tSi liiliiii ,, s ''MiMn j{ Mm THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES V /*\ GIFT OF Mrs. Hanna Roth Ha J A ?r^ i -~ fmw0z l3^- mrwmm fj^k V^l\ mmm^m^mAmfo IA1 ■ . Y ■ A GALLERY ENGLISH AND AMERICAN ^ FAMOUS IN SONG WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY COPPEE, LL.D. PRESIDES i OP i EH1GH I NIVERS1 I 1 PROFUSELY AND RICHLY ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER ONE HUNDRED STEEL ENGRAVINGS, EXECDTED IV THE HIGHEST ST YD 0] THE \l:r. MOSTLY PROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS UN I MINES i i.,i PHILADELPH) \ .1. M. STODDA i;T & CO. Entered, according to Act of I in the year 18"3 i I J. M. STODDART & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. W j x i . r , i i ,', I S H E U M A N Printers. Diilada. CONTENTS. II ANNA II MORE [PTION . . ODE TO CB PAGE 33 36 EELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. SONG BAB] IT \l. DEVOTION . . . ANNA LETITIA BARBATJLD. 38 40 ODE I" SPRING . [•0 CONTENT ON THE DEITK 12 45 48 ANN RADCLIFFE. TO THE WIS ONG OF \ SPIR1 r JOANNA BAILLIE. TO A CHILD OF COL1 SOI 3 A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT 49 52 MARY IIO WITT. i ■ \ I ! SS OLD CE Rl i l i i.S A SWINi ONG ENGLISH ' . . . . ,-mi EEY. Mil RIVEF. 77 79 8] 83 87 90 92 MARY RUSSELL Mil I ' THE VOICE OF PRAISE ... •- ON A PICTURE OF JERUSALEM AT THE TIME OF THE CRU- CIFIXION ANTIGONE I ;l CHARM T.n V AIKIN. ARABIA THE BEGG \ B M \ N . • ■ • WII'.I.IA OPIE. 60 61 67 i . . . . ..... I ', BR \ ■•' A LAMENT. . 71 71 93 96 '.'7 I 1 FELICIA 1 1 I'M A NS. lii: LANDING 0] CB THE THE II"' R OF DEATH . . . I. . . 1 111 HOMES OF ENGLAND i • OF Till': Dl I LETITIA ELIZABETE LAND' I III OAK I ll l i \: i R ■ i i> i:r.': . ■ • • 108 108 i !i \i;i.(iitk i rn TONNA. ro \ HORSE I'' 0M . 115 CONTENTS. CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. PAGE DEDII \ flu'. OF THE DEEAM. ,. CHE DTJi HESS OF SI CHEE- I.A.NIi 117 TO MY BOOKS 120 LE EANZ DES VACHES . . . L20 TEANSLATION 1-1 THE LITTLE WANDERERS . . 123 TUE VISIONARY PORTRAIT . . 126 SARAH ELLIS. THE pilgrim's eest .... 129 ■ . - EARLY DEEAM . . . L33 MRS. A.BDY. THE CHILL IX A GARDES . . 135 LINES WRITTEN OK THE DEATH OF MLS IIE.MANS .... L36 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS . 139 SARA COLERIDGE. FALSE LOVE 142 143 FRANCES BROWN. THE MAID OF THE RHONE . . 14") STREAMS 1"'" ELIZA COOK WASHINGTON 153 THE QUIET EYE 156 NAT! RE'S GENTLEMAN . . . 158 THERE'S A STAR IN THE WEST . 161 OLD STORY-BOOKS 162 FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. A VISION OF THE VATICAN . 167 NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE . . 169 TO SHAKSPEARE 172 ADELAIDE ANNE PRi >CTER. A DOUBTING HEART .... 173 A WOMAN'S QUESTION . . . 174 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWN- ING. PAGE VICTOEIA'S TEARS 177 HEAVEN'S SUNEIS l I'l l: HIS ELI NUN ESS 180 A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS . . 18] A MAN'S i;i ,.i [EI \1 I NTS . . . 182 HECTOR IN THE GARDEN . . 184 ( ATHERINE WINKWORTH. PALM SUNDAY 189 THIRL SI M'\Y AFTER EASTEB . 1! 2 EASTEl: EYEN 195 DINAH MARIA MULOCK. PHILIP, MY KING 197 NOW AND AFTEEWAEDS . . . L99 HER LIKENESS 200 LADY NAIRN. THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN . . . 201 THE LAND O' THE LEAL . . 203 MRS. CRAWFORD. WE PARTED IN SILENCE. . . 204 CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROS- SETTI. THE MILKING-MAID . . . . 2' 15 CATHERINE FANSHAWE ha 208 LADY EMMELINE STUART WORTLEY. NIGHT AND MOENING . . • 209 JEAN INGELOW. A MOTHER SHOWING THE POR- TRAIT OF HER CHILD . . . 212 A SEA SONG 218 GEORGE ELIOT. I ovees 220 -' 1 1 ARION — l I.YI'IA II. SIGOURNEY. RETURN OF 8 V.POLEON PKOM ST. ur 1.1 N \ . ... • • ■ THE COUNTRY CHTIEI II . . . FAEEWELL TO A EUEAL I I DENCE 2 !i > 23] 235 236 238 2 w MARIA BROOKS THE MOON OF FLOWEES . TO NIAGAEA SONG FAREWELL TO CUBA . . ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. THE DROWNED MARINER . . 241 ,,, \ n i AND 'I HE T.1 STJRREC- TION 'i M ! SEI 8 AND 'Mil !"■-' SARAH HALL. SKETI II OF A I. \'- DSC \l'i: . . HANNAH F. GOULD THE FROST THE YOUNG SI 1 riNG MOON . THE NUN JANE L. GRAY.. MORN LYDIA JANE PEIRSON MY MUSE THE WILDWOOD HOME . . . TO THE WOOD EOBIN .... FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. 273 276 ■2" 280 282 FB \.NCES 11. GE \ SONG OF WINT1 l; . . . . OF THE ] i . . ELIZABETH F ELLET. . . r VENICE THE ! I \ i.i i'i WITH i ' THE SEA-KINGS PAOl 291 ;06 245 246 249 254 255 257 ■v..". 266 270 271 EMM \ C. EMBURY. l.ii man'.- i \ m i N r . . '> <~ CE ; ' ' ' \ PORTE ill' CAROLINE GILMAN. THE AMEEICAN BOY . . . I'm THE UESULINES .... •; TO MASSACH1 MUSIC ON Till CANAL . . 3] 1 316 119 CAPEICE HEAVEN Is OVEE ALL LITTLE CHILDEEN . . CALL Ml H r NAMES TO A DEAF. LITTLE TEUANT LUCY HOOPER. GIVE ME AEMOl 01 I 001 D \l GH ri ii OF HERODIAS 284 286 EMILY ( Jl DSON. nut A POET ASPIRING TO N . . . DEATH MARY E. LEE. THE POETS THE BLIND NEGRO I OMMTJNI- . r CATHERINE 11 ESLING BROTHER*, COME HOME . . . M.\t;Y E. II F.WITT. \ . . . SARAH .1. HALE. I III PEl • \ BLIND 'HI I ' : ' ,; l '" • • • 321 13 325 330 ;ll I'M i ri." | i: OF CHOUGHT . . 5VO MAIDENS . . MARGARET FULLEB INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC . . . TO EDITH ON HER BIRTHDAY . LIFE A TEMPLE PAGE 344 345 347 JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL A STORY OF SUNRISE .... 350 A SONG OF SUNSET : ' ' AMELIA B. WELBY. THE r.Al-. SI VENTEEN . A XXL C. LYNCH. SONNET CHRIST BETRAYED HAGAR ON THE DEATH OF AN IN- FANT ASPIRATION ODE "EDITH MAY. A TRUE STORY OF A FAWN . JULIETTE .[ AT TWILIGHT . . . . SUMMER A XX s STEPHENS. THE OLD APPLE TREE . . ALICE CARY [NE . . -I' TIME . LIGHTS OF GENU'S PHCEBE CARY. ,'l.lis OF THE CHRISTIAN WOMAN . . SONG OF THE HEART . . . 354 359 360 163 365 367 367 369 372 379 380 SARAH AXXA LI ECE MARGARET JUNKIN. SHADE AN D SUNSHINE . . i ■ 1 1 404 alum: b. neal GONDOLETTAS 407 TOO LATE JULIA WARD HOWE TO A BEAUTIFUL STATUE . . LEES FROM THE CUP OF LIFE . MORTAL AND IMMORTAL . . . SARA J. LIPPINCOTT. TO MISS C. M. SEDGWICK . . THE MAY MORNING . . . . THE DREAM ILLUMINATION 411 415 417 418 422 424 ANNA CORA MOWATT RITCHIE. LOVE 4-t . . [28 MY LIFE .... THY WILL BE DONE ! ! 388 390 19 193 398 400 ELIZABETH S. SWIFT. THE FIRST OF MAY . . . . 431 CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. THE SNOW-FLAKE . . . . CLARA MOORE MORNING NOON NIGHT MARY MAEIOX H. RAND I1IY 433 I 16 136 437 438 440 SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY . . . 441 THE MAIDEN'S DREAM . . . I ,l > NTS. LAURA M 1 HI ESTON. SALLIE BRIDGES. THE Wl: . . . ELIZA 1.. SPROAT. Till; MOTHEK AND CHILD . . ELIZABETH J. EAMES. THE DEATH OP PAN . Tin: PAST CHARITY 461 462 163 JULIA < i. i rati: pi D :!.!.: .... . MICHAUD . . . . UNDER THE MAPI 1 . . . MARIA LOW] I THE MORNI] . . . ■Ml 517 521 SARAH EDGARTON MAYO. THE SUPREMACY OF GOD . . 465 TYPES OF HEAVEN [NG TUP MOOR .... 4,0 THE SHADOW-CHILD .... IT 1 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. THERE is NO GOD 4 ' ' A GOD 4 , i CATHERINE E BEECHER. NEW YEAP.'S EVE 47'.' ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN . . 482 . . 485 . . 487 HARRIET BEEi HEE SI Tin: SECRET ORLD .... A DAY IN ■ ■ DORIA MRS. S. M. B. PIATT. BED AT NIGHT 525 ADELINE D i R HITNEY. I. \pv.p 3T IP \I.I I"' BABYHOOD .... THE SB \ RROW AT SEA ROI K MP TO SLEEP ' HELEN HUNT. ROSE TERRY. AT LAST . . . . DOUBT THE TWO VIL1 ' '• CHE SAPA SAR \ " INDOLENCE . . . 189 192 l'.'l ELIZAB1 ODDARD. iRE THE MIRR' >R . . . . 496 ■■. ~ I I > I - IDYL . THE 198 " DOWN TO THOUGHT . . • 6 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. a woman's WAITING . ■ MARY E BRADLEY. 5 17 542 WINTER' IREEN BARRIl l M I WEN KIMBALI TUP. 1 ALL'S WE] P . 501 PRA 547 CONI ENTS. LUCY HAMILTON BOOPEE PAGE CRT 549 THE B \ I rLE . . . . THE KING'S BIDE ... LAURA C. REDDEN DISARMED 554 EARRIET PRESCOTT SPOF- I ORD. VANITY 556 A. SIGH 557 E. B. DUFFEY. A YEAR AGO LUCRETIA MAIM \ DAVIDSON. PAGI ORDINARY . . 56] TO MY SISTER WASH] 563 5i i 1 \l \i:< \i;ET MILLER DAVID- Si >N YEARNINGS 565 LEONOEE 566 LUCY LARCOM. ELISHA AND THE ANGELS . 567 Till BURNING PRAIRIE . . . 571 CELIA THAXTEE. WEEDS 574 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Subjei I Parnassus Vignette Title .... Porte vit op Hannah More I'Y By thy winding Stre \m Devotion Spring Content Portrait op Joanna Baillie Co \ Child Waking Infant Portrait op M. 1! Mitford Antigone Arabia A Lament The Winds Portrait of Mary Howitt . Old Christmas . . The River Portrait of Fii.fi \ Hem 'ns Landing of the Pilgrims . Portrait of Mother of Mrs. Hemans Stately Homes of England Treasures of the Deep . . Portrait of L. E. Landon . Death and the Youth Millennium , . . Portrait of Duchess of Sutherland Aiii T i ■ .j Hannah Mire Williams Williams Barbaul I Barb Baillie Baillie Mitford Ailcin 1 ' R Howitt . Mrs. iS Hemans Hemans Hemans Landon Tonna Norton U r. Hamilton . i ros ... J 1! West . Huntington Middleton . Uwins . . Sir W. -V /' Sully . . Haydon J .1/ Wright /. Robert . I Gillies . Page . . I 'l. ', // Turm [fa S i Paris Page PIECE 1 33 41 43 15 49 5] 54 57 i'il 67 72 71 77 81 83 90 93 10 In! L03 L05 L07 11! '/' Lawn net . J! A. 1 V, 10 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject. Author. Little Wanderers . . . Norton Visionary Portrait . . . Norton . The Pilgrim's Rest . . . Ellis . . Love's Early Dream . . . Ellis . . A Friend and Guide . . Abdy Can that Maid be Fairer ' Sara Coleridgi Maid of the Rhone . . . Brown Washington Ooo\ . The Quiet Eye Cook . Old Story-Books .... Coot . Old Story-Books .... Coot . The Vatican Kemble A Woman's Question . . . Procter Portrait of Mrs, Browning . . . Palm Sunday Third Sunday after Easter Easter Even Philip, my King Laird o' Cockpen .... Night and Morning . . . Living Child or Pictured Cherub Sea Song Portrait he Mrs. Sigourney Ponis Castle Sigourney Portrait he Maria Brooks .... Portrait of Elizabeth i > ikes Smith .Death and the Resur- rection Smith Seen and Unseen .... Smith Landscape Hall . . Summer Hull . . The Setting Moon .... Gould The Nun Gould . Portrait of Frances Sar- gent Osgood Little Children .... Osgood . Winkworlh Winkworth Winkworth Mulock - "Lady Nairn Lady Wbrlley Iinjeloie Ingelow Designer. 8 Bone In, noil . Devi n ux KneUer . Kbit a* r . Huntingto Havett . Leslie Warren Stone Head . Roberts . Si hut ■ Si It Pollock . ( ;,,/„ av. i Freeman Daniell, P Read /.'■ ml Franklin Daniell, P Lima n . Turner . Franklin Osgood , Wright . A. Page L25 126 L29 133 136 144 145 153 156 102 166 167 176 177 189 193 196 197 201 209 212 218 225 234 235 241 245 24 s 249 253 256 262 273 280 LIST OF [ILLUSTRATIONS. 11 Subject \ui hor Desiguer. Song of Winter 1 . Mount . . . . 288 PoE DBA] [ OF E. P. ELLET . . Head . . . . . 297 Venice . . < I . . Abide With Ds .... . 1 . . . . 305 Old Man's Lament . . . Embury , Schuessele . . . . 308 ceait of Emily C. Jtoson . . 321 Death Jud on . Etching ' tub . . . . . :lJ:s City by the Sea .... Portrait of S. J. Hale . . . . Head . . . . . ;39 Portrait of Margaret . . 345 Life a Temple 1 ' Z r - . . Dan nil. R A. . . 349 Portrait of Amelia B. . . 354 PORTF.AIT OF ANNE C. LYNCH . . Head . . . . Christ Betrayed .... Lynch . . Franklin . . . . 362 Why should we "Weep? . . Lynch Schuessele . . . . 3G6 Portrait of "Edith May" . Furness . . . 169 " Edith .1/ m" Westall, B .1 . . 378 Temples of the Wood . . " Edith May " Schmolze . . . . 381 Portrait of Ann S. Stephens . . Head . . . . . 183 Palestine Alice i 'ary . . 388 The Followers of Christ . Phcebe < 'ar 1 . Roberts . . . . . 393 Lewis . . Sargent . . . . . 402 Portrai i' of Alice 13. Ni \ i. . . 107 Portrait of C. M. Sedgwick Lippincott . . Read . . . . . 417 May Morning JLippincoU . . Weir. . . . . . 420 Portrait of Caroline Lee . . 133 Moore . . Kneller . . . . . 438 The Sleeping Be \lty . . Whitman . . 441 The Stranger's ( Jrave . . Bridges . . 456 The Past . .463 Supremacy of God . . . . Mayo . . . Daniell, R 1 . . 165 The Shadow-Child . . . . . . 471 . . 482 At Last Terry . . . Stephanoff . . . 189 12 I I- l 0] [ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject. Author. Indolence Terry ii)E Idyi Stoddard Marguerite Osgood . Under the Maple .... Osg I The Secret Stowe • .vx ro Sleep" .... Hunt Song of Summer MouUon Wintergreen Bra Ai i er i he I'.atii i: . . . . Hooper . A Year Ago Duffey . Auction L. Davidson Yearnings M. Davidson Rock Weeds Thaxter Designer. Howard, R A < bllins, /■'. A. Wattier . Ilium II Si III,: Schmolze liiiimii . < brbould Clonney Sh nil' Page 195 498 513 517 52 1 534 537 542 550 558 561 576 INTRODUCTION. TO bring together in one illustrious company the most gifted and brilliant women who in two great countries, speaking the same unrivalled language, have tuned their harps to the pure spirit and the vigorous and melodious words which are the heritage alike of America and England ; and to adorn the written verse with fitting illustrations of pictoral art, — these constitute the design of the editor and the publisher in present- ing this magnificent volume to an appreciative public. It is but a short time since that a work similar in character and composition, containing almost entirely poets of the sterner sex, was issued in serial numbers, and it has met with signal favor in all parts of the country. By a now application of the dictum that "it is not good for man to be alone" we have thought it pleasant and proper to give to our "Gallery of Famous Poets" a fitting companion in this "Gallery of Women Famous in Song," and it has been a cheering thought that, apart from the real and great merit which will be found in these pages, they will appeal to that chivalry existing in every gentle heart which delights to honor Woman for herself as well as for her cause. No critical analysis of the contents of this volume is in- tended; in the few pages of an Introduction it would be im- possible. The poems must speak for themselves, and <■■. gentle reader must be his own gentle critic. The selections have been made with great care from such a K 13 1 1 INTRODUCTION. wealth of English and American poetry that the editor has constantly felt the full force of the French phrase, L'embarras de riahesses. What to omit has been a far more difficult ques- tion than what to insert. Many a name, and many a poem worthy to appear and destined to immortality, is of painful necessity excluded from a work of so small a compass. If, then, devoted admirers of some poetesses seek in vain for their favorites, let us declare that this is but one Gallery — a small but brilliant one — of women imbued with the spirit of song and the power of impassioned utterance. For the best of reasons, which will be noticed hereafter, the writers chosen are of the modern period ; as in our other Gallery, we are traversing the same classic ground in gentler company. This volume is thus rather the complement of the former than a supplement to it. The possession of the two gives, distinct as they seem to be, the components of a literary whole. Each is necessary to the completion of the other. < >f the beauties of art which shine from these pages little need be said to those who, running rapidly over this Introduc- tion, will pass at once to the solution of the aesthetic problem — the art interpretation of beautiful poetry. If, as has been justly said by the Latin poet, the eye is a readier receiver than the ear of the beauties of Nature and Art, we have here an appeal to both in intensifying the same scenes. Placed on the same page with the letter-press, poet and artist unite in the same work; thought responds to thought, and the profusion of pictures by the pencil renders the whole work more charming by the variety thus created. In all ages it may be declared without paradox that the artist has been a poet, and the poet an artist. The science of taste as a study is of modern origin, but it goes back for its materials to all periods in the history of literature, and the [NTR0D1 I I CON L5 intimate communion of | try and art, alwa; d ired, but not before subjected to Law, lias now been declared as a practice. The great painter goes to the poel for the idea of his immortal works, and the poel pr< ei mosl clearly depicted to the mind by the pencil. Take as an illustration the most splendid efforts of Dore's wonderful genius, and you find them portraying the celestial visions of the blind Milton or the glories of Tennyson's Arthur to many minds incapable otherwise of rising to the "height of the great argument." In considering the poetesses whose works are here so beauti- fully illustrated, it seems proper to dwell for a brief space upon a question which has long interested ami, it is not too much to say, agitated society. It is a consideration of the rights and the duties of woman in the domain of literature and art, and especially of poetry. Anil, first of all, we observe that this question seems to lie in a larger debatable ground; it is part and parcel of that generic and important question, " The rights of woman," so m»ch dis- cussed in this latest age — the age of greatest enlightenment. There are certain rights demanded by some to which our sub- ject makes it unnecessary to refer. Others are more germain to our purpose, and these we hasten to concede abundantly. To smooth the pillow of sickness; to "sing of heaven beside the dying;" to wipe away the tears of sorrow ami (he clammy dews of death; to nurture! the children of her fravail, training them upward and onward in the paths of truth, honor and hi to soften rude natures and restrain fiery spirits ; to nerve the patriot's arm and mourn his loss ; in a word, to grace this earth and allure to heaven, — such are rights greater than man can appreciate or man bestow, for which he can only pay fervent love and humble gratitude. Can there be greater rights th.in these? 16 INTRODUCTION. But to these let us add the unquestioned right to enter the large domains of science, art and literature; let us point with honor to the names of Mitchell and Somerville in physical sci- ence; of Hosmer and Eosa Bonheur in sculpture and painting, of Hemans, Browning, Ingelow, Maria Brooks, Sigourney, Howe, and a shining throng beyond our space for enumeration, in the fields of poetry; and especially in poetry does woman shine and please. In shady groves, on fragrant meads, by glowing firesides, in the dim religious light of churches, wherever the Muses haunt, behold her instinct with grace and beauty. Force her not, then, into the highways of civic bustle or the forum of party st rites, where there is dust to soil and filth to defile. Nor is there wisdom in instituting a comparison between the intellect of man and woman. It is not a question of greater or less weight, of larger or smaller proportions. It is a question of kind ; they are unlike, and yet each perfect and powerful after its kind. Her finer feelings, her nobler motives are the growth of the heart and home, not of the intellect and the forum. Woman is the divinity of the home — man the ruler in the place of public concourse. One of our own poets has said : " What we most prize in woman Is her affections, nut her intellect ' The intellect is finite, but tin- affections Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. There is indeed something sublime in the contemplation of a great mind rising above its fellows, swaying multitudes, lead- ing armies to victory, ruling nations; and yet how glad is the statesman, the warrior, the monarch, to bring that massive in- tellect, which is his greatest boast, heated and panting from the lNTUnlU CTION. 17 rgles of the arena and the bu < iinlight of his bigb .,,,, to nestle beneath the cool and q ide < palm-lik.' affections, and from that retirement ami repo e to o-ather new vigor for fm are triumphs. The biography of the greal is full of pomp and glitter; this unwritten counterpart I interest and instruction. Among many gifted women who have mistaken the firsl p tulates of the question, Mrs. Browning has been thought by some to have arrayed herself definitely on the side of " worn rights." In her greatest work, Aurora Leigh, she has de- picted the character of a gifted and aspiring woman in such a manner as seems at first glance to warrant the charge. We do not read it so; we find in it a dignified rebuke of imperi- ous man, rather than an undue assertion of woman's claims. In one passage she attacks in a very relentless manner the ordinary occupation of ladies as frivolous in itself indeed, but chiefly as not receiving, perhaps because it does not deserv< . proper return of gratitude and respect from the Lords of crea- tion : "The works of women are symbolical; We sew. sew prick ear fingers, dull our sight ; Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir, To put on when you're weary ; or a stool To tumble over and vex you. . . . ' Purse that stool!' Or else at best a cushion where you ban. And sleep and dream oi omething we are not, But would be i"i your sake. Alas ' This hurt- I this . . . that after all we are paid The worth of onr work, peril i Feeling within herself a ] tic power equal to any poet of the age, male or female, she, more than any other, h id the right to l'efieet bitterly u j >■ -si the common estimat ■■ of woman's literary efforts as set forth in the courteous criticism of the time: F 18 INTK'il'lviliiN. " Expressing the comparative respect. Which means thi ah olute scorn. 'Oh, excellent! What grace! what facile terms ' what fluent sweeps! What delicate discernment, . . . almost thought! The book does honor to the sex, we hold Among our female authors we make room For this fair writer, and congratulate Tie' country that produces in these tines Such women, competent to . . . spell." But how noble her concession, if any concession were needed, at the end ! She had striven long against the noble but imperi- ous B,omney ; she would not share his heart even with his philanthropic schemes; but when he comes to her blind and suffering, needing affection and guidance, how does her heart pour itself out upon him ! How does she rise to the loftiest sentiment of woman and the noblest expression of poetry in the long explanation, concluding with that sunrise at Rome which they witness hand in hand, heart linked with heart, and which is typical of the brighter dawn of heaven — heaven's sun- rise to earth's blindness ! There is no more beautiful descrip- tion in the range of English poetry. She portrays it to the blind man, who could only feel it, so that it was visible to the eye of his soul : "My Romney! Lifting up my hand in his, As wheeled by seeing spirits toward the East, fie turned instinctively, where faint and fair, Along the tingling desert of the sky, Beyond the circle of the conscious hills Were laid, in jasper-stone as clear as glass, The first foundations of that new near day Which should be builded out of heaven to God. He stood a moment with erected brows, In silence as a creature might who gazed : Stood calm, and fed his blind, majestic eyes INTE0D1 . I ION. 19 Qpon the thoughl of perfi ct noon. A.nd u in n I saw Ins soul saw— Ja per first,' I a I 'And second sapphire ; third chalcedony ; The re I i di i la ! . an Mrs. Browning has doue more than any one else to indicate the avenues for woman's efforts in poetry, and to dignify and magnify the noble office which she has assumed. Poetry is intimately associated with whatever is best and most attractive in woman's nature. How often and in how many ways are we charmed by the voice of woman ! How varied its tones and their effects, from the prima donna assoluta, who is the perfection of art, to the mother's plaintive lullaby, which is nothing but nature! There is no music like that of woman's voice. In the social evening there is no charm like her impassioned utterances. In the service of song in the Lord's house no one can render so well as she the wail of the Miserere or the glad notes of the Te Deum. We may recur to the early tune in the classic ages when to sing meant to improvise words and music ; to open one's heart in one's own song ; to warble joyous notes when the heart was happy, or to send forth the soul's real absorbing sorrow in a wailing minor so sad that it could shake the heartstrings of the hearer as the wind-harp is tortured into sound by the sor- rowing breezes of the night. Thought and word and melody came together in mysterious and simultaneous connection. What was a reality remains as an illustration of woman poetry. Our hearts, as we listen, supply a music unheard by other ears, and we read in the thought a spirit which is in harmony with nature and with God : " For wher - ei •■"> Hi rich en ation Sweel music breathes, in wave or bird 01 soul, Tis but the fain! and far reverberai Of thai great tune to which the planets roll." 20 INTRODl CT [ON. It is in a sj ial manner true of woman's poetry thai it is the exponent of her character, the story of her heart and of her life. In each case it presents to us the individual writer — her own faithful Love or delicate fancy or unaccountable caprice — sometimes, but rarely, darker pictures of a saddened history, but always betraying to us unconsciously her own identity; and when the writings of the many are collected they may be considered as displaying general character, so that if we look in the works of the great psychologists for the philosophy of man as a race, that of woman may be further studied with profit in the great volume in which her literary efforts are collected. Illustrations of this view will suggest themselves readily to our readers; and of such this volume is full. And one reason at least is evident. With man, from the ear- liest ages, literature has been a profession. Prophets and bards and scalds had public duty and professional occupation. In later davs laurelled poets have given nobility to their office, and stand in history greater than the monarchs who patronized them. Such were the Gran Padre Alighier, Ariosto, Tasso, Chaucer, Milton, Wordsworth ; such are Tennyson, Longfellow and Whittier. They were and are ] ts by nam.' and profes- sion. They stand before the world each with an innumerable audience, expectant and admiring. They have conspired to create technical standards, and have been obliged to conform to those standards even when trammelled by them. If their greatest works are in a sense inspired, stamped with genius, it is not too much to say that in their voluminous writings there is of necessity much that is mechanical. Thus their strength is allied to weakness. The very fart that poetry has not been an acknowledged calling until a very modern period for woman has given spon- taneity to her efforts and freed them from mechanical shackles. [NTK0D1 CTION. 2] From secluded homes, from the raids) of I "< woman's truest profession -the sisterhood of song have senl forth melodies like those of nature -tones which can no more be restrained than the glad notes of the "busy lark" or the plain- tive sounds of the nightingale. Such can hardly receive the cold measure of technical standards. Often unacquainted with the canons of criticism and unskilled in rhythmic rules, the soul of the poetess bursts forth intuitively with the inspiration of genius, like the incantations of the hidden oracle, to delight and astonish an unexj tant world; the stream flows, incapable of repression, from the smitten ruck; "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." Thus it is that there is no phase of woman's life winch is not presented in her poetry. There are enshrined her truest beauties. There are no descriptions of physical beauty like hers, and surely that is to bo curiously considered which has so often influenced the fate of nations and plays so prominent a part in social life. Bacon has pithily told us in one of his striking essays, "Virl lie is like a rich stone well set, and surely virtue is best in a body that is comely." But when I speak of the true beauty of woman, I refer to that which borrows its charms from mind and heart, and which often so informs the features that beauty glows where symmetry is wanting. Let us refer to some of the elements of this moral beauty. Woman's love is beautiful. She stands beside the altar with the man to whom she lias given herself, soul and body, "until death do them part," and the glance of trust and hope and implicit faith gives a heavenly light to her eve. Brides are proverbially beautiful. ILt first-born nestles to her bosom, and looks with calm wonder into her overflowing eye. She strains him in her arms 22. INTKODUCTION. and bursts forth into a song — " Philip, my king." Is not every young mother beautiful? The love which flows in continual stream from the heart of a daughter or a sister imparts beauty to her face, her s] ch, her life. These tender relations, these mysterious joys, these newborn emotions, glow as nowhere else in the poetry of woman. She is the true minnesinger of the modern world; passion shrinks away abashed at her purity, and love, unstained by earth, seeks to reclaim and rule in her happy realm. Woman's gratitude is a striking element of her moral beauty; and where is that portrayed as it is in her verse? Man, self-reliant and impatient of assistance, would compass his own ends and achieve his own victories, and when the irreparable comes upon him is often ready to sink into the lethargy of despair. Woman has less self-reliance, but greater fortitude. When storms assail and spend their fury upon our lives, when sickness invades the family circle and death threat- ens, her patient endurance shames his boasted courage ; she is then the assuager and the comforter. And when the mercy of God stays the hand of the destroyer and rolls back the por- tentous storm-cloud, no bow of promise made of sunshine and water-drops was ever more beautiful in the sky than are her eloquent tears and smiles of joy — the sunshine and water-drops of the heart, which mark the abating deluge ; no earthly song is sweeter than her low yet heartfelt chant of gratitude for the happy deliverance; it is potent, too, to call down another blessing. "When gratitude o'erflows the swelling heart, And breathes in free and uncorrupted phrase For benefits received, propitious Heaven Takes such acknowledgment as fragrant incense, And doubles all its blessings." [NTR0D1 i DION. -• ' And so, had we time, we mighl continue to liow the reflection in her poetry of her choicesl virtues, which are her tru beauties— her prudence, her discretion, her pity, her con stancy. What charity in the range of humanity is comparable with hers? It is portrayed by the poet in a vision of her sex and in her robes : " Divinely wise, The meek eyed daughter of the skii From the pure fountain of eternal light, Where, fair, immutable and bright, The beatific vision shines." So, too, her faith is alike true and powerful in gladness, in sorrow, in festival and fast. It has presented to sacred art us truesi types, and lias thus commended the old masters to the hearts of men in all apes of Christianity. When, with chastened heart and in humble posture, she kneels before the mercy-seat, imagi- nation beholds a dazzling ray swiftly speeding from the throne of God, through the dark clouds of earth's stormy weather, resting crown-like upon her head, and making her beauty heavenly and divine; and with the streaming light is heard the voice of Him who spake as never man spake: "Woman, great is thy faith; bo it unto thee even as thou wilt." No wonder that she rises to sing for herself and all holy souls,— "Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thi i In each and in all these characteristics of woman her poetry is the emphatic exponent of her heart and life, as a thousand extracts might be quoted to show. But these -would be out of place here, since this volume is intended to give the best and most varied illustrations, and mighl with entire pro- priety have been called an epitome of woman's virtue 24 INTRODUCTION. Nor will it be expected that we should present critical comments of the poems here collected; most of them have ady passed successfully through such an ordeal. A few of the more noted names may, however, be mentioned without disparagement to the rest, as marking the progress of female poetry during the comparatively brief period from the days of its clear recognition to our own time. No work could open with a more honorable and appropriate name than that of Hannah Moke. An elegant lady amid her brilliant social surroundings, an humble Christian in all her teachings and in her own life, a gifted | tess, her precepts, her devotions and her songs have instructed, improved and delighted both hemispheres. No one of her poems claims so good a right to precedence as that wdiich we have placed as an "Inscription " at the entrance-door of our Gallery. It points with graceful index to the varied charms within, and in gentle tones of invitation it bids only proper guests to enter and enjoy its beauties : " Mortals formed of grosser clay, From our haunts keep far away; Or, if you should dare appear, See that you from vice are clear. -: * * Come, ye happy, virtuous few, i ip ( ,i is my bower for you ; You these mossy banks may press You each guardian fay shall bless Of the same spirit are such writers as Mrs. Barbauld, Miss Aikin and Mrs. Opie, whose names are familiar as household words. The excellent portrait of Mrs. Joanna Baillie impresses us half with awe and half with love, with her solemn look from beneath the coif and cap. and indicates the character of [NTBOD1 01 [ON. 25 one who undertook the mo I d S3 nit ] sori- o i i,ge with the most successful results. Mrs. II iwitl nevi r I i - the children, and therefore she is lovingly appreciated by every mother in England and Amei Now she expresses her pity for "Pauper Orphans," now 'tis a chanl to ''Old Christmas" — and what i- Chri tmas without children? — and anon it is a "Swinging Song," which fairly takes our breath away as we read it : "Down with the hoop upon the green, Down with the ringing tambourine; Little heed we for this or for that — Off with th» bonnet, off with the hat; Away we go like birds on the wing! Higher yet! higher yet! 'Now for the king!' This is the way we swing, we swing!" Mrs. Norton is an impassioned writer whose burning words are uttered in the perfection of rhythm. The now of her vei dwells in the memory by the power of its numbers. She rings the chimes of lov.' and hope; she sings the Ranz des Vaehes to the accompaniment of tinkling bells, and the home-sickness of the expatriated Switzer is clearly understood. The checquered life and mournful death of L. E. L. are imaged in her poems, and every cherished relic of her genius causes an unavailing regret that she could not stay to prod i grander and completer things, of which the promise was so abundant. Eliza Cook has her own high rank among her sister | I but she is especially commended to Americans by her true ap- preciation of our own immortal Washington: " Land oi the Wesl ' thou In ii ; thi record of thine a Thou hast a name that darkens all on History's wide p Let all the Musts of fame ring out — thi I Loudest far; Let others boast their satellites — tl ar!" 26 INTR0D1 i I K)N'. And how generous her recognition of our national pride and glory !— "There's a star in the West that shall never go down Till the n cords of valor decay , We must worship its light, though it is not our own, For Liberty burst in its ray." How true and how catholic the picture she draws of Natures Nobleman, whose title exists not in earthly lineage Or by the seal of an earthly monarch, but by letters-patent of Nature, stamped with the signet of Nature's God ! — " His kindred circles all mankind, his country all the globe — An honest name his jewelled star, and truth his ermine robe. ****** He holds the rank no king can give, no station can disgraci Nature puts forth her gentleman, and monarchs must give place." To Mrs. Browning incidental reference has already been made. A casual mention like this is unjust to a fame which equals that of any poet in the prolific Victorian age. She holds her pen with the nervous grasp and wields it with the solid scholarship of a man, and yet she is so very a woman that there is no masculine trait to be found in her writings. She stands alone among her sisters in the vigor of her thought, in the splendor of her imagery, in the boldness with which she has selected her themes. She is the greatest female poet, and one of the greatest poets, without regard to sex, which England has ever produced. The attention of our readers may also well be called to the excellent translations of sacred poems by Catherine Winkworth, extracted from the Lyra Germanica. This pleasing work is a collection of German lyrical devotion for several centuries i \ i p.M CI [ON. -' past, and contains, among other fine poems, several of Luth< noblest hymDS. Geoege Eliot, after having d lighted the world with her original novels, in which she ha steadily risen in excellenc the latest and best— Middl arcfc— has appeared as a poet with equal success, as the charming extracts in tins volume will show. Of the American poets here collected less n* d I ad; they are more familiar to our readers, and where there is no pace for extended criticism it is unnecessary and useless to repeat the list of their honored names. Southey, a great poet and critic, has proclaimed the poetic genius of Mrs. Brooks ("Maria del Occidente") to be of the first order. She is among the most impassioned of our poete and there is nothing more melodious than her lines of love and longing : "Day in melting purple dying, Blossoms all around me sighing, Fragrance from the lilies straying. Zephyrs with my ringlets playing, Ye but waken my distress; I am sick of loneliness " Miss Gould is sparkling and original, and gilds home scenes with a beautiful light. Mrs. Sigonrney's life is written in her poetry, which fills a large space in the literary period of which she was so long an ornament, Mrs. Osgood displays a sensitive woman's heart in her b fal verses, and is one of our chief favorites, because her oul seemed to vibrate the finest and most universal sentiments. There was no phase of humanity which did no1 share her sympathy, from its loftiesl condition to the little children who find so warm a place in her affections and her ] try. And be- 28 INI'Ia'M I I ION. yond the joys of children in happy households she could point them to a happier lot : "A fairer Lome than childhood's home, A fonder love than ours, Await you at your journey's end In heaven's own balmy bowers." The Davidson Sisters are never mentioned without praise of what they wrote, and a regret that such promise was nipped in the bud. Like the twin cherubs of Paulding's "Old Man's Carousal," " They came but to see the first act of the play — Grew tired of the scene, and then both flew away," but they left a song for tender memory, and an example for gifted girls in their devoted lives. ■ Mrs. Hale deserves honorable mention, not only from the ex- cellence of her poems, but because, devoted to literature by taste and culture, it was also her life-work from necessity. By it and by her honorable efforts she maintained her dignity and her independence when she was rudely thrown upon the world by adverse fortune. And here we may stay our mention of the female poets. Of the many others, all are worthy of special consideration: the greater number are living and writing, and we may expect new and beautiful works from their pens. Of those who have fallen asleep, and tune sweeter harps to the worthiest song, let us say they are still ours in what they have left — ours to admire, to love and to bless : "Death like a thin mist comes, yet leaves No shadow mi each name; But as yon starry gems, thai gleam In evening's crystal sky, So have they won in memory's depths An immortality." INTRODUi I [ON. 29 A few words may be properly said m con Lusion as to the inducements offered to female genius a1 the present day, in contrast with the difficulties which have surrounded it in I It 1ms been said thai the age in which we live offers to gifted women the fi«1 untrammelled opportunity for the i i of their genius. Warton tolls us, in his History of i Poetry, that in the time of Queen Elizabeth " the importance of the female character was not yet acknowledged, nor were women admitted into the general commerce of society." It was for a long time alter considered by many beneath them, and by some beyond them, to write, and so the talent lay buried in a napkin. The period with which this volume opens is really that, with a few rare exceptions, in which the gentler sex be \ wi to writ.'. And even from that period until within a few yeai past there have been great obstacles in the way of woman's clear literary recognition. In the days of Pope women were cither the queens and toys of an artificial society, or, as in all ages, household drudges. Those who wrote verses or ventured into the domain of satire and wit were in France Us prerieuses ridicules, so cleverly portrayed by Moliere, and in England they were blue-stockings. The woman of genius was thus sur- rounded by an atmosphere of brilliant opprobrium. The p, ,i was an eccentric character, who in grasping the laurel Lost the charms of womanhood in many eye,-. It is no longer so; that day has gone by for ever. The woman who now possesses " the vision and the faculty divine is crowned with laurel and robed in purple amid the plaudits of all. She adonis her womanho id with acknowledged charms; she bedecks her beauty with immortal amaranth; she .lands among her companions the noblest and be I beloved of them all. 30 INTRODUCTION. And how large is the scope for woman's powers ! How numer- ous the incitements to work the golden vein, so rich, so long un- wrought! It is for her, in an especial manner and with peculiar power, to vindicate her sex, to exalt womanhood, to instruct the young, to restrain with gentleness, to picture bright examples. If the common politics of the day would sully her trailing garments, whenever great crises or questions arise which con- cern our common humanity, it is not too much to say that man's view is incomplete without the expression of woman's intuition. Suffering Italy owes much of the world's sympathy to such strains as burst from the lips of Elizabeth Barrett Browning as she saw pageant and sorrow streaming past the Casa Guidi windows. In a great war no battle-lyrics are sweeter or more stirring than those struck from a woman's lyre; no notes of compassion more touching. There are many themes in which man's logic needs woman's instinctive taste. Of man's power she is often the motive and the gentle guide. The rounded image, the symmetry of proportion, which alone present to us the perfection of the chefs d'ozuvre of world-re- nowned sculpture, are secured by the double view of the stereo- scope, portraying not only a complete picture, but a wonderful relief. This is eminently true of poetry as well as sculptured art. Or, to vary the image, in architecture the massive walls, the stately column, the ponderous dome may be hewn and chiselled, and fitted stone to stone and part to part ; they may be placed in position by muscular force, until the whole astonishes by its strength and awes by its majesty. Such is man's poetry at its best. The exquisite ornaments, the twining wreaths, the deli- cate cornice, the exuberant friezes represent woman's work, ami give beauty and delicacy to the poetry of the age. [INTRODUCTION. 31 If these things I"- 30, if such are the inducements offered to female efforts, what may we nol have the right to expect in I future from our fair countrywomen in the domain of poetry? They have the freedom oi Parnassus — unqu ;h1 to consult the Delphian oracle at n precipitous ba e. [n I .'1 of satirical sneers or faint praise, they are now received with wel- come plaudits, and the scope of their Muse is as wide as the world in its marvellous progress. History, legend, romantic tradition are open to them as before, but a more inviting field spreads around them in the colossal growth and vast resour of our country. Nature and art, morals and mann rs, off r a thousand new themes. New avenues of charity broaden into the largest philanthropy. Religion demands their aid in the dens of misery and crime, and in the plains of our rapidly-growing W There are evils to be uprooted, sorrows to 1"' as uaged, starving men to be fed with the golden grain of the furrow and with the Bread of Life. It is for woman to raise her voice . and harmonious, with the Christmas bells, to Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times. . . . " Ring out false pride in place and Mood, The civic slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of gi " Ring' out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring nut the thi ad i ars of old, Ring in the thousand yean oi pi ao "Ring in the valiant man and free, The largei heart thi kindliei band ; Ring out the dai i the land — Ring in the ( 'hrist that ie to be !" 32 INTRODUCTION. And when that millennial Christmas of the poet's vision shall indeed appear, the holy singing-women of all the ages shall be found, a shining band, responding to the angelic choir, that God's glory is complete on earth as in heaven, that peace en- compasses the world, and that good-will reigns among men from the rising to the setting sun. H. 0. Univeksity Place, South Bethlehem. ( ^?/7h<5z^ HANNAH MORE. [ASCRIPTION. A.iey spirits, you who love Cooling bower or shady grove; Streams thai murmur as they flow, Zephyrs bland thai softly blow; S3 :'. I HANNAH M< bo, or the I e lorn nightingale ; Hither, airy spirits, come, This "is your peculiar home. If you lov i \ erclant glade, If you loye a noontide shade, Hither, sylphs and fairies, ily. ! 1 1 - .1 . ■ -■ . ■ t - \ ed of earthly * ye. Come and wander every night By the i am's glimmering light; And again at earl) day Brush tlie silver dews away. Mark where first the daisies blow, Where the bluesl violets grow : Where the sweetest linnet sine's, Where the earliesl cowslip sprm Where the largesl acorn lies. Precious in a fairy's eyes; Sylphs, though unconfined to place, Love to fill an acorn's spa< < !ome, and mark within what bush Builds the blackbird or the thrush ; ( rreat his joy who first espies, ( rreater his who spares the prizi and watch the hallowed bower, Cha e the insect horn t he flower ; Little oiliees like tii I j-ent le souls and fairies please. [NS< • / ■- i Mortals formed of grosser clay, Prom our baunts I away ; i ),-. if you should dare a] See ili.it you from \ ii e are cL u Folly's miniou, fashion's fo Mad ambition's restless tool ; Slave of passion, slave of power, Fly, ah, fly, this tranquil bower. Son ol < a . "ill of fro Wretcb ! of Eeaven abhorred the most, Learn to pity others' wants. Or avoid these ballowed haunts. Eye unconscious of a b ear When affliction's train appear Heart that never beaved a sigh For another, come not nigh. But, ye darling sons of Heaven, Giving freely what was giv a You whose liberal bands dispense The bl of benevolence ; You, who wipe tb ; 1 eye, You, who stop the rising sigh ; You, whose souls have under The luxury of doin Come, ye bappy virtuous I i i|„ i, i my bower to you; Yo mossy banks may press ; You . dian fay shal 36 HANNAH MORE. ODE TO CHARITY. Charity, divinely wise, Thou meek-eyed Daughter of the skies! From the pure fountain of eternal light, Where fair, immutable, and ever bright, The beatific vision shines, Where angel with archangel joins. In choral songs to sing His praise, Parent of Life, Ancient of Days, Who was ere Time existed, and shall be Through the wide round of vast eternity, Oh come, thy warm celestial beams impart, Enlarge my feelings and expand my heart ! ODE TO CHARITY. '■'> , Descend from radiant realms above, Thou effluence of thai boundless love Whence joy and peace in streams unsullied How, Oh deign to make thy loved al low ! Though sweeter strains adorned my tongue Than sainl conceived o b sung, And though my glowing fancy caught Whatever Arl or Nature taught, Yet if this hard, unfeeling heart of mine Ne'er felt thy force, U Charity di IY11H An empty shadow Science would be found: My knowledge, ignorance, my wit a sound. Though my prophetic spirit knew To bring futurity to view, Without thine aid e'en this would naught avail, For tongues shall cease, and prophecies shall fail. Come, then, thou sweet immortal guest, Shed thy soft influence o'er my breasl Bring with thee Faith, divinely bright, And Hope, fair harbinger of light, To clear each mist with their pervading ray. To tit my soul for heaven, and point the v, There perfect Happiness her sway maintains; For there the Cod of Peace for ever reigns. L HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. SONG. Ah, Evan, by thy winding stream How once I loved to stray. And view the morning's reddening beam, Or charm of closing day ;-;> SONG. 39 To \ - i I i] Evan's Eow oft my steps were led, \\ here far beneat li the waters Ami thick i In are spread But I no more a charm can -■ In Evan's lovely glade And drear and desolate to me Are those enchanting shades. While far — how far.! — from Evan's bowers My wandering lover flies, Where dark the angry tempi I lowers, And high tin' billows rise. I oh, where'er the wanderer goes, Is thai poor mourner dear Willi gives, while soft the Ev;lll floWS, Each passing wave a tear ' And ilees he now that grotto view'.' * in i hose steep banks still gaze? hi fancj do still pursue The Evan's lovelv maze? ( )h come ! repass th < >h toil for gold ii' Our love a d ( »n Evan's peaceful -here. LO mux \i \i;ia w ii u wis. I ii ,i\ i up breaking hear! to mourn Tin o long denied ; \ii soon I" those green banks return, Where Evan meets the Clj HABITUAL DEVOTION. While Thee I seek, protecting Power! Be my vain wishes stilled ; Ami may this consecrated hour With better hopes be filled. Thy love the powers of thought bestowed; To Thee my thoughts would soar; Thv mercy o'er my life lias flowed: That merry I adore. In each event of life how cleai Thy ruling hand I Each blessing to my soul more dear, Because conferred l>v Thee In every joy that crowns my days, In ■ pain T bear, My heart shall find delight in prai ( >r seek relief in prayer. HABITUA] DEVOTION. II When gladness wings my favored hour, Thy love my thoughts shall till : Resigm d, when storms of sorrow lower, My soul shall meet thy will. My lifted eye without a tear The lowering storm shall see ; My steadfasl heart shall know no fear; That heart will resl "ii Thee ' m ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. ODE TO SPRING. Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire, Hoar Winter's 'blooming child, delightful Spring! Whose unshorn locks with leaves And swelling buds are crowned ; From the green islands ol eternal youth, Crowned with fresh blooms and ever-springing shade, Turn, hither turn thy step; thou whose powerful voire. More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed, Or Lvdian flute, can soothe the madding winds, And through the stormy deep Breathe thine own tender calm. Thee, best beloved !" the virgin train await, With songs and festal rites, and joy to rove Thy blooming wilds among, And vales and dewy lawns. 