LIE OF CONGRESS. 
 
 .3.fc 
 
 Iielf. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
BLESSING. SHE IS BLESSED. 
 
DONATA 
 
 -A.3>TID OTHEK POEMS 
 
 
 BY ADipXAC. 
 £^_ 
 
 "■Her name was the true index to her life, 
 Dc-nata, given as a crown to earth." 
 
 BALTIMORE : 
 
 PUBLISHED STT TOH1T IB. PIET, 
 
 No. 174 West Baltimore Street. 
 
 1881. 
 

 3fe 
 
 Cincinnati, Ohio, September 2, 1880. 
 Miss Lily Whitaker (Adidnac) : 
 
 Respected Miss— Your poem entitled " Donata," published in the 
 Southern Quarterly Review for April last, I have read with a great deal of 
 pleasure. 
 
 I am glad to learn that you think of republishing it in book form. I 
 am satisfied that its beauties will charm its readers, and its pure and 
 elevated sentiments will warm their hearts to a holier love of the most 
 beautiful and the best. 
 
 Your servant in Christ, 
 
 t William Henry Elder, 
 Coadjutor to Archbishop of Cincinnati. 
 
 Bishop's House, Louisville, Ky., 16th Sept., 1880. 
 Miss Lily Whitaker: 
 
 The poem entitled " Donata," which you had the goodness to send 
 me, I have read with great pleasure ; and I cannot but think that you 
 would confer a lasting benefit on Catholics by allowing a poem of such 
 exquisite taste and beauty to be published in pamphlet form, so that it 
 might thus reach thousands who would not be likely to meet with it in 
 the pages of a review. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Miss "Whitaker, 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Wm. Geo. McCloskey, 
 
 Bishop of Louisville. 
 
 St. Xavier College, August 20, 1880. 
 It is with great pleasure that 1 read the poem, " Donata." It is a lit- 
 erary production of superior merit; the story is well told, in liquid, 
 blank verse. It is fully equal to Rogers' " Ginevra." 
 
 H. M. Calmer, S.J. 
 
 Copyright, John B. Fiet, 1880. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To Sister M # # * G * * * of St. Simeon's, 
 
 THE BELOVED TEACHER OF MY CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH; THE MODEL 
 WHOSE WORDS AND EXAMPLE HAVE INSPIRED MY BEST 
 THOUGHTS J AND THE FRIEND WHOSE INFLUENCE HAS 
 MOULDED MY LIFE, THESE POEMS ARE GRATE- 
 FULLY AND LOVINGLY DEDICATED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 Donata, -----____ i 
 
 Flora, ----_____ 28 
 
 Tfie Fourteenth of September, 33 
 
 The Lily, --_-____ 39 
 
 Minerva, -----____ 43 
 
 The Beginning and the End, - 46 
 The Heather, --------49 
 
 My Beautiful One, ------- 53 
 
 The Dove, ---------55 
 
 Those Eyes, ----__-_ 59 
 
 Before and After, ------- 60 
 
 The Rose, ________ q^ 
 
 To Little Robert, ------- qq 
 
 The Wedding of Cana, ______ eg 
 
 The Plague-Stricken City, ------ 72 
 
 Chrissle's Hair, ---____ 74 
 
 To Her I Love, ---_____ 75 
 
 Song of Greeting, ------- ~8 
 
 Holy Thursday, --_____ go 
 
 Easter Morning, ----___ §2 
 
 The Future, ________ §4 
 
 Under the Laurel, ______ §5 
 
 A Remembrance, - _____ 87 
 
 Memory, ________ g9 
 
 Stolen Roses, ----____ 93 
 
 The Empty Chair, ---____ 95 
 
DONATA 
 
 YpfiHE story I shall tell you is the same 
 s& y^f That you have heard or read a hundred times ; 
 •^ Nay, may yourself have acted part in one 
 As full of gladness, sorrow, light and shade. 
 For, deep in every human heart their lies 
 Some story, hidden from the gaze of men, 
 Some quiet spot, where memory loves to roam, 
 And gather flowers from the dead day's tomb ; 
 Some silent chord, which wakens at the toacli 
 Of kindred sorrow, echoing from the past 
 x\ strain of old familiar music, till 
 The eyes grow dim and heart goes out to heart. 
 Old as the story is it hath a charm 
 Which repetition cannot steal away ; 
 The influence of sympathy, which links 
 All men together in its subtle chain. 
 
 But, to my tale : 
 She was a simple child with the sweet dew 
 
2 DONATA. 
 
 Of innocence and purity undried 
 
 In her fresli heart, and on her outward form 
 
 The hand of lavish nature showered all 
 
 Her rarest gifts. The lily, bending low 
 
 Upon its graceful stalk, was not more fair ; 
 
 The rose blush of the clouds, when the proud sun 
 
 Sends his first kisses from the glowing east, 
 
 Was not more lovely than the hue which dyed 
 
 The velvet softness of her oval cheek ; 
 
 And the rich curls which clustered carelessly 
 
 About her head seemed blent of many shades, 
 
 With here and there a shining thread of gold. 
 
 In the dark azure eyes there was a depth 
 
 Of thought and tenderness and love, that told 
 
 Of the deep trust and truthfulness within. 
 
 A thousand little artless winning ways 
 
 Endeared her to all hearts ; her presence brought 
 
 A sunshine with it, and her merry laugh 
 
 Rang joyous from a soul untouched by guil. 
 
 Music she loved and flowers and the stars ; 
 
 The forest trees, the silver flowing brook ; 
 
 The poetry of nature made earth seem 
 
 Too beautiful to be aught but a dream. 
 
 There came a day when, robed in white, she knelt 
 For the first time, before the altar rail 
 
DON AT A. 6 
 
 Where angels veil their faces, and a hush 
 
 Fell o'er her spirit like a wondrous calm 
 
 That passeth understanding, and she felt 
 
 That to her heart the Dove of Peace had flown, 
 
 That God was hers, and she was all His own. 
 
 And so her heart's first love was fully given 
 
 With all the holiest thoughts that earth can offer heaven. 
 
 So passed the days, 
 The long bright, happy days of life's young spring; 
 And so Donata grew in beauty and in worth, 
 And all who knew her blessed the gentle girl. 
 Knowing no ill herself, she thought no ill 
 Of any one, but saw only the good 
 And beautiful in life. No shadow yet 
 Had fallen o'er her path ; the rosy hours 
 Flew by undarkened by a sign of storm. 
 
 He was a man, by partial nature formed 
 To win all hearts ; bold, manly, brave and true ; 
 Tall, with a broad, high brow and thoughtful eyes, 
 In whose clear depths the light of honor shone, 
 Noble and firm, yet gentle as a child ; 
 With a proud spirit, yet a tender heart, 
 Strong to protect and cherish what it loved, 
 Deeptoned his voice, like those rich chords which swell 
 
4 DON ATA. 
 
 From some grand organ in a silent church, 
 
 Yet it could be as low and softly sweet 
 
 As the light whisper of the summer breeze. 
 
 They met and loved, as only those can love 
 Whose thoughts are pure, whose hearts are undefiled ; 
 He, with the deep absorbing love of one 
 Who stakes his all upon a single chance. 
 He looked upon the maiden, and a new 
 Delicious gladness beautified the earth. 
 She was his one white dove, his one bright star 
 Whose radiance cast a halo o'er his life. 
 Every proud thought was centered in the wish 
 To call Donata his. 
 
 And she — words are powerless 
 To paint the pure, devoted, deathless trusts 
 Which woman gives when once her heart is won — 
 She was a child with a true woman's heart, 
 But far too young to understand the sad 
 Life's lesson she was learning day by day ; 
 She only knew that he was dear, and that 
 His absence made her lonely in a crowd. 
 No thought of self mingled its earthly dross 
 With the deep tenderness she gave to him. 
 But as the blossoms of some clinging vine 
 
DONATA. 
 
 Lift np their faces to the stately oak 
 With wondering admiration and no thought 
 Of their own beauty; so Donata looked 
 Upon Bernardo, seeing in him all 
 Lofty and noble attributes. 
 They read sweet stories in the mighty book 
 Of nature, and on every page she found 
 Some holy thought that lifted up their souls, 
 And made him look on her with reverence 
 As one too pure and high for earthly love. 
 Sometimes they watched the stars, as one by one, 
 They opened their bright eyes upon the earth, 
 And wondered what strange story of God's love 
 Each one might tell, if they had power to speak ; 
 Sometimes they sang together, and his voice 
 Blent its deep tones with the soft melody 
 Of hers, in quaint old songs and ballads, full 
 Of the same feeling that made both their hearts 
 Thrill with an echo, to be wakened oft 
 By the slight sound of some familiar note 
 When years and chango had drifted them apart. 
 Their love had nought of passion in it, not 
 At least, what men call j assion, but it was 
 A strong, far holier bond which sets its seal 
 Upon their lives: 
 
6 DOXATA. " 
 
 And so the days flew by; 
 The swift glad days of youth's first happy dream. 
 She did not care that fortune had not smiled 
 Her golden fickle smile on this dear love; 
 But he, with the proud nature of a man, 
 Longed for the power of wealth, that he might place 
 His own fair flower in a paradise. 
 He would not take the gentle, trusting child 
 From her fond mother and her happy home 
 To share life's stern realities with him. 
 She was so bright and pure that sorrow's storm 
 Would blight her with its first cold breath. 0, man, 
 How little, after all, you really know 
 Of woman's strength ; for, when she gives her love 
 She gives her all, home, friends and every tie, 
 E'en life itself, without a single wish 
 Save for the happiness of him she loves ! 
 Donata with Bernardo would have gone 
 To the world's end, and shared with him all cares 
 And trials with a joyous heart. 
 
 But he was blind, 
 And so he crushed his heart and spoke no Avord. 
 Yet, by thousand nameless signs she knew 
 That she was loved. Whene'er he spoke to her 
 His full voice softened to a gentle tone; 
 
DON ATA. 
 
 His grave eyes deepened into tenderness, 
 When resting on her face, and lighted up 
 With gladness at the sound of her sweet voice. 
 One day he brought her flowers, red roses, rich 
 And blushing, with a fragrance all their own. 
 Ah me ! how often in the after time 
 The perfume of red roses, such as they, 
 Called up sweet memories of that olden day! 
 And as she took them smiling from his hand, 
 And thanked him with her winning grace, he said : 
 
 " Donata, I am going far away, 
 To make my fortune in the golden land 
 Of sea-washed Peru, where all men grow rich 
 Who work in earnest for the shining ore, 
 And when I win it, and come home, dear child, 
 I'll bring you jewelled flowers, in the place 
 Of the red roses I have brought to-day. 
 And you must sometimes of Bernardo think and sing 
 The songs we learned together, and, at eve, 
 When all the stars come out, send up a prayer 
 For the lone wanderer on the western coast." 
 
 The girl stood still, 
 And all the joy seemed fading from her face, 
 Leaving a shadow where the light had been, 
 Like a dark cloud that sweeps o'er some fair isle, 
 
8 DON ATA. 
 
 Laughing in loveliness beneath the sun, 
 Till all its smiles are hidden by the storm. 
 Sharp to her heart a sudden pain had come, 
 Snapping some chord asunder with its force. 
 
