i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS OF MANY MOODS. x_ C. G. TENNER. iftvi UNlVlBSlTY "CERTES IT WAS OF HERTE ALL THAT HE SUNG." Chaucer. BOSTON: CHARLES C. LITTLE AND JAMES BROWN. MDCCCXLVI. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by C. G. FENNER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massa chusetts. BOSTON: PRINTED EY FREEMAN AND BOLLES, DEVONSHIRE STREET. CONTENTS. NOK NOBIS DOMING 1 DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI 6 LA DOLEUR 8 SONG 11 THE PILGRIM AT HEAVEN'S GATE . . . .13 THE SHRINE AND THE CONFESSIONAL ... 17 RENUNCIATION 20 WORDS TO THE DREAMER 22 FIFE Music 25 SERENADE 29 THE MARINER'S SONG ON A WINTRY NIGHT . . 31 DREAM LAND 34 MARS AND VENUS 38 ANEMONE 40 THE POOR MAN TO THE WORLD . . . .42 THE ELFIN MAIDS ....*.. 47 CHANSON 50 WlNNEPISEOGEE LAKE 52 MOUNT WASHINGTON . . . 54 623885 IV CONTENTS. To A MAIDEN 56 THE ROSE I GAVE You 58 LEANORE 62 ARA 66 MONTANUS His HERESIE 70 SEA DRIFT. I. GULF WEED 77 II. NEPTUNE 79 III. JOACHINA . 80 IV. MONTERO SONG 81 V. DE VERB'S PLANTATION BELL . . . .85 NON NOBIS DOMINE. THE grateful heart's sublimest Psean Was never lifted by the Teian Or the Roman's stately muse, But when the king of the Hebrews Sung " Non nobis, Domine ! " For it is of the Lord that we Alone can Act, can Will, can Be : And every chant that poor Self-praise With its thin utterance can raise, Still faileth in the deepest sense Of power from great God-Confidence. B NON NOBIS DOMINE. When the mariner from far Hails the ocean's crimson star Flashing from the old head-land, As his rough and honest hand Grasps the helm with heart of cheer That the longed-for port is near, Let this reaper of the sea Sing " Non nobis Domine." Circumnavigating all The weltering oceans of this ball, He has sailed o'er Indian seas Where the pictured savages In their slim canoes have brought Famous toys, fantastic wrought, For those milder savages In the lands remote from these ; And his good ship's timbers groan With nard and mace and cinnamon, Spices breathing odors pure For th' heaped board of Epicure ; Sugared figs and clustered dates, And all rarest delicates For Apicius and his mates. Richest cargoes swell his hold To transmute to yellow gold, Which shall gild his years from hence With the warm glow of competence. NON NOBIS DOMINE. No gun of pirate swept his deck, No mutinous blood his white sails fleck, No treacherous lights by cruel hands Displayed, allured to greedy sands, No rock with din terrific crashed Through his ship's ribs, or lightning flashed Blind fear and panic on the sea ; His the " Non nobis Domine." Sinks the red sun lazily, Steals the night on hazily, When the harvest home is come ; Move the full wains leisurely, Plods the farmer measurely, As the last load windeth home ; Tranquil joy doth movingly Swell his large heart lovingly, As he sees his meadows mown ; Then O let him cheerfully Raise his glad eyes tearfully, Grateful to the good God own By his care so kindfully Shed on mortals mindfully He has reaped what he has sown : Paul may plant all prayerfully, Apollos water carefully, God the increase gives alone. NON NOBIS DOMINE. His choice almoner is he, Let him then on bended knee Vow his liberal charity Shall say " Non nobis Domine." When the lover clasps his maiden, And their hearts with bliss deep laden Flow together like two seas, Gently meeting With soft beating, In that holy hour let these 'Mid their high felicity Say " Non nobis Domine." When the poet's pen deep dipt In the soul's bright Castaly Traces the eternal line ; When the artist's pencil, tipt With the sunset's crimson sea, Paints at last the lov'd design ; And their hearts from custom free Challenge fair posterity ; Then let each on bended knee Say " Non nobis Domine ! " For of Him was the great thought That silently in each one wrought, And was to this perfection brought. NON NOBIS DOMINE. All, O God, is Thine, is Thine ; Nought that is will I call mine, Ever will I raise to thee My " Non nobis Domine ! " DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI. UP from the deeps, O God, I cry to thee, Hear the soul's prayer, hear thou her litany, thou who saith, " Come, wanderer, home to me ! " Up from the deeps of sorrow, wherein lie Dark secrets veiled from earth's unpitying eye, My prayers, like star-crowned angels, God-ward fly. Up from the deeps of joy, deep tides that swell With fulness that the heart can never tell, Thanks shall ring clear as rings a festal bell. From the calm bosom when in quiet hour God's holy spirit reigns with largest power, Then shall each thought in prayer's white blossom flower. DE PROFUKDIS CLAMAVI. 7 From the dark mine, where slow Thought's diamond burns, Where the Gold-spirits vein their rugged urns, From that grim Cyclop-forge my spirit turns, And gazes upward at thy clear blue sky, And 'midst the light that floods it does espy Bright stars unseen by superficial eye. Where Sin's Red Dragons lie in caverns deep, And glare with stony eyes that never sleep, And o'er the Heavenly Fruit strict ward do keep ; Thence my poor heart, long struggling to get free, Torn by the strife, in painful agony Crieth O God, my God, deliver me ! Up from the thickest tumult of the game, Where spring Life's arrows with unerring aim, My shaft of Prayer, Acestes' like, shall flame. Not from Life's shallows, where the waters sleep A dull low marsh, where stagnant vapors creep, But ocean voiced, deep calling unto deep, As he of old, King DaVid, called to thee, As cries the heart