IISBES P OTHER VOEJAS ROl ">>•;■ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. %{! inp^rigliV Shelf .'..H^l'S. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Mr ^-^^'i■- THISBE'S LAMENT AND OTHER POEMS. BY MASSON PELL HELMBOLD, AUTHOR OF " CASSIA, A LETTER-TALE," " BERTRUCCIO," ETC. Thus bards will live, thus bards will write, So long as bards may see the light ; And when the world they cease to write in, Ye'U see no light where they saw light in. philadelp: PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 1885. Copyrhjht, 1885, by MASSON TELL HELMBOLD. TO MY MOTHER, A MOTHER WHO, FOR ALL THE QUALITIES WHICH THAT PARENT SHOULD POSSESS, HAS NEVER BEEN SURPASSED, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. PREFACE. Poets, in these days, generally take refuge under the false and ridiculous supposition that it is impossi- ble to write originally. It could be claimed equally well that the Pagans and Heathens now rampant in various parts of the world, should not be converted because no missionary can be an original missionary. As long as there are human beings, with minds that think and hearts that feel, there are ideas to feed and elevate those minds, — feelings and passions to move and refine those hearts. They are not the instructors of themselves individually ; one original sympathetic mind sways them all. Yet here we find a man of 5 6 PREFACE. ordinary intellect ruling millions of his fellow-men. He has risen to his present state through his own abilities, and Fate, or even Good Luck, has had nothing to do with him. His own abilities made him what he is, and yet he need not deserve it. On the other hand, here is a philosopher, a poet, a man who was simply born to aid his fellow-men, — where or what is he ? He is poor, unfortunate, sad, and persecuted. Now, which of these two men really deserves the philosopher's stone? One has it in reality ; the other seems to have it, or uses it as though he had. One is Thomas Carlyle, — a man of vast power and learning; the other is Thomas Paine, — a man equally able and learned, — yet an Unbeliever! Now, whom are we to follow? One (very wisely) will answer, Carlyle ; another (equally wisely, — he can prove it) says, Paine. So these two men can be both great and yet have ideas completely contradictory. Now, as long as there is a single idea in the myriad codes of philosophy PREFACE. y scattered throughout the Globe; — as long as there is one man to say this and another to say that ; — as long as there are others to prove that he is right or wrong, — there is room for more Poets. " The meanest bard that ever scribbled can, Thinking all his life, scribble well." There is, in other words, time to prove, and minds to assist in proving, the truest and best of those codes of philosophy; and a poet, devoting his whole mind, soul, and life to the study of such matters, is the one at least to try to regulate things for the welfare of his fellow-men. The Author can confidently state that these Poems are original ; he had an object in writing most of them, and has endeavored to reap from his own sufferings and longings a few morals which, ex- pressed with as much sincerity and sympathy as his powers or feelings are capable of, he hopes will only go to the mark as well as his intention came to him. 1* 8 PREFACE, The figures or dates affixed to some of the Pieces, indicate the ages at which they were composed. A particular apology is made for the "Seraph's Boon," as it was composed in the Author's fifteenth year, and is inserted for the mere sake of preservation. The " Ode to a Nightingale," was written some two years before the Author had read Keats's address to the same bird ; but he hopes it is too evidently original to necessitate this remark. CONTENTS. PAGE 1 Thisbe's Lament ii 2 To THE River Hudson 15 3 To A Nightingale 16 4 To A Gypsy Girt 22 5 To A Pebble 25 6 To AN Indian Skull 27 7 To a Farmer's Child 31 8 Night 34 9 Night 36 10 Written at Midnight 37 11 To Saint Mary's Lake, White Plains . . . .38 12 Malicho 41 13 II Pudente 43 14 The Lament of the Serpent 45 15 An Incitement to War 47 16 Lines Written at the Capital, January 18, 1882 . . 49 17 Ye Seraph's Boon 52 18 The Poet 64 19 Epigrams 65 20 Meditation 66 21 A Song 68 22 The Sweetest Song 69 9 lO CONTENTS. 23 'Tis Love this Year 24 Oh, Siren Fair 25 'Tis Love, my Boys 26 Columbia's Kings . 27 The War-Cry of the North 28 The Defeat of the South 29 The Slave's Rhapsody 30 Behold the Day . 31 'Tis Peace 32 "High Heaven May" T,-^ Stanzas for Music 34 Song 35 To Juliet 36 A Song 37 Scotch Songs : 38 Oh, meet me there 39 The Bonny Doon 40 Afton- Waters 41 The Sweetest Bird that Sings by 42 Should a Maiden Tempt 43 A Milliner's Advertisement 44 To a Friend 45 Maiden, I will Love Thee 46 Kathleen 47 Oh, let me see thy Face Divine 48 Lines 49 Could I but Find a Lass to Love Dee 71 74 76 79 80 82 84 88 90 92 96 98 99 102 104 106 110 112 114 117 118 121 122 124 126 127 THISBE'S LAMENT. Solitude! solitude that weep'st at thine own Sad loneliness ! Trees that droop beneath The weight of some mysterious cause, and prone Like a mournful maiden, over the heath Shed tears more dread than fall from sorrow lone ! Seeking, myriad-wailing flood! — with breath More filled with woe than lover's moan for love. That yearn'st for some secret thing 'neath ale or grove ! — Solitude! take thou too my wail of woe! Till thy deep heart beats like a mother's for Her weeping babe ! Take me, bury me low In thy bosom, and let the ^olian wind o'er 12 THISBES LAMENT. My rest sing a mother's lullaby ! Oh ! Valleys ! Mountains ! Deep Cimmerian shore ! Hide me ! Entomb me from the light of day ! Or show me where Pyramus's eyes last shed their ray. Ah, bird, thou sing'st nothing sweet, — sad emblem Of departed youthful joys! even here, Within this lane, didst sing Love's first anthem. When this heart was erst Pyramus's: cold seer! Thou wert but chanting Love's requiem : Ev'n here, with heaps of flowers to cast as I came near, Pyramus hid, panting with heart-choked breath : Alas ! I dreamed not that he was so near to death ! Oh, cease, ye voices of Pierian springs, Whose tales are lost to love and happiness ! Oh, cease to whisper of those wanderings In Aonian vales of light and idleness ! THISBBS LAMENT. 1 3 Those winds, those wolds, and meres, those birds' bright wings, Which lips that thought of love forgot to bless ! Pyramus, thy lips ! Oh, Jove, at their words My soul leapt like the wind on harmonious chords ! Lost Pyramus, in this arbor didst bend To kiss love's first bashfulness. Ah ! and how Came I here that morn and 'neath thee did wend, All-assuming that I knew not that low, Like a flower, thy rosy lips did tend From thy dewy covert, when of my brow Didst steal the boon, soft as the stealthy breeze That drops its balm on the blushful Cyclades. Sweet winds light-laden with Lydian calm. Which Pyramus's lips did delight with mine, — To the rapture of whose Sabean balm Two souls rushed on the gale and there did join ; 14 THISBE'S LAMENT, Warm as the waters by Livadia's palm Down-leaping cliffs to mingle with the brine, — Oh, wind ! thou bear'st back to me my soul, lone, And cold as the wave blighted by the cyclone ! Pyramus ! (sweetest name of Polymnia born, — Sweetest ev'r angel lips gave forth, like moist The silvery vaults of Elysian morn Bestirring in its fall, — first sadly voiced By me in tones of joyless love forlorn. And weird, — remembered name forever poised. In the shape of his own sweet face, above My sight — soul — my life — my misery and love !) Pyramus ! Thou that round my soul did spread All shapes of beauty blooming here below ; — That wert the sweet reaper of all I said. And every thought I had ; oh, let me know What distant field upholds thy lowly head. Where thy cheek, tinged with a last dying glow, TO THE RIVER HUDSON. 