£ibvant of (!! ongrciss.^. t&cfrt^At^M. IPS 7 DNITED STATES OF AMERICA. POEMS, iA» ROSA VERTjfER JOHNSON BOSTON: TIOKNOR AND FIELDS. M DCCC LVII. \*5*A Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by CLAUDE M. JOHNSON, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. r i in. i-a-i 221 w ii \r l- ii B 181 BE '. -"-'I \ DREAM OF HEAVEN i hi: H i i HER1 D DUD CONTENTS. VII the child's prayer 236 A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR 238 TO MY MOTHER 242 GO DREAM OP ME 247 "THE HARP THAT ONCE " ON ERIN'S SHORE . . 251 THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME 254 THE DEATH OP WEBSTER ...... 256 RAPTUROUS MOMENTS 260 TO LOU 263 THE CHILD'S DREAM 267 WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER 270 THE CLOSING YEAR . '' 275 LINES ADDRESSED TO MY ABSENT MOTHER . . 280 NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII . . 284 THE FROZEN SHIP 302 ONE SUMMER NIGHT. One summer night I stood with thee, Beneath a full, unclouded moon : My young heart then was wild with glee, And basked in pleasure's golden noon ; My dark hair fell in waving showers . Upon my neck and o'er my brow, All gem' d with pearls and wreath' d with flowers ; Their fragrance seems around me now. A rose-bud from my bosom fell, As thus beneath the moon we stood ; And thou — ah ! I remember well — Didst raise and kiss the unconscious bud. 1 2 ONE SUMMER NIGHT. But not unconscious was the heart For ever thine, — for ever true ; And in that hour the wish would start That I had been a ruse-hud too. I longed to save it free from Might, I longed to keep that careless kiss, And oh ! I wished that summer night, With all its brightness and its bliss, Could last for ever ; — 't was no crime, When all the moments fled so fast, That I should wish to fetter time, And live them over as they passed. But thou didst break the spell too soon, That made my early youth so bright,— I found thee colder than the moon, Whose beauty seemed to haunt that night With splendor, till the nodding flowers Were half awakened ly its ray. And startled birds, within their bowers, Sang sweetly, dreaming of the day. ONE SUMMER NIGHT. To warble 'neath a moonlit sky, As was my heart to dream of love. Beneath the proud glance of thine eye, — That looked upon it but to wake Love's sweetest music, wild and free, To leave — an echo, and forsake The heart while yet it thrilled for thee. Long years have passed, and now once more I stand where on that night we stood, — Again the summer moonbeams pour Upon my brow their silvery flood ; The same from yon calm sky they come, No change their mellow light can tell, Since first upon the spotless bloom Of Eden's bowers they softly fell. Yon moon has never lost one ray Since first she lit the earth and sea, And I have never turned away One single thought of love from thee, 4 ONE SUMMER NIGHT. Since on that summer night we met ; But now the moonhcams seem to glide Around me with a sad regret, As if they missed thee from my side. The night-wind, as it sweeps along, I fancy has a different tone, And the low burden of its song Runs ever thus, — " Alone ! alone ! " How changed the earth, the sky. the flowers. Since that too well remembered time, When hope sprang up to meet the hours, And pleasure drowned the midnight chime. THE SUNSET CITY. I saw a strange, beautiful city arise On an island of light, in the sapphire skies, When the sun in his Tyrian drapery drest, Like a shadow of God, floated down to the west. A city of clouds ! in a moment it grew On an island of pearl, in an ocean of blue, And spirits of twilight enticed me to stray Through these palaces reared from the ruins of clay. In musical murmurs, the soft sunset air, Like a golden-winged angel, seemed calling me there, And my fancy sped on, till it found a rare home, b THE SUNSET CITY. A palace of jasper, with emerald dome, On a violet strand, by a wide azure flood ; And where this rich city of Sunset now stood, Methought some - iph had broken a bar From the gold gates of Eden and left them ajar. There were amethyst castles, whose turrets seemed spun Of fire drawn out from the heart of the sun ; With columns of amber, and fountains of light, Which threw up vast showers, so changingly bright, That Hope might have stolen their exquisite sheen To weave in her girdle of rainbows, I ween, And arches of glory grew over me there, As these fountains of Sunset shot up through the air. While 1 looked from my cloud-pillared palace afar. I saw Night let fall one vast, tremulous star. On the calm lu-nu of Even, who then, in return Kor tin- gem on her brow, and the dew in her urn, id draping the darkness and hiding its gloom THE SUNSET CITY. 7 With the rose-colored curtains which fell from her loom, All bordered with purple and violet dyes, Floating out like a fringe from the veil of the skies. And lo ! far away, on the borders of night, Rose a chain of cloud-mountains, so wondrously bright, They seemed built from those atoms of splendor that start Through the depths of the diamond's crystalline heart, When light with a magical touch has revealed The treasure of beams in its bosom concealed ; And torrents of azure, all graceful and proud, Swept noiselessly down from these mountains of cloud. But the tide of the darkness came on with its flood, And broke o'er the strand where my frail palace stood ; 8 THE SrNSET CITY. While far in the distance the moon seemed to lave Like a silver-winged swan in night's ebon wave. And then, like Atlantis, that isle of the blest, Which in olden time sank 'neath the ocean to rest, (Which now the blue water in mystery shrouds,) Dropped down in the darkness this city of clouds. THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. On a rock vast and hoar By a desolate shore, One bright eve, as I wandered alone, A gaunt sea-bird I spied Looking down on the tide Dark and grim from his wave-beaten throne. Mute and motionless there, In the sun-tinted air, And with plumage as black as the night, That wild ocean-bird seemed Like the form of a fiend Standing forth from a background of light. 10 THE sea-bibd's TREASURE, A gay, frolicsome breeze Fluttered over the seas, And sang on till the waters were stirred But a strange, low lament With its melody blent, As I gazed on that spectral bird. For lo ! there as he stood, Looking down on the flood, I beheld from his white beak unrolled, By the warm summer air, A long curl of bright hair, A brown ringlet, deep tinted with gold. Just such ringlets as grow Above foreheads of snow, Overshadowing earnest blue eyes, As the morning misl shrouds, 'With iis amber-hued clouds, Tlio deep light "l' 1 taliai] i THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. 11 " Tell me, bird, didst thou go Where the coral reefs grow, Around grottos of crystal and pearl, And most ruthlessly tear That rich, radiant hair From the brow of some fair shipwrecked girl ? " Or where skeletons bleach On the wide barren beach, When upheaved by the billowy brine, Of all beauty bereft, Was that frail relic left With its life-mocking lustre to shine ? " Was it there thou didst find, 'Mid the damp sea-weed twined, That rare curl, whose soft ripples once fell On a breast pure and white ; — As the midsummer's light, Dropping down in some stainless sea-shell ? 12 THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. " Strange and sad doth the gleam Of that sunny tress seem, As it floats o'er thy smooth, sable plume, Like a beautiful ray From the soul far away, Trembling still round its dark ocean toinb. " For thy mate didst thou bring That frail, glittering thing, To be twined in her storm-beaten nest, As some heavenly thought In its holiness wrought Through the dreams of a sin-tortured breast ': " Docs a fond mother mourn For that fair head, now shorn Of its splendor, where dark 1 allows flow ? Docs the lullaby still Through her memory thrill, That she Bans to her child lone ago? THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. 18 Does she think of that time, When the sweet Sabbath chime Called her up to the temple of prayer, — Of how fondly she smiled When that auburn-haired child Knelt beside her in purity there ? Even now could she press That long glistening tress To her sad breast, methinks it would know That those soft strands were shed From the beautiful head She had pillowed there long, long ago. But earth's children must grieve : Whether cypress-boughs weave O'er their lost ones, or wild sea-birds reap Their rich treasures, a moan Goeth up to God's throne, Prom the hearts of the many who weep. 14 the sea-bird's treasure. Still I sec the rich curl Of that fair shipwrecked girl, Who lies shrouded where storm-Lillows roll, And that bird grim and gaunt Shall for evermore haunt Like a phantom, the depth of my soul. 15 MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. SUGGESTED BY AN EXQUISITE BOUQUET SENT TO ME DURING A SEVERE ILLNESS. 0, let them touch my burning brow. The petals of those dewy flowers, And let my spirit wander now, Back through a mist of bygone hours, To a sunny spot, in a far-off clime, Where I used to rove in my childhood's time. My childhood's home ! how like a spell Thy dear and sacred memory lies Within my heart, — as in a well The trembling light of starry skies Gleams through its crystal depths at even Until they seem a second heaven. 16 MY CHILDHOOD S HOME. And a sweet breath of southern air Seems stealing gently by me now, The same that stirred my sunny hair, And blew the bonnet from my brow, Long, long ago, when I had gone To gather flowers at early dawn. Again, with many a joyous bound, My tiny footsteps swiftly pass Where golden buttercups were found Half hidden 'mid the rustling grass, And violets from the soft, green sod Seemed meekly looking up to God. There often have I paused to hear The bee his drowsy matin sing, Too gay and guileless then to fear That honey-bees perchance might sting; My heart was all too fresh and warm To think of ill, or shrink from harm. MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. * 17 And now along the good old hall Is scattered half my fragrant store, For I have heard my mother's call, And, dancing through the open door, Her morning kiss I fondly meet, And fling my treasures at her feet. Then, with a light and stealthy tread, I steal behind my father's chair, To fling a garland o'er his head, And twine it 'mid the silvery hair, Till every rose, with dewy glow, Seems blushing 'neath a drift of snow. And now once more I seem to stand Where long, dark shadows round me sweep, My gypsy bonnet in my hand, For the full sunlight dared not creep, With all its glittering pomp, between Those twining boughs of evergreen. 1 * MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. I loved the gay, glad tilings of earth, The sunshine, birds, and streams and flowers, Yet would I hush my childish mirth, And, through those dim, sequestered bowers, In solitude, delight to steal, — 'T was there I learned to think and feel. And oft I 've spread a banquet fair, Of acorn-cups and rose-leaves bright, That fairies might assemble there To revel in the pale moonlight ; I loved to dream of mysteries Beneath those dark, ancestral trees. That homestead is in ruins laid : Its fairest blossoms now arc dead: Yet still their deep and solemn shade Upon the waving grass is shed; Thus often sunshine will depart, But shadows linger on the heart. MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 19 And now, when fever wildly burns Within this sad and aching breast, My spirit through the past returns, Beneath that peaceful grove to rest ; There love a ceaseless vigil keeps, And pensive memory sometimes weeps. The rustling of a wild-bird's wings, A star, a flower, a gush of rain, The sight of sad or joyous things, Oft make me seem a child again : With voiceless eloquence they come, Bright phantoms of my childhood's home. 20 AXGEL WATCHERS. Angel faces watch ray pillow, angel voices haunt my sleep, And upon the winds of midnight shining pinions round me sweep ; Floating downward on the starlight two bright infant forms I see, — They arc mine, my own 1 night darlings, come from Heaven to visit me. Earthly children smile upon me, but those little ones above Were the &rs1 to stir the fountains of a mother's deathless love, ANGEL WATCHERS. 21 And, as now they watch my slumber, while their soft eyes on me shine, God forgive a mortal yearning still to call his angels mine. Earthly children fondly call me, but no mortal voice can seem Sweet as those that whisper " Mother ! " 'mid the glories of my dream: Years will pass, and earthly prattlers cease per- chance to lisp my name, But my angel babies' accents shall be evermore the same. And the bright band now around me from their home perchance will rove, In their strength no more depending on my con- stant care and love ; But my first-born still shall wander from the sky, in dreams to rest Their soft cheeks and shining tresses on an earthly mother's breast. 22 ANGEL CATCHERS. Time ma)' steal away the freshness, or some whelming grief destroy All the hopes that erst hud blossomed in my sum- mer-time of joy ; Earthly children may forsake me, earthly friends perhaps betray, Every tic that now unites me to this life may pass away, — But, unchanged, those angel watchers, from their blest immortal home, Pure and fair, to cheer the sadness of my darkened dreams shall come, And I cannot feel forsaken, for, though 'reft of earthly love, Angel children call me " Mother ! " and my bouI will look above. 23 HOPES AND FEARS. Our hopes are like the wreaths of foam That glitter on each shining wave, When with a gushing sound they come The white and thirsty beach to lave ; The waters part, the ripples gleam A moment on the silent shore, And vanish, as the hopes that seem A moment bright, and are no more. Seeking for love, for fame, for power, To the frail threads of life we cling, For hope will cull a withered flower And tune a harp with broken string ; 24 HOPES AXD FEARS. And hope will shed a glimmering ray Of light on pleasure's ruined shrine, For mouldering columns still look gay When summer sunbeams o'er them shine. Though severed he love's magic chain, Still to its broken charms we trust, And hope to mend the links again, When grief has eaten them like rust. Frail as the bubbles on the beach That hope may be, a transient beam ; But, 'reft of joy, 't is sweet to teach The heart to hush its grief, and dream. Our hopes arc like the flowers that bloom Upon the mountain's verdant side, That mountain's heart a burning tomb, Cleft by the lava's scorching tide. They spring and flourish, lade and die'. Like human hopes, as frail and Fair, While quenchless fires beneath them lie, Like human passions hidden there. HOPES AND FEARS. 25 Our fears are like the clouds that shed Their gloom across a summer sky ; When life is fairest, some wild dread Of grief is ever hovering nigh. The gloom may pass, the shadows fade, And sunlight only seem to reign, But still there is a lingering shade, A fear that clouds will come again. Where the bright wells of gladness spring, Hope will the youthful heart decoy ; But fear is hovering there, to fling A shadow on the path of joy. A canker-worm within the fruit, A serpent in the linnet's nest, A sentry ever grim and mute, Is fear within the human breast. A rainbow never spans the sky But some dark spirit of the storm, With sable plume, is hovering nigh, To watch its soft and fairy form. 20 HOPES AND FEARS. Hope never chants her angel song, Or bids us rest beneath her wing, But Fear with all his phantom throng Is in the distance hovering. We seek the laurel-wreath of Fame, And all her fickle favors trust, To live, perchance, without a name, And find the chaplet turned to dust. Life wears away, 'mid smiles and tears. The wedding peal, the funeral toll ; But though o'ershadowed still by fears, Hope is the sunlight of the sold. 27 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. In a peaceful Alpine valley dwelt a maiden, young and fair, With eyes as blue as the Alpine flower, and curls of sunny hair, Which fell upon her spotless breast in many a shining ring, As the golden mists of morning round an Alpine snow-drift cling. With her aged father dwelling, of his life she seemed a part, A gleam of sunshine stealing through the shad- ows of his heart ; 28 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. Her love spanned his existence, as the rainbow, arched and proud, In its strange and mystic glory, spans the tem- pest-laden cloud. And her beauty, circling round him, filled his being with delight, Like that bow of promise making all the gloomy air seem bright, As if some blessed spirit through the storm's dark ranks had striven, And waved a flag of mercy from the battlements of heaven. With a step light as the chamois did this Alpine maiden glide, In her freedom and her beauty, o'er the moun- tain's frozen side, Now bending like a blossom o'er sumo wild and dizzy steep, Now glancing like a sunbeam where the crestefl glaciers creep, — A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 29 Till one morning, tired of roaming, she had found a fairy bed, Where mountain moss upon the rock a russet man- tle spread. As a summer bird, when weary, nutters gayly to its nest, Did that joyous maiden nestle on her rustic couch to rest. Soon her gladness grew to music, — for she sang with joy, — and then Laughed to hear sweet voices answering her far down within the glen ; Softly floating up the mountain pame that grace- ful cloud of song, And each new echo seemed to love its cadence to prolong. But 't is said her wild notes startled up the Ice- King from his lair, And, thinking stranger spirits were abroad upon the air, 30 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. He left his frozen cavern home, and, by her sweet voice led, Erelong beheld the bright-haired maid upon her sylvan bed. Then a human joy came o'er him, and a human love possessed, In that moment of enchantment, the bleak desert of his breast, And a wealth of human feeling from his nature seemed to start, For woman's smile had severed all the ice-chains of his heart. Then he vowed to build a palace of the glacier's glittering sheen. And woo, and win, thai matchless maid to be his Alpine queen ; And yet he thought n<> dwelling-place, in earth or sky or air, Could e'er be found half fair enough for one so passing fair. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 31 But when lie knelt before her, half in wonder, half in dread, She trembled at his chilling breath, and down the mountain fled, As a young dove seeking shelter from the falcon's piercing eye, Or some frightened fawn its covert, 'neath a wild and stormy sky. " Stay ! stay ! " he cried, " I '11 make thee queen o'er boundless realms of snow " ; But the maiden shook her sunny curls, and only answered, " No ! " On, on she fled before him, in her beauty and her bloom, And his Alpine home, so bright before, seemed now all wrapt in gloom. She had sought her native valley ; but he dared not follow there, And wandered to his frozen cave in anger and despair. 32 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. Eagerly upon the morrow, and for many days, in vain He waited her returning, but the maid came not again. For she feared her regal lover, and dared no more to roam Among the icy pathways that begirt his moun- tain home ; But, lingering in the lowlands, she would ofttimes sit and sing, In the green depths of the valley, by a clear and gushing spring. When twilight's purple curtain o'er the drowsy earth was flung, And the first bright lamp of evening in her azure temple hung, She would linger in the gloaming, till that star's resplendent beam Seemed to iill her sinless spirit with a soft, celes- tial dream. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 83 And, gazing on it fondly through the blue depths of the air, She fancied that some kindred soul was watching for her there. Now there dwelt a bright-winged Angel in the glory of that star, Who looked upon the maiden from his radiant home afar. And he thought that she was pure enough, and fair enough, to glide Up to his starry dwelling-place, and be an Angel's bride. He loved her, in her gladness, and he loved her as she wept, When her aged father blessed her, ere he laid him down and slept. And when upon the old man's grave spring daisies decked the sod, When his orphan knelt and prayed that he had gone to dwell with God, 3 34 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. At eve the Angel wandered down, and furled his shining- wing, To woo that lonely maiden, on the margin of the spring. She turned not from his face in fear, nor veiled her dazzled sight, But gazed with eager gladness on that beauteous child of light ; And listened to his music-tones, and, wondering, heard him tell Of his home within the evening star, where she had longed to dwell. For many an eve he wooed her, and the days seemed long and drear, Till that spirit-voice of melody fell on her rap- tured ear ; Bui nil! "n Loft a gladness there, which naught on earth could mar, And she pledged her faith to go with him up to the twilighl star. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 85 As a glow-worm softly folded in a lily's spotless bell, As an unfound jewel gleaming in some polished ocean-shell, As a humming-bird half hidden in a rose's glow- ing breast, Did a love for that bright Angel in the maiden's bosom rest. Then, clasping gently in his arms a fragile, earthly prize, The Angel-lover soared aloft to seek his native skies ; But lo ! the Ice-King, gazing from a dizzy Alpine height, Felt his heart grow wild with fury, as he watched their joyous flight. a mighty spell, Till from the Angel's shining arms the maiden swiftly fell ; 36 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. Then he strove to stay her headlong fall, and shield her still from harm, All vainly in his terror strove to work a counter charm. Far down the rugged mountain-side that form of beauty fell, To where the Alpine torrents in their blackest fury swell, And her bright curls rudely severed, where the rocks were rough and sharp, Hung, broken like the golden strings of a celes- tial harp ; And the Angel looked upon them, as he hovered far above, Vainly mourning o'er the ruin of his cherished earthly love : Andlo! when on that shining hair his spirii-u-ars were wept, A gushing little rivulet quick down the mountain swept, — A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 37 A tribute of the Angel's love to mark his lost one's tomb, And gurgle on In sadness, as if singing of her doom; A tiny stream, which sprang to life, born of an Angel's tear, It grew, nursed by the mountain rains, for many a changing year, voice seemed to tell The sturdy Alpine monarch where his frail young- victim fell. Its roaring made him tremble ; and for many weary days He watched its waters, till they turned to ice be- neath his gaze. Its song is hushed for ever, and a mighty frozen tide Hangs now, a changeless monument, above the Angel's bride ; 38 A LEGEND OF THE ALFS. And still, when evening's chosen star shines on it from above, The reflection seems a shadow there, left by the Angel's love. 39 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. I heard a note , Of mourning float Through the starry halls on high, When the year laid down His shattered crown, And bowed his head to die. Sad as the dirge Of the sea-wave's surge When the stranded ship lies near, And it seemed to say, " Passing away ! " That requiem of the year. 40 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. I heard a knell From the funeral bell In Time's ancient steeple hung : " Time flics ! " it rang, With its iron clang, — " Time flies ! " pealed its iron tongue. " Another span In the life of man Is linked to the olden time : Shall the coming years Be dimmed with tears, Like the past, — and stained with crime ? Thus rang the song Of that spirit throng, As they sang at the midnight hour: " Docs the old year cling, Like an earthly king, To the sceptre of his power ? " THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 41 " We have made his shroud Of the whitest cloud That goes rippling o'er the moon : Does he love to gaze On the dark, dark days ? Has his death-hour come too soon ? " Does he love to dwell Where the war-trumps tell Of strife by a Northern flood ? — And where streams of gore From brave breasts pour, Till the snows are red with blood, — " Till the tainted air Stains with its glare The red Boreal light, that waves Like a banner bright From the pall of night, O'er ten thousand nameless graves ? 42 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. " Where the soldier sleeps, "While the snow-drift creeps Round his form, 'neath a freezing sky, With no loved one near, To smooth his bier, Or to close his staring eye ? " Does the old year yearn Once more to turn His gaze where the war-steeds tramp. And the vultures steal To their horrid meal In sight of the dismal camp '{ kk Would he wander hack O'er the blood-red track Of the war-god's brazen ear, Whose torch's gleam Semis her silver beam, Blushing, back to the polar starS THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 43 " Would he tarry still In this world of ill, Over which so long had driven Sin's poisoned tide, That ' Christ crucified ' Scarce brings man nearer Heaven ? " Would he linger yet With a sad regret In this southern land of ours, Where the sunbeams fold Their threads of gold Through the veins of countless flowers ? " And where bright birds throng In the halls of song, Which the summer loves to build, Till the green arcades Of the forest shades With their airy notes are filled ? 44 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. " Where the moonbeams seem Like a silvery stream, Dropping' soft through the dewy air, And the clouds that glide O'er the sunset tide Are like angel footprints there V " Where the evening flings From her sapphire vrings Such rare and radiant dyes, That we dream the dome Of the rainbow's homo Floats down from the western skies '.' " But Death folds his shroud In the summer cloud, And lurks 'neath the greenwood tree. Prom the city's mart Does his lank form start, — Canst thou bear him hence with thee?" THE OLI> TEAK'S REQUIEM. 45 No, no, old year, Thou wilt leave him here, For he dwells with thy father, Time, And the new year's birth Cannot free the earth From the sound of the funeral chime. But faith and love And hope still prove Their heavenly power below, And like treasures shine In this earthy mine, Through the dross of sin and woe. " For the Christian's hope With death can cope, While a mother's holy love, And the strange wild bliss Of love's rapturous kiss, Seem waifs from the land above." 46 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. " We have stolen the fire " ( Sang that spirit-choir) " From the west, where the sun went down, And each shifting ray Of the dying day, To weave in the new year's crown." Their light was shed On the old year's head As he laid him down to rest, And they seem more fair From falling there, To gleam in his brother's crest. And the stars that hum In the morning's urn, When she sits on her orient throne, We will bring to gem His diadem When the dark-winged hours have down. THE OLD YEAR'S KEQUIEM. 47 " Farewell ! farewell ! " There seemed to swell As that spirit-band swept on ; " Farewell ! farewell ! We sound his knell," — For another year is gone. 48 I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 0, I love to hear the wind blow ; it makes my heart rejoice To hear it humming by me, with a plaintive, lulling voice. I love to watch the sunshine, as it twines within the breeze, And seems to chant with gladness, flashing gayly through the trees. When green leaves clasp with murmurs, thrill- ing murmurs, deep and strong, Like whispered words thai lovers breathe, who have been parted long : I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 49 'T was loving thus that severed them, and yet in love they meet, As leaves, still bending to and fro, the same soft sounds repeat. I love the wind at morning, when it wakes the honey-bee And bears him on to waken all the blossoms on the lea. As the early breeze sweeps by me, I almost see it pass, With dew-bespangled vesture, trailing softly through the grass. I love the wind at noontide: then its warm, low murmurs come, Like voices of affection, — like fond messages from home. It whispers: "I've been sporting through thy father's soft, gray hair, And singing like an angel, round thy mother's old arm-chair. 50 I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. "I stirred the holy pages of the Bible, as she read, And shook away a tear-drop which upon the leaf was shed; But my breath was warm and glowing, and my wing was light and free, And they loved the Southern wanderer because he came from thee." I love the wind at evening, — when rich, purple clouds sweep by, Like mourners, gathering silently to see the day- light die ; When silvery vapors westward, like white-winged eagles, soar, Or white-sailed vessels floating to a distant gold- en shore. I love the wind al midnight, — when it seems to sigh and wail, And shiver, 'neath its mantle spun of moon- beams cold and pale, I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 51 With shadows waving round it, like a wealth of raven hair : It seems to look upon me, — the solemn midnight air. The night-wind is a minstrel, who for centuries has sung, And darkness is the temple where his mighty harp is hung ; 'T is strung with rays of starlight, and I love to hear him sweep Those mystic chords, till Nature chants an an- them in her sleep. And when the angry storm-king from his thun- der cavern springs, To hush the night's low music, and to break her starry strings, The wind forgets to murmur, and goes shrieking wildly by, A demon, clad in tempest-robes torn madly from the sky ! 52 I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. Then his harp is strung with lightning, and he laughs to see it shine, Hanging high upon the splinters of some riven mountain-pine ; Ha ! my heart leaps up in wonder, when the tall trees bend and nod, As if they strove to worship, when the storm-wind sings of God. 53 "JESUS WEPT. A human grief, an earthly gloom, The Saviour's spirit swept ! And by the cold and silent tomb Of Lazarus, He wept. Yes, " Jesus wept," — and lo ! on high The angels ceased to sing, While every seraph in the sky Low drooped his shining wing. The Son of God with grief had striven, Had mourned o'er mortal ill, And every voice was hushed in heaven, And every harp was still. 54 " JESUS WEPT." The Saviour's eye grew moist and dim And sad with human tears, And all the angels wept with Him Through countless glittering spheres. holy grief, — that thus could move The God whom saints revere, And concentrate a boundless love Within one human tear ! Bright, viewless watchers bore away That spiritual gem, To beam, one more immortal ray, In God's own diadem. When many a deep and crushing wrong Was heaped upon Him here, He mourned o'er the misguided throng, But shed no selfish tear. The cross to Calvary lie bore, Within a manger slept, The torturing crown in meekness wore, But only once Be wept. "JESUS WEPT." 55 But once the waves of sorrow rolled Above His sacred head, And awe-struck gazers cried, " Behold! How Jesus loved the dead ! " He who but truth and wisdom spake Had said that Lazarus slept ; Oh ! was it strange he should awake, When Christ above him wept ? What wonder, if the stars of even Had wandered from their spheres, To tell the startled hosts in heaven Of their Redeemer's tears ? If burning suns, which have grown bright In God's perpetual smile, To see Him weep, had veiled their light, And paused in grief the while ? And was it strange the eternal choir, Amazed, should cease to sing ? That tears should steal o'er every lyre, And dim each golden string ? 56 "JESUS WEPT." Well might the roses of the sky, In their immortal hloom, Grow pale to hear the Saviour sigh, Beside a mortal's tomb. Perchance where unknown systems blaze, Of which we can but dream, Immortal souls through endless days Still chant this wondrous theme ; Perchance with sweet and mournful thrill, For ever onward swept, Eternal echoes murmur still, " The gentle Jesus wept ! " 57 THE FIEST ECLIPSE. He stood alone upon a dizzy steep, Watching the still, mysterious face of heaven, And holding silent converse with the stars. His lofty intellect had soared above The petty cares, the dull routine of life, And made itself a blest and happy home Among the planets. And the pale, pure moon, From her rich treasuries of silver light, Had steeped his soul in brightness till it grew Part of that soul's existence, and a strange, Enchanting fascination lured him on To tread the labyrinth of immensity, 58 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. And seek the mystery he pined to know Amid its windings vast and numberless. Looking for the reality of that Which had sprung up within his bosom like A dream, the bold astronomer had left The children of this world to toil and strive For earthly objects, — some to be defeated, Others to grow all weary of their greatness, And still live on to smile at public favor, Which, fickle and inconstant as the wind, Full often fans the torch of man's ambition, Till, fed by hope, it glows into a flame, Anon to be extinguished by the breath Which gave it life. His lofty spirit sought Its destiny amid the shining host Of worlds that throng in clusters through the blue And boundless fields of spare, their solemn light Falling upon \is like the smile of God, Broken by the infinitude of distance THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 59 To starry gleams. And though the mind may lose Its own immortal brightness in this maze Of high and mystic splendor, yet compare Its knowledge with the bright reality, And lo ! 't is dim and vague and shadowy As is the very dimmest star we see Likened unto the sun. It is a strange Uncertainty which makes this study seem So full of wonder and of fearful beauty. "When darkness, hovering o'er the earth, unlocked His ebon casket, and poured forth its gems To glisten on the dewy shrine of night, The full moon shining proudly in their midst, Like a vast pearl 'mid a multitude Of diamonds, that unsleeping devotee Of knowledge loved to stand upon the summit Of his high, rocky home, and gaze up to The glowing firmament. No human step 60 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. But his had ever dared to climb along Those rugged battlements -which Nature's hand Had hurled together till they smote the clouds; — Save him and one lone eagle, that for years Had made her eyrie on the barren rock, Swept by the blast, no living thing had torn The sacred robe of solitude that grew Around that dismal mountain at its birth. It was a fitting -watch-tower for his soul To keep its vigils o'er the stars ; it was A fitting altar for that grateful soul To offer its devotion unto God. Through many sleepless nights, of many years, He studied there ; for mighty were t^ie waves Of mystery his spirit strove to stem. But on, — he struggled on, — still grappling with Their strength, still diving deeper for the truth, Until at last it gleamed upon his sight. And when he bore it bravely upward, through A foaming surge of doubts, until it burst In fair, unclouded splendor on his soul, THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 61 It was as if Aurora's hand had rent Some cave within the earth, and poured a flood Of golden sunlight on its crystal walls, Making resplendent that which, unrevealed And in obscurity, were bright. And then He made a strange prediction : he foretold That darkness should usurp the reign of light Upon this earth, — that at no distant day The sun's broad, burning disk should be obscured. It was a wild and startling prophecy, . And some there were who trembled and believed ; But the vast multitude derided him, And " laughed to scorn " his daring prophecy, As 'twere a woman's raving. Consciously That stern philosopher awaits the time, — The time that shall fulfil his prophecy, Or clash it to the earth in foul disgrace. 62 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. The last night has gone by, and the full moon, Still moving toward the sun, has disappeared Before his gaze, and the eventful day, Whose coming he has pined for, dawns at last. He saw the earth look up, and blush beneath The warm and soft caresses of the morn. All things grew brighter, save the burning hope Within his breast. For when the sun arose, Radiant and shadowless as are the dreams Of youth, — those pure, exquisite dreams that come Ere yet the buoyant spirit learns to know That life is but a sad reality, — E'en while he gazed upon it, there grew up A strange and sinking fear within his heart. And as the morning hours danced blithely on, And the loud chant of mirth, the busy hum Of industry, and the low carol sweet Of calm content, were wafted to his ear From a vast city that stretched o'er the plain, They seemed to mock him, and that fear had grown Into a doubt of his own science. THE FIRST ECLIPSE. b Lo! O'er nature's fair and sunny face there crept A ghastly pallor, like the hue of death Stealing the splendor from a cheek and brow Which we had gazed on but an hour ago, And thought it all too beautiful to change. Into the blue and laughing eye of morn There stole a livid light, and a deep spell Of silence seemed to fall upon the earth, As if its mighty heart had ceased to beat For ever. And the very air itself Seemed for a moment breathless, as the joy Of him who watched upon the mountain-top, Whose very soul was glad amid this reign Of terror. it was a fearful stillness, Like that which lingers round the bed of death While yet the spirit of some cherished one Stands on the threshold of eternity ! And as the wail of grief (when it has fled), Gushing from hearts o'ercharged with agony, When darkness grew upon the sun's broad disk, 64 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. Dashing out all its glory, a wild shriek Of anguish rose upon the rayless air ; A clang of brazen trumpets, and the shout Of maddened multitudes, then seemed to shake The earth and echo through the universe. They fled from out their marble palaces, And dashed themselves in terror to the ground. It was as if God's mighty wrath had come Upon his children in their wickedness, And with a fearful vengeance swept the waves Of twice ten thousand oceans o'er the sun, Quenching its light for ever. The wild beasts Ban frightened to their dens, as if they sought A shelter from the darkness, and sent forth A dismal howling in the wilderness, While sea-birds screaming flew beneath the waves, To perish, and the lonely eagle swept That watcher of the mountain with her wing, As she soared upward with a plaintive cry, THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 65 To seek and save the young her jealous care Had cradled 'mid the clouds. In such a scene Of horror and despair, the dauntless man Whose genius had foretold this first eclipse Bowed down his forehead to the ground, and breathed A prayer of gratitude to Him who gave That knowledge which had kept his heart from fear Amid the darkness deep. And who was he ? Alas ! there comes no answer from the past ! Some wave of time has swept his name away For ever from the earth, and there is lost, In the dark, sullen sea of ages gone, A brilliant gem, that should be gleaming yet Within the crown of science. But we see The memory of his genius shining on, bb THE FIRST ECLIPSE. Bright as the orbs that looked upon its birth. And even as they roll unchanged above The wreck of nations and of human hopes, A watch-fire on the battlements of fame, The glory of his greatness shall endure. G7 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. I love the beautiful ! let me find A pathway for my spirit, where, on high, The midnight stars their shining leaves have twined And hung a wreath of glory round the sky ! Blossoms of light ! whose beamy petals seem Dripping with silver or with amber dew, While trembling o'er me, how I love to dream That troops of angels tend the gardens where ye grew ! And when along the far horizon's verge The twilight clouds lie bright as fairy land, I love to watch the ocean billows surge, And seem to break upon that purple strand : 68 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. When the full moon seems wafted by the waves, Onward and upward, gently to the skies, As some vast gem, upheaved from ocean caves, And cast upon the dim blue shores of Paradise. And when the night with sable drapery seems Hiding the whole immensity of space, I love to watch the morn, with pencil beams, On the vast canvas of the darkness trace A picture of the universe, the lines So dim at first, floods, fields, and mountains gray, Then brightening, till earth's panorama shines, Made perfect through the gilded vistas of the day. Morn seems to lean her easel on the skies, And, from the fountains of the sunlight there Stealing bright drops to mix her matchless dyes, Paints with her magic hand, till, passing fair, A picture hides that canvas dark and vast, Whose Grod-created hues man still once more Will strive to imitate, but. foiled at last, Can only look upon it, wonder, and adore. I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 69 Up to the storm-clouds I have often gazed, When far aloft their gloomy grandeur grew, And thought they were like huge volcanoes raised, To bound an ocean beautiful and blue ; Then when the thunder's muffled bells were tolled, And from those phantom craters leaped the glare Of the red lightning, lo ! its hot floods rolled Like lava sweeping down the pathways of the air. I love the beautiful ! let me go Into the forest's stilly depths afar, Where, in the dark, ten thousand fire-flies glow, Like atoms wafted from some shattered star, — Where there is stillness so profound, it fills The soul with silence, and we almost start To hear the dew which Memory distils, Dropping upon the folded blossoms of the heart. I love to see the ruddy lifeblood gush Up from the heart's full fountains, and then steal Over the brow of beauty, in a blush (Of lovely innocence, the rosy seal) ; 70 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. And by the voice of love's impassioned vow, To see a lofty nature gently stirred, As gently as the aspen's graceful bough Is shaken by the song of some "wild forest-bird. I love to watch the host of butterflies, To which the breezes of the spring gave birth, Like mimic angels floating from the skies To wake the myriad blossoms of the earth ; Stirring the leaves on every graceful stem, To find the honey in its perfumed bowl, As a fair woman seeking for the gem Of genius hidden still within her child's pure soul. I love the beautiful ! The gushing swell, The low lament, the soft, unceasing wail Of music sweeping through an ocean shell. Unto my listening fancy tells a tale Of some lost Peri who once made her home Within that mystic cell : so passing lair. Her fading beauty Hushed its pearly dome, And her departing spiril Lefl it^ death-song there. I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 71 Up to the west, where scattered fragments shine Of day's rich banquet, I would love to go ; When the red light, like rosy rippling wine From evening's sapphire goblet seems to flow. There would I quaff the splendor she distils, And then amid her cloudy realms explore The caves of light that rift those purple hills, And 'mid their wonders seek the sunset's gold- en ore. On Fancy's sea I launch my spirit-boat, With airy sails, by Hope and Memory wrought, And o'er its mystic billows onward float To cruise among the haunted isles of Thought. Some verdant in the tropic clime of Joy, And some begirt by Sorrow's frozen zone ; Yet who their solemn beauty would destroy, Or break the sacred spell of silence round them thrown ? I love the beautiful ! I stand, in dreams, Beneath that arch of glory which the sun, 72 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. Reaping the rich abundance of his beams, Above the fountains of the rain has spun ; And gazing down into their crystal springs, And up to' where that misty circle falls, My spirit, chained with beauty, folds her wings, And lingers spell-bound in the rainbow's glis- tening halls. 