^^ PS 2359 ^^ .M665 Copy 1 lliii^^ iir^ m^ ■ LIB RARY OF CONGRESS, # #|l«ip fcisw h I I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ^ THE LEGETsTD O I^ OTHER POEMS. SAN JOSE, CAL. J. J. OWEN, PRINTER 1876. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, By Mary T. Malonf-y, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, ^(REFACE This book is published, Hke some others, not wholly for the public, but for a circle of admiring friends: — here let me include those whom I do not as yet know, as well as those who are my kind sub- scribers. Meanwhile having become a book, these poems will also reach that ultima thule, the hand of the critic, and let us hope considerate judgment will even then say: " The barrl sighs forth a gentle episode A nd gravely tells—" But in the opposite event, what if another Jefifrey should find — " His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, And rai"e this Daniel to the judgment seat " The poems are the scattered amusements and im- pressions of years in Louisiana and California, except the Legend, which was commenced and completed as a front piece within the last few weeks, since men- tion was first made of the book, because Mr. Owen — that friend and patron of the Muse — said in a notice that the " Longest and best had never yet been pub- lished." I then tried to prepare something which might justify praise and expectation. It has been urged by some personal friends that I have chosen a subject for the principal poem of too old-time a character, — I may here answer that so did Sir Walter Scott; so did Tasso, and so did Tennyson of our own day, in his "Knights of the Kound Table," or "Idyls of the King." I beg pardon of the last mentioned great poet who is yet alive, and might be provoked at one's comparisons. When I had about half completed the Legend I was thoughtfully recollected of a strange coincidence: Mention is made in an appendix of Mr. Chorley's to a volume of "Letters and Memoirs," which he edited for Mrs. Hemans, that two of her "principal poems were unaccountably lost, or destroyed. One was en- titled the ' Secret Tribunal, ' and the other ' The Cru- saders.' " He regrets them very much, and observes in his closing remarks, that if they evei; should be dis- covered they would form the nucleus of a new volume of remains. The reader will perceive in the "Legend of Nonnenwerth" the suggestiveness of "Crusaders," and the author will modestly say, that knowing not of it till it was done, yet if she may have fulfilled in any wise the beautiful intention of one who has gone ' ' before, ' ' she will be almost willing to resign the pres- tige of originality. M. T. Maloney. ZISTIDE^^ A Home of Lang Syne, . 90 Annie Lee, 98 Altsay Burn, . 99 Aga Mohammed, 104 Carlisle Castle, . 61 Communings in Old Places, 69 Columbus, 72 Dead in the Steerage, . 63 Found Dead, . 86 Flowers Gathered on the Way Home, 89 Garden Walks at Notre Dame, 87 In Absence, 92 Incline Unto My Aid — An Acrostic, 97 Impromtu, 113 Josephine at Malmaison, 58 Lament of Leonora, 34 Lines, Etc., 65 Lines Written for an Album, 71 Lines to My Oldest Son, 84 La Peteoleuse, Lines, Etc., .... MOTHEE, ..... Mgsic, MiEAGE ON THE PLAINS OF HcNCtAE5', Songs of Ieeland, ... SwiNBUENE Pleading to Sappho, Sunset in Califoenia, The Legend of Nonnenweeth, toetesa and mueillo, The Black Hole of Calcutta, The Funeeal of Albeet Sidney Johnson, The Hillside Eide, .... The Tei-coloe on the Spiee at Metz, . The Haunts of the Geeek Beigands, Thy Little Childeen The Token King of Essex and Elizabeth, The Little Boy that Died at Sea, The Snow Upon the Heights at San Josk, ViCTOE NoiE, ...... Welcome to the Noemal School, . 95 112 74 75 93 53 106 123 9 50 77 82 109 114 116 118 120 121 122 47 80 THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEKTH. TO DK. M. S. McMAHON THIS LEGEND IS DEDICATED, AS A TKIBUTE OF ESTEEM AND GEATITUDE, BY THE AUTHOK, THE LEGEXD OF NOXNENWEBTB. [The Archof Rolandseck only remains of the once strong and mtignificent castle built by Roland, th? nepbew of Char- lemagne He chose for his site the pinnacle of Boderbprg, overlooking the Rhine. From its watch-towers eonld also be seen the lake and convent of Nonnenwerth, in which its prom- ised bride, believing him to be dead, immured herself previous to his long delayed'return from the crusades.]