42 i:; Willi untired feet; ami cull thy earliest sweets To weave fresh garlands for tin- glowing brow Of him, the favored youth, That proi upts thei ir wnisper red sigh. Unlock thy copious stores; those tinder showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds, And silent 'lews thai -well The milky ear's green stem. 1 I ANNA LETITIA BAEBAI I D. And Peed the flowerii i >ots : . \inl i ■<• winds which through the whispering b With v. breath Salute the Mow Now lei nil- sit beneath the whitening thorn, And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale; And watch with patient i Thy fair unfolding charms. nymph! approach, while yet the temperate sun With bashful forehead, through the cool moist air Throws ing maiden beams, And with chaste kisses woos The earth's fair bosom ; while the stn aming veil Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade, Protects thy modesl blooms From his ■ blaze. Sweet is thy reign, but short: the red dog-star 11 scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe Thy greens; thy flow'rets all, Remorsi roy. Reluctant shall I bid thee, then, farewell : For oh ! not all that Autumn's lap contains, Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits, i aught for thee atone. hymn roc Fair Spring ! w\h ire deli Than all their lara;es1 wealth, and earl Each joy an I new born in With ■ influence breal . ■ HYMN TO CONTENT. thou ! the nymph with placid eyi * I seldom found I ti i i\ i my temperate \ ow : 16 ANNA I.I ; 111! A BARBAULD. Nbl ,ill tlie storms thai shake the pole ( '.in e'er disturb thy halcyon - And smooth, unaltered brow. ( )h come, in simple \ esl arrayed, With all thy sober cheer displayed, To bless my longing sighl ; Thy mien composed, thy even pace, Thy meek regard, thy matron grace, And chaste, subdued delight. '-■ No more bj various passions beat, Oh gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermil cell ; Where in some pure and equal sky, Beneath thy soft indulgent eye The modest virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And Innocence with candid breast, And clear, undaunted ej e . And Eope, who points to distant years, Fair opening through the vale of (ears A vista to the sky. There Eealth, through whose calm bosom glide The temperate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow ; And I 'alienee there, thy sister meek, Presents her mild, unvarying cheek To meet the offered blow. HYMN I a NT. 17 1 [er influence taught the I '1 > i . ige _ A tyrant master s warn With settled smiles to meet ; Inured t" i««il and bitter bread, lie bowed Ins meek submitted head. And kissed thy sainted feet. But thou. nymph, retired and coy, In what brown hamlet dosl thou joy To tell thy tender tale? The lowliest children of the ground, Moss-rose and violet, blossom round, And lily of the vale. Oh say. what suit propitious hour I best may choose to hail thy power, And court t hy gentle sway ? "When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thine own modest tints diffuse, And shed thy milder day? — When Eve, Iter dewy star beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, And every storm is laid ? If such an hour was e'er thy choice, Ofl lot me hear thy soothing voice Low whispering in tin' shade. 18 ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. ON THE DEITY. r read God's awful name emblazoned high Willi golden letters on the illumined sky; Nor less the mystic characters T see Wrought in eaeh flower, inscribed on every tree; lu every leaf that trembles to the breeze 1 hear the voice of God among the lives. With Thee in shady solitudes 1 walk. With Thee in busy, crowded cities talk; In every creature own Thy forming power, Tn each event Thy providence adore. Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul. Thy precepts guide me and Thy fear control; Thus shall I rest, unmoved by all alarm-. Secure within the temple of Thine arms; From anxious can-, from gloomy terror- free. And feel myself omnipotent in Thee. Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh, And earth recedes before my swimming eye; When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate I stand, and stretch my view to either stati — Teach me to quit this transitory scene With decent triumph and a look serene: Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high, And having lived to Thee, in Thee to die. y^y^t^u^^ JOANNA BAILLIE. TO A CHILD. Whose imp art fchou, with dimpled cheek, Ami curly pate and merry eye And arm and shoulder round and sleek, And soft and fair? — thou urchin sly! 1 I 40 50 \ i l.i.i k. What boots i1 who with sweet can Pirsl called thee his — or sq Since thou in every wight that p •i ist now a friendlj playmate find. Thy downcast glances, grave but cunning, As fringed eyelids rise and fall : Thy sliyness swiftly from me running, 1- infantine coquetry all. But far afield thou hast not ilown ; With mocks and threats, half-lisped, half-spoken, I feel thee pulling at my gown, ( If right good will thy simple token. And thou must laugh and wrestle too, A mimic warfare with me waging; To make, as wily lovers do, Thy after-kindness more engaging. The wilding rose, sweet as thyself. And new-crop1 daisies are thy treasure; I'd gladly part with worldly pelf To taste again thy youthful pleasure. But yet for all thy merry look, Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook, Thy weary spell or horn-book thumbing. \ fim.K 5] Well, lei it be ! eal and woe, rhou know'sl uoi qow thy future i Life is a motlej shifting sh And thou a thing of hope and change. 52 JOANNA I'.A I I.T.IK. THE GRAVE OP COLUMBUS. Silence, solemn, awful, deep, Doth in that hall of death her empire keep. Save when at times the hollow pavement, smote By solitary wanderer's foot, amain From lofty dome and arch and isle remote, A circling loud response receives again. The stranger starts to hear the growing sound. And sees the blazoned trophies waving near: "Ha! tread tny feet so near that sacred ground?' He stops and hows his head: " Colnmbus resteth here !" Some ardent youth, perhaps, ere from his home He launch his venturous bark, will hither come; Bead fondly o'er and o'er Ins graven name, With feelings keenly touched, with heart of (lame, Till, wrapped in Fancy's wild delusive dream. Tunes past and long forgotten present seem; To his charmed ear the east wind rising shrill, Seems through the hero's shroud to whistle still. The clock's deep pendulum, swinging, through the blast Sounds like tin- rocking of the lofty mast. While fitful gusts rave like his clamorous band, Mixed with the accents of his high command. Slowly the stripling quits the pensive scene, And burns and sighs and weeps to he what he has been. I Hi, who shall lightly say that fame Is nothing hut an empty name, A\ hilst in that sound there is a charm The nerves to brace, the heart to warm. 111K GRAVE "i COU : A.S, thinking of the mi ad, The young from slothful couch will start, Ami vow, with lifted bands outspread, Like them to ad a noble pari '.' t >li. who shall lightly say thai fame I- nothing bui an empty name, When but for those our mighty dead All ages past a blank would 1"'. Sunk in oblivion's murky bed, A deserl bare, a shipless sea ? They are the distanl objects seen, The lofty marks of what hath been. Oh, who shall lightly say thai fame Is nothing but an empty name, When memory of the mighty dead, To earth-worn pilgrims' wistful eye, The brightest rays of cheering shed That point to immortality? A twinkling speck, but fixed and bright, To guide us through the dreary night, Each hero shines, and lures the soul To gain the distanl happy goal. For is there one who, musing o'er the grave Where lies interred the good, the wis.', the brave Can poorly think beneath the mouldering heap Thai noble being shall for ever sleep? "No!" saith the generous heart, and proudly swells. "Though his cered corpse lies here, with God his sp dwells. ' i" 54 juanna baillie. 9HhBHBHH A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT. Now in thy dazzled, half-oped eye, Thy curled aose and lip awry, Uphoistcil arms ami noddling head, Ami little chin with crystal spread, Poor helpless thing! what do I see That I should sins of thee? Prom thy pour tongue no accents come, Which can but rub thy toothless gum; Small understanding boasts thy face; Thy shapeless limbs uor step nor grace; A MOTHER DO 111 i; \\ UCING i\ i \ 55 A few shorl words thy feats may tell ; Ami yei 1 love thee well When wakes the sudden bitter shriek, Ami redder swells thy little cheek ; \\ ben rattled keys ili\ woe bej uile, Ami through thy eyelids gleams the smile; Si ill for thy weakl) self is spenl Thy little silly plaint. But when thy friends are in distress, Thou'lt laugh and chuckle ne'ertheless ; Nor with kind sympathy be smitten, Though all are sad bul thee and kitten. Yet, puny varlet thai thou art, Thou twitchesl at the heart. Thv smooth round cheek so soft and warm; Thy pinky hand and dimpled arm ; Thy silken locks thai scantly peep, With gold-tipped ends, where circles deep Around thv nock in harmless grace So -oil and sleekly hold their place, Might harder hearts with kindness fill, Ami gain our righl good will. Each passing clown bestows his blessing, Thy mouth is worn with old wives' kissing; I ■'. en lighter looks the gl iv ■ ( >f surl} i when thou art by : And ye1 I think, whoe'er they be, ■ They love I lee nol like me. 56 tOANNA BAILLIE. Perhaps when time shall add a few Shorl months to thee, thou'11 love me too; Ami after that, through life's long way. Become my .sure and cheering stay ; Wilt care for me and be my hold When I am weak and old. Thou'lt listen to my lengthened tale, And pity me when 1 am frail : But see! the sweepy, swimming % Upon the window takes thine < Go i" thy little senseless play ; Thou dost not heed my lay. A. A . A^-O MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. THE VOICE OF PRAISE. There is a voice of magic power To charm the old, delighl the young : In lordly ball, in rustic bower, In every clime, in every tongue : Q 58 MAKY RUSSELL MITFORD. Howe'cr its sweel vibration rung, In whispers low, in po< I s lays, There lives Dot one who bas nol bung Enraptured <>u the voice ot praise. The timid child at that soft voice Lifts f.r a moment's space the eye It bids the fluttering beari rejoice, Ami stays the step prepared to fly. 'Tis pleasure breathes thai short quick sigh, Ami flushes o'er that rosy lace; Whilst shame ami infant modesty Shrink hack with hesitating grace. The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek At that sweet voire still deeper glows; Her quivering lips in vain would seek To hide the Miss her eyes disclose; The charm her sweet contusion shows Oft springs from some low hroken word. Praise! to her how sweetly flows Thine accent from the loved one heard! The hero, when a people s voice Proclaims their darling victor near — ■ Feels he not then his soul rejoice The shouts of love, of praise, to bear Yes: fame to generous minds is dear, It pierces to their inmost core; He weeps who never shed a tear He trembles who ne'er shook before. THE VOICE 01 PRAISE. 59 The poet, too — ah ! well 1 deem Small is the need the tale to tell ; Who knows not that his thought, Lis dream, On thee at noon, al midnight, dwell '.' Who knows not thai thy magic spell < '.-in charm his every care away '.' In memory cheer bis gloomy cell; In hope can lend a deathless lay? "lis sweet to watch Affection's eye; To mark the tear with love replete; To feel the softly-breathing sigh, When Friendship's lips the tones repeat. But oh! a thousand times more sweet The praise of those we love to hear! Like balmy showers in summer beat, It falls upon the greedy ear. The lover lulls his rankling wound Bv dwelling on his fair ones name: The mother listens for the sound Of her young warrior's growing fame. Thy voice can soothe the mourning dame, Of her soul's wedded partner riven, Who cherishes the hallowed flame, Parted on earth, to meel in hea\ en ! That voice can quiel passion s m I. ( 'an humble merit raise on high : And from the wise, and from the good, It breathes of immortalitv. 60 MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. There is a lip, there is an eye, Where mos1 I love to see il shine, To hear it speak, to fee] n sigb : My mother! need 1 say 'tis thine? ON A PICTURE OF JERUSALEM AT THE TIME OF THE CRUCIFIXION. Jerusalem ! and at the fatal hour ! No Deed of dull and frivolous question here. No need of human agents to make clear The most tremendous act of human power. The distant cross; the rent and fallen tower; The opening graves, from which the dead uprear Their buried forms; the elemental fear, When horrid light and horrid darkness lower; All tell the holy tale: the mystery And solace of our souls. Awestruck we gaze On this so mute yet eloquent history. Awestruck and sad, at length our eyes we raise To go; yet oft return that scene to see, Too full of the great theme to think of praise. AKT1G0 6J ANTIGONE. 'Twas iinmi ; beneath i be ardenl ray Proud Thebes in all her glory lay; On pillared porch, on marble wall, On temple, portico and hall, The summer sunbeams eayly tall ; 62 MARY l:i SSELL MITFORD. Bathing, as in a flood of light, Each sculptured frieze and column bright. Dirce's pure stream meanders there, A silver mirror clear and fair ; Now giving back the deep blue sky, Ami now the city proud and high, Ami now the sacred gro\ e ; And sometimes on its wave a shade Making the light more lovely, played, When some close-brooding dove Flew from her nesi on rapid wing, For needful food across the spring, ( >r sought her home of love. The very air in thai calm hour Si emed trembling with the conscious powi < )f its own balminess ; The herbage, if by light fool pressed, Sent up sweel odors from its breast. Sure, it' coy Happiness E'er dwelt on earth, 'twas in that clime * >f beauty, in that noonday prime Of thrilling pleasantness ! But who are they before the gate < If Thebes convened in silent slate ? Sad, gray-haired men. with Ionics bowed down, Slaves to a tyrant's haughty frown; And he the wicked king, and she The royal maid Antigone, Passing to death. A while she laid Her clasped hands on her heart, and staved \ Y! [GONE. Ber firmer step, as if to '■ On tlif lair world which she forsook ; And then the sunt* < n ber fai Fell, as "ii sculptured Nymph or < rra< Lighting her features with a glow Thai seemed to mock their patienl w< She stayed her onward step, and si A moment's space ; oh, whal a flood ( )f recollected anguish stole [n that brief momenl o'er her soul ! The concentrated grief of years, The mystery, horror, guill and tears, The story of her life passed by, E'en m the heaving "l a sigh 8] , thoughl upon the blissful I ( if infancy, when, as a flower gel in the sun. she grew, Without a fear, without a care. Enjoying, innooenl and fair. As buoyant as the mountain air. V-. i^u',' as morning dew : Till bursl al once like lightning's flame, The tale we tremble bu1 to name. ( If them from whom her being came. Poor * Edipus, and one, The wretched vel urn i dame, Who wedded with her son ' Then horror fasl on horror rose : She maddening died beneath her v 63 64 MARY RUSSE1 l Ml rFORD. Whilst, crownless, ■ 3, hopeless, he I lared to outlive thai agony. Through many a trackless path and wild, The blind man and his duteous child Wandered, till pitying Theseus gave The shelter brief, the mystic -rave One weary heart finds rest at last. But when to Thebi • the maiden passed, The god's stem wrath was thi Her brothers each by other slain. And one upon the bloody plain Left festering in the sun ami rain. Tainting the very air. For none, the haughty < Ireon said. On pain of death should yield the dead Burial, or tear or sigh : And, for alone she feebly strove To pay the decent rites of love, Che pious maid must die. She paused, and in that moment rose As m a mirror all her wo She spake; the flush across her cheek Told of the woe she would not speak, As a brief thought of Hsemon stole With bitter love across her soul: "I die; and what is death to me But freedom from long misery? Joyful to fall before my time. I die ; ami, tyrant, hear my crime : I did hut strive his liml>s to shield From the gaunt prowlers of the field ; AJS T TIGONE 65 T did but weave as Nat A shroud of grass and moss and leavi I did bul scatter dusl to dust, As desert wind on marble bust ; I did bul as the patienl wren Ami the bind redbreast '1" for men. 1 die : ami what is death in mi But tremble in thy tyranny, Tyrant ! and ye, base - : oi power, Tremble at freedom's coming hour! I clio, and death is bliss to me. Then, with a step erect and fr With brow upraised and even breath, The royal virgin passed to death. 66 MARY Rl — III. MTTi THE CHARM. (FROM THE "RIVAL SISTERS Tt was not beauty; for, in very truth, No symmetry of features decked the maid; Was it the vivid blush of early youth? The Hebe lip whose ehangeful dimples played ; The flaxen lochs, whose crisped ringlets strayed Over blue dove-like eyes serene and mild; The rose-tipped fingers that her toil betrayed ; The rounded form luxuriantly mild, Of summer graces full, the lace so like a child? Or was it the expression, calm and even, Which tells of hlest inhabitants within; A look as tranquil as the summer heaven : A smile that cannot light a face of sin ; A sweetness so composed that passion's din Its lair unruffled brow has never moved ; Beauty, not of the features, nor the skin. But of the soul: a loveliness best proved By one unerring test — no sooner seen than loved'.' LUCY A 1 K 1 X . ARABIA. O'eb Arabia's the fire, one winter night, The farmer s rosy children sat ; The fagot lent its blazing light, And jokes went round, and careless chat. When, hark ! a gentle hand they hear Low tapping at the bolted door; And thus to gain their willing ear, A feeble voice was heard to implore : Till BEGG \i: MAX. 69 " Cold blows the bias! across the moor : The sleel drives hissing in the wind : >. on toilsome mountain fore ; A dreary, treeless waste behind "My eyes are weak ami dun with age; \<> road, ii" path, can I descry ; Ami these | r rags ill stand tin' rage ' >f such a keen, inclemenl sky. "So fainl 1 am, these tottering feel No more my feeble frame can bear; Mv sinking heart forgets to beat, And drifting snows mv tomb prepare. " ( )pen your hospitable door, And shield me from tin- biting blasl t '.ild. cold it blows across the moor, The weary i r that 1 have passed ' With hasty step the farmer ran. And close beside tin' fire they place The poor half-frozen beggar man. With shaking limbs ami pallid face. The little children flocking came. Ami warmed in- stiffening bands in theirs; Ami busily the good "Id dame A c mi table mess pr p i 70 LUCY AIKIN. Their kindness cheered his drooping soul; Ami slowly down his wrinkled cheek The big round tears were seen to roll, And told the thanks he could nol speak. The children, too, began to sigh, Ami all their merry chat was o'er; And yet they felt, they knew not why, More glad than they had done before. AMELIA OP IE. EYMK There's nol a leaf within tbe bower; Tbere 3 aol a bird upon tbe tree ; Tbere's not a dewdrop on tbe flower, But bears tbe impress, Lord, of Tl Thy band tbe varied leaf designed, And gave tbe bird its thrilling to Thy power the dewdrop's tints combined, Till like a diamond's blaze they shone. Yes: dewdrops, leaves, and birds and all, The smallest like the greatesl things; The son's va-t space, the earth's wide ball, Alike proclaim Thee King of kings. Bui man alone to bounteous Beaven Thanksgiving's ious -train-: can To favored man alone '1 is given To join tbe angelic choir in praise. 72 AMKL1A OPIE. SONG. Go, youth beloved, in distanl glade New friends, new hopes, new joys to find Yet sometimes deign, 'midst fairer maids, To think on her thou leav'st behind. Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to share, Must never be my happy lot; But thou mayst grani this humble prayer — Forget me not, forget me not. Too painful be, Eeed no Nor ever deign to thin! on me. Bui oh ! it' grief thy sto end, If want, if sickness be thy lot, And thou require .1 end, Forgel me m il , E >rgei me noi ! REMEMBRANCE. Wiii.i:] '1:1: 1 stray, tho 1 r d< parti I see th.3 form, thy voice I seem And though thou arl to brighter regions s Thy smile still charms my eye, thy tones Whene'er adown thy favorite walk 1 go, Still, still I feel the pressure ol And oh ! so > t illusio 1 shun, 1 loathe whatever ! 1 harm. In vain I'm urged to join the social scene This silenl shade alone has chai 1 me ; I love to be where 1 with thee have fo And heme, though desol; full of 1 71 AMELIA OPI] A LAMENT. There was an eye whose partial glance Could ne'er my numerous tailings see; There was an ear thai heard untired When others spoke in praise of me. A I. AMI ''' There was a bearl time onlj taughl With warmer Love for mi to burn ; .\ hearl whene'er from borne I roved, Which fondly pined for my return. There was a lip which always breathed E'en short farewells in tones of sadness; There was a voice whose eager sound My welcome spoke with beartfell gladness. There was a mind whose vigorous power On mine it- own effulgence threw, And called my humble talents forth, While thence Us dearest joys it drew. Then' was a Love which for my v, With anxious fears would overflow; Which wept, which prayed for me, and sought From future ills to guard. Bui n-v, ! That eye is closed, and deaf that ear, That lip and voice are mute for ever; And cold that beart of anxious love, Which death alone from mine could sever; i And Lost to me that ardent mind Which loved my various tasks to And oh 1 of all the prai e 1 gained, His was the dearest far to me. Now I. unloved, ancheered, ah Life's dreary wilderness must tread, 76 AMELIA OPIE. Till Ee wl broken heart In mercy bids me join the dead. . < ) Thou who from thy throne on high Canst heed the mourner's deep distress! i ) Thou who hear'sl the widow's cry, Thou, Father of the fatherless! — Though now 1 am a faded leaf, That's severed from its parent tree And thrown upon a stormy tide, Life's awful tide that leads to Thee! — Still, gracious Lord, the voice of praise Shall spring spontaneous from my breast ; Since, though I tread a weary way, I trust that he I mourn is blest. ANN RADCLIFFE. TO THE WINDS. Viewless, through beaven's vasl vault your course ye steer, Unknown from whence ye come, or whil Mysterious powers ' 1 bear yon murmur low, Till swells your loud gusl on my startled eai And. awful, seems to say, "Some god is near! \ ?7 i 8 ANN i:\lxl l I Love tn list your midnight voices | ! In the dread storm thai o'er the o i lis, A.nd while their charm the angry w.i Mix with its sullen roar and sink re te. Then, rising in the pause a sweeter no The dirge of spirits, who your deeds bewail, A sweeter note oft swells while sweeps the gale. But soon, '. i powers ! your rest is o er, Solemn and slow ye rise upon the air, Speak in the shrouds, and bid the sea-boy fear, Ami the faint>warbled dirge is heard no more! Oh, then I deprecate your awful reign ! The loud lament yet bear not on your breath; Bear not the crash of bark far on the main, Bear not the cry of men who cry in vain, The crew's dread chorus sinking into death. Oh give not these, ye powers! I ask alone, A.s rapt I climb these dark, romantic steeps, The elemental war, the billow's mo 1 ask the still, sweet tear that listening Fancy weep-. oi' A SPIRIT. BONG OF A 'SPIRIT. j N t!, i 3s air I dwell, ( ) u the i ' " mbeams play ; Delve the cavern's inmosi cell, Where aev< r ye1 did daylighl stray. I dive beneath the green sea waves, ,1 gambol in the briny deeps ; Skim every shore thai Neptune la< 1-, . .in Lapland's plains to [ndia's steep . ( >it I niounl with rapid force, Ahove tli- wide earth's ry zone; Follow the day star's' flaming i oui Through realms of space to thought unknown And listen to celestial sounds That swell in air, unb ard of im Q, A.s J watch my nightlj < i'er woody steep and silenl glen. Under the shade of waving tn < i D tli- green bant "I' fountain clear, Ai pi e I sil a1 While cean scai ce i beard to lave, For in" the sea nymphs softly play Their dulcet shells beneath the wave. Their dulcet shells! — I hear them now; Slow swells the strain upon mine i Now faintly falls, now warbles low, Till rapture melts into a tear. The ray that silvers o'er the dew. Ami trembles through the leafy shade, And tints the scene with softer hue, t 'alls me to rove the lonely glade ; Or hie me to some ruined tower. Faintly shewn by moonlight gleam, When the lone wanderer owns my power. In shadows dire that substance seem ; In thrilling sounds that murmur woe. And pausing silence make more dread ; In music breathing from below Sad, solemn strains that wake the dead. Unseen I move, unknown am feared ; Fancy's wildest dreams I weave: And oft by hards my voire is heard To die along the gales of eve. MARY HOW I TT. PAUPER ORPHANS They never knew whal 'twas to piny. Withoul control the long, long day, Tn wood and field a1 will : 81 82 m\i;y sowitt. Thev knew qo tree, ao bird, no bud, The} go1 no strawberries from the wood, No wild thyme from the hill. They played aol on a mother's floor : They toiled amidst the 1mm and roar Of bobbins and of wheels ; The air they drew was not the mild Bounty of Nature, but denied ; Ami scanty were their meals Their lives can know no passing joy; Dwindled and dwarfed are girl and hoy, And even in childhood old; With hollow eye and anxious air, As if a heavy grasping care Their spirits did infold. Their limbs are swollen, their bodies bent, And worse, no noble sentiment Their darkened minds pervade; Feeble and blemished by disea Nothing their marble hearts can pie: But doings that degrade. Oh, hapless heirs of want and . What hope of comfort can they know'.' Them man and law condemn ; OLD CHRISTMAS. They have no guide to lead them Darkness they have aol known from 1 Heaven be a friend to tb OLD ell I! 1ST MAS. Now be who knows old Christmas, 11. knows a carle of wortb ; -For he is as I : > fellow As any upon the earth. 84 MAB"5 EOWITT. He c es warm cloaked and coated, \ikI buttoned up to the chin, And soon as he comes a-nigh the door We open and Lei him in. We know that he will not fail us, So we sweep the hearth up clean; We sel him in the old armed chair, And a cushion whereon tu lean. And with sprigs of holly and ivy We make the house look gay, Just out of an old regard to him, For it was his ancient way. We broach the strong ale-barrel, And bring out wine and meal ; And thus have all things ready Our dear old friend to greet. And soon the time wears round, The good old carle we sec. Coming a near; for a creditor Less punctual is than he. lie comes with a cordial voice That des one good to hear: He shakes one heartily by the hand, As he hath done many a year. DMAS. Ami after the Ii1 dren Be asks in a cheerful ton< — Jack, Kate, and little Annie, He remembers them every on< . Wha1 a fine old fellow be is ! With his faculties all as cL ar, And In- bearl as warm and light, As a man in bis fori ietb year ! 'What a fine old fellow, in troth ! \<>t one of your griping elves, Who, with plenty of money i>> spare, Think only aboul themseh No1 ! or he loveth the children, And holidaj begs for all ; And comes with his pockets full of gifts For the greal ones and the small. With a presenl for every servant — For in giving he doth nol tire — From the red faced, ji ivial butler To the girl by the kitchen fin And tells us witty old stories, And singeth with rnighl and n And we talk of ain. 86 MAEl BOWITT. i i|i, be i .1 kind old fellow ! For though that beef be dear, He giveth the parish paupers A good dinner once a year. And all tin' workhouse children, He sets them down in a ro\* . Ami giveth them rare plum-pudding, And two-pence apiece also. Oh, could you have seen those paupers, Have heard those children young, You would wish with them that Christmas Came oft and tarried lung ! He must lie a rich old fellow : What money he gives away ! There is nut a lord in England Could equal him any day. Good luck unto old Christmas, And long life, let us sing, For he doth more good unto the poor Than many a crowned king. A S'W [NGING 301 s 7 A SWINGING SON Meeei ii i- 'iii a summer's day All through the meadows !<> wend away; I'- watch the brooks glide fasl or slow, Ami the little 6sh twinkle down below; To hear the lark in the blue sky sing; ure 'i!< iugh 't is a tnerrj thing, Bui 'tis merrier far 1" -win-- — to swinj Merry it is on a winter s nighl . To listen (<■ tab - ol elf and sprite : Of caves and castles so dim and old. Tin- dismallesl tales thai ever \\. re told : And then t<> laugh, ami then to sine;. You may take my word, is a merry thin But 'tis merrier far to swing — to swii I >own witli the boop upon ike green ' I 'own with the ringing tambourine ' kittle heed we for this or for that ; ( Iff with the bonnet, oil' with the ha1 ' Away we go like birds on the wing! Higher yet! higher yet! "Now for the king!' Tie IS ike way We swill'i We -v Scarcely the bough bem i ligkl : Mounl up behind bim ; there ' that is right. 88 \i.\i:y aowiTT. Down bends tin- branch now; swing him away, I [igher ye1 ! higher ye1 ! higher, 1 say ! Oh, whal a joy it is ! Now Lei us sing, "A pear for the queen, an apple for the king!" And shake the old tree as we swing — we swing. ENGLISH CHURCHES. How beautiful they stand, Those ancient pillars of our native land ! Amid tin' pasture-fields and dark green woods. Amid the mountain's cloudy solitudes; By rivers broad that rush into the sea; By little brooks that with a lapsing ' sound, Like playful children, run by copse and lea ; Each in its little plot of holy ground. ■ How beautiful they stand. Those old gray churches of our native land! Our lives are all turmoil ; Our souls are in a weary strife and toil, Grasping and straining, tasking nerve and brain. Both day and night for gain. We have grown worldly; have made gold our god; Have turned our hearts away from lowly things; We seek not now the wild flower on the sod; We see not snowy-folded angels' wings Amid th" summer skies ; For visions come tiol I" polluted eyes. I v,i i - 1 1 CHI Yet, blessed quiel fanes ' Still piety, -til! j m remains, And shall remain, whilst e~\ er on the air * hir chapel bell calls high and low to praj er; Whilsl i i i and sunny churchyards keep The dust of one beloved, and tears are shed From founts which in the human heart lie di ^•tiling in these aspiring days we need To keep our spirits lowly, To set within our hearts sweel thoughts and holy. And 'tis for this Lhey -land. Tlic old gray churches of our native land! And even in the gold corrupted mart. In the great city's heart. They stand; and chanting dim and organ sound, And stated services of prayer and praise. Like to the righteous ten who were no1 found For tin.' polluted city, shall upraise; Meek faith and love sincere ; er in time of need than shield and -pear ! Y MRS. SOUTHEY. TTTE RIVER. River I river ! little river ' Bright you sparkle on your way : O'er the yellow pebbles dancing, Through the flowers and foliage glancing, Like a child at play. 90 9] River! river! swelling rh < hi you rush o'< d Louder, fa iwling, i r mrks. by nks ,-\\ I Like impetn iutli. River ! river ' brimming n ■, id and deep, and still as Time- Si ming still, yel still in moti Tending onward to the ocean, Just like mortal prime. River ' river ! rapid rih Swifter now you slip away ; Swift and silent as an arrow, Through a channel dark and narrow, Like life 8 cL >sing day. River ! river ' headlong river ! Down you dash into the sea — Sea thai line hath never sounded, Sea that voyage hath never mum Like Eternity. 92 MRS. SOUTHEY. THE DEATH OE THE FLOWERS. How happily, how happily, the flowers die away ! Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as they! Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence and bloom, Then drop without decrepitude or pain into the tomh. The gay and glorious creatures! ' They neither toil nor spin, Yet, lo ! what goodly raimenl they are all apparelled in! No tears arc on their beauty, but dewy gems more brighl Than ever brow of Eastern queen endiademed with light. The young rejoicing creatures! their pleasures never pall, Nor lose in sweet contentment because so free to all; The dew, the shower, the sunshine, the balmy blessed air. Spend nothing of their freshness, though all may freely share. The happy careless creatures! of Time they take no heed, Nor weary of his creeping, nor tremble at his speed; Nor sigh with sick impatience, and wish the light away; Nor when 'tis gone cry dolefully, "Would God that it were day !" And when their lives are over they drop away t<> rest, Unconscious of the penal doom, on holy Nature's breast. No pain have they in dying, no shrinking from decay; ( »li, could we hut return to earth as easily as thej ! I I f^Sc^Sf r*sr ST £ ■ FELICIA HE)I A N S. THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS The breaking waves dashed bi l hi a stern and rock bound coast, Ami the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; A.nd the heavy night bung dark The hills and waters < Wh, D a band of exiles moored their bark < in the wild New England shon z 94 FELICIA HEMANS. Not as the conqueror con Not with the roll of the si b i And the trumpet that sings of fail Not as tin' flying come, In silence ami in l They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty ch< Amidst the storm they sai And the stars heard, and the sea, And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang To the an The ocean-eagle soai From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rockin j of the foresl roared: This was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair Amidst that pilgrim-band : Why had they come to wither tin re, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman s f eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. THE IA\ What sougkl they thus afar? Brighl jewels of the m The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?— Thej soughl a fail K s pure sir Ay, call it holy groi The soil where firsl I bey trod ! They have lefl unstained whal there they found- Freedom to worship < rod. 96 FELICIA ffEMANS. THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE. Come from the woods with the citron flowers, Come with your lyres for the festal hours, Maids of brighl Scio ! They came, and the breeze Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas; They came, and Eudora stood robed and crowned, The bride of the morn, with her train around. Jewels flashed out from her braided hair, Like starry dews 'midst the roses there; Pearls mi her bosom quivering shone, Heaved by her heart through its golden zone; But a brow as those gems of the ocean pale, < rleamed from beneath her transparent veil ; Changeful and faint was her lair cheek's hue. Though clear as a flower which the light looks through; And tin' glance of her dark resplendenl eye. For the aspect ,,\ woman at times too high, Lay floating in mists, which the troubled stream Of the soul senr up o'er its fervid beam. She looked on the vine at her father's deer. Like one that is leaving his native shore; She hung o'er the myrtle once called her own. As it greenly waved l>v the threshold stone; She turned, and her mother's gaze broughl back Each line of her childhood's faded track. Oh hush the song, and let her tears Flow to (lie dream el' her early years' THE HOI i i 'I DEATH. Eoly and pure are the drops thai fall When the young bride goes from her father's hall. She g es unto love yet untried and new, parts from love which hath still been true. Mute be the song and the choral strain, Till her heart's deep well spring is near again! wept on her mother's faithful breast, * Like a babe that sobs itself to rest ; She wept, yet laid her hand a while In his that waited her dawning sn Her soul's affianced, nor cherished less For the gush of nature's ten derm -. She lifted her graceful head a1 last, The choking swell of her heart was passed; And her lovely thoughts from their cells found way in the sudden flow of a plaintive lay. THE HOUR OF DEATH. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither al tl th wind's And >ia;- to sel : but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death! 1 i ad meetings round the j rth, Nighl for the dreams of si of prayer , o thee, thou □ oi the earth ' 98 FELICLA SEMANS. The banquet hath it- hour, Its feverish hour of mirth and song and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power A time for softer tears, hut all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee; but thou art uot of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. And stars to set : but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, U Death! AW know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale ( '< ss forth to whisper where the violets lie? U it when roses in our paths grow pale? They have one season: all are ours to die! Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home, And the world calls us forth, and thou art there. THE BRIDE S tAI'.KW 99 Thou art where friend mei I friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest ; Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither a1 the north wind's breath, And stars to sel ; bul all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death! THE BRI I > E'S FAREWELL. Why do I woo], to leave the Whose clusters o'er me I" ad V The myrtle — yet, oh call it mine! — The flowers I loved to tend. A thousand thoughts of all things dear Like shadows o'er me sweep; I leave my sunny childhood here, Oh therefore lei me weep ! T leave thee, sister! We have played Through many a joyous hour. Where the silvery green of the olive shai Huno- dim o'er founl and bower, thou and I by stream, by shore, In song, in prayer, in sleep, Have been as we may be no more; Kind sister, lei me weep. ie 100 FELICIA SEMANS. I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon Mn.-i now lighl other feet, With the gathered grapes and the lyre in tune, Thy home-ward step to greet. Thou, in whose voice, to bless thy child, Lav tones of love so deep, Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled — I leave thee! Let me weep. Mother, I leave thee! On thy breast, Pouring out joy and woe, I have found that holy place of rest Still changeless; yet I go. Lips that have lulled me with your strain Eyes that have watched ray sleep! Will earth give love like yours again? Sweet mother, let me weep ' ['Ill-; HOMES OF ENGLAND. L01 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. The stately homes of England ' How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees. O'er all the pleasant land ' The deer across their green sward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry homes of England ' Around their hearths by night What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light ! 2B 102 FELICIA IIKMAN8. There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, ( >r lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old. . The blessed homes of England I How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath 1 tours ! Solemn yet sweel the church bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds in that still time ( If breeze and leaf are born. The cottage homes of England ' By thousands on her plains They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks And round the hamlet fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves. And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the birds beneath their eaves. The free, fair homes of England ! Long, long, in hut and hall, May hearts of native proof be reared To guard each hallowed wall ' And green for ever be (he groves, And bright the flowery sod. Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God ! THE I RE \sn:i> OF THE DJ 1.1 . In;; THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. What hid'st thou in thy treasure caves and cells, Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main? Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells? Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain? Keep, keep thv riches, melancholy sea | We ask not such from thee. Yet more — the depths have more : what wealth untold Far down and shining through their stillness lies ! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning geld, Won from ten thousand royal argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! Earth claims not these again. L04 FELICIA HEMANS. Yet more — the depths have more: thy waves have rolled A-bove the citiea of a world gone by; hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. Dash o'er them. Ocean, in thy scornful play! Man yields them to decay. Yet more — the billows and the depths have more: High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast; They hear not now the booming waters roar, The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! Give back the true and brave! Give back the lost and lovely! — those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long. The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke midst festal son--. Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown, But all is not thine own. To thee the love of woman hath gone down : Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youths bright loeks, and beauty's flowery crown; Yet must thou hear a voice: Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious thin-'- from thee; Restore the dead, thou sea ! LETIT1A ELIZABETH LANDON. THE OAK. It is the lasl survivor of a race Strong in their foresl pride when I was young I ran remember when, for miles around, In place of those smooth meadows and corn fields, 2 C 106 LETITIA E] ON. the winds of March, tl i by the snow Heaping for wi Even in t] Yellow and and fresh, wild strawberri Or the lark's nes't ; and o Had her lone dwi 11 With m Wi without a ; Lckle linked Around, with its red tendrils and pink flowers; Or g I by a brier-rose whose b Yield fragrant bar. the honi Tlier- dwell the last red But tins is all a dream ; the Where I ; bounded, and the day has looked en twilight of I I Tins oak has no companion ! DEATH AND THE YOUTH. "Not yet; the flow ar in my path. The sun is In the sky ; Not vet; my Lean 1- lull of hope 1 cannot bear to die. THE YOUTH. m; Nb1 vri ; I never knew till new How precious life could be ; My heart is lull of bve, ' > I »eatL I cannot come with But Love and Hope, enchanted twain, Passed in their falsehood ' by : Death .'Mine again, and then he said, " Fin ready now to die." I OS LETITLA ELIZABBTB l.\M> 1 10 LETITLA ELIZ \u:i II l.W DON. " Lo ! mother, see, my shroud is dry, And J can sleep once more i" And beautiful the parting smile The little infant wo And down within the silent grave Ee laid his weary head ; And soon the early violel Grew o'er his grassy I The mother went her household ways; in she knelt in praj er, And only asked of heaven its aid Her heavy lot to bear. CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH TONNA. TO A HORSE. I know by the ardor thou canst not restrain, By the curve of thy neck and the toss of thy mane, By the foam of thy snorting which spangles my brow, The fire of the Arab is hot in thee now. • 'Twere harsh to control thee, my frolicsome steed; I give thee the rein, so away at thy speed ' Thy rider will dare to be wilful as thee, Laugh the future to scorn, and partake in tli\ glee. Away to the mountain! "What need we to fear? Pursuit cannot press on my Fairy's car Full light woiv the heel and well balanced the head That ventured to follow the track of thy tread, Where roars the loud torrent and starts the rude plank. And thunders the rock-severed mass down the bank, While mirrored in crystal the far-shooting glow With dazzling effulgence is sparkling below. One start and I die; yet in peace T recline, My bosom can rest on the fealty of thine; Thou lov'st mi', my sweet one, and wouldst not be From a yoke that has never borne ruddy on thee. Ah, pleasant the empire of those to confess Whose wrath is a whisper, their rule a caress! Behold how thy pla i stretching be As loath i" be vanquished in love or in pride, in 112 CHARLOTTE ELIZ U'.KTI! TONNA. While upward be glances his eyeball of jet, dreading thy fleetness may distance him yet. Ali. Marco ! poor Marco ' our pastime to-day Were refl of one pleasure if he were away. How precious these moments! Fair Freedom expands Her pinions of light o'er the desolate lands; The waters are flashing as bright as thine eye, Unchained as thy motion the breezes - p by; Delicious they come o'er the flower-scented earth, Like whispers of love from the isle of my birth; 'While the white-blossomed Cistus her perfume exhales, Ami sighs out a spicy farewell to the gales. Unfeared and unfearing we'll traverse the wood, Where pours the rude torrent the turbulent flood; The forest's red children will smile as we scour By the log-fashioned hut and the pine-woven bower; The feathery footsteps scarce bending the gras Or denting the dew-spangled moss where we p What startles thee? 'Twas but the sentinel gun Flashed a vesper salute to thy rival the sun ; He lias .dined his swift progress before thee, and sweeps With fetlock of gold the last verge of the steeps. The fire-fly anon from his covert shall glide, And dark fall tin:- shadows of eve on the tide. Tread softly; my spirit is joyous no more; A northern aurora, it shone and is o'er; The tears will fall fast as 1 gather the rein, And a long look reverts to yon shadowy plain. THE Mill 113 THE MILLENNIUM. When from scattered lands afar Speeds the voice of rumored war, Nations iii conflicting pi Heaved like < )cean's stormy tv When the solar splendors fail, And the crescent waxes pale, And the p>> tarlike n Sink dishonored to the plain, — World, do thou the signal dn I We exalt the i 2E 1 I I \I;U>TTK ELIZABE1 11 IONNA. We uplift the exp ye, Men proclaim i Wl ail, We the coming Sa^ iour bail ; mse, Listen to her longing vows, Listen to her \. moan, 11 to creat i Bid, oli bid the trumpet sound ! thine elect around; ( rird with • I try flaming car. Gather them from dim 1 them from lifi rless glo i them i Le marble tomb, From I own villi ave, Finn i the d< wave ; From the whirlwind and the flame, Mighty Head ! thy m claim. Where disdain Scorned IV! n '.' Lo ! in seas of sulphurous fire, Now th tard ire ; Prisoned till the appointed When this world shall pass awav. < iui lied are all ies, < » Lord ! Shi gain the victor sword. W In -re thy i b stood, Where thy life distilled in blood, A SIGHT STOEM AT Where the) d thy d ian, King of nations, plant thy throne ! the law iV irth, i' all ili' 1 willing earth- Earth, w bose Sabbath beautii s Crowned with more than Paradise. Sacred be the opposing veil! Mortal rid sighl ail. Ye\ the day, the hour, We >liall see eye. 1 ie - ils in peace i > While we seek ed And tn> hi evi vy in I home Breathe I " Lord Jesus, i > i ite to set i ! Come ! - for thee.' A NIGHT STORM AT si 'T K eve ; ascending high, : Spreads in dark volume lii Eis hollow breezes, bursting from the clouds, Distend the sail and whistle -through t the shrouds. Roused by the note of el The swelling w: mble into lift ; Lo ! through the tumuli e dashin The storm-beal vessel labors on her way. 116 CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH TONNA. With bendi a1 sail and straining si' Eigh on the foaming precipice shi Then reeling onward with descending prow, In giddy sweep glides to the gulf below. Her fragile form conflicting billows rock, to the frequent shock ; Whilst, bursting o'er the deck, each r wave Bears i w victim to a hidi ve. The vpice of thunder rides upon the bla t, And the blue death-fire plays around the mast. Beneath the pennon of a riven sail That vessel drives. tied to the pale. Above, more darkly frowns the brow of night; Beneath, the waters glow more fiercely bright. Ploughing a track of mingled foam and fire, Fast flies the ship before the tempest's ire While, reeling to and fro, the hapless crew Gaze on the wild abyss, and shudder at the view. CAROLINE E. S. NORTON, DEDICATION OF THE DREAM. TO THE Dl i XI'. < )\ri; more, my harp ! i ore, although I Never to wake thy silent stri in, A soothing dream thy gentle chords have wrought, An. I my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in p: Soars like a wild bird from a cypi Into the poet' be 11 grief below. And unto th< beautiful and p Whose lol is c aid i hal busy w< Where only sluggish 1 >u I yells s< And Fancy's generous wing is faintly Furled, 2F 117 i IS CAEO] CNE E. S. i To thee, who ndship kept it- equal truth Through the 'eary hour of my embittered youth,- [ dedicate the lay. All ' ne\ r bard In days when poverty was twin with sot Nor wandering harper, lonely and ill start ( 'heered by some casl le's chiel and harbored I ;, Nut Scott's Las1 Minstrel in his trembling lays, Woke with a warmer hearl tl rnesl meed of praise For easy are the al rich man spares To sons of < renins by misfortune benl . But thou gavest me whal woman seldom dares, Belief, in spite of mat old dissent, When, slandered and maligned, T stood apart From those whose bounded power hath wrung, no1 crushed, my heart. Then, then, when cowards lied away my nan And scoffed to see me feebly stem the t When some were kind on whom 1 had no claim. And some forsook on whom my love relied, And some who might have battled for my sake Stood off in doubt to see what turn "the world" would take, — Thou gavest me that the poor do give the poor — Kind words and holy wishes and true tears; The loved, the near of kin, could do no more, Who changed not with the gloom of varying years, But clung the closer when I stood forlorn. And blunted slander's dart with their indignant scorn. For they who credit crime arc they who feel Their own hearts weak to unresisted sin; DEDICA 1 COJS "I CHE DREAM. 