^Hj 7ES h\J T ARBURTOJHURTLEF GIFT OF Mrs. Emepsson Po E-MS BY ERNEST WARBURTON SHURTLEFF h WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH BOS TON' ' A. WILLIAMS AND COMPANY Itr Corner ISoofetore 1883 Copyright, 1882, BY ERNEST WARBURTON SHURTLEFF. UNIVERSITY PRESS : JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. Co TN morning* s golden smile there is a power That gives a music to the songster's tongue, That opens every dew-bespangled flower, Where, like embodied joys on wings of pleasure hung, The butterflies, bright spirits of the glowing hour, Drink the sweet nectar from the cups of Fiord's bower, And fall like drifting leaves the daisied nooks among. If of the early verses that have grown Like wild flowers, petaled with but simple thought, From out my mind, there be one that is shown To bear such form and hues as Nature's brush has taught, If but the shadow of a butterfly be known Upon my page, or song of bird, are they my own ? Lo ! from my mother's smile, like mornings, they were caught ! M44465 CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION 9 CONSOLATION 15 THE RAINBOW . 35 A DREAM OF CHILDREN 38 GOLD AND SHADE 41 THE BRIGHT REAPER 43 SONG OF AUTUMN 45 THE SLEEPING SHEPHERD 48 GRANDMOTHER 50 OCTOBER 52 MORNING AND EVENING 54 CUPID AT THE GATE 57 To A CLOUD 61 LITTLE SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE GLADE 64 THE NIGHTINGALE .68 6 CONTENTS. PAGE HYMN OF THE DEEP 72 AUTUMN COLORS 77 MINUTE SONGS . . 80 SUMMER MORNING 84 A WINTER SCENE 86 To THE EVENING STAR 89 THE SHADOW-BOATMAN 91 NIGHT 96 "VOICES OF THE NIGHT" 98 HIDDEN Music 101 A VISION OF Music . 102 THE WINTER PILGRIM 108 SONNETS. IN THE W T OODS 117 MY PLAYMATE nS OUT OF THE DARK 119 THE MEMORY OF PLEASURE 120 A PORTRAIT 121 BY THE FIRESIDE 122 LIFE AND DEATH 123 CONTENTS. 7 PAGE ALONE 124 DREAMLAND 125 IN WAVERLEY 126 MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT 127 SUMMER IN WINTER 128 THE SNOWSTORM 129 SUNSET 130 A HOPE 131 BY THE SEA 132 To A CAPTIVE BIRD . . 133 THE SKIES 134 A RAINY NIGHT IN THE CITY 135 A WINTER NIGHT IN NEW HAMPSHIRE 136 SOUL HARMONY 137 To SLEEP 138 SCULPTURE 139 LIGHT AND SHADOW 140 To SILENCE 141 INTRODUCTION. HE poems' between these covers might not inaptly be termed a bouquet of wild flowers plucked by a young hand. Most of them have the colorings of nature, and breathe of the woods and fields. They were written by a young author, between seven- teen and twenty years of age, some of them amid the duties of school-life in the city, but many of them in vacation days, among the woods and hills near the old Waverley Oaks in Waltham. Most of the short poems have appeared in periodicals. Their collection in permanent form has been advised by the editors of the publications in which they have appeared. So many of our poets belong to the purely imaginative school, that it has been pleasing to encourage a young artist, working on the models of the old English pastoral poets, and whose studio, like Bloomfield's and Clare's, has been among the fields, birds, and flowers. These poems have given pleasure to the editors who have 10 INTRODUCTION. accepted them, and to those who have read them, because they are believed to be true to nature, vividly to recall the greenery of the hills and the music of the birds and streams, and delicately to interpret the voice and spiritual symbols of the world of beauty around us. The fine and subtile spirituality of thought and, feeling that follows the study of nature is an influence that lifts the soul into clear views of life's possibilities and purposes. The lark, that rises over the woodlands to sing, poises its wing in an intenser light than falls upon the earth, and is made happy in a brighter and wider atmosphere. If a man would become an artist, was the teaching of Wash- ington Allston, let his associations be true, for Nature does not reveal her mysteries to a mind clouded by any shadow that breaks her light. The society of nature leads to spiritual habits of thought. In this Palace of Truth, in these gardens of the Celestial Temple, one is able to penetrate many of the mysteries of spiritual life and happiness. In this treasury one may find the gold of God. Keats not only found his soul drawn heavenward by such communion, but even imagined he could feel the daisies growing over him. And another poet, who loveth the woods, fields, and skies, exclaimed " The stars are but the shining dust Of my divine abode, The pavements of those heavenly courts Where I shall dwell with God." INTRO D UCTION. 1 1 The pastoral poetry of England is one of the best influences of literature, and much of it has been written by young pens. The most cordial wishes for success will follow the young writer whose taste leads him to this healthful school. " A writer who makes this school of poets his model," said an editor of experience, " should, if he have promise, receive the most cordial appreciation." For these reasons the friends of the young author of this volume have asked that these flowers of verse be collected, and pressed between these covers, that the pleasure that they have taken in them may be shared by others of like sentiments and tastes. HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. BOSTON, November, 1882. POEMS. 9 POEMS. CONSOLATION. A POEM OF LIFE. PROLOGUE. HEN through the breaking clouds the glorious sun Presages that the course of storms is done, And, from his clearing throne of azure bright, Floods ether's boundless fields with streams of light, How gently steals his flush along the glade, How softly fleets away each dusky shade ! He turns his gaze on Nature's tearful face, And lo, her brow is bright with dazzling grace ! She throws the veil of darkness from her form, And Heaven smiles upon the passing storm ; 1 6 CONSOLATION. While, floating on the mist of distant skies, Like some celestial path to Paradise, c< The arching 'rainbow spans the melting haze, j/;A^d, lifts. on. high its pure celestial rays. Thus Consolation, with a hallowed power, Dispels the storm of Life's tempestuous hour, Lifts every shade of sorrow, lulls the fears, And smiles upon the cloud of melting tears, Till Hope, the rainbow, glows with promise bright, And gilds the Future with a smile of light. PART FIRST. WHATE'ER our earthly lot, whate'er our fame, More days have we than happiness can claim ; In every life is found some lingering shade, On every heart some burning load is laid. As fades the sweetest flower for want of rain, CONSOLATION. 1 7 So without sorrow lives the soul in vain. More cares than pearls bedeck the monarch's throne ; Who smiles in public, weeps when he 's alone. And yet a purpose glorious and wise In every transient joy or sorrow lies ; Know then that He, whose wisdom is His might, Has framed and planned His noblest work aright. SONG. THE golden promise of the bright to-morrow Sleeps in the midnight skies ; Thus hidden in the depths of every sorrow An unseen gladness lies. Ah blind ! we see not, in the earth's dark bosom, The flower that shall bloom ; Nor heed how Nature's fairest graces blossom Out of the mould and gloom ; 1 8 CONSOLATION. Yet He who fosters earth with all her sweetness, Holds, with unfailing care, O'er our frail lives those laws with equal meetness That make His flowers fair. II. WHY is it that the sweetest songs we hear Draw from the soul the homage of a tear? Does Sorrow thus her burdened mind relieve, Through Pleasure's smiling halls her fears receive ? Or does she paint some picture on the heart That bids the truant tear in secret start ? Ah no ! thus Joy finds language in her tears, The dearest fruit her bower of beauty rears. And by this common tie, this common chain, Our pleasures are united to our pain. As Nature, from the bosom of her fields, The various flowers and weeds together yields, CONSOLATION. As by the thorn the dainty daisy grows, And by the nettle springs the tender rose j So do the hopes and fears of life abide, Like weeds and precious flowers, side by side. To find our pleasure we must pass the thorn, To pluck its sweetness, by the briar be torn. Life is a path that lies 'twixt joy and pain, Now bright with sunny skies, now dark with rain ; E'en in our woe we know that pleasure nears, E'en in our joy our eyes are filled with tears. SONG. IN every tear that falls there is a blessing That gives the heart relief; For Sorrow thus, her own sad soul caressing, Restrains her grief. 20 CONSOLA TION. Yet often where the step of Pleasure lingers The heart's warm fountain flows, While Memory charms her lyre with gentle fingers At evening's close. Flow on, sweet tears ! ye are the dews of gladness, Though ye may spring from grief; And even when ye wash the cheeks of sadness Ye give relief. III. ALAS, our changing hopes in life pursue The object Fancy paints with brightest hue ! She hears the approaching footstep as it falls Along the unknown Future's mystic halls, And paints the scenes her pregnant eyes behold, With stripes of sombre black or streams of gold ; Until delusion, like the butterfly, Unfolds its dazzling wings before the eye, CON SO LA TIOJV. 