— ,S'ce?ie7-.v of the fRoland was the son of Mil©, Count of Anglers, and Bertha, sister of Charlemagne. The word "Paladin," or "Palatine, afterward so common in poetry as a characteristic designauon of the warriors of Charlemagne, was first applied to Rolani and bis followers bv a Saxon poet who wrote in the reign ot the Emperor Arnulphus, about seventy years a^ter the death of Charles. In the deUp of the Pyrenees is yet shown a flower called the Ca^q-ie de Roland, and a steep and rusrged defile in the Crest of the mountain is • ointed out as the Breche -^e Roland. Here.also, in t e last century stood a -^mall chapel in the immed- iate neighborhood of Roncesvalles which tradition aflirms to be the chipf's resting place, who, together with Roland, comprising in all thirty nights of the Palace, fel! victims to thatmemorablp and treacherous attack of the Gascon-. Thirty tombs without inscriot'on %vere to be seen in the vicinity, and a quantity ot bones' were shown in a cave under the chapel. I have re- taiupd the precise identity of this spot though three others in the lonalitv are pointed out and severally claimed as burial plaesof RVland. What earth is specially incorporated with the clav of the hero matters ^lotand Is probably mi.;nown.]- See Xntfs to the Life of Chnrlemagne. I^WhY crumbling arch yet stands, O, Rolandseck! ^' Far np the rocky steep of Drachenfels; ^ There thrills the mnsic of the streams that break Their broad paths down to where the blue Ehine swells. Cold are the craters of thy centuries, Where Palatines hove marched, thy patlis are peace, And thy green willows are yet dense in dells Whence Charlemagne's goldbannersandbright shields Went forth to glorious strife on Syrian fields. 10' THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEBTH. Fire-born the lava of tliy seven heights ;^^ Along the river castled turrets rise; There clings the ivy on the tinted blights, Soundless and luminous in evening skies. Repose hath starlight and the mingling wave. Decay hath sunlight and the voiceless grave, AVhile no clashed cimeter to shield replies; No charger's footsteps near thy fountains fall, No revels holdethin thy roofless hall. How shall we bring the records back, of days Glad with the laugh and love and eyes of life? The joyous brows that won their knightlj'^ bays? The free, high worth of peace, the strength of strife? The swan-like throats of music that have sung? The deep vein'd, tine soft glances that have flung Sweet souls into each other, and made rife Their story with thine ages, freighted years, So long gone hence with tributes and with tears? Thy trees have fallen down to silent caves, Thy floors of stone shut in the graves of men; Rude piles make echoes from the troubled waves. AVhen winter night and storm return again. These are of things not lost where Roland was. Roland of crest and lance and bannered cross; One of the kingly men who hath said to pain, Thy tomb 's a beauteoiis toy, and lo! the stone That rolls away from thee is called a crown! The crystal key of contemplation turns. In the fine lock of ausjnces: create THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEKTH. 11 With the okl dust of time's imcovered urns Blown sea-ward unto thee,* O, Golden Gate; Not of thee, Shasta! high, unsullied peak; — No records hath it, of thy light pure snow, No armor-laden men, grown faint and weak, There gladly lying down while life ebbed low. Thy grand Columbian barriers n'er fell Before th' invaders' footstep, and there lies No shield or corselet buried in the swell Of thy proud stainless waters, where they rise, That like a quick steed, who abjures the spur, Boundeth the rocks among on freedom's way, Below the bending pine and swajdng fir. And the white feathery foam and dashing spray, Down to the fields of wheat and valley grass, Down to the widening shore past flowering meads. No fierce Thermopylae soiled any pass With vain, dead-hates of conquests or of greeds. So we are glad, but as with deepening tone Of low, sweet music, and of garlands flung Before some pale, sad cortege, that alone Threads a dark pathway, so have mourners sung. The night had come, tMons. Jovis under snow And the high calm's illimitable glow Of all the midnight heaven, — looked as w^hen Hannibal rested with his weary men ■■:■ "Blows with a perfume of songs and memories, Blows from the capes of the past over sea to the hays of the present," —j^winbKrne^s Hesperia. t Mons. Jovis was the ancient name of Mount St. Bernard. A temple of Jupiter formerly occupied the site of the present famous monastery. 