I* ^^$: W^i'V LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ©lap. 1!^ m Shelf B3'S 7. 8 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. A 8T0BY OF PSYCHE, AND OTHER POEMS. By M. E. BLANCHARD. JIJN 25 ]S g5 BOSTON : ADDISON C. GETCHELL, PUBLISHER. 1885. Copyright, 1885, By M. E. Blanchard. Printed by A. C. Getchell, 6 Pearl Street, Boston. My Critics. They liave their voices, I ray thon^lit ; And they were never in Egypt. Bayard Taylor. CONTENTS. Page A Story of Psyche 1 Pan's Departure 18 Phlegethon 19 Lethe to 13acchus 22 Night in the Ark 24 ©reams of JImmortalitg. The Soul 29 The Spirit's Destiny • . 31 The Welcome Home 35 To-night 36 Friends Unseen 39 An Echo from Pre-existence .... 42 A Fancy 43 The Immortal ....... 44 The Grasses 46 Columbus 49 The Artist's Vision 50 Nightfall in June 54 The Sounds of Night 56 Strike Thou the Harp 58 The Coronation of the Holy Mother . . 62 Mary, Mother of our God .... 64 VI CONTENTS. The Legend of the Violets .... 66 On the Lake 69 The Reapers 78 The Sand Storm 79 Egypt 80 Tropic Reeds 81 My Castle 82 i^etrospecti'on. My Past 84 The Broken Lute 86 Days Departed 87 The Old Garden 89 My Flower 91 A Lost Summer 93 Through the Storm 95 Leavitt's Lane 98 Afternoon in the Country .... 102 Sacrificed to Moloch 105 In a Ball-room lOS The Card-player 110 Unexpressed 113 Poesy 116 ySPIRATION 118 Nature's Homage to the Poet .... 121 With Keats 123 The Brook's Lament for Burns ... 126 The Poet-Infidel 128 A Greeting to Poets 130 CONTENTS. . VU lEtscellancotts i^oems. The City by Lamplight 133 IJeformers 135 The Cost of Greatness 137 The Heights 138 The River 140 Magurrawoc Mountain 142 The Eising Moon at Sea 145 The Moon's Vigil 146 A Winter Scene 148 Without and Within 149 A June Morning 152 The Growth of the Buttercups . . . 153 Thistledown 154 Had I Loved You and You Loved Me . . 155 The Penitent 158 Love Song 159 Exiled and Isolated 160 A Glance Forward 162 Two Hearts 163 The Unattainable 166 A Voyage in Quest 167 Storm Fancies 170 "Hercules" 172 The Child 176 The Duke 179 Sea-charmed 184 The Flight of Madeline 186 The Upas Tree 191 The Love of a Priest 194 The Lady and the Rose 198 Looking Down : a Ballad 200 Before the King 211 Together in Thought 214 " A Man of the World " 216 Moan Thro' the Pines, O Wind ... 218 VIU CONTENTS. To A White Rose 219 Guy 221 After Long Years 223 The Eagle and his Mate 226 A Life Misspent 229 Divided Ways 230 Death the All-pitying 232 The Body's Immortality 235 Imaginings 237 Whither Away? 238 Across the Desert 239 The Atheist and the Fool .... 241 Doggerel 244 A Dog's Soliloquy 245 Grandmother's Cupboard 247 A Day in March 249 Sal 253 A STOEY OF PSYCHE * I. THE BROW OF OLYMPUS. SUNSET. Psyche, Avith lingering steps, moves clown the mountain. Far below, Pan wakes his pipe. The notes float upward faintly. PSYCHE. [Sings. Tell me, O drowsy roses, Lov'd of the dew and wind and golden sun, Where my lost love reposes When day her lattice closes To turn her radiant smile Upon some happy isle By gods unwon. I haunt the dewy places Where late among the blooms his steps were led, And watch the light which traces With sunset's fiery graces * Psyche means tlie soul, Alice. — Geo. Macdonald. 2 A STORY OF PSYCHE. Yon group of branches green Against the western sheen, Golden and red. I hear the bkds sing o'er us, In voices sweet and clear, their last good-night, And heed the liquid chorus Of waters that adore us. While lilies lean and press Their scented loveliness On ripples bright. But he whose eye was clearest To trace the many forms of harmony, Whose praise was the sincerest For that which he held dearest In music's realm of might. Whose tones are infinite As agony, — Is gone, I know not whither ; And I, who long have borne immortal pow'r. Whose tears these roses wither. Will bid my brothers hither, To wail with me as for the dead, And be of hope uncomforted In this lone hour. A STORY OF PSYCHE. 6 She utters a louil summons. There is a rush and outcry, and the gods thi'ong towards her through the trees, angrj% anxious, with Mercury in the lead. JUPITEE. Dost know, O miserable slave of grief, Who singest of thy shame where never yet Weak word was breathed to these sacred trees, That he who claims th}^ tears — ABAKIS. [From above. Nay, Jupiter, Unbend thy brows, and let not tone of thine Profane these boughs, w^hose leaves, as bright as eyes. Look on us through the dusk. Our Psyche weeps, — 'Tis meet that w^e should solace, and not chide. MERCURY. Right, brother ; female things need sympathy As babes need milk. She loves — and Aveeps, of course. And joys more in her tears than we in all Our conquests won, and holds out hands to say. In tragic guise. See, can ye do, fond friends. The tricks of woe more deftly ? 4 A STORY OF PSYCHE. ABARIS. Mercury, Thou, who didst make frail woman, art most wise In woman's foi lings. As for me — JUPITER. Enough ! I came not here to hear a coxcomb's boast, Or watch his pranks aerial whilst the breeze Shivers beneath his piercing arrow's touch With just disdain. Guide nearer to the clouds Thy long, ridiculous, fantastic steed ; And ye, dull mouthing fools, who hem me in, Press backward . . . room ! Brave Triton, wake thy shell, And quiet yonder idler who outpours His goatish strength in sound. ArOLLO. Whom meanest thou ? Not Pan, our best-beloved ? Jupiter, Thou art distraught with haste and bitter cares, And speakest that which, in a calmer mood. Thy justice would contemn. JUPITER. True ! Pardon, friends, but shame is hard to bear. A STORY OF PSYCHE. O Triton winds a long blast from his trumpet. The music below ceases. Psyche, abashed, glides towards Abaris, who thrusts into earth the large head of his arrow and leans with folded arms against its stem. The gods, silent, beautiful, with grand brows and majestic stature, form in huge circle about these two. The arrow lilts above them its fern-shaped tip, delicate, glittering, vil)rant Avith the pres- sure. Psyche i-ests her hand on the arm of Abaris. MERCURY. Dost thou remember, Psyche, that dread day When, for the first, I led thee up these heights, And gave the cup whose rich ambrosial store Made thee immortal? Thou wert human then, And weeping for thy spouse most bitter tears. Which now are ended — PSYCHE. Hermes, is it well For souls made large by immortality To let one feeble love suffice for all The stern needs of existence ? Lenvah claims No portion of that love which Cupid won, But occupies a niche, erst tenantless In my full life, which only he alone Can lighten, as the sun at morning lights The hollows of the sea, till all the tide Is warm'd and brighten'd and made glorious. Loves numerous are requisite for some, As many leaves are needed for a rose To make it perfect. And yet loves there be 6 A STORY OF rSYCHE. Which flower like the calla, one wide spathe, White, dewy, sweet, exquisite, op'ning out Its fine large petal to the golden dawn, Magnificent in beauty. That my love Is not the lily, but the complicate Ked-hearted blossom, lov'd of Venus' self And stern Harpocrates, is not, dear gods. The fault of Psyche. APOLLO. Father, dost thou hear? And dost thou note the splendor on her face, And how her tall lithe figure seems to sway With fervor, as the reed at the wind's touch? Her slim feet scarcely press those deathless flow'rs. But, buo^^'d and luminous, she floats in dusk. JUPITER. [With emotion. Great is our Psyche ! ALL. Aye, and great her love ! PSYCHE. So great, O brothers, that it covers you In its wide folds, as doth the cloak of night Cover the hosts of birds. A STORY OF PSYCHE. / That I repine Under the loss of him who, clothed in flesh, And using human speech, hath led my thoughts Into the snare of sorrow, will be borne With patience by my kindred — ALL. To the end ! PSYCHE. Then get you gone, l)rave Abaris, to where. Sick unto death or cast on stormy shores, Or rapt in dreams born of the locust's bloom, My Lenvah tarries. JUPITER. Seek him through the world, And pause not till thine eyes with mournful gaze Have seen this serpent human who hath wrought Over our Psyche's joy the spell of woe, [Gathering- anger. Till all the glory of our noble race. Its wisdom and its valor, vex the heart Which hungers for this being, crudely made. And fickle to the core. PSYCHE. Justice, oTeat Jove ! 8 A STORY OF PSYCHE. JUPITER. Thy king is ever just. Mount, Abaris ; And thou, Apollo, tune thy harp of gold And yield its music. Luna's train draws nigh. The moon rolls its glittering ball up over the black ti'ee preci- pices. Abaris is seen on his mighty arrow, which scintillates before him and behind like a diamond bar. Psyche, alone, with drooping head, stands in the circle. The strong, cold light beats on the upraised faces of the immortals, and over their gleaming limbs. And they encompass Psyche, who is the Soul. But she pines for Lenvah. Pines, though Apollo's lyre throbs with the stars. II. circe's bower. Lenvah is seen sleeping. Enter Circe, bearing her magic cup. CIRCE. Up, drowsy boy ! drink of my wine once more, And tell me yet again of her who walks Olympus' awful steep. lenvah. Thou cruel queen, Give me my strength, that I may pass from here. And plead on bended knees for her divine, All-generous forgiveness ! A STORY OF PSYCHE. U CIKCE. Thou art wild. Dost think, pale love, thy precious lips will touch The face beprais'd of Cupid while my spell Has wit to keep thee in my fonder arms ? LENVAH. O Circe ! CIECE. Drink ! [Presses the cup to Iiis lips. At length the chami is wrousfht, And thou art mine ! [Euter Abaris, unseen. ABAllIS. Oh, vroe ! woe black with shame I Our Psyche loves a beast Avhose swinish notes Stiffen the very foliaore with fear, And cast a plague over this beauteous isle, And turn these limpid waters into tilth, And paint a charmers face with wicked scowls Sterner than fierce Medusa's. Let us mount, Mine airy steed, to where the purer air Shall calm my reeling senses. CIRCE. [To Lenvab. Brute, be sone I Mix with my herds, and be no more a man. 10 A STORY OF PSYCHE. III. THE PALACE OF JUriTEK. Zeus, with the eagle at lus feet, sits on his lofty throne in the long, white, silent, sunlit hall, brilliant v.ith flowers. Below the throne Apollo leans on his lyre in pcnsivothought. He grieves for Psyche, lie who wears the laurel in memory of Daphne's doom. For Psyche, who walks with gods and holds them dear, covets a mortvil love. [Singing from without. The eagle waits at a monarch's feet, Xoi pines for his native skies, And the thunder euros its aiant force Till a god doth ])id it rise ; And our loard, whose soul is song, And whose eyes are full of fire , Is bruis'd by the grief for another's grief. For a vain desire. The ocean keeps a narrow bound, Thou2:h its force can shake the rocks. And the planets yield to the might of law Above the earthquake-shocks ; But a lofty love defies All power the earth has known. And mocks at the sway of time and change. To lean on self alone. [punter Abaris. JurrrER. Hail, Abaris ! A STORY OF PSYCHE. 11 ABARIS. [Bending low. Great Father ! Mighty King ! Apollo comes forward and sinks with languor on a broad step of the throne. The dark eagle looks down over his naked shoulder. Jove's massive form rises high above. The stern lines ot his face show the more vividly under the crown of olive. His sceptre, held erect, burns in the sunlight. JUPITER. AVhat ticliiiirs of the missino: ? ABARIS. I have sought For ten long days through Telhis' realm, and called With tears the name of Lenvah, but no sound Save Echo's oTievins: tone — APOLLO. Then Charon's frown Has stilled his craven heart — JUPITER. My son, take heed. Our Abaris has knowledge of the youth, I see it by his countenance all wan With grievous thought, and by the flashing eyes. And the fierce lips that press on the clench'd teeth, 12 A STOKY OF PSYCHE. To check unseemly speech. His presence fills The hall with a strange tumult, an intense And fiery discordance, till the air Clano's round us fierce vibrations. Enter Ganymede, who moves up the room with a buoyant, joy- ous tread, his head erect, his sweet eyes full of dreams, the curls flung back from the low brows, the face childlike, eager, fair. He salutes the king with a careless, jaunty ease. The eagle flies towards him and settles on his wrist. He holds it high over his head and laughs into its eyes. Ganymede, Draw nectar for Apollo's worthy priest Spent with the toil of travel. GAXY31EDE. [Absently. Gladly, sire. IV. SCEXE THE SAME. Jupiter alone with Psyche, who kneels by the throne, weeping. JUPITER. Thou hast heard this tale which took in tellins: The Ions: hour of noon : of how thy lover Roots among the swine on Circe's island. Put dull grief aside, and cast far from thee, As a thing accurs'd, this love unholy. A STORY OF PSYCHE. 13 PSYCHE. Wise counsellor, firm ruler of the gods, And mighty on Olympus, let me crave Thy royal pity ! I would go from hence, And rescue with due zeal from out the spell Of this vile beauty him who is the kino: Of my sad fate ; whose smile I cannot lose Without such throes of anguish that death's self Is not more bitter. Earthlins: thouo:h he be, Yet is he worthy to commune with gods, And be their equal. On those happy eves When, threading after Pan the woodland ways, Have I with wonder heard his tones awake The birds to singing, as no pipe of reed Had skill to wake them. And his face, O King, Is noble as Apollo's, and he moves As monarchs move, bearins: himself erect And looking with full gaze upon the world. Sire, all my life is darken'd by his loss. And thou wilt oTant me absence to reclaim From ill the man I love. JUPITER. Go, Psyche true ; And if thy task be wrought, then shall he know The boon of godhood, and ascend with thee Olympus' steep, to sit at my right hand. 14 A STORY OF PSYCHE. V. THE ^JEAN ISLAND. Psyche is seen in the distance feeding with acorns a herit of swine. Enter Circe, Avilh Lenvah in the shape of a boar. CIRCE. Dost knoYf yon fool, who, without warning meet, Came yesternight by stealth to my domain Sacred to sorcery? (Thy grunts assent.) Who hopes, unseen of Circe, to decoy From out the droves her Lenvah, and restore By her chaste love and pity to its form Thy soul debased. Let her assert her strength. [Smiting him with her wand. Go ! wallow with thy kind about her feet. [Exit. PSYCHE. Lenvah, dear Lenvah, where in all this herd Of hungry swine, who fill my soul with fear, Art thou repining ? [Enter Lenvah. Gods ! methinks I trace In yonder hideous l)oar, ])lack, bristling, fierce. Him whom I seek. She wanders from the herd. The boar, with neb tossing up the dust, follows slowlj'. Psyche, with trembling, at length comforts him. A STORY OF PSYCHE. 15 Nay, but my love can save And ofive ai>:ain to manhood all the o^race And valor lost. Lenvah, my Lenvah, know That she who looks on thee vrith streaming eyes Is one who from Olympus stole of yore To kiss thy lips. Beloved, I would fain Save thee from all the shame of this estate, And woo thee back to honor ; yea, and guide Thee upward to that palace where high Jove Rules in his wisdom ; where the gods shall greet, And love, and bless and o'ive thee of their love. [Kneels to cm'orace him. The boar rushes forward, his huge bodj' quivering ^Yith rage, and tramples on her fair white limbs. A shout is heard, and Abaris, breaking through the leafage, routs with his arrow the blood-stained, maddened brute. Ha! ha! CIRCE. [In the distance. PSYCHE. Lost ! [Waking from a swoon. ABARIS. [To Circe. Curses upon thee, harlot ! 16 A STORY OF PSYCHE, VI. Jupiter's palace, time, midnight. Down the vast white hall, blazing with light and thronged with Amnion's* courtiers, Psj'che, on a litter, is borne into the iiresenoe of tlie king. The gods file back on either side with hushed lips ard pallid laces, and she is placed below the throne steps. Abaris casts himself down at her feet. Apollo lifts her head and rests it pity- ingl\' against his arm. Her face, turned to the concourse, looks worn and ghastly. JUPITER. [In a deep voice, rising Psyche, hast thou won? Is love sufficient, in the hour of need, To save a Lenvah ? PSYCHE. Nay, never once ! My Psyche — APOLLO. [Brokenly. ABARIS. My belov'd — JUPITER. Nay, never once ! He stretches his arms out "with a slow, mournful gesture over the Soul of Piission and the Soul of Song. The gods kneel silently in long white lines, gazing on ♦' the maj- esty of a great despair." They weep not : their grief is mute. They only kneel, and the light falls on the face on Apollo's breast. * Jupiter. A STORY OF PSYCHE. 17 [Singing from without. Never, nay, never once. Though Psyche weep in anguish tears of blood, And give to torture her white beauteous Soul, And tread the wine-press of a patience long. And beat with lu'uised hands the gates of prayer, Is vice redeemed by Love, — Nay, never once ! 18 pan's departure. PAN'S DEPARTURE. A hush is on the wood, and the round sun Sinks, phimmet-like, to sound a sea of gold. While the wan lilies droop in grief, and fold Their weary lids, as over herb and tree Steals with its feldspar hues expectantly The early dew ; while in their ample nest The robins stir beneath their mother's breast And wait the steps of him whose course is run. He comes ! the god ! the minstrel ! and his hand Bears with a listless clasp the magic flute Whose fine wild music man shall long deplore. Night bends her regal head in sorrow mute, While darkness falls to cover all the land, And Pan, grand Pan, has pass'd forevermore ! PIILEGETHON. 19 PHLEGETHON. List ! yc tame waters flowing o'er the earth, And hear my waves of flame Sweep through dim Hades, where unkindly Pain Holds sway For aye, Nor questions of my curse nor whence I came. My tide is ruddy as that tide which swept O'er Waterloo in wrath. Aye, red as that which down from Etna's height Through green Is seen, Cutting with cruel force its lava path. I roll forever and forever on. While shadows wrap me o'er. And ghastly forms beside me wail and wail, — The dead Who tread With burning feet my incandescent shore. 20 PHLEGETHON. Think not to mimic with your puny grief My horror-haunted waves Which tell of battle-din and gory slain, And cries That rise From heroes who are marching to their graves ; Which know of crucifixion and the dark That shuts the martyr round, While gods forsake and man reviles in hate, And Scorn, The strono', Comes with his spear to deal the final wound. Ah ! bitter avoc to me, who strive to gain The summer day which smiles On scented boughs along the briny shore ; To trace The grace Of melting cloud and cape and woodland isles, And hear the happy birds that trill their lays With one accordant voice, While Echo through the granite sends her tone, And sings Of things That cheer the eye and make the heart rejoice. PHLEGETHON. 21 Woe ! bitter woe to me ! But unto ye, O flippant streams that brawl Along the shallow channels day by clay, And lift Vile drift To vex the rock and clog the pebbles small, Woe dire to ye, who have receiv'd in full Your consolation meet, And tend with heedless course toward the dark ; While I Who cry For light, blest light, the dawn at last may greet. 22 LETHE TO BACCHUS. LETHE TO BACCHUS. Fill high the oblivious bowl. — Mrs. Hemans. Bring me thy cup of rosy glow, Thou valiant god with the laughing eyes, And dip from my waves of silent flow A draught that even thine own outvies ; Dip from my stream so still}^ and sweet, A nectar richer than all thy wine. And drink, oh, drink with joy complete To those who in gloom repine ! Lo ! from the realm of beinsf cold They come to me with their weary tread, The lost and lonely, the weak and old, To mix with the kingly dead ; And as they quaflf of my healing wave, My wave pellucid that hath no stain. The past no more can Thought enslave. For Memory dies with Pain. LETHE TO BACCHUS. 23 Never a shame that stung the pride, And never a want the old time bore, And never a wish ungratified, Can into the life its virus pour ; And Passion, losing her wonted sway, Puts out her taper at Death's behest. While the body achill turns back to clay, KeoTcttino: nothino* — nor worst, nor best. So bring thy cup of rosy glov/. Thou valiant god with the laughing eyes, And dip from my wave of silent flow A draught that ever thine own outvies ; And when thy triumphs are sung no more. And thy vines are dead on earth's dead breast. Then lead thy band to my quiet shore. And drink to the Stream of Rest ! 