PR 4879 .L3P6 1891 e> ■«.. POEMS BY W.E.H.LECKY LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, XL UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. |3ocms BY • WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Copyright, 1891, By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. All rights reserved. Printed in America. TO MY WIFE THESE POEMS WRITTEN IN MANY YEARS AND IN MANY MOODS ARE DEDICATED CONTENTS. PAGE An Autumn Ode 9 The Dreamer 13 Seaside 15 "Farewell, Maiden, though thine Eye" 16 Memory 18 "If Desolation rend thy Heart" . 19 Broken Hearts 20 Early Thoughts 22 The Skaters 23 Before the Battle . . . .26 Forebodings 31 Nemesis 33 Evening 35 A Missed Destiny 36 On an Old Song 37 Vanitas Vanitatum . . . .41 VI (Contents. PAGE Voices of the Evening . 42 Song .... • 44 The Sower and his Seed . . . 46 Town and Country . 47 "I DREAMED A DREAM OF GLORY " . 49 A Woman's Portrait . 51 Birthdays • 53 The Dying Seer . 54 Life's Tragedy . . . 56 Moods . 59 Association . 61 "Sail on, Sail on, thou Fragile Bark . 62 Homeward bound . . . . 63 "Flow on, Swift Stream" . .70 A Tale of Modern Italy ... 71 Spanish Song . . • . 83 Illicit Love . . . . 85 Two Friends . . • . 87 The Widow . . 90 Seville . 91 Married Life . . 93 Passion and Memory • 95 To . ■ • • • 97 Past and Present . . . . 98 A Broken Life . 100 QLonttnts. vii PAGE Love and Sorrow 102 "I CAN NOT BOW BEFORE THE SHRINE ' 103 Deflecting Influences . I04 The Last Parting. 106 Character 108 The Portrait , 112 Undeveloped Lives 114 Old Age . Il6 " He found his Work, but could not find" . Il8 Fame, Love, and Youth . 119 The Decline of Love . . 120 Unconscious Cerebration . 122 The National Portrait Gallery • 123 AN AUTUMN ODE. Now Autumn paints the fading trees, The mists obscure the plain, The moanings of the fitful breeze, The heavy falling rain, Bewail the pride of Summer gone And icy Winter pressing on With unresisted tread. At such a time we love to fly On wings of thought through scenes gone by To summon up the dead. And first I saw a happy boy, A mother's only child, The foremost with ecstatic joy To climb the mountain wild, To chase the fox, to course the hare, To cast the mimic fly, or share The passion of the game. Fast sped the hours of work and play, And every new succeeding day Seemed sparkling as it came. io &n Autumn (Dbe. Life opened out its scenes to him One vision of delight, No morbid care his eye to dim No forecast to affright. His heart was like the bursting flower All filled with dew in mornmg's hour And glittering in the sun — (A gladness too intense to last) The joys of childhood had not past Nor manhood's toils begun. He vanished soon, and in his place I saw a young man stand, The shade of thought upon his face, A volume in his hand. He follows with a kindling gaze The glorious deeds in other days, In distant countries wrought. Eager he rifles learning's stores, But yet more eagerly explores The Infinite of thought. Ambition swept her sounding lyre, Her music thrilled his breast, She touched his veins with heaven - born fire, He could not pause or rest. &tt Autumn (£)be. n She whispered, with a voice sublime, " On, on, thy fearless steps may climb The pinnacles on high, To blazon there thy deeds, thy name, To link thy life with living fame, Be this thy destiny." Love touched her tender lute, her strain Fell softly on his ear, He felt a new, absorbing pain, How poignant, yet how dear ! The restlessness of thought has gone, Fame, wealth and power no longer shone Before his dazzled eye. Drawn from all grosser things afar, He hung on beauty like a star That hangs upon the sky. A shadow on that love was cast, Life took a lower tone, Ideals now are fading fast And selfishness has grown. Ambition blighted or decayed, High hopes by vulgar cares o'erlaid, Ignoble sin and strife, And then the last, the saddest stage, The slow corroding touch of age, The lethargy of life. &n Autumn ©be. Ah, spendthrift Life ! how fast she drains The cup of joy to mortals given, Till nothing but the dregs remains To cool her parching lips at even ! The power to breast the adverse stream, The power to hope, to love, to dream, The strength of thought and will, All that is best must die before Our steps have touched the silent shore Where the last wave is still. 13 THE DREAMER. A YOUNG man wandered alone by the shore, And he said, as he gazed on the sea : " Be the life of the fetterless dreamer mine, No home and no friend for me : From sea to sea, and from land to land, Be it mine forever to roam, Bright thoughts they are better than earthly friends, And the mind creates its home." The ripples of evening quivered below, And the sky was cloudless above ; And the breeze came as soft on the listening ear As the whisper of one we love ; And the sea-bird hung poised upon motion- less wing, Ere it glided in light along ; And the thoughts that passed through that young man's brain Were turned into waves of song. 14 ®it)z SBtxamer. But a cloud passed over the minstrel's soul As he gazed on the watery gleam ; The hopes and the cares and the joys of men Became like a fading dream. His heart soon lost the power to love, And his eye the power to weep ; And the bloom of his fancy withered away, And his mind was locked in sleep. Winter may darken the glittering sea, And summer return again ; But no pulse can throb in that young man's heart, No pulse of joy or of pain. And the ripple breaks with a sadder sound, Where he lies on the lonely shore, With folded arms and a dreamless brain, For ever and evermore. i5 SEASIDE. How pleasing to the beauty-loving eye That long, low line where land and ocean meet : The one as still and silent as the tomb, The other with a gentle rise and fall, And with a heavy, breathing sound — it seems Like Sleep embracing her sad sister Death, Or like a terrified and panting mother Stroking the temples of her swooning child, And sighing as she sees her toil in vain. In such a scene fond memories weave their spell, And hopes grow high, and Fancy seeks and finds The far horizon of her noblest dreams, Till like the sea our thoughts stretch on to heaven. i6 "FAREWELL, MAIDEN, THOUGH THINE EYE." Farewell, maiden, though thine eye With youth's brightest sunshine glows, Though thy mantling blushes vie With the splendor of the rose, Beauty's flush must pass away, Fleeting like a summer day. Can the angel-face alone Make the happiness of life ? Are no hues of deeper tone Needed for the perfect wife ? Stronger, softer, and more pure, Only moral tints endure. Time will lend another hue To what now attracts so much, Come to me, and come to you With a sadd'ning, with'ring touch ; And a love-song soon will wear Something of archaic air. f " laxmciU Jitaiben." 1 7 Sadly, sadly must we part ; Long for thee my thoughts will pine Why was such a shallow heart Linked with such a face as thine ? Yet, were life a dream to me, How gladly would I dream with thee ! Life is threescore years and ten, Passion scarce as many days, Broken hearts may rise again, Other lights may pierce the haze, Not so bright but steadier far, Not the meteor but the star. MEMORY. 'Tis a memory twined with the years gone by, A young and beautiful child, With a heart that no pang of remorse had wrung, And a brow that no care defiled. And the past unfolds to my view whene'er Her image before me flies — The scenes of our childhood appear again, And the friends that we loved arise. Fond hopes that had withered expand once more, And visions of truths sublime, As she floats in the light of her loveliness O'er the dark'ning waves of time. 19 LINES. If desolation rend thy heart, Or sin pollute thy spotless name, Forbid not that the tear should start, Nor check the rising blush of shame. The thunder-cloud that o'er thee lowers In gentle rain will pass away ; The winter ends with April showers, The night by blushing turns to day. BROKEN HEARTS. I SEE thy cheek grow deadly pale (Let no one tell the mournful tale) : Was the fault in you or me That led us both to misery, Bitter words in anger spoken, Loving hearts too lightly broken, Foolish pride and hasty blame, Deep but unacknowledged shame, Love in one to hatred turned, Remorse in both too fully earned ? Let no man judge between us two, God only seeth through and through. Soon, too soon, I plainly see, The world will be no more to thee ; The many thoughts and ways of men Will never stir thy mind again ; Thy dreams and hopes will soon be o'er, And love and hate and grief no more, And those dear lips for me so chill Must know a touch more loathsome still — Broken hearts. 21 The hungry earthworms wait for thee, Despair and agony for me. Let no man judge between us two, God only seeth through and through. 22 EARLY THOUGHTS. Oh, gather the thoughts of your early years, Gather them as they flow, For all unmarked in those thoughts appears The path where you soon must go. Full many a dream will wither away, And springtide hues are brief, But the lines are there of the autumn day, Like the skeleton in the leaf. The husbandman knows not the worth of his seed Until the flower be sprung, And only in age can we rightly read The thoughts that we thought when young. 