2 1 And leads the eager heart from place to place, Upon its vain, unprofitable chase. The hope that soars upon the fairest wings Oft to the soul the smallest blessing brings ; And disappointment, with its bitter pangs, Above the ambitious mind forever hangs. From sinking hopes foreboded ills arise, As sinking suns leave darkness on the skies. Ambition leads our hopes, like birds that stray, From many a nest that hangs by home's fair way ; And say, when may those hopes returning come To build again beneath the eaves of home ? This constant striving after dearer things Prunes all affection from their listless wings, They wander homeless in some foreign clime, Like helpless motes tossed on the winds of Time ; 2 2 CONSOLA TION. The distant gales that sweep their native bough Find all their former nests deserted now, And there the rain beats, pitiless and chill, And there the sighing winds are never still. T were better that contentment warm the nest Where only lowly thoughts and wishes rest, Than, leaving, make that humble dwelling bare, And give to Death the sweetest pleasures there. Oh that some simple spirit might infest With sovereign sway the wants of mortal breast ! Oh that the restlessness of man might cease ! Ambition oft is enmity to peace. Where were the beauty in the halls of night Were there no lesser stars with minor light? Where were the beauty in- life's common plan Were there no lowly minds its ways to span? CONSOLATION. 23 SONG. " FLY little Hope ! " I said, " Bring me the flower That in the Future grows, On Pleasure's bower ! " My little Hope took wing, And I sat listening, Till he should hasten back to me once more. I painted in my mind The blossom he would find ; I thought its bosom fair A heart of gold would wear, With pure and snowy pollen sprinkled o'er. But, lo ! my Hope returned With grieving tears ; His fairy body shook With trembling fears ; 24 CONSOLA TION. His tender hand was torn By sharp and cruel thorn. " I could not reach the pretty flower ! " he cried. He crept back to his nest Within my foolish breast, His troubled face in tearful shame to hide. And now I sigh no more for fancied flowers That seem to deck the Future's charming bowers, But with the Present I am satisfied. INTERLUDE. THE lovely things of earth are kindred bound, And in a pure relationship are found. In perfect concord do they greet the soul, And one rich chord of beauty binds the whole. 'T is said misfortunes come in dubious pairs, That each to each a dull resemblance bears. If this be so, 't is also sweetly true That thus do smiling pleasures charm the view. CONS OLA TION. 2 5 : One pleasure from another ever springs, And in rich harmony its gladness brings. And all the good, the beautiful of earth, In concord rise, the race of one sweet birth ! PART SECOND. I. O YE who miss, from out the happy throng That fill the sunny halls of home with song, Some gentle face, some voice whose loving word Is heard no more, unless in memory stirred, O falter not with bitter dread and tears ; Chill not with grief life's ne'er returning years ! Go forth and gaze upon the tender skies ; In Nature's smile God's consolation lies. They whose dear forms no more of earth are known Need not our tears at Heaven's eternal throne. 26 CONSOLATION. SONG. How often, when aweary and faint-hearted, A holy influence of comfort nears, As though the memories of the years departed Like guardian angels came to dry our tears. The old familiar faces rise before us, Bright with the smiles that they were wont to wear ; Again they lovingly seem beaming o'er us, As though with us the weary load to share. Once more we seem to hear the well-known voices, The prattling joy of childhood's guileless tongue, Whose echo soft the listening soul rejoices, Like some sweet chord by distant breezes rung. CONSOLA TION. 2 7 Again we hear the calm low voice of mother, A holy benediction for our pain ; The accents of a sister, or a brother, All charm us with their harmony again. How gently, oh how gently, do they greet us, The echoes of those long-departed days ! How often, oh how often, do they meet us, Those kindly faces smiling on our ways ! Ah, tell me not that Heaven's shining portals Are distant from the paths of earthly care, For I believe the weary feet of mortals Oft stand upon the threshold unaware. And I believe that this which man calls dying Is but the opening of our blinded eyes ; The pluming of the spirit's wings for flying, The garments changed for those of Paradise. 28 CONSOLA TION. II. As crystal lakes portray the changing skies, Till in their depths the scene reflected lies, The dreamy cloud, the star, the shrouded night, The sun that sets in rosy splendor bright, So does the soul, as mirrored in a glass, Reflect the changing scenes that o'er it pass. As one who, standing in some lonely wood, Turns from the gloom and solemn solitude To where, between the spreading boughs, the breeze Admits the flecking sunlight through the trees ; So, from his toil and trouble, man assays On some fair spot to fix his wandering gaze, On some bright prospect, be it far or near, That sweet contagion may his spirit cheer. He toils with natural impulse for the sight That doth with fairest charms his steps invite. CONSOLA TION. 2Q Far, far from self is turned his aching heart, With outward things to heal the inward smart, Till thus, departing from his clouded way, He breaks from darkness to the open day. His spirit there unconsciously reviews The ways of comfort, pauses there to muse Upon the sounds it hears, the sights it sees, Until with sympathetic thought it frees The bondage-troubled soul, and so regains The sunny path it wended e'er its pains. Yet man may never fold his weary hands And reap the comfort that his need demands. He may not bide in idleness, and know That pitying Charity will touch his woe, And from his idle mourning and his grief His sluggish spirit grant its longed relief. No ! Justice holds a fairer rule than this : Who would be happy must deserve his bliss. True comfort is of toil and labor born ; Seek then for consolation, ye who mourn ! 30 CONSOLATION. SONG. THE Past is fleeting Pleasure's quiet grave, Where memories bright like streams of sunlight linger ; Where sleep the good and fair, the true and brave, Where fond Affection points with trembling finger. 'T is there the Spirit of departed years Sings like some distant bird at close of even ; 'T is there dear eyes smile farewells through their tears, As quiet stars shine through the mist of heaven. Oh, shall we then review the Past with sighs, And mourn our loved and lost with pain and weeping? No, for from out its shadow they shall rise Like joyous beings, waking from their sleeping. III. HAST thou e'er climbed the rugged mountains hoar When dreary clouds spread stormy heaven o'er? CONS OLA TION. 3 1 Hast thou e'er climbed the rough and stony way To find above the clouds the smile of day ? So journeyed I. The path was steep to tread, And blinding mists about were thickly spread. Oft was the road nigh buried from the view ; But Hope my faltering steps led safely through. The cheerless clouds were passed. O glorious sight ! Those clear and boundless skies were blue and bright. The sun outpoured his soft celestial rays ; And as I looked below, my raptured gaze Was dazzled with his pure, reflected charms. My soul was hushed, for Beauty's presence calms. The lofty peaks, with features stern and cold, Along their ridges wore a line of gold ; And, where the melting shadows hung below, The clouds were drifted white as sparkling snow. From east to west those depths of floating mist Lay calm as seas 'neath skies of amethyst. 32 CONSOLATION. T is even thus that mortal's rugged path Above the clouds a scene Elysian hath, To which his cares and pains but pave the way, And lead his footsteps to All-glorious Day. SONG. I FOUND a plant in the chilly night ; It pierced me with its thorn. I cried, u It is a worthless weed ! " But lo ! when broke the morn, I found it bore a blossom sweet, That opened with the day ; Then was I glad that in the gloom I cast it not away. Ah ! even in these lives of ours, The plant that bears the thorn, And wounds us in the night, will bloom With gladness in the morn ! CONS OLA TION. 3 3 CONCLUSION. WHEN quiet Eve, through day's departing light, Seeks on the hills her sister- virgin, Night. Her dewy mantle drops its cooling shower Upon the thirsty plain and drooping flower ; Her gentle whisper lulls to sweet repose The weary birdling in the forest-close ; Her drowsy breezes stir the placid lake, Whose heated waters from their calm awake, A moment smile, and then, in slumbers deep, Reflect the Heavens in untroubled sleep. Along their borders, pictured sweetly fair, The graceful trees their images compare. Eve calms the troubled heart in Nature's breast, And brings to earth an eloquence of rest ; Till hill and vale, in beauty spreading far, Sleep in the care of many a dawning star 3 34 CONSOLA TION. And seem in dreams to breathe upon the air The deep contentment of a silent prayer ; Thus Consolation, dear as balmy eve, A vesper holds where weary spirits grieve. She soothes the anxious thoughts to calmer flow ; She stills the faltering tongue that tells of woe ; And all the ills that cloud the busy day At her approach steal noiselessly away. THE RAINBOW. 35 THE RAINBOW. N the amethyst Of the purple mist I float like a dream, Where the cloud's pearly fountain Showers over the mountain Its musical stream. f Like buds on my bosom The sunny beams blossom With petals of light ; Fair-tinted as even, When the arches of heaven With sunset are bright. Oft beings Elysian, In mystical vision, With joy-smiling eyes, 36 THE RAINBOW. Descend by my stair From the palace of air That floats in the skies. They sport in the dews Of my roseate hues, Like the nereids that glide Through the spray-showered caves By the rhythmical waves Of the moon-glowing tide. When the spirit of rest Folds the slumbering west With still shadows deep, And the moon from the pillow Of ocean's low billow Rises from sleep, I tint her soft veil. Translucent and pale With silvery light : THE RAINBOW. 