24 NIGHT IN THE ARK. NIGHT IN THE ARK. The wife of Noah communes with her own heart. I gaze out over the waters, Cold, fathomless and wide, As the sun through smoky vapor Sinks in the solemn tide. And near me a little linnet. Uplifting its drooping head, Sings plaintively through the silence As if of the great world dead. And its mate comes at my calling. To nestle against my cheek, Its bright round eyes dilated As if with the wish to speak. And its heart beats on my fingers, Dismay'd by this wrath of God Which has hidden the giant mountain With the rose of the valley sod, — NIGHT IN THE ARK. 25 And swept from the realm of being A race that forgot His will, And turn'd to the wrong through weakness, Because He had made them ill, — Not orivino^ them skill sufficient To conquer the inner foe. And climb up into the godhead By stages however slow, — To grasp at the highest glory As a heritage their own, Not bought by the blood of slaughter, But won by their needs alone. The bird has ceas'd from singing, And call'd to its drowsy mate, And the ark sweeps on in darkness O'er the earth made desolate, — Piercing the floating herbage, Still odorous and green, That late in calm field spaces Greeted the dawns serene. While trees torn from the forest. Once stately, full of song. Drift heavily from wave to wave. Trailing their branches long. 26 NIGHT IN THE AKK. And ever and anon the ark Smiting their trunks of gray, Reels backward, shudd'ring thro' its length, As if in agony. While starting from a troubled sleep The lion shakes his mane, And sends far outward in the gloom A roar of fear and pain. There in the stifling darkness, With lips athirst for blood. He listens, couchant, to the wind Driving the fatal flood. I hear his hot breath stirring The dead leaves of his lair. And fancy how those startled eyes Lighten with angry glare. Slowly the moon's wan lustre Glitters the current o'er, Showing such breadths of ocean As stars shall light no more ; Showing such death and horror As none can comprehend, Save on that hour, far off and dim, When worlds shall have an end. NIGHT IN THE ARK. 27 The trees like fleets unnumber'd Keep yet their aimless way, Each guided by a wheel of roots Churning unsteadily. A sea-gull torn and lifeless Eests on yon mass of bloom, Its limp head swinging o'er the wave And outlin'd on the o^loom. And there ! — an arm uplifted — And there ! — a kingly face, Calm, beautiful and pallid In death's ideal o^race. Serenely in the moonlight It drifts adown the tide. As though the yearnings of a life In death were satisfied. As though no wreck and ruin Found echo in that peace Wherein all woes are quieted In sleep that shall not cease. Onward, forever onward. Our mighty craft is toss'd. And Japheth moaning in his dream Speaks of a garden lost. 28 NIGHT IN THE ARK. And once again the lion, Upstarting in the dark, Utters that deep despairing cry Which rings throughout the ark. A challenge to those forces Which build but to destroy. And filling life with woe supreme, Deaden the sense to joy. A curse on all the evils Which weary heart and brain. So that of years there is not one We would live o'er again. Bej^oncl the sunset's gates of gold 'Tis said a land of glory lies, Where life takes on a larger scope. It may be so ; For that which is hath marvel strange, And that which may be cannot hold More wonder than dismays our eyes. THE SOUL. Fair Wand'rer from a continent unknown, Cast by rude waves upon the shores of night, With features wan, and brow from which the bright Crown hath been lost, I hear thee call thine own And 'quire thy way beyond this dark . But none , None heed thy grief, or comprehend aright Thy language beautiful, while o'er thy sight The tears come fast, and wildly thou dost moan. Around, the hills are mute : the fir and pine 30 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. Keep their dim watch unmov'd ; the waters flow Unheeded on. Yet ah ! yon tints divine Deepen to dawn with ever-changing glow, Hope strikes her harp and sings above thy woe, "Found is the crown, Belov'd, and I am thine." THE spirit's destiny. 31 THE SPIRIT'S DESTINY. What, O Spirit, dost thou hear From the mystic hemisphere, Standing in thy mail of flesh, With thy godhood's consciousness ? Kound thee roars the battle strange Of eternal time and change ; And thine alien feet would fain Press thy native sod again. Coldly to thy homesick eyes Doth the summer sun uprise. And beneath its rosy light Thou beholdest frost and blight ; While the music of the wave Tells of darkness and the grave. Sending through the fleeting day Desolation and dismay. In thy inmost self I see Courage, truth and constancy. And a lono^ins: and a will 32 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. That would highest things fulfil. What though age shall smite thy heart, And thine armor fall apart, And alone thou goest down Death's dark way with corpses strown : Still forever through the real Shalt thou press to the ideal. All thy yearning being full Of a fire unquenchable, — Sacred flames that brightly glow Through the sensual and low, Like an altar's light that gleams Through a dungeon's mouldy seams. Dost thou in thy dreams espy Glimpses of a perfect sky Circling an elysian shore, Lov'd of thee in days of yore ? — Shining sands where swells a tide Scintillant and glorified. O'er whose waves with steady tread Walk the living and the dead. Those who late have left the field. Bearing neither spear nor shield ; Those who never trod the earth, Being heavenly from their birth, — THE spirit's destiny. 33 And do they, the angels, cry. With an eager tone and eye, " Tell us of the journey far, To the realms where mortals are? "Not for spoil ye went away. Nor for honors, which decay. Nor to rear an altar hi^'h To some mythic Deity ; But ye went, methinks, to gain Strength through weakness, joy through pain, To develop, to improve. Strive, aspire, and hope and love. " And again upon the quest. When your souls have drunk of rest. Shall ye pass with willing feet. Other starred spheres to greet, — Worlds whose light hath never shone On that world so late your own, — And in human form as-ain Ye shall cope with human pain. " IMany are the years that lie Waiting in infinity : Centuries through which the tide Of your lives shall slowly glide. As a river deep and grand 34 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. Eolleth on from land to land. Death is but life's overfloAV, Not the current ebbing low. " Talk not then of sorrow's stress Midst this joy so measureless, Nor of loss and petty cares, While such gain life's record ])ears ; Nor of toil, while o'er your tears Eoll for aye the patient spheres ; Nor of right by wrong o'ercast. For the right shall win at last ! " O thou Spirit ! brave the night. If indeed it leads to light ; Look thou always to the goal. Though the clouds about thee roll ; Keep thyself from idols mean, Thou, belov'd of Love's unseen; Strive forever for the good, Crown'd with hope's beatitude ! THE WELCOME HOME. 35 THE WELCOME HOME. 'Twas morninoj in heaven, 'twas niirht on the earth, And angels were gather'd death's river anear. To welcome a soul to the holier birth. And sing, in their gladness, an anthem of cheer. The pure and the loyal, the loving and blest. All join'd in the music of perfect accord : "We welcome thee, spirit, by sorrow oppress'd, Yea, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord ! " We welcome thee home from the darkness and care. The trial and weariness, doubting and fear. Hail ! blest of our Father, no longer despair, The journey is ended, the guerdon is here ; Here, safe in the Kingdom, no more to depart. Where love, never fading, is sorrow's reward, Are all the dear idols long lost from thy heart, — Oh, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord ! " 36 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. TO-NIGHT. E.W. What realm to-night, Lit by the dawn which floods the spheres beyond, Dost thou, O white And happy soul. Tread with companions fond ? Methinks I hear Thy voice steal o'er me, as thro' days no more, With vision clear, My mem'ry glides To ope her golden door. She sees thy face, Touch'd by the god who comes with icy breath, And all the grace Of youth is there For thou hast enter'd Death. Around thy brow. Fair with the life that never more shall wane, Are wreathed now The fragrant blooms That ease the sting of pain. TO-NIGHT. 37 And thou dost stand In an abyss of light, whose glory rolls Through all the land, Sacred to peace And earth-lib'rated souls. Like to a sea The splendor breaks in waves around thy feet, While joyously There swell the notes Of music full and sweet. And well I know They breathe of cheer to those who conquer pain, And bravely go Adown the dark. The morning world to gain. To pass the tomb. And leave its ashes where that mountain high, Aglow with bloom, Uplifts its front Against the pearly sky. Look thou no more. But turn thy face away, O soul of mine, Nor ponder o'er Through longing tears The joys of life divine. 38 DREAMS OF I^KVIORTALITY*. Thou fain wouldst press Onward to meet the light, and join the song, For weariness And loss are thine, And thou hast waited long. But to thy side There comes no friend to help thee up the height Thou must abide The gloom and cold For yet another night. FRIENDS UNSEEN. 39 FRIENDS UNSEEN. (a flower medium's revery.) Encompass me thus, And shut out the dark, Form your electric circle bright ; Permeate this granite of flesh With the warmth the gladness of life divine, That the spirit within, The bird that pines, May spread its sick wings, Open its leaden eyes. And bask in the sunlio'ht. I know you, dear friends. Invisible guard. Fair are your faces, O women. And grand are your forms, O men. And sweet are your voices as those which rang Throuo'h Solomon's halls When dame and maid. Arrayed in rich garments, Blazing with jewels fine, Sat in their Eastern calm. 40 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. What is it you bring ? Pansies wet with dew ? — Brighter than is the ray of morn Breaking with gradual glory Over the drowsy hills that stand in mist. Pansies? That is for thoughts, Thoughts of the souls, Purified, noble, Who have pass'd from the strife On to the blessed rest. What is it you bring ? Roses fresh and sweet? — Eicher than those that loll Over Venetian waters Where gondoliers dip the light oars And carol at evenins: their wild sweet sonsfs, Roses ? Emblems of silence, The silence strange Which walls out the music Of the rejoicing spheres. The pansy for thoughts — For silence, the rose — Sweet hieroglyphical blossoms Telling of countries and races. Of acres and acres of bloom Which I yet may behold, FRIENDS UNSEEN. 41 When the white god, The god we call Death, Opens the narrow cage, And the lone bird is free ! I see you depart : Your crarlands of flow'rs Have melted in air, and your robes, Scintillant, lovely, trail outward O'er the black carpet of midnight ; And your spiritual lamps — Vapory balls That float through the gloom — Recede and diminish. Vanish, and are no more ! You have left with me A strength and a calm Born of belief in the future. Which wraps me about like a robe. Protecting from doubt and despair The spirit within me, — The bird that stirs. That plumes its faint wings. That sings of your pansies, Sitting above life's rose ! 42 DREAMS OP IMMORTALITY. AN ECHO FROM PRE-EXISTENCE. Hush ! what can this be that haunts my mind,- A sound, an echo, the lightest sigh. Wafted down o'er the countless years. For aye gone by ! It steals at times to my dream at night, As zephyrs steal to the lily wet. Stirring it vaguely from leaf to leaf With dim regret. A sound elusive, and sweet, and strange. Beautiful, subtile and chaste as dew. Be it or fancy or mem'ry real. It thrills me through. Is it the note of a spirit song. The surge of waves on a phantom shore. Or the step of one now safe in heaven I priz'd of yore ? Or is it my name — a name I knew Ere the flesh enwrapp'd me in its fold. Sung through the spheres by a woman fond With hair of gold ? A FANCY. 43 A FANCY. If by some fateful chance to-niglit We two should pass thro' death to make Our way towards some planet mild, And leaning in each other's arms, Float down the air, As seaweed floats adown a tide , To freedom, ease and all delight. Away from the old time. Always away from the discordant earth. Ever away, away from vile distrust. From weariness, from care, from hated toil, And in each other's eyes Behold the Paradise For which men yearn. And be unto each other all in all, — Should we not to the full be satisfied. And in that present read our past aright ? 44 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. THE IMMORTAL. O bird of tender lay, Far in the woodland drear, Why sing through all the day When none are by to hear ? The night shall come amain To hush your strain. O flow'rs of beauty bright. Smiling in sunny dells, Think ye the autumn blight Idly its coming tells ? Decay shall bear your bloom To deck his tomb. Songs of the poet's heart. Lit with a purpose high, Think ye to form a part Of what can never die ? Time, in its onward flow, Shall quench your glow. THE IMMORTAL. 45 Goodness, and love, and truth, Immortal from your birth, Wand'ring in fearless youth Throughout the troubled earth. Change on your deathless grace Shall leave no trace. 46 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. THE GRASSES. Where are the grasses fair, the tender grasses fair, That were so frail and succulent and sweet, That bent their verdant tips Beneath the summer's lips And cast their wealth of dew Devoutly at her feet ? Beneath the scented dawn, the rosy, scented dawn. Lolling upon the zephyr's fairy tide, They saw the coming light Shine o'er the meadows bright To kiss the golden leaf And daisy open-eyed. They saw the golden bee, the golden-coated bee That dreams at ease upon the rose's breast, THE GRASSES. 47 Come forth to add his tune To wanton airs of June, And greet the linnet brown Beside her grassy nest. The brooklet flowing by, forever flowing by, Sang through the willows of their fragile grace To mosses cool and dank Beneath the shady bank, To all the light and bloom And beauty of the place. And through the drowsy noon, the drowsy summer noon, They mutely hung the limpid waters o'er, And saw the cloud of snow Deepen the wave below. And read the symbol, wrought For mortals who deplore, And knew that to the heart, the ever-sighing heart. There smiles the image of a promise fond : " Above thine olden pain Green hopes shall bud again Beside the waters still Of that calm land beyond." 48 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. Where are the grasses fair, the tender grasses fair, That waved their tassels by yon icy rill, That heard the evening's sigh Eustle the alders by. While the long dreamy dark Crept slowly down the hill ? COLUMBUS. 49 COLUMBUS. Through leagues of alien sea, with eager eyes And steady courage, didst thou keep thy way, Smiling on trembling fear as, day by day, There came to thee from out the solemn skies And the mysterious waves, sweet promises Of land be^^ond. And lo ! before thee lay A region whose delights in rich array Repaid thine anxious toil and enterprise. Again upon a sea unknown and wide Didst thou with cheer set forth. But if the glow Of a strange tropic shone across the tide Like to a beacon flame, we may not know : We can l)ut dream of faces glorified, Sunlight and gorgeous blooms and brooks aglow ! 50 DKEAMS OF IMMORTALITY. THE ARTIST'S VISION. He look'd from out his prison pane, The artist bent with heavy 3^ears, And saw the muddy street, the rain. The smoking steeds and dingy piers, And ships preparing once again For the broad main. And none were by (the tears would start) To speak of that which once had been, When he, triumphant in his art. Was sought and reverenced of men. But now from all, with heavy heart, He stood apart. And pain was in his shrunken frame. And anguish wrung his spirit high, Though not for treasure lost with fame, Nor thankless friends' inconstancy. But that his once untarnish'd name Was flung to shame. THE artist's vision. 51 Yet was he blest. For on his eyes As the day darken'd and the stars Sprinkled with light the holy skies, There rose athwart his prison-bars A woodland sweet with memories Of Pan the wise. He hears the sap whose subtile hand Upfurls the leaves and holds them high, Bright banners in a l)reezy land Flaunting their folds against the sky. And the round buds at spring's command With life expand, — Expand on all their piney stalks Where trails the moss with dew o'erhung, Like seaweed on projecting rocks Whose tendrils by the tide are swung, — Green floatao'e from time's wave which mocks The ocean shocks. And in the sunshine on a spray A wondrous bird sink's hio-h and low : "Away, awa}^ away, away, — Aye, there 'tis bright and roses Ixlow, And O ! and O ! and O ! and O ! And O ! and O ! " 52 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. The artist lifts his noble head, His veins athrob with younger life, As with death's glories round her shed Comes she whom once he knew as wife, Crooning the song which comforted Their babe long dead. The light is on her glossy hair, A smile is in her eyes serene. As with the well-remember'd air She waves her hand — a very queen — While louder sings that bird in air Of resfions fair. 'Tis but a vision that will wane Before the morrow opes its gate, A loving trick'ry of the brain To cheer a life made desolate. And prove that under sharpest pain Some joys remain ; — That he who holds in sacred trust His honor, manhood, — which are one, ■ However fortune prove unjust Can never wholly be undone, Not though he pine in prison dust And fare on crust. THE artist's vision. 53 That Hope can sing through sorrow's day Of Southern lands we yet may know : " Away, away, away, away, — Aye, there 'tis bright and roses blow. And O ! and O ! and O ! and O ! And O ! and O ! " 54 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. NIGHTFALL IN JUNE. The tide is going out : The sun, descending, throws a burnish'd track, Tremulous, rich and deep, along the waves Which toss on either side, and sing their song. And mar it not. Above, the clouds of gold Glide on the shore of sunset. Lo ! they pause And lift their wands, and brightly 'neath the stream Thousands of leagues they glitter — no, not they. Their souls enfranchis'd, — for they still float on. Regal, sustain'd, commanding, saints of God That came to bless the hour and go their way. Sweetly along the wood the darkling leaves Whisper their adoration ; while the dew Creeps drowsily adown the lily's edge To sink upon her bosom. And the birds Trill their o^ood-nio'ht and seek their homes and sleep. Be Thou, O Spirit of that deep Beyond, — That tranquil sea down which, in days to come, NIGHTFALL IN JUNE. 55 Our barks shall glide, — feeling no more the stress Of storm and reef, but, merging into calm, And light, and joy, and peace that is of Thee, Thee and Thee only, who art all our good, — Be Thou the watcher o'er this night of June. And as the bud bends on her fragile stalk Trustful and brave, though round her falls the gloom. And the wind rises, so may we, who need. Feel that Thy strength is o'er us till the dawn Opens its golden gates, and all is well. 56 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. THE SOUNDS OF NIGHT. The curtain stirs its folds and seems to thrill Expectantly, while o'er The honeysuckle's web the whispering breeze Creeps chilly, weaving on the chamber floor A spray of lace-like shadow evermore. The poplar, starting fitfully from sleep, Shakes out its leaves, but soon Sinks into dewy slumber with a sigh. Content that not a twig athrob with June Will miss the sunlight of to-morrow's noon. In the wide marsh, smoking with vapor gray, Where the flag bends its blade, The bur-r-r and gurgle of the frog is heard. While the lone whippoorwill in thorny glade Monotonously wakes the pensive shade. THE SOUNDS OF NIGHT. 