iyi LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. S]ielf,-K3-£^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Songs in all Seasons BY JAMES B.'KENYON I J!!L V '325 BOSTON CUPPLES, UPHAM AND COMPANY 1885 Copyright, By CuPi'LEs, Upham & Co. 1S84-. ELECTROTVPED BY C. J. PETERS AND SON,. BOSTON. iixsjcvip^tixrn. Thou whose fond eyes in sleep were never sealed, When love's stern ways were spread before thy feet — Thou who didst hope and pray, and watch and shield. When death's dusk wings against my windows beat — Take, O my mother, these poor broken sounds Of singing ; and while in their dizzy rounds Of careless pleasure, men may heed not me Nor my small pipe, yet praise shall come from thee. CONTENTS. PAGE Miscellaneous Poems. A Maid of Sicily 9 In Arcadia 12 The King is Dying 15 When Clover Blooims 17 A Roman Queen iQ Song of the North Wind 22 The Re-Awakening 25 A Lover's Vesper-Song 27 Hesper 28 My Lady 3° Rondeau • • 32 The Present 33 The Mohawk 3^ Morning 3^ Nightfall 4° The Old Story 43 Estranged 45 A Crushed Rose 47 Evensong 49 Song of the Spring 5° A Summer Day 52 An Autumn Morning 54 The Wanderer 5^ Unchangeable 59 Nova Vita 61 Evening at Cape Ann 63 Pax Mortis ^5 Requiescat 67 5 6 CONTENTS. Miscellaneous Poems. Isabel 68 The Difference 69 The Last Joy ji Ballads. Katie Leigh 75 An Autumn Ballad 82 Nora 87 A Hundred Years 91 A Ballad of Death 94 The Tyrian's Memory 99 Sonnets. Cleopatra to Antony 107 Romeo to Juliet 108 Syrinx 109 Pan Ill Rizpah 112 Vox DOLORIS 114 The Angel of Night . 116 A City Cry , 118 The Prophet's End 119 Parting 120 Sundered 121 The Dream 122 Joy in Sorrow 123 Edmund Spenser 124 Longfellow 125 When I Have Lived My Life 127 Patience 129 Homesick 130 Though He Slay Me, Yet Will I Trust in Him . 131 Blind 132 A Poet's Grave 134 Hagar 136 Grapes of Eshcol 137 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Songs in all Seasons. A MAID OF SICILY. O HE heard the waves creep up the sand ; Her hair, by roving sea-winds blown, And careless of the prisoning band, Down fluttered to the azure zone Girt lightly round her perfect form. And clasped beneath her bosom warm Which like twin lilies shone. The dew gleamed on her sandalled feet ; Her clinging robe around her trailed ; Her eyes with morning light were sweet ; And on her brow, that flushed and paled. As love and fear passed o'er her face, Was throned a rare and virgin grace. Such as earth's dawn first hailed. 9 10 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Her face was seaward turned ; her eyes Looked southward, where the amber light Was mixed with purple in the skies, And one fair hand, to shade her sight, Against her chaste young brow was raised ; And so she stood, and seaward gazed Across the waters wide and bright. She saw the level sunrays burn Along the midsea's heaving breast ; She saw the circling heavens spurn The utmost billow's tossing crest Where, on the blue horizon's rim, A galley's sails rose, white and dim, And all her blood leaped with unrest. She knows that sail ; love's eyes are keen ; She knows yon dancing bark is his ; From distant coasts where he has been. From Cyprus, Tyre, and Tripolis, Her lover brings the alien freight She prizes not ; to those who wait More precious is love's first warm kiss. A MAID OF SICILY. II He homeward brings the costly dyes The Roman's love, and nard, and myrrh, And unguents which the Emperor buys, And silks, and spice, and fruits which were Sun-steeped on far Phoenician hills ; But not of these she recks ; love fills Alone the happy heart of her. So let her watch, while clearer rise The sails which she has waited long; The sun climbs higher up the skies ; The sea-wind greets her, salt and strong ; Her robe from one white shoulder slips ; Her breast is bare ; and from her lips Half tremble little waifs of song. 12 IN ARCADIA. TIP from yon myrtle valley incense curls, Blue in the balmy morning ; barefoot girls, With silvery laughter bubbling, like clear rills, Forth from their dewy lips, trip up the hills, Brushing the twinkling jewels from the grass, That scarcely bends beneath them as they pass. Bright robes, that half reveal their budding charms, Flow lightly round them ; and their dimpled arms, That bear in woven baskets fruits and flowers. Glow in the sunlight. Yonder are the bowers Of Ceres, to whose shrine these offerings Of field and grove each happy maiden brings. And hither also in the smiling morn Come goodly youths with braided ears of corn. IN ARCADIA. 13 And stems of purple grapes and pomegranates, And shining berries, olives, figs, and dates. Now let the dance begin upon the green, And while the sound of music drifts between The pleached branches of the leafy wood, Waking sweet echoes in the solitude, Let twining hands, light feet, and songs and mirth Be joined, in Ceres' praise, to gifts of earth. And hark ! from height to height the shepherds call; Adown the hill the laughing waterfall Leaps to the plain ; the bees begin to hum, And in the glen the partridge beats his drum. In shady dells, where well the crystal springs. The naiad laves her limbs and softly sings, While overhead, from out the oak's thick screen. The amorous dryad leans to view the scene. Nor dares to stir a leaf from place, for fear She sink into the wave and disappear. Still round the shrine of Ceres, maze on maze, The dancers featly foot, and chant her praise ; 14 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. The incense upward floats amid the trees That o'er them stretch their emerald canopies ; Still from the heights the shepherds blithely call Their bleating flocks ; the jocund waterfall, Flashing the golden sunlight back again, Still gambols down to seek the amber plain, And spread abroad its waters clear and cool, That mimic heaven in an azure pool, Nigh whose fringed marge a drowsy dragon-fly Upon a lily-leaf sways dreamily, And Pan, 'mid rushes and rank water-weeds, To shape some sweeter pipe, still plucks the reeds. 15 THE KING IS DYING. pOOL, stand back, the king is dying, Give him what little air remains ; See you not how his pulse is flying? Hear you not how he gasps and strains To catch one other stertorous breath ? God ! how he labors ! yes, this is death ! Blow up the fire — his feet are cold ; Ay, though a king, he cannot buy One briefest moment with all his gold ; His hour has come, and he must die : Withered and wrinkled, and old and gray, The king fares out on the common way. Light the tapers ; he 's almost gone ; Stir, you fool, 't is past the hour To cower and cringe, and flatter and fawn - The thing lying there is shorn of power ; 1 6 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Henceforth the lips of the king are dumb : Bring up your ghostly viaticum. Absolve his soul ; need enough, God wot ! Mumble and sprinkle and do your shriving ; Yet, methinks, here and there shall be left a blot, Hideously foul, despite your striving;- Nor purfled quilts, nor pillows of lace, Can relieve the guilt in that grim old face. Soft ! stand back — it is his last ; Get hence, your priestly craft is o'er ; For him the pomp of the world is past — The king that was is king no more : Let the bells be rung, let the mass be said, And the king's heir know that the king is dead. 17 WHEN CLOVER BLOOMS. Al 7HEN clover blooms in the meadows, And the happy south winds blow ; When under the leafy shadows The singing waters flow — Then come to me ; as you pass I shall hear your feet in the grass, And my heart shall awake and leap F'rom its cool, dark couch of sleep, And shall thrill again, as of old. Ere its long rest under the mould — When clover blooms. Deem not that I shall not waken ; I shall know, my love, it is you ; I shall feel the tall grass shaken, I shall hear the drops of the dew 1 8 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. That scatter before your feet ; I shall smell the perfume sweet Of the red rose that you wear, As of old, in your sunny hair ; Deem not that I shall not know It is your light feet that go 'Mid clover blooms. O love, the years have parted — The long, long years ! — our ways ; You have gone with the merry-hearted These many and many days, And I with that grim guest Who loveth the silence best. * But come to me — I shall wait For your coming, soon or late, For, soon or late, I know, You shall come to my rest below The clover blooms. 19 A ROMAN QUEEN. IMPERIOUS on her ebon throne She sits, a queen, in languid ease ; Her lustrous locks are loosely blown Back from her brow by some stray breeze Lost in that vast, bright hall of state, Where thronging suppliants fear and wait. A dreamy fragrance, fine and rare, Of sandal, nard and precious gum, With balmy sweetness fills the air, And mingles with the incense from A quaint and costly azure urn. Where Indian spices ever burn. A jewelled serpent, wrought in gold. Coils round her white and naked arm ; 20 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Her purple tunic, backward rolled, Reveals the full and regal charm Of her fair neck, and ivory breast. Half veiled beneath her broidered vest. Her eyelids droop upon her eyes, And curtained by the silken lash. The smouldering fire that in them lies Is scarcely seen, save when a flash, Like that which lights the polar snow, Gleams from the dusky depths below. Her proud, cold lips are lightly wreathed In smiles, as if with high disdain She scorns to show her hate is sheathed. And that he sues not all in vain For favors of her haughty will. Or e'en love's rarer guerdon still. He stands before her white and fierce ; His bosom with swift passion shakes ; His burning vision seems to pierce Her very soul ; he pleads ; he wakes A ROMAN QUEEN. 