1 I •' Mem'ry, not judgment, prompts the thoughts \ I al I I'er minds like tliese, an eai y tail b And talcs of broken truth are si ill belies Must readily by those who have t/iemselve* deceived. Bui hi-." a white swan down a troubled stream, Whose ruffling pinion hath the power to fling Aside the turbid drops which darkly gleam Ami- mar the freshness of her snowy wing, So thou, with queenly grace and gentle pt Along the world's dark waves in purity dost elide. Thy pah' and pearly cheek was never made To crimson with a. faint, false-hearted shame; Thou did>t net shrink, of hitter tongues afraid, Who hunt in packs the object of then' blame; To thee the sad denial still held true, For from thine own good thoughts thy heart its mercy drew. And though my faint and tributary rhymes Add nothing to the glory of thy day, Ye1 every poel hopes that after-times Shall set some value on his votive lav, And I would lain one gentle deed record Among tiie i uch with which thy life is stored. Bo, when these lines, made in a mournful hour, Are idly op led to the stn eye, A dream of thee, aroused by Fancy's power, Shall be the first to wander floating by; And they who never saw thy lovely f: 1 t<> conjure up a vision of its 120 TO MY BOOKS. Silent companions of the lonely hour, Friends who can never alter or forsake, Who for inconstant roving have no ]»>. And all neglect pi i must calmly tal Let me return to you, this turmoil ending Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought, And. our old familiar pa° ling, Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought. Till, haply meeting there from time to time Fancies the audible echo of my own, 'Twill be like hearing in a foreign clime My native language spoke in friendly tone, And with a sort of welcome I shall dwell On these my unripe mil .veil. LE KAXZ DES VACHES. ( v >r an d reverrai-je en un jour Tmis les objets de mon amo Nos clairs ruisseaux, Nos hameaux, Nos coteaux, Nos mon tag] Et l'ornement de nos montai J.:, -l gentille Isabeau? LE B VSZ DES \ \< I1KS. 1 21 Dans I'ombre d'un ormeau, Quand danserai-je au son du chalumeau? Quand reverrai-je en un jour Tous les objets de mon amour? M < *ii pere, M;i mere, Mon frere, \ I . i so sur, Mes agneaux, Mes troupeaux, Ma bergere? TRANSLATION When will that day of sunshine dawn for me When I the objects of my love shall see? Our purling rills, ( >ur homes of ease, Our towering hills, Our leafy trees : And her, the pride of hill or dell, My gentle, blue-eyed Isabel '.' Beneath the elm thai shades the flowery plain, When shall T dance to shepherd's reed again? When will that day of sunshine dawn for me When I the objects of my love shall see? 2G L22 CAROLINE B. S. NORTON. My father dear, And gentle mother, Mv sister fair, And thee, my brother? My playful lambs, that know my voii And at the well-known sound rejoice : My gnats that round me in wild gambols played, And thee, my life, my bride, my village maid '.' CHE LITTLE WANDERERS. L23 THE LITTLE WANDERERS. Inxoi'kxt and pious heart ! By that act revealing What had been thy lasl thought, Ami thy dj ing l'< eling, When tin' numbing death ami cold Through thy veins was creeping, And t lie sons.' of danger woke Sense of holy keeping. God, tlic Father ! He could guard. Though no mortal hearkened; < rod, the Father ! He could see, Though the storm-cloud darkened; God, the Father! He could guide Children doomed to wander; On his mercy and his love Did those young hearts ponder, When the wild blast, charged with snow, Heavily swept by them, And in all the bleak, blank world .Vet a friend steed nigh them, Till within a child's weak heart, In the midst of peril, Rose the practical true faith — Not profession sterile. And the real undoubting prayer To His throne ascended Who for ever bends to hear Those by men unfriended. J 2 I CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. Yea, H«' heard thee, though thy doom Wake the tears of woman, Judging with a human heart Of a sorrow human. Happier wert thou to depart, In thy meek prayers dying, Than to live a life of woe, Poverty and sighing. Happier, from a world more cold Than the snow-drift, taken, In a world of glorious light And ,-unshine to awaken. Y'-av by year, from distant climes, To seek uncertain Fortune, Thy little comrades travel here. ( )ur pity to importune, With music of a foreign laud. And half-tamed, prisoned creatures, Begging with imploring smiles On their sunburnt features. Often beaten, often made Slaves of cruel masters : Hungry, exiled, helpless, faint, Full of sad disasters, Often in their troubled sleep • If the far land dreaming Where kind faces, friendly eyes And native suns arc beaming. I II I LITTLE WANDER] 1 25 ^ e1 each mother for thy death Weepeth while she readeth, Thinking of the tender care \\ hich her own child needeth ; Looking on the sofl glad eves With unclouded glances, Ami the light quick fairy step Which around her dances; While thy home-friends, perished child, Picture happy meetings; Knowing not thy fate, they dwell On imagined greetings ; Praying often, it may be, For those little strangers Long since taken, by God's will, Out of this world's dangers. 2 II ' n m L26 < PROLINE ]■:. s. NORTON. THE VISIONARY PORTRAIT. As by his lonely hearth he sate, The shadow of a welcome dream Passed o'er his heart: disconsolate His home did seem ; Comfort in vain was spread around, For something; still was wanting found. Therefore he thought of one who might For ever in his presence stay, Whose dream should be of him by night, Whose smile should be for him by day; And the sweet vision, vague and far, Rose on his fancy like a star. THE VISION U;*, Pi IB l RAIT. 1 -~i " Lei her be young, ye1 nol a child Whose lighi and inexperienced mirth Is all too winged and too wild For sober earth ; Too rainbow-like such mirth appears, And lades away in misty tears. " Let youth's fresh rose -till gently bloom Upon her sii th and downy cheek. Yef let a shadow, not of gloom, But soft and meek, Tell that some sorrow she hath known. Though not a sorrow of her own. " And let her eyes be of the gray, The soft gray, of the brooding dove. Full of the sweet and tender ray Of modest love ; For fonder shows that dreamy hue Than lustrous black or heavenly blue. " Let her be full of quiet grace, No sparkling wit with sudden glow Brightening her purely chiselled lace And placid brow : Not radiant to the stranger's eye, A creature easily passed by ; "But who, once seen, with untold power For ever haunts the yearning heart. Raised from the crowd that self-same hour, To dwell apart. L28 I A.ROLINE E. S. NORTON. All sainted and enshrined, to be The idol of our memory. "And oh, let Mary be her name! It hath a sweet and gentle sound, At which no glories dear to fame Come crowding round, But which the dreaming heart beguiles With holy thoughts and household smiles; "With peaceful meetings, welcomes kind. Arid love the same in joy and tears. And gushing intercourse of mind Through faithful years. dream of something half divine ' Be real — be mortal — and be mine!' SARAH ELLIS. THE PILGRIM'S REST. Pilgrim, why thy course prolong? Here are birds of ceaseless song, Here are flowers of fadeless bloom, Here are woods of deepest gloom. Cooling waters for thy feel ; Pilgrim, rest ; repose is sweet. Tempt me not with thoughts of resl : Woods in richesl verdure dressed, Scented flowers and murmuring streams. Lull the soul to fruitless dreams. I would seek some holy fane. Pure and free from earthly stain ; 2 I 1 29 130 SARAH ELLIS. 1 rock, l'.ra\ ing time and tempest's sbj Sees! thou cot yon temple gri There thy weary steps may sti There thy lowly knees may bend, There thy fervent tears descend. Has that temple steed the storm? Could no touch of time deform? Was the altar there so pure, That its worship must endure? Whence those noble ruins, then? Why the wondering gaze of men? No. The sibyl's power is gone, Hushed is each mysterious ton Closed the eye whose upward gaze Read the length of human days : Blindly darkened to her own, Shrine and goddess both are gone. Onward, then, my feet must roam; Not for me the marble dome, Not the sculptured column high, iting to yon azure sky. Let the heathen worship there ; Not for me that place of prayer. Pilgrim, enter. Awe profound Waits thee on this hallowed ground. Here no mouldering columns fall, Here no ruin marks the wall ; Marble pure and gilding •_■ Woo thy sight ami win thy stay. THE PILGRIM'S REST. 13 Here the priesl in sacred stole Welcomes every weary soul. Here what suppliani knees are bending ! Here what holy incense lending Perfume to the ambient air ! Ecstasy to praise and prayer ! Pilgrim, pause, and view this pile; Leave not yet the vaulted aisle. See what sculptured forms are here! See what gorgeous groups appear! Tints that glow, and shapes that live, All that art or power ran give. Hark! the solemn organ sounds; How each echoing note rel >ounds ! Now along the arches high, Far away it seems to die. Now it thunders deep ami low . Surely thou maysl worship now. Tempt me not. The scene is fair, Music floats upon the air, • llouds of perfume round me roll, Thoughts of rapture fill my soul. Tempt me not, I must aw. Here I may not — dare not stay. Here amazed, entranced, I stand ; Human power on every hand (.'harms my senses, meets my g Wraps me in a 'wildei'ing ma: But the place of prayer for me Purer still than this must be. L32 SAEAB ELLI8. Prom ilif lighl of southern si Where the stately columns rise, Wanderer from the \ allej s green, Wherefore seek this wintry scene? Eere no stranger steps may stay; Turn thee, pilgrim, haste away. Here what horrors meet thy sight ! Mountain wastes of trackless height, Where the eternal snows are sleeping, Where the wolf his watch is keeping, While, in sunless depths below, See the abodes of want and woe! Here what comfort for thy soul! Storm and tempest o'er thee roll; Spectral forms around thee rise. In thy pathway famine lies ; All is darkness, doubt and fear, Man is scarce thy brother here. Tempter, cease ! Thy words are vain, 'Tis no dream of worldly gain. 'Tis no hope in luxury dressed, Tis no thought of earthly rest, Earthly comfort or repose, Lures me to these Alpine snows. I would seek amid this wild Fervent Faith's devoted child. Holy light is on his brow, From his lips are words that clow ; [n his bosom depths of love Filled from heaven's pure fount above LOVE S EARLY DKEAM. 66 1 would follow where bis I Mountain rocks and dangers meet. I would join bis simple band, Linked together, heart and hand ; There I fain would bend my knee; Tis the place of prayer for me. LOVE'S EARLY DREAM. Love's early dream has music In the tale it loves to tell : Love's early dream has roses Where it delights to dwell ; 134 SARAH ELLIS. Ii lias beauty in its landscape, Ami verdure in its trees ; Unshadowed by a passing cloud, Unruffled by a breeze. Love's early dream has moonlight Upon its crystal lake. Where stormy tempest never blows, Nor angry billows 1 >reak : It has splendor in its sunshine, And freshness in its dew ; And all its scenes of happiness Are beautiful and — true! Love's early dream has kindness in every look and tone ; Love's early dream lias tenderness For one, and one alone. It has melody of language And harmony of thought. And knows no sound of dissonance By ruder science taught. early dream of happiness, Where is thy waking bliss? What brings thy golden promises To such a world as this ? Perchance thou art some shadow Of that which is to come — The fluttering of an angel's wings, To lead the wanderer home. MRS. ABDY. THE CHILD IN A GARDEN. Child of the flaxen locks and laughing i Culling with hasty glee the flowerets gay, Or chasing with light foot the butterfly, I love to mark thee at thy frolic play. Near thee I see thy tender father stand ; His anxious eye pursues thy roving track, And oft with warning voice and beckoning band, He checks thy speed, and gently draws thee back. Why dost thou meekly yield to his decree ? Fair boy, his fond regard to thee is known; He docs not check thy joys from tyranny ; Thou art his loved, his cherished, ami his own. When worldly lures, in manhood's coming hours, Tempt thee to wander from discretion's way. Oh! grasp not eagerly the offered flowers; Pause if thy heavenly Father bid thee stay — 135 136 Pause, and in him revere a Friend and Guide. Who does not willingly thy faults reprove; But ever, when thou rovest from his side, Watches to win thee back with pitying love. LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MRS. HEMANS. Yes, she has left us. She, whose gifted lays So nobly earned a nation's love and praise: Entranced the high and lofty ones of earth. And shed a radiance o'er the peasant's hearth LINES WRITTEN OK THE DEATH OF MRS. HEMANS. IS"i She from the world is taken. Eer sweel lute Hangs on the willow desolate and mute; A.nd while we half unconsciously repeal Strains we have learned as household words to greet, How mournful is the thoughl that she can pour Songs of such touching melody no more! Oh what a range of mind was hers' how bright Her pages seemed with Inspiration's lighl ! And yet, though skilled to dazzle and o'erwhelm, Queen of Imagination's fairy realm, Her highest excellence appeared to be In the calm region of reality. In Nature's wondrous workings lay her art; From that exhaustless mine, the human heart, She brought her gems. Twas her-, with gentle skill, The slumbering feelings to arouse and thrill; With colors not more beautiful than true The modest virtues of her sex she drew. "Records of Woman." At that name arise Fair shapes of truth and goodness to our eyes; Not the gay phantoms seen in Fancy's trance, Not the bright paragons of old romance; Nor yet the wonders of a later age, The heroines of Reason's forma] page, Full ef cold, calculating, worldly si And self-elate in moral excellence. No; at Religions pure and sacred flame Her torch she kindled; twas her wish and aim That in her female portraits we should see The blesl effects of humble piety, 2 L L38 • \i;dy. Proving thai in this world of sin and strife None could I be charil life, ( lr bear its trials, save the path they trod Were hallowed by the guiding grace of G id. And well her spirit in her life was shown; No character more lovely than her own Fell from her gifted pen; though numbers breathed Her name, though laurel bands her brow enwreal She soughl ao1 in the world's vain scenes to ream; Eer duties were her joys, her sphere her home. And Memory still a, pensive pleasure blends With the affliction of her weeping friends When they recall the meek, calm lowlin With which she bore the blaze of her success. But trials soon as well as triumphs came: ss subdued her weak and languid frame; Then was she patient, tranquil and resigned; Religion soothed and fortified her mind. knew that for the blessed Saviour's sake, In whom she trusted, she should sleep to wake In glory, and she yielded up her breath, Feeling she won eternity by death. Oh may her holy principles impress The soul of each surviving ]\o trivial ch to her car _ned Who gives to public view her stores of mind; Even though her sum of treasures may lie small, Good can he worked, if Heaven permit, by all. She who a single talent holds in si By patient zeal may make that little more; THE LANG1 LGE OF FLOWEES. L39 Ami though but few, alas! can boasl the powers Of her now lost, the gifl may still be ours Humbly to i her better part, Ami strive to elevate each reader's hearl To themes of purer and of holier birth Than the low pleasures and vain pom]'- of earth. Never may Woman's lays their service lend Vice to encourage, soften, or defend; Nor may we in our own conceit be wise, Weaving frail webs of mere moralities. No! May we ever on His grace reflecl To whom we owe our cherished intellect ; Deem that such powers in trust to us were given To serve and glorify our Lord in heaven. Ami place, amid the highest joys of lame, Our best distinction in a Christian s name. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWED. The mystic science is not mine That Eastern records teach ; I cannot to each bud assign A sentiment and speech ; Yet, when in yonder blossomed del] I pass my lonely hours. Methinks my heart interprets well The eloquence of flowers. 140 MES. ABDY. Of life's first thoughtL us they tell, When half my joy and grief Dwelt in a lily's opening bell, A rosebud's drooping leaf. 1 watched for them the sun's brighi rays, Ami feared the driving showers; Types of my girlhood's radiant da Were ye, sweet transient flowers. And sadder scenes ye bring to mind; The moments ye renew When first the woodbine's wreaths I twined, A loved one's grave to strew. Qn the cold turf I weeping spread Mv offering from the bowers; Ye seemed meet tribute to the dead, Pale, perishable flowers. Yet speak ye not alone, fair band, ( )f changefulness and gloom ; Ye tell me of God's gracious Land, That clothes you thus in bloom. And sends, to soften and to calm A sinful world like ours, Gifts of such purity and balm As ye, fresh, dewy flowers. And while Your smiling ranks T view, In vivid colors dressed, My heart, with faith confirmed and true. Learns 011 the Lord to rest. THE LANGUAG1 OJ I 1 i '\ I If Ho the lilies of the field With lavish glory dowi Will He not greater bounties yield To me than to the flowers? Still, si ill they speak; around my track Some faded blossoms lie; Another spring shall bring them back, Yet bring them but to die. But we forsake this world of strife To rise to nobler powers, And share those gifts of endless life Withheld from earth's frail flowers. Oh may I bear your lessons hence, Fair children of the sod ! Yours is the calm, mute eloquence Thai leads the thoughts to God; And oft amid the greal and wise My heart shall seek these bowers, And turn from man's proud colloquies To commune with the flowers. 2M 111 SARA COLERIDGE. FALSE LOVE. False Love, too long thou hast delayed, Too late I make my choice : Yet win for me that precious maid, And 1 ml my heart rejoice Then shall mine eyes shoot youthful fire, My cheek with triumph glow, Ami other maids that -lance desire Which I on one bestow. Make her with smile divinely Wand Beam sunshine o'er my face, And Time shall touch with gentlest hand What she hath deigned to grace. I )'er scanty lochs full wreaths I'll wear, No wrinkled brow to shade ; Her joy will smooth the furrows there "Which earlier grids h:i\ e made. Though sports of youth be tedious toil, When youth has passed away I'll cast aside the martial spoil, With her light locks to play; L43 Yea, turn, sweel maid, from tented li To rove where de \ drops shine, Nor care what hand the sceptre wields, So thou will grant me thine. SONG. Many a fountain cool and shady May Hi'' traveller'-' eye in\ One among them all, sweet la Seems to flow for his delight. In many a tn I gilding bee Mighi safely hide her honeyed store : One hive alone the bee will own — e mav not trust her swe< i to more. Say'st thou. "Can that maid be fairer? Shows her lip a livelier d; Hath she treasures richer, rarer? i Ian she better love than I?" What formed the spell I ne'er could tell But subtle must its working be, Since from the hour T felt its power No fairer face I wish to Light-winged Zephyr, ere lie settles ■ On the loveliest flower that blows, Never stays to count thy petals, Dear, delicious, fragranl rose ! HI SARA CO] Her feal an - bright elude or I know not how hi r tres In Fancy's maze my spirit play.-. When she with all her charms is aigh. FRANCES BROWN. THE MAID OF THE RHONE. 'Twas iii that lovely land that Lies Where Alpine shadows fall On scenes that to the pilgrim's eyes Might Eden's bloom recall, As when, undimmed by curse or crime Tt rose amid the dawn of time — 2 N 1 1.. L46 I B S '■■ ES BROWN. Thai early spring whose blossoms grew \\ hile et the h aew- There 31 1 h Rhone, That, now from Lemau ii By wood and city wall swepl on To meet the classic sea, An ancient and a stately hall, With donjon-keep and moated wall, And battlements whose bannered pride Had many a hostile host defied. And she, the lady of the tower. Though last of all her line, \\ as mightiest in the matchless power < »f beauty — at whose shrine The (lower of chivalry adored, And proved their vow- by song and sword. But knightly vow and minstrel strain Beneath her lattice flowed in vain. For in the maiden's bower there hung A warrior's portrait, pale, But wondrous beautiful and young, And clad in burnished mail. ( >h ! many an eye had marked it well, But none that warrior's tale could tell, Save that he bore the Red < !ross shield, And fought in some far Syrian field. •- But there the maiden's earliest glance And latest gaze would turn. 1 thrilling harp and gleaming lance, With love that seemed to spurn THE MAID OF THE RHONE. I \~, All other vows, and serve alone That nameless idol of its own ; For oft such glorious shadows rise, And early hide from youthful • The substance of this world, and claim The heart's firsl fruits, that taste Of Paradise, though naught but Fame Hath on the altar traced The name no wave ran wash away; As old remembered legends say The Eastern maiden loved so long The youth she only knew in song, So loved the lady of the tower; And summers glided on Till, one by one, from hall and bower, Her kindred maids were gone : Some had put on the bx'idal wreath, Some wore the chaplet twined for death. But still no mortal charms could wean Her fancy from that pictured mien. At length there came a noble knight, Though past Ins manhood's prime; His sword had been in many a fight, His steps in many a clime; But, ah! what thoughts that wooer's name Awakened! for it was the same That the old painter's magic art Had graven on the maiden's heart. 148 FRANC! - BROWN. The idol of her youth was now her, but she gazed Upon the l's furrowed brow, And then, in wonder, raised Her eyes to that bright pictured I. Whose changeless beauty bore no trace Of wasting tune or withering war. Like his, in furrow or in scar. Oh! many a loved and lovely face Had grown less fond and fair Since first that picture met her gaze, But still no change was there/ That age could dim or sorrow bow The sunny cheek or stately brow — She had not thought of things like thesi In all her lonely reveries. Like him who saw through Alpine woods The glacier's gem-like glow, And climbed the rocks and crossed the II Is, To find it only snow, So felt the maiden as she said. "My star is set — my rainbow fled! Why hast thou come at last to break My pleasant dream? How sad to wake! What thoughts of thee o'er heart and mind Have sped their visioned gleam ! 1 meet thee now. but not to find The shadow of my dream. This heart hath only bowed before The glory that the canvas wore : THE MAID OF THE RHONE. I 19 That spell hath passed; my soul is free, And turns no more to love or thee. 'Go! find some fairer, happier bride Who hath not loved in vain : The light that in thy presence died May never shine again ; The passion that survived in truth The roses and the smiles of youth, Hath perished like the pilgrim knight Who died with Salem in his sight." There is a cross on Sidon's shore That marks a Templar's rest, And cloisti r arches darken o er A fairer, gentler guest; So sleep the loving hearts whom Fate Forbade to meet till all too late, And the same storied lands and waves That parted them divide their graves. 20 150 FKANCES BEOWN. STREAMS. i. Ye early minstrels of the earth, Whose mighty voices woke The echoes of its infant w Is Ere vet the Tempter spoke, How is it that ye waken still The young heart's happy dreams, And shed your light on darkened days, bright and blessed streams? II. Woe for the world! she hath grown old And gray in toil and tears. But ye have kept the harmonies Of her unfallen years ; For ever in our weary path Your ceaseless music seems The spirit of her perished youth, Ye glad and glorious stream-' III. Your murmurs bring the pleasant breath ( >f many a sylvan scene STREAMS. 1">I They tell of sweel and sunny vales, \ni That waited on the lisping girl and pettieoated boy? I know that ve could win my heart when every bribe or threat Failed to allay my stamping rage or break my sullen pet ; OLD STOEl BOOKS. L63 A "promised story" was enough : I turned with eager smile To learn about the naughty "pig that would not mounl the stile." There was a spot in days of yore whereon I used to stand, Willi mighty question in my head and penny in my hand ; Where motley sweets and crinkled cakes made up a goodly si low, And "story-books" upon a string appeared in brilliant row. What should I have? The peppermint was incense in my nose, But I had heard of "Hero Jack" who slew his giant foes ; My lonely coin was balanced long before the tempting stall, Twixt book and bull's eye, but, forsooth I "Jack gol it after all. Talk of your "vellum, gold embossed," "morocco," " roan," and " calf" ! The blue and yellow wraps of old were prettier by half; And as to pictures! well, we know that never one was made Like that where " Bluebeard" swings aloft his wife destroy ing blade. 164 ELIZA COOK. "Hume's England" — pshaw! what history of battles, - and men Can vie with memoirs "all about sweel little Jenny Wren ' '.' Aii'l whal are all the wonders thai e'er struck a nation dumb To those recorded as performed by "Master Thomas Thumb"? "Miss Eiding-Hood," poor luckless child! My heart grew big with dread, When the -'run "wolf" in grandmamma's best bonnet showed his head : I shuddered when in innocence she meekly peeped be- neath, And made remarks about "great eyes," and wondered ai " great teeth." And then the "House that Jack built." and the "Bean- stalk Jack cut down," And "Jack's eleven brothers" on their travels of re- n n : And ".lack" whose cracked and plastered head ensured him lyric fame — These, these, methinks, make "vulgar Jack" a rather classic name. Pair "Valentine," I loved him well, bin better still the That hugged his brother in her arms with tenderness and care : OLD STORY BOOKS. 165 I lingered spell-bound o'er the page, though eventide wore late, A i id lefi my supper all untouched to fathom "Orson's" fate. Then "Robin with his merry men," a noble band were they; \\ e 11 never see the like again, go hunting where we may. In Lincoln garb, with bow and barb, rapt Fancy bore me on. Through Sherwood's dewy forest-paths, close alter "Little John." "Miss Cinderella" and her "shoe ' kept long their reigning powers, Till harder w«.rds and longer themes beguiled my flying hours ; And "Sinbad," wondrous sailor he, allured me on his track, And set me shouting when he flung the old man from his back. And oh! that tale, the matchless tale, that made me dream at night Of "Crusoe's" shaggy robe of fur. and "Friday's" death-spurred flight ; Nay, still I read il, and again in sleeping visions see The savage dancers on the sand, the rail upon the sea. old story-hooks' old story-books! I doubt if "Reason's Feast " Provides a dish that pleases more than " Beauty and the Beast." lc.i ELIZA I i I doubl it' all the ledger leaves that bear a sterling sum Yield happiness like those that told of "Master Hor- ner's plum.'' Old story-books! old story-books! I never pass ye by Without a -"it of furtive glance, right loving tboi 'tis sly : And fair suspicion may arise that yet my spirit gri< For dear "Old Mother Hubbard's Dog," and "Ah Baba's Thieves." FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. A VISION OP THE VATICAN. In the great palace halls where dwell the gods I heard a voice filling the vaulted roof; The heart that uttered it seemed sorrow-proof, And, clarion-like, it might have made the clods Of the dead valley start to sudden life, With such a, vigor ami a joy 'twas rife. And, coming towards me. lo ! a woman passed; Her lace was shining as the morning bright, And -her feet fell in steps so strong and light I scarce could tell if she (rode slow or fast. She seemed instinct with beauty and with power, And what she sang dwells with me to this hour. [(57 168 FKANCES A.\M; KIMBLE. "Transfigured from tin- gods' abode I come; [ li;i\ e been tarrying in their aw ful f Stand from my path and give me pa Free, For yel I breathe of their divinity. Zeus have I knelt to, solemn and Ami stately Here, heaven's transcendent queen : Phoebus' light is on my brow, and fleel As silver-sandalled Artemis' my i Graciously smiling, heavenly Aphrodite Hath tilled my senses with a vague delight; And Pallas, steadfastly beholding me, Hath sent me forth in wisdom to be free." When at the portal, smiling she did turn. And looking back through the vast halls profound, Re echoing with her song's triumphant sound, She bowed her head and said. "1 shall return;" Then raised her face, all radiant with delight, And vanished like a vision from my sight. i fDAY BY THE SEASIDE. L69 NOONDAY BY THE SEASIDE. The sea has left the strand; In their deep sapphire cup The waves lie gathered up, Off the hard-ribbed sand. From each dark rocky brim, The full, wine-tinted billows, ebbed away, Leave on the golden rim Of their huge bowl not one thin line of spray. Above the short-grassed downs, all broidered over With scarlet pimpernel and silver clover, Like spicy incense quivers the warm air; With piercing fervid heat, The noonday sunbeams heat On the red granite 3ea slabs broad ami bare. And prone along the shore, Basking in the fierce glare, Lie sun-bronzed Titans, covered With shaggy sea-Weed hair 2 'I' 170 FRANCES A.WK KEMBLE. Come in under this vault of brownest ska By sea-woru arches m: "Where all the air with a rich topaz light Js darkly bright. Neath 1 i i - anopies, dowy and cool, The crystal water lies In many a glassy pool, Whose green-vein as they receive the light, Gleam like pale wells of precious malachite In the warm shallow water dip thy feet, Gleaming like rose-hued ]><-arls below the wave; And, lying in this hollow, (laze on the far-off white-sailed fisher fleet, Framed in the twilight portal of our ca "While I lie here and gaze on thee, Fairer art thou to me Than Aphrodite, when tin' breathless deep Wafted her, smiling in her rosy sleep, Towards the green-myrtled shore, that in delij With starry fragrance suddenly grew white; i >r than the shuddering girl Whose wide-distended e Glassy with dread surp v the huge 1 allow curl, Foaming and bristling with its grisly freight, While twinkling from afar, With iris-feathered heels and falchion bright, From the blue cope of heaven's dazzling height Her lov< r swooped, a. flashing noontide star. NOOE D \ :Y THE SEASIDE. 171 A mid-day dream hath lighted on thy brow, Ami gently bends it down; thy fair eyes swim In liquid languor lustreless and dim; And slowly dropping now, From the light loosened clasp of thy warm hand, Making a ruddy shadow on the sand, Falls a wine-perfumed rose with crimson glow. Sleep, my beloved! while the sultry spell Of silent noon o'er sea and earth doth dwell; Stoop thy fair graceful head upon my breast, With its thick rolls of golden hair opprest, My lily! and my breathing shall not sob With one tumultuous sigh, nor my heart throb With one irregular bound, that I may keep With tenderest watch the treasure of thy sleep. Droop gently down in slumb'rous, slow eclipse, Pair fringed lids, beneath my sealing lips. 172 il: LNCES ANXK KEMBLE TO SHAKSPEARE. Oft when my lips I open to rehearse Thy wondrous spells of wisdom and of power, And that my voice and thy immortal verse On listening ears and hearts I mingled pour, I shrink dismayed, and awful doth appear The vain presumption of my own weak deed. Thy glorious spiril seems to mine so near, That suddenly I tremble as I read ; Thee an invisible auditor I fear. Oh, if it might be so, my master clear ! With what beseeching would I pray to thee To make me equal to my noble task ; Succor from thee how humbly would I ask, Thy worthiest works to utter worthily ! ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. A DOUBTING' HEART Where are the swallows fled? Frozen and dead Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore. doubting heari ! Far over purple seas They wait, in sunny ease, The balmy southern lireeze To bring them to their northern homes once more. Why must the flowers die? Prisoned they lie In tlie cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. O doubting heart ! They only sleep below The soft white ermine snow While winter winds shall blow, To breathe and smile upon you soon again. The sun has hid its rays These many days ; Will dreary hours never leave the earth ! O doubting heart ! The stormy clouds <>n high Veil tin ami sunny sky That soon, for spring is nigh, Shall wake the summer into golden mirth. 2U 17:t 174 ADELAIDE ANNE I'EtHTEK. Fair hope is dead, and light Is quenched in night ; What sound can break the silence of despair? doubting heart ! The sky is overcast, Yet stars shall rise a1 last, Brighter for darkness past, And angels' silver voices stir the air. A WOMAN'S QUESTION. Before I trust my fate to thee, Or place my hand in thine; Before I let thy future give ( 'el or and form to mim Before I peril all for thee, Question thy soul to-night for me. / break all slighter bonds, nor feel A shadow of regret : Is there one link within the past That holds thy spirit ye1 ? Or is thy faith as clear and free As that which I can pledge to thee? Does there within thy dimmest dreams A possible future shine. Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, Untouched, unshared by mine? A W iMAN's Ql i-i ION. 1 75 [f so, at any pain or cost, Oli tell me before all is Losl ! Look deeper still ; if thou canst feel Within thy inmosl soul, Thai tlum has*t kept a portion back, While I have staked the whole, I ( e1 no false pity spare the blow, But in true mercy tell me so. Is there within thy heart a need That mine cannot fulfil ? * Ine chord that any ol her hand < lould 1 1' -tier wake or still '.' Speak now. lest at sonic future day My whole life wither and decay. Lives there within thy nature hid The demon-spirit, change, Shedding a passing glory still On all things new and strange? h may not be thy fault alone, But shield my heart against thine own. Oouldst thou withdraw thy hand one day. And answer to my claim, That fate, and that to-day's mistaki — Not thou — had been to blame? Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou Wilt surely warn and save me now. Nay, answer not; I dare not hear, The words would come too late; 176 ADELAIDE ANNE 1 I i Yet I would spare thee all remorse. So comfort thee, my fa Whatever on my heart may fall, Remember, I would risk it all ! ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. VICTORIA'S TEARS. O maiden, heir of kings ' A king lias left bis place ; The majesty of death lias swept All other from Ins face. Ami thou upon thy mother's breast An longer lean adown, But take the Glory for the Rest, Ami rule the land thai loves thee be I She heard ami wept ; She wept i" wear a crown ' ! V 177 17S ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Tin". I her courtly halls ; They reined her hundred steed They shouted at her palace gate, ■• A noble Queen succeeds !" Eer name has stirred the mountain's sleep, I [er praise has filled the town ; And i rners God had stricken di ep Looked hearkening up, ami did nol weep. Alone she wept, Who wept to wear a crown ! She saw no purple shine, For tears had dimmed her eyi Sin- only knew her childhood's flowers re happier pageantries. And while her heralds played their part. Those million shouts to drown, "God save the Queen!" from hill to mart She heard through all her beating heart, And turned and wept ; She wept to wear a crown 1 God save thee, weeping Queen! Thou shaft be well beloved; The tyrant's sceptre cannot move As those pure tears have moved. The nature in thine eyes we That tyrants cannot own — The love that guardeth liberties. Strange blessing on the nation lies, Whose sovereign w Yea! wept to wcca- its crown! VICTOR] !l's i i; mis. L79 God bless thee, weeping < Iva ■ Wit h blessing mure divine ! Ami till with happier love than earth's Thai tender bear! of thine : That when the thrones of earth shall be As low as graves broughl down, A pierced Hand may give to thee The crown which angels shout to sec. Thou wilt not weep To wear that heavenly crown ! 1*0 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. HEAVEN'S SUNRISE TO EARTH'S BLINDNESS. It is the hour for souls, That bodies, leavened by the will and love. Be lightened to redemption. The world's old : But the old world waits the Lour to be renewed; Toward which, new hearts in individual growth Must quicken, and increase to multitude In new dvuasties of the race of men; Developed whence, shall grow spontaneously New churches, new economies, new laws Admitting freedom, mw societies Excluding falsehood. He shall make all new. My Romney ! Lifting up my hand in his, As wheeled by seeing spirits toward the oast. He turned instinctively, where faint and fair, Along the tingling desert of the sky, Beyond the circle of the conscious hills. Were laid in jasper-stone as clear as glass The first foundations of that new. near Day Which should fie builded out of heaven to God. He stood a, moment with erected brows. In silence, as a creature might who gazed; Stood calm and fed his blind, majestic eyes ■ pon the thought of perfect noon. And when I saw his soul saw, "Jasper first," I said. "And second, sapphire; third, chalcedony; The rest in order: last, an amethyst." a woman's SHOE rCOMISTi L81 A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS. She has laughed as softly as i ed ; She lias counted six and over, Of a purse well filled and a hear! well tried; ( >h, cadi a worthy lover ! They "give her time;" for her soul must slip Where the world has S ei the grooving; She will lie to none with her fair red lip; But love seeks truer loving. She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb, As her thoughts were beyond recalling; With a glance for one, and a glance for some, From her eyelids rising and falling. Speaks common words with a blushful air; Hears bold words unreproving ; But her silence says what she never will swear, And love seeks better loving. -• Go, lady, lean to the night-guitar, And drop a smile to the bringer; Then smile as sweetly, when lie is far, At the voice of an indoor sinj Bask tenderly beneath tender eves; (fiance lightly on their removing; And join new vows to old perjuries, But dare not call it loving ' 2 w L82 ELIZABETH l;Al;i:i I l B] - Unless you can think when tb > is done No "i her is soft in the rhythm ; I Inless you can feel, when lefl by ' h That all men else go with him ; Unless you can know, when unpraised by his breath, That your beauty itself wants proving; Unless you can swear, " For life, for death !" Oh fear to call it Lam Unless you can muse in a crowd all day On the absent tare that fixed you; Unless you can love as the angels may. With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is last, Through behoving and unbelieving; Unless you can die when the dream is past, Oh never call it loving ! A MAN'S REQUIREMENTS. Love me, sweet, with all thou art, Peeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the lightest part. Love me in full being. Love me with thine open youth In its frank surrender ; With the vowing of thy mouth, With its silence lender. a man's ; rs. L83 Love me with thine azu Mad Taking colo ( 'an L-.'i\ en's truth be waul b Love iii>' wii li their lids, thai Snow like at first meel me with thine heart, that all The neighbors then see beatin tie with thine hand stretched out, Fn - Love me with thy loitering foot, Hearing one behind it. Love me with thy voice, that turns Sudden, faint above me ; Love me with thy blush that burns A\ hen 1 murmur " Love mi ! Love me with thy thinking soul: Break it to love-sighing; Love me with thy thoughts that roll < hi through living, dying. Love me in thy ous airs. When tin.' world lias crowned I hee ; Love me kneeling a1 thy prayers, With the angels round thee. Low me pure, as musers do, ads shady ; Love me gayly, As a winso L dy. 1 S I ELIZABETH I I BROWNING. Through all thai keep as brave, Further off or nigher, l.<.\ e i for the house and grave, Ami foi Thus, if thou wilt prove me, dear, A\ oman s love no fable, / will love thee — half a year — As a man is able. HECTOE IN THE GARDEN. Nine years old! The first of any Seem the happiest years that come; Yet when / was nine I said No such word ; 1 thought instead That the Greeks had used as many In besieging Ilium. Nine green years had scarcely brought me To my childhood's haunted spring; I had life like flowers and h In betwixt the country fan And the sun the pleasure taught me Which he teacheth everything. If the rain fell, there was sorrow; Little head lean! on the pane. HECTOK IN THE GARDEN. L85 Little finger drawing down it The long trailing drops upon it, And the " Rain, ram, come to-i Said for charm against tin- rain. Such a charm was right Canidian, Though you meel ii with a jeer ; If I said ii long enough, Then the rain hummed dimly off, And tlif thrush with his pure Lydian W as lefl only to the <-,\v ; Ami the sun and T together Went a-rushing ou1 of doors ; W e our tender spirits drew • >ver lull and dale in view, Glimmering hither, glimmering thither, In the footsteps of the showers. Underneath the chestnuts drippini Through the grasses wet and fair, Straight I sought my garden-ground, With i he laurel on the mound, Ami the pear tree oversweeping A side-shadow of green air. In the garden lay supinely A huge giant wrought of spade ; Arms and legs were stretched at length "In a passive giant strength : And the meadow i urf cut finely, Round them laid and interlaid. 2 x l,sf> \i;i:th baerett beowning. i 'all him Hector, son of Priam, Such his title and degree. With my rake I smoothed his brow; Both his cheeks I weeded through ; a rhymer such as I am lis dignity. Ltiahellas' azure. winking at the skies : Nose of gillyflowers and b Scented grasses put for locks, Which a little breeze at pleasure Set a-waving round his eyes. Brazen helm of daffodillies, With a glitter toward the light ; Purple violets for the mouth, Breathing perfumes west and south; And a sword of flashing lilies, den ready for the fight. And a breastplate made of dai i llosely fitting, leaf by leaf; Periwinkles interlaced, Drawn for belt about the waist While the brown bees, humming praises, Shot their arrows round the chief. And who knows, 1 sometimes wondered, 11' the disembodied soul HECTOR IX I 111: i.AEDEX. 181 i if old I lector, once of To y, Might not take a dreary Here to enter if it thundered, Rolling up the thunder roll? Rolling tliis way from Troy-ruin, In tins body rude and rife. He might enter and take resl Neath the daisies of the breast ; They with tender roots renewing His heroic heart to life. Who could knew'.' 1 sometimes started At a motion or a sound ; Did lus mouth speak, naming Troy Willi an ororoTOTOi ? l'id the puke of the Strong-hearted Make the daisies tremble round '.' ■ It was hard to answer, often : Bui the birds sang in the tree, But the little birds sang bold hi the pear tree green and old ; And my terror seemed to soften Through the courage of their glee. - ( 'h, the birds, the tree, the ruddy And white blossoms, sleek with rain ! Oh, my garden, rich with pansies ! 1 'h, my childhood's bright romances ! All revive like Hector's body, Ami ! sei i beni stir again L88 1ABETH i:Al;i:.i:i r BRO"W \ A il< L despite life's changes — chana And despite the deathbell's toll, II,. | on E HI lull ;-■ Help, some angel! stay tins dreaming As the birds sang in the branches, Sing God's patience through my soul. That no dreamer, no n ( >f the present's work unsped, I mav wake up and be doing, Life's heroic ends pursuing, Though my past is dead as Hector, And though Hector is twice dead. ///ilk CATHERINE WINK WORTH. PALM SUNDAY. Hoanxa to tin- Son of David! liaise Triumphal arches to Ins praise; For him prepare a throne Who c es a1 Inst to Zion — to his own! Strew palms around, make plain ami straighl the way Foi 1 1 mi who In- triumphal entn holds to 'lav ' 2 v 190 CATHERINE WTNKWORTH. J [osanna ! Wei u iboi e all thou art ! VTake ready each to lay his ln-art Low down before his feel ! lei us hasten forth our Lord to meet, A.nd bid him enter in at Zion's ga Where thousand-voiced welcome on huj coming waits. Hosanna! Prince ot :e and Lord of might! We hail thee conqueror in the fight. All thou with toil hast won Shall be our booty when the battle's done. Thy right hand ever hath the rule and sway, Tliv kingdom standeth fast when all things el Hosanna! best-beloved and noble Guest! Who made us by thy high behesl Heirs of thy realm with thee. t )h let us therefore never weary be To stand and serve before thy righteous throne; We know no kins but the< — rule thou <> er us alone! - Hosanna! Come, the tunc draws on apace; We long thy mercy to embrace ; This servant's form can ne'er \ thy acts declare. Too well art thou here in thy Zion known, Who art the Son of God, and yet art David's son. Eosanna! Lord, be thou our help ami friend; Thy aid to us in mercy send. That each may bring his soul An offering unto thee, unstained and whole. PALM SUNDAY. l'.M Thou wilt bave none for thy disciples, Lord, I'.ui who obey in truth, not only hear thy word. Hosanna ! Let us in thy footsteps tread, Nor that sad Mounl of Olives dread \\ bere we must weep and wa1 Until the far-off song of joy we catch From beaven, our BethphagS, where we shall sing Hosanna in the highest to our God and King! Hosanna! Let us sound it far and wide! Enter thou in and bere abide, Thou Blessed of the Lord ' Why standest thou without, why roam'st abroad'.' Hosanna! Make thy home with us for ever' Thou comest, Lord! and naught us from thy love shall sever. 192 [NB WINKWO THIRD SUNDAY AFTEE EASTER. ( Iometh sunshine after rain, Alter mourning ain ; After heavy, bitter grief Dawneth surely sweet relief; And my soul, who From her heighl Sank to realms of woe and night, Wingeth now to heaven her flight. He whom this world dares not face Hath refreshed me with his grace, And his mighty hand unbound ( 'i mills of hell about me wound ; Quicker, stronger, leaps my blood, Since his mercy, like a flood, Poured o'er all my heart for good. Bitter anguish have I borne, Keen regret my heart hath torn; Sorrow dimmed my weeping eyes, Satan blinded me with lies ; Yet at last am I set B Help, protection, love, to me Once more true companions be. Ne'er was I elpless prey, Ne'er with shame was turned awa lie win, gave himself to God, And on him had cast his load. I'lliKH SUND i.1 \l DEE EASTER. Who in God his hope hath placed Shall not life in pain outwa Fullest joy ■ ■ luil I taste. L93 Though to day may nol fulfil All thy hopes, have patience still; Fi ir perchance to-morrow's -sun Sees thy happier days begun. As God willeth march the houi Bringing joy at last in showers Ami whal e'er we asked i- : ours, %i [9 | CATHERINE WINKWOKTH. When my heart was vexed with c; Filled with fears, wellnigl ir; When. Will QJ a II!" On me fell pale sickm I lit ; When my - in- fast, 1 lamest I bou, mj ( rod, a1 last, A in I my woes were quickly past. Now, as long as here I roam On this earth ha^ 1 and hoi Shall this wondrous gleam from thee Shine through all my memory. To my < rod I yet will clii All my life the praises sing it from thankful hearts outspri Every sorrow, every smart, That the Eternal Father's heart Hath appointed me of yore, Or hath yet for me in st< • As my life Hews on I'll take ( lalmly, gladly for his sake ; No mere faithless murmurs make. T will meet distress and pain. 1 will greet e'en death's dark reign, I will lay me in the With a heart still glad and brave. Whom the Strongest doth defend, Whom the Highest counts his friend, 1 lannot perish in the end. KAM ! 1 EASTER EVEN. p of the weary ! Thou Thyself art resting now Where lowly in thy Sepulchre thou liesl : From out her deathly sleep My soul cloth start to (So sad a wonder, that thou, Saviour, diest ! Thy bitter anguish o i To this dark tomb they bore Thee, Life of Hi i, Lord of all creation ! The hollow rocky cave Ma i thee for a grave, Who wast thyself the Rock of our salvation! i ) Prince of life J I know That when J too lie low, Thou wilt at last liiY soul from death awaken; Wherefore I will not shrink From the grave s awful brii The heart that trusts in the. ■ shall ne'er be shaken. To me . Is but a narrow n Where [ma Thy '! To cry in that d " Deal ' • vrmi' ■. 196 CATHERINE WINKWORTH. The | can naught destroy ; Only i b can die, And e'eD the body triumphs o'er decay. Clothed by thy wondrous might In robes of dazzlinj This flesh shall burst the grave at that last day. My Jesus; day by day, Help me to watch and pray Beside the tomb where in my heart thou'rt laid. Thy bitter death shall be My ('(instant memory, My guide at last into Death's awful shade. DINAH MARIA MULOCK. PHILIP, MY KING. •■ Who bears upon Ins baby brow I he round An'l top of soverei] Look at me with thy large brown eves, Philip, ray king ! .; a . 198 DINAH M \l;IA MULOCK. For round thee the purple shadow lies Of babj hood's royal dignil Lav on my neck thy tiny hai Willi Love's in\ isible sceptre laden ; I am thine Esther to command Till thou ' ; Two lips where grief is mute, Anger at pi So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot ; God in his kindness answereth not. Two hands to work addrest, Aye for his praise ; Two feet that never rest. Walking his ways : Two eyes that look above Through all their tears ; Two lips still breathing love, Not wrath, nor tears ;" So pray we afterwards, low on our knee Pardon those erring prayers. Father, bear these 200 DINAH MAKIA MULOCK. HER LIKENESS. A GIEL, who has so many wilful ways, She would have caused Job's pati i forsake him, Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise, Did Job himself upon her g Iness gaze, A little better she would surely make him. Yet is this girl I sing in naugbt uncommon, And very far from angel yet, 1 trow. Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human; Yet she's more lovable as simple woman Than any one diviner that I know. Tlh 1 wish that she may safely keep This womanhede, and change not, only grow; From maid to matron, youth to age may creep, And in perennial blessedness still reap On every hand of that which she doth sow. LADY NAIRN. THE LAIRD 0' COCKTKW The laird o' Cockpen he's proud and !n ; s great, His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the state; 3 15 2D1 202 LADY XAinx. He wanted a wife bis braw house to keep, But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to eek. Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, At his tul I lie thou i i 'd look well; M'Lish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. His wig was wee! pouthered and as gude as new; His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; He put on a ring, a sword and cocked hat, Ami wha could refuse the Laird wi' a that? He took the gray mare and rade cannily, And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee: " Grae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily hen, She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpi Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine: "And what brings tin' Laird at sic a like time?" She put all' her apron and on her silk gown, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down. And when site earn' lien ho bowed fu' low. And what was his errand lie soon lei her know; Amazed was the Laird when the lady said "Na;" And wi' a laigb curtsey she turned awa'. Dumbfoundered he was: na sigh did he gie; He mounted his mar.'. he rade cannily; And aften lie thought as he gaed through the glen, "She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." And now that the Laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said: "Oh! for ane I'll gel it's waur I'll yet ten; I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." THE LAND o' THE LEAL. 203 Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen, They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green. Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen, But as yet there's aae chickens appeared at Cockpen. THE LAND 0' THE LEAL. I'm wearing awa', Jean ; Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean, I in wearing awa' To the land o' the led. There's nae sorrow there, Jean. There's neither cauld nor care, Jean ; The day is aye fan- In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true. Jean: Your task's ended noo, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean; She was baith guid and fair, .Jean; Oh, we grudged her right sair To the land o' the leal ! Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean; My soul langs to In' free. Jean, And angels wait en me To the land o the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean; This warld's care is vain, Jean; We'll meet and aye he fain In the land o' the leal. MRS. CRAWFORD. WE PARTED IX SILENCE. We parted in silence, we parted by night, On the banks of that lonely river; Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite, We met, and we parted for ever! The night-bird Minn', and the stars above Told many a touching story Of friends long passed to the kingdom of Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. We parted in silence; our cheeks were wet With the tears that were pasl controlling; We vowed we would never, no, never ioi And those vows at the time wore consoling. I'm those lips that echoed the sounds of mine Are as cold as that lonely river; And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine, Has shrouded its fires for ever. A ad now on the midnight sky 1 look, And my heart grows full of weeping; Each star is to me a sealed hook. Some talc .if that loved one keeping. We parted in silence, we parted in tears, On the banks of that lonely river: But the odor and bloom of those hyo-one years Shall hang o'er it- waters for over. CHRISTINA GEORGIA A ROSSETTI. THE MILKING-MAID. The year si ! at its equinox, And bluff the North was blowing; A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, Green hardy things were growing; 1 met a maid with shining loi Where milky kine were lowing. She wore a kerchief on her neck . Her bare arm showed its dimple; Her apron spread without a speck; Her air was hank and simple. She milked into a wooden pail, And sang a country ditty, An innocenl fond lovers' tale. That was not wise nor witty, Pathetically rustical, Too pointless for the city. She kept in time without a beat, As true as church-bell ringers, Unless she tapped time with hi r Or si [iieezed it wit h her 6ngers ; Her clear, unstudied notes were sv > I As manv a practiced singer's. :; C 206 CHRISTIANA GEORGIANA ROSSETTI. 1 stood a minute out oi m i -ip 1,1 for a minute, Co eye the pail, and creamj white The fro lilk within it ; To eye the comely milking-maid, Eerself so fresh and creamy. " ( I l-day to you !" al last I said , She turned her head to see me G I she said with lifted head Her eyes looked soft and dreamy. And all the while she milked and milked The grave cow heavy laden ; I've seen grand ladies plumed and silked. But not a sweeter maiden ; But not a bw< r maid Than this in homely cotton, Whose pleasant face and silky braid J have not yet forgotten. - Seven springs have passed since then, as T ( fount with a sober sorrow : Seven springs have conn' and passed me by, And spring sets in to-morrow. I've half a mind to .-hake myself Free, just for once, from London ; To set my work upon the shelf, And leave it dine or undone ; THE MILK I \e MAID. 201 r<> run down by the early train, Whirl down with shriek and whi Ami feel the Muil' North blow again, And mark the sprouting thistle Sri up on waste patch <>i the lane 1 1 - green and tender brisl le ; And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, < !risp primrose leaves and oth< And watch the lambs leap at their [Tanks, And butt their patient mother-. Alas ! one point in all my plan My serious thoughts demur to : Seven years have passed for maid and man — Seven years have passed for her Perhaps my rose is over-blown, Nol rosy or too rosy : Perhaps in farm-house of her own Some husband keeps her cosy, Where 1 should show a face unknown; < rood-bye, my wayside posy ! CATHERINE PANSHAWE. ENIGMA. THE LETTER "H." 'Twas whispered in heaven, and muttered in hell, And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell : ( >n the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest, And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed. Twas seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder: 'Twill be found in the spheres when riven asundi 'Twas given to man with his earliest breath, Assists at his birth, and attends him in deith ; Presides o'er his happiness, honor and health, Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth. It begins every hope, every wish i; must bound, And, though unassuming, with monarchs is crowned. In the hea] is of the miser 'tis hoarded with care. But is sure to be lost in his prodigal heir. Without it the soldier and sailor may roam, But woe to the wretch who expels it from homo! In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found, Nor e'er in the whirlwind < f passion be drowned. It softens the heart, and though deaf to the ear. It will make it acutely and instantly hear. , But in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower; (ill breathe on il softly; it dies in an hour. 208 LADY EMMELINE STUART WORTLEY. NIGHT AND MORNING. T wandered through the wood. And I wandered by the wave; I bent me o'er the fl 1 Where angry waters rave. The night was gathering dark. And the air was gathering damp; There gleamed no glow-worm's spark, No fire-fly's fluttering lamp. 3 D 209 210 LAl'Y EMMELINE STUART WORTLEY. Fondlv I i to dream, But mini would not r 1 ted the night-owl's Roared the pirn hing brows. No nightingale was singing, Those solemn glooms to ch But the hollow winds were ringing Their death-dirge in mine No lovely star was shining Through those midnight heavens of i the valley where it grows ; But the baliy heart receiveth Mora-: than it bestows. Comes the future to the present; "Ah!" she saitli, "tun blithe of mood; Why that smile which seems to whispi r 'I am happy, God is g 1 ' '.' God is good; that truth eternal Sown for y<>u in happier years, I must tend it in my shadow. Water it with tears. "Ah, sweet present! I must lead th By a daylight more subdued : There must teach thee low to whisper, " I am mournful. God is good.' ' Peace, thou future! Clouds are coming, Stooping from the mountain cri But that sunshine floods the valley, Let her — let her e * 'ome the future to the present : "Child," she saitli, "and wilt thou n How long, chill, before thy footsteps Fret to reach yon cloudy crest ? 216 .ika cow. Ah. the vallej ' angels guard it, Bui th ave to - Looking down were long conti e up, child, to So she speaks, but do not heed ber, Little maid with wondrous e\ Nol afraid, l>ut clear and tender, Line, and filled with prophecii Thou for whom life's veil unlifted Hangs, whom warmest valleys fold, Lift the veil, the charm dissolveth; Climb, but heights are cold. There -,i, that fold within them. Closed and covered from our sight, Many a richly-tinted petal Never looked on by the light. Fain to see their shrouded lie Sun and dew are long at strife, Till at length the sweet buds open; h a bud is life. WTien the rose of thine own being Shall reveal its central fold. Thou shalt look within and marvel, Fearing what thin- behold. ■ What ii shows and what it teaches Are not things wherewith to part; Thornv rose! that always costetb Bea tin-- at the h \ \MiTllKi: SHOWING THE PORTRAIT 01 EEB CHILD. 217 Look in fear, for there is dimm Ills unshapen floal anigh. Look in awe; for tins same nature' • ince the * rodhead deigned to die. Look in love, for He doth love it. And its tale is best of lore ; Still, humanity -tows dearer, Being learned the moi Learn, but not the less bethink thee How that all ran mi 1 : rs : But His joy can none discover, Save to i In 'in thai are His peers. And that they whose lips do utter Language such as bards bave sung, Lo ! their speech shall In' to many As an unknown tongue. Learn that if to thee tin- meaning < >f all other eyes he shown, Fewer eves can ever front thee. That are skilled to read thine own; And that if thy love's deep current Many another's far outflows, Then thy heart must take for ever I i] 3 THAN IT BEST i 3F 218 .IK AN IMiKI "jffiiaasaewt^i ■ -W A SEA SONG. Old Albion sat on a crag of late, \ ad sung nut, " Ahoy ! ahoy ! Long life to the captain, good luck to the mate, And this to my sailor boy ! Come over, come home, Through the sail sea foam, My sailor, my sailor boy ! A sk\ SONG. 219 "Here's a crown to be away, 1 ween, A crown for raj r's head. Ami all for the worth of a widowed qui And the love of the u And the fear and fame ( 'I tii«' island's name \\ here my hoy was bom and bred. " Content thee, content thee, let it alone, Thou marked for a choice so rare; Though tn e treaties, never a throne W a- proffered for ran-.- as fair. Yet come to me hot Through tin' salt sea foam, For the Greek must ask elsewhere. " 'Tis pity, my sailor, but wh ill? Many lands they look to One of tin-,, might be wanting a prince as well. But that's as hereafter may lie." She raised her white head And laughed ; and she said, " That's as hereafter may be " GEORGE ELIOT. TWO LOVERS. Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, Ami heard the wooing thrushes sing. budding time ! love's blest prime ! Two wedded from the portal stept: The bells made happy carollings, The air was soft as fanning wings, White petals on the pathway slept. pure -eyed bride ! tender pride ! Two faces o'er a cradle bent: Two hands above the head were locked; These pressed each other while they rocked, Those wafahed a life that love had sent, solemn hour ! hidden power ! 220 A.RION. 22] Two parents by the evening fire : The red ligb.1 fell about their knees On heads that rose by slow degn Like buds upon the lily spire. ( ) patient life ! (J tender strife ! The two still sat together there, The red light shone about their knees; But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair. ( I voyage fa si ! vanished past ! The red light shone upon the floor And made the space between them wide; They drew their chairs up side by side, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!" < I memories ! past that is ! ARION. (Herod. I. 24J Arion, whose 111010,11c soul Taught the dithyramb to roll Like forest fires, and sin< Olympian suffering, :>, G 222 ELIOT. Had carried bis diviner lore Where Gt< ece could largelier be, Branching o'er Italy. Then weighted with' his glorious name And bags of gold, aboard he came 'Mid men, To Corinth bound again. The sailors eyed the bags and thought, "The gold i good, the man is naught; And who shall track the wave That opens for his With brawny amis and cruel eyes They press around him where he lies In sleep beside his lyre, Hearing the Muses' choir. Ee waked and saw this wolf-faced Death Breaking the dream that filled his breath With inspiration strong Of yet unchanted song. "Take, lake my gold and let me live!" He prayed, as kings do when they give Their all with royal will. Holding horn kingship still. To rob the living they One death or other he musl choi ARION. 223 Either the watery pall, Or wounds and burial. "My solemn robe then let me don, Give me high space to stand upon, That dying I may pour A song unsung before." It pleased them well to grant this prayer, To hear for naught how it might fare With men who pan! their gold I or what a poel sold. Iii flowing stole, i With inward fire, he neared the prow And took his godlike stand, The eithara in hand. The wolfish, men all shrank aloof. And feared tins singer might he proof Against their murderous power After his lyric hour. But he, in liberty of song, Fearless of death or ol her wrong. With full spondaic toll Poured forth his mighty sonl — Poured forth the strain his dream had taught, A nome with lofty passion fraught, Such as makes battles won On fields of Marathon. 224 'BG-E ELIOT. The last long vowels trembled then, A.s awe within those wolfish men, They said with mutual stare, Some god was presenl there. But lo! Arion leaped on high, Ready, his descant done, to die ; Not asking, " Is it well?" Like a pierced end'-' fell. J^.£K^ LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. RETURN OF NAPOLEON FROM ST. HELENA. Ho ! city of the gay ' Paris, what festal rite Doth call thy thronging millions forth, All eager for the sight? Thy soldiers line the strei In fixed and stern array, With buckled helm and bayon As on the battle-di 3 H 225 226 o i y. in side Heads in dense masses ri Ami tower and tree and battl Are studded thick \\ ith eyes. Com In triumph from th' With - : d captives in his (vain. Th The "Arc de Trie -lows: A martial host is nigh ; France pours i on forth Her pomp of chiva No clarion marks their v No victor-trump is Mown; Why march they on so silently, Told by their tread alo Behold, in gorgeous show. A gorgeous ear of state ! The white-plumed steeds in cloth of gold Bow down beneath its weight : And the noble war-horse, led I along. Seems fiercely lor his lord to ask As his red eye scans the throng. Who rideth on von ci The incense flameth high : Comes there some demigod of old? No answer ! no reply ' i:i 1 i !:\ < . 1 ' NAPOLEON L< BOM ST. 22 --< W'lin ridetb on yon car? No shouts his minions rai Bui by a lofty chape] dome The muffled hero slays. A king is waiting there, Ami with uncovered head Receives him, in the name of France ; Receive! h whom ? The dead! Was he not buried deep In island-cavern drear, t rirl by the sounding ocean-surge '.' How came that sleeper here? Was there no rest for him Beneath a pe; i all, That thus he brake his rocky tomb Ere the strong angel's call? Hark! hark! the requiem swells, A deep, soul-thrilling strain — A requiem never to be hea By mortal < ar again — A requiem for the chiei Whose flat millions slow ; The soaring Eagle of the \ The crushed at Waterloo ; The banished who returned, The dead who rose ag: And rode in his shroud the billows proud To the unnv bank.- of Seim 228 I i'lA 11. SIG01 BNEY. They laid him there in st: Thai \v;iii • -V -\ rong and bold., The imperial crown with jewels brighl ['\»>n ins ashes cold, While round those columns proud The blazoned banners wave That on a hundred fields he won With the heart's blood of tin; brave. Ami sternly then' kept guard His veterans scarred ami "14. Whose wounds of Lodi's cleaving bridge And purple Leipsic told. Yes, there with arms revei Slow-pacing night ami day. Close watch beside that coffin kept Those wan ior grim and gray. A cloud is on their brow : Ts it sorrow for the d< ad '.' < >r memory of the fearful strife Where their country's legions bled? ( >f Borodino's blood ? Of Beresina's wail '.' The horrors of that dire retreat Which turned old History pale? A cloud is on their brow ; Is it sorrow for the dead ? Or a shuddering at the wintry shaft By Russian tempests 3p id, RET1 B S 0] rAPOLEON I iM S 1 . HELENA. 229 When countless mound Marked the And, pierced by frosl and famine, sank The bravesl of the brav< A thousand trembling lamps The gathered darkness mock, And velvel drapes his hearse who died On bare Helena's rock ; And from the altar near A never-dying hymn Is lifted by the chanting priests Beside the tapers dim. My one ! and proud ! In the land where shadows reign, Hast thou met the flocking ghosts of those Who at thy nod were slain ? Oh! when the cry of that spectral host Like a rushing blast shall be, \\ hat will thiii>' an -■■.■. er 1"' to them ? And what thy < rod's to thee '.' 3 r 230 LYDIA 11. S] I THE COUNTRY CHURCH. It stood among the chestnuts, its white spire And slender turrets pointing where man's heart Should ofteuer turn. Up went the wooded cliffs, Abruptly beautiful above its bead, Shutting with verdanl screen the waters out, That just beyond, in deep sequestered vale, Wroughl out their rocky passage. Clustering roofs And varying sounds of village industry Swelled from its margin. But all around The solitary dell where meekly rose That con ecrated church there was no voii Save what still Nature in her worship breathes, And thai unspoken lore with which the dead Do commune' with the living. And methoughl How sweet it were so near the sacred house \VL had heard of < Ihrist, and taken 1 [is \ And Sabbath after Sabbath gathered strength To do His will, thus to lie down and ; e 'neath the shadow of its peaceful walls; And when the hand doth moulder, to lift up Our simple tombstone, witi < that faith \\ hich cannol i Ami daily may'st I m a pil; uicl ■ toil, from cum flee, An. I drink the waters of eternal Li Snll in sweel fellowship with ti Friend of both earth and h stand To guide th Ih ing and to guard I Lie A ad. FAREWELL TO A RURAL RESIDENCE. How beautiful it stands. Behind its elm tree's screen, With Je attic cornice crowned, All graceful and sen ne ! Most sweet yet sad it is Upon vim scene to gaze, And li-i ii 3 inborn melody, The voice of other days. For there, as man ar Its varied char! unrolled, I hid me in those And called the joys of old. I called them, and they a When vernal ' ed, Or where the vine clad summer bower Its temple rool upreared ; 232 I DLA II. - Or \vl o'erarching grove Spread fori i i While eyebrighl and a red Their urn r. alks between ; the boughs His broken nuts lei fall, And the merry, merry little birds Sing at his festival. Yon old forsaken nests Returning spring shall chei And thence the unfledged robin breathe His greeting wild and clear; And from yon clustering vine That wreal lies the casement ro The humming-bird's unresting wing Send forth a whirring sound. And where alternate sprin; The lilac's purple Fast by its snowy sister's side ; Or where, with wing of G The kingly oriole glancing wi Amid the foliage r; Shall many a group of i hildren tread ; But mine will not be there. Fain would T know what forms The mastery here shall keep — What mot hi -Hi nursery fair Rock her young babes to sloop. FAR] 233 Yet bL [spot, Though here no more I si And bi on W'liu in those halls shall p] I [eaven bless vmi too, my plants, And every parenl Thai here anion-' the woven boughs ■ Above its young hath I ki That often o'er in The bio our flowery spring In r heel. Thou too i ;eful mo I thank thee, soundino; stream That blent thine echo with my thought, Or woke my musi m ! T kneel upon th mt turf. For sure i ty tl re due To ] 1 1 [eaf, That ■: i p (Jew. To cadi perenniaj flow Old tenants of the si The bro a le, And the meek tie-not — To every dai 1 brow, To every violel blue, Thanks! thanks! May each returning year "1 our changeless Mi renew. 3 i: 2:'. I l.YIU A H. SIG01 KXKY. Praise to our Father < rod, High praise in solemn lay, Alike for what His hand hath given, And what i1 takes awi And to si other loving I May all tins beauty be The dear retreat, the Eden home, That it hath been to me ! MARIA BROOKS. THE MOON OF FLOWERS. Moon of flowers! sweel moon of flowers Why dost thou mind me of the hours Which flew so softly on that night When last I saw and felt thy light? 235 236 MAR] \ BROO liiiiiin of flowers! thou union of flowers! Would thou couldsl those hours, Since win- Or show i ped! moon of flowers! » : of flowers] In scenes alar were passed tl I irs, Which still with fond regret I si And wish that I could change like th TO NIAGARA. Spirit of Homer! thou wh ■ lp; has nine; From thine own Greece to this supreme abode Of Nature, this great lane of Nature's God, Breathe on my strain, oh touch the fervid tongue Of a fond kneeling on the sod! Sublime and beautiful your chapels here! Here neath the azure dome of heaven ye're wed, Here on this rock winch trembles as I tread ¥"our blend,. d sorcery claims both pulse and tear. Controls life's source and reigns o'er heart and head. Terrific, but beautiful abj If I should trust my fascinated eye, Or hearken to your maddening melody, e — form — would spring to meet your white foam's kiss, Be lapped in your soft rainbows once and die. N i VGARA. 231 Color, depth, height, extension — all unite To chain the .-pirn by a look inti The dolphin in his clearest sea.-, or th Ta'en for some queen to deck of ivory white, Dies nol in changeful tints more delicately bright. Look! look! Thi'iv comes o'er yon pair green expan e, Beyond the curtain of this altar vast, A glad young swan. The smiling beams that casl it from her plumes have lured her soft advance; She Hears the fatal brink — her graceful life is past. Look up, nor her fond, foolish fate disdain ; An eagle rests upon the wind's sweet bn Feels he the charm? wens he the scene beneath? He eyes the sum moves his dark wine; again, Remembers clouds and storms, yet flies the lovely death. "Niagara! wonder of this Western world. And half the world beside! hail, beauteous queen Of cataracts!" An angel who had been O'-er earth and heaven spoke thus, his bright wine- furled, And knelt to Nature Brs1 on this wild cliff unseen. 3 L MARIA BEOi SONG. Day, in melting purple dying, Blossoms, all around me sighing, Fragrance, from the lilies straying, Zephyr, with my ringlets playing, Ye but waken my distress; I am sick of loneliness. Thou to whom I love to heark l lo ere night around me darken ; Though thy softness but deceive me, thou'rt true and I'll believe thee. Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent ; Let me think it innocent. Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure All I ask is friendship's plea u Let the shining ore lie darkling, Bring no gem in lu | arkling. ( rifts and gold are naught to me I would only look on thee — Tell to thee the high wrought feeling, Ecstasy but in revealin Painl to thee the deep sensation, Rapture in participation, Yel hiii torture if compressed In a lone, unfriended breast. 239 Absent still ! Ah, come and bless Lei these tb no '-hill to the marin t s blood. Wildly she rocks, but he swingeth at ease, And huldctb by the shroud ; And as she careens to the crowding breeze, The gaping deep the mariner i And the surging heareth loud. \Y;i* that a face looking up at him, With its pallid cheek and its cold eyes dim? Did it beckon him down' 1 Did it call his name? Now rolleth the ship the way wl The mariner looked, and be saw with dread A face In"' know too well : Tin; DEOW m:i> MARIN] 2 13 Ami ili<' cold eyes glared — the eyes of the dead And its long hair out on the wave was spread: Was there a tale to tell '.' The stout ship rocked with a reeling speed, And the mariner groaned, as well he need; For ever down as she plunged on her side The dead face gleamed from the briny tide. Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past. A voice calls loud for thee ; There's a stifled prayer, the first, the last, The plunging .ship on her beams is cast: Oh where shall thy burial be Bethink thee of oaths thai were lightly spoken, Bethink thee of vows that were lightly broken; Bethink thee of all that is dear to thee, For thou art alone on the raging sea — Alone in the dark, alone on the wave. To buffet the storm alone ; To struggle aghasl at thy watery grave, To struggle, and feel there is none to savi Do God shield thee, helpless one ! The stout limits yield, for their strength is pa The trembling hands on the deep are cast; The white brow gleams a moment more, Then slowly sinks; the struggle is o'er. Down, down where the storm is hushed to sleep, Where the sea its dirge shall swell, Where the amber drops for thee shall weep. And the rosedipped shell its music kei p There thou shah slumber well. 244 ELIZAB] OAK] : : I'll. p ri lie heaped al tlr Th from the neck of the beautiful bride, From i i - hand, from the maiden's brow, As they slowly sunk L< low. A peopled hon ocean bed; The mother and child are there; The fervent youth and the hoary head, The maid with her floating locks outspread, The babe with its silken hair. As the water moveth they lightly sway. And the tranquil lights on their features play; Ami there is each cherished and beautiful form, Away from decay and away from the storm. CTION. 245 DEATH AND RESURRECTION. ( >rj: life is onward, and our very dust Is longing for its change, i lint it mav take New combinations; that the >nn\ may break From its dark thraldom, where it lies in trust < )f its great resurrection. Mot the rusl Of cold inertness shall the life Of e'en the p< •■ >res1 weed which af1 r strife Shall spring from our dead ashes, and which must some else barren wa te with its meek grace And germs of beautiful, vast thought concealed, :: X 246 ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. Lie & ep within the soul, which evern Onward and upward strivi The last in place Enfolds the higher yi t to I aled, And each the sepulchre of that which went 1 THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. We pass along with careless tread Where vine and buds are springing; We smile, for all above our he: Ave light and gladness ringing, Unconscious thai beneath our feet The lava flood is leaping, That in the pleasant summer heal The lightning flash is sleeping. And human eyes each other meet, With meanings sealed for ever, And loving lips each other greet ; Their tale reveal, ah never! And smiles, cold beaming smiles, go round, The breaking heart concealing, And temples are with garlands crowned, Nor they their throbs revealing. I too — for seeming must he mine — With carele w rds shall greet thee, THE 1 .V 217 Although the s ; Like o And I shall coldly meel thine hand — thus thi world i- gi ling ; Like mocking effigies w No our his neighbor knowing. Ah! betl than each should know His brother's heartfelt grievin For who could bide the sight of woe Which bears of no relieving? And who could list the mournful tone From every heart upswelling, Where hop< dying one by one, And hear their death-dirge knellinj Oh should a sickness of th< A weariness, come o'er thee, "Would that these lines mighi peace impart, Might unto joy restore thee! And thou, with dreamy, half-closed e] Wouldst o'er the missive ponder. W hile floating faintly should arise A form of lighl and wonder. Oh then bethink that there is one, Though none the secrel readeth, Whose soul for over and al For then in secrel pleadeth ; 248 MIT 11. Who 1: n thy i heard, Yel meekly woi Lining That had vi one word, had be< a SARAH HALL. SKETCH OF A LANDSCAPE. What joyous notes are those, so soft, so sweet. That unexpected strike my charmed ea They are the robin's song. This genial morn Deceives the feathered tribe; for yel the sun In Pisces holds his course; nor yet has Spring Advanced on.' legal claim ; but, though oblique, So mild, so warm, descend his cheering rays, 30 249 250 HALL. [m] i g Winter seems subdued. No dread retards their wing ; but off tin Triumphing in tb I dawn of Sprii [venturous birds little think. Though lil st, How soon the blasts of Marc! Ma] by flight 1 i Thus easily allured to put his trust In fair appi ; and with hope el: And naught suspecting, thus he sullies forth, . To earn ex] : in the storms of life. ut why thus chide? Why aol with gratitu ;iin of joy ? For many an hour can witness that not oft My solitude is cheered by feeling such, So blith o ] - thy song, Sweet robin i i on thy graceful ban Majesl might dwell ; For whether bouni port her Or niggard Winter bind them, -till the for nt. that Nature w The wide extended landscape glows with more Than common beauty. Hills rise on hills, An amphitheatre whose lofty The [jng oak or stately poplar crowns; Whose ever-varying sides present such scenes, Smooth or precipitous, harmonious still, Mild or ubli , as wake the poet's 1 Nor aughl is wanting to delight the sense: The gii or Diana's s ]i ac | SKETCH 01 A I ANDSi APE. 25] The eye enraptured roves o i ncl dells, ( »!■ dwells complacent on i he nuuv i us ( if cultivated life. 'I Le laboi r's de< en1 col Marks the clear spring or peal the bu bling rill. The lowlii r bul bard bv the river The boat, the seine tell the place Where in the season hardy Esters toil. More elevated on the grassy si Tin.' farmer s mansii >u rises mid bis trei Thence o'er Ins fields the master's watchful eve Surveys the whole. He sees Ins flocks, hi' Excluded from the grain-built con ah i I While rigid wine i reigns, their five domain — Range through the op the tender root, Or, climbing heights abrupt, search careful out The welcome herb, now prematurely sprung Through half-thawed earth. Beside him spreading elms, Hi- friendly barrier from the invading north, Contrast their shields defensive with the willow, Whose flexile drapery sweeps his rustic lawn Before him lie his \ i gi table His :. orchards, meadows — all ins hopes — Now bound in icy chains; but ripening suns Shall bring their treasure- to bis plenteous board. Soon, too, the hum of busy man shall wake The adjacent shores. The baited hook, the net :n skilful round the v, ive, shall bri Their prize delicious to the rural fei Here blooms the laurel on the akes, Umbrageous, verdant, through the circling IBs bushy mantle scorning winds or snows; While there two ample a ream ' conflu i | ace 252 SAEAB HALL. Corn] ie picture, animate the whole. Broad o'er the plain the S una rolls, His rapid wav ounding as he comes; Through many a distant clime and verdanl vale A thou ringy caverns yield their rills. Augmenting still his force. The torrent grows, Spreads deep and wide; till, braving all restraint, Even mountain-ridges feel the imperious pn from their ancient, rock-bound base, they leave Their monumental sides erect to guard pass, and tell to future days and years The wondrous tale. Meanwhile the conqueror-flood holds on his course, Resi i ver, sinuous or direct. Unconscious tribes beneath his surface play, Nor heed the laden barques his surface bears, Now gliding swiftly by the threatening rocks, Now swimming smoothly to the distant bay. To meet and bring his liberal tribute too, The modest Octorara winds his way; Not ostentatious like a boasting world, Tluir little charities proclaiming loud, But silent through the glade retired and wild, Between th d 1 >anks on either hand; Till circling yonder mead he yields his name. Nor proudly, Susquehanna, boast thy gain; For thence not far thou too like him shalt u'ive Thv coi i i rs, title — all — To swidl the nobler name of Chesapeake. And is not such a scene as this the spell That lulls the restless passions into peace'.' Yes. Cold must be the sordid heart unmoved SKETCH OF A I A\ 1' ■ 253 By Nature's bounties; bul they cannot til] That ardent craving in the mind of man For social intercourse, the healthful plaj . The moral gem, the light of intellect, Ami the communion sweet with those we li \ e 3P HANNAH F. GOULD. THE FROST. The Fr<-st looked forth one still, clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height In silence I'll take my way. J will not go on like that blustering train, The Wind ami tin- Snow, the Hail and the Rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain; But I'll be as busy as they." Then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest; He lit on the trees, and their houghs he dressed In diamond beads; and over the breast ( If the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many .1 spear That he hung on its margin far and near, Where n rock could rear its head. 11-' went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept ; Wherever ho breathed, wherever he stopped. By the lighl of the moon were seen 254 Mosl ful things. There were flowers 'I here were bevies of birds and swan .vers; and did one thing thai was hardly fair; II" peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had foi for him to prepare, " Now, ji i I them a-thinki I'll bite this of fruit,'' said " This co i in ji And the glass of water they've left for me Shall 'tchickl' to tell them I'm drinkine." THE YOUNG SETTING MOON. Tin-: fair yo Looks back from the bending w Like a weary soul I glad to j >' To the Ion rest. Her ,\vn. On the distanl hill's dark lie as the righteou looking down < *n the world from his dying bed. Her rays to our view j w and ! Her lighl is at length withdrawn, And she, liki tint. To her far off hon ae. 256 HAN\ \H 1. GOULD. Oh what could have made the moon so brighl Till her work for the earth was done? 'Twas the glory drawn from a c light, 'Twas the face of the radiant sun. For she on her absent king would look, Which the world saw not the while; Her face from him all its beauty took. And conveyed to the world his smile. By him through night has the moon been lr is it some black shade of sin That haunts thy contrite soul with E And s<. sequesti rs thee within The place of fasting, gloom and tears? Art thou the guiltiest of thy n Why, thou art human, it is true ! Which is alone enough for grace To have renewing work to do. 258 iia.vn-aii i. cjould. But can devotion warm and deep Thy duty's bound That faith can plougb >w and reap I \\ trials shunned instead of met '.' What ray of truth revealed could thus Make of a tender, opening soul A close, dark, blue convolvulus. And give its bloom this inward roll? Dost thou the never-fad own Of life and joy intend to win, By so supinely sitting down Where others but the race begin? And dost thou think to gain the palm Bv hiding from thy Saviour's foes? Or hope in Gilead's sacred balm For self-inflicted wounds and woes? I never saw a mm before, And therefore claim indulgence now If I presume to question more Than courtesy might else allow. As one, then, who in darkness pleads For light, T ask to lie informed How. by a string of pegs and beads, A soul is i or fed or warmed ? Tin: m v 259 Tell me tliou sober caba \\ hat is tin : hidden charm Hung or on its twist Contorted, for repelling harm? And is thy spirit ke] Faint It cannot mount to God abi ve, But here must substitute a saint In image for the heavenly lo\ Has He who lived and died for us. Whose gifts are light and liberty, Left in His word the mittii That here confines and fetters 1 1 j > I — : He assign a living tomb For souls endowed with vital grace? Or need surrounding convent gloom To show the radiance of Eis tare? And. pensive nun, now what's the chart That He has drawn and left below. That by it every pious heart May follow "ii the Lord to know'.' Far from temptation, in retreat, Did He consume His earthly days? With houseless head and weary feet. What were His works and where His ways? 260 HANNAH I. GOl l.l'. I ihv spirit's wings unfurled ! H ii if 'tis lit ; Be m, of the world, It' thou wouldst shine to lighten it. ( lome out and show thai face demure, And sei ait on either ch Thy righteous soul would then endure To turn the other and be meek. For let me tell thee, coy recluse, If w I we must be tri< d : If stones, we must be hewn for use, Or by the builder casl If we are salt to salt the earth, All ! then our savor, I nown, Must I"' diffused; for what's the worth • If salt en masse, boxed up alone ? The touchstone where we must inquire If we have safely hid our life Is found in pitfall, flood and fire, Allurements sweet and hitter strife. ( lorn i ou1 ! Behold the billowy seas, The flowery earth and shining skies; Say wherefore God created these, And then, fair nun, thy beauteous ej CHE X UN. 261 Was il for i and sli dugs I [i sv ? r and li mal mew? ( >li, if beneath some lawless vow To man in self-delusion made, An heir of heaven is brought to bow. Thai vow were better broke than paid ! What binds tin ' or who shall sel His nan ge for i ! When ( debt. And burst the ■ v&\ e to make thee free? The world' The fight oi faith must well be fought, And (v. i warrior seen to w The armor for the victory wrought. How dost thou know but it may be Thy foe, thy tempter, who has found This cunning way to corner thee, To keep the< from the battle-ground ? Conn thou hampered, coward one ' \iid doff that outward, odd disgui Thai cumbers thee, it' thou wouldst run, fight the fight to win the prize ! 3K 262 HANNAH F. i Conic ! from the bushel tal And give its i ro im to play , Bind "ii thy shoes and armor tight, And up and to the field away. JANE L. GRAY. Mokn is the time to wake. The eyelids to unclose, Spring from the anus of Sleep, and br< The fetters of repose, Walk at the dewy dawn abroad, And hold sweet fellowship with God. Morn is the time to pray ; How lovely and how meet To send our earliesl thoughts away Up to tlic mercy-seat, Embassadors for us to claim A blessing in our Master's name! Morn is the time to sing; How charming 'tis to hear The mingling notes of Nature ring In the delighted ear, And with that swelling anthem ra The soul's fresh matin-song of praise! 2f,:: 264 JANl \Y. Morn i The seeds i i nly truth, While ' i oftlj blow Q] ith, And Looh bo thee in, r i rod, i I' rain. Morn is tlis • time to 1< As tendrils of the vine, The >ndly rove, And seek them where to twine. Around thyself, in thine embra Lord, let them find their resting-pl; Morn is the time to shine, When re clear and blue, Reflect the of lighl divine, As morning dewdrops do : Like early stars be early bright, And melt away like them in light. 11 is the time to weep < >'er morning hours ' misspent : Alas! how oft from peaceful sleep, On folly madly bent, We ve left the straight and narrow And wand >ra urn- guardian, God Mori' time to think, While thoughts are fresh and Of life just balanced on the la-ink Of dark eternity, MORN. 265 And ask our meel To stand before the judgnu Morn is the time to die, Just al the 'lawn of day, When stars mi the To fade like tl But lest in light more brillianl far Than ever merged the morning Morn is the time to rise. The resurrection morn, Upspringing to the glorious st i I 'n new-found pinions borne, To meet a Saviour's smile divine; Be such ecstatic rising mine! 3S LYDIA JANE PEIRSON. MY MUSE. Born of the sunlight and the dew That met amongst the flowers, That on the river margin grew, Beneath the willow bowers, Her earliest pillow was a wreath Of violets newly blown, And the meek incense of their bre At once became her own. Her cradle-hymn the river sung In that same liquid tone With which it gave, when earth was young, Praise to the Living One. The breeze that lav upon its breast Responded with a sigh. And there the ring-dove built her nest And sumj; her lullaby. The only nurse she ever knew Was Nature free and wild : Such was her birth, and so she grew, A moody, wayward child, 2fif. MY Ml SE. 26 U \\ ho loved to climb the rocky stei To ford the mountain-stream, Tn lie beside the sounding deep, And weave the magic dream. She loved the path with shadows dim, Beneath the dark-L aved tr< Where Nature's feather' d poets sing Their sweetest melodies In dance among the pensile stems. \\ here blossoms bright and sweet Threw diamonds from their diadems I pon her fairy feet. She loved to watch the day-star Heat Upon the aerial sea Till morning sunk his pearly boat In Hoods of radiancj ; To see the angel of the stot I pon his wind-winged ear. With dark- clouds wrapped around his form, • 'ome shouting from alar ; And pouring treasures rich and free. The pure refreshing rain, Till every weed and forest tree < iould hoasi its diamond chain : Then rising, with the hymn of pre That swelled from hill and dale. Display the rainbow sign of peace I pon its misty veil. 268 i,l\ JANE PEIRSON. She loved the wa\ i 3' deep ill And gazed with frenzied - W 1 ii shook lighl ning from his \\ b And winds went sobbing by. Full oft 1 chid the wayward child, Her warn! to restrain, And sought her airy limbs to bind With prudence' worldly chain. I bade her stay within my cot, And ply tlx-' housewife's arl ; She heard me. but she heeded not ; I A who can bind the heart *.' I told her she had none to guide Her inexperienced To where through Tempo's valley glide Castalia's waters swoet ; No son of fame to take her hand And lad her blushing forth, Proclaiming to the laurelled hand A youthful sister's worth : That there were none to help her climb The steep and toilsome way, To where, above the mists of time, Shines Genius' living ray — Where, wreathed with never-fading flowers, The harp immortal lies, Filling the souls that reach those bowers With heavenly melo I MY Ml SE. 1 warned her of the cruel I Thai throng tl 'ath, Where many a thorn of misery grows, \ipI tempests wreak their wrath. I told her of the serpents dread, Willi malice-pointed fangs, Of yellow-blossomed weeds that shed Derision's maddening pangs, And of the broken, mouldering 1\ Thrown carelessly aside, Telling the winds with shivering wires How noble spirits died. 1 said her sandals were not meet Such journey to essay ; There should be gold beneath the feet That tempt Fame's toilsome w But. while I spoke her burning ey. Was flashing in the light Thai shone upon that mountain high, Insufferably bright; While streaming from the Eternal Lyre, Like distant echoes came A strain that wrapped her soul in Ere, And thrilled her trembling Iran,.'. She sprang away, thai wayward child, ■■ The harp ! the harp !" she cried : And still she climbs and warbles Along the mountain side. o 3 T 270 LYDIA JAN',' THE WILDWOOD HOME. Oh - a place like the wildwood home, W] e air is fragrant and fri e. And the first pure breathings of morning come In a gush of melody. She lifts the soft fringe from her 'lurk blue eye i a radiant smile of lo Ami ili«' diamonds that o'er her bosom lie Are bri gems above ; — Wh i lies down in the br< hade Of the glorious forest bo"w ! And the beautiful bird the sunny glades Sil nodding amongst the ti While the boly child of the mountain spring Steals past with a murmured And the hon - sleep in the bells that swing In garlanded banks along ; — Where day steal- away with a young bride's blu To the soft green coucb of nis And the moon throws o'er with a holy hush . Her curtain i i,mer light. And the seraph thi in the hemlock dell — I ''i - s\ eetesl ol birds is she ! — Fill li wy breeze with a trancing swell Of melody rich and n There are sumptuous m b marble Surrounded by glittering towers, Where fountains play in the perfumed halls, Amongst exotic fiowe] rhere are suitable homes for the I id : Yet a wildwood home for Where the pure bright streams, and the mountain wind, And the bounding heart are live. TO THE WOOD ROB1X. Bird of the twilight hour. My soul goes forth to mingle with thy hymn, Which floats like slumber round each closing flower, And weaves sweet visions through the forest dim. \\ here day s sweet warblers rest, Each gently rocking on the waving spray, Or hovering the dear fledglings in the m Without one care-pang for the coming day. Oh holy bird, and sweet Angel of this darl , whose rich notes Gush like a fountain in the still retreat. O'er which a world of mirrored beauty floats! My spirit drinks th stream, Till human cares and passions fade away, And all my soul is wrapped in one sweet dream Of blended loi ■ I peace and melody. 272 l.YPIA :\. t alone The n nli" oes of the flowery d' When eve] e i flown, Ami n; eeping nil in nodding bells, — I bow my aching hea And wait the unction of thy voice of love; I feel it o'er my weary spirit shed, Like dew fr balmy flowers that bloom above. Oh when the loves of earth Are silent birds at close of life's long day, May some pure seraphim of heavenly birth Bear on its holy hymn my soul away ! idA^&U GACAjJf oulkf FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. CAPRICE. Reprove me not thai still T change With every changing hour, For glorious Nature gives me leave In wave and cloud and flower. And you and all the world would do. If all bul dared, the same ; True to myself, if false to you, Why should I reek your blame? 3 I 273 274 FRANC] 5AEG] I i Tib your carping, cousin mine, Your vain re] I revel in my right divine, I glorj in caprice. Yon soft, light cloud a! morning hour Looked dark and full of tears; At noon it seemed a rosy flower, Now gorgeous gold appears. 80 yield I to the deepening light That dawns around my way ; Because yon linger with the night, Shall I my noon delay? No! Cease your carping, cousin mine. Your cold reproaches cease : The chariot of the cloud be mine, Take thou the reins. Caprice' Tis true von played on Feeling's lyre A pleasant tunc or (wo, And oft beneath your minstrel fire The hours in music flew; But when a hand more skilled to sweep The harp its soul allures. Shall it in sullen silence sleep Because not touched by yours? capric: 275 < )h, there are rapturous toni in mine Thai niuti I j ; >r \ r l bey wait th i master h md May drink and dare with upturned gaz ight, Or i i neatb the guard [ts fragrant bells to every ro\ Or wreathe with blushing grace tl e spray In bashful Loveliness; the wildwood bi May plume at will his wings an. I soar or sin The mountai ly wind where'er it would, Dash in wild music clown the de tie, Or, rippling drowsily in for Dream of the floating cloud, the waving flower, And murmur to itself sweel lulling words, In broken tones so like the faltering Of early childhood; but cur human flowers, Our soul-birds caged and pining, they must sing And grow, not as their own but our < Suggests : and so the blossom i Are hut half bloom and music at the h And if by chan and buoyant soul, More bold or I I etful of the les God taught her first, disdain the rule, the bar, And, wildly beautiful, rebellious ri How the hard world, half start led from it Frowns t ! 11, or turns awa; And leaves her lonelj in her upward path! Thank God, to such Hi- : mile is not den :; u 282 FKANCES SARG] .OOD. ('ALL ME PET NAMES. Call mi aines, dearest; i a bird, That flies to thy b] ling word. Thai fold - wild \\ i dng of fi That tenderly sin i loving delight. ps pining for one fond word : i 'all me pel names, call me thy bird. Call me sweet names, darling; call me a flower, That lives in the light of thy smile each hour, That droops when its heaven thy heart grows cold, That shrinks from the wicked, e and bold, That blooms for thee only through sunlight and shower; , darling, call me i try flow* r. I !all me fond names, dearest ; call me a - Whose sn ' beaming \ thou feel'st from afar; Whose light is the clearest, the i ru s1 to thee, When the "night-time of sorrow" steals over life's sea. Oh trust thy rich bark where its warm rays : Call me pet names, darling, call me thy star. (',11 n ,. pet names, darling; call me thine own. Speak to me always in love's low tone; Le1 not thy look nor thy voice grow cold, Let my fond worship thy beii 'Id ; Love me for ever, and love me alo Call me pet names, darling, call me thine own. TO \ TO A DEAR LITTLE TRUANT. n are you coming? 'I Lie Bowers hav I [my air happily hui In the dim woods, whei ms ill" anemone's Li lerly, timidly, down in the dell, Sighs the sweei \ iolet, droops the harebell ; Soil in the wavy grass lighten: Spring k eps her promi u? Up in the b ;ii play, You are moi ml and lovely than th Birds in th' sing all the When are you coming to join in Fairer than flowers and fresher than dew, why are no! ) ou ? Why don't von come? We have welcomed the rosi Every light zephyr, as Wl I ' met on its way ; Why has it nothing of you, love, I" - Why does it tell us of music and dew? Rose of the south, we arc waitin Do not delay, darling; 'mid the dirk tre Like a lute, murmurs the musical br< les the brook, as it trips by the flowers, Hushes its warble to listen Lor yours. Pure as the rivulet, lovely and Spring should have waited till she could bring you. LUCY HOOPER. GIVE ME ARMOR QF PROOF. Give me armor of proof, I must ride to tlie plain; e me armor of | ■ tlie trump sound again; To tlie halls of my childhood no 1. am I known. And the nettle must rise where the myrtle hath 1 '.own. Till the conflict is over, the battle is n Give in'.' ariiiur of proof, J am true to th Give me armor of proof, bri helmet and spear; Away! shall the warrior's cheek own a tear? Bring the steel of Milan, 'tis the firrm st i Lb st, And bind o'er my bosom its closely-linked vest, Where the head of a loved cue in fondness hath lain, Who rting like warm summer rain. Give me armor of proof; I have torn from my heart !i soft tie and true that forbade me to part. Bring the -word of Damascus, its blade cold and bright, That bends not in conflict, but gleams in the fight ; And stav — let me fasten yon scarf on my breast, Love's light pledge and True: I will answer tlie rest. 284 GIVE ME ARMOR OF PRO 285 ( rive me armor of proof. Shall tl ry I" in \ ain When to life's sternesl conflicts we rush forth amain? The knighl clad in armor the battle may bide, Bui woe to the h edless when bendeth the tried ; And woe to youth's morn when we rode forth alone To the conflict unguarded; its gladness hath flown. Give us armor of proof; our hopes were all high, But they passed like the meteor lights from the sky. Our hearts' trust was firm, but Life's waves swepl away One by one frail ties which were shelter and stay; And true was our love, but its In, mis broke in twain; . ior of proof ■ re we ride forth again. Give me armor of proof. We would turn from the view Of a world (hat is fading to one that is true. We would lift up each thought from this earth-shaded light, To the regions above where tb I tu no blight; And with Faith's chosen shield by no dark tempests rivi n, We would gaze from earth's storms on the brightness of heaven. 8 X 286 i ■ ■ i oopek. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. Mother, I brini Take from my hand the ■ boon, I pray, Take it. Th< still, pale sorrow of the fa< Hath left upon my soul its living trace, Never to pass away. Since from these lips one word of idle breath Blanched thai calm face. Oh, mother, this is death! What is that 1 From all the purr and settled feati earning? Reproach! i li! My dreams arc strange and wi « Mother, hadst thou no pity on thy child? Lo 1 a celestial smile seems softly beaming On the hushed lips. My mother, canst thou brook Longer upon thy victim's face to look? Alas ' a1 yester morn My he: n was light, and to the viol's sound I gayly danced, while crowned with summer flowers, And swiftly by me sped the flying hi And all was joy around, Not death. Oh, mother, could I say thee nay? Take from thy daughter's hand thy boon away. THE I) • ' i 'IAS. -^t Take it ; mj bear i bath an icy chill. I dare aot touch it, b shudderin i to my fancj given, An., !, cold and still, , .closed lips. < »h tell me, i now , the pale featu 1 may not turn From bl med brow; and I have heard his name Even as pro bel by his people spot \nd that high brow i and token ■ ( if one \\ I vere flai Oh, holy teacher, couldst thou Would not these bushed I [forgive" ? Away with lute and harp, With the glad hear! for ever, ace ! Never i i shall tabret sound for me. Oh, fearful mother. I have brought to the* The silent dead with his rebuking gla And the crushed heart of one to whom are given Wild dreams of judgment and offended Heaven. FRANCES H. GREEN. A SONG OF WINTER, His gathering mantle of fleecy snow The winter king wrapped around him. And flashing with ice-wrought gems below Was the regal zone that bound him. He went abroad in his kingly state, By the poor man's door, by the palace-gate. 288 a soi n ut' 289 Then his minstrel \ ither hand The mi: days hu Flew fast before him through all the I < Yyinu'. " Winter — winter ■ And 111 in their deep, loud voice That made the hearl of their I i sngth and it told of power, And the mighty will thai moved him — Of all the joys of the hour, And the gentle hearts thai loved him — < >f affections sweetly interwrought With the play of wit and the flow of thought- He has left his home in the starry North On a mission high and holy, I now in his pride he is going; lnrth To strengthen the weak and lowly, While his vigorous breath is on the br eze, And he lifts up Health from wan I We bow to iptre's supreme behest; 1 1" is rough, but never tmfeeli And a voice ■ : To our kindness ever i ag ; By the comfortless hut, on the desolate moor, He is pleading earnestly for the poor. While deep in i m the heart lie warm, Anil thi future life he i eth ; 290 FRANCES B Gl I Nor clinging root nor seedling form, Its j mbracing, perisheth : Bui safely and tenderly he will keep The delicate flower-gems while they sleep. The mountain heard the sounding blast Of the winds from their wild horn blowing, And his rough cheek paled as on they passed, And the river checked his flowing; Then, with ringing laugh and echoing shout, The merry schoolboys all came out. And see them now as away they go, With the long, bright plane before tl In its sparkling girdle of silvery snow, And the blue arch bending o'er them, While every bright cheek brighter grows, Blooming with health, our winter rose. The shrub looked up and the tree looked down. For with ice-gems each was crested, And flashing diamonds lit the crown That on the old oak rested : And the forest shone in gorgeous array, For the spirits of winter kept holiday. So on the joyous skaters fly, With no thought of the coming sorrow, SONG "I l 111. EAST WIND. 29] For never a brighl I 1 1 ; i s dreamed of the tears of to morrow. Be free and be bappj . then, \\ !ni aay, And rejoice in the blessing of to-day. SONG OF THE EAST WIND. From the I of the < ranges \\ here the gentle 1 1 indoo laves, Ami the sacred row is grazing By the boly Indian waves, We have hastened to enrol us In thy royal tram. ^Eolus ! We have stored the soul of Brahma, Bathed the brow of Juggernaut, Filled the self-devoted widow With a high and holy thought, And sweet words of comfort spoken Ere tin.' earth-wrought tie was broken. We have nursed a thousand blossoms In that land of light and flowers, Till we fainted with the perfume That oppressed the slumbering Eours, Dallied with the vestal tresses Which no mortal hand caresses. 