I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. # t ^ t ^ [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] J UNITED ST-ATES OF AMERICA t FELICITY ctrital Tvomaiuc EI. IZABKTH O. KINNEY u^n^' NEW YORK: JAMES S. DICKERSON, 097 BROADWAY, 1855. A Entered, according lo Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by JAMES S. DICKERSON, 111 llie Clerk's Office of tlie District Court for the Southern District of Xew York. 15. ©. Jenkins, printer, No. 26 Frankfort Street. f NOTE. Should there be any doubt in the reader's miud as to the possibility, at so late a period, of such events as are portrayed in this poem, the Author has only to state, that its leading^ incidents are founded on fact. PART I FELICITY I. The convent bell now calls to vespers, All the nuns together come ; Ave Marias blend in whispers, Solemn music fills the dome. Where is Felicita — the maid Whose pensive step is always lingering? Ah, there she comes, in white arrayed, Abstractedly her missal fingering ! And now beside the rest she's kneeling — Mantling tresses half concealing F E L I CI T A, The pure marble of that brow ; Her white hands are clasped ; and now Move those pale lips, soft and slow, To the organ's mournful pealing, And there comes a holy feeling O'er her heart and senses stealing. Lower, lower seems to bow — Weighed by thought — that head ; and how, Like a water-lily pending O'er the stream, her neck is bending, Till — as in the glassy river Sees the lily all its grace — Calm reflection back doth give her, True to life, her moral face : Still she keeps her prayer repeating — Prayer's the music to her thought — Still her inner glance is meeting, From that faithful mirror brought, Her own likeness, trace, for trace. FELICITA. II. Now the lioly vespers cease ; Twiliglit's curtain is descending — Day's tumultuous rule is ending In the gentler reign of peace : To their cells the nuns repair, Each to sleepy tasks of prayer ; All to count their beads, save one, Who gives thanks that she's alone For she hath too little share In what makes the others' care ; Eather would she from afar Hold communion with a star ; Or, to be still more in tune, Worship tranquilly the moon. Why, oh why, then, is she there ? Who's the maid Felicita ? 10 F E L I C I T A . III. Nature's been a generous motlier Unto this, her truest child ; She, alas ! has here no other. And her father never smiled On the daughter he may claim — Unworthy of a father's name. He's a trafiicker, who, bent Ever on his sordid wishes, Deems that gain is life's intent ; While his heart by coins inclosed — Thick as on the backs of fishes Are the lapping scales disposed — Hath no generous opening, where Love may find an entrance there ; Nor, within concealed, a trace That Love ever there had place : Dark his mien, with passion scarred ; Thoughts of gain his brow contracting ; FELICITA. 11 Traits, once fair, by avarice marred, Gleams of cunning smiles refracting ; Agile eyes, that seem averting Candor's open, daylight glance — Oft their own regard inverting. Sending treacherous looks askance : Such is he ! yet, when he wills it, Coil his baser passions up — Takes his eye a serpent charm ; Then his comrade, as he fills it. Grasps and drains his poisoned cup, Never once suspecting harm : Woe to her on whom he levels This, his lure ! she'll not escape Till O'er her lost peace he revels, Or, her mind to his takes shape. I v. Thus, he once did subjugate — Luring from the parent-nest — 12 F E L I C 1 T A . One, wlio made by him to languish, Found — alas, it was too late 1 — In her lingering, festering anguish. That a viper stung her breast ; One, from whom death's struggle wrested A frail dovelet, to be nested With a vulture — and one day In her turn become his prey. V. He, maliciously content With his victim, fair to see. Did her joyous name invent ; Child of France — that laughing clime- Born, too, in a prosperous time. Yet, whate'er her name might be, Unfelicitous was she. FELICITA. 13 How his avarice did gloat On her promised charms, when he Placed her in this nunnery ! Timid child ! her slender throat Choked with feeling there confined, When she found herself consigned To the cloister's dismal wall, Whose dark frown did her appal. VI. Her unnourished heart had panted For the breast of sympathy, And she felt that what was granted To her mates, not hers could be- That love's fount for her was dried When her poor young mother died. Those who never felt heart-need — Gnawing void, more keen than pain- 14 F E L 1 C I T A . How, when famished natures plead, Should they, in their selfish blindness, Know to give the milk of kindness, Which alone can love sustain ? Felicita saw well that there Her heart must pine, as everywhere ; That in no common bosom dwelt What could fill the void she felt : Hers must be a life alone — Hearing round her love's fond tone ; She, the youngest, fairest fair. Thro' the veil of sadness seen, Still, despite her touching mien, Only Pity's heart could share. VII. So, among the nuns she moves, One apart — unheeding them ; FELICITA. 15 None for her true feeling proves — None her names, save to condemn : They but find her cold — nor know How to look that ice below ; How to melt its surface through With the penetrating dew Which from one heart on another Falls so warm and gratefully, Soft'ning ice that needs must smother Feeling's fount, if there it be : They know not that the heart's tide Inward turned, ne'er flows again, If its springs be not supplied By affection's dew and rain. VIII, An inner life she lives, for, even Denied to nuns is converse sweet 16 F E L 1 C I T A . With beauties peopling earth and heaven, To yearning hearts companions meet. At night when silence reigns within — Dian above, and sadness ronnd, She breaks thro' law, nor feels it sin. To seek the only opening found — The window of her narrow cell, And thence gaze up into the sky ; For what she asks not, nor could tell, Save that some solace seems on high : Or, when sleep idly loiters by. And heavier than with slumber, are With tears those lids, whose fringes lie Like a Madonna's — while her prayer Soars to God's Mother, because hers is there- Some gentle spirit seemeth nigh, And soft hands wipe the sluggish drops Which on her oval cheek remain — As on the peach's down, when stops The shower, rest pearly drops of rain. F E L I C I T A IX. I said that Nature to her child A generous mother was ; for she, With queenly height and majesty, In her hath blent all graces mild : Her eyes are like a brimming lake Which hue and light from heaven doth take ; Her smile is Morning's ray serene Ere sunlight makes too glad the scene ; The mould of intellect her brow ; Her lips were curved for Cupid's bow, Tho' now, compress'd with thought, seem thin, And white, save by the pearls within ; An ebon mantle is her hair — So long, that for a widow 'twere A mourning veil, on earth to trail ; So lustrous, that the stars might shine Mirrored upon its surface fine, 18 F E L I C I T A . And she, enwrapt by it, compare With night's starred goddess in her veil ; While classic features, coldly fair, And marble paleness, make her seem One of the few of whom we dream — A beauty half divine ! X. But beauty fades, and discreet Nature Joined to such grace of form and feature, Intrinsic majesty — a mind Above all outer charms combined, As far as over mental gifts Rises her heart of truest kind : Pre-formed to what o'er sense uplifts The human soul, untaught, to her Without a veil do truths appear, Which knowledge scarcely maketh clear To others, tho' interpreter. FELICITA. 19 The soul sometimes in native clearness Sees tli« wide heaven of truth reflected In its own bosom, with more nearness Than through lore's telescope inspected : As in the bosom of a river Unnavigated, Heaven is seen In truthful glory mirrored ever — Sometimes without a cloud between ; While in the navigated stream But fragments of the sky appear, And these oft troubled as a dream, Because the waters are not clear. XI. Felicita's strong power to love, As yet, is only latent force ; For her father's brutal course Nothing save disgust can move : 20 FELICITA, Filial ties were long ago Severed from her tender heart, And once broken, does she know To replace them, now by art? She's not Art's, but Nature's child- Simple as she's undefiled ; Kind and bland she needs must be — Goodness is her being's law ; But, tho' swayed by charity. Her deep heart none ever saw. XII. Nature her contradictions has — Her humors and her freaks : Thus, of a sire who base-born was — For lowest deeds of night ; This radiant creature sprang — as breaks From darkness foul the queen of light ! PART II F E X. I C T T ^\^ I. Kature and Freedom ! ye, akin, Emotions kindred do inspire : Ye touch, tlie same true chord within — Ye kindle the same hallowed fire ! In every bosom where is living A heart that struggles to be free : In every noble spirit striving To give its fellows liberty : There is a yearning for glad nature — A love of prairies, rivers, wild- wood. 24 FELICITA. And of each sportive, bounding creature That was a sympathy in childhood. So inverse : who feels not by mountains Springing from earth to reach the sky — By cataracts — by upleaping fountains, Which ever seek their source on high — Who feels not freedom in his heart Leap up to its Original, And thence descending, life impart. And blessings in its liberal fall ? But what so gives this sense of freedom — This feeling, which in deeds must live, As the sea-waves when wild winds speed them Beyond all stretch that sight can give ? The boundless, fathomless, blue sea ! Who can feel this, and not love liberty ? 1 1. So thought Felicita, when first She left her sadly- dearest France ; F E L I C I T A , 25 When on her franchised vision burst The deep, so vast and grand, Beyond Avhose limitless expanse She saw the promised land : All calm its surface then, and free, It was the mirror of her feeling — What she had pined so long to be, Seemed in the spirit of that sea. And in its face revealing. III. She looked into her father's eye, Almost expecting sympathy ; She did not think that any soul Could keep from bounding to the roll Of those glad waves exultingly ; Nor could a sordid aim exist There, as she thought, in freedom's midst ; 9 26 F E L I C I T A , She looked, then, into that dark face^ Hoping to see some daylight trace — Some free response to Nature's voice^ That made her own true heart rejoice : She looked — but, as the tiger's eye, Which into night can fire-balls lance^ Turns every Avay unrestingly, To 'scape clear Morning's sunny glance ; So that unresting eye paternal Shifted to hide its aims infernal From the questioning look, so mild. Of that unsuspecting child : Something in those gray eyes, squintings Minded her of treachery's story ; Something chilled her there — a hinting. As of fate premonitory. IV. She had not asked why they were there, Nor whither he designed to go ; F E L I C I T A . 27 It was enough for lier to share The freedom she had longed to know. When to the convent's walls he came, And from Ms voice she heard her name, A sudden cold presentiment Had her warm blood a moment frozen ; But when, thro' words of blandishment, She learned that he had kindly chosen To take her with him where he went, An instant touched her virgin-lips That furrowed brow — which dark intent Did even then and there eclipse — Tho' from the filial act she quick Drew back instinctively, as one Of an unfeigned repugnance sick, And scarce believing what she'd done. V. At sea now, when his wily look Did vaguely to her hopes reply, 28 F E L I C I T A . Her frame again with terror shook — Alas ! she knew not why. She saw too plain that such as he Could with the heaven-lit, tranquil sea, Have nothing of her sympathy ; Nor could she henceforth feel its calm, ISTor drink its free air, that as balm Into her faint heart had stolen. Which to aching now was swollen With a terror undefined, While fresh tears her eyes did blind. Then the Bible's old sea-tale Eose, and made her cheek grow pale At the sight of waves late cherished, Lest in vengeance they should rise ; For, if Jonah well-nigh perished Fleeing from the angry skies. Their defier^ how much rather, Should be swallowed when he flies — Here the Jonah was her father ! F E L I C 1 T A . 