I 
 
 
 
 \' 
 
 _•>* *, « O A '/• 
 
 ,^-^' ^,'- j0:f^^ 
 
 ■'^. ,<xv 
 
 ,i^^^.. 
 #• *^. 
 
 
 
 
 
 o*^ '^ '^, ■■ - >^ 
 
 Oo. 
 
 .V- "^ <^ 
 
 ■^,. '^ ^^. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 •■ <:' 
 
 o 0'' 
 
 ^A V'^ - •^or>N ^- -^A %^ 
 
 
 
 \ " ^ ^-/^-"^ 
 
 -V 
 
 
 /•.^' %<^" X^.V^' J^^^ 
 
v-^^ .- V 1 fi « 
 
 
 V 
 
 ^■^»7%^, . 
 
 -^b. 
 
 0^- 
 
 CJ 
 
 .N 
 
 
 ^, v-^ 
 
 .0 0^ 
 
 ,0^ 
 
 V '-i. 
 
 
 cT' 
 
 ■ ^'^ ^^^ -^ / ^^ '- -'" . 
 
 .^ 
 
 V 
 
 .o 
 
 -0' 
 
 -71 
 
 
 Oo 
 
 "T!V. 
 
 
 
 
 *Z 
 
 
 ^^^ ,^^'' 
 
 V .^:^''^, ^'^t'mx/;^ ,s^ 
 
 ^\-' 
 
 %.'" 
 
 
 <$-, 
 
 ^% 
 
 '^ 
 
 ^v^^ 
 
 .o 
 
 -0^ .""'•^^, -^^ 
 
 
 V^^ 
 
 
 .'. ■'^^ s^' 
 
 i^' . 
 
 ,0 
 
 
 
 
 -<'■. ..:\'>'' 
 
 \0 
 
 
 8 \ \ 
 
 
 ^<<> 
 
 v^ 
 
 ,aV^- '^./> 
 
 -0- 
 
 N c 
 
 ^S" 
 
 ■\ 
 
 .-^^ 
 
 ^c^. 
 
 
 ^\^^ -^^ 
 
 ^ .0 o. 
 
 C^^^ 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 ^. / 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 s\ 
 
 vOO^ 
 
 
 O^ 
 
 cP- 
 
 
 -N 
 
 ^\^ 
 
 ^* 
 
 " '/.%' 
 
 \ ^ •> " , . 
 
 "^^. v^^ 
 x^^-. 
 
 -f--. 
 
 ^ ,0^ 
 
 .0> s 
 
 
 .\' * 
 
 
 '^^ 
 
LEISURE MOMENTS. 
 
LEISURE MOMENTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 H. HELEN NUNEZ. 
 
 
 u 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: ^' 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1873- 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 Lippincott's Press, 
 Philadelphia. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 While some of these poems have been published 
 previously, the majority of them, though written at 
 intervals extending over a period of many years, appear 
 now for the first time. A number of them, being very 
 early efforts, date back nearly as far as the childhood 
 of the author, by whom only as so many landmarks 
 and reminiscences of the ''dead past" are they con- 
 sidered worthy of preservation. 
 
 Urged by the partial opinions of kind friends, the 
 writer has been induced, whatever be the merits or 
 defects of these fugitive offspring of some of her 
 "Leisure Moments" (which like strayed sheep have 
 been so long scattered), to gather them now into one 
 fold, or volume. 
 
 Though praise should generally be valuable to us 
 only in proportion as we know in our own hearts that 
 we deserve it, yet, when it comes direct from those 
 whose characters rank high in our esteem, it bears at 
 least t\iQ prima facie assurance of good will, and rarely 
 
 (7) • 
 
8 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 fails to exert due influence on our feelings or actions. 
 The recollection that many of the present poems have 
 received the sanction of the one to whom they are 
 dedicated, is probably the mainspring of conclusions 
 which instigate their publication. That they have 
 been understood and appreciated by that disinterested 
 friend in whose gentle nature was combined every 
 female virtue, whose mind and heart were refined by 
 cultivation and upright actions, is the reflection which 
 constitutes for the writer their sweetest association 
 and chief value. They serve as ties of affection which 
 connect with the memory of that dear one in the 
 past, and as links of hope which unite with her in 
 the future. 
 
 I 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Invocation to Sappho 13 
 
 If IS 
 
 Memoria in Sterna 39 
 
 River of Love 42 
 
 Pity us 43 
 
 Byron 4^ 
 
 Art Gone? 52 
 
 The BUnd Girl 54 
 
 My Birdie 59 
 
 Columbine 62 
 
 Spirit Breathings 66 
 
 Weep not for Me 68 
 
 Voices of the Past 69 
 
 When to Call 72 
 
 I Heard the Year Depart 74 
 
 Question — Would ye Wish to Linger? 75 
 
 Answer — I would not Wish to Linger 17 
 
 Annie 79 
 
 Woman — What would Life be without Her? .... 82 
 
 Break the Bond 85 
 
 Napoleon at St. Helena 86 
 
 In Response to an Expressed Doubt 89 
 
 Heliconian Spring 92 
 
 Conscience 94 
 
 " How to Live," and "How to Die" 98 
 
 Remembrance 99 
 
 Save Me loi 
 
 Inspiration 103 
 
 (9) 
 
lo CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Only Hopes I Cherished io6 
 
 The May of 1868 - . 108 
 
 May Spirits not Commune ? 112 
 
 To Thee, O God! 113 
 
 To the Queen of May of Mount De Sales 114 
 
 I'm Kneeling by thy Grave 118 
 
 Where art Thou ? 120 
 
 Still Falls thy Voice upon the Ear 122 
 
 Death in the Household 124 
 
 The Lock of Gray 128 
 
 The Poet's Heart 130 
 
 I Set my Heart upon a Dream 132 
 
 In Reply to " Katie in Heavgn" 135 
 
 "Just as I Am" 136 
 
 Evelene to Theodore 137 
 
 Amongst the Graves 140 
 
 A Sketch — Hope Triumphant 143 
 
 Envy 154 
 
 Droop Not, Brother 157 
 
 Life's Day 159 
 
 Hannanel — Addressed to an Angel above .... 162 
 
 Henry Kirke White 165 
 
 To All there cometh Peace .167 
 
 A Riddle 168 
 
 Sohtude 172 
 
 The Little Coffin 173 
 
 Be Kind 177 
 
 Expected 181 
 
 Twilight 186 
 
 Ma Belle 188 
 
 Heart-Echoes 190 
 
 Light in Prayer 193 
 
 Emele ........... 195 
 
 Death 196 
 
 Can I Forget Thee ? 199 
 
 The Snow-Drop Dead 200 
 
 Home 202 
 
 The Only Green Branch left 203 
 
 To Adrienne 207 
 
CONTENTS. 1 1 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Days of Childhood , . . . 209 
 
 To the Disembodied 211 
 
 GuHelma from Ricardo 215 
 
 Dreams 218 
 
 Hope ........... 220 
 
 I Miss Thee 
 
 223 
 
 The Complaint 226 
 
 The Reproof . . . 228 
 
 Rienzi 
 Marie 
 
 229 
 
 232 
 
 Unrequited 234 
 
 Kate's Constancy 235 
 
 Truth 
 
 237 
 
 The Darling of the Family 239 
 
 The Yoilng Equestrian 245 
 
 Maternal Training 249 
 
 Dream of Fame ......... 251 
 
 Baby Bessie 253 
 
 Naples . 255 
 
 To Eva 259 
 
 Spirits of the Dead 260 
 
 The Return of May 264 
 
 On Receiving Dr. J. D, W.'s Poem entitled " The Heart" . 265 
 
 Friend and Fellow- Voyager 266 
 
 Summer is Gone 269 
 
 Spring has Retvimed . 271 
 
 The Confession ....*.... 274 
 
 Memories Gone By 276 
 
 A Thoughtless Wish 280 
 
 To the Loved and Lost of Long Ago 284 
 
 Spirit of Light . .' 288 
 
 The Watched Blossom 290 
 
 The Old Year 291 
 
 The New Year 293 
 
 The Convert 295 
 
 To my Mother 298 
 
 I Dreamed of Thee 303 
 
 Thy Sister's Voice 305 
 
 ImmortaUty 307 
 
1 2 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Impromptu 309 
 
 Thou Sleepest Calmly 311 
 
 Death of Titus 313 
 
 Cease, my Spirit 316 
 
 April » . . 317 
 
 Lou's Poet's Corner , . 319 
 
 The First Death 325 
 
 Lethargy 328 
 
 Another Year 332 
 
 ^ove Me Still 335 
 
 Peace ........... 337 
 
 Flora to Bessie, the May Queen 340 
 
 The Queen's Reply to Flora 341 
 
 Faith's Entrance ......... 344 
 
 Beautiful May 346 
 
 Strengthen Me in Time of Need — A Prayer .... 348 
 
 Leaning o'er the Vessel 350 
 
 The Heedless Word 354 
 
 To Sue 356 
 
 The Night is Dark . . ' 357 
 
 Heart- Breathings 360 
 
 To Essie 363 
 
 Ambition for Fame 364 
 
 Gabrielle 366 
 
 The Spirit Faith 368 
 
 EtTu 369 
 
 To Rest my Soul 371 
 
 i 
 
LEISURE MOMENTS. 
 
 INVOCATION TO SAPPHO. 
 
 I CALL on thee, bright Sappho ! 
 
 Thou spirit of the past ! 
 The mantle of thy genius 
 
 Around my soul to cast. 
 
 Oh, make me feel intensely; 
 
 As once thou felt of yore: 
 And stir my very heart-depths 
 
 Unto their inmost core ! 
 
 With glorious inspiration. 
 Sweet Muse ! with me abide ; 
 
 To numbers soft and flowing, 
 My moving pencil guide. 
 
 Oh, thou ! whose fervent spirit. 
 Of strange volcanic mould, 
 
 Thy harp's ecstatic breathings 
 In melodies oft told ; — 
 
 2 (13^ 
 
14 
 
 INVOCATION TO SAPPHO. 
 
 Thou, whose impassion'd feelings 
 O'erflovv'd the ardent heart; 
 
 Thy power, rare and sentient, 
 E'en now to me impart ! 
 
 Oh, break the chain lethargic, 
 My glowing thoughts that hold ; 
 
 Disperse the grosser vapors, 
 My senses that enfold ! 
 
 That love, refined, ecstatic, 
 
 Which so well thou hast known, 
 
 I too would feel, combining 
 E'en with its sadden'd tone. 
 
 Fain would I know the myst'ry 
 Which through thy soul awoke ; 
 
 The pure illuminations 
 
 Upon thy mind that broke. 
 
 Ay ! for a moment, only. 
 
 Of genius' wealth like thine, 
 
 Unto Leucadian waters 
 I, too, would life resign ! 
 
 Then touch my harp, sweet Sappho ! 
 Breathe forth upon its strings, 
 
IF. 
 
 Till melody pathetic 
 
 From every number rings. 
 
 Oh, lead me swiftly upward, 
 Unto Parnassian height ! — 
 
 On wings of inspiration, 
 
 With thee, I'd take my flight: 
 
 And of the mount poetic, 
 My soul elate would seek, 
 
 In soaring through bright regions, 
 To gain its loftiest peak. 
 
 Then mantle me, sweet Sappho ! 
 
 With potency divine ; 
 Thy spirit's fervid essence 
 
 Within my own, combine! 
 
 J5 
 
 IF. 
 
 A BRIDGE across a sea of Doubt, 
 In which our feelings float about ; 
 O'er which our hopes may safely land ; 
 Or, passing which, may yet disband. 
 
i6 IF. 
 
 Alas ! that small, contracted word 
 Through all the hours of life is heard ! — 
 So much of hope, of joy, of death, 
 May be suspended on a breath. 
 
 ''Oh, if I live!" exclaims the man, 
 
 'Til realize each noble plan, 
 
 So brightly on my mind impress' d ; 
 
 Long nursed and cherish 'd in my breast. 
 
 Within the lists of sounding Fame 
 
 I'll carve myself a deathless name, 
 
 In golden letters: ne'er to rust. 
 
 Or sink forgotten into dust. 
 
 I'll strive, I'll toil from year to year. 
 
 Unfailing e'en when death draws near ; 
 
 A heritage transmitting bright. 
 
 To live, and give creation light : 
 
 A boon, a blessing shall it be. 
 
 Enriching all posterity. 
 
 The world shall hear with glad amaze 
 
 The ceaseless soundings of my praise ; 
 
 Shall hand them down from age to age, 
 
 To decorate historic page : 
 
 My fair renown and memory 
 
 Shall, like my soul, eternal be." 
 
IF. 
 
 But while he meditates, behold ! 
 
 A hand steals o'er him damp and cold ; 
 
 Its icy touch hath seized his heart, 
 
 The spirit from the clay to part : 
 
 And suddenly, from vaulting pride, 
 
 Ambition's ladder falls aside. 
 
 Thus life, with promise rare begun. 
 
 While in its morning tide is run, 
 
 As some strong current, in an hour, 
 
 Is check' d or turn'd by stronger Power ; 
 
 Or some bright bird upon the wing 
 
 The archer's aim to earth doth bring : 
 
 So much he'd schemed and plann'd to be; 
 
 But IF had veil'd futurity. 
 
 A tiny curtain hanging there, 
 
 Which draped from view a sable bier ! 
 
 Beyond the Summer of his youth. 
 
 He saw, nor read the fated truth. 
 
 The fabric by his fancy rear'd 
 
 Lay blighted now, decay'd and sear'd ; 
 
 Engulf 'd, as by a sudden wave, 
 
 Forever in death's silent grave. 
 
 The dreamer gone ! and gone the dream ! 
 
 Both drifted down Oblivion's stream ! 
 
 2* 
 
Then gather, man, the groiving flowers, 
 But trust not thou the future's hours; 
 Whose folded buds may only bloom 
 In time to flourish o'er thy tomb. 
 Now, who is he, proclaiming there, 
 He will renounce his wild career. 
 His evil days he will resign, 
 Will taste no more the tempting wine? 
 
 ''I've search'd my heart in each recess, 
 And thus my failing I confess : 
 The cup has been no friend to me ; 
 But my most bitter enemy: 
 An enemy whose constant wiles 
 Have been disguised in rosy smiles ; 
 Or like a serpent coil'd beneath 
 The blooming fruit of the vine-wreath. 
 For your dear sakes, O wife and child ! 
 Will I no morebe thus beguiled. 
 The subtle poison will I flee ; 
 A better man will henceforth be ! 
 But one glass more ! and only one ! 
 And then Avith Bacchus have I done ! 
 Ay, one glass more ! but let that brim 
 In final memory of him !" 
 x\nd one glass more the victim takes ! 
 Why not resist it for ///^/> sakes? 
 
IF. 
 
 >9 
 
 " Oh ! if this night I but survive, 
 With my destroyer will I strive; 
 To-morrow ! — ay ! to-morrow I'll begin 
 To conquer this besetting sin. 
 
 "But what is this, which fills my veins 
 
 With lightning touch, with venom'd pains? 
 
 My head it reels, my ey^es go dim ! 
 
 The scenes around me dance and swim. 
 
 My wife ! my child ! they seem to be 
 
 Before my vision, in a sea 
 
 Of burning fluid — rosy red — 
 
 From the sparkling wine- press shed ; 
 
 They're sinking now !— will no one save. 
 
 Or lift them from the ruby wave? 
 
 My darling ones ! Oh, no ! 
 
 It is not they, but /, who go ! 
 
 For, like the spray from Death's damp hand, 
 
 The final draught my soul hath spann'd. 
 
 " Oh, vanish'd joy ! neglected bliss ! 
 My wife's caress ! my infant's kiss ! 
 No more for me ! Too late, alas ! 
 Exchanged for the consuming glass ! 
 Oh ! grant me. Father, still some days 
 Wherein I may amend my ways ; 
 
20 
 
 IF. 
 
 That I a better man may be, 
 
 And live, my Maker, nearer Thee ! 
 
 Oh ! if resolve had purpose met, 
 
 I had not known this vain regret ; 
 
 Resolve, that, often as I made. 
 
 Was but dissolved in empty shade. 
 
 Oh ! if I had but kept my vow, 
 
 I might not thus be sinking now. 
 
 Awav from friends and kindred ties, 
 
 The mists of death before me rise. 
 
 Oh ! if—" That little word but rung 
 
 Like a death-knell on his tongue. 
 
 '' Oh ! if—" It sounded to the last, 
 
 Until the dream of life was past. 
 
 And so 'twill ring, that monotone. 
 
 While human dreams and doubts are known, 
 
 'Tis like fair Venice' Bridge of Sighs 
 
 Betwixt Despair and Hope that lies — 
 
 Suspended o'er Time's running river. 
 
 Whose current flows forever, ever ! 
 
 But, oh ! those sad, repentant words ! 
 Had they not touch'd on pitying chords 
 Within some tender angel's breast. 
 Who'd watch'd him, as he sank to rest? 
 And, for his sake, would she arise" 
 Towards lier mansion in the skies? 
 
IF. 
 
 She who, with all-unspotted fame, 
 Upon her Saviour had a claim ? 
 Whose holy life and innocence 
 His love had gain'd, as recompense. 
 And of the sinner, would she tell 
 E'en how he strove, yet how he fell, 
 How had his many efforts fail'd. 
 His human weakness all prevail'd? 
 
 But HE, who had earth's sorrows known, 
 Had heard that sinner's dying groan ; 
 Had seen his troubled soul pass by. 
 As in a deep and bitter sigh. 
 And might it not the mercy move 
 Of One who is embodied love? 
 Oh ! might it not compassion wake. 
 E'en for that erring mortal's sake? 
 
 Although repentance came thus late. 
 Yet may it not ameliorate 
 The sentence just against the soul, 
 When shall be call'd the final roll? 
 Though here we strive, yet not attain, 
 Will our best efforts be in vain? 
 For are they not all seen on high, 
 And all recorded in the skv? 
 
 21 
 
22 
 
 IF. 
 
 Will they on wings not upward mount, 
 And there be taken on account, 
 And duly meet with credit given 
 Towards that vast debt we owe to Heaven ? 
 And will they with our names appear, 
 E'en when the last great day draws near? 
 O Father ! Maker ! may it be 
 That such is Thy supreme decree ? 
 
 But from the dying wanderer turn. 
 Life's sad, sad lesson still to learn : 
 That whosoe'er his hopes intrust 
 To earthly visions, things of dust, . 
 Must wake at last to understand 
 That, like that man who built on sand — 
 The foolish man, and not the wise, 
 Whose hopes ascended to the skies — 
 This world can give no certain stay, 
 Its idols all are made of clay. 
 
 And must she, too, soon learn to know 
 
 There is no cup devoid of woe ? 
 
 Although at first it even brim. 
 
 And sparkle high above the rim, 
 
 The joy-drops there at length may break, 
 
 As scatter' d foam upon the lake ; 
 
IF. 
 
 23 
 
 While underneath, the tide may be 
 
 The sombre shade of ebony. 
 
 And though she bask in present bliss, 
 
 Will Time, unsparing, teach her this ? 
 
 No tell-tale voice upon the wind 
 
 She hears with prophecy unkind; 
 
 For still that mother's thirsty lips 
 
 From out the glowing goblet sips 
 
 The flowing nectar ; and her soul 
 
 Hath known no limit, or control ; 
 
 No compass to the love so wild. 
 
 That centres in her cherub-child. 
 
 She e'en subdues her breath, to keep 
 
 Her patient watch above the sleep 
 
 Which shrouds his senses, as he's press'd, 
 
 His little form against her breast ; 
 
 While from the blue eyes seal'd in sleep 
 
 The golden lashes downward sweep, 
 
 Upon the rosy damask cheek \ 
 
 The dimpled, curling fingers seek. 
 
 E'en 'midst repose in sweet dream-land, 
 
 Unconsciously, the mother's hand ; 
 
 And nestled thus, like lovely flowers. 
 
 Which close their leaves towards evening's hours, 
 
 A beauteous bud he seems to be. 
 
 Engrafted on Affection's tree ; 
 
24 
 
 IF. 
 
 Transplanted from a higher land, 
 E'en by an All-perfecting Hand. 
 And, oh ! to her, throughout the earth, 
 The brightest thing that e'er knew birth. 
 What visions rapt doth she not see, 
 Obtruding through the dim to-be. 
 Like halos round her slumb'ring boy. 
 Or angels smiling on her joy ! 
 Ah ! fain she'd shelter him from tears 
 That wait upon life's riper years. 
 Her bosom to the storm she'd bare, 
 Her darling one to save and spare. 
 
 '' Oh, boundless source of joy to me. 
 
 As onward to maturity 
 
 My pleasant task 'twill ever prove, 
 
 With increase of maternal love. 
 
 To watch him growing day by day. 
 
 As seasons come and pass away, 
 
 Until he reach that crowning time 
 
 Of manhood's proud and golden prime. 
 
 Oh ! spare him, Father ! that he be 
 
 This boundless source of joy to me !" 
 
 But HE who marks the sparrow's fall 
 Knows what is right and best for all ; 
 
IF. 
 
 And this, His tender mercy proves, 
 That though He chastens, still He loves. 
 
 And so, 'midst days that come and go, 
 
 While singing to him soft and low. 
 
 The mother forms each fairy plan 
 
 For when her child shall be a man. 
 
 And 'midst her dreams of untold years. 
 
 His name in rosy hue appears; 
 
 Forestalling the far-future hour. 
 
 She weaves it with success and power. 
 
 '' Oh, if he lives, he shall attain 
 
 To lofty eminence and gain ! 
 
 Then, spare him, Father !" still she prays. 
 
 But seeth not His hidden ways ; 
 
 For lo ! while bending o'er its bed, 
 
 The infant droops its tiny head : 
 
 Till, tossing in delirious pains. 
 
 He writhes beneath the fever-chains. 
 
 The cradle-song can soothe no more, 
 
 The lullaby's sweet charm is o'er ! 
 
 A light film gathers o'er its eyes. 
 
 The infant smiles, looks up, and dies. 
 
 A white-wing' d seraph near by stands. 
 
 With eager and extended hands. 
 
 To catch the soul that makes escape 
 
 From out the beauteous baby shape, 
 
 3 
 
26 JF. 
 
 And from its sweet maternal rest 
 To bear it to its Saviour's breast. 
 
 The Power that laid the man to earth, 
 That gave the infant being birth, 
 Now, in His strength and wisdom great, 
 Again decides its early fate. 
 
 But weep not, mother ! o'er thy child, 
 Thy beautiful and undefiled ; 
 Thy folded bud oi promise rare 
 Shall be develop' d in that sphere 
 Where all things guileless grow to light, 
 Unmarr'd or touch'd by sorrow's blight. 
 His innocent and undimm'd spirit 
 Immortal joys will there inherit : 
 Then weep no more his early lot ! 
 For HE hath said, ''Forbid them not;" 
 For little ones like thine just given, 
 Of such, e'en such as these, is heaven. 
 Then turn to Him with soul oppress'd. 
 For He hath said He'll give thee rest ; 
 Oh, take thy burden to His throne. 
 And try to say, " Thy wnll be done !" 
 For He, who when poor Hagar stray' d 
 Along the desert, weak, afraid, 
 
IF. 
 
 Her darling fainting by her side, 
 
 There caused to gush the living tide, 
 
 That might refresh and give her joy, 
 
 And should restore herself and boy, — 
 
 He can dissolve and all control 
 
 The frozen fountains of thy soul ; 
 
 Amidst thy wilderness of grief 
 
 Can touch the springs whence flow relief. 
 
 Then cease, O mother ! cease to mourn 
 
 Above thy tender blossom gone : 
 
 For, if he had e'en by thy side 
 
 Been spared throughout thy life to bide, 
 
 In years to come — ah ! who can know ? — 
 
 He might have caused thy tears to flow, 
 
 And made thee wish, 'midst pain and rutii. 
 
 Thy child had died in early youth ; . 
 
 For, gaze around, and thou wilt see 
 
 So much of human misery ; 
 
 So many wrapt in doubt and grief. 
 
 From which thy darling found relief. 
 
 Beneath the yew-tree's verdant shade 
 
 No sound will there his peace invade, — 
 
 No care disturb the sinless breast 
 
 In which the heart is hush'd to rest. 
 
 The rippling brook upon its way 
 
 Will sound like childhood's voice at play. 
 
28 
 
 IF. 
 
 As with each tiny, silvery wave 
 
 It passes by his little grave. 
 
 The birds will sing above his tomb, 
 
 And Spring's attendant flowers bloom ; 
 
 Fit emblems of the treasure given, 
 
 Of innocence recall'd to heaven. 
 
 For such as die in infant years. 
 
 Should be rejoicing, and not tears ; 
 
 Though lost to sight — forever fled, 
 
 They might have been — -ay ! worse than dead ! 
 
 Go ask yon aged man, and, oh ! 
 
 From his heart-depths he'll tell thee so. 
 
 Go ! listen to the echoes dim 
 
 And through the by-gone stray with him ; 
 
 The cord that holds his spirit fast. 
 
 That binds him to the vanish' d past, 
 
 Of Mem'ry's finest fibres spun. 
 
 Leads back to days without a sun. 
 
 Where all the brightness life once gave 
 
 Lies buried in Affliction's grave. 
 
 The gentle partner of his love 
 Was call'd too soon to realms above ; 
 Yet, ere she parted from him, left 
 One keepsake for his soul bereft, — 
 
One precious token, that impress' d 
 
 Her living image on his breast. 
 
 Well might he prize that pledge so fair, 
 
 The daughter of his tenderest care ; 
 
 And only for his darling's sake 
 
 His widow'd heart forbore to break ; 
 
 For she was in that lone heart wild 
 
 The sole oasis there that smiled ; 
 
 And as to womanhood she grew. 
 
 His hopes for her expanded too ; 
 
 Until, like some extending vine 
 
 That twines about a holy shrine. 
 
 They wrapp'd her with their verdure round, 
 
 And, still aspiring, knew no bound. 
 
 Fair visions of her future rise 
 
 Before the father's loving eyes. 
 
 " Oh, when my bright and budding flower 
 Shall bloom at length to riper hour, 
 What bliss, what rapture will be mine 
 To watch her star of beauty shine ; 
 A choice to make for her foir hand 
 From out the noblest of the land ; 
 And yield at length her guileless youth 
 To one of tried and dauntless truth ! 
 That I may view her day by day 
 Advance in Virtue's healthful way, 
 
 29 
 
30 
 
 IF. 
 
 Along the pathway chaste and fair, 
 Where thornless plants alone appear, 
 And where the young, confiding breast 
 On pious thoughts finds constant rest ; 
 And he who wins her, may he prove 
 But worthy of her matchless love, — 
 But worthy of the priceless gem 
 He gathers from the parent-stem." 
 
 While musing thus, his blushing flower 
 Unfolds its leaves towards riper hour. 
 Until, like some exquisite rose. 
 The maiden's charms in full disclose. 
 And every grace in perfect mould 
 With bright enchantment all unfold. 
 
 But while for her, this treasured priz^, 
 That father thinks to realize 
 Each wish of his devoted heart, — 
 His soul is rent by doubts apart ! 
 'Midst promise smiling everywhere. 
 In Hope's delicious atmosphere, 
 A chill and sullen change hath crept. 
 And peaceful skies by clouds are swept. 
 Until those shadows dark as night 
 Foretell a strange and with'ring blight. 
 
IF. 
 
 A blight that fills that loving heart 
 Of which she form'd the dearest part. 
 The flow' ret nursed through patient years 
 At length is bathed in bitter tears, — 
 Its mournful fate is written now 
 In desolation on his brow. 
 For lo ! the spoiler hath been there 
 To seek the innocent and fair : 
 A wolf he came in meek disguise, 
 To steal away the father's prize ; 
 The hand that pluck' d the rosy gem 
 Had rudely crush' d the parent-stem. 
 
 The guileless child, ensnared at length 
 And tempted past her woman's strength, 
 Like Goethe's gentle Margaret fell 
 Beneath the dark enchanter's spell. 
 Then let the fount of Pity flow 
 And mingle with the tide of woe. 
 
 But turn and ask that father now. 
 With grief initial'd on his brow — 
 Oh ! ask him in this brooding hour, 
 Would he not rather that his flower 
 Had been in tender spring-time laid 
 Beneath the yew-tree's peaceful shade ; 
 
 31 
 
IF. 
 
 Before Time's hand had wrought within 
 A single spot of earthly sin ? 
 For then he might, without a sigh, 
 Have yielded up the loved to die — 
 With all her leaflets pale and pure 
 Have left her with her God secure — 
 Without a sigh like those that start 
 And torture now his breaking heart. 
 Alas ! for him, Hope's fragile ark 
 Is but a wreck' d and shatter' d bark ! 
 " What bliss, what rapture will be mine 
 To watch her star of beauty shine, 
 If but this bright and budding flower 
 Shall be matured to riper hour !" 
 And from this trust so bright and brief, 
 Within his heart had grown belief; 
 'Midst dazzling rays of Hope there shed. 
 He saw no breakers loom ahead ; 
 On Hope's frail promise he relied. 
 Nor counted on Time's changeful tide. 
 
 And yet, the waters calm to-day, 
 That in the sunlight dance and play, 
 To-morrow may by storms be stirr'd, 
 Their voice in angry tones be heard ; 
 For 'neath the smiling surface fair 
 What undercurrents mav be there ! 
 
IF. 
 
 And so the soul which sweet hopes fill 
 Like hush of eve with beauty still, 
 With but a word — a little .tone, 
 And all its calmness may be flown. 
 For, such an instrument is man ! — 
 Of strange, uncomprehended plan ! 
 The faintest breeze that by him floats 
 May waken sad or merry notes. 
 And in the tempest of the soul. 
 Impulses new which rush and roll, 
 Which sway the actions and the ways. 
 And stir to censure or to praise. 
 How rarely doth he rest or pause 
 To search the mainspring or the cause 
 And, pausing even, could he find 
 Those links mysterious, which bind. 
 Effect and cause, which often stray 
 From one another far away, 
 How e'er discern the doubts that ring 
 Upon each fine susceptive string, 
 Producing, like the Orphic harp, 
 Vibration low or discord sharp ? 
 
 Ah ! could we know, or only see, 
 How trivial the cause may be, — 
 How faint an imi)ulse often sways 
 And colors all life's future days ! 
 
 33 
 
34 
 
 IF. 
 
 How may a thought the smallest rise 
 To action of gigantic size, 
 E'en like the seed within the earth, 
 From which a mammoth tree hath birth. 
 
 '' Oh, IF," exclaims the dreaming boy. 
 His face illumed with hope and joy, 
 His eyes fix'd on the foaming urn, 
 'Neath which the embers glow and burn, 
 '' Oh, if my theory but prove true. 
 What may this misty agent do !" 
 And still he views, with quicken'd sense, 
 The drops of steam as they condense ; 
 And still he counts them one by one. 
 E'en like a task that must be done, — 
 A task of pleasure, and not pain. 
 To which he turns and turns again. 
 But with the vapor that expands, 
 That breaks away in foggy strands. 
 And upward twines in graceful curl, 
 His fancies one by one unfurl ; 
 Until, like gallant sails, they fill 
 With inspirations of his will ; 
 With healthful breeze and fav'ring wind 
 Of gifted intellect and mind. 
 He thinks, as still the vapors sail. 
 What they might do on grander scale ; 
 
IF. 
 
 35 
 
 xA-iid how still further be applied 
 In mastery of wind and tide ; 
 As man may check, by self-control, 
 The surging passions of the soul. 
 
 And thus through that thought- cro\vded brain. 
 
 Are ifs, that come and go again ; 
 
 Ideas that ever rise and spring. 
 
 Till, caught like birds upon the wing. 
 
 Are caged at last within the mind, 
 
 To be there cultured and refined. 
 
 And compass uses that e'en raise 
 
 Man's ceaseless gratitude and praise. 
 
 Yet who could from that face so fair 
 Foretell the world's great engineer ? 
 For, as his thoughts to action flew. 
 The name of Watt immortal grew. 
 As doubts and clouds were swept away, 
 Fair Science held her sceptred sway. 
 
 And so, with him that was to be 
 The father of telegraphy ; — 
 A thought that in his brain awoke 
 Was follow' d by the master-stroke, 
 Which left a monument to stand 
 In every free enlighten'd land, 
 
36 IF. 
 
 And through succeeding ages tell 
 How much Morse conquer' d ere he fell. 
 
 " If but this electricity 
 
 Can thus indeed transmitted be, 
 
 Then may it instantly convey 
 
 Ideas in messages away." 
 
 And at this thought he worked forsooth, 
 
 Till it became a giant truth ; 
 
 And from the brain wherein it throve, 
 
 Like Pallas from the head of Jove, 
 
 Sprung forth full-armed and staid, 
 
 In Wisdom's panoply array'd. 
 
 It flash' d across the speaking wires. 
 
 Transmitted by electric fires ; 
 
 It onward swept so far and fast 
 
 That Time. and Space look'd on aghast; 
 
 And as it made its speedy curves, 
 
 It moved the world with iron nerves, 
 
 Which trembled with his deathless fame. 
 
 And bore aloft his honor' d name. 
 
 Oh, if ! — the varied ifs that press. 
 And forward lead to proud success ; 
 The ifs that toss the soul about 
 Within a dream of dread and doubt ; 
 The little ifs, rose-clad and green, 
 That through our musings intervene, 
 
IF. 
 
 That whisper of enticing joy, 
 Or bribe with sin, but to destroy ! 
 That o'er life's sea may dangers prove 
 Or waft us up to heavenly love ! 
 
 For who beyond the boundary-line 
 The dim to-be can well define? 
 Beyond that mist or rising moat. 
 What visions of the future float ! 
 
 With e'en a rare resplendent night. 
 The silvery moon dispensing light. 
 Surrounded by those starry eyes 
 That gaze with glory from the skies, 
 Ah ! who shall say what clouds may sweep 
 Before those eyes so bright and deep ; 
 As sudden passions often press 
 From beauty's glance its tenderness. 
 Or from those arms of Night so fair 
 How shall the breaking morn appear ? — 
 So impotent is mortal man 
 Beyond his horizon to scan ! 
 
 We know but little, — yet we know 
 That peace from righteous deeds must flow ; 
 That virtue is its own reward, 
 And the transgressor's way is hard. 
 4 
 
 37 
 
38 
 
 IF. 
 
 Ay ! this we know; the voice within 
 
 Admonishes of wrong and sm ; 
 
 That still, small voice, whose honest tone 
 
 Says what to do, or leave undone ; 
 
 Which whispers that the path of right 
 
 Leads upwards to eternal light ; 
 
 And telling this, it urges, too. 
 
 That path progressive we pursue. 
 
 Upon the tablets of the heart 
 
 This truth is stamp' d, and forms a part 
 
 Upon the ever-living scroll 
 
 Of mortal's all-immortal soul ! 
 
 Then safely, oh ! to guide our bark, 
 
 Across life's ocean dim and dark ! 
 
 From Scylla's rock of sin to run ; 
 
 And yet Charybdis dread to shun ! 
 
 Where ills on either side are seen. 
 
 To steer, with purpose pure, between, 
 
 Till we attain the haven blest, 
 
 Where doubts and fears are hush'd to rest ; 
 
 Until the hour, where all refined. 
 
 The clanking moorings break, that bind 
 
 The clay to spirit, and unite 
 
 The essence with its Heavenly Light. 
 
 Written January, 1863. 
 
MEMORIA IN AiTERNA. t^c^ 
 
 MEMORIA IN STERNA. 
 
 Ye echoes of past Summer, and Autumn's breezes, tell, 
 In Nature's saddest cadence, my broken-hearted spell ; 
 Between the seasons nearly, on Summer's final day, 
 Our darling one was stricken — in Autumn pass'd away. 
 
 God sent His angel, softly to whisper in her ear 
 That there was room in heaven for her to enter there; 
 With chainless steps she mounted, nor paused upon 
 
 the way ; 
 She'd heard the angel's summons, and hasten'd to obey. 
 
 And there were loved ones waiting, who long had gone 
 
 before ; 
 I think she must have met them at the eternal door; 
 For, as her soul seraphic escaped from out its mould, 
 A smile illumed her features, of joy and peace untold. 
 
 A halo hover'd o'er them, and, while we linger'd nigh. 
 The low and half-heard rustle of angels' wings swept 
 
 by: 
 Perhaps each one had taken her hand within its own. 
 And led her to the footstool of Jehovah's mighty 
 
 throne. 
 
40 MEMORIA IN STERNA. 
 
 So, while the bells were ringmg, one sunny Sabbath 
 
 morn, 
 And we were watching round her, we found that she 
 
 was gone ! 
 And though we know she's cared for, and happier than 
 
 here, 
 We cannot get accustom'd to see her vacant chair. 
 
 We cannot get accustom'd to have her out of sight, 
 And when the bedtime cometh, to miss her dear 
 
 ''good-night!" 
 The lonely spot her presence so sweetly fill'd of yore, 
 It must, though mem'ry-haunted, be lonely evermore. 
 
 For though she pass'd so calmly from out this world 
 
 of care, 
 That Death was robb'd forever of terror and of fear. 
 Yet, when she died, I felt it, my fate in life was cast ; 
 For with her seem'd to perish my future and my past. 
 
 But those to whom this sorrow has been a golden gaifl, 
 Who found again their mother when ours hence was 
 
 ta'en. 
 Who'd gain'd the goal before her, how happy must 
 
 have been, 
 When heaven's portals open'd, to see her enter in ! 
 
ME MO R /A IN STERNA. 41 
 
 And, darling ! I am thankful that kindred gone before 
 Were there to give you welcome when you had reach'd 
 
 the shore. 
 There's one I do remember, who bore a brother's 
 
 name ; 
 You loved him for his goodness, his high and honor' d 
 
 fame. 
 
 A little one there was, too, with soft and wavy hair, — 
 Perhaps you sing his lullaby upon your bosom there. 
 He used to say, "Dear mother, I love your lovely 
 
 voice ;'' 
 Oh, how his infant spirit with yours must now rejoice ! 
 
 Oh, dearest ! tell our sisters, till we reach home one 
 
 day, 
 Our famish'd souls will hunger to be as bless'd as they ; 
 To have you with us, " Precious !" and never more to 
 
 roam, 
 But live together always, in God's supernal home. 
 
 We've planted myrtle, mother, above your new-made 
 
 grave ; 
 Its supple branches softly on evening's breezes wave ; 
 Its ever-verdant foliage speaks of immortal love. 
 Of hope and faith aspiring to blessedness above. 
 
 The trees around are standing, like sentinels, array'd 
 In all their gorgeous vestures of Autumn's every shade ; 
 
42 
 
 RIVER OF LOVE. 
 
 Their many-color'd tresses o'ersweep your lone head- 
 stone, 
 
 While breath of gentle zephyrs around it sigh and 
 moan ; 
 
 While twilight, with soft pencil, of gold and purple 
 
 shade, 
 Writes on each leaf the hist'ry, — all earthly things must_ 
 
 fade ; 
 The river bright and shining is flowing at your feet, 
 And singing, in its surges, your requiem low and sweet. 
 
 And I have ask'd, oh, darling ! that when life's dream 
 
 . be o'er, 
 
 They'll lay me down to slumber upon this quiet shore ; 
 They'll let my form in death beside your own recline 
 As in this life my spirit dwelt ever near to thine. 
 October, 1872. 
 
 RIVER OF LOVE. 
 
 River of brightness ! river of love ! 
 Onward it rolls around and above ; 
 Down in the heart, and deep in the soul ; 
 River resisting check or control ! 
 
 
 li 
 
PITY US. 
 
 River with source away and afar 
 Past the bright sun and beautiful star ; 
 River that breaks in countless clear streams, 
 Crested and fleck'd with heavenly gleams ! 
 
 River that's lifted above the dull sod ; 
 River that springs from the bosom of God ; 
 River that ebbs again to its source, — 
 River immortal ; perfect in course ! 
 
 River with wavelets crystal and pure ; 
 River of grace, divinest and sure : 
 River, — oh, joy ! to float on thy breast, 
 Onward, and up, to Peace and to Rest ! 
 
 43 
 
 PITY US. 
 
 TO MRS. G. W. B. 
 
 Pity us, Father ! from thy throne 
 
 Immaculate and great ; 
 Pity the heart's low suppliant tone ; 
 
 Pity our human fate ! 
 
 Pity us. Father ! in our need. 
 When tempted on our way ; 
 
 Pity us, for each recreant deed 
 That leads the soul astray ! 
 
44 
 
 PITY US. 
 
 Pity us when, with gath'ring doubt, 
 Our thoughts are turn'd from Thee, 
 
 And drift like unmoor'd ships about 
 In dark tempestuous sea. 
 
 Pity us ! for the human bark 
 
 Is frail, and lightly bound. 
 Yet, launch'd in waters deep and dark. 
 
 It may be sunk or drown'd ! 
 
 Pity us when, like Dead-Sea fruit, 
 
 Our hopes to ashes turn, 
 Or wither from us branch and root, 
 
 In life's embitter'd urn. 
 
 Pity us when, in gloomy hour, 
 Grief sways her sceptre dark. 
 
 Although denied the fatal power 
 To quench the vital spark. 
 
 Pity us then, lest awful thought 
 
 Of suicidal shade. 
 With venom'd trail, should steal athwart 
 
 The spirit to invade. 
 
 Pity us then, and Faith impart. 
 Implicit and entire; 
 
PITY US. 
 
 Sustain, O God ! the drooping heart, 
 And trust in Thee inspire ! 
 
 Pity us when the better part 
 
 With pride and wrong contends. 
 
 And evil through the wayward heart 
 Its iron mastery blends ! 
 
 Pity us, as we feebly halt 
 
 Between the good and ill ; 
 Too prone to each alluring fault, 
 
 Yet drawn to Thee by will. 
 
 Strengthen that will to purpose strong, 
 
 O Father ! in Thy might ; 
 Scatter aside the seeds of wrong. 
 
 Confirm us in the Right ! 
 
 Pity us when disease or pain 
 
 The fragile frame assails. 
 When fever courses through each vein. 
 
 Till strength of manhood fails : 
 
 When strange delirium holds her sway 
 
 In absent Reason's place. 
 And kindles with deceitful ray 
 
 The hectic eye and face. 
 
 45 
 
46 BYRON. 
 
 Pity us when life's feeble lamp 
 
 Is burning dim and low ; 
 When dews of death are gathering damp 
 
 Upon the pallid brow. 
 
 Pity us when the compact's o'er 
 
 Of spirit and of clay, 
 And onward, to its native shore, 
 
 The soul is borne away. 
 
 Pity us when, O God ! we stand 
 Before Thy judgment-seat. 
 
 Awaiting sentence and command ; 
 Pity and — mercy mete ! 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 Then let the tear-drop freely flow ! 
 Breathe forth the wail of grief and woe ! 
 The Harp hath lost its brightest string, 
 Complaining spirits round it cling. 
 
 The poet's dead ! Behold him there \ 
 While languidly above his bier 
 
BYRON. 47 
 
 The Muses gather sadly round ; 
 
 Their mourning mantles sweep the ground. 
 
 With cypress branch in each pale hand, 
 
 They form a lonely, solemn band. 
 
 Their faces sombre seem to tell 
 
 How much is lost since Byron fell. 
 
 For him they weep, for him they mourn, 
 
 Their loved and favorite scion gone. 
 
 At length from off the beauteous clay 
 They turn their sadden'd eyes away, 
 And eager glances cast afar 
 To where he shines on high, — a star, 
 In that resplendent, pearly clime 
 Beyond the fields of changing Time. 
 