15 Lost on the gale the life which was my love. Speak ! Awake ! Spirit, oh, hast thou lips above ? Ah, gay flowers that mock me with your bloom, Which once I might have gladly plucked for bays, In my own lost Pyramus's locks to loom, — Fade ! — Low as his lips which no more shall raise ! Sere as this heart that seeks a silent tomb ! Dead as the joy that waft ye love and praise ! Come, Night ; come, Death ; fair skies, roll away. And leave darkness o'er my euthanasia. TO THE RIVER HUDSON. Most beautiful nymph of my native shore. With thy gently heaving bosom bare. Whose voice is like a lute within the air, When sweet lips sing the music of their lore,- 2 1 6 TO A NIGHTINGALE. Oh ! beautiful nymph upon whom the more I gaze do seem of all I've seen most fair, — Into whose soul meseems I peer whene'er Thine image I bend with open heart before, — Hear me, — how is it that I sigh, and stay Beside thee ere I part so lingeringly ? As into the eyes of love which fades away, Stand and ponder, — as on vows made faithlessly ? Ah, virgin sweet, I would only thou couldst say That I might live, to love thee everlastingly. TO A NIGHTINGALE. I. Have we wearied of thy numerous strain ? Canst thou sing, forever at thine ease. And the poet heed not, his attentions cease. Choosing some other being of tree or sky or plain, — TO A NIGHTINGALE. \y Some sweeter moral, higher theme than he may gain Of thee ? Can he hear thy harmonies, — Harped Hke the myriad-cadenced breeze, Where flowers have a voice, the floods, and birds, — and still shun thee with no pain ? II. Where turn to find the glory of the vale, — The worthiest thing that wins a steadfast love, — The sweetest object that beautifies the grove. And in its sweetness gives every star or beechen pale A deeper summer joy ? — List to the nightingale, — Turn thy feet into the night,— when, stoop'd above. The moon hearkens, a pallid rapture wove In every beam, — when gaping darkness stands awed over the midnight dale. 1 8 TO A NIGHTINGALE. III. Then give thy soul to the spirit of ecstasy ! Overflood thy bosom with the tides of joy ! Till they leap to burst their bounds, dissolve, and die In a torrent of happiness, — moving with the mel- ody,— Roaring, falling with the madness and cadency ! What is the soul's delight ! How seeks the eye To behold the author of such a music high, So falling from the heavens that it might a seraph angel's be ! IV. O primal moral of all morals here ! O bird that sings't all alone in arboreal shade, Fast hidden from human eyes (or pent in glade, Or in ethereal canopies) in the clear TO A NIGHTINGALE. ig Day, — didst thou not, full mournful of his sad career, Join Adam, of lost Paradise dismayed, In Serendib's isle sequestered as he strayed ? And still dost thou mourn his fall, hidden hermit of the midnight drear ? O sweet companion of our mother Eve ! Once full-fed with Eden's bowery breeze, 'Mid ceaseless balm of od'rous Summer trees, What time the angels sought thy voice, — but not to grieve, — Raining like heaven's murm'rous showers from ev'ry eave ! O wild bewailer in a Lydian ease ! Or what hissing serpent, envious of thy keys. Dared tempt thee with promised joy of fruit and life Heaven refused to give ? 2* 20 TO A NIGHTINGALE, VI. Where is the tempting fruit, thy life and joys ? — The light of fadeless days and unknown years, — Sweet paradisal rivers where the saddest tears Of virgin flowers wept, — spotless leaves, opening skies, Where moon never looked down with pitiless eyes, — Where stars never rolled their myriad spheres, Numerous as man's frailties, hopes, and fears ? — Where are they All ? Oh, mortal bird ! canst thou e'er regain thy Paradise ? VII. Spirit of sadness, and of hidden shame. Heaven-doomed here in Stygian depths to mourn, Fearful of daylight, or human eyes and scorn, — More drear than covert Eve, who clothed her naked frame TO A NIGHTINGALE. 2 1 Beneath the burning sight of Heaven's scornful flame ! Oh, ever wilt thou sing? and still forlorn Tell us we are of fallen parents born, — Thro' Eden lost decreed our lives, our hopes, our worship of God's name? VIII. Oh, then sing on, and human lips shall praise Fore'er the sweetness of the immortal theme : Even thou, that hast here but a fitful dream, May'st find all sadness vain, and joy within thy days : And we, who seek for peace the haunts which are thy ways, Shall laugh to see how false this world may seem, How dark, sequestered thoughts the mind may teem, When heavenlier things are sought where heaven itself surrounds the gaze. 1882. 22 TO A GYPSY GIRL. TO A GYPSY GIRL. Here thou leap'st upon my sight Like an angel of the height, With thy loose and meteor hair, And thy features wild and bare, And thy foot so soft that springs Man might think that thou hadst wings. Until familiar with thy face Thro' delineation of its grace, — Until he saw that he might be An earthly worshipper of thee. But thou of love hast none, Maiden of the forest lone ! Save that which in thy tribe Barters thee, or wins thee with a bribe, To bear thee thro' a distant shade Where cute-eyed sin sits undismayed. TO A GYPSY GIRL. Oh, who could hesitate To raise thy young hTe to a state Worthy of its innocence, And woman's natural moral sense? Oh, here the forest is wild Around thee, unstoried child ! Here alone within a dell Full happily couldst thou dwell, Nature's rude orig-inal ! And the dashing waterfall Could tell thee naught beyond The circle of its little pond, — Could murmur to thy vision Nothing of a life Elysian. But, bound upon the spot, Wouldst ask no change of lot, To give thee a new home And thoughts; no favorite thing But only lips that sing — 23 24 TO A GYPSY GIRL. Till, lain upon the sod, Thy soul aspired to God — Should to thy bosom come ; And yet thy meek and humble sense Would be a bright intelligence. Unconstrained by human folly, And imagined melancholy. And all this life's dull sophistries. Which are the wisdom of the wise, And but a veil on sightless eyes. Oh, who would not that he could bind To such a solitude his mind? — Shun his noble veins or race To have thy blood within their place, — Don thy wild robes for his gold And fantastic garments' fold, — Pluck the leaves from off thy head. And place them on his own instead, — Take thy meek, unknowing mind, And cast his learning to the wind, — TO A PEBBLE. Take thy dell, thy waterfall, Be Nature's rude original, And die as if he felt on earth The sweet advantage of a birth ! [882. 25 TO A PEBBLE. Thou simplest thing that God hath made, Maiden-bosomed being, so white That of some snowy Alpine glade Dost seem a flake, wind-wafted light, — Sweet virgin-lipped, modest mite, What dost thou here ? Who loves thee in thy cavern shade, So meek scarce prompt'st the heart to ask why there thou'rt laid ? 26 TO A PEBBLE. II. But thy spirit is not on earth, Pale gem more dear than ruby red; For seraphs know thou hast a worth, — That one mother bore, equal fed. And breast-cradled thy infant head ; Tho' men revere not the lineage of thy birth, Nor bind the sapphire's gold around thy humble girth. III. Thou, all alone and unbeloved, — Even as a maid whose simple face With no beauty human heart hath moved, — Shall remain uncherished in thy grace, And shapes more vain take thy due place : So souls more fit for thrones in heaven above Are lost on earth to worth, happiness, and love. 1882. TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 27 TO AN INDIAN SKULL. (Found near a forest.) I. Hollow face of more than mortal scorn, With deathly lips that mock the orient skies, He who wends thee by with life-unthoughtful eyes, Treads thee in his path, and the cloudless morn Of life is dimmed with thoughts of erst unborn : Black visions, omens, and breathless mysteries Haunt thy sealed lips, and spiritually rise From those sightless spheres whose orbs are maggot- worn. IL I curse thee, oracle of dread decrees ! I cast thee from my path! Away! thou'lt haunt 28 TO AN INDIAN SKULL. Me in after-years with fears and mockeries ! Go down to thy deep-delved caverns, and freeze In the bowels of thy mother-womb ; there daunt The lithe and soulless worm, or rant thy vaunt, Like an abortion, to th' heartless earth at ease. Unseen by the world, unheard in thy taunt. III. Heaven forgive the blasphemy of that lie ! Sacred thing! Foreboder of man's liberty And shriven soul ! Thou'rt dear to this slavery Of sin-fettered hearts unwarned to die ! Sweet pastoral of moral strain and joy ! Here let the forest sing with empty threnody. But thou, with all the holy love in melody. Shall speak of things beyond where birds may fly. IV. Here, by the side of mighty trees, thou'lt stay The mightiest of all God's wonders great; TO AN INDIAN SKULL. 29 For here the friendless shepherd shall cease his lay, And pause the noontide hours to ponder late, And leave his prosperous flocks to dream on fate : Thus thou, sweet pastoral, shall teach him to pray Prayers that never toned the rustic way ; Then trees and floods shall make him praise his state. V. And here the traveller, wayward bent from home. Shall feel the thrills for ones afar away, By sunny Loire meandering on its way, Or by Hudson's murmurous breast of foam : But thou, with lips pent up to heaven's dome, Soul thyself of one departed, shall say, " Fear not, for God will keep them in thy stay ;" And, all-assured, once more his path he'll roam. VI. Here the daily heavens will stretch revealed, Moons gaze thro' the canopies of the spheres. 30 TO AN INDIAN SKULL. Suns on suns know thee, storms on storms be pealed With torrents amain thine unyielding years : For the rains will dash, and moons roll in vain : when clears The tempest, suns will bleach thee; Time must yield; And, her only living thing, dust of the field, Thou'lt be a sibyl of man's moral fears. VII. Then, nature's greatest boon, Oh, here remain. And be a spirit and a teacher sent to men ; For thou, in mortal life, wert of this domain. And didst know this world, this mount, stream, and glen. These passions with their hopes and changes, men With their communions of joy to sin, of truth to pain ; And the spirit which haunts thee hath no stain. And thy lips are ones where God's own have been. 1882. TO A FARMER'S CHILD. 