Bites 
 
 OF A 
 
 Oherry 
 

 A 
 
 ^ ' J 
 
 li 
 
 
<^ 
 
 
 
 TO 
 
 MY FATHER 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Miniature 8 
 
 Wood Notes 9 
 
 Crow Point 15 
 
 Escape , • . 19 
 
 The Dead Leaves 21 
 
 NoN Supra Chepidam 29 
 
 At the Piano 31 
 
 Doubt .32 
 
 The Amphitheatre — Opera Night . . 33 
 
 Kesignation 40 
 
 Allan 42 
 
 Christmas Carol . 46 
 
 "Ada! Sole Daughter " 54 
 
 Nebulae 57 
 
 Dedication Hymn 60 
 
 The Old Songs 61 
 
 Limitation 64 
 
 Daft ! 65 
 
 My Old Violin ....... 70 
 
 The Mountains of Maine .... 72 
 
 Trust 73 
 
BITES OP A CHEEEY. 
 
 ASLEEP. 
 
 MY little baby boy hath cried 
 Himself asleep at some light childish pain; 
 And on his face its traces still abide 
 
 Like shapes of cloud o'er meadow flying, — 
 Upon his cheek a tear-drop lying, 
 As on a leaf a single drop of rain: 
 
 See! as I bend above his face, 
 The shade of grief flies like the hurrying 
 cloud, 
 And like a flood of sunshine in its place, 
 The shadow yielding to the splendor, 
 A smile so sunny breaks and tender, 
 His soul seems speaking through it half aloud. 
 
 Say, what is passing in his sleep ? 
 What are the dreams across his vision 
 driven? 
 Hath one. too young to sow, begun to reap? 
 Doth he, at one light grief repining, 
 The worthlessness of earth divining, 
 Already dream of sweeter things in heaven? 
 
MINIATURE, 
 
 MINIATUBE. 
 
 OH ! look and see 
 The face of one who loveth me ! 
 'Tis hfe! 'tis life I the lips will part; 
 The eyes already love me, and 
 Close to my heart 
 
 I press the picture w^ith my hand. 
 
 Oh I can it be 
 That one so beautiful loves me? 
 That out of all the world of those 
 
 "Who lay their hearts upon her shrine. 
 This goddess throws 
 
 Them every one aside for mine? 
 
 Yet, daily she 
 Gathers and brings sweet flowers for me, 
 And lets me read, far down her eyes, 
 
 Long dreamy tales of perfect bliss. 
 And drowns the sighs 
 
 Upon my lips beneath a kiss. 
 
 Why! she could bring 
 Down at her feet a lord, a king. 
 And yet on me, whom no one knows, 
 
 A very beggar boy, this dove 
 Her pity throws. 
 
 And crowns me only with her love. 
 
WOOD NOTES. 
 
 Strange, one so grand, 
 With wealth and jewels in her hand, 
 With diamonds in her loving eyes, 
 
 And golden treasures in her hair, 
 Should sacrifice 
 
 Them all for me, as free as air! 
 
 And yet 'tis true: 
 I give my honest love, and you. 
 Dear soul, whom all the world adore, 
 
 Forego their praise, and only gi'e 
 The boundless store 
 
 And sweetness of your love to me! 
 
 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 UP from our dreams, ere break of day, 
 A score of miles, o'er hills away, 
 Far from the village shades we hie 
 To where the mountain waters lie. 
 
 O'er broken ways, through rock and wood. 
 
 By brook, by steep, by sohtude, 
 
 By farm-house lone the cliff below, 
 
 Into the forest depths we go. 
 
 The birches line the path we thread ; 
 
 Their leaves are stirring overhead; 
 
 Their green leaves dot the azure skies, 
 
10 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 And lade the gentle air with sighs : 
 
 The moss yields softly to our tread, 
 
 And bird-notes burst, and wood-mates call 
 
 In wild and sudden-ringing cries 
 
 That with the echoes rise and fall, 
 
 Till, half-way up the mountain side. 
 
 Gleams through the trees the sheeny tide. 
 
 Here smiles the face of Abbot pond, 
 As if a god, with mighty wand, 
 The barren, rocky cliff had smit, 
 And drawn in ample flow from it 
 The waves that now before our eyes. 
 Touched by the summer's tenderest sighs, 
 In faintest ripples fall and rise. 
 
 Around its rim, the forest shade 
 In darkened lines of light is laid; 
 Above and imaged in iis breast 
 The bald and lonely mountain crest, 
 The seat of storm, the ages' home, 
 Sublimely lifts its granite dome. 
 
 Thus, half in shadow, half in sheen. 
 Set like a gem, the waves are seen, 
 Raising like lips their little steeps 
 To kiss the breath that o'er them sweeps, — 
 Pierced by the springing trout that leaps 
 
WOOD NOTES, 11 
 
 A moment to the air to break 
 
 A sudden circle in the lake, — 
 
 A circle widening toward the shore, 
 
 But waning dinimer, more and more, 
 
 Until exhausted in its reach, 
 
 it faints in silence on the beach. 
 
 'Twas here we came in sporting days : 
 Our roaring camiD-fires, red with blaze, 
 Inflamed the night and lit the tide 
 With fans of firelight, flaring wide. 
 Here on the fallen trunks that sleep 
 Bent in the wave and half on shore, — 
 Here on the tonsured rocks that keep 
 The waters back that dash them o'er, 
 We lay at morn and lay at night. 
 And threw with exquisite delight. 
 The gold-flecked swimmers to the skies; 
 Yet half to pity turned, instead. 
 So still they lay with filming eyes, 
 With fading spots of blue and red, 
 Till gasping hard and fast for breath, 
 Tossing the yellow leaves, in vain 
 They struggled in the throes of death, 
 The living waters to regain. 
 
 Here, to the right, half up the steep, 
 Where beeches grow, and streamlets leap, 
 
12 WOOD NOTES, 
 
 Where pathways overgrown repeat 
 
 Forgotten tales of former feet, 
 
 Here lived that dark old man, Scelest, 
 
 Who only loved the wood's repose 
 
 And her, — sole treasure he possessed, — 
 
 His brown-eyed daughter, Penserose. 
 
 How oft with her I strayed the shore, 
 And loved the hues the waters bore, 
 And listened to the wind that rose 
 And stirred a million leaves' repose ! 
 At night, weary of mountain ways, 
 We saw, above the hills afar. 
 The gloam succeed the sunset's blaze ; 
 Whence burst anon the evening star 
 To gem with gold the August night. 
 And touch the wave with broken light. 
 The air from nooks and arches grim, 
 The open tree-trunks wandered through 
 We saw the mountain top grow dim, 
 Fading and dark, mid falling dew; 
 We saw the dark, rich mirror light 
 The ripples threw beneath the night. 
 And still we heard, in pulses low, 
 Their ceaseless beatings ebb and flow ; 
 We saw the clouds drive swiftly through 
 The starlit depths of faintest blue, 
 And heard the voices in the air, 
 
WOOD NOTES. 13 
 
 That rise at night in forest deep, 
 And weird and pensive music bear, 
 To lull the senses into sleep. 
 We saw, upon the farther shore. 
 The fishers' fire its streamers fling. 
 And knew that there, as oft before, 
 Our village folk were revelling : 
 And oft we rose at middle night, 
 Across the water rowing light. 
 To share their frolic, or surprise 
 The sleepers from their heavy eyes. 
 And learn what faces known of old, 
 What maidens fair and gallants bold, 
 Had come so far, awhile to be 
 Amid the mountain scenery. 
 
 At morn, we saw the sun uprise 
 And fire the forest green anew 
 With every tint of verdant dyes. 
 Striking the mountain side with light. 
 While all below still grayer grew, 
 And woods and waves wore twilight hue, 
 Thus crowning day upon the night. 
 While all this sweet transition hour 
 A thousand warblers waked and sung 
 And drenched the branches with a shower 
 Of tuneful trills that interrung ; 
 The morn was brimmed with melody, 
 
'T^ 
 
 1 
 
 14 WOOD NOTES. 
 
 Until its countless purling rills 
 Through ether fell from sky to sea 
 And rippled down aerial hills, 
 And struck the dewy leaves and woke 
 As many echoes slumbering there, 
 Till the whole world in carol broke, 
 And myriad song-notes thrilled the air. 
 
