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In the World's Realm. 
 
In the World's 
 Realm 
 
 BY 
 
 Emma McGuirk 
 
 'i ;'!' .'.'. 
 
 5 3 , 3 , , :> 
 
 J . s * 
 
 FITCHBURG, MASSACHUSETTS 
 1902 
 
THF LISRAftV OF 
 OOKQRCSS, 
 
 l€C. "m- 190? 
 
 75 33-ar 
 
 ittfs. 
 
 Copyright, 1902, by 
 Emma McGuirk. 
 
 Sentinel Printing 
 Company. 
 
cl^t for praise do I labors nor for fame; 
 
 Bui if some aching heart should chance to trace 
 One word of hope^ of rest, from out the same. 
 
 Then would I be repaid with t^wofold grace* 
 From All Omnipotent the 'voice doth come to me — 
 
 Unworthy, owning not, I give it now to thee. 
 
In the World's Realm. 
 
 THE BROOK. 
 
 Down to the dell the brooklet wends 
 
 Its way with noiseless tread. 
 'Twill babble neath the willow-bends 
 
 Till time itself is dead. 
 
 I fling myself down on the bank, 
 And hear its murmuring- tongue, 
 
 Reviewing hopes ere fortune sank 
 In days when I was young. 
 
 How oft from mossy, shelving nook 
 
 I leaned out o'er the brink 
 With tangled string, and bent pin-hook. 
 
 To watch the crushed bait sink. 
 
 And memory's thrill creeps o'er me now. 
 
 As breezes stir the leaves 
 Of springtime on an aged bough 
 
 Or tears drop off the eaves. 
 
 Of ancient domes, whose beauty shed 
 
 A lustre o'er the past, 
 Usurped by later fashion's tread — 
 
 Nor could such vigor last. 
 
 Thus fare our lives with anxious care. 
 
 And yet the older heart 
 Yearns less for glowing, youthful stare 
 
 Than what the rights impart. 
 
 The wrens upon the wooded hill 
 Unheed showers passing o'er, 
 
 But find an echo in their trill 
 That ne'er was there before. 
 
6 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 For Nature's change to them is fair, 
 
 In lowland, or in lea. 
 And not for foolish woes would wear 
 
 A countenance like we. 
 
 But oft with us the times are dull 
 And sorrow lines our brow; 
 
 Be calm and warble to the full 
 While strength is with us now. 
 
 THE MILKMAID. 
 
 Behold! to-night I saw her pass, 
 This rosy, blithesome, singing lass. 
 A strain of warbling tones I heard 
 Like from a silver-throated bird. 
 
 Alone she passed through yonder vale. 
 With simple mien and queenly tread; 
 For sceptre bore a swinging pail, 
 And lightly poised it o'er her head. 
 
 No mocking-bird could frame the sounds 
 That thrilling from her bosom sprung; 
 Naught but the tiny raindrop's bounds 
 Into a liquid pool; be rung 
 
 The notes, but by her grace surpassed 
 And those I wished could always last. 
 The song I could not understand. 
 And know not if 'twere of this land. 
 
 Or better still, a foreign shore, 
 Where roams the one she sees no more. 
 But if I were he would not I 
 Athwart the heaving ocean speed? 
 
 And to that mourning lass would fly 
 Swift as the soft winds winged steed. 
 What the refrain I know not yet, 
 But to my fancying theme was set 
 
EVENING. 
 
 A grave desire to sing through woes, 
 Or pleasure's fount, whichever flows 
 Into my cup, my carols be 
 A confidante the same as she. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 They say time heals; I know it not. 
 The years go on and still I weep. 
 I cannot pray, I cannot sleep. 
 For there is yet one hallowed spot. 
 I fain would pass it by and kneel. 
 For there my buried hopes lie dead. 
 But time will heal, for so 'tis said. 
 And yet I could not, dare not, feel 
 What life would be if I forgot 
 The memory of that cherished spot. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 A smile broke forth in the evening sky 
 
 That darkened the day w^ith its pensive frown; 
 
 It swept the clouds, both low and high. 
 
 Till it chased their stern wrath senseless down. 
 
 My heart stole peace from the tranquil sight. 
 And lured its thoughts to a cave away, 
 
 Where becalmed with the senses that steal o'er night 
 They slumbered peaceful till dawn of day. 
 
 My childhood rose with a beckoning sigh, 
 And wafted me back on its careless wing 
 
 To the scenes I loved in the days gone by 
 Ere I knew the secrets of life's full spring. 
 
 And the dreams I had with a purer mind 
 Than intellect boasts, tho' I longed to be free 
 
 And girdle the world which unknown seemed kind, 
 That gratified turned its warped edges to me. 
 
 I learned from experience's bitter flame 
 
 How our dreams of an Eden are melted away; 
 
8 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 How soon in the ravishing heat of the game 
 Our prospects are withered and turn to decay. 
 
 Yet my thoughts grew light with an earned devotion 
 As the waves lie mute on a passionless sea, 
 
 And my heart felt chaste with a sweet emotion, 
 While I knew such triumphs were not for me. 
 
 I gazed on the sky and its beautiful hues 
 
 Were wasted and fallen. The last steps of day 
 
 Had carelessly trod o'er their heavenly views 
 And left night descending. My idols were clay. 
 
 TWO COMRADES. 
 
 As boats becalmed by storms that lie 
 
 On ocean's bosom day by day, 
 Two barques of hope one could descry 
 
 Safe anchored o'er the watery way. 
 
 When darkness fell, a living breeze 
 Them wafted far athwart the main; 
 
 Nor knew till dawn that distant seas 
 Divided tracks where they had lain. 
 
 But why e'en though each sailed alone, 
 One compass guides the beaten track? 
 
 Shall not the wind their ways condone, 
 Yet steer anew and waft them back? 
 
 Is not the shore through billows' roar 
 The same where earthly parting cast 
 
 A gleam of hope, through darkness' scope? 
 And there unite them at the last. 
 
 THE SPRING. 
 
 While treading o'er a dreary plain, 
 I longed for water but in vain; 
 Till in a rocky gorge all spurned, 
 I found a treasure as I turned. 
 
THE BATTLBFIELD, 9 
 
 A tiny well half hid from view, 
 And glowing like the silvery dew. 
 Tall rushes screened its lowly bed, 
 Where it so gently lay unfed; 
 
 But one grand gleam from out the sky 
 Glorified it from on high. 
 Thought I, how foolish was my plaint 
 To scorn the boulder's feeble taint, 
 
 And where no good could lie or rest 
 I looked and lo! I found the best. 
 Thus oft a soul in seeming weeds 
 Lies calm and pure 'neath golden deeds. 
 
 THE BATTLEFIELD. 
 
 I. 
 
 So loudly rolls the cannon's roar 
 It hushes e'en the battle's din. 
 
 Through serried ranks the shells outpour 
 Their sombre, deadly missiles in. 
 
 The charging ranks on either hand 
 
 Recall the ancient battle-cry. 
 We are but men, an armed band 
 
 Whose duty 'tis to do or die. 
 
 The rocks resound with clash of steel 
 That startles e'en the war-horse' neigh; 
 
 He plunges, snorts, with quivering reel 
 Regards in awe the thunderous fray. 
 
 With fancied wrongs in each proud breast 
 Increased by whirring bullets' dart 
 
 That marks the graves where heroes rest, 
 With blood shed for a country's smart. 
 
 O! charging ranks, the fatal day 
 
 That bids brave men like cowards flee, 
 
 Not from the king of forests' sway, 
 But from the boasts of chivalry. 
 
10 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 Can not that peace be nobly sought 
 We own is for our people's g-ood? 
 
 And not with lives so dearly bought 
 By wading through a country's blood. 
 
 We thought the day of bloodshed o'er 
 When Roman lust was put to flight; 
 
 But gladiators as of yore 
 
 Must revel in the ghastly fight. 
 
 A flag of truce was slowly raised. 
 
 Its white edge gleaming o'er the flank; 
 
 The soldiers saw, and stood amazed, 
 Then tremblingly, as slowly sank. 
 
 'Twas but a moment's brief respite; 
 
 The wretched war was waged anew. 
 A carnage fierce the dawning light 
 
 And rolling smoke disclosed to view. 
 
 Men fighting against kindred; for 
 Are we not brethren one and all? 
 
 But all is fair in strife, and war, 
 To help a country's rise or fall. 
 
 The bugle's voice rang loud and clear, 
 Responding to the drummer's call. 
 
 It woke the slumb'rous hope, and fear 
 That wrapped them like a funeral pall. 
 
 With zeal renewed they fought with strength 
 A giant e'en would not despise. 
 
 Then quivered, wavered, broke at length, 
 And thus the wounded soldier dies. 
 
 II. 
 
 O! sombre night come down and shield 
 This world of misery, pain and woe. 
 
 Thy gleaming stars can scarce outyield 
 The number of her fallen foe. 
 
 The pale moon saw, her head she bowed 
 To gaze upon the awful scene; 
 
THE BATTLEFIELD. 11 
 
 Then shuddering-, sank behind a cloud 
 In pity, yonder sight to screen. 
 
 In wild despair why must they ^veep, 
 Whose loved ones were in battle slain? 
 
 Then sorrow not, but let them sleep; 
 They will not have to fight again. 
 
 Those comrades there will know no more 
 
 Stern duty on life's battlefield. 
 Their cause is won, their hardships o'er, 
 
 Each gave his life ere he would yield. 
 
 And when they lie beneath the sod, 
 
 Uncoffined, yes, but honor-clad, 
 We know the truth, they are with God; 
 
 Then why, oh why, need we be sad? 
 
 And though they fell in distant lands, 
 
 Their spirits hover near our shore. 
 Their names are linked with golden strands 
 
 In memory's chain for evermore. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then wave, banner wave, thou wert nobly won; 
 
 What of a few, if the truth were told? 
 Gallantly g-ave what was nobly beg-un, 
 
 And linked their lives in its precious fold. 
 
 But a nation's honor has been redeemed, 
 A tyrant's scorn has been swept away, 
 
 With pennons, and crests that we esteemed 
 All rent and torn in the battle's fray. 
 
 Aye! one may smile while others must weep. 
 For the baffled hopes that a fight has slain; 
 
 And taunts will sink with a wound so deep 
 That a country's pride can never regain. 
 
 Then wave, banner wave, thou art staunch and true; 
 
 We know thou'lt shield us with might and main, 
 We know thy rule is to dare and to do; 
 
 Then why heed an enemy's silent disdain? 
 
12 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 THE SOLDIER. 
 
 Of all fell in that battle 
 
 Only one I knew. 
 As brave a lad as ever 
 
 Donned a coat of blue. 
 
 The moon gazed down upon him 
 
 In his icy bed, 
 Struggling in the death-throes 
 
 Of his heart's-blood, red. 
 
 He thought of home and kindred 
 
 Ere he closed his eyes, 
 And breathed a prayer to meet them 
 
 Beyond the starry skies. 
 
 The night-wind soughed around him, 
 He cared not w^hither, he 
 
 Had left this world of sorrow 
 For all Eternity. 
 
 The eagle soared above him 
 
 Waiting for its prey. 
 As if 'twould tear asunder 
 
 The limbs of lifeless clay. 
 
 Far from his loved ones, dearer 
 Than all the world beside. 
 
 He shed his blood, life's ransom, 
 And for his country died. 
 
 NIAGARA FALLS. 
 
 Leap on, resistless cataract of foaming froth! 
 
 Before thee mortals' triumphs end: their control dies 
 And wastes upon the shore, while man stands wroth 
 
 To see his nothingness held naked to his eyes. 
 The sound of mighty thunder rolling deep 
 
 Doth drown all human praise. That useless tone 
 Be wasted 'neath the muttering ocean-sweep, 
 
 And tongues be overawed, and cleave from sight alone. 
 
NIAGARA FALLS. 13 
 
 This broad, deep sea, that inland spurns command, 
 
 And scorns defiance from the world's immeasured 
 length, 
 That longs to test its will, its iron hand 
 
 With naught but human minds, and human strength. 
 Then dash thy foaming breakers, and the spray 
 
 Triumphant, scornful, rears its pinions crested high. 
 With force that irresistible shall dull the noisy fray, 
 
 For but its own momentum can those waves defy. 
 
 As Morning flings her dazzling hues athwart the sky, 
 
 Blending horizon, cloud, and wave in vaporous deep 
 That interspersed with sapphire rainbow's tinted dye, 
 
 Paints fall like miniatures from off a summit steep. 
 Enamelled now the brows of myriad cataracts 
 
 Which boasting, heedless, toss their hissing spray afar. 
 Until bombarded by the circlet waves relax 
 
 With sound of cannon, booming after conquered war. 
 
 Condensed the atmosphere; and gloomy clouds of night 
 
 Participate; when in the day the firmament expands 
 With murmured terror, shrinking from her lofty height, 
 
 She drains her garnered springs like incense from her 
 spreading hands. 
 A fire brand through fleece -winged clouds doth leap. 
 
 And parts asunder with its lightning sheen 
 Space for the glorious tempest's whelming sweep, 
 
 That onward creeps with the flash. The dismal scene 
 
 Lights up, and all around, above, beneath is lurid flame, 
 
 Straining its light through dark abyss and watery cave. 
 The foam like marble slabs engraved without a name 
 
 Are fitting tombstones for heroic Indian braves 
 Whose courage spurned man's walk, and sought a plane 
 
 Which led them on to happy grounds. Deluded peace 
 That craved a spotless maid for sacrifice. O! savage 
 bane. 
 
 How could those seething, tossing waters ever cease? 
 
14 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 REVERIE IN A CHURCHYARD. 
 
 They are at rest *neath old mother earth. 
 Ambition's useless toil has gained 
 A resting-place, ere tired life waned; 
 It matters little now the worth. 
 
 The pendulum of life swings slow, 
 Yet strike th once on one and all; 
 No strength can e'er resist its call, 
 We struggle faintly and then go. 
 
 The mourner strews the grave with flowers, 
 
 Sweet offerings from a gentle breast. 
 
 To meekly cover those at rest 
 
 In the only world we can call ours. 
 
 And loving hands caress the mound 
 
 Which doubly proves that friends must part — 
 
 Frail comfort for an aching heart, 
 
 That fain would rest beneath the ground. 
 
 The good they did shall now be told; 
 None of the dead can lightly speak, 
 Their vengeance now they would not wreak, 
 The noblest deeds does death unfold. 
 
 Perhaps some aching heart has yearned 
 For one kind word to ease its pain; 
 That loving ^ord you would not deign 
 And thus a life in sorrow burned. 
 
 Afar the distant hum of life 
 Pursues its course with dizzy tread; 
 *Twi!l not arouse them from their bed. 
 They who have done with toil and strife. 
 
 The tiny warblers of the air 
 
 Trip lightly round with voices still; 
 
 A melody they would not trill, 
 
 As though they knew the dead were there. 
 
THE CRY OF THE INFIDEL. 15 
 
 The weary pilgrims' voices cease, 
 As slowly walk with reverent tread 
 In this lone sanctum of the dead 
 That breathes a sign of heaven's peace. 
 
 Perhaps some genius lieth near — 
 Poets, painters, sculptors, all 
 Who taught the minds of great and small, 
 And some whose victory cost them dear. 
 
 Each has his share of mould'ring rind. 
 The same as dw^elt in humbler sphere. 
 All can but slumber helpless here; 
 Death makes no preference in mankind. 
 
 Mayhaps a voice that swayed a throne 
 Lies silent here in chill embrace; 
 No higher power, no greater place 
 Than died an outcast and alone. 
 
 Though tow'ring monument may span 
 The view from yonder lighted skies, 
 Beneath its grandeur only lies 
 All that remains of mortal man. 
 
 Some may have vaguely yearned for fame, 
 And striving well one learned to see 
 The end of all. Eternity, 
 And the faded glory of a name. 
 
 No cannon boomed with farewell zest 
 Nor mingled in his parting sighs; 
 Untrammeled by renown he lies 
 In peace, forgotten and at rest. 
 
 THE CRY OF THE INFIDEL AND THE OPPRESSED. 
 
 No God, no heaven, cry the voice 
 
 Of infidels. No true atoning 
 Can rrake the stars, the moon rejoice 
 
 Within our sorrow's deep bemoaning. 
 
16 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Faith, with its treasured terms of hope, 
 May cry to God in hidden anguish 
 
 Concealed on paths, whereas we grope 
 Unconscious truer rest doth languish. 
 
 Within the fold of silence' web 
 
 More dignified, with ease relenting. 
 The rock may break the river's ebb, 
 
 A gentle word may cause repenting. 
 The sun, and all its wandering spheres 
 
 May crush this earth within the morrow. 
 The ocean holds no power like tears — 
 
 And yet the Atheist knows but sorrow. 
 
 The bloody rampants of the fight 
 
 Can kill, and blindly call surrender, 
 While those in peace affront a slight, 
 
 With anger more than crown's defender. 
 Come heart to heart, and soul to soul. 
 
 Nor perish on the midway grieving; 
 Though different minds ye are but whole; 
 
 From same ye sprang, and same be leaving. 
 
 However stern the laws of men. 
 
 Disease shall spread unfettered pinions 
 Without, within, now and again 
 
 Destroying wastes, engulf dominions. 
 The strong, the weak, shall call for aid, 
 
 From sources great or small must borrow 
 The needful strength ere life is laid — 
 
 And yet the Atheist murmurs sorrow. 
 
 The silver throttled in the ore 
 
 May ease our hearts from endless pining. 
 The costly robes we craved before 
 
 Be linked to us with style's entwining. 
 What matter if an empty tone 
 
 Goes through our words without a meaning? 
 The bane of gold has swept them prone. 
 
 Through straws from out the harvest's gleaning. 
 
 The sweat of labor, borne for bread. 
 Is oft the thanks a starving giver. 
 
THE CRY OF THE INFIDEL. 17 
 
 And recompense which earned instead, 
 
 Pays failures for the wealthy liver. 
 Unjust, enforced, the tyrant lot 
 
 May rail at fate's produced uncover. 
 While wronged but meekly seek a spot 
 
 To rest where spendthrifts fail to hover. 
 
 Both, rich, and poor, may meet as one 
 
 Within the walls of ancient cover. 
 Like hearts from separation gone 
 
 To greet the past, when once a lover. 
 In fear, with poverty surmised. 
 
 He dreaded lest the stately mansion 
 Would ope, (w^here was the one he prized,) 
 
 And lose him in its broad expansion. 
 
 The sky of God, the fruitful fields 
 
 Bar out not what His wisdom gave us, 
 To cnly such as ignorance yields 
 
 The tongue, the voice, would now deprave us. 
 We look with pleading eyes at some, 
 
 And ask how long their love will linger; 
 To others haughty, we are dumb 
 
 Nor heed God's warning lifted finger. 
 
 We stand in awe beside the bed 
 
 Of one we loved, and trusted ever; 
 And limbs have trembled while lips said, 
 
 To part from thee we promised, never. 
 But not the same is this cold clay; 
 
 We vowed such truth to-day, not morrow. 
 All with the form is laid away — 
 
 And more than Atheist whisper sorrow. 
 
 The threads of life are shrunken now. 
 
 O God! to clasp those clinging fingers 
 With warmth of life, and on the brow 
 
 No light, but where the sunset lingers. 
 Give back! give back! that supple grace 
 
 To limbs destined by fate to perish; 
 From rigid hands, death's marks efface 
 
 And give us back the which we cherish. 
 
