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MARGUERITE 
 
 BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "ZELICA," "CHILDE CLAUDE," Etc. 
 
 
 "Are those things true?" 
 
 "Who dares to say they are not?" 
 
 -r 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 1870. 
 
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 3^-i- 
 
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 %1° 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The writer of "Marguerite" has endeavored to 
 divest a popular German legend of some hitherto 
 degrading associations, and to infuse into this 
 story a pure morality and steadfast faith. The 
 book is now given to the public, in the confident 
 hope that its imperfections will be forgotten in 
 the excellence of its aim. 
 
 The few poems appended to the principal one 
 have been already published, and were, at the 
 time, well received. They now appear, at the 
 desire of many friends, in a more permanent 
 form. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Philadelphia, 1869. 
 
 (iii) 
 
MARGUERITE, 
 
 BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN German-land, where flows the mighty Rhine, 
 And smnmer suns give nectar to the vine, 
 Where maids are fair, and hearts are true and bold, 
 And man loves maiden, more than lands or gold ; 
 Where Love's sweet words are ever truly spoken, 
 And faith once plighted, never more is broken, — 
 
 Once, in a castle in that land of Rhine, 
 
 There dwelt a Baron's daughter, fair and young, 
 The beauteous scion of a noble line, 
 
 Her grace and truth, the themes of every tongue, 
 For, on her clear, white brow. Truth set her seal, 
 With a benignity, so high, so real. 
 That those who looked upon her saw the grace 
 Of Heaven enshrined upon her sainted face ; 
 Kind words that fell upon the heart, like balm, 
 A slender figure, graceful as the palm, 
 
 (5) 
 
6 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Pure eyes of. light, like stars at summer eve, 
 While yet the Sunset doth its brightness leave, 
 And the high grace of many a titled dame, 
 Of stainless ancestry, to Marguerite came : 
 Safe from the coarser world, she calmly trod 
 The earth, like Eve, descended from her God. 
 Her father's servitors still lived to take 
 Care of their lady, for her own sweet sake; 
 A gray-haired nurse, an aged seneschal 
 
 (Whose lore was legends of her noble race). 
 Ruled the retainers in her lordly hall. 
 
 And kept her state in all its wonted grace. 
 
 On a June day, beneath the close-brow' d trees, 
 A student bared his forehead to the breeze ; 
 Searching for herbs of power, in lonely nook, 
 Weary and warm, he sat beside the brook, 
 That thro' her old ancestral acres played. 
 When, lo ! on palfrey, came the mild-eyed maid. 
 An old attendant rode a space behind. 
 Her palfrey's mane was flowing on the wind. 
 White was her steed, and so, in kindness grown, 
 Had learn'd to make his lady's will his own; 
 The rein lay lightly in her small gloved hand. 
 Yet held sufficiently to give command. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 7 
 
 If turn or change she wished, a touch had made 
 Those ambling feet fly lightly thro' the glade. 
 The dark-eyed student started to his feet ; 
 Electric thrills thro' all his pulses beat : 
 ''Oh Saints!" he cried, "I ne'er had hoped on 
 
 earth 
 To see a being of angelic birth 
 Dwell in our midst. By the blue sky above, 
 I'd pawn my soul for that sweet lady's love." 
 She smiled unconscious, as the stranger, gazing 
 
 (As if transfixed) on her, to him so fair. 
 His long hair tossed in air, his dark eyes blazing. 
 
 As if the summer lightning linger' d there. 
 Her smile aroused him ; and by power resistless 
 
 He seized the little hand, that by her side 
 Now hung in sweet surprise, so weak and listless. 
 
 Nor could she then have passed him, if she tried ; 
 *'0h! Lady, I beseech thee," spoke the youth, 
 
 "If, in one year, I compass wealth, and fame, 
 By thy unstained heart, and maiden truth, 
 
 Remain unwed, till I a noble name. 
 And high estates, may bring to thy command. 
 And come, a humble suitor for thy hand." 
 "Madman, begone!" the liveried servant said, 
 "But for my Lady's face, I'd strike thee dead! 
 
8 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Fly with thy life, while thou unharmed remain. 
 Lo! yonder come the huntsmen, and their train. 
 Should those bold knaves hear of thy words so 
 
 wild, 
 Wert thou a Prince, a Queen would mourn her 
 
 child." 
 The lady turned her rein, the palfrey flew 
 O'er the green turf, yet sparkling with the dew. 
 Young Eduard stirred not. Well for him the 
 
 chase 
 Came not upon him, in that lonely place : 
 He open'd his clasp'd hands, oh! strange! oh! 
 
 sweet, 
 A dainty glove lay nestling at his feet — 
 "I take the pledge," he said, '^as omen good," 
 Then sought the shade of deepest forest wood. 
 He had but gone few paces on his way. 
 Ere a bold knight, who seemed as if astray, 
 Followed his footsteps. ''What, young friend," 
 
 said he, 
 ''Where dost thou go, and why so speedily? 
 I would thy company awhile retain, 
 And thy kind guidance thro' this forest gain, 
 For faithless steed hath broken bit and rein. 
 But why so sad? thou seemest cross'd in love. 
 Give me thy tale, while we our path regain." 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 9 
 
 The stranger's words were mild, and kind in 
 
 tone, 
 He seemed to make the student's griefs his own; 
 And while they slowly trod the lengthen 'd way 
 
 The trusting youth had all his story told, — 
 How, lone and orphan'd, from his natal day, 
 
 No loving arms his childhood to enfold ; 
 He had been reared by uncle cold and stern ; 
 
 And now, a student of alchemic lore, 
 He sought, of Nature's secrecies to learn, 
 
 The gifts of plants and minerals, and more, 
 The power of starry influence, the reign 
 
 Of baleful planets, the conjunctions strong 
 Of constellations fortunate, the train 
 
 Of Time's events, that may be changed, by long 
 And patient study of the forces kept 
 In the deep earth, and horoscopic hour. 
 
 There slept 
 Within the soul of Presth, a regal power. 
 Which did he know but how that realm to find, 
 Would make him Monarch of the World of Mind. 
 He sought to wield the rod of Solomon, 
 Whose touch could sway the Earth, and open 
 
 Heaven ; 
 To govern spirit realms, thro' willing slaves, 
 To raise the tempests, and subdue the waves, 
 
lo MARGUERITE, 
 
 To hold o'er Nature absolute control, 
 
 To turn all baser metals into gold, 
 
 And then, to make immortal as the soul, 
 
 The human hands that should this scepter hold. 
 
 Such were his day-dreams, and he told them all 
 
 To the dark stranger, walking by his side ; 
 Then paused in musing silence to recall 
 
 The maiden fair, who did on palfrey ride. 
 Her beauty came with spell upon his thought 
 
 As when in shady grove she met his eye. 
 Again he clasped her hand, again he sought 
 
 To his adjuring words a kind reply ; 
 Then came the daring vow that sprang to Heaven, 
 Like arrow, from his quivering bosom driven. 
 And then again he cried, " Oh! Saints above! 
 I'd pawn my soul for that sweet lady's love!" 
 Scarce was the thought unconsciously express' d 
 
 Ere. his companion grasped in haste his hand. 
 "I take the pawn," he said, ''and thy behest 
 
 From hence obey; this hour at thy command 
 Are Wealth and Honor, all the heart can crave 
 
 Shall wait upon thy footsteps to the grave " 
 
 "The grave!" gasped Eduard. "Stranger, and 
 
 what then? " 
 
 "Then," said the knight, "thou'lt be as other 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 
 
 II 
 
 Thou'rt not immortal, friend, and earthly care 
 Weighs heavy on young hearts. Thou' It never 
 
 know- 
 Aught but luxurious life, and richest fare; 
 One slight condition, and the compact bears. 
 
 Collecting honors with advancing years " 
 
 "Avaunt thee! Evil One!" pale Eduard said, 
 "Thou'dst keep my soul in pawn till I am dead; 
 And dead ! O Christ, take pity on my love. 
 And save my soul, that I may live above." 
 The golden sunset lit the highway then. 
 And Eduard walked alone to Gottingen. 
 
12 MARGUERITE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EDUARD went back to the good old town 
 Where his Ahna Mater resided, when 
 He donn'd again the student's gown, 
 
 In the world-known city of Gottingen. 
 He pored over volumes rare, 
 
 Rich with the Chaldic arts of old. 
 But oft, while he read, came a maiden fair, 
 
 With deep-blue eyes, and soft locks of gold. 
 And hid the lines, as he tried to gaze 
 On the precious vellum, all ablaze 
 With the gold and azure of ancient time. 
 He hoped to win by that lore sublime 
 The power of wealth and earthly fame, 
 And to place at her feet a glorious name 
 Worthy to mate with the noble line 
 Of Marguerite, Baroness Leichenstein. 
 
 One pleasant eve, when the sunset gushed 
 From his narrow window, quaint and high, 
 
 And the softened sky of the summer blushed 
 Like a maiden's cheek 'neath her lover's eye, 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 13 
 
 He heard afar, in the distant street, 
 
 The clamor of voices, many and loud, 
 Then ran at once, as one runs to meet. 
 
 With a curious fear, the advancing crowd — 
 'Twas one of those oft-repeated sights 
 
 That shocked the peace of the goodly city. 
 One of the scandalous, nightly fights 
 
 Of the Gottingen students, more's the pity; 
 For they got a bad name, and they kept bad 
 
 hours. 
 In spite of the Burghers' controlling powers. 
 
 The fight waxed fierce, and the night cast down 
 Her curtains dark on the riotous town ; 
 But the darker it grew, the worse they fought. 
 Till the regular force of the city was brought 
 To scatter the crowd of the rioters, then 
 
 Some pistol-shots 'mid the crowd were fired. 
 And came the cries of the wounded men. 
 
 The lawless students at last retired : 
 But not till some few were caught and iron'd, 
 And close by the prison walls environ' d; 
 I grieve, in sooth, the sad truth to tell. 
 But Eduard was one, in a lonely cell. 
 The long night passed, and came the day 
 And he hoped in prison no more to stay; 
 
14 MARGUERITE, 
 
 But, alas ! a worthy citizen fell 
 
 In that drunken brawl, by the students made. 
 They silent were marched from each guarded 
 cell. 
 
 And all the evidence there was laid 
 Before the magistrates stern and cold; 
 And much was sworn, and much was said. 
 But at last it was sworn, and plainly told. 
 That Eduard was seen, in the crowd, to hold 
 A pistol-barrel against the head 
 Of the murdered man, and then shoot him dead. 
 Alas for Justice ! alas for Truth ! 
 And perjured oaths ! for the innocent youth 
 Had no pistol to fire, nor did he know 
 Who had been killed, or when it was. 
 Most likely, a secret, malicious foe 
 Had in the melee, to evade the laws. 
 Taken this chance to avenge some wrong, 
 Fancied or real. Be that as it may, 
 Eduard was chained from that weary day. 
 But still he, hoping the truth would be 
 
 Discovered in time, in patience tried 
 To bear his anguish unshrinkingly. 
 
