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 LIBRA! OF CONG RESS. 
 (pS 1564)' *- - 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 
 
glenalba:^^ 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BT j/ 
 
 ANNIE V. DUFFY. 
 
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 NEW YORK: ♦ 
 E. J. HALE & SON, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 MirKRAY Street. 
 
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 Copyright, 
 E. J. HALE & SON. 
 
 1878. 
 
 NATIONAL PRINTING CO., 
 
 STEREOTYPERS. 
 
 i6, i3, 20 AND 22 CHAMBERS STREET, 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
^ TO 
 
 MISS ANNA M. DONNELL 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 HER SINCERE AND DEVOTED FRIEND, 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 TnESE Poems, written in idle moments, were not 
 meant for the world's gaze, nor was it thought that 
 they would ever meet the eyes of the critic. They 
 are " wayside flowei's f blossoms which, when freshly 
 gathered, had charms for friends, at whose request 
 they have been formed into a simple bouquet. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction vii 
 
 Gleualban 9 
 
 To Annie— When Shall I Think of -Thee ? 89 
 
 Ode to the Neuse 91 
 
 Memorial Day 94 
 
 A Mother's Cross 96 
 
 Waldemar and Irene— Irene to Waldemar 97 
 
 Waldemar to Irene - 98 
 
 Irene to Waldemar 100 
 
 Irene's Farewell to Waldemar 102 
 
 Lines Written in a Lady's Album 104 
 
 The Feast of Kocks.. 105 
 
 The Parting 107 
 
 The Past 108 
 
 Death on the Sea , 110 
 
 The Storm 114 
 
 They Brought Him Home to Die 117 
 
 The Mother's Dream r21 
 
 Memorial Day 125 
 
 The Woodlands.... , 127 
 
 In Memoriam 132 
 
 To My Mother 133 
 
 To My Father 135 
 
 To a Beloved Brother 138 
 
 Lord, is it I? 140 
 
 Memories 141 
 
 To Lillian 143 
 
 Farewell to Greenville, S. C 147 
 
 To Fannie B 149 
 
 Twine Me a Wreath, Love 150 
 
 The Hunter's Serenade 151 
 
 Isidore 152 
 
 Written at High Falls 153 
 
 Music... 154 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 What spell enwraps my soul to-night, 
 What dream, so fleeting yet so bright, 
 Steak o'er me now, with magic power ? 
 I yield me to this witching hour. 
 With radiant beams the Queen of Night 
 Bathes earth and sky with glorious light, 
 O'er all a vigil seems to keep : 
 Nature is hushed in tranquil sleep. 
 As on the beauteous scene I gaze, 
 My spirit dreams of other days. 
 On the soft breezes seem to swell 
 Voices, now remembered well j 
 I see the friends of other years ; 
 I feel again the hopes and fears 
 Impetuous rush o'er heart and brain; 
 I hear again a mournful strain. 
 'Twas l)ut a moment — all has flown ! 
 I feel I am again alone. 
 
 Yet, 'mid the lustre of this night, 
 My spirit seems to feel a light 
 Flash o'er each sense, with subtile ray ; 
 I yield me to the potent sway. 
 Like lava, through my pulses dash 
 A current, quick as lightning's flash — 
 Promethean fire — it fills my soul ! 
 Shall I the wondrous power control, 
 
vill INTRODUCTION. 
 
 From a lyre whose golden string 
 Notes of sweetest music ring, 
 Waking in the soul a power 
 Which latent lay until this hour. 
 Let the mystic essence fill 
 Soul and brain, till at my will 
 Visions, flights of fancy, rear 
 Forms of beauty, which appear 
 Glowing, yet material tooj. 
 Then onward pass in quick review, 
 And, mingling with the pale moon's light, 
 The lovely shadows fade from sight. 
 
 The night has softly passed away. 
 And now we hail the dawn of day : 
 The beauteous morn, from sleep awaking. 
 Is from her locks the dew-drops shaking, 
 And gently from her brow she raises 
 The roseate veil. Around she gazes 
 For a moment, sweet and tender, 
 Then flashes out in regal splendor ! 
 Mountain mists are floating lightly. 
 Tree and flow'ret glistening brightly. 
 Fresh from bath of crystal showers, 
 Blushing in their fragrant bowers. 
 Fairest of the Spring's sweet flowers, 
 Decked in Nature's own adorning, 
 Welcome in the rosy morning. 
 On the air the breath of flowers ; 
 Songs of birds within the bowers j 
 While, with the light of early day. 
 The night's sweet visions pass away. 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 A i'oem: iisr "B^ive can-tos. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 I. 
 
 The evening sun with golden ray 
 Was speeding on his western way, 
 Sinking behind the forest trees, 
 Which lightly trembled in the breeze ; 
 While gorgeous hues of every shade 
 Tinted rocky cliff and glade. 
 The forests, clothed in rich array, 
 Proclaimed proud Autumn's regal sway — 
 So lovely in this land of thine, 
 Fair land of Western Caroline. 
 
 II. 
 
 Low in the west a sea of fire 
 Seemed blazing 'neath the mountain spire, 
 Which, part illumined by the light, 
 Stood out in bold relief ; while night 
 High over all her sable mantle threw, 
 Threat'ning to hide those beauties from the view. 
 
 III. 
 
 The pale twilight has nearly gone, 
 And night is swiftly coming on, 
 1* 
 
10 GLENALBAN. 
 
 When, on a cliff of lofty height, 
 
 Seen dimly in the fading light, 
 
 Two figures stand. Their anxious gaze 
 
 Is turned to note the fleeting rays 
 
 Of day's last beam ; and one, whose eyes 
 
 Flash as he looks from earth to skies ; 
 
 His lightning glance, devoid of fear. 
 
 Pierces the gloom. '^ Ho, Hubert, cheer ! 
 
 Follow — I lead — no time to spare : 
 
 Here, down these rocks. Ho ! man, have care." 
 
 Then down the' cliff he springs, and with a bound, 
 
 Well pleased he seems at length to reach the ground. 
 
 lY. 
 
 " Our way lies yonder, by this path I ween, 
 Though in this light it dimly can be seen ; 
 Yet marked I well, when on yon cliff I stood, 
 A mansion past the confines of the wood — - 
 A noble edifice methought. I'll hie me there ; 
 Perchance this night we may find rest and cheer. 
 Fear not, good Hubert, follow where I lead ; 
 As night is coming fast, let's make good speed." 
 Thus spoke the youth, then onward quickly sped — 
 The earth resounded with his martial tread — 
 While Hubert, fain to keep up with his pace. 
 Panted and puffed as if he ran a race. 
 
 Y. 
 " Most noble sir," he cried, " you go so fast 
 That my poor strength will fail, it cannot last. 
 
GLEN ALB AN. 11 
 
 I nearly broke my neck four times to-day, 
 Hurrying along this horrid mountain way ; 
 Nor would I like to leave my humble bones 
 Unburied 'mid these rude, unfriendly stones." 
 
 VI. 
 
 '^ Enough, good Hubert, cheer up ; see yon light, 
 A beacon shines to guide us through the night. 
 But little farther we have now to go j 
 Then prithee do not look so full of woe. 
 Hark ! list the baying of the hounds ; they know 
 A stranger's step — it may be friend or foe. 
 The faithful guardian of his master's grounds. 
 By instinct taught, the warning note he sounds. 
 'Tis well : I now with certainty may say. 
 That through this thicket surely lies our way. 
 The end is nearly gained ; come, hurry on, 
 Or thou wilt have to find the way alone." 
 
 VII. 
 
 'Tis night : yet through the gloom he sees 
 A noble mansion, partly hid by trees, 
 Within a large enclosure. 'Tis so late, 
 More he knows not. He hastens to the gate. 
 From round his neck a silver horn he drew, 
 And blew a blast which rang the woodlands through. 
 The wild notes sounded loud and shrill. 
 And echoed far from hill to hill. 
 On through the glade the bird of night 
 Flew shrieking, seized with sudden fright. 
 
12 GLENALBAN. 
 
 The red deer, startled from his lair, 
 Sprang out, and snuffed the evening air. 
 The deep-mouthed hounds, a motley crowd, 
 Drew near ; their yells were fierce and loud. 
 
 YIII. 
 The sound of voices meets the ear : 
 In haste the servants soon appear 
 With blazing torch in air held high. 
 They scan the youth with curious eye. 
 The foremost plied his whip with skill : 
 Ere long the baying hounds were still. 
 Then, while the gate he opened wide. 
 Turned to the wanderers and cried, 
 '^ If ye are strangers seeking cheer, 
 My master bids ye enter here ; 
 Ne'er from the wanderer willhe turn 
 While life's bright lamp shall in him burn." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " My way I lost," the stranger cried, 
 ^' When on yon mountain's farther side. 
 Thanks for thy master's kindness shewn 
 To one who is to him unknown." 
 The lights flashed o'er the grassy lawn ; 
 With stately air the youth walked on. 
 He reached the mansion ; one was there, 
 A man of frank and noble air. 
 Who now advanced, the youth to meet. 
 With friendly words he did him greet ; 
 
GLENALBAN. 13 
 
 Then, gazing on his face the while — 
 ^^ My name is Maury." ^^ Mine is Malcolm Lyle.'^ 
 
 X. 
 
 The lofty room was all ablaze with light, 
 Upon the hearth the crackling logs glowed bright j 
 Near sat a lady in the prime of life. 
 The host presented Malcolm to his wife. 
 Then to his daughters, lovely as the day, 
 Young Lyle was next presented. Who can say 
 What admiration and surprise 
 Shone in his dark and lustrous eyes ? 
 But quickly glancing at his dress, 
 Maury full well his thoughts did guess, 
 And, rising, bade him follow on. 
 A moment — and they both had gone. 
 
 XI. 
 Ere long returned young Malcolm Lyle ) 
 His face now wore a happy smile. 
 Care, toil, fatigue were all forgot 5 
 He only blessed the happy lot 
 Which led him to this friendly dome, 
 Nor ever more he wished to roam. 
 Those lovely maidens — blooming flowers 
 Hidden thus 'mid Nature's bowers — 
 In their young beauty, fair and bright, 
 Had beamed upon his soul this night. 
 Nature had lavished beauty rare 
 
14 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Upon these daughters. Wondrous, fair 
 They seemed to Malcolm — and they were. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Lillian was tall and very fair, 
 With locks of lovely auburn hair 
 Braided 'round her beauteous head, 
 Save here and there a ringlet strayed 
 From 'neath a band, and, rippling on, 
 Like molten gold with lustre shone. 
 The soft, round cheek of roseate hue, 
 The laughing eyes of violet blue. 
 With long dark lashes, which but shaded 
 The beauty which they only aided. 
 And made the gentle Lillian seem 
 Some fair creation of a dream. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Young Grace was cast in beauty's mold ; 
 Just nineteen summers she had told. 
 Small was her stature ; fragile, fair, 
 With locks of glossy raven hair. 
 Which, falling down below her waist 
 In curls, her perfect shoulders graced. 
 Her liquid eyes of hazel seemed 
 Like floating gems, and from them beamed 
 A spell J yet little had she dreamed 
 What witching power lay slumbering there j 
 Little she seemed to know or care. 
 
GLENALBAN. 15 
 
 Those dark, impassioned eyes, whose light 
 Flashed with a radiance pure and bright, 
 And looked so free from earth and care 
 That one might gaze forever there ; 
 Till, changing to a tender sadness. 
 One felt to gaze too long was madness. 
 Her face, though not as Lillian's fair. 
 Glowed with a tint more rich, more rare — 
 The deepening hue, so soft, yet warm. 
 Which added to her every charm. 
 And marked the depths of soul and mine 
 Where love and purity were shrined. 
 A daughter of the South seemed Grace, 
 Yet English she by birth and race. 
 
 XIY. 
 
 Time passed. The evening meal was o'er. 
 Seated around the fire once more, 
 A pleasant circle, cheery, bright. 
 Was gathered there that Autumn night. 
 The stranger youth seemed to forget 
 He ne'er before his host had met. 
 And many a pleasant tale recited 
 Of how he oft had been benighted ] 
 Yet ever found he rest and cheer 
 With hospitable mountaineer. 
 He spoke of his far Scottish home, 
 And why it was he had to roam. 
 Business, which brooked of no delay, 
 
16 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Had brought him to America ; 
 But ere he left Columbia's shore, 
 He wished the Blue Ridge to explore. 
 This beauteous land is bright and fair, 
 Lofty her hills, her skies are clear ; 
 Nature has crowned with richest green 
 Those mountain heights, while low between, 
 Her valleys spread out fair and wide. 
 And streams flow on in crystal tide. 
 Her mountains rich with golden ore ; 
 Her fruitful fields yield bounteous store. 
 " But, though in many lands," he cried, 
 ^^ I oft have climbed the mountain side — 
 Mountains upon whose rugged brow 
 Was piled the ^ everlasting snow ^ — 
 And gazed on scenes of beauty rare, 
 To me they never could compare 
 With Scotland's mountains, Scotland's hills. 
 Her lovely lakes, her gushing rills j 
 Though bleak her moors and cold her clime, 
 More dear than all, that land of mine." 
 
 XY, 
 
 Then fired young Malcolm's eye ; his cheek 
 Flushed deeper when he ceased to speak. 
 His listeners marked his bearing high, 
 His lofty brow, his flashing eye. 
 Who was this youth, this stranger boy ? 
 Thus Maury asked liimself — and why ? 
 
GLENALBAN. 17 
 
 This youth reminded him of one 
 Whom he had seen in years long gone ; 
 But when or where was now unknown. 
 
 XYI. 
 
 And so the evening hours sped on, 
 Beguiled by converse, mirth, and song j 
 For sweetly did the sisters sing, 
 And blithely did the numbers ring 
 Through the old halls, until so late 
 'Twas time that they should separate. 
 Then all retired, well pleased, and bright. 
 Wishing to each a fair ^' good- night." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The moon had risen high and bright, 
 Flooding the earth with glorious light. 
 The air was still ; no balmy breeze 
 Stirred through the dark old forest trees. 
 Enchained in sleep were Malcolm's eyes, 
 Yet dreamed he of those Western skies. 
 Roaming again at eventide 
 With fair Grace Maury by his side. 
 Through woodland paths as thus they rove, 
 He tried to tell her of his love j 
 'Twas Fate that led him to this spot — 
 Fate — what was henceforth to be his lot ? 
 The maiden laughed in scorn to hear 
 A stranger whisper in her ear 
 
18 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Love — on so short acquaintance. No, 
 He would not break his heart from woe ; 
 Then sweetly rang her voice in song. 
 He tried to say she did him wrong ; 
 The witching strain still sounded clear. 
 He waked : what music does he hear % 
 It is not fancy ; whence that strain 
 So exquisite ? He seeks in vain 
 To see the minstrel — no one is near ; 
 Yet still upon his listening ear 
 Float the sweet numbers, loud and clear. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 What witching notes ! Then in that hour 
 He gives up to the magic power. 
 Was it a harp which swelled the strain "? 
 He listens : it is all in vain. 
 Did human voice e'er breathe such strain ? 
 And thus the cool night air seems fraught 
 With this melodious midnight draught j 
 While mute with wonder Malcolm lay. 
 At length the wild notes died away. 
 
 XIX. 
 The moon had bathed with silver light 
 Tree and shrub and mountain height ; 
 While bright the sparkling dew-drops shone 
 Upon the smooth and grassy lawn. 
 Bowers of roses, fresh and fair, 
 But mostly white, perfumed the air j 
 
ween. 
 
 •ace, 
 
 GLENALBAN. ^^ 
 
 On the soft turf the white leaves lay 
 Like snow when first it melts away. 
 As Malcolm Lyle gazed on this scene 
 His thoughts were wondrous strange, I 
 What fate had sent him at this time 
 To this far western mountain clime? 
 His soul was filled with thoughts of Gr 
 Her witching form, her lovely face ; 
 For ne'er before that fateful hour 
 Had woman ever had the power 
 To lead him captive in her chain ; 
 Yet could he ne'er say that again. 
 ^0 ■ the sweet fetters bound him now. 
 How could he breathe a lover's vow 
 To fair Grace Maury 1 She would smile 
 As in his dream, or laugh the while. 
 Then rose his spirit at the thought 
 His love should be thus set at naught. 
 Why should a maiden, e'er so fair, 
 Have power to fill him with despair ? 
 The fevered dream of this strange night 
 Would be displaced by morning light. 
 
 XX 
 
 Bright in the east the orient ray 
 Proclaimed the rising King of Day ; 
 But still the golden globe of light 
 Was hid behind the lofty height 
 Of trees that in deep shadow lay, 
 
20 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Untintecl yet by amber ray. 
 Tow'ring towards the western sky, 
 In grandeur, Tryon's mountains lie. 
 From the broad crests the mists float by 
 In fleecy beauty toward the sliy, 
 Till, meeting with the sun's bright ray, 
 They softly fade from sight away. 
 Facing the east, reflected, view 
 Those tints of ruby, golden hue j 
 How changed from rocl^ to crystal now. 
 Of amethyst, pink, and purple glow ! 
 Transparent, beautiful, the ray, 
 E'en as we gaze, fades soon away ; 
 While, rising high with giant force, 
 The fiery orb keeps on its course. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Malcolm had risen and fixed his gaze 
 Upon those beauteous golden rays — 
 That mountain view. The early morn 
 Recalled the thought — he must return. 
 He sighed to think 'twas time to roam. 
 To leave this spot ere long for home. 
 Then quickly turning, while a frown 
 O'erspread his features, '^ Shall I own 
 Myself the sport of woman ? Never ! 
 With life itself the bond I sever." 
 Then, hasting onward through the wood, 
 Ere long was in a better mood. 
 
GLENALBAN. 21 
 
 The bracing air of morning brought 
 The calm composure which he sought, 
 Albeit neither grave nor gay, 
 And toward the mansion took his way. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Gathered around the pleasant board, 
 With genial feelings all restored. 
 Young Malcolm spoke with wild delight. 
 Of the sweet strains of yesternight. 
 '' What minstrel in that moonlight hour 
 Woke the weird notes with magic power ? " 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 '' In very truth Ihey were," then Maury said, 
 ^' Such strains were ne'er by mortal played. 
 If 'twas a harp, the golden string 
 Did ne'er to touch of mortal ring. 
 When the moon rises late at night. 
 And bathes the hills with silver light. 
 Then on the air the dulcet strain 
 Is borne in liquid notes again." 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 '' I wonder not," young Lyle replied, 
 " That Fays should haunt this mountain side. 
 Lovely indeed the scene last night— 
 I gazed upon it with delight ; 
 Yet deemed I not such tales to hear 
 In this far land from mountaineer." 
 
22 GLENALBAN. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Doubtless you think we have no right 
 Either to claim a witch or sprite," 
 Quoth Maury, " in this western land j 
 You keep them all in braw Scotland." 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 Young Malcolm laughed. ^^ I'm sure we'd spare, 
 Willingly, the goblins there ; 
 But judging from last night's sweet sound, 
 Think in this region they abound." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Then Maury pressed his guest to stay. 
 
 Nor think of leaving there that day. 
 '' All through this region he might see 
 
 Much that to him was novelty." 
 
 The hostess too, with graceful air, 
 " Hoped he would tarry longer there." 
 
 No plea to urge j not long did he 
 
 Resist, but yielded gallantly. 
 
GLENALBAN. 23 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 I. 
 
 On rosy wings the hours flit by j 
 To Malcolm hours of perfect joy. 
 Basking in light of Grace's eyes, 
 What cares he now how fast time flies ? 
 And Lillian too, so fresh and fair, 
 But little less she claims his care. 
 How oft he'd wished for many a year, 
 He had been given a sister dear ! 
 The pure young love of such an one 
 Had o'er his life a lustre thrown. 
 
 II. 
 His mother's memory filled his soul j 
 Her very name would oft control 
 His wayward spirit, and a tear 
 Unbidden spring at name so dear. 
 Th' absorbing love she bare her boy 
 Brought now a melancholy joy. 
 Not long did fate his mother spare ; 
 He ne'er had known a father's care. 
 Orphaned at an early age, 
 Young, he had read life's saddening page. 
 His kindred all had passed away 
 Save one — an uncle old and gray — 
 
24 GLENALBAN. 
 
 A man by nature great and good, 
 Sir Archie Lyle of Stillingwood. 
 