 She did not speak at once 
 But looked down at the trembling flowers she held 
 With a strange absent wonder in her eyes 
 That they could still be beautiful, and then 
 A dimness shadowed them. She strove to still 
 Her throbbing heart that fluttered like a bird 
 Beating its wings against the fowler's net. 
 At length she answered him, but a great change 
 Had stolen from her voice its joyous ring. 
 Like the far distant ripple of a lake 
 That breaks upon a shore we cannot see, 
 The whisper came : 
 
 " Yes, I will pray for you." 
 'Twas all she said, but many times and oft 
 The music of that answer came to him, 
 Lifting his mind to high and holy things ; 
 Bousing his courage with the thought that she, 
 The purest of the pure, knelt at the shrine 
 Of purity itself and prayed for him. 
 He could not trust himself to speak again, 
 But took her hand and raised it to his lips 
 
DON ATA. 
 
 With the meek reverence he would give a saint. 
 And so they parted and he went his way, 
 And left her standing in the light alone — 
 A picture passing fair to look upon — 
 The sunshine streaming through her golding hair, 
 A shadow resting on the downcast face; 
 Snowy lids drooping with the weight of tears, 
 The sweet lips trembling with the look of pain, 
 And in the small white hands the roses red, 
 Like scarlet drops caught from a bleeding heart. 
 'Tis strange to think a child could feel so much ; 
 But strange as 'tis, 'tis true. 
 
 Back to the busy world 
 Donata went, giving no outward sign 
 Of what she felt; her spirit was too brave 
 To sadden other lives because her own 
 Had known a touch of sorrow. She was still 
 The same bright cheerful creature as of old, 
 The sunshine of her home, the singing bird 
 Whose warbling every listener paused to hear. 
 The promise of her childhood was outdone 
 By the rare loveliness that graced her youth; 
 'Tvvas not so much the features' perfect mould 
 As the expression shining from within, 
 Like the rich sparkle of a diamond seen 
 
10 DON ATA. 
 
 Through the clear waters of a crystal spring, 
 
 Time passed : 
 The bud had blown its half unfolded leaves, 
 And many sought to win and wear the flower — 
 But still Donata answered "no" to all. 
 Wealth sued in vain and station could not gain 
 Aught but a smile of kindness from her lips. 
 None dreamed that in her heart of hearts she kept 
 An unseen lamp that burned before the shrine 
 Of our dear face, with an undying light; 
 She kept her secret hidden well ; none knew 
 Of the fair flower of 'love she nursed for him, 
 The distant traveler in a foreign land. 
 In the gay world, 'mid pleasure's restless throng, 
 She thought of him alone; she sang the songs 
 He loved, with tender shadows darkling in 
 The depths of her blue eyes, and at the hour 
 When he had bade her lift her voice for him ; 
 She knelt and begged God's blessing on his way 
 With such a simple childish trust that He, 
 The Mighty One, looked down and smiled on both. 
 
 But, to the exile: 
 In the land of gold, where giant mountains rear 
 Their gothic turrets to the bending clouds, 
 Whose fruits and gorgeous flowers have been the theme 
 
DON ATA. 11 
 
 Of many a wondrous tale and poet's song, 
 Where monarch forests lift their lofty heads, 
 And bend their spreading limbs o'er the rich soil, 
 Where mighty veins and arteries of ore, 
 Stretching up from the throbbing heart of earth, 
 Lie waiting for the hand of man to coin 
 Them into shining wealth and glittering toys — 
 Bernardo wandered, seeking long in vain, 
 For the rich treasure he had come to win ; 
 And still he labored, toiling night and day 
 Deep in the teeming bowels of the earth, 
 Until his cheek grew pale, his strong arm weak; 
 But ever at his side a spirit stood 
 Wearing the face of the sweet child he loved, 
 That whispered words of hope to cheer him on. 
 And when he cast his tired body down 
 To steal an hour of rest, she came to him, 
 In happy dreams with her bright girlish smile. 
 
 He had no picture of Donata save 
 The one he carried hidden in his breast, 
 But he would often pause, with the great drops 
 Of labor on his brow, to think of her, 
 And wonder what she did in the far home, 
 Where other eyes could look upon her face, 
 
12 DONATA. 
 
 And watch the growing beauty hid from him. 
 She was so closely twined abont his life 
 That losing her would be like death itself. 
 Whene'er he passed a wild flower in his way, 
 He lefc it blooming for Donata's sake, 
 And when he listened to the rippling stream, 
 Or heard the glad birds carroling their songs 
 Of happiness, his thoughts went back to her, 
 Whose influence stretched across the continent 
 And moulded all his life to noble deeds. 
 
 Sometimes 
 A fellow worker in the damp dark mines, 
 Fainting with toil and disappointed hope, 
 Would yield to sickness and lie down to die ; 
 Then would Bernardo, with a gentle hand, 
 Lift up the weary head and cool the burning brow 
 Soothing the sufferer with kind words of cheer, 
 And winning back to life the half-flown soul. 
 His gentle manners and his lonely life, 
 Free from the vices known to common men, 
 Made the rough miners look on him as some 
 Superior spirit dwelling in their midst. 
 In every scene of danger, grief or sin, 
 Donata was the shield that kept him safe. 
 
DON AT A. 13 
 
 He pictured her grown up to womanhood 
 With all the added graces time had given, 
 And looked with longing to the joyous day, 
 When, rich and prosperous, he would hasten back 
 To the dear home and claim her for his own. 
 Weeks grew to months, 
 The months to weary years, and still the girl 
 Had heard no word from him, save, now and then, 
 Some message to a friend that he was well, 
 And working earnestly with faith and hope: 
 She did not think it strange; trust was too strong 
 In her brave soul to leave a place for doubt, 
 She only waited patiently and felt 
 That all would right itself in God's good time 
 And so it did. * * * * 
 
 At length a change came over both their lives ; 
 Donata was more grave and quiet now 
 Than in the old, bright, childish days that seemed 
 So long ago. She spent her leisure hours 
 In reading stories from the saintly lives 
 Of the first martyrs to the faith of Christ, 
 And wondered, if, had she been living in 
 That ancient time, she would have borne herself 
 As brave as they; she did not realize 
 Th.3 strength of her own nature, nor the weight 
 
14: DON ATA. 
 
 Of the heart's sacrifice when freely given. 
 
 She loitered often at the vesper hour 
 
 In the still church, and watched the shadows creep, 
 
 Like silent spirits, to the altar door, 
 
 Wishing that she could always linger near, 
 
 Like them, unto the hidden God within. 
 
 Oft at the birth of day, ere yet the stars 
 
 Had closed their sleepy eyes, or the bright dew 
 
 Been gathered from the grateful earth, she went 
 
 Up the dim aisles and lowly knelt before 
 
 The sacred shrine whence flows all grace and peace ; 
 
 And when she listened to the silver bell 
 
 That tinkles when the solemn words are said, 
 
 Great throbs of awe beat in her trembling soul, 
 
 Till all was stilled in the deep, silent joy, 
 
 Of folding to her heart the Holy One. 
 
 The human was fast fading from her life, 
 
 Like the dissolving shades, at morning seen, 
 
 Slowly but surely melting into light ; 
 
 Not that she loved Bernardo less, but God the more, 
 
 For He beheld her spotless purity, 
 
 And drew her daily closer to Himself. 
 
 She felt a longing deep desire to give 
 
 Herself to Him alone, who once had given 
 
 His life for her upon the tree of death. 
 
DON ATA. 15 
 
 Around her seemed to fall a veil that hid 
 The giddy pleasures of the world from sight ; 
 They were too passing, too unreal to give 
 The lasting happiness she yearned to know. 
 The sweet elixir of her life flowed back 
 To the clear fountain whence it first had sprung. 
 
 But still the battle was not over yet. 
 In dreams, Bernardo's face would often come 
 And look on her, with the kind eyes she knew 
 So well ; and often, in the hour of prayer 
 She seemed to hear the echo of his voice, 
 Deep-toned and earnest, joining with her own. 
 Sometimes the thought that he might come again, 
 And ask her to be his, would find its way 
 Into her mind with an o'ermastering power, 
 To draw her back to earth and his dear side, 
 And she w T ould ask herself — 
 
 " Could I be willing then to give him up, 
 And never, never, see his face again ? " 
 
 It was a question fall of bitterness, 
 That bowed her head and filled her eyes with tears. 
 She struggled bravely, and the answer cams 
 With the far music of that mystic song, 
 Sang by the few who wander with the Lamb. 
 God bent the flower to earth, bat broke it for himself. 
 
16 DONATA. 
 
 Kneeling one day in her accustomed place, 
 A felt, though unseen, presence seemed to come 
 And hover near, as though an angel's wings 
 AVere folded round her, and a spirit hand 
 Led her from darkness into light again. 
 The vine unclasped its tendrils from the oak, 
 Standing one instant, swaying in the wind, 
 Then cast them loving upon the Rock, 
 The mighty "Rock of Ages," there to rest 
 In love and trust forever. 
 
 Up from her lips 
 The answer rose, like incense from the depths 
 Of burning censers swung by angel hands. 
 "Yes, all, my God! to Thee I offer all 
 That I have power to give. Thy love alone 
 Shall dwell unrivalled in Donata's heart, 
 Where Thou hast stamped the image of Thy face, 
 Divine and suffering. No human hand 
 Can take Thee from me now, my love, my all ! 
 And I am Thine forever, only Thine! " 
 
 The cloud was rifted, every shadow fled 
 Before the light that streamed around the girl. 
 Her's was no fickle nature prone to change, 
 With every wavering circumstance of life; 
 But brave and constant as the steadfast stars 
 
DONATA. IT 
 
 That follow, with undeviating course, 
 
 The path marked out for them on high by Him 
 
 Who set them sparkling in the crown of night. 
 
 But to Bernardo : Wealth had come at last 
 
 Falling about him in a golden shower, 
 
 Till at his feet the yellow treasure smiled, 
 
 As though to recompense his faithful toil, 
 
 And the long years of labor spent in vain. 
 
 High and still higher grew the pile, until 
 
 He knew that he had won the envied prize. 
 
 Not that he valued the pale dust itself, 
 
 But only for the power it offered him, 
 
 To place Donata in a queenly home. 
 
 One night he dreamed he saw her, robed in white, 
 
 Crowned with a wreath of roses ; her fair hands 
 
 Folded across her breast, as though she held. 
 
 Some precious jewel that she feared, to lose; 
 
 And, as he looked, the old. familiar smile 
 
 Played for an instant round the parted lips. 
 
 He spoke to her and. strove to reach her side, 
 
 But then a sudden mist arose between, 
 
 Through which he could not pass and from it came 
 
 In whispered tones : 
 
 "God bless you/' and "Farewell." 
 Then the sweet vision faded, from his sight, 
 
18 DONATE. 
 
 The strong man woke with a glad sigh to feel 
 That the dim mist was but a baseless dream. 
 Alas ! how little earth's philosophies, 
 AVith all their vaunted wisdom, can explain 
 The slight connecting link that rests between 
 The real that we know and that vast realm 
 Of the unreal that lies so near to it ; 
 Even the simple mystery of dreams 
 Is a closed book whose clasp defies their strength. 
 
 Up from his troubled sleep 
 Bernardo rose and homeward turned his steps. 
 At length the day had come for which he longed, 
 And, ere another moon should fill and wane, 
 lie would be with Donata once again ; 
 The restless yearning he had crushed so long 
 Swelled like a tempest that would have its way, 
 Urging him onward with impatient speed; 
 Each moment seemed an hour, each mile a league. 
 Over the dancing waves the vessel flew 
 Kissing their frothy crests, like some great bird 
 With wings outspread that skims along the sea, 
 Kuffling its bosom on the briny deep : 
 At night the phosphorescent glow lit up 
 The darkened scene, as though ten thousand stars 
 
DON AT A. 19 
 
 Had fallen from the sky upon the ocean's lap, 
 Sparkling and twinkling with their restless eyes 
 On the calm, qivet stars above. 
 