57 All sounds are sweetly blent, as though the night, Tuning the world's harsh lyre. Had ris^hted its lax cords and strove to wake The holy note which trembled from its wire To win the hearts of Eden to aspire. Sounds, many sounds arise, while through the gloom We wait for slumber dear ; But never — never — never as of yore Can we with rapture sweet the music hear Of footsteps that have sought the dreamless sphere. Nor though we listen, can we hear the flow Of Death's unmeasur'd sea. Whose mighty tide at last shall flood the world, Drowning all discords with its symphony, And washing all souls white, O Dawn, for thee I 58 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. STRIKE THOU THE HARP. Strike thou the harp, O Bard, And lift thy voice on high, And sing to doubting man Of things that never die, That live and have their day When worlds decay. Sing in thy sweetest strain, And help his heart rejoice, For he has weary grown With longing for a voice To teach him what is pure And shall endure. The earth to thee is fair : For lo ! thine eyes are clear, Thou standest on the heights And seest far and near. Whilst he, l)enighted, strays Through noisome ways. STRIKE THOU THE HARP. 59 He recks not of the dawn That brightens all thy sky, Nor sees the gorgeous hues That on dead roses lie, Nor notes the eagle soar Whose life is o'er. And Joy to him is gone When age comes on apace, While o'er thy soul is shed Forevermore her grace, — Thou of the gods the last That earthward pass'd ! Strike then the harp, O Bard, And sing of things to be. When Truth shall win at last A bloodless victory, • And Wrong shall lose its sway And pass away. And in thy deathless sons' Tell how the sons of men Shall reap a harvest rich That waves beyond his ken. And bind its golden sheaves On future eves, 60 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. Thou hast the sage's hope, The seer's divinest sight, And knowest how this dark But leads to perfect light ; That life evolves from death Time's wand beneath. That, in the atom frail. Trodden by careless feet. There sleeps, unborn, a world For coming years to greet ; That from such clay is wrought Sublimest thought. That strength — primordial — lurks Within each tiny grain. Which shall upheave the hills And hold a giant main. And from the dust evoke A grove of oak ; — And thrill in liquid fire. Along the pansy's arm. To turn its ruddy face Up to the sunlight warm, And all its leaves uphold Through dark and cold. STRIKE THOU THE HARP. 61 Yea, this and more, O Bard, Thou viewest from thy height. See that to man is taught The lofty creed aright, That he may hope and wait When dark his fate. Teach him that naught shall die Save only sin and pain ; That from the weak and mean To godhood we attain ; That love is but to prove A higher Love. 62 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. THE CORONATION OF THE HOLY MOTHER. The glorious Virgin Mary was with great jubilee aud exultation of the whole court of Heaven, and particular glory of all the saints, cro'5\aied by her Son with the brightest diadem of glory. — Rosary OF THE Blessed Vikgin. The angels hush'd their harps of gold, And stilled the songs they lov'd to sing, And o'er its sands the crystal stream With softer note went murmuring ; While through the portals open wide, With such a rapture on her face As added lustre to the place. Came Mary to the Crucified. She knelt amid that breathless host, The mother, beautiful as day. And on her brows was set with care The circlet of her majesty. And then the Queen of Angels strong. While heaven with paeans rang anew, Stood upright by the Christ, and drew His hand in hers to clasp it long. THE CORONATION OF THE HOLY MOTHER. 63 For though He was the King of kings, In whom all strength and glory lay, And though He was the God of Saints, Who worshipp'd Him unceasingly. She heeded not His honors won Through toil and awful sacrifice. But read His fiice with loving eyes. And thought this thought alone : " My Son ! " 64 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. MARY, MOTHER OF OUR GOD. Mary, mother of our God, Let thy clear feet press this gloom, And thy presence fill the place. And thy hand reach out for mine. Comforting with touch divine, Till I dream I see thy face. Always in the glory land With the splendor on thy brows, Dwellest those by Him, the wise, Who endur'd the agony Felt by frail humanity Seeking a lost paradise. Mother, undefiled and just. How thy love with steady beam Pierces through the dusk of time, While the cross uplifts its white Glowing, moonlike, through the night, With a radiance sublime. MARY, MOTHER OF OUR GOD. 65 Never sorrow probes the heart But thy smile can healing bring ; Never sin, though leprous vile, Gives defilement to the soul. But thy prayers can make us whole Through the grace of sufiering. Pray for us * till death shall give Kespite to the bleeding feet, Which on thorny ways have trod ; Yea, be thou the one to plead With that Love who meets our need, Mary, mother of our God ! * Holy Mary, pray for us, now antl at the hour of our death. — ROSAKY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 66 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. THE LEGEND OF THE VIOLETS. Passing through a pleasant mead, Where a brook cut through the green, Like a sheet of silver spread In a glory-lighted place, Once a Spirit saw a weed Sadly o'er the water lean, Gazing at the sunset red Mirror'd on its laughing face. And he listened where he stood. Smiling in a tender way As its plaintive voice arose O'er the gurgle of the wave : '*! was born for solitude. And the sorrow of decay. While thy current townward flows, And its waves a beauty have. THE LEGEND OF THE VIOLETS. 67 " All about me is the sound Of the swelling buds that hold Gorgeous tints that soon will vie With the colors of the west ; But in me no grace is found Which shall fragrantly unfold, And unknown of joy am I, While my sister herbs are blest ! " Then the Spirit spoke and said : "Lady of our Lord, I plead That thou grant one other gift To the margin of this mere ; Let thy holy dew be shed On this lone neglected weed, Till a bloom its stem uplift With the brightest of the year." And the little M^eed was still, All its dusky leaves aglow With the gem-light of the dew. And the star-ray of the skies ; And our Mary sought the rill Where the rushes rustle low. There to make the violet blue. Like that Spirit's loving eyes. 68 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. Still she knelt in eager plight, Working fast and silently, When the morning rung its bells, Waking all the cloister wood. And the violet frail and white Is unpainted to this day ; But a sweet tradition tells How she kiss'd, and thought it good ; Saying that the white should be Emblematic of the dress Which the Spirit wore that hour When he souo'ht the meadow low. Then she rose in majesty, And her lino^erinof caress Is the odor which the flow'r Yields to all the winds that blow. ON THE LAKE. 69 ON THE LAKE. YiOLA AND Eric. VIOLA. So softly do we enter, my belov'd, This garden of the lilies, that the oar Scarce stirs yon pointed buds, though from the cups Of the full blossoms drips a perfume fine To scent the water, while the hidden stalks Lift safe and high alcove the tide their thick And ample leaves. ERIC. As a strong soul sustains Its hope above life's sorrows. But behold How the warm sunset spreads its gorgeous sheen Along the low horizon, while the trees Surge in the dusty fire, and seem to reel Under the awful splendor, as, me thinks, 70 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. Did Dante when he stood with Beatrice And look'd on Paradise. It brino-s to mind Those lines in the " Excursion " — » VIOLA. Ha ! that bird — A night-hawk, was it? How his sturdy wings Whirr'd as he sped from sight ! But pardon, dear : You spoke of Wordsworth — ERIC. Or a work of his Which Elia said was "ill put up in boards," And for his spleen TvTemesis sent Carlyle A roaring lion, who made game, we'll say, Of the defenceless Lamb. VIOLA. You roam afield ; Besides, my sympathy is with the clerk, Wlio certainly was not below the salt At the wit's table. As for him who drank So greedily of gall, Dean Swift himself Could not have been more savage. Let him pass. ON THE LAKE. 71 ERIC. Well said ! His stormy spirit ill accords With this calm hour, which seems to quote for me : " Glory beyond all glory ever seen By waking sense or by the dreaming soul." VIOLA. And it says also, with an equal grace : " The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration ; " for this thought Of the same poet is applicable To the fields southward, where the daisies stand With the tall buttercups, as if their souls. Piercing through yonder clouds, had caught a glimpse Of flow'rs immortal, and were petrified At their own grossness. Long ago I read, I know not where, that were the race of men, By some strange freak of nature, suddenly To turn to stone, — man, woman, youth and babe, Each in the garb and with the self-same looks They wore when the doom fell — ERIC. This world would be A Vatican worth visiting ! 72 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. VIOLA. It would. And somehow this was why I thought of flow'rs Changed into rock. How lovely they would look, Tinted and delicate ! — each gauzy vein Traced in a substance that would lauo^h at blisfht And scorn the tempest, keeping without change Their pristine beauty, that the eyes of those Who shall come after us in ages hence Might study as we study the white stars Which lit the years forgotten. ERIC. Fi, my dear ! You jest with fact, as bards are wont to do, And show your woman's hate of time which steals Not only youth and love, but slowly gnaws The granite into sand, — a hurricane Would reap your daisies though the stems were made Of adamant, — and sweeps from the vast heavens A host of constellations. Dost thou think That anything shall watch the ages out. Save Deatli and Mutability ? VIOLA. I do. ON THE LAKE. 73 I think these lilies here, that droop their heads As though your blasphemous and gloomy doubts Were blight itself breathing among these leaves, Will keep from death an essence which again Shall be imprisoned in a lily-seed And germinate, lift leaf and dewy bud And golden-hearted blossom to a sun Brighter, perhaps, than ours. I hold that love Will sow eternity with fairer blooms Than blew in Eden. For I think that too Will live forever : " watch the ages out." ERIC. Nonsense ! You are a woman, and we know That women are born blind, which proves, I think, That Cupid is their idol, who will have No gods before him. I, who love you well, And drink from the blue chalice of your eyes My soul's elixir, would not have you think That this dear love of ours which we esteem Most precious, aye, essential to the weal Of our existence, can outlast the wear Of the bleak years which roll their tumbrils rude Along the weary stones that pave the path Of progress : tumbrils which convey poor souls 74 DREAMS OP IMMORTALITY. To kiss experience, time's guillotine. I would not have you trick your honest heart With the fool's fancy that we shall retain Beyond this life of ours a thing so frail, So like the perfume of a fleeting flow'r, Which, when the blossom withers, wanders — where ? VIOLA. Eric, I like it not, this tune of yours Which you are pleased to match to ev'ry song Of hope and promise blessed which the soul Sings for our cheering. Why, it augurs ill. This talk of change in one who swore of late To yield me his aflection — EKIC. As I do : I love you fully, and am satisfied. Believing I am fully lov'd in turn ; And yet, if it be true, as we are told By dreamers of the Robert Browning type, Who rant of transmigration, that we shed, As the snake sheds his skin, the human flesh And don it at our pleasure, — living here As Mr. A., and there as Mr. B., And elsewhere in a higher plane, perhaps, As some one greater, — yes, if this be true, ON THE LAKE. 75 I cannot think that Ariadne's self, However zealous, could conduct the thread Of stronger love than ours through such a strange. Perplexing labyrinth of destiny. VIOLA. Let us not talk of it. My heart recoils And shudders like a weak and hunted thing Which do2:s have driven onward to the brink Of the wild precipice. I cannot look Into a depth so dreadful. O my love, I seem to hear the rushing of that flood Of life eternal, — life w^ithout your smile, — And near us are the bloody hounds of death To tear you from me. ERIC. Ha ! you vision well , For death, and time, and the harsh world which brawls For gold and pow'r, are all at war with love. Yet let us, while we may, enjoy her feast. Lift her red gol)let, wreath'd with myrtle green, And drain it to the lees. Perchnce some day a When, having pass'd through many lives, and gain'd 76 DREAMS OF IMMORTALITY. One that is near to godhood, — having drawn From each brief life its hoard of luscious love, As the bee sucks from out the llow'r its store Of honey juices, -=- 1, alone, may sit, Droning to golden beads the rosary Of high affection. Should I touch at length One brighter and more sacred than the rest, Feelino; a shock electric cut its course Into my heart astonish'd, I shall know 'Tis not the sweet " our Father," nor the fond " Hail Mary," ])ut my lips will form the words " Viola, thou wert love, the all-in-all ! " And then — and then, my dearest, I shall muse On this bright eve when '^ glorious mysteries " Were writ in characters of pink and gold, Crimson and blue and purple, on the scroll Of the metallic sky. VIOLA. And then ? ERIC. And then With eager joy I shall recall a maid Trailins: from a canoe a listless hand Which scarcely feels the lily or the slush Of the bright current, so intent is she With gazing on a face. ON THE LAKE. 77 VIOLA. I said last night That face was noble. More, 'tis beautiful ; And though corruption claim it, and the things, We dream of in this night-time we term life Fulfil themselves hereafter, I shall keep That face, that only, in my heart of hearts. Love if you will the women who shall smile And lean on you in future : but for me, One love, a love like thine, is joy enough To bless me for all time. Hark ! from the shore My brother calls. 'Tis growing late. The light Has faded from the hilltops, and our boat Rocks on the wind as rocks the wave. We land. How strong your arms are ! Kiss me. Let us haste ! I. tup: reapers. Sitting beside my hearth-stone's bending flame, With winter on the hills, and winds astir In the shorn maple and the faded fir, I hear a reaper call a maiden's name ; And she, responding, leaves a riotous game, And tossing on her skirt's uplifted fold A rustling sheaf aglow vrith ripest gold. Bears him gay company to whence they came. Her bare feet press the stones with careless tread, Her round cheek, luscious in its dewy blush. Glows richer in the sunset's lingering flush ; And he, the youth, awkward and dumb and meek, Lifts up shy eyes of longing, and would speak, But fails, and offers her a flow'r instead. THE SAND STORM. 79 II. THE SAND STORM. Fierce noontide quivers on a reach of sand, Across whose white, aweary and with pain, Pants a black motion, while a hurricane. Far off, drives forward, as waves drive to land, Churning, upheaving, roaring in a grand Slaughter of calm ; while the long caravan Breaks as fleets break in storm, and beast and man Struggle like drowning things who view a strand. The hot dry storm darkens the scorching glare, And whirls in wrath along the endless waste, And one huge camel which for long hath pac'd The desert ways, uplifts, as in despair, His gaunt worn neck high in the stifling air, And sinks — and from the tumult is efiaced ! 80 rS OTHZK LA>"D5. m. EGYPT. Eg^'pt. thou aged siift'rer, like to Lear, Who, standing *mid thy p^-ramids of stone. Hast seen the wi-eck of many a noble year, And systems fail, and kingdoms overthrown : Around thine ears the generations hum, — Those puny flies that live but for a day. And feel no orief that all thv iov is dumb, Thy wisdom lost, thy gi*andeur passed away. Yet oft for thee the Xile attunes its voice, To sins: of deeds which men remember not. The desert sand makes thy lone heart rejoice With legends bright no dark of time can blot : And through thy dreams there moves a royal train, And Cleopatra smiles and drinks her pearls asrain. TEOPIC REEDS. 81 IV. TROPIC REEDS. The sun comes up above the tropic s^lade. Comes up with lire of gold and flame of rose, Its splendor broadening till the reeds disclose Beneath the glassy stream long ranks of shade. Brown, delicate and beautiful they stand, Etch'd on the glave, their blades ^vith dew empearled, And silence softly o er their happy world Rests with a smile benign her soothing hand. Patient and moveless as a shape in stone, A heron, standing in the sapphire stream, Waits for the morning to complete its dream, Waits, listening, intent, with head upthrown. But never thro' the reeds shall Pan essay The dulcet music of his flute to pour. To break the silence as in days of yore : Vainly she listens, facing the red da v. 82 IN OTHER LANDS. V. MY CASTLE. Over the vsea is a castle fair, Builded by me in a kingdom rare ; Its towers of gold are bright on high, Its flags unfold to an azure sky. There summer smiles on her dearest days, And songsters warble their fondest lays ; Never by dreamer's eye was seen Fairer castle than mine, I ween. Its beauty ])eams thro' the dusk of night, Its glory gleams in the morning light ; The sea rolls by with joyous song, While breezes sio^li its bowers amonp' : And odors swept from the rose's charm Breathe out their lives on the golden calm. Blow, ye blooms, in that blessed clime. Deathless, radiant through all time. MY CASTLE. §3 Over the hills when the sun is low, Over the rills as they dancino- flow, The clouds delay on their crimson track, While beauteous day looks fondly back. "Lo ! all is well with the castle grand," Chimes out a bell thro' the charmed land, Chimes and swings in its dome of snow. Tinged with the rose of the western glow. The years go by with their storm and shine, But never an eye, save only mine, Hath seen the light on that castle fall. Or mark'd the height of its ivied wall. The hurrying hosts of life afar Come never that kingdom's prize to mar ; Safe it stands in a land unknown, Sacred, beautiful, all my own. Over the sea to the castle fair, Builded by me in a region rare. My hope doth turn thro' the weary years, Vanquish'd never by griefs and fears ; There shine the jewels of price untold That never tarnish and ne'er grow old Fancy, child of the air and light. Ever thy dreams are to mortals bright ! ^ita|«ctl0ii< Whither tendeth thi'ough the dark of time aud the roar of life's endeavor the streams of Joy and Love? Go tliou to the sunless Sea of Change, and mark through thy weeping how silently they sweep into its tide, to mingle and be lost forevermoi'e. MY PAST. "I have the memory of a happy past that can never be taken from me. Circled with calm, and lit with richest sheen, Thou liest, O my Italy ! I trace Thy limpid streams threading with finest grace The dreamy valleys through ; thy slopes of green, Fields, meadows, hills, and skies that o'er them lean. Sweet are thy breezy shores, and low the lays Of ocean waves drifting beneath the haze Which haunts for evermore thy realm serene. Thou art my Paradise, where yet abide Youth, Hope and Love : in thee, with yearning high — Uplifting, to a dawn which never breaks, MY PAST. 85 Her beautiful proud face — is Constancy ; And oft she sings of things that never die, And many an echo clear her music wakes. And I, who tread life's hilltop sloping low To wintry death, look on thee thro' my tears, And bless thee Aveeping ; for thro' all the years That wait anigh, Avhether with weal or woe My cup of fate fills to the overflow, Thou wilt be mine — and thus I quell my fears ; And daily, hourly, on my sight appears Thy charm more lovely while I onward go. No change can dim thy glory : long the dew Shall gild the rose, the leaf its glow retain, The birds sing on, and those whom once I knew. Move through thy groves ideal, nor in vain Call in familiar tones to wake anew From mem'ry's airy lyre the fondest strain. 86 RETROSPECTION. THE BROKEN LUTE. Dost dream, dear Lute, of days that are no more Of life a part. When tender hands thy music did outpour, And tender voices rose thy numbers o'er? Then thou art mute indeed — Like to my tuneless heart. Dost feel that e'er true love's divinest song, Throbbing with fire. Can sweep again thy silent chords among, Can wake the bliss that thrill'd thy being long ? Then thou art old indeed — Like to this heart's desire. O Lute ! my Lute ! upon thy form I see, Thro' dust and stain, A record sad of things no more to be, Of voices lost and rarest minstrelsy. Thus dost thou symbol life. When joy gives room to pain. DAYS DEPARTED. 