heart owns many a chosen friend to whom the 
 
 soul's not free ; 
 For often those we dearest love will fail to read 
 
 aright 
 Those workings of the " inner man " of which they 
 
 catch a sight. 
 Such feelings are not told in words, but spoken by 
 
 the eye, 
 Or by that heaving of the breast that scarcely seems 
 
 a sigh ; 
 The trembling of the voice alone may tell of 
 
 blessings fled ; 
 The " heart dew" gathering in the eye, of bitter 
 tears unshed. 
 
70 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 They lie like hidden fragrance in th^sweet night' 
 
 blooming flowers, 
 Which pale and scentless 'neath the sun exhale in 
 
 evening hours 
 A. subtle essence, rich and rare, which amply doth 
 
 repay 
 For want of beauty and perfume throughout the 
 
 busy day. 
 SSo sympathy's refreshing dew must steal into our 
 
 hearts, 
 Those inner petals to unfold, from whence their 
 
 fragrance start*. 
 
SHADOWS. 71 
 
 .SHADOWS. 
 
 There are moments of sadness in life. 
 
 When silently over me fall 
 Forebodings of sorrow and strife — 
 
 Dim shadows far-reaching and tall. 
 
 Are they warnings of trouble before, 
 Thus vaguely and faintly defined, 
 
 Or hauntings of that which is o'er. 
 Yet leaveth its shadow behind } 
 
 Why hath not the feeling a name ! 
 
 In tear-drops it seeketh relief. 
 But oh, it is never the same 
 
 As sadness that cometh with grief. 
 
 It is not that darkness abiding. 
 When the spirit in battle must eope 
 
 With a sorrow, whose banner is hiding 
 The star-light that shineth from hope ; 
 
 When the heart its own bitterness knows. 
 But keepeth it secret from all. 
 
 Though the torrent of feeling overflows. 
 And tears of hot anguish will fall. 
 
72 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Does it come like a bugle-note citing 
 The spirit to arm for a fight — ■ 
 
 The gray clasp of twilight uniting 
 
 Joy's sunshine with sorrow's dark night? 
 
 Or is it a solemn-toned chant, 
 And not the vague warnings of grief — 
 
 The dew that's distilled on the plant — 
 Not the frost that discolors the leafS 
 
 I know not, but fain would believe, 
 
 The feeling betokens no ill, 
 But comes the full heart to relieve, 
 
 And bid the flushed spirit be still. 
 
 And when on my pathway it falls 
 The warning shall not be in vain, 
 
 But the voice of an angel that calls 
 My soul to its duties again. 
 
PITTEK WATERS. 78 
 
 BITTER WATERS. 
 
 The waters in life's goblet sink, 
 That late were foaming to its brink 
 
 With happiness aglow, 
 From every bubble flashing bright 
 The sparkling opalescent light. 
 
 That only it can show. 
 
 Thoughts, feelings, passions, hopes and fears 
 Of present, past, and coming years, 
 
 The very heart-blood of my soul. 
 Flowed once a bold continuous stream, 
 Into whose changing rainbow gleam 
 
 I dipped " life's golden bowl." 
 
 Not slowly did the waters creep. 
 But bounded on with vig'rous leap 
 
 O'er cares which clogged the way ; 
 With every struggle gaining strength, 
 Until the rocks o'erleaped at length 
 
 In limpid pools they lay. 
 
 Now sinking, sinking every hour 
 'Neath care and sorrow T 's carking power 
 (P) 
 
74 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 They daily run to waste. 
 No bubbles now upon them rise, 
 They glitter' not with rainbow dyes. 
 
 And bitter is their taste. 
 
 So bitter, that the unwelcome draught 
 My thirsty spirit will not quaff, 
 
 And scarcely is restrained 
 From dashing from my fevered lip 
 The stagnant dregs, I yet must si]; 
 
 Before the goblet 'a drained. 
 
 But in the waters dark I see 
 Reflected faces turned to me ; 
 
 And when of them I think. 
 I crush despondent thoughts like these. 
 Resolving to its bitter lees 
 
 Life's goblet I will drink. 
 
 Nor has its beauty wholly tied — 
 Submissively I bow my head. 
 
 And murmuring thoughts restrain ; 
 For while each well beloved face 
 In life's dark waters I can trace. 
 
 Thev do not flk>w in va.in A 
 
"THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD. 
 
 "THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD." 
 
 " The home of my boyhood, my own country home. 
 
 I love it, I love it. wherever I roam."' 
 
 Though long sinee my foot its dear threshold has 
 
 prest, 
 'Neath the roof of the homestead in spirit I rest: 
 While mem'ry recalls all its beauties to me. 
 And tints with its pencil the picture I see. 
 
 There stands the old barn where in childhood I 
 
 played, 
 The forest where oft with my brothers I strayed ; 
 There lies the ^reen meadow, where on the fresh 
 
 hay 
 The long days of summer passed swiftly away : 
 There babbles the brook, as refreshing and cool 
 As when on its borders I loitered from school. 
 
 There wave the old oaks, iu the depths of whose 
 
 shade 
 The graves of my father and mother are made ; 
 But vain is the effort to think of them there — 
 My dear, gentle mother is in her arm chair : 
 While hearty and hale, in the autumn of life, 
 My father is sitting beside " the auld, wife," 
 
76 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Time softens the pieture I look upon now, 
 
 And lightly his snow-flakes have powdered each 
 
 brow : 
 While round the old hearth-stone my brothers all 
 
 stand. 
 E'er death on the fairest had laid his cold hand. 
 One sister I see, through the vista of years, 
 But the glass of my memory is dark'ning with 
 
 tears. 
 
 In the evening of life these scenes of my youth 
 Come back in my mem'ry with freshness and 
 
 truth ; 
 As stars of the morning, though hid by the sun. 
 Will shine when the toil of day-time is done : 
 Then, I looked to the future for comfort and cheer, 
 Now, hope has departed, but mem'ry is dear. 
 
 All, all have gone from me, the fair and the brave. 
 And lonely I stand on the brink of the grave, 
 Where the wife of my bosom, her babe on her 
 
 breast, 
 And brothers and sister have gone to their rest 
 Not one in the homestead my coining would greet 
 Of those who were wont round its hearth-stone to 
 
 meet, 
 
" THE HOME OF MY BOYHOOD, i i 
 
 One only desire still lives in my heart, 
 
 To see that old homestead before I depart. 
 
 To stand by the grave where my mother is laid, 
 
 And point out the spot where my own shall be 
 
 made ; 
 Then in the old house, where I first drew my breath. 
 3it quietly down till the coming of death, 
 
TS MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 • CHE SARA SARA."*- 
 
 I hold, the man with purpose high. 
 
 With firm resolve and still. 
 Hath in himself his destiny 
 
 And moulds his fate at will. 
 Be ever what you seem to be, 
 
 Fear not what man can do, 
 In every fortune firmly stand. 
 
 And to yourself be true. 
 Walk calm and proud nor fear the ills 
 
 The future hides from sight. 
 But bravely meet them when they come. 
 
 And battle for the right. 
 In good or ill be faithful still. 
 
 Seek your reward on high, 
 Let " Deo, non Fortuna " be 
 
 Through life your battle cry. 
 Strong in this faith your soul shall not 
 
 Unto misfortune yield, 
 Nor bring the courage of despair 
 
 Alone into the field. 
 
 * What vrill be. i?Ul be, 
 
so5?e. 79 
 
 SONG. 
 
 {Front the (xenno.n,) 
 
 As sunshine streaks with pink the moss 
 Which hides the blushing rose, 
 
 Love gently parts the modest veil 
 That youth o'er beauty throws. 
 
 But if the heavens are hung with clouds. 
 
 The bud cannot unfold. 
 And bursting sheds the cankered sweets 
 
 It can no longer hold. 
 
 So youthful hearts which pine for love 
 
 To melt their modest pride. 
 May burst beneath their wealth of life, 
 
 If it is long denied. 
 
80 MOSftES FROM A ROLLING STOXK. 
 
 WHEN DOST THOU THINK OF ME * 
 
 When dost thou think of me ? 
 
 At the soft dawn, 
 When the day breaketh 
 
 As love is born. 
 When the sun's banner? 
 
 Are slowly unfurled 
 Till its gay streamers 
 
 Float oYr the world I 
 
 When dost thou think of me ( 
 
 When the south breeze 
 Whispers its love note* 
 
 Unto the trees, 
 Rippling the ocean. 
 
 As thou dost glide 
 Over its bosom 
 
 At the noon-tide ? 
 
 \f hen dost thou think of me r 
 
 Through the long day 
 Bigheth thy spirit 
 
 That I'm away? 
 
WHEK DOST THOU THINK OF MET $1 
 
 Could I but conic to ttn» 
 
 Over the sea, 
 (tladly thou knowest 
 
 I VI nestle by thee. 
 
 When dost thou think of me ? 
 
 In the still night, 
 When on the water? 
 
 Sleeps the moonlight, 
 Of 'neath the Palm tie? 
 
 Quiveringly lie? 
 Am the soft sea breeze 
 
 Over it sighs ? 
 
 When do I think of thee ? 
 
 Ever — forever— 
 Thou from my niem'ry 
 
 Absent art never ; 
 Morning and evening, 
 
 Noon-tide and night 
 Standeth thy image 
 
 Ever in 0ur&> 
 
82 MOSSES FEOM A BOLLING STOSE. 
 
 WOMAN'S DOWER. 
 