18 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 What power to triumph over hearts 
 
 By that Unseen who bids us mildly 
 Take warning- as the tempest parts 
 
 With black, eng-ulfing darkness wildly. 
 The grass that grows beneath our feet 
 
 We choose to tread upon so blindly, 
 Shall yet proclaim us where we meet 
 
 In preference all, not so unkindly. 
 
 But soon the tide of life is spent, 
 
 Which ends the same with grief, or laughter. 
 Whichever God hath to us sent 
 
 Through waves before, or currents after 
 We reach through all the yonder shore. 
 
 Though barques delay from day to morrow, 
 God grant the Infidel may pour 
 
 His unbelief in earthly sorrow. 
 
 MY KING. 
 
 I work and sing, my listening, beating heart 
 
 A triumph waits, my fingers fly 
 In ecstasy. The hours to minutes start, 
 
 And waiting with clasped hands, I wonder why 
 
 He does not come, my patient, toiling one. 
 
 A tiller of the soil is he. 
 And though our breezy attic chills the dawn, 
 
 We have Faith's kingdom, Hope's fidelity. 
 
 I start. A step ascends the creaking, winding stairs; 
 
 My breath comes fast; a well-loved voice I hear 
 Breathing my name; a stalwart arm upbears 
 
 My trembling form; I cling without a fear 
 
 To that fond breast. The twilight turns, a stream 
 
 Of sunlight falls across the opening; 
 The attic glows a palace, 'tis no dream. 
 
 Before me stands my own heart's love, my king. 
 
A VOICE FROM THE MULTITUDE. 19 
 
 THE YOUNG POET. 
 
 Poet child, with the sweet, sad face 
 
 Whose mystic charm but lends thee grace, 
 
 Has sorrow decked thy pale young brow? 
 
 And Phantasy claims its victim now. 
 
 Have visions old lain by thy side 
 
 When in the crib thou didst abide? 
 
 With worlds or spheres, which were thy lot? 
 
 And or the world thou owned, forgot 
 
 When eyes mused on thy sleeping form 
 
 And lips touched thine, so loving, warm. 
 
 Didst dream an angel from her place 
 
 Had wandered to thy mother's face? 
 
 And tmy arms uplifted near 
 
 Beside thy dreams thou loved most dear 
 
 What inner sight revealed to thee 
 
 Such thoughts of vast immensity? 
 
 That weighed thee down, while youth was youns: 
 
 And left to warble songs, unsung- 
 
 The world was not to thee, betimes 
 
 In childish accents lisped ye rhymes. 
 
 Does earth or heaven claim thy joy. 
 
 Whichever one thy thoughts decoy? 
 
 Know Fate has promised to her own 
 
 But cne ambition, one alone. 
 
 Ye cannot be a man alway. 
 
 And yet a bird with tuneful lay. 
 
 The mind that soars above its own 
 
 Must leave its fellow-creatures lone. 
 
 On words of love, ye must depend 
 
 To sympathize unto the end. 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE MULTITUDE. 
 
 Wheii millions teem along the busy street 
 Throbbing with life, come linger near, 
 
 And disenchant thyself. Watch gain, defeat 
 Strug-gling for mastery here. 
 
20 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Ye praise that noble span with arched necks, 
 Fleet-footed pair to serve mankind. 
 
 Not all, not all. They shy at misery's wrecks 
 And leave the cripple far behind. 
 
 Mark well that ancient tower of copied fame 
 Borrowed from age. Its columns lure 
 
 Praise from unfeeling hearts, that structure same 
 But keeps the sunlight from the poor. 
 
 We see, and feel the wonders time has wrought 
 Within our world, each deaf'ning change 
 
 Has turned men's hearts until we are forgot; 
 Remembered still would be more strange. 
 
 And yet within their coffers lies our wealth 
 Tarnished from age. Its luxuries see 
 
 Bespotted o'er our lives, our feeble health. 
 
 Man's world its triumphs find. Defeated we. 
 
 THE TWO BARQUES. 
 
 Down the Ocean of Time a vessel came sailing proudly, 
 
 Pride on her every mast, though the waves roared round 
 her loudly. 
 
 A gentle breeze was wafted from her motion in the air; 
 
 Tho' it swelled to a blizzard's sweep what would that frig- 
 ate care? 
 
 Back through the storms of years a vessel comes drift- 
 ing sadly. 
 
 No cannon boom from her stern tho' the waves leap 
 round her madly. 
 
 Engulfing winds surround her. Can this barque be the 
 same? 
 
 Poor fra*l and battered hulk, was the sea or the helms- 
 man to blame? 
 
TO A NIGHTINGALE. 21 
 
 TO A NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Joy to thee, keen riser. 
 
 With thy keener song, 
 That flowing like a geyser 
 From thy throat so strong, 
 Bids us imitate thy noise devoid of wrong. 
 
 Soaring high and gladly 
 
 Feels thy way up yonder; 
 Lfeaves us wondering sadly 
 Where thou next w^ill wander. 
 Singing, alw^ays singing, never stops to ponder. 
 
 Thro' the moonshine gleaming 
 
 On thy glossy wings 
 Like mellow lamplight streaming 
 O'er transparent springs, 
 So goest forth to greet the melody thou sings. 
 
 What rapture in thy pinions 
 Ruffled by the breeze! 
 All thine the vast dominions, 
 Floating where thou please, 
 O'er thy native woodlands or cool foreign seas. 
 
 How m the pallid gloaming 
 
 Of eve's ethereal star. 
 Thou seem'st a spirit roaming 
 The hills of earth afar. 
 Until the glowing dawn their purple beauties mar. 
 
 The earth and hills re-echo 
 Thy soft, melodious tone. 
 Like distant music's overflow 
 With a bevy of their own. 
 Which embodied in thy form is joy and love alone. 
 
 What thou know'st we know not. 
 
 Seest thou earth's all, 
 Cliffs that hidden, wilds unsought 
 Hover neath thy joyous call. 
 No earth's shackles bind thy vested thrall. 
 
22 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Fairy sprite in birdlike guise, 
 Tell me where thou wint'rest. 
 Hast thou portals in the skies 
 Where thou ent'rest for the test? 
 For sure earth never doth enclose thy zest. 
 
 Song's gay rapture varies 
 
 In its wild refrain; 
 But thy bosom never wearies, 
 Chanting forth delicious strain. 
 Sings the rhythm, then returning sings again. 
 
 What secrets new and olden 
 
 Hear'st thou in air? 
 While painted on the golden 
 Star-flecked clouds so rare 
 That a misty moonbeam seems hov'ring o'er thee there. 
 
 Thro' the weeds and rushes 
 
 Floating o'er the main. 
 If thou likest hushes 
 
 Song that knows no pain, 
 That buried now bursts forth in rhapsody again. 
 
 O'er the vast unclouded spheres 
 
 Do no thoughts arise 
 Of the future's troubled years, 
 When the cloudlets dim thine eyes. 
 Seeking vain an answer to the dull surprise? 
 
 MORTALITY. 
 
 Same as the clouds wand'ring to the evening sky, 
 
 So do our pleasures vanish in the end; 
 Each giving way to nature ere we die. 
 
 In sequent care all earthly mixtures blend. 
 Mortality, once the mainspring of life, 
 
 Shrmks to corruption, wherefore gaining peace 
 Scorneth defiance 'gainst labor's humble strife; 
 While earth that gave them all, claims all on decease. 
 
INNOCENCE. 23 
 
 Years do enhance the wisdom found in youth, 
 As Time furrows ridges in the thoughtful brow; 
 
 Weeps for the past, and loath to own the truth 
 
 Of age apparent, to which kings must bow. , 
 
 And yet this wisdom sought for means sublime 
 Shall propagate and shoulder time with time. 
 
 COMMUNING WITH THEE. 
 
 Through the mists of the briny ocean, 
 Through the depths of the soundless sea 
 
 With its constant billowy motion, 
 My soul would commune with thee. 
 
 And communing would tell of its sorrow 
 No word in the language can know; 
 
 Its passionate waves could I borrow. 
 How softly the rhythm would flow. 
 
 From the depths of my love I would proudly 
 With the length of remorse measure thine. 
 
 While the waves of the ocean roar loudly. 
 Thy soul is another's, not mine. 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 Sweet innocence, with lips apart, and childlike brow. 
 Woe unto him who perverts that holiness now 
 And blots the light of heaven from a mlna 
 That trusted all alike, all humankind. 
 Who feels with keener mind distrust of all 
 Than him awakened by illusion's fall? 
 
 What crime so great, so guilty, could there be 
 In childhood's eyes, what rash intensity? 
 Than this misunderstanding, half of shame 
 And shyness new, for which he has no name. 
 To be discovered thus, and mourn the fate, 
 Proves half God's wisdom to thee has been sate. 
 
24 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 And woe to him who damped illusion's hope 
 And sowed dissension's seed within the scope 
 Where God was meant to be, where happiness lay 
 To be uptorn by one with mould of clay. 
 God pity thee, tho' great and by the world defiled. 
 For thou wert poor in riches by that child, 
 
 RUINS. 
 
 As ceaseless dripping wears the hardest rock, 
 Disclosing seams and scars untold, by shock, 
 And lays each fibre bare throughout its length- 
 So un confided misery saps the strength. 
 
 EVER AND ONLY. 
 
 Duty ever is duty 
 
 Though the will retains its source. 
 But beauty only is beauty 
 
 When the soul directs its course. 
 
 SPRINGTIME. 
 
 The fair morn widening as a leaf 
 
 Its shrinking fold outcreases; 
 Brings summer's hope and chases grief 
 
 To where the winter ceases. 
 
 The birds have come, their mellow tones 
 Send gladness through the season. 
 
 And in our hearts whose dreary moans 
 Escape and leave no reason. 
 
 While in the glowing, rustling trees, 
 
 A breath of incense stealing 
 Wafts perfume o'er the quiet breeze 
 
 And softens nature's feeling. 
 
THE FIREFLY. 25 
 
 A downy calm is in the air 
 
 That almost seems of sorrow. 
 I wonder if no peace was there 
 
 Would we long for the morrow? 
 
 The distant hills, the blooming- glades, 
 
 Have tasted earth's vast sweetness 
 And with the forethought beauty fades. 
 
 They charmed the groves with fleetness. 
 
 'Tis strange that only yesterday 
 
 An April sun was shining; 
 The birds sang on each leafy spray 
 
 With glee and mirth entwining. 
 
 Now in the present morn's array 
 
 The breath of May's unfolding; 
 Thus oft we age a year a day 
 
 Through sorrow's vain upholding. 
 
 All winter grief from summer's mood 
 
 Should vanish with the weather. 
 And leave, where chilling anguish stood, 
 
 Hope's blessings linked together. 
 
 I drink the fragrance of the hour 
 
 Embalmed in nature's keeping. 
 And bear its sweetness to the bower 
 
 Where winter's form lies sleeping. 
 
 THE FIREFLY. 
 
 Unwearied through evening's gloaming, 
 Thy pale light guides the way. 
 
 As a wanderer vaguely roaming 
 The plains w^ith a beacon ray. 
 
 The years have not dimmed thy lustre. 
 Nor armed thee with frailer dawn; 
 
 As with the bright forces that muster, 
 Thou recklessly hurriest on. 
 
 * * 
 
26 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Thus be my life with brightness blent, 
 To lead me o'er the darkened way 
 
 Until the light of heaven is sent, 
 And guides me to Eternal day. 
 
 NIGHT AND MORN. 
 
 O! sweet is the night when to slumber I go, 
 Far from the world in my sleep's peaceful flow; 
 And sweet is the mom when from slumber I wake 
 And glide back to earth on my spirit's calm lake. 
 
 How sweet then is life both in sunshine and rain. 
 Whate'er we may suffer, peace follows the pain. 
 The clouds that outburst in their sombre control, 
 In time shall drown anguish immerging the soul. 
 
 In cloudlets as fair as the still morn's array, 
 When sunrise is stealing o'er earth's dusk decay. 
 Then tranquil the breeze after life's stormy main. 
 That wafts us to heaven and happiness again. 
 
 THE DERELICT. 
 
 Take note beneath the leaden sky 
 
 Of yonder frigate hovering nigh. 
 
 Her breathless hush might strike the heart. 
 
 So much of gloom doth she impart. 
 
 Oh say! Oh say! where can it be 
 
 Her place of port, her destiny? 
 
 Her darkened shrouds might wave a pall 
 
 To screen the decks deserted all. 
 
 The night fog lies athwart her bow 
 Like a benediction soft and low. 
 Her silent calm as it rose and fell 
 Be broke by the swaying fog-girt bell. 
 
RETRIBUTION, 27 
 
 And her shadowy hull looms up in sight, 
 Streaked with the rays of pale moonlight 
 That glistening o'er her charms anew 
 The strange, weird sight of the day's review. 
 
 Black are her sails as the wintry blast 
 Sweeps and tears at her clinging mast. 
 Pale are the shadowy forms that play 
 On the shadowy decks by night and day. 
 
 Where are her sailors, what is her doom? 
 From the port of hope to a watery tomb. 
 Where is the crew that her greatness gave 
 Access to ride on the boundless wave? 
 
 What scourge has emptied the silent bark. 
 What corpses sank from it stiff and stark? 
 Was it a crew of pirates bold 
 That fighting sank with their precious gold? 
 
 Then swiftly speed from this rocking boat; 
 No answer comes from her stern afloat, 
 And our echoes die upon the sea, 
 While she responds with her mystery. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 Thou earnest not to me, when in dire woe 
 
 My poverty held thee aloof. Is it not so? 
 
 Now I have treasures, and thou art come 
 
 Gazing with envy on my beauteous home. 
 
 Were there a man sincere, though in distress, 
 
 I would choose him for my friend, and daily bless 
 
 His life's usurping cares; for naught besides 
 
 Could bind my heart to his. Whate'er betides 
 
 His luckless days, should cross my path as well. 
 
 O! gentle, trusting heart, come with me here to dwell. 
 
 No, not for paltry gold wouldst thou bestow 
 
 One atom of affection. For the glow 
 
 And sheen, that sometimes passeth in an hour 
 
 Then from my tearful pleadings shrink and cower. 
 
28 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 Thine aim is true and good, thou would'st not strike 
 
 A fallen foe, thy motives how unlike 
 
 Yon cowardly knave who gloating o*er my wealth 
 
 Now seeks to win my confidence by stealth. 
 
 He knows I know his heart is bleak and bare. 
 
 Yet ventures boldly in. What doth such care 
 
 If but the outward surface gain applause? 
 
 While all is vile within from nature's cause. 
 
 His perjured lips shall taunt my rags no more, 
 
 Nor will he cross the threshold of my door. 
 
 I would not have thee now, I spurn things low, 
 
 I loathe and scorn thy hollow friendship. Go! 
 
 FAR FROM HOME. 
 
 Far from my cherished home to-night I rest. 
 Far from the hand of fate, which spurred me on 
 
 To scorn defeat, from her who turned to jest 
 My faltered vows ere every hope had gone. 
 
 Far from the home where lisped at mother's knee 
 My simple prayers or dropped a childish tear. 
 
 Far, far, from all, but never far from thee. 
 Not farther now than when I once was near. 
 
 THE COTTAGE BUILDERS. 
 
 Softly falls the glistening timber 
 
 From its parent soil. 
 Threat'ningly, with branches limber. 
 
 Yields to useful toil. 
 Through the forest's sheltered region, 
 
 One by one, they stand 
 Like an army's conquered legion. 
 
 Bowed to weapon's hand. 
 
THE COTTAGE BUILDERS. 29 
 
 O'er the sky of grayish beauty, 
 
 Sombre though it be, 
 Stern redbreasts make labor duty 
 
 In each fallen tree. 
 And the wild gray goose is screaming 
 
 To its sullen mate, 
 Where an islet small is gleaming 
 
 'Cross the river's gate. 
 
 Gone the traces of cold winter 
 
 And each day succeeds 
 Warmer breaths through crystal's splinter 
 
 O'er the frosty meads. 
 Noiseless are the builders creeping 
 
 From their huts of boughs. 
 Thickened nets of wild grass creeping 
 
 O'er the tethered scows. 
 
 Soon the noise of smothered thunder 
 
 Drowns each hasty stroke. 
 And with branches torn asunder 
 
 Quainter echoes woke. 
 In that forest old and hardy 
 
 Prom its lonely state. 
 Grander than the elms tardy 
 
 At a rich man's gate. 
 
 Scented pine, and airy maple. 
 
 Prostrate side by side. 
 Freed the latter from the staple 
 
 Whence the sweet drops glide. 
 Thirsty yet the stream is stealing 
 
 To the naked earth; 
 For destroyer's axe revealing 
 
 Uses of its birth. 
 
 Hear the music of the pine trees 
 
 Prom their lonely height, 
 Rolling like the sombre high seas 
 
 To a weird delight. 
 Wonder not then hearts of pleasure 
 
 Roam the silent plain; 
 Naught so sweet as nature's treasure 
 
 Chanting each refrain. 
 
30 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 But how true each member misses, 
 
 At his fireside's glow, 
 Sweetest of all home's sweet blisses, 
 
 Childhood's mirthful flow. 
 But the power of future gladness 
 
 Brings a milder taste 
 To the hearts of frozen sadness 
 
 In this weary waste. 
 
 While the homesick tear oft glistens 
 
 On some ruddy cheek, 
 Still a voice of music listens 
 
 To its volume meek; 
 And at night still sweeter echoes 
 
 Thrill the wooded grove, 
 When a prayer to heaven o'erflows 
 
 From the fount of love. 
 
 Through the forest's starry skylight 
 
 Night birds take the tone, 
 And from glen to glen, the twilight 
 
 Breathes a calm its own. 
 Ears shall list while lips are praying, 
 
 Silent may be some; 
 For in silence speaks God's saying 
 
 And great faith is dumb. 
 
 Altars not surround the twenty 
 
 Men, or more who kneel; 
 Nature's offerings here are plenty 
 
 "Kindred thoughts to feel. 
 And what matters to Him incense 
 
 If the heart be right? 
 Souls like these be recompense 
 
 For the off'rings light. 
 
 In one year from this dim gloaming 
 
 Watch well yonder shore. 
 Say there hearts whose quickened roamin 
 
 Tells of hardships o'er. 
 Peace and plenty speak in whispers 
 
 To each bosom full, 
 Of the silent, praying lispers 
 
 When the birdsongs lull. 
 
THE RICH UNCLE, 31 
 
 Gathered close near fiery embers, 
 
 For the nights are cold, 
 Nearer in this wild than members 
 
 Of the cultured fold. 
 Speak they ling'ring thoughts of daytime 
 
 From their shadowed den, 
 And the homes, the coming gay time 
 
 Ease their hearts again. 
 
 DESIDERATUM. 
 
 I stand with lips apart, and watch the mill 
 Of fate grind out my portion^s toll; 
 
 And though I madly long, with giant's will 
 To grasp the lever, yet I must control 
 
 Impatience, which would hurl me to my doom 
 Before I know the truth, thou hast not told 
 
 To me in words, but through the silent gloom 
 The ghosts of doubt have crept, me to enfold. 
 
 I crave to know the worst, that all may cease — 
 This endless hoping and suspense, that give 
 
 A life of torture; from those cruel bonds release 
 And crush me now, so once more I may live. 
 
 THE RICH UNCLE. 
 
