^^ 3535 .^87 S6 1893 m .^ ^«^ SONNETS BY H. CORDELIA RAY y 5 v NEW YORK 1893 y &t^ Copyright, 1893, By H. CORDELIA RAY Press of J. J. Little & Co. Astor Place, New York CONTENTS. To MY MOTHER, . . . .7 Life, ....... 9 Aspiration, . . . . . . n Incompleteness, . . . . -13 Self-mastery, . . . . . -15 NiOBE, .... . . -I? The two musicians, . . . . ■ ^9 The poet's ministrants, . . . .21 Milton, . . . . . . 23 Shakespeare, . . . . . -25 Raphael, . . . . . .27 Beethoven, . . . . . .29 TO MY MOTHER. JANUARY I, 1891. Sweet Mother ! rare in gifts of tenderness ! Thou who didst nurse my child-life into bloom, And for each native grace made ample room To blossom in love's light, — how can we bless The Power that gave thee to us ! In the stress Of life's great conflict, what could e'er illume Its mystic shadows and its deepest gloom, Like smiles and loving words from thee ! No less Than widest sunshine is thy sympathy. O precious Heart ! so rich in sacrifice. And — boon beyond compare — supremest love, May Heaven's choicest blessings rest on thee. Rarer than jewels of the costliest price ! And Peace brood o'er thy path like calmest dove ! 7 LIFE. Life ! Ay, what is it ? E'en a moment spun From cycles of eternity. And yet, What wrestHng 'mid the fever and the fret Of tangled purposes and hopes undone ! What affluence of love ! What vict'ries won In agonies of silence, ere trust met A manifold fulfillment, and the wet, Beseeching eyes saw splendors past the sun ! What struggle in the web of circumstance, And yearning in the winged music ! All, One restless strife from fetters to be free ; Till, gathered to eternity's expanse, Is that brief moment at the Feather's call. Life ! Ay, at best, 'tis but a mystery ! I** ASPIRATION. We climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart, And eager pulse, like children toward a star. Sweet siren music cometh from afar, To lure us on meanwhile. Responsive start The nightingales to richer song than Art Can ever teach. No passing shadows mar Awhile the dewy skies ; no inner jar Of conflict bids us with our quest to part. We see adown the distance, rainbow-arched, What melting aisles of liquid light and bloom ! We hasten, tremulous, with lips all parched. And eyes wide-stretched, nor dream of com- ing gloom. Enough that something held almost divine Within us ever stirs. Can we repine ? II INCOMPLETENESS. What soul hath struck Its meed of melody, From life's strange instrument whereon it plays ? Are the aspiring strains of weary days E'er gathered in their full intensity, Swelling a psalm incomparable, free To utter all their yearning ? Nay ! the lays Moan on inadequately, for the ways Of God in shaping souls we may not see. Mid baffled hopes we cry out in our need, And wrestle in the shadows, wond'ring when Such dissonance can e'er be sweet, and how. But soon the watching Father will have freed Our earthly ears to catch the music : then The chrism of perfect peace shall bathe each brow. 13 r*** SELF-MASTERY. To catch the spirit in its wayward flight Through mazes manifold, what task supreme ! For when to floods has grown the quiet stream, Much human skill must aid its rage to fight ; And when wild winds invade the solemn night, Seems not man's vaunted power but a dream ? And still more futile, ay, we e'en must deem This quest to tame the soul, and guide aright Its restless wanderings, — to lure it back To shoals of calm. Full many a moan and sigh Attend the strife : till, effort merged in prayer, Oft uttered, clung to — when of strength the lack Seems direst — brings the answer to our cry : A gift from Him who lifts our ev'ry care. 15 NIOBE. O MOTHER-HEART ! when fast the arrows flew, Like blinding lightning, smiting as they fell, One after one, one after one, what knell Could fitly voice thy anguish ! Sorrow grew To throes intensest, when thy sad soul knew Thy youngest, too, must go. Was it not well, Avengers wroth, just one to spare ? Ay, tell The ages of soul-struggle sterner? Through The flinty stone, O image of despair, Sad Niobe, thy maddened grief did flow In bitt'rest tears, when all thy wailing prayer Was so denied. Alas ! what weight of woe Is prisoned in thy melancholy eyes ! What mother-love beneath the Stoic lies ! 