21 Within her heart a wild desire, That flames and mounts like sudden fire. A subtle glance, a whispered word, A waving of her perfumed hand. He feels his secret prayer is heard — That she will know and understand ; The queen is hid, and for a space A love-swayed woman holds her place. He bows, he leans toward the throne ; Her breath is warm upon his cheek ; She murmurs, and in every tone He hears the love she dares not speak ; What though the surging hundreds press ? No eye shall see her swift caress. Let him beware ; he toys with fate ; False as the glittering serpent is On her white arm, her love to hate Shall change eftsoons ; then every kiss She gives him with her fickle breath Shall be surcharged with secret death. 22 SONG OF THE NORTH WIND. IT ARK to the voice of me ! Hear thou the singing Of him who has never Been paid for his song ! This is the choice of me, Still to go ringing The rhymes that forever Are surly and strong. Know'st thou the regions cold Whence I have hasted ? Know'st thou the way I take Over the earth ? SONG OF THE NORTH WIND. ^ 23 Still Stand the legions old — Ice-kings unwasted — Fending the frigid lake Where I had birth. Frost-banded fountains Snow-fed from far peaks ; Firths of the polar sea Rigid as stone ; Shag-bearded mountains ; Deeps that no star seeks ; Strange lights that solar be — These I have known. Men fear the breath of me ; Sorrow and anguish, Famine and fever Follow my path. I am the death of thee ; I make thee languish ; Swiftly I sever Love's ties in my wrath. 24 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Chains cannot hold me, Gyves cannot bind me, Bolts cannot lock me. Floods cannot drown ! Fly — and I fold thee ; Hide — and I find thee; Cry — and I mock thee, Howling thee down ! 25 THE RE-AWAKENING. A VOICE upon the hillside wakes, A rill begins to laugh and leap, And nature starts, and stirs, and breaks The silence of her long, white sleep. The soft, warm coverlet of snow That veils her lovely limbs and face She lightly flings aside, and so Arises in her vast, nude grace. But now her bright new robe of green Is o'er her gleaming shoulders thrown, And many a stream of silver sheen Is girt about her like a zone. 26 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Oh, she is fair ; her cheeks and brow Are softly bathed in April rain ; And, standing under yon green bough, She hears the robin flute again. Old memories kindle in her breast ; Her eyes look forth through floating tears Tears not of sorrow ; she is blessed ; God gives her youth through all the years. God gives her youth with each new spring ; Her winter's long, mysterious swound Is but her life's refashioning — A healing of time's every wound. O soul, lift up thy voice and sing ; The seasons utter forth this truth — Thy winter past, behold ! one spring, Thou'lt wake, clothed in immortal youth. 27 A LOVER'S VESPER SONG. 'T'HE blue bends down to kiss the hills, The hills rise up to kiss the blue, They clasp and kiss at their own sweet wills Love, why not I and you ? The sea leaps forward to the land, The land hugs close the amorous sea ; They meet and marry on the strand — Love, why not thus meet me ? Look off, and mark the fervid west, How night stoops down to fold the day. How day leans on night's throbbing breast — Sweet love, shall we delay ? The hills and sky, the land and sea. The day and darkness teach us this, — That you must wed, dear love, with me, Or life's best guerdon miss. 28 HESPER. /^ STAR of the pale-bosomed night, Let thy smile re-illumine the world ; Like a garment the darkness clothes valley and height, In the dim-caverned west dies the opaline light, And the pinions of sleep are unfurled. Come forth from thy tent in yon cloud. That thy beauty may gladden the skies ; See, the mountains lie folded in mist like a shroud, And the river that loves thee is singing aloud, And the summer wind seeks thee with sighs. In her chamber, 'mid curtains of white, My lady lies silent in sleep ; HESPER. 29 O star, shed thy balm through the strokes of the night, Charm the hours, as they go, that her dreams may be bright. And the hush of the darkness be deep. And lo ! when, the gates of the dawn Shall unfold, and the shepherdess leads Her white flocks to feed on some high dewy lawn, And the mists and the visions of night are with- drawn. And the rivulet sings through the meads, — Then fair shall my lady appear. And sweet as the breath of the May ; And her heart shall be light as the heart of the year. And shall throb into song, as she pauses to hear The sound of the wakening day. 30 MY LADY. A S shine from yonder dusky skies The stars that fret the pallid night, So shine my lady's heavenly eyes, To fill the world with tender light. Her voice is sweet as tinkling rills That meet and mingle musically, And trip together down the hills, To lose themselves within the sea. Not sweeter is the breath of June, That stirs her garments lovingly. Than are the words which, like a tune, Fall from her lips melodiously. Her hair is like a golden mesh Wherein the tangled sunshine lies, MY LADY. 31 And like primroses, fair and fresh, Her cheeks the dewy morning dyes. As leans the lily on its stalk, ' When lightly falls the wooing shower. So leans she from the garden walk, To catch the scent of some rare flower. The earth is fairer since she is. And nearer leans the happy sky ; And half his terrors death shall miss, Because my lady, too, must die. 32 RONDEAU. VKTUEN I am dead, and all life's griefs at last Forever and forevermore are past, Though still the green earth wheels its ceaseless round, While I sleep sweetly in the cool, sweet ground, I shall not reck if time move slow or fast. But, O my love, the deathless love thou hast Shall move like light above me in the vast Dim void of death, where breaks nor light nor sound — When I am dead. I shall not reck though darkness overcast The summer sky, or the wild, winter blast Vex the heaped snows above my lowly mound. For I shall lie in silence softly wound. Soothed by the memory of what thou wast — When I am dead. 33 THE PRESENT. V\THAT matter we have suffered, dear, and borne A thousand pangs, when we are lying low ? What matter that we drank the lees of scorn, And wept beneath our griefs, as we weep now, When from our dust shall spring the matted thorn ? What matter, dear, that you and I have kept Hearts sweet and tender through ungracious years, When in the sepulcher we shall have slept A thousand moons, and dried are Memory's tears, And Love sings by the tomb where once she wept ? 34 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. I know when we are gone the flowers will bloom, And in their seasons leaves will go and come, And nesting birds will sing above our tomb ; But still, what matter? We shall both be dumb. And locked in silence and eternal gloom. What matter, dear, though spring and summer wane, And winter come with chilling sleet and snow, Or on our graves the flowers weep in rain. Or on our graves the flowers forget to blow. What matter, dear ? — we cannot then feel pain. Should others love as you and I have loved. What matter? — we shall mingle hearts in dust ; Should others prove, as you and I have proved, The faith of men, nor forfeit Heaven's high trust. What matter ? — they shall move as we have moved. THE PRESENT. 35 Come, come away ! O, now we will not mourn, For that which is not ; and the past is past ; Though faded joys shall nevermore return, Neither shall faded griefs, the first or last. And time's true heir is of the present born. O love, what may be shall not cloud the heart, Nor steal joy from the present, which is ours ; Now, now we '11 clasp, and laugh at death, nor part. But make these, which we have, most golden hours. And when the Dread Voice calls, together start. 36 THE MOHAWK. T^HOU windest down between the hills, Past many a gleaming lawn and lea, The tribute of a thousand rills To bear toward the distant sea. 'Twixt level fields of wheat and corn, By many a cool and quiet wood, Past founts where singing streams are born, Thou rollest down thy silver flood. Within thy wave the shadows play ; Along thy banks the blossoms bloom ; And to and fro, through all the day, The swallows sweep from sun to gloom. THE MOHAWK. 37 Unchanged thy voice ; still sweet and low Thou murmurest to the leaves and grass And happy winds that o'er thee blow And lightly kiss thee as they pass. The lordly Hudson waits for thee ; With throbbing heart and smihng face, He greets his bride right royally, And folds her in his wide embrace. And thus espoused, ye sweetly flow Down to the boundless azure sea, As loving souls together go Into God's vast eternity. 38 MORNING. T^HE mist-born shapes of dawn about them wrap Their great gray cloaks and silently depart. The dew-drops, one by one, slip off the spray, As from the fullness of his mighty heart The sun doth kiss earth's glittering tears away, And, smiling, fling bright jewels in her lap. Across the fields the cow-boy's merry call Comes ringing, and the milkmaid's early song. Mixed with the lowing of the distant kine. The morning-glories on the mouldered wall Are open, bathing in the golden shine. And turning from light Zephyr's amorous arms, Bare all their bosoms to the roving bee. The meadow brooks bound cheerily along And kiss the timid flowers as they flee, Leaving them weeping at a trust betrayed. MORNING. 