12 THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEETH. Around the Temple, whose dark walls then leaned Against the great acclivity, half screened From the loud winds of Clusa, — while in sleep All t^e still camp, whose onward march would sweep O'er Lombard cities, a dread destiny, — Verona's — Pavia's long held siege to be. The King watched, when others slept, he thought Of the high plans his future actions wroiight. And at the morn, Duke Bernard's armors came Across St. Bernard's mount, and left its lasting name^ A grand reunion in the valley made, Each equal glorious march, a toil repaid. With Charles, the greatest monarch of the Franks. Villages, castles, towns, along the banks Of Alps and river on the path he went, Eose, not with moan of grief, or heart's lament, — Not as the despot on his rampant way. Brought they the palm branch, and the rose and bay. Nor were they sullen at Mons. Cinisus; With anthems they met him, and raised the Holy Cross. And here with greeting, ere he pitched his tent. An Envoy of the East — most stately — sent Loaded with presents, while eight cymbals played The hour in which the King his audience made. With brazen bells, and heralds near they came, — Slowly, the long advance a host proclaim. And standing, Haroun's envoy thus addsessed The mighty Emperor of all the West: " My voice, O, King, this hour is Haroun's will,. Not as to Christian, Hebrew, Moslem — still; But to the worth of all thy famous deed. This adulation is his gracious meed." THE LEGEND OF NONXENAVEETH. 13 This said, liis servants, drawing near, unrolled Fine silks, and Talmas, made of cloth of gold; A curious bronze clock, with little balls That at each brief hour's end its signal calls,— The twelve displayed, and finely gilt the whole, — As of some magic life it seemed the soul. And lastly, coming in slow, silent grace, — ■ The guards wide parted to make clear her place, — A large white elephant — as wholly white As late-bathed plumes of swans at early Hight. Ah! we can tell not of her perfect jjraise, Taught of the sun's warm travel, all the ways. Endearing things they said along the line. She seemed to hear; and shed like beams of wine. A wordless answer in her eyes and mien, — A sacred symbol there among them seen. And she had for a present, a great tent On her soft shoulders, folded as she went. And bearing this she knelt before the King, That he might reach with hands the costly thing. In colors fine embroidered, flower and bird, iVnd startled antelopes, a fleeing herd; The slender spire and crescent's silver gleam. Worked in its fabric, as in sleep a dream. "This for thy war tent on the mount and plain, 0, King of all the Lombard's, Charlemagne!" Thus ended the fair speech of the envoy. The listening King was pleased. With quiet joy He answered: "Tell your monarch of the East That in our mutual heart I love him best. He is as I, — he hath most rapid zeal, And energy as bold as that I feel ; — 14: THE LEGEND OF NONNENWERTH. Magnificent designs, and mind as free, For these, most high regard, he holds, with me." At this he turned; a Syrian monk came near: "Sire, in thy favor wilt thou justly hear The journey's j^laint I make, since, sadly told, Are seventy thousand dinars tax in gold Each year at Bagdad; for a bonded sun. In Syria, shines the tomb of Christ upon. O ! in the sj)lendor of thy royal name. State unto Haroun that 'tis cause of blame, And for thy friendly care he will requite Unto thy Christian sons this tribute's right." With courteous words the monarch acquiesced, And glancing o'er his knights in earnest quest, Singled out Eoland from the X3ageant throng Among the beautiful most fair and strong; Had he such heavy brows as though the stroke Of Jove's long fallen bolt, lain there had broke; While in the beauty of his grave lijis' peace Love turned itself as doth sweet sounds in seas; Forward he came with radiance just subdued. His was the fervor of that quiet mood, As of the Spartans it is said, no sounds Of drum or trumpet filled their battle grounds. They needed not, to rouse their valor's will, Aught but the touch of lyre or lute's sweet thrill. With rested lance he bowed, touching the mane Of his fine charger and arose again; Then seemed the King to give command alone, But much of tender pride its undertone : "Canst thou, O, Eoland, find Anselmo, and With ninety Counts depart for Holy Land? THE LEGEND OF NONNENWERTH. 