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P»OET SKIES 
 
 AND OTIJEK 
 
 ^/^ 
 
 III 
 
 f^C 
 
 I 
 
 ■f^ A <^ 
 
 0. DE PLORI. iiv; 1^. 
 
 18(;8. 
 
 BALTIMOKE JOHN' AV. WOODS, I'RLVTKK, 
 
 202 Baltimore Street. 
 

The following Essays in the composition of verse are 
 the unstudied efforts of a young authoress, unlearned and 
 inexperienced in the poetic art, as its rules have been 
 prescribed by Horace and other authorities. They mani- 
 fest, however, in the judgment of the friends who, without 
 consulting her, have undertaken to present them in this 
 unpretending form, a vigor of thought, a power of descrip- 
 tion, a vein of humor, and a devotional purity, elevation 
 and soundness of sentiment which raise them much above 
 the mediocrity which marks a great deal of what in 
 so-called poetry, ow^es its reputation chiefly to the names 
 of its authors. The illustrations are from sketches by a 
 friend of the authoress, of her own sex, and reflect well 
 the spirit of the lines they accompany. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 POET SKIES, 9 
 
 COxMPEXSATIOX, 
 
 n 
 
 THE COCKATRICE, ; . . 18 
 
 FIRE! FIREf 21 
 
 THAT "BLESSED" SEWING MACHINE, * . • . . . 24 
 
 COUGH, COUGH, COUGH! ...... 27 
 
 EYES 28 
 
 ''STRONG MINDED AVOMEN," 29 
 
 VAIN TRUST, 32 
 
 'TIS FALL, 'Si 
 
 DIANA, 39 
 
 AUTUMiN BIRD SOXG, 40 
 
 FADING AWAY, 42 
 
 THE CYPRESS GLEN, 43 
 
 LOOK UPWARD, 50 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE "C0OTER3" OF P , .... 52 
 
 OUR FESTIVAL, 54 
 
 LOVE IX A COT, 5t 
 
b CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOE. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR'S PRAYER, ...... GO 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF TIME, (il 
 
 MY CAT .JACK, 64 
 
 DRINK DEEP, G7 
 
 THE IDEAL, 6S 
 
 FAME, U 
 
POEMS 
 
 Spenser, thou'rt the dawn's red sky, 
 Half in shade, though day is nigh : 
 Revealing secrets of the night — 
 Many shock, some please the sight. 
 Here rich mines of golden ore. 
 From which all have swell'd their store 
 There, on rugged rocks entwine 
 Graceful garlands of the vine ; 
 And the opening flowers yield 
 Sweets from many a virgin field. 
 Dost beguile the pilgrim band 
 Through a wild, oft weary land. 
 
10 POET SKIES, 
 
 WoRDSWOETH, thou art like the sky 
 When 'tis clear, serene and high, 
 Leading us to lofty thought, 
 We, by thee, to look are taught, 
 From calm nature to her God ; 
 And to feel the earth he trod, 
 Is a temple meet for praise. 
 Thou dost strive our hearts to raise — 
 Showing us how Heav'n, in all, 
 Seeks our careless souls to call. 
 Mountains point and streams reflect, — 
 All things guide us, and direct. 
 
 Shelley, thou art 'neath a sky. 
 
 Whence is shut the light from high. 
 
 Thou dost grope in darkness, though 
 
 Earthly fires, flitting, glow 
 
 O'er the labyrinthine maze. 
 
 Where thy bright, lost spirit, strays. 
 
 Day of intellect, alone, 
 
 For moral night, can not atone. 
 
 Shock'd though charm'd by what we see. 
 
 We deplore, we pity thee ! 
 
 Like a fallen star thou art, 
 
 Dost nor light, nor warmth impart. 
 
POET SKIES. 11 
 
 Burns, I see in thee a sky, 
 
 "When bright Spring doth cradled lie 
 
 On each dewy heather-fell, 
 
 As sweet w^nds, in music, tell 
 
 Tales of love, and simple joy, — 
 
 Nature's language, dost employ: — 
 
 Melting into tearful rain, 
 
 Breaking into smiles again 1 
 
 Though rough gusts at times may blow, 
 
 Still thought-blossoms round thee grow. 
 
 Thou dost healthful freshness bring 
 
 Where the world its blight doth fling. 
 
 Tennyson, art like the sky, 
 When the god of day, on high, 
 Rises from his rosy bed 
 And his smiles on earth doth shed, 
 Painting dewy nature bright 
 With his pencilings of light. 
 Higher still he mounts, behold, 
 Making closed leaves unfold. 
 Warming intellect to life, — 
 Waking feeling's noble strife ; — 
 Beacon-mind, shalt stand through time. 
 Type of this great age sublime. 
 
12 POET SKIES. 
 
 Hemans, thou a moon-lit sky, 
 Where the full orb rides on hicrh, 
 Shedding floods of holy light 
 From blue heaven's starry height. 
 Here and there, the soft clouds seem 
 Charged with lightning's lambent gleam. 
 Pensive, melancholy, deep. 
 Thou the soul doth gently steep 
 In a full effulgent glow. 
 Looking down on all below 
 "With a woman's tender eye, 
 We to thee for comfort fly. 
 
 Coleridge, like a foggy sky, 
 Sometimes low and sometimes high : 
 Often dark and misty, oft 
 Lit by moonlight fancies soft ; 
 Lurid now, and now sublime. 
 Scarce the same at any time. 
 Though grand figures vaguely loom, 
 We shall strive to pierce the gloom, 
 Oft in vain, for dim and pale, 
 Light falls on thy mystic veil ; 
 With thy flickering torch dost find 
 Haunted cells in everv mind. 
 
POET SKIES. 13 
 
 MooKE, thou art the glowing sky, 
 Ere the sun to rest doth hie, 
 Tinted with the rainbow hues ; 
 Every scene thy touch endues 
 With some charm, some pleasing trace 
 Of thine own unrivalled grace ! 
 Gorgeous, rosy, bright, or warm. 
 Every cloud takes some new form : — 
 Lovely, airy, beautiful, 
 Wondrous, or fanciful, — 
 Sometimes tender, sometimes gay, 
 Thou dost while the time away. 
 
 PoE, thou seemest the lurid sky, 
 
 While the clouds mid darkness fly, 
 
 Lit alone by lightning gleams — 
 
 Bringing wild delirious dreams. 
 
 Sweetest music novf dost wake, 
 
 Now the cords dost rudely break 1 
 
 Thunders mutter, roll and growl, — 
 
 Winds with untold horror howl, — 
 
 Wondrous sounds fall on the ear 
 
 With the potent spell of fear ; 
 
 Morbid, fascinating, wild — * 
 
 God's own image hast defiled. 
 
14 POET SKIES. 
 
 Hood, art like an April sky, 
 When the fitful breeze blows by ; 
 Rising to a joyous gale. 
 Dying with a sobbing wail, — 
 Often bringing clouds so dense, 
 Hope sinks, like a false pretence. 
 Quick as thought they break, and see 
 How the sad drops seem to be 
 Gems, that sparkle rare and bright 
 In the gladsome, smiling light ! 
 Grave, pathetic, madly gay, 
 Laughing thine own tears away ! 
 
 Bryant, as a dreamy sky. 
 