 Anon, when blazed the midday hour, 
 We lay on moss in sylvan bower, 
 Where limpid springs had cooling flow 
 The leaves and fallen trunks below ; 
 Or climbed the mountain side to rest. 
 Fanned by the wind that swept its crest. 
 Alone, upon the bald, bold height. 
 Far oflf on every side saw we 
 The landscape rolling like the sea 
 And misty in the noon- day light. 
 We saw the hills with beeches crowned, 
 The vales where sinuous rivers wound. 
 The pond below, inlaid in green. 
 With spots of shade, and spots of sheen 
 The breezes, loving Penserose, 
 Let loose her brown hair from repose, 
 And made me love her and adore ; 
 For Penserose more winning grew, 
 As beautiful as skies of blue. 
 One to be loved forevermore. 
 
CROW POINT. 
 
 15 
 
 And always beautiful and fair, 
 The sweetest face, the gentlest air, 
 She yet was not so fair as sweet, — 
 That brown and pensive loveliness, 
 Where shades of melancholy fleet, 
 And sad eyes sadder heart confess. 
 
 Ah ! now I know why Penserose 
 Breathed such sweet sadness in her sighs; 
 Why less of glory than repose, 
 Lay in the heaven of her eyes ! 
 Ah ! now I know too well why shQ 
 Did cli^g so tenderly to me. 
 
 CBO W POINT, 
 
 HOW sweet the day ! E'en as a mise 
 wakes 
 At tim^s under the touch of pity's hand 
 And gives profusely from his hoarded stores, 
 His face as tender as a mother's smile 
 Ere yet his greed encase it o'er again. 
 So now the bleak November opes its heart 
 And pours o'er all the earth and sky the soft 
 And meltino^ haze of Augrust, and we walk 
 Through fields again, and sit upon the rocks; 
 And to the dreams, in which this Sabbath day 
 The whole world seems to sleep, we also yield, 
 
1^6 cjrow point. 
 
 And to our sensuous hearts draw in the deep 
 And blessed influence of the scene. Afar 
 The bhie hills fade, and veil their ragged tops 
 Beneath the light that softens them; the bare 
 Brown fields flush almost into beauty, as 
 The face of age doth sometimes catch again 
 The beauty of its youth ; the fir-trees fringe 
 The landscape with immortal hues of green; 
 Across the outspread meadow-lands appear 
 The furrows of the earth just ploughed and fresh 
 With all the fragrance of the new turned sod; 
 The sheep, that herded closer when we came, 
 Stand picturesquely grouped upon the ledge 
 And scan us with grave eyes; the cattle love 
 The sun, and saunter, feeding here and there, 
 Unconscious that they grace the hillsides now 
 As when the Hebrew poet in his song- 
 Sang of the cattle on a thousand hills; 
 Out of the hazy light, e'en as we gaze, 
 Grow on our eyes the Quincy spires far off; 
 The Weymouth village roofs break through the 
 
 air. 
 And masts of ships at anchor, and, anon. 
 The outlines dim of nestling cottages ; 
 Sweet church bells, softened by the distance, 
 
 strike ; 
 And children's voices come, we know not 
 
 whence. 
 
CROW POINT, 
 
 17 
 
 And from the turnpike bridge the thud of hoofs ; 
 Eastward, incessant roars the rolling surf, 
 And just below us flocks of ducks alight 
 Upon the water gabbling as they swim ; 
 The islands in the harbor lie asleep, 
 Unwaked, so still the surface of the sea, 
 So slumberous the drowsy atmosphere. 
 A rift of inky cloud, its edge defined 
 As with a pencil, rests high up the sky 
 And finds its shadow in the wave below; 
 Elsewhere so faint the light's gradations, that 
 The sky and sea upon the horizon meet. 
 And mingle into one. Low in the west. 
 E'en as we look, the misty veil is rent. 
 And in a single opening, silver lined, 
 The sun half lifts its heavy eyelid, and, 
 All else still shrouded in the haze. 
 Its rays fall only on the fortress walls. 
 And on the sails of schooners gliding past, 
 Illuming them with light so soft and rare. 
 So delicately fading on the deep. 
 That artist's pencil ne'er can copy them; 
 And we gaze, thinking such a sight will ne'er 
 Be ours again to see. O Sabbath day I 
 What sermons fall upon us from your skies! 
 And what a song of praise is this sweet chord 
 That wakes in both our hearts and answers 
 back 
 
 2 
 
18 CROW POINT. 
 
 To all the mingled sights and sounds that 
 
 make 
 The perfect influence of this matchless hour ! 
 Sweet friend, are there no longings in your 
 
 heart, 
 No deeper current than the child's by-gones 
 That wake the memory, but minister 
 Naught to your needs, no nurture to your soul? 
 Let us walk on : the clouds grow dim, and faints 
 The last tinge left them by the setting sun. 
 The village, with its belfry and its elms, 
 Its wharves and slopes and houses on the hill, 
 Seen froni the rustic railing of the bridge 
 On which we linger as we pass, doth seem 
 Like some New England painter's work, who 
 
 paints, 
 Pent up in town, his dear old village home. 
 Farewell ! the night sinks down, the rain drops 
 
 fall; 
 November shuts her heart again, and I, 
 Bleaker than e'er November, cannot break 
 E'en momently the clouds that make my heart 
 Hide in its narrowness of reticence, — 
 For years taught duty by relentless fate, 
 Dumb most to those for whom it quickest beats. 
 
ESCAPE. 
 
 19 
 
 ESCAPE, 
 
 LAST night, I had the saddest dream ! — 
 That I at length ray troth had plighted; 
 That I, with one I much esteem, 
 My fortunes had united. 
 
 At twenty- two — a fraction more — 
 Much as the thought my heart has harried, 
 really never dreamed before 
 That I was loved or married. 
 
 There was no ceremony made, — 
 
 Our dreams, you see, are much capri- 
 cious, — 
 Ko clerk — no wedding marches played — 
 
 Ko nuptial kiss, delicious. 
 
 But we were married all at once : 
 I could not tell when I consented; 
 
 I know I thought myself a dunce. 
 And heartily repented. 
 
 There was chagrin to find my heart 
 
 Had got itself so far entangled ; 
 And yet I knew I had no part 
 
 In letting it be mangled. 
 
20 ESCAPE. 
 
 ' Twas very plain that some mistake 
 Had interfered with my gyrations ; 
 
 ' Twas quite as plain I couldn't shake 
 Aside the new relations. 
 
 And yet it was a pleasant eye, 
 
 Soft, love-lit, dark, and melancholy. 
 
 That made me half repent that I 
 Accused myself of folly. 
 
 A tender face, more sad than gay, — 
 It long before was wont to cheer me,— 
 
 Without my thinking, I may say, 
 ' Twould ever come so near me. 
 
 Why, I had known her years and years. 
 And loved her more than I can utter, 
 
 But not in sighs and fears and tears, 
 In ecstasy and flutter. 
 
 And, what was worse, I knew that she 
 Did feel no more, but just as I did ; 
 
 Who, then, could solve the mystery ? 
 What god our fate had guided I 
 
 I did not like to say outright 
 The discontent I labored under ; 
 
 Besides, deplore the matter as I might, 
 I couldn't mend the blunder. 
 
THE DEAD LEAVES. 21 
 
 And when I waked, I scarce believed 
 A dream so vivid was unfounded, 
 
 Till, all my ribs felt, I perceived 
 My terror was ungrounded. 
 
 I'm half ashamed to say what glee 
 I feel to find my heart still single, 
 
 What sweet relief and liberty 
 Through all my senses tingle. 
 
 Like caged bird, let loose in air. 
 Joying to spread and use his feathers, 
 
 While I'm awake, I'll have a care 
 And shun the nuptial tethers. 
 
 THE DEAD LEAVES. 
 
 THE sere leaves are lying 
 Strewn on the ground, 
 Fading and dying, 
 Creating a sound 
 That maketh one sober, 
 As eddying round 
 
 They flutter and fly 
 And rustle and sigh 
 In the winds of October. 
 