 ''Bind on thy pearly necklace, and change this sombre 
 robe 
 
 For one of silken texture; though its costliness may 
 probe 
 
 The contents of my purse-strings, I would have thee look- 
 ing fine 
 
 To greet thy rich old uncle, who'll reward thee, daughter 
 mine. 
 
 And Mary there so ugly, I would that she were fair 
 With the same vermilion- tinted cheek, and wavy, golden 
 hair." 
 
32 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 "No, mother, no,'* the younger cries, '1 would not have it 
 
 so; 
 For but one must be his heiress, and that myself I trow." 
 
 Thus spake up selfish girlhood, with never a thought of 
 
 harm 
 Against her nobler sister, whose duties, cold or warm, 
 Kept ofe the starving wolf-band, and pledged the weary 
 
 way 
 With charity and meekness, the infirm and the gray. 
 
 Whose head was raised in sorrow, and pity glazed the eye 
 Where many a tear had glistened in the struggling days 
 
 gone by, 
 When poverty and labor, had travelled side by side, 
 Bestrewing thorns and thistles where'er her hands defied. 
 
 No hoard of precious jewels, nor gems of gleaming light 
 Did she crave from the absent kinsman, who would be 
 
 with them to-night; 
 But a heart of love and pity, overflowing with kindly 
 
 mirth 
 Did she long to rest by her fireside and gladden her 
 
 wretched hearth. 
 
 "He will come in dress of broadcloth and a splendid coach 
 
 and four; 
 And thou, my fairest daughter, must ope the sliding door 
 To greet thy dead sire's brother from the land of quaint 
 
 Japan, 
 Where he hoarded his hard-earned treasures as only a 
 
 miser can." 
 
 "O! fie thee, fie thee, mother, what care we if he scrimped 
 
 and saved 
 To fuel his great ambition and the wavering hardships 
 
 braved ? 
 For us, for us, was his strength extolled," — and the sister 
 
 o'er her task 
 Thought it was not a heart of stone in exchange her 
 
 friend would ask. 
 
 "There is no doubt about that," the sage mother replied, 
 "For thou Shalt be his heiress, and yet a great man's 
 bride. 
 
THE RICH UNCLE. 33 
 
 In robes of royal purple thy form shall be arrayed 
 And a circlet of amber jewels on thine ivory neck dis- 
 played." 
 
 O! hark: what is that knocking" on the unused kitchen 
 
 door? 
 Only a tramp in tatters, that seems from a foreign shore 
 And an angry frown on the fair face shone as she ordered 
 
 him quick away, 
 Saying, '^Beggar old, such we harbor not, and here thou 
 
 reedst never stray." 
 
 But stay — a warm hand grasped her, and thrust her form 
 
 aside, 
 And a low voice sweet and gentle to the beggar's words 
 
 replied: 
 *'We are not rich, no truly, but if that can aid thy woe, 
 Thou art welcome to it humbly, it is all I can bestow." 
 
 And a nickel found its shelter in the pauper's hardened 
 
 palm. 
 But never a sign of hunger shone in the eyes so calm; 
 Another light in their clearness dawned as his voice 
 
 replied, 
 "I am thy father's brother and in thy house shall abide." 
 
 "Pray pardon these wretched garments, for time I had 
 
 not to change. 
 And bemoaning my homesick loneness I felt they could 
 
 ne'er estrange 
 The tie of my kin's affection, when brought to their kind 
 
 review 
 Through them, not wealth in abundance I have learned 
 
 the false from the true." 
 
 And what of the beauty's anguish, when fluttered away 
 
 such wealth 
 From her grasp to the plainer sister, who treasured it 
 
 not by stealth? 
 From the shattered towers of her castle, she scorned in 
 
 hate to deride 
 And like a great many others learned wisdom through 
 
 fallen pride. 
 
34 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 ABANDONED. 
 
 Idly we're drifting, the sails are unfurled, 
 Idly our barques roam the length of the world. 
 Be it our fault in the treacherous gloom 
 If breakers ahead speed us on to our doom? 
 
 THE SCENE. 
 
 The daylight streams across the hills 
 
 So gently rising through the mist; 
 A flood of light its glory spills 
 
 Athwart the waking earth, now kissed 
 With rosy dawn: a perfect sight. 
 
 And all day long the shadows play, 
 For out of day we pass to night, 
 
 And out of night we pass to day. 
 
 Our lives are rising gently o'er 
 
 The cultured slopes, and valleys wide, 
 A peaceful scene, a dreamy lore 
 
 Be wafted on the breeze's tide. 
 An earthly balm till shadow's breath 
 
 Creeps o'er the edge in stormy strife; 
 For out of life we pass to death, 
 
 And out of death we pass to life. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Hark! the Christmas chimes are tolling 
 
 As I wander slowly home. 
 Back the risen years are rolling, 
 
 Creeping through the snowy foam. 
 Soft the beauties of the season 
 
 As I gaze with weary eyes. 
 Vainly grasping for the reason 
 
 Of the dear, departed joys. 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE. 35 
 
 Swiftly now the years seem driven 
 
 By a hand of mighty strength. 
 Into them with spirits riven 
 
 Float we through the dismal length. 
 Where the thrill of boyish pleasure? 
 
 Keenest in our boyhood's den, 
 Where we frolicked at our leisure, 
 
 Yet the eve's as bright as then. 
 
 And the stars still glisten ever, 
 
 Shedding flecks of golden light 
 Far across the frozen river 
 
 Where the chimes speed in the night. 
 Why do years and hopes go quicker? 
 
 Time that once seemed all too slow 
 Yearn no more for Yuletide's flicker 
 
 Bringing sorrows in its flow. 
 
 Now no Fairy-father meets us 
 
 With his load of precious toys; 
 Now no stirring hurrah greets us. 
 
 Presents for the girls and boj^-s. 
 Now the pale moon shines no brighter 
 
 Than it did a month before. 
 Yet one lime the world seemed lighter 
 
 And this night like none of yore. 
 
 Why instead of mirth and singing 
 
 Comes to me a spell of woe? 
 Why not join the joybells ringing. 
 
 As they flutter to and fro? 
 Has the heart I held in childhood 
 
 Changed through years without acclaim > 
 And the memory's calling withstood, 
 
 For each thing appears the same. 
 
 Once the sprigs of manhood flourish. 
 
 Flutter far the flowers of youth. 
 Leaving naught but care to nourish — 
 
 Few will own the bitter truth. 
 Wealth, ambition, crown your errors, 
 
 Freedom's gift will not remain; 
 But at Christmas slay those terrors — 
 
 Lfet me be a child again. 
 
36 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 THE HUNT. 
 
 Adown the glade and o'er the lawn 
 The noisy, sweeping crowd rushed on. 
 
 With prancing- steeds, whose armour's bore 
 For crests fair damsels by the score. 
 
 And lordly knights with conscious eye 
 Of mounted pride's deep chivalry. 
 
 The dogs let loose, a charging host, 
 That in the thicket plunged and lost, 
 
 Save streaks of foam upon the grass 
 Flung from, their nostrils as they pass. 
 
 With gleaming teeth, and eyes of fire 
 Infection caught from mankind's ire. 
 
 A wolfish pack of fiends that wear 
 A canine semblance 'neath their hair. 
 
 Of ermine -tinted, spotless hue, 
 As urging onward gained anew 
 
 The steep hillsides, the clinging mass 
 Of stunted poplars, where alas! 
 
 Poor Reynard, mad with fear and strife, 
 Ran for his life, and the hounds for life. 
 
 The noisy brook went babbling by 
 Unconscious of the tragedy 
 
 That fleeing, drifting, in its wake 
 Should rouse its murmurs for sport's sake. 
 
 And speed its echoes through the rim 
 Of mounted charges, warlike, grim. 
 
 Pursued they boldly hill and plain 
 Till swampy ridges loomed again. 
 
THE HUNT. 37 
 
 'Neath clattering hoofs, whose reckless haste 
 Defiant spurned the dangerous waste. 
 
 The fox stopped short in yonder glen 
 To wonder at the game of men 
 
 Then boldly sprang with vigor borne 
 And fresh renewed from bay and horn. 
 
 Through marsh and coppice wound the stream 
 Of idle revellers' hurrying gleam. 
 
 While Reynard's short but fatal blunder 
 Of pausing, made him vaguely wonder 
 
 If pondering was worth a fee 
 When life must pay the penalty. 
 
 Anon through countless alleys wide 
 With horses plunging, side by side, 
 
 And leaping stiles where anxious grain 
 Awaited the onslaught's vigorous train. 
 
 Rode cultured dames whose ample pride 
 Upheld the lineage that denied 
 
 Poor Reynard's boast of freedom's laws 
 But gathered strength to urge the jaws 
 
 Of canines' wrath, a heedless pang 
 Might mingle with the shouts that rang 
 
 Their wild hurrahs! as plainly seen 
 Their tortured victim cross the green 
 
 Where serried troops, in mail arrayed 
 With fashion's pomp, the scene surveyed. 
 
 The tangled brush be used to throw 
 Discord between the swift and slow. 
 
 The climax aye! must come at length 
 When robbed poor Reynard of all strength 
 
38 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Returns again whate'er he would 
 
 And meets his fate where first he stood. 
 
 Now mankind's prowess won at last 
 And Reynard's cunning had surpassed 
 
 By beaten strokes; the agile form 
 
 That no more roams through shade and storm. 
 
 Not even for door-mat, hall or bower 
 For dogs tore piecemeal foxship's dower. 
 
 BLESSING OF HOPE. 
 
 While on life's highway oft I pause 
 
 To note the strangeness of it all, 
 The throbbing hope. Is it because 
 
 We know the heavens never fall? 
 Is it because the sunken night 
 
 Raises a brighter, grander day? 
 But hope we will till heaven's flight 
 
 Grasps our soul and soars away. 
 
 It matters not if o'er our path 
 
 The thorns of life are thickly spread; 
 We crave the flowers another hath, 
 
 And hope till hope itself be dead. 
 A fairer life we all expect 
 
 To crown our years in later days. 
 WTiat selfish woes we would reject 
 
 To turn to brightness all our ways. 
 
 A fair maid treading o'er the waste 
 
 Finds in her wake a saddened dream; 
 Hopes yet a sweeter draught to taste 
 
 Of life's mysterious flowing stream. 
 And he with crimes of leaden hues 
 
 Hopes for a pardon, and respite 
 From death's cruel terror, when reviews 
 
 Sins that e'en look black in his sight. 
 
SOUL OF THE ARTIST, 39 
 
 In childhood's wreath the flower of hope 
 
 Gleams brightly through the tender years; 
 When withered, torn, the empty scope 
 
 Bears buds seen through our falling tears. 
 And thus the aged garden holds 
 
 This plant renewed, when all is said 
 To pluck, and bear beyond the folds 
 
 For better die, w^hen hope be dead. 
 
 SOUL OP THE ARTIST. 
 
 Why list ye to that ethereal sound? 
 What pleasures find in the heavenly strain? 
 Have ye known of love, or sorrow, or pain? 
 For without there is naught to be found. 
 
 Has Hope's dull grief or anguish ever been 
 Added to thine earthly care? 
 If such were but unsavoury food, I ken 
 Why poets are so rare. 
 
 Though all life long, the tired soul sings 
 Its woes; the doleful sound can but express 
 One-half the tone of these sage triplets' weariness 
 Heralders of Hope's defeat. From these the artist 
 springs. 
 
 And if ye found but one sweet in thy sight 
 Then marvel not that I play to-night. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Whither thou so bright and fair, 
 Swimming thro' the rosy air? 
 Dost thou seek for sweets, or what 
 Else, or &cmething that forgot? 
 Thou art looking everywhere 
 Peering yonder, here and there. 
 
40 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Aye! what artist deigned thy coat? 
 Flecked it gaily as the throat 
 Of a wren, with shrill rejoice; 
 Differs that thou hast no voice, 
 Save the motion of thy wings 
 Gliding to the honey springs. 
 
 Dainty, harmless as thou art 
 Couldst thou not have found a part 
 In the flowery climes ye fed 
 Where to rest thy weary head? 
 Or to bide thy tiny sails 
 Flashing thro' the flow'ret gales? 
 
 "Which, of all the seasons here, 
 Dost thou sail for warmer sphere? 
 O'er the land or o'er the sea 
 Thou must sojourn tranquilly. 
 Naught excites thy pensive mood, 
 Soaring bright in solitude. 
 
 Flowery meads invite thee there 
 Where thy sister blossoms are 
 Lighting on the perfumed rose, 
 Dancing off without repose, 
 Where her dainty brethren meet 
 To the aster's cool retreat. 
 
 Do thy bright hues ever fade 
 
 Floating gaily thro' the glade? 
 
 Surely not, how could thy heart 
 
 Be so light, if from thee part 
 
 All thy mixtures, sages tell 
 
 Couldst thou, wouldst thou feel so well? 
 
 EVER THE SAME. 
 
 I wandered out one morn, and stood 
 Beneath the lonely elm tree 
 
 And wondered vaguely if it could — 
 So vaguely — if it could be she? 
 
PEACE. 41 
 
 I saw no change, the sky looked fair, 
 
 A dream of loveliness and rest; 
 And birds were warbling everywhere — 
 
 They mocked my sorrow with their zest. 
 
 My head I raised, a scalding tear 
 
 Dropped noiseless down, with burning tread; 
 Though blurred I saw the castle drear 
 
 Where lay my darling, cold and dead. 
 
 And still the birds sang gently on, 
 
 Though echoes sad o'er hearts did creep; 
 
 'Tis thus they'll sing till life is done, 
 And life will sing, when death must weep. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 My life was filled with visions, 
 
 A useless, idle dream 
 That swamped all peace Elysians 
 
 And sank them in the stream 
 
 Whereon my barque lay floating. 
 
 Laden with precious lore 
 Of greatness, and with gloating 
 
 Ambition at the oar. 
 
 It steered my vessel proudly, 
 
 Till stranded on a reef 
 Where waves roared long and loudly 
 
 And brought my hopes to grief; 
 
 Till winds veered down in seizures 
 And sought the ship's release 
 
 That bore away my treasures— 
 But ah! it left me peace. 
 
42 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 THE HUNTEIR. 
 
 The long-, dark river is winding 
 Through its sullen track afar; 
 
 The flash of its spray is blinding, 
 And its thunder, deafening war. 
 
 All is silent and lone between it 
 And the hut where the hunter lies. 
 
 The lengths of pine-wood screen it 
 Till the wrath of the storm-god dies. 
 
 High up the hunter is hiding 
 From where he can safe descry 
 
 The pace of one softly striding, 
 For a wandering panther is nigh. 
 
 So softly he treads, and slowly, 
 Unconscious is nearing his doom 
 
 With grace revolving, and lowly, 
 
 Nor seen through the deepening gloom. 
 
 The eyes of a watchful figure 
 
 Crouched low in the tangled trees. 
 
 With hand firm pressed on the trigger. 
 Speeds forth a life on the breeze. 
 
 Thus glide we through life's vast forest 
 Where the stream is sullen and low, 
 
 And by treading ways that are sorest 
 We creep both careless and slow 
 
 Till gleams of a watchful vision 
 We view \7ith abated breath 
 
 Sunders our lives' cohesion. 
 
 And we know the hunter is Death. 
 
 TONIGHT. 
 
 To-night I sit in the shadow, 
 To-night I sit by the sea, 
 
 Awaiting, awaiting the vision 
 
 That will never come back to me. 
 
THE LAPWINGS. 43 
 
 To-night I have felt my weakness, 
 To-night I have known my youth 
 
 Was slipping- out of its armour 
 And donning the w^retched truth 
 
 Of age, and its yearning portion, 
 As I sit by the sobbing sea, 
 
 Bemoaning, bemoaning the chances 
 That will never come back to me. 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD'S SONG. 
 
 The song of the blackbird is gay, 
 As thrilled from the sycamore tree; 
 
 And sweet is the lark's merry lay, 
 But never as sweet can it be 
 
 As when love and I roamed together 
 And heard the melodious tone 
 
 From brakelets, and soft purple heather 
 Where now I am roving alone. 
 
 The bloom of the bluebells is rare. 
 Their fragrance is lasting and sweet; 
 
 But for all I remember the care 
 Which crushes the glories I greet. 
 
 So the blackbird may sing from his tree, 
 And float his rich sonnets along, 
 
 Awarbling his echoes; ah me! 
 
 I hear but a sweet, mourning song. 
 
 THE LAPWINGS. 
 
 Upon a soft and marshy heath there stood 
 A clustered flock, a noisy lapwing brood; 
 And as I neared, around, about my head 
 They circled close, and closer till they led 
 My listless and my weary feet astray. 
 "Pewit!" the lapwings cried, and soared away. 
 
44 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 I patient followed, not to be outdone, 
 
 As one with broken wing had slowly flown 
 
 Across my path, and wandered aimless, near, 
 
 Close to the ground, and by me here. 
 
 I stooped to grasp him where he idly lay 
 
 "Pewit!" the lapwing cried, and soared away. 
 
 Revealed the truth, when going back I found 
 Some tiny nests half hidden on the ground, 
 Which their keen artifice had sought to screen 
 Prom spoiler's eyes, and cunning safety glean. 
 To lead me past their structures' close array 
 "Pewit!" the lapwings cried, and soared away. 
 
 AD FIXEM. 
 
 Is there one word, one look, one tone 
 
 Of thine I have forgot? 
 Though years have sped, and I alone 
 Have wandered purposely and prone 
 
 To seek retirement's spot. 
 
 Where in the depth of palmy vines 
 
 Those murmurs I could lose, 
 But 'neath the shade of scented pines 
 The memory round them still entwines 
 Nor crush it if I chose. 
 
 Ah! could I in my heart forget 
 
 That blissful past again, 
 Would not my life be happier set? 
 Or else a pang it feels not yet 
 
 Be added to its pain. 
 
 And thou alone, if I could know 
 
 Still in thy heart a place 
 Was kept, a heaven for me below 
 Would ope, and on my life bestow 
 
 A self-contented grace. 
 
FLEETING MOMENTS. 45 
 
 THE POWER OP FATE. 
 
 Night's shadows lowered deep, and I alone 
 
 Sat musing, idly journeying to worlds unknown. 
 
 When lo! from out the silence came a sound 
 
 Of murmured words. I heeded not the weird refrain 
 
 That seemed but a phantasy of my dulled brain 
 
 And exiled fancies stunned by thought's rebound. 
 
 Did not a form rise from the mists and stand 
 
 Exulting there, unshrinking by my side? 
 
 Trembling, I strove to rise. In vain. The phantom hand 
 
 Grasped mine and said, "I must with thee abide." 
 
 "I am cold sorrow, child, whom thou dost fear 
 With thy whole strength. Thy cloudless past 
 Shall shed no brightness o'er the future's cast 
 I mould for thee." I wept and murmured, **Hear. 
 
 "I am so young, so fair, I bid thee go. 
 
 I dare not contemplate a life of woe." 
 
 He laughed my words to scorn, and answered, "Nay, 
 
 Where'er thou go there will I go alway." 
 
 "O! travel not with me," I cried in pain, 
 
 He smiling answered thus: "Dost thou not know 
 
 That thro' the road of suff' ring thou shalt gain 
 
 The Gates of Peace? This dismal earth below 
 
 Shall seem to thee but a mere speck or seed, 
 
 Where thou hast left thy thorns, poor, living weed." 
 
 I sobbed again, and in the hours of night 
 
 I begged for peace. "Alas! it cannot be. 
 
 From out of darkened gloom must come the light; 
 
 Such is our destiny. 
 
