I ! LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I l J74e/f J&..Y4 * * * UNITED STATES OF AMERICA uc~ m^ 1141 §1 hi* ksnr Afc* <™ Cere WEEP NOT. How slight a stroke can ope the cave of Thought, And send its waters gushing o'er the soul, Where late sterility held full control, Soft'ning its fallow. Now to light are brought The flowers of Poesie and Love, inwrought With the rich gems of Fancy. At the gaol Of that bright streamlet, Hope the glittering pole Of his gay banner rears ; Its folds are caught By the glad air and flutter on her breast. And such a gentle touch my spirit's cell * Eeceived of late, from one beyond the crest Of blue Atlantic wave. His wizard spell, And wand enchanted, stirred the quiet nest And woke the bird its tender notes to swell. * Rev. Isaac Williams of England. 6 YEAR OF GRIEF. II. How strange that I unknowing and unknown, Filling my little nook so far away, Where summer suns with burning radiance play O'er fields of golden rice — where winter's throne Is garlanded with flowers — and his zone Studded with sparkling gems — whose robes display The emerald tint of nature ; That I may For friend of mine a noble poet own ! One whose deep thoughts have moved the world I ween, (From where of royal blood, the British Queen Holdeth her loving state — to where the sea Laves with green flood the Nation of the Free) — .Causing all faithful souls to bow the knee To Jesus, in His Church and gospel seen. in. Yet is it thus : And his resounding lyre Hath moved the slumbering chords within my mind ; My thoughts heave up, as when a mighty wind Tosses the sea ; my soul is all on fire, And my heart throbs with its intense desire To sweep once more the strings ! Xo rest I find For its perturbed throes. No power to bind Calm trust to yon pale star should me inspire To hymn the fallen year. A season dark — Replete with sorrows to the Church and State ; That quenched in many a soul the vital spark, And sent them darkling to the gloomy gate Of shadowy Hades ; where in hope or fear, They wait the dawn of the Eternal Year. YEAR OF GRIEF. IV. O dismal cycle of distress and pain — When Death hath marched along in awful state Sweeping towards Eternity ! Where late As flowerets smiling on a sunny plain, Or fruitful fields of wavy golden grain, Our dear ones hloomed around us — Cruel Fate Led on the train of Death, and desolate Our pleasant homes and loving hearts remain. No more shall we our cherished friends behold ! No more infold them in our warm embrace ; No more enjoy the pleasures manifold Springing from sweet communion ; with them trace The footprints of the Shepherd of the fold, Where rest the flock beneath His smile of Grace. It dawned in gladness, the deceitful year — We hailed its coming with a merry chime Of heartfelt music, for the Christmas time And the Old Year, floating to meet the clear, Fresh day-spring of the New. Sorrow's sad tear Soon fell to damp the music — or sublime Its notes to strains cherubic ! Wintry rime Flung its cold shroud, all glittering and fair, O'er our most tender plant. The gentle child* Bowed his meek head upon his mother's arm, And his blue eyes, so beautifully mild, Closed for their long, long slumber ; No alarm Felt he at Death's approach — but sweetly smiled, Clothed in baptismal vesture undefiled. * M. G. B. died January 26th, 1852, aged 15 months. YEAR OF GRIEF. VI. Angel unsullied— from thy flower-strown bier I culled a violet and safely prest Between my Bible leaves — a place of rest Meet for the lovely token. It is there "Where with prophetic glance the holy seer Yiewed the meek infant on his mother's breast, Alas ! to be yet torn from that calm nest, And stretched on bloody rood, His death-bed drear — As day by day the sacred leaves I turn I see it shorn of beauty — but my heart Inshrines its essence in its golden urn : O may its sweetness to my life impart A perfume not of earth — until I yearn For the bright realm where richest odors burn ! VII. Again an angel's blissful voice I hear ! For only yesterday another gem, Plucked from the modest violet's quivering stem Springing above a grave,* a mourner there With trembling hand confided to my care. And does that earthen cavern now inhem A precious jewel, in the diadem Of Jesus yet to blaze ! In accents clear This solemn truth the voice of Wisdom cries, " The graves shall ope — the sea give up the dead/' Hark ! through the vaults of Heaven the echo flies — Angels in wonder list the awful tread Of the approaching judgment — and their eyes Look for the dawning of that Day of dread. * The grave of F. G. B., a lovely babe, who died after a loDg illness, September, 1850. YEAR OP GRIEF. VIII. Then thou, our beautiful ! away shalt dart On wing of brightness soaring, to abide Forever with the Saviour's glorious bride, A gentle dove nestled upon her heart. Whilst here on Earth thou hadst thy tragic part — To play on thy small stage. By Jesus' side Stretched on thy cross of agony, the tide Of thy short life ebbed out, 'mid cruel smart Caused by the serpent's sting. But long before Religion on the parents' hearts could pour The balm of healing, at the crystal gate Of Paradise, thy ransomed soul elate Sung its glad song of triumph, as of yore The angels at primeval Eden's door ! IX. Hark to the voice of wailing ! Deep the woe Of our beloved Sion. On the ground In her sad widowhood, her locks unbound, She sits forlorn in sorrow. For her flow Her children's bitter tears — and bending low, Her Priests her sacred Altars now surround Wrapped in deep grief and agony profound. What bodes this solemn, dim, funereal show ? — The Angel of God's Temple ta'en away ; * Vicegerent here below of Jesus dead — Her spouse, her master. Therefore is her head Bowed as a bulrush, and her tresses grey Loose in the wintry winds disordered play : — Our Mother must the bitter wine-press tread. * Bishop C. E. Gadsden died St. John Baptist's day, June 24th, 1852. 10 YEAR OF GRIEF. X. Prone in the dust the crown and crosier lie ; The Apostolic vestments on the throne Rest all untenanted. Our Bishop gone To render up his stewardship to the High Omniscient Judge of mortals. Sion's sigh Reechoes through her arches, and a moan, As of departed spirits hither borne From their deep caves oblivious makes reply. Dark the funereal banners float above The Altar of his rest. Meek Overseer, And Shepherd of the flock! High Priest of Love ! Shall we no more behold thy visage here, Beaming with all the graces of the Dove From thy Episcopate's exalted sphere ? XI. On whom shall thy descending mantle rest ? Who is there strong enough to bear the weight And care of all the churches? Brave the hate Of Hydra-headed schism ? On his breast Wear manfully the Spirit's shield imprest ? And clad in the Heavenly armor never bate In holy zeal, though foes assail the gate And ancient walls of Sion ? When distressed To bear her most in heart — and never quail Though ghostly foes against her bend their ire ?- O sainted Bishop ! may thy prayers prevail, Floating as incense from thy heart of fire — Far, far above the bright angelic choir To the Eternal One — beyond the veil ! YEAR OP GRIEF. 11 XII. O cruel stroke of agonizing fear ! E'en as the lightning flash in summer time Breaks from a thunder cloud, with crash sublime Filling all hearts with dread. So on our ear Fell the sad news that thou wert ill, our dear, Our much loved brother ! Thou the very prime,* And crown of our rejoicing ! Hark ! the chime Of Sabbath bells invite us to draw near Our Father's House : "With bleeding hearts we go Pouring the bitter torrents of our woe Before the Saviour's throne. His pitying eye Sheds on the stream of sorrow in its flow A ray of Love Divine. All tremblingly To Him in every trial let us fly ! XIII. Thine was a direful struggle — long and fierce, Along the darksome valley all must tread To reach the silent caverns of the dead : Encountered on all sides by foes perverse, The Spirit's weapon could alone disperse, And with it thou wert armed. As o'er thy head Gleamed the keen edge of Prayer — an awful dread Filled their black hearts — with deeply muttered curse All terror-struck they shrink amid the gloom. And now in peaceful beauty for the tomb Our youthful brother lies. All dimmed the light, Erst from his torch of life serenely bright, Enlightened far and near. O fearful blight, * John Ball of Hyde Park, St John's Berkley. 12 YEAR OF GRIEF. XIV. When the pure-hearted perish in their bloom ! O how mysterious is the tragic fate, Did Husband, Father, Son and Brother tear From our fond arms and left us weeping here ! So many households rendered desolate : May we thy shining virtues imitate ! E'en when Death's gloomy torrent, wild and drear, Poured its harsh music on thy list'ning ear, Thou didst thyself from terrors extricate, And with a fearless spirit braved its tide, And sought the Rock of Ages, there to bide Safe in the sheltering clefts upon its side : O may we to the same sure refuge fly, Ere the thick film is settling on the eye ; Ere the cold breast has heaved its farewell sigh. xv. Ah ! yes ! the fearful agony is o'er — And cold in death our Brother's body lies, His soul departed to its native skies, For he was pure in heart — and we are sure Such shall on Heavenly Heights their God adore, And on his glory look with blissful eyes. O after his may our dull souls arise, Mounting on hopeful pinions to the shore "Where sin and sorrow cease. E'en as at sea The stormy petrel rests his weary wing Upon the heaving billow, so may we Just pause upon the Ocean-swell of Life To gather courage, for the onward strife Shall bring us to the mansion of our King. YEAR OF GRIEF. 13 XVI. O who may paint the anguish of the hour That summoned us to meet around thy bier, And with heart-rending sob or silent tear Consign thee to the grave — Death's fearful bower Hid from the cheering sun and silent shower. Like to the faithful Mary, lone and drear Sat thy fond mother in the chapel — where The burial rite resounded : Sad the dower By Heaven appointed to her stricken heart. There brothers, sisters, kindred bore their part In the sad scene of anguish. Friends around In tearful silence view the grief profound — With the keen sorrow deeply sympathize And give the balmy tribute of their sighs. XVII. " "What means that fearful, wild, half-savage cry Filling the heart with horror and affright, Making day hideous as blackest night, When boding owls spread their dark wings and fly From the old tombs and hoary oak-trees nigh ?" Let those discordant sounds your souls excite To gentlest pity — thus th' untutored spright Of Afric's sons their grief would testify For a loved master's loss. Just such the strain Eesounded through Machpelah's ancient cave And died away in Hebron's flowery glade, When the old Patriarch to his rocky grave Was borne in sad procession by his train Of faithful servants, and by Sarah laid ! 14 YEAR OF GRIEF. XVIII. Like some calm Eeservoir within a wood, 'Hound which the gemmed leaves of Autumn sigh, Beflecting Heaven within its azure eye Bests thy sweet Eelict in her widowhood. Hid from the world in sylvan solitude, She lists the spirit-voices as they cry Their solemn warnings to the wintry sky ; Fit music for her sadly pensive mood. Close to the margent of that placid lake, A little flower-bud from its grassy bed Peeps forth with eye of Love. From out the brake The bird of Peace is singing. " Bow thy head, Pale mourner ! where the Saviour's board is spread ; All thy heart-sorrows to His keeping take." XIX. Mother beloved ! upon whose matron brow Serenely beautiful ! Bich Autumn bound A garland of rare foliage — slowly wound By Time's mysterious fingers. Altered now And withered is its brightness. As the bough Of some fair evergreen is sadly found Torn by a blast and strown upon the ground, Eeft of its once high honors : Even so This storm of grief has dealt with the rich crown, It lies in dust and ashes — in its place A hoar and blighted circle now we trace, For Winter stern has marked thee as his own : Nor here again shall God renew thy bloom — But Spring immortal reigns beyond the tomb ! YEAR OF GRIEF. 15 XX. And thy beloved hath reached that happy shore ; Thy beautiful, thy pure and spotless boy — Bright as the angels now his crown of joy ! And though thine eye shall never greet him more On this terrene. Yet let thy soul adore The Grod of Judgment — and thy tongue employ To sing His praise who wrought this dread annoy : He hath escaped the tempest's awful roar — Lo ! 'mid the sacred host with footsteps free He walketh by the crystal river clear, And plucks the healing leaflets from the tree Yielding in monthly cycles fruitage fair, The Tree of Life ! O bow in awe the knee, For the pure throne of God's own Lamb is there ! XXI. Yet still a golden chain doth bind thee here — One end is fastened to th' Eternal Throne, The other linked unto the kindly zone Encircling thy fond heart — Thy offspring dear — By it thy soul, as on a golden stair, Ascends from Earth to Heaven. And thou must own, Eelict beloved ! not every comfort flown, Bright rainbow tints are glowing in each tear — Thy child — lone sporting on life's flowery lea To cull those flowers aright — 'tis thine to teach ; A fragile shell tossed on a wintry sea — 'Tis thine to see he safely make the beach, And with his brother gems forever be Set in a star of threefold brilliancy ! 16 YEAR OP GRIEF. XXII. Once more 'mid thy ancestral honors set, Brother beloved ! Why do our fond eyes trace The lines of anguish furrowed on thy face ? Whilst ever and anon thy cheeks are wet With sorrow's silent tear-drop ? O not yet May thy true heart expel the noble grace Of thy loved brother's form. When for the chase Thou windst thy bugle call, canst thou forget How, like the morning star, serenely clear, His smiling visage at the casement beamed Eadiant with hopeful pleasure ! Never here May thy fond glance rest on him. Vainly dreamed Thy soul of joys fraternal — dry and sere Their withered blossoms strew thy pathway drear. XXIII. Lone brother ! sad indeed would be thy fate But for a loving spirit in thine ear, Whispering in silvery accents, soft and clear As the wind-notes of even, " Thy loved mate Seek not in slumber's chamber desolate, Where their moss banners on the angry air The hoary oak-boughs wave — He is not there — His bright celestial home by Death's dark gate His soul hath entered. In its Courts of Light He walketh with the beatific train Of God's elect. Their robes of spotless white, Washed in the precious blood of Jesus slain, Glow with seraphic radiance. Stars of night Less brightly beam upon yon ebon plain." YEAR OP GRIEF. 17 XXIV. Meek, unobtrusive grief — seeking to hide The shaft beneath the wing. The starting tear Lone witness to the anguish resting there. Floating along on Duty's peaceful tide, Sweet sorrowing sister ! When thy looks abide On yonder cottage, snugly nestled where The crystal waters lave the fenny mere, And golden shafts repose at even-tide — Is not the light of Eecollection thrown Full on another scene ? A quiet nest, Where a fond mother-bird, her partner flown, Warms her dear fledgling at her widowed breast, Wounded, dispirited, afflicted, lone — List'ning in heart, sweet Mercy's undertone. XXV. Another and another — thus I tell My rosary of sorrow ; every bead A ruby drop from wounded hearts that bleed. ^Nun-like retired in thy spirit's cell, Thou commun'st with the loud, convulsive swell Of thy great grief — Sister in heart and deed To our beloved kinsman. But thy creed Instructs thee where to turn when sorrows dwell Deep in the soul. Building thy bower of Hope Beneath the cross, the gale of peace shall ope Love's roses in thy breast, and glowing there Within thy ardent bosom's pious scope Shall lend their perfume to the morning air, Their rosy petals moist with Memory's tear. 18 YEAR OF GRIEF. XXVI. Spirit ! o'er whom this storm of sorrow swept With twofold agony ! O I have borne On heart of love thy anguish to the throne Of the Eternal Father, and there wept, Whilst from their sullen caves the night Fiends crept. But now the angry blast hath overflown — And gentle showers succeed the dismal moan Glowing with Hope's bright iris. Duty slept — But now awakes and strows Life's rugged road With flowers of sweet content. On thy abode Broodeth the bird of birds — the Holy Dove ! Sheltered beneath his wings of Peace and Love Mayest thou forever rest 'till care's sad load Change to " the weight of glory" there Above ! XXVII. Youth, on whose sympathy and loving care Two widowed hearts repose ; a weighty charge Might well the current of thy life enlarge Till it o'erflow in Love. The manly tear Down-falling for thy Sister's orphan heir ; And thine own orphaned household. — These surcharge Thy breast with anxious freight, till like a barge Laden from Ind it founders with rich ware. Wouldst thou thy precious cargo safely moor ? Let thy keen glance the cresset beacon mark Far gleaming on th' horizon border dark, Bright as a star — then fading to a spark ; And as its fitful fires thus allure Let the Great Chart thy onward course assure ! YEAR OF GRIEF. 19 XXVIII. Peace to thy heart, dear Mother — peace to thee ! Methinks I see thee in thy cottage home Plying thy task with busy industry From morn to night. Perchance a mighty tome Engrosses thy attention. Tales have come Far down the track of ages. Or, I see Thy spirit revelling 'neath antique tree Of some forgotten name ! Thy humble dome Thou wouldst not now exchange for palace grand, So happy in the dim, mysterious chase Of ghostly forms along the shadowy -land. Thanks to the Mighty Friend, who thus doth brace Thy every nerve for action ; for a band Of leagued sorrows track thy lonely pace. XXIX. Cord of anxiety ! of triple woof Stretching along my life — all dun of hue Saving that here and there a thread of blue, Or Love's fine gold peeps out. Soul-cheering proof That underneath the clear, cerulean roof Sheltering our home we cannot ever rue. Love's buds are always sprinkled with soft dew Falling from Heaven ! though some time calm reproof Looks with paternal eye from out a cloud. O heart of mine, weave garlands of bright Hope Upon the tightened cord — and pierce the shroud With the keen eye of Faith. Then God shall ope For thee a door of gladness, whence the loud Hosannah shall ring out from Heaven's high cope. 20 YEAR OF GRIEF. XXX. Sisters, in whose domestic arbors grow The flowers that deck my lone, sequestered cell, O where shall I find words of power to tell The deep, mysterious, silent, endless flow Of love, from cave where gems immortal glow For you and yours — that dark unfathomed well My throbbing heart ! And now with grateful swell My soul I lift that this sad year of woe Left you unscathed. No storm of sorrow flung Its darksome veil above your pleasant bowers, Save that the shadow of the banner hung By Death's dark hand upon our triple towers Eclipsed their light. And sighs of anguish rung Your hearts responsive to the grief of ours ! XXXI. Ah ! some upon whose cheek the sorrowing tear For us was scarcely dry, are called to weep O'er their own anguish, cruel, sore and deep ; A first-born son cut down in manhood's year — Sad trial for paternal hearts to bear ! — But O, more sad — more dreadful is the sweep Of agony across that soul, must keep, All lonely now her watch and vigil drear! O cousin mine ! stern was thy fate exiled From home and kindred ties. But one was found, One faithful heart to cheer the rugged wild: She with a wreath of Love thy spirit bound To simple joys domestic. When she smiled Hope, in thy cottage, danced her cheerful round. YEAR OF GRIEF. 21 XXXII. Once more from solemn tower the sonorous bell * Sends out its knell funereal. At the sound Bleedeth afresh the rude and ghastly wound Deep in our Mother's side. Yea, that sad knell Speaks of another spirit gone to dwell On the mysterious shore. A pastor found Faithful in word and deed hath passed the bound Dividing Earth and Heaven. Freed from its shell His spirit soared exulting to the sky. O blessed Saviour! wherefore lay thy hand So rudely on thy Bride ? Wouldst verify Her holy faith unto a reckless band Of unbelievers in this godless land — Showing Eeligion's perfect purity ? XXXIII. " O lay me not within the chancel bound : f Nor in the echoing aisles where footsteps ply ; But lay me 'neath the calm, ethereal eye Of th' o'er-arching firmament. The mound Heap, where the clouds of Heaven may moist the ground With silvery tear-drops ; there let violets shy Give out their perfume to the passer by, Wafting his soul to God's celestial Bound ! Place not thy Pastor in metallic shrine, But in a simple case may soon decay, That so this perishable form of mine May mingle ' dust to dust ' some early day, Waiting the summons of the voice Divine — Then spring to life and hail th' eternal Eay ! " * Rev. Mr. Young, Rector of St. Michael's, Charleston, ■j" Mr. Young's dying request. 22 YEAR OF GRIEF. XXXIV. And thou, J within whose bosom now abode A two-edged sword of anguish, help to lay Thy Brother in the cold sepulchral clay E'en as he wished. And now Life's checkered road To thee seems doubly rugged — and the load Of care weighs heavily, no cheering ray, From eye of Guide or Friend, to light thy way. The rankling wound would thy sad heart corrode, But that as one by one thy loved ones die I see thee to the cross uplift thine eye, And bosom heaving with deep agony j Thence blood of very G-od for sinners shed, Drops as the dew upon thy drooping head, Healing the wounds which else had festering spread. XXXV. One more funereal garland have I wound Of gloomy cypress ; 'tis for yonder grave Where rest the mortal members of a slave || Honored, beloved, respected : Faithful found, Walking with steady step his daily round Doing his Master's service. He who gave Hath called him home across the dismal wave. And his dark, thoughtful brow with glory crowned ! O remnant of the faithful ones of y ore — Shall we behold thy reverend form no more ? We miss thee at the quiet hour of prayer When, with the household band we God adore ; Miss thee on Sabbath night when all draw near, Owner and serf — one Master to implore. J Rev. Cranmore Wallace, the Author's Pastor. j| Joe Bailey, of "Limerick," St. John's Berkley. YEAR OF GRIEF. 23 XXXVI. All through the summer time, along our path The fever fiend his burning torch waved high ; ]S"ow o'er the cloud in-wrapped and wintry sky The pestilence is sweeping in his wrath, Armed with his gleaming sword. May He who hath Sent these stern ills His people's faith to try Look from His Throne of Love with pitying eye Upon our deep distress. Increase our faith In his all-wise appointments ; make us know Himself the source of joy — the source of woe; — Then even should dark sorrow's cup o'erfiow With bitter draught of anguish, we shall feel 'Tis by a kind Physician sent to heal, And drink it whilst in silent awe we kneel ! XXXVII. Once more upon the mountain, hark ! the sound Of old time-honored Christmas. Haste to meet And welcome to your bosom's warm retreat. Alas ! no longer at the tidings bound Our joyous hearts to greet him. Tears have drowned The rose of gladness. Once our hearts quick beat Respondent to the music of his feet — Borne on the soft night wind. But now the wound In our bereaved bosoms cannot bear His glad, bright eye of mirth. Nay, bring him home, He is a kind Physician — and a tear Hath for the stricken ones beneath the dome Of sorrow sighing. To his healing care Commit thy woe — he bringeth Jesus near — 24 YEAR OF GRIEF. XXXVIII. The Prince of Peace ! Even as on the morn When the glad shepherds hastened o'er the plain To welcome in Messiah's tranquil reign, So peace, with him, shall on our bosoms dawn. O feel we not our hearts resistless drawn To meet him — heralding the happy train Of Christian virtues. Ever to remain Domestic here on earth ? O who would pawn For transitory pleasure, Heavenly. Grace ? Then let us hasten, and the Holy Child Eeceiving from his arms with pure embrace Cradle upon our bosoms, reconciled To woe and sorrow. Then the radiance mild Of Bethlehem's Star shall every grief efface. XXXIX. Wrapped in a mantle of deep gloom, the year Is taking its departure. Slow his tread As one who walketh 'mid the silent dead In some lone church-yard. The pale sun draws near His mansion in the western realms of air ; But not on couch of purple, gold and red Shall rest to-night his proudly regal head — A pilgrim grey he sinks upon yon drear And dismal bank of clouds. With him doth fly The stern Old Year, bearing his awful scroll Before the Throne of Judgment, where the Eye Of God shall scan the record. And each soul, For weal or woe, within His Book enroll, Till the slain Lamb reveal our Destiny! ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP GADSDEN. 25 XL. For He alone is worthy found to break The sevenfold signet of the Book of Doom, On that dread morning when from yawning tomb And hoary deep the startled dead shall wake, And 'round the pure white Throne of Judgment take In silent awe their stand. With hopeful plume, Or wing despondent shall each soul resume Its dwelling in the flesh. When Thou shalt make Thine angels from the just the bad divide May we be found rejoicing — we who weep, And those who have already fallen asleep In Jesus ; and with palms triumphant glide In glad procession up the mountain steep Into the pearly portals with Thy Bride ! Note. — These Sonnets form a continuous poem. 0n th£ Ihsath at thje Eight &w. Bhtistapher Edwards &adsdjen t $♦ B* " Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, from henceforth ; Even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors." Our blessed dead — we've laid thee down To rest in holy ground, Within the Temple of thy God ; Within the chancel bound : Within the chancel's sacred rail, Beneath the Altar's shade, With heavy hearts and streaming eyes > Thy sepulchre we've made. 26 ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP GADSDEN. Where should our holy Bishop rest But where he loved to be ? Fast by the altar of his God, Clothed with humility: Not there to fill with robes of state The Apostolic chair, But prostrate on its sacred steps To bow in earnest prayer. 0, what a flood of care would then O'er his meek spirit sweep ! What wonder he was fain to fall Prone in the dust and weep ! Care for the Church — care for her Priests- Care for her Deacon band ; The clergy — to their solemn task Appointed by his hand. Care for his well-beloved ones, His own peculiar sphere, The flock o'er whom the Holy Ghost Had made him overseer ; The flock for whom for forty years He blessed the bread and wine — How meet to lay your sainted Priest Within yon holy shrine ! Care for the little lambs who loved To catch his pleasant smile, What time the evening shadows fell Across each solemn aisle — While they, a wreath of living flowers, Around the chancel clung, Listening the blessed truths that fell So gently from his tongue. ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP GADSDEN. 