 Ye minstrels! where's your boast, since he 
 Hath vanish'd from your galaxy, 
 And Music from the earth has given 
 Her richest harmonies to heaven ? 
 
 But he, whose genius divine 
 Drew worship to his living shrine, 
 Whose notes refined, and magic skill, 
 Enraptured multitudes could fill 
 With emulation's keen desire. 
 Awakens now another choir. 
 
48 ■ BYRON. 
 
 Since his brief course on earth is run, 
 The goal immortal reach'd and won, 
 His brother bards their efforts bring. 
 His praises long and loud to sing, 
 While angels, with o'erflowing love. 
 Are stooping from their posts above. 
 In his favor to inspire 
 The plaintive touch upon the lyre. 
 
 Byron is dead ! let nations weep ! 
 Let earth a solemn silence keep ! 
 Let sadden 'd hearts recall the day 
 On which the poet pass'd away. 
 
 But when the ominous knell hath rung, 
 
 Another lay may then be sung : 
 
 Let joy and gladness tune the voice. 
 
 In tones unceasing, to rejoice 
 
 O'er monuments of genius left, 
 
 Ere spirit from the clay was reft : 
 
 Memorials of deathless mind 
 
 With strength and majesty combined. 
 
 Creations, all ecstatic, bright, 
 
 ''Soul of his thought" — his spirit's light. 
 
 His works remain ! — our minds engage 
 
 O'er every fair and glowing page ; 
 
 And interest deepens in each line 
 
 Where heaven-born powers gleam and shine ; 
 
BYRON. 4(j 
 
 Where, from her deep exhaustless fount 
 
 The streams of Knowledge flow and mount; 
 
 Where thoughts on thoughts so bright unfold, 
 
 The letters seem impress' d in gold. 
 
 Resistlessly we're borne along, — 
 
 Borne with the current of the song ; 
 
 Borne on as through a rushing tide, 
 
 With Genius alone for Guide ; 
 
 With Genius at the helm and prow 
 
 Of fairy Fancy's floating scow. 
 
 With pure delight we onward roam, 
 
 Surrounded by the glittering foam ; 
 
 Amidst the waters that appear 
 
 So wild and sparkling everywhere, 
 
 That while we through their wavelets range. 
 
 The mind is lost in wonder strange, 
 
 To think it should be mortal fate 
 
 Such intense beauty to create. 
 
 Exquisite joy is it to stray 
 
 'Midst scenes described, far, far away ; 
 
 To wander ever, side by side. 
 
 With Harold for our constant guide ; 
 
 To watch, through his emotions' glow. 
 
 Our noblest feelings rise and flow ; 
 
 Our tenderest thoughts, to which we ne'er 
 
 Could language give, embodied there. 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 Beneath the magic of his art, 
 Each pulse in Nature's mighty heart, 
 As though at once reveal' d to view. 
 Vibrates all faithfully and true. 
 
 The Childe, to life, each scene portrays, 
 The Childe, each beauty rare displays. 
 Touch' d by his skill, the pictures bright 
 In blended colors warm unite ; 
 And with conceptions deep, profound. 
 Reflect the glories of the world around. 
 
 But from the harp whose mystic power 
 Beguiles with bliss each passing hour. 
 That gives the soul delicious food 
 To feed upon in pensive mood. 
 Oh, ^'ever and anon," of pain 
 Is breathed a low and solemn strain \ 
 As though the spirit that gave joy 
 Was bow'd itself 'neath grief's alloy ; 
 And through the music grand, sublime, 
 Still trembles forth a lonely chime. 
 Ah ! there the secret, silent heart 
 Its throbbing anguish doth impart. 
 
 Oh, why is genius gifted, rare. 
 Predestined in this world to share 
 
BYRON. ^1 
 
 A clouded and unkindly fate, 
 With soul oppress'd and desolate? 
 Why destined thus, alas ! to feed 
 Upon the fruit of poison 'd seed ? 
 To drink, and to the dregs to drain, 
 Each cup of darkness and of pain ? 
 Oh, tell me, ye presiding Nine ! 
 What means this strange, perverse design ? 
 
 Ah ! natures of exquisite mould, 
 Whose sympathies refined unfold 
 To all that is exalted, bright. 
 Prove too susceptive to the blight 
 Of every dark or clouded hour. 
 Of every harsh, unfriendly power. 
 Where common clay is unimpress'd, 
 Strong feelings stir the sentient breast. 
 Each cruel breath that passes by 
 Calls forth the sad responsive sigh ; 
 Each tone of anguish, deep and sharp. 
 Sweeps mournfully the spirit's harp, 
 And wakens echoes low and dim. 
 Which, like the holy vesper hymn. 
 With music mingles plaint and prayer 
 Within the inner temple there. 
 
 From Harold's travels, on we stray 
 To other scenes as fair as thev; 
 
52 
 
 ART GONE? 
 
 In gems and idyls then to find 
 New openings of the ardent mind ; 
 Outpourings, such as shadow forth 
 The heart's deep mystery and worth; 
 Reflecting light upon the scroll 
 From out the high and sensitive soul. 
 Such natures seem but sent to show 
 How brightly genius' light may glow ; 
 To waken wonder and surprise, 
 And then regain their native skies. 
 
 Then weep no more the poet's fate ! 
 He lives above, exalted, great ; 
 While to his melodies so fair 
 The angels give attentive ear, 
 And to his harp of golden string 
 Attune their voices fine to sing. 
 
 ART GONE? 
 
 And art thou gone indeed? on flutt'ring wings 
 Report flies hitherward, and to me brings 
 A mournful whisper of thy sudden death. 
 And is it even so ? thy final breath 
 Hath died away, and thou art sunk to rest ? 
 Ambition's fires quench'd within thy breast? 
 
ART GONE? 53 
 
 Those fires from whence high deeds of daring flow'd, 
 Have they consumed the heart wherein they glow'd ? 
 The master-mind, too powerful and bold, 
 Hath it spurr'd on to death the mortal mould? 
 For not amidst the battle's stir and strife, 
 Hast thou exchanged thy restless life for life. 
 Not where the field with crimson tide is red ; 
 Not there, amidst the dying and the dead. 
 But to thy quiet home, they say, Death came. 
 And struck from off life's roll thy warrior-name. 
 E'en while the victor's crowning laurel shone, 
 Wert thou by stronger Conqueror o'erthrown ! 
 ■ Alas ! these sudden, sorrow-telling words 
 Are like sad hands that sweep my spirit's chords ; 
 Producing with each touch a plaintive tone, 
 A wail of melancholy deep and lone ! 
 But in the secret recess of my soul 
 The grief I'll hide, which I cannot control ; 
 And though that soul in tears itself relieve. 
 Yet none shall know for whom I really grieve ; 
 Then farewell, soldier ! though thy wedded cause 
 Was one to which I could not yield applause. 
 Although mistaken, yet thy valor's light 
 Encounter'd not the faintest tinge or blight. 
 Farewell, brave man ! — for thou wert boldly brave,- - 
 And Friendship droops, a mourner, o'er thy grave. 
 
 5* 
 
54 THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 'TwAS twilight's sweet and softly pensive hour, 
 And, with the magic of his parting power, 
 The sun had brightly painted land and sky 
 With mingled shades of rose and amber dye, 
 When I, in search of some sequester'd spot. 
 Had idly stray' d from mine own rural cot. 
 
 There, in the grave-yard, 'neath the willow's shade, 
 An unobserved retreat I thought I'd made; 
 When on mine ear there stole a plaintive tone, 
 Which faintly warn'd me I was not alone. 
 I turn'd ; when lo ! the vision that I met 
 At once dispell'd impatience and regret. 
 
 In attitude of holy, peaceful prayer. 
 
 There knelt a maiden marvelously fair. 
 
 I gazed upon the form of artless mien, 
 
 The marble brow unruffled and serene ; 
 
 And though the downcast eyes I could not see, 
 
 I thought how soul-expressive they must be ; 
 
 How sublimated as the purest gold 
 Must be the spirit tenanting the mould 
 
THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 55 
 
 So perfect and unmarr'd to human view; 
 How pious must the heart be, and how true ; 
 With impulse generous only could it mate, 
 In unison with purity pulsate. 
 
 The fresh and grassy earth beneath her lay, 
 The running streamlet near, in numbers play. 
 As o'er their narrow, pebbled bed below, 
 The crystal wavelets seem'd to gush and flow. 
 And scatter freely glistening dew-drops round. 
 Which, mingling with the green and heathy ground, 
 
 Like diamonds sparkled, when we brilliants find 
 In setting with the emerald combined. 
 The sunlight linger'd still with parting day. 
 The maiden bent beside the grave to pray ; 
 But when, at length, from slab of grayish hue, 
 She turn'd on me those eyes of azure blue, 
 
 A pang, so sharp I ne'er had known before, 
 I Thrill'd through, and smote my trembling spirit o'er. 
 ; It seized upon my heart, till, chill and cold, 
 ; It seem'd my wavering senses to enfold. 
 
 Those orbs, which I had fondly hoped to find 
 
 Reflecting intellect and gifted mind, — 
 
 Oh, sad to tell ! — were sightless, nor could see 
 The varied and surrounding scenery ; 
 
e6 THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 41 
 
 While she, whom I had deem'd in charms so blest, 
 Was Sorrow's child — by darkness thus oppress'd. 
 The skies, which beam'd for me so bright and fair- 
 Oh, lonely truth ! — to her were blank and drear ! 
 
 The scatter' d flowers in diverse robes array' d 
 To her disclosed not e'en a single shade ! 
 My soul in Pity's flood sunk low and deep ; 
 My heart within my breast could only weep. 
 I moved towards her side, and strove to speak. 
 But tears, impeding, mark'd my sadden 'd cheek. 
 
 At length, my voice to my command I woke, 
 And thus to her in anxious accents spoke : 
 "Oh, tell me, gentle Spirit, if thou ne'er 
 Hast gazed upon the earth or heavens fair? 
 Hast never turned a comprehending eye 
 Upon the god of day — the star-lit sky ? 
 
 *' Hast ne'er beheld the ether space above. 
 Nor look'd on those who share with thee thy love? 
 Hast never seen a mother's tender face, 
 Impress'd with feelings which affections trace? 
 Hast ne'er experienced, and never known. 
 Those blessings which belong to sight alone?" 
 
 Oh, sad the answering look of that pale face ! 
 But soon a glow angelic seem'd to' chase 
 
THE BLIND GIRL. 57 
 
 Away its gloom ; when, with inspired tone, 
 
 She thus replied : ''Although I ne'er have known 
 
 The gift of vision, nor have ever seen 
 
 The sky so fair, the earth so fresh and green, 
 
 '' Have ne'er beheld a mother's face, nor know 
 How much of pity there for me might flow, 
 Although in vain I lift my eyes on high. 
 And often at my lonely lot I sigh. 
 Nor know the colors in which Nature's drest, 
 Yet do I deem myself not all unblest. 
 
 '' For He who deigns to mark the sparrow's fall, 
 Extends His care and providence to all ; 
 And though I may not see the world He's made, 
 Nor watch the blossoms bloom to life, or fade. 
 Nor note the change each season doth reveal, 
 The presence of my God within I feel / 
 
 ''And when beside this grave I come to pray, 
 'Neath which a loving father's ashes lay, 
 Although I hear no human voice or tone, 
 I never think that I am all alone. 
 For e'en within the evening zephyr's sighs 
 The voice of God I seem to recognize. 
 
 " The same refreshing breeze \\\dX you may feel. 
 With balmy breath, doth o'er my temples steal ; 
 
58 THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 My brow it kisses, and my burning lips, 
 The thirst and fever from them softly sips ; 
 Among my loosen' d locks it gently plays, 
 And stirs my soul to voluntary praise. 
 
 "The fiow'rets, too, that gem the moss-grown ground, 
 
 And bloom for you in varied hues around. 
 
 Which carpet brilliantly the yielding earth. 
 
 Not all in vain for me do they have birth ; 
 
 The same kind breeze, with friendly, wafting wings 
 
 Their sweet and grateful fragrance to me brings. 
 
 "And though the feathery train I ne'er behold. 
 Nor see them spread their pinions, or enfold 
 Them 'gainst their downy breasts, yet each sweet note,] 
 Each pure and plaintive symphony afloat, 
 Awakens in my inmost soul a voice. 
 With Nature to respond, and to rejoice. 
 
 " For there's a spell in harmony and sound. 
 
 And each melodious echo wafted round 
 
 Is fraught with meaning to the blind girl's heart, 
 
 Intenser far, perhaps, than sounds impart 
 
 To those who should bless God for eyes that see 
 
 With gift of vision disenthrall' d and free. 
 
 " 'Tis thus the Mighty One doth compensate 
 And lighten miseries that mark the fate 
 
 41 
 
MV BIRDIE. 
 
 59 
 
 Of those He loves. Then let me, O my God ! 
 To Thy behest submit, and kiss the rod — 
 The chastening rod, which has denied me sight. 
 Confessing, whatsoe'er Thou dost is right !" 
 
 The maiden ceased ; her words had stirr'd my soul 
 E'en with emotions that defied control ; 
 Upon its troubled depths they fell like oil, 
 Or gentle dew that penetrates the soil, 
 Awakening with its life-diffusing power 
 The latent seeds of foliage and flower. 
 
 They served a solemn lesson to impart, 
 
 Long pregnant with instruction, to my heart. 
 
 I mark'd that faith, so perfect and so bless' d, 
 
 Till tears gush'd forth, that were but half repress'd, 
 
 And to this spot again I often stray'd, 
 
 To meet, at eventide, the sightless maid. 
 
 MY BIRDIE. 
 
 His plumage is of gold refined. 
 With gleams of amber laid, 
 
 While here and there 'tis interlined 
 With soften 'd pencil shade. 
 
6o ^^y BIRDIE. 
 
 Last night my little birdie hung 
 
 In his accustom'd place, 
 Where all day his notes had rung 
 
 With tenderness and grace. 
 
 But with the coming morn I heard 
 
 No more his merry trill; 
 The night had chill'd my pretty bird, 
 
 And made his music still. 
 
 The cruel winds, with unkind breatli, 
 Stole through the casement near. 
 
 And almost frighten' d him to death, 
 By whispering in his ear. 
 
 They told the little soul within. 
 Of storms and gales without ; 
 
 Of tempest's sounds and ocean's din, 
 And vessels toss'd about. 
 
 Of shipwreck'd mariners they spoke, 
 
 Upon the wild sea cast. 
 Who had been torn by Death's last stroke 
 
 Away from spar and mast. 
 
 Such dreadful tales of war and wind 
 The timid thing was told ; 
 
MV BIRDIE. 6 1 
 
 What marvel that I thus should find 
 Him trembling and cold ? 
 
 And now he sits the whole day through 
 
 Upon his dreary perch, 
 As solemn as if perch'd on pew 
 
 Of chapel, or of church. 
 
 Dear little warbler ! is it true. 
 
 You're thinking of sad tales 
 The night-winds whistled out to you. 
 
 In angry sobs and wails ? 
 
 Then, gentle songster, come to me ! 
 
 That I may soothe and calm ; 
 That I may warm and fondle thee 
 
 In my encircling palm. 
 
 I would not like to see thee die. 
 
 To droop with cold and pain. 
 To close thy tiny, sparkling eye. 
 
 Nor hear thy voice again. 
 
 So many lessons thou hast taught 
 
 To my complaining heart. 
 With sweetness and contentment fraught. 
 
 From selfishness apart. 
 6 
 
62 COLUMBINE. 
 
 Then, downy darling, do not fear ! 
 
 I will not hang thy cage. 
 Another night, by casement drear. 
 
 Where winds in war engage ; 
 
 Where snowy drifts and bitter storm 
 
 The crevices may fill ; 
 Assail my birdie's tender form 
 
 With deep intent to kill. 
 
 Then cheer up, wee one ! let me hear 
 Those crystal notes again. 
 
 That used to ripple o'er my ear 
 And antidote my pain. 
 
 COLUMBINE. 
 
 I wander' D through the garden. 
 In morning's early hour. 
 
 And from the dewy blossoms 
 I cull'd a simple flower. 
 
 It grew not on high branches, 
 Nor on extending vine ; 
 
 But near the ground, quite lowly 
 It was the Columbine. 
 
COLUMBINE. 63 
 
 While gazing on it, idly, 
 
 I pluck'd its leaves apart, 
 And read therefrom a lesson, 
 
 Impressive to my heart. 
 
 The lesson was of Nature, 
 
 And Nature's gracious God ; 
 Whose skill had brought the flower 
 
 So perfect from the sod. 
 
 The leaves were vein'd and shaded. 
 
 Of deepen' d emerald hue ; 
 On stem of graceful bending, 
 
 The purple blossoms grew. 
 
 The corolla was compounded 
 
 Of tiny cups complete, 
 Arranged within each other, 
 
 As with precision neat ; 
 
 As though some potent Artisan 
 
 Had carried out a plan 
 Design' d to waken wonder 
 
 Within the mind of man. 
 
 And, stirr'd by strange emotions, 
 My soul on upward wings 
 
64 COL UMBINE. 
 
 Gush'd forth to offer praise to 
 The Author of all things. 
 
 For He who form'd the flow' ret, 
 With beauty rare and rife, 
 
 And for its growth provided 
 It with organic life, 
 
 Is He whose might sustain eth 
 The worlds He's made in space; 
 
 Whose hand throughout existence 
 Where'er we turn we trace ; 
 
 Is He by whose ordaining 
 We draw the vital breath ; 
 
 Whose will alone decideth 
 The hour of our death ; 
 
 Is He the lark that guideth 
 On wings that upward fly, 
 
 When vanishing from vision 
 In journey through the sky ; 
 
 And oh ! while on thee gazing. 
 Thou lovely Columbine ! 
 
 No marvel that the spirit 
 
 Should grosser thoughts resign. 
 
COLUMBINE, 65 
 
 But not alone, sweet flower ! 
 
 From thee do we acquire 
 Those lessons, deep, instructive, 
 
 Which elevate, inspire : 
 
 Each blade of grass surrounding, 
 
 Each bud that gems the sod. 
 With eloquence ennobling, 
 
 Speaks of Almighty God. 
 
 Each wayside bears his token ; 
 
 Each mossy bank and dell, 
 Each brook with rippling murmurs, 
 
 Of Him, their anthems tell. 
 
 God's works are revelations. 
 
 Where all who see may learn 
 Of mercy and provision. 
 
 Through every leaf they turn, 
 
 As easily as a Newton 
 
 Deciphers His control. 
 And bows, in searching nature, 
 
 With reverence of soul ; 
 
 Thus, from the sacred volume. 
 
 The infant mind may read 
 
 6* 
 
66 SPIRIT BREATHINGS. 
 
 Of the o'erruling Power 
 
 Which governs plant and seed. 
 
 All things throughout creation 
 Speak purpose and design ; 
 
 E'en from the lofty stars, to 
 The lowly Columbine. 
 
 SPIRIT BREATHINGS. 
 
 By the dying light 
 
 Of the fading day, 
 Ere the shades of night 
 
 Steal the sun away \ 
 In the twilight hour. 
 
 When the earth seems fair. 
 With a spell and power, 
 
 Spirits whisper near ! 
 
 When this holy time 
 Calmness doth impart, 
 
 And the evening chime 
 Echoes through the heart ; 
 
 From the misty past 
 Shadows then appear ; 
 
SPIRIT BREATHINGS. 67 
 
 As I met them last — 
 
 Friends beloved and dear. 
 
 From the world unseen, 
 
 Whither they have fled, 
 Seem to breathe between 
 
 Spirits of the dead, — 
 Moving softly round, 
 
 Voices on mine ear, 
 With mysterious sound, 
 
 Seem approaching near. 
 
 To each whisper' d word. 
 
 To each tone of love. 
 Answers low are heard, — 
 
 Murmurs from above. 
 And the spell divine 
 
 Carries me from earth 
 To the bound'ry line 
 
 Of new life and birth. 
 
 Can it be a dream 
 
 Wherein thus I dwell ? — 
 Do things only seem. 
 
 Which can thus impel ? 
 Oh, if such it be, 
 
 I would ever dream ; 
 
eS WEEP NOT FOR ME. 
 
 In my ecstasy — 
 
 Only have things seem ! 
 
 Welcome, golden light 
 
 Of the parting day ; 
 Thou, my soul, take flight ; 
 
 Pass from earth away ! 
 With the disenthrall'd, 
 
 High communion hold ! 
 Wherefore be appall' d. 
 
 Spirits to enfold ? 
 
 WEEP NOT FOR ME. 
 
 Oh ! weep not for me, dear friend ! when I die, — 
 The voice of the wind will round my tomb sigh ; 
 A requiem 'twill breathe above my deep rest. 
 When earth presses o'er my once throbbing breast, 
 
 Then weep not for me ! — weep not for the dead ! 
 Let dews of eve be the only tears shed. 
 Lament not my loss ! the willow let wave, 
 And sole mourner be to droop o'er my grave. 
 
 Oh ! think of me as one freed from the chain, 
 Whose fetters of flesh brought bondage and pain : 
 
VOICES OF THE PAST. 69 
 
 If mortals with earth should fail to agree, 
 'Tis merciful, then, when God sets them free. 
 
 Recall how I long'd, through life's weary way, 
 From life to escape forever away, — 
 Then shed not a tear, but rather rejoice, 
 When still'd is my pulse and silent my voice. 
 
 A little while yet, and we will unite. 
 Where Time is absorbed in Eternity's light ; 
 Where soul unto soul, and mind unto mind, 
 Can intercourse hold, uncheck'd, unconfined. 
 
 Then weep not for me ! weep not for the dead ! 
 Let dews of eve be the only tears shed. 
 Oh, waste not thy grief, but rather rejoice, 
 When still'd is my pulse and hush'd is my voice. 
 
 VOICES OF THE PAST. 
 
 In vain I strive to loosen 
 
 The chains around me cast, — 
 
 The galling chains of memory. 
 That bind me to the Past. 
 
70 VOICES OF THE PAST. 
 
 But not a link will sever, 
 And not a tie will break ; 
 
 The present hath no power, 
 My dreaming soul to wake. 
 
 I wander through the by-gone ; 
 
 I wander all alone ! 
 And voices hush'd, forever, 
 
 In each familiar tone, 
 
 Are round me still resounding ; 
 
 I cannot bid them cease ; 
 Although they bear reproaches, 
 
 That rob me of my peace. 
 
 I cannot say. Be silent : 
 They whisper in my ear, 
 
 Until my soul is trembling 
 With penitence and fear. 
 
 I hear low footsteps falling. 
 The air with echo rings ; 
 
 While viewless hands are binding 
 My spirit's airy wings. 
 
 I cannot fly, nor leave them, — 
 These strange and fleshless ones 
 
VOICES OF THE FAST. 71 
 
 They read each thought and feeling 
 My stricken conscience shuns. 
 
 The more I would escape them, 
 
 These fetters round me cast, 
 The closer still they hold me 
 
 Unto the haunting Past. 
 
 I gaze into the mirror 
 
 Upheld before my eyes, 
 AVhose surface is undimmed, 
 
 Except by human sighs : 
 
 I see the dreary shadows 
 
 Of lost and wasted years; 
 Each spectre wan and ghastly 
 
 My coward conscience fears. 
 
 The wrongs I have committed, 
 Like ghosts from out the tomb. 
 
 Arise, and stalk before me, 
 In dark and funeral gloom. 
 
 The good I have omitted 
 
 Throughout those years now gone, 
 The works I have neglected, — 
 
 So easy to have done ! 
 
72 
 
 WHEN TO CALL. 
 
 The deeds of love I've slighted, 
 The talents I've misspent; 
 
 Those talents never given, 
 But only to me lent ! 
 
 But lent to me by Heaven, 
 
 To be again return' d 
 Unto the Mighty Master, 
 
 With other talents earn'd ! 
 
 WHEN TO CALL. 
 
 Call on me in the day of trouble ; I will delivei* thee, and thou 
 shalt glorify me." — Ps. xv. 
 
 On Thee, O God ! then let me call. 
 
 When trouble's day is nigh ! 
 For Thou wilt be my refuge, all ! 
 
 Wilt hear me from on high. 
 
 This promise from Thy holy book 
 
 With hopeful heart I take. 
 That Thou wilt deign on grief to look, 
 
 And pity for my sake; 
 
WHEN TO CALL. 
 
 73 
 
 For my poor human sake, and all 
 
 Thy fragile ones of clay ; 
 That Thou wilt hear each weary call, 
 
 Nor turn Thine ear away. 
 
 That Thou wilt raise the fainting heart, 
 Bow'd down with weight of woe ; 
 
 As from the rock Thou caused to start 
 The living fountain's flow. 
 
 That Thou wilt dissipate the haze 
 
 That veils from view the sun. 
 And fill our souls with strength and praise, 
 
 To say, ''Thy will be done." 
 
 But not alone in trouble' s day, 
 
 O Father ! let me fall 
 Before Thy throne to plead and pray, 
 
 Or only then to call. 
 
 When pleasure's rays before me shine. 
 
 And flowers round me grow. 
 Then let my grateful praise be Thine, 
 
 From whom all blessings flow. 
 
 When weak and tempted on the way 
 Of life's uncertain course, 
 
 7 
 
74 / HEARD THE YEAR DEPART. 
 
 Then let me for deliv'rance pray, 
 Of Thee, Eternal Source ! 
 
 Eternal Source of life and light ! 
 
 Of hope, and trust, and ALL ! 
 Oh, let my soul to Thee take flight. 
 
 On Thee implore and call ! 
 
 I HEARD THE YEAR DEPART. 
 
 I HEARD the vanish'd year depart ! 
 His footsteps echoed through my heart, 
 As o'er Time's bridge he seem'd to flee, 
 And drop within Oblivion's sea. 
 
 And fain would I have follow' d him 
 Adown his journey dark and dim; 
 I would have lain upon his breast, 
 And sunk with him to final rest. 
 
 But I in life's sad web was bound. 
 Held in by subtle threads around ; 
 I had no choice, but here to stay 
 And listen to his requiem lay. 
 
 I 
 
WOULD YE WISH TO LINGER? 
 
 Yet I recall his natal day, 
 When cheery welcomes o'er his way 
 Were strewn, and he, so young and bright, 
 Blush'd in the dawn of new-born light. 
 
 But he is gone, and with him fled 
 Bright hopes and joys forever dead ; 
 Sweet dreams that had their faith in him, 
 That with his life grew faint and dim. 
 
 75 
 
 QUESTION — WOULD YE WISH TO 
 LINGER? 
 
 Oh, would ye wish to linger. 
 
 Fatigued and weary-hearted ? 
 Say ! would ye care to tarry 
 
 When joys had all departed ? 
 When hopes once fondly trusted 
 
 Lie all unlink'd and shatter'd, 
 Like richly-laden vessels 
 
 By tempests toss'd and scatter'd ? 
 
 Oh, would ye wish to linger 
 
 When Memory's light had faded ? 
 
 Or when its golden sunshine 
 By heavy clouds was shaded ? 
 
76 WOULD YE WISH TO LINGER? 
 
 When night alone surrounded 
 The heart in darkness steeping, 
 
 And naught could stay the spirit 
 From sorrowing and weeping ? 
 
 Oh, would ye wish to linger 
 
 When darling dreams had vanish'd, 
 The ardor and devotion 
 
 Of even love seem'd banish'd? 
 Like roses in the autumn, 
 
 By summer left and slighted. 
 Till rude advancing winter 
 
 Had every blossom blighted. 
 
 Say ! would ye be contented 
 
 Thus gradually to languish. 
 To feel within the bosom 
 
 The deepening of anguish ? 
 Or would ye, would ye rather. 
 
 In life's still buoyant blooming. 
 Sink peacefully to slumber 
 
 Within the earth's entombing, 
 
 Whilst yet the heart was freshest. 
 And love its light imparted. 
 
 Before despair corroded. 
 
 Or hope had nigh departed ? 
 
/ WOULD NOT WISH TO LINGER. 
 
 For many a gathering tempest, 
 And many a chilling sorrow, 
 
 The early dead escapeth. 
 That wait upon the morrow. 
 
 77 
 
 ANSWER — I WOULD NOT WISH TO 
 LINGER. 
 
 I WOULD not wish to linger 
 
 When loved ones had departed ; 
 In this dim world to tarry, 
 
 Alone and broken-hearted ; 
 When from life's tree had faded 
 
 Its freshest, greenest branches. 
 Be left to brave the tempest 
 
 Amidst its change and chances. 
 
 I would not wish to linger 
 
 When friendship fondly trusted. 
 With golden chain once perfect. 
 
 Was rent in twain, or rusted ; 
 Nor when the spirit's fervor. — 
 
 That God-inspired treasure — 
 Had ceased to warm and color 
 
 The life still left with pleasure. 
 
 7* 
 
78 I WOULD NOT WISH TO LINGER. 
 
 Till worldly cares corroded 
 
 The heart's impulsive feelings, 
 And left us cold and selfish 
 
 In thoughts and daily dealings : 
 For Time, although a robber, 
 
 More than he takes may leave us ; 
 And they are bless' d of Heaven 
 
 Whose deaths the earliest grieve us. 
 
 Then let me die in Spring-time, 
 
 Or Summer's joyous season ; 
 With trusting soul uncheck'd by 
 
 Philosophy's cold reason ! 
 When trees are full and leafy. 
 
 And forest birds are singing, 
 I'd have my chainless spirit 
 
 Its heavenward course up-winging. 
 
 I'd have my mem'ry verdant 
 
 As grasses o'er me growing. 
 Reflecting warmth and sunlight. 
 
 As streamlet brightly flowing \ 
 Amidst the glow of nature, 
 
 Her breathings low and tender, 
 My soul, undimm'd in freshness. 
 
 To nature's God I'd render ! 
 
ANNIE. 
 
 79 
 
 ANNIE. 
 
 I STOOD beside thy coffin, 
 
 And watch'd thee lying there, 
 
 But ne'er had seen thy features 
 So calm and pale appear. 
 
 I stoop' d and kiss'd thy forehead ; 
 
 How marble-like and cold ! 
 The hand I took was nerveless, 
 
 Nor gave responsive fold. 
 
 But yester-night it rested 
 
 So warmly in my own. 
 While you and I were talking 
 
 In old familiar tone. 
 
 We little dream'd then, Annie, 
 That Death was hov'ring nigh ; 
 
 That ere another sunset 
 
 'Twould h^ your turn to die : 
 
 Oh ! solemn is that angel 
 
 That comes with unheard tread, - 
 Whose touch converts the living 
 
 Unto the cold and dead ! 
 
3o ANNIE. 
 
 So strange and so mysterious ! 
 
 With subtle power to steal 
 The life-blood from the pulses, 
 
 And all the senses seal ! 
 
 I brought the freshest flowers, 
 And laid them on your breast; 
 
 I call'd you by your name, dear; 
 But naught disturb' d your rest. 
 
 You've pass'd the mystic portal 
 That bars that world from this. 
 
 And found, I trust, dear Annie, 
 Its promised joy and bliss ! 
 
 Your life was pure and blameless ; 
 
 Its angel deeds, maybe. 
 Have won for you the laurels 
 
 Of bright eternity. 
 
 They bore you to the altar. 
 And laid you softly there ; 
 
 While he, the rev' rend father, 
 Invoked his pious prayer. 
 
 He'd known you from your childhood. 
 And spoke of your young days. 
 
 
ANNIE. 
 
 Devoid of guile and evil, 
 And full of holy ways. 
 
 The sacred choir chanted 
 
 Its hymn so bright and blest ; 
 
 To ''Angels ever fair," — 
 To take you to their rest. 
 
 And, oh ! that strain angelic 
 
 Stirr'd through my sentient soul, 
 
 Until the unshed tears fell. 
 Resistless of control. 
 
 And which of us, by striving, 
 Can tell whose turn 'twill be 
 
 The next, this life so transient 
 To leave, and follow thee ? 
 
 Oh that my house in order. 
 Like thine, was only set ! 
 
 I'd hail my near departure. 
 Unconscious of regret ! 
 
 I would not wish to linger 
 Beyond to-morrow's sun, 
 
 Had my appointed labors 
 But faithfully been done ! 
 
82 WOMAN. 
 
 WOMAN — WHAT WOULD LIFE BE 
 WITHOUT HER? 
 
 What without its crest would be the mountain ? 
 
 What the desert blank and drear, 
 What, without oasis, tree, or fountain. 
 
 Something wanting everywhere ? 
 Day without a sun, — as cheerless; 
 
 Night without a moon, — as dark ; 
 Winter, raging cold and fearless. 
 
 Yet devoid of warmth or spark. 
 
 Woman ! word of woe and sorrow ; 
 
 Sorrow deep, though all her own ; 
 Yet sweet source from whence to borrow 
 
 Consolation's truest tone ! 
 Wells of grief within her springing. 
 
 Hidden by the sunshine fair ; 
 Lonely echoes through her ringing, 
 
 Yet producing music rare ! 
 
 On her bosom's snowy pillow 
 
 Rests the tiny head secure. 
 Free from storm and raging billow, 
 
 Moor'd in anch'rage safe and sure. 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Dimpling smiles there breaking brightly, 
 
 Greet her lullaby so low. 
 Rest thee, baby, nestle lightly ; 
 
 Ne'er so true a friend thou'lt know. 
 
 With its years the mind discloses, 
 
 O'er the heart steal childish cares, 
 She it is whose love disposes, 
 
 Kisses off the April tears. 
 Time flits by. The boy advances 
 
 On to manhood's golden prime ; 
 She, in love so strong, the chance is, 
 
 May in strength with years decline. 
 
 And he notes her footsteps falter, 
 
 Till the silent grave they gain ; 
 Falls he then before God's altar, 
 
 Sending up his wail of pain. 
 Thus heart-riven, sad and lonely. 
 
 Whither turns he for relief? 
 Here 'tis woman, woman only. 
 
 Shares the burden of his grief ! 
 
 Maid, with hopes on him all centred ; 
 
 Life, in his young spirit bound ; 
 She upon his soul has enter' d. 
 
 Brought her love to close his wound. 
 
 ^Z 
 
84 WOMAN. 
 
 Though a mother's face he misses, 
 Though her smile is from him gone,- 
 
 Tender voice and gentle kisses, — 
 Yet he is not all alone ! 
 
 When disease has darkly won him. 
 
 To his couch she softly steals ; 
 Though the fever-chains be on him. 
 
 Hers the cooling touch that heals. 
 Through the chamber dull and dreary, 
 
 Sunbeam-like, she softly glides ; 
 Uncomplaining and unweary, 
 
 Angel-like she there abides. 
 
 To his lips, consuming, drying, 
 
 Crystal drops she holdeth up ; 
 Lifts the head that's drooping, dying ; 
 
 Gives him from the nectar-cup. 
 Dripping hands o'er temples burning. 
 
 There, the fire gently slakes ; 
 Fingers passing and returning. 
 
 Light and cool as fresh snow-flakes. 
 
 Should a fear assail his spirit. 
 Should despondency oppress. 
 
 She, with love and Orphic merit. 
 Tunes her voice to cheer and bless. 
 
BREAK THE BOND. 85 
 
 Woman ! blessing best and dearest 
 
 God vouchsafes to thankless man ; 
 Sweetest fruit of seed the fairest 
 
 In Creation's golden plan ! 
 
 BREAK THE BOND. 
 
 Oh, break the bond that fetters thee to sin, 
 
 And let the floods of glory enter in ! 
 
 Tear down the veil which shades thy view from good, 
 
 And rise superior to this brooding mood ! 
 
 Because thy heart is rankling dark with grief, 
 
 Dost doubt all truth and promise of relief? 
 
 Dost say this wondrous world will glide to void ? 
 
 Then take the cup, and be thy spirits buoy'd! 
 
 Of Faith's bright flowing potion freely drink; 
 
 For joy is sparkling to its very brink. 
 
 And every crystal drop to thee is given. 
 
 As dew that falls refreshingly from heaven. 
 
 Then take the life-sustaining cup and drink, 
 
 Nor in thy weak presumption idly sink ! 
 
 Oh, still the tempter's voice within, that would 
 Entice thee far away from right and good ! 
 
86 NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 
 
 And listen to these echoes low and deep, 
 
 Those conscience-breathing tones that o'er thee sweep. 
 
 And on thy recreant spirit let them fall, 
 
 As on the sin-molested soul of Saul 
 
 From David's harp the sweet notes fell, and bade 
 
 The evil spirits vanish into shade. 
 
 NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 
 
 A WAIL is heard from vonder isle, 
 
 A wail of deep despair. 
 The mighty lion there enchain' d 
 
 Is restless in his lair. 
 
 His haughty spirit, unsubdued. 
 Beats 'gainst his panting breast : 
 
 The giant mind still schemes and plans. 
 Although by bars oppress' d. 
 
 But not oppress' d the intellect ; — 
 
 No bolt nor bar can hold 
 The busy workings of a brain 
 
 So vigorous and bold. 
 
 To frame his thoughts in daring acts, • 
 His chains defy, inveigh : — 
 
NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 
 
 The fetter' d form is impotent 
 The spirit to obey. 
 
 How can he brook this vile restraint, 
 
 This state debased and tame ? 
 He, at whose sight the world stood awed, 
 
 Who wonder' d at his name ? 
 
 How frets and groans the heaving heart 
 
 Against the ruffled breast ! 
 The iron of his prison-bars 
 
 Has pierced his soul oppress' d. 
 
 How trembles now the once strong hand 
 
 To burst each galling chain ; 
 To pulverize the barren isle. 
 
 Or rend its rocks in twain ! 
 
 His breathings are constrain'd and check'd,- 
 
 Like Egypt's noble Nile, — 
 Held by the flinty barriers 
 
 That threaten and revile. 
 
 Is this a fitting home for him, 
 
 The hero of the world. 
 Whose potent grasp the coronet 
 
 From realm to realm hath hurl'd ? — 
 
88 NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 
 
 Who kings and queens hath made at will, 
 Hath built and broken thrones ; 
 
 Whose master-touch the world's great heart 
 Hath fiU'd with trembling tones ? 
 
 Oppression's rule exiles him thus 
 
 From kindred kind apart ; 
 And Europe hears, unpitying, 
 
 The sighs which rend his heart ! 
 
 Too high the flight ambition made ! 
 
 His crime; lies in his power, 
 And jealous fears retain the key 
 
 That locks him in his tower. 
 
 Ah ! thus, alas! with glory oft ; — 
 Its greatness seals its fate ! 
 
 The loftiest aims, too lofty made. 
 Their purposes frustrate. 
 
IN RESPONSE TO AN EXPRESSED DOUBT. 89 
 
 IN RESPONSE TO AN EXPRESSED 
 DOUBT. 
 
 And so thou fearest, when this life is o'er, 
 
 That thou and I may meet, dear friend, no more ; 
 
 But that we may divided be, indeed. 
 
 By alter'd views, or different shades of creed, — 
 
 The change oiform which marks our worship here, 
 
 May separate us in the other sphere. 
 
 Alas ! to one so kind, how must this thought 
 
 With cruel anguish be entwined and wrought ! 
 
 Thy loving heart how wildly must it wring. 
 
 Athwart thy soul what gloomy phantoms fling ! 
 
 For well I know thou wouldst not choose 
 My presence ever from thy side to lose ! 
 Thou wouldst not choose that we should never fold 
 Our souls together, nor communion hold ! 
 To meet no more ! Oh, bid the thought begone ; 
 Of false enthusiasm is it born ! 
 And sooner doubt religion that would teach 
 Mankind, who fain a higher state would reach, 
 That outward pomps alone can lead him there, 
 Or God will hear but certain forms of prayer. 
 
 8- 
 
90 
 
 IN RESPONSE TO AN EXPRESSED DOUBT. 
 
 Think rather, creeds and sects are there undone, 
 Or, what is equal, blended into one. 
 
 « 
 The love of God ! If this indeed inspire 
 
 The human breast, what more doth HE require? 
 
 I doubt not when this troubled life is o'er, 
 
 That we shall meet upon the Peaceful Shore. 
 
 As sure as man's immortal, he'll retain 
 
 Identity, and kindred ties regain. 
 
 And we will know each other heart to heart ; 
 
 Nor sect, nor creed, can hold us then apart. 
 
 To worship God ! this is His potent will ! 
 The form availeth not ; 'tis worship still. 
 All recognize, by instinct or by sense. 
 Throughout creation His omnipotence. 
 The savage who, with reverential eye, 
 Inclines his gaze towards the sunlit sky, 
 And there, before the burning god of day. 
 His soul untutor'd offers up to pray. 
 May be as true in homage and in praise 
 As he whose oft- repeated, pious lays 
 'Neath gilded dome of consecrated fane 
 Resound. Like him, he seeks alone the main 
 And mighty spring of life within, around. 
 Of things uncomprehended that abound 
 
IN RESPONSE TO AN EXPRESSED DOUBT. 91 
 
 Throughout the universe. Like him, also, 
 
 His is the sacred privilege to know 
 
 A power supreme and self-existent lives. 
 
 All animated life this knowledge gives; 
 
 All Nature, with her voices far and wide, 
 
 From ocean's depths to mighty mountain side. 
 
 Proclaims it audibly, this living truth ; 
 
 To Age she shouts, and whispers it to Youth. 
 
 Thus, worship render'd with a pure intent — 
 All worship for the Highest Power meant, 
 Without regard to doctrine, sect, or creed — 
 Is worship still of the true God, indeed. 
 
 Although the road each takes bears different name, 
 The goal that's sought by all is yet the same ; 
 And though a little distant here we roam, 
 We'll reach at length the same eternal home. 
 
 The Force that serves to strengthen and to buoy 
 
 Our fragile barks through life, will ne'er destroy ; 
 
 For are we not eliminations sent 
 
 From the Omnific and Omnipotent? 
 
 As rays proceeding from the sun above, 
 
 Are we reflective from the God of Love ; 
 
 And when these rays on earth shall cease to burn. 
 
 To Him, their source, they must again return. 
 
92 
 
 HELICONIAN SPRING. 
 
 Then fear not, when life's pilgrimage be o'er, 
 That we, dear friend, shall meet beyond no more ! 
 When from their tenements of grosser clay 
 Our souls shall separate and soar away, 
 The aspirations and the hopes long pent 
 Within our nature's limit, shall find vent. 
 Ah ! then we'll upward and we'll onward soar, 
 By shades of doctrine confused no more. 
 
 HELICONIAN SPRING. 
 
 Thy waters flow with lustre bright, 
 
 Sweet Heliconian Spring ! 
 Thy vocal waves of crystal light 
 
 Their golden bubbles fling. 
 
 Thy bosom, so transparent, clear, 
 
 Reflects in varied shade 
 Those thronging fancies, soft and fair, 
 
 Which poets' breasts invade. 
 
 'Tis here thy vot'ries steal at eve, 
 
 To drink thy nectar free ; 
 The flowers of thought to cull and weave. 
 
 That grow and twine round thee. 
 
HELICONIAN SPRING. 
 
 Here deathless names of clays gone by, 
 
 Thy eddies have impress' d ; 
 Of those who breathed life's fervent sigh 
 
 Upon thy glowing breast. 
 
 For ancient is thy sparkling birth ; 
 
 Since first from out the mount 
 Pegasus struck the sacred earth 
 
 Whence forthwith gush'd the fount. 
 
 'Twas here she'd come with sadden'd brow, 
 Thy treasured stores to glean, — 
 
 To breathe of love, her fondest vow, — 
 The Muse of Mitylene. 
 