23 THE SKATERS. Now the ice is smooth and strong, Hasten, hasten, ladies gay, Join the undulating throng — 'Tis the skater's holiday ! Youth, with Pleasure in her train, Lightly skims the glittering plain. Lovely cheeks will soon be brighter With the ever-deepening rose ; Happy hearts will beat yet lighter As the blood more quickly flows. Seize, oh, seize the flying hours ! Present joys alone are ours. Eagle speed and swan-like grace, Swiftly glides each happy pair, Half a dance and half a chase, And the joy of both is there. Still the skaters gather fast, Though the day be well-nigh past. 24 &l)e Skaters. See them meeting, interlacing, Spreading far along the ice, Now in mazy circles tracing Lines of intricate device ; Curving, wheeling, to and fro, Weaving beauty as they go. Now again they crowd together As the eager race is run, Yet by ribbon, scarf, or feather, You can track, them one by one. Beauty, skill, or inborn grace, Which will win the foremost place ? Friends and lovers gayly mingle Yonder in the tangled throng ; Here, some little skater single All demurely glides along, Full as fair and skilled as they, On her solitary way. Slowly sinks the setting sun, Red and misty in the west ; Only when the day is done Comes the scene we love the best, When a hundred torches blaze, Dance and tremble through the haze. &l)£ Skaters. 25 Like the flakes of drifting snow, In a dim and fitful light, Like the forms that eome and go In the visions of the night : Shadowy figures gleam and quiver All along the frozen river. Gayly rings the sounding steel Through the keen and frosty air ; Oh, the rapture skaters feel ! Yet, move lightly, and beware, For the stream flows on beneath, Sullen, cold, and dark as death. 26 BEFORE THE BATTLE. 'TlS night — the warrior chiefs have met, The tent is filled, the banquet set, The wine-cups gayly circle round, The bard with wreath of laurel crowned Bends o'er the vocal strings ; And as the martial notes resound, Each chief in chorus sings, And eyes grow bright, and spirits bound, And every eager warrior flings His soul into the theme. Now high the minstrel's notes are borne In martial ire, in lofty scorn ; He tells of men of old who spurned The wealth by base subjection earned, Who drew the sword in Freedom's cause, And fell amid a world's applause, The foremost in the battle's van, Where clashing hosts meet man to man, And war's red lightnings gleam. Bdoxc t\)c Rattle. 27 Now changed and mournful is his strain — Sad as the music of the surge, When sweeping o'er the answering main, The storm's first fitful blasts complain, He chants the warrior's dirge. He paints the scene when sad and slow, With muffled drums and standards low, Some youthful leader of the brave Is borne unto his early grave, Wrapped in a banner for a shroud, Attended by the martial crowd, While Beauty's eye is dim with tears, And Valor's cheek with sorrow pale ; For, old in deeds though young in years, No other chief like him appears To dissipate his nation's fears, And make her tyrants quail. Gone in the flush of youthful pride, Gone from the mountain's tented side, Gone from the field where oft his sword The fortune of the day restored. But no ; his presence still is there, Inspiring hope, dispelling fear ; His memory nerves the boldest heart, His glory wings the fleetest dart ; The halo of eternal fame Is brightening round his honored name. 28 Before tlje Battle. The minstrel sung, and clear and high Shines many a spirit-flashing eye, And many a chieftain glances proudly At his gleaming falchion's blade, As the funereal music loudly Tells of those who low are laid ; And many a warrior now may borrow, From the records of the past, That courage needed on the morrow, His day of glory — and his last. 'Tis night — the moon is riding high Along the clear, untroubled sky, And tingeing with a pallid beam The yellow copse, the glitt'ring stream ; O'erflooded by the luster shed Around her path, the stars have fled, And not a cloud obscures the night, And not a vapor dims the sight, And not a sound invades the ear But the tramp of the sentinel pacing near; But the thrilling song of the lone night bird, Like a spirit's voice through the silence heard, But the fitful breeze that is murmuring As light as the wave of an angel's wing ; IMore tl)e Battle. 29 And the firefly floats through the summer air, And the bat is wheeling listlessly there, And a moonbeam plays on the tents of the foe, Till they gleam in its light like untrodden snow; And a spell seems binding with cords of love The earth below and the heaven above. All seems in a mystical life to share, The quivering stream and the throbbing air, The glow-worm that fires the tufted sod, And the moon that rides like a conquer- ing god ; For the spirit of Beauty waves her wand, And earth and sky to its touch respond. I gazed enraptured on the scene Before my view in beauty spread, As hushed, unruffled, and serene, As though each taint of ill had fled — As though the clash of angry foes Could never break its deep repose. Who, in an hour so calm, so still, Oppressed by no o'erwhelming ill, In health's full flush, could bear to leave A world so fair as this, nor grieve ? 30 Before tt)e Battle. Oh, never is a home so dear As when the parting hour is near ; A maiden's voice has no such spell As when its music breathes farewell ; The sun reserves the softest ray To flush the parting steps of day ; And never seem the earth and sky So lovely as to him whose eye Looks upon death approaching nigh, As on the battle's eve. 3i FOREBODINGS. The sun was fading in the west, A flush was on the ocean's breast, And, feebly bright'ning, Dian's crest Ascended in the sky. A maiden stood upon the shore, She marked the storm grow more and more, And to the angry billow's roar Responded with a sigh. " Speak, speak, tumultuous wave!" she cried ; " Say, where is he whose joy and pride Was on thy foaming crest to ride, When tempests raged above ? " Slowly the weary hours move on, Thrice garish day has come and gone, Thrice have the stars grown pale and wan In waiting for my love." 32 iForebobings. The storm unfurled its cloudy wing, The surge grew black and threatening, The lightning like a living thing Throbbed wildly on the wave. And in the darkness of my dream I saw the ghastly corpse-light gleam, I heard a loud despairing scream, And none was near to save. NEMESIS. The voice of the afflicted is rising to the sun, The thousands who have perished for the selfishness of one, The judgment-seat polluted, the altar over- thrown, The sighing of the exile, the tortured cap- tive's groan, The many crushed and plundered to gratify the few, The hounds of hate pursuing the noble and the true ; But Vengeance follows surely, and her strokes are fierce and wild, For the storm-cloud was in labor, and the lightning was its child. When the tyrants are all buried and the evil laws repealed, When upright men are ruling and every wrong seems healed, 3 34 Nemesis. Then the ancient feud reopens and the tardy bolt is cast, And the land is filled with bloodshed for the evils of the past, And men will talk of justice as the storm of carnage raves, And the innocent are murdered for the guilty in their graves ! O God ! what sights are witnessed upon this earthly ball, And the things that men call justice are often worst of all. The servitude of ages leaves its impress on a race; Because the fathers suffered, the children's hearts are base ; You can not win by kindness, in vain you break the chain : The hatred and the impotence and the slavish type remain. The dead are still our masters, and a power from the tomb Can shape the characters of men, their con- duct and their doom. 35 EVENING. Tis evening— the sun is cleaving The dim horizon line, And the western clouds upheaving Like a sea of glory shine. And a beam of departing splendor Illumines the sea below With a flush as soft and as tender As a sleeping infant's glow. And the evening star is quivering On the verge of that sea above, Like Hope standing pale and shivering As she looks upon dying Love. 36 A MISSED DESTINY. Weary of life, but yet afraid to die, Sated and soured too, he slowly sinks, With genius, knowledge, eloquence and wit, And all the gifts of fortune vainly given ; Some morbid ply that flaws the heart or brain, Some strange infirmity of thought or will, Has marred them all ; nothing remains be- hind But fragmentary thoughts and broken schemes, Some brilliant sayings and a social fame Already fading ; but his mind is yet Keen, clear, and vivid, though his nerveless will Can never rise to action ; so he ends — The eagle's eye without the eagle's wing. 37 ON AN OLD SONG. Little snatch of ancient song, What has made thee live so long ? Flying on thy wings of rhyme Lightly down the depths of time, Telling nothing strange or rare, Scarce a thought or image there, Nothing but the old, old tale Of a hapless lover's wail ; Offspring of an idle hour, Whence has come thy lasting power ? By what turn of rhythm or phrase, By what subtle, careless grace, Can thy music charm our ears After full three hundred years ? Little song, since thou wert born, In the Reformation morn, How much great has passed away, Shattered or by slow decay, Stately piles in ruins crumbled, Lordly houses lost and humbled, 38 ©n an ©lb Song. Thrones and realms in darkness hurled, Noble flags forever furled, Wisest schemes by statesmen spun, Time has seen them one by one Like the leaves of autumn fall — A little song outlives them all. There were mighty scholars then, With the slow, laborious pen, Piling up their works of learning, Men of solid, deep discerning, Widely famous as they taught Systems of connected thought, Destined for all future ages ; Now the cobweb binds their pages ; All unread their volumes lie Moldering so peaceably, Coffined thoughts of coffined men, Never more to stir again In the passion and the strife, In the fleeting forms of life, All their force and meaning gone, As the stream of thought flows on. Art thou weary, little song, Flying through the world so long ? Canst thou, on thy fairy pinions, Cleave the future's dark dominions, (&n an (2Mb 60119. 