87 DAYS DEPARTED. " I recognize you, O smiling places, where I remember that joy- fully I si)ent the quiet days of my former youth. Dear places, I do find you, but those days I find no more." Aye, blessed scenes of former years, I view }'e as in hours of yore, And note the gleam on field and stream, The glory on the rugged shore, The leaves that tremble overhead, The mossy bank whereon I tread, — But ah ! those days I find no more . Methinks yon sea-gull, soaring free Above the tossing foam, must know With what a sigh I cast my eye To where the proud ships outward go ; With what a thrill of nameless pain I watch his flight with sad refrain : " So fled the days I find no more ! " 88 RETROSPECTION. Methinks the sunset's golden tide That ebbs adown the glowing west, Must mark how strange, how full of change, Have been my days since I was blest ; Since last with hope I trod the strand And smiled to feel that tender hand Which now, O days, I find no more ! The poplars toss their silver leaves, The sparrows chirp upon the spray. The groves repeat their music sweet, And thus it ^\^as in childhood gay ; But ah ! the dreams so wild and bright Have changed to gray like sunset's light, And those lov'd days I find no more. THE OLD GARDEN. 89 THE OLD GARDEN. I dream of a o-arden brio'ht Bv a cottao'e old and 2:ray, Where the shadows came at night And the golden sun by day ; Where the locusts bent to the summer wind, The breezy wind, the joyous wind. That swept from the fields of clover. I dream of the lily's grace, And pinks in their crimson vest. Of the daisy's fairy face And th' rose in her glory dress'd ; Of the happy bees that liumm'd their lay, Their idle lay, their dreamful lay. To the lio:ht — the listless rover. And the hollyhock was there With its cups of gorgeous hue, And the pansy fresh and fair Aglow with the morning dew : 90 RETROSPECTION. And the robin sang to his cheery mate, His doting mate, his matron mate, A sons of the o-racious Giver. And over the cottage eaves, Thro' the season sweet and calm. The woodbine w^ove with mystic leaves A verdurous tangled charm ; And above, the clouds went idling on, Went drifting on, went sailing on, Like sw^ans on an azure river. My playmate lov'd the spell Of that garden quaint and old, — Her smiles, as of yore, I tell, And the curls of wavy gold, — And hand in hand thro' the radiant bloom, The scented bloom, the luscious bloom, We sought for our latest treasure. Aye, the sunbeams waver yet O'er the fields of green and red. But my darling's sun is set. And my garden's bloom is dead ; And, 'stead of the song of the olden days, The careless days, the mirthful days, I list to a mournful measure. MY FLOWER. 91 MY FLOWER. Once upon a time, when I was young, And the earth was brighter in its bloom, And the roses sweeter in perfume, Walking thro' the wood one morning fair, I espied a flower of beauty rare. All alone beside the rock it grew, And above it in the sunny light Stood a pine tree, goodly to the sight ; So beneath its spreading boughs I sat. And resign'd my thoughts to this and that. In the bay, aglow with yellow sun, All the patient ships at anchor lay, And the waters kiss'd them in their play, Bath'd the rocks that slept upon the shore. And their mystic rhymes repeated o'er. Silver clouds above the purple hills. Bending earthward with a stately grace, Breath'd their benediction o'er the place. Never waters whisper'd deeper lore. Or diviner glories lit the shore. 92 RETROSPECTION. Ah, my Heart ! you keep the picture dear, And arising on my inner sight I behold it through my tears to-night. Age and care may bring us griefs untold, But no change can mar the joys of old. While I ponder'd in a dreamy mood, Lo ! the west wind mo v'd the branches green, Happy branches in the summer sheen. And my flower, with motion soft and slow, Wav'd its shadow on the rock below. Long ago its glory fell to dust ; But I think that, far from mortal eyes. In the blessed clime of Paradise, I shall see its spirit, strange and fair. As it smiled upon the granite there. I shall know it by its leaves of light. By its tenderness and odor sweet. By its beauty, wondrous and complete ; And 'twill whisper how the waters sung Once upon a time, when I was young. A LOST SUMMER. 93 A LOST SUMMER. I listen through the falling of the rain, And sighing leaves that eddy round the door, And almost think I hear thy voice again And see thine eyes. And greet their smile once more : But no, the flow'rs are dead, Naught can their bloom restore. The clock ticks on to strike our meeting hour ; Th' expectant hush steals o'er my longing heart, And back again, with all their olden pow'r. Come hope, and faith. And joy, of love a part : But ah ! the birds are fled, Hush'd is their minstrel art. I press my head against the darkened glass, And dream thy step draws near the portal's vine, That tendrils cling, caressing, as you pass, To touch the door, 94 RETROSPECTION. To reach your hands for mine : Ah me ! that vine is bare, Its leaves nor dance nor shine. "Dear love, the past is ours," so sings a voice ; "No change nor blight shall ever reach that shore ; Sweet are the streams that make its vales rejoice, Fair is the clime And blest forevermore : Be strong. Arise and go. Safe are the dreams of yore." THROUGH THE STORM. 95 THROUGH THE STORM. What is that at the door, While the wind shrills high And the rain drives by, And waves on the shingles pour? The shutters creak and strain, And I seem to feel The old cottage reel. As a ship reels on the main. Is it a sea-gull gray That taps at the sill With his horny bill, His fierce wings dripping with spray? What doth he bring to me In his knotted claw, From the cruel maw Of the monster wreck-fed sea? 9 6 RETROSPECTION . Is it but worthless sand ? Or — oh, bitter thought With an an^iuish frauo'ht ! — A rins: from a dead man's hand ? Saw he a form emerge From the glassy cave Of a swinging wave, To rest a space on its verge, — Ere down the liquid steep, Agleam with the light Of a moonbeam bright, It sped to the yawning deep, — While shapes of uncouth guise Clutch'd at the hair, And the forehead fair, And the dreamy, sightless eyes ? Nay, it is not a bird Which hath brought to me From the crashing sea A gem and a farewell word. The sound has sought the pane, And I dimly trace A delicate face Adrip, like a flow'r, with rain. THROUGH THE STORM. 97 Still — as a statue white — While an inward glow Lights a brow I know, It stands in a niche of night. Beautiful, lift thy head, And dispel this trance With thy mournful glance, Till my heart is quieted. But hark ! the spectral blast Calls thee o'er the wave To thy empty grave — Go, ghost of a joy long past ! 98 RETROSPECTION. LEAVITT'S LANE. In Leavitt's lane the dews are bright, And common flowers are blowing, While on its course, by many a curve, The dusky brook goes flowing. As all the day the summer winds Play on the reach of grass — A verdant lake across whose tide The lights and shadows pass, To thi-ow Gold on the buttercups. And on the daisies snow. There by the hour the idle cloud. Large, soft and silver- white. Hangs pois'd above the cottage quaint. Its crest aglow with light ; The sunbeams cross in silent play Their sabres by the stream, And drowsily the wave trends on As in a blissful dream, To be Drawn slowly from its calm Into the turbid sea. leavitt's lane. 99 A hilltop lifts its I^reezy slope That little brook anear, And there the spruce and maple tall Stand upright, tier on tier. They bend their tops and wave their wands, And sing a happy song, And slowly, slowly all the while, The current moves alono- To orain That strength of larger life Known only to the main. Above, but hidden by the trees, Safe, silent and alone. The dead sleep on, nor heed the sun Smiting the shafts of stone ; Sleep on while sighs the pleasant wind And blooms their breath outpour. And seaward speeds the eager stream, Rejoicing evermore. Nor deems That progress is but pain, Which puts an end to dreams. In Leavitt's lane with blithesome steps. And laugh outringing wild. There frolick'd in the days gone by A dark-eyed radiant child, 100 RETROSPECTION. Plucking the daisy from its stem, The lily from its stalk, While in its bed, with gurgling sound, The current seem'd to talk. And say, "Youth is but brief, dear girl. Laugh on while yet you may." She knew where, shaggy and uncouth. The robbins' nest was hung. And how the minnows by the dam Their finny rudders swung ; Her glancing feet, with soft bare tread, Dabbled the sunlight's gold Which glisten'd on the rocking wave With motion manifold. AndO, The brook swept on and on With swift and steady flow. The roof-tree in the field remains, Elm-shaded as of yore ; But womanhood has won the child. And death has sought that door ; And all is changed and sadder grown. Save only Nature's face ; For still the brook flows on and on With all its old-time grace, leavitt's lane. 101 And fain Would sing the song of cheer For aye by Leavitt's lane. 102 RETROSPECTION. AFTERNOON IN THE COUNTRY. Long sloping fields, where silken grass Waves with the dandelions fresh, And orchard boughs of pink and snow Which shake the odors from their mesh, As the wind sways them to and fro, And up and down. And fast and slow. A shallow stream as blue as steel Flashes its sabre in the sun, Keen and cool, and broad and bare. And the sharp rushes which uprun Their needles in the yielding air, Nor heed the wave. Nor note the glare. And hills that lift their purple globes (Thro' Avhich we see the shapes of trees) Above the soft submerging haze, And birds that fling their melodies Along the drowsy orcliard ways In notes of joy And notes of praise. AFTERNOON IN THE COUNTRY. 103 A cottage near whose open door The lilacs wave their dingy green, While the rank woodbine pours its shade, The diamond- trellis prop between. To fall in lace across the braid Of a low-brow'd And dreamy maid. A spacious barn with ample eaves, Where round and round the swallows skim. And the kine waiting by the bars, Their large moist eyes with peace abrim, And clouds that seek the hidden stars Along the low Horizon's rim. An idler on his shoulder broad Steadies a child in riotous play. His handsome face upturn'd, as down The grassy path he makes his way, The gold curls blending with the brown, Their faces fresh As is the day. A feeble crone who journeys on Along the highway's dust and heat, Pauses awhile with pensive air To view the picture still and sweet : 104 RETROSPECTION. "A girl," she sighs, "with sun-fleck'd hair, Where droop the blooms Like purple wheat. " Ah me, 'twas thus in youth I sat, As comely and as gayly dress'd. To watch for one whose loving arms With rapture drew me to his breast ; And that fair child with all his charms Is like, so like. Our first and best ! " And he who bears him lightly on, As only the warm-hearted can. Whose limbs are strong and grandly wrought By kindly nature's noblest plan, Is like to one who cheer'd my lot — My man, my man. My dear old man ! " SACRIFICED TO MOLOCH. 105 SACRIFICED TO MOLOCH. She glides adown her spacious halls, A woman calm and proud and cold, And haughty is the silken sweep Of her costly dress, Whose loveliness Vies with the glory of the deep. And on her gems the lamplight glints. And smites their beauty into flame, And none accuse her of a wrong. As onward she In majesty Moves slowly through the votive throng. And he is there whose gold hath bought The freedom of her girlhood's day. Whose hand hath led her forth to ease, And in whose eyes She wears the guise Of calm content his love to please. 106 RETROSPECTION. And proudly looks on all uround, This lady of the royjil air, And " She is blest ! " they whis[)er low, " And none can say She cast away For naught her heart and beauty's glo^r." And on her gems the lamplight falls. And in her eyes the smile is seen, — Like sunlight o'er a sabre cast, — Nor do they see How lonoino^lv Her thoughts turn backward to the past, - To note a cottage where the vine Creeps richly round the sunny roof, And watch the sins^ino^ trees that lift Their branches hioh Against the sky AYhile clouds above them whitely drift ; — To see the hollyhock and mint. The sun aslant the drooping leaves, The lily blowing as of yore, The garden gate Where, soon or late, A form shall pass to gain the door. SACRIFICED TO MOLOCH. 107 "Aye, thou wert poor and I was proud, And now — 'tis well — why should I grieve ? — I have my wealth, and thou — hast art : But could I be Again with thee. No fate should rend our lives apart." 108 RETROSPECTION . IN A BALL-ROOM. I. Fancy, meandering thro' the range of thought, Sees a vast throng of dancers moving down A marble hall with countless lilies strown, And bright with hangings all with gold en- wrought, While the light glitters on a statue brought From distant Rome, — a Venus holding high. With uprais'd face, and arm curv'd daintily. Her tlow'r of Love, as if a charm she sought. She stands with naked breast whose senseless stone Is all athrob with life, so fair it seems. Her body drooping as though drowsy dreams Clung yet about her, while one limb outthrown From the scant vesture all the grace has caught Which, shunning nature, lives in art alone. IN A BALL-ROOM. 109 n. The dancers pass the statue one and all, Gay women, handsome men and maidens yomig. In sheen of silk and gleam of jewels rare, Threading the footsteps of their leader tall, Who, moving slowly down the spacious hall, Returns and notes that flower held in air. And starts as if by bitter mem'ry stung. While steadily the notes arise and fall. Proud, careless, haughty, with the mocking jest Fresh on his lips, he trembles as with cold, Seeing that arm so like to hers in mould. And then — he draws his partner to his breast, And moves her thro' the waltz less carelessly, That she he lov'd is in her grave at rest. 110 RETROSPECTION . THE CARD-PLAYER. " Dead," did you say? I had not heard — Your turn to deal. I knew her well Before her marriage, when she drew Hearts after her, as ladies do In whom we see divinely blent. Beauty and grace to ravishment. That holds the soul as in a spell. She had such dainty ways, and when — Hearts trumps ? I pass — and when her eyes Met yours, you felt no longer wise, But stupid and asham'd and mean. So spiritual and serene. So full of gentle dignity And lily loveliness, was she In her pure life's sufficiencies. I mind me how, one autumn day, Just Avhen the leaves were turning red, I met her near the bridge where drones The brook along its path of stones ; And shadows in the willows high Drop thro' the leafy canopy. And o'er the sylvan way are shed. THE CARD-PLAYEK. Ill She bore a pitcher, old and quaint, And, dimpling to the color'd rim, The water sparkled in the sun ; When, pausing, in her girlish fun, She laugh'd a happy laugh and free, And ])ade me drink to ^Memory, Her eyes with mockery abrim. "I drain'd," you say, "the Circe's cup"? Not I ; nor do I care to hear The taunting jest while — how this smoke Weakens the sight and makes one choke And sicken — air ! ah ! that will do : I'm ])etter. Oft upon my view Rises that scene in outline clear. And thro' my mind there sounds the rill Flooding with ripples gold and brown The slimy dam, where, in his blue And burnish'd coat, forever new, The dragon ily, a monitor. Cuts the sun current with a whir, Beating his fierce wings up and down. And while the willows with their prone Thick branches sing a low refrain, I see a young Rebecca sweet. Spilling a nectar at my feet — 112 RETROSPECTION. A holy water — which, to-day, Could wash my darkest sin away, Were I to feel its touch again. She toss'd her curls, and with a nod Tripp'd lightly past the shallow pool ; And I — I went my course ; you know 'Twas nearly thirty years ago — I've lost a point — and now she lies Beside her child, where foreign skies — " I lov'd her " ? I ? Don't be a fool ! UNEXPRESSED. Listen ! how sweet the song,. How pure the thought of the poet As He sings in the light of fame, A melody clear and strong. Well, ye deem he is at his best, O fools, and show it By jarring his finer sense With harsh acclaim. Ye who stand on the plain. Nor ever ascend the mountain, Whose feet know but the mire, And whose largest aims pertain To the things that will profit most In man's accounting, Ye reckon your idle praise Doth his song inspire. 114 THE POET. Wait till he sits some day With no one by to see him, While truths he fain would teach Pierce him with agony. Then, then ye should hear his heart Call death to free him, So fierce are his thoughts and stern That vanquish speech. He sees the world's black wrong As only bard can see it ; He feels the world's death fears, Though brave he is and strong, And all his musino's sfrave But teach him that, al])eit Life yield her rarest joys, Still have we cause for tears. Ever with strength replete, Born of this bitter lonsfinsr, The songs clash in their might As swords in battle meet. High thoughts and full of force, Like mailed warriors thronofinor From shadow into sun To scale a rampart height. UNEXPRESSED. 115 But not for ye, O slaves, Outrings their music holy. Which mino'les in his mind, As waves merge into waves. Never can eye of yours Pierce through his melancholy To read aright his soul, O fools and blind ! 116 THE POET. POESY. In thro' the gates of pearl, Shining beneath a morning fresh and bright, From toil, and dust, and heat. The poet enters on a world of light. And there the waters glide. Brightly the sunny fields and meadows thro', And grasses bend their heads To count their rosary of shining dew. And there the airy fern Stirr'd by the ripples, waves its slender rod. And casts in finest lines A moving shadow on the mossy sod. And there, on golden days. The happy bee hums to the rose its tune, And dreams with drooping wing Thro' the long silence of the drowsy noon. POESY. 117 Softly the poplars gray Whisper the mournful legend far and wide Of One who wrought for man, And in the olden time was crucified. Softly the sailing pines Move in the deeps of sunlight and the day, And on the breeze's tide Their pennons rise and fall and rise alway. In thro' the gates of pearl, O sacred realm, guarded by grief and tears. The poet's soul doth pass To view thy realm and mingle with his peers. And there, with glad surprise, He feels again the hopes accounted o'er, And greets with rapture high His youth's ideal, fairer than of yore. Safe in thy blessed realm, Shining beneath a morn divinely sweet, Renew'd in hope and faith, He wanders on to find a rest complete. 118 THE POET. ASPIRATION. A bird of shining plumage, As white as driven snow, Sails slowly in the sunlight pure, While storm-clouds frown below. Its eyes are soft and radiant, Its win as are lar^e and strons:, And o'er the dark, ao^ainst the o^low, It sings a mystic song. Out from a region balmy, Into a northern zone, With downy breast and tranquil heart Has come that bird alone, — Singing the selfsame ditty It sang beyond the seas. Where waters kiss the charmed isles Of blest Hesperides. ASPIRATION. 119 Ever its music thrillinor Pierces like steel the heart Of one who, groping thro' the gloom. Lives from his kind apart. A man of humble station, And spirit bruis'd with woe, Branded with that Promethean flame Which only poets know. His form is bent and shrunken. His hair is scant and gra}^, As onward with his stafi" of oak He wends a weary way, — Yielding to flint and bramble The blood of pilgrimage. And to the winds the bitter sisfhs Of loneliness and age. Life in its harshest semblance Has mock'd his purest dreams, And failure of Medusa brows Distorted all his schemes. Alone, despis'd and homeless. Keeping the deathward course. He hears that bird against the sun His cheerinor notes rehearse. 120 THE POET. He hears, and all his being Thrills with a joy complete, While like a harp his genius wakes, Hailinoj that music sweet. Not for the gold of princes, Not for the joys of sense. Would he, the wretched, old and worn. Sell his inheritance. For him that beauteous songster Has brav'd the northern clime, For him, above the brooding storm. Rises the strain sublime. For him, against the sunlight. With darkness spread below. Circles that bird of motion soft. And plumes as white as snow. nature's homage to the poet. 121 NATURE'S HOMAGE TO THE POET. The tide crawls in from deep to strand, To kiss his feet with ripples clear, And crumpled shells that deck the sand Fling out their tints when he is near ; For him the shy, Bright l)utterfly Floats with the sunbeam down the air As goldenly and silently. For him in all the gardens gay The pansies blossom year on year ; And lo ! as if to shield his way. The grasses keen their blades uprear ; And in a row The tfilips blow Their gorgeous trumpets to the sun, And swing them with a motion slow. 122 THE POET. The breeze that stirs the water blue Which stripes j^on reach of green, my dear, Sing^ not for me, nor yet for you, But for his fine poetic ear : Its meaning wise Upon his eyes Grows luminous as point of star Which cuts the film of dusky skies. The Poet, once a god, has come To bless the world with music-cheer, And at his voice the birds are dumb. As though enrapt such notes to hear ; And in the vale The daisies frail Lift up their tambourines of white, And beat them on the passing gale. Be sure you give with willing heart A share of love and praise sincere To him, the worthy son of art. Whose home is in a larger sphere ; Nor greet with scorn His lightest song. But stand with reverent eyes and see The spirit-bards that roun'd him throng. WITH KEATS. 