15 Tell the good priest that I such message send As you have heard ere now, unto the end,— This to the mighty Caliph : that he move His heart of mercy, for my heart of love, And give my Christian people, long denied. The freedom of the gates where Christ hath died. They were so long anticipated — stayed." The days of journey with import arrayed, — Each cavalier's proud grace, each lance in rest. Plumed helmet, visor closed, cuirass on breast. But while they gathered all, one rode apart, Not least in valor, but sad at heart. We shall know what he did, that ere he went To make a sweet farewell, when skies were blent With the late day's deep purple and red gold, And from the fields the lambs go to their fold. Almost inaudible his stepping steed That bruised the dewy perfumes of the mead, — Into the mountains rode he shortly then, Where the dark cypress waved in every glen, Each dun dread precipice in sombre calm Held the grapes ripening, while ethereal balm, With gifts of fire, as hearts with visions blending, Fed them, even from rocks, on which they grew de- pending Like webs in winter, rock to rock * enlaced. O'er the basaltic walls the vine stems traced AVhere green their garlands in the summer hung. ■•' In summer when the vines stretch their tendrils from rock to rock, thev look lik'^ green garlands arranged tooniament the stern basaltic walls that hem in the waters of the Rhine, and in winter when Ihe vines and the soil are both of a d ^rk color, these artitirial terraces look line spiders' webs hung one above anotlier across the argl?s of deserted edifices.— T/i*" Rhine and its )Scenei-y. 16 THE LEGEND OF XONNENWEKTH. Along the eddying stream their leaves had Hung, Great terraces of gloom, or vernal sheen, Above the winding river grandly seen. A bridge across the Nahe near Bingen stands, Beneath it soft waves over shining sands, With many arches pillared grand and old, — Onward from thence, the road to Neiburwald; Here Roland lingering rode and hastened not, In fancy listening to each fairy grot Below the little stones whose murmurs made ^ Indefinite strange sounds that chainless strayed: — These were the haunting Gnomes of Whisperthal, And weirdly unto him their voices call;* "Return, delay, O, Roland, do not pass. The Lorch lies in the sun, Roland, alas; All the dreamy day in cymar of gold, The lurly maiden sits where cliffs are cold, Swiftly her white hands in the sunset shine, With gleaming golden comb and tresses fine. Thou knowest well the lifted eyes that haunt Her wond'rous manifold sweet thrilling chant; Roland, return, delay, 0, do not pass. The soiinding falls are near, Roland, alas!" But soon to silvery beechwoods he had come. Where summery bee and flower with wings and hum, Changed the dread current of his thought's day dream, A fading dun perception it did seem ■•• The WhispPF, a small tributary of the river Rhine, regarded by th"^' inhabitants with awf-, on account of its voiceful cadences. The Stone ct Lorch is not far from it, on which the Gnomes are supposed to sacrifice ycung ladies unless the.v are rescued. THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEKTH . 17 To fiu o'er anxious passion of forethought, With hope, and fear, and tenderness, enwrought. Ah! such, he mused, is the proud soul's disguise. Who will admit, fate takes him by surprise ; And we are pleased with such imaginings, To hold its wayward reins, to plume its wings, Or out of long sweet sighs to charm a strain For festal deep repeatings of such pain. Some way to wear the soul, than it is worn, Yet always seen the forehead, and the thorn, "O, I shall see her weep for this I fear. Thou, rose of fragrance, needeth not a tear, Since dewfalls nightly to thy full heart come; My father, dare I wish these lijDS were dumb, That oft with clarion deeds thy names recalled. How shrink they now at this sweet love appalled." Gone are thine ivied years, sad, lone and fleet. And of their things long lost, the boM^ered seat. Near a grey lintel where sat Hildegarde, The lintel there is yet time stained and marred. And all the lofty Keep of Ehrenfels; A peasant guide walks there to-day, and tells How many hundred years have made it old In those dense oaken glooms of Neiburwald. That freighted hour he feared, his footstep stayed Short of the moonlight on the open glade. Ah; but the interludes of thought's excess, Some fervor held just close to consciousness. Made Hildegarde perceive that he was near. And straight she waited, listened, saw him clear. 