27 Care for the sable race of Ham, The bondman and the free, He scorned not in their humble homes To bend in prayer the knee ! Where'er a suffering member wept — A contrite sinner sighed ; Where'er was sorrow to be cured, A tear-drop to be dried ; There, like his Master, he was found Meek, sympathizing, kind ; Eeady the hungry poor to feed, The broken spirit bind : O surely on the Day of Doom That Master's voice shall cry, " Enter, thou blessed of the Lord, The portals of the sky." But ye for whom his yearning soul Has agonized in prayer, Well may ye sigh your sorrows forth, Or drop the mournful tear ; And as ye bend your stricken forms Repentant 'neath the rod, Bear up upon your troubled hearts, His household unto God. O not in selfish, lonely grief Let sorrow's tide o'erflow, Bear up the church upon your hearts — Full is her cup of woe ! Bear her upon your heart of hearts Before the Mercy Seat ; Bear her in love before her God, " 'Tis bounden, right and meet." 28 A VOICE OF WAILING. But oh ! not for our sainted one Be sigh or tear-drop given, He walks among the blessed dead, A ransomed heir of Heaven ; His ear has heard — his eye has seen — His heart now comprehends, A portion of the joy prepared For Jesus' loving friends. Then leave him to his deep repose Beneath the altar's shade, Assured his soul as calmly rests In Eden's blissful glade ; There, with th' innumerable host Of God's elect, erewhile He waits th' Archangel's thrilling trump. Cheered by his Saviour's smile. July, 1852. $. tjoictf af Wailing, I was not here when thou wert laid to rest, Within this silent chamber ; was not here When loving hands let thee so gently down Within the bosom of God's holy earth To sleep until the Judgment ; and great drops Fell fast from many eyes, unused to tears. Not here when the vast throng of human souls, That filled this sacred edifice, sent up, As with one voice, a cry of wail to Heaven. Alas ! not here, the one who loved thee best, A VOICE OF WAILING. 29 Save her, who was to thee as thine own soul, To mingle my deep grief with all who mourned ; The rich, the great, the needy, the unknown, The doubly-orphaned children of The Home! With contrite Magdalenes — and men once seen In lowest haunts of vice — till led by thee To wash them clean in blood of Jesus slain. Who now, when pestilence walks forth at noon Beneath the summer's sun ; or the keen blasts Of winter cause the poor of Christ to cry To God in anguish, parched by fever heat, Or numbed with deadly cold — shall dauntless go To minister untiring to their wants, All for the Saviour's sake ? The willing mind Victorious o'er the body racked with pain, And often far too feeble for the work. Then worn with toil, but now at perfect rest — ]S"ot only in the grave where sure decay Crumbles his silent form to kindred dust, But in the peaceful regions of repose Where spirits on the bosom of their G-od Await in blissful hope, the perfect day, When souls and bodies glorified in Christ, Shall shine as stars in firmament of Heaven. Witness, ye poor, who loved to hear his step Upon the threshold, when pale Death was there Busy amongst your dear ones ; and Decay Scarce waited for the darkness of the grave ! — Ye sick and aged ! who from month to month, Eeceived the sacred alms from his kind hand, And heard his voice beside your bed in prayer, Ye souls reclaimed from vice ! Ye stalwart men. 30 A VOICE OF WAILING. And feeble women whom he lifted up ; All witness if my praise exceed his meed, Whose footsteps followed, humbly, those of Christ. O come up to the rescue, men of God ! Fill up this breach in Sion — for a great And mighty Captain hath been stricken down ; One, who with thoughtful brow and Eagle eye Looked from her ramparts, and the deadly foe Marked as he set his battle in array Against the hosts of Israel ; and the shock Met firmly, clad in panoply divine. i Yea, hasten to the rescue — great the need — For piteous is the cry of infant hearts Low-issuing from " The Home." Her children weep Their more than father, the one heart that yearned With deep paternal interest and pure love O'er every orphan there ! Whose watchful eye Espied each fault, and sternly, yet in love, Gave just rebuke — yet ever lent an ear Of sympathy to all their little woes; Smiled on their simple joy ; and from his tower Of mental elevation kindly bent, To share with them in all their pleasant things, Each of these little ones to his fond heart, A type of those the gentle Saviour blessed ! O speed ye to the rescue ! Lest the flock, That he led forth to pasture, scatter far, And hungry wolves devour them in the wild ! And O, ye stricken ones ! my brethren dear, Who worship with me in that humble fane • OUR ANGEL BOY. 31 Ye, for whose souls he agonized in prayer, Prostrate all night before the Mercy Seat, Let not our martyred one have spent in vain Those bitter sighs and tears, and rendered up His life in battle, ere the bugle note Of victory was heard ! No — let us up ! And carry on the fight — wage deadly war Against the bosom sins that caused our Lord To visit us, so sorely, with distress. Save, Father ! — for without Thee man is vain ; — Therefore, with bodies prostrate in the dust, We send our cry beyond the farthest star Where glow the Seraphim in awful light Before the Eternal Throne ! Blest Spirit ! help With those deep groans which cannot be exprest, Come to our succor, Lord ! Gird on Thy sword, And, like a mighty giant nerved for war, Stand forth in our behalf! Not to our cry, But to the voice of Thy Beloved Son, Entreating for his spouse — O lend Thine ear, Nor let Him plead those gory wounds in vain ! February, 1860. 0ur Jtng^l Bxig, Why is it that I cannot sing Of thee, our precious Angel boy ? Is it because my heart-strings cling Too closely to our buried joy ? 32 OUR ANGEL BOY. When I the solemn chords would sweep, And send a requiem o'er thy grave ; I cannot choose but stop and weep, So rapidly flows sorrow's wave. Would I a fragrant wreath entwine To place upon thy cherished tomb, My trembling hands will not combine The myrtle and the rose's bloom. And vividly before my sight Sad visions of thy sufferings rise — Thy spirit striving to take flight ; Thy mournfully beseeching eyes I Those lovely orbs of beaming light, With pure celestial beauty fraught, From face to face in rapid flight For sympathizing glances sought. I love and weep — but more than this I cannot to my darling give — But would I from his home of bliss, Bear him again on earth to live? Ah ! no — our dovelet safely flew Up to the Saviour's tender breast ; No more the ills of life to rue Nor ever quit that sheltered nest. For on our bright redeemed child, God had his signet clearly set, Grace lay within his bosom mild, With dews baptismal duly wet. OUR ANGEL BOY. 33 Thus when the Angel near his bed Stood with his gleaming blade in hand, His soul knew nor affright, nor dread, But smiled upon the glittering brand. Yes smiles seraphic o'er his face In bright succession quickly flew, As glancing sunbeams when they chase The shadows o'er a grassy view ! Within his mother's loving breast These treasured tokens safely lie ; She thinks how calm he sank to rest, And lifts to Heaven a thankful eye. She thinks how bright the sun's ray gleamed, What time the casement open flew — What was it to the light that beamed That moment on his raptured view ! And is he not her guardian sprite, Endowed with cherub virtues now, To shield her soul in sorrow's night, And soothe her spirits when they bow ? And often from her couch she'll rise To scan the deep blue arch above, And fancy that his starry eyes Beam on her in undying love. And I too, as my raptured sight Dwells on the sunset clouds of even, Will fancy that his robes of light Gleam through that vista-view of Heaven. January, 1851. 34 FLOWER STROWING. We went to gather violets To strew our darling's bier, But ere we reached their fragrant homes The Snow-King had been there ; — Shaking his plumage as he past, Borne by the rude boreal blast — He on the blue-eyed favorites cast His icy feathers drear! Each floweret perished as the barb Entered its tender breast ; E'en thus our cherished infant sank To his eternal rest ; Lent us a little while to prove How precious to the heart the love Of holy Innocence; our Dove Soared to its tranquil nest. With saddened hearts we turned away, And eyes suffused with tears, To seek the odor-breathing plant In more congenial spheres. Kind sympathy the loss supplied For which our loving bosoms sighed, Her flowerets had not drooped and died, Pierced by the Snow-King's spears. "Sweets to the Sweet " — thy placid form Our darling! on its bier In simple robe of purest white Eeposed — a cherub fair! FLOWER STROWING. 35 We strewed it with the purple bloom Of dewy violets, for the tomb, Piercing, with eye of Faith, its gloom To see thee floating near, The everlasting fount of Light, Dipping thy golden wing Within its brightly gushing tide, Then soaring on to sing Before the Throne of God the strain Oft chanted by the ransomed train, Waiting in blissful hope the reign Of Jesus, Glorious King ! "Sweets to the Sweet" — thy grandam dear First strewed thy snowy shroud, With trembling hands and streaming eyes, And spirit meekly bowed ; Next she who took thee to her breast, When her own darling soared to rest Within the mansions of the Blest Above yon radiant cloud! Thy aunt, thy youthful aunt. the third, Herself a violet fair — Watered with sorrow's dew the buds She scattered o'er thy bier, Then in thy hands and on thy breast I placed my tokens sweet of rest, And on thy brow a kiss imprest, And stroked thy silken hair ! Lo ! as we viewed with prayerful glance Thy form serene in rest, The sacred cross is seen inwrought Upon thy snowy vest ! 36 A REQUIEM. Who traced that emblem with the flowers ? Perchance an Angel-hand — or ours Were guided by mysterious powers To weave that symbol blest ! "Sweets to the Sweet" — thy memory, Love, Soft as the breath of flowers, Shall float along our devious ways Till Time has told our hours ; Then, as we sink in Death's embrace, Thy beatific form we'll trace, Speeding, on wing of light, through space, To welcome to calm bowers ! $. Etfquism, Hark! the wintry winds are sighing, Withered leaves our pathway spread ; Strawed by God's own hand in token Of our kindred with the dead : Yea, the solemn winds are sighing, And the rustling leaves reply, "Mortal thou art speeding onward — Man thy portion is to die!" Nor is Nature solely chanting To our hearts this solemn truth ; Hear its dirge-like music floating O'er the faded bowers of youth ; List its mournful echoes rising From our brother's quiet grave, There he lies in tranquil slumber, Where the hoar oak branches wave. A REQUIEM. 37 Early wert thou taken, Brother, From our hearts and homes away, Ere thy rosy youth had brightened Into manhood's golden day ; Whilst the flower of Love was blowing In thy pure and guileless breast ; Whilst the bird of Hope was building 'Neath thy eave its peaceful nest. Shall thy smile no more, my Brother, Intellectual, warm and bright — Greet us with its magic sweetness, Cheer us with its witching light ? Never shall thy fond eye-glances More by loving friends be seen ? Nor thy proud, majestic forehead, Charm us with its grace serene ? Thou wert beautiful, my Brother, Beautiful in classic grace, And the innate virtues glowing On thy frank ingenuous face ; Yet a nobler gift was given — Gift more precious, more divine, In thy chaste and pious bosom Found the Pearl of Price a shrine ! Pure as water-lily resting On the Lake's translucid tide, On the calm baptismal waters Did thy ransomed soul abide ; In thy childhood unpolluted — In thy dawning manhood free From the stormy winds of passion, Booming o'er Life's troubled sea ! 38 A REQUIEM. Wintry winds, lo ! ye have borne me Where our loved-one mouldering lies ; Leave me not 'mid charnel horrors — Waft, O waft me to the skies ! Thither on exulting pinions Has our Brother's spirit sped ; Leave me not in grief despondent 'Mid the cerements of the dead. He has met his father's spirit; Has embraced his cherubs bright ; Has beheld the glorious vision Of the Lamb enthroned in Light ! Would we then to earth recall him, Bind him to its cares again ? Better far to dwell with Jesus In His pure and blissful reign ! What though earth held every blessing That could tempt the youthful heart, He was ready at the summons Of the Father to depart ; Leaving to his God his treasures, Widowed mother — partner dear — Child — his dawning star of promise — Passed his spirit forth in prayer. O like him may we be ready Ere the awful hour of doom, When our souls must pass to judgment, And our bodies to the tomb ; Then the falling leaves of autumn — Then the flowers that faded lie On our path, no more shall sadden When they whisper we must die. December, 1852. HOW BEAUTIFUL IS DEATH. 39 Ijcmr Beautiful is Iteath* How beautiful is death ! how passing fair Thou restedst Addie,* on thy snowy bier ; O how serenely calm, Sweet virgin martyr ! — the, victorious palm, And the triumphal psalm, Already seem to wave and float around Charming our grief profound ; Filling our souls with a mysterious thrill, Even in that dark hour, to bow us to God's will. Thy hands were clasped as if in earnest prayer, As I have often seen them clasped here : The pale Japonica upon thy breast Was not more pure than its still couch of rest ; Never in Life's wild hour Had evil passions power To enter that abode of Love divine, Fair virtue's sacred shrine ; And as the purple shower, Affection's fragrant dower, Of violets, by hand of Friendship shed Within thy coffin bed, With pleasant odor filled the air and room, So, from thy silent tomb, Thy many virtues shall uprise to calm The bosom of thy friends, with memory's healing balm. * Adeline Grilmore of Manlius, Western New York, who died at Hyde Park, St. John's Berkley, January 1st, 1855, from the effects of Yellow Fever. 40 HOW BEAUTIFUL IS DEATH. O that the mantle of thy soul could rest On my perturbed breast ! Its chaste and holy folds enwrap me quite, Calming my wayward spright ; That even in this hour Throbs with wild passion's power, So that I long to rest my weary head Within its clay-cold bed : — The moonbeams sleep upon thy quiet grave. The night-winds sigh above the spot, and wave The live-oak's mossy arms ; To save thee from alarms Angels encamp around the sacred bowers Where, as the seed of flowers. Each sleeper in his silent cell reposes : O ! is it sin in me, To wish that I could be Like thee escaped from earthly taint and sorrow, Waiting the great To-morrow, Within the grave where Life's sad drama closes! Sister of my affection ! passed before Unto the shadowy shore ; Nay, passed all shadows — and in glory bright Walking in snowy robe the fields of light ; If in thy starry sphere The disembodied spirit draweth near Ever to God in prayer; Bend thy serene and lily-cinctured brow Before the God-head now, And let thy saintly prayer for me ascend, Still struggling in this world, my sister and my friend. DIRGE. 41 Wtixgz* Thou hast gone before us To the silent shore, Where the stream of sorrow Welleth never more : Angel-hands have led thee to repose ; Sweet the crystal river by thee flows. Like a chiselled image On an antique tomb Lies thy sleeping figure In the vesper gloom ; Chapel-like the little chamber seems, Lit by solemn moonlight's holy beams. Angels shall around thee Through the silent night, Shed ambrosial dew drops From their wings of light ; Cherubim with blades of lambent fire, Demons chase to their abodes of ire. Scatter purple dew-bells O'er her snowy bier ; Kiss once more the forehead ; Smoothe the wavy hair . Dark the lashes of her sealed eyes, Shade the cheeks where Death's pale beauty lies ! When the rose-tint flushes On the brow of morn, 42 DIRGE. They will tear thee, sister, From our hearts forlorn ; Stranger hands will place thee in thy grave, Where the old oak branches sadly wave. Let us gaze in sorrow Once more on thee now, How serenely placid Beams thy saintly brow ! Clasped thy hands as if in earnest prayer ; Answer spirit! art thou hovering near? Hark J a voice seraphic Whispers from the sky, "Sister, Friends, Companions, Wipe each tear-dimmed eye, Lilies gleam not half so pure and fair, As my blood-washed spirit shineth here." 11 Turn your eyes of sorrow From my clay-cold sod, In rapt vision follow To the mount of God ; Angel-friends my spirit now prepare, Make it meet for yon refulgent sphere." " I have heard the cherubs Singing round the Throne ; Caught celestial glimpses Of the Eternal One ; Sights seraphical around me rise ! — Paradise is open to mine eyes !" ON THE DEATH OP THE REV. J. WARD SIMMONS. 43 ©n tlxe Iteath of th^ Iteu* £♦ Ward Simmons. Clothe him in the sacred garment By him ever loved the best, Let the solemn priestly raiment His beloved form invest ; Tenderly let gentle fingers Place each snowy fold with care, As he resteth from his labors On his tear-besprinkled bier. Bury him with solemn music, Let the deep-toned organ swell, And the voices of the choir On the hymn and anthem dwell ; Let the words from Heaven uttered, Thrill through every nerve and heart — For he loved his Saviour ever To adore with tuneful art. Tenderly ye Priestly Brothers Bear him to his rest profound, Where the Temple's holy shadow Yeils the consecrated ground. Blood-bought ! with a mighty spirit Thou didst wrestle through the night, But the Angel hailed thee victor With the dawn's returning light ! Happy in the early Autumn, With the falling leaves to die, Ere the chilling blasts of Winter Sweep across the darkened sky ! 44 SEA-CHIMES. Blessed form ! within the quiet Of the peaceful grave to rest ! Blessed spirit ! with the ransomed Gathered to the Saviour's breast ! See, yon setting sun is shedding Golden honors o'er him now, Token of the crown immortal Soon to sparkle on his brow ! Mourners leave him to his slumber, Bid your heart-felt sorrow cease ; List ! his last triumphant whisper, " All is peace — Eternal peace." October, 1854. S^a-^himes, IN MEMORY OF ELIZABETH PORCHER WHITE. WRITTEN AFTER READING THE OBITUARY IS THE MERCURY OP THE 7tH OF SEPTEMBER, 1861. " The innocent child leaves no dark void of sorrow. The 6ea change she has undergone spares all other change. She lives on, and can never grow older. She is forever young in the hearts of her parents." " She has suffered a sea-change, Into something rich and strange ;" And her innocent young head Bests upon its rocky bed, And its Ocean-laved pillow, Lulled by chimings of the billow, SEA-CHIMES. 45 Just as calmly as if Sleep — Near her mother's heart — did steep Her fair lids with poppy-dew ! — One can almost fancy too That her hands are clasped in prayer, And her coral lips doth wear A smile, as if a parent's kiss Her young heart had bathed in bliss. Ah ! say not the sun-beams shock thee — And the glancing billows mock thee, As they dance along the strand Like merry children hand in hand. On the eye of Sense they rain Shafts of Light, replete with pain ; To the eye of Faith they beam Outward symbols of the stream, Now around thy darling playing In the Land where light is raying Ever from the Lamb once slain, Thee and thine to save from pain. Spirits pure, beneath the billow, Watch around her shell-wreathed pillow, Just as surely as they guard, By the moss-grown church, the yard Where her kindred sleep in dust Till the graves give up their trust. Ah ! who knows, but that her rest, Sweetly on her Uncle's breast — * Now she taketh — while his arms, As to shield her from alarms, *Lost in the attempt to save his niece. 46 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. E. C. GRAY. Fold her to his loving heart : Never more from thence to start, At the booming of the sea, Till the angel sets her free ! This may be a pleasing dream Caused by moonbeams as they stream Spirit-like across the sea : — Stars tell not the mystery — Though their keen eyes seem to glow With a light supernal — know, Eye of Faith alone can read The mystery of the Holy Creed, Heart of Faith alone can swell At the thought that " All is Well "— That the child is now at rest On her Saviour's loving breast — And that brave soul beams a star Where no billows dash and jar ! 0n the Heath of Mrs, £. B. &ray, MAY, 1863. Mysterious is thine awful presence Death ! — We sat in thoughtful silence in the room We knew he soon must enter, to bear thence The immortal from the mortal ; to take back To its Eternal Source the breath of Life Then quivering in the bosom of the one We watched with loving eyes : Her dearest near, And a friend loved from childhood's happy morn. ON THE DEATH OF MRS. E. C. GRAY. 47 Affection's gaze scarce turned from her calm face; But soul-intent and riveted by Love Upon the drooping and dark-fringed lids Veiling her once bright orbs, thought sure to catch The last spark thence emitted. But not so — Unheard — invisible — on stealthy wing Death entered and was gone. Then came the fresh, The terrible outburst of anguish, known Only to those who have endured its sting. — Here drop the veil, and let the lone heart pour, In solitude and silence, prayer to God. What mourn we in thy loss ! — A precious gem Torn from our breast — a chime of sweet bells hushed — Gloom — where so late was sunshine — and a void In loving hearts never to be refilled ! True wife — kind friend — and daughter whose soft care Fell on her widowed mother's sorrowing soul Like dew-drops on the flowers : Four long years Her dearest comfort, since that other went To dwell on high with Jesus. Now two stars The angels number where so late was one ! Amid the white-robed band thy Whitsuntide Thou keepest in the Heavens ; where the dew Of the Eternal Spirit falls more free Upon thy ransomed and reposing soul, Enriching and expanding — making meet For the celestial body yet to spring From the despoiled grave — and to its breast Catch it in perfect union — Deathless — Pure — E'en as the Lamb's with His pearl-vested Bride ! 48 LITTLE MAGGIE. &ittte Maggie* She went to dwell beside the sea, Where ocean's billows, wild and free Come bounding to the shore ; The loveliest of the infant band That gathered shells along the strand, And now she is no more ! No longer by the sounding sea, With golden tresses waving free, Upon the summer air, May we her tiny foot-prints trace, Or watch, with loving eyes, the grace Of form and motion rare. No longer on her mother's breast, But in the still, deep grave her rest She taketh with the host Of loved and cherished ones, who lie So calmly 'neath the holy eye Of angels at their post — Keen-watching till the germ of life, Within the mouldering dust, be rife For the immortal bloom — Then with a beauty, e'en more rare Than that which veiled her spirit here, Exulting from the tomb, Springs forth her ransomed soul to greet — Beneath the Great White Throne they meet THE MOUNTAIN ROSE. 49 Ne'er to be parted more ! And lo ! a sweeter voice than e'er In happy childhood soothed her ear Floats from the heavenly shore — " Angel bear up the precious flower, And place her in her Saviour's bower, To bloom beneath His eye ; No longer needful of thy care — But like thee glorious in her sphere ; And nevermore to die !" Th£ Mountain Jtoss, IN MEMORY OF THE YOTJNG AND LOVELY MARGARET A. SHOOLBRED. The last rosebud has faded And fallen from the breast, Where late it lay a thing of life Caressing and caressed ! Last of the rosy sisters That blessed a mother's heart, 'Twas sad to see them, one by one, Droop, wither and depart ; To see them shed their beauty And drop upon the sod — Alas ! that only Death can lead ' To Light— to Life— to God! How often have we wandered By lakelet — through the wood — And I have ever thought thee bright, And beautiful and good ; 5 50 THE MOUNTAIN ROSE. " The Mountain Eose," I called thee, And hoped thy mountain breeze Would give thee strength and heart and nerve To wrestle with disease ; Would with its breath enkindle The spark of Life — and set No fraudful light upon thy cheek ; Nor in those eyes of jet. Alas ! for human hoping — The light illumined there, Pure as the star-fires beaming From yon celestial sphere, Shone but to make the darkness More dismal when 'twas gone — Alas ! that through the dreary night One lone heart must beat on ! Must beat forlorn and shrinking, Low murmuring in despair — Thou, purer than the holy stars I O Comforter ! draw near. Whisper in notes far sweeter Than voice of plaintive dove, The great All-Father's chastenings arc But tokens of His love ; Show how His yearning bosom In Earth's dark hour of need, Sent forth the One Begotten To suffer and to bleed ; Show to Faith's eye her darlings, Made pure by that rich tide, Clust'ring as fadeless blossoms now On bosom of The Bride ! GOOD NIGHT. 51 Goad might Good night, beloved ones ! It is time for me To launch my bark upon th' unfathomed sea That laves the headland of Eternity, Good night ! My skiff heaves with the billow — and the air Seems full of strange, sad whispers. Do I hear The spirit voices of the unknown sphere ? Good night ! Methinks a storm is brooding in the sky — The stars have bid good night — the moon is shy To show her face in Heaven — come, draw ye nigh, Good night ! Draw nigh — nor while I linger let me miss The warm, soft pressure of each loving kiss — They take me back to days of childish bliss, Good night ! To days when by my Mother's knee I prayed ; Or with ye, sisters, on the white sand strayed — This is another sea — I'm half afraid — Good night ! Good night ! Good night ! O it is hard to go — But all those airy voices call me so — I must depart — Beloved ! That voice I know, Good night. 52 THE D0t?BLE HARVEST. It is my Mother's ! and it chides delay. And bids me trust in One has led the way Over Death's gloomy tide — I fain obey. Good night. Good night I The gloom is almost gone — a ray Strikes on yon headland from approaching day- Sweet sisters one last kiss — and now away To Light ! Ths ®oubl£ Ijaru^st. 'Tis the glorious time of harvest — And the sun is shining clear, Shooting rays of golden beauty Through the azure fields of air ; Downward darts the heavenly radiance Till the reapers .sickles gleam Like a. fiery flash of glory In the bright, refulgent beam ! Lo ! on bronzed and stalwart shoulders, Homeward now the sheaves are borne, And the harvest chant is ringing Upward to the Father's throne I Hark ! is that its joyous echo Striking sweetly on our ear ? God ! it is the cry of anguish, Bitter anguish and despair! For the reaper Death is busy, And a double harvest-home Through the land is being gathered, — Death has entered many a dome ; THE DOUBLE HARVEST, 53 Cutting down with scythe resistlesss The beloved on every side — Feeble eld — and youth of promise ; Cherished babe — and blooming bride. u Eachel weepeth for her children " — And thy heart my friend is torn, Death has been among thy flowers, And thy brightest bud has borne To his cold and silent bower Where it very safely lies Hidden — but not lost forever — From thy fond maternal eyes ! Thou hast given up thy darling To his Saviour and his G-od, And thy bleeding heart submissive Bows beneath His chastening rod ; And the holy faith within thee Comes to comfort and to calm ; And the Spirit on thy bosom Sheds his pure and healing balm. Ah ! sad father, bowed with anguish, Lift from darksome earth thine eye ; Thy beloved one has been garnered To a peaceful home on high ! There his youth shall know no tarnish, There his virtues shall expand, Till the Eesurrection morning Find him 'mid the chosen band. Find him, with the ransomed thousands, Near the Saviour's Throne of Light, 54 HELEN. Intellectual beauty beaming In his eye divinely bright ! Then those proud hopes fondly cherished, Now crushed-out, bereaved ones ! here, Shall revive to glow forever In that sinless, deathless sphere. There may the once perfect circle — Now unlinked — in rapture meet, Ne'er again to be dissevered, But in harmony complete Move along those countless ages, Drawing nearer all the while ; To the Throne of God Eternal— To the brightness of His smile. September, 1858. Jj e 1 e n ♦ DEDICATED TO DR. B. A. RODRIGUES, OF CHARLESTON, S. 0., ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER. I well remember thy sweet flower, Thy Helen ! with her glorious dower Of graces that enriched thy bower ; Making it innocently bright ; A moonlit glade of softened light From sun of the primeval Height. She was a little airy thing, When first she did around me fling The witchery of which I sing. HELEN. 