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 i LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. % 
 
 Chap. T.S-1-M 
 Shelf ^.J^3..hA 
 
 ^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
3Hi)tlii8i of tjie HliMtrel. 
 
M Y T H S 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 BY 
 
 \- >. 
 
 ESTELLE ANNA tl-WIS, 
 
 AUTHOK OF "RECORDS OF THE HEART," "CHILD OF THE SEA," ETC. 
 
 >^ E W Y O R K : 
 D . A P P I. E T N &■ CO., 200 BROADWAY 
 
 1 S 5 2 . 
 

 Entered according to tlie act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
 ESTELLE ANNA LEWIS, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New Vork. 
 
TO THOSE 
 
 W^n Inne Ennuimt mi tjie Hnmanrer, 
 
 M" ir E T H E R r X PROSE OH R II V M E ! 
 TO THOSE 
 
 WHO DARE TO LIFT THKIR SOULS FROM THE MATERIAL 
 TO THE SPIRITUAL, 
 
 ®f)tSJ ^otms are 5nsfribt&; 
 
 WITH THE BEST EMOTIONS OF THE HEART 
 
 FROM WHICH THEY RECEIVED THEIR VITALITY. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Thesr Poems, with one or two exceptions, have been 
 written since the publication of " Child of the Sea, and 
 OTHER Poems." 
 
 The prosperous Voyages of tlie small Cargoes, which I have 
 heretofore timidly intrusted to the Ocean of public opinion, 
 have emboldened me, though not without misgiving, to send 
 forth this little Craft of Trifles. 
 
 Brooklyn, L. I., May, 1852. 
 
(CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Crulse of Aureana. An Allegory, - - - H 
 
 The Angel's V-isit, --.... jg 
 
 The Orphan's Hymn, - - - - . - 25 
 
 The Prisoner ok Perote, - .... 29 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 My Study, ....... 33 
 
 I- 35 
 
 n. 36 
 
 III. 36 
 
 IV. To the Gemus of Literature, - - - - 37 
 
 Y. To the Genius of Art, - - - . . 38 
 
 VI. To Hebe, ...... 39 
 
 VII. To A Bust of Homer, - - ... 40 
 
 VIIJ. To My Books, - - . . . . 41 
 
 IX. To My Guitar, - . - • - . 42 
 
 X. The Oasis, ------ 43 
 
 XI. Joys of Intellectual Employment, ... 44 
 
 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 Love's Power, - - . . . . . 47 
 
 Its Angelhood, ---.... 43 
 
C ONTENTS, 
 
 PACE 
 
 Its Tknacitv, ------- 49 
 
 Its Color, .-.-.-- 50 
 
 TiiK CiiANGi.:, ....--- 51 
 
 The Timi: Wk Mkt, ------ 52 
 
 The Partixg, ------- 53 
 
 Adieu, -------- 54 
 
 On EX ESS, - - - - - - - '"'S 
 
 Remembrante, ------- 56 
 
 The Reti'rx, ------- 57 
 
 The Spell, ------- 68 
 
 I Think of Thee, ------ 59 
 
 Buried Years, ------- 60 
 
 The Failuri':, - - - - - - - 61 
 
 The Resigxatiox, ------ 62 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Love's First Kiss, - - . - - - 65 
 
 LixES ON a Vase of Flowers, fouxd ox mv Desk, - - 6*7 
 
 Lines ox some Violets, left on my Desk while T was at a 
 
 Funeral, ------- 69 
 
 The Kiss, 71 
 
 To One Afar, - - - - - - - 73 
 
 To a Whip-poor-will, Singing in a Grave-vard, - - 75 
 
 The First Ship to America, ----- 77 
 
 We Sat Down by the Waters and Wept, - - - 79 
 
 The Mexican Express, ------ 81 
 
 Melodiaxa's Dream, ------ 84 
 
 Notes, - - - - . - - - 91 
 
€\it Cruise nf %mum. 
 
THE CRUISE OF AUREANA 
 
 AN ALLEGOEY. 
 
 When not a breath bespoke a gale, 
 And fair and blithely blew the breeze, 
 
 I weighed iny anchor, trimmed my sail, 
 And spread it for Elysian seas. 
 
 Onward I sailed, by many a realm, 
 And many a spicy-breathing Isle, 
 
 With Cupid only at the helm. 
 
 My star and compass Psyche's smile. 
 
 The sea-maids by my shallop tripped. 
 Drinking of my inebriate bliss, 
 
 Old Neptune, rising briny-lipped. 
 Upon my brow impressed a kiss. 
 2 
 
14 THE CRUISE OF AJREANA. 
 
 The warblers piped from hills and dells, 
 To greet me as I iieared the strands, 
 
 The Lilies rung their snowy bells, 
 
 The wood-nymphs clapped their pearly hands. 
 
 Around me hung th' enamored hours, 
 From airy rifts that oped above me. 
 
 White fingers dropped celestial flowers. 
 The very stars did seem to love me : 
 
 And my ecstatic pulse did play 
 
 To silvery feet of roseate Blisses, 
 That danced around my Soul, which lay 
 
 Feeding upon aerial kisses. — 
 
 Anon, a sound came out from under 
 
 The wave, and smote my slumbering ear, 
 
 A voice croaked out, like muttering thunder, 
 " Beware ! thou helpless mariner." 
 
 Then up I started from my trance. 
 And gazed about my sea-borne lodge, 
 
THE CRUISE OF AUREANA. 15 
 
 A cloud was in the blue expanse, 
 A shadow on my horologe.^ 
 
 I watche'd the sleepy waves awake, 
 I watched the darkly gathering blast. 
 
 And knew, too well, its wrath would break 
 Upon my helpless head at last. 
 
 I saw it deepening dire and dark, 
 
 Yet prayed to God its steps to stay. 
 Till I could moor my struggling bark 
 
 Within some fair adjacent Bay : 
 
 But swift the Tempest strode the sky. 
 
 And stretched its wings from pole to pole, 
 
 Then bending low, with flashing eye. 
 Hung o'er me, like an angry Soul. — 
 
 Down bore it on me, fierce and fast. 
 
 But still I trusted to my Pilot, 
 To guide me safe before the blast, 
 
 And land me on some happy Islet. 
 
16 THE CRUISE OF AUREANA. 
 
 I heard the breakers roar ahead, 
 I felt my little vessel shudder — 
 
 I called my Pilot — he had sped, 
 A fiend was standing at the rudder. 
 
 " Fear not, thou trembling mariner," 
 With adder glance the demon said, 
 
 " ' Tis but the howling blast ye hear. 
 The breakers they are far ahead. 
 
 " Fear not, thou trembling mariner, 
 Be not thy lip and cheek so pale, 
 Thy shallop safely I will steer. 
 
 And we shall soon outride the gale. 
 
 " Fear not — these moorings well I've tried, 
 And many a frail, dismasted bark 
 Have guided safely o'er this tide, 
 
 ' Mid mist and murk — by day and dark." 
 
 Then loud as trump of time, I heard 
 The storm-fiend ring his awful 'larum ; 
 
THE CRUISE OF AUREANA. 17 
 
 And then a whirlpool's jaws we neared — 
 It was the Mare Tenebrarum I 
 
 Dark rocks on rocks lay piled to heaven, 
 Midway their front an archway yawned, 
 brough which the struggling 
 Into the boiling hell beyond. 
 