 Oh, this is woman's richest dower. 
 
 In weakness lies her strength. 
 By yielding she may win to power. 
 
 And reign a queen at length. 
 If by a word, a look, or smile 
 
 She prompts to noble deeds, 
 Man gently led, goes on the while. 
 
 Believing that he lends. 
 
 Sweet is her music, if with art — 
 
 With nature's art she'll play — 
 And chords will vibrate in the heart 
 
 Which scorns her open sway. 
 The frost of pride, which round it clinj 
 
 Her gentle skill can melt, 
 If, like the breath of early spring. 
 
 Her love— unseen — is felt. 
 
FAREWELL. 88 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Oh come, a tarewell let us say ; 
 
 Be quick, or the moments will fly : 
 And on their swift wings bear away 
 
 The friends we are bidding good-bye. 
 Though over our heads may roll years. 
 
 Ere again together we stand ; 
 Add not to the sorrow by tears. 
 
 But give them a shake of the hand. 
 
 Cloud not the last hour of parting 
 
 By looks that are gloomy the while. 
 But bid the dear friends who are starting. 
 
 Adieu, with a bright cheerful smile. 
 For they through the thin veil of gladness 
 
 Full well our sorrow can trace, 
 And know in the heart there is sadness. 
 
 Although there's a smile on the face. 
 
 Though perchance the broad ocean divide, 
 
 We still are united forever, 
 By the knot which our friendship has tied — 
 
 A bond which no parting can aever. 
 
M MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOXF. 
 
 Then, while our farewells are spoken. 
 
 We'll hide in our bosoms the pain. 
 And deem our sorrow a token 
 
 Of joy in meeting again. 
 
FOKGET THEE 
 
 FORGET TREE '. 
 (From the German.) 
 
 Forget thee \ forget thee i oh never — no never ! 
 
 The love I have given I'll cherish forever ; 
 
 Thy image on high in my bosom 'a enshrined, 
 
 And sweet are the mem'ries around it entwined. 
 
 Bright, bright is the passion which thou dost in- 
 spire, 
 
 When with thee its flame burnetii higher and 
 higher ; 
 
 For my spirit shakes from it the dust of the world, 
 
 When the pinion of love in ixy bosom 's unfurled. 
 
 Thou 'st looked on the innermost depths of my soul. 
 
 When thoughts were uprising I could not control. 
 
 And beneath the warm glance of thy clear-seeing 
 eye. 
 
 Pride's withering whirlwind swept harmlessly by. 
 
 For I knew that my thoughts unto thee were re- 
 vealed — 
 
 That thou didst read the deep secret from others 
 concealed ; * 
 
 And I tremblingly felt that my treasure was shown. 
 
 Mv strength and mv weakness no longer unknown. 
 
86 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Remember ? AU yes ! for I cannot forget. 
 Bright, bright are the jewels in memory set ; 
 They are thoughts of an hour remembered by thee — 
 An hour of moonlight beneath an old tree — 
 When thy spirit unwillingly bent to my sway. 
 And, though still resisting, could not disobey ; 
 Twice, twice hast thou lifted the veil from my soul. 
 But once thy proud spirit bowed 'neath my control. 
 
SMILES AND KISSES. 
 
 SMILES AND KISSES. 
 
 Two exquisite jewels of feeling 
 
 Arc set in my circle of love, 
 Bright glimpses of Heaven, revealing 
 
 The joy of spirits above. 
 Twas friendship shone first in the. ring 
 
 A smile is the emblem of this. 
 Yet my heart owns a holier thing, 
 
 And shadows it forth with a kiss. 
 
 Whenever my spirit is weary, 
 
 And longing for rest from its strife, 
 When all of my futuie seems dreary, 
 
 And dark is the pathway of life — 
 If friendship will smile it can cheer. 
 
 As feebly I struggle along ; 
 But a kiss from the lips that are dear 
 
 Will render me ten times as strong. 
 
 Life's duties it changes to pleasure, 
 Its trials can bravely be met. ; 
 
 For my heart in itself has a treasure. 
 Since love 'mid its jewels was set. 
 
88 MOSSES FROM A HOLLISO STONE. 
 
 My pathway is dotted with flowers. 
 
 That seem at each step to unclose. 
 For Love lends his wings to the hours. 
 
 And tints them with coUur de Rw. 
 
 Though friendship 's a heavenly feeling. 
 
 A breath from the angels above, 
 Which over the spirit comes stealing, 
 
 It wakes not its deep notes like love ; 
 For love is a fearful emotion 
 
 That stirs all the depths of the soul, 
 As the waters of mighty old ocean 
 
 Are swayed by the moonlight's control. 
 
 And if ever to mortals is given 
 
 A feeling approaching the bliss 
 Which spirits enjoy in heaven. 
 
 Tis felt in the thrill of a kiss. 
 A smile may be given to many. 
 
 Tis only of friendship a part. 
 But I give not a kiss unto any 
 
 Who has not tbe love of mv heart. 
 
TWILIGHT MUSING*. 89 
 
 TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 I love the quiet twilight hour — 
 
 Its dim aud fading light ; 
 I love to watch the closing day 
 
 Embrace the silent night. 
 His golden beam has disappeared. 
 
 Her reign has not begun, 
 When like a holy nuptial ring 
 
 The twilight makes them one. 
 
 To me it ever seems to be 
 
 A resting place in life, 
 A quiet, happy, household hour 
 
 With pure affection rife ; 
 When menrry from the shadowy past 
 
 Her priceless treasure brings, 
 Or o'er the future sunny hope 
 
 Her soft'ning radiance flings. 
 
 I love to draw the curtains close, 
 
 And by the fitful blaze 
 To sit and dream of absent friend*. 
 
 Or muse on by-gone days. 
 
 m 
 
HOBSES PROM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 Yet as I muse I listen too, 
 
 To catch the opening gate. 
 That I may meet him at the door 
 
 For whose dear step I wait. 
 
 As at the fall of eventide 
 
 The worn and weary dove 
 Bore to the lonely wave-tossed ark 
 
 The olive-branch of love — 
 So he, who all day long has toiled 
 
 For wife and children dear, 
 Turns to the sacred ark of home, 
 
 When twilight dra^weth near. 
 
 And while he braves the many cares 
 
 That crest the waves of life, 
 I'll strive to make our own fireside 
 
 A haven from their strife. 
 Full well he knows that peace and love 
 
 Are nestling in our home, 
 That here he'll find the olive branch— 
 
 For that he does not roam. 
 
 He seeks to gather from the world 
 
 The Bay and Laurel now, 
 That with the Olive he may twine 
 
 A garland for my brow : 
 
TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 91 
 
 But what, compared with peace and love, 
 Are honors, w r ealth, and fame \ 
 
 Oh, if with these my brow is crowned, 
 The rest is but a name. 
 
 And from my proud, yet thankful heart 
 
 There comes an earnest prayer, 
 That I may ever worthy prove 
 
 This priceless wreath to wear ; 
 It riseth from life's flood of cares 
 
 The first green thing on earth ; 
 And none but those who 've felt its want 
 
 Can ever know its worth. 
 
 Then mem'ry gently waves her wing. 
 
 And from the distant past. 
 She sweeps the shadowy clouds away 
 
 That time has o'er it cast. 
 Friends, who are scattered far and wide, 
 
 Are gath'ring round me* now, 
 I feel them gently press my hand, 
 
 Or lightly kiss my brow. 
 
 As summer winds draw music wild 
 
 From soft iEolean strings, 
 So, all unbidden are the thoughts 
 
 Which to my heart she brings ; 
 
MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Drawn gently from its quivering chords 
 Upon the breeze there floats 
 
 The sweetest music of my life. 
 And then its wildest notes. 
 
 Again 1 am a little child. 
 
 Light-hearted and content. 
 Whose happy spirit runneth o'er 
 
 With joyous merriment ; 
 Anon, a maiden young I stand 
 
 " Where brook and river meet :'* 
 And now the notes grow stern and wild. 
 
 Then soft, and low. and sweet . 
 
 Such are the thoughts which ever haunt 
 
 My quiet twilight hour. 
 When hope and memory, hand in hand. 
 
 Exert their magic power. 
 Then do you wonder that J love 
 
 To sit and dream awaj 
 This little link that joins the night 
 
 To busy, bustling day '. 
 
my children: Ja 
 
 MY CHILDREN. 
 
 T have two little darlings 
 
 With eyes of deepest blue, 
 There's just a year between them. 
 
 And the younger is not two. 
 Like fragrant little blossoms, 
 
 Whose petals daily ope, 
 I watch their minds expanding. 
 
 With fond and earnest hope. 
 
 Frank says he's mother's rose-bud ; 
 
 And little brother Willie, 
 With skin like alabaster, 
 
 Is my budding water-lilly. 
 i eall them both my mock-birds, 
 
 For like music to my ear. 
 Are their merry little voices. 
 
 So silvery and clear. 
 
 What dew is to the flowers. 
 
 The rainbow to the sky. 
 Are. these darlings to my pathway, 
 
 Which they cheer and beautify. 
 
04 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE, 
 
 They fill my heart with gladness. 
 
 With thankfulness and praise, 
 They chase away my sadness, 
 
 And leave no gloomy days. 
 
 Though many other blessings 
 
 Around my footsteps fall, 
 My children and their father 
 
 Are brightest of them all. 
 My life seems crowned with joys 
 
 Whene'er I look on them, 
 And they the brightest jewels 
 
 Within the diadem. 
 