of poor Humanity, " Clamavi, Domine, exaudi me ! " LA DOLEUR. BEETHOVEN. I. I LIE upon a rocky shore, I hear the waters evermore Roll landward with a heavy roar And plunges deep ; The great Atlantic pouring swift Its breast on high doth slowly lift, Then swells into each craggy rift With long drawn sweep. Up painfully and slow The rushing waters flow. Thus comes the ocean might Of sorrows warning, Rolling from morn till night, From night till morning. LA DOLEUR. II. I lie and listen to the thunder, Entranced in delightful wonder, The stanch rock trembles as asunder The waters break, And with a voice of awful gloom The sullen waves majestic boom Upon their barren stony tomb, They scarce can shake, And heavily and solemn Rolls in the mighty column. Thus strongest hopes do fail, Firm though they be, When Fate's rock they assail, Backward they flee. III. Here where the murmurous waters rush Rock-ward with up-welling gush, Sometimes there seems to be a hush F th' midst of flow, And bright drops in the caverns tinkle, Star-like they fall with finest twinkle, And dulcet music do they sprinkle Tender and low ; And pleasant is their ringing, Like children's voices singing. H> LA DOLEUR. Thus in the darkest day Happy moments come, None so sad but he can say, I too have some. IV. Now I lay with closed eyes, Leaden deeps do fall and rise, Momently each lives and dies, Yet ever heaves The same untiring drifting sweep, Still does the bosom of the deep Eternal undulation keep Nor rest achieves ; But constant is the motion Of the great heart of ocean. So life's surging sea Knoweth no rest, So, poor mortality, Heaves thy sad breast. SONG. I. THE leaves are stirring on every tree, And their gentle murmuring seems Like the voices of the loved and lost, As I hear them in my dreams. II. The cricket's chirp but faintly heard, And the brooklet gushing by, And the carol of that little bird Far up in the clear blue sky, III. All tell of love and happiness, Of a life of joy and bliss ; Ah why should I be thus downcast In a fair scene like this ? 12 SONG. IV. Ah, if my thoughts but turn within They see a clouded sky, The little murmuring brook no more, But a torrent rushing by. V. And heavy and damp around me roll The mists of care and sin, My song of birds is the sigh of a soul That finds no rest within. THE PILGRIM AT HEAVEN'S GATE. CASTA PLACENT SUPEBIS PUHA CUM VESTE VENITE. England's Helicon. 1600. I. MY Robe of Life is travel-worn, And dusty with the dusty way, It beareth marks of many a storm, It beareth marks of many a fray, The morning shower, the damp night dews Have left their dark discoloring hues. i II. My Robe of Life is scorched and burnt By madly rushing through the fires, Where sternest teachings I have learnt From passionate and fell desires; Yet not without the loss of chaste White innocence, no more replaced. 14 THE PILGRIM AT HEAVEN'S GATE. III. My Robe of Life is blood-besprent, For though I never raised the knife To smite my brother's breast, I Ve sent A sharper steel through his soul's life, And made his heart to bleed by deep And angry words that murdered sleep. IV. My Robe of Life is tear-bedewed, Tears wrung from mine and other's eyes, That I so oft have shunned the good, That ever round us, God-sent, lies, And tears by deeper anguish forced From consciousness of virtue lost. V. My Robe of Life is sin-bespotted, And much bewrayed by anxious care, And here and there grown thin and rotted Away by too much wear and tear, And torn by thorny thickets, when Through them I sought the road again. THE PILGRIM AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 15 VI. My Robe of Life at first was fair And spotless as the driven snow, 1 T was flung around me gently there Where spirits first from Heaven do go ; And white and clean it seemed to be A type of God's own purity. VII. O, angel at the Heavenly Gate, How can I hope to enter, when At that high portal, lone and late, At closing eve I come again, After my life-day spent and past, With this worn life-robe round me cast ? VIII. I hear a voice that soft and low Bids me to him, my Saviour, fly, And he will cleanse as white as snow Or whitest wool this robe, and I From him a wedding-robe shall have When this is mouldered in the grave. 16 THE PILGRIM AT HEAVEN'S GATE. IX. A wedding-garment, brighter far Than that I did at first receive, Brighter than gleam of silvery star My Saviour, Christ, to me will give ; And flinging off Life's Robe, will I Put on my Immortality. THE SHRINE AND THE CONFESSIONAL. " That good thinketh good may do And God will help him thar to." CASTEL OF LOVE, 1250. IN the ruined Hall of Life Plunged in deep remorse I sit, Rent and shattered is the roof, Trembling to its fall is it ; In rank, wild luxuriance, Has the ivy Habit* clung Round those mouldering buttresses, And those ruined towers among. Shattered strength and falling tower, Saints, once honored, now defaced, Streams the night-wind drear and cold Where the shrine of old was placed. 18 THE SHRINE AND THE CONFESSIONAL. thou stern and awful wreck, Desolate and waste and wild ! A callous man I stand again Where once I knelt, a pure, young child. And a dark and cowled form, Slow, unmoving, sits and sighs, Veil'd its face, I only see Those earnest, dark, and mournful eyes ;- Visitant, I know thy name ; Deep within my inmost heart Thrills the pang that tells too well, Thou the Avenging Angel art. While I gaze the bitter tears Scalding fall from straining eyes, Dread and anguish, startling fears With the past stern memories rise. 1 am sinful, frail, and weak, O my God, a child of dust, I have sinned ; O spirit pure, Help me, for in Thee I trust ! See that veiled form arise Back the gloomy cowl she throws ! Gentler beam those sad, soft eyes, From those lips how gently flows THE SHRINE AND THE CONFESSIONAL. 