 Through which the struggling waves were driven 
 
 Black as Plutonian midnight, there 
 
 Stood Fate, the dread portcullis lifting, — 
 
 And downward many a ruin rare, 
 Heart-freighted Argosy went drifting. 
 
 Virtue, with snowy pinions brailed — 
 Envy, with rankling venom bloated — 
 
 Beauty, with all her charms unveiled. 
 Like drift-wood down the rapid floated. 
 
 Now round and round my shallop whirled— 
 Then struggling lay as in a spasm — 
 
 I shrieked — the gloating demon curled 
 His lip, and pointed to the chasm. 
 
18 THE CRUISE OF AUREANA. 
 
 I grasped the helm — and though too late, 
 Spurned back the fiend's exulting glance — 
 
 I called on heaven — I called on Fate — 
 They silent left me to my chance. 
 
 And now my bark, ffke frightened steed. 
 Back from the hissing portal wheeled — 
 
 Now forward leaped, with lightning speed — 
 Now downward, like a drunkard, reeled. 
 
 Grasping it lay — with ruthless arm, 
 
 The whirlpool clove its sides asunder — 
 
 An angel clasped my sinking form — 
 The demon and the boat went under. 
 
'THE ANGEL'S VISIT. 
 
 One December evening cold, 
 Filled with sorrows manifold, 
 To the sere and sallow wold 
 With an Elfin step I stole, 
 To hold converse with my soul, 
 Of the loved and lost of yore. 
 Dwelling on the shadowy shore — 
 
 The spirit shore. 
 
 Very lonely was my breast — 
 
 On that night no genial guest 
 
 By its hearth-stone paused to rest ; 
 
 Dim the lamp of Hope did gleam 
 
 O'er my young heart's darkened stream ; 
 
 And I sought from mystic store 
 
 In that lamp new oil to pour — 
 
 Fresh oil to pour. 
 
20 THE angel's VISIT 
 
 Dark, and drear, and desolate, 
 On a mossy crag I sate, 
 Watching tlirougli the heavenly gate 
 Many a solemn angel-band 
 Marching to the spirit-land, 
 When Love tapping on the door 
 Of my heart, did there implore — 
 
 A home implore. 
 
 Trembling, shivering, timid-hearted, 
 
 From that holy dream I started, 
 
 As a ghost of the departed 
 
 From the gates of light had drifted. 
 
 And with icy fingers lifted 
 
 Up the latchet of the door 
 
 Of my doating heart once more — 
 
 Ah me ! once more I 
 
 Then aside I dashed the tear, 
 Lower bent my spirit's ear, 
 More distinct the taps to hear. 
 And all thoughtless did begin 
 
THE angel's visit. 21 
 
 To tell Love to enter in, 
 
 When an Angel sought this shore 
 
 To defeat him at the door — 
 
 Mj lone heart's door. 
 
 Low his golden tresses streaming 
 O'er his wings with soul-light beaming, 
 Perched he down amid my dreaming, 
 Perching, sat ere I could rise, 
 Gazing full into my eyes, 
 As my soul he would explore — 
 And this Cupid by the door — 
 
 My lone heart's door. 
 
 Calmly then the angel spoke, 
 Words that o'er my spirit broke, 
 Like the chimes in dream-land woke — 
 " Sad, meek solitaire of earth, 
 Loving, trusting from thy birth — 
 Soul that heavenward doth soar. 
 Turn this traitor from the door — 
 
 Thy lone heart's door. 
 2* 
 
22 THE ANftEL'S VISIT. 
 
 " In tliy breast he seeks no home, 
 From the blithest he will roam; 
 He will enter the heart's dome, 
 Filch its every jewel fair, 
 Plant his barbed arrow there. 
 And then straight go out the door, 
 Back returning never more — 
 
 Ah ! never more ! 
 
 " Search the chronicles of Love, 
 See the nets that he has wove. 
 To entrap the timid Dove ; 
 See in Lethe's crowded domes 
 Ashes of his hecatombs ; 
 And I wot thou'lt keep the door 
 Of thy heart locked ever more — 
 
 For ever more. 
 
 " Blossoms in thy heart may bloom, 
 E'en while Love hath there his home, 
 But their roots are in the tomb ; 
 And the tramp of funeral-feet 
 
THE angel's visit. 23 
 
 Loue thy spirit's ear will greet, 
 When too late to lock the door 
 Of thy heart for ever more — 
 
 Ah ! ever more ! 
 
 '' Therefore, mournful child of song, 
 Leave Love to the heartless throng. 
 Who can cope with Wo and Wrong; 
 Pour tliy soul's surcharge of fire 
 On an altar holier, higher, 
 And let Reason keep the door 
 Of thy fond heart ever more — 
 
 For ever more." 
 
 When the Angel this had said, 
 Out his burnished wings he spread, 
 And above the tree-tops sped ; 
 Upward, upward, where the moon 
 Floated in her cloudy noon. 
 Leaving me to guard the door 
 Of my heart for ever more — 
 
 Ah ! ever more ! 
 
24 THE angel's visit. 
 
 But this heart would not obey 
 What the missioned sprite did say — 
 It would have its wilful way ; 
 It made Love its chiefest guest, 
 Till he banished peace and rest, 
 When he straight went out the door. 
 Locking Wo in ever more — 
 
 Ah ! ever more ! 
 
THE ORPHAN'S HYMN. 
 
 Here's the" tomb of my father — how mournful the 
 thought! 
 
 That he went to the grave ere my infantile mind 
 One smile of parental affection had caught, 
 
 Or his lineaments dear in my heart were enshrined ! 
 Yes, my sire ! by thy dust I am kneeling in prayer, 
 
 Where in days of my childhood so oft I have wept, 
 Imploring thy spirit to soothe my despair, 
 
 And at evening and morning sweet vigils have kept. 
 
 Ere my young mind could grasp them, they told me 
 thy woes. 
 
 Of the virtues that bind thee for ever to me ; 
 Of the love of thy friends, of the hate of thy foes ; 
 
 That in features and mind I was like unto thee ; 
 And with dawning of thought is thy memory wove, 
 
26 THE orphan's hymn. 
 
 The grief and the pining that prey on ray breast; 
 The longing to soar to thy dwelling above, 
 
 And repose in thy arras in tlie land of the blest. 
 
 I have never seen parents their children caress, 
 
 Or soothe into quiet their heart-breathing sighs, 
 When the storras of misfortune around thefii did press, 
 
 But the tears of affection arose to mine eyes : 
 I have ne'er met a maid by the side of her sire, 
 
 Or beheld in the festal a father who kept 
 Watch over his daughter and seemed to admire 
 
 His lovely and beautiful charge, but I've wept. 
 
 My mother lies by him — blessed saint of the skies ! 
 
 Remembrance returns thee — how gentle and meek ! 
 I behold thee when youth tilled with radiance thinr 
 eyes, 
 
 And beauty and health were illuming thy cheek ; 
 When thy delicate form was elastic as air, 
 
 When thy bosom was wbite as the Parian's glow, 
 When thy beautiful ringlets of long, flowing hair, 
 
 In sable threads sprinkled thy forehead of snow. 
 
THE orphan's hymn. 27 
 
 How solemn, dear Mother I it seems, that the clay, 
 
 Relentless and cold, now encumbers the breast, 
 Where, all helpless, so oft I in infancy lay, 
 
 And, soothed by thy lullaby, sobbed me to rest ; 
 That on earth I shall never behold thee again, 
 
 Never more feel thy rosy lips pressing my brow. 
 Or thy fairy hand smoothing my pillow of pain. 
 