18 THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEKTH. Then hastening, but why state with any word, — To those who've mourned, 'tis but anguish stirred. To those who have not known it 'tis but fraught In words, with meanings pale, like statues wrought. Anticix)ating all, white stained tear lids. Whose pride's supremacy the tear forbids: "0, I had thought with lute and garlands, thou Would'st come, beloved; not, alas, as now." So near his restful shoulder, — timid, — yet Only her white hand on it lightly set. He kissed her with some quick, impulsive will, And then she leaned her head down and was still. O, shadowy vails foreboding, not revealed, It breathed in his soft accents, and was sealed In the firm, tearless glance of her dark eye, The imposing calm's restraint of agony. As those great slumbrous banks of Indian palm. Are quiet near the coming of the sea. Their deep roots in a reef's captivity, While all the Monsoon's desert laden balm With burning winds sweep over them utterly. "My dear, when I am gone, beware, Hunald, Along the Spanish march his deeds are told, And of his kinsman, Lupo, too, beware, He gave me once a troth, not free or fair.'" "Yea, sweet," she said, "resigning thee I will In all high faith's collectedness fulfill Thy love's behest each day and hour I live, WhiJe slow the long months pass, or long years grieve, Yea, sweet, I am content through bui-ning ill, My soul hath its completeness: Love will fill THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEBTH. 19 Til' immortal aisles of heaven, though this earth, With sounding waves of sea, and clouds of dearth Whelm all its quivering throbs, and never pour, Upon its censor fires, one token more." And in her eyes of gentle smilingness, Some high resolve whose deep flush filled her heart, As when the sunset on the sea grows less To splendors gathered, ere it all depart. Buoyant and transient were this charming force. But for dominion of the mind's resource. Whose pause of love these governed aspects bless. With sweet contending powers and wielding will, And some faint echo of the voice: — "Be still," Eternal starlight, and the trembling air. Thou art alone forever, everywhere. The soft unfolding j)urple of the dawn Beyond the misty mounts like some vast throne Beyond the utmost hills, whose hamlets kept The previous night late vigils, and now slept; With day the files of burnished steel, and flame All musical with movement and the name Of fair Jerusalem ; advance and flow Like strong tides in deep unison — they go. How in high reverence were there unfurled, Bright banners faceward to the Eastern world; Behind them silence and their parting tears. Before them effort, and perhaps long years. The green shore's murm'ring current and the close Of each long weary day to eve's repose, 20 THE LEGEND OF NONNEKWEKTH. The ridge of rock, the story vale, the plain. Some Gothic citadel, the vale again — The straggling line of horse, the strongest few Contending swift ahead for the first view, Not easy to describe, the emotions throng That fill the Christian breast when, after long And toilsome journeying, the olive shade Gives welcome on the slopes of Gihon's glade — The pools of Gihon, where a King* was crowned The Bard of Canticles — each storied mound Commands the battlements that rise aboA^e The long desired — the city of their love. Jerusalem! Jerusalem! they" said: Not saying more, in transport's awe dismayed Some wept for joy on each other's breast, And some the sacred earth low kneeling press'd. They entered by the Bethlehem gate at noon, When parleying with the guards had ended soon, And to the Latin Convent guests they came, With letters heralding their august fame. At early morn they passed the holy door. Where the long tides of constant ages pour Their trains of worshipers; the slab they kiss Is under hanging lamps, and polished is With fine and sacred keeping; waxen light. Of three large tapers, many feet in hight. In front, and at the ends — the lustrous gleam. Of that which lies l)elow reflects' each beam. ■■■ SolomoiJ THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEETH. 21 There washed was, and aunointed, they expLiin, The glorious body of the Lord, when slain. To other holy places Koland went. And with him prayer and silence, 'til his tent Was strapped for travel— to the Caliph's Court. When at the Convent gate blew loud and short A herald's bugle note. Behold! he said, 'Tis Haroun comes himself through Gihon's glade, And glad, those Christian sons looked from their towers, The royal traveler distant yet some hours They saw; then hastening, a selected band Went forth to meet him — Eoland in command. And lo! what silver sheen 'neath azure skies Glitters resplendent before Koland's eyes ? Can he believe his sense ? A pagan hand Kaising the Christian standard where they stand, Its glorious model hung with garlands rare, Shook a soft perfume on the stimmer air; Two silver pendant chains together meet, Where hang three golden keys. O, sign complete," Ye mean the ransom ot your sacred gates — Your bloodless glory upon Roland waits. And Haroun knew, it seemed, ere all expres'd The pledged, devoted care that filled his breast, Yet will he linger 'til their camps rejoice — Each marble margined fount with cascade voice And shaded plat of olive will go hence With him when they have known his every sense. * Such was th^! impressive and princely gift of Haroun \l Rar.chid to Charlemagnp-thekeysof the Holy Ci'.y and the Christian standard. 22 THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEKTH, Yea, though a stranger; so his task was told, And he departed from the lands grown old. To follow far the paths of deadly war. The strife of Catalonia, fierce Navarre; To dream by campfires in the Cevennes, O: home and Hildegarde — of Love and Peace, "Yet shalt thou meet with Lupo, Koland, when Dark are the Pyrenees in every glen;" This said the King: "nor shall be hushed the sea Till all his rash affirms of wrath with me Are well fulfilled, — replete with dastard pain. Ha; that he dares contend for Acquitaine." Close ranged the spikes of iron pallisade, And yet the narrow stream its pathway made Down through the centre of the long defile, Whose steep declivities reached o'er a mile. Bold each sharp pinnacle — sublime and bluff, Oppressed with grandeur, we behold enough. A fortressed castle on the southern end, Its narrow deep-set windows gleaming, send Slant light into the darkness, weaving shapes, Their hollow, muffled veils strange beauty drapes Around the wild flowers and the mountain ash. And where the torrents o'er their barriers dash. All the high woods soon bristled into life — They come! — the Gascons to the bloody strife. Many, entanglec^ in the fray, once calling Defiance or farewell to friend or foe, [falling Swooned to the bottoms where the wrenched rock THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEKTH. 23 Drowned their last struggles in tlie surge below. The stream was red with battle, dark with death And soundful with the pangs of parting breath — A disentangled rest for foe and foe. " Issem, hang helmets on the toM^ers to-day, Perchance some pilgrim hitherward may straj^ In weariness t3 rest with palm and staff, ' Thou art not mindful of their needs by half." So speaking, Hildegarde in patient gloom Looked from the lofty windows of her room, And in her voice once sweetness all there was. The tone most over-sweet grown querilous, As of a falchion that is quivering thrown Under the rider while the fight goes on. — [close, And then she walked, with veil and shawl, wrapped Breathing the wan mists as they slowly rose Mid transient shadows of soft, heavy bloom. That made her faithful thoughts see Roland's plume, Albeit she did kn«)W th' engaging thought Out of the splendor of her fancy wrought. And, O, ye stars! if any feet have trod Upon ye, — they were things she said to God. He had not come that day, though now three years Had canceled hope's reserves, and gathered fears. Sometimes she wept, or with adjuring thrill. Implored to weep; restraint weeps not at will. Tears, where are you ? down in the deep heart's urn. And coming singly to the lids that burn With strained anguish? Oh! thou hast a power — The peace of a resigned and tender hour. 24 THE LEGEND OF NONNENWEETH. No Peri ever hailed thee, boon of earth! With half the longing thy forbidden worth Comes o'er the heart whose proud rebelling eyes Would send thee back