22 THE DEAD LEASES 
 
 They are brittle and old, 
 
 With no longer the hues 
 Of radiant gold 
 And orange and red, 
 
 That shone in the dews — 
 The sun-stricken dews, 
 In whose lustre the red 
 The gold and the red 
 
 Grew diamond bright, 
 And reflected the light, 
 The breaking daylight 
 In sparkles of light ; — 
 With no longer the hues 
 That everywhere spread, 
 Such a glory of red 
 
 And orange and gold 
 On hill-top and wold, 
 On the slope and the side. 
 From the foot to the head. 
 Of the mountains anigh. 
 As far and as wide 
 
 As the out-looking eye. 
 Afar and anigh 
 
 Had power to behold ! 
 As if in the night 
 A billow of gold 
 Had flamingly rolled 
 The wilderness o'er 
 
THE DEAD LEAVES. 
 
 23 
 
 And left in its trace 
 The magnificent light 
 Of the colors it bore 
 
 To enrich the whole face 
 Of the earth with a store 
 Of measureless gold. 
 They are fallen and dead, 
 
 And the fulness and strength 
 Of their beauty are fled, 
 And, wasted at length, 
 And withered and thin, 
 Their delicate frames 
 Already begin 
 
 To be painfully plain, 
 Like a man, when the flames 
 Of fever and pain 
 
 Have hollowed his face 
 And tightened the skin. 
 
 And discovered the trace 
 Of the bones of his face. 
 
 As fast as they fall, 
 
 At the master's command, 
 I gather them all, 
 
 And with pitiful hand 
 Keep heaping them in 
 My arms to my chin; 
 And I lovingly bear 
 
24 THE DEAD LEAVES. 
 
 Them in from the storms ; 
 
 And a feeling of kin 
 And a merciful care 
 
 Come into my breast 
 For the leaves that I bear, 
 And I clasp to my breast 
 
 Their delicate forms, 
 
 Their withering forms, 
 As mothers have pressed 
 Their babes to the breast 
 
 In pitiless storms. 
 
 Por I think they were born 
 In the dewy spring-morn, 
 Grew verdant and fair, 
 And sighed in the air 
 Of the summer gone by ; 
 Were kissed by the sigh 
 
 Of the winds and the air; 
 
 Have lived as I live. 
 Have loved as I love, 
 
 Ever ready to give 
 
 Their shade to my rest. 
 And, spreading above 
 Me, to shadow my breast 
 And lull me to rest ; 
 
 By day and by night 
 Have sheltered me well 
 
THE DEAD LEAVES. 25 
 
 And waked in my breast 
 A mystic delight, 
 
 And seduced me to tell, 
 With a lover's delight, 
 
 To their mischievous ears 
 My dreams and my sighs 
 
 My hopes and my fears 
 And my ladye's replies. 
 
 I remember their life 
 Was akin to the days 
 
 When odors were rife — 
 The odor of flowers 
 From numberless bowers 
 Of leaves and of flowers ; 
 When voluptuous haze 
 Did wrap in a maze 
 The mountain tops round; 
 When I lay on the ground, 
 Down under the trees. 
 And heard the dear breeze 
 With a slumberous sound 
 Going into the trees ; 
 When I ever did grieve, 
 And could hardly believe, 
 That the leaves of the trees, 
 And the slumberous breeze, 
 
26 THE DEAD LEAVES. 
 
 And the mystical haze 
 Of the long summer days, 
 And the spirit of rest 
 
 That came out of the air 
 And into my breast, 
 
 Seducing the heart 
 In my indolent breast, 
 
 Would ever depart 
 And leave me aware 
 That beauty and bloom 
 But little while stay, 
 But forever give way 
 To sorrow and gloom. 
 
 They lived and are dying ; 
 And now, in October, 
 They deem me so sober, 
 So really dying. 
 
 That I fancy them sighing 
 Over the past ; 
 They sigh that at last. 
 After all the sweet phase 
 Of the long summer days. 
 The end is but death. 
 And that life at the best 
 Is a trial and test 
 And only a breath. 
 
THE DEAD LEAVES. 27 
 
 And almost I see 
 Them looking at me 
 
 With sorrowful faces, 
 As, day after day, 
 I bear them away 
 And carefully lay 
 
 Them in burial places. 
 
 I throw them away — 
 Eeminders no more 
 Of the beautiful day 
 
 When the summer winds bore 
 Their kisses away. 
 
 They are gone, and the chill 
 Of winter is nis^h, 
 And October doth fill 
 The air with a sigh 
 And my heart with a sigh : 
 And with them the eyes 
 Of a ladye I prize 
 
 Have gone and have ta'en 
 My heart from my breast ; 
 
 And again and again 
 I wish the dear eyes 
 
 Would come hither again, 
 Would look out of the skies 
 And restore to my breast 
 Its summer-time rest. 
 
28 THE DEAD LEAVES, 
 
 To-morrow, the moan 
 
 Of the wind and the rain, 
 As they come and complain 
 
 In their dismallest tone, 
 Will a requiem sing 
 
 O'er the leaves that were born 
 In the beautiful spring. 
 That budded and grew, 
 The sweet summer through, 
 And died in October 
 And left the world sober 
 
 And sere and forlorn. 
 
 The branches and boughs, 
 Standing up in the air. 
 Like mourners are left 
 Alone and bereft, 
 Forsaken and bare ; 
 And never relief 
 Will come to their grief 
 
 Till the spring-time arouse 
 The slumbering leaf — 
 The newly-born leaf. 
 
 And I, in my grief. 
 Shall know no relief 
 Till the beautiful face 
 And ineffable grace 
 Of my ladye of grace 
 
NOX SUPBA CREPIDAM. 29 
 
 Come back and awake 
 
 The leaves in my breast, 
 Wake my love and my sighs 
 
 From their opiate rest, 
 And, like spring-weather, make 
 
 My loving soul rise, 
 Like a blossom awake 
 
 And bloom out of my eyes. 
 
 NOK SUPBA CBEPIDAM, 
 
 OF all your witching charms, my fair, 
 I cannot think of one so sweet, 
 Of none so perfect, none so rare, 
 Nor half so dainty as your feet. 
 
 Have I not held them in my hand, 
 And kissed them like a kneeling slave, 
 
 And learned their very music and 
 Their echoes on the marble pave ? 
 
 O, how help loving them the best ! — 
 For have they not, love's eager feet. 
 
 Brought 3^ou, my darling, to my breast. 
 And made my wanting life complete ! 
 
 My heart has leaped to see them near, 
 Like sunrise leadino^ in the lisrht, — 
 
 And sunk to have them disappear. 
 And leave me wildered in the nifirht. 
 
Q 
 
 ]^0y SUPRA CBEPIDAM. 
 
 My love, such pagan- worship, I 
 Dare not your face divine to meet, 
 
 But am content, with downcast eye, 
 Only to idolize your feet ! 
 
 I would the shoes I give were gold, 
 
 To be as precious as your feet! 
 Would they were little clouds to hold 
 
 Dainties than clouds more light and fleet. 
 
 Yet these will mind you morn and night 
 Of one who loves you night and day 
 
 To me they '11 bring your every flight. 
 But from me turn you not away. 
 
 Then wear them, darling, for my sake. 
 And keep them when they serve no more 
 
 For in their depths my heart they take 
 And I have kissed them o'er and o'er 
 
 So that your feet will always tread 
 Upon the roses of a heart of love 
 
 While kisses, like the morning, shed 
 Their cooling dews your steps above. 
 
/ 
 
 AT THE PIANO. ^1 
 
 AT THE PIANO, 
 
 THIS rosy little laughing girl of ours, 
 As happy as the daughter of a king, 
 Whose life is but the tender life of flowers. 
 Is just now learning how to play and sing. 
 
 The little thing knows not how poor are we ; 
 
 Her guiltless heart dreams not the shame we 
 bear; 
 The wealth of perfect joyousness has she, 
 
 The perfect spotlessness that angels wear. 
 
 Her mother and myself behind her stand 
 To-night, while she sings simple melodies, 
 
 And smile to see her lift her little hand 
 
 And barely stretch her fingers o'er the keys. 
 