 Thy affection and love must for ever forego. 
 
 My sister sleeps next — lovely blossom of heaven ! 
 
 Ah ! why wast thou summoned so early away ? 
 Why so soon was the bond of our sisterhood riven, 
 
 And I left alone on the cold earth to stay ? 
 Why wast thou not spared to delight and to cheer 
 
 My desolate heart 'mid depression and gloom ; 
 With thy love-breathing counsels to gladden my ear ; 
 
 With thy songs and thy smiles to enliven my home ? 
 
 Sleep on, ye beloved ! it is better to rest 
 
 In the halls of the dead, than to linger in life, 
 
 Where the brain and the bosom with pain are oppressed, 
 And the soul is beleaguered by sorrow and strife. 
 
28 THE orphan's hymn. 
 
 Sleep on ! though no blossoms your homes are per- 
 fuming, 
 There are calmness and freedom from discord and 
 care, 
 The lovely and beautiful daily are coming — 
 And in my pale vesture I soon shall be there. 
 
THE PRISONER OF PEROTE.' 
 
 In the prison of Perote 
 
 Silently the warrior sate, 
 With his eye bent sadly downward, 
 
 Like one stricken sore by Fate ; 
 Broken visions of his glory 
 
 Quick before his spirit passed, 
 Like clouds athwart the summer heaven 
 
 Hurtled by the blast. 
 The sullen booming of the cannon, 
 
 And the clasp of blade and spear — 
 Death, death unto the tyrant ! 
 
 Still were ringing in his ear. 
 Much he sorrowed for the people, 
 
 For whose weal he fain would die — 
 On the tablets of the future, 
 
 Sadly fell his eye. 
 
30 THE PRISONER OF PEROT E. 
 
 There he saw his weeping country 
 
 Close beleaguered by the foe, 
 Saw her chained, and faint, and bleeding, 
 
 Heard her shieks of woe ; 
 From the eastward and the westward, 
 
 He beheld the pilgrims come 
 To muse upon her wild ruins. 
 
 As now they flock to Eome. 
 Then in thought afar he wandered 
 
 Unto Andalusia's* shore, 
 To the cities of Abdallah, 
 
 And the valiant Campeador ; 
 To the dark land of the Paynim, 
 
 Mecca's consecrated shrine, 
 To Palmyra of the desert, 
 
 And to Palestine. 
 Well he weighed the fate of nations, 
 
 Well their glory and their shame. 
 Well the fleetness of all Power, 
 
 Well the emptiness of Fame ; 
 Well the wasting wrecks of empires, 
 
 Choking Time's impatient stream. 
 
THE PRISONER OF PEROT E, 31 
 
 Till Beauty's gentle whispers 
 Awoke him from his dream. 
 
 "Arouse thee, gallant soldier! " 
 
 In a heavenly voice she cried, 
 "Though forsaken by all others, 
 
 I am hovering by thy side ; 
 Though thine own heroic valor 
 
 Turned against thy breast the dart. 
 As the feather of the Eagle 
 
 Guides the arrow to his heart ; 
 Though the tempest wildly rages, 
 
 Though the sky is dread and dark. 
 Steadfast keep thine eye on Heaven, 
 
 And God will guide thy bark. 
 Sorrow not ! attendant angels 
 
 Thee to Fate will ne'er resign. 
 Soon the storm will all pass over. 
 
 Soon the sun will shine — 
 Sorrow not ! the proud and lofty. 
 
 Sun and sky I've left for thee, 
 E'en a dungeon in thy presence 
 
32 THE PRISONER OF PEROTE 
 
 Is a throne to me. 
 Every gleam of thy affection, 
 
 Every glance of thy dark eyes 
 Deep into my aching bosom 
 
 Pours a paradise ; 
 And for ever, as the flower, 
 
 Far away from pleasure's sight. 
 Close beside some stately Euin, 
 
 Sheds its holy light : 
 As the faithful woodbine twineth 
 
 Still around the mouldering tree. 
 So, to cheer thy desolation, 
 
 Will I cling to thee." 
 
jfEtj $u^. 
 
MY STUDY 
 
 This is my world — my angel-guarded shrine, 
 WKich I have made to suit my heart's great need, 
 When sorrow dooms it overmuch to bleed : 
 Or, when aweary and athirst I pine 
 For genial showers and sustenance divine ; 
 When Love, or Hope, or Joy my heart deceive, 
 And I would sit me down alone to grieve — 
 My mind to sad or studious mood resign. 
 Here oft, upon the stream of thought I lie, 
 Floating whichever way the waves are flowing — 
 Sometimes along the banks of childhood going, 
 Where all is bud, and bloom, and melody, 
 Or, wafted by some stronger current, glide. 
 Where darker frown the steeps and deeper flows 
 the tide. 
 
36 MY STUDY, 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes, 'tis my Caaba — a shrine below, 
 "Where my Soul sits within its house of clay, 
 Listing the steps of angels come and go — 
 Sweet missioned Heralds from the realms of day. 
 One brings me rays from Eegions of the sun, 
 One comes to warn me of some pending dart, 
 One brings a laurel leaf for work well done. 
 Another, whispers from a kindred Heart. — 
 Oh ! this I would not change for all the gold 
 That lies beneath the Sacramento's waves, 
 For all the Jewels Indian coffers hold, 
 For all the Pearls in Oman's starry caves — 
 The lessons of all Pedagogues are naught 
 To those I learn within this holy Fane of thought. 
 
 III. 
 Here blind old Homer teaches lofty song ; 
 
MY STUDY. 87 
 
 The Lesbian sings of Cupid's pinions furled, 
 And how the heart is withered up by wrong ; 
 Dante depictures an infernal world, 
 Wide opening many a purgatorial aisle ; 
 Torquato rings the woes of Palestine, 
 Alphonso's rage, and Leonora's smile — 
 Love, Beauty, Genius, Glory all divine ; 
 Milton depaints the bliss of Paradise, 
 Then flings apart the ponderous gates of Hell, 
 Where Satan on the fiery billow lies, 
 " With head uplift," above his army fell, — 
 And Avon's Bard, surpassing all in art. 
 Unlocks the portals of the human heart. 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO THE GENIUS OF LITERATURE. 
 [a statuette on the mantel in my study.] 
 
 Thy little foot uplifted on thy knee. 
 Thine eyes intently bent upon thy book. 
 As in a transcendental Kevery, 
 Ne'er deigning round my study-room to look, 
 3 
 
S8 MYSTUDY. 
 
 There thou dost mutely sit from day to day, 
 
 Lost in the dreamy reahn of Fantasy. 
 
 Yet o'er my heart thou hold'st a mighty sway, 
 
 And sagest lessons dost impart to me 
 
 Of Art, and Beauty, and the wealth of Lore ; 
 
 The unfathomable seas of mind and love ; 
 
 The meed for loft}^ effort held in store. 
 
 Till Aspiration lifts my soul above. 
 
 And I am drunk in intellectual joy — 
 
 My charming, beautiful, mute marble Boy. 
 
 V. 
 
 TO THE GENIUS OF ART. 
 [a statuette on the mantel.] 
 