73 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. The wind swept by "With his battle-cry, And I watched the mountain storm, When the lightning came, With its spears of flame, And cleft the tall tree's form. I heard him come, With his thunder drum, That wind of the mountain height ; And my pulse stood still, And my heart grew chill, For I knew his wondrous mis-lit. 74 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. The sky grew black In the tempest's track, When there, like a vampire, came The thunder cloud, With its inky shroud, And wings of the lightning flame. Down, down it flew, And a monster grew, As it lit on a mountain's crest, Whose heart of stone Seemed with fear to groan 'Neath the storm-bird's murk}- breast. I bowed my head, As the leaves were shed On the wing of the rushing shower : And my soul was awed, For I thought of God, And quailed 'neath Jehovah's power. THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 75 The strong pines snapped, *As their trunks were wrapped In the grasp of the ruthless wind ; And the Storm-king's brow Was with many a bough Of the broken laurel twined. Those stalwart trees, In the summer breeze, They wave like the mountain flower ; But its tender bell Can brave as well That wind in his conquering hour. The turbid stream, With a hissing scream, Leaped down from its rocky home, As if possessed With the wild unrest Of some angry mountain gnome. 7G THE MOUNTAIN STORM. A fairy tide, I had seen it glide Oft so gently on its way, That the slender grass, Where its ripples pass, Scarce bent beneath their spray. But a torrent now, From the mountain's brow, Did its maddened waters leap, And huge rocks crashed, Where its dark waves dashed, In their path, down the headlong steep. But the winds expire, While the lightning fire Burns dim, — and the thunder's tone Then seemed to grow, Deep, deep, and low. Like a Titan's dying -roan. THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 77 The day went down, With his golden crown, Half beclouded in the west, And then right soon Was the virgin moon Crowned queen of the silver crest. All pure and fair, Through the moistened air, In a throno of light she hung, While a dewy veil, O'er her forehead pale, Of the mountain-mist was flung. Then my soul was awed, As I worshipped God ; And Him, who upon the deep, When the tempest blew Round his frightened crew, Was found in their midst — asleep ! 78 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. For I knew his will, Who with " Peace, be still ! " Could the raging ocean bind, Was with me there, In the moonlit air, And had chained the mountain wind. 79 TWO YEARS OLD. Is there on this cold, selfish earth One heart so cruel as to scold A roguish boy, brim-full of mirth, And, like my pet, just two years old ? For fun and mischief seem to leap Through his blue eyes from Robby's heart, As from a harebell's chalice deep The half-imprisoned sunbeams dart. I got a switch the other day, Just half inclined to whip my pet, But on the mantle stowed away, That switch, unused, is lying yet. 80 TWO YEARS OLD. For when I shook it o'er his head, He danced about, half wUd with glee, Then quick behind the table fled, And, feigning fear, peeped out at me. What could I do hut laugh at that ? Nor did my fit of laughter fail To make him worse, — for to the cat He sneaked, and pulled her long, sleek tail Until poor pussy mewed aloud ; . And then — I shook the switch once more, And many whippings inly vowed For little Rob were still in store. But when I cried (with half a frown), "You'll hurt the cat, you naughty boy ! n He hugged her up, and smoothed her down, Until poor pussy purred with joy. For love through all his mischief flows, And gentle feelings softly beam Through his wild mirth, Like some sweet rose Reflected from a gushing Btream. TWO TEAKS OLD. 81 From morning's dawn till set of sun, His feet and fingers never tire ; He steals the poker for a gun, And takes the broom to poke the fire. Then with a cunning look he '11 stand Upon the highest chair in reach, And shouting loud, with outstretched hand, Pretend to make a mighty speech. In every nook or corner sly His roguish eye is sure to peep, And grandma's pocket he will try To fathom, be it e'er so deep. He pulls the buttons off my dress, And then says, " Look ! " My pretty boy ! When I might scold, I pause to bless Thy upturned face, so full of joy. His father's hat he loves to wear, And, hiding half his tiny head, A glow of beauty, rich and rare, Upon that old black hat is shed. 82 TWO YEARS OLD. For 'neatli its brim so dark and deep, His dimpled face, all bright with bloom, . Peeps out, as rosy vapors peep Sometimes from clouds of wintry gloom. He '11 slyly pull his brothers' hair, Or steal their toys and run to me. But when they gather round in prayer, He too will bend his little knee ; And though he scarce can speak a word, There 's worship in his speaking eye, And Hobby's prayer I know is heard. When he looks up to God's blue sky. MEMORIES. In silence and in solitude I love to gather all The cherished thoughts of bygone hours, where like autumn leaves they fall, Bringing the hues of summer-time, when hope was fresh and green, To blend with the spirit's ripened bloom, and the harvest's golden sheen ; — To wander through the vale of years, where the stars of Memory cast Their soft and shadowy splendors o'er the ocean of the past, 84 MEMORIES. And smile again, as vanished .joys before us seem to sweep, Till, startled by some keen regret, we turn away to weep. A look, a word, a music-tone, a perfume wafted by, How often are they laden with some thrilling memory : The loved, — the lost, — those we may meet no more as we have met, — Visions too sad to dwell upon, too lovely to for- get! I would not tear from Memory's wreath the tini- est bud away, For all the gaudy flowers that shed their fragrance o'er to-day ; And uVn the shadows of the past more dear and sacred seem, Than joys which on the present cast a warm and MEMORIES. 85 I would not rend the smallest link of by-gone hours in twain, If Love could bring his brightest gems to mend the broken chain ; Nor lose one drop from Memory's cup (e'en were it dashed with woe), Though life's unbroken chalice still with pleasure might o'erflow. I would not silence Memory's harp, or break one golden string, If mirth's loud anthems in my heart for evermore could ring, Nor quench the silvery lamp that beams within her holy urn, To wander after meteors, which in the future burn. The present may be full of bliss, the past tinged with regret, But light and shade within my heart have min- gled as they met ; 86 MEMORIES. And if the tear for pleasure gone should dim a smile to-day, Moments of sunshine oft will o'er the clouds of Memory play. 87 WHY ART THOU SAD? Why art thou sad ? 0, dearest, tell me why ? Unlock the fountains of thy deep regret, And if my smile no more can glad thine eye, My love, at least, may teach thee to forget, For a brief season, the strong bitterness Which from thine altered nature seems to start, Withering the verdure of my happiness, As drop by drop it falls upon thy heart. For oh ! when thou art sad, there is on earth No mirror for my joy. I love to trace A soft and shadowy image of my mirth, Ever reflected upon thy dear face ; Ob -VTIIY ART THOU SAD ." As rays of light that wander tremblingly To sport upon some calm and silent stream, And linger there, and grow more bright to see Each wave give hack to them another beam. But the clear waters of that brook may grow So turbid, that, when summer sunbeams rest Upon it, there shall come no more a glow Of mirrored beauty from its darkened breast : And thus, unheeded, now my gladness falls. And when I fondly look into thine eye With that mute eloquence the spirit calls Its chosen language, there is no reply. Too well I know thy nohle soul is wrung By some strange grief; — a shadow cold as death Has swept thy heart, and o'er its brightness filing The blighting dampness of a demon's breath. May I no1 share thysorrow? J can weep, [f tears will be to thee a holier balm Than smiles ; — then le1 me bow my head and steep Thy wounded breast in tears till ii is calm. WHY ART THOU SAD? 89 All thoughtlessly, I may have caused thee grief, For thy high nature shrinks before the sting . Of a quick word, as the mimosa's leaf Beneath the human touch falls withering : But anger ne'er can make itself a home Within thy bosom ; and I know full well That one harsh thought of me will never come Within the chambers of thy heart to dwell. And all my love, and half my tenderness, Had charmed away thy sadness long ago, And won thee, dearest, back to happiness, If thine were some light care, some transient woe. But when my smile has lost its magic spell, And when I sing to thee, alas ! in vain, Some fearful sorrow, which I cannot quell, Must hold, within thy breast its gloomy reign. I 've often dreamed of an enchanted land, With skies unclouded, save by fairy light, Where jewels sleep upon the golden sand, And birds too beautiful for human sight 90 WHY ART THOU SAD? Are glancing amid groves of rare perfume : And as a hideous phantom dwelling there, Is this dense cloud upon thy life, this gloom Which darkens thy existence with despair. Turn not away from my entreaties now, But let me pass my fingers once again, Thus, gently through thy hair, and o'er thy brow ; And let me not beseech thee still in vain To look within my soul for sympathy ; Communing not with thee, I feel like one "Whose doom it is to pine unceasingly, And tread the desert of this world alone ! 91 A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. A Peri from her sea-girt cave Was wandering on a summer even, When white caps crowned each swelling wave, And clouds were on the face of heaven. Her bark of light and fairy form Was anchored near a silvery strand, While, heedless of the coming storm, She roamed along the sparkling sand. When sun, and sky, and water smiled, Often she sported on the shore, But never had this ocean child Beheld her Father's wrath before. 92 A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. The black cloud burst ! the lightning flashed ! Down rushed the floods of beating rain, While billows caught the roar, and dashed Their thundering echoes back again. As when in some deep wood, to hide, A bright and timid bird has flown, Amid this strife of wind and tide The Peri stood, and watched alone, — Till the mad tempest ceased to rave, Hushing awhile its demon yell, And winds had muttered to each wave, In moaning blasts, a low farewell. Then, where dark clouds so late had driven. And rolling thunders fiercely spoke, Now sunlight, through the gates of heaven, In streams of softest splendor broke. A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 93 And see, where drop and sunbeam met, That beauteous arch, serenely proud, As if some son of light had set A seal of glory on the cloud. It might be that a seraph's wing Had swept along the moistened air, And left its mingled hues to cling And beam, a glittering circlet there. The Peri gazed with ecstasy Upon the rainbow's graceful form ; For ne'er till now beheld her eye This brilliant of the sun and storm. She ran to clasp within her arms The band of soft and dreamy light ; But lo ! as on she sped, its charms Fled faster from her eager sight. 94 A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. " Alas ! " she cried, " beneath the wave How many gems of beauty lie, Yet none so fair, within my cave, As this rich jewel of the sky. " could I seize that mystic gleam, The inconstant lustre which I see, Or of that bow but one soft beam, To bear beneath the waves with me ! " And as her tears her grief proclaim. Filling her sad and downcast eye. The angel of the rainbow came, For she had heard the Peri's sigh. "List, daughter of the dark blue sea. Bright spirit of the restless deep ! A gem of light I'll give to thee : Then mourn no more, and cease to weep. A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 95 The angel paused, — then, drawing near, One lucid drop she quickly stays ; And, crystallized, that Peri's tear Plashed with the rainbow's countless rays. The spirit faded from her sight ; But who the Peri's joy can tell, When, with its heart of prisoned light, An Opal on her bosom fell ! And thus a mystic name in story This gem has borne for many a year, Blending with all the rainbow's glory An ocean spirit's pearly tear. 9G NIAGARA Dasii on ! clash on ! and swell, for ever swell, The chorus of thy wild and gushing song ! That billowy anthem seems with joy to tell Of Him who made thy wondrous voice so strong. Man's boasted eloquence but feebly vies "With the loud music of thy ceaseless hymn, And shining clouds from thy rough altars rise, Which make the light of earthly offerings dim. 0, who would dare, while gazing upon thee, Todoubl the power thai made theewhal i hi mart ? There let the scoffer bend his stubborn knee, And speak the prayer that trembles in his hearts 9.7 I -would not ask a holier spot to breathe My holiest thoughts, or bow me down to pray, Than where the laughing sunshine conies to wreathe A crown of glory through thy sparkling spray. I strove to tell the thoughts, which, thick and fast, When first I saw thee, through my bosom swept ; I longed to speak, but could not, and at last Bowed low my head, in silent awe, and wept. Down, down, for countless centuries as now, That emerald torrent o'er the rock has poured, And countless rainbows on thy misty brow Have written, " Holiness unto the Lord." And when stern Winter clasps the cloudy veil That floats around thee with his icy hand, Making thy wondrous beauty sad and pale, As from thy forehead drops the glittering band, Lo ! does the white foam surging at thy feet Build up to God a mighty monument, A frozen altar, to His praise as meet As summer rainbows o'er thee softly bent. 7 98 NIAGARA. I 'd love to see the angry tempest-king Do battle with thee in thy strength and pride, And "watch the whirlwind dip his ruffled wing With "wasted strength in thy resistless tide ; To see the dark ranks of the storm advance, And hurl their thunders at thy bristling crest ; To -watch the lightning's fiery javelins glance From the "white shield upon thy heaving breast. Man dares the ocean, though its -waves devour His swarjning fleets, — he wrestles with the sea ; But in the zenith of his boasted power He never yet has dared to cope with thee. Thou nccdcst not the aid of wind and storm To make thee terrible ; yet dost thou blend Thy smiles and fury in one strange, wild form, So wonderful, we scarce can comprehend. Grand, beautiful, invincible thou art, But, ah! how vaguely human words can tell Of thee (as thou art sweeping through my heart ) ! One atom of thy shining spray as well 99 Could paint those mighty torrents as they pour, For ever changing, while thou art the same, Summer and winter, now and evermore, As when from God thy foaming waters came. 100 THE SPIRIT-BIRD I know thou art listening, dear one, yet To the voice of that spirit-bird, Whose strange, wild song, when last we met, With its midnight witchery stirred, As by some angel's holy spell, The tenderest chords of memory's lute, The saddest, — yet we loved too well Their melody to wish them mute. While soft our Southern moonlight folds Its white wreaths o'er thy placid brow, I know thy calm, proud spirit holds A pure and blesl communion now THE SPIRIT-BIRD. 101 With unseen forms, a shadowy band, And, while that mystic warbler sings, They whisper of the better land, And fan thee with their viewless wings. I 've seen the dark-eyed, languid Night Oft-times clasp on her silver crown, When earth seemed full enough of light To woo the lost and lovely- down To dwell with us, — when thou and I Have gazed through holy tears above, Until the islands of the sky Seemed thronged with spirits of our love. Our loved, — " not lost, but gone before," — Some young and some surpassing fair, And one upon that changeless shore, A blessed saint, with snow-white hair, A bard, whose voice, to us so dear, Is hushed, whose earthly harp is riven ; Dost thou not dream that thou canst hear The music of his soul in heaven ? 102 THE SPIRIT-BIRD. I know a shade from sorrow's wing Has veiled thy gentle heart with gloom, As cypress trees their shadows fling On water-flag or lotus-bloom, Oft drifted by the darkling wave Upon the shore, till one by one, As human hearts which love might save, They perish, dreaming of the sun. But as the murky smoke-wreaths spring Up from the city's mart on high, And, tinted by the Morning's wing, Sweep on in bright clouds o'er the sky, When shadows round thee darkly roll, 0, look aloft, and bend in prayer, Till 'neath the radiance of thy soul They turn to clouds of glory there. Be ever like the flowers, that fling Their fragrance in Night's sapphire urn. Or like the birds we love, thai sing "When high on heaven's vast altar burn THE SPIRIT-BIRD. 103 The midnight stars, — amid the gloom Of sorrow's night, in beauty still Let Faith unfold thy heart's rich bloom, And its deep chords divinely thrill. Still look aloft, — though 'mid the blest Our sainted bard is throned, yet he Would mourn to see thee drooping rest Beneath grief's deadly upas-tree : Then, if thou wouldst not dim the strings Of his new harp with tears, rejoice Whene'er that mystic night-bird sings, And dream it is a spirit's voice. 104 0, TAKE ME ON THE WATER 0, take me on the water ! let 1113' wayward spirit lave, With the shadows that lie glimmering, beneath the cool, deep wave ; The purple clouds, the earth and sky, that haunt yon lake's calm breast, Like dreams of bliss in some pure soul, making its slumbers blest. "When storms arc sweeping through my heart, I Love to l'eel the spray. That springs beneath the dashing oar, upon my forehead plaj j O, TAKE ME ON THE "WATER ! 