if A MAR A 
 
 A N ;') 
 
 OTHERPOEMS 
 
LAMARA 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE HOMER MEYER 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 A. ROMAN & Co., PUBLISHERS & BOOKSELLERS 
 1878 
 
COPYRIGHT 1878 
 A. ROMAN & CO. 
 
Bancroft Library 
 MI4B 
 
 Dedicated to 
 MY FATHER AND MOTHER. 
 
PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 
 
 The little collection of poems herewith presented 
 the work of a native Californian, the son of a 
 pioneer of '49 is given to the public on the occa- 
 sion of the Author's twentieth birth-day. 
 
 The reader will find the verses possessed of a 
 special interest, not so much perhaps for any extra- 
 ordinary literary merit or marks of peculiar origin- 
 ality, as for the unmistakable evidence of talent and 
 industry that has enabled a boy in years, inspired 
 by nothing more than the somewhat dull routine of 
 ranch life in Sonoma County, to do so creditable a 
 piece of work as the longer poem, " Lamara." 
 
 Some of the shorter poems have been published 
 in the Sonoma Democrat and other local papers, 
 but most of them are here put in type for 
 the first time, and given to the reading public 
 as the bud of a possible blossom in the garden 
 of poetic literature. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Lamara, 7 
 
 Irene, 48 
 
 The Nun, 62 
 
 Lutzen, - - 73 
 
 A Russian River Legend, - 80 
 
 Alabama, - 91 
 
 The Fairy's Secrets, 94 
 
 The Siren of Song, 95 
 
 Gethsemane, 97 
 
 Unknown, - 98 
 
 After the Battle, 99 
 A Legend of Santa Rosa, - - 101 
 
 Dying, - 103 
 
 The Grape-Gatherers, 105 
 
 The Lost Grave, - 106 
 
 The Mother's Cross, 108 
 
 Caster's Dead, - 109 
 
 Rosabel, 111 
 
 Slumber, - 113 
 A Lamentation, ... - 114 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Orgetorix, - 115 
 
 My Dream, 117 
 
 The Brothers, - - 118 
 
 Remorse, - 120 
 
 The Ocean-Queen, - 122 
 
 Good Night, 124 
 
 Fishing, - - 125 
 
 A Fragment, 127 
 
 Clan-Ronald, - - 128 
 
 Waiting, 129 
 
 Death-Life, . -131 
 
 Black Point Musings, 133 
 
 The Minstrel's Curse, - - 134 
 
 Playing Chess, 140 
 
AMARA. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 A gorgeous western sunset sky, 
 Too fair for man's profaning eye ; 
 A long, low range of verdant hills, 
 Adown whose sides a thousand rills 
 In crystal brightness 'neath the glow 
 Of sunset ever downward flow ; 
 Or melt in air and fade away 
 Ere reaching earth in snowy spray. 
 A long, bright reach of ocean strand, 
 Of pearly shells and golden sand, 
 
LAMARA. 
 
 Extending narrowly between 
 
 The ocean blue and upland green, 
 
 As nature's own division line 
 
 To part the worlds of shore and brine. 
 
 The calmest of all crystal seas, 
 
 Unstirred by keel or flying breeze, 
 
 And on whose bosom, wide and vast, 
 
 No shade of cloud or mist is cast, 
 
 One graceful bark upon its tide 
 
 Reposes safe and none beside. 
 
 How fair the sky's enchanting blue ! 
 How calm the sea of deeper hue! 
 That floweth far from sand and shore 
 Where mortal sight may not explore, 
 To distant fairy isles that lie 
 Beyond the power of human eye. 
 How fair the hill-tops, robed in green, 
 Now gilt with sunset's golden sheen ; 
 And how the fading monarch flings 
 His light upon the folded wings 
 Of yonder vessel, resting there, 
 As graceful as a bird of air. 
 As fair and innocent she seems 
 As visioned barks in happy dreams. 
 Surely, in scene so calm and pure, 
 A dark resolve may not endure. 
 
LAMARA. 
 
 And now, as twilight shadows fall, 
 And darkness spreads her sable pall, 
 A faint and still recurring sound 
 Dispels the deathly silence 'round; 
 And manned by crews of southern hue, 
 Three fairy barks shoot o'er the blue ; 
 And as with measured strokes they glide 
 Above the phosphor-gleaming tide, 
 Their voices, bursting into song, 
 Peal gloriously proud and strong. 
 Yet, sounding o'er the dark'ning main, 
 Sometimes the rowers' haughty strain 
 From song of triumph seems to change 
 To music wildly sweet and strange. 
 
 " Row, brothers, row ! 
 Bend the gleaming oar ; 
 Row, brothers, row ! 
 Soon we'll reach the shore. 
 Tightly clench each iron hand, 
 Grasp the oar like hilt of brand, 
 Soon we'll safely reach the strand 
 Row, brothers, row ! 
 
 " Row, brothers, row ! 
 Stern our hearts and bold ; 
 
 Row, brothers, row ! 
 Dear the Spaniard's gold. 
 
10 LAMARA. 
 
 Rovers we on sea and shore, 
 Dark and stern in strife and war, 
 Prompt for Southron gold and gore 
 Row, brothers, row ! 
 
 " Row, brothers, row ! 
 Brief the mortal's hour ; 
 
 Row, brothers, row ! 
 Seize its seldom flower. 
 When we die, upon our biers, 
 Fall not maid's nor matron's tears 
 Who will mourn the buccaneers ? 
 Row, brothers, row ! " 
 
 The strange, wild chant hath ceased, and now 
 
 Grates on the shore each curving prow ; 
 
 And soon the whole wild-seeming band 
 
 Is grouped upon the wave-washed sand ; 
 
 And one there is who stands aside, 
 
 Majestic in his scorn and pride ; 
 
 And with dilated nostrils, there, 
 
 And flaming eyes, whose burning glare 
 
 Illumes a grand and kingly face, 
 
 Of more than earthly pride and grace, 
 
 And rearing proudly such a form 
 
 As never quails in strife or storm, 
 
 With belt bedecked with Seville brand 
 
LAMARA. II 
 
 The gift of baneful Morgan's hand 
 With knightly cross and golden star, 
 Which on his breast in wars afar, 
 When battle's carnage raged around, 
 By royal fingers had been bound, 
 With look as .Eblis might have worn, 
 He stands embodied pride and scorn. 
 And ne'er a sign of fear or grief 
 Betrays the truth a fallen chief ! 
 
 A murmur breaks the stillness now, 
 And, bowing with uncovered brow 
 Before the chief, whose mighty name 
 He honors still from very shame, 
 A stalwart man, whose locks the flow 
 Of years hath whitened into snow, 
 Advances from the murm'ring crowd, 
 And slowly, sternly speaks aloud : 
 
 " Lamara, late we claimed in thee 
 A leader both by land and sea ; 
 And while our rugged souls you swayed, 
 Deny not but that we obeyed ; 
 And while we owned thy ruling word, 
 Thou know'st in vain 'twas never heard, 
 And when to slaughter and to death 
 Thou led'st us 'mid the battle's breath, 
 
12 LAMARA. 
 
 Where falchions flashed and bullets rained 
 If e'er we left thee unsustained 
 If e'er our courage damped or fell, 
 Then let thy recollection tell. 
 
 " And for thy then resistless sword, 
 Thy worth and daring we adored ; 
 And felt it no disgrace to bow 
 In vassalage to such as thou ; 
 And, loving, trusting thee so well, 
 We thought to storm the gates of hell 
 Were venture not too wild and dread 
 To daunt our souls if thou hadst led ! 
 
 ** But thou art changed : the fleets of Spain 
 For thee might safely plough the main; 
 And long it is since last we heard 
 From thy proud lips the stirring word 
 Which oft in conflicts past and gone 
 Was wont to cheer thy comrades on. 
 And O, methinks I see thee now! 
 As when with sulphur-darkened brow, 
 Godlike and kingliest of men, 
 Thou led'st us on at Darien ! 
 But vain it is to thus recall 
 The scenes remembered by us all. 
 Enough ! Thou hast already heard, 
 
LAMARA. 13 
 
 Yet hear again, our final word : 
 If thou our leader still wouldst reign, 
 Then backward to the Spanish main 
 Direct our course, and there once more 
 Become the chief thou wert of yore ; 
 And once again it shall be known 
 Lamara's blades are all his own. 
 Refuse and yet I need not tell : 
 Our firm resolve thou knowest well. 
 So answer, chieftain, claim thine own, 
 Or else we sail and sail alone ! " 
 
 Then burns the flame of scornful ire 
 Within Lamara's eyes of fire ; 
 His kingly form erect he rears 
 With pride that seems of other spheres ; 
 And with defiance, proud and high, 
 His scornful lips give their reply : 
 " Jerome and you, ye sullen crew 
 How much of gratitude is due 
 Your sordid souls from him who made 
 Your fortunes with unaided blade, 
 And spread for ye your fame world wide, 
 Let Him who rules above decide. 
 And shall Lamara's soaring soul 
 Yield to a nameless knave's control ? 
 Cringe, meek and fawning, to endure 
 
1 4 LAMARA. 
 
 And list behest of every boor, 
 Who by low skill and treach'rous wile, 
 With scheming mind and heart of guile, 
 Hath made himself the chief of those 
 Who range them as their leader's foes ? 
 No, never ! On my breast I bear 
 And placed by royal fingers there 
 My kighthood's cross and golden star, 
 Obtained in foreign wars afar ; , 
 
 And at my girdle hangs the brand 
 Received from noble Morgan's hand, 
 The boldest chief who ever made 
 Himself a name by falchion-blade. 
 And, tremblers, by these symbols know 
 I prize the high, I scorn the low ! 
 So go your way, nor prate to me 
 Of giving pledge to such as ye ! 
 Lamara ne'er will rule your band 
 But with free heart and unbound hand. 
 'Twill ne'er be said ye clipped his wings 
 The friend of heroes and of kings ! " 
 
 He ceases now, and proudly turns 
 And waves his hand as tho' he spurns 
 The thought of fear and of despair, 
 And casts it by like idle air. 
 His arms he folds upon his breast, 
 
LAMARA. 15 
 
 And stands a form of careless rest. 
 And calm and cold, with tranquil eye, 
 With ne'er a word and ne'er a sigh, 
 He sees the rovers cross the sand 
 And guide the boats away from land. 
 And o'er the darkly shadowed tide, 
 Phantasmal barks of night, they glide ; 
 Now reach the vessel there, and fade 
 To nothingness within her shade. 
 
 The moments pass, and as on high 
 The stars begin to light the sky, 
 A breath of cool and fresh'ning breeze 
 Comes wafted from the northern seas. 
 And now Lamara's gazing eyes 
 Behold the snowy canvas rise, 
 And answering to her steersman's hand, 
 The vessel's prow is turned from land ; 
 And now, as fills her swelling sail, 
 She glideth on before the gale ; 
 And like a living creature, free, 
 Flies bounding onward, o'er the sea ! 
 
 In deathly stillness on the sands 
 The silent rover chieftain stands, 
 And never do his glances roam 
 From that far speck amid the foam ; 
 
1 6 LAMARA. 
 
 But e'er he bends, as on she flies, 
 Upon the bark his straining eyes. 
 His plumed and jeweled bonnet now 
 He teareth from his burning brow, 
 And from his forehead, high and bare, 
 Streams back the raven, wind-blown hair. 
 And now the waves about his feet 
 Advance, recede, in silent beat ; 
 And back a space, as one in trance, 
 He moves with still unwav'ring glance. 
 His mind conceives "of nothing save 
 That less'ning speck upon the wave ; 
 And thus, with fixed and straining gaze, 
 He stands until the rising haze 
 Hath hid the vision that enchains 
 His sight, and nothing more remains. 
 
 And now within the Rover's eyes 
 
 The tears of grief and anguish rise ; 
 
 His swelling eye-lids brimming o'er, 
 
 Betray the woe repressed before. 
 
 Arid, kneeling low upon the sands, 
 
 He waves his bloodless, trembling hands ; 
 
 And high above the billows' beat, 
 
 In tones of sadness, wildly sweet, 
 
 Resounds his voice : " O, sweet Ma Belle ! 
 
 Farewell, forever more, farewell ! 
 
LAMARA. 1 7 
 
 For ne'er again shall my fond eye 
 Thy loved and lovely form descry ! 
 No more shall wretch'd Lamara roam 
 On thy brave decks, his ocean-home ! 
 Ne'er more shall lie him down to rest 
 As safe within thy faithful breast, 
 From all of human ills and harms, 
 As pillowed in Madonna's arms ! 
 No more beneath thy bold ensign 
 Proclaim me lord of ocean-brine ; 
 Nor e'er command thy leaden rain 
 To prove my vaunting not in vain ! 
 And tho' my soul may long and yearn, 
 To bless mine eyes thou'lt ne'er return ! 
 And O, thou lost and loved Ma Belle, 
 Farewell, forever more, farewell ! " 
 
 The Rover's voice is faint and low ; 
 Now falls to sobs of bitter woe ; 
 While burning tears in torrents pour 
 From eyes that never wept before. 
 And e'en the night-winds seemed to sigh 
 While on with restless wings they fly, 
 As moved by witnessing the grief 
 That overwhelms the fallen chief. 
 And from her place in heaven's crown, 
 Each tender star beams softly down, 
 
1 8 LAMARA. 
 
 As tho' before such woeful sight 
 She fain would veil her silver light, 
 Nor gaze on one so young and fair, 
 Oppressed with anguish and despair. 
 
 But short the time that grief controls 
 This proudest of all human souls ; 
 For soon he rises from the sand 
 And strikes away with hasty hand 
 The drops that dim his ebon eyes, 
 And quells his bosom's rising sighs. 
 And now, once more, with saddened air, 
 And yet with voice whose tones despair 
 No more controls, tho' solemn, yet 
 Unstirred by longings of regret, 
 He speaks, and, ever rolling near, 
 These words the rising billows hear : 
 
 " And so my one time faithful band, 
 We part on this, the strangers strand. 
 And ye my voice will rule no more 
 In revel wild or raging war. 
 Our lives are s.undered, ne'er again 
 Shall we together sweep the main. 
 Ye sail from hence to tropic zone, 
 And I abide me here alone. 
 Alone save that this western shore 
 
LAMARA. 19 
 
 By proud Castile be lorded o'er ; 
 And then remaineth there but one, 
 A Roman's action, to be done : 
 With dagger's edge my heart to rend, 
 And thuS win sure and speedy end. 
 For dark and stern and wild the hour 
 When I shall lie in Spanish power ; 
 And dread the death of cord and shame 
 That waits the bearer of my name. 
 
 " They said, my crew, that I was changed, 
 From our wild, reckless life estranged ; 
 I would not lead them o'er the main 
 To spoil the laden fleets of Spain ; 
 And that on land I led no more 
 To plunder Southron planter's store. 
 And he, that villain, hoary-haired, 
 Jerome, the crimson-handed, dared 
 To dictate terms of grace to me, 
 To me the one-time Lord of Sea ! 
 That envied name in former days 
 Bestowed by daring Morgan's praise 
 And had contempt not stayed my hand 
 He then had died beneath my brand ! 
 And yet my spirit trembled when 
 He spoke of crimson Darien ; 
 For there O, hoary-headed slave ! 
 You little knew the thrust you gave 
 
20 LAMARA. 
 
 " That fair-haired boy, I see him now, 
 His dark blue eye, his broad white brow, 
 As clear as when in daring wrath, 
 With sword in hand, he barred my path 
 The time I stormed the convent wall, 
 And dared defile the sacred hall 
 And cried, as waved his blade on high, 
 
 1 Thou wretch, and base assassin, die ! ' 
 Alas, brave youth ! that taunting word 
 Too well thy ruthless foeman heard ; 
 And brief the conflict thou couldst wage 
 Against his wild and maddened rage ; 
 For weak thy brave and boyish hand, 
 Opposing dark Lamara's brand ; 
 And soon before me didst thou lie ; 
 And bathed in blood I saw thee die. 
 