 Yes, Sappho, yes ! Ethereal light 
 
 Still hovers round to tell 
 How thy impassion'd soul, so bright, 
 
 Burnt with poetic spell. 
 
 For of thy melody, each tone 
 With laurels crown 'd thy name ; 
 
 While yet thy heart beat sad and lone 
 Amidst its boundless fame. 
 
 Too pure are spirits such as thine. 
 
 Too fine for mortal clay; 
 Too sublimated and divine, 
 
 With common earth to stay. 
 
 93 
 
94 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 What is this monitor within, 
 
 So low, yet so distinct. 
 That with the sinews of the soul 
 
 Seems intimately link'd ? 
 
 And through its chambers most obscure, 
 
 It echoes far and wide. 
 In waves of sound that surge and sway, 
 
 Like ocean's restless tide. 
 
 It beats against the troubled breast. 
 
 Though stern the nature be. 
 As rocks are rent and shaken by 
 
 The wild, resistless sea. 
 
 And hark ! I hear a strong man speak. 
 
 His voice is low and deep ; 
 Though none but One those words should hear. 
 
 As murmur' d in his sleep. 
 
 ''Be still, be still, thou warning voice, 
 
 My troubled spirit's guest ! 
 I cannot bear thy beating 4;one 
 
 Against my heart oppress' d ! 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 '' Oh, hush ! or grant me respite from 
 Thy whisp'rings strange and wild ! 
 
 Why unrelenting wilt thou be 
 To earth's misguided child? 
 
 ^' Why am I doom'd in chains to writhe, 
 Thy coward, crouching slave? 
 
 Though all the world I may defy. 
 Not vainly thee can brave. 
 
 "Why shackled thus, and thus constrain'd 
 
 To hearken to thy tone ; 
 That, wander wheresoe'er I may, 
 
 I cannot be alojie ? 
 
 *' Thy keen upbraidings follow close; 
 
 Strict vigils dost thou keep. 
 Oh for some opiate to lull 
 
 Thee, Conscience, back to sleep ! 
 
 " Why from thy slumbers have I call'd. 
 
 Or roused thee from thy rest. 
 To fling this weight of dread remorse 
 
 Athwart my quivering breast ? 
 
 " Why have I stray' d from life's fair path, 
 To pluck this cruel thorn 
 
 95 
 
gS CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Which festers in my heart all day, 
 From night again till morn ? 
 
 '' Oh, wherefore do we wander from 
 The forward course of Right? 
 
 'Tis hard, when once we lose the way, 
 To find again the light ! 
 
 '' 'Tis hard that jewel to regain, 
 Thy inward peace and balm, 
 
 To stifle back the haunting voice 
 Which robs the soul of calm. 
 
 '^ In vain I've striven to elude, 
 To break from out thy thrall ; 
 
 Nor yet escaped in solitude, 
 Nor in the crowded hall ! 
 
 ''I've met thee in the forest lone, 
 
 In deepest wood and dell ; 
 Thy voice within the silence round 
 
 Hath o'er my spirit fell. 
 
 ''I've heard it 'midst the festive scene. 
 Where joy seem'd but to flow ; 
 
 With each heart-throb its echoes came. 
 Like tickings sharp and low ; 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 "Till, like a clock set in my soul, 
 
 It seem'd e'en meant to run 
 For evermore its ticking course. 
 
 And never to be done. 
 
 ''And when the sable midnight holds 
 
 Her solemn, mystic reign, 
 It ghost-like steals into my dreams, 
 
 My sleep of rest to drain ! 
 
 " That virtue yields her income fair, 
 
 And ' is its own reward,' 
 My soul, confess ; and know that the 
 
 Transgressor's way is hard ! 
 
 "Then, oh, absolve me, conscience stern. 
 
 An erring child of clay, 
 Who'd fain regain the narrow road 
 
 That leads to light and day ! 
 
 " For though the world its sanction yields. 
 
 And smiles upon our deeds. 
 The heart, from thence to draw content, 
 
 Thy just approval needs. 
 
 "There is in life no recompense 
 That is not fairly gain'd, — 
 
 9 
 
 97 
 
98 ''HOW TO live;' and ''HOW TO die:' 
 
 No prize of worth, except it be 
 By honest means attain'd. 
 
 ''Oh, Conscience ! I believe in thee, 
 
 Thou agent of the One ; 
 With solemn mission in the heart 
 
 To urge, ' His will be done.' 
 
 ''Thou guide infallible, unseen, 
 
 To tempted mortals given. 
 To caution against shoals of sin 
 
 And pilot on to heaven." 
 
 "HOW TO LIVE," AND "HOW TO 
 
 DIE." 
 
 TO DR. J. D. W. 
 
 Thanks for the lesson "how to live;" 
 
 To learn it we should try ; 
 For of itself 'twill surely give 
 
 The knowledge "how to die." 
 
 A well-spent life will easy make 
 
 The final passage o'er 
 The bridge of Time that we must take 
 
 To the eternal shore. 
 
REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 And duties fiU'd with faithful care, 
 
 And blessings to us given, 
 Enjoy'd with grateful hearts while here. 
 
 Are steps that lead to heaven. 
 
 Then one whose useful days go by 
 
 In service to his kind, 
 Will surely, in " the hour to die," 
 
 His compensation find. 
 
 For He who teaches " how to live" 
 
 The life that's only lent, 
 Will also teach thee how to ^ive 
 
 It back again when spent. 
 
 99 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Ah ! happy 'tis, when years are fled, 
 
 To wander back in truth. 
 Amidst the fragrance flowers shed. 
 
 And rainbow-tints of youth. 
 
 Remembrance ! golden chain to stay 
 
 The Present to the Past ; 
 The floating mist of yesterday 
 
 Around to-day that's cast. 
 
I oo RE MEMBRA NCE. 
 
 And there reflected, dimly though, 
 
 Are pleasures crowding fast ; 
 Those joys too bright for life below. 
 
 Too beautiful to last. 
 
 We tasted them in vanish'd years. 
 And mourn'd they would not stay; 
 
 And now, desiiite our grief and tears, 
 They come again to-day. 
 
 In pensive mood we close our eyes, 
 
 And visions of the true 
 Steal through the haze of mem'ry's skies, 
 
 Though mellow' d in each hue. 
 
 The friends we loved, the hands we press'd, 
 
 Are here, — are in our own ! 
 The voices kind, that cheer'd and bless'd 
 
 In each familiar tone ; 
 
 Like evening breezes wafted o'er 
 
 ^olic harp so low, 
 Come sweeping back from that far shore 
 
 They went to long ago. 
 
SAVE ME. loi 
 
 SAVE ME. 
 
 God of mercy, hear my prayer ! 
 My inmost heart to Thee I bare ; 
 Its deep recesses dark and drear, 
 Where mortal sight can never peer, 
 Unveil'd, uninterrupted lie. 
 Reveal' d to Thy all-searching eye. 
 There's not a thought and not a sigh, 
 By Thee unmark'd can rise or die. 
 
 There's not a pain whose crushing weight 
 Bows down my heart disconsolate. 
 That links me to a bitter fate. 
 And makes me misery's constant mate; 
 There's not a doubt or discontent 
 By which my brooding spirit's rent. 
 And not a feeling hush'd or pent. 
 Eludes Thy vigilance intent. 
 
 There's not a tear in secret. shed, 
 Nor dark remorse to which I'm wed, 
 For by-gone hours misspent and dead, 
 By Thee, O God, unmark'd, unread. 
 
 9* 
 
I02 SAVE ME. 
 
 Then save me from my pending fate ! 
 Oh, save me from temptation's bait ! 
 Remit me ere it be too late ; 
 Redeem me through Thy mercy great ! 
 
 Before Death's night its shadow flings 
 Athwart my spirit's drooping wings, 
 Oh, save me from the sin that brings 
 But sorrow to the soul it clings; 
 From weaknesses which all infest, 
 And make the human heart their nest. 
 That torture the unwary breast. 
 Refusing it repose or rest ! 
 
 Oh, save me from the cruel wrong, 
 That in my soul I've nursed so long, 
 Until its gloom is fix'd thus strong 
 As to that soul seems to belong ! 
 Then let Thy strength abide with me ; 
 And let my love, O God, for Thee, 
 A guiding index henceforth be 
 To lead me to eternity ! 
 
INSPIRA TION. 
 
 103 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 'Tis inspiration, gift divine, 
 That sways the sentient soul ; 
 
 Whose light and rapture strong, combine 
 To stir without control ! 
 
 It moves the spirit in its source, 
 With power of strange degree. 
 
 And bears it on with potent force 
 'Twould ne'er resist nor flee. 
 
 It sweepeth as a seraph's wing, 
 
 O'ershadowing the heart. 
 Reflections bright around to fling, 
 
 And glory to impart. 
 
 'Tis inspiration's breath ignites 
 
 The spark of genius' fire ; 
 That kindles all its dormant lights, 
 - And wakes the living lyre. 
 
 'Tis inspiration that doth light 
 The poet on his way ; 
 
I04 
 
 INSPIRA TION. 
 
 That lends to gloomy shades of night 
 The glowing torch of day. 
 
 'Tis inspiration doth unfold 
 The truth within, that lives, 
 
 That turns the ink to liquid gold, — 
 The pen its mastery gives : 
 
 That lights the eye, so strange and wild, 
 
 With lustre not its own ; 
 That gave to Byron's favor'd '' Childe" 
 
 A voice of heavenly tone. 
 
 To inspiration, thanks we owe 
 
 For every noble name. 
 O'er which can never cease to flow 
 
 The breathings warm of Fame. 
 
 For inspiration, true and fair, 
 
 Is not an earth-born seed ; 
 Although we find the flower here, 
 
 From higher source proceed 
 
 The hand and power that shed it round 
 
 Within the yielding soil, 
 That plant the stem in fertile ground 
 
 To blossom without toil ! 
 
INSPIRA TION. 1 05 
 
 'Twas inspiration, mystic spell, 
 
 That tuned Apollo's lyre; 
 'Twas inspiration did impel 
 
 The strange Promethean fire. 
 
 'Tis inspiration, music's soul. 
 
 Whose notes afar extend ; 
 Whose harmonies from pole to pole, 
 
 Enraptured echoes blend. 
 
 'Twas inspiration call'd to birth 
 
 Homeric skill divine ; 
 That scatter'd Horace's odes o'er earth, 
 
 To linger through all time. 
 
 That moved with strength a Milton's mind 
 
 Unto conceptions bright ; 
 And though the poet's eyes were blind, 
 
 It lent him heavenly light. 
 
 'Twas inspiration that awoke 
 
 The harp of modern days. 
 That with each rare and master-stroke 
 
 Produced ecstatic lays. 
 
 It swept the strings that Byron play'd. 
 With grand and plaintive sound ; 
 
io6 THE ONLY HOPES I CHERISHED. 
 
 Throughout his life with him it stay'd, 
 And left him world-renown'd. 
 
 To Shelley's page its gleams it brought ; 
 
 To Rogers, and to Moore, 
 The pleasures of sweet memory taught : 
 
 A Lalla Rookli it bore. 
 
 On Southey's heart it shed its balm ; 
 
 On Campbell and on Scott ; 
 It gave the world a gentle Lamb, 
 
 That ne'er can be forgot. 
 
 THE ONLY HOPES I CHERISHED. 
 
 I TENDED it and nursed it, 
 
 I watch'd it day by day; 
 And yet, my dream so lovely 
 
 Took wings and flew away ! 
 
 I held it to my bosom ; 
 
 I press' d it to my heart ; 
 And in that hour blissful 
 
 I thought 'twould ne'er depart. 
 
 J 
 
THE ONL Y HOPES I CHERISHED. 
 
 It was so sweet and joyful, 
 
 To feel it resting there ; 
 With each ecstatic impulse, 
 
 To each heart-throb so near. 
 
 'Twas bound within existence; 
 
 I lived but in its light ; 
 Who would have thought the treasure 
 
 Could*vanish out of sight ! 
 
 But tell me, did you ever 
 Select a beauteous flower, — 
 
 While watching o'er it daily. 
 And tending it each hour; 
 
 While feeling so securely 
 
 That it was wholly thine, 
 Nor thinking it could gather 
 
 One dark or withering sign ; — 
 
 Oh, tell me, did you ever, 
 While in your joy supreme, 
 
 All suddenly see vanish 
 
 Your bright and blissful dream ? 
 
 Ah ! thus it was my flower 
 Was broken from life's stem ; 
 
 107 
 
lo8 THE MAY OF 1868. 
 
 Thus early was it blighted, 
 My pure and priceless gem ! 
 
 And since that hour fatal, 
 Existence has gone by 
 
 Upon a rugged pathway, 
 Beneath a clouded sky. 
 
 The only hopes I cherish' d 
 Around my flower grew ; 
 
 And when it died and left me, 
 They paled and perish' d too 
 
 THE MAY OF 1868. 
 
 Through winter's long and wer.ry day. 
 
 Oft have we thought of thee, oh May ! 
 
 When every scene so chill and drear 
 
 At thy approach should disappear; 
 
 When frost and snow, the ground that traced, 
 
 Should by thy roses be displaced ; 
 
 For ah ! we'd known thee since a child. 
 
 And at thy coming always smiled. 
 
 To welcome in thy light and grace. 
 
 But now we meet an alter' d face ! 
 
THE MAY OF 1868. 
 
 Thy brow is dark and void of mirth, 
 Thy footstep falleth o'er the earth; 
 Thou comest like a friend estranged, 
 In everything, save name, so changed ■ 
 Thy tones are harsh, thy hand is cold, 
 No more thy sunshine doth enfold 
 The scene ; thy voice moans sadly by, 
 As with complaint in every sigh ; 
 While chill'd and grieved we turn away, 
 And wonder if this can be May ! 
 
 Oh, cease that wail ! it fills my soul 
 
 With sadness which resists control ; 
 
 With every gust that round it sweeps. 
 
 My melancholy spirit weeps : 
 
 It weeps to think that hopes most prized 
 
 Are ne'er, or rarely, realized, — 
 
 That where we turn for warmth and light, 
 
 We meet repulse and with'ring blight, 
 
 The soul to chill, the heart to sear ; 
 
 'Tis disappointment everywhere ! 
 
 There are no flowers to bloom to-day, 
 Or deck thee out, O mournful May ! 
 The little seed in earth that's sown. 
 Above it hears thy dismal moan, 
 10 
 
 109 
 
3IO THE MAY OF 1868. 
 
 And keeps its buds and blossoms down, 
 Afraid to meet thy angry frown ; 
 Afraid thy cold, unfriendly breath 
 Might mar and cause a sudden death. 
 Thy golden smile, so wont to cheer, 
 Is sadly missing everywhere. 
 
 The trees around, that should be seen 
 Array' d in robes of tender green. 
 Their leafless branches sway and bend 
 With every blast thy bleak. winds send. 
 As though they held communion strange, 
 At this, O May, thy ruthless change ; 
 As though thy faith they e'en suspect. 
 And whisper of thy keen neglect ; 
 They miss the birds that sweetly sing 
 Among their branches every spring. 
 
 The very stream whose murmuring voice 
 
 So oft hath bade my heart rejoice, 
 
 Seems even alter' d in its tone, 
 
 Since May has thus capricious grown ; 
 
 It hath a cadence sad and low, 
 
 That through my spirit seems to flow. 
 
 While gazing on its glassy breast. 
 
 No smile disturbs its sullen rest ; 
 
THE MAY OF 1868. II I 
 
 No dimpling sunbeams there invade, 
 But all is cold, unwelcome shade. 
 
 Though autumn may for summer sigh, 
 And weep for flowers that fade and die, 
 May has no cause thus to enshroud 
 And veil her radiance 'neath a cloud. 
 'Tis time thy tears should cease to lave 
 And water vanish' d winter's grave. 
 All April through, spring's grief was shed. 
 And March winds moan'd its parent dead. 
 'Tis nature's law, the aged must go ; 
 Then bid thy sorrow cease to flow. 
 
 It seems as though regret and ruth, 
 
 Transferr'd unto the brow of youth, 
 
 Triumphant sat, as though intent 
 
 To crush back nature's proper bent, — 
 
 As though indulgence they'd deny 
 
 To every kindly sympathy. 
 
 O May ! break from this vile restraint, 
 
 And cast aside each wintry taint ; 
 
 Oh, let thy smile illume and bring 
 
 To birth the sights and sounds of spring ! 
 
H2 MAY SPIRITS NOT COMMUNE? 
 
 MAY SPIRITS NOT COMMUNE? 
 
 The sun is sinking, dearest, 
 
 Is fading from the sky ; 
 And I am dreaming, dearest. 
 
 O'er days that are gone by. 
 
 But thou art absent, dearest. 
 
 Long, distant miles away; 
 My voice thou never hearest. 
 
 When raised for thee to pray : 
 
 And most I pray at even ; 
 
 At hush of holy hour 
 My voice goes up to heaven, 
 
 With sacred strength and power. 
 
 And often, while I'm kneeling 
 
 In solemn prayer for thee. 
 Comes o'er my soul the feeling. 
 
 Thy spirit's near to me ! 
 
 Nor time nor space can wean us — 
 
 Our faithful love and fond ! 
 Though oceans roll between us. 
 
 They cannot break the bond. 
 
TO THEE, O GOD! 113 
 
 And to the loving-hearted, 
 
 When sweet keys are in tune, 
 Though distant each be parted. 
 
 May spirits not commune ? 
 
 TO THEE, O GOD! 
 
 To Thee, O God ! though oft I pray. 
 
 Though oft my voice I raise. 
 As bending by Thy throne each day. 
 
 In supplicating praise, 
 I find my spirit yet is bow'd, 
 
 By wrong and grief oppress' d; 
 It struggles 'neath misfortune's cloud, 
 
 And longs in vain for rest. 
 
 Then why, oh, why does it not gain 
 
 The hoped-for goal of peace? 
 Why do my prayers not banish pain 
 
 And cause my sorrows cease ? 
 Although to Thee my heart makes known 
 
 Its woes and weakness all, 
 As oft again I find it prone 
 
 In weakness still to fall. 
 
 10 
 
 * 
 
114 ^<^ '^^^ QUEEN OF MAY. 
 
 So oft, again, I find each sin 
 
 Which I've to Thee confess'd, 
 Steal dark and serpent-like within 
 
 To tempt my feeble breast. 
 Yet will I trust and strive for right 
 
 As often as I stray ; 
 I'll turn my spirit towards the light, 
 
 To Thee again I'll pray. 
 
 I'll battle till the better part 
 Within me victory gains ; 
 
 Till virtue triumphs in my heart. 
 And sin is laid in chains. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN OF MAY OF MOUNT 
 DE SALES. 
 
 CROWNED MAY 1 8, 1 85 9. 
 
 'Tis sweet to view the budding flower 
 
 Unfolding bright and fair, 
 Disclosing every passing hour 
 
 New beauties, rich and rare ; 
 To watch it in its yielding spring, 
 
 As hearts are turn'd to thee, 
 
TO THE QUEEN OF MAY. n^ 
 
 In hope and trust its days may bring 
 A ripe futurity. 
 
 Thou art a flower of blooming May, 
 
 A blossom fresh and fair ; 
 No other plant upon this day 
 
 Can with thy charms compare. 
 The violet droops in modest shade, 
 
 To meet thine eyes of blue ; 
 Its own perfections seem to fade 
 
 Beneath their heav'nly hue. 
 
 The roses, too, are paler grown 
 
 Beside thy blushing cheek ; 
 By contrast, half their bloom is flown. 
 
 While they look pale and weak. 
 Thus e'en the lilies, which we deem 
 
 So wondrous pure and white. 
 If near thy snowy brow, might seem 
 
 E'en touch'd with shades of night. 
 
 Thy gentle form of perfect mould, 
 
 A Hebe seems to move ; 
 The rosy goddess doth enfold 
 
 Thee with her youth and love. 
 The Graces all, united here, 
 
 Seem eager to excel, 
 
Il6 TO THE QUEEN OF MAY. 
 
 To show how beautiful and fair 
 The home is where they dwell. 
 
 And thy sweet features freely give 
 
 An index to the heart, 
 Where purity alone can live, 
 
 Or virtue form a part. 
 Contentment true should fill each breast 
 
 Of those who train' d thy youth ; 
 Whose early lessons have impress' d 
 
 Thy soul with faith and truth. 
 
 They've watch'd the seed from childhood's hour. 
 
 They've pointed out the light ; 
 They've led thee forth, with pious power. 
 
 Within the path of right. 
 In their pure hearts fresh joys combine ; 
 
 Their recompense is here. 
 Although the gem they'll soon resign 
 
 Unto the parent's care. 
 
 For thou wilt leave the convent wall. 
 
 And in new scenes engage. 
 To deck the gay and festive hall, 
 
 Or move upon life's stage. 
 But wheresoe'er thy steps may roam. 
 
 Still breathed on high for thee, 
 From out the "Sisters' " sacred home 
 
 Their holy prayers will be. 
 
TO THE QUEEN OF MA V. 117 
 
 O lovely BESSIE ! bright and fair 
 
 Enchantress of the day ! 
 Thy friends have gather' d round thee here, 
 
 To hail thee QUEEN OF MAY. 
 Thy classmates all, with but one voice, 
 
 United, firm, and free. 
 Have made the favorite their choice, 
 
 And placed the crown on thee. 
 
 And suited is that brow so well 
 
 A coronet to bear : 
 Its queenly beauties seem to tell 
 
 'Twas form'd for fate so fair. 
 While sixteen summers scarce have fled, 
 
 Have pass'd thy graces by, 
 'Tis beautiful to see thee led 
 
 To fill this place so high. 
 
 Auspicious seems the present scene. 
 
 Of years that are to be ; 
 When Fortune with kind hand may glean 
 
 Life's golden hours for thee ; 
 May lead thee through Elysian green, 
 
 Her triumphs to impart ; 
 Not only there to reign May Queen, 
 
 But Queen of every heart. 
 
il8 PM KNEELING BY THY GRAVE. 
 
 I'M KNEELING BY THY GRAVE. 
 
 I'm kneeling, sister, by thy grave; 
 
 I feel the fresh' ning air; 
 The weeping willows o'er me wave, — 
 
 But, oh, thou art not here ! 
 
 I see thy name upon the tomb. 
 
 That name beloved and dear ; 
 I know within its silent gloom 
 
 Thy form is resting there. 
 
 And though thy grave I cannot pass, 
 
 I'm bending here in love ; 
 Though fall my tears upon the grass, 
 
 My heart still soars above. 
 
 My spirit wings its upward flight 
 
 Beyond the cloudless sky. 
 To where thine own hath taken flight 
 
 With sinless souls on high. 
 
 And seest my heart, O sister dear ! 
 
 As by thy grave I rest ? 
 I pluck a flower and place it here 
 
 Against my aching breast. 
 
rM KNEELING BY THY GRAVE. 
 
 I stoop and kiss the sacred earth 
 
 That presses o'er thy head, 
 And feelings strange spring into birth, — 
 
 Oh, sister ! art thou dead ? 
 
 Thou art not dead ! for nothing dies ; 
 
 No, nothing God has made; 
 The plants and flowers beneath the skies. 
 
 They die not, though they fade. 
 
 They fade to spring to life again. 
 
 More beautiful and new; 
 So fade we here from grief and pain. 
 
 And brighter lives renew. 
 
 Thou art not dead ! but only flown 
 
 To being more intense ; 
 Thy bright perceptions brighter grown, 
 
 Sublimed in every sense. 
 
 I know thy home afar is made 
 
 With angels in the skies ; 
 Where flowers bloom that never fade. 
 
 And music never dies. 
 
 And oh ! I know when time shall roll, 
 
 For me, on earth no more. 
 We'll meet each other soul to soul. 
 
 On the Eternal shore. 
 
 119 
 
I20 WHERE ART THOU? 
 
 WHERE ART THOU? 
 
 TO H- 
 
 Art wandering o'er the deep, 
 O friend of other years? 
 
 My vigils lone I keep, 
 In sad and silent tears. 
 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 Art borne to distant land, 
 From kindred far away. 
 
 No friendly voice, nor hand, 
 Thy lonely heart to stay? 
 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 Art where the billows sweep. 
 And plays the light sea-foam, 
 
 O'er ocean's briny deep. 
 
 Far, far removed from home ? 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 We've waited long in vain 
 For word or sign from thee, 
 
WHERE ART THOU? 121 
 
 And scarcely thought again 
 Thy cherish' d form to see. 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 The question will intrude 
 
 Throughout the weary day, 
 And steal from joyous mood 
 
 The spirit's light away. 
 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 Long years have circled by 
 
 Since, parting from thy home. 
 Was breathed the farewell sigh, 
 
 And turn'd thy steps to roam. 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 For since that hour of tears. 
 
 Though hope the heart then buoy'd. 
 
 But changing doubts and fears 
 Have fiU'd the weary void. 
 Where art thou.? 
 
 And can it e'en be so, 
 
 That while our watch we keep, 
 Thy human joy and woe 
 
 Are shrouded in Death's sleep? 
 Where art thou ? 
 II 
 
122 STILL FALLS THY VOICE, 
 
 Oh ! cruel, unkind fate ! 
 
 That drops its misty veil 
 O'er doubts disconsolate, 
 
 Nor answers back the wail. 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 But still, through hope and fear, 
 'Twill be our sweetest task 
 
 To breathe thy name in prayer, 
 E'en while we vainly ask. 
 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 STILL FALLS THY VOICE UPON 
 THE EAR. 
 
 Still falls thy voice upon the ear, 
 
 Its music lingers yet ; 
 But mingles with that music clear 
 
 An echo of regret, — 
 Regret that fate should almost blend 
 
 The meeting, and '^good-by," — 
 Should doom the hour we claim'd thee ^'friend'* 
 
 To breathe the parting sigh. 
 
 But since removed by fate's decree. 
 Since parted from thy smile, — 
 
STILL FALLS THY VOICE. 
 
 I'll tell thee what I'd love to be, 
 To watch o'er thee the while : 
 
 I'd love to be an angel bright, 
 To hover near thy form. 
 
 To chase away the clouds of night 
 And^ shelter thee from storm. 
 
 No shaft of pain or sorrow's dart 
 
 Should reach thy cloudless youth, 
 Should enter thy confiding heart, 
 
 Or mar its gentle truth ; 
 And flowers fair around thy path 
 
 Should waft their fragrance sweet. 
 Should banish earthly pain and wrath, 
 
 That fain thy steps would meet. 
 
 Nor tempest dark should threaten more 
 
 To dim thy youthful pride ; 
 I'd spread my wings to shade thee o'er. 
 
 And turn its breath aside. 
 I'd lead thee with my radiant light. 
 
 To realize each hope \ 
 Each dream that fancy pictures bright. 
 
 With golden keys I'd ope. 
 
 And from each cup thou'dst seek to drink, 
 I'd turn all doubt away; 
 
 123 
 
124 
 
 DEATH IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 I'd overflow it to the brink, 
 
 With bliss as bright as day. 
 And thou wouldst marvel thus to view 
 
 Each scene to thee unfold, 
 All beaming o'er with lustre new, 
 
 And bright with sparkling gold. 
 
 But since vay flight I may not wend. 
 
 Thy guardian thus to be, 
 And though to earth I must descend, 
 
 In dreams I'll watch o'er thee. 
 My thoughts will bear thy name on high. 
 
 In prayers I daily breathe, 
 To ask the Master, ever nigh. 
 
 Thy life with joy to wreathe. 
 
 DEATH IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 TO MRS. P. F. S. 
 
 The child is lonely all the weary day ; 
 His toys lie round neglected, and his play 
 Forgotten seems ; his wonted merry tone 
 Is hush'd, while ever and anon a moan 
 
 ^ 
 
DEATH IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 125 
 
 Bursts wildly from his swelling breast ; his words 
 Come forth in broken sobs, as though the chords 
 Of that young heart were lying all unstrung. 
 What grief hath thus his infant spirit wrung ? 
 Why are his tender years thus doom'd to share 
 The cup of Disappointment and of Care ? 
 
 Close nestling to his mother's side, his eyes 
 
 Gaze sadly into hers, while answering sighs 
 
 Respond to his bereaved and lonely heart : 
 
 How can she consolation now impart ? 
 
 She, who is stricken by the same harsh blow, — 
 
 Whose anguish from the same sad cause doth flow? 
 
 Behold ! upon near couch extended there, 
 
 A little form so delicate and fair ; 
 
 That face smiled sweetly yesterday, but now 
 
 'Tis cold, and Death is written on the brow. . 
 
 Yes, she is dead ! the only daughter gone ! — 
 What wonder if the stricken mother mourn ? 
 In that same hour that closed her earthly day, 
 How many hopes maternal died away ! 
 How many dreams then springing into birth 
 Alike were crush' d and crumbled unto earth ! 
 She's dead ! no marvel that the boy shed tears ; 
 The sweet companion of his early years 
 
 II* 
 
126 
 
 DEATH IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 Is lost to him ; he'll miss the joyous tone ; 
 Long will he feel, without her, sad and lone. 
 
 But ever and anon that mother's side 
 He quits, while soft and slow his footsteps glide 
 Across the room, towards the tiny bed 
 Where sleeps the little sister, pale and dead. 
 Oh, wond'ringly he strains his mournful eyes, 
 As though the mystery of Death, which lies 
 Before him there, he fain would solve — 'tis death, 
 He knows, and parted is the fleeting breath 
 From out the mould — her play on earth is o'er ; 
 Of death, than this fair boy, who knoweth more? 
 
 And baby brother, scarce from arms escaped. 
 In lisping syllables that words half shaped, 
 Says, '' Sister sleeps too long : I want to play 
 With her; oh, wake her up !" They draw away 
 The infant's falt'ring steps ; they cannot bear 
 The words of that unconscious one to hear. 
 Poor babe ! he hath not learn 'd to understand 
 The gloom or weight of sorrow's heavy hand : 
 Then why should he lament, why should he weep, 
 When Death itself he knoweth not from sleep? 
 
 That little sister's form will soon be hid 
 And veil'd forever 'neath the coffin-lid ; 
 
 
DEATH IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 127 
 
 They'll lay her softly down to her last rest, 
 The grassy mound of spring above her press' d ; 
 For it was when the vernal buds were rife, 
 She drooped and faded from the tree of life ; 
 The very loveliest blossom of all May, 
 That drifted from the parent-stem away ; 
 But watching angels caught the treasure bright, 
 And wafted it on high to realms of light. 
 
 Dear little one ! God hath been kind to thee, 
 
 To break the chain of thy mortality. 
 
 And send His messengers on earth to bear 
 
 Thee early upward to thy native sphere. 
 
 Before a worldly taint had touch' d thy breast. 
 
 To take thee home to thy eternal rest. 
 
 Though broken hearts press round thy new-made grave, 
 
 And bitter tears the grassy sod will lave. 
 
 Yet those who loved thee most would not recall 
 
 Thee back from heaven, to earthly pain and thrall. 
 
128 THE LOCK OF GRAY, 
 
 THE LOCK OF GRAY. 
 
 TO E. M. 
 
 Thine eye is bright, thy cheek is fair, 
 
 Yet 'neath thy curls of jet 
 A tiny lock of silver hair 
 
 Seems there so strangely met. 
 
 Thy step is light, thy tone is gay, 
 
 That floats upon the air : 
 How found that little lock of gray 
 
 A home with one so fair ? 
 
 With one so fair and young as thou, — 
 
 A child, almost, in years, — 
 Yet on thy clear and sunny brow 
 
 That badge of time appears. 
 
 'Twould seem thy heart of spring's sweet prime. 
 
 While in its careless flow. 
 Was met by frost of winter time, 
 
 That left a flake of snow. 
 
THE LOCK OF GRAY. 
 
 129 
 
 'Twould seem youth's streamlet gay and proud, 
 
 Reflecting the clear sky, 
 Was check'd as by a sudden cloud 
 
 Of sorrow passing by. 
 
 And was it then the breath of care 
 Which touch'd the lock with hoar. 
 
 That ripples through thy dusky hair 
 And shades thy temples o'er? 
 
 Oh, if eclipsed by sorrow's dart 
 
 Has been thy pleasure bright. 
 Still kind and true it left thy heart, 
 
 Though e'en subdued in light. 
 
 It left thy spirit pure and free — 
 
 Its music-notes abound — 
 While no untuned or hidden key 
 
 Rings forth discordant sound. 
 
 It left the loving and beloved. 
 
 Begirt by friendship's chain, 
 Whose golden links, long tried and proved. 
 
 No power can rend in twain. 
 
 Then do not grieve, or in sad dream 
 
 That lock of white regret ; 
 'Tis beautiful as silver stream 
 
 'Midst waves of glossy jet. 
 
130 
 
 THE POET'S HEART 
 
 But down life's calm and peaceful glade, 
 
 May long years roll away, 
 Ere grief's chill hand, or sorrow's shade, 
 
 Another lock turns gray. 
 
 THE POET'S HEART. 
 
 Ay, watch his cheek and mark his eye, 
 
 As shadows fall and part. 
 With varied thoughts that treasured lie 
 
 Within his poet-heart. 
 Upon his brow the light will play. 
 
 Reflected fancies gleam, 
 That draw his soul from earth away 
 
 Unto celestial dream. 
 
 A sound or tone of music heard 
 
 His spirit will impel ; 
 A gentle sigh or murmur' d word 
 
 For him will hold a spell. 
 A world is his from common earth 
 
 Secure and undefiled :' 
 He seem'd almost from very birth 
 
 A strange and dreamy child. 
 
THE POETS HEART. 131 
 
 He'd watch the sun at even-time 
 
 In grandeur fade and die, 
 And listen to the vesper chime, 
 
 With soul-illumined eye. 
 And when the glitt'ring worlds would blend 
 
 Within the arch above, 
 Each silv'ry star he'd claim as friend 
 
 And kindred in his love. 
 
 He would converse with evening's breeze. 
 
 When softly floating by ; 
 And as the winds sough' d through the trees. 
 
 He'd answer back each sigh ; 
 While zephyrs fresh that kiss'd his cheek. 
 
 His brow that lightly fann'd, 
 The mystic language they would speak 
 
 His heart could understand. 
 
 Beside a fount or crystal stream 
 
 His haunt he often made. 
 To muse alone in pensive dream. 
 
 While merry waters play'd. 
 And as the wavelets fell apart, 
 
 Each tidal motion low 
 Responded to his poet-heart 
 
 And caused sweet thoughts to flow. 
 
132 / SET MY HEART UPON A BREAM. 
 
 And thus he grew to man's estate, 
 
 From common earth apart ; 
 The Muses twined with theirs his fate, 
 
 And stole his dreaming heart. 
 And yet the world enough receives 
 
 From that bright life within. 
 In varied links that fancy weaves, 
 
 To claim him friend and kin. 
 
 For if throughout life's troubled dream 
 
 The poet's pen impart 
 A ray of hope, or sunny gleam, 
 
 To one desponding heart, 
 Ah, then his task is not in vain, 
 
 Nor vain his holy toil. 
 If he let fall, 'midst thorns of pain. 
 
 One rose to grace the soil. 
 
 I SET MY HEART UPON A DREAM. 
 
 I SET my heart upon a dream 
 
 As beautiful as day. 
 But ere my heart had clasp' d the dream, 
 
 The dream had died away ! 
 
I SET MY HEART UPON A DREAM. 
 
 I gazed with joy upon the sky, 
 Where all seem'd blue and clear; 
 
 But while I gazed, the light pass'd off, 
 And naught but clouds were there ! 
 
 I sought the world, and friends I found 
 
 While fortune's star shone bright ; 
 But I was left alone to mourn 
 
 When adverse grew the night. 
 With vain impress I took my boat, 
 
 And thought to sail alone : 
 I trusted in myself to find 
 
 A world to call my own. 
 
 With impulse free and spirit buoy'd, 
 
 I seized the ready oar, 
 I push'd my boat towards the sea. 
 
 And soon I'd left the shore. 
 But once embark' d upon the deep, 
 
 With weak and single hand, 
 Ah ! then I long'd my ship to store — 
 
 I sigh'd it was not mann'd. 
 
 The currents rose, the winds blew high, 
 
 I heard the tempest's sound, 
 The lightning's flash reveal 'd at once 
 
 'I'he rocks and shallows round. 
 
 12 
 
 "^11 
 
134 
 
 I SET MY HEART UPON A DREAM. 
 
 Without a guide in this dread hour, — 
 
 Without a harbor near, — 
 I felt my feeble senses fail. 
 
 My soul turn sick with fear. 
 
 I fell prostrate upon the deck, 
 
 And raised my voice on high, 
 Imploring for protection from 
 
 A Power beyond the sky. 
 Then, 'midst the gloom that shrouded all, 
 
 A sudden light sprung up, 
 A ray of hope fell gently o'er 
 
 My dark and bitter cup. 
 
 I watch 'd the ray with holy trust 
 
 Until it grew quite bright, — 
 Its glory seem'd to give me strength 
 
 And lead my heart aright. 
 With index clear, it pointed out 
 
 The only course to try, 
 And written through that course I read, 
 
 On God alone rely / 
 
 When next I sent my boat abroad, 
 
 With faith I stored it well ; 
 I mann'd it strong with truth and trust, 
 
 Nor fear'd the tempest's swell; 
 
IN REPLY TO ''KATIE IN HEAVEN:' 135 
 
 And when the ocean heaved and rose, 
 
 When winds blew fiercely round, 
 They never harm'd the little bark, 
 
 Whose hopes in God were bound. 
 
 IN REPLY TO ''KATIE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 " Stay with the angels, 
 And keep me a place." 
 
 "KLa-TIE in Heaven" is sweet as a bird. 
 When its low music at twilight is heard ; 
 Softly it steals through the sentient heart, 
 Wak'ning the depths in its shadiest part. 
 
 *' Katie in Heaven !" dost hear the lone voice. 
 Calling its darling — its heart's vanish'd choice? 
 Full of the love that is boundless and free, 
 Reaching from earth up to heaven and thee ? 
 
 Yet, with the love so unselfish and pure, 
 Bidding thee rest with the angels secure; 
 Then, when the journey of life shall be o'er, 
 Welcome him home to Elysian shore. 
 
 J " 
 
136 ''JUST AS I am:' 
 
 "Katie in Heaven !" low hymn of the heart ! 
 Volumes of faith do the sweet words impart ; 
 Hope, like a fountain, outflows with the sound, 
 Awakening echoes responsive around. 
 
 ''JUST AS I AM." 
 
 Just as I am ! 
 
 By grief oppress' d ; 
 Just as I am ! 
 
 With guilt-stain'd breast ; 
 Just as I am ! I come to Thee : 
 Then spare, O God ! and comfort me ! 
 
 Just as I am ! 
 
 Temptation-bound, 
 Begirt by sins, 
 
 That frown around j 
 Just as I am, I bend the knee. 
 And lift my soul, dear Lord, to Thee ! 
 
 Just as I am ! 
 
 Life-sick and weak ; 
 Just as I am ! 
 
 Thy throne I seek : 
 
EVELENE TO THEODORE. i^y 
 
 No native health or strength is mine : 
 Endue me, Lord, with strength of Thine ! 
 
 Just as I am ! 
 
 With hope o'ercast; 
 No ray to turn 
 
 To in the past ; 
 The present dark, the future cold; 
 My trust in Thee alone I hold. 
 
 EVELENE TO THEODORE. 
 
 I AM thinking of thee, dearest, 
 
 Wand 'ring in a foreign land. 
 Parted from the friends the nearest, 
 
 By the distant ocean strand. 
 How I miss thy fond affection. 
 
 And thy voice so true and kind ! 
 How I strive against dejection. 
 
 Which o'ersweeps the heart and mind ! 
 But 'tis vain ! thy absence leaveth 
 
 Want and void none can supply ; 
 And my lonely spirit grieveth 
 
 As Time's lagging steps go by. 
 
 12* 
 
138 EVELENE TO THEODORE. 
 
 Haste thee home ; uproot the sorrow 
 
 Grown like weeds upon my way ; 
 Then I'll smile at least to-morrow, 
 
 Though I only weep to-day. 
 Let thy tone, sincere and loving. 
 
 Harmonize my troubled breast ; 
 With its mellow music proving 
 
 All suffice to lull to rest. 
 Though the sunlight warm be kissing 
 
 Ardently each plain and hill, 
 Since thy face to me is missing, 
 
 Nature's self seems changed and chill. 
 Nature's self seems ever haunted, 
 
 Haunted by thy memory ! 
 Where thy footsteps stray' d undaunted, — 
 
 There the groves seem fiU'd with thee; 
 There thy name seems ever spoken. 
 
 Breathed upon the summer air ; 
 Every note, complete or broken. 
 
 Seems to have of thee a share. 
 
 Theodore ! the breezes sing it; 
 
 Theodore ! the brook repeats ; 
 Theodore ! the wild birds ring it. 
 
 Answering to my lone heart-beats. 
 Everywhere, then. Nature's beauty 
 
 Brings but scanty joy to me ; 
 
EVELENE TO THEODORE. 
 
 For my soul owns but one duty 
 
 In the chorus raised for thee. 
 When Aurora bright is peeping, 
 
 O'er the east, at break of day, 
 Till the stars their watch are keeping, 
 
 Theodore ! for thee I pray. 
 And when Night, with sable curtain. 
 
 Welcomes man to slumber deep, 
 When I sleep I'm always certain 
 
 In my dreams thy form to meet ; 
 But on waking, sadly sweepeth 
 
 Disappointment o'er my heart. 
 And my soul in sorrow steepeth, 
 
 With the thought, we are apart. 
 
 Haste thee back, oh, hasten, rover! 
 
 Homeward o'er the distant main; 
 Evelene awaits her lover 
 
 In his native land again. 
 Gentle breezes, softly blowing. 
 
 Waft the bark that bears him o'er. 
 Fill the sails with graceful flowing, 
 
 Till he reach this friendly shore. 
 
 139 
 
140 
 
 AMONGST THE GRAVES. 
 
 AMONGST THE GRAVES. 
 
 They laid him down amongst the graves, 
 
 Within the lone churchyard, 
 Where grows the yew, the willow waves 
 
 Above the grassy sward ; 
 Where flowers too, in early bloom. 
 
 Blend with the verdure there. 
 And, twining round each silent tomb, 
 
 Shed fragrance on the air. 
 
 In evening's hour, at set of sun. 
 
 Beside his grave to pray, 
 With gentle step there cometh one 
 
 Who loved him in life's day ; 
 Who loved him with that fervent truth 
 
 That few on earth may feel ; 
 With all the strength of passionate youth. 
 
 That words can scarce reveal. 
 
 Beneath the softly bending trees, 
 
 She sinks upon the sod ; 
 And, wafted by the murmuring breeze, 
 
 Her voice goes up to God. 
 
 \ 
 
AMONGST THE GRAVES. 
 
 So peaceful is the golden air, 
 
 So calm the scene around, 
 Her orisons fall low and clear, 
 
 Unbroken in each sound : 
 
 '' O Father ! since it was Thy will 
 
 To bear him far from me, 
 Submission in my soul instill 
 
 To Thy supreme decree : 
 Subdue within my feeble breast 
 
 Each wrong rebellious plaint ; 
 Although my spirit droop oppress'd. 
 
 Although it sink and faint. 
 
 '* Still give me strength through all to pray 
 
 To Thee, Eternal One ! 
 And let my heart, though breaking, say, 
 
 'Thy will, not mine, be done !' 
 For well I know Thy ways are good. 
 
 What shape they e'er assume. 
 And mortal-kind in meekness should 
 
 Receive the mortal doom. 
 