37 While the stars the bright flowers That hang from the bowers Of the garden of night In harmony twinkle, As quiet winds sprinkle Their blossoms with dew ; But I vanish away Ere the whisper of day Stirs heaven's deep blue. Is it strange that my grace Finds the fairest birthplace On the storm's melting shroud ? Thus Paradise bright Opens gates in the light Of Death's breaking cloud ! 38 A DREAM OF CHILDREN. A DREAM OF CHILDREN. OD gives our sleep, but Fancy paints our dreams, And weaves the dusky fabric of our rest With colors caught from wakeful hours, and tints, And shaclowings of sweet reality. Her noiseless hands create from sound and air The fleeting forms, the people of our sleep, Till darkness opens into smiling day, And scenes that charm us with still wonderment. Yet dreams are oft the open books of truth. Rich thoughts do often in their pages lie, Like jewelled pebbles in some quiet stream. The sun may rise and dry the silver rill, And yet the pure white stones unaltered stay ; So thoughts in dreams. Read if there be in mine A DREAM OF CHILDREN. 39 A thought to keep : I stood beside a flood That sang and sparkled on its sinuous way, Like some fair thing rejoicing in its life. The sun broke through the purple east, and clad The towering hills with yellow gold. The birds Grew happy for the light, and sang aloud. And as the breezes, fresh with forest dew. And sweet with kisses pure of opening flowers, Stole whispering by, among the glistening leaves/ I heard a sound, like merry holiday, Float down the stream, and melt away, till lo ! A band of children, beautiful as stars, And numberless as sunbeams, singing songs Of happy hours, came dancing down the shores, And, e'er I knew it, took me by the hand And led me on. Through open fields we passed, Where butterflies rose from the fragrant grass Like living, bright-winged blossoms of the air. Through spreading vales we sped where stately trees, 40 A DREAM OF CHILDREN. Stood clad in all the majesty of years. And on, still on we went, through pleasant scenes, Unweary with the journey, till the sun His parting smile .spent on the rosy clouds, And like still sparks the stars grew into light. Night came and passed, as though some shadowy hand Had blinded day's great eyes, and then straightway Had opened them again. I turned to find The laughing children, but instead I saw A lesser band for some had passed away Of aged men and women ; and I said, " Where are the dear young lives of yesterday? " And one who stood beside me white with years, Made answer : " Yea, it seemeth but a day ! Life is a day whose moments are short years." And then he smiled upon me ; and I said, " Are these then they with whom I stood last eve ? " And he made answer, " These are they." And then I woke and found my cheeks were damp with tears. GOLD AND SHADE. 41 GOLD AND SHADE. AR in the glowing arches of the west, The flaming altars of the evening burn ; And banks of cloud, in sunset glory dressed, Against the hills their dazzling lo.soms turn. -- Through spreading vales the golden splendor streams, By towering pine, and cedars tall and fair ; The lake a flashing sea of glory seems, And sweet with bird-songs is the amber air. The beauty fades ; and one by one the stars, Lone chorists in the chapel halls of night, Gather at quiet heaven's chancel bars, Singing their unheard hymns with faces bright. 42 GOLD AND SHADE. And all is still except the brooks and breeze, That fill with song and whisper low the wood, Where quietly the moon looks through the trees, And dreaming Beauty sleeps in solitude. THE BRIGHT REAPER. 43 THE BRIGHT REAPER. SAW the years, like bright autumnal leaves, Fall on the frosty paths of ages flown ; And there an angel bound them up in sheaves, As one who garners in the fields alone, As one who garners quietly, and sings A song that all the hush with music thrills, While breezes low waft slumber from their wings, And Twilight listens on the lonely hills. Among the leaves, the smiling spirit found, Were some as fair as sun and dew could form ; But there were some her gentle fingers bound, That withered were and sered with rain and storm. 44 THE BRIGHT REAPER. Then I was sad, because I knew that I Had wasted there full many a precious year ; The angel paused in pity at my sigh, And, knowing all my thinking, said with cheer : " Fear not ! the Future still shall bring the leaves, And if thou keepest them but sweet and fair, Then will I sift the withered from my sheaves, And place, instead, the bright and lovely there." In what the angel said I was consoled. I raised my head ; her smile upon me beamed. She passed ; I stood as one who in the cold Awakes, and misses some sweet thing he dreamed. SOWG OF AUTUMN. 45 SONG OF AUTUMN. ||AIL, golden Season, sandalled with the frost And crowned with early stars ! Spirit, whose hand Gathers the fruitage of the seasons lost, And sows with splendor all the glowing land ! Hail, golden Autumn ! hail ! Thy name I sing From joys of earth and sky ! I sing thy name, That burns with Beauty's Heaven-enkindled flame ! Hail, hearty hours, crowned promises of Spring ! Ring out your tunes, O merry brooklets ring ! Be glad, O towering pines, that roar and sound With gales that sweep from ether's farthest bound ! Be glad, for now is joy in everything ! There is a pathos in the Summer's death, That blends with all the beauty of the year ; 46 SONG OF AUTUMN. But there 's a gladness in the Autumn's breath That steals away the mourner's pensive tear, And brightens all the earth in every place. There is no sorrow found on Nature's face, But in the hearts of men who mourn her change, Nor understand her laws. Yet not of this I sing, but of the broad and boundless range Of this bright season's glowing happiness. These are the days when Heaven communes with Earth And paints the sunset on the forest boughs ; When farmer boys, with ringing shouts of mirth, Build up the hay in brown and fragrant mows ; When little, red- cloaked maids drive home the cows, With sweet glad songs heard on the evening hills ; When rivers flash, and droning cider-mills Run over with their juices, pure and sweet, When from the yellow sheaves of golden wheat The merry reaper many a storehouse fills. These are the days when beehives yield their store, SONG OF AUTUMN. 47 And nut-trees, shivering in the chilly winds, Shower down their load upon the forest floor, And many a kernel sweet the squirrel finds. We have been sorrowful ; but now we sing For joy, for now is joy in everything ! These are the days of days that crown the Earth With hope and wealth. Hail, Autumn ; they are thine ! These are the days when hearts beat full of mirth And cheeks grow red and fair, and eyes grow bright, And voices ring out clear, and steps grow light. These are the days ! Hail, Autumn ; they are thine ! 48 THE SLEEPING SHEPHERD. THE SLEEPING SHEPHERD. [JO ! where the dusky Night in beauty smileth O'er Latmos, with her host of mellow beams, Endymion, shepherd of the hills, beguileth His youthful soul in everlasting dreams. O'er Hesper's dewy shrine the pale moon gazes, Diana, reigning goddess of the night, And 'neath her watchful rays the pearly hazes Steal soft away upon their noiseless flight. Her frosty heart grows warm with adoration, She bathes his rosy brow with kisses sweet, And asks of Love the dearest occupation, To guard his slumbers as the hours retreat. No more his lambs from distant vales are bleating ; Her smile has gathered back the wandering fold, THE SLEEPING SHEPHERD. 49 And now as hushed the winged Night is fleeting, She crowns his peaceful brow with beams of gold. And so he sleeps, forever and forever, In one long dream of changeless Paradise ; Yet Time that silent face shall alter never, For youth eternal seals his smiling eyes. Dream on, Endymion ! Dream of hills Elysian ! Nor life nor death shall mar thy sweet repose, For Fancy paints for thee thy mystic vision, Where sleep, like some calm river, ceaseless flows. 4 50 GRANDMOTHER. GRANDMOTHER. EAR Grandmother, there was. no brow more beautiful than thine. Thy loving spirit showed itself in every wrinkled line. The softest word of thy sweet voice bade all our troubles cease ; The gentle look of thy meek eyes was full of faith and peace. Thou wast so patient day by day, so far from drear com- plaining, We never knew when, in thy life, 't was stormy, dark, or raining. We never knew when thou wert sad, for on thy radiant face The features always wore a smile of calm and saintly grace. GRAND MO THER. 5 I We saw no cloud, we found no shade, that told of pain or fear ; * Thy noble heart kept to itself the bitter, secret tear. And well we know that thou didst hide from us thy grief and sorrow ; That thou didst hush thy sighs lest they might cloud our bright to-morrow. O cherished one, we cannot feel that thou art far away. The night of darkness only falls to measure day from day ; And so the shade that hides thy smile, that was of angel worth, Is but the shadow measuring out the Heavens from the earth. God only takes to hold more dear the loved ones he has given : And thou art still our Grandmother, our Grandmother in Heaven. 52 OCTOBER. OCTOBER. ESIDE the meadow bars the lowing cows Gather at fall of eve, with frosty breath. The gold of Autumn gilds the forest boughs. How sweetly charmed is Summer to her death ! The chilly wind sighs round the naked thorn ; The dainty flowers have perished on the glade ; The Eastern star, at close of even born, Shines cold through dewy night's returning shade. But when from morning's gates, at purple day, The smiling spirit of the light returns, And over towering pines the sunbeams play, As broad and bright the day's great censer burns ; OCTOBER. S3 Oh, then there is a glory in the air, Such as the pride of Summer never gave ! A gladdening presence lingers everywhere, That brightens Beauty's pathway to the grave. 