 When morning rose 
 In the far east and sent her shafts of light, 
 Like golden arrows shooting through the clouds, 
 Driving the gray mask from the face of day, 
 The waves put on a robe of varied hue 
 To match the changing colors of the sky. 
 All things were glorious to Bernardo now 
 For he was homeward bound. 0! home, sweet home! 
 The exile's haven and the wanderer's hope, 
 How many hallowed memories cling to thee ! 
 
 At last the vessel glided up 
 The clear bright waters of the Chesapeake, 
 And cast its anchor in the friendly soil. 
 Bernardo leapt ashore with that delight 
 Which we must ever feel when coming back, 
 After long absence, to a spot we love. 
 
 They met again — 
 The strong man and the fairhaired girl, that he 
 Had left a child, ages ago it seemed. 
 She came to meet him with the old sweet smile 
 That he had seen so often in his dreams, 
 Bidding him welcome with the same low voice 
 
20 DONATA. 
 
 Which had been always music to his ear. 
 
 And then he told her all, the deep, true love, 
 
 Which had been more than life itself to him. 
 
 That he had kept it silent from the first, 
 
 Because he had no wealth to give with it; 
 
 How he had traveled to the far off land 
 
 To seek for gold, with the one hope, that he 
 
 Might come again and lay it at her feet 
 
 For whose dear sake alone he valued it. 
 
 He spoke of all that she had been to him ; 
 
 A guardian spirit living at his side, 
 
 Whose image, as a light, had ever shone, 
 
 Cheering him in the weary hours of toil, 
 
 When darkness dwelt around him in the mines; 
 
 How thoughts of her had nerved his arm with strength, 
 
 And lent him energy in danger's hour: 
 
 Then told of the glad day when first he saw 
 
 The metal glitter in the solid rock, 
 
 By the dim lantern's light that swung o'erhead; 
 
 How, as he gathered up the heavy ere, 
 
 His thoughts flew over land and wave to her. 
 
 ' ; And now, Donata, I have come to ask 
 
 The recompense of my long faithful love. 
 
 In all the crowded world of hearts, there is 
 
 But one, that I would care to call my own, 
 
DONATA. 21 
 
 Without it, earth will be a dreary wast?, 
 And I, a wanderer, without hope or aim. 
 Give me your heart and I will cherish it 
 With the strong deep devotion of a life." 
 
 Donata listened with her head bowed low, 
 And a great struggle going on within ; — 
 Not that she wavered for an instant's space, 
 Or thought with sorrow of what she had done, 
 But it was anguish keen to torture one 
 Who placed such trust and confidence in her. 
 She saw how much he loved her, and she knew 
 That it would be a bitter thing indeed, 
 To find that he had cherished but a dream, 
 And have the cup of gladness dashed away 
 Just as Hope held it sparkling to his lips; 
 He looked so brave and manly standing there, 
 Pleading his cause with tender earnestness 
 To her, whose hand must deal the cruel blow! 
 It was a galling trial to her soul, 
 But in the crucible her spirit turned 
 To Him for strength Who never hears unmoved 
 The cry for help from any creature's heart. 
 
 She found her voice at last, 
 And, lifting up her eyes, bine violets, wet 
 
22 DOXATA. 
 
 With large bright tears, she spoke to him, in soft, 
 
 Low accents full of gentleness: — 
 
 "Bernardo, I would gladly give my life 
 
 To save you from one moment's needless pain. 
 
 I too have thought of you and prayed by night and day, 
 
 That God would hold you in His mighty hand, 
 
 And keep you always constant, strong and brave, 
 
 Blessing each enterprise in which you strove. 
 
 But what you ask of me I cannot give, 
 
 For I had freely given all to Him — 
 
 Before you came. You would not have me break 
 
 My faith with God ! Should I be false to Him, 
 
 How could I then be true to any one ? 
 
 I did not know, in all these long, long years, 
 
 That I was more to you than a mere child : 
 
 And it is better so ; I am not worth 
 
 What you have done and suffered for my sake. 
 
 The way that I have chos3n I must go, 
 
 Nor would I change it for a thousand worlds : 
 
 The only sorrow of my life will be, 
 
 That I have been the one to cause you grief. " 
 
 " Donata, this is more than I can bear, 
 You are too young," he said, "you do not know 
 What you are doing, thus to send me back 
 
DON ATA. 23 
 
 Into the lonely world, a broken man, 
 
 With the glad sunshine banished from my life 
 
 And nothing left to me but memory ! 
 
 God is too good to ask a sacrifice 
 
 So great as this ! What have I done that He 
 
 Should rob me of the only thing I love ? " 
 
 " What had He done," she said, "that He should bleed 
 And die to purchase happiness for us ! " 
 " Oh ! hush, Bernardo, talk not thus, but turn 
 To Him, and lay your burden on His breast, 
 And He will smooth all sorrow from your way ! 
 I too will beg of Him to lift your soul 
 Out of the shadow of this passing grief, 
 And send you comfort in the years to come." 
 And so she strove to soothe him with kind words, 
 Hiding her own heart's anguish from his sight. 
 'Twas strange to see the fragile, trembling vine 
 Giving support to the storm shaken oak. 
 
 Yet he would not be satisfied ; 
 His deep chest heaved, his firm lips quivered still ; 
 And still he pleaded every argument 
 Known to the logic of farsighted love : 
 
 But she was firm ; 
 Firm as a rock against whose solid crest 
 
2± DONATA. 
 
 The waves of the ocean foam and fret in vain ; 
 
 At last he smiled a weary smile and turned away ; 
 
 But not before the girl had time to say, 
 
 "God bless you'' and "farewell;" the words brought 
 
 back 
 The dream that had so troubled him a few 
 Short weeks ago, but now he could not wake, 
 For this was stern reality. 
 And so they parted for the second time. 
 He went his way with heavy step and slow ; 
 She with a brave true heart that trusted on ; 
 The bitter chalice had been offered both, 
 And both had drained it to the blackened dregs, 
 But at the bottom she had found a pearl 
 Of priceless worth, though great had been the cost. 
 His love was human ; her love was divine ; 
 His fed on sorrow from its very birth ; 
 Her's drew its substance from eternal joy; 
 A shadow his, at which he grasped in vain, 
 And her's a living presence of delight! 
 
 Years passed : 
 Bernardo wandered over many lands, 
 Tossed, like a wave at sea, from place to place, 
 Restless and weary of the empty world. 
 But Time, the healer, soothed his first wild grief, 
 
DONATA. 25 
 
 And after twice ten years had glided by, 
 He met with one whose looks and gentle ways 
 Reminded him of her, his old child love. 
 He told the story of his life, and she, 
 With quiet gladness, took him to her heart, 
 Making earth pleasant to the lonely man. 
 The memory of Donata was not dead, but live 1 
 With him, a holy influence to good: 
 He felt the power of her prayers in all 
 The peace and quiet that had come to him; 
 And when he saw a child with shining hair, 
 And soft blue eyes, he loved it for her sake. 
 
 She went her chosen way 
 To the far hills of Maryland, and there 
 Became a daughter of St. Vincent's band. 
 Her soft, bright curls gave place to the white wings 
 That speak of rest and peace and inward joy. 
 Few knew the story of her sacrifice, 
 But all revered, nay, almost worshipped her. 
 She did not live in dreams, but actively, 
 Sending around her streams of sympathy 
 From the deep well that bubbled in her soul, 
 From which the wounded spirit rose refreshe:!. 
 She was a sun, not to one life alone, 
 But yielded strength and warmth to many hearts. 
 
26 DONATA. 
 
 When war's loud trumpet rang from North to South, 
 Bousing brave men to battle in the cause 
 Of home and country; when the ground was red 
 With the rieh blood of heroes, shed in vain, 
 And hospitals were crowded with the dead 
 And dying; she was foremost in the throng 
 Of busy workers in the wards of death, 
 Cheering the parting one with words of peace 
 And smoothing the damp hair from the cold brow. 
 Full many a soldier hushed the moan of pain 
 When her light footstep sounded on his ear, 
 And many a glazing eye was lifted up 
 With gratitude to the fair face that brought 
 A thought of home and Heaven to the soul: 
 Nor was her tranquil life without its share 
 Of earthly trials ; those she held most dear 
 Passed, one by one, away into the tomb — 
 She gave them tears and memory; but kept 
 The old bright cheerfulness about her still. 
 Sisters and children and the lowly poor. 
 All brightened in her pesence, for she had 
 A smile and tear for every joy and woe; 
 She soothed the brow of suffering and calmed down 
 The cry of passion in the angry heart ; 
 Back to the altar many souls she drew 
 
DONATA. 27 
 
 That had been wandering far away from God, 
 And many more in youth and innocence 
 That were, like her, unsullied by a stain. 
 
 Did she forget Bernardo or dispise 
 The memory of the old bright, days ? 0, no ! 
 She blent his name with many a silent prayer, 
 That brought God's benediction on his life. 
 The love that she had known, but made her feel 
 The more for others in their hour of strife : 
 It had not marred the music of the harp, 
 But only tuned the strings to higher notes ; 
 The ripple of the fountain was not hushed, 
 But only hidden from the ears of men. 
 Her name was the true index to her life, 
 Donata, Given as a crown to earth. 
 
FLORA. 
 
 i -. ■ 
 
 J^ff HERE the fountain of Helicon sparkled in light, 
 ;&" And the Muses enchantingly sang, 
 •^ In the blue of Olympus, all smiling and bright, 
 From the gray-bearded Saturn I sprang. 
 
 Imperial Juno, my sister and queen, 
 
 Old Jove, with his hyacinth hair, 
 And all the high gods who adorned the fair scene 
 
 Were delighted to welcome me there. 
 
 The beautiful Houris, that wait on the dawn, 
 
 Endued me with roseate hue, 
 And fairy Aurora, the Queen of the Morn, 
 
 Cast o'er me a mantle of dew. 
 
 The shining Apolo breathed over my hair 
 
 A silken-like tissue of gold, 
 While silver l>iana, the chaste and the fair, 
 
 Conferred on me swiftness untold. 
 
FLORA. 
 
 The snowy-armed Venus unfastened her zone, 
 Which around me she gracefully drew; 
 
 Minerva bestowed on my eyes, from her own, 
 A shade of their beautiful blue. 
 
 The trio of Graces then placed on my head 
 
 A wreath whose delicious perfume 
 Around me like delicate incense was shed, 
 
 As it glowed with ambrosial bloom. 
 
 Then Bacchus distilled, from a heavenly vine, 
 
 The nectar that goddessess drink, 
 While ruby-lipped Hebe presented the wine, 
 
 As it danced on the cup's jewelled brink. 
 
 Attended by Iris, I mounted a car, 
 
 And caught up the glittering reins, 
 Then through the soft clouds I rolled onward afar, 
 
 Over mountains and valleys and plains. 
 
 I stopped at Hymettus to gather the dew, 
 
 And I bathed in Castalia's fount; 
 Then straight to Hesperides' garden I flew, 
 
 Pausing near the Parnassian Mount. 
 
30 FLORA. 
 
 The muse-haunted valley of Tempe I passed, 
 
 And gathered a sparkling sheen, 
 Which over the dun colored meadows I cast, 
 
 And changed them to emerald green. 
 
 The Daisies and Cowslips sprang up as I trod, 
 And the Buttercups laughed in my way, 
 
 And the Daffodils nodded all over the sod, 
 As they opened their eyes to the day. 
 
 The Eglantine blushed as it saw me advance, 
 And the clover blooms peeped from their bed, 
 
 The Mosses and Lichens all joined in a dance, 
 While the Woodbine waved over my head. 
 