 Then blessings on my darlings- 
 Bright blessings from above — 
 
 C-tod grant their tender boyhood 
 Miss not a mothers love. 
 
 Oh may my days be lengthened 
 Throughout their early youth. 
 
 To lead them irt the pathway 
 Of honor and of 1 truth. 
 
 Uod grant to me His spirit 
 To guide their souls aright. 
 
 To teach them by example 
 To walk u as in his sight." 
 
MY CHILDREN. ^ 
 
 And when this life is ended. 
 May all whom He has given 
 
 Cnited, form a family 
 
 Within the courts of heaven. 
 
% M0S*E3 FEOM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 THE RAIN UPON THE HILLS. 
 
 Though 'tis raining on the hills, love. 
 
 Tis raining on the hills, 
 Not the shadow of a cloud, love. 
 
 The smiling valley fills. 
 See how the sunlight falls, love. 
 
 As though it loved to rest 
 Upon that youthful mother, love, 
 
 Her first-born on her breast. 
 
 She cares not for the world, love. 
 
 Its pleasures or its wealth, 
 She thinks but of her child, love. 
 
 His happiness and health. 
 Life's sorrows arc to her. love. 
 
 But rain upon the hills, 
 T^hile the sunlight of that babe, love, 
 
 ller happy bosom fills. 
 
 But see, the cloud rolls on, love. 
 
 Tis deep'ning all the while : 
 And the sunlight from the vale, love, 
 
 Is fading like a smile ; 
 
TtiK RAT* VWS THE JJTLL*. 
 
 Is fading like the smile, love, 
 
 That's followed by despair. 
 When the idols of the heart, love. 
 
 Are vanishing in air. 
 
 The frightened mother starts, love. 
 
 And clasps her baby now : 
 For she seeth that a shade, love. 
 
 Is gath'ring o'er his brow. 
 She is weeping o'er her child, love ; 
 
 'Tis raining in the vale — 
 Life struggleth now with death, love. 
 
 Clod grant he may prevail. 
 
 The cloud has passed away, love, 
 
 The sun is shining bright ; 
 And that mothers trembling heart, Jove. 
 
 Rejoiceth in the light- 
 But the mem'ry of that storm, Jove, 
 
 Her bosom ever fills, 
 And she feareth for the vale, love, 
 
 When 'tis rainirig cm the hills. 
 
98 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 THE MOTHERS DREAM. 
 
 Twas night, and on her couch a weary mother lay, 
 Weary with petty cares that wore her strength 
 
 away : 
 Sadly she called to mind the aspirations high. 
 Born in her soul, and mourned that they unfledged 
 
 must die. 
 Each morn she rose resolving ere she slept to feed 
 The intellectual longings, and the craving need 
 For mental food, which called as loudly in her 
 
 breast 
 For sustenance, as hungry birds within a nest. 
 Sadly she felt they called in vain, that day by day- 
 All unimproved time's golden sand was slipping 
 
 fast away. 
 What should she do { She could not feed both 
 
 heart and mind ; 
 While one pressed forward must the other lag be- 
 hind ? 
 Daily she strove each pressing duty to fulfill, 
 But every evening found some unaccomplished 
 
 still. 
 If all her petty household earev; were duly wrought. 
 
Tire mother^ dream. 99 
 
 Ber children's bodies eared for, could their mind- 
 be taught ': 
 H Wrapped in a napkin" must her talent useless lie, 
 Must she not render some account of it on high I 
 Or was '* what shall we eat and drink and whore- 
 wit hall 
 Be clothed," upon her ear forevermore to fall. 
 Excluding all that cheerful music clear and sweet 
 That from her heart-strings once had freely gushed 
 
 to meet 
 Responsive notes from one fond heart, which o'er 
 
 her hung 
 So proudly glorying in each gladsome strain *be 
 
 sung. 
 Now in her darkenened soul was only care and 
 
 strife, 
 Conflicting duties wore, away her strength and life. 
 Oh ! should she not at once select the " better part " 
 Preys' forward with a Mary's, not a Martha's, heart i 
 Or must the mother's instinct conquer in the fight. 
 And for.&Z'mess o£ pottage " sell the soul's birth- 
 
 rig'ni '. - 
 She could not solve the question, and with think- 
 ing worn. 
 Upon the wings of sleep her soul was upward borne 
 Beyond the clouds, towards heaven's ethereal sky ; 
 
100 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE; 
 
 And looking backwards saw a rocky mountain 
 
 high. 
 Rise from the green enameled earth below, 
 Its towering peak wrapped in n shining robe of 
 
 snow ; 
 Up its steep side a feeble woman slowly crept, 
 Against her throbbing heart a tiny infant slept ; 
 Three other children fair and bright around her 
 
 played. 
 And by their lingering steps her earnest zeal de- 
 layed. 
 Now, o'er a stone one by the wayside tripped and 
 
 fell, 
 And she must pause to " kiss the place and make 
 
 it well;" 
 By briers torn, another calls on her to stay. 
 And now her eldest hoy is wandering from the 
 
 way. 
 She binds the wound and gently calls the truant 
 
 back. 
 Leading his wavering steps a while along the 
 
 track, 
 ^ndly she grieves she cannot press more quickly 
 
 on, 
 -Ere duty's hill is scaled life's brightness will be 
 
 gone.*' 
 
THE MOTHElt'H DKEAM. 101 
 
 Slic sighing said, and on the dark side looked 
 
 alone. 
 Xor raised her eyes to where xlu- ligjit of love still 
 
 shone 
 
 With brighter radiance on the rugged mountain's 
 
 snow. 
 Than in the smooth and softly verdant plain below. 
 ihe did not see that while she paused each grief to 
 
 soothe. 
 Uid strove life's pathway for those little feet to 
 
 smooth, 
 low many a stumbling block in her own doubtful 
 
 way. 
 .ike blessed angels, they unknowing roiled awav ; 
 low oft their childish arms delaying round her 
 
 clung, 
 Vken o'er a precipice her hasty footsteps hung ; 
 nd when for them she strove the thorny path to 
 
 clear. 
 :new not that danger to herself was lurking near ; 
 hat her own wavering faith grew stronger, bright- 
 er still, 
 s their young souls with holy truths she sought 
 
 to fill ; 
 nd when she stopped for them the wayside flow- 
 ers to twine, 
 
102 MOSSKS PltOM A KOLLINO BTOJsE. 
 
 Thought not that they in menvry's garland blight 
 
 would shine, 
 To guide their steps through life along the narrow 
 
 way, 
 Or gently draw them back if they should go astray. 
 But in her dream the weary mother sleeping still. 
 Saw these were helps, not clogs, in climbing duty's* 
 
 hill ; 
 And waking hid the lesson deep within her heart. 
 Resolving up that hill next morn afresh to start, 
 Unmurmuring at the petty round she daily trod, 
 But doing what came first, and leaving all to God. 
 
NEMO SEMPEH FELIX E8T. ,, 108 
 
 •• NEMO SEMPER FELIX EST." 
 
 Oh there are moments when my soul 
 
 From earthly scenes would soar away. 
 To wander, free from all control. 
 
 Beneath the light of fancy's ray. 
 Often when this spell is o'er me 
 
 Till my heart with joy ? s opprest. 
 Kiseth up this thought before me : 
 
 " Nemo semper felix eat" 
 
 Slowly then my wandering mind 
 
 Yields to reason's sterner sway. 
 Leaveth fancy's joys to find 
 
 Peace in duty's rugged way. 
 Calmer thoughts will soon succeed. 
 
 And my troubled soul find rest, 
 What though its wounds a while may bleed- 
 
 11 Nemo semper felix est." 
 
 Yet will murmuring thoughts arise, 
 
 When bright fancy I restrain, 
 Duty calls me from the skies, 
 
 Pleasure leads me back again, 
 
104 uomm from a rolling stone. 
 
 And thero's many a bitter hour 
 When I murmur all unblest, 
 
 When these words will lose their power 
 " Nemo semper felix est" 
 
 Thus there is forever strife 
 
 'Twixt my conscience and my will ; 
 And through all my coining life, 
 
 Oh, may conscience triumph still ; 
 Fain and pleasure both shall reign.. 
 
 Yet my soul shall calmly rest. 
 Thinking, when overcome with pain, 
 
 "Nemo semper felix erf.'" 
 
I AM THAT I AM. 105 
 
 I AM THAT I AM. 
 
 "I am that i am," Jehovah replied, 
 When lie shone before Moses, on Horeb's steep side. 
 And the awe-stricken prophet demanded a name 
 For the God of his fathers, who spake from the 
 
 name. 
 " Before Abrain was," saith the Saviour ■' I AM, M 
 The son of the Father, the true Paschal Land), 
 The Lion of Jn.dah, the bright Prince of Peace, 
 The star ,of the morning, whose light shall not 
 
 cease. 
 
 How full is the comfort the sentence conveys, 
 
 Jehovah Almighty, thou ancient of dn , 
 
 For it tells* that thy mercy is boundless as fret' 
 
 To those who will cast every burden on Thee. 
 
 In sickness it sayeth. k " fear not, I am health," 
 
 I am comfort in sorrow, in poverty, wealth; 
 
 I am strength to the weak, to fie erring a guide; 
 
 A rock where the fearful in safety may hid'. 1 . 
 
 I am joy in sadness, in death I am life, 
 I am peace to the soul that with sin is :it strife \ 
 (?) 
 