 And his sorrowful heart 'neath a calm to hide; 
 But the trial day was approaching near, 
 And his friends were filled with a horrible fear. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 15 
 
 And his advocate told him, one evening late, 
 
 To settle at once his whole affairs, 
 And, being thus free from all earthly cares, 
 
 To prepare his soul for his coming fate, 
 To spend in prayer the hours yet given. 
 And clear his soul for its flight to Heaven. 
 There is one thing plenty on earth, its cost 
 
 Is naught to the giver, and so 'tis given: 
 'Tis a friend's advice; but to him that's tost 
 
 On the tempest surge of the passions, driven 
 To desperate thoughts by a cruel fate. 
 Unmeet, unmerited, 'tis too late. 
 Who'd talk of Reason to him who raves 
 
 With the fever fire within his veins? 
 Presth's blood throbb'd on in its burning waves, 
 
 And with clinched hands, as he shook his chains, 
 As if battling Fate, with strong wrath, he said : — 
 ^'What boots it man to be good and pure? 
 For crime doth prosper, and wrong endure. 
 And when Time has ended, the soul is dead — 
 Or, if not dead, can Hell give worse 
 Than Earth has given, with toil and curse?" — 
 Thus, in his agony fierce, rebelled 
 
 The soul of Presth, and backward flew 
 His thoughts to that day in the sunny June, 
 
 When the morning grass was yet wet with the dew, 
 
1 6 MARGUERITE, 
 
 'Neath the silent woods; to the glowing noon, 
 And Marguerite, there, as her rein she drew. 
 By something sweeter than fear, withheld : 
 When in a sudden and pleased surprise 
 She looked on his face and his eager eyes — 
 And he, oh, sorrow ! he then was free, 
 To do and to dare in the world for her : 
 Now, pinioned and lost, condemned to lie 
 In prison, till led to the block to die, 
 With no pitying one for his minister. 
 A horrible scorn of God and man 
 Rose in his heart, and his wild thoughts ran 
 To the tempter knight, who had offered all 
 That his soul had craved — could he still recall. 
 
 Now in extremity — him He saw — 
 
 In the dusk of his cell — and against the wall. 
 Leaning — the stranger — so dark and tall. 
 With his arms folded across his breast. 
 
 Presth could not speak, for a terrible awe 
 Crushed, like a mountain, his wild unrest. 
 
 "Recover yourself, young friend," he said, 
 "There is plenty of time to help you yet. 
 But if you had waited until you were dead. 
 You'd then have been one of another set. 
 And all my kindness had been in vain. — 
 "But come, let me knock off this cumbersome 
 chain ; 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 17 
 
 You are lighter now, let us take our ease, 
 And discuss this little affair at our leisure." 
 "Thanks, for this freedom," young Eduard said. 
 ''No thanks at all," the knight replied, 
 "I am really happy to give you pleasure. — 
 ''Let us now sit down on the floor, if you please, 
 Or, if it be better, on your bedside : 
 This contract made, you are free as air, 
 So, my young friend, dismiss Despair, 
 He and I never travel together. — 
 You know my terms, one you proffered ; 
 I'd have closed the bargain on that condition, 
 But every time my offers are slighted, 
 I feel as if my honor was plighted 
 To recover the loss on my final mission." 
 "What more?" said Eduard, who, thus far com- 
 mitted. 
 Determined nothing possible to yield 
 That he could yet retain, and if permitted ' 
 In this close contest to retain the field. 
 "Thy name I have not heard, my unknown 
 
 friend." 
 "What's in a name?" the stranger smiling said ; 
 "Yet, lest my reticence should'st thee offend, 
 Call me Asmodeus, but let us end 
 2* 
 
1 8 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Our business quickly ; it is midnight now, 
 
 And on to-morrow where shall be thy head?" 
 
 ^' Ah, true," sighed Eduard. Then Asmodeus said, 
 
 "If to thy pawn of thy offered soul 
 
 Thou givest me also the full control 
 
 Of thy first-born son, at his hour of birth, 
 
 I will give to thee all on this glorious Earth, 
 
 Riches and Honors, Health and Life, 
 
 And beautiful Marguerite to be thy wife." 
 
 "I may have no son," young Eduard thought, 
 
 "And if I have not, then he cannot be bought. 
 
 "But stop, I may name some conditions, I hope." 
 
 "All else that you please, I will give you full 
 
 scope." 
 "Then I bargain forever, Asmodeus, from thee. 
 That my will and my thoughts shall be perfectly 
 
 free 
 From thy will and thy knowledge, and that I 
 
 may know 
 All I shall seek of the mysteries old ; 
 All that I ask, that is thine to bestow, 
 I hold thee to promise. Fame, Power, and Gold — 
 The secrets of nature, the prophecies old ; 
 The spells that bind, and the powers yet hidden, 
 Tho' sealed to mankind, and by Heaven for- 
 bidden." 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. j^ 
 
 *'A11 trifles, my friend," Asmodeus replied: 
 *'With Wealth, Honor, and Happiness, she for 
 
 thy bride, 
 Little time for thy mystic nonsensities then." 
 "Agreed, then,— agreed,— and to these be 
 
 amen." — 
 ''Now sign this small parchment, — see, here is 
 
 the pen — 
 Hence thy fate is thine own, and, thine enemies 
 
 scorning. 
 Thou' It be free as the air in the dawn of the 
 
 morning." 
 
20 MARGUERITE, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Scene— A Street in Gottingen. Two Citizens Meet. 
 
 First Citizen speaks. 
 
 ^^y^^H, friend! did you hear the wonderful 
 
 ^^ — ' news 
 Of the Baron von Alberg, who came last night? 
 They say that the diamonds which clasp his shoes 
 Are worth as much as a province in Spain : 
 A carriage and six, 'twas a beautiful sight, 
 And every horse with gold bit to his rein. 
 I saw them plainly, and all his suite. 
 For the prison was burning all night, you know. 
 And the ruddy flames set them all aglow; 
 Such gilding and grandeur here never was seen, — • 
 I declare, I thought 'twas the Empress Queen, 
 Who had come to gladden us, loyal men. 
 And to honor our city of Gottingen." 
 
 I Second Citizen speaks. 
 "The prison was burnt, and there in a cell 
 The student who murdered old Meyer was kept." 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 21 
 
 First Citizen speaks. 
 
 " Oh ! did you not hear, then, the story they tell. 
 That the man who did murder old Meyer is dead? 
 He yesterday died, and confessed, it is said, 
 'Twas he shot the Burgher, and that, when he 
 
 slept, 
 Meyer came to his bedside at night, and com- 
 plained 
 That an innocent youth in the prison was chained ; 
 And his soul could not rest till the student 
 
 should be 
 Released from his cell, and set free instantly, 
 And the murderer placed in his stead." 
 
 The story, indeed, was all true to the letter; 
 
 Then speeches seditious were heard on the street, 
 "That their rulers were senseless, and they 
 must have better," 
 And calling '*the citizens together to meet." 
 ^'Here, an innocent youth was thus given his 
 death 
 Because their "Stupidities trusted the liar;" 
 They wished "that the wretch had been strangled 
 to death, 
 And then, that his body were cast in the fire 
 
22 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Wherein the young student was burning." 
 
 Another worse riot the consequence was: 
 
 And the students, well pleased at the populace 
 
 turning 
 Around to their side, had the magistrates beaten ; 
 They entered their houses, and pillaged their 
 
 larders, 
 Their wines were all drank, and their victuals all 
 
 eaten, 
 And many rich Burghers fled over the borders. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE Baron Alberg slept late that day 
 In a lofty room at the grand Hotel j 
 A table close to his bedside lay 
 
 Filled with Titles run out and Estates to sell. 
 He clothed himself in the costly dress 
 
 That was laid just ready across a chair ; 
 He looked in the glass, and could you guess 
 
 Of what young Eduard saw in there? 
 A graceful youth, above medium height, 
 
 Eyes, dark and soft, and with waving hair, 
 A snowy forehead, calm and bright, 
 A beautiful hand, as it caught the light. 
 
 And of courtly grace and air. 
 *'Ah, well! Asmodeus has kept his faith 
 
 In all honor, I do declare. 
 But business now, I must speedily be 
 
 Lord of wide halls and demesned land, 
 But, Marguerite, thou art more to me 
 Than world-wide empire o'er land and sea, 
 
 And the right of a sceptered hand." 
 
24 MARGUERITE, 
 
 A lofty castle tower'd o'er noble trees, 
 
 Its turrets catch the morning's earliest sun; 
 Thro' the long wooded aisles, where swept the 
 breeze, 
 
 The graceful deer, in pleasant safety run. 
 Old Baron Alberg's long-lost son and heir 
 
 Has only now returned to claim his own, 
 From distant lands, where long the Gypsies bare. 
 
 His aged sire, thus left in grief alone. 
 Long, weary years of search had made in vain. 
 Now clasps in joy his child restored again. 
 Not long the aged sire survived the shock 
 
 Of sudden joy that shook his tottering frame. 
 So long-sought blessings only seem to mock 
 
 The hopes, when most they glad fruition claim : 
 Scarcely had festal fires, and banquet halls. 
 
 Filled with o'erflowing guests, his joy pro- 
 claimed, 
 Ere the old Baron, 'mid his vassals, falls. 
 
 Stricken in death, and his successor named. 
 So earthly ties dissolve in saddest woe. 
 And teach how frail our tenure here below. 
 Grief has its season, and the eyes must cease 
 
 To weep their sorrow ; so young Eduard felt, 
 And then the soothings of a quiet peace. 
 
 On his subdued and pensive spirit melt : 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 25 
 
 He grieved for him, he now believed his sire 
 
 (For well Asmodeus all his plans arranged), 
 But soon his lonely life began to tire, 
 
 And filled with hope, for thus his life had 
 changed. 
 He sought with eager industry to make 
 The future glorious, for fair Marguerite's sake. 
 Soon architects unite the ancient hall 
 
 With stately palace, in pure beauty rare 
 Of Grecian Art, where Doric pillars tall, 
 
 Fair massive columns, stand in grandeur there. 
 Vastness and beauty strive to clasp in grace 
 Turrets of old, and fair fafades of new, 
 A composite of orders, blended well 
 Of ancient rank, and later wealth to tell. 
 Observatory, built with rocks immense 
 
 Of world-old granite reared its dizzy height ; 
 It seemed as high as Babel to the sense, 
 
 For its fine lessening spire was lost to sight. 
 There Telescopes of power the planets read. 
 
 And astral systems lore sublime disclosed. 
 High in the topmost turret was the bed 
 
 On which the Baron fanciful reposed ; 
 And books, and tomes, of wondrous size, were 
 
 brought 
 To feed the greed of his insatiate Thought. 
 3 
 
26 MARGUERITE, 
 
 All the deep science of the old Chimea 
 
 In that tall tower was in due order placed — 
 Secrets of Earth and Air, of Water, Fire. 
 
 The Wine of Marco (who would care to taste) 
 There blushed in red, or to deep purple grew, 
 
 Or faded to the azure of the skies; 
 Those secrets Egypt's mystic Priesthood knew 
 
 Were here unfolded to young Eduard's eyes. 
 Old Barachebus sent his magic lore. 
 And Cappadocia's king was studied o'er. 
 There Gnatia's incense burnt itself to flame, 
 
 Yet ever unconsumed, like that of old 
 In ancient tower of Archelaus, whence came 
 
 Those tales the wondering Quadrigarius told. 
 Rules for each force explosive, ancient art, 
 
 By Egidio Colonna, known of yore : 
 Compounds the Persia Magi did impart 
 
 In darkest caverns' depths, where the vast lore 
 Of piled-up ages gave the Sages power 
 
 To conquer Nature, and thereby control 
 The Elements. To find the Natal hour. 
 
 Curst or propitious, for each human soul : 
 And mightier gift, Nativities to sway. 
 And change to fortunate, a baleful day. 
 Deep in the rocky earth, beneath, were made 
 
 Wide subterranean galleries, where stood 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 27 
 
 Basaltic pillars, on which floors were laid, 
 
 And movable at will, and moved, then could 
 The secret Laboratory be entered, known 
 To none but Presth, and trod by him alone. 
 In its dark depths the sacred Naphtha threw 
 
 Its light from urns, and there the mystic jar, 
 Later called Leyden, in our time thought new. 
 
 Alembics from Arabia, journeyed far, 
 Metals and Crystals of each shape and hue, 
 Known only to the buried ages, when 
 The Gnomes revealed their knowledge unto men. 
 Strange things in tower were gathered ; whence 
 they came. 
 
 None knew, or cared to know, but in one room, 
 Where upper turret climbed, a hazy flame 
 
 Scarce lit the clouded air of rich perfume. 
 Were books from Persia, Chaldea, Scanderon 
 
 (Some from the sacred ^des' depths reclaimed), 
 With hieroglyphic characters, and one. 
 