 And thro' the suff'ring night comes glory's day." 
 
 I slowly then and meekly baae him stay. 
 
 FLEETING MOMENTS. 
 
 Tiny moments borne forever 
 On the floating wings of time, 
 
 Thrusting back sweet hopes they sever, 
 Waft some nearer hopes sublime. 
 
46 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Short the hour, that seeming longer, 
 Bears a burden 'neath its drift. 
 
 Souls that crushed rise often stronger 
 From despair's huge gaping rift. 
 
 Strive thy duties with a holy 
 Countenance to meekly bear, 
 
 Tasks that great, or mean, or lowly. 
 Yield thee fruits if pruned with care. 
 
 Heed not life's departed sorrow. 
 
 Which perchance with careless tread 
 
 Crushed hopes; live for the morrow, 
 Raising other hopes instead. 
 
 Hail the bliss of living rightly 
 As a boon, and not a task; 
 
 Gather rays that hover brightly 
 'Neath the darkest cloudlet's cast. 
 
 On the sky of life's endeavor 
 Screening from us brighest view. 
 
 Shadows fade, nor last forever. 
 Leaving heaven's golden hue. 
 
 THE SWALLOW. 
 
 A fluttering 'neath the eaves 
 
 Caused me to start, and lo! a swallow came 
 To join its mate, laden with rich hued leaves 
 
 And dampened earth, nor blame 
 
 Had I, for this slight architect, 
 
 Who framed his bower 'neath my o'erhanging shed. 
 Secure the tiny earth- wrought tent that could reject 
 
 The raindrops dashing on its head. 
 
 So should man frame the life 
 
 *Twas given him to mould in trust, and plan 
 His wordly faith, secure from wind and strife, 
 
 'Neath heaven's sheltering grace to man. 
 
HOW CAN YE JUDGE? 47 
 
 DEAD ON THE VELDT. 
 
 Dead on the lonely veldt 
 
 Where the rippling Modder flows, 
 
 Under a burning zone, 
 
 Suffered they no one knows — 
 
 Alone. Alone. 
 
 Happy are they, and free 
 
 From earth's turmoil. 
 
 Restful far more than we 
 
 Mourning through toil — 
 
 Dead w^here their comrades dwelt. 
 
 Dead on the lonely veldt 
 
 Where the rising moon, her rays 
 
 Shed a bright glory o'er 
 
 The calm, sepulchred ways 
 
 Of Briton and Boer. 
 
 Peaceful are they, no tears 
 
 Be shed, where the Modder flows 
 
 Bearing with it the years 
 
 Of changeless, endless repose — 
 
 Dead where their comrades dwelt. 
 
 HOW CAN YE JUDGE? 
 
 How can ye judge? A noble mind 
 May dwell the inmost heart within. 
 
 Though scarred the features, and unkind 
 They seem to those they fail to win. 
 
 How can ye judge? A massive soul 
 May beam through eyes of faded hue. 
 
 An Intellect may yet unroll 
 
 And raise to light its gifts of view. 
 
 How can ye judge? The winsome look 
 May hide a frown of selfish care, 
 
 That beaten to a sheltered nook, 
 
 While others claim smile's presence there. 
 
« IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 How can ye judge? The scheming brain 
 And working mind be hid from sight. 
 
 Then slight ye none in weak disdain, 
 For saints may walk 'mid earth's dim light 
 
 IN THE END. 
 
 When winter winds speed forth each frosty night. 
 
 And flowers and buds are wafted from our sight; 
 
 When every glowing thing is buried deep 
 
 In winter's cruel, cold, nocturnal sleep; 
 
 Still gleam the stars unchanged, as bright as yore — 
 
 So will our souls shine forth when all is o'er. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Childhood bright and young and fair, 
 Naught of trouble, naught of care. 
 How I wish that I were there! 
 
 Let them laugh in mirth and glee; 
 Nothing sweeter can there be 
 Than a child's simplicity. 
 
 Do not spoil them, make them bold; 
 
 You will rue it when they're old, 
 From their manners, proud and cold. 
 
 Be yourself a child again. 
 
 Share their sorrows, joy, or pain; 
 
 Show the love that others feign. 
 
 Deck them not in jewels hence, 
 Clothe them with their innocence; 
 Such be pleasing recompense. 
 
 When their minds with anger move, 
 Guide their thoughts to the Above, 
 Strictly led with chains of love. 
 
EVENING PSALM. 49 
 
 Be thoug-h firm with manner mild; 
 Let no act pass and your child 
 Will respect you undefiled. 
 
 Let no harsh word e'er descend 
 On the helpless to defend; 
 Be a parent and a friend. 
 
 Rather speak, in accents low, 
 Gentle words that sink and flow 
 Safely to the depths below. 
 
 Teach them to uphold the poor 
 Seeking" alms from door to door; 
 Strive to aid them more and more. 
 
 Teach them others' failures call 
 For assistance from them all, 
 Rather than gloat o'er their fall. 
 
 Nothing selfish should be let 
 Others' welfares to forget 
 Ere their own are rightly set. 
 
 In the end, when life is low, 
 You may safely let them go — 
 Models of yourself will show. 
 
 EVENING PSALM. 
 
 Softly now the shadows creep, 
 
 The night is on. 
 Soothe me well, O blessed sleep, 
 
 Till coming dawn. 
 
 My weary limbs I now will rest 
 
 With healthful doze; 
 This slumber here is but a test 
 
 Of death's repose. 
 
 The gleaming stars a vigil keep 
 
 O'er my head, 
 Like angel guardians, watch my sleep 
 
 While in bed. 
 
50 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 I beg of God my soul to save 
 For Christ's sweet sake, 
 
 Whiche'er side of the grave 
 I may awake. 
 
 THE PRISONER. 
 
 Slowly he walks, with folded hands 
 
 And head bent low. 
 He reverently kneels, then rises, stands. 
 
 Why is it so? 
 
 Eight long years in iron bands. 
 
 Death is so slow. 
 All running out like desert sands, 
 
 Years come and go. 
 
 With stately tread, and saintly mien 
 
 His chaplain he awaits. 
 The warden now is slowly seen 
 
 To ope the gates. 
 
 His cell opes, the grating bound 
 
 Sinks in his soul. 
 Of iron tongues, that very sound 
 
 His death will toll. 
 
 Through iron bars, the prisoner speaka 
 
 In slow, sad strain, 
 For escape now, he never seeks, 
 
 He knows 'tis vain. 
 
 He listens well to hopeful words 
 
 Not for this life; 
 Words that entreat for his Lord's 
 
 Help in the strife. 
 
 Through lonely nights, his vigils keep 
 
 To watch the close 
 Of life's remorse, while others sleep 
 
 In sweet, calm repose. 
 
BOYHOOD. 51 
 
 With cares forg-ot, they slumber near. 
 
 No wish to break 
 Their troubled dreams, all will appear 
 
 Worse when they awake. 
 
 His comrades stern deserve their lot. 
 
 They sinned in vain; 
 Of blemished life, he hath not 
 
 Yet deserved a stain. 
 
 Some slumber well on iron cots, 
 
 No thoughts to keep 
 Their hardened hearts, with sinful spots 
 
 Ever awake to weep. 
 
 The dawning" morn recalls the time 
 
 When life rose clear 
 As silver trumpets o'er the clime 
 
 Where all was dear. 
 
 The wind answers words of peace 
 
 To his heart's cry — 
 "If no hopes ever of release 
 
 Then let me die!" 
 
 The sun floods his darkened cell 
 
 With its bright rays, 
 Bringing him back to earth's hell 
 
 And its endless days. 
 
 His little earth wherein to breathe 
 
 Of life's foul breath 
 There are none who will wreathe 
 
 His brow in death. 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 O! to roam through the grassy woodland 
 When the dew lies on every spray 
 
 To greet the warm sun on his errand 
 Of chasing the tear-drops away. 
 
62 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 To hear the young squirrels' gay chatter. 
 
 As noisily perched on a bough 
 Screams defiance at boyhood's light patter 
 
 That 'neath him is ranged in a row. 
 
 To see the bright fishes dart thither. 
 As though the cruel hook would decoy 
 
 And leave the quaint tidbit to wither 
 Like the hopes of the fisherman boy. 
 
 A blessing upon his gay features. 
 
 Though tanned be his cheek, and his eyes 
 With merriment passing all creatures, 
 
 The same boundless realm decries. 
 
 And far through the soft, downy clover 
 His laughter is heard for a mile. 
 
 As under the fences and over 
 
 He speeds with the same joyous smile. 
 
 A stranger to books and to learning, 
 He revels in great nature's plan, 
 
 And gleans from the wilds with a yearning 
 Surpassing the wisdom of man. 
 
 What covert too great for his cunning 
 
 To eke out the prisoner inside? 
 With gun, and with dog by him running, 
 
 The tenants of forest defied. 
 
 To note the red star-birds' frail quiver 
 Alighting on branches and vine, 
 
 As trilling forth thanks to the Giver 
 
 For the fruits which around him entwine. 
 
 Or down through the blackberry ridges. 
 Where purpling o'er crevice and rock, 
 
 A-chasing the shy hornet midges 
 Or mocking the wild brooklet's talk 
 
 Sped I oft in the warm, glowing weather, 
 When rosy lights gleamed on the pink, 
 
 And soft drowsy ferns cared not whether 
 They slumbered, or leaned o'er the brink. 
 
OBLIVION. 53 
 
 Plied my spade in the soft, level furrows, 
 
 Or raked with the laborers at hay, 
 Closed the home which the brown woodchuck burrows, 
 
 Nor wearied, for work was mere play. 
 
 Saw the robin's wee cherubs each morningr 
 Dropped crumbs for the sparrows at play; 
 
 Gave chase to the fireflies adorning 
 The apple trees over the way. 
 
 Grew grave with my elders at tea-time, 
 
 Held gravity at my command; 
 Thought that manners and speech were sublime, 
 
 And yet at the moment expand 
 
 Into gay, silvery laughter of boyhood 
 
 That knew not a care nor a pain; 
 And there where the bright linchens stood 
 
 I oft wander in visions again. 
 
 And see not the deep, dusty highway. 
 
 Or the noise of a proud moving world 
 Dins in my ears, but a child's play 
 
 Back on the calm air is whirled. 
 
 How strange the most innocent queries 
 
 Still chase their refrain in my mind. 
 When blemished with nuts and with cherries 
 
 I craved for the thoughts of mankind. 
 
 A thousand such echoes of pleasure 
 
 Roam over my fancies at will. 
 Till I wonder and ask at my leisure 
 
 Whose fault we are not children still? 
 
 OBLIVION. 
 
 Deep in the clay where the willow weeps near thee. 
 Away from me, love, though our spirits are twain. 
 
 The twilights have deepened, but never dost fear thee 
 The shriek of the tempest or roar of the main. 
 
54 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Alone v/ould I dwell on the past's luring fancy; 
 
 Alone would I grieve o'er the heart's endless wail; 
 But others must share in the joys that enhancy 
 
 My thoughts, though so empty, that cover the pale. 
 
 O heart that I cherish 'neath blossoms of heather, 
 O eyes where I gazed and saw life's fairer side; 
 
 And things that thou loved, dear, I worshipped them 
 whether 
 Their natures were ugly or chilled by the tide. 
 
 No light in my pathway has gleamed since thou left me; 
 
 Though flowers bloom in radiance, the dark earth Is 
 chill; 
 And through memories' torture has grief oft bereft me 
 
 Of senses that glow in the firmament still. 
 
 And now do I know how existence is nourished 
 With the calm of despair and a future beyond. 
 
 The truths now so plain that I once mocked uncherished, 
 Teach me to live, to thy sweet life respond. 
 
 Though June has oft wandered, a sweet glowing vision. 
 
 Caressing its portal with garlands of hope. 
 Ah! cold anniversary-, when thou sought thine Elysian 
 And left me alone with life's anguish to cope. 
 
 Though I leave thee, fond bosom, my aching heart never 
 Will roam from thy side in its sorrow and pain 
 
 And forget thee. O anguish I the bonds I must sever, 
 Or how could I dwell in this cold world again? 
 
 THE EMPTY CHAPEL. 
 
 I enter the chapel at mid-day; 
 
 Alas! she is not there. 
 From the western window, no ray 
 
 Gleams on her waving hair. 
 
 My heart fails with memory's entrance — 
 'Twas here I knelt by her side. 
 
 Praying for strength and deliverance 
 From faults her pure nature defied. 
 
THE MAPLE FOREST. 55 
 
 With sorrow how vainly we grapple 
 Till grief overcomes us in floods. 
 
 Alas! my heart and the chapel 
 Forever are twin empty voids. 
 
 THE MAPLE FOREST. 
 
 We loitered to the maple woods 
 
 That bound our meadow lea 
 And o*er the leaves and flowers and buds 
 
 The sun shone bright and free. 
 
 The soothing winds half calmed our fears, 
 
 That childhood's efforts vain 
 Are wont to throw with strangled tears 
 
 O'er hedge, and field, and plain. 
 
 Beyond a clump of firs, there rose 
 
 With mingled shrieks, a partridge brood; 
 
 We broke their noiseless noonday doze. 
 
 And nerves that chainea us where we stood. 
 
 We paused upon the mossy bank 
 
 That skirts the tiny waste 
 Of babbling brook, which rose and sank 
 
 And left a fresher draught to taste. 
 
 How still it seemed! The drowsy tone 
 Of humming gadflies stirred the breeze. 
 
 I almost longed to be alone 
 
 And hear the sighing of the trees. 
 
 Woodpeckers drummed upon the bark 
 
 Of ancient giants' pitted lobes. 
 Which towered above us stiff and stark. 
 
 Like monarchs in their festal robes. 
 
 A spirit of delight was there, 
 
 Infusing magic happiness sweet 
 That joined its hands and breathed a prayer 
 
 To guard us in our cool retreat. 
 
56 IN THE WORLD'S RBALM, 
 
 Strange our peace and strife are bound, 
 
 Linked by nature's calm; 
 O'er our lives, and o'er the mound 
 
 Nature doth the wounds embalm. 
 
 A glassy pool lay on the ground, 
 
 Reflecting trees and sky, 
 Like mermaids' caves that underground 
 
 Are girdled from on high. 
 
 We bathed our hands, and laughed with glee, 
 
 As sparkling raindrops threw, 
 That gleamed on leaf and stem and tree 
 
 And grass like silvery dew. 
 
 The youthful daffodils had grown 
 
 To stately height and power. 
 That scorned his beeship's steady drone 
 
 And entrance to their bower. 
 
 A boundless depth of light appeared. 
 
 Infusing earth and sky. 
 Then sank behind the clouds that reared 
 
 And like a noiseless human sigh 
 
 Dyed grass and shrubs a vivid green, 
 
 Wherein the dark earth rolled 
 Like waves of land that move unseen 
 
 To join the ocean cold. 
 
 To every deep -veined leaf was lent 
 
 A richer hue of tender green. 
 That with its autumn tints was blent 
 
 A mixture like a fairy queen. 
 
 The picture changed, but with it came 
 A rumbling o'er the place we stood; 
 
 The wilds stirred not, we thought so tame, 
 Nor thrilled the monarchs of the wood. 
 
 The mountain view crept nearer still, 
 
 As through the glade the windstorm crept 
 
 And chased before it leaves, until 
 
 They wandered where the maples slept 
 
LITTLE THINGS. 57 
 
 Sweet thoughts of rest and joy combined 
 
 Should harbor e'en in such a place. 
 O! had I now the tranquil mind 
 
 And glade, what would they not efface? 
 
 The calm that broods o'er such a spot 
 
 Be welcome, though our natures are 
 Strangers; woes that soon forgot 
 
 Need no Elysium to soothe their care. 
 
 Unwelcome clouds draw night's array. 
 
 And now a shade o'er earth is cast; 
 Its brightness vanish ere we pray 
 
 That such a day could always last. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Like sunbeams engulfed in night's passing shade, 
 So doth old age creep nigh; like gentle sighs 
 Lulling the troubled spirit which never dies 
 With Eternal softness, and sparkling eyes fade, 
 While the over- sensitive heart from slights each day 
 Reveals some weakness, that scorning, to impatience led 
 Us to forget their helplessness but meekly paves the way, 
 And falt'ring limbs are treading ways we yet must tread. 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 I threw a stone, 'twas a little thing, 
 But ah! it broke the tiny wing 
 Of a wood-brown thrush as it joyous sped 
 Across the leaves of the pansy bed. 
 
 I spoke a word, 'twas a small thing vain, 
 But it almost broke a heart in twain; 
 Two lives I had spoilt by a careless act, 
 Small it may be but a dismal fact. 
 
 Never to speak what others may rue, 
 Never to throw to a distant view; 
 For words may aim at an aching heart, 
 And stones pierce wings with a fatal dart. 
 
58 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 THE SLEEPERS OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 They laid them down in the valley warm, 
 Where winds sweep not, secure from harm, 
 What envious rest from the mountain's storm. 
 
 The summer days are cool and dry, 
 
 As the creeping of winds g-o slowly by 
 
 To cheer their rest, when noon draws nigh. 
 
 The winding river that journeys on 
 Disturbs them not, for its race be run 
 Ere their rest is troubled, time will be done. 
 
 A cry of swallows is heard near by, 
 Causing a whirr as they swiftly fly. 
 That turns the violets breath to a sigh. 
 
 Brown butterflies cling to the goldenrod. 
 That under their weight bends nearer the sod; 
 But never a sign of earth that is trod. 
 
 Twilight's curtain may fall and hide 
 
 The view of the lonely mountain side. 
 
 But those weary companions still there abide. 
 
 Wrapped in a fleecy cloud, the moon 
 Steals from the sloping hill and goes on 
 Into the dusk of a buried sun. 
 
 To twinkle the night stars gently come, 
 
 As if to guide the wanderers home 
 
 To the beautiful valley where none may roam. 
 
 The night-owl hoots from under the hill; 
 Through day the sound of a robin's trill 
 Should rouse their voices so mute and still. 
 
 A wandering gull from the lonely lake 
 Swoops gently down on a reedy brake. 
 Its quivering form ne'er their slumbers wake. 
 
 But in the valley so sweet and fair 
 
 Is a resting place for whom enter there, 
 
 And a tranquil peace, so calm and rare. 
 
AT ANCHOR. 59 
 
 GOLDIE. 
 
 She came thro' the clouds of a faultless day; 
 
 My angel, I called her, when seen. 
 She went in the night, when kneeling to pray 
 
 I called her my fair sainted queen. 
 
 I taught her lessons for seven short years, 
 
 But she gave me most in return; 
 Sweet violet eyes, so unshadowed by tears, 
 
 Save when sympathy in them would burn. 
 
 She taught me the lesson of love that flows 
 Through the channel of treachery, thin. 
 
 None can teach wisdom as firmly as those 
 Who know not of evil or sin. 
 
 She taught me to love in a way divine 
 Each mortal of earth wherefore known; 
 
 Taught me to seek with no worldly design 
 The friendship of each. My little one's flown. 
 
 Ay! flown to the realm where joyously feels 
 All the happiness she thought in life's dream; 
 
 And now understand I my Saviour's appeals, 
 Why like children, we ever should seem. 
 
 AT ANCHOR. 
 