 " And then came one with flying hair, 
 And kneeling low beside thee there, 
 Embraced thy torn and bleeding form, 
 And stanched the life-blood bright and warm. 
 But when she saw that thou wert dead, 
 No sab she gave, no tear she shed ; 
 But only breathed, ' My son, my son ! ' 
 And lower still, ' His will be done ! ' 
 And then her eyes, wherein there burned 
 A wild, wild fire, on me she turned, 
 
LAMARA. 2 1 
 
 And murmured low, in wond'ring tone, 
 ' This man a mother ne'er hath known ! ' 
 Those words that look I could not bear ; 
 I hurried on and left her there. 
 
 " Yet once again, when strife was done, 
 The conquest ours, the treasures won, 
 A will I strove against in vain 
 Bore back the slayer to the slain. 
 But 'twas with all reluctant tread 
 I neared the still and silent dead. 
 
 " The dead ! for both lay lifeless there, 
 Like forms of sculptured marble rare. 
 The mother's blood some ruthless brand 
 Had spilled upon the thirsting sand. 
 Yet surely that relentless blade 
 .Had done but as she wished and prayed ; 
 For by that smile mine eyes could trace 
 Upon her calm and ashen face, 
 It seemed all things she wished were won 
 By dying thus beside her son. 
 'They lay upon the crimson sand, 
 Together lay, with hand in hand ; 
 With pallid lips unstirred by breath, 
 In all the loveliness of death. 
 
22 LAMARA. 
 
 " And standing there a Presence came, 
 A low voice spoke and breathed my name 
 And then before my gazing eyes 
 A wondrous vision seemed to rise. 
 A form of all-enchanting grace, 
 A most divine and lovely face, 
 The brow with raven hair en wound, 
 And with a golden circlet crowned ; 
 And eyes so soft and angel-pure, 
 My guilty own could not endure 
 That glance that would their depths explore. 
 But shrank as ne'er they shrank before. 
 And yet methought this vision seemed 
 A something whereon I had dreamed ; 
 For, tho' my soul was bowed with awe, 
 I could but think that she I saw 
 Such angel-face, such tender mien 
 Mine eyes before had sometime seen. 
 Then seemed the years of life to roll 
 Backward from my bewildered soul ; 
 And as mine eyes now sank before 
 The glance that pierced my bosom's core, 
 I saw the fruits of conquest won 
 The lifeless mother and her son ; 
 And at the thought conviction came : 
 I knew and spoke my mother's name ! 
 
LAMARA. 23 
 
 " Once more I strove mine eyes to raise 
 
 To meet her calm, accusing gaze ; 
 
 And once again my spirit failed. 
 
 That till that hour had never quailed. 
 
 And now my shrinking sight again 
 
 Sank down upon the silent slain ; 
 
 And thence upon the crimson hand 
 
 That clasped the hilt of my red brand. 
 
 And while I gazed, a thrilling breath, 
 
 That pierced my soul like doom of death, 
 
 Within my hearing seemed to say, 
 ' This blood thine own shall wash away ! ' 
 
 And then, the wondrous spell withdrawn, 
 
 1 raised mine eyes and she was gone ! 
 
 " And now, tho' months have rolled between, 
 Her form these eyes no more have seen. 
 And tho' my soul hath longed to hear 
 The words that bowed it once with fear, 
 Yet vain hath been the yearning all, 
 Those thrilling accents to recall. 
 And yet my spirit knows once more 
 That form shall rise my sight before. 
 In that dread hour, that comes the same 
 To lives unknown, and lives of fame : 
 What time my heart's red-streaming flood 
 Shall free my soul from stain of blood ! " 
 
24 LAMARA. 
 
 The low voice fails, and on the sands 
 Erect and still Lamara stands ; 
 And in the depths of his dark eyes 
 A strange, far-seeing lustre lies ; 
 As tho' his vision dwelleth on 
 The forms and faces that are gone. 
 And now, as clouds the aerial blue, 
 And darker grows old ocean's hue, 
 While rising waves in wrath divide 
 The surface of his moaning tide, 
 And wild night winds make wailing moan. 
 The silent Rover stands alone. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 O, California ! home of mine, 
 What charms of nature's own are thine ! 
 Within thy rare and wondrous realm 
 What varied scenes the heart o'erwhelm ! 
 What dreams of beauty man may find 
 To chain his soul, enthrall his mind ! 
 And e'en the eye beholdeth change, 
 
LAMARA. 25 
 
 Where all is beauty, rich and strange. 
 Here fair and lovely streams are seen 
 'Mid beds of ever living green ; 
 And there, in loftiness sublime, 
 Enduring monuments of time 
 Since earth had her beginning, stand 
 Thy peaks that shadow o'er the land, 
 Like statues calm in grand repose, 
 And crowned with everlasting snows. 
 
 But O, another harp than mine 
 Should praise the beauties that are thine ! 
 Enchantments that to thee belong, 
 And weave and wreathe them into song ! 
 Should sing of silver flowing rills, 
 Of Eden-vales and verdant hills 
 Within whose bosoms lie untold 
 And countless hoards of virgin gold ; 
 Of hillsides green with growing vines, 
 And high-lands dark with giant pines ; 
 Of crystal lake and inland sea, 
 And mighty rivers flowing free ; 
 And of thy weird and rugged shore 
 Where riseth the Pacific's roar. 
 For these, where brightest laurels shine, 
 O, western queen ! a place be thine ! 
 And he who writes, tho' ill may tell 
 
26 LAMARA. 
 
 His pen of scenes he loveth well, 
 Still thrills with pride, he lives as one 
 Who proudly calls himself thy son ! 
 
 Yet tho' thy children well may love 
 Thy shores, thy waves, thy skies above, 
 It surely is not theirs alone 
 To know the beauties all thine own. 
 What one, tho' alien, e'er denies 
 The homage of admiring eyes, 
 When bursts upon his vision's range 
 Some scene of beauty, wild and strange ? 
 Not such the one I muse upon, 
 And, tho' a child of years agone, 
 Still dream that I can see him now 
 His stately form, his noble brow 
 As there like one entranced he stands, 
 Erect with clasped and folded hands, 
 Upon the ramparts stern and grey, 
 Where Spanish flag and pennons play 
 Above the walls of Monterey ; 
 And gazes with enraptured eye 
 Toward the gorgeous eastern sky, 
 Where, rising, Phoebus' radiant car 
 Begins its course thro' realms afar, 
 And dyes with crimson-gleaming glow 
 The seas of floating mist below. 
 
LAMARA. 27 
 
 And all the scene so lovely seems, 
 The old man gazes on and dreams 
 He sees those gemmed and jewelled halls, 
 Those gates of pearl, and gilded walls, 
 That form that wondrous city fair 
 That waits the children of God's care. 
 And low the gazer murmurs now, 
 Upturning his uncovered brow, 
 While beam his eyes with softer light, 
 1 O, God ! I thank Thee for this sight ! " 
 
 A stern-faced man with lofty air 
 
 Of conscious power he standeth there ; 
 
 Yet vain is all his look of pride, 
 
 The signs of woe and care to hide. 
 
 Some hour of grief hath left its trace 
 
 Upon that worn, yet noble face ; 
 
 But tho' within his riven heart 
 
 The barbed and deadly-venomed dart 
 
 In aching wound may long remain, 
 
 Souls such as this no moaning deign. 
 
 And by his look he may be known 
 
 As one who grieves but grieves alone. 
 
 His raven hair is flaked with snow, 
 His eyes with midnight darkness glow ; 
 And 'neath his waving sable plume 
 
28 LAMARA. 
 
 Are e'en endowed with deeper gloom. 
 Erect his form, tho' aged and worn, 
 As if in time's despite and scorn. 
 His face and brow of lordly cast, 
 Tho' youthful freshness long hath past ; 
 And well that high and haughty face 
 Proclaims him as of noble race ; 
 For in each full and pulsing vein 
 There throbs the proudest blood of Spain ; 
 And on his hand a priceless ring 
 The guerdon of a loving king 
 With starry shield and chevron-bar 
 Betrays the line of Aldamar. 
 
 A step upon the path of stone, 
 A voice of sweet and tender tone, 
 And lustrous eyes that meet his own 
 In loving and confiding glance, 
 Dispel the chieftain's gazing trance : 
 And surely ne'er did dreaming mind 
 More rapturous awaking find ! 
 
 Full often hath the poison tongue 
 
 Of malice and of envy rung 
 
 In kindred ears the lying shame, 
 
 To taint his proud and spotless name, 
 
 That Aldamar's unyielding breast 
 
 No pulse of pity e'er possessed ; 
 
LAMARA. 29 
 
 No loving tenderness was there 
 'Twos only scorn and hatred's lair ! 
 And in that bosom one would find 
 No sympathy for human kind ! 
 
 O, would those craven clods of earth 
 
 Who gave the shameless slander birth, 
 
 To stain this proven spirit's worth, 
 
 Could mark his changing visage now, 
 
 And how the shadows leave his brow ; 
 
 And deep within his midnight eyes 
 
 The dews of fond affection rise ; 
 
 And on the head of that young maid 
 
 How lovingly his hand is laid ! 
 
 How tenderly the fingers press 
 
 In benediction of caress ? 
 
 O, scorn unto the wretches ! they 
 
 Who in their fallen malice say 
 
 The heart of Aldamar is steel 
 
 And earth's affections cannot feel ! 
 
 Their souls should sink in guilt and shame, 
 
 And burn in infamy's dark flame ! 
 
 To note the love intense and wild 
 
 He bears his brother's orphan child. 
 
 He greets the maid in loving tone, 
 Entwines her arm within his own, 
 
3 LAMARA. 
 
 And then along the wall of stone, 
 As on they move in pensive stroll, 
 With gentlest and yet firm control 
 Directs the maiden's steps, the while 
 He lists with kind and gentle smile 
 The hesitating words and low 
 She speaks in accents strange, as tho' 
 She feared and felt within her mind 
 Her pleading would no favor find. 
 
 Upon the chiefs majestic brow, 
 
 Where beamed such kindliness but now, 
 
 The stern and sombre shadows rise, 
 
 And darkly glow his raven eyes. 
 
 Yet from those vice-like lips is heard 
 
 Not one unkind or hasty word ; 
 
 But careful hearing still he lends, 
 
 And only when Lenora ends 
 
 With dewy eyes her pleading prayer, 
 
 He speaks with calm and saddened air. 
 
 " Lenora, thrice hath pity wrung 
 This supplication from thy tongue ; 
 And twice mine answer hath been nay, 
 And yet again the word I say. 
 So stay thee, maid, entreat no more : 
 Thy task, compassion-wrought, is o'er ; 
 
LAMARA. 31 
 
 And vainly o'er, for my decree 
 Is fixed as yon eternal sea, 
 And dark Lamara I have sworn 
 Lives not beyond to-morrow morn : 
 My idle word was never known, 
 My monarch's wishes are mine own ; 
 His bidding is my guide alone. 
 
 " Yet something doth thy zeal deserve, 
 Tho' from my faith I may not swerve ; 
 And I will tell thee what will burn 
 Deep in thy heart, and thou canst learn 
 How wasted is thy pleading breath 
 On him his crimes have doomed to death ; . 
 An awful tale which thou shalt know 
 For thine own sake yea, even tho' 
 The knowledge rend thee like the knife : 
 The dreadful sorrow of my life." 
 He seats the pale and trembling maid 
 Upon the massive balustrade ; 
 And then, with fingers closely pressed 
 Upon his broad and heaving breast, 
 He leans himself upon the stone, 
 His awful eyes far seaward thrown, 
 And speaks in low and hollow tone 
 The maid can scarce believe his own. 
 
32 LAMARA. 
 
 " A fairer bark ne'er glided o'er 
 The trackless waves that wash the shore 
 Of either world than she who bore, 
 Now thirty years agone and more, 
 My bride, myself, and vassal band 
 From fair Hispania's tropic strand. 
 And never kinder breezes blew 
 Than those upon whose wings we flew 
 Across the main, 'neath brighter skies 
 Than vault the Moslem's Paradise. 
 Our hearts were young, our visions bright, 
 The future seemed a path of light ! 
 I held my warrant in my hand 
 For ruling in this western land, 
 And dreamed, ah, fondly dreamed of fame, 
 The coming years should give my name. 
 And still it seemed did heaven pour 
 Her blessings till our cup ran o'er ; 
 For O, what joy beyond control 
 Thrilled deep within my raptured soul, 
 When first I saw, one beaming morn, 
 My boy, Bernardo, ocean-born ! 
 
 " Methinks that fairer form was ne'er 
 Beheld among the fays of air ; 
 And God upon that infant face 
 Had laid the stamp of angel grace ; 
 
LAMARA. 33 
 
 And e'en in infancy the gloom 
 
 Of silken hair, like midnight plume, 
 
 In waving curls fell shining down 
 
 Like streamers from a monarch's crown. 
 
 0, could we dream that lovely boy 
 Whose coming crowned our perfect joy 
 Such light of heaven in his eye ! 
 
 So soon, so awfully, should die ! 
 
 " My God ! methinks e'en now I hear 
 The cry that thrilled my dreaming ear 
 That awful night when fatal sleep 
 Had wrapped my soul in slumber deep ! 
 When aided by the friendly dark, 
 The pirates round our fated bark 
 Had flung their deadly snare, and now 
 Came storming over stern and prow ! 
 But O, wish not that I should tell 
 Of all that chanced that night of hell ! 
 How sailors true and vassals tried 
 Disdained to yield, and fighting died ; 
 Till, fallen all I called mine own, 
 
 1, faint and bleeding, stood alone, 
 With red and broken sword, beside 
 My weeping boy and pallid bride. 
 As fainting to my arm she clung, 
 
 I knew that all was lost, and flung 
 
34 LAMARA. 
 
 The blade so oft had served me well 
 Among those demon sons of hell ! 
 Then seizing both, with frenzied leap, 
 I sprang into the raging deep, 
 And vowed that since we might not fly, 
 Please God, we should together die. 
 And not e'en this ! for from the band 
 One sprang with greedy, clutching hand, 
 And, even as I leaped, the boy 
 He seized with shout of fiendish joy ! 
 And when above the foamy snows 
 That swept the seething waves we rose, 
 There full before our maddened sight, 
 Within the red and lurid light 
 Qf waving torch and burning brand, 
 He held the boy with crimson hand ! 
 
 " My darling screamed in anguish wild, 
 ' O, God in heaven ! my child ! my child ! ' 
 He heard her voice above the storm, 
 And that hell-hound in human form, 
 With blade already crimson-dyed; 
 A fearful cross gashed deep and wide 
 Upon that stainless breast, and cried, 
 With face that seemed but of a ghoul, 
 * Fear not ! the cross shall save his soul ! ' 
 Then laughed in fiendish glee aloud, 
 
LAMARA. 35 
 
 And down amid the yelling crowd 
 He flung the mangled babe and then 
 The ship, the throng of demon men, 
 The blazing brands, the raging wave, 
 Were buried in my reason's grave. 
 The horrors of the night were o'er, 
 My sense had fled, I knew no more. 
 And when, a year from that wild night, 
 Returning reason's dawning light 
 Thrilled in my soul, and I once more 
 Beheld the scenes I loved of yore, 
 And knew myself in fair Castile, 
 And those who watched in anxious zeal 
 My mind's return as kinsmen tried 
 I knew in days of youthful pride, 
 They told me that a bark of Spain 
 Had plucked me, raving, from the main, 
 Just when the dawning morning's light 
 Was closing o'er that awful night ; 
 And close upon my frozen breast 
 A cold and lifeless form was pressed. 
 Kind hands unloosed my clinging hold, 
 And wrapped her in the hammock's fold ; 
 Then sang the sailor's dirge, and gave 
 The unknown dead an ocean grave. 
 
36 LAMARA. 
 
 " So endeth all I have to tell. 
 What later chanced thou knowest well : 
 How, mindful of my king's behest, 
 I made my home in this wild west ; 
 And how my brother's dying prayer 
 Besought me give a father's care 
 To thee, his child ; and thou art here, 
 The one on earth to my heart dear ; 
 And thou hast ever ruled and still 
 Control that heart, but not my will." 
 
 The maiden bends her lips of snow 
 To press his hand, and murmurs low 
 In voice that seemeth half a moan 
 So broken is its mournful tone 
 " Forgive me, for I did not know, 
 Or I had never stirred thy woe ! 
 Once more forgive, and I will go." 
 And when his words have pardoned all, 
 The maid forsakes the fortress-wall. 
 