29 VI. Thus, shadows of a coming storm Already on her spirit lay ; And sooh in distance rose the form Of such a cloud as " old tars" say "Makes sailors swear, and cowards pray I" At first, not more than a hand's breadth It seemed in size down the horizon ; But, rising, s]3read, now black as death — As some foul bird of night extends, Pond'rous and wide the wings he flies on, Dense, damp, and dismal as a fiend's ! VII. Kow wind and thunder from afar Preluded Heaven's full orchestra ; 30 V E L I C I T A . And no^\', hoarse shouts and big oaths dure With that terrific bass-kept time ; And now, all joined with awful chime To swell the deafening overture ! The parted waves with yawning gaps Eose, their Avhite crests like ghosts in caps ; The strong ship groaned, creaked, and grew porous, While fire, hail, rain, struck in their chorus. And now, an interluding strain — A symphony there was again, And those affrighted, who were praying, Thought it to them a soft voice saying, "■ The wrath of God will soon pass by — Be not afraid, for here am I !" But now again the chorus thundered — The fearing shook ; the trusting wondered : The guilty paled — ^for courage strove — Bit his lip purple, as to prove That sea nor sky his fear could move : — F E L I C I T A. 31 How vain to coax tlie craven nature Of a corrupt and cringing creature 1 VIII. The trafficker approached his daughte?' AYitli a feigned tenderness for her : But, chasing him, th' avenging water Made him his cowardice aver : Before her firm, unshrinking knee He fell involuntarily — ^ As if her innocence could bring To shelter him its angel-wing — And there, by that unflinching maid, For the first time he — yes, lie prayed ! She heard him — heard him tlien unmoved — His dastardly design denounce. And vow if Heaven him spared and proved, That purpose to renounce : 1 32 F E L I C I T A .. Twas not tlie oatli tliat Jeplitliali took^ Whicli sacrificed liis only daugiiter — The first on whom liis eyes did look On coming back from Amnion's slaughter- No : ^twas a vow he thought more brave — If he escaped a watery grave, His only cherished child to save : To save from what^ she dared not ask ; Tho', while he felt almost a saint — — Heaven's ear and patience thus to task AYith such remorse as fear did paint. Till 'twas of penitence a feint — She, who well knew 'twould only last Until the storm was overpast, Began to question in her mind What was for her this threatened fate^ So dreadful, that it could create A show of penitence in one Who seemed to deeds already done, In view of this new horror, blind. F E L I C I T A . 88 IX. For her, the storm had not a terror : Those who believe that suffering hearts Fear outward evils, are in error ; For moral anguish force imparts To bear great burdens, and not feel them ; To share great jDains, and yet conceal them ; To face great dangers, and not fear them ; To see unmoved death's quicksands near them ; To meet the monster, and not quiver ; For, while he takes, he is a giver, And bindeth only to deliver. Felicita, by sorrow taught, Of Heaven, as of her home, had thought ; Death was its iron gate, once entered. She would be where her hopes were centered : For, since she learned that she who bore her Had entered by that gate before her, 2^ 84 F E L I C I 'i^ A . It was to her the door of hope ; And she wished daily it would ope, And let her pass from foul alarms — From the dread enemy, her sire, Into a sainted mother's arms ; This her belief and her desire : And so, on sea, 'mid tempests launched, — Tho' she before had never seen Nature put on her awful mien — She only felt herself advanced Nearer the dark and frowning gate, This side of which she hoped no longer In expectation vain to wait ; And thus, her courage grew the stronger. X . When from his knees her father rose. His compact with the heavens seemed sealed ; F E L I C I T A . ^6 Or that he thought so, we suppose. Since such a feelins: he revealed : The storm just then by chance abating. He, rogue-like, egotistical, His vain lip-service overrating, Audacious grcAV, and mystical : But, in proportion as the wind Subsided, and his terror calmed, Fear wakened in his daughter's mind — By his late prayers and vows alarmed ; He, judging her by his base self, Supposed she feared the storm and wreck, And counting her as so much pelf, With freshened hope her charms to deck — Began to speak courageous words, To talk of peace which prayer affords ; But, when she lower bent her neck, Unheeding what he said or did. He called her timorous and weak — 36 F E L I C I T A . Told her the storm was past, and bid Her look up, smile, and speak : — Ah ! had she spoke what then she felt, Rage had the heart rent, which no love could melt. PART III F E L I C^ 1 T ^L I. Morn on the fair shore Algeriue ! Morning, that always, everywhere, A living beauty is when seen Breaking above the hill-tops clear — That, after storms have passed away, With double splendor ushers day. Kising far east upon the sea. The sun looked forth complacently, And radiant smiled to view his heaven Clear of the clouds, which gloomily Hung a'er his pillow the last even : 40 F E L I C I T A . . The Avaves had yet a sobbing motion, As if the great heart of the ocean — Whose thundering beat far off was counted- Had by some shock of late been swelled, And could not all at once be quelled ; Tho' when above th' horizon mounted The sun, and tipped their crests with gold, The scene was glorious to behold 1 The coast of Algiers stretched out lay — Its sands by foam washed, and the spray Curling above, by sunlight kissed. In distance like a golden mist : Along the wave shot snowy sails, And from the shore a landscape smiled Of undulating slopes and vales. And trees beside the roads defiled ; Whilst there the city's open heart Eevealed its life-beat, and its art In burnished dome, and gilded spire. With the slant sunbeams all on fire : FELICITA, 41 And there, against the morning sky, Bold hills their profiles did define, In beauty's ever-curving line ; And many a sea-foAvl glided by Graceful and noiseless, with no sign Of fear that any foe was nigh. II On that fair scene, which naught did mar. Gazed, sadly -pleased, Felicita! Could she herself but have forgot. She might have fancied there indeed '' The promised land ;" but her sad lot Was all the prospect she could heed ; For, well she knew on earth was not The Canaan where she might be freed. Yet, had the voyage been long and dreary, And she, of hoping, fearing, weary. 42 F E L I C I T A . Was glad that any shore awaited Her, and her destiny ill-mated; For dark suspense she felt to be More dread than dreadful certainty III Her father, since the storm, had slioAvn No more remorse ; but, rather grown Moody and murky, as repenting Old vows, and treacheries new inventing. As neared the ship the coast, and rounded, While land-cries on the ear resounded, A smile malicious seemed to twinkle Round his snake-eyes in either wriidde. And glide doAvn to his mouth's dark corner- Where it a settled leer remained. Making him look the very scorner Of men, disdainer, as disdained ! F E L I C I T A . 43 And when he first touched terra firma^ Turning to gaze out on the sea, He something, with an oath, did murmur — Something — one word was " childishly ;" The rest was lost in air and rumor. Felicita, his least word catching, As one her fate sus2:>ended watching, Put his broke speech and looks together, And questioned with her own self whether He meant his late vows to dispute, And his base purpose execute : But, tho' her very blood grew numb. She, like a panting lamb, was dumb — Hastening, it might be, to the slaughter Of all most dear in maidenhood, Of all her mother's shade had taught her Of what was virtuous and good. 44 F E L I C I T A . IV. 'Twas market-day in old Algiers : A broad and brazen mid-day sun Looked with unveiled effrontery on The thronged bazaars and groaning piers, Where cunning, fraud, and shameless fun, And other things, but fit for tears, In his full face were done : Ay, fit for tears of blushing shame— For tears wrung out of woman's wrongs, Of man's foul deeds, to which no name In all crime's catalogue belongs ! A motley crowd of Mussulmen — Moors, Arabs, Turks — that noon was seen Pressing on tOAvards the grand bazaar; FELICITA. 45 Some, with, imperial gait and tone — With broidered robe, and sparkling zone, And jewelled scimitar ; Some, vnth tlie stern and sullen air Of such, as thro' the silent ^^must'^ — = Do sway their slaves, if black, or fair — If slaves to drudgery, or to lust. VI. But why thronged they that grand bazaar— What there was the contested prize ? What — -but the maid Felicita ! Who stood in that round, mocking sun — = In face of that lascivious gaze. With shrinking form and downcast eyes ; Kor could she its bold, searching blaze — Even she—the Heaven-eyed creature — shun I 46 F E L 1 C I T A . Yes : there she stood ! her modesty, Which now served only to amaze, Crushed down, and crushing all that she Had cherished, as the pride Avhich stays The soul in its integrity : There, lovelier for that shrinking grace, She stood, exposed her virgin-charms ; In that unnatural father's face, A prize for the chief bidder's arms ! And she, an eighteen-summer maid — So newly from youth's bud unfolded ; Fresh with life's morning dew, and moulded As gracefully as nymph or naiad ! VII. Oh ! where wert tJiou^ maternal shade ? Why, of a crime so horrible, Wert thou not her avenger made ? F E L I C I T A . Why didst tlion not make visible Thy angel-face in radiance armed With all the majest}^, the might, Of virtue's truth, and woman's right, Which could have wrong to silence channed ? Or, with the force of incensed love, Which, like the bolts of angry Jove, Would have Barbarity disarmed I VIII. When those brute-men such beauty saw As eyes profane might fear to see, A silence fell there, as of awe Before an ancient deity : Then a faint murmur rose and swelled, And then into a circle rounded ; And now, with breaths of hundreds filled, Outburst and thro' the air resounded ! 48 F E L I C I T A . ^Twas the spontaneous applause Of sensual minds to Beauty's mould : How could tliey know it did infold A fairer soul ? Mahomet's laws Of woman's spirit never told. There was a momentary pause ; — And then the turban'd auctioneer Sent forth his cry, as cold, as clear ; But, ere commenced the strife of bids, Sudden the victim raised her lids ; And from those eyes, late moist with shame, — But now burnt dry by scorn — a flame Of incensed pride flashed on that throng — Wrath triumphing o'er modesty — Shame yielding to the sense of wrong. In woman terrible to see ! Had they been aught save Mussulmen, They would have fallen back — as when Christ's look of scorn — his " I AM He !" F E L I C I T A . 49 Fell, blasting the effrontery Of those whose sacrilegious eyes Sought in divinity a prize ! I X But, she was woman — not a God — Her triumph but a lightning-flash ; And quick again she crouching stood, Like a poor slave beneath the lash ; Or, drooping — as the weeping willow That bent o'er her dead mother's pillow — Over the grave of woman's pride ; Longing to lie herself beside That suffering once, now resting mother — Oh, could they but as one have died, And be calm sleeping there together ! 50 FELICITA Hark 1 what was that ? the final cry — Nine thousand piastres cast the die ! The deed of infamy is done — In blood of angels' hearts is signed ; She sees — she hears, and then grows blind- Turned by Doom's visage into stone ! The princely Arab, Ackmet-bey, Bids his slaves bear the prize away. PART IV P' E L I C I T ^L Evening's deep blue, bespangled dome Bent over Algiers, as serene, As if for vice there were no home In all that shadowed scene : The moon too, rose — the virgin moon — That once for an intrusive look On her divinest charms, so soon The vengeance of a goddess took ! She rose, and smiled as calmly down On silvered mosque and minaret, As if she ne'er a wrong had known, Or all her vengeance did forget ; 64 F E L 1 C I T A , Or, as if in her modest sight No other virgins were outraged- As if there, on that very night, No maiden, for her saintly right, Had war with tyrants waged. ti TherCj in his grotesque Arab home. Cushioned luxuriously, lay Smoking and sipping, Ackmet-bey 1 A nod made quickly go and come The dark-eyed slaves, which all the day Beside his divan waited ; — some. On mystic instruments to play — Now, lulling to voluptuous dreams, And now, awaking him with gleams Of jewelled arms, and tinkling feet, That kept the music's quick-time beat ; F E L I C I T A . OO While starry eyes, thro' blackest night, Flashed on their proud lord love and light. III. Among those slaves there was a youth Who had from France a child been brought- Stolen, to sell in G-reece, forsooth, For there by Ackmet was he bought : The price paid for him he well earned, As from his lips his master learned To speak his cherished mother-tongue, When he so gentle was, and young, As all affections to invite, And thus become the favorite : A handsome youth he was, and ruly ; But, tho' by Ackmet loved, or petted — For love not such as he know truly — Fondness from him but onlv fretted 56 r E L T G I T A , The yearning heart of Jules, oft swelling With home's sweet memories indwelling ; Tho' — French-like — a good actor, he Could sparkle with vivacity^ And put his lord — the cunning elf! — In humor always with himself. Just turned of twenty, now a man, The thought of freedom often ran Like a glad rill along his brain, While grcAv more irksome slavery's chain. I V. That night beside his lord he stood Without his wonted mask of glee — Desponding both in mien and mood, He leaned his light weight gracefully On his white hand, and seemed to brood Over some dear thought pensively : F E L I C I T A . 