39 Pale, sad-eyed Phosphor in the east hath died ; Dimmed by sweet morning's fuller, fairer charms, Hath drooped and faded like a love-sick maid. Along the river-shallows herons wade, And on the wave the water-lilies ride, And by the shore the silent plover steals, Or thither comes a thirsty wren to drink. Ah me, how glad the morn ! The breath of day Brings to the wakened world its healing balm, And softly breathes the fevered sleep away From some wan sufferer's dim and hollow eyes. Up from the village mellow murmurs rise. And from yon hillside, where the white flocks stray, A single distant bell, now faint, now clear, Blends its sweet cadence with the morning calm. Life bubbles up and overflows its brink ; In every heart hope sings, and love is dear Where'er o'er earth the morning angel flies. 40 NIGHTFALL. pvESCEND, O dewy twilight, o'er the hills, With kisses soft and cool ; the whip-poor- wills, Deep-buried in the bosom of the vale, Wait for thy coming, and the young moon, pale And dimly crescent, o'er the vapory height Climbs slowly up, wreathed in her own faint light. The voices of the day are quenched in sleep ; Along the dusky slopes the peaceful sheep Feed 'mid the shadows, and anon is heard. Waking to sweet complaint some drowsy bird, The mellow tinkling of the leader's bell. Upon the gloom now softly sink and swell The cricket's slender vespers, and afar, As if to mock eve's solitary star, NIGHTFALL. 41 Or echo back the watch-dog's distant howl, From yon lone wood the hooting of the owl Deepens the hush and loneliness of night. Upon the lawn, the roses, red and white, Sift their light petals o'er the beaded grass. And on the poppied breezes, as they pass. Breathe out the musky se'crets of their hearts. Now on his quest the wheeling bat departs With beating wings, and countless beetles boom Headlong across the fields. The purple gloom Thickens upon the landscape ; in the skies The tardy stars come out ; and murmurs rise From streams that through the curtained dark- ness flow. Fretting among their pebbles as they go. In the still orchards, and the meadows damp, The fitful firefly kindles his small lamp, While o'er the marish comes the ceaseless sound Of piping voices. From the dew-drenched ground A subtle incense rises, and the air Is laden with a perfume keen and rare. 42 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Low in the west the embers of the day Die darkly down ; a mist hangs, chill and gray, Above the silent river's sleepy tide, Whereon the folded water-lilies ride. And the tall flags, stirred by the curling waves. Whisper together. Where the current laves The trailing branches of yon rustling tree, Floats a thin sound of airy revelry, And in a dizzy maze the singing gnats Dance slowly off across the reedy flats. How beautiful is the dark ! the gradual calm Steals into all the blood, and like a balm The crystal drops of night wide o'er the land Are scattered, as by some invisible hand. Welcome, O dark ! Tired heart, thou too art blest ; After the weary day, night brings thee rest ; After the wildering tumult, strife, and heat. The coolness comes, and silence soft and sweet. 43 THE OLD STORY. HROUGH tangled grass the rill sobbed by ; We saw eve's red sun glow ; The peaceful herds were browsing nigh ; The village slept below. T A trailing ivy, like a wreath, Drooped down upon her hair, And she who, blushing, stood beneath Knew she was very fair. The pomp of the declining day. The beauty of the place. Around us like a halo lay, And shone upon her face. 44 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. We lingered there with many a sigh, And many a whispered vow ; I saw the tear steal from her eye, I saw her clouded brow. Afar we heard the minster bell ; Slowly the day went out ; Then, as the twilight round us fell, I told her all my doubt. Like sunshine shot through April skies, Her smile flashed through her tears, And while I dried her beauteous eyes. She kissed away my fears. O fickle tears ! O faithless vows ! O fond, delusive trust ! Love weeping goes with hidden brows, And wings low in the dust. 45 ESTRANGED. TTHEY met, and all the world was fair ; Fair, too, were they, as any pair Of birds of paradise ; They met, and never meant to part, But oh ! time chills the warmest heart. And dims the brightest eyes. They met, and love betwixt them born, From morn to dark, from dark to morn, Walked with them through the land ; O, blithely sped the singing hours. Till, lured to pluck the star-eyed flowers. Each loosed the other's hand. Then love took flight with sudden fright, And now they wander through the night. 46 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Blind with their helpless tears ; They grope amid the thorns and sand, But cannot touch each other's hand Through all the lonely years. 47 A CRUSHED ROSE. \^HEN beauty, with her magic wand. Touched thy young petals through and through, A loveher robe by thee was donned Than e'er the bright Belphoebe knew. The bee sipped at thy ruby mouth. And swift, sweet blushes did o'erplay Thy perfect features, when the south Wind kissed thy nightly tears away. But low thou liest now in dust, To happier roses but a scorn, The puppet of each passing gust. Made fellow of by baser born. O sweet decay ! O fitting type Of virtue from its place down hurled — 48 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Of grace discrowned by a too-ripe, Voluptuous day in this mad world ! Thou wast the plaything of an hour ; Awhile thou wast some lover's pride ; Then lightly, for another flower. Thy heart was crushed and thrown aside. 49 EVENSONG. /^VER the old, tired world the soothing night Sinks softly down ; still faintly glows the west ; The eager birds now cease their joyous flight, And seek the loving shelter of the nest : O heart, fret not ; pause in the fading light ; This evening- time thou too shalt have thy rest. Fieldward the cattle thrid their dewy way ; The evening star hangs in the quiet sky : Athwart the leas the shadows long and gray Stretch out like arms, and prone and darkling lie Upon the unresting brooks ; gone is the day ; O restless heart, thine evening, too, draws niofh. 50 SONG OF THE SPRING. OLUE lies the light upon the hills ; Keen scents of earth steal freshly up, Mixed with the winy air that fills The valley like a mighty cup. Warm winds, blown hither from yon wold, Come laden with the breath of flowers, And songs of brooks are blithely trolled Through all the slumb'rous, sunlit hours. From far afield, yet sweet and clear Above the mingled sounds of spring, Through all the mellow day I hear The swinging sower lightly sing. SONG OF THE SPRING. Like flakes of newly fallen snow, The blossoms flutter from the trees ; And like far music, faint and low, I hear the murmur of the bees. Ah soul ! how good it is to be ! The pulses of the very sod Awake, and stir mysteriously Beneath the quickening breath of God. There is no death ; the years shall bring Thee nearer to some viewless goal, Where bloom perennial flowers of spring, And singing streams forever roll. 51 52 A SUMMER DAY. T^HE sunshine lies athwart yon emerald bosk, Where blithesome runnels dance from out the dusk Of greenery, spired like an eastern mosque, And o'er the fields the winds steal, faint with musk. The sun, midway upon his tireless march. Eyes languidly the green earth's sleepy face, But the fond sky, with arms in dreamy arch, Stoops down to take her in its soft embrace. Lo ! lying yonder in an azure swoon. Where earth and sky in misty outlines merge, I see the narrow, curved, white summer moon, Pale and uncertain, o'er yon western verge. A SUMMER DAY. 53 Dim is the circuit of the far-off hills, From whose light crests the thin, blue forests fail In distance, and beyond the sunlight fills The white-winged clouds that o'er the heavens sail. The yearning willow bends each leafy spray, And softly dips it in the sliding wave ; And on yon pebbly marge, across the way, Two little wrens their soft, brown pinions lave. A slumberous silence steeps the summer noon. Save the cicada's piping, shrill and long, And now and then a hautboy's drowsy tune. In fitful snatches of an old love-song. O day of dreams, thou art not wholly lost ; When winter winds shall wax through sleety rain. And all the flowers lie dead beneath the frost, In memory I shall live thee o'er again. 54 AN AUTUMN MORNING. MOW o'er yon hill the glad Aurora comes, Blushing from rosy cheeks to finger tips, And o'er the meadow, through the mist, she slips Into the forest where the partridge drums. The humble bee above the holly hums ; The willow in the river softly dips ; Across the field the merry milkmaid trips, And on her shining pail she gently thrums An old love-ditty, wondering the while If Robin Gray will meet her at the stile. The lowing cattle o'er the sweet, late grass, With rattling hoofs press onward to the rill, Brushing the glittering dewdrops as they pass. Till at the bubbling stream they drink their fill. AN AUTUMN MORNING. 55 II. Scarcely a bird-song in the sunlit air, Save now and then a mournful chickadee, Weeping its heart away in melody, Cries out the burden that it cannot bear. The forest trees upon the upland wear A gayer livery, and the eye can see. As higher up the sun climbs lazily. The shocks of corn stacked on the hillside fair. The creaking wain rolls slowly toward the field, Where tawny pumpkins doze beneath the sun ; Beyond, the patient cattle, one by one. Stand waiting still their treasured sweets to yield, Looking with wondering eyes ; the maid the while Kisses her Robin by the meadow stile. 