 I entered the forest and paused in its shade, 
 
 To scatter my treasures around, 
 Where Marigolds brightened and wild flowers swayed, 
 
 As they bowed their fair heads to the ground. 
 
 I lingered awhile by the soft flowing stream, 
 Then stretched o'er its dimples my wand, 
 
 A thousand new buds, like a sudden sunbeam, 
 Arose o'er its murmuring strand. 
 
FLORA. 31 
 
 The white Water-Flags and the blue Meur-de-Lis 
 
 Floated joyously over the rill, 
 While Jonquils and Pansies laughed out on the lea, 
 
 And Anemones bloomed on the hill. 
 
 The Star Blossoms twinkled, the Mignonette sighed, 
 
 Forget- Me-Nots hastened to bloom, 
 A deeper carnation the double Pink dyed, 
 
 While the Thistle unruffled its plume. 
 
 The varied Verbenas and Tulips so gay 
 
 I painted with exquisite art, 
 The pale Rose of Provence I gave to the day, 
 
 And opened the Foxglove's red heart. 
 
 The virginal Lily looked lovingly up, 
 
 As I breathed on her chalice of snow, 
 The delicate Harebell uplifted its cup, 
 
 And the Dahlias all deepened their glow. 
 
 I kissed the Pied Roses that crimsoned with pride, 
 
 The Malmaison, tinted with gold, 
 The soft velvet cheek of the Heartsease I dyed, 
 
 And bade the Althea unfold. 
 
32 FLORA. 
 
 The grave looking Heliotrope, rich with perfume, 
 
 The Hyacinths, purple and white, 
 The sweet, lowly Violet, hiding its bloom, 
 
 My presence all hailed with delight. 
 
 The Primrose of evening, when daylight had fled, 
 
 And Ceres, the night-blooming queen, 
 Unfolded their bosoms, sweet odors to shed, 
 
 Trembling soft in the moon's silver sheen. 
 
 As I gracefully wandered through forest and dell, 
 
 Young Zephyr beheld me with joy, 
 In music he whispered, " I love you so well ! " 
 
 And I wedded the beautiful boy. 
 
 When the spring and the summer have both passed away, 
 
 I fly to the regions above, 
 But always return with the radiant May, 
 
 To tend on the flowers I love. 
 
THE FOURTEENTH OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Du!ce et Decorum pro Patria Mori. 
 
 T;N the gray East", upon the verge of night, 
 t 7||^ 9 Stood, wrapt in mist, the spirit of the morn, 
 ■"• The gentle hours unveiled her blushes bright; 
 Aurora smiled, and golden light was born. 
 
 Light rippled o'er old Mississippi's breast, 
 
 Light called the sea birds from their transient rest, 
 
 Light streamed through cypress groves and orange 
 
 bowers, 
 And waked to life Septembers fading flowers, 
 Light gilded spires and kissed the gravestones white ; 
 Fair morning smiled, and man awoke to light. 
 
 From the cold North another spirit came, 
 Frowning and dark and of gigantic frame — 
 Clad in the spoils rent from our Southern land, 
 Scourges and chains within his iron hand ; 
 Scourges to teach proud rebels to obey — 
 Chains for the sons of those who wore the gray. 
 
3-i THE FOURTEENTH OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Lovelier than light and more than lillies fair, 
 The sunlight streaming through her golden hair, 
 The gentle angel of the South came forth, 
 Before the frowning tyrant of the North ; 
 Tears dimmed the downcast violet of her eyes, 
 Her head was bowed, her bosom heaved with sighs. 
 
 Hushed was her song of joy, her voice of pride, 
 And Plenty's horn hung empty at her side ; 
 Her high-souled sons, the generous and the brave, 
 Lay mouldering in the patriot's bloody grave, 
 And foeman trod the land that gave her birth, 
 The fairest, sweetest land that decks the earth. 
 Yet there she stood, a monument of wrong, 
 Too deep for vengeance and too sad for song! 
 
 Proud 'midst the three, her tall plumes waving high, 
 Eed lightning flashing from her warlike eye, 
 Cased in bright steel, a shield upon her breast, 
 And Freedom stamped upon her burnished crest: 
 Grand as some rock that beetles o'er the sea, 
 Stood forth the giant form of Liberty. 
 
 Delighted Morn her welcome presence knew, 
 And o'er her mail a shinins: mantle threw, 
 
THE FOURTEENTH OF SEFTEMBEE. 35 
 
 The weeping South, rejoicing, met her look, 
 
 But at her glance the Northern spirit shook. 
 
 Down through the hanging clouds they took their way, 
 
 To where the Cresent Empress sleeping lay. 
 
 "Awake, sad city, from your dream of pain ! 
 Arouse, brave boys, and break the despot's chain ! 
 Remember those who died our land to save, 
 Your fathers, boys, the noble and the brave ! 
 
 To arms ! ye veterans of the Southern cause, 
 Fight once again for Freedom's righteous laws ! 
 Put on once more, the well loved cloth of gray 
 And make immortal this eventful day. 
 
 Take down the swords, but too long left to rust, 
 And from your laurels brush the gathering dust; 
 Not for revenge, but to defend the right — 
 Eemember this, and God will lend His might ! " 
 
 Not vain the call — up rose a gallant throng, 
 Too long down-trodden and oppressed too long: 
 Fired by the ancient spirit of their race, 
 Which death defied and never brooked disgrace. 
 
36 THE FOURTEENTH OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 There, side by side, with beardless boys, was seen 
 The gray-haired warrior of majestic mien — 
 Dauntless they stood, there faltered not a man, 
 Grim death before them, Ogden in their van ! 
 
 Loud roared the cannon's mouth, and, rising high, 
 Was heard, once more, the Southern battle cry, 
 As in the ranks led by our deathless Lee, 
 The shout went up— "We will, we will be free ! " 
 
 " Give back our birthright homes, our father's graves ! 
 Off with your chains ! We were not born for slaves ! 
 Give back our honor, won by land and sea ! 
 Give back our freedom ! for we will be free ! " 
 
 " Not wealth, not power, not all the vengeful North, 
 Can crush the indignant spirit of the South ! " 
 Then the exultant voice of Liberty, 
 Shouting replied, "Ye shall, ye shall be free! " 
 
 Where thickest flew the shot, bold Ogden rode, 
 And at his side the fearless Pleasants strode ; 
 Roused by the eloquence of Lord and Marr, 
 McGloin led forth his squadron to the war. 
 
THE FOURTEENTH OF SEFTEMBEK. 37 
 
 While Pierce and Mitchel dauntlessly rushed on 
 And Brans and Glyn undying laurels won, 
 Where all were great, who shall be greatest named, 
 The lost, the living, all beloved, all famed ! 
 
 Short was the fight, the mercenaries fled, 
 But Southern soil with Southern blood was red. 
 Then Richard Lindsey gave himself to fame, 
 And Toledano won a hero's name. 
 
 Brave Newman's ardent spirit took its flight, 
 And many a patriot's eyes were closed in night ; 
 Each martyr there, who for his country died, 
 In memory lives, that country's boasted pride. 
 
 The chains were broken in the tyrant's hand, 
 Frightened, the Northern spirit sought his land, 
 The day, triumphant, downward sank to rest, 
 And evening, rose with stars upon her breast. 
 
 The angel of the South, low bowed no more, 
 With joyous footsteps trod her own loved shore; 
 Sad 'midst her joy, she lifts her lovely head, 
 Tears still are hers, but these are for her dead. 
 
38 THE FOURTEENTH OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Shine down, stars, from your bright homes on high— 
 Softly ye wild autumnal breezes sigh — 
 Lament, ye sad birds of the echoing vale, 
 Send up, daughters of the South, your wail ! 
 
 Wail for the cold, dead, faces by your side, 
 In life your solace and in death your pride ! 
 Wail for the voices that no longer thrill ! 
 And for the white hands folded now so still ! 
 
 Wail for the pale brows with the death dews damp ! 
 AVail for the closed eye, once the soul's bright lamp ! 
 Wail for the true hearts that for freedom bled! 
 O, Avail forever for our patriot dead ! 
 
 The stars looked sadly down, the wail was hushed, 
 The angels smiled, though broken hearts were crushed 
 Gladly they welcomed to the heavenly day, 
 Oar dearly loved, our early passed away. 
 
 Cut off like blossoms gathered for the tomb, 
 They fade from earth, but bright above they bloom; 
 Though young in years, they wear the martyrs crown, 
 And future times shall hallow their renown! 
 
THE LILY. 
 
 ^ARK and damp was the narrow coll, 
 'fpl Where my heart began its throbbing— 
 & Close and cold 
 
 Was the earthly mould, 
 That held me down in its clammy fold, 
 And the winds above were sobbing. 
 
 Then came the days of the early spring— 
 
 The month of smiles and weeping- 
 April the fair, 
 With tender care, 
 
 Who wove of sunbeams her shining hair, 
 
 Awoke the seedlings sleeping. 
 
 Soft and warm glowed the genial sun, 
 As a beam to my heart he darted ; 
 
 The amber ray 
 
 Of the joyous day 
 On the bosom of earth, as it trembling lay, 
 New life to my soul imparted. 
 
40 TIIE LILY. 
 
 Bright and clear in their silvery spray, 
 Fell the soothing, balmy, showers; 
 
 And entered the earth, 
 
 Waking to birth, 
 With a touch of joy and a ripple of mirth, 
 All the lovely, fairy flowers. 
 
 I throbbed and swelled and swelling burst 
 Through the wall of my bulbous prison, 
 
 Through the yielding clay, 
 
 I found my way 
 To a spot where the early sunbeams lay, 
 Just as the day had risen. 
 
 Freshly green, through the moistened sod 
 I peeped with trembling wonder, 
 
 From the lowly sod, 
 
 To the face of God 
 Who made me spring from the mouldy clod, 
 And broke my bonds asunder. 
 
 Firm and tall grew my graceful stalk, 
 To the breath of the breezes swaying, 
 
 In the rosy dawn 
 
 Of the early morn, 
 When dew drops cover the jeweled lawn, 
 And when evening winds are playing. 
 
THE LILY. 41 
 
 Strong and swift through my floral veins 
 I felt the sweet sap flowing, 
 
 As it mounted up 
 
 To the waxen cup, 
 To form the nectar that honey bees sup, 
 And aid the petals growing. 
 
 Leaf after leaf sprang out of my stem, 
 Arrow-like, graceful, declining; 
 
 All dripping with dew, 
 
 Neath the beautiful blue 
 Where the eye of God keeps looking through, 
 And the stars at eve are shining. 
 
 Soft and young rose an oval bud, 
 
 At the top of the green leaves bending, 
 
 On a lovely day, 
 
 In the month of May, 
 I opened my heart to the warm sun ray 
 Around me perfume sending. 
 
 Six petals fair unfolded then, 
 In their snowy waxen beauty, 
 
 And the pistil tall, 
 
 With the stamens all, 
 Sprang into being at nature's call, 
 To beautify life, their duty. 
 
42 THE LILY. 
 
 The golden dust, like a yellow veil, 
 
 On my stamens soft was lying, 
 And the wine of dew 
 Through my fibers flew, 
 
 And deep in my bosom hid from view, 
 
 While zeyhyrs were gently sighing. 
 
 I grow in almost every land, 
 I bloom by every fountain ; 
 
 On Nile's broad breast 
 
 My floating crest 
 Is hailed with joy — an omen blest ; 
 And I deck the shady mountain. 
 