 Thou art a Beam from God — the brightest Eay 
 That Heaven hath earthward sent to cheer the soul 
 And animate it in its house of clay, 
 With dreams of light, and life, and Glory's goal. 
 Here, mutely worshipping, I gaze on thee. 
 Till nascent haloes dawn around thy brow 
 
MYSTUUY. 39 
 
 And from the portals of eternity, 
 The laurelled Dead, returning, round thee bow. 
 There bent o'er Farnarina's sainted face, 
 Feeding his soul, eternal Eaphael kneels, 
 As if in its pale hues he still can trace 
 Beauty, surpassing all that Heaven reveals : 
 Angelo — Titian — all the immortal Great, 
 Glide in and at thy feet for inspiration wait. 
 
 VI. 
 
 TO HEBE. 
 
 [a statuette on the book-case.] 
 
 Goddess of Beauty, and eternal youth ! 
 Stray spark from Eden, ere the serpent came, 
 And fastened on the human Heart his tooth. 
 And earth assumed a different hue and name ! 
 Lovely Ideal ! Beatific Beam ! 
 For which Oanova made a house of clay ! 
 No more thou art to me a Poet's dream. 
 Such life and light thou shed'st upon my way. 
 
40 MYSTUDY. 
 
 Sucli living freshness breath'st upon the flowers 
 That droop beside the fountain of my soul — 
 So much dost speak of Bacchanalian hours, 
 How proudly thou did'st bear the nectar bowl, 
 How one ill step o'erwhelmed thee with disgrace, 
 And Ganymedes won thy high celestial place. 
 
 VII. 
 
 TO A BUST OF HOMER. 
 [standing on my desk.] 
 
 Homer, thou art not dead I Thou canst not die 
 While beats one heart on this terrestrial sphere, 
 That ever felt the spell of Poesy, 
 Or Fancy's smile illume its chambers drear. 
 Three thousand Years have watched thy steady light 
 Guiding the minstrel Band to Fame's high goal, 
 As Cynosura through the treacherous night, 
 Directs the mariner o'er the- dangerous shoal. 
 Those filmy orbs emmove with Genius' fire ; 
 Those pale lips speak from out the mighty past, 
 
MYSTUDY. 41 
 
 Of Helen's beauty, and Achilles' ire, 
 
 And Ilium's tears, and sighs, and struggles vast. 
 
 Until I hear the Grecian shouts resound, 
 
 And Troy's proud -walls come tumbling to the ground. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 TO MY BOOKS. 
 
 Hallowed companions ! tutors ! ministers ! 
 To ye I bring my overburdened heart, 
 Bare its deep wounds with many sighs and tears, 
 And bless ye while ye soothe its burning smart. 
 If Falsehood, Envy, Hate, or Death surround me, 
 Ye fortify, and make my spirit strong — 
 K Sickness fling her pallid mantle round me, 
 Ye speed the weary winged hours along ; 
 If Pleasure lure me to the festive hall — 
 Nature too long detain me by the brink. 
 Ye, like kind, watchful parents, gently call 
 Me hither, at your sapient founts to drink. — 
 Oh ! who would spurn the shrine which wisdom 
 tends — 
 
42 MY STUDY. 
 
 Oh ! who could fail to love such pure and constant 
 Friends ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 TO MY GUITAR. 
 
 So DEAR a friend as thou I never knew — 
 
 Such truth, and faith, and love, and sympathy 
 
 From evanescent hearts I never drew, 
 
 As I have drawn from thy soul-melody. 
 
 When I am sad thou chant'st some Paynim story 
 
 Until my woe is lost in woes of eld ; 
 
 When I am glad thou sing'st of knightly glory. 
 
 Till heart and brain in magic spell are held. 
 
 And here, all day, thy voice my spirit drinks, 
 
 While reeling Eapture steals along my veins. 
 
 Till every pulse inebriated sinks 
 
 Beneath the power of thy delicious strains : 
 
 And softly beatific harp-notes roll, 
 
 And Seraphs sing around the altars of my soul. 
 
M Y S T U D Y . 4d 
 
 X. 
 
 THE OASIS. 
 
 Think not, that I am helpless, ye who read 
 The pensive numbers of my fervent Lyre ; 
 That in the heart are sown some upas-seed, 
 Is not to prove all healthful germs expire. 
 That in a garden are some withered bowers. 
 Crisped buds and yellow leaves bestrew the ground 
 Is not to prove it hath nor herbs nor flowers. 
 Think not because I've stood on every round 
 Of Fortune's ladder, that no oasis 
 Amid the desert of my heart upglows 
 Above the sands and sallow cypresses, 
 Cheering the weary Pilgrim as he goes ; 
 Not all the fires that rend volcanic wombs 
 Can kill this one green spot that 'mid ray heart- 
 waste blooms. 
 
44 MY STUDY. 
 
 XI. 
 
 JOYS OF INTELLECTUAL EMPLOYMENT. 
 
 'Tis true I'm poor in what the world calls bliss ; " 
 'Tis true I have known many wounds of pride, 
 With which a weaker nature might have died. 
 'Tis true I've passed woe's fearful charybdis, 
 Yet 'mid the maelstrom thrilled with happiness. 
 We should not murmur 'gainst an earthly trial — 
 It throws a stronger sunlight on life's dial, 
 Awakes the spirit in its chrysalis, 
 And plumes it i'to the broad, bright heavens to 
 
 soar. — 
 O God ! if I could sing the bliss I've known, 
 While sitting in this study-room alone, 
 Listing the soul- waves wash the eternal shore ; 
 If I could ring it out in one loud song, 
 'Twould shake the throne of Grief and banish 
 Wrong:. 
 
mmk from tIjB Italian. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 EMMALINA TO ADHEMAR*. 
 I. 
 
 love's power. 
 
 Life liad no God-light— Eartli no glory till 
 I heard the footsteps of thy Soul, and felt 
 Thine eyes on me like tropic sunbeams melt, 
 Infusing warmth through all my frame — a thrill 
 Of fire, that banished cold, and ice, and chill ; 
 Then Beauty on the face of all things dwelt, 
 And folding up its hands my Spirit knelt. 
 Drinking of omnipresent love its fill. 
 My senses of the weight of clay were purged. 
 Till I could peer o'er in the Spirit- world 
 On countless souls alit with pinions furled. 
 Giving me gaze for gaze. With becks they urged 
 
48 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 Me to o'erstep the bounds 'tween Life and Death, 
 Drawing me towards them till Soul took away my 
 ■breath. 
 
 II. 
 
 ITS ANGELHOOD. 
 
 I NEVER felt my angelhood till thou, 
 Beloved Adh^mar, bent thine eyes on me ; 
 I never felt my Soul's divinity, 
 And all its strength of pinion until now. 
 Thou'st taught it, like a new-fledged bird to soar 
 Out on the borders of the aerial shore 
 Beyond the realm of storm, and sleet, and snow ; 
 And poise with thee upon Heaven's starry brow. 
 Arm locked in arm — wing lapping over wing — 
 Lip pressed to lip in sensuous, soft embrace, 
 Our Spirits float illimitable space. 
 Sweeping the worlds of high imagining. 
 Drinking of beauty — love from wells divine, 
 Until they all forget that Spirits can untwine. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 49 
 
 III. 
 
 ITS TENACITY. 
 
 Whilome I wept, but they were tears of woe — 
 And now I weep, but they are tears of bliss, 
 Such as from Angels' eyes fall when they kiss 
 In Heaven, and thrill with an ecstatic glow. 
 For thee,. beloved Adhemar, sweet tears flow, 
 When I remember all thy great love is, 
 And how it brought me out of griefs abyss 
 Into a port where winds nor tempests blow. 
 As two bright Eainbows sit above the clouds, 
 Yested in beauty that all beauty cheers, 
 Serenely smiling through their radiant tears. 
 So sit our Souls 'bove all that mist enshrouds ; 
 And constant as the twin stars walk the sky 
 Must they thus clasped revolve through Love's 
 eternity. 
 