105 It seems to quench the burning thoughts that flicker through my brain, And cool the fevered drops that course through every throbbing vein. And as along the lonely lake our tiny shallop springs, 'Tis sweet to hear that gurgling song, the wa- kened water sings ; Its low and gushing music seems to murmur plaintively, Of memories my heart has loved, and cherished silently. I love to bow my head, and watch the silvery bubbles start, Like tears of rapture that have sprung from some too joyous heart ; And see the crystal water break, in dimples all the while, As, when our joy is told by tears, the lips are sure to smile. 106 O, TAKE ME ON THE WATEK ! In fancy oft I 'vc wandered down, where the soft shadows lie Of every glowing cloud that flits across the sun- ny sky ; As if a thousand bright-winged birds had flut- tered through the air, And fled beneath the waves to bathe their gor- geous plumage there. And when the light breeze steals along, as if it feared to break The dreamy silence, which has thrown a spell upon the lake, Soft as an angel's balmy breath, it whispers through my soul, Bidding the freshest, greenest leaves of Memory unroll. And as with swifter wing it Hies, the sleeping waves (o kiss Awakening them from sunlit dreams, to taste a wilder bliss, O, TAKE ME ON THE WATER ! 107 Each shining ripple brings to mind some ray of gladness fled, Some hope, or joy, which o'er my life a hallowed beam has shed. Then bring, bring my light guitar, and as we glide along, Some spirit of the wood shall catch the burden of my song, And bear it through those leafy halls where they are wont to dwell, And where a band of echoes meet, its melody to swell. Music upon the water ! how plaintive is its tone, As forth along the voiceless air each trembling- note is thrown, So eloquent, so mournful, — like the wailings of a dove While watching for her absent mate, in some lone cypress grove. 108 O, TAKE ME ON THE WATER ! Voices and smiles of those I love, with music seem to spring, And parting words come back to me, upon its viewless wing ; And links within affection's chain, which were too bright to sever, Seem firm again, — as when I dreamed that they would last for ever. Then take me on the water, that my heart may be at rest, And my spirit all untrammelled as the wind upon its breast, Where echoes from the forest, and the blue lake's tranquil flow, Shall mingle with the music and the thoughts of 109 THE REMEMBERED NAME. 0, would that I could hear no more That dear, remembered name, Which long ago to youth's bright shore Like summer music came, For on my heart with mournful thrill It must for ever fall, And wake a strange, sad echo still In memory's haunted hall. I 've tried to hush the thoughts that start In madness and in fear, To sweep across my troubled heart When that loved name I hear ; 110 THE REMEMBERED NAME. But easier far 'twould be to thrall The wild tornado's wrath, "When giant pines bend low and fall All shivered in its path. There is a star in memory's sky That in its beauty beams Upon my soul unceasingly, And brightens all my dreams. I 've sought in vain with Lethe's tide To quench its changeless light ; Forgetfulness can never hide A memory so bright My spirit ever strives to pour An earnest, voiceless prayer To bask beneath its rays no more, But still lies prostrate there. As tides obey the silvery moon, That star has ruled my fate ; It rose within my bear! too Boon, To set, alas! too late ! THE REMEMBERED NAME. Ill 0, once thy memory seemed to me Like an enchanted isle That sprung from life's unruffled sea To blossom in thy smile ; For Hope then moored her fairy bark Beside that phantom shore, But soon fled o'er the waters dark, To anchor there — no more. That land of love was passing fair, For e'en when Hope had fled, I sought the flowers of gladness there, But lo ! their bloom was shed ; And every joy, so fresh before, Fell like a withered leaf, To moulder on that silent shore, In loneliness and grief. I knew it was idolatry, And struggled to be free ; But yonder far-off sunset sky, Reflected in the sea, 112 THE REMEMBERED NAME. Might strive as well to break the charm Which makes each blue wave seem A golden cloud, all bright and warm As those that o'er it beam. I 've sometimes prayed that we might meet Upon this earth no more ; But ere it reached the mercy-seat My saddened soul would pour Another and a wilder prayer, In bitterness and pain, Beseeching still, with deep despair, To meet thee once again. And when I hear thy name, it seems Like a sweet, mournful note Of heavenly music, which in dreams ■ To some lost soul might float, A strange, unreal melody, That soul cannot forget, Linked with a gad reality Of desolate regret. 113 TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. Rosa, as I bend above thee, Resting in thy cradle-bed, Can it be because I love thee, That a golden glow seems shed All around where thou art sleeping, (As round pictured saints we see,) Or are angel-watchers keeping Holy vigils over thee ? Is it fancy's halo, beaming Through a cloud of earthly love, Or art thou, my sweet child, dreaming Of our blessed ones above ? 114 TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. Do the same bright pinions flutter Through thy visions as through mine' Do thy angel-sisters utter To thee lullabies divine ? As twin coral buds that quiver In a dimpled wave's caress, Now thy red lips as they sever Viewless kisses seem to press ; And thy violet eye upturning Wears a look of glad surprise, As that baby heart were yearning Toward thy playmates in the skies. And mcthinks they have been reaping Blossoms in the spirit-land, Here to weave, where thou art sleeping, Garlands, like a starry band, To hll thy infant heart with pleasure; For thy tiny band now so-ins Reaching up to clasp the treasure Angels bring i<> deck thy dreams. TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. 115 As a little white cloud, sleeping Near the moon, is fledged with light, And, on wings of silver sweeping, Like a moonlit dove takes flight, May thy spotless soul, reflecting Holy love, be holy too, " Angel-watchers," still protecting, Find thee ever pure and true. Sleep, sweet one ! the bright wings waving Round thee may, in after years, Be a talisman, then saving Thy young life from blight and tears. 0, if sin or grief should darken Thy pure heart with earthly dust, To those " angel- watchers " hearken ; They will teach thee whom to trust. 11C THE SIGNAL GUN. Two ocean steamers in their glory Met upon the broad blue main ; But one returned to bear the story, And they ne'er shall meet again. It "was a sad and fearful meeting, And the strong man weeps to tell All of their wild and tearful greeting, Of their long and last farewell. Two friendly barks ! 't was strange their speaking Should be so hushed by cries of rear, By woman's voice, in anguish shrieking Still for help, when none was near. THE SIGNAL GUN. 117 'T was strange upon the broad Atlantic Thus to meet, and one be slain, Like mail-clad warriors, fierce and frantic, On a boundless battle-plain. Strong, sturdy hearts stood still with horror, When those ocean steamers met ; A nation bowed her head in sorrow, And her tears are falling yet ; For eyes that then were bright now languish, Spirits that were light and gay Now vainly strive to hush their anguish, And forget that fatal day. A cold and dreary mist was flinging Darkness over sea and sky, When, wildly o'er the waters ringing, Came that deep and plaintive cry. Gray clouds like funeral hosts were stealing Sadly o'er the morning sun, When, with its mournful echoes pealing, Boomed the Arctic's signal gun. 118 THE SIGNAL GU.V. For though that mighty bark was shattered, Though around her sinking wreck A wealth of human life lay scattered, Yet upon the lonely deck One noble youth his watch was keeping Still beside the signal gun ; The hungry waves were round him creeping, But his task was not yet done. He stood in brave and holy beauty, Sad, and calm, and free from fear, Alone, beside that post of duty. Faithful still, though death was near ; Though strong men there had fiercely striven But to find a watery grave, Yet still the signal must be given, — There were many left to save. And while the death-cry echoed near him, Undismayed that dauntless one, Wiihuui b single voice to cheer him, Stood and lit the signal gun. THE SIGNAL GUN. 119 And when, with sound like muffled thunder, Dark waves parted round the wreck, His lighted match was seen with wonder, Gleaming sadly on the deck. But few returned to tell his story, He who did a matchless deed, Without one hope of gain or glory, Which should be the hero's meed. The pangs of war, the martial bugle, Oft have made a dastard brave, But there was naught to cheer the struggle Of his death-watch on the wave. No Koman chief, no sacred martyr, Can ye find more brave than he, Nor yet the iron men of Sparta, Fighting at Thermopylae ; When conquering hosts around them crowded, Though unmoved, while Persia's king The morning sun with arrows shrouded, They did not so brave a thing. 120 THE SIGNAL GUX. Go then, and carve his wondrous story On a monument of stone ; Ye shall see youthful heads grow hoary, Ere a nobler deed he done. 'Mid all the hero's fame has cherished Carve his name, — a braver one Has never lived, than he who perished Standing by that signal gun ! 121 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 'T was night in Babylon. The summer day In orient splendor had departed ; soft, Sad Twilight with her purple wing had fanned The busy earth to rest, and whispered tales Of darkness to the blushing Eve, until Her cheek grew pale, and all her glowing charms Had faded into moonlight loveliness. Nature's warm heart was full of love and joy ; Yet, as the night-breeze wanders lightly through The airy gardens * of that fated city, Wafting along sweet messages of bloom And stooping low to kiss the myriad flowers * The hanging gardens of Babylon. 122 BELSIIAZZAIt's FEAST. That waved in beauty on those verdant "walls There was a dewy tear in every bell, As if the fragant spirits in their dreams Had caught the music of its song — and wept. And even as the earth was bright witli bloom, When Darkness waved her wand, as if beneath Some potent spell, the sapphire fields of Heaven Grew bright with splendor, blooming with suit lid it As if some angel from the Aidenn far Had swiftly fled athwart the sky, and dropped The shining blossoms from his starry crown. And then the moon looked forth through fleecy clouds, As pure and beautiful as some young nun Whose pale, sad face is but half shrouded by The dim, soft shadows of her snowy veil ; And, holy as her smile, the moonlight fell To earth, and floated in a silvery mist Upon the fragrant air, like fairy dreams Thai rise and weave their spells around tin* soul Of some young sleeper; or caughl softly on belshazzar's feast. 123 The spray of fountains, ever gushing up From beds of purest, loveliest Parian stone, The night-beams gleamed and glittered in their play Like sparkling fancies that flit wildly through The haunted chambers of a poet's brain. Even as the grim and ghastly images Which impious hands had reared, as 't were to mock The Eternal God, that radiant summer moon Looked calmly down, as if the spirit of The universe were all too beautiful To frown — though e'en upon idolatry. Forth from Belshazzar's palace came the sound Of music and of mirth ; — they needed not The moonlight there, for courts and columns were All crimsoned with the rosy light that stole From the high windows of the banquet-hall, As if the cold and stainless marble in Its purity had blushed to hear the song And jests and laughter of the impious feast. Vases and costly cups were on the board, And King Belshazzar in his glory stood 124 belshazzar's feast. Before a thousand lords, and quaffed red wine From out a jewelled goblet, giving praise To gods of gold, of silver, and of stone. Belsliazzar ! woe unto thy wicked pride, Thyself the idol of an impious, Yile multitude. Dost dream thou art immortal ? Vain man ! dost think thyself almighty, in Thy wild, fierce reign of glory and of power ? What is thy greatness, misguided king ! Before the God whom thou hast deemed thyself Too powerful to fear ? What are thy gems, Thy palaces, and glittering vesture now Within His sight, whose everlasting home Is in the blue and airy chambers of Immensity ; whose treasures are the stars. The countless systems, and (In 1 burning suns Of heaven ; \\ hose smile illumes the universe Which sprung from chaos at His awful word ; Whose breath unfolds tin' lily's silvery bell, And siii-s the might; fountains of the deep ; Whose love is life t<» sainis in heaven, \>i falls belshazzar's feast. 125 To earth unsullied in its purity ? Frail, mortal man ! what seemest thou to Him Whose lifetime is eternity ? And mark ! Thy doom is writ in fiery letters on The wall, and thou dost see that spirit hand; For lo ! the cup has fallen, and the wine Is spilled. Where is thy pride, thy glory, and Thy greatness now ? Why does the crimson tide Of life seem frozen round thy heart, and why Does thy tall, noble form now tremble like A frail and blasted tree that quakes beneath The fury of the whirlwind's chainless wrath ? In vain thou callest the Chaldeans now, To read that strange and burning prophecy ; For see, they too stand tremblingly and pale, As, dumb with terror, they gaze eagerly And fearfully upon those words of flame. Thy soothsayers are full wise, Belshazzar, yet What is their boasted wisdom worth, when called 126 belshazzar's feast. To solve the mysteries of the Eternal God ? Vain as a flickering taper held aloft To light the darkened air at midnight hour. Send for the man of God, that he may read The monarch's doom : " Belshazzar, woe to thee ! Thy King and Judge supreme has weighed thee well And found thee wanting, and thy kingdom Shall pass from thee away." The moon went down, But when the bright and laughing morn awoke With balmy breath the myriad lovely flowers Of Babylon, and stirred the silken folds Of her high marble halls, there was a sound Of mourning in that fair and regal city, For her proud King Belshazzar was no more. 127 LINES TO A BEIDE Thy life is in its early spring, Thy heart is pure, thy love is blest ; Joy hath not drooped her rainbow wing, Or donbt disturbed thy spirit's rest. No tear has dimmed the glowing blush That flits in beauty o'er thy cheek ; There is no thought thy soul would hush, Or thy red lip grow pale to speak. No withering memory comes to burn Thy heart, — no vain regrets to fall Like mildew on its flowers, and turn Thy cup of happiness to gall. 128 LINES TO A BRIDE. Thy laughter has a sunny beam, That glistens in thy soft, dark eye, — Not the cold glare of lights that stream In splendor from a polar sky. Their startling beauty wears the glow That summer sunsets often wear, But all beneath is ice and snow, For summer has no dwelling there ; — So like the mocking smile which art Has taught to wear the guise of mirth, And beam above a ruined heart, A spirit all alone on earth. But thy glad heart has never known How sad it is to cherish there The phantom of a joy that 's flown, And bid it smile upon despair. Thou hast not fled from .Memory \vt. Or felt, beneath her God-like power, 'Twere sometimes better to forgel Long years — than to recall one hour. LINES TO A BRIDE. 129 Where love's enchanted waters flow, While thy pure spirit stooped to drink, Its clear depths caught thy beauty's glow, And held thee trembling on the brink, — As when above some calm, deep lake The lily bends her silvery bell, Its waves grow brighter as they take That lily in the lake to dwell. How tremblingly the blue deep seems To clasp her image in the dawn, As if afraid to wake from dreams And find its spotless treasure gone. thus may love a vigil keep, To guard thy guileless heart from ill ; And if that heart should wake to weep, May love be watching o'er it still. 130 A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR I had a strange, wild dream, — and as I dreamed, Methought I stood within a ruin gray, Where broken columns in the moonlight gleamed, Telling a tale of splendor and decay. Its dome was shattered, and the solemn sky Looked calmly down upon the crumbling wall. And a dim robe of shadows seemed to lie Upon it sadly, like a funeral pall. Relics of beauty and of pride were there, Statues, the fruit of study and of toil, All crushed and blackened, — they were none too lair For the relentless toueli of Time to spoil. A DREAM OF THE OLD TEAR. 131 Pictures, which, glowing in their new-born hues, Had seemed to breathe beneath the painter's eye, Now torn and moulded by the damp of dews, From out their ruined frames hung mournfully. Fragments of crystal urns and vases set "With antique jewels were all scattered there, And I could fancy that there lingered yet A scent of dying flowers upon the air ; But lizards crawled upon the marble floor, And the wild shriek of an ill-omened bird Smote on my ear, where oft in days of yore Voluptuous strains of music had been heard. Mirrors, that seemed but formed to multiply The matchless form of beauty, and beguile The speaking glances of a soul-lit eye To gaze enraptured on its own bright smile, Now from the walls in broken beauty gleamed ; And as the moonbeams pale and coldly bright 132 A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. Upon each shattered surface shone, they seemed Reflected with a strange and ghastly light. And fear was stealing on rne, as I stood ■ Within that ruined palace all alone, When a deep sound as of a rushing flood Was heard, and then a low and wailing tone Of dirge-like music woke the slumbering air, As a tall spectral shape came sweeping by. It was old Father Time, and he was there To see another of his children die. And with him came a bent and withered form, Whose hoary locks were whiter than the veil Of spotless snow that clothes the winter storm ; His eye was fixed, his furrowed cheek was pale. "'Tis well," said Time, "that thou hast wan- dered here To fill thy doom, and mingle with the pa-t ; 'Mid fallen splendor, O departing year] 'Tis meet, that thou shouldst oome t<> breathe thy last. A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. 133 " And tell me, in thy journey o'er the earth, Have joys or sorrows in thy pathway sprung ? Has thy short pilgrimage been cheered with mirth, Or mournful wailings in thine ear been rung ? Unroll the secrets of thy breast before Thy mighty heart is pulseless, and the breath, Which is thy spring of life, shall come no more, Stopped by the suffocating chill of death." And the Old Year replied, " My life has been Varied and changing as the shapeless air : More misery than bliss on earth I 've seen, — "Woes born before me are still scowling there. I 've looked on pleasures, but to see them live As gaudy insects, born amid the light, To glitter for a moment, and then give Their brief existence to be quenched in night. " I 've watched the peasant toil in thankfulness, More happy and contented on his way Than those who in rich robes of purple dress, Still fare most sumptuously every day. 134 A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. I have seen sorrow in its bitterness, Yet cheered by hopes, look up, and smile again, And poverty and want and wretchedness Live on, to know that hoping was in vain. " I 've looked on love, constant, devoted love, Relic of Eden's first and purer bliss, Sullied by earth, but stolen from above, The brightest talisman of happiness. Power may fall and fortune pass away, Beauty may fade, and weeping dim the eye. Yet on life's desert love still sheds its ray. One mortal spark of immortality ! "I've seen the tyrant, with an iron will, His vigil o'er a noble people keep: Crushed, but unconquered, 1 have left them, still Too brave to tremble, and too proud to weep. I've watched the spirit of a Union cease From struggling, and the angels smile above To see I lolumbia's bosom resl in peace, Warmed bj the beams of fellowship and love. A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. 