 When the Indian summer's nigh; 
 
 Thou dost on the mellow haze. 
 
 Contemplative, turn thy gaze. 
 
 And, hast through the realms of thought, 
 
 Not in vain, for wisdom sought. 
 
 Dost conceal what e'er would shock, — 
 
 Rounding e'en the jagged rock. 
 
 Passionless thy soul, and calm. 
 
 Striving still to jDOur a balm 
 
 On the turbid spirit. Rest 
 
 Thou dost bring the weary spirit. 
 
POET SKIES. Ip 
 
 Pope, a bow-spann'd, dripping sky, 
 When the winds do blow and sigh 
 With a careless melody, 
 In a weary monody ! 
 But rich fields of thought revive, 
 And with all this patt'ring thrive. 
 Though the chilling, nipping air, 
 Blights, at times, the flowers fair ; 
 And with cloudy discontent 
 O'er the world thy brow is bent — 
 AVhile they grieve that this should be, 
 Thinking minds delight in thee ! 
 In thy classic heights of mind, 
 Pagan all thy gods we find. 
 
 Byeon, thou night's sombre sky. 
 Lit the red volcano by ! 
 When black clouds are driven on, 
 When weird forms do ride upon 
 Every bitter, scorching blast. 
 Wildly, darkly flitting past ! 
 But the blaze that lights the sky 
 Leaves but cinders, hot and dry. 
 Wondrous mind ! perverted heart ! 
 Master of thy noble art ! 
 Few like thee, both strong and bold, 
 Can deep passions sway and hold. 
 
16 POET SKIES, 
 
 Milton, thou the polar sky, 
 Where doth loom, sublime, on high. 
 Northern lights, serene and cold. 
 Thou the glory dost unfold 
 Of high heaven's star-gemm'd dome. 
 Where thy thoughts, inspired, roam, 
 Like great constellations, bound 
 To one grand, unchanging round, 
 God, their fix'd, their polar star, 
 Draws them from the earth afar. 
 Sounding, through eternal days, 
 Glorious hymns of lofty praise. 
 
 Shakespeare, as in noon-day sky 
 Rides the sun, the zenith nigh, 
 Shalt, from thine empyrean, see 
 Countless ages bow to thee ; 
 While thy genius, peerless, bright, 
 Shall diffuse its glorious light. 
 By that brilliancy untold, 
 Though the gaze at first be bold, 
 Dazzled and abashed, w^e turn, 
 Not to criticise, but learn. 
 Dost delight, instruct, amuse, 
 Warmth and healthful life infuse. 
 
I 
 
 \Ve recognize thy goodness, Lord, 
 
 Thy loving, gracious care, 
 That compensates in each life-stage 
 
 The ills we meet with here. 
 
 The young have energy and strength, 
 
 To climb the up-hill road, 
 The old have easy downward slopes 
 
 "When bending 'neath life's load. 
 
 Unsteady spring, Avhose showers light 
 
 Yield to the fostering sun. 
 Sere fall, the time of memories, 
 
 Toil o'er, and work all done. 
 
 The summer, — duties hard, and cares, 
 
 But sweet fulfilment too. 
 The grain in forming, needs not rain 
 
 But ready suns, and dew. 
 
 The morning twilight brings fresh hope 
 
 The evening shadows rest, 
 The noon-day, light, and faithful trust, 
 
 Yea, :ill are richly blest ! 
 
^ 
 
 Yes, I sought her, though they warned me 
 
 To beware the Cockatrice ; 
 But I longed to prove my power, 
 
 And withstand her artifice. 
 
 First, I thought I only watched her, 
 As a study, something strange, 
 
 Soon I found she interested, 
 "So unlike the common range." 
 
 When she saw I dared to brave her, 
 And her potent charms and wiles. 
 
 She was piqued, and turned upon me 
 Her most bright and winning smiles. 
 
 She amused me, she bewitched me 
 
 With her fascinating ways ; 
 And her flashing black eyes dazzled, 
 
 Deadly as the lightning blaze. 
 
THE COCKATRICE. 19 
 
 But I thought I saw them soften, 
 
 Only when / looked in them, 
 So I yielded to the torrent, 
 
 'Till its force I could not stem. 
 
 Then I said the world belies her. 
 There are depths it cannot sound, 
 
 Where, beneath the sparkling surface. 
 Gems are hid, that I have found. 
 
 While she made me think I swayed her 
 
 With a power all mine own. 
 She was sporting in the glamour. 
 
 That, o'er me, her spells had thrown. 
 
 With a thousand bonds she held me. 
 By her cheek's rich crimson hue, 
 
 By her snake like coils and tresses. 
 Those false lips I thought so true ! 
 
 By her nobly moulded figure, 
 By her wit and matchless grace ; 
 
 By her mobile play of features. 
 By the arts that none could trace. 
 
20 THE COCKATRICE. 
 
 When I could not hide the passion 
 That had brought me to her feet, 
 
 Then she spurned me, sneering, scorning 
 For such madness this was meet ! 
 
 How the burning fever courses 
 
 Through my veins, like molten lead ! 
 
 Still those baleful eyes, they haunt me, 
 As I toss upon my bed. 
 
 Take them off me ! Take them off me ! 
 
 With their cold, disdainful gaze ; 
 Oh they pierce my aching bosom, 
 
 And my throbbing brain they craze. 
 
^ 
 
 ml ifird 
 
 Fire ! Fire ! wake and follow, 
 Hear the trumpets deep and hollow, 
 Braying out a harsh defiance 
 To the darkness and the silence. 
 Hark ! the watchman's rattle springing, 
 How the running feet are ringing ; 
 As from every side men muster, 
 Round the burning pile to cluster. 
 All with eager awe-struck faces; 
 Startled from their resting places. 
 Some half-dressed are crouching yonder. 
 Gazing blank in vacant wonder ; 
 With impotent desperation, 
 Looking on their desolation. 
 Leave of life-long treasures taking, 
 While their homeless hearts seem breaking 
 Some are fainting, others crying, 
 Some in panic madly flying ; 
 These, in dull despair are sinking, 
 Those in abject terror shrinking; 
 o 
 
22 FIRE, FIRE. 
 
 How tlie gloating light enfolds tliem, 
 As with potent spell it holds them ; 
 Half with awful admiration, 
 Half with stony desperation. 
 In they rush, the rooms to rifle, 
 Bearing off* a worthless trifle ; 
 Under blind fear-born delusion, 
 Then return in w^ild confusion, 
 For some dear, forgotten token. 
 Half is burned and half is broken. 
 Fire ! Fire ! hear it crashing, 
 Higher, higher, see it flashing ; 
 List ! the clanging bells are tolling, 
 How 'tis sinking, how 'tis swelling, 
 And alarums wildly pealing. 
 As for still more help appealing. 
 See the mighty engines spouting, 
 Hear the frantic masses shouting, 
 Each to bolder eff'orts urging. 
 But the fire waves still are surging. 
 Far beyond the strength of mortals, 
 Storming heaven's very portals. 
 Clouds reflect the red, red gleaming, 
 Rugged flames on high are streaming. 
 Now the whole dread scene revealing, 
 Now the darkness half concealing ; 
 
FIRE, FIRE. 
 