 They pluck me for the bridal day, 
 When all is joy and gladness, 
 
 And I yield my breath 
 
 In the house of death, 
 And I bloom o'er graves on the lonely heath, 
 Where all is dreary sadness. 
 
 In the dim and shadowy days of eld 
 The time of fabled story, 
 
 In the olden days 
 
 When the golden lays 
 Of the Master Minstrel spoke my praise, 
 And clothed me with spotless glory. 
 
MINERVA. 43 
 
 I neither sow, nor reap nor spin, 
 Nor gather at the gleaning, 
 
 But a Mighty Hand, 
 
 In the deathless land, 
 My being and beauty and sweetness planned, 
 And gave me heavenly meaning. 
 
 I love to dress the God-made earth, 
 To smile in hall and bower ; 
 
 But a sweeter place, 
 
 Where I veil my face, 
 Is the altar door whence flows all grace, 
 Where the Mighty hides His power. 
 
 MINERVA 
 
 An Autobiography. 
 
 ^ 
 
 J^HEN Jove, the father of the gods, felt pain 
 Sffx' Within the mighty chambers of his brain, 
 
 ^ Yulcan advanced, and, with a single stroke, 
 Smote the imperial head, which thundering broke ; 
 I issued from the gash, heaven's blue-eyed maid, 
 In all the majesty of strength arrayed: 
 
44 MINERVA. 
 
 Bright on my golden locks a helmet beamed, 
 The immortal iEgis on my right arm gleamed — 
 Encased in armor, splendor round me played, 
 High o'er my brow the war plume cast its shade, 
 On my left shoulder, winking in the light, 
 Emblem of Wisdom, sat the bird of night — 
 The startled gods beheld me with amaze, 
 And admiration marked their wondering gaze. 
 
 From where Olympus meets the bending skies, 
 I cast o'er earth the lightning of my eyes; 
 As the small globe round on its axis flew, 
 I marked each town that passed before my view, 
 Chose from among them, for my seat of power, 
 Athens, the fair, the Muses' favorite bower ; 
 Green haired old Neptune dared dispute the prize 
 With me the virgin goddess of the skies — 
 Jove nodding, smiled and bade us try our fate, 
 By worthiest present to the Grecian state. 
 His gift a horse, and mine the olive tree — 
 The gods applauding, gave the prize to me. 
 
 Next young Arachne, filled, with foolish pride, 
 Me to a contest at the loom defied — 
 Forewarned in vain, she tried her mortal skill, 
 And felt my vengeance in her bosom thrill, 
 
MINERVA. 45 
 
 The shining beauties that her person graced, 
 A homely spider's awkward form replaced ; 
 Doomed evermore to hang twixt earth and sky, 
 And weave a web to catch the unwary fly; 
 Thus always must the unequal contest end, 
 When Wisdom high and earth-born power contend. 
 
 'Tvvas I the martial Greeks to triumph led 
 When Troy first learned to bow her haughty head ; 
 Achilles fired with wrath and lust of fame 
 And rendered deathless the Achaian name. 
 Safe, through all dangers, to his native shore, 
 My guardian care the great Ulysses bore ; 
 Preserved Penelope from every snare, 
 Restored its king to Ithaca the fair, 
 And gladdened old Laertes failing eyes, 
 With sight once more of Ithacus the wise. 
 In Mentor's form, Telemachus I taught 
 All manly action and all noble thought; 
 Filled his young heart with every good desire, 
 And lei the son to emulate the sire. 
 
 Not to the days of ancient Greece alone 
 Do I confine the empire of my throne. 
 The arts of war and wisdom still I sway — 
 All brave men love me, all wise men obey. 
 
46 THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 
 
 The queenly Juno, Venus the divine, 
 
 Neptune and Pluto and the heavenly Nine, 
 
 Diana swift, Apollo, god of light, 
 
 And warlike Mars, who rules the field of fight, 
 
 Smiling Aurora, Ganymede the fair, 
 
 And grand old Saturn, crowned with silver hair ; 
 
 E'en Jove himself resigned his mighty sway, 
 
 And, with the age of fable, passed away. 
 
 Not so Minerva ; in each Christian breast 
 
 Wisdom remains, a well beloved guest; 
 
 Since blind old Homer tuned his golden lyre, 
 
 Touched by Prometheus with celestial fire, 
 
 Minstrels and sages vie, in tale and song, 
 
 Athena's praise in music to prolong. 
 
 THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 
 
 MHERE'S an hour of iov, 
 
 Viv^ That nothing can cloy, 
 Ji When the sunlight breaks over the sea; 
 
 As we stand in a cave, 
 
 By the gold tinted wave, 
 Anl the dream of the bright "yet to be." 
 
THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 47 
 
 'Tis the morning of life, 
 
 When nothing but strife 
 Is known to the high bounding heart; 
 
 When the sea of our years 
 
 Is unrippled by tears. 
 And grief, in our days, has no part. 
 
 There's an hour of bliss, 
 
 When a soft sunny kiss 
 Is breathed o'er earth's beautiful flowers ; 
 
 From their lover on high, 
 
 In the crimson-hued sky 
 As rosily fly the bright hours. 
 
 'Tis the noon of our day, 
 
 And the glad world looks gay, 
 All filled with love's musical rhyme; 
 
 When the spirit of mirth, 
 
 Is abroad on the earth, 
 And we heed not the passing of time. 
 
 There's an hour of shade, 
 
 When the sun glories fade 
 From the dark rolling waves of the sea ; 
 
 When the flowers droop low, 
 
 And stormy winds blow, 
 And the birds have all silenced their glee. 
 
48 THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 
 
 'Tis the evening of pain, 
 
 When the heart and the brain, 
 Are weary with sighing for rest; 
 
 When loved ones are gone, 
 
 And we are alone, 
 Like a bird o'er her desolate nest. 
 
 There's an hour of gloom, 
 
 When over the tomb 
 The sweet withered roses are spread ; 
 
 When the shadow of night 
 
 Descends like a blight, 
 And sorrow and suffering are dead. 
 
 'Tis the moment of death, 
 
 When with nickering breath, 
 We are fading away from the earth ; 
 
 And life's many linked chain 
 
 Is severed in twain 
 By the spirit, in waking to birth. 
 
 There's a day of delight, 
 
 Unfollowed by night, 
 When the sorrows of change are no more ; 
 
 When partings are done, 
 
 And eternities sun 
 Breaks over the beautiful shore. 
 
THE HEATHER. 
 
 _e£3 
 
 . JYTTHERE is a land of ruergedness, 
 "^pk 3 Beyond the ocean's foam, 
 •^ And o'er its hills and by its lakes, 
 I find a genial home. 
 
 The bleak north-eastern breezes 
 
 Career across its breast, 
 And Ocean's sounding billows dash 
 
 Forever o'er its crest. 
 
 Its mountains lift their pinnacles 
 
 In grand and giant style, 
 And bine lakes at their rocky feet 
 
 In dimpling beauty smile. 
 
 The mavis twitters through its groves, 
 The throstle whistles shrill, 
 
 The music of the plover's cry 
 Is heard by dale and hill. 
 
50 THE HEATHER. 
 
 Besides Lock-Katrine's mirror blue, 
 And o'er the woodland wild, 
 
 And by the silver banks of Clyde, 
 Blooms Caledonia's child. 
 
 England may boast her roses fair, 
 And France her Fleur-de-lis, 
 
 But the land of bonnie Scotland 
 Is prouder far of me. 
 
 I'm but a little purple flower, 
 
 That blossoms on the sod, 
 Yet o'er my yielding petals oft 
 
 The fair and great have trod. 
 
 When war's loud clarion roused the land 
 And waked the bagpipe's strain, 
 
 I formed the soldier's fragrant couch 
 Upon the tented plain. 
 
 The noblest blood of heroes oft 
 Has stained my purple crest, 
 
 And, 'neath the Heather, with their fame, 
 The mighty dead find rest. 
 
THE HEATHER. 51 
 
 Mine was the home of royal Bruce, 
 
 Of Wallace and Dundee, 
 And many a loyal Highland lad 
 
 Has bled and died for me. 
 
 The same blue sky that viewed my birth 
 
 Smiled on a fairer flower, 
 When Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, 
 
 First bloomed in Lithgow's boAver. 
 
 Mine is the poet land where Burns 
 
 His songs of nature sang, 
 And Campbell swept Hope's golden harp, 
 
 And Thompson's numbers rang. 
 
 'Twas there the wizard touch of Scott 
 
 Awoke, with magic art, 
 The melody which finds a home 
 
 In every human heart. 
 
 There, too, the Ettrick shepherd breathed 
 
 His lays of rural life, 
 And Aytoun told, in words of fire, 
 
 The tale of Scottish strife. 
 
52 THE HEATIJEK. 
 
 WhenBeattie sang the "Minstrel's" praise, 
 
 Beneath the harvest moon, 
 I listened to his warblings by 
 
 The braes o'bonnie Donne. 
 
 'Tis there the hunter's heart beats high, 
 When bounding on the quarry, 
 
 'Tis there at eve that Scotsmen sing 
 The song of Annie Laurie. 
 
 They twine me with the Thistle 
 
 On the banner of the free, 
 And blent am I with every song 
 
 Of Albyn's chivalry. 
 
 As Erin's sons, on distant shores, 
 The Shamrock love to twine, 
 
 So Scottish exiles hear my name, 
 Anl dream of "auld lang syne." 
 
MY BEAUTIFUL ONE. 
 
 WSMO'R 1 SI^G is breaking o'er mountain and vale, 
 "t|§? Wild birds are tuning their throats in the dale, 
 *• Flowers uplifting their hearts to the sun — 
 Down by the river, where dark mosses creep, 
 By the cold river, where long willows weep, 
 Lieth in silence my beautiful one. 
 
 Cold the white hands in their statue-like rest, 
 Folded so quietly over the breast, 
 
 Closed are the star eyes that once were my sun ; 
 Silent the heart that aye bounded with glee — 
 Morning and music and perfume for me 
 
 Are buried beside thee, my beautiful one ! 
 
 Noon with its splendor is robing the earth, 
 Beauty is laughing and singing with mirth, 
 
 Gladness and sorrow their work have begun : 
 Brightness and warmth have no place in my heart ; 
 Happiness wounds like a poison-winged dart, 
 
 Since thou art absent, my beautiful one. 
 
54 MY BEAUTIFUL ONE. 
 
 Soft shades of evening are veiling the lea, 
 Moonlight is kissing the brow of the sea, 
 
 Nature is resting, a long labor done — 
 Dark amid shadows, far down by the stream, 
 Lonely and cold, in the moon's sickly beam, 
 
 Silently sleepeth my beautiful one. 
 
 Sunlight and moonlight and starlight have fled, 
 Midnight and darkness now reign in their stead; 
 
 Black in their channels the still waters run ; 
 Darker my heart with its weight of despair, 
 Cold, when I think that the mildew is there, 
 
 There in the home of my beautiful one. 
 
 Voices are whispering out of the gloom, 
 " Gaze up, oh doubter ! away from the tomb, 
 
 Into the regions where beameth the sun, 
 There in her glory, midst asphodel plains, 
 Singing with angels their ravishing strains, 
 
 Liveth forever thv beautiful one ! " 
 
THE DOVE. 
 
 An Allegorical Tribute to the Memory of Sister Annie Foster 
 
 A convert to the Catholic faith, she was ever distinguished for her 
 loving trust and faithful piety. Surrounded by every luxury that 
 wealth could give, admh'ed and loved by all who knew her, she yet 
 preferred the happy solitude of the life of a Sister of Charity, to the 
 wearying pleasures of the world. For a short time only, she was an 
 earthly mem Ler of the virgin band who "follow the Lamb whitherso- 
 ever He goeth," and then her young life went out from earth to Heaven, 
 
 giN" a soft and dewy morning, 
 t^ In the spring-time of the year, 
 ^ Flew a dove, of snowy plumage, 
 To a garden rich and fair. 
 
 But the sunbeams grew so brilliant 
 That they scorched her spotless crest, 
 
 And the dove, with flying -weary, 
 Looking round her, sought a nest. 
 
 To the grand and stately laurel, 
 First she winged her lonely way, 
 
 And amidst its open blossoms, 
 For a moment, trembling lay. 
 
56 THE DOVE. 
 
 But the branch whereon she rested, 
 Faithless to her loving trust, 
 
 Broke beneath its fragile burden — 
 Broke — and cast her to the dust. 
 
 Bruised and wounded, slowly rising, 
 Pa : nfully she took her flight 
 
 To a bank of climbing roses, 
 
 Where the clustering stems unite. 
 
 Hoping here to find the shelter 
 She had vainly sought before, 
 
 But the cruel thorns beset her 
 And her milk-white plumage tore. 
 
 Bleeding now and still more weary, 
 Scattered and stricken, on she flew 
 
 To a bower of yellow jasmine, 
 Which in golden beauty grew. 
 
 Nestling midst its fragrant arches 
 Tasting of its honied breath, 
 
 Soon she sickened of its sweetness, 
 Poisoned with the dew of death. 
 
THE DOVE. D( 
 
 "With, the dust upon her pinions, 
 
 And within her heart the pain, 
 Heavily she fluttered onward, 
 
 Seeking for a home again. 
 
 As she looked, far in the distance 
 
 She beheld a valley fair, 
 Cool and silent in its beauty, 
 
 Where the sunlight lost its glare. 
 
 Swift from out its peaceful shadow 
 
 Flew another snow-white dove, 
 Cooing notes of gentle sweetness, 
 
 Winning her with looks of love. 
 
 Then she left the gorgeous garden, 
 
 With its butterflies and bees, 
 Flying towards the happy valley 
 
 With its soft, sweet, cooling breeze. 
 
 Still the bird flew on before her, 
 
 Ever pointing out the way, 
 Till they reached a silver fountain, 
 
 In the valley's heart at play. 
 
58 THE DOVE. 
 
 And the music of its ripple 
 Sounded like a song divine, 
 
 And in light, like scattered diamonds, 
 Did its dimpling waters shine. 
 
 Ever rising, brighter, higher, 
 
 In the ether clear above, 
 Like a silvery road to Heaven — 
 
 And the fountain's name wa3 Love. 
 
 There she laved her drooping pinions 
 In its pure and healing spray, 
 
 Till the thorn-wounds ached no longer, 
 And the dust was washed away. 
 
 Daily drinking of its waters, 
 
 Daily watching it arise, 
 Like its mists her soul went upward 
 
 To Love's fountain in the skies. 
 
 Weep not, though the dove no longer 
 Droops her pinion in earth's clime, 
 
 Whitely radiant, buoyant ever, 
 Now she soars in realms sublime. 
 
THOSE EYES. 
 
 2*9 
 
 JV^LUE as the skies in summer, 
 J& 3 Deep as the liquid sea, 
 & Dearest of all sweet memories, 
 Are those tender eyes to me. 
 
 Soft as the flush of morning, 
 Tinging the Southern skies ; 
 
 True is the light that nestles 
 In the violet of those eyes. 
 
 White as a fallen snowflake, 
 Fringed with a lash of gold, 
 
 Are the veils that shade their beaming 
 And their loveliness enfold. 
 
 I've seen the tear-dew on them, 
 Like the morn-dew on a flower ; 
 
 I've seen the light break from them, 
 Like the sunbeam through a shower. 
 
60 BEFORE AND AFTER. 
 
 I've learned by heart the language 
 That hidden in them lies ; 
 
 They've taught me many a lesson, 
 Those deep, blue, loving eyes. 
 
 Though time or death must sever 
 The dearest of earth's ties, 
 
 Yet I will keep forever 
 The memory of those eyes. 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER. 
 
 T ENTERED in, 
 
 Vfk 5 All stained with sin, 
 ^ No beauty in my soul ; 
 I lowly knelt 
 And deeply felt 
 A woe beyond control. 
 
 A few words spoke, 
 My spirit woke 
 
 To life and joy, and then 
 I passed the door, 
 No longer poor, 
 
 But filled with hope again, 
 
THE ROSE 
 
 ^HEN" the bright stars of morning in harmony 
 
 *• And the music of God through the universe rang, 
 By the banks of that river whose sands are of gold, 
 I began my pure vesture of snow to unfold. 
 
 Ere yet the great sun had first gilded the morn, 
 I bloomed in the darkness, exempt from a thorn, 
 O'er the waters of Tigris I bent my fair face, 
 And swayed to the breezes with innocent grace. 
 
 A beam from above on creation's fourth day 
 Came down to my bosom, where trembling it lay, 
 And brightened to yellow the delicate down, 
 That formed for my stamens a shimmering crown. 
 
 A beautiful one whom the angels called Eve, 
 First gathered my blossoms, a garland to weave, 
 And I glowed 'mid her wealth of luxuriant hair, 
 A bud of rare beautv adorning the fair. 
 
62 THE ROSE. 
 
 But darkness came down on the face of the deep, 
 Ked lightning shot forth with electrical leap, 
 The voice of the thunder, with furious burst, 
 Swept over the land which for woman was cursed. 
 
 The sorrowful clouds veiled their glorious forms, 
 And wept o'er the earth that was shaken by storms; 
 The clear waters, blackening, rushed dark to the sea, 
 And the wild winds howled fierce over mountain and lea. 
 
 Then the sin-sullied Eve, full of desolate woe, 
 Was forced from her Paradise garden to go ; 
 She shrouded her face with her beautiful hair, 
 But I saw that the shadow of anguish was there. 
 
 As she w r earily trod o'er the briery ground, 
 
 I shed in her pathway my fragrance around ; 
 
 But of the old sweetness new poison was born, 
 
 And she found that for her e'en the Rose had a thorn. 
 
 As her tapering fingers were pressed to my stem, 
 It pierced them where life's current flows, 
 
 And the warm crimson blood trickled out of her veins, 
 And gave its red hue to the Rose. 
 
THE KOSE. 63 
 
 Then a mighty voice spoke with a promise of love, 
 
 Through nature its echoings rolled; 
 God smiled, as He gave it a glorious smile, 
 
 That brightened my red into gold. 
 
 From that day forever I bloom o'er the world, 
 In my vesture of blood, gold and snow ; 
 
 There's not a wild spot in the garden of earth, 
 Where the beautiful Eose does not grow. 
 
 Where the wild Arabian dashes, 
 
 O'er his desert's sandy plain, 
 Where the Ganges' waters brighten, 
 
 As they gurgle to the main, 
 
 The Eose grows there. 
 
 Beside the lofty Appenines, 
 
 By Caspian's silver strand, 
 Where Lebanon's green cedar wave, 
 
 In Judah's holy land. 
 
 The Eose grows there. 
 
 In Persia's glowing gardens 
 
 And among the Grecian Isles, 
 Where flowing through his reedy bed 
 
 The famed En rotas glides, 
 
 The Eose grows there. . 
 
64: THE ROSE. 
 
 Iii Portugal, in Switzerland, 
 In Spain, in sunny France, 
 
 And where the Tiber's yellow waves 
 Dy Eome's proud ruins glance, 
 
 The Eose grows there. 
 
 Where California's wealthy mines 
 Their golden treasures yield, 
 
 And by Ontario's stormy lake, 
 And on the prairie field, 
 
 The Kose grows there. 
 
 'Mid Scotland's bonny Highlands, 
 
 On Erin's emerald shore, 
 And where the Western islands hear 
 
 The loud Atlantic roar, 
 
 The Rose grows there. 
 
 On Norway's frozen mountains, 
 Where howling tempests blow, 
 
 And where the Lapland raindeer bounds, 
 I blush upon the snow. 
 
 Of all the world a citizen, 
 
 To every clime I'm known, 
 But the land of merry England 
 
 Still claims me for her own. 
 
THE ROSE. 65 
 
 The emblem of her world-wide sway, 
 
 Her symbol of renown, 
 I deck her virgin's blushing cheek, 
 
 And grace her victor's crown. 
 
 When Coenr de Leon rushed to war, 
 
 And laid his lance in rest, 
 He wore the Red Rose in his plume, 
 
 The White Rose on his breast. 
 
 At Agincourt and Waterloo, 
 
 When nations were her foes, 
 The Fleur-de-lis trailed in the dust, 
 
 While o'er it waved the Rose. 
 
 On Barnet's famous battle-field, 
 
 Where mighty Warwick died, 
 The snowy flower of York looked up, 
 
 And sank Lancaster's pride. 
 
 When twice ten years the feud had raged 
 Which weakened England's might, 
 
 Henry of Tudor blent in one 
 The warring Red and White. 
 
66 TO LITTLE ROBERT. 
 
 All nations yield to Britain 
 The empire of the sea ; 
 
 And, as the emblem of her power, 
 All nations bow to mo. 
 
 TO LITTLE ROBERT 
 
 |tjK|i AEGE blue eyes, so full of wonder, 
 ^S? Rosy cheeks, so soft and bright, 
 •^ Laughing dimples without number, 
 Robbie's one year old to-night. 
 
 Darling little chubby fingers, 
 Golden hair in wavy curls, 
 
 Dainty lips like parted rubies, 
 And within six tiny pearls. 
 
 Little feet, so plump and snowy, 
 Creeping o'er the carpet light, 
 
 Can it be that Robert, darling, 
 Is just one year old to night? 
 
TO LITTLE EOBERT. 67 
 
 Can it be that twelve months only 
 Have slipped by since angels bright 
 
 Came and brought our bonny baby, 
 Who is one year old to-night? 
 
 " Mamma's pet and papa's precious," 
 Bright-eyed, laughing, baby boy, 
 How he fills our hearts with gladness: 
 Thank God for our lovely toy ! 
 
 Baby laugh so full of music, 
 
 Baby sleep so fresh and pure, 
 Baby ways so cute and winning — 
 
 Angels watch him evermore ! 
 
 May he live to be an honor 
 
 To our sunny Southern land; 
 Wise in counsel, brave in combat, 
 
 True in heart and strong in hand. 
 
 May God bless our little treasure, 
 And when years have rolled away, 
 
 May his heart in youth and manhood, 
 Be as pure as 'tis to-day. 
 
THE WEDDING OF CANA, 
 
 /~\OsE morning when the sun was bright, 
 e ? H^ 9 And dew-drops lay on flowers light, 
 •>* When softly blew the balmy breeze, 
 And warbling songsters from the trees 
 Sang forth their thanks to God above, 
 Who filled their little hearts with love, 
 Where babbling streamlets rolled along, 
 And answered to the merry song. 
 
 Where plashing waters clear and bright, 
 Laughed joyous in the sunny light; 
 And white lambs frisking on the green, 
 Gave life and beauty to the scene. 
 
 Two travelers appear in sight, 
 And by the playful brook alight; 
 One is a man whose mild blue eyes 
 Outshone the azure of the skies; 
 
 His auburn hair, of wavy gold, 
 In ringlets on His shoulders rolled, 
 A glory beamed around His face 
 That far surpassed the human race. 
 
THE WEDDING OF CANA. 69 
 
 His tattered garb but ill concealed 
 Divinity, which stood revealed, 
 For heaven's own bright refulgence shone 
 In every look, in every tone. 
 
 With humble, yet angelic mien, 
 A maiden at His side is seen — 
 Her vesture is of simple blue, 
 Besprinkled with the morning dew. 
 
 Her brow is as the lily fair, 
 
 And golden is her flowing hair; 
 
 Her gentle air and form of grace, 
 
 The sweetness of her lovely face, 
 
 The glorious light that round them shone 
 
 Marked Virgin Mother and her Son. 
 
 They stayed a moment by the stream, 
 Which, dancing in the sun's bright beam, 
 Seemed chanting, as it onward ran, 
 The praises of a God made man. 
 
 The birds sang sweeter from the tree 3, 
 More gently blew the morning breeze ; 
 The sheep e'en from the shepherds stray, 
 At Jesus' feet the lambkins play. 
 
70 THE WEDDING OF CANA. 
 
 And now the heavenly pair advance, 
 Light 'neatli their feet the daisies dance — 
 Then, springing joyous from their tread, 
 Increase of fragrance round them shed. 
 
 When they, at length, near Cana drew, 
 A merry party came in view; 
 A bride-groom and his blushing bride 
 Stood gaily talking side by side. 
 
 While maidens, with bright buds and flowers, 
 With pleasure decked the festal bowers ; 
 Inviting stood the wedding cheer — 
 Jesus and Mary entered here, 
 For they had come from far away 
 To bless their servants' wedding day. 
 
 The groom has left his blushing bride 
 And meekly stands at Jesus' side, 
 He casts himself upon his knees, 
 Raises his eyes and Mary sees. 
 
 this is too much honor, Lord ! 
 
 1 have not merited reward 
 
 So great as this, that here I see 
 The purest pearl of Gallilee, 
 And at her side my Saviour's face, 
 New glory giving to the place. 
 
THE WEDDING OF CANA. 71 
 
 While thus the saint paid homage due, 
 The Virgin, in her robe of blue, 
 With dulcet voice and gesture mild, 
 And winning charms, on each one smiled. 
 
 'Twas thus the joyous hours flew, 
 Until the sun had dried the dew 
 From every shrub and every vine — 
 When Mary saw the lack of wine; 
 
 Then, drawing near her heavenly Son, 
 The Virgin Mother thus begun: 
 " The guests increase ; Thy grace incline, 
 Lord of the vineyard! give them wine." 
 
 The Saviour turned His mild, blue eyes, 
 And to His Mother thus replied: 
 " Woman, 'tis not yet the hour 
 For thy Son to show His power." 
 
 But Mary for pure water sought, 
 Which in six earthen jars was brought — 
 The crystal stream its Maker knew, 
 And instant into wine it grew. 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 On the Epidemic at New Orleans in 1878. 
 
 jNE day in the heart of the summer, 
 "Sip 3 When the earth was fair and bright, 
 •^ The shade of a black-winged angel fell, 
 AVith a startling deathly blight, 
 
 On the homes of a noble city 
 
 That rested in queenly state 
 At the mouth of a lordly river 
 
 That rolled to the ocean's gate. 
 
 The birds in the bowers of orange 
 
 Were singing a song of glee : 
 The sun kissed the beautiful flowers, 
 
 And glistened on spire and tree. 
 
 But the cloud of a terrible shadow 
 Came down with a sickening weight, 
 
 And wrapped in its mantle of darkness 
 The lowly, the good and the great. 
 
THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 73 
 
 Gray tresses and rich golden ringlets 
 
 Alike were in grief laid away, 
 Bleeding hearts for their loved ones were broken 
 
 In the light of that radiant day. 
 
 The bosom of earth it uncovered, 
 
 And lingered with ghastly delight 
 Over homes that were peaceful and happy 
 
 Then left them in sorrow and night. 
 
 It touched the red lips of the infant, 
 
 That paled at its poisonous breath; 
 It swept o'er the form of the mother 
 
 Then left them to darkness and death. 
 
 The forms of the pure and the holy 
 
 It seized with its skeleton hand, 
 And changed into sorrow and mourning 
 
 The joy of that beautiful land. 
 
 Humanity shriveled before it, 
 
 Yet still in wild fury it raves, 
 And the city of revel and music 
 
 Is now but a city of graves. 
 
CHRISSIE'S HAIR. 
 
 
 1$ j|j||NLY a lock of raven hair, 
 tjtfc? Soft and rich as it lieth there; 
 '• But treasured more than a miser's gold, 
 Is the little tress that my fingers hold. 
 
 Many long years have passed away, 
 Since my hand on the boyish forehead lay; 
 And my mother's heart grew proud with joy 
 As I watched the growth of my noble boy. 
 
 My hope rose high with a glowing pride, 
 As I walked with the boy-man at my side — 
 And now I have nought of my love and care 
 But this little tress of fading hair. 
 
 many times in the busy day 
 
 1 steal to my hidden treasure away, 
 
 And my heart beats hard with a bitter pain, 
 For the joy it can never know again. 
 
TO HER I LOVE. 75 
 
 I have kissed it and wet it with many a tear, 
 This soft dark tress of my darling's hair ; 
 Till my eyes grow dim and my life grows cold, 
 For the loss of the treasure I could not hold. 
 
 Not lost, mother ! but gone before, 
 To wait for thee on the golden shore; 
 When the years are done and the dream of pain 
 Can never be felt or feared again. 
 
 TO HER I LOVE. 
 
 |SgS backward o'er my life I gaze 
 i+ !jp5 With thoughts of bitter sadness, 
 Ji The scenes of joy that once were mine 
 Steal o'er me with their gladness. 
 
 Thoughts rise on thoughts— an endless train, 
 
 Their life I cannot smother- 
 Old happy days glide by again, 
 Each brighter than the other. 
 
76 TO II KR I LOVE. 
 
 Far in the dim and shadowy past, 
 A sweet form I remember, 
 
 Whose accents low were always dear, 
 Whose words were ever tender. 
 
 A tear she had for every grief, 
 A smile for every pleasure, 
 
 A word to cheer each aching heart, 
 From Love's exhaustless treasure. 
 
 If others came their woes to bring, 
 She soothed away each sorrow, 
 
 And bade them hope for better things, 
 And summer skies to-morrow. 
 
 How oft I've seen the silv'ry tear 
 Within her blue eyes glisten, 
 
 As with a sad and throbbing heart 
 To tales of grief she'd listen. 
 
 And often too her own distress 
 Within her heart she'd cover, 
 
 And join in gay and childish sports, 
 To give joy to another. 
 
TO HER I LOVE. 77 
 
 Where'er she moved a light of joy 
 
 Seemed in her path to brighten, 
 And shed its radiance over all 
 
 The weight of woe to lighten. 
 
 Oh ! many a time when life looked dark, 
 
 And hope seemed almost gone, 
 She pointed out a ray of light, 
 
 And bade me still trust on. 
 
 And when my wild heart leap'd with joy 
 
 To her I hastened ever, 
 She always met me with a smile, 
 
 But with a cold word, never. 
 
 Her presence, Lke a guiding star, 
 
 Is lingering round me yet, 
 Her winning voice so full of hope, 
 
 I never can forget. 
 
SONG OF GREETING. 
 
 The pupils of St. Simeon's School, New Orleans, name their Alma 
 Mater the Garden of Pleasure ; themselves the flowers and the Lady 
 Superior their Flora. The latter is thus greeted on her return after a 
 temporary absence. 
 
 8l|ljlAIL to our loved one in sunshine returning, 
 ^JJ 3 Honored and blessed be this day evermore, 
 •^ Now may her blossoms and buds cease their 
 mourning, 
 Flora is with us again as of yore ! 
 
 Heaven bless this happy day, 
 
 Earth-born shadows flit away, 
 Last in the love-light that welcomes her home, 
 
 While every flower's voice 
 
 Bids all the world rejoice, 
 Flora, our darling, no longer doth roam! 
 
 Here is no common heart, fickle and changing, 
 
 Smiling in fortune and frowning in grief; 
 For when life's storm-clouds most wildly are raging, 
 'Tis to that true one we turn for relief. 
 Deep in her loving heart 
 All tender feelings start, 
 
SONG OF GREETING. 79 
 
 Kinder and gentler the deeper our gloom, 
 
 Every sweet blossom, then, 
 
 Echo her praise again, 
 Flora, our darling, no longer doth roam ! 
 
 Gladly each flower-heart opens its treasures, 
 
 Grateful and joyous a greeting to give, 
 Since nothing can equal the exquisite pleasures 
 That dwell in the garden where Flora doth live. 
 
 Bright is the golden sun 
 
 Where her most treasured one, 
 Smiling, blooms on in eternity's day, 
 
 Katie from Heaven bends, 
 
 Softly a stream she sends, 
 Waked from the harp that her glad fingers play! 
 
 Sing, flowers, sing, for the pride of St. Simeon's ! 
 
 Breathe all your fragrance to welcome her now — 
 Ruby red roses and snowy white lilies, 
 Seed cups and leaflets in unison bow. 
 
 Long may God's mighty arm 
 
 Shield her from every harm, 
 And form of her earth buds a crown of delight, 
 
 Till in bright Heaven's day, 
 
 Where deathless flowers play, 
 Flora forever will dwell in His sight. 
 
HOLY THURSDAY. 
 
 j^ll^RING flowers from the garden, 
 Wet with shining dew, 
 Bring hyacinths and lilies, 
 Violets, white and blue. 
 
 Go rob the field and forest 
 Of all their blooming store ; 
 
 Then lay the floiv.l treasures 
 Before the Altar door. 
 
 And with the golden wheat-sheaf 
 Blend clusters from the vine; 
 
 Bring forth the jeweled chalice 
 To hold the sacred Wine. 
 
 Bring slender waxen tapers, 
 To shed their radiance bright, 
 
 Where angels veil their faces, 
 And tremble with delight. 
 
 Adorn with robes of satin, 
 And tissue gemmed with gold, 
 
 The spot where holy shadows 
 The Heart of Love enfold. 
 
HOLY THURSDAY. 81 
 
 And with the dying blossoms 
 
 Bring flowers of the heart, 
 Eoses of love and purity, 
 
 Whose life cannot depart. 
 
 Bring modesty and patience, 
 
 Humility and prayer — 
 Bring sympathy and sacrifice, 
 
 And let them nestle there. 
 
 Form of them all a garland 
 
 Exhaling perfume sweet, 
 And lay the living tribute 
 
 AU blushing at His feet. 
 
 Blend with the waxen candles 
 
 The fire of Faith divine ; 
 And let Hope's silver starbeams 
 
 Around the Altar shine. 
 
 Then place a crown above it, 
 
 That is of matchless worth ; 
 The golden one of Charity, 
 
 The crown of Heaven and Earth. 
 
EASTER MORNING. 
 
 SpATUEE in her beauty smiling, 
 j^f Hails with joy the happy hour, 
 •^ For this day our God has risen, 
 In His majesty and power. 
 
 Leap with joy, ye rugged mountains ! 
 
 Sighing winds, your praises give ! 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning, 
 
 Jesus bids His children live. 
 
 All ye warblers of the wild-wood, 
 Pour a strain of deep delight ; 
 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning 
 Changes darkness into light. 
 
 Simple flowerets of the valley, 
 
 Upward lift your drooping heads; 
 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning, 
 God His dew upon you sheds. 
 
 All ye dashing waves of ocean, 
 Murmur music o'er the deep ; 
 
 Alleluiah! Easter morning, 
 Let your praises upward sweep. 
 
EASTER MORNING. 83 
 
 Lordly monarch s of the forest, 
 
 Bend your graceful branches now ; 
 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning. 
 Bids you low in worship bow. 
 
 All ye finny tribes of ocean, 
 
 Sporting 'mid your coral caves ; 
 Alleluiah! Easter morning, 
 
 Silvers o'er your darkling waves. 
 
 Azure clouds that curtain heaven, 
 
 With a veil celestial bright ; 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning, 
 
 Grandly gilds your changing light. 
 
 Man, the greatest of God's creatures, 
 
 Lift your heart in joy to-day ; 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning, 
 
 Sin and death have lost their sway. 
 
 Raise your voice in loud hosannas, 
 
 Every pain and sorrow o'er ; 
 Alleluiah ! Easter morning, 
 
 Jesus bids us weep no more. 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 "YYIM, veiled, mysterious realm, where, side by side, 
 j^ 3 Formed, by our hopes and fears, strange phantoms 
 ^ glide ; 
 
 Brightened one moment with a flood of light, 
 Darkened the next with clouds of blackest night. 
 
 So near thy shores and yet so far, they seem 
 Like the faint glimpses of a waking dream, 
 When shall the veil be lifted from thy face ? 
 When thy vague shadows to the real give place ? 
 
 Not till our bo .lies to the grave descend, 
 And spirit hands thy mystic curtain rend ; 
 Then shall thy mysteries burst upon the sight, 
 And man, immortal, walk in living light. 
 
 Then Faith's bright future shall be realized, 
 Fruition crown all joys by mortals prized ; 
 Delights undreamed of in this vale of tears 
 Shall flow forever through unending years. 
 
UNDER THE LAUREL. 
 
 N" a pile of rough-hewn timber, 
 ,(^\ Out near a grassy mound, 
 ' Where the west wind met the south wind 
 And whispered a gentle sound. 
 
 At the gloaming hour when daylight 
 
 Is melting into shade; 
 When the stars begin to glimmer, 
 
 And the golden sun-clouds fade. 
 
 Under the boughs of a Laurel, 
 
 That waved in queenly pride, 
 I sat in the lengthening shadows 
 
 With a loved one by my side. 
 
 Her gentle voice came tenderly, 
 
 Like music o'er the sea, 
 Awakening sacred memories 
 
 Under the Laurel tree. 
 
86 UNDER THE LAUREL. 
 
 Memories sweet and holy, 
 
 Hopes for the " yet to be," 
 Came stealing softly o'er me 
 
 Under the Laurel tree. 
 
 Her dear touch on my shoulder, 
 The love in her deep blue eye, 
 
 I shall carry through life as treasures, 
 Nor part with them 'till I die. 
 
 And e'en when death hath sundered 
 
 The bonds of human love, 
 I shall look for those eyes 'neath the Laurels 
 
 That wave in the garden above. 
 
 ! dark, green, glossy Laurels, 
 ! fair, white, waxen flowers, 
 
 You will carry me back, wherever I roam, 
 To one of life's happiest hours. 
 
 Than the jeweled throne of a monarch, 
 
 ! dearer far to me, 
 Is that pile of rough-hewn timber 
 
 Under the Laurel tree. 
 
A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 >T"X the dim and distant vista 
 
 Vff? Of the days that long have past, 
 ■^ Dwells a memory, bright and joyous, 
 That will live while life shall last. 
 
 'Tis of days that knew no shadow, 
 'Tis of joys that naught could blight, 
 
 'Tis of scenes I love to dwell on, 
 With a sweet but sad delight. 
 
 'Tis of valleys and fair flowers, 
 Where the sunlight loved to rest, 
 
 'Tis of meadows wandered over 
 With the one I love the best. 
 
 'Tis of evenings when the angels 
 Lit the starry lamps above, 
 
 When I gazed upon them listening 
 To the gentle voice I love. 
 
88 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Still its silvery music lingers 
 
 Through each scene of joy and woe, 
 
 Soothing, with its tender sweetness, 
 As in days of long ago. 
 
 Hours, in the happy school-room, 
 Which her presence rendered bright, 
 
 Making every task a pleasure, 
 Every duty a delight. 
 
 Moments near her in the chapel, 
 Where the holy shadows fall ; 
 
 Many memories are sacred, 
 This the dearest of them all ! 
 
 As these scenes oft flit before me, 
 Silently I breathe a prayer, 
 
 That the God who guards the faithful, 
 Still may keep her with His care. 
 
 miy every earthly blessing 
 Bright 3n here her path of love, 
 
 And eternal crowns of glory 
 Wreathe her in her home above! 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 Still memory draws from delight ere it dies 
 
 An essence that breathes of it many a year."— Moore. 
 
 WELL has every poet sung, 
 j^f And every language lent its tongue, 
 ■^ To praise thy skill, gift divine, 
 
 And round thy name a garland twine, 
 Sweet memory ! whose magic power 
 Can change the desert to a bower; 
 
 Can lead us, with a gentle hand, 
 
 Through scenes of that dead, vanished land 
 
 We call "the past;" can bid, at will, 
 
 Each pleasure gone, live with us still; 
 Can paint sweet pictures on the heart 
 In color that will ne'er depart- 
 How oft when stars dance in the sky, 
 And night dews on the flowers lie, 
 
 We hear the music of thy voice, 
 
 Bidding the weary heart rejoice ; 
 Recalling by its mystic spell 
 The forms and scenes once loved so well. 
 
 8* 
 
90 MEMORY. 
 
 How often by the rippling sea 
 
 We feel thy charm, sweet memory ! 
 The sighing waves that kiss our feet, 
 The "dreams of other days repeat," 
 
 And every pebble on the strand 
 
 Is but a tablet in thy hand. 
 
 The forest with its light and shade, 
 The wild flowers tangled in the glade, 
 
 All lovely things in nature found, 
 
 And e'en the melody of sound, 
 Are but as children to thy will — 
 They love thee and obey thee still. 
 
 Come, sweet restorer of the past, 
 And o'er my thoughts thy mantle cast ! 
 Bring back the hours of childish play, 
 The long bright dreams of youth's glad day; 
 Lift the dark curtain time has drawn 
 Between me and life's joyous morn ! 
 
 O'ermaster change! give life again 
 To the fair scenes that wooed me then ; 
 The orange grove, the walnut hill, 
 The sweet songs of the whip-poor-will ; 
 The daisied field, the laughing spring, 
 Whose dimpling waves still softly sing. 
 
MEMORY. 91 
 
 The will rides on my gentle steed, 
 Matchless for beauty and for speed; 
 
 The long day's search for summer flowers, 
 
 The cool fall of the April showers; 
 The tasseled corn, the waving wheat, 
 The air with clover perfume sweet ; 
 
 The rich fruits hanging o'er the wall ; 
 The grand old house ; the cedars tall, 
 
 Among whose boughs, with safety blest, 
 
 Full many a mock-bird built her nest; 
 The cotton-gin, the lowing herd, 
 The spinning wheel, at distance heard; 
 
 Home sounds and scenes— but dear to me 
 
 These pictures are, sweet memory! 
 
 Housed by thy power, enchantress strong ! 
 
 An hundred faces round me throng, 
 
 Shadowed by absence, dimmed by death, 
 But waked to life at thy sweet breath ; 
 
 Thy sunlight on fair ringlets lies, 
 
 And smiles on me from violet eyes. 
 
 The rapid flight of busy hours 
 Passed in the old school's classic bowers, 
 Its gray stone walls, with ivy bound, 
 The pleasures of the dear play-ground; 
 
92 MEMORY. 
 
 The life with heroes of the mind, 
 And science's vast arts, combined 
 With the bright light by poets cast 
 O'er all the legends of the past. 
 
 The fair face full of love and truth, 
 Whose influence on my early youth 
 Has bound me with a chain of gold 
 To those pure, happy days of old, 
 Whose light falls tenderly o'er me 
 From thy loved pictures, memory ! 
 
 The human harp thou playest well, 
 For, at thy touch, harmonious swell 
 Old songs and voices — till a thrill 
 Shakes the heart's cords, before so still, 
 Like the wild heaving of a lake 
 When o'er its breast the tempests break, 
 Or the strange whispering of the leaves 
 Stirred by the first autumnal breeze. 
 
 Imagination's boundless range, 
 
 And fancy's endless power of change, 
 Both by thy lessons have been taught, 
 Strong monarch of the world of thought ! 
 
 Like these, save that thy world is real, 
 
 While theirs is but a vain ideal. 
 
STOLEN ROSES. 
 
 J^§§§§ HE 'clouds with Aurora's first roses were glowing, 
 a *jBz? And dew-jewels sparkled all over the earth ; 
 ■^ The frail morning-glory its petals unfolded, 
 
 While daisies and butter-cups trembled with 
 mirth. 
 
 The lark in the air his first matin was singing, 
 While sparrows and robins chirped back from the tree ; 
 
 When a beautiful golden-haired cherub came tripping 
 So light that she brushed not the dew from the lea. 
 
 A bonnet pushed back from her fair childish face, 
 Where the rose and the lily were blended in one, 
 
 Gave space to the rich auburn ringlets which curled 
 Like gold threads that glint in the light of the sun. 
 
 From her innocent heart burst a song of delight, 
 
 And she rivaled the lark though his home was so high ; 
 
 While pausing to gaze at his wonderful flight, 
 
 The blue of her soft eyes seemed caught from the sky. 
 
94 STOLEN ROSES. 
 
 There was joy, there was mirth, in the exquisite smile 
 That played round the sweet lips, so rarely at rest; 
 
 There was grace in each step of the beautiful child, 
 There was love in the light heart that throbbed in her 
 breast. 
 
 Through the palings of a garden 
 Blushing roses thrust their way, 
 
 Luscious in their early freshness, 
 Laughing in the golden day. 
 
 Pushing one another forward, 
 
 Climbing o'er the garden wall, 
 Cheek to cheek in gorgeous masses, 
 
 Bursting through each crevice small. 
 
 Martha saw the rosy warfare, 
 
 Hushed her song and nearer drew, 
 
 Raised a small hand to the paling 
 Where the richest clusters grew. 
 
 Eagerly she stood on tiptoe, 
 
 Reaching up, her prize to win, 
 And without the human rose-bud 
 
 Stole the roses from within. 
 
THE EMPTY CHAIE. 95 
 
 Gathered up her snowy apron, 
 Filled it with the treasures sweet, 
 
 Then like frightened fawn, went flying 
 Round the corner of the street. 
 
 On she went, with curls blown backward, 
 
 And her laughing lips apart, 
 Till the stolen roses wondered 
 At the trembling of her heart. 
 
 Many years have passed, sweet maiden, 
 
 Since that early summer day ; 
 Many changes have come o'er you — 
 
 Other flowerets strew your way. 
 
 And the stolen ones lie withered — 
 
 But a fragrance, all their own, 
 Wakes sweet memories of spring-time, 
 
 And the days forever flown. 
 
 THE EMPTY CHAIR, 
 
 ^JBHERE it stands by the window, 
 Sip With its empty arms stretched out, 
 •* '• With only a sunbeam in it, 
 
 And shadows creeping about. 
 
96 THE EMPTY CHAIR. 
 
 Just in the spot where she left it 
 
 Only a month ago, 
 And the breath of the soft May evening 
 
 Is swaying it to and fro. 
 
 The room is sweet with flowers, 
 Bright with the smiling sun ; 
 
 But only the chair is empty, 
 Empty — and waiting for one. 
 
 Sj^eaking a voiceless language, 
 Singing un muttered songs, 
 
 Till hearts take up the music, 
 And love the strain prolongs. 
 
 And fancy brings a spirit, 
 
 Through distance, time and air, 
 
 And memory fills with an image 
 The arms of the empty chair. 
 
 THE END.