135 " I leave a nation writhing in the throes Of anarchy, where striving factions start The fire of hate, and call up petty wars To burn and rankle in her mighty heart. would the dauntless spirit that has fled Could quit the tomb once more in might to reign ! "Weep, France, — the glory which Napoleon shed Around thy greatness ne'er will beam again !" He paused, and from the hoary wing of Time, Lo ! as I looked, a drooping pinion fell, When on the midnight air a distant chime Tolled mournfully the Old Year's funeral knell ! There was a rushing sound, a plaintive cry : To the dim vault of ages it had past, A speck, an atom in eternity, Of many a mortal's years in life, the last. 136 VISIONS OF THE DEEP. Oh ! often in dreams, with the spirit-like motion And shadowy form of a sea-nymph, I glide, Far down through the mystical realms of the ocean, To caves where the sea-gods their rich treasures hide. My palace is built of the crystals that tower, Like mountains of diamond, beneath the blue wave, My robes are as light as the foam-clouds that shower Their emerald spray where the sea-lilies Lave. VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 137 'Mid gardens of coral strange glow-worms are shining, As stars through the red clouds at eventide shine, And spirit-like blossoms their white bells are twining In grottos of amber far under the brine. And oft, through these grottos and coral-groves stealing, I 've caged their rare glow-worms to light up my home, Each one, in the cup of a blossom, revealing The jewels which flashed from my crystalline dome. But sad are my dreams when the storm-king is bearing Some tall-masted bark through the billowing deep, When fiends of the tempest her white sails are tearing, And when the brave mariner sleeps his last sleep. 138 VISION'S OF THE DEEP. I 've seen the proud sailor-boy struggle and lan- guish, And lose his last grasp and sink sadly to rest, While thoughts of his home and his mother's deep anguish Were keen as the wild pangs of death in his breast. Though far from him then, yet her wild prayer beseeching I knew had gone up to the God of the storm, And her love through the distance and darkness seemed reaching To light the black waters which closed o'er his form. Yet lo ! when I sought for him under the billow. Green sea-snakes were twined through his beau} (il'ul curls ; But I slew them, and planted white shells round his pillow, And wreathed his pale brow with a chaplel of pearls. VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 139 I 've been where the strong ship lies shattered and moulding, Where skeletons cling round the desolate wreck, And hideous monsters their revels are holding, 'Mid relics of death on the moss-covered deck. Through dim, mournful cities I ofttimes seem gliding, Which earthquakes have hurled to a billowy grave, And left their white ruins all stealthily hiding, Like spectres of splendor far under the wave I 've gazed upon one of which earth has no story, Now dreary and voiceless, — once joyous and proud, — The corpse of a city, in funeral glory, A pale beauty wrapped in the ocean's blue shroud. I 've stood in strange caves, where the gold sand lay gleaming, Like atoms of sunshine from summer's soft sky, 140 VISIONS OF TEE DEEP. As if they had fallen all broken and beaming, Beneath the cold water in rains to lie. And fountains there are, from these golden sands gushing, Whose bubbles flash up with a splendor as bright As stars which we see through the blue ether rushing, Like drops swept away from the rivers of light. And shadowy beings dwell under the ocean, With feelings that mingle in sadness or mirth ; There are lovers, and vows of unchanging de- votion, Oft broken, alas ! as the vows on this earth. But dear to my heart is my wave-beaten dwell- ing, [ts jewel-crowned chambers are wondrously fair, And sweet is the music eternally swelling From the magical harps of the sea-maidena there. VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 141 And oft, from these wild dreams of beauty awak- ing, Vain tears in my spirit's still chamber are shed, Like foam in the heart of a sea-flower breaking, When all its bright petals are withered and dead. 142 TWO DREAMS I slept, and dreamed, a strange, bright dream, At least with beauty bright ; But Paradise would often seem Less fair to woman's sight Than desert wastes, if she must gaze On Paradise alone, And tread the desert's cheerless ways With a beloved one. Far through the moonlit realm of sleep My spirit winged its way, To where, on heaven's blue, wavelesa deep, A starry island lay. TWO DREAMS. 143 Like some vast gem of peerless light, From God's rich casket flung, Upon the proud, dark brow of Night That burning planet hung. As if an angel's hand,' at even, Had snatched the brightest beam From every other star of heaven, In one vast orb to gleam, And countless broken rainbows caught From unknown worlds afar, And all their glowing colors wrought Around that matchless star. And as athwart this tide of beams In trembling haste I flew To the fair Aidenn of my dreams, A rosy splendor grew Upon my spirit's silvery wings, As sunlight round a cloud Which o'er the east at morning flings Its pale and misty shroud. 144 TWO DREAMS. But as I passed the golden gate Of that enchanted isle, My spirit turned to seek its mate, And languished for thy smile. In a strange land, o'er which there seemed A spell of beauty thrown, And 'mid a fairy throng, I dreamed — That I was all alone. As a frail lily, pale and fair, Torn from its native stream, And planted in some rich parterre, Where brighter blossoms beam, "Will droop and fade beside the rose, And pine to be once more Where the deep, rippling water flows Along its native shore ; — Thus in that fairy land above No light my soul could sec ; Where all was light and life and love. My spirit pined for thee : TWO DREAMS. 145 And when rare forms of beauty came Around me to rejoice, I fled away and breathed thy name With wild and trembling voice. Strange fruits along my pathway grew, — Blossoms, like living gems, All moistened by eternal dew, Hung sparkling on their stems ; And birds, whose wings seemed formed of light, That airy realm did throng, Still weaving, in their endless flight, Undying wreaths of song. But what were birds and bloom to me ? Or what the golden sand That fringed a waving, crystal sea, In that enchanted land ? I tarried not to pluck the fruit, Or wander by the sea, For every chord of joy was mute, When severed thus from thee. 10 146 TWO DREAMS. And, sad and wearied then, I dreamed I sat me down to mourn, When by some spell my vision seemed Of its vain glories shorn. And when I wandered on once more, 'T was through a desert wide, And by a bleak and lonely shore, But thou wert by my side. "Within the dimmest star of heaven, Methought we dwelt alone, A star for ever onward driven, Still drifting from the sun ; And Winter, with his frozen girth, That pale, sad planet bound, As if upon its cheerless birth The Eternal One had frowned. A living darkness hovered there, Like ravens round a tomb. And silence seemed to haunt the air Till it was mute with gloom ; TWO DREAMS. 147 From Nature's breast no murmur came Of music or of mirth, The winds were bound, the ocean tame, And voiceless as the earth. Upon that shore no summer beamed, No blossom e'er had grown, But thou wert near, and sunlight seemed Along my pathway thrown ; And on that bleak and frozen strand, And by that dismal sea, I never sighed for Fairy-land, Where I had wept for thee. 148 I NEVER CAN FORGET THEE. Foeget thee ! ah, ray heart, how vain Thus wildly to have spoken ! The brightest link in memory's chain May not be rudely broken. The spell of thy dark, lustrous eye Is on my spirit yet, Thy voice of deep-toned melody I never can forget. And as some sweet, forsaken lute, My heart is hushed and still, Its silver chords are over mute, Save when for thee they thrill; I NEVER CAN FORGET THEE. 149 Then, softly as a Siren's song Where troubled billows roll, Glad thoughts of love are swept along The ocean of my soul. And oh ! however dark and wild My wayward heart may be, 'T is bright as if an angel smiled "Whene'er I think of thee ; Often in visions fair it seems We meet, no more to sever, And, chained by such enchanting dreams, I fain would sleep for ever. One single look of love from thee To my fond heart is worth More than a whole eternity Of homage from the earth. I 've sought the brightest star of even To name and love for thee, And, though a million gem the heaven, It beams alone for me. 150 I NEVER CAN FORGET TUEE. Upon me ever seems to shine Its pure and steady ray, As 't were thy spirit meeting mine When thou art far away. There is a blossom of the heart Which absence cannot blight, Though one by one the beams depart That nursed it into light. yes ! sweet memory's rose will shed Its delicate perfume, When each glad ray of hope has fled That lit its early bloom ; The star I love shall beam for me, The rose shall blossom yet, For I cannot cease to love thee, And never will forget. 151 MORNING. I saw the young Morn in her beauty unfolding Her radiant wings by the portals of Night, And from the dark threshold her vesture upholding, Her silver gray vesture, all dripping with light. Dim shades of the darkness still hovered around her, As pensive thoughts cling round a heart full of joy ; Yet the exquisite girdle of shadows that bound her But softened the splendor it could not destroy. As a wild Moorish lover in fondness adorning, With one matchless gem, some fair, golden-haired girl, 152 I saw Night clasp on the rich zone of the Morning, The star of the east, like an orient pearl. Far along the horizon, her footsteps -were breaking The clouds, as she passed, with a pathway of beams, And a drowsy perfume from those black poppies. shaking, That grow round the mystical palace of dreams. When, quick she flung open its wide jetty portals, And forth came those visions fantastic and light, Whose fragrant wings, fanning the slumber of mortals, Dissolve the enchantments and spells of the night. And then, half reluctant, the Night seemed re- treating, Half mournfully, too, as if spurned from her side, And pale grew his cheek, as, with warm kisses greeting, The Sultan of day called the Morning his bride. MORNING. 153 That fair pearly star, at his feet she cast down, And, like a proud woman coquetting, bent over And blushed, as she knelt for the Sun's golden crown. Then from nature's great choir an anthem came swelling, And flowery censers the earthly breeze swung, While moments of sunshine the young Morn was telling, As rich, perfumed beads in her rosary strung. To the courts of his azure-roofed temple ascending, Like a high-priest of heaven, I saw the Sun greet The earth with his blessing ; a devotee bending, The beautiful earth seemed to kneel at his feet. 154 THE PORTRAIT. I saw a stately woman gaze Upon a portrait fair, And I knew that she dreamed of other days, While soft and warm the sunset's mellow rays Wove through its golden hair. That pictured hair ! — so life-like beamed Its mocking beauty now, That the evening breeze from the casement seemed To stir the wealth of clustering curls that gleamed Above his noble brow. THE PORTRAIT. 155 The painter's high, mysterious art Had caught the eloquence Of the speaking eye ; — and the gazer's heart Still through her snowy bosom seemed to start Beneath its thrilling glance. She was a fair and queenly one, In the summer of her years, But a dark, dark thread through her fate was spun, And the early bloom of her heart had run To a harvest-time of tears. She looked as cold and calm and proud As the moon at eventide, And her soul was hid from the careless crowd, As the moon in a fold of fleecy cloud Its purity will hide. Amid the gay throng often seen, With many to admire 156 THE PORTRAIT. Her strange cold beauty, she had ever been Like that rare gem beneath -whose pearly chain Flashes a heart of fire. And while around that portrait grew Fond memories the while, A light seemed kindling in his eye of blue, A lifelike light, as if the picture knew She loved to see it smile. And bliss, half real, seemed to spring As (heedless of the past) Her spell-bound heart leaped wildly up, to cling To that unreal, dumb, beguiling thing, A mockery to the last. The very shadow of a dream, — Lost ! gone for many a year ! — Yet did that image still, though voiceless, teem With memories, which made its beauty seem Too real and too dear. THE PORTRAIT. 157 The brow, the eye, the lip, were there, Undimmed, unchanged by time, And a tear dropped down on the shining hair, As low she stooped to kiss the forehead fair : Was that lady's love a crime ? How strange that destiny should twine A coronal for her Of beauty, and of genius half divine, Yet blight her life, — and leave their light to shine Above a sepulchre ! The petted idol of a throng 'T was sad that one regret Should linger in that lady's heart so long, To chill its mirth, and hush life's morning song : Why had they ever met ? 158 I WANDERED FORTH. I wandered forth one day in spring, With heart as fresh and free, And spirits light, as the zephyr's win< That swept the greenwood tree. Then, hope was in each bursting bud, And joy in every beam That lit the ocean's rolling flood, Or danced upon the stream. The smile on Nature's sunny face Was mirrored in my soul, As fancy seemed a path to trace, Which lured to pleasure's goal. I WANDERED FORTH. 159 I dreamed that all the earth was filled With beauty, love, and truth, As my warm heart with rapture thrilled : — Such was the Spring of youth. Again I wandered forth alone One brilliant summer morn : A richer garb o'er earth was thrown Than laughing Spring had worn ; A deeper tint was in the sky, And flowers embalmed the air, Which, late as I had wandered by, Were scarcely budding there. And changed the light within mine eye, As thoughts too dear to speak Deepened like Summer's glowing sky The blushes on my cheek. Still my young heart was light and gay, But not so blithe and free As when I roved in early May Beneath the greenwood tree. 160 I WANDERED FORTH. For love upon my soul had breathed, And changed (as in an hour) Each bud of joy which hope had wreathed Into a glowing flower. And the beauty now of earth and sky A wilder gladness woke, And the streamlet, as it murmured by, A different language spoke. I wandered forth at Autumn eve, But ah ! how changed the scene ! For Nature sadly smiled to leave Her paradise of green, And mournful seemed each forest-tree, Though rich its garb and gay As beauty's cheek, which oft we see Brightest in its decay. My spirit, too, had known a change, Its freshness all was fled ; For some I loved were cold and si range. And some were with the dead. I WANDERED FORTH. 161 A shadow o'er my soul had swept, And as I wandered on Amid the falling leaves, I wept O'er joys for ever gone. And clouds, which in the early spring Had passed unheeded by, A stormy darkness seemed to fling O'er Autumn's mellow sky. The glow of Summer's parting hour Had left its bloom behind, But now I feared in every flower Some canker-worm to find. I wandered forth, once more alone, When "Winter's breath blew chill : The rose had drooped, the gay bird flown, And frozen was the rill. While on that spot where pleasure's birth Had taught my heart to dream Even sunlight o'er the blighted earth In sadness seemed to beam. 11 162 I "WANDERED FORTH. But evergreens are often found 'Mid wreaths of frost and snow, And streamlets with a mournful sound Beneath the ice may flow. And oh ! one sympathizing tear Will soothe the pangs of grief, As freshly gleams where all is drear The ivy's fadeless leaf. My heart so blithe in Spring's light hour, In Summer soft and warm, Had found in Autumn's cloud and flower The canker-worm and storm. But now how sweet it is to know, When Winter winds have blown, And the stream of joy has ceased to flow, I shall not weep alone ! 163 A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY. He is gone, — gone for ever ! go muffle the bell, Go weep, for few spirits like his shall depart ; Let the loud, mournful wail of a great nation tell The grief that has shaken a nation's strong heart. And bend the bright banner of Freedom o'er him, So willing to guard it, so mighty to save ; Be its proud staff unshaken, its stars never dim, Save when drooping, and moistened with tears at his grave. In the midst of a tempest that threatened to tear The bonds of our mighty republic in twain, Like a guardian angel his genius was there, To gather the links and unite them again. 164 A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAT. All ! well may the heart of Columbia mourn ; An orb from her bright constellation has sped, An oak from her forest of greatness is torn, A hue from her rainbow of glory has fled. Bring music, loud music ! the trumpet and drum, The flute's bird-like numbers, the bugle's wild strain ; To weep by his bier let the multitude come, For when shall they mourn o'er such greatness again ? His clear eye is darkened, his eloquence hushed, His voice in the Senate no longer shall thrill ; The censer is broken, the viol is crushed, But the incense and music are lingering still. As the mariner's compass still points to the pole, Through the fury of waves, and the hurricane's blast, A magnet of love in the Statesman's great soul Still turned towards his country, unchanged to the last. A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY. 165 His spirit lias left you, and gone to its home : Kneel, children of Freedom, and weep o'er his dust ; Go, call for another, but whence shall he come ? There are many to answer, but few ye can trust. Go, gather a branch from the evergreen pine That has braved the swift whirlwind, and tem- pests of years, And from its strong fibres a fresh garland twine To rest on his coffin, all moist with your tears. For he stood in the midst of dissension unmoved, 'Neath the lightning of hatred, unscathed by its shock, While his heart ever clung to the Union he loved, As the roots of the pine-tree entwine round the rock. The strong bark is shattered, — its wreck has swept on, Where the billows of death in their mournful- ness flow ; 1G6 A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY. The rudder is lost, and the Pilot has gone Where the winds of adversity never can blow. The tall mast lies broken, and rent is the sail That swept o'er life's ocean, so proud and so free, For the spirit that ruled them has fled where no gale Can ruffle the waves of Eternity's sea. He is gone ! — but his genius has kindled a fire In the Temple of Fame, — on Columbia's shore A beacon of glory, that cannot expire Till truth be forgotten, and Freedom's no more. The proud marble column, the urn, and the bust, May blacken, and totter and fall to decay ; The monuments o'er him may crumble to dust, But never shall perish the memory of Clay. 167 THE MIDNIGHT PRAYEE. 'Mid the deep and stifling sadness, the stillness and the gloom, That hung a veil of mourning round my dimly- lighted room, I heard a voice at midnight, in strange tones of anguish, say, "Come near me, dearest mother! Now, my God, O let me pray ! " And soft as vesper music, wailing sadly through the air, In plaintive utterance, then tolled forth his simple evening prayer ; 168 THE MIDNIGHT PRATER. The same sweet hymn his lisping tongue so oft to me had said, When, but an infant still, he knelt beside his cradle bed. Methought the Almighty's love must bless that graceful little vine, Whose budding tendrils I had taught around His throne to twine. Methought an angel's gentle hand the silver chime did toll, That called to prayer each thought within the temple of his soul. And by the tearful beaming of his eyes I seemed to trace The spiritual worshippers within that holy place, As solemn light will sometimes through cathe- dral windows pour, And reveal the pale nuns kneeling upon a mar- ble floor. THE MIDNIGHT PRAYER. 169 A radiance seemed to gather o'er his mournful face the while, Like starlight stealing sadly down a consecrated aisle, And round his pale, high forehead hung a halo, soft and faint, As falls from holy tapers on the image of a saint. And that frail, suffering, patient child, so full of faith divine, His soul lit up with holiness, — that saint-like boy was mine ; And like the broken chrysalis, my heart was only probed To see its nursling heavenward spring, in shin- ing vesture robed. He prayed, — and dumb with anguish did my trembling spirit wait, Till that low wail had entered at the everlasting- gate ; 170 THE MIDNIGHT PRATER. And then I cried, " Father ! throngs of angels dwell with thee, And he is thine, — but leave him yet a little while with me ! " Two buds has Azrael plucked from out the gar- den of my love, And placed them in the living wreath that spans thy throne above ; Twice o'er love's consecrated harp have swept his cold, dark wings, And when I touch it now, alas ! there are two broken strings. " Twice have his strong, sharp arrows pierced the lambs within my fold, And now in his unerring grasp another shaft be- hold ! " Two prayers went up at midnight, — and tbe Last so full of woe, That God did break the arrow set in Azracl's shilling I low. 171 THE PLAGUE. Pkoud city, why, in sadness bending, Droops so low thy stately head ? Is some wild grief thy strong heart rending ? Is thy great spirit crushed with dread ? Have conquering armies in their madness Torn the crescent from thy brow ? Have tyrants hushed thy voice of gladness, That thou art so silent now ? A summer sky is o'er thee shining, Summer roses round thee bloom : Why art thou desolate and pining 'Neath a sullen weight of gloom ? 