 ''Then may I tread with humble heart 
 
 Life's rough and weary way. 
 Until in mercy Thou shalt part 
 
 The spirit from the clay. 
 
 141 
 
142 
 
 AMONGST THE GRAVES. 
 
 Till Thou shalt bid forever cease 
 
 The fever-dream within, 
 And grant me, with him, rest and peace 
 
 From sorrow and from sin. 
 
 '^For, oh ! I know his soul refined 
 
 With Thee hath refuge now : 
 His godlike purity of mind 
 
 Was written on his brow. 
 How sinless were his deeds of life ! 
 
 How chaste his thoughts would flow I 
 He scarce was fitted to the strife 
 
 Of this rude world below. 
 
 *' And oh, I watch' d him day by day. 
 
 With trembling hope and fear, 
 Till he from hence was call'd away 
 
 To fill his native sphere. 
 And then I knew that on this earth 
 
 The dreams the first to fade 
 Are those which have the brightest birth. 
 
 Of rarest flowers made. 
 
 *' Here will I kneel at holy eve. 
 
 Beside his silent grave. 
 My supplications pure to weave, 
 
 The sod with tears to lave. 
 
A SKETCH. 
 
 And here, when life is ended all, 
 
 Oh, may I sink to rest ; 
 The blue and gold of heav'n my pall. 
 
 My heart above his breast!" 
 
 143 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 HOPE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 She turns towards her native land, 
 And fondly waves her snowy hand, 
 While gayly glides the bark along. 
 And backward floats her parting song : 
 
 '' Farewell, dear mother ! Fare thee well, 
 
 My father tried and true ! 
 'Tis destiny which breaks the spell 
 
 That wedded me to you. 
 
 '' We cannot hold on earth below 
 
 Uninterrupted joy ; 
 The cup of pleasure may not flow 
 
 Unmingled with alloy. 
 
144 ^ SKETCH. 
 
 ''One sunbeam, gliding through the heart, 
 
 Another may displace : 
 From your protection I depart 
 
 To meet his fond embrace. 
 
 ''I bear your smiles within my soul, 
 
 Your voices on mine ear ; 
 And when I reach the distant goal, 
 
 They'll tarry with me there. 
 
 ''And he, to greet his absent bride, 
 
 Is ling'ring on the shore: 
 Oh, swiftly, then, thou changing tide, 
 
 Our gallant skiff waft o'er. 
 
 "He'll prove to me the changeless friend 
 That each of you has proved ; 
 
 Our hearts, though two, in one will blend ; 
 He'll love me as you've loved. 
 
 "Then farewell, home and kindred ties ! 
 
 Farewell, ye wood and grove ! 
 In other lands, 'neath other skies, 
 
 My steps must learn to rove. 
 
 " Thus onward dash, ye billows strong, 
 Till we meet heart to heart ! 
 
 1 
 
A SKETCH. 
 
 How shall I count the hours long 
 Which keep us still apart ! 
 
 ''For teeming fancy bears to me 
 
 A picture bright and rare ; 
 From out the seal'd futurity 
 
 It dawns upon me here. 
 
 '' And we are wandering side by side 
 
 Within that golden clime, 
 While through a silv'ry, sparkling tide 
 
 Floats on our happy time. 
 
 ''We drink the nectar of the breeze, 
 
 And revel in the spell j 
 Whilst brilliant birds amongst the trees 
 
 In music rare excel. 
 
 "And grateful fragrance, wafting round, 
 
 The richest off rings yield. 
 While flowers of every hue abound 
 
 Throughout the fruitful field. 
 
 " Oi yoit we'll talk in rosy hours, 
 Dear friends of youthful days ; 
 
 Within our green and vine-clad bowers 
 We'll whisper of your praise. 
 
 13 
 
 145 
 
146 A SKETCH. 
 
 ** Oh, Harold, love ! I come to thee ! 
 
 Be still, impatient heart ! 
 Thou canst not make the moments flee, 
 
 Or faster e'en depart." 
 
 But, while she speaks, her damask cheek grows pale. 
 
 Her accent and her voice imperfect fail : 
 
 Her beauteous bosom heaves with quick surprise, 
 
 And wonder gazes from her soul-lit eyes. 
 
 What hears or sees she thus to cause this change. 
 
 So overwhelming and so passing strange? 
 
 The sky, a moment since serene and fair, 
 Is alter'd suddenly to aspect drear. 
 The tempest's breath has risen fierce and wild. 
 And shrieks in frantic voice around the child; 
 While, lo ! the scene she gazed on with delight 
 Is all eclipsed by dismal shades of night. 
 'Tis thus the happy smile and bitter tear 
 In quick succession oft, alas ! appear. 
 The vivid lightning sweeps in flashes past. 
 And sends its glitter amidst spar and mast, 
 While, like sea-demons, in the lurid glare. 
 The frowning rocks in dread array appear ; 
 The roar of thunder deafens every ear. 
 While death and danger hover darkly near : 
 
A SKETCH. 
 
 147 
 
 And 'midst each wail of woe, each human moan, 
 
 Estelle is left forsaken and alone. 
 
 Each mind upon its threaten'd fate intent, 
 
 On self-salvation every thought is bent. 
 
 But, 'mongst the sick'ning cries which rend the air, 
 
 And dread confusion reigning everywhere, 
 
 She utters not a moan ; her very breath 
 
 Seems hush'd almost as though in death. 
 
 Alone she sits, disconsolate and fair, 
 
 A fragile prey to gathering despair. 
 
 'T would seem her very charms might prove 
 Suffice stern Nature's troubled breast to move; 
 The mournful glances of her drooping eye 
 Might shame the anger from the ebon sky. 
 But no ! as uncheck'd passions grow in rage. 
 The elements still wildly war and rage. 
 
 But while, as statue-like, upon the deck 
 She sits, her golden tresses o'er her neck, 
 Her ivory arms so listlessly flung by. 
 Her snowy breast disturb' d by scarce a sigh. 
 As though this apathy were e'en denied, 
 A phantom figure towards her seems to glide. 
 His vestures are of dark and sombre hue ; 
 His looks her bosom with strange life imbue ; 
 
148 A SKETCH. 
 
 His face with such a ghastly pallor spread, 
 That, gazing on't, her own grows like the dead. 
 
 ^' Why rest thee here?" he speaks, in freezing tone : 
 
 *'Thou, 'mongst my many victims, thou alone 
 
 Refusest in this wild and with' ring hour 
 
 To feel the blight of my all-blighting power. 
 
 Thou knowest me now ! as I draw near, — 
 
 My breath hath quench' d thy calm, — my name is 
 
 FEAR. 
 Ah, mark the many writhing in my grasp ! 
 Their hearts' cores round relentlessly I clasp ; 
 They dare not hence the potency deny 
 Of one confess'd a god in times gone by; 
 Of one to whom Hostilius* meekly bow'd. 
 And tremblingly his mighty temple vow'd ; 
 Of one who in each age and land imparts 
 Unmanly terror unto coward hearts!" 
 
 Obedient to the phantom's will, the maid 
 In spirit and in soul became afraid : 
 A thousand terrors, until then unknown, 
 O'ersweep her senses with menacing tone; 
 
 * Fear and Paleness were supposed to be gods, and were wor- 
 shiped by Tullus Hostilius. 
 
 i 
 
A SKETCH. 
 
 149 
 
 Sensations new her timid bosom rend, 
 Until her own with others' wailings blend. 
 She turns with horror from each blacken' d wave, 
 And shrinks instinctive from a wat'ry grave. 
 With life she is not then so quick to part ! 
 For FEAR has e'en enslaved her anxious heart, 
 Until beneath his glances chill and dread 
 She falls as one inanimate and dead. 
 
 Yet, unappeased, the elements rage round. 
 The ocean deep with angry tones resound. 
 The boist'rous air with human moanings fill ; 
 But morning finds the scene subdued and still, — 
 All hush'd to rest, and calm'd for aye. 
 The souls that pass'd into eternity ! 
 Dread spectre DEATH hath cast his sceptre o'er. 
 And borne their spirits to the boundless shore. 
 
 One form alone hath he refrain'd to sweep 
 Amidst those sleepers 'neath the treach'rous deep. 
 And sleeps she too, — though not the sleep of death 
 Her locks are stirr'd as by returning breath ; 
 Her beauteous lids, so delicate and white. 
 Are trembling to disclose the spirit's light ; 
 Her parting lips have breathed a dreary tone : 
 She starts, and wakes, to find herself alone. 
 
 13* 
 
ISO 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 Alone ! No kindred mortal by or near ! 
 
 The thought disconsolate renews her fear. 
 
 Alone upon the briny, boundless deep, 
 
 Thy vigils, poor Estelle, alone to keep ! 
 
 And, with reviving mem'ry, steals apace 
 
 Her absent Harold's fond and loving face. 
 
 She ne'er must see him, — thought disconsolate ! 
 
 And who will bear to him the tidings of her fate? 
 
 Alas ! her dreams of rosy hue are o'er, 
 
 And soon she'll gaze upon the sky no more ! 
 
 And, oh, the calm which o'er her senses steals 
 
 Is worse than blows that startling Terror deals ! 
 
 It is the desolation Sappho bore. 
 
 When all of hope for her in life was o'er. 
 
 The surging waves forever must divide 
 
 Her from her Harold — from her lover's side! 
 
 Ah, Phaon, cruel youth, who could destroy 
 
 The lovely maid of Lesbos' only joy ! 
 
 Whose fickle heart could ever learn to stray 
 
 From her impassion'd spirit far away ! 
 
 From her enamor'dsoul, her potent love, 
 
 O beauteous youth, ah, wherefore couldst thou rove ? 
 
 How sacrifice her to that treach'rous sea 
 
 Which flows beneath Leucate's promontory? 
 
 To thy sad fate who could a tear refuse. 
 
 Thou gifted one, thou Mytilenean muse? 
 
A SKETCH. 151 
 
 Thy harp's low plaints through ages reach us here, 
 Its last sad echoes vibrate on the ear : 
 They breathe of love, volcanic in its flow, 
 Condemn' d to burn, yet languish here below. 
 
 Thy fate, Estelle, though sad, is scarce so fell 
 
 As hers of whom the ancient legends tell. 
 
 Not falsehood holds thy Harold from thy heart, 
 
 As Phaon held from Lesbos' maid apart ; 
 
 Though sever' d from him by the surging sea. 
 
 Each pulse beats true alike to love and thee. 
 
 But lo, where now she sits so still and drear, 
 
 A soft and downy step is stealing near ; 
 
 While o'er her brow the morning zephyr plays, 
 
 She turns, — a vision new hath met her gaze. 
 
 With form so lovely, face so radiant bright, 
 
 That's almost dazzling to her wav'ring sight ! 
 
 Oh, beauteous goddess! "Who," she cried, "art 
 
 thou?" 
 While pleasure kindled o'er her pallid brow; 
 And while her features caught each joy and grace 
 Reflected from the seeming fairy's face. 
 The deesse spoke; and lo ! her soft words fell 
 Like strains at eve pour'd forth by Philomel. 
 " I come," she said, " with pious power given 
 In mercy from the mighty throne of heaven. 
 
152 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 I come the first, the latest to mankind, 
 His fainting heart with Gilead to bind : 
 I come, when friendships trusted fall away, 
 To wake from darkest night the living day ; 
 Where gath'ring evils threaten to infest, 
 I make my empire in the human breast ; 
 And there, as ancient poets oft have sung, 
 I cling, as in the fabled box I clung. ' ' 
 
 The maiden drew a long and happy sigh. 
 
 While HOPE her gleaming anchor held on high : 
 
 '^ Look up !" she cried, ^' the clouds have nearly pass'd. 
 
 The sky with golden glory is o'ercast : 
 
 Thyhonor'd lord, thy Harold soon thou'lt see; 
 
 Believe the prophecy, and follow me." 
 
 Glad were the feelings which within awoke : 
 
 The prospect o'er her mental view that broke, 
 
 A moment more sweet HOPE herself confirm'd ; 
 
 Estelle her lovely eyes of azure turn'd. 
 
 While, ploughing gayly o'er the surging deep, 
 
 A fairy shallop towards her seem'd to leap; 
 
 The promised haven and her Harold's love in view. 
 
 Impulse alone can prompt her what to do. 
 
 With one light bound she clears the sinking wreck. 
 
 And lights upon the vessel's snowy deck, 
 
 While on it speeds o'er foaming wave and sea 
 
 To bear her to her destined Italy. 
 
A SKETCH. 
 
 153 
 
 Though to the tender and impassion' d soul 
 
 The hours 'tween itself and wish'd-for goal 
 
 Seem ever long, while time seems brief 
 
 Which lies between us and expected grief. 
 
 At length the harbor's reach'd through sparkling tide, 
 
 And Harold hastes to meet his blushing bride ; 
 
 He clasps her to his grateful, throbbing breast, 
 
 While on her brow are kisses warm impress' d. 
 
 So much, alas ! she'd braved for him alone, 
 
 That he can scarcely think her yet his own, 
 
 So much of cruel danger had she tried, — 
 
 His fair Estelle, his ever-worship'd bride. 
 
 But she in present bliss forgets the past ; 
 
 Suffice for her, 'tis o'er ; it did not last ! 
 
 Hope's fairest promises are here attain'd; 
 
 The lovers' loving dream accomplish'd, — Eden gain'd. 
 
 Cling thus, young hearts, and may you always know 
 
 The bliss of being loved, and loving so ! 
 
 May no dark cloud, or even mist, float by, 
 
 To mar the glory of love's starry sky. 
 
 Yet, firmly to thy soul as now she's bound, 
 
 Till life's last moment, may Estelle be found. 
 
 From home and kindred sever 'd by the dang'rous sea, 
 
 Thou art her all, — may she be always all to thee ! 
 
154 ENVY. 
 
 ENVY. 
 
 Should envy grow within thy breast, 
 'Twill rob thee of thy peace and rest: 
 Then let it not a moment stay, 
 But pluck it by the roots away ; 
 Its subtle power ever flee ; 
 'Tis deadly as the Upas-tree, 
 And will consume thy purity. 
 
 In ancient days a goddess she. 
 Though shrouded in iniquity : 
 Her temple then, as now, she made 
 Within the gloomy spirit's shade ; 
 And from the weak, unwary breast 
 Expell'd or check' d each better guest, — 
 Each impulse pure that might have' bless' d. 
 
 Foul Envy hath a thousand eyes 
 Engaged to act as menial spies : 
 She sees far more than may appear, 
 And often less than what is clear. 
 Each peaceful breath that's drawn by thee 
 
ENVY. 
 
 To her will gall and wormwood be ; — 
 Then from her presence quickly flee. 
 
 Her aim is dark and all unseen ; 
 
 Her arrows enter deep and keen, 
 
 Their venom' d points to force and fling, 
 
 Before thou feel'st their piercing sting ; 
 
 Oh, summon all thy strength to foil 
 
 The serpent in her cruel coil 
 
 Around thy nature's yielding soil ! 
 
 With fell design, from thy weak heart 
 The fondest ties she'd rend apart : 
 The fount of love that flows for all. 
 Her fetid breath would turn to gall ; 
 Would cause to rust, with grief and ruth. 
 The spirit-links that bind to truth, 
 That wed thy soul to spring and youth. 
 
 A speck of doubt within the cup. 
 Her monster-breath would fan it up ; 
 While all the sweets existence waft 
 Would soon become her potent draught. 
 Of those enslaved within her fold. 
 She ne'er relaxes in her hold. 
 But turns to dross the purest gold. 
 
 155 
 
156 ' ENVY. 
 
 Resist her for the ties of love ; 
 Resist, lest love should hatred prove ; 
 She'll cause thine eyes to view with pain 
 Thy brother's joy, — his honest gain. 
 The noblest deeds display'd to sight, 
 O'ershadow'd by her deadly blight, 
 Will e'en appear as dark as night. 
 
 Thy secret soul she'll cause to quail, 
 Thy coward heart to moan and wail. 
 At very thought of others' joy: 
 Thy better self she will destroy. 
 For Envy is the instrument 
 That foulest fiends might well invent. 
 When on their vilest plots intent. 
 
 To make their victims writhe and smart, 
 
 They'd plant it in the human heart: — 
 
 For sure no torture can bestow 
 
 More mortal agony and woe. 
 
 The cruelties his kind to grieve, 
 
 A Nero might himself conceive. 
 
 Are light, to pains that Envy' 11 leave. 
 
 Then turn from her enkindling breath ; 
 'Tis fraught with ruin, and with death 
 
DROOP NOT, BROTHER. pry 
 
 To cherish'd hopes, to godlike traits; 
 While, lo ! the soul with sin it sates. 
 Should evil Envy through thee rage, 
 She'll sully life's un blemish 'd page. 
 Thy sunny youth will turn to age. 
 
 DROOP NOT, BROTHER. 
 
 Droop not, brother, 'neath thy burden ; 
 
 Boldly bear thee up ; 
 Weep not wildly, though life's anguish 
 
 Mingle in thy cup. . 
 
 Dash aside the tears of sorrow 
 
 Gath'ring in thine eyes ; 
 Cast thy vision never downward, 
 
 Lift it towards the skies. 
 
 'Tis not earth can ease thy sadness ; 
 
 Light comes from above ! 
 There, unfathom'd springs are flowing, 
 
 Flowing bright with love. 
 
 Seek those springs, and drink their waters, 
 Full of healing joy, 
 14 
 
1^8 DROOP NOT, BROTHER. 
 
 Free from waves of toil and trouble, 
 Void of sin's alloy. 
 
 Worldly gain and worldly gladness 
 
 Are but transient things ; 
 Like the dust that quivers o'er the 
 
 Butterfly's bright wings. 
 
 Falter not beneath thy burden ! 
 
 Boldly onward bear ! 
 Thou shalt find, when o'er thy journey. 
 
 Better days draw near.' 
 
 Work, while strength to thee is given ; 
 
 Duty's line keep clear ! 
 Such the mission of God's creatures, 
 
 Work in hope, — not fear ! 
 
 Light the lamp of faith within thee ; 
 
 Keep the wick afloat ; 
 Till it guides to solid haven 
 
 Thy unsteady boat. 
 
LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 159 
 
 LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 A CHILD was at sport by the break of the day ; 
 
 She play'd in a garden exquisitely bright, 
 While blossoms and buds that enamel' d her way 
 
 Gave back her gay smiles beneath June's rosy light. 
 Each dew-drop of morn like a diamond-spark shone, 
 
 And varied in color with each changing breeze ; 
 The stream murmur' d by her in musical tone. 
 
 While through lofty branches of beautiful trees 
 
 The wild birds were trilling, and humming the bees. 
 
 As gladsome as they, as delighted and free. 
 
 The little one roved, and her laughing blue eyes 
 Were dancing with lustre of innocent glee. 
 
 And rival'd the azure of summer's bright skies. 
 Like a fairy young sprite was she frolicking round. 
 
 Engaged in the game of the butterfly's chase ; 
 Her tresses of gold were with rose-blossoms bound, 
 
 Investing her features with magical grace. 
 
 The moments sped onward, and varied the light ; 
 
 On step soft as velvet the time tripp'd away; 
 The sun overhead grew more brilliant and bright. 
 
 Until it wax'd strong in the noontide of day. 
 
i6o LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 She look'd for the dew-drops, and, lo ! they had fled ! 
 Each crystalline gem had departed and gone ; 
 
 The flowers around, though their fragrance still shed, 
 Seem'd scarcely so bright as they'd done in the morn, 
 And even disclosed here and there a sharp thorn. 
 
 Now over that brow so unruflled and fair 
 
 Had gather'd a slight, though a visible, shade: 
 
 The skies of her childhood that smiled everywhere. 
 Oh, who would have thought that a cloud could in- 
 vade ? 
 
 The liquid blue eyes from their depths look'd with 
 thought. 
 The clear ringing laughter was alter' d in tone. 
 
 The late buoyant step with restraint was now fraught. 
 The heedless young child into girlhood had grown. 
 And infantile sports had for evermore flown. 
 
 But, e'en while absorb' d in the wonderment strange 
 That childhood's fair visions so soon should depart. 
 
 There steals o'er her spirit a magical change : 
 A void that has ached is now fill'd in her heart. 
 
 While zephyrs that float by her listening ear 
 Bring tidings of gladness, her soul to delight, 
 
 Ambrosial messages carry and bear. 
 
 Her brow gloAvs with blushes all virgin and bright. 
 Her eyes are suffused with Affection's pure light. 
 
LIFE'S DAY. l6l 
 
 A step treads beside her, in manhood's proud joy, 
 
 To claim her his own, — his heart-chosen bride ; 
 While Hope's cheering music their young spirits buoy. 
 
 The shadowy future with bliss seems allied, 
 As onward they sail o'er the river of Time, 
 
 Out-gazing with trust on the golden-lit skies. 
 Conversing together in musical chime, 
 
 And reading their fates from each other's bright 
 eyes, 
 
 Forgetting that life may have sorrow and sighs. 
 
 But Time, as he travels, is mix'd with alloy, 
 And changes and trials must float o'er the tide ; 
 
 The sky that to-day is all sunlight and joy 
 
 To-morrow may mantle with clouds far and wide. 
 
 For He who bestows on the delicate vine 
 
 The strength of the oak as its shelter and stay, 
 
 Alas ! when the tendrils most fondly entwine. 
 May touch the strong tree with resistless decay. 
 And leave the lone vine e'en to moulder away. 
 
 So Time in departing hath changed the gay tone; 
 
 The step, once elastic, treads measuredly now ; 
 The tresses of amber to silver have grown ; 
 
 The hand of misfortune hath shaded her brow ; . 
 Her face, with its dimples of beauty untold 
 
 That gleam'd in the heyday of spring-time and youth, 
 
 14* 
 
1 62 HANNANEL. 
 
 Like wee cups of sunlight, or basins of gold, 
 Seems not the same face as it used to, forsooth, 
 'Neath Autumn's chill touch and impress of ruth. 
 
 She has watch' d the loved ties she cherish' d depart, 
 She has seen her best hopes like the flowers decay, 
 
 Till the gray through her hair is thrown back in her 
 heart. 
 And she, like the others, is passing away ! 
 
 She is passing away ! she is aged and worn ; 
 
 She is widow' d and lone in the dim twilight way ; 
 
 And, oh, how one marvels to think of that morn 
 When she, a bright child, at the break of the day, 
 Rejoiced in the revel of innocent play ! 
 
 HANNANEL. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO AN ANGEL ABOVE. 
 " Mortalitate relicta, vivit immortalitate indutus." 
 
 Hast thou met him ? hast thou found him ? 
 
 Did the angels tell 
 How with links of love they bound him ? 
 
 Little Hannanel ! 
 
HANNANEL. 163 
 
 Hast thou seen the spotless spirit, 
 
 With its soul-lit eyes, 
 Early taken to inherit 
 
 Fortunes in the skies ? 
 
 Did he hail thee on the threshold 
 
 Of the gates above, 
 Reaching forward from the lamb-fold 
 
 To maternal love ? 
 
 Oh, what joy it must have given 
 
 All the saints there met ! 
 Fill'd with bliss the realms of heaven, 
 
 Bliss that lingers yet. 
 
 And the angels who had kept him. 
 
 Guarded him so well. 
 Since the hour thou hadst wept him, 
 
 Cherub Hannanel, — 
 
 On thy bosom did they place him, 
 
 Once again to rest. 
 Let thee hold him and embrace him 
 
 Closely to thy breast ? 
 
 Oh, what rapture in the meeting 
 Kindred ties above ! 
 
1 64 HANNANEL. 
 
 Heart to heart responds in greeting, 
 Soul to soul in love. 
 
 Oh, what blessedness the mother 
 
 Revels in again. 
 When recall' d unto the other 
 
 Home, devoid of pain. 
 
 There to find each sacred token 
 
 Of affection's chain. 
 Each household link that Death had broken, 
 
 Riveted again ! 
 
 And what bliss the child is proving 
 
 Then to recognize 
 The mother's soul, so true and loving, 
 
 In her spirit eyes ! 
 
 Hast thou met him all delighted ? 
 
 Gentle spirit, tell ! 
 Would that I too were united 
 
 To thee and Hannanel ! 
 
HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 165 
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 Oh, child of inspiration ! pure, divine, 
 What meed of noble praise is justly thine ! 
 But fled too soon ! for ever, ever gone ! 
 In vain, below, thy transient fate we mourn. 
 Alas ! we know — thy pages glowing tell — 
 How vast the loss sustain 'd when Henry fell ; 
 What wealth of genius pass'd from earth away 
 In that same hour that mark'd his dying day. 
 
 The promises thine early years displayed, 
 The gifted mind with talents rare array'd, 
 A harvest rich, luxuriant, insured, 
 If e'er the fruit with time should be matured. 
 But in the spring, when blossoms have their birth, 
 Thy beauteous manhood was consign 'd to earth ; 
 The vernal breezes, softly murmuring by, 
 Responded to thy latest ling' ring sigh. 
 
 Yet wherefore would we call thy spirit back. 
 Once more to tread life's weary, rugged track? 
 Oh, wherefore bring thee to this world of pain. 
 To struggle, suffer, and to die again ? 
 
1 66 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 For, ah ! we shed sad tears, e'en now, to think 
 How much of grief it was thy lot to drink ; 
 How throughout youth the cup of life for thee 
 Was mix'd with gall of pain and misery. 
 
 Long was thy genius' warm and ardent light 
 Foreshadow'd by approaching shades of night ; 
 The hand of fell disease was on thee laid, 
 And claim'd the debt of life, so early paid. 
 And now, although the minstrel's self is flown, 
 Remains the echo of the music's tone ; 
 For angels, when they bore his harp away, 
 Still ling' ring left the cadence of each lay. 
 
 For, oh, thy brief career had scarce begun. 
 Ere bright and fadeless laurels had been won ; 
 Before thy dear and ever-cherish'd name 
 Rank'd high within the lists of deathless fame. 
 For thee have tributary verses sprung. 
 For thee have sighs from gentle hearts been wrung ; 
 While o'er thy memory bards of riper years 
 Have mingled endless praises with their tears. 
 
 And, though unworthy all this off' ring be, — 
 Its highest claim is that 'tis paid to thee, — 
 Accept it, as a token faint and weak 
 Of feelings all too strong for words to speak. 
 
TO ALL THERE COMETH PEACE. 167 
 
 TO ALL THERE COMETH PEACE. 
 
 Since thou, beloved, art given 
 
 Unto another sphere, 
 From hence gone home to heaven, 
 
 'Tis sad to tarry here. 
 
 My heart is sear'd and lonely, — 
 
 Is chill'd within my breast: 
 The hope I cherish only 
 
 Is based on thoughts of rest. 
 
 For, oh, the world is dreary ; 
 
 Life's road is hard to wend ; 
 Beneath its burdens weary 
 
 My tired spirits bend ! 
 
 Death hath to me no terror. 
 
 No shrinking to impart : 
 It may have awe for error. 
 
 Or for the guilty heart ; 
 
 But mine is only broken^ — 
 Is only crush'd within ; 
 
1 68 A RIDDLE. 
 
 And conscience gives no token 
 Of willful wrong or sin. 
 
 So, without sigh or sorrow, 
 I'd sink to slumber deep ; 
 
 Ere dawn'd another morrow, 
 I'd close mine eyes in sleep. 
 
 But He who life bestoweth 
 Assigns the final hour; 
 
 The stream by His will floweth, 
 Is check' d too by His power. 
 
 Then patience, till the throbbing 
 Of tired pulses cease : 
 
 O heart, suppress thy sobbing ! 
 To all there cometh peace. 
 
 A RIDDLE. 
 
 'Tis full of fraud, hypocrisy, deceit ; 
 Of honey'd phrases quite as false as sweet ; 
 Of sunny smiles that decorate the cheek 
 While inwardly the spirit's faint and weak. 
 'Tis full of masks that coward traitors wear 
 To hide the baseness of the hearts they bear ; 
 
A RIDDLE. 
 
 169 
 
 'Tis full of foes who, 'neath a friendly garb, 
 Oft cunningly conceal the poison'd barb 
 Design 'd with deadly and unrighteous aim 
 To blight and blast a brother's spotless name. 
 
 'Tis full of jealousies, of doubts and fears, 
 Converting joy and smiles to pains and tears ; 
 Of envy's lurid and malignant fire, 
 With foul designs the feeble to inspire. 
 Diffusing round that wild, unhallow'd light 
 From which each noble impulse must take flight ; 
 'Tis full of prejudice in devious ways, 
 Where'er man turns his wandering mind and gaze, 
 Up-springing from the apt and ready jest, 
 From subtle fold within the secret breast, 
 Disclosing often, in both age and youth. 
 How much the false outbalances the truth. 
 'Tis full of satire, with its sharpen'd edge, 
 Design' d within the human heart to wedge. 
 And cut those palpitating cords which prove 
 The bonds between mankind and their self-love. 
 'Tis full of mockery, of craft, and scorn, 
 Of hearts without relief that sigh and mourn. 
 Of secret griefs, of wrongs as black as night, 
 That rarely are reveal' d to human sight. 
 Here, many an Aram undiscover'd treads, if) 
 And many a felon, many a murderer sheds 
 
 15 
 
lyo 
 
 A RIDDLE. 
 
 His brother's blood, while brother jurors say 
 
 He's guiltless and may go upon his way : 
 
 Those self-same courts that have pronounced him free, 
 
 Those courts of law, misnomer'd Equity, 
 
 Those very courts that with such even scale 
 
 Of justice may another one impale 
 
 For years within the dungeon damp and dark, 
 
 Because he sinn'd to keep the vital spark 
 
 From separating from the mortal clay : 
 
 He stole the rich man's crust of bread away, 
 
 And gave it to sustain the failing life 
 
 Still ling' ring in the famish' d child and wife. 
 
 Thus lured to wrong, when Hope herself seem'd o'er. 
 
 To keep the threat' ning wolf from off the door : 
 
 Though Poverty, with all her sobs and sighs, 
 
 May not for crime herself apologize. 
 
 And though he should have pass'd temptation by. 
 
 And left the loved and hungry ones to die, 
 
 Yet marvel we indeed that he should be 
 
 Condemn'd to years of mould'ring misery. 
 
 The ready sentence pass'd without a clause. 
 
 Nor Mercy temper' d Justice in his cause. 
 
 Here, in this strange and wonder-working place, 
 Where joy and grief encounter face to face ; 
 Where cherish' d friendships fall like leaves apart, 
 And falsehood chills the warm and trusting heart; 
 
A RIDDLE. 171 
 
 Where ties are torn from ties beloved away, 
 Till, link by link, life's brightest chains decay ; 
 Here painted belles, with flaunting air and mien. 
 With ostentatious pomp of reigning queen, 
 Float gayly round, and blushing cheeks display, 
 That pale and tawdry look by glare of day. 
 Here knavery and pretension in smooth guise 
 Speak forth in borrow'd echoes of the wise ; 
 And Piety is oft the scabbard, in 
 Which is conceal'd the rusty sword of sin, — 
 The armor sly. transgressors but assume 
 To shield them from their overhanging doom ; 
 And sanctimony lengthens out the face, 
 While ill designs the treacherous heart debase. 
 
 Although in light and shade the picture's true, 
 'Neath other phases it appears to view. 
 Here, Nature opens wide her bounteous store, 
 And spreads her fields with smiling verdure o'er. 
 Her living lights, that shine above, proclaim 
 In burning characters the Maker's name. 
 The gorgeous sun with life-inspiring rays, 
 The moon with milder pencil, write His praise. 
 
 O World ! God form'd thee full of light and grace : 
 Man makes thee oft a dreary dwelling-place. 
 
172 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 'Tis sweet at eventide to steal alone, 
 
 From bustle of the busy world apart, 
 
 Removed from every human sound or tone. 
 
 Except the beating of the sentient heart, 
 
 To watch each gold and purple-blended dye 
 
 The god of day throws from his sleepy eye, 
 
 As 'neath the western hills he hies to rest. 
 
 With ling'ring glory, upon nature's breast; 
 
 To see the silver moon assume her place, 
 
 And gaze from heaven with clear and pensive face, 
 
 While one by one the stars creep into view. 
 
 To gem Night's fields of ether, broad and blue. 
 
 At such a time, awak'ning thoughts delight 
 
 In solitude to take their God-ward flight. 
 
THE LITTLE COFEIN. 
 
 173 
 
 THE LITTLE COFFIN. 
 
 I SAW a little coffin, 
 
 In sombre hearse, pass by ; 
 While many a mourner follow' d, 
 
 With sad and moisten 'd eye. 
 But one there was more closely 
 
 That press'd beside the bier, — 
 As though life's only treasure 
 
 Was kept guarded there. 
 
 His step was weak and fait' ring. 
 
 His hair in white locks fell, 
 Although he was not aged. 
 
 So far as years may tell. 
 But, oh ! the desolation 
 
 That wrought within the heart 
 Upon the mournful features 
 
 Had done its dire part. 
 
 Upon an earthly idol 
 
 He'd built his hopes and pride, 
 And everything seem'd nothing 
 
 When his beloved one died. 
 
 15* 
 
174 
 
 THE LITTLE COFFIN. 
 
 Where were the dreams he'd trusted, 
 Had cherish' d day by day? 
 
 All, with the young life blighted. 
 Forever flown away. 
 
 The sole remaining kindred. 
 
 With winning words and ways. 
 Had journey' d back to heaven, — 
 
 Had vanish' d from his gaze ! 
 Yet spurn not comfort, father. 
 
 But think, amidst thy pain, 
 This loss to thee so lonely 
 
 Is Jus immortal gain. 
 
 And he for whom thou mournest, — 
 
 The object of thy love, — 
 Could earth afford enjoyments 
 
 Like those assign'd above? 
 So young, so pure and spotless, 
 
 From taint of sin all free ! 
 He must have pass'd the portals 
 
 Of bright eternity. 
 
 And wouldst thou e'en be willing 
 
 To call that spirit back. 
 From off its pleasant pathway. 
 
 To this life's shadowy track? 
 
 1 
 
THE LITTLE COFFIN. 
 
 What were those hopes you cherish' d 
 
 Of worldly gain and joy, 
 What schemes of high ambition, 
 
 For this, your darling boy ? 
 
 You'd rear'd on mortal frame-work 
 
 Full many a giant plan, 
 Against the day you counted 
 
 The child should be a man. 
 You'd built a ladder golden, 
 
 Of riches and of power. 
 And yearn 'd with love's impatience 
 
 To meet that distant hour. 
 
 When he, for whom you labor' d, 
 
 In manhood's noble prime. 
 With manhood's strength and beauty 
 
 To preferment should climb. 
 A laurel you had woven. 
 
 Of fame and fair renown. 
 With flow'rets of the fancy 
 
 Your gifted one to crown. 
 
 The castles and the roses 
 Were things of earthly trust ; 
 
 They totter' d and they crumbled. 
 They fell again to dust. 
 
 175 
 
1^6 THE LITTLE COFFIN. 
 
 The superstructures vanish'd, 
 Dissolved in empty air, 
 
 With him who form'd their basis, — 
 That being bright and fair. 
 
 But mourn not thus, O father. 
 
 If e'en your hopes are fled. 
 And nothing but the mem'ry 
 
 Is left you of the dead. 
 How much that tender blossom, 
 
 Of anguish and of care. 
 In His all-gracious mercy. 
 
 Has God been pleased to spare ! 
 
 For though you'd plann'd the future, 
 
 A dream for him all bright. 
 His cup might have been darken'd 
 
 With dusky shades of night. 
 So much is in existence 
 
 Of hidden woe and grief, 
 That there should be rejoicing 
 
 When spirits find relief, — 
 
 When infant buds are gather'd 
 Within their early spring. 
 
 Ere winter's winds around them 
 Their cruel tempests fling. 
 
BE KIND. 
 
 Then from the coffin dreary, 
 Fond parent, look above ! 
 
 To where the stars are holding 
 High carnivals of love. 
 
 And far beyond those regions 
 
 Thy blessed boy may be, 
 His tender vigils keeping 
 
 In holy faith o'er thee. 
 A little, little longer 
 
 To traverse life's sad plain, 
 And he, thy wildly-worship'd. 
 
 Will be thine own again. 
 
 177 
 
 BE KIND. 
 
 Be kind and be gentle. 
 
 Through each passing day. 
 To friend and companion 
 
 On life's rugged way. 
 Throw into their journey 
 
 A rose, if you may, 
 To cheer and to brighten 
 
 Their wearisome way. 
 
178 BE KIND. 
 
 For mortals to sorrow 
 
 Seem destined and born, 
 To toil and to struggle 
 
 From life's early dawn ; 
 And many the cruel 
 
 And threatening thorn 
 By which they're assail'd, 
 
 Left bleeding and torn. 
 
 Dost weep, human brother, 
 
 When ills thoit wouldst flee, 
 With arrows all pointed 
 
 And turn'd towards thee? 
 Thy comrades are grieving. 
 
 For peace thou wouldst seek ; 
 Their spirits are fainting. 
 
 Are famish'd and weak. 
 
 And wouldst thou deny them, 
 
 What e'en thoiL mayest speak, 
 The words that are soothing, 
 
 To brighten the cheek ? 
 Be loving, be gentle, 
 
 And tender tones give 
 To kindred and dear ones 
 
 With whom thou mayest live. 
 
 1 
 
BE KIND. 
 
 Pour sympathy's balsam 
 
 O'er spirits plaintive ; 
 Their faults and their failings 
 
 Forget and forgive. 
 Be kind to thy brother ! 
 
 Not long may he stay ; 
 Be gentle and lenient, 
 
 Be patient to-day ! 
 
 To-morrow may take him, 
 
 And then the kind words 
 Will meet no responsive 
 
 Or answering chords. 
 The sunlight withholding 
 
 Itself from life's stream, 
 Its lustre is wasted 
 
 On death's solemn dream. 
 
 All drain 'd is the fountain, 
 
 And each sunny dream 
 Reflecteth no longer 
 
 One welcoming gleam. 
 Be kind and consid'rate, 
 
 Through each passing day, 
 To trav',lers encounter' d 
 
 On life's weary way. 
 
 179 
 
i«o 
 
 BE KIND. 
 
 It costs one but little 
 
 Those kind words to say ; 
 And yet may they often 
 
 A broken heart stay. 
 Be kind and be gentle ! 
 
 And when life is o'er, 
 And we meet our friends on 
 
 The sunnier shore, 
 
 Ah ! then 'twill be pleasant 
 
 These days to talk o'er, — 
 Of fruits of content which 
 
 Our kindness here bore. 
 How blest the reunion, 
 
 In heavenly birth, 
 By links of affection 
 
 Inwoven on earth ! 
 
EXPECTED. i8i 
 
 EXPECTED. 
 
 TO G. 
 
 As softly fans a bird's light wing, 
 The breath of eve stole by ; 
 
 And mingled with the tones of Spring 
 A mother's lonely sigh. 
 
 She watch'd for him, — her only son, — 
 
 To meet him, but to part ; 
 To hold him, ere life's sands were run. 
 
 Against her beating heart. 
 
 ** His echoing steps I seem to hear, 
 
 As coming to me now \ 
 I seem to feel his presence near, 
 
 His breath upon my brow. 
 
 "If but by instinct, he will know 
 
 I'm dying, and alone ! 
 I cannot die without him, though, 
 
 My darling, and my own ! 
 i6 
 
l82 EXPECTED, 
 
 *' 'Twas when the leaves of Autumn fell, 
 
 He wander'd from my side, 
 And promised, when he said 'farewell,' 
 
 To see me in Spring-tide. 
 
 '' But now the Spring has come again ; 
 
 We're standing on its verge; 
 And soon the birds, with mellow strain, 
 
 Will sing my funeral dirge. 
 
 •'And, but for leaving him, my heart 
 
 Would not exhale a sigh ; 
 But oh ! the thought that we must part 
 
 Will break it ere I die ! 
 
 '* Yet Thou, who, when the tempest raged. 
 
 Subdued the sea at will, 
 Whose voice the elements assuaged, 
 
 Canst bid me '■ peace, be still !' 
 
 **The troubled waters of my soul, 
 
 Its waves of doubt and fear, 
 Beneath Thy Majesty's control 
 
 May sink or disappear. 
 
 *' Forgive me if I've over-prized, 
 O God, this child of clay ! 
 
 
EXPECTED, 
 
 Thou gavest the treasure idolized, 
 And Thou canst take away. 
 
 '* 'Twas Thou, who stirr'd the holy fount 
 
 Of pure maternal love; 
 Who caused affection's tide to mount 
 
 And through my being move. 
 
 ''And for his sire in the skies 
 The child seem'd sent instead : 
 
 I gazed into his soul-lit eyes, 
 Nor deem'd that sire dead. 
 
 "I watch'd him growing bright and true, 
 
 In stature and in soul. 
 Until my love for him outgrew 
 
 All limit and control. 
 
 ''If sorrow dash'd his youthful cup, 
 Or bent his brow with thought, 
 
 Could I but drink that sorrow up. 
 It nectar to me brought. 
 
 "Then who will be, when I shall leave 
 
 This weary world of woe, 
 His ivUling target, to receive 
 
 The shafts of Sorrow's bow? 
 
 183 
 
1 84 EXPECTED. 
 
 ^' Will there be none to take his part, 
 
 When left in life alone ? 
 Not one to soothe his aching heart 
 
 With kindly voice and tone ? 
 
 "Yes, there is One, and only One, 
 
 May be e'en more than I. 
 Then let me say, ' Thy will be done,' 
 
 My Maker, ere I die ! 
 
 *' To Thee I'll leave this holy trust 
 
 Thy love bequeath' d to me. 
 And yield my fragile form to dust, 
 
 Th' immortal soul to Thee. 
 
 *' Then gently loose the silken cords 
 
 That fetter me to clay : 
 This only wish I breathe in words 
 
 Before I pass away : 
 
 '* Oh, let me not, my Father, die 
 
 Until I see my boy. 
 But hark ! a step is drawing nigh : 
 
 'Tis he ! oh, joy ! oh, joy!" 
 
 And scarce the prayer had utt'rance found 
 Before it was fulfill' d ! 
 
EXPECTED. 
 
 His presence follow' d close the sound, 
 And through her being thrill'd. 
 
 But one step more, he'd reach' d that place, 
 
 Within her arms was press 'd ; 
 But when he raised his pallid face, 
 
 'Twas from a pulseless breast. 
 
 Her last heart-throb had died away 
 While beating 'gainst his own ; 
 
 Its music-notes all broken lay. 
 And hush'd for him in tone. 
 
 His early hopes thus sadly wreck' d. 
 While nearing manhood's shore, 
 
 On life's rough sea who'll now protect 
 And guide him safely o'er? 
 
 Almighty Pilot, steer him free 
 From rocks and shallows round ; 
 
 Where currents rough infest life's sea. 
 And dangers dark abound ! 
 
 And that maternal memory 
 
 Enshrined within his soul, 
 A beacon holy may it be, 
 
 His spirit to control. 
 16* 
 
 185 
 
1 86 TWILIGHT. 
 
 To guide him onward to that land, 
 
 Now whither she has flown 
 And waits with loving outstretch'd hand 
 
 To lead him to Thy throne. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 There is a hush upon the earth, 
 
 A calm within the sky, 
 A spell which hinders common mirth. 
 
 When day is passing by. 
 
 The golden glow that wanes above 
 
 Refines the inmost heart. 
 Enshrines the thoughts in mists of love. 
 
 From worldly things apart. 
 
 For, oh ! when man becomes subdued. 
 