 She sits so high, her nervous little feet 
 In mid-air dangle, dancing up and down; 
 
 She shrugs her soft, bare shoulders, where they 
 meet 
 The golden clusters tumbling from her crown, 
 
 Her little fingers stumble as they fly ; 
 
 Her voice now breaks, is thin and shrill anon, 
 But we both love her so, my sweet and I, 
 
 There's not a note we do not dote upon. 
 
 J 
 
32 DOUBT. 
 
 I mark me rings and bracelets cheap as air 
 Upon our darling, poor, but woman true; 
 
 Her mother needs must fondle with her hair, — 
 To vent her love, bend down and kiss it too. 
 
 The sunbeams fall and make its gold more gold: 
 The child sings glad: I seek its mother's 
 eyes. 
 And find, I know not how, her hand I hold, 
 And sad tears fall, while sadder thoughts 
 arise. 
 
 We weep, and almost wish the child would die: 
 We both have sinned so much and suffered so, 
 
 We fain would have her taken to the sky. 
 And only childhood's innocency know. 
 
 DOUBT. 
 
 TIS night! 'Tis night! 
 The air is soft, and the stars are out, 
 But oh! my heart, it is not light ; 
 On it there broods the shadow of doubt ; 
 
 A doubt of friends ! — 
 
 Of what the world holds high and dear! - 
 Of Life's great purposes and ends; — 
 
 Of all we cherish, hope, or fear! 
 
THE AMPHITHEATRE. 38 
 
 THE A^IPEITHEATUE— OPERA NIGHT, 
 
 (STUDENS LOQUITUR.) 
 
 THE very best place in the house, you see! 
 Like an oriole up in the top of a tree, 
 We have the whole scene in a bird's-eye view; 
 Besides, the sound rises and now we can hear 
 Every note that is sung, distinct and clear; 
 And the voices blend more sweetly, too, 
 By the time they have flown 
 To this giddisome height; 
 And they come with a tone 
 That is full of delight. 
 
 But is lost to the folk that are sitting below: 
 And some of the very best fellows I know, 
 With thousands a year. 
 You will see sitting here; 
 Eor all the best judges of music say 
 That for them any day 
 They rather would jDay 
 A superior price, or equal at least, 
 To that of the seats below, 
 And sit of their choice 
 At the top of the house where the charm of the 
 
 voice 
 And the sweetness and grace of the melody's 
 
 flow 
 Are vastly increased 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE AMPHITHEATIiE. 
 
 By the distance they go. 
 
 What a crowd in the top of the house there is I 
 Wreathed in the haze of the harmonies, 
 Unshorn and unshaved, ungloved and un- 
 dressed! 
 There are faces of black outshining the rest, 
 And broadcloth and rags, 
 And students and hags, 
 And teacher and ruffian, clerk and divine, 
 And men in the loafing and stealing line, 
 The clown from the country, the man of the 
 
 town, 
 .The aristocrats that are broken down. 
 Chaps, that are short in the w^ay of cash, 
 Chaps, that are prudent in spending their trash, 
 Foreigners, too, 
 Of every hue. 
 
 That teach the fine arts and have little to do, 
 And treasureless swells, who have nothing except 
 The beard they have d3^ed and the clothes that 
 
 they owe for, 
 Yet handle their glasses in manner adept, 
 And look down on the crowds with an exquisite 
 
 air, 
 And go for as much as they are able to go for, — 
 Poor dogs ! that more readily borrow than lend, 
 And have nothing to eat, but abundance to 
 
THE AMPBITHEATRE, 35 
 
 And the roughs, and the newspaper boys, and 
 
 the Jews, 
 And the feller set up, and the feller that chews, 
 And the odds and the ends all hither ascend. 
 And, on terms of equality, mingle and blend. 
 
 They hiss and encore 
 
 And yell and call for 
 
 The singers again, with a perfect /tero re. 
 
 Oh! the life of the house is here, 
 
 And the closeness and heat of the atmosphere; 
 
 And there is nothing to fear 
 
 In the way of your dress 
 
 Or the joy you express, 
 
 For the gallery levels us all; 
 
 And nobody cares what you do or you say, 
 
 If your hat does n't get in Secundus' way, 
 
 Or you don't hap to be inconveniently tall. 
 
 No formality needed, 
 
 No etiquette heeded. 
 
 But the man on your right with a smirk or a 
 
 bow. 
 Would like it if you would allow 
 Him the use of your glass. 
 Which you generously pass, 
 And thus help to sujDply 
 His eye and the eye 
 
36 THE AMPHITHEATRE. 
 
 Of his neighbor close by 
 
 "With the pleasure of bringing the debutante 
 nigh. 
 
 Besides, in the passages fine. 
 
 When the music is full and divine, 
 
 And your ears are strained to gather it all, 
 
 Your friend with a nod that is conscious and 
 
 wise, 
 Takes leave by a nudge your attention to call 
 To the charms of the song, and winks with his 
 
 eyes, 
 And tells you that this is the kind 
 Of music that suits his critical mind. 
 And the man in the seat that is back of your 
 
 own, 
 When the singing is sweetest, 
 And the melody fleetest, 
 Is free to tell, in an under tone. 
 His friend what the scene 
 Is intended to mean. 
 
 And comments at large on the worth of the air, 
 And the relative merits of singers who bear 
 Their various parts in the play; 
 And says that his friend should have just heard 
 
 the way 
 That somebody carried that part in his day. 
 And remarks that thfe tones of the tenor to-night 
 
THE AMPHITHEATRE. 37 
 
 Are a little too rough, or a little too light, 
 
 And swears that the bass is all out of the key, 
 
 And he never could see 
 
 What use there could be 
 
 In bringing a broken down voice of that age 
 
 To carry its role on the opera-stage! 
 
 Yes! the very best place in the house for me; 
 
 For here I look down from my eyry and see 
 
 The glory of wealth and the splendor of dress, — 
 
 See a wildering maze of loveliness, 
 
 An agitate ocean of colors and hues, 
 
 The purest of white and the tenderest blues. 
 
 And the brightest of red like flames on the 
 
 sea; 
 There are glittering pearls in many a tress. 
 And faces as lovely as faces can be. 
 And lips that are saying the sweetest of words 
 In tones as melodious as warbling of birds. 
 
 And eyes are glowing as bright and as clear 
 As the sparkling lights of the chandelier, 
 And the beautiful scene is like fairy land, 
 While the rustling of fans in a lady's hand, 
 Diffusing an orient scent in the air, 
 And the murmur of whispers from everywhere, 
 And the sighing of silks come faintly and bear 
 A trace of the sweets that float lavishly there. 
 
38 THE AMPHITHEATRE. 
 
 Like a basket of flowers, of various hues, 
 Where the white and the green and the crim- 
 son confuse, 
 And the fuschia hangs with the lil of the vale, 
 And candid japonicas kiss the red rose 
 And the hyacinth blue and the dahlia pale 
 In exquisite blendings of color repose, 
 While bright the mingled dyes between 
 Peers forth the graceful leaf of myrtle green. 
 
 And all the long hours in the glare of the light, 
 
 Bent over the colors that dazzle the sight, 
 
 In the rush of sweet murmurs that climb to 
 
 our height. 
 We dream and dream as if lost by a spell. 
 And wish we were all that now we are not. 
 That some other fortune than ours were our lot, 
 That other than those we know loved us right 
 
 well. 
 That fairer than those we know looked in our 
 
 face 
 And charmed us indeed with the beauty and 
 
 grace 
 That we fancy are rife in this many-hued place; 
 While all the sweet hour our souls are uplift, 
 And our spirits are drowned in the music we 
 
 hear. 
 And our hearts, like a rudderless boat, are adrift 
 
THE AMPHITHEATRE. 39 
 
 On the billows of song rolling light on the ear; — 
 While the swell of the orchestra, heavy and 
 
 grand, 
 And the swell of the chorus surge up to the sky, 
 And ringing above them, o'erriding them high, 
 And leading the song in a ringing command, 
 Come the notes of the singer, superb and 
 
 supreme, 
 And the harmony blends in a perfected stream. 
 
 Or Maude and Alaide, in the sweetest of notes 
 In the tenderest tones from the tuneliest throats, 
 To the sound of the reed or the warbling of flute, 
 Unite in a song that is soft as a lute : 
 And the top of the house is still unto death, 
 And we bend as in silence, scarce drawing our 
 
 breath, 
 Lest we break the dear charm that is bearing 
 
 us far 
 To lands where the fountains of ecstasy are. 
 