172 THE PLAGUE. While Liberty is o'er thee keeping Her untiring vigil yet, "Why art thou stricken thus, and weeping, As if Freedom's star had set ? Alas ! thou canst not see its glory, Blinded now by many tears, For days have told thy heart a story That shall echo there for years. Each trembling moment, dark with horror, Whispers forth a funeral chime, And lingers but to stamp fresh sorrow On the crumpled scroll of time. A spectral form is near thee gliding, Stealthily, with icy breath, In stately halls and hovels hiding, Winged by pestilence and death ; And vainly is Columbia grieving O'er thy desolation now - . For Destiny's dark hand is weaving Wreaths of cypress for tliy brow. THE PLAGUE. 173 To yonder mansion proud and splendid Came last night a merry throng, And as the glowing hours descended, They were crowned by mirth and song. But now, with sunlight o'er them glancing, Garlands mock that festal hall, For where bright forms so late were dancing Rest the coffin and the pall. Tread lightly by that shrouded maiden : She was beautiful, last night, As summer clouds with sunshine laden ; Cheek, and brow, and eye were bright; Her lips were like red blossoms bending Fresh beneath an April rain, Where death and foul decay now, blending, Leave that green and ghastly stain. The graceful willow-tree has striven Vainly with the lightning's shock, The sparkling crystal has been riven Rudely from its native rock. 174 THE PLAGUE. Then let the raging tempest shiver In its wrath the strong oak too, And let the granite's rough heart quiver, Where that spotless crystal grew. Weep not for her, — the Llack form lingers. Still unglutted, hovering nigh, With fiery tongue and clammy fingers, And a wild and sleepless eye. That smitten one so fondly cherished From his wrath ye strove to hide ; Why tarry here ■ — when she has perished ? Go with her, — the grave is wide. The work is done : their splendor only He has left, — their life is gone ; Those glittering halls are cold and lonely, And the spectre passes on. Beneath his curse 'tis hard to languish, E'en with friends and fortune nigh, But God alone can know the anguish Of the countless poor thai die. THE PLAGUE. 175 111 yonder dwelling damp and cheerless See the lonely dead again, A woman fair, and pure, and peerless, Stricken down by want and pain. Death spared her child, — his scythe was reeking, And he left it on her breast, Now dry, and dark, — a young dove seeking Food in its deserted nest. Oh ! bravely had her spirit striven, Reft of hope, till in despair It fled on Mercy's wing to Heaven, With a wild and plaintive prayer. And lo ! where angel hosts are singing In her home of endless joy, That mother's silvery voice is ringing Suppliant for her orphan boy. On, on, the pestilence is flying ; Lay thy forehead in the dust, Proud city, for thy heart is crying To the God whom good men trust. 176 THE PLAGUE. Thy cup of woe His mercy measures ; Then in meekness bow thee down, Though tears may dim the harvest treasures And the autumn's golden crown. Death seems to haunt yon mighty river, Moaning wildly in its waves, And autumn leaves can scarcely cover On that shore ten thousand graves. Yet on the black form still is sailing, O'er its waters draped in gloom, A nation's heart in terror quailing At his trumpet-voice of doom. Yet hope, — for many bright eyes sleeping, Eyes that watched thy woods grow green. Are now eternal vigils keeping Where no autumn leaves are seen. Sad city, though thy brow is shaded, Though thy heart is now a tomb, Hope on, — for earthly blossoms, faded, In the smile of God shall bloom. 177 THE WOUNDED EAGLE. I saw a stricken eagle droop, At eve, his blood-stained wing, And, like some wounded warrior, stoop Beside a mountain spring. Too proud to writhe beneath the shock, He gazed upon the sky, And with his talons grasped the rock, As if too proud to die. Methought he seemed far, far from home When wounded thus he stood ; Not there his mate was wont to come And tend her eagle-brood. 12 178 THE WOUNDED EAGLE. 'T was sad to see him all alone Beside that mountain spring : Proud, as if space were still liis throne, He looked — an exiled king. An exile from the paths of light Where he was wont to soar, An exile from the cloud-capt height And from the ocean shore, No more along the glacier fields Shall his wild pinion sweep, Or where the avalanche madly reels Far down the frozen steep. An exile from the Norway pine Where he was rocked to rest When lightning-wreaths were seen to shine Upon the night's dark crest, — When tempests sang a Lullaby Above his kingly head And the black curtains of the sky Swept pound lii- lofty bed. THE WOUNDED EAGLE. 179 An exile from the battle-field Where oft had poised his wing, To gaze upon the blood-stained shield And hear the war-cry ring, Or 'mid the stars and stripes to see His own proud image wave, The guardian god of victory, Still watching o'er the brave. An exile ! — he shall haste no more To bathe his flashing eye Where the red floods of morning pour Their waves along the sky ; Or sit in twilight's dewy bowers, When falls their purple bloom, With evening's wreath of golden flowers Upon the daylight's tomb. Once more he raised his kingly crest And plumed his wing to fly, But saw the life-blood of his breast, And laid him down to die. 180 THE WOUNDED EAGLE. Brave eagle ! would thou couldst have died Upon the battle plain, And laid thee t down in lordly pride Among the noble slain. 181 A FOREST MEMORY. In the forest, so dim and olden, I stand where we lingered of yore, While shadows, half green and half golden, Steal down on my pathway once more. My pathway ! how mournful it seemeth, Though bright with the same forest flowers, Though o'er it the same sunlight gleameth, The pathway that used to be ours. The breeze with a soft voice seems trilling Thy name round each quivering leaf, And its low, plaintive murmur is filling My soul with an echo of grief. 182 A FOREST MEMORY. How radiantly smiled the young morning, When last in this deep wood we met ; No cloud, as a shadow of warning, Upon her fair forehead was set. And while (where the sunlight is shining) "We stood where yon linden-tree stands, Our hearts seemed more fondly entwining As closer were clasping our hands. The dew on our pathway then glistened Like gems on the green robes of June, And each summer bird, as we listened, Seemed chanting love's favorite tune. But now, while the dew-drops are sleeping On every wild blossom and tree, Methinks the old forest is weeping With me, dourest, — weeping for thee. A FOREST MEMORY. 183 And now, their past gladness forgetting, The birds all so mournful have grown, That every sweet voice seems regretting To see me here wandering, alone ! So hopeful we were, — so light-hearted, — So oft had we met there before, — Ah ! how could I dream when we parted Of meeting again nevermore ? I thought thou wouldst come on the morrow, And smiled as I left thee ; — long years Have passed, and now oft, in my sorrow, I wish we had parted in tears. Thou art lost, love ; but memory raises The ghost of that time at my call, And still, through the dew-laden daisies, Thy light step seems near me to fall. 184 A FOKEST MEMORY. And as on this green bank I 'm sitting, Thy fingers seem still locked in mine, While o'er the soft grass there arc flitting Two shadows — and one, love, is thine. Each beautiful thing seems a token Of that summer morning to me ; And ne'er can the sad spell be broken, That links this old forest with thee. 185 THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. A fountain there is in the depths of the soul So unsullied and free from alloy, That it mirrors the grief which we cannot control, And grows bright in the sunshine of joy. Its crystal waves sleep in the grotto of love, Where are springing our hopes and our fears, And if gladness, or gloom, its pure waters move, We still call it the fountain of tears. When feelings of doubt, or the memories of woe, In our bosoms may hold their dark reign, 0, sweet to the heart is that fountain's swift flow, And we weep, for it softens our pain. 186 THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. But when, all unbidden, there gushes a tide Of tears from its wild-heaving breast, 'When hearts that are breaking their sorrow must hide, 0, 't is anguish to hush it to rest ! Deep, deep are its waves, in the spirit's still cave ; From the rock of affection they start, And in its pure depths every feeling we lave Is the brightest and best of the heart. And often it mirrors the realm of the past, "Where the dim clouds of memory roll, And dreams of the future upon it are cast Through the shadowy light of the soul. From childhood's soft eye this strange fountain of tears Often gushes like bright summer rain ; But there it reflects not the sorrow of years, And soon glows into gladness again : For the heart of a child is as lighl as BOme flower That unfolds its ray Leaves in ih<' dawn THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. 187 To tremble and bend in each glittering shower, And look up, ere the moisture be gone. But when the rough tempest has shaken its bloom, When the young heart is darkened by care, When this cold world has taught us that joy has a tomb, And that hope may be quenched in despair, — The tears we then shed are less transient than those That gushed when each season seemed spring, When feeling was fresh as the heart of a rose And as light as a butterfly's wing. When destiny's hand has extinguished the beams Which had made our existence seem bright, When hopes that were cherished are shattered like dreams, As we watch their frail beauty at night, Then tears will steal forth from the spirit's still land O'er the desolate waste of the heart, As sometimes, perhaps, from the wide burning sand Of the desert a fountain will start. 188 THE FOUNTAIN OF TEAKS. And tears that we nurse, as too sacred to shed, On the shrine of affection shall gleam, As gems in the depths of a cavern arc hid, Amid darkness and silence to beam. The well of true feeling, the mirror of love, Still exhaustless, unsullied by years, — From the depths of the spirit no chance can remove This mysterious fountain of tears. 189 THERE 'S A BREEZE BLOWING OVER THE MOUNTAIN. Theee 's a breeze blowing over the mountain, As fresh and as fragrant to-night As the spray drifted off from some fountain Of air, in the land of delight. A perfume from the wild-wood 't is bringing, A breath from each blossom and tree, And that wind of the mountain is singing A song to my spirit of thee. As a stream over silvery sand gushing, That breeze from the far mountain-height, O'er a pathway of star-beams is rushing, And breaking in ripples of light. 190 there's a breeze blowing How cool, how delicious, its murmur, And soft, as the voice of the bee "When he hums to the roses of summer ! How gently it whispers of thee ! It has stirred all the tendrils of feeling In the vineyard of love with its wings, And its exquisite breath is now stealing Over Memory's ^Eolian strings ; In Fancy's bright garden 'tis shaking The fruit from each wondrous tree, And while of their sweetness partaking, My soul is still dreaming of thee. Like that blossom of fabled perfection, The dew of whose chalice doth turn To diamonds, the bloom of affection Will shrine in its delicate urn. As a gem, every tear thai is springing, While, murmuring softly to mo, Still this wild mountain minstrel is bringing Sad, beautiful memories of thee. OVEE THE MOUNTAIN. 191 Come, come then, and carol for ever, Sweet spirit of air, in my heart ; Furl thy light, viewless pinions, and never, My bosom-bird, shalt thou depart ! Through the spice-groves of Memory rushing — Thy wings steeped in fragrance — along, And my soul, its own wild music hushing, For ever will list to thy song. 192 LINES TO A FRIEND. Friend of my childhood hours ! thy plaintive song Softly and sadly o'er my heart 'has swept, Awakening chords that have been silent long, And at their mournful music I have wept ; As a low vesper chant, in some far clime, Filling the exile's breast with thoughts of home, Fraught with the memory of that joyous time, Our spring of life, thy thrilling voice has come. And now upon the scroll of vanished years With a strange joy 1 gaze, ami pause to trace LINES TO A FRIEND. 193 Through the dim light of smiles, or mist of tears, Each cherished scene, and each beloved face, (Too many changed, and some, alas ! no more,) Till wave on wave these thronging fancies roll, And rise, and burst on memory's haunted shore, Shedding their broken brightness o'er my soul. And now I seem to hear the silver 'tone Of voices hushed for ever, and the laugh Gushing from gladsome spirits, that have flown, While the red lip seemed all too fresh to quaff The bitterness of death. And still I see Eyes which were once so full of sparkling light, We scarce believe that in eternity The beam dashed out by time has grown more bright. And she we loved so well, that happy one Whose face was rich with beauty, as an isle In some fair southern ocean, where the sun Sheds on its verdure a perpetual smile, — 19-4 LIXES TO A FRIEND. There lingers on my spirit yet the glow Of noontide lightness which her presence cast Upon our sports ; we cared not then to know The future, for we judged it by the past. But grief sprung up, one cold and shadowy morn, And grew to agony within my breast, When she, the freshest bud, was roughly torn From out the garden of our love, and drest In the pale robes of death. It seemed so strange That her rich cheek, her darkly flashing eye, Should have grown lifeless : 'tis a fearful change, From light to darkness, when the young must die. Another, whose transparent brow was kissed By soft and shining waves of auburn hair, Passed from our sight, as wreaths of golden misl Melting away upon the morning air. There was a sadness, spiritually bright, In her Strange smile ; ah ! even now it - LINES TO A FRIEND. 195 Shining upon me, like the holy light Of angel eyes that look upon oxir dreams. A heavenly lustre, stealing from the soul, Robed her whole being in its purity, And as a silvery orb she seemed to roll Above us, through youth's warm, unclouded sky. But changes came, and severed was the chain That linked us in one fair and loving band ; And when we yearned to see that star again, Lo ! it had risen in a better land. 0, deem not that my heart can ever be So altered as to turn its love away From memories like these ! they seem to me Glowing and fresh as things of yesterday. And often, as my steps still wander by That ruined garden, I have wished in vain To give a wealth of joys, if you and I Could live one day of those lost years again. 196 LINES TO A FRIEND. But gone, for ever gone, is that glad time, Of all our life perhaps the brightest part; And nothing lingers, save a plaintive chime Still echoing the past within my heart. Yet, as I strike the harp, 't is sweet to know, That in thy breast 'twill wake an answering tone, For in the midst of this wild, mournful flow Of memories — I would not be alone. But think not that my spirit can forget Aught it has ever loved. Oblivion's wave Can never wash the shores of our regret : The saddest relics we are ever prone to save From every ruin of the breast, and place Them tenderly upon our bosom's shrine, And when of joy there is not left one trace, The threads of life around them seem to twine. 197 AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. Old and lonely, I am sitting In my dimly lighted room, And the shadowy past comes flitting Bound me in the gathering gloom: There are shades which, at my calling, Within memory's portal wait, Pale as are the ashes falling From the embers in my grate. Pale, beseeching, mournful faces Seem to look upon me still In the twilight, — they whose places On this earth none else could fill. 198 AN OLD man's musings. First, my beauteous, dark-eyed mother, - She who nursed my budding years, — She who loves man as no other Loves him in this vale of tears. Even now that love seems crushing In my heart the evil weed, Every sinful passion hushing, Sowing there the goodly seed : As when first I knelt before her, In her loveliness arrayed, When she bade me not adore her More than Him to whom I prayed. Then my baby heart would wonder, When I thought of God, if he, Who lit the stars and rolled the thunder, Were as beautiful as she ? And I wondered, too, at even, When her soul in song did swell, If the angels up in heaven, With their harps, could sing as well ? AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 199 Mother ! though the sunny tresses You so loved are frosted now, Yet your red lip often presses Lingeringly upon my brow ; Still your white and slender fingers Seem to flutter through my hair, Though no golden curl now lingers Round the face you thought so fair. Ah ! too well do I remember Weeping, on that dreadful night, When they left you in your chamber All alone, so cold and white ! When I strove to wake you, mother, From that strange and dreamless sleep ; And in vain my grief to smother, When they told me not to weep. How I felt my heart-strings quiver, When I saw you lie so still, Wondering why you did not shiver, For the winter winds blew chill, 200 AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. And thin robes -were round you flowing, Such as I had seen you wear When your eye with mirth was glowing, And when jewels decked your hair. Then, a cloak, with rosy lining, I had watched you clasp at night, Where the rich brown curls fell shining On your neck so purely white : This I folded fondly round you, And, still sobbing, crept to bed ; But at morn still cold I found you, And they told me you were dead ! " Dead ! " the muffled bell seemed tolling, " Dead ! " I heard the pastor say, — Dead ! and then the hearse went rolling From our lonely home away. Mother! (be the sin forgiven,) Then 1 murmured at His will. Who, in calling you to heaven, Left me here a baby still! AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 201 Other forms now gather round me, Children, friends, and kindred dear, They whose love to earth once bound me, Who have left me lonely here ; All are pale, — but memory, bringing Bygone blushes, tints each cheek, Silent, — but with memories ringing Through my soul, they need not speak. And my withered heart rejoices, "When the lost come back to me, As spring-birds, with pleasant voices, Singing round a blasted tree : And as spicy breezes stealing Round some lonely desert palm, Does a gush of bygone feeling Seem my spirit to embalm, — When, from memory's censer wafted, Comes that fragrant love which grows, On the heart's young tendrils grafted, And which " blossoms as the rose." 202 AN old man's musings. She, the goddess of life's morning, Smiles upon me through the gloom, Twilight's purple shades adorning "With a soft and tender bloom. Youth's first morning-glory, holding Love's own dew within its cup, Drooped, — and in its chalice folded All life's early freshness up. She was to my heart the aloe, Blooming once in long, long years, "Whose rare fragrance left a halo Round the altar of my tears. And I see, when I am thinking, In my heart her image lie, As the limited deer, while drinking, Sees the shadow of the sky. Though he may be bleeding, dying, Yet his dim eye loves to look On that bright, blue picture, lying In the crystal of the brook. AN old man's musings. 203 Drop the curtain, — close the shutter Softly, — shade the night-lamp well: " Hush ! " let no intruder utter Even one word, to break the spell. Nay, 't is vain ! the lamp, though shaded, Quenches, with its real beam, All the spirit-light, — and faded Is the old man's twilight dream! 204 WHO MADE THE MOON? DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO BROTHERS. Q. Brother, who made yon broad, bright Moon. And hung it up on high, To shine so like a silver lamp, Within the silent sky ? A. Brother, 'twas God who bade it shine To light the darkened air ; He made the sun, the sky, the flowers, And all that 's bright and fair ; He made the birds and butterflies, The little humming-bee, The deep blue lake and rivulet, The vast and soundless sea. WHO MADE THE MOON? 205 Q. Then where is God's own dwelling-place, My brother ? is it there In yon calm sky ? For mother says That God is everywhere. A. yes ! the gentle Jesus says His home is up above ; Yet God's blest Spirit reigns on earth, In everlasting love. 