 III. 
 Malcolm was tall, of graceful air, 
 Eyes of dark blue, and auburn hair ; 
 Lightsome his step, of noble mien. 
 And haughty glance sometimes, I ween. 
 Impulsive, quick, his Scottish blood 
 Oft shewed when in a wayward mood. 
 His face was bare, save on his lip 
 A light mustache of golden tip. 
 Where'er he trod, in bower or hall, 
 Young Malcolm was the chief o'er all. 
 
 IT. 
 The days and hours passed swiftly on, 
 Yet still had Malcolm Lyle not gone. 
 Oft of his home in Scotland's isle, 
 With tales he woukVthe time beguile — 
 Of rocky pass and mountain steep, 
 Of Highland chieftain's dungeon keep — 
 Deeds that were done by Scotland's lords, 
 Who gained the day with their good swords. 
 
 V. 
 
 And one there was, a mighty chief, 
 Wlio ever wore a look of grief ] 
 Locked in his breast, some secret deep 
 It seemed his aim from all to keep 
 
GLENALBAN. 25 
 
 The knowledge, nor did any dare 
 To try his confidence to share. 
 YI. 
 
 Glenalban's lord, a proud cold man, 
 Upon whose life there seemed a ban. 
 Retired within his castle walls, 
 Alone he trod the courtly halls — 
 Friend nor acquaintance cared intrude 
 Upon his gloomy solitude, 
 vir. 
 
 Of books he had a wondrous store — 
 'Twas said he dealt in magic lore ; 
 Many there were who feared to stray 
 Beside those walls at close of day. 
 YIII. 
 
 The cheering sound of hunter's horn 
 Was never heard at early morn. 
 Glenalban's woods were full of deer, 
 Yet would not hunter venture here ; 
 For well Glenalban's lord was known 
 On one occasion to have shown 
 His wrath and vengeful ire to those 
 Who dared his orders to oppose, 
 And cross him in his darksome mood, 
 Or on his solitude intrude. 
 IX. 
 
 ^Twas said not thus he'd always been — 
 That 'twas some sorrow he had seen. 
 
26 GLENALBAN. 
 
 His father was a stem, proud lonl, 
 Nor dared his son dispute his word. 
 
 X. 
 
 Young Ronald loved his father, still 
 Ho could not bend his stul)born will 
 To some things that his sire desired ; 
 The Earl's proud spirit then was fired. 
 What meant tlie boy f to thwart his will ? 
 Or would he not his wish fulfill f 
 
 XT. 
 
 He for his son had sought with care 
 A fitting ])ride, both young and fair — 
 The daughter of a noble line — 
 Yet Ronald did the match decline. 
 Vain all his father's threats, commands ; 
 Coldly before the Earl he stands, 
 With something of that dark, stern mood, 
 And well the father understood — 
 Reflected in his son was shown 
 A will unflinching as his own. 
 
 XIT. 
 
 At length, with martial ardor fired, 
 A soldier's life he had long desired 5 
 At home, abroad, 'twas all the same, 
 Glory henceforth should be his aim. 
 Coldly the Earl gave his consent. 
 And to the army Ronald went. 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus time sped on, until at last 
 Four or five years so had passed ; 
 Till from the East the voice of ^Yar 
 Resounded through the land afar, 
 And Britons left their native shore. 
 Many to return no more. 
 Of Balaklava shall I tell f 
 Or Sebastopol, remembered well? 
 Peace to the brave whose ashes lie 
 In Eastern land, 'neath Eastern sky. 
 
 XIY. 
 
 In wars young Ronald's life passed on j 
 He honors earned and glory won ; 
 Laurels gathered in India's clime, 
 Till he had reached his manhood prime. 
 
 XY. 
 
 While time thus wore relentless on. 
 The father never saw his son. 
 Often with earnest prayers he cried 
 To see his son before he died. 
 And, moaning through the weary night. 
 Ne'er slumbered until morning light. 
 At length 'twas murmured war was o'er, 
 And Ronald to his native shore 
 Was coming. Happy news at last ! 
 The father's heart with hope beat fast. 
 
28 GLEN ALB AN. 
 
 XYI. 
 The hours dragged slowly one by one ; 
 The sick man pined to see his son, 
 Until, at length, his longing sight 
 Rests on his son with glad delight. 
 The meeting between the Earl and son, 
 At most was but a saddening one ; 
 How many thoughts rushed o'er the brain 
 Of each, too late — alas ! and vain ! 
 
 XYII. 
 
 The father knew he w^as failing fast — 
 Not long the lamp of life could last — 
 Yet joyed he that his son had come 
 Again to his ancestral home. 
 With pride he marked his l)earing high, 
 His martial step, his flashing eye ; 
 Worthy his son to bear his name, 
 Which never knew reproach or shame. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Death came at last ! the pall of woe 
 Hung o'er the house. Oh ! who can know 
 The grief, the pangs of that sad hour. 
 Unless they too have felt its power ! 
 Deeply his father Ronald mourned. 
 Wished from his home he ne'er had turned ; 
 Bitterly rued the day which bore 
 Him far away from his native shore. 
 
GLENALBAN. 29 
 
 His friendsj with pleasant word and smile, 
 
 Oft tried his sorrow to beguile, 
 
 Or with kind sympathy to share 
 
 His trouble. Nought did Ronald care. 
 
 Stern and cold as mountain stone, 
 
 He seemed to wish to be alone. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 'Twas plain that other griefs had share 
 To give his face that look of care. 
 At length he left his native home, 
 Afar in other lands to roam. 
 
 XX. 
 
 When years had passed, again he came 
 To Scotland's Isle, yet still the same ; 
 His brow still wore the look of care — 
 Sorrow had put its impress there. 
 Alone he lived ; few friends there were 
 Who ever cared to enter there. 
 To meet that look of grim despair. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Sir Archie Lyle had sometimes gone 
 To see the Earl, but not alone. 
 Oft in his boyhood Malcolm roved 
 Through the dark woods he so well loved ; 
 Viewed the gray towers with wondering eye, 
 And lofty turrets reared on high. 
 
30 GLENALBAN. 
 
 And when at length the Earl returned, 
 With fire young Malcolm's spirit burned 
 To see the mighty chief whose name 
 And deeds were sounded high by fame. 
 He prayed his uncle he might be 
 His escort, when he went to see 
 The lonely Earl. Sir Archie smiled, 
 '^ Why, boy, thou art a very child. 
 What is it thou would wish to see ? 
 What would Glenalban want with ihQQ ?" 
 Yet still he would not tell him nay ; 
 And so they went that very day. 
 
 XXIL 
 At that first visit thus it fell 
 That Malcolm pleased Glenalban well. 
 He kindly bade him welcome here — 
 His presence would his spirit cheer. 
 Something there was jn Malcolm's air — 
 So open, frank, devoid of fear j 
 His broad, high brow, his flashing eye — 
 Transfixed his gaze, he knew not why. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Young Malcolm's heart swelled high with pride j 
 No other wish had he beside. 
 With courteous words yet modest air. 
 He thanked him for his kindness there, 
 While beaming eye and glowing cheek 
 Told more than any words could speak. 
 
GLEN ALB AN. 31 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 Such tales as these did Malcolm tell — 
 A theme he seemed to love full well. 
 Glenalban ! never did he tire, 
 When seated by the evening fire, 
 To tell of that chieftain's deeds and fame, , 
 Spread near and far his noble name. 
 
32 GLENALBAN. 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 I. 
 
 'TwAS brown October, yet I ween 
 Fairer weather ne'er was seen ; 
 Although the frost, with blighting power, 
 Had withered many a lovely flower. 
 The white rose drooped its head and died. 
 And fair young blossoms by its side 
 Lay withered, while the forests grew 
 More gorgeous with the Autumn hue. 
 
 II. 
 
 Around this charming mountain home 
 Were many spots where one might roam. 
 And ever find some new delight. 
 Roving afar from morn till night. 
 Enchantment too a mist had hung 
 O'er many a rock and hill, had flung 
 A magic spell o'er wood and glade. 
 Haunted, 'twas said, by some pale shade. 
 Or shades — for more than one had been 
 At different times by many seen. 
 
 III. 
 Sloping from the woodland glade. 
 Beneath a broad oak's spreading shade. 
 
GLENALBAN. 33 
 
 Overshadowed by a rock of gray, 
 Which near the base was cleft away, 
 A crystal stream flowed clear and bright, 
 Sparkling in the warm sunlight. 
 lY. 
 
 In winding paths it wandered on, 
 (3'er pebbly rocks and shining stone- 
 Dancing, leaping, singing still. 
 With a low wild murmuring rill- 
 Onward, down it took its way, 
 Softly singing its wild lay, 
 Till in the distance one might hear 
 The sweet sounds fall upon the ear. 
 There, in the night, when all was still. 
 Was heard the song of the whippoorwill. 
 Singing his wild notes loud and shrill. 
 Y. 
 
 'Twas said that in the early light 
 Of evening, called the gray twilight. 
 Was seen a woman robed in white — 
 A woman slender, young, and fair. 
 With mournful eyes and flowing hair. 
 Sometimes beneath the tree she stood. 
 And sometimes coming from the wood ; 
 But often, when the moon shone bright. 
 Was seen this woman draped in white. 
 There oft the night-bird flaps his wing. 
 Beside this lonely, haunted spring. 
 2* 
 
34 GLENALBAN. 
 
 VI. 
 Down near the glen where the willows lave 
 Their graceful boughs in the lucid wave 
 Of the river, which, flowing swiftly l)y, 
 Bears on its bosom a murmur, a sigh — 
 'Tis a sigh which tells not of sorrow and care, 
 Like the sigh of a mortal in deep despair; 
 'Tis a soft low tone, like we sometimes hear 
 Borne on the breeze in the summer air 
 From a bank of flowers — a fairy-like lay, 
 Where the water-lilies by moonlight play. 
 VII. 
 
 Whoe'er has sat by this river side, 
 And gazed on the sparkling silver tide. 
 Has felt a spell o'er his spirit steal — 
 A mystic spell which one cannot reveal. 
 VIII. 
 
 'Twas thus by the river sat Malcolm Lyle, 
 Gazing in G-race's eyes the while. 
 As she told him tales of the haunted glade. 
 And the figure seen 'neath the trees' deep shade ; 
 Of the weird-like music heard at night, 
 Often when the moon shone bright. 
 IX. 
 
 Malcolm gazed and listened and loved — ah ! well, 
 He felt he was bound by some magic spell — 
 Then mournfully turned his head and sighed. 
 As he gazed on the swiftly flowing tide. 
 
G LENA LB AN. 35 
 
 He had been from home too long away -, 
 He felt that he could not much longer stay. 
 What hope had he that Grace would hear 
 His tale of love? Would she bend her ear 
 In mockery, laugh as in his dream 
 He had heard her ? Yet he could not deem 
 But she must know that he loved her well — 
 His eyes had said what his lips could tell, 
 But dared not. What spell o'er his spirit was cast ! 
 A spell which had bound him in fetters fast. 
 He turned to look at Grace. She was gone. 
 He was sitting on the rock alone ! 
 
 X. 
 
 The merry sound of voices nigh 
 Caused him to turn ; and, mounted high 
 On a hanging cliff, looking down on the water. 
 Was Lillian, Maury's youngest daughter. 
 From rock to rock she had wandered on, 
 And now on the cliff she sat alone. 
 
 '^ Oh, what a lovely view ! " she cried. 
 
 ^^ Dear Grace, I wish you were by my side. 
 Beautiful valleys of emerald green, 
 Where the river winds with silvery sheen." 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Pray do not venture," Malcolm cried 
 To Grace, who was climbing the mountain side. 
 ^^ Or let me assist you." " Oh, no," she said, 
 ''I do not feel at all afraid." 
 
36 GLENALBAN. 
 
 But as she was hurrying on too fast, 
 SHe missed her footing, and fell at last* 
 Down in the water. One cry she gave 
 As she sank beneath the silvery wave. 
 
 XII. 
 One moment : then down in the rushing tide 
 Sprang Malcolm, and soon was at her side. 
 Breasting the current, he swiftly bore 
 His precious burden again to the shore. 
 Her beautiful hair was all unbound, 
 And swept o'er his shoulder almost to the ground. 
 Her eyes were closed, and her pallid cheek 
 Like marble. ^^ Speak, my darling, speak ! 
 Oh, Grace, my own, one word to say 
 That thou wilt live ! Alas ! this day 
 That I should ever see. Oh ! Heaven, 
 Thus in a moment all my hopes are riven ! " 
 While kneeling by her side, with tender care 
 Chafed her cold hands and murmured words most 
 dear. 
 
 XIII. 
 At length Grace oped her eyes, and o'er her cheek 
 A deep blush spread ; but yet she did not speak. 
 Then Malcolm, in a torrent of delight, 
 Poured out his soul as Lillian came in sight. 
 With looks of anguish, horror, and dismay. 
 To Grace's side she rushed. ^' Nay, Lillian, nay ! 
 See, she is better. Wilt thou with her stay, 
 
GLEN ALB AN. 37 
 
 While I haste on, and have the carriage sent 
 To take her home ? " Thus saying, off he went ; 
 While Lillian, tears fast falling o'er her face, 
 Close clasped her sister in her fond embrace, 
 And with reproaches which Grace would not hear, 
 Oft blamed herself 'mid many a sob and tear. 
 
 XIV. 
 But Grace is sitting up and smiling now. 
 Pushing her jetty locks from off her brow. 
 No more, dear Lillian j pray, don't look so sad ; 
 We'll soon be home again, and all so glad." 
 E'en as she said that word ^^ at home," 
 What happy memories o'er her spirit come ! 
 What blissful thoughts of all she held most dear— 
 Father, mother, sister — they were near, 
 With all the other blessings she had known. 
 Centered in that sweet word, her home — her own. 
 
 XT. 
 
 Roused from her reverie, she turned her face : 
 Her father held her in his strong embrace. 
 She leaned her head upon his loving breast, 
 As birdling sheltered in the parent nest. 
 Then closely wrapped in shawls of wondrous size, 
 You just could see her lovely, beaming eyes. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Next morn, when Grace appeared, she looked so 
 bright. 
 You'd ne'er have thought that she'd had such a fright. 
 
38 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Most fortunate it was that she escaped the rock ; 
 As 'twas, she merely suffered from the shock 
 And fright of falling in the water. Nothing more 
 Did she remember till she came on shore. 
 Yet there was something conscious in her glance, 
 Whene'er she met young Malcolm's eyes ; perchance 
 They minded her what peril she did 'scape. 
 She ne'er would venture such another leap. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The day wore on, and Malcolm, in despair. 
 Felt that the parting hour was drawing near. 
 To-morrow's sun must see him on his way — 
 He could not tarry here another day. 
 Fate was unkind ; no chance he'd had to say 
 One word to Grace ; it ever seemed this way. 
 
 XVIII. 
 The morning had been cloudy, and the rain 
 Had fallen heavily. 'Twas very plain 
 They could not think of out-door sports to-day, 
 Nor have their usual nice game of croquet. 
 With Mr. Maury's help, who liked it well. 
 How should they pass the time they could not tell. 
 Music for once the power to charm had lost 
 With Malcolm, while his mind was passion-tossed. 
 Silent and grave, unlike his usual mood, 
 Abstracted, near a large bay-window stood. 
 Just at that moment, Maury, entering, said, 
 ^^ I think the clouds seem lighter overhead j 
 
GLEN ALB AN. 39 
 
 But Rhoiild the weather not clear up, you know 
 I cannot give consent for you to go. 
 Be not impatient should you have to stay 
 Here in this lonely spot another day." 
 To this fair speech Malcolm with grace replied, 
 Thanking his host for all his care beside. 
 ^^ The thoughts of happy days spent here would be 
 Treasured forever in his memory." 
 With ardor thus he spoke j yet while 
 The words were courteous, a bitter smile 
 Wreathed his proud lip. ^^ Believe it matters not 
 About the weather to a hardy Scot. 
 Although no soldier, do not think I care 
 For danger or fatigue — I've had my share." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ^' Enough, young friend ; we'll speak of other 
 things. 
 Or shall we have some music ? Lillian sings. 
 Some ballads, Lillian, of the Scottish Isle 
 He loves so well. Nay, daughter, why that smile ? 
 Some time, perchance, when he is far away, 
 'Twill bring back to his mem'ry this last day." 
 
 XX. 
 
 " You think I could forget ? " then Malcolm cried, 
 While the red blood coursed like a lava tide 
 Across his cheek. ^^ Miss Lillian, pray. 
 Sing that sweet song I heard the other day." 
 
40 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Assenting to his wish, she then began 
 The hallad that ho loved, and sweetly sang. 
 
 Oh, bonnie woods of Invernaye, 
 
 Sae fresh and green and fair, 
 Where T hae wandered mony a day 
 
 And chased the bounding deer. 
 'Twas in your beauteous sylvan glades 
 
 That first I met my Jean; 
 Ye'll aye be dear frae thought o' her, 
 
 My bonnie Highland Queen. 
 There's mony a lass l)aith young and fair, 
 
 Wi' beauty rare I ween. 
 But uane to me can e'er compare 
 
 Wi' my sweet Highland Jean. 
 How often when the cauld winds blew 
 
 In winter time sae keen^ 
 Awa' I'd gang thro' snow afar, 
 
 And haste to see my Jean. 
 The simmer sun may I) rightly shine 
 
 And flow'rets scent the air. 
 For me there's naught but wae and ill, 
 
 But wae and chill despair. 
 Then deem it not a lightly thing 
 
 To say I could forget. 
 Gin ye hae lo'ed as I hae lo'ed, 
 
 Ye never would forget. 
 
 The plaintive strains swelled high and clear, 
 In dulcet notes upon the ear. 
 
GLENALBAN. 41 
 
 The ballads of his land were dear 
 
 To Malcolm ] he must love them here. 
 
 His eyes sought Grace. Her face he could not see 5 
 
 She was leaning o'er some light embroidery. 
 
 XXI. 
 Lillian had marked young Malcolm's pensive air, 
 With woman's penetration guessed his care 5 
 Then lightly struck the keys, and soon began 
 A merry strain. 'Twas thus the numbers ran. 
 
 LILLIAN'S SONG. 
 
 Oh, saw ye my Katie sae fair, 
 The lass wi' the bonnie brown hair, 
 
 Wi' step like a fawn. 
 
 And fair as the dawn. 
 My Katie, sae guileless and dear. 
 
 Her een like the blue 0' the heaven, 
 Her voice like the low wind at even. 
 
 While sparkling and liright. 
 
 Like stars in the night. 
 Is Katie, my beautiful Queen. 
 
 My Katie is bright as the day, 
 And lovely as flowers in May, 
 
 Yet, were I to tell 
 
 Where my ain lassie dwell. 
 Ye might e'en gang to see her the day. 
 
 Then think no' her heart ye could gain, 
 But I'm thinking ye'd aye lose ye're ain ; 
 
42 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Nae mickle sho'd care, 
 My Katie sac fair, 
 Gin yc're heart, it was broken in twain. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Soon as the song was ended, with a smile, 
 Addressed some pleasant words to Malcolm Lylc ; 
 Then, rising, walked to Grace, and begged she'd lay 
 Aside that wondrous work for this one day ; 
 For all had grown so stupid, she must own, 
 A duller trio she had never known. 
 With merry words and laughter, Lillian gained 
 Her point, and thus the character sustained 
 Of being a good diplomatist. 
 
 Which, had you seen her, you'd have never guessed. 
 Thus, woman, by her wit, oft wins the day. 
 And with a magic sceptre l^ears the sway. 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 The clouds had passed, the sun was shining bright, 
 And each young heart beat with renewed delight. 
 Malcolm forgot unhappiness and care. 
 Nor thought of aught while Grace herself was there : 
 When Maury, entering, said, ^' The day is fair ; 
 Would you not like to try the bracing air ? '^ 
 The horses, ready saddled, waiting stood j 
 He thought a ride would do young Malcolm good. 
 Malcolm assented, cheerful as he could. 
 Although he was not in a riding mood. 
 