 Or many bound in one, the "Black books" 
 named : 
 That well interpreted ('twas writ in Hell 
 And by a Deev expounded and explained), 
 Each rite of Sorcery told, each mighty spell 
 To rule the Demons, and from them extort 
 All knowledge wanted of the "Magic Art." 
 
28 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Here Apollonius' holy spells were taught, 
 
 That wondrous lore of Angels, Spirits bright. 
 Who could by stainless life and prayers be brought 
 
 To aid the Souls on Earth. Thus Spirits pure, 
 Drawn by its potency, came oft to man ; 
 
 And this was called by Sages, ^' Magic White." 
 This was the highest, and doth still endure ; 
 
 And those who conquer all Earth's passions can, 
 And yet do often, here below, control 
 The Powers of Air, obedient to the Soul. 
 
 Here were the works of Porphyry, the Tyrian, 
 "Melech" then named, the Syrian for a king: 
 
 His was the wisdom of the old Assyrian, 
 
 That empire, whence Sennacherib could bring 
 
 His hosts to conquer Israel ; but the breath 
 
 Of Him the mightiest, laid those hosts in death. 
 
 The Veda's books of cabalistic lore. 
 
 Known but to Brahmins of far Hindostan ; 
 Zoroaster's Zendavesta, and before 
 
 The reeking earth had dried, the hoary Ham 
 (Son of the Flood) his knowledge of the power 
 
 To conjure Spirits, left for coming time. 
 The matchless height of Babel's daring tower. 
 
 By aiding Demons, was thus taught to climb. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 29 
 
 Here Scandinavian Odin's brazen Head 
 
 (First made by Solomon), with Reason filled, 
 
 Told all the Secrecies e'er writ or read: 
 The Chemist's Alkahest was here distill' d. 
 
 Here the Arabic Alidade was placed. 
 
 Measuring the sky; Astronomy here told 
 
 The stars' mutations, and their pathways traced ; 
 Here were the books Agrippa left of old, 
 And Pythagorean volumes, bound in gold. 
 
 Mercurius Trismegistus, ancient than 
 
 All we have named before, formulae made 
 And incantations dire, creating man. 
 
 And gods of men, who, when thus formed, were 
 laid 
 Under the "Spell of Power," and made perform 
 Those tasks even Hell refused, to raise the storm, 
 By all-controlling Sorcery, and make 
 The heart of frightened Nature wail and quake. 
 
 And even Maimonides himself declares 
 . That marble domes, and temples, underground, 
 Were built and peopled by them, that in pairs, 
 Like human beings, lived ; and ruins found 
 3* 
 
30 MARGUERITE, 
 
 In Petra and Persepolis, the glory 
 
 Of ancient wonders, tell this wondrous story. 
 
 Enough is told, tho' endless 'twere to tell 
 
 What Magic brings to its unholy art ; 
 All ever known of Alchemy or Spell, 
 
 Of Rosicrucian rites, were but a part 
 Of what Presth gathered in this lonely Tower. 
 Some secret purpose had he, hour by hour 
 He passed the darksome night and shining day, 
 And sought the ''Vitea," while his passed away. 
 We leave the wondrous Tower, and straying round. 
 Enter the beauteous Castle's fairy ground. 
 
 Here, spacious gardens sheltered from the wind. 
 Along whose walls the Syrian roses twined ; 
 And flowery shrubs on Kiosks climbing o'er. 
 Cast flitting shadows on the marble floor : 
 There ready servants proffer fruit and wine. 
 While the pleased guests on silken couch recline. 
 Or tread the devious paths where Hindoo flowers 
 Open and close to mark the passing hours. 
 The gentle birds, in leafy roof above. 
 Sung their sweet songs, or twittering told their 
 love, 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 31 
 
 And the bright Alcuross, delighted, tries 
 To mock with varied note each bird that flies. 
 We may not know what boundless wealth can do, 
 But rapidly those graceful changes grew ; 
 Thro' the wide Park, still beautiful as old. 
 Rose Turkish Mosques, with Minarets of gold ; 
 Egyptian temples, Greece's Parian domes, 
 Seemed here transplanted from their ancient 
 
 homes. 
 Fountains and lakes, near which abode the fauns. 
 And Ida's deities usurped the lawns; 
 A wilderness of beauty, where the sight, 
 Wearied at length by ever-new delight. 
 Turned to the calm blue sky to rest its gaze 
 On fleecy clouds and far-off mountain haze. 
 If skillful art have thus adorned the ground, 
 Within that gorgeous Palace all was found 
 That Love can bring to her, who ever sways 
 His every thought, whom every nerve obeys. 
 She knows it not as yet, for this fair home 
 Waits tardy ships, which yet on Ocean roam ; 
 They bear from every land, from every clime. 
 The spoils of Art, the treasuries of Time : 
 Carpets from Persia, silks from far Cathay, 
 Here shade those lofty rooms from prying day; 
 
32 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Vases of graceful shapes, and marbles rare, 
 And antique statues, made almost too fair; 
 For, the fond soul, enamored, longs to give 
 Part of its life, to make the marble live. 
 In eastern part long suites of rooms appear. 
 
 Each suite a goodly Palace for a King ; 
 Egyptian Ammon seems but cradled here, 
 
 And some the Aiden of the Persians bring: 
 Barbaric Art has sent her gold and gems. 
 Whose light might flash from princely diadems. 
 And Saracenic work of Ar^ibesque 
 
 Shone in arched roof, set in devices old, 
 Of starry systems, sooth no easy task. 
 
 For in this golden blazonry was told 
 Of stately Equinoxes moving slow. 
 That mock Man's time, yet note it, as they go. 
 
 Another, Europe's Court of Charlemagne, 
 
 Where feudal Chiefs in bronzed armor bore 
 Their tributes to his more extended reign ; 
 
 Those varied gifts bestrewed the marble floor. 
 Turkey's Byzantian Palace traveled here. 
 
 And Moorish Granada, Alhambra made, 
 With graceful palm-trees, growing tall and fair, 
 
 And perfumed fountains in Lazuli laid, 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 33 
 
 So that the crystal water's mimic sky 
 Should send its blue reflection to the eye. 
 But finished, 'twas a home too bright for man, 
 
 This, all the quaint old servants sadly said, 
 And when they saw its rapid rise, began 
 
 Each one to ope his eyes, and shake his head : 
 All men have eyes, and ears, and thoughts, and 
 
 they 
 In truth thought more than yet they dared to say. 
 
34 MARGUERITE, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 /^AH! Love! all-present, thou dost even dwell 
 ^^ In cloistered Fane and Convent's holy cell; 
 No rank, no clime, exempted from thy sway, 
 All human hearts thy sovereignty obey: 
 Sweet is thy servitude, for what is life. 
 With its hard cares, and its unceasing strife, 
 But spirit solitude, when thou art gone? 
 And gathering sadness, we live sadly on. 
 
 But, in a soul like Eduard's, 'twas a flame. 
 Burning, unchanging, ever still the same; 
 Like to those lamps, whose quenchless light can 
 
 burn. 
 Unfed, untended, in the Mystic Urn, 
 So with his life-pulse, mingled every hour 
 The throbs, the thrills of that mysterious power 
 Which made his being seem as merely given 
 To hold the flame, not born on Earth, but Heaven. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 35 
 
 And now before the year had gone its round 
 He trod again young Love's enchanted ground; 
 Where, first beneath the early June's blue skies, 
 He caught the light of his fair Marguerite's eyes; 
 Where, a poor student, he had clasped her hand. 
 On that sweet spot did Baron Alberg stand ; 
 The jeweled grass, the waving trees, the same, 
 And he, the same in soul, but not in name. 
 Now he has left his train, to seek the shade 
 Where Love, life's Sun, that morn his birthday 
 
 made; 
 For to his wakened soul came life divine. 
 When first he saw the "Maid of Leichenstein:" 
 He comes to woo her now, with towers and land 
 He mates her wealth, he asks the lady's hand; 
 And she, when her first bashfulness was o'er. 
 Thought she had surely seen the knight before: 
 A vague resemblance, struggling in her thought. 
 Only this answer to her memory brought : 
 That somewhere she had seen him ; in her dreams 
 Perhaps, and this to us most likely seems. 
 For in her musings oft the features came 
 Of the young student, the young knight's the same, 
 Ripened and brightened by the gentle spell. 
 That Love still leaves, where he is wont to dwell. 
 
36 MARGUERITE, 
 
 He wooed, and won her, and her soul was given 
 To him as to an angel come from Heaven ; 
 Earth seemed a Paradise of beauty ; light 
 Came with his presence, and his absence, night. 
 Each quickened sense more keen enjoyment knew. 
 Time was unnoted, he so swiftly flew. 
 Love, rapturous Love, her every thought beguiled. 
 And Earth, and Air, and Heaven, in glorious 
 beauty smiled. 
 
 Love has no secrets, none, yet oft at eve 
 It came that Eduard would his Marguerite leave 
 To her own musings; in the twilight dim 
 He walked alone, or who then walked with him? 
 Thro' the long aisles of those o'ershadowing trees, 
 Often quite late at night her lord she sees: 
 Sometimes alone, but lately, standing near. 
 Was a dark stranger she had learnt to fear : 
 In close commune they seemed, and even when 
 Winter made warm the happy homes of men. 
 They walked together, or in turret high. 
 With wondrous telescopes, o'erlooked the sky 
 For some lost star that, hid beneath a cloud. 
 Wrapped its fair face from them, as in a shroud. 
 'Twas nothing wrong, yet to her clinging heart 
 'Twas pain to her even for an hour to part; 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 
 
 37 
 
 Joy left with him, to her he was a thrall, 
 Her soul, her life, her constant thought, her all. 
 "It is not so with men," she sadly said, 
 And, weary waiting, sought alone her bed : 
 * ' Yet Eduard loves me, loves me more, ' ' she thought , 
 ''Than when to this fair home, her first he brought ; 
 How silly she to think her lord should be 
 Bound to her presence, love should still be free. 
 Tes, she would ask him of the witching lore 
 That seemed more dear to him than e'er before, 
 And he would doubtless tell her why his hours 
 Were spent in study in those frowning towers." 
 
 So, one sweet eve, when Sunset, blushing fell 
 
 Into the arms of Twilight, waiting there. 
 She with kind words besought him then to tell 
 
 Of what had caused her so much anxious care. 
 Gently he answered of the sacred lore, 
 
 Of cabalistic studies, and the arts 
 Lost in the Ages, tho' known long before. 
 
 The compound of "Life's Elixir," that starts 
 Anew the pulse of age, and to true love 
 Brings the eternal youth that reigns above. 
 
 "Yet why, my Eduard, dost thou leave my side, 
 Often in secret, thro' the midnight hours? 
 4 
 
38 
 
 MARGUERITE, 
 
 What studies lovest thou better than thy bride ? 
 
 Alas ! I fear thou seekest forbidden powers. 
 And the dark stranger, that now comes so oft, 
 
 I like him not, I know he likes not me. 
 His silent tread, his voice suppressed and soft. 
 
 His burning eyes that bend so fierce on thee; 
 There is a presence round him that I fear, — 
 I would, my lord, he came no longer here." 
 "He is my friend, sweet Marguerite, and wise, 
 
 He knows the lore Chimea taught of old ; 
 And tho' he has dark brows, and burning eyes. 
 
 He brings me boundless wealth of gems and gold. 
 But, see ! he comes ! sweet love, have thou no fear. 
 Shall I go meet him then, and leave thee here?" 
 
 Meanwhile fair Marguerite grew more sweetly 
 pale. 
 
 And Eduard looked with anxious fear upon 
 That calm, mild brow, oft hidden by her veil. 
 