54 MORNING AND EVENING. MORNING AND EVENING. SAW the smiling Morn, with dewy cheeks, Rise from the melting shades of fleeting night, And in his early flush of beauty bright Flood earth and all her vales and mountain peaks. The wandering clouds in glowing hues arrayed, Upon their silent wings, Through sunny ether's azure portals strayed Like joyous living things. A thousand songs broke from the vernal woods, A thousand echoes woke the sleeping hills ; Earth sang, and heaven's listening solitudes, Outspreading wide and silent overhead, With joyous spirits seemed inhabited, And gayly rang the glittering mountain rills ; MORNING AND EVENING. 55 And silent from her lone and lofty nest The stately eagle rose with rapid flight, Her proud form .-floating in the golden light, Hope, life, and gladness billowing her breast. II. I saw the mild-browed Eve, with pensive eyes, Sprinkle the noiseless steps of parting day With quiet dew, while shone with distant ray The evening star, upon the darkening skies. A dreamy languor rested o'er the vale, The birds had closed their tune ; Heaven bowed her lovely features, calm and pale, And did with Earth commune. Sound slept the flowers, and drowsy breezes blew With whispers low that stirred each shadowy tree ; Peace o'er the world her balmy curtain drew ; And Night, far sinking through the dusky west, With quiet smile of blessing murmured " Rest ! " And all things seemed to sleep in mystery. 56 MORNING AND EVENING. Then did the pure moon turn her holy gaze Across the convent arches of the night, Like some fair nun, that, with a brow of light, Prays softly, ever smiling as she prays. CUPID AT THE GATE. 57 CUPID AT THE GATE. i]N dreams I saw the pearly gates Of blissful Paradise, Where stood an angel bright as morn, With sacred beaming eyes. Upon his bosom shone a star With light as warm as breath. *T was his to guard those jasper walls His name was Gentle Death. Lo ! as I gazed, fair Cupid came Upon his wings of love, And with a voice that sounded like The coo of some lone dove, 58 CUPID AT THE GATE. He plead, " Pray ope for me the gate ; I '11 roam the world no more ! I 'm weary of the earthly way, My pilgrimage is o'er ! " Then Gentle Death made soft reply (Yet was no entrance given) " Return, thou wayward child, for thou Art needed not in Heaven ! " "And must I then depart?" he grieved. " Thou must," the angel said ; " For all is love in Paradise And yet, be comforted ! " Leave not the Heavenly gate with tears ; But, turning, think how fair The world may be 'neath thy dear reign ; Without it, think how bare ! " CUPID AT THE GATE. 59 Love sadly spread his quivering wings Upon his downward flight, And in my dream I saw him pass Across the silent night. But on his way his mournful face Each moment brighter grew ; His tender eyes, like two fair stars, Shone through their tearful dew. I longed to watch his farther course ; But, ah ! it sometimes seems As though we always woke when in The dearest part of dreams. And thus I woke ; yet, waking, thought How Cupid's task was given To make this barren air of ours More like the breath of Heaven. 60 CUPID AT THE GATE. I thought how holy was the bond Of mortals' faithful love, Since Cupid found his own sweet charm Immortalized above. TO A CLOUD. 6 1 TO A CLOUD. HOU airy thing of snowy mist, Thou spirit child of sun and dew, By every wooing zephyr kissed That stirs the silent ether's blue ! Thou semblance of a pleasure true ! Unconscious thing of beauty rare ; New-born with every changing hue That tints the mild translucent air ! Thou happy, happy thing that knows not earthly care ! 'T was from the soulless seas and streams, * The vales where brooding vapors lay, That thou, with all thy golden dreams Wert born to charm the smiling day. T was from the damp and mouldering clay, 62 TO A CLOUD. Where deathly shades their darkness trace, That thou wert clad in rich array, The blushing bride of Morn's embrace ; And now, God hath not made a thing more full of grace ! Float on ! O heavenly eremite, The purple hills and mountains o'er, That wear the Summer's crowning light On frosty foreheads proud and hoar ! Be glad ! though thou not evermore, In pure delight and glory mild, Shalt roam that blue mysterious shore Where past eternity hath smiled. Rejoice, O airy cloud ! though thou art Death's own child ! Ah, happy me ! My life, like thine, Shall from this earthly darkness rise, For God shall be my Sun divine, And earth shall give me to the skies, TO A CLOUD. 63 My soul shall that sweet realm apprize, Oh, not like thee to melt away, For they who breathe in Paradise Are dwellers of Immortal Day, And there a pleasure is a joy that lives for aye ! 64 SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE GLADE. LITTLE SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE GLADE. LITTLE schoolhouse in the glade, Where are the children's faces, The band that round your porches played, And ran in merry races ? Where are the footsteps at the door ! The ringing, happy voices ? I listen ; but no more, no more Your hall with song rejoices ; O little schoolhouse in the glade, Gone are the happy voices ! II. O little schoolhouse in the glade, You bring sweet memories to me. SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE GLADE. 65 Once I abcaut your porches played, Ere care or trouble knew me ; Once I, a careless, laughing child, Along your pathway wended, The path that now in grasses wild And tangled weeds is ended ; O little schoolhouse in the glade, Once I that pathway wended ! III. O little schoolhouse in the glade, Your children are departed. They leave your dear old walls to fade ; I bless them, broken-hearted. Your windows small so grim have grown ; Your pleasant ways, so dreary ! You stand like one who, left alone, Awaits death sad and weary ; O little schoolhouse in the glade, Your ways have all grown dreary ! 66 SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE GLADE. IV. little schoolhouse in the glade, I knew the happy faces ; 1 knew the band that laughed and played, And ran in merry races. Some roam the world as poor as you, And some know sorrow never ; And one, my joyous boyhood knew, Sleeps on the hill forever ; But, little schoolhouse in the glade, Some think of sorrow never ! V. O little schoolhouse in the glade, The wintry winds may shake you ; Yet all the scars by seasons made Shall only fairer make you. SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE GLADE. 67 My heart shall ever hold you dear ; You live on Memory's pages, A name that calls a happy tear, And many a pain assuages ; O little schoolhouse in the glade, You lighten Memory's pages ! little schoolhouse in the glade, If it be true that Heaven Contains the joys of earth that fade, With all that hope hath given, 1 know that I shall find you there, With all your happy voices, And see your merry faces fair, W T here every tongue rejoices ; O little schoolhouse in the glade, Safe are the happy voices ! 68 THE NIGHTINGALE. THE NIGHTINGALE. A REFRAIN. night as I wandered alone through the wood, I heard, from the depths of the still solitude, The voice of the nightingale, pensive and low As the purl of a fountain in soft overflow. Enraptured I paused, and the moon's mellow sheen Stole tranquilly down through the foliage green, Till the slumbering shadows awoke from their dreams, And duskily skirted the pure silver beams. Aweary, I seated myself by the way, On a moss- covered log, with its cushions of gray. From the shades that embosomed a neighboring tree The Nightingale sang his sad story to me ; THE NIGHTINGALE. 69 And the passing breeze, swaying the bushes apart, Bore the low, plaintive notes to the depths of my heart ; While the valley repeated the close of each strain With a soft modulation and sob-like refrain. I. " The beautiful lily That grew in the vale Has closed its dear eyes, And its sweet face is pale. The tall ferns bend over And whisper in vain, For ne'er may the flower Make answer again. Its petals are folded, and bowed is its head : O sorrow ! O sorrow ! The lily is dead ! " The low echoes murmur, " The lily is dead ! " 70 THE NIGHTINGALE. II. " No more may my singing Its sweet raptures woo ; No more on its bosom Shall glisten the dew ; No more shall the butterfly Whisper his love, As he hovers and sways On his bright wings above ; No more shall the bee with its kisses be fed ; O sorrow ! O sorrow ! The lily is dead ! " The low echoes murmur, " The lily is dead ! " III. " The stranger that wandered ^ At eve through the wood Has taken the joy Of its deep solitude. THE NIGHTINGALE. 71 His passing foot trampled The blossom of snow, And crushed the fair flower That God made to grow. Now silent it droops by the brook's mossy bed ; O sorrow ! O sorrow ! The lily is dead ! " The low echoes murmur, " The lily is dead ! " A mournful hush fell on the listening vale When the grieving bird finished his sorrowful tale. But ah ! as the breeze swayed the bushes apart, His song from the distance stole back to my heart ; And the trees seemed to whisper that rustled o'erhead, " O breezes blow softly ! The lily is dead ! " I returned to the brooklet, and close on its bank I saw where the delicate lily-bell sank : And I knew 't was the fall of my own idle feet That had taken the life of the flower so sweet ; And gently I lifted its fair drooping head, And prayed, "God forgive me ! Thy dear flower is dead." 72 HYMN OF THE DEEP. HYMN OF THE DEEP. BEAR, O man, upon my swell The echoes of forgotten ages ; My waves have tolled the solemn knell Of ancient kings and early sages. The crags and rocks along my shore, The ever stern and ponderous bowlder, Are old, ten thousand years and more, But I, O man, than all am .older. Earth once with darkest gloom was cast ; Lo ! when the lurid clouds were riven, My surging waves were tossing fast Beneath the arching brow of heaven ! HYMN OF THE DEEP. 73 I bore upon my grand, cold breast The first glad light of Nature's morning ; And God my host of waters blest Ere Eden heard the voice of warning. Through all the lapse of fleeting years, Through war and through the world's upheaval, Through nations' joys and nations' tears, I echo still the voice primeval. The angry storms o'erhead may beat, And loud and long may peal the thunder ; Yet, though the stars in heaven retreat, And hide away in awe and wonder, Lo ! I but laugh and throw my spray, Till toward the lowering sky it tosses, And love to watch the lightning play, As through the darksome night it crosses. 