40 RESIGNATION. 
 
 BESIGNATION, 
 
 ''FHE other day, I chanced to meet 
 ^ A shabby fellow on the street. 
 
 A shabby fellow, yet his dress 
 Was aimed at gentlemanliness. 
 
 His rim was bent, his boots were torn, 
 His coat was brushed, but sadly worn. 
 
 His eyes were overworked and red, 
 And rusty ringlets graced his head. 
 
 He had a fawning way and air. 
 And ran his fingers through his hair 
 
 Like one whom none did love or know, 
 Who looked above but stood below. 
 
 And I had known him long before, 
 And heard his whininofs o'er and o'er — 
 
 His dictum, that the world denies 
 
 To nameless worth its well-earned prize. 
 
 But now he brightened up, and spoke 
 More in the way of other folk. 
 
RESIGNATION, 41 
 
 *' I've tried iny muse a thousand times ; 
 I've writ an endless mass of rhymes : 
 
 " The thought is always clear and fine, 
 I feel the fire and glow divine ; 
 
 " But when I seize the rapid stile, 
 Beetling my pregnant brows meanwhile. 
 
 " The faint exjoression falls below 
 Th' imagination's wondrous flow, 
 
 " The current of my singing tends 
 Only to reach my finger ends. 
 
 *' And what I hink and what I say 
 Are much unlike as night and day. 
 
 *' I long was puzzled at the fact 
 That some essential point I lacked ; 
 
 *' That every throb and every flame, 
 When once outwrit, so faint became, 
 
 " That every verse I toiled to trace 
 Turned out, in reading, common-place, 
 
 " That such a falling-oflf was made 
 From what I thought to what I said. 
 
42 ALLAN. 
 
 '* Because my singing wasn't sweeter, 
 I blamed the various kinds of metre; 
 
 *' Because my verse rushed rough along, 
 I said the thought was wild and strong ; 
 
 '* Because 'twas weak and innocent, 
 I said that such is sentiment ; 
 
 '' Because the words seemed empty stuff, 
 I said they were not wrought enough. 
 
 •' ' Tis sweet at last to know the truth. 
 It brings me rest, 'twill bring me ruth; 
 
 '* It is, though late I come to know it, 
 I was not cut out for a poet." 
 
 ALLAN. 
 
 A HAPPY New Year, guid auld frien' ' 
 May joys, henceforth, untauld descen' 
 (I'll na say joys that hae na en', 
 
 For sic hap rarely) 
 Upo' your head an' fortune sen' 
 
 Her favors fairly. 
 
ALLAN. 43 
 
 What tho' at times misfortunes shower, 
 An' dark clouds ower our prospects lower ; 
 We winna, while we're men, tak our 
 
 Lot too demurely ; 
 Gin ance storms come, anither hour 
 
 They gae as surely. 
 
 Gin life were sunshine a' an' light, 
 
 Ane en'less day wi'out a night, 
 
 Ane changeless joy, 'twere na delight 
 
 To us to win it. 
 Its sorrows show us, ta'en aright, 
 
 God's hand is in it. 
 
 An' He doth mak it changing e'er, 
 ISTow fu' o' joy an' now o' care, 
 Mixed mirth wi' sorrow, foul wi' fair, 
 
 An' thorns wi' daisies, 
 That we may sae the better bear 
 
 A' o' its phases. 
 
 I fear me, tho' your face hae still 
 The same auld smile, your heart is ill; 
 That wakefu' cares your bosom fill. 
 
 The whilk ye bury, 
 An' it gangs aften gin your will 
 
 To be sae merry. 
 
44 ALLAN, 
 
 I ken your proud heart doth na deign 
 To burden ithers wi' your pain, 
 An' sae to your ain breast 'tis ta'en, 
 
 An' there ye wear it, 
 Tho', spite your fause mirth, it is plain 
 
 'Tis hard to bear it. 
 
 Wad, Allan, I had mair for ye 
 
 Than sic puir lines as thae frae me ; — 
 
 I ken fu' weel ye hate to see 
 
 A useless prater ; — 
 But a' my sympathy I gie, — 
 
 Ye'll find na greater. 
 
 But, mon, be bauld o' heart an' gay, 
 An' let the warld gang on its way, 
 Ye're guid for mony a future day. 
 
 An' life's afore ye ; 
 Ye yet shall conquer, ere the gray 
 
 O' age fa' ower ye. 
 
 What tho' the wild, uncanny fire 
 
 Doth vent on ye its fitfu' ire. 
 
 Doth blast your aims frae base to spire 
 
 In fearfu' pleasure, 
 An' tak' — what baser men desire — 
 
 Your warly treasure; 
 
ALLAN. 45 
 
 It canna tak awa' frae ye 
 
 The wealth that luve an' frien'ship gi'e, 
 
 ^a steal the hearts to whilk ye liee 
 
 To find protection, 
 ^a bring ane tear-drop frae your e'e 
 
 For lost affection. 
 
 The Men's ye luve, wha ken ye weel, 
 It ne'er can sever, ne'er dispel ; 
 It's rage, however, wild an' fell, 
 
 Can reach them never; 
 In them doth your true riches dwell, 
 
 Ka lost forever — 
 
 A treasure, fire na storm shall start — 
 A wark o' nature na o' art — 
 A union Strang o' heart to heart 
 
 (There's nae sic ither) 
 Where frien's stick closer, tho' apart. 
 
 Than e'en a brither. 
 
 An' min' ye, in their heart ye hae 
 A place, whilk ye shall baud for aye ; 
 Come grief or gladness, sad or gay, 
 
 'Twill e'er be near ye 
 In time o' life to help, in day 
 
 O' death to cheer ye. 
 
46 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 WELL, as to the tale I intended to tell: — 
 There once was a boy who was carrying a 
 pail 
 Of hens' eggs or ducks' eggs to market for sale: 
 The chill Christmas winds round his path 'gan 
 
 to wail, 
 And the cold would have snapped off a ten- 
 penny nail : 
 The still, icy freezing was worse than a gale, 
 And made the boy's jacket of little avail: 
 His earlaps grew redder,and then they grew pale, 
 And his fingers grew numb as they clung round 
 
 the bail; 
 Till the pain, at first stinging, grew easy and 
 
 stale, 
 And his eyes 'gan to close as his strength 'gan 
 
 to fail, 
 And he lay fast asleep in the spot where he fell. 
 
 And this was his dream, — for his mind was 
 
 awake, — 
 That he went on his way to the shore of a lake, 
 Where he came pretty near stepping plump on 
 
 a snake; 
 And the fright he received gave his hand such 
 
 a shake 
 
CHRISTMAS CAROL. . 47 
 
 He let the pail fall and he let his eggs break; 
 But while the poor boy made a woful ado, 
 Mirabile Dictu! he had such a view 
 You'd scarcely believe it, if told it were true, — 
 There was n't an Qgg but was broken in two, 
 And out from, the shell there not only peeped 
 
 through 
 But really stalked forth, as if 't want nothin' new, 
 The prettiest wee duckling that ever drank dew; 
 And, what is more wondrous, it grew and it 
 
 grew, 
 In the twink of an eye, to the size of. an ewe I 
 
 And each had a ring of gold crowning its head. 
 And its plumage was soft as a new feather bed. 
 And it stepped with a sort of imperial tread. 
 And it shone in the sunlight in purple and red, 
 Its form swelling plump, just as though it were 
 
 fed 
 On the fat of the land ever since it was born. 
 And, after a sort of proud ejaculation, 
 Each trod with a dignified precipitation. 
 And, once in the water, began navigation ; 
 And there seemed in the thing to be some 
 
 preparation, 
 For, without saying how (as you know the 
 
 relation 
 Of things in a dream hasn't much of causation). 
 There came a new wonder the scene to adorn. 
 