39 And with music soft and clear Charm the yet unfashioned ear, Mingling with the things unborn, When perchance another morn, Great as that which gave thee birth, Dawns upon the changing earth ? It may be so, for all around, With a heavy, crashing sound, Like the ice of polar seas Melting in the summer breeze, Signs of change are gathering fast, Nations breaking with their past. The pulse of thought is beating quicker, The lamp of faith begins to flicker, The ancient reverence decays With forms and types of other days, And old beliefs grow faint and few As knowledge molds the world anew, And scatters far and wide the seeds Of other hopes and other creeds ; And all in vain we seek to trace The fortunes of the coming race, Some with fear and some with hope — None can cast its horoscope. Vap'rous lamp or rising star, Many a light is seen afar, And dim shapeless figures loom All around us in the gloom — 4o ®tt cm (Dib Song. Forces that may rise and reign As the old ideals wane. Landmarks of the human mind One by one are left behind, And a subtle change is wrought In the mold and cast of thought ; Modes of reasoning pass away, Types of beauty lose their sway, Creeds and causes that have made Many noble lives must fade, And the words that thrilled of old Now seem hueless, dead, and cold ; Fancy's rainbow tints are flying, Thoughts, like men, are slowly dying ; All things perish, and the strongest Often do not last the longest ; The stately ship is seen no more, The fragile skiff attains the shore ; And while the great and wise decay, And all their trophies pass away, Some sudden thought, some careless rhyme, Still floats above the wrecks of Time. 4i VANITAS VANITATUM. With baubles and phantoms and nicknames we end as we began, But the doll gives more joy to the child than the Garter can give to the man ; And the dreams of our youth are better than all the wisdom of age, And the heart of the school-girl beats happier than the heart of the king or the sage ; And the silliest charm gives more comfort to thousands in sorrow and pain, Than they ever will get from the knowledge that proves it so foolish and vain. If the measure of worth be but happiness, if this be the key-note of life, Illusion is better than knowledge, as slumber is better than strife ; For we know not where we come from, and we know not whither we go ; And the best of all our knowledge is how little we can know. 42 VOICES OF THE EVENING. The sailors were chanting their measured songs To the throb of the glittering oar, And each ripple seemed laden with melody, As it broke on the silent shore. And the sun went down in the burning sky, And the western wave grew bright, As the day, like a dream of loveliness, Melted in misty light. And a spirit within me seemed to say Farewell to the paths of toil, Farewell to the strife of the laboring pen, The strife of the barren soil. I ask not the will that can hew its way Where the battles of life are fought, Or the mind that can melt down the world « of dreams In the fire of searching thought. boitcB of ttje (Evening. 43 No lovelier light adorns the sky Than the trembling light of the star, And the mind that shines with a wavering beam Is the best and the loveliest far. I ask, not to climb to Wealth's glittering heights, Or to stand where Fame's sun-flush glows, But the twilight calm and the valley's shade, And the violet more than the rose. But the sun sank down, and a keen, fresh breeze Renerved my spirit again, And a voice came floating over the waves, And it told of strife with men. For life is a struggle, and not a dream, And Ambition's power must last Till the first fresh strength of the mind be gone, Till the fire of youth be past. 44 SONG. Once more, once more returning spring Makes field and forest gay, And overhead on spangled wing The new-born insects play ; A gleam is on the bending grass, A glitter on the sea, And o'er its waves in thought I pass To thee, dear maid, to thee. Oh, wearily I count the hours That slowly ebb away, And weary through the springtide flowers My languid footsteps stray. The light that streams on hill and glade Brings little joy to me ; My heart but casts a darker shade When I am not with thee. The lover's seasons come and go With no celestial sphere ; The lover's sun is here below, His light to guide and cheer ; 00itg. 45 All nature seems to droop and wane When thou art far from me, And all the world grows bright again With thee, dear maid, with thee. 4 6 THE SOWER AND HIS SEED. He planted an oak in his father's park, And a thought in the minds of men, And he bade farewell to his native shore, Which he never will see again. Oh, merrily streams the tourist throng To the glow of the southern sky ; A vision of pleasure beckons them on, But he went there to die. The oak will grow and its boughs will spread, And many rejoice in its shade, But none will visit the distant grave Where a stranger youth is laid ; And the thought will live when the oak has died, And quicken the minds of men, But the name of the thinker has vanished away, And will never be heard again. 47 TOWN AND COUNTRY. How calm the life of mortals flows In its secluded course, Where Nature's influence gives repose, And habit keeps its force ; Where ancient memories linger long, And friends are few and fast ; And hearts are simple, pure, and strong, Deep-rooted in the past ! Here, in this feverish city strife, Each day new interests brings, And countless feelings quicken life, But all of them have wings. And endless forms of joy and pain, Of knowledge, thought, and speech, Incessant break on heart and brain, Like waves upon the beach. 48 ®0t*m anb ^cantr^. Too many figures crowd the scene, And, as they hurry by, How few will pause on what has been, Or miss the forms that fly ! So fast each imprint fades away, So transient love and sorrow, The grave that closed but yesterday Is half-forgot to-morrow. But ah, the wounds that can not heal ! The hearts that fester there ! The keenest pang that mortals feel Is grief that none will share. 49 I DREAMED A DREAM OF GLORY." I DREAMED a dream of glory — I dreamed I saw thee rise, In all thy passing loveliness, Before my dazzled eyes ; Thy cheek was flushed with pleasure, And beaming was thine eye, As when we roamed together, As in the days gone by. A voice that long was silent Seemed wafted to my ear; It told of many a struggle, Of many a triumph near ; But, better far, it told me That days of peace were nigh, When we may roam together As in the days gone by. It told me — oh, how softly ! And was it but a dream ? — That earth's most bitter partings Are not the things they seem ; 4 5° "3 JBxcarach a UJream of (Slots- That severed hearts are blended In some dim world on high, Where spirits roam together As in the days gone by. Though soon that vision vanished, Its traces still remain, Its glory streams across my life Through sorrow and through pain ; The shadows gather round me, Yet still my thoughts can fly, Where we may roam together As in the days gone by. 5* A WOMAN'S PORTRAIT. She was fair, but not so fair That others were not lovelier there ; Hers was not the fleeting power Of a brief impassioned hour, But the charm that grows more dear With each slow revolving year. In her eye of cloudless blue, In her smile so sweet and true, You might read a spirit made For the sunshine and the shade ; Keen alike in work and pleasure, Yet with self-control and measure ; Brave and buoyant, wise and gay, On the smooth or rugged way ; 'Tis the type that wears the best, Made for sympathy and rest. Pinings for unreal things, Morbid doubts and questionings, All the weakness and the pain Of the fever-stricken brain, 52 % fiOctnan's portrait. Turning from the things we see To the things that can not be, Vanished in the healthy hue Which around my path she threw, And the sting of settled care Passed away when she was there ; For my life grew strong and brave With the courage that she gave, And the night at last has flown ; Hers the praise, and hers alone. 53 BIRTHDAYS. "Time is the stuff of life"* — then spend not thy days while they last In dreams of an idle future, regrets for a vanished past ; The tombstones lie thickly behind thee, but the stream still hurries thee on, New worlds of thought to be traversed, new fields to be fought and won. Let work be thy measure of life, then only the end is well ; The birthdays we hail so blithely are strokes of the passing bell. * "You value life— take care of your time, for time is the stuff of life."— Franklin. 54 THE DYING SEER. Close the book — the task is over, Toil and triumph both are done ; Weary, way-worn, restless rover, Now thy devious course is run ; Worlds of fancy, thought, and learning, All the tracts thy mind has spanned, All grow dim ; thy steps are turning Onward to the shadow-land. Many a hope thy genius kindled In the splendor of its morn, Ere the evening came had dwindled, Turned to doubt, or grief, or scorn. Too much dross alloys the treasure, Wayward flights and passion stains ; Only now we learn to measure How much noble still remains. Close the book — the words are written, They will stand for good or ill ; True, the stately palm is smitten, But its seeds are living still ; ®l)e Edging Qetx. 55 Darkness gathers round the writer, Envious murmurs greet his name, But his thoughts will shine the brighter In the after-glow of fame. 56 LIFE'S TRAGEDY. THE flowers of spring-time blossom on the tomb, But can not reach the corpse that lies be- neath, And while the hopes of youth most gayly bloom The heart still feels the irony of death ; The aimleSSneSS Of life, its broken lines, Its boundless longings and its rapid flight, The noble promise that B moment shines, Then sinks forever in eternal night. Oh, Strange unrest ! that makes our pleasures cloy, Till life and all that life can give seems vain ; The passing-bell is heard amid our joy, And sin and shame are mingled with our pain. £ifc'0 ftragcbj}. 