GLENALBAN. 43 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The Autumn day was passing fast away ; 
 Low in the west were tints of amber ray, 
 And clouds of fleecy white seemed hung on high, 
 While far beyond the mists, the fair blue sky. 
 The air was still, not e'en a leaf seemed stirred, 
 Nor yet was heard the warble of a bird. 
 His eyes of light the sun seems fain to close, 
 And nature's self was sinking to repose. 
 XXY. 
 Gazing upon the scene was Malcolm Lyle, 
 Thoughtful and grave ; upon his face no smile. 
 His eyes were lifted to the glowing sky. 
 As if he sought some wonder to descry. 
 Then, turning with a rapid step, was gone. 
 And walking towards the mansion, hurried on. 
 He reached the porch : there at the door stood Grace, 
 The glowing light illumining her face. 
 XX YI. 
 " The air is charming at this hour," he said j 
 ''What say you to a short walk in the glade?" 
 " I think it rather damp there," Grace replied. 
 " Well, on the terrace j 'tis pleasant there," he cried. 
 " The sunset view is generally fine ; 
 But you care little for a wish of mine." 
 
 XXYii. 
 
 '' The sun has nearly set," said Grace ; ''just see ! 
 His golden head is peeping from that \y(h^..''^ 
 
44 GLENALBAN. 
 
 '' You'll go % " said Malcolm. '' Yes, a -little while." 
 And Malcolm's face was lit up with a smile. 
 Fair Grace was merry, laughed, and talked so gay, 
 Yet Malcolm felt he little had to say. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 At length : ^^ I've never seen you merrier than to- 
 day 5 
 Is it because I'm going far away ? 
 If you could look into my wretched heart, 
 You would not think it pleasant thus to part. 
 In this enchanted spot the hours fly fast 5 
 I could not dream this life would always last." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 "One might have thought," replied the merry 
 Grace, 
 " That you'd become accustomed to the place ; 
 Nor mind the sprites, or ariel beings here — 
 A youth like you, a Scottish mountaineer." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Perchance 'tis so," he said ; " but you must know 
 The spell that keeps me here — why I don't go ; 
 What beauteous presence breathes from every glade. 
 Brightens the very sunshine, lights the shade ; 
 What mystic charm pervades each well-known spot 
 Where we have rambled — could they be forgot ? 
 The spell ! ah, yes, I breathe it in your earj 
 This is my ivorld, for you are only here. 
 
GLEN A LB AN. 45 
 
 But 1 must leave this spot, uor tarry longer, 
 'Yet absence only makes the heart grow fonder.' 
 When near the river's bank by you I knelt, 
 And in that liour of frenzied woe I felt 
 You might be dead, what words my spirit poured 
 Out to the woman that my soul adored ! 
 Have you not one word before I go ? 
 Yet doom me not to wretchedness and woe." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Her face was pale. Grace turned away her head, 
 Essayed to speak : at length she softly said, 
 ^' 'Tis soon to speak of love ; we scarce are friends ; 
 (Jur short acquaintance with our parting ends. 
 In other lands away from us you'll rove. 
 Forget you ever thought of Grace with love." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 ^^ Forget ! " he cried. " (;)h, would I could forget ; 
 Well had it been for me we ne'er had met. 
 Little you deem how true this heart can prove, 
 Or you would never trifle with my love." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Her dark eyes flashed j Grace proudly raised her 
 head 
 And glanced towards Malcolm, while she quickly 
 said, 
 ^^ I have not trifled with you, used no art 
 To win your love or try to gain your heart. 
 
46 GLENALBAN. 
 
 So great a treasure, with your noble name, 
 You'd better keep for some fair Scottish dame. 
 A privilege, you must admit, is left me still ; 
 I hope that I can use my own free will." 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 '^ Heaven knows," said Malcolm, '' I had no intent 
 To wound your feelings. Pardon me ; I meant 
 Only to plead my cause ; my wretched soul 
 Is crushed with anguish I cannot control. 
 Would that I had died the day I bore 
 Your form insensible again to shore. 
 Nor live this day to see, to learn my fate — 
 A blighted life — alas ! I know too late ! 
 Forget? yes, stem the raging tide." 
 Her voice was tremulous, as Grace replied, 
 '^ Grateful for the life to you I owe, 
 I would not lightly cause you pain or woe, 
 Or grieve you thus. Believe me when I say 
 I would not idly fling a heart away." 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Then why this torture — misery ? " he said. 
 " Why crush the wounded heart before you laid ? 
 With blighted hopes away from here I'll rove. 
 Indifferent to all else except your love. 
 That precious gift could 1 but hope to gain, 
 I'd live this wretched moment o'er again. 
 
GLEN ALB AN. 47 
 
 My life is wrecked, my happiness lias fled ; 
 Itemember me as one linked to the dead : 
 That is, if you can spare a passing thought 
 To one whose truest feelings you count nought. 
 Farewell ! but one more parting — 'tis ihe last — 
 The bitterest — the worst will then have passed ! " 
 
 XXXYT. 
 
 He paused, and listened for one word from Grace. 
 Her eyes now sought the ground ; her blushing face 
 Was turned away. ^'Oh! Grace/' he said, ''one 
 
 word — 
 Tell me that my ardent prayer is heard ; 
 
 * Say I may hope that at some future day 
 You will not cast my loving heart away. 
 Let me from your lips but one word hear — 
 One word of hope my weary heart to cheer." 
 Say, was it pity that possessed the maid % 
 For pity is akin to love, 'tis said. 
 In accents low she murmured, " I don't say 
 You must despair, nor at some future day 
 That you might hope." She turned away her head. 
 
 '' You care for me a little," Malcolm said. 
 
 " Perhaps so," and her eyes were turned away. 
 
 '' But you must be content no more to say 
 Until we meet again — perchance if ever." 
 
 " We'll meet again," said Malcolm j '' never 
 Will 1 resign your love ; we'll meet again. 
 My hope of winning you is not all vain." 
 
48 GLENALBAN. 
 
 XXXYIT. 
 
 He turned his eyes upon the lovely Grace, 
 And watched the blushes deepening on her face. 
 Forgot had been the glowing sunset view, 
 The pale twilight was slowly gathering too. 
 
 " May I not hope, when I am far away, 
 That you will sometimes think of this last day ? " 
 
 '^ Nay, do not ask too much," replied the maid. 
 
 " Suppose I should forget ; you know the glade 
 Is haunted, and the same pale shade 
 Has here been seen. Indeed I am afraid 
 To promise, for I might forget. 
 In this enchanted region, where we've met. 
 And you must say no more, but be content.'^ 
 Thus saying, towards the house her steps she bent. 
 
 The logs blazed bright on the social hearth. 
 And cheerful voices joined in mirth ; 
 The handsome face of Malcolm Lyle 
 Was radiant with a happy smile. 
 News he had lieard which soothed the pain 
 Of parting ; he'd see Grace again. 
 
 This mountain home they loved so well 
 Was only leased ) they could not tell 
 When they should leave, yet still desired 
 To do so, when the lease expired. 
 The Maury s hoped to cross the main 
 Next Spring, old England's shores to gain. 
 
GLENALBAN. 49 
 
 Mr. ^laury said^ with pleasant grace, 
 He'd like again see Malcolm's face. 
 When settled in their English home, 
 To see them he must surely come. 
 Malcolm's warm heart with joy was stirr'd ; 
 He thanked his host with courteous word ; 
 He wished hut dare not look at Grace — 
 Could he but read her lovely face ; 
 But no, content he now must be, 
 And trust to bright futurity. 
 
50 6LENALBAN. 
 
 CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Winter had nearly passed away. 
 Yet deep on the hills the ^Yhite snow lay. 
 The snowy mantle of Winter threw 
 A fairy charm o'er the lovely view. 
 A drizzling sleet in the early day 
 Had melted the snow a little way. 
 It was frozen now ; and the icicles shine 
 Like myriad gems in an Eastern mine. 
 
 n. 
 What eye conld gaze on the lovely scene 
 And fail to take its beauty in ? 
 While the soul, with unalloyed delight, 
 Would gaze with rapture on the white 
 And perfect scene, so soft it lay, 
 Sleeping beneath the sun's bright ray ! 
 
 III. 
 
 'Twas the reign of the Winter King ; his wand 
 Was resting over this beautiful land, 
 And softly under his mantle of snow 
 The fair young flowers were sleeping low. 
 Not a tiny bud could dare to peep. 
 Should it waken e'en from the magic sleep, 
 
GLENALBAN. 51 
 
 Nor a blade of grass might raise its head 
 
 Through the snowy covering o'er it spread. 
 
 A red bird flitted the trees among, 
 
 Yet never warl)led a note of song ; 
 
 Wliile sometimes old Boreas a blast would blow. 
 
 And scatter in showers the beautiful snow. 
 
 IV. 
 Maury and his fair wife stood 
 Gazing out at the spacious wood, 
 Transformed by nature's power and might 
 Into a dome of lofty height j 
 While through the snow enough was seen 
 Of tlie forest trees^ rich and lovely green, 
 Which seemed to deck a temple fair 
 That was built of alabaster rare ; 
 While the icicles hanging from the trees 
 Gently swayed with the passing breeze, 
 Catching the rays of the glorious sun, 
 And dazzling the eyes to look upon. 
 
 V. 
 ^' Our Lillian is just eighteen to-day." 
 Maury started, " Dear wife, nay ! " 
 " Eighteen— yes ! I think that we 
 Should solve at once the mystery 
 Of her birth. Whatever it is, I know 
 Away from us she shall never go. 
 I would not be willing from her to part— 
 This lovely, adopted child of my heart; 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 The child I have loved for so many years." 
 And her eyes as she spoke o'erflowed with tears. 
 
 Yl. 
 At length they determined to break the seal 
 Of the package, and see what fate would reveal. 
 Their Lillian's future, what would it be ? 
 It was hid in no little mystery. 
 But now the time had come at last 
 To look into the shadowy past. 
 Mrs. Maury stood by her husband's side, 
 While she gave him a package securely tied, 
 And watched to see what mystery lay 
 Within tliat package so long put away. 
 
 YII. 
 
 For a moment Maury paused, then broke 
 The seal : as yet he had not spoke. 
 There, closely wrapped in a heavy fold, 
 A casket of tortoise-shell' bound with gold. 
 Then, unlocking the casket, within there lay 
 Gems of the purest and richest ray — 
 Yes, diamonds ! Whose child could Lillian be! 
 Ah ! here is a paper ; now we shall see. 
 Though impatient to learn his Lillian's name, 
 A feeling of reverence o'er Maury came. 
 The hand that had placed these gems in the case. 
 The hand that did once these characters trace. 
 Had mouldered to dust in the silent tomb. 
 In the days perchance of beauty and bloom. 
 
GLENALBAN. 53 
 
 As he opened the paper to read — ah ! there, 
 Something had fallen — 'twas only a tear. 
 Tin. 
 '^ To Lillian, my darling child/' he read ; 
 ^^ When you see these lines I will long have been dead. 
 Yet resigned I die, with the blessed hope 
 That God in Heaven will take you up 
 In His merciful arms, the orphan bear. 
 And shield my darling from sorrow and care. 
 God keep my child, my precious one ! 
 My babe, from thee I will soon be gone ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 A sorrowful tale then Maury read 
 Of that young mother, long since dead : 
 Privately married in early life — 
 Only eighteen when first a wife. 
 She had wedded the son of a haughty Earl— - 
 An only son — this fair young girl ; 
 And she trembled with dread lest the Earl should 
 
 know 
 Her secret, only to bring her woe. 
 
 X. 
 
 Stern and severe, there were few who cared 
 To thwart his will 5 there were few who dared. 
 Young Ronald dreaded his father's ire, 
 And feared that his secret would transpire. 
 Every precaution took, and care, 
 When first he wedded Lillian Clare, 
 
54 GLENALBAN. 
 
 To keep their marriage from his sire ; 
 For well he knew that molten fire • 
 Was not more scathing than his ire. 
 
 Two years of wedded life passed on : 
 Blessed with a darling child — a son. 
 Yet mnst he still iha secret keep 
 Locked close within his bosom deep, 
 Nor let his parent see his boy, 
 At once his pride, his hope, his joy. 
 
 XI. 
 And thns it was three years sped on. 
 'Twas then the Earl told his son 
 For him he had chosen a fair young bride — 
 Beauty and rank and wealth beside. 
 It was his pleasure soon to see 
 Him wedded — settled happily. 
 
 Maury, amazed, then read the name, 
 '' Glenalban ! '^ Can it be the same ! 
 Filled with wonder and surprise, 
 Over the page he casts his eyes. 
 While, more and more amazed, read on. 
 That Malcolm was the Earl's grandson. 
 '^ It cannot be," again he said ; 
 And then again the page he read. 
 How plain the words are set down there, 
 Malcolm will be Lord Ronald's heir. 
 And now remembers he full well 
 
GLEN ALB AN. 55 
 
 How Malcolm did his story tell ; 
 
 How dear his mother's memory ever, 
 
 A father's care he had known never. 
 ' I must read on/' amazed, he cries ; 
 • I liardly dare to trust my eyes." 
 
 XII. 
 
 In truth, the talc was sad he read 
 Of this poor mother, unknown and dead j 
 Her secret kept with dread and fear, 
 Lest it should reach Glenalban's ear. 
 XIII. 
 
 Lo ! from the East the voice of war 
 Is borne upon th(3 breeze afar. 
 Britain calls her sons to rise 
 And gather 'neath those Eastern skies. 
 A.\\<\ soon, with Ijanner raised on high, 
 They shout, '' To death or victory ! " 
 Now;, from the homes so loved, so dear, 
 And from the ties of kindred near. 
 The Ijrave go forth. How many part 
 From all they love with heavy heart ! 
 And many left their native shore, 
 Alas I who ne'er returned more. 
 Vainly Ronald steeled his heart. 
 Thinking from his wife to part — 
 To leave her in a lonely home. 
 While far away from her he'd roam. 
 'Twas maddening to his soul — his brain 
 Was racked to hud some plan, in vain. 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 XIY. 
 He feared to trust his boy^s young life 
 In India's clime ; but with his wife 
 The case was different. Would she go, 
 And leave her child ? He did not know. 
 A trusty friend could he but find 
 Who to his darling would be kind — 
 But here he paused j the thought seemed vain. 
 Alone he'd love to cross the main. 
 Conflicting thoughts his bosom stirred ) 
 But yet to Lillian not one word 
 Of the wild tumult which possessed 
 His soul — 'twas safe in his own breast. 
 
 XY. 
 
 But love can read the weary heart, 
 In grief or trouble bear a part. 
 Lynx-eyed, some hidden grief it spies, 
 Sought out by pure affection's eyes. 
 The loving Lillian saw the care 
 Her husband would not let her share ; 
 With woman's tenderness she tried 
 To win his grief, in her confide. 
 
 XYI. 
 
 When at the last he did impart 
 The tidings, anguish filled her heart. 
 The thought of parting with husband or child 
 Seemed for a moment to set her wild 
 
GLENALBAN. 57 
 
 With grief 5 then prayed she earnestly 
 He'd take them both across the sea. 
 
 XVII. 
 Just at a time when hope was o'er, 
 And Ronald found he could do no more, 
 Heaven to the parents seemed to send 
 Just what they sought — a female friend — 
 One who in early life had known 
 Fair Lillian, and had ever shown 
 For her a friendship warm and true : 
 For her would any kindness do. 
 
 XVIII. 
 But little time they could delay ; 
 The days were passing swift away. 
 Then Lillian, with an aching heart, 
 Consented from her child to part ; 
 Besought her friend, with tears and prayer, 
 To give her boy a mother's care ; 
 Her secret keep, nor ever tell 
 Who was his sire — remember well. 
 A vow she must make before high Heaven, 
 Ere to her care the child was given ; 
 Till her husband returned his boy to claim, 
 And proudly let him bear his name. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Two years in the East had quickly passed, 
 And Lillian's health was failing fast. 
 A little daughter claimed her care, 
 3* 
 
58 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Exceeding delicate and fair, 
 
 With flaxen hair and eyes of blue. 
 
 She bore the name of Lillian, too. 
 
 Then Maury paused. ^^ 'Tis strange to me 
 
 That Lillian should Malcolm's sister be." 
 
 XX. 
 
 The child seemed failing every day, 
 The mother's health had given way : 
 No longer in that Eastern clime 
 Could she remain. She felt 'twas time 
 Her precious child she soon should see, 
 And wept for him most bitterly ; 
 'Twas hard to be so far away— 
 She longed to see him j not a day 
 Passed without an ardent prayer 
 That Heaven her precious boy would spare. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Uneasy too she felt to hear 
 From the friend who had this child so dear. 
 Nearly two months had passed away 
 Since the last letter ; every day 
 She looked in vain for news to come 
 From her loved land, her native home. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 'Twas hard to leave her husband here. 
 The thought brought many a sigh and tear ; 
 But Heaven, she hoped, would soon restore 
 Him to his home, to part no more. 
 
GLENALBAN. 59 
 
 XXIII. 
 Poor weary heart, thy hopes were vain ! 
 Ronald and she ne'er met again. 
 Alas ! how vain our wishes are — 
 Our hopes oft blighted by despair. 
 On England's coast the vessel tossed, 
 And many lives that day were lost ; 
 Yet rescued from the seething wave, 
 Lillian and child escaped a grave. 
 And kindly hearts and hands unite 
 To make her heavy burden light 5 
 To cheer her in her deep despair. 
 And help to lighten many a care. 
 Loving hands her wants supplied, 
 While rescued from the raging tide 
 Were chests and boxes, plenteous store 
 Flung by the waves upon the shore. 
 
 XXIY. 
 Among some boxes that were thrown 
 Up by the waves, she found her own — 
 A sea-chest, strongly made, secured 
 By bands of brass, would have endured 
 Some time the raging of the main 
 Ere it would have come in twain. 
 Grateful tears from Lillian's eyes 
 Fall as she views the full supplies. 
 She little thought or hoped to save 
 Aught of much value from the wave. 
 
CO GLENALBAN. 
 
 And those kind people who had striven 
 To aid her, and hud kindly given, 
 Should be well repaid for their labor of love ; 
 Then in search of her child again she'd rove. 
 
 XXY. 
 
 But cold and exposure began to tell 
 On her delicate frame. She knew full well 
 That she never would gain her nati^ e shore — 
 Her darling boy she would see no more. 
 ^Twas then she began her story to write, 
 Labored all day and part of the night ; 
 For life she felt was fleeting fast, 
 And she must work while the light did last. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Not much more was written here 
 Save words of love to her children dear, 
 And her husband in the East afar — 
 Here something seemed the words to mar. 
 Ah ! tears. Alas ! poor weary heart, 
 Of sorrow she'd had a heavy part. 
 
 Then Maury found, 'neath a little lid, 
 A paper that was carefully hid ; 
 'Twas a marriage certificate, duly signed, 
 And Maury felt easy in his mind. 
 
 XXYII. 
 'Twas the first of March — a bright, cold day. 
 And still on the ground the white snow lay. 
 
GLENALBAN. 61 
 
 Maury, his wife, with Lillian and Grace, 
 Were sitting in their accustomed place 
 In the large parlor — cheery, light. 
 While on the hearth the fire glowed bright. 
 Something had Maury's spirit stirr'd, 
 'Twas plain, from every look and word j 
 While Mrs. Maury at the fire 
 Gazed long — she never seemed to tire. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 At length quoth Maury, " ^Tis as well. 
 Children, I've a tale to tell. 
 When I begin, no questions ask 
 'Till I have finished all my task. 
 Strange are the Almighty's .wondrous ways : 
 'Tis fifteen years, eight months, some days, 
 A little family of three 
 Were traveling through their own country 
 In ^ Merrie England,' near the coast 
 Of Cornwall, where oft ships are lost. 
 Those parents and their lovely child. 
 As fair as ever heart beguiled — 
 A joyous, blithesome, prattling bird 
 As ever loving parents heard — 
 Not four years old, a little fay, 
 Rosy as the dawn of day. 
 XXIX. 
 