19 Soothing speech of soothing power, " Mortal, dread me not, but hear, The Angel of Repentance, I Bid thee look up, and never fear. Leave this ruined shrine, depart, Upward, onward, lies thy way, Upward, with a cheerful heart, Onward, for 't is breaking day ; Thou hast dwelt in night too long, List those cheering notes, nor stay, Hear the angels' morning song Bidding thee to duty's way." Now the ruined hall is left, On life's highway glad I stand, Behind me lies the desert waste, With free heart and ready hand Now I grasp my pilgrim staff; Journey on, nor look behind, Upward, onward, o'er the hills Till my home in God I find ! RENUNCIATION. A GOLDEN maiden near me stands, With eyes of soft serenest light, A jewelled goblet in her hands Filled to the brim with nectar bright ; And yet, and yet, I must not taste, But veil my eyes and from her haste. Her arms, all lily-white and fair, Around my neck she throws them now ; Her quick breath stirs my floating hair As leans her cheek upon my brow ; And yet, and yet, I must away, Nor on her breast entranced lay. RENUNCIATION. 21 Her dewy lips she joins to mine, And thrills the touch through nerve and vein ; Not all the fiercest joys of wine E'er stirred my soul with such sweet pain ; And yet, and yet, I must not press The passionate return caress. Her broken words, like fitful sighs Of midnight wind in dimmest grove, On my heart's swelling deep do rise, Half-uttered words of earnest love ; And yet, and yet, I must not hear, Lest to me prove the maid too dear. Trembling like dew-bell on the leaf Of rarest snow-drop, in her eyes The pure tear stands, and tender grief Doth with her white breast fall and rise ; And yet, and yet, I must not speak, Be still, O heart, thou canst but break ! WORDS TO THE DREAMER. " Man is no star, but a quick coal Of mortal fire, Who blows it not, nor doth control A faint desire, Lets his own ashes choke his soul." GEORGE HERBERT. UP, dreamer, from thy reverie ! Up, dreamer, and away ! Sit not with folded hands so long From morn till closing day. The sun is ever turning round, He scorneth to be still, The trees shoot upward from the ground, And ever runs the rill. WORDS TO THE DREAMER. 23 Winds ever blow, clouds ever move, And ever stir the leaves, And the glad sea, eternally In solemn grandeur heaves. The stars are moving every one Onward in paths of light, Ever you hear the ceaseless hum Of Nature, morn and night. Up, dreamer, from thy reverie ! The warrior's blade is dim That idly rests within its sheath, No .laurels bloom for him. The bended bow that hangs too long Upon the castle wall Unstrained by stalwart arm, when strung, Snaps faithless to the call. That Tome of olden minstrelsie, Dust-covered on thy shelf, When opened, lo ! the worm hath gnawed Each tale of fay and elf. 24 WORDS TO THE DREAMER. The lute neglected, when at last You strike the shattered string, Wails forth such jangling melody, That tear-drops sadly spring. Up, dreamer, from thy reverie ! There 's work for thee to do ; Time's seed-field, white with ripened grain, Lies open to thy view. Take down thy sickle from the wall, And bear thy arm for toil, Strike in, and do not leave a straw Of all the generous spoil. Heap up, heap up the creaking wain Ere blighting mildews fall, And winnow well the golden grain, Then safely store it all. And thou shalt know how sweet is toil, And glad thy heart shall be When thou shalt gaze on thy rich store, Seed for Eternity. FIFE MUSIC. TIME has been the pensive flute Or the lulling sound of lute, Stole so on my soul that I, Lapped in their soft melody, Seemed in tranquil bliss to float Onward with each wave-like note. Time has been the warlike tone Of many brazen trumpets blown Mingling with the deeper gloom Yearning from the sad bassoon, Roused so that I longed to dare All the stern fierce joys of war. Time has been the sound of horn Through the distant valley borne, 26 FIFE MUSIC. Filling all the listening air With a tone beyond compare, Always did beget in me Plenitude of harmony. Now no more these lovely seem, But as sounds heard in a dream, Ere the clear morn comes to me With its wakening reveille ; Then the onward tramp of Life Best keeps time to thrilling fife. This the sound is of the blast By the bald mount rushing past ; This the sound is of the yell Mingling with the sharp-toned bell When the Demon of the Steam Wildly shrieks his fearful scream, Emblematical to me Of on-rushing Destiny ; This the sound is,of the cry Heard far up in depth of sky When the eagle proudly soars, Cleaves his way with " feathered oars," And with calm majestic sweep Vanishes i' th' upper deep ; What to this the note of dove Cooing to its tender love, FIFE MUSIC. 