 How it flickers, brightly liar ing, 
 As a demon's eye balls glaring ; 
 Roused by some foul incantation, 
 Mad with fiendish exultation ; 
 Thrusting out great tongues of fire, 
 Hissing, climbing, higher, higher ; 
 Nearer seem the flames approaching, 
 On fresh fuel now encroaching ; 
 See with stealthy steps 'tis creeping, 
 Or with bold defiance leaping. 
 All that lies before it sweeping, 
 Ruin on destruction heaping. 
 Every moment seems an hour, 
 As before its might they cower ; 
 Scarcely breathing, scarcely thinking, 
 While each heart seems coldly shrinking. 
 Now it puts forth all its powders. 
 Throwing sparks in meteor showers. 
 Hear the heavy timbers cracking. 
 As it rolls on, never slacking. 
 Look, the whole mass seems to quiver, 
 And with one long groan to shiver ; 
 Like a mortal creature reeling. 
 When the last death stroke is dealing. 
 Now the scorching air grows hotter. 
 See the blazing structure totter ; 
 
24 THAT BLESSED SEWING MACHINE. 
 
 Then a cry of stand from under, 
 
 Then a crash like deafning thunder ; 
 
 Palls of smoke, and sparks ascending, 
 
 Seem with stars and cloud-wreck blending. 
 
 Darkness over all is falling, 
 
 Silence every tongue enthralling ; 
 
 Then a movement in the masses. 
 
 And the spell of horror passes. 
 
 One deep sigh and they recover, 
 
 Gome away, for all is over. 
 
 J y' J J 
 
 "So you've bought a machine ! I'm so glad," says a friend : 
 
 "Now, for help with my work, upon you, I'll depend, 
 
 It will get through the sewing, I'll warrant my dear, 
 
 In less than a week, that once took you a year. 
 
 Here, I brought some things to run through, for I know. 
 
 That with those blessed comforts, its nothing to sew. 
 
 I left all for you to arrange and to baste. 
 
 It's a trifle to do. Good bye. Pray make haste !" 
 
THAT BLESSED SEWING MACHINE. 25 
 
 A "trifle," and "nothing," I wish that was true, 
 For she will blame if I can't, never thank if I do ; — • 
 Showing plainly by looks, if she don't say it quite. 
 That she's not even pleased, and there's none of it right • 
 People think my machine an automaton, or 
 That I'm one myself, else they'd spare me, I'm sure : — 
 Just winding it up will not make the thing go, 
 And an imp — not an angel^ — oft guides it, I know. 
 Then I'm nervous to-day, so I'm sure it won't run, 
 And I've got something else that I want to get done. 
 Ah, well, let me set it in order, and see 
 If it won't, for this once, have some pity on me ! 
 Snap ! snap ! oh, the tension's too tight, I suppose. 
 Crash ! crash ! It's too loose, by the loops that it throws. 
 And this cloth is so stiff that the thread cuts and wears, — 
 But then, when its flimsy, it pulls through and tears. 
 This needle is bent, so the seam wont run straight. 
 And I've turned up the point of that one on the plate. 
 This must be too large — but that's surely' too small — • 
 What can be the matter ? It wont work at all ! 
 rhe shuttle is empty, perhaps. No, its not ! 
 The thread may be caught, or else come to a knot. 
 That wiry glace 's the very worst kind, — 
 Tis half off the spool, around everything twined. 
 That's fixed. Now, what breaks it ? I cannot conceive ! 
 rhe loop click is right, the hook's smooth, I believe. 
 3* 
 
26 THAT BLESSED SEWING MACHINE. 
 
 But no one could sew with such horrible thread : 
 
 And as to this clatter, 'tis splitting my head ! 
 
 'Tis shrieking for oil, — I must take off the plate, — 
 
 Does working work everyone up to this state ? J 
 
 But where is the screw-driver ? Not vanished, I pray, • 
 
 With the gauge and the wrench ! Something goes every day 
 
 This stitch is too short, for tis cutting the stuff; 
 
 Too long now, — tis never, alas, just enough ! 
 
 I feel all the stitches it makes — in my back, — 
 
 And it aches, 'till I'm sure when I straighten 'twill crack 
 
 This seam is all drawn, — that stretches, — Oh me ! 
 
 If this is a blessing what can a curse be ? 
 
 The band is too loose, for 'tis slipping around, 
 
 Must, every two inches, — new troubles be found ? 
 
 I'm bothered to death with this troublesome work ! 
 
 There, I've broken the needle, by giving that jerk ! 
 
 But I'm sure it is more than Job's temper could stand, 
 
 And I'd got through much more, if I'd done it by hand. 
 
 The basting, adjusting, and fixing, consume. 
 
 What time is not wasted in fretting, and fume. 
 
 To say that I hale this machine, is too mild ; 
 
 What's thcvt ? I must stop for its driving me v/ild. 
 
c c c 
 
 loitsti, |0«Blt, |0tt3l|! 
 
 Cough, till your haggard eyes start in your head. 
 Cough, till you wearily wish you were dead. 
 Cough, till your chest feels all wounded and torn. 
 Cough, till your figure is wasted and worn. 
 Cough, till you think you must surely go wild. 
 Cough, till you've scarcely the strength of a child. 
 Cough, till your cheek becomes hollow and sere. 
 Cough, till the hot lurid hectic is there. 
 Cough, till you gasp for each laboring breath. 
 Cough, till all damp with the cold dews of death . 
 Cough, till bewildered and wild with despair, 
 Cough, till rejoiced the end is so near. 
 
In honest gaze of hazel eyes, 
 
 In tender depths of blue, 
 In eagle glancing gray, and those 
 
 Of evil sable hue ; 
 In each I've felt a charm, but thine, 
 
 Though seeming none of these, 
 Are far more beautiful than all, 
 
 More potent still to please ; 
 The spreading pupil 'neath the lid. 
 
 Glows like some deep set gem. 
 Where oriental splendors slept. 
 
 Until my life woke them. 
 Now hazing with a tender mist. 
 
 Now all ablaze Avith light, 
 Now gazing solemnly on high. 
 
 Or flecked with sparkles bright ; 
 The soul, the heart, the mind by turns, 
 
 Speak in those wondrous eyes ; 
 I care not for thine other charms, 
 
 'Tis these alone I prize. 
 
STRONG MINDED WOMEN 29 
 
 Lift then thy veiling lashes long, 
 
 So let me read thy soul, 
 And what thy spirit says to mine, 
 
 Oh ! seek not to control. 
 
 ^-^j2../s\^^Gr,^^5ro^£^--v 
 
 , January, 1867. 
 
 You ask me to write you some verses, my friend, 
 I'll try, in the hope that the muses will send 
 Some slight inspiration, to help me along. 
 For in writing to order, I never was strong. 
 I do wish to please you, (not tease,) tho' I fear, 
 'Twill be hard to make you believe that I care ; 
 As these verses can only as negative pass. 
 They'll disjirove me a "positive woman" — a class 
 That I most do abhor. There's nothing to me 
 So weak as the "strong minded women" we see. 
 A masculine woman, deny it who can — 
 Is the next meanest thing to effeminate man. 
 