 " It happened on a day most fair, 
 When out to enjoy the bracing air 
 
62 GLENALBAN. 
 
 And pleasant sunshine^ that they came 
 Upon a cheerful looking dame. 
 Within her arms she held a child, 
 Who lisped some little words and smiled. 
 Her lovely curls of flaxen hue, 
 Her rosy cheeks, and eyes of blue, 
 Claimed the attention of this pair — 
 They'd never seen a child so fair. 
 They stopped awhile the child to see, 
 So charming in her infant glee. 
 And ask some questions of the dame 
 About the child. What was her name I 
 For plainly did they see that she 
 This fair child's mother could not be. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " While they were talking, the little one 
 Cried for the nurse to put her down. 
 Then did she both her arms outstretch ; 
 The other child she tried to reach, 
 Who, running toward her with all haste, 
 Put both her arms around her waist. 
 Then sitting down upon the sand. 
 Those lovely babes sat hand in hand, 
 Talking in their childish glee, 
 A fair sight truly 'twas to see. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " The good dame told a saddening tale. 
 How in a fierce and heavy gale 
 
GLENALBAN. 63 
 
 A ship upon the coast was tossed, 
 And many lives, alas ! were lost. 
 Of those who 'scaped that tempest wild, 
 A lady and her little child 
 Were saved. It chilled her heart to say. 
 The mother faded fast away. 
 And with a last and earnest prayer. 
 She gave this dear child to her care. 
 She paused to wipe away a tear. 
 '• The child to me is very dear ; 
 Though poor and lonely I may be. 
 The babe will never want with me.' 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " This touching tale of sorrow o'er, 
 She turned to wallv along the shore. 
 Calling the child in accents sweet. 
 Who would not come the nurse to meet ; 
 For, full of merriment and glee 
 Those children truly seemed to be. 
 The stranger then approached the nurse. 
 And kindly opening his purse, 
 Said, '■ Here is money to bear expense ; 
 More I will give ere I go hence.' 
 ^ Thank you, kind sir,' the woman cried, 
 ^ My wants and the babe's are well supplied. 
 Money and clothing I have in store 
 For myself and the child — I ask no more.' 
 The lady and gentleman turned away. 
 
64 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Saying they'd see her some other day ; 
 
 But their little daughter cried to stay 
 
 With the other child. ^ Don't take her away, 
 
 Dear mamma, do give her to me ; 
 
 My own little sister you know she could be.' 
 
 With tears the children were parted at last, 
 
 Each little one holding the other fast ; 
 
 And when at length to their cottage they came, 
 
 They could not help thinking about the dame. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 ^' A week or more had passed away, 
 When they rambled again the very same way ; 
 They wished to see the child once more, 
 Ere they bid farewell to that pleasant shore. 
 At length to some cottages soon they came, 
 And inquired where lived the worthy dame. 
 
 XXXIY. 
 
 '^ As they neared the house the pretty child 
 Ran out to meet them ; the strange rs smiled, 
 As their own sweet child, with a cry of delight. 
 Held the little one clasped in her arms tight. 
 It would take me long were I to tell 
 All that I know, and how it befell. 
 That this little babe was taken away. 
 To live with the other child, happy and gay. 
 A more fitting home for the orphan fair. 
 The strangers thought should be their care — 
 Two children they'd have their love to share." 
 
GLENALBAN. 65 
 
 xxxy. 
 
 ^^ What a strange story," said Lillian, "to hear," 
 
 As Mr. Maury quietly took a seat near, 
 
 And tenderly gazing in her sweet face. 
 
 Gently drew her to his embrace. 
 
 Mrs. Maury was shading her placid brow. 
 
 But tears from her eyes are falling now. 
 
 To speak, twice Maury in vain essayed ; 
 
 At length in broken accents he said, 
 " Darling, you were the child with flaxen curl ; 
 
 Grace was the other little girl." 
 '^ I, papa ■? What did you say 
 
 About Grace ? tell me again, pray." 
 " My darling, the little child was you ; 
 
 Grace was the other who loved you too." 
 
 XXXYI. 
 
 As a fair white lily on which a blight 
 
 Had fallen, sat Lillian, so still and white, 
 
 Iler eyes wide open, her head half raised, 
 
 And out on vacancy she gazed. 
 
 Then in a voice 'twixt a sob and a cry, 
 '' IMother, tell me this mystery ! " 
 
 The mother folded her close to her heart : 
 " My darling, from us you shall never part. 
 
 Unless you wish." Ah ! she sees it at last ! 
 
 She is sobbing — her tears are falling fast. 
 
 Then with arms outstretched and a moaning cry, 
 " Father— Mother— Grace— I die ! " 
 
06 GLENALBAN. 
 
 CANTO THE FIFTH. 
 
 'Tis the vernal season, beautiful Spring, 
 And the earth with fresh flowers is blossoming. 
 From her sleep fair Nature has waked at last. 
 The chill of Winter at length has passed. 
 Birds are singing on every tree, 
 The very insects are humming with glee, 
 And the rivulet's singing its sweetest song. 
 As it merrily winds the meadows along. 
 
 II. 
 Down in the meadows the violets lie, 
 Turning their faces up toward the sky, 
 So blue and fresh, so modest and fair. 
 What pets of the woods those violets are ! 
 The dogwood decked with pretty white flowers. 
 Like rustic maids in rural bowers ; 
 The waxen arbutus and harebell blue. 
 The fragrant azalia of delicate hue. 
 How lovely the trees in their dresses of green ! 
 And graceful the vines waving gently between ! 
 Then the hawthorn blossom — oh ! what is more faii*- 
 And the sweet-briar its fragrance flings on the air. 
 The beautiful ivy, of wild bowers the pride, 
 With its delicate cups dotted scarlet inside. 
 
GLENALBAN. 67 
 
 The pretty wild rose, the aider's white flowers, 
 Looking like snow mixed with Spring's early bowers. 
 Oh ! season of beauty and youth, lovely Spring, 
 So fleeting and bright with thy many-hued wing ! 
 Thy birds, thy perfumes, thy flowers so fair — 
 What season, I ask, can with thee compare ? 
 Thy perfumes are breathing around me now ; 
 Thy wild flowers are wreathed upon my brow ; 
 While soft on my ear comes a low murmured tone, 
 As I sit on a mossy bank, here, alone. 
 
 III. 
 There's a magical spell in the song of a bird, 
 In the early gush of morning heard. 
 How sweetly the wild notes fall on the ear, 
 Lulling the sense of sorrow and care ! 
 How light a thing may wake in the soul 
 A feeling o'er which we have no control ! 
 A cloud perchance may a shadow cast. 
 And call up thoughts which have long since passed. 
 There are times when the soul has seemed to wake 
 From a fettered sleep, the chain to break 5 
 Through a night of gloom, of horror and chill. 
 We shudder from the remembrance still. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Such a waking as this did Lillian feel. 
 With something of an electric thrill 
 Which shot through her quivering nerves with pain. 
 And brought back the wretched past again. 
 
68 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Her life in the past, did it happy seem ? 
 
 She had wakened now from the blissful dream. 
 
 'Twas hard for her heart this sorrow to bear ; 
 
 To have ties wrenched away from all she held dear 
 
 Dark was the way she had to go j 
 
 Blindly she groped through this valley of woe. 
 
 What bitter tears for her mother shed — 
 
 That mother, who had so long been dead — 
 
 So long unknown, unloved, unwept : 
 
 Her secret had too well been kept. 
 
 When she reviewed the happy past 
 
 Of her joyous life, an icy blast 
 
 Seemed to curdle her blood through every vein. 
 
 Till she felt almost callous to grief or pain. 
 
 Y. 
 Yet 'mid all Lillian's sorrow and tears, 
 A warm new love crept in unawares. 
 Her pulses throbbed with a holy fire — 
 Love for her brother and her sire. 
 Brother ! what new-found bliss is here ! 
 Brother ! each moment he grows more dear. 
 Oh ! sacred tie, pure bond of love. 
 Born of the heavenly courts above. 
 
 YI. 
 Thus from the chaos of the soul 
 Arose a fabric perfect — whole. 
 A glorious light the gloom displaced. 
 Lo ! what once seemed a desert waste, 
 
GLENALBAN. 69 
 
 Expanded out before her sight 
 
 Clothed with rich verdure, glowing, bright, 
 
 As when Nature, with a mighty shock, 
 
 Engulfs great cities, rends the giant rock. 
 
 Though of the direful wreck there's little seen, 
 
 A lake or crystal stream flows where they've been. 
 
 Yli. 
 Oh! month of May, with thy fresh sweet flowers ! 
 Oh ! lovely May, with thy blooming bowers, 
 With the rivulet's song, and the bird's sweet note. 
 Which soft on the balmy breezes float. 
 Waft me a breath from thy banks of flowers, 
 Cool the warm air with thy crystal showers, 
 Weave me a garland of roses gay. 
 Grown in thy garden, oh ! beautiful May ! 
 'Tis May — sweet, blooming May — 
 And nature's bowers are fresh and gay. 
 Maury, with all his family. 
 Have left Columbia, crossed the sea 5 
 On Albion's shores again they stand, 
 And hail with joy their native land. 
 
 YIII. 
 
 Yet here they cannot linger long, 
 At present duty urges on. 
 Lillian, Glenalban's daughter fair, 
 Who shared with Grace a parent's care, 
 Must to her father be restored. 
 Yet knows Glenalban not one word 
 
70 GLENALBAN. 
 
 Of either son or daughter ; no, 
 Maury himself must to him go, 
 The wondrous, joyful news impart, 
 Renew with life his widowed heart. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But first Sir Archie he must see, 
 And bind him fast to secrecy ; 
 Must learn how Malcolm to his care 
 Was given ; also when and where. 
 Some proofs would be required to show 
 If Malcolm were the son or no. 
 
 Maury at once, without delay. 
 Hastened to leave at an early day, 
 And see a land he oft had thought 
 He'd visit, but 'twas strange; had not. 
 
 X. 
 
 What various feelings filled the soul 
 Of Lillian ! How might she control 
 The thoughts which rushed o'er heart and brain 
 She felt the effort would be vain. 
 Scotland, her mother's land of birth, 
 To her the dearest spot on earth j 
 Her father's too. Then all the past 
 Rushed o'er her brain ; her heart beat fast. 
 His life had been a life of care. 
 Of wretchedness, and deep despair. 
 Yet now his wintry day was o'er, 
 She hoped, to come again no more. 
 
GLENALBAN. 71 
 
 Then glowed her cheek, while a holy light 
 Shone in her eyes, with lustre bright. 
 Her father ! brother ! was it a dream 
 From which she'd wake ? Oh ! no, a gleam 
 Of hope, of rapture, filled her heart ! 
 Yet she sighed to think how soon she must part 
 From those who had nurtured her early years ; 
 And the soft l)lue eyes o'erflowed with tears. 
 
 Her mother's spirit seemed to rise 
 And gaze with melancholy eyes 
 Upon her child, who now had come 
 To Scotland, long her parents' home. 
 Dear to her heart her mother now. 
 She sighed to think what grief and woe 
 Had been her lot ; and large bright tears 
 Rolled down her cheeks. She had no fears 
 Or dread her father now to see ; 
 A feeling almost idolatry 
 Possessed her soul to gaze upon 
 Her parent, who, a wretched one. 
 Through all those years had lived alone. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Fair Scotia, o'er thy land is hung 
 A magic mist j and bards have sung 
 The praises of thy chieftains brave, 
 In castle, hall, on land and wave j 
 While poets, with a tongue of flame. 
 Have sounded Caledonia's name. 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 There are skies than thine more bine, more fair, 
 In the sunny South, where the bahny air 
 Is perfumed with breath of orange flowers, 
 And beauty reigns ^mid the loveliest bowers. 
 Yes, all are fair ; yet in thy land. 
 What scenes of beauty, wildly grand ! 
 Thy mountains, oft so famed in- story ; 
 Thy glens, where many a combat gory 
 Was done by warlike chiefs whose right 
 The sword alone proclaimed, and might ; 
 While aged minstrels sang their praise, 
 And noted deeds in epic lays. 
 Our travelers oft, in glad surprise. 
 Viewed the fair scenes with l^eaming eyes — 
 Where mountain chains stretched far and wide, 
 And nature reigns in regal pride ; 
 With transport and delight Ihey view 
 Scenes ever changing, ever new j 
 And lovely lakes, whose waters deep 
 Mirror many a rugged steep. 
 
 Edinborough, city justly famed. 
 How often art thou modern Athens named ? 
 Like that fair city in the days of yore. 
 Thou standest high in scientific lore. 
 Upon thy hills thou sitt'st a queen enthroned, 
 Gazing upon the loftier heights around. 
 
 Stirling, so famed in ancient days, 
 The theme of many a poet's lays, 
 
GLENALBAN. 73 
 
 Bursts forth upon the enraptured gaze ; 
 And high upon a rocky steep 
 Stands Stirling Castle, with dungeon keep. 
 What warlike deeds have here been done ! 
 What battles fought, what victories won ! 
 Here the Scottish kings of old 
 Gathered with their warriors bold, 
 And strove with England for the right, 
 To hold it by their power and might. 
 'Twas here a darksome deed was done — 
 A treacherous murder — and by one 
 Who broke his kingly word of faith, 
 And bold Earl Douglas met his death. 
 
 There were spots so fair that many a day 
 Was whiled in sweet research away ; 
 Nor could they hurry through this land, 
 Where scenes of beauty, ever grand, 
 Met them at mountain pass and steep, 
 Eeflected in the waters deep 
 Of lochs, which shadowed cliff and tree. 
 And softened their sublimity. 
 
 What wild, strange sounds fall on the ear 
 Weird-like — what is it that they hear ? 
 The Keltic's waters foaming on. 
 Rushing the rugged rocks adown. 
 Here cascade after cascade falls. 
 Looking like moving crystal walls. 
 Where it takes the name of " Bracklin Falls." 
 4 
 
74 GLENALBAN. 
 
 What lovely spots they passVl that clay, 
 As towards ^^ the Trosaehs " thoy took their way ; 
 Passing Lochs Venacher and Achray. 
 
 And what were Grace's feelings here ? 
 Did she not think of Malcolm, near ? 
 Yes, silent, albeit not alone, 
 Her thoughts were with that absent one — 
 The hour upon the terrace jKissed, 
 The meeting that had been their last. 
 His words, his looks, dwelt in her heart ; 
 Of every thought he formed a part. 
 
 Yet when the maidens were alone, 
 And to their chamber they had gone, 
 The tell-tale blush in vain she tried 
 From Lillian's loving eyes to hide ; 
 And with cold words, Indifferent air, 
 Conceal the feeling slumbering there. 
 Nor should we thus the maiden's heart 
 Probe, and lay bare the inner part, 
 Where, hidden far from human ken, 
 Malcolm's image long had lain. 
 
 XII. 
 
 When Maury first the boi-der crossed, 
 His mind with hopes and fears was tossed, 
 Yet deemed it fit all haste to make. 
 For Lillian's and for Malcolm's sake, 
 Sir Archie and the Earl to see. 
 And end the matter happily. 
 
GLENALBAK. 75 
 
 But men are apt to change their mind 
 Fully as much as womankind. 
 Maury, I own, was no exception 
 To this rule j yet what objection, 
 If he brought to light of day 
 A thought which liad been hid away ; 
 Which now he found quite to his taste, 
 And checked at least his wondrous haste. 
 
 XIIT. 
 
 On no light errand had he come 
 To seek Glenalban in his home — 
 Lift ihe dark pall which wrapped his soul 
 In gloom, his wretchedness control. 
 Pierce the black cloud with Hope's bright beam 
 Awake him from his tortured dream. 
 Then glancing towards Lillian and Grace, 
 A pleasant smile illumed his face. 
 No better time than now to see 
 Nature, in wild sublimity 5 
 And Lillian would composure gather 
 Before the meeting with her father. 
 Thus our travelers from their way 
 Had turned a little, fain to stray 
 'Neath rugged mountain pass, and take 
 A look at many a lovely lake 
 Sleeping in beauty, fair and bright. 
 Shadowed by cliffs of wondrous height- 
 Nature's rude battlements, which frowned 
 Upon the beauteous scenes around. 
 
76 GLEN ALB AN. 
 
 We may not linger here to tell ' 
 What scenes they viewed of loch and fell, 
 For many a day remembered well. 
 
 XIY. 
 Maury and Sir Archie met 
 In secret council. There they sat, 
 And this the tale Sir Archie told. 
 When Malcolm was 'bout nine years old, 
 His brother's widow sickened, died, 
 And to his care did they confide 
 This child, who, although not her own, 
 A mother's love towards him had shown ; 
 But by a vow that she must keep 
 His father's name, she dared not speak. 
 Of gentle blood she said lie came. 
 And she could tell the maiden name 
 Of his poor mother — Lillian Clare. 
 A picture, too, she gave him there. 
 And ring ; those relics she had kept 
 For the dear boy. She paused and wept. 
 
 XY. 
 The child was given to her care 
 By one who had known Lillian Clare. 
 But Death had claimed her for his own j 
 She could not leave the child alone. 
 One day for her in haste she sent, 
 And Helen to her quickly went. 
 Though far away she made all haste, 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 The message, " Not a moment waste j 
 A dying woman prays you come." 
 Ere long she reached the woman's home j 
 Her dying words she dare not tell, 
 But she had loved the boy full well j 
 Malcolm was then 'bout four years old, 
 Such was the tale that Helen told. 
 
 XYI. 
 No mother ever loved a son 
 More than Helen loved this one. 
 No children of her own to share, 
 The love she gave this boy, so dear. 
 Twined round each fibre of her heart, 
 She felt it hard from him to part ; 
 But she was hastening to the grave. 
 And to my care the child she gave. 
 
 Sir Archie paused. " How time has flown 
 Through all the years now passed and gone ! 
 I've loved the boy like my own son — 
 And never was a worthier one. 
 The relics I have kept I'll bring— 
 His mother's picture and the ring. 
 'Tis wondrous strange, this tale you've told, 
 Like something I have read of old." 
 
 XVII. 
 When first the picture met his gaze, 
 Maury looked on it in amaze j 
 'Twas Lillian's very self so fair ; 
 
78 GLENALBAN. 
 
 The same blue eyes and sunny hair. 
 
 How wonderful it all did seem, 
 
 Yet; ^twas reality, no dream. 
 
 The ring of heavy gold, the stone — 
 
 A large carbuncle — it was one 
 
 Not often seen j the initial G, 
 
 Well marked, ^twas very plain to see. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Long they sat, debating too 
 How they should act, what course pursue. 
 Malcolm must nothing hear until 
 They first should learn Glenalban's will. 
 ^' Therefore," said Maury, '' I intend 
 A courier to the Earl to send. 
 Asking an audience for next day. 
 Of course he cannot say me nay. 
 In other years I have him met, 
 Long smce — but he may now forget. 
 However, 'twill no matter make ; 
 We know how much there is at stake, 
 I cannot wait another day ; 
 Must see him then without delay. 
 Sir Archie, Malcolm must go with you. 
 And wait within the carriage too. 
 Until the time arrives, 'tis meet 
 The father and the son should greet." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The sun is shining fair and bright, 
 Glenalban's towers are now in sight. 
 
GLENALBAN, 79 
 
 Am(3iig the stately forest trees 
 
 Is heard the gently whispering breeze. 
 
 What does it whisper^ hope or fear, 
 
 To the man who lives so lonely here ? 
 
 Ah ! little does he dream that fate 
 
 Has bliss in store for him, though late. 
 
 He sees not the glimmer of light which shines 
 
 Quivering with joy, through the clustering vines ; 
 
 He feels not the breath of the flowers fair, 
 
 Which would fan his cheek with the balmy air. 
 
 J )oes he close his heart to the still small voice 
 
 Wliich says even now he may rejoice ? 
 
 Ah ! yes, enwrapt in sorrow and care, 
 
 Could joy or happiness enter there? 
 
 Maury was ushered into a room 
 
 AVhich iitly suited the Earl's gloom. 
 
 He curc^d not the sun should mock his sight 
 
 With its beams, when his soul was dark as the night. 
 
 Far more would the gloom in unison be 
 
 With a life of such hopeless misery. 
 
 XX. 
 
 At the first glance the Earl he knew, 
 Who rose as Maury came in view j 
 A courteous welcome to him gave. 
 Yet was his aspect cold and grave. 
 Upon his broad and noble brow 
 Were traces of the care which now 
 Down to the dust his soul bowed low : 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 ^Twas crushed as from a heavy blow- 
 His large dark eyes retained then* fire, 
 And one who gazed must still admire 
 The noble mien, the courtly air 
 Of Lord Glenalban, even there. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Maury at length began his tale. 
 From the buried past he lifted the veil — 
 "Went back to days long past and gone, 
 And to his memory brought back one 
 At whose dear name a stifled cry 
 Burst from the Earl. 'Twas agony 
 Long pent up in his breast; despair 
 Gave utterance to the feeling there. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Though Glenalban drew a vital breath, 
 He felt that his life was a living death. 
 Callous, yet cold as the mountain snow, 
 Cared not for his own or others' woe 5 
 Like a lamp hung in deepest gloom. 
 His life was shut in a living tomb. 
 As Maury told his wondrous tale, 
 Glenalban's face grew ashy pale ; 
 Striving in vain some word to say. 
 At length the strong man swooned away. 
 XXIII. 
 