56 THE WANDERER. IT AVE you seen our little one ? Yesterday In our midst she sweetly shone, Radiant, star-like ; there were none But did love her ; ah, they say That we 've lost her — that she 's gone Far away. You would know her on the street ; Shining hair, Eyes of blue, and dainty feet — You would know her should you meet Our lost darling anywhere. God's own saints are not more sweet, Nor more fair. THE WANDERER. We have sought her to and fro, But in vain ; Ah ! if she could only know How our hearts with tears o'erflow, She would come to us again ; She would take away our woe, Heal our pain ! Shall we ever see her more ? — Shining head. Laughing lips and eyes of yore ? Shall we have her as before,— Our lost bird that lightly spread The swift, viewless wings she wore, And so fled ? Ay, we shall not lose her quite ; By and by. When our eyes have better sight, Growino^ used to larcfer li^ht, Her fair path we shall descry. God will guide our feet aright. Graciously. ♦ 57 58 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. We shall find her some rare day, Soon or late ; We shall find her at her play, Blithe as when she fled away ; So we will not wail our fate : Though our heads and hearts be gray, We can wait. 59 UNCHANGEABLE. DEHOLD the light upon the purple hill ; Behold the undimmed glory of the sky ; Look ! as of old there singing goes the rill — Love, all things do not die. There gleams as bright an emerald in the grass, As in those years when you and I were young ; The restless birds that ever come and pass Sing with as sweet a tongue. The flowers that spring on yonder sunny slope Are just as fair as flowers used to be ; The world hath changed not ! we have lost our hope, And we have changed, love, we. 6o SO.YGS IN ALL SEASONS. Have lost our hope ? nay, love, our hope is found ; Secure from change, secure from tempests wild, Forevermore our own, beneath the ground, O love, we keep our child. 6i NOVA VITA. " That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die." 1 Cor. XV. 36. r\ DAINTY babe, thou wast too fair to die ; What couklst thou have to do with writhing worms, With dank, dull clods, and the grave's mystery? What dim affinity with these blind germs, Which nature, when the time is ripe, shall change To waving corn, didst thou possess ? O strange And dark to mortal vision are the ways Of Infinite Wisdom. Need'st thou, too, descend Into the earth's cold bosom with the maize, That fostering nature unto thee may lend 62 SOA^GS IN ALL SEASONS. Her subtlest powers of light and warmth and dew, To make thee blossom into life anew ? What sweeter charms, what graces rich and rare, Unknown to human love, shalt thou assume ? O, than thou wast can there be ought more fair ? Thy face was like a flower in its bloom, Delicate, pure and joyous, and thine eyes Deeper and bluer than yon deep blue skies. Lo ! I must fare along the weary years, Lonely and hopeless, seeing through my tears Only alow green mound of summer grass, Where once I hid thee in the peaceful keep Of night and silence, who shall rock thy deep Cool cradle, till I too one day shall pass Death's border unawares, and fall on sleep. e?, EVENING AT CAPE ANN. TJUGE rocks, hurled upward by the angry sea, Like Titan warriors slain in some fierce fray, Lie scattered yonder where the billows gray Leap up and smite each other wrathfully. Athwart the wet wide sands the long waves flow, Tossing and tumbling in tumultuous flight ; And far away, through gloom of gathering night. The shadowy ships on into darkness go. Hark ! o'er the troubled ocean's ceaseless roar, The lonely crying of the whip-poor-will Sounds mournfully along the wooded hill That lifts its solemn brow above the shore. 64 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Night reigns upon the sea and on the land, Supreme, save where yon beacon shines afar, As though, ere its last plunge, a falling star Had been arrested by some mighty hand, And there forever o'er the restless deep Poised as a shining hope, while to and fro The home-bound vessels through the dark- ness go, With precious freight for those who watch and weep. Ah me ! one eventide, across the main Some silent ship shall come, I know not whence. From these dim shores of life to bear me hence. And nevermore to landward fare again. Well, be it so ; let evening take its flight ; To sail that sea I will not hesitate, Nor question if the time be soon or late, If so God's beacon shines across the night. 65 PAX MORTIS. T^HE lady lies clothed all in white ; Her yellow ringlets fall Like throbbing rays of amber light Along the sombre pall. Her shapely limbs, like marble cold, Gleam through the drapery That clasps her form in many a fold. To veil her chastity. Her lips, pale blighted buds of May, Shall bloom no more, and lo ! How swiftly shall dissolve away Her bosom's drifted snow. The light hath left her sweet blue eyes ; The silver voice is mute, — Its music fled ; and now she lies Dumb as a shattered lute. 66 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Her hands are crossed upon her breast ; O, is this death or sleep ? And does she only take her rest, While stars their vigils keep ? The lights burn softly in their place ; A perfume fills the air ; The silence lies upon her face, And on her yellow hair. Her two white feet are still and cold ; Her two cold cheeks are white ; But lying under warm soft mould, She '11 feel no chill of night. The winged moments come and go ; The lady doth not reck ; A single rose, as white as snow. Lies on her sweet white neck. The silent stars wheel over her ; The watchers watch in vain ; Though dawn shall come she will not stir, Nor wake nor weep again. 67 REQUIESCAT. CHE sleeps, and may her peaceful rest Unbroken be ; The flowers that nod above her breast She cannot see ; To warbling bird, to purling brook, Deaf are her ears ; Sealed is the volume of the book Of her brief years. So let her rest ; she will not heed The tales they tell ; She recks not now of word or deed — She slumbers well. 6S ISABEL. A ^7 HEN bloom the fairest flowers of spring, And on the brook the blossom floats ; When, ere the robin takes the wing, He flutes his sweetest notes ; I miss thee in the ancient haunt, Where long ago we loved to dwell — Where still the tall, white lilies flaunt, Like those we plucked, sweet Isabel. But when the northern winds blow cool, And white the moon gleams o'er the mere, I linger by the darkened pool. And drop for thee a tear ; Or when behind the sobbing pines The moon looks low o'er hill and fell, Kneel where the river inward winds, And pray for thee, my Isabel. 69 THE DIFFERENCE. /^NCE more glad Nature's pulse awakes, And Earth upheaves her bounteous breast ; On bye and croft the drifted flakes Of blossoms lie ; a soft wind shakes The clouds from out the west. Spring wears to-day the same sweet grace Which long — ah, long! — ago she wore, When, in this dear familiar place, I used to greet a fair young face I know will come no more. The windflowers prank the wooded ways ; The bloodroots shed their paly light ; O, sweet the tender vernal days. The fresh green fields, the soft blue haze. And sweet each vernal night ! 70 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Yet come no joys like those that were, No voices Uke one voice of yore ; The hours are full of cark and care, Of heavy pain, of longing prayer, For she will come no more. 71 THE LAST JOY. r^ HEART, make thou not any moan ; The years are gone, thy time hath passed Yet thou may St count this joy thine own — Thou shalt find peace at last, at last. Behold ! thy weary journeying Draws to its close ! the solemn night Shall to thee rest and respite bring, And slumber sweetly veil thy sight. This comfort still remains to thee, Though all things else have fled away — Thou shalt at length sleep quietly, When night hath closed the long, sad day. BALLADS, 75 KATIE LEIGH. y MET, one summer morning, When the dew lay on the grass, Sweet Katie of the meadows, A bonny, winsome lass ; And my heart rose up exultant. Yet startled and afraid. To meet again those eyes whose glance A spell upon it laid. Lightly she tripped to meet me Across the twinkling grass. While the flowers blushed and trembled And brightened to see her pass ; I thought for a brief, dim instant To swiftly haste away. But as I doubted, she called my name, And I could not choose but stay. 76 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. A bird in the hedgerow carolled To its mate in the maple-tree, And as I looked into Katie's eyes, My heart throbbed tremblingly ; For now they shone with merriment, And now grew dark and shy. Till all their azure depths were changed Like a vexed April sky. I said, *' What is it, Katie ? " In a voice strange and dismayed ; *' My pet lamb, John, has slipped its leash. And to yon wood has strayed ; I can hear the tinkling of its bell. But dare not venture there — " And a question then dawned in her eyes That made her look thrice fair. " And you wish me to find it, Katie } " " Oh, John, if you only would ! " And she nearer moved with her brown hands clasped In an eager attitude. KATIE LEIGH. // " Well, wait for a few moments here," I said, with an awkward bow. And yet, as I turned, my heart rose up Blither and bolder now. Why was it ? A new light in her eyes. Or a new light in the day ? — Ah me ! I had long loved Katie, And oft, in my bashful way, Had lingered, hearing her low sweet voice, For hours at the garden gate. Longing to say what I never could say. Though my heart cried, " Haste, ere too late ! " I think that Katie knew my mind, And knew the thing I would say, For when I would stammer and try to speak, She would smile and look away ; Then, alas for my sudden courage, And the hope too brief and bright ! The stars grew dark, and the blind world reeled — I could only say, *' Good night ! " 78 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Thus ever I put my doom aside, Till two long years had fled, And still within my heart I bore Its secret yet unsaid ; But when we met, that dewy morn, Under the sunny skies, My heart grew bright with a nameless light That shone from her sweet blue eyes. I vowed as I led the lost lamb back Through the tangled wood and vine, That now I would speak my love to her, And ask her to be mine : She stood by the hedge, nigh the maple-tree, In her beauty and her grace, With the sunlight still in her azure eyes. And the bloom of the morn on her face. " O, thank you, John ! " she said, and smiled A smile like the summer bright, And holding her hand for the hempen leash. In mine I clasped it tight ; KATIE LEIGH. 