57 The dancing-girls around him flitting, Bj chance, or mischief, often liitting His garment's border, made him start, And from his revery apart, Look up and watch the wary measure. While thinking of all things, save pleasure. V. "Jules!" — 'twas his master's voice that spake, Making his stray thoughts sudden quake ; While something of a guilty feeling Seemed in his startled air revealing " Jules, bid this ill-timed music cease — To-night I want but thee — and peace !" No sooner was it said, than done — As quick as bright thoughts pass, were gone Those flashing eyes ; — Jules stayed alone : The costliest chihoque now he brings. And coffee in such tiny things 3* 58 F E L I C I T A . As seem carved out for fairy's lip, Or, shell-cups from which naiads sip ; Sherbet, in crystal as exquisite, Beside the divan now he places, And, where the drapery interlaces. Waits by his lord he waits a visit ! VI Now, was a rustling in the air — A gorgeous curtain parting there, Eevealed a scene whose light and shade A fair girl and a dark slave made ; The Moor drew back — the brightness neared, And there Felicita appeared ! There — in a beauty that did awe them With its true majesty divine ; In the rich costume of the harem — Tho' not so clear those pearls did shine. As the white neck and arms that bare them : FELICITA. 59 Her soul-lit eyes, no more bent downward, Their veiling fringes were upturned, Letting a stream of prayer rise sunward From the live thought which inward burned. VII. She came, advancing towards the Arab, With the God-aided step and mien Of Moses — when the rock of Horeb, To others dry, by him was seen With its deep fount of living waters, Which made the wilderness soon green, Eefreshing Israel's sons and daughters : The God of Moses was her leader — Truth her deep well, and Eight her pleader; Nor feared she to advance — a rock She in that moral desert saw, Which might be cleft by feeling's shock — By the rod-touch of human law, 60 F E L I C I T A . And send forth pity's crystal river, New life and liberty to give her. VIII. Firm stepped she forward : and then, kneeling Before her owner — not her master ; Nor yet his visible presence feeling — — 'Tho', thinking so, his heart beat faster — Bat the Invisible, concealing From his, while to her mind revealing ; She folded on her spotless bosom Her two white hands — which there did seem Like a white lily's folded blossom On the clear bosom of a stream : Of words, at first, she said no other — Tho' her lips paled and moved — save "mother!" But soon, as if that word refreshed her, She to the Arab calm addressed her. FELICITA. 61 IX "Behold an orphan!" said she, "Alia Calls on his Ackmet for the valor Whose armor is the orphan's prayer — Whose triumph is the orphan's blessing ; Which makes Defencelessness its care — The recompense, at last possessing, Mahomet's heaven to share," An eye here at the Arab glancing, She changed her language, thus advancing: "We, of the Christian faith, have angels Which ever our avengers are ; We read in the beloved Evangels That they are round us everywhere ; They speak to us unuttered words — They know to show us unseen things. And some are armed with flaming swords That gleam out from their shining wings : 62 FELICITA. They say, for us, to all, ' Beware ! Touch not these little ones ; nor dare. With woman, to be less than brave ; But use the force which Alia gave, Her virtue to protect and save.' " Alas, the maiden vain words said ! The depth of her true heart of woman Her measure she for others made ; She little knew the great heart human — Shallow, as wide ; save here and there A deep spot, as a fountain, where Wells up true feeling, holy love. Fed from its purest source above : Her breast was one of these deep places. But she its feeling here had wasted ; For, in the Arab's eye no traces F E L I C I T A . 6S Of sentiment or truth replied, Or any thing that showed he tasted The menaces to him ajoplied : He was not that responding rock She hoped with truth's divining-rod To touch, as did the man of God The desert-stone ^he felt no shock, And woman's eloquence did mock : But, she had probed another heart. Which hid beneath its rocky cover A fount, that only woman's art — Her touch of feeling could discover. XI. "Else!" said the Arab — "wherefore kneeling To me, as if I were a god ; Or fiend, devoid of human feeling. Because these slaves obey my nod ? 64 F E L I C I 'J' A . Know, that I'm neither god, nor demon — This heart Arabian, is human ! Tho' thou hast charms which gods might steal, Think not that I'm a Grecian Jove ; For beauty, if no less I feel, I would not claim it without love : So, calm thee ! and in me behold The lover, not the tyrant cold ; One, who from thee but love demands — Love^ which makes freedom slavery's bands ! Thou of my harem shalt become The light and life — 'tis hence thy home ; And woe to any one who dares To frown on her whose beauty shares — Whose wishes, whose caprices, sway The heart and wealth of Ackmet-bey ! " FELICITA, 66 XII, The maid at his behest had risen, And stood up to her queenly height: — Baring her swelling bosom's white, Which those clasped hands did late imprison, Unto the lancing speech he made. More fearful than his sabre's blade ; And when he finished, still she stood, As if its steel-point froze her blood, Instead of bringing out the show Of hot emotions' sanguine flow. XIII. " Why stand'st thou there ? come hither, maid !" — The half-confounded Ackmet said — " Tell me what I shall do for thee, And tho' its price my best steed be, 66 F E L I C I T A . I'll sacrifice to thy desire His pure Arabian blood of fire : If tlioii canst smile, let me once see That smile, as sunlight, fall on me : Compose thee ! here's thine own divan, Its silk, of Persian texture, scan ; Sweetmeats and coffee's fragrant grain Await, in antique porcelain, The kisses of thy sweeter lips — Thy glance, which stars do not eclipse ! And here's my French page, now thine own, "Who'll sing to thee, and at thy choice Thy favorite native airs alone ; While damsels aid his silvery voice ; Or lightly touch, his notes between, The magic, mellow, mandoline." F E L I C 1 T A . 67 XIV. Jules, whose suspended heart, not ear, Hung on his master's every word ; Writhed, when his own name he did hear, And meet her glance — to him a fear ! — As if at once a two-edged sword Had doubly pierced his throbbing breast. Where his hot hand he firmer prest — Seeming the life-blood there to stay, Which would his manhood bear away. XV. Eyes are of eyes interpreters ! Thro' that unmeaning glance of hers, Had clearly read Felicita Signs, which as words to woman are- To others mystic characters. bb F E L I C I T A , From Jules her eye turned, mutely pleadingj To Ackmet tears therein did glisten, Which, for her faint words interceding, Seemed to say, " 'Tis my last hope — Glisten !" XVI. And thus she spake, in accents meek : "Ackmet is strong, the maiden weak; Ackmet is master, she his slave ; He bids her ask of him a gift — He who is generous, is brave ; So, she will dare her eyes uplift. And ask that he — as good, as great — Will from dishonor's foul stain save A friendless maid, whose sole estate The virtue is her mother gave. Be Ackmet to an orphan girl More than the father, who hath sold Her life, and with it virtue's pearl. So basely for a little gold ! FE L I CITA, Be she, to Ackmet as a daughter ; Or, if not such, a virtuous slave, Who will forget that gold hath bought her Serving him faithful to the grave : Or, if this may not, cannot be, Give her, what most she longs to see, The precious boon of liberty." XVII. A flash of hot barbarian ire Shot from the Arab's eye of fire ! He rose from that too soft divan To serve an incensed African — Who now was man — offended man ! Yet, of a manhood only brutal ; For, in his dark brow's savage wrath, No eye could trace the lustrous path Of that which is in man immortal. 70 F E L I C I T A , XVIII. "Go! — to the far cell of tlie harem, Whose doors have bolts of steel to bar them, There, to repent at leisure, stay ! Learii that thou art an AraVs slave, And what it is the love to have — The love to scorn, of Ackmet-bey ! And thou, old Moor, guard well the place — ■ Let not an eye see that proud face ; For, mark me — by the scimitar Which my brave sire did erst swear by — Whoever sees Felicita, That recreant, with thee, shall die !'' X IX. This wrath-stroke would have felled another — It only roused Felicita ! Her burning words she needs must smother ; But, each eye was a steadfast star — - F E L I C I T A . 71 With cold, fixed light, removed as far From Ackmet's reach, as planets are ! Light borrowed from her radiant soul — Purer than is the sun's, for ne'er A spot had marred its lustrous whole : «■ That moment she felt no more fear Of the wild Arab's eye of fire, Than if it were a lower sphere, And she were moving calmly higher ; Near stood he, almost by her side — = A blazing comet in his flame — But, to her heart a feeling came That boundless space did them divide. F A \i T V . F E L I C IT X . I. How knows the prisoner when confined By bolts and bars that shut out day — When to the morning sun as bhnd, As to the evening's milder ray ; AYhen every sound, as well as sight, Is deadened by his prison wall ; How knows he when profoundest night Over earth lets her mantle fall ? How — save by that mysterious sense — That subtile, spiritual touch, Which feels the unseen covering dense Beneath Vvdiich doth instinctive crouch The soul, and hide its life intense. 76 FELICITA. So, when an unseen night of sorrow Descending is upon the soul, It shrinks with an uncertain horror- Feels the black curtain slow unroll. And hears a melancholy toll Foretelling the dread nioiTow. II Three times Felicita had told To her own thought the midnight hour, Which o'er her dark cell, damp and cold, With heavier weight than day did lower 'Twas the fourth night that she had spent In that disgraceful banishment — In that profound incarceration, Deprived of light, heat, ventilation. There, on the black, impervious wall. Before her passed, in grim rotation, Each scene of her brief life, and all FELICITA. 77 That might in future her befall ; As from a magic lantern cast, Ghastly, with funeral pace they passed : Her cradle and her mother's pall Together went, and by them glided — Grinning and grimacing — a Satyr : The cradle then, from pall divided, She sleeping in it, and still at her That object grinned, and there presided ; Tho' a mild angel bent above her, Who seemed to have the right to love her ; Bnt not the power she asked, to clasp Her darling from that Satyr's grasp. III. Then came a child among the flowers — Moistening them w^ith life's earliest tear ; Whilst ever these two different powers Of good and evil hovered near : 5 FE LI CIT A. Then rose a cloister, at whose gate The Satyr, tho' outside, did wait ; Whilst inside of those huge doors massive Appeared, near by a window-grate, A young girl sitting sadly passive : The angel there was keeping watch, And now seemed nearer and more quiet, Since fastened was the convent-latch Against her mocking evil spirit. Pictures conflicting followed after — False hopes, and falser protestations ; Tempestuous skies, tumultuous Avater, Dark fears, and darker intimations — Barbarians, and a cruel barter : And then, she saw her struggles late — Her present doom all desolate ; And then, passed other scenes mysterious — But half discerned, as thro' a veil ; The Satyr's look grew more imperious — The angel's cheek more thin and pale. F E L I C I T A . 79 IV. Love came too, Avitli his bow and arrow ; But never H3^nien and liis torch — — Tho' once a chnrch-yard and church-porch These changed into a chamber narrow ; And then, into a lonely vale ; When — -just as came a scene more bright — All vanished ! and another light Shone thro' the crevice of her door — She heard quick footsteps on the floor ! Who is it ? at this midnight hour It could not be the friendly Moor — He, servile slave, had only power Of guard beside the outer sill ; Nor, nearer came, save at the will Of Ackmet-bey to bring her food, And then outside the door he stood — Passing it thro' a panel slidden. Which instant closed again unbidden : 80 F E L I C I T A . Hark ! now the rattling of a key — Darkness, if it had eyes, might see How shrinks the pale Felicita Into her cell's deep corner far ; She breathes by starts, convulsively, And now as slips her door's strong bar, Her breath suspended seems to be — She gasps — she shrieks, '"Tis Ackmet-bey !" Ko : 'tis to Jules the door gives way. V. As one, who suddenly awaking From dreams that terrible make night — From darkness all at once to light, Struck instant blind, confused and quaking, Sinks back again unconscious quite — Till Reason from his vision taking The meshes, puts his senses right, And suits to morn his weakened sight ; F E L I C I T A . 