 Whoever has stood on the mountain side 
 And watched the mighty avalanche glide. 
 
GLENALBAN. 81 
 
 Then downward rush with giant force. 
 Sweeping in its impetuous course 
 Rocks, trees, and earth, resistless driven 
 With a crash as if the earth were riven "? 
 Tlius, 'neath a blow which stunned his very soul, 
 Glenalban sunli, unable to control. 
 
 XXIY. 
 Ere long to consciousness he woke. 
 And thus in broken accents spoke : 
 ^^ Oh ! man, thou friend whom Heaven has sent 
 To tell me that my punishment 
 Is o'er — that gracious Heaven at last 
 Has now forgiven the wicked past. 
 Providence our lives control, 
 Yet has the iron pierced my soul ! 
 A willful son, my life has shown 
 I reaped the whirlwind I had sown ! 
 My children ! Gracious God, I bow 
 In deep humility before Thee now ! 
 This blessing in Thy mercy shed 
 Upon my undeserving head : 
 Grant me Thy grace while here I stay, 
 Humbly to walk, Thy will obey. 
 My children ! " Maury said they wait 
 Impatient at the castle gate. 
 Then, rising, left the room to seek 
 The loved and long lost. Was it weak 
 For this strong man, who long had stood 
 Adversity in its direst mood. 
 
82 GLENALBAN. 
 
 When hope and happiness had come 
 Upon his heart, thus to succumb ? 
 Like some flowers in the Summer time; 
 Blooming lovely in their prime, 
 Kissed by the sun's too ardent ray, 
 The fair leaves droop and fade away. 
 
 XXY. 
 Soon Maury entered. On his arm 
 Leaned Lillian graceful, every charm 
 Heightened by the wondrous power 
 Which breathed throughout this fateful hour, 
 " My child ! my Lillian ! " the father cried. 
 While Lillian hastened to his side ; 
 Clasped to his heart his long-lost child, 
 With joy and transport almost wild. 
 Such a moment of bliss and ecstasy 
 Methinks the angels could joy to see, 
 So holy and pure is a father's love, 
 A feeling born of heaven above. 
 No purer the snow on Jura's steep ) 
 Fathomless as the ocean deep. 
 Undying, it lasts beyond the tomb, 
 And flourishes in immortal bloom. 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 The door swings open : see Lillian smile j 
 'Tis Malcolm and Sir Archie Lyle. 
 Well may the father's bosom glow 
 With pride — his sou 's before him now. 
 
GLENALBAN. 83 
 
 With a yearning look he gazed on his face, 
 
 And folded his son in a close embrace. 
 
 From the first hour he saw the boy 
 
 He felt his bosom thrill with joy. 
 
 Now as he looked and gazed again, 
 
 An expression of exceeding pain 
 
 Came o'er his face, as he thought of one — 
 
 His boy's fair mother — alas ! long gone. 
 
 Upon her picture he gazes now, 
 
 And the furrows are deep on his care-worn brow ; 
 
 His eyes by his hand are shaded too, 
 
 Yet tears are falling the fingers through. 
 
 XXYII. 
 And Malcolm, who never had known till to-day 
 What a page in the book of fate, long put away, 
 Would be oped, seemed lost in a dream — 
 A dream in the light of the sun's bright beam. 
 Would it fade away with the shadows of night, 
 Or brighter glow in the day's pure light ? 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But others are there. We must not forget 
 'Tis the first time Malcolm and Grace have met 
 Since either had parted months before. 
 He knew not she had reached her native shore. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And the mother ! the only one Lillian had known. 
 Who had ever the deepest affection shewn, 
 
84 GLENALBAN. 
 
 For the orphan child she had loved as her own — 
 She had seen the meeting with swelling heart 5 
 She knew from her darling she soon must part. 
 Though she joyed the father had found his child, 
 Her bosom was filled with tumult wild ; 
 Then to hide her tears she turned away — 
 They are falling still, do what she may. 
 But a voice she knows sounds in her ear, 
 '^ Mother ! " it says, '^ oh ! mother, dear ! " 
 Lillian is kneeling beside her now. 
 With a look of care on her lovely brow ; 
 The loving arms are 'round her pressed, 
 ^nd the fair head rests on the mother's breast. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Glenalban is gazing with rapture and joy 
 On Malcolm, his loved and long-lost boy. 
 And now he sees on the handsome face 
 The features in childhood he loved to trace 5 
 But harrowing thoughts of his early years 
 O'er his memory rush, of the hopes and fears 
 Which checkered his life ; of the sunny rays 
 Which brightened awhile those early days. 
 Then in review passed the darksome years, 
 Blighted hopes and harrowing fears ; 
 And he lives again in that di'eadful past. 
 Which seemed as if it would ever last — 
 A past so wretched that well nigh fate, 
 With her cup of bliss, had been too late — 
 
GLENALBAN. 85 
 
 Till over his heart the shadows creep, 
 And he starts as if from troubled sleep, 
 To find a reality fair and bright. 
 Glowing in the evening light. 
 XXXI. 
 
 The sun shines bright on Glenalban's towers ; 
 The gardens are gay with Summer flowers. 
 Through grove and glen the merry sound 
 Of voices in the air resound j 
 And list ! the gushing melody 
 Echoing from tree to tree ! 
 The woodland songster^s sweet refrain 
 Is borne upon the air again. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Hark ! within the castle walls 
 The welkin rings through the banquet halls. 
 Happy hearts are gathered there, 
 Who little seem to think of care. 
 Many a year has passed away 
 In gloom, within these towers gray ; 
 And long ere such a time, I ween. 
 Had e'er within these walls been seen. 
 This change so wondrous, one might deem 
 It nothing but enchanted dream ; 
 Yet every morn brought some new joy, 
 Happiness without alloy. 
 
86 GLENALBAN. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Time flies fast, do what we may. 
 A year has quickly passed away : 
 The Summer, with its fruits and flowers, 
 Is here again, and Nature's bowers, 
 Decked in their loveliest array 
 Of gorgeous tints, blooming, gay, 
 Enchant the soul, delight the eye, 
 Which feasts in silent ecstasy. 
 And in that year what changes rife 
 With interest in Grace's life ! 
 Malcolm redeemed his promise made 
 To Grace when in the mountain glade j 
 Nor think of love ^' till perchance they met 
 At some future day,'' could he forget. 
 Hope whispered softly words of cheer ; 
 His heart was l)rave, he would not fear. 
 With him the motto e'er had been, 
 '^ Never venture, never win." 
 His lordly sire his choice approved, 
 Coukl he but know that he was loved. 
 Grace ever seemed on mischief bent — 
 'Twas hard to tell just what she meant. 
 But Lillian, always sweet and good. 
 
GLENALBAN. ^7 
 
 Gave comfort in his doubtful mood ; 
 Would oft his weary heart beguile, 
 And cheer him with her sunny smile. 
 
 This story now is nearly done. 
 Need I tell how Grace was wooed and won? 
 How had she tried to make it seem 
 She did not love him ? Bid he deem 
 Her words were true ^? Full well I wot 
 He better knew. Perchance he thought 
 She tried his love. It mattered not. 
 His constancy she could not shake ; 
 
 His heart so true she would not break ; 
 
 A captive in her magic chain, 
 
 Supreme within his heart to reign. 
 
 Ah, well, the tell-tale l)lush might speak. 
 
 Which deepens on fair Grace's cheek. 
 
 The whispering words we may not hear, 
 
 Meant only for the maiden^s ear. 
 
 Thus did their troth the lovers plight. 
 Each happy and with heart most light. 
 So when the bells at Christmas time 
 Pealed forth a joyous, merry chime. 
 Fair Grace's hand was given away 
 To Malcolm. Such a bridal day 
 Had ne'er been seen in many a year; 
 'Twould take too long to tell it here. 
 
GLENALBAN. 
 
 A peerless bride as ever the sun 
 With brightest rays e'er shone upon ; 
 And a bridegroom worthy her hand to ckiim, 
 The winning of which had been all his aim. 
 
 May the shadows of life, which to all must come, 
 Pass lightly over their hearts and home. 
 Happiness, honor, wealth, and fame. 
 To the noble house of Glenalban's name. 
 
 THE END. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 TO ANNIE. 
 
 WHEN SHALL I THINK OF THEE? 
 
 Tell me the hour to think of thee, 
 When night is falling o'er land and sea, 
 When clouds of purple and dusky hue 
 Have shut from our eyes the gorgeous view 
 Of crimson and gold and amethyst ray, 
 Which the sun has left in his pathless way, 
 And we gaze on the last faint ray of light. 
 Till it's hid in the sombre curtains of night ; 
 When the Summer moon, with silvery beam. 
 Is thiting mountain, valley, and stream. 
 And on tree and blossom tim dew-drops shine 
 Like gems that are brought from Golconda's mine; 
 And sweet on the ear, o'er hill and dale. 
 Is heard the voice of the nightingale — 
 Shall I think of thee then, at that lovely hour, 
 When the soul awakes to the witching power? 
 
 When the night is clear and the heavens are bright — 
 For the stars shine out with glorious light — 
 And our hearts with our thoughts are lifted high 
 To Him who liveth above the sky ; 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 And soft and low, on the evening air, 
 Like incense ascends the whispered prayer — 
 Shall I think of thee then, ere I turn from the light 
 Of those shining stars to the gloom of the night "? 
 
 When the rosy dawn is passing away, 
 
 And the sun shines forth with dazzling ray. 
 
 As upward and onward he rises high, 
 
 Piercing the mists with his fiery eye, 
 
 He wakes the flowers from their dewy rest. 
 
 And the woodland songsters leave the nest 5 
 
 Bird and blossom and flow'ret sweet 
 
 Hasten his genial glance to meet — 
 
 Shall I breathe thy name to the passing gale, 
 
 As, laden with fragrance, it floats o'er the vale ? 
 
 AVhen the day has nearly passed away, 
 
 And the sun speeds forth on his western way, 
 
 Through paths of ruby and golden hue, 
 
 Wondrous in beauty, till, lost to our view. 
 
 We gaze on the track of his glittering car. 
 
 He is gone ! he is borne from our sight afar — 
 
 And the glorious sunset has faded away : 
 
 Shall I think of thee then at the close of the day 1 
 
POEMS. 91 
 
 ODE TO THE NEUSE, NEW BERNE, N. 0. 
 
 Beautiful river ! thy waters bright 
 Sparkle and flash with radiant light 
 From the silver moon, whose beauteous rays 
 Beamed on thee thus in olden days, 
 In ages long ago. 
 
 Oh ! couldst thou tell of those olden days, 
 Thy tales would seem but magic lays 
 
 Of some fabled fairy or gnome, 
 Or water sprite, who came forth at night 
 
 From her grotto of pearl, her home. 
 
 'Tis said that the lilies we love so well. 
 Were maidens, who left their amber cell 
 
 To sport in the moon's pale ray ; 
 But they lingered too long, and the old sea-king 
 Uprose in his chariot (a frightful thing). 
 
 When they thought him miles away. 
 And turned them into those lilies so fair 
 Which float on thy waterfj — most lovely they are. 
 
 Like water nymphs asleep. 
 
 There were forests that spread out far away, 
 But their traces have gone for many a day ; 
 
 Yes, many a day, I ween ; 
 Where the red man wandered in savage pride. 
 With the blood of his foes his hands were dyed. 
 
 And his tomahawk so keen. 
 
92 POEMS. 
 
 When he shouted his war-whoop loud and shrill, 
 The stoutest heart felt a sudden chill, 
 
 And drew a quicker breath j 
 For he knew that yell spoke rage and hate, 
 And, certain as avenging Fate, 
 
 The doom was always death ! 
 
 But those days have passed, and the happy home 
 Stands now where the red man used to roam, 
 
 Where the Indian maiden sung j 
 Where the warrior chiefs in council sat. 
 For war or peace they held debate, 
 
 'Round the waist the wam^pum hung. 
 
 Quietly now we walk along 
 
 Thy river banks, with the gathering throng 
 
 Who wish to promenade ; 
 Or, seated under the shady trees. 
 Enjoying the pleasant evening breeze. 
 
 We watch the sunset fade. 
 
 Who would dream that thy waters, so blue and clear. 
 Had borne on tlieir bosom the Buccaneer, 
 
 As he came and went on his way ; 
 With his murderous crew from many climes, 
 Men who were famed for the blackest crimes, 
 
 Eemembered till this day ? 
 
 What changes have been since those olden days ! 
 And who would think that the moon^s pale rays 
 Had shone on such deadly sights — 
 
POEMS. 93 
 
 On the pallid victim who ^^ walked the plank 
 O'er a deck of blood/' then gladly sank, 
 
 And " bade the world good-night " % 
 
 There are tales which were handed from father to son, 
 Of battles fought and victories won 
 
 Over the pirates dread ; 
 And a noted day was the one which bore 
 The victor's bark to thy peaceful shore — 
 At the prow was Blackbeard's head. 
 
 I must turn from those pages of life, which seem 
 More like some horrible midnight dream, 
 
 Or tale of dark romance, 
 Than a page of the history of New Berne dear. 
 Where we quietly live from year to year. 
 
 And leave much of our lives to chance. 
 
 Bright may the sun on thy waters shine ! 
 May the sun of prosperity ever be thine, 
 
 And peaceful thy lovely shades ! 
 May time his ruthless scythe withhold, 
 And spare thee, New Berne, e'en though old. 
 
 Farewell to wood and glade ! 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 Come with your garlands of flowers fair ; 
 Come with bright wreaths of roses rare. 
 Weave fresh chaplets of laurel and bay ; 
 Remember, this is the tenth of May. 
 Under this turf where we softly tread, 
 Sleeps the sacred dust of the Confederate dead. 
 Bring forth sweet flowers and strew them here, 
 While we moisten the leaves with many a tear. 
 
 Here lie the young, the noble, the brave ; 
 
 They have found a rest in the quiet grave. 
 
 Rest from battle, toil, and strife. 
 
 Rest ! it was bought with the COST OF life ! 
 
 True to the cause they loved so well. 
 
 Bravely they fought, nobly they fell ; 
 
 And dear to our hearts will the memory be 
 
 Of our soldiers who wor6 the ^' Confederate Gray.'' 
 
 Far from the home where his childliood was passed, 
 
 Many a soldier breathed his last ; 
 
 Far from- his home, with no kindred nigh, 
 
 The gallant soldier was called to die. 
 
 No mother was there with a soft caress, 
 
 Her darling boy, ere he died, to bless ; 
 
 To soothe his pain, his last wish to hear, 
 
 His fainting heart in that hour to cheer. 
 
 No ! alone, among strangers, or on the plain 
 
 In the thick of the combat the soldier was slain. 
 
POEMS. 95 
 
 Who can tell the thoughts that like lightning passed 
 Through the soldier's brain ere he breathed his last ? 
 As, wounded and faint, on the field he lay, 
 And felt that his life blood was ebbing away ? 
 Did he think of his home, and the loved ones near ? 
 Had he father, mother, or sister dear ? 
 'Twas hard to die in a distant land, 
 Without e'en the clasp of a friendly hand. 
 ^' For my country ! " A moment the dark eyes flashed. 
 The gallant soldier had breathed his last. 
 
 Bring hither fresh garlands of cypress and yew. 
 With the lovely gray moss — yes, gather it too. 
 W^hat tribute more fitting to place o'er the grave, 
 Mournfully in the breeze it will wave. 
 Swell loud the anthem, peal forth the sound 
 Of the organ, for this is sacred ground. 
 While we strew fresh flowers on the soft green sod, 
 Their souls we pray have found rest with God ! 
 There are saddening memories which cling to us yet ; 
 This day must recall them, we cannot forget. 
 Yet though sad be our hearts, our bosom will swell 
 With pride when we think they were heroes who fell. 
 Though our hopes have been crushed and our hearts 
 
 wrung with pain. 
 The bright bow of promise is o'er us again. 
 The dark clouds which lowered are scattered at last ; 
 Let us hope for the future, forget the past. 
 With peace and good will let us go on our way. 
 As we leave this loved spot at the close of day. 
 
96 POEMS. 
 
 A MOTHER'S CROSS. 
 
 '^ I WILL tell thee/' she said, while tears fell fast, 
 " But the bitterness now of death has passed. 
 
 ^' I sat at the window and watched a star. 
 
 Why did I gaze on that special one? 
 My baby, my darling, might 1)e there. 
 
 Ah ! I only felt that my child was gone. 
 '■ Oh ! why was it thus ? ' I cried in my woe, 
 
 As I gazed on the sta,rlit sky j 
 ' Why was I not taken too, 
 
 When my baby had to die 1 ' 
 
 " The warm bright tears fell on my hand 
 
 As I hid my face and wept. 
 And I thought of the glorious, heavenly land ; 
 
 Yet a feeling of horror crept 
 Through my brain : had I God's precept kept ? 
 
 Then methought on the soft still air I heard 
 A low voice gently speak, 
 
 '■ Art thou not willing to keep His word ; 
 To bear the cross for His sake ? ' 
 
 ^^ I felt that the place was holy ground. 
 
 And I humbly knelt me there ; 
 And up to the glorious heaven I poured 
 
 My contrite yet humble prayer. 
 And ever since then, when the stars shine bright, 
 
 I gaze with a holy joy 
 Through the veil of Faith, and a new soft light 
 
 Fills my soul with serenity." 
 
POEMS. 97 
 
 WALDEMAR AND IRENE. 
 
 IRENE TO WALDEMAR. 
 
 We have parted, and forever, 
 
 Never more again to meet — 
 Never more on this side heaven ; 
 
 There I'll hope again to greet. 
 
 Canst thou look backward to one morn 
 
 When we parted, long ago ! 
 With grief I saw thy heart was torn ; 
 
 And mine, alas ! was full of woe. 
 
 Yet you thought me cold and heartless, 
 
 As you gazed into mine eyes — 
 Gazed, with such a look of sadness, 
 
 ^Twas hard my feelings to disguise. 
 
 When you took my hand at parting. 
 
 And bid me then a long farewell, 
 In accents low, and sad and broken, 
 
 Which on my heart fell like a knell — 
 
 Oh ! had you only known the anguish 
 
 That was welling at my heart — 
 The deep despair, which seemed t' engulf me — 
 
 To hide, I strove by every art. 
 
 Was there one who falsely told you 
 
 That my heart was given away 
 To the keeping of another ? 
 
 Who that was I will not say. 
 
98 POEMS. 
 
 "Did he tell thee that he wooed me^ 
 Strove to win my heart from thee ? 
 
 Did he tell thee that I told him 
 It could never, never l)e ? 
 
 Dark and joyless dawned tlie morrow, 
 For I knew that tlion wert gone. 
 
 Alas ! I had to hide my sorrow ; 
 I had to bear my grief alone. 
 
 WALDEMAR TO IRENE. 
 
 What hast thou done, oh ! well beloved 1 
 Why hast thou thus my feelings moved ? 
 Why call up thoughts of other years 
 Long passed and gone, of hopes and fears ? 
 When first I met thee in the gush 
 Of youth, and hope, and loveliness — 
 More lovely than the fairest flower 
 Which opes at morn— thou hadst the power 
 To cast a spell o'er every heart j 
 Yet thou wert guileless — 'twas not art. 
 No, pure as pearl beneath the wave. 
 Or gem that's hid in mountain cave ; 
 No greater charm was thine than this — 
 The charms of nature's loveliness. 
 
 Why do I call up thoughts of thee, 
 Which can bring me naught but misery ? 
 Tears ope the wound which cannot heal 
 While beats this heart, but only feel 
 
POEMS. 99 
 
 The pangs of disappointed love, 
 
 Where'er I go, where'er I rove. 
 
 Oh ! I had loved thee with my soul, 
 
 A love which knew of no control — 
 
 Deep, thrilling, more than life. O Heaven ! 
 
 My hopes were crushed, my heart was riven. 
 
 To gaze into thine eyes, and hear 
 Thy voice ; whose tones fell on my ear 
 In liquid notes — I hear them yet — 
 Thinkst thou I ever could forget 
 What magic spells thy beauty wove 
 Around my heart, enchained my love, 
 Till my soul was filled with the beauteous thing ? 
 Closer and closer I let it cling. 
 
 My very life was bound in thine j 
 I fondly hoped thou wouldst be mine. 
 Those rapturous moments haunt me yet. 
 Ah ! dost thou think I can forget ? 
 What inspiration in the thought 
 That I should win the prize I sought ! 
 Would wear within my heart a gem 
 Richer to me than diadem. 
 