27 What the melancholy tale Of the mournful nightingale, What the plaintive whippoorwill, By this eagle -music shrill ? Clear, unwavering, piercing, fine, Is this chosen music mine, Drawn from smallest instrument, Simplest made, without ostent, So that ever 'tis to me Evangel and homily. Hero-like, its prophet tone Soundeth ever all alone, And above the beat of drums To my ears its music comes, Telling me of bravest deeds Where th' embattled squadron bleeds. When I lay me down at last With my battered arms off-cast, Raise no low dirge round my bed Be no muttered " vale " said, But to ease the soul's last strife Wake the highest note of fife, As it rises so shall I Till it pierce the arched sky, 28 FIFE MUSIC. And I wafted up shall be With its lark-like melody, Till its soaring note shall end Where all sounds harmonious blend. SERENADE. AIR " Of all the brave birds." WHEN night winds are streaming o'er forest and tree, And the stars gleam bright on the heaving sea, O then to our Lady-love fair haste we, And breathe on the air our minstrelsie. Sing clear, sing clear, Say does she hear ? The night is fair. Then, Lady, look forth, and let thine eyes Shame the bright star-light of yonder skies. Wake wake wake wake, And day of this noon of night, O make ! Loveliness and beauty ne'er seem so fair, As when they look forth on the midnight air. 30 SERENADE. O sweet is the silent midnight hour, When moonbeams sleep on each frail white flower, And hushed is the voice in the lady's bower, And the heart is filled with spirit-power. Sing low, sing low, What dreams she now ? Some dream of Love. Then calm be her sleep, and calm be her brow, And peacefully folded her white arms now. Rest rest rest rest, As deep as the flower by the breeze caressed, Tranquilly and gentle, peaceful and calm, While angels shield her from every harm. THE MARINER'S SONG ON A WINTRY NIGHT. 1. 'T is a bitter cold night on the wintry sea, And cheerless the winds are blowing, But I know that at home there 's a heart for me With the warmest true love glowing. Then here 's to the lassie o' sweet sixteen, With her rosy lips and her bright blue een, God bless her ! O how I long on this wintry night, To throw my arms round that form so light, And to my bosom press her. 32 THE MARINER'S SONG ON A WINTRY NIGHT. II. 'Twos a summer eve, and the day was gone, And the sun had sunk in the billow, When I met my love by the brook alone, All down by the bending willow ; The big tear stood in her sparkling eye, And her white breast heaved with a bursting sigh, God bless her ! She laid her head on my breast and wept, And the warm tear down my bosom crept, As I to my heart did press her. III. " I know, I know," thus the dear one spake, " That thou wilt love me ever, But, O ! my sad, sad heart will break If thou and I must sever ! " I bade her dry her gushing tears, And give to the winds her anxious fears, God bless her ! " The fleeting year will soon go by, And then to my love I'll return," said I, As I to my heart did press her. THE MARINER'S SONG ON A WINTRY NIGHT. 33 IV. Then what though the winds are sweeping cold As we fly o'er the freezing billow ; I know, as we sweep past each landmark old, I am nearing my home and the willow. And soon, O soon, on my native shore I Ml meet my maid, and we '11 part no more, God bless her! And, ah ! what tongue can paint the bliss Of the warm embrace and the rapturous kiss, When I to my heart shall press her ! DREAM LAND. " Yet he beholds her with the eyes of mind, He sees the form which he no more shall meet ; She like a passionate thought is come and gone While at bis feet the bright rill bubbles on." ELLIOT OF SHEFFIELD. A POET'S land is Dream Land, The Land of shadowy forms ; Its broad, fair realms unclouded stand Amid Life's darkest storms. Though Earth's rent sky to thunder peals Reechoes oft and loud, No tempest o'er fair Dream Land steals, Its pure skies wear no cloud. DREAM LAND. 35 I love to roam through Dream Land, Fair faces there I greet, I hear old voices soft and bland, My childhood's friends I meet ; I see old faces peering out Along those vistas vast, And troops of shining ones I see On cloud-like wing glide past. There is a gentle river, That girts a pleasant strand ; The green trees softly quiver, That gem that verdant land ; There is a bower of roses, And perfumed eglantine, And in that bower reposes A long-lost friend of mine. Edith ! I 've loved thee ever, Though years, long years, have past Since Death the bonds did sever That bound our spirits fast ; I stand by morn and even There by thy grassy grave, While memory with cool waters My burning brow doth lave. 36 DREAM LAND. I muse upon each token Of boyhood's precious love, Each kiss, each fond word spoken, My Edith, saint above ! But most, dear one, in Dream Land I gaze for many an hour, Upon thy dear familiar form In that cool shaded bower. ! though Life's cares assail me, And troublous thoughts arise, And black with sullen tempests Lower round me sorrow's skies, There yet is my own Dream Land, All fresh and ever bright, Through which I roam, dear Edith, And meet thee night by night. 1 feel again the pressure Of thy beloved hand, As hand in hand we wander Around that Holy Land ; A calm delight steals o'er me, Each care is lulled to rest, I seem with those bright ones to be A blest one with the blest. DREAM LAND. 37 A Poet's joy is Dream Land, It fadeth soon away, Its happy visions vanish With light of coming Day ; And then stern Duties meet me ; I grasp the hard, cold hand Of the Actual that doth greet me, And gone is fair Dream Land. MARS AND VENUS. I HAVE dallied too long in the bowers Where the beautiful maidens are, Weaving bright chaplets of flowers To twine with their waving hair. I have quaffed the luscious juice Of the 'wildering grape too long, And sung the praises of Dionus In the Bacchan girl's wild song. Cease those passionate kisses, That melt like honeyed dew ; I must fly from the bower where bliss is, Away from them and you. MARS AND VENUS. 