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 '^LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 I ^/^// L>£23 
 
 I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 
 
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Garnered Sheaves. 
 
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 ~~~1 
 
 DR. HOLLAND'S WORKS. 
 
 Each in one volume 12mo. 
 
 BITTER-SWEET : a Poem, $1 50 
 
 KATHRINA: a Poem, 1 50 
 
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG PEOPLE, 1 50 
 
 GOLD-FOIL, luxmmered from Popular Proverbs, 1 75 
 LESSONS IN LIFE, 1 75 
 
 PLAIN TALKS, on Familiar Subjects, .... 1 75 
 
 LETTERS TO THE JONESES, 1 75 
 
 MISS GILBERTS CAREER, 2 00 
 
 BAY PATE, 2 00 
 
 Ttie first six volumes are issued in cabinet size (ldmo), 
 '■'■Brightwood Edition,"' at same prices as above. 
 
 
 
 

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 Garnered Sheaves 
 
 THE 
 
 COMPLETE POETICAL WOKK3 
 
 OF 
 
 J. G. HOLLAND. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO. 
 
 1873. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Lanoe, Little & Hillman, 
 
 printers, electrotypers and stereotypers, 
 
 108 to 114 Wooster Street, N. Y. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Picture, -------- 9 
 
 Persons, ------- 14 
 
 Prelude, -------- 17 
 
 FIRST MOVEMENT— COLLOQUIAL. 
 The Question Stated and Argued, 23 
 
 FIRST EPISODE. 
 The Question Illustrated by Nature, - - - 07 
 
 SECOND MOVEMENT— NARRATIVE. 
 The Question Illustrated by Experience, - 87 
 
 SECOND EPISODE. 
 The Question Illustrated by Story, - - 155 
 
 THIRD M VEMENT— DRAMA TIC. 
 The Question Illustrated by the Denouement, 181 
 
 L'Envoy, • - 216 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 KATHRINA. 
 
 PAGK. 
 
 A Tribute, ----... 7 
 
 PAST I. 
 
 Childhood and Youth, ----- 13 
 Complaint, -------66 
 
 PAST II. 
 
 Love, --_----.. 71 
 
 A Reflection, ------- 172 
 
 PAST III. 
 
 Labor, - - - - - - - 175 
 
 Despair, -------- 256 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Consummation, ------ 261 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MARBLE PROPHECY, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Marble Prophecy, ----- i 
 
 The Wings, - - - - - 28 
 
 Intimations, -------38 
 
 Words, - - ■ - - - - - 42 
 
 Sleeping and Dreaming, - - - - -44 
 
 On the Righi, ------ 51 
 
 Gradatim, - - - - - - • - -53 
 
 Returning Clouds, ----- 55 
 
 Eureka, --------59 
 
 Where Shall the Baby's Dimple Be? - - 61 
 
 The Heart op the War, - - - - - 63 
 
 To a Sleeping Singer, ----- 69 
 
 Song and Silence, ------ 70 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Alone, - - - - -.- - -72 
 
 Albert Durer's Studio, ----- 75 
 
 The Old Clock op Prague, - - - - 77 
 
 A Christmas Carol, ----- 82 
 
 Verses Read at the Hadley Centennial, - - 84 
 
 Wanted, 89 
 
 Merle the Counsellor, - - - - - 91 
 
 Daniel Gray, ------ 97 
 
 The Mountain Christening, - - - - - 102 
 
 A Golden Wedding- Song, - - - - 111 
 

 LIST OF ILLLTSTEATIOKS. 
 
 
 1. 
 
 Portrait, ...-- Frontispiece. 
 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 PASE. 
 
 2. 
 
 Here dwells the good old farmer Israel, 
 
 14 
 
 3. 
 
 I SEE THAT WHOM: GOD LOVES He CHASTENS SORELT, 
 
 36 
 
 4. 
 
 The finny armies clog the twine that sweeps 
 
 
 
 THE LAZY RIVER, - 
 
 82 
 
 5. 
 
 Man fells the forests, ploughs and tills the 
 
 FIELDS, 
 
 
 
 And heaps the granaries that feed the world, 
 
 90 
 
 6. 
 
 —Wine was on his board 
 
 
 
 Without my protest— with a glass for me, 
 
 118 
 
 7. 
 
 And ere I knew, and by no act of Will 
 
 
 
 I ROSE AND GAVE HIM GENTLE COURTESY, 
 
 136 
 
 8. 
 
 "Tempted in all points like ourselves was 
 He- 
 
 
 
 Tempted BUT SINLESS, 1 ' ... 
 
 146 
 
 9. 
 
 Dear Husband 1 David 1 Look upon your wife ! 
 
 208 
 
KATHRINA, 
 
 10. And when I came, she flew into my arms, - 36 
 
 11. — The touch op crafty feet 
 
 Upon the carpet creeping by my door, - 54 
 
 12. Still kneeling like a Saint, 70 
 
 13. I took the lady's hand and said, " Good 
 
 night ! " - 108 
 
 14. Slow in the golden: twilight toward her 
 
 HOME, 
 
 Her hand upon my arm, we loitered on, - 128 
 
 15. My home held all my world, - - 150 
 
 16. Well, thought I, biting my lip, "I'm in the 
 
 market now," .... 194 
 
 17. Again 1 trod the forest paths, 254 
 
BlTTEK-SWEET. 
 
PICTURE. 
 
 Wintee's wild birthnight ! In the fretful East 
 The uneasy wind moans with its sense of cold, 
 And sends its sighs through gloomy mountain 
 
 gorge, 
 Along the valley, up the whitening hill, 
 To tease the sighing spirits of the pines, 
 And waste in dismal woods their chilly life. 
 The sky is dark, and on the huddled leaves — 
 The restless, rustling leaves — sifts down its sleet, 
 Till the sharp crystals pin them to the earth, 
 And they grow still beneath the rising storm. 
 The roofless bullock hugs the sheltering stack, 
 With cringing head and closely gathered feet, 
 And waits with dumb endurance for the morn. 
 Deep in a gusty cavern of the barn 
 
10 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The witless calf stands blatant at his chain ; 
 While the brute mother, pent within her stall, 
 With the wild stress of instinct goes distraught, 
 And frets her horns, and bellows through the 
 
 night. 
 The stream runs black ; and the far waterfall 
 That sang so sweetly through the summer eves, 
 And swelled and swayed to Zephyr's softest breath. 
 Leaps with a sullen roar the dark abyss, 
 And howls its hoarse responses to the wind. 
 The mill is stilL The distant factory, 
 That swarmed yestreen with many fingered life 
 And bridged the river with a hundred bars 
 Of molten light, is dark, and lifts its bulk 
 With dim, uncertain angles, to the sky. 
 
 # * * * * -r- 
 
 Yet lower bows the storm. The leafless trees 
 Lash their lithe limbs, and, with majestic voice, 
 Call to each other through the deepening gloom ; 
 And slender trunks that lean on burly bough, 
 Shriek with sharp abrasion ; and the oak, 
 Mellowed in fibre by unnumbered frosts, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 11 
 
 Yields to the shoulder of the Titan Blast. 
 Forsakes its poise, and, with a booming crash, 
 Sweeps a fierce passage to the smothered rocks, 
 And lies a shattered ruin. 
 * * * -x- * * * 
 
 Other scene :- - 
 Across the swale, half up the pine-capped hill, 
 Stands the old farm-house with its clump of 
 
 bams — 
 The old red farm-house — dim and dun to-night, 
 Save where the ruddy firelights from the hearth 
 Flap their bright wings against the window 
 
 paries, — 
 A billowy swarm that beat then- slender bars, 
 Or seek the night to leave their track of flame 
 Upon the sleet, or sit, with shifting feet 
 And restless plumes, among the poplar boughs — 
 The spectral poplars, standing at the gate. 
 
 And now a man, erect, aud tall, and strong, 
 Whose thin white hair, and cheeks of furrowed 
 bronze, 
 
12 BITTE'B-SWEET. 
 
 And ancient dress, betray the patriarch. 
 Stands at the window, listening to the storm, 
 And as the fire leaps with a wilder flame — 
 Moved by the wind — it wraps and glorifies 
 His stalwart frame, until it flares and glows 
 Like the old prophets, in transfigured guise, 
 That shape the sunset for cathedral aisles. 
 And now it passes, and a sweeter shape 
 Stands in its place. O blest maternity ! 
 Hushed on her bosom in a light embrace, 
 Her baby sleeps, wrapped in its long white robe ; 
 And as the flame, with soft, auroral sweeps, 
 Illuminates the pair, how like they seem, 
 O Virgin Mother ! to thyself and thine ! 
 Now Samuel comes with curls of burning gold 
 To hearken to the voice of God without : 
 " Speak, mighty One ! Thy little servant hears !' 
 And Miriam, maiden, from her household cares 
 Comes to the window in her loosened robe, — 
 Comes with the blazing timbrels in her hand, — 
 And, as the noise of winds and waters swells, 
 It shapes the song of triumph to her lips : 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 V6 
 
 " The horse and he who rode are overthrown !'' 
 And now a man of noble port and brow, 
 And aspoct of benignant majesty, 
 Assumes the vacant niche, while either side 
 Press the fair forms of children, and I hear : 
 "butler the little ones to come unto me 1" 
 
PERSONS. 
 
 Hebe dwells the good old farmer, Israel, 
 In his ancestral home — a Puritan 
 Who reads his Bible daily, loves his God, 
 And lives serenely in the faith of Christ. 
 For three score years and ten his life has run 
 Through varied scenes of happiness and woe ; 
 But, constant through the wide vicissitude, 
 He has confessed the giver of his joys, 
 And kissed the hand that took them ; and when- 
 e'er 
 Bereavement has oppressed his soul with grief, 
 Or sharp misfortune stung his heart with pain, 
 He has bowed down in childlike faith, and said, 
 "Thy will, O God — thy will be done, not mine !" 
 
IMI 
 r 
 
 v. 
 
 --•> '.-'.,■ ■ ■ :Lj 
 
 Here dwells the good old farmer Israel. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 15 
 
 His gentle wife, a dozen summers since, 
 
 Passed from his faithful arms and went to heaven ; 
 
 And her best gift — a maiden sweetly named — 
 
 His daughter Euth — orders the ancient house, 
 
 And fills her mother's place beside the board, 
 
 And cheers his life with songs and industry. 
 
 But who are these who crowd the house to-night— 
 
 A happy throng ? Wayfaring pilgrims, who, 
 
 Grateful for shelter, charm the golden hours 
 
 With the sweet jargon of a festival ? 
 
 Who are these fathers ? who these mothers ? who 
 
 These pleasant children, rude with health and joy ? 
 
 It is the Puritan's Thanksgiving Eve ; 
 
 And gathered home, from fresher homes around, 
 
 The old man's children keep the holiday — 
 
 In dear New England, since the fathers slept — 
 
 The sweetest holiday of all the year. 
 
 John comes with Prudence and her little girls, 
 
 And Peter, matched with Patience, brings his 
 
 boys — 
 Fair boys and girls with good old Scripture names — 
 
16 BITTER-SWEET 
 
 Joseph, Rebekah, Paul, and Samuel ; 
 
 And Grace, young Ruth's companion in the house, 
 
 Till wrested from her last Thanksgiving Day 
 
 By the strong hand of Love, brings home her babe, 
 
 And the tall poet David, at whose side 
 
 She went away. And seated in the midst, 
 
 Mary, a foster-daughter of the house, 
 
 Of alien blood — self-aliened many a year — 
 
 Whose chastened face and melancholy eyes 
 
 Bring all the wondering children to her knee, 
 
 Weeps with the strange excess of happiness, 
 
 And sighs with joy. 
 
 What recks the driving storm 
 Of such a scene as this ? And what reck these 
 Of such a storm ? For every heavy gust 
 That smites the windows with its cloud of sleet, 
 And shakes the sashes with its ghostly hands, 
 And rocks the mansion till the chimney's throat 
 Through all its sooty caverns shrieks and howls, 
 They give full bursts of careless merriment, 
 Or songs that send it baffled on its way. 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 Doubt takes to wings on such a night as this ; 
 And while the traveller hugs his fluttering cloak, 
 And staggers o'er the weary waste alone, 
 Beneath a pitiless heaven, they flap his face, 
 And wheel above, or hunt his fainting soul, 
 As, with relentless greed, a vulture throng, 
 With their lank shadows mock the glazing eyes 
 Of the last camel of the caravan. 
 And Faith takes forms and wings on such a night. 
 Where love burns brightly at the household 
 
 hearth, 
 And from the altar of each peaceful heart 
 Ascends the fragrant incense of its thanks, 
 And every pulse with sympathetic throb 
 Tells the true rhythm of trustfulest content, 
 
18 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 They flutter in and ont, and touch to smiles 
 The sleeping lips of infancy; and fan 
 The blush that lights the modest maiden's cheeks ; 
 And toss the locks of children at their play. 
 
 Silence is vocal if we listen well : 
 
 And Life and Being sing in dullest ears 
 
 From morn to night, from night to morn again, 
 
 With fine articulations ; but when God 
 
 Disturbs the soul with terror, or inspires 
 
 "With a great joy, the words of Doubt and Faith 
 
 Sound quick and sharp like drops on forest leaves; 
 
 And we look up to where the pleasant sky 
 
 Kisses the thunder-claps, and drink the song. 
 
 21 Zona, of Slaitbt. 
 
 The day is quenched, and the sun is fled; 
 
 God has forgotten the world ! 
 The moon is gone, and the stars are dead ; 
 
 God has forgotten the world ! 
 
 Evil has won in the horrid feud 
 Of ages with the Throne ; 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Evil stands on the neck of Good, 
 And rules the world alone. 
 
 There is no good ; there is no God ; 
 
 And Faith is a heartless cheat, 
 Who bares the back for the Devil's rod, 
 
 And scatters thorns for the feet. 
 
 What are prayers in the lips of death, 
 Filling and chilling -with hail ? 
 
 What are prayers but wasted breath, 
 Beaten back by the gale ? 
 
 19 
 
 The day is quenched, and the sun is fled 
 God has forgotten the world ! 
 
 The moon is gone, and the stars are dead 
 God has forgotten the world ! 
 
 % $on$ erf fatti). 
 
 Day will return with a fresher boon ; 
 
 God will remember the world ! 
 Night will come with a newer moon ; 
 
 God -vill remember the world I 
 
20 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Evil is only the slave of Good ; 
 
 Sorrow the servant of Joy ; 
 And the soul is mad that refuses food 
 
 Of the meanest in God's employ. 
 
 The fountain of joy is fed by tears, 
 And love is lit by the breath of sighs ; 
 
 The deepest griefs and the wildest fears 
 Have holiest ministries. 
 
 Strong grows the oak in the sweeping storm ; 
 
 Safely the flower sleeps under the snow ; 
 Aud the farmer's hearth is never warm 
 
 Till the cold wind starts to blow. 
 
 Day will return with a fresher boon ; 
 
 God will remember the world ! 
 Night will come with a newer moon ; 
 
 God will remember the world ! 
 
FIRST MOVEMENT. 
 
 COLLOQUIAL. 
 
FIRST MO VEMENT. 
 
 LOCAIITY— The square room of a New England farm-house. 
 
 PKESENT— Israel, head of the family ; John, Peter, David, Pa- 
 tience, Prudence, Grace, Mary, Ruth and Children. 
 
 THE QUESTION STATED AND ARGUED. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 Ruth, touch the cradle. Boys, you must be still ! 
 
 The baby cannot sleep in such a noise. 
 
 Nay, Grace, stir not ; she'll soothe hini soon 
 
 enough, 
 And tell him more sweet stuff in half an hour 
 Than you can dream, in dreaming half a year. 
 
24 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 EUTH. 
 
 [Kneeling and rocking the cradle* 
 
 What is the little one thinking about ? 
 Very wonderful things, no doubt. 
 Unwritten history ! 
 Unfathomed mystery ! 
 Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, 
 And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, 
 As if his head were as full of kinks 
 And curious riddles as any sphinx ! 
 Warped by colic, and wet by tears, 
 Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, 
 Our little nephew will lose two years ; 
 And he'll never know 
 Where the summers go ; — 
 He need not laugh for he'll find it so ! 
 
 Who can tell what a baby thinks ? 
 Who can follow the gossamer links 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 25 
 
 By which the mannikin feels his way 
 Out from Uhe shore of the great unknown, 
 Blind, and wailing, and alone, 
 
 Into the light of day ? — 
 Out from the shore of the unknown sea, 
 Tossing in pitiful agony, — 
 Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, 
 Speckled with the barks of little souls — 
 Barks that were launched on the other side, 
 And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide ! 
 
 What does he think of his mother's eyes ? 
 What does he think of his mother's hair ? 
 
 What of the cradle-roof that flies 
 Forward and backward through the ah* ? 
 
 What does he think of his mother's breast — 
 Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, 
 Seeking it ever with fresh delight-— 
 
 Cup of his life and couch of his rest ? 
 What does he think when her quick embrace 
 Presses his hand and buries his face 
 
26 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell 
 With a tenderness she can never tell, 
 
 Though she murmur the words 
 
 Of all the birds- 
 Words she has learned to murmur well ? 
 
 Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! 
 
 I can see the shadow creep 
 
 Over his eyes, in soft eclipse, 
 
 Over his brow, and over his lips, 
 
 Out to his little finger tips ! 
 
 Softly sinking, down he goes ! 
 
 Down he goes ! Down he goes ! 
 
 [Rising, and carefully retreating to her seat 
 
 See ! He is hushed in sweet repose ! 
 
 [Yawning. 
 Behold a miracle ! Music transformed 
 To morphine, and the drowsy god invoked 
 By the poor prattle of a maiden's tongue ! 
 A moment more, and we should all have gone 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 27 
 
 Down into dreamland with the babe ! Ah, well ! 
 There is no end of wonders. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 None, indeed ! 
 When lazy poets who have gorged themselves, 
 And cannot keep awake, make the attempt 
 To shift the burden of their drowsiness, 
 And charge a girl with what they owe to greed. 
 
 DATED. 
 
 At your old tricks again ! No sleep induced 
 By song of yours, or any other bird's, 
 Can linger long when you begin to talk. 
 Grace, box your sister's ears for me, and save 
 The trouble of my rising. 
 
 RUTH. 
 [Advancing, and kneeling by the side of Grace. 
 
 Sister mine, 
 Now give the proof of your obedience 
 
28 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 To your imperious lord ! Strike, if you dare 1 
 I'll wake your baby if you lift your hand. 
 Ha ! king ; ha ! poet ; who is master now — 
 Baby or husband ? Pr'ythee, tell me that 
 Were I a man, — thank Heaven I am not ! — 
 And had a wife who cared not for my will 
 More than your wife for yours, I'd hang myself, 
 Or wear an apron. See ! she kisses me ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 And answers to my will, though well she knows 
 I'll spare to her so terrible a task, 
 And take the awful burden on myself ; 
 Which I will do, in future, if she please ! 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 Now have you conquered ! Look ! I am yoai 
 
 slave. 
 Denounce me, scourge me, anything but kiss ; 
 For life is sweet, and I alone am left 
 To comfort an old man. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 20 
 
 ISEAEL. 
 
 Kuth, that will do ! 
 Reineniber I'm a Justice of the Peace, 
 And bide no quarrels ; and if you and David 
 Persist in strife, I'll place you under bonds 
 For good behavior, or condemn you both 
 To solitary durance for the night. 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 Father, you fail to understand the case, 
 And do me wrong. David has threatened me 
 With an assault that proves intent to kill ; 
 And here's my sister Grace, his wedded wife, 
 Who'll take her oath, that just a year ago 
 He entered into bonds to keep the peace 
 Toward me and womankind. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 I'm quite asleep. 
 
30 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 We'll all agree, then, to pronounce it quits. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Till lie awake again, of course. I trust 
 I have sufficient gallantly to grant 
 A nap between encounters, to a foe 
 With odds against him. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 Peace, my daughter, peace ! 
 You've had your full revenge, and we have had 
 Enough of laughter since the day began. 
 We must not squander all these precious hours 
 In jest and merriment ; for when the sun 
 Shall rise to-morrow, we shall separate, 
 Not knowing we shall ever meet again. 
 Meetings like this are rare this side of Heaven, 
 And seem to me the best mementoes left 
 Of Eden's hours. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 31 
 
 GEACE. 
 
 Most certainly the best, 
 And qnite the rarest, but, unluckily, 
 The weakest, as we know ; for sin and' pain 
 And evils multiform, that swarm the earth, 
 And poison all our joys and all our hearts, 
 Remind us most of Eden's forfeit bliss. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Forfeit through woman. 
 
 GEACE. 
 
 Forfeit through her power ; 
 A power not lost, as most men know, I think, 
 Beyond the knowledge of their trustful wives. 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 [Rising and walking hurriedly to the window. 
 
 "Tis a wild night without. 
 
32 
 
 BITTERSWEET. 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 And getting wild 
 Within. Now Grace, I — all of us — protest 
 Against a scene to-night. Look ! Yon have 
 
 driven 
 One to the window blushing, and your lord, 
 With lowering brow, is making stern essay- 
 To stare the fire-dogs out of countenance. 
 These honest brothers, with then* honest wives, 
 Grow glum and solemn, too, as if they feared 
 At the next gust to see the windows burst, 
 Or a riven poplar crashing through the roof. 
 And think of me ! — a sinrple hearted maid 
 Who learned from Cowper only yesterday 
 (Or a schoolmaster, with a handsome face, 
 And a strange passion for the text), the fact, 
 That wedded bliss alone survives the fall. 
 I'm shocked ; I'm frightened ; and I'll never wed 
 Unless I — change my mind ; 
 
LITTER-SWEET. 33 
 
 ISEAEL. 
 
 And 1 consent. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 And the schoolmaster with the handsome face 
 Propose. 
 
 Your pardon, father, for the jest 1 
 But I have never patience with the ills 
 That make intrusion on my happy hours. 
 I know the world is full of evil things, 
 And shudder with the consciousness. I know 
 That care has iron crowns for many brows ; 
 That Calvaries are everywhere, whereon 
 Virtue is crucified, and nails and spears 
 Draw guiltless blood ; that sorrow sits and drinks 
 At sweetest hearts, till all their life is dry ; 
 That gentle spirits on the rack of pain " 
 
84 BITTER- SVfEET. 
 
 Grow faint or fierce, and pray and curse by 
 
 turns; 
 That Hell's temptations, clad in Heavenly guise, 
 And armed with might, he evermore in wait 
 Along life's path, giving assault to all — 
 Fatal to most ; that Death stalks through the 
 
 earth, 
 Choosing his victims, sparing none at last ; 
 That in each shadow of a pleasant tree 
 A grief sits sadly sobbing to its leaves ; 
 And that beside each fearful soul there walks 
 The dim, gaunt phantom of uncertainty, 
 Bidding it look before, where none may see, 
 And all must go : but I forget it all — 
 I thrust it from me always when I may ; 
 Else I should faint with fear, or drown nryself 
 In pity. God forgive me ! but I've thought 
 A thousand times that if I had His power, 
 Or He my love, we'd have a different world 
 From this "we live in. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 ifo 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 Those are sinful thoughts, 
 My daughter, and too surely indicate 
 A wilful soul, unreconciled to God. 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 So you have told me often. You have said 
 That God is just, and I have looked around 
 To seek the proof in human lot, in vain. 
 The rain falls kindly on the just man's fields, 
 But on the unjust man's more kindly still ; 
 And I have never known the winter's blast, 
 Or the quick lightning, or the pestilence, 
 Make nice discriminations when let slip 
 From God's right hand. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 'Tis a great mystery ; 
 Yet God is just, and, — blessed be His name !- 
 
36 B1TT-EB-SWEET. 
 
 Is loving too. I know that I am weak, 
 
 And that the pathway of His Providence 
 
 Is on the hills where I may never climb. 
 
 Therefore my reason yields her hand to Faith, 
 
 And follows meekly where the angel leads. 
 
 I see the rich man have his portion here, 
 
 And Lazarus, in glorified repose, 
 
 Sleep like a jewel on the breast of Faith 
 
 In Heaven's broad light. I see that whom God 
 
 loves 
 He chastens sorely, but I ask not why. 
 I only know that God is just and good : 
 All else is mystery. Why evil lives 
 Within His universe, I may not know. 
 I know it lives, and taints the vital air ; 
 And that in ways inscrutable to me — 
 Yet compromising not his soundless love 
 And boundless power — it lives against His will. 
 
I SEE THAT WHOM GOD LOVES He CHASTENS SORELY. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 37 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 I am not satisfied. If evil live 
 
 Against God's will, evil is king of all, 
 
 And they do well who worship Lucifer. 
 
 I am not satisfied. My reason spurns 
 
 Such prostitution to absurdities. 
 
 I know that you are happy ; but I shrink 
 
 From your blind faith with loathing and with fear> 
 
 And feel that I must win it, if I win, 
 
 With the surrender, not of will alone, 
 
 But of the noblest faculty that God 
 
 Has crowned me with. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 blind and stubborn child ! 
 My light, my joy, my burden and my grief ! 
 How would I lead you to the wells of peace, 
 And see you dip your fevered palms and drink. 
 Gladly to purchase this would I lay down 
 
88 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The precious remnant of my life, and sleep, 
 Wrapped in the faith you spurn, till the archange 
 Sounds the last trump. But God's will be done J 
 I leave you with Him. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Father, talk not thus ! 
 Oh, do not blame me ! I would do it all, 
 If but to bless you with a single joy ; 
 But I am helpless. 
 
 God will help you, Buth. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 To quench my reason ? Can I ask the boon ? 
 My lips would blister with the blasphemy. 
 I cannot take your faith ; and that is why 
 T would forget that I am in a world 
 
BITTERSWEET. 39 
 
 Where evil lives, and why I guard my joys 
 With such a jealous care. 
 
 There, Ruth, sit down ! 
 'Tis the old question, with the old reply. 
 You fly along the path, with bleeding feet, 
 Where many feet have flown and bled before ; 
 And he who seeks to guide you to the goal, 
 Has (let me say it, father,) stopped far short, 
 And taken refuge at a wayside inn, 
 Whose haunted halls and mazy passages 
 Receive no light, save through the riddled roof, 
 Pierced thick by pilgrim staves, that Faith maj 
 
 he 
 Upon its back, and only gaze on heaven. 
 I would not banish evil if I could ; 
 Nor would I be so deep in love with joy 
 As to seek for it in forgetfulness, 
 Through faith or fear. 
 
40 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Teach me the better way, 
 And every expiration from my lips 
 Shall be a grateful blessing on your head ; 
 And in the coming world I'll seek the side 
 Of no more gracious angel than the man 
 Who gives me brotherhood by leading me 
 Home with himself to heaven. 
 
 My son, 
 Be careful of your words ! 'Tis no light thing 
 To take the guidance of a straying soul. 
 
 [ mark the burden well, and love it, too. 
 Because I love the girl and love her lord, 
 And seek to vindicate His love to her 
 AjkI waken hers for Him. Be this my plea : 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 41 
 
 God is almighty — all-benevolent ; 
 And naught exists save by His loving will. 
 Evil, or what we reckon such, exists, 
 And not against his will ; else the Supreme 
 Is subject, and we have in place of God 
 A phantom nothing, with a phantom name. 
 Therefore I care not whether He ordain 
 That evil live, or whether He permit ; 
 Therefore I ask not why, in either case, 
 As if He meant to curse me, but I ask 
 What He would have this evil do for me ? 
 What is its mission ? what its ministry ? 
 What golden fruit lies hidden in its husk ? 
 How shall it nurse my virtue, nerve my will, 
 Chasten my passions, purify my love, 
 And make me in some goodly sense like Him 
 Who bore the cross of evil while He lived, 
 Who hung and bled upon it when he died, 
 And now, in glory, wears the victor's crown ? 
 
42 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 1SKAEL. 
 
 If evil, then, have part and privilege 
 
 In the economy of holiness, 
 
 Why came the Christ to save ns from its powei 
 
 And bring us restoration of the bliss 
 
 Lost in the lapse of Eden ? 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 And would you 
 Or Rath have restoration of that bliss, 
 And welcome transplantation to the state 
 Associate with it ? 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 Would I ? Would I not ? 
 Oh, I have dreamed of it a thousand times, 
 Sleeping and waking, since the torch of th ought 
 Flashed into flame at Bevelation's touch, 
 Anrl filled my spirit with its quenchless fire 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 43 
 
 Most envious dreams of innocence and joy 
 
 Have haunted nie, — dreams that were born in sin. 
 
 Yet swathed in stainless snow. I've dreamed, and 
 
 dreamed, 
 Of wondrous trees, crowned with perennial green, 
 Whose soft still shadows gleamed with golden 
 
 lamps 
 Of pensile fruitage, or were flushed with life 
 Radiant and tuneful when broad flocks of birds 
 Swept in and out like sheets of living flame. 
 I've dreamed of aisles tufted with velvet grass, 
 And bordered with the strange intelligencs 
 Of myriad loving eyes among the flowers, 
 That watched me with a curious, calm delight, 
 As rows of wayside cherubim may watch 
 A new soul walking into Paradise. 
 I've dreamed of sunsets when the sun supine 
 Lay rocking on the ocean like a god, 
 And threw his weary arms far up the sky, 
 And with vermilion- tinted fingers toyed 
 
44 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 With the long tresses of the evening star. 
 I've dreamed of dreams more beautiful than all- 
 Dreams that were music, perfume, vision, bliss, — 
 Blent and sublimed, till I have stood enwraiJioed 
 In the quick essence of an atmosphere 
 That made me tremble to unclose my eyes 
 Lest I should look on God. And I have dreamed 
 Of sinless men and maids, mated in heaven, 
 Ere yet their souls had sought for beauteous forms 
 To give them human sense and residence, 
 Moving through all this realm of choice delights 
 For ever and for aye ! with hands and hearts 
 Immaculate as light ; without a thought 
 Of evil, and without a name for fear. 
 Oh, when I wake from happy dreams like these, 
 To the old consciousness that I must die, 
 To the old presence of a guilty heart, 
 To the old fear that haunts me night and day, 
 Why should I not deplore the graceless fall 
 That makes me what I am, and shuts me out 
 
BITTERSWEET. 45 
 
 From a condition and society 
 
 As much above a sinful maiden's dreains 
 
 As Eden blest surpasses Eden curst ? 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 So you would be another Eve, and so — 
 
 Fall with the first temptation, like herself ! 
 
 God seeks for virtue ; you for innocence. 
 
 You'll find it in the cradle — nowhere else — 
 
 Save in your dreams, among the grown up babes 
 
 That dwelt in Eden — powerless, pulpy souls 
 
 That showed a dimple for each touch of sin. 
 
 God seeks for virtue, and, that it may live, 
 
 It must resist, and that which it resists 
 
 Must five. Believe me, God has other thought 
 
 Than restoration of our fallen race 
 
 To its primeval innocence and bliss. 
 
 If Jesus Christ — as we are taught — was slain 
 
 From the foundation of the world, it was 
 
 Because our evil lived in essence then — 
 
. 46 BITTERS WEET. 
 
 Coeval with the great, mysterious fact. 
 
 And He was slain that we might be transformed, - 
 
 Not into Adam's sweet similitude — 
 
 But the more glorious image of Himself, — 
 
 A resolution of our destiny 
 
 As high transcending Eden's life and lot 
 
 As He surpasses Eden's fallen lord. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 You're very bold, my brother, veiy bold. 
 Did I not know you for an earnest man, 
 When sacred themes move you to utterance, 
 I'd chide you for those most irreverent words 
 Which make essential to the Christian scheme 
 That which the scheme was made to kill or cure. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Yet they do save some very awkward words, 
 That limp to make apology for God, 
 And, while they justify Him, half confess 
 The adverse verdict of appearances. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 4? 
 
 I am ashamed that in this Christian age 
 
 The pious throng still hug the fallacy 
 
 That this dear world of ours was not ordained 
 
 The theatre of evil ; for no law 
 
 Declared of God from all eternity 
 
 Can live a moment save by lease of pain. 
 
 Law cannot live, e'en in God's inmost thought, 
 
 Save by the side of evil. What were law 
 
 But a weak jest without its penalty ? 
 
 Never a law was born that did not fly 
 
 Forth from the bosom of Omnipotence 
 
 Matched, wing-and-wing, with evil and with good, 
 
 AveDger and rewarder — both of God. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 I face your thought and give it audience ; 
 But I cannot embrace it till it come 
 With some of truth's credentials in its hands, — 
 The fruits of gracious ministries. 
 
43 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Does lie 
 Wlio, driven to labor by the threat'ning weeds> 
 And forced to give his acres light and air 
 And traps for dew and reservoirs for rain, 
 Till, in the smoky light of harvest time, 
 The ragged husks reveal the golden corn, 
 Ask truth's credentials of the weeds ? Does he 
 Who prunes the orchard boughs, or tills the field. 
 Or fells the forests, or pursues their prey, 
 Until the gnarly muscles of his limbs 
 And the free blood that thrills in all Ms veins 
 Betray the health that toil alone secures, 
 Ask truth's credentials at the hand of toil ? 
 Do you ask truth's credentials of the storm, 
 Which, while we entertain communion here, 
 Makes better music for our huddling hearts 
 Than choirs of stars can sing in fairest nights ? 
 Yet weeds are evils- evils toil and storm. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 We may suspect the fair, smooth face of good ; 
 But evil, that assails us undisguised, 
 Bears evermore God's warrant in its hands. 
 
 ISBAEL. 
 
 I fear these silver sophistries of yours. 
 
 If my poor judgment gives them honest weight, 
 
 Far less than thirty will betray your Lord. 
 
 You call that evil which is good, and good 
 
 That which is evil. You apologize 
 
 For that which God must hate, and justify 
 
 The life and perpetuity of that 
 
 Which sets itself against His holiness, 
 
 And sends its discords through the universe. 
 
 40 
 
 DAVXD. 
 
 I sorrow if I shock you, for I seek 
 To comfort and inspire. I see around 
 A silent company of doubtful souls ; 
 But I may challenge any one of them 
 
50 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 To quote the meanest blessing of its life, 
 
 And prove that evil did not make the gift, 
 
 Or bear it from the giver to his hands. 
 
 The great salvation wrought by Jesus Christ— 
 
 That sank an Adam to reveal a God — 
 
 Had never come, but at the call of sin. 
 
 No risen Lord could eat the feast of love 
 
 Here on the earth, or yonder in the sky, 
 
 Had He not lain within the sepulchre. 
 
 "Tis not the lightly laden heart of man 
 
 That loves the best the hand that blesses all ; 
 
 But that which, groaning with its weight of sin, 
 
 Meets with the mercy that forgiveth much. 
 
 God never fails in an experiment, 
 
 Nor tries experiment upon a race 
 
 But to educe its highest style of life, 
 
 And sublimate its issues. Thus to me 
 
 Evil is not a mystery, but a means 
 
 Selected from the infinite resource 
 
 To make the most of me. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 51 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 Thank God for light ! 
 These truths are slowly dawning on my soul, 
 And take position in the firmament 
 That spans my thought, like stars that know their 
 
 place. 
 Dear Lord ! what visions crowd before my eyes- 
 Visions drawn forth from memory's mysteries 
 By the sweet shining of these holy lights J 
 I see a girl once lightest in the dance, 
 And maddest with the gayety of lif e, 
 Grow pale and pulseless, wasting day by day, 
 While death lies idly dreaming in her breast, 
 Blighting her breath, and poisoning her blood. 
 I see her frantic with a fearful thought 
 That haunts and horrifies her shrinking soul, 
 And bursts in sighs and sobs and feverish prayers ; 
 And now, at last, the awful struggle ends. 
 A sweet smile sits upon her angel face, 
 
52 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And peace with downy bosom, nestles close 
 
 Where her worn heart throbs faintly ; closer still 
 
 As the death shadows gather ; closer still, 
 
 As on white wings, the outward-going soul 
 
 Flies to a home it never would have sought, 
 
 Had a great evil failed to point the way. 
 
 I see a youth whom God has crowned with power 
 
 And cursed with poverty. With bravest heart 
 
 He struggles with his lot, through toilsome 
 
 years, — 
 Kept to his task by daily want of bread, 
 And kept to virtue by his daily task, — 
 Till, gaining manhood in the manly strife, — 
 The fire that fills him smitten from a flint — 
 The strength that arms him wrested from a fiend-— 
 He stands, at last, a master of himself, 
 And, in that grace, a master of his kind. 
 
 Familiar visions these, but ever full 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 53 
 
 Of inspiration and significance. 
 Now that your eyes are opened and you see, 
 Your heart should take swift cognizance, and feel 
 How do these visions move you ? 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Like the hand 
 Of a strong angel on my shoulder laid, 
 Touching the secret of the spirit's wings. 
 My heart grows brave. I'm ready now to work — 
 To work with God, and suffer with His Christ ; 
 Adopt His measures, and abide His means. 
 If, in the law that spans the universe 
 (The law its maker may not disobey), 
 Virtue may only grow from innocence 
 Through a great struggle with opposing ill ; 
 If I must win my way to perf ectness 
 In the sad path of suffering, like Him 
 The overflowing -river of whose life 
 Touches the flood-mark of humanity 
 On the white pillars of the heavenly throne, 
 
54 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Then welcome evil ! Welcome sickness, toil 
 Sorrow and pain, the fear and fact of death ! 
 
 ISKAEIi. 
 
 And welcome sin ? 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Ah, David ! welcome sin ? 
 
 DAVID. . 
 
 The fact of sin — so much ; — it must needs be 
 
 Offences come ; if woe to him by whom, 
 
 Then with good reason ; but the fact of sin 
 
 Unlocked the door to highest destiny, 
 
 That Christ might enter in and lead the way. 
 
 God loves not sin, nor I ; but in the throng 
 
 Of evils that assail us, there are none 
 
 That yield their strength to Virtue's struggling 
 
 arm 
 With such munificent reward of power 
 As great temptations. We may win by toil 
 
BITTER-SWEET 55 
 
 Endurance ; saintly fortitude by pain ; 
 
 By sickness, patience ; faith and trust by fear ; 
 
 But the great stimulus that spurs to life, 
 
 And crowds to generous development 
 
 Each chastened power and passion of the soul, 
 
 Is the temptation of the soul to sin, 
 
 Resisted, and re-conquered, evermore. 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 I am content ; and now that I have caught 
 
 Bright glimpses of the outlines of your scheme 
 
 As of a landscape, graded to the sky, 
 
 And seen through trees while passing, I desire 
 
 No vision further till I make survey 
 
 In some good time when I may come alone, 
 
 And drink its beauty and its blessedness. 
 
 I've been forgetful in my earnestness, 
 
 And wearied every one with talk. These boys 
 
 Are restive grown, or nodding in their chairs, 
 
 And older heads are set, as if for sleep. 
 
50 BITTER SWEET. 
 
 I beg their pardon for my theft of time, 
 And will offend no more. 
 
 DATED. 
 
 Buth, is it right 
 To leave a brother in such plight as this — 
 Either to imitate your courtesy, 
 Or by your act to be adjudged a boor ? 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Heaven grant you never note a sin of mine 
 Save of your own construction ! 
 
 ISKAEL. 
 
 Let it pass ! 
 I see the spell of thoughtfulness is gone, 
 Or going swiftly. I will not complain : 
 But ere these lads are fastened to their games, 
 And thoughts arise discordant with our theme, 
 Let us with gratitude approach the throne 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 57 
 
 And worship God. I wish once more to lead 
 Your hearts in prayer, and follow with my own 
 The leading of your song of thankfulness. 
 Then will I lease and leave you for the night 
 To such divertisement as suits the time, 
 And meets your humor; 
 
 [They all arise and the old man prays, 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 [After a pause. 
 
 David, let us see 
 Whether your memory prove as true as mine. 
 Do you recall the promise made by you 
 This night one year ago, — to write a hymn 
 For this occasion ? 
 
 DAVED. 
 
 I recall, and keep. 
 Here are the copies, written fairly out. 
 Here, — father, Mary, Euth, and all the rest ; 
 There's one for each. Now what shall be the tune ? 
 
58 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 <f The old One Hundredth — noblest tune of tunes ! 
 Old tunes are precious to me as old paths 
 In which I wandered when a happy boy. 
 In truth they are the old paths of my soul, 
 Oft trod, well worn, familial-, up to God. J 
 
 £l)e ijnnm. 
 
 [In which all unite to siny 
 
 For Summer's bloom and Autumn's blight, 
 For bending wheat and blasted maize, 
 
 For health and sickness, Lord of light, 
 And Lord of darkness, hear our praise ! 
 
 We trace to Thee our joys and woes, — 
 To Thee of causes still the cause, — 
 
 We thank Thee that Thy hand bestows ; 
 We bless Thee that Thy love withdraws. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 59 
 
 We bring no sorrows to Thy throne ; 
 
 "We come to Thee with no complaint. 
 In Providence Thy will is done, 
 
 And that is sacred to the saint. 
 
 Here on this blest Thanksgiving Night, 
 We raise to Thee our grateful voice ; 
 
 For what Thou doest, Lord, is right ; 
 And thus believing, we rejoice. 
 
 GKACE. 
 
 A good old tune, indeed, and strongly sung ; 
 But, in my mind, the man who wrote the hymn 
 Had seemed more modest, had he paused awhile, 
 Ere by a trick he furnished other tongues 
 With words he only has the heart to sing. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Oh, Grace ! Dear Grace ! 
 
 EUTH. 
 
 * You may well cry for grace, 
 
 II that's the company you have to keep. 
 
GO BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 I thought you convert to his sophistry. 
 It makes no difference to him, you know, 
 Whether I plague or please. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 It does to you. 
 
 ISRAEL. 
 
 There, children ! No more bitter words like 
 
 those ! 
 I do not understand them ; they awake 
 A sad uneasiness within my heart. 
 I found but Christian meaning in the hymn ; 
 Aye, I could say amen to every line, 
 As to the breathings of my own poor prayer. 
 But let us talk no more. I'll to my bed. 
 Good night, my children ! Happy thoughts be 
 
 yours 
 Till sleep arrive — then happy dreams till dawn I 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 61 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Father, good night ! 
 
 [Israel, retires. 
 RUTH. 
 
 There, little boys and girls- 
 Off to the kitchen ! Now there's fun for you. 
 Play blind-man's-buff until you break your heads ; 
 And then sit down beside the roaring fire, 
 And with wild stories scare yourselves to death. 
 We'll all be out there by-and-by. Meanwhile 
 I'll try the cellar ; and if David, here, 
 Will promise good behavior, he shall be 
 My candle-bearer, basket-bearer, and — 
 But no ! The pitcher I will bear myself. 
 I'll never trust a pitcher to a man 
 Under this house, and — seventy years of age. 
 
 [The children rush out of the room with a shout, which wakes 
 the baby. 
 
 That noisy little youngster on the floor 
 
 Slept through the theology, but wakes with mirth — 
 
03 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Precocious little creature i He must go 
 
 Up to his chamber. Come, Grace, take him off,— 
 
 Basket and all. Mary will lend a hand, 
 
 And keep you company until he sleeps. 
 
 [Grace and Mary remove the cradle to the chamber, and David 
 and Ruth retire to the cellar. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 [Rising and yawning. 
 
 Isn't she the strangest girl you ever saw ? 
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Queer, rather, I should say. Grace, now, is strange. 
 
 I think she treats her husband shamefully. 
 
 I can't imagine what possesses her, 
 
 Thus to toss taunts at him with every word, 
 
 If in his doctrines there be truth, enough, 
 
 He'll be a saint. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 If he live long enough. 
 
BITTER SWEEJ. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Well, now, I tell you such wild men ad he, — 
 Men who have crazy crotchets in their heads, - 
 Can't make a woman happy. Don't you see ? 
 He isn't settled. He has wandered off 
 From the old landmarks and has lost himself. 
 I may judge wrongly ; but if truth were told 
 There'd be excuse for Grace, I warrant ye. 
 Grace is a right good girl, or was before 
 She married David. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 Everybody says 
 He makes provision for his family, 
 Like a good husband. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 We can hardly telL 
 When men get loose in their theology 
 The screws are started up in everything; 
 
64 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Of course, I don't apologize for Grace. 
 I think she might have done more prudently 
 Than introduce her troubles here to-night, 
 But, after all, we do not know the cause 
 That stirs her fretfulness. 
 
 Well, let it go ! 
 What does the evening's talk amount to ? Who 
 Is wiser for the wisdom of the hour ? 
 The good old paths are good enough for me. 
 The fathers walked to heaven in them, and we, 
 By following meekly where they trod, may reach 
 The home they found. There will he mysteries : 
 Let those who like, bother their heads with them. 
 If Buth and David seek to fathom all, 
 I wish them patience in their bootless quest. 
 For one, I'm glad the misty talk is done, 
 And we, alone. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 Audi. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 65 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 I, too. 
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 And T. 
 
EIEST EPISODE. 
 
 LOCALITY— Tlie Cellar Stairs and Cellar. 
 PRESENT— David and Ruth. 
 
 THE QUESTION ILLUSTRATED BY NATURE 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Look where you step, or you'll stumble ! 
 Care for your coat, or you'll crock it ; 
 
 Down with your crown, man ! Be humble t 
 Put your head into your pocket, 
 Else something or other will knock it. 
 
 Don't hit that jar of cucumbers 
 
68 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Standing on the broad stair ! 
 They have not waked from their slumbers 
 Since they stood there. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Yet they have lived in a constant jar ! 
 What remarkable sleepers they are ! 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Turn to the left — shun the wall — 
 One step more- that is all ! 
 Now we are on the ground 
 I will show you around. 
 
 Sixteen barrels of cider 
 Ripening all in a row ! 
 Open the vent-channels wider ! 
 See the froth drifted like snow, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 69 
 
 Blown by the tempest below ! 
 
 Those delectable juices 
 
 Flowed through, the sinuous sluices 
 
 Of sweet springs under the orchard ; 
 
 Climbed into fountains that chained them ; 
 
 Dripped into cups that retained them, 
 
 Arid swelled till they dropped, and we gained them 
 
 Then they were gathered and tortured 
 
 By passage from hopper to vat, 
 
 And fell — every apple crushed flat. 
 
 Ah ! how the bees gathered round them ! 
 
 And how delicious they found them ! 
 
 Oat-straw, as fragrant as clover, 
 
 Was platted, and smoothly turned over, 
 
 Weaving a neatly-ribbed basket ; 
 
 And as they built up the casket, 
 
 In went the pulp by the scoop-full, 
 
 Till the juice flowed by the stoup-full, — 
 
 Fining the half of a puncheon 
 
 While the men swallowed their luncheon. 
 
70 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Pure grew the stream with the stress 
 
 Of the lever and screw, 
 Till the last drops from the press 
 
 Were as bright as the dew. 
 There were these juices spilled : 
 There were these barrels filled ; 
 Sixteen barrels of cider — 
 Ripening all in a row ! 
 Open the vent-channels wider ! 
 See the froth, drifted like snow, 
 Blown bj the tempest below ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 /Hearts, like apples, are hard and sour, 
 Till crushed by Pain's resistless power 
 And yield their juices rich and bland 
 To none but Sorrow's heavy hand. 
 The purest streams of human love 
 Plow naturally never, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 71 
 
 But gush by pressure from above, 
 
 With God's hand on the lever. 
 The first are turbidest and meanest ; 
 The last are sweetest and serenest. 
 
 Serruon quite short for the text ! 
 
 What shall we hit upon next ? 
 
 Lift up the lid of that cask ; 
 See if the brine be abundant ; 
 
 Easy for me were the task 
 To make it redundant 
 
 With tears for my beautiful Zephyr- 
 Pet of the pasture and stall — 
 
 Whitest and comeliest heifer, 
 Gentlest of all ! 
 
 Oh it seemed cruel to slay her ! 
 But they insulted my prayer 
 For her careless and innocent life, 
 
72 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And the creature was brought to the knife 
 With gratitude in her eye ; 
 For they patted her back and chafed her head, 
 And coaxed her with softest words as they led 
 
 Her up to the ring to die. 
 Do you blame me for crying 
 When my Zephyr was dying ? 
 I shut my room and my ears, 
 And opened my heart and my teal's, 
 And wept for the half of a day ; 
 
 And I could not go 
 
 To the rooms below 
 Till the butcher went away. 
 
 davtd. 
 
 Life evermore is fed by death, 
 
 In earth and sea and sky ; 
 And, that a rose may breathe its breath. 
 Something must die. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 73 
 
 Earth is a sepulchre of flowers, 
 
 Whose vitalizing mould 
 Through boundless transmutation towers, 
 In green and gold. 
 
 The oak tree, struggling with the blast, 
 
 Devours its father tree, 
 And sheds its leaves and drops its mast, 
 That more may be. 
 
 The falcon preys upon the finch, 
 
 The finch upon the fly, 
 And nought will loose the hunger-pinch 
 But death's wild ciy. 
 
 The milk-haired heifer's life must pass 
 
 That it may fill your own, 
 As passed the sweet life of the grass 
 She fed upon. 
 
74 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The power enslaved by yonder cask 
 
 Sliall many burdens bear ; 
 Snail nerve the toiler at his task, 
 
 The soul at prayer. 
 
 From lowly woe springs lordly joy ; 
 
 From humbler good diviner ; 
 The greater life must aye destroy 
 
 And drink the minor. 
 
 From hand to hand life's cup is passed 
 
 Up Being's piled gradation. 
 Till men to angels yield at last 
 
 The rich collation. 
 
 Well, we are done with the brute ; 
 Now let us look at the fruit, — 
 Every barrel, I'm told, 
 From grafts half a dozen years old. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 That is a barrel of russets ; 
 But we can hardly discuss its 
 
 Spheres of frost and flint, 
 Till, smitten by thoughts of Spring, 
 Arid the old tree blossoming, 
 Their bronze takes a yellower tint, 
 And the pulp grows mellower in't ; 
 But oh ! when they're sick with savors 
 
 Of sweets that they dream of, 
 Sure, all the toothsomest flavors 
 
 They hold the cream of ! 
 You wiU be begging in May, 
 In your irresistible way, 
 For a peck of the apples in gray. 
 
 75 
 
 Those are the pearmains, I think, — 
 Bland and insipid as eggs ; 
 They were too lazy to drink 
 
 The light to its dregs, 
 And left them upon the rind — 
 
76 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 A delicate fil m of blue — 
 Leave them alone ; — I can find 
 Better apples for you. 
 
 Those are the Ehode Island greenings ; 
 
 Excellent apples for pies ; 
 There are no mystical meanings 
 
 In fruit of that color and size. 
 They are too coarse and too juicelul ; 
 They are too large and too useful. 
 
 There are the Baldwins and Flyers, 
 Wrapped in then beautiful fires ! 
 Color forks up from their stems 
 
 As if painted by Flora, 
 Or as out from the pole stream the flames 
 
 Of the Northern Aurora. 
 
 Here shall our quest have a close ; 
 FiU up your basket with those ; 
 
BITTER SWEET. 
 
 Bite through their vesture of flame, 
 And then you will gather 
 
 All that is meant by the name, 
 "Seek-no-farther 1" 
 
 77 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 The native orchard's fairest trees, 
 
 Wild siDringing on the hill, 
 Bear no such precious fruits as these. 
 And never will ; 
 
 Till axe and saw and pruning knife 
 
 Cut from them eveiy bough, 
 And they receive a gentler life 
 
 Than crowns them now. 
 
 And Nature's children, evermore, 
 
 Though grown to stately stature, 
 Must bear the fruit their fathers bore- 
 The fruit of nature : 
 
78 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Till every thrifty vice is made 
 
 The shoulder for a cion, 
 Cut from the bending trees that shade 
 The hills of Zion. 
 
 Sorrow must crop each passion-shoot, 
 
 And pain each lust infernal, 
 Or human life can bear no fruit 
 'l'o life eternal. 
 
 For angels wait on Providence : 
 
 And mark the sundered places, 
 To graft with gentlest instruments 
 
 The heavenly graces. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 Well, you're a curious creature ! 
 You should have been a preacher. 
 But look at that bin of potatoes — 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 79 
 
 Grown in all singular shapes — 
 Red and in clusters like grapes, 
 
 Or more like tomatoes. 
 Those are Merinoes, I guess ; 
 
 Very prolific and cheap ; 
 They make an excellent mess 
 
 For a cow, or a sheep, 
 And are good for the table, they say, 
 When the winter has passed away. 
 
 Those are my beautiful Carters ; 
 Every one doomed to be martyrs 
 
 To the eccentric desire 
 Of Christian people to skin them, — 
 
 Brought to the trial of fire 
 For the good that is in them ! 
 Ivory tubers — divide one ! 
 
 Ivory all the way through ! 
 Never a hollow inside one ; 
 
 Never a core, black or blue ! 
 
80 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Ah, you should taste them when roasted ! 
 
 (Chestnuts are not half so good ;) 
 And you would find that I've boasted 
 
 Less than I should. 
 They make the meal for Sunday noon ; 
 
 And, if you ever eat one, let me beg 
 
 You to manage it just as you do an egg. 
 Take a pat of butter, a silver spoon, 
 And wrap your napkin round the shell ; 
 Have you seen a humming-bird probe the bell 
 Of a white-lipped morning-glory ? 
 Well, that's the rest of the story ! 
 But it's very singular, surely, 
 They should produce so poorly. 
 Father knows that I want them, 
 So he continues to plant them ; 
 But, if I try to argue the question, 
 
 He scoffs, as a thrifty farmer will : 
 And puts me down with the stale suggestion — 
 
 " Small potatoes, and few in a hill." 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 81 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Thus is it over all the earth ! 
 
 That which we call the fairest, 
 And prize for its surpassing worth, 
 Is always rarest. 
 
 Iron is heaped in mountain piles, 
 
 And gluts the laggard forges ; 
 But gold-flakes gleam in dim denies, 
 And lonely gorges. 
 
 The snowy marble flecks the land 
 
 With heaped and rounded ledges. 
 But diamonds hide within the sand 
 Their starry edges. 
 
 The finny armies clog the twine 
 
 That sweeps the lazy river, 
 But pearls come singly from the brine, 
 With the pale diver. 
 
82 Bl TTER-S WEET. 
 
 God gives no value unto men 
 
 Unmatched by meed of labor ; 
 And Cost of Worth has ever been 
 
 The closest neighbor. 
 
 Wide is the gate and broad the way 
 
 That open to perdition, 
 And countless multitudes are they 
 
 Who seek admission. 
 
 But strait the gate, the path unkind, 
 
 That lead to lif e immortal, 
 And few the careful feet that find 
 
 The hidden portal. 
 
 All common good has common price ; 
 
 Exceeding good, exceeding ; 
 Christ bought the keys of Paradise 
 By cruel bleeding ; 
 
 And every soul that wins a place 
 Upon its hills of pleasure, 
 
Tele finnt armies clog the twine that sweeps the eazy river. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. S3 
 
 Must give its all, and beg for grace 
 To fill the measure. 
 
 Were every hill a precious mine, 
 
 And golden all the mountains ; 
 
 Were all the rivers fed with wine 
 
 By tireless fountains ; 
 
 l.dfe would be ravished of its zest, 
 
 And shorn of its ambition, 
 And sink into the dreamless rest 
 Of inanition. 
 
 Up the broad stairs that Value rears 
 
 Stand motives beck'ning earthward, 
 To summon men to nobler spheres, 
 
 And lead them worthward. 
 
 EUTH. 
 
 I'm afraid to show you anything more ; 
 For parsnips and art are so very long, 
 
84 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 That the passage back to the cellar-door 
 
 Would be through a mile of song. 
 But Truth owns me for an honest teller ; 
 
 And if the honest truth be told, 
 I am indebted to you and the cellar 
 
 For a lesson and a cold. 
 And one or the other cheats my sight ; 
 
 (O silly girl ! for shame !) 
 Barrels are hooped with rings of light, 
 
 And stopped with tongues of flame. 
 Apples have conquered original sin, 
 
 Manna is pickled in brine, 
 Philosophy fills the potato bin, 
 
 And cider will soon be wine. 
 So crown the basket with mellow fruit, 
 
 And brim the pitcher with pearls ; 
 And we'll see how the old-time dainties suit 
 
 The old-time boys and girls. 
 
 [T/iey ascend the stairs 
 
SECOND MOVEMENT. 
 
 NARRATIVE. 
 
SECOND MOVEMENT. 
 
 LOCALITY— ^1 Chamber. 
 PKESENT— Grace, Mary, and the Baby, 
 
 THE QUESTION ILLUSTRATED BY EXPE- 
 RIENCE. 
 
 GEAGE. 
 
 [Sings, 
 Hither, Sleep ! A mother wants thee ! 
 
 Coine with velvet arms ! 
 
 Fold the baby that she grants thee 
 
 To thy own soft charms ! 
 
 Bear him into Dreamland lightly ! 
 Give him sight of flowers ! 
 
J BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Do not bring liim back till brightly 
 
 Break the morning hours ! 
 