LAMARA. 37 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 A chamber hewn from living stone, 
 
 Within whose walls hath never shone 
 
 A ray of light of nature's own. 
 
 A barred and massive iron door, 
 
 A cold and matless granite floor ; 
 
 With scanty pallet thereon lain, 
 
 Where, fettered firm with clasp and chain, 
 
 With slumber's shadows o'er his eyes, 
 
 In restless sleep Lamara lies. 
 
 And from its alcove, mildewed, damp, 
 
 Shines dimly forth the dungeon lamp, 
 
 With strange and vapor-clouded light 
 
 A ghost of subterranean night. 
 
 Perhaps the wild one in his dreams 
 Again beholds the gorgeous streams 
 Of purple-hued and orange beams 
 That fall in lustrous waves where gleams 
 The sunset in those distant isles 
 Of southern beauty's richest smiles. 
 Forgotten is the hateful hour 
 He slept, and woke in Spanish power ! 
 
38 LAMARA. 
 
 And in his dream his yearning soul 
 Hath burst its clay-built walls control, 
 And soars away on airy plume 
 To scenes of happiness and bloom. 
 
 The iron hinges grind and groan, 
 
 And chafing 'gainst the massive stone 
 
 The portal yawns with grumbling moan. 
 
 A foot-fall on the flagstone bare 
 
 Hath fallen light as cloud of air ; 
 
 A slender form with streaming hair 
 
 Hath knelt beside the sleeper there ; 
 
 Her trembling hands have touched his chain, 
 
 And lo ! his limbs are free again. 
 
 Yet still he sleeps, and bending low 
 
 Above his breast her brow of snow, 
 
 The silent maiden lists as tho' 
 
 She fain would catch the thoughts that flow 
 
 Within the dreamer's soul, and know 
 
 What varied visions come and go 
 
 In silent measure to and fro. 
 
 She gazes on his dim-lit face, 
 So noble in its kingly grace, 
 And deeply, tremulously sighs, 
 While mists of pity dim her eyes, 
 To mark the lines of pain and care 
 
LAMARA. 39 
 
 So late yet deeply graven there. 
 
 " O, God ! it cannot be ! " she moans 
 In low and spirit-stricken tones, 
 
 " Such angel-seeming type of Thee 
 In soul so demon-like should be. 
 But were he all his foemen tell, 
 Yea, one with Satan's hosts who fell, 
 Then still O, help me, God above ! 
 This demon do I, must I love ! 
 I love and cannot let him die, 
 He must, he shall, be freed, and I 
 Shall in the doing change the light 
 Within my soul to blackest night. 
 I shrink not, yet I would 'twere o'er 
 Ah, me ! to never see him more ! " 
 
 The Rover in his slumber sighs, 
 Then opes and turns his gloomy eyes 
 Upon Lenora's shrouded face 
 With wistful gaze, as fain to trace 
 Therein some joyous dream of sleep 
 His wakened yearning fain would keep ; 
 And murmurs, " Do I see aright ? 
 Art thou a phantom child of night 
 Whose duty 'tis to linger by 
 The couch of lost ones soon to die, 
 And deeper shade their spirit's gloom 
 
4 LAMARA. 
 
 With shadow of impending doom ? 
 If such thine errand, get thee gone ! 
 For death I oft have gazed upon, 
 And fear it not ; but thou hast reft 
 Away the only rapture left 
 My weary soul : a joyous dream, 
 For in my vision did it seem 
 That far from chains and dungeon-cell 
 I heard again the billows swell 
 In joyous music, wild and grand, 
 On palmy southern shore and strand. 
 Once more I ruled my realm, the sea ; 
 ' For O, methought that I was free ! " 
 
 " And so thou art," the maid replies ; 
 
 " Thy chains are broken, wake ! arise ! 
 Know me a friend, thy trust be mine, 
 And life and liberty are thine." 
 A moment, in a strange amaze 
 The Rover bends his startled gaze 
 Upon the kneeling figure there, 
 As tho' for proof 'tis not of air. 
 Then lifts the loosened chain and now 
 The warm blood springeth to his brow, 
 And once again his soul of pride 
 Upswelleth with its pulsing tide ; 
 For dark despair hath lost control, 
 
LAMARA. 41 
 
 And hope reviveth in his soul. 
 Erect the form but now that lay 
 A lifeless, hopeless mass of clay, 
 And in his eyes' depths btirneth low 
 A something of their ancient glow ; 
 The while his wasted lips impart 
 
 The wakened feeling of his heart. 
 
 i 
 
 " I know not whom thou mayest be, 
 Nor why thou'rt moved to set me free ; 
 I trust thee, and thy will obey, 
 And in thy keeping do I lay 
 The life my youth still holdeth dear, 
 Tho' death my soul hath ceased to fear. 
 And tho' I lose the venture, still 
 I'll bless thee for thy noble will." 
 The maid by word -nor look replies, 
 But faintly, falteringly sighs, 
 The while the Rover bendeth low 
 To kiss his savior's hand of snow ; 
 Then faintly breathing, " Come, 'tis time," 
 She leaves the cell ; and now they climb 
 The grim and narrow granite stair 
 From that dark cavern of despair. 
 Still holds the chief her snowy hand, 
 And follows, led by that fair band. 
 
42 LAM A R A. 
 
 Now thro' the slightly-clefted wall 
 
 They glide into a lofty hall, 
 
 And pause a moment in the gloom ; 
 
 Alas ! the pause of death and doom 1 
 
 For ere they reach the lofty door, 
 
 The sleeping hound upon the floor 
 
 Awakes, alarmed, with frenzied yell 
 
 Of volume deep, the captive's knelW 
 
 Then springs, with sullen growl of hate 
 
 Upon the chief, like closing fate. 
 
 That instant, in Lamara's hand 
 
 The maid hath placed an unsheathed brand ; 
 
 And bleeding, backward on the stone 
 
 The blood-hound falls, with savage groan, 
 
 And, gasping, dyeth where he fell : 
 
 The blow so blindly made struck well. 
 
 But now the startled sentries' calls 
 Resound along the fortress walls ; 
 And gath'ring torches dance and glow 
 Strange harbingers of death and woe ! 
 Lenora sinks upon the stone 
 And clasps his hand within her own, 
 And murmurs, " But one wish have I, 
 ; Tis by thy falchion now to die. 
 For I have led thee to the tomb, 
 And mocked with fruitless hope thy doom ! J> 
 
LAMARA. 43 
 
 But joyous glow the lost one's eyes 
 Amid the gloom as he replies : 
 * O, noblest, truest heart of earth, 
 I bless the day that gave thee birth ! 
 For thou hast saved thy foeman's name 
 The stigma of a death of shame ; 
 A sinner's life thou couldst not save, 
 Yet oped for me a soldier's grave ; 
 And thou hast given with this brand 
 The joy of dying sword in hand. 
 But hark ! the larums nearer swell ! 
 God bless thee, noble maid, farewell ! n 
 
 His mantle at her feet he throws, 
 And forward springs to meet his foes, 
 Who throng around with weapons bare 
 And gleaming 'neath the torches' glare. 
 Stern Aldamar restrains his horde, 
 And bids the captive yield his sword. 
 But coldly calm the proud reply 
 " No, never, chieftain, till I die ! " 
 And Aldamar, with eyes of flame, 
 Cries, " Perish in our sovereign's name ! " 
 And at the word each henchman's brand 
 Is trembling in his eager hand ; 
 And 'neath the torches' glamour red, 
 They close around in phalanx dread. 
 
44 LAMARA. 
 
 Ah, wondrous well in days before, 
 That hand hath learned the soldier's lore ! 
 As that grim falchion's lightning play 
 Hath proved in this unequal fray. 
 On every hand, tho' fiercely pressed, 
 Their sabres vainly seek his breast ; 
 And bent and shattered 'neath his own, 
 Fall crashing on the ringing stone. 
 Yet tho' they tempt him o'er and o'er, 
 He draws no drop of human gore. 
 
 But lo ! what madness moves him now ? 
 
 His hand is staid, his pallid brow 
 
 And burning eyes are turned to where, 
 
 Beside him, as he standeth there 
 
 A picture hangs, of beauty rare. 
 
 A form of all-enchanting grace^ 
 
 A most divine and lovely face ; 
 
 The brow, with raven hair enwound, 
 
 And with a golden circlet crowned. 
 
 Lamara, turn ! the sword is nigh ! 
 
 Awake ! or in thy vision die ! 
 
 In vain, in vain ! the chance is gone, 
 
 The coward blade comes gleaming on 
 
 And in his blood Lamara falls, 
 
 Not knowing of his wound, and calls 
 
 In words that strike his hearers dumb 
 
LAMARA. 45 
 
 " O, mother, mother ! thou art come ! " 
 Stern Aldamar, in wild amaze, 
 Bends on the scene his staring gaze ; 
 The while, the Rover, trembling, wild, 
 And eager as a yearning child, 
 Uplifts with burning sobs and sighs 
 Toward the face his longing eyes ; 
 Nor feels the dread and fatal drains 
 That draw the life-blood from his veins. 
 
 The chieftain shudders, gasps, and reels, 
 Then low beside Lamara kneels, 
 And draws,away the crimson vest, 
 And laying bare the Rover's breast, 
 The maddened eyes of Aldamar 
 Behold a deep and ancient scar ; 
 A wound long-healed, yet newly red. 
 A cross of crimson, strange and dread ! 
 
 As falls the oak before the storm, 
 So falls that proud but stricken form 
 In wildest anguish, prostrate, prone, 
 Upon the cold, unyielding stone. 
 For all the love that bursts control, 
 His breaking heart, his yearning soul, 
 Acknowledge in that fallen one 
 A lost, a loved, an erring son ! 
 
46 LAMARA. 
 
 Now wild confusion reigns, and all 
 
 Is tumult in the lofty hall ; 
 
 The shadow of a nameless dread 
 
 Hangs chill and heavy overhead. 
 
 And some are calm in mute despair, 
 
 And others rave in frenzy there. 
 
 While some, with wild and wond'ring eyes 
 
 Devour the Rover as he lies, 
 
 As dreading in their spirits' gloom 
 
 They know not what of death and doom. 
 
 But Aldamar hath risen now, 
 With pallid lips and ashen brow ; 
 And lifts his bleeding son to rest 
 And die upon his father's breast. 
 Lenora, moaning, kneels beside, 
 Her white robe crimsoned in the tide 
 That dyes and darkly reddens o'er 
 The whiteness of that polished floor. 
 The Rover vainly seeks to rise, 
 Then turns his darkly glowing eyes 
 Upon his father, bending low 
 Above his form, in silent woe. 
 And in tl^at wordless look is told 
 So much these swelling hearts enfold, 
 So much of spirits anguish-riven, 
 Of sin repented and forgiven, 
 
LAMARA. 47 
 
 It never can be told of men, 
 But writ above, with angel pen. 
 
 ' My mother, pure and holy one," 
 Lamara murmurs, " own thy son ! 
 For I have washed away the stains 
 In all the current of my veins ; 
 And with my heart's outpouring flood 
 Have freed my soul from stain of blood. 
 And, maiden, thou who wouldst have spared 
 Thy foe the doom that heav'n prepared, 
 O, let me bless with dying breath 
 The hand that led me thus to death ! 
 Thou hast my mother's eyes, and I 
 Would beg thee kiss me ere I die ; 
 And let my final slumber be 
 Beside my loved and changeless sea ! " 
 And as her lips, all-trembling, press 
 . His own in yearning love's caress, 
 His eye grows dim like setting sun, 
 And wild Lamara's sands are run. 
 
- 
 
 J 
 
 RENE, 
 
 Midnight, midnight ! the bell hath tolled 
 In brazen pealings, clear and bold. 
 Six hours more before the end, 
 Six hburs more on earth to spend. 
 On earth, O, lying words ! this cell 
 Might better seem a vault of hell ! 
 No, not of earth this living tomb, 
 This place of more' than midnight gloom, 
 Where never mis'ry's cry nor moan 
 Can pierce the massive walls of stone 
 That fence this narrow paving 'round, 
 'Gainst which my clanking chains resound, 
 Where e'en the soul is bound ah, me ! 
 It must, and yet how can it be ? 
 
IRENE. 49 
 
 How strange, how strange it seems that I, 
 The child of wealth and lineage high, 
 A felon's cell should occupy ! 
 Condemned his awful death to die, 
 To bear the dreadful doom of shame, 
 That blasts fore'er the victim's name ! 
 Ay, strange, as wond'rous strange it seems 
 As shifting scenes in fevered dreams. 
 
 I dream, yea, I ! in waking sleep 
 
 I dream as tho' in slumber deep ; 
 
 Of fields of strife, of scenes of war, 
 
 Of meadows crimson-dyed with gore ; 
 
 I see the battle-clouds arise 
 
 To veil once more the southern skies, 
 
 And in that death-smoke, dun and brown, 
 
 The fiery squadrons charging down ; 
 
 I see the fallen gasp and die, 
 
 I hear again the battle cry. 
 
 And oft O, God ! within my ear 
 The village bell I seem to hear ; 
 And as I list its silver tone, 
 Backward by mem'ry's zephyrs blown, 
 My wayward thoughts and passions fly 
 Unto the past, the long gone by. 
 
50 IRENE. 
 
 And then I dream of hazel dells, 
 Of flow'ry cliffs and mimic fells, 
 Of sun-lit hills and forest fens, 
 Of crystal brooks and shaded glens, 
 Of those who sleep beneath the green, 
 And of thy face, fair, false Irene. 
 
 Irene ! O, ne'er on earth was seen 
 
 A fairer face than thine, Irene ! 
 
 Dark eyes of tender light below 
 
 A brow as white as driven snow ; 
 
 And 'round it streamed thy golden hair, 
 
 As soft and light as summer air ; 
 
 And added to thy lovely face 
 
 A form of most bewild'ring grace. 
 
 Not words alone thy charms can tell, 
 
 The charms that doomed my soul to hell ! 
 
 I see thee now, as fair as when 
 Thou stoodst beside me in the glen 
 Thy slender hand within mine own 
 And murmured in that thrilling tone, 
 Dazzling my eyes the while with thine, 
 That thou wert ever only mine. 
 And as the tender accents fell, 
 My soul believed thee, ah, too well ! 
 
IRENE. 51 
 
 How well remember I the night 
 That closed upon that day's delight ; 
 The lonely ramble o'er the moor, 
 And by the silver lakelet's shore, 
 When restless joy. so lately known, 
 Had sent me forth to muse alone ; 
 How, wand'ring thus with footstep free, 
 I dreamed, I dreamed alone of thee. 
 
 But O, that sharp and anguished cry 
 The balmy night-wind wafted by ! 
 The voice that through my being thrilled, 
 And heart and soul together chilled. 
 'Twas his alone, that stricken tone, 
 The only brother I had known. 
 
 In wild abandon of despair 
 
 I found him Tying prostrate there, 
 
 And knelt beside him where he lay, 
 
 In wond'ring fear, and strove to say 
 
 Some words to make that anguish less, 
 
 Whose cause I knew not, nor could guess. 
 
 But when his straining gaze descried 
 
 That I was kneeling by his side, 
 
 His grief and woe the knowledge seemed 
 
 To change to frenzy ; wildly gleamed 
 
 His blood-shot eyes with flashing flame, 
 
5 2 
 
 IRENE. 
 
 And with a burning curse, my name 
 He shrieked in madness fierce and dread, 
 From bitten lips of bloody red. 
 A moment and I saw him stand 
 My form before, and then a hand 
 That held a dagger bright and bare 
 Descended, cleaving thro' the air ! 
 
 What tho' that time I seemed to feel 
 
 Within my heart the fatal steel, 
 
 What tho' his purpose seemed as fell 
 
 As ever moved a fiend of hell, 
 
 Yet something still that purpose broke, 
 
 And something foiled that deadly stroke ; 
 
 For, when hung motionless his arm, 
 
 I still had neither hurt nor harm. 
 
 By God's decree 'twould ne'er be said 
 
 My blood a brother's hand had shed ! 
 