79 " Katie," I said, " I want to speak What you have known so long — I love you, Katie ; tell me, sweet, Do I do my heart a wrong ? ** For two long years I 've borne my love, Nor ever dared to speak — " And looking down, I saw a flush Had crept o'er either cheek ; "Do you love me, Katie ? speak," I said, " May I call this dear hand mine ? " With a deeper flush she hid her face. And whispered, "I am thine." So the sun never shone so goldenly down. And the sky was never so blue. And the flowers were never so bright, as we walked Back over the morning dew ; The birds never sang so sweetly before, Such a morn I had never seen ; And the sumac berries were never so red, And the grass was never so green. 80 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. So the blue-bells merrily rang that day, And the sumac's torches burned, And the red rose changed to a deeper red, And the white rose whiter turned ; The lily hung its graceful head, And blushed at the kiss of morn, While Psyche laughed, and the winged Boy Shrilled the blithe marriage horn. When the leaves on the trees were tipped with flame, And corn hung full on the ear ; When the red-cheeked apples fell from the boughs. And the harvest was ripe of the year ; When aftermath had nigh its growth In fields that summer had shorn, Katie redeemed the promise she made In the meadow that golden morn. The years have gone with a noiseless tread, And summer has come again. KATIE LEIGH. gj The birds are singing in all the fields, And daisies are white in the lane ; The leaves are thick on the maple-tree, The corn's silk tassels wave. And mellow flecks of sunshine play In the grass on Katie's grave. 82 AN AUTUMN BALLAD. DERHAPS I loved him better than the oth- ers — who shall tell ? But he was always a good boy and made me love him well ; He was not like my Robert, nor was he like my Will, His ways were always different — so steady, true, and still. I mind me how he left me on that shining au- tumn day ; The corn was shocked upon the hill, where the yellow pumpkins lay ; The apples fell from loaded boughs, the fields were green and fair. And plenty, peace, and happiness breathed in the earth and air. AN AUTUMN BALLAD. ^l He Stood against the mellow light within the open door ; His shadow wavered through my tears along the sunny floor, To where I sat and sobbed, as if my lonely heart would break, For he was last to leave me — he had waited for my sake. His eyes were dim and tearful, and his voice was broken, slow ; " It is my duty, mother," he said, "that I should go; The government has need of men ; I go to fill my place ; 'Tis better I should go to death than stay and win disgrace." He turned and left me, for he could not speak another word, But as he passed the garden gate a stifled sob I heard. 84 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. In strange bewilderment I rose and looked upon the day ; There in the sunlight danced the rill by which he used to play. I heard the sound of marching feet, I heard the bugle blow ; And through my open door I saw the soldiers come and go ; A face I knew, a face I loved, flashed by me, still and white. And passed, though then I knew it not, forever from my sight. What need to tell the weary while of anxious nights and days That followed ? On the peaceful hills I saw the cattle graze ; The misty sunshine, warm and soft, lay on the golden leaf, But not on that dark heart of mine, so bowed and full of srrief. AN AUTUMN BALLAD. 85 It came full soon, the cruel blow, ere scarce a month was gone, And he, my boy, my best beloved, whom I had leaned upon. Forth from the carnage and the strife, the mur- derous blare and heat. Was brought, the war's first offering, and laid before my feet. I could not look on his dead face, I could not moan nor weep. When, wrapped within his country's flag, they bore him to his sleep ; There, day and night, beside his grave goes rip- pling down the rill, And there the last late sunbeam lingers on the pleasant hill. My Robert and my Will came back ; they are good boys to me. But somehow in my life there is a dreary va- cancy ; S6 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. I miss his step, I miss his voice, his quiet ways I miss, And daily on my lips it seems I yet must feel his kiss. The seasons go their wonted round ; through all the autumn days. The dreamy earth lies lightly swathed within an amber haze ; But never come such days to me as when, in that old year. The world was beautiful to me because my boy was here. Perhaps I loved him better than the others — who shall tell .'* But he was always a good boy and made me love him well ; And since I know that he has gone to come again no more, It seems that he is nearer far, and dearer than before. 37 NORA. O HE stands in the light of the setting sun, ■^ Till the bright bars vanish, one by one, And the stars are hung in the azure dome, Like lamps, to guide lost spirits home. Thus she has watched through the weary years, Through moments of hope and months of tears — Watched at twilight pale and gray, While ever the slow years crept away — Watched and waited for one to come Back, over the wide wild prairie, home. He went when her cheek was fresh and fair. And the sunlight slept in her yellow hair ; S8 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. When her eyes were blue, and her Hps were red — As sweet a bride as was ever wed. But now she is old and wrinkled and gray, For the years have fretted her beauty away, And dim are her eyes that were once so blue, Yet her love is loyal, her heart is true. So she waits and waits while the sun goes down, And over the prairie, naked and brown. The shadows come stealing, big and black ; For he said, "Wait, Nora, till I come back," And he passed away through the gathering gloom, Away o'er the prairie, rich with bloom — Whistling he passed through the deepening dusk, Through the twihght sweet with the scent of musk — NORA. 89 To seek the kine that had gone astray ; But he never returns by night or day. " Ah me ! Ah me ! " she softly saith, While her blue eyes shine with a mystic faith, '' He seeketh far, he seeketh yet, But he will come back, he will not forget." So day after day, as the night draws on, She stands and waits at her door alone — Waits while the sun sinks out of sight, And she stands alone with the vast dim nisiht. Ah, yes ! ah, yes ! he hath gone afar, For where the tremulous evening star Gleams like a gem o'er the heart of the west, He fell on sleep, on sleep and rest — On sleep that is sweeter than we know here, On rest unvexed by hope or fear. 90 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS Above his lowly and lonesome grave, The long, strong grass and wild flowers wave, And the shadows of morning and evening play, While he slumbers the years of her waiting away. But lo ! one evening when sunset burns, And in patient sorrow she waits and yearns, Up from the shadowy earth he shall rise. Like an angel of light to her dying eyes, And shall touch her hand and say, " Love, come, Behold, the dear Christ calls us home ; " For the ties of love that here are riven, God will unite again in Heaven. 91 A HUNDRED YEARS. QHE stands beside the sylvan stream — The chief's one daughter, Uthe and fair - And, as she stands, a last late gleam Of light lies tangled in her hair. The boughs droop down above her face ; The grasses kiss her naked feet ; And one tall reed leans from its place. To touch her bosom warm and sweet. Behind her lies the quiet camp ; Before her the calm waters flow ; She sees the firefly light its lamp ; She hears the night-wind, faint and low. 92 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. The sunset dies upon the hill ; The valley fades in deepening gloom ; But where she stands, her presence still Sheds on the shadows light and bloom. She looks away into the west ; Her eyes brim o'er with happy light ; A song upbubbles from her breast — She scarcely heeds the falling night. But hark ! a paddle softly dips ; A swift hand thrusts the leaves apart ; The song is hushed upon her lips, While sudden tumult shakes her heart. For lo ! he stands before her now — Her lover, young and strong and brave, Above whose dark and fearless brow The plumes of eagles proudly wave. A hated warrior's valiant son — Though years of feud have sundered wide His sire from hers — has wooed and won The dusky maiden for his bride. A HUNDRED YEARS, 93 A clinging kiss, a passionate word, A lingering, doubtful look behind, Low pleadings that are hardly heard, And eyes with tears confused and blind. Then silent steps that do not pause ; Then long light dippings of an oar ; A boat into the darkness draws, And fades from sight forevermore — Fades and is gone : a hundred years Have passed since that dim summer night When, half in triumph, half in tears. These lovers vanished out of sight. And now beside that self-same stream. With many a clustering bough above, I lie and dream a world-old dream. Beneath the eyes of her I love. 94 A BALLAD OF DEATH. T HUG thy face to mine, I feel thy breath ; What breath so shrewd as thine, So sweet, O death ? Give me thy lips to kiss ; Like sharp old wine They thrill and sting with bliss - Those lips of thine. Against thy heart I press, O death, my lover ; My utter nakedness Thy cloak shall cover — A BALLAD OP DEATH. 95 Thy cool thick cloak of grass And woven flowers, Through which no heat can pass, Nor frost nor showers. No warmth is in thy breast, Nor is it colder Than lends a pleasant rest To them that moulder. My heart from thy true heart Time shall not sunder ; We shall not lie apart, The dark sod under ; But lie in cloven clay. And clasp and kiss, Nor miss the light of day, Nor starlight miss. ^ My mouth shall cleave to thine. My arms shall hold thee ; Thy soul shall shall mix with mine. Thy peace enfold me. 96 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. I grasp thy bony wrist, Nor fear nor falter ; Thy love shall still exist (Nor ever alter) When earthly love hath fled And left no traces : Thy tears are never shed On faded faces. Than love of earthly friends, What love is blinder ? Earth's love with hatred blends Thy love is kinder : Thy love shall still exist, Despite derision ; No dim deceitful mist E'er clouds thy vision, But thou dost see aright ; Thy love hath power To purge thine inward sight. From hour to hour. A BALLAD OF DEATH. Lean over ; let me touch Thy wan white face ; Thou hast such beauty, such High, godlike grace. Mine eyes thy kisses seal, And on me pressing Thy thin moist palms I feel, In mute caressing. death, I love thee, thou So gracious art ; 1 lay my throbbing brow On thy cool heart, And sink beneath a flood Of blissful feeling, While into all my blood Thy calm is stealing. Who grieves to leave an earth Of tears and sighs. Of moans and hollow mirth. Of spite and lies } 97 98 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Not I. Make room for me ; My face is numb ; Henceforth with kissing thee My lips are dumb. 99 THE TYRIAN'S MEMORY. A^HAT stars were kindled in the skies, What blossoms bloomed, what rivers ran, I wis not now ; how wide the span Of years which dimly stretch between That morn I saw the big sun rise, — Blinking upon the dazzling sheen Of banners in the Grecian van, — And this, no tongue shall tell, I ween. II. On helm and shield, on sword and spear, The sun shone down exultingly ; No son of Tyre knew how to flee Before the face of any foe, lOO SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Nor would our women shed a tear, Though face to face with speechless woe, And heart to heart with misery ; Y ox fear a Tyrian could not know. III. There came the sound of clashing arms, Of catapults and falling stones, Of shouts, and shrieks, and stifled groans, While men stood on the crumbling wall, And recked not of the dire alarms, But saw their brave compatriots fall. And heard the crunching of their bones. Then closed with death, unheeding all. IV. I know not how the battle fared. Though Tyre, "the ocean queen," is dead. And lowly lies her crownless head. Amid the ashes of her pyre. THE TYRIAN'S MEMORY. lOI Few were the warriors that were spared The spear, the flying dart, the fire ; Into my heart an arrow sped — My eyes were closed on falHng Tyre. I have forgot how tenderly The olive ripened on the hill ; How sweetly, when the nights were still, The nightingale sang in the grove ; How soft the moon was on the sea. How low the mourning of the dove ; For my dead heart no memories thrill, Save the glad memory of my love. VI. O, like the footsteps of the morn Her footsteps gleamed along the street ; Her shining, foam-white, sandalled feet Fell lightly as the summer rain I02 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. On stones which grosser feet had worn ; And, but my heart so long has lain In ashes, it would wake and beat At thought of meeting her again. VII. Her hair was dark as Egypt's night ; Her breasts shone like twin nenuphars ; Her brave eyes burned like Syrian stars That morn she pressed her lips to mine. And bade me forth unto the fight ; My blood shot through my veins like wine ; I felt myself another Mars — In thew, in life, in love divine. VIII. Who knows that on the emerald zone Which belts the changeless azure sea Another city yet may be. More fair than Tyre t Nathless, I wis, THE TYRIAN'S MEMORY. 103 Howe'er the phantom years have flown, The wrinkled world must ever miss That Tyrian maid who gave to me Her first, her last, her farewell kiss. SONNETS, 107 CLEOPATRA TO ANTONY. r^ IVE over ; let me be ; I will not feel The sting of your keen kisses on my lips ; You shall not hold one moment ev'n the tips Of my shut fingers, though you cry and kneel. My face aches, and my tired senses reel ; Through all my veins a drowsy poison slips ; My sight grows dim with gradual eclipse, For slumber on mine eyes has set his seal. Get hence ; I will no more to-night ; the bars Of love are placed against you now ; go while I hate you not, my Roman ; the sick stars Wax faint and pallid in the dawn's red smile. Look ! I am quenched in sleep, as nenuphars Are quenched in the broad bosom of the Nile. :o8 ROMEO TO JULIET. T OVE, touch my mouth with kisses as with fire; Lean hard against my breast, that I may feel From thy warm heart its influence subtly steal Through all my veins ; with overmuch desire My spirit fainteth, and my lips suspire Swiftly with heavy breathings ; round me reel The shadows of the dark, and downward wheel The dim, far stars from heaven ; draw me nigher Unto thy bosom, love, for all my sense Of earth and time fleets from me . . . Day- ward flows • The stream of night, and into yon immense Blue void the slow moon fails ; hold me more close. Lest from thine arms my spirit hasten hence. Going that viewless way no mortal knows. 109 SYRINX. [ EAVE me to wither here by this dark pool, Where the wind sighs amid the shuddering reeds, And slimy things creep through the water- weeds. And snakes glide out from coverts dim and cool. Leave me, O Pan ; thou hast been made the fool Of thy hot love ; go where thy white flock feeds. And pipe thy ditties in the dewy meads. And watch the silly sheep that own thy rule. Get hence ; I am become a loveless thing ; No charms of mine shall ever tempt thee more ; no SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. No more in valleys green and echoing Shalt thou surprise and fright me, as of yore ; Go, clash thy hoofs, and make the woodlands ring, But let me wither here on this dark shore. Ill PAN. TT was but yesterday I saw his sheep, The while he led them u^d the height to feed, And heard him merrily pipe upon his reed, And mock the echoes from yon rocky steep ; 'Twas yesterday I found him fast asleep. His flock forgot and wantoning in the mead, His pipe flung lightly by with idle heed, And shadows lying round him, cool and deep. But though I seek I shall not find him more, In dewy valley or on grassy height ; I listen for his piping — it is o'er, From out mine ears gone is the music quite ; There on the hill the sheep feed as before, But Pan, alas, has vanished from my sight ! 112 RIZPAH. OLOWN through the gusty spaces of the night, The pale clouds fleet like ghosts along the sky; A fitful wind goes moaning feebly by, And the faint moon, poised o'er the craggy height, Dies in its own uncertain, misty light. Within the hills the water-springs are dry ; The herbs are withered ; and the sand-wastes lie Dim, wide, and lonely to the weary sight. Behold ! her awful vigil she will keep Through the wan night as through the burn- ing day ; RIZPAH. 1 1 3 Though all the world should sleep she will not sleep, But watch, wild-eyed and fierce, to scare away, As round and round, with hoarse, low cries they creep, From her dead sons the hungry beasts of prey. 14 VOX DOLORIS. Jerusalem, B.C., 458. MAY, but I loved thee so — and love thee still : Look, didst thou not, when thou a stranger wast In my far Babylon, the bright, the vast, Lead me the happy bondmaid of thy will ? Why wilt thou put me from thee ? What dire ill Have I wrought on thy heart ? I hold thee fast. And cling and cry till life's last hope is past, And faith grows sick with fears that scorch and kill. Is thy God cruel, that this needs must be ? Canst thou forget the love, the dear delight, yOX DOLORIS. 1 1 5 The song, the dance, the mirth ana minstrelsy, Wherewith the swift days fled, too brief and bright ? Shall not our babes' sweet voices cry to thee. Through all the hollow watches of the night ? THE ANGEL OF NIGHT. XlyTITH dusky pinions spread, from out the land Of twilight glides the angel of the night, And earthward softly plumes her silent flight, While gathering darkness from her wings is fanned Across the cloud-world, musically and bland. Around her flow her garments, sprent with stars, As far away, toward the sunset bars, She takes her noiseless flight, and from her hand Scatters the balm of sleep on all below. From off her wings she winnows silver dew THE ANGEL OF NIGHT. Wj On slumbering flowers, whose aromas go Far in ^olian wanderings, breaking through Melodious silence in faint ebb and flow. Till fair Aurora peeps from eastern blue. ii8 A CITY CRY. LJERE hoarsely moan the floods of human woe, And evermore, along the busy streets, The iron hoof of traffic loudly beats, And lean-faced avarice shuffles to and fro ; Here grudgingly the feet of mercy go Where gaunt and grimy squalor sits and eats Her bitter bread, and here, through foul re- treats, Death's noisome currents darkly ebb and flow. O God, of those sweet airs which blow between The emerald hills, let me e'er breathe ; keep me. Far from the roaring city, in thy green And quiet solitudes, where I may see The birds, the flowers, the grass, and sweetly lean My heart upon the peace and love of thee. 119 THE PROPHET'S END. DETTER to hide the weary face awhile ; Better to let them have it as they will ; They would but mock thee, scourge thee, harry still Thy tired soul ; go, cease thee from thy toil. Flee from these dim vain ways where millions moil, And wrangle for a bauble ; let them fill Each other's restless lives with strenuous ill — Thou shalt be free at last from strife and guile. Go to thy mother, child, and take thy sleep ; Go, lay thee, silent, in her cool wide arms ; Secure from troublous time, in her large keep Thou shalt lie peaceful 'mid the world's alarms ; Go, get thee to thy mother-earth, .and creep Into her bosom, where no evil harms. 120 PARTING. T OVE, are our lives so long that we may part For months and years, nor feel a pang of grief ? Or is the measure of the days so brief That, as they go, they leave no bitter smart To trace its dreary record on the heart ? O, unto thee is not the fallen leaf, The v^ithered landscape, and the rustling sheaf, Presageful of a time when we must start Upon a longer journey, nevermore To come again and clasp each other's hand. And look with love into each other's eyes ? Lo ! here we may not tarry long, for o'er Our sight a vapor gathers, and the land Lies wrapped in gloom descending from the skies. 121 SUNDERED. T SHALL not touch her face, her hands again; I shall not mingle her warm breath with mine ; I shall not drink again the sharp, sweet wine Of her swift kisses, for dear Love is slain. Yea, Love lies cold and dead ; but pallid Pain, Upon whose haggard cheeks the salt tears shine, Hath set upon our brows her blood-red sign Of thorny anguish, like the mark of Cain. Upon us Time hath wrought his change, for lo ! Not now we meet and pass, as heretofore, Each knowing that which none save us could know — How full of love our hearts were to the core ; But now across life's wide waste fields we go Our separate ways, to meet again no more. 122 THE DREAM. T AST night I dreamed that thou wast by my side, And thy sweet voice fell flute-like on mine ear, In accents solemn, low, yet silver-clear, And thou didst look upon me tender-eyed. Then all my passionate longing and my pride, All my dull pain of hopelessness and fear, Vanished like mist upon a mountain mere Which the warm sun salutes at morning-tide. All night my heart was full of speechless bliss, And thousrh thou wast less human than divine, I felt at last I nevermore should miss From out my life that loveliness of thine ; For when our souls closed in one swooning kiss, I knew eternally that thou wast mine. 123 T JOY IN SORROW. HE wan November sun is westerin & f The pale, proud year puts all her glory by ; Beneath her blue bare feet her vestures lie, And white and faint she stands a-shivering : And yet the world's great heart is quickening Beneath dead leaves and grass grown sere and dry, And through the silence of the sombre sky Throb swift pulsations of a forefelt spring. So all our sorrow hath a core of bliss ; Some prophecy of pleasure tempers pain In every heart, and through our bitterness Strikes a fierce joy that not a pang is vain ; Life hath no hidden good that life shall miss. For with all loss is mixed some god-like gain. 124 EDMUND SPENSER. O OW have the years flown since that golden day When, where the Mulla rolls her dimpling flood, Thou heardst the birds sing in the Irish wood, And Raleigh with thee on the upland lay ! Again through gloomy forests old and gray. O'er many a waste and trackless solitude, Whithersoe'er thy Muse's knightly mood May lead us in thy tale, we seem to stray. O master, it was not on oaten reeds Thou madest music for the world's delight. Nor yet on Pan's shrill pipe didst thou e'er flute ; To sing of courtly grace and lordly deeds. Of lovely Una and the Redcross Knight, Behold ! thou hadst Apollo's silver lute. 125 LONGFELLOW. March 24, 18S2. \17ITHIN the old historic house he lay, Quiet at last in restless heart and brain ; Without his chamber, the wan light did wane And the March twilight gathered, chill and gray. But all unheedful of the wasting day. He lay and slept ; and still he sleeps ; in vain The morning sun shall gild his window- pane — His soul hath fared forth on an unknown way. O sweetest psalmist of our Israel, What new glad words now thrill upon thy tongue ! 126 LONGFELLOW. In what far country hast thou gone to dwell ? Through what fresh changes are thy num- bers rung ? Lo ! thou didst leave us, taking no farewell, And now we weep that thy last song is sung. 12/ WHEN I HAVE LIVED MY LIFE. \ 17 HEN I have lived my life, and death at last Sucks the sweet breath from out my white cold lips ; When o'er my fixed, faint eyes the swift eclipse Of dissolution draws, and thick and fast The shadows no man knows crowd up the vast Dim vista of eternity ; when dips My final sun from sight, and darkness slips Upon me, quenching utterly the past ; Then while fond friends around me weep and pray, And come to kiss their last kiss, one by one, — ( 128 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Ere yet hath faded quite the light of day, And ere my mortal sands are fully run, — God, grant that I may hear one dear Voice say, With love and tenderness, *' Well done ! well done ! " o PATIENCE. GOD, I pray thee give me quietude, Though it be 'mid the wrecks of broken years ; Scatter thou from mine eyes the blinding tears. And cool the burning fever in my blood. Lo ! I am swept away as with a flood ; My soul is beaten on by stormy fears ; I cannot see, and ever through mine ears Surge empty echoes of the solitude. O, teach me to be patient and to wait ; Teach me to quell that spirit in my breast Which irks the slow-paced hours, and cries ''too late ! " Urge on my heart this lesson — that 'twere best To suffer even to death " without the gate," If so my soul might enter into rest. I30 HOMESICK. X/EA, Lord, if it could be, if it could be. That I might leave the weariness and pain Of this sad exile o'er the soundless main, Whose restless waters roll 'twixt me and thee ; If — while the day grows wan and shadowy, And, like a conqueror amid the slain. Night moves with swift proud footsteps o'er the plain — Death's sudden messenger should com^e to me With summons to depart, I should not go As one to whom the journey were a fear. But I should gladly leave earth's mimic show. And these dim ways which are so chill and drear, And 'mid green fields, where living waters flow, Fare homeward after many a weary year. 131 THOUGH HE SLAY ME, YET WILL I TRUST IN HIM. AiyHEN these hot pulses cease, O Lord, and all The fever and the strife at last are done ; When, for my feet, the race is well out-run, And, spent and weary, from the lists I fall ; When, deaf to passion's cry and duty's call. And reckless of the honors lost or won, I turn my forehead toward the setting sun, Calm and content to leave the world's rude brawl — Then, Lord, for the sweet pity which thou hast Of those who, heavy-laden, worn with pain, From out the conflict desolate and vast. Cry unto thee for help, nor cry in vain, . Grant to forget my weak and wandering past. And help me trust thee while my life is slain. 132 BLIND. '\1W'HEN first my soul into the shadows sank, And darkness surged upon me like a wave, I fought the blackness, as a swimmer brave Who, losing from his grasp the friendly plank. Goes struggling down through ocean's great gray blank. Then, as one buried trance-bound in a grave Wakes to the horror of his narrow cave, And shuddering in his cere-cloths, cold and dank. Strives to pierce through the void and noisome gloom, I strove to cleave the night that wrapped me round. BLIND. 133 And cried aloud from out my living tomb. But now, always in solitude profound, I sit and wait beneath my awful doom, Till God's light shall break on me like a sound. 134 A POET'S GRAVE. A Y, grant it, friend, it is a lowly bed, Pranked with the daisies that he held so dear, And with the pale, pure violets nodding near. Like those he clasped when first they found him dead. To curious questioners let it be said : " He sang his songs the world paused not to hear. And now he lieth where no late, slow tear Can answer for the love he sought instead." Young ? Yes, ah, very young he was to die ; He had so much to live for ! His was joy Unspeakable to see the morning lie Upon the hills, and bliss without alloy A POET'S GRAVE. 