74 HYMN OF THE DEEP. I strive with all the winds that blow, And often do I roar the loudest ; The raging storms are proud, yet know That I am mightiest and proudest. They seek to lift me from my bed, But I with deepest scorn deride them ; They howl in wrath above my head, But with my hissing foam I hide them. The sea-birds dart away in fright, But my calm heart is brave and fearless ; I glory in the awful sight, And in the darkness wild and cheerless. No earthly power can conquer me, And none from me my strength can sever ; As I was born, so shall I be, Unaltered and unconquered ever. HYMN OF THE DEEP. 75 O man ! some call me cruel Sea, And look on me with sighs and weeping ; And some bring all their woe to me, And trust their future to my keeping. Some life-worn souls seek out my waves To bury burning shame and trouble ; * And no eye knows their lonely graves, As o'er the spot my waters bubble. The sailor lad with youthful brow, The monarch in his perished glory, The lisping babe, so silent now, The aged man whose hair is hoary, All these within my depths I hold, Unconscious of my rush and beating, Mid useless heaps of pearl and gold That make a surA of no repeating. 76 HYMN OF THE DEEP. O man ! I bear upon my swell The echoes of forgotten ages ; My waves have tolled the solemn knell Of ancient kings and early sages. My flood shall beat the march of time, As slow the measured years are passing ; From pole to pole, from clime to clime, My wealth shall ever be amassing. My tides shall hold their ancient reign, Till God say unto uie, " O Ocean, Thy longer life to me were vain ! " And hush my voice and calm my motion. Then break, O Deep, along thy shore, Obedient to thy King Supernal ! Break on, break on forevermore, Thou semblance of the Sea Eternal ! AUTUMN COLORS. 77' AUTUMN COLORS. I. pIKE tasselled spears of yellow gold, At Autumn's ruddy tide of eve, Between the forest and the wold, The full, rich grain stands ripe to sheave The slanting sunbeams interweave The shining straws with quiet light, Till day's departing spirits leave The fading cloudlets soft and white, Like fleecy foam on starry seas of night. II. The maple boughs, with ruby hues, Reflected lie in crystal streams, 78 AUTUMN COLORS. And shine and flash with sparkling dews When day returns from frosty dreams. The sky, so blue and cloudless, seems The arch of some celestial way, Which leads to that bright spot that teems With spirits passed from earthly day, Who, entering once, remain in joy for aye. III. The lofty pine unaltered stands, And like a king with noble mien, Who in his very form commands Uplifts its haughty plume of green, And reigns triumphant in the scene. And though the wintry season falls, And rough gales sweep its boughs between, It roars through Autumn's forest halls, And answers every clarion tongue that calls. AUTUMN COLORS. 79 IV. When sun and frost have wrought their spell, And earth reveals her fairest charm, Then Beauty breathes her sad farewell And sinks to rest on Winter's arm ; Her pure, glad smile, so bright, so calm, Fades with the falling of the leaves, And Nature stands with outstretched palm, As one, who asking, naught receives, And through the gathering darkness roams and grieves. 8o MINUTE SONGS. MINUTE SONGS. ON THE BEACH. SIMPLE cottage on a shore ; Two children by the door at play ; A sinking sun, a closing day, That fades the rosy waters o'er : Two fishers drawing up the beach A boat beyond the breakers' reach ; At sea, a lighthouse towering high A snowy pillar 'gainst the sky. II. HOME, SWEET HOME. A HOMESTEAD old, and in the door A grandame smiling in her sleep ; MINUTE SONGS. 8 1 Three kittens rolling in a heap A ball of worsted on the floor ; A window where a child's bright eyes Are gazing upward at the skies ; While through the trellis and the vines The dreaming sunlight softly shines. III. A STILL HOUR. A NIGHT thrice sweeter than the day, With skies like purple velvet dark, And flecked with many a glistening spark Of stars, and mist-like milky way. A songless night-bird floating through An open space between the woods, With wings as noiseless as the dew That falls on leafy solitudes. 6 82 MINUTE SONGS. IV. AT HARBOR. AN open bay : blue skies, and clouds White as the foam that crests the sea ; Great vessels anchored quietly, With sailors working at the shrouds ; Gulls wheeling o'er the sparkling brine, Like snowflakes drifting in sunshine ; A graceful yacht seen far away, With open sail and streamers gay. V. DAISY. A CHILD whose merry voice beguiles More deftly than .a siren's power ; A mouth that like a tender flower Is ever blossoming with smiles ; MINUTE SONGS. 83 Bright eyes, the stars of four glad years, And pattering feet with music shod ; A child fair as the name she bears, A flower whose sweetness sprang from God. 84 SUMMER MORNING. SUMMER MORNING. LONG the depths of azure, where the gold of morning lies, From rosy- tinted solitudes the snowy vapors rise ; And morning, like a blossom, fills with fragrance earth and skies, And crowns the purple mountain-peaks with light. From the woods I hear the music of the shadow-buried streams, And the joy that fills my bosom, like the song repeated seems. Lo ! every dewy flower like a spirit wakes from dreams. How sweet a world is gathered from the night ! SUMMER MORNING. 85 The dream of morning passes as an inspiration dies ; The light of gladness fades and leaves my joy-illumined eyes; And yet a flood of glory on the smiling valley lies, More bright than when the flames of dawning rose. Down the roadway, green with grasses, where the slanting shadows play, The drover guides his oxen toward the meadows stacked with hay ; Beyond him speeds a river, gemmed with lilies white as spray, And pastured herds are drinking where it flows. 86 A WINTER SCENE. A WINTER SCENE. fjiHE earth is wrapped in one white dream of snow, JM The crescent, like a broken shield of gold, Lies on those purple depths where star-flowers grow, And shines with lambent beams across the wold. O'er far horizon-lines the mountains lift Their crags against the cold, unfathomed sky, Encased with snow in many a marble drift, Like monuments of centuries passed by. Through ghostly forest aisles, where not a leaf Flecks with its emerald green the frosty boughs, The haunting winds, with swelling tales of grief, The frozen trees from heavy dreams arouse. A WINTER SCENE. 87 And sudden, by the moonlight's pallid beams, A band of silent wolves speed though the snow ; As, over sorrow's pillow, troubled dreams From slumber's unknown borders come and go. Far from a distant wilderness of woods The fearless owl laughs at the passing hour ; Then silence broods upon the solitudes, And wraps the midnight in her solemn power. A shadow falls on all the hills around, And hidden is the moon's far-spreading light, As o'er the skies, with all their stars profound, The clouds float by like dreamy swans of night. The shadowy hour melts into purple day ; And, through Aurora's fields of azure air, The crimson stream of morning pours its way, And tints the snowclad hills with colors rare. 8 A WINTER SCENE. And soon, beneath a golden atmosphere, The twinkling crystals of the starry snow Like rainbow-flashing diamonds pure and clear For miles outspread, set all the fields aglow. And sharp and strong the north wind fills the skies, And sifts and smooths the downy seas of white, Till Nature wipes the sorrow from her eyes And smiles to see her world so fair and bright. TO THE EVENING STAR. 89 TO THE EVENING STAR. ESPLENDENT Star ! when through the nightly halls The dewy shade of closing darkness falls, To thee I turn my weary, watchful eyes, To thee my silent thoughts in rapture rise. As pillowed on the soft, translucent haze, Thou charmest nature with refulgent rays, The sister stars thy praises seem to sing, While all the universe is listening. There is a music in the beauteous night, That steals from Fancy's lyre in echoes light, That to the inner sense its note attunes, And with the quiet thought in peace communes. 90 TO THE EVENING STAR. O gentle Star ! soft ray on Night's dark scroll, Thy tender beam thou sheddest on my soul. Thou fillest me with rest ; for lo, through thee, The God of love, my Father, smiles on me ! THE SHADOW-BOATMAN. 