39 My steed impatient paws the ground, And churns the frittering foam, And echoes wildly round and round His neigh, like a trumpet tone. I tear myself away away ! How the plain skims by ! Hurrah ! How clear and fresh is the breath of day, How pure yon morning star ! ANEMONE. I. I HEARD at dawn a chime of bells A pleasant chime of bells from far ; It stole adown the deepening dells, Each note " as perfect as a star." II. Clear was the air that summer morn, And cool upon my heated frame ; It seemed as never cloud or storm Could dark those heavens so blue again. ANEMONE. 41 III. And beautiful and fresh and fair A gentle girl near me did stand, With wild flowers twined in her hair, And gathered cowslips in her hand. IV. But there was in her soul-lit eye A light that was not caught from Earth, And her cheek's flush was not the dye Of creatures of a mortal birth. V. And on her pure young breast there lay A floweret which I wept to see, Such sad revealings it did say, That frail white flower Anemone. THE POOR MAN TO THE WORLD. " Here let me speak out and be heard, too, while I tell it ; that the world does not at all times know how unsafely it sits. When De spair has loosed Honor's last hold upon the heart, when transcend ent wretchedness has laid weeping Reason in the dust, when every unsympathizing on-looker is deemed an enemy who THEN can limit the consequences ?" WILLIAM THOM, THE BEGGAR-POET. O BACK, ye thoughts, that fire my brain ! Down, down, ye thoughts that must not rise ! Ye hunger-fiends, with words that fain Would make me think ye from the skies ; Your promises of good are vain, Your gliding serpent- words are lies ! THE POOR MAN TO THE WORLD. 43 True I am poor ; ay, poor, by Heaven ! Not as those sighing mourners are Who better days have seen, and even In their reverses feel the care Of Patrons, and to whom is given Enough to keep them from despair ; But I am POOR, poor from my birth, Have never known a single hour Since naked, hurled upon the Earth, When competence was in my power, Seen happy faces round my hearth, At even's holy gathering hour. Poor ! soaked in tears my hard-earned bread, Ay, and of that a scanty meal, And well I know how the half-fed An aching, craving yearning feel, Then creep off silently to bed, By sleep the hunger-pangs to heal. And 'neath a shattered roof I 've lain All night, and seen the stars course on In silence o'er the Heavenly Plain, Till morning dawned and they were gone, And brought another day of pain, And Poverty, and want, and scon. 44 THE POOR MAN TO THE WORLD. And I have seen my dear ones die Ay, dear ones, dear as rich men's are ; There was no skilful hand then nigh, T' assuage the pains that they did bear ; I could not weep they did but fly Forever from a world of care. And I have felt the winter's blast Cut keenly through my aching frame, And heard the tempest howling past Without one spark of generous flame, And prayed each hour might be my last ; But no, another morning came ! All these, and countless pangs beside, I long have borne, I still do bear : The haughty sneer of frozen pride, The world's unsympathizing stare, The needed charity denied, And darker wrongs that wake Despair. Outcast and hated do I stand Alone upon the broad free sod, And no one takes me by the hand Or tells me of our Father God, But ever rings the harsh command, " Go delve, and starve, and work, and plod ! " THE POOR MAN TO THE WORLD. 45 And think ye, sons of wealth, that ne'er The Poor Man's heart grows fierce and stern ? That maddening thoughts of dark Despair Ne'er in his sad soul glow and burn ? I bid ye, silken slaves, beware ! The worm ye tread upon may turn ! For we are strong our brawny frames That bear the hardest ills of life, Can also bear the joyful pains That wait upon the battle-strife ; The hands that reap the rich man's grains, Can also wield the keen-edged knife. Our stalwart arms can wheel the gun, Our patience tire your oft attacks, And were the contest but begun Your ranks would fly like scattered flax ; Robbed of all else beneath the sun We still have left the torch and axe. Ye slumber on a crater's brink, Ye scornful sons of wealth and pride ; But down, ye thoughts, I must not think ! Be still, fell whisperer at my side ! For I will bear and never shrink Ere the Red Horse to bliss I '11 ride. 46 THE POOR MAN TO THE WORLD. O gentle Christ ! thou, too, wast poor, And hadst not where to lay thy head ; Thou hast a crown laid up in store For those who faithful lives have led j And they shall lie forevermore In Abraham's Bosom, thou hast said. THE ELFIN MAIDS. ' Races three of Elfin maids, Wander through this peopled earth ; One to guard the hours of love, One to haunt the homely hearth, One to cheer the festal board." EDDA, LAY OF VAFTHHUDNI. 'T is now many years ago, Since, my own dear bride, We as youthful lovers sat, Often side by side. Thy small hand was clasped in mine, And thy head did lay On my shoulder, as we sat At the close of day. 48 THE ELFIN MAIDS. Gentle vows of truth and love How we murmured oft, Vows of faith and constancy, Uttered low and soft ! Then we blessed the Elfin maid, Whose soft wing we felt Sweeping o'er our brows, when we In adoration knelt. Years past ; and I, a manly sire, With children on my knee, Sat by my own warm cottage-fire, Contented, proud, and free. And thou, a modest, loving wife, Wast happy in our cot ; We cared not for the world's poor strife, But blest our happy lot. And as at eve we fervent prayed Our good might ever last, We saw another Elfin maid On shadowy wing glide past. THE ELFIN MAIDS. 