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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. |, 
 
 | -^c^r. £m 
 
 I i 
 
 I UNITED STATES OP AMERICA'; 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 15, 13tli line — for "up" read "in." 
 " 15,14th •' —for "no" read "in.*' 
 '•' 37,20th " —for "trifled" read "tinted.' 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 BY 
 
 W. A. PETERS. 
 
 KEW YOEK: 
 1866. 
 

PREFACE 
 
 In this offering of " Embers of The Past" to the public, 
 " The Pilgrimage of Memory" is respectfully inscribed to 
 those who — like the author — have wandered away from the 
 fire-light of home, and whose memories love to linger around 
 the " embers that have smouldered in the past" — hoping 
 that its sentiments may touch those chords of harmonious 
 unison which vibrate with a pure and tender feeling to the 
 remembrance of other days. 
 
 W. A. Petees. 
 
 New Yobk, Dec. 8, 1866. 
 
 Our early days— how often back 
 
 "We turn on life's bewildering track, 
 
 To where, o'er hill and valley,- plays 
 
 The sunlight of our early days. — Gallagher. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Pilgrimage of Memory, ........ 9 
 
 Lines : inscribed to Miss Alice Carey, 13 
 
 Lines to a Lovely Young Grirl smiling in her Dreams, . . .14 
 
 In Memoriam of the late Miss Alice Riggs, 16 
 
 Happy Moments, . 18 
 
 Musings on the Banks of Time's River, 19 
 
 To Maggie, 22 
 
 Life's Vesper Hour, . 23 
 
 To Hallie, 24 
 
 By and By, . . . ' .25 
 
 Sunlight, 27 
 
 The Fountain of the Fairies, .28 
 
 "Visions from the other Shore, 30 
 
 Adonis Transformed, . . . 32 
 
 Beauties of Creation, . . . 35 
 
 1* 
 
V1U CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Homesick, 38 
 
 Lines in Answer to Miss S. F. Rice, 40 
 
 Crowning the Hero, 41 
 
 Death of the Old Schoolmaster, 44 
 
 Little Bare-Feet in the Snow, 45 
 
 Mutandus, .. ... . . .46 
 
(fates of ijre fast. 
 
 THE PILGKIMAGE OF MEMORY. 
 
 Memory hath gone a pilgrimage 
 
 Back to the scenes of youth, 
 
 Where we do love to wander 
 
 Old paths, along ; 
 
 As o'er these scenes of youth so bright 
 
 We love so much to ponder, 
 
 Through which in childhood's halcyon days 
 
 Its brightest hours we've lingered. 
 
 Oh ! how these memories soften 
 
 The ills of life we bear, 
 
 As in the twilight-hours 
 
 O'er us they do come stealing. 
 
 How well doth Memory guide us 
 Back to the dear old home ; 
 And as we come along the lane, 
 Strange feelings do steal o'er us ; 
 There are the stiles, how low they seem, 
 Though ma'be we've grown taller 
 
10 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Since those bright days we on them played, 
 
 And whiled away life's morning. 
 
 ISTow comes in view the old well, 
 
 And the well-sweep, 
 
 From whose clear depths, and stones so mossy, 
 
 Bright waters we have hoisted. 
 
 Bat dearer still the old home seems, 
 
 As up the path we hurry, 
 
 And wishful look, as though we thought 
 
 There would be some one to greet us. 
 
 The old oak door is open wide 
 
 Where mother used to stand, 
 
 And give us greetings of kind words 
 
 When we came home from school. 
 
 We hasten in and as our footsteps fall 
 
 Upon the floors of its deserted rooms, 
 
 Echo doth answer back 
 
 That all are gone. 
 
 Oh ! it was in this sacred home, that first 
 
 The patter of our feet did fall ; 
 
 Here first by that fond mother's knee 
 
 We lisped our infant prayer. 
 
 No wonder now when lights are gone ! 
 
 That burned upon its altar, 
 
 That we no longer tarry, 
 
 But hurry on in search 
 
 Of other by-gones. 
 
 Fond Memory now is seeking 
 For the old path to the mill, 
 Which, though grown up in brambles, 
 Its course we know full well ; 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 11 
 
 O'er this old path, how often 
 "We boys have rode together, 
 And with our corn sacks laid aside 
 Waited our turn for grinding. 
 Of the old mill, of our boyhood, 
 There is no relic left us, 
 For betwixt the years of now and then 
 It hath to ruin gone. 
 
 We seek the path through the old meadow 
 
 That led down to the brook ; 
 
 The meadow is not there now, 
 
 But the brook runs on the same. 
 
 How oft, the summer evenings 
 
 We spent within the shade, 
 
 That clustered o'er its waters, 
 
 And in the old stream bathed. 
 
 The trees seem larger now, 
 
 And thicker is the shade, 
 
 But all is still and silent where 
 
 Our voices gladness made. 
 
 We look now for the path that led 
 To the schoolhouse on the hill — ■ 
 We know it by the names that mark 
 The beech trees by its side — 
 How often up this path we've gone, 
 We boys and girls together, 
 And from our kind schoolmaster, 
 So many lessons learned. 
 It was here we met at singing-school, 
 And met as young debaters, 
 
12 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 And once a month to preaching came 
 To this our Alma Mater. 
 The crumbling logs now but remain 
 Of the old schoolhouse standing. 
 
 There's but one path that's plainer 
 Than when we all were here ; 
 Oh ! 'tis that path that leads us 
 Just over yonder's hill, 
 "Where gravestones of the household 
 Mark where loved ones lie sleeping. 
 Upon one spot hath Memory- 
 Thrown herself in tears, 
 'Tis father's grave, and mother's by his side ; 
 The next is sister's, sweetly sleeping 
 Under the moss-green mound : 
 She was the only sister we ever had 
 To soften down life's sorrow. 
 