 Yet still before me did he stand, 
 And raved, and cursed his feeble hand, 
 That had, he said, performed so ill 
 The vengeful purpose of his will. 
 And yet no clue that I could find 
 Might clear the doubt within my mind ; 
 Until at length in wild despair 
 He flung himself to earth, and there 
 
IRENE. 53 
 
 Gave forth in one heart-rending wail 
 To my astonished ear, the tale : 
 A cry as if his heart would break 
 " Irene, I spare him for thy sake ! " 
 
 Ah, well ! his madness soon was o'er, 
 And never Spartan hero bore 
 With calmer mien the torment dread 
 Wherewith his mangled spirit bled. 
 And none save I did ever know 
 What weight he bore of secret woe ; 
 Nor how with every passing day, 
 When seemed he gayest of the gay, 
 Mid scenes of joy and youthful bloom 
 He prayed for rest within the tomb. 
 
 How sharp and dread like sweeping flame, 
 The dark and deathful tidings came 
 Of shameful war and civil strife, 
 And brothers striving life for life ! 
 When southern chivalry rode forth 
 To dare the valor of the north ; 
 When all from east to west the fire 
 Of raging war rose ever higher, 
 And plains and mountains, far and wide, 
 " Were burnt and torn and crimson-dyed. 
 
54 IRENE. 
 
 No orange wreath nor garland now 
 To deck my darling's snowy brow ! 
 No dreams for me of wedded joy 
 That worldly cares should ne'er alloy. 
 Where'er the roving eye could turn 
 Was seen preparing swift and stern. 
 And when at last one stirring day 
 The martial whirl-wind rolled away, 
 It bore amid its myriad life 
 My brother and myself to strife. 
 I dreamed of her and triumph high, 
 And he I knew it prayed to die. 
 
 How clear before my vision shines 
 
 That maze of long and gleaming lines 
 
 That wreathed that storied hill-slope, where 
 
 In after years he won his prayer. 
 
 How deep within my hearing come 
 
 The thrilling sounds of trump and drum 
 
 That rang that morning, wild and shrill, 
 
 Around about that fatal hill. 
 
 Again my fingers seem to feel 
 
 The brazen hilted sword of steel 
 
 That gleamed that morning, bright and bare, 
 
 Within my grasp while waiting there, 
 
 Before my squadron's ranks, the call 
 
 To launch us like a bloody pall, 
 
IRENE. 55 
 
 A sweeping tide of death and woe, 
 Upon the hostile ranks below. 
 
 At last it came : and shout and cheer 
 
 Went rolling upward, wild and clear, 
 
 In swelling chorus high and higher, 
 
 As like an avalanche of fire, 
 
 With buried spur and slackened rein, 
 
 We thundered downward to the plain ; 
 
 Where mid their smoke-wreaths dark and dim 
 
 The foemen waited, calmly grim. 
 
 And now came bursting ball and shell, 
 Those awful messengers and fell ! 
 And low before their fiery breath 
 Sank scores of warrior hearts in death 
 Ah, many fell in that wild ride, 
 And one, my brother, by my side. 
 I saw him wave his sword on high, 
 Beheld his dark and lustrous eye, 
 I heard his last, his dying cry, 
 Then saw him headlong fall and die ! 
 
 I 
 
 They say I seemed a fiend that hour, 
 That with a madman's frenzied power, 
 In hate unchained and demon wrath, 
 I hewed the foemen from my path. 
 
56 IRENE. 
 
 It may have been, for in that fight 
 I fought in darkness and in night ; 
 And frenzy reigned within my mind, 
 And passing left no trace behind. 
 
 We laid my brother where he died, 
 A stately cedar's stem beside ; 
 And carved thereon his spotless name 
 And what was his of martial fame. 
 And there forgetting vanquished foe, 
 Triumphant friends I knelt me low, 
 And mourned in deep and burning grief 
 Which not the favor of my chief, 
 The added rank my charge had won, 
 The deeds they said my arm had done, 
 The pride my heart was wont to feel 
 Of old in stoic strength, could heal. 
 Why came I safe from war's alarms, 
 Nor died, as he, in glory's arms. 
 
 Now o'er the land's encrimsoned breast 
 There came a fleeting lull of rest ; 
 The mighty ministers of death 
 Had paused a moment, as for breath. 
 And oft my yearning heart would roam 
 Toward my distant southern home ; 
 My mind, forgetting war, would dwell 
 
IRENE. 57 
 
 On scenes of youth remembered well ; 
 And longingly and fondly yearn 
 For but one fleeting hour's return. 
 At last my eager wish was known ; 
 A brjef dismissal was my own ; 
 And day and night, thro' weary hours, 
 I flew toward the* Land of Flowers. 
 
 Twas night, and mid a thrilling scene 
 Of mirth and joy I found Irene. 
 Her brow as peerless as of old, 
 Her hair the same familiar gold ; 
 And burned the same soft glamour bright 
 Within her eyes of tender light ; 
 And bore she yet as royal mien 
 As ever crowned the noblest queen. 
 And like a queen of boundless power 
 And despot will she ruled the hour. 
 
 Behind a window's silken screen, 
 Unspied, unknown, I watched the scene : 
 The lost and raptured throng that hung 
 Upon the music of her tongue ; 
 Or basked beneath her glowing eyes 
 As lost in joys of Paradise ; 
 And noted how her lightest word 
 Or wish was answered soon as heard ; 
 
IRENE. 
 
 And 'round their hearts how wondrous well 
 Had twined the meshes of her spell. 
 And, gazing, I could not control 
 The nameless dread that filled my soul. 
 
 Anon I strolled amid the gloom 
 Where rose the garden's Vare perfume, 
 And laid my burning forehead bare 
 Unto the chilly midnight air, 
 To soothe the dull, tormenting pain 
 That throbbed within my aching brain. 
 At last I paused in wearied calm 
 Beneath a fair and drooping palm, 
 And thought with nameless fear upon 
 The present and the days agone. 
 And while I mused, a strolling pair 
 Approached me in the darkness there. 
 
 I caught amid the half-lit gloom 
 The waving of a soldier's plume ; 
 And knew a comrade made of yore 
 Mid battle's wild and awful roar, 
 What time his prompt and daring hand 
 Had saved me from a northern brand. 
 The lady's face was lost in shade, 
 But while their careless steps they stayed 
 Beside me by my leafy screen, 
 
IRENE. 59 
 
 I heard the whispered word " Irene ! " 
 
 And faint and low the answ'ring tone, 
 
 And these the words " My own, my own ! " 
 
 They came as comes a doomed one's knell ! 
 Upsprang the fires of hate and hell 
 Within my heart, and raging pain 
 Swept, burning, thro' my maddened brain. 
 My blade, till now a stainless brand, 
 Gleamed dimly bright within my hand ; 
 The angel, weeping, fled my soul, 
 The raging fiend usurped control ; 
 And while yet strove my feeble will, 
 The demon, hissing, whispered, " Kill ! " 
 
 O, God ! how fell that fatal blow ? 
 
 Why lay he there so pale and low ? 
 
 A flowing torrent dyeing o'er 
 
 His noble breast with crimson gore. 
 
 Was his the blood that dyed my blade ? 
 
 Had I my savior so repaid, 
 
 That by my hand his life was ta'en, 
 
 And I a felon worse than Cain ? 
 
 While she, for whom that life he gave, 
 
 And died her worthless own to save, 
 
 Unheeding his imploring moan, 
 
 Tore loose the hand that clasped her own, 
 
60 IRENE. 
 
 And, shrieking, fled away from sight 
 In frenzy, and in wild affright. 
 
 O, brother ! sleeping where you fell ! 
 Was this the maid you loved so well ? 
 . Was hers the love that drove you forth 
 To face the war-cloud of the north, 
 And bless with last and dying breath 
 The awful thunderbolt of death ? 
 O, would to God I might have died 
 And now were lying by your side ! 
 For had it been my lot to fall 
 Amid the smoke of battle's pall, 
 A soldier's death had spared my name 
 A felon's dark and lasting shame. 
 t 
 
 I strove in vain to stanch the flood 
 Of streaming and out-pouring blood ; 
 And even while I knelt beside 
 His cold and lowly form, he died. 
 And, dying, from his lips there came 
 No curse upon his slayer's name ; 
 But holding in his own the hand 
 That had so foully burst the strand 
 Of life, he passed beyond the grave, 
 His dying word that he forgave ! 
 
IRENE. 6l 
 
 They cast me in this cave of gloom, 
 And bade me wait a felon's doom. 
 
 But hark ! what means that rolling sound ? 
 
 The trembling thrill that shakes the ground ? 
 
 Again, again ! and now I know 
 
 The roaring thunder of the foe ! 
 
 The town is doomed ! No, wild and high 
 
 Resounds our batteries' reply ! 
 
 Now rings the deep and sullen roar 
 
 That tells of dark and bloody war 
 
 Within my strained and yearning ear ; 
 
 And I am chained and fettered here ! 
 
 Forbidden by my country's laws 
 
 To die a soldier in her cause ! 
 
 Again I hear the cannon's roar 
 
 O, heav'n ! if I were free once more ! 
 
 Is there no friendly bolt to fall 
 
 ^nd rend away this massive wall ? 
 
 Great God! ***** 
 
 * * * Within the shattered cell 
 
 There burst a red and flaming shell ; 
 
 And calm and still the doomed one lay, 
 
 A lifeless mass of blackened clay. 
 
T 
 
 HE 
 
 UN 
 
 "Draw nearer, dear abbess," the neophyte said, 
 "Draw nearet, still nearer, kneel down by my bed; 
 Your hand to my forehead ah, now that is well 
 And list ! 'tis a maiden's heart romance I tell. 
 
 "I love thee, for, gazing upon thy calm face, 
 The lines of my dead mother's features I trace ; 
 The same holy look, free from evil or guile, 
 The same tender, loving, and pitying smile. 
 
 "'Twould seem, were it not for this dull, aching pain, 
 The old happy days had returned once again ; 
 When she used to listen, caressing my brow, 
 The tales I would tell as I tell to thee now. 
 
THE NUN. 63 
 
 " My mother ! ah, yes, 'twas my mother alone ; 
 The face of a father 1 never had known : 
 He died at the time when the red, gory flood 
 Swept over fair France, and the rivers ran blood. 
 
 " He died for his king, for his monarch and lord, 
 The king he had served with his heart and his sword; 
 And loyal in death as in life he remained, 
 And, dying, he fell with his honor unstained. 
 
 "A happier fate than his bride's, who, out-driven 
 From France, bleeding France, with a heart torn 
 
 and riven, 
 Must flee with her child, o'er the wide world to 
 
 roam, 
 And seek amid strangers a spot to call home. 
 
 "Beside a blue lake, in a fair, southern land, 
 \Yhose billows e'er rolled on a gold-gleaming strand, 
 Within a gray castle, high-towered and vast, 
 The fugitive twain found a haven at last. 
 
 "And there in her sorrow, unnoticed and lone, 
 Unknowing all others, to others unknown, 
 The sad widow dwelt, and her heart-ache beguiled 
 By teaching pure lessons of faith to her child. 
 
64 THE NUN. 
 
 "And there, far away from the stranger-world's eye, 
 The days and the years of my childhood went by; 
 And maidenhood, beckoning, claimed me her own, 
 Ere dreamed I that child-life forever had flown. 
 
 "And ne'er since the day dread disaster had hurled 
 My mother, myself, in despair from the world, 
 And, fleeing, we found peace and rest in its halls, 
 Had stranger been seen in the old castle walls. 
 
 "And, saving the servitors, trusted and tried, 
 I knew not a being my mother beside ; 
 I knew not, nor wished to -the world was to me 
 A misty unknown that I cared not to see. 
 
 "But He who in majesty filleth the throne 
 Of heaven e'er bendeth our wills to His own ; 
 The calm of the present I fancied might be 
 Forever He took in His wisdom from me. 
 
 "Twas evening ; a fair, balmy eve of July, 
 While low hung the sun in the glorified sky, 
 When fair from the verge of a hill-top of green 
 I gazed in enraptured delight on the scene. 
 
 " I saw the fair lake with its deep-tinted blue, 
 The forest beyond with its emerald hue, 
 The garden, the castle, and wondered if e'er 
 Was vision of nature more peaceful and fair. 
 
THE NUN. 65 
 
 "More peaceful ah, heaven! the thought had not 
 
 fled 
 
 My mind, when 'I paled at the galloping tread 
 That beat from the hoofs of a charger, who came 
 As wild down the vale as a tempest of flame. 
 
 " He tore thro' the valley, he sprang up the hill, 
 And breathless and panting before me stood still; 
 When wordless and speechless, the rider like lead 
 Sank down from his saddle, and lay as if dead. 
 
 "The garb and the arms of a soldier he bore, 
 And one who had lately fierce-striven in war; 
 And never, O, sister, nay, never was seen 
 A visage of nobler or kinglier mien. 
 
 "His dress was discolored, and tangled his hair, 
 His face was as white as the shroud of despair; 
 While helmet and cuirass were cloven in twain, 
 And fearfully dyed with a crimson-hued stain. 
 
 " Ere then had the breath of the outer world's strife, 
 Low murmuring thrilled mid the calm of our life; 
 But never till now had the battle's dark stain 
 Been seen in the bounds of our lovely domain. 
 
 "No moment for sighing I knelt by him there, 
 And loosed the cleft helm from his fair flowing hair; 
 
66 THE NUN. 
 
 Flung sashes encrimsoned and cuirass aside, 
 And strove, all unskillful, to stanch the dark tide. 
 
 "And aid from the castle came soon at my calls. 
 And borne was the youth to its sheltering walls; 
 There nursed and attended, untiring and well, 
 Till burst was the web of the death-angel's spell. 
 
 " Each day he grew stronger and prouder of air, 
 Yet seemed he not willing to flee from our care ; 
 While loth was my mother to lose him and I 
 Shrank back from the parting, tho' knew I not why. 
 
 " He knew we had saved him, tho' never a word 
 To rouse recollection from us had he heard ; 
 And deeper devotion was shown in his mien 
 Than ever was yielded the haughtiest queen. 
 
 "His story was mine, only deeper the stain, 
 His parents, most noble, together were slain, 
 When ruled the wild revel of carnage and crime, 
 All o'er the stained fields of lost France's fair clime. 
 
 "Tossed young on life's ocean, a parentless child, 
 His youth had been stormy and rugged and wild ; 
 Unblessed by the hand of affection's fond care, 
 To warn in temptation or soothe in despair. 
 
THE NUN. 67 
 
 "My mother he. claimed as his own, and out-poured 
 The wealth of his heart in a love that adored; 
 And kindly she smiled on the motherless one. 
 And pitied his yearning, and called him her son. 
 
 "O, sister, how like the dim ghost of a dream 
 That season of joyousness, deep and supreme! 
 When heaven's blue arch smiled divinely above, 
 And earth was the home of delight and of love. 
 
 "My mother was his, and his sister was I, 
 But soon did he speak of a tenderer tie; 
 And not till that moment's surprise had T known 
 The heart that he wished was already his own. 
 
 "Dear friend of my bosom, thou lovest me well, 
 Then pardon me now if I linger to dwell 
 On moments of joy, that were deigneol me before 
 The cloud of affliction my life darkened o'er. 
 
 ."O, heaven! to think of the rapturous hours 
 We spent in that Eden of verdure and flowers ! 
 Mine eyes may grow dim at the memory's thrill, 
 But sad tho' it be, I will dwell on it still. 
 
 "The nights on the lake when we drifted afar, 
 Entranced 'neath the light of each glittering star; 
 
I 
 
 68 THE NUN. 
 
 And dreamed of their course through the luminous 
 
 skies, 
 Or gazed at them, shrined in each other's dark eyes. 
 
 "Ah, well, let it pass, for the time hath gone by, 
 And better it were that its spectre should die, 
 Tho' dearer the thought of that season's delight 
 By far than its gloomy and swift-closing night. 
 
 "O, cruel the message that told us 'twas o'er, 
 And called him again to the strife and the war; 
 And e'en while in anguish for courage I prayed, 
 My darling had gone, and the summons obeyed. 
 
 "He swore by the God and the angels above 
 Not distance nor absence could lessen his love; 
 That die tho' he might on the red field of fame, 
 His lips would move latest in blessing my name. 
 