123 WITH KEATS. Now, while the leafless branches toss and swing, Moaning their former verdure and the light Of summer, which no more shall o'er them fling Its flakes of sunshine, and the stormy night Draws closer its wet curtain, let me hear Thy Nightingale once more its ditty sing. And as its music gladdens all the gloom, As thrillingly, perchance, as on that eve When, sitting with sad thought beneath the doom Of thy brief life, its music woke to leave liapture on all thy senses, quit, dear Heart, For one brief hour the quiet of the tomb, — And take this chair beside me, where the glow Of yonder fire shall flicker o'er thy face. To lighten up its pallor, and bestow On ev'ry feature an ideal grace. Such as thy thought gave to Hyperion's strong A majesty which souls exalted know. 124 THE POET. And be thou comforted ; for thou hast won The laurel, and thy name is writ no more On water, but beneath Fame's blazing sun It shines on adamant and shall endure ; And those who mock'd thee speak no more the word Of scorn and hatred, for their course is run. Let me believe that at thy feet I kneel And love thee, — for 'twas love that pass'd thee While subtilely along our senses steal The rich delights of perfect sympathy, And thou shalt be my Porphyro, and I, Thy Madeline, will heed thy fond appeal. And through this " elfin storm from fairy land," Like home-returning eagles we will hie From life's Siberian waste to that far land Lit by the dawn of immortality, — For who can ponder on such gifts as thine. Nor look beyond the grave at Love's command ! Forever on through realms of being new, Unsought, unheeded, will we keep our course, While fairer scenes than all thy dreamings drew In days whilome, will our glad eyes rehearse, — Reaches of amber sky, and strips of plain With blossoms brighter than in Eden blew ; — WITH KEATS. 125 And pebbly shores where, girt by birch and pine Sonorous, rolls the grass in waves of green, And the pink blossoms of the hardy vine Balance like buoys on the billowy sheen, And shards of granite glittering, and white sands, And seaweed with its beads adrip with brine. Methinks that l^rave Lorenzo, when he drew Towards the " bower of hyacinth and musk," Or wan Endymion drowsing in the dew When first Diana sought him in the dusk, Felt not the ecstasy that will be ours, Love-led, sun-lighted, all the ages through ! Yes, thy fair ])ody for a time discards Corruption's weight, and gathers up once more Its beauteous parts, nor time nor space retards. Now thou art v/ith me — ah ! and I adore ! — And outward swiftly from the flesh we glide, "Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards." Nay, I but dream and dream, while on the hearth The embers darken, and without the sleet Sounds louder its harsh trump, as if in mirth That hope is a mirage, and love a cheat, And that from worthy souls we keep the tithes Of homage due — till they have pass'd from earth ! 126 THE POET. THE BROOK'S LAMENT FOR BURNS. A brook sang softl}^ in the wood By mossy stones and breezy ferns : "I long for him to wake my fame, The man whom poets fondly name Sweet Robert Burns. "My roses bend on weary stalks, And cast their leaves when fall returns, For something from their cheer is lost, Now he is gone who priz'd them most, — Fond Ro])ert Burns. " My daisies drop their fragrant tears And fill the grasses' spiral urns. To honor him whose eager eye Could all their covert charms espy, — Keen Robert Burns ! "And daily to my limpid wave, The lily bright its cup upturns THE brook's lament FOR BURNS. 127 To drink to him whose songs entwine Their tendrils with the purple vine,* — Our Bacchus Burns. "My winds steal upward from the shore Where jagged rocks the billow spurns, And sweetly on the summer day They breathe a pensive roundelay For tuneful Burns. " I call him in the eerie night While heart for heart with passion yearns : But lass and laird shall watch in vain For him who knew so well their pain, — The lover Burns. " I call him when the fainting year Through falling leaves its fate discerns : Nor yet responds that fearless tongue Whose words o'er time and death have rung, — Immortal Burns ! " The brook goes singing on its track, And at the deep this lesson learns ; However gifted man may be, There waits for him death's mystery. Alas, dear Burns ! * 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! ev'ry Spirit exclaim'd, Hail, hail to the wine-tree, all hail ! — Moore;. 128 THE POET. THE POET-INFIDEL. Shelley ! thy proud white spirit, condor-brave, Kept to its Alpine height until thy day Darken'd and was no more, and bigotry And scorn and pious hatred bless'd the wave That swept in wrath thy beauty to the grave. We who look back would fain anoint with care Thy blessed course, and in love's cerements rare Enwrap thee, l)ut an angel guards thy grave. He sits with ashen face and eyes of scorn. Erect, unmov'd; and some esteem him Fate, While others, shrinking, hail him as Too Late ; And "Lo ! " he says, "ye crucify at morn Your heroes, and at night would desecrate The tomb, their bleeding bodies to adorn." Yes, thou hast gone, brave heart, to seek thy peers. Who fell on the bleak desert of the dead. And Rachel- wise we w^eep uncomforted, Though sweetly rings thy voice along the years. THE POET-INFIDEL. 129 Still, Error bold her hydra-head uprears, And the priest lolls in purple, while without, Cold and anhunger'd, bearing pain and doubt, His slaves delve on, regardless of thy jeers. Was thy life wasted ? didst thou write for naught, O gifted Soul? or didst thou live to see The perfect rounding of thy destiny By stern events? — while from thy pain was caught A flamino' truth to lio'ht the days to be, When all shall kno^v it was a man who taus-ht ! 130 THE POET. A GREETING TO POETS. O hearts that are loving and true, O hearts that are fearless and strong To bear and to dare to the end, To wait under shadow or shine, With faith and with patience divine ! I greet you as friend greeteth friend. You look on the plain and the cape, And ships coming in from the deep With treasure of gold and of silk. And list to the waters that pour In music the l)right pebbles o'er. Their foam-caps as argent as milk. You hear the soft song of the [)ines Where boughs weave their shadow of leaves, And mosses are dank by the brake, And squirrels outflashing are seen To leap down a cavern of green, As rapids leap down to the lake. A GREETING TO POETS. 131 Not vainly for you doth the cloud Turn sunward its mystical shield, All flaming with scarlet and sheen, As gorgeous as that which of yore The Arthur-lov'd Lancelot bore In days of the fond "lily queen." Not vainly for you doth the grove Sweep softly its moss-laden harp, And give to the morning the lays Which often to Daphne were sung. When round her the laurel-green hung. And winds sought her long in amaze. Your souls are attun'd to the spheres, O poets, O lovers, O knights ! And you are the gods of to-day, More comely, more noble, more blest, Than those who have enter'd their rest To slumber forever and aye. Yet lovely were they in their youth, From poet Apollo, who swept The lyre bewailing his loss. To sweet Ganymede whose face In Jupiter's kingdom found grace. Or grand-hearted Christ on the cross. 132 THE POET. I see Him on Calvary's hill, Where darkness rolls over the clay, And temples are rock'd by the blast, And His face lights the horror and night, A luminous statue of white, Benifi^nant and strand to the last. What marvel, dear poets of old. That, smiting your harps through the years. You sing in divinest accord : " He treads our Olympus of faith. The refuge, the comfort in death, The perfect, the only^ our God ! " O hearts that are loving and true, O hearts that are fearless and strong To bear and to dare till the end. To wait under shadow or shine, With faith and with patience divine ! I love you as friend loveth friend. THE CITY BY LAMPLIGHT. Yonder a line of golden balls Glows on the black of the chilly night, And there, as those cars swing round the curve, We see the flash of a crimson light. With others tawny, and soft, and bright ; And here overhead an electric sun Burns its globe of white, — The watchman Avhose big round eye of powT Looks from his height From hour to hour. Jingle ! jangle ! the cars drag by, Rumble ! rumble ! the wheels roar by, While the thousand feet Keep up their beat On the stony street. 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Hurrying, woriying, jostling, go The human ants On this hill of life That looks so low, So mean, to the angels up in heaven, — But they were forgotten long ago. Jingle ! jangle ! the cars drag by, Rumble ! rumble ! the wheels roar by, While the weary feet Forever beat On the cruel street. Nobody cares for his brother-man. Nobody cares for the Christ of old. In this greed for gold. This search for ease, This lust for fame, — He is but a name ! Hark ! how they come and go. The crowds that jostle so ! Hark ! how they thread their way unweetingly To death's cavern dim and damp That yawns below ! Wherefore this fret and din? Wherefore this tryst with sin? This toil, this woe? REFORMERS. 135 REFORMERS. Climb on, heroic Souls, From night to day. Ye who have nerve to dare The giddy way ! Climb till, through toil and pain, The starry height ye gain. Ye are the workers brave That soon or late Surely shall bring the New To Church and State ; Ye are embassadors Chosen by Freedom's Cause. Sad are the hearts of men, Dead are their creeds, Naught comes through all the years To meet their needs ; Weeping, they turn to ye. Nobly to set them free. 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. On, then, heroic Souls, Tho' dark the hour : Strength shall descend to cheer When faints your pow'r ; Yea, till the night be gone, On ! to the glory, on ! THE COST OF GREATNESS. 137 THE COST OF GREATNESS. ACROSTIC. Except thro' pain, thou canst not reach the higher ; * Desist from toil, and fame will fickle ])e, What time thou giv'st thy thought to re\'elry, Indulging harmful ease and young desire. Not hope alone achieves, tho' hope is strong. But constant purpose. Those who most aspire, Lal)or as those who serve a tyrant slave , Omitting neither care nor patience long. What matter tho' the course be dark and cold, Essay to win the race and gain the cup of gold ! * There is a lower and a liigher. — Tennyson. 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE HEIGHTS. Beyond the valley fresh with flow'rs, And morning dew and sighing wind, Where linger long the summer hours, Its purest joys and sweets to find ; Above the plain of sober green, O'ershadow'd by foreboding skies. Where youth assumes a graver mien, The bare and rugged heights arise. And on their summit, strong and grand, Unshaken by the stormy blast. The towers of Fame and Knowledge stand. Whose light is ever downward cast. And mortals on the quiet plain. Behold their splendor thro' the night, And some with tears have said,"'Tis vain ! I cannot reach yon distant height.'' But braver hearts, whose hopes are strong, Whose patience cheers the sunless day. Whose earnest faith surviveth long, Though dreams depart and friends betray. THE HEIGHTS. 139 Such hearts with joyous throb have hail'd The promise which their nSCELLANEOUS POEMS. A JUNE MORNING. I stand alone amid the verdant wood Sweet with the spring. Above my head the trees Thrill with the birdling songs and morning breeze , And a brio^ht sea sin^^s low of brotherhood To seas afiir. Methinks the Soul of Good That breathes o'er all, from sturdy pine to blade Of beaded grass, hath wrought this shine and shade To speak of thee to me in poet mood. I deem thy pensive lyre will wake to-day, Thy grief depart, thy spirit greet the June, Thy fancy stir, and, while the lily noon Unfolds its leaves, arise and soar away Throuofh lio:ht. Dear Friend, 'tis thus I crave this boon, — One thought of me while all the world's attune ! THE GROWTH OF THE BUTTERCUPS. 153 THE GROWTH OF THE BUTTERCUPS. Through the brown earth iit early summer's call The hardy stalks press sunward, shaking out Their fibrous twigs ; and slowly, as in doubt, The leaves unroll, — unroll with magical Young life. And then in joy they seem to call Like callow birds, turninir themselves about In the glad light, forgetting dark and drought, And soon each spray flames with a golden ball. The miracle completed greets the gaze. Nor wakes acclaim; — but when the juggler spry Tosses his plates, and on the painted sticks Receives them whirling, and ingeniously Constructs a mimic tree, his vulgar tricks Are lauded well by those who throng to see ! 154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, THISTLEDOWN.* Faded Thistledown of air, Floating aimless everywhere, Thou dost waken thoughts of sadness ; Summer and its purple bloom, Lieth dead, and near the tomb Winds bewail their former gladness. Floating upward at all times. Like the poet's air}^ rhymes, To the empty realms of space : And we watch thee till the blue Distance hides tliee from our view, — Further mortal may not trace. And I think how like the down Of the autumn thistle brown Are our wa3Mvard thoughts and fancies, Ever floating there and here In the sunny atmosphere Thro' the valley of romances. * Written in early youth. HAD I LOVED YOU AND YOU LOVED ME. 155 HAD I LOVED YOU AND YOU LOVED ME. SHE. In old, old days, so far away, When we were schoolmates two, You were in no wise dear to me. Nor was I dear to you. Your tones awoke no thrill of pride. Your touch no warmth inspird, And never once thro' all these years Have I your aid desir'd. A hearthglow falls upon the gold Which gilds your children's tresses, And glistens on the marriage ring Of her your smile caresses. Yet w^hen, by chance, that idle day We, the long parted, met. There stole athwart my careless mood A pang like to regret, — 156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. As gazing on your earnest face, Familiar and yet new, I wish'd you had lov'd me lang syne, And I in turn lov'd you ! Yet why ? Would I have joy'd to wear That ring's encircling gold, To kiss the baby brows whose grace Bears the paternal mould? Would I have kept your honor bright. Would you have remain'd true. Had you lov'd me in days no more, Had I in turn lov'd you ? HE. How idle is this constant thought Which pricks me like a burr, — Had she lov'd me in other years. Had I in turn lov'd her ! What then ? I know not ; for of old I never deem'd her fair. Nor strove to ope her heart's red book To leave my record there. The children laugh about my knees. My spouse sings on, content ; HAD I LOVED YOU AND YOU LOVED ME. 157 And yet it burns thus in my brain, This though extravagant. Had I lov'd her in days of old, Had she in turn lov'd me, Her kiss would meet my lips to-night — Heigho ! wife, draw the tea. 158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, THE PENITENT. 1. One who hud serv'd the King- Strode from the throne- room with defiant eye, And gave his heart to hate and misery, And lifting: hi^h a bowl that once had known His monarch's touch, flung it with wrathful tone To where it fell in shards, sun-glittering. 2. One who yet lov'd the King, In tears next morrow knelt him where the light Fell on his mournful face, upturn'd and white. And said thro' trembling and in accents sweet, " Grant me consent this hour to kiss thy feet. Or all my life will yield to suffering. 3. "I do not seek, dear King, The tenderness you gave me yesterday, Knowing full well that wounded love will stray, Nor space to stand in w^hile I meet thy frown ; But only leave to cast me, weeping, down And greet thy footstool as a sacred thing." LOVE SONG. 159 LOVE SONG. "Love me little, love me lono-," Let this ever be mv sono- ; Love me when thy hopes are strong, Love me when, in guise forlorn. Grieving shatter'd dreams amon^-. Thou dost hear the world's rude scorn, Love me still thro' all thy wrong, "Love me little, love me lono-." "Love me little, love me lon^-," This my song shall ever be ; Love me, nor my ftiilings see, Love me with love's constancy ; Love me well and trustfully, Since I place all faith in thee ; — Love me long, and only me, "Love me little, love me lon^." 160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. EXILED AND ISOLATED. I. Not in our scenes of traffic, with the roar Of toil around thee, do I see thy face. But where the vines uplift their airy grace, And Tiber brave, as in the days of yore, In tawny glory doth its waters pour Around those walls built by a vanish'd race, Where, musing on the past, thy dreams replace Tower, arch and portal, gone forevermore. Thou art too noble for the things we see. Too fine to be of those who head the age, Nor is thy mind in fullest sympathy With the barbaric past thy thoughts engage ; Thou art, methinks, of the great men to be. Whom thou dost represent unconsciously. EXILED AND ISOLATED. 161 II. Nay, never among those who delve for gold, Doth fond imagination place thy fate ; But with the noble, in imperial state, Moving, as mov'd the dauntless knights of old, Silent, commanding, gracious, proudly cold. Yet loving, and in love most passionate, With glance to thrill, with touch to supplicate, A Lancelot of whom no shame is told. The lute responds beneath thy poet hand, And Science yields her secrets to th}^ skill. And Eloquence, who comes at thy command. Unites with Wisdom to obey thy will ; But none thy lofty nature understand. And thou art lonely in an alien land. 162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A GLANCE FORWARD. As a young girl at break of day Sweeps back the verdant drapery From her low casement's sunlit square, To thrust her small face eagerly Out past the vines to greet the morn, While the fresh dewdrops in a show'r Sprinkle her young head's gleaming gold. The while her form seems aureoled With glory such as angels wear ; — So Hope flings back the curtain gray That shuts her from a future day. Regardless of the bitter night Which clings about her heavily. And looking forward to the years, Sunlit and sweet as fields of June, That lie in wait with joys untold, Exults as Moses did of old Who gaz'd on Canaan from his height. TWO HEARTS. 163 TWO HEARTS. ON THE SHORE. I stand on the shore where the breakers roll, And the wind is wildly blowing, And a taper's gleam in a chamber low Thro' the wet is faintly glowing. 'Tis the lamp of my lady fair, Who unbinds the braid Of her amber hair Where the glass her charms is showing. Could I bend her will to my stronger will, By some fierce mesmeric power. She would cross the space between her and me. And be mine within the hour. Yea, and close to my burning heart Lay her soothing breast, And become a part Of the man her glance can cowei\ 164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Hark ! the wind moans on thro' the lonely wood, And the tide is still repining, And against the rain, thro' the naked trees, That flame is no more outshining. I wonder has she sought her bed, To dream of the clown Whom she soon will wed. Though my honest love divining? IN THE CHAMBER. I hate this man who thus rules my life. For I read his silent scorning, AVhen with careless nod he pass'd me by As we chanced to meet this mornins:. My brow grew hot — 'twas but the sun — And 1 glanced away To smile down on one Whom I loathe, too, for his fawning. Yet could I have fallen there at his feet. At the feet of my Soul's master. To beg but one touch from those handsome hands. While my pulses beat the faster, — Ah me ! ah me ! ah well-a-day, I will wed with Gold, And no lie shall say Of the bride, that love has pass'd her. TWO HEARTS. 165 ON THE SHORE. She slumbers, my lady, in calm disdain, With the jealous dark above her. And I who esteem her both false and cold, — 'Tis strange that I thus can love her. But then a man must be a man. And pursue his aims As a true man can , — So let me not wait to prove her. Yes, a man should keep to his course, I ween. Nor yield to a hope's deceiving. And test the faith of a faithless heart That is better in the leaving. IN THE CHAMBER. A woman needs must weep such tears. Who will miss his smile In the coming years — Well, he cannot see me grieving. 