55 It holds me still in fairy wise, The beauty of those dove-like eyes, That took me then by sweet surprise. So gleesome, yet so free of guile — So full of childish grace So calculated to beguile So full of childish grace — her smile The heart of woe — and mine was sad; 'Twixt swell of hope and fear half mad — She came between and made me glad. 'Twas on a sultry summer's day, The river sparkled in its ray — The steamer sped upon her way. But thou and thine were blithe and gay On that remembered summer day ; Now Death has crossed thy gladsome way. I ever loved thy precious flower, The pride, the darling of thy bower, And followed her through girlhood's hour With glance of tenderness — and knew That as to womanhood she grew Her beauty took a richer hue j Until thy " Wildbrier" did assume The Rose's majesty and bloom, Her beauty and her rich perfume. But when she left the parent bower, Another holier home to dower, With all her wealth of love — that hour 56 HELEX. I lost her from my sight — yet there I never doubted but as clear A light she shed as otherwhere. Making the wedded homestead bright As if an angel shed the light So soon to be exchanged for night. Too soon her winged sisters bore Her spirit to the eternal shore, Where peace abideth evermore. And if she little ones have left To fill the chasm Death has cleft In the sad hearts of her bereft ; O ! may another Helen spring From them, around thy Deck to cling! On thy declining life to fling The beauty and the joy that erst Beamed on thy pathway from the first, The child thy loving heart had nurst, Hoping her gentle hand should close Thine eyelids for their last rej^ose ; But the Almighty Father knows Best — and He took thy spotless flower To bloom within His Heavenly Bower : Bow in submission to the Power That chastens us in love — and feel The freeness of His grace to heal When in undoubting faith we kneel CHRIST : THE ROCK. 57 And render of our very best : Such anguish wrung the Patriarch's breast Upon Moriah's cloudy crest. Oh ! may the Patriarch's God, and thine Lead thee along the "Way Divine, Until thou reach the Inner Shrine Where Helen beameth now, beneath the Eye benign ! Summerville, March 1st, 1866. Christ : Tto Stock DEVOTED TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED FRIEND AND COUSIN. The simple record of her end, what peace it sheds around ! — Unbind the sandals from your feet, for this is holy ground. Tread softly— let no jarring sound nor echo meet her ear; Breathe softly — utter not a word— the dying is in prayer ! "Be quiet, only let me feel that ye are very near, Press the warm kiss upon my brow, toy with my wavy hair ; Pet me, as ye were wont to do — ye know I love it so, Friends ! let me feel that ye are here when I am called to go. Thoughts of ' The Yalley ' used to fill my heart with gloom and fear, But lo ! the valley is all bright — I see my Saviour there, 58 CHRIST: THE ROCK. Light'ning it with His victor crown ; His smile serenely calm, Sheds for the festering wounds within a softly soothing balm." 'Tis noon — high noon — the hour when He sat weary on the well, And she is weary, and would leave this world with Him to dwell ; And Christ has come — she feels Him near — The Eock whose friendly shade Maketh the fiery furnace seem a cool, refreshing glade. Yes, he has come to take her where her mother waits to fold Her daughter in her loving arms, with raptures mani- fold ; And every shade, and every tear has dimmed that daughter's face Shall roll, as cloud-drifts from the sun, beneath that warm embrace. Breathe low ! there is a whisper near, a murmur in the pines, Far off a partridge drops her note — the sweet, soft, sum- mer winds Just wave the curtains to and fro — is there another sound ? The rustle of an angel's wing? — Her soul has pac the bound ! It wings its flight above the clear, expanding, azure sky ; O ! she will never more have cause to breathe the low, sad sigh, THE MARTYR BOY. 59 That pine-trees bar the glorious view of God's o'er-arch- ing Heaven, Now to her pure and cleansed sight such brighter scenes are given ! ^N"ow that she dwells with the redeemed in those deli- cious bowers, Where God pours down a richer beam than that ' en- lightens ours ; Where all the air is musical with Dove-notes soft and clear ; Where Jesus breathes the breath of peace on saints reposing there ! Summerville, July 11th, 1866. Th£ martyr Bog. DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY L. DUNHAM, WHO DIED AT ABINGTON, MASS., MAY 25, 1867, AGED 18 YEARS, 8 MONTHS AND 17 DAYS. " They shall walk with me in white; for they are worthy." She weeps ! — my sister weeps ! — Weeps for her first-born; for her martyr boy ; At once her greatest trial, purest joy ; — For eighteen years he bore his heavy cross ; For him to die is gain — to her the loss ; Only a mother's heart can understand With what a strong, mysterious, holy band God knit his life to her's. A mother's love ! ISTot angels dwelling near its fount above Can penetrate its depth ! But One alone, 60 THE MARTYR BOY. The Prince of Love, now seated on His throne, Can understand its length and depth and height — He holds this key of knowledge by His right As son of God and man ; His infant rest Was on a Virgin's pure, maternal breast! • With what a thrill of joy My sister pressed her first — her darling boy To her soft throbbing heart ! No lovelier flower Ere spread its petals in a nuptial bower Than this sweet bud — large starry eyes of blue, Taking their tint from the autumnal hue Of the o'er-arching sky ; — plump, rosy, bright, A child of beauty — filling with delight All hearts susceptive of the heavenly wile That plays around an infant's artless smile ; Who could have dreamed that anything amiss Would mar the rapture of the welcome kiss Pressed on his sweet, soft mouth ! That his smooth brow Would wrinkle o'er with pain; his bosom, now So pure and yielding, should be made to bear The pelting of Life's storm for many a sad, long year ! Soon as her boy began to go alone The mother's heart assumed an anxious tone; All was not right; as year on year sped by Her fear increases; and her loving eye Follows him ever with uneasy glance, Lest to his infant limbs some sad mischance Should happen ; for tho' rosy, well and gay. He cannot move about, and run, and play As other boys — he tottered in his gait, As if his body were too great a weight THE MARTYR BOY. 61 For his frail limbs and tiny feet to bear ; Ob then in secret many an earnest prayer Sped to the One who dries the mourner's tear ! Physicians were consulted — none gave hope; Some thought that when his wondering eyes did ope Upon this world of beauty, at his side Stood this affliction, as a spectre bride, To darken all his life ; some deemed a fall, Or other accident unknown, this pall Of blackness had about his cradle cast Beneath whose cruel shade his youthful days were past. Our greatest Surgeon spoke his candid mind — " No art of man a remedy can find For this poor boy; and ere he pass away The light of reason from his mind shall stray Leaving it dark and void." — Thank Grod in this The learned Physician thought and spoke amiss ! Clear, bright and beautiful did ere remain His spirit, tho' his limbs were racked with pain ; Tho' on his couch from year to year he lay Helpless, around his active brain would play Thoughts rich and wonderful — he converse held With the sublimes t souls ; from books he drew Their treasured wisdom ; with Pierian dew Stored the deep cells of his retentive mind ; An answer to each question could he find At any moment ; from his bosom welled, As from a crystal fount, the Holy Truth Learnt from a mother's love and sympathizing ruth ! And she who made him from the first her care, By Providence was led to spend a year — 62 THE MARTYR BOY. The last sad year of his short life — with him ! The nine long ones of absence seemed a dream When seated by his side. She heard him read ; Built up his faith in the most holy creed Learnt in his Southern home ; when for the dove, But two months lent to stir the fount of love In all their breasts, from pious lip and heart, Over its " casket " ere 'twas laid apart, Went up the words of prayer — she by his plane Sat, wiping tears, that fell like summer rain, From his sad eyes — and little thought the day Was speeding on when God would wipe away His last sad tear, And in a painless sphere, Open those loving eyes which beamed so brightly here ! Weep, weep no more! Your child has gained the safe, refulgent shore ! He who on earth could stir nor hand, nor feet, Now with angelic pinions fleet Cleaves the pure ether — 'round the height Of the celestial Eden wings his flight! No longer on his plane Must night and day remain ; But on a bed of roses His long tried, patient soul reposes — Guarded by cherubs bright; And smiling on his sight, The spirit of his infant brother weaves A garland for his brow of never dying leaves ! And lo ! the Man of Grief, who bore His cross So meekly up the rugged mountain side, Bends over him, and bids his ransomed Bride THE SHEPHERD'S CALL. 63 To wrap him in the mantle of her love, And cause the soothing music of the Dove Float by to charm his rest Within his rosy nest • Where cleansed from earthly dross, No more he suffers loss — But with the Saints in calm delight awaits The bursting of the bars that bind the pearly gates ! The Sheplwrd's gall. " He calleth his own sheep by name." " I am the Good Shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine." It was not strange, my little dear, That G-od should call our Henry hence ; He goes to meet his recompense, His crown of martyrdom to wear. The Shepherd knoweth all His sheep, And calleth each to Him by name, And they were very much to blame If they should earthward turn and weep. He calleth for a little lamb — It leaps and bounds into his arms ; He folds it safe from all alarms : No more it bleateth for its dam. He calleth one of larger growth — He finds Earth's sunny pastures fair ; Her flowerets lovely — balm her air ; And turneth from them somewhat loth. 64 MY UNKNOWN FRIEND. The Shepherd meets and leads him where He sees the heavenly meadows green, By angel-hands kept fresh and clean ; The winding river cool and clear ! He calleth to His sheep — they come From where they lie, at heat of day, Toil-worn and weary of the way, And follow very gladly home ! He calls the aged of the flock — They have sucked poison from Earth's flowers ; Found serpents in her fairest bowers ; And wounded feet upon the rock. Therefore most gladly do they hear His silvery accents calling " home " — And answer "blessed Lord we come" To breathe the Balm of Eden air. And may our little one be given The grace ail-lovingly to go, When the Good Shepherd whispers low, " Come taste the pasturage of Heaven !" Mtj Unknown Friend, I have a friend — an unknown friend, Far o'er the billowy sea ; And O ! I wish he would transmit A letter unto me ! I sent him one I deemed would reach His home by Christmas Day, Or if not on that happy tide, With New Year's dawning ray. MY UNKNOWN FRIEND. 65 I have a friend — a learned friend, Old England's gifted son ! To whom her martyrs from their graves In chorus cry "well done," "Well done" — for thou hast nobly stood In trial's fearful hour, And battled for old England's church — Her sure abiding tower ! Old England's Church— the Church of Christ, Has ever been his theme, In her good cause he sacrificed Each rainbow-tinted dream — Each rainbow dream — each starry hope, Bright visions fair of youth, He sacrificed them all to aid The sacred cause of truth ! I have a friend — a poet friend, One of the choral band Who send the music of their harps O'er Albion's happy land ; Nor only on her sea-girt shores Their Heaven-strung harps rebound, Their echoes reach our western wilds And 'wake responsive sound! And when like David they have vowed Their deep-toned Lyres to Heaven, Then, what a magical effect To each rich chord is given ! A power to move the sternest breast — To make the gentle weep — To soothe the heaving bosom, when Dark sorrows o'er it sweep ! 6 66 MY UNKNOWN FRIEND. Thus Keble is a name to love : Milman a spell to bind ; Heber a beacon when our bark A peaceful port would find ; Williams — but O ! I cannot tell What he has been to me, Williams ! my kind, my unknown friend, Far o'er the billowy sea ! With him I've wandered in the gloom Of old "Cathedral" aisle, And trembled while the organ filled With solemn swell the pile ; Or listened while in cadence sweet He of the martyrs told, Now resting in their antique tombs — Or carved in marble cold. With him I've stood and gazed upon The pure " Baptistery's " flood, Until methought the crystal wave Was tinged with Jesus' blood ; So awfully each sentence fell How His sad death obtains To make this, seeming, simple flood Wash out the vilest stains ! With him I've mused on by-gone scenes, Till " Thoughts of Past Years " came Too vividly before my sight And roused cold memory's flame ; With him I've trod the narrow " Way " That leads to " Life Eterne," Enlightened by the rays that gleam Whence Love's pure altars burn. THE CHILDREN OF THE CHURCH HOME. 67 With him I've read and sung by turns The " Passion oe Our Lord," Until mine inmost spirit longed For his life-giving word; And if my bosom hath received The Spirit warm and free, I owe, through God, in part the thanks Dear, unknown friend, — to thee ! January, 1851. The Children of th£ $Jnu^h l|om£* I love these children Lord, These little lambs of Thine ; The flock redeeming love has called To pasture near Thy shrine. O keep them safely there — Protect them from all harms, O tender Shepherd I kindly bear These nurslings in Thine arms. How sweet on Sabbath-day, Within thine House of Prayer, To list their infant voices rise To Heaven in accents clear. To hear them swell the hymn ; To hear them lisp the creed, Whose holy doctrines sage of old Had vainly sought to read. 68 THE CHILDREN OF THE CHURCH HOME. To see them meekly kneel ; The penitential sigh To waft with contrite sinners up, In faith, beyond the sky. These wayside flowers of earth, By Jesus' loving care, Were brought to bloom within the gate Of God's own Eden fair. Oh ! who with ruthless hand Would cast them forth again, To wither 'neath the summer's sun Or Winter's chilly rain ! O rather may each soul, Redeemed by Heavenly power, Pray that the dews of Grace may fall Upon each bud and flower. Rather may Christian hands, With gentle fostering care These tender plants about the Tree Of Life assist to rear ! For angels on That Day When Christ shall claim His own, From them a garland shall entwine Around His glorious Throne ! 1858. LITTLE BET LITTLE HARRIET. 69 uttu n^u A little fairy creature draped in white — She bounded in the room and sprang within The arms of our loved Pastor : A pure dove She seemed snug-nestled there in perfect trust And calm confiding love ; or feeble lamb Borne by the tender Shepherd on his breast. Sweet Innocence upon Eeligion stayed — Fair type of the affection deep we owe The blessed Jesus ; and th' undoubting faith We should repose in Heaven. Make us Lord, Like this, Thine infant daughter, pure and true ! kittle Harriet* She is a winsome, precious pet, A darling blue-eyed dove ; The sweetest little nursling yet Has caught me in the golden net Of its pure, baby love ! She came in sorrow's blackest night Its darkness to illume ; A beam of the celestial light — A little comfort-freighted sprite, She flitted in the gloom. 70 LITTLE HARRIET. But soon upon her pearly vest, We spied the taint of sin ; The precious dovelet of our nest — Our darling, Heaven-commissioned guest, Bore the death-spot within ! So at the Holy Whitsuntide We took her to the stream, That ever from the Saviour's side Flows forth to cleanse His mystic bride And make her brightly beam ! From thence our baby bore a dower Of beauty, far more rare Than that which decks the Lily-flower. Or blushes in the Eose's bower When Spring is breathing near ! And I have vowed this child to be An almoner of Heaven; Her dimpled hands shall scatter free — Into the Saviour's treasury, Her gifts shall all be given. And may the Triune God indeed Confirm my heart-deep prayer, Safely her tiny footsteps speed In the old pathways to the meed Of the Eternal Sphere ! May her whole life a mission prove To loved ones young and old ; The moist rays of soul-pitying love Beam from the soft eyes of our dove To win into The Fold, CONFIRMATION. 71 Sad, erring spirits, wandering far In regions drear and lone, Until the pearly gates unbar, And show our babe a burning star Before the Saviour's throne. March IS, 1860. ganfirmatian AT ST. JOHN'S CHAPEL, HAMPSTEAD, MARCH 25, 1860. It is the vesper tide And Evening, like a bride, Sits blushing in her gorgeous western bower; Waiting the regal Night, To veil her glowing light And lead her to his star-emblazoned tower ! But not the bridal sweet When Eve and Night shall meet, Hath charmed us forth at close of Sabbath-day ; Leave to the poet's eye The glories of the sky, When Nature weaves their nuptial garlands gay. Espousals holier thrill Our Christian hearts — and fill Our human eyes with happy, rapturous dew; A soul flings off its clod And springs to meet its G-od, As tender plants burst forth to cheer the view. 72 CONFIRMATION. O make it truly thine, Father and Friend divine ! And set thy seal confirmal to the vow, That erst in faith was made, When she, now sainted, laid Her precious one before Thy throne — but now She is not here to see Her first-born bend the knee, And bow his youthful head with reverence meet ; To list the voice of prayer Float on the buoyant air In undulating waves of music sweet. From her bright resting star An angel points afar To the green earth that once she called her home ; Following his golden trace Along the fields of space She marks this humble, consecrated dome — Where, calm and most serene The holy man is seen Clothed with authority from God on High, To bless with Jesus' love Each trembling, timid dove That to the riven Eock would gladly fly. As on the happy day She watched his first essay To poise his little frame and walk alone ;• So now her beaming eye, Love-lighted, from the sky Sees this first step towards the Heavenly Zone. CONFIRMATION. 73 Lo ! with maternal care She spreads her arms, for fear Her tender one should stumble by the way; She cannot reach him here — And now her eyes in prayer Are lifted to the realms of endless day, " Father ! my first-born joy Save from Earth's sad annoy, And lead in safety through the howling "Wild — Blest Spirit grace impart ; Jesu3 with loving art Woo to Thy breast my precious, darling child." ganfirmatijcm. Loved one ! whose body moulders in yon grave Marked by the sacred emblem of the cross, But whose immortal spirit long has passed Into the rest which is not indolence ; But that sublime repose and heavenly calm Laid up in store for all the dead in Christ! from that sphere — wherever it revolves, In the illimitable Space of God, On its harmonious axis 'round the Throne Of the All-Loving Heart — hast thou beheld The scenes enacted here ? Scenes that had stirred Thy pure, maternal heart if still on Earth, To its serenest depth ! I cannot think That the beloved departed ever nigh — 7 74 CONFIRMATION. Close as the atmosphere that wraps us 'round — Know every thought and throb of our proud hearts Still struggling in this gloom ; if they maintain Affections, kin to those that moved them here, They would too keenly suffer when we sinned. Yet verily subscribe this cheering creed — That when such scenes occur in this our Orb, May add new rapture to the souls in Bliss, Jehovah sends some bright, angelic power To point the same to their adoring gaze ; Then the commissioned Seraph lifts the veil That hides our green-robed earth ; and makes the ken Of the reposing spirit strike its disk And draw new draughts of light and love from thence. Thus, dear one, I believe that thou hast the skies. Fling it out — its Lone Star beaming Brightly to the Nation's gaze — Lo ! another star arises ! Quickly — proudly it emblaze — Yet another ! Bid it welcome With a hearty "three times three;" Send it forth, on boom of cannon, Southern men will dare be free ! Faster than the cross of battle Summoned rude Clan Alpine's host ; Flash the news from sea to mountain, Back from mountain to the coast ! On the lightning's wing it fleeth — Scares the Eagle in his flight, As his keen eye sees arising, G-lory — yet shall daze his sight! Cease the triumph — days of darkness Loom upon us from afar ; Can a woman's voice for battle Ping the fatal note of war? — 08 ARISE ! Yes — when we have borne aggression. Till submission is disgrace, Southern women call for action — Beady would the danger face ! Yes — in many a matron's bosom Burns the Spartan spirit now; From the maiden's eye it flashes, Glows upon her snowy brow ; E'en our infants in their prattle Urge us on to risk our all ; — " Would we leave them, as a blessing, The Oppressor's hateful thrall ! " No ! — then up, true-hearted Southrons, Like bold "giants nerved by wine," Never fear ! the cause is holy — It is sacred — yea Divine ! For the Lord of Hosts is with us — It is He has cast our lot ; Blest our homes — from lordly mansion, To the humblest negro cot. God of Battles ! hear our cry, Give us nerve to do or die ! Charleston, November 12th, I860. HYMN OF FREEDOM. 99 $ymn of Fr^dcm* Hail the birth of Southern Freedom ! Hail the glorious herald star! From the purple field of morning Flinging its pure sheen afar ; Brighter than the light Hyperian Beaming on Aurora's brow, Shines the brilliant Orb of Freedom, Carolina's frontlet now! G-lorious Star! which Carolina Hangs a beacon to the world; From its proud, exalted station Never more shall it be hurled ! Sister orbs may light their fires At its pure, refulgent flame, But till Time's great torch expires, It shall burn fore'er the same ! Bow the knee to God eternal, Our Creator, Saviour, King ; Till He take us to the shelter Of His own Almighty Wing ; Till the unction of His Spirit, Bests upon our Country's shrine ; And we live, a chosen people, In the Light of Love Divine.! November 19th, 1860. 100 THE PATRIOT SEER. The fatriat Seer, WRITTEN AFTER READING THE HON. F. TV. PICKENS' LETTER FROM POLAND. " Poland ! Poland ! we have heard thy story ; Poland's sons are Poland's glory ! " On ancient "Warsaw's storied height 3 From brig-lit Sarmatian plain, The patriot thought upon his home Far o'er the western main; From where each hoary feudal tower Shot upward to the sky — Thought of his far off Southern home With moist, prophetic eye. And faithful bosom all aglow. To stand by her — come weal, come woe ! No more in half barbaric state. And Eastern splendor rare, Elective nobles with their trains To Yolo's mead repair : No longer Poland's warriors flash Their free swords to the sky. Their arms made mighty by the glance Of woman's kindling eye ! For Polish women ever stood Undaunted 'mid the fiery flood ! THE PATRIOT SEER. 101 No longer free— no longer great — Poland dismembered lies, Blotted from Nations of the Earth, 'Neath God's o'erarching skies; Yet has she left a living name On Time's historic page, Traced with a pen of light — her sons Eternal heritage ! — A name which thrills the patriot's soul — He kindles at the name of — Pole! And such as Poland was of yore, We Southrons are to-day — A gallant, proud, heroic race ; And will remain alway — Holding the Land in fee of God ; Elected, by His will, To patriarchal rule o'er rude Untutored tribes — To fill, Their minds with holy Christian lore, They ne'er had learnt on Heathen shore ! And gallant Poland might have stood 'Gainst leagued oppression's power, Had her brave sons been leal and true In her dark trial hour; Had her bold chiefs put local feuds, And jealous rancor down — A modern halo would have ringed Her name of old renown ; — A people gallant, bold and free, United ne'er can conquered be ! 102 CANAAN'S DOOM. So mused the patriot — and sent That sigh upon the breeze To where old Ocean's billows lave Our rough Palmetto trees — To where his far off Southern home Beamed as a gem of light, — Caught not his keen prophetic ken, The Lone Star — Glorious sight ! Wheeling her silver-cinctured car Eight to the front of Freedom's war November 23d, 1860. Canaan's Boom. None can stay His hand, or say unto Him what docth thou ?' It fell — the curse malign Upon the head of Ham ; He cowered in amaze and fright, Before the great " I Am" — As He, the Eternal God, Through the insulted Sire, Hurled it upon his guilty head In stern, enduring ire; And hallowed each domestic shrine, By that awe-striking Act Divine ! [Gen. 9th And the fresh, fertile earth, Baptized by the flood, Heard — and her bosom felt the shock Of severed brotherhood ! CANAAN'S DOOM. 103 All through her forests green, And cavern ed mountains rude Echoed the awful thunder-stroke Of Canaan's servitude — " Servant of servants shall he be To Japhet's large posterity!" None may the curse remove — To last until The Day When gathered nations of the Earth Must face the dreadful ray Of Christ the Judge — and call — Yea, voice of bond and free Shall mingle in that awful cry, " O mountain fall on me, And cover from the Eye of Him "Who rides upon the Cherubim!" [Rev. 6th The faithful Abraham dwelt Among his bondmen dear, Those whom a righteous G-od had placed Beneath his fostering care : — Lo ! to an aged slave What mighty trust is given ! " For Isaac bring the chosen bride Elect of Highest Heaven ; For, from my son, it is decreed, Shall come the holy, promised Seed." [Gen. 29th. And when with joyous feet The hosts of Israel prest, On further side of Jordan's flood The land of happy rest; 104 Canaan's doom. And raised their altars pure To the One holy God— The sons of Labor dwelt with them Upon the sacred sod ; Bearing the water and the wood, In humble, cheerful servitude. At last, in God's fall time, The promised Seed was given And meekly Jesus walked the Earth, So late the King of Heaven ; He who at sin could hurl The lightning shaft of ire, And cause his human visage glow With Godhead's awful tire! Would he permit His holy eye, Rest on a crime and pass it by ? When the Centurion sought His blessing for his slave — "My servant is tormented sore, Lord speak the word 'and save' " — Christ said not — i: get thee hence And set thy bondman free, Ere thou presume in suppliance meek To bow the reverent knee"' — But, marvelling at his faith's great power, Healed his sick slave " the self-same hour." [Matt. 8th, And they who read aright The Word of God may see How prophets, priests, apostles, all Uphold the dread decree ; — FOR THE GERMANS. 105 They have not dared to set The seal of Heaven aside, As modern fanatics would do In bold presumptuous pride, But urged on servants to obey — On Masters — to bear equal sway ! See that your tents become O Japhet ! schools of Grace, Where Gospel blessings may distill On Canaan's humble race ; Eemembering ye too have A Master just — on high, Who, on the Judgment morn, the works Of every man shall try — If faithful found — or bond — or free Shall dwell with Christ Eternally! Limerick Plantation, December 26th, 1860. Vox th£ firmans. Born in the year when Germans' rose 11 En masse" to free their land, From foreign Despot's galling yoke — From France's iron hand ! How can I help it that my blood Flows tingling through each vein. My heart leaps high — my pulses throb To snap the cord in twain That binds us to fraternal foe, Would work us dark, malignant woe ! 