50 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ITS COLOR. 
 
 I CAN nor tell nor sing the bliss of loving, 
 
 It is a joy to think of — not to speak, 
 
 Words, Symbols, Lyres, Seraphic Trumpets are too 
 
 weak 
 To utter its divinity — so proving 
 That silence is its best interpreter. 
 Love never did gain strength through speech or ear ; 
 If found loquacious, it is plumed for roving, 
 Or lodged in bosoms little worth its moving. 
 All things assume the color of my love, 
 I only see through its prismatic eyes. 
 It vests the stars in hues of Paradise, 
 And clothes the moon in Soulshine from above — 
 If sun, moon, stars went oat — earth were black night, 
 I could live on and love by Love's celestial light. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN, 51 
 
 V. 
 
 THE CHANGE. 
 
 Ah ! wo is me ! how have I fallen from 
 This height — my Heaven of Heavens — my Eden fair, 
 Down to this lower world of Grief — Despair, 
 To trail the dust, like any other worm ! 
 Where are my wings that erst outsoared the storm, 
 As the bold Eagle cleaves the upper air ? 
 Where are the Sylphs that twined my flowing hair, 
 'Trancing me till they spoke their loving warm ? 
 Ah ! where the Soul, whose pinions under mine, 
 Did waft me up against the glowing stars, 
 Or with me float upon their silvery spars 
 Along the wide empyrean blue. — Supine 
 I lie, adrift adown the dreary dark, 
 Where dawns no Beacon-star to guide my helmless 
 Bark. 
 
62 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE TIME WE MET. 
 
 It was the time of vernal bud and blossom, 
 When blushing Flora roved by wood and lea, 
 Breathing perfume from her ambrosial bosom, 
 Fresh palpitating from the Deity ; — 
 When pearly-footed brooklets down the vale, 
 Went leaping into ocean's calm embrace ; 
 And sweet- voiced fountains sang in every dale, 
 As glad to leave their ice-bound hiding place. 
 And bask in April's renovating noon ; 
 When from a thousand wind-harps music burst. 
 And my young heart with nature was in tune, 
 That I beheld thee, dear Adhemar, first, 
 And from Love's quiver sped the fatal dart 
 That held, and holds transfixed my bleeding heart. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 53 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 'Tis just one year ago, beloved, to-day, 
 Since, my pale hand between thy hands compressed, 
 I laid my burning brow upon thy breast. 
 And bade the flood-gates of my heart give way, 
 Then shut them down upon its streams for aye. 
 We sought to speak, yet neither said farewell ; 
 Fate rang her larum through my spirit's cell 
 Until the chill of Death upon me lay. — • 
 I never could re-live that hour again. 
 Through every artery shot an icy pang. 
 As if an adder pierced me with its fang. 
 And dashed the roseate fount of life with bane — 
 Mine eyes were open, yet I could not see — 
 I breathed, yet I was dead— all things were dead to me. 
 
54 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ADIEU. 
 
 Adieu — adieu ! In silent tears we parted 
 To journey on, diverging as two beams 
 That from tlie equatorial line have started, 
 Bending their faces towards the earth's extremes. 
 All day my bosom heaves with heavy sighs — 
 All day I sing thy favorite songs and weep — 
 All night I gaze into thy luminous eyes, 
 Or clasp thy shadow in my feverish sleep. — 
 Oh ! for the love that was for Death too strong ! 
 Oh ! for the sweet-charmed Hours that sped too soon, 
 When thou didst steal from Beauty's laughing throng, 
 To meet me by the soft consenting Moon, 
 Inclasp my hand in tremulous delight, 
 And bend on me thine eyes angelically bright. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 55 
 
 IX. 
 
 ONENESS. 
 
 Never in Earth or Heaven canst thou be loved 
 As I have loved thee — never — never more 
 By love so holy can thy soul be moved, 
 Upon terrestrial or celestial shore. 
 On thee alone my faithful Spirit dwelt — 
 To thee alone my restless Fancy soared, 
 For thee alone before my God I knelt, 
 And the libations of my full heart poured. 
 Thy smiles, thy words, each feature of thy face, 
 Thy step, as thou didst from me last depart — 
 Thy mournful gait — thy form's majestic grace, 
 Were caught and treasured in my doating heart, 
 And there have lived through every varying mood. 
 The soul and solace of my sainted solitude. 
 
56 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 X. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Thy voice flows o'er my list'ning heart like sound 
 From fairy fount or lute in land of Dreams, 
 And full thy loveliness upon me teems, 
 With thy bright presence lighting all around, 
 Until my pulses leap like rills unbound. 
 I see again thine eyes' effulgent beams ; 
 I walk with thee along the laughing streams, 
 Through whispering grove — o'er flower-bespangled 
 
 ground. 
 And feel thy glowing touch my heart-strings thrill, 
 As I upon thy doating arm recline. 
 Listing thee speak from out thy spirit's shrine, 
 Love-freighted words, whose heavenly music still 
 Steals softly o'er my weary, thirsting soul. 
 Exerting o'er it aye a calm and sweet control. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 57 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 I SEE again thy tall, majestic form, 
 E'en with the vividness of the first sight ; 
 I see thine eyes, like stars amid the night 
 Of my deep woe — I feel thy heart beat warm 
 Against my heart — I feel thy tremulous arm 
 Inclasp my waist — and lip to lip impressed, 
 I feel the sweet flame kindling in my breast, 
 And stealing o'er my soul the fatal charm. — 
 
 memory ! thou art, alas, too true ! 
 Too faithful to this desolate heart of mine, 
 Whose innermost recess is sorrow's shrine ! 
 
 1 would forget the past — and seek anew 
 Some other votary — some alluring scene, — 
 
 But ever thy dear form, Adhemar, floats between. 
 
58 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE SPELL. 
 
 Thy presence dwells around, above, below, 
 On all things lovely and most beautifal, 
 I hear thy voice in every fountain's flow — 
 Bebold tby smile on every flower I cull 
 Along the hills, and vales, and gliding streams ;- 
 I see thine eyes' soft hues in the blue heaven — 
 Thy brow's bright radiance in the iris' beams — 
 Thy mind in the calm pensiveness of even. 
 The tuneful birds, the rills, the rustling trees — 
 The beings of the air — the stars — the moon — 
 All sounds, and tones, and stirring melodies — 
 And aught with which my spirit doth commune 
 In heaven, or earth, or space, or thought, to me 
 Hold eloquent discourse, adored one, of thee. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN, 59 
 
 XIII, 
 
 I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 I THINK of thee till all is dim confusion, 
 And Keason reels upon her fragile throne — 
 The past and present blend in strange illusion — 
 Thoughts, feelings, all commingle into one, 
 As streams and rills into the ocean run, 
 And my pale cheeks are drenched with a suffusion 
 Of drops upheaved from lava-founts of woe ; 
 And while these burning tides my lids o'erflow, 
 Impassioned Fancy to thy presence hies, 
 And suns her in the radiance of thine eyes — 
 At the pure well-spring of thy bosom sips, 
 And feeds upon the nectar of thy lips, 
 Then back, with gathered sweets, returns to me, 
 As homeward comes at eve the honey-freighted bee. 
 