91 THE SHADOW-BOATMAN. A BALLAD. I. WAS early morn, the skies were blue, And the breeze was soft and fair, As on the banks of the river I saw A child with sunny hair. Lo ! a boatman hailed her from his skiff, And he cried, " Oh come with me, And I will carry you down the stream, To the boundless, open sea ! " The little maid looked up and smiled : " Farewell, farewell ! " cried she ; And the boatman pushed his bark away, Down the flood toward the open sea. 92 THE SHADOW-BOATMAN. II. I followed along the river's bank, And soon an old man I met ; His hair was gray, his brow was o'ercast, And his cheeks with tears were wet. The boatman hailed him from his skiff, And he cried, " Oh come with me, And I will carry you down the stream, To the boundless, open sea ! " The old man raised his weary head, " Farewell, farewell !" cried he, And the boatman pushed his bark away, Down the flood toward the open sea. III. Again I followed along the bank, Till I saw a beggar forlorn ; THE SHADOW-BOATMAN. 93 His clothes were tattered with many a rent, And his face was haggard and worn. The boatman hailed him from his skiff, And he cried, " Oh come with me, And I will carry you down the stream, To the boundless, open sea ! " The beggar shuffled along to the boat, " Farewell, farewell ! " cried he ; And the boatman pushed his bark away, Down the flood toward the open sea. IV. Once more I followed the gliding boat ; Lo ! a king, with pageant grand, Stood gazing upon the waters deep, That idly lapped the sand. The boatman hailed him from his skiff, And he cried, " Oh come with me, 94 THE SHADOW-BOATMAN. And I will carry you down the stream, To the boundless, open sea ! " Then the king he turned about to his lords : " Farewell, farewell ! " cried he ; And the boatman pushed his bark away, Down the flood to the open sea. V. And silently he plied his oar, As broader grew the stream ; Through the distant haze they melted away, Like a shadow in a dream. But I heard the boatman faintly call, And his tones still echo to me, " Thus carry I all down the silent flood That glides to the open sea ! " THE SHADOW-BOATMAN. 95 VI. Thank God that all go, for so shall all meet Along that beauteous shore ; Thank God that not always we linger with him Who plies his ancient oar. Thank God that Faith hears a sweeter voice call, " All ye weary ones come unto Me ! " Thank God that the boatman ne'er crosses the tide Of the glorious, boundless sea ! 96 NIGHT. NIGHT. ALM Night, with what a silent majesty Thou foldest Nature to thy dewy breast ! Lo ! when along the west the last fair smile Of closing eve in blushing beauty fades, And on the quiet fields of heaven the stars Unfold their beams and blossom into light, Dost thou not breathe thy worship unto God ? And, from the soul-deep hush that folds thy plain, Hold sweet communion with His gentle voice? Oft does the darkness steal upon my way, And gloomy fears, like falling shadows, mar The day-smile of my hopes. O Nature ! teach To me the secret of thy calm, deep trust, That I, like thee, may make the heavy hours Of life dear with the infinite peace of God ! NIGHT. 97 So shall the shades that round my pathway close Fold me as softly and as tenderly As to her breast the silent Night folds thee, And there shall yet be beauty in the gloom. 98 "VOICES OF THE NIGHTS " VOICES OF THE NIGHT." IN MEMORY OF LONGFELLOW. WANDERED where the breezes, sad and light, Stirred softly through the solemn forest dim, And sang, like spirit- voices of the night, Among the leaves their sweet, seolian hymn. Methought I heard their words deep in my soul : It may have been my fancy framed the theme, And gave it to the music as it stole Among the trees, and melted like a dream. They may have been my fancy's words ; but, ah ! They linger in my heart, and ever will ; For, when I listen by the evening star, The calm, sweet ear of memory hears them still. "VOICES OF THE NIGHT." 99 " No more his gentle feet shall wander here ! " So fell the song upon the breathing air ; " No more shall Nature whisper in his ear, The charm that soothes the weary world of care. " The morning dawns and seeks his smile in vain. Earth listens, but his cherished voice is dumb ; And daylight dies, and eve returns again, And darkness falls, and yet he does not come. " No more, no more his feet shall wander here ! " So died the song upon the breathing air ; And through the trees a star shone still and clear, As though to smile its consolation there. I knew of whom the mourning voices sung ; I too had missed his face, with many tears. Ah ! he who bears a blessing on his tongue Knows not how many a listening spirit hears ! 100 "VOICES OF THE NIGHT." And he who sings, beside the way of life, A song dull Sorrow's heart with hope to fill, In Time's broad thoroughfare of toil and strife, Knows not how many mourn when he is still \ HIDDEN MUSIC. IOI HIDDEN j -Mt ? srcr i]AN Summer hear the roses grow? Or hear the dews, like tiny crystal bells, The fairy knell of evening ring? A sound as low as fall of snow To Nature's ear some tale of music tells ; The very stars can hear each other sing. Then Summer hears the roses grow, And hears the dews, like crystal bells, The fairy knell of evening ring. And so the ear of God can hear Our souls grow pure and fair, E'en though our words stir not the air, Nor sign we make unless by smile or tear ; Heaven listens to the earth like one eternal ear ! 102 A VISION OF MUSIC. A VISION OF MUSIC. LANGUOR o'er the weary minstrel stole As in the solitude he swept his strings ; A dream imbued the quiet of his soul A dream of joy and rich imaginings As blissful as the lotus-blossom brings To storm-worn pilgrim cast on foreign isle ; And voices, sweet as Venus' bird that sings At starry hush of Summer's midnight smile, From forms unseen, rose on the breathing calm erewhile. II. Soft echoes melted down the shadowy hills, As though the naiads of the forest streams A VISION OF MUSIC. 103 Had gathered, from their low sad-sobbing rills, To haunt in harmony his listening dreams, Or float with spirit-song beneath the beams Of pale Diana, pensive and alone, Seeking her lover shepherd-boy with themes Of love, till all her gaze enamoured shone, As bright as though a star into a sun had grown. III. The minstrel, wrapped in hushed expectancy, As softly near the pulsing music drew, Turned to the sound, where, in tranquillity, One still star shone the open forest through, Fresh as the curtain of the falling dew. There he beheld a bright, ethereal train Float endlessly from solemn heaven blue, As though those azure portals, parted twain, Had opened earth to Eden's wonderment again. 104 A VISION OF MUSIC. IV. And bands of spirits gathered round him there, With foreheads haloed in revealing light, And smiles as those of sinless children fair, And forms apparelled in a lustrous white. Around the neighboring valley hung the night ; Yet, where they stood, a beauty like the morn Shone o'er the thyme and blossoms dewy-bright, A strange, sweet day that in the night was born, As though a flower should blossom on a leafless thorn ! V. In that celestial host he recognized The spirits of his songs, transformed and fair ! A glad note echoed from his soul surprised -, And when it melted on the pregnant air, Its added angel joined the others there. A VISION OF MUSIC. 105 The songs that he in youth, in age, had sung, In time of joy or sorrow, peace or care, Around him now like glad enchantment hung ; In harmony unearthly pure their music rung. VI. The songs that into silence, Beauty's grave, Had ebbed away as though to sound no more, The songs that he to years departed gave, Deeming, when closed, their dear existence o'er, All, all like echoes rose again and bore, The airy forms elysian spirits bear. He knew them only by their sound before, But now he saw their heavenly being fair, And knew them by the graces the undying wear. VII. And now he knew that on the glad bright earth For all that bears a charm there is no death, 106 A VISION OF MUSIC. But that which seems to die finds higher birth In that fair spot where Beauty glorieth. He knew that ever from this mortal breath The joy we breathe lives on, and that somewhere Is treasured up the good that mortal saith, With all the smiles life's countless features wear. We give our joys to Heaven, and we shall find them there ! VIII. The vision passed ; and through the purple skies The tide of morning rose in waves of light. The fading stars grew dim. like drowsy eyes That weary, watching through the solemn night. A bank of sinking cloudlets, still and white, That crowned the distant hills with snowy crest, Grew softly red ; while grand and proud and bright The Sun's great smile broke from the east to west, And bathed in living glory Nature's boundless breast. A VISION QF MUSIC. IO/, IX. The minstrel woke ; and from his dulcet lyre He drew a strain so eloquently sweet, So full of hope and life and holy fire, The listening birds, in blossom-hung retreat, Came forth with wondering joy his face to greet, Then joined with his their loud, glad morning song. He rose and wended on with lighter feet, No more he found his daily journey long ; Immortal was his calling, and his spirit strong ! 108 THE WINTER PILGRIM. THE WINTER PILGRIM. A LEGEND. NEW day dawned through winter's gate of snow ; Encased in crystal cold stood each white tree ; Blue was the cloudless zenith, but, below, The orient skies burned like a golden sea. The pines, like warriors, clad in icy mail, Waved high their towering plumes against the sky ; While, breathing through the woods their whispered tale, The winds with rustling garments hurried by. The Sun, great flaming angel-face of day, Above the hills his dazzling brow revealed, Where, bathed in light, the winter glories lay, And avalanches in their thunder 'pealed. THE WINTER PILGRIM. 