106 FOR THE GERMANS. When Liberty's true sun arose On Lands of old renown, Presaging soon the meteor glare Of carnage should go down ! When valor bared his strong right arm, And flashing to the sky The sword of Justice, called on God To bles3 it from on high ! — And God did bless it — hear Him say, " Vengeance is mine, I will repay." Then the immortal Korner seized His Country's slumbering lyre, And ran o'er its neglected chords His fingers tipped with fire ! — Like him I may not dare to sing High prcan to the sword, But I can kiss with glowing lip, And bless with holy word — The blades — if forced to battle-field — Our gallant sons shall bravely wield ! For in my heart I feel the glow Of high prophetic fires ! Great Deborah's exalted faith My patriot-soul inspires — And I would make her battle-cry Eesound throughout the land — " Up, for the day of God has come, Deliverance is at hand ! Up ! — lest the curse of Meroz fall ! — Ye came not at Jehovah's call !" FORTS MORRIS AND MOULTRIE. 107 But German hearts beat warm and true As when in Father-Land, They rallied at fair Freedom's call And seized the battle-brand ! — And now at Carolina's voice, With hearts exultant-free — They lock their sinewy arms around Her firm Palmetto Tree ! — Strong arms ! that erst Napoleon's car Backed on his gory track of war ! November, 1860. F^rts Morris and f&oultrije. Hark the wind-storm how it rushes ! — List ! methinks I hear the strain Of wild music it awak'neth, As it sweeps along the main ! Bustling in the old Palmettos — Stirs it not each patriot breast, In the Camp of proud Fort Morris, On this day of holy rest ? Day of Eest in the good city, — But down there, along the strand, Active work — and keen-eyed watching For the brave, heroic band, To whom G-od has given honor, In permitting them to be First to send the shot for Freedom, Booming o'er the foaming sea I 108 FORTS MORRIS AND MOULTRIE. Soon Old Moultrie caught the signal — Fort beloved of Southern heart ! And, tho' Sumter frowned defiant, With loud war-note took her part ; And those brave m'en never faltered, Tho' the false and craven foe Late had sworn, "if once they opened, He would lay the Fortress low !"' 'Tie a talc to tell our children, How wc eager stood to hear The first gun of Freedom sounding Grandly, proudly on the ear! When again our batteries open Seaward on the approaching foe, Their returning shot may bring us Desolation, anguish, woe. Yet our loved ones — wives and mothers, Daughters, sisters, sweethearts stand Ready to cheer on to glory Our devoted patriot band ! Not a heart with fear is quailing; Not an eye but glows with pride; Only those are sad whose kindred Still at home are forced to bide ! O, true-hearted, noble brother, Now, for you and all the brave. Will I kneel in suppliance lowly To the One who died to save ! May his angels camp around ye, May His shield be o'er ye thrown, And the glory of His presence All encircle as a zone. SONNET. 109 Should ye fall, a band of martyrs, In the mighty cause of truth, May the seal of the Eedemption Stamp ye for eternal youth ! For I know the cause is holy, Not a doubt is in my soul ; And a hero is each soldier On our Sacred Muster Eoll ! Charleston, January 13th, 1861. Sotmjet* ADDRESSED TO THE HON. R. B. RHETT. .Rejoicing in our Freedom, it is meet TTe give the honor where 'tis justly due, And, as in antique triumphs, forth and strew Fresh, fragrant flowers beneath the victor's feet, And with exultant pseans loudly greet The faithful and undaunted. Many years . He wrestled all alone, through hopes and fears, His country's glorious ransom to complete. His State may prove forgetful, and withhold The robes of Office — but his patriot breast Beats 'neath a purer mantle — every fold Fraught with a blessing of enduring test, The love of hearts enfranchised ! All untold The deep serene of his well-earned rest. January, 1861. 110 GREETING FOR VICTORY. Qvz&tmg for Wictary, Carolinians ! ye have answered To our Mother's thrilling call. And I love ye, oh ! my brothers ! Love ye dearly, one and all ; How my heart went forth rejoicing O'er each brave one as he flew To the rescue of that Mother, With high hope and purpose true. And our God has blessed us, brothers. Blessed our valor — blessed our cause, In a way shall make the kingdoms Of the whole round world to pause, Deep reflecting ; was there ever Such deliverance wrought on earth — So sublimely grand a pageant To announce a Nation's birth? Most resembling war of angels By immortal poet sung, Was the scene — terrific — awful — Now the theme of cveiy tongue : Carolina's bards the story Shall rehearse in verse sublime. Handing down her name of glory To the very verge of Time! Carolina ! — Glorious Mother ! First in wisdom — first in might — Blessed be the God of Heaven. It was thine to lead the fight ! GREETING FOR VICTORY. Ill How mine eyes have ached with watching For the dawning of that day ; It has passed — alas for hoping — My sad orbs drank not its ray. As I caught the distant thunder, First I trembled with affright — Then my bosom filled, triumphant With a strange and wild delight ; For I knew thy sons, my Mother, Would redeem thee on thai day, Pour their warm heart-blood, if needed, To enrich thy glorious way ! Carolina's sons of honor — Sons of glory — sons of truth, Would not fail her in the hour Of her greatest need and ruth : And the God of Battles thundered, Eolled His chariot through the sky — Flashed the glory of His presence, As He passed majestic by. Heard ye not the mighty rushing Of His seraphs as they threw Their strong wings, a shield of shelter From the war-bolts as they flew ? Fought He not with weapons tempered By His justice and His truth — By the side of veteran soldiers, And the glowing heart of youth ? — Honor to our chosen captains — To our manhood — to our youth — To the wisdom of our Council — To our valor — to our truth — 112 GREETING FOR VICTORY. To our brave hearts wildly throbbing For their turn that stirring day, Like the anxious war-steed champing At the stern fate of dclaj^ — As they saw their dream of glory As a cloud-drift float afar, Eest upon the head of brother Like a brightly glowing star — Rest upon the head of brother Not more worthy, when all drew From the breast of Common Mother The one stream that made them true. Bow we all, the knee adoring, To Jehovah, God of Might, Rendering chief to Him the glory As is "bounden, meet and right ;" For His strong arm brought salvation ; And His hand the garland wrought That adorns our Mother's forehead, With a glory passing thought. April 17th, 1861. OUR BANNER. 113 0ur Banner* FLUNG TO THE BREEZE AT LIMERICK, ST. JOHN'S BERKLEY, ON THE llTH OE APRIL, 1861. Hail to thee bright banner ! Floating to the sky Kissed by April breezes As they hurry by Amid the rosy bowers of the Spring to sigh ! On the eve of battle When a golden light Shot from western heaven Crowned this sylvan height, Before the star of Vesper heralded the night — Flung we forth our banner With its triple bars ; — Shedding rays of glory From its crown of stars Over the purple evening, rich with crystal spars. Soon a sylph of Faery From her silver sphere, Shed soft, balmy tear drops On our symbol fair : Fresh from this baptism Ave left it floating there ! 10 114 OUR BANNER. When our country's banner Next enrapt my sight, Like a wing of glory It was gleaming bright Over heaving ocean from mast and fortress height! Soon a crimson shower May enrich each fold ; And the Sun of Glory Shoot his rays of gold Adown its borders drooping over heroes cold. Yet we hail thee, banner ! Blessed of Heaven — and view With glad eyes, triumphant, Faith-fraught hearts — and true, Thy bright enlarging circlet, on its shield of blue ! Hail our own bright banner! From its grassy mound Shooting to the azure : While the trees around, Fair fields, and sparkling waters seem enchanted ground ! OLD MOULTRIE. 115 The splendor falls on bannered walls Of ancient Moultrie, great in story ; And flushes now, his scar-seamed brow, With rays of golden glory ! Great in his old renown ; Great in the honor thrown Around him by the foe, Had sworn to lay him low ! The glory falls! — Historic walls Too weak to cover foes insulting ; Became a tower — a sheltering bower — A theme of joy exulting : God, merciful and great, Preserved the hi^h estate Of Moultrie, by His power. Through the fierce battle hour! The splendor fell — His banners swell Majestic forth to catch the shower; Our own loved blue receives anew * A rich immortal dower ! — Adown the triple bars Of its companion,-]- spars Of golden glory stream ; On seven-rayed circlet beam ! *The Banner of the State. |The Confederate Flag. 116 a sister's farewell. The glory falls — but not on walls Of Sumter deemed "the post of duty " A brilliant sphere, it circles clear The harbor in its beauty ; Holding in its embrace The city's queenly grace ; Stern battery and tower, Of manly strength and power. But brightest falls on Moultrie's walls. Forever there to rest in glory; A hallowed light — on buttress height — Fort, beloved and hoaryl Rest there — and tell that faith Shall never suffer scath; — Rest there — and glow a far Hope's ever-beaming star! Charleston, May 3d, 1861. Note. — All lovera of poetry will know in whose liquid gold I hav< dipped my brush to illumine the picture. & Sister's Famusll TO J. E. P., OF THE WASHINGTON L. I. VOLS., IIAMI'TON LEGION. Brother ! in the strong assurance That our cause is just and true ; That the smile of Heaven is with us ; Give I thee, my fond adieu — Dearest brother! patriot ever stern and true! a sister's farewell. llnj> Not with wild throb, like our ardent Youthful heroes, is the beat Of the martial spirit stirring In thy heart's profound retreat; Years of waiting have intensified its beat! Silently the patriot fire Has been smouldering in thy breast, From gay youth to sturdy manhood ; Now it breaketh from its rest, " Flaming upward, like a glory-lighted crest ! Till thy forehead, erst so placid, And thine eyes' serenest blue, Seem enkindled with the halo Of its light — sublimely true As I bade thee, tearfully, a long adieu. Glowed it there — while in thy bosom, Whence it thus had flashed to light, We're deep wells of sorrow springing As thou badst good-by to-night — But such waters never quenched heroic light. Deep affection, for the dear ones Left at home, shall make it glow More intensely: — Brace the spirit, Nerve the arm — until the foe Shrink affrighted from each God-commissioned blow ! If perchance a tear drop trembled On mine eyelid, 'twas not fear, But the rush of strong emotion Sent it upward, hung it there, Gladness raying from its dewy, crystal sphere. 118 HAMPTON LEGION. If one moment, for the anguish, My brave spirit seemed to quail, Trembling seized upon my members, And my brow began to pale — O forget it ! Woman's faith will never fail. Mighty in the strong assurance That the God of Love will hear; Passed the weakness of this hour — Soaring on the wing of prayer, Soon my spirit shall surmount the realm of fear ! And mine eyeballs, God anointed, Bright, prophetic visions see Of our Southern hosts returning Crowned with hays of victory, Singing praises to the One has made us/n - . May 31st, 1861. Jjampton Legion Go — take thy place by Valor's side : — Ho, Legion ! onward to the van ! And look! thou bearest a noble name, Prove each a noble man ! Revere thy banner — it was wrought By daughters of heroic sires; — The hand of beauty swiftly flew. While tear drops moistened eyes of blue. Or quenched in orbs of darker hue Their more vehement fires : HAMPTON LEGION. 119 Revere it — woman's snowy breast, Vibrating with a strange unrest Of hope and fear for thee, Sent many a stifled sigh, prayer fraught, Upward upon the wing of thought As grew the tapistry! Go — beat back those whose rallying cry Insults our Southern chastity ! Our own great Davis first unfurled Its beauties to thine ardent gaze : Go — let the name beneath it won Fill nations with amaze ! — Bear it into the hottest fight, Where freemen battle for their right, Nor fear the hordes of Northern might ! And may its crescent's silvery sheen Thy beacon be — its Palm — thy screen ! Pass on — by Hampton led — and he Who wrestled for the civic crown With Ehett and Pickens : Great renown Under such chieftains mayest thou win ; Go — teach the hoary man of sin Thy prowess ! Let each belted knight, And every warrior of the host, As he assumes his sacred post, Feel he commission bears to fight For Home and Liberty ! Press on — encompassed as thou art By prayers from woman's loving heart ! Nor deem these sacred fires shall die ; In circling wreaths they mount the sky, Fanned by the breath of Love and Faith's reviving sigh ! 120 HAMPTON LEGION. II. Thus sung I ere in Piedmont's vale The battle din had filled the gale ; Or Sabbath sunlight hailed the dawn And life-throe of a nation born In agony and blood ! Ere yet the thrilling news had sped That told of mighty armies fled — And foes all gory, cold and dead Upon Manassas' plain ! That told how freemen nobly fought, And countless deeds of valor wrought; Deeds of surpassing valor, fraught With light of Chivalry! The old historic war-harp blends Its music with the shout that rends The air for Victory ! Great Bee and Bartow grandly died — Pure Johnson fell — The Legion's pride, Struck down at noble Hampton's side At opening of the fray, Ere his heroic spirit caught The thrill of triumph — or was fraught With grateful homage at the thought Of Freedom's dawning day ! O Legion ! O heroic band ! Soul-strengthened by thy God to stand Unflinching 'mid the storm; A greater bard than I thy praise Shall hand far down the golden days That yet shall bless our land ! HAMPTON LEGION. 121 A prouder and a sweeter strain Than any I can 'wake, thy slain Must lull to their repose ! — Mine be the thrilling note of war ! Ho, Southrons ! every one prepare — Avenge the noble dead ! Great Georgia bares her bleeding breast — Virginia sets her spear in rest, And waits another blow ; Let every Southron don his mail, And like the war-steed snuff the gale, Then rush upon the foe ! Go take his place by heroes' side, And where the war-nooks open wide Step in with dauntless tread ! Baptized for the dead — go then, A band of Heaven-anointed men, And fill our vacant flanks — As in the early Days of Grace, The Christian warriors filled each space Cleft in their martyr ranks ; So may confessors for our creed, By thousands from its blood-red seed Spring for their country's now, as then the Church's need. Charleston, August 3d, 1861. 11 122 STRIKE THE HARP. Strihs \\\t$ Harp, A HYMN OF PRAISE FOR A BROTHER'S SAFETY AT "THE BATTLE OF MANASSAS," SUNDAY, JULY 21ST, 1861. Strike the harp to God Eternal ; Strike the harp of sweetest string; With a song of holy triumph Let the Southern welkin ring ! Let the women and the children To their household altars hie, And around their sacred fires Chant the song of Victory ! Let each hosom bring the gladness, Or the sorrow if it be — For alas ! our hymn of triumph Chimes no bloodless victory — Let it all be humbly offered To our Saviour and our God, That the hand of Love and Mercy May remove the chastening rod. God, I thank Thee for the answer Thou hast granted to my prayer ; For the shield of Thy protection Thrown above my brother dear: By thy strong right arm supported Safely through the storm he passed. While brave comrades fell around him, Stricken by the battle blast. STRIKE THE HARP. 123 In the fore-front of the battle, Where the valiant fought, he stood, Where the slaughter and the carnage Rolled a horrid red-sea flood ! Swift the hot bolts flew around him — But protected by Thy might, Father ! he has passed uninjured Through the sharp and deadly fight. God, I thank thee for the calmness Thou imparted'st to his breast, Filling it with holy purpose Nobly there, to do his best — To uphold the cause of Freedom, Constitution, Honor, Truth — With the valor of his manhood — With the yet warm fire of youth. Kindling then with deep emotions, Let his kindred offer praise ; Pour out floods of grateful feeling To the One of Ancient Days ; Let us each with hearts adoring Bow before the Throne of Love, And our own peculiar blessing Waft, on j^rayerful sigh, above ! O may this, so great salvation, Thrill each heart, and fill each eye ; Till with one great voice the nation Eender God the Yictory ! Till we own, with faith adoring, Thee, the mighty Lord of Hosts, As the God of our redemption; Father, Son and Holy Ghost. August 4th, 1861. 124 DAUGHTERS OF THE SOUTHERN QUEEN. daughters of the Southern Queen Aged mothers of our city, Matrons in the pride of life ; Maidens, like fair roses glowing In our sunny bowers ; and wife, Newly led from holy altar Where you gave the plighted vow, With the orange-blossoms trembling Yet, above your virgin brow : Hear ye not the wild-waves surging Onward in their awful roar ? God ! — the foemen are upon us ! — Hark ! their footsteps tread our shore ! Long the warder* from the tower Shouted "danger is anear" — But we passed on careless — reckless — Turning all a deafened ear : And our leaders dreamed " the cowards Would not brave our armed host !" — Lo ! their ships in countless numbers Thunder now along the coast ! Charleston ! — Bright and peerless city Our own darling, joy and pride ! Is it true the fierce invader Comes against thee, as a tide Of polluted waters, rushing — Dashing onward to defile Carolina's fairest daughter And her agony revile ? * Charleston Mercury. DAUGHTERS OF THE SOUTHERN QUEEN. 125 They have broke upon our threshold, And our braves as rock have stood, Firm — undaunted in their spirit And received the tainted flood : Fierce it came — and hot its fury, Heated with the breath of Hell — Dashed in madness o'er their bosoms — 'Neath the shock our heroes fell. Fell — but left a name undying — Let us drop a sacred tear On their cold and mangled corses Ere our war-cry rend the air — By Port Royal ! to avenge them now we swear. O ! not yet our queenly city Shalt thou totter to thy fall, For our bravest and our dearest Form around a living wall : And with arms close locked, and bosoms Bared will meet the insulting foe, Perish all ere foul dishonor Cause thy matron cheek to glow ! Sisters ! 'tis no wild alarum I am sounding in your ear ; I would draw ye by my spirit 'Bove the tide mark of despair : I would banish from your bosoms Every thought could make ye — pale ; What ! would let the vile intruder Deem that Southern women quail ! 126 " DIE HERE." No by Heaven ! A sign of weakness Must not rest on cheek or brow, Let the falling drops of anguish Turn to sparks of fiery glow ! Show no fear — but all in meekness Seek the Temple of your God — Low before his footstool kneeling Kiss the hand that bares the rod ; Bow your hearts, until He answers With a smile shall part the shroud, Whence the Light of Heaven streaming- Gilds the fringes of the cloud. November 12th, 1861. " me 3^™: DEDICATED TO THE ARMY OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES "If we determine to die here" — Thus rang the words in accents clear From lips of the heroic Bee, The flower of Southern chivalry ! — "Lo! Jackson like a Stonewall stands — Come on, once more, my trusty bands, Whom only numbers could force back From the blood-marked, immortal track, Where hundreds fell beneath thy stroke, And with sharp cries of anguish 'woke The echoes of the battle plain ; — Come on, brave Comrades ! once again — If we determine to die here We conquer — let us on — and dare." " DIE HERE." 127 O that these words were graven deep On every Southern heart ! I weep To see how oft we retrograde, When glorious stand had sure been made Had we heroic souls. Die here — It is the only way whene'er We meet the proud, insulting hate Of foes vindictive ; — Bide our fate, Yea, spring to it with hearts of fire, And trust in God — He will inspire Our patriot souls — and tho' we lie Stiff on the bloody field — His eye Shall beam approval from on High ! Here — while a mother's blessing rests Dove-like upon our manly breasts — While wife's embrace — or sister's tear — Or daughter's love — or maiden's — dear, Far dearer than a daughter's — cling And cluster round our hearts, and bring Sweet memories of home — and sound Of merry laughter floats around As from our little ones — strike free, And fling the battle-cry of Bee Up to the welkin — and the Heavenly sphere, Shall echo back the glorious words — Die Here! March 22± 1862. 128 THE FAIRY FESTIVAL. Ths Fairy Fsstiual. DEDICATED TO THE FAIR VOCALISTS OF THE CONCERT.* What magic scene is here ! Bellona can the waving of thy spear Call up enchantment on the field of Death? Fling o'er the blood-stained heath Garlands of beauty ? — bid the clarion note Of war afar to float, And sweet serial measure Fill every heart with pleasure ? Lo ! forms of fairy Come tripping in with motion airy, And part to left and right, Fair girlhood ! bright With promise of the glorious days to be, When Carolina, great in Liberty, Shall send her name afar, And for the darkened world the gate of light unbar! Bright flowers are these, and jewels which our Queen Wears not on robes of State, but near her heart ; Not to be plucked from thence by hand of war, And weeping captives led behind the conqueror's car! Now one by one three half-blown roses rise And charm our eager eyes : Can Northern gardens show such lovely flowers As these, by silvery showers * Given in aid of the building of a gunboat for the protection of Charleston. THE FAIRY FESTIVAL. 129 And golden sun-shafts drawn From bosom of the fair and fragrant South ? Hark ! from each rose is heard, The voice as of a bird ! One singing forth in gladness — one in woe With plaint note, sweet and low ; One rousing us to deeds of high emprise, Worthy to win a smile from those sweet loving eyes ! The first rose flung a joy From her pure heart, in which was no alloy Of pain and sadness — with a careless glee, As glad child singing by its mother's knee, Gushed forth the witching richness of each note Upon the air to float, And find its way to every worthy soul In reach of its control ;— God-gifted ! may her heart be ever clear, And mount as it does now towards the heavenly sphere ! The second fairy flower Bore from her natal bower A sister bud, aye clinging to her side ; Each of their homes the pride — Where culture rich and rare Had blessed these blossoms fair, Making them meet to bear their gifted part In festival of art, And altar of their bleeding country dower With perfume from their bower ! — From heart of this fair rose, A thrill of pain — and throes 130 THE FAIRY FESTIVAL. As from the bosom of a great despair — Not thine be fate so drear — But guardian spirits ward each shaft of pain, And on thy earthly path celestial blessings rain ! The third rose springs to view ! La Sylphide ! with the morning dew Still clinging to her silken vest ! Can the heroic muse find fitting nest In that soft, fragrant breast ! — She sings — the spirit of her race Glows in the blushing beauty of her face ; Speaks in her dewy eyes, Lifted in holy fervor to the skies In prayer for our loved land ; And that old kingly anthem — holy, grand — Has kept a mighty nation — faithful — true, Thrilled to our heart of hearts and nerved our souls anew ! \ And France's hot war note From clarion wont to float, Stirring the heart to madness ; — music-fire, Setting the soul aflame with wrathful ire — Came tempered of its heat, And made an anthem meet For our most holy cause — as from her throat Poured the rich treasure of each stirring note, Calling the brave to arms ! God grant that they Take fire from that young heart and instantly obey. Charleston, March 2#h, 1862. SONNET — U A SWELL OF MUSIC." 131 ADDRESSED TO JAMES SIMONS, ESQ., ON HIS COMPLIMENTING THE AUTHOR OF THE FAIRY FESTIVAL WITH CHAUCER'S " CANTER- BURY TALES." The father of sweet Poesy to me ! — To me — who hardly deem myself his child, But some rude changeling chanting on the wild Where he has dropped a bud. Not given free To rove his garden with the honey bee, Or ravished butterfly ! like them beguiled From odorous flower to flower ; but sad exiled From where the warbling birds hold jubilee. — Gift, more inspiring to my timid note Than the soft breath of Spring perfumed with flowers, Or the rich gush of melody afloat Upon the sunny air, while joyous hours Haste on with winged feet to where the mote Sports in the sunbeam of the Summer bowers. "A Swell of music." ADDRESSED TO PAUL H. HAYNE, AFTER READING HIS BEAUTIFUL POEM " MY MOTHER LAND." A swell of music from the grand old sea 1— O what a thrill of joy it sent through me As it went sweeping by ! — As when we lave Our bodies in old Ocean's tide, the wave 132 "A SWELL OF MUSIC." Braces and thrills as it breaks o'er our head ; Whilst we expect another half in dread, Half mad with wild delight — O thus to me Comes up this mystic music from the sea ! * Night after night from out my eastern bower When stormy tempests lower; And when the sea Lies charmed beneath the moon's soft witchery, Have I leant forth to meet it ; and it seems Whether borne on by storm- wing, or the beams Of silvery moonlight, to float up from where Proud Sumter lifts his grand, defiant head From Ocean's dark, deep bed, Filling the watching foe with a vague, secret dread. Is some prophetic bard enchained there Wild ; old-world music in him ? On his brow Wearing the classic laurel, even now, In this degenerate age ? List to that strain As it rolls onward with its rich refrain, 11 My Mother Land " — Sure it should stir each breast To noble daring — rouse from sluggard sleep Each laggard son, causing him set in rest His burnished spear And for that mother dear Do battle to the death — or ere she weep Over their degradation, and her fall Beneath the Northern thrall. "My Mother Land," Strain wild and grand, Sweep on — from ocean bright to mountain hoary, Till every heart throbs to the theme of glory ; *Mr. Hayne was on duty at Fort Sumter. SONNET. 133 And patriot choirs Chant the great deeds of their heroic sires ! ■ Then "Mother Land" Shall see her heroes, one vast, serried band, Drive the insulting host, Now spread along her coast, Down to the depths of the devouring sea, Whose floods will lift their voice and shout forth Vic- tory ! Sorm^t, TO PAUL H. HAYNE. Music as from the bosom of the sea ! With what a solemn and mysterious sweep It booms up from old Ocean ! I could weep, But that the strain majestic seems to free The spirit from all weakness. A music key Struck near some instrument awakes a sound Of kindred harmony, thus the rebound From our charmed hearts with those grand notes agree. True minstrel ! pure from every envious strain That sullies meaner souls ! Still strike thy lyre, And send its notes triumphant o'er the main, To make each faltering, timid heart aspire And throb for mighty deeds. Thy thrilling strain Methinks might set the coldest breast on fire. 134 THE LENTEN FAST OF 1862. The &$nten Fast of 1862, PUBLISHED TO AID IN THE PURCHASE OF BIBLES, PRAYER BOOKS AND TRACTS FOR THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS. It is the solemn season when the Church Puts off her beauteous garments, and with head Bowed as a bulrush, weeps her sins, and calls Unto her children to come up and keep The Holy Convocation ; day by day, Before the Mercy Seat, tell out their sins, With fasting, and with weeping, and with sighs: To rend their hearts, and not their garbs, and turn To the most gracious and long-suffering God, Who throned upon the circle of the Earth, In awful state immutable, yet hears And turns Him to His people and repents, Leaving a blessing where he vowed a curse ! No mortal intellect, however vast Its compass and expansion, can make clear And bring to light the hidden things of God ; No mortal eye reach this mysterious height, How the Unchangeable keeps His decree, Yet rolls away His judgment at our prayers. But hark ! methinks the trumpet sends a call More solemn than 'twas wont. The women troop By crowds into the Temple, and bow down With an unusual reverence — every heart Seems ladened with a sorrow — every face THE LENTEN FAST OF 1862. 