81 So, tlie affriglited maiden's eye Long nsed to darkness, and her mind Long harassed and entangled by Portentous sights and dreamy meshes, Were dazzled, puzzled and struck blind By Jules' face and torch -light flashes : Eecoded, half sensible she lay Where glare and terror had spell-bound her ; In that far corner, crouched, he found her — Hasted her prostrate form to stay ; Dumb first with fright himself — but soon For him did Love thus importune : — VI. "Maiden, fear not! behold, 'tis I — I come to save thee, or to die ! Three days — three endless days of pain- Suspended between fear and hope — 4* 82 F E L I C I T A . I've watched the chance, the hour, the minute, When I this prison-door might ope — Might see thy face divine again. And heaven, that shines for me within it : At last I've found it — love has conquered — My whole soul to the hope is anchored To bear thee hence away with me, Into life, light, and liberty. Ackmet has eyed me ; for in vain Guilt (no, ah no ; not guilt, but love !) Seeks its charged secret to contain — The steel and flint unconscious move, The ready spark will fire the eye ; And if the heart does not explode At the first flash, its over-load Menaces danger to all by !" F E L I C I T A. VII. " To-night my loaded heart nigh burst — 'Twas held alone by Alia great ! For if its Avrath had Ackmet curst, Not only I, but thou too, must — Thou innocent — ^have shared his fate : My time had come ; the drug I mixed With aromatics' sweet disguise — He smoked, and in contentment fixed His eje, and slid to paradise ; Then dropt his chiboque, fell asleep. And I the key of his dreams keep ! The Moor, not his, thi/ faithful slave, Will spill his dark blood thee to save ; There's not a living soul astir ; — The moon has put her veil on her ; — Darkness her mantle spreads for us ; The gates unbolted are, why thus — Ah, why Felicita demur ? 84 FELICITA. Alia bids all things now conspire To bless the love I bear for thee ; Oh, % ! 'tis earth's — 'tis Heaven's desire- Their pledge is opportunity !" VIII. The maid stirred not : but fixed on him Her eyes with feeling's moisture dim — Like unto heaven's deep blue, when seen Thro' a thin mist- veil all serene : — His voice the spell of fear had broken, And the brief moments he had spoken Had roused that native force of truth, Which made her, Hebedike in youth. The azure-eyed Minerva seem : On him did full those blue orbs beam — So mild, so like his life-long dream. They melted into his young breast ; While something dreaded they confest : F E L I C I T A . 85 '^ Jules, couldst thou look into my soul, (She knew not that 'twas in her eje — That he who saw that, saw the whole) " Thou wouldst see gratitude there lie Too deep for straightened words to measure ; But how can this repay the treasure Of that true love thou giv'st to me, Save love like thine its fountain be ?" IX. " It may be that I cannot love — That when my being emanated From the great Soul of all above. He gave me only power to prove That which makes woman lion-hearted, Without her nature of the dove : And yet, sometimes within I feel That possibility of loving, Which, once a woman like me proving, 86 FELICITA. 'Twould be slow burning to conceal — Would life, or death, be to reveal ! Sometimes when craves my inner nature, — For what I know not, save it be The aliment of sympathy — I think there is somewhere a creature On the wide earth in mental feature, In heart and soul allied to me ; And I have vague dreams of a spirit Kobed in the charms of my ideal, And sometimes think my heart could merit That such an one became my real : But something whispers that if here On earth to me he should come near, Tho' from my eyes he did conceal him, My heart would see him, hear him, feel him ; And should my soul his own allure. So that to me he did appear, And could he see my heart, I'm sure He would find there his portraiture. F E L I C I T A . 87 X. " But know, brave Jules, that no assertion That I loved thee, could make it so ; Nor does the heart obey coercion — Love at its own sweet will must go ; Slaves we both are, and still may be, But the soul owns no slavery." XI. Her barbed words each its heart-thrust gave ; But Jules, tho' bleeding, only saw Beaut}^ in her, and felt love's laAv Bidding him on — if death to brave. Living, or dying, her to save ! " "Waste no more words" — ^he quick replied — " Fly with me — fly ! the night's far spent ; To know to-morrow that I tried To save thee, but in vain — and died, 88 V E T. T C I T A . Will make iliee all as vain lament, But ease not thine imprisonment : Then rise, and fly with me — 0, move ! I only ask thy life — not love : Ah no ! I do not come to thee To change alone thy slavery — To make thee free I ask — and I Will on that freedom look — and die ! Here's Ackmet's purse ; and from its gold He paid thy price when thou wert sold, And Alla's self will smile the day Its gold frees thee from Ackmet-bey 1" He spake — and bore in his glad arms The weight of her unsullied charms ! The faithful Moor threw wide the gate. Perchance there at death's door to wait Till morning's sun should see his blood Darken the sill whereon he stood. F E L I C I'T A . 89 XII Inexplicable Night ! thou broodest With thy wide spread, maternal wing Over earth's children all — ^the rudest, The vilest of her offscouring, With the same gathering, sheltering care, As over Beauty's true offspring — Who ask not patronage to share ; But come to thee their hearts to bring— Thy starry glories worshipping. Thy pensive shadow, which professes Devotion's spirit to impart, The aid and covering no less is Of treachery and the murderous heart : O Night ! thou, of all goddesses, Patron of good and evil art ! 90 F E L I C I T A XIII Jules, with liis palpitating treasure, Paused not for breatli, till clear lie stood Where distance did pursuit outmeasure ; And there, in deathliest solitude — — Tho' in the city's very breast, Whose pulses seemed to have stopt beating. So deep the silence was of rest — He could not help aloud repeating, " Thanks ! heart-thanks to thee. Alia blest !" XIV. But, whither to direct his way, Poor youth ! how knew he ? Could the heart Be that which Wisdom's rule doth sway. It would not from its impulse start So often nobly, yet in vain ; But wait till sure its end to gain. F E L I C I T A . 91 Felicita more calm than Jules, By nature, and thouglit's sober rules, Was first to speak : " Where shall we go, Brave Jules, I know not, dost thou know ?'' '' Cling only to my throbbing side," He said, " and Alia be our guide ! But, should the stealthy step of guilt Be in this darkness lurking by ; — Should my heart's blood be sudden spilt, From that death-struggle, maiden, fly — ■ Save thyself, and leave me to die !" XV. He seemed to speak prophetic words — To the maid's bosom they were swords ! But ere she could reply, a tread, Wily and cat-like, came behind ; More fleet, more silently they sped, Hoping some turning-point to find : 92 FELICITA. But, all 1 those to misfortune mated, To work their own harm oft seem fated ; Like Orpheus, who, against his will. The fatal look gave, which him cost Eurydice — ^his doubly lost ! Felicita^ to silence sworn, Spoke — and death from her words was born ! That gentle voice the blood did spill Of him to whom she owed the most ; It was her father's ruf&an knife Which reddened in that deadly strife — Her father's hand which hers did grasp ; 'Twas death that in his arms did clasp The youth who gave for her his life ! Unhappy maiden ! not a pause To wipe his wet and still warm brow — To weep o'er what her voice did cause : *'0n /" said th' assassin — " onward now !" 'Twas vain — ^the maiden could no more — Fainting she fell in that fresh gore ; FELICITA. 93 Hands blood-stained bore her quick away — AVho feared not God, feared Ackmet-bey ! X ^' I . Fleeing the Arab's dreaded wrath, With his piastres and his daughter, The murderer took the quickest path To France again across the water. There reyolution's strife he found — The fair metropolis, in arms, Turned to a bloody battle-ground. And robbed for him of all gain's charms. The wicked flee when none pursues ! The dastard, gathering up his all. Left the conflicting capital : No dauntless arm had he to use In her defence ; — he nothing saw Of majesty in right — his law 94 F E L I C I T A . Of liberty but license was. In sordid bosoms patriot lire No spark of its pure ardor lias ; The trafficker's unique desire Was gain— liis countrj^, saved or lost, Not one of liis piastres cost : His country ! lie no country had— Vice is a cosmopolitan ! France was to him a home but sad When to decrease his trade began — A vagabond thro' earth he ran. And gold made any clime look glad. V A R T V I , FELICITY. I. If Love inspire the poet's rhyme, Where finds the Muse more fitting story Than in Italia's ardent clime, Which owes to love, as art, its glory ? Where the rapt Dante, filled with awe Of love as of a thing divine, In beatific vision saw His soul's ideal on him shine, In beauty sublimated thrice, Tho' still in form his Beatrice ! FE L ICIT A II Whence love-eyed Petraech in liis Laura Saw all the angel gifts and graces That woman here did ever borrow From spirits of celestial places ; And where he sang those living beauties In sonnets turned to Paradise — Which linger, broken tho' his lute is, As echoes of Heaven's melodies. III. Where Tasso, imto love too loyal To serve his Duke and be its traitor, Avowed, 'twas for a lady royal, Love than her princely rank far greater Ah, fatal flame ! for him creator Of every evil : tho', to mate her. FELICITA He had; what she ne'er understood, What have all poets — royal blood. IV. And love-enkindled Aeiosto In Italy made romance song ; And here have burned, with passion's glow How many of the shining throng ! The great heart of old Angelo Grew luminous with love's live spark — That, lighting up his forehead dark, Kindled cold marble with its flame : Here love inspired Boccaccio, And gave his romances to fame ; Here stirred dramatic Alfieki — Love long unblessed, but never weary, Since unsuppressed, its fire could free Outburst in burning tragedy. 100 FELICITA. Yes : Italy and Love as one Else in the tlionglit of poets now ; — The myrtle on Italia's brow Shows not its evergreen alone ; For there, beside it, living glows Fresh as of yore, love's warm red rose. To Italy the traf&cker Turned now his avaricious eyes : Meaning from thence to sail with her, Whose beauty there would bring a prize. Into the Orient: she beside The dark-browed man did seem to glide As might beside the wolf a lamb. When that wolf has devoured her dam, And, waiting for new appetite. Devours her with carnivorous sight. FELICITA. 101 But, the avenger's long stayed wratli Followed this tmie the monster's path ; His hour had come ! disease assailed him — The 230wer of evil sudden failed him ; He was that dreadful thing to see — A man of Heaven and earth bereft, To his own Hellish nature left Alone, the dupe of crime to be, Evil now turned his enemy ! VI. True, by his couch stood ever near An angel, but her blue eyes clear. To him heaven's mocking mirror seemed- Wherein his fiendish nature gleamed With glare that made him himself fear ! Oft, when with gentle hand she took Some beverage to him, from her look 102 FELICITA. He started back : as miglit some creature Foul, and of monstrous form and feature, "Who nearing to a lakelet's brink — On leaning over thence to drink, His frightful visage therein sees, And from his own vile imas^e flees. VII. Italia to the maid had been A fair dream in the distance seen ; But now, became, in all its beauty, A dread — the place of sacrifice — Where love must yield to loathsome duty, And taste dry up 'mid art's supplies. Dark days and lurid nights on ran, And with his torturing self still struggled. And writhed in pain the coward man ! Sometimes from Hope's rich realm he smuggled F E L I C I T A . 103 A comfort-grain ; but soon detected Bj Conscience — vigilant police — He lost tlie seed wliicli lie expected Would in liis native soil increase : Could lie have planted there that grain, His labor had been all in vain — Hope was exotic to the soil, And never would have blessed his toil. y III. At length his gold began to waste — This, in advance, was Hell to taste ! His grasping nature, always crabbed. As demoniacal, grew rabid : He foamed and bit his fevered lip — Eefused the cordial cup to sip ; Shrieked that of gold he was bereft — Clinched his remaining coins — fate cursed — And suffocating, died of thirst ! Felicita alone was left. 104 FELICITA. IX . Alone on earth — in youth and beauty-^ A stranger in a stranger land ! Her foe — now conquered by Death's hand- Claiming from her the last sad duty. She buried — "buried out of sight" — Him, who to curse her, gave her light ; And then her nature from long tension — — Three lingering months had thus elapsed- Tho' wide its powers were of expansion, Sunk down exhausted and collapsed. X. Evil, that could not taint her soul. Seemed for her torment doubly eager — As if her dead sire's presence foul Haunted her, with grim visage meagre :- FELICITA. 105 It chanced that as she lay at noon After the burial, in that swoon, A woman — who no woman's heart Did in her larcenous bosom carry — Came in, as pity her did hurry To act the neighbor's kindly part : But what spy there her greedy eyes — The maiden, who unconscious lies ? No : gold, piled up where Death's hand laid it — Avarice to avarice betrayed it ! XI There Avas no moment to be lost — Theft from the dead might life have cost : With sacrilegious hand she grasped Those coins from Death's clutch just unclasped And now, to cover up the deed. Feigning herself the friend of need, 5* 106 FELICITA. She called, in Pity's voice, for aid. And bade tliem bear the swooning maid Into a nunnery near by, Where care and medicine's supply Awaited always such as she, From sisters chaste of charity. XII. Where opes Felicita those eyes Which never yet have seen joy's day ? Who bends o'er her, whose calm touch tries Life's pulse, which ebbing seemed away ? Has she not seen before that brow ? It seems — it is the bright resemblance Of her ideal, faintly now Kising up in her dim remembrance ! That liquid eye which beams on her, Seems of her life interpreter ; FELICITA. 107 She speaks not, but it speaks a tongue Whose music in her ears hath rung Clear amid all the sounds of strife "Which have surrounded her thro' life : She struggles — ^from those spirit-throes Joy new born springs ! and all her woes Seem lessening, shrinking to the past — Oh ! is she to be blest at last ? Her brain whirls ! now a stinging steel Her white and rounded arm doth feel ; — A sanguine flow ; — her dazzled eye Sees clearer — her lips part — a cry ! " What means all this ? — Oh ! where am I ?" XIII. Among the checkered race called human There are — ^like planets among stars — Bare specimens of man and woman. Whom the primeval curse scarce mars : 108 FELICITA. 'T would seem as if tlie great Creator, Who man in his own likeness made, Would yet that image see portrayed In some, than their own species greater ; Greater, not in the common sense Of noble birth, and wealth transmitted ; But, by divine inheritance, For that imperial court befitted Where intellect and heart preside — Where man seems almost deified. There are alas 1 among the living Men who are only moving clods ; There are too, for ambition striving, Those who in mind are demigods, Yet, who in heart are demidevils ; And not among earth's lesser evils Are such, whose demon-hearts control All that is godlike in the soul. FELICITA. 109 XIV. GiACiNTO was that noble being In heart and mind symmetrical ! No less deep-feeling, than far-seeing, He had that spark electrical Which carries into other hearts FeeHngs which God direct imparts Unto the few, his own elect. Who in their lives his heaven reflect : And he had too, that union rarer Of beauty physical and moral — That, joined with gifts and graces oral, Gives, whomsoever is its sharer, A power o'er others to be dreaded K it were not with honor wedded. A look on his truth-beaming face. In all true hearts, to love gave place ; And if Giacinto e'er was hated, 110 FELICITA. 'Twas by some soul of low degree — Intrinsically to evil mated ; For, to liave been his enemy, Were foe to good itself to be ! XV. Born not to wealth, or noble title, In bis veins blood the noblest ran ; He was that, by wbicb. lords grow little — Queen Nature's inborn nobleman ! And be bad studied — deeply studied ; But never to be vainly great ; Unlike those fertile minds o'erflooded With knowledge that doth weeds create- Which grow of verdure desolate — His mind a garden was, well weeded, And planted with the choicest flowers ; Whate'er he gained anew there seeded, And grew mature thro' toilsome hours. FELICITA. Ill XVI His wit was satire wliich, the keenest, Knows when its lance in rest should be Tho' he despised not man the meanest, As not the greatest envied he : Self-taught he was, by self must live ; So, he had chosen that profession "Which to his fellow-man would give Both of his mind and heart possession : From manhood's opening he had striven To live for others, not himself, To give of what to him was given ; While for its own sake scorning pelf : And his professional career He loved, its labors and vexations. It brought the human heart more near, And in these intimate relations 112 FELICITA. He knew, as if b j intuition^ The suffering spirit to control, And thus was he that true physician- Both for the body and the soul. XVII. As charity to him was natural. Some duties to himself he made, And often visits, thus collateral, Unto the sisters' convent paid : There to Misfortune's sheltered offspring, Aided by woman's gentle care, He gave his services — an offering Where suffering called him every where. Thus, at the age of twenty-five — Tho' fewer years his smooth brow told, — ^For feelings true keep youth alive — Giacinto was in good deeds old : FELICITA. 113 And he it was, wlio softly bending Over the coucli of Innocence An angel seemed, from Heaven descending, Unto Felicita — and hence Her strange awaking from that trance. XVIII. Weeks sped, and still the maiden lay The victim of slow, wasting fever ; And still unwearied, day by day, A ruling spirit guided ever Those sisters of meek charity Who near her couch did watching stay. Oh, woman ! woman true^ in thee Our eyes Heaven's blessed angels see ! If thou didst cause all human woes. In thee man finds woe's antidote — All that can human bliss promote ; If death he to thy frailty owes, 114 FELICITA. Unto tliine agonizing strife He owes this, and eternal life ; For life, in thy first error slain, Thy Seed hath purchased him again — Thro' thee Heaven's curse is countermanded And as thy body once expanded With the Divinity it held ; So, when with love thy heart is swelled. We know that overshadowed still Thou by th' immaculate Spirit art — That holy seed thy breast doth fill. And germinate in thy warm heart ; Each fragrant charity of thine Is living fruit of Love divine I XIX. Weeks passed : yet only days they seemed Unto Felicita, who dreamed FELICITA. 115 For tlie first time the dream of love ! Love — to wliose wand enclianted move The hours, as if on shining wings They flew to angel whisperings ! She suffered not : her S23irit basked In the first sunshine it had known ; For her lost gold she never asked — A queen she felt upon a throne, And seemed a world-wide wealth to own. In this ecstatic state, to those Who would her fevered mind allay With the cool balsam of repose, She seemed as one not long to stay — As one who saw by second sight Opening before her Heaven's pure light. 116 FELICITA XX . But now, a crisis came : she slept — That long, still sleep, whicli seems a Poiver^ By which life's functions all are kept In mild abeyance ; many an hour She lay like death, while dewy calm Diffused thro' all her nerves its balm : At length she woke, without a pain — She breathed long breaths — she lived again ! Oh joy ! life, no more life in vain, Like a strung harp now music gave To his touch who that life did save : And thus, unto the virgin mother — Who she was taught, above all other, Did virgin hearts protect and bless — She sung out her new happiness : FELICITA. 117 " Thanks to thee, Holy One, Dwelling above — Patron of maidens. And mother of love 1 Thanks ! for the new life Which flows in my veins ; Thanks ! for the past strife Of sorrows and pains. Thanks ! for all suffering, That in its stern rigor Hath given my spirit New beauty and vigor : Thanks ! for the simshine Which dawns on my soul — Making the clouds of grief Backward to roll. Thanks ! for this feeling, Whatever it be, Thro' all my sense stealing- Like sweet melody ; 118 FELICITA. Thanks ! 'tis no evil Which hideth away, When at thine altar M J soul kneels to pray : Thanks ! that it leads me, With heart warm and free. Into thy presence, As if 'twere from thee : Thanks ! for this feeling then, Like thy love pure — Help me, chaste mother, That thus it endure : Goodness its fountain — Oh ! let it still rise Up, where the source is Which goodness supplies. Thanks theuj thanks ever. Blest Mother above — Patron of loving hearts. Thanks for this love !" FELICITA. 119 The stars whicli on Creation's morn Outburst in choral song together, Felt no more sense of joj new born, Than did this maid ; who asked not whether The world she built herself was real, Or, a creation but ideal. XXI. The child that feels a mother's breast Warm beating to its velvet cheek — That in her eye sees that exprest. Which uttered words could never speak ; Questions as much if its own love Finds in that bosom a response, As did this maiden — raised above All doubt in her preeminence — Question if her heart's quickened beat Another's bosom did repeat. 120 FELICITA. The tide of her own sea of feeling So strong was, that it bore her on, Perchance in its deep flood concealing The rock that love might split upon : The ice-crust, which had hid her nature. Now with the current borne away, Emotion, like a curbless creature, Eushed forth with impulse naught might stay. XXII. Giacinto, like all generous spirits, Who estimate too low their merits, Never in other minds expected To see, as in a glass reflected. Impressions his meek self had made But^ keeping always in the shade, He thought that only felt and seen His benefits, not Ae, had been : FELICITA. 121 Swayed ever by compassion's law, He in the maiden only saw The sufferer — one whose bloom of life Had withered been by grief and strife ; And when, beneath his healing care. Her cheek and lip became less pale ; When her great beauty grew more fair ; When unto him she told her tale — Lifting from modest grief the veil ; He listened, as doth ever list The love-inspired philanthropist, When Sorrow its deep secret bares, Which by a right divine he shares : He burnt — his ardor was compassion. By purest sentiment refined ; But, not a spark of selfish passion Was with that holiest flame combined. 6 1.22 FELICITA. XXIII. And so, he never once suspected The impulse which her bosom stirred ; Nor, on a deeper woe reflected, When he her thrilling story heard. If sees the humane passer by His fellow struggling with the wave, He thinks not of some darker fate Which may, if rescued, him await ; He questions not for what, or why — His only feeling is to save : So, the humane Giacinto saw That maiden straggling with her woes- Obeyed instinctively love's law. To which fear nothing can oppose ; Drew her with strong, yet gentle force. From out an overwhelming sea, And from affection's living source Supplied her needed sympathy. FELICITA. 123 XXIV. When wan disease to bloom gave way, He went forth with, her to the fields, And tried reviving strength to stay With the true cordial nature yields : Then, for the first time, she awoke To the fresh morning of the year — Spring thro' her myriad voices spoke Joy's language to her ravished ear : Her heart with rapture well nigh broke As doth the exile's, when his yoke Is rent, and he returns, to hear His native accents free and clear, Heaven's blessing on his heart invoke. XXV. From her gay coloring of joy Nature was painted all anew : 124 FELICITA. The sky put on a iLeavenlier blue — The trees and fields a greener hue ; The lamb grew whiter, and less coy — More frolicksome the sportive boy ; And when skipped round in giddy whirls The rosy, dimpled, dark-eyed girls. The locks which o'er their shoulders streamed To her with livelier lustre gleamed — Joy's sunlight played among those curls ! XXVI. Joy too, was music in her soul, Whose echoes did all round her roll ; In every thing there was a voice That like her spirit's did rejoice : The brooklet, by trees hidden half. Sent from its hiding-place a laugh ; The doves, that cooed upon the eaves ; The whispers of the forest leaves ; FELICITA. 125 The squirrel cHrping in the beecli-wood ; The insect humming round the thistle ; The robin's first parental whistle ; — — ^Each talking love, as plain as speech could ! — The carols of all amorous birds, And every sound that morning moved From every thing that lived and loved, Seemed to her, her own spirit's words. XXVII. Nature did in her realm employ The very motion of her joy ! The tame deer bounding o'er the lawn ; The liberal leap of mountain fawn ; The glad spring of the fountain's jet ; The dance of hillside rivulet ; And every creature's springtime gambol Her heart's wild beatings did resemble : 126 FELICITA. Througliout all nature was revealing One — 'twas her own ecstatic feeling ! All things on earth, and all above, Seemed frolicking in joy's wide ocean, And all inspired by one emotion — The universal soul of Love. XXVIII. The wide world was in love with her, And she in love with the wide world I The breeze which did the meadows stir, Eassed too, her cheek ; the smoke that curled Upward at morn, as incense rose From hers to the great heart of love ; The breath of flowers, at daylight's close. Sweet vespers in her soul did move ; Each, all, to her, gave some expression Of kindred feeling : one confession — . FELICITA. 