60 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 BURIED YEARS. 
 
 Years have been tombed, Adhemar, since we met, 
 Sorrow and change have brooded o'er my way — 
 Thine image floated o'er me night and day, 
 Like some lone- wandering star that could not set. 
 I've sought in other climes for other friends 
 To quench the fire that on love's altar burns 
 For ever : But to thee my spirit tends 
 Constant as magnet to Alru'ba" turns. 
 Beneath the stars I've wrapped me up in dreams, 
 And talked with phantoms till the morning light ; 
 I have run races with the laughing streams, 
 And sung with birds from early dawn till night. 
 To wean my heart and win my thoughts from thee — 
 But thou wert still my star, my sun, my Deity. 
 
SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 61 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE FAILURE. 
 
 Long have I left the world, each dazzling scene 
 Of Joy and Mirth and hall of Gaiety, 
 To seek in solitude tranquillity. 
 If soul so tost can ever be serene ; 
 From vulgar eyes my bosom's woe to screen. 
 And strive, beloved one, if such thing can be, 
 To rend the chain that binds my life to thee — 
 All tears and pinings banish — and again 
 To mingle in the world as proud and gay. 
 But here, week after week, and year I stay 
 Feeding my heart upon its hoarded sighs — 
 The memory of thy form and radiant eyes. 
 Which woke the plaintive spirit of my Lyre, 
 And kindled in my breast a never dying fire. 
 
62 SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE RESIGNATION. 
 
 A THOUSAND times I've vowed to say farewell — 
 A thousand times that word's died on my lip — 
 A thousand times resolved no more to sip 
 The cup, in which delicious poison dwells. 
 A thousand times I've striven the storm to quell 
 That in this desolated breast doth rave, 
 And sworn to cool my heart in Lethe's wave — 
 Against all bonds of Cupid to rebel ; 
 But such, resolves like morning mist depart, 
 And, like Prometheus on his rocky peak, 
 Writhing beneath the Eagle's slakeless beak, 
 I feel the vulture gnawing at my heart ; 
 And to its fangs my bosom have resigned. 
 Till death in mercy shall my chain unbind. 
 
MsrellatienM ^nttns. 
 
LOVE'S FIRST KISS. 
 
 I NEVER treasured up this kiss, 
 And fainlj now would it forget, 
 
 But, with its rapturous thrill of bliss, 
 
 My heart, pulse, brain are throbbing yet. 
 
 Eevelling it lies upon my lips. 
 Imbibing all their dewy showers, 
 
 As honey-bee the nectar sips. 
 From out the rosy lips of flowers. 
 
 And other thirsting kisses com,e 
 To claim their share of nectar too, 
 
 But, with his little roseate plume, 
 He drives them from his cup of dew. 
 
66 love's first kiss. 
 
 O Cupid ! take thy kiss again ! 
 
 Bid it from off my lip depart, 
 'Tis sipping life from every vein, 
 
 Its beak is fastened on my heart. 
 
LINES ON A VASE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 [found on my desk.] 
 
 I GAZE upon these simple flowers 
 
 As something I revere ; 
 They grew in love's enchanted bowers- 
 
 And Love hath placed them here. 
 
 I kiss their cheeks of virgin bloom, 
 
 I press their dewy lips, 
 While my rapt soul of their perfume, 
 
 Inebriated sips. 
 
 I look into their violet eyes, 
 And feel my heart grow calm, 
 
 And fancy I'm in Paradise, 
 Inhaling Eden's balm. 
 
68 LINES ON A VASE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 There in ecstatic dreams I rove 
 
 Among celestial bowers, 
 Weaving a garland for my love, 
 
 Of beatific flowers. 
 
LINES ON SOME VIOLETS. 
 
 [left Ul'ON MY DESK WHILE I WAS AT A FUNERAL.] 
 
 He brought these violets yester-eve, 
 While I was with the dead, 
 
 And when I hither came to grieve, 
 To me they meekly said : 
 
 " Let not thy gentle heart-founts flow 
 For her who is at rest, 
 But joy and sing for all who go 
 To sit among the blest. 
 
 " Weep for thyself, and not for her — 
 Child of melodious Grief ! 
 And pray thy Angels, hovering near, 
 To make life's journey brief 
 4* 
 
70 LINES ON SOME VIOLETS. 
 
 " For, now we hear thy spirit beat, 
 With bleeding plumes, its grate, 
 And treading with impatient feet. 
 Like one that could not wait. 
 
 " Like one, who, pale 'mid dungeon gloom, 
 Paces his scanty floor. 
 Awaiting till the jailor come 
 To ope his prison-door." 
 
THE KISS. 
 
 Two lovely beings near me stood, 
 The one a tall and blooming youth : 
 
 The other, in sweet maidenhood. 
 
 All wreathed with smiles, and love, and truth. 
 
 He gazed upon her beaming face 
 
 As if his soul lay mirrored there, 
 Then drew her close to his embrace — 
 
 But shrinking back, she said, " Take care /" 
 
 " It never gave me joy," he sighed, 
 " The dew from saintly lips to sip — 
 
 I'd rather quaff the lava-tide 
 
 That flushes Passion's burning lip." 
 
72 THEKISS. 
 
 " Then go,^'' slie said ; " I spurn thy kiss ; 
 
 Go, kneel at glowing Venus' shrine, 
 And drink thy fill of wanton bliss — 
 
 Thy lip shall never feed on mine^ 
 
TO ONE AFAR. 
 
 This lovely morn — this lovely morn, 
 Ah ! whither are thy footsteps straying ; 
 
 Beneath what bowers of blooming thorn, 
 Art thou, in pensive mood, delaying ? 
 
 This lovely morn — this lovely morn, 
 
 Ah ! whither do thy bright thoughts wander- 
 
 What absent loved-one dost thou mourn ? 
 On what blessed Image dost thou ponder ? 
 
 This lovely morn, when all is fair. 
 
 And beautiful as Eden's Bowers, 
 Why have I not thy tender care — 
 
 Thy smiles to cheer the weary hours ? 
 
74 T O O N E A F A R. 
 
 Why have I not thy kisses warm ? 
 
 Why am I not beside thee walking, 
 And leaning on thy doating arm, 
 
 While all the woods of love are talking ? 
 
 But here, alone, I sit and kiss 
 
 Thine Image with the tears upstarting, 
 
 And watch afar, my dream of bliss. 
 Like the mirage of the waste departing. 
 
TO A WHIP-POOR-WILL. 
 
 [singing in a grave- yard.] 
 
 Why, melancholy singer, 
 
 Dost thou hover here at eve, 
 Like one who loves to linger 
 
 Around the dead and grieve '/ 
 Why, in the night-time only 
 
 Do we hear thy pensive lay ? 
 Why art thou ever lonely ? 
 
 Why shun'st the garish day ? 
 
 Art thou minstrel lorn from heaven, 
 Who comest to our earth, 
 
 At the silent hour of even, 
 To mock the voice of mirth ; 
 
76 TO A W H I P - P O O R - W I L L , 
 
 And to soothe the sad and weary 
 Who steal away to weep, 
 
 In the church-yard lone and dreary, 
 Or by the mountain steep ? 
 
 Art thou spirit of a maiden 
 
 That restless roam'st the air, 
 With sorrow heavy-laden, 
 
 And breathing thy despair ? 
 Or one loved, but long departed, 
 
 That nightly dost draw near. 
 To soothe the broken-hearted, 
 
 Who are weeping, pining here ? 
 