 When idle winds drive forth the sails at noonday, 
 
 I would they turn to me for sport; 
 And with the same unconscious smile drift me away 
 
 And land me in some toil -forgotten port. 
 Refreshing waves would lap my weary feet 
 
 And cast their restful spell athwart again, 
 Soothing the heart's drear moan, while murmurs greet 
 
 Their selfsame echoes in the tired brain. 
 From earth's dull aspect turn I to the waves. 
 
 Beholding constant ardor; friendship dies 
 And mocks the power, once holding secret's caves, 
 
 Now doomed to wander forth and ruin ties. 
 Ton ebbing tides that sink and rise again 
 May mock the troubled mind but give no pain. 
 
60 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 THE LONG AGO. 
 
 The moonbeams slept on a grassy mound 
 
 Where the silver dewdrops lay, 
 And dried with their glow on the mossy g-round 
 
 The bright glistening tears away. 
 
 And said, "Weep not, for the morn is near. 
 
 And the night be sunk in woe; 
 Your grief be saved for the coming year, 
 
 Not spent on the long ago." 
 
 MEMORY'S ECHO. 
 
 Hark! the storm is loudly roaring. 
 
 Voices wailing through its din; 
 But to me they bring no comfort, 
 
 Sitting silent, lone within. 
 Draw my chair to the fireside, 
 
 Holding in my hand a toy, 
 But within its sacred precincts 
 
 Lurks yet my once greatest joy. 
 
 Flowers now so old and faded 
 
 That their perfume all is gone, 
 Save what memory casts around them. 
 
 And its halo can atone. 
 Aye! not nature, but the wearer 
 
 Show^s their petals' blooming zest; 
 And the knowledge that I stole them 
 
 As they dropped from one pround breast 
 
 Dare enhance their precious beauty 
 
 As I fondle them to-night. 
 Ah! the touch, could it repay me 
 
 For the scorn and maddening slight 
 That I oft endured in silence 
 
 While you smiling passed me by. 
 Then to see another raptured 
 
 With the hopes that once seemed nigh? 
 
TO A ROBIN. 61 
 
 And to hear the low -voiced murmurs, 
 
 Some with pity, some in scorn. 
 Framed my future with your absence 
 
 Did I wish I ne'er was born? 
 Blame me not if reason left me, 
 
 Calmer since I have become; 
 But those speakers oft I wonder 
 
 Could they e'er have felt my doom? 
 
 Else their sympathy should followed 
 
 And their pity silence told. 
 What cared I for cruel opinions? 
 
 I whose life had turned so cold. 
 I whose light had turned to darkness. 
 
 Smothered in the joyous smile 
 That you gave another's whisper. 
 
 Yet I saw, and lived the while. 
 
 And to-night I feel the anguish 
 
 As I did long, long ago; 
 But few knew, my pride held captive 
 
 Tears that oft would overflow. 
 Yet I prayed that you might ever 
 
 Happiness find though far from me. 
 Blossoms withered seek your casket 
 
 With the hopes so like to thee. 
 
 TO A ROBIN. 
 
 Thou art free, thou art free, 
 Bird of mortality, 
 Unenvious, bright, 
 Thou dost welcome all light. 
 
 Thy song is divine, 
 As 'tis free of design; 
 No triumph is sought. 
 But when finished forgot. 
 
 Sweet unisoned powers 
 That grafted in bowers. 
 Serene in thy pleasure 
 Thou sing'st at leisure. 
 
62 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Pray lend us thy note 
 And thy silver-lined throat; 
 Dost think 'twould be waste 
 If thou loaned us a taste 
 
 Of thy warm sparkling joy? 
 Would it murmurs destroy? 
 And a charm sweet ensue 
 Both the emblem of you. 
 
 Or would it be fraught 
 With our distressing lot? 
 Sweet birds of a name, 
 Thou'rt not looking for fame. 
 
 For thou know* St its worth, 
 Thou sublimest of earth; 
 lu songs thou dost teach 
 WTiat mortals would reach. 
 
 That fail to respond 
 To their efforts so fond, 
 And tho' bird of the air 
 Thou'rt richer in prayer 
 
 Than the monarchs of earth, 
 Than of pride's kingly birth. 
 Though riches has not 
 In thine efforts been sought. 
 
 Nothing owned thou hast all, 
 So near heaven canst fall; 
 Thy riches we prove 
 In thine innocence and love. 
 
 THE BOAT RIDE. 
 
 Our barque glides smoothly o'er cresting wav3S, 
 
 Tossing the foam back in watery graves. 
 
 The sails are set, for the wind is clear, 
 
 As idly we rove o'er the glassy floor 
 
 Whose mirrored extension is culled by the oar, 
 
 Which sweeping us onward will land at the pier. 
 
THE WORLD'S INJUSTICE. 63 
 
 The moon rides high in her vast domain. 
 
 And the stars as courtiers follow her train, 
 
 While sulph'rous moths with a drowsy hum 
 
 Encircle the rays of light, insum 
 
 That shadow us far through the murky tide, 
 
 Uprising like billows on every side; 
 
 Till gleaned from our sight, the waves below 
 
 Are vested in darkness, which overthrow 
 
 Aladdin's lamp with a noiseless crash, 
 
 While hearing above it the waters dash. 
 
 Gaunt bats encircle our heads with ease 
 And flap like living sails in a breeze, 
 And the whip-poor-will in a tuneless strain 
 Sings his never-ending refrain; 
 While rudely mocking his grim lament, 
 The night-owl echoes with grimmer content. 
 Far from the depths of an unknown waste 
 We heard the beetle's horn as we passed. 
 As gliding slowly through meadow and lea. 
 Where water-sprites mingle in innocent glee, 
 And laugh with the water's unechoing mirth. 
 Which never finds sympathy on this cold earth. 
 
 Fireflies flash in a mingled dream 
 
 Of darkness, and sunlight's varying beam 
 
 Hither with mingled scorn, and o'er. 
 
 The intrepid glow-worms upon the shore. 
 
 They wander in and out in a mass. 
 
 Lighting the dismal glens as they pass. 
 
 The mists have departed to catch their rest, 
 
 Ere the rising sun with a pitiless hand 
 
 Peeps over the purple mountain's crest 
 
 And sweeps them on with a blazing wand. 
 
 THE WORLD'S INJUSTICE. 
 
 The moon be sunk 'neath yonder envious clouds. 
 Obscuring rays that might have graced a diadem 
 
 Had they been polished; whilst jostling crowds 
 Y/ould bo^v before the shrine enclosing them. 
 
64 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 'Tis thus the world's vast peopled obvious height 
 Hides from her gaze obscured with malice' dart 
 
 A brilliant mind, and wastes its wild delight 
 On a gilded cask, that holds a thoughtless heart. 
 
 DEJECTION. 
 
 The day is bright, the earth seems fair; 
 
 A mellow light is on the sea. 
 Green herbs and wooded mountains wear 
 
 An after- shower's tranparency. 
 While all their crested summits bear 
 Expectant hush of evening air. 
 Which drives the housing bats to nest 
 Far from the city's fretful rest. 
 
 I see the ocean's heaving breast 
 
 Bared to the sweeping, wandering breeze 
 That timidly hovers o'er it lest 
 
 Its caresses awaken the angry seas. 
 The moving waves, with a hiss and groan. 
 Mock the world in their hollow tone, 
 That thrilling through me tells my fate 
 To deafened ears now all too late. 
 
 Alas! all joy in life is gone! 
 
 How hard Past struggled ere it fled. 
 The peace now on my brow was won 
 
 Through hopes once cherished, but now dead. 
 While passing by I view life's waste. 
 As those within its pleasures taste; 
 In them, though knowing not of grief, 
 I see the wraith of former self. 
 
 But now e'en pain is soft and mild. 
 
 Like billows breaking on the beach; 
 Sweet calm succeeds their murmurs wild, 
 
 When taught the lore they came to teach. 
 And hope's despair has risen now — 
 Yea! left its seal upon my brow, 
 That furrowed with a life long care 
 Has sown the seed of judgment there. 
 
A DREAM. 65 
 
 My years are wasted, and I feel 
 
 Untimely age, though scarce has set 
 The sun's bright gleam of youth's appeal, 
 
 Which hovering round avails me yet. 
 One slender hope, one vague desire. 
 That mine existence' wrathful fire 
 Burn out complaints with lightning sheen. 
 And live the past, that might have been. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 I dreamed I wandered thro' a sunlit grove 
 Carpeted with moss. 'Twas all so fair 
 
 That peace was immortal, and happiness, love 
 And entwined old oaks lent example rare 
 
 To fellow-beings wandering in their way, 
 
 Nor did their close proximity lead astray. 
 
 There grew sweet-scented clover, and hawthorn. 
 Mingling in sweet companionship, along 
 
 The grassy knolls; their birthplace, born 
 Within the radius of harebells, and among 
 
 Lofty sunflowers, whose golden mitres bore 
 
 Traces of the sunshine's brilliant ore. 
 
 Violets raised their blue eyes to the sky, 
 That mocked them with its azure hue; 
 
 And cowslips nodded to the daisies' sigh. 
 As timidly fluttering was wafted through 
 
 A sense of rest and peace, which often steals 
 
 Unasked, unsought, thro' memories one feels. 
 
 Life is unlike the marvels that I dreamed. 
 Or visions seen thro' eyes' vast canopy; 
 
 For higher still, or so it seemed. 
 
 Was I uplifted. Albeit with the Deity 
 
 I moved not yet, altho' on higher plane 
 
 Than earth's vast level, or boundless main. 
 
 And hedgerows beamed with luscious eglantine, 
 Spreading its tendrils soft to catch the stem 
 
 Of gnarled old cedar, and columbine 
 Which hoarded with pine needles caught the hem. 
 
66 7.V THE WORLD'S RE.U.M. 
 
 And wafted forth its blossoms swathed in sheen 
 Of purple mignonette and ivy green. 
 
 Then yonder near the rivers margin wide 
 There grew anemones and pennons white, 
 
 Streaked with the purple tints on every side, 
 And turning darkness to a silvery light 
 
 Which spurned the stars and caught reflection's glow. 
 
 Gleaming beneath the polished surface far below 
 
 And floating waterlilies, with transparent gaze. 
 
 Shed incandescent beams cf watery light 
 Thro' shadowless dells formed in the haze 
 
 Of unseen fog. and shades of misty night. 
 Tho' gathered there invisible, obstruct array 
 Ere I had time to pluck a huge nosegay. 
 
 THE FADED MAYFLOWERS. 
 
 Grieve not that thy lives are done, 
 
 Or plucked from the mossy bed 
 Where thou once slumbered, but now art gone 
 
 To a place unknown with a noiseless tread. 
 
 A lifeless and withered heap now lies 
 
 In a gilded vase on a marble shelf; 
 For a few short hours it gladdened the eyes 
 
 Of others I loved beside myself; 
 
 Complaining not of their wearisome lot, 
 
 Teach me a lesson I fain would spread 
 Thro' the fields where murmurs are pruned and wrought. 
 
 Nor heed the odors a flower may shed. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 Twilight has come: the martens are asleep. 
 The drowsy bats flit through the silent air: 
 
 The croaking voice of frogs rise from the deep. 
 And twilight's tones make answer everywhere. 
 
 All calm, sweet sounds are blended now in glee. 
 
 Which make with one accord, a world of harmony. 
 
SOLITUDE. 67 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 In a mossy dell a sweet violet grew, 
 Lashed by the hail and kissed by the dew. 
 So modest it was, grass covered the flower, 
 That made no feint to escape from its bower. 
 And the sun shone down in his pitiless strength. 
 And withered the blossom, and mocked till at length 
 The gentle flower drooped, and smiling in pain 
 It waited till sunset, and then rose again. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 The clouds are creeping fast along yon sky. 
 
 No tangled shreds be left behind to throw 
 Discord twixt the stars and moon, that lie 
 
 Serenely sleeping, unrestricted by the world below. 
 Now solitude creeps forth with noiseless tread. 
 Tremblingly, longingly, as might the dead. 
 
 The day that rose up gaily bright this morn 
 Now seeks its slumbers in earth's mossy bed; 
 
 Places its form carefully, lest any poisonous thorn 
 Pollutes its rest, and scorns the vials fed, 
 
 The potent charm, so mocking leads astray 
 
 Our feelings, fancies, wishing here to stay. 
 
 What softened tone is this that stealing past 
 Disturbs my dreams and makes me sadder yet? 
 
 Is it the voice of one whose spirit cast 
 
 To the wild wind now warns me to forget? 
 
 And scorning memory's voice so weakly vain. 
 
 Longs to warble dim echoes in the brain. 
 
 Inaudibly a sound thrills through my form, 
 
 And like helmed forces stems the vaulted waves 
 
 Of feeling, that soaring sharp to a solemn storm 
 Now hush the senses in their tranquil graves; 
 
 And nameless peace reigns round unmixed with dread, 
 
 Where we sit breathing thoughts spellbound and dead. 
 
 How oft in loving fancy do our senses sleep 
 And dream, and then awake to living tones 
 
68 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Of ecstasy; like half -strung- lyres that weep 
 
 And laug-h, and talk with hidden groans 
 Of mockery, touched with stern and unaccomplished 
 
 hands 
 That yield no sweet caressing opiate wands. 
 
 Thus softened life is sweet, and silence blent 
 With our immortal woes, shrines never fall 
 
 Save from the light'ning tempests heaven-sent. 
 Or secrets deep interred in envy's walls. 
 
 So with a new-born peace we ling-er mutely by, 
 
 And feel an awful hush of what expectancy. 
 
 SIGNS OF AUTUMN. 
 
 By the dreary, falling mist. 
 
 Creeping o'er the azure sky, 
 When to peckers' drums I list. 
 
 Do I know the Autumn's nigh. 
 Through the murky, shadow^ed meadow 
 
 Lies its fleecy, pallid shadow. 
 Sleeping side by side with beauty, 
 
 And like winter softens duty. 
 
 A cooling zephyr fills the air; 
 
 Not a wund and scarce a motion 
 Left to stir the branches bare, 
 
 Or to fret the sleeping ocean. 
 But the alders by the river 
 Raise their drooping forms and quiver, 
 With the atmosphere encroaching 
 In their silent forests poaching. 
 
 Quaint attired in amber hues. 
 
 Purple, mauve and scarlet waves 
 Mock the fairest painted views, 
 
 Touched the same on hill and caves. 
 When the waters, restless leaping, 
 Waken from their foamy sleeping, 
 See each faultless grace bestowing 
 In the depths so lifelike glowing. 
 
THE TIDE OF YEARS. 69 
 
 Hours seem shorter now each day, 
 
 Sooner creep the tints of eve; 
 Autumn's slumber holds its sway, 
 
 Time so narrow doth it leave. 
 Scarce is left us space for seeing 
 Fairy beauties, ere they fleeing 
 To the winter's wildernesses. 
 All those gleaming, golden tresses. 
 
 Now the forest shades do lie 
 
 Calm and tranquil in their rest; 
 Now the squirrels do we spy 
 
 As each corner they infest. 
 But the hunter's gun is booming 
 As he wanders careless, dooming 
 Each sage deer, that antler'd bounding 
 Shakes the woods with its resounding. 
 
 Now the fisher plies his net 
 
 Deep beneath the shallow pool; 
 Scon the finny herds forget 
 
 Lessons of the aquarium school. 
 As the trawl is lowered for binding 
 Precious mariners in its winding, 
 Learn to think with trap ascending 
 Man's great cunning, and pretending. 
 
 All along the ground is strewn 
 
 Chinquapins, and weedy rushes, 
 Logs and tops as yet unhewn. 
 
 Hinder progress through the bushes. 
 But the restless sun is sinking 
 O'er the evening's quiet blinking; 
 Solemnly 'neath clouds 'tis steering, 
 So I know the Autumn's nearing. 
 
 THE TIDE OF YEARS. 
 
 The tide is rolling on the beach. 
 
 The flurried boatman's echoes fade; 
 
 With nervous haste, the currents reach 
 Their destination's grim arcade. 
 
70 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Ah! weary time, whose patient tread 
 Seems longing- for the final day 
 
 To crush the waves, beneath, o'erhead, 
 When earth and sun shall pass away. 
 
 For every day through ceaseless years 
 Thy waives have sparkled in the glow 
 
 Of sunshine, and through changing tears, 
 Which pleased God's Angel to bestow. 
 
 What changes drear, and pleasant dreams, 
 Commingled in the sunset's ray, 
 
 The ripple of a thousand streams 
 
 Each moving scene could scarce portray 
 
 The same things since the earth has been 
 A moving power of God's decree; 
 
 The things that have, and will again — 
 Bow to the kingdom's destiny. 
 
 Each changing season, night of frost, 
 And day with warm, unceasing showers. 
 
 Succeed the wandering morn, now lost 
 And autumn treads on summer's flowers. 
 
 Each golden sheaf of wheat is seen 
 More gilded by the dying sun. 
 
 Than ever waves of years hath been. 
 When life and all its cares are done. 
 
 And Winter's fine, embalming sphere 
 Shall course its path along the shore, 
 
 Nor shall escape the frosty bier 
 
 That bears earth's treasures on before. 
 
 But man alone shall view each scene, 
 And yet of thanks shall harbor not; 
 
 Accustomed to the same routine, 
 He ever owns what nature bought. 
 
 His childhood's eye has delved the space 
 Of nature, through each vanished age, 
 
 And from their limits, face to face, 
 The last reflects the primal page. 
 
THE HONOR ROLL. 71 
 
 The funeral and the bridal hour 
 
 Have oft been set within the time 
 Of fate, which crossed their different power 
 And tears with laug-hter blended rhyme. 
 
 The weak and strong, the pomp and show 
 Of riches, brushed the beg-gar's pride 
 
 Some sank them in the stream below 
 While others struggled with the tide. 
 
 'Tis fate the stream has for its course, 
 
 'Tis fate that borders on its bank; 
 And God's good will that bounds the source 
 
 Unmindful so of world or rank. 
 
 JUDGE NOT. 
 
 Jvdge not the world by one falre v/retch. 
 But rather seek for deeper trust 
 
 Within a heart, whose truth will teach 
 The soul of faith, and soul of dust. 
 
 We love the rose no less, because 
 One of its comrades fade and shrink. 
 
 And breathes decay, where blemish gnaws 
 The clinging bud, and breaks the link. 
 
 TRUE GENIUS. 
 
 A genius is the man who knows 
 How well to use what God bestows. 
 No matter be it loss or gain. 
 He sees his sunshine through the rain. 
 
 THE HONOR ROLL. 
 
 When history great unrolls its name 
 What powerful one will head the same? 
 What benefactors known or missed 
 Shall stand the highest on the list? 
 
72 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 A menial's name, if truth be told, 
 May show above his master bold; 
 And men of fame, with laurels crowned 
 May rest their guerdons on the g-round. 
 
 The one whose sacrifice had borne 
 Her ag-ed parents, old and worn 
 Through fitful toil, her youth suppressed 
 Should stand far hig-her than the rest 
 
 And many owners of the world 
 Shall from their lofty thrones be hurled, 
 To be usurped by those instead 
 Whom oft defrauded they of bread. 
 
 The millionaire of haug'hty taste 
 May find his false acquirements waste; 
 And those his station taught below 
 His grade may rise, and scorn him now. 
 
 The rich employer's stinted meed 
 To those who aptly stood in need, 
 May turn and crush his passing slight, 
 And meet his bow with scornful light. 
 
 But those will live in honor's roll 
 Who taught the heart and loved the soul, 
 As brethren all, whose influence tried 
 To win the world to justice' side. 
 
 VOICES IN THE WIND. 
 
 Wailing voices in the wind — 
 Some are harsh, and some are kind; 
 Some are false, while others true 
 Waft a message back to you; 
 Seme are mourning, some are glad. 
 As your life is gay or sad. 
 
THE PICTURE. 73 
 
 THE PICTURE. 
 
 Smilingly she stands with timid grace, 
 Yet eager to uphold a charming face 
 And look her best, so sweet, so mild. 
 We know not if 'tis saint or child. 
 Through curtains draped of gauzy fold, 
 A radiant vision we behold — 
 Withal suppressed, but that to please. 
 A form of childish, graceful ease 
 Leans careless o'er, a rippling smile 
 Upon the face, no frowns defile. 
 Shall she thus stand till life is done 
 So calm, beneath each changing sun? 
 To pose without effect's restraint, 
 And thro' the child reveal the saint. 
 
 ATTRACTION. 
 
 We long to gaze at eyes we love. 
 As with some line of subtle grace 
 
 We feel a thrill and scarce can move 
 
 Our thoughts beyond the treasured place. 
 
 BE TRUE. 
 
 Be true in pain, adversity, and woe, 
 
 And wrong thee none to spite another foe. 
 
 Know in the end, if trample selfish hate. 
 
 And keep thy self respect, and conquer fate, 
 
 And prove thy noble manhood, where most cower, 
 
 None will, none can resist thy supreme power. 
 
 BY OTHERS. 
 
 We screen our lives with every care — 
 Each hidden act and envious look; 
 We feel so safe, until some book 
 We ope, and lo! our lives are there, 
 Written by others. 
 
74 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 STRATEGY. 
 
 The clever man, through wiles and learning, 
 
 Pursues deceit as boldly can. 
 And leaves wise men with truth's discerning 
 
 To read between each scheming plan. 
 
 LIVING SORROW. 
 
 Whole angnish to our vague surmise 
 Leaps unreproved from heart to eyes. 
 Death's grief subsides, and leaves no trace, 
 But living sorrows line the face. 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 I would suffer once that I might sing 
 Of endless joys. The bird upon its tiny wing 
 Has lost its mate, none can condole — 
 And now it sings with voice and soul. 
 
 THE EARTH. 
 
 Beautiful as the stars are beautiful, and pure, 
 
 So earth rolls round usurping her own space. 
 Proud of the celestial spheres her noble shadows lure 
 
 Toward the sunshine gleaming o'er her upturned face. 
 Strangely she looks at her image, like an innocent child. 
 
 Wondering what innocence is like, and she 
 So noble from her untouched realm, so mild 
 
 And calm within herself, no wish could be 
 So plainly written on unsullied landscape drear 
 
 At that vast height, where tempests onward winged 
 with fear 
 Regaining glory's strife wherewith our all is crowned 
 
 To crush, exterminate, the clouds which hedge us in 
 Beyond the starry world, and like the earth's rebound 
 
 To light, and love, crush out the endless, deathless sin. 
 
IN VAIN. 75 
 
 INDISCRETION. 
 
 I dare not let my thougrhts lingrer around thee, 
 To crush them out is still my daily aim; 
 
 To let the vipers sting, and all surround me. 
 Would be to lure me back from whence I came. 
 
 THE PRICE OF A JEWEL. 
 
 I held a precious jewel in my hand, 
 
 Scintillating with rays of light; so grand 
 
 Was it, the lustrous gem drew all in sight, 
 
 And even their souls were dazzled by its light. 
 
 For it a life was spent, a noble soul 
 
 Poured out its treasured, vast, unearthly whole; 
 
 For it a heart was crushed in youthful age. 
 
 Like spear of grass between the cultured page 
 
 Of Wisdom's book; for it a kingdom gave 
 
 Her power of arms, her crested shields, her brave. 
 
 And now so carelessly I held it, dropped, and fell 
 
 When showed its clefted ore, an empty shell — 
 
 And it was fame. 
 
 IN VAIN. 
 
 He lays him on his bier, I weep 
 
 The empty tears of fate; 
 For if not that, how could he sleep 
 
 And I wuth grief prostrate? 
 The tears now falling from my eyes 
 
 Could ne'er the truth restore, 
 For if he knew, but mild surprise 
 
 He deemed so false, before, 
 
 Would gleam from eyes in angry scorn. 
 
 And on my head provoke 
 The wrath of words, so cruelly torn 
 
 From one sad heart now broke. 
 O! cease those weak, upbraiding tears. 
 
 And let the past be done. 
 Close up those joyous, happy years. 
 
 Like flowers at set of sun. 
 
76 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 MEMENTOEiS. 
 
 I saw a child with streaming curls 
 Crushed on his low, white brow; 
 
 Soft, dimpled hands, whose cunning twirls 
 No roses mid them now. 
 
 I saw a mother, pale and worn. 
 
 Clasp to her breast a thread 
 Of golden hair, but last week shorn 
 
 Prom oft her sleeping dead. 
 
 I saw a youth of noble mien 
 With conscious tread and grace 
 
 Of manhood's power, beheld, unseen 
 He lacked of soul, no trace. 
 
 I saw a parent old and gray. 
 
 Bowed down with weight of years, 
 
 Unfold a likeness, kneel and pray 
 Through sobs and piteous tears. 
 
 And o'er it all I viewed a God 
 Entreating silent, "Come to Me. 
 
 Believe in faith, nor mourn the sod; 
 I hold your treasures not in fee." 
 
 DESOLATION. 
 
 I am lone, but through the gloaming 
 
 Sweeps a voice of saddened dreaming. 
 Sad I wish it when it roaming 
 
 Comes to me with memory's seeming. 
 I may smile, and think thee near me, 
 
 Joyful smile, and end in sighing; 
 I may call, and beg thee hear me, 
 
 So I'll call thee when I'm dying. 
 
 When no thought of mine can reach thee, 
 Will its memory, haunting ever. 
 
 Bear the love I fain would teach thee 
 On the wing of truth's endeavor? 
 
TIME, 77 
 
 Will thy looks with fervent meaning" 
 
 Brig-hten for another fairer, 
 And thine eyes so ripple, leaning 
 
 O'er a forehead younger, rarer? 
 
 Will thy smile be frank as ever 
 
 When no smile of mine can greet thee? 
 And agree with fates that sever 
 
 Never, never more to meet thee. 
 Sure thy heart could never fail so, 
 
 When my all to thee was given; 
 Thoughts unjust, forbid thee, rail so 
 
 Ere that comes I pray for heaven. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 When in the beginning of time 
 
 For the world was borrowed a day, 
 And night with a ceaseless rhyme 
 
 Speeding us on to decay. 
 Grief, as a solace for tears, 
 
 Love as a comfort for life, 
 And death with its endless fears 
 
 Bearing us on in the strife. 
 Laughter, and echoes of laughter 
 
 Maddening the world with its din 
 Before us, behind us, and after 
 
 Quitting this palace of sin. 
 And oft the coming of laughter 
 
 Shadows tears and troubles 
 As storms on the ocean after 
 
 Pursue the mimicking bubbles. 
 Pleasure and pain united 
 
 Through a ceaseless drift of years, 
 Anger, and hatred righted 
 
 Without the folly of tears. 
 Pain with its crushing burden. 
 
 Smiles in their maddening rift. 
 Raising hopes like a guerdon — 
 
 Hopes to be dashed at a lift. 
 Brave with a meaning motion 
 
 That the wide world sees and hears, 
 
78 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Over the earth and the ocean 
 
 Where the wild wind hurls and veers. 
 Weak, with nothing to fig-ht 
 
 Hate that bears us away — 
 With day the screener of night, 
 
 And night the screener of day. 
 Fire and water hath wasted 
 
 The scheming spirit of man, 
 And triumphs and glories hath tasted 
 
 That failed on humanity's span. 
 Desire may dwell in the heart 
 
 And energy dwell in the brain. 
 Yet gleams of a lightning dart 
 
 Will tear the tempest in twain. 
 Back with remembrance's vision. 
 
 Back to the cares of night; 
 E'en love with her balmed Elysian 
 
 Fails to hinder the flight. 
 Sorrow, and bliss, and death 
 
 Blend with our pain as leaven. 
 Stealing even our breath 
 
 To waft us onward to heaven. 
 
 LIGHTNING STORM. 
 
 The flash, the lightning flash, 
 
 Dreary, and blinding, and still — 
 How it creeps with the noisy crash 
 
 Down from the crest of the hill. 
 Hark! how the hemlocks groan 
 
 Through the startled din prevailing. 
 With a weary, desolate moan 
 
 Like a tired invalid wailing. 
 O varying wind, give mirth 
 
 To the ceaseless, pitiless rain, 
 And gladden its weeping birth, 
 
 While changing the weird refrain 
 Of a million unechoing drops 
 
 Laboring far from their dearth; 
 Guide them to where anguish stops. 
 
 Mourn not for this tragic earth. 
 
TO A SWAN, 79 
 
 WHAT THOU KNOW'ST. 
 
 Thou know'st all, and know'st it well, 
 
 But to thee yet I fain would tell 
 
 This fact, that skipped thy thoughts galore — 
 
 Didst thou know less, thou wouldst know more. 
 
 TO A SWAN. 
 
 Where through the glistening wave? 
 
 While glow the waters with the rosiness of dawn, 
 Swift 'neath the silver foam, thy soft feet lave 
 
 And float thee on. 
 
 Nearby the world admires 
 
 And notes the liquid grace whereby thou moves. 
 As with slow motion that never tires 
 
 Nor weariness behooves. 
 
 Seest thou the lilies Vvhite? 
 
 So dazzling fair, near edge of rippling stream 
 Mocked by the fairer splen^ior that thy sight 
 
 Sheds o'er the sunset's gleam. 
 
 How with thy white sails furled 
 
 Thou floats along as barques do joyous roam. 
 Leaving where the waters round thee curled 
 
 A path of trackless foam. 
 
 How^ long thy loving glance 
 
 Be wafted o'er the cringing river's tide? 
 Not long thy noble beauty will enhance 
 
 Nor linger on the ocean side 
 
 Or wilt thou journey on 
 
 Through day and night, till thou hast found 
 A place of rest, where gleaming, golden dawn 
 
 Forever will abound? 
 
 At last I see thy form, 
 
 That being gently driven from my sight, 
 Beholds me pleading One to quell the storm 
 
 And guide me in my flight. 
 
80 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 ON THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. 
 
 O! wilds grim and dark spread the continent o'er, 
 When Folly selects for thy guide and ideal; 
 
 To shorten the way to both island and shore, 
 Go choose ye the one to whom sufferings appeal. 
 
 Though dreadfully coarse with apparel of rags, 
 The true heart inside of that ugly abode 
 
 May trip the vast wilderness, hew down the crags, 
 And lead thee triumphant to happiness' true road. 
 
 There sweetly forgetting all manner of sin. 
 And only remembering the good and the just. 
 
 Shall dwell both in pleasure without and T^ithin, 
 Thou receiv'st the gold for the iron's gilded rust. 
 
 Neither sorrow nor strife shall affix thy retreat, 
 No turbulent burdens shall enter the throng; 
 
 Where murmuring streamlets do lisp at thy feet. 
 Beguile ye the hours with laughter and song. 
 
 When weary and faint from thy goodness returns, 
 Go bathe thy tired feet in the brooklets that flow. 
 
 And lave the hot brow where sweet charity burns, 
 While birds sing above and the streamlets below. 
 
 The forests so calm in their self-builded vale 
 Holds power o'er thy fancy and lulls thee to rest, 
 
 Where wisdom shall seek thy sweet breath to inhale, 
 And waking shall marvel at wisdom's request. 
 
 Not easy nor vain is the Master's high lore, 
 Imparted to thee while the sleep of the night 
 
 Surrounded thine eyelids, behind thee, before, 
 TMiere blinded thou lay with the rapturous light. 
 
 Thine appetite feeds on the wonders of God, 
 Tho' dwell in a cavern, no hunger shall tear 
 
 And lust for crude \ictuals the chastening rod 
 
 "V\Tien smiteth at heart the refreshment shall bear. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 81 
 
 O! ne'er canst thou long- for in mankind a place, 
 
 When from proving thou know'st the vultures of fate, 
 
 And nourished by heaven, thou sure canst efface 
 The wish to return from yon paradise gate. 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 Have you seen the lighthouse gleamingr 
 
 On its rock of ancient build, 
 And its massive bulwarks beaming 
 
 Through sun's rays, where'er they gild? 
 
 Strong and sound seems its foundation, 
 Towering high above the wave; 
 
 Standing like some wild creation 
 Not of man, but heaven-gave. 
 
 And its huge and pointed pillar 
 
 Rises sheer into the sky, 
 Standing lone, save heaven's tiller, 
 
 Steering vessels safely by. 
 
 Strong the beacon-rays that gather, 
 Like a soul within its strength. 
 
 Straying barques to guide, and tether 
 From destruction's painful length. 
 
 Hark! throughout its groaning gable 
 Thunders roll, and light'nings play; 
 
 Yet it stands as firm, as stable 
 As the beacon 'neath its sway. 
 
 How the rushing foam doth clamour 
 
 At its side in angry scorn! 
 Flinging high its wretched glamour 
 
 O'er the seething mass, forlorn. 
 
 Thus we stand in life's enclosure 
 
 Torn by tempest's cruel fray. 
 Seeking naught but mild composure. 
 
 While the billows round us play. 
 
82 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Is our streng-th combined for victory, 
 And our souls the beacon-light 
 
 Shedding rays to guide us to Thee, 
 Swift to heaven's glorious height? 
 
 BYGONE DATS. 
 
 Grief, idle grief, I know not what thou art, 
 Creeping from the soul in mute appeal. 
 
 Torn from the depths of some uncherished heart 
 That oft to prying eyes its secrets doth reveal. 
 O! let the ghost not from its tomb e'er steal. 
 
 Tears, scalding tears, that gather to the eyes. 
 Blinding reason's scope, and overlook the dawn 
 
 Creeping o'er the fields where once with happy sighs 
 Thou thought that heaven dwelt this earth upon; 
 'Twas when thou held the love that now is gone. 
 
 Fresh as the storm sweeping o'er the wild, 
 So doth each gust of grief renew the pain. 
 
 Ah! aching hearts, when shall their woes be mild? 
 Perchance when roses grow, and flowers bloom again 
 O'er sundry mounds, their hopes will not be vain. 
 
 SISTERS OF A SISTERHOOD. 
 
 Woman I, that speaks to thee, 
 
 Asks these words though 'shamed I be. 
 
 Is not there a bond divine 
 
 'Twixt thy woman's heart and mine 
 
 From which sympathy should flow 
 
 Each to each, while in the glow 
 
 Aifection's warm, caressing tone 
 
 Links the sorrows borne alone? 
 
 Why this useless enmity, 
 
 Goading thoughts to hatred free? 
 
 Guard the homeless, those astray 
 
 To thy faith, appeal alway. 
 
 Virtues slanders should efface 
 
 Not adding to their shameless grace; 
 
 Nor for such can one atone — 
 
 Guard their welfare as thine own. 
 
SMALL WORDS, 83 
 
 WOODS IN AUTUMN. 
 
 Fast blows the autumn gale; 
 
 The gaudy wrappings of the wood are gone, 
 The forests now are bare, each empty dale 
 
 Has put its solemn livery on. 
 
 The giant oaks that stood 
 
 Bedecked in their wide sweep and stately pride, 
 Must yield the splendor of each glowing rood 
 
 And by its sombre laws abide. 
 
 Each wooded cliff that formed 
 
 Or aided in the summer's quiet air 
 Stands moaning, as if nature rudely stormed 
 
 Them in their fortress there. 
 
 On high the sun sends forth 
 His rising airy beams, as gladsome, lone 
 
 As when each painted, tow^'ring group was worth 
 In sight a golden mitred crown. 
 
 Beyond the crimson heavens glow. 
 
 In fervor bright, true sign of heaven's bliss, 
 Smiles back the firmament to us below, 
 
 And silently the earth doth kiss. 
 
 O! fairest time the passing year, 
 
 If but our starving energies make glad 
 
 Bach sunny day, and blossoms brown and sere 
 Though withered are not sad. 
 
 SMALL WORDS. 
 
 Scold not the one whose mind you would improve. 
 Rather seek his faults with kindliness and love, 
 Lest he fall back upon himself; and then 
 Misdoubting, knowing, thinking all his fellowmen 
 Against him thus. Why should those greater seek 
 To slay a mortal's faith in his own mind? 
 For surely now it would have been more kind 
 
84 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 To choose mild words; clothed with celestial fire, 
 To purge iniquities. Blot out your loathsome ire; 
 For being stronger tramp not on the weak. 
 Then nobly prove yourself his Ti^-illing friend, 
 Encourage well his aims though it be late; 
 Deep words, though light, that trusting in the end 
 Must always balance well, and bear more weight. 
 
 EVENING REST. 
 
 My task is done, and the yearning 
 For rest steals o'er me now. 
 
 The throbbing pain and the burning 
 Have left my fevered brow. 
 
 I see a star fall from heaven, 
 Then sadly gaze at them more, 
 
 And think of the many lives given 
 There is always one gone before. 
 
 A feeling of nameless longing 
 Creeps from my heart to-night, 
 
 As bygone memories come thronging 
 And fashion before my sight. 
 
 A feeling so sad and lonely 
 Seems wearing my life away, 
 
 But resembles anguish only 
 
 As the dawn resembles the day. 
 
 Come, play to me the preface 
 Of a melody soft and low. 
 
 And let my thoughts find solace 
 In the murmur of its flow. 
 
 O! choose one from the Psalter — 
 
 Something sweet, sublime. 
 Whose echoes seem to falter 
 
 Ere they cross the chasm of time. 
 
 Sing not of life's ambition, 
 Nor of endless toil and woe. 
 
 But rather of death's transition, 
 
 Through whose portals we must go. 
 
SORROWS OF AFFLICTION. 85 
 
 'Twill chase away the wrinkles 
 And soothe my mind w^ith peace, 
 
 As foam on the ocean crinkles 
 
 When the passionate wavelets cease. 
 
 Then lightly thoughts of the morrow 
 Will pass o'er my throbbing brain; 
 
 The dull heartache, and the sorrow 
 Like dew will dissolve in rain. 
 
 And the pent up well of the fountain 
 
 With tears shall overflow. 
 And silently cover the mountain 
 
 Of sorrow, and bury it low. 
 
 TIRED. 
 
 I am already weary of the road, 
 
 Although my journey is not yet done. 
 I toil and struggle to bear my load 
 
 From the rising dawn till the setting sun. 
 I travel slow, for my feet are sore, 
 
 All cut and bruised by a hanging thorn 
 That swept across my path and tore — 
 
 I long, oh I long for the coming morn! 
 T will brush the brambles aside and go 
 
 With a firmer tread, for the w^ay is clear. 
 The clouds of dawn will burst, and lo! 
 
 Alone I might falter helpless here. 
 Through dark ravine, or mountain air 
 
 WTiither I go, Thou wilt be there. 
 
 SORROWS OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 Trod not thou on affliction's humble birth. 
 
 As lowly bend the knee before God's throne; 
 
 Surrender meekly all thou hast upon this earth 
 
 If needs be. Generously resigned. 'Tis but his own. 
 
 Reproach him not tho' he should pluck our choicest 
 
 flowers 
 And bear them away. Remember yet, they still are ours 
 
86 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Nor murmur thus with grief's reproving voice. 
 