 The next grave is a brother's, so tiny and so sweet ; 
 While here and there the stones among, 
 The names of friends appear. 
 Oh ! here the " silver cord is loosed ; 
 " The golden bowl lies broken ; 
 " The pitcher broken at the fount ; 
 " Wheel broken at the cistern." 
 Oh ! 'tis the time for tears to flow 
 From sorrow's fountain ; 
 For cheeks that thrilled with life and health, 
 And eyes that beamed with gladness, 
 And hands that too our ills hath soothed, 
 Have long with dust been mingled. 
 Oh ! may the tears that from us flow, 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 13 
 
 By angels' hands be gathered, 
 And in the golden chalice, changed 
 To streams of gladness. 
 
 LINES : 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MISS ALICE CAKEY. 
 
 Lady, whilst within my spirit, 
 
 Thought's most radiant angels throng ; 
 
 Their pinions, sweeping o'er the chords, 
 Shall woo for thee a song. — Anon. 
 
 I've dreamed while listening to thy song, 
 As its spirit of beauty bore me along, 
 
 On its minstrel pinions soaring, 
 That out somewhere, in the boundless deep, 
 I've found an isle, like beauty asleep, 
 
 "With the ocean round it roaring. 
 
 And that this isle, in its beauty rare, 
 Hath a cloudless sky, and the softest air 
 
 Within its fair groves playing ; 
 And streams that ripple o'er golden sand 
 As they hasten on to the ocean strand, 
 
 Like beauty going a Maying. 
 
 Where the fairest flowers, in fragrance spring, 
 At the gentle touch of some harp string, 
 By fairy fingers played. 
 
14 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 While mermaids strew the shore with shell, 
 Which, like some sweet-voiced minstrel, tell 
 Of the coral home of the naiad. 
 
 And I've built for thee a palace fair, 
 Brighter than castles in the air, 
 
 In this beauty haunted isle ; 
 In dreams, I've crowned thee its fair queen, 
 And thy minstrel bird, in its silvery sheen, 
 
 The happy hours beguile. 
 
 The fairies, thy attendants bright, 
 And elfins dancing in the light 
 
 Of this rosy, tropic clime ; 
 And joyous birds, of plumage gay, 
 Their love-songs sing, 'till the closing day 
 
 Hings memory's bells for a vesper chime. 
 
 I've dreamed that at thy minstrel shrine 
 My captive spirit worshipped thine, 
 
 With its golden, radiant beam ; 
 And as thy lyre still bore along 
 Sweet strains, I 'woke, and found thy song 
 
 Brighter than the dream. 
 
 LINES TO 
 
 A LOVELY YOUNG GIRL SMILING IN HER DREAMS. 
 
 Sweet girl, who in thy dreams doth smile, 
 As if bright visions from a golden shore 
 Around thee hover. 
 
EMBEKS OF THE PAST. 15 
 
 A shore from whose fair groves the breezes come, 
 
 And play at hide and seek, in the brown curls 
 
 That o'er thy young brow cluster. 
 
 "Whose flowers spring at thy enchantment wand, 
 
 And pour their fragrant sweets to thee 
 
 In floreal libation. 
 
 While musical delights, their softest airs inspire 
 
 In sweetest strains from lute and lyre 
 
 As incense to thy radiant soul ; 
 
 And warbling birds of plumage gay 
 
 Their songs do sing alone for thee. 
 
 While through these groves of bright majestic vision, 
 
 Pure fountains spring, and flash no light ; 
 
 And onward flow no streams of fond forgetfulness, 
 
 In whose clear depths thou doth so often bathe 
 
 Earth's tears away, 
 
 And o'er its ills in these bright dreams of thine, 
 
 Doth rise triumphant. 
 
 So, lovely girl, thy smile reflects, 
 Like sunset on the clouds, ere night, 
 The light of purity and ,grace 
 That o'er thy heart comes flowing 
 In golden rays of gladness. 
 
 Oh ! may thy dreams these visions bring, 
 Down to life's rosy twilight eve ; 
 And may thy fancy's pinions bear thee 
 Along its golden shores, and shades 
 Of lofty palm trees waving ; 
 Where fragrant sweets, and songs of birds 
 Thy young soul charm to holy wooing. 
 2 
 
16 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 So when these fairy shores grow dim, 
 From the mists of Death's old river, 
 Oh ! from this smiling trance of life 
 May you awake in Heaven. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 OF THE LATE MISS ALICE KIGGS. 
 
 Her life hath flowed, 
 From its mysterious urn, a sacred stream 
 In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure 
 Alone are mirrored ; which though shapes of ill 
 May hover round its surface, glides in light, 
 And takes no shadow from them. — Talfourd. 
 
 Gone for ever ! fading away 
 
 Like the lingering light of a summer's day, 
 
 As it softens into twilight's hour ; 
 Or like the sweet tones of some harp strings near, 
 As they melt away from the listening ear, 
 
 Or the fragrance of some sweet flower. 
 
 1 Fading away in the light so sweet, 
 Where the silver stars and the sunbeams meet," 
 
 Beneath the gilded dome. 
 Fading away in the golden light, 
 That comes through the gates like sentinels bright, 
 
 To lighten the wanderer home. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 17 
 
 Gone from Earth's fair beauty and bloom, 
 
 Through the portals of Sorrow, the shades of the Tomb, 
 
 Where mortality moulders away — 
 To a home beyond Time's swelling flood 
 Redeemed from death by a Saviour's blood, 
 
 To live in eternal day. 
 
 Sweet strains of music floating o'er 
 The breezes from that radiant shore, 
 
 Are borne to the raptured ear ; 
 And as rosy eve its shadow brings, 
 We seem to hear the rustling wings 
 
 Of her spirit pinions hovering near. 
 