 "He went at the call, and he bore to the strife 
 The glow and the joy and the light of my life; 
 And now in our valley of beauty and bloom 
 There lingered a shadow of darkness and gloom. 
 
 "A shadow O, heaven! in truth and in name 
 It was to the blackness of horror that came; 
 When all mid the glorious autumnal pride 
 My loved mother faded and painlessly died. 
 
THE NUN. 69 
 
 "We laid her to rest where the lake's ripples lave 
 The base of the hillock wherein was her grave; 
 And piled the green sod on the holiest breast 
 That ever the cares of this world had oppressed. 
 
 "And e'en while in agony, prostrate and low, 
 I lay on that grave in the wildness of woe, 
 The last pang of torture hung trembling and fell, 
 And hope in my heart dying whispered farewell. 
 
 "There came one who gazed with compassionate 
 
 sighs, 
 
 And witnessed my anguish with pitying eyes; 
 Then, mournfully stooping, he placed by me there 
 A doublet encrimsoned, a tress of my hair. 
 
 "Dark-browed was that soldier, and battered and 
 
 scarred, 
 
 While care had upon him pressed sternly and hard ; 
 Yet turned he away, for his soul could not dare 
 The sight of rny awful and utter despair. 
 
 "My darling was dead on the field he had died; 
 Had fall'n in the flush of his warrior pride ; 
 And faithful and true, with his last dying breath 
 Had sent me the tokens of love and of death. 
 
70 THE NUN. 
 
 "That night did I flee from the castle alone, 
 Unheard was my step on the threshold of stone ; 
 I passed thro' the garden unchecked in my flight, 
 And glided away like a spirit of night. 
 
 "A flame in my heart ever hurried me on, 
 For wild was my brain, and my reason was gone; 
 And thus, all alone, 'neath the night's starry host, 
 I flew on my path like a sin-burdened ghost. 
 
 "Long leagues, weary leagues, with a wild strength 
 
 inspired, 
 
 I hurried me onward, unchecked and untired; 
 And not till the day in the far east arose, 
 I hid me in covert and sought for repose. 
 
 "I slept from the dawn to the closing of day, 
 But rose with the (}ark and again sped away; 
 And, famished and moaning, in anguish and dread, 
 At midnight I stood in a field of the dead. 
 
 "I know not, e'en now, if 'twas there that he died: 
 The field was but one there are many beside; 
 And yet had my brain in the whirl of despair 
 Impelled me to come and to seek for him there. 
 
 "But vainly, ah, vainly, I traversed the plain, 
 And scanned the dark forms of the warrior slain ; 
 
THE NUN. 71 
 
 Till memory, courage, and strength fled away, 
 And breathless and cold, mid the lifeless I lay." 
 
 " Twas there that we found thee, a lost, dying child, 3 ' 
 The sister began, in a voice sweet and mild, 
 
 "And hither we brought thee with fast-failing breath, 
 Already close-clasped to the cold breast of death. 
 
 " We prayed and we nursed thee in yearning and lovej 
 And healing came down from the Throned-One 
 
 above ; 
 
 And soon shall we give thee the welcoming rite, 
 And care will forever have fled from thy sight. 
 
 "Then turn, O, my darling! thy thoughts from the 
 
 past, 
 
 And him on whom first thy affections were cast; 
 For lowly and silent he lies 'neath the sod, 
 His form is of death, and thine own is of God." 
 
 The clang of a sabre re-echoed and rung, 
 The chamber's closed portal wide open was flung, 
 And into the room with impetuous stride 
 There came one erect in a warrior's pride. 
 
 The maiden's pale face seemed the face of the dead, 
 As lightly he sprang to the side of the bed, 
 
72 THE NUN. 
 
 And kissed her white lips with a passionate cry, 
 That God in His mercy should not let her die. 
 
 "Escaped from the horrors of death's burning dart, 
 For months have I sought thee, O, loved of my 
 
 heart ! 
 
 And now that at last in my arms thou art thrown, 
 I bless the great God who returns me mine own!" 
 
 The maiden, enthralled in the calmness of rest, 
 Lay silent and still on the soldier's broad breast; 
 And turned on the abbess that deep, pleading gaze 
 That woman ne'er meets but its prayer she obeys. 
 
 The nun lowly bent o'er the maiden so pale, 
 And raised from her forehead the snowy-white veil; 
 Then joining their hands, said, " To thee she is 
 
 given ; 
 Whom God joins together let never be riven." 
 
UTZEN, 
 
 Tis dark midnight o'er vale and hill* 
 
 And faint the stars on high ; 
 And wrapped in slumber calm and still 
 
 The dreaming armies lie. 
 The soldiers rest upon their arms, 
 
 They dare not lay them by, 
 For soon may waking war's alarms 
 
 Unclose each sleeping eye. 
 
 Yet tho' they know the latest dream 
 
 Of many will have fled, 
 When next the morning sun shall beam 
 
 Above their crimson bed, 
 
74 LUTZEN. 
 
 They sleep, unmindful of the morn, 
 And coming horrors dread, 
 
 Like children, pure as souls unborn, 
 And calm as they were dead. 
 
 But slumber's pall about the eyes 
 
 Of all may not be drawn ; 
 The chieftains watch the eastern skies 
 
 And wait the sign of dawn ; 
 And swift the flying riders speed, 
 
 Recalling squadrons gone, 
 To share to-morrow's woe or meed 
 
 And night wears slowly on. 
 
 And there are others, who to-night 
 
 While wearied soldiers sleep, 
 Enthralled in slumber's calm delight, 
 
 Their mystic watches keep. 
 And some there are who shout aloud 
 
 In baneful laughter deep, 
 And some, with heads in sorrow bowed, 
 
 Who wail and moan and weep. 
 
 Yea, there are angel-spirits there 
 Who weep in grief and woe, 
 
 As floating mid the perfumed air 
 They watch the scene below ; 
 
LUTZEN. 75 
 
 And others, borne on midnight wings, 
 
 With vampire eyes aglow, 
 For strife to them a revel brings, 
 
 When human blood doth flow. 
 
 And now there rolls and swelleth high 
 
 A weird and awful roar ; 
 A medley as of hell-hounds cry 
 
 And billows on the shore ; 
 And cometh Odin's flying ghost 
 
 The plains and mountains o'er, 
 And stays his wild and raging host 
 
 Above the camps of war. 
 
 And now from mid the swarthy crew 
 
 Around the spectre king, 
 On giant steeds of sable hue, 
 
 The Fatal Sisters spring ; 
 And lifting flaming falchions high 
 
 In awful tones they sing, 
 And thro' the arches of the sky 
 
 Their thrilling voices ring. 
 
 " Soldiers, rise ! 
 For the eastern skies 
 Are gray with the morning breaking; 
 Leave your sleep, 
 
76 LUTZEN. 
 
 You may sleep more deep, 
 And wake to a fearful waking ! 
 
 " Rise, ye brave ! 
 
 For your banners wave, 
 
 By the breath of morning shaken ; 
 
 Grasp your arms, 
 For the loud alarms 
 Of the battle soon shall waken ! 
 
 " Dream no more ! 
 For the time is o'er 
 For dreams that are not of madness ; 
 
 Ne'er again 
 
 Shall the anguished brain 
 Find rest in the sleep of gladness ! 
 
 " On, ye brave ! 
 Win a soldier's grave 
 A warrior's noblest haven ! 
 
 O, the shame 
 That shall cloud the name 
 Of the vile and fleeing craven ! 
 
 " Rise and on ! 
 
 For the night is gone, 
 
 And the darkness fades in pallor ; 
 
LUTZEN. 7 7 
 
 Ye who die 
 
 Have a home on high 
 
 Reserved for the sons of valor ! " 
 
 The echo of that awful strain 
 
 Of horror onward flies, 
 And far beyond the dusky plain 
 
 In sullen murmur dies ; 
 And now, from misty veils that pall 
 
 And hide the purer skies, 
 Far sweeter strains of music fall, 
 
 Yet sad with angel sighs. 
 
 "Weep, weep, ye high and holy ones, 
 Weep for your fallen earthly sons, 
 The children of your love below 
 Woe, woe ! 
 
 " Weep, weep, for many souls shall mourn, 
 And many bleeding hearts be torn, 
 When this day's tale the world shall know 
 Woe, woe ! 
 
 " Dread, dread, the fires of hate, and stern, 
 That in their fallen bosoms burn, 
 Who deal their brother's mortal blow 
 Woe, woe ! 
 
78 LUTZEN. 
 
 " Weep, weep, ye holy ones on high, 
 Weep, weep, to see your children die ; 
 To see their wasted life-blood flow 
 Woe, woe ! 
 
 Now in the far-off eastern skies 
 
 Appears the ghost of morn ; 
 And from the hostile camps arise 
 
 The sounds of trump and horn ; 
 And as the thrilling music flies, 
 
 On morning's zephyrs borne, 
 ' The ready soldier wakes yet sighs, 
 
 From joyous visions torn. 
 
 But lo ! while dimly breaks the day 
 
 Upon the misty air, 
 Before his long- and stern array 
 
 That stands in rev'rence there, 
 While morning's zephyrs breathe and play 
 
 About his forehead bare, 
 Amid the twilight dark and gray, 
 
 A monarch kneels in prayer. 
 
 He prays, his dim and streaming eyes 
 Cast upward to the Throne ; 
 
 And often, faint with feeling, sighs, 
 His voice almost a moan ; 
 
LUTZEN. 79 
 
 But when 'tis o er doth proudly rise, 
 
 And deep the thrilling tone, 
 Wherewith, unsheathing brand, he cries, 
 " Now, God, defend thine own ! " 
 
 A moment's silence stern and deep, 
 
 And o'er the coward's frame 
 And in his mind, wild tremors creep, 
 
 And thoughts of flight and shame. 
 But o'er the dauntless visions sweep 
 
 The gorgeous dreams of fame, 
 And now the baneful thunders leap 
 
 From mouths of belching flame. 
 
 The battle-bugle wildly rings 
 
 With loud and angry roar, 
 The flying bullet, shrieking, sings 
 
 Its thrilling song of war ; 
 Each standard-bearer proudly flings 
 
 His banner free once more, 
 And fury spreads her bloody wings 
 
 The scene of conflict o'er. 
 
 The royal soldier leads his host 
 
 With brow unhelmed and bare, 
 
 And where the conflict rages most, 
 Amid its lurid glare, 
 
8o LUTZEN. 
 
 Where bleeding thousands yield the ghost 
 
 Mid pools of red despair, 
 And tamed the sternest's pride and boast 
 
 There floats his golden hair. 
 
 Alas ! and woe to Sweden now ! 
 For low hath sunk that fearless brow ! 
 And from his maddened ranks arise 
 The wildest of all anguished cries, 
 In raging volume that appalls 
 
 " He falls ! our king, our father, falls ! " 
 And Wallenstein's unblessed array 
 Hath heard the tidings mid the fray, 
 And lifts a fierce, triumphant cry. 
 
 " Revenge ! revenge ! " the Swedes reply ; 
 And storming on with burning tears, 
 A rolling tide of gleaming spears, 
 Of shining helms and waving swords, 
 They burst upon the foemen's hordes ; 
 And still that awful battle-cry 
 
 " Revenge ! revenge !" is soaring high. 
 
 The baleful eyes of Wallenstein 
 With yet a darker lustre shine ; 
 He sees his boasted squadrons quail 
 
LUTZEN. 8 1 
 
 Before the Northmen's leaden hail ; 
 His chosen, falling score by score, 
 The sedges crimsoned with their gore. 
 Since morn, in iron warrior pride, 
 Unshaken have they stemmed the tide ; 
 And now when evening closes o'er 
 The scenes of tumult and of war, 
 The dizzy eye-balls faint and reel 
 Beneath the glare of clashing steel, 
 And straining legions, weak and worn, 
 Are slowly, sternly, backward borne. 
 
 With eyes aglow with dread and ire, 
 And bosom fierce with inward fire, 
 Now stands the mighty man of crime 
 And curses lagging Pappenheim. 
 
 But hark thee, chieftain, hark ! 
 For while thy wrathful lips have cursed 
 The chief who won their blessing erst, 
 
 Comes thrilling through the dark 
 A sound of trampling hosts afar, 
 A deep and sternly rolling jar, 
 And grants thy strained and yearning ear 
 The tidings it so longed to hear. 
 And nearer yet and nearer come 
 The thrilling sounds of trump and drum, 
 
 A baneful battle knell ; 
 
82 LUTZEN. 
 
 With naked brand and leveled spear 
 The host of Pappenheim is here ; 
 
 Now, Northmen, bear ye well ! 
 Ten thousand riders wild with hate, 
 A whirling thunder-cloud of fate, 
 
 Are sweeping on your line ; 
 And dimly mid the murky gloom, 
 That seems the pall of death and doom, 
 Emblazoned helm and floating plume 
 
 And iron corslets shine. 
 Again the roaring battle-cry 
 " Revenge our monarch ! " rolleth high 
 
 From Sweden's living rock. 
 Down, down upon their knees they go, 
 And kneeling silent, stern, and low, 
 With frowning brows and eyes aglow, 
 
 They wait the foemen's shock. 
 Against those adamantine walls 
 The coming billow breaks and falls 
 
 With foam of flying gore ; 
 And raging Pappenheim hath done 
 His latest deed beneath the sun ; 
 The goal is won, his sands are run, 
 
 His life of crime is o'er. 
 To earth he falls, 
 And falling calls 
 
 In raving triumph that appalls, 
 
LUTZEN. 83 
 
 " O, royal foe ! 
 Thou liest low, 
 
 And blessed at last thy foeman dies ! 
 Yea, yieldeth breath 
 Rejoiced in death 
 
 That thy dead corse hath blessed his eyes ! " 
 And wild and high 
 The Swedes reply, 
 
 " Revenge our monarch's death or die ! " 
 And pouring madly, fiercely forth, 
 The iron warriors of the north 
 
 Have turned the tide of war ; / 
 The fainting foemen's pride and boast, 
 Like billows on an iron coast, 
 
 Are staggered back once more. 
 Fly, Friedland, fly ! 
 For lo ! on high 
 
 Above his onward charging host 
 Behold the monarch's awful ghost ! 
 
 The saints attend him nigh ; 
 And o'er thy head 
 The demons dread 
 
 Shrink back with cowering eye ! 
 Thy soldiers slain 
 Bestrew the plain, 
 
 And there in death they lie 
 On crimson sod 
 
84 LUTZEN. 
 
 Where late they trod, 
 
 Ere thou hadst felt this curse of God, 
 
 Then shame not thou to fly ! 
 And yet, O, most condemned of men ! 
 An angel and avenging pen 
 
 Hath writ thy name on high, 
 In letters fraught with deepest gloom, 
 Within the book of fate and doom ; 
 
 And, chieftain, thou shalt die ! 
 
 And from that field where lie entombed 
 The hopes that had so fondly bloomed, 
 He flies a man condemned and doomed ! 
 
 Beat the drum drearily, 
 
 Sadly and wearily, 
 Well may ye mourn when your hero's life closes. 
 
 Angels o'er-hover him, 
 
 Battle-wreaths cover him, 
 Strewn on the bier where your sovereign reposes. 
 
 Mourn for the warrior, 
 
 None hath won starrier 
 Fame in humanity's legend and story ; 
 
 Flower of bravery, 
 
 Foe to all slavery, 
 Gleams not a stain on his garland of glory. 
 
LUTZEN. 85 
 
 Weep for the royal one, 
 
 Every true loyal one, 
 Weep, all ye sorrowing millions who love him ; 
 
 Friend of humanity, 
 
 Free from earth's vanity, 
 Lowly to God in the highest above him. 
 
 Think how he fell for you, 
 
 Fighting so well for you, 
 Losing himself in the cause he defended ; 
 
 O, it was glorious ! 
 
 Falling victorious, 
 Ending his life where his conquest was ended ! 
 
 Pure and untainte'd one, 
 
 Noble and sainted one, 
 Well may thy sorrowing children adore thee ! 
 
 Humble and lowly one, 
 
 Hail thee we holy one, 
 Blessed with the sanctity fallen from o'er thee ! 
 
 Beat the drum drearily, 
 
 Sadly and wearily, 
 Well may we mourn when our hero's life closes ! 
 