48 CHRISTMAS CAROL, 
 
 There rose to the surface the prettiest siglit — 
 In the way of a boat, that came ever to light ; 
 Its fashion was foreign, its sides were all bright 
 With a sort of gold sheathing that kept it air- 
 tight: 
 It shone in the daytime like flames in the night; 
 And one little seat there was cushioned all right 
 Eor a feller the size of our own little wight: 
 It lay on the wave with the grace of a shell; 
 It glittered and rocked on the lake's easy swell, 
 And the ripples it struck were Uke chimes of a 
 
 bell: 
 It was n't so small, to be sure, as they tell 
 Was the chariot Mab loved to ride in so well, 
 Yet its length could have barely exceeded an 
 ell. 
 
 And its soft, silken sails were shedding perfume ; 
 And roses were in it all fragrant with bloom, — 
 And ready for use was the richest costume 
 
 That ever a poor boy had put on his back. 
 And a little black driver sat stuck on the prow. 
 Who harnessed the ducks, tho' I cannot tell how, 
 And winked at our hero, and made him a bow. 
 And told him the princess of Anabangtow, 
 With her compliments, asked if he would n't 
 
 allow 
 Her the joy of a call, — if agreeable, now: 
 
CHRISTMAS CAROL. 49 
 
 She'd be glad to present him a gem or a cow, 
 And had sent him her yacht, in the place of a 
 hack. 
 
 The sunlight came down with a beautiful sheen ; 
 The hill-sides were robed in the softest of green, 
 And shadows still richer were lying between; 
 And nothing but beauty was over the scene, 
 
 And odorous breezes blew out of the West, 
 And lilies were bordering the rim of the shore. 
 And the sea was as smooth as a wide silver floor. 
 And, far in the distance, the clouds floated o'er 
 The blue mountain tops fading out at their 
 crest; 
 And the sky had a sort of luxurious glow 
 That made life more rapt'rously rich in its flow; 
 And the shadows and fragrance and breeze 
 
 sighing low, 
 And the sunlight and water such magic did 
 throw. 
 That the scene seemed to spring from some 
 fairy's behest. 
 
 Yet, strange though it seem at a moment like 
 
 this, 
 His mother was with him in midst of his bliss. 
 And told him be sure, as she gave him a kiss, 
 To take off' his cap when he came to the queen; 
 i 
 
50 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 And, what is the strange thing, she bundled his 
 
 face 
 With a wrapper that left but a small breathing 
 
 place 
 And proceeded his hands and his head to encase 
 In fox-skins and bear skins he mustn't unlace. 
 For fear the cold breezes might get in 
 
 between. 
 
 Yet, though it was warm as the Fourth of July, 
 He didn't feel heated, he didn't know why. 
 But sat as untroubled as you'd sit or I, 
 And told the black driver to whip up the nigh, — 
 He meant the nigh duck that was tied to his 
 
 team, — 
 And though I can't tell you what wonders he 
 
 saw, 
 Still the ducks in the water continued to draw, 
 And he found a few sweetmeats to put in his 
 
 A cruller, or something of that kind, to gnaw, 
 L little 
 cream 
 
 And a little gold saucer of strawberries and 
 
 And still were the waters all placid and blue ; 
 And still the far mountain-tops swam in the dew; 
 And he saw the quick fishes the current glide 
 thro'; 
 
CHRISTMAS CABOL. 
 
 51 
 
 And he felt the full sweets of a dreamy 
 sensation. 
 His mind was as idle as sunbeams asleep, 
 His head was as void as the water was deep, 
 He had nothing to do, or to think, or to reap, 
 But his soul, like a shallojD tied fast to a keep, 
 
 Was rocked on the breast of a soft titillation. 
 
 And he dreamed that the motion so lulled him 
 
 to rest. 
 That his head declined gradually down to his 
 breast; 
 
 And whether he went to the east or the west 
 He cared not a copper, so soft was he pressed 
 
 In the pillows of luxury, where he was bound; 
 You may think then it vexed him to meet with 
 
 a shock, 
 As if his fine dory had hit on a rock 
 With ajar like the fall of a weight of a clock, 
 For he couldn't believe he had got into dock; 
 And he vowed he would give his black pilot a 
 
 knock. 
 And tell him his head was hewed out of a block, 
 If he didn't know better than run one 
 
 aground ! 
 
 But what did he think when he opened his eyes, 
 And saw, in the midst of his awe and surprise. 
 
52 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 That his ducks and his dory had gone to the skies? 
 
 While two or three serving men bade him arise 
 
 And seized him, one one arm, and 'nother the 
 
 other, 
 And hurried him into a palace close by, 
 Where the princess was placed with a glass to 
 
 her eye. 
 Awaiting his coming, — her courtiers all nigh I 
 And he dreamed that she gazed on his face 
 
 with a sigh. 
 And bewailed as she would were he going to die ; 
 And, as he looked closer, what should he espy 
 But the fact that the princess was just his 
 
 own mother! 
 
 And he woke from his dream with a horrible 
 pain: 
 
 The beautiful lake scene came never again; 
 
 But his father at work with his might and his 
 main, 
 Was rubbing his limbs down to get up an 
 action : 
 
 His mother indeed was dissolving in tears 
 
 Lest the joy of her life and the pride of her 
 years. 
 
 Whom they'd found by the way, frozen stiff in 
 the ears. 
 Should die and leave her in a state of dis- 
 traction. 
 
CHRISTMAS CAROL. ^3 
 
 But, by rubbing him well, and by tenderest care, 
 By blankets and coverlets, steam and hot air, 
 And a dose of the doctor's, who chanced to be 
 
 there. 
 The boy before springtime got out to his play: 
 But the dream that he had he forgot nevermore, 
 Kor the lilies that fragrantly waved by the 
 
 shore, 
 Nor the clouds that lay resting the mountain 
 
 tops o'er, 
 Nor the rich velvet shadows the valley sides 
 
 wore, 
 Kor the sighs that the western wind tenderly 
 
 bore; 
 Still, the eggs that he broke, he could never 
 
 restore. 
 And his limbs have inclined ever since to be 
 
 sore. 
 And he feels the cold quicker than ever before. 
 And the rheumatics plague him e'en down to 
 
 this day. 
 
54 ''ADA! SOLE DAUGHTER: 
 
 ''ADA! SOLE DAUailT EB^' 
 
 ArORTKIGHT old — God give it thousands 
 more — 
 A wee, round baby face just turned to shape, 
 And cheek and chin with dimples dented o'er, 
 And moist blue eyes, whence only smiles es- 
 cape, 
 A mimic now of life, the little ape I 
 
 Ah, man, your sweetest joy, your deepest woe, — 
 Lie in the dimples of that cheek and chin ; 
 
 And hopes, that farther than your own life go, 
 Are kindling from the spark that glows with- 
 in 
 That totally depraved dot of sin. 
 
 See, what quick changes from its birth arise ! 
 
 It puts us all a generation on. 
 And maketh aunts and cousins thick as flies: 
 
 Our light and fire of youth are quenched and 
 gone 
 
 Since this new luminary 'gan to dawn. 
 
 Think, sir, though, — thanks unto your virile 
 beard, — 
 It won't vex you as 'twill your better half, 
 Think how, before e'en infancy is cleared, 
 
I'' ADA! SOLE DAUGHTER.'* 55 
 
 Instead of crowing glibly with a laugh, 
 The imp will oftener bellow like a calf : 
 
 And how your book by day, your dreams at night 
 Must yield their place when darling isn't well, 
 
 While its worn mother thinks it isn't right 
 That she bear all the load, and cannot tell 
 Why you can't hold the little dear a spell. 
 
 Think how, O man, only a few years gone, 
 'Twill wear out shoes at toe, and spoil its 
 • gown. 
 Get lost, or bruised, run o'er, or trampled on, 
 And pick up all the naughty words in town, 
 And learn the froward ways and airs thit 
 crown 
 
 So soon the education of those 3^ears : 
 And then will come the fledgling's earliest 
 flights 
 
 Into the world of fashion and of tears. 
 
 Into the world of love, display, and nights, 
 Where danger lurks and vanity delights. 
 
 What scenes, when down your bank account she 
 draws ! 
 What dire expense, what jaunts o'er land and 
 seal 
 
56 ''ADA! SOLE DAUGHTER:' 
 
 Still, on your hands, what parents' woe because 
 She gets entangled so imprudently, 
 And spurns, or fails to catch, the proper he ! 
 