135 Wears on its front a coronal of pain With resolution to endure the sting. And here and there a venerable head Bows his time-silvered locks before his God, And from his heart sends up a cry for help. The Priests before the Altar stand and weep, Assailing Heaven with unwonted force — " Lord spare Thy people, give not to reproach This, Thine inheritance — To vandal rule Give them not Father! lest the nations say Where, where their God — and think that they are made The refuse, and off-scouring of the earth ! This Church and People humbly kneel and cry — Accept of their contrition — hear them Lord ! O, Thou who wept o'er Salem plead for us ! Now weeping for our country bathed in blood, And hedged about by the exultant foe ! Stir up thy strength Jehovah, come and help, We put our trust entirely in Thee — Bare Thy right arm — and let Thine angel guard Keep watch and ward around our peaceful homes ; Humbly we look up, Father, unto Thee, And say that we have done these men no wrong — Take Thou our righteous cause into Thy hand And judge between us — let the Kingdoms see That the Almighty is the God of Truth : We ask it not for merit of our own, For we are weak and erring — prone to sin — But for the sake of Thine Anointed One — Our High Priest and Eedeemer — Christ the Lord ! " Then take the Ministers the Book of God, And from that sacred treasury bring forth 136 THE LENTEN FAST OF 1862. Things, new and old, to strengthen and refresh ; And by their holy counsel and their faith, Make firm our hope, and tell us where to look, In this our day of darkness, for the Light. O fainting heart ! O wavering, doubting faith ! Up to the Temple and find comfort there ! Thus weeps the Church and Nation — closer we Draw, in the inner chamber of our souls, To our Eedeemer — and like Mary sit In humble resignation at His feet, To catch His words of comfort and of love. Or nearer yet with the Beloved one rest Upon the bosom of the Son of Man Oar aching brow, and hear the great life throb Of His true, human heart! Or, in this storm — From off this heaving and tempestuous sea, Whence we to Him are calling in affright — Like Peter take the offered hand and feel The warm, strong pressure of His friendly grasp Drawing us from the billow — with him own The present God in the still, sudden calm. O let us lay our bosoms bare to One Who was in all points tempted like to us, Yet without taint of sin : The man of grief Will catch our tears and offer them on High, All mingled with His blood. Our earnest prayers Within His censer thrown oar Great High Priest Shall wave before the Mercy Seat, and fling The fragrance of their incense up to God ! We are indeed encircled by a flame As fiery as the tongues that lapped around ALARUM. 137 The children in the furnace ! May the One, Like to the Son of G-od be with us there ; — Then, " the moist whistling wind " shall softly blow, And temper so the heat that we shall chant Like them our song of triumph — and call on The Universe to magnify our Lord ! Like Esther's people we have been consigned And given up to Death, but let us draw With "humble boldness" near our King, and He Shall tender to us the sceptre of His grace, Filling our hearts with confidence and hope ; And tho' we must stand firm, and fight for life, Yet will He bless the issue — and then comes Our day of triumph — and our feast of Joy ! Jtlarum. The cry is still they come." 'Tis borne upon the Southern breeze " The foe ! the foe ! they come "— It surges through the forest trees — And in the city's hum It mingles with the voice of trade ; And e'en the sacred Fane Where we bow down to worship G-od Prolongs the startling strain. 138 ALARUM. The startling strain — Our women weep And wring their hands in fear ; And e'en our sturdy-hearted men Seem bowed with anxious care : — O ye, whose dearest have gone forth To meet the battle shock, Hie to the sheltering wing outspread And to the riven Eock. Nor deem that I have none to lose In this soul-stirring strife, Because I lack the sacred names Of Mother and of wife ! — Not high upon the roll of Fame Are they, my darling ones, Yet Carolina owns them all As her devoted sons ! One is a brother dear as life, No craven soul bears he — One almost as a brother dear, With youthful comrades three ; These all on old Virginia's soil Wait, harnessed in the field, " Sic semper " have they each engraved Upon his burnished shield. And I have those grown as sons Beneath my maiden ken, To the bright flush of youthful hope, And prime estate of men ; And one whom we can scarce restrain From gory battle-field ; These all our own Palmetto bear Emblazoned on their shield ! A sister's thanksgiving. 139 Then shout " Noli me tangere " Tho' we be forced to hie To covert of our mountain caves, And lowland swamps — or die — Yea die — before we dare disgrace The motto of our shield, Or more of Carolina's soil As bloodless trophy yield — To vandals, who already have Too firm a footing here : — O give us strength Almighty One To conquer ; — Father spare This city where the light of Truth First beamed a beacon ray. Let not that light go down in night, But glow to perfect day. Charleston, 30th April, 1862. & Sister's Thanksgiving* AFTER THE BATTLE OF SEVEN PINES. Once again with heart adoring Would I bow before thy throne Dread Jehovah ! God of Battles, And Thy sovereign Mercy own ; Thou hast saved him, Saved my brother — thou alone ! 140 A sister's thanksgiving. Through the forest, in the gloaming, To the charge the Legion sped, With a shout that waked the echoes To wild music overhead — Back recoiling, Left they many a warrior dead. For the foe was strongly posted, And the night came on apace, O for one more hour of sunlight! O for one short hour of grace ! But no Joshua Sought for them Jehovah's face. Fierce again they charge — the Legion ! * Soon its bravest stricken lie ; — At thy side a loved companionf Gave a low pathetic sigh, Ere his spirit Mounted to its native sky. Just before his voice heroic Had been cheering on the fight, Now no more the din of battle Eeaches where his soul, in light, Bests forever In the Saviour's loving sight. God, who took thy youthful comrade, Spared thee brother — spread His shield O'er thy head again in battle As on hot Manassas' field : — Heart adore Him, And thy grateful tribute yield. * Hampton's. f Richard Yeadon, Jr. YOUTHFUL HEROES. 141 Yet withal rejoice with trembling For through many a bloody fight Mast thy dear one pass, or ever He rejoice thy longing sight ; Sigh submissive, " God, Thou doest all things right." Charleston, June 9th, 1862. f autWul Harass, LINES SUGGESTED BY THE LAMENTED DEATH OF LIEUTENANT J. E. M'PHERSON WASHINGTON. War has lis horrors : — but as well It has its glorious tales to tell, Which cause our bosoms thrill and swell. How many would have toiled for aye To Life's last dim, allotted day, Without one deed to mark their way — But for the clarion blast that flew, From seaboard to our mountains blue, Calling upon the brave and true — To arm them in defence of right, Their sacred homes — their altars bright With fires from God's most Holy Height. Our plodding men of middle age Dreamed not to live in History's page, Or leave a golden heritage ! 142 YOUTHFUL HEROES. How many youths of noble name Lived in the glory of the same ; Mere copies in the antique frame. Now very boys start up to greet War's mighty presence; and with feet That should have sought their mother — meet Grim Death on battle-field — and go, Strengthened by Freedom's generous glow, Exulting forth to brave the foe. And thou ivert young — yet of an age . By Eutaw's streaming light, to gage Thy life against fanatic rage ! And Nature in heroic mould Had cast thy brave and ardent soul, Too soon, alas ! to reach its goal. Too soon for Love — but not for Fame, Already had its loud proclaim Gone forth, " He gilds a noble name." O gallant youth ! We sow in grief, Yet after waiting-season brief — Shall wave on high the golden sheaf! Affection waters with her tear, The laurels on thy youthful bier, And binds the rose of promise there ! In the fair Land beyond the gloom, Thy spirit in immortal bloom, Awaits its partner from the tomb. IN MEMORY OF RICHARD YEADON, JR. 143 There too thy mother to her heart Shall fold her loved one, ne'er to part ; And G-ilead's balm heal every smart ! Charleston, September 9th, 1861. in Wlem&vy of B^hard f sadan, $v. WHO FELL AT THE BATTLE OF SEVEN PINES, MAY 31, 1862- Father ! while other hearts are wrung, Mine is but slightly touched with pain — What shall I render for the love Has visited again? The tear of gratitude — then turn To those whose bosoms sadly yearn O'er loved ones they no more shall see, And prove my heartfelt thanks to Thee By acts of tender sympathy. Ah ! there are eyes that weep for one Whose future seemed traced out in light ;- That glow of promise faded soon, And vanished into night. As when from bower of the morn The Sun shoots forth his golden horn, And gives us earnest of a day Shall send rejoicing on their way Earth's weary pilgrims — then arise Clouds that obscure him from our eyes ; Thus thine uprising, and thy fate, O brave, ingenuous youth ! who late 144 IN MEMORY OF RICHARD YEADON, JR. Shed life and light on all around, On dreary march, or camping bound, And in the hearts of tent-mates brave Kindled a flame of love shall burn beyond the grave ! But is the sun forever gone When dreary clouds obscure his beaming ? No — he burns on behind the veil — And from beyond thy soul is streaming Bright rays of promise and of peace — And those rich rays shall ne'er decrease, But brighten and expand — and glow Forever in that realm where woe Comes not — where there is no more night ; But Christ and His redeemed give Light. Heroic youth ! He gave his life An offering to his country's shrine — Then let us drop the note of woe And rose and laurel twine Into a garland shall express His chivalry and tenderness ! All day the battle raged — and now Soft twilight falls on wood and field — But bloodier work must yet be done, Yon battery must yield ! " Charge, Legion, through the forest drear " — The chieftain's words drew forth responsive cheer on cheer ! Urging his comrades to the fight His voice rang silvery and clear, And mingled with the din of war — And on the evening air Floated — until a gentle sigh Hushed it in a profound — " Good-by." SONNET. 145 Farewell ! Though it may not be ours To deck thy bier with fragrant flowers; Or e'en to know thy place of rest In the great Mother's silent breast ; Or ever see the budding grass Waved by Spring breezes as they pass Over thy rustic grave — or hear The wild birds singing sweetly there : Yet leave we trustingly to G-od Thy mortal part — until the sod Gives up its dead — then with a glow More beautiful than battle fire, Shalt thou spring forth, and join the choir Of martyrs who rejoicing go, Where sits the Prince of Peace upon His throne ; Where sound of war shall cease, and sorrow be unknown I Sonnet* DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF SERGEANT HAMETT, OF HAMPTON LEGION, WHO FELL IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEVEN PINES. Kind, unknown Friend! — and thou too in the wood Of Chickahominy gave up thy life j A hero Martyr in the sacred strife For Freedom ! Tidings sad and rude To fall on loving hearts that daily brood Over thy long, long absence. One afar Sheds silent sorrowing tears for thee — the star Struck from their firmament. Thy generous mood, 13 146 A CHAPLET. From ample garner of thy noble breast, Gave with no stinted measure words to cheer A heart too often troubled with unrest, To find its music, floating on the air, Wake no harmonic chord. O grief oppressed ! That heart shall miss the orb that lit thy sphere. $. Ehaplst, FOR THE GRAVE OF EDWARD MYDDLETON GOODWYN. ALL BAIlTT'fl DAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1862. Heart cheering morn ! affection's tear Glows with a radiance heavenly clear To hail thy dawning ! Saints below Commune with those above — and go To deck their graves with flowers ! Here A garland of rich hues — and there One of white rosebuds — there again A fair lone blossom, moist with rain From a fond, broken heart. The air Seems fragrant with the breath of prayer, Floating towards the golden sphere, To mingle with the songs that rise Forever from that Paradise. Where spirits of our loved are winging Their happy flight, and earthward flinging Some fragments of the rapturous joy Filling their blood- washed souls with bliss beyond alio}' ! A CHAPLET. 147 And thou art with them, noble boy ! The loved of many hearts, the joy And sun of the home-circle, where Thy stricken parents bend in prayer For strength to bear the blow That laid their darling low ; Yea, Grace to bear The threefold blast That o'er their Eden passed And stripped it of its blossoms — leaving drear A region erst so fair! Two have been gathered unto sweet repose Where the warm Southern sun his radiance throws Full on their couches — while 'neath Western skies Another calmly sleeps till God shall bid him rise ! I have no cherished bud to lay, Bright youth ! upon thy bed of clay — The garden walk is far away Where last we parted ; and I brought !N"o flowerets thence but those of thought And memory, which now I weave Into a chaplet rude, and leave To perish on thy grave. The flower I gave thee in that parting hour Long since has withered. Emblem meet Of thine own passage, bright and fleet From beauty to decay ; — Where now the hope That thy life's bud would bloom and ope Into a perfect flower ! The rainbow dream That saw thy noon of manhood beam With light of genius, latent in thine eye Then veiled with drooping lash and adolescence shy. 148 THE STANDARD-BEARER. Our wish for thee was earthly fame — God traced, with pen of light, thy name Within the Eook of Life, and there Set to His seal — " Salvation's heir!" — O Love, surpassing mortal thought ! — O wonder of redemption, wrought By the Eternal Son and brought Home to the soul by influence sweet Of the life-giving Paraclete! Cease sorrowing tears, O cease to flow! Change, change our suppliant notes of woe To songs of triumph ! Let our joy abound, For this our precious one, searched out and found By the good Shepherd, and upon His breast Borne to His Father's home — the fold of Heavenly Reef The Standard-Bearer, "Written when in anxious suspense as to the fate of Charles Bernard Foster, who was wounded in the engagement on the Weldon and Petersburg Railroad, on the 21st of August, 1864, while carrying the " colors" of his regiment, the Twenty-seventh s. c. y. It is a strange coincidence that these lines were composed the day of his death, September 17th, 1864. Say didst thou bear them proudly boy All through the deadly fray, Without one quiver of affright Or waver of dismay ! — THE STANDARD-BEARER. 149 Calmly and bravely pressing on Through the dense fiery hail, As if thy form had been encased In panoply of mail ! " The Colors " waving o'er thy head ; Thy grey eye lit with ire, As when the Eagle concentrates Within his orb the fire, That burns within his eager breast When an intruder dares To scale his eyrie's peaceful height, His home of hopes and cares. If so, I cannot weep thy fate, But gladly cry " well done " Thou darling of my yearning heart. — My sister's first-born son ! " Well done " — tho' death should be the meed Attendant on thy fall — No gentle spirit hovering near — No Mother at thy call. We know how cool and calmly thou Hast stood in many a fight ; And when those deadly shells were hurled At Sumter's crumbling height, How, with heroic comrades three, Thou stoodst unshaken there, And nailed the banner to the staff While Ocean caught the cheer — That from exultant hearts went up In chorus bold and free, As once again the starry cross Waved proudly o'er the sea ; 150 THE STANDARD-BEARER. How — as the curling smoke- wreaths part And show the dauntless band,* Admiring comrades flung the shout Resounding to the land! Ah me ! the heroic thrill is past — My woman's heart once mpre, Sinks — as a wrecked hope drifted up And stranded on the shore — Into the yielding sands of Care, Where moaning night-winds sigh, And Ocean's verberating boom Sounds on Eternally! For none can tell us of thy fate — None know if Life or Death, Or, warms thee with its genial heat, Or. chills with icy breath! If still thy guileless, loving heart In languish m en t beats on ; Or, thy freed spirit floats in light Above the starry zone ! None know — Submissively we bow To kiss the chastening rod ; — Remove, in thy good time, the cloud That veils his fate O God ! Pour light though it be but to show Him lost forever here ; . Remove the darkness and the doubt — The ebbing Hope and Fear. * Note. — James Tupper, who first saw the fall of the banner, and flew to its rescue, assisted by C. B. Foster, W. C. Buckheister and A. J. Bluett, all of the Twenty-seventh Regiment, S. C. V., commanded by Colonel Gaillard. A FAREWELL. 151 &. Farewell, TO A YOUTHFUL SOLDIER ON" HIS EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY, OCTOBER 12TH, 1864. Farewell dear Harry, once again Thou goest to meet the foe, On Old Yirginia's blood-soaked plains And valleys, where the low And plaintive note of woman's wail With strains seolian fill the gale, And ghosts of heroes wander pale And beckon to the fight. Go — for behold the rose of health Is blushing on thy cheek ; And pulses that a month ago Were languishingly weak, ISTow with a full and vigorous beat, Tell that the warm blood courses fleet, Through artery and vein, to greet The heart's new throb of Life. Xo longer from thy lip and brow We wipe the beaded dew ; The love-light sparkles yet again Within thine eye of blue j Thy wounds all healed, thy fever fled, Firm and elastic falls thy tread, We would not keep thee here tho' dread Attends the parting hour. 152 A FAREWELL. For mourn we not thy brother Charles Now held in captive thrall, Without one kindred spirit near To heed his plaintive call ; Shorn of a limb he bleeding lies, The pain-film dimming his dear eyes, No loved one by to sympathize, Or wipe his clammy brow ! Let not his mournful fate appal — Thy Country needs thine arm ; And may thy mother's God, and mine Keep thee from every harm ; In battle's fierce and fiery hour Be thy protecting shield and tower; In loathsome trench a sheltering bower Above thy youthful head ! Go — and aquit thee as before, Shame men who keep away ; Thou brave boy-veteran whose years Cycle eighteen to-day ! — And may the Everlasting Arm, Encircling, shield from every harm ; God's Pure and holy spirit calm And hallow this farewell. THE PURE-HEARTED. 153 Dedicated to the memory of the friends and cousins Isaac Ball Gibbs and Charles Bernard Foster, who received their death wounds in the bloody fight on the Weldon and Petersburg Kail- road, on the 21st of August, 1864, members of Hagood's Brigade, which suffered so terribly on that fatal field. I. B. Gibbs, of Company B, Twenty-fifth Regiment S. C. V., after hours of intense agony, is supposed to have expired during the night — exchanging the toil and turmoil of war for a glorious eternity. A true soldier of the Cross and of his country ; he died in his 24th year, leaving the odor of a good name and a life of sanctity. C. B. Foster, of Company D, Twenty-seventh Eegiment S. C. V., after passing unscathed through many battles, in all of which he had been noted for coolness and intrepidity, while gallantly bear- ing the "colors " of his regiment, on the eventful 21st of August, fell wounded in the wrist and foot; and after suffering amputa- tion of the latter and enduring weeks of anguish, expired at the Sickles Hospital, Alexandria, Virginia, on the 17th of September, aged 21 years, 10 months and 4 days. " Loveable and full of promise," his pure and guileless spirit passed from the bed of suf- fering to the bosom of his God. " Lovely and pleasant in their lives ;" In their death they were not divided. Jesus, The Word Divine, has said The pure in heart shall see The beauty of His Father's face, Its glorious majesty : And who so pure, so free from stain As these, whose memories remain As precious perfume poured around, To bless and sanctify the ground Where their beloved forms shall nevermore be found ! 154 THE PURE-HEARTED. "Lovely and pleasant in their lives" — Kindred in blood and thought, ISTone with a more heroic zeal Freedom's stern battle fought : The dreary march, the loathsome trench, Disease and hunger, naught could quench The patriotic fire that grew Intensely in their hearts, and threw A glow and warmth around which kept the wavering true. With minds contemplative and grave They loved, in classic bower, "With sages of the mighty Past To commune hour by hour ; Sitting attentive at their feet, They learnt of them a wisdom meet To strengthen and expand the soul, And give the intellect control O'er youthful passions warm, and elevate the whole. And one from yet a higher source Drew wisdom — bending low At foot of the Redeemer's cross "Whence streams of Healing flow ; And we had hoped to see him bear That Balm of Healing thence — with prayer Applying it to hearts that bleed; To sinners in their hour of need ; The Great Physician's friend — the preacher of His Creed. And not far distant from the goal Where Jesus holds the prize, Our younger Aspirant was seen With thoughtful — Heaven-set eyes ; THE PURE-HEARTED. 155 Tho' others passed him in the race, His was the firm, unwavering pace : — E'en in the Camp's tumultuous bound The evidence of truth he found, Sought out with careful zeal in some retired ground. On the same fiery field they fell — The marytrs we have given, From children of our hearts and Aomes, To swell the band in Heaven ! — After brief hours of agony One closed, in hope, his languid eye ; The other by long days of pain Made perfect, found in dying — gain ; Leaving the toils of war for Jesus' peaceful reign. O would we bring our martyrs back From that serene repose ; Or pluck the sparkling laurel wreath From their heroic brows ? Oh no ! we glory in their fate Although our hearts are desolate ; And in our ear, with saddest tone, One mother makes her piteous moan ; The other a heart-rending cry Sends for her first-born to the sky, While bending 'neath the Cross in prayerful agony ! Come down, Eternal One, and cheer — Bring healing on Thy wing Thou Spirit of the Holy God ! Till our afflicted sing A song of triumph in their woe, Full of thanksgiving, and the flow 156 LINES. Of love divine ; — Shed Heavenly Peace ; Bid their sad sighs of anguish cease ; O make them see Thy mercy in the stern decree, That called their darlings hence to homes prepared by Thee. December 3d, I864. taints. 8UGGESTKD BY THE EARLY AND LAMENTED DEATH OF C. LEVERETT, JR., THE AUTHOR OF "SUNSHINE." Beloved thou hast passed away — Thy body sleeps in death — thy lay No longer thrills us here ; Sleep sweetly loving heart and true — And may a stranger pause and strew Some flowers upon thy grave — and dew Their fragrance with a tear? Basking in " sunshine " of the Blest, Thy spirit finds eternal rest In Paradise of God — Breathing the un corrupted air Of Eden bowers bright and fair, And drinking of the fountain clear That gushes from her sod. LINES. 157 We would not have thee back again Where all is sorrow, care and pain ; Where anguish wrings the soul ; The whole creation groaning lies — Tears mingle with our sacrifice ; Our earthly "sunshine" quickly hies, And Death is in the bowl ! No — let thy spirit, freed from care, Wing its pure flight along the air That waves the Heavenly bowers ; Altho' upon our cheerless way We miss thy keen wit's lambent play ; Like sword-blade flashing in the ray Of " sunshine " bright with showers ! I ever thought " our quarrel just," But thou didst deeper plant the trust I placed in God and Heaven ; For, if thy spirit, ere it flew To bathe in clear, celestial dew, Pronounced our sacred struggle true I know that Victory's given. Then banished far be every fear That darkens now the wintry air, And hangs the pall of night Between us and the coming ray That yet shall break a glorious day, All nations leading in the way Of happiness and light. 158 IN MEMORY OF MRS. CORNELIA M. GREGG. Yanish all visions of the tomb — The Day-star rises — clears the gloom — Kedemption has been wrought! He who has sent His son to die Has freely promised — "All things I Will to my faithful ones supply, Yea, blessings above thought ! " Then let us take the precious gift, And gratefui homage upward lift To the Eternal Word : See to it that our lives agree With all His precepts — that we be A people holy, pure and free Whose Euler is The Lord. In f&jemory of Mrs, gornjelia HI, firr^gg, OF COLUMBIA, S. C, MOTHER OF GENERAL MAXCY GREGG, WHO DIED SUDDENLY IN AUGUST, 1862, A FEW MONTHS BEFORE HER HEROIC SON. How beautiful is age when such as thine ! Dear honored friend! just found and lost again. Before the seed of love could germinate And spring up in our hearts a perfect flower, Filling them with its fragrance : Not before It left an impress of perfection there Never to be effaced. Thy well-stored mind, IN MEMORY OF MRS. CORNELIA M. GREGG. 159 Content not with the knowledge it had culled And garnered up for use, put ever forth New energy and freshly gathered more, And from its store dispensed to all around. The young, delighted, would about thee draw To hear the pleasant tenor of discourse Flow from thy ready lips — the while thine eye Kindled with brightness, and thy warm, kind heart Shed the true charm o'er all. The middle-aged Learnt 'twas not time to rest in slothful ease, 'With sun just at meridian, but reap on And gather in their stores for wintry use And fireside-feasts instructive. While compeers Joined in the beauty of thy green old age, And held it forth admiringly to all. The silent stars keej) watch above thy grave, And thine is rest eternal! But not there, In the cold, clodded earth — above the stars, Near to the Throne of God, where angels chant Untiringly their glorious hymn of praise. No more with anxious thought for one afar Shall throb thy breast maternal — nor thy heart, O'er-fraught, bow down beneath its weight of love. All now is joy seraphic — cares of earth, Lost in the bosom of the Sea of Peace Shall thence arise no more — while rays of light Play o'er its waves from the effulgent Sun ; — Gleams of the higher bliss to be revealed. Jehovah gave and He has ta'en away ! Then let us bow submissive to the blow Dealt by His own right hand — the Hand of Love ! — For through the blood of the Immaculate 160 MAXCY GREGG. All chastisements are now the signs of love And tokens of acceptance. Whom He loves The Eternal Father chastens for their good ; And the all-pitying heart of Jesus throbs, On the Great Throne as erst it throbbed on earth. Let not a stranger hand dare lift the veil That covers sacred grief — or stranger eye Peer in too closely. Rather let them weep Soft, silent tears ; and sympathetic heart, Aching at core, send fervent, solemn prayer To the all-merciful and gracious God For the afflicted. — "Holy Father bless, Shower Thy love upon them ; give them peace Through the great Comforter, in Christ the Lord." laxctj £ r £ g g Long have I lingered by the lovely mount Where our great hero lies, To hear some gifted bard, in song, recount His deeds of high emprise ; Some great historic minstrel sweep the string And downward fling A requiem, telling of a nation's grief, Bringing the soul relief — Or chant of praise to roll for aye along, A deathless tide of song, Spreading and deepening — till our rising youth, Laved by its sacred wave, reflect his crystal truth ! MAXCY GREGG. 