166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE UNATTAINABLE. As one who, tossing on an angry sea, Beholds with joy the morn and happy beach, So I, aweary, now within the reach Of restful days, lift up mine eyes to thee. O Land ! my Land ! I note thy valle3^s free. Thy woods and streams, thy hills forevermore Wreath'd with purple calm, and o'er and o'er My heart cries out for their tranquility. The nio^ht is nisch, and still I strive in vain To reach thy shores. Hope sinks her grief be- neath. For never world shall greet my gaze again, Akin, dear Clime, to thee. Thy perfum'd breath Steals from each sunlit slope and joyous plain, While I, alas ! drift out to dark and death ! A VOYAGE IN QUEST. 167 A VOYAGE IN QUEST. On summer seas and far away * The wind is rising in its joy, And gayly there the morning coy Is flinging colors bright and gray Along the ridges of the deep. The sea-gulls soar and downward sweep, With dauntless eye and steady wing, To breast the breakers that upfling Their foam-jets that to music leap, To ffreet the sunrise thro' the mist. And gorgeous flow'rs of amethyst. And red, and purple, loll and dream Where eyes of curious fishes gleam Like diamonds by the flame-light kiss'd, And reck not of our fading blooms. * Ou stormy seas and far away.— Burns. 168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And thro' the glory and the glooms That haunt those spaces far below, The sirens all a-roaming go To revel in the rich j)erfumes Distillino^ from the saline o^roves. And there they sing the idle loves Which move the heart of yearning man, And make their merry jest, and plan (Unheard of him who onward roves), And listen for the coming bark. And as its shadow huge and dark Glides o'er the mirror of their realm, They note the sailor at the helm. And lift a cr}'^ to bid him hark And peer into the mystic brine. " Behold ! " they sing, in strains divine, " Th}^ life's ideal waits to greet The coming of thy princely feet ; Reach out thine arms and claim her thine," — And thus the god stirs in his breast. For, like to Memnon, night-oppress'd. Who feels the slowly dawning rays Pierce earthward through the lifting haze, He vibrates with a strange unrest, The melody of love's new light. A VOYAGE IN QUEST. 169 " Behold ! " they sing, " upon thy sight She shall arise, if thou wilt go To where the waves adoring flow Around her charmed palace white " — And oh ! he leaps into the spray ! On troubled seas and far away The wind is moaning in its pain ; The sea-gulls mount and call in vain To rouse the slowly dying day, And night comes on, and all is still. 170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. STORM FANCIES. Song. The sleet beats down on the granite crags O'erhung by a sombre sky, And the snow is white in the churchyard old, Where the corpses frozen lie ; And a ship speeds on through the icy dark, While the breakers round her leap, And is driven far on the cruel rocks, There to sink at last in the deep. The wind is loud on the hill, And wild on the stormy shore. For a day is lost in the wintry past. To be found no more, no more. The Earl lies dead in his palace home, Bemoan'd by a stately train, And a maiden sobs with a breaking heart In a lone hut on the plain ; STORM F'ANCIES, 171 And a huntsman sleeps by his weary hounds To dream of their bootless quest, While the stag reels on thro' the desert wood With the wound in his throbbing breast. The wind is sad on the hill, And low on the mournful shore, For a child has gone down a silent track, To return no more, no more. 172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ''HERCULES." Out upon the sunny seas Sailed the young man Hercules — For at times he bore the name Given him in sportive jest By the friend who lov'd him best, — Not the giant known to fame. Strong of limb and heart was he, Sensible, and just, and kind, With an innate modesty. And a free, contented mind. Lover of the baby folk. And the story, and the joke. Just a man, and nothing more : Patient — honest to the core. Full of manly thoughts and ways, Heeding Duty when she bade. Nor of homely work afraid, — Thus had pass'd his quiet days. "HERCULES." 173 Those who saw him on the deck (Dreaming not of storm or w^reck) Ere the vessel put to sea, Spoke the parting word of cheer, Saw the water flowing clear, Went their course contentedly. And the ship adown the bay Like a sea-gull sped aw^ay, With its sails outspread for joy, With the sound of rope and chain And the sailors' light refrain. And their welcoming "ahoy ! " Rockino^, dancins: in the lio^ht, Waving high its colors bright, Churning up the glinting foam, — Thus the ship with all at ease, Bore the hopeful Hercules Far from kindred and from home. Stands he now with thoughtful face, While his eyes no longer trace Dear familiar hill and down. And the rich horizon's hue Paints the w^ave a softer blue And the isles a fairer crown. 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Slowly o'er the lonely seas Drifts the shipwreck'd Hercules ; For the storm has spent its might, And above its sobbing moan Shines the luminous white stone Of the Sisyphus of night. And a track of glory gleams, Like a pathway seen in dreams, On the gently swelling wave, And that moonlight to his face Adds with calm a finer grace As he drifts him to his grave. From the shadow to the glow Sweeps the raft with motion slow, Aided by no guiding rod. And the night beholds him there, With the soft, dishevelled hair, Kneelinii' like a stricken ^i^od. O believing Hercules ! Thus, while on thy bended knees, With thy grand uplifted head And thy bare and massive chest, Heaving with a prayer's request, Godhood was around thee shed ! "HERCULES." 175 For that glory and that gleam Wrapt thee o'er as in a dream (Never brighter shone the wave), As, with deep, appealing eyes Gazing at the heedless skies, Thou didst calmly seek thy grave. O forsaken Hercules ! Cold the stars are, and the seas, And the grave heeds not despair — For the strong but draw life's breath Bravely thus to cope with death — Vain is faith, and vain is prayer. 176 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE CHILD. Sunlight and morning, and a lofty cliff Rising above a cataract whose spray Is toss'd out in a skein until its thread, Caught by the breeze, is wound around the rocks And tangled in the alders. Far below, The green of branches and the scent of fern. And jagged rocks cover'd with mosses sweet. And starr'd with blooms unnumber'd ; and the breeze Swaying the grasses by the stream until, Bending, they touch the foam ; and far on high Tile clouds, the dazzling blue, the silver sun. Look thou ! my Fancy ; for along the path Sweet with the dew there comes a happy child Loit'ring with song adown the pleasant way. And pausing oft with bright uplifted eyes To watch the robin passing, or to pluck Some nodding blossom, or to hear the roar Of the white waters dashing down the steep. THE CHILD. 177 High up the cliff — that fragrant shaft that rears Its green above the torrent, while the sun Pours forth its yellow flood, and while the wood Sends through its depths a moan — she makes her way ; Nor pauses till, upreaching her small hand, Dimpled and warm, she grasps the flow'rs that swino^ Bell-like above the chasm, while her eyes, Dilated, soft and eager, smile with joy. She holds them in her clasp, and strives to draw Her white length upward, lying on the verge Of that dread torrent, while its waters roar Like to a beast anhunger'd, and the saints High up in heaven draw from their harps of gold One long melodious strain of warning clear. And pause with pallid faces and arise, Shudd'ring, — but strong and trustful. And the child. Holding her prize, crawls upward, and at last On bended knees, while all her wealth of curls Veils the flush'd face, pulls at the stubborn stalk. Which cleaves in pity to its rocky bed, — And then ! — there is a crash of boughs, a sound Of dashing waves, a shriek of startled birds 178 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Rising from out the vale with shatter'd i)himetj, A moaning of the forest deep and old, A sadd'ning of the hours that trace their path Still nightward, keeping their slow course along That watery bier, and gazing in its depths Vainly, and passing on in spectral tile, — And from life's heights a lily pure as snow Has fallen, crush'd, into the grasp of death. THE DUKE. 179 THE DUKE. They bore him down the marble stair, The duke whose face was stern and cold, And in a barge with stealthy care They floated past the guarded wold ; And, like to white Elaine of old. He kept in death a regal air. The blood was on his shapely hand. And on his breast, w^here oft a head Had lain, — the lady of the land, — In the sweet days forever dead, — As dead as was her love, 'tis said, — And now she could his look withstand. No word of pleading or of scorn Broke from the lips that once had sung Of honor and of righted wrong. And dame who loathes the flatt'rer's tongue ; But there he lay with blood outflung, — A signal to the pow'rs withdrawn. 180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. That blood was on his mantle bright To mingle with its costly dyes ; And thro' the dusk and hush of night His jewels fiash'd like wrathful eyes, As if his soul with fierce surprise Had burst the llesh and changed to sight ! The last of all a noble race, He slept, forgetful of his fame, And on the proud reposeful face The solemn moonlight went and came, And seem'd to breathe a Roman name Which glory yet delights to trace : For like to Caesar in his fate, — The traitor's thrust, the mantle rent, Yet to the last supremely great, — For such know not of vanquishment, Save when they learn that faith is spent, - He floated on, o'erwatch'd by Hate. On ever with the mournful tide Which sough'd around the burden'd bark. And seem'd to writhe in wrath, and glide, — A serpent huge, — athwart the dark, As if to guard his bier and mark How death that brow hath deified. THE DUKE. 181 The wind crept sobbing from the heath, And swept the track of barren shore, Nor smote those vilest things that breathe, — A faithless wife, a paramour, — But slowly and with rev'rence bore That corse alono- the cliff beneath. o Doom spoke from out the desert night, And from the bleak and sw^ollen ford, While vengefully a castle's light Cut through the mist, — a flaming sword, — Nor did they heed the warning word, Nor read the ruddy sign aright. It glitter'd on the awful tide, — That blade athirst for dastard gore, As keen as that which long with pride The valiant hiofh Kino- Arthur wore, Until in grief he sought the shore And fluno- it to the waters wide. *& And like to one who waits to see The battle surHng: to its close. Content with wounds since victory With roar and carnage onward flows. So he, the noble, lay, nor rose ; For patient in his death was he. 182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The last of all a noble line Of warriors bold and statesmen keen, By lonely rock and grieving pine He drifted on with changeless mien, And fitfully the folds between Those jewels shone in colors fine. But hark ! the rushing of the deep That thunders onward to the vale, O'erleaping in its might the steep While the twain shudder and are pale ; And oh ! they shriek ; and oh ! they wail. And strive their steady course to keep. The night is drear ; the night is chill ; The cataract is fierce and strong ; And lo ! from over plain and hill There comes with speed a spectral throng, - A kindred brave departed long, — To see how ven£:eance can fulfil. It rocks toward the giddy verge. That boat which holds the murder'd knight, And far and wide along the surge The luna torch now flino^s its lio-ht : And see ! — his face so stern and white ! And list ! — the waters chant a dirge ! THE DUKE. 183 The last of all a dauntless kin, — 'Twas meet that thus the end should be, With night without and death within lie yet retained the mastery. And gloriously avenged was he Amid the horror and the din. The moonlight pours along the strand Where roll the breakers hour by hour. And like a sword, o'er sea and land, A light is flaming from his tow'r, And she, bereft of life's warm dow'r, Drifts, with a dagger in her hand ! 184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SEA-CHARMED. Sing thy song, O happy sea, Lift to light thy mighty waves, And keep ward incessantly O'er thy dusky caves. One there is both deep and wide. One there is both wide and deep, Where, alone yet satisfied. My belov'd doth sleep ; — Sleep and smile in pallid calm With the seaweed o'er her dress. And one soft and veined arm Swept by richest tress. On her lily lids the light Never falls with pressure rude, Nor do restless winds at night Vex her solitude ; — SEA-CHARMED. 185 Though with wizard charm they whirl Swiftly round her coral bed, Winding there thy waves of pearl Like a skein of thread. O'er the roof and o'er the door Hangs the mystic net they form, Sway'd and torn forevermore By the trampling storm. Sing thy song, thou watchful sea, Weave thy spell with closer care. For the monsters envy me, Knowing she is fair. Hark ! they throng around the cave, Hark ! they seek the roof of stone, And the vilest of thy wave Claims her for his own. O my Goddess, safe in death, O my Saint, my all in all, Colder lie, nor let a breath Answer to their call. Dream not, wake not, only rest. With the seaweed o'er thee cast, And one white hand on thy breast — Faithful to the last. 186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE FLIGHT OF MADELINE. Ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. — Keats. PORPHYRO. Wrap closer thy soft mantle, for the sleet, Pierces like steel, while over us the night Drives its dark chaos. MADELINE. Tenderly thy hand Folds over mine as down the moor our steps Press through the storm to cross the rushing ford, Guided by yon long beam of ruddy light. Slanting athwart the tempest from that tow'r Rear'd by my people in the days of old ; And lifting now its sphere above the din Of the vast hall where Hildebrand, the churl. And fierce Lord Maurace fingering his sword, Seek me among the dancers. Dost thou hear The music sursfino: throuHi the s^usts of wind. Now low like mutter'd warning, and then shrill. Like cries of anger blended with a rush. Like footsteps of pursuers ? THE FLIGHT OF MADELINE. 187 POEPHYRO. Xay, the waves Crashing among the rocks vrhere the long pass, A dusky arm reaching across the current, To grasp the wood beyond it, cheats thy senses. MADELINE. Surely, dear Porphyro, we must not tread. On such a night as this, a way so fraught With peril. On that bridge, vvrench'd by the storm, My sire, the Baron, trod but a week past — PORPHrRO. But the hound plunged and sav'd him. Cease thy fears. And trust to the sure step and steady nerve And the undaunted heart of Porphyro, Who henceforth is thy dog, thy slave, thy tool. Thy lord, thy master. Turn thee from the storm, xind lean one moment's space thy beauteous head For respite on this breast. Dear, thou art spent With the long struggle thro' this angry wind. Envious of my possession. In the wood Beyond the stream's dark breadth the hermit's roof. Which shelters a just man and faithful priest, Shall hear within the hour our bridal vows. 188 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MADELINE. 'Tis well : I trust thee fully, and commit With joy into these hands I cannot see, My happiness, my honor, yea, my life, To do with as thou wilt. PORPHYEO. Thank God, belov'd, None in thy father's halls, whose flaming lamps No longer blaze behind us, feel the pride Of lineage like thy Porphyro, by thee Love-knighted. Lo ! the stream sounds at our feet. And w\aters toss their spray with furious force High in our faces. . . . Thus ! cling to my strength . . . How the bridge trembles ! . . . but the course is straight . . . And we could cross in safety tho' this darkness Wrapt us with thicker folds. MADELINE. O Love, I fear me, This tempest is so wild, the river roars So far beneath us, and the dark — THE FLIGHT OP MADELINE. 189 PORPHYEO. Be strong ! Mine arm sustains thee. Yonder star of fire, Outshining like a jewel through the rain, Is our friends' promis'd beacon. MADELINE. I have lost The courage of my race ; it is not thus Those of my house meet danger, they are brave And worthy of their father's — PORPHYRO. Hark ! great Christ ! The bridge is breaking . . . Help ! MADELINE. O Porphyro, I fell clasp'd to thy breast . . . Dead ! holy Saints ! Let me not loose mine arms. . . . He drags me down By his cold precious weight, to know the rest Of death's white nuptile chambers, and these waves. Bleak, icy, fierce, will watch above our sleep Like sentries. How his blood pours without pause 190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Over my breaking heart from the bruis'd brows ! I clasp him thus — and thus sink — SPIRIT OF THE STORM. Ye are blest.! SECOND SPIRIT. Yea, death is sweet, sweeter by far than love. THE UPAS TREE. 191 THE UPAS TREE. I. The upas tree, the upas tree, Tossiug on high its branches free While winds are roaming carelessly : Its leaves alight with th' India sun, By its kisses warm are play'd upon Until they thrill and glow with fire, And tremble at its fierce desire. Beneath the sod, thro' wet and dry. The rootlets brown entangled lie. Safe hidden from the passer by, — A matted net where worms at play Writhe in and out the livelong day. Like fishes through the seaweed brown. Floating the dreamy tides adown. And none bespeak it scornfully. This lordly, lofty upas tree, This pride of years so brave to see. Nor sunbeams bright that, hour by hour, Rain on its leaves a ofolden show'r, And, waver'd by the zephyr's breath. Drip idly to the sands beneath ; — 192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Nor clouds that pause to hear the breeze Smo^ to its bouo^hs their melodies Learnt on the distant spicy seas ; Nor birds that, circling o'er its height, Drop, panting, in a strange delight, Nor they, the buds, aflame with gold, That ope and — wither to behold. n. The upas tree, the upas tree, It swung aloft right royally As the lio;ht faded from the lea, When slowly, and like one oppress'd, A minstrel sought its shade to rest, And pour upon the passing day The burden of his pensive lay. He sat him down, and to the air He bar'd a brow so regally fair That glory seem'd to crown him there ; To smile as once she did of yore, (When Dante cross'd her portal o'er), And whisper of the fame sublime Which rings triumphant over time. He swept the lyre, and soon the strong Swift rushino; of the tide of sono: Bore his euraptur'd soul along. THE UPAS TREE. 193 Aye, bore it, throbbing, far away On music waves where rosy day Looks on Hesperides the blest, Low lying in the realm of rest. Away ! away ! like mountain wind. Which none may claim and none may bind. Though high of state and firm of mind, Upborne by godlike ecstasy. That spirit proud — so wild — so free — A bird escap'd from prison bars — Sped dawn ward past the chilly stars. III. The upas tree, the upas tree. Who grieves its deadly work to see, Or thinks to name it mournfully Since when that poet, nobly bred, Bar'd to its dews his comely head. And left a form so sweetly made To consecrate its fateful shade? 194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE LOVE OF A PRIEST. I. In a palace where the light Beats on banisters of oak, And a line of stately stairs Spread with carpet crimson bright, Stands a lady clad in white. Lovely as a dream is she, With the laughter in her eyes, And the shapely head upturned, As she standeth silently, Careless as the proud can be. II. In a chamber long and low. With the moonbeams' ghostly noon Pouring through the casement square, On a martyrdom and woe Keen as that of long ago, — THE LOVE OP A PRIEST. 195 Kneels a priest with none to hear : "O my Love, I love thee well, But thv heart is cold as stone. And thy eyes, however clear. Know nor grief nor smiles sincere ; — "And thy voice, though sweet in tone, Has but scorn and mockery For the creed ni}^ fathers knew, And thy bosom's snowy zone Throbs but for the world alone. "Thou wert never made for me, Sorceress of dusky eyes, — Yet thy smile is like the dawn. And thou hast that majesty Which in anoelhood we see. » "For thy life, once met with mine. Would be nightshade to my days ;* While thine arms of dimpled flesh Did their loveliness entwine Round me with the thrill of wine, — "When, enrapt in fatal spell. With thy heart against my own. Drunk, delirious with sin, ■ By the laws of their Church, priests are forbidden to marry. 