17 THE TWO MUSICIANS. Love plays a lute, and Thought an organ grand These tones are stately, those a restless strain, Seeming by cadenced joy to measure pain, And capture Fancy by the soft airs fanned. Thought sends his paeans thrilling through the land ; The worshipers that bow before his fane Find rest in contemplation, spirit-gain In sweetest harmonies. Yon rapturous band, Kneeling to catch the music of the lute, Have yearning in their eyes, yet something there That baffles all our reas'ning ; is it peace, Or only glances with beseeching mute? Sometimes it deepens into holy prayer. Enchanted Love ! thy music never cease ! 19 THE POETS MINISTRANTS. The smiling Dawn, with diadem of dew, Brings sunrise odors to perfume his shrine; Blithe Zephyr fans him, and soft moonbeams twine An aureole to crown him, of a hue Surpassing fair. The stately stars renew Majestic measures, that he may incline His soul unto their sweetness ; whispers fine From spirit-nymphs allure him ; not a few The gifts chaste Fancy and her sisters bring. Rare is the lyre the Muses for him wrought, A different meaning thrills in ev'ry string, With ev'ry changing mood of life so fraught. Invoked by him, when such the strains that flow, How can the poet eer his song forego! 21 MILTON. O POET gifted with the sight divine ! To thee 'twas given Eden's groves to pace With that first pair, in whom the human race Their kinship claim : and angels did incline — Great Michael, holy Gabriel — to twine Their heavenly logic, through which thou couldst trace The rich outpourings of celestial grace Mingled with argument, around the shrine Where thou didst linger, vision-rapt, intent To catch the sacred mystery of Heaven. Nor was thy longing vain : a soul resolved To ponder truth supreme to thee was lent ; For thy not sightless eyes the vail was riv'n. Redemption's problem unto thee well solved. 23 SHAKESPEARE. We wonder what the horoscope did show When Shakespeare came to earth. Were planets there, Grouped In unique arrangement ? Unaware His age of aught so marvelous, when lo ! He speaks ! men listen ! what of joy or woe Is not revealed ! love, hatred, carking care, All quiv'ring 'neath his magic touch. The air Is thick with beauteous elves, a dainty row. Anon, with droning witches, and e'en now Stalks gloomy Hamlet, bent on vengeance dread. One after one they come, smiling or scarred, Wrought by that mind prismatic to which bow All lesser minds. They by thee would be fed, Poet incomparable ! Avon's Bard ! 25 RAPHAEL. Great Painter ! to thy soul aglow with thought, Celestial forms their glory did reveal. Not unrewarded wast thou left to kneel At Beauty's sacred altar ; not for naught Thy gift of consecration hadst thou brought. We see thee pensive, radiant, and there steal Soft shadows, mystic lights ; th' angelic seal Is on thy dreamy brow ; thy soul hath caught The essence of the harmony it craved. Behold the Mother and the Child Divine ! What rapt repose ! what majesty serene ! Thy spirit tuned to contemplation, laved In founts of light. For thee we would entwine The asphodel bright with celestial sheen. 27 BEETHOVEN. O GREAT tone-master ! low thy massive head Droops, heavy with the thoughts that fain would weave Themselves in interlacing chords, that leave Sublimest music. Inspiration sped On dainty pinions to thy natal bed, And warbling notes did all the silence cleave As for a benediction ; well believe The votaries that hie where thou hast led, In thy supreme endowment. Who as well Can wake the Orphic echoes ? Thou dost muse. And harmony, the sweetest, is evolved. In grave sonatas rich with surging swell. In matchless symphonies — but thou couldst choose — The mystery of music thou hast solved. 29 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 391 293 8