 And o'er the mourning household dear, 
 Her silent vigils keeping, near 
 
 The sad and lonely home. 
 Oh ! she's watching and waiting on the golden shore, 
 To lead them through Death's gloomy door 
 
 To Eternity's bright dome. 
 
 We never knew her, yet we wr'te 
 This tribute to her memory bright, 
 
 And hope that on that radiant shore 
 We'll meet and know each other there, 
 And live in its immortal air — 
 
 Beyond the breakers' roar. 
 
18 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 HAPPY MOMENTS. 
 
 There are some happy moments in this lone 
 
 And desolate world of ours that well repay 
 The toil of struggling through it, and atone 
 
 For many a long sad night and weary day. 
 They come upon the mind like some wild air 
 
 Of distant music, when we know not where 
 Or whence their sounds are brought from, and their power, 
 
 Though brief, is boundless. — Halleck. 
 
 Oh ! how these moments come and go, 
 Like the lone sea's silent ebb and now, 
 Or like the glad waves that kiss the fond shore, 
 And roll back to ocean to return no more. 
 
 And as we stand watching along the gray beach, 
 To catch at the wrecks as they come within reach — 
 The wrecks of bright moments the breakers bring in ; 
 We grasp all in vain for the prize we would win. 
 
 And as we look back on life's rushing river, 
 The eyes dim with tears and the rosy lips quiver, 
 As we think of the moments that quickly have iled, 
 To come back no more like the arrow that's sped. 
 
 Oh ! are there no moments but these that are gone ? 
 To cheer with their gladness life's journey on, 
 Give joy to the heart and a smile to the lip, 
 As from their own sweetness life's nectar we'd sip ? 
 
 Oh ! yes, there are bright ones which o'er us do linger, 
 And the fair angel Hope, with an unforeseen finger, 
 
EMBEBS OF THE PAST. 19 
 
 Is pointing us on to eternity's goal, 
 
 Where forever bright moments encircle the soul. 
 
 MUSINGS, 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF TIME'S EIVEE. 
 
 "Let Fate do her worst — there are relics of joy, 
 Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy. 
 Long, long be my heart with such memories filled, 
 Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled: 
 You may break, you may scatter the vase, if you will, 
 But the scent of the roses will cling round it still." 
 
 In fancy's mood, as we wander along 
 
 The banks of this old river, 
 
 We see the floating shadows come, 
 
 Of life that's faded and gone, 
 
 And with them bring, in solemn array, 
 
 Their train of memories blighted ; 
 
 As, in the mirror of the past, 
 
 Imagination looks and sees 
 
 The fancies of her own creation. 
 
 Remembrance of the past, 
 Which in oblivion's dust 
 Soon will lie buried ; 
 Time's mouldering ruins, which 
 In their grim phantasy have reared 
 2* 
 
20 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Their shadows darkly o'er the pathway 
 
 Of a lifetime — 
 
 How well they mark the change 
 
 That hath rolled by, since earth was younger, 
 
 And in her virgin beauty, sported with 
 
 Gay Nature's charms. 
 
 It was in those festive days, 
 
 That Rome, a queen, was crowned, 
 
 And in her might of power, 
 
 The prestige of her conquering star 
 
 Lifted on high. 
 
 Her banners in proud triumph borne, 
 
 By countless legions, forth, 
 
 Into a world which well did act 
 
 The part of fawning courtier. 
 
 We look once more upon the scene, 
 
 And find her glories gone. 
 
 She's crownless now, and doth no sceptre wield ; 
 
 The sombre shades hang o'er her ruins grim, 
 
 And to her crumbling walls 
 
 The ivy firmly clings. 
 
 Unshrouded there she lies, 
 
 Uncoffined, and without a tomb ; 
 
 She lies unburied on the hills 
 
 Of her own shame. 
 
 There's but a like example 
 In the fate of Greece, 
 Shrine of poetic brightness 
 In the world's dark gloom : 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 21 
 
 She which did rock the cradle of the Muse, 
 
 And sing imto Philosophy 
 
 Her lullaby, 
 
 She too hath gone, and like a ship 
 
 Gone down in storm, we last do see 
 
 Her signal at the masthead. 
 
 So thus it is the wreck of years 
 
 Comes drifting down the tide of time ; 
 
 The pride of all man would achieve 
 
 Lies shattered, broken, and undone. 
 
 Then let us turn to fonder theme, 
 
 And sing of childhood's happy hours : 
 
 Time's billowy tide has swept along, 
 
 And borne its happy scenes away. 
 
 We'll draw the snowy curtains by, 
 
 And in the old halls wander, 
 
 Its scenes among, by Memory's rills, 
 
 Where recollections, fond and tender, 
 
 Of childhood's days lie sleeping ; 
 
 And in their dreams bright visions rise 
 
 Of flowery fields we've wandered over ; 
 
 Of homes once bright, and days once squandered : 
 
 'Tis there the tendrils of the heart 
 
 Lie twined in youth's fair bowers ; 
 
 While oft in dreamland's sunny realm, 
 
 To its fond scenes we are carried, 
 
 To where affection's fountains spring, 
 
 And down life's pathway flowing, 
 
 To refresh the weary spirit, 
 
 And its sorrow soften. 
 
22 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Oh, we should con life's lesson well, 
 For its records teach us sadness, 
 So that when by the stream of Time 
 "We will no longer wander, 
 We'll have the prestige of a hope 
 That conquers all life's sorrows. 
 
 TO MAGGIE. 
 
 Thou art lovely as the sunlight, 
 
 When it falls upon the flowers, 
 Thy brow as fair, thy smile as bright ; 
 
 Thy cheeks like twilight's rosy hours ; 
 
 Like twilight's rosy hours that part 
 
 Sunshine from night, daylight from dark ; 
 
 Thine are bright charms unlearned of art, 
 On which deception hath no mark. 
 