127 One only — was there wanting still, The measure of her joy to fill :-] He, who for her gave love's sweet tongue To senseless nature and to brute, Upon love's theme was ever mute — How could he do himself such Avrong ? XXIX. Silence as forcible can be As words, and speak more thrillingly IJ In time this silence seemed to jar Love's concord in Felicita : Her own heart often to her lips Sprang up, demanding passage free ; But her mouth closed instinctively, And to her very finger-tips She blushed and thrilled to modesty. All other themes Giacinto talked. When they together sat, or walked, 128 FELICITA. And if her heart unsatisfied Felt, perchance, sometimes when they parted, His mind a source was from which started A thousand ril:s that thought supplied : But, soon her burning soul these dried, And all her being felt the thirst — That still unquenched — by love was merst, Till it became a sort of fever — An inward fever, intermitting — From which' song did alone relieve her : Thus, when one day at her work sitting, She to love's influence did give her — — All other thoughts and things forgetting — Griacinto at her open door Stood unperceived, whilst, o'er, and o'er She sang in words her heart befitting The secret from him hid before : " Why, if he loves me. So silent always ? Love, when it moves me, Its feeling betrays ; FELICITA. 129 But he says never, In tones of the dove, Thee I hve ever — Thee only Hovel Is not all showing That he my heart sways — As the tide's flowing The moonbeam obeys ? — Yet, the words never His tender lips move — Thee I love ever, Thee only I love ! Nature reveal'd to me Love night and day ; Soft tones appeal to me — All seems to say — Like a harp's quiver. Whose strings zephyrs move — 6* 130 FELICITA. Love me for ever — Thee ever I love I But no response to me Comes from Ms breast — Never sweet melody His love confest ; "Will that voice never — — ^AU music above — Say^ love me ever — Thee only I love ? "Why did he life give me Back from the tomb, If not to love me ? For love is life's bloom : Live shall I never Till tones of the dove Say, love me ever — Thee only Hove T FELICITA. I3I XXX. Giacinto with suspended breath Listened, turned pale, and started back ! As one who, having saved from death A child, and on the homeward track Led it — direct, as he supposed, While by night's darkness turned astray- To whom morn sudden had exposed A jagged precipice which lay Before them, yawning for its prey. XXXI. Turning from thence, with noiseless feet, He trembling made a quick retreat ; Sought his own chamber, and there pondered- At his unconscious blindness wondered ; 132 FELICITA. Eeproached himself with bitter speech ; Then, as a penitent low kneeling, Asked pardon for the fatal feeling Which only pitj him did teach, And sought (not of the holy mother, For superstition ne'er could reach His soaring mind, which to no other Than God himself and Truth did kneel) Sought heavenly wisdom to undo Love's chain, or bind with hooks of steel, By friendship forged, its links anew. XXXII. For days he saw no more the maid, Hoping that absence might prepare Her heart, which had itself betrayed, The freezing light of truth to bear. He never questioned his own heart If love unseen was lurking there ; FELICITA. 133 Because its depths in every part Lay to his sunny mind all bare, And at a glance lie saw no where A sign of love : Love's ill-aimed dart Had only pierced one bosom fair — Failing to wound that other breast, Whose balm, had it outpoured, possest Alone for her wound, heahng art. XXXIII. Yet, was Giacinto formed to love. As only nobler beings are, With a soul-passion, far above The feeling lower natures share : Of love he had no light conception. As the spent impulse of an hour ; He felt it a divine perception Of beauty's natural, moral power, 134 FELICITA. WHcb. Heaven did to tlie mind impart Only thro' medium of the heart ; That in all bosoms true, must be An innate spark of love concealed, "Which, kindling but to sympathy, In unconsuming fire revealed : He knew that none had ever proved What real life was, till he loved ; But love was a spontaneous fire — It kindled seldom to desire, And never from its law did vary To serve will only arbitrary. XXXIV. He felt himself but half a" soul. And knew that somewhere on the earth Dwelt one who could make life a whole : Thus was his heart oft reaching forth — FELICITA. 185 As the new moon, but half a sphere, Seems always reaching to attain Her other half; but, full again. In calm content shines round and clear. It would have been to find a flaw In Sovereign Nature's perfect law, Had these two beings, parallel In heart and spirit, met ; and well Giacinto knew Felicita To be in all too much his peer — That their resemblance was the bar Against a union still more near ; That love which best doth love requite Is centered in its opposite : Thus hoped he, and thus half believed, That the maid had herself deceived — That to love's law her mind would wake. And her heart find its own mistake. 136 FELICITA. XXXV. But what, thro' tHs slow age of time, ThoTiglit, hoped, believed, Felicita ? Did she still sing her plaints in rhyme ? Or, did Faith bear her soul sublime Above contending passions' war, Where, with calm spirits, hers might chime ? Ah, none of these I 'twas one long night Of sleepless love's untiring watch — Listening, and starting up, to catch A sound, which distant far and slight. Could vibrate on Love's fine strung ear As thrillingly, as when so near That ears less exquisite might hear : Her heart's ^olian harp all strung Upon her open casement hung, Waiting in silence night and day For Love's sweet breath thereon to play ; FELICITA. 137 Suspended were its spirit-tones — No music woke there ; tlio' sometimes That harp sent forth unearthly moans, As if a shade from other chmes Breathed on its chords at dead of night, While motionless they were to sight. XXXVI. Kot only did her soul keep fast — Her body too, without repast, Love's vigils with the spirit keeping, Wandered, unresting, as unsleeping, From door to door, from stair to stair — Her sad soul's faithful sentinel. Whose watch-cry ever, " No one there /" As ice upon hope's wild flame fell. 'Twas not, tho' long, and dark, and weary. The starless night of black despair ; For that is still and cold, as dreary ; While here were glimmering everywhere 138 FELICITA. Liglits wliicli as ignesfatui shone, Alluring her heart ever on. XXXYII. Love for its idol, hope, holds out Like a strong fighter against doubt. And rather than the contest yield, Takes subterfuges for its shield — Expertly parrying each blow Aimed by its tantalizing foe : Thus the poor maid, by doubt assailed. To shield the staggering hope she nourished? Made pretexts reasons why had failed Giacinto in his visits cherished : Perchance he, in his turn, was ill ; — "^ [ — This thought less comforted, than pained — Perchance, against his own free will, Despotic duty him detained ; FELICITA. 139 Perchance lie loved, but thro' keen sense Of honor, towards her he protected, He deemed that love for confidence, A shade on Honor's name reflected ; And thus he sought by absence dure, His hopeless love to tame or cure : Could he but know she suffered still — That he had wounded even in healing ; His heart her medicine would distil, And hers assuage his wound revealing. "Love must itself" declare, thought she. In face of maiden modesty, " Feeling so true, so pure as this, May pour its spirit into his ; Ay, he shall know that love in woman Grives force, not man's, but superhuman." 140 FELICITA. XXXVIII. Love reasons not : it was sophism — — Seeming than wisdom's self more wise- Whicli — ^like the serpent's skepticism Beguiling Eve in Paradise — Glided thro' darkness to the ear Too facile of Felicita — Beguiling thus away her fear, Until she saw the morning star Of promise thro' those shades appear : And when Giacinto came at last, Day with him broke upon her soul ! — Doubts dismal shadows back did roll — Her long conflicting night seemed past. XXXIX. Of his late struggles not a trace Eested upon his beaming face ; FELICITA. 141 Yet, fewer words than ordinary He spoke, and these were choice and wary : This she perceived not ; her glad eyes Saw only in him joy's sunrise ; The hapless missive was prepared Which all her glowing bosom bared ; And when he left her, in his hand She slid the letter ; while a flush, That he too well did understand, Suffased her cheek — love's, not shame's blush- XL Ye who have passed the endless hour Of waiting-love — have felt the changes Of feeling's quick mercurial power — — Which thro' the heart's thermometer From Zero unto boiling ranges As rapidly as thought can stir — 142 FELICITA. Ye can best coloring give to all The phases of this maiden's mind In that unending interval Of thought and feeling undefined, 'Twixt her avowal, and his answer : The actual time indeed was long ; For with unguarded words to lance her, Had been true womanhood to wrong : Each thought's fine steel-point, that might be A wound to love or modesty. Was sheathed with gentleness, so soft, That when that fatal answer entered Where her deep life of love was centered, Absence of pain, delusive oft, Deceived her, while at first she found No sting in that too deadly wound. And blinded her a little hour To calm decision's honest power. FELICITA. 143 XLI. In this response was nothing wanting Of all that Friendship's heart could offer ; Though nought of love was there, as granting Assent to what her heart did proffer : He told her Friendship had no wings — That Love was blind, and on his pinions Oft flew away : alas, how clings Passion to its frail, fond illusions ! She heeded not those whisperings ; But soared to Error's wide dominions, Loosing her from Truth's bit and bridle ; And there excursions made audacious — Clinging to false hope, her heart's idol, "With a grasp deathly pertinacious. • 144 F E L I C I T A . XLII. Again she wrote : that Friendsliip's voice "Was not tlie eclio of her bosom's ; That her heart only could rejoice To music of love's soft southwest, Which stirs to sweetness all the breast, As Zephyrs stir the scents of blossoms. Silence with freezing force replied More fatally than words could do ! As cold intense to flesh applied Gives a keen sense of burning tooj . So icy silence only burnt Into her breast as mortal fire — In love's strong agony she learnt Then, how consuming is desire ! ^- FELICITA. 145 XLII I. Before lier frenzied fancy rose, Oft bathed in blood, the hapless youth "Whose nnblest love a life did close So full of beauty and of truth : " Jules !" she cried, " when I gave thee Truth's lancing thrust, thine agony By Fate was pitied ; so, she gave Thee and thy woe an early grave. And this is her revenge on me 1 Be more forgiving thou — come. Brave youth ! tho' noAV a bodiless vision, And once more liberate from prison My suffering spirit — from life's doom. Compared with which death is elysian !" 146 F E L I C I T A . XLI V. The virgin sisters saw her strife ; But nothing said, and only tried — By gentle charities applied — To calm her wound, and yet the life Which love had lost, thro' love restore, That thus, it purified the more Thro' suffering, might attain the bliss Of virtue's perfect happiness, And long endure their aid to be In works of heavenly charity : But love — that can the bosom ope To every noble, generous feeling — When cold despair entombs its hope, And Heaven is deaf to its appealing, Can close that breast in egotism Upon its own — a world-wide woe — Or freeze it into stoicism Till it feels only life — its foe ! I' A 11 r • 1 1 felioitA.. In gentle natures love, concealing, Like poison may life's heart corrode Slowly and silently ; revealing Its secret only in such, mode As other slow sure poisons speak — Thro' the wan eye and pallid cheek : But in strong natures love's a passion That worketh madness when restrained ; As steam, that raging from compression, Breaks iron which its force contained ; So the pent forces of Love's breath Must have an outlet — be it death ! 150 F E L I C I T A . II. Giacinto's day of kindly toil Was finislied, and the midnight oil Wasted within his lamp, while he Conned science, or philosophy : And now he laid aside his book Into mind's mysteries to look ; Where lost in the profound of thought, He gathered treasures to be brought Into the light of day, with which Impoverished natures to enrich: Unto the spirit- world he listened ; Nor heard approaching footsteps rash- Till like a meteor's sudden flash, A blazing eye before him glistened ! What is it there ? the startling vision Of passion, in its wildest beauty ? Or Frenzy's glaring apparition, That from reflection's tranquil duty FELICITA. 