161 No sound nor voice was heard, Save " cherup " of a bird Sharp-falling on the stillness — or to ear attent The far off river lent The pleasant music of its soothing moan Eushing o'er bed of stone. All hushed — but now a note Seems on the breeze to float, Borne upward from the city — Spreading fair Beneath the golden air Of the rich sunset hour ; — No voice of strength or power But the sweet tribute of a youthful heart Eeady to do his part ; Who, since the great heroic bards are mute, Strikes, with the hand of love, his garland-dighted lute I* " 'Twas in the winter wild " They bore her dauntless child Back to his mother on his spotless shield, And laid him to his rest Within her yearning breast, Where, like a happy child, he now reposes ; — And as in days of yore, His morning gambols o'er, He lay, all flushed and happy from his toy, And slept, their darling boy ! Between his parents — so in death he lies 'Neath Carolina's skies, While Spring, her crown of roses Half shaded in a drapery of woe, Comes on with footsteps slow *Lines on the death of General Gregg by a lad of thirteen. 14 162 MAXCY GREGG. To scatter flowers upon the triple mound Soft swelling from the ground, Where they, whose love was stronger far than Death, Wait the reviving breath Of that fresh morn when bursting graves shall yield The precious seed laid up to bloom in Heavenly Field ! Struck down in noon of life Amid the battle strife, What great eclipse fell then upon the State ! How dimly broke the morn — How sad — whose early dawn Came ushered in with tidings of thy fate! Carolina, in her darksome grief, Bowed low her stately head and sought in tears relief- Patriot and statesman true ! Long shall thy country rue The keen-eyed watchman, wont from silent tower. With calm prophetic gaze To scan the rising haze That o'er the sunny South began to lower, Presaging that the hour was nigh When a terrific storm should sweep across the sky ! It came with bloody hue — Thy sword, the tried and true Leapt from its scabbard where it long had lain, And in thy grasp of might, All glowing for the fight, Streamed like a meteor o'er the gory plain ! Each soldier hailed its cheering ray, A.nd followed, with a shout, where'er it led the way ! Quick at his chieftain's call He left the Council-Hall, MAXCY GREGG. 163 With statesmen met to save the common weal — Eeady for any fate, So he could check the hate Of foes vindictive in their deadly zeal, But not on Carolina's soil Was he to meet the blow that eased him of his toil ! 'Twas 'neath thy saddened eyes He paid that sacrifice Virginia ! — but his last fond sigh was given To his loved home afar, His true soul's polar star ! For her he rendered back his life to Heaven, And cheerfully his languid eye Saw through the film of death, her independence nigh ! A pure immortal fame Gilds thy heroic name, Which soon the polished marble shall record : — Thank G-od we there may write, With pencil dipped in light, "He placed his hope in the Eternal Word; And on his Saviour's bleeding breast Laid his war-wearied head in calm and peaceful rest !" Columbia, April 14th, 1863. 164 THE TWO LAST MESSAGES OE MAXCY GREGG. Ths Two &ast J&jessagxs of JSaxcg Qregg, Comrades ! our bloody work is done, The battle fought, the victory won ; Stack arms! and take your well-earned rest, "With thankful prayer to Heaven addree For His protecting care. But pause — new banners flaunt the sky, The tramp of armed feet is nigh, Of subtilty beware ! I must unto the front and know, What signs yon proud gonfalons show ; Scan if they Federal ensigns be, Or symbols of our Chivalry ! He said and slightly shook the rein — His war-steed sped across the plain With flashing eye, and flowing mane ; No need to wound his glossy side With prick of rowel — proud was he To bear the Rose of Chivalry ! Fair Rose ! so soon in dust to bide — Alas ! was there no warning cry, No shout to tell the foe was nigh! No arm to ward the deadly blow That laid the warrior-statesman low ! No angel hovering o'er the field To interpose his guardian shield ! — "Withdrawn was God's protecting power In this the saddest, darkest hour THE TWO LAST MESSAGES OF MAXCY GREGG. 165 For Carolina ! Whose great heart Bled at its inmost core to part "With him, the bravest and the best Of all her darlings laid to rest : Her noble champion and knight, Of 'scutcheon pure and honor bright ! " Quick, surgeon, tell me ' Is it Death ?' Speak boldly — nor with faltering breath Try to disguise the truth, for I Have looked him calmly in the eye On many a bloody field — nor now, Though to his mighty power I bow, Fear his stern glance and haughty brow." "E'en so : — Submissively I hear The solemn truth that I am near The confine of the hidden sphere ; — But let me ere Death sets his seal To all my efforts for her weal, Send the sad message of my fate To my beloved — my native State ; Tell her — if now I am to die, I give my life right cheerfully, And hail her independence nigh." And with these touching words he threw His heart's deep love in that adieu ! And yet a depth below that deep Must now be fathomed for the love Which said " Bereaved one do not weep, But meet me in that home above, Where dearest we no more shall part But dwell together ; heart to heart 166 THE BURIAL OF GENERAL JENKINS. Beating in concert, at the feet Of Him, who came my soul to meet Here, in this wilderness of Death, And healed it with His pardoning breath.' Columbia, April 21st, 1863. The Burial of grig.-grsnsral M. Jenkins, AT SUMMERVILLE, WHIT-SUNDAY, MAY 15TH, 1864. Bring blossoms from the rosy beds of May, Bay from the woodland, Myrtle from the bowers, And arbor-vita), whose enduring leaf Symbols the life eterne ; and let fair hands Weave them in garlands to adorn the mound Where sleeps the brave and true. Sweet his repose Near the maternal bosom from whose fount He drew the virtues that made up his life. A few short weeks ago that silent breast Throbbed wfth a holy joy, when to her heart The mother pressed her young, heroic son And bade him, with her blessing, go again And battle for his country. Long then seemed Their day of meeting — but God made it short. Here is no martial note, nor organ's swell To honor, with its wild or solemn strain Our hero's burial — but one lone bird Pours on the fragrant air a shower of song. THE BURIAL OF GENERAL JENKINS. 167 Sing on sweet warbler! for what holier note Can charm him to his rest, than thine Heaven-taught And flowing, like the angels' from a breast, Wholly at peace with God ! Heart-soothing strain ! How different from the noisy din of strife, The war-trump and the cannon's awful roar — Glide softly to the mourners sorrowing hearts And fit them for the promise of this day, The Comforter sent forth to all who weep, And bearing dews of healing on His wing ! One blessed Sabbath, when the Lenten East Was drawing to its close, and streaks of light, As heralding the glorious Easter morn, Began to pierce the gloom, we saw thee bow Within this Temple, and on bended knee Eeceive in reverent hand the bread divine, And carry to thy lips the wine of Life, Which to the heart of faith is Heavenly food, We little deemed it thy viaticum — And that by Whitsuntide thy mortal frame Would have been given to the silent dust, With tears of kindred — and a Nation's grief I We thought to see thee, in the coming time, When meek-eyed Peace has once more blessed our land- Wearing the laurel-wreath thy valor won, And clothed in garments of prosperity, Living to good old age, with " troops of friends " And children's children gathered 'round thy hearth, Thy warm, bright Southern hearth — to hear thee tell Of deeds of prowess by our heroes wrought In the great struggle — but with modest grace Setting aside thine own — We fondly dreamed — But God has willed it otherwise — Farewell 1 168 A WILD-FLOWER WREATH. True soldier of thy Country and of Christ ! With what assured hope we leave thee here To wait th' Archangel's trump ! Thy spirit fled Upon the shout of triumph — and the sound Took a seraphic sweetness as thy soul, Nearing the gate of Paradise, was met By throng of white-robed spirits bearing palms, And singing hymns of Victory and Peace ! Jt Wild-Flower Wreath, FOR THE GRAVE OF SARAII E . WISE My last green chaplet graced a hero's grave ! * A martyr to the sacred cause of Truth — Whose soul from front of battle leaped to God, And now reposes near the Saviour's Throne. That garland scarce has withered, when again I gather flowerets for another mound, And as my trembling fingers twine the wreath Do keep them fresh and dewy with my tears. Martyr as well was she whom now we weep, The silent sufferer, who so bravely bore Sad exile from her noble, bleeding State ; Who bowed her tender shoulders to the cross With maiden meekness, and submissive faith, Having no other will save Christ the Lord's, Who placed it there, and bade her follow Him. * Brigadier-General Jenkins. A WILD-FLOWER WREATH. 169 Weep not for her — for surely from that cross, Of anguish and unrest, her soul ha3 been Borne up by angels to reposing bowers Fast by the gate of Heaven where the redeemed Await, in blissful hope, the Judgment morn. But for the stricken-one — The Mother forced f To part with the sole treasure left to cheer The lonesome hours of exile, care and toil, And lighten all life's burdens, let us weep, Mingling warm drops, of sympathy with her's — O what a void in that large, loving heart ! But Grod can fill it — and we know He will, For tenderest pity swells the pleading breast Of the Grod-man before His Father's Throne, And what He asks the Spirit will perform. Come then and whisper of His boundless love Ye friends w T ho minister to this distress, And let your words of comfort fall as dew From heart of Heaven upon the tender plants. Tell how her dear-one dwells where angels love To tend on precious souls redeemed by Christ, And brought to realms of Bliss ; and, wandering, catch Slight glimpses of the mystery their eyes Have vainly sought to pierce, tho' formed of rays Effulgent from the fountain-head of Light! Tell how her intellect, so brilliant here, Shall there expand, until a glorious orb, f Mrs. Margaret Wise, of Virginia, sister of the Ex-Governor of that State. 15 170 A WILD-FLOWER WREATH. Of perfect and harmonious symmetry, It floats towards the Wisdom J that was found Linked to the throne of God ere Time began. Tell how His pity spared her gallant sons When battling for their country — not cut off In heat of conflict, without time to cry "God save my spirit" — or, "Have mercy Christ" But given yet a longer day of grace To make their peace with God — if haply they Have not already found it in His Son. O give us all that peace — Thou Blessed One ! Not only to this sorrow-stricken soul — But unto all who mourn throughout the length And breadth of our distracted, bleeding land — Let it distill as dew upon our heads, And in our hearts be amply shed abroad Leaving no room for harrowing doubt or fear. Then, should our eyelids close before the day When the glad messenger of Hope is seen Winging its way with olive-branch of Peace To plant in our rich soil, we will not grieve, But — leaving our offspring to enjoy its shade, And feast upon its fruitage — speed away To find its glorious prototype — in Heaven. Columbia, July 16th, I864. X See eighth chapter of Proverbs. WAR-WAVES. 171 A CHANT FOR THE TIMES. "What are the war-waves saying As they compass us around ? The dark, ensanguined billows, "With their deep and dirge-like sound ? Do they murmur of submission ; Do they call on us to bow Our necks to the foe triumphant "Who is riding o'er us now ? — Never ! — No sound submissive Comes from those waves sublime, Or the low, mysterious voices Attuned to their solemn chime ! For the hearts of our noble martyrs Are the springs of its rich supply ; And those deeply mystic murmurs Echo their dying cry ! They bid us uplift our banner Once more in the name of God; And press to the goal of Freedom By the paths our fathers trod : They passed o'er their dying brothers, From their pale lips caught the sigh — The flame of their hearts heroic From the flash of each closing eye ! Up ! up! for the time is pressing, The red waves close around ; — They will lift us on their billows If our hearts are faithful found ! 172 COLUMBIA. They will lift us high — exultant And the craven world shall see The Ark of a ransomed people Afloat on the crimson sea ! Afloat — with her glorious banner — The cross on its field of red, Jts stars, and its white folds waving In triumph at her head : — Emblem of all that's sacred Heralding Faith to view ; — Type of unblemished Honor ; Symbol of all that's true ! Then what can those waves be singing But an anthem, grand, sublime, As they bear for our martyred heroes A wail to the verge of Time? What else as they roll majestic To the far off shadowy shore, To join the Eternal chorus When time shall be no more ? Columbia, December 19th, 1863. Columbia, Sad exiles from our lowland nest, Could we have found a sweeter rest, Than on thy fair and fragrant breast Columbia? Sheltered in thy caressing arms, We scarcely heed the wild alarms Of war — so potent are thy charms Columbia ! COLUMBIA. 173 Yet sometimes, startled from our trance We cast around a troubled glance At tidings of the foe's advance Columbia. As lately when my city fair Bristled with carabine and spear: Her forts with triumph hailed them near, Columbia ! Then valiant Beauregard and Ehett, New jewels in their helmets set ; And gallant Bipley cried " well met " Columbia ! Secure again we turn to thee Decked in the Spring's sweet witchery, And 'mid the buds keep jubilee Columbia. How can the heart be sad when here The sunlight glances everywhere ; And song-birds vocal make the air, Columbia ! Thy lovely avenues invite, Now with the fresh green foliage dight, To wander on in glad delight Columbia. Thy Park ! that fairy-like retreat So often pressed by maiden feet, When in coquettish sport they meet, Columbia. 174 COLUMBIA. And when 'neath Summer's sunset sky Thy precious "wee-ones" thither hie, What holier scene can greet the eye, Columbia ! Thy gardens ! not closed up in pride, And to the Eefugee denied — But gates thrown courteous^ wide, Columbia. Where, for the fragment of an hour, We deem us in some magic bower, And flit entranced from flower to flower, Columbia ! Thy churches ! where the exile's care Is lulled by solemn hymn and prayer; And the sure trust that God is near, Columbia. O beautiful ! O fair to see ! Spreading o'er sunny slope and lea : Embraced by rich-voiced Congaree, Columbia ! Where the stern mountain virtues meet The lowland graces, soft and sweet ; And form a character complete, Columbia ! Long shall the exile's blessing rest Upon thy warm and loving breast; Thy noble, honorable crest, Columbia ! April 16th, 1863. Note. — Columbia presents a different aspect since the visit of the great raider, Sherman. TO MY SISTER. 175 Ta My Sister, ON VISITING HER NEW HOME, MAY, 1864. "Peace to this house and all who dwell herein"— Peace — and the benediction of thy God Rest on thy homestead sister ! The soft wing Of the Eternal Spirit shelter give ; And the Good Shepherd guard it as His fold. The period of thy married life has been A cycle rich in blessings — for altho' The clouds that oft' times shadow wedded bliss Could not be kept forever from thy sky, Yet have they always proved but summer rack Which the sweet breath of peace soon drove afar, Leaving free scope for the warm Sun of Love. At times the chill of poverty has crept Almost too near thy heart, when at thy door The form of cold-eyed Penury was seen About to lift the latch ; but the strong arm, And firm determination of the one, Given by Heaven, to be thy Lord and Head, Held him at bay, while with unwavering faith He labored on to keep his babes from want ; And now, at length, with grateful heart he sees His faith rewarded and his labor blessed. During those many years the Hand of God Added, from time to time, a precious flower Unto the wreath of beauty twining round Thy homestead, and the altar of thy heart. 176 TO iMY SISTER. O marvellous, unprecedented Love ! — In all this score of years no flower or bud Has fallen from the garland to the dust! The six bay blossoms and four roses still Shed their perfume and gladden thy new home. But O, my sister ! it were vain to hoj:>e, If God should spare thy life a few more years, (Which may He do, for love of His dear Son. And tender pity to thy little ones,) Thou canst escape for aye the cruel pang That wrings the heart maternal when it feels A lovely floweret drooping its fair head And bowing pale in death. It cannot be But that the sword must pierce thy bosom too E'en as the Holy Mary's. Then, Beloved, With humble, penitential, prayerful soul Prepare thee for the trial — tho' it bo One of thy hero boys to offer up In sacrifice upon thy country's shrine, Or see thy little precious rosy pet Bemoved from thine to bloom on Jesus' breast. Would that a sister's love could ward the blow !- Most gladly would I suffer cruel pain To save thy heart one pang. It cannot be — The mandate has gone forth we all must die; Yet have I heard the Christian mother's breast, Feels a mysterious pleasure in its pain, When she can say, " I have a flower with God"- A lamb of mine within the Saviour's Fold ! Then let me with a calm, confiding trust Commend thee to our tender Father's care, He loves thee with a love surpassing mine; THE NEW. 177 And when He chastens mercy guides the blow. O may the whirlwind fury of His wrath Never sweep o'er this dwelling, but its change Come on with noiseless tread ; till " calm decay," With ivyed beauty, makes its walls sublime; And as we reckon those who, one by one, Shall from its portal pass to worlds unknown, May we, with strong assurance, feel that they, With garments lily-white, have entrance found To the Eternal Mansions of The Blest. Tfcue Mew, O'CONNOR'S CHILD.' Dedicated to the infant Mary Louisa O'Connor, aged 4 months. O'Connor's Child ! Tho' not " the bud Of Erin's Eoyal tree of glory," Yet hast thou graces of thine own To live in song or story — Thy winsome mouth — thine eyes of light So wildly, beautifully bright And blue withal — thy gestures free, And eloquent of baby glee, All seem prophetic of a power To be revealed in Love's own hour, When bards about thy path shall throng To offer thee the need of song. 178 THE NEW. In sooth thou art " a hero's child " — For in the front of battle wild, Thy sire has often bravely stood When Death was sweeping, as a flood, His comrades from his side ; and who — "When Victory turned the tide of war On dread Manassas' plain — but he Planted the Legion Banner bright, Upon the captured battery's height, And with exultant gesture threw Its folds unto the breeze — that far Bore his triumphant, glad " hurrah " — While war-worn comrades joined the cry, And swelled, with grateful hearts, the shout of Victory ! Fair, lovely child ! When o'er thy head Three fleeting lustres shall have shed The influence of their suns and showers ; — And culture rare, in fireside hours Of chilly winter, shall have wrought On thy young mind, and from it brought The fruit and flowerage of thought To crown thy spring-time : Then shall we None brighter 'mong the maidens see ; None more bewitching — with the grace Of Erin in thy form and face ; Her fire within thine eye — thy hair Bound with her shamrock green and fair; While round her Harp thy dimpled arms shall twine. And rosy fingers 'wake a music half divine ! Child of the ancient Holy Isle! — May the Eternal Father's smile Beam ever on thee ! His fond eye LIZZIE. 179 Watch o'er thy heedless infancy ; His guardian arm, through life, embrace And bear thee on from Grace to Grace, Till thou perfected stand before His sacred face ! Columbia, December 17, 1863. hizzxz* Beautiful and bright and airy Is our youthful friend ! A fairy Must have blessed her natal morn, With each grace that can adorn Circle gay, or homestead holy : — Round her golden locks a glory Gleams, as from a maiden saint, Free from every earthly taint, That from old Cathedral aisle Greets us with a placid smile. Then anon her bright eye glances Beam that every heart entrances, Telling that sweet love reposes Like perfume in heart of roses, Deep within her gentle breast, Tho' to mortal ne'er confest! Witching creature! Soft, caressing, Shedding o'er thy home a blessing Such as seldom doth endower Mortal dwelling. Lovely flower ! 180 LIZZIE. To thy sister flowerets showing All the sacred graces flowing From a life devote to duty ; In itself the greatest beauty Can adorn a maiden — Grace Adding to the fairest face. Brothers, mindful of the glory Of theif name renowned in story, Lay their laurels at thy feet, Thou who makes their dwelling meet For the weary soldiers' rest — Pillowed on thy gentle breast They forget past toil and care ; While thine ever ready ear Drinks in with a proud delight Incidents of Camp or Fight. Heart paternal, ever blessing Doth the hand of love caressing Pass o'er every rippling curl Of thy hair, thou fairy girl ! Deeming thee the sweetest flower Of his garland-dighted bower ; Minding of Love's early day When a richer treasure lay On his breast — in joy or care Shedding blessed fragrance there. But there is a grace supernal From the Cross of the Eternal Son of God forever streaming — Is its glory o'er thee beaming ? Is thy beauteous robe and vestal ELIZA. 181 Fastened by the pearl Celestial, O'er thy breast of snowy whiteness ? — Jewel above price and brightness, By the Bridegroom only given Holy souls elect of Heaven. Is it thine ? — If so, no sorrow Dims the brightness of thy morrow ; Or, should clouds arise with day, God shall chase them swift away, And a light ethereal pour O'er thy pathway — evermore ! Eliza, Tiny lock of baby hair ! Brings a vision sweet and fair To my fancy's ken to-day ; Bural cottage far away, Canopied by sighing pines — Trellised by protecting vines, That encircle it around Like arm of rustic lover wound About the dear-one he would shield From danger of the wood or field. In the porch a hammock swings — To its side the baby clings, Thumping, jumping, laughing, crowing, All unconscious she is throwing Gladness over hearts deprest, "Weary of the stern unrest Of this arid wilderness ! — 182 ELIZA. " Who are these whom thus to bless God has sent this precious dove, In the fulness of His love From the Mercy Seat above?" These through fiery scenes have past ! — Ey the war's terrific blast Driven to this sheltering bower, They await, in faith, the hour When a word from God's own mouth Shall call back blessings on The South ! Grandam — once with graceful mien And matron dignity, as queen Reigned she over acres fair ; Loved, respected far and near ; Guiding with religious hand Children dear and menial band, Ever read}' at command ; — Still her children to her cling ; But her servants, on swift wing Of false freedom, all have flown, Leaving, in old age, alone One who had been ever kind, Serving them with hand and mind, Since when a bride of sixteen years She came with blushes and with tears, A Southern planter's life to share, Its joys, its comfort and its care; Till now, when on her widowed head, Three score and ten long years have shed The snows of winter — They have gone ! Eut the Good God leaves not alone, And void of comfort, one whose days ELIZA. 183 Have been devoted to His praise — For, yet enough of strength has she To ply her needle busily — At the attic window seated "While her listening ear is greeted With melodious strains that flow From violin and piano — Linked harmoniously below ! Or, for a while, her task she leaves To snatch her namesake from the bed, (With her impromptu toys o'erspread) To see the silvery rain-drops fall, And point her rosy finger small At the bright globules as they float To patter in the mimic, moat Formed by the dripping from the eaves ! Father — prematurely grey — From paternal fields away, Where his serfs usurp the sway God committed to his hand : — Four brave sons around him stand, With loving heart and bared breast, Eeady to do his least behest. The arms that struck for Liberty Will link around the old roof tree And prop it for futurity ! — But in these dark and gloomy days Eliza ! all your pretty ways Have formed his chief delight — You shine His " Iris " beautiful, divine ; Traced by Light's pencil rich and warm, His bow of promise in the storm ! 184 ELIZA. To your Mother's breast you bring The olive-branch of peace, and sing A song of Hope within her ear So penetrating, soft and clear It floats adown through many a year ! " Cousin mine, you have not told Half the joy that I unfold; My dear brothers from the fight Make it now their chief delight To toss the baby to and fro ; Quick from arm to arm I go — Mirth dispensing, Gloom preventing As they toss me to and fro ! — Even Cousin John you see Leaves his book to romp with me! I will be as proud I ween As any little Fairy Queen Sporting on the moonlit 'knowe,' While Elf-boys around her bow I" Cease ! — and let dear Cousin Kate Limerick's crowned Laureate Your wonder-working power relate : — "When the fretful hour draws nigh, And little babe should close her e}~e For her health-preserving rest, She will not sleep on mother's breast ! "At morning, noon, or dewy eve " Cousin Theus her work must leave To lull the darling to repose ; No plaintive lullaby she throws, Full of pathetic charm to close ELIZA. 185 Those heavy lids — but babe must go Whether she would or know. To sleep — for coz will have it so ! With thump and bump And noise and clatter (Without giving "miss" a voice in the matter) Enough to fright The little sprite, Ycleped slumber, And the number Of moth-like elves that round her cling, Bearing dreams upon their wing ; But no such thing, Babe is lapped by Slumber's wing ! See, the sunset golden shafts Shoot across the road ! and laughs The breeze amid the boughs — Opprest ! Come and take an hour of rest, And quaff the aromatic air, Bidding short farewell to care : Babe the pure delight must share ; Aunt will wheel her Car of State — (In which she's sitting proud, elate — Waiting by the step or gate) Through the long symphonious reaches Of the pines, whose whisper teaches Of the Land of deep repose : What sweet music earthward flows! As if G-ood Spirits in their flight * Heavenward, had, in mid air, * The idea of the pausing of the spirits in their heavenward flight, borrowed from my friend, Dr. J. B. Irving. 