57 Remembered love, how fond, how deep its thrill, When all is dark and envious Death de- vours ! The echo murmurs though the harp is still, The fragrance lingers from our vanished flowers. Whence have they come, and whither do they move, Those lives so strangely void or strangely crossed : The life of thought without the life of love, The life of love, when what we love is lost ? How fast they fly! the moments will not stay, Though past and future blend their influ- ence there, Deep roots of flowers that withered in a day, Dim shadows falling from we know not where. Weak, blind, and helpless, from the depths we cry, Spirit of Nature, wilt thou hear our call ? Behold our wanderings with a pitying eye, And garner up our loved ones as they fall ! 58 life's ftrage&s. Thou who hast planted in the heart its needs, Its ceaseless cravings for some nobler sphere, 'Mid changing forms and swiftly fading creeds, We fain would trust that thou at least art near. Our little tapers tremble in the gloom, Our boasted systems wither in a span, And none can pierce the secret of the tomb, Or read the riddle of the life of man. Vain hopes and fears, ambition, strife, and sin ! Thus idly glide our brightest years away, Until at length the evening shade draws in, The early evening of our winter day ; Until the time when every power wanes, When all the hues that brightened life have fled. The world grows dim, one only thought re- mains — How hard to die, how blessed to be dead ! 59 MOODS. Oh, happy the hour when morning breaks, And the spirit of man refreshed awakes, Eager and strong for its daily strife, Too busy to think of the ills of life ; And happy the hour of the setting sun, When the battle is over, the labor is done, And the weary fly home, like the bird to the nest, And the voice of the loved one is calling to rest ! 'Tis the hour of peace, when our troubles de- part, And the calm of the evening is felt in the heart. But laden with care move the hours of the night, When sleepless, yet weary, we measure their flight ; 6o ittoobs. When the darkness around us has thrown its hue On all we think and on all we do ; And the heart grows chill with a sudden fear, And the things that we dread the most seem near, And we think of the dead who lie sleeping below, And of those whom we love who may soon be so ; Of age and of weakness, of sickness and pain, And all our lives seem hollow and vain, So fast they fly, and the long grass waves Tangled and dank on our lonely graves ; And the steps of the last of the mourners have gone, And we are forgot, while the world rolls on. For the hearts we love, and the things we prize, They pass like the swarms of the summer flies, Or the clouds that float on an idle wind, And leave not a trace in the world behind. 6i ASSOCIATION. 'Twas scarcely Love — not Love full blown, For where she reigns she reigns alone, And rising up at Memory's call Subdues, absorbs, eclipses all ; Hers rather was the light that flings Its radiance on surrounding things, And in the retrospect of years Entwined with other forms appears, Brings back the half-forgotten scene, And makes the fading outlines keen ; The sunlight gleam, the living touch By which the landscape charms so much. 62 " SAIL ON, SAIL ON, THOU FRAGILE BARK." Sail on, sail on, thou fragile bark, Across the raging sea ; The waves run high, the night is dark, The heavens seem closed to thee ; The guiding stars are seen no more, And cloud-banks veil the distant shore. Oh, life of man, so fiercely tossed By passion, doubt, and pain, Thy chart is torn, thy compass lost, The lights of childhood wane. How frail the bark, how vast the sea ! May God in mercy look on thee ! 63 HOMEWARD BOUND. Cold, dark, and drear the winter eve draws in The nipping frost is in the air ; the hills Are white with recent snow; the leafless boughs Arrayed in panoply of ice gleam forth ; Amid th' ascending mists, in heaven appear A few faint stars like snow-flakes of the sky; And not a motion stirs the freezing air, And not a murmur breaks upon the ear, Save that, with gentle sound, old Ocean's lip Kisses the rocky shore. A ship lay there Moored to the land, but soon about to sail With some few passengers; and on the beach, Waiting the signal-bell, a man and wife Stood gazing on the sea— she young and fair, But he more old, though rather thought than age 64 §ommaxb Bomib. Furrowed his brow ; and in his eyes there shone A strange, sad luster, as of one who sought To pierce the veil and gather more from life Than life can give. Silent and close they stood, As those whom love's sweet sympathies had joined, And kindred thoughts had molded into one, And watched the crescent moon that slowly rose Feeble and white above a snow-clad hill, Half lost amid the mist ; and now at length With half-abstracted air the traveler spoke : M 'Tis o'er at last, that lengthened wandering Through many nations and through many climes ; When next the lid of night uncloses o'er The burning orb of day, my native land Once more will lie unfolded to the view, Deep rock-bound bays, calm vales, and mountain-peaks, And all those scenes with early mem'ries twined. Full twenty years of crowded thought have passed tyomcmaxb Bomtfr. 65 Since toward that shore I turned my fare- well gaze. An ardent student, bound to seek afar A deeper wisdom and a nobler life, With hopes which youth, and youth alone, can give. How beautiful those days, like early love, When the bright worlds of knowledge and of thought Break on the young man's eye ! All nature seems Suffused with light. Ambitions, hopes, and dreams Are then as palpable as living things ; Buoyant as air the mind can rise above The jarring elements of earth. It seems By gazing on the beautiful to burst The trammels of its clay, to blend itself With Nature's loveliness, become a pulse Throbbing in Nature's heart, a thought ab- sorbed In the great soul of beauty that pervades The Universe of God, a choral strain Lost in the floating melodies of heaven, And mingling with the Infinite, a part Of the pure essence of pervasive love To beauty joined as passion to the soul. Then hearts beat high, ambition knows no bounds ; 66 tyommaxb Bonnb. Proud in its untried strength, the spirit longs To open springs of knowledge still concealed ; To see the full proportions of those truths Which by their partial aspect charm the mind; To body forth its dreams in earthly things, Darting at times some lightning gleam of truth To cleave the mists of error, and to scathe Falsehood enthroned on high ; perchance to leave Some plastic power behind it on the earth, Molding for good the minds of men un- born, Living through death an unembodied life That time can never quench. That flush must pass ; Soon, like the Alpine glow on snowy peaks, It fades away. The impotence of thought, The depth of darkness that surrounds our life, The wreck of creeds and systems vainly deemed On God's truth based, judgments that shift and wane With passion, int'rest, circumstance, and health, Hearts that draw all their strength and half their joy tyommaxli Jtottnfc. 67 From ancient prejudice and falsehood too, Awe and perplex the mind. Not truths un- mixed, But coarser levers only move the world. Truths broken, flawed, or partial, party cries, Passions and int'rest, custom, prejudice, And many a man with error loses all That gave him force and goodness. Thus the stars Grow dark above us, and we learn to feel How many sow upon a waste of sand, Or build upon the clouds ; how soon we pass, And all our dreams are choked with church- yard dust. All seek for joy. We see the little child Seek it and find it in the simplest toy ; The school-boy spurns the toy, but finds his game Suffice to purchase ecstasy. The man Contemns each childish mean ; he points his hopes To wealth or titles, power or renown ; Pain marks his upward course, and baffling foes, And often, if the wished-for end is gained, He finds its influence frigid as yon moon — Yon twilight moon that flickers on the snow. 68 $0tttetDarfc Bonxib. And those who in the caverns of the soul Have labored most to draw from hidden springs Some dream of happiness, some thought of love To cheer the sad, are saddest oft them- selves. So small the part of knowledge in our lives, So weak the power of reason on the heart, So vain a maxim to appease a care ! Thus in the gloom and solitude of thought I wandered long, till on my lonely path Thy influence arose. In thee I found A sacred spot in which the wearied soul At length might rest— for thou hast been to me Dear as to-night the crystal stars that shine Like pleasure nestling in her gloomy heart. From thee, dear wife, I learned how Love can graft A stronger plume on Life's disheveled wing ; How, turning to the earth from which it sprang, The spirit gathers strength, and yet may find In daily rounds of duty and of love The sands of life still sparkling as they flow." fyommaxb Jtomtfc. 