 Of course, there'll be a day, when some good 
 man, 
 With money in his purse or high of birth, 
 
 Shall give the little maid a rii)g or fan, 
 And take her home for whatso'er she's worth, 
 And she, poor girl, thus finds the end of earth. 
 
 Yet all these growing years, I can't deny, 
 The child will be a fond and dear delight ; 
 
 The changes of its life, as time goes by. 
 Its likes and loves, its trials of its might, 
 Its arms about your neck to kiss good-night, 
 
 Its love of you, its faith in what you seem. 
 Its growing beauty and its growing sense. 
 
 Its stores of youth that your lost youth re- 
 deem, 
 Its woman's heart at length and influence 
 Will be your sweet and perfect recompense. 
 
NEBULAE. 57 
 
 NEB ULAE. 
 
 THE clock in the belfry is striking again, 
 The wind from the sea is upbringing the 
 mist ; 
 Did you not promise me, darling, at ten. 
 You at your window would bide me a tryst. 
 
 As true to my post as a time-telling star, 
 
 I am waiting, love, just where I promised to 
 be ; 
 You will know it is I by my blazing cigar 
 Through the leaves that o'erspread their con- 
 cealment for me. 
 
 I am getting impatient here, waiting all night ; 
 
 I am puffing great clouds from my lips to the 
 
 sky; 
 
 But the house is still frowning and dark to my 
 
 sight, 
 
 Like a castle of old with its battlements high. 
 
 But, look up at the light bursting into the night! 
 
 Her window is up and my darling is there ; 
 Like an angel she stands in her raiment of 
 white, 
 With a ripple of gold floating down on her 
 air. 
 
58 
 
 NEBULAE. 
 
 Ah, me! seeing nothing but her, it meseems 
 That the walls of the house fade away from 
 my sight, 
 While my love is still there, like a creature of 
 dreams, 
 Like a jewel let down through the folds of 
 the night. 
 
 Like a picture of faith, like a glorified saint, 
 
 In luminous whiteness she buoys in the air ; 
 The clouds from my lips roll beneath her, and 
 faint 
 With the burden of incense and worship they 
 hear. 
 
 Blest vision of light on the night's dusky wing. 
 Lie down on the pillows of smoke that arise I 
 Round your feet let them gather, and feather- 
 like, bring 
 You down to my arms like a gift from the 
 skies. 
 
 They are calling you back from the window, my 
 
 gem; 
 
 Beware, lest they guess what you linger to 
 
 see! 
 
 Your false lips impatiently answer to them ; — 
 
 I know your true heart is communing with me. 
 
NEBULAE. 59 
 
 Alas! sho has vanished — the curtains are 
 drawn ; 
 The walls frown aloft like a castle of old ; 
 Darkness is now where a moment agone 
 Were the vision of white and the ripples of 
 gold. 
 
 Ah, now let me sleep, for in dreams }- ou are 
 mine, 
 There our hearts from each other no lonsrer 
 
 o 
 
 But our lives and our loves are as true and 
 divine, 
 As the innocent stars that allure us to heaven. 
 
 Oh, beautiful woman! the world does you ill : 
 You can never escape from the stains it has 
 cast ; 
 And can I, though I love you and worship you 
 still, 
 Forget them, alas ! though forgiven and past? 
 
 Oh, would you had always and only been mine, 
 
 Misled by no false friends, nor hunted by 
 
 foes; 
 
 Your sweet woman's nature, born almost divine, 
 
 Would have perfectly oped from the bud to 
 
 the rose. 
 
60 DEDICATION HYMN. 
 
 And so, my soul's longing is always the ^me, 
 That with you from the mists I could fly to 
 the skies, 
 Lift you out of the world and its envy and 
 shame, 
 Where its memories even could never arise. 
 
 Yes, love! like the smoke from my blazing 
 cigar, 
 
 I fancy us rising together on high. 
 And mingling our lives, made as pure as a star. 
 
 And floating forever alone in the sky. 
 
 DEDICATION HYMN. 
 
 ALMIGHTY King of Kings, 
 Whom all creation sings, 
 In endless praise! 
 Ruler of earth and seal 
 Our Hope! our Mystery! 
 Our only Truth, to Thee 
 This house we raise. 
 
 Oh, may Thy blessing fall 
 This day upon us all 
 
 And evermore ! 
 Hence shall our songs arise, 
 Our prayers hence mount the skies, — 
 An humble sacrifice 
 Thy throne before. 
 
THE OLD SONGS, 61 
 
 Here may the mourner's grief, 
 His tears find sweet relief! 
 
 Be Thou his trust I 
 Here may we know Thy will, 
 Here find through joy and ill. 
 An arm to lean on till 
 
 We fall to dust. 
 
 Here learn to live in Thee, 
 Learn to forgive, as we 
 
 Would be forgiven. 
 To walk day after day 
 The straight, though narrow way, 
 That thus our spirits may 
 
 Be fit for Heaven. 
 
 M 
 
 THE OLD S ONGS. 
 
 Y brother, Sarah, Kuth, and I 
 Together sang in days gone by. 
 
 The songs we sang were few and plain; 
 We sang them o'er and o'er again. 
 
 'Twas long ago, and now are we 
 Scattered as far as we can be. 
 
 At times howe'er we meet, and then 
 We sing the old songs o'er again. 
 
62 THE OLD SONGS. 
 
 Our voices easily unite 
 
 Because our hearts are tuned aright; 
 
 They all in rounded concord blend 
 And volume to each other lend. 
 
 The dear old songs now always bring 
 A rush of feeling while we sing. 
 
 They tell of other years and days 
 When we were walking rural ways ; 
 
 Of moonlit hour and serenade ; 
 And standing in the maple shade; 
 
 Of sweet, sweet home, and village dear, 
 And pleasant seasons of the year ; 
 
 Of those we loved in olden time, 
 Through summer light and winter rime ; 
 
 Of fears and tears and hopes and sighs, 
 Which in the breast no longer rise, 
 
 Which now we scarce can comprehend — 
 Kay, wonder, while our voices blend. 
 
 If just those loves and hopes and sighs, 
 That now we think could never rise, 
 
THE OLD SONGS. ^^ 
 
 Did drive us like a ship at sea 
 And toss our lives so fitfull}' ! — 
 
 If we indeed, in other days, 
 
 Were they who sang these simple lays! — 
 
 If those love-lighted eyes, where ruth 
 E'en then subdued the glow of youth, 
 
 Or that fair face 'neath golden tress, 
 That blue-eyed cloud of loveliness, 
 
 Who cried in pain and laughed in glee, 
 Her soul as full as soul could be — 
 
 If they are these, who now conceal 
 The unspoken weariness they feel! 
 
 And so we ponder as we sing, 
 That old-time world remembering; 
 
 And, when the last sweet chord has died, 
 We sit in silence side by side; 
 
 Our hearts are full to runnins: o'er 
 With rain-drops from the skies of yore ; 
 
 And none dares speak, but silent all, 
 We almost hear the shadows fall; 
 
64 LIMITATION. 
 
 And while the twilight deepens fast, 
 As dim and sombre as the past, 
 
 Like souls revisiting the spheres, 
 Come back again the buried years, 
 
 And in their light, but not as then. 
 We live their seasons o'er again. 
 
 Till closing round our downcast eyes 
 We feel the blinding tear-mists rise. 
 
 The olden songs, the simple lays, 
 Full of the breath of other days, 
 
 With dear associations rife. 
 Have come to be a part of life ; 
 
 And though they fill our hearts with pain. 
 We sinof them o'er and o'er asrain. 
 
 LIMITATION. 
 
 I WALK amid a wilderness 
 Of hurrying forms and eager feet. 
 And now and then a hand I press. 
 Or smile to nods from those I meet. 
 
DAFT! 65 
 
 And yet I am not here, but far, 
 My mind is not of forms and flesh; 
 
 My heart is where the breezes are, 
 As free from weight, as free from mesh. 
 
 My soul is where the breezes are; 
 
 Nay, rides as fast as rolls the sea, 
 Outruns the wind, and striketh star, 
 
 And whirleth through immensity. 
 
 It is not with me on the earth, 
 It sees not those who pass me by, 
 
 But proudly mindful of its birth ' 
 It springeth birdlike to the sky. 
 