 But a crushing blow, with stunning weight 
 Fell on my heart — I learned my fate. 
 A friend — Heaven ! how it pollutes the name — 
 Laid deep his plans, then sought my ear to gain. 
 How base his tale, wove with an air of truth, 
 " To warn me ere too late, poor love-lorn youth,'' 
 
TOO POEMS. 
 
 Of her, who soon another's bride wOiikl be, 
 While I was left to scorn and misery. 
 
 ^^ Arouse ! and quit you like a man," he cried. 
 " Be once again yourself ; where is your pride % 
 Let not a fickle woman blight your life ; 
 Believe she is not worthy for your wife. 
 Her heart has long been given to one you hate — 
 Your rival. I would save you from your fate.'' 
 
 His tale was false. Too late I knew 
 Thy heart was mine, and thou wert true 
 To me ; when far in other lands I roved, 
 And years had passed, I knew I had been loved. 
 
 Too late ! my troth had then been given 
 To one I wed in the sight of Heaven, 
 And promised to love and cherish with life ) 
 I must keep my vows to her, my wife. 
 
 Deep in my heart is a sacred spot 
 
 Enshrined to THEE, yet dare I not 
 
 Look often within on the treasure here, 
 
 For I shudder with dread lest thou grow too dear. 
 
 Too long 1 have gazed on my treasure to-day ; 
 I have closed the casket, I turn away — 
 Away to the cares of every-day life ; 
 Away ! 1 forget not I have a wife. 
 
 lEENE TO WALDEMAR. 
 
 I think: of thee at evening hour. 
 When the dew is falling on leaf and flower, 
 
POEMS. 101 
 
 And a hum is heard from the fairy ring, 
 Where the children of air are caroling. 
 
 I think of thee when the moon is beaming, 
 And its silver light afar is streaming 
 O'er rocky glen, o'er wooded glade, 
 Now mingling with the greenwood shade. 
 
 In fancy thou art near me thenj 
 My merry laugh rings down the glen. 
 But as you whisper, " On the morrow 
 We part," my heart is filled with sorrow ; 
 And sadly on my ear the sound 
 Of thy loved voice comes but to wound. 
 
 We parted— can it be that we 
 Have parted thus eternally? 
 Hearts that through life must live on still 
 Through pain and woe, through good and ill ? 
 Through life ! oh, what were life to me 
 If we must part eternally ? 
 Yet stay : this life is not for aye ; 
 We part, but not eternally ; 
 And Hope, that beam which comes so bright, 
 Tinged with a glorious heavenly light. 
 Will brighten e'en the darksome way. 
 Where I must live without a ray. 
 
 To feel that I have looked my last 
 On thee ! Heaven ! the past, the past 
 
102 POEMS. 
 
 Comes o'er me now. Would I could drink 
 Of Lethe's wave, nor ever think 
 Of happy hours, now past and gone ; 
 For I must feel I am alone ! 
 
 I AM dying, Waldemar, dying ! 
 
 My life is fleeting fast j 
 The Autumn leaves are sighing, 
 
 And chill blows the evening blast j 
 Out on the gathering shadows 
 
 I look with dreamy eyes, 
 And over my heart comes rushing 
 
 Awakened memories. 
 
 When first we met in the sv/eet spring-time, 
 
 Thy heart was all my own, 
 And never distrust or sorrow 
 
 Or care had I then known ; 
 My heart was filled with a new-found joy. 
 
 And time sped cheerily on 
 Through flow'ry paths, where Hope's l^right ray 
 
 With radiant lustre shone. 
 But storms may come on the brightest morn, 
 
 And clouds dim the fairest sky. 
 And loving hearts with grief be torn, 
 
 Aye doomed to misery. 
 
 Though fast my life is fleeting, 
 The struggle will soon be o'er ; 
 
POEMS. 103 
 
 I will think of another meeting 
 AVhere we shall be parted no more. 
 
 AVhy should I cling to the sorrowful past, 
 As I look through the darkening gloom— 
 
 I, who am passing away so fast 
 To the cold and silent tomb ? 
 
 The night has come, and day's last beam 
 
 Is hid from my wistful sight, 
 While the evening star with brightest gleam 
 
 Sheds forth her silvery light. 
 One by one in the heavenly dome 
 
 They gather — oh, glorious light ! — 
 And my heart, l)owed in humility. 
 
 Looks towards those realms so bright. 
 
 ^iy soul has a feeling of hope and rest, 
 As 1 look towards the worlds on high, 
 
 Wher(^. far Ijeyond the liome of the Idlest 
 Lies liid in Eternity. 
 
 Shall I reach those realms l^eyond the sky, 
 
 Where God my Saviour lives ! 
 I stretch my arms with a wearied Aye ! 
 
 O Lord ! my soul receive. 
 
 Waldemar, farewell ! a last farewell, 
 Till we meet on that mystic strand 
 
 AVhere those who go return not to tell 
 The wonders of that land. 
 
104 POEMS. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. 
 
 LadYj for thee I strike the lyre, 
 For thee call forth Promethean fire ; 
 Sing of thy charms surpassing fair, 
 Thy flashing eyes and raven hair — 
 Thine eyes, within whose depths there lie 
 A magic spell, a witchery. 
 Like moonbeams shining on the sea, 
 Whose waves are sleeping tranquilly j 
 Or like the stars with radiant light, 
 Thy lovely eyes shine ever bright. 
 
 Thy bird-like voice and magic smile 
 Will oft the weary heart beguile 5 
 Will drive away the darksome hour 
 Which o'er the soul so oft has power. 
 And sweet as harp with golden string. 
 Swift o'er the spirit thou canst fling 
 A calm at once serenely bright — ■ 
 Where first 'twas gloom 'tis now all light. 
 
 We hail thee then the '^ Queen of Hearts ; " 
 But oh ! be careful with the darts 
 Which flash from thy bright eyes, fair creature ; 
 Nature has given thee form and feature 
 To lead men captive in thy chain, 
 For sport ; for they must sigh in vain. 
 
 Lady, my task is done. 
 Not at thy voice another tone 
 
. POEMS. 105 
 
 Will breathe from out my stringless lyre. 
 No J not one spark of Promethean fire 
 Will kindle e'en at thy behest j 
 Yet I have granted thy request — 
 Have written on this page a line, 
 Neither epic nor sublime ; 
 Yet, if it please thy fancy, well : 
 Lady, 'tis time to say ^^ farewell." 
 
 THE FEAST OF ROOKS. 
 
 'TWAS a beautiful day in the Autumn time — 
 So runs this curious little rhyme — 
 The sky was blue, the sun shone bright 5 
 'Twas a day to make the heart feel light. 
 
 We had rambled over the hills away. 
 And watched the sparkling rivulet play, 
 As over the rocks, in sportive glee. 
 The dancing ripples sped away. 
 
 Down by the beautiful river side 
 
 We had wandered, and gazed on the rushing tide 
 
 As on its bosom it swiftly bore 
 
 Mosses and leaves away from the shore. 
 
 But something new must be done to-day 5 
 We were tired of rambling the same old way. 
 What should we do to pass away time. 
 This lovely day in the mountain clime ? 
 
106 POEMS. 
 
 So, after various plans had been 
 
 Discussed by all again and again, 
 
 'Twas proposed a " feast " we should have to-day. 
 
 The motion was carried without a " nay." 
 
 There are different kinds of " feasts ; " but here 
 This could not be a feast to the ear. 
 Music is charming, in truth ; but we 
 Had nothing to malie such a feast of glee. 
 What could we find that would give a tone, 
 Save the sigh of the wind or the river's moan ? 
 
 For the palate then a feast should we malie — 
 A dainty feast of which all should partalie ? 
 But it was voted again to have something new, 
 With which body and soul could have something to d( 
 
 At length, after much debating and talk, 
 
 'Twas decided to have a feast of rock ! 
 
 Then over the hills and down the glade. 
 
 On through the forest's sombre shade, 
 
 And past the lovely crystal spring, 
 
 To the rocliy hill in '^ the enchanted ring." 
 
 There it stood in the sun's bright ray. 
 
 With its beautiful rocks, some white, some gray. 
 
 While forest mosses of richest green 
 
 Nestled the shining clefts atween. 
 
 There were trees of chestnut and old oak too. 
 So shady and nice, yet the sun peeped through j 
 While from the summit how fair a sight. 
 Of the valleys tinged with the sun's bright light ! 
 
POEMS. 107 
 
 Then over the hills from every side, 
 Rang merry voices far and wide ; 
 The soul drank in the sweet refrain, 
 And joyed to hear the blissful strain. 
 
 Then the forest birds came over to see 
 The cause of so much revelry, 
 And sang in concert, so sweet and clear. 
 That we had, after all, a feast to the ear. 
 
 The pleasure and bliss of that happy time, 
 I had to remember in my rhyme. 
 'Twas a feast to the eye, the ear ; the whole 
 Was a feast of joy — 'twas a feast to the soul. 
 
 THE PARTlNa. 
 
 We meet and part, we part and meet, 
 Yet is the meeting ever sweet. 
 Alas ! how short-lived is the joy j 
 No pleasure is without alloy. 
 
 How oft I long thy face to see ; 
 By night and day I think of thee. 
 By night I wake ; 'tis but a dream, 
 Pleasant, though fleeting. Couldst thou deem 
 That sweet repose would drive away 
 The forms of those we loved by day ? 
 
108 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 The dreary day is passing away, 
 And here I sit in the twilight gray, 
 Thinldng of days that are past and gone ; 
 Thinking, and weeping, alone — alone. 
 The wind moans sadly, the rain. falls fast ; 
 My heart has one sorrow — the past ! the past ! 
 The rain beats hard on the window pane. 
 And looks like tears far more than rain. 
 Yes, tears. See the drops, how fast they fall ! 
 Ah, me ! the past I can ne'er recall. 
 
 The clock on the mantel ticks loud and clear. 
 And I list some other sound to hear ; 
 But all is still save the plashing rain. 
 Which is beating against the window pane. 
 The twilight is passing — 'tis nearly gone — 
 Yet here I sit in the gloom, alone. 
 My blood seems frozen within my veins ; 
 I feel as if bound with a hundred chains. 
 What is the spell which is o'er me cast ? 
 The fearfid spell is the past — the past. 
 
 Was that a sigh which fell on my ear ? 
 Or is it only the wind I hear. 
 Sighing and moaning with fearful cry. 
 Like some lost spirit in agony ? 
 
POEMS. 109 
 
 Ah ! see that form, I know it well : 
 'Tis she, the once fan- Isabelle ! 
 Torture ine not with thy presence here — 
 Away ! away ! Lady Isabelle Vere ! 
 
 Do I dream ? "Where am I ! I saw her here, 
 I saw the face of Isabelle Vere. 
 Do the dead come back ? No, it cannot be ; 
 I was dreaming, or else 'twas fancy. 
 Why did I linger so long in the gloom? 
 Why did I enter this horrible room "? 
 
 Once more in the light, 'tis pleasant to see ; 
 Can it search to the depths of misery, 
 And brighten the gloom of my wretched soul. 
 Or drive away fears which I cannot control ? 
 The storm rages fearfully ; why should I care ? 
 My heart is torn by fell despair ; 
 Nothing but death, which will come at last, 
 Can give me relief from the terrible past ! 
 
no POEMS. 
 
 DEATH ON THE SEA. 
 " O God ! IT IS A fearful thixg 
 
 To SEE THE HUMAN SOUL TAKE WING." 
 
 'TwAS a noble ship as ever sailed ; 
 'Twas a gallant crew as ever hailed 
 
 From off Columbia's coast, 
 With a captain daring, true, and brave, 
 As ever crossed the briny wave. 
 Or on stormy seas was tossed. 
 
 Six months from home they'd been away, 
 Ploughing the deep both night and day, 
 
 Afar, 'neath foreign skies. 
 But now their hearts with hope beat high, 
 And flashed with transport every eye 5 
 With joy their spirits rise. 
 
 Eight bells had rung a pleasant chime ; 
 The night was clear, 'twas Autumn time, 
 With stars the heavens were bright. 
 And jolly tars in converse gay 
 Blithely passed the hours away 
 On this last fateful night. 
 
 Yet there was one who seemed to look 
 As though their mirth he could not brook ) 
 Apart from them he stood. 
 
POEMS. m 
 
 Gazing at times upon the sky, 
 Or looking out on vacancy, 
 
 He seemed in sombre mood. 
 
 '' Hark ! messmate," quoth a sailor, "tell 
 What has come o'er thee. Is't a spell 
 
 Which wraps thy soul to-night ? 
 Thou are not wont to look so blue ; 
 Cheer up, man ! join our jovial crew 5 
 
 We'll set thee soon aright." 
 
 ^' 111 would ye brook were I to tell 
 Why I look thus— perchance a spell 
 
 Has o'er my spirit come. 
 Let not my gloom a shadow cast ; 
 This humor will not always last— 
 
 You know we're going home." 
 
 A sad, faint smile his face o'erspread ; 
 He quickly turned away his head j 
 His messmates gathered near. 
 '' Nay, tell us now," they hoarsely cried, 
 Ranging closely to his side ; 
 ^' Whate'er it is we'll hear." 
 
 " Ye may deem it a simple thing to tell. 
 Yet, messmates, hear me, I've marked it well : 
 
 There are signs that speak of woe. 
 I've heard the sea-bird's shrieking cry. 
 Like the wail of one in agony— 
 
 Of a man in the last death-throe. 
 
112 POEMS. 
 
 " Last night 'twas my watch ; the bells rung one. 
 Beside me I heard a fearful moan, 
 Yet there was no one near. 
 ^ Ship ahead ! ' was shouted. I looked to see 
 A ship approach right gallantly, 
 And close to our bow did steer. 
 
 ^^ But my life-blood seemed to curdle then j 
 'Twas the Phantom Ship — I saw her men, 
 
 And her ghostly crew so pale. 
 Quick as a meteor she flitted by. 
 And again I heard that mournful cry 
 
 Borne past me on the gale.'' 
 
 The gallant young captain felt happy that night, 
 As he watched the stars so glowing and bright, 
 
 And the sky so cloudless and fair. 
 A speedy return to that wished-for home 
 He was soon to see. Ah ! how could he roam 
 
 From those he hekl so dear ! 
 
 His fair young wife and precious boy 
 
 Were his treasure, his earthly hope and joy— 
 
 What bliss again to behold ! 
 And he thought with rapture once more to hear 
 The voices of loved ones sound in his ear, 
 
 As they had done of old. 
 
 But a mist was rising, vaporish, white j 
 'Twas hiding the stars even now from his sight. 
 And quickly the deck he paced. 
 
POEMS. 113 
 
 Listening, looking -with wary eye ; 
 There was nought to hear, nought to descry, 
 The ocean seemed a waste. 
 
 But ere long there was sung out, loud and clear, 
 " Ship ahead ! Ho ! ship is drawing near ! " 
 
 And the captain sees it too. 
 Quick are his orders given. He spies 
 A ship of large proportions rise, 
 
 Looming on towards his bow. 
 
 O merciful Heaven ! what mean they now 
 
 In that strange ship? On they come towards the bow. 
 
 Bearing down in that reckless way. 
 God ! they have cut the ship in twain ; 
 The brave hearts plunged beneath the main, 
 
 And the strange ship goes on its way. 
 
 God, who saw it, has marked it down 
 In the great white book which is kept near His 
 throne. 
 
 To be read at the judgment day. 
 When the secrets of all hearts shall be known ; 
 And then and there will justice be done, 
 
 Though the time may be long away. 
 
114 POEMS. 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 What is it moves me thus ? 
 What dretacl o'ershadowiug all my thoughts and 
 
 powers — 
 Freezes as 'twere my very marrow, 
 And masters all my will ? 
 1 will shake otf this fear. 
 Why should I l)e the sport of fancy ? 
 To-night the wind came howling o'er the moor. 
 Onward it strode in angry sweeps, 
 Shrieking in very fury. 
 The forests shook, and trembled ; 
 Ul)ward the trees their branches wildly tossed, 
 Or l)ent 8ul)missively before the gale. 
 Across the sea the foaming waves come rushing on ! 
 I see the friendly lights which warn the mariner 
 To shun the fatal cliffs. 
 
 Methought I heard the gun which spoke distress. 
 Come booming o'er the sea I 
 The night is dark, save when illumined 
 15y the lightning's flash ! 
 The thunder peals from cliff to cliff 
 With crashing sound ; the sea is lashed to fury, 
 And, like some monster roaring for his prey. 
 With briny crest upreared, and ponderous 
 Jaws wide oped, chills many a heart with fear. 
 Oil ! 'tis a fearful night ! 
 
POEMS. 115 
 
 Hark ! Metliought I heard a gun ; 
 Or was it but the raging of the storm ? 
 
 Frightened, I turned away, 
 
 Yet could I not shut out the sound. 
 
 In agony my soul dwelt on the fate of those 
 
 Who might be out. 
 " God ! in mercy on them look," I cried, 
 " Who may be out this night." 
 
 Just then the night-bird by my casement flew, 
 
 With heavy wing and hoarsely croaking note. 
 
 Shivering, I drew me near the fire 
 
 And stirred the blazing logs, 
 
 Yet could I not but listen. 
 
 The trees were swaying 'gainst my window 
 
 To and fro, and deep and loud 
 
 Was heard the wild surf song. 
 
 Hark ! Was that a cry ? List ! another — 
 A gun ! O Heaven, have mercy ! 
 Can I thus sit, and hear my fellow beings 
 Cry In their agony for help % 
 Arouse ! Oh, hasten, for the love of Heaven ! 
 What shout was that ? 
 See ! the life-l)oat's out ! 
 Grod Ijless tlie noble men who risk their lives 
 In such a gale as this, to save their fellow men 
 From death — and such a death ! 
 O Jesus ! shield them well. 
 
116 POEMS. 
 
 Hark ! On the wind a voice is t)orne. 
 " Back, men ! Say, are ye mad ? 
 Ye cannot breast the waves to-.night. 
 Think of your wives and little ones, 
 Ye noble Christian men. 
 Ye go unto your death. 
 What boat could live in such a sea ? 
 God's mercy on their souls ! " 
 
 mighty sea ! what secrets hast thou locked 
 Within thy cold embrace ! 
 But yet a time is coming when all things 
 Shall be known, and thou wilt then 
 Give up thy buried treasures. 
 
 From whence art thou, O wind ! 
 That com^st with wailing cry — 
 Oft with a moaning, sobbing sound. 
 E'en like some spirit weeping for the woes 
 Of Earth ? Yet oft thy breath is sweet and fragrant. 
 And on thy zephyr wings thou bearest 
 Pure ethereal draughts fraught with perfume 
 From many a bank where loveliest flowers 
 Lie sleeping. Oh ! would 'twas ever thus ! 
 But no ! when in thy mighty strength 
 Thou sweepest over earth and sea. 
 Howling with maddened voices, or shrieking 
 In the fierceness of thy wrath. 
 In thy path is naught but desolation. 
 O wind ! where hidest thou thy mighty voice ? 
 
POEMS. 117 
 
 In caverns of the deep ? Beneath the old ocean's 
 Briny bed ? Or say, dost thou 
 Thy strength and might imprison 
 In mountain fastnesses ? 
 
 Mortal, pause ! consider what thou art ! 
 Seek not to learn what thou shalt never know 
 While in this clay ! 
 Remember thou hast within thee 
 A spark of light ! See thou dim it not ! 
 Our great Creator placed it there 
 To light thee through this world. 
 Remember what our blessed Master said : 
 ^^ If the light that is in thee be darkness, 
 How great is that darkness.'^ 
 
 THEY BROUGHT HIM HOME TO DIE. 
 
 They brought him home — to the home of his birth, 
 More loved than any spot on earth — 
 The home he had dreamed of when far away, 
 He had longed to see for many a day. 
 Home ! what memories centre there, 
 Of all that life to him held dear. 
 Far in the distance the hills he sees. 
 And the old trees sway with the Summer breeze j 
 The river along whose banks he strayed 
 In boyhood ) and near was the open glade 
 
118 POEMS. 
 
 O'er which he had oft the wild doer chased. 
 Ah ! how fondly he dwelt on the joyous past^ 
 When with eager eye and a step like the roe, 
 He had roved those pleasant woodlands through. 
 
 He had brothers then his sports to share. 
 How light were their hearts, liow free from care ! 
 Where were they now ? The willow waves 
 Mournfully over his brothers' graves. 
 