16 186 ELIZA. Paused to give us mortals cheer, Striking from harmonious wing Echoes, soft as those which ring The Beatific Bowers of Light Spread below the Eternal Height ! Lamplight flashes in the hall ! With her shadow on the wall Babe will play till " Good-night all " — Laughing, crowing, clawing, toying; In her very heart enjoying This her first essay to clasp A shadow that eludes her grasp ! Cottage 'neath the waving pines ; Clasped by the graceful vines ! Oft, by love-lit fancy borne, I visit thee at night and morn, Enter at window or at door To romp with baby on the floor ; Or take new lessons to my soul Of Christian graces to control Its restless throbbings — here they shine In tints so tender, so divine — So beautifully glow to view They needs must prove Eeligion true ; Only the Gospel's blessed ray Could give such light in this dark day ! Father ! where'er my dear ones roam May Christ's religion make their dome Eadiant with Faith, and Hope, and Love Until they rest with Thee above In mansions whence is no re-move ! October, 1865. LITTLE HARRIET'S DREAM. 187 what a beautiful dream I "had last night ! I dreamt I was in heaven, and saw the bright angels all holding hands in a ring, and singing praise to G-od. And I thought one of the angels, dressed in shining gold, took me by the hand and said, "Come and sing with us," but I said, "I cannot rest till Jesus and brother Charley come." Then I looked up and saw Jesus, leading brother Charley by the hand, coming to us. Brother was dressed in his soldier clothes, and had his cap on his head. He looked just as when I told him "good-by." Jesus was a soldier too — but had no cap upon His head. He took me by the hand and led me to the angels, and we all began to sing. Jesus was singing too ! 1 saw God sitting upon His shining throne. The throne was made of white pearls and black diamonds. And God was as bright and shining as when He talked with Moses in The Mount. But I was not afraid— I spoke to God and said, " Will you give me some of that white manna you fed the children of Israel with in the wilderness ?" The dream of a child six years old, given in her own words. We were expecting the body of her beloved brother home for I dreamed I stood in heaven 'Mid a fair and shining throng Of angels, who sung praise to God In sweet and solemn song; And as they sang they linked their hands And formed a circle bright, Moving harmoniously around All robed in dazzling white. 188 LITTLE HARRIET'S DREAM. On seeing me one broke the ring And took me by the hand, Saying " Come darling np with me And join the shining band ;" I said " I cannot rest e'en here, In this my promised Home, Until the Saviour, whom I love, And brother Charley come!" Then up I lifted face and eye, And lo ! the Saviour dear, Leading my brother by the hand, With beaming smile drew near : I knew my Brother, ah! so well, He wore Confederate grey — Dressed as a soldier was our boy, Just as he went away ! He had his cap upon his head, Drawn low to shade his eye, Just as he looked when last I saw And bade him then " Good-by " — Blest Jesus shone a soldier too, With sword upon His thigh, As "Captain of Salvation" — he With conquering step drew nigh ! He wore no helmet on His head, But His rich, golden hair Swept o'er His mailed shoulders broad, In ripples soft and fair ; His girdle studded was with gems, All glorious to behold, His feet like burnished metal shone, Fine brass, or finer gold ! LITTLE HARRIET'S DREAM. 189 He kindly took me by the hand And led me to the ring, Where Christ, and brother Charles and I Did with the angels sing! For so it seemed in my dream — O was it very wrong, To think that Jesus Lent His voice To swell the angels' song ? And then I thought I saw the King Of Glory on his Throne ; The great, the everlasting God, The bright and shining One : The Throne was made of creamy pearls And diamonds black as jet, The lustre of the one against The other meetly set. And in my dream I spoke to God The Father, tho' He shone, As when he talked upon the Mount To Moses all alone ! And said " My Father will you feed Me with that manna white, With which you fed, when in The Wild, The wandering Israelite ?" " Not that, I give thee better bread," A loving voice replied, "For thou shalt feed upon the Lamb Of God, who meekly died : — My Christian Children all must live Upon the food divine, The flesh and blood of Jesus Christ Set forth in bread and wine." 190 AN ECHO FROM SUMMERVILLE. With this I 'woke, and wept to find That I was lingering here, Till reaching out my little hand I touched my Mother dear ; Then was I glad to think' that I Might still her comfort prove, Until we join our darling there, Where all is peace and Love ! November 28, 1865. $n Echo from $ummmrilte. DEDICATED TO THE " LADIES' MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION " OF CHARLESTON, SO. CA. Exquisite music floateth free From "the old City by the Sea," Half jubilant, half drear, It fills mine eyes with holy tears ; Recalls the hope of former years, The mingled faith and love : — The fears Would some time loom upon the scene, Clothing the sky serene In clouds that came between Us, and the rainbow hues, All gloriously diffused, Begot of sunny ray Upon the crystal spray Spanning, with arc of light, the visionary sphere. AN ECHO FROM SUMMERVTLLE. 191 The breeze seems full of sighs ; And low pathetic cries, As from the snowy breast Of woman when opprest With grief profound — Yet list ! — another sound ! A song of triumph mingling with the moan, And all around are thrown Strains, as from viewless spirits blending low, Sweet music with the notes that from those mourners flow! It is the chosen day, When women homage pay, To those have perished in a cause as high As ever lit the eye Or stirred the spirit of heroic knight ! None other can compare, Save that which in yon sphere Places the crown of Christian martyrhood Upon the foreheads of the brave and good, A garland dazzling bright, Wove of celestial light ! They come — the bright and fair ! With hearts true to the cause, The holy, patriot laws Of God and man, to strew with flower-buds rare The graves where calmly sleep The forms that erst did sweep Across the gory plain, Carrying, within their train, Death and destruction to the haughty foe ; 192 AN ECHO FROM SUMMERVILLE. Till God's mysterious power, In one o'erwhelming hour O'erthrew their hopes, and laid their banners low With stern, chastising blow ! Come on and pour the dirge — We stand upon the verge Of utter ruin. All in vain ! in vain ! The ghastly wounds, the blood that fell as rain Upon the war-bruised Earth — the dying groan Of sire, son and brother, And the mate Of heart left desolate : — One dies on battle-field ; the while another In gloomy prison ward would gladly smother The sigh of anguish piercing to the soul Of bleeding comrade dear, Whose life is ebbing there; The stern control Causes the beaded sweat adown his face to roll ! In vain ? — Say not "in vain" — Dispel the dismal strain, And feed the summer air with anthems high ! The God who fills the sky, And walketh on the whirlwind, still is near, And bends a listening ear — His Holy Eye, Will not behold, unchecked, iniquity ! The sands run on apace And bring the Day of Grace, When once more, hand in hand, We shall unshackled stand And breathe the breath of Freemen in the State, Where God has fixed our fate ! THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. 193 TheD catch we up the music as it floats, And add exultant notes As we pass on to lay our garlands fair, Beaded with Memory's tear, Upon the three loved graves * O'er which bright Nature waves Her coronal of ever changing hues ; Where Evening sheds her dews ; And holy stars diffuse The hope that other eyes than ours watch o'er The heroes whose repose is sacred evermore ! June 16, 1866. The Southern Boy's lament* Where has my dear old maumer gone ? I miss her when the day is done ; I miss her when the rosy ray Of morn upon my curtains play; Miss her kind face, her loving eyes, Her cheery greeting — " Sonny, rise ! The lambs are frisking on the lawn ; The ducklings to the pond have gone ; The hungry chickens ' peep ' and cry j Sweet little Sis has oped her eye; * The graves of Brigadier-General M. E. Jenkins and privates Henry M. Hughes and Charles B. Foster, who alone of the Con- federate dead are interred in Summerville. They rest in the Epis- copal churchyard. 17 194 THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. She has been washed and dressed with care, And waits for thee — The precious dear! Up ! up! and join her in her play ; And bless G-od for another day." Where is my dear old maumer — where? At night I used to say my prayer Down at her knee, if mother dear Was busy — or upon her breast Held darling sister hushed to rest; And then, dear maumer, me would tell Of Heaven, where the angels dwell; Or how the All-Loving Father's eye Looks down upon us as we lie Snug in our beds : — of Jesus who Sits with a crown upon His brow At God's right hand ; tell when on Earth He never silenced childrens' mirth, Nor frowned the prattlers away ; But, with a smile as bright as day, Would woo them to His side and bless And gather in His arms with loving, warm car When angels brought my pretty sis, She was the first to let me kiss, And touch her tender hand and cheek; She told me that I must be meek, And kind and loving to the child, If I would have the Saviour mild To reckon me His lambkin dear, One of His own true fold and care. With maumer' s grandson I would play And romp about the live-long day, THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. 195 Drilling him, with the other boys, With roll of drum and trumpet noise; We fished together at the brook, A bent pin serving us for hook; Set traps the pretty birds to catch, And played at many a merry match : Where have my happy playmates gone? I cannot find a single one ! But most of all, my maumer dear, I cannot find her anywhere ! She was not here on Christmas Day To see the beautiful display Of treasures brought me by " St. Nick ;" Say mother, is dear maumer sick? — She was not here to praise each toy, With eyes brimful of Christmas joy ; Not hear to get my hearty kiss, Her "Merry Christmas" too I miss; Not here to join "the angels' song:" — I missed her so the whole day long, — See here the handkerchief I bought, With pretty colors richly fraught, To form a turban for her head — Oh! tell me mother, is she dead? Say, will she never come again ? — It fills my heart with cruel pain ; And little sister too will cry If maumer ne'er again shall sing her " hush-a-by." My boy ! Old maumer 's of the past — On her dear face we've looked our last ; No more o'er our sick beds shall see Her dark face bending tenderly; 196 THE SOUTHERN BOY'S LAMENT. No more she'll fold you in her arms, Or quiet sister's soft alarms; — No more will she be by to hail The new-born infant's feeble wail ; No more with loving, pious care, Shall robe our darlings for the bier; Or close the venerable eyes Of pilgrim ready for the skies : Nor weep at burial of our dead ; — Nor help to deck the marriage bed Of our young daughters; — nor increase the mirth When to the old paternal hearth The boy she proudly nursed upon her breast Brings his fair bride for aye to rest A daughter of the house; — Oh! nevermore, Her heart shall thrill with joys of yore, While our own bosoms gave responsive swell Of love, which only Goo's omnicient Word can tell. PART THE THIRD. Needs no show of mountain hoary, Winding shore or deepening glen, Where the landscape in its glory- Teaches truth to wandering men : Give true hearts but earth and sky, And some flowers to bloom and die, Homely scenes and simple views Lowly thoughts may best infuse. [Keble. Th£ Flatxrtfr-kadtfn igupiil The Grod of Love, A I Benedicite, How mighty and how grete a Lord is he ! Again his might their gainen non obstacles, He may be clessed a God for his miracles. For he can maken at his owen gise Of everich herte, as that him list devise. [Chaucer. " Cupid lovely ! Cupid bright ! With thine eyes of roguish light ; Where hast thou been wandering, boy ? Thou art beaming o'er with joy, Showing that some mischief gay Has been wrought along the way ; — By thy quiver full of flowers, Thou hast been in Beauty's bowers Sporting all this blessed day Of the fragrant, rosy May ; Thy beatitude reveal — That its joyance might me steal From the carking care of earth, — Cupid fill me with thy mirth ! " " Jove on me bestowed the power To sun myself in Beauty's bower ; — When from my serial flight In her shady haunts I light, Beaming glorious to the sight ; Lily hands are clapped in glee And Cupid ' To Triumphe !' 200 THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. Shouted — Then beneath my wing I hide my bow, and hear them sing — Yet place the arrow to the string ! — Look among my flowers — see Not a shaft is left to me ! I have scattered them around, And with these spoils my quiver crowned. Whitest bosoms now are grieving ; Bosoms late with wild bliss heaving ; Eyes that into eyes as bright Deeply gazed in tranced delight, Now are weeping, and despair Fills the once enchanted sphere ! II 'Tis a common joy I wis Thus to sport with maiden bliss — I, to thee, would gladly tell, But for laughing, what befell As I bore my burden light Venus' Fane to deck at night ; — Right along the roadside lay, Screened from the sun of May By a vine-entangled bower, Fairer youth than ever flower Culled to place on Beauty's breast, Where he fain himself would rest! Had my mother seen him there She had sworn him twice as fair As Adonis, once so dear: — Streaked with light, his dark brown hair Waved around as fine a brow As ever Phidias carved, I vow ; — His bright eyes outshone the stars — E'en the golden shafts of Mars, THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. 201 And the God whose silver beams Mingle with our morning dreams ! — Easy was his attitude — No obtruding point or rude Marred the undulating line, Of his graceful form's recline : — ~Now, methought, for glorious fun Ere Apollo's car has run To the western gate of Heaven, Where he baits his steeds at even. Soon I reached him — veiling nigh — "With the leaves that 'round my head Gracefully their drapery spread, — Half my visage — and an eye, Lest he should their cunning spy ! Trippingly I went along Like an infant drunk with song ; Chanting at the top of joy, " Love met once an idle boy," Waking all the echoes gay With my stirring roundelay ! Yain it fell upon the child Besting in the forest wild ! As I n eared his couch I slipped, And my quiver downward tipped, Scattering along the road All my bright and fragrant load. In a voice forlorn and drear, Mimicking a great despair, I addressed the youth and said : ' Gentle stranger lend thine aid, I have from my mother strayed ; Help me to regain her treasure Or she'll chastise without measure, 202 THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. Me, her poor afflicted son, For the mischief I have done.' " " Cupid, think not to beguile, Said the youth, with scornful smile, Me with thy deceitful wile, — Well I know thee — and those flowers, Saw thee steal from rosy bowers When the morn was blushing new, And a light breeze shook the dew From the leaves and plants — and threw Perfume forth to hail the day By Aurora led that way : — When at noon I passed by Naught was heard but wail and sigh, Rifled maidens' dreary cry — They were pure and bright at morn Ere thy warm kiss had withdrawn All the sweets — but left the thorn ! — I'll not touch the dangerous bloom, Nor inhale the rich perfume Of thy blossoms — Yes, I swear To thine Altar offering ne'er Of en wreathed bads to bear; In Idalian temple high Never heave a love-lorn sigh." "By great Aphrodite's power! By the Gods ! thou'lt rue this hour I Thou shalt bow thy haughty head Ere another day has sped." 11 Tho' my arrows all were spent Yet a rose-shaft to me lent THE FLOWER-LADEN CUPID. 203 Weapon keen enough to kill Sent by my unerring skill! Shyly I upon the bow Placed the thorn'd rose — and lo ! On his bosom fell a woe ; — As he felt the keen unrest Of the thorn within his breast, Off he started with the bound Of a wounded stag, with hound Closely in pursuit — and made For the thickest sylvan shade ; Trembling all with fear and pain, Dreaming there he would remain Till peace and strength returned again ! There a rosy girl he'll meet, And with love's soft accents greet, Lowly sighing at her feet ! She will catch his bosom's pain, And for ease my mother's Fane, Hand in hand they'll seek to gain — Then for Love's all glorious reign ! " Lo ! the reason of my chant, Happy, mirthful, jubilant ! Come and join th' exultant glee — " Cupid— lo Triumphe ! " 204 A TWILIGHT WALK. & Twilight Walk. It is the hour when we were wont to rove, My youthful friend and I. He is not here, Yet will I venture forth alone, alone, And on the bank, where we so oft reclined, To watch the river in its noiseless flow, Sit musingly, and twine ideal wreaths, From Memory's garden culled — that fairy realm — To deck his thoughtful brow ; flowers brighter far Than those the rosy-fingered Spring entwines Around the forest trees, or wakes to life Beneath the dewy pressure of her feet. As she comes bounding through the fragrant glade. Made vocal with the song of happy birds, Darting in mirth around their bridal bowers, The flowers of Hope, Love, Joy and holy Peace, That Heaven-descended bud that blossomed erst In Paradise beside the Fount of Life — Lo ! where the golden gates of Heaven unclose, And gorgeous banners flaunt the evening air, To welcome the Day-god, with hot haste speeding Unto his couch of rest ! The western sky Is all ablaze with crimson, green and gold; "Whilst cloudy mountains lift their purple heads, In pomp magnifical, on either side ! How in a moment is the pageant changed ! E'en thus the beauteous visions of our youth Fade to the dun of manhood ; soon to be Lost in the night-like darkness of the grave. A TWILIGHT WALK. 205 The solemn vesper hour now veils the earth With her dim, fleecy light ; her spirit sits Composedly in yon pale evening star Upon the border of the sable clouds. It is the hour when, arm in arm, we turned Our lingering footsteps homeward — vesper calm Resting upon our souls, by converse sweet Engendered ; or, the solemn word of Bard Poured forth in liquid music with the tones Of thy sweet voice, my Friend. Ah! when shall I Ever again such happy moments know ? When have a youthful heart repose on mine With love and trust so perfect ? Kindling there, By his sweet smile, and eyes of dovelike sheen, And most poetic heart, and Christian soul, The fire of life — almost burnt out and gone. And some do smile and think it "passing strange" That I do love thee with so deep a love, When thou art bat a youth on Being's shore, And I far launched upon the wave of life. Unhappy souls ! they little ween the joy Of hearts congenial intertwined in love ; Like clings to like — and souls of kindred stamp Will mingle — let the cold-eyed sceptic sneer — Though one be lodged in form of palsied eld, The other in a dimpled infant's breast. For many years I walked the earth forlorn, Seeking, with sighs, a kindred soul to find ; Sometimes my heart, deceived by specious show, The delicate light tendrils of her love Flung round a worthless object, as a vine 206 A TWILIGHT WALK. Might clasp some withered tree, or cling to one That fed its veins with venom-tainted sap. But now there is a loving heart that beats Harmoniously with mine — with mine it thrills With sudden rush of joy, or sheds sweet tears Over the Poet's consecrated page ; And not a fiery hope, or passion strong ; No glory-tinted dream, or hope sublime, Has swept my breast that has not passed o'er his ! Father, I thank thee for his love ! — For theirs That form a sacred chain of linked hearts, Binding my captive will to yonder home Whose casement beams a welcome to me now. How luminous the firmament to-night Gleams through the rarified and frosty air — One more rapt look, and then, good-night, ye Orbs ! Oh! stars! ye keen-eyed sentinels that guard The outer wall of Heaven's eternal court, If aught of ill has mingled with my thoughts, As I have mused along my lonely walk, Let them not pass the sapphire battlements, And speed their way before the Throne of God, But drive them back to earth to die unbreathcd In the deep, silent caverns of my heart. THE FAREWELL. 207 Edmund, thou wouldst have me sing thee Something ere thou leavest my side ; Little song — for dear remembrance — • I have tried ! But my heart is far too heavy, And my voice too full of sighs, And affection's fount up-springing Dims mine eyes! Thou must take these things for tokens — Take them in the place of song ; Some day when poetic pulses Beat more strong, And the tide comes gushing, gushing From fond Memory's silent cell, I a song may send thee, Edmund, Worthy in thy soul to dwell ; Song shall bind thee as a spell. Bind thee to the ancient homestead Thou hast blessed, too short a time, With the brightness of thy presence ; And the chime Of the rich, harmonious music Springing from thy youthful breast, Where no sigh of sin or sorrow Claims a rest ! Bind thee to the hearts now saddened ; To the eyes bedimmed with tears ; Loving eyes, henceforth must track thy Coming years; 208 THE FAREWELL. Loving hearts, would shield thee ever From all sorrow — from all sin ; Loving hands, a wreath of glory Weaving for thyself to win ; Knowing thee so strong within ! • Ah ! already on my spirit Falls the shadow of a woe, As I mark the winged hours Come and go ; When I think to-morrow takes thee From our home, not hearts, away, No — those silent spirit chambers Shall for aye Hold the love to them entrusted, Hold the memory of the joy ; Fling sweet incense from their altars O'er thee, boy ! GrO — no song of mine shall waken Gloomy echoes on thy way ; By Love's holy star enlightened — And its pure effulgent ray Leading to the perfect day. For remember Poets ever Bear a keen prophetic spright ; They see deeper in the darkness And the light ! So with eyes fixed on the future Now I scan thy horoscope And the great stars stoop and whisper Words of Hope ! THE FAREWELL. 209 Onward — for thy life expandeth To a bright and finished whole ; Onward — urge thy panting spirit To the goal ! Eich in youth, in health, in purpose, Naught should make thee swerve, or fail ; With thy resolute, bold nature Girding thee as coat of mail, Onward, man, thou shalt prevail ! Sooth thy poet is a woman — And her heart is full of love, And the sign upon that iEgis Is a Dove ! Lo ! she bends this pure shield o'er thee — Listen to its dove's soft tone : — Now with garlands of affection Would inzone, But for knowing that all flowers, Purely earthly, bloom to die, Therefore are her eyes uplifted To the sky ; And with cool palms fondly resting On thy head and glossy hair, Her true heart above the azure Soareth upward with a prayer For a blessing on thee, dear. " Father, to Thy care we leave him, Let him very safely lie, Like a weaned child in spirit 'Neath Thine eye! 18 210 SPRINGTIME. Saviour, in Thy human body Seated on the Glory-Throne, Do Thou claim this youthful brother As Thine own ! Spirit pure, from both proceeding, God of comfort, joy and love, Send thy manifold great blessings From above, Let them fall as dews of Hermon, On his head, and in his breast. Till he's called to sleep with Jesus In a calm and holy rest ; May he waken in the mansions of the bl Springtime. 'Tis Spring — and never did a brighter day Salute tby rose-bound tresses lovely May!* All nature smiles — and birds in bower and gro Pour from their happy bosoms liquid love, Upon the buoyant air entranced floats The music of those wild impassioned notes; Young beauty is astir — and I would fling All sadness from my heart and join her charmed rin< Fair from my open casement gleams to view The lakelet with its deep cerulean hue: — In fancy I am floating on its breast As on that evening, when the glowing west * The opening lines borrowed from Leigh Hunt : " 'Tis morn ! and never did a lovelier day- Salute Ravenna from her leafy bay" — SPRINGTIME. 211 Lit up its waters, and our tiny boat, Left to the breezes' pleasure, seemed to float A fairy shell — or ark where calmly lay The passions in repose, like weary child at play ! Dost thou remember ? — I shall e'er retain The memory of one ramble : Blessed rain Not long before had fallen — and the green Of the young forest in a silvery sheen Sparkled, until the god-like sun a ray Left as a benison to lovely day, And all the landscape, 'neath a flood of gold, Lay an illumined page in Nature's volume old ! Now turning from the glory — under trees, Made musical by evening's sighing breeze, And arching overhead. How still and calm ! The silence fell upon our hearts as balm Upon care-wounded spirits — not a word In the dim twilight of the wood was heard To issue from our lips — A loving glance Had smote too rudely far that deep, soul-mingling trance ! Ah ! ne'er again upon that mimic lake — Nor in the green wood — nor through tangled brake Fragrant with jasmine, shall we ever stray, Or float, or dream the passing hours away : The tale is ended — the sweet poem closed — The roses withered that so late reposed Upon my bosom : Still around my room Thy sere, yet precious garlands shed a faint perfume. 212 MAY. ®ag. Who is this that cometh Tripping up this way? Glancing in the sunshine, Flashing 'neath its ray, Like a nymph of Faery Airy, bright and gay ? Gaily dance her tresses With the wavy air ; Gemmed with dew the roses Holding them with care, In their sweet embraces, From her forehead fair! Quivering in the sunlight, Sparkling in the rill, Glancing on the river By the rustic mill ; Her sweet influences Doth all Nature fill. When her sandaled foot-prints Brush the dewy mead, Song-birds' liquid music Pour upon her head ; And fresh flowers leap upward From their fragrant bed ! Lo ! her smile celestial Brightens all the air; Maketh this terrestrial Beam an Eden fair ; Emblem of the region Where the Angels are! MAY. 213 Maidens ! haste to meet her Ere she flits away — Youths ! with garlands greet her For she will not stay ; Ye shall miss her presence From your path some day. Children ! fill your aprons With the flowers that spring Where her sweet breath floateth Zephyr on the wing — And her perfumed darlings Back upon her fling. Wake the slumbering echoes With your voices gay, Till they ring a chorus Like sweet bells at play ; Or the merry laughter Of some sylvan fay ! Who is this that cometh In the silvery sheen Of the dewy morning ; Clad in robe of green Crowned with budding blossoms Like a Faery Queen ? 'Tis the fairest daughter Of the flowery Spring ; Loveliest of the graces, That around her cling ; May — then haste to greet her And her praises sing. 214 MY PILGRIMAGE. Ask of her a blessing Ere she hies away ; — Heart forever keeping Joyance of the May ; Bosom where her flowers Bud and bloom for aye. Quivering in the sunshine Sparkling in the spray Of a silvery shower Tripping up this way, Through the arch of Iris Comes the merry May. 1% tfilgrimage, BEFORE LEAVING THE " OLD PLANTATION," MAY, 1857. I. Eeach me my trusty staff and sandal shoon For I must wend on pilgrimage to-day : — Or ere the sun sets, or the pensive moon Comes out to tip the landscape with her ray I must have traversed all the pleasant way Eound by the rice-fields to the river's side ; For certes 'tis the flowery month of May — A.nd not much longer dare we here abide Or Death will sweep us hence with his dark restless tide! MY PILGRIMAGE. 