1 09 Through Loraine's drifted village-street, alone, An aged harper trod with weary feet ; The light of morning on his features shone, But in his life the pulse of evening beat. His fancy, wrapped with glowing visions warm, In memory to his native country turned ; About him lay the footprints of the storm, But in his soul Italian summers burned. He dreamed that on his native hills he trod ; He heard the songs his laughing children sung, Where arching skies, blue in the light of God, With Nature's choral-incantations rung. Cold blew the cutting wind ; the vision passed. The skies, aflush with rose and crimson gay, By gathering clouds grew sudden overcast, As dark as sands in some old desert gray. 1 10 THE WINTER PILGRIM. He drew his tattered cloak about his breast ; At many a door he plead for shelter warm ; Of all he asked, but one would hear his quest And bid him enter from the raging storm. And who was she ? A widow, poor as he, Save for the roof whose shelter God had given ; Yet willingly the pilgrim welcomed she, And angels have recorded it in Heaven. " My little one is dying, sire ! " she said, "But God forbid that this should close my heart ! " The aged pilgrim heard and bowed his head ; He too had known stern sorrow's bitter smart. " Show me thy little one. Where is she laid? " He asked ; and there was pity in his tone. She led him softly to the stricken maid, Upon whose brow the peace of dying shone. THE WINTER PILGRIM. Ill " Her name is Gwendolen," the widow said, " And she has been the sunlight of my years/' The aged pilgrim heard, and bowed his head, But saw not, for his eyes were dim with tears. And then he raised to God his trembling hands ; A glory like an angel's lit his eyes ; He prayed ; and He who hears and understands, E'er from our lips the faint petitions rise, Filled him with peace. Then, at the maiden's side, The aged sire his treasured harp unbound : He swept the strings, and music rose and died And all the air was filled with holy sound. It may have been that He who cured of old Was present in that life-inspiring chord ; It may be Music's sacred tongue of gold On earth breathes forth the language of the Lord ; 112 THE WINTER PILGRIM. For Gwendolen her childish arms upraised ; The color lit her cheeks ; fled was her pain. Her brow grew bright as though her eyes had gazed At Heaven, to wear the light on earth again. Her heart grew strong with pure glad life renewed, And from her dying bed she rose and sang, While from the barren floor to rafter rude The humble cottage with the music rang. At eve the hoary pilgrim left the door ; And they who, watching, saw him pass away, Thought that it was the angel of the poor, Who cured the widow's dying child that day. For all his face, they said, with glory shone * With a bright aureole of holy 'light j And they who left him in the storm alone, Made many a prayer of penitence that night. THE WINTER PILGRIM. 113 Far toward the northern hills he took his way ; And, when the sunset left the wintry skies, Through Heaven's glittering gate of stars, they say, Bright spirits led him into Paradise. SONNETS. IN THE WOODS. IS sweet from busy scenes to steal away, And roam the quiet woods, free and alone, Where drowsy winds, with soothing undertone, The languid music of the forest play, Charming from thought the busy cares of day. Oh, where may Pleasure find a richer throne Than some gray rock with mosses overgrown, Begemmed with dew, and decked with budding spray? There, where the silver streams glide babbling by, The blossoms spring, as though some magic power, Grieving to let so sweet a music die, -Had turned each water-note into a flower, To smile refreshing beauty where the eye Of Sorrow might find pleasure for an hour. 1 1 8 MY PL A YMA TE. MY PLAYMATE. ?|ING me a song of those all-happy hours When with my little playmate, fair and true, At sound of bell that told of lessons through, From school I wandered homeward through the flowers. Sing of the butterflies, the meadow bovvers, The bee that droned the one long song he knew, Till, with the parting smile of day, the dew Fell on the plain in silent, unseen showers. Sing softly of my little playmate fair ; For if in Heaven her smiling angel hears, Perchance she will remember even there, How her hand closed in mine in those sweet years ; Perchance in pity she will breathe a prayer. For ah ! she died, and left me here in tears ! OUT OF THE DARK. 119 OUT OF THE DARK. AY, like a flower, blossoms from the night, And all things beautiful arise from things That bear a lesser grace. The lily springs Pure as an angel's soul, and just as white, From out the dark clod where no ray of light E'er creeps. The butterfly, on airy wings, Rises from the cold chrysalis that clings To some dead, mouldering leaflet, hid from sight. If thus in Nature all things good and fair, And all things that the grace of beauty wear, Begotten are of things that show no charm, Then will I seek to find in every care And every sorrow, and in all the harm That comes to me, a pleasure sweet and rare. 120 THE MEMORY OF PLEASURE. THE MEMORY OF PLEASURE. j" HE memory of a pleasure passed away Makes music in the soul, as, from a strain Of cherished song, the theme may long remain To charm the mild, sweet ear of thought, and play In reverie the oft-returning lay. A pleasure perished lives in thought again, As, far reflected to the starry train, The glory lives of a departed day. O golden hours, lost in the long ago, Your beauty shall not sink to darkness cold ; Up from your graves your springing memories grow, Like roses blossoming above the mould. In all that 's fair a deathless being dwells, And from the Past a joy forever swells. A PORTRAIT. 121 A PORTRAIT. ?|WEET eyes that light a mild and modest face, Reflections of a spirit pure and bright, With just a tinge of sadness in their light, That yet is not a sadness, but a grace Where tender thoughts do find a dwelling-place ; Sweet-moulded lips, from whence the words take flight Gently as birds that, with a pure delight, Sing where the twilight shadows interlace ; A brow that is a temple all divine, Where holy thoughts to deep communion steal, Like noiseless spirits, that to some still shrine Go at the hush of eve in prayer to kneel ; But gentle one, that lovely face of thine Its own pure beauty may alone reveal. 122 BY THE FIRESIDE. BY THE FIRESIDE. HEN skies are cold with wintry stars, and hills Are white with yester-even's snow, and lie In ghostly state beneath the- ghostly sky ; When many a gusty blast the darkness fills With ever lonely, homeless sound, and chills The window panes with frost ; when crackling fly The sparks about the hearth, and glow and die, While in the pause his note the cricket trills ; Oh, then how dear is home ! and what a sense Of ruddy warmth and peace beguiles the mind ! And what a charm in listening while the wind Blows fierce outside, through Winter's starry tents, And dies away around the window-pane, And ever rises loud, and dies again ! LIFE AND DEATH, 123 LIFE AND DEATH. ' F yonder sun had an eternal voice, And from each star celestial numbers rung ; If each sweet flower had a gentle tongue, Mid sun and dew to breathe its music choice ; If from the very ground melodious noise * Rose solemnly the hills and vales among, And each fair tree with singing leaflets hung, Then Day and Night in concord would rejoice. So if the wondrous things of life and death, With voices grand might from their dumbness break, And, blending in one full triumphant breath, Their own immortal revelation make ; Then would we know how Death, whose name we wrong, Must join with Life to make one perfect song. 124 ALONE. ALONE. STOOD, a stranger, on a foreign shore ; It was a Sabbath evening, and the rim Of the low moon rose o'er the ocean's brim. One small, white cot the lonely beaches bore ; And, softly stealing from the open door, Rose on my ear the fisher's evening hymn, A holy psalm that crossed the beaches dim, And died the solitary waters o'er. A solemn sound, that seemed to harmonize The sad, eternal murmur of the sea Rose from the waves, and, on the darkening skies, The quiet stars dawned in tranquillity. Ah, then it was with memories fond, and sighs, My native land, I yearned and wept for thee. DREAMLAND. 12$ DREAMLAND. j|HEN gentle Sleep, upon her balmy wings. Wafts down her peace to calm the weary brain ; When s,weet forgetfulness of woe or pain A soothing influence o'er the spirit brings ; When, marshalled from their varied wanderings, The thoughts are stayed in all their busy chain, Then siren Fancy leads her airy train Through that fair realm where Dreamland's fountain springs. % She breathes enchantment, and the air is stirred With soulful sounds, the purl of distant rills, The sigh of winds, the note of some far bird, Or tinkling shepherd-bell among the hills. Ah ! while we listen to her tranquil themes There dwells a sweet reality in dreams ! 126 IN WAVERLEY. IN WAVERLEY. do the wild flowers, jewels of the Spring, Lie on the bosom of the emerald hills ; Here do the low, far voices of the rills Haunt day and night with liquid murmuring ; Here to our song-pleased ears, at sunset, sing The pleasure-breathing birds, till Memory fills Her heart with dreams to last when Autumn chills The earth, and Winter's windy trumpets ring ; Here stand the ancient oaks renowned and hoar, The vernal monuments of time untold, For countless winds have listened to their roar, And Springs unnumbered clad their branches old, And here, like some grand organ of the wood, The cascade thunders in its solitude. MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. 