 They had fought in battles with valor and might- 
 Fought for their much-loved country's right. 
 They fell with many a Southern brave — 
 Far from their homes they rest in the grave. 
 
 What is it now that makes him start, 
 And quickens the pulses of his heart ? 
 A latticed cottage with clustering vine. 
 Amid which some l)eautiful roses twine. 
 A grassy slope through the trees is seen. 
 Smooth and fresh of ^the loveliest green. 
 He looks from the carriage with longing gaze 
 And sadly thinks of the happy days 
 That never to him can come again. 
 Sweet, vanished hours, the thought is pain ! 
 Does she know he is coming home from the war ! 
 She, who has been of his life the star, 
 Clare, his betrothed, his promised wife ! 
 He had left her to join the warriors' strife. 
 How earnest and anxious he glances to see 
 The form so dear to his memory ! 
 
POEMS. 119 
 
 But they hasten past that peaceful home — 
 
 He thinks again, " Does she know that I've come ? " 
 
 The cottage is passed — ^he sees his home ; 
 Ah ! there at least they know he has come. 
 The fond mother gazes — is that her son ? 
 Her youngest, and now her only one f 
 So pallid and faint, with a stifled cry 
 She folds him close in her agony ; 
 Fearing, yet eager to look on his face. 
 While she holds him still in her fond embrace. 
 
 The father is standing lieside his son, 
 Who turned to greet him, and 'round him thrown 
 His arm. The greeting is silent and deep. 
 The mother feels that she dare not weep — 
 'Twould torture her boy ; but her hands are pressed 
 With a choking sob on lier aching breast. 
 Was this the end of her prayers and tears. 
 To see her son thus ! — for the last two years 
 Her youngest, her cherished one, and her pride ; 
 He had all her love since the others died. 
 
 ^^ Has he come at last ? " she said with a sigh ; 
 
 " Grod ! has he come home only to die ? " 
 
 'Twas a Summer^s day, so bright and fair. 
 With scarce a sound on the balmy air. 
 Save a low, soft bum, and the note of a bird 
 Flitting afar, at intervals heard. 
 Fresh and sweet were the balmy flowers 
 Which scented the air from tlie woodland bowers. 
 
120 POEMS. 
 
 But unnoticed seem all to those wlio rove 
 That Summer clay in the pleasant wood's grove. 
 'Twas Ernest and Clare, his promised bride ; 
 He felt happy that she was by his side. 
 And they wandered on to a mossy spring, 
 Where a purple lilac was 1)lossoming. 
 It was large — the pretty, fragrant flower 
 Drooped low, and formed a rural bower. 
 While rustic seats were placed around, 
 And a mossy carpet covered the ground. 
 
 Sadly and silently now they gaze 
 On this scene, as they think of \\\q happy days. 
 With the hopes that each so fondly cherished. 
 Now, happiness, joy, alike had perished. 
 The pallid brow spoke pain and care j 
 The hollow cheek, the listless air. 
 The feeble step, the drooping form, 
 Might well the loving heart alarm. 
 'Twas on such a day, when the sun was low. 
 They had plighted their troth and breathed their 
 
 vow 
 At this mossy spring — they remembered it well j 
 They had lingered till softly twilight fell. 
 
 Two years rolled by ; their hopes were crushed, 
 Their idols broken — aye, crumbled to dust. 
 Each felt that the last sad parting was nigh. 
 And Ernest then whispered, with heavy sigh, 
 " Dear one, I've only come home to die ! " 
 
POEMS. 121 
 
 THE MOTHER'S DEEAM. 
 
 A MOTHER watched her child at play — 
 A beautiful boy, so joyous and gay — 
 As with glowing cheek and flashing eye 
 He chased the bright-winged butterfly. 
 
 The mountain breezes fresh and fair 
 Lifted the locks of his golden hair, 
 And the sweet voice called, " Mamma, don't you see 
 I had nearly caught him % Just look ! there are three." 
 But the petted fawn came bounding 1)y, 
 And the boy forgot the butterfly. 
 His merry laugh rang loud and clear. 
 With silvery sound on the Summer air. 
 
 The mother turned away with a sigh. 
 Two children were sick in a room close by — 
 So sick that they claimed her tenderest care. 
 Nor could she linger a moment there. 
 Yet, ere she turned, a look was given 
 To her youngest boy, and a prayer that Heaven 
 Would o'er him watch, that no ill would come 
 To her children dear in their mountain home. 
 
 A darksome shadow hangs o'er that home — 
 Three boys are sick in an inner room. 
 The languid eye and fevered cheek 
 Tell the anguish she fears to speak. 
 Loving hearts and hands are there. 
 The task of watching and care to share. 
 C 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 Days flit by : the angel of death 
 Is hovering near, with baleful breath ; 
 And shadows fall at the twilight hour — 
 Fall on the heart with crushing power. 
 
 The shadows are lifted ; tlie older boys 
 Are restored once more to home and its joys, 
 And the younger boy is bettor to-day ; 
 List to his laughing and shouting at play ! 
 
 There is only one sick of the children three ; 
 Two of them well — the youngest — 'tis he 
 Who, lying now in his bed again, 
 Moans and cries with very pain. 
 And, gathered around, the watchers fear 
 For the fair young child whom they hold so dear. 
 
 The shadow comes in the broad daylight. 
 The shadow is there, darker than night. 
 Yet the mother thinks .not her child will die. 
 So quietly now he seems to lie. 
 He is sleeping ; and softly near him she lies, 
 To watch him — but sleep lias enchained her eyes. 
 Was it sleeping, or waking ? She cannot tell ; 
 But a vision she saw — she remembers it well. 
 A rushing sound fell on her ear, 
 As of angels* wings coming through the air ; 
 And she knew by the glorious light which shone 
 'Twas an angel of heaven — a Shining One. 
 No power had she one word to speak. 
 Yet she turned towards him a face so meek. 
 
POEMS, 123 
 
 And a fervent prayer to her lips half rose, 
 While her heart was filled with the deepest woes. 
 
 The Shining One bent his gaze on the child, 
 Then turned towards the mother and sweetlj^ smiled. 
 And swiftly folding his glittering wings — 
 A messenger from the King of kings, 
 I have come for the child. Nay, do not weep ; 
 Thou wilt wake the boy from his tranquil sleep. 
 Thrice happy the soul thus called away. 
 Unstained by sin, from a body of clay. 
 Might I tell thee the joys that to such are given. 
 Thy soul would long for a home in heaven. 
 But the time has not come ; thou wilt longer stay, 
 While I bear thy darling boy away 
 Beyond the stars, and beyond the sky, 
 To regions of bliss in eternity. 
 No sorrow or death are ever there. 
 And perfect love casteth out fear. 
 And there the ransomed spirits sing 
 To ten thousand harps with golden string. 
 Though heavy the cross thou wilt have to bear, 
 'Twill draw thee nearer to God in prayer — 
 Nearer to God, in His works and ways j 
 Nearer to God, His name to praise. 
 'Twill loosen the tie which binds thee to earth, 
 And prepare thy soul for its heavenly birth j 
 Meekly to bow to His sovereign will. 
 In all things humbly to serve Him still ; 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 Until, ready at last, the time will come, 
 And thou too shalt go to the heavenly home. 
 Faint not, poor heart, but trust in thy God ; 
 He will give thee grace to bear the load 
 Of woe and pain through ' the river ' to go. 
 But there the waters shall not. overflow ; 
 With His mighty arm and strong right hand 
 He will bring thee safe to the heavenly land.'' 
 
 The mother waked. Was it only a dream ? 
 So much like reality did it seem. 
 That she looked around with awe and fear. 
 To see if the angel still were near. 
 But she saw him not, and her child still slept ; 
 Then the mother turned away and wept. 
 Waking or sleeping, hope's latest ray 
 With that wondrous dream had faded away. 
 
 The day and night had passed away. 
 And morning came with golden ray. 
 The dew on the grass was glittering bright, 
 Sparkling like gems in the broad sunlight. 
 The sick child's face was paler to-day. 
 But he looked like an angel as there he lay 
 Serene and still 5 from his forehead fair 
 Were brushed back the locks of his golden hair ; 
 And his eyes with softened lustre shone. 
 Had he too seen the Shining One ? 
 
 'Twas plain to see, as the day wore on. 
 That the darling child would soon be gone. 
 
POEMS. 125 
 
 The mother felt that the angel was near, 
 As she silently wiped away a tear. 
 The boy could not speak, but his lovely eyes 
 Gazed up with a look of glad surprise -, 
 And soon, ah ! soon, before her there lay 
 Naught but a body of lifeless clay. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 Come from the land of the orange and vine ; 
 Come from the land of the cedar and pine ; 
 From hill and from valley, from far and away, 
 Let the true Southerner come — 'tis the tenth of May. 
 
 From mountains, whose peaks proudly soar toward 
 
 the sky. 
 While soft in their shadows the green valleys lie. 
 And rivers like crystal flow swiftly along. 
 Flashing with sunshine and gushing with song. 
 
 Where flowers most lovely, most fragrant and fair. 
 The senses enchant while they perfume the air ; 
 And birds whose rare melody flings o'er the soul 
 A spell which enchains, yet we cannot control 5 
 From the length and the breadth of this beautiful land 
 Let old and young gather, a patriot band. 
 
 'Tis no festal day that we joyfully hail. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis a day but to sigh and to wail ! 
 
 For cold are the hearts once so loved and so dear, 
 
 Intrepid and brave, they knew not of fear. 
 
126 POEMS. 
 
 Though the dust must return to the earth whence it 
 
 came, 
 Their names will stand first in the annals of fame 5 
 While their virtues and deeds, long remembered, 
 
 will shine 
 Like stars in the sky of the soft Southern clime. 
 Ko monuments need we to rear to their praise, 
 Nor escutcheon on which their brave deeds to emblaze 5 
 No ! pure and untarnished their memories we'll keep 
 In our hearts, ever green ; o'er their graves we will 
 
 weep. 
 
 O'er our fair Southern land what a black pall was 
 
 spread 
 When the tidings went forth that '^ Jackson was dead.'' 
 " Our Stonewall ! " Death ! what a glorious mark 
 Was thy aim, yet thy cruel shaft struck in the dark. 
 Bring garlands x)f flowers^ fragrant and fair. 
 The light breeze their perfume will waft o'er the air ; 
 With chaplets of ivy, of laurel, and bay, 
 For the heroes whose memories we keep here to-day. 
 
 Oh ! we know not e'en now but their spirits may be 
 Near, hovering o'er us, loved ones to see. 
 Then sing in full chorus a martial refrain. 
 And echo will warble the sweet notes again. 
 Green be the turf with bright flowers o'erspread, 
 'Neath which rest our brave, our Confederate dead ; 
 Where the sun's golden beams will a radiance fling, 
 And the low winds of even a requiem sing. 
 
POEMS. 127 
 
 THE WOODLANDS. 
 
 You ask if I am sad. 
 In truth I cannot tell 5 yet this I know — 
 I am not in a merry mood. 
 There is a time for all things. Why not a time 
 In which the soul may wrap herself 
 In the brown mantle of reflection and gaze down 
 The long vista of the past with thoughtful eyes ? 
 There was a sweet breath of flowers in the air, 
 And the joyous song of birds fell on my ear. 
 
 With no intent save that of wandering 
 On in listless mood, I left the grove, 
 And, passing through the glen, came to 
 A lovely spot, a valley green as emerald. 
 Sprinkled all over with wild flowers. 
 Close by, a noisy ))rook kept babbling 
 On its way, with such a pleasant sound 
 As half l)eguiled me of my loneliness. 
 
 I sat me down upon a mossy seat 
 Beneath a tree, whose branches waving 
 In the breeze seemed to invite repose. 
 'Twas a sweet, sequestered spot. 
 Oft had I sought its shade, and 
 Many a time, when tired with busy cares of life, 
 Had hied me thither. 
 Oh ! what a place is this, I said, 
 For calm reflection. E'en yon little 
 Stream might teach content and thankfulness, 
 
128 POEMS, 
 
 Nor murmur at our lot. Yet thus it is : 
 
 How oft we feel a longing and desire 
 
 For what we cannot get, and so 
 
 Grow restless and unthankful. 
 
 I mused that it was so j 
 
 And then I sighed to think 
 
 We could not be content 
 
 With what our Father sends. 
 
 But still the little brook kept babbling on, 
 
 Jumping and leaping as it went, for very joy. 
 
 Just then the sound of voices 
 Rang out through the glen — 
 The merry tones of childhood, 
 Clear, like silver bells at even. 
 Surprised and pleased, I turned to see 
 From whence the voices came j 
 And, bounding down the mossy slope, 
 Two little maids, in all the innocence 
 And mirth of childhood. 
 On seeing me they paused and gazed 5 
 Then, shaking back their pretty curls, 
 Advanced a step or two. 
 
 Quoth I, ^^ Sweet maids, I pray you nearer come. 
 And tell me whence ye are : 
 Children of earth, or woodland fays 
 Who haunt these sylvan shades, 
 And with your lovely presence 
 Brighten the very sunshine ? " 
 Then nearer came the pretty dears, 
 
POEMS. 129 
 
 And one, the eldest, thus began : 
 ^^ No fairies we, but little girls, 
 
 Who have been roaming through the woods 
 
 And glades, gathering flowers for our sweet sister 
 
 Margaret. My name is Jennie Lee, 
 
 And this is little May." 
 
 A lovely child she was, sweet Jennie Lee. 
 
 Perchance twelve summers she had seen. 
 
 With pretty hazel eyes, and chestnut curls 
 
 Which shaded her fair face. 
 
 Upon her rounded cheek the damask glow 
 
 Deepened as I gazed. Quoth she again, 
 " My name is Jennie Lee, and this 
 
 Is sister May." The little May 
 
 Crept closely to her sister's side 
 
 And caught her hand. 
 
 She was a tiny thing, with flaxen curls 
 
 And eyes of blue, that one might fancy 
 
 Was a woodland sprite or elf. 
 
 But soon I made acquaintance with 
 
 Them both, and then they told me 
 
 Of their home down in the valley. 
 
 And asked me go with them 
 
 And see their sister. 
 
 Thus from my loneliness was I beguiled, 
 
 With such sweet prattlers by my side ; 
 
 Nor was it long before we came 
 
 Unto the cottage. 
 
130 POEMS, 
 
 ^Twas a pretty rural home, shaded by trees, 
 
 And fragrant with the sweet perfume 
 
 Of flowers. Fair Margaret was in the porch 
 
 "Watching for the dear absent ones. 
 
 As we approached she hastened 
 
 Down the walk, and, opening wide her arms, 
 
 Encircled both the loving forms. 
 
 It was not long before sweet Jennie 
 
 Had introduced me to her sister. 
 
 Who bade me welcome with a grace 
 
 I did not think to find 
 
 In that lone valley. 
 
 Gathering her flowers, sweet Jennie 
 
 Then approached her sister, the while 
 
 Presenting them with these kind words : 
 
 Sister, I have come 
 
 From the woodlands fair ; 
 I have gathered flowers 
 
 For thy shining hair. 
 Fve sought the hills and meadows. 
 
 And mossy banks so green, 
 I'm sure such lovely flowers 
 
 You never yet have seen. 
 
 And as I crossed the brook, 
 Where we were the other day, 
 
 I saw some pretty violets j 
 You know I heard you say 
 
POEMS. 131 
 
 They were among your favorite flowers, 
 
 So I thought I'd get some too. 
 Sister, they made me think of you, 
 
 And of your eyes so blue. 
 
 Here are roses and woodbine j 
 
 They are nearly covered up 
 By the other flowers — it is not fair. 
 
 See the laureFs pretty cup, 
 And the blue-bell peeping out 
 
 Like ^' birdie " from the nest. 
 With the fern leaves lying near. 
 
 They're as pretty as the rest. 
 
 Take them, sister, they are yours ,* 
 
 Kiss me and little May. 
 You must not scold because we stayed 
 
 Away so long to-day. 
 
132 POEMS. 
 
 IN I\IEMOEIAM. 
 
 'TiS the last day of the olden year j 
 Shall it pass away without a tear ? 
 Old Year, thou wilt ne'er forgotten be ; 
 Too many sad memories cling to thee. 
 In one short year what changes may come ! 
 Loved ones must part and go far from home 
 To wander in quest of fame or gold — 
 'Tis the same old story so often told. 
 
 Would they were with us. Oh ! couldst thou bring, 
 
 Old Year, to their memory some little thing 
 
 To waken sweet thoughts of bygone years, 
 
 When the heart was fraught with hopes and fears ? 
 
 Wilt thou not whisper one parting word ? 
 
 Thy kindly voice will be gladly heard. 
 
 Haste thee, ere yet thy step be gone. 
 
 For the New Year is swiftly coming on. 
 
 Oh ! well I remember a mournful day — 
 Old Year, I must wipe my tears away. 
 
 We had a bright and lovely boy. 
 
 The pride of our hearts, our hope and joy ; 
 
 A boy of rare and gifted powers — 
 
 A treasure — this darling boy of ours. 
 
 With delight we gazed on his fair young face. 
 
 And tried in the future his path to trace. 
 
 Nor dreamed that our flower was soon to be 
 
 Transplanted, to bloom in Eternity. 
 
POEMS. "133 
 
 There is a grief too sacred, too dear, 
 For the world to wist of j such grief is here. 
 I may not speak of our agony, 
 T dare not recall that fatal day. 
 
 The face may beam with a sunny smile. 
 The heart with pleasure may glow the while ; 
 For our home with its blessings is very dear, 
 And loved ones are gathered ^round us here j 
 But the birdlike voice that we loved to hear. 
 The step that was music for many a year. 
 Are enshrined in our hearts, as a precious gem 
 In the casket is hid from the gaze of men. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 My mother, upon whose breast 
 My head so oft hath lain. 
 Hushed to slumber by thy sweet voice, 
 Cradled in thy loving arms to rest— 
 " !My gentle mother. 
 
 My soul doth seem to hush its sigh 
 At that sweet name, '' My mother," 
 And memory vainly tries to call thine image up j 
 But, sorrowing, I can only say. 
 My angel mother. 
 
134 POEMS. 
 
 Yet in my dreams I've seen t"hee, 
 Have heard thy gentle voice ; 
 Have gazed into thine eyes, 
 So full of tender love. 
 Alas ! 'twas but a dream ! 
 
 I have no mother. 
 
 Oh, my mother ! oft I think that thou 
 Art near me, and in my hours of grief 
 My spirit yearns to feel thy soft caress. 
 And hear the loving voice 
 Which soothed my early childhood. 
 
 Sweet mother, didst thou call ? 
 In the still hour of night 
 Methought I heard thy voice. 
 Oh ! would that I could lay 
 My weary head upon thy breast. 
 And feel thy loving arms around me. 
 
POEMS. 135 
 
 TO MY FATHER. 
 
 My father ! name most dear and well 
 Beloved ! though years, long weary years, 
 Have passed away since last I gazed 
 Upon thy face, yet art thou well 
 Remembered. Could I forget thee ? 
 Thy tender care, thy smile of love, 
 Thy gentle voice, the memories 
 That surround thy name. 
 My father ! 
 
 Oh, what a world of love 
 Is in that name ! 
 And I have lived without thee. 
 My only parent, in whom was centred 
 Love for father, mother — both ! 
 For thou didst tend me with 
 A mother's care, when she was taken ; 
 And I gave thee all the love 
 She would have shared, had she been spared. 
 
 Oh, what an hour of woe unutterable 
 Was that when thou wert taken ! 
 How desolate the home. 
 How dark the shadow 
 Which crept o'er our hearts ! 
 
 Oh, memory ! why dost thou recall 
 Those days and nights of deepest grief, 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 When our cruslied hearts 
 
 Sunk ^neath the burden of our sorrow ! 
 
 Life and death — ^mysterious powers, 
 Holden in His hand who did all 
 Things create ; and man must pass 
 Through the dark portals of the tomb 
 To enter on immortal life. 
 Why is it we have such a dread of death ? 
 It should not be ; 'tis an awakening 
 Of the soul to life — a life 
 To last for ever. 
 
 Immortality ! how boundless is the thought, 
 How vast, incomprehensible ! 
 How little can the soul, 
 Imprisoned in its walls of clay, 
 Look on that bright and glorious future 
 Freed from dust, from the 
 Perishable wrappings which enshroud 
 This glorious spark of Divine essence ! 
 What wonders open to the gaze ; 
 Yet what mortal eye has ever traced 
 The soul in its flight to 
 Worlds on high. 
 