30 STKONG MINDED WOMEN. 
 
 Our strength 's in our weakness ; doubt not, if we try- 
 However abortive the effort, — to vie 
 With the "lords of creation," they'll soon put us down 
 Below where we are, with well merited frown ; 
 Now I'd never surrender one privilege, for 
 The "rights" that I hav'nt, can't use, aye and more, 
 Don't wish to be given ! 'Tis granted us now, 
 On the plea of our weakness, (a good one I trow,) 
 To sit by the fire, on cold winter days. 
 While the brunt of hard work— just custom — still lays 
 On the hardier sex, who doubts if we get 
 The "rights" on which some foolish women are set. 
 That shadov/ of substance they blindly destroy, 
 And nature forbids we should ever enjoy. 
 We'll have to go out in the rough world, and brave 
 What we are not meant, made, or fit for ; I crave 
 To know who is ready to do this, — and own. 
 In life, I'm not willing "to go it alone." 
 Now putting aside all this ismaiic trash, 
 I cannot see why the two sexes should clash. 
 They have what we want, we have what they need, 
 AA^e should love to follow, as they love to lead. 
 If females desire to manage, vre see 
 The subversion of all that God destined should be. 
 The most perfect of women are those who with grace. 
 And dignity, too, still keep in their place. 
 
STEONG MINDED WOMEN. 31 
 
 Let each of us try to be best of our kind, 
 
 Not aping the others, for that we must find 
 
 Is taking the shortest and very best w^ay 
 
 To bring degradation, unhappiness, aye, 
 
 The loss, too, of all that true woman should prize : 
 
 Thus giving mankind a good right to despise 
 
 Our womanhood, which, unperverted and pure, 
 
 With those sweet Christian graces God gave to ensure — 
 
 If we use them aright — their love and respect, 
 
 And make it their pleasure to guide and j^rotect 
 
 With their minds and their arms, both stronger by far. 
 
 Oh, hard-minded sisters, leave things as they are. 
 
 Nor kick down the pedestal under our feet, 
 
 [nvolving us all in your own just defeat. 
 
 [f they force on me "rights," against which I protest, 
 
 ['11 make this one use of the powers they vest, 
 
 ^nd move, if men can change natures with us, 
 
 'Now do you believe we can mend matters thus ?) 
 
 That they use their prerogative, strength, to withstand 
 
 The evil their weakness has brought on the land. 
 
 Chus put in their place those that think it is fine 
 
 Co change all laws human as well as divine. 
 
 Chey will gain far more love and respect by this course, 
 
 'n spite of the outcry 'twill cause to enforce. 
 
 \.fter this, if they press me to vote, (which I doubt,) 
 
 .'11 solemnlv rise, and I'll vote myself out 
 
32 VAIN TRUST. 
 
 Of a sphere in which they, by permitting this fact, 
 Have proved that themselves are unfitted to act. 
 Shall the weaker brave dangers that conquer the strong? 
 Will not the swift current that sweeps them along, 
 Overwhelm our efi'orts to stem it, and cast 
 Us wrecks on life's shore, as warnings at last. 
 Oh let us still tread where our mothers have trod, 
 Leaving things as ordained by our nature and God. 
 
 '^J^y^^\5g/2/^^^^^ 
 
 * . f 
 
 liidi. 
 
 We wandered on the shore, mine own, and I, 
 
 And as she watched the wave, 
 I saw the glad light fading from her eye, — 
 
 She shuddered, and looked grave. 
 
 I drew her to my side, and fondly askel, 
 "Why art thou so sad I pray ?" 
 
 Nay, darling, smile on me again, and chase 
 That gloomy shade away. 
 
VAIN TRUST. " 33 
 
 Look at the sea ; her placid breast doth heave 
 
 With gentle swell, as though 
 She loved the glowing clouds that mirror them, 
 
 And murmur soft and low. 
 
 "Yes, but I feel a boding gloom," she said, 
 
 "As on the sea I gaze. 
 And when as now she &eem& at rest, more dark 
 
 The sombre shadow weighs. 
 
 "I think but of her treachery to those 
 
 Who, trusting to her wiles, 
 Have fallen victims to them, this is why 
 
 I hate her when she smiles. 
 
 "But when she rises in her wrath sublime, 
 
 I gaze upon her might 
 With solemn awe and terror, still I own 
 
 It is a glorious sight." 
 
 I fondly boasted ; "Bat thou shouldst not fear, 
 
 When I, my love, am by ; 
 Thou knowest all dangers I could brave for thee. 
 
 And with God's help, defy." 
 4 
 
34 VAIN TRUST. 
 
 "Nay, chide me not, I'll dread the sea no more, 
 
 But place my trust in thee," 
 Then leaning on my arm, she smiled, and fixed 
 
 Her loving eyes on me. 
 
 And thus we strayed, forgetting all beside, 
 
 Along the rock bound shore ; 
 Nor heeded we the gathering clouds, nor yet 
 
 The winds deep sullen roar. 
 
 Nor marked we how the beach we trod now grew 
 
 More narrow as we went, 
 And that between the over hanging cliffs. 
 
 And ocean, we were pent. 
 
 Until a jutting rock, that barred the way, 
 
 Awoke us, and aghast. 
 We saw the tide had ridden o'er the beach 
 
 That we had blindly passed. 
 
 And soon the fast encircling waves would sweep 
 
 The narrow strip of sand 
 On which we stood, our fearful fate seemed sure, 
 
 Hemmed in on everv hand. 
 
VAIN TRUST. 35 
 
 The storm broke forth in fury wild, and loud 
 
 The deaf 'ning thunder crashed, 
 The lightning blinded us, and by the blast 
 
 The mountain surf was lashed. 
 
 *'0h save me !" cried the panic stricken girl, 
 
 Not long I stood at bay ; 
 But all in vain. I strove to scale the cliff 
 
 'Gainst which now beat the spray. 
 
 And thus I lost much precious time, alas ! 
 
 While higher dashed each wave, 
 Storm driven, and the elements more wild, 
 
 Each moment seemed to rave. 
 
 Then earnestly I prayed to God, and spoke 
 
 Some words to cheer the maid, 
 How he might save us yet ; but clinging close, 
 
 "I trust in thee," she said. 
 
 At last, I saw one hope, alone, was left. 
 
 Though small it seemed to be. 
 So with my precious burden in my arms 
 
 I sprang into the sea. 
 
36 POET SKIES. 
 
 For could we pass that jutting crag, I knew 
 
 We would be saved, and though 
 The trial seemed but madness, still I hoped 
 
 God would the strength bestow. 
 
 I struggled with the storm, and turned at length 
 
 The fearful point of rock, 
 "Thy strength hath saved me," louder yelled the blast, 
 
 As though her words to mock. 
 
 Almost exhausted now, I scarce could breast 
 
 The fury of the deep, 
 Dashed by the mighty waves, against the cliff, 
 
 "Which beetled, jagg'd and steep. 
 
 Stunned by the fearful shocks, at last, I sank, 
 
 And then I knew no more, 
 'Till with returning consciousness, I found 
 
 Myself stretched on the shore. 
 
 There, locked in death, lay by my side, the one 
 
 I would have died to save, 
 And still her clasped hands, stretched toward me, seemed 
 
 3Iy help, not God's, to crave. 
 
4 
 
 d 
 
 'Tis Fall ! 'Tis Fall ! with its bracing days, 
 When nature seems singing deep hymns of praise, 
 
 And life is joy, 
 
 Without alloy. 
 You shiver in doors, 'tis warm in the sun, 
 Come, warm your blood with a merry run. 
 