49 And then we thanked our God in Heaven, That He to us on earth, Such beings pure and good had given, To haunt our homely hearth. And now around our festal board Wife, children, friends and all I envy not the miser's hoard, Or monarch's gilded hall. My heart with adoration swells, To Him my knee is bent, Each happy face around me tells A tale of sweet content. And look ! that gentle form behold ! With meekly folded hands, And dazzling wings of purest gold, A being holy stands ! Bear up, O Elfin maid ! my prayer Of thankfulness and praise, To Him, my God in every care, The Ancient One of Days. E CHANSON. TIME, my pretty maiden, Cometh heavy laden With woes and cares, And he prepares Wrinkles for blooming cheeks, And enviously he seeks To strew gray hairs. But toucheth he the heart ? Can he to love impart His own decay ? Not so, I say ! Time shall be, is, and was, But Love, my pretty coz, Is one long to-day. CHANSON. 51 Lovers know nought of Time They hear his midnight chime, But care beguile, And look and smile So sweetly in each other's faces, That, though Time swiftly paces, They know it not the while. WINNIPISEOGEE LAKE. THE blue waves gently kiss the strand And flow along the pebbly shore, Then rippling leave the verdant land And seek the lake's calm breast once more. No white sail gleams upon the wave, Nor motion hath it, save its own Bright flow of waters, and no sound Save its own gentle moan. And deep and pure the summer blue Reflected in its bosom lies, And mirrored there intensely true The thousand-tinted foliage dyes. WINNIPISEOGEE LAKE. 53 Far towering stretch the pine hills round, And from those leafy seas so dim I hear the wind's mysterious sound, Like faint heard angel's hymn. Nature, kind mother ! from this scene Of holy and serenest calm, May the sad soul a lesson glean, A soothing tone midst life's alarm : To bid each stormy passion rest, And lie in lake-like, calm repose, With sunshine sleeping on my breast, Till death-shades round me close. MOUNT WASHINGTON. DEEP rooted in the rock-ribbed earth When sang the stars their morning hymn, Ere man or nations sprang to birth, And Nature rose from Chaos dim : The same vast piles of granite bare Silent and stern, and changing never, Unworn amidst Time's ceaseless wear, And still unworn, and thus forever. Aeons of Aeons round thy head Have rolled their misty shrouds of Time, And answering each God's call have sped, And left thee there, still lone, sublime. MOUNT WASHINGTON. 55 Stand at the base and gaze above, Stand on the bald and barren peak, Gaze on, and let thy soul be filled, Forbear the vain attempt to speak. Are they not silent all, these vast And stately monuments of earth ? Speak they with audible voice the Past, Tell they their tales of woe or mirth ? Stand they not passionless and lone, Firm rooted in th' Immense, the Broad, Uttering no voice, or joy, or moan, Types of the Silent Depth of God ? TO A MAIDEN. THERE is a soft and winning grace, A compound of all loveliness, That plays around thy sad, sweet face. Thy voice is like a faint-heard tone, Stealing o'er us when alone, Murmuring brook, or pine-grove's moan ; Or a distant melody, Sung beneath some old oak tree, Softly, sadly, mournfully. When thy mild blue gentle eye, Slowly raised so maidenly, Shrinkingly, yet trustingly, TO A MAIDEN. 57 Meets my own, a mild delight Steals upon each sense, as light As a soft breeze in the night. Do I mark thy rosy blush Faintly shed its graceful flush ? 'Tis like a wine-cup's overgush. And sweet songs of other time, With their quaint and olden rhyme, Sweeter sound from lips of thine. Maiden, thou wilt never know That thou hast impressed me so, With thy beauty's gentle glow. Thus with each best influence Whether of the outward sense, Or of pure intelligence, Thus it stealeth o'er us still And quiet, and our souls doth fill, Without effort of the will. THE ROSE I GAVE YOU. SUMMER sun and evening dews With their magic did infuse All their potent loveliness In this bud of tenderness ; Soothing winds their influence gave To make it open, fresh and brave ; Sweeping rains did wash away All the dust of grosser day ; Finest sap into it rilled, In alembic fine distilled, In the caverns dim and small, 'Neath the crust of this green ball ; THE ROSE I GAVE YOU. 59 By such subtle alchemy It became what now we see. Plucked by finger of a friend, Let me trace thee to thy end : Little floweret, let me see What has been thy history. Where the brethren gather calm, When the breath of morning balm Wakes the day-life to its duty, And the heart is filled with Beauty, On the Bible was it laid, When I rose, and trusting prayed : And I prayed our lives might be Flower-like incense such as thee, Crimson-flushed with struggle's tide, In the blood of sorrow dyed, Beautiful in leaf and form, Yet with sharp concealed thorn ; Thus my brother's little gift Did my soul to Heaven lift. Then I bore it on my heart To the city's crowded mart, Through the thoroughfares of men To a quiet shrine again. 