 From whence all earthly shadowings had gone. 
 Sad thought had left its light upon her face 
 
 Like the cold moonbeams on some holy shrine, 
 But had not marred the beauty, or the grace, 
 
 Of those pure features, now almost divine. 
 Oh, Love ! to think that in one fragile form 
 
 Is held our all of happiness, below ; 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 30 
 
 No wonder, then, we shield it from the storm, 
 From every wind that doth unkindly blow. 
 
 And she, for whom his very soul was given, 
 Was she to melt like snow-drift, from his side? 
 
 Was there no Life-draught, left on earth by 
 Heaven, 
 To bring the rose-tint to his Lily bride? 
 
 New fears, new sorrows gather o'er his soul. 
 
 Soon must he find the power that can even Death 
 control. 
 
 His eager search now more intense became, 
 
 Tried every formula of ancient ages, 
 Metals, sublimed by fierce Caloric's flame. 
 
 Tinctures of gold, prepared from Brahma Sages; 
 And potent herbs from Afric, which, 'twas said. 
 Distilled 'neath favoring planets, raised the dead. 
 Oh ! fruitless toil, and weariness of thought ! 
 
 Disheartened oft, yet oft renewed again. 
 And oft, in crazed and feverish joy, he sought 
 
 Some essence, in alembic, to retain 
 Of perfume exquisite, whose crystal dews. 
 Unknown before, in him new hopes infuse. — 
 Old Time, in passing, looked at him and laughed ; 
 But still the Life-draught Presth had never 
 quaffed. 
 
40 MARGUERITE, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BUT loving Marguerite saw her lord, with dread, 
 Pursue this strange, wild search from day to 
 day; 
 His sunken eyes, his bowed and weary head, 
 
 His fasts and vigils, often now away 
 Long days and nights, alone within the tower : 
 
 She fear'd his alter' d state, and doubted he 
 Crazed might become, for, lost the soothing power 
 
 Of soft caress, or love's light pleasantry: 
 At length her strong heart overcoming quite 
 Her former fears, she climbed the turret's height. 
 Stole thro' the moonlight shadows, weird and 
 
 dim, 
 And stood within his study, watching him. 
 He sat beside a table, where was placed 
 
 A perfumed lamp shaped like a Roman urn, 
 Whose silver light the changing shadows chased. 
 
 As he, in restless search, would often turn 
 Over the leaves of a large antique volume. 
 
 Written in gold, but by long ages faded 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 41 
 
 The burnished letters of each downward column ; 
 
 And, as his small white hand his forehead 
 shaded, 
 And his dark clustered hair that brow fell o'er, 
 She thought that earth held never one before 
 So noble in his beauty, nor so fair 
 In form and feature as her Eduard there. 
 Silent she stood, till, rising from his chair, 
 
 He sought some other book, from this referr'd: 
 His sudden move, his eager, anxious air. 
 
 His very breathing, quick and short, she heard. 
 Hastened her movement, and, while moving, said, 
 "Come, gentle husband, hasten thou to bed." 
 "Marguerite!" he said, with startled voice and 
 eye. 
 
 As if he knew not how or whence she came ; 
 "My Eduard, I was wakeful, could not lie. 
 
 And rose to seek thee; thy lamp's patient flame 
 Told me thou wert in study here, and so 
 
 I climbed the turret, from the hall below. 
 But tell me, Eduard, hast thou ever found 
 
 That long-lost, long-sought, Elixir Divine? 
 For now a year has gone its annual round, 
 
 And still I hear not that the gift is thine; 
 I fear me much, my husband, you and I 
 Shall, like all others, live, grow old, and die." 
 
42 MARGUERITE, 
 
 ''We'll talk within our chamber, sweet," he 
 
 said, 
 "'Tis time, my little one, thou wert in bed, 
 And I, forsooth, must leave at earlier hour. 
 Lest my pale wife should haunt my lonely tower." 
 They soon to rest, too weary then to talk. 
 But the next day, amid their pleasant walk. 
 Marguerite, whose heart was filled with anxious 
 
 pain. 
 Renewed the subject of the night again. 
 ''We were too tired, love, last night to speak 
 
 Of thy deep studies and thy chemic lore, 
 And tho' a woman's thought may be but weak 
 
 To grasp thy science known so long before 
 Thro' countless ages, yet I'll talk to thee. 
 And word the thoughts that press me heavily. 
 Think' St thou that He who formed each mighty 
 world, 
 
 And fixed on all the laws of ceaseless change, 
 Can, by the Chemist's crucible, be hurled 
 
 From the supremacy of Nature's range? 
 Life's ceaseless action wears away its spring, 
 
 And that electric force which all pervades 
 (Nature itself, and every living thing 
 
 That brought to being, lives, matures, and 
 fades) 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 43 
 
 Is of itself the Scepter of Decay, 
 
 For it resolves to dust as it combines, 
 And once mature, its work must fade away. 
 
 The very Sun -corrodes us as it shines. 
 And the light atmosphere we think so rare. 
 Presses us down to age and hoary hair. 
 Then dream not, Eduard, that thy puny arm 
 
 Can wrest the Scepter held by Him alone 
 Whose will magnetic holds by silent charm 
 
 This earth, those worlds, the stars that gild his 
 throne ; 
 Oh ! my dear love, I tremble lest the thought, 
 
 Tho' impotent, so daring, should invoke 
 The punishment presumption ever brought 
 
 On all rebellious spirits : bear the yoke 
 Thy human nature hath imposed on thee. 
 For, in thy soul immortal, thou art free. ' ' 
 
 ''Thou speakest well, my Marguerite, but know 
 
 I seek not to usurp, but find the power 
 That stays decay and change. Is it not so 
 
 That angels change not ? Our life's fleeting hour 
 Would bring to them no age, for their fine souls, 
 
 Composed of atoms primitive, ne'er feel 
 Pressure of air, or decomposing age. 
 
 Because the course of time, as on it rolls, 
 
44 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Corrodes not them. The wisdom of the Sage 
 Those primal atoms seeks to find, and then, 
 When found, we make immortal — men. 
 One mighty step is made, in solvent gained 
 
 Which naught resists, if by it we discern 
 Those parts that nature ever hath retained, 
 
 And thus her inmost secrecies to learn ; 
 Dost thou not see we can again combine. 
 And find, at last, the Elixir Divine?" 
 
 ''Oh, fantasy of thought ! but let it pass, 
 
 I cannot answer more ; yet tell me, sweet. 
 Why is it thou avoid' st the Holy Mass? 
 
 Art thou Illuminati, how didst meet 
 Thy stranger friend ? Oh ! Eduard ! tell me, pray, 
 
 I cannot rest, nor sleep again in peace, 
 If thou wilt not. Indeed, I must away 
 
 To Leichenstein, till my unrest doth cease. 
 In me thou may'st, as in thyself, confide. 
 Thou art as soul of soul, to me, thy bride." 
 
 "I know thou lovest me ; Marguerite, there may be 
 Secrets I scarce could speak, even, love, to thee; 
 Press me no more, but know my inmost soul 
 Is swayed and moved by thy most sweet control, 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 
 
 45 
 
 And thus 'twill ever be, whate'er the end. 
 Vex not thyself at him, my serious friend ; 
 He is munificent, and doth provide 
 Those gifts that please thee best, my gentle bride." 
 "Then no more gifts take I; thou lovest me not. 
 Else thou would' St make me sharer of thy lot. 
 Think not to blind me, Eduard ; I do know 
 Thy friend is Satan, and thy soul's worst foe. 
 And thou art sold to him, — oh, God ! forever. 
 Lest in the faith of Christ from him thou sever. 
 Now tell me not — or do — whate'er thou wilt, — 
 But darling love clings to thee, even in guilt." 
 
 She knelt before him, and with streaming eyes 
 Besought him then and there to tell her all; 
 
 Perhaps the truth were less than her surmise. 
 And even the very worst that could befall 
 
 Man's erring soul, the Love of Christ could hide, 
 
 Who for such very need was crucified. 
 
 He raised her gently. '^Then, mine own," he said, 
 "My loving one, at last my sin thou' It know; 
 
 Here rest thee, on my breast, thy weary head. 
 Mine on this earth at least, thro' weal or woe." 
 
 And then he told her all, — how that bright day 
 Of sunny June his eyes first looked in hers, 
 
46 MARGUERITE, 
 
 And her bright face, that on his lonely way, 
 
 Rose, like the Sun, on Iran's worshipers, — 
 Of all his yearnings, for her sake, for Fame, 
 
 Wealth, Power, and Honor, then the cruel stain 
 That false accusers cast upon his name. 
 
 How 'mid his woe the Tempter came again, 
 And proffered all he longed for — ''Yea, and thou. 
 
 Beloved, he promised then. No wonder I, 
 Thus tried and tempted, took the fatal vow; 
 
 But thou wilt love me. Marguerite, till I die?" 
 She answered not, but with clasped hands upraised, 
 
 On the blue Heaven she cast her saintly eyes, 
 And silent stood, as thro' its depths she gazed 
 
 With an appalled and desperate surprise. 
 Transfixed, as in a catalejDtic trance, 
 
 She breathed not, heard not, and her moveless 
 eye 
 Kept its unchanged look and stony glance 
 
 Upward upon the bright and smiling sky. 
 At length a quiver, like the lightning, broke 
 That fearful silence, and at last she spoke: — 
 ^' Thank God! there's hope in Heaven, for Christ 
 hath died 
 
 For thee, and me, and all," she slowly said; 
 *'I saw the gate of mercy opened wide. 
 
 And at his feet my prayers for thee were laid. 
 
BARONESS LEICIIENSTEIN. 47 
 
 They changed to flowers, and their sweet odors 
 
 brought 
 Thy sin and suffering to his pitying thought. 
 Then fear not, Eduard, there is One to save. 
 
 Mightier than Michael, who with angel swords 
 O'erthrew the Arch-Fiend once, 'twas God who 
 gave 
 Strength to the starry Hosts, their might, the 
 Lord's. 
 
 "And shall we fear his power, the Evil One, 
 
 Who hath entangled thus thy human soul? 
 Now to a nobler feeling thou hast grown. 
 
 And thou shalt burst from 'neath his curst con- 
 trol. 
 Blessed the moment thou didst crave the boon. 
 
 Thy thoughts and actions from his knowledge 
 kept! 
 Listen, my Eduard ! we are none too soon 
 
 (For his suspicion wakes, which long had slept) 
 To fight this battle, — strong the power of 111, 
 But the great power of Good is stronger still. 
 To holy Rome a pilgrimage I'll take, 
 
 And at the sainted Mother's blessed shrine 
 Unceasing prayers and precious offerings make, 
 
 And for our Lord's dear sake, her Son Divine, 
 
48 
 
 MARGUERITE, 
 
 She'll grant the prayers our poor hearts there 
 
 prefer, 
 She ever grants when woman prays to her. 
 But from this moment hence, oh ! never more 
 
 Those halls, whose splendors terrify, I tread, — 
 Ne'er press my feet upon the gem-laid floor. 
 
 Ne'er rest again in quiet, here my head. 
 This Demon Paradise I leave, and Thou 
 Who hears all Earth, now hear and bless my 
 
 vow, — 
 That ne'er again by Eduard's side to be 
 Till from the bonds of Satan he is free ; 
 Till this accursed bond with Hell is broken. 
 Eduard ! farewell ! I leave with thee this token ; — • 
 That if my prayers are heard — I come; if not, 
 Let fasting, prayer, and penance be thy lot. 
 I seek at once that early home of mine, 
 And stay one troubled night at Leichenstein." 
 
 She's gone! oh, Eduard! did the Fiend pro- 
 vide 
 That thy fond love should hold her to thy side? 
 He flung him down, upon the earth he laid, 
 And, in his mighty agony, he prayed. 
 His better angel heard his soul's first cry, 
 On rapid wings, he bore it then on high. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 40 
 
 "He prays!" the angels shout — Messiah smiled. 
 
 Yes ! there is hope for Earth's most sinful child : — 
 
 There's joy in Heaven, each Seraph now rejoices. 
 