 Oh let's away, 
 
 'Tis a shame to stay 
 Cooped up in the house, on such days as these. 
 Come feast your eyes, on the tints of the trees. 
 
 With joyous sound. 
 
 The frosty ground 
 Doth crisply snap ; or, with noisy tread 
 We rouse the leaves in their wintry bed. 
 
 All things are bright 
 
 With mellow light. 
 Drink in long draughts of the morning air, 
 'Twill raise your spirits, and drive away care. 
 
 Yes laugh, and sing ; 
 
 And think of Spring ! 
 4* 
 
TIS FALL. 
 
 Forget dark winter's desolate space, 
 Now here is a pool, look in at your face, 
 
 Not pinched and blue, 
 
 With winter's hue, 
 But glowing with genial red and white. 
 Throw off restraint, that's right! that's right ! 
 
 Now brightly glance 
 
 Your eyes, and dance. 
 You pant ! well, here's a sheltered nook, 
 And there, by the side of yon romping brook, 
 
 That log will do, 
 
 To seat us two. 
 What a beautiful scene this is, and see 
 This moss that covers this fallen tree. 
 
 And there on high. 
 
 That painter's sky, 
 Is a treat in itself. Those leaf tints seem, 
 The gorgeous work of an artist's dream. 
 
 I knew you'd say, 
 
 When got away 
 From the dismal house, that you thank me, noWj 
 I read my thanks in your radiant brow. 
 
Diana, goddess chaste, 
 
 Thou most art to my taste 
 
 Of all the heathen dreams. 
 
 To me, it always seems, 
 
 Thy spirit still doth haunt 
 
 The woods, where thou wert wont 
 
 To chase the timid deer. 
 
 I often think I hear 
 
 Thee bounding, light, away, 
 
 When wrapped in dreams, I stray 
 
 Deep in the forest glade, 
 
 A moonbeam in the shade. 
 
 Oft seems thy form, at rest, 
 
 In snowy tunic dressed, 
 
 Its noble beauty chains 
 
 My soul, until it wanes 
 
 Beneath my spell bound gaze, 
 
 Into the silver rays, 
 
 Which thine own orb serene 
 
 Doth shed upon the scene. — 
 
40 AUTUMN BIRD SONG. 
 
 Diana chaseresse, 
 
 In forest wilderness, 
 
 I feel thy presence still, 
 
 My heart it seems to fill 
 
 With all that's pure and high, 
 
 Watch over me, for I 
 
 Almost do worship thee, — embodied chastity. 
 
 ^v<!^/9^\0g/g^5VS^ 
 
 JuiiiM 
 
 Once more, my ling'ring feet 
 
 Crush the falling leaves, 
 Once more, my loving hand. 
 
 Fall's bright garland weaves, 
 Wains laden high, I meet. 
 
 Bringing in last sheaves. 
 While nature's feathered band meets 
 
 Before it leaves. 
 
 Meets, summer lays to sing, 
 
 Ah ! let them be gay. 
 Pour forth but joyous notes, 
 
 This last summer day, 
 
AUTUMN BIRD SONG. 41 
 
 Showers of song ye fling 
 
 Like a fountain's spray, 
 While your rich carols float, 
 
 Up and far away ! 
 
 Out of your soul's excess, 
 
 Sing ye high and well, 
 Wreathing niy list'ning heart, 
 
 With your strongest spell, 
 Oh ! help me to repress 
 
 Heavy sighs that swell. 
 Spirits of song, i/ve part, 
 
 Sing your best farewell. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Hope comes with budding days, 
 
 Sweet, ecstatic, bright, 
 Joy in the summer's prime. 
 
 Full of rich delight. 
 Rest, with the autumn haze, 
 
 In the mellow light. 
 But, with dark winter time. 
 
 Blessings take their flight! 
 
%K\m %wm. 
 
 E'en as a flower fadeth, so she passed away, 
 "With more of heaven, less of earth, 
 
 About her, day by day ; 
 As sun rays into moon beams softly blend. 
 And substance is in shadow lost, 
 
 Unto her life's calm end. 
 Her soul-lit beauty unimpaired, remained, 
 Although the flush and healthful glow 
 
 Of life had long since waned, 
 Into that pure, but all too lovely hue. 
 That looks decay. Her gentle eye, 
 
 Ethereal, and blue, 
 Grew more serene, ere yet her soul was riven. 
 From its slight hold on earth, it seemed 
 
 More fitted, far, for heaven. 
 
^ 
 
 smm 
 
 .# 
 
 %w'\ 
 
 Aet thou alone, gay one, 
 Bathed in the Autumn sun ? 
 Bright days are nearly done ; 
 Winter soon here ! 
 
 Merry thy blue eyes shine, 
 Glad is that face of thine, 
 Full joy in every line ; 
 Sorrow is near ! 
 
 Pale, those rich blossoms by 
 The gorgeous sunset sky, 
 Darkness, and storms are nigh ; 
 Cold grows the air ! 
 
 Hark ! I have that to tell, 
 Shall, like hope's fun'ral knell. 
 Chill thee with icy spell ; 
 Listen to me ! 
 
44 THE CYPRESS GLEN. 
 
 Look in my haggard face, 
 Where time hath left its trace, 
 One of Egyptian race 
 In me behold ! 
 
 Wronged, driven to and fro ; 
 Hated for what we know ; 
 Sweet, sweet, revenge doth grow, 
 Toward thy kind ! 
 
 Doth wait thy lover, say ? 
 Still thou must come away, 
 Nay, but thou shalt obey ; 
 Shalt go with me ! 
 
 Throw down those flowers, so, 
 Shall all thy brightness go ? 
 Yield place to brooding woe ! 
 Haste, for 'tis late ! 
 
 Come, 'neath the gloomy shade, 
 By the dark cypress made. 
 There in the haunted glade 
 Listen to me ! 
 
THE CYPRESS GLEN. 45' 
 
 Sit on the dead leaves, there, 
 By that rock, cold and bare ; 
 Breathe in the heavy air ; 
 Damp as a vault ! 
 
 Look, yonder coils a snake, 
 That our steps awake, 
 Ha ! doth it make thee quake ? 
 Men are as false ! 
 
 Slowly yon vulture wheels, 
 Gorged from his loathsome meals ; 
 Hear how the thunder peals ; 
 Fast drawing near ! 
 
 Wild shrieks the blast, aloud. 
 From yonder heavy cloud. 
 See how the trees are bowed ; 
 Coward, dost fear? 
 
 Deep doth that black stream run, 
 Hid from the holy sun. 
 Here was a dark deed done ; 
 
 Jjisten to me ! 
 5 
 
46 THE CYPRESS GLEN. 
 
 Thou wert a mere child, when, 
 Burning with hate, two men, 
 Met here, within this glen, 
 Met here, alone. 
 
 One was of noble mould, 
 Rash, unsuspicious, bold ; — 
 False was this foe, and cold. 
 Though fair to see. 
 
 Both loved one woman, who 
 Loved best, the brave, and true ; 
 Jealous his rival grew ; 
 Bent on revencre. 
 
 By hints, with malice fraught, 
 He, of her lover, sought 
 To poison every thought ; 
 Why did she hear ? 
 