31 TO A FARMER'S CHILD. Leaping, twirling, dancing thing, Like a bird on merry wing, — Joyous in the morning's rise, Like a lark within the skies, — Joyous when the even falls, Fresh as birds in western squalls, — Oh, when will thy sadness come, And leave thy soul within a home? — When will happiness leave thy breast Like a bird without a nest ? II. God's eyes are still above thee, — Can He ever cease to love thee ? — 3* 32 TO A FARMER'S CHILD. Leave thee in simplicity To brutal man's duplicity? No ! He hath made thy nature mild, And innocence is God's own child, And He will guard thee and defend thee, If coming evils dare offend thee ; He will bless, and see thee blest With love of Him within thy breast. III. Emblem of my infant years. Author of these childish tears, Rosy lips where meadows blush With all their flowery flush; Leaping, palpitating breast, Like the streamlet's glad unrest. Oh, let me press thee to the bosom Where joy so long hath ceased to blossom ! Sweet harbinger from out my Past! Oh, lend my heart thy flood at last. TO A FARMERS CHILD. IV. Such thoughts as these cannot be thine, Or thy spirit would weep with mine : Such thoughts as these should fill the soul Where tides of sorrow as billows roll, And whelm the spirit in a sea Of darkness never known to thee : For thou, in unsuspecting state All reckless of a future fate, Art an image of thy God Too pure to fear the pressing of a sod. 1880. 33 34 NIGHT. NIGHT. Oh, think not that night lacks of being fair, Nor that the sun is mistress of the sky, For the virgin moon sleeps most fair on high. And all the heavens with mantles repair To hide her from the peeping sun, whilst in the air Sweet roundelays waft sweetest lullaby; Sweet even as an Indian mother's sigh, What time she seeks some dark and grassy lair To rock her sleeping babe. There's such a tone. Such an angel voice of cadence in the wood, Which the raptured spirit seems to hear alone, When night falls on heavenly solitude, That all the golden stars which ever shone. Are less than the pure thoughts it makes us brood. NIGHT. II. 35 Beauteous night ! beauteous moon ! what lowly thing Must not adore? Lo, oft upon the white Carpathian fastnesses, to praise thy light, The lautari lonely takes his wondering, — Wild as a bird with only lips that sing! And afar in Shihrian mountain-woods, bright Eyes have caught their rapture, whilst in the height Pale lips tell of love too sweet for murmuring. Most beautiful night! descend upon my soul, And blend with my life thy blest tranquillity ! Till, as my prayer ascends to his goal, Stoops the laboring moon, and hears me with a sigh; Even while the strange and vapory mist roll O'er his face, and stars look down in mystery. 36 NIGHT. NIGHT. Night wooes the maiden moon, She drops in pallid swoon Upon his breast; all things soon Begin to love, and faint with joy : Sleeps not a bird in the dell ; Black owl and black pipistrel In their own ways do tell Their dreams unto the midnight sky. There are lips that grow pale, — Pale even with the tale Too mad for lovers to wail, — But they speak love with silent tones Easilier than with shrill cries ; For now do eyes meet eyes Where heart to heart replies, With love's deep, distinct monotones. WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 37 WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. There are voices in the silence of night, — The stars are still, save that in their zones they fly Onward, but yet they have whisperings on high, As tho' the birds did echo in their light. Which having heard, meseems stars are more bright, And the moon far more cold, and seem to sigh The vibration of earth's sweet melody : And one heart beats louder, and the keen flight Of one soul wings new spheres of mysteries. Yon domes, where men meet for praise or prayer, Still repeat, tho' midnight on their altars sleep; And, ah! this mind, erst wrapt in speechless care, Now holds with One its open converse deep, And men may scorn or heed these tearful eyes ! ^S TO ST. MATTY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. TO SAINT MARY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. Far from thee, by Potomac's tide, I stood, And saw his waters without one beauty That. is thine; the wild raven's dinsome key Rose from the marshes drear, whilst by thy flood Heavenly lays chant glorious solitude : And, hearing, all my soul went back to thee, — Even as a bird with heart of brimming glee Seeks for merrier pastime a gayer wood. Thou art to memory a thing so bright. That still I see the golden passage of The sun, with thy light clouds faring o'er, in light Spread on thy surface ; and the willowy grove On thy shore, murm'rous ever, bending down white Eaves, like pale lips which yearn to whisper love. TO ST. MARY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. 39 II. It is not here alone whereby T find To think of thee, for in other ch'mes, where * The grape feeds luxury to every air, And streams on streams are lulled with rosy wind, Thou still hast been a picture in my mind, Whereof the more I trace, the more must stare, Till each lineament is expressed more fair. And the very lips of music are defined In the breathing sky, and the flood, and dale. And I have stood on Thames's long-harped shore, To hear of her unmoved full many a tale ; And I have seen the sunny Loire, untouched, bore 'Neath flowers thick as those that deck a Servian vale Which maidens cast off when the Rolo's o'er. III. How waving willows fanned me in thy grass, When sleepily sang I in so calm a lair! Even as the restless lips of morn breathe air 40 TO ST. MARY'S LAKE, WHITE PLAINS. Upon the idle mountain as they pass, When softly sings the bird a gentle mass, And, slowly rising, like mantles debonnair, The warm mists uplift o'er thy bosom fair. As the waking sigh rippling heaves its glass ! At even I sought the steepest peak above, To see the sun sink in the lowest skies. As the lark droned his last tale of love, And weary day slowly drooped her eyes, And the beetle to boom one last note strove. When he falls by thy shore, and breathless lies. IV. Pure, singing Lake, thou art still to the years, Melody more sweet than heard by thy shore ; For when I dream of thee, thy voice once more Falls upon my soul (soft as angel tears Faintly breathing their dew from distant spheres), And it rejoices, finding sweet tales of lore In every thought upon the days of yore, — In all it meets or sees, and all it hears. MALIC HO. 41 Even here I stand, by far Potomac's flood, And feel the wind which dimples o'er thy grace, And see the smile upon the laughing wood. And the lark that flits by in jovial race ; Tho' Winter's frown be on this solitude. And the skies as wan as a drooping face. 1 881. M A L I C H O. Frowning brow that feign'st a mien severe, Yet as fair shown in that haughtier grace ; Cunning soul, and thrice more cunning face, Cloudy with the thoughts which are most clear, Sunny when the spirit is most drear, — Why do ye love to cheat ? — From man chase All his youth and joy to sorrow's wry grimace, And make love that should be sweet so sere ? 42 MALICHQ. II. Up, up, vain man ! to worship such a thing, What faith could make thee true? Thou lovest not, — Tis but an instant doomed to be thy lot, That thou shalt pine in this low worshipping. She is fair, — but thou art not her beauty's being : Thine is the purity, and hers the blot; Thou art the god, — and still thou hast forgot To rule, and thy dropt sceptre hath no sting. III. Thou pin'st for one woman, but there are more Who can give thee peace which she shall ne'er : Verily, the All-seeing could never bear To gaze on man, and see his earthly store, And shape no single soul to bless him, nor Send one voice to join his earthly prayer, Interpreter of the mystery of care : A mite of God's true love in every breast is bore. IL PUDENTE. 43 IL PUDENTE. EvALiNA, thou mak'st the soul of man feel Glad to dream upon such a modesty; His breast inhales thy very purity, For his heart awakens to a joy so real That heaven itself breathes in thy face ideal. II. Whilst I gaze upon thee rapturously, And press thy hands, white as a snowy sky Where gentle streaks of veined azure lie, A meek sigh parts thy lips : I hear it as the key Of some pure harp in rosy isles beyond the sea: 44 IL PUDENTE. III. And the timid hand beats hke a gentle sigh, That stirs a motion in the tides of air : I feel it, but to my lips I would not dare To press it ; tho' my lips thence might purify, But such a deed would make my heart too high. IV. Modesty ! language of a spirit fair That calls forth man's own soul to love thee more ! Breathing face with the breath of Summer's shore. When the soft south wind on rosy lair Is casting the soul of his purity bare ! V. Most beauteous shape, thou art not earthly, nor In thy sweet origin, nor in thy mien, — Those eyes that stare on man as tho' unseen, — Are they of earth ? They know not its ways ; And thereon but seraphims should gaze. THE LAMENT OF THE SERPENT. 