 Hark ! to the chorus of celestial voices. 
 ''Fear not, man, there reigns above, 
 One unchanging in His love. 
 And however great the power of 111, 
 The power of Good is stronger still." 
 
50 MARGUERITE, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PRESTH is alone within the secret tower, 
 'Tis a conjunction mighty, and the hour 
 For his sublimest spell at last has come. 
 
 A marble chamber, black as blackest night, 
 
 Where, on a silver altar, gleamed a light 
 
 From alabaster lamp, a censer's fume 
 
 Sent round its subtle fragrance, and a haze, 
 
 As of white clouds at noon, the misty room 
 Then seemed at once all suddenly ablaze. 
 
 Near to the altar, on a pedestal. 
 
 Rested the "speaking Head" of Solomon, 
 
 O'er which the incense floated, rose and fell- 
 Then, as a radiant crown, it settled on 
 
 The mystic brow, which oped its brazen lids, 
 And then, pale Eduard spoke. 
 
 Presth. 
 ''Naught now forbids. 
 
 And by the spell most mighty, I invoke 
 Thine answer. Speak." 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 51 
 
 Head. 
 *' What wouldst thou, man?" 
 
 Presth. 
 "The truth, if thou canst speak it, answer me." 
 
 Head. 
 'a can." 
 
 Presth. 
 ^'Then first, can endless life be found on Earth?" 
 
 Head. 
 "There's life in Heaven." 
 
 Presth. 
 "I seek for it on Earth." 
 
 Head. 
 "It is not given." 
 
 Presth. 
 "Art sure of what thou sayest?" 
 
 Head. 
 "Death is the law for beings like to thee. 
 And thou canst not nor may'st 
 E'er break what He hath sworn shall ever be. 
 Art done?" 
 
^2 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Presth. 
 "Not yet — more would I question thee. 
 
 Head. 
 ' ' Hasten then to ask, 
 And end my task." 
 
 Presth. 
 "What of my love, my wife?" 
 
 Head. 
 "Her faith hath saved the life 
 Of thy young heir and son ; 
 She hath the battle won." 
 
 Presth. 
 "Oh! Spirit great! speak on." 
 
 Head, 
 "Hear, and believe it true: — 
 In the great golden book 'tis said, 
 That if on child a spell be laid, 
 And his soul is forfeit made, 
 Yet, for Christ's sake, if 'tis born 
 In the dawn of Christmas morn, 
 And by holy priest it be 
 Caught from earth and instantly 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 53 
 
 (Ere 'tis swathed, or ere 'tis fed) 
 On its infant brow be laid 
 Holy crucifix, and then 
 The baptismal rites be said. 
 He shall live to say — 'Amen,' 
 And a Christian soul remain. 
 Ever free of spell or stain." 
 
 Presth. 
 "Spirit, I thank thee well." 
 
 Head. 
 "If thou dost thank me, thou cans' t break my 
 spell." 
 
 Presth. 
 
 "I'll do it; 'tis the hour. 
 This seal shall give me power: 
 But how?" 
 
 Head. 
 
 "Heat thou the seal of mighty Solomon 
 In the lamp's flame, then press it thro' the brow. 
 'Twill melt the brazen walls, and I'll be free as 
 thou." 
 
 Presth. 
 
 "'Tis done — and, prisoned Spirit, thou art free: 
 Thou hast a noble presence — I greet theeJ*^ 
 5* 
 
54 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Spirit. 
 "Now, I thank thee, and am from hence thy 
 
 slave. ' ' 
 
 Presth. 
 
 "No! thou art free, for thou hast served me well, 
 And, were I scathless of this pact with Hell, 
 I would not fear the grave." 
 
 Spirit. 
 "Then, mortal, haste! ere the powers of Air 
 Those tidings to Asmodeus bear; 
 Ere can come thy cruel Tempter, 
 Hie thee to the Abbey — enter — 
 Safe within its walls remain 
 Till thy soul be free from stain." 
 
 Presth. 
 ' ' The Abbey ! 'tis a distance great. ' ' 
 
 Spirit, 
 "I will leave thee at the gate. 
 Come ! ere flies the hour of Fate. 
 On my wings of strength I'll bear thee; 
 Ere the Evil One can tear thee 
 From my grasp, thou' It sheltered be, 
 By Holy Cross, and Trinity. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 
 
 Fear me not, but climb 
 On my wide wings, it is at last the time 
 Brought by the ages. Thou hast set me free. 
 And I will prove my gratitude to thee. ' ' 
 
 Presth. 
 ^'I fear not." 
 
 Spirit. 
 
 ''Then we go. 
 
 Clasp round my neck, and I will hold thee so." 
 
 They fly. 
 
 55 
 
56 
 
 MARGUERITE, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MEANWHILE, sad Marguerite months of 
 penance paid, 
 Of prayers at early dawn and late midnight : 
 At the pure Virgin's feet her offerings laid. 
 
 And oft she watched until the morning light. 
 At length, o'erweary with unanswered prayer. 
 There fell upon her heart a cold despair, 
 And, stretching upon earth her weary frame, 
 She waited death, or sleep, whichever came. 
 Sleep came in pity, and she dreamed a light, 
 Like that of noonday, burst upon her sight, 
 And in it stood the Virgin Mother mild. 
 Who, pitying, spoke, and even when speaking, 
 
 smiled — 
 "Marguerite! thy prayers are heard, no longer 
 
 stay; 
 Depart from hence, nor linger by the way: 
 And listen to the promises I give, — 
 Thy Eduard's saved, thy son and heir shall live. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. ^y 
 
 For, in the clear dawn of next Christmas morn, 
 Shall thy fair child in Leichenstein be born. 
 Then instantly, ere he be swathed or fed, 
 Let holy priest cross o'er the infant's head, 
 On his yomig breast the crucifix impress 
 Ere mother's kiss, and father's tenderness, 
 And rites baptismal on his brow be poured. 
 Let him be named * Emanuel,' from the Lord, 
 Whose birth hath saved the world. On that glad 
 
 day 
 Thou' It meet thy husband, now so far away; 
 For he, by penitence and prayers, shall be 
 Loosed from the bonds of Satan, and to thee, 
 Restored by Holy Church, shall evermore, 
 In the true Christian faith, with thee adore; 
 And thou shalt live a long and happy life, 
 Blessed as mother, and beloved as wife." 
 The vision faded from the sleeper's eyes. 
 And, springing from the ground in glad surprise, 
 She traveled swiftly homeward to remain. 
 In trusting faith, at Leichenstein again. 
 
 'Tis Christmas eve, the Castle windows throw 
 Their gladsome light upon the dazzled snow. 
 Around each gate the Mistletoe is bound. 
 And sacred Palm is strewn upon the ground ; 
 
5 3 MAR G UERITE, 
 
 On that calm blessed eve, the taper's light 
 Gleams in the chapel thro' the live-long night, 
 And holy vespers, mass, and matins bring 
 Their joyous welcome to our Lord and King. 
 The choral anthems floating on the air, 
 The perfumed censers, and the ceaseless prayer, 
 Ushered the day that gave a Saviour birth. 
 Brought life to man, and peace and joy to earth. 
 The matin bell had scarcely told the morn. 
 
 Ere came in Leichenstein the wailing cry 
 Of a young soul to earthly suffering born 
 
 (Those little ones reluctant leave the sky) ; 
 But omens good upon his birth attended. 
 And joys of Heaven with those of earth are 
 
 blended. 
 Then taken quickly, ere he's clothed or fed, 
 The priest devoutly cross' d the infant's head, 
 The crucifix upon his breast he laid. 
 The holy rites baptismal soon were said : 
 ''Emanuel" named, by God's most holy sign, 
 May blessings rest on ''Baron Leichenstein." 
 
 On Christmas morn a penitent had knelt 
 Before the holy shrine of Engelfelt ; 
 In ashy sackcloth, head and forehead bare. 
 He spent the night alone in silent prayer; 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 59 
 
 But now, his penance o'er, his many prayers 
 Have gained forgiveness for the sins of years; 
 His fastings long, his penances severe. 
 His keen repentance, told with many a tear. 
 Ascended on the wings of faith to Heaven, — 
 They love the deepest who are most forgiven. 
 
 Meanwhile this wondrous story floated wide, 
 Borne on the winds like straws at eventide ; 
 Till it had reached the Emperor, whose ear 
 Received the tale thus told. From far and near, 
 Full of a silent awe, came many men, 
 To hear it now at Engelfelt again : 
 And there the Emperor vowed himself to go, 
 That he might know if it were truly so. 
 Soon a long train of knights at Abbey gate. 
 Admittance to the Sanctuary wait ; 
 For on this Christmas, Baron Eduard bent. 
 Absolved from sin, to Host and Sacrament ; 
 And a High Mass in holy pomp displayed. 
 And costly gifts upon the altar laid. 
 To speak the gratitude of Marguerite, Dame 
 Of Leichenstein, from whence that morn they 
 
 came. 
 For Son and Lord, released from Satan's thrall. 
 And her rewarded faith evinced to all. 
 
6o MARGUERITE, 
 
 And now the organ's swell of music soars 
 To highest Heaven, and all the crowd adores; 
 There earthly Sovereign kneels, and, bending 
 
 low, 
 His courtly train a meet devotion show, 
 Tho' less they feel, but all around must see 
 The shriven Baron, who now openly 
 (Clothed in rich robes) his Christian faith pro- 
 claims. 
 And breathes in reverence meek the Holy names. 
 A quiet hush — the bursting organ bears 
 Its load suppressed to silence, while the ears 
 Of listening multitudes are strained to note 
 The words that on those clouds of incense float. 
 
 Mid white-robed priests the penitent has knelt. 
 And kindly joy the eyes of many fill. 
 
 And Eduard feels what he had never felt, 
 A trusting faith in the Almighty will : 
 
 The priest now comes, and laying on his head 
 
 Both hands in blessing, thus the rites were said : 
 
 "In the name of God, most Holy, 
 By Messiah born so lowly. 
 By the Holy Ghost descended, 
 All in mystic union blended; 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. ( 
 
 By the power to priesthood given 
 
 By the Trinity of Heaven, 
 
 I undo the curse and ban 
 
 Laid by Satan on this man ; 
 
 I release his sorrowing soul 
 
 From the Evil One's control; 
 
 And with holy grace and power, 
 
 From this now baptized hour, 
 
 I endue his soul to fight 
 
 For the truth and for the right. 
 
 Now the Devil's spell is broken, 
 
 And be this the faithful token, 
 
 See for thee the Saviour died. 
 
 And for thee was crucified ; 
 
 Now, in Heaven he pleads for thee, — 
 
 Soul, thou art at liberty." 
 
 Scarce could the crowd in silence keep. 
 Some who smile, and some who weep ; 
 But now the organ's triumphant strain 
 Tells of a soul released again : 
 And the hushed crowds retiring slow. 
 Throng the wide court-yard's space below. 
 All horsed, the long departing train, 
 Courtier, knight, with loosened rein, 
 6 
 
62 MARGUERITE, 
 
 Still they rest, and still they wait, 
 
 At the Abbey's open gate. 
 
 Look ! on the threshold of the door 
 
 Stands the Emperor, holding o'er 
 
 The kneeling Knight of Leichenstein 
 
 The lifted sword of Honor's sign. 
 
 To see all this, and now to hear, 
 
 Attentive oped each eye and ear. 
 
 For the Emperor spoke, and, when Sovereigns 
 
 speak, 
 Let their subjects hear in submission meek. 
 
 *'Now, gentle sirs, and good people, tell 
 To your children's child how all this befell, 
 And here to this Christian knight I give 
 Castle and lands wherewithal to live ; 
 For by Christian vow he has lost domains 
 (Which the Devil may keep for all his pains). 
 No more of Alberg, Baron to be. 
 But Count of the Empire, in Presburg he ; 
 Now, sirs and men, you must surely see 
 
 That Heaven pays better than Man or Devil, 
 Serve Him who can give us Eternity, 
 
 For sorrow doth ever follow evil. 
 Now bid farewell, may the Lord above 
 Keep us, one and all, in His saving love. 
 