 Darkly suspicion fell, 
 Doing its work too well, — 
 Bidding her choice farewell ; 
 She told him all. 
 
THE CYPRESS GLEN. 47 
 
 He tried, first, to explain, 
 She heard him with disdain, 
 Finding this hope was vain ; 
 He sought his foe. 
 
 Half wild, he wrote "each lie, 
 That thou hast told, deny, 
 Or thou, or I, must die. 
 I challenge thee !" 
 
 "I take thy challenge, then, 
 Come to the Cypress Glen, 
 With sv/ords, alone at ten ; 
 I w^ill be there ! 
 
 Both came, one went away, 
 Near here, he dared not stay, 
 Whispers of foul play ; 
 
 Threatened his life. 
 
 Who were these men ? Now hear ! 
 Why dost thou shrink with fear ? 
 Hast guessed why thou shouldst care ! 
 Listen to me ! 
 
48 " THE CYPRESS GLEN. 
 
 Near struck that lightning flash, 
 Wild was that thunder crash, 
 Hear hov/ the rain doth plash ; 
 Blown by the blast. 
 
 Art pale, and stunned with fright 
 Dost dread this fearful night ? 
 Or dost thou feel the blight 
 Deep in thy soul ^ 
 
 Child, hast thou never thought, 
 Strange that thy lover sought 
 Secrecy ? Say doth naught 
 Tell thee 'tis wrong ? 
 
 Canst meet his glistening eye, 
 When urging thee to fly ? 
 Dost not, when he is nigh. 
 Feel he is false ? 
 
 He loves thee, pretty thing, 
 But more, the gold thou'lt bring, 
 Lone orphan heart, didst cling 
 To such a man ? 
 
THE CYPRESS GLEN. 49 
 
 Girl, in thy suitor know ? 
 Thine only brother's foe ; 
 His hand 'twas dealt the blow, 
 Left thee alone ! 
 
 Here was his victim found. 
 Killed by a trait'rous wound ; 
 Thou thoughtst he was drown'd ; 
 They told thee so ! 
 
 All sought to shield thy youth, 
 
 From this too dreadful truth ; 
 
 Best had they told thee, sooth 
 
 Better for thee ! 
 
 Not oft /pity, where 
 My words have brought despair, 
 Still, though why should /care ? 
 I pity thee. 
 
Art longing, ever longing, 
 
 For some happiness unknown, 
 Or mourning, ever mourning 
 
 For the gracious moments flown. 
 Loving smiles that never more 
 Shall unlock thy heart's closed door, 
 Precious hands, once clasped in thine, 
 In thy life's sweet blossom time. 
 These dost long, and mourn for ever, 
 Vain ! on earth shalt find them never. 
 
 Is it dreary, very dreary. 
 Where thy lot is cast below ? 
 
 Art thou weary, very weary. 
 Of the journey thou must go? 
 
 Is it dark, where thou dost tread ? 
 
 Pray that heaven's light be shed. 
 
 Happiness has left thee here, — 
 
 Look above, behold it there ! 
 
 All these trials thou didst need, 
 
 I"^nto God; thy soul to lead ! 
 
LOOK UPWAKD. 51 
 
 Content thee ! ah content thee I 
 With thy greater blessings past, 
 
 Repent thee ! yea, repent thee, 
 For despising those thou hast, 
 
 Canst not hope that joys will bloom 
 
 From the cradle to the tomb. 
 
 Thy day's curfew bell has tolled, 
 
 Nerve thee for the night wind cold. 
 
 Some are born in winter time ; — 
 
 Others come in summer's prime. 
 
 Push onward ! ever onward ! 
 
 Keep the straight and narrow way, 
 Look upward ! ever upward ! 
 
 Trust in God, and watch and pray. 
 Seeds of death in every breast. 
 Growing till the shadows rest 
 O'er the grave, so cold, and dark, 
 Whence doth spring the immortal spark. 
 Wait with patience, soon 'tis done, 
 Happy if the crown be won I 
 
dctefofl^"!^ 
 
 «"o 
 
 The Cooter Logs, the chosen place, 
 
 Where village loafers meet, 
 To sun themselves on tilted chairs, 
 
 With high exalted feet. 
 
 Sure dials, they — to keep the sun 
 
 Upon each lazy back, 
 They slowly edge themselves around, 
 
 Stagnation's moss grown pack ! 
 
 They "news" retail, and gossip more 
 
 Than women ever do ; 
 And scan them, as they pass along, 
 
 From bonnet down to shoe. 
 
 They w^hittle, chew, discuss, and smoke. 
 Who know as much as they ? 
 
 And, ever and anon, adjourn. 
 To soak their seasoned clay. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE COOTERS OF P •. 53 
 
 And on some worthless game, they waste 
 
 The little that they make ; 
 And still upon the slightest cause, 
 
 The third commandment break. 
 
 They grumble over stocks and times, — 
 
 The weather and the crops. 
 'Tis strange, from such a ceaseless mill, 
 
 So little wisdom drops. 
 
 Old Rip Van Winkle here had found 
 
 Small change in thirty years. 
 The scions play at Cooter style, 
 
 Upon their sires' chairs. 
 
 A worthy occupation, this, 
 
 Creation's lords for you ! 
 Pray would it suit your dignity 
 
 To do the knitting too ? 
 
ur 
 
 UBitital 
 
 ''In Meinoriam,'" June — , 1867. 
 
 I'm thinking of a scene, 
 Sunk deep in forest green. 
 A spot of beauty rare, — 
 A scene, Elysian fair ! 
 Recall it now to thee. 
 Back from the past, with me. 
 
 'Twas in the early June, 
 AVe held, beneath the moon, 
 That reign'd in fullest state, 
 A lovely, rural /<?^e. 
 There ev'ry scene was charm'd, 
 And coldest fancy warm'd. 
 
 See 'neath the mottled beam. 
 The tents like snow drifts gleam 
 All deck'd with garlands f;iir, 
 With sweetest blossoms rare, 
 And maidens robed in white. 
 Glide from the shade, to light. 
 
OUR FESTIVAL. 
 
 Where shadows lie most dark, 
 The lantern's little spark 
 Shows like a fire-fly 
 Beneath the moon-lit sky ! 
 And soft winds come and go, 
 And whisf)er, as they blow. 
 
 While music sinks and swells, 
 Is lost among the dells, 
 Or echoed from the hills, 
 Where ceaseless whip-poor-wills. 
 Lead from the lonely height 
 The chorus of the night. 
 
 We linger, talking low ;— 
 Slow wand'ring to and fro. 
 How fast each hour's past, 
 How quickly comes the last ! 
 Our very souls are stirred, 
 The heart speaks in each word. 
 
 But pause, and look around ! 
 There lies the holy ground, 
 Where peacefully, at rest. 
 The moon light on each breast, 
 Now slee-p the loved and lost, 
 The weary tempest toss'd. 
 
56 OUR FESTIVAL. 
 
 Our gray old church just seen 
 Through sombre oaken screen, 
 A solemn watch doth keep, 
 O'er their^ eternal sleep. 
 In life they sought her care, 
 In death she still is near. 
 
 Dear church, would we could think 
 Each pleasure, thus a link 
 To bind our souls to thee ! 
 Oh while we live, may we 
 Rest 'neath thy guard, as those 
 Who round thee now repose! 
 