 DAFT ! 
 
 OH! whither is gone 
 My radiant bride ! 
 She was lying at dawn 
 Asleep at my side, — 
 She was floating last night 
 
 With a fairy -like air, 
 So pretty in white, 
 
 With a rose in her hair : 
 While her dark hazel eye, — 
 
 Where the white of her dress 
 Made a darker hue lie, — 
 And her rare loveliness 
 5 
 
66 DAFT! 
 
 Made me dizzy and wild, 
 Filled the air with perfume, 
 
 As she glided and smiled 
 Like a sylph in the room. 
 
 All throuojh the loner ni^ht, 
 
 In the hush of her rest, 
 She was lying in white, 
 
 Lovingly pressed; 
 The moon, riding by. 
 
 Stole close to my bride, 
 And glad to be nigh. 
 
 Fell asleep at her side; 
 "While it pillowed its beams 
 
 In her dark-floating hair, 
 As she lay in her dreams 
 
 So exceedingly fair. 
 Oh, the dark and the white, 
 
 Oh, the loveliness rare 
 Of her face half in sight 
 
 Through her dark flowing hair 
 Breathing so lightly. 
 
 My beautiful bride,1 
 And nestling so slightly 
 
 There at my side ! 
 
 Where is she hidden ? 
 Oh, why does she stay? 
 
DAFT!, 
 
 67 
 
 The moon has long ridden 
 
 On its journey away. 
 Oh, no! you deceive me, — 
 
 My Lule is not dead! 
 Why will you grieve me! 
 
 Where has she fled? 
 No ! not a long year 
 
 Since the sweet eventide, 
 When my beautiful dear 
 
 Lay down at my side! 
 'Twas only this dawn 
 
 That here at my breast, 
 When first the sun shone', 
 
 She awoke from her rest 
 With a smile that was sweet 
 
 As the heart of a rose, 
 Moving her feet 
 
 From their sculptured repose,- 
 Iler feet like the feet 
 
 Of a statue in white 
 Of a barefooted girl, — 
 
 Bounded and slisfht 
 And tralucent as pearl. 
 
 She's testino^ the stren2:th 
 Of the love I professed, 
 
 And, sated at length, 
 
 Will come back to her nest ; 
 
68 DAFT! 
 
 Will come and lie down, 
 
 Beside me to rest, 
 And will lauojh while I frown 
 
 At her running away, — 
 Ah! the trick the dear brownie 
 
 She is trying to play ! 
 
 She has hid, with the day, 
 
 Far down in the west, — 
 A beautiful ray 
 
 Surpassing the rest. 
 For none is so fair, 
 
 So rare is there none. 
 Of all the rays there 
 
 Making the splendor, 
 
 Of all the rays there 
 
 That radiantly render 
 
 Their dues to the sun! 
 She will spring from the east 
 
 To-morrow at dawn. 
 
 As early this morn, 
 When slumber had ceased. 
 She rose from her bed : 
 She will come to me, led 
 By the earliest ray 
 That springeth away, — 
 And will wake me from rest, — 
 
 So pretty in white, — 
 
DAFT! 
 
 69 
 
 And come back to my breast 
 Like a dream in the night, — 
 
 And will tell me the mirth 
 Of her ride in the night, 
 
 When she circled the earth 
 On the wings of the light. 
 
 She is hid in a cloud, 
 
 And is floating in dreams. 
 Where the ether is ploughed 
 
 In rippleless streams, 
 
 Mingling her hair 
 
 With the fringe of the cloud, 
 Celestially fair 
 
 In her delicate shroud. 
 Peering over its edge. 
 
 And laughing to see 
 How I cling to the pledge 
 
 She has broken with me. 
 She heareth the flow 
 
 Of harmonies rare, 
 
 And looks down through the ir 
 On the great globe below; 
 And o'erfloating it sleeps 
 
 As she slumbered last night. 
 
 While in armor of lic^ht 
 Each trusty star keeps 
 Its watch while she sleeps. 
 
70 
 
 3fY OLD VIOLIK, 
 
 Ah, hush! for I hear 
 
 Her voice in the air 
 Breathing low in my ear I 
 
 I know she is there! 
 I know she is near! 
 
 For I feel her dark hair, 
 When the wind blows it by 
 
 Sprinkle my cheek. 
 She is hovering nigh 
 
 Playing a freak, 
 Subtle and coy, — 
 
 Oh, flit not away! 
 Hither, sweet joy! 
 
 Why do you stay, 
 My radiant bride? 
 
 Dear little wren. 
 Why not at my side 
 
 Come and slumber aofain! 
 
 MY OLD VIOLLN. 
 
 WHILE evening's dim folds round my 
 gather fast. 
 And the chill breezes chant a low moan. 
 My fancy is busy with scenes of the past 
 As I sit by my fireside alone. 
 
MY OLD VlOim, 71 
 
 The group that once cheered me aflfection re- 
 calls; 
 Beloved ones, I ask, where are they? 
 My own voice comes back from the echoing 
 walls, 
 And sadly repeats, Where are they? 
 
 A sound like a serenade, plaintive and sweet, 
 
 An almost inaudible strain, 
 'No^Y rises and swells into tones more complete, 
 
 Now sinks away softly again. 
 
 It seems like the spirit of many a lay — 
 A voice from the past — that I hear. 
 
 In lingering cadences dying away, 
 On memory's faltering ear. 
 
 Or the music of dreams, in the stillness of night. 
 
 By some spirit guardian sung ; — 
 'Tis the air through the cracks, and the vibra- 
 tions slight 
 
 Of my old violin^ all unstrung. 
 
 How many a cherished remembrance it brings 
 Of dear friends and pastimes of yore ! 
 
 A sorrowful touch on the heart's shattered 
 strings, 
 That soon will respond nevermore ! 
 
72 IHE MOUNTAINS OF MAINE, 
 
 IHE MOUNTAINS OF MAINE. 
 
 INE 'EE shall forget, when returning one day 
 To my home mid the mountains of Maine, — 
 When the summer was nigh, and the fair hand 
 of May 
 "Was bedecking the country again, — 
 What a thrill of delight, inexpressibly sweet, 
 
 I felt while extending my gaze 
 O'er the scenes, unforgotten, where often my 
 feet 
 Had rambled in earlier days. 
 
 What a welcoming look I imagined I found 
 
 In the ragged old mountains in view. 
 In the quick-flowing streams and the ,hill-tops 
 around, 
 
 And the fields clothed in summer's bright hue. 
 How the full, honest breeze, I had tasted so oft, 
 
 With health and with vigor o'erladen, 
 Swept over my cheek with a touch that was soft 
 
 As the smooth, velvet hand of a maiden. 
 
 My soul swelled with joy, springing up to the 
 skies, 
 
 With the view that was spread out before it, 
 Then, deeper emotions beginning to rise, 
 
 A feelino^ of sadness came o'er it ; 
 
TRUST. 
 
 For I felt from these scenes of my boyhood 
 around me, — 
 The hillside, the grove, and the plain, — 
 I must part and dissever the ties that had bound 
 me 
 So long to the mountains of Maine. 
 
 TB US T, 
 
 OH, friend of mine, oh, love divine ! 
 My heart this offering pays to thine: 
 It has no fears that one so dear 
 
 And loved so well, will scorn or spurn it; 
 That one who knows my life and throws 
 Her sweetness o'er its plain repose, 
 Will fail to take the gift I make, 
 And if it hath a charm, discern it. 
 
 E'en as a child, though he be dear 
 To no one else in all the sphere. 
 Yet hath at night one rich delight — 
 
 One mother's face to bend above him, 
 And ever knows he may repose 
 In one true heart his weal and woes; 
 And hath the bliss of one fond kiss, 
 
 The whole of one fond soul to love him — 
 If only one, yet one to love him: 
 
 6 
 
74 
 
 TRUST. 
 
 So, Psyche, mine, my love divine. 
 Thy loving eyes must image mine, 
 And in their deep must always keep 
 A fount of tenderness to bless me; 
 For while they still with fondness fill, 
 The world may say me well or ill; 
 But if on mine no more they shine, 
 The merest frown will overpress me — 
 The world will crush and overpress me.