215 II. Out by the back porch ; down the gentle slope, Pass through the gate and turn toward the right ; Now give to Fancy ample verge and scope To range and frolic like a faery sprite; Lo ! this umbrageous foliage doth invite To linger in the shade that Poets love — Trust not the sylvan stillness — mellow light — Pause not to hark the songsters of the grove, Flinging their fond good-night from waving bough above ! III. Yet by the graveyard pause a little space, Albeit none but sable forms rest there ; Do not the willows wave with mournful grace ? Are not the sleepers quite as much Thy care Almighty Father ! though of humble sphere, As those who crumble 'neath sepulchral stone, Or proud mausoleum — how rich or rare ? Will not Thy mercy claim them as thine own, Did not for them, as well, Thy Holy One atone ? IY. Here rests that model form tho' bronzed its hue ; Here sleep those eyes which shone so softly bright ; How cold the manly heart that beat so true A note for Heaven, ere the veil of night Fell for a moment o'er his soul and light : — Yonder a broken-hearted mother sleeps — Here, where this new-made hillock hides from sight A drowned son, an aged father weeps, While for his blighted youth he midnight vigil keeps ! 216 MY PILGRIMAGE. Y. And many aged souls, ripe Autumn grain, Have here been garnered from the Winter's cold ; We may not pass them by without the rain Of feeling dropping on the grass-grown mould ; — O, may they now be happy in the fold Of the immortal Shepherd ! There we know, The angels of the litle ones behold The Father's visage and in wisdom grow Meet for th' Eternal light will one day from it flow ! VI. Onward — and upward, for a tiny mount Invites the Pilgrim kindly to ascend — Plant well thy sturdy walking-staff — nor count The weeds and brambles that together blond T' impede thy passage ; soon the way will end, And the sweet scene repay thy little toil ; List to the music of the pines that send Perfume as well to mingle with the spoil Wind-rifled from the plants bepranking all the soil ! VII. Behold Mount Kath'rine! — 'tis a pleasant spot, Altho' its fame and history be unknown — We will not call it "Poplar Hill," for not A vesture of such tree an age has grown Upon its summit ! — twenty years have flown Since it received the name that now it bears, Yet doth a thought float round it like a zone Of starlight from the past — but ah ! sad tears Will mingle with the gleam that rises with those years. MY PILGRIMAGE. 217 Till. Why ruffle up the past! How calmly rest The watered rice-fields 'neath the sun's good-night! Scarcely a ripple stirs their glassy breast, Thus let it be with thine. The road of right, — Altho' a thousand spectres thee affright, Looming up in the shadow — travel on, Soon shall the distant goal appear in sight Then will vain phantoms of the dark be gone, And Jesus give the crown His death for thee has won ! IX. Peace to yon mansion lifting o'er the trees Its venerable roof, 'neath which repose Hearts that beat fondly for me — may the breeze, From whate'er quarter of the heaven it blows Waft countless blessings to it — scatter woes And ills from out its precincts. Friendship's rest ! May the fast coming ages but disclose New virtues of thy rearing ! Honor's crest Wave from the front of those four fledglings of thy nest I X. Now with light foot-beat leave the breezy hill — Passing where soft a water channel glides ; Onward, while birds around thee sweetly trill Their evening song, and the proud sun-god hides Behind his purple canopy and bides His glorious reawakening : Who is here In the old mili at work ? A tear-drop slides Adown his cheek the while — cross o'er and cheer With word from G-od's own Book we know he keepeth near. 19 218 MT PILGRIMAGE. XI. Now on with quick accelerated tread — Dark hastens on apace — the night-birds wail ; The bright stars look from their celestial bed And sanctify the scene ! Soft vesper gale Plays musically sweet as from the rail Of the old bridge, I lean to hear it sigh Among the lithe reeds — like an o'er sad tale Told to the chime of some old minstrelsy, While silver drops rain down from gentle Beauty's eye ! XII. Old bridge ! how many recollections cling To thee and thy surroundings ? Here of yore A boy friend would soar-up on buoyant wing, As a glad bird, and streams of classic lore Pour from his heart! Last Sabbath eve thy shore I pressed with one, how holy, silver tide Rolling beneath these planks! Thy water bore Our spirits onward, in its gentle glide Far pass the verge of Time, or Jordan's gloomy side! XIII. Pure as the ideal of a poet's soul, Or lily-cup with dew-drops fed from Heaven ; Thy body formed of clear ethereal mould In early youth to God, by Faith was given ; Like Samuel, thou waitest morn and even Upon Jehovah ! And perchance hast heard His voice at midnight calling, nor hast striven To banish it thine heart. That Mighty Lord, Thou offerest to thy flock in his life-giving Word. MY PILGRIMAGE. 219 XIY. E'en as the flowers of which you spoke that eve, Blooming in desert place for God alone ; So the calm beauty of your life you weave In these secluded wilds — our gifted one ! Our well-beloved Pastor ! In this zone,* This little zone 'twixt parallel of light And beauty beaming, be your Shepherd Throne Forever rooted ; from its modest height Send forth the perfect Law to rule our hearts aright. XV. Home through the Orchard, sung in early strain, The day is spent — Yet in this cot awhile I must abide with one in age and pain, Hand the low stool, and quick the pine-knots pile That light may reach the page ; I must beguile This weary soul from Earth. What better end To my calm pilgrim ramble than the smile Playing around thy mouth, my aged friend, While in the Saviour's praise our mutual voices blend ! *Kev. W. B. W. Howe, now Kector of St. Philip's Church, Charleston. 220 A PORTRAIT FROM MEMORY. $. Portrait from Iftjemory. Oh ! for the Poet's power, Or Limner's art, this hour, To make thee start all life-like forth to view ; Thy locks of golden brown, So wildly streaming down ; And eyes, whose every change shot beams of beauty new! Perfect in manly grace ; No jarriDg line we trace : When in the game of Fence, with skilful art, Thy lithe foil's airy play, And eyes keen focal ray, Alike had power to pierce the foe or gazer's heart. To me thou art brighter far Than morn or evening star, Or young Apollo beaming forth the light ! More lovely than that flower Couched in serial bower That tempted Dian's self from her celestial height: Even that simple wand So often in thine hand vSeemed but to add to thy mysterious power ; Had it some weird-like charm ? Some wizard-might to harm ? Was't blessed, beneath the moon, in Sybil's lonely bower ? A VALENTINE. 221 Ah me ! there was a spell — From it or thee that fell Upon my heart, and thrilled it into song ; And still it gives a sound, As when the wild wind's round Strike from iEolian wires, echoes deep and strong! $. Valentine. FOR E. M. G. To morrow is St. Yalentine, And I would send to thee A greeting from my distant home By the sparkling, green-rohed sea; I'm sitting by the lattice high, My seat in summer hours, To catch the fitful breezes' play, And the perfume of the flowers. But not to hail old Yalentine, The jocund Saint of Love, Would I borrow now the downy wing Of the low- voiced carrier dove ; It is no light and airy lay His pinion soon must bear, Such freight thy blue-eyed maiden may Confide unto his care. But I a note of high resolve Would strike from out my lyre, A note to rouse thy manly heart, To 'wake its latent fire: 222 SLUMBERING POESY. For 'neath thy cold and calm extern Slumbers volcanic flame Shall burst, and bring before the world, For good or ill, thy name! Awake ! and consecrate the morn — The birth-morn of thy sire — With every high and holy vow, With every pure desire ! Be all thy sister's loving heart Would have her darling prove; Fulfil thy father's soaring hope, Thy mother's yearning love. Slumbering Foesy, I. Once more my spirit in the magic round Of Fancy has been sporting; building slight iErial castles upon Faery ground, Filled with ideal beauty ! What delight ! Meth ought my path had been forsaken quite By all such airy visions, ne'er again To flit before me in their beauty bright, And garments woven of the glorious grain Pair shining in the arc that cometh after rain ! II. For as a wood-nymph in a shady grot, Impervious to the Sun's reviving ray, Lies calmly slumbering while around the spot The wild-birds carol and the breezes play ; SLUMBERING POESY. 223 Whore scarcely Pan himself might find the way Of entrance — tho' perchance a laughing Faun With ivy-crowned forehead there may stray, Brushing the silver dew at streak of dawn Just ere the morning star her radiance has withdrawn ! III. So in my bosom gentle Poesy Lay sleeping as if naught might break her trance; No sigh her bosom stirred to prophesy — No holy rapture kindled her soft glance — No thought ecstatic caused her to advance With springing feet toward Parnassus dread, And from Caslalia's classic stream perchance Quaff inspiration — and contented tread Beneath the sacred leaves have crowned the poet's head ! IV. I deemed thee dead — but lo ! the infant breath Of Spring came floating o'er thy slumbering eyes, Eich with the perfume of the flowery heath, And warm with sunny heat from azure skies ; It caused thee stir — but could not make thee rise — That power to Love o'er Nature's self was given, His magic touch through all thy body flies A living light-flash ! Thy long trance is riven And on exultant wing thou soarst from Earth to Heaven • Y. O Love ! O Friendship ! or by whate'er name Is named the passion that has roused my heart, Still work thou in that deep recess ; inflame All my dull nature by thy mighty art ; — 224 SLUMBERING POESY. Yet may suspicion of the truth ne'er dart In the Magician's breast ! All hail the gift ! Albeit possession causes many a smart Of keenest anguish — for the muse can lift Our souls above the sea where our wrecked blessings drift, VI. Spirit of Inspiration ! Vision bright ! Now standing by my timid Poesy ; May she enfold thee in her arms of white? Or will thine essence fade before her eye As evanescent as a gentle sigh Wafted from woman's heart ? A happy dream? A note ^Eolian flitting wildly by ? — In transitory glory dost thou beam ? Or wilt thou, Faery Sprite, accompany life's stream ? VII. Say wilt thou lead her with thy gentle hand Along the flowery steepness of the hill, Until she views from far the Poet band Sitting in God-like beauty, calm and still, Each on his star-lit throne! To list the trill Of Phoebus' lyre floating down the wind, Whilst every august muse to her sweet will Tempers the music — and in every mind Apollo's heavenly notes responsive echoes find ! VIII. Thou fadest upon my vision — and art gone ! And my sad muse drops down on languid wing, And droops to her old covert, sick — forlorn — Never to mount aloft and freely sing, love. 225 Unless once more the life-dispensing Spring, And that far greater power of Love unite Their genial essence, and around her fling Their magic spell resistless; Then in might She will again arise and take her Heavenward flight! hove, Dear one, seekest thou to know If my heart-blood's ruby flow, And its altar's burning glow Are for thee alone ? Listen to the tale I'll tell — Thou hast bound me in a spell ; Flowery fetters are they ? Well Still I am not free. By the paleness, or the flush O'er my conscious cheeks that rush ; By my heart's mysterious hush — Know thou art beloved. By the trembling of my frame When thy well-beloved name Unexpected to me came, Know thou art adored. By my fond heart's rapid beat When I catch thine accents sweet; Or thy smiling eyelids greet My approaching form. 226 love. By the thrill which through my breast Rushes when ray hand is prest By thy hand — the truth 's contest That I love thee well. Scarce these tell-tale eyes of mine Dare I to uplift to thine, Ere the lids I quick decline Lest they should betray. By my spirit's varying flow Swelling high — then ebbing low; By my piteous sighs of woe Know thou art beloved. Keen the anguish of my heart When from thee I'm forced to part, By this token know thou art Treasured in my soul. By the jealous fire that burns In my bosom's secret urns When I fear thy spirit turns To another maid. By the blessings that I pour, From my heart's exhaustless store, On the one whom I adore Know thou art beloved. Know thou art beloved ! My breast Holds that secret unconfest And I solemnly attest There it shall abide. l'adiett. 227 Like the perfumed lamps that burned Where the dead, to dust returned, Lay in antique tombs inurned — Glowing in my heart ! But perhaps when Time has flown And we meet before the Throne, There the secret may be known Of my loving breast ! Ah ! many weeks must pass away, And many months perchance, Ere I thy witching smile shall see Or, meet thy brilliant glance — Thy brilliant glance that as a flash Of summer, lightning plays, Throwing a halo round the close Of Life's declining days ! Thy smile ! Oh ! it has power to wake Within my bosom's close, The slumbering hope that in it lies As sunbeams 'wake the Eose. As sunbeams 'wake the sleeping Rose Within her fragrant bower, And turn to gems of sparkling light The sad-night's dewy shower! Thy word — thy softly whispered word, Floats as a zephyr light Upon my spirit's troubled tide As breezes of the night — 228 THE MEETING. As breezes of the starry night Pla}^ o'er the heaving sea, On which the fairy moonbeams dance In airy, sportive glee ! Thy smile, thj- glance, th}- whispered woi Will they be garnered all, Until upon my startled ear Thy well-known fooisteps fall? Or, wilt thou cast those precious gifts Among the light and gay, All heedless of the loving heart That's breaking faraway? The Meeting, We met — 'twas after many years Of absence and of pain, And I had thought that we on Earth Should never meet again : We met — where we were wont to meet When life was all a dream, And the glad moments glided by Bright as a woodland stream. Days when we decked our bowers of joy With fragrant summer flowers, And all the tears our young eyes wept Were sweet refreshing showers — Were sweet refreshing shower-drops shed Upon the germs of Hope, That in our youthful bosoms gleamed, Fair, budding heliotrope ! THE MEETING. 229 We met — and the long buried past Came sweeping o'er my soul As when the fierce Autumnal blast Breaks from the Northern Pole, And stirreth in his rude career The buds and flowers that lie Withered upon the garden beds, — On wild-wing rushing by ! Thus all the youthful hopes that slept Within my heart profound, Were by a blast from Memory's breath Whirled wildly round and round All sere and withered — yet the sight Of those long perished flowers Sufficed a secret sigh to swell O'er long- forgotten hours! I felt my bosom cease to beat ; I felt my visage pale; I felt a coldness all within As life itself would fail ! Then silently I breathed a prayer To vestal, maiden Pride, To help me in that needful hour My foolish fear to hide. tt is not that I love thee still — Oh, no! that day is past; Thou canst not now recall the gem Thy ruthless folly cast Into the Ocean of Despair, — Now many years agone — To sink beneath its booming tide As 'twere a worthless stone ! 230 SONNET. No — no ; thy smile has lost its charm — Yet many things combine, Of late the tendrils of sad thought Around the past to twine ; One has been with us who was here In those bright hours of joy; — And, when we met, we gazed upon Another's darling boy ! Oh no ! — not Love — It is not Love That moves my spirit so, Yet some time o'er the vanished past Fond memory's tears must flow ! Not Love — Oh! I have done with Love! Nor shall a floweret more From the false Gardens of the Past Gleam in my bosom's core! Sonnet, () MliS. A. B. S.,OF COLUMBIA, S. C, ON DECLINING AN INVITA- TION TO ACCOMPANY HER TO ALABAMA. Farewell kind friend, I may not go with thee- But I shall follow on the wing of prayer, And hover round and bless thee even there Amid the happy circle, that with free Light-hearted mirth, and hospitable glee, Shall hail thine advent, and instate with care. Thee, venerable Mother, in the chair Kept sacred for thy use. Then think of me. Nor let the vision of my solemn face, SONNET. 231 Throw gloom upon the gladness — but mine eye Beam, as it ever does when thou art nigh. And tell of true affection ; in it trace My heart's deep love which Time shall ne'er efface, And God shall bless in worlds beyond the sky. Sxxrmtft. TO MARY F. Pure as a moonbeam sleeping on the sea ; Or playing in the chalice of a flower, In some romantic Fairy-cultured bower, Seems thy sweet maiden presence unto me With its soft light, and holy witchery Of Christian graces ; the peculiar dower Of stern Affliction, who in Life's young hour Put out the Sun and left sad night to thee, — Yet not a night of darkness and of gloom, — Bright solemn stars look from its deep blue sky ; And silvery moonbeams ripple and illume Thy path else dreary — and allure thine eye To where thy friend amid perpetual bloom, Awaits thy coming in the realm on high. THE DREAMER. The Br^am^r. Maiden of the pensive air, Thoughtful brow and visage fair, Wherefore hast thou left thy home In these solemn woods to roam ? On this flowery bank to rest, When the sun toward the west Scarce his burning eye has cast, Or his noontide journey past? Know'st thou not that duties wait Clustering round the cottage gate ? Where thy aged mother sighs, There thy woman's mission lies ; Mortal man must gain his bread By the labor of the head, Or the sweat upon his brow — Dreamer, wake to duty now ! Wouldst thou be content to glide Down Life's deep and rapid tide, Like a blossom from its spray By the tempest swept away, Ere the germ of life was warmed — Ere the precious fruit was formed — To be cast, thy voyage o'er, Worthless on th' eternal shore? Wherefore hast thou left thy rest, In thy soft and sheltered nest By the altar's side, and flown Birdlike to the woods alone ? A FAREWELL TO THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 233 Here thy plaintive lays to trill B.y some sweetly murmuring rill, Bather than attune thy throat To the Temple's solemn note ? Dreamer, it will be too late When thou stand'st before the gate, And high battlements of Heaven ; Then this answer will be given To thy oft repeated knocks, Though the very portal rocks 'Neath the heavy blows — " Depart Jesus knows not who thou art." Wake then Dreamer, and thy rest Seek upon the Saviour's breast ; With his dove-like flock abide In the cleft Eocks rugged side, Till the howling wintry blast — Till the weary night is past — And sweet flowers of Spring appear To bloom through Love's eternal year. $. Fat^twU ta th# ®\& Ijam^stead. Alas! I must leave on the morrow this, the dear dome of affection — The home of my heart and my hope, where my joys and my sorrows have centered. Farewell, it is hard to quit thee and all thy surround- ings, Venerable homestead ! where erst in innocent child- hood I sported. 20 234 A FAREWELL TO THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 'Twas here, in the springtime of life, my heart first opened its petals, And shed the rich perfume of love o'er a youthful and careless companion ; Here when the sunlight of May had called forth each wonderful blossom That springs from the soil of the heart. I culled me the rarest and fairest, And scattered them all in the path of one, how un- worthy the treasure ; Like a cup that ever is full, my heart poured forth her rich nectar, But he cared not to drink of its sweets, and it flowed back the waters of Marah. So when June came on in her strength, her sunlight, her flush, and her fever, I put forth my hand and seized the rosy garland of Pleasure ; The thorns entered deep in my flesh, and red blood, rolled down my white fingers. Methought I would choose me a friend, they are said to be better than kindred ; But my friend he mistook my word — the iron entered my bosom. Next I essayed me to sweep the golden harp of the Muses, Trembling, my hand 'woke a sound that passed away into — Oblivion. Since Love, the pure dew from the sky that falls and refreshes the spirit, And Pleasure, and Friendship and Song, had every one caus'd disappointment — Then said 1 " Give me my staff" and the amice cloak of the pilgrim, TO MY GODSON, T. B. P , IN ENGLAND. 235 I will turn my face to the East, and make for the city of Sion ;" But the way it is lonely and drear, and darksome, and nickers The light that should lighten my steps, and beam on the pillar of Ezel : Yea, have I prayed with the sick ; yea, have I wept with the straying ; Yet fear I shall never attain where the angels in glory are singing! Here have I joyed and rejoiced; here have I wept and lamented Through Life's early Spring and its Summer; year by year as I came, Renewing heart-joy and heart-sorrow. And now in the Autumn Still cling, O homestead beloved! to thy bosom; when Winter's chill breath Recalls from afar the sad-hearted exiles, wide open thine arms to receive, And embraced let me lie, in life or in death, on thy bosom. May 16th, 1858. Ta »u 6-odson, T. 8. ?♦, in England. Little Godson, far away O'er the heaving billow, Nightly ere my head I lay On my downy pillow, I commend thee to the care Of the God who heareth prayer, Beg Him on His breast to bear And protect thee ever. 236 TO MY GODSON, T, B. P., IN ENGLAND. On the breast of Jesus laid, Nestle close, lie soft and still, Of thy foes be not afraid, He will guard from ill ; Calmly look up in His face, There the lines of mercy trace ; Note the beam of Heavenly Grace Raying on thee ever. Listen to the cooing note Of the Spirit-Dove, On the pleasant air afloat, Wooing thee to love ! When my praj'ers are weak and vain, And thy childish accents fain Would mount up, to earth again, Beaten down by sin — He takes up our feeble cry. Bears it on his wing Where the cherubs wheel and fly, ' In a golden ring, Round Jehovah's cloud-wrapt throne, There with earnest, pitying moan Pleads for us before the One Died our life to win ! ■ Listen ! all around thee there, In the Mother Land, Mystic music on thine ear Welleth sweet and grand ; Every venerable pile, Ruin hoar, and haunted aisle, Echoes lend to reconcile Sinners to The Slain ! TO MY GODSON, T. B. P., IN ENGLAND. 237 Venerate her church, my child, Spring from whence our own, In this far-off western wild, From a rill has grown To a river flowing free, To the vast, eternal sea, In whose saving billows we Have been cleansed from stain. When upon the sparkling sands "With thy Mother dear, Or with romping, boyish bands Drinking English air — Think of one who evermore Longeth for her sea-girt shore ; Loveth her blessed ancient lore, And her poet band. that I could wing my flight O'er the sounding billow, To the Isle, my dream by night, When, on downy pillow, 1 escape from every care Hedging me around, and there With my friend, and Godson dear, Press the British strand. 238 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. hove Jtmcmg the Eoses, In the springtime 'mong the roses Met I Love — he said to me, " Row a little down the river And a vision you shall see, Of a maiden bright and joyous, Not a blonde — but richly hued, Telling that her mantling blushes Come of noble Southern blood." Thrilling there among the roses, Said I to the Elfin Sprite, (Smiling archly mid the flowers ; Quivering his pinions light) — ' ; But perchance the pretty maiden Coyly should avert her head, Wildly then my heart would flutter With a strange, mysterious dread." " Fearing that the word decisive, Trembling on her ruby lip, Might be one the budding blossoms Of my Spring of Life to nip ; Better then that I had never Launched my boat upon the stream, Dropping downward to the maiden In a sweet, delicious dream. " Floating — with the mystic influence Of the season on my soul ; Dreamily — } r et all in earnest, Bowing to its sweet control : STRAWBERRY FERRY. 2B9 Godlike Love ! thy power is mighty, Filling Earth, and Air, and Tide — Tell me — shall I dare to woo her To become mine own — my bride?" Then he shook his golden pinions, Till the garden glowed with light, Spread them forth, and soaring upward Vanished in the azure height ; Hear the note he dropped to earthward As he fanned the fragrant air, "Never heart of timid lover Won the love of maiden fair ! " And I took his words for comfort — Prophesy of happy end ; And I dropped adown the river To my shy, awaiting friend; There she sat beneath the shimmer Of the trees' protecting shade ; And before the stars had risen I had won the blushing maid. Strawberry Ferrtj, A BALLAD. Not a May Day in the forest — But a May Day on the flood, Rocking for three mortal hotfrs, It was not so very good ; Rocking for three mortal hours, On a rough, unruly tide, Toiling, poling, sweating, fretting, For to reach the other side. 240 STRAWBERRY FERRY. Very loath the lazy freedmen "Were to push us from the shore, Until "Johnny" kindly told them He would help to put us o'er; Stripping to the work in earnest, — Poling up against the stream, Wind and tide both set against us — This was no "delicious dream." At the fish-trap we were boarded By two travellers, who would, Like ourselves, have crossed the river By the ferry — if they could ; One a friend with whom in girlhood I had frolicked many a day, In the big house, now a ruin, That we passed upon the waj\ As the polers toiled, we chatted Pleasantly, to pass the time, Of the days long gone — and ever, When the world was in its prime ; When we fancied Time would never Eow us o'er Life's sunny stream, To the far-off Land of Shadow, Where the past becomes a dream. Now the flat had crossed the river, And the haven seemed at hand, Vain the hope, alas! as ever, We were not to reach the land, Wearied out, our two companions. Hailed a " darkie " paddling o'er, Ventured in his skiff — and after Sundry efforts, made the shore. STRAWBERRY FERRY. 241 Then we drifted back to landward, Far below the Ferry slip ; Ban aground — and sighed for patience To endure our pleasant trip ; Then methought, in place of sighing, And to charm the tyrant Time, I would set our May Day frolic To a rough and rugged chime. Dreamily the snowy "Cloudland" Floated on the azure sky ; While the green verge of the river Lay refreshing to the eye ; But nor "cloudland" in its beauty, Nor the tree-tops shivering sheen, Could beguile the weary waiting, Or the heart from fretting wean. Eocked the flat— the brown wave sparkled 'Neath the May sun's brilliant glow, While the wind dashed up the cooling Spray-drops to my fevered brow ; Far above in the pure ether Flew the buzzards — circling round Gracefully — then sweeping downward To their prey upon the ground. Cheerfully my young companion Took the tedious waiting time, For his heart made sweeter music Than my rough, unpolished rhyme ; Singing, softly, to a maiden, Love's bewitching roundelay ; Weaving visionary garlands For his chosen Queen of May. 21 242 STRAWBERRY FERRY. Hurrah ! see the tide is turning ! Three o'clock! — and now once more We are moving — onward — upward, Slowly by the pebbly shore ; Gnarled and knotted roots and branches Rest upon their marly bed ; While the song-birds shower music From the tree-tops overhead. Lo ! again the little " dug-out " Dancing lightly on the tide, Paddled by the two companions. Crosses to the Homeward side ; To the side I loved in gladness In my May Day's happy light ; To the side I love in sadness Now my May has suffered blight. In the Ferry-boat, May Day, 1867. \ \