 Here we must pause. Beyond the grave 
 We cannot see, save with the eyes 
 Of faith. Oh ! can we then look through 
 The veil of flesh, and know that He 
 Who passed through the dark waters, 
 
POEMS. 137 
 
 Victorious rose o'er powers of death and hell; 
 
 And to a glorious rest will call 
 
 The souls redeemed with His own precious blood? 
 
 My father ! we shall meet again, 
 And all those years of sorrow 
 Be forgot. 
 
 Yet, father, when from us 
 The angels bore thee far away, 
 Thy son, with love passing the sons of men, 
 Gathered thy children 'round him, 
 And to them proved father, brother — both. 
 
 But time, alas ! has changes brought, 
 And he, our much-beloved, 
 Has many troubles seen, and sorrows. 
 But if it might be so that joys 
 Would brighten for him yet. 
 And gems, from out the zone of fortune, 
 Sparkle around him. 
 
 All that we have is given us 
 By the great and mighty Being 
 Who rules the universe. 
 From Him we receive all good. 
 And no evil shall come. 
 For us, He knoweth what is best. 
 On Him our cares we cast ; 
 And as the burden lightens, we exclaim. 
 Our Father ! and our God ! 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 TO A BELOVED BROTHER, WHO DIED 
 APRIL 7, 1877. 
 
 Brother, come home, our hearts are achmg ; 
 We watch through the night till morning breaking, 
 And the bright sunlight makes us sadder grow, 
 In contrast with all our grief and woe. 
 We miss thee, love, in our lonely home — 
 Brother, sweet brother, oh wilt thou come ? 
 Hast thou seen our tears and heard our sighs, . 
 Or listed our stifled, sobbing cries. 
 As our mournful eyes wandered 'round to trace 
 Thy dear loved form in its 'customed place ? 
 But we found thee not 5 and the vacant chair 
 Seemed to say thou wouldst never more be there. 
 
 The hours drag on through the weary day. 
 Our hearts are so chilled that we cannot e'en pray ; 
 Though our pallid lips try to form some word, 
 They move, but from them no sound is heard ; 
 Yet, lowly bending, we strive to say, 
 Jesus, dear Saviour, teach us to pray ! 
 
 The sun shines bright and fair the day — 
 Ah ! 'tis only fit for the j oyous and gay — 
 While birds their carols are singing sweet, 
 Wishing the lovely Spring to greet. 
 But the birds and the sunshine we care not to see j 
 Far better were gloom in our misery. 
 
POEMS. 139 
 
 We are sitting now in the twilight gray, 
 Watching the daylight fading away ; 
 Watching the night coming slowly on, 
 And the bright stars gathering one by one. 
 How oft at this hour we have watched for thee. 
 While our hearts from every care were free, 
 And the children laughed with so joyous a tone. 
 Watching for thee, our much loved one. 
 
 I mind me of the evening tide, 
 When we gathered around the bright fireside, 
 So happy a circle that never a care 
 Had room or time to enter there. 
 How little we thought such a fearful hour 
 Was drawing near with blighting power ! 
 
 Oh ! it seems like a dream, sweet brother, to me, 
 A dream of such heart-felt agony, 
 That with quickening pulse and throbbing brain, 
 I dream it ever and ever again j 
 Then in broken accents breathe this prayer : 
 Give me strength, my Saviour, this cross to bear ! 
 
140 POEMS, 
 
 LORD, IS IT I? 
 
 Lord, at Thy table Thou didst say, 
 ^^ One of you shall me betray." 
 Hear an humble suppliant cry, 
 Jesus, Master, is it I ? 
 
 Lord, in mercy hear my prayer : 
 Save me from the tempter's snare 5 
 Let Thy grace my heart renew. 
 And cleanse from guilt, my sins subdue. 
 Turn not from me when I cry, 
 Jesus, Master, is it I ? 
 
 By Thine hour of agony 
 In the dark Gethsemane, 
 When on Thy soul the mighty load 
 Of sin was laid — Thou, who art God, 
 Pitied our sinful race, and gave 
 Thy precious blood our souls to save. 
 By all that night of pain I cry, 
 Jesus, Master, is it I ? 
 
 In Herod's hall with chains when bound. 
 And false accusers there were found ; 
 By all the insults Thou didst bear. 
 The crown of thorns that Thou didst wear. 
 By all Thy pains and agony, 
 Jesus, Master, is it I ? 
 
 Low before Thy cross I lie. 
 To my Lord I breathe my cry. 
 
POEMS. 141 
 
 See our Saviour, God and King, 
 For guilty sinners suffering — 
 Buying with His precious blood. 
 Pardon from offended God. 
 On Him I fix my streaming" eyes, 
 Who gave himself a sacrifice. 
 Low in the dust my head I bow : 
 Lord and Saviour, hear me now ! 
 Hear again my humble cry, 
 Jesus, Master, is it I ? 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 Tell me tales of my childhood's home. 
 Of the hills and dales where I loved to roam, 
 Where I caroled my song in childish glee. 
 And lisped the prayer at my mother's knee j 
 Oh, tell me of my home. 
 
 For my memory clings to each hallowed spot. 
 And time with its rust can erase it not. 
 The flowers may wither, the leaves decay, 
 Yet the perfume will linger for many a day. 
 Oh ! how could I forget ? 
 
 Sing me songs of my early years, 
 When my life was checkered with sunshine and tears. 
 When voices breathing love's low tone 
 Swept o'er my heart-strings with witching moan. 
 Where are those voices now ? 
 
142 POEMS. 
 
 memory ! the strings of my lute are broken ; 
 The words I have heard can no more be spoken. 
 Where are the friends so loved, so dear ? 
 Ah ! chide me not for this falling tear ! 
 They have passed away to that starry liome, 
 And their voices are calling. for me to come. 
 In the early light of the misty day, 
 I hear them call me to " come away." 
 Ere the dew is sparkling on leaf and thorn, 
 I hear them call in the early morn. 
 
 When the sun has set, and the pale twilight 
 Is fading fast in the coming night, 
 And thoughts of heaven and holy things, 
 Filled with liright imaginings 
 Of that better land which we hope to gain, 
 And there with our blessed Lord to reign — 
 Those whispering voices are 'round me there, 
 And my heart goes up with a silent prayer 
 To the merciful God of peace and love. 
 That I ne'er in the paths of sin may rove ; 
 But. that grace sufficient to me be given, 
 To bear me on in the way to heaven. 
 And when the angels come for me. 
 May I rise and go forth cheerfully. 
 
 Between us and the heavenly land 
 Lies a river, which flows over trackless sand j 
 The waters are dark, and it seemeth deep. 
 But the Shining Ones around it keep 
 
POEMS. 143 
 
 Watch for the loved who are coming o'er ; 
 You can see them before you reach the shore. 
 
 The King of that glorious land, we Imow, 
 Passed through that river long years ago ; 
 And those who love Him need have no fear ; 
 For words of comfort and holy cheer 
 Are breathed by angels in seraph tones — 
 They will brighten the way, those Shining Ones. 
 
 Faint not, beloved^ nor droop by the way, 
 His gracious arm will be thy stay. 
 Though dark the river of death may be, 
 << Thy rod and thy staif they comfort me." 
 
 TO LILLIAN. 
 
 Maiden with the flowing hair — 
 Shining, golden — maiden fair, 
 Tell me where the spell doth lie, 
 On thy lip or in thine eye ^ 
 Yet within thy dark eyes' ray 
 Mystic shadows softly play j 
 Like the moonbeam's silver light 
 Shining on the waves at night — 
 Flashing, glancing, with a power 
 Only seen at moonlight hour. 
 
 Oft when sitting near thy side, 
 In the pleasant evening tide, 
 
144 POEMS. 
 
 Swiftly sped the hours along, 
 Beguiled by witching notes of song. 
 E'eu now uiethinks thy voice I hear, 
 Sweetly sounding in mine ear. 
 
 Lillian, time is speeding on. 
 And I afar must soon be gone ; 
 But time can never win my heart 
 From those I love — still we must part. 
 How oft will memory fondly dwell 
 On joys and scenes remembered well ! 
 Spots where we've rambled, careless, gay, 
 Nor cared that time flew swift away — 
 On mountain side and shady dell. 
 While soft the evening shadows fell ; 
 Then home returned with freight of flowers 
 Gathered from the woodland bowers. 
 
 The day is o'er, the last faint ray 
 Of sunset long has passed away ; 
 And in its place the twilight hour 
 Is falling with a mystic power. 
 Swift through the air the dusky bat flits by. 
 And from the thicket comes the night-bird's cry. 
 Then sounding near, and nearer, from the hill, 
 List to the wild notes of the whippoorwill. 
 
 The lights are flashing in the cotter's home, j 
 His toil is o'er, no more to-day he'll roam. 
 Night brings him rest and peace ; he sees 
 
POEMS. 145 
 
 With joy his children gather 'round his knees. 
 Their infant prattle glads his heart the while, 
 And lights his rugged face with many a smile. 
 
 The good wife, busy 'bout the frugal meal, 
 Well pleased, a sidelong glance she oft will steal. 
 Then haste to spread the table from the store. 
 Plenty there is for all— she asks no more. 
 Content and thankful for the blessings given. 
 Their wants supplied, her prayers ascend to Heaven. 
 
 On yonder hill a lordly mansion stands — 
 A rich man's home — one blest with gold and lands. 
 A sloping lawn with velvet turf spread o'er ; 
 A porch, with broad stone steps j a massive door 
 Which opens on a vaulted passage wide, 
 And spacious rooms, which range on either side. 
 Here all that taste, refinement, wealth supplies, 
 Enchant the senses and delight the eyes. 
 Out on the lawn, a beauteous place to see, 
 Nature and art conspire for mastery. 
 There forest trees of wondrous height and size, 
 A grandeur give, a pleasant shade supplies j 
 While grottoes, fountains, statues, fragrant flowers, 
 Adorn this favored spot of nature's bowers. 
 
 Adown this lawn a little pathway winds. 
 Through shrubbery, grass, and pretty vines en- 
 twined, 
 
 7 
 
146 POEMS. 
 
 Where, free, uirtrammeled, gushing forth in song, 
 A river winds its graceful course along ; 
 Its rocky l)anks with moss and lichen crowned. 
 And trees of mountain pine, which there abound, 
 Tossing to the breeze their branches wide, 
 Now gently laving in the silver tide. 
 
 The tiny islands, many filled with flowers. 
 O'er which the spray falls oft in silvery showei's ; 
 While foaming, rushing on in noisy glee, 
 This mountain stream keeps on right merrily — ' 
 Anon flowing softly through a placid pool. 
 Then, like a band of children fresh from school. 
 Onward it rushes — wild, impetuous, free. 
 With joyous bursts of music, sunshine, glee. 
 Here, 'mid the sylvan beauty of the scene, 
 Art yields the sway, and nature reigns supreme. 
 
 Oh ! lovely scenes, where oft my steps have strayed 
 By mountain, riverside, and wooded glade ! 
 Though far away from ye my steps may lie. 
 Present ye yet shall be, for memory 
 Will call up days and scenes which yet shall last, 
 Even though they may be numbered with the past ! 
 
POEMS. 147 
 
 FAREWELL TO GREENVILLE, S. 0. 
 
 Fair city of the sunny South, I bid you now good-by ; 
 Nor can I breathe the parting word without a heavy 
 
 sigh. 
 Adieu, adieu ! thy lovely hills and sweet sequestered 
 
 shades, 
 Where oft their quiet I have sought, or wandered 
 
 'mid thy glades. 
 Farewell, fair river ! when shall I upon thy waters gaze. 
 Or watch thy lovely silver tide beneath the moon's 
 
 pale rays ? 
 How often on the western sky I've gazed with glad 
 
 delight. 
 Watching the glorious golden view expanding to my 
 
 sight ; 
 And lingered, till the evening shades of twilight softly 
 
 threw 
 O'er all the scene a mystic spell — then faded from my 
 
 view. 
 Farewell, farewell, oh, much loved ones, from whom 
 
 to-day I part ; 
 With every fibre ye are twined around my loving 
 
 heart. 
 Farewell, farewell, oh, dearest friends, so kindly and 
 
 so true ! 
 Where'er 1 go my heart will cling, with truth and love, 
 
 to you. 
 
148 POEMS. 
 
 Farewell ! the parting hour draws near, nor can I lon- 
 ger stay, 
 The morrow's sun will see me far, far from ye all away. 
 
 When the moon's bright rays are beaming 
 On our waters, where the gleaming, 
 Sparkling ripples, gayly dancing. 
 Flash beneath the moonbeams glancing. 
 Sporting with a grace so fair, 
 One looks to see an Undine there. 
 Ever as the moments flee — 
 Oh, then, sweet friends, I'll think of ye. 
 
 When the day is slowly dying, 
 And the low winds softly sighing ; 
 When the deepening shades of twilight 
 Mingle with the evening firelight j 
 Shadows deepen on the wall. 
 And we fancy voices call -, 
 While we for the loved steps listen. 
 And our eyes with tear-drops glisten, 
 Sighing for the loved ones, ever 
 ^' Shall we meet them ?" perchance never ; 
 Life is such a mystery, 
 How can we tell yet what may be '^ 
 Though the heart with hope is throbbing. 
 Comes a voiceless, low, deep sobbing ; 
 Still deep in my memory. 
 Oh ! well beloved, I'll think of ye ! 
 
POEMS. 149 
 
 TO FANNIE B- 
 
 SWEET and fresh as mountain flower 
 Culled in nature's choicest bower 5 
 Sportive as a lamb at play, 
 Gentle, loving, kind alway. 
 Tell me, darling, where you've been. 
 Looking like a May-day queen? 
 On your cheek the peach's hue. 
 In your eyes the violet blue j 
 Sunbeams glancing through your hair. 
 Decked with wild flowers, fresh and fair. 
 
 Through the forests have you sped, 
 Stepping light, with airy tread ; 
 Roaming through the mossy dell 5 
 Peeping in the blue-bell's cell ? 
 Happy childhood — early passed — 
 Would that thou couldst longer last ! 
 In thine innocence and love, 
 Holy impress from above. 
 
 Beauteous looks the early Spring, 
 To the young heart's imagining. 
 Alas, how oft its buds and flowers 
 Are blighted in the loveliest bowers. 
 And hope's fair blossoms, withered — they 
 An emblem of the heart's decay. 
 
 Sweet childhood ! beauteous bud of Spring, 
 Swift passing as a bird on wing, 
 
150 POEMS. 
 
 Or petals dropping from a flower ! 
 Thou'rt come — and gone ! Had we tlie power 
 To stay thee, would we ? Never, never ! 
 Our hopes are in the future ever. 
 
 The mist that hides life from our view 
 Is tinted with a roseate hue. 
 To some its colors brighter grow 5 
 To others, tinged with garb of woe. 
 Sweet child, I would thy life might be 
 Happy and bright as summer's day j 
 But should the storms of sorrow come. 
 They would but lead thee nearer " home." 
 
 TWINE ME A WREATH, LOVE. 
 
 Twine me a wreath of jessamine flowers, 
 Blooming and fresh from Simimer bowers j 
 Hearts that are joyous meet here to-night 5 
 Cheeks will be glowing, eyes will be bright. 
 List to the step of the maiden I love. 
 As radiant in beauty she seeks the grove. 
 Where fair young girls, with lute and song, 
 Joyously while the moments along. 
 
 Twine me a wreath, &c. 
 
 Light steps are dancing merrily there, 
 Music entrancing floats on the air j 
 Sweet as the notes of the nightingale. 
 Or the song of the zephyr, is heard in the vale. 
 
POEMS. 151 
 
 Twine with the wreath a white moss-rose, 
 The fairest, the loveliest one that blows ; 
 For the maiden I love has promised to wear 
 This jessamine wreath to-night in her hair. 
 Twine me a wreath, &c. 
 
 THE HUNTER'S SERENADE. 
 
 Oh, Leila, dearest Leila, list ! 
 
 Thy lover sings to thee. 
 The Queen of Night from her throne of light 
 
 Beams over tower and tree. 
 The balmy breath of Summer flowers" 
 
 Is borne upon the air j 
 Oh ! haste thee, gentle zephyr, 
 
 To the bower of my fair ' 
 
 My home is on the mountain side, 
 
 Near a beauteous glen where the streamlets glide ; 
 
 The flowers shed forth a sweet perfume. 
 
 And Nature smiles in her richest bloom. 
 
 There the hunter's horn is heard on high. 
 
 And the bounding deer come rushing by. 
 
 Oh, Leila, share my mountain home ! 
 Wilt be my bride — my loved — my own ? 
 Without thee life seems sad and drear ; 
 But with thee, love, I'd know no care. 
 
152 FOEMS. 
 
 ISIDORE. 
 
 Beautiful as flowers in May, 
 Fair as moonlight's silver ray, 
 O^er all hearts thou bearest sway, 
 Young Isidore. 
 
 In thy glossy raven hair 
 Gems are sparkling, rich and rare ; 
 Yet flash thy dark eyes brighter far 
 Proud Isidore. 
 
 Many are the hearts that bow 
 Before thee, breathing lover's vow ; 
 But coldly on them lookst thou now, 
 Fair Isidore, 
 
 Is there one of all the train 
 Who owns thy power or wears thy chain, 
 Yet hopes he may not sigh in vain. 
 Cold Isidore ? 
 
 Who causes thy pulses quicker thrill 
 Can influence thy fickle will, 
 Till thy sweet tones grow sweeter still. 
 Loved Isidore. 
 
 Who that marks thy queenly air. 
 The rose-tint on thy cheek so fair, 
 Would dream that love lay slumbering there, 
 Wayward Isidore? 
 
POEMS. 153 
 
 How his heart with pride would swell, 
 Should thine eyes the secret tell ! 
 Ah, maiden, guard thy glances well, 
 Fair Isidore ! 
 
 Yet to him thou coldest art ; 
 Little dreams he that thy heart 
 Has e'er been touched by Cupid's dart. 
 Sweet Isidore ! 
 
 WRITTEN AT HIGH FALLS, BUCK 
 FOREST, N. 0. 
 
 Softly fall the evening shadows o'er mountain, cliff, 
 
 and glade, 
 While sitting by the lovely river I watch the daylight 
 
 fade. 
 Watch the waters rushing, dancing joyously along, 
 On their gleesome journey downwards, bursting forth 
 
 in song. 
 Watch the varied sunbeams sparkling on the silver 
 
 spray ; 
 Listen to the wild sweet music sounding far away. 
 Listen, till, with pulses quickening, I look from rock 
 
 and tree, 
 Water spirit, nymph, or naiad, here tliy home must be. 
 
 7* 
 
154 POEMS. 
 
 Where coulclst thou find lovelier bowers near the silver 
 
 tide, 
 Rocks covered o'er with moss and flowers, where a 
 
 sylph might hide 1 
 List the murmuring of the waters; from rocks o'er 
 
 rocks they fall, 
 And waves, like silver dolphins, rushing down that 
 
 shining wall. 
 See the spray in misty beauty floating past me now ! 
 Feel its kisses cool, entrancing, on my cheek and brow ! 
 In varied hues of pink and amber, gold and ruby hue, 
 See the crystal waters flashing, dashing from our view ! 
 While o'er the rock the foaming river rushes swift 
 
 along. 
 Singing in its fearless journey ever that weird song. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Oh, breathe that strain again ! 
 There is a magic in the tones, a spell 
 Which brings before me scenes and thoughts 
 Of other days, when first I trod 
 The flow'ry paths of youth's sweet life, 
 And all the future, decked in vernal loveliness, 
 Spread out before me. 
 Days which seemed all sunshine — 
 Joyous days, whose rosy morn 
 Brought ever some new pleasure. 
 
POEMS. 155 
 
 What though clouds might oft obscure 
 
 The sky, and hide the beauteous azure 
 
 Mixed with fleecy white 5 
 
 In them I found some beauty, 
 
 And hailed the change j 
 
 For we might tire if skies 
 
 Were ever bright. 
 
 Oh, sing again ! and let my soul 
 Drink in the enchanting strain ; 
 And then my spirit, lulled to bliss, 
 Will dream of other days — 
 Days when scarcely freed 
 From childhood's flow'ry bands. 
 Like some young bird that plumes its wings 
 And spreads its feathery pinions with delight 
 Ere it soars upward. 
 So I, filled with a new joy, 
 Out on the broad expanse of life 
 Did gaze with transport. 
 

 
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