69 We can not fly our shadows, or escape The innate temp'rament that molds our lives To happiness or gloom. Its mighty stress, Stronger than reason, conduct, circumstance, Gives color to our thoughts ; the mind best strung Can suffer most, and he who most aspires To truth and knowledge and ideal good Most keenly feels the impotence of life. The shadows lengthen as the night draws on, And youth's bright hues can never be re- called ; But Love and Duty linger, Habit smooths With kindly hand the steep descent of life ; And through the gath'ring mists Hope whis- pers still, We yet may find, we know not how or where, The highest and the happiest the same. But hark ! the ship bell summons us away ; The present calls us from the land of dreams. 7° "FLOW ON, SWIFT STREAM." Flow on, swift stream, amid the flowers ! Flow on and dance with joy, And tell me of the happy hours When I was yet a boy. I watched thee with the loved ones then, Now all alone I come again To wander by the river ; And I am old and they are gone, But it unchanged is gliding on As young and bright as ever. Unchanged it seems, yet who can stay The water's ceaseless motion ? The little waves of yesterday To-day have reached the ocean ; Unmarked, unmissed, they swiftly fly ; Unmarked, unmissed, we too must die, And leave the mighty river Where youth, and joy, and love, and strife, And all the various modes of life Flow on unchanged forever. 7i A TALE OF MODERN ITALY. It is a cottage hung with vines, Amid the northern Apennines, Deep hidden in a lonely vale, And sheltered from the mountain gale ; And, winding near, a river flows Descending from the distant snows ; And farther on the eye may scan The traces of the hand of man : The vineyard sloping on the hill, The font to catch the falling rill, The image rudely sculptured there To call the laborer to prayer ; And softly in the distance swells The music of the cattle-bells ; And wildly sweet the herdsman's horn Awakes to usher in the morn ; And every sound and every sight Seems filled with such a calm delight, If time and change could only spare, An all but perfect bliss were there. Time in the bridal hours speeds fast : A few short months of joy had past, 72 & QLak of Modern Italg. And now the clouds began to rise And darken o'er the lover's skies ; The war-trump gave its loud alarms, And called th' Italian youth to arms. The word went forth from shore to shore, The suffering race may rise once more, May cleave the old Germanic chain, And kindle in their land again Some sparkle of the ancient flame That led their ancestors to fame ; And memories shadowy but sublime, Dim phantoms of a nobler time, Filled many a heart with martial pride The day Antonio Moro died. Peace to the brave ! Not his the name To mingle with the voice of fame ; No minstrel's harp awakes to tell How valiantly he fought and fell ; But flowers around his tomb are wreathed, And many a sigh is o'er it breathed, And peasants' tears bedew the sod, And prayers commend his soul to God. Kings struggle for some sordid aim, Dominion, power, selfish fame ; With equal pride the soldier draws His venal sword in any cause ; A little touch of self may taint The garments of the purest saint ; & QLale of fttooern Italg. 73 And martyrs, as they nobly die, See crowns of glory in the sky, Hear voices calling, " Suffer this— ■ Thy guerdon is eternal bliss ; A moment, and thy soul is clear ; Thou hast thy purgatory here." Not for such ends the patriot dies ; (May Heaven receive the sacrifice !) No priest is there his cause to bless, No promised crown, no pang the less ; His was the ancient Roman's mind — He only asked to leave behind A land united, strong, and free A nobler life he may not see. Peace to the brave ! The strife is o'er, The tyrant's yoke can gall no more ; The clash of arms, the din of foes, Can never break his deep repose ; His soul, we trust, looks down on earth — The hour of death the hour of birth ! Ye mourners, dry the lingering tear : The angels' cradle is the bier. They laid him in a lonely grave Upon the marge of Como's wave, That breaks in gentle ripples near, Like whispers for a mourner's ear. It is a spot so passing fair, The traveler loves to linger there : 74 & &ai* of ittobern Jtal^. In front, the lake of deepest blue ; Around, the mountains close the view, And on their slopes, in terraced lines, The eye may mark the trailing vines, The maize with golden fruit and flower, And here and there a leafy bower ; And over all things, pure and high, The azure of th' Italian sky, So soft, yet so intensely bright It trembles through a veil of light. But lovelier still that tranquil hour When night first curtains hall and bower, When evening's parting beam has paled, And every mount, in darkness veiled, And mantled in a solemn hue, Looms dimly awful on the view. The water's music seems more sweet, And gentlest sounds upon it meet ; The throbbings of the distant oar Approaching slowly to the shore, The bugle thrilling clear and lone, The bells of many a varied tone, The peasant's songs that rudely tell Of those who fought and those who fell. Then shine the stars above, and soon Upon the grave the still, pale moon Pours down so magical a beam That he who muses there might dream, % QTale of ittofcern Stalg. 75 If such a boon to earth were given, That rest in such a spot were heaven. But she whose life was twined with his, Whose only hope, whose only bliss, Upon his smile and presence hung, By that death-stroke her mind was wrung : The pang, so sudden and intense, O'erpowered every reeling sense ; And as the moth pursues its flight Around the taper's beck'ning light, And love draws more than pain repels, And death seems bliss where beauty dwells, So round that one remembered joy, With passion that no time could cloy, Her thoughts distracted ever flew, And drank in pangs and joys anew — That poison-cup which memory fills, Which charms and maddens while it kills. She deemed his spirit ever near — His being seemed the atmosphere, The life, the essence of her thought, In all around her path inwrought ; His voice seemed floating on each wind ; The image ruling in her mind — Diffused, reflected, and transferred, In every much-loved scene appeared : 76 % &ale of ittobern Jtalji. Yet though it seemed forever nigh, That presence could not satisfy. The summer past — the leaves were shed- She lay upon her dying bed, And watched with a dilating eye The sunset fringe the western sky, And mantle with its transient glow The mountain-peaks that soar below. That lovely form was shrunk and frail, That cheek was now a deadly pale, Save one thin line of crimson light That shone amid a ghastly white ; Not mingling there, but darting through, It scarcely seemed an earthly hue ; And with a wild convulsive swell Her snowy bosom rose and fell, And o'er her brow the eye might trace From time to time the shadows chase, And flickering feebly on her lips The smile that death can not eclipse — The still faint smile that lingers on When all besides of life has gone. She touched her harp — she swept its chords- She linked its notes with living words : Not as of old, when, free and lone, Among the hills her mellowed tone & Sale of Mohcxn Itaig. 77 Poured forth a stream of happy song, So clear and sweet, so full and strong, That echo seemed to love the strain, And murmured o'er its notes again ; And as the huntsman homeward strayed, And heard but saw not yet the maid, He fondly dreamed of spirits there, And to the Virgin breathed a prayer. How changed, alas ! for sorrow sears More deeply than the brand of years, And steals the freshness and the glow From all we love the most below. Ah ! never more can echo wake In hill or valley for her sake ; So faint her voice as death drew near, The listener now must stoop to hear The accents of that faltering tongue, As thus in broken strains she sung : " He has not gone— he has not gone — I feel his presence near ; In every sight of loveliness, Of grandeur and of fear, Reflected and diffused I meet The image of his mind : So gentle, yet so passionate, So lofty, yet so kind. 78 & &ale of ifloomt Stal^. " A deeper beauty seems to rest On Nature's glowing face, Since in each form of earth and sky His lineaments I trace ; The fleeting cloud, the changeless star, The wild, majestic sea, The flower, the lake, the cataract, All bring my love to me. "I asked for my love 'mid the glacier's sheen, And the avalanche's roar ; Where the storm-wing broods o'er the dark ravine, And the eagles proudly soar ; Where the cataract foams through the fis- sured rocks, As it speeds on its wild career 'Mid the icy caves and the tempest shocks : I felt that my love was near. " For grand was his mind in the strength of youth As the eagle on the wing ; And his words flowed as fierce in the cause of truth As the avalanche of the spring ; & Sale of Jttotorn Stal^. 79 And his passions were strong as the torrents' rush Through the rock that its might has riven ; And his soul, like the mountains, seemed to flush With the first, best light from heaven. " I asked for my love, when the lake lay calm, And the stars shone bright above ; When the earth was veiled, and the air was balm, And the sky seemed breathing love ; When the night-bird's song, like a spirit's voice, Came thrilling on the ear : Methought, as I listened, it said — ' Rejoice ! For he whom thou lovest is near.' " Oh ! gentle and calm as the lake at rest — Gentle and kind as brave — The tenderest graces shone in his breast, Like the stars in the slumbering wave ; Nor softer the note of the night-bird's strain, As it floats through the air above, Than his voice when it dwelt on some linger- ing pain, Or whispered some tale of love. 8o % STale of ittobern Italg. " I heard a voice ringing — It was sweet beyond compare : It seemed an angel singing — Singing in prayer. I saw censers swinging, And incense wreathing there, And thousand spirits winging Their pathway through the air. And as I gazed on that still lake, Where he I love most seems to brood, I heard a choral anthem break As from the dwelling-place of God ! Louder and louder still the strain Pealed forth from that angelic choir ; It rang o'er mountain, lake, and plain, Its music seemed to pierce my brain, It thrilled through every burning vein Like love's first wild desire. Oh ! as I chant it o'er again, The veil that hides our bygone years Is in a moment rent in twain, And all the past appears. Faint grows my voice and dim my eye, Still in my ear those accents ring, Once more those heavenly notes I sing — Once more before I die ! " Say not the dead have gone — Passed from this earth away : % &ale of iHobem Ital^. 81 Stars in the night that shone, Shine in the day ; What though their dwelling bright Dazzle thy feeble sight, Still with that golden light Mingles their ray. " Shades of the dead are near, Hovering o'er thy bed ; Forms that were very dear Shelter thy head. Still as around they fly, Thought seems to feel them nigh : Dreams of the days gone by— Dreams of the dead ! " Past pleasures rise anew ; Loved voices fill thy brain ; Dreams of the brightest hue, Mingling with pain ; Angel forms hovering Round thee on viewless wing, Bid those old phantoms spring Life-like again. " Then say not the dead have gone — Passed from this earth away : Stars in the night that shone, Shine in the day ; 6 82 & Sale of ittofcem !tal£. What though their dwelling bright Dazzle thy feeble sight, Still with that golden light Mingles their ray. " Hark ! I hear the spirit choir ; Methinks I see their bright array ; Angels strike the heavenly lyre — Angels summon me away ; Gentle voices singing, singing, Through the golden cloud-drifts ringing- Ringing far above. Sister spirits, pure and fair, Lo, I come your joys to share, Rising through the buoyant air On the wings of love." *3 SPANISH SONG. Sweet, dark-eyed Spanish maid, I Watched her as she played, And she sang me many a ditty of love and sport and war — " Toreros of Madrid," And " Triumphs of the Cid," And many an ancient ballad, as she played on her guitar. Soft eyes and softer heart, How quick the tear-drops start ! Yet one note of merry music scatters all her cares afar ; So swift the clouds take flight, And her thoughts are gay and light As the bunch of colored ribbons that hangs from her guitar. Then comes the Spanish dance, And the youthful bands advance — 84 Bpanisi) 0oug. For the heat of day is over — beneath the evening star ; And words and hearts grow fond, And eyes to eyes respond, As we tread the merry measure to the sound of the guitar. 85 ILLICIT LOVE. Children and wife, and honor and fame, True love and goodness and grace- He sold them all for a life of shame, For a vulgar, venal face. His name must pass, and its memory slip From the scenes where it shone so high : It was all for a little curve of a lip And the glance of a cunning eye. Oh ! cruel the loss, and bitter the pain, When the madness creeps from the heart to the brain, And a life is lost, and its labor vain. What was the charm that wrought the spell, None but himself could see. There's a door in each heart that leads to hell, Could you only find the key. S6 Illicit £ot)e. A thousand trials conquered and past, The strongest climber may fall ; And the fated tempter who comes at last May be the meanest of all. Virtue is strong, and strong is the will ; But Time and Chance, they are stronger still, And they hold the keys of good and of ill. 87 TWO FRIENDS. They were two friends, but very little like : The one a hard, keen, literary mind, As nimble as the serpent's quivering tongue, Incisive, analytic, full of gibes, Yet true and loyal in its narrow sphere, Hating all mystery. To him the world Seemed rounded off in perfect symmetry, And all thoughts might be gauged. Five senses give All that we know, and nothing lies beyond, Though Fancy, Passion, Int'rest take those thoughts And bend them into stately, cloudy forms, Baseless and fleeting soon. The stars to him Were but an endless range of common earths ; And that strange voice which in the mind of man Commands and awes was but an echo formed 88 (fee fxicnbQ. By custom, prejudice, or ancient use ; And if at times, like music far and low, In hours of pain or solitude or grief Wild longing swept unbidden o'er his soul, He deemed them but the signs of shattered nerves, Or childish memories soon to be repressed By rising reason. So he lived, and so At length will die. With him there lived a friend, Dear to his heart, born in a southern land, Where thought is steeped in passion, with a mind Deep, vague, and lustrous, as a Spanish eye, Floating in light of dreams. His ear was quick To catch the finer melodies of life. The wonder and the mystery that bound Man's little segment of the truth of things Filled him with awe; and as he looked within He saw, or seemed to see, across the gloom Dim broken lines that pointed to the sky, And prints and characters of nobler source Than sense can furnish — those deep-rooted hopes Which grow and brighten with our better moods, (too iFrienfcs. 89 And pure ideals never here attained, And craving needs which earth can never sate, And love too fond for passing man to feel If all were closed and ended in the tomb : And chiefly that strange law that in a world Of joys and pains a something higher rules — Rules by acknowledged right, though often spurned. The twilight visions of a noble soul To him were sacred, and the spirit-forms That, faint and feeble, seem to flicker there Were more than phantoms or than earth- born mists. Above his head he saw the milky way, Dim blending lights of countless distant worlds. 9 o THE WIDOW. All has not passed. The sweet bright smile lives on, Like some calm star that mocks the tem- pest's rage ; The eye still shines almost as when it shone The light of features yet untouched by age. I watched thee in the soft'ning twilight gloom Which masks the lines where Care and Time have preyed, And fancy soon recalled the vanished bloom, And in the widow still discerned the maid. 9i SEVILLE. Sevilla ! City of the Sun, I fly to thee, my task is done : Weary heart and weary brain, Thou canst make them young again. Here, beneath this cloudless blue, All things wear a festal hue ; Life seems but a painted thing, An insect with a gaudy wing, A full-blown rose, a lover's dream, The light that sparkles on the stream. Long checkered years have passed away Once more among those scenes I stray, And all below, around, above, Still tells of careless joy or love : Sunburned dancers nightly met With gypsy song and castanet, Where the colored lanterns gleam By the Guadalquivir's stream, And the white mantilla's flow Softer than the falling snow, 92 Setrille. And the deftly quivering fan Telling more than language can, And the roses in the hair, And the scent that loads the air, Rising from the orange-grove Where belated lovers rove Through the balmy nights of spring, When the birds most sweetly sing, But not half so sad a tale As our northern nightingale. Lovely city, let me be For a time at one with thee ; From my heart all sadness chase ; Free me for a little space From the tumult and the strife And the seriousness of life ; Let thy northern sisters boast They can work and win the most : Wealth and wisdom are their dower ; Thine is the enchanter's power — Thine the gift to soothe and sway, Charming all our cares away. 93 MARRIED LIFE. Two flowers blossom on one stem, Two streamlets mingling run ; And love and habit blending make Two lives as truly one : One in each int'rest, hope, and fear, Whatever chance betide ; One in affection's bond, though two To comfort, strengthen, guide. When passion's torrid zone is past, Hearts only draw more near, And silent sympathies of love Strike deeper year by year ; When every little fault is seen, And every fleeting mood, And all the nobler impulses Are shared or understood. 94 Jttarriefc £ife. Yet still one secret, sep'rate dread Will sometimes cloud each mind — Ah ! which must face this cruel world When left alone behind ? 95 PASSION AND MEMORY. Old legends tell how woman's hair Can make the spirits of the air Stoop down from brighter realms above And feel the thrall of mortal love.* So human passion draws its force From many a strange, unlooked-for source ; And chords to all but one unknown Will sometimes yield the sweetest tone. The charm that prints the deepest trace Lies often in a homely face ; And half our strongest passions find Their key-note in an answering mind ; A hand can haunt, a voice can thrill, A smile, a glance remembered still Across the waste of vanished years, Can fill the aged eye with tears, * " Notatur etiam quod Incubi plus vexare videntur mulieres et puellas pulchros crines habentes." " Mulier debet habere velamen super caput suum propter angelos multi Catholici exponunt, quod sequitur propter Angelos, id est Incubos."— Malleus Maleficarum. 96 J3assion ana S&zmotQ. While forms of purest Grecian mold Leave fancy dull, and passion cold. And, stranger still, 'tis sometimes seen How pleasure neither pure nor keen — Some doubtful, broken, troubled joy, All mixed with fear or pain's alloy — Some fierce excitement's shuddering thrill, Some passion strife of good or ill, Will gain a charm in memory's dreams, And grow and brighten till it gleams A lonely star, whose light can last Amid a long-forgotten past. 97 TO . 'TWAS not alone thy beauty's power That made thee dear to me : The quiet of the sunset hour Most truly mirrored thee. 'Twas thine to shed a soothing balm On doubt and grief and strife, And make a bright and holy calm The atmosphere of life. Thy touch of sympathy could find To frozen hearts the key ; The darkened and the arid mind Gave light and fruit for thee. Ah ! many a flower unnoticed springs On life's most trodden ways ; And common lives and common things Grew nobler in thy praise. PAST AND PRESENT. The days of our love, they come and they go As soft as the flakes of the falling snow, Or the morning flush that dances and leaps From crag to crag on the mountain steeps, As sweet and as calm in their rapid flight As the sleep that follows a sleepless night : But the snow-flakes have melted, the sun- flush has flown, The sleeper has wakened, and I am alone. Yet the past remains, though we know it not, And its power is felt when it seems forgot, As a youthful passion will leave its trace In well-worn lines on an aged face. We feel not the joy that we felt before, But the pulse of our youth may throb once more : A half-seen likeness we chance to meet, A moment's glance in a crowded street, Jpast anfc present. 99 The scent of a flower, a tone, or a song, Can waken some chord that has slumbered long; We know not why, for the image has fled, But we feel the touch of the past and the dead, As some mood of our childhood appears again, With a vague unrest or a lingering pain — Like a far-off cloud whose shadow will glide On a summer day o'er the silvery tide, Or the shapeless terror that seems to creep Through the phantom-forms of a troubled sleep. And the channels were cut long, long ago, Where the streams of our thought forever must flow, The things that haunt and the things that sway, The secret charms that our minds obey — They come from afar, and their power will last, For the Present must live in the shade of the Past. 100 A BROKEN LIFE. We strove together side by side, but thine The stronger pinion and the loftier aim ; Thy master-spirit gave its tone to mine, A nobler measure both of praise and blame. The golden splendors of a young man's dream Lay round our path — and thine, how pure and fair ! Heaven seemed to open : little did we deem That germs of sin and death were lurking there. One hour of weakness — just one little hour — One false step taken, darkened all the scene : The tempter came, and thou hast felt his power — A wreck remains where so much hope had been. & Broken £ife. 101 I watched thy visions one by one take flight — High hopes and aims, that only left behind A seared and jaded heart, the cynic blight That kills the fruitage of the richest mind ; And men grow grave and silent at thy name ; Thy work is done, thy oldest friends de- part, And leave thee there to meet a world of shame With hollow laughter and an aching heart. How faint the lines that oft at first divide The paths that lead to honor or to scorn ! How small a chance can turn a life aside, And cloud the promise of the fairest morn ! 102 LOVE AND SORROW. Love in the country, sorrow in the town ; Let Love have roots, but Sorrow only wings ; Where life moves slow each feeling deepens down : A crowded life the quickest solace brings. But Love from Sorrow never more will part ; She would not heal the wounds her sister made ; She makes more keen each feeling of the heart ; The brightest sunshine casts the darkest shade. io3 "I CAN NOT BOW BEFORE THE SHRINE." I CAN not bow before the shrine Where once I knelt with thee ; My thoughts take other paths than thine, And thou art lost for me. Yet still that youthful face appears Unchanged across the changing years. In vain our bark to distant lands Flies fast before the wind : Our hearts are bound by living bands To what we leave behind ; And hands still beckon from the shore Which we have left to touch no more. io4 DEFLECTING INFLUENCES. Thought has its tastes and instincts — se- cret lures That guide our reasonings in their destined course ; The power of will both brightens and ob- scures, And shapes our judgments from their very source. Old habits, interests, childhood's sacred spell, A hundred impulses in turn prevail ; We seek for truth, but, though we reason well, False weights are seldom absent from the scale. JUefkriing 3nfinentz&. 105 For mind must act through character : in vain Truth claims her empire o'er the lives of men; The light streams there, but through a tinted pane, And Reason writes, but Passion guides her pen. io6 THE LAST PARTING. Farewell, farewell ! the dream is o'er, Its passion and its pain ; And Hope and Fear are now no more, Though Love and Grief remain. One feeble pressure of the hand, One little sigh and shiver, And all we thought and hoped and planned Has passed away forever. Still on those pale and shrunken lips A feeble sunlight plays— The radiance of a sun that dips Beneath the western haze. The sun that sinks will rise again, And brighter days may shine, But thou hast vanished from our ken : Have we, too, passed from thine ? ®f)e £a0t parting. 107 Can any sound of distant strife, Or voice of pleading love, Or any care of mortal life, Still follow thee above ? Or canst thou even now inspire Some thought that thrills the brain, And raise the drooping spirit higher With hope that conquers pain ? We can not tell. That vacant eye, Those lips, respond no more ; No echo answers to our cry, No light reveals the shore. And be it gain, or be it loss, No eye can follow thee : A lonely bark to-night must cross A dark and silent sea. io8 CHARACTER. Creeds, custom, prejudice, surrounding types, The ebb and flow of ceaseless influence — These shape the thoughts and fashion of our lives And make us what we are. Yet far below There lurks a spring of hidden tendency — The innate character that strives to reach In thought and life to some congenial form We know not yet — perchance may never know. Thus blindly groping in a vague unrest, Uncertain, broken, and deflected lives, We feel the force beneath. With some it sinks, Crushed by the weight of adverse circum- stance ; With others bursts in greatness or in guilt, Fierce as the lava through the fissured rocks, Character. 109 Defying all restraint. But happier they To whom betimes the kindly chance of life, Some casual word or circumstance, reveals The prophecy within. His path is smooth Who early knows himself. So thoughts have stirred Dim and half-formed in countless restless minds, Till some great thinker rose, who with a touch Drew them to light and made their meaning plain. II. Well told the bard— the foremost of our age — How sometimes in a dead man's rigid face Some old ancestral type, unseen in life, Appears again, and through the lately dead The older dead look down.* So underneath *"I went at once to the palace and I saw the Prince. It is very unreal now, but the likeness to William the Si- lent is quite marvelous. Mr. H. was so struck with it that, if there had not been great difficulties, he would have wished to have a photograph taken even now. Those taken immediately after death are extremely good, and like what we knew the Prince • but now the face has a kind of fixed, stern, elderly look— exactly like our head of William the Silent."— Extract from a letter from the Hague, July, 1884, written a few days after the death of Alexander, the last Prince of Orange, no (&\)axatttx. The play and shimmer of our daily lives — Their transient shapes and colors — there are lines Drawn by a vanished hand. Transmitted forms Of strength or weakness, passion, tendency, Made by another's life, bequeathed and stored, Live in the race. Though each succeeding will Subdues, adds, deepens, still the pattern-lines Are never all effaced. Our acts are seeds Which grow prolific in the hearts and minds Of men who follow, and the clew that threads The maze of character is chiefly hid In distant, grass -grown, and neglected graves — Forgotten actions of forgotten men. ill. Men move on divers planes, and divers laws Govern their type and make their passions flow* For some men seem all fashioned from with- out, And shifting forms of circumstance and chance (&\)axatter. Give texture to their thoughts. Pellucid lakes, They smile or darken with the changing sky And catch each passing hue. With some, life's spring Is fixed within, and one o'ermastering thought Will cling and haunt, and govern all their ways, And make or mar a life ; or through the glass Of morbid Nature which distorts and dims They view the world around. And there are those Who live through fancy such ideal lives, And people earth with such ethereal hues, That common life seems tapestried with dreams. 112 THE PORTRAIT. With swift, bold strokes the portrait grows — Most swiftly at its birth ; And soon the outlined forms disclose Its meaning and its worth. For chiefly in his first designs The artist's skill is shown ; Though blending hues and finer lines Add beauty, force, and tone. So youth with rapid pencil draws A life, for good or ill, And forms its habits and its laws, The bias of its will. With changing tints the canvas glows — Life's fervors soon are past ; But lines most lightly drawn are those Which often longest last. ®l)e portrait. 113 We can not turn the blotted page Or cleanse the tainted source : Youth sows the seed ; we reap in age Its honor or remorse. ii4 UNDEVELOPED LIVES. Not every thought can find its words, Not all within is known ; For minds and hearts have many chords That never yield their tone. Tastes, instincts, feelings, passions, powers, Sleep there unfelt, unseen ; And other lives lie hid in ours — The lives that might have been — Affections whose transforming force Could mold the heart anew ; Strong motives that might change the course Of all we think and do. Upon the tall cliff's cloud-wrapped verge The lonely shepherd stands, And hears the thundering ocean surge That sweeps the far-off strands ; Untettetojjeir Ctoes. 