45 ^ THE LAMENT OF THE SERPENT. (A Sibilation.) I. Down from the land of bliss, Of pleasure and idlesse, From the shade where the lotus-tree grows, From the banks where the Salsabil flows, Cursed for deeds amiss. Low my father fell ! II. Down thro' the trackless waste Where red flames ever blazed, Where fire-noxious winds ever hissed. To o'erflood the skies with darksome mist, O'er bogs of fire raised, — Down-stricken to hell ! 46 THE LAMENT OF THE SERPENT. III. And I over this maze, With naught to meet my gaze, Nor token my misery to alloy, And warm my breast with slightest joy, Wander with shaming face, To mourn heaven lost ! IV. E'en he who my father's intent won, Breathes to this day a happier one ; That Heaven's ire would pass, And upraise this lowly mass. That lives a pang of myth groping prone. To there it loves most ! London, December, 1880. AN INCITEMENT TO WAR, 47 AN INCITEMENT TO WAR. They fought in the shade Of a million spears, They fought and they died, In the primal years, — But they were not denied The liberty they made, — Death, death was liberty, — The glory with freedom to die, In freedom's name, without a sigh. II. Where are our glorious men? The coward shrinks at the name Of war ! Are we all, All cowards, then ? 48 AN INCITEMENT TO WAR. Our fathers had not this shame, Our fathers feared no fall ; Feared slavery — but not the grave ; Loved life — but not to be a slave ; And died — but knew not what they gave. III. Do we not feel the nip Of prison chains, slowly Closing on the tainted limb ? Away with them ! Away ! Rip Off the links unholy! Annul the record grim ! And let our children say, We lived, and fell — a prey, — But — tho' vanquished — still did sway. 1881. LINES WRITTEN A T THE CAPITAL. 49 LINES WRITTEN AT THE CAPITAL, JANUARY 18, 1882. I WILL not seek for gold nor pine, — But find a greater thing to boast ; A wealth of freedom shall be mine, Which can ne'er be lost. There is pomp and dress and revelry All around to tempt me in my way, — But I'll see men in their vanity, Without being vain as they. If there be joys for mortal men, When Virtue elevates the soul, I'll seek those joys, and fix my ken Upon Virtue's goal. 50 LINES WRITTEN A T THE CAPITAL. I will not roam the hidden seas, As my heart did once declare, Nor seek in forests lone a peace I sought in vain to share ; I will not deem that men are base. And persecute them in despair, — I'll turn and look them in the face, And see my own soul there. My native land is bright and gay : Spirit, thy freedom is divine ! The joys that Heaven strews in the way Of seraphs, are thine. Thy only peace is not the grave, Nor is death thy truest happiness, — The meanest thoughts of meanest slave, Than these are less. » LINES WRITTEN AT THE CAPITAL. 51 All nature, thro' heaven or heath, An everlasting beauty gives ; The lowliest flower that meets its death, Still in beauty lives. What wilt thou ? Can Heaven give more, Or man sublimer things conceive ? Up, up! thou art free! thy store Was not to make thee grieve ! Search out thy grave in Virtue's name, — Break these chains that bind thee like a slave ! And lay thy frame without a shame Into thy grave. 52 YE SERAPH'S BOON. YE SERAPH'S BOON. r THAT far land where faeries dwelle, And Oman rolls ye pearly wave ; Where love her sweetest tale does telle And eke the saddest love e'er gave ; Where bulbul sings ye nighte to sleepe And zephyr wakes her with a kisse, All in a palace lone, to weepe That fate should give her so much blisse, There dwelt a ladye fair. II. Ye ladye was a gentle maid, For royal blood was i' her veins ; But blood, alack-a-day, but made Her life full sore with idle pains ; YE SERAPH'S BOON. t-i Oh, had she been ye meadowe queen That roams so blithe ye flowery field, A scoter joy had she, I ween. Than weal or pride could ever yield Unto this ladye fair. III. No knighte had she to win her hearte Whom she could live to love and blesse; Nor sire had she to keepe her parte, And tilt her foes of idlenesse ; Nor sistern sweete, nor gentle freres, Nor e'en a mutual companie, — Alas ! her simple minde, her timid years Could find no friend in bird or tree To charm a ladye fair. IV. Sweet Idlenesse ! I recke thee sweete As aught that tempts moral i tie ; 54 VE SERAPH'S BOON. Old age can love thee leal who's meet To woo his lost virginitie ; But for ye blooming, budding flower That faints and fades for lack employ, Meseems 'twould fade within an hour Came there no bird to sip its joy, — So did ye ladye fair. She drooped as any rosie brighte That winter chills, or drought has bent; Yet neither deathe nor sleepe bedighte Her snowie cheeke nor ^yts ypent ; — But sleepe, a deepe, unearthlie sleepe. Did fall upon her gentle soul. And held it here to wake and weepe From dreams, I ween, more dole Than knew a ladye fair. YE SERAPH'S BOON. 55 VI. Dreams, dreams of many years, could they Be sweete for hearte that never loved ? No gentle sprite or errant fay Came to those dreams with pitie moved, Nor aught of nature's imagerie To soothe her soul with faerie scenes, — But all was darke as deathe could be, If Heaven a fancy mere had been Unto this ladye fair. VII. Ye insect vile that builds his net r every nook and dismal place, He from ye ladye's hand did set A silken woof unto her face ; And on ye palace wide, ye dust 5* 56 YE SERAPH'S BOON. Of ages came and settled deepe ; And summers came, and winter's gust, And birdies sang to wake ye sleepe That wrapt ye ladye fair. VIII. So years did hie : until a day Ye ladye oped her wondrous eyes : Beside her there a one did stay That bade her wake and following rise ; His hoarie bearde heaved as his breaste. And i' his hand he bore a staffe ; Like saintly pilgrim was he drest, — But i' his eyes a cruel laughe That quaked ye ladye fair. IX. *' Oh, ladye fair !" ye wighte he says, ^' Has life but taught thee idlenesse ? V£ SERAPH'S BOON. 57 Behold, full many are my days, And each has taught me happinesse : Now counsel sweete shall be thy grace If wisdom's worde can make thee heede ; Those tears bewipe from off thy face, And take my hand and let me leade The way, my ladye fair." X. *' Grammercy !" did ye ladye shrieke, " Unhand me by my royal blood ! But happie rest is all I seeke. And what than sleepe can be more goode ? Soote dreams I ken them not, but dream Full sooter ones than sadder be ; Now half aloof" With eyes agleam. Ye cruel wighte but smiled he Upon ye ladye fair. 58 V-E SERAPH'S BOON. XL Forth to ye mead he led her out, And there did stop a fount beside ; Her piteous moan and mercy shout With hideous jeers he did deride. " Behold!" quoth he, "ye fount is dead, Whose life has many lives to keepe ; Ye birdies here that sipped and fed Shall wake no more from earthlie sleepe Like thee, my ladye fair. XII. " Now cruel is thy hearte to leave This fount to warpe so choked with leaves ; For Nature too can joy or grieve. More true than mortal joys or grieves : So stoope thee down; thy lilie hande VE SERAPH' S BOON. ^q Shall busie be for once, I ween ; Each faded leaf, each grain of sand, Although they myriads had been, Thou'lt draw, my ladye fair." XIII. Ye ladye looked reluctant pride, And drewe up her form to quaenlie Heighte, quaenlie as a quaen could bide That loves to looke on dignitie ; But now she turned upon ye wighte An eye that wailed a pitie looke, — But met she no reluctance slighte In Sterne demean that did not brooke To soothe ye ladye fair. XIV. And when ye taske ye ladye'd done, And turned to meet his mild approve, 6o VE^ SERAPH'S BOON. Behold, ye hermit wighte was gone, And i' his place a youth did hove; His limbs they were yclad i' grace Whose vesture showed their symmetrie, — But with his cloaked arme his face He hid from sighte, that yearned to see Ye heart-struck ladye fair. XV. Now did ye ladye thinke at last There was some joy for her to be, And that ye drearie fate was past That made her lone and solitarie; So rapture i' her eyes so brighte Did gleam that care seemed strange to her ;- While gazing with a blushing frighte, She dared no worde to speake or stir, He hailed ye ladye fair. YE SERAPH'S BOON. ^j XVI. " O ladye, love is sweete, I knowe, But changes oft as I have done ; — But now you saw me bending low And looking all that love would shun ; Whilst, lo, I now am fair and young, Yet hide my face as hides a sting; So who can tell that righte or wrong Twould be to love or hate a thing- Like me, my ladye fair ? XVII. "Awhile agone you feared my mien, Whiles now you love,— and yet the same Am I in mind and soul, I ween, Howe'er my garb inspire or shame : Now see, ye moral is so sweete, 62 YE SERAPH'S BOON. I wonder deepe you finde it not, — Whilst here you pine and idly greet, Yet happy still could be thy lot, My lonelie ladye fair. XVIII. " With Charitie a pleasure lives That falls as bounteous on the head, And earth benevolently gives Full many a joy in pleasure's stead ; For naught can be so sweete as life That lives another life to keepe. And idlesse is a busie strife For one who's hearte is lighte yet deepe, My lonelie ladye fair. XIX. Ere many hieing years are gone This triste shall join us once again. ¥£ SERAPH'S BOON. 5^ And, oh, if else can breake thy mien so lone And make thee happie free of paine, I onh"e would my lovelie lot 'twould be To give the boon that made thee soe ; A mien so faire Love ne'er did see That drooped so sad as thee, and lowe. My prettie ladye fair." XX. Thus having said, ye youth he turned And hasted to ye ancient woode, While, gazing there, ye ladye spurned He to heede that weeping bade him bode; But reaching now ye forest shade. He did uncloak his hidden face,— That mien— those eyes— that they portrayed One of Heaven's cherubic race Did know ye ladye fair. March, 1878. 