60 THE ROSE I GAVE YOU. In the silent church I trod, Felt around the Living God, Felt that never voice of priest That deep Holiness increased : Still it was, and calm, and noiseless, Holier far for being voiceless, And upon the altar's rail Laid I then this floweret frail ; It seemed to me that it indeed Hallowed, more than 'twas hallowed. Then I bore it in my hand Till together we did stand In the presence of the Flower Of the artist-soul of power ; And saw the colors blending there Like harmonies of music rare, Like blessings in a mother's prayer, And quietly informing all With grandeur in that orient Hall. Thus Art and Nature met together In that sweet hour of sunny weather, And Love, such Love as spirits know, Our full, full hearts did overflow. And now the faded flower is thine ; What varied thoughts do swift combine THE ROSE I GAVE YOU. 61 To make of it a sacred treasure, Sacred beyond all earthly measure ; For I do believe that it Has been baptized i' th' Infinite, And its essence now is fraught With th 1 Immortality of Thought. Let its petals swift decay, Let it crumble as it may, The bright thought can never die Which doth the floweret underlie, And its Destiny I see, A bloom of Imjnortality. LEANORE. IT is long since we have met, But I never can forget All her words of truth to me, Spoken tenderly and free : Words that flowed from heart of one, Sad, and desolate, and lone, In this wide earth, where she trod With no other but her God, And the two or three who chose To love her better for her woes. O Leanore ! as I look back Upon Life's worn and trodden track, LEANORE. 63 And the spots where we have dwelt In oneness, and our souls have felt All the Mystery of Being Gather thickly round each heart, Tears arise that check my seeing For the time, and thus apart, Our souls commingling rush together As erst they did, When out amid The rising storms of Life's dark wintry weather. Where art thou now, O maiden ? My spirit, heavy laden, Fain would it fly unto thee, My eyes would gladly view thee, That we again might blend our hearts In sincere commune ; and the darts Which fall so thick around us, Which sorely, sadly wound us, We might avert Nor let them hurt, As once we did, when other days were round us. We were two children madly striving, To know the Mystery of Living, And our God an answer sent To our spirits, as they blent 64 LEANORE. In one earnest, firm endeavor To reveal the meaning, That comes like lightning streaming Through that great word, " Forever." It was an answer full of grief, But it gave a sweet relief To our souls ; and when we parted, Sorrowful and broken-hearted, Though the tear-drops filled our eyes, Yet their glance was on the skies, And the light of Faith shone through, As sun-beams on a drop of dew ; And I know where'er thou art, In a dark nook of thy heart, When the crowd of men is gone, And thou sittest all alone, Then again we dwell together, As erst we did, When out amid The rising storms of Life's dark, wintry weather. O Leanore ! we did unroll Together the vast, Mystic Scroll, Which Life and Nature did present To our bewildered wonderment. LEANORE. 65 It open lay upon our knees, And as we felt the freshening breeze Of early days around us sweeping, And saw Youth's fountains upward leaping, We read together from that page The Tale of Time's great Heritage ; And as we read, we felt the thrill Of mystery around us still. Leanore ! long years have sped, At least they seem so unto me, And we have both still farther read, And therefore 'tis I would see thee, And learn what lesson they have taught, What varied stores of learning brought ; Not learning, as the book-men deem Their shadowy, vain, and wordy dream, But teachings of the higher life, With deeper, holier meanings rife ; 1 fain would know if still thou art As free of soul, as true of heart, As when we learnt that lore together, As erst we did, When out amid The rising storms of Life's dark wintry weather. ARA. IN the days of joyance, Full of merry buoyance, When thy happy childhood Roamed in its green wild-wood, Where the leaves Glossy green bent down to kiss thee, And no gladsome thing did miss thee, That receives Nature's impulse full and free, Ara dear, In those days of silver glee, Now no more anear, ARA. 67 Thou and I Oft did lie, I the older which was bolder ? Neither colder 'Neath the sky, Watching clouds and shadows moving, Ever loving, ever loving. Over thy dear brow, ne'er shaded By a thought of care, Darkest tresses fell unbraided, All unbraided there Darkest raven hair ! Sunny joy was ever glancing Out from thy deep eyes ; Gentle smiles were ever dancing On thy lips, Where he that sips The magic wine of thy young spirit, Doth arise To the life which they inherit In calm Grecian skies ; Where the Gods olden, In a life golden, Without memory or surprise, In the fulness of the Present, Live a life of ceaseless Pleasant. 68 ARA. What strange Fortune placed thee here In our Northern atmosphere ? Thou wast made for idle climes : Creole waiting for the times When the fit comes, sunny hours Spent in dreaming, when the powers Are all unbraced, and Nature teaches That whoso for his object reaches, Wastes his labor, if he wait, It will come and meet him straight. O this glad Recipiency ! Lying openly and free To each influence that comes From the blue, empyrean domes Of high Heaven, or the broad roods Of the meadows and the floods, Or the inward springs that never Do quite fail us, though we sever Life from action : thus to live As the flowers do, thus to give, As the flowers do, mild delights For long days and star-lit nights : But alas ! Days of dalliance to me Live alone in memory ; And I pass ARA. From such memories and reflections To those sterner Introspections, Where the unfailing wear and tear Of a ceaseless Haste doth bear On me, with its load of care. Yet, dear Ara, Thou dost carry, Now and then, my spirits back* To that old sun-shiny track Where we both were young ; but now I am old still young art thou. MONTANUS. HIS HERKSIE. WITH lofty spirit to express Unto an age of wickedness, Thy sentence of sincere disdain ; To rise above the common plane Of grovelling mortals, and to show Thyself to all bad men a foe, Thy mission was : for this, men call Thee Heretic and Radical. Thy unlettered common sense Did despise the huge pretence Of the sophist, and did draw From thy heart the highest Law ; MONTANUS. 