 Rather lave thy heart with tears, and then rejoice 
 
 To know thou hast been worthy found, and knowing well 
 
 God sent His stricken message down to thee 
 
 Where be received with all due courtesy 
 
 Strength'ning, cleansing, ennobling where it fell. 
 
 Love and caress all sorrows gravelj" given; 
 
 Each gift shall be returned to us in heaven. 
 
 THE COMPENSATION OF LIFE. 
 
 A voice cried to a struggling soul; "Be still!" 
 
 Rail not against thy woes: if 'tw^ere His will, 
 
 Thou w^ouldst be now sated with infinite peace, 
 
 Not weeping, moaning, praying for release 
 
 From this frail vesicle, that chains thy very breath 
 
 And beguiles thee from the torpor we call death. 
 
 Have patience, soul, and thou wilt join me here 
 
 In ecstasy. Away, away, from pain's unrest, 
 
 The discipline now of this worldly sphere 
 
 Thou art but learning, is the mortal's test. 
 
 Life's slight pulsations stilled, all longings cease, 
 
 Eternity unveils her sweet dom.ain; 
 
 Such bliss doth well reward a life of pain. 
 
 I had my sufferings too, ere I found peace, 
 
 WHATE'ER THE CRIME BE GOOD. 
 
 Oft we may hear a sound of discontent 
 
 Breathed through the air, a useless plaint 
 
 Be added to one's woes, do we invent 
 
 A hopeful word to crush the bitter taint? 
 
 And when a shadow falls across a friend 
 Do we wield sympathy, or turn aside 
 
 For needless cause unto the bitter end. 
 Nor lift the soul we might have fortified? 
 
 Thus oft for hope a fellow-being lies 
 
 Struck to the earth, w^hile we walk glad 
 
 Across the waste, where ignorance defies 
 
 The thought that we may yet be woeful, sad. 
 
THE HUMMING BIRD, 87 
 
 And so one little word may bravely raise 
 The drooping spirit bowed, nor should 
 
 We swerve from sympathy throughout our days; 
 Whate'er the crime or shadow is, be good. 
 
 WAIT. 
 
 If lines of mine few understand. 
 Wait, wait, nor skim them underhand; 
 Till years are past, to some comes late 
 Pain's keen perception — till then wait. 
 
 THE HUMMING BIRD. 
 
 Honey sipper, dapper clad 
 In thy greenish robes, so glad, 
 Dost thou flit from flower to flower, 
 Ling'ring near a blossomed bower 
 Where the nectar loved by thee 
 Seems to dwell immortally. 
 
 What but joy is in thy pinion, 
 Lover of a vast dominion? 
 Swimming thro' the clover field, 
 Cheating drones their wintry yield. 
 Butterflies may sport and play. 
 But thy heart is always gay, 
 Mocking in thy toilsome hours 
 Honey bees which haunt thy bowers. 
 Knows no indolence nor ease, 
 Floating on the downy breeze 
 O'er the treetops, and along 
 With a purpose firm and strong. 
 
 Hide thee ever in thy glory 
 Deep 'neath apple blossoms hoary? 
 Where the honeyed blossoms steal 
 Sweetness for thy morning meal, 
 And the day of wantless care 
 Be it cloudy, damp, or fair. 
 EJ'en providing perfumed sap. 
 And thy tiny bill, the tap 
 
88 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Whence the nectar floweth forth 
 Fair as snowflakes from the North. 
 Chanting in a listless tone 
 Thanks maybe for flower and hone. 
 
 Hast thou known of foreign joys 
 Where love's atmosphere decoys 
 Birds and insects to its haven? 
 Plenty always, and thy leaven 
 Sweeter for the scorching breeze 
 Weltering thro' the palmy trees. 
 Ne'er behooves thee there to hurry 
 Thro' the haste of nature's flurry. 
 Seasons all in all appear. 
 Blooming sameness, year to year, 
 Where from zone to zone, thou steerest, 
 Fright unknown, and nothing fearest. 
 
 Swift the days, but swifter still 
 Go'st thou forth with stronger will, 
 Teaching all what need and care 
 Mingle firm, with pleasures rare. 
 Duties stern thou ne'er would'st shirk, 
 For thou liv'st but to work, 
 And thou lab'rest but to live; 
 Sweeter labor none can give. 
 
 DECREED. 
 
 Oft lies man's life within his heart, 
 
 A life, a grave, an earthly all. 
 'Tis of himself a thing apart, 
 
 Which we his living manhood call; 
 And but when in that heart's recesses see. 
 
 We pitying know what God meant him to be. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 O night! how thy pitying boon 
 Covers the sinner and saint; 
 
 Yet thou go'st forth all too soon 
 Awandering; in thy restraint 
 
ISLE OF ST, ELMO. 89 
 
 Thou seem'st more dear than all 
 
 The sunlight from tower to dome. 
 And hark! when thy sweet glories fall. 
 
 Is the hour for returning home. 
 
 ISLE OF ST. ELMO. 
 
 The weak, the wan, and the ghastly sight 
 Of a spellbound isle, where the meteor throws 
 
 Its lustrous shades o'er the fog-girt night, 
 And screens the tomb of the morn's repose 
 
 With the tropic light of a star-gemmed sky — 
 
 How fared this spot in the eve gone by? 
 
 Methinks with the light of a dazzling moon. 
 Through the stormy surf of an endless day. 
 
 Gaunt spectres travel the caves at noon 
 And lure the storm with its wrath away; 
 
 The boundless realm may sink and groan 
 
 With its hideous burden of wraiths alone. 
 
 And sprites arise from the vapor gray, 
 
 Mingling their shrieks with the tempest's roar, 
 
 Mocking the sounds in their mimicking way 
 And driving the herons in fright to the shore. 
 
 The life of man with its endless fear 
 
 Might find a comforting realm here. 
 
 A flapping of wings in the hurried gale 
 Would send the pang of a terror's dart 
 
 To the mind surroundless of nerve's avail. 
 And speed him quick wuth a trembling heart 
 
 To the nearest port ere the strife began 
 
 For the harbor refuge he strikes. O man! 
 
 The bleaching bones of a nation's pride 
 Be bathed by the surf's unwearying dip, 
 
 That clinging yet to the earth's damp side, 
 Release their hold with a weak'ning grip 
 
 Of the iron hands which the bones condemn. 
 
 Once swayed the earth that now sways them. 
 
90 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 TRUE GREATNESS. 
 
 Nor luxury, nor riches, nor power. 
 
 Nor fame in the treadmill of time, 
 Give omnipotence from which tyrants cower. 
 
 Can immortally make me sublime. 
 No history of brave anecdotes 
 
 Could give to the world my desire 
 Of intellect's gift the world notes 
 
 And praise which the owners soon tire. 
 No sceptre I crave to command, 
 
 Nor diadem's weight on my brow; 
 But a power I ask from His hand 
 
 Greater than kings can bestow — 
 Grant to me love's endless fate. 
 
 And being good I shall be great. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 Through crimson bars the sunset's glory steals 
 
 With grandeur massed, majestic like a king 
 Whose purple robes outvie all nature deals 
 
 To mankind; and the frailer glories bring, 
 With dazzling contrast lovelier than all, 
 
 A wave of every tint, a ripple as of fire 
 Floats on the sea of burnished gold, where fall 
 
 The sun's last beams, the glitt'ring rays that tire 
 Undaunted eyes; which gazing on the pale last look 
 
 Of day; gleans from its promise a fairer dawn. 
 And where the setting glows, a timid flutt'ring rook 
 
 Sails through the downy fleece and wanders on. 
 Thus may our lives tinged with the sunset's roseate hue 
 Cleave the pale clouds and wander swiftly through. 
 
 OUTWARD SHOW. 
 
 Call not that life which hidden 'neath a veil 
 
 Screens all but glamour from the outward show 
 
 Of mortals, careful not to look beyond the pale 
 And see their selfsame image stalking in the glow. 
 
BEAUTIES OF NATURE, 91 
 
 DANGERS OP FRANKNESS. 
 
 Who bluntly speaks, may injure himself more 
 Than had he chosen phrases polished o'er. 
 
 SLEEP AND THINK. 
 
 Sleep," I cannot sleep and think. 
 Thoughts that overflow the brink 
 Aye! of tears and clinging- pain 
 Come to haunt me o'er again. 
 
 Through the day they never cease, 
 While at night I crave release 
 From their wearying review; 
 Old they are, the treasured few. 
 
 Nature links her silence deep 
 With our calm, mysterious sleep; 
 Echoes not surround the gloom 
 Creeping o'er us like the tomb. 
 
 Thought with all its latent hues, 
 Sleep I beg to change the views; 
 Useless to me change will seem. 
 For I live them o'er in dream. 
 
 BEAUTIES OP NATURE. 
 
 Talk not of gilded towers, nor turrets vain, 
 
 Rearing triumphant spear-shaped pinnacles in air 
 Tc greet the planets' march, which turns again 
 
 And leaves one thinking naught could be so fair. 
 Then go thee out in nature's palace halls 
 
 And fretted aisles of intricate design 
 That dare the hands who builded tott'ring walls 
 
 To frame substantial, firm network like thine. 
 The wind so softly whisp'ring 'mong the trees 
 
 Hath taught the woodland choirs to sing; 
 No sweeter sound e'er borne upon the breeze. 
 
 Or in the depths of water murmuring. 
 All things we know must court decay, and wane. 
 So frost's chill hand slay those, then resurrect again. 
 
92 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 RESURRECTION. 
 
 From the tomb of gruesome bowers 
 Spring" earth's fairest, purest flowers; 
 From the grave of earthly sighs 
 Nobler souls do oft arise. 
 
 THE LENGTH OF TIME. 
 
 How long- unceasing doth it seem, 
 Eternal years without a change? 
 
 Like leaves upon a checkered ream 
 When torn apart the lines estrange. 
 
 Alternately we hope and dare 
 
 Beyond our strength in rufl^ed plans; 
 The fervor of a selfish prayer 
 
 Be used to raise us o'er our clans. 
 
 O! rapid life whene'er we ^ve 
 In charity, what sweetest tread 
 
 And may we feel they only live 
 WTio have themselves cast dead. 
 
 THE SUMMER BREEZE. 
 
 Fresh from the chambers of the wood 
 A lofty breeze of the mountain stole, 
 
 And gliding on to where I stood 
 
 Paused on the selfsame grassy knoll. 
 
 It stirred the grass, and trees, and flowers, 
 That wrapped in summer's balmy dream. 
 
 Deemed far too short the day's bright hours, 
 To feel existence' pensive stream. 
 
 The air was still, no sound of life 
 Crept through the foliage around; 
 
 Save chirping birds, whose aims were rife 
 To warble most delicious sound. 
 
EVE HAS COME. 93 
 
 I hailed the zephyr's restful tone 
 
 That boded gentle twilight's boon; 
 And meads of flowery buds had gone 
 
 To slumber, lulled by nature's tune. 
 
 Ah! breeze that wandering slowly by, 
 
 Thy gliding feet in rapture tread 
 The glowing steeps, then silent die 
 
 Without earth's murmurs round thee spread. 
 
 The blissful time that thou hast spent 
 Through fragrance of the summer hours, 
 
 Thy end reflects their raptures blent. 
 O! could I share thy mortal bowers. 
 
 But what that sight now to my eyes? 
 
 A vision white with wings outspread 
 Comes sailing swiftly on the skies, 
 
 Reflected deeply from o'erhead. 
 
 I gazed; the splashing sound foretold 
 A ponderous ship with sails unfurled 
 
 Where that strong breeze, so brave and bold, 
 Labored to waft it o'er the world. 
 
 And then I paused to think with shame 
 
 Of thoughts I had an hour before: 
 To live a life of useless blame 
 
 And yet to gain the peaceful shore. 
 
 Now let me linger shortly in 
 
 The pleasure -halls of idle glee; 
 But 'neath the sound of labor's din 
 
 Make my strokes ring forth joyously. 
 
 EVE HAS COME. 
 
 Now the twilight draws her shade, 
 Glad I am that eve is here; 
 
 While I watch the dark'ning glade 
 Thankful yes, that none are near. 
 
 More alert than in the day 
 Do my spirits gently rise; 
 
94 IX THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Nov.- no labor holds iis sway 
 O'er the dreamy, conscious sighs. 
 
 All the day a restless throng- 
 Kept receding from my door. 
 
 All the day a noisy gong 
 
 Thrilled its echoes o'er and o'er. 
 
 Now I sweetly undisturbed 
 
 Muse on Future's throned flight, 
 
 W^ith each bitter hearsay curbed. 
 Floating off on wings of night. 
 
 Fear and hatred rank no m.ore 
 In my bosom: naught but glee 
 
 There proclaims its precious lore. 
 When the twilight sets me free. 
 
 Life and all its fretting cares 
 Pass before in loving dream; 
 
 Fresher beats my pulse declares 
 So likewise my heart doth seem. 
 
 There abandoned all but holy 
 Hopes and aspirations great, 
 
 "Woe and vice that make day lowly. 
 Proving foes to me are sate. 
 
 Sweet forgiveness chimes its blessing 
 Free to those who overcast 
 
 Oft my sun, may its addressing 
 
 Reach who wronged me in the past. 
 
 WHY SHOULD I NOT BE GAY? 
 
 Why should I not be gay? Such was decreed 
 By heaven, and in nature's eye behold 
 
 A gleaming joy that fills up every need. 
 
 A warmth that e'en defies the winter's cold. 
 
 ^Tiy should I not be gray, when years are few? 
 
 'Tis time enough when age has touched with frost 
 These gilded locks my mirror doth review, 
 
 And so why should I mourn whei^ver tost? 
 
SIMPLICITY. 95 
 
 Adieu, then, all of sorrow, woe and strife, 
 Insipid dross that none should ever miss; 
 
 And in the failing years, when drunk of life, 
 
 No small, still voice shall whisper unsought bliss. 
 
 SHALL BEND BUT NEVER BREAK. 
 
 The snowy clouds o'er yonder mount 
 Seem drooping low to greet the crest. 
 Their fleecy lightness lies abreast 
 Like foam upon God's holy fount. 
 Throughout its waves we see a soul 
 Bowed down apparent to the earth, 
 Whose grief, despair, have covered birth . 
 And age with melancholy's roll. 
 But wait; again the snowy form 
 Shall through that very lightness rise. 
 Which bowed it down 'neath heaven's skies 
 When passed the heavy brooding storm. 
 All loyal hearts, for His sweet sake, 
 Shall bend in grief but never break. 
 
 SIMILE. 
 
 Strange power the soul holds o'er our mortal breath. 
 When stricken mute, we soar, and call it death. 
 Each form is stretched out lifeless on a bed 
 So must the soul that loses e'en its God be dead. 
 
 DIFFERENCES OP OPINION. 
 
 When I knew less than I do now, 
 Myself deemed wise, I will allow; 
 Now more I know, yet think it less 
 Than wisdom half, I must confess. 
 
 SIMPLICITY. 
 
 True, great men show such wisdom oft 
 As wedding not of richest dower. 
 
 But scorn the hot-house buds of fame, 
 And choose the modest wayside flower. 
 
96 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 FREEDOM. 
 
 Boast not that country free which binds a chain 
 
 Around defenceless worlds, whose luxuries gain 
 
 Through greedness' spoil, forgetful of the God 
 
 Who hath divided not this earthly sod, 
 
 But gave to all alike, a mock decree 
 
 Be thrust upon the head of such as ye, 
 
 And slaver-like forgets a higher power 
 
 Claims all thy worthless self, and tyrant dower 
 
 All noble thought, would rather be the friend 
 
 Aye! of the slave, than to the master bend. 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Left home. All in the sad experience of youth 
 Drifted onward like the outgoing tide. 
 
 How many have gone like me, but forsooth. 
 The most of them have died. 
 
 Kissed loving parents, e'en now I recall 
 How mother clung to me, and wept. 
 
 I knew not then I had lost all 
 Till memory o'er me swept. 
 
 Then I remembered, and for the past there came 
 
 Such cruel longings and regret. 
 Yet I did not think I was to blame 
 
 Till sorrow and I met. 
 
 Returned again. All was silent and still 
 
 In the cottage I once called home. 
 Strangers showed me two graves on the hill — 
 
 If I had only known. 
 
 Just retribution; but for me 'twas too late 
 To comfort those who had left me. 
 
 The like oft occurs, some call it fate 
 I call it destiny. 
 
THE BELLS OF STUTTGART. 97 
 
 THE BELLS OF STUTTGART. 
 
 In that quaint old German city 
 
 Of proud Stuttgart near the Rhine, 
 Swords were flashing" in the sunlight, 
 
 Soldiers forming in a line. 
 For was not the Emperor coming 
 
 On his prancing, noble steed 
 With its gold and silver trappings 
 
 To perform a noble deed? 
 
 "Old Fritz is dead, he died this morning 
 
 Who will wear the golden crown? 
 Who by climbing up yon turret 
 
 Will win everlasting renown? 
 Who will win the hundred guineas 
 
 That proud Stuttgart gives each year? 
 To him who's brave enought to venture 
 
 Ringing forth the Emperor's cheer." 
 
 Thus spake the General to his people 
 
 As silence spread o'er the motley crowd. 
 "Life is too sweet," each conscience replied, 
 
 Not daring to speak it aloud. 
 "I've a wife and children," each peasant thought, 
 
 "And to risk it I do not dare; 
 Although the feat has been done before. 
 
 But then Fritz had not a care." 
 
 "Answer! answer!" cried the General, 
 
 Striding wrathfully to and fr®. 
 "Is there not one man among you 
 
 Who would risk his life and go?" 
 Ay! there was one among that number, 
 
 One whose like fame never dies, 
 Who with wildly beating heart 
 
 To the huge tower raised his eyes. 
 
 What was in that tow'ring belfry, 
 
 What was in that awful height. 
 That made the boy's heart sink within him 
 
 And blanch his cheeks so deadly white? 
 Yet as if some power had held him, 
 
 Gazed above with bated breath. 
 
98 7A' THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 "Father in heaven," he murmured fondly, 
 "Tell me, is it certain death?" 
 
 ''If I venture up yon turret 
 
 Will thy hand protect me there? 
 For my mother's sake I ask it, 
 
 For my own I would not dare." 
 Then before the noble General 
 
 Stands a boy with calm, blue eyes, 
 Saj'ing, "Master. I will do it;" 
 
 Noting quick the cool surpriSL- 
 
 That shone in the General's face 
 
 As his stern eyes flashed with joy, 
 Saj^ng, ''Child, you could not do it 
 
 You are nothing but a boy." 
 'T can do it, I will do it," 
 
 Moaned the boy with sobbing breath, 
 "Though there's danger in the action. 
 
 Sir, my mother's near to death. 
 
 "And the help I now can give her, 
 
 This a blessing for our need, 
 Will save us both from want, my master, 
 
 God will bless you then indeed." 
 The General's heart was stirred within him 
 
 As it ne'er had been before. 
 '"You may do it, and boy like you 
 
 Would proud Stuttgart had some more." 
 
 Franz gazed at the winding ladder 
 
 And his heart grew faint with dread. 
 'Father, protect Thy orphan child," 
 
 Were the words his pale lips said. 
 "Holy Virgin Mother," prayed he, 
 
 "Help me in this hour of need. 
 Let your loving care enfold me. 
 
 For I need your help indeed." 
 
 Then as the shouts below, around him. 
 