 I know not, solemn singer, 
 
 What thy deep grief may be, 
 Nor why thou here dost linger, 
 
 But oft thou seem'st like me — 
 A lonely one each morrow. 
 
 Apart from all the throng, 
 Whose deep and hidden sorrow 
 
 Bursts forth in plaintive song. 
 
THE FIRST SHIP TO AMEK1CA. 
 
 Like a dream of eld the forest lay 
 All in its beautiful, wild array ; 
 The groves were clad in their suuinier sheen, 
 The Wood-nymphs danced upon the green, 
 And rill and stream with blithe emotion. 
 Went singing, leaping to the ocean. 
 The sinking sun on the deep sea gazed 
 Till his red eye with mist was dazed ; 
 Tlie youthful moon her spyglass raised 
 The strange, mysterious craft to view, 
 That o'er the Indian waters flew ; 
 The savage left his wigwam-door, 
 And stood amazed upon the shore — 
 " What may it be ?" the red man cried, 
 " That flaps its white wings o'er the tide ? 
 
78 THE FIRST SHIP TO AMERICA. 
 
 What may it be ! a huge canoe, 
 Sent by the great Chemanitou ? 
 Are those the souls of Indian races 
 Returning with white lily faces? — 
 They are ! they are !" and to the strand 
 He flew with a brother's outstretched hand- 
 But ah ! no brother's hand he pressed — 
 He clasped the serpent to his breast 
 
WK SAT DOWN BY THE WATERS AND WEl^'l 
 
 We sat down by the waters and wept, 
 
 And thought on the days of oar pride, 
 Ere the spoiler o'er Salem had swept, 
 
 Or freedom to her was denied ; 
 We pondered, O Zion ! the time, 
 
 When thy glory undimmed we beheld. 
 And loud through the portals sublime 
 
 The tide of our minstrelsy swelled. 
 
 We suspended our harps on the willow, 
 That was waving o'er Babel's cool tide. 
 
 And we bathed our hot feet in the billow — 
 To the God of the Hebrew we cried ; 
 
80 WE SAT DOWN BY THE WATERS. 
 
 We recounted our suiferings o'er, 
 Our moaning we sent on the gale, 
 
 Till valley, and mountain, and shore, 
 Resounded with Israel's wail. 
 
 In the midst of our weary behests 
 
 To be ransomed from bondage and wrong, 
 While we smote our disconsolate breasts. 
 
 Of us they demanded a song ; 
 But in bonds may we ever be led — 
 
 Tenfold be the weight of our woe, 
 May this right hand fall withered and dead 
 
 Ere our songs for the tyrant shall flow ! 
 
THE MEXICAN EXPRESS. 
 
 [during the late war.] 
 
 Hushed is the cannon's deafening roar 
 
 On Palo Alto's plain ; 
 The raven flaps his dark wing o'er 
 
 The mountains of the slain — 
 " Huzza ! huzza ! a victory !" 
 
 Ten thousand tongues are crying, 
 And through the sulph'rous canopy 
 
 The stars and stripes are flying. 
 Northward the waves of joyance roll, 
 
 Setting the world in motion, 
 As, when towards the boreal Pole, • 
 
 Fierce Auster rolls the ocean. 
 
82 THEMEXICANEXPKESS. 
 
 Triumph fills high her golden chalice, 
 
 Bonfires greet glory's car, 
 As the Aurora Borealis 
 
 Welcomes some new-born star. 
 Prattlers their little voices strain 
 
 To swell the jubilee ; 
 The Ethiop forgets his chain, * 
 
 And shouts — "« victory /" 
 But hark I hear ye no notes of woe 
 
 Upswelling through this glee, 
 Like those sad undertones that flow 
 
 From out the frothing sea ? 
 Hear ye no hollow wails of strife — 
 
 No gentle heart-strings breaking — 
 Ah ! hear ye not the waves of life 
 
 Soul-freighted barks forsaking ? 
 
 Look on this altar of the heart, 
 
 By Susquehannah's river, 
 Where swift th' Express hath sped a dart 
 
 From out his teeming quiver ; 
 And smote the breast of age with grief, 
 
THE MEXICAN EXPRESS. 88 
 
 The pulse of childhood bound, 
 And Beauty like an autumn leaf 
 
 Hurled lifeless on the ground. 
 The shouts of '■^victory !" rend the sky, 
 
 As on the Herald speeds — 
 O God ! O God ! what mockery 
 
 To souls in funeral weeds ! 
 
 The sun no more will shine for them, 
 
 No beacon lure o'er land or flood — 
 Love's flowers lie withered on their stem, 
 
 Their star hath set in blood ; 
 For far upon yon Mexic plain, 
 
 Where hungry vultures hover. 
 Reposes 'mid the uncofiined slain, 
 
 The Patriot — Husband — Lover. 
 
 And this is what the world calls Glory, 
 
 A nation's chivalry ; 
 The deeds that are to live in story. — 
 
 Fame's immortality ! 
 
MELODIANA'S DREAM. 
 
 [an episode from an unpublished poem.] 
 
 I STAND alone upon the shores of Time ! 
 
 No longer Love hath any Circe Art 
 To bind my soul, that in its grief sublime, 
 
 Sits brooding o'er the ruins of my heart, 
 
 Like Marius over Carthage. I depart 
 From all that life could soothe, or glad, or cheer. 
 
 And, hanging from my bleeding breast the dart. 
 Must wander onward, like the wounded deer. 
 By many a winding stream, and many a mountain 
 drear. 
 
 The onward road of life, though dark and dreary, 
 My feet must tread alone — no staff — no arm 
 
 To lean upon when I am faint and weary — 
 No guide to aid ray steps, or give alarm 
 Of secret precipice, or lurking harm ; 
 
melodiana's dream. 85 
 
 But I will climb alone the rugged steep, 
 
 And gird my soul to breast the pelting storm— 
 My senses in eternal beauty steep, 
 And e'en from cold, dull rocks, the flowers of bliss will 
 reap. 
 
 Aye, ye whoVe sought to rend earth's holiest claim— 
 The claim of Love and Honor — ye who've striven 
 
 To crush my spirit and to stain my name 
 
 All feelings back upon my heart have driven, 
 Shall learn how much that heart can lean on 
 Heaven ; 
 How far my soul can spread its wings above 
 
 The darts ye've aimed— and make the cup ye've 
 given 
 To poison my young life, a fount of love. 
 And from the Ark of Woe soar forth like Noah's dove. 
 
 And ye shall learn the might of Parity 
 To overcome her foes — how she will fight 
 
 Till her white banner floats triumphantly ; 
 
 And how the stars — Astarte's limpid light — 
 5 
 
"80 MELODIANAS DREAM. 
 
 Can cheer the soul ye've sought to turn to-night; 
 And how the grand old woods to me shall talk 
 
 Of peace, love, poesy's celestial flight, 
 While bird, bee, breeze, stream, fount, all woe shall 
 mock, 
 And Angels by my side in holy converse walk. 
 
 In childhood, came to me a fair Ideal, 
 And filled my heart with love ecstatical, 
 
 Then went and left me to the cold and real ; 
 
 And from that hour I, sickening, turned from all 
 That common hearts and common souls enthrall, 
 
 And wandered o'er the earth, like Telemaque, 
 Searching for my beloved in grot and hall — 
 
 On land and sea — o'er wild Saharian track, 
 Filling the air with sighs that should have wooed him 
 back. 
 