106 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 I am hope in despair, when the spirit would shrink, 
 And cries to its Saviour, "help, Lord, or I sink." 
 To the weary am rest, to the feeble am power, 
 A shield to my people, their safeguard and tower. 
 Their doubts and their fears I only can calm, 
 For the need of the moment "I AM that I AM." 
 
TTTE POT OF INCENSE. 10? 
 
 THE POT OF INCENSE 
 
 • Is an emblem of a pure heart, which is always an accepta- 
 ble sacrifice to the Deity ; and as this glows with fervent heat, 
 *o should our hearts continually glow with gratitude to the 
 great and beneficent author of our existence, for the manifold 
 blessings and comforts we enjoy."— Masonic Chart, 
 
 Sec the pot of incense glowing 
 
 With a pure and fervent heat, 
 Wreaths of perfume upward throwing 
 
 Towards the golden mercy seat. 
 Where, with clouds His glory hiding, 
 
 Israel's God descending came^ 
 Tween the cherubim abiding 
 
 Day and night in smoke or flame. 
 
 So may I with grateful spirit, 
 
 Ever own with perfect love, 
 Blessings which I do not merit 
 
 From the mercy seat above. 
 Like this pure, sweet-scented savor 
 
 May my prayers ascend on high, 
 And my sacrifice find favor 
 
 In the clear all seeing eyf; 
 
108 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 DAY BREAK. 
 
 The daj has broke —its soft grey light 
 
 Is through the window streaming, 
 And froin the darkness of the night 
 
 The morning star is gleaming ; 
 The tailing night-lamp flickers low, 
 
 Its light's no longer needed, 
 .And as the eastern portals glow. 
 
 It dies away unheeded. 
 
 Now, all without is bright and fair. 
 
 Instinct with life and hope, 
 Within — ah ! eyes are slumbering there 
 
 That ne'er on earth, shall ope. 
 All pale and cold before me lies 
 
 The mother and the wife. 
 Who on my bosom closed her eve-. 
 
 And faded out of life. 
 
 So calmly did she cease to breathe. 
 
 So gently took her flight, 
 I scarce conld tell when closing eve 
 
 Had deepened into night. 
 
DAY BREAK. 109 
 
 And ever since, around her bed 
 
 I've solemn'vigil kept, 
 And silently have hushed my tread. 
 
 As though she only slept. 
 
 She does not sleep, in realms above 
 
 Her soul is wide awake. 
 And now the day of perfect love 
 
 Begins for her to break. 
 All ! does iflikc the dawn below 
 
 Steal gently o'er her soul. 
 Sees she at first the opening glow. 
 
 And then, the glorious whole '. 
 
 Say, does tlu- song of glory burst 
 
 At once upon her ear, 
 Or does her trembling spirit first 
 
 Low notes of welcome hear \ 
 I love to think that strength with light 
 
 Is to the spirit given. 
 Death's but the closing of the night. 
 
 The perfect day 's in heaven. 
 
110 MOSSES FBOK AHOLLING HTOKE. 
 
 THE FUNERAL OF HENRY CLAY. 
 
 While the funeral services were being performed over the 
 remains of Henry Clay, there came up a sudden shower, and, 
 as the cloud was low, the vibration of the air caused the drop* 
 of rain to fall more quickly at each discharge of the minute 
 gnus. 
 
 Toll on, ye mournful bells, toll on — 
 
 A mighty spirit's fled ; 
 E'en heaven itself is weeping o'er 
 
 The statesman lying dead. 
 Boom on, boom on, ye minute guns. 
 
 And through the sounding air 
 Up to his noble soul's abode 
 
 A nation's sorrow bear. 
 
 The eagle of our land, whose wings 
 
 Spread o'er each ocean's spray 
 Lost from her grasp a noble dart, 
 
 When death demanded Clay. 
 He to the stars and stripes belonged, 
 
 No State can claim his name, 
 The champion of our common flag, 
 
 He gained his world-wide fame. 
 
THE FUNERAL OF HENRY CLAY. Ill 
 
 No blood-stained laurels bound his brow ; 
 
 He caused no tears to flow, 
 His was the mighty strife of mind 
 
 Against his country's foe. 
 He never trimmed his noble barque 
 
 To catch the breeze of State, 
 lie scorned to watch its shifting vane, 
 
 Or for its sanction wait. 
 
 His voice full oft has stilled the strife, 
 
 Which in his country rose, 
 And made the children of one land 
 
 To deem their brethren foes. 
 Like Roman Curtius, when the gulf 
 
 Yawned in the forum wide, 
 He flung himself into the breach. 
 
 And calmed, the angry tide. 
 
 His eagle eye saw at a glance 
 
 What way to lienor led— 
 His mighty spirit nevor shrank 
 
 The patriot's path to tread. 
 Toll on, ye mournful bells, toll on — ■ 
 
 Your sad funereal knell 
 Makes every ardent freeman's breast 
 
112 MOSSES FIIOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 We glory in the mighty mind 
 
 That flashed like lightning's play, 
 And both Americas shall mourn 
 
 The loss of Henby Clay. 
 Boom on, boom on, ye minute guns, 
 
 As each discharge is given, 
 A shower of sympathetic tears 
 
 Falls from the arch of heaven. 
 
ANNIE CARTER LEE. 115 
 
 ANNIE CARTER LEE. 
 
 11 Died, at Jones' Springs, Warren County, K. C, Oct. 20th, 
 1862, AnnieCarter Lee, daughter of Gen. Robert E. Lee, C. 
 8. A." 
 
 •• Earth to earth, and dusi to dust,' 1 
 
 Saviour in thy word we trust, 
 
 Sow we now our precious grain, 
 
 Thou shalt raise it up again. 
 
 Plant we the terrestrial root 
 
 Which shall bear celestial fruit, 
 
 Lay a bud within the tomb 
 
 That a flower in Heaven may bloom. 
 
 Severed are n<> tender tics. 
 
 Though in Death's embrace she lies. 
 
 For the lengthened chain of love 
 
 Stretches to her home above. 
 
 Mother, in thy bitter grief 
 
 Let this thought bring sweet relict* — 
 
 (Mother of an angel now.) 
 
 God Himself hath crowned thy brow 
 
 With the thorns the Saviour wore ; 
 
 Blessed art thou evermore ! 
 
 Unto Him thou doit resign 
 
U4 ICOB6B8 FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 A portion of the lite was thine. 
 " Earth to earth, and dust to dust,' 1 
 Sore the trial, sweet the trust. 
 Father — thou who seest Death 
 Heaping grain at every breath. 
 As his sickle sharp he wields 
 O'er our bloody battle fields — 
 Murmur not that now he weaves 
 This sweet flower into his sheaves. 
 Taken in her early prime, 
 Gathered in the summer time, 
 Autumn's blast she shall not know. 
 Never shrink from winter's snow. 
 Sharp the pang which thou must feel, 
 Sharper than the foeman's steel ; 
 For thy fairest flower is hid 
 Underneath the coffin's lid. 
 O'er her grave thou drop'st no tear, 
 Warrior stern must thou appear, 
 Crushing back the tide of grief 
 Which in vain demands relief. 
 Louder still thy country cries, 
 At thy feet it bleeding lies, 
 And before the patriot now 
 Husband — Father — both must bow. 
 But unnumbered are thy friends, 
 
AJHSTIE CABTEER LEE. 115 
 
 And from many a home ascends 
 Earnest, heartfelt prayers for thee, 
 "That as thy days thy strength may be." 
 
116 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 AN EPITHANATON, 
 
 Genera] Leonidas Polk, C. S. A., killed <>n Pino Mountain 
 Juno 11th. 1864. 
 
 " The tear-drops of Borrow may form a rainbow of glory 
 above the grief-stricken head." 
 
 Again our God hath set His bow, 
 
 For o'er the flood of bitter strife 
 
 There shines another hero's life; 
 
 A hero's life and death, to tell, 
 
 God loves the cause for which he fell ; 
 
 For though our tears fall down like rain 
 
 We cannot feel he died in vain. 
 
 Baptized by God Himself with flame, 
 
 O let his death aloud proclaim 
 
 To hearts which sink 'neath grief and fear 
 
 •• Look up ! look up ! for freedom's near." 
 
 Yes, yes the strife is nearly done. 
 
 Or God had left this needful one, 
 
 Who on the mountain top hath died 
 
 As Moses did on Xcho's side — 
 
 Like him our promised land he saw 
 
 Beyond the rolling clouds of war. 
 
AN EPTTIIANATO.N. 117 
 
 A land of peace and happiness 
 
 Which he himself might not possess ; 
 
 For as the diamond's fragments must. 
 
 To polish it, be ground to dust ; 
 
 Her brightest grins our country yields. 
 
 To die upon her battle fields. 
 
 And o'er a mourning nation oust 
 
 The glory of a life that's past. 
 
 And oh ! how brilliant is the bow, 
 
 That from the storm-cloud now doth glow ! 
 
 For though beside hope's vivid green 
 
 The crimson flush of pain is seen. 
 
 See Joy's bright gold in rich relief 
 
 Shine out above our violet grief. 
 
 While next to doubt's dark sombre hue 
 
 Comes freedom's pure and dazzling blue. 
 
 Thus, woven by a Hand Divine. 
 
 Amid the darkest clouds they shine. 
 
 While from them gleams the perfect light 
 
 Of God's own love in spotless white. 
 
 Then chant no dirge and toll no knell. 
 