64 THE POET. THE POET. I SAW a Poet with a shaggy mane And features leonine ; I strove to deem him great, and fain Would love a thing divine ; But, lo, he won no mortal soul, And loafed within his own ; His sullen mien, his eyeball's roll, Were of the sad and lone. O Heaven ! is this the world's great Peer,- This a Master, when a Slave ? — The Poet, the Prophet, and the Seer Should see farther than the Grave ! EPIGRAMS. Be freer, nobler, mightier in aim, And born by God's reflection ; — Aspiring, loving, not in name and fame, But scourge of Life's dejection. October 2, 1882. 65 EPIGRAMS. I SAW a fool and a fool saw me ; In mind and soul no difference knew he. When a Poet has fame, he's a great man ; When he has not, he lives but to hate man. Argue never with a dunce, — He'd conquer thee at once. I love your dishes and fain would be at your feast. But you'll pardon my absence of stomach at least. 66 MEDITA TION. Men love women, women love men, The former silly, the latter vain ; — One loves one, whilst the other loves ten,- One is duped, and the other lacks gain. If vice could gain us Paradise, Hell would ne'er have given us vice. MEDITATION. O SIREN fair, I see thee standing there, Thy raven locks embowering two white arms ; Thy naiad features warm, thy bosom bare, Breathing forth a breath more sweet than summer air, Thine eyes pent down with a musing stare, Thy limbs inclined, so soft, so crimson fair, — Oh, lend me power to see seraphic charms As thine without a mute and blind despair. MEDITA TION. 5^ Above thee lies the meadow of the skies, Where romping clouds do chase the hieing noon, While Phoebus, with sad maternal eyes, Beckons them home ; high round-about thee rise Many a beechen pale; the river hies Full gently at thy feet; thy shadow lies Upon its panting breast; the stealthy moon Ascends, birds sing, and list 'ning night replies. I dare not gaze ; how strive to make thee raise The veil that shades thee in a thought so deep, But lends thy beauty light ? Some distant maze. Some sphere where worlds and stars unknown do blaze, Where love is pure, and man far longer stays. Has run its course before thy dreaming gaze — Has rocked thy soul into a cherub's sleep, And sang to thee Heaven's own roundelays. 6* 68 A SOAG. A sudden light comes o'er the vision bright ; She wakes; she moves; the bending brow is raised The stooping form betakes its wonted height And wends the shallow tide : enraptured, night Hushes to view the glory of the sight; And, gazing o'er the flood with sad delight, As had nor mortal eyes nor angel's gazed. Gleam Luna and her guardian satellite. 1884. A SONG. Love, love, love, Thou art more false than hate, For it will live where thou hast met thy fate. Love, love, love, Thou art more low than scorn. For it will mock the day that thou wert born. THE SWEETEST SONG. 69 Love, love, love, 'Vaunt from this heart of mine ! For it hates and it scorns both thee and thine. THE SWEETEST SONG. The sweetest song I ever heard, With mortal's best delight. Came not from any happy bird That gave her soul to night ; But from a maiden's virgin heart That never loved before. To tell me in her simple art The mutual love she bore. 70 THE SWEETEST SONG. t II. The saddest song I ever heard, Was when that maiden's breath Breathed out the fond last parting word* Of souls still bound in death ; She told me still her love was mine, If mortal pride would take it. And that her love would be divine, As she could ne'er forsake it. III. Those songs, or sad or sweet, are heard When youth is in its prime, And still they sing, like any bird. Within the heart thro' time; * " Fond last farewell." — Byron. 'TIS LOVE THIS YEAR. y^ And sweet and sad the moral lies In songs so sung as those, — That teach us grief is of our joys, And love is of our woes. London, 1883. 'TIS LOVE THIS YEAR. Tis Love this year shall be my guide, And show me whom to marry ; Thro' all the world I'll wander wide And only finding tarry; I'll find her here or there, In Venice or Meru, I'll take her, if she's fair, From China or Peru. As fair a maiden she shall be As ever mortal sainted ; 72 'TIS LOVE THIS YEAR. She'll give me all her purity, Yet bear my sins untainted; Tho' where to find a one so fair Is far beyond my guessing, Yet still I'll find her here or there, — And take her with a blessing. A beauty shall her mind adorn, So strong in holy meekness, That ne'er within that mind a scorn Arose for mortal weakness ; She'll raise me up and make me dare To feel I'm worth that beauty, — But, — ah ! I'll find her here or there, For 'tis my life and duty. Her every thought shall be a grace But equalled by her splendor. And each soft feature of her face Shall show a thought as tender; •775 LOVE THIS YEAR. And tho' to win a one so fair 'Twould take a mortal clever, Vet still I'll find her here or there, — And keep her too forever. 'Tis Love this year shall be my guide, And show me whom to marry; Thro' all the world I'll wander wide And only finding tarry; I'll find her here or there, In Venice or Meru, I'll take her, if she's fair. From China or Peru, 73 74 OH, SIREN FAIR. OH, SIREN FAIR. Oh, siren fair, I'd bravely dare To give thy face a look, But to declare the love I bear My heart could never brook. Each sweet device whose soft advice So tells me how to win thee, But seems a vice to bind the ice That chills the heart within thee. Since Love's replies in those cold eyes No mutual feeling render. Then were it wise to change my guise And show I'm not so tender? OH, SIREN FAIR. 75 Alas, the mind that yearns to find A single trait that charms thee, But falls behind the love less blind Whose careless pride disarms thee. So if I tried, as I denied, To treat you like the rest, You'll lose your pride and yearn to hide Your blushes in my breast. But take your choice, and heed the voice Whose love is only Fashion, — And when that dies you'll find the guise That Love should wear is Passion. 76 'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. 'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. 'Tis love, my boys, 'tis love, my boys, 'Tis only love you're needing ; 'Twill wipe the tears from out your eyes, And stop your heart that's bleeding; So haste you now and find a lassie, And take her home and love her, And tho' she's virtuous, sweet, yet sassy, She'll raise you far above her. Tve tried it, boys, I've tried it, boys, And know the thing is worthy ; She made me happy, made me wise Beyond a portion earthy ; She gave me truth, and I was base, She gave me love and feeling. And e'en the features of her face I felt to mine came stealing. 'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. jj She makes me, boys, she makes me, boys, She makes me all so jolly. That every thought within me dies That leads to mournful folly; I press her lips, and they are pure, Yet feel that mine grow purer, And tho' her love is more than sure. Yet mine, I feel, is surer. I love her, boys, I love her, boys, As only love could make me; She binds my heart with gentle ties Whose strength shall ne'er forsake me; I am not weak, for she is here To fortify my weakness. And all my sorrow, hope, and fear She bears for me with meekness. I thought her, boys, I thought her, boys, I thought her far above me. 78 'TIS LOVE, MY BOYS. And could but think some sweet surmise Of pity made her love me ; But when I twined my arms around Her heaving bosom tender, I knew the ties by which we're bound Are all that Love can render.