 Angels o'er-hover him, 
 
 Battle-wreaths cover him, 
 Strewn on the bier where our sovereign reposes. 
 
A RUSSIAN RIVER LEGEND. 
 
 Beside the rushing river, 
 'Neath fair Sonoma's sky, 
 
 All armed with bow and quiver, 
 They laid him down to die. 
 
 In anguish stern and tearless 
 They knelt around him then, 
 
 Their chief, the loved, the peerless, 
 The bravest among men. 
 
 They thought how oft he'd led them 
 On glory's crimson path, 
 
 Till tribes and nations fled them 
 As from Sahulia's wrath. 
 
A RUSSIAN RIVER LEGEND. 87 
 
 And now with life his glory 
 
 Would fade like sudden flame, 
 
 And only tale and story 
 
 Preserve his name and fame. 
 
 No moan of weak repining 
 
 Came from the dying one, 
 But like a king reclining, 
 
 He watched the setting sun. 
 
 With whisper low and hollow, 
 
 But eyes of flaming light, 
 He murmured, " Go, I follow 
 
 To joy thro' storm and night." 
 
 A falling sunbeam crowned him, 
 
 Gilding the eagle's wing, 
 And those who knelt around him 
 
 Bowed as before a king. 
 
 Then pointing to the river 
 
 As it went rushing on, 
 
 " To this," he said, " deliver 
 
 My corse when life is gone. 
 
 " Ye know the olden story 
 Of my immortal birth : 
 
88 A RUSSIAN RIVER LEGEND. 
 
 To gain your nation glory 
 I came upon the earth. 
 
 " Oppressed and undefended, 
 
 Ye called me from the sky : 
 But now, my mission ended, 
 They call for me on high. 
 
 " And never pine nor willow 
 
 Above my tomb shall wave, 
 But 'neath the ocean billow 
 My form shall find a grave." 
 
 His voice grew faint and broken, 
 
 " Farewell, I go," he said ; 
 So low the words were spoken, 
 They knew not he was dead. 
 
 That night when winds were wailing 
 For him whose soul had gone, 
 
 Adown the stream, slow-sailing 
 A frail fleet glided on. 
 
 No oar nor paddle, lifting, 
 
 Flung back pale Luna's beam, 
 
 But drifting, ever drifting, 
 
 They glided down the stream. 
 
A RUSSIAN RIVER LEGEND. 89 
 
 Four torches redly gleaming 
 
 Shone from the bark which led 
 
 Their crimson rays o'er-streaming 
 The features of the dead. 
 
 He seemed amid the shining 
 
 And glowing tongues of fire, 
 
 In majesty reclining, 
 
 A monarch on his pyre. 
 
 Past banks of pine and willow 
 Slow sailed the flaming bier, 
 
 And riding on the billow 
 
 The mourners followed near. 
 
 No moan nor cry despairing 
 
 To mark their anguish came ; 
 
 With eye-balls strained and glaring 
 They watched the beacon flame. 
 
 And on in ceaseless motion 
 
 Upon their course they bore, 
 
 Until the roaring ocean 
 
 Proclaimed the voyage o'er. 
 
 Then, sighing, sadly turning, 
 
 They sought a sea-worn cave, 
 
90 A RUSSIAN RIVER LEGEND. 
 
 To watch that beacon burning, 
 All ghostly, on the wave. 
 
 A while, in splendor glowing, 
 It beamed a golden light, 
 
 Then, faint and fainter growing, 
 It faded from their sight. 
 
 All night in silent sorrow 
 
 They waited on the shore, 
 
 As hoping with the morrow 
 
 To see their chief once more. 
 
 But as the legend telleth 
 
 A God but once may fall, 
 
 The risen Tyhee dwelleth 
 Within Sahulla's hall. 
 
 Tho' tribe or chieftain never 
 Are named in hist'ry's scroll, 
 
 Their memory forever 
 Will linger in my soul. 
 
 For oft, when stars are paling, 
 I see them down the stream 
 
 Come sailing, slowly sailing, 
 Like shadows in a dream. 
 
ALABAMA, 
 
 / 
 
 Onward, onward, stern, undaunted, 
 On thro' forests weird and haunted, 
 Scenes the white, his courage vaunted 
 
 Failing, had left undenled, 
 Toiling onward, onward ever, 
 On with steadfast, strong endeavor, 
 Worn and faint yet resting never, 
 
 Came the children of the wild. 
 
 Came with bosoms sorrow- riven, 
 Came in bitter woe out-driven 
 From the homes their God had given 
 To their fathers erst of yore, 
 
92 ALABAMA. 
 
 With no hope of e'er returning, 
 But with pain and anguish burning 
 In their hearts, and only yearning 
 For a home of rest before. 
 
 Now 'twas even, and the gleaming 
 Crimson of the sunset's beaming 
 Shone upon a forest streajning 
 
 With the moss of unknown time ; 
 Shone upon a river flowing, 
 O'er whose banks the breezes blowing 
 Fanned a thousand flowers glowing 
 , Bright with hues of every clime. 
 
 And the people, drawing nearer, 
 Saw the river flowing clearer 
 Than the wondrous crystal mirror 
 
 Of their foes from o'er the sea ; 
 And they gazed with ravished pleasure 
 On the scene where nature's treasure 
 Had been heaped in boundless measure 
 
 For the seeker that might be. 
 
 Down beside the flowing river 
 Flung the chief his bow and quiver, 
 Raised his eyes unto the Giver 
 
 Of all mercies, the Most Blest; 
 
ALABAMA, 93 
 
 And that gaze of mute adoring 
 Seemed his very soul out-pouring, 
 As his voice rang forth, up-soaring, 
 " Alabama ! here we rest !" 
 
 And as roll the ocean-surges, 
 When the tempest-demon urges 
 And in sullen wrath submerges 
 
 Rock and sand in flying foam, 
 So that cry of exultation 
 From that worn and fainting nation 
 Burst in joyous acclamation, 
 " Alabama ! we are home ! " 
 
 So 'twas named, that realm of splendor 
 It had pleased the great Defender 
 To these darkened souls to render, 
 
 For a home awhile their own. 
 And tho' soon the red-man faded, 
 Still the forest ever-gladed, 
 And the river cool and shaded, 
 
 By the red-man's name are known. 
 
94 THE FAIRY S SECRETS. 
 
 THE FAIRY'S SECRETS. 
 
 Where the boughs of the laurel bend mournfully 
 
 low, 
 
 And so cool and delicious the air, 
 Is a spot far the fairest of all that I know, 
 And full often I thither repair. 
 
 There the stream ripples by 
 With a murmur and sigh, 
 And a sprite in its bosom doth dwell; 
 And I oft used to think 
 As I lay on its brink 
 Of the secrets that fairy might tell. 
 
 \ 
 Of the men who had come and the men who 
 
 had gone 
 
 Since the light of its being first smiled, 
 And of those who had lingered its fair bank upon, 
 And the deeds of the forest's dark child. 
 And I longed to be told 
 Why the fairies of old 
 Had departed from cottage and hall; 
 And at last, in a dream, 
 Came a voice from the stream, 
 And it answered my questionings all. 
 
THE SIREN OF SONG. 95 
 
 And now oft to that spot of enchantment I go, 
 
 Where, secure from the sun's searching beam, 
 I lie down where the laurel bends mournfully low, 
 And I talk with the sprite of the stream. 
 .And the tales that she tells 
 Are but magical spells 
 Round my spirit to wreath and entwine, 
 And their wonderful lore 
 Shall be told never more 
 For 'tis only the fairy's and mine. 
 
 THE SIREN OF SONG. 
 
 A moment she stood in her loveliness there, 
 
 The halo of purity o'er her, 
 Like a rad : ant vision, so winningly fair 
 With the glow of the light on her glorious hair, 
 One couldn't but love and adore her. 
 Then, silvery clear, 
 Fell her voice on the ear, 
 
 And it seemed that the music of heaven was near. 
 And breathless and deep the enchantment, and 
 strong 
 
96 THE SIREN OF SONG. 
 
 The passion of ecstacy burning 
 In the hearts and the souls of the listening throng, 
 As they hung on the strain of the siren of song 
 In wild and delirious yearning; 
 As it rose and fell 
 With its magical swell 
 Like the echoing chimes of a spirit-rung bell. 
 
 And singing, she knew every heart that was there 
 
 Was hers in that moment of madness, 
 Yet her face was as calm and as peacefully fair, 
 And her eyes were upturned as in passionate 
 
 prayer 
 
 And dark with a shadow of sadness. 
 And once, and again, 
 Did that glorious strain 
 Thrill the listening spirit with rapturous pain. 
 
 A moment 'twas o'er and a tremulous sigh 
 Welled deep as from depths of the ocean, 
 Ere the thunderous cheer and ecstatical cry 
 Like the roar of a tempest rang wildly and high 
 The burst of the heart's pent emotion. 
 And bright mid the snows 
 Of her cheeks' soft repose, 
 
 As she heard, bloomed the radiant flush of the 
 rose. 
 
GETHSEMANE. 97 
 
 GETHSEMANE. 
 
 When He prayed in that beautiful garden 
 
 Where the orange blooms scented the air, 
 That tho' suffering still he might pardon, 
 
 Did its loveliness seem to him fair? 
 Did he know that the streamlets were flowing 
 
 'Neath the moonlight in silvery dyes ? 
 That the stars, in the heavens were glowing 
 
 Like the angels' sweet pitying eyes ? 
 
 From the murmuring cataract's dashing 
 
 Rose the white-pinioned, phantom-like spray; 
 And the shimmering fountains were splashing 
 
 In low, tremulous music and play; 
 And the cooling night-zephyrs were sighing 
 
 Thro' the leaves of the olive and palm 
 Did they bring, thus so silently flying, 
 
 To His suffering spirit a balm ? 
 
 But O^how can man murmur and languish 
 At the ills that his short days afford, 
 
 When he knows of the terrible anguish 
 
 And the crimson-stained brow of his Lord? 
 
98 UNKNOWN. 
 
 Of that spirit, so humble and lowly, 
 
 Seeking not the dread torture to shun, 
 
 Only praying the High and the Holy 
 
 That His all-ruling will might be done. 
 
 UNKNOWN. 
 
 Beside the trunk of yonder pine 
 That rears its mighty bulk on high, 
 And thro' whose waving branches shine 
 Blue glimpses of unclouded sky, 
 Unmarked, save by a cross of stone 
 With mosses gray and strange o'er-grown, 
 I see the grave of the unknown. 
 
 Unknown ! for who, of all whose eyes 
 
 The lonely sepulchre have seen, 
 
 Can tell the tale of him who lies 
 
 Beneath this sloping mound of green ? 
 
 Can tell his race, his tongue, his name, 
 
 If he were ever known to fame, 
 
 Or whence, or why, or how he came? 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 And who, when low in death he lay, 
 Who watched or prayed beside his bier? 
 Then bore away the lifeless clay 
 And reverently laid it here? 
 The earth upon his bosom pressed, 
 And raised this stone above his breast 
 To mark his lonely place of rest? 
 
 I ask but from the tangled wild 
 
 Of wood and cliff comes no reply ; 
 
 The rocky pinnacles uppiled 
 
 Seem but to nod their heads and sigh. 
 
 Gray rocks, ye know but cannot tell 
 
 Who lieth here and why he fell ; 
 
 But guard his rest and guard it well. 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 99 
 
 "My darling, my darling, the red, gory tide 
 Of life-blood is flowing in streams from my side; 
 The death-dew is standing in drops on my brow 
 My darling, my darling, I'm leaving thee now. 
 
IOO AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 "I think of thee, dear one, as here mid the slain 
 I lie with this throbbing, this torturing pain ; 
 I think of the days ere the war-trump was blown 
 I think of the joys that forever have flown. 
 
 " Forever ! for long ere the coming of dawn 
 My soul to the distant beyond will have gone ; 
 The beams of the morning, when darkness hath fled, 
 Will fall on the cold, pallid face of the dead. 
 
 "O, darling ! my darling ! 'tis hard thus to die 
 No watcher, no kinsman, no comforter nigh ! 
 Uncared for, unsheltered, unseen and unknown 
 O, God ! it is fearful to die thus alone ! 
 
 "If thou wert beside me thy face would illume 
 With radiant beauty the darkness and gloom ; 
 Thy presence would cheer me, thy spirit would guide 
 My own in its flight o'er death's shadowy tide. 
 
 "But though art afar beneath happier skies, 
 And never again may I gaze in thine eyes; 
 And thou dost not know how in battle I fell, 
 Nor hear the last whisper that bids thee farewell." 
 
 Sinks fainter and fainter the dying one's tone, 
 Now ends in a gasping and quivering moan ; 
 And thus in the dread and the darkness of night 
 The soul of the soldier hath taken its flight. 
 
A LEGEND OF SANTA ROSA. IOI 
 
 A LEGEND OF SANTA ROSA. 
 s 
 
 Under the rays of the soaring moon, 
 
 And on mid the night-wind's moaning croon, 
 
 Over the waves of the dew-gemmed grass, 
 
 Phantom-like riders, galloping, pass. 
 
 Stern are their brows and shrouded in gloom, 
 
 Dark 'neath the shadow of waving plume ; 
 
 And pale the lips of the captive twain 
 
 Riding with clanking fetter ancj. chain. 
 
 Halt they now by the arroyo there; 
 
 Sharp the command that cleaveth the air : 
 
 A crash and a flame lighting the sky, 
 
 A gasping moan and a piercing cry; 
 
 A surging throng that fades into night, 
 
 Guiltily speeding in terrified flight; 
 
 Two silent forms in the moon-light's flood, 
 
 And a deep, dark stain that seems like blood ! 
 
 And the days and months have glided o'er 
 With their varied calm and stormy roar; 
 And the dust of time hath hid the stain 
 And the dead beneath the sodded plain. 
 
102 A LEGEND OF SANTA ROSA. 
 
 The graves are decked with a vernal crown, 
 And closing round is a stirring town ; 
 The fairest flow'rs of a garden bloom 
 Where sleep the dead in their unknown tomb. 
 
 And oft hath a maiden lingered there, 
 By a dark-green rose-tree, quaint and rare, 
 That her own white hands with fond delight 
 Had planted there, that its bloom so white 
 Might bring to her mind the loving thought 
 Of her childhood's home, from whence 'twas 
 
 brought 
 
 To gladden her here, and yet no flower 
 Hath gleamed mid its dark leaves' verdant bower. 
 
 There cometh at last a weird, wild night ; 
 The earth is wrapped in a ghostly light ; 
 And o'er the waves of the dewy grass 
 Doth a train of spectral shadows pass ; 
 And lo ! at the hour 'tis midnight gloom 
 The flow'rless green hath burst into bloom ; 
 And the maiden shrieks with nameless dread, 
 For the snowy rose hath bloomed blood-red ! 
 
 The blossoms fade in the morning air, 
 And again the rose-tree standeth bare. 
 The days and the months roll swiftly on, 
 
DYING. 103 
 
 The years have come and the years have gone; 
 And on the wings of each whirling flight 
 Cometh the hour of that wondrous sight; 
 When bursts at the time of midnight gloom 
 The snowy rose into crimson bloom ! 
 
 DYING. 
 
 Darkness falling, 
 Softly palling, 
 
 Shrouds the earth in robes of gloom ; 
 And I hear the angels calling, 
 
 Calling from beyond the tomb. 
 
 Life is fleeing, 
 The All-seeing 
 Willeth not that it remain.; 
 He, the One who ave me being, 
 Claimeth now His own again. 
 
 O, my spirit ! 
 Dost thou fear it 
 The unknown life coming on ? 
 Tremble not ! They come to cheer it 
 Those thou lovest who are gone. 
 
104 DYING. 
 
 Loved ones, tender, 
 Bright with splendor 
 
 Of that shining realm above, 
 Bearing sprays of flowers slender 
 
 Gaze on me with eyes of love. 
 
 Moonlight beaming, 
 Softly streaming, 
 Down upon me as I die, 
 Seems a pathway golden gleaming 
 Leading to the home on high. 
 
 Waters flowing, 
 Zephyrs blowing, 
 Seem to sadly bid farewell, 
 And I feel my spirit going 
 
 Whither He alone can tell. 
 