115 And thinks in peace of raging storms Where he will never be — Of life in all its unknown forms In lands beyond the sea. So in our dream some glimpse appears, Though soon it fades again, How other lands or times or spheres Might make us other men ; How half our being lies in trance, Nor joy nor sorrow brings, Unless the hand of circumstance Can touch the latent strings. We know not fully what we are, Still less what we might be : But hear faint voices from the far Dim lands beyond the sea. n6 OLD AGE. Now the solemn shadows lengthen, Life's long day is well-nigh done, Impulse fails and habits strengthen, Pleasures vanish one by one. Feebly o'er the dark'ning dial Parting rays their image fling ; Times of triumph, times of trial, Lose their rapture, lose their sting. How much now appears unreal In the past that stirred us so : Pinings for the high ideal, Passion dreams, ambition's glow ! All life's aims grow dimmer, fainter, With a languid, calm decay, Fading as the mighty Painter Shades the scene with twilight gray. Fancy dies. Illusions follow. Love lasts best, but not its bloom ; And the gayest laugh sounds hollow, Echoed from an op'ning tomb. OMb &ge. 117 Soon the past holds all our treasure, All that childless age loves best. Young men still may live for pleasure ; Old men only ask for rest. n8 "HE FOUND HIS WORK, BUT COULD NOT FIND." He found his work, but far behind Lay something that he could not find : Deep springs of passion that can make A life sublime for others' sake, And lend to work the living glow That saints and bards and heroes know. The power lay there — unfolded power — A bud that never bloomed a flower ; For half beliefs and jaded moods Of worldlings, critics, cynics, prudes, Lay round his path and dimmed and chilled. Illusions passed. High hopes were killed ; But Duty lived. He sought not far The " might be " in the things that are ; His ear caught no celestial strain ; He dreamed of no millennial reign. Brave, true, unhoping, calm, austere, He labored in a narrow sphere, And found in work his spirit needs — The last, if not the best, of creeds. ii 9 FAME, LOVE, AND YOUTH. Look down, look down from your glittering heights, And tell us, ye sons of glory, The joys and the pangs of your eagle flights, The triumph that crowned the story — The rapture that thrilled when the goal was won, The goal of a life's desire. And a voice replied from the setting sun — Nay, the dearest and best lies nigher. How oft in such hours our fond thoughts stray To the dream of two idle lovers ; To the young wife's kiss ; to the child at play, Or the grave which the long grass covers ! And little we'd reck of power and gold, And of all life's vain endeavor, If the heart could glow as it glowed of old, And if youth could abide forever. 120 THE DECLINE OF LOVE. Oh, broken-hearted lover, Who touched us long ago, The days seem well-nigh over When tears like yours can flow. Great poets still rise, bringing Thoughts subtle, deep, and strong But scarcely one is singing A simple lover's song. A graver age uncloses, Which mocks at Cupid's barb, And Venus hides her roses In academic garb. Ambition, science, learning, And countless efforts move, And many lamps are burning, But very few to Love. ie ^Decline of tout. 121 Thought strengthens more than feeling, And each takes wider range ; And most wounds find their healing In lives of ceaseless change. And to the young man's vision New star-like spheres unfold, Which promise fields Elysian, Quite other than of old. And so the world advances, And none can bid it stay ; Yet still the heart romances, Although the head be gray. And in stray dreams of passion The old days sometimes rise, When Love was still the fashion, Before the world grew wise. 122 UNCONSCIOUS CEREBRATION. Say not that the past is dead. Though the autumn leaves are shed, Though the day's last flush has flown, Though the lute has lost its tone — Still within, unfelt, unseen, Lives the life that once has been ; With a silent power still Guiding heart or brain or will, Lending bias, force, and hue To the things we think and do. Strange ! how aimless looks or words Sometimes wake forgotten chords, Bidding dreams and memories leap From a long unbroken sleep. 123 THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY. When the world of pleasure palls, When a voice within thee calls To a larger, fuller life, Nobler aims, more worthy strife, Here, in such a pensive mood, Half-aspiring, half-subdued, Come with me and learn to trace All the glories of thy race — All that art and fame can give — Making bygone greatness live. These are those who governed men By the sword or voice or pen — Who through good and evil fate Shaped the fortunes of the state ; Framed its creeds and laws, or bore Its flag to many an unknown shore ; Fought many a fight on sea and land, Or molded realms by wise command, Where beneath the Indian sky For some strong guide the nations cry, 124 National ftortrait (Daller^. In lands where deeds, not words, have sway, Where men can rule and men obey. Here, as on the fabled heights Where Apollo rains delights, Poets seem to live again Free from envy, strife, and pain. Some whose verse can still inspire Hearts with true celestial fire, Give new worth to common things, Lend the jaded spirit wings — Clarion voice or polar star, Wak'ning, guiding, from afar. Others, once of equal fame, Vanished, almost to a name, Poets of some fleeting fashion, Transient taste or thought or passion — Though their numbers sweetly flow, Time has robbed them of their glow — Left them faded, shrunk, and dwindled, Like the hearts they once enkindled ; Yet perhaps some thought or line Lives perennially divine. Here are spirits tempest-born, Cradled in neglect or scorn — Men who kindled flames which long Smold'ring burned, then fierce and strong In a wild consuming blaze. Others rose in evil days, National portrait ©allerg. 125 Bidding erring nations come To God's judgment-seat ; while some Scattered seedling thoughts that flew Farther than their authors knew — Thoughts that loose or thoughts that bind, Guiding those who guide mankind. These are few ; but all around, Gorgeous, jeweled, robed, or crowned, Fortune's favorites in each age, From the throne or court or stage, From each scene of pompous show, Make the spacious canvas glow. Lawyer's craft and churchman's pride Here are reigning side by side ; Learning, that has had its day, Schemes and faiths long passed away, Here recorded live ; and here Many broken lives appear. Some which fair as morning rose, Darkened by a tragic close, Drawn aside by idle dreams, Bright by fitful, transient gleams, Heroes of unworthy creeds, Baffled hopes, misguided deeds, Follies of a frenzied hour, Vanquished causes, vanished power — Each has left some trace at last In these temples of the past. 126 National portrait (gallery Many climbed to these abodes, Treading dark and evil roads : Gambling with the lives of men, Selling vote or voice or pen, By the supple courtier's guile, Or through some frail beauty's smile : They, too, had their sparkling hour, Pride of wealth, of place, of power — A little space of fame or strife In the nation's crowded life. Now the veil of twilight falls Softly on the pictured walls, Making all the tints alike — Holbein, Reynolds, and Vandyke : Strong, stern, thoughtful, Tudor faces Stuarts, with all their courtly graces ; Lovely maidens, warriors bold, Wise and foolish, young and old — Lose their force or grace or bloom, Fading in the gath'ring gloom, Till their outlined figures seem Like an unsubstantial dream. Who can tell how here below Twine the threads of weal and woe ? Knowledge, power, wealth, and fame, Sordid hope and lofty aim, Man may lose or man may win ; Joy and sorrow lie within. National JJorirait Sailers. 127 Theirs is oft the happiest lot, All unseen or all forgot : Some by furious tempests tossed, Fame and friends and riches lost, Still, through failure, grief, or strife, Know the worth and charm of life. Others win by years of pain Life-long aims, and find them vain ; While of those most richly dowered, Placed where Fortune's gifts are showered, On the proudest summits born, Some stand listless and forlorn, Stricken by that strange disease When life's pleasures cease to please, And, with all that earth can give, Rind it weariness to live. Still the world seems mounting higher, Chasing unfulfilled desire, Spurning barrier, prop, and chain, Scatt'ring darkness, conquering pain, Winning much— but in each prize Some sad germ of evil lies ; For the subtle taint that blends With all human hopes and ends, Making good the seed of ill, Rules the course of nations still. Progress comes, but she will wake Cravings more than she can slake ; 28 National portrait Wallers. Wealth increasing, soon will grow Idle, joyless, tasteless show ; Freedom's dawn proves weak and vain When the rhetoricians reign, When the path to honor lies With the many, not the wise ; Knowledge lends new power still To the thought, but not the will, And she scarce can cast a ray On the future's clouded way ; While old Time in triumph leads Shattered causes, hopes, and creeds. THE END. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: April 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 111 1 Mill' llll III! Hill III llll 014 525 003 1