 There's music in thy voice that thrills 
 " Like sunset dreams that linger " o'er us, 
 
 When o'er the scene life's gathering ills 
 Come stealing one by one upon us. 
 
 When sorrow revels in the heart, 
 
 Or when by gloom bewitched we stray, 
 
 Thy gentle sweetness doth impart 
 Its charms to drive the spell away. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 23 
 
 In whate'er pathway thou may est roam, 
 
 Or where in life thy footsteps stray, 
 May thy soul rest in that bright home, 
 
 Where twilight never ends the day. 
 
 LIFE'S YESPEE HOUR. 
 
 When vesper comes stealing 
 
 O'er oar bright summer dreams, 
 
 Then fancy goes launching 
 Her bark down the streams. 
 
 The waters come drifting 
 
 The light boat away — 
 While twilight is throwing 
 
 Her veil o'er the day — 
 
 And in the bright waters, 
 As she goes dancing on, 
 
 We see the fair features 
 Of scenes that are gone. 
 
 We see the loved faces, 
 
 In its waters so deep, 
 That seem as if wak'ning 
 
 From a long night of sleep. 
 
 And in the soft evenings 
 
 Sweet voices we hear, 
 With their tones so familiar, 
 
 And so very dear. 
 
24 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Sweet words that we've spoken, 
 And snatches of song, 
 
 Sang 'way off in childhood, 
 Oh ! how very long ! 
 
 The harp strings are broken ; 
 
 The lute is unstrung, 
 Whose sweet notes did soften 
 
 The songs that we sung. 
 
 Oh ! these are the visions 
 That rise o'er the soul, 
 
 As life's bark goes drifting 
 To eternity's goal. 
 
 So when twilight deepens 
 Into night of deep sorrow, 
 
 May the star of hope guide us 
 To a brighter to-morrow. 
 
 TO HALLIE. 
 
 I'm thinking of thee, Hallie, 
 
 So young and so fair, 
 And the bright smile that round thee plays 
 
 With purity's own sweet air. 
 
 And of thy girlish sweetness blest 
 
 With beauty's pears so rare ; 
 The softest blush upon thy cheek ; 
 
 The rose of health you wear. 
 
EMBERS OP THE PAST. 25 
 
 And thy young heart so pure and free 
 • From care, and ills, and sorrow ; 
 Whose beams that shine so bright to-day, 
 Will brighter be to-morrow. 
 
 And I'm wishing that thy life may flow 
 
 As pure as that bright river, 
 Which in the Orient tales we're told, 
 
 In shining light doth quiver ; 
 
 That when the lingering day hath fled, 
 
 Its diamonds glow the brightest ; 
 O'er golden sands and jewels rare, 
 
 Its waters gleam the lightest. 
 
 So when time's straggling sunbeams hide 
 
 Behind the clouds of night, 
 May life's pure stream to thee then flow 
 
 In loveliness most bright. 
 
 BY AJSTD BY. 
 
 " Like the sunrise of Ossian, 
 Pleasant, but mournful to the soul." 
 
 Oh what lullaby of song 
 These little words do bear along, 
 The smile of Hope, the sunlit joy, 
 That from life's moments they decoy. 
 
26 EMBERS OF' THE PAST. 
 
 Sometimes a smile, sometimes a sigh, 
 Is found in this queer By and By ; 
 Sunshine and shade, like phantoms, chase 
 Each other in a phantom race. 
 
 We heard it first within the door 
 Of life, as through it we stepped o'er 
 Those guileless, thoughtless, happy years 
 Of baby prattlings, smiles, and tears. 
 
 And then in boyhood's fleeting hours, 
 
 The prestige of its hope was ours, 
 
 Of all that manhood years would win us, 
 
 The coats, and hats, and boots they'd bring us. 
 
 And now in manhood when the gleam 
 Of life's noontide's o'er us, we dream 
 Of the bright morn and its sweet smile, 
 These little words did then beguile. 
 
 So from the cradle to the grave, 
 O'er life's lone meteoric wave, 
 We steer our frail and trembling bark 
 For some Ignis Fatuus in the dark. 
 
 So this lone star-beam " By and By," 
 Is flitting still before the eye, 
 And for the love of days now gone, 
 In its bright rays we'll still hope on. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 27 
 
 SUNLIGHT. 
 
 Oh ! the golden sunlight 
 Hath a charm so bright, 
 
 As it falls over hill and dale, 
 And awakes the fair sleepers, 
 And Earth's harvest reapers, 
 
 From the slumbers of night's dreamy veil. 
 
 And as it goes creeping 
 Through the lane bars, peeping, 
 
 The urchins go climbing over ; 
 To scamper and play 
 The bright hours away, 
 
 'Till twilight comes back, the gay rover. 
 
 As they clamber along 
 With laughter and song 
 
 So careless, and happy, and free, 
 May they never borrow 
 From life's ills a sorrow, 
 
 But ever as light-hearted be. 
 
 And as its bright beams 
 Bathe in the glad streams, 
 
 That hide under leafy cover ; 
 Some rosy cheeked beauty, 
 A truant from duty, 
 
 Is here awaiting her lover. 
 3 
 
28 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 "With a smile of delight, 
 The schoolboy so bright 
 
 Goes tripping along to school, 
 And will not return 
 When noon-tide rays burn, 
 
 But await the evening's cool. 
 
 While through the red clover, 
 The butterfly-rover — 
 
 Goes merrily sipping the dew ; 
 The wheat and the corn 
 Wave in the bright morn, 
 
 And ripen in its golden hue. 
 
 Oh, how much its worth ! 
 To our glad Earth, 
 
 Is the sunshine, bright and warm ; 
 With its rays to cheer 
 Our journey here, 
 
 And soften life with its charm. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN OF THE FAIEIES. 
 