135 To see the sunset flush along the sky ; But dawn nor dusk shall wake him now — poor boy ! II. He loved the sunlight and he loved the rain ; He loved the darkness and he loved the light ; He loved the morning and he loved the night ; He loved the meadows and he loved the main. To see the springtime blossom he was fain, And winter's snows were goodly in his sight ; Yea, all the seasons in their rapid flight Brought joy to him, though not unmixed with pain. But now he lieth where the fallen leaf Begets no vague regret within his breast. And never summer-tide, however brief. Can mar the sweetness of his hallowed rest. He sleeps secure from dreams of joy or grief, And in his dreamless slumber he is blest. 136 HAGAR. VX/IDE wastes of sand beneath a burning sky; Far hills that shimmer in the breathless air ; And clumps of stunted shrubs that, here and there, With pale and parched leafage, vex the eye. Her bread is spent, her water-skin is dry ; The child's faint sobbings pierce her with despair ; Her face is hid, her fallen head is bare ; "Now, O my God," she crieth, "let me die." Hark! from the midmost heavens a deep sound: ''What aileth thee? Rise, Hagar, fear thee not. For God hath heard the child's voice from the ground. And he will succor thee in thy sore lot." Then she arose, and took the lad, and found A crystal fountain in that desert spot. 137 GRAPES OF ESHCOL. \X70NDERING they came ; they had strange tales to tell Of purple hills and valleys half divine, Of amber plains which did like morning shine, And cool, clear springs which ever did upwell. Wistful they came ; and 'twixt them, like a bell, Swung downward the dark grapes, the goodly sign Of plenty in a land of oil and wine — The goal of rest to way-worn Israel : So I, a spy from realms where summer sings 'Mid billowy fields with radiant blossoms starred, 138 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. Bring these the promisers of rarer things That wait the coming of the chosen bard — The shining soul who seeks Ufe's mystic springs, And counts no knowledge vain, no journey hard. 1 THE MASTERPIECE OF A GREAT GENIUS. Poems in Prose BY IVAN TOURGUENEFF. WITH A FINE PORTRAIT FRONTISPIECE, AND AN INTRODUCTION. I vol. i6 mo. Gray cloth, red edges. Price, $1.25. These ^' Poems in Prose " are the mature products of TourguenefT's genius, and are admirably adapted to indicate the scope and tendency of the great novelist's wonderfui powers of description and analysis. They are like so many exquisite etchings wrought with the hand of a master. They are best defined by the title that he half suggested for them — " Poems in Prose" ; for, while their form is that of prose, the subjects, the treatment, the imaginative setting, have all the charm and quality of poetry. Wit and humor and the tenderest pathos are intermingled with flashes of the keenest cynicism and flying thoughts concerning the destiny of man expressed in shining epigrams. And through all the picturesque element is supreme. To illustrate the littleness of humanity, Finsteraarhorn and the Jungfrau thunder to each other across the centuries ; Benevolence and Gratitude meet for the first time in the azure palace of " Le Bon Dieu " ; the poor Russian moujik stands side by side with the Egyptian Sphinx. They are among the finest of the literary masterpieces of this century — these little allegories; and it is a matter for congratulation that they are now presented to American readers in a form worthy of the originals. As to this little book, Tourgueneff" said: '* The reader must not skim over these poems in prose one after the other ; that would probably tire him, and he would soon cast the book aside. But let him read each one separately: one to-day, another to-morrow, and then perhaps one or more of them may sink into his soul and bear fruit." For sale by all booksellers, or mailed, postage paid, on receipt of the price, by the publishers, CUPPLES, UPHAM, AND COMPANY, 283 Washington Street, Boston. A PICTURE FOR EVERY HOME AND STUDY, ■A THE AUTHORS' GROUP. A SHORT time before his death, Mr. James T. Fields, in convert sation with Mr. Notman, the celebrated photographer, sug- gested the idea of producing by photographic process a group oi literary men somewhat similar in style to that well-known old en-i graving of "Washington Irving and his Friends.'' The close intimacy which existed among the leading authors of New England made the thought of gathering the little circle together in a picture to be preserved for all time a particularly happy one ; and at once it appealed to Mr. Notman's artistic feeling. The best existing pictures of the individuals to be represented were procured, andj the task of photographing and enlarging them into a natural-look- ing group was undertaken. The means by which this has been^ accomplished is an unread mystery; but the success of the result! is undeniable. The group comprises the following individual authors, namely :- HENRY WAI3SW0RTH LONGFELLOW, RALPH WALDO EMER^N, NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, MME8 RUSSELL LOWELL, A. BRONSON ALCOTT, JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, LOUIS AGA88IZ. Price of the picture, $5.00. Size, 22|x28. Handsomely framed in oak, gold-gilt, with paneKed mat, round centre (including pic- ture), $12.00. Same style without mat, $10.00. It will be sent to any address by express, carefully packed, on receipt of the price. Address CUPPLES, UPHAM & CO., PUBLISHERS, 283 "Washington Street, Boston. THADDEUS STEVENS. A MEMOIR, BY E. P. CALLENDER. lamo. Cloth. With Portrait, $i.oo. THE time is growing ripe for posterity to unseal its verdict and pronounce its dispassionate judgment upon the great American statesman, Thaddeus Stevens. He passed away sixteen years ago with only one hope deferred — a hope which was, in the nature of public events, to be realized sooner or later after his death. The crowning triumph of his public services, carried against the coerced oppo- sition and intrigues of sordid factions and malevolent libertines, was the wise measures he inaugurated in Congress as chairman of the committee on recon- struction. It was " the old commoner " who did not hesitate at that unprece- dented crisis in our national affairs to report the resolution : "JResoU'cd, That Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, be impeached of high crimes and misdemeanors in office." At any cost would Thaddeus Stevens uphold his principles, no matter what the popular sacrifice, even to the just arraignment of the highest official In the nation. It was Thaddeus Stevens who thundered forth the first philippic in the House of Representatives as the champion of freedom, with all the acerbity of fervor which a righteous cause can inspire. He advocated free schools in his adopted state, Pennsylvania, and succeeded in establishing there a system of edu- cation to benefit the masses. And in the heroic epoch, during all the bitter strife waging between the North and South, he labored as no statesman had done before him to frustrate the traitors of the government whose design was the dismemberment of the Union. Wasted by age and disease, but full of the glory which only noble deeds had secured for him, the great commoner passed away before the final acnieve- ment that would have so complely rounded his career was gained. But he left the work of extending the ballot to the emancipated colored man to faith- ful follow^ers ; his last prayer, that the Declaration of Independence should be fulfilled in its promises, was not unheard by the Almighty. The story of his life is told with graphic enthusiasm by E. B. Callender, Esq., in a graceful volume of 210 pages, with a fine frontispiece picture of Mr. Stevens. The book also contains an appendix devoted to a concise and intelli- gent explanation of the Missouri Compromise, followed by Sumner's masterly iulogy on Stevens. To the general reader, and particularly to any one interested m the life of the founder of the Repubhcan party, this biography of Thaddeus Stevens will be invaluable. It will be sent to any address on receipt of the price. Address CUPPLES, UPHAM & CO., PUBLISHERS, *S3 Washington Street, Boston. WHEELS AND WHIMS. AN ETCHING. BY FLORINE THAYER McCRAY AND ESTHER LOUISE SMITH. Handsomely Illustrated, i vol. i2mo. Cloth, gilt, $1.25. THE Story of a summer tour along the picturesque Connecticut River on tricycles by four young ladies, comprising a dimin- utive chaperone, an unmarried artist, a young hoyden with an irrepressible flow of spirits, and a tall, stately brunette who has lately become offended with her betrothed lover. During their two weeks' run over a beautiful country, of which the author gives a sparkling portraiture, the artist sketches, the chaperone readjusts the love affairs of the heroines, the harum- scarum girl falls in love with a handsome stranger who interferes to rescue the party from the insults of an enraged Hibernian, and the insuperably proud heroine is followed by and reconciled to her lover, who joins the party and accompanies them on his bicycle. The narrative is light and chatty, with a peculiar out-of-door flavor and freshness, teeming with girlish ideas and caprices which invest it with a delicate humor that cannot fail to entertain the reader. It abounds in bright dialogue regarding music, art, lit- erature, woman's rights, churches, and other subjects of a secular nature, and the ending is as satisfactory all around as the most fastidious novel-reader could well desire. It will be sent to any address on receipt of the price.