 Spirit, riven, 
 Torn and driven 
 
 From the earth, where leads thy way? 
 I know not but God in heaven, 
 God the Father, is my stay ! 
 
THE GRAPE-GATHERERS. 105 
 
 THE GRAPE-GATHERERS. 
 
 The vines of the vineyards are laden 
 
 With gleaming and glorious spoil, 
 And many a youth and a maiden 
 
 Are making a frolic of toil ; 
 And music and mirth ever blending 
 
 In melody sweetest entwine 
 But two silent figures are bending 
 
 Together beside a dark vine. 
 
 The bright sun of autumn is glowing 
 
 On Mandeville's tresses of brown, 
 And Laura's, all golden-hued, flowing, 
 
 Her neck and her shoulders adown ; 
 And stilled are the hands that were flying 
 
 So lately in emulous glee, 
 Forgotten the basket is lying, 
 
 The vine from its burden not free. 
 
 Their comrades have moved, on before them, 
 Yet watch them with mischievous eyes, 
 
 And e'en the bright birds skimming o'er them 
 Look down as in smiling surprise. 
 
106 THE LOST GRAVE. 
 
 The dying breeze faints in revival - 
 
 But what now doth Mandeville say, 
 
 That Laura's fair cheek should outrival 
 The blush of the Flaming Tokay ? 
 
 THE LOST GRAVE. 
 
 O, sad it is to wander where 
 The mournful willows wave 
 
 O'er graves where rest the young and fair, 
 The noble and the brave, 
 
 But sadder still when seeking there 
 A brother's nameless grave. 
 
 O, birds, so joyous mid the shade 
 Where your short lives begun, 
 
 And flowers that bloom within the glade 
 And glory of the sun, 
 
 O 3 can ye tell where he is laid, 
 My lost, my longed for, one ? 
 
 I know that somewhere 'neath the sod 
 The poor, cold ashes lie ; 
 
THE LOST GRAVE. 1 07 
 
 Perhaps my wand'ring feet have trod 
 
 Their gloomy mansion by ; 
 And still none knew save only God 
 
 The spot I sought was nigh. 
 
 Ah, many mounds around are seen 
 Unmarked by cross or stone, 
 
 And some are robed in living green, 
 And some are all o'ergrown 
 
 With blooming vines of snowy sheen 
 
 But all to me unknown ! 
 
 
 
 But O, tho' I should never know 
 
 Where his dead ashes lie, 
 And wand'ring vainly to and fro, 
 
 Unknowing pass them by, 
 It is His will it should be so, 
 
 Who knoweth more than I. 
 
 Thy stars that burn in midnight's pall 
 Shall guard his lonely sleep, 
 
 As angel-eyes that over all 
 
 Their watch and ward do keep ; 
 
 And on his grave, at evening, fall 
 The dews, the tears, they weep. 
 
io8 THE MOTHER'S CROSS. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S CROSS. 
 
 In the* twilight gray and cheerless 
 
 Knelt a mother in despair ; 
 Yet her eyes were dry and tearless, 
 
 And her lips moved not in prayer. 
 Tho' her darling lay before her, 
 
 drilling 'neath death's icy dart, 
 Waves of maddened passion tore her 
 
 Proud yet warm and loving heart. 
 " Darling," cried she, "must I lose thee, 
 
 Round whose heart my heart-strings twine? 
 Never ! never ! death may choose thee 
 
 Never take thee ! thou art mine ! " 
 
 At the word in royal splendor, 
 
 And with mien of God-like grace, 
 Stood Messiah, man's Defender, 
 
 Lord and Savior in the place. 
 Fair as in the olden story 
 
 Were His holy features now, 
 But a golden crown of glory 
 
 Shone above his noble brow. 
 
CUSTER'S DEAD. 109 
 
 Swift the mother's anguish staying 
 
 With a smile of love divine, 
 Jesus raised the infant, saying, 
 "I will take him, he is mine." 
 
 In the starlight brightly gleaming 
 
 Knelt the mother in her prayer ; 
 Tears of chastened sorrow streaming 
 
 Down her features worn with care, 
 As she murmured, "He has spoken; 
 
 Who am I that would rebel ? 
 And" her voice grew low and broken 
 
 "Sweet, my darling one, farewell ! " 
 Then in accents meek and lowly, 
 
 But with mien almost divine, 
 "Jesus," said she, "Just and Holy, 
 
 Thou canst take him, he is Thine ! " 
 
 CUSTER'S DEAD. 
 
 Silver the river, lying 
 
 A shining ribbon of glass, 
 
 Tender the zephyrs, sighing 
 
OUSTER'S DEAD. 
 
 In melody as they pass; 
 
 But dark the crimson dyeing 
 Of the torn and trodden grass. 
 
 Bold are the silent faces 
 So mutely turned to the sky. 
 Grand is the look death places 
 In the cold and glaring eye. 
 
 Graced with the nameless graces 
 Of a hero's fall they lie. 
 
 There with the stained grass twining 
 Its green o'er his lifeless eyes, 
 There with the sunlight shining 
 On his long locks' golden dyes, 
 
 Noble in death reclining, 
 The pride of the army lies. 
 
 Lies with his heroes round him, 
 Warriors loyal and trie'd; 
 Living, their hearts had bound him 
 With the soldier's loving pride ; 
 
 Dying, the wreath that crowned him 
 Was twined for their brows beside. 
 
 Where are the steeds who bore them 
 To strife and their death that day ? 
 Their banner streaming o'er them, 
 
ROSABEL. HI 
 
 Their spirits hot for the fray; 
 
 And that wild heart before them, 
 Leading in glory the way. 
 
 Stark and stiffened and gory, 
 With lifeless nostril and eye, 
 Sharing their riders' glory 
 In fallen beauty they lie : 
 
 Dumb heroes of a story 
 Whose memory ne'er shall die. 
 
 Sadly the low wind sigheth 
 O'er fallen valor and worth; 
 All o'er the land there flyeth 
 A wail, a knell to our mirth : 
 
 Stern is the voice that cryeth 
 Aloud from the crimsoned earth ! 
 
 ROSABEL. 
 
 Amid the bower's vernal sheen, 
 B eside the mystic fairy-well, 
 
 Where bends the laurel's glossy green, 
 'Twas there I found her Rosabel. 
 
112 ROSABEL. 
 
 The fair, sweet face I did not know, 
 Yet while her blushes rose and fell 
 
 Beneath my gaze I murmured low 
 In absent accents, "Rosabel." 
 
 A moment and I strolled away, 
 And what it was I cannot tell 
 
 That led me thence another day, 
 
 And brought to meet me Rosabel. 
 
 And every Summer day would bring 
 A longing that I could not quell 
 
 To hasten to the mystic spring, 
 And meet the lovely Rosabel. 
 
 But there ah, me ! we meet no more, 
 And saddest recollections dwell 
 
 About the spot for all is o'er 
 
 Alas ! for thee, poor Rosabel ! 
 
 And oft my wand'ring foot-steps stray 
 Adown yon fair and blooming dell 
 
 To where the weeping-willows sway 
 Above the tomb of Rosabel. 
 
SLUMBER. 113 
 
 SLUMBER. 
 
 Softly, my darling, 
 Sink to thy rest ; 
 Long hath the starling 
 Gone to her nest. 
 
 Over 
 
 The clover 
 
 The night-shadows creep, 
 Softly, my darling, 
 Sink to thy sleep. 
 
 Tenderly, fairest, 
 
 Close thy blue eyes ; 
 Bright with the rarest 
 Azurine dyes. 
 
 Glowing, 
 O'er-flowing, 
 
 With dream-visioned lore - 
 Tenderly, fairest, 
 Curtain them o'er. 
 
 Calmly, my darling, 
 Sink to thy rest ; 
 
IT4 A LAMENTATION. 
 
 Lie like the starling 
 Safe on God's breast. 
 
 Dreaming, 
 His beaming 
 And loving eyes keep 
 Watch o'er thee, darling, 
 Over thy sleep. 
 
 A LAMENTATION. 
 
 Addressed to Messrs. FRANKLIN JUDSON and T. J. BUTTS, 
 upon the marriage of the latter. 
 
 'Tis ended, the contest is ended ! 
 
 The struggle all hopeless is o'er ; 
 At last he has yielded and wended 
 
 His way to the "ever-green shore." 
 Has gone to that land where, before him, 
 
 Another, long faded from sight, 
 , Unseeing the spell weaving o'er him 
 
 Was lost in connubial night. 
 
 He fell, and beside me in sorrow 
 
 This friend knelt and mourned o'er his 
 tomb, 
 
ORGETRIX. 115 
 
 Nor dreamed that the fateful to-morrow 
 
 Would bring to himself the same doom ; 
 
 And O, the vain wisdom of mortals ! 
 Their vision how blinded and dim ! 
 
 Already were Destiny's portals 
 
 Wide open and yawning for him. 
 
 I muse not in anger nor scorning 
 
 O'er this to myself faithless twain, 
 
 But only in tenderest mourning, 
 
 And hope I shall meet them again. 
 
 'Tis true they have left me behind them, 
 And never returning is known, 
 
 And yet it may be I shall find them 
 Some day in the land where they've flown* 
 
 ORGETORIX. 
 
 Orgetorix mortuus est. VI dt Caesar de Bello Gallico. 
 
 No ! look not for a craven's prayer ! 
 
 Talk not of milder doom ! 
 The scorn within my heart could dare 
 
 A death of sterner gloom. 
 And in the past I ne'er did bow 
 
 To gods or men, and will not now ! 
 
Il6 ORGETORIX. 
 
 I own I strove against our land, 
 The land of freedom's birth ! 
 
 I would have crushed with iron hand 
 That freedom low to earth ! 
 
 And on her fallen altar-stone 
 
 Have reared aloft my regal throne. 
 
 I murmur not that I must die, 
 Grieve not o'er ventures lost ; 
 
 My scheme was stern and wild, and I 
 Had counted well the cost. 
 
 Yet, chained and guarded here this hour, 
 I scorn your vengeance and your power ! 
 
 Ye tell me I am doomed to bear 
 The felon's death of flame ; 
 
 But by my father's shade I swear 
 Mine shall not be that shame ! 
 
 Behold this faithful steel ! the key 
 
 To burst my chains and set me free ! 
 
 Ah, judges, now ye know the whole 
 Stand back, O, gallant slave ! 
 
 I would not stain my parting soul 
 With blood of one so brave ; 
 
 But I will free me as I stand, 
 
 And woe to him who stays my hand. 
 
MY DREAM. 117 
 
 One warning word, and then farewell ! 
 
 Helvetia, be it thine : 
 My boding spirit can foretell 
 
 The vengeance to be mine ; 
 When maid and matron, serf and lord, 
 
 Shall fall beneath the Roman sword ! 
 
 MY DREAM. 
 
 I dreamed of one with starry eyes 
 
 And flowing dark-brown hair; 
 With cheeks of blending carmine dyes 
 
 And snowy lustre rare ; 
 Of one, the music of whose tones 
 
 Hath power to lift above 
 My soul unto those heav'nly zones 
 
 Of angel peace and love. 
 
 And while I dreamed my spirit seemed, 
 Entranced to leave the clay; 
 
 And where Aurora's glory beamed 
 Pursued its aerial way. 
 
Il8 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 And on and on, but not alone, 
 
 Her spirit flew before, 
 I held her hand within my own, 
 
 Nor wished, nor willed for more. 
 
 And on we flew thro' gorgeous skies, 
 
 And spoke no word the while; 
 Entranced beneath her burning eyes, 
 
 I dreamed but of her smile ; 
 And longing prayed that in this spell 
 
 Of strange and magic lore 
 My yearning soul in bliss might dwell 
 
 Thus chained for ever more. 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 Go, brother, go ; arise and fly ! 
 
 The foes come swiftly on. 
 I cannot bear to see thee die 
 
 O, brother mine, be gone ! 
 
 Fear not to leave me here alone, 
 The foes hurt not the dead ; 
 
 They'll never hear my dying moan 
 My spirit will have fled. 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 O, brother, haste ! if thou dost fall, 
 
 Then perishes the name 
 Which e'er hath been in camp and hall 
 
 The synonym of fame. 
 
 But kiss me once upon my brow 
 
 A brother's kiss of love ! 
 Perchance our mother sees us now 
 
 From her fair home above. 
 
 And take from 'neath my silken vest 
 
 The lock of golden hair ; 
 It mates the tress upon my crest 
 
 You know who placed it there. 
 
 Take her the curl the shining tress 
 I'll keep till my last breath 
 
 And tell her that I love and bless 
 Her memory in death. 
 
 Nay, weep not, brother, do not mourn, 
 For why should we repine ? 
 
 A soldier's laurels I have borne, 
 A soldier's death is mine. 
 
 But see ! beside yon dashing stream 
 The banners floating high ! 
 
 The foemen's lances flash and gleam 
 O, hasten, brother, fly ! 
 
120 REMORSE. 
 
 O, hasten, hasten ! die not here ! 
 
 Live but my tale to tell ! 
 Live but my darling's heart to cheer 
 
 Go, go ! Farewell, farewell ! 
 
 He's gone, thank God ! His gleaming crest 
 
 O'er-tops the rugged hill; 
 His head is low upon his breast: 
 
 He's yearning for me still. 
 
 Now fainter comes my heavy breath, 
 Cold drops bedew my brow; 
 
 O, darling, darling ! this is death ! 
 Farewell forever now ! 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 O, heaven ! will death never sever 
 
 The bonds of a life that I hate ? 
 O, Father above, wilt Thou never 
 
 Relieve me of this bitter fate ? 
 Never lessen the horrible burning 
 
 Consuming my heart to the core ? 
 And O, is there not a returning ? 
 
 Will innocence own me no more ? 
 
REMORSE. 121 
 
 O, Christ ! Thou art ever painted 
 
 An image of kindness and love ; 
 Men point to Thy countenance sainted 
 
 And tell of the mercy above. 
 Then why are all others forgiven 
 
 And freed from their torture and pain, 
 While I ever onward am driven 
 
 Accursed with the stigma of Cain ? 
 
 Ever on with the blood of a brother 
 
 On my hand a terrible stain ! 
 Ever on with the curse of a mother 
 
 Burning deep into heart and brain ; 
 And a father's eyes stony and glaring 
 
 Ever fill me with terrible fear, 
 And the shriek of a sister despairing 
 
 Ever rings like a knell in my ear ! 
 
 And onward I wander, forever 
 
 Like one in a desert athirst 
 Calling death. O, God ! will he never 
 
 Come to relieve the accursed ? 
 Is there in man's knowledge no potion 
 
 Can give the oblivion I crave ? 
 Ah, no ! and from ocean to ocean 
 
 Is no spot for a fratricide's grave ! 
 
122 THE OCEAN-QUEEN. 
 
 THE OCEAN -QUEEN. 
 
 Far, far the ocean-depths below, 
 Where snowy pearls and rubies glow, 
 And slender corals to and fro 
 
 Move in unceasing motion, 
 She sits upon a throne of gold, 
 Like some majestic queen of old, 
 And crowned with gems of price untold, 
 
 The fairy queen of ocean. 
 
 Within her slender, snowy hand 
 
 She holds a gemmed and jewelled wand 
 
 The royal emblem of command 
 
 From ages old in story 
 And nymphs of loveliness divine, 
 With all the shapes that haunt the brine, 
 All, all obey that royal sign, 
 
 And bow before her glory. 
 
 The sun ne'er gilds her palace-wails, 
 His rays ne'er gleam within her halls, 
 And on the pave no shadow falls 
 
 To dim the jewels' gleaming; 
 
THE OCEAN -QUEEN. 123 
 
 But from the mimic caves and cells, 
 And from the gleaming coral-bells, 
 A light conjured by magic spells 
 
 In golden rays is streaming. 
 
 No lovely meadows sloping green, 
 No bending flow'rs of modest mien, 
 Without the palace-walls are seen 
 
 In beauty soft and tender ; 
 In coral grove, in coral glade, 
 Mid gleaming light or gloomy shade, 
 Are flow'rs that never, never, fade, 
 
 But bloom in endless splendor. 
 