 Perchance, in years to come, 
 When wand'rers far from home, 
 Our sweetest thoughts may be 
 Of days, dear friend, when we 
 With voice and heart-felt prayer 
 Together worship'd there. 
 
|oui^ ill n 
 
 A TRUCE to such nonsense as "love in a cot," 
 
 To be shaken by chills in some damp little spot, 
 
 In a "vale," by the side of a "babbling brook !" 
 
 I cannot bear babble, and as for a "nook," 
 
 WJien I look from the window, I want to see more 
 
 Than the little grass plat, just in front of the door. 
 
 And I don't want to play at two "jacks in a box," 
 
 Against whose low lid, one's poor head always knocks. 
 
 Such places are sure to belittle the mind, 
 
 With their "clustering" vines that perpetually wind, 
 
 Round "arbors," and "casements," and porches, and that, 
 
 I hate all such spider decoys, and that's flat ! 
 
 They rot out the shingles, and shut out the light. 
 
 Then house, trees, and fences must all be washed white. 
 
 To suit the neat rustic (hem!) style of the place. 
 
 Your neighbors, a few of the clod-hopper race. 
 
 Who "drap in" to talk of the "crap" with your spouse. 
 
 While their wives tell you which has gone dry of the cows. 
 
 How "Mandy was fretted all night by the fleas," 
 
 And lard all their news with "says I's," and "says he's." 
 
58 
 
 LOVE IN A COT, 
 
 Of course in a "cottage," one "help" is enough, 
 You do half the work, though hands red and rough, 
 Are not as romantic as one might suppose, 
 And tending the garden, will freckle the nose. 
 The pig-sty and cow-shed, are just in the yard, 
 And poultry and dogs will not be debarr'd 
 The run of the house, which 'tis useless to try 
 Keeping tidy, and soon you give up with a sigh. 
 White dresses, and furbelows, ruffles and crimp, 
 Soon under this regime, get dirty and limp. 
 
 And then come a parcel of bare-footed brats 
 
 With clothes to be darn'd, that seem gnaw'd by the rats. 
 
 And a colicky baby, in yellow— not white — 
 
 That sharpens your temper by squalling all night. 
 
 Your husband is not just as spruce, as of old. 
 
 But looks rough, and coarse, if the truth must be told. 
 
 Nor are you unchang'd, as you own with a sigh 
 
 When the likeness of 7/011, as you were, meets your eye. 
 
 While now grossly fat, or scraggy and lean, 
 
 You've lost all your pride,— scarcely care to keep clean, 
 
 Have sunk to the drudge of a house-keeper, or 
 
 The "mother of Mr. Blank's children,"— no more. 
 
 How you stare with surprise at that yellow old sheet 
 
 Of clap trap love verses, you once thought "so sweet," 
 
LOVE IN A COT. 59 
 
 And say to yourself, "I declare I can't see 
 
 How he ever wrote such soft nonsense to me.'" 
 
 No, "rural simplicity's" not to my taste ! 
 
 The polish within and without is defaced, 
 
 Too soon, by attrition with those who are rough, 
 
 In manner and mind. 'Tis vain-glorious stuff, 
 
 To say that we cannot be influenced so ; 
 
 No one is above it, I am not, I know. 
 
 It takes constant intercourse with the refined 
 
 And thoughtful, to keep one from slipping behind. 
 
 That it should not be so, is against heaven's laws, 
 
 To keep up the effect, when we give up the cause. 
 
 Disguise your chimera as much as you will, 
 
 'Tis the Euphuist's dream of arcadia, stilL 
 
 And why should we wish to be civilized, pray, 
 
 If we live in this very uncivilized way ? 
 
 Giving up all refinements, books, elegance, taste. 
 
 Working hard with the hands, while the mind goes to waste. 
 
 What use to know how, if one never does read ? 
 
 Such knowledge can only to discontent lead. 
 
 I want to keep up with the age, not fall back 
 
 To the mis-called "good times of old" crime was as black, 
 
 All ignorance darker, true chivalry rare, — 
 
 Human nature the same, at all times, every where 
 
m a 
 
 t rater. 
 
 Lord, hear my prayer to-day, 
 
 And let each month, that makes this new year old, 
 Find me still farther on the way, 
 
 That leads the christian to thy blessed fold. 
 
 Lord, make me thine to-day. 
 
 And give me strength to conquer every fault 
 That, like a lion in the way, 
 
 Shall strive to turn me back, or make me halt. 
 
 Lord, grant to me this dsiy 
 
 A cheerful and contented heart, that I 
 May go rejoicing on my way 
 
 Trust to thy mercy, not from judgments fly. 
 
 Lord, give me strength to-day, 
 
 To make such good resolves, as with thy grace, 
 May help me on the holy way, 
 
 *5^nd from thy servant, turn thou not thy face. 
 
 Lord, make me feel to-day 
 
 Submissive to thy will, and though I crave 
 That happiness attend my way 
 
 Yet send me grief, if needs must be, to save. 
 
THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 61 
 
 Lord, give my heart to-day, 
 
 A stronger faith, more fervent love for thee 
 Teach thou my soul, the perfect way 
 
 And guide my prayevs, that they accepted be. 
 
 Lord, I would ask to-day, 
 
 That thou woulds't bless this year to all, 
 Who faint and sorrow on their way, 
 
 And let thy grace, on them, in showers fall. 
 
 |!!(5 |lt|l!t of tiBK. 
 
 The days and hours pass 
 Like shadows by 
 We sigh, alas ! alas ! 
 Regretfully, and cry 
 "Dead — are they dead? 
 So swiftly sped 
 So silent fled 
 So bright to die." 
 
 But in their stead 
 
 Days still unborn 
 
 W^ill come, and every morn 
 
62 THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
 
 Shall wipe the nights out from the sky. 
 
 Hot days the morning dews will dry. 
 
 Each, dying-dolphin hue will fly, 
 
 Chased by another from on high. 
 
 Still other sun-sets shall pass by 
 Returning whence they came 
 Still changing, still the same — 
 
 And leave no trace 
 
 On nature's placid face, 
 
 Yea, from their wonted place 
 Nights shall efface 
 
 All,— all,— They fall and die, 
 
 But from their ashes where they lie 
 They spring to life again. 
 And so it is with men, 
 On earth they stra}^ 
 A little while, then lay 
 Them down, perhaps, with fear. 
 
 But leave behind them every care. 
 
 For most, 'tis well 
 
 When sounds their knell, 
 
 'Tis well that death is near. 
 
 And graves are yawning every where. 
 
 The portals of the skies. 
 
 Whence they arise. 
 
THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 63 
 
 New born, to join tlie band 
 
 That people that bright land. 
 
 There, time will pass untold, 
 
 Unheeded, for behold 
 
 Eternity shall hold 
 
 All in its circling fold ! 
 
 Not wearied by the strife of life, 
 
 Kemorse, for all the barren course, 
 
 Of days misspent, 
 
 Of weeks, nay years, that went. 
 
 All wasted into night, unused, 
 
 Unnoticed, or abused. 
 
 We know that it is so. 
 