 His sentient soul is stirr'd ; 
 While through the deep and pensive mood 
 
 The voice of God is heard ; 
 
 Is heard the vast Creative Power, 
 Within the silence round ; 
 
TWILIGHT. 187 
 
 Each whisp'ring breeze, each leaf and flower, 
 With sounds and signs abound, 
 
 With signs of Him ; each blade of grass 
 
 Impearl'd in evening's dew, 
 Each babbling brooklet that we pass. 
 
 His presence all renew. 
 
 We gaze through the empurpled west, 
 
 'Midst fields of upper air. 
 To see His skillful hand impress'd 
 
 In gorgeous colors there. 
 
 On such an eve, so fair as this, 
 
 Soft zephyrs round me play ; 
 They fan my cheek, my temples kiss. 
 
 They bear my soul away, — 
 
 Away from dreams of earthly themes 
 
 To those exalted high, 
 And brilliant as the sunset-gleams 
 
 That deck the azure sky. 
 
 Ah ! \i this world can furnish scene 
 
 So holy and divine. 
 Exceeding them in joy serene 
 
 The home above must shine ! 
 
1 88 MA BELLE. 
 
 And, with this faith, the spirit fain 
 Its mortal mould would break, 
 
 Would throw aside its clayey chain. 
 An upward course to take. 
 
 And through those gates of varied light 
 
 That yonder gleaming lie. 
 Could it but take immediate flight. 
 
 How happy now to die ! 
 
 Now, while this calm so pure, benign, 
 
 Invests the inward breast, 
 The soul immortal to resign 
 
 To calmer peace and rest. 
 
 MA BELLE. 
 
 Each beauteous object that I see 
 Unfolds within my memory 
 A volume of sweet thoughts of thee ; 
 Like honey-dew within the flower's urn. 
 
 The midday sun so warm and bright. 
 Though dazzling to my wav'ring sight, 
 
MA BELLE. 
 
 189 
 
 Hath not more strength than thy love's light, 
 Which through my yearning heart doth blend and 
 burn. 
 
 The stars, that gem with mystic sheen 
 
 Night's banner of ultramarine, 
 
 Shine less resplendently, I ween, 
 Than thy all-cloudless, ever soul-lit eyes j 
 
 Whose glances radiant insure 
 
 A mind where thoughts refined endure, 
 
 A spirit sublimate and pure 
 As heaven enshrined within its peerless skies. 
 
 The flowers that deck the mossy dell 
 
 Combine in loveliness a spell. 
 
 That all resistlessly impel 
 My soul to thee, — their rival and their queen ! 
 
 And scarce as sweet the nectar's flow 
 
 In the corolla's vase below. 
 
 Which to the bee doth wealth bestow. 
 As thoughts from these bright types of thee I glean. 
 
 So mem'ries of thee abound 
 Through every scene that may surround ; 
 The air, made vocal with the sound 
 Of birds that carol silvery and clear, 
 
jgo 
 
 HEART-ECHOES. 
 
 Seems as the music of thy voice, 
 To bid my happy heart rejoice 
 In claiming thee alone its choice 
 Of all the world, least worldly, yet most dear. 
 
 Then trust me, love, my steadfast heart 
 From its first idol will not part ; 
 The binding chords can never start. 
 
 Can ne'er relax or change, unless it be 
 
 They, like the tendrils of the vine, 
 That round their object daily twine. 
 As though with purpose and design. 
 
 Cling closer yet in strength and ardency. 
 
 HEART-ECHOES. 
 
 " Exiled from home, and forced from kindred ties, 
 His heart dissolves in heavy sobs and sighs ; 
 But 'midst the shades of deep nocturnal gloom, 
 Hope finds one fertile plain from whence to bloom. 
 
 The years roll away, the seasons depart. 
 But take not the gloom or weight from my heart : 
 Though fair is the world, with sunshine so bright. 
 But rarely I taste of its promised delight. 
 
HEART-ECHOES. 191 
 
 For deeply within is resting a stain, 
 
 That turns ev'ry thought to darkness and pain. 
 
 Though others may meet with pleasures to trust, 
 My own they have moulder'd long in the dust ; 
 And others may find some stay in their need, 
 But mine has bent 'neath me, each as a reed, — 
 A poor fragile reed that bows its weak form, 
 Is conquer' d and crushed in meeting the storm. 
 
 Each joy I've believed, each feeling held dear, 
 I've seen them decay or sink to despair ; 
 Each promising bliss foul traitor would turn. 
 To mingle its dregs in life's bitter urn, 
 Till hope in the heart forever is crush'd. 
 Her voice is untuned, her music is hush'd. 
 
 I've watch'd the bright roses, growing in sight. 
 That others have pluck' d with ease and delight ; 
 I've seen the clear fountain springing around, 
 And sparkling in crystal tide up from the ground : 
 The flowers /cull'd had thorns on them all. 
 The waters /drank were tinctured with gall ! 
 
 The ground I've perceived as soft as greensward, 
 My foot only touch' d, it turn'd stony hard ! 
 No longer appear'd the velvety sod. 
 But flinty and rough the road that I trod ! 
 
192 HEAR T-ECHOES. 
 
 As Midas' s touch changed all things to gain, 
 The magic of mine produced only pain ! 
 
 And now I believe, though bright be the earth, 
 Not destined for me its brightness or mirth. 
 Though many one's cups with happiness brim, 
 My own it is poison' d up to the rim; 
 And thus it is doom'd, nor ever will be 
 An antidote found to change the decree. 
 
 Throughout the dark hours, yet something is left : 
 Of one only hope I'm still unbereft. 
 I've follow'd it close, with spirit oppress'd^ 
 And long'd to attain its promise and rest. 
 Though tedious the night, and weary the day, 
 They must have an ending, — must pass away. 
 
 And there's a bright land, that's far beyond this, 
 That flows with the honey of consummate bliss ; 
 My hopes they are turn'd to that beautiful shore. 
 Where sorrow and grieving, they tell me, are o'er; 
 Where truth undisguised is reveal' d to the light. 
 Is weigh' d in the balance and all things made right. 
 
LIGHT IN PR A YER. 
 
 193 
 
 LIGHT IN PRAYER. 
 
 When the day is dark and dreary, 
 
 And the heart is sad and lone, 
 When the spirit's weak and weary 
 
 And repines in broken tone ; 
 When the mind is bow'd with anguish 
 
 And the soul is bathed in grief, 
 When our lonely beings languish, 
 
 And worn nature needs relief; 
 
 When the hopes we once have cherish'd. 
 
 And the dreams we've thought would last, 
 Have like summer flowers perish' d 
 
 When they met the winter's blast ; 
 When the light of day is dying. 
 
 And the earth around looks drear, 
 When the tempest's breath is sighing. 
 
 There is comfort then in prayer. 
 
 When the ocean threatens danger 
 
 To the fragile bark of life, 
 That is cast about a stranger 
 
 Amidst the waves of strife ; 
 17 
 
194 
 
 LIGHT IN PR A YER. 
 
 When the rocks around are frowning, 
 While the shoals in sight appear, 
 
 And we're menaced e'en with drowning, 
 There is nothing left ^^vX prayer. 
 
 Then, with faith impress' d and holy 
 
 And believing in the right, 
 Oh, direct the spirit solely 
 
 To the Source of love and light. 
 Who revived Nain's widow lonely 
 
 Hath His solace still to spare. 
 Can restore and soothe, if only 
 
 He is sought in praise and prayer. 
 
 When the cup of joy is broken. 
 
 And its scatter' d remnants lie 
 As in sad and mournful token 
 
 That all earthly things must die ; 
 When our tired footsteps falter 
 
 As we journey o'er life's way, 
 Let us bow before God's altar 
 
 And exalt the soul to pray. 
 
 When the solemn bell is tolling 
 O'er the final, parting breath. 
 
 And the hours fast are rolling 
 To the moment e'en of death ; 
 
 
EMELE. 
 
 195 
 
 When the ransom'd spirit's leaving 
 
 All its tasted joy and care, 
 And when friends around are grieving, 
 
 There is light for all in prayer. 
 
 EMELE. 
 
 For thy all-confiding youth, 
 
 With its gentleness and truth, 
 
 While for the tender heart I see 
 Pure emotions softly trace 
 On thy mild and pensive face. 
 
 My spirit turns, sweet friend, to thee. 
 
 For thy joyous, sunny smile. 
 All untouch' d with earthly guile. 
 And for the voice so fresh and free, 
 
 Every tone of which I hear 
 
 Falls as music on mine ear, 
 I long to have thee near to me. 
 
 For those days, with pleasure blent. 
 Which together have we spent. 
 Those bygone days, dear one, when we , 
 Beneath thy ardent Southern skies, 
 
196 DEATH. 
 
 This link of friendship learn' d to prize, 
 I love, Emele, and value thee. 
 
 For the present, and the past. 
 With its gleaming sunshine cast. 
 And for the future, — may it bring 
 To thy spirit hope and light, 
 Every gift that's fair and bright, — 
 My heart to thine must ever cling. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 1 
 
 And what is this I gaze on now? 
 This pulseless form, this pallid brow ! 
 This hand so cold, this bloodless cheek ! 
 The lips that nevermore may speak. 
 That never more may part with breath ! 
 Remorseless truth ! this, this is death ! 
 
 These flowing locks of flossy gold. 
 The forehead fair that round enfold. 
 How late they danced with girlish glee, 
 Or floated in the breezes free ! 
 The head that gave them motion then 
 Will never throb nor think again ! 
 
DEATH. 197 
 
 How calm and still the marble face ! 
 The beauteous limbs that moved with grace 
 Are rigid and unbending here : 
 Oh, mark the changes that appear 
 When warmth and life for aye are flown, 
 And Death the clay claims as his own ! 
 
 O Death ! thou strange, unbidden guest ! 
 
 Mysterious agent ! to infest 
 
 All times, all places, and all scenes ! 
 
 The reckless Reaper rudely gleans 
 
 From all the branches of the tree 
 
 Of mouldering mortality. 
 
 He takes not heed of rank or pride. 
 Where high-born prince or peasant bide ; 
 The most exalted, and the low. 
 Are aims for his unerring bow : 
 He gathers fruit of each degree 
 To crown his ceaseless victory. 
 
 O Death ! inevitable fate ! 
 On mortal lot foredoom' d to wait ! 
 No tears can move him to relent, 
 Or change his fix'd and dread intent. 
 He came, he cometh, and will come, 
 To strike the living cold and dumb ! 
 17* 
 
198 DEATH. 
 
 See where from beauty's cheek he steals 
 
 The blushing rose-bud that reveals 
 
 A gentle and expanding youth, 
 
 A spirit link'd with love and truth. 
 
 His seal is set upon the prize, 
 
 The fairy vision droops and dies ! 
 
 See where the hero in his prime 
 To preferment doth boldly climb. 
 Elated in his onward flight 
 Towards Ambition's chosen height ; 
 High aspirations fill his soul 
 To reach the distant, dazzling goal. 
 
 He nears the point ! his dizzy brain 
 
 Is swimming with the hope of gain. 
 
 When, lo ! his dreams take wings and fly ; 
 
 The hour of Fate is drawing nigh. 
 
 List to his feeble, parting breath : 
 
 '* Not mine, but thine the vict'ry, Death !" 
 
 So dost thou baffle life's best schemes : 
 
 Thy ruling power intervenes 
 
 Between man's purposes and self, — 
 
 They're thine, the worldly gain and pelf; 
 
 Beneath thy touch all life is brief. 
 
 For thou art the All-Conquering Chief. 
 
 \ 
 
CAN I FORGET THEE? 199 
 
 CAN I FORGET THEE? 
 
 Thou call'st me thy sunlight, 
 The joy of thy day, — 
 
 The magnet that leads thee 
 O'er life's weary way. 
 
 Then can I forget thee ? 
 
 Oh, never, indeed ! 
 Does smilight forget e'er 
 
 The flower and seed ? 
 
 Has ever the loadstone 
 
 Its nature denied. 
 Or failed in its proving 
 
 The mariner's guide ? 
 
 Again, hast thou call'd me 
 ''The star of thy heart!" 
 
 Oh, trust me, its brightness 
 Will never depart. 
 
 I cannot forget thee ! 
 
 My hopes are all thine ! 
 Do stars of the evening 
 
 Forget how to shine ? 
 
200 THE SNOW-DROP DEAD. 
 
 As read'ly believe, then, 
 Thou dearest and best. 
 
 The light of thy love could 
 E'er fade from my breast. 
 
 Thy mem'ry shall guide me, 
 As sunlight and star. 
 
 Through life, till we meet with 
 The blest ones afar. 
 
 THE SNOW-DROP DEAD. 
 
 The mother sits in her accustom' d place 
 
 Beside the tiny, spotless bed; 
 But Sorrow's signature is on her face, — 
 
 The pretty, pearly snow-drop's dead! 
 
 Is dead ! — her broken heart is in that sound; 
 
 Her bloodless lips repeat it o'er. 
 Oh, fawn-like form, that used to lightly bound ! 
 
 Oh, merry tones, that ring no more ! 
 
 In vain she listens for each silv'ry chime. 
 So late attuned to play and mirth ; 
 
THE SNOW-DROP DEAD. 201 
 
 Oh, lovely snow-drop! perish'd ere its prime, 
 Too blemishless and bright for earth ! 
 
 But turn thee, matron, from the lifeless clay; 
 
 Thy treasure is no longer there : 
 The flow' ret 's spirit wing'd itself away 
 
 To 'radiate a higher sphere. 
 
 Then, oh, command thy wand'ring thoughts to heaven ; 
 
 Suppress each bitter heart- wrung moan : 
 The undimm'd blossom that to thee was given 
 
 Has God-ward flown, — it was His own. 
 
 And still thou mayest worship her above ; 
 
 For surely aught from self refined. 
 As pure and holy, as a mother's love, 
 
 Can there a ready entrance find. 
 
 For those who early die, why should we weep ? 
 
 Though ours the loss^ theirs is the gain : 
 Oh, blessed innocence, that falls asleep, 
 
 Before the withering night of pain 
 
 Steals shadow-like upon the inner life, 
 And blighted hopes and vanish' d dreams, 
 
 Such as for after-years are ever rife, 
 Have left their lasting scars and seams. 
 
202 HOME. 
 
 Then mourn not, ye whose kindred ties depart 
 Death hath not mast'ry over love, 
 
 Checks not communion of heart with heart, 
 Nor soul on earth with soul above. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 A NAME that is dear, a place that is fair. 
 
 Though humble the cot ! 
 A word and a spell on which one may dwell, 
 
 Whate'er be his lot ; 
 The sheltering tree 'neath which he may flee, 
 
 When storms rage without, 
 When arrows are hurl'd throughout this rude world 
 
 Of danger and doubt. 
 
 Fond welcomes will greet, in harmonies sweet. 
 
 His watch'd-for return; 
 And eyes will be fill'd, with sweet tears distill'd 
 
 From love's brimming urn. 
 The soul that is bow'd 'neath darkness and cloud 
 
 With hope will turn there ; 
 Though grieved and oppress' d, a haven of rest 
 
 Will sweet home appear. 
 
THE ONL V GREEN BRANCH LEFT. 203 
 
 A spot that is bright with sunshine and light 
 
 Of dear woman's smile, 
 Affection's pure flow through pleasure or woe, 
 
 And linger the while. 
 Where'er we may roam, the magic word home 
 
 Is music of heart. 
 And memories dear of tender ties there 
 
 Its echoes impart. 
 
 And though distant far the friends we love are. 
 
 As pictures they rise, 
 And 'midst the home-dream their images gleam 
 
 In Memory's skies. 
 Ah, Home is a name far sweeter than fame, 
 
 Or joys it may give ! 
 While other dreams fade, or sink into shade. 
 
 The home visions live. 
 
 THE ONLY GREEN BRANCH LEFT. 
 
 She was a wee and winsome thin< 
 
 '&' 
 
 A tiny, laughing fay ! 
 Her voice was like the bird's of spring, 
 That sweetly trills all day. 
 
204 ^-^^ ^^^ ^ GREEN BRANCH LEFT. 
 
 Its music-notes rang dear and free 
 Upon the blind man's ear ; 
 
 And,i;hoiigh her face he might not see, 
 Twas bliss those tones to hear. 
 
 Her smile was like a soft sunbeam, 
 
 Illumining her lips, — 
 A smile so innocent, 'twould seem 
 
 No cloud should e'er eclipse. 
 
 She was the thread of golden light 
 Twined through his darken'd fate; 
 
 The jewel that for loss of sight 
 Seem'd meant to compensate. 
 
 Her fairy form he'd often take 
 
 Within his doting arms. 
 And fondly long for her dear sake 
 
 To rob life of alarms. 
 
 And when with deep and gushing love 
 He'd fold her to his breast, 
 
 She'd lie like some sweet nestling dove 
 Long used to be caress'd. 
 
 But while her eyes of tender blue 
 Would wander to his own, 
 
THE ONL Y GREEN BRANCH LEFT. 205 
 
 At times the infant's gentle coo 
 Would take a sadden'd tone. 
 
 For soon, alas ! the truth she learn 'd : 
 
 The face on her that smiled, 
 Those sightless orbs but vainly yearn'd 
 
 To view his darling child. 
 
 Yet, smitten by the chast'ning rod, 
 
 He patient bore his lot; 
 While morn and eve unto his God 
 
 His praises ne'er forgot. 
 
 For heav'nly wisdom, though it reft 
 
 The good man of his sight, 
 Still had its bounty to him left. 
 
 This gentle parasite. 
 
 And it was beautiful to see 
 
 His great love shading o'er 
 The plant that coil'd so tenderly 
 
 Around his own heart's core. 
 
 But on the noiseless wheels of Time 
 
 The years were roU'd away, 
 Till she, the child of spring's sweet prime, 
 
 Was borne to summer's day. 
 18 
 
2o6 THE ONL V GREEN BRANCH LEFT. 
 
 Her golden locks were darker grown, 
 
 Ceased was her baby play; 
 While with the blind man years thus flown 
 
 Had turn'd his hair to gray. 
 
 And Time, whose hand his child had led 
 
 To womanhood at length, 
 While silv'ring o'er his aged head. 
 
 Had robb'd him of his strength. 
 
 And then she knew, as by his side 
 
 She still retained her place, 
 It was her turn to be his guide 
 
 And tend his falt'ring pace. 
 
 For all those years of patient love 
 
 Spent on her day by day, 
 With care untiring she strove 
 
 The blind man to repay. 
 
 Her voice was still the music bright 
 
 His spirit's joy that made ; 
 Her loving presence his sunlight. 
 
 Dispelling gloom and shade. 
 
 Upon his life-tree aged and sear'd, 
 
 Of vital power reft, 
 She was the verdure that appear'd, 
 
 The only green branch left. 
 
t6 adrienne. 207 
 
 TO ADRIENNE. 
 
 I LOVE thee with devotion, 
 
 With feelings wild and strange ! 
 
 For thee my soul's affection 
 Can never, never change. 
 
 And, loving thee thus fondly, 
 
 O idol of my heart ! 
 How mournful sounds the mandate 
 
 Condemning us to part I 
 
 But Fate delights to trifle 
 With souls together grown. 
 
 To wring from wedded spirits 
 A melancholy tone. 
 
 And yet, when sadly missing 
 
 The music of that voice, 
 Whose low or faintest echo 
 
 Hath made my heart rejoice. 
 
 And when, like loosen' d harp-strings. 
 My heart-chords sigh and moan, 
 
2o8 TO ADRIENNE. 
 
 Or for their absent owner 
 Beat desolate and lone, 
 
 When o'er the waters' bosom 
 The waves are bearing thee, 
 
 Through all, will be a comfort 
 Still left to solace me. 
 
 For even then, O dearest, 
 Throughout the weary day, 
 
 I still may kneel to Heaven 
 For thee to plead and pray. 
 
 I love thee, oh, I love thee 
 From out my earnest heart. 
 
 And, loving thee thus wildly, 
 Why are we doom'd to part? 
 
 But Time hath torn asunder 
 
 High mountains in their strength, 
 
 And left her gaping chasm 
 
 Along their breadth and length. 
 
 Yet, Time, so strong and potent 
 With hand to overthrow. 
 
 May cause the smiling verdure 
 Amidst the rocks to grow. 
 
DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 And in those barren gorges, 
 May ferns and flowers lie, 
 
 Like stars that shine and shimmer 
 Through Mem'ry's dreary sky. 
 
 And, till again united, 
 Thou' It be my polar star, 
 
 O'er Mem'ry's tide to glisten 
 And light me from afar. 
 
 209 
 
 DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Oh, merry days of childhood ! 
 
 As lightly on ye flow, 
 Unmarr'd by thought of present 
 
 Or dread of future woe, 
 The sunlight smiling sweetly. 
 
 And beaming brightly o'er, 
 No shadows float around you, 
 
 Nor spectres rise before. 
 
 For life is as a garden, 
 Replete with roses rare, 
 
 With freshness and with odors 
 That greet you everywhere. 
 18* 
 
2IO 
 
 I>AVS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 And from beneath your footsteps 
 Clear fountains brightly spring, 
 
 While upward, 'midst green branches, 
 The birds delight to sing. 
 
 Your morning cup is sparkling, 
 
 Is brimming o'er with joy. 
 Ye blissful days of childhood, 
 
 Untinctured with alloy. 
 The heart, all free and guileless. 
 
 Is throbbing high with hope. 
 With every dream ecstatic, 
 
 Of cloudless uncheck'd scope. 
 
 But while upon the flowers 
 
 Your heedless footsteps fleet, 
 A thorn that lies in ambush 
 
 May pierce your careless feet. 
 For, with its golden pleasure. 
 
 Youth cannot always stay ; 
 The days of merry childhood 
 
 Must pass at length away. 
 
 Oh, days of happy childhood ! 
 
 The only days to me 
 That have been void of sadness. 
 
 From sorrow have been free. 
 
TO THE DISEMBODIED. 211 
 
 Though gone with fairy visions, 
 
 Yet through the misty past 
 I love to watch your pictures 
 
 In golden glories cast. 
 
 TO THE DISEMBODIED. 
 
 The world is not the same . 
 
 Since thou art from it fled, 
 And since they laid thee down, 
 
 And told me thou wert dead. 
 They whisper'd softly then, 
 
 To heaven thou wert gone ; 
 It was not well to weep, — 
 
 It was not wise to mourn. 
 
 But words have scanty force 
 
 To stay the fount of grief, 
 To heal the broken heart 
 
 Or bind it with relief. 
 For where the wound is deep. 
 
 Time's hand alone can ease. 
 Can close the aching gap 
 
 By gradual degrees. 
 
212 TO THE DISEMBODIED. 
 
 I knew that thou couldst read 
 
 To heaven thy title clear ; 
 There couldst thou soar, if e'er 
 
 Perfection enter' d there. 
 For sifted from alloy 
 
 Thy nature long had been ; 
 Its purity forbade 
 
 E'en the approach of sin. 
 
 But oh ! I could not hush 
 
 The wail my spirit gave 
 When first I gazed upon 
 
 Thy green and new-made grave. 
 To think, while I must live, 
 
 Must wander on alone, 
 I never more should hear 
 
 Thy dear familiar tone ; 
 
 I ne'er should see thy face. 
 
 Nor gaze within those eyes, 
 Each kindly glance of which 
 
 I long had learn' d to prize. 
 The loneliness I felt. 
 
 In mem'ry lingers still ; 
 Such agonies strike deep. 
 
 Although they may not kill. 
 
TO THE DISEMBODIED. 
 
 But often since that hour 
 
 Strange feelings have I known : 
 Though ne'er I thought I should, - 
 
 I think I've heard thy tone ! 
 Ah, yes, that voice so low. 
 
 That voice beloved and dear, 
 At times seems softly now 
 
 To steal upon mine ear. 
 
 At evening's holy hush, 
 
 Within its zephyrs' sighs. 
 That voice, it seems to me, 
 
 I often recognize. 
 I hear my own name breathed 
 
 In accents soft and clear; 
 And, though I see thee not, 
 
 \feel\kidX thou art near. 
 
 At midnight, too, I start 
 
 From slumber's downy thrall ; 
 I cast its folds aside. 
 
 To listen to thy call. 
 I've heard it in my sleep. 
 
 Repeated oft and oft ; 
 While o'er my cheek I've felt 
 
 Thy breathings warm and soft. 
 
 213 
 
214 
 
 TO THE DISEMBODIED. 
 
 From thy Elysian home, 
 
 Though far away it be, 
 I know thy soul at times 
 
 Is visitant to me. 
 Oft when Temptation's voice 
 
 My secret thoughts would lure. 
 Thy tones o'ersweep my heart, 
 
 And keep it good and pure. 
 
 Thy influence is around ; 
 
 It sways me to the right ; 
 It mingles with my life. 
 
 As moonlight with the night. 
 As Luna's silver rays 
 
 The ebon scenes illume, 
 So from my darken 'd soul 
 
 Canst thou dispel the gloom. 
 
 And, oh, I love to think 
 
 That, though I see thee not, 
 I cannot be by thee 
 
 Deserted or forgot. 
 Then let thy visits last 
 - Till life is o'er with me. 
 When I shall see and know 
 Thee as a certainty. 
 
GULIELMA FROM RICARDO. 215 
 
 GULIELMA FROM RICARDO. 
 
 Oh, swifter far than speeds the fleetest boat, 
 May human thought on Fancy's pinions float. 
 What recks it if the elements should wage, 
 Or winds in war tempestuous engage ? 
 Thought, with Affection's star its course to guide. 
 May conquer and out-travel wind and tide. 
 
 And so unto thy distant solitude 
 
 I'm thither borne, and there On thee intrude, 
 
 To thy beloved presence I draw near. 
 
 And take beside thine own the vacant chair ; 
 
 As was ray wont to do in days gone by. 
 
 When ling'ring 'neath thy sunny Southern sky, 
 
 I softly lay my hand upon thine own, 
 
 And hear again the music of thy tone. 
 
 I gaze within the depths of dark-fringed eyes, 
 
 Till gushing tears within mine own arise. 
 
 Oh that I might once more to thee be near, 
 
 In truth and in reality might hear 
 
 Thy lute-like tones, and to thy every need 
 
 Might minister in some kind act or deed ! 
 
 If sickness pale or suff'ring thou shouldst feel, 
 
 My ready hand might solace and might heal ; 
 
2i6 GULIELMA FROM RICARDO. 
 
 I 
 
 Or if by grief thy woman's heart was press'd, 
 
 Mine own might share the burden of thy breast. 
 
 My efforts with my wishes might combine, 
 
 Thy checker'd life with joy to interline. 
 
 Oh, Gulielma ! could we meet again, 
 
 No earthly force should break the bond in twain. 
 
 I'd linger with thee till the very last; 
 
 My home should be, as in the vanish' d past. 
 
 Where thy pure breathing made the air 
 
 Like that of paradise, so sweet and fair ; 
 
 Where thy low tones, like notes of Philomel, 
 
 Upon my fond impassion'd spirit fell. 
 
 We'd talk together, and we'd linger o'er 
 
 The bygone hopes of blessed days of yore ; 
 
 And when I'd tell thee of the seasons fled. 
 
 Of cherish'd friends among the silent dead. 
 
 Thou wouldst forgive me if, while I reveal' d 
 
 The rays of sun, the shadows I conceal' d. 
 
 For, oh, my studied task it then would be 
 
 To muffle ev'ry mournful memory; 
 
 To wake no gloomy echoes through thy heart, 
 
 But cause vain anguish and regret depart. 
 
 I'd point thee out no soul-dreams broken, crush'd, 
 
 But rather where the beams of promise blush'd, 
 
 And where the shimmering and breaking light 
 
 Had stolen moon-like through the ebon night. 
 
GULIELMA FROM RICARDO. 217 
 
 That in thy breast it might reflect its smile, 
 And thee with happiness again beguile. 
 
 Oh, Gulielma, scarcely stirs a thought 
 
 Throughout my soul but with thy mem'ry 's fraught ; 
 
 I nurse no hope that is not bound in thee. 
 
 May Fate, with sudden kindness, soon decree 
 
 To realize my hopes and wishes bright. 
 
 Restore thy yearn' d-for vision to my sight. 
 
 For though awhile in dreams may rapture dwell, 
 
 A passing sigh, a tone, may break the spell ; 
 
 And though with clear and retrospective view 
 
 The picture in each light and shade be true, 
 
 The odor of the flowers we used to love 
 
 Be wafted through the present as we rove, 
 
 The roses rear'd by thee, the jasmine sweet, 
 
 My grateful senses seem again to greet ; 
 
 But when, alas ! as now, they only seem^ 
 
 Anon we weep to waken from the dream. 
 
 Oh, Gulielma ! since I met thee last. 
 
 Across the bridge of Time have come and pass'd 
 
 Long years; and with the thought will my lone heart 
 
 Within my bosom strangely bound and start; 
 
 For Time, whose ruthless heel treads over Spring, 
 
 Doth hoary Winter in his footsteps bring. 
 
 But oh, I pray, my beautiful ! with thee 
 
 He hath been gentle, and dealt leniently ; 
 
 19 
 
2i8 DREAMS. 
 
 He hath not interlined with care thy brow, 
 Nor strewn thy sunny locks with flakes of snow. 
 And yet should Time upon thy beauteous head 
 Have laid his whiten 'd hand, for each pale thread 
 Which ripples through the dusky wavelets there, 
 Thou' It be to thy Ricardo yet more dear; 
 More cherish' d in the Autumn of thy life 
 Than when in Spring youth's blossoms all were rife. 
 
 Then send thy bird-like message o'er the main, 
 That I may thither fly, and be again 
 Thine own, nor for my Gulielma wait 
 Till I shall meet her in the future state; 
 For I should recognize her surely there. 
 Though sunny locks had turn'd to silver hair; 
 She still would be within the world afar, 
 What she has ever been, my guiding star. 
 
 I 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 The dreams I fondly cherish' d 
 Are gone, forever fled ; 
 
 My trusted joys have perish' d, 
 My hopes lie cold and dead. 
 
DREAMS. 
 
 Like dewdrops have they vanish' d, 
 When 'neath the mid-day sun 
 
 These early gems are banish' d 
 And lost to sight each one. 
 
 Ah ! youth is but the morning 
 Whose day, though opening fair, 
 
 At eve without a warning 
 Will oft in clouds appear. 
 
 For life's inviting chalice 
 
 Shines brightest near the brink : 
 'Tis fraught with pain and malice 
 
 The further down we drink. 
 
 Upon the surface sparkling 
 
 We press the eager lips, 
 But shadows dim and darkling 
 
 The joy-drops soon eclipse. 
 
 We search in vain for pleasure 
 Each step we onward take : 
 
 The varied crystal treasure 
 Is doom'd to fall or break. 
 
 Or, like the serpent's glitter 
 To birds it would decoy, 
 
 It lures but to embitter, 
 To weary and destroy. 
 
 219 
 
220 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Array' D in robes of spotless white, 
 With beaming eye and footstep light, 
 
 Hope visiteth the heart. 
 She cometh in the darkest hour. 
 With magic spell and mystic power 
 
 Her solace to impart. 
 
 Her garments fall in graceful folds, 
 A brimming cup her right hand holds, 
 
 A cup of flower- form, ('*) 
 Which, reaching forth, she seems to say, 
 '^ Let this elixir be thy stay 
 
 When bursts the threaten'd storm." 
 
 She marks the weary captive bound ; 
 His cell she enters without sound ; 
 
 But sparkling as sunbeam 
 She breaks through clouds of dull distress 
 That o'er his anguish'd bosom press 
 
 In sad and sullen dream. 
 
 She lifts him from the cold damp dust. 
 And leaves him not till waken'd trust 
 Gives sign of coming day ; 
 
HOPE. 221 
 
 Then, like a bird with happy wings, 
 And light as zephyr, forth she springs 
 To deeds of love away. 
 
 She gains the home of maiden fair. 
 Who, drooping 'neath her wild despair, 
 
 But sighs in vain for rest. 
 Hope draws the veil of doubt aside 
 Which dims the lustre of love's tide ; 
 
 She heals her wounded breast. 
 
 Her course she steers to that lone spot 
 Which seems by all but her forgot, — 
 
 Forsaken spot and drear. 
 Beneath the foaming ocean-wave 
 The mariner awaits his grave, 
 
 When Hope, sweet Hope, draws near. 
 
 To life she fans the latent spark 
 When all is growing dim and dark 
 
 Within his brooding mind ; 
 She whispers of a fav'ring tide. 
 Whereon his bark may safely glide, 
 
 May yet sure anch'rage find. 
 
 Again to land she takes her course, 
 Still proving the unfailing source 
 Of solace and of calm. 
 19* 
 
2 22 HOPE. 
 
 She enters where all joys depart, 
 And lives the longest in the heart, 
 Its comfort and its balm. 
 
 With haste she seeks the tiny bed 
 Where droops the dying infant's head, 
 
 The mother weeping by. 
 She points above, to where the light 
 Forever floods, with glory bright, 
 
 A blest eternity. 
 
 She whispers of supernal rest, 
 Where angel ones are free and blest, 
 
 Where sorrow is unknown. 
 Her voice dispels each gloomy shade 
 Which death relentlessly hath made : 
 
 There's magic in her tone. 
 
 Deep in the heart she sings a song 
 To tell where ransom'd souls belong ; 
 
 Where in the Saviour's arms 
 The babe, reft of maternal care. 
 Translated thus to higher sphere. 
 
 Is shelter' d from alarms. 
 
 And so with Time she keeps apace. 
 And turns on all her lovely face. 
 Her welcome smiles impart. 
 
/ MISS THEE. 
 
 223 
 
 As in the fabled box of yore, 
 When other blessings all are o'er, 
 Hope resteth in the heart. 
 
 I MISS THEE. 
 
 I MISS thee at morn, 
 
 When first I arise 
 And see not thy face 
 
 Nor soft loving eyes ; 
 I whisper thy name, 
 
 'Tis borne on the air ; 
 No echo returns. 
 
 My spirit to cheer. 
 
 I miss thee at noon : 
 
 The Angelus rings, 
 And close to my heart 
 
 Thy memory brings ; 
 My hand I extend 
 
 To clasp thine in prayer 
 Alas ! 'tis in vain ! 
 
 For thou art not here. 
 
2 24 ^ ^^^^ THEE. 
 
 I miss thee at eve, 
 
 When shadows fall bright, 
 The flowers to flood 
 
 With glory and light. 
 We used in this hour 
 
 Communion to share. 
 And feelings indulge 
 
 Most sacred and dear. 
 
 I miss thee e'en when 
 
 The azure of night 
 Is starry and gemm'd 
 
 With jewels of light ; 
 And zephyrs that breathe 
 
 In soft murmurs by 
 Waft up from my lips 
 
 Thy name to the sky. 
 
 And hearest the voice 
 
 Of sorrowful tone, 
 And seest the heart 
 
 For thee that is lone ? 
 An angel on high 
 
 In radiant sphere, 
 Dost feel for my grief 
 
 And pity me there ? 
 
I MISS THEE. 
 
 I miss thee, dear one, 
 
 When deepens the night ! 
 The senses of man 
 
 In visions take flight ; 
 Creation's great pulse 
 
 Is silent in sleep ; 
 Then vigils of love 
 
 For thee do I keep. 
 
 The breezes seem fill'd 
 
 With that haunting tone, 
 Whose music from earth 
 
 Forever hath flown ; 
 And sadly my heart 
 
 The sympathies crave 
 Of one laid beneath 
 
 The mossy-grown grave. 
 
 I'll miss thee until 
 
 Eternity's star 
 My soul shall guide to 
 
 Thy spirit afar. 
 And then, when I reach 
 
 The long-wish 'd-for shore. 
 And meet thy embrace, 
 
 I'll miss thee no more. 
 
 225 
 
226 THE COMPLAINT. 
 
 THE COMPLAINT. 
 
 I'm weary of this weary state, — 
 
 An heir to sorrow born ; 
 Foredoom' d, alas ! from early fate 
 
 To languish and to mourn. 
 
 I can but long, with soul oppress' d, 
 
 Without regret or sigh, 
 To give my spirit up to rest, 
 
 Relinquish life, and die. 
 
 To die ! but what is it, this thing 
 Call'd death? — suffice to know, 
 
 Whate'er its pains, it may not bring 
 Us more than mortal woe. 
 
 The state above sure cannot be 
 Much worse than this below. 
 
 More fraught with grief and misery : 
 It may be better, though ! 
 
 Here, time rolls onward as a stream 
 Of deep and briny tears. 
 
THE COMPLAINT. 
 
 And life's a disappointed dream, 
 Replete with doubts and fears. 
 
 My once warm heart is cold and chill'd ; 
 
 The hopes therein that rise 
 Become like ice congeal'd and still'd, 
 
 Or turn to bitter sighs. 
 
 Beneath my feet, the very ground 
 Seems e'en of quicksands made ; 
 
 The sky above and earth around 
 Are cast alike in shade. 
 
 No bright-vein'd flowers along my way 
 
 Up-spring to give me cheer : 
 I find as sad the long, long day 
 
 As night is lone and drear. 
 
 Then may the world beyond that lies 
 
 Find not a match in this. 
 But from the griefs that here arise 
 
 Lead to reported bliss. 
 
 I'm weary of this weary life ! 
 
 Too many are its pains, 
 Too much its agony and strife, 
 
 Too few its real gains. 
 
 227 
 
228 
 
 THE REPROOF. 
 
 THE REPROOF. 
 
 Oh, why should life so lonely seem, 
 Complaining child of earth? 
 
 Why be to thee that bitter dream. 
 Devoid of joy and mirth? 
 
 Are there no missions to fulfill? 
 
 No duties to perform? 
 For duties fill'd are friends that will 
 
 Stand firm in calm or storm. 
 
 Are there no hopes upon life's tree? 
 
 No blossoms on its vine. 
 That may in time expand and be 
 
 In more than promise thine ? 
 
 Are there no gleams around thee cast 
 Where sunlight used to burn ? 
 
 No golden bubbles of the past 
 That float on Mem'ry's urn? 
 
 No echoes from that distant shore 
 Where long ago you roved 
 
RIENZl. 
 
 With gentle ones, though now no more, 
 Who once were well beloved. 
 
 Are there no murmurs through the trees 
 
 That wave above the sod, 
 No voices in the evening's breeze, 
 
 That speak to you of God ? 
 
 Oh, deem thyself not quite unblest, 
 
 Nor in this world alone : 
 Though friends depart, — those loved the best,- 
 
 There still remaineth ONE. 
 
 Then turn to Him with heart oppress' d, 
 
 With spirit grieved and bow'd ; 
 Unveil the burden of thy breast, 
 
 Thy gloomy soul unshroud. 
 
 229 
 
 RIENZl. 
 
 Unto the temple consecrated there 
 To LIBERTY, in centuries foregone. 
 
 With slow and solemn measure we draw near ; 
 While, lo ! the lovely goddess stoops to mourn. 
 
 She bends above the cold and silent clay 
 Of him, — her faithful and her fav'rite child. 
 20 
 
230 
 
 RIENZI. 
 
 When friends, like autumn's foliage, fell away. 
 And when life's tempest echo'd fiercely wild, 
 Her smile shone on as bright as summer's day. 
 
 He'd raised on high her ensigns, and he fell 
 
 To worship at a shrine so perfect, free ; 
 But trusted traitors broke the golden spell 
 
 Which link'd his soul to life and liberty. 
 For her, — for freedom's lofty hope and pride, — 
 
 Within his fervent, patriotic breast. 
 Ambition gather'd in its swelling tide. 
 
 And dreams of ancient Rome restored, impress' d 
 His heart. Fame's trumpet sounded far and wide. 
 
 He was the savior who would fain have freed 
 
 Italia from her dark and galling chain ; 
 His was the potent will, the ready deed. 
 
 To rend oppression's iron yoke in twain. 
 His ardent spirit burn'd with quenchless zeal 
 
 To make a gifted nation once more free. 
 To break foul tyranny's despotic seal. 
 
 And to bequeath to all posterity 
 The heritage of pristine wealth and weal. 
 
 But melancholy task is it to trace. 
 
 For bold enactment of heroic part. 
 The recompense a weak, degenerate race 
 
 Pours through the channels of his mighty heart. 
 
 I 
 
RIENZI. 231 
 
 For justice exercised for noble ends, 
 For patriotism long in deeds confess'd, 
 
 For hands whose bravery their home defends, 
 The barbed arrow quivers in his breast, 
 
 His parting soul with cruel anguish rends. 
 
 Ingratitude ! O Italy, this stain — 
 
 The foulest which a nation well can fear — 
 Doth tarnish and corrode each galling chain 
 
 'Neath which your coward vassals crouching bear. 
 Inured to slavery ! ah, can it be 
 
 You have forgot your land is yet his grave? 
 Or crave you, then, no longer to be free. 
 
 Nor 'neath your sunny skies again to wave 
 The banner of enlighten'd Liberty? 
 
 From out those smould'ring ashes dim and dark, 
 
 Whence once ascended freedom's glowing fire, 
 Arise ! and fan to life each latent spark: 
 
 Let his proud name the drooping heart inspire, 
 Each foe to Liberty then boldly face ; 
 
 No longer bow obsequious to wrong, 
 Redeem Italia from her dull disgrace. 
 
 Still to Rienzi's memory belong 
 The power to rescue yet his sinking race. 
 
232 
 
 MARIE. 
 
 MARIE. 
 
 As gently falls the twilight hour, 
 
 As softly sinks the day, 
 With ling'ring touch of glory's power, 
 
 Thy spirit pass'd away. 
 And as the holy even-time, 
 
 Before its rays depart, 
 Reflects its radiance sublime, — 
 
 Thy memory left the heart. 
 
 But evening^s ruby glow and light 
 
 From out the sky must fade, 
 And in the dewy arms of Night 
 
 Be wrapp'd at length in shade 
 Not so thy mem'ry ever dear, 
 
 My soul that doth impel ; 
 No night so deep, or darkness drear, 
 
 Can dim its haunting spell. 
 
 It comes with pencil warm and true. 
 
 And faithful to its trust, 
 Returns thine image to my view. 
 
 From out the silent dust. 
 
MARIE. 
 
 233 
 
 For though from earth, they say, thou'st gone, 
 
 And vacant stands thy chair. 
 Although thy loss I deeply mourn, 
 
 Thy spirit still seems near. 
 
 Each hallovv'd scene and token round, 
 
 That once thy presence knew, 
 Seems fraught to-day with sight and sound 
 
 All eloquent and true. 
 The face so bright and kind I see, 
 
 With trustful, loving eyes. 
 That gaze yet tenderly on me. 
 
 Like stars from out the skies. 
 
 In early morning's blushing hour, 
 
 Before the sun e'en sips 
 The crystal dew from out each flower, 
 
 To quench his thirsty lips. 
 Then, when I stray to meet the breeze, 
 
 As erst we used to roam, 
 Beneath the broad umbrageous trees 
 
 Which shade our rural home. 
 
 Thy footsteps seem beside mine own 
 
 To tread the mossy wood ; 
 I seem to hear thy laughing tone 
 
 Through leafy solitude. 
 
234 UNREQUITED. 
 
 Aurora's breath, that fans my cheek, 
 My spirit makes rejoice ; 
 
 The merry waters seem to speak 
 In thy familiar voice. 
 
 The mountain daisy wears thy look, 
 
 As freshly bathed in dew ; 
 All nature is to me a book 
 
 In which I read of you. 
 Yet must I nevermore behold 
 
 Thee with my mortal eyes. 
 Thy breathing self no more enfold 
 
 Until I reach the skies? 
 
 Then welcome home, and far away, 
 Across the waves of Time, 
 
 To where thy bark at anchor lay 
 In the Elysian clime. 
 