 At last, aweary and athirst, I sank 
 
 Upon the borders of a gentle stream, 
 And deep from out the wells of Morpheus drank, 
 
 And, while I lay entranced, I dreamed a dream, 
 
M E L O D T A N A ' S D R E A if . St 
 
 Which all too much of happiness did teem. 
 I dreamed that he I sought and pined for came, 
 
 And leant beside me warm as solar beam, 
 In low tones that electrified my frame, 
 Eehearsed the story of his never-dying flame. 
 
 How he had wandered up and down the earth 
 In search of me, his spirit's counterpart — 
 
 How he had striven to quench the gnawing dearth, 
 That parched and seared the verdure of his heart — 
 And how it had defied the skill of art ; 
 
 How, that aweary of the march of life. 
 
 And wistful from all earthlj' things to part, 
 
 He was about to end all mortal strife. 
 When he beheld me there, my hands with poppies rife. 
 
 I dreamed — and 3'et it did not seem a dream — 
 Up through my vision flashed realities. 
 
 As struggling sunbeams through a vapor gleam, 
 Giving to phantoms tangibilities ; 
 I felt upon my cheek his burning sighs. 
 
 My young blood thrilling to his thrilling themes, 
 
88 M E L O D I A N A 'S DREAM. 
 
 Till, every pulse awake, I oped mine eyes 
 On the Ideal, sought through all my dreams — 
 And then our souls embraced like two impetuous 
 streams. 
 
 Now, as aback the mountain vapors roll 
 
 Abashed before the ardent eye of Day, 
 The mists of sorrow molted from my soul, 
 
 Beneath the fires of Love's dissolving ray. 
 
 No longer shadows on my pathway lay — 
 No longer tempests overspread the skies — 
 
 No longer serpents lurked along my way, 
 Killing the flowers that promised loveliest dyes — 
 But earth, air, heaven assumed the hues of Paradise. 
 
 It was a second Eden — Paradise Regained — 
 
 A world of beatific harmony, 
 Where ail discordant attributes were chained : — 
 
 The millennium of the heart — a cloudless sea 
 
 Of love, and intellectuality. 
 Out of whose depths our thirsting spirits drunk 
 
 Of light, and life, and immortality. 
 
MELODI ana's dream. 89 
 
 Till they became a breathing thouglit, and sunk 
 Into one soul — that from all mortal contact shrunk. 
 
 He was to me what none had ever been — 
 
 A refuge — benediction — Deity, 
 To which I knelt, and was absolved from sin : — 
 
 He was to me what none can ever be — 
 
 A star, whose light illumes eternity ; 
 And thus were we, like two celestial rays 
 
 Met on the borders of mortality, 
 A moment, panting, each on each to gaze, 
 Ere they commingling blend in one eternal blaze. 
 
 I knew no light, but the ethereal light 
 
 That emanated from his soul-lit eyes — 
 They were my sun by day — my stars by night — 
 
 The moon to which my heart's full tide did rise — 
 
 I knew no music but the harmonies 
 Of his low voice — no bliss-filled nectary 
 
 But his high heart — no perfume but his sighs — 
 I knew no world, but the unfathomed sea 
 Of his^pure love - no heaven but its eternity. 
 
90 melodiana's dream. 
 
 It boots not how — but I returned at length, 
 To tread again the ways of earth despised, — 
 
 But not the same in mind, or thought, or strength — 
 My mortal form had been etherealized — 
 My soul in founts of love had been baptized, 
 
 And raised too high for common sympathies 
 With aught that had not been idealized — 
 
 And still, like kite, though bound to earth 't will rise 
 Into the heavens so high, 't is lost to mortal eyes. 
 
 Out of my soul a living soul had flown, 
 
 ' Not as fair Eve from Adam's side upsprung. 
 To soothe and cheer him in his wanderings lone — 
 Out of my heart a mighty heart was wrung — 
 And earth, air, heaven, a lampless chaos swung; 
 But like the haughty slave, I hug my chain, 
 And choke the agonies that seek a tongue. 
 Lock in my silent heart its gnawing pain. 
 While a volcano sleeps in every throbbing vein. 
 
MnitB. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note 1, Page 13. 
 
 AuREANA is derived from the Latin word aura, meaning a zephyr. 
 
 In the winter of 1849-50, a combination of circumstances seemed 
 to conspire, at once, to weaken my faith in my kind. Some crafts 
 which I had fallen in with on the sea of Life, and from whose masts 
 flowed the friendly flag, had proven to be cruisers under false colors. 
 I was in my study when the truth of this broke upon me beyond a 
 doubt. I sank down ^ an arm-chair, dumb and cold. Then my 
 childhood, with all its truth, its faith, its love, its joys, its aspirations, 
 its hopes— all that I had known of wrong, or felt of grief, or pain, or 
 doubt, or misgiving— all that life is, rushed upon me like the wild 
 waves of the sea. 
 
 Twenty-four hours, motionless, with my hands clasped, without 
 food or drink, did I sit thus fixed— and "The Aureana" was 
 completed. 
 
 Some have surmised that I took my idea from Cole's " Voyage of 
 Life," as the Poem and the Painting each contain three separate 
 pictures. Others have been fain to believe that it is the shadowing 
 forth of some personal history. But the one hypothesis has as little 
 truth for its foundation as the other. It has its source in no one 
 circumstance or experience. It is the aggregate of Life— a life-voy- 
 age, which the full soul must utter to ''The Wedding Guest" for I 
 was unconscious of an effort at composition. 
 
 An anxious friend took it down in pencil as I told it to the air, in 
 its present and unaltered state. 
 
94 NOTES. 
 
 Note 2, Page 15. 
 Horologue ; pronounced hor-i^-l^dje. Walker. 
 
 Note 3, Page 29. 
 The Prisoner of Perotk 
 
 " The only person that sliared the captivity of Santa Anna, in the 
 cold and gloomy prison of Perote, was his young and beautiful wife, 
 who by a thousand little acts of kindness and affection, soothed his 
 sorrows, and rendered less irksome the horrors of his prison-house. 
 
 " The troops of parasites who had fattened upon his bounty, and 
 been loud in their ' tuas' to his honor in the noon and tide of his 
 power, forgot their benefactor in the night of his adversity, and cried 
 ' death to the tyrant.' But the affectionate wife clung closer to his 
 bosom, the more the darkness gathered around him, and by her 
 presence and her smiles, lit up the gloom of his dreary abode." — 
 Translated frovi a Spanish Paper. 
 
 Note 4, Page 30. 
 
 Andalusia. 
 
 The name of Andalusia was applied by the Arabs, not only to the 
 province so called, but to the whole Peninsula. 
 
 Note 5, Page 47. 
 
 Emmalixa to Adhejiar, 
 
 The Countess de Die, whom, for the sake of poetry, I have called 
 Emmalina, was one of ten ladies who formed the " Court of Lore" 
 held at Pierrefen, 1194. She loved and was beloved by the Che- 
 valier Adh' mar. It was not in this case the lover who celebrated 
 the charms of his mistress, but the lady, who, being an illustrious 
 female troubadour, s:ing the charms of her lover. — Airs. Jameson s 
 Lores of the Poets. 
 
NOTES. 95 
 
 Note 6, Page 60. 
 Alru'ba, or Alruccaba. 
 The North Polar Star. 
 
 Four of these Sonnets were included in my last publication, under 
 the title of Corinne. They are here placed with others, under their 
 original and proper title. 
 
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