* 'Tis love, my boys, 'tis love, my boys, 'Tis only love you're needing ; 'Twill wipe the tears from out your eyes, And stop your heart that's bleeding ; So haste you now and find a lassie, And take her home and love her. And tho' she's virtuous, sweet, yet sassy, She'll raise you far above her. * This last quatrain is not original, so far as ideas are concerned. COLUMBIA'S KINGS. COLUMBIA'S KINGS. Columbia's kings shall rule fore'er And wear the crown of liberty; Her noble sons have higher blood Than hearts whose freedom is not free; The stars of Fortune, at her will, Were drawn like satraps from above, And kneeling down beneath her frown Cringed out the fate of Peace and Love. O blessed Peace ! O happy Love,— Full many lands can claim ye less ! O glorious doom that here below The curse of war should curse to bless ! Tho' deep in foul oppression erst. We still were free to break our chains,— For tho' but slaves, we feared our graves Would bind our souls with coward stains. 79 8o THE WAR-CRY OF THE NORTH. We claimed our portion just, and won, But mercy came with valiant pride. And for our foes — we hid their crimes. That only Peace and Love could hide : So, once fair Freedom's hand is won, May Peace and Love oppressive bind, Till Love is near and Peace is dear To every realm and heart and mind. THE WAR-CRY OF THE NORTH. We were not born To fear, but scorn. The conqueror's stake for Freedom's sake ; Let every arm, tho' myriads swarm. Be joined like one in fight ! Tho' with our graves We'll free the slaves, THE WAR-CRY OF THE NORTH. 8l Whose fate unjust, by Southern lust, 'Gainst Nature's weal and hearts that feel, Is bound in Freedom's sighf ! They breathe the air, The passions share. Of hearts as free as liberty ; Their woes they feel, — to God they kneel, And pray for peace and light. Then on and speed ! Ignoble deed Of him that stands when Heaven commands, Each hand that strives to save these lives Should strive with Heaven's own might. Then on, ye braves ! And seek your graves- With souls elate for others' fate ; And fall on man a coward's ban Whose hand deserts the right ! 82 THE DEFEAT 01^ iHE SOUTH. THE DEFEAT OF THE SOUTH. Above our mighty eagle soared And scanned the bloody field, It saw a people's rights restored, And saw their tyrants yield, Yet drooped its wings beside the dead And shunned a prey so gory, — Tho' every drop of blood we shed Was worth a name of glory. It saw the long-bound slave leap free Across the Southern hills, And thank with tears on bended knee The savior of his ills ; It saw the hearts that ever felt Their woes with patience mute. THE DEFEAT OF THE SOUTH. 83 Kneel down as mortal never knelt, Who once was but a brute. It saw the maiden, meek and fair, Whose beauty was her shame, That begged her lord at least would spare Her humble virgin name ; It saw the helpless babe whose birth Was still its parent's doom, Torn from her arms — because its mirth Had soothed its mother's gloom. But more, ah, more than this, its eye Beheld with shrinking flame ; It saw a nation's doom was nigh To blast her virgin fame ; When Conscience true at last revealed She could not be so base, And tore the shield that had concealed The pity in her face. 84 THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. And when our mighty eagle soared And scanned the bloody field, ' It saw a people's rights restored, And saw their tyrants yield. Yet drooped its wings beside the dead, And shunned a prey so gory, — Tho' every drop of blood we shed Was worth a name of glory. THE SLAVE'S RHAPSODY. Afar, afar on Afric's sunny shore, I roamed the tropic forest wild. Nor dreamed a dream that made my being more Than Nature's rude but happy child. THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. 85 II. Until the tyrant's coward lust had bade Him bear us captive o'er the brine, And recked not that a lineal sire had made Us brothers of an equal line. III. In lands remote they taught us we were slaves Whom Nature's crimes had bound in chains, And less by far had been our recreant graves Than such a doom of penal pains. IV. Around us spread a scene so wondrous fair That in our dreams 'twas never found, — But then, ah then, the heart was beating there That said 'twas just we should be bound. 86 THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. V. They thought our woes were joys to those whose hearts Were born so weak and reprobate, And when we sought relax in simple arts They feared we'd learn to curse our fate. VI. They seized the babe whose mother's breast had thrilled To feel a shade of liberty, And with the craven scourge her sorrow stilled, Unless that sorrow chose to die. VII. Each trivial right of life we were denied That even brutes had justly claimed, And all the more our cruel bonds they tied, They thought our savage hearts were tamed. THE SLAVES RHAPSODY. 8/ VIII. Alas ! not only birth had laid us low, But nature's starved and feeble frame ; And when the world had heard our wail of woe, Kind Death could not return his claim. IX. And yet, and yet, could every soul revive. Or speak beyond its ruthless grave, 'Twould thank the guardian star that saw it live And die to free its brother slave. For still the tyrant's heart could feel that slept. But needed conscience true to raise him ; And all the woes we felt or tears we wept We'd bear again if they could praise him. 88 BEHOLD THE DAY. BEHOLD THE DAY. 72/«^— " Hang Jeff Davis." Behold the day that saw us free Is still without a night, And still the morning star shall be Our cynosure and light; For where, oh, where's the tyrant hand that dares defy, For where, oh, where's the tyrant hand that dares defy. For where, oh, where's the tyrant hand that dares defy, Defy our native land. II. They never fell whom Nature formed To face an enemy, — BEHOLD THE DAY. 89 Whose patriot veins by birth are warmed With blood that must be free ; But where, oh, where's, etc. III. The conqueror's lust for weal and war Shall be by us disdained, — For bounteous Peace shall bring us more Than ever conqueror gained ; And where, oh, where's, etc. IV. The angry seas may be our foes And storms may hurtle o'er,— But never deeper be our woes, And peace for evermore ; Until, until, etc. 90 TIS PEACE. 'TIS PEACE. June — "Yankee Doodle" 'Tis Peace, sweet Peace that binds Our happy hearts together, And lends our free-born minds A sun in darkest weather ; For Peace, our Life and Art, 'Tis only Peace we cherish, And all that dims the heart In this fair land would perish. O Peace, sweet Peace, we found And made thee Freedom's own. While still our heart was bound Beneath a foreign throne, — 'T/S PEACE, But, oh, what bonds could claim A heart so true and free, When even Freedom came And gave her hand to thee ! Still Peace, sweet Peace shall stay Until that Freedom dies, And still her influence sway Our fondest mutual ties; For Peace, our Life and Art, 'Tis only Peace we cherish, And all that dims the heart In this fair land would perish. 8* 91 92 HIGH HEA VEN MA K" "HIGH HEAVEN MAY." (A Patriotic Song.) High Heaven may guard our native land And see it more than others blest; His many gifts His generous hand May plant amain from east to west ; — But there are gifts He never dowers, And left to our creative might, — The glorious unity of powers, The self-made gifts of peace and right. II. We have not won our laurels here Like victors base of despot fame, But fear a war as cowards fear Till blood is shed in Freedom's name : " ///GB HEA VEN MA K" 93 High, high our mighty eagle soars And wings the world from main to main, Nor strives to light on other shores, Nor grants them more than just disdain. III. The blood of many nations burns And purifies within our veins; One heart ebbs out their joys and yearns To feel and beat to soothe their pains : A million souls, and each is free, Have all the rights of kings and lords, — Yet see their throne of liberty Without surmise of tyrant hordes. IV. A million souls, tho' they be bound. Can find fair Freedom here at last; To e'en its foes our native ground Will yield a respite for the Past : 94 " HIGH HEA VEN MA K" Each procreant space of passing time A harvest yields of many years, — For prosp'rous Fortune loves our clime, And even smiles athwart her tears. V. But Fortune's bays can give us pride To share their joys with poverty; Our lords of wealth no heart deride That warms with kindred liberty : The scales of Justice, justified, Weigh mercy with the foulest deed, And more than base the man that died Whom Pity's tears had never freed. VI. A thousand years shall fall on earth To tint, but not to blast, our bloom ; Each year shall see a nation's birth And each a nation in the tomb : •' HIGH HEA VEN MA K" Fair Art shall paint a new design And Wisdom's words be turned to gold, While Freedom, Peace, and Love combine To hide the griefs we grieved of old. VII. High Heaven may guard our native land And see it more than others blest; His many gifts His generous hand May plant amain from east to west; — But there are gifts He never dowers. And left to our creative might, — The glorious unity of powers, The self-made gifts of peace and right. 95 96 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. Tho' the future's bosom oft be clad in robes of light, When the soul is glad and gilds its path before the sight, 'Tis more within those folds we mourn past joys denied, Nor reap a single bliss from that which once hath died. The guardian sail that waft us to our joy before, Strewn o'er the ocean past, in shreds to join no more. The eye in transport views and melts a fitful tear To join the wrecking tides that scorned to make a bier. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. gy 'Tis mine the lone heart ne'er known with joy t' abide, So fond of grief, and wanly sad with hope beside. That bears its woful store ascribe, too proud to weep, But strives to seek in woe, and mingles woe with sleep. If from this heart one thing might claim a silent fear, Tho' no future dawns on me with brilliance clear, Tis that the path wherein my feet so long have sun- less strayed, Should rise to light and bloom and song that e'er should fade. But the blood that thro' the veins ne'er with warmth did creep, Nor throbbed in the heart one sweet beat to reap. 98 SONG. As the wanderer wild on Lapland's icy shore, Knows but that single clime and knowledge asks no more. Philadelphia, May lo, i88i. SONG. Hast thou thy sweet heart to deny ? Hast thou thy roseate lips for scorn ? Hast thou the soft light of thine eye To shun love with sincerity mourn? Oh, there is a love that is cold ! There is a love that hath no light ! No truth that is steadfast and bold, And fades as the day into night. TO JULIET. Oh, there is a love that is warm,— As true as the bright cynosure That leads the mariner thro' storm, Everlasting, faithful, and sure. Exists not that love in my breast ? Exists not that love with its fire ? Oh, as the zephyrs of the West Let me kiss the dew of thy cheek and expire ! March, 1881. 99 TO JULIET. (Who died in her eighteenth year.) I. For thee my ever-mournful sigh, The flow of a fervent tear, While for I bear on the memory That gone days have rendered dear 100 TO JULIET. Sleep shall not fondle my breast Nor weave sweet dreams in slumber; It sobs for thee and that rest When no dreams may encumber. II. I stand on the bowery spot Where thy love's first words were mine, And the myrtle-tree wafts not The loved breath that was thine ; 'Twas here, 'twas here that those words Thrilled o'er the chords of my heart, — Sweet song, I hear it like birds Singing with magical art. III. I stray not to thy tomb to weep Where those flowers waft spray-dew ; For I know such tears o'er thy sleep Would snatch from those violets their hue TO JULIET. But in the glow of the moonlight I wander to the silent glade, And long, oh, long with thy sprite Love's sweet communion is made. IV. Life ne'er shall have a joy for me, Or be so dear as it might have been ; No love but that I bear for thee Could love another of thy mien ; Sleep shall not fondle my breast Nor weave sweet dreams in slumber; It sobs for thee and that rest Where no dreams may encumber. 1881. lOI I02 A SONG. A SONG. A LARK skipped up and sang to me As a morn the woods I strolled, — Like a Naiad from the sea Leapt he from the dewy wold, — And sang as sweetly as the breeze That fans the rosy Cyclades. It seemed a song so new to me, Made my soul so glad with joy, I sat me down upon the lea Till the sun had left the sky, — I sat me down and listened till The night came down upon the hill. Full man}^ songs I'd heard of yore That fell upon the ears like kisses, A SONG. But never have I felt before Such a happy shower as this is, — And so I blessed the little bird For singing songs so seldom heard. I know not how the thoughts could rise If there were sweeter melody, For tears had drowned my heart and eyes To see how great a bird could be, — Oh, if I only sang as well Perhaps the secret how I'd tell. Long Branch, May, 1885. 104 ^^' M^^'^' ^^^ THERE. SCOTCH SONGS. (The following songs in the Scottish style were written during a sojourn in Ayr and vicinity, or in the Land of Burns.) OH, MEET ME THERE. (" Standing there, upon the banks of ' bonny Ayr,' the two youthful lovers vowed to be true to one another, exchanging Bibles and other love-tokens, promising to meet again on the same spot. Alas ! they met no more." — Life of Burns.) Oh, meet me there, oh, meet me there, Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, — Forget it not, forget it ne'er, The vow we made by bonny Ayr. I told her there with tender care, Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, That mortal love could love nae mair (no more) Than I loved her by bonny Ayr. OH, MEET ME THERE. 105 My heart grew sair with mute despair (sore) Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, Her heart so true, how could she dare To break my heart by bonny Ayr ? The muirland bare I watched it e'er Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, But that sweet face it lit nae mair The muirland by the bonny Ayr. A face sae dear, than truth more fair. Or roses on the banks of Ayr, — My heart went out and flowed to her As flow the tides of bonny Ayr. We roamed the mere and plucked them there. Those gowans on the banks of Ayr, — (daisies) Oh, joyfu' days ! to pluck once mair Those gowans on the banks of Ayr. It came like flowers and blossomed there Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, I06 THE BONNY DOON, And Spring may come to raise once mair The love that bloomed by bonny Ayr. Oh, meet me there, oh, meet me there Upon the bonny banks of Ayr, — Forget it not, forget it ne'er, The vow we made by bonny Ayr. THE BONNY DOON. (The variations of sound in the following are purposed, the song being adapted to a tune which I heard, but the words to which I forget.) Sweet, sweet the song the hills among When mavis sings beneath the moon, But sweeter bird than song I heard Ne'er sweeter sang by bonny Doon. I thought, alas! the bonny lass Had naething in her heart to greet, (weep) A step sae fleet, a face sae sweet (so) Ne'er lover won or ran tae meet, — (to) THE BONNY BOON. 107 But each soft tone seemed like a moan That's sung to sorrow's saddest tune, — Tho' sweeter song ne'er thrilled among The braes beside the bonny Doon. Full sad and clear the mournful tear Dropt from the lassie's bonny e'e, (eye) And roses shed by that dew fed A sadder fragrance o'er the lea ; While on my breast a sweet unrest Fell like the leaves that fall at noon, For, fond, fond maid, those tears were shed For me beside the bonny Doon. Wi' cautious step I gently crep' And proved the vow I made was true ; Her tearful eye I kissed it dry And stole the rose's precious dew ; Her sweet alarms, fast in my arms. She lost in conscious rapture soon, — :o8 THE BONNY DOON. Then sang again that mournful strain I heard her sing by bonny Doon. Sweet, sweet the song the hills among When mavis sings beneath the moon, But sweeter bird than song I heard Ne'er sweeter sang by bonny Doon.* My laddie jo he's gone away, He's gone away beyond the sea, — Perhaps he'll meet some ither lassie there, (other) And break the vow he made with me. Oh, laddie jo, oh, laddie jo. How could you be so fause ? (false) I love thee mair than lassie e'er Has loved a lad so fause. * Some of the expressions in this poem, as " stole the rose's dew,' and her " alarms, fast in my arms," are not original. THE BONNY BOON. 109 My laddie jo forgets the day We roamed theg'ither o'er the mere, — (together,) Perhaps he'll breathe a vow more true Into that ither lassie's ear. My laddie jo, still, still the spray I'll wear of blue forget-me-ne'er ; Ilk leaf has ta'en a joy from me (each) And ilk shall bring a future care. And, laddie jo, I'll love thee aye Wi' all the love o' mony year, And be it fause, or be it fair. Ne'er, ne'er for me you'll drap a tear.* Oh, laddie jo, oh, laddie jo. How could you be so fause ? I love thee mair than lassie e'er Has loved a lad so fause. * " Never for me you'll shed a tear." — Byron. I o AFTON- M^A TERS AFTON-WATERS. Where Afton-waters gently glide A distant stranger came to roam ; He'd seen full many a fairer tide Where Niagara leaps in torrent foam ; But could Heaven the fate reclaim That saw him born beyond the sea, Sweet Afton-tide, no patriot shame Should stop his heart from loving thee. Where Afton-waters gently glide Fair nature re'els her fairest scene ; (shows) No turbid rills or mountains wide Disturb or span her mild demesne ; But simple flowers, of simplest hue, That scorn the rose's haughty blaze, A FT ON- WA TERS. \ 1 1 Sweet Afton-tide, thy banks bestrew, And charmed the wanderer's gaze.