 Close his eyes with gentle fingers ! 
 
 Gross his hands of snow ! 
 Tell the angels where he lingers 
 
 They must whisper low 1 
 
 I will guard thy spell unbroken 
 
 If thou hear my call ; 
 Come then, Sleep ! I wait the token 
 
 Of thy downy thrall. 
 
 Now I see his sweet lips moving ; 
 
 He is in thy keep ; 
 Other niilk the babe is proving 
 
 At the breast of sleep ! 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Sleep, babe, the honeyed sleep of innocence 
 Sleep like a bud ; for soon the sun of life 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 89 
 
 With ardors quick and passionate shall rise, 
 And, with hot kisses, part the fragrant lips — 
 The folded petals of thy soul ! A] as ! 
 What feverish winds shall tease and toss thee, then ! 
 What pride and pain, ambition and despair, 
 Desire, satiety, and all that fill 
 With misery life's fretful enterprise, 
 Shall wrench and blanch thee, till thou fall at last, 
 Joy after joy down fluttering to the earth, 
 To be apportioned to the elements ! 
 I marvel, baby, whether it were ill 
 That he who planted thee should pluck thee now, 
 And save thee from the blight that comes on all. 
 I marvel whether it would not be well 
 That the frail bud should burst in Paradise, 
 On the full throbing of an angel's heart ! 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Oh, speak not thus ! The thought is terrible. 
 He is my all ; and yet, it sickens me 
 
90 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 To think that he will grow to be a man. 
 If he were not a boy ! 
 
 MAKY. 
 
 Were not a boy ? 
 That wakens other thoughts. Thank Giod for 
 
 that ! 
 To be a man, if aught, is privilege 
 Precious and peerless. While I bide content 
 The modest lot of woman, all my soul 
 Gives truest manhood humblest reverence. 
 It is a great and god-like thing to do ! 
 'Tis a great thing, I think, to be a man. 
 Man fells the forests, ploughs and tills the fields, 
 And heaps the granaries that feed the world. 
 At his behest swift Commerce spreads her wings, 
 And tires the sinewy sea-birds as she flies, 
 Fanning the solitudes from clime to clime. 
 Smoke-crested cities rise beneath his hand, 
 And roar through ages with the din of trade. 
 Steam is the fleet- winged herald of his will, 
 
Man fells the forests, ploughs and tills the fields, 
 And heaps the granaries that feed the world. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 91 
 
 .Joining the angel of the Apocalypse 
 Mid sound and smoke and wond'rous circumstance, 
 And with one foot upon the conquered sea, 
 And one upon the subject land, proclaims 
 That space shall be no more. The lightnings 
 
 veil 
 Their fiery forms to wait upon his thought, 
 And give it wing, as unseen spirits pause 
 To bear to God the burden of his prayer. 
 God crowns him with the gift of eloquence, 
 And puts a harp into his tuneful hands, 
 And makes him both His prophet and His Priest. 
 'Twas in his form the great Immanuel 
 Revealed Himself; the Apostolic Twelve, 
 Like those who since have ministered the Word, 
 Were men. 'Tis a great thing to be a man. 
 
 GKACE. 
 
 And fortunate to have an advocate 
 Across whose memory convenient clouds 
 Come floating at convenient intervals. 
 
92 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The harvest fields that man has honored most 
 
 Are those where human life is reaped like grain. 
 
 There never rose a mart, nor shone a sail, 
 
 Nor sprang a great invention into birth, 
 
 By other motive than man's love of gold. 
 
 It is for wrong that he is eloquent ; 
 
 For lust that he indites his sweetest songs. 
 
 Christ was betrayed by treason of a man, 
 
 Ajad scourged and hung upon a tree by men ; 
 
 Ajid the sad women who were at his cross, 
 
 And sought Him early at the sepulchre, 
 
 And since that day, in gentle multitudes 
 
 Have loved and followed him, have been man's 
 
 slaves, — ■ 
 The victims of his power and his desire. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 And you, a wedded wife — well wedded, too — 
 Can say all this, and say it bitterly ! 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 93 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Perhaps because a wife ; perhaps because — 
 
 Hush, Grace ! No more ! I beg you say no more. 
 
 Nay ! I will leave you at another word ; 
 
 For I could listen to a blasphemy, 
 
 Tailing from bestial lips, with lighter chill 
 
 Than to the mad complainings of a soul 
 
 Which God has favored as he favors few. 
 
 I dare not listen when a woman's voice, 
 
 Which blessings strive to smother, flings them off 
 
 In mad contempt. I dare not hear the words 
 
 Whose utterance all the gentle loves dissuade 
 
 By kisses which are reasons, while a throng 
 
 Of friendships, comforts, and sweet charities — 
 
 The almoners of the All-bountiful — 
 
 With folded wings stand sadly looking on. 
 
 Believe me, Grace, the pioneer of judgment^ 
 
94 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Ordained, commissioned — is ingratitude ; 
 
 For where it moves, good withers ; blessings die ; 
 
 Till a clean path is left for Providence, 
 
 Who never sows a good the second time 
 
 Till the torn bosom of the graceless soil 
 
 Is ready for the seed. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Oh, could you know 
 The anguish of my heart, you would not chide ' 
 If I repine, it is because my lot 
 Is not the blessed thing it seems to you. 
 O Mary ! Could you know ! Could you but know ! 
 
 MART. 
 
 Then why not tell me all ? You know me, love, 
 And know that secrets make their graves with ruej 
 So, tell me all ; for I do promise you 
 Such sympathy as God through suffering 
 Has given me power to grant to such as you. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 95 
 
 [ bought it dearly, ani its largess waits 
 The opening of your heart. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 I am ashamed,— 
 In truth I am ashamed — to teJl you aiL 
 You will not laugh at me? 
 
 maey. 
 
 I laugh at you? 
 
 GEACE. 
 
 Forgive me, Mary, for my heart is weak; 
 
 Distrustful of itself and all the world. 
 
 Ah, well! To what strange issues leads our life! 
 
 It seems but yesterday that you were brought 
 
 To this old house an orphaned little girl, 
 
 Whose large shy eyes, pale cheeks, and shrinking 
 
 ways 
 Filled all our hearts with wonder, as we stood 
 
96 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And stared at you until your heart o'ernlled 
 With, the oppressive strangeness, and you wept. 
 Yes, I remember how I pitied you — 
 I who hade never wept, nor even sighed, 
 Save on the bosom of my gentle mother ; 
 For my quick heart caught all your history 
 When with a hurried step you sought the sun, 
 And pressed your eyes against the window-pane 
 That God's sweet light might dry them. Well I 
 
 knew, 
 Though all untaught, that you were motherless. 
 And I remember how I followed you, — 
 Embraced and kissed you — kissed your tears 
 
 away — 
 Tears that came faster, till they bathed the lips 
 That would have sealed their flooded fountain- 
 heads ; 
 And then Ave wound our arms around each other, 
 And passed out — out under the pleasant sky, 
 And stood among the lilies at the door. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 97 
 
 1 gave no formal comfort ; you, no thanks ; 
 
 For tears had been your language, lapses mine, 
 
 And we were friends. "We talked about our dolls, 
 
 And all the pretty playthings we possessed. 
 
 Then we revealed, with childish vanity, 
 
 Our Little stores of knowledge. I was full 
 
 Of a sweet marvel when you pointed out 
 
 The yellow thighs of bees that, half asleep, 
 
 Plundered the secrets of the lily-bells, 
 
 And called the golden pigment honey-comb. 
 
 And your black eyes were opened very wide 
 
 When I related how, one sunny day, 
 
 I found a well, half-covered, down the lane, 
 
 That was so deep and clear that I could see 
 
 Straight through the world, into another sky ! 
 
 MAHY. 
 
 Do you remember how the Guinea hens 
 
 Set up a scream upon the garden wall, 
 
 That frightened me to running, when you screamed 
 
 With laughter quite as loud ? 
 
98 BITTER-SWEET 
 
 QiRA.GR. 
 
 Ay, very well ; 
 But better still the scene that followed all. 
 Oh, that has lingered in my memory 
 Like the divinest dream of Raphael — 
 The Dresden virgin prisoned in a print — 
 That watched with me in sickness through long 
 
 weeks, 
 And from its frame upon the chamber wall 
 Breathed constant benedictions, till I learned 
 To love the presence like a Roman saint. 
 
 My mother called us in ; and at her knee, 
 
 Embracing still, we stood, and felt her smile 
 
 Shine on our upturned faces like the light 
 
 Of the soft summer moon. And then she stooped; 
 
 And when she kissed us, I could see the tears 
 
 Brimming her eyes. O sweet experiment ! 
 
 To tiy if love of Jesus and of me 
 
 Could make our kisses equal to her lips ! 
 
 Then straight my prescient heart set up a song, 
 
BITTER SWEET. 90 
 
 And fluttered in my bosom like a bird. 
 
 [ knew a blessing was about to fall, 
 
 As robins know the coming of the rain, 
 
 And bruit the joyous secret, ere its steps 
 
 Are heard upon the mountain tops. I knew 
 
 You were to be my sister ; and my heart 
 
 Was almost bursting with its love and pride. 
 
 [ could not wait to hear the kindly words 
 
 Our mother spoke — her counsels and commands — 
 
 For you were mine — niy sister ! So I tore 
 
 Your clinging hand from hers with rude constraint* 
 
 And took you to my chamber, where I played 
 
 With you, in selfish sense of property, 
 
 The whole bright afternoon. 
 
 And here again, 
 Within this same old chamber we are met. 
 We told our secrets to each other then ; 
 Thus let us tell them now ; and you shall be 
 To my grief-burdened soul what you have said., 
 So many times that I have been to yours. 
 
100 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 MAKY. 
 
 Alas ! I never meant to tell my tale 
 To other ear than God's ; "but you have claims 
 Upon my confidence, — claims just rehearsed, 
 And other claims which you have never known. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 And other claims which I have never known ! 
 
 You speak in riddles, love. I only know 
 
 You grew to womanhood, were beautiful, 
 
 Were loved and wooed, were married and were 
 
 blest ; — 
 That after passage of mysterious years 
 We heard sad stories of your misery, 
 And rumors of desertion ; but your pen 
 .Revealed no secrets of your altered life. 
 Enough for me that you are here to-night, 
 And have an ear for sorrow, and a heart 
 Which disappointment has inhabited. 
 My history you know. A twelvemonth since 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 10) 
 
 This fearful, festive night, and in this house, 
 I gave my hand to one whom I believed 
 To be the noblest man God ever made ; — 
 A man who seemed to my infatuate heart 
 Heaven's chosen genius, through whose tuneful 
 
 soul 
 The choicest harmonies of life should flow, 
 Growing articulate upon his lips 
 In numbers to enchant a willing world. 
 I cannot tell you of the pride that filled 
 My bosom, as I marked his manly form, 
 And read his soul through his effulgent eyes, 
 And heard the wondrous music of his voice, 
 That swept the chords of f eeling in all hearts 
 With such divine x^ersuasion as might grow 
 Under the transit of an angel's hand. 
 And, then, to think that I, a farmer's child, 
 Should be the woman culled from all the world 
 To be that man's companion, — to abide 
 The nearest soul to such a soul — to sit 
 
102 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Close by the fountain of his peerless life — 
 The welling centre of his loving thoughts — 
 And drink myself, the sweetest and the best, — 
 To lay my head upon his breast, and feel 
 That of all precious burdens it had borne 
 That was most precious — Oh ! my heart was wild 
 With the delirium of happiness — 
 But, Mary, you are weeping ! 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Mark it not. 
 Your words wake memories which you may guess, 
 And thoughts which you may sometime know- 
 not now. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Well, we were married, as I said ; and I 
 Was not unthankful utterly, I think ; 
 Though, if the awful question had come then, 
 And stood before me with a brow severe 
 And steady finger, bidding me decide 
 
BITTERSWEET. 103 
 
 Which of the two I loved the more, the God 
 
 Who gave my husband to me, or His gift, 
 
 I know I should have groaned, and shut my eyes. 
 
 We passed a honeymoon whose atmosphere, 
 
 Flooded with inspiration, and embraced 
 
 By a wide sky set full of starry thoughts, 
 
 And constellated visions of delight, 
 
 Still wraps me in my dreams — itself a dream. 
 
 The full moon waned at last, and in my sky, 
 
 With horn inverted, gave its sign of tears, 
 
 And then, when wasted to a skeleton, 
 
 It sank into a heavy sea of tears 
 
 That caught its tumult from my sighing soul. 
 
 My husband, who had spent whole months with me. 
 
 Till he was wedded to my every thought, 
 
 Left me through dreary hours, — nay, days, — alone! 
 
 He pleaded business — business day and night ; 
 
 Leaving me with a formal kiss at morn, 
 
 And meeting me with strange reserve at eve ; 
 
104 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And I could mark the sea 01 tenderness 
 
 Upon whose beach I had sat down for life, 
 
 Hoping to feel for ever as at first, 
 
 The love breeze from its billows, and to clasp 
 
 With open arms the silver surf that ran 
 
 To wreck itself upon my bosom, ebb, 
 
 Day after day receding, till the sand 
 
 Grew dry and hot, and the old hulls appeared 
 
 Of hopes sent out upon that faithless main 
 
 Since woman loved, and he she loved was false. 
 
 Night after night I sat the evening out, 
 
 And heard the clock tick on the mantel-tree 
 
 Till it grew irksome to me, and I grudged 
 
 The careless pleasures of the kitchen maids 
 
 Whose distant laughter shocked the lapsing hours. 
 
 MABY. 
 
 But did your husband never tell the cause 
 Of this neglect ? 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 105 
 
 GKACE. 
 
 Never an honest word. 
 He told me he was writing ; and, at home, 
 Sat down with heart absorbed and absent look. 
 I was offended, and upbraided him. 
 I knew he had a secret, and that from 
 The centre of its closely coiling folds 
 A cunning serpent's head, with forked tongue, 
 Swayed with a double story — one for me, 
 And one for whom I knew not — whom he knew. 
 His words, which wandered first as carelessly 
 As the free footsteps of a boy, were trained 
 To the stem paces of a sentinel 
 Guarding a prison door, and never tripped 
 With a suggestion. 
 
 I despaired at last 
 Of winning what I sought by wiles and prayers ; 
 So, through long nights of sleeplessness I lay, 
 And held my ear beside his silent lips — 
 
106 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 An eager cup — ready to catch the gush 
 
 Of the pent waters, if a dream-swung rod 
 
 Should smite his bosom. It was all in vain. 
 
 And thus months passed away, and all the while 
 
 Another heart was beating under mine. 
 
 May Heaven forgive me ! but I grieved the charms 
 
 The unborn thing was stealing, for I felt 
 
 That in my insufficiency of power 
 
 I had no charm to lose. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 And did he not, 
 In this most tender trial of your heart, 
 Turn in relenting ? — give you sympathy ? 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 No — yes ! Perhaps he pitied me, and that 
 Indeed was very pitiful ; for what 
 Has love to do with pity ? When a wife 
 Has sunk so hopelessly in the regard 
 
BITTEB-SWEET. 107 
 
 Of him she loves that he can pity her, — 
 
 Has sunk so low that she may only share 
 
 The tribute which a mute humanity 
 
 Bestows on those whom Providence has struck 
 
 With helpless poverty, or foul disease ; 
 
 She may be pitied, both by earth and heaven, 
 
 Because he pities her. A pitied child 
 
 That begs its bread from door to door is blest ; 
 
 A wife who begs for love and confidence, 
 
 And gets but alms from pity, is accurst. 
 
 Well, time passed on ; and rumor came at last 
 To tell the story of my husband's shame 
 And my dishonor. He was seen at night, 
 Walking in lonely streets with one whose eyes 
 Were blacker than the night, — whose little hand 
 Was clinging to his arm. Both were absorbed 
 In the half -whispered converse of the time ; 
 And both, as if accustomed to the j)ath, 
 Turned down an alley, climbed a flight of steps 
 
108 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Entered a door, and closed it after them — 
 A door of adamant 'twixt hope and me. 
 I had my secret ; and I kept it, too. 
 I knew his haunt, and it was watched for me, 
 Till doubt and prayers for doubt, — pale flowers 
 I nourished with my tears — were crushed 
 By the relentless hand of Certainty. 
 
 Oh, Mary ! Mary ! Those were fearful days. 
 My wrongs and all their shameful history 
 Were opened to me daily, leaf by leaf, 
 Though he had only shown their title-page ; 
 That page was his ; the rest were in my heart. 
 I knew that he had left my home for hers ; 
 I knew his nightly labor was to feed 
 Other than me ; — that he was loaded down 
 With cares that were the price of sinful love. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Grace, in your heart do you believe all this ? 
 I fear — I know — you do your husband wrong. 
 
BITTER SWEET. 109 
 
 He is not competent for treachery. 
 He is too good, too noble, to desert 
 The woman whom he only loves too well. 
 You love him not ! 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 I love him not ? Alas ! 
 I am more angry with myself than him 
 
 That, spite his falsehood to his marriage vows, 
 And spite my hate, I ] ove the traitor still. 
 I love him not ? Why am I here to-night — 
 Here where my girlhood's withered hopes are 
 
 strewn 
 Through every room for him to trample on — 
 But in my pride to show him to you all, 
 With the dear child that publishes a love 
 That blessed me once, e'en if it curse me now ? 
 You know I do my husband wrong ! You think, 
 Because he can talk smoothly, and befool 
 A simple ear with pious sophistries, 
 
110 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 He must be e'en the saintly man lie seems. 
 
 We heard him talk to-night ; it was done well. 
 
 I saw the triumph of his argument, 
 
 And I was proud, though full of spite the while. 
 
 His stuff was meant for me ; and, with intent, 
 
 For selfish purpose, or in irony, 
 
 He tossed me bitterness, and called it sweet. 
 
 My heart rebelled, and now you know the cause 
 
 Of my harsh words to him. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 'Tis very sad ! 
 Oh very — very sad ! Pray you go on ! 
 Who is this woman ? 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 I have never learned. 
 I only knoAv she stole my husband's heart, 
 And made me veiy wretched. I suppose 
 That at the time my little babe was born, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. til 
 
 She went away ! for David was at home 
 For many days. That pain was bliss to me — 
 I need no argument to teach me that — 
 Which caused neglect of her, and gave offence. 
 Since then, he has not where to go from me ; 
 And, loving well his child, he stays at home. 
 
 So he lugs round his secret, and I mine. 
 
 I call him, husband ; and he calls me, wife ; 
 
 And I, who once was like an April day, 
 
 That finds quick tears in every cloud, have steeled 
 
 My heart against my fate, and now am calm. 
 
 I will live on ; and though these simple folk 
 
 Who call me sister understand me not, 
 
 It matters little. There is one who does ; 
 
 And he shall have no liberty of love 
 
 By any word of mine./#Tis woman's lot, 
 
 And man's most weak and wicked wantonness./ 
 
 Mine is like other husbands, I suppose ; 
 
 No worse — no better. 
 
112 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 MAIiY. 
 
 Ask you sympathy 
 Of such as I ? I cannot give it you, 
 For you have shut me from the privilege. 
 
 GEACE. 
 
 I asked it once ; you gave me unbelief. 
 
 I had no choice but to grow hard again. 
 
 'Tis my misfortune and my misery 
 
 That every hand whose friendly ministry 
 
 My poor heart craves, is held — withheld — by him , 
 
 And I must freeze that I may stand alone. 
 
 MAKT. 
 
 And so, because one man is false, or you 
 Imagine him to be, all men are false ; 
 Do I speak rightly ? 
 
 GKACE. 
 
 Have it your own way. 
 Men fit to iove, and fitted to be loved, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 113 
 
 Are proiis to falsehood. I will not gainsay 
 The common virtue of the common herd. 
 I prize it as I do the goodish men 
 Who hold the goodish stuff, and know it not. 
 These serve to fill an easy-going world, 
 And that to clothe it with complacency. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 I had not thought misanthropy like this 
 Could lodge with vou ; so I must e'en confess 
 A tale which never parsed my lips before, 
 Nor sent its flush to any cheek but mine. 
 In this, I'll prove my friendship, if I lose 
 The friendship which demancLi the sacrifice. 
 
 1 have come back, a worse than widowed wife ; 
 Yet I went out with dream as bright as yours, — 
 Nay, brighter, — for the birds were singing then, 
 And apple-blossoms drifted on the ground 
 Where snow-flakes fell and flew when you were wed. 
 
114 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The skies were soft ; the roses budded full ; 
 
 The meads and swelling uplands fresh and green ;- 
 
 The very atmosphere was full of love. 
 
 It was no girlish carelessness of heart 
 
 That kept my eyes from tears, as I went forth 
 
 From this dear shelter of the orphan child. 
 
 I felt that God was smiling on my lot, 
 
 And made the airs his angels to convey 
 
 To eveiy sense and sensibility 
 
 The message of his favor. Every sound 
 
 "Was music to me ; every sight was peace ; 
 
 And breathing was the drinking of perfume. 
 
 I said, content, and full of gratitude, 
 
 " This is as God would have it ; and he speaks 
 
 These pleasant languages to tell me so." 
 
 But I had no such honeymoon as yours. 
 A few brief days of happiness, and then 
 The dream was over. I had married one 
 Who was the sport of vagrant impulses. 
 
B1TTEJR-8WEET. 115 
 
 We had not been a fortnight wed, when he 
 Came .home to me with brandy in his brain — 
 A maudlin fool — for love like mine to hide 
 As if he were an unclean beast. Grace ! 
 I cannot paint the horrors of that night. 
 My heart, till then serene, and safely kept 
 In Trust's strong citadel, quaked all night long, 
 As tower and bastion fell before the rush 
 Of fierce convictions ; and the tumbling walls 
 Boomed with dull throbs of ruin through my brain. 
 And there were palaces that leaned on this — 
 Castles of air, in long and glittering hues, 
 Which melted into ah', and pierced the blue 
 That marks the star-strewn vault of heaven ; — all fell 
 With a faint crash like that which scares the soul 
 When desolation shivers through a dream 
 Smitten by nightmare, — fell and faded all 
 To utter nothingness ; and when the morn 
 Flamed up the East, aDd with its crimson wings 
 Brushed out the paling stars that all the night 
 
116 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 In silent, slow procession, one by one, 
 
 Had gazed upon me through the open sash, «* 
 
 And passed along, it found me desolate. 
 
 •The stupid dreamer at my side awoke, 
 And with such helpless anguish as they feel 
 Who know that they are weak as well as vile. 
 I saw, through all his forward promises, 
 Excuses, prayers, and pledges that were oaths, 
 (What he, poor boaster, thought I could not see,) 
 That he was shorn of will, and that his heart 
 Was as defenceless as a little child's ;— 
 That underneath his fair good fellowship 
 He w T as debauched, and dead in love with sin ; — 
 That love of me had made him what I loved, — 
 That I could only hold him till the wave 
 Of some o'erwhelming impulse should sweep in, 
 To lift his feet and bear him from my arms. 
 I felt that mom, when he went trembling forth, 
 With bloodshot eyes and forehead hot with woe. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 117 
 
 That thenceforth strife would be 'twixt Hell and 
 
 me — 
 The odds against me — for my husband's soul. 
 
 GKACE. 
 
 Poor dove ! Poor Mary ! Have you suffered thus ? 
 You had not even pride to keep you up. 
 Were he my husband, I had left him then — 
 The ingrate ! 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Not if yon had loved as I ; 
 Yet what you know is but a bitter drop 
 Of the full cup of gall that I have drained. 
 Had he left me unstained, — had I rebelled 
 Against the influence by which he sought 
 To bring me to a compromise with him, — 
 To make my shrinking soul meet his half way,— 
 It had been better ; but he had an art, 
 "When appetite or passion moved in him, 
 That clothed his sins with fair apologies, 
 
118 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And smoothed the wrinkles of a haggard guilt 
 
 With the good-natured hand of charity. 
 
 He knew he was a fool, he said, and said again ; 
 
 But human nature would be what it was, 
 
 And life had never zest enough to bear 
 
 Too much dilution ; those who worked like slaves 
 
 Must have their days of frolic and of fun. 
 
 He doubted whether God would punish sin ; 
 
 God was, in fact, too good to punish sin ; 
 
 For sin itself was a compounded thing, 
 
 With weakness for its prime ingredient. 
 
 And thus l}e fooled a heart that loved him well ; 
 
 And it went toward his heart by slow degrees, 
 
 Till Virtue seemed a frigid anchorite, 
 
 And Vice, a jolly fellow — bad enough, 
 
 But not so bad as Christian people think. 
 
 This was the cunning work of months — nay, years 
 And, meantime, Edward sank from bad to worse. 
 But he had conquered. Wine was on his board, 
 

 v 
 
 I- - 
 
 —Wine was on his board 
 Without my protest— with a glass for me ! 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 119 
 
 Without my protest — with, a glass for me ! 
 His boon companions came and went, and made 
 My home their rendezvous with my consent. 
 The doughty oath that shocked my ears at first, 
 The doubtful jest that meant, or might not mean. 
 That which should set a woman's brow aflame, 
 Became at last (oh, shame of womanhood !) 
 A thing to frown at with a covert smile ; 
 A thing to smile at with a decent frown ; 
 A thing to steal a grace from, as I feigned 
 The innocence of deaf unconsciousness. 
 And I became a jester. I could jest 
 In a wild way on sacred things and themes ; 
 And I have thought that in his better moods 
 My husband shrank with horror froni the work 
 Which he had wrought in me. 
 
 I do not know 
 If, during all these downward-tending years, 
 Edward kept well his faith with me. I know 
 
120 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 He used to tell me, in his boastful way, 
 How he had broke the hearts of pretty maids, 
 And that if he were single — well-a-day ! 
 The time was past for thinking upon that ! 
 And I had heart to toss the badinage 
 Back in his teeth, with pay of kindred coin ; 
 And tell him lies to stir his bestial mirth ; 
 And make my boast of conquests : and pretend 
 That the true heart I had bestowed on him 
 . Had flown, and left him but an empty hand. 
 
 I had some days of pain and penitence. 
 I saw where all must end. I saw, too well, 
 Edward was growing idle, — that his form 
 Was gathering disgustful corpulence, — 
 That he was going down, and dragging me 
 To shame and ruin, beggary and death. 
 But judgment came and overshadowed us ; 
 And one quick bolt, shot from the awful cloud. 
 Severed the tie that bound two worthless lives. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 121 
 
 (What God hath joined together, God may part :-J 
 Grace, have you thought of that ? 
 
 You scare me. Mary ! 
 Nay ! Do not turn on me with such a look ! 
 Its dread suggestion gives my heart a pang 
 That stops its painful beating. 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Let it pass ! 
 One morn we woke with the first flush of light, 
 Our windows jarring with the cannonade 
 That ushered in the nation's festal day. 
 The village streets were full of men and boys, 
 And resonant with rattling mimicry 
 Of the black-throated monsters on the hill, — 
 A crashing, crepitating war of fire, — 
 And as we listened to the fitful feud, 
 Dull detonations came from far away, 
 
122 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Pulsing along the fretted atmosphere, 
 
 To tell that in the ruder villages 
 
 The day had noisy greeting, as in ours. 
 
 I know not why it was, but then, and there, 
 
 I felt a sinking sadness, passing tears — 
 
 A dark foreboding I could not dissolve 
 
 Nor drive away. But when, next morn, I woke 
 
 In the sweet stillness of the Sabbath day, 
 
 And found myself alone, I knew that hearts 
 
 Which once have been God's temple, and in which 
 
 Something divine stiU lingers, feel the throb 
 
 Along the lines that bind them to The Throne 
 
 When judgment issues; and, though dumb and 
 
 blind, 
 Shudder and faint with prophecies of ill. 
 How — by what cause — calamity should come, 
 I could not guess; that it was imminent, 
 Seemed just as certain as the morning's dawn. 
 
 We were to have a gala day, indeed. 
 
FITTER SWEET. 
 
 123 
 
 There were to be processions and parades, 
 
 A great oration in a mammoth tent, 
 
 With dinner following, and toast and speech 
 
 By all the wordy magnates of the town ; 
 
 A grand balloon ascension afterwards ; 
 
 And in the evening, fireworks on the hill. 
 
 I knew that drink would flow from morn till night 
 
 In a wild maelstrom, circling slow around 
 
 The village rim, in bright careering waves, 
 
 But growing turbulent, and changed to ink 
 
 Around the village centre, till, at last, 
 
 The whirling, gurgling vortex would engulf 
 
 A maddened multitude iu drunkenness. 
 
 And this was in my thought (the while my heart 
 
 Was palpitating with its nameless fear), 
 
 As, wrapped in vaguest dreams, and purposeless, 
 
 I laced my shoe and gazed upon the sky. 
 
 Then strange determination stirred in me ; 
 
 And, turning sharply on my chair, I said, 
 
 "Edward, where'er you go to-day, I go! " 
 
124 BITTERSWEET. 
 
 If I had smitten him upon the face, 
 
 It had not tingled with a hotter flame. 
 
 He turned upon me with a look of hate — 
 
 A something worse than anger — and, with oaths 
 
 Raved like a fiend, and cursed me for a fool. 
 
 But I was firm ; he could not shake my will ; 
 
 So, through the morning, until afternoon, 
 
 He stayed at home, and drank and drank again, 
 
 Watching the clock, and pacing up and down, 
 
 Until, at length, he came and sat by me, 
 
 To try his hackneyed tricks of blandishment. 
 
 He had not meant, he said, to give offence ; 
 
 But women in a crowd were out of place. 
 
 He wished to see the aeronauts embark, 
 
 And meet some friends ; but there would be a 
 
 throng 
 Of boys and drunken boors around the car, 
 And I should not enjoy it ; more than this, 
 The lise would be a finer spectacle 
 At home than on the ground. I gave assent, 
 

 BITTER-SWEET. 125 
 
 And he went out. Of course, I followed him ; 
 For I had learned to read him, and I knew 
 There was some precious scheme of sin on foot. 
 
 The crowd was heavy, and his f onn was lost 
 Quick as it touched the mass ; but I pressed on, 
 Wild shouts and laughter punishing my ears, 
 Till I could see the bloated, breathing cone, 
 As if it were some monster of the sky 
 Caught by a net and fastened to the earth — 
 A butt for jeers to all the inerry mob. 
 But I was distant still ; and if a man 
 In mad impatience tore a passage from 
 The crowd that pressed upon him, or a girl, 
 Frightened or fainting, was allowed escape, 
 I slid like water to the vacant space, 
 And thus, by deftly won advances, gained 
 The stand I coveted. 
 
 We waited long ; 
 And as the curious gazers stood and talked 
 
126 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 About the diverse currents of the air, 
 And wondered where the daring voyagers 
 Would find a landing-place, a young man said, 
 In words intended for a spicy jest, 
 A man and woman living in the town 
 Had taken passage overland for hell ! 
 
 Then at a distance rose a scattering shout 
 
 That fixed the vision of the multitude, 
 
 Standing on eager tiptoe, and afar 
 
 I saw the crowd give way, and make a path 
 
 For the pale heroes of the crazy hour. 
 
 Hats were tossed wildly as they struggled on, 
 
 And the gap closed behind them, till, at length, 
 
 They stood within the ring. Oh, damning .sight ! 
 
 The woman was a painted courtesan ; 
 
 The man, my husband ! I was dumb as death. 
 
 My teeth were clenched together like a vice, 
 
 And eveiy heavy heart-throb was a chill. 
 
 But there I stood, and saw the shame go on. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 12? 
 
 They took their seats, the signal gun was fired ; 
 The cords were loosed, and then the billowy biilk 
 Shot toward the zenith ! 
 
 Never bent the sky 
 With more cloudless depth of blue than then ; 
 And, as they rose, I saw his faithless arm 
 Slide o'er her shoulder, and her dizzy head 
 Drop on his breast. Then I became insane. 
 I felt that I was struggling with a dreani — 
 A horrid phantasm I could not shake off. 
 The hollow sky was swinging like a bell ; 
 The silken monster swinging like its tongue ; 
 And as it reeled from side to side, the roar 
 Of voices round me rang, and rang again, 
 Tolling the dreadful knell of my despair. 
 
 At the last moment I could trace his form, 
 Edward leaned over from his giddy seat, 
 And tossed out something on the air. I saw 
 
128 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The little missiye fluttering slowly down, 
 
 And stretched my hand to catch it, for I knew, 
 
 Or thought I knew, that it would come to me. 
 
 And it did come to me — as if it slid 
 
 Upon the cord that bound my heart to Ids — 
 
 Strained to its utmost tension — snapped at last. 
 
 I marked it as it fell. It was a rose. 
 
 I grasped it madly as it struck my hand, 
 
 And buried all its thorns within my palm ; 
 
 But the fierce pain released my prisoned voice, 
 
 And with a shriek, I staggered, swooned, and fell. 
 
 That night was brushed from lif e. A passing f rieu d 
 
 Directed those who bore me rudely off ; 
 
 And I was carried to my home, and laid 
 
 Entranced upon my bed. The Sabbath morn 
 
 That followed all this din and devilry 
 
 Swung noiseless wide its doors of yellow light, 
 
 And in the hallowed stillness I awoke. 
 
 My heart was still ; I could not stir a hand. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 12!) 
 
 I thought that 1 was dying or was dead, — 
 
 That I had slipped through smooth unconsciousness 
 
 Into the everlasting silences. 
 
 I could not speak ; but winning strength at last, 
 
 I turned my eyes to seek for Edward's face, 
 
 And saw an unpressed pillow. He was gone ! 
 
 I was oppressed with awful sense of loss ; 
 
 And as a mother, by a turbid sea 
 
 That has ingulfed her fairest child, sits down 
 
 And moans over the waters, and looks out 
 
 With curious despair upon the waves, 
 
 Until she marks a lock of floating hair, 
 
 And by its threads of gold draws slowly in, 
 
 And clasps and presses to her frenzied breast 
 
 The form it has no power to warm again, 
 
 So I, beside the sea of memoiy, 
 
 Lay feebly moaning, yearning for a clew 
 
 By which to reach my own extinguished life. 
 
 It came. A burning pain shot through my palm, 
 
130 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And thorns awoke what thorns had put to sleep. 
 It all came back to me — the roar, the rush, 
 The upturned faces, the insane hurrahs, 
 The skyward shooting spectacle, the shame — 
 And then I swooned again. 
 
 GEACE. 
 
 But was he killed ? 
 Did his foolhardy adventure end in wreck ? 
 Or did it end in something worse than wreck ? 
 Surely, he came again ! 
 
 To me, no more. 
 He had his reasons, and I knew them soon ; 
 But, first, the fire enkindled in my brain 
 Burnt through long weeks of fever — burnt my frame 
 Until it lay upon the sheet as white 
 As the pale ashes of a wasted coal. 
 Then, when strength came to me, and I could sit 
 
B1TTEB-SWEET. 
 
 131 
 
 
 Braced by the double pillows that were mine, 
 A kind friend took my hand and told me all. 
 
 The day that Edward left me was the last 
 
 He could have been my husband ; for the next 
 
 Disclosed his infamy and my disgrace. 
 
 He was a thief, and had been one for years, — 
 
 Defrauding those whose gold he held in trust ; 
 
 And he was ruined — ruined utterly. 
 
 The very bod I sat on was not his, 
 
 Nor mine, except by tender charity. 
 
 A guilty secret menacing behind, 
 
 A guilty passion burning in his heart, 
 
 And by his side, a guilty paramour, 
 
 He seized upon this reckless whim, and fled 
 
 From those he knew would curse him ere he slept 
 
 My cup was filled with wormwood ; and it grew 
 Bitter and still more bitter, day by day, 
 Changing from shame and hate, to stern revenge 
 Life had no more for me. My home was lost ; 
 
132 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 My heart unfitted to return to this ; 
 
 And, reckless of the future, I went forth — 
 
 A woman stricken, maddened, desperate. 
 
 I sought the city with as sure a scent 
 
 As vultures track a carcass through the air. 
 
 I knew him there delivered up to sin, 
 
 And longed to taunt him with his infamy, — 
 
 To haunt his haunts ; to sting his perjured soul 
 
 With sharp reproaches ; and to scare his eyes 
 
 With visions of his work upon my face. . 
 
 But God had other means than my revenge 
 To humble Mm, and other thought for me. 
 I saw him only once ; we did not meet ; 
 There was a street between us ; yet it seemed 
 Wide as theunbridged gulf that yawns between 
 The rich man and the beggar. 
 
 'Twas at dawn. 
 I had arisen from the sleepless bed 
 

 BITTER SWEET. 133 
 
 Which my scant means had purchased, and gone 
 
 forth 
 To taste the air, and cool my burning brow. 
 I wandered on, not knowing where I went, 
 Nor caring whither. There were few astir ; 
 The market wagons lumbered slowly in, 
 Piled high with carcasses of slaughtered lambs, 
 Baskets of unhusked corn, and mint, and all 
 The fresh, green things that grow in country fields, 
 I read the signs—the long and curious names- • 
 And wondered who invented them, and if 
 Their owners knew how very strange they were. 
 A corps of weary firemen met me once, 
 Late home from service, with their gaudy car, 
 And loud with careless curses. Then I stopped, 
 And chatted with a frowsy-headed girl 
 Who knelt among her draggled skirts, and scrubbed 
 The heel-worn door-steps of a faded house. 
 Theu, as I left her, and resumed my walk, 
 I turned my eyes across the street, and saw 
 
134 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 A sight which stopped my feet, my breath, my heart 
 It was my husband, Oh, how sadly changed ! 
 His bloodshot eyes stared from an anxious face ; 
 His hat was battered, and his clothes were torn 
 And splashed with mud. His poisoned frame 
 Had shrunk away, until his garments hung 
 In folds about him. Then I knew it all ; 
 His life had been a measureless debauch 
 Since his most shameless flight ; and in his eye, 
 Eager and strained, and peering down the stairs 
 That tumbled to the ante-rooms of hell, 
 I saw the thirst which only death can quench. 
 He did not raise his eyes ; I did not speak ; 
 There was no work for me to do on him ! 
 And when, at last, he tottered down the steps 
 Of a dark gin-shop, I was satisfied, 
 And half-relentingly retraced my way. 
 
 I cannot tell the story of the months 
 
 That followed this. I toiled and toiled for bread. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 135 
 
 
 And for the shelter of one stingy room. 
 Temptation, which the hand of poverty 
 Bears oft seductively to woman's lips, 
 To me came not. I hated men like beasts ; 
 Their flattering words, and wicked, wanton leers, 
 Sickened me with ineffable disgust. 
 
 At length there came a change. One warm Spring 
 
 eve, 
 As I sat idly dreaming of the past, 
 And questioning the future, my quick ear 
 Caught sound of feet upon the creaking stairs, 
 And a light rap delivered at my door. 
 I said, " Come in !" with half defiant voice, 
 Although I longed to see a human face, 
 And needed labor for my idle hands. 
 But when the door was opened, and there stood 
 A man before me, with an eye as pure 
 And brow as fair as any little child's, 
 Matched with a form and carriage which combined 
 
136 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 All manly beauty, dignity, and grace, 
 
 A quick blush, overwhelmed my pallid cheeks, 
 
 And, ere I knew, and by no act of will, 
 
 I rose and gave him gentle courtesy. 
 
 He took a seat, and spoke with pleasant voice 
 Of many pleasant things — the pleasant sky, 
 The stars, the opening foliage in the park ; 
 And then he came to business. He would have 
 A piece of exquisite embroidery ; 
 My hand was cunning if report were true ; 
 Would it oblige him ? It would do, I said, 
 That which it could to satisfy his wish ; 
 And when he took the delicate pattern out, 
 And spread the dainty fabric on his knees, 
 I knew he had a wife. 
 
 He went away 
 With kind " Good night," and said that with my 
 leave, 
 
And ere I knew, and by no act of will, 
 
 I ROSE AND GAVE HIM GENTLE COURTEST. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 137 
 
 
 He'd call and watch the progress of the work. 
 I marked his careful steps adown the stairs, 
 And then, his brisk, firm tread upon the stones, 
 Till in the dull roar of the distant streets 
 It mingled and was lost. Then 1 was lost — 
 Lost in a wild, wide-ranging reverie — 
 From which I roused not till the midnight IiunJi 
 Was broken by the toll from twenty towers. 
 
 This is a man, I said — a man in truth ; 
 My room has known the presence of a man, 
 And it has gathered dignity from him. 
 I felt my being flooded with new life. 
 My heart was warm ; my poor, sore-footed thoughts 
 Sprang up full fledged through ether ; and I felt 
 Like the sick woman who had touched the hem 
 Of Jesus' garment, when through all her veins 
 Leaped the swift tides of youth. 
 
 He had a wife ! 
 Why, to a wrecked, forsaken thing like me 
 
138 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Did that thought bring a pang ? I did not know ; 
 
 But truth to tell, it gave me stinging pain. 
 
 If he was noble, he was naught to me ; 
 
 If he was great, it only made me less ; 
 
 If he loved truly, I was not enriched. 
 
 So, in my selfishness, I almost cursed 
 
 The unknown woman, thought for whom had 
 
 brought 
 Her loving husband to me. What was I 
 To him ? Naught but a poor unfortunate, 
 Picking her bread up at a needle's point. 
 He'll come and criticise my handiwork, 
 I said, and when it is at last complete, 
 He'll draw his purse and give me so much gold ; 
 And then, forgetting me for ever, go 
 And gather fragrant kisses for the boon, 
 From lips that do not know their privilege. 
 I could be nothing but the medium 
 Through which his love should pass to reach its 
 
 shrine ; 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 139 
 
 The glass through which the sun's electric beams 
 
 Kindles the rose's heart, and still remains 
 
 Chill and serene itself — without reward ! 
 
 Then came to me the thought of my great wrong. 
 
 A man had spoiled my heart, degraded me ; 
 
 A wanton woman had defrauded me ; 
 
 I would get reparation how I could ! 
 
 He must be something to me — I to him ! 
 
 All men, however good, are weak, I thought ; 
 
 And if I can arrest no beam of love 
 
 By right of nature or by leave of law, 
 
 I'll stain the glass ! And the last words T said, 
 
 As I lay down upon my bed to dream, 
 
 Were those four words of sin : "I'll stain the glass !" 
 
 GKACE. 
 
 Mary, I cannot hear you more ; your tale, 
 So bitter and so passing pitiful 
 I have forgotten tears, and feel my eyes 
 Bum dry and hot with looking at your face, 
 Now gathers blackness, and grows horrible. 
 
140 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Nay, you must hear me out ; I cannot pause ; 
 And have no worse to say than I have said — 
 Thank God, and him who put away my toils ! 
 
 He came, and came again ; and every charm 
 God had bestowed on me, or art could frame, 
 I used with keenest ingenuities 
 To fascinate the sensuous element 
 O'er which, mistrusted, and but half asleep, 
 His conscience and propriety stood guard. 
 I told with tears the story of my woe ; 
 He listened to me with a thoughtful face, 
 And sadly sighed ; and thus I won his ruth. 
 And then I told him how my lif e was lost ; — 
 How earth had nothing more for me but pain ; 
 Not e'en a friend. At this, he took my hand, 
 And said out of his nobleness of heart, 
 That I should have an honest friend in him ; 
 On which I bowed my head upon his arm. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 141 
 
 And wept again, as if my heart would break 
 With the full pressure of its gratitude. 
 He put me gently off, and read my face : 
 I stood before him hopeless, helpless, his ! 
 His swift soul gathered what I meant it should. 
 He sighed and trembled ; then he crossed the floor 
 And gazed with eye abstracted on the sky ; 
 Then came and looked at me ; then turned, 
 As if affrighted at his springing thoughts, 
 And, with abruptest movement, left the room. 
 
 This time he took with him the broidered thing 
 
 That I had wrought for him ; and when I oped 
 
 The little purse that he rewarded me, 
 
 I found full golden payment five times told. 
 
 Given from pity ? thought I, — that alone ? 
 
 Is manly pity so munificent ? 
 
 Pity has mixtures that it knows not of ! 
 
 It was a cruel triumph, and I speak 
 
142 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Of it with utter penitence and ahame. 
 
 I knew that he would come again ; I knew 
 
 His feet would bring him, though his soul reb elled 
 
 I knew that cheated heart of his would toy 
 
 With the seductive chains that gave it thrall, 
 
 And strive to reconcile its perjury 
 
 With its own conscience of the better way 
 
 By fabrication of apologies 
 
 It knew were false. 
 
 And he did come again ; 
 Confessing a strange interest in me, 
 And doing for me many kindly deeds. 
 I knew the nature of the sympathy 
 That drew him to my side, better than he ; 
 Though I could see that solemn change in him 
 Which every face will wear, when Heaven and II A\ 
 Are struggling in the heart for mastery. 
 He was unhappy ; every sudden sound 
 Startled his apprehensions ; from his heart 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 143 
 
 ftose heavy suspirations, charged with prayer, 
 Desire, and deprecation, and remorse ; — 
 Sighs like volcanic breathings — sighs that scorched 
 His parching lips and spread his face with ashes, — 
 Sighs born in such convulsions of the soul 
 That his strong frame quaked like Vesuvius, 
 Burdened with restless lava. 
 
 Day by day 
 I marked his dalliance with sinful thought, 
 Without a throb of pity in my heart. 
 I took his gifts, which brought immunity 
 From toil and care, as if they were my right. 
 Day after day I saw my power increase, 
 Until that noble spirit was a slave — 
 A craven, helpless, self -suspected slave. 
 
 But this was not to last — thank God and him ! 
 One night he came, and there had been a change. 
 My hand was kindly taken, but not held 
 
1 1 4 BITTERS WEET. 
 
 In the way wonted. He was self-possessed; 
 
 The powers of darkness and his Christian heart 
 
 Had had a struggle — his the victory ; 
 
 And on his manly brow the benison 
 
 Of a majestic peace had been imposed. 
 
 Was I to lose the guerdon of my guile? 
 
 He was my all, and by the only means 
 
 Left to a helpless, reckless thing, like me. 
 
 My heart made pledge the strife should be renewed, 
 
 I took no notice of his altered mood, 
 
 But strove, by all the tricks of tenderness, 
 
 To fan to life again the drooping flame 
 
 Within his heart; — with what success, at last. 
 
 The sequel shall reveal. 
 
 Strange fire came down 
 Responsive to my call, and the quick flash 
 That shrivelled resolution, vanquished will, 
 And with a blood-red flame consumed the crown 
 Of peace upon his brow, taught him how weak— 
 

 BITTER-SWEET. 145 
 
 How miserably imbecile — lie had become, 
 Tampering with temptation. Such a groan, 
 Wrung from such agony, as then he breathed, 
 Pray Heaven my ears may never hear again ! 
 He smote his forehead with his rigid palm, 
 And sank, as if the blow had stunned him, to his 
 
 tnees, 
 And there, with face pressed hard upon his hands, 
 Gave utterance to frenzied sobs and prayers — 
 The wild articulations of despair. 
 I was confounded. He — a man — thought I, 
 Blind with remorse by simple look at sin ! 
 And I — a woman — in the devil's hands, 
 Luring him Hell ward with no blush of shame ! 
 The thought came swift from God, and pierced my 
 
 heart 
 Like a barbed arrow; and it quivered there 
 Through whiles of tumult — quivered — and was fast. 
 
 Thus, while I stood and marked his kneeling form. 
 
146 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Still shocked by deep convulsions, sncli a light 
 
 Illumed my soul, and flooded aU the room, 
 
 That, without thought, I said, " The Lord is here!" 
 
 Then straight my spirit heard these wondrous words : 
 
 ' ' Tempted in all points like ourselves was He — ■ 
 
 Tempted, but sinless." Oh, what majesty 
 
 Of meaning did those precious words convey ! 
 
 'Twas through temptation, thought I, that the 
 
 Lord — 
 The mediator between God and men — 
 Reached down the hand of sympathetic love 
 To meet the grasp of lost Humanity ; 
 And this man, kneeling, has the Lord in him, 
 And comes to mediate 'twixt Christ and me, 
 " Tempted but sinless ;" — one hand grasping mine, 
 The other Christ's. 
 
 Why had he suffered thus ? 
 Why had his heart been led far down to mine, 
 To beat hi sinful sympathy with mine, 
 
Tempted in all points like ourselves was He- 
 Tempted but sunless." 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 14? 
 
 But that my heart should cling to his and him, 
 
 And follow his withdrawal to the heights 
 
 From whence he had descended ? Then I learned 
 
 Why Christ was tempted ; and, as broad and full, 
 
 The heart of the great secret was revealed, 
 
 And I perceived God's dealings with my soul, 
 
 I knelt beside the tortured man and wept, 
 
 And cried to Heaven for mercy. As I prayed, 
 
 My soul cast off its shameful enterprise ; 
 
 And when it fell, I saw my godless self — 
 
 My own degraded, tainted, guilty heart, 
 
 Which it had hidden from me. Oh, the pang — 
 
 The poignant throe of uttermost despair — 
 
 That followed the discovery ! I felt 
 
 That I was lost beyond the grace of God, 
 
 And my heart turned with instinct sure and swift 
 
 To the strong straggler, praying at my side, 
 
 And begged his succor and his prayers. I felt 
 
 That he must lead me up to where the hand 
 
 Of Jesus could lay hold on me, or I was doomed. 
 
148 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Temptation's spell was past. He took my baud. 
 
 And, as lie prayed that we might be forgiven, 
 
 And pledged our future loyalty to God 
 
 And his white throne within oiu' hearts, I gave 
 
 Responses to each promise ; then I crowned 
 
 His closing utterance with such Amen 
 
 As weak hearts, conscious of their weakness, give 
 
 When, bowed to dust and clinging to the robes 
 
 Of outraged mercy, they devote themselves 
 
 Once and forever to the pitying Christ. 
 
 Then we arose and stood upon our feet. 
 
 He gave me no reproaches, but with voice 
 
 Attempered to his altered mood, confessed 
 
 His own blameworthiness, and pressed the prayer 
 
 That I would pardon him, as he believed 
 
 That God had pardoned ; but my heart was full,- 
 
 So full of its sore sense of wrong to him, 
 
 Of the deep guilt of shameful purposes 
 
 And treachery to worthy womanhood, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 149 
 
 That I could not repeat his Christian "words, 
 Asking forbearance on my own behalf. 
 
 He sat before me for a golden hour ; 
 
 And gave me counsel and encouragement, 
 
 Till, like broad gates, the possibilities 
 
 Of a serener and a higher life 
 
 Were thrown wide open to my eager feet, 
 
 And I resolved that I would enter in, 
 
 And, with God's gracious help, go no more out. 
 
 For weeks he watched me with stern carefulness, 
 Nourished my resolution, prayed with me, 
 And led me, step by step, to higher ground, 
 Till, gathering impulse in the upward walk, 
 And strength in purer air, and keener sight 
 In the sweet light that dawned upon my soul, 
 I grasped the arm of Jesus, and was safe. 
 And now, when I look back upon my life, 
 It seems as if that noble man were sent 
 
150 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 To give me rescue from the pit of death. 
 
 But from his distant height he could not reach 
 
 And act upon my soul ; so Heaven allowed 
 
 Temptation's ladder 'twixt his soul and mine, 
 
 That they might meet and yield his mission thrift. 
 
 I doubt not in my grateful soul to-night 
 
 That had he stayed within his higher world, 
 
 And tried to call me to him, I had spurned 
 
 Alike his mission and his ministry. 
 
 That he was tempted, was at once my sin 
 
 And my salvation. That he sinned in thought, 
 
 And fiercely wrestled with temptation, won 
 
 For his own spirit that humility 
 
 Which God had sought to clothe him with in vam, 
 
 By other measures, and that strength which springs 
 
 From a great conflict and a victory. 
 
 We tallied of this ; and on our bended knees 
 
 We blessed the Great Dispenser for the means 
 
 By which we both had learned our sinful selves. 
 
 And found the way to a diviner life. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 151 
 
 So, with my chastened heart and life, I come 
 Back to my home, to live — perhaps to die. 
 God's love has been in all this discipline ; 
 God's love has used those awful sins of mine 
 To make me good and happy. I can mourn 
 Over my husband ; I can pray for him, 
 Nay, I forgive him ; for I know the power 
 With which temptation comes to stronger men. 
 I know the power with which it came to me. 
 
 And now, dear Grace, my story is complete. 
 You have received it with dumb wonderment, 
 And it has been too long. Tell me what thought 
 Stirs in your face, and waits for utterance. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 That I have suffered little — trusted less ; 
 That I have failed in charity, and been 
 Unjust to all men — specially to one. 
 I did not think there'lived a man on earth 
 
1 52 Bl TTER-8 WEET. 
 
 Who had such virtue as this friend of yours, — 
 
 Weak, and yet strong. 'Twere but humanity 
 
 To give him pity in his awful strife ; 
 
 To stint the meed of reverence and praise 
 
 For his triumphant conquest of himself, 
 
 Were infamy. I love and honor him ; 
 
 And if I knew my husband were as strong, 
 
 I could fall down before, and worship him ; 
 
 I could fall down, and wet his feet with tears — 
 
 Tears penitential for the grievous wrong 
 
 That I have done him. But alas ! alas ! 
 
 The thought comes back again. O God in Heaven 
 
 Help me with patience to await the hour 
 
 When the great purpose of Thy discipline 
 
 Shall be revealed, and, like this chastened one, 
 
 I can behold it, and be satisfied. 
 
 Hark ! They are calling us below, I think. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 158 
 
 We must go down. We'll talk of this again 
 When we have leisure. Kiss the little one, 
 And thank his weary brain it sleeps so well. 
 
 [They descend. 
 

 SEC ORB EPIS ODE. 
 
 - 
 
 LOCALITY— The Kitchen. 
 
 PRESENT— Joseph, Samuel, Rebekah, and other Children. 
 
 THE QUESTION ILLUSTRATED BY STORY. 
 
 
 JOSETH. 
 
 Have 
 
 we not had " Button-Button " enough, 
 
 And ' 
 
 'Forfeits," and all such silly stuff? 
 
 
 SAMUEL. 
 
 Well, 
 
 we were playing " Blind-Man's-Buff " 
 
 Until 
 
 you fell, and rose in a huff, 
 
156 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And declared the game was too rude and rough. 
 Poor boy ! What a pity he isn't tough ! 
 
 AT,Ti T 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! what a pretty boy ! 
 Papa's delight, and mamma's joy ! 
 Wouldn't he like to go to bed, 
 And have a cabbage-leaf on his head ? 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 Laugh, if you like to ! Laugh till you're grey ; 
 
 But I guess you'd laugh another way 
 
 If you'd hit your toe, and fallen like me, 
 
 And cut a bloody gash in your knee, 
 
 And bumped your nose and bruised your shin, 
 
 Tumbled over the rolling-pin 
 
 That rolled to the floor in the awful din 
 
 That followed the fall of the row of tin 
 
 That stood upon the dresser. 
 
B1TTEB-SWEET. 
 
 lu 
 
 Guess again — dear little guesser ! 
 You wouldn't catch this boy lopping his wing, 
 Or whining over anything. 
 So stir your stumps, 
 Forget your bumps, 
 Get out of your dumps, 
 And up and at it again ; 
 For the clock is striking ten, 
 And Ruth will come pretty soon and say 
 "Go to your beds 
 You sleepy heads !" 
 So — quick ! What shall we play ? 
 
 REBEKAH. 
 
 I wouldn't play any more, 
 For Joseph is tired and sore 
 With his fall upon the floor. 
 
1 ~8 B ITT EMS WEET. 
 
 Then he shall tell a story. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 About old Mother Morey? 
 
 AliL. 
 
 No ! Tell us another. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 About my brother ? 
 
 KEBEKAH. 
 
 Now, Joseph, you shall be good, 
 
 And do as you'd be done by ; 
 
 We didn't mean to be rude 
 
 When you fell and began to cry ; 
 
 We wanted to make you forget your pain ; 
 
 But it frets you, and we'll not laugh again. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 I5S 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 Well, if you'll all sit still, 
 And not be frisking about, 
 Nor utter a whisper till 
 You've heard my story out, 
 I'll tell you a tale as weird 
 As ever you heard in your lives, 
 Of a man with a long blue beard, 
 And the way he treated his wives. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Oh, that will be nice ! 
 We'll be still as mice. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 [Relates the old story of Blue Beard, and David and Rem enter 
 from the cellar unperceived. 
 
 Centuries since there flourished a man, 
 (A cruel old Tartar as rich as the Khan,) 
 
160 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Whose castle was built on a splendid plan, 
 
 With gardens and groves and plantations ; 
 But his shaggy beard was as blue as the sky, 
 And he lived alone, for his neighbors were shy, 
 And had heard hard stories, by the by, 
 About his domestic relations. 
 
 Just on the opposite side of the plain 
 
 A widow abode, with her daughters twain ; 
 
 And one of them — neither cross nor vain — 
 
 Was a beautiful little treasure. ; 
 So he sent them an invitation to tea, 
 And having a natural wish to see 
 His wonderful castle and gardens, all three 
 
 Said they'd do themselves the pleasure. 
 
 As soon as there happened a pleasant day, 
 They dressed themselves in a sumptuous way, 
 And rode to the castle as proud and gay 
 As silks and jewels could make them ; 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 161 
 
 And they were received in the finest style, 
 And saw everything that was worth their while, 
 In the halls of Blue Beard's grand old pile, 
 Where he was so kind as to take them. 
 
 The ladies were all enchanted quite ; 
 For they found old Blue Beard so polite 
 That they did not suffer at all from fright, 
 
 And frequently called thereafter ; 
 Then he offered to marry the younger one, 
 And as she was willing the thing was done, 
 And celebrated by all the ton 
 
 "With feasting and with laughter. 
 
 As land a husband as ever was seen 
 
 Was Blue Beard then, for a month, I ween ; 
 
 And she was as proud as any queen, 
 
 And as happy as she could be, too ; 
 But her husband called her to him one day, 
 And said, " My dear, I am going away ; 
 
162 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 It will not be long that I shall stay ; 
 There is business for rne to see to. 
 
 " The keys of my castle I leave with you r 
 
 But if you value my love, be true, 
 
 And forbear to enter the Chamber of Blue ! 
 
 Farewell, Fatima ! Bemember !" 
 Fatima promised him ; then she ran 
 To visit the rooms with her sister Ann ; 
 Bat when she had finished the tour, she began 
 
 To think about the Blue Chamber. 
 
 Well, the woman was curiously inclined, 
 So she left her sister and prudence behind, 
 (With a little excuse) and started to find 
 
 The mystery forbidden. 
 She paused at the door ; — all was still as night ! 
 She opened it ; then through the dim blue light 
 There blistered her vision the horrible sight 
 
 That was in that chamber hidden. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 1(33 
 
 Tlie room was gloomy and damp and wide, 
 And the floor was red with the bloody tide 
 From headless women, laid side by side, 
 
 The wives of her lord and master ! 
 Frightened and fainting, she dropped the key, 
 But seized it and lifted it quickly ; then she 
 Hurried as swiftly as she could flee 
 
 From the scene of the disaster. 
 
 She tried to forget the terrible dead, 
 
 But shrieked when she saw that the key was red, 
 
 And sickened and shook with an awful dread 
 
 When she heard Blue Beard was coming. 
 He did not appear to notice her pain ; 
 But he took his keys, and seeing the stain, 
 He stopped in the middle of the refrain 
 
 That he had been quietly humming. 
 
 "Mighty well, madam ! : ' said he, "mighty well ! 
 
 What does this little blood-stain tell *? 
 
 You've broken your promise ; prepare to dwell 
 
164 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 With, the wives I've had before you ! 
 You've broken your promise, and you shall die. " 
 Then Eatima, supposing her death was nigh, 
 Fell on her knees and began to cry, 
 
 " Have mercy, I implore you !" 
 
 "No !" shouted Blue Beard, drawing his sword ; 
 " You shall die this very minute," he roared. 
 "Grant me time to prepare to meet my Lord," 
 
 The terrified woman entreated. 
 " Only ten minutes," he roared again ; 
 And holding his watch by its great gold chain, 
 He marked on the dial the fatal ten. 
 
 And retired till they were completed. 
 
 ' ' Sister, oh sister, fly up to the tower ! 
 Look for release from this murderer's power ! 
 Our brothers should be here this very hour ; 
 
 Speak ! Does there come assistance !" 
 "No : I see nothing but sheep on the hill." 
 "Look again, sister !" " I'm looking still, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 165 
 
 But naught can I see, whether good or ill, 
 Save a flurry of dust in the distance." 
 
 "Time's up!" shouted Blue Beard, out from his 
 
 room ; 
 ' ' This moment shall witness your terrible doom, 
 And give you a dwelling within the room 
 
 Whose secrets you have invaded." 
 "Comes there no help for my terrible need ?" 
 "There are horsemen twain riding hither with 
 
 speed." 
 ' ' Oh ! tell them to ride very fast indeed, 
 
 Or I must meet death unaided." 
 
 "Time's fully up! Now have done with your 
 
 prayer," 
 Shouted Blue Beard, swinging his sword on the 
 
 stair ; 
 Then he entered, and grasped her beautiful hah-, 
 
 Swung his glittering weapon around him ; 
 But a loud knock rang at the castle gate, 
 
16G BITTERS WEET 
 
 And Fatiina was saved from lier horrible fate. 
 For shocked with surprise, he paused too late ; 
 And then the two soldiers found hirn. 
 
 They were her brothers, and quick as they knew 
 What the fiend was doing, their swords they drew, 
 And attacked him fiercely, and ran him through, 
 
 So that soon he was mortally wounded. 
 With a wild remorse was his conscience filled 
 When he thought of the hapless wives he had killed 
 But quickly the last of his blood was spilled. 
 
 And his dying groan was sounded. 
 
 As soon as Fatima recovered from fright, 
 
 She embraced her brothers with great delight ; 
 
 And they were as glad and as grateful quite 
 
 As she was glad and grateful. 
 Then they all went out from that scene of pain, 
 And sought in quietude to regain 
 Their minds, which had come to be quite insane. 
 
 In a place so horrid and hateful. 
 
BITTER SWEET. 167 
 
 'Twas a private funeral Blue Beard had ; 
 
 For the people knew he was very bad, 
 
 And, though they said nothing, they all were glad 
 
 For the fall of the evil-doer ; 
 But Fatima first ordered some graves to be made, 
 And there the unfortunate ladies were laid, 
 And after some painful months, with the aid 
 
 Of her friends, her spirits came to her. 
 
 Then she cheered the hearts of the suffering poor, 
 And an acre of land around each door, 
 And a cow and a couple of sheep, or more, 
 
 To her tenantry she granted. 
 So all of them had enough to eat, 
 And their love for her was so complete 
 They would kiss the dust from her little feet, 
 
 Or do anything she wanted. 
 
 SAMUEL. 
 
 Capitaf! Capital ! Wasn't it good ! 
 
168 BIT T Eli- SWEET. 
 
 I skould like to have been her brother ; 
 
 And if I had been, you may guess there would 
 
 Have been little work for the other. 
 
 I'd have run him right through the heart, just s< 
 
 And cut off his head at a single blow, 
 
 And killed him so quickly he'd never know 
 
 What it was that struck him, wouldn't I Joe ? 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 You are very brave with your bragging tongue ; 
 But if you had been there, you'd have sung 
 
 A very different tune. 
 Poor Blue Beard ! He would have been afraid 
 Of a little boy with a penknife blade, 
 
 Or a tiny pewter spoon ! 
 
 It makes no difference what you say 
 (Pretty little boy, afraid to play!) 
 

 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 But it served hirn rightly any way. 
 
 And gave him just his due. 
 And wasn't it good that his little wife 
 Should live in his castle the rest of her life, 
 
 And have all his money too ? 
 
 lG'J 
 
 REBEKAH. 
 
 
 I'm thinking of the ladies who 
 Were lying in the Chamber Blue, 
 With all their small necks cut in two. 
 
 I see them lying, half a score, 
 
 In a long row upon the floor, 
 
 Their cold, white bosoms marked with gore 
 
 I know the sweet Fatima would 
 Have put their heads on if she could ; 
 And made them live — she was so good ; 
 
1 TO BITTERS WERT. 
 
 And washed their faces at the sink ; 
 But Blue Beard was not sane, I think ; 
 I wonder if he did not drink ! 
 
 For no man in his proper mind 
 Would be so cruelly inclined 
 As to kill ladies who were kind. 
 
 EUTH. 
 
 [Stepping forward with David. 
 
 Story and comment alike are bad ; 
 These little follows are raving mad 
 
 With thinking what they should do, 
 Supposing their sunny-eyed sister had 
 Given her heart — and her head — to a lad 
 Like the man with the Beard of Blue. 
 Each little jacket 
 Is now a packet 
 Of murderous thoughts and fancies ; 
 Oh, the gentle trade 
 By which fiends are made 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 171 
 
 With the ready aid 
 
 Of these bloody old romances ! 
 And the little girl takes the woman's trim, 
 And thinks that the old curmudgeon 
 Who owned a castle, and rolled in gold 
 Over fields and gardens manifold, 
 And kept in his house a family tomb, 
 With his bowling course and his billiard-room , 
 Where he could preserve his precious dead, 
 Who took the kiss of the bridal bed 
 From one who straightway took their head, 
 And threw it away with the pair of gloves 
 In which he wedded his hapless loves, 
 
 Had some excuse for his dudgeon. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 We learn by contrast to admire 
 The beauty that enchains us ; 
 And know the object of desire 
 By that which pains us. 
 
172 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 The roses blushing at the door, 
 
 The lapse of leafy June, 
 The singing birds, the sunny shore, 
 The summer moon : — 
 
 All these entrance the eye or ear 
 
 By innate grace and charm ; 
 But o'er them reaching through the year 
 Hangs Winter's arm, 
 
 To give to memory the sign, 
 
 The index of our bliss, 
 And show by contrast how divine 
 The summer is. 
 
 From chilling blasts and stormy skies, 
 
 Bare hills and icy streams, 
 Touched into fairest hfe arise 
 Our summer dreams. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And virtue never seems so fair 
 
 As when we lift our gaze 
 From the red eyes and bloody hair 
 That vice displays. 
 
 We are too low, — our eyes too dark 
 
 Love's height to estimate, 
 Save as we note the sunken mark 
 Of brutal Hate. 
 
 So this ensanguined tale shall move 
 
 Aright each little dreamer, 
 And Blue Beard teach them how to love 
 The sweet Fatima. 
 
 17? 
 
 They hate his crimes, and it is well ; 
 
 They pity those who died ; 
 Their sense of justice when he fell 
 Was satisfied. 
 
174 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 No fierce revenges are the fruit 
 
 Of their just indignation ; 
 They sit in judgment on the brute, 
 And condemnation ; 
 
 And turn to her, his lescued wife, 
 Her deeds so kind and human ; 
 And love the beauty of her life, 
 And bless the woman. 
 
 That is the way I suppose you would twist it ; 
 And now that the boys are disposed of, 
 And the moral so handsomely closed off. 
 What do you say of the girl ? That she missed it. 
 When she thought of old Blue Beard as some do of 
 
 Judas, 
 Who with this notion essay to delude us : 
 That when he relented, 
 And fiercely repented, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 He was hardly so bad 
 
 As lie commonly had 
 The fortune to be represented ? 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 The noblest pity in the earth 
 
 Is that bestowed on sin. 
 The Great Salvation had its birth. 
 That ruth within. 
 
 The girl is nearest God, in fact ; 
 
 The boy gives crime its due ; 
 She blames the author of the act, 
 And pities too. 
 
 175 
 
 Thus, from this strange excess of wrong, 
 
 Her tender heart has caught 
 The noblest truth, the sweetest song> 
 The Saviour taught. 
 
176 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 So, more than measured homily, 
 Of sage, or priest, or preacher, 
 Is this wild tale of cruelty 
 
 Love's gentle teacher. 
 
 It tells of sin, its deep remorse, 
 
 Its fitting recompense, 
 And vindicates the tardy course 
 Of Providence. 
 
 These boyish bosoms are on fire 
 
 With chivalric possession, 
 And burn with just and manly ire 
 Against oppression. 
 
 The glory and the grace of life, 
 
 And love's surpassing sweetness, 
 
 Rise from the monster to the wife 
 
 In high completeness ; 
 
BITTER SWEET. 177 
 
 And thence look down with mercy's eye 
 
 On sin's accurst abuses, 
 And seek to wrest from charity 
 Some fair excuses. 
 
 These greedy mouths are watering 
 For the fruit within the basket ; 
 And although they will not ask it, 
 Their jack-knives all are burning 
 And their eager hands are yearning 
 
 For the peeling and the quartering. 
 So let us have done with our talk ; 
 For they are too tired to say their prayers, 
 And the time is come they should want 
 From the story below to the story up stairs. 
 

 THIRD MOVEMENT. 
 
 DRAMATIC, 
 

 THE THIRD MOVEMENT. 
 
 LOCALITY— The Kitchen. 
 PRESENT— David, Ruth, John, Petek, Prudence and Patience. 
 
 THE QUESTION ILLUSTRATED BY THE 
 DENOUEMENT 
 
 ,TOHN. 
 
 Since the old gentleman retired to bed, 
 
 Things have gone strangely. David, here, and Buth, 
 
 Have wasted thirty minutes underground 
 
 In explorations. One would think the house 
 
 Covered the entrance of the Mammoth Cave, 
 
 And they had lost themselves. Mary and Grace 
 
182 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Still hold their chamber and their conference, 
 
 And pour into each other's greedy ears 
 
 Their stream of talk, whose low, monotonous hum, 
 
 Would lull to slumber any storm but this. 
 
 The children are play-tired and gone to bed ; 
 
 And one may know by looking round the room 
 
 Their place of sport was here. And we, plain folk, 
 
 Who have no gift of speech, especially 
 
 On themes which we and none may understand, 
 
 Have yawned and nodded in the great square room, 
 
 And wondered if the parted family 
 
 Would ever meet again. 
 
 R¥TH. 
 
 John, do you see 
 The apples and the cider on the hearth ? 
 If I remember rightly, you discuss 
 Such themes as these with noticeable zest 
 And pleasant tokens of intelligence ; 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 183 
 
 Rather preferring scanty company 
 
 To the full circle. So, sir, take the lead, 
 
 And help yourself. 
 
 Aye ! That I will, and give 
 Your welcome invitation currency, 
 In the old-fashioned way. Come ! Help yourselves ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 [Looking out of the window. 
 
 The ground is thick with sleet, and still it falls ! 
 The atmosphere is plunging like the sea 
 Against the woods, and pouring on the night 
 The roar of breakers, while the blinding spray 
 O'erleaps the barrier, and comes drifting on 
 In lines as level as the window-bars. 
 What curious visions, in a night like this, 
 Will the eye conjure from the rocks and trees. 
 And zigzag fences ! I was almost sure 
 
184 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 I saw a man staggering along the road 
 A moment since ; bnt instantly the shape 
 Dropped from my sight. Hark ! Was not that a 
 
 call — 
 A human voice ? There's a conspiracy 
 Between my eyes and ears to play me tricks, 
 Else wanders there abroad some hapless soul 
 Who needs assistance. There he stands again, 
 And with unsteady essay strives to breast 
 The tempest. Hush ! Did you not hear that cry ? 
 Quick, brothers ! We must out, and give our aid. 
 None but a dying and despairing man 
 Ever gave utterance to a ciy like that. 
 Nay, wait for nothing. Follow me ! 
 
 EUTH. 
 
 Alas ! 
 Who can he be, who on a night like this, 
 And on this night, of all nights in the year, 
 Holds to the highway, homeless ? 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 185 
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Probably 
 Some neighbor started from his home in quest 
 Of a physician ; or, more likely still, 
 Some poor inebriate, sadly overcome 
 By his sad keeping of the holiday. 
 I hope they'll give him quarters in the barn ; 
 If he sleep here, there'll be no sleep for me. 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 I'll not believe it was a man at all ; 
 David and Ruth are always seeing things 
 That no one else sees. 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 I see plainly now 
 What we shall all see plainly, soon enough. 
 The man is dead, and they are bearing him 
 As if he were a log. Quick ! Stir the fire, 
 
186 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And clear the settle ! We must lay him there. 
 
 I will bring cordials, and flannel stuffs 
 
 With which to chafe him ; open wide the door. 
 
 [The men enter, bearing a body apparently lifeless, which they lay 
 upon the settle. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Now do my bidding, orderly and swift ; 
 
 And we may save from death a fellow man. 
 
 Peter, relieve him of those frozen shoes, 
 
 And wrap his feet in flannel. This way, Ruth ! 
 
 Administer that cordial yourself. 
 
 John, you are strong, and that rough hand of yours 
 
 Will chafe him well. Work with a will, I say ! 
 
 * * # * * * 
 My hand is on his heart, and I can feel 
 Both warmth and motion. If we persevere. 
 He will be saved. Work with a will, I say ! 
 
 * -x- * -x- * * 
 
 A groan ? Ha ! That is good. Another groan ? 
 Better and better ! 
 
B1TTEM-8WEET. 187 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 It is down at last ! — 
 A spoonful of the cordial. His breath 
 Comes feebly, but is warm upon my hand. 
 
 Give him brisk treatment, and persistent, too ; 
 And we shall be rewarded presently, 
 For there is life in him. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 He moves his lips 
 And tries to speak. 
 
 ****** 
 
 And now he opens his eyes. 
 What eyes ! How wandering and wild they are ! 
 
 [To the stranger. 
 
 We are your friends. We found you overcome 
 By the cold storm without, and brought you in. 
 We are your friends, I say ; so be at ease, 
 
188 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And let us do according to your need. 
 What is your wish ? 
 
 STKANGEB. 
 
 My friends ? O God in Heaven ! 
 They've cheated me ! I'm in the hospital. 
 Oh, it was cruel to deceive me thus ! 
 No, you are not my Mends. What bitter pain 
 Racks my poor body ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Poor man, how he raves ! 
 Let us be silent while the warmth and wine 
 Provoke his sluggish blood to steady flow, 
 And each dead sense comes back to life again, 
 O'er the same path of torture which it trod 
 When it went out from him. He'll slumber soon, 
 And, when he wakens, we may talk with him. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 189 
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 [Sotlo voce. 
 
 Shall' I not call the family ? I think 
 Maiy and Grace must both be very cold ; 
 And they know nothing of this strange affair. 
 I'll wait them at the landing, and secure 
 Their silent entrance. 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 If it please you — well. 
 
 [Prudence retires, and returns with Grace and Mart. 
 MARY. 
 
 Why ! We heard nothing of it — Grace and I :— 
 What a cadaverous hand ! How blue and thin ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 At his first wild awaking he bemoaned 
 His fancied durance in a hospital ; 
 
100 BITTERSWEET. 
 
 And since he spoke so strangely, I have thought 
 He may have fled a mad-house. Matters not ! 
 We*ve done our duty, and preserved his life. 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Shall I disturb him if I look at him ? 
 I'm strangely curious to see his face. 
 
 Go. Move you carefully, and bring us word 
 Whether he sleeps. 
 
 [Makt rises, goes to the settle, and sinks back fainting. 
 
 Why ! What ails the girl ? 
 I thought her nerves were iron. Dash her brow 
 And bathe her temples ! 
 
 BIAEY. 
 
 There — there, — that will do. 
 Tis over now. 
 

 BITTER-SWEET. 191 
 
 The man is speaking. Hush ! 
 
 STEANGEE. 
 
 Oh, what a heavenly dream. ! But it is past, 
 Like all my heavenly dreams, for never more 
 Shall dream entrance me. Death has never dreams, 
 But everlasting wakefulness. The eye 
 Of the quick spirit that has dropped the flesh 
 May close no more in slumber. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 I must die ! 
 This painless spell which binds my weary linibs — 
 This peace ineffable of soul and sense — 
 Is dissolution's herald, and gives note 
 That life is conquered and the struggle o'er. 
 But I had hoped to see her ere I died ; 
 To kneel for pardon, aud inrplore one kiss, 
 Pledge to my soul that in the conning heaven 
 We should not meet as strangers, but rejoin 
 
3 92 BITTERSWEET. 
 
 Our hearts and lives so madly sundered here, 
 Through fault and freak of mine. But it is well ; 
 God's will be done ! 
 
 ***** * 
 
 I dreamed that I had reached 
 The old red farm-house, — that I saw the light 
 Flaming as brightly as in other times 
 It flushed the kitchen windows ; and that forms 
 Were sliding to and fro in joyous life, 
 Restless to give me welcome. Then I dreamed 
 Of the dear woman who went out with me 
 One sweet spring morning, in her own sweet spring, 
 
 To wretchedness and ruin ! Oh, forgive — 
 
 Dear, pitying Christ, forgive this cruel wrong, 
 And let me die ! Oh, let me — let me die ! 
 Mary ! my Mary ! Could you only know 
 How I have suffered since 1 fled from you, — 
 How I have sorrowed through long months of paiD, 
 And prayed for pardon, *-you would pardon me. 
 

 BITTER-SWEET. 193 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 [Sotlo vcce. 
 
 Mary, what means this ? Does he dream alone, 
 Or are we dreaming ? 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Edward, I am here! 
 I am your Mary ! Know you not my face V 
 My husband, speak to me ! Oh, speak once more ! 
 This is no dream, but kind reality. 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 [Raising himself, and looking wildly arou/nd. 
 
 You, Mary ? Is this heaven, and am I dead ? 
 I did not know you died : when did you die ? 
 And John and Peter, Grace and little Birth 
 Grown to a woman ; are they all with you ? 
 'Tis very strange ! O pity me, my friends ! 
 For God has pitied me, and pardoned, too ; 
 
104 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Else I should not be here. JNay, you seem cold, 
 
 And look on me with sad severity. 
 
 Have you no pardoning word — no smile for me ? 
 
 MAKY. 
 
 This is not Heaven's but Earth's reality ; 
 
 This is the farm-house — these your wife and friends. 
 
 I hold your hand, and I forgive you all. 
 
 Pray you recline ! You are not strong enough 
 
 To bear this yet. 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 [Sinking back. 
 
 O toiling heart ! O sick and sinking heart ! 
 
 Give me one hour of service, ere I die ! 
 
 This is no dream. This hand is precious flesh, 
 
 And I am here where I have prayed to be. 
 
 My God, I thank thee ! Thou hast heard my 
 
 prayer 
 And, in its answer, given me a pledge 
 Of the acceptance of my penitence. 
 
BJTTER-8 WEET. 1 05 
 
 How have I yearned for this one priceless hour ! 
 Cling to me, dearest, while my feet go down 
 Into the silent stream ; nor loose your hold, 
 Till angels clasp me on the other side. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Edward, yon are not dying — must not die ; 
 For only now are we prepared to live. 
 You must have quiet, and a night of rest. 
 Be silent, if you love me ! 
 
 If I love ? 
 Ah, Mary ! never till this blessed hour, 
 When power and passion, lust and pride are gone, 
 Have I perceived what wedded love may be ; — 
 Unutterable fondness, soul for soul ; 
 Profoundest tenderness between two hearts 
 Allied by nature, interlocked by life. 
 
196 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 I know that I shall die ; but the low clouds 
 That closed my mental vision have retired, 
 And left a sky as clear and calm as HeaveD. 
 I must talk now, or never more on earth : 
 So do not hinder me. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 [Weeping. 
 Have you a wish 
 That I can gratify ? Have you any words 
 To send to other friends ? 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 I have no friends 
 But you and these, and only wish to leave 
 My worthless name and memory redeemed 
 Within your hearts to pitying respect. 
 I have no strength, and it becomes me not, 
 To tell the story of my life of sin. 
 I was a drunkard, thief, adulterer ; 
 
B1TTEB-SWEET. 
 
 197 
 
 
 And fled from shame, with shame, to find remorse 
 
 I had but few months of debauchery, 
 
 Pursued with mad intent to damp or drown 
 
 The flames of a consuming conscience, when 
 
 My body, poisoned, crippled by disease, 
 
 Refused the guilty service of my soul, 
 
 And at mid-day fell prone upon the street. 
 
 Thence I was carried to a hospital, 
 
 And there I woke to that delirium 
 
 Which none but drunkards this side of the pit 
 
 May even dream of. 
 
 But at last there came, 
 "With abstinence and kindly medicines, 
 Release from pain, and peaceful sanity : 
 And then Christ found me, ready for His hand. 
 I was not ready for Him when He came 
 And asked me for my youth; and when He knockeo 
 At my heart's door in manhood's early prime 
 With tenderest monitions, I debarred 
 
198 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 His waiting feet with promise and excuse ; 
 Aud when, in after years, absorbed in sin, 
 The gentle summons swelled to thunderings 
 That echoed through the chambers of my soul 
 With threats of vengeance, I shut up my ears ; 
 And then He went away, and let me rush 
 Without arrest, cr protest, toward the pit. 
 I made swift passage downward, till, at length, 
 I had become a miserable wreck — 
 Pleasure behind me ; only pain before ; 
 My life lived out ; the fires of passion dead ; 
 Without a friend ; no pride, no power, no hope ; 
 No motive in me, e'en to wish for life. 
 Then, as I said, Christ came, with stern and sad 
 Reminders of His mercy and my guilt, 
 And the door fell "before Him. 
 
 I went out, 
 And trod the wildernesses of remorse 
 For many days. Then from their outer verge. 
 

 BITTER SWEET. 199 
 
 Tortured and blinded, I plunged madly down 
 Into the sullen bosom of despair ; 
 But strength from Heaven was given me, and pre- 
 served 
 Breath in my bosom, till a light streamed up 
 Upon the other shore, and I struck out 
 On the cold waters, struggling for my life. 
 Fainting I reached the beach, and on my knees 
 Clir&bed up the thorny hill of penitence, 
 Till I could see, upon its distant brow, 
 The Saviour beck'ning. Then I ran — I flew— 
 And grasped his outstretched hand. It lifted me 
 High on the everlasting rock, and then 
 It folded me, with all my griefs and tears, 
 My sin-sick body and my guilt-stained soul, 
 To the great heart that throbs for ah the world. 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 Dear Lord, I bless thee ! Thou hast heard my 
 prayer, 
 
MO BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 And saved the wanderer ! Hear it once again, 
 And lengthen out the life thon hast redeemed ! 
 
 EDVAED. 
 
 Mary, my wife, forbear ! I may not give 
 Response to snch petition. I have prayed 
 That I may die. When first the love Divine 
 Received me on its bosom, and in mine 
 I felt the springing of another life, 
 I begged the Lord to grant me two requests— 
 The first that I might die, and in that world 
 Where passion sleeps, and only influence 
 From Him and those who cluster at His throne 
 Breathes on the soul, the germ of His great life, 
 Bursting within me, might be perfected. 
 The second, that your life, my love, and mine, 
 Might be once more united on the earth 
 In holy marriage, and that mine might be 
 Breathed out at last within your loving arms. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 One prayer is granted, and the other waits 
 But a brief space for its accomplishment. 
 
 201 
 
 
 But why this prayer to die ? Still loving me, 
 With the great motive for desiring life, 
 And the deep secret of enjoyment won, — 
 Why pray for death ? 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Do you not know me, Mary ? 
 I am afraid to live, for 1 am weak. 
 I've found a treasure only life can steal ; 
 I've won a jewel only death will keep. 
 In such a heart as mine, the priceless pearl 
 "Would not be safe. That which I would not take 
 "When health was with me, — which I spumed awaj 
 So long as I had power to sin, I fear 
 "Would be surrendered with that power's return, 
 And the temptation to its exercise. 
 For soul like mine, diseased in every part, 
 
202 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 There is but one condition in which grace 
 May give it service. For ray nialady 
 The Great Physician draws the blood away 
 That only flows to feed its baleful fires ; 
 For only thus the balsam and the balm 
 May touch the springs of healing. 
 
 So I pray 
 To be delivered from myself, — to be 
 Delivered from necessity of ill, — 
 To be secured from bringing harm to you. 
 Oh, what a boon is death to the sick soul ! 
 I greet it with a joy that passes speech. 
 Were the whole world to come before me now, — 
 Wealth with its treasures ; Pleasure with its cup ; 
 Power robed in purple ; Beauty in its pride, 
 And with Love's sweetest blossoms garlanded ; 
 Fame with its bays, and Glory with its crown, 
 To tempt me life ward, I would turn away, 
 And stretch my hands with utter eagerness 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 203 
 
 Toward the pale angel waiting for ine now, 
 And give my hand to him, to be led out, 
 Serenely singing, to the land of shade. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Edward, I yield you. I would not retain 
 One who has strayed so long from God and heaven, 
 When his weak feet have found the only path 
 Open for such as he. 
 
 EDWAED. 
 
 My strength recedes ; 
 But ere it fail, tell me how fares your life. 
 You have seen sorrow ; but it comforts me 
 To hear the language of a chastened soul 
 From one perverted by my guilty hand. 
 You speak the dialect of the redeemed — 
 The Heaven-accepted. Tell me it is so, 
 And you are happy. 
 
304 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Witli sweet hope and trust 
 I may reply, 'tis as you think and wish. 
 I have seen sorrow, surely, and the more 
 That I have seen what was far worse ; but God 
 Sent his own servant to me to restore 
 My sadly straying feet to the sure path ; 
 And in my soul I have the pledge of grace 
 Which shall suffice to keep them there. 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 All, joy ! 
 You found a friend ; and my o'erflowing heart, 
 Welling with gratitude, pours out to him 
 For his kind ministry its fitting meed. 
 Oh, breathe his name to me, that my poor lips 
 May bind it to a benison, and that, 
 While dying, I may whisper it with those — 
 Jesus and Mary — which I love the best. 
 Name him, I pray you. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 205 
 
 MARY 
 
 You would ask of me 
 To bear your thanks to him, and to rehearse 
 Your dying words ? 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 He asks your good friend's name; 
 You do not understand him. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 It is hard 
 To give denial to a dying wish ; 
 But, Edward, I've no right to speak his name. 
 He was a Christian man, and you may give 
 Of the full largess of your gratitude 
 All, without robbing God, you have to give, 
 And fail, e'en ttien, of worthy recompense, 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Your will is mine. 
 
206 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Nay, Mary, tell it hini ! 
 Where is he going he should bruit the name i 
 Remember where he lies, and that no ears 
 Save those of angels 
 
 MARY. 
 
 There are others here 
 
 Who may not hoar it. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 We will all retire. 
 It is not proper we should linger here, 
 Barring the sacred confidence of hearts 
 Parting so sadly. 
 
 DAY ID. 
 
 Mary, you must yield, 
 Nor keep the secret longer from your friends. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 David, you know not what you say. 
 
BITTERSWEET. 207 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 I know ; 
 So give the dying man no more delay. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 I will declare it under your command. 
 This stranger friend — stranger for many months— 
 This man, selectest instrument of Heaven, 
 Who gave me succor in my hour of need, 
 Snatched me from ruin, rescued me from want, 
 Counselled and cheered me, prayed with me, and 
 
 then 
 
 le wit. 
 Was he now bending over you in tears — ■ 
 David, my brother ! 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Blessed be his name ! 
 Brother by every law, above — below ! 
 
208 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 [Pale and trembling, 
 
 David ? My husband ? Did I hear aright ? 
 
 You are not jesting ! Sure you would not jest 
 
 At such a juncture ! Speak, my husband, speak ! 
 
 Is this a plot to cheat a dying man, 
 
 Or cheat a wife who, if it be do plot, 
 
 Is worthy death ? What can you mean by this ? 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Not more nor less than my true words convey. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Nay, David, tell me ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Mary's words are truth. 
 
 GRACE, 
 
 O mean and jealous heart, what hast thou done ! 
 What wrong to honor, spite to Christian love, 
 
Dear Husband ! David ! Look upon tour wife ! 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 And shame to self beyond self-pardoning ! 
 
 209 
 
 How can I ever lift my faithless eyes 
 To those true eyes that I have counted false ; 
 Or meet those lips that I have charged with lies; 
 Or win the dear embraces I have spurned ? 
 O most unhappy, most unworthy wife ! 
 
 Proud, and imperious, and impenitent, — 
 No one but he who has in silence borne 
 Thy peevish criminations and complaints 
 Can now forgive thee, when in deepest shame 
 Thou bowest with confession of thy faults. 
 Dear husband ! David ! Look upon your wife ! 
 Behold one kneeling never knelt to you ! 
 I have abused you and your faithful love, 
 And in my great humiliation, pray 
 You will not trample me beneath your feet. 
 Pity my weakness, and remember, too, 
 That Love was jealous of thee, and not Hate- 
 That it was Love's own pride tormented me. 
 
210 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 My husband, take me once more to your arms, 
 
 And kiss me in forgiveness ; say that you 
 
 Will be my counsellor, my friend, my love ; 
 
 And I will give myself to you again, 
 
 To be all yours — my reason, confidence, 
 
 My faith and trust all yours, my heart's best love. 
 
 My service and my prayers, all yours — all yours ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Rise, dearest, rise ! It gives me only pain 
 That such as you should kneel to such as I. 
 Your words inform me that you know how weak 
 I am whom you have only fancied weak. 
 Forgive you ? I forgive you everything : 
 And take the pardon which your prayer insures. 
 Let this embrace, this kiss, be evidence 
 Our jarring hearts catch common rhythm again, 
 And we are lovers. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 21] 
 
 KUTH. 
 
 Hush ! You trouble him. 
 He tindeistands this scene no more than we, 
 Mary, he speaks to you. 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 Dear wife, farewell ! 
 The room grows dim, and silently and soft 
 The veil is dropping 'twixt my eyes and yours, 
 Which soon will hide me from you — you from me. 
 Only one hand is warm ; it rests in yours, 
 Whose full, sweet pulses throb along my arm, 
 So that I live upon them. Cling to me ! 
 And thus your life, after my life is past, 
 Shall lay me gently in the arms of Death. 
 Thus shall you link your being with a soul 
 Gazing unveiled upon the Great White Throne. 
 
 Dear hearts of love surrounding me, farewell ! 
 
 I cannot see you now ; or, if I do. 
 
 You are transfigured. There are floating forms 
 
212 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 That whisper over me like summer leaves ; 
 
 Ajid now there comes, and spreads through all my 
 
 soul 
 Delicious influx of another life, 
 From out whose essence spring, like living flowers, 
 Angelic senses with quick ultimates, 
 That catch the rustle of ethereal robes, 
 And the thin chime of melting ministrelsy — 
 Rising and falling — answered far away — 
 As Echo, dreaming in the twilight woods, 
 Repeats the warble of her twilight birds. 
 And flowers that mock the Iris toss their caps 
 In the impulsive ether, and spill out 
 Sweet tides of perfume, fragrant deluges, 
 Flooding my spirit like an angel's breath. 
 
 And still the throng increases ; still unfold 
 With broader span and more elusive sweep 
 The radiant vistas of a world divine. 
 But O my soul ! what vision rises now I 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 213 
 
 Far, far away, white blazing like the sun, 
 
 In deepest distance and on highest height, 
 
 Through walls diaphanous, and atmosphere 
 
 Flecked with unnumbered forms of missive power, 
 
 Out-going fleetly and returning slow, 
 
 A presence shines I may not penetrate ; 
 
 But on a throne, with smile ineffable, 
 
 I see a form my conscious spirit knows. 
 
 Jesus, my Saviour ! Jesus, Lamb of God ! 
 
 Jesus who taketh from me all my sins, 
 
 And from the world ! Jesus, I come to Thee ! 
 
 Come Thou to me ! O come, Lord, quickly ! Come ! 
 
 DAVID. 
 
 Flown on the wings of rapture ! Is this death ? 
 His heart is still ; his beaded brow is cold ; 
 His wasted breast struggles for breath no more ; 
 And his pale features, hardened with the stress 
 Of Life's resistance, momently subside 
 Into a smile, calm as a twilight lake, 
 
214 BITTERSWEET. 
 
 Sprent with the images of rising stars. 
 
 We have seen Evil in his countless forms 
 
 In these poor lives ; have met his armed hosts 
 
 In dread encounter and discomfiture ; 
 
 And languished in captivity to them, 
 
 Until we lost our courage and our faith ; 
 
 And here we see their Chieftain — Terror's King ! 
 
 He cuts the knot that binds a weary soul 
 
 To faithless passions, sateless appetites, 
 
 And powers perverted, and it flies away 
 
 Singing toward Heaven. He turns and looks at us. 
 
 And finds us weeping with our gratitude — 
 
 Full of sweet sorrow, — sorrow sweeter far 
 
 Than the supremest ecstasy of joy. 
 
 And this is death ! Think you that raptured soul, 
 Now walking humbly in the golden streets, 
 Bearing the precious burden of a love 
 Too great for utterance, or with hushed heart 
 Drinking the music of the ransomed throng, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 215 
 
 Counts death an evil ? — evil, sickness, pain, 
 
 Calamity, or aught that God prescribed 
 
 To cure it of its sin, or bring it where 
 
 The healing hand of Christ might touch it ? No ! 
 
 He is a man to-night — a man in Christ. 
 
 This was his childhood, here ; and as we give 
 
 A smile of wonder to the little woes 
 
 That drew the tears from out our own young eyes- 
 
 The kind corrections and severe constraints 
 
 Imposed by those who loved us — so he sees 
 
 A father's chastisement in all the ill 
 
 That filled his life with darkness ; so he sees 
 
 In every evil a kind instrument 
 
 To chasten, elevate, correct, subdue, 
 
 And fit him for that heavenly estate — 
 
 Saintship in Christ — the Manhood Absolute ! 
 
L'ENVO Y 
 
 Mjdnight and silence ! In the "West unveiled, 
 The broad full moon is shining, with the stars, 
 On mount and valley, forest, roof, and rook, 
 On billowy hills smooth-stretching to the sky, 
 On rail and wall, on all things far and near, 
 Cling the bright crystals, — all the earth a floor 
 Of polished silver, pranked with bending forms 
 Uplifting to the light their precious weight 
 Of pearls and diamonds, set in palest gold. 
 The storm is dead ; and when it rolled away 
 It took no star from heaven, but left to earth 
 Such legacy of beauty as the wind — 
 The light-robed shepherdess from Cuban groves- 
 Driving soft showers before her, and warm airs, 
 And her wide-scattered flocks of wet-wiriged birds, 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Never bestowed upon the waiting Spring. 
 Pale, silent, smiling, cold, and beautiful ! 
 Do storms die thus ? And is it this to die ? 
 
 217 
 
 Midnight and silence ! In that hallowed room 
 God's full-orbed peace is shining, with the stars. 
 On head and hand, on brow, and lip, and eye, 
 On folded arms, on broad unmoving breast, 
 On the white-sanded floor, on everything, 
 Rests the pale radiance, while bending forms 
 Stand all around, loaded with precious weight 
 Of jewels such-as holy angels wear. 
 The man is dead ; and when he passed away 
 He blotted out no good, but left behind 
 Such wealth of faith, such store of love and trust, 
 As breath of joy, in-floating from the isles 
 Smiled on by ceaseless summer, and endued 
 With foliage and flowers perennial, 
 Never conveyed to the enchanted soul. 
 Do men die thus ? And is it this to die ? 
 
218 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Midnight and silence ! At each -waiting bed 
 Husband and wife, embracing, kneel in prayer ; 
 And lips unused to such a benison 
 Breathe blessings upon evil, and give thanks 
 For knowledge of its sacred ministry. 
 An infant nestles on a mother's breast, 
 Whose head is pillowed where it has not lain 
 For months of wasted life— the tale all told, 
 And confidence and love for-aye secure. 
 
 The widow and the virgin ; where are they ? 
 The morn shall find them watching with the dead, 
 Like the two angels at the tomb of Christ, — 
 One at the head, the other at the foot, — 
 Guarding a sepulchre whose occupant 
 Has risen, and rolled the heavy stone away I 
 
 THE END. 
 
Katheina. 
 
KATHRINA. 
 
 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 More human, more divine than we — 
 In truth all human, all divine — 
 
 Is woman, when good stars agree 
 To temper with their beams benign 
 
 The hour of her nativity. 
 
 The fairest flower the green earth bears, 
 Bright with the dew and light of heaven, 
 
 Is, of the double life she wears, 
 The type, in grace and glory given 
 
 By soil and sun in equal shares. 
 
KATRUINA. 
 
 True sister of the Son of Man : 
 True sistsr of the Son of God : 
 
 What marvel that she leads the van 
 Of those who in the path He trod, 
 
 Still bear the cross and wear the ban ? 
 
 If God be in the sky and sea, 
 And live in light and ride the storm, 
 
 Then God is God, although He be 
 Enshrined within a woman's form, 
 
 And claims glad reverence from me. 
 
 So, as I worship Him in Christ, 
 And in the Forms of Earth and Air, 
 
 I worship Him imparadised, 
 And throned within her bosom fair 
 
 Whom vanity hath not enticed. 
 
 O ! woman — mother ! Woman — wife ! — 
 The sweetest names that language knows ! 
 
 Thy breast, with holy motives rife, 
 With holiest affection glows, 
 
 Thou queen, thou angel of my life ! 
 
KATHB1NA 
 
 Noble and fine in his degree 
 
 Is the best man my heart receives ; 
 
 And this my heart's supremest plea 
 For him : he feels, acts, lives, believes, 
 
 And seems, and is, the likest thee. 
 
 O men ! O brothers ! Well I know 
 That with her nature in our souls 
 
 Is bom the elemental woe— 
 
 The brutal impulse that controls, 
 
 And drives, or drags, the godlike low. 
 
 Ambition, appetite and pride — 
 
 These throng and thrall the hearts of men 
 These plat the thorns, and pierce the side 
 
 Of Him who, in our souls again, 
 Is spit upon, and crucified. 
 
 The greed for gain, the thirst for power, 
 The lust that blackens while it bums : 
 
 Ah ! these the whitest souls deflour ! 
 And one, or all of these by turns, 
 
 Rob man of his divinest dower 1 
 
KATHB1NA. 
 
 Yet man, who shivers like a straw 
 Before Temptation's lightest breeze, 
 
 Assumes the master — gives the law 
 To her who, on her bended knees, 
 
 Resists the black-winged thunder-flaw ! 
 
 To him who deems her weak and vain, 
 And boasts his own exceeding might, 
 
 She clings through darkest fortune fain ; 
 Still loyal, though the ruffian smite ; 
 
 Still true, though crime his hands distain ' 
 
 And is this weakness ? Is it not 
 
 The strength of God, that loves and bears 
 Though He be slighted or forgot 
 
 In damning crimes, or driving cares, 
 And closest clings in darkest lot ? 
 
 Not many friends my lif e has made ; 
 
 Few have I loved, and few are they 
 Who in my hand their hearts have laid ; 
 
 And these were women. I am gray, 
 But never have I been betrayed. 
 
KATHB1NA. 
 
 These words — this tribute — for the sake 
 Of truth to God and womankind ! 
 
 These — that my heart may cease to ache 
 With love and gratitude confined, 
 
 And burning from my lips to break ! 
 
 These — to that sisterhood of grace 
 That numbers in its sacred list 
 
 My mother, risen to her place ; 
 
 My wife, but yester-morning kissed, 
 
 And folded in Love's last embrace ! 
 
 This tribute of a love profound 
 As ever moved the heart of man, 
 
 To those to whom my life is bound, 
 To her in whom my life began, 
 
 And her whose love my life hath crowned ! 
 
 Immortal Love ! Thou still hast wings 
 To lift me to those radiant fields, 
 
 Where Music waits with trembling strings, 
 And "Verse her happy numbers yields, 
 
 And all the soul within me sings. 
 
KATHR1NA. 
 
 So from the lovely Pagan dream 
 I call no more the Tuneful Nine ; 
 
 For Woman is my Muse Supreme ; 
 And she with fire and flight divine, 
 
 Shall light and lead me to my theme. 
 

 PART I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 
 
 Thou lovely vale of sweetest stream that flows 
 Winding and willow-fringed Connecticut ! 
 Swift to thy fairest scenes my fancy flies, 
 As I recall the story of a life 
 Which there began in years of sinless hope. 
 And merged maturely into hopeless sin. 
 
 ! golden dawning of a day of storms, 
 That fell ere noontide into rayless night ! 
 O ! beautiful initial, vermil-flowered, 
 And bright with cherub-eyes and effigies, 
 To the black-letter volume of my life 1 
 
8 KATHBINA. 
 
 ! faery gateway, gilt and garlanded, 
 And shining in the sun, to gloomy groves 
 Of shadowy cypress, and to sunless streams, 
 Feeding with bane the deadly nightshade's roots, - 
 To vexing labyrinths of doubt and fear, 
 
 And deep abysses of despair and death ! 
 Back to thy peaceful villages and fields, 
 My memory, like a weary pilgrim, comes 
 With scrip and burdon, to repose awhile, — 
 To pluck a daisy from a lonely grave 
 Where long ago, in common sepulture, 
 
 1 laid my mother and my faith in God ; 
 To fix the record of a single day 
 
 So memorably wonderful and sweet 
 
 Its rjower of inspiration lingers still, — 
 
 So full of her dear presence, so divine 
 
 With the melodious breathing of her words, 
 
 And the warm radiance of her loving smile, 
 
 That tears fall readily as April rain 
 
 At its recall ; to pass in swift review 
 
 The years of adolescence, and the paths 
 
 Of glare and gloom through which, by passion led, 
 
KATHR1NA. * 
 
 I reached the fair possession of my power, 
 And won the dear possession of my love, 
 And then — farewell ! 
 
 Queen- village of the meads 
 Fronting the sunrise and in beauty throned, 
 With jeweled homes around her lifted brow, 
 And coronal of ancient forest trees — 
 Northampton sits, and rules her pleasant realm. 
 There where the saintly Edwards heralded 
 The terrors of the Lord, and men bowed low 
 Beneath the menace of his awful words ; 
 And there where Nature, with a thousand tongues 
 Tender and true, from vale and mountain-top, 
 And smiling streams, and landscapes piled afar, 
 Proclaimed a gentler Gospel, I was born. 
 
 In an old home, beneath an older elm — 
 A fount of weeping greenery, that dripped 
 Its spray of rain and dew upon the roof — 
 I opened eyes on life ; and now return 
 Among the visions of my early years, 
 
10 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Two so distinct that all the rest grow dim : 
 My mother's pale, fond face and tearful eyes, 
 Bent upon me in Love's absorbing trance, 
 From the low window where she watched my 
 
 play ; 
 ind, after this, the wondrous elm, that seemed 
 To my young fancy like an airy bosk, 
 Poised by a single stem upon the earth, 
 And thronged by instant marvels. There in Spring 
 I heard with joy the cheery blue-bird's note ; 
 There sang rejoicing robins after rain ; 
 And there within the emerald twilight, which 
 Defied the mid-day sun, from bough to bough — 
 A torch of downy flame — the oriole 
 Passed to his nest, to feed the censer-fires 
 Which Love had lit for Airs of Heaven to swing. 
 There, too, through all the weird Septeniber-eves 
 I heard the harsh, reiterant katydids 
 Basp the mysterious silence. There I watched 
 The glint of stars, playing at hide-and-seek 
 Behind the swaying foliage, till drawn 
 By tender hands to childhood's balmy rest 
 
KATHTtlNA. 11 
 
 My Mother and the elm ! Too soon I learned 
 That o'er me hung, and o'er the widowed one 
 Who gav> me birth, with broader boughs, 
 Haunted by sabler wings and sadder sounds, 
 A darker shadow than the mighty elm ! 
 I caught the secret in the street from those 
 Who pointed at me as I passed, or paused 
 To gaze in sighing pity on my play ; 
 From x^laymates who, forbidden to divulge 
 The knowledge they possessed, with childish tricks 
 Of hidireciion strove in vain to hide 
 Their awful meaning in unmeaning phrase ; 
 From kisses which were pitiful ; from words 
 Gentler than love's, because compassionate ; 
 From deep, unconscious sighs out of the heart 
 Of her who loved me best, and from her tears 
 That freest flowed when I was happiest. 
 
 From frailest filaments of evidence, 
 
 From dark allusions faintly overheard, 
 
 From hint and look and sudden change of theme 
 
 When I approached, from widely scattered words 
 
12 KATER1.UA. 
 
 Remembered well, and gathered all at length 
 
 Into consistent terms, I know not how 
 
 I wrought the full conclusion, nor how young. 
 
 I only know that when a little child 
 
 I learned, though no one told, that he who gave 
 
 My life to me in madness took his own — 
 
 Took it from fear of want, though he possessed 
 
 The finest fortune in the rich old town. 
 
 Henceforth I had a secret which I kept — 
 Kept by my mother with as close a tongue — 
 A secret which imbittered every cup. 
 It bred rebellion in me — filled my soul, 
 Opening to life in innocent delight, 
 With baleful doubt and harrowing distrust. 
 Why, if my father was the godly man 
 His gentle widow vouched with tender tears, 
 Did He to whom she bowed in daily prayer— 
 Who loved us, as she told me, with a love 
 Ineffable for strength and tenderness — 
 Permit such fate to him, such woe to us ? 
 Ah ! many a time, repeating on my knees 
 
KATIIRJJS'A. 13 
 
 The simple language of niy evening prayer 
 Which her dear lips had taught me, came the 
 
 dark 
 Perplexing question, stirring in my heart 
 A sense of guilt, or quenching all my faith. 
 This, too, I kept a secret. I had died 
 Rather than breathe the question in her ears 
 Who knelt beside me. I had rather died 
 Than add a sorrow to the load she bore. 
 
 Taught to be true, I played the hypocrite 
 
 In truthfulness to her. I had no God, 
 
 No penitence, no loyalty, no love. 
 
 For any being higher than herself. 
 
 Jealous of all to whom she gave her hand, 
 
 I clung to her with fond idolatry. 
 
 I sat with her ; where'er she walked, I walked : 
 
 I kissed away her tears ; I strove to fill, 
 
 With strange precocity of manly pride 
 
 And more than boyish tenderness, the void 
 
 Which death had made. 
 
 I could not fail to see 
 That ruth for me and sorrow for her loss- - 
 
14 KATHB1NA. 
 
 Twin leeches at her heart — were drinking blood 
 That, from her pallid features, day by day 
 Sank slowly down, to feed the cruel draught. 
 Nay, more than this I saw, and sadly worse. 
 Oft when I watched her, and she knew it not, 
 I marked a quivering horror sweep her face — 
 A strange, quick thrill of pain— that brought her 
 
 hand 
 With sudden pressure to her heart, and forced 
 To her white lips a swiftly whispered prayer. 
 I fancied that I read the mystery ; 
 But it was deeper and more terrible 
 Than I conjectured. Not till darker years 
 Came the solution. 
 
 Still, we had some days 
 Of pleasure. Sorrow cannot always brood 
 Over the shivering forms that drink her warmth, 
 But springs to meet the morning light, and soars 
 Into the empyrean, to forget 
 For one sweet hour the ring of greedy mouths 
 That surely wait, and cry for her return. 
 
KATHB1NA. 15 
 
 My mother's hand in mine, or mine in hers, 
 We often left the village far behind, 
 And walked the meadow-paths to gather flowers, 
 And watch the ploughman as he turned the tilth, 
 Or tossed his burnished share into the sun 
 At the long furrow's end, the while we marked 
 The tipsy bobolink, struggling with the chain 
 Of tinkling music that perplexed his wings, 
 And listened to the yellow-breasted lark's 
 Sweet whistle from the grass. 
 
 Glad in my joy, 
 My mother smiled amid these scenes and sounds, 
 And wandered on with gentle step and slow, 
 While I, in boyish frolic, ran before, 
 Chasing the butterflies, or in her path 
 Tossing the gaudy gold of buttercups, 
 Till sometimes, ere we knew, we stood entranced 
 Upon the river's marge. 
 
 Ever the spell 
 Of lapsing water tamed my playful mood, 
 And I reclined in silent happiness 
 
16 KATHR1NA. 
 
 At the tired feet tliat rested in the shade. 
 There through the long, bright mornings we re- 
 mained, 
 Watching the noisy ferry-boat that plied 
 Like a slow shuttle through, the sunny warp 
 Of threaded silver from a thousand brooks, 
 That took new beauty as it wound away; 
 Or gazing where at Holyoke's verdant base — 
 Like a slim hound, stretched at his master's feet- 
 Lay the long, lazy hamlet, Hockanum; 
 Or, urjward turning, traced the hue that climbed 
 O'er splintered rock and clustered foliage 
 To the bare mountain top; then followed down 
 The scars of fire and storm, or paths of gloom 
 That marked the curtained gorges, till, at last, 
 Caught by a wisp of white, belated mist, 
 Our vision rose to trace its airy flight 
 Beyond the height, into the distant blue. 
 
 One morning, while we rested there, she told 
 
 Of a dear friend upon the other side — 
 
 A lady who had loved her — whom she loved — 
 
EATHR1NA. 17 
 
 Ajid then she promised to my eager wish 
 That soon, across the stream I longed to pass, 
 I should go with her to the lady's home. 
 
 The wished-for day came slowly — came at last— 
 My birthday morning — rounding to their close 
 The fourteen summers of my boyhood's life. 
 The early mists were clinging to the side 
 Of the dark mountain as we left the town, 
 Though all the roadside fields were quick with toil 
 In rhythmic motion through the dewy grass 
 The mowers, swept, and on the fragrant air 
 Was borne from far the soft, metallic clash 
 Of stones upon the steel. 
 
 This was the day 
 " So memorably wonderful and sweet 
 Its power of inspiration lingers still, — 
 So full of her dear presence, so divine 
 With the melodious breathing of her words, 
 And the warm radiance of her loving smile, 
 That tears fall readily as April rain 
 
IS KATHRUTA. 
 
 At its recall." And with this day there came 
 
 The revelation and the genesis 
 
 Of a new life. In intellect and heart 
 
 I ceased to be a child, and grew a man. 
 
 By one long leap I passed the hidden bound 
 
 That ch'cumscribed my boyhood, and henceforth 
 
 Abjured all childish pleasure, and took on 
 
 The purpose and the burden of my life. 
 
 We crossed the river — I, as in a dream ; 
 And when I stood upon the eastern shore, 
 In the full presence of the mountain pile, 
 Strange tides of feeling thrilled me, and I wept — 
 Wept, though I knew not why. I could have knelt 
 On the white sand, and prayed. Within my soul 
 Prophetic whispers breathed of coming power 
 And new possessions. Aspiration swelled 
 Like a pent stream within a narrow chasm, 
 That finds nor vent nor overflow, but swirls 
 And surges and retreats, until it floods 
 The springs that feed it. All was chaos wild,— 
 A chaos of fresh passion, undefined, 
 
KATHR1NA. 19 
 
 Deep in whose vortices of mist and fire 
 A new world waited blindly for its birth 
 I had no words for revelation ; — none 
 For answer, when iny mother pressed my hand, 
 And questioned why it trembled. I looked up 
 With tearful eyes, and met her loving smile, 
 And both of us were silent, and passed on. 
 
 We reached at length the pleasant cottage-home 
 Where dwelt my mother's friend, and, at the gate, 
 Found her with warmest welcome waiting us. 
 She kissed my mother's cheek, and then kissed 
 
 mine, 
 Which shrank, and mantled with a new-bom shame. 
 They crossed the threshold : I remained without, 
 Surprised — half-angry — with the burning blush 
 That still o'erwhehned my face. 
 
 I looked around 
 For something to divert my vexing thoughts, 
 And saw intently gazing in my eyes, 
 From his long tether in the grass, a lamb — 
 A lusty, downy, handsome, household pet. 
 There was a scarlet ribbon on his neck 
 
20 KATHRWA. 
 
 Which held a silver bell, whose note I heard 
 
 First when his eye met mine ; for then he sprang 
 
 To greet me with a joyous bleat, and fell, 
 
 Thrown by the cord that held him. Pitying him, 
 
 I loosed his cruel leashing, with intent, 
 
 After a half-hour's frolic, to return 
 
 And fasten as I found him ; but my hand, 
 
 Too careless of its charge, slipped from its hold 
 
 With the first bound he made ; and with a leap 
 
 He cleared the garden wall, and new away. 
 
 Affrighted at my deed and its mischance, 
 I paused a moment — then with ready feet, 
 And flush and final impulse, I pursued. 
 
 He held the pathway to the mountain woods, 
 
 The tinkle of his bell already faint 
 
 In the long distance he had placed between 
 
 Himself and his pursuer. On and on, 
 
 Climbing the mountain path, he sped away, 
 
 I following swif tly, never losing sight 
 
 Of the blight scarlet streaming from his neck, 
 
 Or hearing of the tinkle of his bell, 
 
KATHRWA. 21 
 
 Till, wearied both, and panting up the steep, 
 Our progress slackened to a walk. 
 
 At length 
 He paused and looked at me, and waited till 
 My foot had touched the cord he dragged, and 
 
 then 
 Bounded away, scaling the shelvy cliffs 
 That bolder rose along the narrow path. 
 He had no choice but mount. I pressed him close. 
 And rocks and chasms were thick on either side. 
 So, pausing oft, but ever leaping on 
 Before my hand could reach him, he advanced. 
 Not once in all the passage had I paused 
 To look below, nor had I thought of her 
 Whom I had left. Absorbed in the pursuit 
 I pressed it recklessly, until I grasped 
 My fleecy prisoner, wound and tied his cord 
 Around my wrist, and both of us sank down 
 Upon the mountain summit. 
 
 In a swoon 
 01 breathless weariness how long I lay 
 
23 KATRR1NA. 
 
 I could not know ; but consciousness at last 
 
 Came by my brute companion, who, alert 
 
 Among the scanty browse, tugged at my wrist, 
 
 And brought me startled to my feet. I saw 
 
 In one swift sweep of vision where I stood, — 
 
 In presence of what beauty of the earth, 
 
 What glory of the sky, what majesty 
 
 Of lofty loneliness. I drew the lamb — 
 
 The dear, dumb creature — gently to my side, 
 
 And led him out upon the beetling cliff 
 
 That fronts the plaided meadows, and knelt down. 
 