 No bird of earth or heaven sings, 
 
 No earth-born minstrel sweeps the strings, 
 
 Nor earthly music ever rings 
 
 Within these ocean-bowers. 
 But from the sea's unfathomed wells, 
 And from the rainbow tinted shells, 
 A strain of wondrous beauty swells 
 
 Thro' all the endless hours. 
 
 The queen a wild tradition saith 
 She tastes not food, she breathes not breath, 
 And ne'er comes age, nor pain, nor death, 
 Within her palace-portal ; 
 
124 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 She sits upon her golden throne, 
 As she hath sat for time unknown, 
 While years fly on as years have flown, 
 Undying and immortal. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 Good night, my love, good night, good night ! 
 The moon is soaring high and bright, 
 And wraps the earth in softest light 
 Good night, good night, my love, good night ! 
 
 Good night, and happy, happy dreams ; 
 More silv'ry than .the moonlight beams, 
 And softer than the play of streams, 
 Good night, good night, and happy dreams. 
 
 Good night, good-night, O dream of me ! 
 For night and day I dream of thee ; 
 For day and night one form I see 
 'Tis only thine ! O, dream of me. 
 
 Good night, my own, good night, good night ! 
 Thy image fadeth now from sight ; 
 
FISHING. 125 
 
 And on the earth seems fall'n a blight, 
 My own, my own, good night, good night ! 
 
 FISHING. 
 
 Tis cosy here, and really nice, 
 
 The air with sweet perfume is scented ; 
 
 And if 1 can those fish entice 
 
 To take my bait, I'll be contented. 
 
 How clear the water is ! I see 
 Far downward, almost to the bottom ; 
 And lots of fish, but woe is me ! 
 Because, because I haven't got 'em. 
 
 i 
 But never mind ; here comes a chap, 
 
 Red, green, and slightly specked with yellow ; 
 He sees the bait, and now then snap ! 
 Hurrah ! I've got you, my fine fellow ! 
 
 Why ! how? O, hang it ! this is fine ! 
 That thief my bait and hook has gotten ; 
 And there he goes ! who'd think that line 
 Could ever be so awful rotten ? 
 
126 FISHING. 
 
 Holloa ! there's some one over there 
 I hear him ; what's 'he doing? laughing? 
 By jove ! at me? he'd best take care ! 
 I'm in no humor to stand chaffing. 
 
 Ah, now I see a boyish head, 
 Complexion browner than a digger's ; 
 A little more and I'd have said 
 The "phiz" was blacker than a " nigger's." 
 
 He saw that broken line I fear, 
 
 His very limbs with laughter wriggle. 
 
 O, if I had him by the ear 
 
 How soon I'd stop his senseless giggle ! 
 
 Holloa ! he's come down to the shore ; 
 And " Mister," says he, " say, you'd oughter 
 Jest try yer fishin' line before 
 Ye^drop the hook down in the water ! " 
 
 And now he laughs and runs away ; 
 Just see the little rascal waddle ! 
 Confound his " cheek ! " yet I must say 
 There's some sound sense within his noddle. 
 
 What now ? a boat ? O, woe on woe ! 
 A boat with splashing oar and paddle ! 
 They'll scare the fish ah, there they go ! 
 Well, well, I think that I'll " skeedadle." 
 
A FRAGMENT. 127 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Thro' the window-lattice twining 
 Rays of moonlight, silver-shining, 
 Fall upon the maid reclining 
 
 'Neath the silken pall. 
 Matchless figure, fair and slender, 
 Faultless features, sweet and tender, 
 Bathing all in shining splendor, 
 
 Faultless features, form and all. 
 
 Face the fairest, 
 . Form the rarest 
 Ever seen before, 
 Rarest form and fairest features 
 Ever seen 'mong living creatures i 
 
 Since her snowy pinions bore 
 From this earth so mean and lowly, 
 Wicked, sinful, and unholy, 
 
 Venus, queen of grace and love* 
 To the brighter realm above ; 
 To the heaven high and holy, 
 
 To the holy place above. 
 
128 CLAN-RONALD. 
 
 CLAN - RONALD. 
 
 The prison re-echoed the soldiery's tread, 
 And clanking and clanging the iron bars fell, 
 And haughtily bending his arrogant head 
 The magistrate entered the prisoner's cell. 
 A moment he gazed in the warrior's face, 
 Searching, in vain, for a symptom of fear, 
 Then mockingly bowing with courtier grace 
 He said with a baffled yet triumphant sneer : 
 
 "Clan-Ronald, bold traitor, how silent and grim ! 
 Why find I thee lost in thy loneliness' gloom ? 
 No priest by thee praying for mercy for him 
 So righteously named for a traitor's dark doom. 
 Arouse thee, awake ! for the moment has come, 
 And faintly there thrills thro' the walls of thy cell 
 The sound of the deep and the dead-rolling drum, 
 And calls to the death thou hast merited well. 
 
 "Still silent, Clan-Ronald? What ails thee? dost 
 
 hear, 
 
 Or hast thou not courage to suffer thy fate ? 
 At last O, my triumph ! I've taught thee to 
 
 fear 
 
WAITING. 129 
 
 Blythe knowledge is this to thine enemy's hate ! 
 Come, coward, arouse thee! I'll lend thee my 
 
 hand," 
 
 And mockingly laughing he bent o'er the bed ; 
 Then sprang back with horror amid his mailed 
 
 band 
 For silent and peaceful Clan-Ronald lay dead ! 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 " A simple village tale 
 Of a lost seaman and a crazed girl." 
 
 BULWER ; The Rightful Heir 
 
 Shading her straining eyes with her hand 
 She sits alone on the pebbly strand, 
 
 Gazing out over the sea ; 
 And moans aloud again and again, 
 And says in a tone of yearning pain, 
 "He comes not: woe is me ! " 
 
 Sometimes to the blue and vaulted skies 
 Rising above her she lifts her eyes, 
 
 In anguished appeal from the sea ; 
 
130 WAITING. 
 
 And wringing her hands with tears and moans 
 She murmurs in low, heart-rending tones, 
 "He comes not: woe is me !" 
 
 She watches each ship with snowy sail, 
 As driven before the gentle gale, 
 
 They come sailing over the sea; 
 And with hopeful fire her dark eyes beam, 
 Yet still doth she wring her hands and scream, 
 "He comes not: woe is me !" 
 
 Above her head in his circling flight 
 Doth hover the sea-gull purely white, 
 A watcher like her of the sea ; 
 But noting him not, tears fall like rain, 
 Moaning she weeps and murmurs again, 
 "He comes not: woe is me ! " 
 
 Up over the sands with ceaseless beat 
 The water rushes and laves her feet, 
 
 Caressed by the waves of the sea; 
 She knoweth it not, but thinks alone 
 Of grief and repeats her wailing moan, 
 "He comes not: woe is me !" 
 
 Sometimes she springs from her rocky seat, 
 And paces the strand with hasty feet, 
 Along by the side of the sea; 
 
DEATH-LIFE. 131 
 
 Wringing her hands and tearing her hair 
 She cries in a voice of mad despair, 
 "He comes not: woe is me !" 
 
 And thus with passions and pangs that yearn, 
 In hope and dread she waits his return : 
 The boy who was lost on the sea; 
 Sometimes in tenderest woe she moans, 
 And sometimes screams in agonized tones, 
 "He comes not; woe is me !" 
 
 DEATH -LIFE. 
 
 Tho' thou art gone it ever seems 
 
 As if thou still wert here ; 
 For oft in day or night time dreams 
 
 I feel thy presence near. 
 I know that thou art by my side 
 
 From earliest morning dawn 
 Until the grim and dark night tide,- 
 
 And art thou surely gone? 
 
 I see thee in my nightly dreams, 
 So sweet, so angel fair; 
 
DEATH-LIFE. 
 
 Thine eye with love's soft glamour beams, 
 
 Thy step seems light as air. 
 But if I try to clasp thy form, 
 
 Or kiss thy lips so pure, 
 Thou fad'st like snow 'neath sunshine warm, 
 
 Too lovely to endure. 
 
 And waking oft in yearning pain, 
 
 I call in vain for thee; 
 And sigh for sleep and dreams again 
 
 To bring thee back to me. 
 And while I longing, dreaming, lie, 
 
 The night hours waste away, 
 And fainting stars forsake the sky, 
 
 Before the lord of day. 
 
 But O, when these, my earthly eyes, 
 
 Are closed in that last sleep 
 That sleep o'er which the poet sighs 
 
 And man is prone to weep 
 I know that thou wilt bend above 
 
 The couch whereon I lie, 
 And teach me with thy kiss of love 
 
 How sweet 'tis thus to die. 
 
BLACK POINT MUSINGS. 133 
 
 BLACK -POINT MUSINGS. 
 
 I am dreaming, Allie, dreaming, 
 
 While the billows thunder by, 
 And the golden sun is gleaming 
 
 Low adown the western sky, 
 Dreams of rapture so elysian 
 
 Human longing ne'er can cloy, 
 And the pinions of my vision 
 
 Waft me more than angel joy. 
 
 Here upon the bare rock lying, 
 Surges raving at my feet, 
 
 Snowy froth of foam up-flying 
 From their never-ending beat, 
 
 Dusky mouths of sullen iron 
 
 Gleaming dark and dread above, 
 
 Comes a voice of ocean siren 
 
 Breathing strains of mystic love. 
 
 And as slowly, slowly, o'er me 
 
 Falls the dim and mystic dream 
 
 Riseth from the waves before me 
 One as fair as angels seem ; 
 
134 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 And I feel her spell enthralling 
 Pressing all my sense upon, 
 
 While the walls of earth are falling, 
 Slowly falling, falling, gone ! 
 
 Rolling billows, thunder-laden, 
 
 Soon have burst the wondrous spell. 
 And the siren seems a maiden 
 
 Known in truest friendship well ; 
 While the waves, amid the seething 
 
 Murmur of their bosom's moan, 
 Sound a name that, softly breathing, 
 
 Wakes an echo in my own. 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 From the German of Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 In ages old and ancient shone a castle great and 
 
 grand, 
 A shining pile of splendor, to the blue-girt ocean 
 
 strand, 
 Enwreathed with fragrant gardens of bewildering 
 
 perfume, 
 
THE MINSTRELS CURSE. 135 
 
 Wherein the fountains leaped and played in rain- 
 bow-tinted bloom. 
 
 A mighty and renowned king this castle claimed 
 
 his own, 
 And therein reigned in gloom and dread upon a 
 
 tyrant's throne ; 
 His every thought was terror and his glances black 
 
 with hate, 
 His every word was torture and his pen the sword 
 
 ffate ' Bancroft Library 
 
 There came once to this castle's gate a noble min- 
 strel pair, 
 
 And one had flowing locks of gold and one had 
 hoary hair ; 
 
 The ancient, bearing high the harp, a noble steed 
 bestrode, 
 
 The youth pressed on with joyous step beside him 
 as he rode. 
 
 The gray-beard spoke unto the youth : " My son, 
 the hour is nigh ; 
 
 Remember all the solemn strains that in thy pow- 
 ers lie ; 
 
 Let melting grief and rapture blend within thy 
 thrilling tone, 
 
 That we, please heaven, yet may move the mon- 
 arch's heart of stone." 
 
136 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 And soon within the castle hall the minstrel-twain 
 
 were seen, 
 Before the throne whereon reposed the monarch 
 
 and his queen ; 
 And he, Aurora-like, in robes of bloody crimson 
 
 gleams, 
 And she with brow of tender light, as of the moon's 
 
 soft beams. 
 
 The old man twined his master-hand the shining 
 
 chords among, 
 The music swelled, and ever more and more 
 
 divinely rung ; 
 And soared aloft the stripling's voice with heavenly 
 
 strength and fire, 
 While the master sang amid it like a muffled 
 
 spirit-choir. 
 
 The minstrels sang of spring and love, of happy, 
 golden days, 
 
 Of valor and of liberty, of holiness and praise. 
 
 They sang of all and every joy that thrills the mor- 
 tal breast, 
 
 Of all that lifts the human heart, the lofty and the 
 blest. 
 
 The hollow-hearted courtier throng forgot each 
 scoff and jeer; 
 
THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 137 
 
 The sternest of the men-at-arms raised upward 
 
 eyes of fear ; 
 With tears of rapture and of grief the fair queen's 
 
 eyes o'erflowed, 
 As from her breast the rosebud on the minstrel she 
 
 bestowed. 
 
 "My people thou hast tempted ; wilt now allure my 
 bride?" 
 
 In trembling and in frenzied wrath the raging 
 monarch cried. 
 
 He hurled his sword ; it flashing pierced the strip- 
 ling where he stood, 
 
 When started forth, not floods of song, but crimson 
 tides of blood. 
 
 The list'ning throng dispersed in fear as scattered 
 
 by the storm, 
 And in his master's arms reposed the minstrel's 
 
 lifeless form, 
 He bound the mantle-shrouded corse upon the 
 
 charger tall, 
 And led the steed and burden dread without the 
 
 castle wall. 
 
 And there, before the lofty gate, the hoary minstrel 
 stayed ; 
 
138 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 There grasped his priceless harp the pearl of 
 
 all that man had made 
 And crushed it there with frenzied force upon the 
 
 shining stone, 
 And wildly through the court and hall rang out 
 
 his awful tone : 
 
 "Woe ! woe to you, ye haughty halls ! May never 
 
 minstrel strain, 
 In music or in song, resound throughout your walls 
 
 again ! 
 But only fearful sighs and groans, and trembling 
 
 tread of slaves, 
 Until destruction whelms you all beneath her 
 
 Venging waves ! 
 
 "Woe to you, gardens blooming 'neath May's sun- 
 shine soft and mild ! 
 
 For here I show the face disfigured of this murdered 
 child, 
 
 That, beholding, ye may wither, the fountains cease 
 their play, 
 
 And together lie in ruin till resurrection's day. 
 
 " Dark assassin, woe to thee curse to minstrelsy 
 
 and song ! 
 
 In vain for crimson glory shall thy wretched spirit 
 long. 
 
THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 139 
 
 Thy name shall be forgotten, deep plunged in the 
 
 dark unknown, 
 And lost in empty nothing, like the echo of a 
 
 groan ! " 
 
 The hoary seer hath spoken now, the fates accept 
 
 the trust, 
 And walls and halls are lying low, in ruin and in 
 
 dust; 
 But one majestic column stands, emblem of glory 
 
 past, 
 And this may bend its shattered form before the 
 
 midnight blast. 
 
 And now, where once a garden bloomed, behold 
 
 a barren land ; 
 For never tree doth cast a shade nor fountain 
 
 pierce the sand. v - 
 
 The monarch's name is glorified in no heroic 
 
 verse, 
 Abhorred, forgotten, and despised and this the 
 
 minstrel's curse. 
 
140 PLAYING CHESS. 
 
 PLAYING CHESS. 
 
 We sat beneath the chandelier, 
 
 Its splendor streaming o'er us, 
 The gilded chessmen lying near, 
 
 The chess-board placed before us. 
 
 " Shall we grow gray before we play ? " 
 
 Cried blue-eyed Cousin Lily. 
 " Don't sit there in that stupid way 
 
 It makes you look so silly." 
 
 I set the board. " Now, Cousin Lil, 
 
 What say you to investing 
 A little cash ? You know it will 
 
 Just make it interesting." 
 
 " Who ever money risks," she cried, 
 
 " On such a game as this is ? " 
 " Well, then, not money," I replied ; 
 
 " Let's play, let's play for kisses." 
 
 She blushed, she laughed, and tossed her head, 
 And then, " How many, cousin ? " 
 
PLAYING CHESS. 141 
 
 And, laughing merrily, I said ; 
 " I'll play for forty dozen ! " 
 
 The game began ; with heedful care 
 
 We marshaled all our forces : 
 King, queens, and bishops all were there, 
 
 And knights at least their horses. 
 
 Though ever as we played away 
 My cousin's hope grew slighter, 
 
 Yet after every losing play 
 
 She smiled and blushed the brighter. 
 
 And when at last the game was done, 
 
 This game for stakes so funny 
 When I these funny stakes had won, 
 
 More precious far than money- 
 Why, then but no, I'll hold my hand ; 
 
 I will not tell it never ! 
 I. swore to keep it secret, and 
 
 I will for aye and ever. 
 
XV-