1 27 MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. jjH, would this unskilled hand of mine might trace, And carve in verse the picture that I hold, That from a poem's clear and quiet mould The world might know, in many a distant place, And smile to know, a thing so full of grace. Time crowns with silver Summer's changing gold ; But here his light and gentle touch has told No frosty tale of years on Summer's face. These eyes are ever clear as pleasant skies, That bear the soft, still joy of evening's hue ; Across their light no clouds are seen to rise, Though there Affection's thoughts suffuse like dew. Ah me ! that every soul on earth that sighs The sunlight of so sweet a presence knew. 128 SUMMER IN WINTER. SUMMER IN WINTER. jjHOUGH, wrapped in quiet dreams, the gentle flowers Beneath the frosty turf are slumbering ; Though stormy Winter, stern and cruel king, Strips bare the thorny shrubs and lonely bowers, Of all their bloom ; though in the evening hours No happy bird flits by on silent wing, And sings till wood and dale seem listening ; Though earth is chilled by Death's unfeeling powers, Yet in my heart so dear a picture glows, Of leafy 'dells and rilte and waving fields, That sunlight o'er the dreary landscape steals, And flowers seem to blossom from the snows. 'T is thus in life that memory reveals, Mid all our storms, some scene of sweet repose ! THE SNOWSTORM. 129 THE SNOWSTORM. To G. A. HE morning skies are dull and streaked with gray ; And silently upon the frosty air The scattered snowflakes flutter here and there, And skip and dance like fairies in their play, Poising awhile, then frolicking away. Noon comes, and lo ! the hills, that were so bare, Are robed in dazzling garments, pure and fair ; The trees seem blossoming in some strange way ; And when once more the air towards evening clears, And when the fleecy shower of white subsides, A wondrous transformation then appears ! The barren ground .from sight so closely hides Beneath that stainless spread, it almost seems As though we gaze upon the land of dreams ! 13 SUNSET. SUNSET.^ VE watches at the portals of the west, Looking upon the world with longing eyes, Invisible until the peaceful skies Shall fade, and weary Day shall sink to rest. Earth bears a solemn hush upon her breast, And all is still. A few fair clouds arise, Like pilgrims from the south, whose journey lies, Gilded with light, far o'er the mountain's crest. Eve softly enters. As the glorious sun Rides o'er the hills, a moment doth he gaze With rapture on her brow ; her smile is won Ere he departs ; and, blushing 'neath his rays, She hides her face upon the ethereal blue, Till heaven is mantled with the beauteous hue. A HOPE. A HOPE, t BLEW a tiny bubble on the air ; The sunbeams painted rainbows pure and bright Upon it, and it shone with mystic light. I stretched my hand to take the treasure fair ; It vanished at my touch, and naught was there Except the gathered moisture. From the night I sent a Hope ; and soft winds on their flight Into the future bore it like a prayer. Day broke. A thousand golden sunbeams clear Enveloped it with smiles ; but when I thought To grasp my Hope, I deemed not what I sought Was far too sweet a pleasure, far too dear, E'er to be mine. No joy to me it brought : Its melting beauty gathered in a tear ! 132 BY THE SEA. BY THE SEA. HE soft waves murmur on the foamy sand, With voices tuned to minor cadence low, As the great Ocean, pulsing to and fro, Breathes out his measured music o'er the land. Here clamber not the breakers loud and grand, Falling amid their clouds of frothy snow ; A milder power turns the ebb and flow Along the marges of this solemn strand. Oft have I heard such ceaseless sounds arise From out some mighty city's busy walls, Where the vast sea of proud ambitions lies, And the great tide of labor swells and falls ; And I have listened with half- misty eyes, As now I listen where the sad sea calls. TO A CAPTIVE BIRD. 133 TO A CAPTIVE BIRD. O more, dear Bird, upon the dewy leas Thy matin song shall charm the fragrant air ! No more thy liquid notes of music rare Shall echo softly through the rustling trees ! No more the passing of the midnight breeze Shall rock thee with a mild, unconscious care. As, slumbering with folded pinions fair, Thou dreamest of the woodland melodies ! O little captive Bird, I could not sing If I were parted from ,my native home ; Then how canst thou make such sweet twittering? Knowest thou not thy little mate doth roam The hill and moor, like some lone sorrowing thing, Mourning that when she calls thou dost not come ? 134 THE SKIES. THE SKIES. CALM, fair Skies, a tender mystery Lies in your soundless depths of silent blue ! From your still bosom falls the noiseless dew So softly down upon the flowery lea, No mortal vision may its passage see. Each glowing morn ye wear a pleasure new ; For the long years fade not that azure hue Whose beauty is a sweet eternity. Dear God, I know thy ways are mild and fair, So gentle a heaven doth thy works enshrine, And e'en did not my lowly spirit bear The knowledge of thy lofty name divine, My soul would seek its unknown Maker where Day smiles, and evening stars unnumbered shine. A RAINY NIGHT IN THE CITY. 135 A RAINY NIGHT IN THE CITY. r |ARK ! how the wind blows 'gainst the window- pane, Sighing and whispering with a dismal moan ! And how, with ever-mournful, dreary tone, Comes constantly the pattering of the rain, Lulling awhile, then suddenly again Beating with restless sob ! How strange and lone It sounds ! Anon a neighboring blind is blown With startling crash ; the hinges creak and strain ; And out upon the distant, stone-paved street A heavy cart rolls by, its noise nigh drowned By splashing waterspouts. The horse's feet Clash with a dampness in the very sound ; And when at last die out those rumbling wheels, Ah, what a loneliness upon us steals ! 136 WINTER IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. A WINTER NIGHT IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. LUE starry skies ; hills dreaming in their snows, Their silent whiteness high against the west ; The crescent moon along their silver crest A golden flood of blending beauty throws. Beneath, the leafless forests grim repose, Where cold and dreary shadows brooding rest, Like melancholy spirits that infest The lonely scenes of their mysterious woes. Nearer, a rough, untravelled road, where .stands A log-built cabin, from whose heavy panes A flickering light streams o'er the neighboring lands. Close by, a tree where not a leaf remains, Stretching aloft his naked, frosty hands ; And over all a solemn silence reigns. SOUL HARMONY. 137 SOUL HARMONY. smiles the Moon on heaven's ethereal plain, A quiet glory charms her silver sheen, As silently, and with a brow serene, She leads across the night her shining train. Listen, my raptured soul ! What holy strain Of distant music robes that lovely scene, Swells solemnly the wooded hills between, And echoes from the stars in soft refrain ? O voiceless night ! O slumbering vales and hills ! Your music, like the melody that springs From dreams, breathes but a fancied note, that fills The silent air with sweet imaginings : No sound, no voice the outward hearing thrills ; 'T is in the soul the harmonious language rings. 138 TO SLEEP. TO SLEEP. |)OME, silent-footed Sleep, with soothing draught, The dark ambrosial wine of nightly shade, Till, pillowed soft in downy dreams, is laid To deep, unconscious peace the brow of Thought. Mother of Rest, so near while yet unsought, With noiseless wings and drowsy whisper made To calm the anxious heart that beats afraid, O come, and bring that balm by worlds unbought ! Far shine the smiling stars in glittering throng ; And Silence listens in the heavens deep, As though to catch the murmur, low and long, Of distant seas that endless converse keep. A hush like that at close of some faint song Enfolds the earth. Then come, O corne, sweet Sleep ! SCULPTURE. 139 SCULPTURE. To F. E. E. HE history of the world is carved in stone ; E'en Nature speaks from monuments, that bear The chiselled record of Time's busy care, And note the events that infinite years make known. 'T is not the sounding tongue that speaks alone ; The silent hills a wondrous theme declare, And, though an everlasting hush they wear, Proclaim the lofty tale of ages flown. O sculptor ! since the noble gift is thine, To grave the lines of Beauty's living grace, Is not thy call akin to work divine ? Since death thy changeless task may not efface, Since God, through nature, thus imprints for aye, Immortal lines upon earth's mortal clay? 140 LIGHT AND SHADOW. LIGHT AND SHADOW. (]UR bodies are the shadows of our souls, And shadow only melts because of light ; As melts at morn the memory of the night, When God the golden hour of day unrolls, And Labor's tide sweeps high on Time's stern shoals ; Yet do our tongues grow dumb, our faces white, That from the watch-tower hid on Memory's height, Death's curfew for the dying ever tolls. If somewhere hidden in the voiceless dark, Where Love's lost mysteries in silence mould, There be a bright existence, yet to mark The zenith of a blessedness untold, It is a happy moment when the spark Of this first life expires in ashes cold. TO SILENCE. 141 TO SILENCE. *|ILD soother of the wounded heart, and sire Of sweet forgetfulness and pleasant sleep ! Dear charm that fittest night from deep to deep, Till hushed to rest is Nature's tuneful choir, And Thought bows dreaming o'er her song-worn lyre, How Memory loves thee, when from steep to steep The rising stars their noiseless vigil keep, Those golden beauties, clear as flakes of fire ! When the bright pageants of the passing day Are lost in secret Night's o'ershadowed vales, And from their harbor, sleep, dreams drift away, Like pleasure-barks that float with idle sails ; Then Fancy calls with silver tongue to thee, And fills with music a)l thy slumber-sea. R44465 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY?