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GOLD - THREAD 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 HELEN M. COOKE, 
 
 ( LOTTIE LINWOOD.) 
 
 NEW YOEK: 
 
 E. B. TREAT, 805 BROADWAY, 
 
 1874. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 
 
 HELEN M. COOKE, 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO 
 THE HON. O. S. HALSTED, 
 
 EX-CHANCELLOK OF NEW JEESEY. 
 BX 
 
 THE AUTHOE. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 These poems are published by the urgent re- 
 quest of friends, many of whose faces I have never 
 seen, whose hands have never been clasped in 
 mine, but whose sweet sympathies have sprung 
 into life and linked our hearts even as the beauti- 
 ful Gold- Thread, which creeps through the silent 
 darkness of the ground and hnks its marvelous 
 nerve-like tendrils together in thousands of insep- 
 arable ties, sending up now and then a pure white 
 blossom that makes the world more fragrant and 
 lovely — we know not how. 
 
 I have called my book Gold-Thread, for it 
 seems to me its contents have sprung out of the 
 hidden intensities of my woman's heart ; that in 
 it and with it lie the deepest sorrows and sweetest 
 joys I have ever known. 
 
 The world may have seen in its author only the 
 meek white blossoms growing small and low, that 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 any rude feet could trample over to reach a higher 
 and richer bloom ; but to those of my dear readers, 
 whether man or woman, who have been hungry, 
 tired, lonely, who have known the great love, and 
 helpless yearnings for humanity, wifli all its losses, 
 and failures, who have helped to bear its crosses, 
 it will find an answering voice — a throb of unutter- 
 able sympathy, and its mission will have been ac- 
 complished. To touch a human heart is greater 
 than Fame. I shall be satisfied. 
 
 H. M. 0. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Demcatobt Poem. 
 
 A Birthday Song 62 
 
 A Christmas Rhyme 53 
 
 Acrostic 179 
 
 A Fragment 152 
 
 A Hymn 194 
 
 A June Memory 160 
 
 Alas ! 162 
 
 Always Tired 155 
 
 A Midnight Rhyme 135 
 
 Anticipation 127 
 
 A Prophecy 60 
 
 A Plea for the Aged 95 
 
 A Response 192 
 
 A Song 72 
 
 At Evening . 47 
 
 At the Grave ol Mrs. L. H. Sigoumey 120 
 
 A Winter's Dream of Summer .". 164 
 
 Because I Love You 38 
 
 Be Thyself 190 
 
 Between the Clouds 168 
 
 Beyond, 100 
 
 Bitter-Sweet 174 
 
x-'i CONTENTS, 
 
 By-and-By 172 
 
 Bye-Bye 80 
 
 By the Sea 83 
 
 Dead Forever . 23 
 
 Dream On 139 
 
 Ellen Clementine Howarth 44 
 
 Gold-Thread 17 
 
 Greenwood Cemetery 132 
 
 Hemlock Grove 68 
 
 Hope , 146 
 
 Hungry and Tired 75 
 
 I Remember 40 
 
 In Memoriam „ 24 
 
 In the Sunshine 78 
 
 I Pray for Thee at Nightfall 122 
 
 I will be True to Thee 158 
 
 July 36 
 
 Kisses 134 
 
 Leaves lOG 
 
 Leave us not Yet 102 
 
 Life-time 77 
 
 Lilacs 29 
 
 Lilla Burt 22 
 
 Lines for an Album 104 
 
 Lines (Go while, etc.) 89 
 
 Lines to Anna M. Bates 137 
 
 Mattie 20 
 
 May-time 74 
 
 Monody 182 
 
 Mortality 191 
 
 My Serenade 18.S 
 
 Music 118 
 
 Newsboys 149 
 
C0N2ENT8, xiii 
 
 No Night 48 
 
 Old Memories 116 
 
 On the Death of 0. D. Seymour, Jr.. . , 147 
 
 On the Shore 33 
 
 One More Poet 57 
 
 Our Lizzie 87 
 
 Overtasked 59 
 
 Eeverie 131 
 
 School's Out 141 
 
 SMn I 29 
 
 Sympathy 91 
 
 Stanzas 42 
 
 Tempted . 170 
 
 The Autumn Wmd 175 
 
 The Child's Prayer 66 
 
 The Dear Eyes 64 
 
 The Flower in the Snow 177 
 
 The Gift of Song. 109 
 
 The Eainfall 186 
 
 The Ehyme of an Autumn Day 85 
 
 The Sainted Picture 92 
 
 The Silent Room 180 
 
 The Spirit's GaU 143 
 
 The Magdalen 70 
 
 The Picture at Goupil's 35 
 
 " Thine to the End." 153 
 
 Thou Art away 124 
 
 To Mary 195 
 
 To the Giver of a Basket of Flowers 31 
 
 Trailing Arbutus 96 
 
 Trinity BeUs 20 
 
 Trusts . 55 
 
 Tube Roses 97 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 Unbeloved 107 
 
 Under the Snow-drifts 145 
 
 Violets in November 82 
 
 Waiting 49 
 
 Weary and Bound 27 
 
 Wby Ill 
 
 William Koderick Lawrence 113 
 
 *' Write in my Album " 166 
 
 Woman 184 
 
 You and Me 51 
 
DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO you on whose broad brow will ever shine 
 A more than poet's everlasting crown ! 
 Genius, and power, and fame are all thine own ! 
 Low at thy feet I lay this gift of mine. 
 
 There it has been in days gone by my pride 
 To sit and learn, and listen to each word 
 From thy wise lips, till all my life was stirred 
 
 To emulate so pure and good a guide. 
 
 And often thus some pov, er of thine has come 
 (As the sweet south wind on the violet. 
 That April in her iearfulness has wet — ) 
 
 To deepen thoughts of mine to richer bloom ! 
 
 And thy grand life of earnest searching thought 
 Has been to me a warmth, a helping light. 
 
i6 DEDICATORY. 
 
 And led me out from Doubt's perplexing night, 
 To God's great freedom, which so few have sought. 
 
 And I can lay my hand in thine to-day, 
 
 And know how safe and sure His promise is ; 
 When work and song are ended, we are His, 
 
 With gift of life immortal from decay. 
 
GOLD THREAD. 
 
 AM I to blame if in the world of Thought 
 I strike low chords, and sing in deepest 
 shade, 
 While happier singers find a sunnier spot, 
 And pour their lays out in the open glade ? 
 
 Long, long and weary years ago there came 
 A genial spirit hovering by my side. 
 
 And talked of poesy, and love, and fame. 
 
 And fired my soul for all of these — and died I 
 
 I died too, with my bright young hopes and dreams; 
 
 Drew back my eager hands that reached for 
 fame ; 
 My feet went down to deep and silent streams ; 
 
 And my mute lips moaned only one dear name, 
 
 I surely died then, in the long ago — 
 
 Hiding my tears and sobs all out of sight ; 
 
 17 
 
18 GOLD THREAD. 
 
 Hushed my despair so well that none could know 
 Of my Gethsemane, or after night. 
 
 Year after year the early violets come, 
 And summer roses drop around his head, 
 
 Like rosaries that slip through hands of bloom — 
 In voiceless prayers, to bless with peace my 
 dead. 
 
 And over all the darkness and the gloom. 
 
 And through the longings, and the throbs oi 
 pain. 
 
 Through all the fading of this earthly bloom ; 
 The thought comes ever, " we shall meet again T* 
 
 A fairer light will shine again for me ; 
 
 Dreams of our past-time brighten into truth ; 
 Beyond the cold depths of the silent sea, 
 
 Will come the sweet words of our perished 
 youth. 
 
 Oh hope immortal ! not forever dead ! 
 
 Though parted for a little while in tears — 
 All the sweet memories of the days long fled 
 
 Will live beyond Time's swiftly rolling years. 
 
GOLD THREAD. 1£ 
 
 Oh, great Hereafter ! great immortal life ! 
 
 Oh, vast Forever, where no death shall come ! 
 Where endless being unto saints shall give 
 
 A perfect joy, a final rest, a home ! 
 
 Yet underneath this cloud I see him not ; 
 
 My songs still tremble with a stifled sob ; 
 I miss him here in each familiar spot 
 
 Where'er I go, and in the heart's low throb. 
 
 Reach down, oh Hand Immortal, unto me. 
 
 And through these shadows lead me to the light 3 
 
 And give me strength that I may calmly see 
 The clouds of sorrow drifting out of sight ! 
 
TRINITY BELLS. 
 
 WHAT are you saying in tones so sweet, 
 Musical bells — in the soft spring air, 
 While 1 plod on in the crowded street, 
 Weary and sad with my weight of care ? 
 
 Sometimes you touch on a quivering string, 
 Waking some memory dead for years ; 
 
 And the old-time pain to my heart will spring, 
 And my eyes are filled with their bhnding tears. 
 
 They are pressing me sore on every side, 
 
 With toil, and care, and the great world's strife; 
 
 With the rush and crowd of the city's tide. 
 And the crushing weight of this human life. 
 
 But above it all, like a tireless bird — 
 Your notes ring out, as we come and go, 
 
 Till my envious heart with a wish is stirred 
 Toward the peaceful sleepers that lie below. 
 20 
 
TRINITY BELLS. 21 
 
 And I pause a moment as on I pass, 
 To note how quiet and still they lie ; 
 
 Not even a wave in the churchyard grass 
 Do their bosoms lift by a sob or sigh. 
 
 Oh, Trinity Bells ! dear Trinity Bells ! 
 
 How many a sad, sweet thing you say, 
 As your varied chime on the soft air swells, 
 
 To the world of hearts that throng Broadway. 
 
 While trade, and traffic, and worldly pride, 
 Are running riot within thy sound ; 
 
 Some tear-stained eyes in the restless tide. 
 Look up for rest to the Blue Beyond. 
 2 
 
LILLA BUBT. 
 
 BLUE-EYED Lilla, laughing child ! 
 Fairest of our household flowers, 
 Dancing in thy glee so wild, 
 
 Stealing all these hearts of ours. 
 God hath given thee to our care, 
 And we hold thee tremblingly, 
 Fearing lest a bud so fair. 
 
 Cannot bloom beneath the sky. 
 
 We are thinking when we gaze 
 
 In thy soft and starry eyes. 
 When we watch thy playful ways, 
 
 Of thy mates in Paradise. 
 Living, dying, well we know, 
 
 God protects his lambs from hurt ; 
 Though we love and prize thee so. 
 
 Thou art His, sweet Lilla Burt. 
 22 
 
Y 
 
 DEAD FOREVEE. 
 
 ES, yes, the dream has fled, 
 Our love lies strangled, dead ; 
 Heart calls not back to heart with one sweet word. 
 The Past shall ever keep 
 With silence, oh, how deep ! 
 The power to touch for us one answerin,^ chord. 
 
 In one sad hour it died. 
 
 Slain by our human pride ; 
 No dear Christ of the past shall bid it rise again 
 
 Our hearts have ceased their cry. 
 
 Stilled all their agony. 
 All their sweet passion, all their bitter pain ! 
 
 In all our future years. 
 
 Whether of smiles or tears, 
 Drifting apart forever, you and me ! 
 
 Over each promise fair 
 
 Surges a cold despair ; 
 Dead, now and always^ through eternity. 
 
 23 
 
IN MEMOEIAM. 
 
 THERE is a heart-break in the robin's singing, 
 A note of sorrow in the low wind's song, 
 And the red flower-bells on the uplands swinging, 
 Seem tolling a sad requiem all day long ! 
 
 Hearts that were glad with summer's flush and 
 glory, 
 
 And brimming o'er with joy, one year ago, 
 Have learned amid life's winter, sorrow's story. 
 
 And shadows creep where'er their footsteps go. 
 
 For we remember how a great heart perished 
 In all his manly beauty and his pride ; 
 
 In early spring-time, the beloved and cherished 
 Laid down life's buidon quietly, and died. 
 
 Oh life, so bitter ! full of pains and cros.^es ; 
 
 There comes one dark Gethsemane to all ! 
 One heaviest woe to all our heavy losses, 
 
 The shadow dropping on the loved one's pall. 
 24 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 26 
 
 We cannot lift it with our feeble trying, 
 
 Though tears fall fast, and our poor hearts 
 make moan ; 
 
 The world is full of losing and of dying, 
 Of hearts that break in silence and alone. 
 
 And so we wait, the shadows growing longer ; 
 
 And valleys deeper in the churchyard grass ; 
 Praying the while that God will make us stronger 
 
 For all the days of loneliness we pass. 
 
 So spring returns with all the buds and blossoms, 
 Winds chant their Easter anthems o'er and o'er, 
 
 Shedding their glory on the silent bosoms 
 Where we may rest our weary heads no more. 
 
MATTIE. 
 
 DAEK-EYED Mattie, friend of mine, 
 Laughing in thy girlish glee ; 
 Tell me if that heart of thine 
 
 Has one thought of love for me ? 
 Tell me if those nightly eyes, 
 
 Playful, frolicsome and bright. 
 Where all tameless witchery lies, — 
 E'er will gleam with love's soft light? 
 
 Now youth's golden morning lies 
 
 Shining o'er thine early way ; 
 May no clouds of sorrow rise, 
 
 To enshroud hfe's closing day ; 
 And may Hope's pure vestal star, 
 
 Guard and keep thy future years; 
 Lead thee where the angels are, 
 
 Keep thy dear black eyes from tears! 
 26 
 
WEAEY AND BOUND. 
 
 WEAEY and bound ! oh, Poetrj, 
 Bright spirit ! idol of my Heart ! 
 I, but an humble devotee, 
 
 Bow meekly wheresoe'er thou art. 
 
 Blest soul of love, of joy and truth, 
 Thou fadeless beauty, fresh and free, 
 
 Thou stream of song, that charmed my youth, 
 The weary bound one cries for thee ! 
 
 Oh, Poesy ! my spirit swells 
 
 To plunge for aye in thy cool waves ; 
 
 It longs to burst these earthly cells, 
 And find in thee the bliss it craves. 
 
 To tell the thoughts that upward spring ; 
 
 To break from language's dreamy lull, 
 And with unearthly voice to sing 
 
 These dreams, so bright and beautiful ! 
 
 27 
 
28 WEARY AND BOUND. 
 
 Unrest, unrest ! forever bound, 
 
 And chafed with restless longing thought; 
 With whispered music all around, 
 
 But my bound spirit answers not. 
 
 Oh, Earth ! oh. Time ! oh. Thou, my God ! 
 
 When will this fleshly bondage cease ? 
 When laid this chain beneath the sod ? 
 
 When rest the soul in endless peace ? 
 
 By the wild prayers I strive to speak, 
 By the sweet songs of angels free, 
 
 By the strong power I vainly seek. 
 By hopes, tears, loves, oh answer me ! 
 
LILACS. 
 
 PUEP'LING in, and purp'ling out, 
 'Moug the emerald leaves, 
 Weaving beauty round about 
 
 The low and mossy eaves ; 
 Bringing to our memory back 
 
 Many old-time joys. 
 When we danced on childhood's track, 
 
 Merry girls and boys ; 
 When our little hands reached high, 
 
 i'or their clustering bloom, 
 Tossing upward toward the sky, 
 
 In their sweet perfume. 
 
 Golden hours ! the dreamers' rhyme 
 
 Calls for thee in vain ; 
 Standing near life's harvest-time, 
 
 'Mid ungathered graia ! 
 
30 LILACS. 
 
 And the blessed ones who stood 
 
 Hand in hand with me, 
 Looking higher, up to God, 
 
 Went beyond life's sea ! 
 From this purple-laden bough, 
 
 Oft I turn mine eye ', 
 Where they gather blossoms now, 
 
 To the purp'ling skies I 
 
TO THE GIVER OF A BASKET OF FLOWERS. 
 
 7 ^HERE'S a charm in every petal, a caress in 
 every leaf ; 
 
 In the roses' hearts lie folded a beautiful belief ! 
 
 Oh, white and royal lily, when you bowed your 
 regal head 
 
 To the hand that stole your beauty from the 
 fragrant garden-bed, 
 
 Wist ye not how more than kingly was the mis- 
 sion that he gave ? 
 
 For in thy silent dying came the blessing that 
 I crave! 
 
 Ye are sanctified by fingers whose lightest little 
 
 touch 
 Brings to me the benediction I have coveted so 
 
 much ; 
 
 And through all thy subtle perfume floats the 
 
 tenderness of ten rs, 
 
 3X 
 
32 A BASKET OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Drifting back into the distance all the weary, 
 
 waiting years 
 When no sunlight and no blossoms beautified 
 , the path I trod, 
 Unknowing that the darkness led me up to Hope, 
 
 and God ! 
 
 Oh, beloved ! sweet and tender ! in thy hand I 
 lay my heart ; 
 
 All its blossoms, all its incense, all its truth to 
 thee impart ; 
 
 Thou canst cast me back to darkness, to a love- 
 less, starless night ; 
 
 Only in thy priceless loving finds my woman's 
 heart its light ; 
 
 Crush me not, and leave me dying, like these 
 flowers, to bloom no more, 
 
 For no other power thereafter, could one throb 
 of hope restore ! 
 
ON THE SHOEE. 
 
 LIE still, proud heart, and dream 
 Of all thy being craves ; 
 Float down the sunny stream, 
 Kissed by the cheating waves. 
 
 For only thus to thee 
 
 Will happiness be given ; 
 Thy life's intensity 
 
 Mocks that for which thou'st striven. 
 
 Lie still tired heart, and dream 
 Of love, that lives and grows ; 
 
 That friends are what they seem ; 
 Of hope, trust, and repose. 
 
 That some grand soul with thine 
 Will merge to higher thought, 
 
 Touching the life divine, 
 That famishes unsought ; 
 
34 ON THE SHORK 
 
 Cooling the fevered life 
 
 With tender touch and word ; 
 
 Hushing the inward strife, 
 By secret longings stirred. 
 
 Lie still, poor heart, and dream, 
 Here by the sighing sea ! 
 
 Dream that you only dream 
 That these are not for thee. 
 
 Dream that a sheltering love 
 Enfolds thee evermore ; 
 
 That all for which you strove 
 Lies with thee on the shore. 
 
 That all the waves that come 
 To touch thy weary feet. 
 
 Bear on their crested foam, 
 Life's messages complete. 
 
 Dream on, sad heart, dream on, 
 Here by the mournful sea ! 
 
 While pitying waves make moan 
 In mystery, like thee ! 
 
THE PICTURE AT GOUPIL'S. 
 
 IS it an angel's face we see, 
 With saintly eyes, and haloed brow ? 
 Where Raphael's wondrous touch has left 
 A vision of the long ago ? 
 
 A chord of music never sung 
 
 On earth rests on those silent lips ; 
 
 As if around their beauty hung 
 Some marvellous apocalypse 1 
 
 0, angel child ! what mother's heart 
 Was wrung with agony and pain, 
 
 To see the light of life depart, 
 To give thee back to God again ? 
 
 35 
 
JULY. ^ 
 
 B EIGHT, full of dreams and beauty, glad 
 July, 
 With thy warm kisses on my cheek, 
 And thy low whispers passing ever by 
 
 On every breeze, I find the joy I seek. 
 O world ! so full of life ! O world of mine ! 
 Thou'rt like a ceaseless fount of sparkling wine, 
 That stirs my being newly hour by hour, 
 With a bewildering, unresisting power ! 
 
 Why, mid this carnival of bud and bloom, 
 And merry hum of insects on the wing, 
 And fragrant odors, and the songs of birds. 
 And joy, and life, and every happy thing. 
 Must come the thought of blight and chill ; . ' 
 
 why? 
 The thought that these must perish soon and diet 
 36 
 
JULY. 37 
 
 O, glorious world ! dost hear my rapturous lay, 
 As I forget this golden summer day, 
 That thou and I must fade and pass away ? 
 I lay my hand on thy great, throbbing heart, 
 And hear the harmonies that into music start, 
 And bathe myself in beauty, fragrance, light, 
 Dear world, so daisy-crowned and bright. 
 
 O royal month, O royal queen, July ! 
 
 Whose warm breath billows o'er the wheat. 
 And scatters flowers where our loved ones lie. 
 Whose tender hands fold down the winding- 
 sheet ! 
 Only one little shadow, slanting low, 
 
 On heart, and stream, and flower, and cluster ' 
 ing vine. 
 That thou art absent, that where'er I go, 
 
 I miss thy voice, my Sweet, my Madaline I 
 3 
 
"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU." 
 
 ONLY a sentence, quickly, idly spoken 
 By careless lips, half tenderly, to me ; 
 As a pale spring-flower that has feebly opened 
 Among the dead leaves of an autumn tree. 
 
 Once comes life's merry, joyous Spring-time, 
 Odor and bloom, and gaily singing birds ; 
 
 Its wealth of trust, its loves, its full believing, 
 Its matchless music of endearing words. 
 
 Once comes life's Autumn, and the fading. 
 The barren, hopeless death of all most dear ; 
 
 My Spring and Autumn now have passed forever. 
 Now Winter comes, you may not enter here ! 
 
 I will not mock you with an idle seeming 
 
 Of what has glided down Fate's trembling 
 stair ; 
 One place within your Boul will be forever calling 
 And still be desolate ; I have been there. 
 38 
 
« BEGA USE I LOVE YOU. " 39 
 
 " Because I love you !" once my heart was given, 
 With all its passions, all of love's decrees ; 
 
 I would have paused e'en at the gates of heaven 
 To hear you speak, as now, such words as these. 
 
 But take them back ; the heart's cold chill, and 
 fever. 
 Its broken faith, its waiting all in vain. 
 Have filled brim-full at last life's tear-stained 
 goblet. 
 And words like these bring only bitter pain. 
 
I KEMEMBER. 
 
 IKEMEMBEK, I remember 
 How lie whispered very low, 
 Telling me to lift the curtain, 
 
 And to let the moonlight through ; 
 How with trembling hand I parted 
 Back the folds o^ snowy sheen ; 
 And like fairies, merry-hearted, 
 
 Danced the moonbeams gaily in ; 
 And they rested on his pillow. 
 
 On his face, so pale and fair, 
 Like a wave of heavenly radiance, 
 
 Full of glory, drifted there ; 
 Then to me his eyes he lifted 
 
 From a long, enraptured gaze. 
 And 1 knew that he was passing- 
 Out from life's bewildering maze 
 " Oh, how beautiful !" he whispered. 
 
 As he, smiling, dropped asleep, 
 40 
 
1 REMEMBER. 41 
 
 Leaving me a lonely watcher, 
 In the midnight hush to weep. 
 
 When the next eve-star came dancing 
 
 In the purple of the west, 
 And the moon, a queen of beauty, 
 
 Came again with silvery crest, 
 I was still beside that bedside, 
 
 AVeeping bitterly alone. 
 For the loved was angel-mated, 
 
 And life's painful dream was done. 
 Still the moonlight flickered coldly 
 
 O'er the face I loved so well, 
 Mocking me, for o'er my spirit 
 
 Deepest, darkest shadows fell. 
 Now Beloved, angel-hearted ! 
 
 Life is one sad memory, 
 How we met, and loved, and parted, 
 
 One sweet memory of thee ! 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 DO thy footsteps falter, ever, 
 On the weary march of Hfe ? 
 Does thy strongest heart-endeavor, 
 
 Almost fail with earthly strife ? 
 Then remember that beside thee 
 
 Angels walk in light and peace, 
 And their ministry will guide thee, 
 Till thy trials all shall cease. 
 
 Has thy heart a fadeless treasure 
 
 On the bright eternal shore, 
 When the dreams of earthly pleasure 
 
 Fade away to come no more ? 
 Shadowy life ! and yet so precious — 
 
 Sad, yet beautiful indeed ! 
 Hope and faith delight, refresh us, 
 
 In our hours of greatest need. 
 
 42 
 
STANZAS. 43 
 
 Earth is beautiful ! so blended 
 
 Are the sunshine, shade, and flowers ; 
 Gratitude and love unended, 
 
 Should possess these hearts of ours. 
 Though bj death our songs and laughter, 
 
 May be silenced, or subdued, 
 Faith's sweet voice will echo after, 
 
 And our souls be angel-hued. 
 
ELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWABTH. 
 
 I SAW thee in thy quiet home, 
 With bright-eyed children round thj^ knee ; 
 I, but a stranger who had come, 
 
 Cliarmed by thy wondrous minstrelsy. 
 Oh mother, poet, child of song 1 
 
 Was it a seraph's wing that stirred 
 Some unseen harp, by angels strung. 
 
 And thrilled me with each quivering chord ? 
 
 And sitting where the morning air, 
 
 Went drifting through the casement low, 
 Lifting the light waves of thy hair. 
 
 From off thy thoughtful, poet-brow, 
 I praised the Father that to thee 
 
 A richer wealth than gold was given ; 
 The matchless gift of poesy. 
 
 From the exhaustless hand of Heaven I 
 44 
 
ELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWARTIL 45 
 
 And which is stronger, which more blest, 
 
 The mother — or the poet-heart ? 
 Wliich brings thee more of peace and rest, 
 
 Which most of woman's joys impart ? 
 What makes thy face so patient now, 
 
 Oh sister ! wearied, overtasked ? 
 These questions stih keep ebb and flow, 
 
 Unanswered questions, and unasked. 
 
 I never knew the holy bhss 
 
 Of baby lips upon my breast ; 
 Or gave a mother's thrilling kiss ; 
 
 Or hushed with prayer my child to rest I 
 Thou hast been nearer to the Christ, 
 
 Who blessed the mother on the cross ; 
 For mother-love, like some high-priest, 
 
 Will save when fierce temptations toss. 
 
 Sister of song ! from far I roam 
 
 To hold thy friendly hand in mine, 
 As other, nobler bards have come, 
 
 Who longed to see that face of thine, 
 I only worship, bending low 
 
46 ELLEN CLEMENTINE HOWARTH. 
 
 At Genius' feet, with poesj thrilled ; 
 With famished heart and aching brow, 
 And longings that will ne'er be stilled. 
 
 For humbler are the songs I sing ^ 
 
 Than the bright offerings of thy soul ; 
 My muse is like the broken wing 
 
 Of some tired bird, beyond control — 
 That gives, oft-times, a saddened tune. 
 
 That rhymes up faintly, e'en as now 
 While thinking of that day in June 
 
 When first I kissed thy cheek and brow. 
 
AT EVENING. 
 
 OH, had we met, had we met before ! 
 When our hves were youug, and our sphits 
 brave. 
 And our hopeful barks so near the shore 
 
 That we heard its songs on each answering 
 wave ! 
 They are far off now, those isles- of green — 
 
 Aback in the moaning sea of years; 
 Time's billows toss and roll between ; 
 
 We can scarcely see for our blinding tears ! 
 
 Why do we sigh, and why regret, 
 
 For the joys we missed in the long ago ? 
 There are greener isles in the distance yet — 
 
 Our feet e'en touch their bright shores now. 
 Oh, say, ye waves that our souls have crossed, 
 
 Ye deep, deep seas of Dotibt and Pain, 
 Though ye bring not back the years we've lost, 
 
 Will ye waft us safe to Peace again ? 
 
 47 
 
48 AT EVENING. 
 
 We have waited long, we have suffered mach, 
 
 We have yearned for love till our hearts are 
 sad; 
 The flowers we nursed with tenderest touch, 
 
 Were first to droop, and die, and fade. 
 Then drift us out to the shores of Rest, 
 
 As the night comes down, and the daylight 
 dies. 
 As the autumn sunset gilds the west, 
 
 And beautifies the twilight skies. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 HE has not come ! all vainly I have waited ; 
 First with a flush of hope and quiet joy ; 
 Then with a fevered heartbeat, almost fainted 
 With blended fear and anxious pain's alloy. 
 
 He has not come ! the night is growing dreary, 
 And clouds shut out each bright and glowing 
 star ; 
 
 The winds of autumn sing a song so weary, 
 As grieving for some wandering soul afar. 
 
 I hear the footfalls of departing summer. 
 Instead of coming footsteps that I love ; 
 
 My heart responds its sad, regretful murmur, 
 And mocks the darkness of the clouds above ! 
 
 He has not come ! oh, whither is he roaming? 
 
 I sit alone amid the night's alarms; 
 Ee still, oh, longing heart ! he yet is coming, 
 
 I shall find rest within his sheltering arms. 
 
 49 
 
50 WAITING. 
 
 " He yet will come !" the weary wind keeps sigh- 
 ing ; 
 
 " He yet will come !" I hear it whisper now ; 
 And yet the weary, weary night is dying, 
 
 And chills like death are on my heart and brow. 
 
 He has not come ! the light is slowly creeping 
 With rosy beauty on the eastern sky ; 
 
 The royal autumn her great feast is keeping, 
 And yet I watch, and wait, and trust, and die! 
 
YOU AND ME. 
 
 AND I am loved ! oh, how delightful is ifc 
 To know a heart beats fondly with mine 
 own ; 
 Oh, there is naught on earth half so exquisite 
 As when two lives seem blending into one ! 
 
 Life has to me no thought of ill or sorrow ; 
 No sadness tinges o'er my dreamy hours ; 
 No darkness shades the thought of coming mor- 
 row. 
 But paths of sunshine wreathed with beauteous 
 flowers. 
 
 Break not the spell ! oh, let its brightness linger, 
 And if I only dream, waken me not ! 
 
 For over all my soul Love's silent finger 
 Is tracing life without one darkened spot. 
 
 51 
 
YOU AND ME. 
 
 Life were all bliss, thougli all the world forget me, 
 If thou still love me, still art all mine own ; 
 
 A band of angels led me where I met thee, 
 And bound our l^earts forever into one 1 
 
 y 
 
A CHEISTMAS EHYME. 
 
 WAS it tlie song of the murmuring pines 
 That came to me with a mournful sdiind, 
 Or the restless wail of the crying stream, 
 
 That wildly ran through the vale beyond ? 
 Was it the strain of a weary bird 
 
 That its mates had left in our wintry clime, 
 With its breast a-tremble, and plumage stirred, 
 Like a human heart by a poet's rhyme ? 
 
 I know that the morning light was clear. 
 
 And the light wind touched my tear-stained 
 face. 
 As in dreams we kiss the face most dear — 
 
 Or swung the willows with tender grace, 
 And played with the leaves that lay all dry 
 
 On the hedge rows sear, where the violets sleep, 
 But it all seemed dark as a winter sky. 
 
 And I hid my face from it all to weep. 
 
 4 53 
 
54 A CHRISTMAS RHYME. 
 
 There seemed no rest, though the world was bright 
 
 With the Autumn prime of these Christmairi 
 days, 
 And I only saw on the hills of light, 
 
 The purple Autumn's gathering haze. 
 I only thought of a bright young face 
 
 Pressed down so close 'neath the coffin-lid, 
 Who lies so still in the burial place, 
 
 From our voiceless longings always hid. 
 
 So the stream sings on in its sorrowing rhjme. 
 
 With the homeless wind in the fragrant pines. 
 And mingles with the Cliristmas chime. 
 
 While the shadows creep into lengthened lines, 
 And waves lie deep in the sea of years. 
 
 Since the " Song of Peace " on Bethlehem's 
 plain ; 
 And a heart-break fills my eyes with tears, 
 
 For the lost who ne'er comes back agairie 
 
TRUSTS. 
 
 WHEEE is the faith of early years, 
 That beamed with such a holy light ? 
 All faded out 'mid shade and tears, 
 
 To darkle in a world of night ; 
 Alas, that w^e should ever know 
 
 The loss of life's most precious gem ; 
 That Doubt's dark stream keeps ebb and flow, 
 And we its fearful tide must stem ! 
 
 As music in the distance far 
 
 Floats out, and 'mid its sweetness dies ; 
 As melts the brightest shining star. 
 
 At rosy dawn along the skies; — 
 As on the petals of a flower, 
 
 The rain-drops nestle down to-day, 
 To vanish ere the noontide hour — 
 
 So fade our heart's fresh trusts away 1 
 
m TRUSTS. 
 
 There is a flower tliat blooms unseen, 
 
 A star whose beams of glorious light 
 Shine on with changeless ray serene, 
 
 To guide us through life's darkest night ; 
 And there is music, whose soft tones 
 
 Are not confined to ears of dust. 
 That cheer and bless earth's weary ones — 
 
 That flower, star, music : Heavenly Trust ! 
 
ONE MOEE POET. 
 
 MY heart stood still amid the gathering 
 twilight 
 Of this spring day, so full of bud and bloom ; 
 Its glory and its beauty quickly closing, 
 With the sad tidings of thine early tomb. 
 
 And is it so, alas ! thy life all broken. 
 
 Thy mournful harp forevermore unstrung ? 
 
 One more gone out to that mysterious country, 
 With whom so long my fainter lips have sung ? 
 
 One more gone out to join the dear departed 
 Who left us trembling in the long ago ; 
 
 One less to struggle with life's pain and fever, 
 One less to learn life's weary lesson through. 
 
 Year after year thy well-known name was gath- 
 ered 
 
 57 
 
58 ONE MOBE POET. 
 
 Upon the rhymer's page, beside mine own, 
 And I have hoped with mortal eyes to see thee, 
 And catch the music of some poet-tone. 
 
 But now, alas ! unknown, unknown forever. 
 Save in the world of song, we two shall be ; 
 
 Meeting, perchance, in the eternal city, 
 
 Both having crossed the strange and dreadful 
 sea. 
 
 And so the tears fall for thee, stranger poet — 
 That life went out with thee in manhood's 
 spring, 
 
 And chilly shadows over all are creeping, 
 Dimming the beauty of each glorious thing ! 
 
OVERTASKED. 
 
 IS this the glory crowning all my toil, 
 These throbbing temples, and this weary brain ? 
 Have sleepless hours spent o'er tlie " midnight oil," 
 But wrought for this low brow a wreath of pain ? 
 
 Is he not happier who with careless heart. 
 
 And brain unwearied, hears the songs I sing ? 
 
 Who knows no yearning for sweet Poesy's art ; 
 WJio never tasted from ambition's spring ? 
 
 Oh, soul immortal, crying after God, 
 
 Lifting thine unfledged wings in vain, in vain ! 
 
 Oh, thoughts unuttered, classic paths untrod ! 
 Oh, heart o'erburthened with an unsung strain I 
 
 Oh, life too swift to quench the burning thirst ! 
 
 Oh, veil too thin to keep the spirit masked ! 
 
 Sweet fount of peace, from vales of beauty burst, 
 
 And bless the heart, and brain, the overtaske.I 
 
 59 
 
A PEOPHECY. 
 
 IF I have loved thee more than heaven, 
 And breathed thy name instead of prayer, 
 And all life's fullest joy have given 
 
 With holiest keeping to thy care ; 
 Eemember, dear, I ne'er forget 
 
 A woman's glorious, royal right, 
 A power inherent God hath set 
 
 To guard her from deception's bhght ; 
 And though in agony and pain. 
 
 She finds her dearest hope is gone, 
 And like her Master on the plain 
 
 She weeps, forsaken and alone — 
 It will be only for a night. 
 
 The soul in lonely darkness cast ; 
 And she will rise with morning light, 
 
 And claim her victory at last : 
 
 And what for thee can expiate ? 
 
 To steal the jewels from God's crown 
 60 
 
A PROPHECY. 61 
 
 And give them then, 'twould be too late 
 
 To purchase what was once thine own ; 
 For only once to man is given 
 
 A love as passionate as mine ; 
 It will not, when once rudely riven. 
 
 Around his heart again entwine ! 
 Thine eyes will weep, thy heart will bleed. 
 
 Thy feet will walk alone again ; 
 And bitterly thy soul will plead 
 
 For the lost love, in vain, in vain 1 
 
A BIRTHDAY SONG. 
 
 MY heart is full of sobs to-day, 
 Its music all is hushed ; 
 And on the opening doors of May, 
 Life's blossoms all lie crushed. 
 
 The light that shone with April's dawn. 
 
 Has faded out and died ; 
 Love with it, like a phantom gone. 
 
 And left me crucified ! 
 
 No evening prayer, no morning psalm, 
 
 No whisperings of rest, 
 No resurrection hope, no calm 
 
 Float through my restless breast. 
 
 My baffled life stands out alone 
 
 Amid the shadows dim ; 
 With quivering pain, and stifled moan, 
 
 I hear Love's funeral hymn. 
 
 62 
 
A BIRTHDAY SONG. 63 
 
 'Tis perished, gone ! the happy dream 
 
 Of trust, and joy, and hght ! 
 And May's sweet voices only seem 
 
 To mock my soul's deep night. 
 
THE DEAR EYES. 
 
 ,'T X TAS it the smile of the same dear eyes, 
 V V That warmed my heart with a tender 
 glow ? 
 
 A love-light sent from the olden ties, 
 To draw me back to the long ago ? 
 
 Oh, sad was the day, though bright and fair, 
 The golden sunshine drifted down, 
 
 In floods of glory everywhere, 
 
 O'er autumn woods, and hillsides brown, 
 
 When I saw the eyes, so like to thine — 
 By thin, long, dark, heavy lashes hid ; 
 
 And the tears fell fast and thick from mine. 
 As they shut them down 'neath the coffin-lid- 
 
 So I gaze to-day on thy stranger face. 
 
 With a beating heart, and an inward moan ; 
 
 For I see in thee a startling trace 
 
 Of the face I loved in the days agone. 
 64 
 
THE DEAR EYES. 65 
 
 E know full well they are not for me, 
 The smiles that ripple around thine eyes — 
 
 Like the dancing waves of the midnight sea, 
 'Twixt its wondrous depths, and the starry skies. 
 
 It is a dream — only a dream 
 
 That I bathe my hands in his clustering hair ? 
 Just for a moment, oh, let me seem 
 
 To press my lips on the brow so fair ! 
 
 For they haunt me now, those wondrous eyes ! 
 
 With their light and shade, and their tender 
 glow; 
 Speak to me. Sweet ! from the far-off skies, 
 
 Ere my heart shall break with its overflow. 
 
THE CHILD'S PEAYER. 
 
 SHE folded up her little hands 
 Upon her mother's knee ; 
 Who parted back her golden hair — 
 A picture fair to see ! 
 
 And then with upturned cherub face, 
 She breathed her simple prayer ; 
 
 Methought in every silent space 
 An angel lingered there. 
 
 And round her peerless form there shone 
 
 A str(iam of holy light ; 
 Like rays that light the Eden-land, 
 
 " Where there is no more night." 
 
 That vesper hour ! that vesper hour 
 
 I never shall forget ! 
 And though long years have fled away, 
 
 It lingers with me yet. 
 til) 
 
THE CHILD'S PRAYER 67 
 
 That kneeling form, tliat angel voice, 
 
 That mother sweet and mild ! 
 I see them, and as then, I wish 
 I were a sinless child. 
 
HEMLOCK GKOVE. 
 
 ONCE more I stand within this shaded 
 temple, 
 Where long ago my restless footsteps strayed, 
 When youth, and hope, and dreams around my 
 heartstrings 
 A siren song of sweetest music played. 
 
 I come to-day with steps grown slow and weary, 
 With loQgings after those I loved before ; 
 
 With life so real, crushing all the music 
 That lingers from the memories of yore. 
 
 As in the olden-time, the birds are singing 
 A song of welcome, in their towers of green ; 
 
 And sounds of laughter through the dim aisles 
 echo. 
 And sunshine filters down its golden sheen. 
 
 We walk through purple shades to love the sun- 
 shine 
 
 68 
 
HEMLOCK GROVK 69 
 
 That the dear Hand drops down along our 
 way ; 
 Life is not starless, though the night be dreary, 
 Though we may seem in vain to " watch and 
 pray." 
 
 Each Spring may decorate this temple newly, 
 While I grow fainter in my earthly strength ; 
 
 But the sweet life of heaven's unfading beauty. 
 Will be mine own, mine own! I knou% at 
 length I 
 
THE MAGDALEN. 
 
 IT hangs upon my chamber wall, 
 That sweet, sweet face, with tearful eyes, 
 And pensive brow, where shadows fall. 
 And dreamy thought in beauty lies. 
 
 No meek-eyed Mary ever bore 
 
 A fairer face than this, to me ; 
 No face can ever charm me more 
 
 Than this, which pleads so silently. 
 
 With folded hands and breathless heart, 
 I stand when life is dark, and gaze ; 
 
 And tears which blmd me quickly start ; 
 And I grow strong for ah life's ways. 
 
 These deep, deep eyes, so full of prayer * 
 
 So full of holy light and faith ! 
 These lips which whisper to mine ear 
 Of victory over life, and death ! 
 70 
 
THE MAGDALEN. 73 
 
 For thou hast suffered much sad one ; 
 
 And thou hast sinned, and been forgiven ; 
 The dear Christ loved thee througli earth'n 
 scorn, 
 
 And thou at last art safe for heaven. 
 
 So may this ever pleading face, 
 
 Uplifted to the Crucified, 
 Teach me each hour that heavenly grace 
 
 Of charity, that masters pride 1 
 
A SONG. 
 
 THERE'S not a song that trembles 
 Around mj heart to-night, 
 But thrills with untold gladness, 
 
 And eloquent delight ; 
 For I have cast the shadows 
 
 Of sorrow all aside, 
 To let Hope's joyous music 
 Through all mj being glide. 
 
 And there is not a tear-stain 
 
 Upon mine eyelids now, 
 Nor yet a shade that ruffles 
 
 The spirit's merry flow ; 
 Life seemeth, O, so joyous, • 
 
 So blithesome and so bright. 
 Like some sweet dream of summer 
 
 That haunts a winter's night. 
 72 
 
A SONG. 73 
 
 Like rosy childhood inlaying 
 
 Among the early flowers, 
 My happy heart is straying 
 
 On golden-footed hours; 
 And if I'm only dreaming 
 
 When I my ills forget, 
 Break not the blissful seeming — 
 
 Oh, do not wake me yet I 
 
MAY-TIME. 
 
 MY heart goes Maying, and I gather flowers 
 Of hope, and love, and joy, dear one, for 
 thee ; 
 As through earth's paths my restless feet are 
 straying. 
 With the bright thought of what thou art to me. 
 
 And the one prayer that on my lips is breathing, 
 That fills my fullest heart, and life, to-day. 
 
 That these sweet flowers that life's glad May is 
 wreathing, 
 May twine around my heart and thine alway. 
 
 And when creeps on the chill of life's December, 
 May Love's sweet flowers still bloom fresh as 
 now, 
 And holy joy increase as we remember 
 The days so beautiful of long ago. 
 74 
 
HUNGRY AND TIRED. 
 
 I'^HEY will not come, the words to break the 
 stillness 
 Of the faint heart that waits, and droops, and 
 dies ! 
 Silence forever folds her untold chillness 
 
 Through all her crushed and broken harmo- 
 nies. 
 
 They will not come ! oh, perished heart, that 
 waited, 
 
 With all thy longings, and thy cries in vain ! 
 Thou art like winter birds that moan unmated ; 
 
 Amid the autumn leaves and winter rain. 
 
 They will not come ! the trust and the believ- 
 ing ; 
 Love's sweetest music, and the balm of Rest ! 
 For when Hope's wreath is brightest in the 
 weaving, 
 She drops the flowers that we love the best. 
 
To IIU^GEY AND TIRED. 
 
 'ibey will not come ! the food the gods have 
 tasted, 
 
 The rest that mortals long to feel and know ; 
 Oh ! are these blessings given, lost, and wasted ? 
 
 Or do we only dream they come below ? 
 
 Hungry and tired ! how the sentence presses 
 Down on the heart, like marble on the grave ! 
 
 They will not come ! the Love that saves and 
 blesses. 
 The Eest from all life's weariness I crave 1 
 
LIFE-TIME. 
 
 DREAR winter follows summer hours ; 
 And after day, the night ; 
 The brightest birds in woodland bowers 
 
 Sit plumed for speedy flight ; 
 Tho music that we love the best 
 
 Has sadness in its tone ; 
 And moments that were happiest, 
 On fleetest wings have flown. 
 
 Oh, time ! there's nought to satisfy 
 
 The soul, in all thy gifts ; 
 As thy rough waves go fleeting by, 
 
 And man upon them drifts. 
 We sorrow, love, we hope, and die, 
 
 "Return to God who gave," 
 And what remains of you, and I ? 
 
 A faded dream, a grave ! 
 
 77 
 
H 
 
 IN THE SUNSHINE. 
 
 AYE shining angels left for us 
 Their footprints on the meadows? 
 Left us awhile 
 Their sunny smile 
 To glad this world of shadows ? 
 
 These sunbeams give the heart a thrill, 
 Like songs of hope and beautj ; 
 And in their gleam 
 We fondly dream 
 Earth has no irksome duty. 
 
 They seem, like friendship, bright and true, 
 Man's choicest earthly blessing — 
 Like each fond word, 
 So gladly heard, 
 Of Love's first low confessing. 
 78 
 
IN THE SUNSHINE. 79 
 
 Dance on, bright sunbeams, gailj dance, 
 O'er mountain, wood, and river ! 
 Dance to the breeze 
 That rocks the trees 
 With trembling music ever I 
 
 All this long summer afternoon 
 
 I've watched thy phantom fingers 
 
 Trace everywhere 
 
 A picture fair 
 That in my memory lingers ! 
 
 Fold up thy net- work, golden Sun ! 
 And call each sunbeam thither ; 
 
 The summer day 
 
 Has passed away, 
 Grey twilight's on the heather I 
 
" BYE-BYE." 
 
 BRIGHT eyes will watcli at the window, 
 And dinner will wait till I come ; 
 'Tis time now to leave you, darling, 
 I hate to — and hasten home. 
 
 My wife don't bore me with questions, 
 That's one lucky thing on my side ; 
 
 She says that she trusts me truly, 
 As when she was first my bride. 
 
 " Do I love her ?" Well— after a fashion, 
 Yes ; she is the mother, you know, 
 
 Of my two beautiful babies, 
 And two who lie under the snow. 
 
 " Pretty ?" Not very ; she's faded, 
 
 There's gray in her ringlets of gold ; 
 She grieves for the children, and sickness 
 
 Has made her look sadder and old. 
 
 80 
 
'^ BYE-BYE." 8] 
 
 Deuce take it ! a man can't be bothered 
 
 With family ties all the time ! 
 She never was half so bewitching 
 
 As you, sweet, e'en in her prime. 
 
 But kiss me good-bye, love. What ! pouting ? 
 
 What ! jealous of my little wife. 
 Who busy at home in the kitchen, 
 
 Is not half so dear to my lifo ! 
 
 I kiss off the tears from your eyelids — 
 Loved eyes of such heavenly blue ! 
 
 Oh, trust me, believe me forever, 
 My dearest ! / love only you! 
 
 " Bye-bye !" Oh, I almost forgot it- 
 Here's a hundred, my birdie, my pet. 
 
 Get the lace that you liked so at Stewart's, 
 And be ready at eight^ — don't forget. 
 
VIOLETS IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 WHAT are you doing out here in the cold, 
 Beautiful azure-eyed children of Spring? 
 Wandering and lost, like lambs from the fold ? 
 Or have you some message of wisdom to bring? 
 
 The world is too blighting, frosty and chill. 
 For delicate life and bloom such as yours ; 
 
 The death dews of Autumn each chalice will fill ; 
 No beauty so frail its poison endures. 
 
 Sweet innocent Violets, over the world ! 
 
 With hearts full of yearning freshness and 
 bloom ; 
 Oh, better by far, than to stray from the fold, 
 Shut your sorrowful eyes, and lay down in the 
 tomb I 
 82 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 ALL day long tlie changeful sea, 
 Sings, and moans, and talks to me ; 
 Art thou crying to the shore, 
 For some joy that comes no more ? 
 What are all the wondrous things 
 Bound up in thy whisperingc ? 
 Is there passion yet untold 
 For this hungry, famished world, 
 That would fill our human need. 
 That would be the spirit's meed ? 
 Are thy bright waves, fringed with light, 
 Singing of that home more bright, 
 Than this darkened earth can be. 
 Where there shall be no more sea "? 
 Art thou wailing in despair. 
 That thou hast no entrance there ? 
 Must thou vanish quite away. 
 Sea ! so beautiful to-day ? 
 
 8;J 
 
84 BY THE SEA. 
 
 E'en the bird that dips his wings, 
 Flying landward, sadly sings 
 As if he had caught a strain 
 Full of sorrow and of pain. 
 From amid thy coral caves, 
 Or thy silver-crested waves ; 
 From thy billows, wide and deep, 
 Where the dear dead lie asleep ; 
 Comes there never a reply, 
 All is 'witching mystery ! 
 
 When my mortal pain is gone, 
 When I lay life's crosses down, 
 And I reach the eternal shore. 
 Shall I talk with thee no more ? 
 O, in heaven, beloved sea, 
 I shall sigh, and pine for thee ! 
 
 So they come in troops to-night. 
 Like the stars in yonder height— 
 Questions full of wild unrest, 
 By no faintest answer blest. 
 But amid thy moaning shells 
 Mystery forever dwells. 
 
THE KHYME OF AN AUTUMN DAY. 
 
 THE maples are hanging their banners 
 Of crimson, and brown, and gold ; 
 And I weep, oh beautiful summer, 
 
 To hear thy requiem tolled ! 
 The gentlest, tender est summer — 
 
 The saddest of all my life ! 
 The sweetest with dear home-quiet ; 
 The saddest with distant strife. 
 
 I hurry away from the city, 
 
 Whose dusty, noisy street, 
 Is crowded from morn till even. 
 
 With hurrying weary feet ; 
 Away to the woods whose silence 
 
 Broods o'er the lulling streams ; 
 Away where a thousand poems 
 
 Float through my restless dreams. 
 
 6 85 
 
86 AN AUTUMN DAY. 
 
 Oh summer, of all most real, 
 
 Alas, thou hast brought no rest ; 
 And fear like a cold hand presses 
 
 So heavily on my breast ; 
 I hear the tramp of the army, 
 
 Borne on the breeze to-day : 
 Humanity's cry comes wailing ; 
 
 I only can weep, and pray. 
 
 Oh woman, so sad and helpless 1 
 
 What can thy mission be here ? - 
 To know of the wide world's sorrow, 
 
 To suffer, to weep, and to bear? 
 To strive for the beautiful heaven, 
 
 Forgetting her heaviest loss ? 
 To kiss the thorns that pierce her, 
 
 And silently bear her cross ? 
 
OUK LIZZIE. 
 
 AS a birdling flies from its uest away 
 To a South-land bright with blooms ; 
 Or the brilliant clouds of a summer day 
 
 Melt when the evening comes ; 
 Or, as the gentlest rose-leaf's fall, 
 
 When touched by the frost's chill breath — 
 So answered she thy meaning call, 
 Oh, stern, relentless Death ! 
 
 I remember well her warbling tones. 
 
 Which my inmost heart has thrilled ; 
 Now the harp-strings loosed, and the minstrel 
 gone, 
 
 And the pale hands cold and stilled ! 
 Yet the music floats on the summer air, 
 
 As I sit 'neath the white June moon, 
 And dream of a maiden young and fair, 
 
 And weep that she sleeps so soon. 
 
 87 
 
88 OUR LIZZIE. 
 
 Oh, the young, the good, the gifted, all 
 
 That best we love, must die ! 
 The flowers wreathe out their trembling pall — 
 
 Winds chant their litany ; 
 But the angels sing when the good of earth 
 
 Lie down in their graves to sleep ; 
 And they strike their harps for another birth, 
 
 In the land where they never weep. 
 
 Oh, Comforting Hand, that heals the heart I — 
 
 Thou, who alone hast power ! — 
 The sweetness of Thy love impart 
 
 In this afflictive hour ; 
 And round that lonely home now throw 
 
 A light from heaven divine. 
 And mingle with the tears and woe, 
 
 The words : Lord, she was Thine I 
 
LINES. 
 
 GO while tlie star of Hope is shining, 
 So brightly on the flowers that strew thy 
 way; 
 Go, on thy bended knees reclining, 
 And lift thy happy heart to Heaven, and pray. 
 
 Go when Hope's star is almost clouded, 
 And adverse winds have borne the flowers 
 away ; 
 
 When all thy life with gloom is shrouded, 
 Go, 'tis the happiest time for thee to pray ! 
 
 Go when the friends you deem the truest. 
 
 Shall chill the heart where love has held its 
 sway; 
 And, when the friends of earth seem fewest. 
 Thou hast a friend in Heaven, go thou, and 
 pray. 
 
90 LINES. 
 
 Go when disease shall make life wearj, 
 
 And sombre clouds hide every lingering ray ; 
 
 Go, there is rest for all the weary, 
 
 For this, thy promised rest, go thou, and pray. 
 
SYMPATHY. 
 
 NOT all the purest joy is given 
 To those who love, are loved again, 
 Till sorrow clouds our earthly heaven, 
 And sympathy gives rest to pain. 
 
 She never sleeps ! her watchful eye 
 Sees every heart that aches or bleeds ; 
 
 She hears the mourner's lowest sigh, 
 She feels and knows our greatest needs. 
 
 She comes in silence, when our hearts 
 Can bear no lightly spoken word ; 
 
 And all her quiet grace imparts 
 
 When sorrow's deepest founts are stirred. 
 
 On aching brows she lays her hand, 
 Her cool soft hand ! to ease our pain ; 
 
 She has not through this weary land. 
 Lit up her starry crown in vain. 
 
 91 
 
THE SAINTED PICTURE. 
 
 MY life is like the midnight skies, 
 Lit by the radiance of thine eyes ; 
 They haunt my troubled memories, 
 Like thoughts that purify and bless. 
 And bring us peace and happiness ; 
 Like prayers which make us strong and brave, 
 That sanctify, and soothe, and save ; 
 A wealth of deathless love there lies 
 Beneath thine eyes — thy wondrous eyes ! 
 
 And thou wert mine, thou poet-bird ! 
 Those tender lips, though never stirred 
 By one sweet uttered human word 
 That I shall hear on earth again, 
 (For thou hast passed life's broken pain) 
 In trembling music yet I hear — 
 Those tender lips — those lips so dear ! 
 92 
 
THE SAINTED PICTURE. 93 
 
 I know the harvest moon makes light 
 The letters of thy name to-night, 
 Upon the tablet gleaming white ; 
 That tablet standing cold and stark, 
 It seems to me so false and dark ; 
 For in this silent face I see 
 The fond eyes smile again on me, 
 As if in living constancy, 
 To guard and bless me till I die ! 
 
 Oh, when I saw thee dead, no tear 
 Dropped on the white flowers of thy bier 
 More fraught with anguish than mine own ! 
 My selfish heart stood all alone ; 
 Thou in heaven's morn, I in earth's night, 
 Love passing with thee out of sight. 
 
 But looking now beyond the vail. 
 
 And hope has hushed the heart's low wail 
 
 That came and went like prayers unsaid. 
 
 When life seems crushed and words are dead, 
 
 I look upon this sweet, sweet face. 
 
 That wears its old-time love and grace, 
 
94 THE SAINTED PICTURE. 
 
 And fee] thou art forever mine, 
 
 By all on earth, by all divine ; 
 
 For thou hast loved me once, and Heaven 
 
 Will never take the gift thus given. 
 
 This picture, which I press to-day 
 
 Close to my lips, close to my heart. 
 
 Heeds not the tender words I say, 
 
 Nor yet the tears which sometimes start ; 
 
 And yet, immortal beauty lies 
 
 On lips and brow and tender eyes ; 
 
 And as the meek nun kneels at eves 
 
 Before the Virgin at her shrine. 
 
 My soul Love's grandest offering leaves 
 
 Before this sainted face of thine. 
 
A PLEA FOR THE AGED. 
 
 OH, sweet Compassion ! lead and bless 
 The aged ones, whose weary feet 
 Have wandered long life's wilderness, 
 To reach the "City's golden street." 
 
 Their eyes are dimmed by many tears ; 
 
 Their hearts with sorrows overflow ; 
 The burdens of the sad, slow years, 
 
 None but their secret hearts may know. 
 
 Smile softly on them, Human love. 
 Speak tenderly, and let the light 
 
 Of youthful eyes Avith kindness prove, 
 That they are precious in your sight. 
 
 95 
 
TRAILING ARBUTUS. 
 
 ^ I ) BING me arbutus flowers all pale, and drip- 
 ±-J ping, 
 
 With sweetness from the dim old leaf-strewn 
 aisles, 
 Of* nature's wild cathedrals, where are tripping 
 
 Her floral fairies, in the sunbeam's smiles ! 
 Give me these pearly gems, these waxen flowers, 
 
 Made glorious by the impress of our God ; 
 Whose sweet eyes open with the first spring 
 showers, 
 
 That bloomed in paths my early childhood trod. 
 
 And now the winter-king is softly hushing 
 
 Her noisy children, and the songs of spring 
 Come like glad music o'er our spirits gushing, 
 
 And dewy wreaths of hope are blossoming ! 
 Yes, bring arbutus flowers, for with their coming 
 
 There are such thoughts of dear ones in the sky, 
 Who 'mong eternal flowers now are roaming, 
 
 And I shall gather with them by and by. 
 96 
 
TUBE KOSES. 
 
 GOD sends us tliese from lands we know 
 not of, 
 Pure and unsullied, unperverted, true ! 
 Free from the passion of our human love ; 
 Our hearts are safe to rest, dear flowers, with 
 you. 
 
 We lay them in the hands of those most dear ; 
 
 On the white bosoms of the cherished dead ; 
 Free gift for all hfe's weary children here ; 
 
 God's blessing in the perfume that they shed I 
 
 97 
 
"A 
 
 NO NIGHT. 
 
 ND there shall be no night," and tears 
 of sorrow 
 
 From all our eyes be kindly wiped away ; 
 No day made dark by dread of coming morrow ; 
 No shadows following the words we say. 
 
 " And there shall be no sea I" whose ceaseless 
 heaving 
 
 Dashes its wild waves o'er us, uncontrolled ; 
 Each swift-receding wave of feeling leaving 
 
 An added wound of anguish on the soul. 
 
 And "there shall be no curse!" no more un- 
 loving, 
 No weary waiting to be loved again ; 
 No broken friendships, such as life is proving — 
 No partings sweet, or worse than hopeless 
 pain. 
 
 98 
 
NO NiaHT. 99 
 
 Oh, liow we moan for the dear dead that left 
 us 
 
 In the glad freshness of their love's clear light ; 
 Oh, how we cry to Him who hath bereft us, 
 
 For that safe home that has no sorrow's night ! 
 
 We stretch our arms in vain for the departed, 
 Who in their beauty left us, and passed o'er 
 
 The silent flood, and we all broken-hearted 
 Standing alone upon the moaning shore. 
 
 No night, no sea, no tears, no curse, none weary ; 
 
 Oh, home among the stars ! oh, home so blest ! 
 We, on the shore of life's lone stream so dreary, 
 
 Wait for one glimpse of thee, our home of rest. 
 
 It is for thee, oh, dark-robed mourner, crying 
 Amid thy faded hopes, and silent graves ; 
 
 Though you may hear no voice of peace replying, 
 He that hath bruised thee, sanctifies and saves ! 
 
BEYOND. 
 
 OFT there comes in midnight dreams, 
 Saint-hke voices, low and hushed ; 
 Passionless as songs of streams, 
 
 Which the morning sky has flushed ; 
 And I, sitting here alone, 
 
 Hear sweet voices from the skies, 
 Quivering like the parted tone 
 
 Of rich music ere it dies ; 
 Feeding the immortal springs 
 
 Of my being with new life. 
 Round my soul a halo flings, 
 
 Mingled not with mortal strife. 
 
 E'en the future, like a star, 
 Trembling in the middle air — 
 
 Draws me to the spheres afar. 
 Promising a welcome there ; 
 
 And the Past is like a dream, 
 Shadowy with its joy and woe ; 
 100 
 
BEYOND. 101 
 
 And I watch the silent stream 
 Unto which my footsteps go ; 
 
 I can see its ebbless tide, 
 But a little way before, 
 
 Where my weary feet will ghde 
 When the naarch of life is o'er. 
 7 
 
LEAVE US NOT YET. 
 
 LEAVE us not yet, oh, Summer ! bright and 
 glowing, 
 With all thy rapturous dreams of love and hope ; 
 With the sweet life thy fuUness is bestowing, 
 That fills with sunshine all our being up. 
 
 Leave us not yet, oh Summer pure and holy ! 
 
 Whoso meek eyes gaze on me from 'far to-night ; 
 jStill lead us on, although the way be lowly. 
 
 And the dim tears may almost cloud our sight. 
 
 Leave us not yet, oh Summer, golden -hear ted ! 
 
 With all thy song and beauty, bud and bloom ; 
 Take them not yet, lest, all we love departed — 
 
 We sit like mourners in the winter's gloom. 
 
 I know the Autumn, with its richer beauty, 
 
 Will scatter all the dreams which thou hast 
 brought ; 
 102 
 
LEAVE US NOT YET. 103 
 
 And the drear Winter, with its sterner duty, 
 Will bring forgetfulness which thou hast not. 
 
 But, oh, not yet dispel these holy dreamings, 
 That seem like pearls strung from the dear, 
 dear Past, 
 
 Broken, alas ! forever — they were only seemings— 
 Boiled out ungathered in the dark at last ! 
 
 So we who journey toward the great white heaven, 
 Must walk with shadows creeping by our side ; 
 
 However hoping, longing, morn and even, 
 
 Eor the sweet days so tender, that have died 1 
 
LINES FOE AN ALBUM. 
 
 ALINE for thine album, dear Mary ? 
 Oh, what shall I write, love, for thee, 
 Whose songs, sweet as music from Eden — 
 
 Have been so delightful to me ? 
 Perhaps there has never a shadow 
 
 Crept over thy breast, gentle girl. 
 And it sleeps in its own olissful dreamings. 
 Unsullied and pure as a pearl. 
 
 And perhaps some bright angel has braided 
 
 Thy infancy, childhood, and youth. 
 In love-wreaths that never have faded. 
 
 Or lost the sweet freshness of truth ; 
 And hours like the sunbeams have parted, 
 
 The mist that hung over life's ways. 
 And laughed back the tears when they started, 
 
 And led thee down softly life's maze. 
 104 
 
LINES FOB AN ALBUM. 105 
 
 I would thou wert ever as joyous, 
 
 As happy and trusting as now, 
 That shadows of sorrow He Hghtly 
 
 Across thy young innocent brow ; 
 But more do I wish for thee ever. 
 
 Calm strength for thy heart, from above, 
 To meet with life's earnest endeavor, 
 
 Whatever thy future may prove. 
 
LEAVES. 
 
 THEY are falling slowing over the world, 
 Silent and sure as the autumn hours ! 
 Dropping away to a fragrant mould. 
 
 And fade from sight like summer's flowers. 
 
 They are floating away on the moaning tide, 
 Kissed and hidden by sighing waves, 
 
 Like the blessed human loves that died, 
 Whose lips we've touched by wayside graves. 
 
 We are summer leaves ! we are fading all ; 
 
 We float away on the stream of time ; 
 Some of us toss on the storms that fall ; 
 
 Some float off like a summer rhyme. 
 
 They are dropping slowly over the world, 
 Cherished and fond ones, great and small ; 
 Only a tale that is quickly told, 
 And our hps are mute through the heart's wild 
 
 call! 
 106 
 
UNBELOVED. 
 
 YES, it is over, the sweet dream is ended ! 
 Thy heart and mine are more than strangers 
 now ; 
 There are such bitter memories with it blended, 
 With tearful eyes I give thee back thy vow. 
 
 Thou canst not mate with one whose love is burn- 
 ing 
 
 Its own dear idol on the vestal shrine ; 
 Whose high proud heart would be forever turning 
 
 To life's intensity its all, like mine. 
 
 Thou art of calmer mould; chine eye ne'er bright- 
 ens 
 At my quick footsteps, though we rarely meet ; 
 Thy hand when clasped in mine ne'er thrills, and 
 tightens— 
 At my fond words, though they be ne'er so 
 
 sweet. 
 
 107 
 
108 VNBELOVED. 
 
 Thou ne'er didst love me ! how this thought has 
 chilled me 
 
 Like the cold hand of Death upon the brow ; 
 All the sweet joy that in the old-time thrilled me, 
 
 Has lost the light and music of its flow ! 
 
 The eyes that watched for thee are vainly weep- 
 ing, 
 Not for my own heart's pain, this love has cost ; 
 But oh, for thee, when thou shalt wake from 
 sleeping, 
 And seek in vain the treasure thou hast lost. 
 
 For I have loved thee ! given thee sweetest rhym- 
 ings 
 That sing unanswered through a mortal's 
 breast ; 
 Now they have melted to funereal chimings. 
 Yet in the pain of loving found no rest. 
 
 Alas for human hearts that are forever dying, 
 With watching, waiting for love's tender words ; 
 
 Wasting their music with a helpless crying. 
 Like the lost carols of unmated birds ! 
 
THE GIFT OF SONG. 
 
 THE gift of song ! who would not feel 
 The thrilling of a poet-heart ? 
 The joy where angels set their seal, 
 
 The fount where love and beauty start ! 
 I have not that delicious art, 
 
 To trill my lyre in numbers sweet, 
 To vibrate softly through the heart 
 With poesy and joy replete. 
 
 But if a thousand worlds were mine, 
 
 And all more brilliant than our earth, 
 The gift of song were more divine — 
 
 I'd give them to possess its worth ! 
 Untaught and wild the songs I sing, 
 
 No genius high enstamps my brow ; 
 A humble votive now I bring, 
 
 A wild refrain, breathed soft and low. 
 
 109 
 
110 THE GIFT OF SONG. 
 
 But he who soars a heavenward fliglit 
 
 Through the green bowers of poesj — 
 That paints from thence Promethean light, 
 
 O'er scenes most beautiful to me— 
 Sends to my heart a charm divine ; 
 
 And in life's golden chalice pours 
 Ambrosial draughts, 'round which entwine 
 
 Wreaths everlasting, fadeless flowers ! 
 
 The moon that trembles o'er the sea, 
 
 The winds that on the uplands blow, 
 The flowers that blossom on the lea, 
 
 The woods, and rocks, the brooklets flow— 
 With gushing beauty fill my soul. 
 
 With joy that I can never sing ; 
 My longings arj beyond control — 
 
 A tameless bird with broken wing ! 
 
WHY ? 
 
 DO not teacli my heart to love thee, 
 With thy tender words and tone ; 
 Turn me not from life's endeavor ; 
 Leave me with my cross alone. 
 
 On the sea of change and sorrow, 
 Through the dark I've drifted far, 
 
 From Love's shores of human sunshine, 
 Clinging to life's broken spar. 
 
 Why recall the life so wasted. 
 That is nearing Peace at last; 
 
 That has learned to wait, and suffer, 
 Reconciled to what is past? 
 
 Why call back the longing spirit 
 To those flowery shores again ; 
 
 W^here the blossoms fade with plucking. 
 
 And the thorns alone remain? 
 Ill 
 
112 WHY? 
 
 Teach, oh, teach me not to love thee ; 
 
 Turn away thy searching eyes ; 
 Lest they win me with their beauty, 
 
 From the fairness of the skies. 
 
WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. 
 
 WE who have walked life's pleasant vales 
 together 
 Must now walk separate paths, and far apart ; 
 Thy feet will tread on fadeless flowers in heaven ; 
 Mine through earth's darkness with a weary 
 heart. 
 
 And I shall come at evening when the shadows 
 Are gathering over scenes to both so dear ; 
 
 And crushing back the tears of unsub mission, 
 Breathe out wild prayers that none but God 
 will hear. 
 
 And I shall gird my armor for hfe's battle, 
 
 For earth's rude friction, and Death's heaving 
 sea ; 
 
 For over all thy pale hand now is reaching, 
 And beckoning like an angel unto me. 
 
 113 
 
114 WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. 
 
 Sleep while the red light of the autumn waueth, 
 And drifts her clouds of gold and crimson leaves ; 
 
 Sleep till the Resurrection morn ! while memory 
 Her deathless wreath around our spirit weaves. 
 
 Rest poet-friend ! thy cool soft grave is guarded ; 
 
 An angel sitteth o'er the fragrant mold ; 
 Rest, weary one ! an eye above thee watche'th, 
 
 That never sleeps, nor yet forsakes His fold. 
 
 And shall we mourn thee, beautiful departed, 
 Whose bright barque moved so noiselessly from 
 shore. 
 
 Like a lit sea-wave that a zephyr started, 
 
 To come back sighing earthward never-more ? 
 
 For thee, whose earthly songs were hushed so early. 
 Whose poet-harp chimes heavenly music now ; 
 
 Mourn that thy feet, grown weary, wandered out- 
 ward 
 " Into green pastures, where still waters flow?" 
 
 Sigh on, ye winds of autumn ! sing your dirges ; 
 Like a wild chant ye charm my spirit now, 
 
WILLTAM RODERICK LAWRENCE. 115 
 
 To which my feet grow strong and firm with 
 marching 
 Down to the river's edge, toward which they go. 
 
 Peace, restless soul ! Faith like an angel bids thee 
 
 Wipe off the baptism of eternal tears ; 
 Lift up the wings that sadly droop with mourn- 
 
 And wait with patience ; God holds all thy 
 years I 
 
OLD MEMOEIES. 
 
 LIKE a golden gleam of sunlight, 
 Glistening o'er the icy trees, 
 Where have danced the summer leaflets, 
 
 To the music of the breeze, 
 Are the dreams of childhood's summer, 
 
 To the aged, weary heart, 
 Bringing back the home-lit circle, 
 Where ten thousand memories start. 
 
 Blest those memories ! though they sadly 
 
 Leave an impress on the soul ; 
 Yet like way-marks on our pathway. 
 
 Cheer us to our future goal. 
 Blest those memories ! though they chase us 
 
 Through the flight of passing years ; 
 On their track they leave a lovelight. 
 
 Where may flow our mournful tears. 
 
 116 
 
OLD MEMORIES. 117 
 
 How around the choicest tendrils 
 
 Of our hearts they careless play ; 
 Like a soft and gentle zephyr, 
 
 Sporting 'mid the locks of grey — 
 Holding there a sweet communion, 
 
 With our secret hearts alone ; 
 Bringing back familiar faces, 
 
 Long-loved scenes forever gone ! 
 8 
 
MUSIC. 
 
 WHEN the crimson morning peeps 
 O'er the hills and mountain steeps ; 
 And at Noon's bright, stilly hour, 
 Music, let me feel thy power ! 
 A.nd when Night, with noiseless step, 
 Comes to lull the flowers to sleep, 
 Bcattering moonlight o'er the sea — 
 Charm me with thy melody ! 
 
 There is music in the stream. 
 Blending with the poet's dream ; 
 In the woods, and on the air ; 
 Music, music everywhere ! 
 
 Stars — ye that together sing; 
 Birds that carol on the wing ; 
 
 118 
 
MUSIC. 119 
 
 Tell this yearning, longing heart, 
 Music, tell me what thou art ! 
 For no other power so blest, 
 Lulling weary hearts to rest. 
 Softening sorrow, soothing woe, 
 As thy numbers sweetly flow. 
 
 Give me music when I die, 
 Soft as summer's leafy sigh; 
 Spirit-music, low and dear, 
 Such as angels list to hear. 
 
AT THE GKAVE OF MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 THERE was strange music in the leaves 
 As I, a mourner, paused to tread 
 Where Autumn tint a glory weaves, 
 
 In silent tribute to the dead ! 
 And oh, methought an angel paused 
 
 Beside me there, to touch the wires, 
 Till thrilling melodies from heaven , 
 Came quivering from a thousand lyres. 
 
 All tremblingly my feet were pressed 
 
 To the green grave of one whose song 
 And love dwelt in my breast, 
 
 With tender friendship, deep and strong. 
 And, bending o'er that silent mound, 
 
 Where maples drop their leaves like tears, 
 I folded back the drapery 
 
 Of mist, that hid the faded years. 
 
 120 
 
AT THE GRAVE OF MRS. L. K SIQOURNET. 121 
 
 And then I heard her harp again, 
 
 I heard her step along the walk, 
 And listened with a longing pain 
 
 To hear again her pleasant talk, 
 As when I heard, and saw her last, 
 
 In the cool quiet of her home. 
 And parting held my hand so fast. 
 
 Without one shadowy thought of gloom. 
 
 Sister of song ! whose harp was tuned 
 
 To the sweet sounds thy spirit heard. 
 Say, dost thou know how that dear hour 
 
 Hath all my restless heart-strings stirred? 
 We shall not meet on earth I know. 
 
 Thou wilt not press my hand in thine, 
 Yet, still thy soothing members' flow, 
 
 Go answering back this heart of mine ! 
 
I PRAY FOR THEE AT NIGHT-FALL. 
 
 I PRAY for thee at night-fall ; 
 There is no hour so sweet 
 As when the golden daylight 
 
 And evening shadows meet ; 
 For those we prize so dearly, 
 
 Seem nearer by our side ; 
 The dear ones God has spared us, 
 The loved ones who have died. 
 
 The quiet hours of night-fall 
 
 Are free from earthly care ; 
 And sounds of heaven steal o'er us. 
 
 The music of a prayer; 
 And as the dewy rose-bud 
 
 Folds in her beauteous leaves, 
 My spirit-love enfolds thee, 
 
 For thee a casket weaves. 
 
 122 
 
/ PRAY FOB THEE AT NIGHTFALL, 123 
 
 I praise Him in the niglit-fall, 
 
 For thy dear love to me ; 
 The purest star that ever 
 
 Shone o'er life's troubled sea ; 
 These breathings of devotion, 
 
 The ave-song and hymn, 
 I give to thee forever, 
 
 Till life's brief day grows dim. 
 
THOU AET AWAY. 
 
 THOU art away, beloved ! no music trilling 
 Its softest, sweetest notes around my heart. 
 Can chase away the memories dear and thrilling. 
 That linger round thee, absent though thou art. 
 
 I have no hope in life, but there is blended 
 Some thought of thee, a ray serenely pure ; 
 
 No hope of life beyond, our wanderings ended — 
 But whispers that our love will still endure, 
 
 I hope beyond the grave ! with one thought only 
 Is doubt of peace beyond the river's swell ; 
 
 'Tis that, while on earth I wandered lonely, 
 I met and loved, aye, worshiped thee too well ! 
 
 Is this vain worship, that like some evangel 
 Has breathed a sweetness through my very 
 soul? 
 Tell me, oh Truth, thou never-erring angel — 
 Have mortals over love a calm control ? 
 124 
 
THOV ART AW AY. 125 
 
 Tell me, if iu the laud of fadeless flowers, 
 Where fountains of all happiness impart 
 
 Their glorious beauty o'er celestial bowers, 
 Will love-ties e'er be riven from the heart? 
 
 And loves, that earnest spirits here may cherish, 
 Oh, will they die, like flowers of earthly bloom V 
 
 If this be so, how gladly would I perish 
 To live no more beyond the narrow tomb. 
 
 I would be with thee now, my own true-hearted ! 
 
 My Beautiful ! I would that thou wert here ; 
 But even though by weary distance parted, 
 
 I feel the presence of thy spirit near. 
 
 I hear thy voice among the leaves at even, 
 When fairies dance beneath the moon -lit sky ; 
 
 In every breeze, like music-tones from heaven — 
 Tones like thine own, go floating sweetly by. 
 
 I hear my name from thy dear lips come breath- 
 
 When the bright dew is on the nodding flowers ; 
 And thy warm kiss around my cheek is wreathing 
 A holy sweetness with the starry hours. 
 
126 THOU ART AWAY. 
 
 Each morn and noon, and at the shadowy vesper, 
 I fold my hands in silent prayer for thee ; 
 
 That God will guard thee, and the angels whisper 
 Wooing thy spirit's presence back to me. 
 
ANTICIPATION. 
 
 EABTH is not cold, nor dreary now, 
 Since thy sweet love lies o'er my way, 
 And I forget beneath its glow, 
 
 Where all life's lingering shadows stay. 
 
 Thought after thought goes after thee, 
 My hopes and dreams, I give thee all ; 
 
 As one by one, sure, silently, 
 
 The Summer's blooming rose-leaves fall. 
 
 For thou hast made a summer-time 
 Of endless bloom within my heart ; 
 
 I cannot weave in simple rhyme. 
 The joy thy worship doth impart. 
 
 Low prophet-whispers hour by hour. 
 Like some rich symphony repeat, 
 
 127 
 
128 ANTICIPATION. 
 
 Till I exist by their sweet power — 
 " We soon shall meet !" " we soon shall meet !" 
 
 Oh, that dear hope, all rainbow-hued — 
 Hath stilled my life's unrest and pain ; 
 
 My waking hours are all bedewed 
 
 With hopes that we shall meet again ! 
 
SLAIN. 
 
 HE has murdered my love ! it is dead, it is 
 dead ! 
 Lying passionless, perished, chilly and stark ! 
 Like a flower that has royally lifted its head. 
 
 And, suddenly severed, lies crushed in the dark. 
 Oh, mother of sorrow ! in pity say why 
 
 The great tide of womanhood thus should be 
 chilled ; 
 Why may we not fold up our pale hands and die. 
 Ere the music of life in our hearts has been 
 stilled? 
 
 A dream may repeat itself ; this is no dream ! 
 
 No flashes of light will appear on the hearth ; 
 The ashes are white, and too surely they seem 
 
 To scatter themselves all over my path. 
 
 129 
 
130 SLAIN. 
 
 Perhaps we shall meet again over the sea 
 That is deepest, and fearfully, billowy cold— 
 
 But never again will there come back to me. 
 The love that he murdered, my heart knew of 
 old! 
 
EEVERIE. 
 
 STANDING here within the casement, 
 Where we stood last winter-time ; 
 Thinking of the year's sad changes, 
 Weaving fancies into rhyme. 
 
 All the loved and lost that left us 
 For the world far out of sight, 
 
 Seem to come with tender presence, 
 With the old-time love to-night. 
 
 And we watch the feathery snow-fall. 
 Pure as the last kiss they gave — 
 
 Knowing how it coldly flutters, 
 Down upon the lonely grave. 
 
 Sweet to turn from life's wild tumult. 
 From its mourning and unrest ; 
 
 And to know no heavier burden 
 Than the snow-flakes on our breast. 
 
 131 
 
GEEENWOOD CEMETERY. 
 
 BLEST angel of Love ! methinks tliou art 
 here, 
 Scattering thy flowers where the Beautiful 
 sleeps ; 
 Affection has left in each chalice a tear, 
 A symbol of that which our memory keeps. 
 
 Wave lightly ye blossoms ! thy delicate sheen 
 
 Has caught the bright beauty and glory of love ; 
 The hands that have mingled thy petals with 
 green, 
 Have nursed the fair flowers that are blooming 
 above. 
 
 The shadows that creep here the long summer 
 day, 
 Remind me of footprints the mourners have left , 
 Though faith may be shining all over life's way, 
 The shadows of sorrow hang o'er the bereft. 
 132 
 
GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 133 
 
 Al] freiglitecl with music from southlands have 
 come, 
 The birds of the greenwood to weave their soft 
 nest ; 
 To hghten the darkness and Kngering gloom, 
 And wave their bright wings where treasured 
 ones rest. 
 
 Oh, fair is the garden where blossoms above 
 Our dear buds of promise, that wither on earth ; 
 
 For Jesus sheds o'er them his infinite love. 
 And carefully guards every petal of worth. 
 
 Sing softly, my lyre! the gifted and good. 
 The treasures of hearts that are bleeding, lie 
 here ; 
 And let not the song of a stranger intrude. 
 For it trembles with hope, and is sung with a 
 tear. 
 
KISSES. 
 
 HE presses kisses on my brow, 
 As softly as the rain-drop's fall ; 
 Like fragrant blossoms of the spring, 
 
 And sweeter, sweeter than them all 1 
 And fresher, purer than the winds 
 
 That lift the petals of the flowers ; 
 They gladden all my fevered life 
 With new and renovating powers. 
 
 Sweet kisses from the lips 1 love. 
 
 Strung on the heart's most tender chords, 
 Like pearls, that tremble with my joy. 
 
 Too beautiful for human words I 
 So press them ever on my brow. 
 
 They soothe the pain that's throbbing there, 
 They are the richest diadem 
 
 My woman's soul aspires to wear I 
 
 134 
 
A MIDNIGHT RHYME. 
 
 OH, darkened heart, whose hopes of yore 
 Came dancing gaily unto me, 
 And Hke the laughing waves of sea, 
 Lost all their music on the shore ! 
 
 Oh, lonely heart, whose early loves 
 Sang sweeter than the birds of spring 
 Sing, with the first flowers' opening ; 
 
 Nolo moaning Uke a widowed dove ! 
 
 Oh, aged heart ! the little years 
 
 That passed o'er thee are swift and few ; 
 
 Dead all youth's fragrance and its dew ; 
 Its light all quenched in midnight tears. 
 
 Oh, weary heart 1 that sits and waits, 
 And longs for something yet to come ; 
 
 135 
 
136 A MIDNWHT BHYMK 
 
 For light, and love, and hope, and home, 
 For rest beyond the "golden gates." 
 
 Oh, thankless heart ! alas for thee ! 
 
 Be patient till the day is done ! 
 
 The glory of the setting sun 
 Shall shine across the jasper sea. 
 
 Oh, hush, proud heart ! what hast thou done ? 
 Be patient, for thy weary beat 
 Is playing marches for the feet 
 
 That bear the cross, to gain the crown. 
 
 Be strong, oh, suffering heart, and brave ! 
 
 The stars beyond the darkness shine ; 
 
 Thou'lt be immortal, soul of mine, 
 In thy fair home beyond the grave ! 
 
LINES TO ANNA M. BATES. 
 
 NOW, while the low winds murmur sadly, 
 And moonbeams shine athwart the lonely 
 sea, 
 And stars from out their depths are smiling gladly, 
 I come in dreams of poesy to thee^ 
 
 As on some stranger shore a bird repining 
 To rest a weary wing within its nest, 
 
 My eager heart around thy form is twining. 
 And in thy gentle love I fain would rest. 
 
 Out from the shadows of the past are peering 
 Forms, some as bright as poets see in dreams ; 
 And to mine ear come whispered words endearing. 
 Whose love-light fills my soul with hallowed 
 beams. 
 
 137 
 
138 TO ANNA M. BATES. 
 
 Yet thine the form that comes to me the nearest, 
 Thine are the lips that fondest press to mine ; 
 
 The happiest smile, the tenderest word, and dear- 
 est. 
 That thrill my soul to-night, dear one, are thine. 
 
 Oh, may thy hymnings, like a crystal river, 
 Giving sweet music on its pebbly way. 
 
 Swell on our listening ear "their tones forever, 
 And guide thy life-bark to a brighter day I 
 
DREAM ON. 
 
 DBEAM on, nor let the minstrel's tread 
 Disturb thy slumbers now ; 
 Thcit Peace may her sweet blessing shed, 
 
 Around thy youthful brow. 
 For oh, not long may mortals rest. 
 
 In this brief world of care ; 
 And sleeeping hours are happiest, 
 If dreams of love be there. 
 
 Dream on, perchance thy lost come back, 
 
 The loved of long ago ; 
 And forms of joy, on memory's track. 
 
 Float softly to and fro. 
 Enjoy thy rest, we would not fright 
 
 Thy angel-guests away. 
 While 'neath the midnight's starry light. 
 
 We chant or simple lay. 
 
 139 
 
MO DREAM ON. 
 
 But like the night wind's lowly rhyme, 
 
 Around thy casement now ; 
 We breathe to thee our parting hymn, 
 
 Our blessing ere we go. 
 Dream on, dream on ! may angels keep 
 
 Thee guard by night and day, 
 Till thou shalt sleep thy dreamless sleep, 
 
 Then rest in heaven alway. 
 
SCHOOL^S OUT. 
 
 THERE'S a sound of distant laughter 
 From the children at their play ; 
 And the echoes follow after, 
 
 Through the rocks and glens away. 
 Rosy childhood ! rosy childhood ! 
 How I love thy guiltless mirth ; 
 Fairer than the flowery wildwood 
 Is thy sinless course on earth ! 
 
 Dearer than old tales of fiction 
 
 Are their tell-tale faces now, 
 And an angel's benediction 
 
 Seems to rest on every brow. 
 And their httle raptured faces 
 
 'Mind me of the young Christ-child, 
 And I sigh that through life's mazes 
 
 They must tread, and be defiled. 
 
 141 
 
142 SCHOOL'S OUT. 
 
 Darling children ! in life's morning, 
 
 In life's fresh and dewy spring — 
 I will not, with one sad warning, 
 
 To your trusting spirits bring 
 Doubts, or thoughts that life now golden, 
 
 Will not be thus bright alway ; 
 These are tales too sad and olden ; 
 
 Laugh, glad children, while you may 1 
 
THE SPIBIT'S CALL. 
 
 COME, spirit, while the evening light is weav- 
 ing 
 Its crimson folds along the western sky ; 
 And golden bars of sunUght all are leaving 
 Their try sting-places on the mountains high. 
 
 Come back to me, the shadowy clouds are wreath- 
 ing 
 Their glorious images, like poet's dreams ; 
 And voiceless prayers our inmost lives are breath- 
 ing, 
 As wave meets wave along the silent streams. 
 
 Come ! 'tis the vesper hour ! I would be holding 
 A secret worship now, dear love, with thee, 
 
 While children's rosy hands are meekly folding 
 For evening prayers, upon a mother's knee. 
 
 143 
 
144 THE SPIRIT'S CALL. 
 
 To poet- thoughts to-night I fain would listen, 
 
 That ever throng thy soul, more fair and bright 
 Than worlds of stars, that o'er us softly glisten — 
 ^ My spirit yearns for that Promethean light. 
 
 Say, hearest thou not my restless spirit calling 
 For thine, O poet ! from the land of dreams, 
 
 While night's dim drapery around is falling, 
 And silent stars send down their silvery beams ? 
 
 Ah, sweeter were they than Provencial roses, 
 Those flowers of thought we gathered long ago ! 
 
 Thine is the heart where happiness reposes, 
 And sacred streams of Love go murmuring 
 through ! 
 
UNDER THE SNOW-DEIFTS. 
 
 UNDER the snow-drifts, chilly and deep, 
 Our beautiful lily-bud hes asleep ; 
 Velvety hands that were warm and soft, 
 
 Dear httle cheeks we have kissed so oft. 
 Red cooing lips we deUghted to hear. 
 
 All lying dead with the flowers of last year. 
 
 Out in that world where flowers never fade, 
 Where never a grave, or snow-drift is made 
 
 Music of lips, and beauty of face. 
 Deepen forever with infinite grace ; 
 
 Beautiful world! we do not know where- 
 Shelter of safety ! our Beulah is there ! 
 
 145 
 
HOPE. 
 
 HOPE is a paradise-bird ! and she sings 
 Down in the depths of each desolate 
 heart ; 
 Over them folding her beautiful wings, 
 
 Blending her smiles with their tears when they 
 start ; 
 Lighting our passage-way down to the tomb, 
 
 Sweet is her ministry, lovely her guise ! 
 All ! she is wooing us up to our home ; 
 Promising weary ones rest in the skies. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF O. D. SEYMOUR, JR. 
 
 IHEAED how the billowy deeps, and the 
 night 
 Of sorrowj and anguish, and desolate pain, 
 Had hushed all the music, and dimmed all the 
 light 
 In the home that had blessed me again and 
 again. 
 
 Oh, where was the promising light of the sky ? 
 Looking upward the shadows were dreadful 
 instead. 
 " Eternal Compassion, have mercy I" cried I ; 
 Ko answer came back, save the one, " He is 
 dead." 
 
 He is dead 1 while the flowers of summer still 
 bloom, 
 
 147 
 
148 ON TEE DEATH OF 0. D. SEYMOUR, JR. 
 
 And Autumn, great mourner, weeps over his 
 
 heart ; 
 Yet memory will bring us a sweeter perfume, 
 To bless our sad hours, than earth's roses 
 
 impart. 
 
 We know there is Rest in the beautiful land, 
 Where the night never comes, with sorrow or 
 tears ; 
 
 And over the river his welcoming hand 
 Is beckoning forever to silence our fears. 
 
 The winter of sorrow is cold while we wait 
 
 To grasp the dear hands that are warm in 
 the Fold; 
 But never a chill enters in through the gate, 
 Where he passed in his beauty to " cities of 
 gold." 
 
NEWSBOYS. 
 
 SUEELY as the cool of evening 
 Follows on the day of heat, 
 And the dew his diamonds scatters 
 
 On the city's dusty street ; 
 Just so surely comes the calling. 
 
 Through the bustle and the noise, 
 .Here and there, like echoes falling — 
 From these restless wandering boys. 
 
 Oft I've met them on the pavement 
 As they sped along their way, 
 
 Listening to the earnest singing 
 Of their tireless business lay. 
 
 So together each pursuing, 
 
 Some accepted, favorite dream. 
 
 We are only weary travelers, 
 
 10 1*9 
 
150 NEWSBOYS. 
 
 Floating down life's rapid stream I 
 And I look with interest often 
 
 On each little upturned face, 
 Seeking if the inward spirit 
 
 Left not there some outward trace ; 
 And one's eyes reflected sunshine 
 
 From the founts of mirth and joy, 
 And my heart beat quicker, gladder, 
 
 For that merry-hearted boy. 
 
 Then a few more steps would lead me 
 
 To another face, perchance, 
 Where a saddened heart was speaking 
 
 Of its grief in every glance ; 
 Telling that life's stern endeavor 
 
 Brought its suffering to his heart. 
 And that earnest toil had early 
 
 Left with him its endless smart 1 
 
 Oh the care that crushes children 
 With its weight, in tender years, 
 
 Eobbing them of childhood's sunshine. 
 Giving back a tide of tears ; 
 
NEWSBOYS. 151 
 
 Drowning all the music-laugliter, 
 With their surging ebb and flow ! 
 
 Oh, the blight that follows after — 
 Would to God it were not so I 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 SAD that the world so beautifully bright — 
 Should have one cloud to mar its holy light ! 
 Sad too, that man has lived, has fallen, died ! 
 That change still bears him on its restless tide. 
 
 What is the soul ? it wanders after God, 
 
 Knd all his works, through paths mysterious, trod 
 
 By millions o'er and o'er, yet understood 
 
 Not here, save that He is most wise and good ! 
 
 152 
 
" THINE TO THE END." 
 
 u ryiHINE to the end!" mine own to love and 
 JL cherish, 
 
 My friend in blessing, mine in happiest hours ; 
 When life grows weary and its sweet hopes perish, 
 
 And sorrow's cloud of d'arkness o'er me lowers. 
 
 Mine, mine ! God bless thee for the sweet words 
 spoken 
 When the worn heart most needed healing 
 balm ; 
 When life's great sea of joy seemed wild and 
 broken. 
 And moaned in vain for light and holy calm. 
 
 " Thine to the end !" I hear thy dear lips saying. 
 Though we are parted now by land and sea ; 
 
 153 
 
154 THINE TO THE END. 
 
 " Thine to the end !" my heart is ever praying 
 Tlie boon of lengthened hfe for thee and me ! 
 
 For well I know the path of sternest duty, 
 If lighted by thy truthfulness, loved friend, 
 
 Would be to me a path of peace and beauty ; 
 And I should hear sweet music " to the end." 
 
 We may not meet again this side the river. 
 Whose shoreless waters sing to me to-day ; 
 
 Yet, knowing thou wert true to me forever. 
 Would take the bitterness of death away ! 
 
ALWAYS TIRED. 
 
 I'M tired of dreams when the night is gone ; 
 And tired of work when night comes on ; 
 Of the glare, and heat, and feverish strife, 
 That crowd the days of my little life. 
 
 Weary of work, more weary of play — 
 Of watching the swift hours pass away ; 
 Weary of asking and wondering why 
 The good God made us to live and die. 
 
 Weary of asking, pleading in vain 
 For the blessing I never shall know again ; 
 For the love of a hfe so strong and brave, 
 The beat of a heart asleep in the grave. 
 
 Oh, peace to the hearts that at rest to day 
 Lie where the shadows of summer play ! 
 
 155 
 
156 ALWAYS TIRED. 
 
 Life's agony over, why sliould ive weep 
 
 For those who He dreamless, in safety asleep ? 
 
 Threads that are golden lie thickly between 
 Our weary hearts and the world, unseen ; 
 They draw us hence with a stronger power 
 Than the gilded charms of this passing hour. 
 
 And out from the far Beyond there swells 
 A sweeter sound than the chime of bells ; 
 The earth-bound soul as he lists inspired, 
 Writhes enchained and moans, " I'm tired !" 
 
 Ah ! the wintry earth — how it smiles again, 
 With flowers and fruit, and the golden grain ! 
 But you, poor heart, must hush your cry, 
 And bear your pain, though you may die. 
 
 For its bloom is past, its summer died ; 
 Its dearest hopes lie crucified. 
 And its tenderest ties are rudely riven — 
 Life brings no spring this side of heaven. 
 
ALWAYS TIRED. 157 
 
 Oh, tired of work, and tired of play ! 
 
 Of watching the sad hours go away ! 
 
 Of unspoken thoughts, till the brain is fired ; 
 
 And the whole heart whispers, I'm so tired ' 
 
I WILL BE TRUE TO THEE. 
 
 THE golden dream of life may fade, 
 And joyous hopes may. die ; 
 And round thy path the darkest shade 
 
 Of care and sorrow lie ; 
 And friends may thy frail bark forsake 
 
 On Time's most treacherous sea ; 
 I'll love thee still for thy sweet sake, 
 I will be true to thee. 
 
 As in the present, and the past, 
 
 My heart will cling to thine ; 
 So through each change around thee cast 
 
 Oh, trust this heart of mine ; 
 And when in hours of weariness, 
 
 Thine own beats wearily. 
 And there are none to love and bless, 
 
 I will be true to thee. 
 158 
 
I WILL BE TRUE TO THEE. 159 
 
 And when our feet shall tread the verge 
 
 That borders Death's dark stream, 
 Our souls in sweetest life shall merge 
 
 To joys beyond earth's dream. 
 So twining through the web of life, 
 
 One golden thread I see ; 
 One peace-branch on earth's sea of strife, 
 
 That I am true to thee ! 
 
A JUNE MEMOEY. 
 
 IN the fresh June-time, ere the roses break 
 lu blushing beauty from their emerald buds, 
 And the low winds in softest numbers wake, 
 
 Like spirit-harps among the flowers and woods, 
 And the red clover blushes at their kiss, 
 
 And the wild bee goes humming thro' the air. 
 And song and fragrance, and sweet happiness, 
 
 Float like a cloud of incense everywhere — 
 Thus in the June-time of the glowing year 
 
 We met, with Hope's sweet blossoms in our 
 hearts. 
 And the soft hand of gladness stayed the tear, 
 The dimming tear, that with life's changes 
 starts. 
 
 Noiv, in the June-time, in my silent room, 
 That memory comes back again to me, 
 160 
 
A JUNE MEMORY. 161 
 
 And sheds around me all the old-time bloom, 
 
 And low winds whisper, " I am true to thee,'' 
 As the red leaves in all their sweetness lie, 
 
 Close-folded in the roses' hearts to-day, 
 So fragrant memories, as the June hours fly — 
 
 Lie closely in my heart of hearts alway ; 
 And though we meet no more this side the grave, 
 
 Thy hand no more in friendship pressed in 
 mine, 
 On life's dark sea there'll be one sun-lit wave. 
 
 Radiant with pleasure it will ever shine. 
 
ALAS! 
 
 IS it a dream that I have loved thee so ? 
 A phantom I have chased with wild dilight, 
 That strange bewildering joy, this hidden woe, 
 That glorious morning light, this starless night ? 
 
 Why hast thou perished, beautiful, my own ! 
 
 My heart's fixed star, my inspiration, all ! 
 See'st thou the midnight o'er my spirit thrown ? 
 
 Hearest thou the moaning of my lone heart's 
 call? 
 
 Ah, the low music of remembered words 
 Thy lips have spoken in the years agone, 
 
 Come back to me like songs of early birds, 
 E'en while the summer of my hfe is flown. 
 
 Thy meek eyes gaze upon me tenderly, 
 While into mine the tears of anguish start ; 
 162 
 
ALAS I 163 
 
 For I remember how this soft spring skj, 
 Smiles iuto bloom the myrtles on thy heart. 
 
 Oh, would that these were dreams, these hopeless 
 hours. 
 
 That waste away the life with hidden sighs ; 
 These memories of the past, these faded flowers I 
 
 Alas, alas ! they are realities. 
 
A WINTEK DEEAM OF SUMMER. 
 
 I SIT in the gathering twilight, 
 And dream of the summeT days, 
 Witli their wealth of buds and blossoms 
 And myriad songs of praise. 
 
 And I close my eyes to listen, 
 Not to the wild wind's song. 
 
 As he raps my frosty casement, 
 With hands so loud and strong. 
 
 Not of the path so lonely, 
 
 Up by the mountain's side ; 
 Where the merry boys are shouting, 
 
 As over the snow they glide. 
 
 A dream of the dear old summer 
 
 Comes back with its light to me ; 
 
 And I seem to hear the murmur 
 
 Of the great and wondrous sea ! 
 
 164 
 
A WINTER DREAM OF SUMMER. 165 
 
 Oh, sea, with your sighs and laughter I 
 
 Will you haunt me evermore. 
 With the voice that followed after 
 
 I left thy dreamy shore ? 
 
 That summer of light and beauty 
 
 Still warms this wintry night, 
 And softens every duty, 
 
 And makes each burden light 1 
 
 Oh, life ! so sweet and holy, 
 
 So full of joy and love ! 
 A promise leading slowly, 
 
 To the great Eest above. 
 11 
 
"WRITE IN MY ALBUM." 
 
 I KNOW not what to write for thee, 
 This wild, tempestuous night ; 
 As dreamily beside the grate, 
 I watch the flickering light. 
 
 For sitting by the hearth so warm, 
 
 With quiet comfort blest, 
 I ask if the dear Shepherd's arm 
 
 Will give life's wanderers rest. 
 
 For out upon the wintry world, 
 
 God's weary children roam, 
 Bhghted at heart with dark and cold. 
 
 Without a friend or home. 
 
 From some glad eyes there comes a smile, 
 
 From many tear-drops fall ; 
 And yet the Father all the while, 
 
 Keeps watch above them all 1 
 166 
 
' WRITE IN MY album:' 167 
 
 And thoughts of human suffering 
 Surge o'er me, sad and strong ; 
 
 And all the weariness they bring 
 Has hushed the up springing song ! 
 
 So not to-night, my httle friend, 
 
 Your album words I'll write ; 
 My thoughts, like these poor embers, end 
 
 In ashes, still and white. 
 
BETWEEN THE CLOUDS. 
 
 YES, I am dying with the light and beauty 
 That has been gilding all this fruitful 
 year ! 
 From all life's bitterness— the cross of duty — 
 
 I turn to-day without a sigh or tear. 
 Life, more than death, makes sadly vacant 
 places 
 That chill our hearts, or make us wish to die ; 
 'Tis not the grave alone that hides dear faces, 
 And shatters all the spirit's harmony. 
 
 The autumn leaves, like gorgeous plumage falling, 
 Drop not more softly on yon stream to-day, 
 Than the sweet voices that to me are calling, 
 
 To turn from all life's winter-chill away. 
 I feel the flush and the unrest of fever. 
 
 On heart and brain, on wearied pulse and 
 brow ; 
 168 
 
BETWEEN THE CLOUDS. 169 
 
 And the dread cliill which follows after ever, 
 Leaving the tides of being ebbing low. 
 
 And when the robins chant their matins over, 
 
 In the first gush of next year's welcome spring, 
 And the gay bee hangs on the honeyed clover, 
 
 And fragrant woods and fields are blossoming, 
 One heart the less will thrill at their returning*, 
 
 In the deep silence of its dreamless sleep ; 
 No fires of life's intensity be burning 
 
 With throbs of pain, and weary eyes that 
 weep. 
 
 Oh, earth ! so full of beauty, e'en thy crosses 
 
 Could not estrange my wondrous love for 
 thee ! 
 Amid my human needs, my heart's deep losses, 
 
 Thou wert my soul's unfailing poesy. 
 Thou, thou wert true, thy glory all unblemished, 
 
 When mortals failed me, in life's bitter pain, 
 I turned to thee, like one aweary, famished, 
 
 I turned to thee, and never yet in vain ! 
 
TEMPTED. 
 
 OH, what to me are words that fill, 
 My woman's heart with throbs of bliss ? 
 Or fond caresses, that can thrill 
 With momentary happiness? 
 Or promises, whose joy and light 
 
 Shut out the holy light of heaven ; 
 That only lead me where the night 
 Has not one golden star of even? 
 
 Sweet Mother of my tempted soul! 
 
 Sweet woman, with thy face divine — 
 Come now, and let thy love control 
 
 This weak and longing soul of mine. 
 Thou knowest how thy weary child 
 
 Has longed and suffered all these years, 
 The yearnings for affection wild, 
 
 The lonely nights of pain and tears. 
 
 170 
 
\ 
 
 TEMPTED. 171 
 
 The hopes, so sweet ! that early died — 
 The faded dreams, thou knowest them all— 
 
 Oh, let not love unsanctified 
 By thme approval, on me fall. 
 
 So in the fullness of thy love. 
 
 The greatness of thy woman's strength, 
 
 Look in thy mercy from above. 
 
 And lead me safe to peace at length. 
 
BY-AND-BY. 
 
 I WAIT, dear love, on the sea so wide — 
 Till the threatening storm from my life is past, 
 With the cheering hope that side by side 
 Our sheltered life-barks rest at last. 
 
 I shall toss no more on the drifting sea, 
 With my eager cry, and my hopeless wail. 
 
 And the voiceless love that breathes to thee, 
 With yearnings wild as the restless gale. 
 
 Oh, the fearful burdens, iron hands — 
 That hold my mortal life with care ! 
 
 And Poverty, whose bony hands 
 
 Clutch at the heart with fierce despair ! 
 
 They have made me old in my early years, 
 And saddest mid the scenes most glad ; 
 172 
 
BT-AND-BT 173 
 
 And chased away my smiles with tears, 
 And clouded every joy I've had ! 
 
 But I wait, dear love, till the storm be past, 
 For the sun to shine in a cloudless sky ; 
 
 Till side by side our barks be cast, 
 To rest for ever, by-and-by ! 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 HE loves me yet, that sainted one — 
 That perished in life's summer-time, 
 Who left me standing here alone, 
 
 To breathe this simple, untaught rhyme. 
 I know not if he sleeps, or if 
 
 He walks above the stars in light ; 
 Or if with me he dwells unseen, 
 To guide my erring feet aright. 
 
 It is no changeful dream that comes 
 
 To perish like an autumn day ; 
 No phantom which I cannot clasp 
 
 Before it vanish quite away ; 
 But in my inmost soul I know 
 
 He loves me fondly as of yore ; 
 This blessed thought is joy enough ; 
 
 In hfe, or death, I ask no more. 
 174 
 
THE AUTUMN WIND. 
 
 HOW the chilly winds of Autumn, 
 Sob and sigh around my door ! 
 And the dropping leaves are whispering 
 
 Of the joys that died of yore ; 
 Of the voi(3e that spake so softly, 
 
 Of the soft, caressing, hand. 
 And the eyes, so deep and tender — 
 All that love can understand ! 
 
 How the dear, dear days of summer 
 
 Fled away hke golden clouds. 
 And the heart's bright sky at sunset 
 
 Wreathed itself in sable shrouds. 
 They are gone, alas ! forever ; 
 
 Friend and summer ! and alone 
 Now I walk amid the shadows. 
 
 Listening to the sad wind's tone! 
 
 175 
 
176 THE AUTUMN WIND. 
 
 List! it sings a miserere 
 
 Over Memory's cheerless urn ; 
 O'er the fading of the glory 
 
 Where the lonely heart may turn. 
 So it sobs, and sighs, and whispers, 
 
 Like a homesick heart in pain, 
 Wailing out the perished passion 
 
 That will never live again. 
 
 Golden summer ! all thy beauty 
 
 Gone forever to the past ! 
 Clasp me in thy deathless memory, 
 
 Hold me, bless me to the last ! 
 Till the white tents in the distance 
 
 Gleam out from the farther shore, 
 And I know I shall find shelter, 
 
 That shall fail me never more. 
 
THE FLOWER IN THE SNOW. 
 
 AH me ! 'tis almost winter, and the snow 
 Has three times fluttered 'round my win- 
 dow-pane, 
 And homeless winds upon the uplands blow, 
 And all the trees stand leafless on the plain. 
 What dost thou here, dear little stranger, now ? 
 I found thee blooming on a cherished grave, 
 Where the dead grasses o'er a treasure wave, 
 And the cold moonlight flickers to and fro. 
 
 Did some fair angel on his pinions bright. 
 While keeping guard, waft thee from flowery Ian ds 
 Where blooms ne'er fade — the great eternal 
 height ? 
 Wert ever culled and twined by seraph's hands 
 
 To some sweet harp whose tones of slow delight 
 Were tuned in unison to songs of heavenly bands ? 
 
 177 
 
178 THE FLOWER IN THE SNOW. 
 
 But thou art withering, 'tis true, alas ! — 
 
 My earthly touch hath made thee droop aud 
 fade ! 
 Oh, will this vile mortality soon pass 
 
 To bloom eternal, out of cold and shade ? 
 For how I long to fling aside this mass 
 Of sure decay that to my being clings, 
 And find my counterpart with fadeless things ; 
 Long to be free from life's deceitful farco ! 
 
 Lead me, dear Father ! where the sinless are, 
 And make me pure, that spirits may not shrink 
 
 Away in fear when on their shores, so fair, 
 I shall have passed beyond Death's silent brink ! 
 Dear dying iiower, the chain that binds me 
 there 
 Shall find in thee another beauteous link. 
 
ACEOSTIC. 
 
 A, 
 
 .H I what achievement has this human hfe, 
 llicher with glory when this hfe is past, 
 Thau mastery of seU' amid earth's strife 
 Hearing the welcome words of recompense at last, 
 Uttered from lips divine, the blessing won ? 
 Keward and victory ! " TJtou hast well done /" 
 
THE SILENT ROOM. 
 
 THE smile has died on each pictured face 
 That hangs to-day on the ghostly wall, 
 Open the casement, and give place 
 
 For the sun's bright light, and warmth to fall. 
 
 Oh, the chill of this shadowy room ! 
 
 All hushed with fear my heart stands still ; 
 The painful years, with their darkening gloom 
 
 Come throb by throb each space to fill. 
 
 There's a sad despair in each tender eye, 
 And a heart-break lies on the mute white lips ; 
 
 No brightening gold in the tresses lie. 
 Silent and dim with Death's eclipse. 
 
 Why in this beautiful world of light, 
 
 Where hearts are glad, and loves so sweet, 
 180 
 
THE SILENT ROOM. 181 
 
 Must shame and sorrow, and death and bhght, 
 Crush out and wound with reckless feet ? 
 
 And why to-day in this silent room, 
 
 Once made so bright with love's low talk, 
 
 And trusts as sweet as heaven's own bloom 
 Should only ghostly shadows walk ? 
 
 The hearts are broken, and low in death 
 The folded hands lie pressed with pain ; 
 
 The dust lies on the bridal wreath — 
 The same old story told again ! 
 
 So close the casement, lest once more 
 Return the light, and joy, and bliss ; 
 
 And other hearts be crushed and sore. 
 And come to silence such as this! 
 12 
 
MONODY. 
 
 I AM glad she sleeps to-day 
 'Neath the crimson roses ; 
 Where the softest winds of May 
 Sing while she reposes. 
 
 Full of conflicts was her life ; 
 
 Bitterly they bound her ; 
 And amid the fiercest strife, 
 
 Death's sad angel found her. 
 
 Tenderly he kissed her brows, 
 Stilling all their beating ; 
 
 Sweeter words than earthly vows 
 To her soul repeating. 
 
 182 
 
MONODY. 183 
 
 I am glad the May moon's light 
 Falls in wondrous glory 
 
 On her marbled name so white, 
 Telling victory's story ! 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 AH woman's heart must mask it well, 
 The love she is too proud to tell ; 
 And so her weary feet must tread 
 Paths where her sister's feet have bled, 
 Till the soft grave shall rest upon 
 The restless bosom it has won. 
 
 Oh, woman's heart I oh, woman's strife I 
 
 Oh, restless sea of human life ! 
 
 Oh, woman's love, and woman's woe, 
 
 In surging tides of being flow ! 
 
 What, what shall whisper " peace, be still," 
 
 While bearing crosses up life's hill ? 
 
 Oh Mother ! Mary ! Christ divine I 
 Fill up life's chalices with wine 
 
 184 
 
WOMAN, . 1^ 
 
 Such as the martyrs long ago 
 Drank to assuage their human woe, 
 And give the famished heart the love 
 That drops like manna from above. 
 
THE EAIN-FALL. 
 
 SWEET to listen to the rain-fall 
 On the leafy trees of June, 
 As it plays among the branches 
 
 In a slow, melodious tune. 
 There is no sweeter music 
 
 Than rain-drops on the leaves, 
 Or whispering on the casement — 
 Or the quaint, old-fashioned eaves. 
 
 And I love at night to listen 
 
 To its music on the roof. 
 Building castles so unreal 
 
 That can never have their proof. 
 Then come the old-time voices 
 
 That I never more may hear, 
 Soothing all my restless longings, 
 
 So delusive, yet so dear ! 
 186 
 
THE RALN'FALL. 187 
 
 And I love the silver rain-clrops, 
 
 When the sunbeams gild them o'er, 
 Beautiful enough for jewels 
 
 That some olden goddess wore. 
 Or the gems we read of, gleaming 
 
 On the golden gates above, 
 That will fade not, hke our dreaming, 
 
 When we meet the friends we love. 
 
MY SERENADE. 
 
 I HEAR it now ! like memory-bells 
 It calls the sweet Past back to me ; 
 My heart with silent rapture swells 
 
 With its delightful harmony ! 
 And since that still mid-summer night 
 
 When stars together sang on high, 
 It haunts me with a strange delight, 
 And will forever till I die. 
 
 Ye who have learned to reach the heart 
 
 With music's ever welcome strain ; 
 Ye who have learned the blessed art 
 
 Of soothing weariness and pain, 
 To thee, to thee my spirit sings, 
 
 For thee the choicest blessings crave ; 
 Ye have a richer crown than kings, 
 
 A stronger power than monarchs have. 
 188 
 
MY SERENADE. 189 
 
 I would earth had no cares, no fears, 
 
 No mourning hours for such as ye ; 
 No weary paths, no sorrowing tears, 
 
 No restless waves to stir life's sea ! 
 And yet, perchance the tones I heard 
 
 Were born in sorrow's bitter hour, 
 When some poor spirit's deeps were stirred, 
 
 Revealing its immortal power. 
 
 Now while the mournful autumn breeze 
 
 Comes whispering round my window pane, 
 And whirls the red leaves from the trees, 
 
 I seem to hear those tones again. 
 As if a low-voiced angel came. 
 
 Baptizing me with tears of praise. 
 That my full heart can only name, 
 
 TJie spirit of Departed days. 
 
BE THYSELF. 
 
 SWEET ! be thyself, whatever Hfe may bring ; 
 Pain, tears, and care ; or every earthly 
 good. 
 Let thoughts, thy aims, and actions, ever spring 
 
 From holy fountains of true womanliood ! 
 Then will thy heart be ever brave and strong, 
 Thy feet tread safely over life's rough ways, 
 Hope's star shine brightly, though the night be 
 long— 
 Thy songs be victory, with mingled praise. 
 
MORTALITY. 
 
 GRAVE WARD tending till the shadows 
 All are lost amid the gloom 
 Of the night that surely gathers 
 
 'Round the stern rapacious tomb ! 
 Eveu though our footsteps falter 
 
 As we near the future goal, 
 And a shrinking fear oppresses 
 
 With its weight, the untried soul, 
 Still we journey on forever, 
 
 Never tarrying on our way, 
 And the flow of Time's swift river 
 
 Will not let us pause or stay. 
 Far beyond the grave's low darkness, 
 
 Or the gloom of life's short even, 
 Beams of fadeless light are shining. 
 
 Earth is merging into heaven. 
 
 191 
 
A EESPONSE. 
 
 THANKS, noble poet ! how thy Hnes 
 Thrilled through my heart at eventide ; 
 Sweet as the winds of orient climes, 
 
 That through the palms and olives glide. 
 Last eve I read each friendly word, 
 Limned with a poet's glorious art. 
 And oh I their music strangely stirred 
 An echo in my grateful heart. 
 
 I know that we have never met. 
 
 My hand has ne'er been clasped in thine ; 
 I have not heard thy voice, nor yet 
 
 Thy soul-lit eyes gazed into mine ; 
 But Fancy paints a golden dream 
 
 Of truth and poesy, to me ; 
 And forms of beauty round me gleam, 
 
 And then I fondly picture thee! 
 192 
 
A RESPONSE. 193 
 
 I wonder if some singing-bird 
 
 Hath built within thy heart its nest, 
 And warbled forth the strain I heard, 
 
 That soothed me to luxurious rest ? 
 3Ii7ie is a wild and untaught rhyme. 
 
 Such as the winds at evening sing, 
 That, floating down the stream of Time, 
 
 On some chance wave I dare to fling. 
 
 Accept this offering, poet, friend. 
 
 Penned with the kindest thoughts to thee ; 
 Accept a place till Time shall end, 
 
 Within my heart's sweet memory. 
 And if to thee dark hours shall come. 
 
 And weigh thy soul with grief and care, 
 Then hft thine eyes to heaven — thy home, 
 
 And trust in God, and meet me there! 
 
A HYMN. 
 
 MAKE me pure and meek and holy 
 Thou who for my ransom died ; 
 By thy cross I bend me lowly, 
 Dear Redeemer, crucified ! 
 
 Now to-day upon thine altar 
 
 All I consecrate to Thee ; 
 Let me never fail nor falter, 
 
 Ere I cross Death's fearful sea 1 
 
 And when earth grows dim and dying, 
 
 To the closing mortal eye ; 
 May I, on thy word relying, 
 
 Hope for immortality. 
 
 194 
 
TO MARY. 
 
 ^r^HESE precious flowers, sweet friend of mine, 
 
 X That shed their perfume round me now, 
 Are beautiful enough to twine 
 Around a sinless angel's brow ! 
 
 I love them Mary, for they oreathe 
 A thousand cherished things to me, 
 
 Such as we dreamers love to wreathe 
 In voiceless songs of poesy, 
 
 I love them that they are thy gift, 
 And hallowed by thy touch and love, 
 
 And gazing on them now they lift 
 
 My thoughts to fadeless blooms above. 
 
 Oh, may this little bunch of flowers 
 Make blessed all oiir love's fond ties, 
 
 Till in those never-fading bowers, 
 We gather flowers in Paradise. 
 
 19S 
 
aM"^'^ 
 

 
 
 
 
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