 UNREQUITED. 
 
 To wander on unloved, alone, 
 
 No answering echo to the tone 
 
 The heart exhales through doubt and pain, 
 
 Is but existence all in vain. 
 
KATE'S CONSTANCY. 
 
 Affection's waves to wildly sweep 
 The chords of nature true and deep, 
 With none to listen, or respond, 
 To feelings all impassion 'd, fond. 
 Is day without a sun, and night 
 Uncheer'd and unillumed by light. 
 To watch the loved one's absent eye. 
 And listen to her passing sigh. 
 Yet know that sigh for you will ne'er 
 Fall on your anxious, longing ear. 
 Is torture and exquisite gloom. 
 Such as portrays Tantalus' doom. 
 The soul against its prison walls 
 Calls out for help, but vainly calls : 
 The seal'd-up fountains of its grief 
 Can find no outlet of Relief. 
 
 235 
 
 KATE'S CONSTANCY. 
 
 And hast thou gone, forever gone, 
 
 And left thy Kate alone. 
 And will she never welcome more 
 
 Thy old familiar tone ? 
 
236 KATE'S CONSTANCY. 
 
 Her plaintive voice is on the air ; 
 
 And breathings low and deep 
 Betray the secret of her soul, 
 
 Unconsciously in sleep : 
 
 '* Oh, sad regret ! oh, cruel thought ! 
 
 That we no more may meet. 
 That I must cease to watch and wait 
 
 The coming of thy feet ! 
 
 " No other bliss in life can fill 
 
 The void thy absence leaves ; 
 The hope which bids me comfort take 
 
 But flatters and deceives. 
 
 *'The cup of life henceforth is blent 
 
 With poison and alloy ; 
 Thy cruelty hath robb'd it of 
 
 Its foaming tide of joy. 
 
 *^And though the 'Dead March' play'd around 
 
 The love that late was mine. 
 And though that love is buried now, 
 
 My heart-throbs still are thine. 
 
 '' Affection's seeds within my soul, 
 Which thou once planted there, 
 
TRUTH. 
 
 Still flower on, and flourish through 
 The soil of dark despair. 
 
 *' 'Tis not because thou hast forgot 
 
 That I, too, can forget ! 
 Though faded from thy memory skies. 
 
 Thou art my sunlight yet ! 
 
 *' We cannot turn the stream's strong tide 
 
 Whatever course we will. 
 Smooth out the ripples on its breast, 
 
 Or bid it, peace, be still. 
 
 *' So while I yet in life sojourn. 
 
 My heart will reach to thee ! 
 How can it make another choice, 
 
 E'en in eternity?" 
 
 237 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 Her garments, pure and white as snow. 
 In graceful folds around her flow : 
 Her pleasant smile and brow serene 
 Add beauty to her modest mien. 
 
238 TRUTH. 
 
 She bears a name refined and bright, 
 
 And shines the clearest in full light : 
 
 They call her in both age and youth 
 
 By the enchanting title, — TRUTH. 
 
 She's honor's bulwark, ever dear, 
 
 She's virtue's mother, fond and fair. 
 
 All aims that are not on her built, 
 
 Like baseless visions, fade and wilt. 
 
 Hers is the pledge by which to bide 
 
 Throughout life's ever-changing tide. 
 
 No strength can turn her steadfast course ; 
 
 She never yields to falsehood's force. 
 
 Deceitful waves may o'er her sweep, 
 
 And on her bosom seem to sleep. 
 
 But soon from out the mist she'll rise. 
 
 With light triumphant in her eyes ; 
 
 For Truth must soar, and falsehood sink 
 
 Deep in the cup. Beneath the brink 
 
 'Twill lie as dregs, all dusky there. 
 
 Whilst Truth o'erflows both bright and clear; 
 
 For Truth, with lofty power given. 
 
 By spirit-links is bound to heaven : 
 
 An attribute of the All-Wise, 
 
 Reflected from its native skies. 
 
THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY, 239 
 
 THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 TO MRS. R. S. L. 
 
 I SAW him in his coffin, 
 
 There, lying pale and dead ; 
 And friends that round him gathered 
 
 Their tears of anguish shed. 
 So silent, yet so lovely, 
 
 Though gone the vital breath, 
 One scarcely could believe it 
 
 That this indeed was death. 
 
 His small white hands were folded, 
 
 Like rose-leaves, on his breast ; 
 His lips just slightly parted 
 
 With smile of heav'nly rest : 
 As though Death's solemn angel. 
 
 While passing on his way, 
 Had met him in a moment 
 
 Of merriment and play. 
 
 I saw his sisters bending 
 Above the sable pall ; 
 
240 
 
 THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 And though he could not hear them, 
 
 On him they'd sadly call : 
 " Oh, hast thou gone, sweet brother. 
 
 Thy spirit flown away. 
 Thy voice that, like a fountain, 
 
 Gush'd music all the day? 
 
 *' Its rippling tones, now silent. 
 
 No more we'll ever greet, 
 Or listen for the patter 
 
 Of merry, bounding feet." 
 And, like a lovely lily 
 
 By sudden storm oppress' d, 
 The sister's head fell drooping 
 
 Upon his pulseless breast. 
 
 It seem'd as though she listen'd 
 
 For words he could not speak, 
 E'en while she bathed with kisses 
 
 His lately rosy cheek. 
 She'd been his guide and counsel 
 
 Throughout his infant years. 
 The friend to bless and comfort 
 
 'Midst childhood's smiles and tears. 
 
 His little tasks and lessons 
 To her had all been brought ; 
 
 1 
 
THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY. 241 
 
 Her sanction apd approval 
 
 The guerdon he had sought. 
 But now he could not answer 
 
 The broken heart that pour'd 
 Its inundating sorrow o'er 
 
 The idol once adored. 
 
 " He was the one, dear mother," 
 
 Young Lila sobb'd aloud, 
 " Of all the household treasures. 
 
 Of whom you were most proud." 
 And little Fannie, stealing 
 
 Amidst the others there. 
 Kept strewing fresh pale flowers 
 
 Upon her brother's bier. 
 
 With grief suppress'd, the mother 
 
 Gazed on the dear, dead child. 
 Whom God to Him had taken 
 
 All sinless, undefiled. 
 And, while she gazed, came softly. 
 
 In through the open door, 
 A band of blooming children. 
 
 Who lightly trod the floor. 
 
 Dear little boys ! so many. 
 With tutor by their side, 
 21 
 
242 
 
 THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 Had come to look their last on 
 Their comrade who had died. 
 
 So late he'd been amongst them, 
 In study and in play, 
 
 It scarcely seem'd like real 
 That he had pass'd away. 
 
 'Twas then the fount maternal 
 
 Of nature broke restraint. 
 The mother's soul outpouring 
 
 In mingled tears and plaint : 
 ** Whose heart will beat responsive 
 
 As yours to mine, O son ? 
 For who can understand me 
 
 As you have always done ? 
 
 " Oh, John, oh, John, my darling ! 
 
 Could nothing stay you here ? 
 The friends you used to love so, 
 
 To whom you were so dear ; 
 The mother and the sisters. 
 
 Whose joy with you must pass ; 
 Your schoolmates all, who say you were 
 
 The best boy of the class ? 
 
 ** And, dear, there is another. 
 Whose heart is nearly broke. 
 
THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 Who's smitten 'neath the storm as 
 The tempest-stricken oak. 
 
 Last night I heard him sobbing 
 Beside the little stand 
 
 Which holds the coins and treasures 
 Just left by your dear hand. 
 
 ''A father's high ambition 
 
 Had built on you his trust ; 
 While, lo! the hopes he garner'd 
 
 Lie trailing in the dust. 
 Oh, how we'll miss you, darling ! 
 
 Your young sunshiny face 
 Will evermore be haunting 
 
 Each old familiar place. 
 
 **Ah, when the board is ready. 
 
 And others gather there, 
 Our hearts with pain will quiver 
 
 To see your vacant chair. 
 And Christmas time is coming. 
 
 Is nearly on us now ; 
 But we will have no Christmas, 
 
 Since you are laid thus low. 
 
 *' Oh, dearest, lift those lashes, 
 Like fleecy clouds that lie. 
 
 243 
 
244 
 
 THE DARLING OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 Concealing from the vision 
 The blue and boundless sky. 
 
 I yearn to see them open, 
 Those eyes of violet hue, 
 
 Your spirit's love reflecting, 
 All fathomless and true. 
 
 ^' Oh, darling !" — but her accents 
 
 In broken sobs gave way : 
 A spirit new awak'ning 
 
 Within her seem'd to say, 
 *'Fond mother, cease repining, 
 
 Thy heart's rebellion still; 
 Bow in submission righteous 
 
 To God's o'erruling will. 
 
 '* Then weep no more your treasure; 
 
 He's happier than e'er 
 He would have been to tarry 
 
 Amidst the changes here. 
 For care is ever stealing 
 
 Across the path of youth. 
 And sin is daily tempting 
 
 Its innocence and truth. 
 
 ^' 'Tis well to lay him gently 
 Beneath the grassy sod, 
 
THE YOUNG EQUESTRIAN. 245 
 
 While yet he held communion 
 
 And walk'd alone with God. 
 You are not from him sever' d ; 
 
 For mem'ry's chain is given 
 With golden links to bind you 
 
 Until you meet in heaven." 
 
 THE YOUNG EQUESTRIAN. 
 
 Come, Music ! bring your sweetest notes, 
 
 To imitate his voice. 
 As on the air his laughter floats 
 
 Like melody most choice. 
 
 And, roses ! ye your light display. 
 To match his damask cheeks; 
 
 Your fragrance breathe upon the way, 
 As he breathes when he speaks. 
 
 Ye graceful willows, bow and bend, 
 
 To show his supple form ; 
 Your emerald arms with ease extend. 
 
 In sunshine and in storm. 
 21* 
 
246 THE YOUNG EQUESTRIAN. 
 
 Eight leafy Junes have scarcely swept 
 Their rose-drifts o'er Time's brow, 
 
 Since angels, who had always kept. 
 Left him in charge below. 
 
 And still they watch'd his cradle-bed, 
 
 His rosy smiles to win. 
 Sweet dimples o'er his features shed, 
 
 And dropp'd sunlight therein. 
 
 And now, so much a man he's grown, — 
 This bud of promise rare, — 
 
 One can predict, when fully blown, 
 The fruit will be as fair. 
 
 The mind of fine productive soil 
 To increased culture yields, 
 
 The frame well knit to conquer toil 
 Or joy in sport of fields. 
 
 To see him mounted on his steed, — 
 This fair-hair'd boy, Eugene, — 
 
 As gayly trotting through the mead, 
 Or cant'ring o'er the green. 
 
 You'd take the child and horse for one^ 
 They sway with such accord ; 
 
THE YOUNG EQUESTRIAN. 247 
 
 They bound together, leap, or run ; 
 As one, the streamlet ford. 
 
 His gallant nag, ''Prince Charles," and he, 
 
 Seem wedded by some link. 
 Some viewless chain of sympathy. 
 
 By which both move and think. 
 
 So light in hand, in stirrup light, 
 
 With grace they step along. 
 As steps the cadence clear and bright 
 
 Of poetry or song. 
 
 With conscious skill the tiny hand 
 
 Supports the slender lines. 
 Obedience gains to each demand. 
 
 As each itself defines. 
 
 So soft the touch, you scarcely see 
 
 The little fingers move; 
 Each seems as if a magic key 
 
 That fits in lock of love. 
 
 With head erect, expanded chest. 
 
 And balance kept with ease, 
 'Tween whip and limb so firmly press' d, 
 
 His young Pegasus flees. 
 
248 THE YOUNG EQUESTRIAN. 
 
 His sorrel mane soft winds disturb, 
 His neck is arch'd and gay, 
 
 As gently bearing upon curb 
 And snaffle as in play. 
 
 And he, the lord, whose sovereign sway 
 His subject meets with joy, 
 
 Each impulse glories to obey, — 
 How happy seems the boy ! 
 
 His flaxen locks dance in the breeze ; 
 
 His blue and cloudless eyes. 
 As glancing through the leafy trees. 
 
 Seem vying with the skies. 
 
 They wear the same cerulean shade. 
 And smile as bright as they : 
 
 Oh, may no spirit-cloud invade, 
 To chase their light away ! 
 
 Then safely bear thy precious charge, 
 Gay steed, o'er hills and slopes : 
 
 He's freighted with a cargo large 
 Of rich paternal hopes. 
 
MATERNAL TRAINING. 249 
 
 MATERNAL TRAINING. 
 
 Oh, mother ! train thy plant to be 
 
 A noble and an upright tree ! 
 
 Protect each fibre, watch each stem, 
 
 That springeth from the early gem : 
 
 If thou wouldst have its leaves grow bright. 
 
 Incline it upwards towards the light; 
 
 Thy vigils close above it keep. 
 
 Lest shadows dark should o'er it sweep; 
 
 Lest sudden bitterness and gloom 
 
 Should mar its tender youth and bloom ; 
 
 Lest unforeseen some winter wind. 
 
 Which passes by with breath unkind, 
 
 Should meet it in unguarded hour, 
 
 Assail it with resistless power. 
 
 Its growth impede, and blight the flower. 
 
 While blossoming on to riper hour. 
 
 Then, warm and safe in fertile ground. 
 
 Encompass it with love around ; 
 
 So much of human joy or woe 
 
 Must from maternal teachings flow. 
 
 The mother's heart is as the root 
 
 From which outgrows the sapling-fruit. 
 
250 
 
 MATERNAL TRAINING. 
 
 Let virtue be ingrafted there, 
 While yet the blossom's fresh and fair, 
 Before the canker-worm of sin 
 Hath nipp'd the tender life within. 
 
 Let not thy care a moment stray 
 
 From thy frail parasite away ; 
 
 And, when its branches round thee coil. 
 
 It will repay thee for thy toil, 
 
 To watch it hourly improve 
 
 Within the garden of thy love. 
 
 And when its heart clings close to thine. 
 
 And with thy hopes its own combine, 
 
 While from the dull and earthly sod 
 
 It bloometh upwards towards its God, 
 
 Then for thy well-accomplish' d task 
 
 What greater recompense couldst ask ? 
 
 Oh, shield the blossom, guard the prize. 
 As dark temptations round it rise ! 
 Impart such lessons as may be 
 Enduring as eternity ; 
 For when, upon some lonely day, 
 The parent-stem be borne away. 
 Throughout life's after-change and pain. 
 Those lessons pure will still remain, 
 
DREAM OF FAME. 
 
 Producing fruit that e'er shall be 
 Rich blessings to thy memory, — 
 Producing fruit that shall attain 
 Its heavenly heritage and gain. 
 
 251 
 
 DREAM OF FAME. 
 
 Oh, twine a wreath of flow'rets 
 
 That typify fair fame. 
 And bear it to me hither, 
 
 To circle round my name ! 
 
 I would not be forgotten 
 E'en when my spirit's fled. 
 
 And when its frail encasement 
 Reposes with the dead. 
 
 I crave for mystic power. 
 
 While sailing o'er life's stream. 
 
 To catch the glitt'ring bubbles 
 Of Reputation's dream. 
 
 I crave for gifted genius, 
 Like Caesar won and wore ; 
 
252 
 
 DREAM OF FAME. 
 
 For laurels such as shaded 
 His godlike forehead o'er. 
 
 More raeiiant they than tresses 
 
 Of flowing silk or gold ; 
 They perish not with mortal, 
 
 But bloom above the mould. 
 
 And I would be remember' d, 
 
 While ages onward fleet ; 
 When in existence' circle 
 
 My pulses cease to beat. 
 
 I'd carve, with Wisdom's chisel, 
 Bright monuments to stand, 
 
 And breathe abroad my praises 
 Through each enlighten'd land. 
 
 High monuments of genius. 
 That millions might inspire 
 
 With lofty admiration 
 And emulative fire. 
 
 I'd have my name renowned. 
 
 While years their course should roll, 
 
 In letters clear, emblazon' d 
 On Time's extending scroll. 
 
 I 
 
BABY BESSIE. 253 
 
 BABY BESSIE. 
 
 TO MRS. L. H. 
 
 Two tiny hands are folded 
 Across the breast of snow : 
 
 The little rippling streamlet 
 No more with life will flow. 
 
 The little heart is quiet 
 Within its wee, wee cage : 
 
 The volume newly open'd 
 Is closed at l\iQ first page. 
 
 The rose-leaf lids are pressing 
 
 Above the eyes of blue ; 
 The spirit that illumed them 
 
 Took wings, and God-ward flew. 
 
 A snowflake softly drifted 
 From off the banks of life. 
 
 Where changing winds blow bleakly, 
 And hurricanes are rife. 
 22 
 
254 
 
 BABY BESSIE. 
 
 And so that drifted snowflake 
 Was on and upward press' d, 
 
 Until it reach'd and melted 
 Upon the Saviour's breast. 
 
 But in the heart maternal 
 
 An aching void is left ; 
 The rock of strong affections 
 
 Has suddenly been cleft ; 
 
 While in the chasm open'd, 
 
 A little name is there, 
 The cherish' d name of Bessie, — 
 
 Euphonious and fair. 
 
 And there within those heart-depths 
 'Twill fill the sadden'd space. 
 
 Until those hearts together 
 
 Have throbb'd in one embrace. 
 
 1 
 
NAPLES. 
 
 255 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 So lovely is Naples ! as maid or fay, 
 
 Reposing herself between hill and 'tween bay; 
 
 So lovely and gay in the glitt'ring sunlight, — 
 
 But lovelier far by the silvery night ! 
 
 From out on the river I've met the glad view, 
 
 Until with my senses my spirit it drew, 
 
 And stirr'd ev'ry pulse to devotion and praise 
 
 To God and to nature, — His works and His ways. 
 
 Then out on the river, come, watch with me here, 
 While Cynthia gleams from her radiant sphere. 
 And kisses the wavelets that shimmer below. 
 Each frothy and bright as if crested with snow ! 
 How grand is the prospect which stretches away 
 'Midst waters that dash through the beautiful bay. 
 And imprison the moonbeams in glistening threads. 
 Intertwining them, too, 'mongst the phosphorous shreds, 
 
 Until they are mingled in fold upon fold. 
 Like clustering flakelets of silver and gold ! 
 Come out on tlie river, and watch with me here ! 
 So fair from Ciiiaja the view doth appear ; 
 
256 NAPLES. 
 
 The coast and bright hills that are smiling around, 
 The gardens and villas unrival'd abound, 
 While some in their ruins more lovely appear, 
 Like Age when sublimed by the spirit of prayer. 
 
 There rises Vesuvius, in noontide so bright, 
 And robed as in garments of rich purple light, 
 Though calm 'neath the moonbeams, her brow still 
 
 en wreathed 
 With curls of light smoke from her ardent heart 
 
 breathed. 
 Come watch the light wavelets that sportively play 
 And kiss the green shores ere they've melted away. 
 Or onward are borne to the ocean's deep bed, 
 Like childhood's good-night when its prayers have been 
 
 said. 
 
 The boats on the bay, as they gallantly glide, 
 Seem moving and svvay'd through a green-color'd tide, 
 As though emeralds rare were dissolved in the stream. 
 And out-sparkling and flashing, in gleam upon gleam. 
 More gorgeously shine on the wave's heaving breast 
 Than decking the bride for her nuptials drest. 
 While each feath'ry oar, with its dip soft and light, 
 Sends back sudden gushes effulgent and bright, 
 
 Until it would seem that some mystical hand 
 This picture with glory enchanted had spann'd. 
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
NAPLES. 
 
 257 
 
 Or moved through the waters' depths, forward and 
 
 back, 
 To leave o'er their surface a radiant track ; 
 While oftentimes, too, from a light skiff or boat. 
 Sweet music is heard on the still air to float, 
 As though holy angels the scene who might trace 
 Were mingling their voices its magic to grace, 
 
 And teaching the soul in its rapture to soar 
 Away from this world to Elysian shore; 
 And well may it, rev' ling 'midst visions so bright. 
 From grosser reflections of life take its flight, 
 And with each outgushing harmonious note, 
 On pinions triumphant, e'en heavenward float; 
 The heart for a while may relinquish its sighs. 
 Forget all its griefs 'neath Italia's bright skies. 
 
 O lovely Italia ! though loveliest at night, 
 
 When only thy beauties reveal to the sight, 
 
 Inspiring dreams of the far, far away. 
 
 Where things the most perfect may never decay. 
 
 O glorious Italy ! blest is thy land, 
 
 Thou favorite daughter oi Nature' s kind hand ! 
 
 Though ages have roU'd, with her cherishing love 
 
 She never hath fail'd her aff'ection to prove. 
 
258 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 Though slaves have disgraced thee, that mother hath 
 
 been 
 A friend as uncha.iging through sorrow and sin. 
 Thy hills and thy valleys around thee are seen 
 Eternally robed in their vestures of green ; 
 Thy villas are bright as in those days of yore 
 When Liberty's anthems rang over thy shore, 
 When Caesar and Pompey, with soul-swelling pride, 
 Proclaim' d thee their own and Freedom's fond bride. 
 
 Thy skies are as starry, and still smile thy plains, 
 Though long have thy children been fetter'd by chains. 
 Though tyranny's bonds may constrain and oppress, 
 The God of the harvest continues to bless 
 And crown thy fair soil with those vintages rare 
 That blossom' d of old and were wont to appear ; 
 While grasses that grow, and flow' rets that bloom. 
 Still verdant and fresh around Liberty's tomb, 
 
 With silent though eloquent language impart 
 A lesson of shame to each cowardly heart. 
 Oh, how could a nation thus languish and fade, 
 While Nature her conq'ring example display'd ! 
 Then rise ! ye descendants of earth's mighty race ! 
 On Time's floating banner be 't yours to retrace 
 Your once lofty name. Let mem'ry inspire 
 And kindle your breasts with the patriot's desire ! 
 
rO EVA. 
 
 Let hope be renew'd, and reclaim as your own 
 The spirit that erst through your ancestors shone. 
 O beautiful Italy ! once again be 
 The model of all that's exalted and free ! 
 The home of the great, and the glorious mart 
 Where triumph sublimely fair Science and Art ; 
 Indignantly scatter aside every chain — 
 And, Italy I be but your i)roud self again ! 
 
 259 
 
 TO EVA. 
 
 I've loved thee well and faithfully, 
 
 Through long and silent years ; 
 I've loved thee all unfailingly. 
 
 Through sunshine and through tears. 
 Thou art the star whose radiance 
 
 Illumes my faded heart ; 
 Of all existence nozu d^wdi past 
 
 Thou art the better part. 
 Thou art the trembling light that gilds 
 
 Around each blushing flower: — 
 Let but the sun fade from the earth, 
 
 The plants will die that hour. 
 
26o 
 
 SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 
 
 For naught is self-sustaining here ; 
 
 They're 7nufua I Siids, the weak and strong 
 The ivy and the oak appear 
 
 Together to belong. 
 And I should die, in all my strength, 
 
 If thou couldst cease to twine 
 Around the love that shelters thee 
 
 And is forever thine. 
 
 SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 
 
 The twilight shades are gath'ring 
 Within the western sky, 
 
 And spirits long departed 
 Are coming, coming nigh. 
 
 The golden gleams are playing 
 Against my study-wall, 
 
 While voices once familiar 
 Around me seem to call. 
 
 Within this season sacred 
 And so divinely sweet. 
 
 Oh, do they come in earnest. 
 Our presence here to greet ? 
 
SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 261 
 
 'J'hese tinkling, tinkling echoes, 
 
 That fall upon the ear, 
 These lulling tones of twilight, 
 
 Are they from spirits near? 
 
 O disembodied loved ones ! 
 
 Say ! are ye with us now, 
 While holy light is kindling 
 
 Upon each spirit brow, 
 
 While pure affection's flowing, 
 
 Untrammel'd by control, — 
 Outgushing from the depths of 
 
 Each sublimated soul ? 
 
 Ah ! from those borders misty 
 
 Where ages past ye fled, 
 Do ye at times come hither. 
 
 Dear spirits of the dead ? 
 
 Ye shades of vanish'd heroes ! 
 
 Ye lofty and ye great ! 
 Who've left a lasting impress 
 
 Upon the human fate, 
 
 Who've left in gifted genius 
 Memorials of fame, 
 
262 SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 
 
 The chaplet green and shining 
 Around each hallow' d name, 
 
 While bending o'er your efforts, 
 Creations bold and bright. 
 
 And drinking in the nectar 
 
 That streams from mental light. 
 
 Oh ! do ye smile upon us, 
 As we imbibe the glow 
 
 That from your themes inspired 
 Upon our spirits flow? 
 
 Oh ! could we deem a Homer 
 Was hov'ring by our side. 
 
 How would we be transported 
 With rapture and with pride ! 
 
 That Shakspeare, or that Byron, 
 That Shelley, or that Moore, 
 
 Would deign to smile upon us 
 As we rehearsed them o'er ; 
 
 As we imbibed their beauties. 
 And marvel'd there to find 
 
 The essence of ecstatic, 
 Of rich, exalted mind. 
 
SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 263 
 
 Ah ! in these mystic moments 
 
 Of calm departing day, 
 Do ye descend among us, 
 
 Or round us kindly stray? 
 
 But whist ! the spell is broken ! 
 
 The shadows falling by 
 Have faded and departed 
 
 From out the western sky. 
 
 The gold and purple curtain, 
 
 With rose-gleams interlined. 
 Is growing dim and dusky, 
 
 And day has nigh declined. 
 
 The sun has given twilight 
 
 Its parting kiss of day. 
 As in eve's cold embraces 
 
 'Tis being borne away. 
 
 And so, her sway proclaiming, 
 
 With pale and alter' d light. 
 In robe of spangled sable 
 
 Appears the Queen of Night. 
 
264 
 
 THE RETURN OF MAY. 
 
 THE RETURN OF MAY. 
 
 Ye beautiful flowers, transient though bright ! 
 Ye emblems of love, ye children of light ! 
 We gather you in the spring of the year, 
 When nature is smiling freshly and fair. 
 
 We stray through the wood, through valley and dale, 
 Your beauty to catch, your fragrance inhale ; 
 We taste with delight of the roses' repast, 
 Ye types of existence too fragile to last. 
 
 Ye radiant buds, as brilliant as fleet, 
 Your visits to earth with pleasure we greet : 
 We hail in each leaf, each emerald spray, 
 A messenger pure that heralds in May. 
 
 With overflowing heart and grateful impress, 
 We dwell on the season's exquisite dress; 
 We note every sound, each vernal spring-call, 
 That lifts us unto the Author of all. 
 
 'Tis He who has spread the green over earth ; 
 'Tis He who accords the flowers their birth, 
 
ON RECEIVING DR. J. D. W: S POEM. 265 
 
 Who shadeth each petal varied and small ; 
 Who fixeth each fibre : — He doeth all ! 
 
 He orders the birds 'midst the flowery train 
 To mingle their music around us again ; 
 He gives to the brook its silvery voice, 
 And blesses mankind with souls to rejoice. 
 
 His works are all mirrors, in which to behold 
 The presence and strength of His Spirit unfold ; 
 His works are all magnets that draw and enforce 
 The thoughts of His creatures to Nature's great Source. 
 
 ON RECEIVING DR. J. D. W.'S POEM 
 ENTITLED ''THE HEART." 
 
 Your lines on ''The Heart" are welcome indeed ! 
 They come in the season of sorrow and need, 
 When storms that besieged and robb'd me of rest 
 Still rage in the heart that burns in my breast. 
 
 They come with the promise of sunshine and spring; 
 They come like a bird with light on its wing; 
 They come when my spirit is fainting and dark; 
 They come like the dove of old to the ark. 
 
 23 
 
266 FRIEND AND FELLOW-VOYAGER. 
 
 They're breathing of peace and hope from afar; 
 Of rest that succeeds life's turmoil and war; 
 Of happy green fields, that stretch far away 
 Beyond crumbling leaves and autumn's decay. 
 
 "The Heart !" What a world of changes within ! 
 What memories dim of things that have been ! 
 What memories clear, of visions that rise 
 And gaze from its depths with vanish' d ones' eyes ! 
 
 What shadows and lights commingle and gleam ! 
 What things that are real, with things that but seem ! 
 Then patience, O Heart ! till the seeming take flight, 
 And the real expands in eternity's light. 
 
 FRIEND AND FELLO W-V O YAGER. 
 
 TO P. L. 
 
 My muse's kind assistance I invite. 
 While to my friend the promised lines I write : 
 They should have met his glances long ago, 
 But then the numbers will not always flow 
 At bidding, and we sometimes wait the mood 
 To be by spell of poesy imbued. 
 
FRIEND AND FELLOW-VOYAGER. 267 
 
 With thoughts of thee, dear friend, sweet Mem'ry strays 
 
 To well-remember'd hours of other days, 
 
 When first we met upon the ocean strand, 
 
 But outward bound to distant far-off land, — 
 
 Thy native land and sunny Southern isle. 
 
 Where summer basks in one unbroken smile. 
 
 And well do I recall our journey there, 
 
 'Neath skies that frown'd at first, and then grew fair; 
 
 How languor and home-sickness sadly press'd 
 
 Awhile upon the lone and weary breast, 
 
 And how at length the sadness pass'd away 
 
 In social intercourse held day by day. 
 
 For there is ever entertainment wrought 
 
 From genial interchange of mind and thought : 
 
 Thy converse with intelligence allied 
 
 Would cause the sands within Time's glass to glide 
 
 Quite rapidly away, until the sea 
 
 Would seem as pleasant as the land might be. 
 
 How oft at eve, as on the deck we'd rest 
 
 And watch the sun sink slowly in the west. 
 
 Diffusing glory o'er the twilight sky 
 
 And shedding lustre on all objects nigh. 
 
 Till lofty thoughts of heaven would stir the heart, 
 
 Would deep and holy reverence impart. 
 
268 FRIEND AND FELLOW-VOYAGER. 
 
 For on the boundless sea, as on the land, 
 
 Is ever visible the master-hand, 
 
 Whose skill directs and governs all around : 
 
 Within the tempest's rough and raging sound, 
 
 Or in the wavelets' hush'd and murmuring tone, 
 
 The same omniscient principle we own. 
 
 But since that voyage to thy native shore, 
 
 Successive years have sped and travel'd o'er 
 
 The bridge of Time, and we've recross'd the main. 
 
 To meet in this beloved land again. 
 
 While have we oft, in retrospective mood. 
 
 The scenes foregone of vanish'd years renew'd. 
 
 And if, amidst transitions that await 
 
 With steps uncertain on life's future fate, 
 
 It be thy destiny again to roam 
 
 To tropic realms of thy far island-home. 
 
 May fav'ring gales their kindest breezes lend 
 
 To waft thee there, and back again, dear friend. 
 
 
SUMMER IS GONE. 269 
 
 SUMMER IS GONE. 
 
 Summer is gone, with birds and flowers, 
 With long bright days and golden hours. 
 Each blooming rose and fragrant gem 
 Has dropp'd from off the parent stem ; 
 The bird's sweet song, its carol'd lay, 
 All pass'd with Summer's hues away. 
 While we are left alone to mourn 
 The sunny season from us gone. 
 
 With sadden 'd heart I breathed my sigh, 
 
 As evening's zephyrs floated by ; 
 
 But scarce the plaint had utt' ranee found, 
 
 When on the air fell answ'ring sound : 
 
 '' If Summer's gone, why shouldst thou weep ? 
 
 All seasons have their time for sleep. 
 
 All things beloved must pass away. 
 
 And have their rest, like Summer's day. 
 
 '' If Summer's gone, with ardent kiss. 
 Though crown'd with other hopes of bliss, 
 Has Autumn come, with beauteous days. 
 To waken man to grateful praise. 
 23* 
 
270 
 
 SUMMER IS GONE. 
 
 T\\^ present ]oy embrace, nor mourn 
 O'er time already past and gone. 
 The birds fled with the flow'ry train 
 Will come with wak'ning Spring again. 
 
 "Though leaves lie scatter'd o'er the ground, 
 
 And evening's breezes lonely sound, 
 
 Fair visions still are left to bide. 
 
 Then turn thee to the brighter side : 
 
 Behold the lengthen'd twilight hour, 
 
 Which Nature floods in rosy shower. 
 
 And varied glories all untold, 
 
 Portray 'd as though with hand of gold ! 
 
 *' I'he forest leaves that rustle by 
 Have caught from out the western sky 
 The changing tints and gorgeous hues 
 That mingle with the ether blues. 
 The leaves, while tossing to and fro. 
 With whispering voices soft and low 
 Seem talking, as in mystic tone. 
 Of green days past they too have known. 
 
 " All talking thus, they dance and play 
 With sister winds that sweep their way. 
 The trees, though robb'd of verdure bright, 
 Still bow in rev'rence to the light. 
 
SPRIA^G HAS RETURNED. 
 
 They lift their heads towards the sky, 
 And cast their graceful shadows nigh ; 
 They fling their leafless arms with ease 
 To every swell of Autumn's breeze, 
 
 "As though in present joy they bask'd. 
 Nor droop'd in mem'ry of the past ; 
 Not like the human heart, that aye 
 Sighs for some blessing that's gone by. 
 Or else, in discontented mood, 
 Forgetting what it has of good. 
 Still fears a future's dread and gloom 
 May mark its yet unfolded doom." 
 
 271 
 
 SPRING HAS RETURNED. 
 
 The Spring has return'd, with buds and with flowers, 
 With sunshiny days and bright crystal showers; 
 The blossoms, exhaling fragrance around, 
 Enamel and gem the moss-cover' d ground ; 
 The song of the birds, the nightingale's lay, 
 Are met on the breeze to carol in May ; 
 And Nature, revived from slumber and rest. 
 Expands to mankind her beautiful breast. 
 
272 
 
 SPRING HAS RETURNED. 
 
 Oh, why did we grieve when Summer was fled 
 And leaflets of Autumn round us lie dead ? 
 Why faded our hopes with the flowers away ? 
 They were not intended forever to stay. 
 She meant to return when she bade us adieu, 
 The laughing Spring season, so tender and true : 
 She knew we must love her more when her smile 
 From woodland and meadow had tarried awhile. 
 
 Beneath the frost-work of Winter's cold shroud 
 
 Each delicate rose submissively bow'd, 
 
 While over their heads, from rude chilling snows, 
 
 Small hillocks of white, like sepulchres, rose. 
 
 But they were foredoom'd, with their sweetness, to 
 
 know 
 A bright resurrection from frost and from snow : 
 Each tender young bud, with delicate breath. 
 Reposed but beneath the sembla7ice of death. 
 
 And now Spring, awaken'd, joyfully brings 
 Enchantment and light on sunshiny wings : 
 She flits gayly round through each rosy hour. 
 Inscribing her name on plant and on flower. 
 To Nature she speaks, and bids her rejoice : 
 Each valley and wood resounds with her voice ; 
 Each blossom unfolds and blushes to view, 
 As kiss'd by a lover tender and true. 
 
SPRING HAS RETURNED. 
 
 273 
 
 The hawthorn and lily, the fragrant woodbine, 
 Expand with Spring's breath, and beauty combine ; 
 The violet, too, with retiring air, 
 The daisy and bell, at her call appear. 
 She whispers to earth, and softly, unseen, 
 Her carpet is spread of velvety green ; 
 The hill-tops uplift their heads to the sky. 
 And laugh as they meet the sun's ardent eye. 
 
 For music Spring calls : from each downy nest 
 The birdlings are roused from slumber, refresh'd, 
 While dews of the morn from wings they unfold 
 Are sparkling and bright like drops of pure gold. 
 From each feather' d throat outgushes a tone 
 Of praise and of love that answers her own. 
 And, wending his course through uppermost sky. 
 The lark trills his hymns the most lovely on high. 
 
 And, mingling in music the birds freely bring 
 In honor and praise to glorious Spring, 
 The streamlet and brook respond to her call. 
 As low on the ear their ripplings fall : 
 All Nature unites, around and above. 
 To join in the choir of Spring wooing love. 
 While man, not the least, the harmony feels : 
 Its magical influence over him steals. 
 
274 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 Awakening Nature calls him from rest ; 
 Her voice is resounding deep in his breast. 
 She calls him from sloth to action and toil, 
 As seed and as plant upspring from the soil. 
 The soul that is dark with sorrow or gloom 
 Must brighten with hope amidst vernal bloom ; 
 From mountain and stream must answer the tone 
 Ascending to HIM, the omnific ONE ! 
 
 I 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 'Tis all the same, by night or day. 
 Thine image haunts me still : 
 
 Whate'er I do, where'er I stray, 
 It comes without my will. 
 
 I seem to hear thy haunting voice. 
 Though other tones are round ; 
 
 It steals uncall'd upon my ear 
 With music in its sound. 
 
 The very words it utter'd last. 
 In breathings kind and low. 
 
THE CONFESSION. 
 
 Across the waves of vanish'd time 
 Come rippling soft and low. 
 
 A hand so warm and full of life 
 Seems clasping e'en my own : 
 
 Its thrilling touch how can I feel 
 And yet be all alone ? 
 
 Alone ! so many miles away ! 
 
 From thee so far apart ! 
 The very thought my spirit chills 
 
 And tortures my sad heart. 
 
 Alone ! with only Memory's star 
 
 To shed its guiding light 
 Along the pathway of the past 
 
 And bring thee to my sight. 
 
 Alone ! We never know, indeed, 
 
 How much we are alone, 
 Until the heart hath fondly nursed 
 
 A love it can't disown ; 
 
 Until some blight that love hath felt. 
 
 Some mildew or alloy, 
 Some cloud or shadow, hath appear'd 
 
 To intercept its joy. 
 
 275 
 
276 
 
 MEMORIES GONE BY. 
 
 And though at first I 
 To conquer love b 
 
 No more that love fn 
 Or from myself to hide 
 
 nly strove 
 
 ■ide, 
 
 thee I'll strive 
 
 It is the victor; and my soul 
 Lies prostrate 'neath its sway, 
 
 And from its portal cannot turn 
 Thy proffer' d heart away. 
 
 And though thy hope hath been deferr'd 
 
 By answer render'd late 
 Which may not meet thee in this world, 
 
 It will at heaven's gate. 
 
 MEMORIES GONE BY. 
 
 The echo of words, 
 
 A low-breathing sigh. 
 Will sweep the heart's chords 
 
 With mem'ries gone by, 
 Will call back bright hours 
 
 That once tripp'd away. 
 Amidst Summer's flowers, 
 
 In innocent play. 
 
MEMORIES GONE BY. 
 
 Though Autumn be gone, 
 We'll bask in the Spring, 
 
 And cull from life's morn 
 The buds which there cling. 
 
 Each playmate and friend 
 
 That loved us of yore 
 In spirit will blend 
 
 And greet us once more ! 
 Although they are fled. 
 
 And gone to their rest, 
 Though number' d and dead 
 
 'Neath earth's silent breast, 
 They live in the mind ; 
 
 In Memory's skies 
 Their pictures we find, 
 
 With tender-lit eyes ; 
 On Memory's scroll, 
 
 Like stars of the night. 
 One by one they unroll 
 
 And dart into sight. 
 
 Oh, sweet to be led 
 
 Through green vistas back ! 
 To once again tread 
 
 O'er Infancy's track ! 
 24 
 
 277 
 
278 
 
 MEMORIES GONE BY, 
 
 To stand within sight 
 
 Of Youth's fairy-land, 
 Where with hope and delight 
 
 We walk'd hand in hand. 
 Before we had known 
 
 Experience or sin, 
 Or Sorrow's harsh tone 
 
 Made discord within ! 
 
 To feel ev'ry thought, 
 
 Unblemish'd as snow, 
 Uncheck'd and untaught, 
 
 The soul overflow ; 
 Those joys that we knew 
 
 When childhood was ours. 
 Ere thistles o'ergrew 
 
 Its blossoms and flowers. 
 Ere Doubt or Dismay, 
 
 Invading the soul. 
 Enticed it away 
 
 From Heaven's control ; 
 Ere jealousy's thread 
 
 Entangled the mind. 
 That early was wed 
 
 To sympathies kind : 
 We revel'd in light. 
 
 The sunshine of Spring, — 
 
MEMORIES GONE BY. 279 
 
 Nor dream'd of the night 
 That Winter might bring. 
 
 Oh, days of delight ! 
 
 Now vanish' d and gone, 
 Now sped from the sight, 
 
 Your presence we mourn ! 
 Our murmurs and sighs 
 
 Are breathed round your grave, 
 And tears from our eyes 
 
 Its green mosses lave. 
 
 Yet we smile through our tears, 
 
 When, mellow' d, though true, 
 Fond Mem'ry appears, 
 
 Old scenes to renew. 
 And wings back those times 
 
 Upon us to wait \ 
 With musical chimes 
 
 Our hearts still vibrate. 
 
 Oh, would I could roam 
 
 In reality back. 
 Through childhood's bright home, 
 
 Its dew-spangled track, 
 Forget all the cares 
 
 Since then I have known, 
 
28o A THOUGHTLESS WISH. 
 
 The trials and tears 
 
 Affliction hath sown, — 
 
 Could rove light and free, 
 By pleasure beguiled, 
 
 And once again be 
 An innocent child ! 
 
 A THOUGHTLESS WISH. 
 
 I WOULD fain be a bird, with plumage so bright. 
 To be petted and loved from morning till night, 
 To be placed in a cage, on a costly stand. 
 To be fed and caress'd by a lady's hand, 
 
 Or be hung for the air from the casement high. 
 To behold the glad sun and the bright blue sky, 
 Where the world I could watch, while adrift below. 
 With its waves and surges of human woe. 
 
 And could triumph to think how secure and free 
 From its troublous tide 'twas my lot to be: 
 I would carol all day from far dizzy height, 
 With a heart bounding free and a spirit light. 
 
A THOUGHTLESS WISH, 281 
 
 Or a bird I would be, in the woods to dwell, 
 And the sweet-scented air with music to swell : 
 I would build me a home amidst vernal bloom, 
 There to revel and joy in its rich perfume. 
 
 I would dwell up on high amongst green-clad trees. 
 To inhale the pure nectar of morning's breeze, 
 And could hear what the leaves in low voices say, 
 As together they talk and whisper all day. , 
 
 When my heart like a fountain o'erflow'd with the love 
 That I long'd with another to share or to prove, 
 I could skip unrestrain'd from bough unto bough. 
 To some feather' d mate to breathe my fond vow. 
 
 And e'en when night came, from station so high, 
 I could watch the bright stars encrusting the sky, 
 And might guess to which star, when life should be 
 
 past. 
 Would my freed spirit soar for a refuge at last. 
 
 I could vent my affections, for language too strong. 
 And could pour out my soul into carol and song. 
 Oh, such joy I would know, by mortals unheard. 
 If, instead of myself, were I only a bird ! 
 
 24* 
 
282 A THOUGHTLESS WISH. 
 
 But, ah! scarce were the thoughts condensed into 
 
 words, 
 When a new spirit seem'd to o'ersweep my heart's 
 
 chords ; 
 For, as breathed with the air, I fancied a tone. 
 Which, like Conscience, was low, respond to my own. 
 
 '' Hush ! oh, hush !" said this voice so solemn and wise ; 
 ''For gifts that are thine, let gratitude rise; 
 For blessings already with thy being blent. 
 Ah, drink, freely drink, of the cup of content ! 
 
 ''What ! a bird wouldst thou be, in cage to be barr'd. 
 From thy kindred exiled, of liberty marr'd. 
 At the whim of another loved and caress'd, 
 Or, should memory fail, by hunger be press'd? 
 