 Step by step the boy ascends 
 With a coolness born of knowledge 
 
 That on this his life depends. 
 Nearer, and yet near he gains it 
 
 W'ith a tread as firm as day. 
 
THE BELLS OF STUTTGART. 99 
 
 Yet he dared not look below him, 
 Know in this his safety lay. 
 
 Down below the crowds were surging, 
 
 Listening" for the bells to ring; 
 Waiting for the Emperor's coming. 
 
 Who was Prussia's noble king. 
 First a hush, and then a silence 
 
 Tells the Emperor is nigh — 
 Franz has reached the topmost ladder 
 
 Hanging now twixt earth and sky. 
 
 Like a tide of naval glory 
 
 Sweeping o'er a battle field, 
 As the stirring cries of victory 
 
 Force the enemy to yield — 
 Thus the murmur of hoarse voices 
 
 As the monarch sweeps in view, 
 With his grand and noble bearing 
 
 And still grander retinue. 
 
 But the bells drown all the clamour, 
 
 Holds the mass in one great sway; 
 Like a gentle breeze of ocean 
 
 Then the music dies away. 
 In the grand old palace stateroom 
 
 Stands the monarch with his seers. 
 Asks he for the peasant, whom he 
 
 Knew had rung the bell for years. 
 
 Then the noble General tells him 
 
 Of the boy who filled his place, 
 Seeing quick the admiration 
 
 Shining in the monarch's face. 
 "Bring him to me," says the monarch, 
 
 "Well rewa.rded shall he be." 
 Then from out the crowd he leads him. 
 
 And Franz drops upon one knee. 
 
 The monarch raised the kneeling figure 
 
 Saying, "Boy, kneel not to me. 
 I'm but the ruler of a nation, 
 
 Thou art the flower of chivalry." 
 With his own hands placed the circlet 
 
 On the boy's bright, curling hair 
 
 LofC? 
 
100 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 Of glittering gold and precious jewels 
 
 A costly diadem and rare; 
 Saying, "Thou hast won great honors 
 
 Aiid thou now my page shalt be. 
 I'll be to thee as a rather — 
 
 Thou didst ring the bells for me." 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Jealous of you I could not be. 
 
 The gift that heaven sent down to me 
 
 Might have been yours, and yours been mine, 
 
 And I another, if both were thine. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 The paths of fame are roughly shod 
 With straggling mounds where worms have trod. 
 Pedestaird powers, that sought in vain to flee 
 Yon gilded tombs. Whence rise their immortality. 
 
 PREMEDITATION. 
 
 We wrong our lives oft by some thoughtless freak, 
 But who knows better yet does same is doubly weak. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 When tiny hamlets oft I view in some sequestered vale, 
 Nestling in nature's arms, from earth's contaminations, 
 
 fail 
 In worldly knowledge; meekly sink the bustling times 
 
 behind; 
 I envy their unknowingness and happiness combined. 
 
 ILLUSION. 
 
 How strange that those who wish to act a part 
 
 Deceive themselves, and to the grave onlookers show 
 
 Their wounded pride, and e'en perhaps a breaking heart 
 By overdoing that they fain would let none know. 
 
SELF-REPROACH. 101 
 
 CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Spurn not the sinner though he be 
 
 Apostate of idolatry. 
 And knowing such will learn of thee 
 
 Emblems of true Christianity. 
 
 WISDOM. 
 
 'Tis but a fool earned reproach defies; 
 Thro' mistakes sensible men become wise. 
 
 FORBEARANCE. 
 
 Time thou the word, but let its eloquence be 
 Thy passport to life's serenity. 
 
 RIDICULE. 
 
 Let not the jests of others 
 
 Give us pain. The irate tongue that mothers 
 Faults, we know from jealous rapture springs — 
 It is the untruth of it all that stings. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 When wise men freely converse do not deem. 
 
 Each is telling whatever he knows. 
 For such may be but a tiny stream 
 
 That from the fountain of knowledge flows. 
 
 EQUALITY. 
 
 The greatest man is he who feels 
 
 Equality with every son; 
 Whose noble creed such union deals 
 
 That equal rights are owned, not won. 
 
 SELF-REPROACH. 
 
 Better is it not, that they 
 
 Whose follies turn to conscience' stings? 
 That others lighter think the fray 
 
 Which to themselves such reproof brings. 
 
102 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 HYPOCRISY. 
 
 He who parades his gospel's lore 
 And recks for praise in wordly tone, 
 
 Defies with mockery, God before, 
 
 And makes an unjust creed his own. 
 
 MISJUDGMENT. 
 
 How misplaced is the world's inviolate worth! 
 
 The knave that vagxiely wond'ring rails at fate 
 That his wise ableness provokes no mirth, 
 
 And great men wonder why they are great. 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The same at home, the same to every clan 
 Proves what thou art, bespeaks the gentleman. 
 
 Whc^t coward's trait to mock and jeer at one 
 Of w^eaker intellect, or whom dull nature trod; 
 
 Contrary to ideals, such ill-placed mockeries don 
 An insult to the handiwork of God. 
 
 REWARD OP PARDON. 
 
 He who forgives a blow or taunt, 
 And pardon to opponent yield, 
 
 Has won a victory greater than 
 The monarch on a battle-field. 
 
 SIGNS OF GUILT. 
 
 Know that the one whose tongue harps tireless on 
 A one-string lyre of crime, or dismal facts, 
 
 To listeners' gaping wit reveals the one 
 
 TVTiom that same chord hath rusted — hence relax. 
 
 Twice and thrice a felon is the one 
 Who with contempt doth spurn the wrongdoer's son, 
 And for his parent's crimes o'erlook with scorn 
 The youth, unlike himself, who may be nobly born. 
 
CONTROL, 103 
 
 PROOF. 
 
 Thou art a stranger to me, I must own, 
 And since thou art but one way lies to find 
 
 The noble qualities possessing thee alone — 
 
 By what strange company thou seek'st in mankind. 
 
 ON TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 'Tis true he hath no money, which 
 Goes forth to meet the every end; 
 
 But better hath, I deem him rich 
 In that he owns a trusty friend. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 What soothing" balm to pour our ail -consuming woes 
 Into the ears of one with consolation free; 
 
 And yet hope not for sympathy from those 
 
 Who have not tasted thine own cup of iTiisery. 
 
 SELF-MADE. 
 
 Who scaled his heights alone hath better won 
 A crown, than issued to the monarch's son. 
 
 Though ruling alL his throne will ne'er descend, 
 For he is king himself unto the end. 
 
 LAWS. 
 
 As men do often die in poverty, 
 
 And as oft they bequeath the erring cause 
 To idle sons, such as their fathers', see 
 
 Whose laws live not by them, but they by laws. 
 
 CONTROL. 
 
 Thou thought'st to teach me, and behold! I find 
 Thou hast not learned yet control of mind. 
 
 How can the colt as yet untaught command 
 
 Teach younger ones to pull, loose reins in hand? 
 
104 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 THE PENITENT. 
 
 He who repents with keen remorse 
 Each sin committed of the age, 
 
 And then returns to same, is worse 
 Than actor on the gilded stage. 
 
 STRENGTH IN SUFFERING. 
 
 "Bear and forbear," has Victory said. 
 
 No human soul was ever led 
 Through others' pains to gain the strife 
 
 Of conquered self, the noble life. 
 
 IT IS NOT OFT. 
 
 It is not oft w^e judge the pain 
 
 Of others by our own; 
 Or else those stabs and sneers would wane 
 
 And sympathy condone. 
 
 DEFEATED. 
 
 Though probing well the truths of every land, 
 Man's mind a mystery, to thy search is lost, 
 
 O! changing hearts, we fain would understand, 
 *Tis when some turn away they love us most. 
 
 FAULTS. 
 
 Possessing fewer faults, then we 
 Might lesser faults in others see. 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 If once on one thy faith held ground 
 TVith undisputed sway, and mind, 
 
 And that grave stanchion tott'ring, bound, 
 Shall sink thy faith in all mankind. 
 
A CHOICE. 105 
 
 WHEN. 
 
 When one most dear steps in thy life, 
 So will the love for each and all, 
 
 Both friend and foe, who aimed thee strife 
 Assemble at thy heart's new call. 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 Scorn all revenge, 'tis weak and vain; 
 Thou noblest attributes shalt gain 
 Not for thyself and thine alone, 
 But him thy welfare has o'erthrown. 
 
 When we have done our best, why care 
 If idle tongues make light the task? 
 
 Of failure, none but gossips dare 
 And their advice we scorn to ask. 
 
 HONOR AND WEALTH. 
 
 Houses and lands tempt naught but the vain 
 Honor comes first, 'tis a priceless domain. 
 
 KINSHIP. 
 
 Whate'er the stranger's heart bestows. 
 Our kinsmen are our greatest foes; 
 And none so envious of our lot 
 As those who kinship have forgot. 
 
 A CHOICE. 
 
 There is a strength, not weak, in loving well 
 One 'neath the gaze of stern, unfeeling eyes, 
 A wretch who so unprincipled defies 
 By acts his worth; such crimes dispel, 
 And guide, uplift. Is't not more noble deed, 
 To know thy love raised one in apter need? 
 
106 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 THE ASCENT OF LIFE. 
 
 Heed not the dark and dismal days 
 In life's career. The wind that sways 
 The drooping branches o'er our path 
 Shall now appease the storm-god's wrath, 
 And sweep the mist our sun obscures 
 With joyful hand, and love allures. 
 
 The vale of life, through which we pass 
 With faltering steps, the surging mass 
 That blocks our path, while toiling brave 
 To stem the billows, crest the w^ave 
 That bear us onward in the strife 
 The thankless task of living, life. 
 
 Ascend the mountain, tread the plain, 
 
 Ere thou may ever hope to gain 
 
 The summit's height, the wooded grove 
 
 That sweetly shelters the wounded dove 
 
 In tranquil peace, the harvest reap 
 
 Thou earnedst, while toiling passes steep. 
 
 The years go rippling by in rills 
 That found their starting place in hills 
 Of trouble, bravely met, and tost 
 Beneath the river's cringing frost. 
 With zephyr calm, serene they lie, 
 As joy brings smiles, or pain a sigh. 
 
 Their shadows ne'er will come again 
 
 To make thee think what might have been. 
 
 The future now must be thy goal 
 
 And rest content in life's stern roll. 
 
 To know the past, thou didst begin — 
 
 The future shall eclipse, and win. 
 
 Swift as the sunshine skimming o'er 
 
 The dial's face, time is no more. 
 
 The brief, sweet dream, whose records wrought 
 
 True visions of a celestial spot, 
 
 Be drenched no more with passing showers, 
 
 But reign supreme in endless bowers. 
 
THE ASCENT OF LIFE. 107 
 
 Though life may send thee grief and care, 
 
 Forget not others have to share 
 
 The pang sent down. We must destroy 
 
 The selfish thoughts that would decoy 
 
 Such anguish, ere we win renown; 
 
 No untroubled brow will wear a crown. 
 
 Scorn not the rivulets that store 
 The mind's deep well with hidden lore 
 That bubbles up with each new draught 
 And sips the springs that others quaffed. 
 With hasty zeal, untasted still 
 They leave the fountain on the hill. 
 
 How dross is gold to earthly trust; 
 'Tis but the iron's gilded rust 
 That strewn in bauble's glittering road 
 Shall lure the weak to its abode. 
 Exchange not wealth of mind or soul 
 For all the dazzling gems that roll. 
 
 The mortal's best estate, not wealth 
 But industry and time. Like stealth 
 The hours creep on, unnumbered, brief; 
 Thou canst seize some, not like a thief. 
 For they are thine; a dusky pall 
 If not secured, will hide them f11. 
 
 The snow enshrouds with winding sheet 
 Old earth's bare bosom and chilled feet. 
 Let not thy heart be numbed by this, 
 'Tis but the mourning of earth's bliss. 
 As snowflakes melt, the sun will shine. 
 All griefs dissolve, and let go thine. 
 
 Wouldst thou when others are in woe 
 
 Desire a shield to wrest the foe? 
 
 Of his crude spoils, and hoarded strife 
 
 He longs to spread with misery, rife. 
 
 The road to true contentment leads 
 
 Oft through some mourner's woes or needs. 
 
 Uncertain tides may wreck thy boat, 
 If left upon the stream afloat, 
 
108 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 And leave thee stranded like a shell 
 Ere help appears, the waves to quell; 
 Then safely through the roaring tide 
 A steering hand thy barque will guide. 
 
 In barren walks didst thou begin 
 
 Life's endless march of care, and sin? 
 Its desert paths of burning sand, 
 That spread out boldly o'er the land, 
 Kept from thy sight the cool greensward 
 That might have charmed thy life's discord. 
 
 The flowers of life are trust and peace. 
 And when we wear them, murmurs cease; 
 They shed their perfume in the air 
 And chase the gloom seen everywhere. 
 When loving hearts their fragrance call. 
 Each blow shall lighter seem to fall. 
 
 Be grateful if a sunbeam bu^st 
 And shed its lustre o'er thee first; 
 Its gladsome rays diffuse the cloud 
 That hovered o'er thee long and loud. 
 They promise day, and sunshine sent, 
 The night of woe will soon be spent. 
 
 With prudent thought build firm the wall 
 That keeps thee from destruction's fall; 
 No gaping holes be left to throw 
 Dishonor round, defects will show 
 Both pitiless, and stern to eyes 
 That treach'rous would thy faults surmise. 
 
 Temptation's thorns may snare thy feet, 
 
 Its jj-tormis may come with hail and sleet, 
 
 And lead astray thy virtuous soul 
 
 To perish in despair; the goal 
 
 Of all who tread wrong paths at length — 
 
 We trust that thou hast greater strength. 
 
 Consider wisely ere thou act. 
 
 Lest by remorse thy heart be racked 
 
THE ASCENT OF LIFE. 109 
 
 For deeds of folly, which destroy 
 One's peace of mind, the owner's joy. 
 Such blots will stain, nor can efface 
 The thrill some feel in one's disgrace. 
 
 Although fierce storms thy hopes assail. 
 Like mariners utilize the gale 
 To speed thee swiftly o'er the main, 
 The Port of Triumph thus to gain — 
 No wreckage strewn on life's dull sand 
 To tempt the vultures of the land. 
 
 A dormant will must dwell within 
 Him who makes no attempt to win 
 The soul has starved with careless food, 
 And sank into death's lassitude; 
 Arouse the sleeping spirit's breath, 
 No longer dare exist in death. 
 
 We shape our fates with careless hands 
 Too oft from loathsome desert sands. 
 True life inspires the heart to sing 
 And earth doth promise everything; 
 The bow of promise in the sky 
 Can quickly send life's arrow high. 
 
 Pause not upon life's devious way. 
 Beguiled by potent charmer's sway, 
 For such will charm thee while they use 
 Thine opportunities, thy cues 
 For hidden wealth, and then pass by. 
 While on the ground thou prostrate lie. 
 
 The ocean's roar is loud and strong. 
 As maelstroms fiercely glide along; 
 The vortex there, so wide and deep. 
 Disturbs thy slumbers, haunts thy sleep. 
 To some it brings repose and peace 
 And some the knell of hope's decease. 
 
 Perfection, no, thou needst not seek; 
 Its voice is far too frail to speak 
 
110 IN THE WORLD'S REALM. 
 
 In man. A globe of glass 
 That fain would shatter ere it pass, 
 And leave behind a stinging dread 
 That we might on its edges tread. 
 
 As strugglers fail be not the one 
 To court defeat, no laurels won 
 Without grim toil, each failure sore 
 Should make thee stronger than before; 
 From off thy heart those trammels shake 
 And thou shalt win for winning's sake. 
 
 , Discharge no shafts that wound a heart — 
 Such may recoil on thee, the dart 
 That poisoned with the slanderer's tongue 
 Seeks targets fresh. Be thou among 
 The first to wipe the oozing stain 
 From off the cause of Virtue's gain. 
 
 All magnified are youthful woes; 
 From tiny steppes oft mountains rose. 
 As time rolls on with patience blest 
 We learn to soothe our cares to rest, 
 Nor cherish faults so lately born. 
 While at the past we smile in scorn. 
 
 As streams reflect the sunset's glow. 
 So may toil's roseate hues all show 
 In life's pellucid depths as clear 
 As raindrops sparkling on the mere; 
 Their restful prelude sounds impart 
 A flood of music to the heart. 
 
 WHILE THE WORLD IS SINGING, LAY ME DOWN. 
 
 Lay me down on the hillside fair. 
 
 Where curlews call. 
 Cover my bed with seashells rare. 
 
 Whose moans will fall 
 
 Like a requiem on my tired soul, 
 
 Whose work is done. 
 Earth's music, life denied me whole, 
 
 Death now has won. 
 
HOPE. Ill 
 
 While the world is singing my endless fame, 
 
 Here let me lie; 
 Unconscious thus of its praise or blame 
 
 None can deny. 
 
 Then sing my songs again and again 
 
 To ends of earth, 
 Unheeding all of the heart of pain 
 
 Which gave them birth. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 If we will always listen with a mournful mind, 
 All life seems like a wail of sorrow rent; 
 
 If there was naught to trouble in mankind, 
 All voices here like music would be blent. 
 
 We do not hear the swelling undertone of love 
 That bids us bear w^hat others bore so meek. 
 
 When we are done with the complaints that wove 
 Such bitterness, then life's happiness we may seek. 
 
 All suffering comes from battle with ourselves; 
 
 When we are bruised and beaten, thoughts are rife 
 That struggling helpless show the mind that delves 
 
 Down deep, the needlessness of strife.* 
 
 Impatience spoils control the soul has gained; 
 
 Our higher self knows the repose of peace; 
 The mortal only thinks it cannot be attained, 
 
 And thus the soul yearns for its glad release. 
 
 Deliverance! The word that brings the captive hope! 
 
 Shall we accept its comfort when appears? 
 Or let it pass us with a wider scope, 
 
 And leave us yet in agony and tears. 
 
 Why should we wish our paths bestrewn with flowers 
 While others stumble o'er life's stony road? 
 
 We merely ask the blossoms that are ours. 
 
 Then give the rest and help them bear their load. 
 
 We wonder yet what others, proud and gay, 
 
 Of happiness in this cruel, blighted life can find; 
 
112 IN THE WORLD'S REALM, 
 
 They do not stop to gather sorrows on the way, 
 Nor waste time grrieving over sorrows left behind. 
 
 To-day is ours, we must not mar its beauty; 
 
 To-morrow His; all may be dark and chill, 
 Then vainly wish that we had done our duty, 
 
 And now have better strength to meet His will. 
 
 'Tis useless, yes, to bring ourselves to think 
 Life's suffering yet may heedless pass us by; 
 
 Its lesson must be learned; though near the brink 
 Of yawning grave, 'twill seize us ere we die. 
 
 Forbearance still shall mould our life's contending path, 
 The word that turns our thoughts to higher things; 
 
 The giddy senseless one that ne'er a trouble hath 
 Shall e'en be better for the knowledge trouble brings. 
 
 The withered leaves from off the sturdy branch must fall 
 All seared and torn in cruel tempest's blast; 
 
 Their labor o'er, like men they have their call, 
 Like unthanked men they to the earth are cast. 
 
 The soft, sweet lisping winds their tiny shelters seek 
 Where tripping sparrows flit in noiseless glee; 
 
 Eternal softness reigns, whose silence ne'er will speak — 
 As mute and uncomplaining as our lot should be. 
 
LEG 24 1902