 There is a fountain rippling 
 In some long sought vale, 
 Where't has been for ages trickling — 
 So goes the olden tale. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 29 
 
 Its waters smoothly flowing, 
 
 So brightly in the sun ; 
 
 As with bright tints they're glowing, 
 
 O'er golden sands they run. 
 
 'Tis in this vale, so often, 
 The Elves and Fairies come, 
 "Where these bright waters soften 
 The shades of life's humdrum. 
 
 And like fair nuns they yearly 
 Take veil, and vow, anew, 
 In the tasks they love so dearly, 
 New pleasures to pursue. 
 
 Each hath their charming duty 
 Apportioned to perform ; 
 Out in the world of beauty 
 To soften down life's storm. 
 
 Open the flowers to drink the dew, 
 And close them from the sun ; 
 The birds to wake, their songs renew 
 In the early morn begun. 
 
 And thus from morn to twilight's hours 
 O'er nature's fields they roam, 
 The incense of their Fairy powers 
 Flies dove-like to each home. 
 
30 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 VISIONS FROM THE OTHER SHORE. 
 
 I dreamed of children playing 
 By the margin of Time's stream, 
 
 And a glorious, radiant vision, 
 "Was the spirit of the dream. 
 
 And as they strayed along the shore, 
 
 Careless as childhood can be, 
 Their sweet songs floated upon the air, 
 
 From their guileless hearts so free. 
 
 And here and there in little groups 
 They were stooping o'er the strand, 
 
 Gathering up the pebbles rare, 
 Drawing pictures in the sand. 
 
 Some gathered up the tinted shells 
 That were borne upon the shore — 
 
 Like sweetest memories that come up 
 From out the days of yore. 
 
 A little group were standing 
 
 With shells up to the ear, 
 In an attitude of listening 
 
 For the sounds that they might hear — 
 
 As from these shells of memory 
 Come up the words once spoken 
 
 By friends, who now in silence sleep, 
 Of whom these shells are token — 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 31 
 
 So while these children were listening, 
 
 Down by the wave-washed shore, 
 The clouds and mists were lifting, 
 
 And music came floating o'er. 
 
 A glorious vision of beauty 
 
 Came floating o'er the soul, 
 As angels, in shining raiment, 
 
 Were touching their harps of gold. 
 
 The glitter of shining raiment ; 
 
 The fanning of angel wings ; 
 The fragrance of flowers there springing, 
 
 Too bright for earthly things. 
 
 The group of little children 
 
 Have dropped the tinted shells, 
 In which their tears fast flowing, 
 
 Have filled the vacant cells. 
 
 They are crying to go over 
 
 To the radiant, shining shore ; 
 To leave Earth's vale of sorrows, 
 
 They thought so bright before. 
 
 Oh ! could the veil be lifted 
 
 That hides that spirit land, 
 As eagerly we'd be waiting 
 
 To join its radiant band. 
 
32 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 ADONIS TRANSFORMED. 
 
 " Adonis, a youth, the offspring of Cinyras and Myrrha, was very 
 beautiful, and beloved by Venus, and dying from a wound received 
 whilst hunting, he was changed by her into the beautiful and fragrant 
 Anemone." 
 
 Gat nature was adorned 
 
 In her most beauteous robe ; 
 Imperial beauty crowned 
 
 Our fair terrestrial globe. 
 
 The Moon came tripping up 
 
 The star gemmed path of Night, 
 And in the waters rippling by 
 
 Saw her own image bright. 
 
 Nature was looking lovely 
 
 As though she were a bride, 
 With Night, in moonlit beauty, 
 
 Sweet bridesmaid at her side. 
 
 And Night, by stars though guarded, 
 
 Like Danae, fair and bright, 
 Hath oft received her lover 
 
 In the showers of moon -light. 
 
 While fragrant breezes wafted 
 
 Their incense o'er the scene, 
 And every where bright flowers sprang, 
 
 Fit for the gods, I ween. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Through these fair groves so lovely, 
 Venus came tripping early, 
 
 In search of her Adonis fair, 
 The boy she loved so dearly. 
 
 And summonsing the Wood Nymphs, 
 Who o'er these groves preside, 
 
 She bid them go and call him 
 Right quickly to her side. 
 
 The Wood-land Nymphs so airy 
 
 Went searching through the flowers, 
 
 And hunting for the lover fair 
 
 Through all the brightest bowers. 
 
 In answer to their calling, 
 
 A hunter's winding horn 
 Sends up its feeble echoes, 
 
 Just ere the break of morn. 
 
 And guided by the dying notes, 
 
 In fear they sped along ; 
 On, on into the dark woods, 
 
 Uncheered by Fairy song. 
 
 And lo ! within the wild wood, 
 
 Just by a stream he lay, 
 And from a wound, so near his heart, 
 
 His life ebbed fast away. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas in grief most dire 
 That Venus did embrace him, 
 
34 EMBEES OF THE PAST. 
 
 And with fond words and tearful eyes 
 Begged some last word or look from him. 
 
 With water from the brook she strove 
 To bathe the death -damp from his brow ; 
 
 One lingering farewell look he gave, 
 But oh, he's dying now ! 
 
 So just when he was breathing 
 
 His life's last breath away, 
 She changed him to the Anemone, 
 
 Which sprang from where he lay. 
 
 The remnant of his life was changed 
 
 Into this modest flower, 
 Giving to it its fragrant sweets, 
 
 With beauty for its dower. 
 
 And to this spot she ever 
 
 Came through the after years, 
 
 And this fond relic of her lover 
 She watered with her tears. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 35 
 
 BEAUTIES OF CREATION. 
 