 "In thy tiny gilt palace held and confined, 
 With no friendly hand near to feed or unbind, 
 To respond to thy need with morsel or crumb. 
 But all to the voice of thy sorrowing dumb ? 
 
 "Oh, how oft 'gainst the wires thou'dst strike thy 
 
 poor beak, 
 Nor thy wrongs nor neglect know whither to wreak: 
 Thou wouldst long for the woods with birds that were 
 
 free, 
 And contrast thy sad fate with what it might be. 
 
A THOUGHTLESS WISH 
 
 283 
 
 ''And e'en in the woods, with liberty thine, 
 Dost think thou wouldst have no cause to repine? 
 Then, alas ! mortal child ! know that everywhere 
 No condition of life is exempt from its care. 
 
 "All existence throughout has channel or vein 
 Into which may be hurl'd the arrows of pain: 
 E'en the birds in the woods, with envious fate, 
 Have their seasons likewise to feel desolate. 
 
 *' The sweet little warbler, with song of content, 
 May be destined too soon to grieve and lament ; 
 The nest may be robb'd, and the bird left alone. 
 To weep o'er the graves of the cherish'd ones gone. 
 
 *' The loved mate, by its side that sang all the day, 
 Of a sudden may droop and languish away. 
 While the poor trembling heart, so happy of yore. 
 Will have lost all its joy, its sunshine be o'er. 
 
 "Then in vain may it sigh for some other fate, 
 Than its own less lonely, less desolate. 
 So content thee, O mortal ! with thy assign'd lot, 
 Nor repine for a fate that's accorded thee not. 
 
 " Oh, believe for the best all things are decreed. 
 And be thankful in heart, be grateful in deed ; 
 Remember the blessings with thy being blent, — 
 And drink, freely drink, of the cup pf content." 
 
284 '^O THE LOVED AND LOST. 
 
 TO THE LOVED AND LOST OF 
 LONG AGO. 
 
 As in some lumber-room where things appear 
 Without regard to harmony or care, 
 Where heaps of furniture are cast away, 
 And Discord holds her undisputed sway, 
 So do we often strange confusion find 
 In Memory, the store-house of the mind : 
 Ideas irregularly interlace 
 Each other, and grow out of proper place. 
 Unless the subjects which have entrance there 
 Are guarded by attention and by care. 
 
 Still, from the mass of Mem'ry's garner'd store. 
 Her records vague of things which are no more, 
 Our present efforts oft are not in vain 
 To lucid make the retrospective train. 
 The cobwebs of confusion to break through 
 Which seem to veil or intercept the view, 
 From some old valued picture hid from day, 
 The gather'd dust of Time to brush away. 
 Until we see with youthful eyes once more 
 The golden light upon the vanish'd shore. 
 
TO THE LOVED AND LOST. 285 
 
 And now through Mem'ry's echoing aisles I tread, 
 And mark the portrait of one loved and dead, 
 Long loved with that affection undefiled 
 Deep rooted in the bosom of the child ; 
 And self-reproach awakes me with her sting, 
 As this memorial to light I bring. 
 
 thou whose kindness once my life's joy made, 
 Though long obscured beneath oblivion's shade, 
 
 1 crave forgiveness that a single day 
 Should roll upon the wheels of Time away 
 
 While thy fond image unrecall'd hath been. 
 Oh, pardon the neglect ! forgive the sin ! 
 As on thy portrait once again I gaze, 
 From off the canvas disappears the haze 
 Of years ; the colors yet are fresh and bright ; 
 The fond eyes beam with their accustom'd light, 
 And gaze from out a soul whose every thought, 
 Like heaven itself, with purity is fraught ; 
 While on thy brow, as on some leaflet fair, 
 Is gifted intellect reflected there. 
 
 Thy silken locks of brown, arranged aside 
 From that clear brow, in graceful ripples glide 
 Adown the temples, till each glossy tress 
 Meanders there with lover-like caress. 
 
286 TO THE LOVED AND LOST. 
 
 Thus Mem'ry kind, with faithful pen, portrays 
 To my rapt view the light of other days, 
 Recalls the past, until again I feel 
 The fresh and happy heart of childhood steal 
 Into my bosom ; once again I stand 
 Beside thy knee and clasp thy loving hand. 
 
 And, like the wind's low voice among the trees, 
 Or harp ^olian stirr'd by evening's breeze, 
 Thy gentle tones I hear : their very words 
 Sweep strangely o'er my spirit's inmost chords, 
 Awak'ning melodies of by-gone days, 
 When to the child thy well-remember'd praise 
 Was welcome sweetness which destroy' d alloy 
 And fill'd her cup with tenderness and joy ; 
 The charm untold that every echo bore 
 Steals o'er my pensive spirit as of yore. 
 
 1 hear thee breathing forth in sweet converse ; 
 I hear thee lessons of bright truth rehearse : 
 From out the Book of Life, thy voice refined 
 Reads, and expounds to ev'ry youthful mind 
 The holy meaning of each sacred line 
 Contain'd within the folio divine. 
 Thy fervent tone with faith inspires the heart, 
 And bids each apprehensive doubt depart. 
 
TO THE LOVED AND LOST. 287 
 
 But since that hour I fear my soul hath been 
 Less free from taint of worldliness and sin ; 
 
 Hath drifted farther off from heaven, I fear, 
 Than then when shelter' d 'neath thy pious care ; 
 For such communion pure could but create 
 High thoughts and aspirations sublimate ; 
 And such a heart, within whose pious shade 
 Firm Virtue there her fix'd abode had made, 
 Could but reflect that sweet and sacred light 
 Before which Error took an instant flight ; 
 And if aught's left in me of good and true. 
 To thy example I confess it due ! 
 
 But thou art gone ! from earthly ties art fled ! 
 
 Hast long been number' d with the silent dead ! 
 
 That voice with kindly tones will never cheer 
 
 My lonely spirit more ! I'll never hear 
 
 Its tranquillizing notes ! — but yes ! 'twill be 
 
 The blessed privilege of memory 
 
 Its sweetness to revive ; thine image, too. 
 
 Recall' d this hour so faithfully to view, 
 
 Shall in my mental mirror henceforth dwell. 
 
 And ever be life's holy haunting spell. 
 
288 SPIRIT OF LIGHT. 
 
 SPIRIT OF LIGHT. 
 
 Oh, yes! 'tis a beautiful day; 
 
 Not a cloud in the heavens above ; 
 All nature is smiling and gay, 
 
 And the winds seem to whisper of love. 
 
 Throughout is a sense of delight, 
 Which instills itself into the heart. 
 
 Bids sorrow and trouble take flight, 
 And visions of darkness depart. 
 
 All round is so breezy and fair, 
 
 On this budding and beautiful morn ; 
 
 The roses that bloom everywhere 
 Seem scarcely secreting a thorn. 
 
 Like diamonds that sparkle and dance, 
 The dew-drops are spangling the trees. 
 
 Reflecting each glitt'ring sun-glance. 
 
 And stirr'd by the young morning's breeze. 
 
 Rich odors are wafting around, 
 
 The rose blossoms in showers o'er earth. 
 
SPIRIT OF LIGHT. 289 
 
 And sweet is each clear trilling sound, 
 For soul-music hath sprung into birth. 
 
 The birds have awaken'd refresh'd, 
 And their melodies lovely and bright 
 
 Are pouring from each downy nest 
 And enhancing the Spirit of Light. 
 
 The streamlets are murmuring by, 
 And, with echoes so pleasant to hear, 
 
 They breathe as with rippling sigh 
 On the raptured and listening ear. 
 
 Oh, sunshiny, beautiful day ! 
 
 Oh, thou spirit of morning and light 
 That joyfully leapeth away 
 
 From the shadowy arms of the night, 
 
 Thou'rt welcome to flower and seed ; 
 
 To thy radiance with hope do we turn : 
 To man art thou welcome indeed. 
 
 All creation doth hail thy return. 
 
 25 
 
290 
 
 THE WATCHED BLOSSOM. 
 
 THE WATCHED BLOSSOM. 
 
 Ah, I watch'd a new blossom, 
 As it bloom' d bright and fair. 
 
 On Mortality's branches. 
 In the spring of the year. 
 
 And I thought that if destined 
 
 For maturity's hour. 
 How exquisitely lovely 
 
 Would it be, — this sweet flower ! 
 
 But while thus was I musing. 
 All my pulses grew hush'd, 
 
 And my dream of the blossom 
 Of a sudden was crush' d. 
 
 For an angel, descending 
 
 From the opening skies, 
 Had caught sight of my treasure. 
 
 And gather' d the prize. 
 
 And my beautiful blossom 
 Thus in triumph he bore, 
 
THE OLD YEAR. 291 
 
 To transplant to the garden 
 On eternity's shore. 
 
 Then I thought, oh, how transient 
 
 Are the hopes we nurse here, 
 And how vain and how trifling 
 
 Are the plans that we rear ! 
 
 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 I BID thee adieu. 
 
 Thou vanishing year : 
 Thy moments are few, 
 
 Thy death-knell I hear. 
 
 Yet why should I grieve 
 Thy presence to miss ? 
 
 Why sigh to receive 
 Thy last dying kiss? 
 
 Though youth must decay 
 With Time's onward tread, 
 
 Who'd wish for its stay, 
 When to sorrow it's wed ? 
 
292 
 
 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 Who'd shrink from the thought 
 
 Of Winter and age, 
 When Spring-time hath wrought 
 
 But gloom o'er life's page? — 
 
 When Summer's been void 
 Of sunlight and flowers, 
 
 Nor hope the heart buoy'd 
 Throughout its long hours ! 
 
 So, others may weep 
 
 O'er thy parting breath : 
 
 My vigils I'll keep 
 
 And smile at thy death. 
 
 Then softly sink down 
 
 Oblivion's sea: 
 We're waiting to crown 
 
 The New- Year to be. 
 
 And each year that falls 
 Beneath the dark wave, 
 
 My soul nearer calls 
 To rest of the grave. 
 
 Then once more adieu, 
 
 Thou vanishing year : 
 Thy moments are few, 
 
 Thy death-knell I hear. 
 
THE NEW YEAR, 
 
 293 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 The midnight bell is ringing on the ear 
 The farewell echoes of the dying year ; 
 Its solemn voice is bidding us good-bye, 
 And sadly pealing forth a requiem sigh. 
 
 The bell has ceased ! and, lo ! the year is dead ! 
 
 While, with triumphant though with noiseless tread, 
 
 Moves its successor, in its infant prime. 
 
 Across the op'ning fields of untrod time. 
 
 But standing on thy threshold, youthful year. 
 
 The anxious heart vibrates 'twixt hope and fear. 
 
 The timid spirit shrinketh weakly back. 
 
 Lest cruel thorns should intercept thy track, 
 
 Or quicksands there in ambush lie ; for though 
 
 Thy first-turn' d page. New Year, be as the snow 
 
 Which falls from heaven, undefiled and pure. 
 
 Yet who may prophesy or who insure 
 
 That, like that snow, which later bears the trace 
 
 Of earthly taint, or time doth soon efface, 
 
 It may not be also thy destined fate 
 
 With darkness, too, to mingle and to mate? 
 
 25* 
 
294 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 For whence the mortal wisdom to divine 
 
 From indication or from present sign 
 
 The Future's course? Not always can we draw 
 
 From retrospection knowledge of afar ; 
 
 Not always does the Past afford a key 
 
 Wherewith to turn the lock of the To-be. 
 
 The Past ! alas, were ours the potent skill 
 
 To scan the unroll' d Future at our will, 
 
 Would pleasure from the magic power flow ? 
 
 Or would it cause increase of pain and woe? 
 
 The Past ! oh, even now its vanish'd tone 
 
 Sweeps mem'ry's chords with echoes sad and lone ; 
 
 For who hath not beheld life's joy-beams fade, 
 
 Or quench'd beneath affliction's sudden shade? 
 
 Who hath not watch'd delightful dreams depart, 
 
 Delicious hopes once cherish'd in the heart, 
 
 By adverse causes scatter'd, toss'd about, 
 
 Long languish on a weary bed of doubt. 
 
 Until on Disappointment's sable bier 
 
 Borne slowly to the grave of dark despair? 
 
 But let us dwell not now on sorrows gone. 
 
 Nor buried joys continue more to mourn, 
 
 But from the ashes of the Past appear. 
 
 All phoenix-like, and welcome the New Year. 
 
 No longer let corroding grief control 
 
 Or hold in fetters the immortal soul: 
 
THE CONVERT. 
 
 What earthly pain we may not flee from here, 
 We'll summon strength to conquer or to bear. 
 It should be in this world of toil and strife 
 That trials fit us for a better life. 
 Then, impotent to scan the Future's fate, 
 Or judge what best may suit our mortal state. 
 To Thee, O God, we turn the feeble heart : 
 Thy strength and love divine wilt Thou impart ? 
 Whate'er our fate throughout the year may be, 
 Still, may we trust with ev'ry change in Thee ! 
 
 295 
 
 THE CONVERT. 
 
 TO S. 
 
 The sun was fading from the west, 
 
 The shadows fell around. 
 The golden hand of twilight hour 
 
 Came sweeping o'er the ground. 
 
 And from o'erhead it enter'd there. 
 Through windows stain' d and bright. 
 
 On chapel floor and altar pure. 
 The flood of crimson light. 
 
296 THE CONVERT. 
 
 And holy eve seem'd holier here. 
 
 In God's own sacred fane, 
 So calm and still, so peaceful all. 
 
 His presence seemed to reign. 
 
 The lamp of Faith burnt bright and clear. 
 
 As keeping watch around ; 
 The silence was unbroken all 
 
 By human voice or sound. 
 
 But suddenly a door unclasp'd, 
 
 And enter'd softly there 
 A priest, with maiden by his side, 
 
 Of gentle form and fair. 
 
 A courage seem'd to nerve her heart, 
 Though pale the youthful cheek ; 
 
 Upon the ground were downward cast 
 The eyes so dark and meek. 
 
 She'd come to yield one Christian faith. 
 In which from youth she'd grown. 
 
 And to another bind her heart 
 And claim it as her own. 
 
 Conversion broke the olden chain. 
 To forge this one so new, 
 
THE CONVERT. 
 
 Whose links her mind had learn'd to think 
 Were brighter and more true. 
 
 The altar's fount she reach'd and knelt, 
 With rev'rence and with love, 
 
 And angels saw truth in her heart, 
 While gazing from above. 
 
 And by her side, in priestly robe. 
 With calm and peaceful brow, 
 
 The holy man his station kept, 
 To register each vow. 
 
 His voice was low, though firm and clear 
 
 Each whisper' d echo fell, 
 And fervently she seem'd to breathe. 
 
 As in a sacred spell. 
 
 The twilight shadows o'er her swept, 
 With radiance rare and bright ; 
 
 She seem'd the figure of a saint. 
 Portray' d in golden light. 
 
 The scene was one the artist well 
 
 Might love to pencil out, — 
 The sunlight and the chapel thus 
 
 With kneeling form devout. 
 
 297 
 
298 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 A subject well deserving thought, 
 A picture bright 'twould be 
 
 Of beauty rare to gaze upon, 
 Of faith and purity. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 We feel far more than we can ever speak ; 
 
 Within are thoughts that we can never tell ; 
 The praises of the tongue are faint and weak. 
 
 In contrast with the spirit's potent spell. 
 While in the secret heart enshrined and bright, 
 
 Some names and subjects sink alike to rest. 
 Encircled by a halo of fair light, ■ 
 
 As though in characters of gold impress'd ; 
 
 And Mother' s is the holiest and best. 
 
 O mother ! in my heart there is a fount. 
 
 From whose clear depths eternal love doth spring. 
 
 From whence my unrestrain'd affections mount, 
 And fain a tribute of their worth would bring. 
 
 Thou art the guiding star whose light hath shed 
 Its rays of purity on those around : 
 
 Thy loving ones to thee in faith are wed, — 
 
TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 As ivy round her steadfast oak is wound 
 Their spirits unto thine are firmly bound. 
 
 Maternal tie ! so full of hope and joy, 
 
 So cherish' d by each fond and feeling heart, 
 
 So all unsullied by earth's gross alloy, — 
 Of life thou art the sublimated part. 
 
 Direct from heaven comes a mother's trust ; 
 With deep and solemn charge is it impress'd, 
 
 To shield her offspring from contagious rust 
 Of dangers dread that life throughout infest : 
 How anxious grows her tender, loving breast ! 
 
 Though all the world a dreary desert prove, 
 
 Though friends may fall away, or foes despise, 
 One cup we'll find o'erflowing bright with love. 
 
 One green oasis in the heart will rise. 
 The same will be to us through saddest tears. 
 
 That love that always made our joy more bright, 
 That gladden'd all the past and sunny years; 
 
 'Twill still diffuse its holy beacon-light 
 
 Throughout misfortune's dark and gloomy night. 
 
 « 
 
 Here anch'rage safe, here welcomes true and kind, 
 The broken spirit ne'er may seek in vain ; 
 
 A hallow' d refuge here the soul may find 
 
 Amidst life's troublous sea of doubt and pain ; 
 
 299 
 
300 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Here, 'gainst thy tried and thy devoted heart, 
 Thy stricken ones may lay the weary breast. 
 
 Until the dark and feverish dreams depart, 
 And in thy love immaculate and blest 
 They once again are solaced and at rest. 
 
 mother ! as on dreams of thee I dwell, 
 Sweet Mem'ry comes with strange and magic power j 
 
 To weave my thoughts in soft and silken spell, 
 And bear my spirit back to earlier hour. 
 
 Her cup nectareous she kindly holds, 
 
 With draught that savors of the years foregone; 
 
 She wraps my senses in her downy folds. 
 While from the present am I lightly borne, 
 To stand encompass' d by life's rosy morn. 
 
 1 see thy image as of old impress' d ; 
 
 In innocence my arms thy neck entwine ; 
 My infant head is pillow' d on thy breast, 
 
 Mine eyes gaze up to drink the light of thine. 
 I read the love upon thy brow so clear, 
 
 I mark the varied shadows flitting by. 
 Unconscious though upon my listless ear 
 
 Will fall at times the half-suppressed sigh 
 
 That mingles with thy gentle lullaby. 
 
 Perhaps, with future dreams thy mind imbued. 
 Alternate hope and fear may glide awhile 
 
rO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Athwart the heart with deep and pensive mood, 
 And chase away the sunshine of thy smile. 
 
 Dear mother ! by thy side again I kneel ; 
 My sisters, too, are gather' d with me here ; 
 
 Emotions deep and earnest o'er me steal, 
 And, as the night-time draweth gently near, 
 We murmur forth our holy evening prayer. 
 
 As then it fell, is ling' ring still thy voice. 
 In low and sweet vibrations, on the ear ; 
 
 Those tones which made thy little group rejoice 
 Seem'd Music's self, — her very essence were ; 
 
 They bore the echoes of a mother's heart. 
 The airs you used to sing in childhood's days 
 
 Of mem'ry now form e'en the fondest part, — 
 Those olden songs, and sweetly soothing lays, 
 Which won each listener's voluntary praise. 
 
 'Twas when the twilight's softly witching power 
 Enfolded earth in mellow, sombre hue, 
 
 And brought day's loveliest and pensive hour 
 With golden beauties to the ravish'd view, 
 
 And when from out the quiet wintry hearth 
 
 The cheerful glow embraced the shadows round. 
 
 Thy youthful band would quit its play and mirth, 
 While of thy melody to each sweet sound 
 Responsive would their happy hearts rebound. 
 
 26 
 
 301 
 
302 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 But years since then have fleeted by, and borne 
 Dear trusted dreams from out the anguish'd heart; 
 
 With drooping wing the spirit's learn'd to mourn, 
 And wept too soon to see the loved depart ; 
 
 For of that gay and happy household band 
 One perfect link has fallen from the chain ; 
 
 We miss the tender clasp of one soft hand : 
 To join with them in high and lofty strain, 
 One soul refined have kindred angels ta'en. 
 
 Thy children's years, O mother ! hast thou blest : 
 Thy music's turn'd discord from them away; 
 
 Thy valued love hath soften'd down to rest 
 The harsher strokes of life : may they repay 
 
 (While yet existence doth her strength impart. 
 While gratitude is deem'd no wrong or shame) 
 
 The constancy of thy devoted heart, 
 
 And, while proud Virtue holds her spotless fame, 
 Adore thy ever dear and honor' d name. 
 
 Affection's chords that thee around entwine. 
 Beyond all time, oh, may they cling as now ! 
 
 But may no tone of sadness here combine 
 
 To throw heart-shadows o'er thy tranquil brow ! 
 
 May years, long years, to thee extend, 
 
 Each crown' d with brighter blessings than the past. 
 
 Each coming as a true, faithful friend. 
 
 With sweet contentment on thy way to cast, 
 Unfolding changeless peace until the last ! 
 
 J 
 
/ DREAM' D OF THEE. 
 
 303 
 
 I DREAM'D OF THEE. 
 
 I dream' D of thee, dear love ! 
 
 I dream'd thou wert with me; 
 The stars shone clear above, 
 
 The air breathed harmony. 
 
 The dew lay on the flowers, 
 
 And voice of Philomel 
 Gave to the passing hours 
 
 The charm of mystic spell. 
 
 We wander' d through the groves 
 Where oft of old we've stray' d, 
 
 Where once we joy'd to rove, 
 As children we have play'd. 
 
 The music of thy voice 
 Fell on my gladden' d ear, 
 
 And made my soul rejoice 
 
 In thought that thou wert near. 
 
 My hands on thine I laid ; 
 I strove thy form to clasp : 
 
304 
 
 / DREAM' D OF THEE. 
 
 When, lo ! it seem'd to fade 
 And vanish from my grasp. 
 
 I started from my sleep, 
 To listen for that tone : 
 
 Alas ! I could but weep, 
 To find myself alone. 
 
 Then o'er me came the truth. 
 That thou wert far away, 
 
 Thy spirit in its youth 
 Was sever'd from its clay. 
 
 It floated from the earth, 
 To higher, holier sphere. 
 
 And found celestial birth 
 With kindred spirits there. 
 
 And so life's loveliest dreams 
 Are but of transient stay ; 
 
 Their glitt'ring, golden gleams 
 Are follow' d by decay. 
 
 But in those fields above, 
 
 Where thou art flown for aye. 
 
 The blossoms of bright love 
 Expand and never die. 
 
THY SISTER'S VOICE. 
 
 For joy there is not made 
 Of stuff like earthly things, 
 
 Doom'd to dissolve, or fade 
 Away on airy wings. 
 
 305 
 
 THY SISTER'S VOICE. 
 
 TO HARRY. 
 
 Thy sister's voice ! within thy heart 
 
 Let every echo bide \ 
 And when from her thy steps depart. 
 
 That voice may be thy guide, — 
 May tell thee of the stormy deep, 
 
 And whisper of the light, 
 May caution thee where danger sleeps, 
 
 'Midst misty shades of night. 
 
 Thy sister's voice ! on sea or shore, 
 
 In mem'ry guard it well; 
 And should temptation shade thee o'er, 
 
 'Twill be to thee a spell. 
 'Twill call thee from the gloom away, 
 
 And breathe of "auld lang syne," 
 26* 
 
3o6 
 
 THY SISTER'S VOICE. 
 
 Where meadows smile and streamlets play, 
 In haunts that once were thine. 
 
 Thy sister's voice ! when far away, 
 
 Should strangers prove unkind. 
 That voice with thee will ling' ring stay, 
 
 Thy broken heart to bind. 
 With thoughts of home that buoy thee up 
 
 Thine alter' d lot to meet, 
 'Twill change the draught within thy cup 
 
 From bitter unto sweet. 
 
 Thy sister's voice ! should crosses mar 
 
 Ambition's youthful dream, 
 Oh, let her mem'ry be the star 
 
 On thy dark path to gleam ! 
 Her tones will steal o'er lonely times. 
 
 To call thy spirit back 
 From distant scenes and foreign climes 
 
 To home's inviting track. 
 
 Thy sister's voice a link may be 
 
 To wed thy soul to truth. 
 To happy days, when thou and she 
 
 Roved on the banks of Youth : 
 'Twill call thee back to boyhood's hours, 
 
 To life's delicious morn. 
 
IMMORTALITY. 307 
 
 When o'er thy pathway cluster' d flowers 
 Unsullied by a thorn. 
 
 Thy sister's voice ! within thy soul 
 
 Then treasure up each tone ; 
 Let naught erase from memory's scroll 
 
 The voice that speaks of home. 
 'Twill nerve thy will to purpose strong, 
 
 And through thy being blend ; 
 'Twill constant prove, through grief or wrong, 
 
 The voice of thy best friend ! 
 
 IMMORTALI TY. 
 
 TO J. O. S. 
 
 All things in course of nature serve to show 
 
 Effects from causes adequate must flow ; 
 
 And though the cause direct lie 'neath a mist. 
 
 Occult or hidden, still must it exist. 
 
 And every seed within the gronnd that's sown 
 
 In blossoming forth a fostering hand must own, — 
 
 A hand that penetrates the inmost earth 
 
 And brings the plant and flower in time to birth,- 
 
3o8 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 A practiced hand, whose wondrous skill and power 
 With graceful beauty shade each leaf and flower; 
 That rears the fruit so perfect from the sod, 
 So all creation speaks aloud oi God. 
 
 And that same hand whose touches bright invest 
 
 The flowers, hath on the mind the truth impress' d 
 
 That man hath been created for a sphere 
 
 Continued ixova the life that's open'd here. 
 
 Else why these lofty longings of the soul, 
 
 These aspirations which resist control, 
 
 The ever strong and paramount desire 
 
 That serves to stimulate and to inspire 
 
 With effort to escape the motes of sin 
 
 That desecrate the purity within 
 
 Tlie temple of the mind, — to sublimate 
 
 Our souls ? for feelings that we cultivate 
 
 Conviction whispers will exist, and be 
 
 Triumphant, when the frail mortality 
 
 Shall from the immaterial fall away 
 
 And once more moulder with its native clay. 
 
 Each moral gain, each effort spent 
 In righteous service and with good intent, 
 Must yield fair fruit, and just reward must find. 
 Good will and true nobility of mind 
 
IMPROMPTU. 309 
 
 Must live beyond this life, and to us be 
 
 Rich heritages in eternity. 
 
 For He that clothes us with internal sense 
 
 Of his omniscience and omnipotence 
 
 Indelibly has written on the mind 
 
 The God-gain'd knowledge which we therein find, — 
 
 That mortal man must heir apparent be 
 
 To crown of glorious immortality. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 Father ! to Thee I bow the knee ; 
 In trust and praise my voice I raise. 
 Oh, keep me pure, from ills secure, 
 From ev'ry thought with danger fraught, 
 From ev'ry deed of sinful seed ! 
 I would escape from ev'ry shape 
 Of crime or wrong that may belong 
 To life, and bring its poison'd sting ; 
 I would improve in heavenly love. 
 That gives the mind its tone refined. 
 
 God of might. Thy holy light 
 
 1 pray impart to my dark heart ! 
 Let not my prayers and silent tears 
 
3IO 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 Be void of gain, or all in vain ; 
 
 But compensate each struggle great 
 
 With victory to set me free 
 
 From galling pains of sin-forged chains ; 
 
 Let good desire my soul inspire 
 
 To upward flight of heavenward height ! 
 
 Father, this day to Thee I pray 
 
 With heart sincere, yet fiU'd with fear ! 
 
 For, oh, I feel, e'en while I kneel 
 
 Thy throne to seek, how willful, weak. 
 
 Is life, and all how prone to fall. 
 
 How hard to stay Temptation's sway ! 
 
 Then, oh, invest my wayward breast 
 
 With strength and might to strive for right ! 
 
 Thou seest my woe, its speechless flow ; 
 
 Its faintest moan to Thee is known : 
 
 Each want of mine, if Thou design. 
 
 Thou canst supply, and still each sigh. 
 
 Then keep my soul 'neath Thy control, 
 
 Until my life, with sorrow rife, 
 
 Shall sink to rest, in Thy love blest. 
 
THOU SLEEPEST CALMLY. 
 
 311 
 
 THOU SLEEPEST CALMLY. 
 
 Thou sleepest calmly, sister ; thy last breath 
 Is still'd in deep repose of solemn death ; 
 Thy grave is green, for Spring again is here, 
 And flowers upon the velvet sward appear. 
 
 The fleecy sky of May is blue above. 
 
 And birds are singing songs of tend'rest love ; 
 
 While, chiming in with every silv'ry note 
 
 That's sweetly warbled from each feather'd throat, 
 
 The purling stream, with clear and crystal flow, 
 
 Is tinkling o'er its pebbly bed below ; 
 
 While through the wavy branches of the trees 
 
 Are low, mysterious voices of the breeze. 
 
 Array'd in royal robes on ev'ry side. 
 
 All Nature seems elate with vernal pride ; 
 
 Her ringing tones, appealing to the heart. 
 
 Emotions unrestrain'd and deep impart. 
 
 But sound and sight alike to thee are vain : 
 
 The spirit fled returneth not again. 
 
 And, oh, I miss thy presence, here denied ; 
 
 I miss the best companion from my side; 
 
312 
 
 THOU SI.EEPEST CALML V. 
 
 I miss the sunny smile, the laughing tone 
 Once wont to cheer and mingle with mine own ; 
 And, while the moss-grown ground alone I tread, 
 I sigh in vain to think that thou art dead. 
 Art gone, and journey'd far away from here, 
 Wilt ne'er to human vision more appear ! 
 
 And, yet, were it within my feeble power 
 
 The vital spark to kindle this same hour. 
 
 To press my lips upon thy living brow. 
 
 And have thee with me, dearest, even now, 
 
 To take thy mortal hand within my grasp, 
 
 And feel again its warm responsive clasp. 
 
 How could I to the sweet temptation dare 
 
 With selfish love to yield, and bring thee here, — 
 
 Here, where with music-notes, with birds and flowers, 
 
 Are mingled discord, thorns, and bitter hours ! 
 
 Here, where rude sorrows oft, alas ! infest 
 
 And rob our days of promised peace and rest ! 
 
 Here, where within Life's scales the gross alloy 
 
 Outbalances non -compensating joy ! 
 
 And though the world around be fair and bright. 
 
 And Nature's self be deck'd in robes of light. 
 
 Yet, 'neath yon arch of blue, the vaulted skies. 
 
 That hold the stars and gorgeous sunset dyes. 
 
 How many a heart is wrapt in Sorrow's shroud, 
 
 'Neath clanking chains of discontent is bow'd. 
 
DEATH OF TITUS. 
 
 The bitter seeds of pain are freely sown, 
 And Melancholy claims us for her own. 
 
 As here I kneel beside thy place of rest, 
 I feel my spirit lonely and oppress' d, 
 Misgivings fetter'd to my brooding soul, 
 Which inly rankle and resist control ; 
 And, rather than recall thee to this life. 
 To buffet still amidst its waves of strife, 
 I eagerly await the blessed day 
 When I on airy wings shall pass away. 
 Shall be translated to the higher sphere. 
 And, soul to soul, shall recognize thee there. 
 
 Z'^l 
 
 DEATH OF TITUS. 
 
 Oh, sad and solemn sight, to see 
 Those youths bow'd down in agony ! 
 Upon each brow the settled gloom, " 
 That painful index of their doom, 
 Which plainly tells that Hope is dead 
 And all save dark Despair is fled. 
 'Twere vain to seek to mitigate 
 Thy fix'd decree, relentless Fate ! 
 
 27 
 
3^4 
 
 DEATH OF TITUS. 
 
 From those arraign' d as guilty, turn 
 To view their judge, severe and stern : 
 In every line those features show 
 Resolve ; no mercy seem to know. 
 'Tis dread necessity's control 
 Which governs Brutus' mighty soul.(5) 
 What ! he, — Rome's liberator, — he 
 Forgive the plot of foul conspiracy? 
 
 What though a father doom his son ? 
 'Tis Justice wills the deed be done ; 
 Yes, for that cherish' d life he gave, 
 'Tis Justice asks an early grave. 
 And while Astraea by his side 
 With aspect awful doth abide. 
 With steadfast voice she doth suppress 
 The tears of nature's tenderness. 
 
 Upon the altar, where the blow 
 Was struck 'gainst Liberty, let flow 
 The traitors' blood ; and let arise, 
 As Freedom's fearful sacrifice. 
 The dread and dying knell : 
 Oh, let its warning echoes tell. 
 More prized than kindred ties or home 
 To Brutus was the cause of Rome. 
 
DEATH OF TITUS. 
 
 Weep, Collatinus ! sadly weep ! 
 Give vent to anguish lone and deep ; 
 Thy manhood's tears, so long and late 
 Shed for the chaste Lucretia's fate. 
 Pour down thy cheeks once more like rain ; 
 But, oh, those tears are all in vain, — 
 Vain save as channels of relief 
 Unto thy soul's un fathom' d grief. 
 
 For mark the Roman father's eye 
 Transfix those youths led forth to die : 
 Whate'er the inward bosom feels. 
 No outward sign or look reveals. 
 Unswerving is the mandate's tone 
 Which leaves him childless and alone ; 
 The victims suffer, — breathe their last, — 
 And Tarquin's hopes are foil'd and past. 
 
 But who shall tell the siege that press' d 
 
 The fortress of the patriot's breast? 
 
 Of mightier merit and renown 
 
 Than that which struggling warriors crown : 
 
 They fight 'gainst foes; his vict'ry gain'd 
 
 Is over self, — his power restrain'd 
 
 The sparks of nature, and his soul 
 
 Lay prostrate 'neath his will's control. 
 
 315 
 
3i6 
 
 CEASE, MY SPIRIT. 
 
 CEASE, MY SPIRIT. 
 
 Oh, cease, my spirit, thy complaint ; 
 
 Suppress thy wail of woe ! 
 Although exhausted, weary, faint, 
 
 And sick of life below, 
 
 Still meekly bear thy weight of grief, 
 
 Nor murmur at thy lot ! 
 Who giveth pain can give relief: 
 
 Let this not be forgot. 
 
 Prostrated at His gracious throne, 
 Communing with thy God, 
 
 His wisdom and His justice own, 
 And kiss His chast'ning rod. 
 
 No night so dark but cometh day, 
 Its morn at length appears ; 
 
 No cloud so charged but weeps away 
 Its gloom at last in tears. 
 
 And though the shadows round thee sweep, 
 They cannot last for aye ; 
 
APRIL. 
 
 Though bow'd by anguish lone and deep, 
 That anguish must pass by. 
 
 And if thy day should dawn not here^ 
 'Twill break, when life is o'er, 
 
 In undimm'd lustre, bright and fair, 
 On the eternal shore. 
 
 317 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 Above, the blue and undimm'd skies 
 
 Expand all fair to view. 
 And zephyrs soft as lovers' sighs 
 
 The ear with music woo. 
 
 But, oh, we gaze upon the light. 
 Nor know how soon 'twill part ; 
 
 For things we love take earliest flight. 
 And leave us lone at heart. 
 
 So like the maiden, fickle, coy. 
 Young April e'en appears, 
 
 Now radiant with smiles and joy. 
 Now bathed in plenteous tears ; 
 27* 
 
31 8 APRIL. 
 
 Now dimpling with the warm sunlight, 
 
 Reflecting lustre down ; 
 Now clouded as the shades of night, 
 
 With sudden, angry frown. 
 
 And with each varied, changeful sign. 
 The vernal blossoms seem 
 
 To droop in sadness and repine, 
 Or with sunshine to gleam. 
 
 Though joy in April's smiles we find. 
 We'll not bewail its gloom. 
 
 Since sunlight and its tears combined 
 Give Summer's flowers bloom. 
 
 And brighter beam those golden hours 
 That follow clouded skies ; 
 
 The trees bedew' d by crystal showers 
 Are robed in rainbow-dyes. 
 
 All life is but an April's day. 
 Alternate light and shade. 
 
 Where joy will not forever stay. 
 Nor grief always invade. 
 
 But for the rain which oft descends. 
 
 The sorrow and alloy. 
 That with the light of pleasure blends, 
 
 We scarce would value joy. 
 
LOU'S POETS CORNER. 
 
 319 
 
 LOU'S POET'S CORNER. 
 
 TO L. 
 
 And thus, kind friend, you're pleased to call 
 
 The spot wherein my leisure's spent. — 
 A homely place is it withal, 
 
 Has few attractions with it blent. 
 Yes, few for others, — though to me 
 
 'Tis hallow' d in its solitude. 
 Here, from the world I love to flee, 
 
 To muse alone in pensive mood ; 
 Here, from its shelter will my heart 
 
 Steal forth to revel in the light, 
 To feed on dreams from life apart. 
 
 Such dreams as glow with lustre bright. 
 Here oft I meet sweet Peace and Rest, 
 
 Those gentle sisters who repose 
 With confidence within the breast 
 
 Where true contentment freely flows. 
 
 And when the world without's unkind, 
 When friends betray or traitors prove, 
 
 A ready refuge here I find, 
 
 And bring my store of wounded love. 
 
320 
 
 LOU'S POET'S CORNER, 
 
 Here may my spirit weep alone, 
 
 My throbbing bosom breathe in sighs^ 
 With none to note my plaintive tone 
 
 Or mark the tears that fill mine eyes. 
 Ah ! luxury it is to vent 
 
 And give the weary feelings sway, — 
 The pent-up soul, with sorrow rent, 
 
 To weep unseen its gloom away. 
 
 But, for the present passing time, 
 
 A truce we'll cry to dull romance. 
 And of this spot, in simple rhyme, 
 
 I'll give you e'en a closer glance. 
 Now listen, while I send exact 
 
 A plain description of the place, 
 And leave untold no single fact 
 
 Which marks its outward style and grace ; 
 For, like the eagle soaring high 
 
 To build his home in mountain crest. 
 In proud contentment here have \ 
 
 Secured an attic for my nest, 
 
 I cast my searching eyes around. 
 Its just proportions to scan o'er: 
 
 'Tis full four stories from the ground ; 
 Twice twelve feet long, as many more 
 
LOU'S POET'S CORNER, 321 
 
 In breadth; the walls and ceilings, though, 
 
 Are somewhat crack'd, and rather worn. 
 And for my taste almost too low ; 
 
 But these are trifles to be borne. 
 For still my fancy in its flight 
 
 With eagle pinions soars on high ; 
 It takes no heed of breadth or height 
 
 As through the clouds it gains the sky. 
 
 'Tis not the spot in which we live, 
 
 Nor things inviting to the sight, 
 That bliss bestow, or comforts give ; 
 
 The heart it is that makes all bright. 
 
 But, I must bear it in my mind, 
 
 I have not said a single word 
 Of furniture : of style or kind 
 
 You have not yet so much as heard. 
 The number five proclaims of chairs 
 
 My stock : 'tis not so very small; 
 Though Time's impress on each appears. 
 
 And some seem e'en prepared to fall. 
 They might not please a connoisseur. 
 
 In luxury accustom' d oft 
 His dainty limbs to rest secure 
 
 'Midst satin cushions warm and soft. 
 
322 
 
 LOU'S POET'S CORNER. 
 
 The chair which now I occupy 
 
 Is sound enough, though speaks much use ; 
 Another one that is close by 
 
 As plainly tells of gross abuse ; 
 The next thereto might seem quite neat, 
 
 But that its back is long since lost ; 
 The next to that wants but a seat. 
 
 Which I've discover' d to my cost, 
 For, prone to be distrait in mind, 
 
 I have forgotten o'er and o'er 
 The fact, and been surprised to find 
 
 Myself prostrate upon the floor. 
 Ah ! yonder stands my great arm-chair; 
 
 It claims a history of its own; 
 But I suppress the rising tear 
 
 It oft invokes for days foregone. 
 Here hath my grandsire often sate,- 
 
 With smile serene and placid brow : 
 Alas ! he'd mourn its shatter' d state, 
 
 Could he but gaze upon it now, 
 Could he behold its broken legs. 
 
 Its bruises numberless, untold. 
 Its rusty and metallic pegs. 
 
 Which glisten'd once like burnish'd gold. 
 But change with everything appears : 
 
 Upon each leaf and tree and bark. 
 
LOU'S POET'S CORNER. 
 
 Also on furniture and chairs, 
 
 It leaves alike its meaning mark. 
 And he who fill'd this vacant seat, 
 
 Whom mem'ry tenderly reveres, 
 Whose eyes benign I loved to meet. 
 
 Whose death awoke my saddest tears, 
 From kindred ties long since estranged 
 
 And vanish'd from the light of day. 
 He too from warmth and life is changed 
 
 To silent dust and pulseless clay. 
 
 But to my theme ! of chairs no more. — 
 
 Of carpet I confess I've not 
 An inch to cover up the naked floor 
 
 From many a dull and dusky spot 
 Which maculates it here and there ; 
 
 For in my said abstracted mood 
 I hardly heed each ebon tear 
 
 My weeping pen sheds o'er the wood. 
 My poet's corner hath a case. 
 
 In which old manuscript I lock: 
 Could you behold this ruffled place, 
 
 I fear it might your senses shock. 
 
 My table is of plain pine wood. 
 
 With drawer and slab the same to match ; 
 My desk I think is pretty good. 
 
 Though here and there it hath a scratch. 
 
 323 
 
324 
 
 LOU'S POET'S CORNER. 
 
 Dear little desk ! on thee I gaze, 
 
 And feel thou art my friend sincere : 
 
 I've bent above thy dusky baize 
 Full many a long and lonely year. 
 
 My pens and papers scatter' d round, 
 
 My folios' pages open'd wide, 
 My books in varied textures bound. 
 
 Proclaim my pleasures and my pride. 
 Oh, study is the mind's delight ! 
 
 Though worldly friends be from us flown, 
 With master-spirits pure and bright 
 
 We never can be all alone. 
 Dear books, companions of my soul, 
 
 Sweet friends of silent eloquence. 
 Whose influences pure control. 
 
 And all my labors recompense ! 
 
 I've bent above each oft-read line, 
 
 O'er thoughts harmonious, and words 
 That with their melody divine 
 
 O'ersweep, within, responsive chords. 
 No other draught in life can bring 
 
 Of nectar such exquisite sips 
 As from the bright Pierian spring 
 
 Outgushes to the thirsty lips. 
 
THE FIRST DEATH, 325 
 
 THE FIRST DEATH. 
 
 'TwAS the first time tliat Deatli, 
 With his cold dewy breath, 
 
 Invaded the family band ; — 
 But he came without sign, 
 And he made us repine 
 
 The work of his desolate hand. 
 
 In an unwary hour. 
 When the loveliest flower 
 
 Shed beauty and bloom on life's way, 
 From the parent stem too, 
 And so bright to the view. 
 
 He gather' d and bore her away. 
 
 Oh, it seem'd as if light 
 Had been merged into night, 
 
 No more to enliven the earth. 
 Low the vernal winds sigh'd. 
 When the darling one died. 
 
 As if Nature too mourn 'd o'er the dearth. 
 
 And now hush'd is the voice 
 That hath bade us rejoice, 
 
 And still'd are those accents so dear : 
 28 
 
326^ ~ THE FIRST DEATH. 
 
 They'll ne'er come again, 
 Amidst trials and pain, 
 
 With wonted affection to cheer. 
 
 For her home is on high, 
 Past the beautiful sky. 
 
 She used to gaze longingly there : 
 Of the angels she'd talk, 
 And of when she should walk 
 
 The garden of Eden so fair. 
 
 And although she has gone 
 From the hearts that must mourn 
 
 And miss her dear presence each day. 
 Yet who would call back. 
 To life's weary track, 
 
 The spirit released from the clay? 
 