196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Down the awful steeps of hell We should reel to torture fell, — " Nay, 'twould not be punishment — In the depths of sufF'ring fierce. With the glory of thy face Lighting up hell's firmanent, How could I for heaven lament ? • • • • • • • "Mother, lenient and pure, Christ, who knew the stern travail, Martyrs, who met bliss thro' fire. Help thy servant to endure. Nor at bitter ftite demur ! "Tho' my heart break with the stress. While my joy is rent in twain. And the blood pour from my brows Where the thorns incessant press In this hour of wretchedness ; — "While my Soul in awful strife With the senses is upheld, Bleeding, on the cruel cross. Help me to resign — my life — Vanish, tempter ! — she my wife! " THE LOVE OF A PRIEST. 197 III. In that chamber rich and old, Flooded with the lunar glow, Gleams a heavy cross of pearl Hanging by a chain of gold Strung with jewels manifold. Brightly burn the precious stones On the velvet of the pall, And the moonlight centres there, While the night-wind rising, moans, Blended with the sea-dirge tones. And in yonder halls the dance Speeds the careless hours along. And a woman all in white Moves with haughty negligence And serene bris^ht countenance. 198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. thp: lady and the rose. I. A lady stands with haughty gaze, Clad in a snow of silk ; Around her throat great jewels blaze, And on arms, as white as milk. She holds a red red rose Against her scornful lips. While a sunset faintly glows. And a lone ship seaward dips. Speak, lady, to bid him stay, Smile, lady, thy rose beneath, For dark comes down, and ships are lost, And love grows cold in death, Aye, forever and aye. II. THE ROSE AND THE LADY. A rose droops on a royal breast. And deems that breast is stone. While she who once its bloom hath press'd Sleeps on in state alone. THE LADY AND THE ROSE. 1 99 'Tis but a red red rose, And yet it grieves to feel That her bosom is less cold to death's Than to Love's divine appeal. Speai?^, lady, and say forgive. Weep, lady, my leaves beneath. For dark came down and ships were lost, And love grew cold in death — But I, Love's flow'r,* yet live ! * I, a rose, Love's flower. — *' Ouida." 200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LOOKING DOWN. A BALLAD. Part First. 1. I gaze from my chamber window broad Down on the steeps of glittering snow, To where, in the twiligiit's tawny glow, A shepherd climbs with ashen rod, And sturdy step whose sound I know. 2. Strange how he watches our castle grim Piercing the air with tower and wall. As swords in the hands of warriors tall Cut through a buckler to the limb Till the victim reels in the act to fall. 3. He made the sign of the holy cross, And bent his head as in prayer devout. LOOKING DOWN. 201 And now he has turn'd him round about To descend apace, as if to cross The valley the while the stars shine out. 4. Why do I wish to call his name And bid him mount to my very door? — To touch his brawn, and see once more His splendid eyes light up with flame To vex my memory o'er and o'er. 5. 'Twas noon, methinks, when the saddle bent As the steed sped wildly down the height. And he, in his shepherd garb bedight, Tore through the fen — my strength w^as spent, And I, for one moment, stunn'd and white, 6. Lay in the arms as strong as oak. Why does that strange and burning thrill Sting and perplex and shame me still, As it did at the moment I aw^oke Cow'd for once by a firmer will? 7. His beard sw^ept on my cheek and stung My face to flame, till his dark grave eyes 202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 8. "Pardon, Princess," he said, — and then My people came with hawk and hound, And drew a circle us two around Of pallid women and anxious men ; But he left us there with bow profound. 9. And Clifford, the Earl, dismounting press'd To where I stood distraught and meek, And watching the crimson flame my cheek. He said, "'Tis a i^oyal maid we seek. Hast seen her?" and smiled at his own dull jest. 10. The hunters, seeing me safe and strong, Laugh'd and wheel'd and gave the whip, While Clifford thrust out his nether lip As thouo^h he detected somethino: wronof By my rumpled garb and torn plume's tip. 11. For jealous he is and of savage blood. Though he came of a house as old as mine, — Noble all — in unbroken line. With not a speck of plebeian mud On their pure escutcheon's argent shine. LOOKING DOWN. 203 12. He lean'd on his charger's dripping flank Till a page came up with my meeken'd roan, And I, who had not a fiiult to own Save that which came of an equine prank, Shrank from his gaze with lids that sank. 13. We rode in silence to where the gate Leads to these towers m}^ fathers made, And once, with his hand on his swinging blade, As if with its edo-e he would extricate Some Gordian knot of mocking Fate, — 14. He stabb'd me again with cynic stare ; And I, in a sudden scorn and heat. Lifting the whip in saddle seat, Look'd on his face so cold and fair. And dealt him a blow I would not repeat. 15. He laugh'd while his eyes grew fierce and black, And I, dismay 'd at myself and him. Smote off* a spray from a thrifty limb Whose shadow play'd on his ample back, And over his length of stalwart limb. 204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Smote off a spray from a thrifty limb Whose shadow phiy'd on his ample back, And over his length of stalwart limb. 16. "Child," he said, as we slacken'd pace, "Were that wretch a man of my own degree, I would give his flesh to agony, Because you smiled so in his face, And because he dar'd to frown on me." Part Second. 1. Again I sit at my casement high While another sunset floods the west. And again there climbs on his aimless quest That shepherd my Soul could deify Were he but an oppressor, not an oppress'd ! 2. Were he clad in purple agleam with gold. And seated in state on a monarch's throne, I could kiss his feet, and with tears atone For hearts I broke in the days of old When I vanquish'd hearts for sport alone. LOOKING DOWN. 205 3. But he, a peasant, tbe child of shame, Unletter'd, humble, and brown with toil, The touch of whose finger-tip would soil The fabric line of a lady's fame Till it blacken'd to that which is honor's foil- 4. Paf ! yet I lean on this window sill. And watch him thus as he lifts his head. With the light behind him flaming red, Where he stands on the brow of yonder hill, The murky valley beneath him spread. 5. Always with face upturn'd and grand. He looks where our banner meets the gale. And I seem to feel his strength prevail Over a pride that could erst withstand A noble's suit that may yet avail. 6. Can I, yea, dare I, to such as he Yield the love which an earl has miss'd, Lie on his breast and to dreams be kiss'd?- By one who has but integrity And comeliness — chut ! not so, I wist. 206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 7. And yet could my heart once have its choice, I would dwell no move on heights serene, And Donald musing with pensive mien Would start and flush, and mayhap rejoice At a touch, a look his dreams between. Fakt Third. 1. He came, we met, — it was all by chance, — I stole from the riotous masquerade And swept from the lawn to the tir trees' shade Vex'd by the Earl's stern countenance And a stinging angry mot he made. 2. The music rolled through the open door. And the light shed down its ruddy glare On the line of birches gray and bare^ Thrashino' their branches with a roar As they met the gusts of upper air. 3. I sat by the little pond that lies Like an oval glass in a dingle small, Watching the lamp-rays o'er it fall, And hearing the bagpipes' symphonies As the dancers reeled in the noisy hall. LOOKING DOWN. 207 4. Scarcely a moment had spent its sands When the snow was crush'd by a coming tread, And Donald, baring his handsome head, Fell at my feet with outstretch'd hands To kiss the hem of my mantle red. 5. " Mother of God ! " I heard him pray, x\nd the words were panted on the air From his stress of passion, hope, despair, — "Forgive this sacrilege, nor slay — O Love, my Love, for thee I dare ! " 6. He ended, and the music's tone Grew fainter, fainter on the wind. And I, a-tremble, dumb and blind. Knew only grief to joy had grown. And that but once true love we find. 7. I knelt me there with burning tears, And lifted to my breast his head, And wept, " Dear Heart, be comforted ! Love, the divine, has made us peers. And all my foolish pride is dead." 208 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 8. He rose as victors rise, and stood Transfigur'd, kingly, fair as Sol ; And then — dear Christ ! I heard him fall As pine tree topples in the wood, For Clifford lept the garden wall. Part Fourth. 1. The moonlight shows our castle gray, With its stately banner waving free Where shadows flow incessantly. And Donald is many a mile away. While Cliff*ord, the Earl — ah me ! 2. Yestermorn, in peasant guise, I rode by stealth to the town below, Keeping the rude path thro' the snow. To feast once more my hungry eyes On a haggard face I know. 3. His forehead bore the brand of Cain, His hands were red, his heart was stone ; But there, in the dungeon gloom alone, I held him close in my arms again. Claiming him all my own. LOOKING DOWN. 209 4. And he, undone by a woman's kiss, Couch'd, and sobb'd, and strove to pray. Clutching my robes in his agony : "Princess, angel, a love like this Could wash the world's crimes away." 5. At dawn — but why do I grieve me still? — The strong can bear, the brave can die, Gaining eternal peace thereby, And Justice, they say, must have her fill. So murders for murder legally. 6. Donald, my Donald, I sit alone. Nor climb again the lonely tower To greet our sunset's trystal hour. Since love for sin cannot atone, And prayer hast lost its power. Part Fifth. 1. CliiFord, my Earl and lover bold. Thy face is white and scornful yet, And thy lofty brow in ringlets set Bears the selfsame haughty mould It did on the day when first we met. 210 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 2. I kiss thy lips and leave thee, dear, And pass from the sombre vaulted hall Where the candles flickering near thy pall Glance on a naked sword and spear Hanging there on the dusky wall. 3. Sleep, my warrior, for sleep is best, However the battle roll its din — For at most we only fail or win And then lie down for the welcome rest, — What matter how soon that rest begin ? BEFORE THE KING. 211 BEFORE THE KING. She stood before the king, The outcast who had sought the pahice gate, And with an air serene Gaz'd on his countenance, As if to read, perchance, His by-gone fate. Silence is in the room. And in the wond'ring eyes of those who look Are scorn and wrath and dread ; For none in all that throng Of daring and of strong His gaze can brook. Yet she, despis'd and lone, Clothed in rags, and faint with want and pain. Stood up with fearless air. With somewhat of his arrace Upon her pallid face. And his disdain. 212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. "Thy wish?" he said, and rose, Unconsciou8 of the tone and action bland, (For grief was in his voice, And in his bearing high Was less of mastery And stern command). "No wish had I, O King, Save but to see thy face," the woman said, And turn'd her steps about, And down the gorgeous hall Deck'd for the festival. She went with drooping head. She pass'd into the night. Her strength was low, her mind with grief o'er fraught. And through the falling rain She wept (for none could heed) : " Thou art the king indeed Whom I have sought. "Once, in some other life. Some happier and long-forgotten reign, Methinks I knew that smile, And found upon thy breast The warmth, the joy, the rest, I crave in vain." BEFORE THE KING. 213 The monarch sought his couch, And lay him down to dream of woodhmd nooks, And pleasant song of birds. And boughs that trail their green Above the dimpled sheen Of gliding brooks. " No wish have I, O King, Save but to see thy face," the vision spake, " And touch thy blessed hand. And be, when ill betide. Thy comforter and guide. For love's dear sake ! " 214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. TOaETHER IN THOUGHT. A sea rolls between us, — Our different past ! — Matthew Arnold. Alone in my chamber I sit as in trance, While the moon on yon water seems leading a dance, And the pines clash their boughs with a musical roar As the waves with a shout drive their steeds to the shore. The fire on the hearth and the stillness combine To link for one moment my spirit with thine, While the flesh seems to fall and the earth roll away. And we stand wrapp'd around in divine sym- pathy. Thy face in the darkness grows vivid and fair, With the blue in thine eyes and the gleam on thy hair. And I reach out my arms, — but to start with a moan. And stand here anhunger'd, despairing, alone. TOGETHER IN THOUGHT. 215 Thy brow, my beloved, is noble and white, Thy stature superb, as befitteth a knight : And thy voice like a song would ring on in the heart Though thy body decay'd and of dust made a part. Again for one moment I call thee, and lo ! Thou treadest the shadows majestic and slow With steps that rebuke, and with looks that command. Till I kneel in remorse and reach out for thy hand. "No, never! no, never! Begone from my sight ! Thou knowest the vale, and I dwell on the height, And our past holds a curse for the day when thy face Shall flush on this breast w^here another has place. " Forever and ever that past shall hold sway While we circle the course of our soul's destiny ; And thy love is as vain as the love of the rose Which yearns to unfold where the gods find repose." 216 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " A MAN OF THE WORLD." He enters on the crowd, Gnive, stately, cold as stone. Bending his haughty head In salutation. What imperial grace, What ease, what languor, what disdain we trace. As though his inmost feelings spoke aloud ! A woman's pleading glance Follows him all the white, As her small fino:ers close Convulsively around her scented fan. Her very being trembling as the man Moves onward, slowly, with indifference. He casts no backward look To where, with burning eyes And face death-white and sweet, She stands, — to see no other in that throng Save only him, her master, worshipp'd long. Who reads her longing as one might a book. A MAN OF THE WORLD. 217 His busy days require Nothing which love supreme Would find it joy to give ; For, wrapp'd in cold ambition's ruthless schemes, His life no longer thrills to tender dreams Since, crowned with fame, he has outliv'd desire. 218 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MOAN THROUGH THE PINES, WIND ! Moan through the pines, O Wind ! vvith saddest tone, And seek the lonely shore Where rolls the wintry wave, and there alone Thy heavy grief outpour. For from the world a light has pass'd away We thought could never wane, And from the sky a star has sunk for aye Whose glorj^ shone in vain. TO A WHITE ROSE. 219 TO A WHITE ROSE. Rose, O proud white Rose, Dewy and rich mid sweet. Swaying all day in a garden bright, Fann'd by the breeze from the singing brook, And caressed by the summer heat ; 1 watch thy charms and see With a jealous pang the throng Who covet with me the fragrant prize They dare not clasp with impious touch, — And I would have done thee a wrong ! I, who adore thy grace, Rose of the waxen leaf, Whom the saints of song would joy to bear Through the Eden-gates — thou pure, thou white, — Would have sullied thy day with grief! 220 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ay, ill that morning time, Far from the throng apart, I strove to pkick thee with daring hand, And claim thee, sweet, for a bloomless life, — But thy thorn ran into my heart. And there, unseen of all, Dear Flow'r, the soul's desire. Will it rankle long in bitter pain Till a rose is born of crimson dye Whose dew is of blood and of fire. Wave on thy haughty stem. Thou whom the winds adore, And shake my tears from thy stainless leaves. Nor forgive that hope, nor lift thy ftice As I o^o to return no more. GUY. 221 GUY. She wept by the garden gate, While Guy rode over the hill, And the colors of the sky Shone low in the water still, And the hilltops caught the light Of that June sunset bright. And down in the valley dank Were the grasses sweet and tall, And blossoms nodding their heads To the dancing waterfall, And the cool of coming dew, Breathing the cedars through. A-breathing the cedars through, And stealing across the lake To the woodland dim with shade. And luscious with fern and brake. And branches that mov'd all day In a slow, dreamy way. 222 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Aye, Guy rode over the hill, Nor knew that the maid was there — Where the bees sang through the bloom Of the lilies tall and fair, And the day with glory old Sank through the depths of gold. He dreams of the future years, And thino's that will make thom blest. And Strength and Hope are the guides That beckon him to the quest, And his eyes, so soft and bright, Tell now his thoughts are light. Tell now his spirit is light. As forth he rides to the goal — While slowly the night comes down To darken her woman's soul, To cover the blossoms gay Of her love's summer day. Ah me ! life's tide flows onward, A pitiless fate beneath ; Our hopes are but beacons bright To light us the way to death. While we search in vain to find The fi^ood we left behind. AFTER LONG YEARS. 223 AFTER LONG YEARS. 1. Kneel here by my bed With sobs long drawn ; Yet 'tis well with me, — By to-morrow's dawn, — Though joy May my life prolong. 2. True, the years have been Full of dull heartache While we waited, watch'd, For our love's dear sake, And now How old hopes awake ! 3. Yes, thy beard is white. And my hair is gray, And our youth is dead , — Ah well-a-day ! — Hush ! dear, Sob not, nor pray ; — 224 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 4. But assert thy strength And endure thy fate, Nor believe that earth Will be desolate When Death Opes for me his gate. 5. Here within this room, Where the sunset's gold Strikes athwart the dusk, Through the curtain's fold, Love's tale Is with tears retold. 6. And I feel at peace With the world and thee, Since once more thine eyes Fondly gaze on me, For dear Is fidelity. 7. And I ask no more At this final day. Nor regret the years AFTER LONG YEARS. 225 Which have found decay, Nor shrink From my destiny ; — 8. For to know thee true, — Ah ! so sweet it seems, — Kiss my lips, dear Heart ! Into death's fond dreams ; This hour All our past redeems. 9. There ! I stroke thy head As in days of yore, Feel thy blessed tears Kain my eyelids o'er : Farewell, Love, forevermore ! 