 To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
 
 To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
 Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
 
 And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
 To climb the trackless" mountain all unseen, 
 
 With the wild flock that never feeds a fold ; 
 Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; 
 
 This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
 Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Oh, noblest Muse, who doth inspire 
 
 To loftier theme than yet we've sung, 
 
 Lend us thy pinions that we may soar 
 
 To realms divinely bright and pure, 
 
 Whose scenes have yet a lingering hue 
 
 Of brightness that was lent to Eden, 
 
 In that bright morn of primal loveliness, 
 
 When Adam wandered forth, Eve at his side ; 
 
 While Nature blushed in all her full completeness 
 
 Of roseate hue, and tints of golden orient. 
 
 Oh ! in the inspiration thou would'st pour upon us, 
 There is a theme that's fit for lofty soaring : 
 Of Nature's brightest charms, which have enrobed 
 Earth in her virgin beauty, 
 
 And in her scenes of noblest pride and grandeur 
 Would raise the soul to lofty contemplation. 
 Her grand old mountains, around whose lofty summits 
 The lightnings flash, and gleam in mystic brightness ; 
 3* 
 
36 EMBEES OF THE PAST. 
 
 And thunders roll among the clouds 
 
 That ride at anchor on their craggy tops, 
 
 On these old tops the storms break their wild fnry, 
 
 And on their sides Time's breakers roll, 
 
 And perish at the base. 
 
 Old Ocean, too, in pride rolls on, 
 
 In her unfathomed boundless deep; 
 
 While in fierce storms the breakers beat, 
 
 And dash in madness on the shore ; 
 
 While far at sea the ship goes down, 
 
 And ends in death the mariner's dream of home. 
 
 In these old scenes of nature's grandeur, 
 
 That seem like monuments of her anger, 
 
 There's all to strike the harp to lofty melody — 
 
 But 'tis not of her frown we'd sing, 
 
 'Tis of the smile of beauty round her playing, 
 
 Which doth display her charms 
 
 In all their blushing beauty. 
 
 There is a beauty of a softer type, 
 
 Seen from the stretch of valleys bright — 
 
 Not where from ancient crags o'erhanging, 
 
 The waterfall goes tumbling over 
 
 The time-worn rocks, that seem as striving 
 
 The waters to restrain from their impetuous leap, 
 
 Where broken in the depth beneath, 
 
 They rush like vanquished armies fleeing, 
 
 To where all danger past they then resume 
 
 Their wonted calmness, and go marching on 
 
 In quiet order — 
 
 But from the sloping banks of green, 
 
 Where lilies spring in modest sweetness, 
 
EMBEKS OF THE PAST. 37 
 
 And water-cresses kiss the stream ; 
 
 While blue-eyed violets, drooping, see 
 
 Their image fair within the mirrored depths. 
 
 Sweet scenes of rural beauty, 
 
 Which all around are teeming 
 
 With verdure green, and dewy freshness ; 
 
 The woodland streams flow gently, 
 
 O'er sands and pebbles run ; 
 
 While waving forests on their banks 
 
 Their evening shadow flings, 
 
 And on their leafy tops, till closing day, 
 
 Bright warblers joyous sing. 
 
 We'll wander forth to view a sunset scene, 
 
 Where over field, and hill, and stream, 
 
 His last fond rays come beaming 
 
 To bid the day farewell, 
 
 And now beyond the softly parting clouds, 
 
 His golden pinions folded ; 
 
 Oh ! have you never viewed a sunset scene, 
 
 Where fleecy clouds with rosy hue are trided, 
 
 And softly melt into the airs of heaven, 
 
 Seeming as if the rosy tints 
 
 Came through the open portals peeping, 
 
 Where golden light for ever sheds 
 
 Its radiance round the throne ; 
 
 And as the rosy twilight hours melt dreamily away, 
 
 The moon comes forth to lead 
 
 The young night to her throne ; 
 
 While all the planets bright, 
 
 Prime ministers to her obeisance pay, 
 
 And millions more of distant stars 
 
 In twinkling beauty glow. 
 
38 EMBEKS OF THE PAST. 
 
 In meditation's robe we're wrapped, 
 
 With contemplation o'er, 
 
 Of all we've viewed since early morn 
 
 Her crown of light shed o'er us : 
 
 Then " look from nature up to nature's God," 
 
 And say, "Thy works are perfect." 
 
 HOMESICK. 
 
 11 Oh ! shall I ever be going 
 Back any more ; 
 Back, where the green woods are blowing 
 Close by the door." — Alice Caret. 
 
 Oh ! yes, we will be going 
 
 Back once more, 
 Where memory's winds are blowing 
 
 O'er days of yore. 
 
 Where little paths are winding 
 
 Through long ago, 
 And softly o'er us binding 
 
 Fond recollection's glow, 
 
 Where homeward of eves, 
 
 We tripped along, 
 As the rustling leaves 
 
 Echoed the bright song. | 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 39 
 
 By the rippling streams, 
 
 Whose waters are past, 
 We dreamed the fond dreams, 
 
 Too happy to last. 
 
 And as Time's stream did float 
 
 By the old home door, 
 We lightly stepped into Life's tiny boat, 
 
 And were borne away from the shore. 
 
 Oh ! the vigil lights 
 
 On the cottage hearth burn, 
 Long days and nights 
 
 For our return. 
 
 And through the long years, 
 
 Loved ones in the door, 
 Seem asking in tears, 
 
 Will you come back no more ? 
 
 Oh ! yes, we will be going 
 
 Back once more, 
 Where memory's winds are blowing 
 
 O'er days of yore. 
 
40 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 IN ANSWER TO MISS S. F. RICE. 
 
 You sigh for some bright magic ; 
 
 Some wand of marvellous power, 
 To bring again those scenes so bright, 
 
 Of childhood's guileless hour ; 
 
 To roam once more its flowery fields ; 
 
 In its bright sunshine bask ; 
 Eeturn again those days of yore, 
 
 Is all that you would ask ; 
 
 To stroll once more beside the stream 
 That glides like happiness by ; 
 
 And to sit beside. the orchard wall 
 Where the evening shadows lie ; 
 
 And to wander along the shady path 
 That led to the old stone mill, 
 
 That dashed the sparkling waters away 
 With its wheel that wouldn't stand still. 
 
 And sadly you sigh for the mother 
 Who hath kissed your tears away, 
 
 And sang your evening lullaby 
 At the close of each bright day ; 
 
 And watched your childish footsteps 
 As you laughingly strayed along, 
 
 Chasing the golden butterfly, 
 Singing some little song. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 41 
 
 Oh ! since these scenes have vanished, 
 
 You sigh for their return, 
 As you in their dead shadows 
 
 Life's saddest lessons learn. 
 
 Oh ! let your fondest longings 
 
 Be not for hours long gone , 
 But for the gilded future 
 
 So rapidly hastening on, 
 
 %> 
 
 Where, beyond life's closing portals 
 
 You may see each loving form, 
 That seems so eagerly waiting 
 
 To gather you out of the storm. 
 
 CROWNING THE HEEO. 
 
 Oh, have you forgotten that radiant joy 
 
 That lit the old home up when you were a boy ? 
 
 Wheie you 'neath the green branches, when the day's 
 
 work was o'er, 
 Sipped the nectarine sweets that life had in store ; 
 And the golden-fringed shadows 'neath the elms used to 
 
 play 
 Ere the weird barque of Fate had borne you away. 
 
 For so it may be that remembrance is fraught 
 With so glowing a picture as here we have wrought, 
 
42 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Of green fields and meadows, of hill and of glen, 
 O'er which Time hath frolicked between now and then ; 
 Or e'en of some farm-horse, so faithful and true 
 In bearing life's burdens, and oftentimes you. 
 
 So lovely a picture you've scarce ever seen 
 As this rustic home, half hid in the green 
 Of its old elm trees, whose branches meet 
 And waving kiss the sunbeams sweet : 
 Flinging their shadows at eventide, 
 Across the old lane green and wide ; 
 
 While on the low porch where the trellised vines cling — 
 
 And in their thick clusters the little birds sing — 
 
 The farmer sits smoking and thinking together, 
 
 Now puffing his pipe, then prospecting the weather — 
 
 So while he is smoking and looking about 
 
 Lest you'd not see him we've pointed him out. 
 
 Now the mellow lights of evening hours come on, 
 And the lingering sunlight plays o'er the lawn, 
 And the children shout in their joyous glee 
 As the tinkling cow-bells they hear o'er the lea ; 
 While the gathering cattle and fowls begin 
 Their usual evening barn-yard din. 
 
 And now the evening meal is spread, 
 
 And the children rush in to their milk and bread ; 
 
 And then they go merrily romping away 
 
 The beautiful hours of closing day : 
 
 Chasing them, golden-winged, over the heath, 
 
 Gathering wild flowers to make up a wreath. 
 
EMBEKS OF THE PAST. 43 
 
 Eow here they come marching, and leading old Gray, 
 And they've voted to crown him a hero to-day ; 
 A faithful old farm-horse in seasons gone by, 
 Now hobbling, lame-footed, and blind of an eye — 
 But these are his honors, the glorious scars 
 That he hath received in his ruralic wars. 
 
 "With the garland of flowers in triumph he's crowned, 
 While in good-natured wonder he's looking around ; 
 As slow the procession, ovation in state, 
 Comes marching in at the old farm-gate, 
 Where, now that they've halted within the yard, 
 Regardless of honors, he's browsing the sward. 
 
 And now, at the beat of a pan for a drum, 
 The inmates of the home have come 
 To hear the young orator, so eloquent, tell 
 How the garland of flowers was earned so well 
 By the dutiful life of faithful old Gray — 
 Toiling from morn to the closing day ; 
 
 How that he'd carried the children to school, 
 And brought them home in the evenings cool ; 
 How he had drawn the plow o'er the field, 
 Helping to make the harvest's rich yield, 
 And how he had carried its products away 
 To the nearest town on market-day. 
 
 Ah ! well, all this, and how much more 
 In life he did, in days of yore, 
 'Twere useless that we here should tell — 
 Peace to the manes, he hath done well ; 
 
44 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Such be the epitaph we soon must write 
 O'er his old bones, when bleaching white. 
 
 'Twas a beautiful thought of the childish mind, 
 
 Crowning the old horse, maimed, gray, and blind, 
 
 For his part in life was nobly performed, 
 
 As though a proud warrior some castle had stormed ; 
 
 And now a life-pension, in an equine way, 
 
 He deserves just as much — though it be corn and hay. 
 
 DEATH OF THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 " Yery touching and beautiful were the words of the old school- 
 master, as life passed away : ' It is growing dark — the school may be 
 dismissed.' Down to the very gates of an unseen world he carried 
 his love and regard for the children whom he had trained." 
 
 Still ! he lies there dying, 
 Life's light is fading away ; 
 u Reason is drifting a wreck," 
 
 " It is growing dark," he would say. 
 
 " The school may be dismissed," 
 The children may go home, 
 As in Life's waning twilight 
 
 He sees them around him come. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 45 
 
 Close the school-house shutters, 
 
 Lock the old oak door : 
 For there in his gentle kindness 
 
 He will never teach any more. 
 
 Ah, school on earth is ended, 
 
 Life's long session is past ! 
 Vacation to the old schoolmaster 
 
 Has brought its rest at last. 
 
 Life's labors are ended and over, 
 
 And beneath its twilight dome, 
 As the darkness around him gathers, 
 
 He's taken the path that leads home. 
 