151 Sudden his manhood calls " to arms !" Against himself and woman's charms ? III. Or, is it ? Yes ; Felicita ! Her dark hair o'er her shoulders streaming — Veiling one eye, the other beaming Amid those tresses, like a star Thro' the black shades of midnight gleaming ; Her pallor, thro' this parted veil. Like to Death's visage, freezing pale. By the black pall, which hanging over, . Its ghastliness doth not all cover : Her light, within a lantern's shade. Seems hke a funeral torch to glimmer ; And in her other hand a blade, With red glare from that light, doth shim- mer : 152 FELICITA, Her voice a terror in him wakes — As from a sepulchre it speaks ! IV. " Behold 1" she said, while that knife flashed, As with the hand a tear she dashed, " The frenzied child behold, in me, Of unrelenting Destiny ! Nature that made me to command The heart of man, as beauty's queen, Blushes, ay, bleeds to see me stand Before thee, as a suppliant mean, Asking for love that it were meet Should pray for favor at my feet. Witness great Virgin, who protectest The sacred rights that maidens share—- Thou, wko tliy saintly soul reflectest In every vii^gin-bosom fair — F E L I C I T A . 153 Witness tMne image now, tlirongh scorn, Defaced, deflowered, disgraced, forlorn ! And tlion, my guardian angel mother, Witness tliy child, that never yet Thy holy memory did forget — • Which honor wakens as no other Memorial or love can do — Witness with thy earth-bending eyes. If in this state, to thee untrue, Thou thy lost child dost recognize ! And thou. Oh, if the heart of man Within thy bosom cold is beating, Look, and deny, if manhood can, Love to the maid, whose voice repeating In agony its first, last prayer, Implores thee, in Love's name, to share A heart than which no truer lives, Which here its life — or death — thee gives !" 154 F E L I C I T A . V. Giacinto, frozen by tlie sight Of incensed love's majestic sprite, (For sucli the lofty maiden seemed — Breaking thus on him in the night, So that at first he thought he dreamed) The ice of sudden terror felt To love's subduing eloquence As suddenly give way and melt : He knew the maid must quick go hence- Her words to burn in him began, And, if not less, or more than man. Feeling would ere long conquer reason, And in his head his heart breed treason. V I. Soon as she paused, or yielded rather To feeling, which her words did smother FELICITA. 155 Giacinto took her hand, whose grasp Convulsively the knife did clasp, And prayed her to renounce that steel, Which gentle hands should never feel, And quick her steps with him retrace To virtue's safer resting-place : And he would there his word of honor Pledge before Heaven, that looked upon her. To be to her the truest friend That Grod to woman e'er did send. VII. " No ! not my friend thou 'It henceforth be"- In queenly -^Tath responded she — " Thou art my heart's worst enemy ! Thou of the grave's sweet, silent rest Didst rob me, throw me back on life, — On life all loveless and unblest — 156 FELICITA. To teach me — who woe's cup had drained Till not a bitter dreg remained — For the first time what is heart-strife ! Or, if the friend thou would'st prove thee, Take back the life restored to me — With this knife quick mj sorrows end, And show thyself indeed my friend." VI II. " Already hast thou struck death's blow : Oh ! let me linger not to die A thousand times in one death slow ; Or waste as tediously as snow That in the sunless vales doth lie : Grief beats against my bosom's bar With fulness of a giant-force ; All powers within me seem at war, And rushing blood demands free course FELICITA. 157 Pierce then, this heart ! (she, kneehng here, The covering from her breast withdrew, And open laid to ravished vicAv Love's throne, as ivory white and clear) Ope here a passage, that the flood — The boiling flood of hopeless woe May, gushing forth, drown with its flow This life, dethroned, in purple blood." IX. "Abase not, maiden, on the knee" — Giacinto answered with a sigh— " That innate soul of royalty "Which unto me for blood doth cry : Else, live, and conquer thy great heart, Which reason's conqueror strives to be ! And tho' as enemies we part, True to ourselves if still are we. 158 FELICITA. Not long as foes we shall remain ; Thou wilt concede that Friendship's chain (Which to the heart is silk to bear — To time as iron is to wear) Shall join us in its links again." X. He said ; and as to lift her made, But seized adroitly danger's blade ; When, springing with indignant grace Upon her feet, she raised her face, And from those eyes of darkened blue A lightning-stroke at him she threw — A flash of mingled love and scorn. Which of a Juno's wrath seemed born. And in its full blaze disappeared ! So suddenly, he half believed That in all he had seen and feared, Delusive Fancy him deceived. PART VIII FELICIT^ 'TwAS early Autumn — ^when the leaves Begin to show a dying flush ; "VYhen earth departed Summer grieves, And merriest birds their carols hush ; When Avinds thro' forests breathe in sighs ; When clouds as funeral trains appear ; When over pensive nature lies A veil of hazy atmosphere : 'Twas in the twilight of the day— That hour in every season holy ; Shadows upon the spirit lay, As over nature melancholy. 162 FELICITA. II Giacinto, pensive as the season, And thouglitful as the brooding hour, Sat all alone with sober Eeason, Yielding to melancholy's power. Weeks, months had passed since that wild night When frenzied passion startled sight, And he again had never seen The face of beauty's incensed queen. III. Long time he waited a recall, And to the convent often went To learn what did to her befall ; But him she kept in banishment. ^' The Sisters" told him that her cheek, FELICITA. 16B Once always pale, now oft looked flushed ; That her voice tenderer grew and weak, "^ And that her towering soul seemed crushed : That like a frost-touched flower she drooped — Her matchless head to earth oft bending, As heavy with oppressive thought ; That her form, upright once, now stooped ; That on her smooth brow lines were wrought By passions inwardly contending : But, that she uttered no complaint, And all day long in mercy's deeds Employed her hands — ^Love's suffering saint — Ministering unto others' needs ! IV Giacinto, in this autumn twilight, Was pondering gloomily these things ; When he perceived, as thro' a sky-light, Above him, poised on luminous wings, 164 FELICITA. A form resembling bright conceptions Of angels on their earthward missions — — As sometimes to finite perceptions They are revealed in heavenly visions : His eye, transfixed by piercing light, At first discerned not in that face Anght, save refulgence dazzling bright ; But, gazing, he began to trace Features familiar to his sight, Kindled by that divine expression Which in Felicita seemed the gleaming — The visible, sublime impression Of Heaven's face on the human beaming. V. And yet the angel o'er him bending Was not that maiden : was it, then, Her mother's spirit, thus descending To cheer and bless her child again ? FELICITA. 165 Or, on more welcome errand still, Came she now — as ambassadress From the stern court of Death, no less, Than sent by Heaven's sublimer will Her child's sad destiny to fulfil, And bear her to the realms of bliss, To learn there what is happiness ? VI. Whilst thus he questioned the bright vision Yanished ; Night circled him about With shadows, and thro' fields elysian The stars, as golden flowers, peeped out : Himself beneath night's curtain screening, He watched intent these starry flowers — As from them he would pluck the meaning Of what surpassed dim reason's powers. 166 FELICITA. VII. From contemplation into revery Small space there is, and this he leaped ; But back again as quickly stepped, To greet another angel — one Who came not in the dazzling livery, In which Heaven's messenger had shone ; Tho' none the less Heaven-sent — ^for she The angel was of Charity ! VIII. She brought a message from the dying A dove, that life away was sighing, Into Giacinto's breast would pour Love's plaintive melody once more. To the heart's centre stirred his blood ! Another moment and he stood FELICITA. 167 By the white couch where Beauty's life Was ebbing without pain or strife : The quickened pulse ; the pale of death — Chased by a bright, but fatal glow ; The pausing, then quick-heaving breath, As he approached her, all did show That hopeless love may life's chords sever, But life such love as hers kill never ! IX . On him she turned those spiritual eyes — — In whose blue deep already beamed The radiance of the opening skies. Whose waiting angel there she seemed — And gave him, with Love's pardoning smile, Her white attenuated hand In silence — speaking all the while Words his heart well could understand : 168 FELICITA. These words grew audible in speech When calmed again her pulse's beat — As if his hand her heart did reach, And carry soothing to life's seat — And thus she spake, in soft low tone. As music from a tomb might moan : X. " Forgive the maid who wronged thee so- Alas, what seemed her fault was woe ! It is not strange that she, whose life Had been with sorrow one long strife, Saw in thy cloudless brow the mornmg Of a new life upon her dawning ; Beheved that thou the golden key Didst hold of her heart's mystery ; Since thou its secrets didst unlock — FELICITA. 169 Eeveal the treasures of its love, And make its inmost fibres move Witli feeling's strong electric shock : Oh, no ! it is not strange that she — She who was Nature's simplest daughter — Believed when that true mother taught her, That what her bosom felt for thee, Must live in thine — ^must mutual be — Twin-born she said, was sympathy : But, I have learned too, of another. Truth which woe from experience wins — That sympathy, of love the mother, Conceives not always herself twins. XI "Heaven, that forgave my fond heart's error, Hath taken from death all its terror. And called me to a higher state, Where dwells perchance my spirit-mate : 8 170 FELICITA. A sunless life liath mine been ever ; Save where tliy presence shed a ray Across this soul, which ceases never To thank thee for one cloudless day — That left with me a sweet foretaste Of heavenly love to which I haste." The dove, with her own sigh opprest, Sank silent back into her nest. Where downy white she lifeless lay ; Save that her palpitating breast Eevealed where life did lingering stay With love, that could not pass away. XII. Giacinto thrice essayed to speak ; But sobs alone tlie silence broke : And Avhen at last in Avords he spoke, Words too impoverished were and weak To serve remorse which in him woke, And would relief in utterance seek. FELICITA. 171 Moments tliere are in wliicb. a life Of tliouglit and feeling seems comprest — When years of bitterness and strife Wrestle together in tlie breast : As drowning men, wlio in one minute Live all their past lives o'er again — To whom Death holds a glass and in it Life's errors stretch their lengthened train ; So, in that moment's agony, Giacinto lived liis past anew. And now as murderous crime did see His fatal candor, held to view In light of an eternity. XIII. " Forgive me Heaven ! forgive me thou, Divinest maid, its angel now ! If there be pardon for a heart So dead to virtue's heavenly love, 172 FELICITA. That all ia vain it did impart Its mission from tlie court above ; Or, if forgiveness may divide Its mercy with a homicide : live Felicita ! and prove How great is pardon, by my love ! For what love's passion failed to do. Its pardon, godlike, shall awake ; My heart already, in review, Sees, feels, too late, its sad mistake : No : love can never feel too late — Love is divine — its power to save Can vanquish even death's stern fate, And bring back Beauty from the grave." XIV. "Peace !" — said the maiden — "love is strong But stronger is the Power that wills My spirit where it doth belong — Which here my destiny fulfils. ^k E L I C I T A . 173 Call me not back to life — to love Wliicli tlioii dost only seem to prove : Believe me — ^for tlie dying see ISTo longer darkly, tliro' a glass ; But face to face the Trutk, all free From mists that witli earth's shadows pass — As virtue to thee crime appears, And virtue's strife as crime's remorse ; So friendship seen thro' pity's tears, Is into love transformed by force, And seems to thee that flame diviner, Which in my bosom still doth live — Which Death kills not ; but, as refiner, Back to love's burning throne shall give." XV, " Yet say thou lovest me : Love is strange- It cherishes such dear delusions. 174 F E L I I T A .^p And words to things desired can cliange — Feeding with tliem its known illusions ! Yes ; say tliou lovest ! and loveless cliarm me ; As mnsic it Avill drown Death's step, And of earth's coward fears disarm me ; So, I to his embrace shall leap. As if into thine arms I sank — As if from that pure fount I drank. For which my heart so long hath panted, And which in Heaven's joy shall seem granted : Ay, speak that charmed word again — Love — ^for which life sighs out in vain ! Then I — with that blest prophet old. Who did salvation's Hope infold — Will say, " let me depart in peace ;" For to my heart Love now I hold, And in that rapture life should cease !" FELICITA. 