* Where Afton-waters gently glide Sweet Spring awakes her earliest morn ; Still Winter fumes on Thames's side While she laughs on the northern bourne ; For blooming trees show forth their buds, That mock cold March's sultry air, Sweet Afton-tide, beside thy floods While southern fields are stript and bare. Where Afton-waters gently glide The mavis sings the sweetest heard ; Nae doubt the burn and daisies pied Have sway upon the bonny bird ; And lingering there, the moon beneath. Whose rapture showed in every ray. Chai-med the wandering eye." — Wordsworth. lo 112 SWEETEST BIRD THAT SINGS BY DEE. Sweet Afton-tide, my patriot's faith Fell down and knelt beneath thy sway. Where Afton-waters gently glide A distant stranger came to roam ; He'd seen full many a fairer tide Where Niagara leaps in torrent foam ; But could Heaven the fate reclaim That saw him born beyond the sea, Sweet Afton-tide, no patriot shame Should stop his heart from loving thee. THE SWEETEST BIRD THAT SINGS BY DEE. (Imitated from the Scottish.) The sweetest bird that sings by Dee Ne'er sweeter sang a song for me. SWEETEST BIRD THAT SINGS BY DEE. When roaming there upon the brae Thy trembling frame And blushing shame, Said Aye, my love, said Aye. I knew full well thy gentle heart Would pity mair than shun the part, The humble part, I offered thee, — So boldly strove To win thy love. In wham na hate cad be. (In whom no hate could be.) And winning thee I won the gowd (gold) That came upon me like a cloud And dimmed the horizon of love, — 'Twad be na wae (Twould — woe) . To hurl't away Gin thou cad happier be. (If) 114 SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. Then hurl't away, my love, away, And we will pass our cantie day (happy) Aboon the hills in poortith kin' — (Beyond the hills in poverty kind) Oh hurl't away, My love, and ta'e (take) My lot as I wad thine. SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. Should a maiden tempt my eyes, Bind my heart with Beauty's ties. Draw my soul unto my tongue, and start My cold and once unravished lips to part With Love's own deepest eloquence, Methinks I still should have the sense To cease th' orator and let her slip, If up to Love she turned a lip; — SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. Methinks her beauty would all die, And fit her for a human sigh ; Her life be dead, her soul be gone, And all her wit beneath a stone. But if she sought to prove her wisdom And blessed me as the king of kissdom, And drew me forward with a terse And queenly sense as sweet as verse, And soured my thoughts for admiration, And made my heaven belike damnation. And e'en did make herself seraphic, — A really sort of mournful sapphic, — Meseems my tongue and lips would teach. In brazen words descriptive speech, The soul its transport's real fetch, And how I won what's hard to catch. Now my voice like hurtling thunder, Then like streams the beechens under. 115 Il6 SHOULD A MAIDEN TEMPT. Then again a little sallying And from flattery a-rallying ; Now, a somewhat cold and distant, Making love's desire consistent ; Then, awhile most backward and most coy, To prove herself to me a toy, And me to her yet sensible in joy. First I'd shake her breast with fear. Then call out a stranger tear, And hence draw her soul about With a sweet Philippic rout ; Until she dreamed of Cyclades And bodied up Demosthenes, With he who told a tale of Love Until the seraphs wept above, — With she that heard and knelt before him, And withal bethought it better to adore him. Baltimore, January i6, 1883. A MILLINER'S ADVERTISEMENT. ny A MILLINER'S ADVERTISEMENT. Not tinsel, fucus, and brocade, Merino fine and silken braid, Alone our pride and boast : In these excel, no doubt, our shelves ; But th' excellence is in ourselves, To welcome friend and host. II. Frowns and becks and counter-minces. Tongues a-tune with angry winces. And slow inalertness, — We know them not ; but power to please. And meek, unshop-like, knowing ease, Quick with light expertness. Il8 rO A FRIEND. III. Come for aught or come for naught, We'll please as we can, and warrant the bought Will not avert ye : Or if betimes you're passing nigh us, And feel the mood that tempts to try us, Oh, let's divert ye ! TO A FRIEND. Bonos corrumpunt moves congressus malis." — Tertullian. I. Glorious seems thy state, when Stygian, Pent in the darkness of a fit religion For Hades nation : TO A FRIEND, uq For false and unearthly is the piety That lifts itself beyond society And human station. II. O find the moral of our lives not in their gloom, Nor see the spirit of our faith within the tomb, And hapless seek To raise and bind the heart to vain perfection : For high is that soul in man's election That loves its weak. III. Who finds his glor}^ before he knows the grave ? Who lives not free on earth should be a slave With chains divine : But traits of character and moral features May have their bounds with us : alas, poor creatures ! Our heads feel wine ! I20 TO A FRIEND. IV. We reel about and banquet on our hopes, And strew the revel-board, as drunkard copes While drunkard claims ; Or, each for each, and all a-groping, We feel our little strength in concord moping Toward our aims. V. And yet — all our frailties, say, what are they ? Our hopes they feed, our joys not mar they. And error fades Before the eyes of God that see them all. Our hopes and joys are Nature: she has her pall, And we our shades. VI. But, bent on Mercy for our peccant lives, She gives her boon and moral — then shrives Us all before Thee ! MAIDEN, I WILL LOVE THEE. 121 So moving with the current of our life, We pursue the Lethe of our sin and strife, And there adore Thee ! Washington, November 2, 1882. MAIDEN, I WILL LOVE THEE. Maiden, I will love thee, Maiden with no lip of scorn ; Not in Heaven above thee Is aught more heavenly born : II. Not the seraphs above thee, Not the demons below thee. To an evil could move thee, Nor a glory bestow thee. 122 KATHLEEN. III. So I will love, and I will love As long as heav'nly loves endure Until my love seems flown above And worshipping- an angel pure. August, 1882. KATHLEEN. 'TwAS roaming o'er the hills a day, When the noon was waning pale, I met a maiden on my way, Kathleen, the flower of the vale. " What makes your eyes so wan," she said, ** Once I've seen them sparkling glow? And bowed toward the earth your head. That deemed the world its pride below ! KATHLEEN. ^^X " Tis for some lover from thee gone ? For one dead within her grave ? For one that scorns to look upon Your heart her love from grief would save ? " What makes your eyes so wan," she said, " Once I've seen them sparkling glow ?" " Tis not for one I love who's dead, Nor for one away my woe." *• Why bowed toward the earth your head, That deemed the world its pride below ?" " Tis not to shame* the sun o'erhead. But the face before me now ! " 'Tis you that scorn to look upon My heart your love from grief would save — " " Then smile upon your beacon sun, 'Tis I the one your love doth crave !" * To shame, to shun. II 124 ^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^-^^ FACE DIVINE. I pressed the maiden to my breast, I soothed her with a fond caress, — She loved me ere her love I guessed, I loved her more than love could guess. Philadelphia, May, i88i. OH, LET ME SEE THY FACE DIVINE. Oh, let me see thy face divine, I cannot ask for more ; Or let me take thy hand in mine. And guide thee on this shore. And I will lead thee to the fair, Through hills that fairest raise, And I will lead thee to the air Where suns make warmest days. OH, LET ME SEE THY FACE DIVINE. 125 And when I've led thee there and gaze Upon thy face divine, As we wend the murmuring maze, Still thy hand in mine, Oh, may I ask to kiss the blush, Like a zephyr gently bore. When love awakes and words are flush ?* And drop thy hand no more ? October 30, 1881. ■=^ In two or three years this will not appear " slang :" the word flush is already used with propriety. 126 LINES. LINES. Let minds differ, but all spirits are the same ; The marigold hath its varying dyes, But still 'tis aye one flower in man's eyes, One flower, with one God, and a single name. Tho' religion have consistence in its texts, 'Tis still for the worship of one Being; And every man's proper mode of seeing Is from one point, whate'er be his pretexts. — One point, the earth ; one point, the human soul, Which rates and feeds upon what earth gives ; Which moves with the moving days, and lives To reap means for the passing of Death's toll. Washington, D. C, February 20, 1882. COULD I BUT FIND A LASS TO LOVE, 127 COULD I BUT FIND A LASS TO LOVE. Could I but find a lass to love Whose heart is soft and tender, I'd love her so that ne'er a word Or deed of mine would dare offend her; But living here, among a crowd Whose love is made of fashion, I see not one that e'en when won Were worth a poet's passion. I've sought my fond and fair ideal In many a land beyond the sea. And still methinks she can be found As long as love that's true can be ; 128 COULD I BUT FIND A LASS TO LOVE, Yet, finding not, where'er I seek, 'Tis strange my heart thus craves her still,— Perchance such love the gods above Have given me here to break my heart. But be my heart or bro'en or tent, I'll more than love the lass I marry ; And ne'er I'll wed me here below, Although a thousand years I tarry, Ere that fair maid, my fond ideal. Whose heart is soft and tender, God's pity shows to heal my woes And love me in my sorrow. THE END. ■:^^''^i^ M ,7 ' "To* *••-;;..- ',. MM-''- ■' m^ i'l # fe m M fei J ■!^:\ ■ , =-^ ;:' ,:'''< ''■ .-'' :^>'^ '.'^ "'7 [■: .»».•'■-■• .1^'. '■ .'i ■Iv ^: