llil i 
 
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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. T-K I l-7-iL. 
 
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 g^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ! 
 

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 A BOOK FOE THE GIFT-SEASON. 
 
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 BOSTON: 
 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY, 
 
 HI, Washinqton Stbiet. 
 1856. 
 
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A 
 
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 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the yeax 1855, by 
 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 22, SOHOOL SlB££T. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Invitation to the Christmas Gathering . Mary M. Chase ... 1 
 
 Song E. M. MiLNES 3 
 
 Summer Days 4 
 
 Mabel Aramis 7 
 
 Song 11 
 
 The Return of Youth Wm. C. Bktant ... 13 
 
 The Reaper George W. Curtis . 16 
 
 Wishes Barry Cornwall . . 17 
 
 Resurgamus Aramis 18 
 
 Stanzas Albert G. Greene . 23 
 
 Fair-weather Friend R. M. Milnes 26 
 
 Song W. D. Gallagher. . 28 
 
 Shadows R. M. Milnes 29 
 
 The Heart's Guests 31 
 
 Remembrance Ellis Bell 33 
 
 filediocrity in Love rejected Thomas Carew ... 35 
 
 Ruth Thomas Hood .... 36 
 
 A Thought suggested by the New Year . Thomas Campbell . 37 
 
 Portraits N. E. A 39 
 
 Why dost thou talk of Death, Laddie? . Prof. Wilson 44 
 
 The Two Brides R. H. Stoddard ... 46 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Sonnet Alexander Smith . 47 
 
 Song Baeet Coenwall . . 48 
 
 That Day Mrs. E. B. Beowning 49 
 
 Enone. Prof. Aytoun 51 
 
 Adelaide Mart Feahces Kyle 56 
 
 Music i' the Air George W. Curtis . 57 
 
 He will not woo again 58 
 
 To , on a late Loss James T. Fields ... 60 
 
 The Sayings of Rabia 61 
 
 The Dial N. E. A 64 
 
 To a Mute Gurl 0. G. Fenner 67 
 
 Pericles and Aspasia Rev. George Ceolt . 68 
 
 When shall we meet again? J. F. Claeke 70 
 
 Parting 71 
 
 The Departing Spirit 73 
 
 An Extract T. Dale 75 
 
 Home James G. Percival . 76 
 
 An Enchanted Island 77 
 
 Sweet Mother Mrs. Judson 79 
 
 The Christmas Offering William Croswell . 84 
 
 Sonnet S. H. Whitman ... 85 
 
 Mother Margery G. S. Burleigh ... 86 
 
 From " The Princess " Alfred Tennyson . 90 
 
 A Fancy about a Boy 91 
 
 The Love-watcher ; an Allegory M. A. Brown 94 
 
 The Wirthir's Daughter Uhland 97 
 
 Song from "Jane Eyre" Cuerer Bell 98 
 
 Rain on the Roof 101 
 
 Sick and in Prison Alice Carey 104 
 
 Three Colors ; from Anastasius Grun . . Rev. Chas. T. Brooks 106 
 Sister Sorrow R. M. Milnbs 109 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Song Ill 
 
 Fickleness W. Mothekwell. . . 112 
 
 Sonnet Blackwood 113 
 
 Ebb and Flow George W. Curtis . 114 
 
 Beyond the River Dublin Univer. Mag. 115 
 
 To-day Charles Wilton . . 117 
 
 The Heart! the Heart! Eliza Cook 120 
 
 The Love that lasts George B. Cheeveb 121 
 
 Christmas Eve William Crosvtell . 123 
 
 The Welcome back Eliza Cook 124 
 
 The Voyager N. E. A 125 
 
 Sonnet Mrs. E. B. Browning 127 
 
 Cheerfulness Mrs. E. B. Browning 128 
 
 The Incognita of Raffaelle William A. Butler 129 
 
 On the Shore Chambers's Journal 131 
 
 Self-dependence Matthew Arnold . . 134 
 
 My Kate Mrs. E. B. Browning 136 
 
 The Toast 139 
 
 A Valediction Mrs. E. B. Browning 142 
 
When the soul expression seeks, 
 Heart to heart in numbers speaks ; 
 Verse the fittest language is 
 To portray heart-mysteries. 
 
 But the soul, unskilled to phrase 
 In tuneful flow the wished-for lays, 
 Seeks the poet's store to find 
 Words interpreting his mind. 
 
 I, for this, would hdther bring 
 Sweetest lays that poets sing ; 
 Brilliants from the richest mine ; 
 Friendship's pure and crystal shine : 
 
 Love's enchanting diamond glow, 
 Brighter than aught else below, — 
 These, and more for those who ask it; 
 For Heart-Gems demand a casket 
 
HEART-SONGS. 
 
 INVITATION TO THE CHEISTMAS GATHERING. 
 
 There's a tree that blossoms in winter time. 
 In spite of tempests and wind and snow ; 
 
 And fruit, as bright as in tropic clime. 
 
 On its fresh green branches wave and glow. 
 
 No matter how gloomy the winter be, 
 
 There's sure to be fruit on the Christmas-tree. 
 
 We have planted one on the old hill-side. 
 And friendship has promised to tend it well 
 
 Its branches are budding and spreading wide. 
 And its earliest flowers we begin to tell ; 
 
 And daily it gladdens our eyes to see 
 
 The rapid growth of the Christmas-tree. 
 1 
 
2 INVITATION. 
 
 It will bear no harvest of crimson and gold, 
 Nor shine with the droppings of silver showers ; 
 
 The fabled Hesperian trees of old 
 Will have no rival in this of ours ; 
 
 Neither rich nor rare will the fruitage be 
 
 Which will hang on the boughs of our Christmas- 
 tree. 
 
 But, plain though it be, it will worthier seem 
 When you think it was nurtured by Friendship's 
 hand; 
 
 And its simple appeal to your kind esteem 
 Your generous spirit will scarce withstand. 
 
 So we ask you to come, though it winter be. 
 
 And gather the fruit of our Christmas-tree. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Beneath an Indian palm, a girl 
 
 Of other blood reposes : 
 Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl 
 
 Amid that wild of roses. 
 
 Beside a Northern pine, a boy- 
 Is leaning, fancy-bound ; 
 
 Nor listens where, with noisy joy. 
 Awaits the impatient hound. 
 
 Cold grows the sick and feverish calm ; 
 
 Relaxed the frosty twine : 
 The pine-tree dreameth of the palm ; 
 
 The palm-tree, of the pine. 
 
 As soon shall Nature interlace 
 Those dimly-visioned boughs. 
 
 As these young lovers, face to face. 
 Renew their early vows. 
 
SUMMER DAYS. 
 
 In summer, when the days were long. 
 We walked together in the wood : 
 Our heart was light, our step was strong. 
 Sweet flutterings were there in our blood. 
 In summer, when the days were long. 
 
 We strayed from morn till evening came ; 
 We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns ; 
 We walked 'mid poppies red as flame. 
 Or sat upon the yellow downs ; 
 And always wished our life the same. 
 
 In summer, when the days were long. 
 We leaped the hedgerow, crossed the brook ; 
 And still her voice flowed forth in song. 
 Or else she read some graceful book. 
 In summer, when the days were long. 
 
SUMMER DAYS. 
 
 And then we sat beneath the trees, 
 With shadows lessening in the noon ; 
 And, in the sunlight and the breeze. 
 We feasted, many a gorgeous June, 
 While larks were singing o'er the leas. 
 
 In summer, when the days were long. 
 On dainty chicken, snow-white bread. 
 We feasted, with no grace but song ; 
 We plucked wild strawberries ripe and red. 
 In summer, when the days were long. 
 
 We loved, and yet we knew it not. 
 For loving seemed like breathing then ; 
 We found a heaven in every spot ; 
 Saw angels, too, in all good men ; 
 And dreamed of God in grove and grot. 
 
 In summer, when the days are long. 
 Alone I wander, muse alone : 
 I see her not ; but that old song 
 Under the fragrant wind is blown. 
 In summer, when the days are long. 
 
SUMMER DAYS. 
 
 Alone I wander in the wood : 
 But one fair spirit hears my sighs ; 
 And half I see, so glad and good, 
 The honest daylight of her eyes. 
 That charmed me under earlier skies. 
 
 In summer, when the days are long, 
 I love her as we loved of old ; 
 My heart is light, my step is strong ; 
 For love brings back those hours of gold. 
 In summer, when the days are long. 
 
MABEL. 
 
 The shining sickles the reapers wield 
 
 Are bright in the sunlit morn : 
 They go to the opulent harvest-field 
 
 To reap its wealth of corn. 
 The choral winds of the morning chant 
 
 A harvest-song of praise ; 
 And the mellow sunlight shines aslant 
 
 Through the autumn's golden haze. 
 
 No more to bind the amber sheaves 
 
 With the reaper-bands I go : 
 I stand where the rays in the gabled eaves 
 
 From the Orient softly flow. 
 The days of my life are old and sear ; 
 
 But my heart is glad and young ; 
 For the songs of the singing-birds I hear 
 
 Are the melodies once they sung. 
 
MABEL. 
 
 I am old ; but hope can never decay : 
 
 And why should my spirit care ? 
 The sun sheds blessings on locks of gray. 
 
 And hallows an old man's hair. 
 My prouder and passional days are flown : 
 
 But the light on the valley shines ; 
 And from odorous woodlands still is blown 
 
 The balm of the balsam-pines. 
 
 Mabel ! dream of the years that fell, — 
 
 That fell by the reaper Time : 
 It was here in the affluent harvest-dells, 
 
 "When my youth was in its prime ; 
 It was down in the harvest-pride, unshorn, 
 
 "We stood with the reaper-bands ; 
 And love to our hearts was thrillingly borne 
 
 In the tremulous clasp of our hands. 
 
 The golden radiance lent your face 
 
 The hyacinth hue of the grain ; 
 And, flushing your cheeks with a maidenly grace. 
 
 Bloom -roses there were lain. 
 
MABEL. 
 
 Xnd Love saw mysteries in your eyes, — 
 Twin-stars in the mellow morn, — 
 
 And dreamed, in your red lips' parted dyes. 
 Of pearls amid the corn. 
 
 Sd the sweet vision of gentle Ruth 
 
 ! Is annalled in Orient lore, 
 When the Syrian nobleman gave his youth 
 
 To her beauty for evermore. 
 And I was the lord of the lands from whence. 
 
 In the autumn's amber pride. 
 Your virginal beauty and innocence 
 
 Were borne a wedded bride. 
 
 That night there was joy in the gabled manse. 
 
 When home were the harvest-wains : 
 The young and the beautiful met in the dance 
 
 To the bounding music's strains ; 
 And the trusting love in Mabel's eyes, 
 
 In their clear and holy shine. 
 Was the love, oh spirit in paradise ! 
 
 When last they looked in mine. 
 
10 MABEL. 
 
 Thou hast gathered home to thy garner, God, 
 
 The sheaves of my golden years ; 
 But thou leavest hope in the sepulchre clod. 
 
 And smiles in a world of tears. 
 The pines are green immortalities 
 
 When the Eden-blossoms die ; 
 And the passion that sinks with the sunset sees 
 
 Sweet peace in the star-sown sky. 
 
 Softly the winds of the autumn sing 
 
 Their choral song of praise ; 
 And a prophecy thus to my soul they bring 
 
 Of its slowly parting days ; 
 Of the sleep that shall coldly and gently glide 
 
 On my eyes from a chilly hand ; 
 Of the dawn, with Mabel by my side. 
 
 In the calm of another land. 
 
11 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I LOVE you, — 'tis the simplest way 
 
 The thing I feel to tell ; 
 Yet, if I told it all the day. 
 
 You'd never guess how well. 
 You are my comfort and my light ; 
 
 My very life you seem : 
 I think of you all day ; all night 
 
 'Tis but of you I dream. 
 
 There's pleasure in the lightest word 
 
 That you can speak to me : 
 My soul is like the jEolian chord. 
 
 And vibrates still to thee. 
 I never read the love-song yet. 
 
 So thrilling, fond, or true. 
 But in my own heart I have met 
 
 Some kinder thought of you. 
 
12 SONG. 
 
 I bless the shadow on your face. 
 
 The light upon your hair : 
 I like, for hours, to sit and trace 
 
 The passing changes there : 
 I love to hear your voice's tone. 
 
 Although you should not say 
 A single word, to dream upon 
 
 When that had died away. 
 
 Oh! you are kindly as the beam 
 
 That warms where'er it plays ; 
 And you are gentle as a dream 
 
 Of happy future days ; 
 And you are strong to do the right. 
 
 And swift the wrong to flee ; 
 And, if you were not half so bright. 
 
 You're all the world to me. 
 
13 
 
 THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 
 
 My friend, thou sorrowest for the golden prime, — 
 For those fair, youthful years so swift of flight ; 
 Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time 
 Of cheerful hopes, that filled the world with 
 
 light; 
 Days when the thought was swift, the hand was 
 
 strong. 
 And prompt the tongue the generous thought to 
 
 speak : 
 And willing faith was thine ; and scorn of wrong 
 Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek. 
 
 Thou lookest forward to the coming days, 
 Shuddering to feel their shadows o'er thee creep : 
 A path, thick set with changes and decays. 
 Slopes downward to the place of common sleep ; 
 
14 THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 
 
 And they who walked with thee in life's first 
 
 stage. 
 Leave, one by one, thy side ; and, waiting near. 
 Thou seest the sad companions of thy age, — 
 Dull love of rest, and weariness, and fear. 
 
 Yet grieve not thou, nor fear thy youth is gone, 
 Nor deem that glorious season e'er can die : 
 Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn. 
 Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ; 
 Waits like the Morn, that folds her wing, and 
 
 hides. 
 Till the slow stars bring back the dawning hour ; 
 Waits like the vanished Spring, that, slumbering, 
 
 bides 
 Her own sweet time to waken bird and flower. 
 
 There shall He welcome thee, when thou shalt 
 
 stand 
 On his bright morning hills, with smiles more 
 
 sweet 
 Than when at first he took thee by the hand. 
 Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet. 
 
THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 15 
 
 He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still. 
 Life's early glory to thine eyes again ; 
 Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill 
 Thy waiting heart with warmer love than then. 
 
 Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here. 
 Of mountains where immortal morn prevails? 
 Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear 
 A gentle murmur of the southern gales 
 That sweep the ambrosial groves of that bright 
 
 shore. 
 And thence the fragrance of its blossoms bear ; 
 And voices of the loved ones gone before, 
 INIore musical in that celestial air ? 
 
16 
 
 THE REAPER. 
 
 I WALKED among the golden grain. 
 That bent and whispered to the plain, — 
 " How gayly the sweet summer passes, 
 So gently treading o'er us grasses ! " 
 
 A sad-eyed Eeaper came that way. 
 But silent in the singing day, 
 Laying the graceful grain along. 
 That met the sickle with a song. 
 
 The sad-eyed Reaper said to me, 
 " Fair are the summer fields you see ; 
 Golden to-day ; to-morrow, gray ; 
 So dies young love from life away." 
 
 " 'Tis reaped, but it is garnered well," 
 
 I ventured the sad man to tell : 
 
 " Though Love declines, yet Heaven is kind ; 
 
 God knows his sheaves of life to bind." 
 
WISHES. 17 
 
 More sadly then he bowed his head. 
 And sadder were the words he said : 
 " Though every summer green the plain. 
 This harvest shall not bloom again." 
 
 WISHES; 
 
 Sweet be her dreams, the fair, the young ; 
 
 Grace, Beauty, breathe upon her ; 
 Music, haunt thou about her tongue ; 
 
 Life, fill her path with honor. 
 
 All golden thought, all wealth of days. 
 Truth, Friendship, Love, surround her : 
 
 So may she smile till life be closed. 
 And angel-hands have crowned her. 
 
18 
 
 RESURGAMUS. 
 
 It was down in the dingles of Thule ; and there 
 
 The castle rose fair. 
 With the battlements high in the hush of the air. 
 
 And the turrets thereon. 
 But the music of harp and of rebec had gone 
 
 From the ivied stone close, 
 "Where the lord and his lady lay lovely and wan, — 
 
 The palm and the rose. 
 
 The sunset was soft yellow glory and bloom 
 
 In the quiet brown gloom ; 
 The air of the chamber was rich with perfume ; 
 
 But their spirits were low. 
 Oh ! sad was his face as the dirges of woe 
 
 That the choristers raise ; 
 Oh ! sweet was her face as the hymns long ago 
 
 Heard in happier days. 
 
RESURGAMUS. 19 
 
 For the lingering illness that baffles all aid 
 
 Upon them was laid ; 
 The pain and the fever that none can evade 
 
 Who dwell in that land. 
 They long, through that sorrow that none may 
 withstand, 
 
 For the visionless sleep ; 
 They watch in the crystal the filtering sand ; 
 
 They wait, and they weep. 
 
 But the great King of Thule — (give praise to his 
 name ; 
 
 Give him choral acclaim ; 
 For the vassal and rebel to him are the same. 
 
 In the hovel or hall), — 
 He sends his nepenthe of healing to all 
 
 By a seneschal gray : 
 They drink, and, in slumbers that chillingly fall. 
 
 Their pain glides away. 
 
 " O love ! I am weary, and weary," said he, 
 
 " And I sorrow for thee." 
 " O love ! I am weary, and weary," said she, 
 
 " And I languish for rest." 
 
20 RESURGAMUS. 
 
 And, lo ! as she bent her fair head on his breast. 
 
 With a smile and a sigh. 
 Said the leech, " To the castle there comes an old 
 guest : 
 
 O friends ! he is nigh ! " 
 
 And the sunset was waning, and slow tolled the bell 
 
 In the ancient chapelle ; 
 And the lord kissed his lady, and said, " It is well : 
 
 Be the portals set wide : 
 We welcome the seneschal sent to our side. 
 
 Who healing doth bring ; 
 We welcome thy servant, thou king of our pride. 
 
 Our lord and our king." 
 
 They knew not their kindred were kneeling in 
 prayer. 
 
 Though many knelt there ; 
 They heard not the seneschal's foot on the stair : 
 
 He passed through the door : 
 They saw but the shadow that lay on the floor : 
 
 Their hearts they were chill : 
 They drank the full beaker of cold mandragore ; 
 
 They drank, and were still ! 
 
RESURGAMUS. 21 
 
 The light it was ashen ; the shade it was dun ; 
 
 The hills hid the sun ; 
 The sand in the golden-rimmed crystal was run : 
 
 They slumbered the while. 
 And grand were his features, unsullied by guile, 
 
 In the dreamless repose ; 
 And heavenly sweet was the peace of her smile ; 
 
 The palm and the rose. 
 
 In a holier cliamber they laid them away. 
 
 To sleep till the day, — 
 Till the trumpeter sounded, at gold-shotten gray. 
 
 The awakening call. 
 T^he door it was barred ; and the portal was tall. 
 
 And it fronted the vale, 
 Where the moon's magic languor and splendor 
 was thrall 
 
 On the slumbering gale. 
 
 But there the dark cypresses bore up aloof. 
 
 On their pillars of proof, 
 A frondage of sable, like some Gothic roof 
 
 O'er a sepulchre rare : 
 
»» RESURGAMUS. 
 
 The long pendent mosses drooped still in the air 
 
 From the leaf-fretted piles ; 
 They hung, like black bannerols, heavily there 
 
 Above the grand aisles. 
 
 And there they slept sweetly, in visionless calm : 
 
 They heard not the psalm. 
 When the air of the valley was heavy with balm. 
 
 And the moon large and low ; 
 When the winds moved together, like nuns, to 
 and fro, — 
 
 Like nuns pale and fair, — 
 And crooned an old song, that they learned long ago. 
 
 In the solitude there. 
 
 The armorial signs of the race, on the field 
 
 Of the sculptured stone shield, — 
 The skull and the wings, — the weird brilliance 
 revealed ; 
 
 And the word of sweet lore, — 
 " Resurgamus," — all carven above the black door. 
 
 On the architrave gray ; 
 But the lord and his lady will rise nevermore. 
 
 Till the dawn of the day ! 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Oh ! think not that the bosom's light 
 
 Must dimly shine, its fire be low, 
 Because it does not all invite 
 
 To feel its warmth and share its glow. 
 The altar's strong and steady blaze 
 
 On all around may coldly shine. 
 But only genial warmth conveys 
 
 To those who gather near the shrine. 
 The lamp within the festive hall 
 
 Doth not more clear and brightly burn 
 Than that which, shrouded by the pall, 
 
 Lights but the cold funereal urn. 
 
 The fire which lives through one brief hour, 
 More sudden heat perchance reveals 
 
 Than that whose tenfold strength and power 
 Its own unmeasured depths conceals. 
 
24 STANZAS. 
 
 Brightly the summer cloud may glide. 
 
 But bear no heat within its breast, 
 Though all its gorgeous folds are dyed 
 
 In the full glories of the west ; 
 'Tis that which through the darkened sky. 
 
 Surrounded by no radiance, sweeps. 
 In which, concealed from every eye. 
 
 The wild and vivid lightning sleeps. 
 
 Do the dull flint, the rigid steel. 
 
 Which thou within thy hand mayst hold. 
 Unto thy sight or touch reveal 
 
 The hdden power which they infold? 
 But take these cold, unyielding things. 
 
 And beat their edges till you tire. 
 And every atom forth that springs 
 
 Is a bright spark of living fire : 
 Each particle, so dull and cold 
 
 Until the blow that woke it came. 
 Did still within it, slumbering, hold 
 
 A power to wrap the world in flame. 
 
 What is there, when thy sight is turned 
 To the volcano's icy crest, 
 
STANZAS. 25 
 
 By which the fire can be discerned 
 
 That rages in its silent breast ; 
 'Which, hidden deep, but quenchless still. 
 
 Is at its work of sure decay. 
 And will not cease to burn until 
 
 It wears its giant heart away ? 
 The mountain-side upholds in pride 
 
 Its head amid the realms of snow. 
 And gives its bosom depth to hide 
 
 The burning mass which lies below. 
 
 While thus, in things of sense alone. 
 
 Such truths from sense lie still concealed. 
 How can the living heart be known ; 
 
 Its secret, inmost depths revealed ? 
 Oh ! many an overburdened soul 
 
 Has been at last to madness wrought. 
 While proudly struggling to control 
 
 Its burning and consuming thought; 
 When it had sought communion long. 
 
 And had been doomed in vain to seek, 
 For feelings far too deep and strong 
 
 For heart to bear or tongue to speak. 
 
26 
 
 FAIR-WEATHER FRIEND. 
 
 Because I mourned to see tliee fall 
 From where I mounted thee ; 
 Because I did not find thee all 
 I feigned a friend should be ; 
 Because things are not what they seem. 
 And this our world is full of dream ; 
 Because thou lovest sunny weather, — 
 Am I to lose thee altogether ? 
 
 I know harsh words have found their way. 
 
 Which I would fain recall ; 
 
 And angry passions had their day. 
 
 But now forget them all ; 
 
 Now that I only ask to share 
 
 Thy presence, like some pleasant air ; 
 
 Now that my gravest thoughts will bend 
 
 To thy light mind, fair-weather friend ! 
 
PAIR-WEATHER FRIEND. 27 
 
 See ! I am careful to atone 
 
 My spirit's voice to thine : 
 
 My talk shall be of mirth alone. 
 
 Of music, flowers, and wine. 
 
 I will not breathe an earnest breath, 
 
 I will not think of life or death, 
 
 I will not dream of any end. 
 
 While thou art here, fair-weather friend ! 
 
 Delusion brought me only woe : 
 I take thee as thou art : 
 Let thy gay verdure overgrow 
 My deep and serious heart. 
 Let me enjoy thy laugh, and sit 
 Within the radiance of thy wit. 
 And lean where'er thy humors tend. 
 Taking fair weather from my friend. 
 
 Or if I see my doom is traced 
 
 By Fortune's sterner pen. 
 
 And pain and sorrow must be faced, — 
 
 Well, thou canst leave me then. 
 
28 SONG. 
 
 And fear not lest some faint reproach 
 Should on thy happy hours encroach : 
 Nay, blessings on thy steps attend. 
 Where'er they turn, fair-weather friend ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 "When last the maple-bud was swelling, 
 When last the crocus bloomed below. 
 
 My heart to thine its love was telling. 
 Thy soul with mine kept ebb and flow. 
 
 Again the maple-bud is swelling, 
 Again the crocus blooms below ; 
 
 In heaven thy heart its love is telling ; 
 But still our souls keep ebb and flow. 
 
29 
 
 SHADOWS. 
 
 The words that trembled on your lips 
 
 Were uttered not, — I know it well ; 
 The tears that would your eyes eclipse 
 
 Were checked and smothered ere they fell ; 
 The looks and smiles I gained from you 
 
 Were little more than others won ; 
 And yet you are not wholly true, 
 
 Nor wholly just what you have done. 
 
 You know — at least you might have known - 
 
 That every little grace you gave, — 
 Your voice's somewhat lower tone ; 
 
 Your hand's faint shake or parting wave ; 
 Your every sympathetic look 
 
 At words that chanced your soul to touch, 
 While reading from some favorite book, — 
 
 Were much to me : alas ! how much ! 
 
30 SHADOWS. 
 
 You might have seen — perhaps you saw - 
 
 How all of these were steps of hope, 
 On which I rose, in joy and awe. 
 
 Up to my passion's lofty scope ; 
 How, after each, a firmer tread 
 
 I planted on the slippery ground. 
 And higher raised my venturous head. 
 
 And ever new assurance found. 
 
 May be, without a further thought. 
 
 It only pleased you thus to please ; 
 And thus, to kindly feelings wrought, 
 
 You measured not the sweet degrees. 
 Yet, though you hardly understood 
 
 Where I was following at your call. 
 You might — I dare to say you should — 
 
 Have thought how far I had to fall. 
 
 And thus when, fallen, faint, and bruised, 
 
 I see another's glad success, 
 I may have wrongfully accused 
 
 Your heart of vulgar fickleness. 
 
THE heart's guests. 31 
 
 But even now, in calm review 
 
 Of all I lost and all I won, 
 I cannot deem you wholly true. 
 
 Nor wholly just what you have done. 
 
 THE HEART'S GUESTS. 
 
 When age has cast its shadows 
 
 O'er life's declining way. 
 And the evening twilight gathers 
 
 Round our departing day. 
 Then we shall sit and ponder 
 
 On the dim and shadowy past : 
 Within the heart's still chambers 
 
 The guests will gather fast. 
 
 The friends in youth we cherished 
 Shall come to us once more. 
 
 Again to hold communion 
 As in the days of yore. 
 
THE HEART S GUESTS. 
 
 They may be stern and sombre ; 
 
 They may be bright and fair : 
 But the heart will have its chambers 
 
 The guests will gather there. 
 
 How shall it be, my sisters ? 
 
 Who, then, shall be our guests ? 
 How shall it be, my brothers. 
 
 When life's shadow on us rests ? 
 Shall we not, 'midst the silence. 
 
 In accents soft and low. 
 Then hear familiar voices 
 
 And words of long ago ? 
 
 Shall we not see dear faces. 
 
 Sweet smiling as of old, 
 Till the mists of that still chamber 
 
 Are sunset clouds of gold. 
 When age has cast its shadows 
 
 O'er life's declining way. 
 And the evening twilight gathers 
 
 Round our departing day ? 
 
REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Cold in the earth, the deep snow piled above thee, 
 Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave. 
 
 Have I forgot, my early Love, to love thee. 
 Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave ? 
 
 Now, when alone, does Thought no longer hover 
 Over the mountains on that northern shore. 
 
 Resting its wings, where heath and fern-leaves 
 cover 
 Thy noble heart for ever, evermore ? 
 
 Cold in the earth ! and fifteen wild Decembers 
 From those brown hills have melted into spring : 
 
 Faithful, indeed, the spirit that remembers 
 After such years of change and suffering ! 
 
 Sweet love of youth ! forgive if I forget thee 
 While the world's tide is bearing me along : 
 3 
 
34 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Other desires and other hopes beset me, — ' 
 
 Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong. 
 
 No later light has lighted up my heaven ; 
 
 No second morn has ever shone for me : 
 All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ; 
 
 All my life's joy is in the grave with thee. 
 
 But when the days of golden dreams had perished, 
 When even despair was powerless to destroy, 
 
 Then did I learn existence could be cherished. 
 Strengthened, and fed, without the aid of joy. 
 
 Then did I check the tears of useless passion ; 
 
 Weaned my young soul from yearning after 
 thine ; 
 Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten 
 
 Down to that tomb already more than mine. 
 
 And even yet I dare not let it languish, — 
 Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain : 
 
 Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. 
 How could I seek the empty world again ? 
 
35 
 
 MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED. 
 
 Give me more love, or more disdain : 
 The torrid or the frozen zone 
 
 Brings equal ease unto my pain ; 
 The temperate affords me none : 
 
 Either extreme, of love or hate, 
 
 Is sweeter than a calm estate. 
 
 Give me a storm : if it be love. 
 Like Danae in a golden shower 
 
 I swim in pleasure ; if it prove 
 Disdain, that torrent will devour 
 
 My vulture hopes ; and he's possessed 
 Of heaven, that's out from hell released 
 
 Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ; 
 
 Give me more love, or more disdain. 
 
86 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 She stood breast-high amid the corn. 
 Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
 Like the sweetheart of the sun. 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush 
 Deeply ripened ; such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born, 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell ; 
 Which were blackest, none could tell ; 
 But long lashes veiled a light 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim. 
 Made her tressy forehead dim : 
 Thus she stood amid the stooks. 
 Praising God with sweetest looks. 
 
A THOUGHT. 37 
 
 "Sure," I said, " Heaven did not mean 
 Where I reaped thou shouldst but glean : 
 Lay thy sheaf adown, and come 
 Share my harvest and my home." 
 
 A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 The more we live, more brief appear 
 Our life's succeeding stages : 
 
 A day to childhood seems a year ; 
 And years, like passing ages. 
 
 The gladsome current of our youth. 
 
 Ere passion yet disorders. 
 Steals, lingering, like a river smooth 
 
 Along its grassy borders. 
 
38 A THOUGHT. 
 
 But as the careworn cheek grows wan. 
 And Sorrow's shafts fly thicker. 
 
 Ye stars that measure life to man ! 
 Why seem your courses quicker ? 
 
 When joys have lost their bloom and breath. 
 
 And life itself is vapid. 
 Why, as we reach the falls of death. 
 
 Feel we its tide more rapid ? 
 
 It may be strange ; yet who would change 
 Time's course to slower speeding. 
 
 When, one by one, our friends have gone. 
 And left our bosoms bleeding ? 
 
 Heaven gives our years of fading strength 
 
 Indemnifying fleetness ; 
 And those of youth a seeming length, 
 
 Proportioned to their sweetness. 
 
39 
 
 PORTRAITS. 
 
 I. 
 
 TO A . 
 
 'Tis not alone the jetty tress. 
 
 Whose lustre dims the raven's wing ; 
 Nor the dark eye's deep tenderness. 
 
 With its long lashes' curtaining ; 
 The cheek's faint-traced and fitful tinge, 
 
 NoAv mantling rich with colors warm, — 
 Now fading at some passing thought. 
 
 Like rose-leaves scattered by the storm ; 
 Though each might grace the poet's theme. 
 The Houri of an Eastern dream. 
 
 As one who hangs in spell-bound trance 
 O'er some Madonna's soul-lit face. 
 
 And breathes in each enraptured glance 
 His tribute to the vision's grace ; 
 
40 PORTRAITS. 
 
 Or as some poet in his dreams 
 Sees visions bright from paradise. 
 
 And, waking, prays but once to meet 
 
 The form that blessed his sleeping eyes, - 
 
 So, seeing thee, the vision seems 
 
 The angel of my nightly dreams. 
 
 "When, on some sunless day's decline. 
 
 The sullen clouds are flying past ; 
 And o'er each meadow, grove, and pine. 
 
 The sombre skies their shadow cast ; 
 In all the majesty of light. 
 
 And brighter for his long delay. 
 The sun upon our dazzled sight 
 
 Appears in all his rich array, — 
 So, when she smiles, I seem to see 
 The clouds disperse that threatened me. 
 
 And, when she speaks, you seem to hear 
 
 Some long-forgotten melody. 
 Some tune that charmed your childish ear. 
 
 But cannot now remembered be. 
 
PORTRAITS. 41 
 
 And thus, through all life's ills, you bear 
 This thought, from which you cannot part ; 
 
 And in your heart there seems to be 
 For her a chamber set apart, — 
 
 A place which you can never fill 
 
 "With any other guest at will. 
 
 II. 
 
 TO L , SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 
 
 Paint her not in ball-room guise, 
 Masked for world-festivities ; 
 Only round her shoulders throw 
 Crimson shawl in wavy flow : 
 "Well it suits that raven braid. 
 And her dark cheek's olive shade ; — 
 
 While those eyes, not large, but deep, 
 
 'Neath their night-black lashes sleep. 
 
 Till the sudden-rising lid. 
 
 Night displacing, gives, instead. 
 
 All the azure of that day 
 
 That hidden 'neath its lashes lay. 
 
4:2 PORTRAITS. 
 
 And that tress's ebon braid 
 Serves to give my portrait shade ; 
 Glossy hair, of deepest dye, 
 O'er a forehead, broad, not high, 
 Heightening the pensive tone 
 From her long dark lashes thrown. 
 
 View her in calm moonlight then ; 
 Trace each softened feature plain ; 
 But to paint the rising smile 
 That illumes her face the while, 
 Lies, painter ! beyond art : 
 Thou must learn that of thy heart. 
 
 III. 
 
 Half in sunshine, half in shade. 
 Hangs the portrait of a maid. 
 By some master-hand portrayed. 
 How it came my room to grace 
 "With its fresh young loveliness, 
 I could never know or guess. 
 
PORTRAITS. 43 
 
 Silken tresses, brown in hue. 
 Giving golden gleams to view. 
 Where the sunlight flashes through. 
 Half in ringlets, half in braid, — 
 These o'er sunny shoulders played. 
 Those the portrait's background made. 
 
 From those calm eyes' holy shine. 
 You might deem the maid divine ; 
 "Worship, prostrate, at her shrine. 
 Till those lips forbid the thought : 
 That arch pouting, earth has taught : 
 Deftly hath the limner wrought. 
 
 Much too wayward for a saint 
 (Ne'er was earth such mortal lent) : 
 Was the maid for Houri meant? 
 No : vestal eyes forbid the thought : 
 Their pure language Heaven taught ; 
 That clear light was Heaven-caught. 
 
 And yet the portrait puzzles me. 
 But hold ! Some writing here I see : 
 Here words are traced : " From Memory ! " 
 
44 WHY DOST THOU TALK OF DEATH? 
 
 " rrom Memory ! " And can it be 
 'Twas ever granted man to see 
 Vision of such, sweet purity ? 
 
 " From Memory ! " Ah. ! could I make 
 A pilgrimage for her sweet sake, 
 No rest these weary feet should take. 
 Till, traversing the wide earth round. 
 Exploring her remotest bound. 
 My heart's dear image I had found. 
 
 WHY DOST THOU TALK OF DEATH, LADDIE? 
 
 "Why dost thou talk of death, laddie ? 
 
 Why dost thou long to go ? 
 The Master that hath placed thee here 
 
 Hath work for thee to do. 
 
WHY DOST THOU TALK OF DEATH? 45 
 
 Why dost thou talk of heaven, laddie ? 
 
 What wouldst thou say in heaven 
 When the Master asks, " What hast thou done 
 
 With the talents I have given ? 
 
 " I gave thee wealth and power. 
 And the poor around thee spread : 
 
 Where are the sheep and lambs of mine 
 That thou hast reared and fed ? 
 
 " I gave thee wit and eloquence. 
 
 Thy brethren to persuade : 
 Where are the thousands by thy word 
 
 More wise and holy made ? 
 
 " I placed thee in a land of light. 
 Where the gospel round thee shone : 
 
 Where is the heavenly-mindedness 
 I find in all my own ? 
 
 "And last I sent thee chastisement. 
 
 That thou mightst be my son : 
 Where is the trusting faith that says, 
 
 ' Father, thy will be done ' ? " 
 
46 
 
 THE TWO BRIDES. 
 
 I SAW two brides at a kirk. 
 And both were fair and sweet ; 
 
 One in a wedding-robe, 
 
 And one in a winding-sheet. 
 
 The choristers sung the hymn ; 
 
 The sacred rites were read ; 
 And one, for life, to Life, 
 
 The other to Death, was wed. 
 
 They were borne to their bridal beds 
 
 In loveliness and bloom ; 
 One in a lordly castle. 
 
 The other a narrow tomb. 
 
 The one on the morrow awoke 
 To a world of sin and pain ; 
 
 But the other was happier far. 
 And never awoke a ^ain. 
 
47 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 I "WROTE a name upon the river sands. 
 With her who bore it standing by my side : 
 Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride ; 
 And, leaning on my arm with clasped hands. 
 To burning words of mind she thus replied : 
 " Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail 
 Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands 
 Will scarce confine these limbs." I turned love- 
 pale ; 
 I gazed upon the rivered landscape wild. 
 And thought how little it would all avail 
 Without her love. 'Twas on a morn of May : 
 Within a month I stood upon the sand : 
 Gone was the name I traced with trembling hand ; 
 And from my heart 'twas also gone away. 
 
48 
 
 SONG. 
 
 She was not fair, nor full of grace, 
 
 Nor crowned with thought, or aught beside ; 
 Nor wealth had she, of mind or face, 
 
 To win our love, or raise our pride. 
 No lover's thought her cheek did touch ; 
 
 No poet's dream was round her thrown ; 
 And yet we miss her, — ah ! too much, — 
 Now she hath flown. 
 
 We miss her when the morning calls. 
 As one that mingled in our mirth ; 
 
 We miss her when the evening falls, — 
 A trifle wanted on the earth ! 
 
 Some fancy small, or subtle thought. 
 Is checked ere to its blossom grown. 
 
 Some chain is broken that we wrought. 
 Now she hath flown. 
 
THAT DAY. 49 
 
 No solid good, or hope defined, 
 
 Is marred, now she hath sunk in night ; 
 
 And yet the strong, immortal mind 
 Is stopped in its triumphal flight. 
 
 Stern friend ! what power is in a tear. 
 
 What strength in one poor thought alone. 
 
 When all we know is, " She was here ; " 
 And, « She hath flown " ! 
 
 THAT DAY. 
 
 I STAND by the river where both of us stood ; 
 And there is but one shadow to darken the 
 flood; 
 And the path leading to it, where both used to pass. 
 Has the step but of one to take dew from the 
 grass, — 
 
 One forlorn since that day. 
 4 
 
50 THAT DAY. 
 
 The flowers of the margin are many to see ; 
 For none stoops, at my bidding, to pluck them 
 for me : 
 The bird in the alder sings loudly and long ; 
 For my low sound of weeping disturbs not his 
 song, 
 
 As thy vow did that day. 
 
 I stand by the river ; I think of the vow : 
 
 Oh ! calm as the place is, vow-breaker, be thou ! 
 I leave the flower growing, the bird unreproved : 
 Would I trouble thee rather than them, my 
 beloved, 
 
 And my lover that day 1 
 
 Go ! be sure of my love, by that treason forgiven ; 
 Of my prayers, by the blessings they win thee 
 from Heaven ; 
 Of my grief (guess the length of the sword by the 
 sheath's). 
 By the silence of life, more pathetic than death's : 
 Go ! be clear of that dav. 
 
51 
 
 E N O N E. 
 
 On the holy mount of Ida, 
 
 Where the pine and cypress grow. 
 Sat a young and lovely maiden, 
 
 Weeping ever, weeping low. 
 Drearily throughout the forest 
 
 Did the winds of autumn blow ; 
 And the clouds above were flying. 
 
 And Scamander rolled below. 
 
 " Faithless Paris ! cruel Paris ! " 
 
 Thus the poor forsaken spake : 
 " Wherefore thus so strangely leave me ? 
 
 Why thy loving bride forsake ? 
 Why no tender word at parting ? 
 
 Why no kiss, no farewell, take ? 
 Would that I could but forget thee ! 
 
 Would this throbbing heart might break ! 
 
52 ENONE. 
 
 " Is my face no longer blooming ? 
 
 Are mine eyes no longer bright ? 
 Ah ! my tears have made them dimmer. 
 
 And my cheeks are pale and white. 
 I have wept since early morning ; 
 
 I will weep the livelong night : 
 Now I long for sullen darkness. 
 
 As I once have longed for light. 
 
 " Paris ! art thou then so cruel ? 
 
 Kind and beautiful thou art : 
 Can it be that in that bosom 
 
 Lies so cold, so hard, a heart ? 
 Children were we bred together : 
 
 She who bore thee suckled me : 
 I have been thy old companion, 
 
 When thou hadst no more but me. 
 
 " I have watched thee in thy slumbers. 
 When the shadow of a dream 
 
 Passed across thy smiling features. 
 Like the ripple of a stream ; 
 
ENONE. 5.S 
 
 And so sweetly were the visions 
 Pictured there with lively grace. 
 
 That I half could read their import 
 By the changes in thy face. 
 
 " "When I sang of Ariadne, — 
 
 Sang the old and mournful tale. 
 How her faithless lover, Theseus, 
 
 Left her to lament and wail, — 
 Then thine eyes would fill and glisten ; 
 
 Her complaint could soften thee : 
 Thou hast wept for Ariadne ; 
 
 Theseus' self might weep for me. 
 
 " Thou mayst find another maiden. 
 
 With a fairer face than mine. 
 With a gayer voice and sweeter. 
 
 And a spirit liker thine ; 
 (For, if e'er my beauty bound thee. 
 
 Lost and broken is the spell ;) 
 But thou ne'er canst find another 
 
 That will love thee half so well. 
 
54 ENONE. 
 
 " thou hollow ship, that bearest 
 
 Paris o'er the faithless deep ! 
 Wouldst thou leave him on some island 
 
 Where alone the waters weep ; 
 Where no human foot is moulded 
 
 In the wet and yellow sand ! 
 Leave him there, thou hollow vessel ! 
 
 Leave him in that lonely land ! 
 
 " Then his cruel heart will soften. 
 
 As his foolish hopes decay ; 
 And his old love will rekindle. 
 
 As the new one dies away. 
 Visionary hills will haunt him. 
 
 Rising from the glassy sea; 
 And his thoughts will wander homeward. 
 
 Unto Ida and to me. 
 
 " Oh that, like a little swallow, " 
 I could reach that lonely spot ! 
 
 All his errors should be pardoned, — 
 All the dreary past forgot. 
 
ENONE. 55 
 
 Never should he wander from me, — 
 
 Never more should he depart ; 
 For these arms should be his prison. 
 
 And his home should be my heart." 
 
 Thus lamented fair Enone, 
 
 Weeping ever, weeping low. 
 On the holy mount of Ida, 
 
 Where the pine and cypress grow. 
 In that self-same hour, Cassandra 
 
 Shrieked her prophecy of woe ,* 
 And into the Spartan dwelling 
 
 Did the faithless Paris go. 
 
56 
 
 ADELAIDE. 
 
 O WIND, that blowest o'er the sea ! 
 Bear thou this kiss to Adelaide ; 
 And, zephyr soft ! bring back to me 
 Another from my lovely maid. 
 And yet, ah, no ! 
 I'd jealous grow 
 If zephyr with her soft lips played. 
 
 I'll sing thy praises to my lute, 
 
 Albeit I am half afraid 
 
 Lest some brave youth, who listens mute 
 
 Amidst the misty woodland's shade. 
 
 Of love should die ; 
 
 For e'en the eye — 
 
 Sometimes the ear — loves Adelaide. 
 
MTJSIC l' THE AIR. 57 
 
 Like to a star-lit winter's night. 
 
 Glitters thy gem-bespangled hair ; 
 But, like a summer morning bright. 
 Smiles thy blue eye and forehead fair : 
 But, oh ! thy heart ! 
 What can impart 
 The wealth of love that trembles there ? 
 
 MUSIC I' THE AIR. 
 
 Oh ! listen to the howling sea, 
 
 That beats on the remorseless shore : 
 
 Oh ! listen ; for that sound shall be 
 
 When our wild hearts shall beat no more. 
 
 Oh ! listen well, and listen long ; 
 
 For, sitting folded close to me. 
 You could not hear a sweeter song 
 
 Than that hoarse murmur of the sea. 
 
58 
 
 HE WILL NOT WOO AGAIN. 
 
 'TwAS but a word, a careless word. 
 
 In pride and passion spoken ; 
 But with that word the chain that bound 
 
 Two loving hearts was broken. 
 The hasty wrath has passed away ; 
 
 The bitter words remain : 
 In vain the lady weeps and sighs ; 
 
 He will not woo again. 
 
 No other love may light her path, — 
 
 No other move his heart ; 
 Yet changing seasons come and go, 
 
 And find them still apart. 
 Her once bright cheek is paler now ; 
 
 His bears a trace of pain : 
 Their days are sorrowful, and yet 
 
 He will not woo again. 
 
HE WILL NOT WOO AGAIN. 59 
 
 They meet as strangers, calm and cold ; 
 
 As calmly, coldly part ; 
 And none may guess that tranquil mien 
 
 Conceals a tortured heart. 
 To him the world hath lost its light ; 
 
 For her all joys are vain ; 
 Nor hope nor memory brings relief: 
 
 He will not woo again. 
 
 Alas that love, long tried and warm. 
 
 Should wither in an hour ! 
 Alas that pride o'er human hearts 
 
 Should wield such fearful power ! 
 Oh ! weep thou not for those who die, — 
 
 For them all tears are vain ; 
 But weep o'er living hearts grown cold. 
 
 Who ne'er may love again. 
 
60 
 
 TO , ON A LATE LOSS. 
 
 I KNOW your grief; for Death has walked 
 Through all the chambers of my heart ; 
 
 And I have sat, like you, and watched 
 My idols, one by one, depart. 
 
 We come not of that crowd, my friend, 
 Who tell their sorrows far and near ; 
 
 Who name aloud, with frequent sigh, 
 The loved one laid upon the bier. 
 
 Take my warm tears ! I may not speak 
 When next I grasp your trembling hand ; 
 
 What need of words, heart-brother dear ? 
 My silence you can understand. 
 
61 
 
 THE SAYINGS OF RABIA.* 
 
 I. 
 
 A PIOUS friend one day of Rabia asked 
 
 How she had learned the truth of Allah wholly : 
 
 By what instructions was her memory tasked ? 
 How was her heart estranged from the world's 
 folly? 
 
 She answered, " Thou, who knowest God in parts, 
 Thy spiiit's moods and processes can tell : 
 
 I only know, that, in my heart of hearts, 
 
 I have despised myself, and loved him well." 
 
 II. 
 
 Some evil upon Rabia fell ; 
 And one, who loved and knew her well. 
 Murmured, that God, with pain undue, 
 V Should strike a child so fond and true. 
 
 * Rabia was a holy Arabian woman, who lived in the second 
 centTiry of the Hegira. 
 
62 THE SAYINGS OF RABIA. 
 
 But she replied, '* Believe and trust 
 That all I suffer is most just. 
 I had, in contemplation, striven 
 To realize the joys of heaven ; 
 I had extended Fancy's flights 
 Through all that region of delights ; 
 Had counted, till the numbers failed. 
 The pleasures on the blest entailed ; 
 Had sounded the ecstatic rest 
 I should enjoy on Allah's breast ; 
 And for those thoughts I now atone, 
 That were of something of my own. 
 And were not thoughts of Him alone." 
 
 III. 
 
 When Babia unto Mecca came, 
 
 She stood a while apart, alone ; 
 
 Nor joined the crowd, with hearts of flame, 
 
 Collected round the sacred stone. 
 
 She, like the rest, with toil had crossed 
 The waves of water, rock, and sand ; 
 And now, as one long tempest-tossed, 
 Beheld the Raala's promised land. 
 
THE SAYINGS OF RABIA. 63 
 
 Yet in her eyes no transport glistened : 
 She seemed with shame and sorrow bowed : 
 The shouts of prayer she hardly listened ; 
 But beat her heart, and cried aloud, — 
 
 " O heart ! weak follower of the weak. 
 That thou shouldst traverse land and sea, 
 In this far place that God to seek 
 Who long ago had come to thee ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Round holy Rabia's suffering bed 
 
 The wise men gathered, gazing gravely. 
 
 " Daughter of God ! " the youngest said, 
 '' Endure the Father's chastening bravely : 
 
 They who hath steeped their souls in prayer, 
 
 Can every anguish calmly bear." 
 
 She answered not, and turned aside. 
 Though not reproachfully or sadly. 
 
 " Daughter of God ! " the eldest cried, 
 " Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly : 
 
 They who have learned to pray aright. 
 
 From Pain's dark well draw up delight." 
 
64 THE DIAL. 
 
 Then spake she out, " Your words are fair ; 
 
 But, oh ! the truth lies deeper still : 
 I know not, when absorbed in prayer. 
 
 Pleasure or pain, or good or ill : 
 They who God's face can understand. 
 Feel not the workings of his hand." 
 
 THE DIAL. 
 
 There stands, within a far-off grove, 
 
 A dial old and quaint. 
 Beside the sculptured marble bust 
 
 Of virgin and of saint. 
 
 Italian skies bend blue above ; 
 
 The myrtle breathes around ; 
 And, through the fragrant citron-groves. 
 
 The birds' sweet warblings sound. 
 
THE DIAL. 65 
 
 Beyond, the Arno winds its course. 
 
 Dim traced among the trees : 
 Through lofty groves of oranges. 
 
 Faint comes the perfumed breeze. 
 
 Beside the wave a castle stands, — 
 
 A ruin dark and gray ; 
 While o'er the frowning battlements 
 
 The ivy winds its way. 
 
 The stranger hears no ringing laugh 
 Within those mouldering walls ; 
 
 But, through the watches of the night. 
 The croaking raven calls. 
 
 The owner roams in foreign lands. 
 
 Beneath a foreign sky : 
 He thinks not of his Southern home. 
 
 As swift the hours roll by. 
 
 But there the traveller pauses oft 
 
 To note that ruin fine ; 
 Or trace upon the dial-plate, — 
 
 ** I mark the hours that shine." 
 5 
 
66 THE DIAL. 
 
 Beside the rolling Arno's tide, 
 Light, fairy forms skip by ; 
 
 And little heed the lapse of time, 
 As gayly on they fly. 
 
 But these have found a narrow home 
 
 Within a foreign land : 
 No vestige now remains to prove 
 
 The reign of that fair band. 
 
 But, though no ray of household light 
 May reach their ruined shrine. 
 
 The motto still remains to trace, — 
 " I mark the hours that shine." 
 
67 
 
 TO A MUTE GIRL. 
 
 What though thy lips can form no audible sound ; 
 
 Great Nature consolation hath for thee : 
 
 The glorious sky; the ever-rolling sea; 
 
 Dark forests, stretching westward without bound ; 
 
 And those vast rivers, — are they not all found 
 
 Silently eloquent, mutely voiced to be ? 
 
 Stars keep a silent watch : the towering hills, 
 That raise the soul to Heaven ; broad earth, that 
 
 fills 
 The heart brimful of gratitude, — still keep 
 A silence most profound and calm and deep. 
 As the hushed stillness of eternal sleep. 
 
 And those great impulses that bid rejoice 
 Or pray or weep come to us without noise ; 
 And the good God himself speaks not with audi- 
 ble voice. 
 
68 
 
 PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 
 
 This was the ruler of the land 
 
 "When Athens was the land of fame ; 
 
 This was the light that led the band 
 When each was like a living flame ; 
 
 The centre of earth's noblest ring ; 
 
 Of more than men, the more than king. 
 
 Yet not by fetter, nor by spear, 
 His sovereignty was held or won : 
 
 Feared but alone as freemen fear ; 
 Loved but as freemen love alone ; 
 
 He waved the sceptre o'er his kind 
 
 By Nature's first great title, — mind. 
 
 Resistless words were on his tongue ; 
 Then eloquence first flashed below : 
 
PERICLES AND ASPASIA. 69 
 
 Full-armed to life the portent sprung, — 
 
 Minerva from the Thunderer's brow ! 
 And his the soul, the sacred hand. 
 That shook her segis o'er the land. 
 
 And, throned immortal, by his side 
 A woman sits with eye sublime, — 
 
 Aspasia, all his spirit's bride ; 
 
 But, if their solemn love were crime, 
 
 Pity the beauty and the sage : 
 
 Their crime was in their darkened age. 
 
 He perished, but his wreath was won ; 
 
 He perished in the height of fame : 
 Then sunk the cloud on Athens' sun ; 
 
 Yet still she conquered in his name : 
 Filled with his soul, she could not die ; 
 Her conquest was posterity. 
 
70 
 
 WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 
 
 When shall we meet again, dearest and best, — 
 I going eastward, and thou going west ? 
 Thou in whose love my heart searcheth for rest. 
 When shall we meet again, dearest and best ? 
 
 Not in Love's common way was my love spoken ; 
 No sweet confession made, sealed by Love's 
 
 token : 
 Calmly I uttered it, though half heart-broken : 
 Not in Love's common way was my love spoken. 
 
 When shall we meet again ? Dark shadows fall ; 
 All is uncertainty ; yet over all 
 One guideth steadily things great and small. 
 What shall the issue be ? God guideth all. 
 
71 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 "We are parted ! "What is parting ? 
 
 Is it the clasped hands ? 
 The hot, hot teardrops starting ? 
 
 The breaking of old bands ? 
 
 The blessing ? Words half spoken. 
 Half sobbed into the air ? 
 
 The tender, sweet love-token ? 
 The half-unconscious prayer ? 
 
 The cold and distant dwelling. 
 With days as long as years ; 
 
 And the full heart, overwelling 
 With its vague and loving fears ? 
 
 Do you call that being parted ? 
 
 I call it union true : 
 I say no link has started 
 
 Which binds your love to you. 
 
72 PARTING. 
 
 You must stand in bitter grieving. 
 
 In the barren desert sands, 
 Falling off from old believing, 
 
 And with no help in your hands. 
 
 You must feel the love, close clasping, 
 
 Was a lie and a deceit ; 
 And yet reach, with eager grasping. 
 
 Towards the dear beguiling cheat. 
 
 You must know the hopes you cherished 
 "Were as baseless as the air; 
 
 And yet marvel how they perished. 
 In your vain and blind despair. 
 
 You must wonder at your blindness. 
 Yet your clearer sight disdain ; 
 
 In the midst of newer kindness, 
 Lift the galling links again. 
 
 You must It passes telling ; 
 
 But you know no parting pain. 
 Till all this heart is swelling. 
 
 Which may break, but not complain. 
 
73 
 
 THE DEPARTING SPIRIT. 
 
 "Weep not for her, — weep not that she is passing 
 Through Death's dark vale to her bright home 
 above : 
 
 Send back thy tears, beneath the sunbeams basking ; 
 Soon will her spirit bathe in love. 
 
 She hath been weary here ; she hath known sor- 
 row, — 
 Not transient sorrow, but a deep despair. 
 Ah ! wouldst thou keep her, when a bright to- 
 morrow 
 Will from her soul efface each withering care ? 
 
 True, thou hast loved her, — oh how well, how 
 dearly, 
 None but thy heart itself may know ; 
 
74 THE DEPARTING SPIRIT. 
 
 The one prized friend, not for thy bright hours 
 merely. 
 But tried and true when Grief's deep fountains 
 flow. 
 
 And thou wilt miss her ; and each passing hour 
 Will seem more dreary when her smile hath 
 gone : 
 
 From every scene, from every tree and flower, 
 "When she hath fled, the glory will be flown. 
 
 But think not — though for her the veil has lifted. 
 The lovelier things of that fair life to learn, 
 
 Each hour to grow more spiritually gifted — 
 That she will leave thee, never to return. 
 
 No : often, in thy silent hours and lonely, 
 
 Some blessed influence o'er thy soul shall steal ; 
 
 Some shadowy presence, which thy spirit only. 
 With its deep inner sense, shall know and feel ; — 
 
 Some bright immortal link which ne'er shall sever ; 
 And still communion growing still more deep ; 
 
AN EXTRACT. 75 
 
 And only hopes and dreams, which love for ever. 
 Within its urn shall in sweet silence keep. 
 
 Then weep no more ; tears ill befit the hour 
 Which heraldeth for her a fairer morn : 
 
 Night's shadows lessen ; and with kindly power 
 Day smiles upon the spirit newly born. 
 
 AN EXTRACT. 
 
 'Tis o'er ; but never from my heart 
 
 Shall time thy image blot : 
 The dreams of other days depart : 
 
 Thou shalt not be forgot. 
 And never, in the suppliant sigh 
 Poured forth to Him who sways the sky. 
 Shall mine own name be breathed on high. 
 
 And thine remembered not. 
 
76 
 
 HOME. 
 
 My place is in the quiet vale, — 
 
 The chosen haunt of simple thought. 
 
 I seek not Fortune's flattering gale : 
 I better love the peaceful lot. 
 
 I leave the world of noise and show. 
 To wander by my native brook : 
 
 I ask, in Life's unrufiled flow. 
 
 No treasure but my friend and book. 
 
 These better suit the tranquil home. 
 Where the clear water murmurs by; 
 
 And, if I wish a while to roam, 
 I have an ocean in the sky. 
 
 Fancy can charm, and Feeling bless, 
 
 "With sweeter hours than Fashion knows 
 
 There is no calmer quietness 
 
 Than home around the bosom throws. 
 
77 
 
 AN ENCHANTED ISLAND. 
 
 A woNDERFUT- Stream is the river Time, 
 
 As it runs through the realms of tears. 
 With a faultless rhythm, and a musical rhyme. 
 And a broader sweep, and a surge sublime. 
 And blends with the ocean of years. 
 
 There's a musical isle up the river Time, 
 Where the softest of airs are playing ; 
 There's a cloudless sky, and a tropical clime. 
 And a song as sweet as a vesper chime ; 
 And the tunes with the roses are staying. 
 
 And the name of this isle is the Long Ago ; 
 
 And we bury our treasures there : 
 There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow ; 
 There are heaps of dust, but we love them so ! 
 
 There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. 
 
78 AN ENCHANTED ISLAND. 
 
 There are fragments of song that nobody sings. 
 
 And a part of an infant's prayer ; 
 There's a kite unswept, and a harp without strings ; 
 There are broken vows, and pieces of rings, 
 
 And the garment she used to wear. 
 
 There are hands that are waved when the fairy 
 shore 
 By the mirage is lifted in air ; 
 And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent 
 
 roar. 
 Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before. 
 When the wind down the river is fair. 
 
 Oh ! remembered for aye be the blessed isle. 
 
 All the day of life till night ! 
 And when evening comes, with its beautiful smile. 
 And our eyes are closing to slumber a while. 
 
 May that " greenwood " of soul be in sight ! 
 
79 
 
 SWEET MOTHEK. 
 
 The wild south-west monsoon has risen, 
 With broad gray wings of gloom. 
 
 While here, from out my dreary prison, 
 
 I look as from a tomb. Alas ! 
 My heart another tomb. 
 
 Upon the low thatched roof, the rain 
 
 With ceaseless patter falls : 
 My choicest treasures bear its stain ; 
 Mould gathers on the walls. Would Heaven 
 
 'Twere only on the walls ! 
 
 Sweet mother ! I am here alone. 
 
 In sorrow and in pain : 
 The sunshine from my heart has flown ; 
 It feels the driving rain. Ah me ! 
 
 The chill and mould and rain ! 
 
80 SWEET MOTHER. 
 
 Four laggard months have wheeled their round 
 
 Since Love upon it smiled; 
 And every thing of earth has frowned 
 On thy poor stricken child, sweet friend ! — 
 
 Thy weary, suffering child. 
 
 I'd watched my loved one night and day. 
 
 Scarce breathing when he slept ; 
 And, as my hopes were swept away, 
 I'd in his bosom wept. O God ! 
 
 How had I prayed and wept ! 
 
 And, when they bore him to the ship, 
 
 I saw the white sails spread : 
 I kissed his speechless, quivering lip. 
 And left him on his bed. Alas ! 
 
 It seemed a coffin-bed. 
 
 "When from my gentle sister's tomb. 
 
 Long since, in tears, we came. 
 Thou saidst, " How desolate each room ! " 
 Well, mine were just the same that day, — 
 
 The very, very same. 
 
SWEET MOTHER. 81 
 
 Then, mother, little Charlie came, — 
 
 Our beautiful fair boy, 
 'With my own father's cherished name ; 
 But, oh ! he brought no joy ; my child 
 
 Brought mourning, and no joy. 
 
 His little grave I cannot see. 
 
 Though weary months have sped 
 Since pitying lips bent over me. 
 And whispered, " He is dead ! " Mother, 
 'Tis dreadful to be dead ! 
 
 I do not mean for one like me. 
 
 So weary, worn, and weak : 
 Death's shadowy paleness seems to be 
 E'en now upon my cheek ; his seal 
 
 On form and brow and cheek. 
 
 But for a bright-winged bird like him 
 
 To hush his joyous song. 
 And, prisoned in a coiRn dim. 
 Join Death's pale phantom throng ! — my boy 
 
 To join that grisly throng ! 
 6 
 
82 SWEET MOTHER. 
 
 mother ! I can scarcely bear 
 To think of this to-day ; 
 
 It was so exquisitely fair, 
 That little form of clay, my heart 
 Still lingers by his clay. 
 
 And, when for one lov«d far, far more. 
 
 Come thickly-gathering tears. 
 My star of faith is clouded o'er ; 
 
 1 sink beneath my fears, sweet friend ! — 
 
 My heavy weight of fears. 
 
 Oh but to feel thy fond arms twine 
 
 Around me once again ! 
 It almost seems those lips of thine 
 Might kiss away the pain, — might soothe 
 
 This dull, cold, heavy pain. 
 
 But, gentle mother ! through life's storms 
 
 I may not lean on thee ; 
 For helpless, cowering little forms 
 Cling trustingly to me. Poor babes ! 
 
 To have no guide but me ! 
 
SWEET MOTHER. 83 
 
 With weary foot and broken wing. 
 
 With bleeding heart and sore. 
 Thy dove looks backward, sorrowing. 
 But seeks the ark no more, — thy breast 
 
 Seeks never, never more. 
 
 Sweet mother ! for thy wanderer pray. 
 
 That loftier faith be given ; 
 Her broken reeds all swept away. 
 That she may lean on Heaven, — her heart 
 
 Grow strong in Christ and Heaven. 
 
 Once, when young Hope's fresh morning dew 
 
 Lay sparkling on my breast. 
 My bounding heart thought but to do, 
 To worlc, at Heaven's behest : my pains 
 
 Come at the same behest. 
 
 All fearfully, all tearfully. 
 
 Alone and sorrowing. 
 My dim eye lifted to the sky, 
 Fast to the cross I cling, — Christ ! 
 
 To thy dear cross I cling. 
 
84 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS OFFERING. 
 
 We come not with a costly store, 
 
 O Lord ! like them of old, — 
 The masters of the starry lore 
 
 From Ophir's shore of gold. 
 No weepings of the incense-tree 
 
 Are with the gifts we bring ; 
 No odorous myrrh of Araby 
 
 Blends with our offering. 
 
 But still our love would bring its best, 
 
 A spirit keenly tried 
 By fierce Affliction's fiery test, 
 
 And seven times purified. 
 The fragrant graces of the mind. 
 
 The virtues that delight 
 To give their perfume out, will find 
 
 Acceptance in thy sight. 
 
85 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 "When first I looked into thy glorious eyes. 
 
 And saw — with their unearthly beauty pained — 
 
 Heaven deepening with heaven, like the skies 
 
 Of autumn nights without a shadow stained, 
 
 I stood as one whom some strange dream inthralls ,- 
 
 For, far away, in some lost life divine, — 
 
 Some land which every glorious dream recalls, — 
 
 A spirit looked on me with eyes like thine. 
 
 E'en now, though Death has veiled their starry 
 
 light. 
 And closed their lids in his relentless night. 
 As some strange dream, remembered in a dream. 
 Again I see, in sleep, their tender beam ; 
 Unfading hopes their cloudless azure fill ; 
 Heaven deepening within heaven, serene and still. 
 
86 
 
 MOTHER MARGEEY. 
 
 On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges 
 
 Sloped the rough land to the grisly North ; 
 
 And whose hemlocks, clinging to the hedges. 
 
 Like a thin bandit staggered forth ; 
 
 In a crouching, wormy-timbered hamlet. 
 
 Mother Margery shivered in the cold. 
 
 With a tattered robe of faded camlet 
 
 On her shoulders, crooked, weak, and old. 
 
 Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; 
 For her face was very dry and thin ; 
 And the records of his growing measure 
 Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. 
 Scanty goods to her had been allotted ; 
 Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire ; 
 While her long fingers, bent and knotted. 
 Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. 
 
MOTHER MARGERY. 87 
 
 Raw and dreary were the Northern winters ; 
 Winds howled piteously around her cot. 
 Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters 
 Moan the misery she bemoaned not. 
 Drifting tempests rattled at her windows. 
 And hung snow-wreaths round her naked bed ; 
 While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders. 
 Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 
 
 Life had fresher hopes when she was younger ; 
 But their dying wrung out no complaints : 
 Chill and penury and neglect and hunger, — 
 These to Margery were guardian saints. 
 When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, bending ; 
 When she rose, it rose not any more : 
 Faster seemed her true heart graveward tending, 
 Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. 
 
 She was mother of the dead and scattered, 
 Had been mother of the brave and fair : 
 But her branches, bough by bough, were shattered. 
 Till her torn breast was left dry and bare. 
 
88 MOTHER MARGERY. 
 
 Yet she knew, thougli sadly desolated. 
 When the children of the poor depart. 
 Their earth-vestures are but sublimated. 
 So to gather closer in the heart. 
 
 With a courage that had never fitted 
 Words to speak it to the soul it blessed. 
 She endured, in silence and unpitied. 
 Woes enough to mar a stouter breast. 
 Thus was born such holy trust within her. 
 That the graves of all who had been dear. 
 To a region, clearer and serener. 
 Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. 
 
 They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder : 
 Angels to her were the loves and hopes. 
 Which had left her purified, but sadder ; 
 And they lured her to the emerald slopes 
 Of that heaven where Anguish never fiashes 
 Her red fire-whips, — happy land, where flowers 
 Bloom over the volcanic ashes 
 Of this blighting, blighted world of ours. 
 
MOTHER MARGERY. 89 
 
 All her power "was a love of goodness ; 
 
 All her wisdom was a mystic faith 
 
 That the rough world's jargoning and rudeness 
 
 Turns to music at the gate of Death. 
 
 So she walked while feeble limbs allowed her, 
 
 Knowing well that any stubborn grief 
 
 She might meet with could no more than crowd 
 
 her 
 To that wall whose opening was relief. 
 
 So she lived, an anchoress of Sorrow, 
 
 Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope ; 
 
 And, when burning trials came, would borrow 
 
 New fire of them for the lamp of Hope. 
 
 When at last her palsied hand, in grasping. 
 
 Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb, 
 
 Heaven flashed round her joys beyond her asking. 
 
 And her young soul gladdened into bloom. 
 
90 
 
 FROM "THE PRINCESS." 
 
 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, — 
 Tears from the depths of some divme despair, — 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
 In looking on the happy autumn fields. 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 
 Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail 
 
 That brings our friends up from the under-world ; 
 
 Sad as the last which reddens over one 
 
 That sinks, with all we love, below the verge, — 
 
 So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 
 
 Ah ! sad and strange, as in dark summer dawns 
 
 The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
 
 To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
 
 The casement slowly grows a glimmering square : 
 
 So sad and strange the days that are no more. 
 
A FANCY ABOUT A BOY. 91 
 
 Dear as remembered kisses after death. 
 And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
 On lips that are for others ; deep as love, — 
 Deep as first love, and wild with all regret : 
 death in life, the days that are no more ! 
 
 A FANCY ABOUT A BOY. 
 
 " Nothing, — less than nothing; and vanity.' 
 
 We stood beside the window, still, — 
 
 The little boy and I : 
 Within the room was sober gloom ; 
 
 Without, a sunset sky. 
 I drew him forward to the light. 
 
 That I might view him jjlain : 
 The sudden view thrilled my heart through 
 
 With a delicious pain. 
 
92 A FANCY ABOUT A BOY. 
 
 I leant his head back o'ei' my arm. 
 
 And smoothed his crisped hair, — 
 The dear, dear curls, o'er which salt pearls 
 
 I could have rained out there. 
 I looked beneath his heavy lids. 
 
 Drooping with dreamy fold : 
 What visioned eyes I saw arise ! 
 
 But nothing shall be told. 
 
 Gayly I spoke : " Could I count back 
 
 Nine years, and he gain nine, 
 I would not say what ill to-day 
 
 Had chanced this heart of mine." 
 He laughed, — all laughed, — I most of all ; 
 
 But I was glad, I ween. 
 That the whole room lay in such gloom. 
 
 His face alone was seen. 
 
 He talked to me in schoolboy phrase ; 
 
 I gave him meet replies, 
 I mind not what ; my sense was nought. 
 
 Or lived but in mine eyes. 
 
A FANCY ABOUT A BOY. 93 
 
 I could not kiss him as a child ; 
 
 I only touched his hair ; 
 Or with ray hand his broad brow spanned, 
 
 But not that it was fair. 
 
 He strange to me, as I to him ; 
 
 We never met before ; 
 Yet I would fain brave mickle pain 
 
 To see the lad once more. 
 But why this was, and is, God knows ; 
 
 And I — I know, with joy 
 I'll find, among his angel-throng. 
 
 An angel like that boy. 
 
94 
 
 THE LOVE-WATCHEE; AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 A LADYE sate on a lofty hill. 
 
 And she looked toward the sea; 
 
 And I marvelled, as I gazed on her. 
 Who could the ladye be. 
 
 Her robe was snowy white ; her veil 
 Was like the rainbow's hue : 
 
 There was a blush on her gentle cheek. 
 And a tear in her eye of blue. 
 
 She sate and watched a bright bark glide 
 
 Towards the farther shore ; 
 And I saw that she was beautiful ; 
 
 But I knew nothing more. 
 
 'Twas noon ; and then the ladye sang, 
 " He must have crossed the sea ; 
 
 Even now the waves are ebbing fast. 
 And they'll bring him back to me." 
 
THE LOVE-WATCHER. 95 
 
 And, shading her eyes with her ivory hand. 
 
 She gazed most earnestly ; 
 But there was not a speck to break 
 
 The line of sea and sky. 
 
 'Twas eve ; the red sun in the west 
 
 Was resting on the wave ; 
 And a sigh, that almost breathed of fear. 
 
 The gentle ladye gave. 
 
 But still she watched, and tried to sing. 
 
 Though in a saddened strain, 
 " Oh ! I remember all he swore ; 
 
 I know he'll come again." 
 
 'Twas twilight ; one red lingering streak 
 
 Alone still told of day ; 
 One trembling star was glimmering 
 
 Above the watery way. 
 
 The ladye looked ; oh ! such a look ! — 
 
 So strained to pierce the dark ! 
 Still she trusted that it was for tears 
 
 She could not see his bark. 
 
96 THE LOVE-WATCHER. 
 
 'Twas midnight ; countless stars were out ; 
 
 The heavens were calm and fair ; 
 The moon showed all the dancing sea ; 
 
 But, ah ! no sail was there ! 
 
 The ladye gave one lingering look 
 
 Across the flowing tide ; 
 Then failed the light in her blue eyes, 
 
 And she laid her down and died. 
 
 They told me who the lady was : 
 
 Alas ! 'tis ever so ; 
 She lingers to the very last. 
 
 Then dies away for woe. 
 
 I marvel not the ladye died 
 
 Thus, like a wearied dove ; 
 For they told me that her name was Hope, 
 
 And that she watched for Love. 
 
97 
 
 THE WIRTHIR'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Three students crossed over the E-hine-stream one 
 
 day: 
 'Twas to a Frau Wirthir's they wended their way. 
 *' Frau Wirthir, hast thou good beer and wine ? 
 And where is that lovely daughter of thine ? " 
 " My beer and wine are fresh and clear : 
 My daughter lies on the cold death-bier ! " 
 And, as they stepped to the innermost room. 
 There she was lying, all robed for the tomb. 
 The first he withdrew then the veiling screen. 
 And gazed upon her with sorrowful mien : 
 " Ah ! wert thou living, fair flower of earth ! 
 How should I love thee from this day forth ! " 
 
 The second he covered the pale, dead face. 
 And turned him away, and wept apace : 
 " Ah ! there thou art lying on thy death-bier ! 
 And how have I loved thee for many a year ! " 
 
 7 
 
98 SONG FROM "JANE EYRE," 
 
 The third he lifted once more the veil, 
 And kissed her upon the cheek so pale : 
 " Thee I loved ever, yet love thee to-day ; 
 And still shall I love thee for aye and for aye ! " 
 
 SONG FROM "JANE EYRE." 
 
 The truest love that ever heart 
 
 Felt at its kindled core 
 Did through each vein, in quickened start. 
 
 The tide of being pour. 
 
 Her coming was my hope each day ; 
 
 Her parting was my pain : 
 The chance that did her steps delay 
 
 Was ice in every vein. 
 
SONG FROM "JANE EYRE." 99 
 
 I deemed it would be nameless bliss, 
 
 As I loved, loved te be ; 
 And to this object did I press 
 
 As blind as eagerly. 
 
 But wide as pathless was the space 
 
 That lay our loves between. 
 And dangerous as the foamy race 
 
 Of ocean-surges green, — 
 
 And haunted as a robber-path 
 
 Through wilderness or wood ; 
 For might and right and woe and wrath 
 
 Between our spirits stood. 
 
 I dangers dared ; I hinderance scorned ; 
 
 I omens did defy : 
 Whatever menaced, harassed, warned, 
 
 I passed impetuous by. 
 
 On sped my rainbow fast as light ; 
 
 I flew as in a dream ; 
 For glorious rose upon my sight 
 
 That child of shower and gleam. 
 
100 SONG FROM "JANE EYRE." 
 
 Still bright on clouds of suffering dim 
 
 Shines that soft, solemn joy ; 
 Nor care I now how dense and grim 
 
 Disasters gather nigh. 
 
 I care not, in this moment sweet, 
 
 Though all I have rushed o'er 
 Should come, on pinions strong and fleet. 
 
 Proclaiming vengeance sore ; — 
 
 Though haughty Hate should strike me down ; 
 
 Right bar approach to me ; 
 And grinding Might, with furious frown, 
 
 Swear endless enmity. 
 
 My love has placed her little hand 
 
 With trusting faith in mine. 
 And vowed that wedlock's sacred band 
 
 Our beings shall intwine. 
 
 My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, 
 
 With me to live, to die : 
 I have, at last, my nameless bliss : 
 
 As I love, loved am I ! 
 
101 
 
 RAIN ON THE ROOF. 
 
 "When the humid showers gather 
 
 Over all the starry spheres, 
 And the melancholy darkness 
 
 Gently weeps in rainy tears, 
 'Tis a joy to press the pillow 
 
 Of a cottage chamber bed, 
 And to listen to the patter 
 
 Of the soft rain overhead. 
 
 Every tinkle on the shingles 
 
 Has an echo in the heart ; 
 And a thousand dreary fancies 
 
 Into busy being start. 
 And a thousand recollections 
 
 Weave their bright hues into woof, 
 As I listen to the patter 
 
 Of the soft rain on the roof. 
 
102 RAIN ON THE ROOF. 
 
 There, in fancy, comes my mother. 
 
 As she used to years agone. 
 To survey the infant sleepers. 
 
 Ere she left them till the dawn. 
 I can see her bending o'er me, 
 
 As I listen to the strain 
 Which is played upon the shingles 
 
 By the patter of the rain. 
 
 Then my little seraph-sister. 
 
 With her wings and waving hair. 
 And her bright-eyed cherub-brother, 
 
 A serene, angelic pair, — 
 Glide around my wakeful pillow. 
 
 With their praise or mild reproof. 
 As I listen to the murmur 
 
 Of the soft rain on the roof. 
 
 And another comes to thrill me 
 With her eyes' delicious blue : 
 
 I forget, as gazing on her. 
 
 That her heart was all untrue : 
 
RAIN ON THE ROOF. 103 
 
 I remember that I loved her 
 
 As I ne'er may love again ; 
 And my heart's quick pulses vibrate 
 
 To the patter of the rain. 
 
 There is nought in Art's bravuras 
 
 That can work with such a spell 
 In the spirit's pure deep fountains. 
 
 Whence the holy passions swell. 
 As that melody of Nature, — 
 
 That subdued, subduing strain 
 Which is played upon the shingles 
 
 By the patter of the rain. 
 
104 
 
 SICK AND IN PRISON. 
 
 Wildly falls the night around me : 
 Chains I cannot break have bound me ; 
 Spirits, unrebuked, undriven 
 From before me, darken heaven ; 
 Creeds bewilder ; and the praying 
 Unfelt prayers makes need of praying. 
 
 In the bitter anguish lying. 
 
 Only Thou wilt hear me crying, — 
 
 Thou whose hands wash white the erring 
 
 As the wool is at the shearing : 
 
 Not with dulcimer or psalter. 
 
 But with tears, I seek thy altar. 
 
 Feet that trod the mount so weary ; 
 Eyes that pitying looked on Mary ; 
 Hands that brought the Father's blessing. 
 Heads of little children pressing ; 
 
SICK AND IN PRISON. 105 
 
 Voice that said, " Behold thy mother ! " 
 Lo ! I seek you, and no other. 
 
 Look, O sweetest eyes of pity ! 
 Out of Zion, the glorious city ; 
 Speak, O voice of mercy ! sweetly ; 
 Hide me, hands of love ! completely : 
 Sick, in prison lying lonely. 
 Ye can lift me up, — ye only. 
 
 In my hot brow soothe the aching ; 
 In my sad heart stay the breaking ; 
 On my lips the murmurs trembling 
 Change to praises undissembling; 
 Make me wise as the evangels ; 
 Clothe me with the wings of angels. 
 
 Power that made a few loaves many ; 
 Power that blessed the wine at Cana ; 
 Power that said to Lazarus, " Waken ! " — 
 Leave, oh leave me not forsaken ! 
 Sick and hungry, and in prison. 
 Save me. Crucified and Risen ! 
 
106 
 
 THREE COLOES. 
 
 " Colors three I loved and cherished, fondlier than 
 
 all earthly good, 
 Warmlier than the light of vision, than the throb- 
 bing heart's warm blood. 
 White, the first ; it was the color of my father's 
 
 silver hair : 
 E.ED, the second ; like twin-roses were the cheeks 
 
 that graced my fair : 
 And the third, the Green of meadows, — meadows 
 
 thy horizon spanned. 
 Glorious mantle of thy mountains, Hellas sweet, 
 
 my native land ! 
 All the three thou hast extinguished, barbarous, 
 
 god-insulting foe ! 
 Stained my father's locks of silver, and in cold 
 
 blood laid him low ; 
 
THREE COLOKS. 107 
 
 Manacled my loved one, stealing from her cheek 
 
 the rosy red ; 
 Trampled down my country's greenness, sowing 
 
 dust and death instead. 
 But I still hold dear those colors, dearer far than 
 
 earthly good ; 
 Love them warmlier than eyelight, warmlier than 
 
 the heart's warm blood. 
 White, the first ; two white-robed lilies, blooming 
 
 now above those graves 
 Where the relics of my loved ones rest from Life's 
 
 tempestuous waves : 
 Red, the second ; ruthless murderer ! blood of 
 
 thine and of thy race : 
 Green, the third ; the waving verdure o'er my 
 
 heart's last resting-place." 
 
 This wise spake the youthful hero, standing where 
 
 ' his loves lay cold ; 
 And a tear, — the last one haply, — pearling, fell 
 upon their mould. 
 
108 THREE COLORS. 
 
 Round him death and desolation. Horror's myriad 
 
 shapes revealed ; 
 And, with desperate joy, the warrior bounds to 
 
 Hellas' bloody field. 
 Falling, dreams the son of Freedom how his love 
 
 has won its prize ; 
 O'er his grave the circling colors greet his dim, 
 
 prophetic eyes : 
 Blood of Turks, a rich red current, moistens all 
 
 his grave-mound's green : 
 There, next spring, in beauty blooming, is the 
 
 white-robed lily seen. 
 
109 
 
 SISTER SORROW. 
 
 Sister Sorrow, sit beside me ; 
 Or, if I must wander, guide me : 
 Let me take thy hand in mine ; 
 Cold alike are mine and thine. 
 
 Think not, Sorrow, that I hate thee ; 
 Think not I am frightened at thee : 
 Thou art come for some good end ; 
 I will treat thee as a friend. 
 
 I will say that thou art bound 
 My unshielded soul to wound 
 By some power without thy will. 
 And art tender-minded still. 
 
 I will say thou givest scope 
 To the breath and light of hope ; 
 That thy gentle tears have weight 
 Hardest hearts to penetrate ; — 
 
110 SISTER SORROW. 
 
 That thy shadow brings together 
 Friends long lost in sunny weather ; 
 With a hundred offices. 
 Beautiful and blest as these. 
 
 Softly takest thou the crown 
 From my haughty temples down : 
 Place it on thy own pale brow : 
 Pleasure wears one ; why not thou ? 
 
 Let the blossoms glitter there 
 On thy long, unhanded hair ; 
 And, when I have borne my pain. 
 Thou wilt give them me again. 
 
 If thou goest. Sister Sorrow, 
 I shall look for thee to-morrow : 
 I shall often see thee dressed 
 As a masquerading guest. 
 
 And, howe'er thou hid'st the name, 
 I shall know thee still the same 
 As thou sitt'st beside me now. 
 With my garland on thy brow. 
 
Ill 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wail through, the bosom of the night, 
 Storm-wind ! How strong thou art ! 
 
 Thou canst not change the inward sky, — 
 The summer of my heart. 
 
 Shed thy cold tears, O winter rain ! 
 
 Sob through the twilight dim : 
 I only feel the sunshine's glow 
 
 Is ripening fruit for him. 
 
 Bend your brown branches, leafless trees ! 
 
 Beneath the wintry sky : 
 I know for me the harvest-time. 
 
 The vintage-hour, is nigh. 
 
 The grapes are glowing on the vine, 
 For Love's own hand to take ; 
 
 But he must press them with his lips. 
 The wine of life to make. 
 
112 
 
 FICKLENESS. 
 
 O AGONY ! keen agony ! 
 
 For trusting heart to find 
 That vows believed were vows conceived 
 
 As light as summer wind. 
 
 O agony ! fierce agony ! 
 
 For loving heart to brook, 
 In one brief hour, the withering power 
 
 Of unimpassioned look. 
 
 O agony ! deep agony ! 
 
 For heart that's proud and high 
 To learn of Fate how desolate 
 
 It may be ere it die. 
 
 O agony ! sharp agony ! 
 
 To find how loath to part 
 "With the fickleness and faithlessness 
 
 That break a trusting heart. 
 
113 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 There are no shadows where there is no sun; 
 
 There is no beauty where there is no shade ; 
 
 And all things in two lines of beauty run, — 
 
 Darkness and light, ebon and gold inlaid. 
 
 God comes among us through the shrouds of air ; 
 
 And his dimmed track is like the silvery wake 
 
 Left by yon pinnace on the mountain lake, — 
 
 Fading and re-appearing, here and there. 
 
 The lamps and veils through heaven and earth 
 
 that move 
 Go in and out, as jealous of their light. 
 Like silvery stars upon a misty night. 
 Death is the shade of coming life ; and Love 
 Yearns for her dear ones in the holy tomb. 
 Because bright things are better seen in gloom. 
 8 
 
114 
 
 EBB AND FLOW. 
 
 I WALKED beside the evening sea. 
 And dreamed a dream that could not be : 
 The waves that plunged along the shore 
 Said only, " Dreamer ! dream no more." 
 
 But still the legions charged the beach. 
 And rang their battle-cry like speech ; 
 But changed was the imperial strain : 
 It murmured, " Dreamer ! dream again." 
 
 I homeward turned from out the gloom : 
 That sound I heard not in my room ; 
 But suddenly a sound that stirred 
 Within my very breast I heard. 
 
 It was my heart, that, like the sea. 
 
 Within my breast beat ceaselessly ; 
 
 But, like the waves along the shore. 
 
 It said, " Dream on," and " Dream no more." 
 
115 
 
 BEYOND THE EIVER. 
 
 Time is a river deep and wide ; 
 
 And, while along its banks we stray, 
 We see our loved ones o'er its tide 
 
 Sail from our sight away, away. 
 "Where are they sped, — they who return 
 
 No more to glad our longing eyes ? 
 They've passed from Life's contracted bourn 
 
 To land unseen, unknown, that lies 
 
 Beyond the river. 
 
 'Tis hid from view ; but we may guess 
 
 How beautiful that realm must be ; 
 For gleamings of its loveliness. 
 
 In visions granted, oft we see. 
 The very clouds that o'er it throw 
 
 Their veil, unraised for mortal sight, 
 "With gold and purple tintings glow. 
 
 Reflected from the glorious light 
 
 Beyond the river. 
 
116 BEYOND THE RIVER. 
 
 And gentle airs, so sweet, so calm, 
 
 Steal sometimes from that viewless sphere : 
 The mourner feels their breath of balm, 
 
 And soothed sorrow dries the tear. 
 And listening ear may sometimes gain 
 
 Entrancing sound that hither floats ; 
 The echo of a distant strain. 
 
 Of harps' and voices' blended notes. 
 
 Beyond the river. 
 
 There are our loved ones in their rest ; 
 
 They've crossed Time's river ; now no more 
 They heed the bubbles on its breast, 
 
 Nor feel the storms that sweep its shore. 
 But there pure love can live, can last : 
 
 They look for us their home to share : 
 When we in turn away have passed. 
 
 What joyful greetings wait us there, 
 
 Beyond the river ! 
 
117 
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 Let dotards grieve for cliildhood's days, 
 
 And only those look back 
 Whose wasted wealth or shattered health 
 
 Betrays a shameless track. 
 I cannot join in mourning time 
 
 For ever passed away ; 
 For, while I look on Nature's book, 
 
 I'm thankful for to-day. 
 
 The trees are still as fresh and green 
 
 As ever branches were ; 
 And, still in primal vigor seen. 
 
 They wave their arms in air. 
 The rivers sing the self-same song 
 
 That they have sung for aye ; 
 "Whose burden, as they glide along. 
 
 Is, " God is here to-day." 
 
118 TO-DAY. 
 
 There's not a bird upon the bough, 
 
 Or leaf upon the tree. 
 But in the summer twilight now 
 
 As sweetly sings to me. 
 The bleakest wind that Winter blows 
 
 Can chase disease away. 
 And shower blessings in the snows 
 
 That hide the earth to-day. 
 
 And everywhere a thousand gifts 
 
 Invite us to rejoice, — 
 To grieve no more the days of yore. 
 
 But raise a thankful voice ; 
 That tell us, though the world were fair 
 
 In years removed or aye. 
 The earth and sky and sea and air 
 
 As lovely are to-day. 
 
 Then tell me not that childhood's days 
 Alone are fraught with joy ; 
 
 That manhood's fancy cannot raise 
 The structures of the boy. 
 
TO-DAY. 119 
 
 The childish mind is lost in dreams 
 
 Of pictures far away ; 
 But man beholds majestic themes. 
 
 The wonder of to-day. 
 
 O ye whose eyes upbraiding rise. 
 
 Pronouncing Fate unjust, — 
 Who walk the earth with cherished hopes 
 
 Low trailing in the dust ! — 
 Discard a false, unmanly thrall. 
 
 Nor own so weak a sway ; 
 But hope in Him who gave you all, 
 
 And thank him for to-day. 
 
120 
 
 THE HEAET! THE HEABT! 
 
 The heart ! the heart ! oh ! let it be 
 
 A true and bounteous thing ; 
 As kindly warm, as nobly free. 
 
 As eagle's nestling wing. 
 Oh ! keep it not, like misers' gold, 
 
 Shut in from all beside ; 
 But let its precious stores unfold. 
 
 In mercy, far and wide. 
 The heart, the heart that's truly blest. 
 
 Is never all its own : 
 No ray of glory lights the breast 
 
 That beats for self alone. 
 
 The heart ! the heart ! oh ! let it spare 
 
 A sigh for others' pain : 
 The breath that soothes a brother's care 
 
 Is never spent in vain. 
 
THE LOVE THAT LASTS. 121 
 
 And though it throh at gentlest touch, 
 
 Or Sorrow's faintest call, 
 'Twere better it should ache too much 
 
 Than never ache at all. 
 The heart, the heart that's truly blest. 
 
 Is never all its own : 
 No ray of glory lights the breast 
 
 That beats for self alone. 
 
 THE LOVE THAT LASTS. 
 
 'Tis not a flower of instant growth ; 
 
 But from an unsuspected germ. 
 That lay within the hearts of both. 
 
 Assumes its everlasting form. 
 
 As daisy-buds, among the grass. 
 
 With the same green do silent grow. 
 
 Nor maids nor boys that laughing pass 
 Can tell if they be flowers or no, — 
 
122 THE LOVE THAT LASTS. 
 
 Till, on some genial morn in May, 
 Their timid, modest leaflets rise. 
 
 Disclosing beauties to the day 
 
 That strike the gazer with surprise ; — 
 
 So soft, so sweet, so mild, so holy. 
 So cheerful in obscurest shade. 
 
 So unpretending, meek, and lowly. 
 And yet the pride of each green glade. 
 
 So love doth spring, so love doth grow. 
 If it be such as never dies : 
 
 The bud just opens here below ; 
 The flower blooms on in paradise. 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 The thickly-woven boughs they wreathe 
 
 Through every hallowed fane, 
 A soft, reviving odor breathe 
 
 Of Summer's gentle reign. 
 And rich the ray of mild-green light. 
 
 Which, like an emerald's glow. 
 Comes struggling through the latticed height 
 
 Upon the crowds below. 
 
 Oh ! let the streams of solemn thought, 
 
 "Which in those temples rise. 
 From deeper sources spring than aught 
 
 Dependent on the skies ; 
 Then, though the Summer's pride departs. 
 
 And "Winter's withering chill 
 Rests on the cheerless woods, our hearts 
 
 Shall be unchanging still. 
 
124 
 
 THE WELCOME BACK. 
 
 Sweet is the hour that brings us home, 
 
 Where all will spring to meet us ; 
 Where hands are striving, as we come. 
 
 To be the first to greet us. 
 When the world hath spent its frowns and wrath, 
 
 And care hath been sorely pressing, 
 'Tis sweet to turn from our roving path. 
 
 And find a fireside blessing. 
 Oh ! joyfully dear is the homeward track. 
 If we are but sure of a welcome back. 
 
 What do we reck on a dreary way. 
 
 Though lonely and benighted. 
 If we know there are lips to chide our stay. 
 
 And eyes that will beam, love-lighted ? 
 What is the worth of your diamond ray 
 
 To the glance that flashes pleasure, 
 
THE VOYAGER. 125 
 
 "When the words that welcome back betray 
 
 We form a heart's chief treasure ? 
 Oh ! joyfully dear is our homeward track, 
 If we are but sure of a welcome back. 
 
 THE VOYAGER. 
 
 My heart was light, my bark was strong. 
 
 And fleetly danced the waves along : 
 
 With Hope for helmsman, ever near. 
 
 What had the voyager to fear ? 
 
 I saw from far a sunny land. 
 
 And yet could never reach the strand. 
 
 The morning dawned : I said, " This gale 
 
 Will shortly end my lengthened sail." 
 
 The evening came ; and still my bark 
 
 Was tossing on the waters dark ; 
 
 But, far in the horizon set. 
 
 The looked-for haven glimmered yet. 
 
126 THE VOYAGER. 
 
 I oft have neared the blissful shore. 
 Where peace shall reign for evermore ; 
 But adverse winds that moment rise, 
 And on my fated vessel flies. 
 Till Hope forgets to paint success. 
 Or picture schemes of happiness. 
 
 Some score of years I've swept the seas. 
 Pursued by fantasies like these ; 
 Some score of years despair and hope 
 Have in this breast found ample scope. 
 Oh ! when, my weary wanderings o'er. 
 May I approach that blissful shore ? 
 
127 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways : 
 
 I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
 
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
 
 For the ends of being and ideal grace ; 
 
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 
 Most quiet need, by sun and candle light ; 
 
 I love thee freely, as men strive for right ; 
 
 I love thee purely, as they turn from praise ; 
 
 I love thee with the passion put to use 
 
 In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith ; 
 
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
 
 "With my lost saints ; I love thee with the breath. 
 
 Smiles, tears, of all my life ; and, if God choose, 
 
 I shall but love thee better after death. 
 
128 
 
 CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 I THINK we are too ready with complaint 
 
 In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope. 
 
 Indeed, beyond the zenith and the slope 
 
 Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be fain 
 
 To muse upon eternity's constraint 
 
 Round our aspirant souls. But, since the scope 
 
 Must widen early, is it well to droop 
 
 For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? 
 
 O pusillanimous Heart ! be comforted. 
 
 And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road. 
 
 Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread 
 
 Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 
 
 To meet the flints : at least it may be said, 
 
 " Because the way is short, I thank thee, God ! " 
 
129 
 
 THE INCOGNITA OF RAFFAELLE. 
 
 The portrait to which the followiDg verses refer is in the Pitti Palace, at 
 Florence. 
 
 Long has the summer sunlight shone 
 On the fair form, the quaint costume ; 
 
 Yet, nameless still, she sits unknown, — 
 A lady in her youthful bloom. 
 
 Fairer for this. No shadows cast 
 Their blight upon her perfect lot : 
 
 Whate'er her future or her past. 
 In this bright moment matters not. 
 
 No record of her high descent 
 
 There needs, nor memory of her name : 
 Enough that Raffaelle's colors blent 
 
 To give her features deathless fame. 
 
130 THE INCOGNITA OF RAFFAELLE. 
 
 *Twas his anointing hand that set 
 The crown of beauty on her brow : 
 
 Still lives its early radiance yet ; 
 As at the earliest, even now. 
 
 *Tis not the ecstasy that glows 
 
 In all the rapt Cecilia's grace ; 
 Nor yet the holy, calm repose 
 
 He painted on the Virgin's face. 
 
 Less of the heavens, and more of earth. 
 There lurk, within these earnest eyes. 
 
 The passions that have had their birth. 
 And grown, beneath Italian skies. 
 
 What mortal thoughts and cares and dreams. 
 What hopes and fears and longings, rest 
 
 Where falls the folded veil, or gleams 
 The golden necklace on the breast ! 
 
 What mockery of the painted glow 
 May shade the secret soul within ! 
 
 What griefs from Passion's overflow ! 
 What shame that follows after sin ! 
 
ON THE SHORE. 131 
 
 Yet calm as heaven's serenest deeps 
 
 Are those pure eyes, those glances pure ; 
 
 And queenly is the state she keeps. 
 In Beauty's lofty trust secure. 
 
 And who has strayed, by happy chance. 
 
 Through all those grand and pictured halls. 
 
 Nor felt the magic of her glance. 
 As when a voice of music calls ? 
 
 ON THE SHORE. 
 
 " If I were a noble lady. 
 
 And he a peasant born, 
 With nothing but his good right hand 
 
 Between him and world's scorn. 
 Oh ! I would speak so humble. 
 
 And I would smile so meek. 
 And cool with tears this fierce hot flush 
 
 He left upon my cheek. 
 
132 ON THE SHORE. 
 
 Sing lieigli, sing ho, my bonnie, bonnie boat. 
 Let's watch the anchor weighed ; 
 
 For he is a great sea-captain. 
 And I a fisher-maid. 
 
 " If I were a royal princess. 
 
 And he a captive poor, 
 I would cast down those steadfast eyes. 
 
 Unbar this bolted door. 
 And, walking in the whole world's sight. 
 
 Low at his feet would fall : 
 Sceptre and crown and womanhood, — 
 
 My king should take them all ! 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, my bonnie, bonnie boat, 
 
 Alone with sea and sky ; 
 For he is a bold sea-captain, 
 
 A fisher-maiden I. 
 
 " If I were a saint in heaven, 
 
 And he a sinner pale. 
 Whom good men passed with face avert. 
 
 And left him to his bale. 
 
ON THE SHORE. 133 
 
 Mine eyes they should weep rivers. 
 
 My voice reach that great throne. 
 Beseeching, ' Oh, be merciful ! 
 
 Make thou mine own Thine own ! ' 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, my bonnie, bonnie boat. 
 
 Love only cannot fade ; 
 Though he is a bold sea-captain. 
 
 And I a fisher-maid." 
 
 Close stood the young sea-captain : 
 
 His tears fell fast as rain : 
 " If I have sinned, I'll sin no more : 
 
 God judge between us twain! " 
 The gold ring flashed in sunshine ; 
 
 The small waves laughing curled : 
 " Our ship rocks at the harbor bar. 
 
 Away to the under world." 
 " Farewell, farewell, my bonnie, bonnie boat ; 
 
 Now Heaven us bless and aid ; 
 For my lord is a great sea-captain. 
 
 And I was a fisher-maid." 
 
134 
 
 SELF-DEPENDENCK 
 
 Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
 "What I am, and what I ought to be, 
 
 At the vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
 Forwards, forwards o'er the starlit sea. 
 
 And a look of passionate desire 
 
 O'er the sea, and to the stars I send, — 
 
 " Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me ! 
 Calm me, ah ! compose me, to the end ! " 
 
 " Ah ! once more," I cried, " ye stars ! ye waters ! 
 
 On my heart your mighty charm renew ; 
 Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you. 
 
 Feel my soul becoming vast like you." 
 
 From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven. 
 
 O'er the lit sea's unquiet way. 
 In the rustling night-air came the answer, — 
 
 " Wouldst thou he as these are ? Live as they. 
 
SELF-DEPENDENCE. 135 
 
 " Unaifrighted by the silence round them, 
 Undistracted by the sights they see. 
 
 These demand not that the things without them 
 Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 
 
 " And with joy the stars perform their shining. 
 And the sea its long moon-silvered roll ; 
 
 For alone they live, nor pine with noting 
 All the fever of some differing soul. 
 
 " Bounded by themselves, and unobservant 
 In what state God's other works may be. 
 
 In their own tasks all their powers pouring. 
 These attain the mighty life you see." 
 
 O air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, 
 A cry like thine in my own heart I hear : 
 " Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he 
 Who finds himself loses his misery." 
 
136 
 
 MY KATE. 
 
 She was not as pretty as women I know ; 
 
 And yet all your best, made of sunshine and snow, 
 
 Drop to shade, melt to nought, in the long-trod- 
 den ways ; 
 
 While she's still remembered on warm and cold 
 days : 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 Her air had a meaning, her movement a grace ; 
 You turned from the fairest to gaze in her face ; 
 And, when you had once seen her forehead and 
 
 mouth. 
 You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth : 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke. 
 You looked at her silence, and fancied she spoke : 
 
MY KATE. 137 
 
 When she did, so peculiar, yet soft, was the tone. 
 Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her 
 alone : 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 I doubt if she said to you much that could act 
 As a thought or suggestion : she did not attract. 
 In the sense of the brilliant and wise, I infer : 
 'Twas her thinking of others made you think of 
 her: 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 She never found fault with you ; never implied 
 Your wrong by her right ; and yet men at her side 
 Grew nobler, girls purer ; as, through the whole 
 
 town. 
 The children were gladder that pulled at her 
 
 gown: 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 None knelt at her feet as adorers in thrall : 
 They knelt more to God than they used ; that was 
 all. 
 
138 MY KATE. 
 
 If you praised her as charming, some asked what 
 
 you meant ; 
 But the charm of her presence was felt when she 
 
 went: 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude. 
 She took as she found them, and did them all good : 
 It always was so with her. See what you have ! 
 She has made the grass greener, e'en Acre, with 
 her grave: 
 
 My Kate. 
 
 My dear one ! when thou wert alive with the rest, 
 I held thee the sweetest, and loved thee the best ; 
 And, now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part. 
 As thy smile used to do thyself, my sweet heart, 
 
 My Kate ? 
 
139 
 
 THE TOAST. 
 
 The feast is o'er ! Now brimming wine 
 In lordly cup is seen to shine 
 
 Before each eager guest ; 
 And silence fills the crowded hall. 
 As deep as when the herald's call 
 
 Thrills in the loyal breast. 
 
 Then up arose the noble host. 
 
 And smiling cried, " A toast, a toast. 
 
 To all our ladyes fair ! 
 Here, before all, I pledge the name 
 Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame, 
 , The Ladye Gundamere ! " 
 
 Then to his feet each gallant sprung ; 
 And joyous was the shout that rung, 
 
 As Stanley gave the word ; 
 And every cup was raised on high; 
 Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry 
 
 Till Stanley's voice was heard. 
 
140 THE TOAST. 
 
 ** Enough, enough," he smiling said. 
 And lowly bent his haughty head : 
 
 " That all may have their due, 
 Now each in turn must play his part. 
 And pledge the ladye of his heart, 
 
 Like gallant knight and true." 
 
 Then, one by one, each guest sprang up. 
 And drained in turn the brimming cup. 
 
 And named the loved one's name ; 
 And each, as hand on high he raised. 
 His ladye's grace or beauty praised. 
 
 Her constancy and fame. 
 
 'Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise t 
 
 On him are fixed those countless eyes : 
 
 A gallant knight is he. 
 Envied by some, admired by all ; 
 Far famed in ladye's bower and hall. 
 
 The flower of chivalry. 
 
 St. Leon raised his kindling eye. 
 And lifts the sparkling cup on high : 
 " I drink to one" he said. 
 
THE TOAST. 141 
 
 '* Whose image never may depart, 
 Deep graven on this grateful heart. 
 Till memory be dead ; — 
 
 " To one whose love for me shall last 
 When lighter passions long have passed. 
 
 So holy 'tis and true ; 
 To one whose love hath longer dwelt. 
 More deeply fixed, more keenly felt. 
 
 Than any pledged by you." 
 
 Each guest upstarted at the word. 
 And laid a hand upon his sword. 
 
 With fury-flashing eye ; 
 And Stanley said, " We crave the name. 
 Proud knight ! of this most peerless dame. 
 
 Whose love you count so high." 
 
 St. Leon paused, as if he would 
 
 Not breathe her name in careless mood 
 
 Thus lightly to another ; 
 Then bent his noble head, as though 
 To give that word the reverence due. 
 
 And gently said, " My mother ! " 
 
142 
 
 A VALEDICTION. 
 
 God be with thee, my beloved, — God be with, thee ! 
 
 Else alone thou goest forth, 
 
 Thy face unto the north, — 
 Moor and pleasance all around thee and beneath 
 thee. 
 
 Looking equal in one snow ; 
 
 While I, who try to reach thee. 
 
 Vainly follow, vainly follow. 
 
 With the farewell and the hollo. 
 
 And cannot reach thee so. 
 
 Alas ! I can but teach thee : 
 God be with thee, my beloved, — God be with thee ! 
 
 Can I teach thee, my beloved, — can I teach thee ? 
 If I said. Go left or right. 
 The counsel would be light. 
 
A VALEDICTION. 143 
 
 The wisdom poor of all that could enrich thee ; 
 
 My right would show like left ; 
 
 My raising would depress thee ; 
 
 My choice of light would blind thee ; 
 
 Of way, would leave behind thee ; 
 
 Of end, would leave bereft. 
 
 Alas ! I can but bless thee : 
 May God teach thee, my beloved, — may God 
 teach thee ! 
 
 Can I bless thee, my beloved, — can I bless thee ? 
 
 What blessing word can I 
 
 From mine own tears keep dry? 
 What flowers grow in my field wherewith to 
 dress thee? 
 
 My good reverts to ill ; 
 
 My calmnesses would move thee ; 
 
 My softnesses would prick thee ; 
 
 My bindings-up would break thee ; 
 
 My crownings, curse and kill. 
 
 Alas ! I can but love thee : 
 May God bless thee, my beloved, — may God 
 bless thee ! 
 
144 A VALEDICTION. 
 
 Can I love thee, my beloved, — can I love thee ? 
 
 And is this like love, to stand 
 
 "With no help in my hand. 
 When strong as death I fain would watch above 
 thee ? 
 
 My love-kiss can deny 
 
 No tears that fall beneath it ; 
 
 Mine oath of love can swear thee 
 
 From no ill that comes near thee ; 
 
 And thou diest while I breathe it; 
 
 And I — / can but die ! 
 May God love thee, my beloved, — may God love 
 thee! 
 
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