 Here, 'mid the scenes of his labors, 
 Is all that on earth he holds dear ; 
 
 The school is the last he remembers, 
 As the light flickers out it draws near. 
 
 Oh, how much love and devotion ! 
 
 For the children who gather around, 
 There is in his last words spoken — 
 
 How sadly touching they sound. 
 
 While passing the gates and receiving 
 
 Death's signet-seal and mark, 
 He looks through the half-closed portals, 
 
 And says, " It is growing dark." 
 
46 embeks of the past. 
 
 LITTLE BAEE-FEET IS THE S1STOW. 
 
 Deep lies the snow in an alley 
 That runs through a tumble-down row ; 
 
 No marks are there on its pure whiteness, 
 Save some little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
 They have wandered out from that ruins 
 
 Of — a home shall I call it ? oh, no ! 
 For within its bleak walls are no comforts 
 
 For the little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
 Old rags are stuffed in the windows 
 
 Through which the piercing winds blow ; 
 
 And that pallet of straw in the corner, 
 Is for the little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
 There's nothing to eat, " no oil in the cruse," 
 
 ~No fire gives out its warm glow ; 
 And that frail dying form over there's the mamma 
 
 Of the little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
 She's dying, a death from starvation, 
 
 In this hovel so humble and low ; 
 And the last little morsel she's saving 
 
 For the little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
 Out in the snow she's gone begging — 
 
 Little waif on the wide sea of woe ; 
 Launched out on tears of deep sorrow — 
 
 Poor little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 47 
 
 In this city's gay scenes of splendor, 
 That surge like the tide's ebb and flow. 
 
 From attic and cellar there wander, 
 Many little bare-feet in the snow. 
 
 MUTANDUS. 
 
 Some rare and lovely gems we find ; 
 Some pearls and shells of gorgeous kind, 
 
 Upon life's silvery shore ; 
 And sometimes on its glistening sand, 
 With sullen roar the breakers land, 
 
 Some shattered wreck, or broken oar. 
 
 Soft trade-winds from the tropics haste 
 To bring their fruits, so rich of taste, 
 
 Fragrance of spice, and gorgeous flower ; 
 While 'neath the glare of burning sun 
 The blasts of deadly simoom run, 
 
 Or fatal upas breathes its power. 
 
 And sometimes in a desert wild, 
 We find oases green and mild 
 
 As young Spring kissed by sunny May ; 
 And then its burning wastes we tread 
 Amid the whitening bones of dead, 
 
 That mark the caravansa's way. 
 
48 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Some magic harp vibrates the desert air ; 
 
 Some fragile flower breathes its fragrance there — 
 
 Its incense dies, the harp's sweet notes none hears — 
 "While sorrow's Niobian statues stand 
 Like milestones, o'er the burning sand, 
 
 To mark the dreary waste of years. 
 
 As some gay butterfly, of golden wing, 
 
 Takes life's first voyage o'er the fields of Spring, 
 
 To sip the blooming clover sweet, 
 And then 'tis chased by some rude boy away, 
 And in his careless, thoughtless play, 
 
 Lies dying at his feet. 
 
 The pearls we gather from the white shore there, 
 Are but the frozen tear-drops of some peri fair, 
 
 An exile of that once bright race ; 
 The pink sea-shells, with their sad, plaintive roar, 
 Are but Memory's echoes through her time-worn door, 
 
 The rose's fragrance of a broken vase, 
 
 That grow articulate, and seem to tell 
 Of sparkling waters from a rustic well, 
 
 From which we quaffed our childish thirst away ; 
 Something about an old stone mill, 
 Whose busy wheel would not stand still, 
 
 But round and round it dashed away. 
 
 They seem to tell us of that radiant time 
 
 When our young lives were like some matin chime, 
 
 Of silver bells of joyous sound ; 
 When we first revelled in the light of morn, 
 And played at hide-and-seek within the corn, 
 
 Or slept when weary on the grassy down. 
 
EMBERS OF THE PAST. 49 
 
 The grape-vine swing beneath the spreading tree, 
 Where we with mirth and thoughtless glee, 
 
 Would chase the golden hours away ; 
 Or else we'd ride upon the old farm gate, 
 Or linger 'till 'twas growing late 
 
 To tumble o'er the new-mown hay. 
 
 Or with deep-laid plot within the barn, 
 To hide grandmother's ball of yarn, 
 
 And charge it to the playful kittens. 
 And then in search industriously we'd go, 
 On promise that by the first snow 
 
 We all should have new mittens. 
 
 But childhood-days have passed away, 
 And like the mellow moonbeams, play 
 
 Their shadows on the wall ; 
 And as life's storm is deepening o'er the main, 
 The shells breathe forth a sad refrain 
 
 Through Memory's ruined hall ; 
 
 They seem to tell us of a trysting spot, 
 'Twere better if we had forgot, 
 
 Or that we'd never known ; 
 Down where the laughing waters glide 
 We sat together side by side 
 
 And vowed to be each other's own. 
 
 It were not meet that we should tell, 
 Of charms that like some fairy spell 
 
 Were clustered o'er her brow ; 
 For eyes that beamed with rapturous ray, 
 And voice that had a potent sway 
 
 Are closed and silent now. 
 
50 EMBERS OF THE PAST. 
 
 But ere the joyous, golden May 
 That was to bring our bridal day 
 
 "We bore her to the silent grave ; 
 And when our tears we ceased to shed, 
 Farewell to home, we wildly sped 
 
 Upon the ocean's stormy wave. 
 
 Well, well, some day we'll drift ashore, 
 Beside some wreck, or broken oar, 
 
 Near the spot we fondly love ; 
 They'll tenderly place us by her side, 
 Beneath the crust of world outside, 
 
 And then we'll meet above.