 For this world is at best 
 But a place of unrest ; 
 
 And griefs that to-day we escape 
 May to-morrow the heart. 
 With their envenom'd dart. 
 
 Assail in some deadlier shape. 
 
 Then, oh, why should we weep. 
 When the darling ones sleep 
 
 The sleep of the just and the true? 
 
THE FIRST DEATH. 327 
 
 We should rather rejoice 
 They have been the first choice 
 
 Of God from amongst the home-crew. 
 
 But I could not thus think 
 When first Death came to drink 
 
 The spring of her life in its flow : 
 My heart melted away, 
 As I gazed on the clay, 
 
 As white as its pillows of snow. 
 
 Oh, the beautiful face, 
 With each feminine grace, 
 
 And clustering tresses so soft, 
 In the coffin lie there. 
 Just as tranquil and fair. 
 
 As sleeping I'd seen it so oft. 
 
 But Death's bow was once strung. 
 And his arrows were flung 
 
 Anon, and amidst the household ; 
 While with unerring aim. 
 He made good his claim 
 
 In selecting new lambs from the fold. 
 
 I've seen them depart 
 Like the hopes of the heart, 
 
 Their places left vacant below \ 
 
328 LETHARGY. 
 
 Till my soul, 'midst its tears, 
 And all shaken by fears, 
 
 Cries, "When will the other ones go?" 
 
 But, oh, may it not be, 
 Till my spirit shall flee 
 
 Away to Elysian shore, 
 To welcome them there. 
 In the holier sphere, 
 
 When their pilgrimage here shall be o'er. 
 
 LETHARGY. 
 
 Oh, what is this I feel? 
 As though a sheath of steel 
 Encased my sentient hearty 
 From joy kept it apart, 
 And each emotion held,. 
 No more to be impell'd. 
 To pulsate or rebound 
 With ecstasy around. 
 
 Sensations once I knew. 
 Within my breast that grew. 
 
LETHARGY. 
 
 Seem dead, forever gone ! 
 Without a tear to mourn 
 Their death, or even sigh 
 That they so soon should die. 
 Oh, sad is it to be 
 The slave of Lethargy ! 
 
 To feel the clanking chain 
 Thus fetter and restrain ; 
 Thus cabin'd and confined. 
 Inert in soul and mind. 
 Can this be growing old? 
 This feeling dull and cold, — 
 This absence of the glow- 
 That warm'd my spirits' flow? 
 
 That once imparted light. 
 Made things around seem bright, 
 My life appear' d to fold 
 In colorings of gold? 
 Oh, would that I could feel 
 The heart of boyhood steal 
 Within me, as of yore. 
 With all the bliss it bore ! 
 
 How fast the moments flew, 
 How bright the flowers grew, 
 28* 
 
 329 
 
330 
 
 LETHARGY. 
 
 When all around was green 
 Amidst the dewy sheen ! 
 Ah, would that I could be 
 As careless and as free, 
 As full of love and joy, 
 As when I was a boy ! 
 
 Or would that I had died 
 While youth was in its pride, 
 Before a settled rust 
 Corroded hope and trust. 
 And while my bosom, still 
 Susceptive to each thrill 
 Enthusiasm woke. 
 Ignored this iron yoke ! 
 
 Oh, mournful 'tis to be 
 
 The slave of Lethargy ! 
 
 To see the fires fade. 
 
 Where once their radiance made 
 
 The altar of the heart 
 
 All bright ! — to see depart 
 
 Each gleam, and ev'ry spark 
 
 Decay to ashes dark ! 
 
 Ah, sad is it to be 
 Of frail mortality 
 
LETHARGY. 
 
 The heir, — with life to strive, 
 Fresh feelings to survive ! — 
 Like some poor wreck in view, 
 Deserted by its crew. 
 Upon the waters left, 
 Of human hope bereft, 
 
 Of human thought and care, — 
 
 To float at random here 
 
 Or there, sway'd by the tide, 
 
 The billows rough to ride, 
 
 Unstored and all unmann'd. 
 
 Without an outstretch' d hand 
 
 To rescue or to save 
 
 From out the threat' ning wave ! 
 
 Oh, could I rend in twain 
 This strange lethargic chain. 
 Disperse the sullen gloom 
 Of this now morbid doom ! 
 Should such remain my fate, 
 I can but watch and wait 
 Till from its clog of clay 
 My soul shall break away. 
 
 And, like a bird set free 
 From long captivity, 
 
 33^ 
 
332 
 
 ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 Shall vanish from the sight 
 In far and distant flight, 
 On airy wings shall soar 
 Where fleshy bars no more 
 Can fetter or restrain 
 With dull, lethargic pain. 
 
 ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 Thus hour by hour, and day by day, 
 Another year hath roll'd away, 
 Till, sailing down the stream of Time, 
 We view ahead the New Year's prime. 
 
 And, lingering thus between the years. 
 Unbidden doubts and secret fears 
 Upon the heart come floating by, 
 Like summer clouds athwart the sky, 
 And steal away its joyous mood. 
 On graver thoughts alone to brood ; 
 For Retrospection calls the gaze 
 To by-gone dreams of other days. 
 When friends beloved and voices dear 
 Were wont to mingle in our cheer. 
 
ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 But now we call each name in vain ; 
 No voices give those tones again, 
 And mem'ry of the sever'd ties 
 Awakens deep and bitter sighs. 
 O friends beloved ! forever gone ! 
 The spirit turns for you to mourn ; 
 Each tender trait, each feeling kind. 
 With freshness sweeps across the mind. 
 And calls to life once more those hours, 
 All faded now like vanish' d flowers. 
 
 From blessings past that would not stay, 
 But flew like frighten' d birds away. 
 We gaze on blessings lingering nigh, 
 Nor know how soon they too may die ; 
 But, even while we most despond, 
 So like a mother true and fond. 
 Comes gentle Hope, with smiling mien, 
 And gives us strength on her to. lean. 
 " Look up, look up," she'd softly say ; 
 " There's light above : still lingers day ; 
 And when it comes, the weary night. 
 Beyond \\\.^ clouds there's always light." 
 And holy Faith her steps pursue. 
 With voice that sounds like music too : 
 *'Oh, trust the future, though it be 
 For purpose wise conceal' d from thee ; 
 
 333 
 
334 
 
 ANOTHER YEAR. 
 
 And let thy doubts all buried lie 
 Within the year now passing by. 
 Oh, trust thy God, whate'er it be, 
 The burden He impose on thee ; 
 For sorrows sent by the All-Wise 
 Are often blessings in disguise. 
 
 ^'Then should the fount of grief o'erflow, 
 Still praise the Hand that deals the blow ; 
 For He who wounds may also heal, 
 His will decides thy woe or weal ; 
 He knows thy needs, and hath supplies 
 For every want that in man lies." 
 
 Then oh, my God, while thus I feel, 
 Prostrated at Thy throne I kneel, 
 And crave for strength my soul to stay 
 Throughout life's dark and stormy way. 
 Oh, may the year now opening be 
 From sorrow and from darkness free ! 
 And from the Past thus newly born 
 May it unfold a cloudless morn ; 
 And as its noon shall onward blend, 
 Still let Thy blessings, LORD-, descend, 
 Until its evening gently close 
 In peaceful and in calm repose. 
 
LOVE ME STILL. 
 
 335 
 
 Oh, turn my wayward heart to Thee 
 In growing faith and purity, 
 That I each coming year may be 
 More worthy, Lord, to worship Thee! 
 
 LOVE ME STILL. 
 
 Oh, love me still ! I cannot live 
 
 From thy dear smile away j 
 The past forget, and all forgive. 
 
 Oh, love me still, I pray ! 
 
 Oh, love me still ! I loved thee well 
 When false I seemed to thee : 
 
 Let not belief against me dwell 
 Within thy memory. 
 
 I have not swerved in thought or deed. 
 
 Oh, try me, trust me now ; 
 Look in my face, and there you'll read 
 
 Truth written on my brow ! 
 
 Oh, love me still ! The flowers will fade 
 
 Without the light of day; 
 The heart will droop, if cast in shade, 
 
 Without Love's cheering ray. 
 
336 LOVE ME STILL. 
 
 Oh, love me still ! My soul is dark 
 
 Without affection's light ; 
 All earth seems blank, without a spark 
 
 To cheer the lonesome night. 
 
 Then love me still ! My heart is thine ; 
 
 My spirit clings to thee ; 
 Lift up thine eyes once more to mine. 
 
 And place thy trust in me. 
 
 Oh, let us love for evermore, 
 And may no cloud descend 
 
 To shade again the sunshine o'er. 
 Our bliss with grief to blend. 
 
 Oh, love me still ! While time shall roll, 
 
 I ne'er can love but thee : 
 I'll bear thine impress on my soul 
 
 Into eternity. 
 
PEACE. 
 
 337 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Thy voice is low, sweet Sister Peace ; 
 
 Its echoes mild and clear 
 Bid pain and turmoil all to cease 
 
 And sorrow disappear. 
 
 In varied shapes, O gentle Peace, 
 
 Thy vision floats around ; 
 But ever with the sweet heart's-ease 
 
 Thy lovely brow is crown'd. 
 
 The chaplet gives thy tender eye 
 
 The violet's soft hue ; 
 Each quiet flower, like Pity's sigh, 
 
 Is bathed in heav'nly dew. 
 
 On viewless wings the weary earth 
 
 Thou roamest far and near. 
 Where famine's hand, where cruel dearth 
 
 And suff'ring dark appear ; 
 
 Where war and blood and carnage wage, 
 And discord reigns around, 
 29 
 
338 ^^^^ PEACE. 
 
 Where dreadful death and battle rage, 
 Thy noiseless step is found. 
 
 Yes ! when the human heart foregoes 
 God's purpose and intent, 
 
 And brothers deem their brothers foes. 
 And deadly aims are bent. 
 
 Emerging then, in mist of love, 
 
 A revelation bright. 
 An angel spirit from above. 
 
 Appears thy mellow light. 
 
 And tumult pauses in its pace. 
 Contention's voice is o'er. 
 
 All spring to meet thy mild embrace. 
 And battle is no more ! 
 
 Thus nations hail, sweet Peace, in thee. 
 The calm and joyous reign 
 
 That makes the ocean once more free 
 And commerce smile again. 
 
 The land, too long neglected view'd. 
 To culture once more yields ; 
 
 Beneath thy downy tread's renew'd 
 The labor of the fields \ 
 
PEACE. 
 
 And husbands torn from wives away 
 By war and threat' ning death 
 
 Are wafted back, sad hearts to stay, 
 Upon thy fav'ring breath ; 
 
 And tender fathers, who no more 
 Their babes had hoped to see, 
 
 When homeward call'd from foreign shore. 
 Turn grateful hearts to thee. 
 
 O blessed Peace ! sweet silver star. 
 
 Whose holy light's enshrined. 
 Like love within the realm afar, 
 
 In the contented mind. 
 
 All nature, worn with toilsome life, 
 
 Must hail thy welcome breath. 
 That fans away the spirit's strife 
 
 In calm and peaceful death. 
 
 339 
 
340 FLORA TO BESSIE. 
 
 FLORA TO BESSIE, QUEEN OF MAY. 
 
 SPOKEN AT THE CONVENT OF M. DE SALES. 
 
 Assembled here upon the green, 
 
 And chosen thus to be 
 The maid of honor to the queen 
 
 Of our idolatry, 
 The May-day throne I venture near, 
 
 My friendship to impart, 
 ■ And speak for each fair subject here 
 
 A true and loyal heart. 
 
 The flowers turn towards the sun, 
 
 To claim him god of day ; 
 So, gather' d round thee, ev'ry one 
 
 Now hails thee Queen of May ! 
 Thy rare attractions all combine 
 
 To make our hearts rejoice ; 
 And while our hopes round thee entwine, 
 
 We triumph in our choice. 
 
 Oh, lovely sovereign ! Queen of Youth ! 
 Not England's Bess could boast 
 
 
THE QUEEN'S REPLY TO FLORA. 341 
 
 Of hearts of firmer faith and truth 
 
 Amidst her mighty host. 
 And may thy spring thus open'd fair 
 
 Still brightly wend its way ; 
 And when thy summer's days draw near, 
 
 Thy heart as fond display. 
 
 And as we thus united stand 
 
 In Flora's season now, 
 May Autumn find us hand in hand, 
 
 With plighted faith and vow. 
 Should Winter, with his chill breath, steal 
 
 The roses of our youth. 
 Oh, may his frost-work ne'er conceal 
 
 Our trusty love and truth ! 
 
 THE QUEEN'S REPLY TO FLORA. 
 
 Oh, thanks, dear friend ! thy words convey 
 
 Conviction to my heart 
 That never will this happy day 
 
 From memory depart. 
 My subjects all, with grateful love 
 
 My spirit turns to you ; 
 29* 
 
342 THE QUEEN'S REPLY TO FLORA. 
 
 Oh, may I never, never prove 
 Unworthy love so true ! 
 
 For not through merit do I claim 
 
 The crown upon this day ; 
 'Tis friendship's ever-faithful name 
 
 That makes me Queen of May. 
 And motives kind which thus exalt 
 
 From loving hearts proceed ; 
 Kind friends, o'erlooking every fault, 
 
 Accord me undue meed ! 
 
 Yet I accept their partial praise. 
 
 As freely as it flows : 
 'Twill serve to blend life's coming days 
 
 With shades couleur de rose. 
 I feel your hearts around me cling 
 
 As tenderly and near 
 As twines this wreath of fragrant Spring 
 
 Which on my brow I wear. 
 
 Ye are the flowers that blended light 
 
 And loveliness impart, 
 And long have made so warm and bright 
 
 The garden of my heart. 
 One little bud, though, I recall. 
 
 With thought of pensive strain : 
 She went to answer God's own call, 
 
 And never came again. 
 
THE QUEEN'S REPLY TO FLORA. 343 
 
 She was exotic from that isle 
 
 Where verdure ever reigns, 
 Where Southern skies so constant smile, 
 
 And sunlight seldom wanes. 
 Transplanted thus to Northern clime, 
 
 Ah ! droop'd our lovely flower ; 
 She fell away in Winter time, 
 
 We all recall that hour ! 
 
 So loving was she, and so fond. 
 
 Our hearts seem'd grown in one : 
 To Him who broke that silken bond. 
 
 We say. Thy will be done ! 
 The crown I wear may soon decay. 
 
 But hers will never die, 
 For there is one eternal May 
 
 Beyond the boundless sky. 
 
 I echo truly, dearest friend. 
 
 Your sentiments so pure ! 
 Oh, may the seasons, as they wend. 
 
 Still find our love endure. 
 If Autumn, or if Winter chill. 
 
 Should meet us on life's way. 
 Then may our cherish'd friendships still 
 
 Be warm as now in May ! 
 
344 
 
 FAITH'S ENTRANCE. 
 
 FAITH'S ENTRANCE. 
 
 While years achieved their onward course, 
 
 He walk'd in dread and doubt, 
 Unheeding every sign or source 
 
 To guide his steps about. 
 His heart was as a flinty rock, 
 
 Where naught could impress make. 
 No key could turn the stubborn lock, 
 
 No power the fortress take. 
 
 He stumbled and he groped around 
 
 To find a road to tread ; 
 But 'neath his feet the broken ground 
 
 Alone to darkness led. 
 And yet within this brooding day 
 
 He never once believed 
 He had been lost upon life's way 
 
 Or therein been deceived. 
 
 A cloud suspended dimm'd his sight, 
 
 And shaded from his view 
 A hand which pointed to the light, — 
 
 A hand with index true. 
 
FAITH'S ENTRANCE. 345 
 
 But He whose work is sometimes slow 
 
 Is always sure indeed : 
 His mercies and His bounties flow 
 
 To man in hour of need. 
 
 And by degrees he seem'd to wake, 
 
 And felt no more oppress' d ; 
 The skeptic chain which bound him brake, 
 
 And left him free and blest. 
 The portals of his heart gave way 
 
 When Faith stole softly in, 
 While shrinking from her flew away 
 
 The specious tenant Sin. 
 
 Then Truth and Light before him shone 
 
 In letters bright and clear ; 
 He felt no longer sad and lone, 
 
 Nor droop'd his soul with fear. 
 The volume long possess'd in vain. 
 
 Unheeded and unsought. 
 That long had thus neglected lain, 
 
 With eagerness was caught. 
 
 Its priceless worth became impress'd 
 
 Upon his yielding heart ; 
 He clasp' d it to his grateful breast, 
 
 Ah, never thence to part. 
 
346 BEAUTIFUL MAY. 
 
 He'd found at last the faithful friend 
 
 That should his life direct ; 
 Whose strength within his soul would blend , 
 
 Would guide and would protect. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL MAY. 
 
 Beautiful May ! with eyes so bright, 
 With silken locks as dark as night, 
 With merry step and blithesome voice, 
 That bids the heart within rejoice, 
 Oh, may thy spirit free and pure 
 Forever in its truth endure ! 
 
 Beautiful May ! with matchless face, 
 Enwreathed in smiles of saintly grace. 
 Which tells thy soul, O gentle child ! 
 Is there reflected undefiled ; 
 For thou art as an angel bright 
 Dispensing rays of holy light. 
 
 O fairy one, with loving heart, 
 With every thought from self apart. 
 Forever watchful to beguile 
 With ready and resistless smile, 
 
BEAUTIFUL MAY. 
 
 And win the mind with care oppress' d 
 To hopeful thought and happy rest. 
 
 Ah, who upon that brow can gaze 
 Untouch'd with strange and glad amaze, 
 To read in letters soft and clear, 
 'Midst beams of love reflected there. 
 The sense of Right that fills thy heart 
 And is, sweet one, of thee a part ? 
 
 And who can gaze, nor learn to be. 
 Through thy bright youth and purity, 
 A something in life's sordid ways 
 That's worthy yet of honest praise, 
 A something better, more sincere. 
 Than otherwise they ever were? 
 
 Methinks thy very smile might charm 
 Away all evil and all harm ; 
 The accent soft, the loving tone. 
 As musical as is thine own. 
 As with some potency and spell 
 E'en grief and anguish might dispel. 
 
 And may the happiness thou'dst give 
 Forever in thine own heart live ! 
 
 347 
 
348 STRENGTHEN ME IN TIME OF NEED. 
 
 Around thy path may flowers bring 
 To thee one bright, perennial Spring, 
 Their beauty and their fragrance sweet 
 Thy onward steps in life to meet ! 
 
 May no dark shadow mark the brow 
 Of one so innocent as thou ; 
 But may the opening Future be 
 An Eden all undimm'd to thee, 
 With not a cloud of griefs alloy 
 Between thy hopes and perfect joy ! 
 
 STRENGTHEN ME IN TIME OF 
 NEED! 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 At Thy throne, O God, I fall, 
 Unto Thee, imploring, call : 
 Hear me, then, in mercy heed ! 
 Strengthen me in time of need ! 
 Kindly grant sufficient power. 
 In temptation's darkest hour, 
 Threatened evils to defy, 
 Sinful pleasures to pass by. 
 
 
STRENGTHEN ME IN TIME OF NEED. 
 
 Though in specious garb they mask, 
 May it be my solemn task, 
 Under each deceptive fold. 
 Lurking danger to behold. 
 And to shun, with virtue strong, 
 E'en the semblance of wrong ! 
 Prayerfully exalt my soul ; 
 Let Thy love my life control ! 
 Holy Father ! teach to me 
 Meekness and humility ! 
 To whate'er Thou dost impart. 
 May I bow with humble heart ; 
 To the lot Thou dost decree. 
 May I yield submissively ; 
 If Thou fiU'st with joy my cup, 
 Whilst I drink the blessing up. 
 Let my soul ascend in praise 
 To Thy throne, with grateful lays. 
 If within the fount of life 
 Intermingle pain and strife. 
 Let me feel such is Thy will. 
 And, feeling thus, adore Thee still. 
 Whilst I drain the secret gall. 
 Let me worship Thee through all ; 
 Let me feel, by Grief though smote. 
 Thou canst give the antidote. 
 30 
 
 349 
 
35° 
 
 LEANING O'ER THE VESSEL. 
 
 Though beneath Thy chast'ning rod 
 I should sink, Almighty God ! 
 Though in agony I strive, 
 If Thou wilt, Thou canst revive ; 
 Thou canst lift my soul oppress' d, 
 Fillwith hope my fainting breast ; 
 Raise me up from out the dust, 
 Crown me with a perfect trust, 
 Sublimate each heart's desire. 
 And with truth my soul inspire : 
 Thou, O God ! Thou canst do all ! 
 Thou on whom alone I call : 
 Hear me, then, in mercy heed ! 
 Strengthen me in time of need. 
 
 LEANING O'ER THE VESSEL. 
 
 Here, leaning o'er the vessel 
 
 And gazing on the sea. 
 My thoughts are turning backwards, 
 
 My absent home, to thee; 
 While forms beloved and cherish' d, 
 
 While voices soft and clear. 
 Are thronging through my fancy, — 
 
 Are sounding on my ear. 
 
LEANING O'ER THE VESSEL. 351 
 
 The sky is fair and lovely, 
 
 The breeze is fresh and calm ; 
 But from this scene of beauty 
 
 I borrow not its balm. 
 For every passing moment 
 
 The vessel on doth flee 
 But bears me off the farther, 
 
 My native home, from thee. 
 
 Although from sight you've faded, 
 
 My blessed fatherland ! 
 My thoughts refuse to wander 
 
 Towards a foreign strand \ 
 But like the heart in spring-time. 
 
 That clings to its first love, 
 To thee they turn in fondness, — 
 
 From thee they cannot rove. 
 
 But leaning o'er the vessel. 
 
 And watching the bright foam. 
 Steal o'er my cheek warm breathings, 
 
 A hand hath sought mine own : 
 'Tis thine, O gentle sister ! 
 
 Our fates the same are cast ; 
 But tears within your eyes tell 
 
 Your thoughts are of the past. 
 
352 LEANING O'ER THE VESSEL. 
 
 A chord within your bosom, 
 
 By like emotion stirr'd, 
 Pours forth the plaintive music, 
 
 As though mine own it heard. 
 Draw closer to me, sister, 
 
 And with each passing wind, 
 Oh, let us sigh together 
 
 For friends we've left behind. 
 
 New scenes and new vocations, 
 
 A few years past and o'er. 
 And we'll retrace our journey. 
 
 To seek those friends once more. 
 But loud your heart is throbbing ! 
 
 I feel it 'gainst my own ; 
 Your lip is pale and quiv'ring. 
 
 Your voice gives back no tone. 
 
 I guess your thoughts, O sister 1 
 
 Mine, too, are wild and strange : 
 We cannot scan the future; 
 
 It may be fraught with change / 
 We cannot turn its pages 
 
 To read a single name : 
 The home we now are leaving, — 
 
 Will it be just the same? 
 
LEANING O'ER THE VESSEL. 
 
 The same kind, loving faces, 
 
 The voices true and dear, 
 When next we go to seek them, 
 
 Oh, will they all be there ? 
 Will every link be perfect 
 
 Which binds Affection's chain. 
 None tarnish'd then, or sever'd. 
 
 When we reach home again ! 
 
 But, sister, gentle sister. 
 
 Oh, bid thy doubts be done ; 
 The veil which wraps the future is 
 
 Of threads of Mercy spun. 
 Sufficient for the spirit 
 
 Its present pain and toil. 
 Without unearthing thorns from 
 
 Beneath a blooming soil. 
 
 If Sorrow should o'ertake us, 
 
 And Grief her weight should bring, 
 To turn to dreary Winter 
 
 The budding days of Spring, 
 Oh, then, we'll bow together. 
 
 As here embraced we stand. 
 Submitting to the chast'ning 
 
 Of the Almighty hand. 
 30* 
 
 353 
 
354 
 
 THE HEEDLESS WORD. 
 
 THE HEEDLESS WORD. 
 
 And have I flung the cruel dart 
 With careless hand into thy heart? 
 Oh, was it poison'd, sank it deep, 
 And has it caused thine eyes to weep ? 
 I did not mean such pain to give ; 
 And now I ask thee to forgive. 
 
 The grief inflicted I too feel ; 
 
 For, oh, I would not mar thy weal; 
 
 I would not, for a selfish joy, 
 
 Within thy spirit blend alloy. 
 
 Then rather think my words were meant 
 
 With gen'rous and with kind intent. 
 
 I would not with a single blow 
 
 Thy youthful buoyancy lay low ; 
 
 I would not cause thy soul to feel 
 
 A wound which time might never heal, 
 
 Or in thy chalice brimming bright 
 
 Let fall one drop of ebon night. 
 
 Then look not sad, nor think again 
 I'd have thee know an hour's pain ; 
 
THE HEEDLESS WORD. 
 
 That I would wound that spirit gay, 
 Or turn its mirthful mood away. 
 Ah, ne'er should word from out my lips 
 The sunlight of thy heart eclipse. 
 
 I could not gaze with undimm'd eye. 
 Or check my spirit's inward sigh, 
 To watch a bright and merry bird. 
 Whose music-notes were gayly heard 
 And listen to it sweetly sing, — 
 Then see it drop with wounded wing. 
 
 Oh, if my hand, unconscious though, 
 Had cast the barb that laid it low, 
 I could not know of peace or rest 
 Until I'd calm'd its beating breast ; 
 Until I should its strength restore. 
 My suff'rings felt could not be o'er. 
 
 Then look not sad ; but turn to me. 
 That I may- calm and comfort thee : 
 Here, press thy heart against my own. 
 And listen to its beating tone ; 
 It speaks of love so tried and true. 
 That change nor chance can e'er subdue. 
 
 Here, rest thee here, while I impart 
 At least to one sad, quiv'ring heart 
 
 355 
 
356 TO SUE. 
 
 A joyous and a happy tone, 
 
 Which e'en mine own hath never known ; 
 
 While I restore thy spirit's rest, 
 
 With peace and trust infuse thy breast. 
 
 TO SUE. 
 
 Thy merry laugh, sweet child, I hear ; 
 
 Each echo seems to float 
 Upon the rapt and list'ning ear, 
 
 Like music's gayest note. 
 Such music of thy guileless heart. 
 
 Like Orpheus' fabled skill, 
 Methinks should love divine impart. 
 
 And tenderness instill. 
 Thine eyes are clear and dark as night. 
 
 Thy brow is fair as day ; 
 Among thy fleecy locks a light 
 
 Of golden wealth doth play; 
 Upon thy lips of coral dye 
 
 Thy breathings moist and warm 
 Like dew upon the roses lie, 
 
 Imparting there fresh charm. 
 Oh, lovely child of promise rare. 
 
 May Time to thee disclose 
 Each leaf unfolding bright and fair 
 
 As those which form the rose. 
 
THE NIGHT IS DARK. 
 
 357 
 
 THE NIGHT IS DARK. 
 
 The night is dark, the winds are high, 
 
 The clouds have gather'd in the sky; 
 
 And, lo, the full and silver moon 
 
 Has faded out of sight too soon, 
 
 And stars that cluster'd round her throne 
 
 Have with their queen refulgent gone. 
 
 I sit and watch them oft from here, 
 As one by one they disappear, 
 Until I muse, with aching heart, 
 'Tis thus the joys of life depart ! 
 Thus as the moon and starry light 
 Have pass'd away on this lone night. 
 Thus, when they shine with brightest'beams. 
 Thus, when they wake our dearest dreams, 
 The clouds of disappointment rise 
 To shade them from our eager eyes. 
 Thus with the seed with care we tend. 
 Thus o'er the flowers we fondly bend ; 
 A wintry blast sweeps rudely by. 
 The seed is kill'd, the flowers die; 
 While we have only tears to lave 
 As offerings o'er each lovely grave. 
 
358 THE NIGHT IS DARK. 
 
 Thus with the tender bird we've nursed, 
 Whose carol'd song, each day rehearsed, 
 Our spirits has with joy imbued 
 And cheer'd us in our solitude. 
 One rude neglect or careless blow 
 Will lay the darling warbler low, 
 While we in vain will yearn to hear 
 Those music-notes lute-like and clear. 
 Thus golden fancies of the mind, 
 That flowers of thought together bind. 
 Are ever drifting far and wide, 
 As sea-shells wash'd by ocean's tide, 
 Or by Reality's stern breath 
 Are sadly tried and put to death. 
 When life is young, we gayly stand 
 Out-gazing towards the far-off land. 
 The fairy future land that shines 
 Undimm'd in bright perspective lines, 
 While, warm'd with hope, the thirsty soul 
 Impatient yearns to reach the goal ; 
 But, as each distant goal's attain'd, 
 Each tempting cup is found and drain'd. 
 Beneath the fresh and frothy brim 
 The ebbing tide is changed and dim, 
 Till farther down the dull dregs rest 
 Like disappointment in the breast. 
 
THE NIGHT IS DARK. 
 
 Thus hopes have birth, and thus decay, 
 Thus vanish blessings day by day, 
 Till, shrouded in its secret gloom. 
 The heart, lone mourner o'er the tomb 
 Of wasted hours, or spent in vain 
 For that which brought no solid gain. 
 Finds naught is left to buoy it up 
 Or antidote the bitter cup. 
 There is in life no prop or stay 
 That may not fail or fall away ; 
 There is no changeless moon to light 
 The pilgrim through each weary night. 
 
 Then wherefore, heart, repose thy trust 
 
 In fading flowers, in things of dust? 
 
 The land beyond is bright and fair ; 
 
 Eternal light is shining there ; 
 
 The birds ne'er cease in praise to sing. 
 
 And flowers to bloom through fadeless Spring. 
 
 There is no change in One above. 
 
 No misplaced faith in heavenly love ! 
 
 359 
 
360 HEART-BREA THINGS. 
 
 HEART-BREATHINGS. 
 
 Oh, check each cold tone and each hasty word ! 
 They're best never spoken, best never heard ; 
 Suppress each harsh thought that fain would oft blend 
 With love of the heart for brother or friend. 
 
 If dark is his brow, or angry his cheek. 
 Then gentle and low be words that you speak ; 
 Remove every thorn you may from his path : 
 An answer that's soft will turn away wrath. 
 
 Oh, seek to dispel the tumult that reigns. 
 
 To quench the fierce fire which burns in his veins ; 
 
 Cast not on a coal that fire to raise : 
 
 Each fagot applied will brighten the blaze ! 
 
 The breathings of friendship, gentle and kind. 
 Will lessen the flames, their embers will bind, 
 Till, like the hot sun 'neath eventide's shade. 
 From out of the heart all the fierceness will fade. 
 
 If clouds gather not, the storm cannot last; 
 Then lighten each cloud, and soon 'twill be past. 
 
HEART-BREATHINGS. 361 
 
 An o'erhanging shower, or few drops of rain, 
 At first may descend ere all's peaceful again. 
 
 But when it is over, the heaven of love 
 Its holiest rays will reflect from above : 
 And is it not wise to quiet and quell 
 The bosom's wild rage, its billowy swell ? 
 
 For why, after all, should brothers contend ? 
 Why open a wound that's easy to mend? 
 Our lives are but transient : day after day 
 We're leaving each other, — passing away. 
 
 And e'en while we stay, the beloved by our side 
 May wither or droop in the flush of youth's pride. 
 And when in the night of sorrow we mourn 
 The fond and the prized, forever now gone, 
 
 While we gaze on each form, each pale, lifeless face. 
 Whose features are seal'd in Death's cold embrace. 
 The fountains of Memory deeply are stirr'd, 
 Till each cruel thought and each hasty word 
 
 That ever we've known and ever we've said 
 Come back to reproach in tones of the Dead, — 
 Till vainly we long for magic or power 
 The Past to recall with each bitter hour : 
 
 31 
 
362 HEAR T-BREA THINGS. 
 
 The Past, with its thoughts and words to recall, 
 How gladly we'd yield existence and all ! 
 Oh, gladly we'd pillow our heads on that breast, 
 And share with the loved one the last quiet rest. 
 
 But soon, ay, as soon revive the pale dead, 
 As call in the hours once vanish' d and fled ! 
 Regrets cannot bring the Past to us back, 
 With thorns that deform its desolate track. 
 
 Ah, then, ev^ry moment bestow' d on us still 
 With kindness and love be our efforts to fill, 
 The pathway of Time with fresh roses to strew, 
 Their leaves to immerse in Affection's bright dew, 
 
 To cherish each blossom that round us may lie, 
 And crush not a tendril or floweret nigh ! 
 Then sadness our hearts from pleasure may win, ■ 
 No cruel remorse will mingle therein. 
 
 And leaves, though they turn from what they have 
 
 been, 
 We'll think what they were when lovely and green; 
 Then Winter may come, with frost on his wing, 
 But cannot erase the mem'ry of Spring. 
 
TO ESSIE. 
 
 363 
 
 TO ESSIE. 
 
 As gay as a bird, as merry and bright, 
 Whose music is heard from morning till night, 
 Who chirps gayly round from bough unto bough, 
 With skip and with bound, so, Essie, art thou. 
 
 Or like a sunbeam, all dancing and gay. 
 In soft golden gleam throughout the long day ; 
 As joyous and bright, in unrestrain'd glee, 
 As happy and light, as careless and free. 
 
 And ne'er mayst thou know of sorrow a dart 
 To mar the glad flow of thy sunny heart ; 
 But, like the bright bird, uncheck'd in its lays. 
 Thy music be heard till the close of thy days. 
 
3^4 
 
 AMBITION FOR FAME. 
 
 AMBITION FOR FAME. 
 
 We seek to grasp the stars ! — they fade away ; 
 
 Ambition soars, but on its pinion takes 
 Some cheery sunlight from the smiling day : 
 
 Some spell of innocence it wildly breaks 
 
 In its ascent ; and, like the fresh snow-flakes, 
 Which noontide kisses on the mountain-side. 
 
 Youth's youthful feelings melt away. Man stakes 
 On high renown his egotistic pride. 
 And upward toils, regardless what betide. 
 Were Virtue's guerdon but his worthy aim, 
 Then less he'd crave the barren boon of fame. 
 
 But in perspective lies the beacon-light 
 
 That shimmers o'er the distant tempting goal. 
 Inspiring to onward, eagle flight. 
 
 With fair illusions to the thirsty soul. 
 
 The dazzling lustre hides each threat' ning shoal. 
 Each deep or shallow that with darksome sign 
 
 The tide may ruffle in Fate's sparkling bowl. 
 And danger with the brightness there combine. 
 The serpent lures to poison, though he shine : 
 The ignis-fatuus, brilliant to the sight, 
 On near approach is but deceptive light. 
 
AMBITION FOR FAME. 365 
 
 Ambition ! fierce and all-exhaustless fire, 
 
 With fever growing as its strength extends; 
 The more 'tis fed, the more doth it require. 
 
 Consuming e'en the life wherewith it blends ; 
 
 For, once ignited, still the flame ascends ; 
 Ambition knows not limit to its grasp. 
 
 As with the child, each flow* ret pluck' d but tends 
 To wake desire for more, though near the wasp 
 Be hov'ring with envenom' d sting and clasp ; 
 Though 'neath the roses hidden thorns abound, 
 Still onward circles sanguine hope around. 
 
 And whatsoe'er is sought, or what attain'd. 
 Throughout the devious windings of the race 
 
 There still is ever something to be gain'd. 
 Another goal to reach, another pace. 
 Until the envied treasure we'd embrace 
 
 Turns skeleton within the eager hold. 
 And, lo ! so valueless appears the chase. 
 
 We start, to think for thing so blank and cold 
 
 Our better life we have exchanged or sold, 
 
 We have exhausted time we might have given 
 
 To toil in carving out a road to heaven. 
 
 Ah, could the shades of heroes who once breathed, 
 Who won the laurel for each shining name, 
 
366 GABRIELLE. 
 
 Whose mem'ries with renown are still enwreathed, 
 But speak to mortals of Ambition's aim, 
 They'd tell how small the recompense of fame ; 
 For all that's lost for proud Ambition's sake, 
 
 How trifling is the gain ! Should they the same 
 Posthumous cognizance of creatures take, 
 Their souls must be dissolved in Pity's lake ; 
 For human kind their sympathies must rise, 
 And pensive music waken in the skies. 
 
 GABRIELLE. 
 
 She is winsome and she's bonnie. 
 
 Lovely Gabrielle ! 
 With a voice as clear as ony 
 
 Soft and silv'ry bell. 
 
 And her een are meek and modest. 
 
 Mild as the gazelle's, 
 Where at times the very oddest 1 
 
 Glance of humor dwells. J 
 
 For likewise she's young and witty, 
 
 Gentle Gabrielle ! 
 She is bright as she is pretty, 
 
 This I ken full well. 
 
GABRIELLE. 367 
 
 She is mair than bright and bonnie, 
 
 She is gude and true, 
 With a heart as leal as ony 
 
 That from heaven grew. 
 
 She's a bairn of rarest merits, 
 
 She can truly tell 
 Whose maternal virtues she inherits, 
 
 Duteous Gabrielle ! 
 
 For her nature's unacquainted 
 
 With deceit or guile, 
 And her sunny soul untainted 
 
 Hovers in her smile. 
 
 Blessed child ! with heart reflecting 
 
 Sweet contentment's spell, 
 Innocent and unsuspecting, 
 
 Lightsome Gabrielle ! 
 
 May the peace that she would render 
 
 Ever with her dwell ! 
 Angels' steps for aye attend her, 
 
 Noble Gabrielle I 
 
368 . THE SPIRIT FAITH. 
 
 THE SPIRIT FAITH. 
 
 Visions airy round me float ; 
 
 Thy voice I seem to hear ; 
 While tokens of another world 
 
 Come o'er my spirit here, 
 
 A gentle hand, but soft and cold, 
 
 I feel within mine own, 
 And sudden sounds of music wake 
 
 The memory of thy tone. 
 
 They tell me in the spirit faith 
 
 That thou art with me now, 
 Thy arms are round my form once more. 
 
 Thy breath is on my brow. 
 
 Thy will it is that answers back 
 
 Each question of my heart, 
 And tells me in thy home afar 
 
 That sorrow forms no part. 
 
 That bids me never shrink from death. 
 Or dwell with doubt or gloom 
 
'' Et Tur 369 
 
 Upon that world whose borders lie 
 Beyond the silent tomb. 
 
 For though we part from dear ones here, 
 
 Although we pass away, 
 We may return at times to bless 
 
 And cheer their lonesome way; 
 
 To hover round them through the day, 
 
 And, 'midst their nightly fears, 
 To soothe their weary pillows o'er 
 
 And dry their burning tears. 
 
 "ET TU!" 
 
 TO G. F. 
 
 Within my heart a sacred niche 
 
 Had been assign' d to thee ; 
 But thotc hast broke the image which 
 
 Was worship' d there by me. 
 
 Though all the world unkind had proved, 
 I could not thee suspect ; 
 
370 ''ET Tur 
 
 Yet where we have most blindly loved, 
 Affections have been wreck' d. 
 
 I placed in thee too much of trust, 
 I thought thee true as steel ; 
 
 But even steel may sometimes rust 
 And damaged spots reveal ! 
 
 I can but cry as Caesar cried, 
 When friendship proved untrue, 
 
 And Brutus sever' d from his side 
 To join the treacherous crew : 
 
 ^^ And thou too P"* hast thou also left 
 Thy stab within my breast. 
 
 The palpitating chords have cleft 
 Where thy loved name did rest ? 
 
 So be it, then ! to thee I die ! 
 
 Wlio'd longer care to live. 
 When those beloved have neither sigh 
 
 Nor sympathy to give ? 
 
TO REST MY SOUL. 
 
 371 
 
 TO REST MY SOUL. 
 
 Alone I go to rest my soul, 
 My troubled spirit to control : 
 With HIM alone I seek converse, 
 The Author of the universe. 
 
 To fling without reserve apart 
 The closed-up portals of my heart, 
 And hold in its most secret pass, 
 With the High-Priest, high solemn mass. 
 
 Alone ! ah, never less alone 
 
 When from the busy world I've flown 
 
 To meet in secret wood or grove 
 
 The FATHER whom I know and love; 
 
 To meet in sacred solitude 
 
 The Instigator of all good, — 
 
 Creation's potent Architect, 
 
 Whose wondrous works He can protect. 
 
 Is not my soul His own entire, 
 •A part and portion of the Sire? 
 
372 
 
 TO REST MY SOUL. 
 
 And may He not best understand 
 The strange device of His own hand? 
 
 And through that soul I clearest feel 
 His strength and love itself reveal, 
 When void of human sound or tone, 
 And I am with Him — all alone. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note i, poem "If." 
 
 " 'Tis like fair Venice' Bridge of Sighs, 
 Betwixt Despair and Hope that lies." 
 
 Byron says, in Canto IV. of Childe Harold, — 
 
 " I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, 
 A palace and a prison on each hand." 
 
 And on these contrasting points, of palace and prison, has the 
 author taken the liberty of instituting the comparison between 
 Hope and Despair. 
 
 Note 2, page 86. 
 
 " From David's harp the sweet notes fell, and bade 
 The evil spirits vanish into shade." 
 
 " And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon 
 Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand : so 
 Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed 
 from him." — i Samuel, chap, xvi., v. 23. 
 
 Note 3, page 169. 
 " Here many an Aram undiscover'd treads." 
 
 Eugene Ai-am, a native of Ramsgill, Yorkshire, son of a gar- 
 dener. He was taken up at Lynn, 1758, forthe murder of Daniel 
 
 (373) 
 
374 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Clark, a shoemaker of Knaresborough, who had been murdered 
 thirteen years previously. After a trial he was found guilty of the 
 crime, and suffered death at York, August, 1759. 
 
 Note 4, page 220. 
 " A cup of flower form." 
 
 Giraldus says that he has seen the effigy of Hope on a golden 
 coin of the Emperor Adrian. She was described in the form of a 
 woman, and in her right hand she held a plate, on which was 
 placed a sort of cup shaped like a flower, with this inscription : 
 " The hope of the people of Rome." 
 
 Note 5, page 314. 
 
 " 'Tis dread necessity's control 
 Which governs Brutus' mighty soul." 
 
 " Few situations," says our historian, " could have been more 
 terribly affecting than that of Brutus; a father placed as a judge 
 upon the life and death of his own children, impelled by justice 
 to condemn, and by nature to spare them. The other judges who 
 were present felt all the pangs of nature." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 t 
 
 722 
 
^, - 
 
 
 
 
 O^ ''/ , . s ■ ^0 < ' '^ ^ V '^ 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 '^ 
 
 r 
 
 ^^ ^ ft « > 
 
 t. 
 
 ■-O0 
 
 A- 
 
 ^^■^ ^*. 
 
 
 
 0-* S « 
 
 
 
 ^"^ 
 
 y^- 
 
 ' ,.# 
 
 "-^^^ 
 
 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 \^^^>' 
 
 (■>■. 
 
 
 
 X^^r. 
 
 O '^ / , , s"^ .O ^ ^ I) ■■> < * <\ 
 
 A^ '^>^ - - 
 
 <0 -V , .V 
 
 
 ^^ ' » ft 
 
 
 •r/s 
 
 \ 
 
 ^^■ 
 
 
 
 1 \ '^ 
 
 <^^' ^r- 
 
 
 3 « N\ 
 
 C^. 
 
 
 
 ' <L X ■ t ■ ^ 
 
 
 
 * A 
 
 O. * 8 I 
 
 
 
 <. " n \ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^V... 
 
 
 
 
 ,0o^ 
 
 AV 
 

 ■>^ 
 
 
 
 
 V- ' « 1 \ " \> 
 
 
 .0 
 
 ^A y 
 
 , . „ /-_ 
 
 
 
 
 ^ "^ N^^ ^ -^^