'T is ever near us, and no dark, Unholy thought can dim The brightness of a human soul, That is unknown to Him. Q. Then tell me, where has Jesus gone ? For mother says, He blest Young children here, and prayed for them, And laid them on his breast. A. Brother, He told us how to live, He taught us how to die, 206 WHO MADE THE MOOX ? And then went up to dwell again In yonder moonlit sky. He came on earth, that we might learn His Father's holy will, And from that home of endless joy Is watching o'er us still. Q. And is he then God's blessed Son, This Saviour kind and true ? I call God " Father," in my prayers, — Are we His children too ? A. yes ! He calls us all His own ; Then let not sin beguile Thy spotless soul away from Him, But dwell beneath His smile. Strive to be pure as yon fair Moon, My brother, — let us live, That God may bless the good we do, And all the ill forgive. 207 FAREWELL. Farewell ! is there aught on earth So mournful as that word, When amid scenes of light and mirth And music it is heard, Whispered by one we love too well, And may not meet for years, When smiles upon the lip must dwell, While the heart is full of tears ? Farewell ! farewell ! ah, breathe it not Within the banquet hall, But in some quiet, lonely spot, Where the spirit knows no thrall ! 208 FAREWELL. Where every feeling of the soul On love's light wing springs free, And the heart may weep without control, There let our parting be. As music of the restless deep Within some ocean cave, Where the soft echoes never sleep That mock each sighing wave, In memory's enchanted cell Shall linger every tone, Each whispered word of thy farewell Be cherished there alone ! And from the cavern's sparkling wall Bright drops for ever spring, That mingle in their ceaseless fall, And into crystals cling : Thus, word and look and smile of thine Have fallen on my heart, And thy spirit breathing into mine Is of itself a part. FAREWELL. 209 Then linger not, where all is gay, To whisper thy farewell, Where other eyes in coldness may Upon our sorrow dwell. 'Mid light, and mirth, and beauty's bloom, A parting such as ours Were mournful as a ruined tomb, Surrounded all by flowers. 210 AND ART THOU GONE And art thou gone ? — Thy gentle eye Seems smiling on me yet, As evening blushes tinge the sky When evening's sun has set ; And in my bosom seems to thrill Thy last low, parting tone, Like summer music lingering still When summer birds have flown. Return, — my love has never found An echo save in thine ; The tendrils of thai love around No Other heart can twine ; AND ART THOU GONE? 211 Thine image pictures every thought That whispers through my soul ; Thy fondness o'er my life has wrought A spell of sweet control. As some proud bird that builds her nest Upon a lofty pine, My haughty spirit sought for rest, And found a home with thine. When tempests bend the stately tree, That bird will fold her wing, And linger there as trustingly As 'mid the flowers of spring. And thus, should sorrow's sable shroud Be folded round thy heart, And, hovering o'er thy life, some cloud Obscure its sunniest part, I would not turn away, or fly Where happier scenes might be, — I 'd rather watch that darkened sky, And brave the storm with thee. 212 AND ART THOU GONE ? Return, — for now I strive to sing Thy favorite songs in vain ; Each note falls hark with broken wing Upon my heart again ; And all the joyous thoughts that spring In sadness there return, To droop, like roses withering, Within the spirit's urn. And shadows on my pathway lie, When far away from thee, Like vapors gathering silently, At midnight, o'er the sea, — Till, with the darkness left alone, Each wave will seem as sad As if beneath the summer sun It never had been glad. Bui when the early morn shall bring I [er golden censer there, And all iis wealth of fragrance fling Upon the n akening air, AND ART THOU GONE ? 213 Each billow, with a sparkling crest, All blest and bright will seem, As if the darkness and the mist Had been a troubled dream. Thus, when again that smile of thine (The morning of my heart) Upon its silent depths shall shine, The midnight must depart ; And joy once more, still fresh and fair, Her sweetest incense burn Upon love's holy altar, there To welcome thy return. 21-4 THE BURNING SHIP A stately ship, with sails unfurled, In beauty swept the ocean ; Around her prow the blue waves curled. With light and graceful motion. Like manhood, on the tide of years To joy or sorrow fated, Was that proud ship, with hopes and fears Within its bosom freighted. As a white bird across the sky, On, on, the vessel bounded, While swelling breezes loud and bigli Their ocean music sounded. THE BURNING SHIP. 215 And o'er the deck in splendor flung, A wing of glory beaming, Like stars upon a rainbow hung, Columbia's flag was streaming. As the Hindoo will deck his boy, The babe his heart should cherish, To see him with a wild, strange joy In the dark Ganges perish, Old Ocean seemed with fickle love That stately ship caressing, And the rich sunlight from above Fell on it like a blessing. Upon the deck two beings stood, With spirits warm and glowing, For through their souls a mighty flood Of love and joy was flowing. As when two clouds float gently on, And meet in rosy lightness, Their hearts had mingled into one, All purity and brightness. 216 the busking ship. And near tliem a young mother smiled, With fund affection gazing, "Where to the silken flag her child His tiny hand was raising. In her fair arms she threw him high And laughed with girlish pleasure, As the sweet babe would vainly try To seize the gaudy treasure. A stately form in manhood's pride, With look of deep devotion, Stood by that joyous creature's side, Watching each graceful motion. He gazed upon his cherub boy, And on the lovely mother : His cup was filled with drops of joy, It could not hold another. An aged man, with silvery hair Around his calm brow flowing, Gazed on thai group of beauty there Till memories rich and glowing, THE BURNING SHIP. 217 Of youth and joy, stole on his heart, And those his bosom cherished Seemed from the mournful past to start, Where all save love had perished. On, on, proud ship ! for beauty weaves A fairy spell around thee ; With buds and flowers and autumn leaves The hand of fate has bound thee, As for some blithesome holiday. Even age forgets its sorrow, Childhood, youth, manhood, all are gay, — Where shall they be to-morrow ? Dream on, young lovers ! sunset bright In yonder wave is sinking, And its last draught of pure delight Your mingled love is drinking. Gaze, gentle mother, on thy child, For soon it shall be sleeping, And ocean billows fierce and wild O'er its cold bed be sweeping. 218 THE BURNING SHIP. Manhood, look fondly, gladly on, Steep thy proud soul in pleasure : That wife, that hoy, will soon he gone ; Cling to thy heart's rich treasure. Old man, life has no charm for thee. Thy hopes on earth are riven ; Then plume thy spirit's wings, and flee To those thou lov'st in heaven. Hark ! on the hreeze, that strange, deep cry A tale of fear is telling ; Its sound, all wild and mournfully. Far o'er the deep is swelling. Smothered at first, — then fearfully It comes, — till higher ! higher ! Its echoes thunder to the sky : God ! the ship 's on lire ! Startled, the child now turns his eye. Whore all in dread arc gazing, And laughs to see the flames on high In awful beauty blazing. THE BURNING SHIP. 219 Quick ! to the life-boat ! — for on deck The fire is madly rushing, And soon within your blackened wreck The water will be gushing. But Hope now from that wretched bark Her heavenly wing is turning, For she has watched the fatal spark, And left the life-boat burning. Hark ! hark ! from every snowy sail The fire-fiend's voice is singing, He loves to hear the mother's wail Upon the night-wind ringing. The flame is on her boy's bright curls When, with a frenzied motion, She clasps his infant form, and hurls It madly in the ocean. Plunge upon plunge is heard, till all Beneath the waves are sleeping, And tears of light upon their pall The pale, pure moon is weeping. 220 THE BURNING SHIP. And still, high o'er that burning deck, Columbia's flag -was streaming, As Freedom's smile upon the wreck Of Tyranny is beaming- Fate holds our starry banner fast, Its glory she will cherish ; For still it stood, — and was the last Of that proud ship to perish. 221 THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. Bring music, for it fills my soul With rapture and delight ; Let roses crown the flowing howl, And we '11 be gay to-night ! Yes, gay ! although a mournful tone Is lingering in my heart, And dreams of joy for ever flown Within my bosom start. On with the dance ! yet prolong Each melancholy note ; For as amid the glittering throng Their plaintive numbers float, 222 THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. I feel a wild, strange thrill of joy, While yet my heart is sad, And memory would the smile destroy "Which seemed but now so glad. As summer breezes lightly rest Upon a calm, clear lake, And scarce upon its placid breast The silvery ripples wake, These thoughts of sadness and of bliss Come sweeping gently by, Soft as the thrill of love's own kiss, And mournful as its sigh. But summer breeze perchance may wake The spirit of the storm. And every ripple on the lake An angry billow form. Thussaddened thoughts, which seemed at first So sweetly mixed with JOJ . Within m\ heart ih>\\ madly burst, And even hope destroy. THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. 223 For memory's tear oft dims the light Of pleasure's radiant wing, And sheds on every flower a blight Which in the breast may spring ; But oh ! when every hope has fled, What thoughts of anguish start, As tears we must not, dare not shed, Fall burning on the heart ! Yet once again : softly trill The notes I love to hear, And I will dream of joy, while still The echo fills mine ear. On with the dance ! from dreams of bliss Perchance my heart may wake, Nor be the first, 'mid scenes like this, To linger on, and break. 221 WHAT IS PLEASURE Tell me what is earthly pleasure ? Has the human heart defined, If it be a real treasure. Or a meteor of the mind ? Touched by grief, its charms are severed. And its glories cease to shine, As Venetian glass is shivered I>y a drop of poisoned wine. Ask the school-boy, " Whal is pleasure '. ' When a week's long task is done, And he saunters Inane ;u Leisure, With a hcarl brimful of fun ; WHAT IS PLEASURE ? 225 He will tell thee, 't is in flying- Kites upon a summer day, Blowing bubbles, or in lying On a stack of new-mown hay. But when his red cheek is paling 'Neath a master's eye in fear, 'Neath the lash his fair form quailing, Yet too proud to shed a tear, — He will tell thee, in the sadness Of that dark, embittered hour, Hope is all the school-boy's gladness, Hope of manhood, and of power. Ask young lovers, who are weaving Fancied chains of lasting bliss ; They will tell thee 't is in giving And receiving love's first kiss. But when time has dimmed the brightness Of love's fair, enamelled gloss, — When the heart has lost its lightness, And life's wine is dark with dross, — 15 226 WHAT 18 PLEASURE ? They will tell thee, worldly pleasures To a sated fancy seem But a freight of fairy treasures "Wrecked upon some angry stream, Or as bright balloons, sent burning To the clouds, in childish mirth, From their airy voyage returning Blackened ashes to the earth. Go, ask manhood's wild ambition, In his eager search for fame ; He will answer, " Joy's fruition Is to win a deathless name." But these hopes perchance may wither, And another wear the crown, While he vainly strives to gather One frail blossom of renown. Then, in bitterness pf sorrow, Ee will echo, " Where is joy ? Won to-day, and lost to-morrow, 'Tis a worthless, gilded toy." WHAT IS PLEASURE ? 227 Resting but on public favor, Gilded by the public smile, • And beneath that shining cover, Hollow as a heart of guile. Ask the heart of some young mother, When her wealth of hope and joy Rests with one on earth, whose brother Is a bright-winged angel boy. There upon the wells of gladness Fall dim shadows from above, And soft echoes tell the sadness Of a mother's severed love. Ask the Christian, who has gathered Pleasure's bloom in early years, And lived on to see it withered, Mourning o'er the dust in tears. He will answer, " Graft thy pleasure Early on some heavenly tree, That shall yield abundant treasure, Here — and in eternity." 228 WHAT IS PLEASURE ? Wandering from the paths of duty, Breathe once more thy infant prayer, And religion's early beauty Shall return to bless thee there ; If a mother's gentle teachings Be thy memory's vesper chime, Thou ■wilt need no sterner preaching, In thy manhood's golden prime. 229 A DEEAM OF HEAVEN. In a sweet dream I soared above To regions soft and fair, And roamed with spirits that I love Through heavenly gardens there. I wandered up, on wing of light, To one bright star that shone, Amid the countless orbs of night, All peerless and alone. Alone its perfect beauty beamed In the blue vaulted dome, And to my raptured vision seemed The great Eternal's home. 230 A DREA3I OF HEAVEN. A light in memory's hallowed urn It shall for ever beam, And memory's dying look will turn To that enchanting dream. I saw my angel mother there, Pure and serenely bright, A spirit of celestial air, All clad in holy light. She led me where undying flowers In radiant beauty grew, And through eternal daylight hours Birds of rich plumage flew, — Where fountains o'er the verdant ground In liquid splendor fall, And billows, with a murmuring sound. To answering billows call, — A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 231 Through shining streets, where 'mid the throng Of spirit forms I met Beloved ones, departed long, Who knew and loved me yet. They tuned their golden harps to sing, And welcome me on high ; Even now methinks I hear it ring, That anthem of the sky. I asked my gentle mother " why Her home was all so fair, So bright and beautiful the sky, When sun nor moon was there." She told me, as we onward trod, No orb might shine above, In realms lit by the smile of God And radiant with his love. 232 A DREA3I OF HE A VEX. While thus in silvery tones she spoke, And glory round us shone, Softly it faded, — I awoke, — My dream of heaven had flown. 233 THE WITHERED BUD. And thou didst keep the bud I gave, Amid that gay and glittering throng, Didst, as some sacred relic, save - Its pale and blighted leaves, though lon< Of fragrance and of hue bereft ; Yet, when that rose was fresh and fair, Upon thy heart its bloom I left, And mine now thrills to find it there. 'T is strange, that memory often weaves Her spells around a ruined flower, And from a heap of withered leaves Will summon, by her subtle power, 234 THE -WITHERED BUD. Dim spectral shadows of the past, Some sad, some beautiful, and yet One look upon the bright we cast, And cling to those which bring regret. Friendship ! — 't is like the flitting beam Which seems to build a rosy fire Within the iceberg's heart ; we dream Of "warmth, but, when the rays expire, Find only there a frozen isle ; And transient as that golden glow Is — ah ! too oft — the sunny smile We trust — when hearts lie cold below. The smooth, soft sheen, the silver foil, Which makes life's mirror bright and fair. An artful hand may quickly spoil, And leave the glass transparent there ; By envy, or by bit tor hate, The love we trusl is oft destroyed. And, seeking still its light, too late We turn, and find a chilling void. THE WITHERED BUD. 235 Yet, like the Resurrection-flower, Which, rescued from the Egyptian's tomb, When moistened by a gentle shower, In wondrous beauty still will bloom, We sometimes find a heart to prize, Which, changeless still through grief and years, Will, like that buried flower, arise, And brighten in the midst of tears. 236 THE CHILD'S PRAYER. Father ! beneath thy sleepless eye, The burning planets grew. And yet it beams from yon blue sky To light the evening dew. Thy spirit fills the boundless air, Yet stoops to hear an infant's prayer. The universe, with beauty filled, Pours forth its praise to thee, Whose voice the raging tempest stilled, Whoso footsteps pressed the Bea» the child's prayer. 237 Yet 'neath thy smile blue violets spring, And thou wilt hear an infant sing. Father ! the vast, unerring will That gave creation birth Pours forth its holy love, to fill The humblest heart on earth : And like a dove descends to rest Within an infant's sinless breast." 23* A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. Sing mournfully ! let music float Around the dying' year ! Let sorrow thrill her saddest note, And shed her brightest tear. How lately did we hail his birth, How soon his eye grew dim With looking on this cold, cold earth ! Come, chant his funeral hymn. O gladly was (lu^ New Year met, When first lie wandered down, With many priceless minutes set ks jewels in his crown. A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. 239 We laughed, from out his diadem To see the treasures fall, Nor cared we then to gather them, Those gems so bright and small. But could the moments one by one Each steal away a spark Of splendor from the summer sun, This world would soon be dark. And thus the New Year's shining brow Of all its wealth was reft, Till it grew old and stern, and now There 's scarce a jewel left. Their memory still would fling A glory round the fading year, And gild his drooping wing. And where were sown those shining seed, Each heart would reap a bloom Of truth or love, some noble deed To brighten on his tomb. 240 A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. To call them back we vainly yearn, Those hours too idly cast Into that dark and mouldy urn Which mortals call the Past. We break Time's fragile woof, and leave Its fragments dim with tears ; We squander moments but to grieve When they are lost in years ; — Like children in their heedless play On some wild river's brink, Who fling their treasures all away, And laugh to see them sink, Till, as above each gilded toy The ruthless waters sweep, They cease to watch the waves with joy, And o'er their folly weep. As motes of dust, as grains of sand. As bubbles in the sea, Are mortal years within His hand Who holds eternity. A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. 241 Yet He who weaves Time's mighty girth Marks when one thread is riven, And every moment lost on earth Is echoed " Lost ! " in heaven. The Old Year's dying hour has come : Let grief's pale shroud be cast Around him, — chant a requiem, And leave him with the past. And now to deck the New Year's shrine, Go gather wisdom's flowers, That wisdom's quenchless star may shine Upon his parting hours. 242 TO MY MOTHER. As some iEolian harp, deserted long By the soft winds which o'er it loved to sweep, My lyre is mute, my voice unused to song, And my sweet Muse, forsaken, turns to weep. Yet still, methinks, if some light breeze of even, Laden with rich perfume, should wander by, That spirit harp, wooed by the breath of heaven. Would wake once more its magic melody. And thus shall thy loved voice my song inspire. And while for thee again I strive t«» sing, The sweet word Mother, echoing o'er my lyre, Shall break the spell that binds each golden string. TO MY MOTHER. 243 I '11 weave a wreath for thee, of childish hours, Culled from the vista of departed years, A mystic garland, of heart-treasured flowers, First twined by hope, now wet with memory's tears. Bright was our home, and in a sunny clime, Where, a gay, laughing child, I loved to dwell ; Thoughtless and free as bird in summer-time, My light step bounding as the wild gazelle. There, dancing by thy side, in baby glee, Fresh as the flowers that wreathed my shining hair, I had no wish that was unknown to thee, No thought, dear mother, that thou didst hot share. When to the stars with anxious gaze I turned, > Wishing in vain to count those orbs of light, They seemed to watch me, and my spirit yearned To know who formed the million eyes of night. 