BARONESS LEICHENSTEIN. 63 
 
 And, Count of Presburg, this company 
 To thy Castle's gates will go with thee; 
 But we enter not, for we will not pay 
 Thy Dame such an ill-timed visit to-day; 
 But we soon will see that fair son of thine. 
 Bear our greetings to Baroness Leichenstein." 
 
 That gladsome Christmas o'er, a stormy rain, 
 Ruled by the tempest, swept across the plain ; 
 It seemed as if to Alberg's home 'twas sent, 
 For there its fiercest vengeance most was spent : 
 The muddy deluge covered all around. 
 And Alberg's towers were strewn upon the ground. 
 The ancient Castle left, it stood the shock 
 'Mid surging tempest, steadfast as a rock; 
 While in the little chapel, gathered there 
 The hoary servants spent the night in prayer, 
 Safe at its altar, which their faith sublime 
 Had blessed by prayerful centuries of time. 
 
 The snow came down, like mercy, soft and pure, 
 Covering the ruins with its snowy pall; 
 
 So heavenly mercy doth our sorrows cure, 
 Turning the evil into good for all. 
 
RELIGION. 
 
 "It is difficult for the mind to coinpreliend God, or the language in 
 which to address Him. We cannot, through material means, describe an 
 immaterial being, and that which is eternal allies itself with difficulty to 
 that which is the subject of time. The one passes away, the other exists 
 forever. The one is a perception of the spirit, the other a reality ; that 
 which we recognize through our senses and eyes may be expressed in 
 words, but that which is immaterial, that which may not be known to our 
 senses, cannot be described in language. I comprehend, then, O Thoth ! 
 I comprehend, why God is ineffable." — {Egypte Ancieftne.) 
 
 OH ! blessed Sabbath, on thy holy air 
 I feel the wafting of the angels' wings ; 
 The busy world is hushed, and sleeping care 
 No more its daily round of trouble brings; 
 Religion is the Sabbath of the soul, 
 
 Which earth's unconscious ones so oft deride, 
 As well the blind deny that planets roll. 
 
 As well the landsman doubt the rolling tide. 
 As the dark sensuous beings, formed of clay. 
 Whose light is darkness, doubt the perfect day. 
 (64) 
 
RELIGION. 65 
 
 Man hath a twofold nature, sense and spirit, 
 
 The one for earth, the other for the skies; 
 Blest are the human angels who inherit 
 
 The inner senses, and the seeing eyes 
 Who laugh not doubtingly, because the arm 
 
 Of the Almighty is not bared to view, 
 Who see a silent force, a potent charm, 
 
 Send us the sunshine, and drop down the dew; 
 And who, thro' nature, mark with silent awe. 
 Not law alone, but the Great Source of Law. 
 
 Since man first walked erect upon the earth, 
 
 Those inner senses (instincts we would say 
 Of all below us) struggling into birth. 
 
 Point us the light, and guide us in the way; 
 While Reason, born of intellect and brain, 
 
 Judge of material nature, struggles on. 
 Drops now and then a link of thought's great 
 chain, 
 
 And then, like ship at sea, with rudder gone, 
 Floats wildly o'er a sea of doubt and dread, 
 With no known sign in Heaven, no sounding 
 lead. 
 
 Then know thyself, oh man ! remember thou 
 That earthly sense and reason are but made 
 6* 
 
66 RELIGION. 
 
 To scan the world around us, scarce thy brow 
 Can gaze on yonder summits, whose deep shade 
 
 Covers a world of microscopic view 
 
 (Hid from thy haughty ignorance alone). 
 
 Which thou had'st well denied, as boldly, too, 
 As the bright world above thee, yet unknown ; 
 
 Nor dreamed that groove of silex at thy feet, 
 
 Was to some insect mart a spacious street. 
 
 The unseen world of causes God doth hide, 
 
 How many ways of coming to one end ; 
 By destiny the hands of man are tied, 
 
 We cannot save, nor yet preserve a friend. 
 Our little sphere of power is just as wide 
 
 As our ability to know is given, 
 Our thoughts and wishes on the lightnings ride. 
 
 Yet are we not one moment nearer Heaven : 
 We know not whence we came, how we had birth. 
 Yet we can tame and subjugate the earth. 
 
 Yet from our instincts know we that within 
 Reigns the directing Will, the sovereign Soul ; 
 
 Whate'er impairs perfection, that is Sin, 
 
 Whate'er brings down to passion's wild control, 
 
 Is as a traitor to Imperial Thought, 
 
 Which intellect and passion must obey ; 
 
RELIGION. 67 
 
 Reason its minister, and only sought, 
 
 Like engineer, to lay us down the way 
 By which that Will can reach a certain goal, — 
 The conscious Thought and Will, conjoined, are 
 Soul. 
 
 What more our spirit is, we may not guess 
 
 What other powers and gifts (which now con- 
 fined 
 To this small temple) it may yet possess 
 
 When it shall enter the domain of Mind, 
 The universe invisible, which lies 
 
 Just at the threshold, but the way is barred 
 To our closed senses and our blinded eyes ; 
 
 To see with eyes that see not, this is hard ; 
 Yet hath our Master made this truth so clear. 
 With eyes we see not, nor with ears we hear. 
 
 Doubt nothing, for credulity is wise. 
 
 How far the laws of nature known to thee? 
 Yet, in thy arrogance thou scann'st the skies. 
 
 And bid' St us doubt all that we cannot see; 
 Come, thou Philosopher, expound to all 
 
 The secret of our being, and our death. 
 Tell us why grass is short, and trees are tall? 
 
 Why filled the head with brains, the lungs with 
 breath ? 
 
68 RELIGION. 
 
 Your only answer, "these are Nature's laws:" 
 Where ends the law, and where begins the cause? 
 
 Religion, then, is Faith, the golden key 
 
 Which opes to man the treasures of the skies. 
 All who have faith must love, and then obey, 
 
 In those three words all true religion lies: 
 Faith, Love, Obedience, will be as the Ark, 
 
 Borne thro' the wilderness to guide us on, 
 A pillar' d light when earthly skies are dark, 
 
 A cloud of brightness when the night is gone ! 
 Thro' day and night, thro' gloom, and thro' de- 
 spair. 
 The ark of golden Seraphim is there. 
 
 Oh ! figured type of truth, which all may read 
 
 Deep meaning hid in allegoric guise ; 
 Blind reasoning man take to thy footsteps heed, — 
 
 Man is most foolish when he seems most wise ; 
 Earth's wisdom can but scarcely enter in 
 
 Where little children walk with certain tread, 
 Conceit is the unpardonable sin 
 
 To Him who counts the hairs upon thy head ; 
 Cast down thy soul, and then most humbly 
 
 pray 
 That He will guide thee in the narrow way. 
 
RELIGION. 69 
 
 Yet light His yoke, and gentle is the rein, 
 
 More soft than silken fetters are His laws, 
 The path is easy, and the way is plain : 
 
 Ask but His aid, nor let thy worthless cause 
 Deter thee from the effort, for to will 
 
 To follow right is half the battle won ; 
 Heaven bends to man half-way, and ever still 
 
 Walks by thy side the Great Messiah-Son ; 
 Watching and waiting for the vile to pray, 
 And be to them ''The Life, the Truth, the Way." 
 
"JUST AS IF NO CHRIST HAD 
 DIED." 
 
 ON a wide and scorched savanna, thro' a 
 burning summer's day, 
 
 Thousands of our bleeding soldiers from the bat- 
 tle's conflict lay. 
 
 Brave young hearts had ceased their beating, 
 brows in manhood's prime were low, 
 
 Pallid faces drawn in anguish, strong hands 
 sever'd by the foe: — 
 
 All in silent horror resting, victor, vanquished, 
 side by side, 
 
 With no holy rites of burial, — "Just as if no 
 Christ had died." 
 
 When the full moon rose in splendor o'er that 
 
 field of ghastly dead. 
 On a little mound, reclining, lay a young and 
 gentle head ; 
 (70) 
 
"JUST AS IF NO CHRIST HAD DIEDr 71 
 
 Twenty summers had not stolen from his cheek 
 
 the boyish bloom, 
 And the spring-time of his manhood had not 
 
 shed its fresh perfume ; 
 Now he lay a mangled martyr, with no comrade 
 
 at his side. 
 With no friend in earth or Heaven,—" Just as if 
 
 no Christ had died." 
 
 Softly, with its gentle kisses, came the night wind 
 on his hair, 
 
 Lifting up the gory masses, laying the white fore- 
 head bare j 
 
 'Twas a mother's soul that sent it, for, in mid- 
 night watches, came 
 
 To her aching eyes the vision of a battle-field of 
 flame. 
 
 And her boy lay pale and bleeding, with no com- 
 rade at his side : 
 
 Vain had been her prayers and weeping,— '' Just 
 as if no Christ had died." 
 
 Thro' the torrid day the wounded, maimed, and 
 
 mutilated lie 
 (Corses piled above, around them), sick and lone, 
 
 unheeded die ; 
 
72 '^yUST AS IF NO CHRIST HAD DIED:' 
 
 Not a drop of grateful water to the parching lips 
 may come, 
 
 Naught is heard afar in distance but the slow- 
 receding drum ; 
 
 And the trains of ambulances, slowly moving, 
 side by side. 
 
 Laden all with human anguish, — ' ' Just as if no 
 Christ had died." 
 
 Now another day has risen, still the maimed are 
 
 helpless there. 
 And the fetid dead are sending poison vapors 
 
 through the air ; 
 And the sick and limbless soldiers, shout in 
 
 agony — in vain — 
 Men who left your wives and mothers, you will 
 
 never meet again j 
 And the sun goes down in glory on the dying, 
 
 side by side. 
 Forsaken both by Earth and Heaven, — "Just as 
 
 if no Christ had died." 
 
 O'er the land, in every hamlet, wails are on the 
 
 moaning air. 
 Every hearth has lost a loved one, — who will fill 
 
 the empty chair ? 
 
''JUST AS IF NO CHRIST HAD DIEDr 73 
 
 And the Fiend of War is rushing on his wild 
 
 steed, fierce and fast, 
 And his trumpet's shrieking clamor echoes on the 
 
 midnight blast — 
 And the angels all have left us — in our Sin, and 
 
 to our Pride — 
 And the Heavens are closed upon us, — ''Just as 
 
 if no Christ had died." 
 
 Woman ! thou art nearer Heaven, rear the house- 
 hold altars now. 
 
 Pile on them the Nation's sorrow, be the weeping 
 Priestess thou — 
 
 Gather all the broken-hearted, hoary men too 
 proud to wail. 
 
 Mothers, daughters, pallid statues, orphan children, 
 thin and pale. 
 
 Widows desolate and pining, none to succor, none 
 to guide. 
 
 With no friend in Earth or Heaven, — ''Just as if 
 no Christ had died." 
 
 Dreary homes which Love had lighted, gone is 
 
 all your sunshine now, — 
 What to you the victor's triumph, what the wreath 
 
 that binds his brow ? 
 
 7 
 
74 "JUST AS IF NO CHRIST HAD DIEDP 
 
 Blighted hearts, whose desolation none can ever 
 
 soothe or share, 
 Earth's to you a darkened horror, let your agony 
 
 be prayer — 
 May the sacrifice of Sorrow ope the gates of 
 
 Mercy wide, 
 Give us Peace, oh! Lord of Nations! — ''Not in 
 
 vain thy Christ hath died." 
 
THE REAL. 
 
 " The unseen is the Real, because immortal, unchangeable. The ma- 
 terial world around us, ever changing and fading away, is not the real." 
 
 {Herjnes Trisviagestus.) 
 