226 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE EAGLE AND HIS MATE. Upon the sea-shore's chilly sand A wounded eagle d^-ing lay. And slowly from his royal heart, His heart of fire, life ebb'd away ; And slowly to his dauntless eyes The dark of death came trembling down, While the solemn sea All dolefully Sent from its realm the ever-moanino- tide To pour along the rocks a monody. Above the pines in vestal robes The tinted clouds went softly on, And from the fields the incense sweet Stole upward to the morning sun ; And dreamily with music low The wind crept landward to the leaves, And the sparrow gray Sang airily With fluttering wings upon the slender stalk Which bent in adoration of the day. THE EAGLE AND HIS MATE. 227 And in an aerie 'mono: the craffs A patient mate with listening mien Sat hour by hour to watch a form Float homeward through the air serene ; Float fondly with a cheering cry Their downy brood with love to greet, To tell of things Which eagle wings Ak^ne can reach, as proudly they are spread To cleave the ether keen when day begins. And now upon the desert strand He dying la}^, and evermore The waves and wind and poplar leaves Sent their fine music as of yore, Sung of life's joy, and said, " Be free. Greet thou the morn and mount thy crags ! " And still his mate Full desolate Gave to their brood the kind maternal care. And heard the coming tide, nor dream'd of fate. And ever onward to the shore That tide crept in with steady flow, And morning broaden'd into noon With tints of pearl and buds ablow, And in the vale the scented grass 228 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Bent drowsily beneath the sun, And thro' its dream Beheld a stream Pass to the sea, and heard a murmur low Far outward where the breakers toss and gleam ; And heard that sea with purple waves Greet the warm tide, while from her nest An eagle waiting 'mong the rocks Beheld a form far down the west — Floatini? alonof the shinino^ brim Of ocean's verge — a speck of gray — "And O," she said, "Now thou art dead, The day is night, the warmth has changed to frost, And for life's bloom I have decay instead ! " A LIFE MISSPENT. • 229 A LIFE MISSPENT. A rose hung o'er the tinted wave, Its leaves faint with the summer heat, And strove with drooping stem to lave Its fragrance in the ripples sweet, Praying the wind a wave to toss To where it swung in golden moss ; — Till upward from its hidden lair TJie breeze came in a careless way, And, plucking at the petals fair. It toss'd them tideward scornfull}^ And said, "Thou fool, in death attain The good you spent a life to gain ! " 230 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. DIVIDED WAYS. Two walk'd together down a quiet way, Sportive as children are on holiday, When Fate, emerging from the pleasant wood, Said, "I am she who beareth ill and good : One means renown, wealth, ease, a stainless fame. The other labor, poverty and shame. Choose, happy children ! " and with chant pro- found She drew a circle slowly on the ground. The children enter'd at a sio^n she made, And one in sunlight stood, and one in shade. — Years sped, and to a palace in a vale A beggar came to tell a mournful tale, And a great lady gave her friendly heed, And threw her gold to satisfy the need : A lady who in childhood cross'd a line To stand in shadow while one stood in shine ; The suppliant who, hungry, worn and old, Pled of her mercy a poor bit of gold. "Behold!" said Fate, seeking that gorgeous room, DIVIDED WAYS. 231 "From sunshine one may enter into gloom ; From gloom another may emerge to light ; The future hy to-day none read aright." "Great Anofel," said the bes^o^ar, bendinof low, " What was my error that you gave me woe ? " "And what my merit?" cried the lady gay, "That all my days are spent in luxury? " "Dear Lady!" answerd Fate, "go bless your star, And judge by want how fortunate 3'ou are. Not merit wins my gifts, nor do they fall On those who prize their honor above all ; For were it so, my work were slight indeed. And many a pampered knave would be in need." 232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. DEATH THE ALL-PITYING. In Memory of Harold Clements. Sing on, O Death ! thy restful song, While stars shine out and winds are sweet, And woodlands roll the strain along As leaflets thrill and branches meet, And waters mild their strain repeat. And the young crescent on the sea Propels its shallop silently. Yon hills uprear their dusky tents, Yon valleys lift their flags of mist ; While down from heaven's blue battlements The shadows throng on kindly tryst. And Tellus' grieving lips are kiss'd To silence like to that which lies On him hush'd by thy melodies. I may not clasp the hand which late Was met in thine with trustful touch. Nor countermand the spell of Fate, Nor cease this grieving overmuch ; Yet well I know the world is such That he is better in thy keep, White-lidded in the calm of sleep. DEATH THE ALL-PITYING. 233 No lily drowsing on the wave, No swan of snow upon the stream, Nor blossom rich, whose petals lave The wind-tide in an idle dream, While rockinfi: slow from shade to 2:leam, Is wrapp'd like him in perfect rest Drawn from the poppies on thy breast. Dissolving back to deathless dust. His body lies redeem'd from pain, And Nature, the benign and just. Will re-create his life again, And he, exultant, shall attain Through all the centuries to be The good of immortality. In dewy blade and brilliant bloom. In sea-tides on a sun-swept shore. In buoyant gull with wind-toss'd plume. Will live the elements he bore ; Each atom drawn from out the store Which made that body on whose grace Is bent the pity of thy face. And while the worlds roll on their course. Thro' day and dark, thro' dark and day, I know that from the universe His life shall never pass away, 234 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Bat through new forms, from out decay, Evolve by stages manifold In bird of song and star of gold. Death, thou art kind, and in thy care No fear shall vex the child we knew. Nor sorrow seek him unaware To rob life's rose of scent and dew. And eat into its royal hue. Then wherefore grieve I while this night JNIoves past with patience infinite ? Sing on, O Death ! thy restful song. Which all at last shall joy to hear. Since hope is vain, and grief is strong. And evil reigns from year to year. And thou, thou only, canst bestow The rose which shall not lose its glow. THE body's immortality. 235 THE BODY'S IMMORTALITY. How my heart leaps up To think of that grand living after death In beast, and bird, and flow'r ! — Oscak Wilde. Doubt not of life eternal while the rose Blooms on the grave of leaves that once were f^xir, Nor think thy humble ashes shall repose Unheededly where darkness hath its lair. No, thou shalt rise again. Thro' dull decay Thy strength shall seek the sunshine and expand In gorgeous painted llow'rs whose stems shall sway Exultantl}'' beneath some morning bland, Breathing their dumb delight in odors sweet, And wooing the fresh dew with eager lips, And bending lusciously beneath the heat, Or smiling through the hush of day's eclipse. Think not, O doubting Flesh, that thou wilt be Consigned to stern oblivion, and no more Have part with being ; for mysteriously Thou shalt be shap'd to uses o'er and o'er. 236 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Nature esteems thee precious, and in all Her mvriacl moulds of life shalt thou be cast, From crimson-hearted rose, to cedar tall Bravinsr on barren crao^s the autumn blast. Thy beauty gleaming from the swallow's wing And from the robin's breast shall softly say : "Cease, Man, thy weary doubt and questioning. For thou shalt only change, not pass away." Thy blood in triumph through the hardy veins Of the wild stao^ shall throb in tumult sweet, And in the grasses on the sunny plains, Summer thy wondrous story Avill repeat. Lie down and take thy rest, and let the earth Enshroud thee in its quiet, as the dawn Covers the drowsy star at morning's birth, Nor vex thyself lest thou be left forlorn. Life, mighty Life, shall seek thee soon or late, To smile above thy sleep with tender eyes. Choosing from out her store a kindly fate And speaking thro' the gloom that one glad word, " Arise " ! IMAGININGS. 237 IMAGININGS. We trim the lamp and sit beside the hearth, While whirls the snow without and moans the wind ; But Thought sets forth a wider realm to find, And wanders with the storm throughout the earth. She sees new planets waking into birth To roll through awful space, while sounds the grand Old music of the spheres on every hand. To prove that strength and glory have no dearth. And then upon her ears there falls the sound Of life — the thi obbing, mighty life that flows Thro' lower channels — thro' that world of roots, Waiting amid the dark in calm profound — And that stern growth beneath sepulchral snows, Which from corruption draws its attributes. 238 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. WHITHER AWAY? Whither away, O Ship, Spreading thy sails of snow ? Soft are the clouds above, Bright are the waves below ; Whither with all thy weight Of precious freight ? Whither away, O Bird, Singing the grove along? Fleet is thy changing wing. Rare is thy wordless song ; Whither where happy nest Shall end thy quest ? Whither, O mortal Man, Treading the dusk of time ? Brave is thy longing heart. Strong are thy hopes sublime ; Whither, thro' all this strife We reckon life? ACROSS THE DESERT. 239 ACROSS THE DESERT. CHILD. Where goest thou, my father, while the night Circles around us with delirious heat. And the sands shudder 'neath thy fainting sight, And sting with agony thine aged feet. While thy scant locks, unkempt, tell of the way Dusty and long, and thy departing day ? FATHER. I go, my child, to seek a cavern vast In a strange country lying to the west. Where, one by one, the mighty of the past Have enter'd, groping for Oblivion's rest; Nor can I pause, tho' faint with thirst and pain. Nor, save a littl^ space, thy hand retain. CHILD. What ! wouldst thou leave me, father, thus, alone Amid the sands ? — while through the gloom I hear 240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The lion's roar striking yon brassy zone Of hollow sky, and, save the phantom Fear, And Hunger wan, and Toil with leaden eye And sullen brow, no other help is nigh. FATHER. Nay, child, to Lov^e I leave thee, and to Joy And high Ambition of the eagle gaze. Who, cheering thee, thy sorrow shall decoy As on thou treadest thro' their devious ways ; And tho' the night be long, and sear the land, Thoult scarcely grieve to miss thy father's hand. And think not that the dark to which I tend. Will quell a strength which long has cop'd with woe. Or that thy fear at worst can apprehend An ill more dire than those my journey know ; For he who long has bent life's load beneath. Can feel no terror of the pangs of death. THE ATHEIST AND THE FOOL. 241 THE ATHEIST AND THE FOOL. A jester sought his king one day, And merry made in quaint array, While sunshine on the palace fell, And banners wav'd with buoyant swell. The king, a heathen stern and bold, Spoke from his couch of silk and gold, As loyally his guests arose To pledge him at the banquet's close : "Go fool," he said, "to yonder wood, And prove to us that God is 'good,' Thy God who sits enthron'd on high And guides the years of destiny." The jester to the woodland wide Mov'd calmly with a mien of pride. And with him went the royal throng. Who woke the grove with jest and song, Watching the while with sneer and nod To mark the Christian seek his God. And as they gain'd an open space The monarch, smiling, slacken'd pace. For near him, in that lonely haunt, 242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Lay buried one who died of want ; While swiftly through the waning day A night-hawk bore a dove away. "List ! " said the king, in cynic mood, " Thou claimest that thy God is ' good ; ' And yet in nature naught we see Save only grim necessity. It heeds not youth's exultant fire, Which kindles only to expire, Nor yet the genius, starry-eyed, By toil and hunger crucified. Nor the brave love and virgin trust Butcher'd by brutal-hearted lust, And left to welter in its blood. To prove, mayhap, that ' God is good ! ' Nor doth it heed the cry for bread By helpless babes uncomforted, While plenty, clad in regal state. Dwells in the mansions of the great. Pause, fool, and con this lesson old : Faith cannot wrap thee from the cold, Or guard thy life from sin by day. Or bear at night thy pain away ; Nor can she, whatso'er befall, Shield thee from death, the end of all. Thy God is ' great,' and yet his pow'r Fails to bring back one fateful hour When I, a monarch, bent the knee, THE ATHEIST AND THE FOOL. 243 And pled with tears believingly ; I called, and lo ! there came no tone To thrill responsive to my own, Nor did He, though His sway is vast, Change at my wish the awful past." 244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. DOGGEREL. O thou who dreamest on the button mat, With glossy length stretch'd out before the fire, Thou who, methinks, in Nod-land dost aspire To better hones, forego thy phantom rat! The haggard Muse now holding out her hat, Demands a (^s)cent, that in a sonnet she May box thee up for Fame's menagerie — " Speak," Paugus mine, what thinkest thou of that? The dog-eared page can tell the tail divine In ^"^ how-wow style,^^ posterity to please, And while the dog-star doth above them shine, The ca /ime-knights will pledge thy name in w(}i)ine, Till dog-days shall govhq panting in yfiih. fleas, And make i\iQvajpaws to — hist, a hoy, a cat! A dog's soliloquy. 245 A DOG'S SOLILOQUY. From doghood into manhood, say the sages, I shall progress, with luck, in future ages — And strut and swagger with a walking-stick, And being drunk, announce myself as sick. And buying checks for Tophet, give it out That I shall journey by the Zion route, — The only way, they tell me, to get through The human role without too much ado. A man — who, being "noble," won't refuse My vote to barter for a pair of shoes, Or, having pared the orange of disgrace. To toss the rind into a woman's face. And greet society with friendly eyes, To hear how loudly it can stigmatize Not me, but one who holds me as her "king," Her "dear," her "idol," and that sort of thing, A man — to delve for gold, and lay it by For fools to wrangle over when I die ; To talk of virtue in a pious tone, While having not one atom for my own ; 24:6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To leave a, wife to mope day out and in While I down town the yarns of "business" spin. A man — well, well, I may be in the fog, But, really, I'd prefer to be a dog, — An honest dog thro' all progression's changes, However high the evolution ranges. grandmother's cupboard. 247 GRANDMOTHER'S CUPBOARD. I remember the cupboard prim and old, With its button forever loose, And the row of things on the upper shelf That were seldom put to use ; The bowl, as pink as a kitten's toes, In a corner by itself. And the teapot brown of the battered spout. That was king of the middle shelf. I remember the line of plates that stood Where the teacups made a group, And the antique ship on the spacious dish That was used for beans and soup. The " holder " rude and its pewter spoons That lean'd o'er the edge of glass. To crack dumb jokes with a merry leer At the bottle of "pepper-sass." For the bottle was lank and tinged with green, And its crown was made of cork. And the peppers their palmy days had seen When Adam began to walk. 248 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Hard by was the box that held the knives, And a magic it surely hid, For whenever Ave fumbled for a knife We got but a fork instead. I remember the little dumpy jug That seem'd to stare and grin, And the treacle-bowl and the dish for salt, And the pepper-box of tin ; And the pie plates crumpled at the edge, And the platter brave to see. With its Chinaman in a funny hat By a big cerulean tree. I remember the cooky-crock that stood Just under the tier of shelves, — And two lawless imps that seized the chance To scramble and help themselves ; For the button hung loosely on its nail And the door would open swing. And to rob a grandma old and fond Was so very fine a thing. A DAY IN »IARCH. 249 A DAY IN MARCH. I. At length the storm has ceased to snarl, and, as if to keep a tryst. O'er the inky spruces yonder breaks a dull light througli the mist. What forms grotesque those trees assume to the dreamer's languid gaze, Till a legion of fantastics seems to frolic through the haze ! There is a warrior gaunt and tall, with a sabre at his side, And with him is a sprightly lass, gay clad and gypsy-eyed ; While near them, with uplifted spears, are his comrades, wise and cool. Who attend the prancing veteran, and esteem him — an old fool ; And further, with their parasols unspread, yet raised on high. Is a group of raging vixens, whom no terms can pacify. 250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But behold ! the fog has lifted, and the phantom forms are fled, And a sober-minded woodland waves its blended tops instead. II. Here by the garden wall The elm trees tall Hold to the light At the tip of each spray A rain-bead bright. And here the sumach stark Feels through its bark A moisture creep. And thinks its torpid sap Has woke from sleep. III. And bits of ground begin to gleam Like island-tops above the snow (Dingy, dank and coarse of grain) ; And, with her brow against the pane. Yon child is counting them, I know, — And notes those brimming puddles small, Sunk like cups in a glare of ice. As though some Ganymede of air A DAY IN MARCH. 251 In friendly mood had left them there, — Clear bumpers fresh from Paradise. On-driven by the rising wind, Which sounds again its brumal cry, The water down the icy street Flows in a thin and crinkled sheet, While clouds are torn along the sky. How painfully the jaded steed Drags on his load with muscles taut, And swollen and distended joints, His ears two exclamation-points Against the harshness of his lot ! IV. Yes, this is a dav when the cat will sit On the rug's yarn rose, with look profound, And speckled green eyes, with a streak in each Which broadens and forms into pupils round ; Sit motionless save for the tail's black tip. Which subtly stirs and uprears its head, And curves and hearkens with snake-like grace, And straightens, and falls, and is quieted ; — 252 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. When the cock, bereft of his msolence, Strides by through the slush with a mien for- lorn, And never a glance at his draggled wives. And never a note from his lips of horn. SAL. 253 SAL. AFTER THE MANNER OF RALPH HO YT — WITH VARIATIONS. In the kitchen, where the doughnuts grow, Stood a weary maiden fresh from crjnng, (Woman's pastime in the day of woe), On a handkerchief her eyelids drying, — Sally Slow, In the kitchen, where the doughnuts grow. Faded gown and apron long and neat ; Boots as ancient as the times demanded; Hose of blue upon her little feet ; Lines of grief upon her visage branded, — All complete ! Faded gown and apron long and neat. Seem'd it natural she should be there. None to intermeddle, none to question. Or to guess the cause of her despair, Whether it was love or indigestion, Age or care ; — Seem'd it natural she should be there. 254 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. It was summer, when mosquitoes thrive. Busy hens were scratching up the barley, And the o^oslins^s had orone down to dive In a stream unknown to Peter Parley, — Chat and dive ; It was summer, when mosquitoes thrive. Near the d3^e-pot, where the stockings swim, Calmly reading, sat her noble brother ; (Sally's troubles never ruffled him, Though, 'twas said, they "worshipped" one another) , — Lazy Jim ! Near the dye-pot, where the stockings swim. I can see the picture to this day. Thro' the lapse of tijne and change of weather ; On the floor two kittens were at play. Worrying a ball of yarn together. — Far away I can see the picture to this day. SAL. 255 Lying gravely at his master's toes Was the house dog, with his paws before him, SDapping at the flies that hit his nose As they buzz'd and vacillated o'er him, — Icy nose ! Lying gravely at his master's toes. Jim was strong, and of a comely height, Sandy was his hair and blue his eye, sir. And his moustache was as black as night, For he used the very best of dye, sir ; Thrilling sight ! Jim w^as strong and of a comely height. He could prate of virtue and of truth. Prate of woman's sphere and right and duty. Teach the aged, lecture erring youth. Stare and smirk at any passing beauty, — Ay, forsooth ! He could prate of virtue and of truth. "Jim," said Sally, "I am sick of life; Drudgery for me is never ending ; Go abroad and bring you home a wife Who can do the ironing and mending." (Tone of strife.) "Jim," said Sally, "I am sick of life. 256 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. "She can fry the fritters to your taste, Be ^ correct,' and smile to be corrected, Do your bidding with a loving haste. Nor complain to find herself neglected ; Meek and chaste. She can fry the fritters to your taste. "List to me, my brother, I am old ; When her cares have brought her to dejection. Never cheer her with your niggard gold. Or a glimmer of your tame affection. She'll be sold ! List to me, my brother, I am old. " When the children vex her with their play. Or the soup is burnt beyond repairing. Tell her freely 'twas a sorry day When you met — and intersperse the swear- ing; Say your say When the children vex her with their play. "Twit her of a step she took amiss In the olden days when first you courted, And expatiate upon your ' bliss ' Since she came to you to be supported ! Think of this. Twit her of a step she took amiss." SAL. 257 In the kitchen, where the doughnuts grow, Her philosophy the maid expounded. Till the milk-pans, shining in a row. Groaned for Jimmy as he sat confounded. Jimmy Slow, In the kitchen, where the doughnuts grow. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 016 115 740 5 " ^^J