 But let a glorious anthem swell 
 
 In menvry of the Church's son, 
 
 Who fought the fight and vict'ry worn 
 
tt8 ^OSSF.S FROM A ROLLING StOKK. 
 
 GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE. 
 
 As went the knight with sword and shield. 
 
 To tournay or to battle field, 
 
 Pledged to the lady fair and true 
 
 For whom his knightly sword he drew ; . 
 
 You offered at your country's call 
 
 " Your life, your fortune and your all ;" 
 
 Pledging your sacred honor high 
 
 For her to live — for her to die. 
 
 With her you cast your future lot, 
 
 And now. without one single spot 
 
 To dim the brightness of your fame. 
 
 Or cast a shadow o'er your name, 
 
 You lay your sword with honor down, 
 
 And wear defeat as 'twere a crown : 
 
 "Nor sit, like Marius, brooding o'er 
 
 A ruin which can rise no more, 
 
 But from your Pavia bear away 
 
 A glory bright'ning every day. 
 
 Above the wreck which round you lies, 
 
 Calm and serene I see you rise, 
 
 A grand embodiment of Pjride, 
 
 Chastened by sorrow and allied 
 
OKXKHAL ROBERT E. LEE. 11ft 
 
 To disappointment but to show 
 
 How bright your virtues neath it glow ; 
 
 But who may tell how deep its dart 
 
 Is rankling in your noble heart, 
 
 Or dare to pull the robe aside, 
 
 Which Cpesar draws his wounds to hide. 
 
120 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 GAN-EDEN, THE QUEEN OF THE AN- 
 TILLES. 
 
 Knowest thou that isle of flowers, 
 Where the softest breezes blow, 
 
 And the Frost-king never spreadcth 
 O'er the earth his pall of snow '. 
 
 Where, like gray old marble vases, 
 Crowned" with feath'ry turfs of green, 
 
 Royal palm-trees rise majestic, 
 With the cocoas in between \ 
 
 Where the purple-sheathed banana 
 Mingles with the sugar cane, 
 
 And the fragrant coffee sheddeth 
 Scarlet berries on the plain \ 
 
 Where the guava-apple ripens. 
 And zapotes, rough and brown, 
 
 With the mamey and the mango, 
 Cast their luscious sweetness down \ 
 
 Where whole fields of ripening anas,* 
 With their fragrance load the breeze. 
 
 *Pine-Apples. 
 
GAN-EDEtf. 121 
 
 And the golden orange glistens 
 'Mid the blossoms on the trees ; 
 
 And the ever green poniegranite 
 
 Swings its coral flower-bells, 
 When its ruby grains are bursting 
 
 From their russet-colored shells . ; 
 
 For eternal spring and summer 
 
 On this lovely island shine, 
 And the bursting hud and flower 
 
 With the ripened fruit entwine. 
 
 In its gardens oleanders 
 
 Breathe their almond-like perfume. 
 And the gorgeous passion flower 
 
 Opens wide its crimson bloom. 
 
 There the pale gardinia glistens. 
 
 And the scarlet pinon glows. 
 While the gaudy, .guaquamayo 
 
 Wavcth o'er the sweet tube-rose. 
 
 And the blue eonchita twineth 
 
 Round the mar-pacifico, 
 While great rose-hued wat< r-lilies 
 
 In dee}> marble basins blow. 
 
 (8) 
 
128 MOSWES FR*m A ROLTiTNQ STONX. 
 
 o'er their blossoms sparkling fountain* 
 Scatter cool and dewy spray. 
 
 As, like jets of liquid silver 
 Crowned with rainbow tints, they play, 
 
 While Mi< : cucullos at oven. 
 
 "Insect watchmen of the night," 
 On the sleeping leaves and flowers 
 
 Cast their emerald-tinted light. 
 
 Hero the high-born caballero 
 
 Speaks his love in orient style, 
 Happy if his tell-tale flower 
 
 Wins him but a single smile ; 
 
 Or his dark-haired senorita, 
 
 In the Danza's mystic maze, 
 Lifts her eye, so sol*; and swimming, 
 
 To his warm and tender gaze. 
 
 Tis the Queen of the Antilles. 
 
 Seated on her emerald throne, 
 Crowned with ever-blooming flowers, 
 
 And a beauty all tun* own : 
 
 With a grace that's truly regal 
 
 Sits she in her lofty seat, 
 Watching o'er her subject islands 
 
 In the ocean at her feet. 
 
gan-ebGen. 128 
 
 While its waters, blue as heaven, 
 Laughing leap upon her breast. 
 
 Where all nature ever seemcth 
 For a happy bridal drest. 
 
 Truly is it called Gan-Eden— 
 
 Tis a garden of delight : 
 But, alas, the serpent's trailing 
 
 O'er its beauty easts a blight. 
 
 Tyranny and superstition 
 
 Bind the land that should be free, 
 
 Like a deadly jaqua-chacho* 
 Bound a stately eeyba tree. 
 
 In their poisonous embraces 
 
 They are holding freedom down, 
 
 And her struggles bring her children 
 Nothing but Ihe martyr's crown. 
 
 But, although her arms are shackled. 
 
 Still she is not always mute. 
 And the seed by PntTof planted 
 
 Even now is bearing fruit. 
 
 * Pronounced Hackn Macka. 
 
 t Ramon Pinto, executed for treason m (be city oltfavttMi 
 
 >n im. 
 
1*34 MOSSES FROM A KOLLING STONE. 
 
 Oil, thou noble son of freedom ! 
 
 From thy roll J saw ih.ee led, 
 While strong men, like maidens weepinj 
 
 Called down blessings on thy head. 
 
 Biavely didst thou tread the sea Hold. 
 
 Which an altar then became. 
 Thou the victim sacrificed, 
 
 To thy country's lasting shame. 
 
 All the beauty smiling round me — 
 
 The eternal summer there, 
 With its ever-blooming flowers 
 
 And it< balmy, fragrant air — 
 
 Seemed as nothing then unto me. 
 
 For a gloom was o'er it thrown, 
 And the trailing of the serpent 
 
 Met my sadrlenYl gaze alone. 
 
 And 1 said thou art not Eden. 
 
 Oh, thou lovely flower-crowned isle, 
 For thou hast not freedom's breezes 
 
 And the sunlight of her smile. 
 
r B A N 8 1 A T 10WS 
 
T R A N S L A T I N S . 
 
 ODE SUR NAPOLEON. 
 (Augusts Babbibb) 
 
 Genius of France ! who 'neath the sun 
 
 Of thine own Messidor didst stand, 
 Free — as a lithe Arabian mare 
 
 Upon her native desert's sand. 
 A fierce indomitable mare 
 
 Who knows no bit, nor curb, nor rein- 
 Still reeking with the blood of kings 
 
 In thy o'erwhelmning anger slain, 
 
 How wildly beautiful wert thou ! 
 
 Pawing the earth in savage ire. 
 Thy supple loins, thy rounded croup, 
 
 Thv head erect, and eve of tire 
 
128 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 The frightened nations trembling shrank. 
 
 Soon as they heard thy piercing neigh ; 
 To fling a bridle o'er thy neck. 
 
 No mortal hand had dared essay; 
 
 Until— oil straight-haired Oorsican! 
 
 Yon came— and boldly seized &er mane, 
 Spnmg, Centaur-like, upon her back, 
 
 And broke her to your curb and rein. 
 Then— no more freedom — no more rest. 
 
 "Twas always toil and never sleep. 
 As, trampling corses like the sand. 
 
 Through blood she waded fetlock deep. 
 
 For twenty years her iron hoof 
 
 The prostrate 1 generations crushed. 
 As over conquered nations' necks 
 
 Along the course of time she rushed. 
 Till — worn with raising wrath like dust. 
 
 Stirring the mental universe — 
 Inciting nations to rebel, 
 
 And bearing on her head their curse ; 
 
 And wearied by her tierce career, 
 With neither rest nor goal before. 
 
 Exhausted, panting, without strength. 
 Her loins all flecked with human gore, 
 
ode sri; NAPOLEON. 120 
 
 She asked for mercy at your hand — 
 
 You did not heed her cry : 
 Oh cruel man ! hut wrenched the hit. 
 
 And pressed her with your nervous thigh. 
 
 With trembling limbs and broken teeth 
 Again she met the battle-shock, 
 
 With one last plunge fell dying there. 
 And hurled you. crippled, on yon rock. 
 
lot) MOSSES FROM A ROLLIKG STONE. 
 
 LE PETIT. 
 
 (Victob Hugo.) 
 With dazzling light lie shines in history's fane 
 A god with vict'ry captive in his train ; 
 His war-like sway laid Europe at his feet ; 
 Thou seek'st to ape him, hut in vain, Petit ! 
 
 Mid hurtling storms of grape his eagles fought, 
 Led on by him Areola's bridge they sought, 
 In battle calm, his vict'ries were complete ; 
 Here's gold, come thou and steal, and thieve, Petit ! 
 
 War was his love, Vienna and Berlin, 
 Forced mistresses, he only sought to win ; 
 A hundred bastiles yielded at his feet ; 
 Thy triumphs are o'er courtesans. Petit ! 
 
 His hand the palm and thunder-bolt contained, 
 Triumphant o'er the human kind he reigned ; 
 With glory drunk — his pulse too madly beat ; 
 Here's flowing blood, come thou and quaff, Petit ! 
 
 He fell, and earth the mighty shock confessed. 
 Ocean a whirlpool opened in his breast, 
 For an Archangel fallen from his seat ; 
 Thou wilt be only choked in mire, Petit 1 
 
ART A>"D THE PEOPLE. 131 
 
 ART AM) THE PEOPLE. 
 
 (Yictob Hueo.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Art is glorious delight ! 
 
 Through the tempest flashing bright, 
 
 Lightning heaven's celestial blue 
 
 With a splendor ever new ; 
 
 Shining on a nation's crest, 
 
 Like stars on the Eternal's breast. 
 
 Art's a grand, a solemn hymn, 
 Which the quiet heart doth win : 
 Sung by cities to the groves, 
 And by man to her he loves ; 
 By the voices of the soul 
 Joined in one harmonious whole. 
 
 Art is loftiest human thought, 
 Art to break each chain hath wrought. 
 To th 1 enslaved it freedom brings, 
 Hound the free it grandeur flings ; 
 Gentle conquerer, to thy song 
 Rhine and Tiber both belong. 
 
MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 II. 
 
 oh ! unconquerable France ! 
 Thou whovleadest hope's advance. 
 With thy deep but gladsome voice 
 Sing, and bid the earth rejoice ; 
 Sing this song of peace and love 
 Sing, and raise thine eyes above. 
 
 Sing when morn with dew is wet, 
 In the evening sing it yet ; 
 Smile at ages past away. 
 Labor makes the spirit gay : 
 Sing it low when love's the song. 
 But when Freedom, loud and strom 
 
 Sing of buried Poland's grave. 
 Italy, the fair and brave, 
 Sing of Hungary agonised. 
 Naples, in red blood baptised ; 
 Oh ! when thus the people sing. 
 Chains o'er tyrants thev may fling. 
 
< ini.mioon"* universal prayer. 138 
 
 CHILDHOODS UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 
 
 (Vict'ob Hugo.) 
 
 Tis eve — the hour when babes with angels speak — 
 
 For ns they pray to Him who all things sees ; 
 That hour when men do most mad pleasure seek— 
 
 Young children lisp their prayers on bended 
 knees. 
 Day is for labor, weariness and care — 
 
 Eve bringeth childhood's faith — religion deep 
 Of love, not fear. Hushed by the simple prayer 
 
 All nature, saving only man. doth sleep. 
 
 Come then, my child, lift up your hands and pray 
 
 For all who, living, walk this earth of graves : 
 For those who lightly tread life's flowery way. 
 
 And those who weary battle with its waves. 
 Pray thou for those who take a mad delight 
 
 In war's dread pomp and furious rushing steeds; 
 For those who laboring, suffer day and night, 
 
 Marking their way with good and evil deeds. 
 
 And pray for him who steeps his soul in sins, 
 Who nightly to the dance and banquet flic*, 
 
134 MOSSKS FUOM A nOT.LTXa STONF.. 
 
 Whose voice from now— when childhood's prayer 
 begins — 
 
 Till day-dawn doth in impious orgies rise : 
 Who, whilst false pleasure wildly he pursues, 
 
 Heeds not that childish hearts, at twilight dim. 
 The incense of their prayers diffuse 
 
 Before that God who heareth them— and him. 
 
 Pray for the poor, my child, and for the wise, 
 
 The sage who thinks, and in his dreams doth 
 dwell. 
 For him whose son! from crime and misery cries. 
 
 And for the prisoner in his Ion eh cell. 
 Pray thou for him who impiously blasphemes. 
 
 Pray, pray, for infinite is prayer ! 
 Thy faith o*er unbelief may shed its beam?. 
 
 Andfdraw down heaven's forgiveness there! 
 
CONFRONTATIONS. 1 35 
 
 CONFRONTATIONS. 
 
 (Victor Hugo.) 
 
 Arise, Oh corpses 1 Lei your assassins stand con- 
 test— 
 
 Speak — who hath plunged those daggers in each 
 bleeding breast i 
 
 Thou first pale shade, thy name and thy foul mur- 
 derer tell— - 
 
 •• I am Religion, and before the Priest I fell." 
 
 Who cometh next \ " Virtue and Reason— hand 
 in hand 
 
 With murdered Honesty and Modesty we stand.'' 
 
 Who was it cut your throat- \ Speak — and aloud 
 proclaim 
 
 Unto the world at large the base assassin's name— 
 
 • The CrrtTiicTi.*' And thou— who art thou? " I 
 am Public Faith, 
 
 Who by the false accursed Oath was put to death." 
 
 And he who bathed in blood lies by thy side ? 
 
 %> My name was Justice — by the Judge's hand 1 
 died." 
 
 Thou next, who bcarcst a swordlcss scabbard — 
 round whose head, 
 
136 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 Defiled with mire, the rays of glory once were 
 
 spread, 
 Advance, Oh grand, gigantic shade and tell thy 
 
 name — 
 •• Tis Austerlftz, and by the armv I was slain." 
 
FABLE— OB HISTORY. 187 
 
 FABLE— OR HISTORY. 
 
 (Victor Htrao. i 
 
 A hungry Ape one summer's day. 
 Did idly through a forest stray. 
 His appetite was truly royal 
 And unto it he was most loyal. 
 A tiger's skin was wrapt around 
 His long, lean limbs, and swept the ground 
 The noble beast had been ferocious— 
 The Ape was worse— he was atrocious — 
 He gnashed his teeth and cried ! "I'm JCing- 
 The king of Night — and I will bring 
 These thickets all beneath my sway. 
 Here, none my will shall disobey." 
 Then on the neighboring land he poured 
 Rapine and murder, fire and sword. 
 Did w r hat a tiger might have clone, 
 Till all believed he must be onr\ 
 u Look at my cavern full of bone?." 
 He cried in loud bombastic" tones. 
 " I am a Tiger — all must fly 
 Before my steps, or they shall dir "' 
 
 m 
 
188 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 But while he speaks with loudest din, 
 We tear aside the covering skin 
 And show the monkey hid below, 
 Who dares not strike another blow. 
 
DEDICATION — CHILDE HAROLD. 139 
 
 DEDICATION OF THE LAST CANTO OF THE 
 PILGRIMAGE OF CHILDE HAROLD. 
 
 (LAMAIITINK.) 
 
 Rememb'rest tliou that day of yore 
 
 When up Seleve's side we climbed \ 
 With manly pride thou walkedst before 
 
 Whilst I more slowly toiled behind, 
 And soon was forced to pause and rest 
 
 Upon a rock hung o'er the height, 
 Whilst thou, undaunted, upward prest 
 
 Beyond my eager longing sight. 
 I saw the branches of the pine 
 
 While slowly parting o'er thy head, 
 On noble daring such as thine 
 
 The dewy tears of morning shed. 
 Beneath thy feet a torrent dashed, 
 
 And 'gainst the scarred and furrowed rock 
 Its waters into foam were lashed, 
 
 While earth was trembling neath the shock 
 In the far west a gathering cloud 
 
 Hung dark and frowning in the air. 
 Whilst in the east the breath of morn 
 
 Unveiled the beauties hidden there. 
 
14(1 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOlsK. 
 
 And showed the Heaven's own limpid hue, 
 Like Leman's waves of dazzling blue. 
 
 Then, all at once upon a cliff 
 
 Where thou ha&st climbed I saw thee rest, 
 Point with thy finder to the abyss, 
 The stream, the heavens, the frowning crest 
 That I their beauty too might see, 
 But I could only gaze on thee. 
 
 Thine eye embraced the sc ;ne below, 
 
 Thy foot r^emod scare? the earth to know. 
 Thy bosom heaved with feelings pent 
 And sought to give its transport vent, 
 As captive waves in narrow space confined. 
 Fret, chafe and moan before the rising wind, 
 
 Tlie cascade's spray was upward flung, 
 
 Entangling rays of every shade 
 Its folds of vapor round thee hung. 
 
 As though in light thou wert arrayed. 
 Thy picture then no words can paint. 
 By thee each image seemeth faint. 
 Thou wert most like the winged thought 
 With which a. pious dream is fraught. 
 When from the heart wherein it lies. 
 Like sacred incense, it doth rise 
 Towards God. and hovers in the skies. 
 
DEDICATION — CHILDE HAROLD. 141 
 
 The moment lied, but leaves its trace 
 
 Upon this fragile monument, 
 Where I thy name unbidden place 
 
 In inem'ry of thy bold ascent. 
 Thy hand may blot it from my line, 
 But in my heart 't will always shine. 
 Nor are my verses wholly vain, 
 If thou canst not the tear restrain 
 Which rises while I strike my lyre ; 
 
 At least these words thou'lt not refuse : 
 " The song which moves me I inspire. 
 
 And my remembrance is his muse,' 1 
 
H2 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE, 
 
 NUPTIAL HYM1S OF THE MODERN GREEKS 
 
 (LAMARTINE. i 
 
 Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses 
 Over the couch where beauty reposes ! 
 
 Wherefore weep'st thou, dark-eyed daughter 
 
 *Tis no day Tor tears and gloom, 
 Like a lily o'er the water, 
 
 Bending with its sweet perfume, 
 Hangs thy head, as o'er thee flashes 
 Love's bright glow in rosy I .lushes. 
 
 Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses 
 Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
 Tis thy lover thou dost hear, 
 
 Take the ring that seals his iamc, 
 Wear it without doubt or fear, 
 Trembling but with maiden shame, 
 If thy love burns in his soul. 
 There *t will glow while this is whole. 
 
 Scatter, scatter narcissus and rosi 
 Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
 In thy hand the torch is burning 
 §aered unto nuptial bliss, 
 
NUPTIAL HYMN OF THE MODERN CKEEKS. 143 
 
 Let thy heart so fondly yearning, 
 Feed a flame as pure as this ; 
 Shedding e'er its sweet perfume 
 O'er life's pathway to the tomb. 
 
 Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses. 
 Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
 Crowned kids around are playing 
 
 By young maidens brought to thee. 
 Like them, in the meadow straying 
 Soon thy children thou shalt see. 
 New-born joys that crown the life 
 Of the mother and the wife. 
 
 Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses. 
 Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
 In the valley wreath the myrtle 
 
 That shall shade thy infant's head, 
 Learn the cooing oi* the turtle 
 As thou mak'st his little bed ; 
 In the summer's golden prime 
 Ready make for harvest time. 
 
 Scatter, scatter narcissus and roses 
 Over the couch where beauty reposes. 
 Canst thou murmur like the water 
 ^Vs it ripples o'er the stones < 
 
144 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STOKE. 
 
 Woman is but nature's daughter — 
 Let her learn her mothers tones. 
 Practice now the notes that best 
 Lull the infant to its rest. 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 145 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 (LaMAUTIXK.) 
 
 Born with the spring, and dying as the roses die. 
 
 On wings of zephyr floating 'neath a summer sky. 
 
 Resting upon the bosom of each ilower in bloom. 
 
 Intoxicated with their beauty and perfume — 
 
 This is the butterfly— life hath for him no sting — 
 
 He's always yqung, and beautiful, and on the wing ; 
 
 Whilst upward — ever upward in each careless 
 flight 
 
 The painted down floats from his wings into the 
 light. 
 
 Such is that love which knows no rest and no re- 
 pose. 
 
 Flitting, now to the lily, then unto the rose. 
 
 Hipping from every ilower. but drinking deep of 
 none — 
 
 Forever on the wing for a more glorious one ; 
 
 But, as the down floats e'er the butterfly above, 
 
 Imagination soars to a more perfect love. 
 
146 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 LINES ON AN ALBUM. 
 
 (Lahartine.) 
 
 The book of Life's the book supreme, 
 
 It opes not, shuts not at our will, 
 But of themselves the pages turn, 
 
 And we must read both good and ill: 
 Its sweetest leave- are spread but once, 
 
 When back to lote we lain would fly 
 Beneath our eager ftngers next 
 
 The page of death perchance mat lit 1 
 
THE SNAIL. 141 
 
 THE SNAIL. 
 
 (A. V. Arnault.) 
 
 Without a friend, with no sweet ties, 
 
 To all on earth a stranger; 
 Withdrawing in his shelt'ring shell 
 
 At every sign of danger. 
 Loving himself with tend'rest love. 
 
 Unseen in stormy weather, 
 His narrow house he fills alone. 
 
 For self lives altogether. 
 Impure is every trace he leaves, 
 
 He mischief works each hour, 
 And with Ids kisses or his bite 
 
 Defaces every flower ; 
 lie with old age more sluggish grows, 
 
 And closer keeps his cell ; 
 Thus, of the egotist and snail 
 
 At once the life I tell. 
 
148 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 THE WITHERED LEAF. 
 
 (A. V. Aknavi.t. ) 
 
 Torn from thy stem by some rude gale. 
 
 Where wand'rcst thou, poor leaf so frail >. 
 
 Alas ! I know not ; fair to view. 
 
 Once on a noble oak I grew, 
 
 But, when the storm burst o'er its head. 
 
 I with tir inconstant zephyr tied. 
 
 Since then o'er hill and vale I've strayed, 
 
 Where'er the summer winds have played. 
 
 Hither and thither, without thought, 
 
 Nothing I fear, complain of naught ; 
 
 Soon I shall crumble into dust, 
 
 And float away where all things must. 
 
 And where is that i Oh whither goes 
 
 The withered laurel — the faded rose i 
 
TUT. TALL OF THK J/EAVKS. 149 
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAVES. 
 
 (Mn.i.Kvoii:. i 
 
 Autumn had robbed the trees to fling, 
 
 His worthless spoil upon the ground, 
 Laid bare the mysteries of the grove 
 
 And hushed the wild bird's joyous pound. 
 When to a wood where he had loved 
 
 In earlier — happier — days to stray. 
 A broken-hearted, dying man 
 
 For the last time did wend his way. 
 " Farewell, oh wood ! I yield," he said, 
 
 •'Your mourning shows me fate's decree : 
 For every withered leaf that falls 
 
 Brings sentence of my death to me. 
 A fatal oracle art thou. 
 
 Which mournfully to me doth say : 
 For the last time before thine 6?es 
 
 The yellow leaves now pass away ! 
 The cypress round thy brow is twined. 
 
 For thee no more the rose shall bloom. 
 .More pale than pallid autumn's self 
 
 Thy foot-steps totter towards the tOftib, 
 
150 MOSSES FROM A HOLLING STONE. 
 
 Thy youth shall wither ere the grass 
 * Now covering yonder field is dead, 
 Before the vine upon the bill 
 
 Its sere and yellow leaf has shed. 
 And I musl die ! With their cold breath 
 
 The autumn winds around me play, 
 Like a vain shadow I have seen 
 
 My glorious spring-time pass away ! 
 Fall ! fall ! ye faded leaves, and hide 
 
 This narrow. path from every eye, 
 Hide from my mother's wild despair 
 
 The lonely spot where I must lie. 
 But if the maiden whom I love 
 
 Should ever wander here at eve. 
 To drop a tear upon my grave, 
 
 Or o'er my mem ry sadly grieve, 
 Make to my spirit some slight sign, 
 
 That I may not unconscious lie, 
 But draw sweet comfort from her grid 
 
 And answer back her teneler sigh " — 
 He gazed around with swimming eyes, 
 
 Then slowly turned his steps away, 
 And the last leaf that quivering fell 
 
 Served but to mark his dying day. 
 Beneath the oak where he foretold 
 
 His early doom, a grave w r as made ; 
 
THE PALL OF THE LEAVER 151 
 
 But ah ! his mistress never came 
 To sit and weep where he was laid ; 
 
 She never trod that narrow path. 
 
 As he had hoped, in evening's gloom; 
 
 The valley shepherd's step alone 
 Disturbed the silence of his tomb. 
 
152 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 PRAY FOR ME. 
 
 (MlLLBTOTB.) 
 
 Tis eve — all nature weary seems. 
 
 The breeze in silence dies away, 
 While through my dying chamber gleams 
 
 The fading glories of the day. 
 The vesper bell calls all to prayer. 
 
 Its music from the church is shed ; 
 Rut oh ! kind maiden, go not there, 
 
 Stay — tell your rosary by my bed. 
 
 Vm dying with the dying' year, 
 My days, though weary, are but few, 
 
 And I shall be no longer here 
 
 When autumn leaves the grass shall strew. 
 When from yon belfry tolls my knell. 
 
 And I have gone from all my woe. 
 For me your rosary maiden tell. 
 
 And pray my soul sweet peace may know. 
 
 And oh ! when one in sable robe 
 Shall to my grave in silence glide. 
 
 Seek not with curious glance to probe 
 The secret wound she fain would hide. 
 
PftAt for >rr.. loS 
 
 She was my love — respect her weeds, 
 
 For her my life I'd give away ; 
 And, when at eve you toll your bead-. 
 
 Oh! for us both, kind maiden, pray. 
 
 {10) 
 
154 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 CLASP THY LITTLE HANDS. 
 
 ('Anonymous.) 
 
 Clasp tby little hands, my child, 
 
 For it is the close of day, 
 And yon star, with lustre mild, 
 
 Tells us it is time to pray. 
 Not a single sound is heard, 
 
 Save the bell in holy place, 
 Which, Avhen ringing, bids us all 
 Kneel and pray for heavenly grace. 
 Clasp thy little hands, my child. 
 
 For it is the close of day, 
 And yon star, with lustre mild. 
 Tells us it is time to pray. 
 
 Clasp thy little hands, my child, 
 
 See, as darkness draweth near, 
 From the jas'mine's yellow flower 
 
 Every bee doth disappear ; 
 Folded are the silvered wings 
 
 Of the azure butterfly, 
 And amid the waving grass 
 
 Till the morning it will lie. 
 
CTASr THY LITTLE HANDS. 155 
 
 (Lisp thy little hands, my child, 
 
 For it is the close of day, 
 And yon shir, with lustre mild. 
 
 Tells us it is lime to pray. 
 
 Clasp thy little hands, my child, 
 
 Kneel, my darling, kneel and pray. 
 For a happy morn awaits 
 
 Children who thus end the day. 
 Listen to thy mother's prayer, 
 Tis that, waking' or asleep, 
 Round about thee, day and night, 
 Angels loving watch may keep. 
 
 Clasp thy little hands, my child. 
 
 For it is l lie close of day. 
 
 And yon star, with lustre mild, 
 
 Tells us it is time to pray. 
 
MOSSES from A ROIitiTNG STOKE. 
 
 TEARS. 
 
 i HliTA i'fASR).') 
 
 Tears arc the language of the heart, 
 And with each deep emotion start, 
 Rending its stony crust apart. 
 
 Like molten lava they may flow, 
 Nor bring ivli. f unto the woe. 
 The soul does in such sorrow know. 
 
 And then, like softiiing summer shower. 
 Refreshing every leaf and flower, 
 They fall with gently soothing power. 
 
 They [low with linger, shame and grief, 
 They come with rapture's transport brief. 
 And bring the swelling heart relief. 
 
 Hope only shows its rainbow dyes 
 Reflected in the tears which rise, 
 When disappointment clouds the skies. 
 
 Oh ! erring hearts, so frail and weak 1 
 Why will ye all your rapture seek, 
 Where it in tears alone can speak ( 
 
157 
 
 Look up! and see hope's brillitnt bow 
 
 In faith's blue heaven with promise glow 
 There — only there — true bliss ve "!1 know. 
 
158 MOSSES FKOM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 WHAT IS LOVE.' 
 
 i Dante.) 
 
 Tin' gen'rous heart is but the same, 
 The wise man saith, as (rue love's flame ; 
 Each must the other 1 i life q ssist, 
 Neither alone can e'er exist. 
 .\s reason to reasoning soul ' s akin, 
 True lo . • to g n'j ous heart is twin. 
 Nature in urish ; ■■ lid cr 
 Each as the other's fitting mate. 
 Love is a king —the gen'rous heart 
 l!:s palace — wrought with (anions art, 
 Within whose inner chamber wails 
 He lies asleep till beauty calls. 
 Sometimes but brief repose he takes, 
 Then, slumbers long, and slowly wakes. 
 When sense with beauty joins to please 
 The observant eye, which, watchful sees 
 .These charms combine to wake desire 
 The pleasing object to acquire, 
 Which grows and strengthens, till from sleep, 
 Full armed for conquest, love doth leap. 
 Thus beauty acts on manly worth, 
 Which in her heart to love gives birth. 
 
MUST I FORGET?" 159 
 
 " MUST I FORGET ?" 
 
 (*NONYMOUS.) 
 
 And is it so ? And must we meet 
 With cold indifference, now ? 
 
 Must I forget the living fire 
 
 You've pressed upon my brow i 
 Must I forget my head hath lain 
 
 Against your throbbing breast, 
 As you, in love's abandonment, 
 
 My loosened hair carest ? 
 Must I forget my very soul 
 
 On yours has helpless hung, 
 As o'er my woman's weakness, you 
 
 The strength of manhood flung ? 
 Must I forget \ I will forget, 
 
 And you shall never know 
 The fierce, volcanic fire, which burns 
 
 Beneath indifference 1 snow. 
 Like marble I will set the lips 
 
 Which quivered 'neath your own, 
 While from my voice pride shall extract 
 
 Love's tenderness of tone. 
 
UK) MOSSES FROM A KOIJiINO SToNtt. 
 
 I know your coldly jealous heart 
 
 Would rather for its sake. 
 Beneath the weight you've on it laid. 
 
 My woman's one should break. 
 ] know you'd rather rage and hate 
 
 Should in my bosom burn, 
 Than that the lava in my veins 
 
 T<> hardened stone should turn. 
 I will not feign my heart is ice. 
 
 You know it is not so : 
 Hut 1 will make you keenly feel 
 
 For you it does not glow ; 
 Feel that another reigns supremo 
 
 When.' you were king alone : 
 And with this poisoned arrow pierce 
 
 Your jealous heart of stone. 
 
KKAITY AND VIRTUE. lGt. 
 
 BEAUTY A.M.) VIRTUE. 
 
 (Dante's Vita Nuovo.) 
 
 Two Loves have I, of equal force", 
 Who in ni}' bosom oft discourse ; 
 A modest prudence hath the one, 
 In courtesy excelled by none ; 
 
 This virtue is, who lives for duty. 
 And by her sits enchanting beauty. 
 With lively elegance around her thrown. 
 And every winning grace her own. 
 I. thanks to my sov'reign lord so sweet. 
 In love with both, lie at their feet : 
 They, like true women, doubt express 
 Each that the other hath excess, 
 And seek this question to decide : 
 •• Can loyal heart its love divide if" 
 The fount of eloquence replies. 
 At once for both true love may rise. 
 Beauty, to yield delight man needs. 
 Virtue, to prompt to pen'rous deeds. 
 
162 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 (DANTE'S ilNFERNfO 
 
 I said: "Francesca, thy sad tale 
 Hath made my heart with sorrow wail, 
 And my eyes weep till tears did tail ; 
 But in thy season of sweet sighs 
 What caused thy passion to arise, 
 His dim desire to recognise V 
 Then she, " the greatest of all woes 
 Is that which from the mem'ry flows 
 Of joy the soul no longer knows ; 
 But if your sympathy doth prey 
 Upon your heart, I '11 even say 
 How first our passion saw the day ; 
 We read — oh ne'er to be forgot ! 
 Alone, in some secluded spot, 
 How love enchained brave Lancelot ; 
 Our eyes oft met, our cheeks in hue 
 Resembled roses wet with dew, 
 And then aside the book we threw ; 
 For as we read how in her pride 
 To taste her Dover's lips she sighed. 
 
PRANCE8CA DA RIMINI. llSo 
 
 He, who from me naught can divide, 
 Pressed on my mouth so warm a kiss 
 PTe trembled both with new-born bliss. 
 And turned no other leaf than this." 
 
164 MOSSES PROM A ROLLING STONE 
 
 INVOCATION TO DEATH. 
 
 (PlBTRO BEMBO.1 
 
 Oil Death ! stern monarch of despair \ 
 
 Whom nature trembles to beholjd, 
 Come unto me, the child of care, 
 
 A;ul touch me with your fingers cold. 
 Voitr power alone can bring relief. 
 And change io slumber this wild grief. 
 The stroke which bids existence cease, 
 
 Though it shall, thrill each quivering vein. 
 [11 welcome as a bright release 
 
 Which stills the spirit's sharper pain : 
 Death's pangs n ay be less keen than those 
 Which in its prime life often knows. 
 
THE ECHO OF ftfS HARP. Hi' 
 
 THE ECHO OF THE HARP. 
 (Madame Amable Tastv.) 
 
 As -when some wandering night wind sweep? 
 
 Across a harp its viewless wings, 
 And wakes the whispering tone which sleeps 
 
 Forever in its silent strings: 
 Across my bosom's hidden lyre. 
 
 Touched by the muse's hand alone 
 Sweeps fancy's wing, my soul to lire. 
 
 And give its sleeping music tone. 
 Her glorious thoughts, her lovely dreams. 
 
 Like flowers she scatters as she Hies, 
 And though to heaven the music streams. 
 
 The echo in my bosom lies. 
 
160 MOSSES FROM A ROLLING STONE. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 (Madame Amable Tastu.) 
 
 The infant smiles upon the shore 
 Of life's broad sea that 's spread before, 
 Nor to the horizon turns his eyes 
 To mark a little cloud arise,; 
 To him the sky is a i ways bright, 
 His lovely morning knows no night, 
 Rocked in delighl he Laughs and sings, 
 Till death sweep3 by on angel wings; 
 Only his mother sees the cloud, 
 And feels that it his life will shroud. 
 But when through time's relentless hand 
 Hath glided childhood's golden sand, 
 The you tii starts back in cold affright 
 From the veiled phantom in his sight ; 
 For in the bosom of his play, 
 Or treading wisdom's flowery way, 
 A sudden restlessness will bring 
 Back to his heart that fearful thing. 
 Then comes an hour when blinded youth 
 In all its beauty first sees truth ; 
 
DEATH. 167 
 
 The drunkenness of dreaming flies, 
 
 And grief's first tear bedews the eye- ; 
 
 The form unmantleth to the sight 
 
 And death is there — but death so bright— 
 
 Like a young angel he appears, 
 
 Crowned with pale flowers bedewed with tears. 
 
 No sound of fear eomes with his feet. 
 
 He is a friend youth stops to greet ; 
 
 Tie smiles and presses to the ground 
 
 The flame with which life's torch is crowned 
 
 His lips breathe slumber upon pain. 
 
 He points to heaven and smiles again. 
 
 But lo! the angel waxeth proud, 
 
 He casts aside the veiling cloud. 
 
 And stands before the heart forlorn 
 
 In all the loftiness of scorn. 
 
 Man's spirit then before him quakes, 
 
 He opes his mighty hand and takes 
 
 All in his path. Cased in his mail 
 
 The warrior feels his heart turn pale, m 
 
 As death thus cometh — nigher — nigher — 
 
 And ceaseless towers — higher — higher. 
 
 Again his face he veils in cloud. 
 
 As when by years and sorrow bowed 
 
 The soul the boundary of its way 
 
 Approaches quickly, and each day 
 
u;s 
 
 MOSSES FftOM A ROLLING STOSTE. 
 
 Upon it hangs tlie weight bf years. 
 As silentlj and without tears 
 Before death's dreadful feet we kneel 
 And hi s dark presence round us feel, 
 
 0®is 
 
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 Novelettes, Sketches, Criticisms, Reviews, 
 Poems. Biographies, Wittticisins, Travels, 
 Adventures. &c, &c, 
 Are pure, entertaining and instructive in a degree rarely at 
 tained in periodical literature. 
 
 In accordance with the name of the paper a special depart- 
 ment is devoted to The Field, wherein are given article?, 
 hints and suggestions on the practical management of the 
 Farm, the Garden, the Orchard and the Kitchen. 
 subscriptions: 
 
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 Clubs of Five. One Year, 80.00 
 
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 And an extra copy to the party getting up a club of ten. No 
 club rates to six months Bubacribera. 
 
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