292 1 EAN< ES II. We have traced the wall of ( !hii To the farthest orient sea ; Blessed the grave of old Confucii With our si minstrelsy ; Swelled the bosom of the Lama To enact his priestly drama. We have hurried off the monsoons To far islands of the deep, Where, oppi with richest spues. All the native breezes sleep; And in Ophir's di len rred the all bright and golden. On the brow of Chumularee, Loftiest summit of the world, We have set a crown of vapor, And the radiant snow-wreath furled; Bid the gem-lit waters flow From the mines of Borneo. Sighing through the groves of banyan, We have blessed the holy sli; Where the sunbeams of the zenith To a moonlike lustre f; There tl 1 anaconda And the dark ehimpan: ider. We- have roused the ckal From his stealthv noontkl WIND. Swelled I ■ ler In tin.' lion' Till all 3ed qua] At the ■ arch's waking. i )'er i!h- sacred land of Yemen, Where the first apostles trod, And the patriarch and prophet Stood before the face of (Jed, Vital with the ry. \\ e have struck the harp of Memnon With melodious unrest, A\ hen the tuneful sunbeams, glancing, Warmed the statue's marble breast, And Aurora bent with blessing, ■ Her own sacred son caressing. Through the stately halls of Cam Where the mouldering fragments chime On the thrilling chords of ruin, To the silent march of Time. We have swept the dusl away From the features of Decay. We have sighed a mournful requiem Through the cities of the dead. Where in all the Theban mountains Couches of the tomb are spread; Fanned the Kile, and roused the i From his lair bevond the Niger. 2! II i We have s1 rayed : i Memphis, Where the Sphinx with genth Seems to bind the pasl and futu Into one eternal now ; But we hear a deep voire calling, And the Pyrai i falling. Even the wondrous pile of Gle Cannot keep its royal dead, For the sleep of ages yieldeth To the busy plunderer's tread; Atom after atom — all — At the feet of Time must fall. Prostrate thus we bend before thee, Might v sovereign of the air, While from all the teeming Orient Stories of t we bear Thou, g] e, wilt ever cherish Memories which canuol perish. ELIZABETH F. ELLET. SONNET. Shepherd, with i k brow wreathed with blossoms sweet, Who guard'st Thy timid flock with tenderesl care, 4 A 'J'.) 7 298 n rZABETH 1 II LET. Who guid'sf in sunny paths their wandering E And the young lambs dost in Thy bosom bear; Who leads! Thy happy flock to pastures fair, I by still waters at the n< o day, ing with lute divine the silenl What time they linger on the verdant way,— Go< ! . mighl one gentle, distanl strain Of that immortal melody sink deep Into my hearl and pierce its careless sleep, And mell by powerful love its sevenfold chain, Oh then my soul Thy voice should know, and floe To mingle with Thy flock and ever follow Thee! VENICE. From afar The surge-like tone of multitudes, the hum Of glad, familiar voices, and the wild, Faint music of the happy gondolier, Float up in blended murmurs. Queen of cities Goddess of ocean! with the beauty crowned Of Aphrodite from ber parent deep. VENICE. 299 I : -^iwwiSJ It thine Ausonian heaven denies the strength C That nerves a mountain-race of sterner mo It gives thee charms whoso very softness wins All hearts to worship. 300 ELIZABETH !•'. 11.1.1!. THE DELAWARE WATER-GAP. Our western land can boast no lovelier spot. The hills which in their ancient grandeur stand Piled to the frowning clouds, the bulwarks seem < >f this wild sci >lved that none but heaven Shall look upon its beauty. Round their breast A curtained fringe depends of golden mist. Touched by the slanting sunbeams; while below The -silent river with majestic sweep Pursues his shadowed way. his glassy face Unbroken, save when stoops the lone wild swan To float in pride or dip his ruffled wing. Talk ye of solitude'? It is not here, Nor silence; low. deep murmurs are abroad. Those towering hills hold converse with the sky That smiles upon their summits; and the wind Which stirs their wooded sides, whispers- of life, And bears the burden sweet from leaf to leaf, Bidding the stately forest-boughs look bright, And nod to greet his coming. And the brook, tii' \p. 30] Thai with his silvery gleam comes leaping clown From the hillsicL , has too a b The wild-bird's music mingles with its chime; - thai blossom in Send forth their perfume as an added gift. Th.' river utters, too, : And tells of deeds long pasl in . W hen not a sound was heard along his shor< Save the wild , savage feet or shriek Of some expiring captive; and no bark E'er cleft his gloomy waters. Now his waves Are vocal often with the hum ns ; Now visit in their glad and onward course The abo I py men, gardens and fields, And cultured , .- pass Fertility i ed and its. The time has been, so Indian legends say, When I mighty Di poured not Hi- ancient waters thro it turned aside Through yonder dell and washed those shaded vales. Then, to i riven cliffs were one hill, Which smiled in the warm sunbeams and dig The wealth of summer on its graceful slope. Thither the hunter-elm ,. t \ To light their council-fires; while its dim height For ever veiled in mist, no mortal dared, 'Tis said, to scale, save one white-haired old i, Who there held commune with the Indian',- I And thence broughl down to men His high commands. 1 i' had I Beyond life's natural term, and bent no more Ilr- weary limbs to seek the mountain's summit. 4B 302 New tribi filled th W'lio stro cl death Filled 1 ] And the ped hi d] ing i ipt ive n on tli' 1 precincts i Ly spot Where tin I rr< at Spirit had been. Some few who moun The unnatural slaughter urged the aged pr Again to ■■■< k the consecrated height, i Heaven and mercy to implore. They watched him from alar. He labored slowly High up the steep ascent, and vanished soon Behind the folded clouds, which clustered dark As the last hues of sunset passed : The night fell heavily, and soon v. re heard Low tones of thunder from the mountain-top Muttering, and echoed from the distant lull- In deep and solemn peal ; while lurid flashes Of lightning rout anon the gathering gloom. Then wilder and more lou arful crash Burst on the startled ear. The earth, convulsed, d from its solid shook Foi is around; and by the sudden gleam Winch flung a fitful radiance on the spot, A sight of dread was seen. The mount was rent From top to base; and where so late had smiled Green boughs and blossoms yawned a frightful chasm, Filled with unnatural darkness. From a The distant roar of waters then was heard. They came with gathering sweep, o'erwhelming all That checked their headlong rse; the rich maize-field, The low-roofed hut, its sleeping inmates — all Were swept in speedy, undistinguished ruin. WITH US. Morn looked upi olated scene Of the Gr ager, and beheld Strange wati ven rod I on in silence and in fi Ami far re; ! : tieir dwellin Where qova no more the b pi Or 1 1 whoop \ ird. Thu 5 iars « Each trace of d Those bare and blackened Wit !i fresh, green foli and the swelling 1 rtb Yielded her The river passed 1 Through his new channel; verdure ; : hi b tils : The wild-bird murmured sv, In ii ,1. re the wild tales which hoary chieftains told, To mark the change c lestial v ngeance w] ! d ABIDE WITH US. 'Abide with us. The evening hour draws on, And pleasant at t he daylighl 's fading 1 The traveller's 1 | And as at morn's i 1 the sh m Thy words, blessed stranger, have d The midnight gloom in which our souls w 'Sad were our souls and quenched hope's latesl rav Bui '1 hou to us hasl word ufort gr Him who c en. How burned our hearts within us on the way, 304 ELIZABETH F. KLLKT. While Thou tin d Scrip! m didst unfold, And I trusl the promise given of old! "Abide with us. Let us not lose Thee yet, unto us tin.' cloud of fear return, When we are left to mourn That Israel's Hope, his better Sun. is set. Oh teach us more of whal we long to know, That new-born Thus in their sorrow the disciples prayed. And knew not He was walking by their side Who on the ci But when He broke the consecrated bread, Then sew they who had deigned to Mess their board, And in tb : I 'I their risen Lord. "Abide with us!' Thus the believer prays, with doubt and bitterness and dread When from the de The bow of mercy breaks upon his gi He trusts the word, y< lest from his heart He wb too soon depart. Open, thou trembling one. the portal wide. And to the inmost chamber of thy bn Take home the heavenly guest. He for the famished shall a feast provide. And thou shalt taste the bread of life, and see The Lord of ai ome to sup with thee. ABIDE WITH Beloved, who for us with care ha i ought . shall we hear Thy voice and let Thee wail All night before the gate, Wet with the dews, nor greet Thee as we ought '.' Oh. strike the fetters from the hand of pri And that we perish not, with us, Lord, abide! 4U )06 ELIZABETH F. ELLET. THE SEA-KINGS. "They are rightly named sea-kin of the " Inglingasaga," "who never seek shelter under a roof, and never drain their drinking horns at a cottage fire." i >rp„ realm is mighty Ocean, The broad and sea-green wave That ever hails our gre> aze, Our dwelling-place and grave. For us the paths of glory lie Far on the swelling deep, And, brothers to the tempi We shrink not at his sweep. Our music is the storm-blast In fierceness revelling nigh, AVlien on our graven bucklers -Irani His lightnings glancing by. Yet most the flash of war-steel ke< n Is welcome in our sight, When flies the startled foeman Before our falchions' light. We ask no peasant's shelter. We seek no noble's bowers, Yet they must yield us tribute meet, For all they boast is ours. E M'.A KINGS. :'.D, No castled prince his wide dom Dares from our yoke to tree, And like mysterious Odin We rule the laud and sea. Bear high the blood-red banner, its folds in triumph wave, And long unsullied may it stream, The standard of the brave ! Our swords outspeed the meteor's glance; The world their might shall know So long as heaven shines o'er us, Or ocean rolls below. EMMA C. EMBURY. THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT. Oh for one draught of those sweet waters now That shed such freshness o'er my early life! Oh that I could but bathe my fevered brow, To wash away the dust of worldly strife, 308 Til i; OLD M \N ■ LAMENT. \ ad I"' :> simple hearted child once m As if I ae'er had known this world's pernicious lore! My heart is weary ami my spirit pants Beneath the heat and - of the d Would i hal I could regain tho e hady haunts Y\ here once with Hope 1 away, ( riving my thoughts to tales of old romance, And yielding up l's delicious trance! Vain are such wishes. I no more may tr< With lingering step and slow the green hillsid' I iefore me now life's shortening path is spread. And I must onward, whatsoe'er betid of youth are passed for aye, And sober scenes now meet the traveller on his v, Alas! the dust which clog's my weary Glitters with fragments of each ruined shi Where onCe my spirit worshipped, when with sweet And passionless devotion it could twine Its stron-' afl round earl h's earthliest tin Yet bear away no stain upon its snowy wines What though some flowers have 'scaped the tempest's wrath '.' Daily they droop by nature's swift dei What though the setting sun -till lights my path? Morn s dey. l on g | Kl . passed away. Oh give me bach life's newly budded flowers, Lei me once more inhale the 1 ornine's hours 1 i n 310 RY. .My youth, my my youth ! Nol the unfurrowed brow k. childhood's suj i I truth, A unworldly feelings— ek. Ah, who could e'er be sinL Would that In dark and blotted pagi PEACE. Oh seek hi r not in marble halls of pride, Where gushing fountain- their silver tide, Their wealth of freshness toward the surnrm r sky ! echoes of a palace are too loud ; but give back the fool o crowd That throng about some idol throned on 1 Whose ermined robe and pomp of rich array But I of clay. Nor seek her form in poverty's low va Whi ched by want the bright cheek waxes pale, And the heart faints with sordid cares oppresl : Where pining discontent lias left its trace Deep and abiding in each haggard l." Not there, not there Peace builds her halcyon nest. Wild revel her from wealth's towering dome. And misery fri er from the poor man's home. Nor dwells she in the cloistei 'I ders the mystery of some tiim Delving with feeble band the < >h who ran tell the c< < The bitter yearnings for a deathless name, Thai lent's heart lib Ambition's lover burns within his breast : * 'an I sweel Peace, abide v. itb suet a guest ? ch not within the city's crowded 1 AA here the low-whispered music of the heart Is all unheard amid the dan'.- f gold ■ Oh never yet did Peace her chaplel twine To lay upon base Mammon' I rine, Where earth's most precious things are bought and sold, Thrown on that pile, the pearl of price would be Despised, because unfit tin- merchantry. Go hie thee to God's altar! Kneeline there List to the mingled voice of fervent prayer That swells I thee in the sacred fane : Or catch the solemn organ's pealing m When grateful praises on the still air Meal. And the freed soul forgets earth's heavy chain: There learn that Peace, sweet Pea. ,, r found In her eternal homo, on holy ground. 312 ' MA C. EMBl A PORTRAIT. A gentle maiden whose large, loving eyes Enshrine a tender, melancholy light, Like the soft radiance of the starry skies, Or autumn sunshine, mellowed when most bright. She is not sad, yet in her look appears ing that the gazer think of tears. She is- not beautiful. Her features bear A loveliness by angel hands impressed, Such as the pure in heart alone may wear, The outward symbol of a soul at rest ; And tlii- b< ei ms her well, for love and truth i lompanion ever with her guileless youth. She hath a delicate foot, a dainty hand, And every limb displays unconscious grace, Like one who. horn a lady in the land. Taketh no thought how besl to till her place, But moveth ever at her own sweet will, While gentleness and pride attend her still. Nor has she lost by any sad mischan e The happy thoughts thai to her years beL Her step is ever fleetest in the dam Her voice is ever gayest in the so A PORTRAIT. 313 The silent air by her rich notes is stirred A- by the music of a forest bird. There dwelleth in the sinlessness of youth A sweet rebuke thai vice may noi endure : A'i'l thus she makes an atmosphere of truth, For mII things in her presence grow more pure. She walks in light; her guardian angel fling A halo round her from his radiant win i E CAROLINE GILMAN. THE AMEKICAN BOY. Look up, my young American! Stand firmly on the earth Where noble deeds and mental power Give titles over birth. A hallowed land thou claim'st, my boy, By early struggles bou Heaped up with noble memories, And wide — ay, wide as thought! On the high Alleghany's range Awake thy joyous song, Then o'er our green savannahs stray, And gentle notes prolong. Awake it 'mid the rushing peal t )f dark Niagara's voice, Or by thine ocean rivers .-land. And in their joy rejoi What though we boast no ancienl towers Where "ivied" streamers twine? The laurel lives upon our soil — The laurel, boy, is thine. 314 AMERICAS BOY. What though no " minster lifts the cro Tinged by the sunset tire? Freely religion s \ oices float Round every village spire. And who shall gaze on yon " blue i a If thou must turn away. When bold Columbia's stripes and stars Are ilual in-- in the day? Who thunders louder when the strife Of gathering; war is stirred '.' Who ranges farther when the call Of commerce' voi e is heard ? And though on " Cressy's distant field" Thy gaze may not be cast, While through long centuries of blood Rise spectres of the past, The future wakes thy dreamings high, And thou a note mayst claim — Aspirings which in after times Shall swell the trump of fame W't scenes are here for tender thought : 1 [ere sleep the good and brave ; Here kneel, my boy, and raise thy vow Above the patriot's grave. 316 CAROLINE GILMAN. On Moultrie's isle, on Bunker's height, ( In Monmouth's heated line, ( in Eutaw's field, on Yorktown s bank, Erecl thy loyal shrine. Ami when thou'rt told of knighthood's shieL And English battles won. Look up, my boy, and'breathe on*' word — The uame of Washington. TO THE URSULINES. * ) pure and gentle ones, within your ark Securely resl Blue be the sky above, your quiet bark By soft winds blesl ! Still toil in duty and commune with Heaven, World-weaned and free God to his humblest creatures room has given And space to be — Sparc for the eagle in the vaulted sky To plume his wing — Space for the ringdove by her young to lie, And softly sin- Space for the sunflower bright with yellow glow, To court the sky — Space for the violet, where the wild woods grow, To live and die ; — ro the urs i : ; I ; m ts gianl uiigb.1 1 1 1 swell and ruvi — Space for the river tinged with rosy li \\ here green banks wa Space for the un to tread his path in mi And golden pricL — Space for the glow-worm calling by her li Love Id her side. rhen poor and gentle ones, within your ark Securely r< Blue I"' the skies above, and your still bark By kind winds ble I 1 F 318 CAROLINE GILMAN. RETURN TO MASSACHUSETTS. The martin's in i I simple nest — I see it swinging high, Just as ii stood in distant years Abo\ e my gazing eye : But many a bird bas plumed its wing, And lightly flown away, Or drooped his little head in deatb, ' Since that my youthful day. The woodland stream — the pebbly stream! It gayly flows along, As once it did when by its side I sang my merry song But many a wave has rolled afar Beneath the summer cloud by its bank I idly poured My childish song aloud. The sweet-brier rose — the wayside rose — Still spread mt arms, Whi ciously to passim i i gave its simple charms ; But many a perfumed breeze has passed, And many a blossom fair, Since with a careless heart I twined Its green wreaths in my hair. Ml SIC OiS CHE CANAL. 319 The barberry busb -the poor man's bush — Its \vllo\v blossoms li As erst where by the ■ me A long 1 lightly sprang ; But many a flower ha and gon And scarlet berry shone, Since I, a school-girl in its path. In rustic dance Lave flown. MUSIC ON THE CANAL. I was weary with the daylight, I was weary with the shade, And my heart, became still sadder As the stars their light betrayed. I sickened at the ripple A- the lazy boat wont on, And felt as though a friend was lost When tin- twilight ray was --one. The meadows, in a firefly glow, Looked gay to happy eve-;; To me they beamed hut mournfully: My heart was cold with sii They seemed indeed like summer friends, Alas! no warmth had they; I turned in sorrow from their glare, Impatient turned away. And tear-drops ed in my ey< And rolled upon my cheek, 320 i us spirits, Un1 i f or care, In mystery so holy Axe all too light to share My heart is very gladsome, But there's a corner deep Where many a shadow nestles And future sorrows sleep. I hope they'll no1 awaken As vet for many a year ; There's not on earth a jewel That's worth one grief-horn tear. Long may the heart lie silent, If sorrow- touch alone, Upon the chords descending, Has power to wake its lone. I'd never : poet, Mv bounding heart to hush, And lay down at the altar For sorrow's foot to crush. Ah no ! I'll gather sunshine For coming evening's hours, And while its spring-time lingers I'll garner up its flowers. I fain would learn the music Of those who dwell in heaven, For woe-tuned harp was never To seraph fingers given. ASPIRING TO HEAVEN. 323 But I will strive do Ioe To waste my hear! felt mirth ; I will mind me thai the gifted Arc the stricken ones of earth. ASPIRING TO HEAVEN. Ay, let me die! Am I of spirit-birth, And shall I linger here where spirits fell, Loving the stain they cast on all of earth? Oh make me pure, with pure ones e'er to dwell! 'Tis sweet to die. The flowers of earthly love. Fair, frail spring-blossoms, early droop and die, But all their fragrance is exhaled above, Upon our spirits evermore to lie. Life is a dream, a bright but fleeting dream; I can but love; but then my soul awakes, And from the mist of earthlines a I am Of holy light, of truth immortal, breaks. I shrink not from the shadows sorrow flings Across my pathway, nor from cares that rise In every footprint; for each shadow brings Sunshine and rainbow as it glooms and Hies. io" But heaven is dearer. There I have my treasure; There angels fold in love their snowy wings; There sainted lips chant in celestial measure, And spirit -lingers stray o'er heaven-wrought strings. 32 I LY C. Jt DSON. re loving eyes are to the portals Btraying; There arms extend a wanderer to fol I There waits a dearer, holier < >ne, arraying His own in spotless robes ana crowns of gold. Then let me die. My spirit longs for heaven. In that pure bosom evermore to rest : But if to labor longer here be given, " Father, Thv will be done," and I am blest. I'l \ I II 1 ) E A T II . Whkn day is dying in the west, Each flickering ray of crimson light, The sky in gold and purple dressed, The cloud with glory all bedight, And every shade that ushers night, And each cool breeze thai conn - to weave lis dampness with my curls — all lei A lesson sad. Las1 night I plucked a Iialf-shul flower, Which blushed and nodded on its stem, A thing tu grace" a Peri's bower; It seemed to me some priceless gem Dropped from an angel 3 diadem : But soon the blossom drooping lay, And as it withered seemed to " We'n | assing all ! T loved a fair-haired, gentle boy, A bud of brightness, ah ! too rare ; I loved him, and 1 saw with joy Heaven's purity all centred there; But he went up that heaven to share ; i a 326 EMILY C. JUDSON. And as Ins spirit from him stole, His last look graved upon my soul, " Learn thus to die L've seen the star that glowed in heaven When other stars seemed half asleep, As though from its proud station driven, Go rushing down the azure steep, Through space unmeasured, dark : leep And as it vanished far in night, I read by its departing light, " Thus perish all !" I've in its dotage seen the year, Worn out and weary, struggling on, Till, falling prostrate on its bier, Time marked another cycle gone; And as I heard the dying moan, Upon my trembling heart there tell The awful words as by a spell, "Death, death to all !" They come on every breath of air Which sighs its feeble life away ; They're whispered by each blossom fair Which folds a lid at close of day. There's naught of earth or sad it gay, Ther. tar-lit skies, But leaves one lesson as it flies, ■• Thou too must die !" DEATH. 327 And numberless those silvery < Dissever* d by the spoiler's hand ; But each in breaking still affo A tone to say we all are banned; And on each brow by death-damps spanned, The pall, the slowly-ir^ ing In 8 Is traced the burden of my verse, "Death, death to man!" MARY E. LEE. THK POETS. The poel - ' the poets ! Those giants of the earth ' In mighty strength they tower above The men of common birth. A noble race, they mingle not Among the motley throng. But move with slow and measured steps To music-notes along. 828 329 The the pen \\ Ii;ii conquests 1 1 Wii lioul one drop of life blood spilt They rule a world's wide I ■ Their stainless banner floats unharmed From age to lengthened age, Ami History records their deeds I pon her proudest page. The poets ! the poets ' How endless is their lame! Death like a thin mist comes, yet Leaves No shadow on each name; But as yon - that gleam In evening s crystal sky, So have they won in memory's depths An immortality. The poets ! the poets ! Who doth not linger o'er The glorious; volumes that contain Their pure and spotless lore'.' They charm us in the saddest hours, Our richest joys they feed. And love for them has grown to be A universal creed. The poets ! the poi Those kingly minstrels dead, \\ ell may we i wine a votive wreath Around each honored head. 1 1 330 MAR'S K. LEE. No tribute is too high to give Those crowned ours among men; The J met s ! the true poi Thanks be to * rod lor i hem ' THE BLIND NEGRO COMMUNICANT. The Saviour's feast was spread. Group after group From Zion's scattering band now silent thronged Around the sacred table, glad to p As far as sinful, erring man can p Then' debt of gratitude, and share anew The plain memorials of His dying \'<: All rank- were gathered there. The rich and poor. The ignorant and wise; the tear-wet soul, And the glad spirit yet in sunshine (dad. All, with their many hopes and cares and griefs, tit quiet and unmarked their 'customed place; And still at the full banquet there was room. It was a solemn season, and I sat Wrapt in a cloud of thought, until a slow And measured footstep fell upon my ear; And when I turned to look an aged man Of threescon and ten appeared to view. Ir was the blind communicant. He came, Led by a friendly hand, and took his plai Nearest the table with a reverent air. As if lie felt the spot was holy ground. There was a perfect hush: the hour was come; The symbols w< losed, and soon there ro THE BLIND NEGRO COMMUNICANT. 33] The sweet lours of the shepherd of the flock, Telling once more 1 the story of the ( ro Ami as be spoke, in sympathy I gazed, I pon the blind old pilgrim by my side The sight was touching. As the pastor taught, Jn accents all subdued, bow Jesus bore The flight of friends, the stern denial-vow, The spear, the thorns, the agonizing cross, With want, shame, persecution, torture, death, The old man shook, convulsed. His ebon brow Grew pallid in its hue; a few big tears Ran trickling down Ins cheek, and from his lip Methoughl there came the words, "Lord, is it I?" But when there stole upon each listening ear And throbbing heart that prayer of matchless love, That type and watchword for all after-prayer, " Father, forgive them !" — thou he clasped his hands, And bowing his hoar head upon his breast, Wept even as a weaned child might weep. There was a change. The bread and wine were brought. He wiped the gushing drop from his thin cheek, Bowed solemnly, received them both, then paused; Till, raising his dull eyeballs up to heaven, As asking for God's blessing on the rite, He broke the bread, received the goblet close Within his withered hands; restored it safe; Then, while a peaceful smile illumed his fa Sank back as in an ecstasy of bliss. The parting hymn was sung, and oft I paused And loved to listen as the old man's voice. Broken and shrill, sought too to mingle in With modulated tones; and though his lip 332 MARY E. i I Ittered no music, yet I i i know The heart was all 1 i 1 1 i - ody within. Christ's seal was . I ■■-,• upon. oul ; was finished, and the band, Warmed to each kindly touch of human love, Moved full of thoughtful cheerfulness along The quiet churchyard, wh sunbeams danced On the white marble tombs, and bright flowers i A pleasant home for Death; while 'mongst them all The blind communicant went groping on Along his midnight path. The sight was sad; My heart yearned for him, and I longed for power To say as the disciple: I of old, "Blind man, receive thy sight!" And in the might Of strung compassion I could even, methought, Have entered his dark prison-house a while, And let him gaze in turn on the blue skies And the glad sunshine and the laughing earth. But soon I owned a sense of higher things, And in the heart's soft dialect 1 said, "Old soldier of the Cross, 'tis well with thee; Thy warfare is nigh finished; and though earth Be l>nt an utter blank, yet soon thou'lt gaze On that bright country where thy God shall be etting Sun ; and Christ, thy Lord, Will lead thee through green pastures where the still And living waters play. An : on art A creature lonely and unprized by men, Yet then may'st stand a prince 'mongst princes when The King makes up His jewels." CATHERINE H. ESLING. BROTHER, COME HOME. Come Would I could send my spirii o'er the deep! ■ Would 1 could wing it like a bird to thee, To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep \\ ith these unwearying words of melody, Brother, come home! ( !ome Come to the hearts that love o the eyes That beam in gladness but to gladden thine; Come where fond thoughts like holiest incense Where cherished Memory rears her altar's shrine Brother, come home ! < tome home ! ( lorae to the heart h if thy earlier days, Come to the ark like the o'erwearied dove; e with the sunlight of thy heart's warm rays, Come to fin side circle of thy k>\ e Brother, come home ! 4 K 333 33 1 CATHERINE II. ESLING. Come home ! It is not home without thee. The lone seat Is still unclaimed where thou wert wont to be; In every echo of returning feet In vain we lisl for what should herald thee; Brother, come home I < lome home ! We've nursed for thee the sunny buds of spring, Watched every serin the full-blown flowers re;;r, Seen o'er their bloom the chilly winter bring Its icy garlands, and thou art not here; Brother, come home ! ( 'uiii^ home ! Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep! Would I could wing it like a bird to thee, To commune with thy thoughts, to iill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody, Brother, come home ! MARY E. HEWITT. THE CITY BY THE SEA. Crowned with the hoar of a nturi< 3, There by the eternal -■ High on her misty cape she sits, Like an eagle, fearless, free. And tl ms in OK len time she sat, ( >n that morn of long ago, 'Mid the roar o loin's armament, And the war-bolts of her foe. :'..".! i MAB1 l. EiEWITT. Oli 1 Time bath reared ber pillared walls. Her domes and turrets bigh, \\ 1 1 1 1 her hundred tall and tapering spires All flashing to the sky. Shall 1 1 1< it sii; ! i , belo 1 My beautiful, my prid '1 bat fcowerest in thy quei nly grace Bv the tributary tii There s wan-like, crestest thou the waxes Thai enamored round thee swell, Fairer than Aphrodit6 couched On her foam-wreathed ocean shell. < >!i ever 'mid tins restless hum Resounding from the streei Of (lie thronging, hurrying multitude, And the tread of stranger feet, My heart turns bach to thee, mine own, My beautiful, my pride, With thought of thy free ocean-wind, And the clasping, fond eld tide; — With all thy kindred household smokes Upwreathing far away, And the merry bells that pealed as now On my grandsire's wedding-day; — ' i EOLA SIGN! NG 1 III-: TREATY. I , To i and truthful h city by My heritage and priceless dower, My beautiful, in tin OSCEOLA SIGNING THE TREATY. Stern in the white- man's council-hall, 'Mid Ins red brethren of the wood, A\ bile fearless flashed his eye on all, The chieftain < >sceola stood, And fast the words that keenly stung Like arrows hurtled from his tongue. "Brothers," he said, "and ye are come To sign the white man's treaty hi re, To yield to him our forest home, And he will give us lands and deer Beyond the western prairie [lowers For these broad hunting-grounds of ours! "The pale-face is a singing-bird, Hungry and crafty as the kite, And ye his cunning song have heard Till like his cheek your hearts are white- Till for his fire drink and his Your lathers' 1 s their sons have sold. i i. 338 u\i:y e. bewitt. "And ye, tli<' strong and pale of face, I law bougtri the Endian's hunting ground, Bought his time-honored burial-place With little gold and many a wound ; Yea, bought his right with hand of mail ; And with your bloodhounds on the trail, "You drive him from the Everglades, Beyond the Mississippi's flow, And with your rifles and your blades You hunt him like the buffalo, Till turns he, goaded, maddened, hack, To strike the foe upon the track. "Let the white chieftains pause and hear The answer of the Seminole: The red man is a foe to fear, He will not sign yen faithless scroll, Nor yield to you the lands ye prize: The war-belt on your pathway lies!" Leapt from its wampum hand the glaive. As from the bent bow leaps the shaft. And fierce the tempered steel lie drave Through board and parchment to the haft ; "And thus," be said with eye of (lame — " Thus Osceola signs your claim '" w SARAH J. HALE. THE GOLD PEN. The noblest triumphs of the soul recorded Have ever with earth's humble things be,en blent; When ancient lore ami law divine were worded, A simple reed was all the instrument. And when proud Genius, like an eagle soaring, Caught inspiration from the fount of light, His sceptre, waved above the world adoring, Was but a feather seized to aid his flight. And now Invention and his brother Labor A surer way to rule the world have found: 339 3 In SARAH .!. B \i.i:. They wresl : a steel from War. their aeij To bid I flow as be did blood around. A holier change on 1 Cope's horizon beai ieth, Wh ious things, i" h iven, Shall make true gl ai the poei dreameth, Who weds the flowers of earth with star 1 of Ophir be devoted To gild the heathen's god, the tyrant's sway; No longer will the man of wealth be quoted Fur what he gains, but what he gives away; An.l Woman — then her chii fesl ornamenting Shall be a spirit loving, meek and pure, With angel watchfulness the ill preventing, With angel kind eeking woe to c Ami Liberty will be the wealth of nations, And Truth the diamond star that d< eks the great, And Virtue's patriot voice assign the stations That lead to honor in the ordered state. when the sun upon earth's fair attendant. The moon, full-orbed his > smile doth throw, So shall the mind, enlarged, shine forth resplendent When holy thoughts from golden pens shall flow. I ' ' I ■ .".II THE ANGEL OF PRAYER. Angels sent as witnesses Watch us everywhere, Sheltered by their shining wing Seeming folds of air ; le maiden, one is n Listening for thy prayer. ( Ifferings ol the pure in heart Upward flame-like (end ; With a sunbeam swiftness then Angel guards 'Irs, •cud : Human sigh and heavenly smile Thus together Mend. "o~- l."\ ily as (In-' lonely flower In the desert blown Is the holy human thought Jim io angel known ; On his book the girl is -'raved Where its light is thrown. As the fragrance from the flower Risei li morn and i Warm with lighl or wet with di w Joy and grief are given l M >42 SARAH J. HALE. om the human .-"til to draw Incense forth tor lieaven ; Angels lor tin- offering wait Every morn ami even. A BLIND GIRL'S IDEA OF LAD IKS. I have a fancy ladies are like flow' And so I class and keep them in my mind. The delicate and gentle are the jasmines; The mirthful and warm-hearted — these are junks; The loving arc the rose, for love is sw And beautiful in mother as in bride; Tin' stately and precise are dahlias, set As they were carved and colored for a show; The tulips such as talk of love and beaux ; The spiritual whose pure, sweet thoughts iven As are the star-beams from the light of heaven: -<■ are the lilies; and the violets Are gentle-hearted ones who love the lilies, And would be like them could t lie} 7- choose their fate. THE LOVE-PLEDGE. What beauty lives In the pure sentiment from lips beloved! What trifles make love's wealth! A failed flower, A tress of hair, a seal, a common book, Till: POWEH OF THOl GHT. 3 [% \\ ith the d> ar nai te inscribi 'I ; or, holier yet, A riii-', the constanl lieart's prophetic pledge ; I tow sacredly such treasures are presi rved, How highly prized! The miser o'er his gold, Adding fresh gains to swell the hoarded heap, And counting for the thousandth time the sum, Feels net the rapture of enduring wealth Which the true lover knows when he regards With trusting faith the simplesl pledge thai speaks Of mutual love. THE POWER OP THOUGHT. As hursts the lightning o'er a stormy sky, So Thought amid life's tumult (lushes forth; For mighty minds at rest i ften lie, Like clouds in upper air, cold, calm ami high Till, tempest-tossed and driven toward the earth, They meet the uprising mass, and then is wrought The burning thunderbolt of human thought, That sends the living light of (ruth abroad, And rouses from \\i^ tomb of wan despair The peoples half consumed in slavery. Whose eager eyes suck in lh' illumine,! air, And flash back hope to thought that makes them live, Shivering like glass the towers of force ami fraud, And aweing the bowed world like oracle of God. :') I I \II .!. HALE. THE TWO MAIDENS. One came with light and laughing air, And cheek like opening blossom, Brighl gems were twined amid her hair, And glittered on her bosom, And pearls and costly diamonds deck Her round, white anus and lovely neck. Like summer's sky with sfc (light I robe around I And dazzling as the noontide light The radiant zone that hound 1 And pride and joy were in her eye. And mortals bowed as she passed by. Another came. O'er h A pensive shad ling, Yet there no grief of earth we trace, But the heaven-hallowed feeling Which mour heart should ever stray From tl fount of truth away. Around her brow as snowdrop fair The glossy tresses clus Nor pearl nor ornament was there, Save the meek spirit's lustre: And faith and hope beamed in her eye, And angels bowed as she passed by. / a^T-^p O^-CK */r~. MARGARET FULLER. INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC. The charms of melody in simple airs By human voices sung arc always felt; With thoughts responsive careless bearers melt, Of secret ills which our Trail nature bears. IN l-l 3 I*') C FUL] II:. We Listen, weep, forget. But when the throng Of 's thoughts, above the reach Of words or colors, wire and wood can teach By laws which to the spirit-world belong, When several parts to tell one mood combined, Flash meaning we can ne'er expri Giving to in;;:. iwers of mind, Superior joys attentive souls confi The harmony which suns and stars obey Blesses our earth-bound state with visions of su- pernal day. TO EDITH ON HER BIRTHDAY. If the same star our fi 'ether bind, Why an- we thus divided, mind from mind? If the same law cue grief to both impart. How couldst thou grieve a trusting mother's heart? Our aspiration seeks a common aim : Why were we tempered of such differing frame? But 'tis too late to turn this wrong to right ; Too cold, too damp, too deep has fallen the night. And yet the angel of my life replies, Upon that night a morning-star shall r Fairer than that which ruled the temporal birth, Undimmed by vapors of the dreamy earth." DEMPLE. 347 Ii says that where a In ■ claim denies, is shah read its secrei ere il l; The earthly form may vanish from thy side; Pure love will make thee still the Spirit's bride. And thou, ungentle yet much-loving child. Whose hearl still shows the "untamed haggard wild A heart which justly makes the highest claim, Too easily is checked by transient blame — Ere such an orb can ascertain its sphere, The ordeal must be various and severe; My prayers attend thee; though the feet may fly, I hear thy music in the silent sky. LIFE A TEMPLE. The temple round Spread green the pleasant ground ; The lair colonnade Be of pure marble pillars made, Strong to sustain the roof, Time and tempest-proof. Yet amid which the lightest breeze * an play as it please ; 348 MARG : 1:1 I Mill i:. Th ball Be free to all Who revere The Power worshipped bei Sole guide of youth, i i nth : In tlic inmost shrine Stands the image divine, Duly seen By ih"-'' whose deeds bave worthy been, Priestlike clean. Those who initiated are Declare, As the hours Usher in varying hopes and powers, It changes its Tare, It changes its age, Now a young beaming grace, Now Nestorian sage ; Bui to the pure in heart This shape of primal art In age is fair, In youth seems w Beyond compare, ve sui'i What it teaches native seems, Its new lore our ancient dreams; Incense rises from the ground, Music flows around. Firm rest the feet below, clear gaze the eyes above, When Truth to point the way through life assumes the wand of I.o\ e 1,1 \ 1 1 ■> 349 But it' she cast aside i q, \\ inter - sih er sheen, White pure as Light Makes gentle shroud as worthy -weed as bridal robe bad been. ^ 40 JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL. A STORY 01' SUNRISE. Wilkim: the old cathedral towers With its dim] Underneath its morning shadow N sties my beloved home : When the summer morn is breaking, Glorious with its golden beams, Through my open latticed window Matin music wildly streams. Not the peal of deep-toned organ Smite- the air with singing sound, Not the voice of singing maiden Sighing softer music round ; Long ere these have hailed the morning Is the mystic anthem heard, Wildly, fervently outpouring From the bosom of a lard. Every morn he takes his station On the ero-s which crowns the spire, And with heaven-horn inspiration Vents in voice his bosom's fire. 350 a o 35] i lighl ai Si ruggling bleiid their gold and gn From the i i midway to heaven Streams his holy melody. Like the summons from tk its Of an Ea stern mosque it seen " ( 'ome to pro. /er, to prayer, ye faithful /" Echoes through my morning dreams. Heedful of the invitation Of the pious messengi Lo ' T join in ii k devotion A\ itli flic lonely worshipper. And a gushing, glad thani From my inmost hearl doth thrill I p, high up, to < rod in heaven, Mingled with the music's trill. Then the boy who rests beside Softly opes In- starry eyes, Tossi - back his streaming ringlets 1 razes round in sweet surpi I fe though sleeping fell i ! : mce Struggling through the curtained gloom, Heard the wild, harmonious hvmning Break the stillness of my room : These deliciously commingled A\ ith the rapture of I ms, Ami the heaven of which, ['ve told him On his childish vision gleams. 352 JULIET II. I. I WM'U.i.L. Guardian eferaphs, viewless spirits, Brooding o'er the enchanted air, Pause with folded wings to list To the lispings of his prayer ; Up to the "recording angel,'' When their ward on earth is done, They will hear the guileless accents Of my infant's orison. A SONG OF SUNSET. Now the everlasting mountains Eide the sun which morning gave; Meel are they, those lofty bulwarks, To become the day god's grave. See the tender hues that brighten Where that sun's last glories were! Seem they not like flowers scattered O'er liis gorgeous sepulchre? And the day that but existed Tn the sun's all-glorious light, Languishes as broken-hearted, Fades away in death and night. Sympathetic clouds of heaven Softly weep their holy dew. While the first bright star of even Beams alone amid the blue. A Si Like a child thai doth inherit All its parents' Watching with a '< spirit O'er their loved and hallo tnb. Day is dead and we are dying Every hour bn peed > iom, Every breath we now arc drawing Brings us nearer to the tomb. Let this thoi oice our spirits, Drooping o'er life's weary way: I ' . erj d oves a burdi We are dying every day. ' Dyin. ! dying daily !" These arc words of lofty cheer, Falling like a tale of ransom On a suffering captive's ear. Let us then, in holy living, Tread the path cur Saviour trod; W hen our pilgrimage is ended Calmly fall asleep in ( rod. i p AMELIA B. WELBY. THE RAINBOW. I sometimes have thoughts in my loneliest hours, That lie on my heart like the clew on the flow Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon, W hen my heart was as light as a blossom in .Tune. 354 THE RAINBOW. 355 The green earth was moist with the late fallen show The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers, While a single white cloud to its haven of n On the white wing of peace floated off in the \v> As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze That scattered the rain-drops and dimpled the seas, Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. Twas bom in a moment, yet quick as its birth It was stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth, And fair as an angel it floated as free, With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea, How calm was the ocean, how gentle its swell' Like a woman's soft bosom it rose and it fell, While its light, sparkling waves stealing laughingly o'er. When they saw the fair rainbow, knelt down on the shore. No sw T eet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer, Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there, And I bent my young head in devotion and love 'Neath the form of the angel that floated above. n How wide was tire sweep of its beautiful wings! How boundless its circle, hew radiant its rings! It I looked on the sky, 'twas suspended in an'. It I looked en the ocean, tin' rainbow was there, Thus forming a girdle as brilliant and whole As the thoughts of the rainbow that circled my soul. Like the wings of the Deity calmly unfurled, It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. 356 AMELIA B. WE] There are moments, T think, when the spirit receives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves, When the folds of the heart in a nl unclose, Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose; And thus when the rainbow i from the sky, The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by; It left my full soul like the wing of a dove, All fluttering with pleasure and fluttering with love. I know that each moment of rapture or pain But shortens the links in life's mystical chain; I know that my form like that bow from the wave Must pass from the earth and lie cold in the grave; Yet oh, when death's shadow- my bosom encloud, When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud, 'May Hope like the rainbow my spirit enfold In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold ! SEVENTEEN. I have a fair and gentle friend, Whose heart is pure. 1 w< As ever was a maiden's heart At joyous seventeen. She dwells among us like a star That from its bower of bliss Looks down, yet gathers not a stain From aught it sees in tins. seventj :::,■; I do not i: i'v Has i I only Has no For she is all v. A creal ild; Though on the In heart a wry child. And yet within the misty depths Of her dark, di A shadowy ighl In i For tho i still shines as brig As in her chiklish -.'-Mrs, Ifs wildness and its lustre now Are softened down by tears — Tears that steal no hidden springs Of sorrow and regret, For nunc hut ].,. ilings in II. t gentle breast have m For every tear thai ge ns her eye From her ; a flows, Like dewdrops Or For e en in life's delicious spring We "ft or i es That throw A ti cloud of si i Q 358 AMELIA B. WELBY. i a wondrous change within the heart At thai sweet time is wrought, When on the bearl is softly laid A spell of deeper thought. And she has reached that lovely limp, The sweet poetic age, When to the eye each floweret's leaf Seems like a glowing page; For a beauty and a mystery About tin' heart is thrown When childhood's merry laughter yields To girlhood- softer tone. I do not know if round her hearl Love vet hath thrown' his wing; I rather think she's like myself, An April-hearted thing. I only know that sin- is fair, And loves me passing well, But who this gentle maiden is I feel not free To toll. -^y^^^i c. ANNE C. LYNCH. SONNET. As some dark stream within a cavern's br Flows murmuring, moaning for the distant sun, S ( . ere I met thee, murmuring its unn Did my life's current coldly, darkly run. 359 360 ANNE C. LYNCH. Ami a 'ili the sun's full gaze Its te course and life no more maintains, But now absorbed, trat I far o'er tin- plains. It floats etherealized in those warm rays, St. in the sunlighi of I bj [ love, My heart, so long to earth's dark channels given, Now soars all pain, all doubt, all ill above, Ami breathes the el tier of the upper hea^ < □ - So thy high spirit holds and governs mine; So is my lif''. my being lof I in thine CHRIST BETRAYED. Eighteen hundred year Was that deed of darkness done, Was that sacred, thorn-crowned head To a shameful d< ath betrayed, And Iscariol - traitor name Blazoned in eternal shame. Thou ile of our time. Follower of the faith sublin Who with high and holy ±<-<>\'\i Of that traitorous deed dost burn, Though the years may never more To our earth that form restore, The Christ-Spirit ever lives, Ever in thy heart He strives. When pale Misery mutely calls, When thy tempted brother tails, CHRIST B3 i E S S I D. When thy gentle word i Lay chain J [ate and angi r and disdain, Or thy loving smile imparl Courage to some sinking heart ; When within thy troubled breasl Good and evil thoughts conl Though unconscious thou mayst be, The Christ-Spirit strives with thee. When He trod the Holy Land With His small disciple band, And the fated hour had come For that august martyrdom — When the man, the human love, And the God within Him strove, As in Gethsemane He wept, They, the faithless watchers, slept While for them He wept and prayed — One denied and one betrayed. It' to-day thou turn'st aside In thy luxury and pride, Wrapped within thyself, and blind To the sorrows of thy kind. Thou a faithless watch dost keep, Thou art one of those who sleep; Or, if waking thou dost see Nothing of Divinity In our fallen, struggling race — If in them thou seest no trace Of a glory dimmed, not gone, Of a future to he won. Of a lut niv hopeful, high, Thou like Peter dosl deny ; I R : '.CI :\Cr2 ANNE O. LYNCH. But if seeing thou believest, If the Evangel thou receivest, Yet if thou art bound to sin, False to the ideal within, Slave of ease or slave of gold, Thou the Son of God hast sold. HAGAE. HAGAR. Untrodden, drear and lone, Stretched many a league away, Beneath a burning noonday sun The Syrian desert lay. The scorching rays that beat Upon that herbless plain, The dazzling sands with fiercer heat Keflected back again. O'er that dry ocean strayed No wandering breath of air, No palm trees cast their cooling shade, No water murmured there. And thither, bowed with shame, Spurned from her master's side. The dark-browed child of Egypt came, Her woe and shame to hide. Drooping and travel-worn, The boy upon her hung, Who from his father's t.'iit that morn Like a gazelle had sprung. :l(i-i ANNE C. LYNCH. His ebbing breath failed fast, Glazed was his flashing eye, And in that fearful desert waste She laid him down to die. But when in wild despair She left him to his lot, A voice that filled that breathless air Said, " Hagar, fear thou not." Then o'er the hot sands flowed A cooling, crystal stream, And angels left their high abode And ministered .to them. Oft when drear wastes surround My faltering footsteps here, I've thought I too heard that blest sound Of " Wanderer, do not fear." And then, to light my path On through the evil land, Have the twin angels Hope and Faith Walked with me hand to hand. OK THE DEATH 01 \ -\ I.XKANT. 