 That endless cycles flow, 
 
 Spent at Jehovah's feet, 
 
 Where, round the mercy seat 
 
 "The saints in glory meet," 
 
 Uniting praises sweet. 
 
 In one continual round 
 
 Of harmony profound. 
 
 While fullest peace at last is found. 
 
 Ay ! ay ! to die, and lie 
 
 At rest forever, with the blest, 
 
 Yea, truly this is best. 
 
Ah Jack ! my solemn old gray cat, 
 Both treacherous and sly, 
 
 Thou art a vicious untamed brute, 
 Why do I like thee, why ? 
 
 Thy step is stealthy, tiger like ; 
 
 Thy watchful, lurid eye, 
 Is deep and clear, but wicked too, 
 
 Why do I like thee, why ? 
 
 Thy soft gray fur shades into white. 
 With stripes of blackest dye, 
 
 But thou'rt a lazy, worthless cat, 
 Why do I like thee, why ? 
 
 Though strong enough to cope with rats, 
 
 Thou art no mouser, fie ! 
 But only huntest harmless birds. 
 
 Why do I like thee, VNdiy ? 
 
MY CAT JACK. 65 
 
 Thy graceful postures, on the rug, 
 
 Where thou art wont to lie, 
 Are matchless, — still, thou Jack-an-apes, 
 
 Why do I like thee, why ? 
 
 Are cleanliness and holiness. 
 
 The same ? ah no ! I sigh ; 
 For who more clean, — less good than thou? 
 
 Why do I like thee, why ? 
 
 Thou handsome monster ! many scars, 
 
 I ween, can testify, 
 That thou hast claws, oh ruthless cat ! 
 
 Why do I like thee, why ? 
 
 Because, what hardest is to gain, 
 
 That we all prize most high ; 
 Though worthless oft, it matters not. 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 
 While shunning every one beside. 
 
 Thou in my lap will lie, 
 And, though thou dost not love mc'much, 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 7 
 
G6 MY CAT JACK. 
 
 AVe all court clanger — See yon moth 
 
 The candle flitting nigh, 
 Though fatal oft, excitement charms, 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 
 Then thou'rt so feared, it suits my pride 
 
 — I must confess it, aye ! — 
 To do what others dare not do, 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 
 What's certain loses half its charm, 
 
 Who's sure of thee ? not I ! 
 Though thou dost scratch, thou canst be kind, 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 
 Because I neither fear nor trust, 
 
 But wary w^atch thine eye, 
 Thou hatest me the least of all, 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 
 Though we have points alike, big cat, 
 
 And "like likes like," say I ; 
 Still we are not too much alike, 
 
 That is the reason why. 
 
% 
 
 fp. 
 
 "Drink deep !" The wild-eyed drunkard's cry, 
 "The time, though not yet come, 
 
 To wake, and think, is drawing nigh ; 
 One more carouse, then home ! 
 
 ''Drink deep ! The night doth close around, 
 
 With phantoms from the past. 
 Drain Lethe's draughts, 'till all are drown'd 
 
 With memory, at last ! 
 
 "Drink deep! The haunted gloom is flown, 
 
 But heart-aches come with day. 
 Another glass, — not one alone, — 
 
 To drive the mists away. 
 
 "Drink deep ! High glaring noon is here. 
 
 Too late to labor now. 
 Crush back false hopes, drive off despair, 
 
 Forget each broken vow. 
 
THE IDEAL. 
 
 "Drink deep ! On clouds tlie san lies wrecked, 
 
 Remorse, its gorgon-head 
 Doth raise, with serpent-horrors deck'd ; 
 
 Look not or joy is dead ! 
 
 '•Drink deep ! To darker depths sink still, 
 
 Lest conscience break the spell ; 
 Yea, soul and mind together kill, 
 
 In madness plunge to hell !" 
 
 ^-^y^SQ/^/^-^^ 
 
 r 
 
 T I 
 
 [iknl 
 
 In the ideal world I live, 
 
 The beautiful, 
 Where from the common place, I weave 
 
 The wonderful. 
 If nature seems too dull, and tame, 
 
 Too tedious, 
 I view it but through eyes aflame 
 
 "With genius. 
 
THE IDEAL. 
 
 I move with lialoy round me, still 
 
 Beatified, 
 Wliile all my wishes, at my will, 
 
 Are gratified. 
 Sad shadows o'er the present cast, 
 
 I fain ignore ; 
 But future hopes, and pleasures past, 
 
 My thoughts explore. 
 Should joy be dead, I clasp its shade 
 
 In blind delight, 
 While phantoms dark by me are laid 
 
 In distant night. 
 No clouds obscure me, for I soar 
 
 Above them all, 
 Where heaven's smiles, for ever more, 
 
 Around me fall. 
 I stray there under tropic moon's 
 
 Supernal rays, 
 Or bask in halcyon autumn-noon's 
 
 Eternal days. 
 I clothe this life's most trivial things 
 
 In rich romance. 
 And rise, and float, on solemn wings 
 
 Of blissful trance. 
 I hear in poesy, and song, 
 
 The heart's echo; 
 
 69 
 
70 THE IDEAL. 
 
 On waves of numbers swept along, 
 
 I glide and flow. 
 My every pulse tlirobs with the tide 
 
 Of melody; 
 I sing my thoughts, my prayers are sighed 
 
 In monody. 
 I lose all weary mundane cares, 
 
 In Paradise. 
 On altars my devotion rears 
 
 A sacrifice. 
 I love a dream, — a paragon 
 
 AVith ecstacy. 
 Imagination trampling on 
 
 Perplexity. 
 It paints avlandscape, — moulds a face 
 
 Invisible. 
 And gives to all the highest grace 
 
 Admissible. 
 It revels, peopling every sphere 
 
 Siderial, 
 With glorious visions, wondrous fair, 
 
 Etherial ! 
 It waves the sceptre from the throne, 
 
 And blessings crowd. 
 The souls sweet comforters alone 
 
 Are there allowed ! 
 
FAME. - 71 
 
 I love the airy spirit train, 
 
 Thus summoned round ; 
 Such harmless dreams, are not in vain, 
 
 Where joy is found. 
 
 '-^•^^S-'Sli' 
 
 fRmt. 
 
 All, what is earthly fame ? 
 Reply each shining name, 
 That with undying flame, 
 Through ages still the same, 
 Burns on the lips, whose aim. 
 Is pure or heaped with blame ; 
 I ask all, what is fame? 
 
 Fame is the trumpet's blast, 
 That calls men from the past 
 To make them names, shall cast 
 A light upon the vast. 
 To come. — Names shall stand fast. 
 While time's long records last. 
 
72 FAME. 
 
 Fame is the comet's gleam, 
 A mirage, a wild dream, 
 The glitter on a stream, 
 A shadow that w^ill seem 
 The substance still, a beam 
 Where false motes often teem. 
 
 Fame's glamour leads astray, 
 Like phantom lights that play 
 O'er shallow graves ; 'twill sway 
 Though but to last a day. 
 Strong wine soon fled away 
 From parching lips that pray 
 In vain, "deceiver stay." 
 
 Look on the great who die. 
 Those hands that folded lie. 
 Can they grasp fame, tho' nigh ? 
 But glory stored on high, 
 Forever in the sky, 
 Will death himself defy ! 
 On this alone rely. 
 
 HD 104 
 

 
 
 

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