244 TO MY MOTHER. then thou taughtst me His blest name to call, — That Holy One who dwells beyond the sky, — And toldst me that the word which formed them all Had power to crush each shining world on high. And oft, when, borne upon the storm's dark wing, The deep-toned thunder's startling voice was heard, Seeking protection there, to thee I 'd cling, And tremble like some poor, affrighted bird. Then, pointing up to the red lightning's blaze, My mother ! thou didst say, " The Almighty arm, Which made the flowers we love and sun's bright rays, My childhood passed, as some enchanting dream Of joy ; it seemed one long and sunny day, A rainbow's light, a radiant meteor's gleam: Transient as beautiful, it fled away. TO MY MOTHER. 245 We left our home, — that home of perfect love, — The deep, lone valley, with its gushing spring, The stately oak, the still and peaceful grove, Where the first summer birds were wont to sing. All, all, were left ; and as o'er morning sky Serene and bright a gloomy shade is cast, Sorrow's first tear then dimmed my laughing eye, And my young spirit felt there was a past. Yet soon it fled — this childish grief — away And far ; in other lands 'mid stranger flowers My step was light again, my voice was gay As when, at home, I roved 'mid Southern bowers. For with thee still, as some fair star whose ray Sheds its soft lustre on the midnight hour, Thy smiles to charm my every care away Have proved a talisman of magic power. 246 TO MY MOTHER. My mother ! could there descend one gleam Commissioned to return to realms above, From my true heart, upon its winged beam, I'd seal my mother's name, — that name of love. 247 GO DREAM OF ME. Go dream of me, oil ! at that haunted hour When midnight's dark and mournful eye Looks on the earth, and a silvery shower Of light is sweeping from the sky ; Away, away, upon its viewless wing, Through the dim and shadowy air, To the land of dreams let thy spirit spring, For mine will be wandering there. A voiceless grief, a wild, mysterious spell, A deep, unchangeable regret, With a strange power upon my being fell Long, long ago, when first we met. 248 GO DREAM OF ME. I was a child, and knew not then of love ; Yet when I gazed into thine eye, The strong waves of my spirit seemed to move, And my young heart throbbed fearfully. Too well I knew thou ne'er wouldst turn on me More than a passing, transient thought, Wliile I could cherish but one memory, One dream, with thy dear image fraught. 'T was vain, and yet I loved to gaze upon Thy face so radiantly bright, As flowers that turn at morning toward the sun And droop at eve beneath his light. But years fled on, and my young spirit grew Too proud to mourn thee in despair. And hushed the voice of love, though well I knew Its echo still would linger there ; I crushed the gem, but every fragment threw A broken light in memory's urn : I quenched the fire, bul where its embers strew My heart, a spark will sometimes burn. GO DREAM OF ME. 249 I learned to smile when thou wert far away, To breathe thy name without a sigh, And schooled my tortured spirit to be gay, That none might mark its agony. The captive bird, though pining, seems to sing Blithely as when it wandered free, And the tints fade not from its prisoned wing, Yet that bird mourns unceasingly. I know thy waking thoughts are not for me, But when the hand of sleep has prest Upon thy brow, my heart prays silently That dreams of me may haunt thy rest. As a pale star will send its timid beam To sleep within a lily's bell, let my image wander as a dream Within thy slumbering soul to dwell ! Upon thy shining hair, thy broad, bright brow, Thy deep blue eyes, I still may gaze, (For oft we meet,) nor do I tremble now When near thee, as in other clays. 250 GO DREAM OF ME. But love for thee my bosom may not thrill, My life is quiet, and my heart is calm, Though memories of the past are breathing still Around me like a heavenly balm. When first I dashed thine image from my heart, A coldness on my spirit fell, A feeling that can never all depart, Though long ago hope sighed " Farewell ! " Yet now that radiant, sunny smile of thine Still sheds a brightness o'er my soul, E'en as the Borealis lights that twine Their splendors round the frozen pole. 'T is strange, that in my sleep thy voice so clear. In murmured accents deep and low, Thrills forth the burning words I pined to hear. When first I loved thee long ago. That time has past, and thai spell is riven ; Yet when the night-winds sing to thee, My spirit shall come on the breath of heaven, Whispering softly, " Go dream ol' me" 251 THE HARP THAT ONCE" ON ERIN'S SHORE. " The harp that once" on Erin's shore Of yore was wont to thrill, Shall gladden Erin's heart no more, — Its golden chords are still. For ah ! the soul which breathed so long In every tone has fled, And Erin's matchless child of song Is numbered with the dead. A gem that lit her crown of fame Has fallen ; but its ray Shall beam for ever o'er a name Which cannot pass away. 252 "the hakp that once" The bard's wild voice of melody Has left its music there, An echo that can never die To haunt his native air. The harp that rang through Erin's isle Hangs mute and mournful now ; And dim the light of Erin's smile, For grief is on her brow ; Yet through the cloud a sacred beam, A quenchless light, shall pour, For every heart with love must teem That breathes the name of Moore. A voice has left her realm of song, "Whose burning words will glow In Erin's faithful breast as long As ocean tides shall flow, And sorrow's tear grows bright beneath Their light, and memory's bloom Is twined within the cypress wreath, That docks her poet's tomb. on erin's shore. 253 But o'er his harp let ages still A reign of silence keep, For who the Bard's high place can fill ? What hand save his should sweep The chords that have been wont to swell The anthems of his breast ? His soul of fire has sighed farewell, And Erin's harp should rest. Yet beauty's beaming eye will weep Above the Poet's grave, As long as Erin's isle shall keep Its vigil o'er the wave ; And every bright green tint must fade, Upon her emerald shore, Ere yet forgetfulness can shade The memory of Moore ! 254 THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. Thou canst not forget me, — thy proud heart may scorn The wild love it stooped to set free, And trample the truth which my spirit has worn As a gem ever sacred to thee ; Thy coldness may gather like frost on the bloom Of a hope that "was hidden for years, Butthoucanst not forget, — thou hast rifled atomb When its treasure was moulded by tears. There were many to love thee : — then why didst thou turn Prom that noon of affection away. And snatch the pale Lamp from my heart's shat- tered urn, But to mock at ii^ pale, spectra] ray? THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 255 And why didst thou guard that sad light till it shone Like a star through the blue morning air, To quench it with hatred, till ashes alone Were left in their bitterness there. Thou canst not forget every soft-spoken vow Which thy falsehood has left to decay And drop from my heart, as the leaves from a bough Which the lightning has withered away ; That tree, thunder-stricken, may nourish again When the sun has caressed it awhile, But, blasted for ever, my love waits in vain To be brightened and blest by thy smile. Thou canst not forget me, for gleams of the past Through the ice of thy bosom shall glow, As the rainbow's soft shade on a glacier is cast, Or as sunlight on mountains of snow. As a death-stricken eagle who calls to her mate From some rock on a sea-beaten shore, My crushed spirit cries from the gloom of its fate ; say ! wilt thou not answer once more ? 25G THE DEATH OF TTEBSTEE. Haek ! for there comes a wail of grief On the wing of the autumn breeze, — A sigh with every faded leaf That is swept from the rustling trees. And rain-drops from yon mournful cloud Upon the blighted earth are shed, Like tears of anguish o'er the shroud That wraps a nation's mighty dead. Another pillar, which upheld The temple of our love and trust. Time's unrelenting hand lias felled, And laid its elory in fclie dust. THE DEATH OF WEBSTER. 257 Quenched is that light, which long has been A beacon lamp upon our shore ; Within the watch-tower shall be seen Its pure and steady ray no more. As the proud eagle, soaring high, An humbler dwelling-place will shun, His home the mountain, and his eye For ever fixed upon the sun, — Where liberty has built her tower, Where truth and peace and justice shine, His spirit was the ruling power, And there his genius has its shrine. This year has dashed a surging wave Of sorrow o'er our nation's breast, And left its footprints on the grave Where Webster's hallowed ashes rest. One fleeting year — a grain of sand, Swept to the desert waste of Time — Shall leave a shadow on our land, And in our hearts a funeral chime. 17 258 THE DEATH OF WEBSTER. Scarce had the tears hcen wiped away, — The tears a mourning million shed Upon the honored tomb of Clay, — When lo ! another sage is dead. Another orb that lit our sky Is hurled from out its radiant sphere ; Yet, by its shining track on high, The bark of Freedom still may steer. The mountain of a Union's pride An earthquake's mighty hand has torn, And severed from its granite side A rock which with her strength was born A giant rock ! but fresh and green, In wreaths of fadeless verdure drest, For truth and love were ever seen Twining with wisdom in his breast. Ee's gone for ever ! — far and near The funeral requiem shall be sung ; To every heart his name was dear. His virtues praised i»\ every tongue ! THE DEATH OP AVEBSTER. 259 Columbia does not mourn alone For one she would have bled to save, — The serf, the monarch on his throne, Shall weep that he has found a grave ! They 've laid him by the dark-blue sea, Meet emblem of so great a soul ! A spirit fearless, strong, and free, Subject alone to God's control. The billows chant around his bed, But naught can wake him save the will Of One who rose, and softly said 2C0 RAPTUROUS MOMENTS. We may feci in an instant more exquisite joy Than lias wakened the spirit for years, A morning of bliss, which no night can destroy, And which cannot be darkened by tears. When a lifetime of rapture (we dreamed might he ours) In the thread of a moment is spun, As often the breath uf a thousand sweet flowers Seems gathered and mingled in one. I care not how transient, how fleeting their glow ; For though rigid and ice-bound, the heart Will ding to these phantoms of bliss, though we klinW They but mock us, t<> turn and depart : RAPTUROUS MOMENTS. 261 As an hour of sunshine on some frozen rill Shall awaken its waters again, While "Winter's wild breath may be lingering still Their sweet music once more to enchain. There are thoughts that lie hid in the depths of the heart Too dear for this cold world to know ; In the caverns of earth there are fountains that start And for ever in loneliness flow, On whose echoing waters no morning shall rise ; Yet their waves are as pure and as bright, As if, gushing along beneath blue, sunny skies, They had lived an existence of light. And the traveller's torch, as he roams through the cave, On these mystical rivers will beam, With a glory that falls on each slumbering wave Like the spell of some beautiful dream. 2G2 RAPTUROUS MOMENTS. And thus one sweet moment of rapture will pour A bright halo of gladness and love On the spirit all shrouded in darkness before, And its midnight of sorrow remove. And when they have fled, when not even a trace Of these meteor-joys shall remain, The pathway of time we will fondly retrace, And still live them in memory again. As a dove will ily back to her favorite bower, Though the mate that once shared it lias fled, And the bee linger still around Summer's lasi flower, Thoudi its leaves arc all withered and dead. 263 TO LOU. They told me thou wast dying, — and there swept A wild, swift tide of anguish o'er My spirit, as I cried aloud and wept, To think that we should meet no more ! But yesterday I saw thy laughing eye Pour forth its wealth of light and mirth On thy rich cheek, as Summer's sunny sky Looks on the rose's early birth. I saw thy polished brow, so pure and proud, Beneath its waving tresses shine, Radiant and spotless as a moonlit cloud Through the dark clusters of the vine ; 2 04 And when they told mc that the hand of death Had set its icy signet there, That thy red lip had paled beneath his breath, My soul was clouded with despair. And countless thoughts of every day we spent Together when our hearts were glad In that one fearful moment all seemed pent, Making it more intensely sad. Music and voices from the shadowy past Seemed echoing on Memory's shore And dirge-like murmured forth, "The last, the last, For ye shall meet on earth no more." ***** I went to look upon thee once again, To sec thy lovely lace at rest, Ere yet its glory faded, or the slain Of death had soiled thy spotless breast ; And as 1 hurried on, there seemed a shroud ( )f gloom upon the sunny day. Dark as my heart, whence sorrow's dismal cloud Drove the glad beams of joy away. 265 But ah ! full many an earnest, voiceless prayer, That morn had wafted to the sky The frenzied words, " Almighty Father, spare ! She seems too beautiful to die." And the death-angel had but poised his whig Above thee, and then fled away, As if he feared on thy pure form to fling The damp, foul shadow of decay. And as we watched the lifeblood sweep once more Along thy cheek with healthful glow, As the red blush of morning quivering o'er A sheet of pure, untrodden snow, And the dark, laughing lustre steal again Into thy dim and saddened eye, I wept with joy, — for angels caught the strain, " She is too beautiful to die." My sister ! all the grief of coming years Can never quench the memory Of the full, bitter tide of burning tears I shed that fearful morn for thee ; 2CG TO LOU. For oli ! it seemed to me, if thou wert dead, . And we should meet on earth no more, As if the brightest, gayest bird had fled, For ever fled, from youth's glad shore. And though within my heart the waves of joy May gusli with hounding brightness still, Ages of pleasure never can destroy The deep, unutterable thrill Of mingled gladness, gratitude, and love, That rose and grew to rapture there, When the Almighty from his throne above Bade the death-angel " Pause and spare."' 267 THE CHILD'S DREAM. Often, dear mother, in a dream I hear the angels sing ; Their gentle eyes upon me beam, And o'er my slumbers fling A soft and holy light, that fills My infant soul with joy, And through the night in splendor steals, Its darkness to destroy. And shapes of radiant beauty rise Upon the midnight air, — Spirits that wander from the skies, To guard and bless me there. 268 THE CHILD S DREAM. My slumbering soul springs joyously To meet these forms divine ; Their smiles, dear mother, fall on me As tenderly as thine. I love to watch the clouds, that lave In seas of sunset light, And there like golden banners wave Before the coming night ; For o'er the sky their glory flings A rich and mellow beam, Like shadows of the angel wings That hover o'er my dream. And as the light wind steals along, Low whispering to the flowers, l! brings to mind the heavenly song That haunts my sleeping hours ; Or when the rainbow, soft and bright, Floats ob the dewy air, "T is like those robes of woven light My spirit guardians wear. THE child's dream. 269 Mother, I know that God must send * These visions, pure and blest ; The Almighty is your infant's friend, And seraphs guard his rest. Ah ! often in the early dawn I 've watched for them in vain, Or, waking, wept to find them gone, And longed to sleep again. 270 WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. We were friends, gay friends together, And a strange, deep gloom is shed On the memories that wither, Since I feel that thou art dead. Many a dear and cherished token Of our youth's too cloudless dawn Is all ruined now, and broken In my heart, for thou art gone. We were friends when joy's light measure From life's golden harp was rung, And the ripening fruits of pleasure All along our pathway hung ; WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 271 When, no glad, warm thought repressing, Heart and soul laughed from our eyes, As the light of God's own blessing- Laughs in sunshine from the skies. When the present was too cheerful To regret a pleasure past, Or to tremble, and be fearful That they would not always last, — Ere we learned that- all too often In the fairest blossom's cup (Though its tints the south winds soften) There is poison folded up. We were friends when every feeling Was as warm and pure and bright As the summer air, when reeling 'Neath a weight of amber light, And as tuneful as the gushes Of some merry little stream, When the wind steals through the rushes, On its dimpled breast to dream. 272 WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. In a southern clime we -wandered, And through gardens whose perfume Crouds of regal roses squandered, From their treasuries of bloom, And where starry myrtles quivered 'Neath the kisses of the Spring, Pure as flakes of down dissevered From a spirit's spotless wing. There by moonlight oft we revelled, Or when morning's orient crown, Like an angel's hair dishevelled, From the blue sky floated down, In rich waves of sunlight sweeping Where magnolia blooms were seen, Like a flock of white doves peeping From their hermitage of green. When I see blue violets gleaming Through a misl of April rain, Then sweel thoughts of thee come teeming. vVnd regrets, all wild and vain. WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 273 By their perfume are excited, For still memory guards with care Those sweet flowers, alas ! now blighted, Which you culled for me to wear. It is long since they were gathered, Yet their fragrance never fled, And their freshness never withered, Till they told me thou wast dead ; But in memory's urn, all faded, Now their pale, blue ashes lie, And the rosy tints seem shaded Upon memory's morning sky. We were friends when smiles of gladness Lit thy boyhood's stately home, Ere we dreamed that so much sadness There in after years would come. Many dwelt in that proud manor, Yet no heir is left to claim And to guard the stainless honor Of thy father's cherished name. 18 •>~i\ WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. But though brief our summer meeting, Thou hast only gone before, And my spirit sends thee greeting To that far-off Eden shore, Where the dews of youth still glisten. And sweet fancies seem to tell, That thine angel-ear will listen To the voice of my farewell. 275 THE CLOSING YEAR, The winds wail mournfully to-night, The dismal blast sweeps by, Seeming to murmur in its flight A death-song to the sky. And ocean waves break on the shore With low and plaintive moan, Still sounding through their hollow roar, " Another year has flown ! " The starlight steals, as if in fear, From Winter's cheerless cloud, To weave around the dying year A pale and misty shroud. 276 TIIE CLOSING YEAR. And tall, dark trees like spectres stand, While their low rustling seems As voices from the spirit-laud Which come to us in dreams. where is now the breath of Spring, Her birds and greenwood bowers, And whither fled on rosy wing The Summer's laughing hours ? Where is the wealth of glowing leaves Fair Autumn loved to twine,-— The reaper's song, the golden sheaves, The purple, gushing vine 2 Gone ! — gone for ever to the past ! Lost in that sullen deep Where Time's rich treasures all are cast, Where trj gone ages sleep. And thou art passing hence, Old Year, 1 n Loneliness and gloom, Willi bul the Winter's icy tear To fall upon thy tomb. THE CLOSING YEAR. 277 Less mournful would thy parting seem, If one sweet bird could sing Above thy bed, one sunny beam Its warmth around thee fling, Than thus, bereft of light and bloom, Of flower and summer sky, Without one lovely thing to come And look upon thee die. As some lone mourner left to weep In bitterness above The graves where, unforgotten, sleep The children of his love, Thou hast lived on, 'mid Nature's fall, And now must pass away Without a single joyous call To bid thy spirit stay. Farewell ! — Spring's early song of mirth Its melody may swell, And Summer to the listening earth Her tales of gladness tell : 278 THE CLOSING YEAR. But thou hast fled, — for ever fled ; The pleasure and the pain, The lights and shadows o'er thee shed, Cannot return again. But list ! there comes a merry peal Of music sweeping by. And songs of rapture seem to steal Along the midnight sky. Another year dawns on the earth, Heedless of clouds and gloom ; They fall less sadly on his birth Than on thy frozen tomb. Hearts that now shudder at the past, "Whose pleasures all have fled, May on the opening future cast A look of bitter dread. But there are s^inis yei that dream Beneath life's morning sky, Ti» whom the joys of earth still >