 When once the shrinking, dizzy spell was gone, 
 
 I saw below me, like a jeweled cup, 
 
 The valley hollowed to its heaven-kissed lip — 
 
 The serrate green against the serrate blue — 
 
 Brimming with beauty's essence ; palpitant 
 
 With a divine elixir — lucent floods 
 
 Poured from the golden chalice of the sun, 
 
 At which my spirit drank with conscious growth, 
 
 And drank again with still expanding scope 
 
 Of comprehension and of faculty. 
 
KATER1NA. 23 
 
 I felt the bud of being in me bnrst 
 
 With, full, unfolding petals to a rose, 
 
 And fragrant breath that flooded all the scene. 
 
 By sudden insight of myself I knew 
 
 That I was greater than the scene, — that deep 
 
 Within my nature was a wondrous world, 
 
 Broader than that I gazed on, and informed 
 
 With a diviner beauty, — that the things 
 
 I saw were but the types of those I held. 
 
 And that above them both, High Priest and King, 
 
 I stood supreme, to choose and to combine, 
 
 And build from /that within me and without 
 
 N"ew forms of life, with meaning of my own. 
 
 And there alone, upon the mountain-top, 
 
 Kneeling beside the lamb, I bowed ray head 
 
 Beneath the chrismal light, and felt my soul 
 
 Baptized and set apart to poetry. 
 
 The spell of inspiration lingered not; 
 
 Bat ere it, passed, I knew my destiny — 
 
 The passion and the portion of my life: 
 
 Though, with the new-horn consciousness of power, 
 
24 KATHRmA. 
 
 And organizing and creative skill, 
 
 There came a sense of poverty — a sense 
 
 Of power untrained, of skill without resource, 
 
 Of ignorance of Nature and her laws, 
 
 And language and the learning of the schools. 
 
 I could not rise upon my callow wings, 
 
 But felt that I must wait until the years 
 
 Should give them plumage, and the skill for flight 
 
 Be won by trial. 
 
 Then before me rose 
 The long, long years of study, interposed 
 Between me and the goul that shone afar ; 
 But with them rose the courage to surmount, 
 And I was girt for toil. 
 
 Then, for the first, 
 My eye and spirit that had drunk the whole 
 Wide vision, grew discriminate, and traced 
 The crystal river pouring from the North 
 Its twinkling tide, and winding down the vale, 
 Till, doubling in a serpent coil,, it paused 
 
1 
 
 KATHB1NA. 25 
 
 Before the chasm that parts the frontal spurs 
 Of Tom and Holyoke ; then in wreathing light 
 Sped the swart rocks, and sought the misty South. 
 Across the meadows — carpet for the gods, 
 Woven of ripening rye and greening maize 
 And rosy clover-blooms, and spotted o'er 
 With the black shadows of the feathery ehns — 
 Northampton rose, half hidden in her trees, 
 Lifted above the level of the fields, 
 And noiseless as a picture. 
 
 At my feet 
 The ferry-boat, diminished to a toy, 
 With automatic diligence conveyed 
 Its puppet passengers between the shores 
 That hemmed its enterprise ; and one low barge, 
 With white, square sail, bore northward languidly 
 The slow and scanty commerce of the stream. 
 
 Eastward, upon another fertile stretch 
 Of meadow-sward and tilth, embowered in elms. 
 Lay the twin streets, and sprang the single spire 
 Of Hadley, where the hunted regicides 
 
26 KATHRWA. 
 
 Securely lived of old, and strangely died ; 
 And eastward still, upon the last green step 
 From which the Angel of the Morning Light 
 Leaps to the meadow-lands, fair Amherst sat, 
 Capped by her many-windowed colleges ; 
 While from his outpost in the rising North, 
 Bald with the storms and ruddy with the suns 
 Of the long eons, stood old Sugarloaf, 
 Gazing with changeless brow upon a scene, 
 Changing to fairer beauty evermore. 
 
 Save of the river and my pleasant home, 
 I knew not then the names and history 
 Borne by these visions ; but upon my brain 
 Their forms were graved in lines indelible 
 As, on the rocks beneath my feet, the prints 
 Of life in its first motion. Later years 
 Benewed the picture, and its outlines filled 
 With fair associations, — -wrought the past 
 And living present into fadeless wreaths 
 That crowned each mound and mount, and town 
 and tower, 
 
KATHRINA. 27 
 
 The king of teeming memories. Nor could 
 I guess with faintest foresight of the life 
 Which, in the years before me, I should -weave 
 Of mingled threads of pleasure and of pain 
 Into these scenes, until not one of all 
 Could meet my eye, or touch my memory 
 Without recalling an experience 
 That drank the sweetest ichor of my veins, 
 Or crowded them with joy. 
 
 kt length I turned 
 From the wide survey, and with pleased surprise 
 Detected, nestling at the mountain's foot, 
 The cottage I had left; and, on the lawn, 
 Two forms of life that flitted to and fro. 
 I knew that they had missed me; so I sought 
 The passage I had climbed, and, with the lamb 
 Still fastened to my wrist, I hasted down. 
 
 Full of the marvels of the hour I sped, 
 Leaping from rock to rock, or flying swift 
 The smoother slopes, with arms half wings, and 
 feet 
 
38 KATHB1JSA. 
 
 That orJ y guarded the descent, the while 
 
 My captive led me captive at his will. 
 
 So tense the strain of sinew, so intense 
 
 The rnood and motion, that before I guessed, 
 
 The headlong flight was finished, and I walked, 
 
 Jaded and reeking, in the level path 
 
 That led the lambkin home. 
 
 My mother saw, 
 And ran to meet me : then for long, still hours, 
 Couched in a dim, cool room, I lay and slept. 
 When I awoke, I found her at my side, 
 Fanning my face, and ready with her smile 
 And soothing words to greet me. Then I told, 
 With youthful volubility and wild 
 Extravagance of figure and of phrase, 
 My wild exploit. 
 
 At first she questioned me ; 
 But, as I wrought each scene and circumstance 
 Into consistent form, she drank my words 
 In eager silence ; and within her eyes 
 I saw the glow of pride which gravity 
 
KATHR1NA. 29 
 
 And show of deep concern could not disguise. 
 
 I read her bosom better than she knew. 
 
 I saw that she had made discovery 
 
 Of something unsuspected in her child, 
 
 And that, by one I loved,— my dearest, best,— 
 
 The fire that burned within me and the power 
 
 That morning called to life, were recognized. 
 
 When I had told my story, and had read 
 
 With kindling pride my praises in her eyes, 
 
 She placed her soft hand on my brow, and said : 
 
 . " My Paul has climbed the noblest mountain hight 
 
 " In all his little world, and gazed on scenes 
 
 " As beautiful as lest beneath the sun. 
 
 " I trust he will remember all his life 
 
 " That to his best achievement, and the spot 
 
 " Nearest to heaven his youthful feet have trod, 
 
 " He has been guided by a guileless lamb. 
 
 :; It is an omen which his mother's heart 
 
 " Will treasure with her jewels." 
 
 When the sun 
 
00 KATHB1NA. 
 
 Of the long summer day hung but an hour 
 Above his setting, and the cool West Wind 
 Bore from the purpling hills his benison, 
 The farewell courtesies of love were given, 
 And we set forth for home. 
 
 Not far we fared — 
 The river left behind — when, looking back, 
 
 1 saw the mountain in the searching light 
 
 Of the low sun. Surcharged with youthful pride 
 
 In my adventure, I can ne'er forget 
 
 The disappointment and chagrin which fell 
 
 Upon me ; for a change had passed. The steep 
 
 Which in the morning sprang to kiss the sun, 
 
 Had left the scene ; and in its place I saw 
 
 A shrunken pile, whose paths my steps had climbed, 
 
 Whose proudest hight my humble feet had trod. 
 
 Its grand impossibilities and all 
 
 Its store of marvels and of mysteries 
 
 Were flown away, and would not be recalled. 
 
 The mountain's might had entered into me ; 
 
 And, from that fruitful hour, whatever scene 
 
KATHBINA. 
 
 Nature revealed to me, she never caught 
 My spirit humbled by surprise. My thought 
 Built higher mountains than I ever found ; 
 Poured wilder cataracts than I ever saw ; 
 Drove grander storms than ever swept the sky ; 
 Pushed into loftier heavens and lower hells 
 Than the abysmal reach of light and dark ; 
 And entertained me with diviner feasts 
 Than ever met the appetite of sense, 
 And poured me wine of choicer vintages 
 Than fire the hearts of kings. 
 
 31 
 
 The frolic name 
 Which in the morning kindled in my veins 
 Had died away ; and at my mother's side 
 I walked in quiet mood, and gravely spoke 
 Of the great future. With a tender quest 
 My mother probed my secret wish, and heard, 
 With silence new and strange respectfulness, 
 The revelation of my plans. I felt 
 In her benign attention to my words ; 
 In her suggestions, clothed with gracious phrase 
 
33 KATKBINA. 
 
 To win my judgment ; and in all those shades 
 
 Of mien and manner which a mother's love 
 
 Inspires so quickly, when the form it nursed 
 
 Becomes a staff in its caressing hand, 
 
 She had made space for me, and placed her life 
 
 In new relations to my own. I knew 
 
 That she who through my span of tender years 
 
 Had counseled me, had given me privilege 
 
 Within her councils ; and the moment came 
 
 1 learned that in the converse of that hour, 
 The appetency of maternity 
 
 For manhood in its offspring, had laid hold 
 
 02 the fresh growth in me, and feasted well 
 Its gentle passion. 
 
 Ere we reached our home, 
 The plans for study were matured, and I, 
 Who, with an aptitude beyond my years, 
 Had gathered learning's humbler rudiments 
 From her to whom I owed my earliest words, 
 Was, when another day should rise, to pass 
 To rougher teaching, and society 
 
KATHB1NA 
 
 33 
 
 Of the rude youth whose wild and boisterous ways 
 Had scared my childish life. 
 
 I nerved my heart 
 To meet the change ; and all the troubled night 
 I tossed upon my pillow, filled with fears, 
 Or fired with hot ambitions ; shrinking oft 
 With girlish sensitiveness from the lot 
 My manly heart had chosen ; rising oft 
 Above my cowardice, well panoplied 
 By fancy to achieve great victories 
 O'er those whose fellows I should be. 
 
 At last, 
 The dawn looked in upon me, and I rose 
 To meet its golden coming, and the life 
 Of golden promise whose wide open doors 
 Waited my feet. 
 
 The lingering morning hours 
 Seemed days of painful waiting, as they fell 
 In slowly fining numbers from the tower 
 
34 KATRB1WA. 
 
 Of the old village church ; but when, at length, 
 My eager feet had touched the street, and turned 
 To climb the goodly eminence where he 
 In whose profound and stately pages live 
 His country's annals, ruled his youthful realm, 
 lily heart grew stem and strong ; and nevermore 
 Did doubt of excellence and mastery 
 Drag down my soaring courage, or disturb 
 My purposes and plans. 
 
 What boots it here 
 To tell with careful chronicle the life 
 Of my novitiate ? Up the graded months 
 My feet rose slowly, but with steady step, 
 To tall and stalwart manliness of frame, 
 And ever rising and expanding reach 
 Of intellection and the power to call 
 Forth from the pregnant nothingness of words 
 The sphered creations of my chosen art. 
 What boots it to recount my victories 
 Over my fellows, or to tell how all, 
 Contemptuous at first, became at length 
 
KATHB1NA. 
 
 Confessed inferiors in every strife 
 
 When brain or brawn contended ? Victories 
 
 Were won too easily to bring me pride, 
 
 And only bred contempt of the low pitch. 
 
 And lower purpose of the power which strove 
 
 So feebly and so clumsily. When won, 
 
 They fed my mother's passion, and she praised ; 
 
 And her delight was all the boon they brought. 
 
 My fierce ambition, ever reaching up 
 
 To higher fields and nobler combatants, 
 
 Trampled its triumphs underneath its feet ; 
 
 And in my heart of hearts I pitied her 
 
 To whose deep hunger of maternal pride 
 
 They bore ambrosial ministry. 
 
 85 
 
 In all 
 
 These years of doing and development, 
 
 My heart was haunted by a bitter pain. 
 
 In every scene of pleasure, every hour 
 
 That lacked employment, every moment's lull 
 
 Of toil or study, its familiar hand 
 
 Was raised aloft, to smite me with its pang. 
 
36 KATHBWA. 
 
 From month to month, from year to year, I saw 
 That she who bore me, and to whom I owed 
 The meek and loyal reverence of a child, 
 Was changing places with me, and that she — 
 Dependent, trustful and subordinate — 
 Deferred to me in all things, and in all 
 Gave me the parent's place and took the child's. 
 She waited for my coming like a child ; 
 She ran to meet and greet me like a child ; 
 She leaned on me for guidance and defense, 
 And lived in me, and by me, like a child. 
 If I were absent long beyond my wont, 
 She yielded to distresses and to tears ; 
 And when I came, she flew into my arms 
 With childish impulse of delight, or chid 
 With weak complainings my delay. 
 
 By these, 
 And by a thousand other childish ways, 
 I knew disease was busy with her life, 
 Working distempers in her heart and brain, 
 And driving her for succor to my strength. 
 
And when I came, she flew into my arms. 
 
KATHR1NA. 
 
 The change was great in her, though slowly 
 
 ■wrought, — 
 Though wrought so slowly that my thought and 
 
 life 
 Had been adjusted to it, but for this : — 
 One dismal night, a trivial accident 
 Had kept me from my home beyond the hour 
 At which my promise stood for my return. 
 Amving at the garden gate, I paused 
 To catch a glimpse of the accustomed light, 
 Through the cold mist that wrapped me, but in 
 
 vain. 
 Only one window glimmered through the gloom, 
 Through whose uncurtained panes I dimly saw 
 My mother in her chamber. She was clad 
 In the white robe of rest ; but to and fro 
 She crossed the light, sometimes with hands 
 
 pressed close 
 Upon her brow, sometimes raised up toward 
 
 heaven, 
 As if in deprecation or despair; 
 And through the strident soughing of the elm. 
 
88 KATIIttlNA. 
 
 I heard her voice still musical in woe, 
 Wailing and calling. 
 
 With a noiseless step 
 I reached the door, and, with a noiseless key, 
 Turned back the bolt, and stood within. I could 
 Have called her to my arms, and quelled her fears 
 By one dear word, and yet, I spoke it not. 
 I longed to learn her secret, and to know 
 In what recess of history or heart 
 It hid, and wrought her awful malady. 
 
 Not long I waited, when I heard her voice 
 Wail out again in wild, beseeching prayer, — 
 Her voice so sweet and soulful, that it seemed 
 As if a listening fiend could not refuse 
 Such help as in him lay, although her tongue 
 Should falter to articulate her pain. 
 
 I heard her voice — O God ! I heard her words ! 
 
 Not bolts of burning from the vengeful sky 
 
 Had scathed or stunned me more. I shook like one 
 
EATHBIMA. 39 
 
 Powerless within the toils of some great sin, 
 
 Or some o'ermastering passion ; or like one 
 
 Whose veins turn ice at onset of the plague. 
 
 " O God," she said, "my Father and my Friend ! 
 
 " Spare him to me, and save me from myself ! 
 
 " ! if thou help me not — if thou forsake — 
 
 "This hand which thou hast made, will take the 
 
 life 
 " Thou madst the hand to feed. I cling to him, 
 " My son, — my boy. If danger come to him, 
 "No one is left to save me from this crime. 
 " Thou knowest, O ! my God, how I have striven 
 " To quench the awful impulse ; how, in vain, 
 '■•My prayers have gone before thee, for release 
 "From the foul demon who would drive my soul 
 " To crime that leaves no space for penitence I 
 " O ! Father ! Father ! Hear me when I call ! 
 " Hast thou not made me ? Am I not thy child ? 
 "Why, why this mad, mysterious desire 
 " To follow him I loved, by the dark door 
 "Through which he forced his passage to the 
 realm 
 
40 KATKBWA. 
 
 " That death throws wide to all ? O why must 1, 
 "A poor, weak woman — " 
 
 I could hear no more, 
 But dropped my dripping cloak, and, with a voice, 
 Toned to its tenderest cadence, I pronounced 
 The sweet word, "mother !" 
 
 Her excess of joy 
 Burst in a cry, and in a moment's space 
 I sat within her room, and she, my child, 
 Was sobbing in my arms. I spoke no word, 
 But sat distracted with my tenderness 
 For her who threw herself upon my heart 
 In perfect trust, and bitter thoughts of Him 
 Whose succor, though importunately sought 
 In piteous pleading's by a gentle saint, 
 Was grudgingly withheld. Her closing words : 
 " O ! why must I, a poor, weak woman — " rang 
 Through every chamber of my tortured soul, 
 And called to conclave and rebellion all 
 The black-browed passions thitherto restrained. 
 
KATHR1NA. 41 
 
 Ay, why should she, who only sought for God 
 Be given to a devil ? Why should she 
 Who begged for bread be answered with a stone ? 
 Ay, why should she whose soul recoiled from sin 
 As from a fiend, find in her heart a fiend 
 To urge the sin she hated ?-— questions all 
 The fiends within me answered as they would. 
 
 God ! O Father ! How I hated thee ! 
 Nay, how within my angry soul I dared 
 To curse thy sacred name ! 
 
 Then other thoughts — 
 Thoughts of myself and of my destiny — 
 Succeeded. Who and what was I *? A youth. 
 Doomed by hereditary taint to crime, — 
 A youth whose every artery and vein 
 Was doubly charged with suicidal blood. 
 When the full consciousness of what I was 
 Possessed my thought, and I gazed down the abyss 
 God had prepared for me, I shrank aghast ; 
 And there in silence, with an awful oath 
 
 1 dare not write, I swore my will was mine, 
 
42 KATHB1NA. 
 
 And mine my hand ; and that, though all the fiends 
 That cumber hell and overrun the earth 
 Should spur the deadly impulse of my blood, 
 And heaven withhold the aid I would not ask ; 
 Though woes unnumbered should beset my life, 
 And reason fall, and uttermost despair 
 Hold me a hopeless prisoner in its glooms, 
 I would resist and conquer, and live out 
 My complement of years. My bosom burned 
 With fierce defiance, and the angry blood 
 Leaped from my heart, and boomed within my 
 
 brain 
 With throbs that stunned me, though each fiery 
 
 thrill 
 Was charged with tenderness for her whose head 
 Was pillowed on its riot. 
 
 Long I sat — 
 How long I know not — but at last the sad, 
 Hysteric sobs and suspirations ceased, 
 Or only at wide intervals recurred ; 
 And then I rose, and to her waiting bed 
 
KATHR1NA. 43 
 
 Led my doomed mother. With a cheerful voice- 
 Cheerful as I could summon — and a kiss, 
 I bade her a good night and pleasant dreams ; 
 And then, across the hall, I sought my room 
 Where neither sleep nor dream awaited me, 
 But only blasphemous, black thoughts, and strife 
 With God and Destiny. 
 
 I saw it all : 
 
 The lamp that from my mother's window beamed, 
 Illumined other nights and other storms, 
 And by its lurid light revealed to me 
 The secrets of a life. Her sudden pangs, 
 Her brooding woes, her terrors when alone, 
 The strange surrender of her will to mine, 
 Her hunger for my presence, and her fear 
 That by some slip of fortune she should lose 
 Her hold on me, were followed to their home — 
 To her poor heart, that fluttered every hour 
 With conscious presence of an enemy 
 That would not be expelled, and strove to spill 
 The life it spoiled. 
 
44 KATHRWA. 
 
 From that eventful niglit 
 She was not left alone. I called a friend, 
 A cheerful lady, whose companionship 
 Was music, medicine and rest ; and she, 
 Wanting a home, and with a ready wit 
 Learning my mother's need and my desire, 
 Assumed the place of matron in the house ; 
 And, in return for what we gave to her, 
 Gave us herself. 
 
 My mother's confidence, 
 By her self-confidence, she quickly won ; 
 And thus, though sadly burdened at my heart, 
 I found one burden lifted from my hands. 
 More liberty of movement and of toil 
 I needed ; for the time was drawing near 
 When I should turn my feet toward other halls, 
 To seek maturer study, and complete 
 The work of culture faithfully begun. 
 
 Into my mother's ear I breathed my plans 
 With careful words. The university 
 
KATHB1NA. 4,5 
 
 Was but a short remove — a morning's walk — 
 Away from her ; and ever at her wish — 
 Nay, always when I could — I would return ; 
 And separation would but sweeten love, 
 And joy of meeting recompense the pain 
 Of parting and of absence. 
 
 She was calm, 
 And leaning in her thought upon her friend, 
 Gave her consent. So, on a summer day, 
 I kissed her faded cheek, and turned from home 
 To seek the college halls that I had seen 
 From boyhood's mount of vision. 
 
 Of the years 
 Passed there in study — of the rivalries, 
 The long, stern struggles for pre-eminence, 
 The triumphs hardly won, but won at last 
 Beyond all cavil, matters not to tell. 
 It was my grief that while I gained and grew, 
 My* mother languished momently, and lost, — 
 A grief that turned to poison in my blood. 
 
46 KATRR1NA. 
 
 The college prayers were mummeries to nie, 
 And with disdainful passion I repelled 
 All Christian questionings of heart and lif e, 
 By old and young. 
 
 I stood, I moved alone. 
 I sought no favors, took no courtesies 
 With grateful grace, and nursed my haughty pride. 
 The men who kneeled and gloomed, and prayed 
 
 and sang, 
 Seemed but a brood of dullards, whom contempt 
 Would honor overmuch. No tender spot 
 Was left within my indurated heart, 
 Save that which moved with ever -melting ruth 
 For her whose breast had nursed me, and whose 
 
 love 
 Had given my life the only happiness 
 It yet had known. 
 
 With her I kept my pledge 
 With more than faithful punctuality. 
 Few weeks passed by in all those busy years 
 
KATHB1NA. 4 
 
 In which I did not walk the way between 
 The college and my home, and bear to her 
 Such consolation as my presence gave. 
 Iu truth, my form was as familiar grown 
 To all the rustic dwellers on the road 
 As I had been a post-boy. 
 
 Little joy 
 These visits won for me — little beyond 
 That which I found in bearing joy to her — 
 For every year marked on her slender frame, 
 And on her cheeks, and on her failing brain. 
 Its record of decadence. I could see 
 That she was sinking into helplessness, 
 And that too soon her inoffensive soul, 
 With all its sweet affections, would go down 
 To hopeless wreck and darkness. 
 
 From her friend 
 I learned that still the burden of her prayer 
 Was, that she might be saved from one great ein- 
 Tke sin of self-destruction. Every hour 
 
48 KATHB1NA. 
 
 This one petition struggled from her heart, 
 To reach the ear of heaven ; yet never help 
 Came clown in answer to her cry. 
 
 The Spring 
 That ushered in my closing college year 
 Came up the valley on her balmy wings, 
 And Winter fled away, and left no trace, 
 Save here and there a snowy drift, to show 
 Where his cold feet had rested in their flight. 
 But one still night, within the span of sleep, 
 A shivering winter cloud that wandered late, 
 Shook to the frosty ground its inch of rime. 
 So, when the morning rose, the earth was white ; 
 And shrubs and trees, and roofs and rocks and 
 
 walls, 
 Fulgent with downy crystals, made a world 
 To which a breath were ruin ; and a breath 
 Wrecked it for me, and, by a few sad words, 
 Blotted the sunlit splendor -from my sight. 
 
 As I looked out upon the scene, and mused 
 
KATHBLNA. 49 
 
 Of her to whom I hoped it might impart 
 Some healthy touch of joy, I heard the beat 
 Of hoofs upon the trackless blank, and saw 
 A horseman speeding up the avenue. 
 I raised my sash, (I knew he came for me,) 
 And faltered forth my question. From his breast 
 He drew a folded slip : dismounting then, 
 He stooped and pressed the missive in a mass 
 Of clinging snow, and tossed it to my hand. 
 I closed the window, burst the frosty seal, 
 And read : "Your mother cannot long survive ; 
 Come home to her to-day. " I did not pause 
 To break the fast of night, but rushing forth, 
 I followed close the messenger's return. 
 
 It was a morning, such as comes but once 
 In all the Spring, — so still and beautiful, 
 So full of promise', so exliilarant 
 With frost and fire, in earth and air, that life 
 Had been a brimming joy but for the scene 
 That waited for my eyes — the scene of death- 
 
50 KATHR1NA. 
 
 From which imagination staggered back, 
 And every sensibility recoiled. 
 
 The smoke from distant sugar-camps rolled up 
 Through the still ether in columnar coils — 
 Blue pillars of a bluer dome — and all 
 The resonant air was full of sounds of Spring. 
 The sheep were bleating round their empty ricks 
 Horses let loose were calling from afar, 
 And winning fierce replies ; the axeman's blows 
 Fell nimbly at the piles which wintry woods 
 Had lent to summer stores ; while far and faint, 
 The rhythmic ululations of the hound 
 On a fresh trail, upon the mountain's side, 
 Added their strange wild music to the morn. 
 
 The beauty and the music caught my sense, 
 But woke within my sick and sinking heart 
 No motion of response. I walked as one 
 Condemned to dungeon-glooms might walk 
 Through shouts of mirth, and festal pageantry, 
 Hearing and seeing all, yet over all 
 
KATHR1NA. 51 
 
 Hearing the clank of chains and clash of bars, 
 And seeing but the reptiles of his cell. 
 
 How I arrived at home, without fatigue, 
 Without a thought of effort — onward borne 
 By one absorbing and impelling thought — 
 As one within a minute's mete may slide, 
 O'er leagues of sunny dreamland in a dream, 
 By magic or by miracle — I found 
 No time to question. 
 
 At my mother's door 
 I stood and listened : soon I heard my name 
 Pronounced within in spiteful whisperings. 
 I raised the latch, and met her burning eyes. 
 She stared a wild, mad stare, then raised herself, 
 And in weak fury poured upon my head 
 The vials of her wrath. I stood like stone, 
 Without the power to speak, the while she rained 
 Her maledictions on me, and in words 
 Fit only for the damned, accused my life 
 Of crimes my language could not name, and deeds 
 Which only outcast wretches know. 
 
52 KATHB1NA. 
 
 At length 
 I gained my tongue, and tried to take her hand ; 
 But with a shriek which cut me like a knife 
 She shrank from me, and hid her quivering face 
 Within her pillow. 
 
 Then I turned away, 
 And sought the room where oft in better days 
 We both had knelt together at my bed, 
 And, making fast my door, I threw myself 
 Prone on the precious couch, and gave to grief 
 My strong and stormy nature. All the day 
 With bursts of passion I bewailed my loss, 
 Or lay benumbed in feeling and in thought, 
 Tasting no food, and shutting out my soul 
 From all approach of human sympathy, 
 Till the light waned, and through the leafless 
 
 boughs 
 Of the old elm I caught the sheen of stars. 
 
 Then sleep descended — such a sleep as comes 
 To uttermost exhaustion, — sleep with dreams 
 

 KATHMWA. 
 
 Wild as the waking fantasies of her 
 
 Whose screams and incoherent words gave voice 
 
 To ah their phantom brood. 
 
 At length I woke. 
 The house was still as death ; and yet I heard, 
 Or thought I heard, the touch of crafty feet 
 Upon the carpet, creeping by my door. 
 It passed away, away ; and then a pause, 
 Still and presageful as the breathless calm 
 On which the storm-cloud mounts the pallid West, 
 Succeeded. I could hear the parlor-clock 
 Counting the beaded silence, and my bed, 
 Rustling beneath my breathing and my pulse, 
 Was sharply crepitant, and gave me pain. 
 
 An hour passed by, (it loitered like an age,) 
 And then came hurried words and hasty fall 
 Of footsteps in the passage. I could hear 
 Screams, sobs, and whispered calls and closing 
 
 doors, 
 And heavy feet that jarred my bed, and shook 
 
54 KATHB1NA. 
 
 The windows of roy room. I did not stir : 
 I dared not stir, but lay in deathly dread, 
 Waiting the dread denouement. Soon it came. 
 A man approached my door, and tried the latch ; 
 Then knocked, and called. I knew the kindly voice 
 Of the physician, and threw back the bolt. 
 Then by the light he held before his face 
 I read the fact of death. 
 
 I took his arm, 
 And, as I feebly staggered down the stairs, 
 He broke to me with lack of useless words 
 The awful truth. . . . The old familiar tale : 
 She counterfeited sleep : the nurses both, 
 Weary with over- watching in then- chairs, 
 Under the cumbrous stillness, slept indeed ; 
 And when she knew it, she escaped ; and then 
 She did the deed to which for many years 
 She had been predisposed. Perhaps I knew 
 The nature of the case : perhaps I knew 
 My father went that way. I clutched his arm : 
 There was no need of words. 
 
— The touch of crafty feet 
 Upon the carpet, creeping by my door. 
 

KATHR1NA. 55 
 
 The parlor door 
 Stood oipen, and a throng of silent friends, 
 Choking with tears, gazed on a silent form 
 Shrouded in snowy linen. They made way 
 For me and my companion. On my knees 
 I clasped the precious clay, and pouring forth 
 My pitying love and tenderness for her, 
 I gave indignant voice to my complaint 
 Against the Being who, to all her prayers, 
 For succor and security, had turned 
 A deaf, dead ear and a repelling hand. 
 
 To what blaspheming utterance I gave 
 My raving passion, may the God I cursed 
 Forbid my shrinking memory to recall ! 
 I now remember only that when drawn 
 By strong, determined hands away from her, 
 The room was vacant. Every pitying friend 
 Had flown my presence and the room, to find 
 Release of sensibility from words 
 That roused their superstitious souls to fear 
 
oQ KA TUBUS A. 
 
 That God would smite me through the blinding 
 
 . ' smoke 
 Of my great torment. 
 
 Silence, for the rest ! 
 It was a dream ; and only as a dream 
 Do I remember it : the coffined form, 
 The funeral — a concourse of the town — 
 The trembling prayer for me, the choking- sobs, 
 The long x^rocession, the descending clods, 
 The slow return, articulated all 
 With wild, mad words of mine, and gentle speech 
 Of those who sought to curb or comfort me — 
 All was a dream, from which I woke at length 
 With heart as dead as hers who slept. The heavens 
 Were brass above me, and the breathing world 
 Was void and meaningless. When told to pray, 
 This was the logic of my heart's reply : 
 If God be Love, not such is he to me 
 Nor such to mine. If He heard not the voice 
 Of such a lovely saint as she I mourned, 
 Mine would but rouse His vengeance. 
 
KATER1NA. 
 
 57 
 
 So I closed 
 With Reason's hand the adamantine doors 
 Which only Faith unlocks, and smit niy sonl 
 Away from God, the warder of a gang 
 Of passions that in darkness stormed or gloomed ; 
 And with each other fought, or on themselves 
 Gnawed foi the nourishment which T denied. 
 
 
V M PLAINT. 
 
 River, sparkling river, I have fault to find with 
 
 thee : 
 River, thou dost never give a word of peace to me ! 
 Dimpling to each touch of sunshine, wimpling to 
 
 each air that blows, 
 Thou dost make no sweet replying to my sighing 
 
 for repose. 
 
 Flowers of mount and meadow, I have fault to find 
 
 with you ; 
 So the breezes cross and toss you, so your cups are 
 
 filled with dew, 
 Matters not though sighs give motion to the ocean 
 
 of your breath ; 
 Matters not though you are filling with the chilling 
 
 drops of death ! 
 
KATHRINA. 59 
 
 Birds of song and beauty, lo ! I charge you all with 
 
 blame : — 
 Though all hapless passions thrill and fill me, you 
 
 are still the same. 
 J can borrow for my sorrow nothing that avails 
 From your lonely note, that only speaks of joy that 
 
 never fails. 
 
 O ! indifference of Nature to the fact of human pain ! 
 Every grief that seeks relief entreats it at her hand 
 
 in vain ; 
 Not a bird speaks forth its passion, not a river seeks 
 
 the sea, 
 Nor a flower from wreaths of Summer breathes in 
 
 sympathy with me. 
 
 O ! the rigid rock is frigid, though its bed be sum- 
 mer mould, 
 
 And the diamond glitters ever in the grasp of 
 changeless gold ; 
 
 And the laws that bring the seasons swing their 
 cycles as they must, 
 
60 KATHBWA. 
 
 Though the ample road they trample blind the 
 eyes with human dust. 
 
 Moons "will wax in argent glory, though man wane 
 
 to hopeless gloom ; 
 Stars will sparkle in their splendor, though he 
 
 darkle to his doom ; 
 Winds of heaven he calls to fan him, ban him with 
 
 an icy chill, 
 And the shifting crowds of clouds go drifting o'er 
 
 him as they will. 
 
 Yet within my inmost spirit I can hear an under- 
 tone, 
 
 That by law of prime relation holds these voices as 
 its own, — 
 
 The full tonic whose harmonic grandeurs rise 
 through Nature's words, 
 
 From the ocean's thundroiis rolling to the trolling 
 of the birds. 
 
 Spirit, O ! my spirit ! Is it thou art out of time ? 
 
KATHR1NA* 61 
 
 Art thou clinging to December while the earth is 
 
 in its June V 
 Hast thou dropx^ed thy part in nature ? Hast thou 
 
 touched another key ? 
 Art thou angry that the anthem will not, cannot, 
 
 wait for thee ? 
 
 Spirit, thou art left alone — alone on waters wild ; 
 For God is gone, and .Love is dead, and Nature 
 
 spurns her child. 
 Thou art drifting in a deluge, waves below and 
 
 clouds above, 
 And with weary wings come back to thee, thy 
 
 raven and thy dove. 
 
PART II. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 As from a deep, dead sea, by drastic lift 
 Of pent volcanic fires, the dripping form 
 Of a new island swells to meet the air, 
 And after months of idle basking, feels 
 The prickly feet of life from countless germs 
 Creeping along its sides, and reaching up 
 In fern and flower to the life-giving sun, 
 So from my grief I rose, and so at length 
 I felt new life returning : so I felt 
 The life already wakened stretching forth 
 To stronger light and purer atmosphere. 
 But most I longed for human love — the source 
 
KATEB1NA. 63 
 
 (So sadly closed,) from which my life had drawn 
 Its sweetest inspiration and reward. 
 I could not pray, nor could my spirit win 
 From sights and sounds of nature the response 
 It vainly yearned for. They assailed my sense 
 With senseless seeming of the hum and whirl 
 Of vast machinery, whose motive power 
 Sought its own ends, or wrought for ministry 
 To other life than mine. 
 
 I could stand still, 
 And see the trains sweep by ; could hear the roar 
 Of thundering wheels ; could watch the pearly 
 
 plumes 
 That floated where they flew ; could catch a glimpse 
 Of thousand happy faces at the glass ; 
 But felt that all their freighted life and wealth 
 Were naught to me, and moved toward other souls 
 In other latitudes. 
 
 A year had flown, 
 And more, when, on a Sunday morn in June, 
 
64 KATHIilNA 
 
 I wandered out to wear away the hours 
 
 Of growing restlessness. The worshipers 
 
 "Were thronging to the service of the day, 
 
 And gave me sidelong stare, or shunned me quite, 
 
 As if they knew me for a reprobate, 
 
 And feared a taint of death. 
 
 I took the road 
 That eastward cleft the town, and sought the bridge 
 That spanned the river, reaching which I crossed. 
 Then deep within the stripes of springing corn 
 I found the shadow of an elm, and lay 
 Stretched on the downy grass for listless hours. 
 Dreaming of days gone by, or turning o'er 
 "With careless hand the pages of a book 
 I had brought with me. 
 
 Tired at length I rose, 
 And, touched by some light impulse, moved along 
 The old familiar road. I loitered on 
 In a blind re very, nor marked the while 
 The furlongs or the time, until the spell 
 
KATRR1NA. 65 
 
 In a fall burst of music was dissolved. 
 
 I startled as one startles from a dream, 
 
 And saw the church of Hadley, from whose doors, 
 
 Opened to summer air, the choral hymn 
 
 Poured out its measured tides, and rose and fell 
 
 Upon the silence in broad cadences, 
 
 As from a far, careering sea, the waves 
 
 Lift into silver swells the sleeping breasts 
 
 Of land-locked bays. 
 
 I heard the sound of flutes, 
 And hoarse, sonorous viols, in accord 
 With happy human voices, — and one voice — 
 A woman's or an angel's — that compelled 
 My feet to swift approach. A thread of gold, 
 Through all the web of sound, I followed it 
 Till, by the stress of some strange sympathy, 
 And by no act of will, I joined my voice 
 To that one voice of melody, and sang. 
 
 The heart is wiser than the intellect, 
 
 And works with swifter hands and surer feet 
 
66 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Toward wise conclusions. So, without resort 
 To reason, in my heart I knew that she 
 Who sang had suffered — knew that she had grieved, 
 Had hungered, struggled, kissed the cheek of death, 
 And ranged the scale of passions till her soul 
 Was deep, and wide, and soft with sympathy ; — ■ 
 Nay, more than this : that she had found at last 
 Peace like a river, on whose waveless tide 
 She floated while she sang. This was the key 
 That loosed my prisoned voice, and filled my eyes 
 With tender tears, and touched to life again 
 My better nature. 
 
 When the choral closed, 
 And the last chord in silence lapsed away, 
 I raised my eyes, and, nodding to the beck 
 Of the old, slippered sexton, I went in, — 
 Not (shall it be confessed ?) to find the God 
 At whose plain altar bowed the rural throng ; 
 But, through a voice, to follow to its source 
 The influence that moved me. 
 
 
KATHB1NA. 67 
 
 I was late ; 
 And many eyes looked up as I advanced 
 Through the broad aisle, and took a seat that turned 
 My face to all the faces in the house. 
 I scanned the simpering girls within the choir, 
 But found not what I sought ; and then my eyes 
 With rambling inquisition swept the pews, 
 Pausing at every maiden face in vain. 
 One head, that crowned a tall and slender form, 
 Was bowed with reverent grace upon the rail 
 Before her ; and, although I caught no glimpse 
 Of her sweet face, I knew such face was there,. 
 And there the voice. 
 
 It was Communion Day. 
 The simple table underneath the desk 
 Was draped with h'nen, on whose snow was spread 
 The feast of love — the vases filled with wine, 
 The separated bread and circling cups. 
 The venerable pastor had come down 
 From his high pulpit, and assumed the seat 
 Of presidence, and, with benignant eyes, 
 
68 KATRR1NA. 
 
 Sat smiling on his flock. The deacons all 
 
 Rose from their pews — four old, brown-handed 
 
 men, 
 With frosty hair — and took the ancient chairs 
 That flanked the table. All the house was still. 
 Save here and there the rustle of a silk 
 Or folding of a fan ; and over all 
 Brooded the dove of peace. I had no part 
 In the fair spectacle, but I could feel 
 That it was beautiful and sweet as heaven. 
 
 When the old pastor rose, with solemn mien, 
 
 I looked to see the lady lift her head ; 
 
 But still she bowed ; and then I heard these words: 
 
 ' ' The person who unites with us to-day 
 
 ' ' Will take her place before me in the aisle, 
 
 ' ' To give her answer to our creed, and speak 
 
 " The pledges of our covenant." 
 
 Then first 
 I saw her face. With modest grace she rose, 
 Lifted her hat, and gave it to the hand 
 
KATHR1NA. 69 
 
 Of a companion, and within the aisle 
 
 Stood out alone. My heart beat thick and fast 
 
 With vision of her perfect loveliness, 
 
 And apprehension of the heroism 
 
 That shone within her eyes, and made her act 
 
 A Christ-like sacrifice. 
 
 O ! eyes of blue ! 
 O ! lily throat and cheeks of faintest rose ! 
 O ! brow serene, enthroned in holy thought ! 
 O ! soft, brown sweeps of hair ! O ! shapely grace 
 Of maidenhood, enrobed in virgin white ! 
 Why, in your rapt unconsciousness of me 
 And all around you — in the presence-hall 
 Of God and angels — at the marriage-feast 
 Of Jesus and his chosen — did my eyes 
 Profane the hour with other feast than yours ? 
 
 I heard the "You Believe " of the old creed 
 Of Puritan New England ; and I heard 
 The old "You Promise " of its covenant. 
 Her bow of reverent assent to all 
 
70 KATHPdNA. 
 
 The knotty dogmas, and her silent pledge 
 Of faithfulness and fellowship, I saw. 
 These formularies were the frame of oak — 
 Gnarled, strongly carved, and swart with age and 
 
 use — 
 Which held the lovely picture of my saint, 
 And showed her sahitliness and beauty well. 
 
 At close of the recital and response, 
 
 The pastor raised the plain, baptismal bowl, 
 
 And she, the maiden devotee, advanced 
 
 And knelt before him. Lifting then her eyes 
 
 To him and heaven, with look of earnest faith 
 
 And perfect consecration, she received 
 
 Upon her brow the water from his hand. 
 
 The trickling chrism shone on her cheeks like tears, 
 
 The while he joined her lovely name with God's : 
 
 " kathrina, i baptize thee in the name 
 
 " Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen !" 
 
 Still kneeling like a saint before a shrine, 
 
 
Still kneeling like a Saint. 
 
KATHR1NA. 71 
 
 She closed her eyes. Then lifting up toward heaven 
 His hands, the pastor prayed, — prayed that her sou] 
 Might be forever kept from stain and sin ; 
 That Christ might live in her, and through her life 
 Shine into other souls ; might give her strength 
 To master all temptation, and to keep 
 The vows that day assumed ; might comfort her 
 In every sorrow, and, in death's dread hour, 
 Bear her in hopeful triumph to the rest 
 Prepared for those who love him. 
 
 All this scene 
 I saw through blinding tears. The poetry 
 That like a soft aureola embraced 
 Within its cope those two contrasted forms ; 
 The eager observation and the hush 
 That reigned through all the house ; the breathless 
 
 spell 
 Of sweet solemnity and tender awe 
 Which held all hearts, when she, The Beautiful, 
 Received the sign of marriage to The Good, 
 O'erwhehned me, and I wept. Shall I confess 
 
72 KATHR1NA. 
 
 That in the struggle to repress my tears 
 And hold my swelling heart, I grudged her gift. 
 And felt that, by the measure she had risen, 
 She had put space between herself and me, 
 And quenched my hope ? 
 
 She stood while courtesy 
 Of formal Christian welcome was bestowed ; 
 Then straightway sought her seat, as though no eyes 
 But those of One unseen observed her steps. 
 I saw her taste the sacramental bread, 
 And touch the silver chalice to her lips ; 
 And while she thought of Him, the Spotless One 
 Whose flesh and blood were symbolled to her heart, 
 And worshiped in her thought, I ate and drank 
 Her virgin beauty — with what guilty sense 
 Of profanation ! 
 
 Last, the closing hymn 
 Gave me her voice again ; and this I drank ; 
 Nay, this invaded and pervaded me. 
 fts subtile search found out the sleeping chords 
 
KATER1NA. 73 
 
 Of sympathy ; and on the bridge of sound 
 It built between our souls, I crossed, and saw 
 Into the depths of purity and love — 
 The full, pathetic power of womanhood — 
 From which the structure sprang. Just once 
 I caught her eyes. She blushed with consciousness 
 Of my strong gaze ; but paused not in her hymn 
 Till she had given to every word the wings 
 That bore it, like a singing bird, toward heaven. 
 
 The benediction fell ; and then the throng 
 
 Passed slowly out. I was the last to go. 
 
 I saw a man whom I had known, and shrank 
 
 Both from his greetings and his questionings. 
 
 One thing I learned : that she who thus had joined 
 
 This cluster of disciples was not born 
 
 And reared among their number : that was plain. 
 
 I saw it in her bearing and her dress ; 
 
 In that unconsciousness of self that comes 
 
 Of gentle breeding, and society 
 
 Of gentle men and women ; in the ease 
 
 With which she bore the awkward deference 
 
74 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Of those who spoke with her adown the aisle ; 
 In distant and admiring gaze of men. 
 And the cold scrutiny of village girls 
 Who passed for belles. 
 
 I stood upon the steps — 
 The last who left the door — and there I found 
 The lady and her friend. The elder turned, 
 And with a cordial greeting took my hand, 
 And rallied me on my forgetf ulness. 
 Her eyes, her smile, her manner and her voice 
 Touched the quick springs of memory, and I spoke 
 Her name. 
 
 She was my mother's early friend, 
 Whose face I had not seen in all the years 
 That had flown over us, since, from her door, 
 I chased her lamb to where I found — myself. 
 She spoke with tender words and swimming eyes 
 Of her I mourned, and questioned me like one 
 Who felt a mother's anxious interest 
 In all my cares and plans. Why did I not 
 
KATHR1NA. 75 
 
 In all my lnaunderings and wanderings 
 
 Remember I had friends, and visit them — 
 
 Not missing her ? Her niece was with her now ; 
 
 Would live with her, perhaps — ("a lovely girl !"— 
 
 In whisper ;) and they both would so much like 
 
 To see me at their house ! (whisper again : 
 
 " Poor child ! I fear it is but dull for her, 
 
 Here in the country. ") Then with sudden thought— 
 
 "Kathrina !" 
 
 With a blushing smile she turned, 
 (She had heard every word,) and then her aunt— 
 Her voluble, dear aunt — presented me 
 As an old friend — the son of an old friend — 
 Whose eyes had promised he would visit them. 
 Although, in her monopoly of speech, 
 She had quite shut him from the chance to say 
 So much as that. 
 
 I caught the period 
 Quick as it dropped, and spoke the happiness 
 I had in meeting them, and gave the pledge — 
 
76 KATHR1NA. 
 
 No costly thing to give — to end my walks 
 On pleasant nightfalls at the little house 
 Under the mountain. 
 
 I had spoken more, 
 But then the carriage, with its single horse, 
 For which they waited, rattled to the steps, 
 And we descended. To their lofty seats 
 I helped the pair, and in my own I held 
 For one sweet moment, hand of all the hands 
 In the wide world I longed to clasp the most. 
 A plain '-Good Evening Sir," was all I won 
 From its possessor ; but her lively aunt 
 With playful menace shook her fan at me, 
 And said : "Eemember, Paul !" and rode away. 
 
 " A worldly woman, Sir !" growled a gram throat. 
 I turned and saw the sexton. Query : " Which ?" 
 "I mean the aunt." . . . "And what about 
 
 the niece ?" 
 "Too fine for common people !" (with a shrug.) 
 " I think she is," I said, with quiet voice, 
 
KATHR1NA. 77 
 
 And turned my feet toward home. 
 
 A pious girl ! 
 And what could I Toe to a pious girl ? 
 What could she be to me ? Weak questions, these, 
 And vain, perhaps ; but such as young men ask 
 On slighter spur than mine. 
 
 She had bestowed 
 Her love, her life, her goodly self on Heaven, 
 And had been nobly earnest in her gift. 
 Before all lovers she had chosen Christ ; 
 Before all idols, God ; before all wish 
 And will of loving man, her heart and hand 
 Were pledged to duty. Could she be a wife ? 
 Could she be mine, with such unstinted wealth 
 Of love, and love's devotion, as I craved ? 
 Would she not leave me for a Sunday School 
 Before the first moon's wane ? Would she not seels 
 The cant and snuffle of conventicles 
 "At early candle-light," and sing her hymns 
 To driveling boors, and cheat me of her songs ? 
 
78 KATBRlliA. 
 
 Would she exhaust herself in " doing good " 
 
 After the modern styles — in patching quilts, 
 
 And knitting socks, and bearing feeble tracts 
 
 To dirty little children — not to speak 
 
 Of larger work for missionary folk ? 
 
 Would there not come a time (O ! fateful time !) 
 
 When Dorcas and her host would fill my house, 
 
 And I by courtesy be held at home 
 
 To entertain their twaddle, and to smile, 
 
 While in God's name and lovely Charity's 
 
 They would consume my substance ? Would she 
 
 not 
 Become the stern and stately president 
 Of some society, or figure in the list 
 Of sliro. directresses in sr>ectacles ? 
 
 So much for questions : then reflections came. 
 These pious women make more careful wives 
 Than giddy ones. They do not run away, 
 Though, doubtless, husbands live whose heaits 
 
 would heal, 
 Broken by such a blow ! The time they give 
 
KATHR1NA. 79 
 
 To worship and to pious offices 
 Defrauds the mirror mainly ; and the gold 
 That goes for charity goes not for gems. 
 
 Besides, these pious and beheving wives 
 
 Make gentle mothers, who, with self-control 
 
 And patient firmness, train their children well— 
 
 A fact to be remembered. But, alas ! 
 
 They train their husbands, too, and undertake 
 
 A mission to their souls, so gently pushed, 
 
 So tenderly, they may not take offence, 
 
 Or punish with rebuff ; and yet, dear hearts ! 
 
 With such persistence, that they reach the raw 
 
 Before they know it ; so it comes to tears 
 
 At last, with comfort in an upper room. 
 
 But then — a seal is sacred to them, and a purse 
 
 Or pocket-book, though in a dressing-room 
 
 With shutters and a key ! 
 
 Thus wrapped in thought 
 And selfish calculation of the claims 
 Of one my peer, or my superior, 
 
80 KATHMINA. 
 
 In every personal and moral grace, 
 I walked along, till, on my consciousness, 
 Flashed the absurdity of my conceits 
 And my assumptions, and I laughed outright — 
 Laughed at myself, so loudly and so long- 
 That I was startled. Not for many months 
 Had sound of mirth escaped me ; and my voice 
 Eang strangely in my ears, as if the lips 
 Of one long dead had spoken. 
 
 I received 
 The token of returning healthfulness 
 With warm self-gratulation. I had touched 
 The magic hand that held new life for me ; 
 The cloud was lifted, and the burden gone. 
 The leaf within my book of fate, that gloomed 
 With awful records, washed and blotched by tears- 
 Blown by a woman's breath from finger-tips 
 That knew not what they did — was folded back ; 
 And all the next white page held but one word— 
 One word of gold and flame — its title-crown, 
 
KATHR1NA. 81 
 
 That wrought a rosy nimbus for itself ; 
 And that one word was love. 
 
 The laggard days 
 My pride or my propriety imposed 
 Upon desire, before my eyes could see 
 The object of my new-born passion, passed * 
 And in the low hours of an afternoon, 
 Bright with the largess of a kingly shower 
 Whose chariot- wheels still thundered in the East. 
 Leaving the West aflame, I sought the meads, 
 And once again, thrilled by fore-tasted joy, 
 Walked toward the mountain. 
 
 While I walked, the rain 
 Fell like a veil of gauze between my eyes 
 And the blue wall ; and from the precious spot 
 That held the object of my thought, there sprang 
 An iridal effulgence, faint at first, 
 But brightening fast, and leaping to an arch 
 That spanned the heavens- -a miracle of light ! 
 
82 KATHBINA. 
 
 %l There's treasure where the rainbow rests," I said. 
 
 Would it evade me, as, for years untold, 
 
 It had evaded every childish dupe 
 
 Whose feet had chased the bright, elusive cheat ? 
 
 Would it evade me ? Question that arose, 
 
 And loomed with darker front and huger form 
 
 Than the dark mountain, and more darkly loomed 
 
 And higher rose as the long path grew short ! 
 
 Would it evade me ? Like a passing smile 
 
 The rainbow faded from the mountain's face ; 
 
 And Hope's resplendent iris, which illumed 
 
 My question grew phantasmal, and at length 
 
 Evanished, leaving but a doubtful blur. 
 
 Would it evade me ? Gods I what wealth or waste 
 
 Of precious life awaited the reply ! 
 
 Was it a coward's shudder that o'erswept 
 
 My frame at thought of possible repulse 
 
 And possible relapse ? 
 
 " Oh ! there he comes !" 
 I heard the mistress of the cottage say 
 Behind a honeysuckle. Did I smile ? 
 
KATHB1NA. 83 
 
 It was because the fancy crossed me then 
 That the announcement was like one which rings 
 Over the polar seas, when, from his perch, 
 The lookout bruits a long-expected whale ! 
 Then sweeping the piazza from the spot 
 Where with her niece she sat, she hailed me with : 
 " So you are come at last ! How very sad 
 These men have so much business ! Tell me how 
 You got away ; how soon you must return ; 
 Who suffers by your absence ; what the news, 
 And whether you are well ?" 
 
 Brisk medicine 
 These words to me, and timely given. They broke 
 The spell of fear, and banished my restraint. 
 She took my arm, and led me to her niece, 
 Who greeted me as if some special grace 
 Of courtesy were due, to make amends 
 For the familiar badinage her aunt 
 Had poured upon me. 
 
 They had come without — 
 One with her work, the other with her book — 
 
84 KATHRINA. 
 
 To taste the freshness of the evening- air, 
 Washed of the hot day's dust by rain ; to hear 
 The robin's hymn of joy ; and watch the clouds 
 That canopied with gold the sinking sun. 
 The maiden in a pale blue muslin robe — 
 Dyed with forget-me-nots, I fancied then, 
 And sweet with life in every fold, I knew — 
 A blush-rose at her throat, and in her hair 
 A sprig of green and white, was lovelier 
 Than sky or landscape ; and her low words ie.l 
 More musically than the robin's hymn. 
 So, with my back to other scene and sound, 
 I faced the faces, took the proffered chair, 
 And looked and listened. 
 
 " Tell us of yourself," 
 Spoke the blunt aunt, with license of her years. 
 " What are you doing now ?" 
 
 "Nothing," I said. 
 
 " And were you not the boy who was to grow 
 
KATHB1JSA. 85 
 
 Into a great, good man, and write fine books, 
 And have no end of fame ?" 
 
 The question cut 
 Deeper than she intended. The hot blush 
 -ind stammering answer told her of the hurt, 
 And tenderly she tried to heal the wound : 
 ' ' I know that you have suffered ; but your hours 
 Must not be told by tears. The life that goes 
 In unavailing sorrow goes to waste. " 
 
 " True," I replied, " but work may not be done 
 Without a motive. Never worthy man 
 Worked worthily who was not moved by love. 
 When she I loved, and she who loved me died, 
 My motive died ; and it can never rise 
 Till trump of love shaU call it from the dust 
 To resurrection." 
 
 I spoke earnestly, 
 Without a thought that other ears than hers 
 Were listening to my words ; but when I looked, 
 
86 KATHR1XA. 
 
 I saw the maiden's eyes were dim with tears. 
 I knew her own experience was touched, 
 And that her heart made answer to my own 
 In perfect sympathy. 
 
 To change the drift, 
 I took her book, and read the title-page : 
 " So you like poetry," I said. 
 
 "So well my aunt 
 Finds fault with me." 
 
 " You write, perhaps ? 5 ' 
 
 "Not I." 
 
 " A happy woman !" I exclaimed ; "in truth, 
 The first I ever found affecting art 
 Who shunned expression by it. If a girl 
 Like painting, she must paint ; if poetry, 
 She must write verses. Can you tell me why 
 [For sex marks no distinction in this thing,) 
 
KATHRWA. 87 
 
 Men with a taste for art in finest forms 
 
 Cherish the fancy that they may become, 
 
 Or are, Art's masters ? You shall see a man 
 
 Who never drew a line or struck an arc 
 
 Direct an architect, and spoil his work, 
 
 Because, forsooth ! he likes a tasteful house ! 
 
 He likes a muffin, but he does not go 
 
 Into his kitchen to instruct his cook, — ■ 
 
 Nay, that were insult. He admires fine clothes, 
 
 But trusts his tailor. Only in those arts 
 
 Which issue from creative potencies 
 
 Does his conceit engage him. He could learn 
 
 The baker's trade, and learn -to cut a coat, 
 
 But never learn to do that one great deed 
 
 Which he essays.''' 
 
 " 'Tis not a strange mistake 
 These people make " — she answered, thoughtfully. 
 " Art gives them pleasure ; and they honor those 
 Whose heads and hands produce it. If they see 
 The length and breadth and beauty of a thought 
 Embodied by another,- -if they hold 
 
88 KATHRIKA. 
 
 The taste, the culture, the capacity, 
 To measure values in the things of art, 
 Why cannot they create ? Why cannot they 
 Win to themselves the honor they bestow 
 On those who feed them ? Is it very strange 
 That those who know how sweet the gratitude 
 Which the true artist stirs, should burn to taste 
 That gratitude themselves ?" 
 
 " Not strange, perhaps," 
 I said, ' ' and yet it is a sad mistake ; 
 For countless noble lives have gone to waste 
 In work which it inspired." 
 
 Here spoke the aunt : 
 ' ' You are a precious pair ; and if you know 
 What you are talking of, you know a deal 
 More than your elders. By your royal leave, 
 I will retire ; for I can lay the cloth 
 For kings and queens, though I may fail to know 
 Their lore and language. You can eat, I think ; 
 And hear a tea-bell, though you hear not me." 
 
KATHRINA. 89 
 
 Thus speaking in her crisp, good-natured way, 
 The lady left us. 
 
 When she passed the door. 
 And laughter at her jest had had its way, 
 I said : "It takes all sorts to make a world." 
 
 "How many, think you ? Only one, two, three," 
 The maiden said. ' ' Here we have all the world 
 In this one cottage — artist, teacher, taught, 
 In — not to mar the order of the scale 
 For courtesy — yourself, myself, my aunt. 
 You are an artist, so my aunt reports ; 
 But, as an artist, you are naught to her. 
 And now, to broach a petted theory, 
 Let me presume too boldly, while I say 
 She cannot understand you, though I can ; 
 You cannot measure her, though she is wise. 
 You have not much for her, and that you have 
 You Cannot teach her ; but I, knowing her, 
 Can pick from your creations crumbs of thought 
 She will find manna. In the hands of Christ 
 The five loaves gr?w, the fishes multiplied ; 
 
90 KATRRINA. 
 
 And He to his disciples gave the feast — 
 They to the multitude. Artists are few, 
 Teachers are thousands, and the world is large. 
 Artists are nearest God. Into their souls 
 He breathes his life, and from their hands it comes 
 In fair, articulate forms to bless the world ; 
 And yet, these forms may never bless ihe world 
 Except its teachers take them in their hands, 
 And give each man his portion." 
 
 As she spoke 
 In earnest eloquence, I could have knelt, 
 And worshiped her. Her delicate cheek was 
 
 flushed, 
 Her eyes were filled with light, and her closed book 
 Was pressed against her heart, whose throbbing 
 
 tide 
 Thridded her temples. I was half amused, 
 Half rapt in admiration ; and she saw 
 That in my eyes at which she blushed and paused. 
 "Your pardon, Sir," she said. " It ill becomes 
 A teacher to instruct an artist. " 
 
KATHR1NA. 91 
 
 "Nay, 
 It does become you wondrously," I said, 
 With light but earnest words. " Pray you go on ; 
 And pardon all that my unconscious eyes 
 Have done to stop you. " 
 
 "I have little more 
 That I would care to say : you have my thought, " 
 She answered ; "yet there's very much to say, 
 And you should say it." 
 
 "Not I, lady, no : 
 A poet is not practical like you, 
 Nor sensible like you. You can teach him 
 As well as tamer folk. In truth, I think 
 He needs instruction quite as much as they 
 For whom lie writes." 
 
 "That's possible," she said, 
 With an arch smile. 
 
 "Will you explain yourself ?" 
 
92 KATHBWA. 
 
 " Well—if you wish it — yes :" she made reply. 
 "And first, my auditor must know that I 
 Believe in inspiration, though he knows 
 Bo much as that already, from my words, — 
 Believe that God inspires the poet's soul,— 
 That He gives eyes to see, and ears to hear 
 What in his realm holds finest ministry 
 For highest aptitudes and needs of men, 
 And skill to mould it into forms of art 
 Which shall present it to the world he serves. 
 Sometimes the poet writes with fire ; with blood 
 Sometimes ; sometimes with blackest ink : 
 It matters not. God finds his mighty way 
 Into his verse. The dimmest window-panes 
 Let in the morning fight, and in that fight 
 Our faces shine with kindled sense of God 
 And his unwearied goodness ; but the glass 
 Gets little good of it ; nay, it retains 
 Its chill and grime beyond the power of light 
 To warm or whiten. E'en the prophet's ass 
 Had better eyes than he who strode his back, 
 And, though the prophet bore the word of God, 
 
KAT&BWA. 93 
 
 Did finer reverence. The Psalmist's soul, 
 
 Was not a fitting place for psalms like his 
 
 * 
 To dwell in over-long, while waiting words, 
 
 If I read rightly. As for the old seers, 
 
 Whose eyes God touched with vision of the life 
 
 Of the unfolding ages, I must doubt 
 
 Whether they comprehended what they saw, 
 
 Or knew what they recorded. It remains 
 
 For the world's teachers to expound their words ; 
 
 To probe their mysteries ; and relegate 
 
 The truth they hold in blind significance 
 
 Into the fair domains of history 
 
 And human knowledge. Am I understood ?" 
 
 " You are," I answered ; " and I cannot say 
 You flatter me. God takes within his hand 
 A thing of his contrivance which we call 
 A poet ; then He puts it to his lips, 
 And speaks his word, and puts it down again — 
 The instrument not better and not worse 
 For being handled ; — not improved a whit 
 In quality, by quality of that 
 
94 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Which it conveys. Do I report aright ? 
 Or do you prompt me?" 
 
 "You are very apt," 
 She said, '* at learning, but a little bald 
 In statement. Nathless, be it as you say ; 
 And we shall see how it is possible 
 That poets need instruction quite as much 
 As those for whom they write. What sad, bad 
 
 men 
 The brightest geniuses have been ! How weak. 
 How mean in character ! how foul in life ! 
 How feebly have the best of them retained 
 The wealth of good and beauty which has flowed 
 In crystal streams from God, the fountain-head, 
 Through them to fertilize the world ! Nay, worse: 
 How many of them have infused the tide 
 With tincture of their own impurity, 
 To poison sweetest, unsuspecting lips, 
 And breed diseases in the finest blood ! 
 And poets not alone, and not the worst ; 
 But painters, sculptors — those whose kingly power 
 
KATHR1NA. 95 
 
 And aptitude for utterance divine 
 
 Have made them artists : — how have these con- 
 temned 
 
 In countless instances the God of Heaven 
 
 Who filled them with his fire ! Think you that 
 these 
 
 Could compass their achievements of themselves ? 
 
 Can streams surpass their fountains ?" 
 
 "Nay," I said, 
 In quick response. ' ' Your argument is good ; 
 But is the artist nothing ? Is he naught 
 But an apt tool — a mouth-piece for a voice ? 
 You make him but the spigot of a cask 
 Round which you, teachers, wait with silver cups 
 To bear away the wine that leaves it dry. 
 You magnify your office." 
 
 < 'We do all 
 Wait upon God for every grace and good," 
 She then rejoined. "You take it at first hands, 
 And we from yours : the multitude from ours. 
 
96 KATHRWA.. 
 
 It may leach through our souls, if our poor wills 
 Retain it not, and drench the fragrant sand. 
 And if I magnify my office — well ! 
 Tis a great office. What would come of all 
 The music of the masters, did not we 
 Wait at their doors, to publish to the world 
 What God has told them ? They would be as 
 
 mute 
 As the dumb Sphinx. They write a symphony, 
 An opera, an oratorio, 
 In language that the teacher understands, 
 And straight the whole world echoes to its strains. 
 It shrills and thunders through cathedral glooms 
 From golden organ-tubes and voiceful choirs ; 
 The halls of art of both the hemispheres 
 Resound with its divinest melodies ; 
 The street stirs with the impulse, and we hear 
 The blare of martial trumpets, and the tramp 
 Of bannered armies swaying to its rhythm ; 
 The hurdy-gurdies and the whistling boys 
 Adopt the lighter strains : and round and round 
 A million souls its hovering fancies float, 
 
KATUR1NA. 97 
 
 Like butterflies above a fair parterre, 
 
 Till, settling one by one, they sleep at last ; 
 
 And lo ! two petals more on every flower ! 
 
 And tins not all ; for though, the master die, 
 
 The teacher lives forever. On and on, 
 
 Through all the generations, he shall preach 
 
 The beautiful evangel ; — on and on, 
 
 Till our poor race has passed the tortuous years 
 
 That lie prevening the millennium, 
 
 And slide into that broad and open sea, 
 
 He shall sail, singing still the songs he learned 
 
 In the world's youth, and sing them o'er and o'er 
 
 To lapping waters, till the thousand leagues 
 
 Are overpast, and argosy and crew 
 
 Bide at their port." 
 
 " True as to facts," I said ; 
 "And as to prophecies, most credible ; 
 But, as an illustration, false, I think. 
 That which the voice and instrument may do 
 For the composer, types may do for those 
 Who mint their thoughts in verse. Music is writ 
 
98 KATHR1NA, 
 
 In language that the people do not read — 
 
 Is lame in that- -and needs interpreters ; 
 
 While poetry, e'en in its noblest forms 
 
 And boldest flights, speaks their vernacular. 
 
 Your aunt can read the book within your hand 
 
 As well as you, if she desires, yet finds 
 
 Your score all Greek, until you vocalize 
 
 Its wealth of hidden meaning. As for arts 
 
 Which meet the eye in picture and in form, 
 
 They ask no mediator but the light — 
 
 No grace but privilege to shine with naught 
 
 Between them and the light. They are themselves 
 
 Expositors of that which they expose, 
 
 Or they are nothing. All the middle-men — 
 
 The fools profound — who take it on their tongues 
 
 To play the showmen, strutting up and down, 
 
 And mouthing of the beauty that they hide, 
 
 Are an impertinence." 
 
 * ' You leave no room 
 For critics," she suggested, with a smile. 
 
KATHRLNA. 99 
 
 " We must not spoil a trade, or starve the wives 
 And innocent babes it feeds." 
 
 "No care for them !" 
 I made reply. " They do not need much room — 
 Men of their build — and what they need they take 
 The feeble conies burrow in the rocks ; 
 But the trees grow, and we are not aware 
 Of space encumbered by them." 
 
 "Yet the fact 
 Still stands untouched," she added, thoughtfully, 
 " That greatest artists speak to fewest souls, 
 Or speak to them directly. They have need 
 Of no such ministry as waits the beck 
 Of the composer ; but they need the life, 
 If not the learning, of the cultured few 
 Who understand them. If from out my book 
 I gather that which feeds me, and inspires 
 A nobler, sweeter beauty in my life, 
 And give my life to those who cannot win 
 From the dim text such boon, then have I borne 
 
100 KATHItlNA. 
 
 A blessing from the book, and been its best 
 Interpreter. The bread that comes from heaven 
 Needs finest breaking. Some there doubtless are- 
 Some ready souls — that take the morsel pure 
 Divided to their need ; but multitudes 
 Must have it in admixtures, menstruums, 
 And forms that human hands or human life 
 Have moulded. Though the multitudes may find 
 Something to stir and lift their sluggish souls 
 In sight of great cathedrals, or in view 
 Of noble pictures, yet they see not all, 
 And not the best. That which they do not see 
 Must enter higher souls, and there, by art 
 Or life, be fashioned to their want." 
 
 "Your thought 
 Grows subtle," I responded, " and I grant 
 Its force and beauty. If the round truth lie 
 Somewhere between us, and I see the face 
 It turns to me in stronger light than you 
 Reveal its opposite, why, let the fault be mine 
 
KATHR1NA. 101 
 
 It is not yours. You have instructed me, 
 And won my thanks." 
 
 •' Instructed you ?" she said, 
 With a fine blush : "you mock, you humble me. 
 And have I talked so much, with such an air, 
 That, either earnestly or in a jest, 
 You can say this to me ?" 
 
 " 'Tis not a sin, 
 In latitude of ours," I made reply, 
 " To talk philosophy ; 'tis only rare 
 For beardless lips to do so. I have caught 
 From yours a finer, more suggestive scheme 
 Than all the wise have taught me by their books, 
 Or by their voices. I will think of it. " 
 
 "Now may you be forgiven !" the aunt exclaimed, 
 Approaching unobserved. " There never lived 
 A quieter, more plainly speaking girl 
 Than my Kathrina. All these weeks and months, 
 I have heard naught from her but common sense ; 
 
102 KATHR1NA. 
 
 But when you came, why, off she went ; though 
 
 where 
 It's more than I know. You, sir, have the blame ; 
 And you must lift your spell, and give her back 
 Just as you found her." 
 
 " She has practised well 
 Her scheme on us. She breaks to you the bread 
 That meets your want ; to me, that meets my 
 
 own," 
 I said, in answering. 
 
 "Well," spoke the aunt, 
 "I think I'll try my hand at breaking bread : 
 So follow me." 
 
 We followed to her board, 
 And there, in converse suited to the hour 
 And presence of our hostess, proved ourselves — 
 Quite to that lady's liking — of the earth. 
 We ate her jumbles for her, sipped her tea, 
 And revelled in the spicy succulence 
 Of her preserves. 
 
KATHR1NA. 103 
 
 While still I sat at ease, 
 The maiden's eye, with quick, uneasy glance, 
 Sought the clock's dial. Then she turned to me, 
 And said, with sweet, respectful courtesy : 
 ' ' Pray you excuse my presence for an hour. 
 A duty calls me out ; and that performed, 
 I will return." 
 
 I saw she marked my look 
 Of disappointment — that it staggered her — 
 The while with words of stiffest commonplace 
 I gave assent. But she was on her feet ; 
 And soon I heard her light step on the stair, 
 Seeking her chamber. 
 
 " Whither will she go 
 At such an hour as this, from you and me ?" 
 I coldly questioned of the keen-eyed aunt. 
 "You men are very curious," she said. 
 " I knew you'd ask me. Can't a lady stir, 
 But you must call her to account ? Who knows 
 She may not have some rustic lover here 
 With whom she keeps her tryst ? 'Tis an old trick, 
 
104 KATHRLNA 
 
 Not wholly out of fashion in these parts. 
 What matters it ? She orders her own ways, 
 And has discretion. " 
 
 With lugubrious voice 
 I said : " You trine, madam, with my wish. 
 I know the lady has no lover here, 
 And so do you." 
 
 " I am not sure of that !" 
 My hostess made response ; and then she laughed 
 A rippling, rollicking roulade, and shook 
 Her finger at me, till my temples burned 
 With the hot shame she summoned. 
 
 "There!" I said ; 
 " You've done your worst, and learned so much, at 
 
 least — 
 That I admire your niece, I curious ! 
 Well, you are curious and cunning too. 
 Now, in the moment of your victory, 
 Be generous ; and tell me what may call 
 The lady from us." 
 
KATHB1NA. 105 
 
 "It is Thursday night," 
 She answered soberly, — " the weekly hour 
 At which our quiet neighborhood convenes 
 For social worship. You may guess the rest 
 Without my telling ; but you cannot know 
 With wliat anticipated joy sne leaves 
 Our company, or with what shining face 
 She will return. " 
 
 At that I heard her dress 
 Sliding the flight, and rising, made my way 
 To meet her at its foot. A happy smile 
 Illumed her features, as she gave her hand 
 With thought of parting. I had rallied, all 
 My self-control and gallantry meanwhile, 
 And said: "Not here. I'll with you, by your 
 
 leave, 
 So far as you may walk. " 
 
 There was a flash 
 Of gladness in her eyes, and in her thanks 
 A subtler charm than gratitude. 
 
 
106 KATHR1NA. 
 
 I bade 
 My hostess a "good-night," and left her door, 
 Declining her entreaty to return. 
 We talked in silence, side by side, a space, 
 And then, with feigned indifference, I spoke : 
 "Your aunt has told me of your errand ; else 
 It had been modest in me to withhold 
 This tendance on your steps. She tells me you 
 Are quite a devotee. Whom do you meet, 
 In neighborhood like this, to give a zest 
 To hour like this ?" 
 
 " Brothers and sisters all," 
 She said in low reply ; ' ' and as for zest, 
 There's never lack of it where there is love. 
 When families convene, they have no need 
 Of more than love to give them festal joy ; 
 Nor do they with discrimination judge 
 Between the high and humble. These are one ; 
 Love makes them one." 
 
 " And you are one with these ?" 
 
KATHRWA. 107 
 
 " Though most unworthy of such fellowship, 
 I trust that I am one with these ; — that they 
 Are one with me, and reckon me among 
 Their number." 
 
 " Can they do you any good T 
 
 " They can," she said ; " but were it otherwise, 
 I can serve them ; and so should seek them stilL 
 I help them in their songs." 
 
 "We reached too soon 
 The open doorway of the humble hut 
 Which, for long years, had held the village school, 
 And, at a little distance, paused. The room, 
 Battered and black by wantonest abuse 
 Of the rude youth, was lit by feeble lamps, 
 Brought by the villagers ; and scattered round 
 Upon the high, hacked benches, hardly less 
 Bude and rough- worn than they, the worshipers 
 In silence sat. It was no place for words. 
 I took the lady's hand, and said " good-night !" 
 
108 KATRRINA. 
 
 In whisper. 'Then she turned, and disappeared 
 Within the sheltered gloom ; but I could see 
 The care-worn cheeks light up with pleasant fire 
 As she passed in ; and e'en the fainting lamps 
 Flared with new life, the while they caught the 
 
 breath 
 Of her sweet robe. Then with an angry heart 
 I turned away, and, wrapped in selfish thought, 
 Took up the walk toward home. 
 
 This homely group 
 Of Yankee lollards she preferred to me ! 
 These poor, pinched boobies, with their silly 
 
 wives — 
 Ah ! these were they who gave her overmuch 
 In the bestowal of their fellowship ! 
 These crowned her with a peerless privilege, 
 Permitting her to sit with them an hour 
 As a dear sister ! How my sore self-love 
 Burned with the hot affront ! 
 
 With lips compressed, 
 
I TOOK THE LADY'S HAND AND SAID, " GOOD NIGHT ! 
 
 
K AT ERIN A. 109 
 
 Or blurting forth their anger and disgust, 
 
 I strode the meadows, stalked the silent town, 
 
 And growled and groaned in sullen helplessness 
 
 About the streets, until the midnight bell 
 
 Tolled from the old church tower ; — in helplessness. 
 
 For mattered nothing what or who she was, 
 
 (I had not dared or cared to question that,) 
 
 Or how offensive in her piety 
 
 And her devotion to the tasteless cult 
 
 Of the weak throng, I was her slave ; and she — 
 
 Her own and God's. The miserable strife 
 
 Between my love of self and love of her 
 
 I knew was bootless ; and the trenchant truth 
 
 Cut to the quick. She held within her hand 
 
 My heart, my life, my doom, yet knew it not ; 
 
 And had she known, her soul was under vows 
 
 Which would forever make subordinate 
 
 Their recognized possession, 
 
 But the morn 
 Brought with it better mood and calmer thoughts. 
 I had the grace to gauge the heartlessness 
 
110 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Of my exactions, and the power to crush 
 The tyrant wish to tear her from the throne 
 To which she clung. I said : " So she love me 
 As a true woman loves, and give herself — 
 Her sweet, pure self — to me, and fill my home 
 With her dear presence, loyal still to me 
 In wifely love and wifely offices, 
 Though she abide in Christian loyalty 
 By Christian vows, she shall have liberty, 
 And hold it as her right." 
 
 She was my peer : 
 No weakling girl, who would surrender will 
 And life and reason, with her loving heart, 
 To her possessor ;— no soft, clinging thing 
 Who would find breath alone within the arms 
 Of a strong master, and obediently 
 Wait on his whims in slavish carefulness ; — ■ 
 No fawning, cringing spaniel, to attend 
 His royal pleasure, and account herself 
 Rewarded by his pats and pretty words, 
 But a round woman, who, with insight keen, 
 
KATHB1NA. Ill 
 
 Had wrought a scheme of life, and measured well 
 
 Her womanhood ; had spread before her feet 
 
 A. fine philosophy to guide her steps ; 
 
 Had won a faith to which her life was brought 
 
 In strict adjustment — brain and heart meanwhile 
 
 Working in conscious harmony and rhythm 
 
 t 
 With the great scheme of God's great universe, 
 
 On toward her being's end. 
 
 I could but know 
 Her motive was superior to mine. 
 I could but feel that in her loyalty 
 To God and duty, she condemned my life, 
 [nto her woman's heart, thrown open wide 
 In holy charity, she had drawn all 
 Of human kind, and found no humblest soul 
 Too humble for her entertainment, — none 
 So weak it could return no grateful boon 
 For what she gave ; and standing modestly 
 Within her scheme, with meekest reverence 
 She bowed to those above her, yet with strong 
 And hearty confidence assumed a place 
 
112 KATHRWA. 
 
 In service of the world, as minister 
 Ordained of Heaven to break to it the bread 
 She took from other hands. And she was one, 
 Who could see all there was of good in me, — 
 Could measure well the product of my power, 
 And give it impulse and direction ; nay, 
 Could supplement my power ; and help my heart 
 Against its foes. 
 
 The moment that I thrust 
 The selfish thirsting for monopoly 
 Of her affections from my godless heart, 
 She entered in, and reigned a goddess there. 
 If she had fascinated me before, 
 And fired my heart with passion, now she bent 
 My spirit to profound respect. I bowed 
 To the fair graces of her character, 
 Her queenly gifts, and the beneficence 
 Of her devoted life, with humbled heart 
 And self-depreciation. All of God 
 That the world held for me, I found in her , 
 And in her, all the God I sought. She was 
 
KATHRWA. 113 
 
 My saviour from myself and from my sins ; 
 For, with my worship of the excellence 
 Which she embodied, came the purity 
 And peace to which, through all my troubled life, 
 I had been stranger. Thoughts and feelings all 
 Were sublimated by the subtle name 
 Which wrapped and warmed me ; and I walked as 
 
 one 
 Might walk on air, with things of earth beneath, 
 Breathing a rare, supernal atmosphere 
 Which every sense and faculty informed 
 With light and life divine. 
 
 What need to tell 
 Of the succeeding summer days, and all 
 Their deeds and incidents ? They floated by 
 Like silent sails upon a summer sea, 
 That, sweeping in from farthest heaven at morn, 
 Traverse the vision, and at evening slide 
 Out into heaven again, their pennant-flames 
 The rosy dawns and day-falls. O'er and o'er 
 I walked the path, and crossed the stream, that lay 
 
 
114 KATHRWA. 
 
 Between me and the idol of my heart ; 
 And every day, in every circumstance, 
 I found her still the same, yet not the same ; 
 For, every day, some unsuspected grace, 
 Or some fresh revelation of her wealth 
 Of character and culture, touched my heart 
 To new surpsise, and overflowed the cup 
 Whose wine was life to me. 
 
 Though I could see 
 That I was not unwelcome ; though I knew 
 I gave a zest to her sequestered life, 
 I had built up so high my only hope 
 On her affection — I had given myself 
 So wholly to the venture for her hand, 
 I did not dare to speak of love, or ask 
 The question which, unasked, held hopefully 
 My destiny ; which answered, might bring doom 
 Of madness or of death. 
 
 Meanwhile, I learned 
 The lady's history from other lips 
 
KATHRWA. 115 
 
 Than hers — her aunt's. Alas ! the old, old tale ! 
 She had been bred to luxury ; and all 
 That wealth could purchase for her, or the friends 
 Swarmed by its golden glamour could bestow, 
 She had possessed. But he who won the wealth, 
 Beaching for more, slipped from his height and 
 
 fell, 
 Dragging his house to ruin. Then he died — 
 Died in disgrace ; and all his thousand friends 
 Fell off, and left his pampered family, 
 The while the noisy auctioneer knocked down 
 His house and household gods, and set adrift 
 The helpless life thus cruelly bereft. 
 The mother lived a month : the rest went forth, 
 Not knowing whither ; but they found among 
 The poor a shelter for their poverty, — 
 Kathrina with her aunt. Thus, in few words, 
 A tragedy of heart-breaks and of death, 
 Such as the world abounds with. 
 
 But this girl, 
 With her quick instincts and her brave, good heart, 
 
116 KATHRWA. 
 
 Determined she would live a while, and learn 
 "What lesson God would teach her. This she 
 
 sought, 
 And, seeking, found, or thought she found. How 
 
 well 
 She learned the lesson — what the lesson was — 
 Her life, thus far revealed, and waiting still 
 My feeble record, shall disclose. Enough, 
 Just now and here, that out of it she bore 
 A noble womanhood, accepting all 
 Her great misfortunes as the discipline 
 Of a paternal hand, in love prescribed 
 To lead her to her place, and whiten her 
 For Christian service. 
 
 All the summer fled , 
 And still my heart delayed. One pleasant eve, 
 When first the creaking of the crickets told 
 Of Autumn's opening door, I went with her 
 To ramble in the fields. We touched the hem 
 Of the dark mountain's robe, that falls in folds 
 Of emerald sward around his feet, and there 
 
KATHR1NA. 117 
 
 Upon its tufted velvet we sat down. 
 It was my time to speak, but I was dumb ; 
 And silence, painful and portentous, hung 
 Upon us both. At length, she turned and said : 
 " Some days have passed since you were latest 
 
 here. 
 Have you been ill ?" 
 
 "No, I have been at work," 
 I answered, — " at my own delightful work ; 
 The first since first we met. The record lies 
 Where I may reach it at a word from you. 
 Command, and I will read it." 
 
 "I command," 
 She said, responding with a laugh. " Nay, I 
 Entreat. I used your word, but this is mine, 
 And has a better sound from lips of mine. 
 I am your waiting auditor. " 
 
 I read : 
 " Was it the tale of a talking bird ? 
 
118 KATHBWA. 
 
 Was it a dream of the night ? 
 When have I seen it ? Where have I heard 
 Of the haps of a dainty craft, that stirred 
 
 My spirit with affright ? 
 
 " The shallop stands out from the sheltered bay 
 
 With a burden of spirits twain, — 
 A woman who lifts her sad eyes to pray, 
 A tall youth, trolling a roundelay, 
 
 And before them night, and the main ! 
 
 " O ! Star of The Sea ! They will come to harm : 
 
 Nor master nor sailor is there ! 
 The youth clasps the mast with his sinewy arm, 
 And laughs ! Dees he hold in his bosom a charm 
 
 That will baffle the sprites of the air ? 
 
 " O ! woe to the delicate ship ! O ! woe ! 
 
 For the sun is sunk, and behold ! 
 The trooping phantoms that come and go 
 In the sky above and the waves below ! 
 
 Ho ! The wind blows wild and cold. 
 
RATHRWA. 119 
 
 14 The woman is weeping in. weak despair ; 
 
 The youth still clings to the mast, 
 With cheeks all aflame, and with eyes that stare 
 At the phantoms hovering everywhere ; 
 
 And the storm-rack rises fast ! 
 
 " The phantoms close on the flying bark ; 
 
 They flutter about her peak ; 
 They sweep in swarms from the outer dark ; 
 But the youth at the mast stands still and stark, 
 
 While they flap his stinging cheek. 
 
 ' ' They shiver the bolts that the lightning flings ; 
 
 They bellow and roar and hiss ; 
 They splash the deck with their slimy wings 
 Monstrous, horrible, ghastly things — 
 
 That climb from the foul abyss. 
 
 "JSTo star shines out at the woman's prayer; 
 
 ! madly distraught is she ! 
 And the bark drives on with her wild despair, 
 
120 KATHRINA. 
 
 With shrieking fiends in the crowded air. 
 And fiends on the swarming sea. 
 
 " Then out of the water before their sight 
 
 A shape loomed bare and black ! 
 So black that the darkness bloomed with white ; 
 So black that the lightning grew strangely bright 
 
 And it lay in the shallop's track ! 
 
 " O ! fierce was the shout of the goblins then ! 
 
 How the gibber and laugh went round ! 
 The shout and the laugh of a thousand men, 
 Echoed and answered, and echoed again, 
 
 Had given a feebler sound. 
 
 Ci Straight toward the blackness drove the ship ; 
 
 But the youth still clung to the mast : 
 'I have read,' quoth he, with a proud, cold lip, 
 ' That the devil gets never a man on the hip 
 
 Whom he scares not first or last. ' 
 
 "Nearer the blackness loomed ; and the bark 
 
KATHRWA. 
 
 Scudded before the breeze ; 
 Nearer the blackness loomed, and hark ! 
 The crash of breakers out of the dark, 
 
 And the shock of plunging seas ! 
 
 121 
 
 M O ! woe ! for the woman's wits ran daft 
 
 With the fearful bruit and burst ; 
 She sprang to her feet, and flitting aft, 
 She plunged in the sea, and the black waves quaffed 
 
 The sweet life they had cursed. 
 
 " Light leaped the bark on the mountain-breast 
 
 Of a tenth-wave out to land ; 
 While the sprites of the sea fell off to rest, 
 And the youth, unharmed, became the guest 
 
 Of the elves of the silent land. 
 
 "With banter and buffet they pressed around ; 
 
 They tied his strong hands fast ; 
 But he laughed, and said, ' I have read and found 
 That the devil throws never a man to the ground 
 
 Whom he scares not, first or last. ' 
 
122 KATERTNA. 
 
 "Under the charred and ghastly gloom, 
 
 Over the flinty stones, 
 They led him forth to his terrible doom, 
 And, plunged in a deep and noisome tomb, 
 
 They sat him among the bones. 
 
 " They left him there in the crawling mire : 
 
 They could neither maim nor kill : 
 For fiends of water, and earth, and fire, 
 Are baffled and beaten by the ire 
 Of a dauntless human will. 
 
 "Days flushed and faded, months passed away. 
 
 He knew by the golden light 
 That shot, through a loop in the wall, the ray 
 Which parted the short and slender day 
 
 From the long and doleful night. 
 
 "Was it a vision that cheated his eyes ? 
 
 Was he awake, or no ? 
 He stared through the loop with keen surprise ; 
 
KATHB1NA. 123 
 
 For he saw a sweet angel from the skies, 
 With white wings, folded low. 
 
 " Could she not loose him from his thrall, 
 
 And lead him into the light ? 
 *Ah me !' he murmured, ' I dare not call, 
 Lest sho may doubt it a goblin's waul, 
 
 And leave me in swift affright !' 
 
 " She plumed her wings with a noiseless haste ; 
 
 He could neither call nor cry : 
 She vanished into the sunny waste, 
 Into far blue ah* that he longed to taste ; 
 
 And he cursed that he could not die. 
 
 "But she came again, and every day 
 
 He worshiped her where she shone ; 
 And again she left him and floated away, 
 But his faithless tongue refused to pray 
 For the boon she could give alone. 
 
 " And there he sits in his dumb despair, 
 
124 KATHRWA. 
 
 xind his watching eyes grow dim : 
 Would God that his coward lips might dare 
 To utter the word to the angel fair, 
 
 That is life or death to him !" 
 
 I marked her as I read, a furtive glance 
 Filling each pause. The passion of the piece, 
 Flaming and fading, ever and anon, 
 Mirrored itself within her tender eyes, 
 Themselves the mirror of her tender soul, 
 And fixed attent upon my face the while. 
 She had not caught my meaning, but had heard 
 Only a weird, wild stoiy. When I paused, 
 Folding the manuscript, I saw a shade 
 Of disappointment sweep her face, and marked 
 A question rising in her eyes. She knew 
 That I was waiting for her words, and turned 
 Her look away, and for long moments gazed 
 Into the brooding dusk. 
 
 •'Speak it!" I said. 
 
KATHRINA. 125 
 
 " 'Twas very strange and sad," she answered me. 
 " Why do you write such things ? — or, writing sucli, 
 Leave them so incomplete ? The prisoned youth, 
 Thus unreleased, will haunt me while I live; 
 I shudder while I think of him." 
 
 Then I : 
 " The poem will be finished by-and-by, 
 For this is history, and antedates 
 No fact that it records. Whether this youth 
 Shall live entombed, or reach the blessed air, 
 Depends upon his angel ; for he calls — 
 I hear him call, and call again her name 
 Kathrina ! O ! Kathrina !" 
 
 Like the flash 
 Of the hot lightning, the significance 
 Of the strange vision gleamed upon her face 
 In a bright, throbbing flame, that fell full soon 
 To ashen paleness. By unconscious will 
 We both arose. She vainly tried to speak, 
 And gazed into my eyes with such a look 
 
126 KATHIilNA. 
 
 Of tender questioning, of half -reproach, 
 Of struggling, doubting, hesitating joy, 
 As few men ever see, and none but once. 
 
 Are there not lofty moments, when the soul 
 
 Leaps to the front of being, casting off 
 
 The robes and clumsy instruments of sense, 
 
 And, postured in its immortality, 
 
 Reveals its independence of the clod 
 
 In which it dwells ? — moments in which the earth 
 
 And all material things, all sights and sounds, 
 
 All signals, ministries, interpreters, 
 
 Relapse to nothing, and the interflow 
 
 Of thought and feeling, love and life go on 
 
 Between two spirits, raised to sympathy 
 
 By an inspiring passion, as, in heaven, 
 
 The body dust within an orb outlived, 
 
 It shall go on forever ? 
 
 Moments like these — 
 Nay, these in very truth — were given us then. 
 Who shall expound ! — ah ! who but God alone. 
 
KATHRINA. 127 
 
 The everlasting mystery of love ? 
 She spoke not, but I knew that she was mine. 
 1 breathed no word, but she was well assured 
 That I was wholly hers. 
 
 In what disguise 
 Our love had hid, and wrought its miracle ; 
 Behind what semblance of indifference, 
 Or play of courtesy, it spun the chords 
 That bound our hearts in one, was mystery 
 Like love itself. The swift intelligence 
 Of interchange of perfect faith and troth, 
 Of gift of lif e and person, of the thrill 
 Of triumph in my soul, and gratitude 
 In hers, without a gesture, or a word, 
 Was like the converse of the continents — 
 Tracking with voiceless flight the slender wire 
 That underlay the throbbing mystery 
 Between our souls, and made our heart- beats one, 
 I opened wide my arms, and she, my own, 
 Sobbed on my breast with such excess of joy, 
 In such embrace of passionate tenderness, 
 
128 EATHRINA. 
 
 As heaven may yield again, but never earth. 
 Slow in the golden twilight, toward her home, 
 Her hand upon my arm, we loitered on, 
 Silent at first, and then with quiet speech 
 Broaching our plans, or tracing in review 
 The history of our springing love, when she, 
 Lifting her soft blue eyes to mine : 
 
 "Dear Paul! 
 There are some things, and some I will not name, 
 That make me sad, e'en in this height of joy. 
 In the wild lay that you have read to-night, 
 You make too much of me. No heart of man, 
 Though loving well and loving worthily, 
 Can be content with any human love. 
 No woman, though the pride and paragon 
 Of all her sex, can take the place of God. 
 No angel she ; nor is she quite a man 
 In power and courage, — gifts which charm her 
 
 most, 
 And which, possessing most, disrobe her charms, 
 And make her less a woman. If she stand 
 
Slow in the goldex twilight toward her home, 
 Her hand upon my arm, we loitered on. 
 

 
KATER1NA. 129 
 
 In fair equality with man — his mate — 
 Each unto each the rounded complement 
 Of their humanity, it is enough ; 
 And such equality must ever he 
 In their unequal gifts. This thing, at least. 
 Is true as God : she is not more than he, 
 And sits upon no throne. To be adored 
 By man, she must be placed upon a throne 
 Built by his hands, and sit an idol there, 
 Degraded by the measure of the flight 
 Between God's thought and man's." 
 
 Besponding I : 
 *' Fix your own place, my love ; it is your right. 
 'Tis well to have a theory, and sit 
 In the centre of it, mistress of its law, 
 And subject also ; — to set men up here 
 And woman there, in a fine equipoise 
 Of gift and grace and import. It conveys 
 To nicely- working minds a pleasant sense 
 Of order, like a well-appointed room, 
 Where one may see, in various stuffs and wares, 
 
130 KATHE1NA. 
 
 Forethoughts of color brought to harmony ; 
 Strict balancings of quantity and form ; 
 Flowers in the centre, and, beside the grate, 
 A rack for shovel and tongs. But minds like 
 
 these 
 (Your pardon, love !) are likely to arrange 
 The window-lights to save the furniture, 
 And spoil the pictures on the walL And you, 
 In the adjustment of your theory, 
 Would shut the light from her whose mind informs 
 Its harmonies. All worship, in my thought, 
 Goes hand in hand with love. We cannot love, 
 And fail to worship what we love. While you 
 Worship the strength and courage which you rind 
 In him who has your heart, he bows to all 
 Of faith and sweetness which he rinds in you. 
 If, in our worship, we have need to build 
 Noblest ideals, taking much from God 
 With which to make them perfect in our eyes, 
 ShaU God mark blame? We worship Him the 
 
 while, 
 In attributes His own, or attributes 
 
KATHB1NA. 131 
 
 With which our thought invests him. As for me- 
 lt is no secret — I am what you call 
 A godless man ; yet what is worshipful, 
 Or seems to be so, that with all my heart 
 I worship ; and I worship while I love. 
 You deem yourself the dwelling-place of God, 
 And keep your spirit cleanly for His feet. 
 All merit you abjure, ascribing all 
 To Him who dwells within you. How can you 
 Forbid that I fall down and worship you, 
 When what I find to worship is not yours, 
 But God's alone ? I know the ecstasy 
 Enlarges, strengthens, purifies my soul, 
 And blesses me with peace. My love, my life. 
 You are my all. I have no other good, 
 And, in this moment of my happiness, 
 I ask no other." 
 
 Tears were in her eyes, 
 Her clasped hands clinging fondly to my arm, 
 While under droop of lashes she replied : 
 "I feel, dear Paul, that this is sophistry. 
 
132 KATHBINA. 
 
 It does not touch my judgment or my heart 
 
 With motive of conviction. In what way 
 
 God may be working to reclaim your will 
 
 And worship to Himself, I cannot know. 
 
 If through your love for me, or mine for you. 
 
 Then as his grateful, willing instrument, 
 
 I yield myself to Him. But this is true : 
 
 God is not worshiped in his attributes. 
 
 I do not love your attributes, but you. 
 
 Your attributes all meet me otherwhere, 
 
 Blended in other personalities, 
 
 Nor do I love, nor do I worship them, 
 
 Or those who bear them. E'en the spotted pard 
 
 Will dare a danger which will make you pale, 
 
 But shall his courage steal my heart from you ? 
 
 You cheat your conscience, for you know that I 
 
 May like your attributes, yet love not you ; 
 
 Nay, worship them indeed, desx3ising y du. 
 
 I do not argue thus to damp your joy, 
 
 But make it rational. If you presume 
 
 Perfection in me, — if you lavish all 
 
 The largess of your worship and your love 
 
RATHR1NA. 133 
 
 On me, imposing on my head a crown 
 Stolen from God's, there surely waits your heart 
 The pang of disappointment. There will come 
 A sad, sad time, when, in your famished soul. 
 The cry for something more, and more divine, 
 Will rise, nor be repressed." 
 
 There is a charm 
 In earnestness, when it inspires the lips 
 Of one we love, that spoils their argument, 
 And yields so much of pleasure and of pride, 
 That the conviction which they seek evades 
 Their eager fingers, and with throbbing wings 
 Crows from its covert. 
 
 She was casuist, 
 Cunning and clear , and I was proud of her ; 
 And though I knew that she had swex^t away 
 My refuges of lies like chaff, and proved 
 My fair words fustian, I was moved to mirth 
 Over the solemn ruin. Had it been 
 A decent thing to do, I should have laughed 
 
134 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Full in her face ; but knowing that her words 
 Were offspring of her conscience and her love, 
 I could no less than hold respectfully 
 Her earnest warning. 
 
 "Well, I'll take the risk," 
 I said. " While you shall have the argument, 
 I will have you, whom, on the whole, I like 
 Better than that. And you shall have your way, 
 And I my own, in common liberty, 
 With things like these. You, doubtless, are to me 
 What I am not to you. We are unlike 
 In life and circumstance — alike alone 
 In this : that better than all else on earth 
 We love each other. This is basis broad 
 For happiness, or broad enough for me. 
 If you build better, you are fortunate, 
 Ay, fortunate indeed ; and some fine day 
 We'll talk about it. Let us have to-night 
 Joy in our new possessions, and defer 
 This little joust of wits and consciences 
 To more convenient season." 
 
KATHR1NA. 135 
 
 We had reached 
 The cottage door at this ; and there her aunt 
 Awaited our return. So, hand in hand, 
 Assuming show of rustic bashfulness, 
 We paused before her, and with bows profound 
 Made our obeisance. 
 
 " Well ?" she said at length 
 " Well ?— and what of it ?" 
 
 " Are you not surprised ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Surprised, indeed ! Surprised at what ?" 
 
 " At what you see : and this ! and this !" I said, 
 
 Planting a kiss upon each lovely cheek 
 
 Of my betrothed, that straightway bloomed with 
 
 rose. 
 " What ! are you blind, my aunt ?" 
 
 "You silly fools ! 
 
136 KATHMNA 
 
 I've seen it from the first," she answered me. 
 "No doubt you thought that you were very deep, 
 Very mysterious — all that sort of thing. 
 I've watched you, and if you, young man, had 
 
 been 
 Aught but a coward, it had come before, 
 And saved some sleep o 'nights to both of you. 
 But down upon your knees, for benison 
 Of one who loves you both." 
 
 We knelt, and then 
 She kissed us, leaving on our cheeks the tears 
 That sprang to brim the moment. Her shrewd 
 
 eyes, 
 That melted in the sympathy of love, 
 Would not meet ours again, but turned away, 
 And sought in solitude to drain themselves 
 Of their strange passion. 
 
 God forbid that I, 
 With weak and sacrilegious lips, betray 
 The confidence of love ; or tear aside 
 
KATHR1NA. 137 
 
 The secrecy beliind whose snowy folds 
 
 Honor and virgin modesty retire 
 
 For holiest communion ! For the fire 
 
 Which burns upon that altar is of God. 
 
 Its tongues of flame, throughout all time and space, 
 
 Speak but one language, understood by all, 
 
 But sacred ever to the wedded hearts 
 
 That listen to their breathings. 
 
 In the deep hours of night 
 I left the cottage, brain and heart o'erfilled 
 With the ethereal vintage I had quaffed. 
 Disturbing not the drowsy ferryman, 
 I slipped his little wherry from the sand, 
 And in the star-sprent river lipped the oars 
 That pulled me homeward. The enchanting tide 
 Was smooth continuation of the dream 
 On which my spirit, holily afloat, 
 Had glided through long hours of happiness. 
 Earth, by the strange, delicious ecstasy, 
 Was changsd to paradise ; and something kin 
 To gratitude arose within my soul — 
 
138 KATHBINA. 
 
 A fleeting passion, dying all too soon, 
 Lacking the root which faith alone can feed. 
 
 I touched the shore ; but when my hasting feet 
 
 Started the homeward walk, there came a change. 
 
 Down from the quiet stars there fell a voice, 
 
 Heard in the innermost, that troubled me : 
 
 " She is not more than you : why worship her ? 
 
 ' ' And she will die ; what will remain for you ? 
 
 ' ' You may die first, indeed : then what resource ? 
 
 " You have no sympathy with her in things 
 
 " Ordained within her conscience and her life, 
 
 " The tilings supreme : can there be marriage 
 
 thus ? 
 "Is e'en such bliss as may be possible 
 " Sure to be yours ? Fate has a thousand hands 
 " To dash your lifted cup." 
 
 With thoughts like these, 
 A vague uneasiness pervaded me, 
 And toned the triumph of my passion, till, 
 Almost in anger, I exclaimed at last : 
 
KATHRWA. 189 
 
 " This is reaction. I have flown too high 
 '■ Above the healthy level, and I feel 
 " The press of denser air. The equipoise 
 " Of circumstance and feeling will be reached 
 " All in good time. Eest and to-morrow's sun 
 "Will bring the remedy, and, with the mists, 
 " This cloud will pass away." 
 
 Then with clenched handa 
 I swore I would be happy, — that my soul 
 Should find its satisfaction in her love ; 
 And that, if ever there should come a time 
 Of cold satiety, or I should find 
 Weakness or fault where I had thought 
 
 strength 
 And full perfection, I would e'en endow 
 Her poverty with all the hoarded wealth 
 Of my imagination, making her 
 The woman of my want, in plenitude 
 Of strength and loveliness. 
 
 The breezy days 
 
140 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Over whose waves my buoyant life careered, 
 Rolled to October, falling on its beach 
 With hursts of mellow music ; and I leaped 
 Upon the longed for shore, for in that month 
 My dear betrothed, deferring to the stress 
 Of my impatient wish, had promised me 
 Her hand in wedlock. 
 
 Ere the happy day 
 Dawned on the world, the world was draped in 
 
 robes 
 Meet for the nuptials. Baths of sunny haze, 
 Steeping the ripening leaves from day to day, 
 And dainty kisses of the frost at night, 
 Joined in the subtile alchemy that wrought 
 Such miracles of change, that myriad trees 
 Which pranked the meads and clothed the forest 
 
 glooms 
 Bloomed with the tints of Eden. Had the earth 
 Been splashed with blood of grapes from every 
 
 cliine, 
 Tinted from topaz to dim carbuncle, 
 
KATHBWA. 141 
 
 Or orient ruby, it would not have been 
 Drenched with such waste of color. All the hues 
 The rainbow knows, and all that meet the eye 
 In flowers of field and garden, joined to tell 
 Each tree's close-folded secret. Side by side 
 Rose sister maples, some in amber gold, 
 Others incarnadine or tipped with flame ; 
 And oaks that for a hundred years had stood, 
 And flouted one another through the storms — 
 Boasting their might — proclaimed their pique or 
 
 pride 
 In dun, or dyes of Tyre. The sumach-leaves 
 Blazed with such scarlet that the crimson fruit 
 Which hung among their flames was touched to 
 
 guise 
 Of dim and dying embers ; while the hills 
 That met the sky at the horizon's rim — 
 .Dabbled with rose among the evergreens, 
 Or stretching off in sweeps of clouted crimson- 
 glowed 
 As if the archery of sunset clouds, 
 By squads and fierce battalions, had rained down 
 
142 KATH'RINA. 
 
 Its barbed and feathered fire, and left it fast 
 To advertise th' exploit. 
 
 In such a pomp 
 Of autumn glory, by the simplest rites, 
 Kathrina gave her hand to me, and I 
 Pledged truth and life to her. I bore her home 
 Through shocks of maize, revealing half their gold, 
 Past gazing harvesters with creaking wains 
 That brimmed with fruitage — my adored, my wife, 
 Fruition of my hope — the proudest freight 
 That ever passed that way ! 
 
 My troops of Mends, 
 Grown strangely warm and strangely numerous 
 With scent of novelty and pleasant cheer, 
 Assisted me to place upon her throne 
 My household queen. Bight royally she sat 
 The new-born dignity. Most graciously 
 She spoke and smiled among the silken clouds 
 That, fold on perfumed fold, like frankincense 
 Enveloped her, through half the festal night, 
 
KATHRWA. 143 
 
 Witli welcome and good wishes. I was proud ; 
 For was not I a king where she was queen ? 
 And queen she was — though consort in my home, 
 Queen regnant in the realm of womanhood, 
 By right of every charm. 
 
 Into her place, 
 As mistress of all home economies, 
 She slid without a jar, as if the Fates, 
 By concert of foreordinate design, 
 Had fitted her for it, and it for her, 
 And, having joined them well, were satisfied. 
 Obedient to the orbit of our love, 
 We came and went, revolving round our home 
 In spheral harmony — twin stars made one, 
 And loyal to one law. 
 
 When at our board,* 
 All viands lifted by her hand became 
 Ambrosial ; and her light, elastic step 
 From room to room, in busy household cares, 
 Timed with my heart, and filled me with a sense 
 
1M KATHR1NA. 
 
 Of harmony and peace. Days, weeks, and months 
 Lapsed like soft measures, rhyming each with 
 
 each, 
 All charged with thoughtful ministries to me, 
 And not to me alone ; for I was proud 
 To know that she was counted by the good 
 As a good power among them, — by the poor, 
 As angel sent of God, on whom they called 
 His blessing down. 
 
 She held her separate life 
 Of prayer and Christian service, without show 
 Of sanctity, without obtrusiveness ; 
 And, though I could but know she never sought 
 A blessing for herself, forgetting me 
 In her petition, not in all those months 
 Did word of difference betray the gulf 
 Between our souls and lives. " She had her plan : 
 I guessed it, and respected it. She felt 
 That if her life were not an argument 
 To move me, nothing that her lips might say 
 Could win me to her wish. Pride would repel 
 
KATHR1NA. 145 
 
 What it could not refute, and pleasantry 
 Parry the thrusts that love could not resent. 
 
 A whole year sped, yet not a line of verse 
 Had grown beneath rny pen. When I essayed 
 To brace my powers to effort, and to call 
 Forth from their camp and covert the bright ranks 
 Of tuneful numbers, no responsive shout 
 Answered the bugle-blast, and from my hand — 
 Irresolute and nerveless as a babe's — 
 My falchion fell. 
 
 She rallied me on this ; 
 But I had naught to say, save this, perhaps : 
 That she, being all my world, had left no room 
 For other occupation than my love. 
 She did not smile at this : it was no jest, 
 But saddest truth. I had grown enervate 
 In the warm atmosphere which I had breathed : 
 And this, with consciousness that in her soul — 
 As warm with love as mine — each gentle power 
 
146 KATHR1NA. . 
 
 Was kindling with new life from day to day. 
 Growing with my decline. 
 
 Well, in good time 
 There came to us a child, the miniature 
 Of her on whose dear breast my babyhood 
 Was nursed and cradled ; and my happy heart, 
 Charged with a double tenderness, received 
 And blessed the precious gift. Another fount 
 Of human love gurgled to meet my lips. 
 Another store of good, as rich and pure, 
 In its own kind, as that from which I drank, 
 Was thus discovered to my taste, and I 
 Feasted upon its fulness. 
 
 "With the gift 
 That brimmed my cup of joy, there came a grace 
 To her who bore it of fresh loveliness. 
 If I had loved the maiden and the bride, 
 The mother, through whose pain my heart had 
 
 Avon 
 Its new possession, fastened to my heart 
 
KATHBINA. 147 
 
 With a new sympathy. Whatever dross 
 
 Our months of intimacy had betrayed 
 
 Within her character, was purged away, 
 
 And she was left pure gold. Nay, I should say, 
 
 Whatever goodness had not been revealed 
 
 Through the relations of her heart to mine 
 
 As loving maid and mistress, found the light 
 
 Through her maternity. A heavenly change 
 
 Passed o'er her soul and o'er her pallid face, 
 
 As if the unconscious yearning of a life 
 
 Had found full satisfaction in the birth 
 
 Of the new being. Her long weariness 
 
 Was but a trance of peace and gratitude ; 
 
 And as she lay — her babe upon her breast, 
 
 Her eyelids closed — I could but feel that heaven, 
 
 Should it hold all the good of which she dreamed, 
 
 Had little more for her. 
 
 And when again 
 She moved about the house, in ministry 
 To me and to her helpless child, I knew 
 That I had tasted every precious good 
 
148 KATHB1NA. 
 
 That woman bears to man. Ay, more than this : 
 
 That not one man in thousands had received 
 
 Such largess of affection, and such prize. 
 
 Of ■womanhood, as I had found in her, 
 
 And made my own. The whole enchanting round 
 
 Of pure domestic commerce had been mine 
 
 A lover blest, a husband satisfied, 
 
 A father crowned ! Love h&d no other boon 
 
 To offer me, and held within its gift 
 
 No other title. 
 
 Thus within the space 
 Of two swift years, T traversed the domain 
 Of novelty, and learned that I must glean 
 The garnered fields of my experience 
 To gratify the greed that still possessed 
 My sateless heart. The time had come to me — 
 Which I had half foreseen — when, by my will, 
 My interest in those I loved should live 
 Predominant in all my life. I nursed 
 With jealous care my passion for my wife. 
 I raised her to an apotheosis 
 
KATHB1NA. 149 
 
 In my imagination, where I bowed 
 And paid my constant homage. I was still 
 Her fond and loyal lover ; but my heart, 
 That had so freely drunk, with full content, 
 Had seen the bottom of the cup she held ; 
 And what remained but tricks to eke it out, 
 And artifice to give it piquancy, 
 And sips to cool my tongue, the while my heart 
 Was hollow with its thirst ? My little child 
 Was precious to my soul beyond all price ; 
 Mother and babe were all that they could be 
 To any heart of man ; and yet — and yet ! 
 
 Of all the dull, dead weights man ever bore, 
 Sure, none can wear the soul with discontent 
 Like consciousness of power unused. To feel 
 That one has gift to move the multitude, — 
 To act upon the life of humankind 
 By force of will, or fire of eloquence, 
 Or voice of lofty art, and yet, to feel 
 No stir of mighty motive in the soul 
 To action or endeavor ; to behold 
 
150 KATHRWA. 
 
 The fairest prizes of this fleeting life 
 Borne off by patient men who, day by day, 
 By bravest toil and struggle, reach the heights 
 Of great achievement, toiling, straggling thus 
 With a strong joy, and with a fine contempt 
 For soft and selfish passion ; to see this, 
 Yet cling to such a passion, like a slave 
 Who hugs his chains in sluggish impotence, 
 Refusing freedom lest he lose the crust 
 The chain of bondage warrants him — ah ! this 
 Is misery indeed ! 
 
 Such misery 
 Was mine. I held the consciousness of power 
 To labor even-headed with the best 
 Who wrought for fame, or strove to make them- 
 selves 
 Felt in the world's great life ; and yet, I felt 
 l\o lift to enterprise, from heaven above 
 Or earth beneath ; for neither God nor man 
 Lived in my love. My home held all my world ; 
 Yet it was evident — I felt, I knew — 
 
f 
 
 My home held all my world. 
 

KATHRWA. 151 
 
 That naught could fill my opening want but toil ; 
 And there were times when I had hailed with joy 
 The curse of poverty, compelling me 
 To labor for my bread, and for the bread 
 Of those I loved. 
 
 My neighbors all around 
 "Were happy in their work. The plodding hind 
 Who seived my hand, or groomed my petted 
 
 horse, 
 Whistled about his work with merry heart, 
 And filled his measure of content with toil. 
 In all the streets and all the busy fields 
 Men were astir, and doing with their might 
 What their hands found to do. They drove the 
 
 plough, 
 They trafficked, builded, delved, they spun and 
 
 wove, 
 They taught and preached, they hasted up and 
 
 down 
 Each on his little errand, and their eyes 
 Were full of eager fire, as if the earth 
 
152 KATREIJVA. 
 
 And all its vast concerns were on their hands. 
 Their homes were fresh with guerdon every night, 
 And ripe with impulse to new industry 
 At each new dawn. 
 
 I saw all this, but knew 
 That they were not like me — were most unlike 
 In constitution and condition. Thus, 
 My power to do, and do the single thing 
 My power was shaped to do, became, instead 
 Of wings to bear me, weights to burden me. 
 The moiling multitude for little tasks 
 Found little motives plenty ; but for me, 
 Whom in my indolence they all despised — 
 Not understanding me — no motive rose 
 To lash or lead. Even the love I dreamed 
 Would give me impulse had defrauded me. 
 Feeble and proud ; stroDg, yet emasculate ; 
 Centred in self, and still despising self ; 
 Goaded, yet held ; convinced, but never moved ; 
 Such conflict ofttimes held and harried me 
 That death had met with welcome. If I read, 
 
KATHRINA. 153 
 
 I read to kill my time. No interest 
 
 In the great thoughts of others moved my soul, 
 
 Because I had no object : useless quite 
 
 The knowledge and the culture I possessed ; 
 
 And if I rode, the stale monotony 
 
 Of the familiar landscapes sickened me. 
 
 In these dull years, my toddling little wean 
 
 Grew into prattling childhood, and I gained 
 
 Such fresh delight from her as kept my heart 
 
 Erom fatal gloom ; but more and more I shunned 
 
 The world around me, more and more drew in 
 
 The circle of my life, until, at last, 
 
 My home became my hermitage. I knew 
 
 The dissolution of the spell would come, 
 
 And, though I dreaded it, I longed to greet 
 
 The crash and transformation. If my pride 
 
 Forbade the full confession to my wife 
 
 That time had verified her prophecy, 
 
 It failed to hold the truth from her. She read, 
 
 With a true woman's insight, all my heart ; 
 
 But, with a woman's sensitiveness, shrank 
 
154 KATHR1NA. 
 
 From questions which might seem to carry blame ; 
 And so, for years, there lay between our souls 
 The bar of silence. 
 
 One sweet summer eve, 
 After my lamb was folded, and before 
 The lamps were lighted, as I sat alone 
 Within my room, I heard reluctant feet 
 Seeking my door. They paused, and then I heaxd: 
 
 " May I come in ?" 
 
 "Ay, you may always come ; 
 And you are welcome always," I replied. 
 The room was dim, but I could see her face 
 Was pale, and her long lashes wet. "Your 
 
 seat," — 
 I said, with open arms. Upon my knee, 
 One hand upon my shoulder, she sank down 
 As if the heart within her breast were lead, 
 And she were weary with its weight. 
 
KATHRWA. 155 
 
 "My wife, 
 What burden now ?" I asked her tenderly. 
 She fixed her swimming eyes on mine, and said : 
 " My dear, you are not happy. Years have gone 
 Since you have been content. I bring no words 
 Of blame against you : you have been to me 
 A comfort and a joy. Your constancy 
 Has honored me as few of all my sex 
 Are honored by your own ; but while you pine 
 With secret pain, I am so wholly yours 
 That I must pine with you. I've waited long 
 For you to speak ; and now I come to you 
 To ask you this one question : is there aught 
 Of toil or sacrifice within my power 
 To ease your heart, or give you liberty 
 Beyond the round to which you hold your feet ? 
 Speak freely, frankly, as to one who loves 
 Her husband better than her only child, 
 And better than herself." 
 
 I drew her head 
 Down to my cheek, and said : "My angel wife ! 
 
156 KATH1UJSA. 
 
 Whatever torment or disquietude 
 
 I may have suffered, you have never been 
 
 Its cause, or its occasion. You are all — 
 
 You have been all — that womanhood can be 
 
 To manhood's want ; and in your woman's love 
 
 And woman's pain, I have found every good 
 
 My life has known since first our lives were joined. 
 
 You knew me better than I knew myself ; 
 
 And your prophetic words have haunted me 
 
 Like thoughts of retribution : ' There will come 
 
 1 A sad, sad time, when in your famished soul 
 
 1 The ay for something more, and more divine 
 
 1 Will rise, nor be repressed.' For something more 
 
 My spirit clamors : nothing more divine 
 
 I ask for." 
 
 " What shall be this ' something more ?' " 
 
 "Work," I replied ; " ay, work, but never here ; 
 Work among men, where I may feel the touch 
 Of kindred life ; work where the multitudes 
 Are surging ; work where brains and hands 
 
KATHR1NA. 157 
 
 Are struggling for the prizes of the world ; 
 
 Work where my spirit, driven to its bent 
 
 By competitions and great rivalries, 
 
 Shall vindicate its own pre-eminence, 
 
 And wring from a reluctant world the meed 
 
 Of approbation and respect for which 
 
 It yearns with awful hunger ; work, indeed, 
 
 Which shall compel the homage of the souls 
 
 That creep around me here, and pity you 
 
 Because, forsooth, the Fates have hobbled you 
 
 With a dull drone. I know how sweet the love 
 
 Of two fond souls ; and I will have the hearts 
 
 Of millions. These shall satisfy my greed, 
 
 And round the measure of my hfe ; and these 
 
 My work shall win me. " 
 
 At these childish words 
 She raised her head, and with a sweet, sad smile 
 Of love and pity blent, made her response : 
 " Not yet, my husband — if your wife may speak 
 A thought that crosses yours — not yet have you 
 
158 KATHRINA. 
 
 Found the great secret of content. But work 
 
 May help you toward it, and in any case 
 
 Is better far than idleness. For this, 
 
 You ask of me to sacrifice this home 
 
 And all the truest friends my life has gained. 
 
 I do it from this moment ; glad to prove, 
 
 At any tender cost, my love for you, 
 
 And faith in your endeavor. I will go 
 
 To any spot of earth where you may lead, 
 
 And go rejoicing. Let us go at once !" 
 
 " I bum my ships behind me." I replied. 
 
 ' ' Measure the cost : be sure no secret hope 
 
 Of late return be found among the flames ; 
 
 For if I go, I leave no single thread, 
 
 Save that which binds me to my mother's grave, 
 
 To draw me back. " 
 
 " My love shall be the torch 
 To light the fire," she answered. 
 
KATHRWA. 159 
 
 Then we rose, 
 And, with a kiss, marked a fall period 
 To love's excess, and with a sweet embrace 
 Wrote the initial of a stronger life. 
 
A REFLECTION. 
 
 Oh ! not by bread alone is manhood nourished 
 
 To its supreme estate ! 
 By every word of God have lived and flourished 
 
 The good men and the great. 
 Ay, not by bread alone ! 
 
 • ' Oh ! not by bread alone !" the sweet rose breath- 
 ing 
 In throbs of perfume, speaks ; 
 "But myriad hands, in earth and air, are wreath- 
 ing 
 The blushes for my cheeks. 
 Ay, not by bread alone !" 
 
KATHRUfA. 161 
 
 "Oh! not by bread alone !" proclaims in thunder 
 
 The old oak from his crest ; 
 "But suns and storms upon me, and deep under, 
 
 The rocks in which I rest. 
 Ay, not by bread alone !" 
 
 " Oh ! not by bread alone !" The truth flies sing- 
 ing 
 In voices of the birds ; 
 And from a thousand pastured hills is ringing 
 The answer of the herds : 
 "Ay, not by bread alone !" 
 
 Oh ! not by bread alone ! for lit' e and being 
 
 Are finely complex all, 
 And increment, with element agreeing, 
 
 Must feed them, or they fall. 
 Ay, not by bread alone ! 
 
 Oh ! not by love alone, though strongest, purest, 
 
 That ever swayed the heart ; 
 For strongest passion evermore the surest 
 
162 KATHU1NA. 
 
 Defrauds each manly part. 
 Ay, not by love alone ! 
 
 Oh ! not by love alone is power engendered. 
 
 Until within the soul 
 The gift of every motive has been rendered, 
 
 It is not strong and whole. 
 Ay, not by love alone ! 
 
 Oh ! not by love alone is manhood nourished 
 
 To its supreme estate : 
 By every word of God have lived and flourished 
 
 The good men and the great. 
 Ay, not by love alone ! 
 
PART III 
 
 LABOR. 
 
 Ten years of love ! — a sleep, a pleasant dream 
 That passed its culmen in the early half, 
 Concluding in confusion — a wild scene 
 Of bargains, auctions, partings, and what not ? 
 And an awaking ! 
 
 I was in Broadway, 
 A unit in a million. Like a bath 
 In ocean surf, blown in from farthest seas 
 Under the August ardors, the grand rush 
 Of crested life assailed me with its waves, 
 And cooled me while it fired. With sturdy joy 
 I sought its broadest billows, and resigned 
 
164 KATHB1NA. 
 
 My spirit to their surge and sway ; and stood 
 In sheltered coves, reached only by the spume 
 And crepitant bubbles of the yesty floods, 
 Drinking the roar, the sheen, the restlessness, 
 As inspiration, both of sense and soul. 
 
 I saw the waves of life roll up the steps 
 
 Of great cathedrals and retire ; and break 
 
 In charioted grandeur at the feet 
 
 Of marble palaces, and toss their spray 
 
 Of feathered beauty through the open doors, 
 
 To pile the restless foam within ; and burst 
 
 On crowded caravansaries, to fall 
 
 In quick return ; and in dark currents glide 
 
 Through sinuous alleys and the grimy loops 
 
 Of reeking cellars ; and with softest plash 
 
 Assail the gilded shrines of opulence, 
 
 And slide in musical relapse away. 
 
 With senses dazed and stunned, and soul o'erfllled 
 With chaos of new thoughts, I turned away, 
 And sought my city home. There all was calm, 
 
EATHR1NA. 165 
 
 With wife and daughter waiting my return, 
 And eager with their welcome. That was life ! — 
 An interest in the great world of life, 
 A place for toil within a world of toil, 
 And love for its reward. "Amen !" I said, 
 "And twice amen ! I've found my life at last, 
 And we will all be happy." 
 
 Day by day — 
 The while I sought adjustment to the life 
 Which I had chosen, and with careful thought 
 Gathered to hand the fair material 
 Elect by Fancy for the organism 
 Over whose germ she brooded — I went out, 
 To bathe again upon the shore of life 
 My long-enfeebled nature. 
 
 Every day 
 I met some face I knew. My college friends 
 Came up in strange disguises. Here was one, 
 With a white neck-cloth and a saintly face, 
 Who had been rusticated and disgraced 
 
166 KATRB1NA. 
 
 For lawlessness. Now he administered 
 A charge which proved that he had been at work, 
 And made himself a man. And there was one — 
 A lumpy sort of boy, as memory 
 Recalled him to me — grown to portliness 
 And splendid spectacles. He drove a chaise, 
 And practised surgery, — was on his way 
 To meet a ciasjs of youth, who sought to be 
 Groat surgeons like himself, and took full notes 
 Of all his stolen wisdom. By his watch — 
 A gold repeater, with a mighty chain- 
 He gave me just five minutes ; then rolled off- 
 Pretension upon wheels. Another grasped 
 My hand as if I were his bosom friend, 
 Just in from a long voyage. He was one 
 Who stole my wood in college, and received 
 With grace the kick I gave him. He had grown 
 To be the tail of a portentous firm 
 Of city lawyers : managed, as he said, 
 The matter of collections ; and had made 
 In his small way — to use his modest phrase : 
 Truthtal as modest — quite a pretty plum. 
 
 
KATHR1NA. 167 
 
 He was o'erjoyed to see me in the town : 
 Hoped I would call upon him at his den : 
 If I had any business in his line, 
 Would do it for me promptly ; as for price. 
 No need to talk of that between two friends ! 
 
 But these, and all — the meanest and the best — 
 Were hard at work. They always questioned me 
 Before we parted, touching my pursuits ; 
 And though they questioned kindly, I grew sore 
 Under the repetition, and ashamed 
 To iterate my answer, till I burned 
 To do some work, so lifted into fame, 
 That shame should be to him whose ignorance 
 Compelled a question. 
 
 Simplest foresters 
 Have learned the trick of woodland broods, that fly 
 In radiant divergence from the flash 
 Of death and danger, and, when all is still, 
 Steal back to where their fellows bit the dust 
 For rendezvous. And thus society 
 
168 KATHRfflA. 
 
 Follows the brutal instinct. When the friends, 
 Who from her father's ruin fled amain, 
 Found out my wife, and learned that it was safe 
 To gather back to the old feeding-ground, 
 They came. Her old home had become my own 
 And they were all delighted. It was sweet 
 To have her back again ; and it was sad 
 To know that those who once were happy there, 
 Dispensing happiness, could come no more. 
 
 It had its modicum of earnestness, — 
 This talk of theirs — aud she received it all 
 With hearty courtesy, and yielded it 
 The unction of her charity, so far 
 That it was smooth and redolent to her. 
 The difference — the world-wide difference — 
 Between my wife and them was obvious ; 
 But she was generous through nature's gift 
 I fancied — could not well be otherwise ; 
 Although their fawning rilled me with disgust. 
 Oh ! fool and blind : not to perceive the Christ 
 That shone and spoke in her ! 
 
 
KATHR1NA 169 
 
 The hour approached— 
 The pre-determined time — when I should close 
 My study-door, and wrap my kindling brain 
 In the poetic dream which, day by day, 
 Was swiftly gathering consistence there. 
 The quick, creative instinct in me plumed 
 Its pinions for the flight, and I could feel 
 The influx of fresh power ; but whence it came, 
 I did not question ; though it fired my heart 
 With the assurance of success. 
 
 I told 
 My dear companion of my hopeful plans 
 For winning fame, and making for myself 
 A lofty place ; but I could not inspire 
 Her heart with my ambition, or win o'er 
 Her judgment to my motive. She adhered 
 To her old theory, and gave no room 
 To any motive it did not embrace. 
 We argued much, but always argued wide, 
 And ended where we started. Postulates 
 On which we stood in perfect harmony, 
 
170 KATEB1NA. 
 
 Were points of separation, ont from which 
 
 We struck divergently, till sympathy, 
 
 That only lives by rhythm of thoughts and hearts, 
 
 Lay dead between us. 
 
 " Man loves praise," I said. 
 "It is an appetence which He who made 
 The human soul, made to be satisfied. 
 It is a tree He planted. If it grow 
 On that which feeds it, and become at last 
 Thrifty and fruitful, it is still His own, 
 With usury. And if, in His intent, 
 This passion have no place among the powers 
 Of active life, why is it mighty there 
 From youngest cl^ildhood ? Pray you what is fame 
 But concrete praise ? — the universal voice 
 Which bears, from every quarter of the earth, 
 Its homage to a name, that grows thereby 
 To be its own immortal monument, 
 Outlasting all the marble and the bronze 
 Which cunning ringers, since the world began, 
 
KATHR1NA. 171 
 
 Have shaped or stamped with story ? What is 
 
 fame 
 But aggregate of praise ? And if it be 
 Legitimate to win, for sake of praise, 
 The praise of one, why not of multitudes ?" 
 
 "Ay," she replied; "I 'tis true that men love 
 
 praise ; 
 And it is true that He who made the soul 
 Planted therein the love of praise, to be 
 A motive in its life — all true so far ; 
 And so far we agree. But motives all 
 Have then appropriate sphere and sway, like men 
 Who bear them in their breasts. The love of 
 
 praise 
 Fills life with fine amenities. 1 Not all 
 Who live have pleasant tempers, and not all 
 The gift of gracious manners, or the love 
 Of nobler motive, higher meed than praise. 
 The world is full of bears, who smooth their hair, 
 And glove then* paws, and put on manly airs, 
 And hold our honey sacredAand our lives 
 
172 
 
 KATRMNA. 
 
 Our own, because they hunger for our praise.) 
 Tis a fine thing for bears — this love of praise — 
 And those who deal with them ; and a good thing 
 For children, and ior parents, teachers — all 
 Who have them in their keeping. It may hold 
 A little mind to rectitude, until 
 It grow, and grow ashamed to yield itself 
 To such a petty motive. Children all 
 Like sugar, and it may admit of doubt 
 Whether our praise or sugar sweetens more 
 Their petulant sub-acids ; but a man 
 Would choke in swallowing the compliment 
 Which we should pay him, were we but to say 
 ' Go to ! Do some great deed, and you shall have 
 Your pay in sugar : — maple, mind you, now, 
 So you shall do it featly.' " 
 
 "Very good !" 
 I answered, " very good, indeed ! if we 
 Engage in talk for sport ; but argument 
 On themes like these must have the element 
 Of candor. Highest truth, in certain lights, 
 
KATHR1NA. 173 
 
 May be ridiculous, and yet be truth. 
 Women are angels : just a little weak 
 And just a little wicked, it may be, 
 Yet still the sweetest beings in the world ; 
 But when one stands with apprehensive gasp 
 At verge of sternutation, or leaps off, 
 Projecting all her being in a sneeze, 
 Or snores with lips wide-parted, or essays 
 The ' double-quick, ' we turn our eyes away 
 In sadness, that a creature so divine 
 Can be so shockingly ridiculous : 
 Yet who shall say she's not an angel still ? 
 Now you present to me the meanest face 
 Of a most noble truth. I laugh with you 
 Over its sorry semblance ; but the truth 
 Is still divine, and claims our reverence. 
 The great King Solomon — and you believe 
 In Solomon — has said that a good name 
 Is more to be desired than much fine gold. 
 If a good name be matter of desire 
 Beyond all wealth — and you will pardon me 
 For holding to the record — it may stand 
 
174 KATHR1NA. 
 
 As a grand motive in the life of man, 
 To grand endeavor. I have yet to learn 
 That Solomon addressed his words to bears, 
 Or little children. I am forced to think 
 That yon and I, and all who read his words, 
 Are those for whom he wrote." 
 
 He joining she ! 
 " A good may be the subject of desire, 
 And not be motive to achievement. Life, 
 If I may speak the riddle, is a scheme 
 Of indirections. My own happiness 
 Is something to desire ; and yet, I know 
 That I must win it by forgetting it 
 In ministry to others. If I make 
 My happiness the motive of my work, 
 I spoil it by the taint of selfishness. 
 But are you sure that you do not presume 
 Somewhat too much, in claiming the desire 
 For a good name as motive of your life ? 
 Greatness, not goodness, is the end you seek. 
 If I mistake you not ; and these are held, 
 
 
KATRR1NA. 175 
 
 In the world's thought, as two, and most distinct. 
 
 King Solomon was wise, but wiser He 
 
 Who said to those that loved and followed him, 
 
 • Who would be great among you, let him serve.' 
 
 The greatest men — and artists should be such, 
 
 For they are God's nobility and man's — 
 
 Should work from greatest motives. Selfishness 
 
 Is never great, and moves to no great deeds. 
 
 To honor God, to benefit mankind, 
 
 To serve with lofty gifts the lowly needs 
 
 Of the poor race for which the God-man died, 
 
 And do it all for love — oh ! this is great ! 
 
 And he who does this will achieve a name 
 
 Not only great but good." 
 
 "Not in this world," 
 I answered her. " I know too much of it. 
 The world is selfish ; and it never gives 
 Due credit to a motive which assumes 
 To be above its own. If a man write, 
 It takes for granted that he writes for fame, 
 And judges him accordingly. It holds 
 
176 KATHU1JSA. 
 
 Of no account all other aims and ends ; 
 
 And visits with contempt the man who bears 
 
 A mission to his kind. The critic pens 
 
 That twiddle with his work, or play with it 
 
 As cats with mice, are not remarkable 
 
 For gentle instincts ; and my name must live 
 
 By j>ens like these. I choose to take the world 
 
 Just as I find it, and I pitch my tune 
 
 To the world's key, that it may sing my tune, 
 
 And sing for me. Ay, and I take nryself 
 
 Just as I find myself. I do not love 
 
 The human race enough to work for it. 
 
 Having no motive of philanthropy, 
 
 I'll make pretence to none. The love of praise 
 
 I count legitimate and laudable. 
 
 'Tis not the noblest motive in the world, 
 
 But it is good ; and it has won more fames 
 
 Than any other. Sorely, my good wife, 
 
 You would not shut me from it, and deprive 
 
 My power of its sole impulse." 
 
 " No ; oh ! no, 
 
KATHR1NA 177 
 
 She answered quickly. "lam only sad 
 
 That it should be the captain of your host. 
 
 All creatures of the brain are the result 
 
 Of many motives and of many powers. 
 
 All life is such, indeed. The power that leads— 
 
 The motive dominant — this stamps the work 
 
 With its own likeness. Throughout all the world 
 
 Are careful souls, with careful consciences, 
 
 That pierce themselves with questionings and fears 
 
 Because that, with the motives which are good, 
 
 And which alone they seek, a hundred come 
 
 They do not seek, and aye sophisticate 
 
 Their finest action. They are wrong in this : 
 
 All motives bowing to one leadership, 
 
 And aiding its emprise, are one with it — 
 
 The same in trend, the same in terminus. 
 
 All the low motives that obey the law, 
 
 And aid the work, of one above them all, 
 
 Do holy service, and fulfil the end 
 
 For which they were designed. The love of praise 
 
 Is not the lowest motive which can move 
 
 The human soul. Nay, it may do good work 
 
178 KATER1NA. 
 
 As a subordinate, and leave no soil 
 
 On whitest fabric, at whose selvage shines 
 
 The Master's broidered signature. Although 
 
 You write for fame, think not you will escape 
 
 The press of other motives. You love me ; 
 
 You love your child ; you love your pleasant home; 
 
 You love the memory of one long dead. 
 
 These, joined with all those qualities of heart 
 
 Which make you dear to me, will throng around 
 
 The leader you appoint, and come and go 
 
 Under his banner ; and the work of God 
 
 Will thrive through these, the while your owu 
 
 goes on. 
 God will not be defrauded, nor yet man ; 
 And you, who like the Pharisees make prayer 
 At corners of the streets, for praise of men, 
 Will have reward you seek." 
 
 "Ay, verily 1" 
 Responded I with laughter. " Verily ! 
 Though not a saint, I'll do a saintly work 
 For my own profit, and in spite of all 
 
KATIIR1NA. 179 
 
 The selfisnness that moves me. Better, this, 
 
 Than I suspected. My sweet casuist — 
 
 My gentle, learned, lovely casuist — 
 
 I thank you ; and I'll pay you more than thanks. 
 
 I'll promise that when these fine motives come, 
 
 And volunteer their service, they shall find 
 
 Welcome and entertainment, and a place 
 
 Within the rank and file, with privilege 
 
 Of quick promotion, so they show themselves 
 
 Motives of mettle." 
 
 This the type of talk 
 That passed between us. I was not a fool 
 To count her wisdom worthless ; nor a God, 
 To work regeneration in myself. 
 That something which I longed for, to fill up 
 The measure of my good, was human praise ; 
 Yet I could see that she was wholly right, 
 And that she held within herself resource 
 Of satisfaction better than my own. 
 But I was quite content — content to know 
 I teod the average altitude of those 
 
180 KATHKWA* 
 
 "Within the paths of art, and had no airns 
 To be misconstrued or misunderstood 
 By Pride and Selfishness — that these, in truth, 
 Expected of me what I had to give. 
 
 Strange, how a man may carry in his heart, 
 
 From year to year — through all his life, indeed— 
 
 A truth, or a conviction, which shall be 
 
 No more a part of it, and no more worth 
 
 Than to his flask the cork that slips within ! 
 
 Of this he learns by sourness of his wine, 
 
 Or muddle of its color ; by the bits 
 
 That vex his lips while drinking ; but he feels 
 
 No impulse in his hand to draw it forth, 
 
 And bid it crown and keep the draught it spoils. 
 
 I write this, here, not for its relevance 
 To this one passage of my story, but 
 Because there slipped into my consciousness 
 Just at this juncture, and would not depart, 
 A truth I earned there for many years, 
 Each minute seeing, feeling, tasting it, 
 
KATHR1NA 181 
 
 Yet never touching it with an attempt 
 To draw it forth, and put it to its place. 
 
 One evening, when our usual theme was up, 
 I asked my wife in playful earnestness 
 How she became so wise. " You talk," I said, 
 " Like one who has survived a thousand years, 
 And drunk the wisdom of a thousand lives." 
 
 " Who lacketh wisdom, let him ask of God, 
 Who giveth freely and upbraideth not," 
 Was her reply. 
 
 " I never ask of God," 
 I said. " So, while you take at second hand 
 His breathings to the artist, I will take 
 At second hand the wisdom that He gives ■ 
 To you, His teacher." 
 
 "Do you never pray ?" 
 
 "Never," I answered her. " I cannot pray : 
 You know the reason. Never since the day 
 
!82 KATHBWA. 
 
 God shut his heart against my mother's prayer 
 Have I raised one petition, or been moved 
 To reverence." 
 
 Her long, dark lashes fell, 
 And from her eyes there dropped two precious 
 
 tears 
 That bathed her folded hands. She pitied me, 
 With tenderness beyond the reach of words. 
 I did not seek her pity. I was proud, 
 And asked her if she blamed me. 
 
 "No," she said ; 
 "I have no right to blame you, and no wish. 
 I marvel only that a man like you 
 Can hold so long the errors of a boy. 
 I've looked — with how much longing, words of 
 
 mine 
 Can never tell — for reason to restore 
 That priceless thing which passion stole from 
 
 you, 
 And looked in vain. " 
 
KATHB1NA. 183 
 
 Though piqued by the reproach 
 Her words conveyed, (unwittingly I knew,) 
 I wished to learn where, in her theory 
 Of human life, my case had found a place ; 
 So, bidding pride aback, I questioned her. 
 "You are so wise in other things," I said, 
 "And read so well God's dealings with His own, 
 Perhaps you can explain this mystery 
 That clouds my life." 
 
 "I know that God is good," 
 She answered, "and, although my reason fail 
 To explicate the mystery that wraps 
 His providence, it does not shake my faith. 
 But this sad case of yours has seemed so plain, 
 That Eeason well may spare the staff of Faith 
 • To climb to its conclusions. You are loved, 
 My husband : can you tell your wife for what ?' 
 
 " Oh ! modesty ! my dear ; hem ! modesty I 
 Spare me these blushes ! I have not at hand 
 The printed catalogue of qualities 
 
184 KATHRWA. 
 
 Which give you inspiration, and decline 
 The personal rehearsal." 
 
 "You mistake," 
 She answered, smiling. " Not for modesty ; 
 And as for blushes, they're not patent yet. 
 But frankly, soberly, I ask you this : 
 Have you a quality of heart or brain 
 Which makes you lovable, and in my eyes 
 A man to be admired, that was not born 
 Quick in your blood ? Pray, have you anything 
 Which you did not inherit ? Who to me 
 Furnished my husband ? By what happy law 
 Was all that was the finest, noblest, best 
 In those who gave you life, bestowed on you ? 
 You have your father's form, your father's brain ; 
 You have your mother's eyes, your mother's heart 
 Those twain produced a man for me to love, 
 Out of themselves. I am obliged to them 
 For the most precious good the round earth holds. 
 Transmitted by a law that slew them both. 
 It was not sin, or shame, for them to die 
 
KATEB1NA. 185 
 
 Just as they died. They passed with whiter hands 
 Up to The Throne than he who wantonly 
 Murders a sparrow. When your mother prayed, 
 She prayed for the suspension of the law 
 By which from Eve, the mother of the race, 
 She had received the grace and loveliness 
 Which made her precious to your heart — the law 
 By which alone she could convey these gifts 
 To others of her blood. Your daughter's face 
 Is beautiful, her soul is pure and sweet, 
 By largess of this law. Could God subvert, 
 To meet her wish, though shaped in agony, 
 The law which, since the life of man began 
 In life of God, has kept the chamiel clear 
 For His own blood, that it might bless the last 
 Of all the generations as the first ? 
 What could He more than give her liberty — 
 When reason lay in torture or in wreck, 
 Ajid life was death — to part with stainless hand 
 The tie that held her from his loving breast ?" 
 
 If God himself had dropped her words from heaven, 
 
186 KATHR1NA. 
 
 They had not reached with surer plummet-plunge 
 The depths of my conviction. I was dumb ; 
 I opened not my mouth ; but left her side, 
 And sought the crowded street. I felt that all 
 Delusions, subterfuges, self-deceits, 
 By which my soul had shut itself from God, 
 Were stripped away, and that no barrier 
 Was interposed between us which was not 
 My own hand's building. Never, nevermore, 
 Could I hold God in blame, or deem myself 
 A guiltless, injured creature. I could see 
 That I was hard, implacable, unjust ; 
 And that by force of wilful choice I held 
 Myself from God ; for no impulsion came 
 To seek His face and favor. Nay, I feared 
 And fought such incidence, as enemy 
 Of all my plans. 
 
 So it became thenceforth 
 A problem with me how to separate 
 My new conviction from my life — to hold 
 A revolutionizing truth within, 
 
 
KATHBWA 187 
 
 And hold it yet so loosely, it should be 
 Like a dumb alien in a mural town — 
 No guest, but an intruder, who might bide, 
 By law or grace, but win no domicile, 
 And hold no power. 
 
 When I returned, that night, 
 My course was chosen, with such sense of guilt 
 I blushed before the calm, inquiring eyes 
 That met me at my threshold ; but the theme 
 Was dropped just there. My gentle mentor read 
 The secret of the struggle and the sin, 
 And left me to myself. 
 
 At the set time, 
 I entered on my task. The discipline 
 Of early years told feebly on my work, 
 For dissipation and disuse of power 
 Had brought me back to infancy again. 
 My will was weak, my patience was at fault, 
 And in my fretful helplessness, I stormed 
 And sighed by turns ; yet still I held in force 
 
188 KATHB1NA. 
 
 Determination, as reserve of will ; 
 
 And when I flinched or faltered, always fell 
 
 Back upon that, and saved my powers from rout. 
 
 Casting, recasting, till I found the germ 
 
 Of my conception putting forth its whorls 
 
 In orderly succession round the stem 
 
 Of my design, that straight and strong shot up 
 
 Toward inflorescence, my long work went on, 
 
 Till I was tilled with satisfying joy. 
 
 This lasted for a little time, and then 
 
 There came reaction. I grew tired of it. 
 
 My verses were as meaningless and stale 
 
 As doggrel of the stalls. I marvelled much 
 
 That they could ever have beguiled my pride 
 
 Into self-gratulation, or done aught 
 
 But overwhelm me with contempt for them, 
 
 And the dull pen that wrote them. 
 
 I had hoped 
 To form and finish my projected work 
 Within, and by, myself, — to tease no ear 
 With fragmentary snatches of my song, 
 
KATER1NA. 180 
 
 And call for no support from friendly praise 
 To reinforce my courage ; but the stress 
 Of my disgust and my despair — the need, 
 Imperative and absolute, to brace myself 
 By some opinion borrowed for the nonce, 
 And bathe my spirit in the sympathy 
 Of some strong nature — mastered my intent, 
 And sent me for resource to her whose heart 
 Was ever open to my call. 
 
 She sat 
 Through the long hour in which I read to her, 
 Absorbed, entranced, as one who sits alone 
 Within a dim cathedral, and resigns 
 His spirit to the organ-theme, that mounts, 
 Or sinks in tremulous pauses, or sweeps out 
 On mighty pinions and with trumpet voice 
 Through labyrinthine harmonies, at last 
 Emerging, and through silver clouds of sound 
 Receding and receding, till it melts 
 Into the empyrean and is lost. 
 It was not needful she should say a word ; 
 
190 KATHR1NA. 
 
 For in her glowing eyes and kindling face, 
 
 T caught the full assurance that my heart 
 
 Had yearned for ; but she spoke her hearty praise; 
 
 And when I asked her for her criticism, 
 
 Bestowed it with such modest deference 
 
 To my opinion, as to spare my pride ; 
 
 Yet, with such subtle sense of harmony, 
 
 And insight of proportion, that I saw 
 
 That I should find no critic in the world 
 
 More competent or more severe. I said, 
 
 Gulping my pride : " Better this ordeal 
 
 In friendly hands, before the time of types, 
 
 Than afterward, in hands of enemies." 
 
 So, from that reading, it was understood 
 Between us that, whenever I essayed 
 Revising and retouching, I should know 
 Her intimate impressions, and receive 
 Her frank suggestions. In this oversight 
 And constant interest of one whose mind 
 Was excellent and pure, and raised above 
 
KATHB1NA 191 
 
 All motive to beguile me, I secured 
 New inspiration. 
 
 Weeks and months passed by 
 With gradient hopefulness, and strength renewed 
 At each renewal of the confidence 
 I had reposed in her ; till I perceived 
 That I was living on her praise — that she 
 Held God's place in me and the multitude's. 
 And now, as I look back upon these days 
 Of difficult endeavor, I confess 
 That had she not been with me, I had failed — 
 Ay, foundered in mid-sea — my hope, my life, 
 The spoil of deep oblivion. 
 
 At last 
 The work was done — the labored volume closed. 
 "I cannot make it better," I exclaimed. 
 " I can write better, but, before I write, 
 I must have recognition in the voice 
 Of public praise. A good paymaster pays 
 When work is finished. Let him pay for this, 
 
192 KATHR1WA. 
 
 And I will work again ; but, till he pay, 
 My leisure is my own, and I will wait. " 
 
 " And if lie grudge your wage '?" suggested she 
 To whom I spoke. 
 
 "I shall be finished too." 
 
 Came then the proofs and latest polishing 
 Of words and phrases — work I shared with her 
 To whom I owed so much ; and then the fear, 
 The deathly heart-fall, and the haunting dread 
 That go before exposure to the world 
 Of inmost life, and utmost reach of power 
 Toward revelation ; — then the shrinking spell 
 When morbid love of self awaits in pain 
 The verdict it has courted. 
 
 But at last 
 The book was out. My daughter's hand in mine— 
 Her careless feet, that thrilled with springing life, 
 
KATHB1NA. 193 
 
 Skipping the pavement — I walked down Broadway 
 To ease the restlessness and cool the heat 
 That vexed my idle waiting. As we passed 
 A showy window, filled with costly books, 
 My little girl exclaimed : ' ' Oh father ! See ! 
 There is your name 1" 
 
 Straight all the bravery 
 Within my veins, at one wild heart- thump, dropped, 
 And I was limp as water ; but I paused, 
 And read the poster. It announced my book 
 In characters of flame, with adjectives 
 My daring publisher had filched, I think, 
 From an old circus-broadside. 
 
 "Well!" thought I— 
 Biting my lip — "I'm in the market now ! 
 How much — O ! rattling, roaring multitude ! 
 O ! selfish, cheating, lying multitude ! 
 O ! hawking, trading, delving multitude ! — 
 How much for one man's hope, for one man's life r 
 What for his toil and pain ? — his heart's red blood ? 
 
194 KATHB1NA. 
 
 What for his brains and breeding ? Oh how much 
 For one who craves your praises with your pence, 
 And dies with your denial ?" 
 
 I went in, 
 And bought my book — not doubting I was first 
 To give response to my apostrophe. 
 The smug old clerk, who found his length of ear 
 Convenient as a pencil-rack, and thus 
 Made nature's wrath proclaim the praise of trade, 
 Wrapped my dear bantling well ; and, as he 
 
 dropped 
 My dollar in his till, smiled languidly 
 Upon my little girl, and said to me — 
 To cheer me in my purchase — that the book 
 Was thought to be a deuced clever thing. 
 He never read such books : he had no time. 
 Indeed, he had no interest in them. 
 Still, other people had, and it was well, 
 For it helped trade along. 
 
 It was for him — 
 
Well, thought I, biting ihy lip, " I'm in the market now. 
 
KATHR1NA. 195 
 
 A vulgar fraction of the integral 
 
 We speak of as "the people," and " the world " — 
 
 I had been writing ! Had he read my book, 
 
 And given it his praise, I should have been 
 
 Delighted, though I knew that his applause 
 
 Was worthless as his brooch. I was a fool 
 
 Undoubtedly ; yet I could understand, 
 
 Better than e'er before, how separate 
 
 The artist is from such a soul as his — 
 
 What need of teachers and interpreters 
 
 To crumble in his pewter porringer 
 
 The rounded loaf, whose crust was adamant 
 
 To his weak fingers. 
 
 The next morning's press 
 Was purchased early, though I read in vain 
 To find my reputation. But at night, 
 My door-bell rang ; and I received a note 
 From one who edited an evening print, 
 (I had dined with him at my publisher's,) 
 Inclosing a review, and venturing 
 The hope that I should like it. 
 
196 KATRR1NA. 
 
 Cunning man ! 
 He knew the tricks of trade, and was adroit. 
 My poem was "a revelation." I had "burst 
 Like thunder from a calm and cloudless sky." 
 Well, not to quote his language, this the drift? 
 A man of fortune, living at his ease, 
 But fond of manly effort, had sat down, 
 And turned his culture to supreme account ; 
 And he — the editor — took on himself 
 To thank him on the world's behalf. Withal, 
 The poet had betrayed the continence 
 Of genius. He had held, undoubtedly, 
 The consciousness of power from early youth ; 
 But, yielding never to the itch for print, 
 Had nursed and chastened and developed it, 
 Until his hand was strong, and swept his lyre 
 With magic of a master. 
 
 Followed here 
 fSage comments on the rathe and puny brood 
 Of poet-sucklings, who had rushed to type 
 
KATHPdNA 197 
 
 Before their time — pale stems that spun their 
 
 flowers 
 In the first sunshine, but, when Autumn came, 
 Were fruitless. It was pleasant, too, to- see, 
 In such an age of sentimental cant, 
 One man who dared to hold up to the world 
 A creature of his brain, and say : " Look you ! 
 This is my thought ; and it shall stand alone. 
 It has no moral, bears no ministry 
 Of pious teaching, and makes no appeal 
 To sufferance or suffrage of the muffs 
 Who, in the pulpit or the press, prepare 
 The nation's pap. The fiery-footed barb 
 That pounds the pampas, and the lily-bells 
 That hang above the brooks, present the world 
 With no apology for being there, 
 And no attempt to justify themselves 
 In uselessness. It is enough for God 
 That they are beautiful, and hold His thought 
 In fine embodiment ; and it shall be 
 Enough for me that, in this book of mine, 
 I have created somewhat that is strong 
 
198 KATRR1NA. 
 
 And beautiful, which, if it profit,— well : 
 If not, 'tis no less strong and beautiful, 
 And holds its being by no feebler right." 
 
 Ay, it was glorious to find one man 
 Who piled no packs upon his Pegasus, 
 Nor chained hirn to a rag-cart, loaded down 
 With moral frippery, and strings of bells 
 To call the people to then- windows. 
 
 Then 
 There followed extracts, with a change of type 
 To mark the places where the editor 
 Had caught a fancy hiding, which he feared 
 Might slrp detection under slower eyes ■ 
 Than those he carried ; or to emphasize 
 Felicities of diction that were stiff 
 In Roman verticals, but grew divine 
 At the Italic angle ; then ax^ology, 
 Profoundly humble, to his patrons all 
 For quoting at such length, and one to me 
 For quoting anything, and deep regrets, 
 
KATHB1NA. 199 
 
 In quite a general way, that lack of space 
 
 Forbade the reproduction of the book 
 
 From title-page to tail-piece, winding up 
 
 With counsel to all lovers of pure art, 
 
 Patrons of genius, all Americans, 
 
 All friends of cis- Atlantic literature, 
 
 To buy the book, and read it for themselves. 
 
 I drank the whole, at one long, luscious draught, 
 
 Tipping the tankard high, that I might see 
 
 My features at the bottom, and regale 
 
 My pride, after my palate. Then I tossed 
 
 The paper to my wife, and bade her read. 
 
 I watched her while she read, but failed to find 
 
 The sympathy of pleasure in her face 
 
 I had expected. Finishing at last, 
 
 She raised her eyes, and, fixing them on me, 
 
 Said thoughtfully : "You like this, I suspect." 
 
 " Well, granted ! " I responded, " since it seems." 
 To be the first instalment of the wage 
 Which you suggested might come grudgingly. 
 
200 KATHRfflA. 
 
 Ay, it is sweet to me. I know it fails 
 In nice discrimination, — that it slnrs 
 Defects which I perceive as well as you ; 
 But it is kind, and places in best light 
 Such excellences as we both may find — 
 May claim, indeed." 
 
 ' ' And yet, it is a lie, 
 Or what the editor would call ' a puff,' 
 From first to last. The ' continence, ' my dear, 
 ' Of genius !' What of that ? And what about 
 The ' manly effort, ' for whose exercise 
 He thanked you on the world's behalf ? And so 
 Your nursing, chastening and developing 
 Of power ! — Pray what of these ?" 
 
 " Oh ! wife !" I said ; 
 "Don't spoil it all ! Be pitiful, my love ! 
 I am a baby — granted : so I need 
 The touch of tender hands, and something sweet 
 To keep me happy." 
 
KATHR1NA. 201 
 
 "Babies take a bath, 
 Sometimes, from which the hand of warmest love 
 Filches the chill, and you must have one dash," 
 She answered me, "to close your complement. 
 The weakest spot in all your book, he found 
 With a quick instinct ; and on that he spent 
 His sharpest force and finest rhetoric, 
 Shoring and bracing it on every side 
 With bold assumptions and affirmatives, 
 To blind the eyes of novices, and scare 
 With fierce forestalment all the critic-quills 
 Now bristling for their chance. He saw at once 
 Your poem had no mission, save, perhaps, 
 The tickle of the taste, and that it bore 
 Upon its glowing gold small food for life. 
 He saw just there the point to be attacked ; 
 And there threw up his earth-works, and spread 
 
 out 
 His thorny abatis. Ay, he was kind 
 Undoubtedly, and very cunning, too ; 
 For well he knew that there are earnest souls 
 In the broad world, who claim that highest art 
 
20:3 KATER1NA. 
 
 Is highest ministry to Iranian need ; 
 And that the artist has no Christian right 
 To prostitute his art to selfish ends, 
 Or make it vehicle alone of plums 
 For the world's pudding." 
 
 " These will speak in time," 
 Eesponded I ; "but they have not the ear 
 Of the broad world, I think. The Christian right 
 Of which you speak is hardly recognized 
 Among the multitude, or by the guild 
 In which I claim a place. The sectaries 
 Who furnish folios, quartos, magazines, 
 To the religious few, are limited 
 In influence ; and these, my wife, are all 
 I have to fear ; — nay, could I but arouse 
 Their bitter enmity, I might receive 
 Such superflux of praise and patronage 
 As would o'erwhelm my sweetly Christian wife 
 "With shame and misery. But we shall see ; 
 And, in the meantime, let us be content 
 That, if one man shall praise me overmuch. 
 
KATHB1NA. 2Q» 
 
 Ten, at the least, will fail to render me 
 Befitting justice." 
 
 As the days went on, 
 Beviews and notices came pouring in. 
 I was notorious, at least ; and fame, 
 I whispered comfortably to niyself, 
 Is only notoriety turned gray, 
 With less of fire, if more of steadiness. 
 The adverse verdicts were not numerous ; 
 And these were rendered, as I fancied then, 
 By sanctimonious fools who deemed profane 
 All verse outside their thumb-worn hymnodies. 
 My book received the rattling fusilade 
 Of all the dailies : then the artillery 
 Of the hehdomadals, whose noisy shells, 
 Though timed by fuse to burst on Saturday 
 Exploded at the middle of the week ; 
 And last, a hundred-pounder quarterly 
 Gave it a single missive from its mask 
 Of far and dark impersonality. 
 The smoke cleared up, and still my colors flew, 
 
304 KATHB1NA. 
 
 And still my book stood proudly in the sun, 
 Nor breached nor battered. 
 
 I had won a place ; 
 That I was sure of. All had said of me 
 That I was " brilliant :" was not that enough ? 
 The petty pesterers, with card and stamp, 
 Who hunt for autographs, were after me, 
 In packages by post ; and idle men 
 Held me at corners by the button-hole, 
 And introduced me to their friends. I dined 
 With meek-eyed men, whose literary wives 
 Were dying all to know me, as they said ; 
 And the lyceums, quick at scent and sight — 
 Watching the jungles for a Hon — all 
 Courted the delectation of my roar 
 Upon their platforms, pledging to my hand 
 (With city reference to stanchest names,) 
 Such honoraria as would have been 
 The lion's share of profits. These were straws ; 
 But they had surer fingers for the wind 
 Than withes or weathercocks. 
 
KATHR1NA. 205 
 
 The book sold well, 
 My publisher (who published at my risk,) 
 And first put on the airs of one who stooped 
 To grant a favor, brimmed and overflowed 
 With courtesy ; and ere a year was gone, 
 Became importunate for something more. 
 This was his plea : I owed it to myself 
 To write again. The time to make one's hay 
 Is when the sun shines : time to write one's books 
 Is when the public humor turns to them. 
 The public would forget me in a year, 
 And seek another idol ; or, meanwhile, 
 Another writer might usurp my throne, 
 And I be hooted from my own domain 
 As a pretender. Then the market's maw 
 Was greedy for my poems. Just how long 
 The appetite would last, he could not tell, 
 For appetite is subject of caprice, 
 And never lasts too long. 
 
 The man was wise, 
 I plainly saw, and gave me the results 
 
203 KATHRINA. 
 
 Of observation and experience. 
 
 I took his hint, accepting with a pang 
 
 The truths that came with it ; for instance, 
 
 these : — 
 That he who speaks for praise of those who live, 
 Must keep liimself before his audience, 
 Nor look for " bravas," cheers, and cries of "hear!" 
 And clap of hands and stamp of feet, except 
 With fresh occasion ; that applause of crowds, 
 Though fierce, runs never to the chronic stage ; 
 That good paymasters, having paid for work 
 The doer's price, expect receipt in full 
 At even date ; and that if I would keep 
 My place, as grand purveyor to the greed 
 For novelties of literary art, 
 My viands must be sapid, and abound 
 With change, to wake or whet the appetite 
 I sought to feed. 
 
 I say I took bis hint, 
 Bestowed in selfishness, without a doubt, 
 Though in my interest. For ten long years 
 
KATHR1NA. 207 
 
 It was the basis of my policy. 
 I poured rny poems with redundancy 
 Upon the world, and won redundant meed. 
 If I gave much, the world was generous, 
 Paying me more than justice ; but, at last, 
 Tired and disgusted, I laid down my pen. 
 I knew my work would not outlast my life, 
 That the enchantments which had wreathed them- 
 selves 
 Around my name were withering away, 
 With every breath of fragrance they exhaled ; 
 And that, too soon, the active brain and hand 
 Whose skill had conjured them, would faint and 
 
 fail 
 Under the press of weariness and years. 
 My reputation piqued me. None believed 
 That it was in me to write otherwise 
 Than I had written. All the world had laughed, 
 Or shaken its wise head, had I essayed ' 
 A work beyond the round of brilliancies 
 In which my pen had revelled, and for which 
 It gave such princely guerdon. If I looked, 
 
208 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Or came to look, with measureless contempt 
 On those who gave with such munificence 
 The "boon I sought, I had provoking cause 
 I fooled them all with patent worthlessness, 
 And they insisted I should fool them still. 
 The wisdom of a whole decade had failed 
 To teach them that the thing my hand had done 
 Was not worth doing. 
 
 More and worse than this 
 I found my character and self-respect 
 Eroded by the canker of conceit, 
 Poisoned by jealousy, and made the prey 
 Of meanest passions. Harlequins in mask, 
 Who live upon the laughter of the throng 
 That crowds their reeking amphitheatres ; 
 Light-footed dancing-girls, who sell their grace 
 To gaping lechers of the pit, to win 
 That which shall feed their shameless vanity ; 
 The mimics of the buskin — baser still, 
 The mimics of the negro — minstrel-bands, 
 With capital of corks and castanets 
 
KATHRWA. 2 
 
 And threadbare jests — Ah ! who and what was I 
 But brother of all these — in higher walk, 
 But brother in the motive of my life, 
 Iu jealousy, in recompense for toil, 
 And, last, in destiny ? 
 
 My wife had caught 
 Stray silver in her hair in these long years ; 
 And the sweet maiden springing from our lives 
 Had grown to womanhood. In my pursuits, 
 Which drank my time and my vitality, 
 I had neglected them. I worked at home, 
 But lived in other scenes, for other lives, 
 Or, rather, for my own ; and though my pride 
 Shrank from the deed, I had the tardy grace 
 To call them to me, and confess my shame, 
 And beg for their forgiveness. 
 
 Once again — 
 All explanations passed — I sat beside 
 My faithful wife, and canvassed as of old 
 Kew plans of life. I found her still the same 
 
210 KATHRWA. 
 
 In purpose and in magnanimity ; 
 For she dealt no upbraidings and no blame ; 
 Cast in my teeth no old-time prophecies 
 Of failure ; felt no triumph which rejoiced 
 To mock me with the words, "I told you so." 
 Calmly she sat, and tried, with gentlest speech, 
 To heal the bruises of my fall ; to wake 
 A better feeling in me toward the world, 
 And soothe my morbid self-contempt. 
 
 The world, 
 She said, is apt to take a public man 
 At his own estimate, and yield him place 
 According to his choice. I had essayed 
 To please the world, and gather in its praise ; 
 And, certainly, the world was pleased with me, 
 And had not stinted me in its return 
 Of plauditory payment. As the world 
 Had taken me according to my rate, 
 And filled my wish, it had a valid claim 
 On my good nature. 
 
KATHR1NA. 211 
 
 Then, beyond all this, 
 The world was not a fool. Those "books of mine, 
 That I had come to look upon as trash, 
 Were not all trash. My motive had been poor, 
 And that had vitiated them for me ; 
 But there was much in them that yielded strength 
 To struggling souls, and, to the wounded, balm. 
 Indeed, she had been helped by them, herself. 
 They were all pure ; they made no foul appeal 
 To baseness and brutality ; they had 
 An element of gentle chivalry, 
 Such as must have a place in any man 
 Shrinking with sensitiveness, like myself, 
 From a fine reputation, scorning it 
 For motive which had won it. 
 
 Words like these, 
 From lips like hers, were needed medicine. 
 They clarified my weak and jaundiced sight, 
 And helped to juster vision of the world, 
 And of myself. But there was no return 
 Of the old greed ; and fame, which I had learned 
 
212 KATHUWA. 
 
 To be an entity quite different 
 From my conceit of it in other days, 
 Was something much too far and nebulous 
 To be my star of life. 
 
 "You have some plan ?" — 
 Statement and query in same words, which fell 
 From lips that sought to rehabilitate 
 My will and self-respect. 
 
 "I have," I said. 
 
 "Else you were dead," responded she. "To live, 
 Men must have plans. When these die out of men 
 They crumble into chaos, or relapse 
 Into inanity. Will you reveal 
 These plans of yours to me ?" 
 
 "Ay, if lean," 
 I answered her ; but first I must reveal 
 The base on which I build them. I have tried 
 To find the occasion of my discontent, 
 
KATHRINA. 213 
 
 And found it, as I think, just here : In quest 
 
 Of popularity, I have become 
 
 Untrue both to myself and to my art. 
 
 I have not dared to speak the royal trulh 
 
 For fear of censure : I have been a slave 
 
 To men's opinions. What is best in me 
 
 Has been debauched by the pursuit of praise, 
 
 As life's best prize. Conviction, sentiment, 
 
 All love and hate, all sense of right and wrong, 
 
 I have held in abeyance, or compelled 
 
 To work in menial subservience 
 
 To my grand purpose. If my sentiment 
 
 Or my conviction were but popular, 
 
 It flowed in hearty numbers : otherwise, 
 
 It slept in silence. 
 
 " Now as to my art : 
 I find that it has suffered like myself, 
 And suffered from same cause. My verse has been 
 Shaped evermore to meet the people's thought. 
 That which was highest, grandest in my art, 
 I have not reached, and have not tried to reach. 
 
214 KATHBWA. 
 
 I have but touched the surfaces of things 
 That meet the common vision ; and my art 
 Has only aimed to clothe them gracefully 
 With fancy's gaudy fabrics, or portray 
 Their patent beauties and deformities. 
 Above the people in my gift and art, 
 Both gift and art have had a downward trend 
 And both are prostitute. 
 
 "Discarding praise 
 As motive of my labor, I confess 
 My sins against my art, and so, henceforth, 
 As to my goddess, give myself to her. 
 The chivalry which you are pleased to note 
 In me and works of mine, turns loyally 
 To her and to her service. Nevermore 
 Shall pen of mine demean itself by work 
 That serves not first, and with supreme intent, 
 The art whose slave it is." 
 
 "I understand, 
 I think, the basis of your plan," she said ; 
 
KATHRWA. 215 
 
 " And e'en the plan itself. You now propose 
 To write without remotest reference 
 To the world's wishes, prejudices, needs, 
 Or e'en the world's opinions, — quite content 
 If the world find aught in you to applaud ; 
 Quite as content if it condemn. With full 
 Expression of yourself, in finest terms 
 And noblest forms of art, so far as God 
 Has made you masterful, you give yourself 
 Up fco yourself and to your art. Is this 
 Fan statement of your purpose ?" 
 
 "Not unfair," 
 
 I answered. " Tell me what you think of it." 
 
 " Suppose," she said, " that all the artist-souls 
 
 That God has made since time and art began 
 
 Had acted on your theory ; suppose 
 
 In architecture, picture, poetry, 
 
 Naught had found utterance but works that sprang 
 
 To satisfy the worker, and reveal 
 
216 KATHRmA. 
 
 That bundle of ideas which, to him, 
 
 Is instituted art ; but which, in truth, 
 
 Is figment of his fancy, or his thought, — 
 
 His creature, made his God — say where were all 
 
 The temples, palaces and homes of men ; 
 
 The galleries that blaze with history, 
 
 Or bloom with landscape, or look down 
 
 With smile of changeless love or loveliness 
 
 Into the hearts of men ? And where were all 
 
 The poems that give measure to their praise 
 
 Voice to their aspirations, forms of light 
 
 To homely facts and features of their life, 
 
 Enveloping this plain, prosaic world 
 
 In an ideal atmosphere, in which 
 
 Fair angels come and go ? All gifts of men 
 
 Were made for use, and made for highest use. 
 
 If highest use be service of one's self, 
 
 And highest standard, one's embodiment 
 
 Of dogmas, theories and thoughts of art, 
 
 As art's identity, then are you right ; 
 
 But if a higher use of gift and art 
 
 Be service of mankind, and higher rule 
 
KATHRINA. 217 
 
 God's regal truth, revealed in words or worlds, 
 And verified by life, then are you wrong." 
 
 "But art?" — responded I — "you do not mean 
 
 That art is nothing but a thing of thought, 
 
 Or, less than that, of fancy ? Nay, I claim 
 
 That it is somewhat — a grand entity — 
 
 An organism of lofty principles, 
 
 Informed with subtlest life, and clothed upon 
 
 With usage and tradition of the men 
 
 Who, working in those sunny provinces 
 
 Where it holds eminent domain, have brought 
 
 To build its temple and adorn its walls 
 
 The usufruct of countless lives. So far 
 
 Is art from being creature of man's thought 
 
 That it is subject of his knowledge — stands 
 
 In mighty mystery, and challenges 
 
 The study of the world ; rules noblest minds 
 
 Like law or like religion : is a power 
 
 To which the proudest artist-spirits bow 
 
 With humblest homage. Is astronomy 
 
 The creature of man's thought ? Is chemistry ? 
 
218 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Yet these hold not, in this our universe, 
 A form more definite, nor yet a place 
 In human knowledge more beyond dispute. 
 Than art itself. To this embodiment 
 Of theory — of dogmas, if you will — 
 This body aggregate of truth revealed 
 In growing light of ages to the eyes 
 Touched to perception, I devote my life." 
 
 "Nay, you're too fast," she said : "let alchemy 
 
 And old astrology present your thought. 
 
 These were somewhat ; these were grand entities ; 
 
 But they went out like candles in thin air 
 
 When knowledge came. The sciences are things 
 
 Of law, of force, relations, measurements, 
 
 Affinities and combinations, all 
 
 The definite, demonstrable effects 
 
 Of first and second causes. Between these 
 
 And men's opinions, braced by usages, 
 
 The space is wide. The thing which you call art, 
 
 Is anything but definite in form, 
 
 Or fixed in law. It has as many shapes 
 
KATH111NA. 219 
 
 As worshipers. The world has many books, 
 Written by earnest men, about this art ; 
 But having read them, we are no more wise 
 Than he whose observation of the sun 
 Is taken by kaleidoscope. The more 
 He sees in it, the more he is confused. 
 The sun works, doubtless, many fine effects 
 With what he sees, but he sees not the sun." 
 
 "But art is art," I said. "You'd cheat my sense, 
 And mock my reason too. Ay, art is art. 
 Things must have being that have history." 
 
 Then she : " Yes, politics has history, 
 And therefore has a being, — has, in truth, 
 Just such a being as I grant to art — 
 A being of opinions. Every state 
 Has origin and ends of government 
 Peculiarly its own, and so, from these, 
 Constructs its theory of politics, 
 And holds this theory against the world ; 
 And holds it well. There is no fixedness 
 
220 KATHRWA. 
 
 Or form of politics for all mankind ; 
 
 And there is none of art. Each artist-soul 
 
 Is its own law ; and he who dares to bring 
 
 From work of other man, to lay on yours, 
 
 His square and compasses — declaring him 
 
 The pattern man — and tells, by him, you lack 
 
 Just so much here, or wander so much there, 
 
 Thereby confesses just how much he lacks 
 
 Of wisdom and plain sense. For every man 
 
 Has special gift of power and end of life. 
 
 No man is great who lives by other law 
 
 Than that which wrapped his genius at his birth. 
 
 The Lind is great because she is the Lind, 
 
 And not the Malabran. Recorded art 
 
 Is yours to study — e'en to imitate, 
 
 In education — imitate or shun, 
 
 As the case warrants ; but it has destroyed, 
 
 Or toned to commonplace, more gifts of God 
 
 Than it has ever fanned to life or fed. 
 
 Who never walks save where he sees men's tracks, 
 
 Makes no discoveries. Show me the man 
 
 Who, leaving God and nature and himself, 
 
KATHUINA. 
 
 Sits at the feet of masters, stuffs his brain 
 With maxims, notions, usages and rules, 
 And yields his fancy up to leading-strings, 
 And I shall see a man who never did 
 A deed worth doing. So, in the name of art — 
 Nay, in the name of God — do no such thing 
 As smutch your knees by bowing at a shrine, 
 Whose doubtful deity, in midst of dust, 
 Sits in the cast-off robes of devotees, 
 And lives on broken victuals !" 
 
 221 
 
 ' ' Drive, my dear ! 
 Drive or, and over me ! You're on the old 
 High-stepping horse to-night ; so give him rein, 
 For exercise is good," I said, in mirth. 
 ' ' You sit your courser finely. I confess 
 I'm very proud of you, and too much pleased 
 With your accomplishments to check your speed. 
 Drive on, my love ! drive on !" 
 
 "I thank you, sir ! 
 No one so gracious as your grudging man 
 
222 KATHR1JSA. 
 
 Under compulsion ! With, your kind consent 
 
 I'll drive a little further," she replied, — 
 
 " For I enjoy it quite as much as you — 
 
 The more because you've given me little chance 
 
 In these last years. . . . Now, soberly, this 
 
 art— 
 Of which we talk so much, without the power 
 To tell exactly what we understand 
 By the hack term — suppose we take the word, 
 And try to find its meaning. You recall 
 Old John who dressed the borders in our court : 
 You called him, hired 3 vim, told him what to do. 
 He and his rake stood inteiposed between 
 You and your work. You chose his skilful hands, 
 Endowing them with pay, or pledge of pay, 
 And set him at his labor. Now supx^ose 
 Old John had had a philosorjhic turn 
 After you left him, and had thought like this : 
 ' I am called here to do a certain work — 
 My rake tells what ; and he who called me here 
 Has given me the motive for the job. 
 The work is plain. These borders are to be 
 
KA THR1NA 223 
 
 Levelled and cleaned of weeds : my hand, my rake 
 
 Are fitted for the service ; — this my art ; 
 
 And it is first of all the arts. There's none 
 
 More ancient, useful, worshipful, indeed, 
 
 Than agriculture. Adam practised it ; 
 
 Poets have sung its praises ; and the great 
 
 Of every age have loved and honored it. 
 
 This art is greater than the man I serve, 
 
 And greater than his borders. Therefore I 
 
 Will serve my art, and let the borders he, 
 
 And my enrployer whistle. True to that, 
 
 And to myself, it matters not to me 
 
 What weeds may grow, or what the master think 
 
 Of my proceeding !' 
 
 " So, intent on this, 
 He hangs his rake upon your garden wall, 
 And steals your clematis, with which to wind 
 The handle upward ; then o'erfills his hands 
 With roses and geraniums, and weaves 
 Their beauty into laurel, for a crown 
 For his slim god. completing his devoir 
 
224-. KATHR1NA. 
 
 By battering the teeth, and kneeling down 
 In abject homage. Pray, what would you say. 
 At close of day, when you should go to see 
 Your untouched borders, and your gardener 
 At genuflexion, with your niignonnette 
 In every button-hole ? Kemember, now, 
 He has been true to art and to himself, 
 According to his notion ; nor forget 
 To take along a dollar for his hire, 
 Which he expects, of course ! What would you 
 say r 
 
 " Oh don't mind that : you've reached your ' fifth- 
 ly ' now, 
 And here the 'application' comes," I said. 
 
 "I think," responded she, with an arch smile, 
 "The application's needless : but you men 
 Are so obtuse, when will is in the way, 
 That I will do your bidding. Every gift 
 That God bestows on men holds in itself 
 The secret of its office, like the rake 
 
KATHRWA. 
 
 22'- 
 
 Tke gardener wields. The rake was made to till — 
 
 Was fashioned, head and handle, for just that ; 
 
 And if, by grace of God, you hold a gift 
 
 So fashioned and adapted, that it stands 
 
 In like relation of suprernest use 
 
 To life of men, the office of your gift 
 
 Has perfect definition. Gift like this 
 
 Is yours, my husband. In your facile hand. 
 
 God placed it for the service of Himself, 
 
 In service of your kind. Taking this gift, 
 
 And using it for God and for the world, 
 
 In your own way, and in your own best way ; 
 
 Seeking for light and knowledge everywhere 
 
 To guide your careful hand ; and opening wide 
 
 To spiritual influx all your soul, 
 
 That so your Master may breathe into you, 
 
 And breathe His great life through you, in such 
 
 forms 
 Of pure presentment as He gives you skill 
 To build withal—that's all of art — for you. 
 Art is an instrument, and not an end — 
 A servant, not a master, nor a God 
 
236 KATHR1NA. 
 
 To be bowed down to. Shall we worship rakes ? 
 Honor of art, by him whose work is art, 
 Is a fine passion : bnt he honors most 
 Whose use and end are best." 
 
 "Use! Use! Use!" 
 I cried impatiently ; — "nothing but use ! 
 As if God never made a violet, 
 Or hung a harebell, or in kindling gold 
 Garnished a sunset, or upreared the arch 
 Of a bright rainbow, or endowed a world- 
 A universe, indeed — stars, finnament, 
 The vastitudes of forest and of sea, 
 Swift brooks and sweeping rivers, virid meads 
 And fluff of breezy hills — with tints that range 
 The scale of spectral beauty, till they leave 
 No glint or glory of the changeful light 
 Without a revelation ! Is this use — 
 1 beg your pardon, love : you say ' this art ' — 
 The sum and end of art ? If it be so, 
 Then God's no artist. Are the crystal brooks 
 Sweeter for singing to the thirsty brutes 
 
KATHB1NA. 22^ 
 
 That dip their beaded muzzles in the foani ? 
 Burns the tree better that its leaves are green ? 
 Sleeps the sun sounder under canopy 
 Of gold or rose ?" 
 
 " Yet beauty has its use," 
 Responded she. "Whatever elevates, 
 Inspires, refreshes, auy human soul, 
 Is useful to that soul. Beauty has use 
 For you and me. The dainty violet 
 Blooms in our thought, and sheds its fragrance 
 
 there : 
 And we are gainers through its ministry. 
 All God's great values wear the drapery 
 That most becomes them. Beauty may, in truth, 
 Be incident of art and not be end — 
 Its form, condition, features, dress, and still 
 The humblest value of the things of art. 
 This truth obtains in all God's artistry. 
 Does God make beauty for himself, alone ? 
 He is, and holds, all beauty. Has He need 
 To kindle rushes that He may behold 
 
 
228 KATHRWA. 
 
 The glory of His thoughts ? or need to use 
 His thoughts as plasms for the amorphous clay- 
 That He may study models ? For an end 
 Outside himself, he ever speaks Himself ; 
 And end, with Him, is use." 
 
 "Well, I confess 
 There's truth in what you utter," I replied ; — 
 "A modicum of truth, at least ; and still 
 There's something more which this our subtle talk 
 Has failed to give us. I will not affirm 
 That art, recorded in its thousand forms, 
 And clothed with usages, traditions, rules, — 
 The tiling of history — the mighty pile 
 Of drift that sweep of ages has brought down 
 To heap the puzzled present — is the sum 
 And substance of all art. 1 will not claim — 
 Nay, mark me now — I will not even claim 
 That beauty is art's end, or has its end 
 Within itself. Our tedious colloquy 
 Has cleared away the rubbish from my thought, 
 And given me cleaner vision. I can see 
 
KATHB1NA 221) 
 
 Before, around me, underneath, above, 
 
 The great unrealized ; and while I bow 
 
 To the traditions and the things of art, 
 
 And hold my theories, I find myself 
 
 Inspired supremely by the Possible 
 
 That calls for revelation — by the forms 
 
 That sleep imprisoned in the snowy arms 
 
 Of still unquarried truth, or stretch their hands 
 
 At sound of sledge and drill and booming fire, 
 
 Imploring for release. I turn from men, 
 
 And stretch my hands toward these. I feel — I 
 
 know — 
 That there are mighty myriads waiting there, 
 And listening for my steps. Suppose my age 
 Should fail to give them welcome ; ay, suppose 
 They may not help a man to coin a dime 
 Or cook a dinner : they will fare as well 
 As much of God's truth fares, though clothed in 
 
 forms 
 Divinely chosen. Does Gl-od ever stint 
 His utterance because no creature hears ? 
 Is it a grand and goodly thing, to spend 
 
230 KATERJNA. 
 
 Brave life and precious treasures in a search 
 For palpitating water at the pole, 
 That so the sum of knowledge may be swelled, 
 Though pearls are not increased ; and something 
 
 less 
 To probe the Possible in art, or sit 
 Through months of dreary dark to catch a glimpse 
 Of the live truth that quivers with the jar 
 Of movement at its axle ? Is it good 
 To garner gain beyond the present need, 
 Won by excursive commerce in all seas ; 
 And something less to pile redundantly 
 The spoil of thought ?" 
 
 *' These latest words of yours," 
 She answered musingly, "impress me much ; 
 And yet, I think I see where they will lead, 
 Or, rather, fail to lead. Your fantasy 
 Is beautiful but vague. The Possible 
 Is a vast ocean, from which one poor soul, 
 With its slight oars, can float but flimsy freight ; 
 Yet I would help your courage, for I see 
 
KATRR1NA. 231 
 
 Where your sole motive lies. Go oil, and prove 
 Whether your scheme or mine holds more of good; 
 And take my blessing with you." 
 
 Then she rose, 
 And kissed my forehead. Looking in her face, 
 By the sharp light that touched her, I was thrilled 
 By her flushed cheeks and strangely lustrous eyes. 
 She spoke not ; but I heard the sigh she 
 
 breathed — 
 The long-drawn, weary sigh — as she retired ; 
 And then the Possible, which had inspired 
 So wondrously my hope, drooped low around, 
 And filled me with foreboding. 
 
 Had her life 
 Been chilled by my neglect ? Was it on wane ? 
 Could she be lost to me ? Oh ! then I felt, 
 As I had never felt before, how mean 
 Beside one true affection is the best 
 Of all earth's prizes, and how little worth 
 The world would be without her love — herself ! 
 
232 KATHR1NA. 
 
 But sleep refreshed her, and next morn she sat 
 At our bright board, in her accustomed place ; 
 And sunlight was not sweeter than her smile, 
 Or cheerfuller. My quick fears died away ; 
 And though I saw that she had lost the fire 
 Of her young life, I comforted myself 
 With thinking that it was the same with me — 
 The sure result of years. 
 
 My time I gave 
 To my new passion, rioting at large 
 In the fresh realm of fancy and of thought 
 To which the passion bore me, and from which 
 I strove to gather for embodiment 
 Material of art. 
 
 The more I dreamed, 
 The broader grew my dream. The further on 
 My footsteps pushed, the brighter grew the light ; 
 Till, half in terror, half in reverence, 
 I learned that I had broached the Infinite ! 
 I had not thought, my Possible could bear 
 
KATHB1NA. 233 
 
 Such name as this, or wear such attribute ; 
 And shrank befitting distance from the front 
 Of awful secrets, hid in awful flame, 
 That scorched and scared me. 
 
 So, more humble grown, 
 And less adventurous, I chose at last, 
 My theme and vehicle of song, and wrote. 
 My faculties, grown strong and keen by use, 
 Bent to their task with earnest faithfulness, 
 And glowed with high endeavor. All of power 
 I had within me flowed into my hand ; 
 And learning, language — all my life's resource — 
 Lay close around my enterprise, and poured 
 Their hoarded wealth of imagery and words 
 Faster than I could use it. For long weeks, 
 My ardent labor crowded all my days, 
 Invaded sleep, and haunted e'en my dreams : 
 And then the work was done. 
 
 I left it there, 
 And sought for recreative rest in scenes 
 
234 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Tliat once had charmed me — in society 
 Where I was welcome : but the commoo talk 
 Of daily news — of politics and trade — 
 Was senseless as the chatter of the jays 
 In autumn forests. No refreshing balm 
 Came to me in the sympathy of men. 
 In my retirement, I had left the world 
 To go its way ; and it had gone its way, 
 And left me hopelessly. 
 
 I told my wife 
 Of my dissatisfaction and disgust, 
 But found small comfort in her words. She said : 
 " The world is wide, and woman's vision short ; 
 But I have never seen a man who turned 
 His efforts from his kind, and failed to spoil 
 All men for him — himself, indeed, for them ; 
 And he who gives nor sympathy nor aid 
 To the poor race from which he seeks such boon, 
 Must be rejoiced if it be generous ; 
 Content, if it be just. Society 
 Is a grand scheme of service and return. 
 
KATHR1NA. 235 
 
 We give and take ; and he who gives the most, 
 In ways direetest, wins the best reward. " 
 
 By purpose, I closed eyes upon my work 
 
 For many weeks, resisting every day 
 
 The impulse to review the glowing dream 
 
 My fancy had engendered : for I wished 
 
 To go with faculty and fancy cooled 
 
 To its perusal. I had strong desire, 
 
 So far as in me lay, to see the work 
 
 With the world's eyes, for reasons — ah ! I shrink 
 
 From writing them ! All men are sometimes weak, 
 
 And some are inconsistent with their wills. 
 
 If I were one of these, think not I failed 
 
 To justify my weakness to myself, 
 
 In ways that saved my pride. 
 
 Yet this was true : 
 I had an honest wish to learn how far 
 My work of heat had power to re-inspire 
 The soul that wrought it, and how well my verse 
 Had clothed and kept the creature of my thought ; 
 
236 KATKUWA. 
 
 For memory still retained the loveliness 
 That filled the fresh conceit. 
 
 "When, in good time, 
 Kest and diversion had performed their work, 
 And the long fever of my brain was gone, 
 I broached my feast, first making fast my door, 
 That so no eye should mark my greedy joy 
 Or my grimaces, — doubtful of the fate 
 That waited expectation. 
 
 It were vain 
 To try in these tame words to paint the pang, 
 The faintness and the chill, which overwhelmed 
 My disappointed heart. My welded thoughts 
 Which, in then- whitest heat, had bent and bound 
 My language to themselves, imparting grace 
 To stiffest words, and meanings fresh and fine 
 To simplest phrases, interfusing all 
 With their own ardency, and shining through 
 With smoothly rounded beauty, lay in heaps 
 Of cold, unmeaning ugliness. My words 
 
EATHBINA. 237 
 
 Had shrunk to old proportions, and stood out 
 In hard, stiff angles, challenging a guess 
 Of what they covered. 
 
 Meaningless to me, 
 Who knew the meaning that had once informed 
 Its faithless numbers, what way could I hope 
 That, to my own, or any future age, 
 My work should speak its full significance ? 
 My latest child, begot in manly joy, 
 Conceived in purity, and born in toil, 
 Lay dead before me, — dead, and in the shroud 
 My hopeful hands had woven and bedecked 
 To be its chrisom. 
 
 Then the first I learned 
 Where language finds its bound, — learned that be- 
 yond 
 The range of human commerce, save by force, 
 It never moves, nor lingers in the realm 
 It thus invades, a moment, if the voice 
 Of human commerce speak not the demand ;— 
 
238 KATHR1NA. 
 
 That language is a thing of use ; — that thought 
 Which seeks a revelation, first must seek 
 Adjustment in the scale of human need , 
 Or find no fitting vehicle. 
 
 And more : 
 That the great Possible which lies outside 
 The range of commerce is identical 
 With the stupendous Infinite of God, 
 Which only comes in glimpses, or in hints 
 Of vague significance, so dim, so vast, 
 That subtlest, most prehensile language, shrinks 
 From plucking of its robes, the while they sweep 
 The perfumed air. 
 
 I closed my manuscript 
 And locked it in my desk. Then stealing forth, 
 I sought the bustle of the street, to drown 
 In the great roar of careless toil, the pain 
 That brings despair. My last resource was gone ; 
 And as I brooded o'er the awful blank 
 Of hopeless life that waited for my steps, 
 
KATRR1NA 239 
 
 A. fear which I had feared to entertain 
 Found entrance to my heart, and held it still, 
 Almost to bursting. 
 
 Not alone my life 
 Was sliding from me ; for my better life, 
 My pearl of price, the jewel in my crown, 
 My wife Kathrina, growing lovelier 
 With every passing day, arose each morn 
 From wasting dreams to paler loveliness, 
 And sank in growing weariness each night, 
 And hotter hectic, to her welcome bed. 
 Her bed ! The sweet, the precious nuptial bed ! 
 Bed sanctified by love ! Bed blest of God 
 With fruit immortal ! Bed too soon to be 
 Crowned with the glory of a Christian death ! 
 Ah God ! How it brought back the agony, 
 And the rebellious hate of other years — 
 The hopeless struggle of my will with Him 
 Whose will is law. 
 
 Thus torn with mingled thoughts 
 
240 KATHB1MA. 
 
 Of fear, despair and spite, I wore away 
 Miles of wild wandering about the streets, 
 Till weariness at last compelled my feet 
 To drag me to my home. 
 
 Before my door 
 Stood the familiar chair of one whose call 
 Was ominous of ill. My heart grew sick 
 With flutter of foreboding and foredoom ; 
 But in swift silence I flew up the steps, 
 And, blind with stifled frenzy, reached the side 
 Of my poor wife. She smiled at seeing me, 
 But I could only kneel, and bathe her hands 
 With tears and kisses. In her gentle breast — 
 True home of love, and love and home to me — 
 The blood had burst its walls, and flowed in flame 
 From lips it left in ashes. 
 
 In her smile 
 Of perfect trustfulness, I caught first glimpse 
 Of that aureola of fadeless light 
 Which spans my lonely couch, and kindles hope 
 
KATHR1NA. 241 
 
 That when my time shall come to follow her, 
 My spirit may go out, enwreathed and wrapped 
 By the familiar glory, which to-night 
 Shall brood o'er all my vigils and my dreams 1 
 
DESPAIR. 
 
 Ah ! what is so dead as a perished delight ! 
 
 Or a passion outlived ! or a scheme overthrown ! 
 Save the bankrupt heart it has left in its flight, 
 
 Still as quick as the eye, but as cold as a stone ! 
 
 The honey-bee hoards for its winter-long need, 
 The treasure it gathers in joy from the flowers ; 
 
 And drinks in each sip of its silvery mead 
 
 The flavor and flush of the sweet summer hours. 
 
 But a pleasure expires at its earliest breath ; 
 
 No labor can hoard it, no cunning can save ; 
 For the song of its life is the sigh of its death, 
 
 And the sense it has thrilled is its shroud and ii^ 
 grave. 
 
KATBR1NA. 
 
 243 
 
 AJi ! what is our love, with its tincture of lust, 
 And its pleasure that pains us and pain that en- 
 dears, 
 But joy in an armful of beautiful dust 
 
 That crumbles and flies on the wings of the 
 years ? 
 
 And what is ambition for glory and power, 
 But desire to be reckoned the uppermost fool 
 
 Of a million of fools, for a pitiful hour, 
 And be cursed for a tyrant, or kicked for a tool ? 
 
 Nay, what is the noblest that art can achieve, 
 But to conjure a vision of light to the eyes, 
 
 That will pale ere we paint it, and pall ere we 
 leave 
 On the heart it betrays and the hand it defies ? 
 
 We love, and we long with an infinite greed 
 For a love that will fill our deep longing, in vain ; 
 
 The cup that we drink of is pleasant, indeed, 
 Yet it holds but a drop of the heavenly rain. 
 
244 KATHR1NA. 
 
 We plan for our powers the divinest we can ; 
 
 We do with our powers the supremest we may ; 
 And, winning or losing, for labor and plan 
 
 The best that we garner is — Best and decay ! 
 
 Content — satisfaction — who wins them '? Look 
 down! 
 They are held without thought by the dolts and 
 the drones : 
 'Tis the slave who in carelessness carries the crown; 
 And the hovels have kingiier men than the 
 thrones. 
 
 The maid sings of love to the hmn of her wheel ; 
 
 And her lover responds as he follows his team ; 
 They wed, and their children come quickly to seal 
 
 In fulfilment the pledge of their loftiest dream. 
 
 With humblest ambitions and homeliest fare, 
 
 Contented, though toiling, they travel abreast, 
 Till the kind hand of death lifts their burden of 
 
KATHR1NA 
 
 245 
 
 And they sink, in the faith of their fathers, to 
 
 rest. 
 
 Did I beg to be born ? Did I seek to exist ? 
 
 Did I bargain for promptings to loftier gains ? 
 Did I ask for a brain, with contempt of the fist 
 
 That could win a reward for its labor and pains ? 
 
 Was it kind — the strong promise that girded my 
 youth ? 
 Was it good — the endowment of motive and 
 skill? 
 Was it well to succeed, when success was in truth, 
 But the saddest of failure ? Make answer, who 
 will! 
 
 Do I rave without reason ? Why, look you, I pray! 
 
 I have won all I sought of the highest and best ; 
 But it brings me no guerdon ; and hopeless to-day, 
 
 I am poorer than when I set out on the quest. 
 
 Oh ! emptiness ! Life, what art thou but a He, 
 
246 KATHR1NA. 
 
 Which I greeted and honored with hopefullest 
 trust ? 
 Pah ! the beautiful apples that tempted my eye 
 Break dead on my tongue into ashes and dust ! 
 
 "A Father who loves all the children of men ?" 
 "A future to fill all these bottomless gaps ?" 
 
 But one life has failed : can I fasten again 
 
 With my faith and my hope to a specious Per- 
 haps ? 
 
 O ! man who begot me ! O ! woman who bore ! 
 
 Why. why did you call me to being and breath ? 
 With ruin behind me, and darkness before, 
 
 I have nothing to long for, or live for, but death ! 
 
PART IV. 
 
 CONSUMMATION. 
 
 A guest was in my house — a guest unbid — 
 Who stayed without a welcome from his host ; — 
 So loathed and hated, on such errand bent, 
 And armed with such resistless power of ill, 
 I dared not look him in the face. I heard 
 His tireless footsteps in the lonely halls, 
 In the chill hours of night ; and, in the day, 
 They climbed the stairs, or loitered through the 
 
 rooms 
 With lawless freedom. Ever when I turned 
 I caught a glimpse of him. His shadow stalked 
 Between me and the light, and fled before 
 My restless feet, or followed close behind. 
 Whene'er I bent above the couch that held 
 
 
248 KATHE1NA. 
 
 My fading wife, though looking not, I knew 
 That he was bending from the other side, 
 And mocking me. 
 
 Familiar grown, at last, 
 He came more closely — came and sat with me 
 Through hours of revery ; or, as I paced 
 My dimly-lighted room, slipped his lank arm 
 Through mine, and whispered in my shrinking ear 
 Such fearful words as made me sick and cold. 
 He took the vacant station at my board, 
 Sitting where she had sat, and mixed my cup 
 With poisoned waters, saying in low tones 
 That none but me could hear : 
 
 ' ' This little room, 
 Where you have breakfasted and dined and supped, 
 And laughed and chatted in the days gone by, 
 Will be a lonely place when we are gone. 
 Those roses at the window, that were wont 
 To bloom so freely with the lady's care, 
 Already miss her touch. That ivy- vine 
 
 
KATHR1NA. 249 
 
 Has grown a yard since it was tied, and needs 
 A trainino- hand." 
 
 Rising with bitter tears 
 To flee his presence, he arose with me, 
 And wandered through the rooms. 
 
 ' ' This casket here " — 
 I heard him say : " Suppose we loose the clasp. 
 These are her jewels — pretty gifts of yours. 
 There is a diamond : there a string of pearls. 
 That paly opal holds a mellow fire 
 Which minds me of the mistress, whose bright soul 
 Glows through the lucent whiteness of her face 
 With lambent flicker. These are legacies : 
 She will not wear them more. Her taste and mine 
 Are one in this, that both of us love flowers. 
 Ay, she shall have them, too, some pleasant day, 
 When she goes forth with me ! 
 
 
 " So ? what is this ? 
 Her wardrobe ! Let the door be opened wide ! 
 
250 EATHR1NA. 
 
 This musk, so blent with scent of violets, 
 Revives one. Yon remember when she wore 
 That lavender ? — a very pretty silk ! 
 Here is a moire antique. Ah ! yes — I see ! 
 Yon did not like her in it. 'Twas too old, 
 And too suggestive of the dowager. 
 There is your favorite — that glossy blue — 
 The sweet tint stolen from the sides of June — 
 But she is done with it. I wonder who 
 Will wear it, when your grief shall find a pause ! 
 Your daughter — possibly ? . . You shiver, sir ! 
 Is it the velvet ? Like a pall, you think ! 
 Well, close the door ! 
 
 " Those slippers on the rug : 
 The time will come when you will kiss their soles 
 For the dear life that pressed them. Their rosettes 
 WiU be more redolent than roses then. 
 You did riot know how much you loved your wife ? 
 I thought so ! 
 
 " This way ! Let us take our stand 
 
EATHR1NA. 
 
 251 
 
 Beside her bed. Not quite so beautiful 
 To your fond eyes as when she was a bride, 
 Though still a lovely woman ! Seems it strange 
 That she is yours no longer ?— that her hand 
 Is given to another — to the one 
 For whom she has been waiting all her life, 
 And ready all her life ? Your power is gone 
 To punish rivals. There you stand and weep, 
 But dare not lift a finger, while with smiles 
 And kindly welcome she extends her hands 
 To greet her long-expected friend. She knows 
 Where I will take her — to what city of God, 
 "What palace there, and what companionship. 
 She knows what robes will drape her loveliness, 
 What flowers bedeck her hair, and rise and fall 
 Upon the pulses of her happy breast. 
 And you, poor man ! with all your jealous pride, 
 Have learned that she would turn again to you, 
 And to your food and furniture of life, 
 With disappointment. 
 
 ' ' Ay, she pities you — 
 
252 KATHRINA. 
 
 Loves. yon, indeed ; but there is One she loves 
 Wit]} holier passion, and with more entire 
 And gladder self -surrender. She will go — 
 You know that she will go — and go with joy ; 
 And you begin to see how poor and mean, 
 When placed beside her joy, are all your gifts, 
 And all that you have won by them. 
 
 "Poor man ! 
 
 Weeping again ! Well, if it comfort you, 
 Rain your salt tears upon her waxen hands, 
 And kiss them dry at leisure ! Press her lips, 
 Hot with the hectic ! Lay your cold, wet cheek 
 Against the burning scarlet of her own : 
 Only remember that she is not yours, 
 And that your paroxysms of grief and tears 
 Are painful to her." 
 
 Ah ! to wait for death ! 
 To see one's idol with the signature 
 Of the Destroyer stamped upon her brow, 
 And know that she is doomed, beyond all hope ; 
 
KATHBLNA. 253 
 
 To watch her while she fades ; to see the form 
 
 That once was beauty's own become a corpse 
 
 In all but breathing, and to meet her eyes 
 
 A hundred times a day — while the heart bleeds — 
 
 With smiles of smooth dissembling, and with words 
 
 Cheerful as morning, and to do all this 
 
 Through weeks and weary months, till one half 
 
 longs 
 To see the spell dissolved, and feel the worst 
 That death can do : can there be misery 
 Sadder than this ? 
 
 My time I passed alone, 
 And at the bedside of my dying wife. 
 She talked of death as children talk of sleep, 
 When — a forgetful blank — it lies between 
 Their glad impatience and a holiday. 
 The morrow — ah ! the morrow ! That was name 
 For hope all realized, for work all done, 
 For pain all past, for lif e and strength renewed, 
 For fruitage of endeavor, for repose 
 For heaven ! 
 
254 KATHR1NA. 
 
 What would the morrow bring to me ? 
 The morrow — ah ! the morrow ! It was blank — 
 Nay, blank and black with gloom of clouds and 
 
 night. 
 Never before had I so realized 
 My helplessness. I could not find relief 
 In love or labor. I could only sit, 
 And gaze against a wall, without the power 
 To pierce or climb. My pride of life was gone, 
 My spirit broken, and my strife with God 
 Was finished. If I could not look before, 
 I dared not look above ; and so, whene'er 
 I could forget the present, I went back 
 Upon the past. 
 
 One soft June day, my thoughts, 
 Touched by some song of bird, or glimpse of green, 
 Returned to life's bright morning, and the Junes 
 That flooded with thei./ wealth of life and song 
 The valley of my birth. Again I walked the 
 
 meads, 
 Brilliant with beaded grass, and heard the shrill, 
 
Again ] trod tiie fouest paths. 
 
KATHR1NA. 255 
 
 Sweet jargon of the meadow-birds. Again 
 
 I trod the forest paths, in shade of trees 
 
 With foliage so tender that the sun 
 
 Shot through the soft, thin leaves its virid sheen, 
 
 As through the emerald waters of the sea. 
 
 The scarlet tanager — a flake of fire, 
 
 Blown from the tropic heats upon the breath 
 
 That brought the summer — caught upon a twig, 
 
 Or quenched its glow in some remote recess. 
 
 The springing ferns unfolded at my feet 
 
 Their tan-brown scrolls, the tiny star-flower shone 
 
 Among its leaves : the insects filled the air 
 
 With a monotonous, reedy resonance 
 
 Of whir and hum, and I sat down again 
 
 Upon a bank to gather violets. 
 
 From dreams of retrospective joy I woke 
 
 At last, to the quick tinkle of a bell. 
 
 My wife had touched it. She had been asleep, 
 
 And, waking, called me to her side. The note, 
 
 Familiar as the murmur of her voice, 
 
 For the first time was strange. Another bell, 
 
256 KATHRWA. 
 
 With other music, rang adown the years 
 That lay between me and the golden day 
 When, up the mountain-path, I followed far 
 The lamb that bore it. All the scene came back 
 In a broad flash ; and with it came the same 
 Strange apprehension of a mighty change — 
 A vague prevision of transition, born 
 Of what, I knew not ; on what errand sent, 
 I could not guess. 
 
 I rose upon my feet, 
 Responsive to the summons, when I heard, 
 Repeated in the ear of memory, 
 The words my mother spoke to me that day ; 
 
 " My Paul has climbed the noblest mountain-height 
 
 "In all his little world, and gazed on scenes 
 
 "As beautiful as rest beneath the sun. 
 
 " I trust he will remember all his life 
 
 ' ' That, to his best achievement, and the spot 
 
 " Closest to heaven his youthful feet have trod, 
 
 "He has been guided by a guileless lamb. 
 
KATHR1NA. 257 
 
 k ' It is an omen which his mother's heart 
 "Will treasure with her jewels." 
 
 Had her tongue 
 Been moved to prophecy ? Omen of what ? — 
 Of a new height of life to be achieved 
 By my lamb's leading ? Ay, it seemed like this ? 
 An answer to a thousand prayers, up-breathed 
 By her whom I had lost, repeated long 
 By her whom I was losing ? Was it this ? 
 Thus charged with premonition, when I stepped 
 Into the shaded room, my cheeks were pale, 
 And every nerve was quivering with the stress 
 Of uncontrolled emotion. Ah ! my lamb ! 
 How white ! How innocent ! My lamb, my lam b 
 Even the scarlet ribbon which adorned 
 The lambldn of my chase was at her throat, 
 Repeated in a bright geranium- flower ! 
 
 " Loop up the curtains, love ! Let in the light !" 
 The words came strong and sweet, as if the lif o 
 From which they breathed were at its tidal flood. 
 
258 KATRB1NA. 
 
 " Oil ! blessed light !" she added, as the sun 
 Flamed on the velvet roses of the floor, 
 And touched to life the pictures on the wall, 
 And smote the dusk with bars of amber. 
 
 "Paul!" 
 
 I turned to answer, and beheld a face 
 That glowed with a celestial fire like his 
 Who talked with God in Sinai. 
 
 "Paul," she said, 
 "I have oeen almost home. I may not tell, 
 For language cannot paint, what I have seen. 
 The veil was very thin, and I so near, 
 I caught the sheen of multitudes, and heard 
 Voices that caUed and answered from afar 
 Through spaces inconceivable, arid songs 
 Whose harmonies responsive surged and sank 
 On the attenuate air, till all my soul 
 Was thrilled and filled with music, and I prayed 
 To be let loose, that I might cast myself 
 
KATER1NA. 259 
 
 Upon the mighty tides, and give my life 
 To the supernal raptures. Ay, I prayed 
 That death might come, and give me my release 
 From this poor clay, and that I might be born 
 By its last travail into life." 
 
 "Dear wife," I said, 
 " You have been wildly dreaming, and your brain, 
 Quickened to strange vagaries by disease, 
 Has cheated you. You must not talk like this : 
 'Twill harm you. I will hold your hand awhile, 
 And you shall have repose. " 
 
 She smiled and said, 
 While her eyes shone with an unearthly light : 
 " You are not wise, my dear, in things like these. 
 The vision was as real as yourself ; 
 And it will not be long before I go 
 To mingle in the life that I have seen. 
 I know it, dearest, for she told me this." 
 
 " She told you this ?" I said,— "Who told you this ? 
 Did you hold converse with the multitude ?" 
 
360 KA THR1NA. 
 
 "Not with the multitude," she answered me ; 
 " But while I gazed upon the throng, and prayed 
 That death might loose me, there appeared a group 
 Of radiant ones behind the filmy veil 
 That hung between us, looking helplessly 
 Upon my struggle, but with eyes that beamed 
 With love ineffable. I knew them too — 
 Knew all of them but one — and she the first, 
 And sweetest of them all. Pure as the light, 
 And beautiful as morning, she advanced ; 
 And, at her touch, the veil was parted wide, 
 While she passed through, and stood beside my 
 
 bed. 
 She took my hand, she kissed my burning cheek, 
 And then, in words that calmed my spirit, said : 
 
 "Your prayer will soon be answered; but oue 
 
 prayer, 
 Breathed many years by you, and many years 
 By one you know not, must be answered first. 
 You must go back, though for a little time, 
 And reap the harvest of a life. To him 
 
KATHRWA. 261 
 
 Whom you and I have loved, say all your heart 
 
 Shall move your lips to speak, and he will hear. 
 
 The strength, the boldness, the persuasive power 
 
 Which you may need for this, shall all be yours ; 
 
 For you shall have the ministry of those 
 
 Whom you have seen. Speak as a dying wife 
 
 Has liberty to speak to him she leaves ; 
 
 And tell him this — that he may know the voice 
 
 That gives you your commission — tell him this : 
 
 The lamb has slipped the leash by which his hand 
 
 Held her in thrall, and seeks the mountain-height ; 
 
 And he, if he reclaim her to his grasp, 
 
 Must follow where she leads, and kneel at last 
 
 Upon the summit by her side. And more : 
 
 Give him my promise that if he do this, 
 
 He shall receive from that fair altitude 
 
 Such vision of the realm that lies around, 
 
 Cleft by the river of immortal life, 
 
 As shall so lift him from his selfishness, 
 
 And so enlarge his soul, that he shall stand 
 
 Redeemed from, all unworthiness, and saved 
 
 To happiness and heaven." 
 
262 EATHB1NA. 
 
 Her words flowed forth 
 With the strong utterance, in truth, of one 
 Inspired from other worlds ; while pale and faint, 
 I drank her revelations. Unbelief 
 Had given the He to her abounding faith, 
 And held her vision figment of disease, 
 Until the message of my mother fell 
 Upon my ears. Then overcome, I wept 
 With deep convulsions, rose and walked the room, 
 Wrung my clasped hands, and cried with choking 
 
 voice, 
 " My mother 1 O ! my mother !" 
 
 "Gently, love! 
 For she is with you," said my dying wife. 
 " Nay, all of them are with us. This small room 
 Is now the gate of heaven ; and you must do 
 That which befits the presence and the place. 
 Come ! sit beside me ; for my time is short, 
 And I have much to say. What will you do 
 When I am gone ? Will the old life of art 
 
EATHRINA. 263 
 
 Content you ? Will you fill your waiting time 
 "With the old dreams of fame and excellence ?" 
 
 " Alas !" I answered, " I am done with life : 
 My life is dead ; and though my hand has won 
 All it has striven to win, and all my heart 
 In its weak pride has prompted it to seek 
 Of love and honor ; though success is mine 
 In all my eager enterprise, I know 
 My life has been a failure. I am left 
 Or shall be left, when you, my love, are gone, 
 Without resource — a hopeless, worthless man, 
 Longing to hide his shame and his despair 
 Within the grave." 
 
 "I thank thee, Lord !" she said : 
 "So many prayers are answered! . . . Yon 
 
 knew not 
 That I had asked for this. You did not know, 
 When you were striving with your feeble might 
 For the great prizes that beguiled your pride, 
 That at the hand of God I begged success. 
 
264 KATHU1NA. 
 
 Ay, Paul, I prayed that you might gather all 
 The good that you have won, and that, at last, 
 You might be brought to know the worthlessness 
 Of every selfish meed, and feel how weak — 
 How worse than helpless— is the highest man 
 Who lives within, and labors to, himself. 
 Not one of all the prizes you have gained 
 Contains the good that lies in your despair. " 
 
 " Teach me," I said, " for I am ignorant ; 
 Lead me, for I am blind. Explain the past, 
 With all its errors. Why am I so low, 
 And you so high ?" 
 
 She pressed my hand, and said : 
 " You have been hungry all your life for God, 
 And known it not. You lavished first on me 
 Your heart's best love. You poured its treasured 
 
 wealth 
 At an unworthy shrine. You made a God 
 Of poor mortality ; and when you learned 
 Your love was greater than the one you loved— 
 
KATHR1NA. 265 
 
 The one you worshiped — you invoked the aid 
 Of your imagination, to enrich 
 Your pampered idol, till at last you bowed 
 Before a creature of your thought. You stole 
 From excellence divine the grace and good 
 That made me worshipful ; and even these 
 Palled on your heart at last, and ceased to yield 
 The inspiration that you craved. You pined, 
 You starved for something infinitely sweet ; 
 And still you sought it blindly, wilfully, 
 In your poor wife, — sought it, and found it not, 
 Through wasted years of life. 
 
 ''And then you craved 
 An infinite return. You asked for more 
 Than I could give, although I gave you all 
 That woman can bestow on man. You knew 
 You held my constant love, unlimited 
 Save by the bounds of mortal tenderness ; 
 And still you longed for more. Then sprang your 
 
 scheme 
 For finding in the love of multitudes, 
 
266 KATHBWA. 
 
 And in their praise, that which had failed in me. 
 You wrote for love and fame, and won them both 
 By manly striving — won and wore them long. 
 All good there is in love and praise of men, 
 You garnered in your life. On this reward 
 You lived, till you were sated, or until 
 You learned it bore no satisfying meed — 
 Learned that the love of many was not more 
 Than love of one. With all my love your own, 
 With love and praise of men, your famished soul 
 Craved infinite approval — craved a love 
 Beyond the love of woman and of man. 
 
 " Then with new hope, you apotheosized 
 
 Your cherished art, and sought for excellence 
 
 And for your own approval ; with what end, 
 
 Your helplessness informs me. You essayed 
 
 The revelation of the mighty forms 
 
 That dwell in the unrealized. You sought 
 
 To shape yonr best ideals, and to find 
 
 In the grand scheme your motive and reward. 
 
 All this blind reaching after excellence, 
 
KATHRINA. 2G7 
 
 Was but the reaching of your soul for God. 
 Imagination could not touch the height, 
 And you were baffled. So, you failed to find 
 The God your spirit yearned for in your art. 
 And failed of self -approval. 
 
 "You have now 
 But one resource, — you are shut up to this : 
 You must bow down and worship God ; and give 
 Your heart to Him, accept His love for you, 
 And feast your soul on excellence in Him. 
 So, a new lif e shall open to your feet, 
 Strown richly with rewards ; and when your steps 
 Shall reach the river, I will wait for you 
 Upon the other shore, and we shall be 
 One in the life immortal as in this. 
 O ! Paul ! your time is now. I cannot die 
 And leave you comfortless. I cannot die 
 And enter on the pleasures that I know 
 Await me yonder, with the consciousness 
 That you are still unhappy. " 
 
268 KATURWA. 
 
 All my life 
 Thus lay revealed in light which she had poured 
 Upon its track. I learned where she had found 
 Her peaceful joy, her satisfying good, 
 And where, in my rebellious pride of heart, 
 Mine had been lost. She, by an instinct sure, 
 Or by the grace of Heaven, had in her youth, 
 Though sorely chastened, given herself to God ; 
 And through a life of saintly purity — 
 A life of love to me and love to all — 
 Had feasted at the fountain of all love, 
 Had worshiped at the Excellence Divine, 
 And only waited for my last adieu 
 To take her crown. 
 
 I sat like one struck dumb. 
 I knew not how to speak, or what to do. 
 She looked at me expectant ; while a thrill 
 Of terror shot through all my frame. 
 
 "Alas!" 
 She said, "I thought you would be ready now." 
 
KATHR1NA 262 
 
 At this, the door was opened silently, 
 
 And our dear daughter stood within the room. 
 
 Alarmed at vision of the sudden change 
 
 That death had wrought upon her mother's face, 
 
 She hastened to her side, and kneeling there, 
 
 Bowed on her breast with tears and choking sobs, 
 
 Her heart too full for speech. 
 
 " Be silent, dear !" 
 The dying mother said, resting her hand 
 Upon her daughter's head. "Be silent, dear ! 
 Your father kneels to pray. Make room for him, 
 That he may kneel beside you." 
 
 At her words, 
 
 I was endowed with apprehensions new ; 
 
 * 
 
 And somewhere in my quickened consciousness, 
 I felt the presence of her heavenly friends, 
 And knew that there were spirits in the room. 
 I did not doubt, nor have I doubted since, 
 That there were loving witnesses of all 
 The scenes enacted round that hallowed bed. 
 
270 KATER1NA. 
 
 Ay, and they spoke. Deep in the innermost 
 
 I heard the tender words, " O ! kneel my son ! — " 
 
 A sweet monition from my mother's lips. 
 
 " Kneel ! kneel !" It was the echo of a throng. 
 
 "Kneel! kneel!" The gentle mandate reached 
 
 my heart 
 From depths of lofty space. It was the voice 
 Of the Good Father. 
 
 From the curtain folds, 
 That rustled at the window, in the airs 
 That moved with conscious pulse to passing wings, 
 Came the same burden, " Kneel !" 
 
 "Kneel ! kneel ! O ! kneel !" 
 In tones of earnest pleading, came from lips 
 Already pinched by death. 
 
 A hundred worlds, 
 Imposed upon my shoulders, had not bowed 
 
KATHRWA. 271 
 
 And crushed me to my knees with surer power. 
 The hand that lay upon my daughter's head 
 Then passed to mine ; but still my lips were dumb. 
 
 " Pray 1" said the spirit of my mother. 
 
 "Pray!" 
 The word repeated, came from many lips. 
 
 "Pray !" said the voice of God within my soul ; 
 While every whisper of the living air 
 Echoed the low command. 
 
 "Pray ! pray 1 O ! pray !" 
 My dying wife entreated. 
 
 Words were given, 
 And I poured out like water all my heart. 
 " O ! God !" I said, "be merciful to me 
 A reprobate ! I have blasphemed Thy name, 
 Abused Thy patient love, and held from Thee 
 
272 KATHR1NA. 
 
 My heart and life ; and now, in my extreme 
 Of need and of despair, I come to Thee. 
 
 ! cast me not away, for here, at last, 
 After a life of selfishness and sin, 
 
 1 yield my will to Thine, and pledge my son! — 
 All that I am, all I can ever be — 
 Supremely to Thy service. I renounce 
 
 All worldly aims, all selfish enterprise, 
 
 And dedicate the remnant of my power 
 
 To Thee and those Thou lovest. Comfort me ! 
 
 ! come and comfort me, for I despair ! 
 Give me Thy peace" for I am rent and tossed ! 
 Feed me with love, else I shall die of want ! 
 Behold ! I empty out my worthlessness, 
 
 And beg Thee to come in, and fill my soul 
 With Thy rich presence. I adore Thy love ; 
 
 1 seek for Thy approval ; I bow down, 
 
 And worship Thee, the Excellence Supreme. 
 I've tasted of the sweetest that the world 
 Can give to me ; and human love and praise,. 
 And all of excellence within the scope 
 Of my conception, and my power to reach 
 
KATHR1NA. 
 
 And realize in highest forms of art, 
 Have left me hungry, thirsty for Thyself. 
 
 ! feed and fire me ! Fill and furnish me ! 
 And if Thou hast for me some humble task — 
 Some service for Thyself, or for Thy own — 
 Beveal it to Thy sad, repentant child, 
 
 Or use him as Thy willing instrument. 
 
 1 ask it for the sake of Jesus Christ, 
 Henceforth my Master 1" 
 
 273 
 
 Multitudes, it seemed, 
 Kesponded with " Amen I" as if the word 
 Were caught from mortal lips by swooping choirs 
 Of spirits ministrant, and borne away 
 In sweet reverberations into space. 
 
 I raised my head at last, and met the eyes 
 Bright with the light of death, and with the dawn 
 Of opening heaven. The smile that overspread 
 The fading features was the peaceful smile 
 Of imanmortal, — full of faith and love — 
 
274 EATHB1NA. 
 
 A satisfied, triumphant, shilling smile, 
 Lit by the heavenly glory. 
 
 "Paul," she said, 
 "My work is done ; but you will live and work 
 These many years. Your life is just begun, 
 Too ]ate, but well begun ; and you are mine, 
 Now and forevermore. . . . Dear Lord ! my 
 
 thanks 
 For this Thy crowning blessing !" 
 
 Then she paused, 
 And raised her eyes in a seraphic trance, 
 And lifted her thin fingers, that were thrilled 
 "With tremulous motion, like the slender spray 
 On which a throbbing song-bird clings, and pours 
 His sweet incontinence of ecstasy, 
 And then in broken whispers said to me : 
 ' Do you not hear them '? They have caught the 
 
 news ; 
 And all the sky is ringing with their song 
 Of gladness and of welcome. ' Paul is saved! 
 
KATHB1NA 275 
 
 Paul is redeemed and saved!' I hear them cry : 
 And myriad voices catch the new delight, 
 And carry the acclaim, till heaven itself 
 Sends back the happy echo : ' Paul is saved/' " 
 
 She stretched her hands, and took me to her 
 
 breast. 
 I kissed her, blessed her, spoke my last adieu, 
 And yielded place to her whom God had given 
 To be our child. After a long embrace, 
 She whispered : "lam weary ; let me sleep 1" 
 
 She passed to peaceful slumber like a child, 
 The wliile attendant angels built the dream 
 On which she rode to heaven. Not once again 
 She spoke to mortal ears, but slept and smiled, 
 And slept and smiled again, till daylight passed. 
 The night came down ; the long hours lapsed away; 
 The city sounds grew fainter, till at last 
 We sat alone with silence and with death. 
 At the first blush of morning she looked up, 
 And spoke, but not to us : k ' I'm coming now 1" 
 
276 KATHR1NA. 
 
 I sought the window to relieve the pain 
 Of long suppressed emotion. In the East, 
 Tinged with the golden dawn, the morning star 
 Was blazing in its glory, while beneath, 
 The slender moon, at its last rising, hung, 
 Paling and dying in the growing light, 
 And passing with that leading up to heaven. 
 My daughter stood beside her mother's bed, 
 But I had better vision of the scene 
 In the sweet symbol God had hung for me 
 Upon the sky. 
 
 Swiftly the dawn advanced, 
 And higher rose, and still more faintly shone, 
 The star-led moon. Then, as it faded out, 
 Quenched by prevailing day, I heard one sigh — 
 A sigh so charged with pathos of deep joy, 
 And peace ineffable, that memory 
 Can never lose the sound : and all was past ! 
 
 The peaceful summer-day that rose upon 
 This night of trial and this morn of grief. 
 
KATHR1NA. 277 
 
 Rose not with calmer light than that which dawned 
 Upon my spirit. Chastened, bowed, subdued, 
 I kissed the rod that smote me, and exclaimed : 
 ' ' The Lord hath given ; the Lord hath taken away 
 And blessed be His name !" 
 
 Rebellion slept. 
 I grieve, and still I grieve ; but with a heart 
 At peace with God, and soft with sympathy 
 Toward all my sorrowing, struggling, sinful race. 
 My hope, that clung so tondly to tne world 
 And the rewards of fame, an anchor sure, 
 Now grasps the Eternal Rock within the veil 
 Of troubled waters. Storms may wrench and toss, 
 And tides may swing me, in their ebb and flow, 
 But I shall not be moved. 
 
 Once more ! once more ! 
 I shall behold her face, and clasp her hand ! 
 Once more — forevermore ! 
 
 So here I give 
 
278 KATRR1NA. 
 
 The gospel of her precious Christian life. 
 
 I owe it to herself, and to the world. 
 
 Grateful for all her tender ministry 
 
 In life and death, I bring these leaves, entwined 
 
 With her own roses, dewy with my tears, 
 
 And lay them as the tribute of my love 
 
 Upon the grave that holds her sacred dust. 
 
 END OF KATHKTNA 
 
The Marble Prophecy, 
 
 AND OTHEE POEMS. 
 
THE MARBLE PROPHECY, 
 
 
 The harlequins are out in force to-day — 
 
 The piebald Swiss — and in the vestibule 
 
 Of great St. Peter's rings the rhythmic tread 
 
 Of Roman nobles, uniformed and armed 
 
 As the Pope's Guard ; and while their double line 
 
 With faultless curve enters the open door, 
 
 And sways and sparkles up the splendid nave, 
 
 Between the walls of humbler soldiery, 
 
 And parts to pass the altar — keeping step 
 
 To the proud beating of their Roman hearts — 
 
 A breeze of whispered admiration sweeps 
 
 The crowds that gaze, and dies within the dome. 
 
 St. Peter's toe (the stump of it) was cold 
 
300 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 An hour ago, but waxes warm apace 
 
 With rub of handkerchiefs, and dainty touch 
 
 Of lips and foreheads. 
 
 Smug behind their screen 
 Sit the Pope's Choir. No woman enters there ; 
 For woman is impure, and makes impure 
 By voice and presence ! Mary, mother of God ! 
 Not thy own sex may sing thee in the courts 
 Of The All-Holy ! Only man, pure man ! 
 Doubt not the purity of some of these — 
 Angels before their time — no doubt 
 That they will sing like angels, when Papa, 
 Borne on the shoulders of his stalwart men 
 (The master rode an ass), and canopied 
 By golden tapestries — the triple crown 
 Upon his brow, the nodding peacock pluniea 
 Far heralding his way — shall come to take 
 His incense and his homage. 
 
 I will go. 
 Tis a brave pageant, to be seen just once. 
 
TEE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 301 
 
 'Tis a brave pageant, but one does not like 
 To smutch his trousers kneeling to a man, 
 Or bide the stare that follows if he fail : 
 So, having seen it once, one needs not wait. 
 
 
 What is the feast ? Let's see : ah ! I recall : 
 
 St. Peter's chair was brought from Antioch 
 
 So many years ago ; — the worse for wear 
 
 No doubt, and never quite luxurious, 
 
 But valued as a piece of furniture 
 
 By Borne above all price ; and so they give 
 
 High honor to the anniversary. 
 
 'Tis well ; in Borne they make account of chairs. 
 
 If less in heaven, it possibly may be 
 
 Because they're greatly occupied by joy 
 
 Over bad men made penitent and pure 
 
 By this same chair ! Who knows ? 
 
 I'll to the door ! 
 The sun seems kind and simple in the sky 
 Alter such pomp. I thank thee, Sun ! Thou hast 
 A smile like God, that readies to the heart 
 
302 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 Direct and sweet, without the ministries 
 
 Of scene and ceremonial ! Thy rays 
 
 Fall not in benediction at the ends 
 
 Of two pale fingers ; but thy warmth and light 
 
 Wrap well the cold dark world. I need no prism 
 
 To teach my soul that thou art beautiful : 
 
 It would divide thee, and confuse my sight. 
 
 Shine freely, sun ! No mighty mother church 
 
 Stands mediator between thee and me ! 
 
 Ay, shine on these — all these in shivering need — 
 
 To whom God's precious love is doled or sold 
 
 By sacerdotal hucksters ! Shine on these, 
 
 And teach them that the God of Life and Light 
 
 Dwells not alone in temples made by hands ; 
 
 And that the path to Him, from every soul, 
 
 In every farthest corner of the earth, 
 
 Is as direct as are thy rays to thee ! 
 
 Ha ! Pardon ! Have I hurt you ? Welladay ! 
 
 1 was not looking for a beggar here : — 
 
 Indeed, was looking upward ! But I see 
 
 You're here by royal license — with a badge 
 
 Made of good brass. Come nearer to me ! there : 
 
THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 303 
 
 Take double alms, and give me chance to read 
 The number on your breast. So : " Seventy- 
 seven !" 
 'Tis a good number, man, and quite at home 
 About the temple. Well, you have hard fare, 
 But many brothers and no end of shows ! 
 Think it not ill that they will spend to-day, 
 Touching this chair, enough of time and gold 
 To gorge the poor of Koine. The men who hold 
 The church in charge — who are, indeed, the 
 
 Church — 
 Have little time to give to starving men. 
 Be thankful for your label ! Only one 
 Can be the beggar " Number seventy-seven !" 
 They are distinguished persons : so are you ! 
 You must be patient, though it seems, I grant, 
 A trifle odd that when a miracle 
 Is wrought before you, it will never take 
 A useful turn, as in the olden time, 
 And give you loaves and fishes, or increase 
 Your little dinners ! 
 
304 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 Still the expectant crowds 
 Press up the street from round St. Angelo, 
 And thread the circling colonnade, or cross 
 With hurried steps the broad piazza — crowds 
 That pass the portal, and at once are lost 
 Within the vaulted glooms, as morning mist 
 Is quenched by morning air. 
 
 It is God's house — 
 The noblest temple ever reared to Him 
 By hands of men — the culminating deed 
 Of a great church — the topmost reach of art 
 For the enshrinement of the Christian faith 
 In sign and symbol. Holiness becomes 
 The temple of the Holy ! 
 
 And these crowds ? 
 Come they to pour the worship of their hearts 
 Like wine upon the altar ? Who are they ? 
 Last night, we hear, the theatre was full. 
 It was a spectacle : they went to see. 
 All yesterday they thronged the galleries, 
 
THE MARBLE PBOPHCY. 305 
 
 Or roved among the ruins, or drove out 
 Upon the broad campagna — just to see. 
 This afternoon, with gaudy equipage, 
 (Their Baedeker and Murray left at home,) 
 They'll be upon the Pincio — to see. 
 And so this morning, learning of the chair 
 And the Pope's coming, they are here to see 
 (The men in swallow-tails, their wives in black,) 
 The grandest spectacle of all the week. 
 Make way ye men of poverty and dirt 
 Who fringe the outer lines ! Make open- way 
 And let them pass ! This is the House of God, 
 And swallow-tails are of fine moment here ! 
 
 The ceremony has begun within. 
 
 I hear the far, faint voices of the choir, 
 
 As if a door in heaven were left ajar, 
 
 And cherubim were singing Now I hear 
 
 The sharp, metallic chink of grounded arms 
 Upon the marble, as His Holiness 
 Moves up the lines of bristling bayonets 
 That guard his progress. . . .But I stay alone. 
 
306 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 Nay, I will to the Vatican, and there, 
 In converse with the thoughts of manlier men, 
 Pass the great morning ! I shall be alone — 
 Ay, all alone with thee, Laocoon ! 
 
 " A feast day and no entrance ?" Can one's gold 
 
 Unloose a sonl from purgatorial bonds 
 
 And ope the gates of heaven, without the power 
 
 To draw a bolt at the Museum ? Wait ! 
 
 Laocoon ! thou great embodiment 
 
 Of human life and human history ! 
 
 Thou record of the past, thou prophecy 
 
 Of the sad future, thou majestic voice, 
 
 Pealing along the ages from old time ! 
 
 Thou wail of agonized humanity ! 
 
 There lives no thought in marble like to thee ! 
 
 Thou hast no kindred in the Vatican, 
 
 But standest separate among the dreams 
 
 Of old mythologies — alone — alone ! 
 
 The beautiful Apollo at thy side 
 
 Is but a marble dream, and dreams are all 
 
 The gods and goddesses and fauns and fates 
 
THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 307 
 
 That populate these wondrous halls ; but thou, 
 
 Standing among them, lil'test up thyself 
 
 In majesty of meaning, till they sink 
 
 Far from the sight, no more significant 
 
 Than the poor toys of children. For thou art 
 
 A voice from out the world's experience, 
 
 Speaking of all the generations past 
 
 To all the generations yet to come 
 
 Of the long struggle, the sublime despair, 
 
 The wild and weary agony of man ! 
 
 Ay, Adam and his offspring, in the toils 
 
 Of the twin serpents Sin and Suffering, 
 
 Thou dost impersonate ; and as I gaze 
 
 Upon the twining monsters that enfold 
 
 In unrelaxing, unrelenting coils, 
 
 Thy awful energies, and plant their fangs 
 
 Deep in thy quivering flesh, while still thy might 
 
 In fierce convulsion foils the fateful wrench 
 
 That would destroy thee, I am overwhelmed 
 
 With a strange sympathy of kindred pain, 
 
 And see through gathering tears the tragedy, 
 
308 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 The curse and conflict of a ruined race ! 
 Those Rhodian sculptors were gigantic men, 
 Whose inspirations came from other source 
 Than their religion, though they chose to speak 
 Through its familiar language, — men who saw, 
 And, seeing quite divinely, felt how weak 
 To cure the world's great woe were all the powers 
 Whose reign their age acknowledged. So they 
 
 sat — 
 The immortal three — and pondered long and well 
 What one great work should speak the truth for 
 
 them, — 
 What one great work should rise and testify 
 That they had found the topmost fact of life, 
 Above the reach of all philosophies 
 And all religions — every scheme of man 
 To placate or dethrone. That fact they found, 
 And moulded into form. The silly priest 
 Whose desecrations of the altar stirred 
 The vengeance of his God, and summoned forth 
 The wreathed gorgons of the slimy deep 
 To crush him and his children, was the word 
 
THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 309 
 
 By wliich they spoke to their own age and race, 
 That listened and applauded, knowing not 
 That high above the small significance 
 They apprehended, rose the grand intent 
 That mourned their doom and breathed a world's 
 despair ! 
 
 Be sure it was no fable that inspired 
 
 So grand an utterance. Perchance some leaf 
 
 From an old Hebrew record had conveyed 
 
 A knowledge of the genesis of man. 
 
 Perchance some fine conception rose in them 
 
 Of unity of nature and of race, 
 
 Springing from one beginning. Nay, perchance 
 
 Some vision flashed before their thoughtful eyes 
 
 Inspired by God, which showed the mighty man, 
 
 Who, unbegotten, had begot a race 
 
 That to his lot was linked through countless time 
 
 By living chains, from which in vain it strove 
 
 To wrest its tortured limbs and leap amain 
 
 To freedom and to rest ! It matters not : 
 
 The double word — the fable and the fact, 
 
310 
 
 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 The childish figment and the mighty truth, 
 Are blent in one. The first was for a day 
 And dying Rome ; the last for later time 
 And all mankind. 
 
 These sculptors spoke their word 
 And then they died ; and Eome — imperial Rome — 
 The mistress of the world — debauched by blood 
 And foul with harlotries — fell prone at length 
 Among the trophies of her crimes and slept. 
 Down toppling one by one her helpless gods 
 Fell to the earth, and hid their shattered forms 
 Within the dust that bore them, and among 
 The ruined shrines and crumbling masonry 
 Of their old temples. Still this wondrous group, 
 From its long home upon the Esquiline, 
 Beheld the centuries of change, and stood, 
 Impersonating in its conscious stone 
 The unavailing struggle to crowd back 
 The closing folds of doom. It paused to hear 
 A strange New Name proclaimed among the streets, 
 And catch the dying shrieks of martyred men, 
 
 
THE MARBLE PROFHECY. 311 
 
 And see the light of hope and heroism 
 Kindling in many eyes ; and then it fell ; 
 And in the ashes of an empire swathed 
 Its aching sense, and hid its tortured forms. 
 
 The old life went, the new life came ; and Rome 
 That slew the prophets built their sepulchres, 
 And filled her heathen temples with the shrines 
 Of Christian saints whom she had tossed to beasts, 
 Or crucified, or left to die in chains 
 Within her dungeons. Ay, the old life went 
 But came again. The primitive, true age — 
 The simple, earnest age — when Jesus Christ 
 The Crucified was only known and preached, 
 Struck hands with paganism and passed away. 
 Eome built new temples and installed new names ; 
 Set up her graven images, and gave 
 To Pope and priests the keeping of her gods. 
 Again she grasped at power no longer hers 
 By right of Boman prowess, and stretched out 
 Her hand upon the consciences of men. 
 The godlike liberty with which the Christ 
 
312 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 Had made his people free she stole from them, 
 
 And bound them slaves to new observances. 
 
 Her times, her days, her ceremonials 
 
 Imposed a burden grievous to be borne, 
 
 And millions groaned beneath it Nay, she grew 
 
 The vengeful persecutor of the free 
 
 Who would not bear her yoke, and bathed her 
 
 hands 
 In blood as sweet as ever burst from hearts 
 Torn from the bosoms of the early saints 
 Within her Coliseum. She assumed 
 To be the arbiter of destiny. 
 Those whom she bound or loosed upon the earth, 
 Were bound or loosed in heaven ! In G-od's own 
 
 place, 
 She sat as God — supreme, infallible ! 
 She shut the door of knowledge to mankind, 
 And bound the Word Divine. She sucked the 
 
 juice 
 Of all prosperities within her realms, 
 Until her gaudy temples blazed with gold, 
 And from a thousand altars flashed the fire 
 
TEE MARBLE PKOFHECY. 313 
 
 Of priceless gems. To win her countless wealth 
 
 She sold as merchandise the gift of God. 
 
 She took the burden which the cross had borne, 
 
 And bound it fast to scourged and writhing loins 
 
 In thriftless Penance, till her devotees 
 
 Fled from their kind to find the boon of peace, 
 
 And died in banishment. Beneath her sway, 
 
 The proud old Roman blood grew thin and mean 
 
 Till virtue was the name it gave to fear, 
 
 Till heroism and brigandage were one, 
 
 And neither slaves nor beggars knew their shame \ 
 
 What marvel that a shadow fell, world-wide, 
 And brooded o'er the ages ? Was it strange 
 That in those dim and drowsy centuries, 
 When the dumb earth had ceased to quake beneath 
 The sounding wheels of progress, and the life 
 That erst had flamed so high had sunk so low 
 In cold monastic glooms and forms as cold, 
 The buried gods should listen in their sleep 
 And dream of resurrection ? Was it strange 
 That listening well they should at length awake, 
 
314 
 
 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 And struggle from their pillows ? Was it strange 
 
 That men whose vision grovelled should perceive 
 
 The dust in motion, and with rapture greet 
 
 Each ancient deity with loud acclaim, 
 
 As if he brought with him the good old days 
 
 Of manly art and poetry aud power ? 
 
 Nay, was it strange that as they raised themselves, 
 
 And cleaned their drowsy eyelids of the dust, 
 
 And took their godlike attitudes again, 
 
 The grand old forms should feel themselves at 
 
 home — 
 Saving perhaps a painful sense that men 
 Had dwindled somewhat ? Was it strange, at last, 
 That all these gods should be installed anew, 
 And share the palace with His Holiness, 
 And that the Pope and Christian Eome can show 
 No art that equals that which had its birth 
 In pagan inspiration ? Ah, what shame ! 
 That after two millenniums of Christ, 
 Eome calls to her the thirsty tribes of earth, 
 And smites the heathen marble with her rod, 
 And bids them drink the best she has to give ! 
 
THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 315 
 
 And when the gods were on their feet again 
 It was thy time to rise, Laocoon ! 
 Those Rhodian sculptors had forseen it all. 
 Their word was true : thou hadst the right to live 
 
 In the quick sunlight on the Esquiline, 
 
 Where thou didst sleep, De Fredis kept his vines ; 
 
 And long above thee grew the grapes whose blood 
 
 Ran wild in Christian arteries, and fed 
 
 The fire of Christian revels. Ah what fruit 
 
 Sucked up the marrow of thy marble there ! 
 
 What fierce, mad dreams were those that scared the 
 
 souls 
 O men who drank, nor guessed what ichor stung 
 Their crimson lips, and tingled in their veins ! 
 Strange growths were those that sprang above thy 
 
 sleep : 
 Vines that were serpents ; huge and ugly trunks 
 That took the forms of human agony — 
 Contorted, gnarled and grim — and leaves that bore 
 The semblance of a thousand tortured hands, 
 And snaky tendrils that entwined themselves 
 
316 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 Around all forms of life within their reach, 
 And crushed or blighted them ! 
 
 At last the spade 
 Slid down to find the secret of the vines, 
 And touched thee with a thrill that startled Eome, 
 And swiftly called a shouting multitude 
 To witness thy unveiling. 
 
 Ah what joy 
 Greeted the rising from thy long repose ! 
 And one, the mighty master of his time, 
 The King of Christian art, with strong sad face 
 Looked on, and wondered with the giddy crowd, — 
 Looked on and learned (too late, alas, ! for him), 
 That his humanity and God's own truth, 
 Were more than Christian Eome, and spoke in 
 
 words 
 Of larger import. Humbled Angelo 
 Bowed to the masters of the early days, 
 Grasped their strong hands across the centuries, 
 And went his way despairing ! 
 
TEE MARBLE PROPHECY. 317 
 
 Thou, meantime, 
 Did'st find thyself installed among the gods 
 Here in the Vatican ; and thou, to-day, 
 Hast the same word for those who read thee well 
 As when thou wast created. Eome has failed : 
 Humanity is writhing in the toils 
 Of the old monsters as it writhed of old, 
 And there is neither help nor hope in her. 
 Her priests, her shrines, her rites, her mummeries, 
 Her pictures and her pageants, are as weak 
 To break the hold of Sin and Suffering 
 As those her reign displaced. Her iron hand 
 Shrivels the manhood it presumes to bless, 
 Drives to disgust or infidelity 
 The strong and free who dare to think and judge, 
 And wins a kiss from coward lips alone. 
 She does not preach the Gospel to the poor, 
 But takes it from their hands. The men who 
 
 tread 
 The footsteps of the Master, and bow down 
 Alone to Him, she brands as heretics 
 Or hunts as fiends. She drives beyond her 
 
318 
 
 THE MARBLE PROPHECY. 
 
 The Christian worshippers of other climes, 
 And other folds and faiths, as if their brows 
 Were white with leprosy, and grants them there 
 With haughty scorn the priviledge to kneel 
 In humble worship of the common Lord ! 
 
 Is this the Christ, or look we still for him ? 
 
 Is the old problem solved, or lingers yet 
 
 The grant solution ? Ay Laocoon ! 
 
 Thy word is true, for Christian Eome has failed ; 
 
 And I behold humanity in thee 
 
 As those who shaped thee saw it, when old Rome 
 
 In that far pagan evening fell asleep. 
 
 
M I S C E L L A NEOUS 
 PIECES. 
 

 
THE WINGS. 
 
 A. feeble wail was heard at night, 
 
 And a stifled cry of joy ; 
 And when the morn broke cool and light, 
 They bore to the mother's tearful sight 
 
 A fair and lovely boy. 
 
 Months passed away ; 
 And day by day 
 
 The mother hung about her child 
 As in his little cot he lay, 
 
 And watched him as he smiled, 
 And threw his hands into the air, 
 
 And turned above his large, bright eyes, 
 With an expression half of prayer 
 And half of strange surprise ; 
 
322 THE WINGS. 
 
 For hovering o'er his downy head 
 A dainty vision hung. 
 
 Fluttering, swaying, 
 Unsteadily it swung, 
 
 As if suspended by a thread, 
 His own sweet breath obeying. 
 
 Sometimes with look of wild beseeching 
 
 He marked it as it dropped 
 Almost within his awkward reaching, 
 And as the vision stopped 
 Beyond his anxious grasp, 
 And cheated the quick clasp 
 Of dimpled hands, and quite 
 Smothered his chirrup of delight, 
 And he saw his effort vain 
 And the bright vision there again 
 Dancing before his sight, 
 
 His eyes grew dim with tears, 
 Till o'er the flooded spheres 
 The soothing eyelids crept, 
 And the tired infant slept. 
 
THE WINGS. 323 
 
 He saw — his mother could not see — 
 A presence and a mystery : 
 
 Two waving wings, 
 Spangled with silver, starlike things : 
 
 No form of light was borne between ; 
 Only the wings were seen ! 
 
 Years steal away with silent feet, 
 
 And he, the little one, 
 With brow more fair and voice more sweet 
 
 Is playing in the sun. 
 Flowers are around him and the songs 
 
 Of bounding streams and happy birds, 
 But sweeter than their sweetest tongues 
 Break forth his own glad words. 
 And as he sings 
 The wings, the wings ! 
 Before him still they fly ! 
 And nothing that the summer brings 
 Can so entice his eye. 
 Hovering here, hovering there, 
 Hovering everywhere, 
 
324 THE WINGS. 
 
 They flash and shine among the flowers, 
 While dripping sheen in golden showers 
 Falls through the air where'er they hover 
 Upon the radiant things they cover. 
 Hurrying here, hurrying there, 
 Hurrying everywhere, 
 He plucks the flowers they shine upon, 
 But while he plucks their light is gone ! 
 And casting down the faded things, 
 Onward he springs 
 To follow the wings ! 
 
 Years run away with silent feet ; 
 
 The boy, to manhood grown, 
 Within a shadowy retreat 
 
 Stands anxious and alone. 
 His bosom heaves with heavy sighs, 
 
 His hair hangs damp and long, 
 But fiery purpose rills his eyes, 
 
 And his limbs are large and strong : 
 And there above a gentle hill, 
 The wings are hovering still, 
 
THE WINGS. 325 
 
 While their soft radiance, rich and warm, 
 Falls on a maiden's form. 
 
 And see ! again he starts, 
 
 And onward darts, 
 Then pauses with a fierce and sudden pain, 
 
 Then presses on again, 
 Till with mixed thoughts of rapture and de- 
 spair, 
 He kneels before her there : — 
 
 With hands together prest, 
 He prays to her with low and passionate calls, 
 And, like a snow-flake pure, she flutters, falls, 
 
 And melts upon his breast. 
 
 Long in that dearest trance he hung — 
 Then raised his eyes ; the wings that swung 
 In glancing circles round his head 
 
 Afar had fled, 
 And wheeled, with calm and graceful flight, 
 
 Over a scene 
 
THE WINGS. 
 
 That glowed with glories beauteously bright 
 Beneath their sheen. 
 
 High in the midst a monument arose, 
 Of pale enduring marble : calm and still, 
 
 It seemed a statue of sublime repose, 
 The silent speaker of a mighty will. 
 
 Its sides were hung around 
 With boughs of evergreen ; and its long shaft 
 was crowned 
 With a bright laurel wreath, 
 And glittering beneath 
 Were piled great heaps of gold upon the 
 
 ground. 
 Children were playing near — fair boys and 
 girls, 
 Who shook their sunny carls, 
 And laughed and sang in mirthfulness of 
 spirit, 
 And in their childish pleasures 
 
THE WINGS. 327 
 
 Danced around the treasures 
 Of gold and honor they were to inherit. 
 
 The sight has fired his brain ; 
 Onward he springs again. 
 
 O'er ruined blocks 
 Of wild and perilous rocks, 
 Through long damp caves, o'er pitfalls dire, 
 And maddening scenes of blood and fire, 
 Fainting with heat, 
 Benumbed with cold, 
 With weary, aching feet, 
 He sternly toils, and presses on to greet 
 The monument, the laurels and the gold. 
 
 Years have passed by ; a - shattered form 
 Leans faintly on a monument ; 
 His glazing eyes are bent 
 In sadness down : a tear falls to the ground 
 That through the furrows of his cheek hath 
 wound. 
 
328 THE WINGS. 
 
 The children beautiful have ceased to play, 
 Tarnished the marble stands with dark de- 
 cay, 
 The laurels all are dead, and flown the gold 
 away. 
 
 Once more he raised his eyes ; before him 
 lay 
 A dim and lonely vale, 
 And feebly tottering in the downward way 
 "Walked spectres cold and pale. 
 And darkling groves of shadowy cypress 
 
 sprung 
 Among the damp clouds that around them 
 hung. 
 One vision only cheers his aching sight ; 
 Those wings of light 
 Have lost their varied hues and changed to 
 
 white, 
 And, with a gentle motion, slowly wave 
 Over a new-made grave. 
 He casts one faltering, farewell look behind, 
 
THE WINGS. 329 
 
 Around, above, one mournful glance he throws, 
 Then with a cheerful smile, and trusting 
 
 mind, 
 Moves feebly toward the valley of repose. 
 He stands above the grave ; dull shudders 
 
 creep 
 Along his limbs, cold drops are on his brow ; 
 One sigh he heaves, and sinking into sleep 
 He drops and disappears ; — and dropping now, 
 The wings have followed too. 
 But, lo ! new visions burst upon the view ! 
 They reappear in glory bright and new ! 
 And to their sweet embrace a soul is given, 
 And on the wings of Hope an angel flies to 
 Heaven. 
 
INTIMATIONS. 
 
 What glory then ! What darkness now ! 
 
 A glimpse, a thrill, and it is flown ! 
 
 I reach, I grasp, but stand alone, 
 With empty arms and upward brow ! 
 
 Ye may not see, O weary eyes ! 
 
 The band of angels, swift and bright, 
 That pass, but cannot wake your sight, 
 
 Down trooping from the crowded skies. 
 
 O heavy ears ! Ye may not hear 
 
 The strains that pass my conscious soul, 
 And seek, but find no earthly goal, 
 
 Far falling from another sphere. 
 
 Ah ! soul of mine ! Ah ! soul of mine ! 
 Thy sluggish senses are but bars 
 
INTIMATIONS. 331 
 
 That stand between thee and the stars, 
 And shut thee from the world divine. 
 
 For something sweeter far than sound, 
 And something finer than the light 
 Comes through the discord and the night 
 
 And penetrates, or wraps thee round. 
 
 Nay, God is here, couldst thou but see ; 
 
 All things of beauty are of Him ; 
 
 And heaven that holds the cherubim, 
 As lovingly embraces thee ! 
 
 If thou hast apprehended well 
 
 The tender glory of a flower, 
 
 Which moved thee by some subtle power 
 Whose source and sway thou couldst not tell ; 
 
 If thou hast kindled to the sweep 
 Of stormy clouds across the sky, 
 Or gazed with tranced and tearful eye, 
 
 And swelling breast upon the deep ; 
 
332 
 
 INTIMATIONS. 
 
 If thou hast felt the throb and thrill 
 
 Of early day and happy birds, 
 
 While peace, that drowned thy chosen words 
 Has flowed from thee in glad good- will, 
 
 Then hast thou drunk the heavenly dew ; 
 Then have thy feet in rapture trod 
 The pathway of a thought of God ; 
 
 And death can show thee nothing new. 
 
 For heaven and beauty are the same, — 
 Of God the all-informing thought, 
 To sweet, supreme expression wrought, 
 
 And syllabled by sound and flame. 
 
 The light that beams from childhood's eyes, 
 The charm that dwells in summer woods, 
 The holy influence that broods 
 
 O'er all things under twilight skies, — 
 
 The music of the simple notes 
 
 That rise from happy human homes, 
 
INTIMATIONS. 333 
 
 The joy in life of all that roams 
 Upon the earth, and all that floats, 
 
 Proclaim that heaven's sweet providence 
 Enwraps the homely earth in whole, 
 And finds the secret of the soul 
 
 Through channels sab tier than the sense. 
 
 O soul of mine ! Throw wide thy door, 
 And cleanse thy paths from doubt and sin ; 
 And the bright flood shall enter in 
 
 And give thee heaven forevermore ! 
 
WORDS. 
 
 The robi n repeats his two musical words, 
 The meadow-lark whistles his one refrain ; 
 And steadily, over and over again, 
 
 The same song swells from a hundred birds. " 
 
 Bobolink, chickadee, blackbird, and jay, 
 
 Thrasher and woodpecker, cuckoo and wren, 
 Each sings its word, or its phrase, and then 
 
 It has nothing further to sing or to say. 
 
 Into that word, or that sweet little phrase, 
 All there may be of its life must crowd ; 
 
 And lulling and liquid, or hoarse and loud, 
 It breathes out its burden of joy and praise. 
 
 A little child sits in his father's door, 
 
 Chatting and singing with careless tongue ; 
 
WORDS. 335 
 
 A thousand beautiful words are sung, 
 And he holds unuttered a thousand more. 
 
 Words measure power ; and they measure thine; 
 Greater art thou in thy prattling moods 
 Than all the singers of all the woods ; 
 
 They are brutes only, but thou art divine. 
 
 Words measure destiny. Power to declare 
 Infinite ranges of passion and thought 
 Holds with the infinite only its lot, — 
 
 Is of eternity only the heir. 
 
 Words measure life, and they measure its joy ! 
 Thou hast more joy in thy childish years 
 Than the birds of a hundred tuneful spheres, 
 
 So — sing with the beautiful birds, my boy ! 
 
SLEEPING- AND DREAMING. 
 
 I softly sink into the bath of sleep : 
 With eyelids shut, I see around me close 
 
 The mottled, violet vapors of the deep, 
 That wraps me in repose. 
 
 I float all night in the ethereal sea 
 
 That drowns my pain and weariness in balm, 
 Careless of where its currents carry me, 
 
 Or settle into calm. 
 
 That which the ear can hear is silent all ; 
 
 But, in the lower stillness which I reach, 
 Soft whispers call me, like the distant fall 
 
 Of waves upon the beach. 
 
 For the earth that had sickened with thirst so 
 long, 
 
SLEEPING AND DREAMING. 337 
 
 My spirit leaves the couch, and seeks the air 
 For freedom and for joy. 
 
 Drunk up like vapors by the morning sun 
 The past and future rise and disappear ; 
 
 And times and spaces gather home, and run 
 Into a common sphere. 
 
 My youth is round me, and the silent tomb 
 Has burst to set its fairest prisoner free, 
 
 And I await her in the dewy gloom 
 Of the old trysting tree. 
 
 I mark the flutter of her snowy dress, 
 I hear the tripping of her fairy feet, 
 
 And now, pressed closely in a pure caress, 
 With ardent joy we meet. 
 
 I tell again the story of my love, 
 I drink again her lip's delicious wine, 
 
 And, while the same old stars look down above, 
 Her eyes look up to mine. 
 
338 SLEEPING AND DREAMING. 
 
 I dream that I am dreaming, and I start ; 
 
 Then dream that nought so real comes in 
 dreams ; 
 Then kiss again to reassure my heart 
 
 That she is what she seems. 
 
 Our steps tend homeward. Lingering at the gate, 
 I breathe, and breathe again, my fond good 
 night. 
 
 She shuts the cruel door, and still I wait 
 To watch her window-light. 
 
 I see the shadow of her dainty head, 
 
 On curtains that I pray her hand may stir, 
 
 Till all is dark ; and then I seek my bed 
 To dream I dream of her. 
 
 Like the swift moon that slides from cloud to 
 cloud, 
 
 With only hurried space to smile between, 
 I pierce the phantoms that around me crowd, 
 
 And glide from scene to scene. 
 
SLEEPING AND DREAMING. 339 
 
 I clasp warm hands that long have lain in dust, 
 I hear sweet voices that have long been still, 
 
 And earth and sea give up their hallowed trust 
 In answer to my will. 
 
 And now, high-gazing toward the starry dome, 
 I see three airy forms come floating down — 
 
 The long-lost angels of my early home — 
 My night of joy to crown. 
 
 They pause above, beyond my eager reach, 
 
 With arms enwreathed and forms of heavenly 
 
 grace ; 
 And smiling back the love that smiles from each , 
 I see them, face to face. 
 
 They breathe no language, but their holy eyes 
 Beam an embodied blessing on my heart, 
 
 That warm within my trustful bosom lies, 
 And never will depart. 
 
340 SLEEPING AND DREAMING. 
 
 I drink the effluence, till through all my soul 
 I feel a flood of peaceful rapture flow, 
 
 That swells to joy at last, and bursts control, 
 And I awake ; but lo ! 
 
 With eyelids shut, I hold the vision fast, 
 And still detain it by my ardent prayer, 
 
 Till faint and fainter grown, it fades at last 
 Into the silent air. 
 
 My God ! I thank Thee for the bath of sleep, 
 That wraps in balm my weary heart and brain, 
 
 And drowns within its waters still and deep 
 My sorrow and my pain. 
 
 I thank Thee for my dreams, which loose the bond 
 That binds my spirit to its daily load, 
 
 And give it angel wings, to fly beyond 
 Its slumber-bound abode. 
 
 I thank Thee for these glimpses of the clime 
 That lies bevond the boundaries of sense, 
 
SLEEPING AND DREAMING. 341 
 
 Where I shall wash away the stains of time 
 In floods of recompense : — 
 
 Where, when this body sleeps to wake no more, 
 My soul shall rise to everlasting dreams, 
 
 ibid find unreal all it saw before 
 And real all that seems. 
 
ON THE RIGHI. 
 
 On the Righi Kulm we stood, 
 
 Lovely Floribel and I, 
 While the morning's crimson flood 
 
 Streamed along the eastern sky. 
 Reddened every mountain peak 
 
 Into rose, from twilight dun ; 
 But the blush upon her cheek 
 
 Was not lighted by the sun \ 
 
 On the Righi Kulm we sat, 
 
 Lovely Floribel and I, 
 Plucking blue-bells for her hat 
 
 From a mound that blossomed nigh, 
 "We are near to heaven," she sighed, 
 
 While her raven lashes fell. 
 "Nearer," softly I replied, 
 
 " Than the mountain's height may tell. 
 
ON THE RIGHI. 343 
 
 Down the Bighi's side we sped, 
 
 Lovely Floribel and I, 
 But her rnorning blush had fled, 
 
 And the blue-bells all were dry. 
 Of the height the dream was born ; 
 
 Of the lower air it died ; 
 And the passicn of the morn 
 
 Flagged and fell at eventide. 
 
 From the breast of blue Lucerne, 
 
 Lovely Floribel and I 
 Saw the hand of sunset burn 
 
 On the Bighi Kulni, and die. 
 And we wondered, gazing thus, 
 
 If our dream would still remain 
 On the height, and wait for us 
 
 Till we climb to heaven again ! 
 
GRADATIM. 
 
 Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
 
 But we build the ladder by which we rise ; 
 
 From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 
 And we mount to its summit round by round. 
 
 I count this thing to be grandly true : 
 
 That a noble deed is a step toward God, — 
 Lifting the soul from the common clod 
 
 To a purer ah- and a broader view. 
 
 We rise by the things that are under feet ; 
 
 By what we have mastered of good and gain ; 
 
 By the pride deposed and the passion slain, 
 And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. 
 
 We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, 
 When the morning calls us to life and light, 
 
GBADATIM. 345 
 
 But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night, 
 Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. 
 
 We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, 
 And we think that we mount the air on wings 
 Beyond the recall of sensual things, 
 
 While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 
 
 Wings for the angels, but feet for men ! 
 We may borrow the wings to find the way — 
 We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray; 
 
 But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 
 
 Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 
 From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ; 
 But the dreams depart and the vision falls, 
 
 And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. 
 
 Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
 But we build the ladder by which we rise 
 From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 
 
 And we mount to its summit, round by round. 
 
RETURNING QL0TJB8. 
 
 The clouds are returning after the rain. 
 
 All the long morning they steadily sweep 
 From the blue Northwest, o'er the upper main, 
 
 In a peaceful flight to their Eastern sleep. 
 
 With sails that the cool wind fills or furls, 
 And shadows that darken the billowy grass, 
 
 Freighted with amber or piled with pearls, 
 Fleets of fair argosies rise and pass. 
 
 The earth smiles back to the smiling throng 
 From greening pasture and blooming field, 
 For the earth that had sickened with thirst so 
 long, 
 Has been touched by the hand of The Rain, 
 and healed. 
 
RETURNING CLOUDS. 347 
 
 The old man sits 'neath the tall elm trees, 
 And watches the pageant with dreamy eyes, 
 
 While his white locks stir to the same cool breeze 
 That scatters the silver along the skies. 
 
 The old man's eyelids are wet with tears — 
 Tears of sweet pleasure and sweeter pain — 
 
 For his thoughts are driving back over the years 
 In beautiful clouds after life's long rain. 
 
 Sorrows that drowned all the springs of his life, 
 Trials that crushed him with pitiless beat, 
 
 Storms of temptation and tempests of strife, 
 Float o'er his memory tranquil and sweet. 
 
 And the old man's spirit, made soft and bright 
 By the long, long rain that had bent him low, 
 
 Sees a vision of angels on wings of white, 
 In the trooping clouds as they come and go. 
 
EUREKA. 
 
 Whom I crown with love is royal ; 
 
 Matters not her blood or birth ; 
 She is queen, and I am loyal 
 
 To the noblest of the earth. 
 
 Neither place, nor wealth, nor title. 
 
 Lacks the man my friendship owns ; 
 His distinction, true and vital, 
 
 Shines supreme o'er crowns and thrones. 
 
 Where true love bestows its sweetness, 
 Where true friendship lays its hand, 
 
 Dwells all greatness, all completeness, 
 All the wealth of every land. 
 
 Man is greater than condition, 
 And where man himself bestows, 
 
EUREKA. 349 
 
 He begets, and gives position 
 To the gentlest that he knows. 
 
 Neither miracle nor fable 
 
 Is the water changed to wine ; 
 Lords and ladies at rny table 
 
 Prove Love's simplest fare divine. 
 
 And if these accept my duty, 
 
 If the loved my homage own, 
 I have won all worth and beauty ; 
 
 I have found the magic stone. 
 
WHERE SHALL THE BABY 1 8 
 DIMPLE BE? 
 
 Oveb the cradle the mother hung, 
 
 Softly crooning a slumber-song ; 
 And these were the simple words she sung 
 
 All the evening long : 
 
 " Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee, 
 Where shall the baby's dimple be ? 
 Where shall the angel's finger rest 
 When he comes down to the baby's nest ? 
 Where shall the angel's touch remain 
 When he awakens my babe again ?" 
 
 Still as she bent and sang so low, 
 
 A murmur into her music broke ; 
 And she paused to hear, for she could but know 
 
 The baby's angel spoke. 
 
BABY'S DIMPLE. 351 
 
 " Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee, 
 Where shall the "baby's dimple be ? 
 "Where shall my finger fall and rest 
 When I come down to the baby's nest ? 
 Where shall my finger's touch remain 
 When I awaken your babe again ?" 
 
 Silent the mother sat, and dwelt 
 Long in the sweet delay of choice ; 
 
 And then by her baby's side she knelt, 
 And sang with pleasant voice : 
 
 "Not on the limb, O angel dear ! 
 
 For the charm with its youth will disappear ; 
 
 Not on the cheek shall the dimple be, 
 
 For the harboring smile will fade and flee ; 
 
 But touch thou the chin with an impress deep, 
 
 And my baby the angel's seal shall keep." 
 
THE HEART OF THE WAR. 
 
 (1864.) 
 
 Peace in the clover-scented air, 
 
 And stars within the dome ; 
 And underneath, in dim repose, 
 
 A plain, New England home. 
 Within, a murmur of low tones 
 
 And sighs from hearts oppressed, 
 Merging in prayer, at last, that brings 
 
 The balm of silent rest. 
 
 I've closed a hard day's work, Marty, — 
 The evening chores are done ; 
 
 And you are weary with the house, 
 And with the little one. 
 
 But he is sleeping sweetly now, 
 With all our pretty brood ; 
 
THE HEART OF THE WAR. 353 
 
 So come and sit upon my knee, 
 And it will do me good. 
 
 Oh, Marty ! I must tell you all 
 
 The trouble in my heart, 
 And you must do the best you can 
 
 To take and bear your part. 
 You've seen the shadow on my face ; 
 
 You've felt it day and night : 
 For it has filled our little home, 
 
 And banished all its light. 
 
 I did not mean it should be so, 
 
 And yet I might have known 
 That hearts which live as close as ours 
 
 Can never keep their own. 
 But we are fallen on evil times, 
 
 And do whate'er I may, 
 My heart grows sad about the war, 
 
 And sadder every day„ 
 
354 THE HEART OF THE WAR. 
 
 I think about it when I work, 
 
 And when I try to rest, 
 And never more than when your head 
 
 Is pillowed on rny breast ; 
 For then I see the camp-fires blaze, 
 
 And sleeping men around, 
 Who turn their faces toward their homes, 
 
 And dream upon the ground. 
 
 I think about the dear, brave boys, 
 
 My mates in other years, 
 Who pine for home and those they love, 
 
 Till I am choked with tears. 
 With shouts and cheers they marched away 
 
 On glory's shining track, 
 But, ah ! how long, how long they stay ! 
 
 How few of them come back ! 
 
 One sleeps beside the Tennessee, 
 
 And one beside the James, 
 And one fought on a gallant ship 
 
THE HEART OF THE WAR. 355 
 
 And perished in its names. 
 And some, struck down by fell disease, 
 
 Are breathing out their life ; 
 And others, maimed by cruel wounds, 
 
 Have left the deadly strife. 
 
 Ah, Marty ! Marty, only think 
 
 Of all the boys have done 
 And suffered in this weary war ! 
 
 Brave heroes, every one ! 
 Oh ! often, often in the night, 
 
 I hear their voices call : 
 " Come on and help us. Is it right 
 
 That we should bear it all?" 
 
 And when I kneel and try to pray, 
 
 My thoughts are never free, 
 But cling to those who toil and fight 
 
 And die for you and me. 
 And when I pray for victory, 
 
 It seems almost a sin 
 
THE HEART OF THE WAR. 
 
 To fold my hands and ask for what 
 I will not help to win. 
 
 Oh ! do not cling to me and cry, 
 
 For it will break my heart ; 
 I'm sure you'd rather have me die 
 
 Than not to bear my part. 
 You think that some should stay at home 
 
 To care for those away ; 
 But still I'm helpless to decide 
 
 If I should go or stay. 
 
 For, Marty, all the soldiers love, 
 
 And all are loved again ; 
 And I am loved, and love, perhaps, 
 
 No more than other men. 
 I cannot tell — I do not know— 
 
 Which way my duty lies, 
 Or where the Lord would have me build 
 
 My fire of sacrifice. 
 
THF HEART OF THE WAE. 357 
 
 I feel — I know — I am not mean ; 
 
 And, though I seem to boast, 
 I'm sure that I would give my life 
 
 To those who need it most. 
 Perhaps the Spirit will reveal 
 
 That which is fair and right ; 
 So, Marty, let us humbly kneel 
 
 And pray to Heaven for light. 
 
 Peace in the clover-scented air, 
 
 And stars within the dome ; 
 And underneath, in dim repose, 
 
 A plain, New England home. 
 Within, a widow in her weeds, 
 
 From whom all joy is flown, 
 Who kneels among her sleeping babes, 
 
 And weeps and prays alone ! 
 
TO A SLEEPING SINGER. 
 
 Love in her heart, and song upon her lip — 
 
 A daughter, friend, and wife — 
 
 She lived a beauteous life, 
 
 And love and song shall bless her in her sleep. 
 
 The flowers whose language she interpreted, 
 
 The delicate airs, calm eves, and starry skies 
 
 That touched so sweetly her chaste sympathies, 
 
 And all the grieving souls she comforted, 
 
 Will bathe in separate sorrows the dear mound, 
 
 Where heart and harp lie silent and profound. 
 
 Oh, Woman ! all the songs thou left to us 
 
 We will preserve for thee, in grateful love ; 
 
 Give thou return of our affection thus, 
 
 And keep for us the songs thou singst above 1 
 
SONG AND SILENCE. 
 
 " Mx Mabel, you once had a bird 
 In your throat ; and it sang all the day \ 
 But now it sings never a word : 
 Has the Iqird flown away ? 
 
 " Oh sing to me, Mabel, again ! 
 Strike the chords ! Let the old fountain flow 
 With its balm for my fever and pain, 
 As it did years ago !" 
 
 Mabel sighed (while a tear filled and fell,) 
 "I have bade all my singing adieu *, 
 But I've a true story to tell, 
 And I'll tell it to you. 
 
 " There's a bird's nest up there in the oak, 
 On the bough that hangs over the stream, 
 
360 SONG AND SILENCE. 
 
 And last night the mother-bird broke 
 Into song in her dream. 
 
 " This morning she woke, and was still ; 
 For she thought of the frail little things 
 That needed her motherly bill, 
 Waiting under her wings. 
 
 " And busily, all the day long, 
 She hunted and carried their food, 
 And forgot both herself and her song 
 In her care for her brood. 
 
 " I sang in my dream, and you heard ; 
 I woke, and you wonder I'm still ; 
 But a mother is always a bird 
 With a fly in its bill !" 
 
ALONE! 
 
 Aiiii alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 With a child on my knee, or a wife on my breast, 
 Or, sitting beside me, the beautiful guest 
 Whom my heart leaps to greet as its sweetest and 
 best, 
 
 Still alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 
 With my visions of beauty, alone ! 
 Too fair to be painted, too fleet to be scanned, 
 Too regal to stay at my feeble command, 
 They pass from the grasp of my impotent hand : 
 
 Still alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 
 Alone with my conscience, alone ! 
 Not an eye that can see when its finger of flame 
 
352 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 Points my soul to its sin, or consumes it with 
 
 shame ! 
 Not an ear that can hear its low whisper of blame! 
 Still alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 
 In my visions of self, all alone ! 
 The weakness, the meanness, the guilt that I see, 
 The fool or the fiend I am tempted to be, 
 Can only be seen and repented by me : 
 
 Still alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 
 Alone in my worship, alone ! 
 No hand in the universe joining with mine, 
 Can lift what it lays on the altar divine, 
 Or bear what it offers aloft to its shrine : 
 
 Still alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 
 In the valley of death all alone ! 
 The sighs and the tears of my friends are in vain, 
 For mine is the passage, and mine is the pain, 
 And mine the sad sinking of bosom and brain : 
 
 Still alone in the world ! all alone ! 
 
ALONE. 363 
 
 Not atone ! never, never alone ! 
 There is one who is with me by clay and by night, 
 Who sees and inspires all my visions of light, 
 And teaches my conscience its office aright : 
 
 Not alone in the world ! not alone ! 
 
 Not alone ! never, never alone ! 
 He sees all my weakness with pitying eyes, 
 He helps me to lift my faint heart to the skies, 
 And in my last passion he suffers and dies : 
 
 Not alone 1 never, never alone I 
 
ALBERT DURER' 8 STUDIO. 
 
 In the house of Albert Durer 
 
 Still is seen the studio 
 Where the pretty Nurembergers 
 
 (Cheeks of rose and necks of snow) 
 Sat to have their portraits painted, 
 
 Thrice a hundred years ago. 
 
 Still is seen the little loop-hole 
 Where Frau Durers jealous care 
 
 Watched the artist at his labor, 
 And the sitter in her chair, 
 
 To observe each word and motion 
 That should pass between the pair, 
 
 Handsome, hapless Albert Durer 
 Was as circumspect and true 
 
 
ALBERT DURER' S STUDIO. 
 
 As the most correct of husbands, 
 When the dear delightful shrew 
 
 Has him, and his sweet companions, 
 Every moment under view. 
 
 But I trow that Albert Durer 
 Had within his heart a spot 
 
 Where he sat, and painted pictures 
 That gave beauty to his lot, 
 
 And the sharp, intrusive vision 
 Of Frau Durer entered not. 
 
 365 
 
 Ah ! if brains and hearts had loop-holes, 
 And Frau Durer could have seen 
 
 All the pictures that his fancy 
 Hung upon their walls within, 
 
 How minute had been her watching, 
 And how good he would have been ! 
 
THE OLD CLOCK OF PR AG UK 
 
 Theee's a curious clock in the city of Prague — 
 A remarkable old astronomical clock — 
 
 With a dial whose outline is that of an egg, 
 And with figures and fingers a wonderful stock. 
 
 It announces the dawn and the death of the day, 
 Shows the phases of moons and the changes of 
 tides, 
 Counts the months and the years as they vanish 
 away, 
 And performs quite a number of marvels be- 
 sides. 
 
 At the left of the dial a skeleton stands ; 
 And aloft hangs a musical bell in the tower, 
 
THE OLD CL CK OF PRA G HE. 367 
 
 Which he rings, by a rope that he holds in his 
 hands, 
 In his punctual function of striking the hour. 
 
 And the skeleton nods, as he tugs at the rope, 
 At an odd little figure that eyes him aghast, 
 
 As a hint that the bell rings the knell of his hope, 
 And the hour that is solemnly toUed is his last 
 
 And the effigy turns its queer features away 
 (Much as if for a snickering fit or a sneeze,) 
 
 With a shrug and a shudder, that struggle to say : 
 " Pray excuse me, but — just an hour more, if 
 you please !" 
 
 But the funniest sight, of the numerous sights 
 Which the clock has to show to the people bo- 
 low, 
 
 Is the Holy Apostles in tunics and tights, 
 Who revolve in a ring, or proceed in a row. 
 
368 
 
 TEE OLD CLOCK OF P HAGUE 
 
 Their appearance can hardly be counted sublime ; 
 And their movements are formal, it must be al- 
 lowed ; 
 But they're prompt, for they always appear upou 
 time, 
 And polite, for they bow very low to the crowd. 
 
 This machine (so reliable papers record) 
 
 Was the work, from his own very clever design, 
 
 Of one Hanusch, who died in the year of our 
 Lord 
 One thousand four hundred and ninety and nine. 
 
 Did the people receive it with honor ? you ask ; 
 
 Did it bring a reward to the builder ? Ah, well ! 
 C was proper that they should have paid for the 
 task ! 
 And they did, in a way that it shocks me to tell. 
 
 For suspecting that Hanusch might grow to be 
 
 vain, 
 
THE OLD CLOCK OF PRAGUE. 369 
 
 Or that cities around them might covet their 
 prize, 
 They invented a story that he was insane, 
 
 And, to stop him from labor, extinguished his 
 
 But the cunning old artist, though dying in 
 shame, 
 May be sure that he labored and lived not amiss; 
 For his clock has outlasted the foes of his fame, 
 And the world owes him much for a lesson like 
 this : 
 
 That a private success is a public offence, 
 That a citizen's fame is a city's disgrace, 
 And that both should be shunned by a person of 
 sense, 
 Who would live with a whole pair of eyes in his 
 face. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 There's a song in the air ! 
 
 There's a star in the sky ! 
 
 There's a mother's deep prayer 
 
 And a baby's low cry ! 
 
 And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing, 
 
 For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king. 
 
 There's a tumult of joy 
 
 O'er the wonderful birth, 
 
 For the virgin's sweet boy 
 
 Is the Lord of the earth, 
 
 Ay ! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing, 
 
 For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king ! 
 
 In the light of that star 
 
 Lie the ages impearled ; 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 371 
 
 And that song from afar 
 
 Has swept over the world. 
 Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing 
 In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King. 
 
 We rejoice in the light, 
 
 And we echo the song 
 
 That comes down through the night 
 
 From the heavenly throng. 
 Ay ! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring, 
 And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King ! 
 
VERSES READ AT THE H AD- 
 LET CENTENNIAL. 
 
 {June 9th, 1859.) 
 
 Heart of Hadley, slowly beating 
 Under midnight's azure breast, 
 
 Silence $hy strong pulse repeating , 
 Wakes me — shakes me — from mv rest.* 
 
 Hark ! a beggar at the basement ! 
 
 Listen ! friends are at the door ! 
 There's a lover at the casement ! 
 
 There are feet upon the floor ! 
 
 * The pulsations of Hadley Falls, on the Connecticut, are felt 
 for many miles around, in favorable conditions of the atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 
TEE EADLEY CENTENNIAL. 373 
 
 But they knock with muffled hammers, 
 
 They step softly like the rain, 
 And repeat their gentle clamors 
 
 Till I sleep and dream again. 
 
 Still the knocking at the basement 
 Still the rapping at the door ; 
 
 Tireless lover at the casement ; 
 Ceaseless feet upon the floor. 
 
 Bolts are loosed by spectral fingers, 
 Windows open through the gloom, 
 
 And the lilacs and syringas 
 
 Breathe their perfume through the room. 
 
 'Mid the odorous pulsations 
 Of the air around my bed, 
 
 Throng the ghostly generations 
 Of the long forgotten dead 
 
374 THE HADLEY CENTENNIAL, 
 
 "Rise and write !" with gentle pleading 
 They command and I obey ; 
 
 And I give to you the reading 
 Of their tender words to-day. 
 
 "Children of the old plantation, 
 Heirs of all we won and held, 
 
 Greet us in your celebration — 
 Us — the nameless ones of Eld ! 
 
 " We were never squires or teachers, 
 We were neither wise nor great, 
 
 But we listened to our preachers, 
 Worshipped God and loved the State. 
 
 " Blood of ours is on the meadow, 
 Dust of ours is in the soil, 
 
 But no marble casts a shadow 
 Where we slumber from our toil. 
 
THE HADLEY CENTENNIAL. 375 
 
 ' ; Unreinernbered, unrecorded, 
 
 We are sleeping side by side, 
 And to names is now awarded 
 
 That for which the nameless died. 
 
 "We were men of humble station ; 
 
 We were women pure and true ; 
 And we served our generation, — 
 
 Lived and worked and fought for you. 
 
 " We were maidens, we were lovers, 
 We were husbands, we were wives ; 
 
 But oblivion's mantle covers 
 All the sweetness of our lives." 
 
 " Praise the men who ruled and led us ; 
 
 Carry garlands to their graves ; 
 But remember that your meadows 
 
 Were not planted by their slaves. 
 
376 THE HADLET CENTENNIAL. 
 
 "Children of the old plantation, 
 Heirs of all we won and held, 
 
 Greet us in your celebration, — 
 Us, the nameless ones of Eld." 
 
 This their message, and I send it, 
 Faithful to their sweet behest, 
 
 And my toast shall e'en attend it, 
 To be read among the rest. 
 
 Fill to all the brave and blameless 
 Who, forgotten, passed away ! 
 
 Drink the memory of the nameless, 
 Only named in heaven to-day 1 
 
WANTED. 
 
 God give us men ! A time like this demands 
 Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready 
 
 hands ; 
 Men whom the lust of office does not kill ; 
 
 Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy ; 
 Men who possess opinions and a will ; 
 
 Men who have honor, — men who will not lie ; 
 Men who can stand before a demagogue, 
 
 And damn his treacherous flatteries without 
 winking ! 
 Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog 
 
 In public duty, and in private thinking ; 
 For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn 
 
 creeds, 
 Their large professions and their little deeds, — 
 Mingle in selfish strife, lo ! Freedom weeps, 
 Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps ! 
 
MERLE, TEE COUNSELLOR. 
 
 Old Mekle, the counsellor and guide, 
 And tall young Kolf e walked side by side 
 At the sweet hour of eventide. 
 
 The yellow light of parting day 
 Upon the peaceful landscape lay, 
 And touched the mountain far away. 
 
 The tinkling of the distant herds, 
 And the low twitter of the birds 
 Mingled with childhood's happy words. 
 
 The old man raised his trembling palm, 
 And bared his brow to meet the balm 
 That fell with twilight's dewy calm ; 
 
MERLE, THE COUNSELLOR. 379 
 
 And one could see that to his thought, 
 The scenes and sounds around him brought 
 Suggestions of the heaven he sought. 
 
 But Bolfe, his young companion, bent 
 His moody brow in discontent, 
 And sadly murmured as he went. 
 
 For vagrant passions, fierce and grim, 
 And fearful memories haunted him, 
 That made the evening glory dim. 
 
 Then spoke the cheerful voice of Merle : 
 " Where yonder clouds their gold unfurl, 
 One almost sees the gates of pearl. 
 
 "Nay, one can hardly look amiss 
 For heaven, in such a scene as this, 
 Or fail to feel its present bliss. 
 
380 MERLE, THE COUNSELLOR. 
 
 " So near we stand to holy things, 
 
 And all our high imaginings, 
 
 That faith forgets to lift her wings !" 
 
 Then answered Rolfe, with bitter tone 
 "If thou hast visions of the throne, 
 Enjoy them ; they are all thy own, 
 
 "For me there lives no God of love ; 
 For me there bends no heaven above ; 
 And Peace, the gently brooding dove, 
 
 " Has flown afar, and in her stead 
 Fierce vultures wheel above my head, 
 And hope is sick and faith is dead. 
 
 ' ' Death can but loose a loathsome bond, 
 And from the depths of my despond, 
 I see no ray of light beyond." 
 
MEBLE, TEE COUNSELLOR. 381 
 
 It was a sad, discordant strain, 
 
 That brought old Merle to earth again, 
 
 And filled his soul with solemn pain. 
 
 At length they reached a leafy wood, 
 And walked in silence, till they stood 
 Within the fragrant solitude. 
 
 Then spake old Merle, with gentle art 
 "I know the secret of thy heart, 
 And will, if thou desire, impart." 
 
 Kolfe answered with a hopeless sigh, 
 But from the tear that brimmed his eye, 
 The old man gladly caught reply, 
 
 And spoke : "Beyond these forest trees 
 A city stands ; and sparkling seas 
 Waft up to it the evening breeze. 
 
382 MERLE, THE COUNSELLOR. 
 
 " Thou canst not see its gilded domes, 
 Its plume of smoke, its pleasant homes, 
 Or catch the gleam of surf that foams 
 
 "And dies upon its verdant shore, 
 But there it stands ; and there the roar 
 Of life shall swell for evermore ! 
 
 " The path we walk is fair and wide, 
 But still our vision is denied 
 The city and its nursing tide. 
 
 " The path we walk is wide and fair, 
 But curves and wanders here and there, 
 And builds the wall of our despair. 
 
 "Make straight the path, and then shall shine 
 Through trembling walls of tree and vine 
 The vision fair for which we pine. 
 
MERLE, THE COUNSELLOR. 383 
 
 "And thou, my son, so long hast been 
 
 Along the crooked ways of sin, 
 
 That they have closed, and shut thee in. 
 
 " Make straight the path before thy feet. 
 And walk within it firm and fleet, 
 And thou shalt see, in vision sweet 
 
 "And constant as the love supreme, 
 With closer gaze and brighter beam, 
 The peaceful heaven that fills my dream." 
 
 He paused : no more his lips could say ; 
 And then, beneath the twilight gray, 
 The silent pair retraced their way. 
 
 But in the young man's eyes a light 
 
 Shone strong and resolute and bright, 
 
 For which Merle thanked his God that night 
 
DANIEL GRAY. 
 
 If I shall ever win the home in heaven 
 For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and .pray, 
 In the great company of the forgiven 
 I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. 
 
 I knew him well ; in truth, few knew him better ; 
 For my young eyes oft read for him the Word, 
 And saw how meekly from the crystal letter 
 He drank the life of his beloved Lord. 
 
 Old Daniel Gray was not a man who lifted 
 On ready words his freight of gratitude, 
 Nor was he called among the gifted, 
 In the prayer-meetings of his neighborhood. 
 
DANIEL GRAY. 385 
 
 He had a few old-fashioned words and phrases, 
 Linked in with sacred texts and Sunday rhymes ; 
 And I suppose that in his prayers and graces, 
 I've heard them all at least a thousand times. 
 
 I see him now — his form, his face, his motions, 
 His homespun habit, and his silver hair, — 
 And hear the language of his trite devotions, 
 Rising behind the straight-backed kitchen chair. 
 
 I can remember how the sentence sounded — ' 
 " Help us, O Lord, to pray and not to faint !" 
 And how the " conquering-and-to conquer " round- 
 ed 
 The loftier aspirations of the saint. 
 
 He had some notions that did not improve him, 
 
 He never kissed his children — so they say : 
 
 And finest scenes and fairest flowers would move 
 
 him 
 Less than a horse-shoe picked up in the way. 
 
386 
 
 DANIEL GRAY. 
 
 He had a hearty hatred of oppression, 
 And righteous words for sin of every kind ; 
 Alas, that the transgressor and transgression 
 Were linked so closely in his honest mimd ! 
 
 He could see nought but vanity in beauty, 
 And nought but weakness in a fond caress, 
 And pitied men whose views of Christian duty 
 Allowed indulgence in such foolishness. 
 
 Yet there were love and tenderness within him ; 
 And I am told that when his Charley died, 
 Nor nature's need nor gentle words could win him 
 From his fond vigils at the sleeper's side. 
 
 And when they came to bury little Charley, 
 They found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in his hair, 
 And on his breast a rose-bud gathered early, 
 And guessed, but did not know who placed it 
 there. 
 
DANIEL GBAY. 387 
 
 Honest and faithful, constant in his calling, 
 Strictly attendant on the means of grace, 
 Instant in prayer, and fearful most of falling, 
 Old Daniel Gray was always in his place. 
 
 A practical old man, and yet a dreamer, 
 
 He thought that in some strange, unlooked-for way 
 
 His mighty Friend in Heaven, the great Be- 
 
 deemer, 
 Would honor him with wealth some golden day, 
 
 This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit 
 Until in death his patient eye grew dim, 
 And his Redeemer called him to inherit 
 The heaven of wealth long garnered up for him, 
 
 So, if I ever win the home in heaven 
 
 For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and pray, 
 
 In the great company of the forgiven 
 
 I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTEN- 
 ING. 
 
 (A Legend of the Connecticut ) 
 
 How did they manage to busy themselves — 
 Our sires, in the early plantation days ? 
 
 Grinding their axes and whittling their helves ? 
 Pishing for salmon and planting maize? 
 
 How when the chopping and splitting were done? 
 
 How when the corn-fields were planted and hoed? 
 How when the salmon had ceased to run, 
 
 And the bushes were cleared from the old Bay 
 Road ? 
 
 They were not men who stood still in their shoes, 
 Or who clung to their cabins when forests were 
 damp ; 
 
TEE MOUNTAIN CEBISTEN1NG. 389 
 
 So, when labor was finished, they cut the blues 
 And their sticks for a lively exploring tramp. 
 
 'Twas a beautiful morning in June, they say — 
 Two hundred and twenty years ago, 
 
 When armed and equipped for a holiday, 
 They stood where Connecticut's waters flow, 
 
 With five upon this side and five upon that, — 
 Agawam's bravest and hardiest men, 
 
 Hailing each other with lusty chat, 
 
 That the tall woods caught and tossed over 
 again. 
 
 Holyoke, the gentle and daring, stood 
 On the Eastern bank with his trusty four, 
 
 And Bowland Thomas, the gallant and good, 
 Headed the band on the other shore. 
 
 "Due North !" shouted Holyoke and all his men. 
 "Due North !" answered they on the opposite 
 beach ; 
 
390 THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING. 
 
 And northward they started, the sturdy ten, 
 With their haversacks filled and a musket each. 
 
 The women ran panting to bid them good-bye, 
 And sweet Mary Pynchon was there (I guess), 
 
 With a sigh in her throat and a tear in her eye 
 As Holyoke marched into the wilderness, 
 
 And the boys were all wondering where they 
 would go, 
 And what they would meet in the dangerous 
 way; 
 And the good wives were gossiping to and fro, 
 And prating and shaking their heads all day. 
 
 Up the bright river they travelled abreast, 
 Calling each other from bank to bank, 
 
 Till the hot sun slowly rolled into the West, 
 And gilded the mountain-tops where it sank. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING. 391 
 
 They lighted their camp-fires, and ate of their 
 fare, 
 And drank of the water that ran at their feet, 
 And wrapped in the balm of the cool evening air. 
 Sank down to a sleep that was dreamless and 
 sweet. 
 
 The great falls roared in their ears all night, 
 And the sturgeon splashed and the wild-cat 
 screamed, 
 
 But they did not wake till the morning light 
 Red through the willowy branches beamed. 
 
 Brief was the toilet and short the grace, 
 
 And strong were the viands that broke their 
 fast ; 
 Then onward they pressed till they reached the 
 place 
 Where the river between two mountains passed. 
 
 Up the rough ledges they clambered amain, 
 Holyoke and Thomas on either hand, 
 
392 THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING. 
 
 Till high in mid-passage they paused, and then 
 They tearfully gazed on a lovely land. 
 
 Down by the Ox-Bow's southerly shore 
 
 Licking the wave bowed an antlered buck : 
 
 And Northward and Westward a league or mora 
 Stretched the broad meadows of Nonotuck. 
 
 Straight up the river an Indian town 
 Filled the soft air with its musical hum, 
 
 And children's voices were wafted down 
 From the peaceful shadows of Hockanum. 
 
 Rude little patches of greening maize 
 Dappled the landscape far and wide, 
 
 And away in the North iu the sunset's blaze, 
 Sugar-loaf stood and was glorified ! 
 
 The morning dawned on the double group 
 Facing each other on opposite shores, 
 
THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING. 393 
 
 Where ages ago with a mighty swoop 
 The waters parted the mountain doors. 
 
 "Let us christen the mountains," said Holyoke in 
 
 "Let us christen the mountains," said Thomas 
 again ; 
 " That mountain for you, and this mountain for 
 me!" 
 And their trusty fellows responded : "Amen !" 
 
 Then Holyoke buried his palm in the stream, 
 And tossed the pure spray toward the moun- 
 tain's brow, 
 And said, while it shone in the sun's first beam, 
 "Fair mountain, thou art Mount Holyoke 
 now !" 
 
 The sun shone full on the Western height, 
 When Thomas came up from the crystal tide : 
 
394 THE MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING. 
 
 " I name thee Thomas by Christian rite !" 
 " Thou art Mount Thomas !" they all replied. 
 
 They paused but a moment when rounding a bluff 
 Shot an Indian's boat with its stealthy oar, 
 And with strings of wampum and gaudy stuff 
 They beckoned it in to the Western shore. 
 
 Gracious and brief was the bargain made 
 By the white man's potent pantomime ; 
 
 And the delicate boat with its dainty blade 
 Bore them over the river one man at a time. 
 
 There were greetings and jests in every mouth, 
 And hearty farewells to " Holyoke "and "Tom:" 
 
 Then the gleeful men turned their steps due 
 South, 
 And took a bee-line for Agawam. 
 
 They passed Willimansett at noon that day, 
 And Chicopee just as the sun went down, 
 
TEE MOUNTAIN CHRISTENING. 395 
 
 And when the last daylight had faded away, 
 All hungry and weary they entered the town. 
 
 Mr. Pynchon demanded a full report. 
 
 Which Holyoke wrote for the two commands ; 
 And when he went down to the General Court 
 
 He placed it in Governor Winthrop's hands. 
 
A GOLDEN WEDDING SONG. 
 
 The links of fifty golden years 
 
 Reach to the golden ring 
 Which now, with glad and grateful tears, 
 
 We celebrate and sing. 
 O chain of love ! O ring of gold ! 
 
 That have the years defied ; 
 And still in happy bondage hold 
 
 The old man and his bride ! 
 
 The locks are white that once were black 
 
 The sight is feebler grown ; 
 But through the long and weary track 
 
 The heart has held its own ! 
 O chain of love ! O ring of gold ! 
 
 That time could not divide ; 
 n hat kept through changes marrifo 1 : 1 
 
 The old man and his bride ! 
 
A GOLDEN WEDDING-SONG. 397 
 
 The little ones have come and gone ; 
 
 The old have passed away ; 
 But love — immortal love — lives on, 
 
 And blossoms 'mid decay. 
 O chain of love ! O ring of gold ! 
 
 That have the years defied ; 
 And still with growing strength infold 
 
 The old man and his bride ! 
 
 The golden bridal ! ah, how sweet 
 
 The music of its bell, 
 To those whose hearts the vows repeat 
 
 Their lives have kept so well ! 
 O chain of love ! O ring of gold ! 
 
 O marriage true and tried ! 
 That bind with tenderness untold 
 The old man and his bride ! 
 
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 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
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