 IMAGINING is truth, for in the world 
 Of boundless and unfathomable space, 
 There's not a sail of Thought, tho' wide unfurled, 
 
 That may not find its homelike resting-place 
 In that etherous sea, whose tidal-wave 
 
 Of light reflowing, sends the wanderer back. 
 Laden with gifts of love which angels gave, 
 
 An argosy of Mind, such shun the track 
 That others make, and seek some golden shore. 
 Some richer Indies, never found before. 
 
 Oh ! in that far-off sea, where Lyra bathes 
 Her stars in gold, and moves thro' living air, 
 
 Where, with his silent force, old Orion swathes 
 Each courtier planet in its proper sphere, 
 
 (75) 
 
76 THE REAL. 
 
 Where Pleiades their gentle influence shed 
 
 On their long train of Seraph-peopled worlds, 
 Where spaces mighty ocean outward's spread, 
 
 Further than furthest comet e'er was hurled : 
 There spread the realms of beauty, starry isles. 
 
 Of life immortal, knowing no decay ; 
 Where the great Central Sun forever smiles 
 
 In beams that scatter music on their way ; 
 Octaves of light, they move thro' finer air. 
 And every wave of radiance echoes there. 
 
 There doth the dreaming poet send his soul. 
 
 To bring back glorious thoughts of Genius 
 rare. 
 There sketch each tree-plumed hill, each grassy 
 knoll. 
 
 Landscapes unfading, flowers forever fair ; 
 And Seraph forms, and brows, his lines rehearse. 
 
 Which he hath gazed on, in his spirit dream. 
 And men drink in like light his glowing verse, 
 
 Till each bright form and scene familiar seem. 
 And our tranced spirits yearn, like his, to roam 
 To those far ''seats of Bliss, our future home." 
 
 Those distant gleamings of the Soul's Ideal 
 Steal thro' the curtained studio, where, alone, 
 
THE REAL. 
 
 77 
 
 Sits the rapt painter, heedless of the real, 
 
 Ungraceful forms of earth, around him thrown : 
 
 Before him spreads a sunset, golden beams 
 
 Light skies more blue, that Arno's upward gaze 
 
 Paints on its waters, groves and shadow' d streams 
 Bathe in the mellow light, while evening's haze 
 
 Sheds on the far-oif summits softer air, 
 
 I^ike a veiled beauty, more serenely fair : 
 
 And eyes are there, deep starry eyes of light, 
 
 And calm Madonna brows, and floating forms, 
 x\nd flowing drapery, like clouds of night 
 
 Lit by the moonbeams, veil their radiant arms ; 
 He paints, and we Idolaters adore — 
 
 Then from our ecstasy awake to mourn 
 That angel forms revisit earth no more. 
 
 And feel that we from Paradise were torn ; 
 Like the lone Peri, we but gaze within 
 On the bright world, closed on us by our sin. 
 
 The patient sculptor, whose unwearied hand 
 Finds the loved image of his soul inwrought 
 
 Beneath the yielding marble, as in land 
 
 Of dire enchanter, by some Prince is sought. 
 
 The tranced beauty, numbed in seeming death. 
 So from its cold sarcophagus is brought 
 7* 
 
78 THE REAL. 
 
 The image of his vision, but the breath 
 
 Of glowing life comes not with glorious thought : 
 Jove gave Pygmalion's life, — had love that power, 
 The grave would yield its statues in an hour. 
 
 'Tis but the marble shadow of his vision 
 
 Seen in the dreaming land, when slumbers steal 
 
 On his closed lids, where borne to scenes Elysian ; 
 His waking thoughts those angel forms reveal ; 
 
 On the cold brow we gaze, and long to give 
 
 Half of our soul to make the statue live. 
 
 Daughter of Love and Song ; oh ! thou whose 
 spell. 
 
 Nepenthe-like, falls soft on heart and brain. 
 When the glad air receives the gusliing swell 
 
 With which the breathing soul invokes thy 
 strain ; 
 Angel of Music, from whose wafting wings 
 
 Drop the rich globules of the sounding song. 
 Whose touch ethereal wakes the echoing strings 
 
 That thro' our coarser atmosphere prolong 
 The floating octaves, rising till they soar. 
 Like silver bells — ^just heard — from spirit shore- — 
 
 All beauty, harmony, all grace, all light, 
 Richness and glory, all that enters in. 
 
THE REAL. 
 
 79 
 
 To our pent souls, and all the noble might 
 
 Of virtuous will, the purity within, 
 Are all but breathings of that spirit home 
 
 Like perfumed waves from spiced Arabia's 
 shore : 
 Where'er we live and breathe, where'er we roam, 
 Those warmer gales still fan us, o'er and o'er ; 
 Those airs of home, their homeward longings 
 
 bring. 
 And still the Spirit's '^Ranz des Vaches" we 
 sing. 
 
LORD WILLIAM AND THE 
 COTTAGE MAID. 
 
 L 
 
 ORD WILLIAM wooed a cottage maid, 
 And he told her his love 'neath the beechen 
 shade. 
 
 The sky and sunlight together were 
 
 In her deep blue eyes and her golden hair; 
 
 Back from her brow, so high and pale, 
 Were pushed the folds of her drooping veil ; 
 
 No cottage damsel she seemed to be. 
 But a graceful maiden of high degree. 
 
 He sighed, as he gazed on her beauty rare, 
 ' ' Were the Lady Elvina but half so fair. ' ' 
 
 He loved and wooed, but young Ellen strove 
 With a maiden's fears and a maiden's love; 
 (80) 
 
LORD WILLIAM gl 
 
 For she knew that the heir of halls and land 
 Was no suitor meet for a lowly hand. 
 
 The wooer went back to his lighted hall, 
 Where his lady mother kept festival. 
 
 As he trod the dance with a measured tread 
 There bent to his words a stately head, 
 
 And a small, white hand in his own was laid. 
 And the dame took the place of the cottage maid. 
 
 Soon the merry chime of the wedding-bells 
 A noble marriage delighted tells, 
 
 For the Lady Elvina has given her hand, 
 Her castles fair, and her goodly land. 
 
 And Lord William has given a golden ring 
 For her dower and lands, 'twas a little thing. 
 
 She sat in his hall at the banquet's pride, 
 
 And her children climbed to their father's side; 
 
 But oft in the gloom of the twilight pale 
 He saw golden locks and the drooping veil, 
 
82 AND THE COTTAGE MAID. 
 
 And wished that the brow so high and fair 
 Had been in the place of another's there. 
 
 Long years had passed, and one winter night, 
 As he sat in his chair by the ruddy light, 
 
 A peasant came to his dame so proud. 
 To beg for a maiden an humble shroud ; 
 
 For 'neath the snow of the wintry sky 
 A sorrowful one had lain down to die. 
 
 Her hands were closed in their quiet rest, 
 A kerchief pinn'd on her shapely breast; 
 
 The maiden snood on that moveless brow 
 Was not half so white as that forehead now. 
 
 Stitched close in her simple bodice, there 
 Was the tip of a plume, and a lock of hair; 
 
 And gossips said that the broken plume 
 Fell from the bonnet of lordly groom. 
 
 When the stealthy wind bore the prize away 
 Which had waved o'er such locks on his bridal 
 day. 
 
LORD WILLIAM 83 
 
 On those castle walls was a silent gloom, 
 And a daughter sat in the darkened room. 
 
 The stately mother had pass'd away, 
 The earth regards not her noble clayj 
 
 Her children all like the nipp'd buds fell. 
 All but the one he had loved so well j 
 
 For her eyes were blue, and her hair was bright 
 As the summer sky and the rich sunlight. 
 
 Strange, that the maiden so young and fair. 
 Should be like the one who lay shrouded there ! 
 
 When the gossips told of the lock and plume 
 That had shaded the brow of the lordly groom. 
 
 The daughter gazed on his altered brow. 
 His face was as calm as an infant's now: 
 
 The pain had gone, and had left no trace 
 
 On that broad, high forehead and sculptured face. 
 
 She bent low o'er his couch to catch his breath, 
 It had gone on the wings of the Angel — Death. 
 
84 AND THE COTTAGE MAID. 
 
 His hands were clasped on a locket, tied 
 By a golden chain to his vestment's side; 
 
 She open'd the clasp, 'twas a face as fair 
 
 As the one that looked on it, wondering there; 
 
 And set around in the jewel's gold 
 Was a tress like hers, in a silken fold. 
 
 Alas ! that Love in this world should give 
 But the desolate heart that disdains to live. 
 
ODE TO MASONRY. 
 
 IN the morning of creation, while its yet 
 unbroken sleep 
 
 Hung o'er undivided matter, as doth darkness 
 o'er the deep; 
 
 Ere the Architect Masonic, had with voice elec- 
 tric sent 
 
 Living words upon the waters of the boundless 
 firmament ; 
 
 Then in Heaven, the secret counsels of thy mystic 
 order lay, 
 
 Waiting but the mighty fiat, when from Light 
 should come the Day. 
 
 Thro' the dim and distant ages of the unrecorded 
 
 time, 
 Down thro' lines of Priests and Sages, came thy 
 
 mysteries sublime. 
 And the veiled and mystic Isis was but shadowy 
 
 type of lore 
 (Cloth'd in beauty allegoric), of the learning known 
 
 before, 
 
 8 (.85 ) 
 
86 ODE^ TO MASONRY. 
 
 When the Voice was heard in Aiden, ere the dark- 
 en' d shadow fell, 
 
 While the presence of the Angels saved us from 
 the grasp of Hell. 
 
 In the fair Egyptian Edes, hidden from the vulgar 
 gaze, 
 
 Were thy sacred rites enacted, did thy fragrant 
 altars blaze ; 
 
 Where the Eastern Heli's presence on the Hiero- 
 phant could shine, 
 
 Where the light of astral systems taught the ma- 
 jesty Divine : 
 
 There the patient Hebrew, Moses, learnt the wis- 
 dom deep, that plann'd 
 
 Rescue for his captive nation, guidance to the 
 *' Promised Land." 
 
 In the golden, jewel' d temple of the gorgeous 
 
 Solymene, 
 Where the smooth and polish' d masses fitting 
 
 silently were seen ; 
 Where no sound of pick or hammer e'er betrayed 
 
 the workman's hand. 
 So, in grand, impressive silence, do thy sacred 
 
 altars stand — 
 
ODE TO MASONRY. 87 
 
 Figured silence, ever telling of His Power, sub- 
 limely shown, 
 
 By the Temple's mighty structure, growing upward 
 from the stone. 
 
 Lever, Roller, Screw, and Pulley, are but symbols 
 of thy might. 
 
 Square and Circle, Compass, Measure, guide thy 
 true disciples right. 
 
 Still, where e'er man's footstep presses, spread the 
 doctrines of thy Fane, 
 
 Firm as everlasting mountains be the pillars of thy 
 reign — 
 
 Wide in Mercy, strong in Power, blending Wis- 
 dom most sublime, 
 
 Wisdom of the Great Eternal, with the passing 
 years of Time. 
 
THE FROST SPIRITS. 
 
 TIEAUTIFUL Spirits of Frost and Snow, 
 -L-' I hear your wings flutter as on ye go — 
 Ye change the drops of the wintry rain 
 Into castles and groves on my window-pane : 
 Castles and groves, and knights with plumes. 
 
 Scenes from the tropical climes of balm. 
 Carriage and steeds with liveried grooms, 
 
 Monks in cathedral singing a psalm ; 
 Fern leaves growing near silvery lake, 
 
 Laplanders skimming the glittering snow, 
 Fleet reindeers the light sledges take. 
 
 Sending the diamond dust to and fro — 
 Wide is the reign of your scepter'd hands, 
 Ye gather your spoils from Earth's many lands. 
 
 One winter eve, as he looked at home 
 
 On the panel' d glass from the dashing rain. 
 
 Say, did not Angelo see the dome 
 
 Of St. Peter's grow on his window-pane? 
 (88) 
 
89 
 
 THE FROST SPIRITS. 
 