175 XVI A wound less deep than her's had healed To the sweet balm of kindly feeling ; But, at her heart's core lay concealed A worm, which drop by drop was stealing Life's blood away — that nought could kill, For 'twas his destiny to drain The purple current from each vein — Then die himself mth life's o'erfill. XVII. But day and night Giacinto watched That maiden's human beauties pass As flowers from the worm-eaten grass ; While spirit-charms, which angels' matched, By her disease was only heightened — While in her eye new lustre shone, And on her cheek a glow unknown, Which life's declining sun but brightened. 176 FELICITA XVIII. Oh ! ye, to wliom cleatTi striketh terror — Wlio flee the chamber of the suffering ; Come where youth unto death is offering Its guileless charms, and learn your error ! For where's the monster that transforms True beauty into ghastliness ? No hideous power can Death possess Over the face which feeling warms : Pain may with feeling struggle — ^yet Will moral beauty there preside ; Nor can death's icy seal, e'en, hide The glow in which that brow is set — Which frozen, still bears Heaven's signet. PART IX felicitA.. The early Autumn now was over : The fallen leaves decaying lay ; While warmth stole back, as a shy lover, That parted, still doth lingering stay : 'Twas summer stript of birds and flowers — Complaining thro' the rill all day Of freshness lost, of vanquished powers. And mourning beauty's swift decay : A haze hung o'er the cloudless west. Thro' which the setting sun poured gold ; As if from Edens of the blest Did angels, thro' a veil, behold 180 FELICITA. The parting convoy they had sent To bear another spirit home — From exile, from imprisonment, Whose hour of freedom now had come. II. Felicita from her bed had risen To view once more departing day, And on a couch, half-sitting, lay Beside the casement : her clay prison — — A beauteous ruin to behold — With gates all ready to unfold At the divine word " liberty !" Around her, praying in low whispers. Gathered decorous the chaste sisters ; With crystals — ^purer none could be — Upon their 'kerchiefs white, that dropped Slowly from upturned lids, and stopped Where welled up their fount, chanty : FELICITA. 181 Beside her, wrapt in silence monrnful, Giacinto sat — ^his own eye glistening : And now, prayer on its wing poised, listening To a voice like far music tuneful, "WMcIl from that waiting spirit poured. And thus its quick release implored : " Shades are falling, Angels calling — Blessed "Virgin, let me come ! Death is dreary, I am weary — Bid them bear my spirit home. " "Woman's suffering — — My sin-offering — Oh, accept thro' thy Son's blood ! Woe's refiner Made diviner Even his soul, innately good. 182 FELICITA. " Let mine, sliining, Thro' refining Of heart-agony, now rise In the likeness Of His brightness Unto Love's own native skies. " Mother sainted ! I have panted Long thine eye of love to see ; Death concealed it — Death revealed it Just now, watching over me. " How thy pleasure Doth outmeasure What those angels there enjoy Heaven's high duty Lights their beauty — Thine maternal love's employ ! FELICITA. 183 " Heavenly motlier ! There's no other In that angel-band so fair ; Envy could they, Envy would they What Sorn-angels cannot share ! " Come Death; ease me ! Love, release me From thy clinging earthly charms ! Farewell friends dear ! Love's strife ends here — Take me, mother, to thine arms !" III. With the last gleam of setting day That radiant spirit passed away — Here was no more Felicita ! But Heaven's sky showed another star — Adding new brightness there — whose ray Beamed on Giacinto from afar. 184 FELICITA. IV. The empty temple of Iter clay — As marble wliite, by tapers lighted — So beauteous shone that it invited The loving mourner there to stay ; And there Giacinto knelt to pray — There fain would have resigned his breath, And sealed love's tardy vows with death, To be with her in Heaven united. V. "The Sisters" made of flowers her pillow- — Flowers best befitting virgin-bloom — And, 'twixt a cypress and a willow. Laid all that beauty in the tomb — Protected by the guardian-cross, And wept — not over Beauty's loss — But, that a daughter, true as she, Was lost to meek-eyed Charity ! FELICITA. 185 VI. Yet theirs was not the final office Of love to the departed novice ; Giacinto's heart, that owed such debt As Friendship was too poor to pay, Eaised the carved marble, which tells yet Where blends with dust earth's fairest clay- VII. Oft at the hallowed twilight-hour — That hour supreme of her departing — When keen remorse had ceased its smarting, Drawn by a sadder, holier power ; He sought the turf inlaid with flowers, — Beyond the city's domes and towers — Where slept the maid — ^where angels hovered — And on that turf devoutly kneeling, His head to evening-dews uncovered — His hands clasped o'er the fount of feeling — 186 F E L I C I T A . Thus, in low wliispers, unto God Sent up Ms sorrow from that sod : "Heart of human hearts supernal — Living Source of life eternal ! From thee emanates Effluent Love — a vital river — Thy soul is the heart's life-giver — Thy life love creates ! " God all-knowing, God all-seeing ! Thine eye penetrates my being As a searching light : Thou hast seen it thirsting ever For this well-spring, which did never Yet its thirst requite. " 'Twas because love's effluence tarried, That my heart, a desert arid, Gave no answering bloom To the fair and fragrant blossom FELICITA. 187 Which did waste upon my bosom Its divine perfume. " Lay not to my charge the dying Of this Flower, which vainly sighing For responsive breath, Shut its heart up, and infolding Sweets, with bitterness corroding. Faded into death. '' Had thy heart of love mine nourished. This lost flower had never perished In its own perfumes : Perished ! ah, in Love's blest Eden — — Flower immortal of thy garden — Fairer now it blooms ! " Peace my heart ! thou art too earthy — God was just, and thou unworthy To possess this Flower : Love divine for aye will nourish, 188 FELICITA. What mine was too poor to clierisli For life's little hour. " God, yet cheer me with its odors "Wafted here from Eden's borders, As Love's sweet replies To the yearnings of my spirit Paradise, thro' love, to merit — Love is Paradise!" STJe 3Entr. RICHARD THE LION-HEARTED THE FIRST IN THE SERIES OF ROMAITIC BIOGRAPHIES TO BE EDITED BY TUE REV. F. L. HAWKS, D.D., LL.D, One Vol., Cloth. Illustrated by MX ll^WlIIWl llilA¥ll»S. FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY THWAITES. 75 Cents. Gilt, $1.00. Third Editior. "It is a charming narrative of the exploits of Richard Coeur de Lion; spirited, clear, and most agreeable in style; handsomely illustrated, and printed in very readable type. Such books cannot fail to bfe popular.-' — Boston Transa-ipt. " ilr. Dickerson, the publisher, of Broadway, sends us several pleasant vol- umes, foremost of which is a dashing account of the Life of Richard Coeur de Lion, an original copyright work, written with great point and spirit. It belongs to that favorite school of reading with the young represented by Sir Walter Scott's 'Tales of a Grandfather.' "— JV. Y. Churchman. "It contains a brilliant narrative of Richard the Lion-Hearted, divested as far as possible of the political history of his reign, and written with a view to the in- struction and improvement of the young. The name of the Rev. Dr. Hawks is a satisfactory guaranty of the unexceptionable character of the work; the illustra- tions are numerous and spirited.'' — iV. Y. Commercial Advertiser. JAMES S. DICKERSON, Pdblisher, New Yoek. twelte'Teciukes B T REV. WILLIAM HAGUE, D. D. Price, Sl.OO. Gilt, §1.25. Second Edition. The following is the Table of Contents, and will indicate the char- acter and scope of the hook : — Lecture I — The Marriage Insiitulion. Lecture IL — Duties of ihe Husband. Lecture III — Duties of tlie Wife. Lecture IV. — Duties of Parents to Children. Lecture V. — Duties of Children to Parents. Lecture YI. — Duties of Brothers and Sisters. Lecture VII. — Mutual Duties of Householders and Servants. Lecture VIII. — Duties of Prnicipals to Cierlis and Apprentices. Lecture IX. — Duties of Young Men to their Employers. Lecture X. — The Use and Abuse of Aniusements. Lecture XL — The Family Library. Lecture XH. — The Self governed Jlan. The classical elegance and simplicity of the style, and the warmth and naturalness of the eloquence of these Lectures, justify the great favor with which they were delivered, and mark the present volume as a valuable and popular contribution to our literature. "The times demand just such a work as is here produced for ihe family, shed- ding a hallowed light on home, promoting discipline, inspiring affection, fostering the social virtues, and preparing for a steady, strong, and salutary influence in all the varied walks of society. We think of no man better qualified for the great and responsible task than Dr. Hague." — Christian Chronicle. " To many of our citizens the Rev. William Hague is too well kno\vn to require at our hands any recommendation of whatever issues from his pen. But we can- not forbear calling the attention of those less acquainted with his peculiar merits as a writer, to an admirable book called ' Human Life,' which bears his name as author, recently published in New York." — BoaUm Transcript. "These Lectures are an honor to the Christian literature of our country. They are written in a style of great beauty, abound in striking thoughts, are eminently practical in their bearing, and are fitted to guard the best interests of the young, and to give increased intensity and elevation to the joys of the Christian home." — Albany Argus. JAMES S. DICKERSON, Publisher, New York. HARRY'S VACATION. BY W. C. RICHARDS, A.M., Editor of the Schoolfellow Magazine. One Volume, Cloth, Illustrated. Price, Sl.OO. Third Edition. "The design of this book is excellent, and it has been executed with much skill. It seeks to give information on scientific subjects and the philosophy of things, by means of a story which is aitfully constructed and pleasantly related. As a gift book for the young people, it will be very profitable, as well as amus- ing.'" — N. Y. Observer . " ' Harry's Vacation ' is a standard book for holidays, and for all times. Its moral is pure and high, and it is filled with curious and interesting information, from which the old as well as the young may derive piofit and pleasure." — Evening Mirror. " Foremost amongst them is ' Harry's Vacation,' by W. C. Richards, A.M. "We like it. It is one of the old-fashioned sort of story-books, whose aim is to combine instruction with amusement. A couple of schoolboys spend their holidays in the country at the house of Dr. Sinclair, the father of one of them, and pass their time agreeably enough in listening to the old gentleman's illustrations of his favor- ite science, Cllemistr5^ He does not lecture prosily and learnedly like a Professor; but contrives to interest the young folks by the discussion of some offhand topic, such as the frost on the window-panes, or the dropping of a plate from the hand of a careless servant. We are not in favor of cramming the child-mind with much learned lore ; but we can readily commend this affair of Harry's ; it is so pleasantly written, and with such a home-like thread of story running through \X.''— Albion. JAMES S. DICKEESON, PuBLiSHEK, New York. <^ OR F^CT ^N^D POETRY OF Italian f iff, f itcraturt, aiilr Jlf ligioiL BY ROBERT TURNBKll, B.l),, Author of "Genius of Scotland," "Christ in History," &c., &c. FOURTH REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED EDITION, CONTAINING SKETCHES OF MAZZINI, GAVAZZI, AND OTHER CELEBRATED ITALIANS. Price, $1.00. Gilt, $1.25. " Dr. Turnbull gives us the orange groves, and the fountains, and the gondolas, and the frescoes, and the ruins, with touches of personal adventure and sketches of biography, and glimpses of the life, hterature, and religion of modern Italy, seen with the quick, comprehensive glances of an American traveller, impulsive, inquisitive, and enthusiastic." — Literary World. " At a moment when Italy is abrtut to be regenerated, when the long-standing spirit of the people is about assuming its ancient vigor, a work of this kind is desirable. The country, its people, and its prominent features, are given with much truth and torce." — Democratic Eeviao. "The title of this book hardly does justice to its rich and varied contents. It gives genial sketches of the literature and literary men of Italy, past and present, taking up city after city, describing each place m order, and then noticing both its political and literary history. It contains, moreover, an account of Pius IX., with two very judicious chapters upon the present condition and prospects of the Paviacy, and of Italian liberty. It is not only a very pleasant book, but a useful and instructive one." — Methodist Quarterly Eeviav. JAMES S. DICKEESON, PuBLiSHEE, New York. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 016 117 858 5 W lijjj 1 1 iiiim