365 ON THE DEATH OP AN INFANT. Why should we weep for thee, Since thou art gone unsullied bark to heaven. No stain upon thy spirit's purity, No sin to be forgiven ? Love watched thee from thy birth, Fond hearts around thee tireless vigils kept, And o'er thy tender soul the storms of earth Had never rudely swept. Thou'rt spared a fearful lore, A knowledge all attain who linger here; The changed, the cold, tin; dead, were words that bore No import to thine ear. Methought T saw in thee Thus early, as I marked by many a token, A soul that might not war with destiny, A heart that could be broken. But sinle-s, tearless, gene. Undimrned, unstained, who would not thus have died'.' For thee, then, let these vain regrets be done, These selli.sh tear.- lie dried 4 S •:,m AS\K C. LYNCH. Go to thy little bed: The verdant turf is springing fresh and fair, The flowers thou lov'dst shall blossom o'er thy head The spring birds warble there. And while to shapeless dust Thy cherub form is gently mouldering back, Our thoughts shall upward soar in hopeful trust On thy freed spirit s track. ode. :;<;: ASPIRATION. The planted seed, consigned to common earth. Disdains to moulder with the baser clay. But rises up to meet the light of day, Spreads all its leaves and flowers and tendrils forth, And, bathed and ripened in the genial ray, Pours out its perfume on the wandering gales. Till in that fragrant breath its life exhales. So this immortal germ within my breast Would strive to pierce the dull, dark clod of sense With aspirations winged and intense — Would so stretch upward in its tireless quest To meet the Central Soul, its source, its rest; So in the fragrance of the immortal flower, High thoughts and noble deeds its life it would outpour. ODE. A nation's birthday breaks in glorv. Songs from her hills and valleys rise, And myriad hearts thrill to the story Of freedom's wars ami victories, When God's right arm alone was o'er her, And in her name the patriot band With sacred blood baptized their land, And England's lion crouch'd before her. :'.('.S ANNE C. LYNCH. Sons of the Emerald Isle, She bids you rend your chain, And tell the haughty ocean-queen Ye too are free-born men ! Long has the world looked on in sorrow As Erin's sunburst set in night; Joy ! joy ! there breaks a brighter morrow Behold a beam of morning light ! — A ray of hope her night redeeming ; And she greets it, though there lower England's >carl'nld, England's Tower, And though hireling swords arc gleaming. Wild shouts on every breeze ('nine swelling o'er the sea: Hark ! 'tis her starving millions cry, " Give Ireland liberty !" "EDITH MAY." A TRUE STORY OF A FAWN. Down from a mountain's craggy brow His homeward war the hunter took, By a path that wound to the vales below, At the side of a leaping brook. IT 31)9 370 "EDITH MAY." Long and sore had his journey been, By the dusl that clung to hi for I m, By the stains on his broidered moccasin; Ami over his shoulder his rifle hune, And an empty horn at his girdle swung. The eve crept westward. Sofl and pale The sunset poured its rosy flood Slanting over the wooded vale; And the weary hunter stood Looking down on his cot below, Watching his children there at play, Watching the swing on the chestnut bough Flit to and fro through the twilight gray. Till the clove's nest rocked on its quivering spray. Faint and far through the forest wide Came a hunter's voice and a hound's deep cry; Silence, that slept in the rocky dell, Scarcely woke as her sentinel Challenged the sound from the mountain-side; Over the valleys the echo died, And a doe sprang lightly by, And cleared the path, and panting stood With her trembling fawn by the leaping flood. She spanned the torrent at a hound. And swiftly onward, winged by fear, Fled as the bay of the deep-mouthed hound Fell loudly on her car : And pausing by the waters deep, Too slie-ht to stem their rapid flow. Too weak to dare the perilous lea]), A TRUE STOE I WVN. The lawn sprang wildly to and fro, Watching the flighl of her lithe limbed doe. Now she hung o'er the torrent' And sobbed and wept as the way. s shol by, Now she paused on the rocky ledge, With head erect and steadfast eye, Listening to the stag bound's cry ; Close from the foresl the deep bay ran-. Close in the forest the echoes died, And over the pathway the brown lawn sprang, And crouched by the hunter's side. Drop in the thickets the boughs unclasped, Leaped apart with a crashing sound, Under the lithe vinos sure and fast Came on the exulting hound, Yet baffled stopped to bay and glare, Far from the torrent's bound ; For the weeping lawn still crouching there Shrank not nor fled, but closer pressed, And laid her head on the hunter's breast. 371 372 " EDITH MA'b JULIETTE. Where the rough crags lift and the sea-mews call, Yet stands Earl Hubert's castle tall; Close at the base of its western wall The chafed waves stand at bay, And the May-rose twined in its banquet-hall Dips to the circling spray ; For the May-rose springs and the ivy clings, And the wall-flower flaunts in the ruined bower, And the sea-bird foldeth her weary wings Up in the stone-gray tower. Scaling an arch of the postern rule, A wild vine dips to the ocean's flow; Deep in the niches the blind owls brood, And the fringing moss hangs low Where stout Earl Hubert's banner stood Five hundred years ago. Out from the castle's western wall Jutteth a tower round and tall, And leading up to the parapet By a winding turret-stair. Over the sea there looketh yet A chandler small and square, JULIETTE. 373 Where the faint daylight comes in alone Through a narrow split in the solid stone ; And here, old records say, Earl Hubert bore his wayward child From courts and gallants gay. That, guarded by the billows wild, And cloistered from her lover's arms, Here might she mourn her wasted charms, Here weep lie]- youth away. "One! two!" said the sentinel. Pacing his rounds by the eastern tower. Up in the turret a solemn knell Tolled tor the parting hour; Over the ocean its echo fell, " One ! two !" like a silver bell Chiming afar in the sea-nymph's bower. Shrill and loud was the sea-birds cry, The watch-dog bayed as the moon rose high, The great waves swelled below ; And the measured plash of a dipping oar Broke softly through their constant roar, And paused beneath the shade Flung westward by that turret hoar Where slept the prisoned maid. The sentinel paced to and fro Under the castle parapet ; But in her chamber Juliette Heard not the tramp of his clanging foot, Nor the watch-dog baying near : Only the sound of a low-toned lute Stole to her dreaming ear, tr 31 1 " ED] Ml MAY." [he n. <>"ii rode up as the nighi wore on, Looking down with a blinding glare Into that chamber still and Lone, Touching tii" rough-hewn cross of stone And the prayer-beads glittering there, The loosened waves of the sleeper's hair, And the curve of her shoulder white and bare. She dreamed! she dreamed! That dreary keep Melted away in the calm moonbeams, The deep bell's call and the waves' hoarse swei p Changed' for the lull of a forest deep, And the pleasant voice of streams. She seemed to sit by a mossy stone, To watch the blood-red sun go down And hang on the verge of the horizon, Like a ruby set in a golden ring ; — To hear the wild-birds sing Up in the larch-boughs loud and sweet, Over a surf where the soft waves beal With a sound like a naiad's dancing feel ; For here and there on its winding way "Down by dingle and shady nook, Under the white thorn's dropping spray Glittered the thread of a slender brook; And scarce a roebuck's leap beyond, Close at the brink of its grassy bound She heard her lover's chiding hound, His bugle's merry play. Oh, it was sweet again to be Under the free blue skies! .11 I.1KTTK. 6(0 She turned on her pillow restlessly, Ami the tears to her sleeping Came welling up as the full drops start With Spring's first smile from a fountain'! lieart. Up rose the maid in her dreamy rest And flung a robe'o'er her shoulders bare, And gathered the threads of her floating hair, Ere with a foot on the turret stair She paused, then onward pressed As the tones of a soft lute broke again Through the deeper chords of the voiceful main. Steep and rude was the perilous way; Through loopholes square and small The night looked into the turret gray, And over the massive wall In blocks of light the moonbeams lay But the changeful ghosts of the showering spray And the mirrored play of the waters dim Rippled and glanced on the ceiling grim. The moon looked into her sleeping eyes, The night-wind stirred her hair. And wandering blindly, Juliette, Close on the verge of the parapet, Stood without in the open air. Under the blue arch of the skies, Save for the pacing sentin Save for the ocean's constanl swell, There seemed astir no earthly thing. 376 " EDITH MAY.'' Below, the great waves rose and fell, Scaling ever their craggy bound, But scarce a zephyr's dipping wing Broke the silver crust of the sen beyond; Ami in her lifelike dream The maiden now had wandered on To the brink of the slender stream; Then pausing, staved her eager foot, For with the brook's sweet monotone Mingled the soft voice of a lute, And where the levelled moonbeams played Over the lap of a turfy glade, A hound lay sleeping in the shade. Rocked by the light waves to and fro, Scarcely an arrow's flight from shore, Her lover in his bark below Paused, resting on the ear. Watching the foam-wreaths bead and fall Like shattered stars from the castle wall. And higher yet he raised his eyes: Jesu ! he started with affright, For painted on the dusky skies Seemed hovering in the tremulous light A figure small and angel while; Against the last lay far and dim. Touched by the moon's uncertain ray, The airy form of the turret grim. Doubtful he gazed a moment's space, Then rowed toward the castle's base. But checked his oar midway, JULIETTE. 377 And gazing up at the parapet, Shouted the one word, "Juliette!" Lute, having bound and restless deep, Each gave the clue bewildered Thought Had followed through the maze of sleep, And by her lulled ear faintly caught, Her lover's voice its echo wrought. She heard him call, she saw him stand With smiling lip and beckoning hand. And closer pressed, and dreaming yet, From the green border of the stream, From the o'erhanging parapet Sprang forward with a scream. Then once again the deep bell lolled Up in the turret gray and eld. And mingled with its lingering knell, The echoed cry, half won, half lost, Startled the weary sentinel. Now slumbering at his post ; Yet wakened from his dreamful rest, He deemed the sound some wandering ghost Haunting the caves of Sleep, For like a bird upon its nest The hushed air brooded o'er the deep; And to his drowsy ear there crept Only the voice of the choral waves, Only the drip of the spray that wept, And the ripples that sang through the weedy caves. X«.r marked he ere again he slept, The muffled stroke of a hasty oar, A steed's quick tramp along the shore, 4 V 378 EDITH MAY. When morning came a shallop's keel Grated the edge of the pebbly strand : A maid's small foot and a knight's armed heel Lay traced upon the sand. STOEM AT TWILIGHT. 379 STORM AT TWILIGHT. The roar of a chafed lion in his lair Begirt by levelled spears. A sudden Hash, Intense yet wavering, like a beast's fierce eye Searching the darkness. The wild bay of winds Sweeps the burnt plains of heaven, and from afar Linked clouds are riding up like eager horsemen, Javelin in hand. From the north wino;s of twilight There falls unwonted shadow, and strange gloom Cloisters the unwilling stars. The sky is roofed With tempest, and the moon's scant rays fall through Like light let dimly through the fissured rock Vaulting a cavern. To the horizon The green sea of the forest hath rolled back Its levelled billows, and where mastlike trees Sway to its bosom, here and there a vine, Braced to some pine's bare shaft, clings, rocked aloft Like a bold mariner. There is no boueh But lifteth its appealing arm to heaven. The scudding grass is shivering as it flies. And herbs and flowers crouch to their mother earth Like frightened children. Tis more terrible When the hoar thunder speaks, and the fleet wind Stops like a steed that knows his rider's voice, For oh ! the rush that follows is the calm Of a despairing heart; and as a maniac Loses his grief in raving, the mad storm, Weeping hot tears, awakens with a, sob From its blank desolation and shrieks on. •'' s <> " EDITH MAY." SUMMER. The curly Spring hath gone; I see her stand Afar oft* on the hills, white clouds like doves Yoked by the south wind to her opal car, And at her feet a lion and a lamb Couched side by side. Irresolute Spring hath gone, And Summer comes like Psyche, zephyr-borne To her sweet land of pleasures. She is here ; * Amid the distant vales she tarried long; But she hath come; oh joy!" for I have heard Her many-chorded harp the livelong day Sounding from plains and meadows where of late Rattled the hail's sharp arrows, and where came The wild north wind, careering like a steed Unconscious of the rein. She hath gone forth Into the forest, and its poised leaves Are platformed for the zephyr's dancing feet. Under its green pavilions she hath reared Most beautiful things. The Spring's pale orphans lie Sheltered upon her breast; the bird's loved song At morn outsoars his pinion, and when waves Put on night's silver harness the still air Is musical with soft tones. She hath baptized Earth with her joyful weeping; she hath blessed All that do rest beneath the wing of heaven, And all that hail its smile. Her ministry SUMMER. 38] Is tvpical of love. She hath disdained No gentle office, but doth bend to twine The grape's light tendrils and to pluck apart The heart-leaves ot the rose. She doth not pass Unmindful the bruised vine, nor scorn to lift The trodden weed; and wln-n her lowlier children Faint by the wayside like worn passeng She is a gentle mother, all night long Bathing their pale brows with her healing dews; The hours are spendthrifts of her wealth, the days Are dowered with her beauty. ■-m**. g*i*i ;-^ Priestess ! queen Amid the ruined temples of the wood j w :\S2 " EDITH MAY." She hath rebuilt her altars and called back The scattered choristers, and over aisles Where the slant sunshine, like a curious stranger, Glided through arches and bare choirs, hath spread A roof magnificent. She hath awaked Her oracle, that, dumb and paralyzed, Slept with the torpid serpents of the lightning, Bidding his dread voice, Nature's mightiest, Speak mystically of all hidden things To the attentive spirit. There is laid No knife upon her sacrificial altar, And from her lips there comes no pealing triumph. But to those crystal halls where silence sits Enchanted hath arisen a mingled strain Of music delicate as the breath of buds, And on her shrines the virgin hours lay Odors and exquisite dyes, like gifts that kings Send from the spicy gardens of the East, ANN S. STEPHENS. THE OLD APPLE THEE. I AM thinking of the homestead With its low and sloping roof, And the maple boughs that shadowed it With a green and leafy woof; I am thinking of the lilac trees That shook their purple plumes. And when the sash was open Shed fragrance through the rooms. 383 38 I ANN S. STEPHENS. I am thinking of the rivulet With its cool and silvery How, Of the old gray rock that shadowed it, And the peppermint below. I am not sad nor sorrowful, But memories will come ; So leave me to my solitude, And let me think of home. There was not around my birthplace A thicket or a flower But childish game or friendly face Has given it a power To haunt me in my after-life, And be with me again, A sweet and pleasant memory Of mingled joy and pain. But the old and knotted apple tree That stood beneath the hill, My heart can never turn to it But with a pleasant thrill. Oh what a dreamy life I led Beneath its old green shade, Where the daisies and the buttercups A pleasant carpet made! 'Twas a rough old tree in spring-time, When with a blustering sound The wind came hoarsely sweeping Along the frosty ground ; TIIK 01. D AIM'I.K TKKE. ;;.s.-) But when there rose a rivalry 'Tween clouds and pleasant weather, Till the sunshine and the raindrop Came laughing down together, 'O That patriarch old apple tree Enjoyed the lovely strife ; The sap sprang lightly through its veins, And circled into life ; A cloud of pale and tender buds Burst o'er each rugged bough, And amid the starting verdure The robins made their vow. That tree was very beautiful When all its leaves were green, And rosy buds lay opening Amid their tender sheen — When the bright, translucent dewdrops Shed blossoms as they fell, And melted in their fragrance Like music in a shell. It was greenest in the summer-time, When cheerful sunlight wove Amid its thrifty leafiness A warm and glowing love — When swelling fruit blushed ruddily To summer's balmy breath, And the laden boughs drooped heavily To the greensward underneath. I x ANN S. STEPHENS. 'Twas brightest in a rainy day, When all the purple west Was piled with fleecy storm-clouds That never seemed at rest — When a cool and lulling melody Fell from the dripping eaves, And soft, warm drops came pattering Upon the restless leaves. But oh, the scene was glorious When clouds were lightly riven, And there above my valley-home Came out the bow of heaven 1 And in its fitful brilliancy Hung quivering on high, Like a jeweled arch of paradise Reflected through the sky. T am thinking of the footpath My constant visits made Between the dear old homestead And that leafy apple shade, Where the flow of distant waters Came with a tinkling sound, Like the revels of a fairy band Beneath the fragrant g: ound. I haunted it at eventide, And dreamily would lie And watch the crimson twilight Come stealing o'er the sky : THE OLD APPLE i i:n . 387 'Tw:is sweel to see its dying gold \\ ake up the dusky Leaves, To hear the swallows twittering Beneath the distanl caves. ] have listened to the music, A low, sweet minstrelsy, Breathed by a lonely night-bird That haunted that old i Till my heart has swelled with feelings For which it had no name — A yearning love of poesy, A thirsting alter lame. I have gazed up through the foliage With dim and tearful eyes, And with a holy reverence Dwelt on the changing skies, Till the burning stars were peopled With forms of spirit-birth, And I've almost heard their harp-strings Reverberate on earth. ALICE CARY. PALESTINE. Bright inspiration, shadowing my heart Like a sweet dream of beauty, could I see Tabor and Carmel ere I henoe depart, And tread the quiet vales of Galilee, And look from Hermon, with its dew and flowers, Upon the broken walls and mossy towers 38S 389 O'er winch the Son of man in sadness wept, The loveliest promise of my life were kept. Alas! the beautiful cities crowned with flowers And robed with royalty, no more in thee, Fretted with golden pinnacles and towers, They sit in haughty beauty by the sea. Shadows of rocks precipitate and dark Rest still and heavy where they found a grave, There glides no more the humble fisher's hark, And the wild heron drinks not of the wave. But still the silvery willows fringe the rills, Judea's shepherd watches still his told, And round about Jerusalem the hills Stand in their solemn grandeur as oJ old; And Sharon's roses still as sweetly bloom As when the apostles in the days gone by Rolled hack the shadows from the dreary tomb, And brought to light life's Immortality. The East has lain down many a beauteous bride In the dim silence of the sepulchre. Where names are shrined in story, hut beside There lives no sign to tell thev ever were. The imperial fortresses of old renown, Rome, Carthage, Thebes — alas! where are they now? in the dim distance lost ami crumbled down, The glory that was of them from her brow Took- oil' the wreath in centuries gone by, Ami walked the path of shadows silently. I v 390 \i -i e i But, Palestine, what hopes are born of thee?— I cannot paint their beauty — hopes thai rise, Linking this perishing mortality To the bright, deathless glories of the skies; There the sweet Babe of Bethlehem was born, Love's mission finished there in Calvary's g] There blazed the glories of the ri >rn, And Death lay gasping there at Jesus' tomb. HARVEST -TIME. God's blessing on the reapers! All day long A quiet sense of peace my spirit fills, As whistled fragments of untutored song Blend with the rush of sickles on the hills, And the blue wild-flowers and green brier-leaves Are brightly tangled with the yellow sheaves. Where straight and even the new furrows lie, The cornstalks in their rising beauty stand ; Heaven's loving smile upon man's industry Makes beautiful with plenty the wide land ; The barns pressed out with the sweet hay I see, And feel how more than good God is to me. In the cool thicket the red-robin sings, And merrily before the mower's scythe Chirps the green grasshopper, while slowly swings In the scarce swaying air the willow lithe, And clouds sail softly through the upper calms White as the fleeces of the unshorn lambs. HAEVEST TIME. 391 Outstretched beneath the venerable tr< Conning his long, hard task, the schoolboy li And like a fickle wooer the liehl bre< Kisses his brow; then scarcely sighing flies; And all about him pinks and lilies stand, Painting with beauty the wide pasture-land. Oh, there are moments when we half forgel The rough, harsh grating of the file of Time, And I believe that angels come down yet And walk with us as in the Eden clime, Binding the heart away from woe and strife With leaves of healing from the Tree of Life. And they are most unworthy who behold The bountiful provisions of God's care, When reapers sing among the harvest gold. And the mown meadow scents the quiet air, And yet who never say with all the heart, "How good, my Father — oh how good thou art!" :.> ( .»2 ALICE CAE"5 LIGHTS OP GENIUS. Upheaving pillars, on whose tops The white stars rest like capitals, Whence every living spark that drops Kindles and blazes as it falls! And if the arch fiend rise to pluck, Or stoop to crush their beauty down, A thousand other sparks are struck That Glory settles in her crown. The huge ship with its brassy share Ploughs the blue sea, to speed their course, And veins of iron cleave the air, To waft them from their burning sourer. All, from the insect's tiny wings And the small drop of morning dew. To the wide universe of things, The light is shining, burning through. Too deep for our poor thoughts to gauge Lie their clear sources bright as truth. Whence flows upon the locks of age The beauty of eternal youth. Think, O my faltering brother ! think, If thou wilt try, if thou hast tried. By all the lights thou hast, to sink The shaft of an immortal tide. PHCEBE CARY. THE FOLLOWERS OF CHRIST. What were Thy teachings, Thou who hadst not where In all this weary earth to lay Thy head, 17, 394 PHCEBE CARY. Thou who wcrt made the sins of men to bear, Ami break with publicans Thy daily bread? Turning from \A, arel h the de spised aside, And dwelling in the cities by the :a, What were Thy words to those who sat and dried Their nets upon the rocks of Galilee? Didst Thou not teach Thy followers here below Patience, long-suffering, charity and love To.be forgiving, and to anger slow, And perfect like our blessed God above? And who wore they, the called and chosen then, Through all the world teaching Thy truth to go? Were they the rulers and the chiefesl men, The teachers in the synagogue? Not so: Makers of tents and fishers by the sea. These only left their all to follow Thee. And even of the twelve whom Thou didst name Apostles of Thy holy word to be, One was a devil; and the one who came With loudest boasts of faith and constancy. He was the first Thy warning who forgot, And said with curses that he knew Thee not. Yet wore there some who in Thy sorrows w< re To Thee even as a brother and a friend, And women seeking out the sepulchre, Were true and faithful even to the end; And some there wore who kept the living faith Through persecution, even unto death. Jill But, Saviour, since that dark and awful When the dread Temple's veil was rent in twain, And while the noontide brightness fled aw The gaping earth gave up her dead a Tracing the many generations down Who have professed to love Thj holy wi Through the long centuries of the world's renown, And through the terrors of her darker days, Where are Thy followers, and what deeds of love Their deep devotion to Thy precepts prov Turn to the time when o'er the green hills came Peter the Hermit from the cloister's gloom, Telling his followers in the Saviour's name To arm and battle tor the sacred tomb; Not with the Christian armor, perfect faith. And love which purifies the soul from dross, I '.in holding in one hand the sword of death, And in the other lifting up the cross, He roused the sleeping nations up to feel All the blind ardor of unholy zeal. With the brigb.1 banner of the cross unfurled, And chanting sacred hymns, they marched, and yet They made a Pandemonium of the world More dark than that where fallen angels met; The singing of their bugles could not drown The bitter curses of the hunted down. Richard, the lion-hearted, brave in war, Tancivd and Godfrey of the fearless hand. Though earthly tame have spread their names afar, What were they but the scourges of the land? 396 PHGEBE CAEY. And worse than these were men whose touch would be Pollution, vowed to lives of sanctity. And in Thy name did men in other days Construct the Inquisition's gloomy cell, And kindle persecution to a blaze, Likest of all things to the fires of hell. Ridley and Latimer — I hear their t In calling up each martyr's glorious name — And Cranmer with the praises on his tongue When his red hand dropped down amid the flame. Merciful God ! and have these things been done. And in the name of Thy most holy Sen'.' Turning from other lands, grown old in crime, To this, where Freedom's root is deeply set, Surely no stain upon its fold sublime Dims the escutcheon of our glory yet? Hush ! Came there not a sound upon the air Like captives moaning from their native shore, Woman's deep wail of passionate despair For home and kindred seen on earth no more? Yes. Standing on the market-place I see Our weaker brethren coldly bought and sold, To be, in hopeless, dull captivity, Driven forth to toil like cattle from the fold; And hark! the lash and the despairing cry Of the strong man in perilous agony! THE FOL] OWERS OF < 111:1 D. 397 And near me I can bear the heavy si Of the dull hammer borne upon the air: [s a new city rising from the ground? What hath the artisan constructed there? Tis not a palace nor a humble shed, Tis not a holy temple reared by hands , No. Lifting up its dark and bloody head, Right in the face of Eeaven the scaffold stands; ! men regardless of "Thou shalt not kill,' That plainest lesson in the Book of Light, Even from the very altars tell us -till That evil sanctioned by the law is right, And preach in tones of eloquence sublime, To teach mankind that murder is not crime. And is there nothing to redeem mankind? No heart that keeps the love of God within? Is the whole world degraded, weak and bl And darkened by the leprous scales of sin'.' No. We will hope that some in meekness sweet Still sit with trusting Mary at Thy feet. For there are men of God who faithful stand On the far ramparts of our Zion's wall, Planting the cross of Jesus in some land That never listened to >n's call ; And there are some, led by philanthropy, Men of the feeling heart and daring mind. Who fain would set the hopeless nations Fre< And raise the weak and fallen of mankind; And there are many in life's humblesl way Who tread like angels on a path oi light, 5 A 398 run ■ W bo warn the sinful when they go astray, And point the erring to the way of right; And the meet beauty of such lives will teach More than the eloquence of man can preach. And, blessed Saviour, by Thy life of trial, Ami by Thy death to live the world from sin. Ami by the hope that man, though weak and vile, Hath something of divinity within, Still will we trust, though sin and crime be met, To see Thy holy precepts triumph yet. THE CHRISTIAN WOMAN. Oh, beautiful as morning in those hours, When* as her pathway lies along the hills, Her golden fingers wake the dewy flowers, \ml softly touch the waters of the rills, Was she who walked more faintly day by day. Till silently she perished by the way. It was not hers to know that perfect heaven Of passionate love returned by love as de p, Not hers to sing the cradle-song at even, Watching the beauty of her babe a "Mother and brethren" — these she had not known, Save such as do the Father's will alone. CHRIST] i IAN. Yet found sh thing still for which to liv< — 1 !■ .:. is desolate, when And " little ones " to whom her hand A cup of water in ber Ma And breaking hearts to bind away from di With the sofl band of pitying love and She never won the voice of popular pr But, counting earthly triumph as but Seeking to keep her Saviour's perfect ways. Bearing in the still path his blessed cross, - She made her life, while with us here she trod, A consecration to the will of God. And sh.' hath lived and labored not in vain : Through the deep pri i hi r accents thrill, And the sad slave leans idly on his chain, And hears the music of her singing still, While little children with their innocent pi Keep freshly in men's hearts her Christian ways. And what a beautiful lesson she made known ! — ■ The whiteness of her soul sin could not dim, Ready to lay down on God's altar-stone The dearest treasure of her life for Him. Her flame of sacrifice never, never waned : How could she live and die so self-sustaim For friends supported not her parting oul, And whispered words of comfort kind and sweet, When tread onward to that final goal Where the still bridegroom waited for ber Ee< too IT.]' CARY. Alone she walked, yet with a tread, Down to Death's chamber and his bridal bed. SONG OF THE HEART. They may tell for ever of wen-Ids of bloom, Beyond the skies and beyond tbe tomb, Of the sweet repose and the rapture there That are not found in a world of care ; J'.ut not to me' can the present seem Like a foolish tale or an idle dream. Oh I know that the bowers of heaven are fair. And I know that the' waters of life are there, But I do not long for their happy flow While there burst such fountains of bliss below; And I would not leave for the rest above The faithful bosom of trusting love. There are angels here. They are seen the while In each love-lit brow and each gentle smile; There are seraph voices that meet the ear In the kindly tone and the word of cheer : And light, such light as they have above, Beams on us here from the eyes of love. Yet when it cometh my time to die, 1 would turn from this bright world willingly. Though even then would the thoughts of this Tinge every dream of that land of bliss, SONG OF THE HEART. I (| l Aihl I fain would lean on the loved for aid, Nor walk alone through the vale and shade. And if 'tis mine till life's changes end To guard the heari of one faithful friend, Whatever the trials of earth may be, On the peaceful shore or the restless sea, In a palaee home or the wilderness, There is heaven for me in a world like this. 5 15 SARAH ANNA LEWIS. GREECE. Shrine of the gods, mine own eternal Greece, When shall thy weeds be doffed, thy mourning cease. The gyves that bind thy beauty rent in twain. And thou lie living, breathing Greece again? Grave of the mighty — hero, poet, sagi — Whose deeds are guiding -tars to every age ! 402 L03 Land unsurpassed in glory and despair! Still in thy desolation thou art fair. Low in sepulchral dust, lies Pallas' shrine, Low in sepulchral dust thy fanes divine, And all thy visible self; ye1 o'er thy cl Soul, beauty, linger, hallowing decay. Not all the ills that war entailed en i Not all the blood that stained Thermopylae, Not all the desolation traitors wrought, Not all the woe and want invaders brought, Nut all the tears that slavery could wring From out thy heart el' patient suffering, Not all that drapes thy loveliness in night, Can quench thy spirit's never-dying light ; But hovering o'er the dust of gods enshrined, It beams a beacon to the inarch of mind, An oasis to sage and bard forlorn, A guiding light to centuries unborn. For thee I mourn ; thy blood is in my veins ; To thee by consanguinity's strong chains I'm bound, and fain would die to make thee tree; But oh, there is no liberty for thee! Not all the wisdom of thy greatest one, Not all the bravery of Thetis' son. Not all the weight of mighty Phoebus' ire, Not all the magic of the Athenian's lyre, Can ever bid thy tears or mourning cea e, Or rend one gyve that binds thee, lovely Greece! MARGARET JUNKIX. SHADE AND SUNSHINE. Earth is the home of sorrow ; life, Though joyful it appears. Is given, continued, and sustained, And borne away in tears. The sentient throngs of earth and air Join Nature's voice to keep Existence festive ; man alone Is privileged to weep. Sweet as the "music of the spheres" Creation's hymn should be, Yet evermore the human voice Is wailing mournfully, And 'mid the still majestic strain Of praise and paean high Are mingled death's despairing shriek, And hopeless misery's cry. The earliest beams of every morn Fall on some mourner's head, And flit in mockery across The dying and the dead : 404 SHADE \M> SUNSHINE. 105 The light of every parting sun Finds sorrowful rep< On new made graves, whose turf was still Unbroken when lie rose. The trembling stars look nightly down On brows that 'mid the glare Of day, when all were smiling round, Sect i icd glad as any there ; But in the darkened solitude The mask aside is thrown, And the crushed spirit spreads its woe Before its God alone. And yet it is not ceaseless wail That earthly voices raise, For some have learned the symphony And joined the song of praise. Ah, tear-dimmed eyes must long have closed, Had not a Hand of love Upheld the faltering step, and turned The wandering gaze above. Then with divinely-lighted eye They read their sufferings o'er, And find a meaning in their gi They failed to find before ; A beauty touches all the past, And from the future fled Is every fear, and stars el' hope Are shining overhead. 5 e 406 MARGARET JUJNKIN. Who, then, run call this glorious world, With such a radiance, dim And desolate, since on its sky Is stamped the seal of Him Who iu His rich magnificence Has lavished all abroad A splendor that could only spring Beneath the hand of God? No, Earth has something more than gloom And pain ami sickening fear, For holy Peace has often come And made its dwelling here; Nor ever will it quite depart Until our closing eyes Are turned from earth, to find in heaven A fadeless Paradise. ALICE B. NEAL. GONDOLETTAS. Far out in the moonlight how softly we glide! Scarce knowing, scarce heeding, the lapse of the tidi I watch the light shadows steal over thy face, And pillow thy head in a last, long embrace. in: 408 ALICE B. NEAL. Thv heart keeps low music, still beating to mine, Thv white arm I me I slowly entwine, I pari the wild tresses that shroud thy pale cheek, I kiss thee, 1 clasp thee; no word dare 1 speak. Alas that the starlight should fade from the sky! Alas for the parting that draweth so nigh ! Glide slowly, ye ripples, flow softly, tide, For the silence of death must the living divide. TOO LATE. weary thought ! heart cast down and lone ! hapless spirit, hardened with a grief That giveth utterance to the mournful tone Of this low murmur, words so full, so brief, " < (utlived all love !" Did God deny thee gifts by which to win Affection from the crowd that round thee throng? Or didst thou lose by folly or by sin The hope that else had made thy soul most strong, Of gaining love '.' When first thy mother clasped thee in her arms, Ami bade thv father watch thine infant glee, Why did her soul thrill with such wild alarms And bounding hopes? Was it not all for thee? Did not she love '? TOO LATE. 1 1 1'. I Childhood mourns n< fiends. It pa d : Then on th d I future joy. Retrace thy I ps : did those friends betray The trust bestowed by thee, a fair-browed b Living in lo Nay: one by one they turned. Thy heart was proud, Thy mood suspicious, and they could not brook The coldness and reserve that as a cloud Veiled all thy movements, chilling every look That asked for love. Thy manhood's prime was glorious; it is past; Ambition's thirst is slaked; a dreary void Taketh the place of schemes that once so fast Hurried thee onward, life and thought employed, Shutting out love. Too late, too late ! Thou canst not win them back. The friends of youth, the love of rip rs; Alone pass onward in the narrow track Which thou hast chosen; learn with bitter tears Thai man needs I 'Tis God's best gift; be wise and scorn it not, Thou who art strong in pride of hope and life; Tin- brightest gleam that gilds our darkened lot, Lighting us onward through its fearful strife, priceless love ! D HO I' B. \ And if thy soul i- i ! againsl mankind, Pause ere thy hearth grows cold and d Cheer those who droop, the wounded spirit I Win hearts, and it shall never be thy fate To outlive l<>\ JULIA WARD HOWE. TO A BEAUTIFUL STATUE. I would there were a blush upon thy cheek, That I might deem thee human, not divine! I would those sweet yet silent lips might speak, Kv ii to say, " 1 never can be thine !" I would thine eye might slum my ardent gaze, Then timidly return it; 'neath the fold Of the white vest thy heart beat to the praise Responsive that thou heedest not. I hold Thy slender hand in mine: oh why is it so cold? ue, I call on thee! I hid thee wake To life and love. The world is bright and fair: The flowers of spring blush in each verdant brake, The birds' sweet song makes glad the perfumed air. I thou alone feel'st not its balmy breath. Oh by what spell once dear, -nil unforgot, Shall I release thee from this seeming death 9 What prayer shall charm thee from yon haunted spot? Awake! I summon thee! In vain, she hears me not. What power hath bound thee the,--? Devoid of se Buried in thine own beauty, S] mless, pale. What strange, stern destiny, what dire offenc Hath drawn around thy living charms this veil? 411 11-' JULIA WABD HOWE. Didst tliou like X I bold the death Of all thy loved ones? Did so sad a Bighl Urge from thy bosom forth the panting ln-rath, Steal from thy tearful eve its liquid light, And wrap thy fainting spirit in eternal night? Or wert thou false and merciless as fair, And is it thus thy perfidy is wroken? Didst thou with smiles the trusting soul ensn: And smile again to see it crushed and broken '.' Oh no! Heaven wished to rescue from the tomb A form so faultless, and its mandate high Arrested thee in youth's transcendent bloom, Congealed in marble thy last parting sigh. Soothed thee to wakeless sleep, nor suffered thee to die. For sure thou wert not always thus. The rush Of life's warm stream hath lit thy vacant glance, Tinting thy pallid cheek with maiden blush; Those fairy limbs have sported in the dance Before they settled thus ill quiet rest; Thine ear the .lyre's numbers hath received, And told their import to the throbbing breast; Thy heart hath hoped and feared, hath joyed and grieved. Hath loved and trusted, and hath been deceived. Sleep on! The memory of thv grief or wrongs With the forgotten past have long since fled, And pitying Fate thy slumber still prolongs, Lest thou shouldst wake to sorrow for the dead. Oh should thine eyes unclose again on earth, . To find thyself nncared for and alone, CE ci I The mates of thy ; ing d of laug] And be more dear than all I tie, With bitter tears thou'dst i i'( of stone ! Sleep ,,u in peace! Thou shall not sleep for ever: Soon MORTAL A XI.) IMMORTAL. Oh life is strange and full of change, But it brings me little sorrow, For I came to the world but yesti Ami I shall go hence to-morrow. The wind is drear, the leaves are - Full dimly shows the sun. The skies arc bright, the earth is light: To me 'tis almost one. The sunny rill, the wave dark and chill, Across my breast may roll ; The saddest sigh, the merriest cry. Make music in my soul. A few short years of smiles and tears, Of suffering not in vain, And the weary smart of a wounded heart I never shall know again. I've wept for the bride at her husband's side, I've smiled on the loved one's bier, For a mystery was shown to o A thing of hope and fear. 416 v.\ui> hi Who sows in tears his early 3 May bind tbe gold' Wb in summer bow Shall reap but tbeir witbi A wayward child on wbom bath smiL Tbe ligbt of heavenly love, A pilgrim with a vision dim Of something far above, I live for all who on 1110 call, And yet I live for one ; My song must be sweet to all I moot, And yet I sing to none. A quiet tone that maketh known A spirit passing by, A breath of prayer on the midnight air. And I am gone for aye ; — Gone to the rest of the ever-blest, To the new Jerusalem, Where the children of light do walk in white, Ami the Saviour leadeth them. For ever gone, and none to mourn : And who for me would sorn iw '.' I came to toil in a desert soil, And my task will he done to-morrow. X 2/^t^^^J?" y ' <^ SARA J. LIPPINCOTT. TO MISS C. M. SEDGWICK. GLORY- WEDDED ! to thy bl'OW A coronal is given For which, when song and Greece were young, The very gods had striven ! 5F 417 418 SARA .1. LIPPINCOTT. Oh find'st thou not an envied crown A weary weight and chilli] Its lonely glory — is it not An ice-touch heartward thrilling? Ah no! E'en now a rosy light Those vernal leaves is flushing; woman-h love's warm buds Are 'mid thy laurels blushing. THE MAY MORNING. The morning brightness showereth clown from heaven. The morning freshness goeth up from earth, The morning gladness shineth everywhere. Soon as the sun in glorious panoply, Parting the crimson curtains of his tent, Begins the day's proud march, the voice of song And flush of beauty live along his way. The maiden flowers, whom all the dreamy night The starlight vainly wooed with wan, cold smile. Blush as his presence breathes upon their bloom, And feel his kiss through all their glowing veins, And shake the night-dew from their joyous heads, And pour thick perfumes on the golden air. The trees bow at his coming, and look brave THE M W M< U9 In all the richness ol their new at1 The Dancing in glee, y Like bashful maidens al some i te Graced by a monarch's presence; aged oal Grow young again at their stout, loyal hearts; The stately brotherhood of mountain pii Give forth a solemn greeting, like a band Of stem old monks in sombre vestments clad; Like Ganymede" the magnolia stands, Graceful and fair his silver chalice lii'ts, Brimmed with night's nectar, to the thirsty god; The garden lilac, rich in purple bio Scatters her royal largess far and wide, And the warm bosom of the opening rose Pants out its odorous sighs to the "sweet south, ' That soft-plumed, low-voiced rover from afar, Whose wings are heavy with the perfume stolen From the cleft hearts of Ins E The mignonette breathes tenderly and deep The pure home-fragrance of an humble heart, And even the tiny violet can make Her little circle sweet as love; the vine, Swaying in mid-air to the frolic wind, Rains scented blossoms on the clover tufts And cheerful daisies, lighting up the grass. The robin and the oriole awake With the first sunshine glancing on their win To thrill the young leaves quivering round their nests With glad, wild gushes of exulting song. To pour swift waves of clear, delicious sound, Fresh and rejoicing, on the morning air. 120 SAIU I. LIPPINCOTT. The lake looks up to heaven and smiles to see Those vast, high courts with his own color hung ; The waves with whispers and low laughter steal Along the shore to meet the honeyed kiss Of the pale lilies drooping faint with love. Like some young mountain-shepherd whose fair maid, Far down the vale upon a gala morn, Awaits his coming, the impetuous stream Leaps clown the hillside, singing as it goes. Yet, fair sky! green and flowery earth! Your morning gladness in this bright May-time, With visible glow and music's utterance, Is all imperfect, faint and dim beside THE MAY MORNING. 421 The viewless, voiceless, unimagined That maketh bloom and sunshine in <>'■■, heart, That fills my soul with hopes more brighl than flowers, And thoughts far sweeter than the voice of birds. The Arctic wmt t which closed round me long, And hung all heaven with tempests, hath gone by; The fear, the sorrow and the wild despair Which made a darkness deeper than the night, And storm that mocked the loud and maddened strife Of the roused elements — all, all gone by. A sky of love is bending o'er me now, And airs serene are breathing round my paths: The rich midsummer of my life is here. Thou whose hand rolled back the clouds of fear, Whose voice spake "peace" to sorrow's whelming deeps, And in mid-heaven stayed the shadowy wing Of death's swift angel ! what meet offering Hath my glad soul to lay upon thy shrin Prayers ami rapt vigils'.' or song's votive wreaths Dewy with grateful tears? A pilgrim's vows? Saintlike observance of all sacred rites And holy day? Not these, not these, my soul! But the sweet ottering of a loving heart, But the rich offering of a freeborn mind, But the long offering of an earnest life. 56 422 :.\ .1. l.l THE DREAM. Last night, my love, I dreamed of tin Yet 'twas no dream Elysian ; Draw closer to my breast, dear Blanche, The while I tell the vision. Methought that I had left thee long, And home in haste returning, My heart, lip, cheek, with love and joy And wild impatience burning, I called thee through the silent hoi But here at last I found thee, Where deathly still and ghostly white The curtains fell around t! Dead — dead thou wert ; cold lay that form In rarest beauty mouldi 1. And meekly o'er thy still, white breast The snowy hands were folded. Methought thy couch was fitly strewn With many a fragrant blossom, di violets thy fingers clasped, And rosebuds decked thy bosom ; But thine eyes, so like young violets, Might smile upon me never, Ami tin' rose-bloom from thy cheek and lip Had tied away for ever. THE Iii:: L23 I raised thee lovingly, fliv head ins), my bosom leaning, And railed thy name, and spoke to thee In words of tenderest meaning. I sought in warm thee al my breast, My arms close round thee flinging, To breathe my life into thy lips With kisses fond and clinging. Oh hour of fearful agony ! In vain rny frenzied pleading, Thy dear voice hushed, thy kind eye closed, My lonely grief unheeding. Pale wert thou as the lily-buds Twined 'mid thy raven tresses, And cold thy lip and still thy heart To all my wild caresses. I woke amid the autumn mil To hoar the rain descending, And roar of waves and howl of winds In stormy concert blending. But oh! my waking joy was morn From heaven's own portals flowing, And the summer of thy living love Was round about me glowing. &• I woke — ah, blessedness! — to feel Thy white arms round me wreathing, To hear amid the lonely nighl Thy calm and gentle breathing. I _' I OTT. I bent above thy rest (ill morn With many a whispered blessing, Soft, timid kisses on thy lips And blue-veined eyelids pressing. While thus from Slumber's shadowy realm Thy truant soul recalling, Thou couldst not know whence sprang the tears Upon thy forehead falling. And oh, thine eyes' sweet wonderment When thou didst ope them slowly. To mark mine own bent on thy face In rapture deep and holy ! Thou couldst not know till I had told That dream of fearful warning, How much of heaven was in my words, " God bless thee, love — good-morning 1" ILLUMINATION FOR THE TRIUMPH OF OUR ARMS IX MEXICO. Light up thy homes, Columbia, F<.r those chivalric men Who bear to scenes of warlike strife Thy conquering arms again, Where glorious victories, flash on flash. Reveal their stormy way. Resaca's, Palo Alto's fields, The heights of Monterey! on. t25 They pile with thousands of thy foes Buena \ ista's plain, With maids and wives at \ era I Swell high the list of slain ; They pain! upon the southern skies The Maze of burning domes, Their laurels dew with blood of babes: Light up, light up thy homes! Light up your homes, fathers ' For those young hero bands Whose march is still through vanquished towns And over conquered lands; Whose valor wild, impetuous, In all its fiery glow Pours onward like a lava-tide, And sweeps away the foe ! — For those whose dead brows Glory crowns. On crimson couches sleeping, And for home faces wan with grief, And fond eyes dim with weeping; And for the soldier, poor, unknown, Who battled madly brave, Beneath a stranger-soil to share A shallow, crowded grave. Light up thy home, young mother! Then gaze in pride and joy Upon those fair and gentle girls, That eagle-eyed young boy ; 5 II 1:26 SARA J. LIPPINCOTT. Ami clasp thy darling little one \ '■! closer to thy breast, And be thy kisses on its lips In yearning love impressed. In yon beleaguered city Were homes as sweel as thine; There trembling mothers felt loved arms In fear around them twin* — The lad with brow of olive hue, The babe like lily fair, The maiden with her midnight eyes And wealth of raven hair. The booming shot, the murderous shell, Crashed through the crumbling walls, And filled with agony and death Those sacred household walls; Then bleeding, crushed and blackened lav The sister by the brother, And the torn infant gasped and writhed < »n the bosom of the mother. sisters ! if you have no tears For fearful scenes like these, If the banners of the victors veil The victim's agonies — If ye lose the babe's and mother's cry In the noisy roll of drums — If your hearts with martial pride throb high, Light up, light up your homes! ANNA CORA MOWATT RITCHIE. LOV lv Thou conqueror's conqueror, mighty Love! to thee Their crowns, their laurels, kings and b xoes yield. Lo! at thy shrine great Anton) bows the knee, Disdains his victor wreath and flies the field. From woman's lips Alcides lists thy tone, And grasps the inglorious distaff for his sword; An Eastern sceptre at thy feet is thrown, A nation's worshipped idol owns thee lord, And well fair Noorjehan his throne became When erst she ruled his empire in thy name. The sorcerer Jarchas could to age restore Youth's faded bloom or childhood's vanished glee; Magician Love! canst thou not yet do im Is not the faithful heart kept young by th But ne'er that traitor bosom formed to stray, ■ These perjured lips which twice thy vows have breathed, Can know the raptures of thy magic sway. Or And the balsam in thy garland wreathed; Fancy or folly may his breast have moved, But he who wanders never truly loved. 