 For on mine, a Gothic doorway opes, 
 
 Inviting my fancy to enter in, 
 It seems to look on the sunny slopes 
 
 That surrounded the palace of Conradin : 
 Crowds are there (who throng the street) 
 
 Entering in at the open door ; 
 I almost think I see their feet 
 
 Tread on the tiles of the marble floor — 
 Here ye spread, in Honiton lace. 
 
 The mazy web, more delicate now, 
 Than ever a queen, in her queenly grace, 
 
 Wore in a veil on her stately brow. 
 Deep-set edge, with tracery rare; 
 
 Not the gossamer gauze, nor the fabrics light, 
 The dark-eyed, gemm'd sultanas wear, 
 Those robes that float on the summer air 
 
 Of the Persian's cloudless night, 
 Can with thy textures, O, Sprites ! compare — 
 For Dacca's thread was ne'er spun as fine 
 As the one that forms your fairy line. 
 
 Surely, Spirits unseen, ye bring us 
 
 All that is lovely to mortal eyes. 
 Ye wake the mystical songs within us. 
 
 That keep time to the march of the starry skies ; 
 8* 
 
go THE FROST SPIRITS. 
 
 All that is beautiful, just, and true. 
 
 Comes from the Veiled Universe, where 
 There spread thro' space a more delicate air, 
 And perfect types upspringing and new, 
 
 Are made indigenous there : 
 From those come, as now, from the frost and rain. 
 Original sketches, stamped on our brain. 
 
 Thus photograph' d here from above; 
 But verily. Earth can copy but faintly 
 The glory of forms, angelic and saintly, 
 
 Invoked to our pillows, by prayer, or by love. 
 
 How do we enter the Land of Dreams? 
 
 Is there an Angel with ivory wand 
 
 To open the gates of its Palaces fair. 
 
 To lead us on by its crystal streams. 
 
 To drink of the joy, we find only there? 
 
 By the light of Earth, unseen they stand — ■ 
 
 Like the wonderful city, 'neath Araby's skies, 
 
 That Golden City, whose gates were closed 
 
 Forever to mortals' longing eyes : 
 
 And then, when closed, came a mighty cloud, 
 
 Dark and dense as a demon's shroud, 
 
 That circled the beautiful city, and hid it 
 
 Evermore from him who bid it 
 
 In the desert of Aiden rise : 
 
THE FROST SPIRITS. 91 
 
 The Arab prince, who thought to make 
 
 A Heaven on Earth, and had daringly plann'd 
 Each Palace of Gold in its mirror' d lake. 
 
 Its gardens fair, and its castles grand \ 
 Pillar' d porticoes running along 
 Perfumed rivers that flowed in song. 
 Banqueting halls, and towers high, 
 With turrets lost in the cloudless sky — 
 In that City of Arem, so vast and fair. 
 The treasures of earth were gather' d there. 
 All that the soul of man could ask 
 
 Did the Arab prince supply ; 
 And there, when ended his pleasant task. 
 
 It vanished from his eye. 
 
 Was this a dream, or a story told 
 With a moral, by Arab Sages old. 
 To teach us how vain is a city of gold 
 
 Built in the desert here ? 
 For the clouds of Earth, and Time's whirling sands. 
 Cover the cities of earthly lands. 
 
 And our hopes, like Sheddad's, have found their 
 bier. 
 
 Spirits of Air, with your silver wands. 
 Open the gates of your hidden realms. 
 
92 
 
 THE FROST SPIRITS. 
 
 Touch our closed lids with your magical hands, 
 
 Take from our eyes the earthly films : 
 Thro' the Winter's frost, and the Summer's heat, 
 Come, with the pat of your dainty feet. 
 And still in the dash of the gusty rain. 
 Stop, as ye go by my window-pane. 
 
"IMPERATRICE OF FRANCE." 
 
 Written on reading the " Visit of the Empress Eugenie to the Cholera 
 Hospitals in Paris." 
 
 T T AIL to the land where royal feet descend 
 
 - ^ ^ from stateliest throne 
 
 To tread the courts where Pestilence in Horror 
 reigns alone. 
 
 Hail to the land where beauty clothes in linea- 
 ments divine, 
 
 A fervent soul as ever bowed before Religion's 
 shrine, 
 
 Or blessed with Heavenly Charity the Old World's 
 wide expanse, 
 
 Then, Hail to thee, fair Queen of all, "Impera- 
 trice of France!" 
 
 I joy that in a woman's form is shrined thy seraph 
 soul, 
 
 I joy that o'er a noble realm is felt thy blest con- 
 trol, 
 
 (93) 
 
94 
 
 IMPERATRICE OF FRANCE. 
 
 I joy that Heaven has given to thee all glorious 
 
 gifts combined, 
 The gentle eyes, the queenly brow, the majesty of 
 
 mind: 
 Thine is the sway of loveliness, that conquers in 
 
 its glance. 
 Then may thy reign forever last, *'Imperatrice of 
 
 France!" 
 
 Around thee shine the glories of the Court of 
 Charlemagne, 
 
 And in thy blue veins flows the blood, the noblest 
 blood of Spain; 
 
 The ancient centuries of Time, their golden Vel- 
 lums bring, 
 
 The records of thy famous land, since Clovis first 
 was King; 
 
 But never did the "Lilies" fair on lovelier lady 
 glance, 
 
 Than those that cluster round thy brow, "Im- 
 peratrice of France!" 
 
 The sunrise that first greets thy land, then travels 
 
 on to mine, 
 So doth thy glorious womanhood on every woman 
 
 shine. 
 
IMPERATRICE OF FRANCE: 
 
 95 
 
 Nor doth the realm of "Sunny France" bound 
 
 thy resistless sway, 
 Thy magnanimity of soul all other hearts obey; 
 Thou reign' St a Queen in every breast, no need 
 
 of spear or lance 
 To bristle round thy throne beloved, "Impera- 
 
 trice of France!" 
 
 Oh! Kings of Earth, whose crowned heads oft 
 
 tremble, when the jar 
 Of avalanching multitudes approaches from afar. 
 Did ye the golden scepter hold of ''Righteousness 
 
 and Peace," 
 Your thrones would then securely rest, unholy 
 
 wars would cease ; 
 No longer round your palace-walls were wanted 
 
 spear or lance, 
 Love were your Warder then, as thine, "Impera- 
 
 trice of France!" 
 
 Fear not, O Man ! for Angels tread the lofty halls 
 
 of Kings, 
 And o'er the stricken land now shed '* the healing 
 
 from their wings;" 
 
c,6 *' IMPERATRICE OF FRANCE." 
 
 When woman, in her might of love, lays royalty- 
 aside, 
 
 With all its gorgeousness of power, with all its 
 pomp of pride; 
 
 When o'er the dying and the dead she bends with 
 pitying glance, 
 
 Then Angels walk the world with thee, ''Impera- 
 trice of France ! ' ' 
 
DIANA 
 
 WATCHING ENDYMION ASLEEP ON MOUNT LATM03. 
 
 STARS of the Night ! your silent vigils keep, 
 Whilst I, from moonlight shadows, watch his 
 
 sleep. 
 Thro' the bright day the Carian wood-nymphs 
 
 fair 
 Toy with the ringlets of his golden hair; 
 The zephyrs woo his eyelids to repose, 
 Bringing his cheek a deeper tint of rose. 
 Apollo vainly seeks his flocks to guide 
 To leafy covert in the forest wide ; 
 For teasing fauns around his pathway play, 
 With causeless fright they drive his herds away, 
 And oft his weary footsteps tread the plain, 
 His bleating charge in safety to regain. 
 
 But now he sleeps the sleep that Nature gives. 
 The needful rest from toil for all that lives. 
 In moonbeams wrapp'd, I touch his gentle eyes, 
 And bear his soul to fair Olympia's skies; 
 
 9 (97) 
 
98 DIANA WATCHING ENDYMION 
 
 The glory of my Father's realm appear, 
 And strains of heavenly music greet his ear. 
 No more a huntress of the wood I seem, 
 Daughter of Jove, a Goddess in his dream ; 
 With Crescent crown' d, and diamond circlet 
 
 bright, 
 I look the Starry Empress of the Night ; 
 On his warm lips Ambrosial incense shed, 
 And sprinkle Nectar on his graceful head. 
 Endymion, sleep — yes, let those visions cheer 
 Thy peaceful rest, while I am watching here. 
 Thou dost not know that Diana leaves her throne 
 To clothe in glittering mist thy form alone ; 
 In this fair Earth a fairer world I see, 
 And tread, with buskin'd feet, this world for thee. 
 
TO TIME, 
 
 STAY ! I command thee — Time ! 
 Touch not with silver wand my brow again ; 
 Cast thou no shadow on my perfect prime, 
 My spirit's will shall hence dispute thy reign. 
 
 Stay, on Life's Ajalon, my mid-day sun ; 
 
 Thou owest me much for sorrow's many years ; 
 Thro' my absorbing griefs thy years had run, 
 
 No light made rainbows of my many tears. 
 
 But I have waked to know 
 
 Thy stealthy tread ; I watch, not as of yore, 
 When I was burden' d with my heavy woe, 
 
 I cared not for the years that went before. 
 
 I prayed thee then to pass 
 
 With quickened step upon thy darksome way ; 
 Now, I reverse thy swiftly-moving glass, 
 
 And bid thee look upon they wrecks — and stay. 
 
 (99) 
 
loo TO TIME. 
 
 Was it in vain I made the midnight oil 
 Throw its dim light upon the classic page ? 
 
 Changing (unlike St. Leon), with the toil, 
 Fair youth to thoughtful age ? 
 
 Canst thou not wipe away 
 
 The weary years, whose shadows o'er me lie? 
 Hast thou no fount of Life, wherein we may 
 
 Freshen the cheek, and light the fading eye ? 
 
 Silent ! Thou may'st not listen to my prayer; 
 
 Noiseless thy tread, but still thou must not stay, 
 Just as of old, unheeding my despair, 
 
 Thou trod' St the flowers that blossom' d on my 
 way. 
 
 Precede me — then — while I 
 
 The precious things I loved on Earth may 
 bring — 
 I know at last that I thy power defy, — 
 
 Now, lead me to the presence of my King. 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 SO act in life that each recorded hour 
 May never give remorseless Memory power 
 To wring thy heart with anguish, when the tears 
 Of bitter mourning come in after-years : 
 For know each wounding word, each act unkind 
 (Tho' for the present they escape thy mind), 
 Shall in the vengeful future bubble up. 
 In bitterness of gall, a Marah cup ! 
 Worse than the waters in the desert sands, 
 By Israel taken with reluctant hands, 
 For them a blessed branch made sweet the well. 
 But ne'er to thee, may come that holy spell, 
 No Gilead balm shall ever bring thee healing. 
 When the closed grave shall mock thy waken' d 
 
 feeling ; 
 Life has no sorrow, sharp as bootless weeping. 
 And thoughts we wish to lose, we're sure of keep- 
 ing. 
 
 9* ( loi ) 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 OH ! there are, in every lifetime, sacred spots 
 to Memory dear ; 
 And like pilgrims to a Mecca, thronging thoughts 
 
 will wander here — 
 In the dimly-lighted chambers of those cloistered 
 
 shrines e'er dwell. 
 Weary souls, like praying hermits, kneel before 
 
 each holy cell. 
 Hearts grown old from time or sadness, carry there 
 
 their load of pain, 
 And each wailing spirit murmurs. Shall we ne'er 
 
 know joy again ? 
 
 Memory hath her land of beauty. Love and youth 
 in it ne'er die. 
 
 Floating on its placid waters, still the fadeless land- 
 scapes lie ; 
 
 (I02) 
 
MEMORY. 103 
 
 And tho' years and change may bring us much 
 
 of weal and much of woe, 
 Ever to its gushing fountains do our thirsty spirits 
 
 go- 
 Early Love had built fair castles, on whose turrets 
 
 still the smile 
 Of a light more golden lingers than e'er gilt 
 
 Armida's Isle. 
 
^7o -f 
 
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