427 ll'S ANNA CORA MOW ATT RITCHIE. MY LIFE. My life is a fairy's gay dream, And thou art the geni whose wand Tints all things around with the beam, The bloom of Titania's bright land. A wish to my lips never sprung, A hope in mine eyes never shone. But ere it was breathed by my tongue, To grant it thy footsteps have flown. Thy joys, they have ever been mine, Thy sorrows too often thine own ; The sun that on me still would shine O'er thee threw its shadows alone. bite's garland, then, let us divide; Its roses I'd fain see thee wear ; For once — but I know thou wilt chide — Ah leave me its thorns, love, to bear! THY W ! 1.1- BE DONE. I-'' THY WILL BE DONE. Thy will be done! heavenly King, I bow my head to Thy decree. Albeit my soul not yet may wing Its upward flight, great God, to Thee! — Though I must still on earth abide, To toil and groan and suffer lure. To seek for peace on sorrows tide, And meet the world's unfeeling jeer. When heaven seemed dawning on my view, And I rejoiced my race was run. Thy righteous hand the bliss withdrew, And still I say, "Thy will be dune!" And though the world can never mere A world of sunshine be to me, Though all my fairy dreams are o'er, And Care pursues where'er I flee, — Though friends I loved the dearest, best, Were scattered by the storm away, And scarce a hand I warmly pressed As fondly presses mine to day, — 5 I 430 ANNA COEA MOWATT RITCHIE. Yet must 1 live — must live for those Who mourn the shadow on my brow, Who feel my hand can soothe their woes. Whose faithful hearts I gladden now. Yes, I will live — live to fulfil The noble mission scarce begun, And, pressed with grief, to murmur still, "All-Wise, All-Just, Thy will be done!" ELIZABETH S. SWIFT. FIRST OF MAY. There is music on the breeze From a thousand tiny throats, And amid the blossomed trees The wild-birds pour their notes; The rivers flow along With a murmur like a song ; But alas! 1 am sad! I am sad 'Tis the sunny First of May ; She is tripping on the earth To the wild-bird's joyous lav; Fresh flowerets hail her birth, And with fragrant kisses greel The coming of her feet : But alas ! I am sad ' 1 am sad ! For the birds and perfumed flowers, And tin' waters glancing bright, But remind mo of those hours Of exquisite delight, That lane- S y ne F£rs1 of May. With i<< glorious array, When ah! T was glad! 1 was "'lad' i:a 132 ELIZABETH S. SWIFT. The friends my spirit loved Were wandering by my side, Whilst through the w Is we roved, Or watched the waters glide, In white and glittering foam, To their far-off ocean home ; And ah ! I was glad ! I was glad But Time hath all things changed, Those blessings all have flown; The absent and estranged Have left my heart alone ; Then how can I be gay On this merry First of May? Ah no ! I am sad ! I am sad ! ^w CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. THE SNOW-FLAKE. Ye'ke welcome, ye white and feathery flakes, That fall like the blossoms the summer wind shakes From the bending spray! Oh say. do ye come With tidings to me from my far-distant horn.'.' 'Our home is above in the depths of the sky, In the hollow of God's own hand we lie; We are fair, we are pnre, our birth is divine Bay, what 'can we know of thee or of thin.'?' I know that ye dwell in the kingdoms of air, I know ye are heavenly, pure and fair, ,i 133 434 i \l:ul.I\K LEE HENTZ. But oft have I seen ye, far travellers, roam, By the cold blast driven, round my northern home. "We roam over mountains and valley and sea, We hang our pale wreaths on the leafless tree; The heralds of wisdom and mercy we go, And perchance the far home of thy childhood we know. " We roam, and our fairy track we leave, While for Nature a winding sheet we wave, A cold, white shroud that shall mantle the gloom Till her Maker -recalls her to glory and bloom." foam of the shoreless ocean above! 1 know thou descendest in mercy and love. All chill as thou art, yet benign is thy birth As the dew that impearls the green bosom of Earth; And I've thought as I've seen thy tremulous spray, Soft curling like mist, on the branches lav, In bright relief on the dark blue sky, That thou meltedst in grief when the sun came nigh. b "Say, whose is the harp whose echoing song Breathes wild on the gale that wafts us along? The moon, the flowers, the blossoming tree, Wake the minstrel's lyre; they are brighter than we." The flowers shed their fragrance, the moonbeams their light, Over scenes never veiled by your drapery of white, THE SNOW-FLAKE. But the clime where I first saw your downy flakes fall, My own native clime, is far dearer than all. Oh fair when ye clothed in their wintry mail The elms thai o'ershadow my home in the \ Like warriors they looked as they bowed in the si With the tossing plume and the towering form. Ye fade, ye melt ; 1 feel the warm breath Of the redolent Smith o'er the desolate heath; But tell me, ye vanishing pearls, where ye dwell When the dewdrops of summer bespangle the dell? " We lade, we melt into crystalline spheres, We weep, for we pass through the valley of tears; But onward to glory, away to the sky, In the hollow of God's own hand we lie." CLARA MOORE. MORNING. • The morning breaks. Across the amber sky Gray clouds are trooping slowly one by one, Their edges crimsoned by the rising sun; Mist wreaths upon the distant mountains lie, And violet vapors through the valley glide. Veiling the crystal stream that winds along. For ever murmuring its low, gushing song To the sweet flowers and fern that droop beside. My heart to God springs up in earnest prayer ; Most beautiful on such a morn doth seem This earth, most radiant, as the sun's first gleam Flashes afar upon the woodland fair. In "pleasant ways" my pilgrimage is east: God only grant these happy days may last! NOON. The glorious sun is midway in the sky. But for the clouds it scarcely can be seen : Their shadows fall athwart the meadows green, And o'er the brown fields where the sheaves still lie. 436 ht. 437 Ah now my heart is filled with boding dn An.'i tears break slowly from i mcast ej Like drops of ruin from all uriwill When April's (lowers bloom fair above the head! A whisper trembles through the c air, The rustling of the pines the wind before Mayhap, yel sounds a dirge like ire;" \ii-l back I g ■ : n u the pa i fair, Yet dean not courage for the coming night, From whence I see no ray of gu lit. NIGHT. To-night a thick mist fills the valley wide, And hanks of clouds wall in the arching skies, Hiding the starlight from my eager ey< Black loom the rocks upon the dark hillside. And all is drear and lone where late so gay The reapers toiled amid the golden grain, Leaving the ripened field with loaded wain. To wait the dawning of another da v. gloomy night! thy shadow falls on me, As in the shrouded future I divine Still darker hours than ever yet were mine. Then o'er my breast the waves of sorrow's sea Shall heal more fier el y for the ca >re : Lite! how wild I i that sweep thy^shore :» L l.;s CLARA MOORE. M A 1; Y. Stainless lilies of the vale, Fragile 1 lilies, pure and pale, Slowly toll your crystal bells! Hear ye not a mournful tale In the zephyr's dying wail. As it lingers thro' the dells? Wild-wood violets, meek and low, White as any Hake of snow, ma] 439 Closer bow your beads to earth ! Do you feel do pang, no tin [a there no sign by which ye know A mortal's heavenly birth? Song-birds, by thai forest side, Where the rippling waters glid Breathe a slower, sadder strain; For our hearts send up a plaint Through our voices low and faint, But she answers not again. Summer roses, wet with dew. Clouds that float o'er heaven's blue, All things pure and frail and fair, Brins; some offering to the grave Where the dark pines nightly wave, For our loveliest sleepeth there. MARION H. RAND. s V M PAT ELY. Hide nol thy secret grief In the dark chambers of the soul, Where sombre thoughts and fancies roll, Bringing thee no relief. Gloomy and cold the spirit grows While brooding over fancied woes. The lightest care^ while yet concealed Lies like a mountain on the breast: The heaviest grief when once revealed Is lulled by sympathy to rest. Relieve thy bursting heart, And pour into some loving ear Each bitter thought, each chilling fear: How soon will all depart ! And words of love like healing balm Will gently 'soothe and sweetly cairn. Till reason's almost fading ray Resumes its firm and wonted sway : And though thy burden be not less, Thou wilt not still be comfortless. Hast thou no human friend To whom in hours like these to turn. When thine o'erburdened soul will yearn its bitterness to end? Oh, still despair not: there is One To whom sad hearts have often gone; Though rich the gifts for which they pray, None ever came unblessed away. Then, though all earthly ties be riven, Smile, for thou hast a friend in heaven. 440 SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 'A TALE OF FORESTS AND ENCHANTMENTS DREAR." // / r, 'tis the noon of night: Lei us in the web of thought Weave the thn ad - i From the realms of fairies brou Thou shalt stain the dusky warp In nightshade wet witb twilight dew; 5 11 III 442 SAEAH ERLEN WHITMAN. I with streaks of a M Will Btri] rough and through.* Where a lone castle by the sea Qpreared its dark and mouldering pile, Far seen with all its frowning towers For many and many a weary mile; The wild waves beat the castle walls, And bathed the rock with cea bowers, The winds roared fiercely round the pile, And moaned along its mouldering towers. Within those wide' and echoing halls, To guard her from a fatal spell, A maid of noble lineage born Was doomed in solitude to dwell. Five fairies graced the infant's birth With fame and beauty, wealth and power; The sixth by one fell stroke reversed The lavish splendors of her dower: Whene'er the orphan's lily hand A spindle's shining point should pierce, She swore upon her magic wand The maid should sleep a hundred years. Tin- wild waves beat the castle wall. And bathed the rock with ceaseless showers, Dark, heaving billows plunged and fell In whitening foam beneath the towers. There, rocked by winds and lulled by waves, In youthful grace the maiden grew, And from her solitary dreams A sw r eet and pensive pleasure drew. * This is a joint production of Mrs. Whitman and her sister. Miss Power. THE si. i I BEAUTY. 1 13 Yet often from her lattice high She gazed athwarl the gathering night, To mark the sea gulls wheeling And longed to follow in I heir flight. One winter nigh! beside the hearth She sat and watched the smouldering fire, While now the tempests seemed to lull, And now the winds rose high and higher; Strange sounds are hoard along the wall, Dim faces glimmer through the gloom, And still, mysterious voices call, And shadows flit from room to room; Till, bending o'er the dying brands, She chanced a sudden gleam to see ; She turned the sparkling embers o'er, And lo ! she finds a golden key. Lured on as by an unseen hand, She roamed the castle o'er and o'er, Through many a darkling chamber sped, And many a dusky corridor ; And still through unknown, winding ways She wandered on for many an hour, For gallery still to gallery leads, And tower succeeds to tower. Oft, wearied with the steep ascent, She lingered on her lonely way, And paused beside the pictured walls, Their countless wonders to sun At length upon a narrow stair That wound within a turret high, She saw a little low-browed door, And turned her golden key to try; 444 SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. Slowly beneath her trembling hand The bolts recede, and backward flung, With harsh recoil and sullen clang The door upon its hinges swung. There in a little moonlit room She sees a weird and withered crone, Who sat and spun amid the gloom, And turned her wheel with drowsy drum With mute amaze and wondering awe A passing moment stood the maid, Then entering at the narrow door, More near the mystic task surveyed. She saw her twine the flaxen fleece, She saw her draw the flaxen thread, She viewed the spindle's shining point, And pleased the novel task surveyed. A sudden lono-insc seized her breast To twine the fleece, to turn the wheel : She stretched her lily hand and pierced Her finger with the shining steel. Slowly her heavy eyelids close, She feels a drowsy torpor creep From limb to limb, till every sense Is locked in an enchanted sleep. A dreamless slumber deep as night In deathly trance her senses locked : At once through all its massive vaults And gloomy towers the castle rocked ; The beldame roused her from her lair, And raised on high a mournful wail, A shrilly scream that seemed to float A requiem on the dying gale. THE si. I ! i i v ri LI 445 " A hundred years shall pass," she said, "Ere those blue eyes behold the morn, Ere these deserted halls and towers Shall echo to a bugle-horn ; A hundred Norland winters pass, While drenching rains and drifting snows Shall beat against the castle walls, Nor wake thee from thy long repose; A hundred times the golden grain Shall wave beneath the harvest moon, Twelve hundred moons shall wax and wane Ere yet thine eyes behold the sun." She ceased, but still the mystic rhyme The long-resounding aisles prolong And all the castle's echoes chime In answering cadence to her s< She bore the maiden to her bower, An ancient chamber wide and low, Where golden sconces from the wall A faint and trembling lustre throw; A silent chamber far apart, AVhere strange and antique ana- hung, That waved along the mouldering walls. And in the gusty night-wind swung. She laid her on her ivory bed, And gently smoothed each snowy limb, Then drew the curtain's dusky fold To make the entering daylight dim. part n. And all around, on every side, Throughout the castle's precincts wide. 5 x 446 SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. Iii every bower and hall, All slept — the warder in the court, The figures on the arms wrought, The steed within Lis stall. No more the watchdog bayed the moon, The owlet ceased her boding tune, The raven on his tower — All, hushed in slumber still and deep, Enthralled in an enchanted sleep, Await the appointed hour. A pathless forest wild ami wide Engirt the castle's inland side, And stretched for many a mile : So thick its deep, impervious screen The castle towers were dimly seen Above the mouldering pile. So high the ancient cedars sprung, So Jar aloft their branches flung, So close the covert grew, No foot its silence could invade, No eye could pierce its depths of shade, Or see the welkin through. Yet oft, as from some distant mound The traveller cast his eyes around O'er wold and woodland gray, He saw, athwart the glimmering; light Of moonbeams on a misty night, A castle far away. A hundred Norland winters passed, While drenching rains and drifting snows Beat loud against the castle walls, Nor broke the maiden's long repose. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 1 I i A hundred times on vale and lull The reapers bound -the golden corn, And now the ancienJ halls and towers Re-echo to a bugle-horn. A warrior from a distant land With helm and hauberk, spear and brand, And high, untarnished crest, By visions of enchantment led, Hath vowed before the morning's red To break her charmed rest. From torrid clime beyond the main He comes, the costly prize to gain, O'er deserts waste and wide ; No dangers daunt, no toils can tire: With throbbing heart and soul on fire He seeks his sleeping bride. He gains the old, enchanted wood Where never mortal footsteps trod, He pierced its tangled gloom; A dullness loads the lurid air, Where baleful swamp-fires gleam and glare, His pathway to illume. Well might the warrior's courage fail, Well mighl his lofty spirit quail, On that enchanted ground; No open foeman meets him there, But, borne upon the murky air, Strange horror broods around. At every turn his footsteps sank : Mid tangled boughs and mosses dank, 1 IS SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. For Long and weary hours ; Till, issuing from the dangerous wood, The castle full before him stood With all its flanking towers. The moon a paly lustre sheds ; Resolved, the grass-grown courts he treads, The gloomy portal gained; He crossed the threshold's magic bound, He pai-,4 the hall where all around A deathly silence reigned. No fears his venturous course could stay ; Darkling he groped his dreary way, Up the wide staircase sprang ; It echoed to his mailed heel : With clang of arms and clash of steel The silent chambers rang. He sees a glimmering taper gleam, Far off with faint and trembling beam, Athwart the midnight gloom ; Then first he felt the touch of fear, As with slow footsteps drawing near He gained the lighted room. And now the waning moon was low, The perfumed tapers faintly glow, And by their dying gleam He raised the curtain's duskv fold. And lo ! his charmed eves behold The lady of his dream. As violets peep from wintry snows Slowly her heavy lids unclose, And gently heaves her breast : But all unconscious was her gaze, THE BLEEPING BE V -I 19 Her eye with listless languor strays From brand to plumy crest. A rising blush begins l" 'lawn Like that which steals at early morn Across i ik' eastern sky ; And slowly as tin' morning bn The maiden from her trance awoke Beneath his ardent eye. As the first kindlin<>- sunbeams threw Their level light athwart the dew, And tipped the hills with flame, The silent forest-boughs were stirred With music, as from bee and bird A mingling murmur came. From out its depths of tangled gloom There came a breath of dewy 1 ileum. And from the valleys dim A cloud of fragrant incense stole, As if each violet breathed its soul Into that floral hymn. Loud neighed the steed within his stall, The cock crowed on the castle wall, The warder wound his horn ; The linnet sang in leafy bower, The swallows twittering from the tower, Salute the rosy morn. But fresher than the rosy morn, And blither than the bugle-horn, The maiden's heart doth prove, Who, as her beaming eyes awake. Beholds a double morning break. The dawn of lie-fit and love. 450 All HELEM WHITMAN. THE MAIDEN'S DREAM. "Thrice hallowed be that beautiful dawn of love when the maiden's cheek still blushes at the conscious sweetness of her own innocent thoughts !" — Jean Paid Ask not if she loves, but look In the blue depths of her eve. Where the maiden's spirit seem- Tranced in happy dreams to lie. All the blisses of her dream, All she may not, mast not speak — ■ Read them in her clouded eye, Read them on her conscious cheek. See that cheek of virgin snow Damasked with love's rosy bloom, Mark the lambent thoughts that glow 'Mid lua- blue eye's tender gloom; As if in a cool, deep well, \ eiled by shadows of the night, Si, mting through a starbeam fell. Filling all its depths with light. Something mournful and profound Saddens all her beauty now. Weds her dark eye to the ground, Flings a shadow o'er her brow. THE MAIDEN'S DKEAM. 1-1 Hath I: illumined soul Raised the veil of coming Read upon life s mystic scroll It.- doom of agony and tears? Teai's of tender sadness fall From her soft and lovelh ■ As the night-dews heavily Fall from summer's cloudless sky. Still she sitteth, coyly drooping Her whi in virgin pi Like a languid lily, stooping Low her folded hlooms to hide. Starting now in soft surprise From the tangled weh of thought, Lo ! her heart a captive lies, In its own sweet fancies caught. Ah! bethink thee, maiden, yet, Ere to passion's doom betrayed, Hearts where Love his seal lias set Sorrow's fiercest panes invade. Let that young heart slumber still, Like a bird within its nest; Life can ne'er its dreams fulfil, Love but yield thee long unrest. Ah ! in vain the dovelet tries To break the web of tender thought: The little heart a captive lies, In its own sweet fancies caught. LAURA M. THURSTON. CROSSING THE ALLEGHANIES. The broad, the bright, the glorious West Is spread before me now, Where the gray mists of morning rest Beneath yon mountain's brow. The bound is past, the goal is won, The region of the setting sun Is open to my view ; Land of the valiant and the free, My own Green Mountain land, to thee And thine a long adieu ! I hail thee, Valley of the West! For what thou yet shalt be, I hail thee for the hopes that rest Upon thy destiny. Here from this mountain-height I see Thy bright waves floating to the sea, Thine emerald fields outspread, And feel that in the book of fame Proudly shall thy recorded name In later days be read. Yet while I gaze upon thee now, All glorious as thou art, A cloud is resting on my brow, A weight upon my heart. 452 CROSSING Mil: ALLEGHANIES. 153 To me in all thy youthful pride Thou art a land of cares untried, Of untold bop and fears ; Thou art — yet not for thee I grieve But for the far off land 1 1. I look on thee with tears. Oh brightly, brightly, -lev.' thy skies In summer's sunny Lours ! The green earth seems a paradise Arrayed in summer flowers. But oh ! there is a land afar W hose skies to me an 1 brighter far. Along the Atlantic shore; For eyes beneath their radiant shrine In kindlier glances answered mine: Can these their light restore? ■- Upon the lofty bound I stand That parts the East and West : Before me lies a fairy land, Behind, a home of rest. Here Hope her wild enchantment flings, Portrays all bright and lovely thin My footsteps to allure ; But there in Memory's light I see All that was once mosi dear to me, My young heart - cynosure. SALLIE BRIDGES. THE KING AND THE BARD. "Come, sing us a lay," quoth Arthur, "My bard of the Table Round- Some ballad of lofty cour: That shall make our heart's blood bound." And the monarch drained his goblet, While the minstrel tuned his lyre, And filled it again that the singi r Might win from wine new fire. "Now drink," said the generous sovereign, " That when thy song shall be o'er "We may fill with bright gold pieces And hand thee the cup once more." But the minstrel's voice was silent, And the ruby wine undrain'd, While Arthur, impatient, wondered Why the guerdon was not gain'd. The bard from his seat rose slowly, And spoke to the waiting king: "Sire, to-day my soul is tuneless, And no worthy lay can sing; Not e'en for your tempting liquor, Not e'en for your promised gold, Will my inner voice yield music, For true song cannot be sold. 454 THE KING A\!> mi: B/ 'I"'- 1 "But when fitting w< Dreams that stir my own deep hi : In thine shall the chords Till il feels of mine a po Not till inspiration smi On the rock of silent Though! ( !an 1"' welcome living waters To the king or people brought. ' "Thou art right," the sovereign answered; " 'Tis a lesson nobly told : Monarchs cannot rule men's spirt/* By the might of law or gold. Thou art first of all my minstrels, Thou art best of Britain's boas! ; But take now my brimming goblet, And quaff it to Arthur's i "Drink, gallant knishts, to the minstrel "Who dreads neither prince nor peer, Who can speak the truth to power, Nor flatters for price or fear — To the bard who freely renders The gift he has been given, And sings but when his strain exalts His hearers nigher heaven." t56 ,11 BRIDi THE STRANGER'S GRAVE. The fairies met in the churchyard old When the moon was shining bright ; They sat on the blossom-spangled sod, In the shade of a tombstone white. Their queen was throned on a snowy rose That bloomed o'er a quiet grave While her court was group'd in humble flowers That amid the long grass wave. They were tired of dancing on verdant lawn With carpet of velvet moss, And weary of flinging the moon-ray motes, With the chance of gain or loss : They had drain'd their acorn bowls of dew In their secret banquet-hall, A hollow stump on the green hillside, Their table a toadstool tall. And now they had come from revel and play In the dead mens home to rest. THE STB USGEB's GRAVE. 1:51 And each silent, star-watched mound had rung Willi son ' of a glad fa] guesl ; But soon they liad hush'd each elfin 1 Their queen, Titania, spoke : Her voice, like the warbling of far off lark, The reverent silence broke. Her robe was made of butterfly wings, Of a glow-worm's gem her crown, A humming-bird's plume her sceptre slight, Her train of a moth's breast-down. She stood on the tintless satin edge Of a pure unfolding leaf, That emblem'd the stainless heart of youth Ere life's page is marr'd by grief. She told of a tomb in that calm place, A sunken and barren mound, Where only lay on the cold, dead face The chill sods of dark, damp ground; No flowerets shed their fragrant sighs O'er that love-deserted spot, A stranger's lonely and nameless grave, Long by mortal souls forgot. She bade them roam through the solemn aisles And gather the ripen'd seeds, To bring the sweets of foresl and field, The treasures of water'd meads, And plant them over the dreamless head That was lowly sleeping tin Neglected by man, tic stranger's g) Henceforth should be fairies' i 6 0. 158 SALLIE BRIDGES. So night after night the tiny band Bore from the green wood arid vale Their precious things — from the creeping vine To the snowdrop pure and pale. They wreathed an arch of the woodbine wild, And hung it with wind-tuned bells, And wove festoons of sweet buds that bloom'd In hidden, untrodden dells. And they stole the spotless lily-cups From the brook-shores where they grew — Fit goblets to hold earth's sky-pledged wine, The sparkling and cloud-born dew; The jessamine stars shed their silvery light, And clematis clusters hung Like censers of perfume rarely wrought, And by unseen spirits swung. Thus toil'd each fay with unceasing skill, The midnight's mystical guest, Twining a bower of magical grace O'er that dust-bound, pulseless breast. Men wonder'd to see that desert mound In such sudden splendor bloom, And lovers made it a storied spot — Forgot was its olden gloom. Ami still through the long, calm summer nights, When the moon like a blushing bride Spreads her veil of light, and fondly walks By her groom the earth's proud side, The fairies rest on its flowery thrones. Where eve's trembling shadows wave: The brightest spol in that churchyard old Is the stranger's nameless grave. ELIZA L. SPROA T. THE MOTHER AND CHILD. A mothee prayed with her heart alone, For her lips made ne'er a sound; The angels came in her darkened room And waved their wings around; "0 Lord," she prayed, "Thou Lord of might, Oh grant my darling fame, Among the nobles of the world To wear the noblest name; — "A name whose glory waxeth bright Willi still increasing fire — A name to stand while ages pass. And make a world admire. Oh may there be some spirit near My soul's high wish to bear!'' But the angels stood with drooping wings, Nor moved to waft her prayer. "0 God," she prayed, "Thou infinite. Oh grant my darling power, The might of soul that sways a 1 A ■■ the fierce wind sways a show. r. And may there be - e spirit near My fervent wish to bear!" But the steadfast angels sadly stood, Nor moved to waft her prayer. 4d'J 460 I'M /.A L. SPKOAT. "0 God, who art all beautiful, Oh make my darling fair, Chat he may still from life draw love — Life's essence sweei and rare; So every heart shall be a harp, Beneath his touch to sound !" But the shuddering angels sadly stood, And drooped their wings around. " But if," she prayed, " Thou God of love, He may not grasp at fame, Oh grant him strength to lace serene A cold world's cruel blame; And if he shrink from earthly power, Xor aim to sway the tune, Gird Thou his soul to cope with sin — A conqueror sublime ! " And should he some time fail to strike Each heart to love's great tone, Oh may he tune to seraph height The music of his own ! Now may there be some spirit near My humble wish to bear!" The angels rose on rushing wings And bore to God her prayer. ELIZABETH J. EA M ES. THE DEATH OF TAX. From the Ionian sea a voice came sighing, A voice of mournful sweetness and strange power, Borne on the scented breeze when day was dying, Through fair Arcadie's sylvan groves ami bowers; Along her thousand sunny-colored rills, tier fairy-peopled vales ami haunted fountains, Along her glens and grots and antique hills, And o'er her vine-hung, purple-tinted mountains, Was heard that piercing, haunting voire which said, "The god of song, the once gnat Tan, is dead! The old Sileni in their sparry caves, • The fauns and wood-nymphs in their green recesses, The lovely naiads by the whispering waves, The oreads through all their mountain-passes, Wept when thai voice thrilled on the silent air: The stately shepherd ami the suit -eyed maiden Who dwelt in Arcadie, the famed and lair, Wept, for that moaning voice, with sorrow laden. Told that the sylvan king with his gay court Would join no more their song ami greenwood sport. Died he in Thessaly, that land enchanted:' In Tempi's ever-rich, romantic vale? By clear Peneus, whose classic tide is haunted? Or did Olympus listen to the wail SK I'll 1:62 ELIZABETH J. EAMES. Of all his satyrs? Died be where His infancy to Sinoe's care was given, When first his flute-tones melted on the air, And filled with music Grecia's glorious heaven, Where many a wild and long-rememberd strain He poured for shepherdess and rustic swain'.' Ah yes! he died in Arcadie, and never Unto his favorite haunts did mirth return ; The voice of song was hushed by wood and river, Long did his children for his presence yearn ; But never more by old Alpheus' shore Was heard the song- voice of the god of gladness, His tuneful reed its numbers poured no more Where Dian and her oreads roved in sadness; The soul of love and melody had fled Far from Arcadie : the great Pan was dead. T A S S 0. Above thy golden verse 1 bent me late, And read of bright Bophronia's lover young, Of fair Erminia's flight, Clorinda's fate, While over Godfrey's deeds en wrapt I hung, And Tancred's, told in soft Italia's tongue. Thou who didst tune thy harp for Salem's shrine, Thou the renowned and gifted among men, Tasso, superior with the sword and pen! poet-heir! vain was the dower divine To still the unrest of thy human heart; Lonely and cold did Glory's star-beam shine For him who saw a lovelier light depart! THE 163 master of the lyre ! did nol thy touch Tell bow the heart may break thai Love has 1 i luch? THE PAST. In her strange, shadowy coronei she wearetb The faded jewels of an earlier time; An ancienl sceptre in her hand she bearetb ; The purple of her robe is pasi its prime; Through her thin silvery loek^ still dimly shineth The flower-wreath woven by pale Mem'ry s in Her heart is withered, yet if strangely shrineth In its lone urn a light that fitful lingers. I l'..l ELIZABETH J. EAMES. With her low, muffled voice of mystery She reads old legends from Time's mouldering pag> She telleth the present the recorded history Ami i . perpetual of bygi es ; Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sod Once our-, bul now by naught hut Memory's footsteps trod. CHAR IT Y. All stainless, in the holy white Of her broad mantle, lo ! the maiden cometh; Lip, cheek and brow serenely bright, With that calm look of deep delight, Beautiful on the mountain-top she roameth. "The soft gray of the brooding dove" With melting radiance in her eve she weareth; Her heart is full of trust and love. For an angel mission from above In tranquil beauty o'er the earth she beareth. The music of humanity Flows from her tuneful lips in sweetest numbers; Of all life's pleasant ministries, Of universal harmonies, She sings : no care her mind encumber-. (dad tidings doth she ever sound. Good-will to man throughout the world is sending, Blessings and gifts she scatters round; Peace to her name with whom is found The olive branch in holy beauty bending! SARAH EDGARTON MAYO. THE SUPREMACY OF GOD. The clouds broke solemnly apart, and mass By mass their heavy darkness bore away With sullen mutterings, leaving mountain-pass And rocky defile open to the day. The pinnacles of Zion glittering lay Tn the rich splendor of Jehovah's light, Which, pouring down with a meridian sway, Bathed mouldering; tower and barricaded height In floods of dazzling rays bewildering to the sight. 5 S 465 466 SARAH BDGAETON MAYO. God shone upon the nations. In the west The owl like Druid saw the brightening ra And muffling his gray robi across his bn ,de like a phantom from the coming blaze. Old Odin, thn.ned amid the polar haze, Heard the shrill cry of Yala on the blast,. And, glancing southward with a wild amaze, Saw God's bright, banner o'er the nations east, Then to his dim old halls retreated far and fast. But nearer yet, and quivering in the blaze That wrapped Olympus with a shroud of glory, Great Jove rose up, the pride of Rome's proud days, His awful head with centuries grown hoary, His sceptre reeking and his mantle gory. Great Jove, the dread of each inferior god, Renowned in song, immortalized in story, No longer shook Olympus with his nod, But. shivering like a e-host, down, down to Hades trod. Egyptian Isis from the mystic rites Of her voluptuous priesthood shrank in awe. 'Mazed by the splendor throned on Zion's heights. More dreadful than the flame which Israel saw I '.leak forth from Sinai when God gave the law; — To her more dreadful, for beneath its sway She saw with prophet-gaze how soon her power Must like the brooding night-haze melt away, And leave her where the mists of ages lower The grim ghosts of a dream mocked in the noontide hour. THE STTPBEM ■• S 0] .''.7 An. I gentler deities, the spirits brii That haunted mountain glen and woodland shad That watched o'er sleeping shepherds thro' the ni And blest at early dawn the bright eyed maid, The nymphs and dryads of the fount and glade, The best divinities of home and hearth, These with an exile footstep slowly strayed, And lingered by each haunt of olden mirth Till their bright forms grew dim and vanished from the earth. Now God is God! The Alpine summit rings With the loud echoes of Jehovah's praise, And from the valley where the cow-boy sings Go up to God alone his votive lays. To Him tin' mariner at midnight prays, To Him uplifts the yearnings of his soul, And where the daybeam on the snow-peak plays, And where the thunders o'er the desert roll, His praise goes swelling op and rings from pole to pule. His Spirit animates the lowliest flower, And nerves the smews of the loftiest sphere: In every globule of the falling shower, In each transition of the varied year. Its life and light and wondrous power appear. It burns all-glorious in the i nday sun, And from the moon beams forth serenely clear; Or, when the day is o'er, and eve begun, Flings forth the radiant flag no other god hath won. 468 SARAH EDGART0N MAYO. All hail, Jehovah! Hail, supremest God! Where'er the whirlwind stalks upon the seas, Where'er the giant thunderbolt hath trod Or turned a furrow for the summer breeze, Where liquid cities round Spitzbergen freeze, And lift their ice-spires to the electric light, Or soft Italian skies and flowering trees Their balmy odors and bright hues unite, — There art Thou, Lord of love, unrivalled in Thy might. Praise, praise to Thee from every breathing thing, And from the temples of adoring hearts! Science to Thee her sky-reaped fruits shall bring, And Commerce rear Thine altars in her marts ; Thou shalt be worshipped of the glorious Arts, And sought by Wisdom in her dim retreat ; The student, brooding o'er his mystic charts, Shall mark the track of Thy star-sandalled feet, Till, through the zodiac traced, it mounts Thy mercy-seat. Praise, praise to Thee from peaceful home and hearth, From hearts of humble hope and meek desire ! Praise from the lowly and the high of earth. From palace-hall and frugal cottage-lire ! We cannot lift our spirit-yearnings higher. Nor speed them upward to a loftier goal ; Then let us each with fervent thoughts aspire To cast aside the chain of earth's control. And stand in God's own light, communers with God's soul. TYPES OF HEAVEN. Why love I the lily-bell Swinging in the scented dell? Why love 1 the wood-notes wild Where the sun hath faintly smiled? Daisies in their beds secure, Gazing out so meek and pure? Why love I the evening dew In the violet's bell of blue? Why love I the vesper star Trembling in its shrine afar? Why love I the summer night 12 drops of light ? Why to me do woodland springs Whisper sweet and holy things? Why decs every bed of mi Tell me of my Saviour's cross? Why in every dimpled wave Smiles the light from o'er the grave? Why do rainbows seen at even Seem the glorious paths to heaven? Why are gushing streamlets fraught With the notes from angels caught? 5T M 470 ' i;r-)N M ( !an ye tell me why the wind Bringeth seraphs to my mind? Is it not that faith hath bound Beauties of all form and sound To the dreams that have been given ( )f the holy things of heav Are they nol bright links that Sinful souls to Sinless Mind? hind From the lowly violet sod Links are lengthened unto God; All of holy, stainless, sweet, That on earth we hear or o A iv but types of that pure love Brightly realized above. CROSSING THE MOOR I AM thinking of the glen, Johnny, And the little gushing brook. Of the birds upon the hazel-copse, And violets in the nook. I am thinking how we met, Johnny, Upon the little bridge : You had a garland on your arm Of flag-flowers and of sedge. I RO SING THE MOOR. 1 \ 1 You placed it in my hand, Johnny, And held my hand in \ ours ; You only though! of that, Johnny, But talked about the flowers. We lingered Long alone, Johnny, Above that shaded stream ; We stood as though we were entranced In some delicious dream. It was not all a dream, Johnny, '1 he love we thought of then, For it hath been our life and light For threescore years and ten. But all! we dared not speak it, Though it lit our cheeks and < So we talked about the Dews, Johnny, The weather and the skies. At last T said, "Good-night, Johnny!" And turned to cross the bridge, Still holding in my trembling hand The pretty wreath of sedge ; But you came on behind, Johnny, And drew my arm in yours, And said, "You must not go alone Across the barren moors." Oh had they been all flowers, Johnny, And lull of singing birds, They could not have seemed fairer Than when listening to those words. ■172 SAKAll EDGAKTOH MAYO. The new moon shone above, Johnny, The sun was Dearly set ; The grass that crisped beneath our feet The dew had slightly wet; One robin, late abroad, Johnny, Was winging to its nest; I -.'.'in to see it now, Johnny, The sunshine on its breast. -You put your arm around me, You clasped my hand in yours; You said, "So let me guard you Across these lonely moors." At length we reached the field. Johnny, In sight of father's door ; We felt that we must part there, Our eyes were brimming o'er. You saw the tears in mine, Johnny. I saw the tears in yours. ' You've been a faithful guard, Johnny, I said, " aemss the moors." Then you broke forth in a gush, Johnny, < >f pure and honest love, While the moon looked down upon you From her holy throne above; And you said, " We need a guide, Ellen, To lead us o'er life's moors ; I've chosen you for mine, Ellen: Oh would that I were yours!" i RO [KG THE MOOR. 473 We parted with a kiss, Johnny, The first, but not the I: I feel the rapl ure of il yet, Though threescore years have passed; And you kissed my gulden curls, Johnny, That now are silvery gray, And whispered " We are one, Ellen, Until our dying d: That dying day is near, Johnny, But we are not dismayed : We have but one dark moor to cross; Why need we be afraid'.' We've had a hard life's row, Johnny, But our heavenly rest is sure, And sweet the love that waits us there When we have crossed the moor. 5 U 171 SAEAB EDi I \i:tu\ MAYO. THE SHADOW- CHILD. Whence came this little phantom That flits about my room, That's here from early morning Until the twilight gloom? SHADOW CHILD. I 75 For ever dancing, dancing, She haunts the wall ai Ami frolics in the suns] Around the open d The ceiling by the table tShe makes her choice retreat, her there a little human girl Is wont to have her seat. They take a dance together, A crazy little jig, And sure two baby witchi s Ne'er ran so wild a rig. They pat their hands together With frantic jumps and springs Until you almost fancy You catch the gleam of wings. Still shrieks the human baby In the madness of delight, And back return loud echoes From the little shadow-sprite. At morning by my bedside When first the birdies sing, Up starts the little phantom With a merry laugh ami spring. She woes me from my pillow With her little coaxing arms I go where'er she he, -kens, A victim to her charms. 476 SARAH EDGAETOH MAYO. At [light 1 .--till am haunted By glimpses of her face, Her features on my pillow By moonlight I can i race. Whence came this shadow-baby That haunts my heart and Lome? What kindly hand hath sent her, And wherefore hath .she come? Long be her dancing image Our guest by night and day. For lonely were our dwelling If she were now away. For happier hath our home been, More blest than e'er before, Since first that little shadow Came gliding through our door. DO O CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. THERE IS NO GOD. "There is no God!" the skeptic scoffing said; "There is no power that sways on earth or sky! Remove the veil that folds the doubter's bead, That God may bui o bis opened <•; Is there no God? Yon stars above arrayed, If he look there, the blasphemy deny, Whilst his own features, in the mirror read, Reflect the image of divinity. Is there no Godf The purling streamlet's flow, The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the tree Bright flowers, green fields, the winds that round him blow, All speak of God, all prove that His deer Have placed them where they may His being show; Blind to thyself, behold Him, man, in these! THERE TS A GOD. There is a God! The wise man's hearl declares There is an Author to the wondrous birth Of light and life which Nature gayly wears, When music-toned her smile rests on the < There is a God! The sky His presence shares, His hand upheaves the billows in their rairtl ■ V 177 478 CHAEl "i [MAN. Destroys the mighty, yel the humble spares, And with contentmenl crowns 1 1 1< • thought of worth. There is a God! To doubt ii were to fly Mad in the face of reason and design, To lilt the vision of the mole on high, And, blinded by the sunlight there, repine; r lliis is the fool's part; to the wise man's eye The light uplifts him to the Source Divine. CATHERINE E. BEECH EH. NEW YEAE'S EVE. Midnight lowers, strange wailing voices Moan around, dim forms flit by, Low complainings, mournful vinous. Drink my spirit, drown my eye. Rising slow from murky darkness, See von glimmering shade appear Ah! I know thy mournful tokens, Spirit of the parting year! Tall her form, her long dark tresses On the night-wind floal along, Wild her bearing, sad her wailing, List and bear her parting song: "Earth. I leave thee! World of wonders, Is it ever thus thy years, Enter, dressed in smiles and gladness, Pass away in sij d tears ? "Heaven hath crowned thee, and with I Studded rich thy diadem : Guilty man hath cast it from thee. Dimmed the gold and soiled each gem. 479 480 CATHERINE E. EEECHER. " Man, immortal, heir of heaven, Image of his God below, Spurns his blessings, sells his birthright, Turns each promised joy to woe ''Blood-eyed War mows down his victims, Slavery weeps o'er chains that bind, Passion shakes his iron scourges, Vice enthralls the immortal mind. "Care hath made her dwelling with thee, Pain and sickness sad complain, Pining sorrow blasts each blossom, Death fills up the mournful train. "See the new-born year appearing, On the breeze her warblings swell; Hark ! the midnight bell deep tolling, Sounds my exit: Earth, farewell!" Swift she fled; then bright as morning Forth a light-winged seraph springs. From her blue eye speaking gladness, Hope looks forth while thus she sings: "Hail, fair world! how bright thy shore! How sweet thy scenes, hew rich thy store! For thee boon Nature decks her skies, And moons return and planets rise, And Morning smiles with dewy eve, Ami Evening paints the western sky. N l-'.W Y V 1 •:. 1 8 1 For thee 3 oung Spring wii h spicy Spreads life and freshness on the vale, And Summer's richer tints are born, And Autumn tills her golden hi For thee the glowing landscape smiles With ocean's waves and emerald i And mountains lift their brows of snow, And azure lakelets sleep below ; \\ itli quiet grove and shady neck. And dewy lawn and murmuring brook, While breezes wave the dreamy willow, Or glide to meet the rising billow. Amonsj thv shades sweet Peace is seen, And Plenty laughs in hamlets green, And Commerce spreads her snowy sail, And Freedom's song floats on the gale. For thee fair Science heaps her sti And hoary Learning spreads his L While sweet Affection comes to Mess A\iih winning smile and kind caress; And Love, whose purest joys are given, Sweet emblem of the bliss of heaven, In all thy Maker's hand appears, Who changeless wheels thy circling ye And guides thee with eternal love To seek for brighter joys above.' 5 w iM ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN. BABYHOOD. baby with your marvellous eyes, Clear as the yet unfallen dew! Methinks you are the only wise; No change can touch you with surprise, Nothing is strange or new to you. You did not weep when faint and weak 1 irew Love's dear hand within your hold And when T pressed your living cluck Close down to lips which could not speak, You did not start to find them cold. 482 I BAB'S Hi You think it morning when you wake, Thai in-ill comes when your eyelids fall, Thai the winds blow and blossoms sh • And the sun shines for your small sal AihI. queen like, you accept it all. < »li you are wise ! You compretu ncl What my slow sense maj no1 divine : The sparrow is your fearless frii And even these pine ta ssels bend More fondly to \ - cheek than mine AVI a 'ii in the summer woods we walk All shy, sweet things commune with you You understand the robin's talk, And when a flower bends its stalk, A ou answer it with nod and ci 10. Sometimes with playful prank and wile, As seeing what, I cannot see, You look into the air and smile. And murmur softly all the while To \<-r^ heari Love-life flows. 5 /. 194 l:!:Y - Ah, what splend n give me What is all the world woi I cannol read ose. INDOLENCE. Indolent, iadolent! Yes, I am indolent; So is the grass growing tenderly, slowly, So is the violet fragrant and lowly, Drinking in quietness, peace and content : So is the bird on the light branches swinging, Idlv his carol of gratitude singing, Only on living and loving intent. Indolent, indolent! Yes, I am indolent; Si i is the cloud overhanging the mountain, So is tin- tremulous wave of a fountain. Uttering softly its silvery psalm. Nerve and sensation in quiet reposing, Silent as blossoms the night-dew is closing, But the full heart beating strongly and calm. Indolent, indolent ! Yes. I am indolent. If it lie idle to gather my pleasure (Jut of creation's uncoveted treasure, Midnight and morning by forest and Wild with the tempest's sublime exultation, Lonely in Autumn's forlorn lamentation, Eopeful and happy with Spring and the bee. Indolent, indolent! Are ye not indolent, Thralls of tin- earth and its usages weary. Toiling like gnomes where the darkness is dreary. 195 Toiling and sinnii Stifling the ta Crushing the fresh] ion, Hearts I i d, which are pu [ndolent, indolent ' ent, Thou who art living unloving and lorn Wrapt in a pall that will cover thee only, Shrouded in selfishness, piteous ghost? Sad eyes behold thee, and angels arc weeping O'er thy forsaken and desolate sleeping; Art thuii not indolent? Art thou not lost? ELIZABETH STODDARD. BEFORE THE MIRROR Now, like the Lady of Shalott, I dwell within an empty room. And through the day and through the night 1 sit before an ancient loom. And, like the Lady of Shalott. 1 look into a mirror wide, Where shadows come and shadows go, And ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulysses' wife, Penelope — By day a queen among her maids, But in the night a woman, she, Who, creeping from her lonely conch, Unravelled all the slender woof. Or with a torch she climbed the towers, To fire the fagots en the roof. But weaving with a steady hand The shadows, whether false or true, T put aside a doubt which asks, "Among these phantoms what are you?" 496 BE] ORE THE MIEKOR. 491 For no1 with altar, tomb or urn. Or long-haired Greek with liollow shield, Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, ( >r banquet in the tented field : ( )r Norman knighl in armor clad, Waiting a foe where four roads meel Or hawk ami hound in bosky dell, Where dame ami page in ecrei greet ; Or i and lily, bud ami flower, — My well is broidered. Nothing bright Is woven here: the shadows grow Still darker in the mirror's light. And as iav web grows darker too, Accursed seems this empty room; J know I must for ever weave These phantoms by tins hateful loom. 6A 198 ELIZABETH STODDAKD. A SEASIDE IDYL. I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then What my desire, whether for wild lament Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause Of twilight melancholy in my house, And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails; Or to implore the air and sea and sky For that eternal passion in their power, Which souls like mine, who ponder on their fate, May feel, and be as they — gods to themselves. Thither T went, whatever was my mood. The sands, the rocks, tin- beds of sedge and waves. Impelled to leave soft foam, compelled away, I saw alone; between the east and west, Along the beach, no creature moved besides. High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone: Steered by its lamp, a ship stood out to sea A SEASIDE [DYL. L99 An«] vanished from its rays toward the deep, \\ lnlr in the west, above a wooded isle, Au island-cloud hung in tk dd sky, Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade. I wandered up and down the -mids; 1 loitered Among the rucks and trampled through tin I'.nt I grew weary of the stocks and stones. "I will go hence," I thought. "The eletnents Have lost their charm; ray soul is dead to-night. passive, creeping sea and stagnant air! Farewell, dull sands and rocks and sedge, farewell !" Homeward I turned my face, but staved my feet: Should 1 go back but to revive again The ancient pain'.' Hark! Suddenly there ci From over sea a sound like that of speech. And suddenly I felt my pulses leap As though some Presence were approaching me. Loud as the voice of "Oceans dark-haired king" A breeze came down the sea : the sea rose high. The surging waves Bang round me; this their song: "Oh yet your love will triumph! He shall come In love's wild tumult; he shall come mice more By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth; The wanderer will reach you and remain." The breakers dashed amen-' the rocks, and they Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands. And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide. Was this a premise of the vaunting sea. Or the illusion of a lasl despair '? Either, or both, si ill homeward T musl go, And that way turned mine eyes, and thoughl they me1 A picture; surely so, or I was mad. 500 ELIZABETH STODDARD. The crimson harvest-moon was rising full AIm.w my roof and glimmered on my walls. Within the doorway stood a man I knew No picture this. 1 saw approaching me Him 1 had hoped for, grieved for and despaired. "My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return, Never to leave my love You are my love.' " I too am wrecked,'-' I sighed, " by lonely years Returning, you but find another wreck. He bent his face to search my own, and spake; " What 1 have traversed sea and land to find, I find. For liberty I fought and life, On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas, While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not Immortal love mates with immortal love Always? And now at last we learn this love." My soul was filling with a mighty joy I could not show, vet must I show my love : " From you whose will divided broke our hearts, T now demand a different kiss than that Which then you said should be our parting kiss. (liven, 1 vow the past shall lie forgot; The kiss, and we are one. Give me the kiss." Like the 'lark rocks upon the sands he stood When on his breast I fell and kissed his lips. All th' 1 wild clangor of the sea was hushed, The rapid silver waves ran each to each, Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs. Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his, To tell. Happy we paced the tranquil shores, Till between sea and sky we saw the sun. And all our wiser, loving days began. THE POET'S SECR] i. 501 THE POET'S SECRET. The poet's secret I must know, [f that will calm my restless mind; I hail the seasons as they go, J who the sunshine, brave the wind. I scan the lily and the rose, f nod to every nodding tree, 1 follow every stream that flows, And wait beside the rolling sea. 'S I question melancholy eyes, I touch the lips of women fair; Their lips and eyes may make me wise. But what 1 seek for is not there. In vain I watch the day and night, In vain the world through space may roll; 1 never see the mystic light Which fills the poet's happy soul. To hear through life a rhythm flow, And into song its meaning turn — ■ ■ The poet's secret — 1 imrl know; By pain and patience shall I learn '.' 6 l JULIA C. R. DORR. PRO K M. No words of -us power are mine, No spells to charm the listening throng; I do not hope to join the ranks I if those who breathe immortal song. Nor would I with irrevereni tread Approach the altars where they stand, The mighty masters, laurel-crowned, Each with the palm-branch in Ins hand. Ah! rather would I veil my face And kneel afar in humblesl awe, As he who, trembling and afraid. The glory of Mount Sinai saw. But not the eagle only soars From its lone eyrie to the sun : The lark springs from its grassy nest. Ami sings ere day has well begun. And not the Pole-star only burns Through the long watches of the night; Yon tin | k, far off and dun. Sends meekly forth its little light. 502 503 Ami not the queen i v lends [ts rich breath to the summer air : Ten thousand small, sweet censers swing In field and woodland everywhere. And not before the All-Father's throm 1 )o seraph-voices only rise : The babe that died an hour ago Now joins the anthem of the skies. And though I may no! hope to clothe Profoundest thought in stately rhyme, Nor breathe the 1 aiming words that pass From age to age, from clime to clime; Yet God and Nature bid me sing, Albeit my notes arc faint and few; I dare not question or refu But humbly strive their will to do. And it may be my simple songs May reach some weary, world-worn ear, And soothe some heart that could not bear A louder, loftier strain to hear. 504 -II MA C. R. DOEE A FEW WORDS. faithful friend of other days! Mv grateful heart would speak to thee; Turn from thy far-off busy ways, And listen as of old to me. 1 fain would speak, yet know not how; A gulf impassable as death Lies broad and deep between us now: Thou canst not hear my feeble breath. But once within the silent void I'll drop a blossom rare and sweet; Prom out the darkness unalloyed Some power may bear it to thy feet. Its name is Gratitude. Thy heart Will tell thee in what soil it grew, "What influence hade the flower-bud start, Watered by tears instead of dew. Could 1 but give it voice, friend. And bid it for my sealed lips speak ! But ah ! even then I could not send Thee half my though! ; for words are weak- els] e's child. 5< '5 Too weak to tell thee hew I keep Thy memory in my inmost hearl : No1 a pale corse that lies asleep, But throned and crowned, of life a part. I write no word, I sing no song, That does not bring thee back to me; thou whose wisdom made me strong, How much 1 owe to God and thee! And as the swift-winged years fly past, Methinks I miss thee more and more. Be patient, my heart! At last We'll moot upon the farther shore. Farewell! My lot is deeply Most; May thine be just as bright, I pray: May hind Earth give thee of her best, And heaven be near to thee arway ! ELSIE'S CHILI). A LEGEND OF SWITZERLAND. I. "Come and sit beside me, Elsie: pivt your little wheel away ; Have you quite forgotten, darling wife, this is our wed- ding-day?" BC 506 JULIA C. R. DORK. irned her bright face toward him, fairer now than when a bride, But she did qoI cease her spinning while to Ulric -!. replied : "No, I have not quite forgotten: all daylong my happy brain Has living o'er the moments of thai blessed ain. "I will come and sit beside von when the twilight shadows fall ; You shall sing me some old love-song while the darkn covers all. "But while golden sunbeams linger in the vale and on the hill, Ash me not to bid the music of my merry wheel be still." "If its humdrum notes are sweeter than thy husban voice to thee. Mind thy spinning, Madam Elsie: do not corn to si1 with me." "Don't be angry with me, CJlric; see, the sun is almost down. And its last red rays are gilding the far steeples of the town. i ! "I will come to you directly, and will Ids frown awa You must not be Dlric, for this is our wedding- i " day. "If it were not, 1 should care no1 thai you will not come to me, But this evening, prythee, Elsie, let that tiresome spin ning be." " Why, to-morrow is the fair-day: do you no1 remember, dear ? I must spin a little longer: 'tis the last skein I have here. "On the wall are others hanging: very fine ami soft are they, And for them old Father Maurice will his money gladly pay." "You can buy a silken bodice and a ribbon for your hair, Or a hooded crimson mantle. They will make you very lair : "Or a necklace sparkling grandly, or a kerchief brighl and gay : Yonder Henri drives the cows borne; 1 will join him on the way." 508 JULIA c. K. DORR. "Oh qo, Ulric, '1" aot leave me!" cried she springing to his side ; •■ I have done my weary spinning and the last knot J have tied. " Come with me within the cottage where our Hugo lies ep ; Never saw you rest as placid as his slumber soft ami deep. " How the flaxen ringlets cluster round his forehead broad and white! Saw you ever, dearest Ulric, half so beautiful a sight? " Now, if you will smile upon me just as you were wont to do, While we sit here in the rnoonlitdit I'll a secret tell to you. " I shall buy no silken bodice and no necklace grand and gay ; I'm a wife and mother, darling, and I've put such things away. "But a coat for little Hu°'o ; of bright scarlet it shall be. Trimmed with braid and shining buttons and the richest broidery. " Lady Alice at the castle soon will give her birthday fete. And last night I chanced to meet her as I passed the western gate. lk's child. 509 "She whs walking with her mi benl ber ttely head, d our little Hugo's forehead as she sweetly m and said, 'Bring him to the castle, El relier boy wi seen ; Bring him with you on my fete-day to the dance upon the green.' "So to-morrow, dearest Ulric, you must surely go with me, And I'll buy for little Hugo just the prettiest co see. n. "There, my Hugo, you are ready! Run out now b< the door, And I'll come to join my little one in just five minutes more. "How the scarlet coat becomes him! Ulric, do bui see him now, As he shakes his head and tosses back the light curls from his brow. "What a vain young mother, Elsie! From the window come away, You'll have time enough to glory in your pretty pet to-day. 6 D 510 JULIA C. R. DOER. "Bind up dow your own bright tresses. Here are ro ml rare, With the dew .-till lingering on them; you must put them in your hair. " You must wear the scarf I gave you, and the bracelets, and I w That my Elsie'll be the fairest one that dances on the green." "Which is now the vainest, Ulric? Tell me, is it you or I? Idl be ready in a minute; look if you can Hugo spy. "It may be that he will wander where the purple ber- ries grow ; For the world I would not have him : they will stain his new coat "Elsie! Elsi In a moment rose and scarf v. dashed aside, And she stood within the doorway. "Where is Hugo?" then she cried. "I have traced his little footsteps where the purple ber- - shine, But I can see nothing of him. Do not tremble, Elsie mill.:. 'Very likely he has wandered towards the castle, for he knew — Little wdse one! — we were going, and that he was going too. 51 I " We will End him wry quickly ; h away ; It is not five minutes, darling, i bade hin and play." All day long they soughl for Hugo soughl him in vain — Soughl him midst the rocks and . and I them nil the plain. From the castle Lady Alice eni her servants far i wide : Mirth was lost in bitter mourning and the voice of music died. Through the day tin ■ air resounded with the little 1" I one's name, And at night with myriad torches hills and woods wen all aflame. But they found not pretty Hugo. Where the purple i erries grew They could see his tiny footsteps, but they nothing further knew. in. "Henri! Henri! don't be gazing at tl le's nesi all day ; Long; aep you should have started forth to drive the eows away." "But come here one i ent, mother, jusl one mi ran von see Naught that flutters like a banner when the wind is bloAYing i'r< •!•'.'' 512 JULIA C. B. DOER. "Oh, ray eyes arc dim and aged," was the withered crone's reply ; "You must look yourself, good Henri, for 1 nothing can espy." "Then do you come here, Enrica. Does my sight de- ceive me so'.' You can see it, I am certain, when the wind begins to blow T ." But Enrica's cheek grew pallid, and she turned her eyes away. Crying, "Elsie, my poor Elsie!" It was all that she could say. For within that lofty eyrie on the mountain's craggy i ght Hung the coat of little Hugo gleaming in the morning light, With its hue of brilliant scarlet just as bright as brigb.1 could be, A\ nli its gayly-shining buttons and its rich embroidery. Months and years rolled slowly onward; Elsie's sunny hair turned gray, And the eagles left the eyrie to its desolate decay. But alas! whene'er the sun shone and the wind was blowing free, Something fluttered like a banner which no eye could bear to see. KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD. MARGUERITE. What aileth pretty Marguerite? Such April moods about her meel She sighs, and yet she is not sad, She smiles, with naught to make her glad. A thousand flitting fancies chase The sun and shadow on her face ; The wind is not more light than she, Nor deeper the unsounded sea. What aileth pretty Marguerite? Doth none discern her secret sweet? Yet earth and air have many a sign The heart of maiden to divine. 6 E 513 5] 1 KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD. In budding leaf and building nest Lie kindred mysteries half confest, Ami whoso hath the gift of si May Nature's riddle read aright. Not all at once the lily's heart Is kissed by wooing waves apart; Not in a day the lavish M Flings all her choicest flowers away. Pair child, shall potent Love alone Forget to send his heralds on? Ah happy lips that dare repeat What aileth pretty Marguerite! MOTHER MICHAUD. It was early morn when Mother Michaud Passed by the guard at the city gate, Drowsily measuring to and fro The narrow length of the iron grate. Still far and faint in the twilight swoon. Where dark and dawning at struggle meet, Like her own pale shadow the waning moon Hung lonely over the lonely street. By winding stairway and gable quaint, Carved over again in shade below. By arch and turret and pillared saint With lightsome step walked Mother Midland. MOTHER MICHA1 D. 515 Pleasant it was in the smoky (own The rosy old country face to see ; The high white cap and the peasanl gown Broughl up a vision of Normandie — Normandie with its fair green swells. The sweep of its orchards' flowery flood, Ways that wind into woody dells. Corn-fields red with the poppy's Mend. There in the corner the wheel stood still That used to whirr like the bees on the thatch; The cherries might tap on the window-sill, And the vine, unloosened, lift the Latch. But Mother Michaud had left behind The sun and scent of her native plain, Far nver the darkling hills to find The iaee of her youngest son again. Nine long years had come and gone — Nine long years since the April day When into the mists of the early dawn He melted, a kindred mist, away. And year after year the bright hoy-face, That never came bach from that cloudland dim, Beckoned her out of the empty spare, Till it drew her at last to follow him. Lonely and dark in the dawning spread The city's tangle of courl and street, But the stones thatanswered her hurrying tread Had echoed before to his passing feet — 516 KATE IM r\ \\l OSGOOD. Lonely and dark; but a sound, a glare, • Strike on the sense like a sudden blow; Press closer up to the shadowy stair. Out of the tumult, Mother Michaud. Clatters the street to the soldiers' tramp, File on file with a stately sheen, Under the flare of the fitful lamp Held high in the cart that rolls between. The heads carved over the doorway there Grin into view for a- moment plain, Mocking the mute, bewildered stare Of the mother who finds her son again — Finds him to lose him at last like this. Chained like a wolf, with those wolfish eyes, Dead, with never a mother's kiss. Ere yon low moon droops out of the skies! Forward she sprang in the torchlight blaze Full overhead as the cart went, by, All her soul in that straining gaze, All her strength in that maddened cry. He turned as it smote through his dulling ears: Their wild eyes met, and the cart drove on ; So Mother Michaud after nine long years Looked into the face of her youngest son. UNDEB THE MAPLE. 517 UNDER THE MAPLE. The start it gave me just now to see, As I stood in the doorway looking out, Rob Greene a1 play by the maple tree, Throwing the scarlel leaves ah ii carried me back a long, long way : Ten years ago — how the time runs by ! There was nobody lefl si borne tl But little Jimmy and fath I ;— 6 I' 518 KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD. My husband's father, an old, old man. Close "ii to eighty, but still so smart, It was only of late that he began To stay in the house and doze apart. Bui the fancy took him that afternoon To go i" the meadow to watch the men, And as fast as I argued, just so soon He went right over it all again; Till, seeing how set he seemed to be, I thought, with the air si. warm and still, It could not hurt him to go with me Ami sit for a little under the lull. So lending my arm to his feeble tread, Together slowly we crossed the road, While Jim and his cart ran on ahead, With a heap of pillows for wagon load. We made him a soft seat, cushioned about. Of an old chair out of the barn close by; Then Jim went oil' with a caper and shout, While we sat silent, lather and I. For me, T was watching the men at work, And looking at. Jack, my oldest son. So like his father: lie never would shirk. But kept straight on till the stint was done. i \ m:i: nil ft [9 Seventeen was Jack that lasl July, \ great, stoul fellow so tall and strong, Ami I spoke i<' the old man by and by, To see bow fast be was getting aloi I'.ui father had turned away bis head, A-following Jimmy's busy game With the maple leaves, whose bloody red Flared up in the sun like so much flame. His lips as he looked began to move. And T heard him mutter a word or two: Yes, Joe. A fire in the Weston grove? Just wait one minute; I'll go with you." Why, father," 1 cried, " what do you mean?" For I know he talked of Ins brother Joe The twin that was drowned at scarce fifteen, Sixty summers and more ago. The sun lias dazzled you; don'1 yon see That isn'1 a fire a-blazing there? Tt's only Jim bv the maple tree, Tossing the red leaves into the air." But still he nodded and looked and smiled, Whispering something I could not hear, Till, fairly frightened, I called the child, A\ ho left bis play and came frolicking near. 520 KATE PI I a \\l OSGOOD. The old man started out of bis seat, "Yes, Joe: yes, 1 m coming," said he; A moment he kepi Ins tottering feet, And then his weight grew heavy on me. "Father!" I screamed, but he did not mind, Though they all came running about us then; The poor old body was. left behind, And the twins were young together again. And I wonder sometimes, when I wake at night, Was it his eyes or my own were dim? Did something stand beyond my sight, Among the leaves, and beckon to him? Well, there comes Jim up the interval road; Ten summers ago? Yes, all of ten; That's Baby Jack on the pumpkin load. And Jim is as old as Jack was then. MARIA LOWELL. THE MORNING GLORY. We wreathed about our darling's head The morning-glory bright; Her little face looked out beneath, So lull of life and light, So lit as with a sunrise, That we could only say, "She is the morning-glory true, And her pour types are they." So always from that happy time We called her by their name; And very fitting did it seem, For sure as morning came Behind her cradle bars she smiled To catch the first faint ray, As from the trellis smiles the flower And opens to the day. But not so beautiful they rear Their airy cups of blue As turned her sweel eyes to the light, Brimmed with sleep's tender dew; And not so close their tendrils fine Round their supports are thrown As those dear arms, whose outstretched plea < Hasped all hearts to her own. 6G I 522 i \ i <>v, \V< d o think \i'<\\ she had come the flower, The last and perfect added gifl To crown love's morning hour; And how in her was imaged forth The love we could not say, As on the little dewdrops round Shines back the bear! of day. We never could have thought, God, That she must wither up Almost before a day was flown, Like the morning-glory's cup; We never thought to see her droop Her fair and noble head, Till she lay stretched before our eyes Wilted and cold and dead. The morning-glory's blosson Will soon be coming round ; We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves Upspringing from the ground ; The lender things the winter killed Renew again their birth, But the glory of our morning Has passed away from earth. Earth! in vain our aching eves Si retch over thy green plain : Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air. Her spirit to sustain. THE MO >KY. Bui up in •.■■■ i of paradi Full surely \\ Our Hid : iv beautiful Twine round our dear I n >rd'£ kn i - HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. THE SECRET. " Thou shalt keep them in the secret of Thy presence from the strife of tongues." When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And 1 allows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said far clown beneath the wild commotion That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully. And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he fheth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea. 524 THE oTMi i. WORLD 525 So to the ~"iil that knows thy love, Purest, There is a temple peaceful <\ Ami all the babble of life's angrj Dies in hushed stillnes I door. Par, far away the noise ot pa ion dieth, And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth; Disturbs that deeper rest, Lord, in thee. Rest of rests! Peace serene, eternal! Thou ever livest, and Thou changest never, And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth Fulness of joy for ever and for ever. THE OTHEE WORLD. It lies around us like a cloud — A world we do not see — Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be. Its gentle breezes fan our cheek: Amid our worldly cares Its gentle voices whisper love And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred. And palpitates the veil betv With breathings almost heard. 526 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. The silence, awful, sweel and calm, . have ne power to bn ak, For mortal words are nol for them To utter or partake. So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, Se near to press they seem, They lull us gently to our rest, They melt- into our dream. And in the hush of rest they bring 'Tis easy new to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be; — To close the eye ami close the ear. Wrapped in a trance of bliss, Ami gently drawn in loving arms, To swoon to that from this ; — Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are. To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us, watch us still, Press nearer to our side, Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helpings glide. A DAY IN THE PAMFIL] DORIA. 527 A DAY IX THE PAMFILI DORIA. Though the hills are cold and snowy, A thl the v. ind drives chill My heart goes back to a spring-tii Far. far in the pasl away; And I see a quaint old city, Weary and worn and brown, Where the spring and the birds are so early, And the sun in such light goes down. I remember that old-time villa Where our afternoons went by, Where the suns of March flushed warmly, And spring was in earth and sky. Out of tlic mouldering city, Mouldering, old and gray, We sped with a lightsome heart-thrill For a sunny, gladsome day — For a revel of fresh spring verdure, For a race mid springing flowers, For a vision of plashing fountains, Of birds and blossoming bowi There were violet banks in the shadows, Violets white and blue, And a world of bright anemones That over the terrace grew : 528 HAi;ini:i Bl Ei SEE STOWE. Blue and orange and purple, Rosy and yellow and white, Rising in rainbow bubbles, Streaking tbe lawns with light. And down from the old stone pine trees, Those far off islands of air, The birds arc flinging the tidings Of a joyful revel up there. And now for the grand old fountains Tossing their silvery spray — Those fountains so quaint and so many That are leaping and singing all day. Those fountains of strange, weird sculpture With lichens and moss overgrown — Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths, Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone? Down many a wild, dim pathway We ramble from morning till noon: We linger, unheeding the hours, Till evening comes all too soon. '£> And from out the ilex alleys, Where lengthening shadows play, We look on the dreamy Campagna, All glowing with setting day — All melting in bands of purple. In swathings and foldings oi gold, Tn ribands of azure and lilac, Like a princely banner unrolled. A DAY IN THE I'AMl -II.! DOR] \. 529 Ami tin' of each distanl cotl Ami th>' flash of cadi villa w I Shines out with an opal glimmer, Like gems in a caskel of light. \ d the dome of old St. I 'eter "With a strange translucence glows, Like a mighty bubble of amethyst Floating in wave- of rose. In a glance of dreamy vagueness We gazing and yearning behold That city beheld by the prophet, \\ hose walls were transpan nl gold. And dropping all solemn and slowly To hallow the softening spell, There falls on the dying twilight The Ave Maria bell. With a mournful, motherly softness, With a. weird ami weary care, That strange and ancient city Seems calling the nations to prayer. Ami the wonU that of old the angel To the mother of Jesus brought Rise like a new evangel To hallow the trance of our thought. With the smoke of the evening incense Our thoughts are ascending then To Mary, the mother of Jesus. To Jesus, the Master of men. 530 HARRIET BEECHEB BTOWE. city of prophets and martj Bhrines of the sainted dead ! When, when shall the living day-spring Oner more on your towers be spread? When He who is meek and lowly Shall rule in those lordly halls, And shall stand and feed as a shepherd The Hock which His mercy calls, Oh, then to those noble churches, To picture and statue and gem, To the pageant of solemn worship. Shall the meaning >me back again! And this strange and ancient city, In that reign of His truth and love, Shall be what it seems in the twilight — ddie type of that City above. MRS. S. M. B. PIATT. LAST WORDS OVEE A LITTLE BED AT NIGHT Good-night, pretty sleepers of mine, I never shall see you again. Ah ! never in shadow nor shine, Alt ! never in dew nor in ram. In your small dreaming-dresses of white. With the wild-bloom you gathered to-day In your quirt shut hands, from the light And the dark you will wander away. Though no graves in the bee-haunted grass And no love in the beautiful sky Shall take you as yet, you will pa With this kiss, through these tear-drops, g I bye! With loss gold and more gloom in their hair, When the buds near have faded to Rowers, Three faces may wake A re as Air, But older Mian yours are by hours. Good-night, then, lost darlings of mine. [ nover shall see you again ; Ah ! never in shadow nor shine, Ah ! never in dew nor in ram. ■ ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY. la j; v m. .My little maiden of four years old — No myth, but a genuine child, is she, With her bronze-brown eyes and her curls of gold — iiiij' in disgust one day to me. Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her. She cried, "Oh, mother, 1 found on my arm A horrible, crawling caterpillar!" And with mischievous smile she could scarcely smother, Yet a glance in its daring hall' awed and shy, She added, "While they were aboul it, mother, T wish they'd just finished the butterfly." They were words to the thought of the soul that turns From the coarser form of a partial growth, Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns With an unknown glory to crown them both Ah ! look thou largely, with lenient eyes, On whatso beside thee ma; ' p and cling, For the possible glory that underlies The passing phase of the meanest thing. in: i I ' \ i I it. What if Gcm . ■ waiting love Beholdeth our pitiful life below, From (In' holy b iglil of their heaven abo 1 Couldn'1 bear with the worm till the wings should grow ? THE LAST REALITY. A CHILD'S SATI] Children want always the "truliest" thii The things that come nearest to life, Grown-up and real, for — sweet little souls! — They believe in the world and his wife. Grown-up is real. We stand in the light Of their heaven with our pitiful shows. Till the shams of our living become to their sight Most in earnest of all that it knows. Kathie wanted a doll for her Christmas tins year — A doll that could do something grand ; "Not cry: that's (<\\ N TO SI. I T novel' knew before whal beds, Fragrant to smell and soft to touch, Tin' foresl sifts and shapes and spreads; I never knew before how mm h Of human sound there i in such Low tones as through the foresl sweep When all wild things lie "down to sleep." Each day I find new coverlids Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight ; Sometimes the viewless mother bids Her ferns kneel down full in my sight ; I hear their chorus of "Good-night!" And half I smile and half I weep, Listening while they lie "down to sl< November woods are bare and still, November days are bright and -Mud: Life's noon burns up life's morning chill, Life's night rests feet which long have stood ; Some warm, soft bed in field or wood The mother will not fail to keep, Where we can "lay us down to sleep.' UKU-:\ HUNT. T H UGHT. me R, art thou the king or I? Thou dalliest outside the palace gate Till on thine idle armor lie the late And heavy dews. The morn's bright, scornfu] eye Reminds thee; then in subtle mockery Thou smilest at the window where I wait, Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state My days go on, while false hours prophesy Thy quick return. At last in sad despair 1 cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air; When, lo ! thou stand'st before me glad and fleet, And lay'st undreamed of treasures at my feet. Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to buy I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. THE SONG OF A SUMMEK. I plucked an apple Irwin off a tn Golden and rosy and fair to -• a \. 537 i! with Tip d by night, \\ i ' . w • And wl Tin: wild-birds circled and and in c. p There in the storm and c ft ripened of mine, Til! the 'lay I plucked it. from off the tree, Golden and n How could T guess neath thai daintiest rind That thi iess I hoped to find — Th<> innermost hiddi n rl of the bliss Which dews and winds and I shine's hiss Had tended and fosti r d by day and night — Was black with mild r with blight? Golden and rosy and ' Nothing but ashes and ruin within? ain with toil pain Y\ ill I strive the b b i" gain : Though its wind-swung apples are fair to see, < hi a lower branch is the fruit for me. A WOMAN S WAi A WOMAN'S WAITING. Undeb the apple n We sal and watched .1 tin an wenl down, Behind us the road stretched back to the ea t, On through the meadows to Danbury town. Silent we sat, for our bearts were lull, Silently watched the reddening sky. And saw the clouds across the west Like the phaut- ships sail silently. Robert bad come with a story to tell : I knew it before be bad said a word ; It, looked from Ins eye and n shadowed his face: He was going to march with the Twenty We bad been neighbors from childhood up, Gone to school by the selfsame way. Climbed the same steep woodland paths, Knelt in the same old church to pray. We bad wandered together, boy and girl, Where wild flowers grew and wild grap< Tasted the sweetness of summer days. When hearts are true and life is v But never a love word had crossed Ins lips, Never a hint of pledge or vow. Until, as the sun went down that night, •His tremulous kisses touched my brow. 5 1:0 LOL'i .m.i:i: mwi i r, L \. " Jennj ," be said, " I've a work to do For Grod and my country and the right: True hearts, strong arms, are needed now; I dare not stay away from tin' tight. "Will vou give me a pledge to cheer me on, A hope to look forward to by and by? Will vou wait for me, Jenny, till I come back?' "I will wait," I answered, "until I die." The May moon rose as wo walked that night Back through the meadows to Danbury town, And one star rose and shone bv her side; Calmly and sweetly they both looked down. The scent of blossoms was in the air, The sky was blue and the eve was bright, And Robert said as he walked by my side, "Old Danbury town is fair to-night. "I shall think of it, Jenny, when far away, Placid and still 'neath the moon as now; I shall see it, darling, in many a dream. And you with the moonlight on your brow." No matter what else were his parting words; They are mine to treasure until I die, With tin' clinging kisses and lingering looks, The tender pain of that fund good-bye. I did not weep, I tried to he brave, I watched him until he was out of sight, Then suddenly all the world grew dark, And I was blind in the bright Mav night. A WOMAN Blind and helpless 1 slid b tl 1 lay with i Till the moon > dawn wi A.nd tin May mo fair. He was taken and I was left — Left to wait and to wi id pray, Till ther< came a r the wit Chillin air of the A i Killed in a skirmish eighl or Wounded and helpless as m lore : All of them our Connecticut From the little town of Danbury, four. But I only saw a single name — Of one who was all the world to I promised to wan for him till I di O God, Heaven ! how long will it ■^fe. MARY E. BRADLEY. AVI XTEEGREEN. The frost has melted from the pane, Fur rime is not in reason When flowers begin to bloom again, And the clear shining after rain Foretells an April season. I know how white the snow-drifts lie Against the hawthorn hedges, And do not venture to deny That icicles liana; high and dry Along the window-ledges. 542 w i v 5 I ! I But ive found the flower of life A delicate ie winter's \\ uli tnon of blooming sw > fife Than any hour of summer. .Ami lei mi:' tell yon why to daj The frost leaves no impi And why, when all the world is gray, T hold so confidently gaj The sunshine in po si sion. An hour ago this wr\ room That now you find so cheery Was dull and darksome as a tomb Whereon the flowers have ceased (<> bloom, And 1 was jusl as dreary. But while, with secrel sense of sb Y'.'t secrel sense of yearning, I breathed a rarely-uttered name, Behold ' a letter to me came With in ws of his returnh Then all the wintry world grew bi With summer warmth and shining, And every cloud thai day or night 1 [ad darkened over my delighl Revealed a silver lining. ~A\ \i \KY E. BRADLEY. For Ion ' "It long ago — No tie d now to remember [f April violets were in blow, Or if lln' fields were wrapped in snow Of dreary, cold December — My love was proud: my love and I Were proud and tender-hearted; We passed each other coldly by, Nor ever told the reason why So foolishly we parted. We went our weary ways alone ; He sailed tlio wide seas over, I kept my secret for my own, And saw the pinky blossoms grown Ten times upon the clover. Ten times I heard the honey-bees Among them sweetly humming; But never summer bee nor breeze Brought me such welcome words as these, "Your love is coming, coming!' Upon the bitter, biting blast Of January flying, The happy message came at last ; And so you see my winter's past, For all the snow's denying. WIN l I RGEEEN. 5 [5 You need not smile because the snow I pon my hair is sprinkled : Hearts may keep spring-time still, although The brow above, like mine, you know, Is just a little wrinkled. I would not change with you, my sweet. For all your April beauty, Nor give for all the hearts that meet To offer at your pretty feet Their undivided duty The one that unforgetting went For ten long years together — The one whose crowning love has lent "The winter of my discontent" Its flush of summer weather. 6N H A R R I E T McE W EN K I M B A L L. THE BELL IN THE TOWER T heae the bell in the high church-tower Striking the hour ; The hushed night hearkens like one who stands In sudden awe with uplifted hands. A spirit up in the tower doth dwell ; And when the hell Peals out the hours with a measured chime, I hear him turning the sands of time. He says: "Life dieth with every breath;" Whispers of death : "It is the fill of the flower of earth, The promise-seed of immortal birth. He speaks to the striving world below : " Why do ye so? Will all the treasure that hand can hold Buy sweeter sleep in the churchyard mould? "Behold! one God ever great and small Judgeth ye all ; Ask him for grace in the morning light, And pray for pardon and peace at night." Oh, while 1 listen my whole soul bows, Paying her vows, 54f> all's well. 547 Ami Folly fleeth with sinful fear As those clear I ■ ..ill on toy ear. For re solemn the lioly chimes 111 oilier 111 That helped the faithful to pray aright, And put the spirits of air to flight. And ever, ever would I be near, Daily to hear — Daily and nightly, in work or rest — The Voice thai pierces and soothes my breast. ALL7P WELL. The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep My weary spirit seeks repose in Thine: Father, forgive my trespasses, and keep This little life of mine. With loving-kindness curtain Thou my bed, And cool in rest my burning pilgrim feet; Thy pardon be the pillow for my head: So shall my sleep be sweet. At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and Thee, No fears my soul's unwavering faith can shake; All's well, whichever side the grave for me The morning light may bn 5 I s HAKKJET McEWEN KIMBALL. PRAYING IN SPIRIT. "Bui tl when thou prayest, enter into thy closet; and when thou hast shut thy door pray i" thy Fa1 ecret." — St. Matt. vi. 6. I need not leave the jostling world, Or wait till daily tusks arc o'er, To fold my palms in secret prayer Within the close-shut closel door. There is a viewless, cloistered room, As high as heaven, as fair as day, Where, though my feet may join the throng, My soul can enter in and pray. When I have banished wayward thoughts, Of sinful works the fruitful seed, When folly wins my ear no more, The closet door is shut indeed. No human step approaching breaks The blissful silence of the place, No shadow steals across the light That falls from my Redeemer's face. And never through those crystal walls The clash of life can pierce its way, Nor ever can a human ear Drink in the spirit-words I say. One hearkening even cannot know When 1 have crossed the threshold o'er, For He alone who hears my prayer Has heard the shutting; of the door. LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. REVELRY. Fill the cup till o'er the brim Flows the bright champagne: Here's forgetfulness of grief, Halm for every pain. Drink! We watch the dying hours Of the f hopes which were too beautiful to last. A yi -but one short year ago — I stood and waited in this selfsame spot ; Then was my life with beauty all aglow: I trusted love, for then love failed me not. I watched Us coming ere he had fori The well-worn path that led him to n Then came he always; now he cometh not, But in his absence only hope hath dn d. Love dies not thus. Though in that parting hour Were spoken hitter words, if love be true They arc forgotten ere at morn the flower From off her silken petals rolls the dew. Love dies net quickly. Ah' he never knew As deep a love as thai 1 felt for Alas! 1 Tear me men who love are Whv sigh in vain? W ould my sight grow dim? 560 E. B. Dl 1 I IV. Nighl af i I've stood and waited here, And watched for him e'en as I waited then — Waited in trembling hope, and then in fear, Then in despair; he comes no more again. put the rose upon my breast in vain, In vain bound braids and jewels in my hair, That, though my heart ached with a numbing pain, When he should come he'd find me not less fair. Come back to me, dear love ! come back to me ! My heart calls with a yearning, passionate cry ; My life is desolate for want of thee, My soul is grieved because thou art not nigh. My love waits only for a word to fly And nestle close to thy warm heart, my own ; The night is coming on : the shadows die In deeper shades, and still I am alone. LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON. AUCTION EXTRAORDINA 1 \ V. I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And as fast as I dreamed it it came into numbers; My thoughts ran along in such beautiful metre, I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweet c. It seemed that a law had been recently made That a tax on old bachelors' pate should be laid. And in order to make them all willing i<> many. The tax was as large as a man could well carry. The bacheloi grumbled and said 'twas no usi 'Twas horrid injustice and horrid abuse, And declared thai to ave their own hearts' blood spill i ne.' Of such a vile tax they would net pay a shill 6 R 561 562 lui -'.v. But the rulers determin So i ap at V' A cri b >\vn to To rati' : lii.-' trumpd to blow, And to i i in all I in his v. "II-' old l>ar: day." And presently all the ' | in the town, Each in and ;own, Prom thi ! Of i a, all t! ! The an in, And called up a man, "How much tiir a, bachelor? Who wants to buy?' In a twink every maiden responded, " 1 ! I!" In short, at a highly i price, The bachelors all were sold oil' in a trice, And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder. TO MY SIST] TO MY SISTER. When evening spreads, her sha And darkness When not a murmur, n To Fancy's sportive ear is When the broad orb of heaven is bri And lo iund with golden i When Nature, softened by her light, Seems < rnnly to lie, — Then, when our tho I This world and all this world ca Oh, sister, sing th And ti ars of i i — &' The so; h thrills my bosom's core, And hi mbles, h id, Oh, sister, sing I Which ne'er for moi tal ear was i 'Twere almost sacril sing Tho - amid the glare of d y — Notes borne by angels' puresl win And waft '1 by their b When sleeping in my g Shouldst thou Will then not ' my In And, si 564 LUCE] I i \ MAKIA DAVIDSON. W A SHINGTON. And does a hero's dust lie here? Columbia, gaze and drop a tear! His country's and the orphan's friend. See, thousands o'er his ashes bend. Among the heroes of the age He was the -warrior and the sage; He left a train of glory bright Which never will be hid in night. The toils of war and danger past, He reaps a rich reward at last ; His pure soul mounts on cherub's wings, And now with saints and angels sings. The brightest on the list of Fame, In golden letters shines his name ; Her trump shall sound it through the world, And the striped banner ne'er be furled. And every sex and every age, Prom lisping boy to learned sage, The widow and her orphan son, Revere the name of Washington. MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON. Y E A I: X [NGS. I would fly from the city, would fly re, To my own native plants and tny flowerets so fair, To the cool grassy shade and the rivul Which reflects the pale moon in its bosom of Light. Again would I view the old cottage 30 dear Where I sp ttted, a babe, withoul ar: 1 would Leave this great city, so brillianl iy, For a pi i p al m] horn > I have whom I Bui the love of my home, oh ! 'i i 6 S 566 MA] MILLER DAVTDSl The th : 'Twa she first drew and ielded hi A father I love is away from me now: Id I but print a sweet kiss on hi Or smooth the gra to my fond ] How quickly would vanish each trace of entive 1 But my own happy home, it ; all. LEON I! E. [DEDICATIO thou, so early lost, so long deplored! Pure spirit of my sister, be thou ne: And while I touch tins hallowed harp of thine, Bend from the skies, sweet si I nd and hoar. For thee I pour this unaffected lay, To thee those simple numbers all belong, For though thine earthly form has passed away. Thy memory still inspires my childish song. Take, then, this feeble tribute: 'tis thine own, Thy fingers sweep my trembling heart-strings o'er, Arouse to harmony each buried tone, And bid its wakened music sleep no more. Long has thy voice been silent, and thy ! Hung o'er thy grave in death's unbroken rest: But when its last sweet tones were borne away, One answering echo lingered in my breast. Oh, thou pure spirit, if thou hoverest near, Accept these lines, unworthy though they be, Faint echo from thy fount of song divine, By thee inspired and dedicate to thee. LUCY LARCOM. ELISHA AND THE ANGELS. The cheerful sunbeams hastem -1 up tl ast, ( ihasing the gray mists to the mountain to] And morning burst upon Gilboa's bills. The playful kids were leaping o'er the crai The little happy bi i all nighl long In the dry clefts had found a nestling-place Were flying sunward singing hymns of pn And from the green, awakening vales arose The sound of bleating berds and lowing kine. Elisha's H'th To tin.' da} ful toil, with vigorous step Trod a worn path that wound : th forks. ] [e pau ed to gaze upon the enlivening Ami hear the liarmonj y, Ami bless the I rod of morning. Suddenly A flash of lighl unusual struck his i \ e Half doubting, be beheld a line of p And burnished shields thai from a neighboring hill In mocking splendor threw the sunlighl back; And saw stretched far around a circle wi< ( If rich war-chariots, while horsemen arcm d ( Irowded each mom I deep defile. Too well he I m w the ten The A ssyrian bost, !i'h master's foe i nd 568 LUCY LAKCOM. Fear like an inward demon blanched his click. bis eye and shook his nerveless limb Poor. man! Why, e'en the little birds That sung so blithely o'er the frightful chasms Had taught him stronger confidence than this. Yi i. weak as he, how often \\ That in our all-seeing Father's si We are worth more than sparrows! Back he turned Unto the prophet's dwelling lid rest Till, faint with terror, at his feet he fell. The man of God upon his threshold stood, Hi- 1 bared unto tin.' streaming light, And inspiration beaming from his eye. Doth he not tremble? Nay: the cedar tree That stands in unmoved grandeur at his side Is not more linn than he. < 'almly he scans The panoply of war before him spread, As twere a flock reposing in the shade. He hears his prostrate servant's stifled cry. "Alas! my master, how shall we escape?'' How foolish must such fright have seemed to him Whose eves the Lord had opened! Should he deign To speak a southing word and lull his fear- V If man might o'er be proud, 'twas surely he Who had been singled out from common men To be an oracle unto his kind. His was the dignity sublime of one Who feels divinity within him burn, And thinks the thoughts and speaks the words ol But haughtiness belongs to narrow souls. And wisdom is too godlike to be proud; il' 11 \ USD hi ', ■ GELS. Elisha owned hirn i If of kindred dusl With that frail trembler. '■ | ied : " Fear thou n ore, fur, lo ! • a i :r force Than all yon heathen I on "But where?" the servant's doubtful glance inquin The prophet answered not, but clasped his Looked up to heaven and prayed in tones subdui ■■ Lord, open thou his eyes that he ma; How changed the scene! These rocks that lately lay Opaque and dull beneath the azure sky Are robed in glory that outshines the sun. Embattled legions gird the prophet round With blazoned banners and heaven-tempered spears, Horses and chariots in whose fiery sheen The pomp of Syria's army but appears Like a dim candle in the noonday Maze: The mount is full of angels. Blest were we, When every earthly prospect is shut in, And all our mortal helpers disappear, If, with Faith's eve undimmed and opened wide, We might behold the blessed angel troop Which God — our God — has promised shall encamp Round those who fear his name. Our sickly doubts, That ilit like foul night-ravens o'er our souls, Would hush their screams and fly before the dawn; And we should learn to I'ear no evil thing, And in Adversity's grim gaze could sn Sometimes, when wandering in a labyrinth Whence we can find no clue and all is dark, We wonder why our -pirns do not die. Perhaps in secret bowed some holy soul 570 I : And we, though diml; i -ee prints o ig the road, i our h ghtly follow beil Un i we are sure Of a - I way. Father i - Sa\ iour of our Let heavenly guides go with us down life's v> And w - brink Upon w her bank in light and ' We shall bi . then we ki Thou wilt be near us, though this earth-born clay, Shrinking in mortal terror from the plun Which shall release its tenant unto bliss. May with foreboding clouds obscure our faith And hide thy presence. Oh, hear now one prayer Which then our hearts may be too faint to breathe "Lord, open thou our eyes th may see!" THE BURNING PKAI I 571 THE BURNING PRAIRIE. Evening throws her dusky niai ( I'er i lie boundless grassy sea, Here and there like ships at anchor In the moonlight stands a I ree : While the stars that nightly travel O'er the highway of the skies Bend upon earth's weary pilgrims Still and clear their earnesl eyes. Now the constellations brighten: Like a stern and warlike lord Bright Orion leads the pageant, He of gleaming belt and sword. In his wake glide forth the I 'leiads : By lli" pole-star leaps the Bear: Down the star-paved road in silence Hides the Lady in her < 'hair. But, behold! an earthly glimmer Rises 'neath the starry beam : Par along the prairie s border How the ruddy fr m ! See the red flames darting forward, Sparkling through the wil While the lurid smoke uprolling Stains the azure as they pass. ■ >, _' LUCY I A 1 :- OM. Who tlic distant blaze enkindled? u n be some savage clan Flinging out the winged wildfire To affright the pale faced man ? Nay, for Mississippi's water Speeds li" sachem s light canoe, And beside the dark Missouri Are the Indians' wigwams few. 'Tis the farmer's mighty besom: Thus he swi eps the fertile plain. Lays it bare unto the baptism Of the softening vernal rain. Where the billowy flame is rolling Shall a wanner sun behold Verdant pastures richly laden, Harvests tinged with wavy gold. Brighter visions burst upon me, For the dear enchantress Hope Bids me look into the future Through her magic telescope. Lo ! a glorious blaze ascending: Purer, loftier doth it grow, Every ridge and swell revealing, Softened m the mellow glow. 'Tis the central fire of Freedom Lighted on the nation's heart: Cvnosure <>l happy millions. Fadeless peace its rays impart; Tin: i' 1 i. ■ v. Truth and Love their white wings w-,\\ Sit and fan it all day long, Ami to meet its warmth and brightm Ever pours a grateful throng. Lei ii blaze ! The Pilgrims' watch £to Kindled first on Plymouth rock, Must not die upon the prairies, Nor with fitful flickerings mock. Every lowly cabin window Shall reflect its steady light, And beyond the red horizon It shall make the country bright. Then the gazers of the nations, And the watchers of the skies, Looking through the coming ages, Shall behold with joyful eyes In the fiery track of Freedom Fall the mild baptismal rain, And th" ashes of old Evil Feed the Future's golden grain. 6U C ELI A T BAXTER. ROCK WEEDS. So bleat these shores, wind-swept and all the year Washed by the wild Atlantic's restless tide, You would not dream that flowers the woods hold deai Amid such desolation dare abide. Yei when the bitter winter breaks, some day, With soft winds fluttering her garments' hem, Up from the sweet South comes the lingering May, Sets the first wind-flower trembling on its stem; Scatters her violets with lavish hands — White, blue and amber; calls the columbine. Till like clear flame in lonely nooks pay bands Swinging their scarlet bells obey the sign; Makes buttercups and dandelions blaze. And throws in glimmering patches here and there The little eyebright s pearls, and gently lavs The impress of her beauty everywhere. Later. June bids the sweet wild rose to blow, Wakes from its dream the drowsy pimpernel, Unfolds the bindweed's ivory buds, that plow to As delicately blushing as a shell. 574 ' Then purple in «r '•>' 1 "" ir The fair pr Iu i I W; broad di o' , r qui! helving to the Tall mulleins sway, and I Flows in the wooing water dreami With subtle '"-■ Eerb-robert liears and prin And gold-thread clasps the little skull-cap blue, And troops of swallow their Hi O'er golden-rod and asters hold review. The barren island di The south winds, drawing I Ye1 the greal kes the frail bl And hints of heavier p I Its micrhtv breast wh< And devastating waves sweep And clasp with girdle white the iron si. Close folded, safe within the shelteri ; Blossom and bell and auty hi Nor icy blasl uor bitter spray they heed, But patiently their wondroi abid e. 576 \ Til \ \ II R. The heart of God through his creation stirs We thrill tp feel it, trembling as the flowers iat die to live again, his messengers, To keep faith firm in these sad souls of ours. The waves of Time may devastate our lives, Tlic frosts of age may check our failing breath They shall not touch the spirit that survives Triumphant over doubt and pain and death. wm lr\m, \ WW: fetf ■V* *, ' ' '.> Ni D 000 008 385 «*> m^