71 Which no fine-spun theories, Subtly drawn from else than this, Can with perfect fulness grant To the height of spirit-want. From thy Phrygian Nazareth, Where thou didst inhale with breath Of the mountain air, its free And quick sense of liberty, Thou didst come, with open heart Thy large spirit to impart. But thy speech was rasp severe Such as men love not to hear. Thou couldst not compel thy soul To a mean and stinted dole Of the Holy Spirit's treasure ; But with grand and lavish measure, Thou didst openly declare, It was given without spare ; That the promised Paraclete Was other than an empty cheat ; That the Father's smile still shone On each heart, and every one Who would humbly live and love, Should be anointed from above. 72 MONTANUS. Thou didst teach, that God ne'er dies ; But with ever fresh supplies Of his Holy Spirit, guides This green world, and the great tides Of Time's ever-surging sea Ebb and flow by his decree. Thou didst teach, that Christ the risen Did not leave in darkest prison The dear souls he came to save ; But the Light he to them gave, Was a real, living Presence, Full of everlasting pleasance, Spreading far beyond the lines Of Judea's crampt confines, And beyond the paltry hour Fraught with Apostolic power, Spreading into endless ages, Filling souls of countless sages, Beautifying human life, Soothing every angry strife, Filling out the world's great span With an all-embracing plan ; And all that Time should e'er create, The Life of Christ should permeate. MONTANUS. 73 Simple, decent, chaste, severe, Glad, content with frugal cheer, Firm, courageous, bold and free,- Such the Life proclaimed by thee. And for this, thou art writ down As a senseless village clown, Filled with overweening pride, Mystic, dreamer, all beside That the so-called Catholic Brands upon the Heretic. SEA DRIFT. I. GULF WEED. A WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine, Soaring high and sinking low, Lashed along without will of mine ; Sport of the spoom of the surging sea, Flung on the foam, afar and anear ; Mark my manifold mystery, Growth and grace in their place appear. 78 SEA DRIFT. I bear round berries, gray and red, Rootless and rover though I be ; My sprangled leaves, when nicely spread, Arboresce as a trunkless tree ; Corals curious coat me o'er White and hard in apt array ; 'Mid the wild waves' rude uproar, Gracefully grow I, night and day. Hearts there are on the sounding shore, Something whispers soft to me, Restless and roaming forevermore, Like this weary weed of the sea ; Bear they yet on each beating breast Th' eternal Type of the wondrous whole, Growth unfolding amidst unrest, Grace informing with silent soul. Off Abaco. SEA DRIFT. 79 II. NEPTUNE. I SAW old Neptune in his coral car Rising, one morn, from the red east afar. And as the ocean monarch drew anear, I noticed in his hand the trident spear. His brow was calm and ample as was fit, And decent majesty enclothed it ; Upon his brow he wore a slender crown Of spiky sea-shells, whence there fell adown, On either side, his wealth of whitest hair, Which veiled his neck and touched his shoulders bare. A kingly beard adown his bosom fell, And rested graceful on its ample swell ; His loins, encinct with robe of Tyrrhene dye, Rivalled the purple glories of the sky ; His white, bare feet no sandals knew, but shone As carved ivory on the floor o' the throne. Dark, sleek sea horses Father Neptune drew j While Tritons, Nereids and the ocean crew Disported round, amid the waters blue, The winds were whist, and the faint rippled sea Mirrored the upper deep's cerule Immensity. Bahama Banks. 80 SEA DRIFT. III. JOACHINA. THY Southern nature to my fancy brings Thoughts of all tempting and delicious things ; Of the round golden sun-kissed oranges ; Of apricots deep blushing, growing on trees Hung with them thick as blessings ; of large plums, With the deep purple bloom unsmutched, where hums The busy host of yellow-legged bees, Enamored of their fragrant sweetnesses ; Heaps of ripe grapes, pulled from the heated vines, Crushed by girls' fingers into luscious wines, That linger on the palate ; peaches rare, Whose blushes on their downy cheeks compare With the young Aden's, when fair Venus prest The reluctant boy to her white, throbbing breast ; Pears, with the odor of a thousand hives In hollow trees on Hybla ; rich olives, Smacking of prisoned heats ; dusk melons, netted With braided lines ; cool juicy citrons, fretted With a rough rind ; and all those fruits that melt From flower buds into ripeness, where the belt Of the broad Tropic binds with its hot zone The breast that nurses these nor these alone. Havana. SEA DRIFT. 81 IV. MONTERO SONG. LIGHT glitters on the Eastern hills, and on the feathery palms ; I leave my dark-eyed wife asleep, and glide from her fond arms; My cool, white garb is lightly donned, my spurs are on my feet, And girt, about my waist, is hung my iron-sheathed machete. My patient steed stands ready ; I load his panniers high With long green plantains full and ripe, ere yet the dew is dry, And yellow sweet bananas in clusters rich and fair, And golden oranges fresh pulled, in the cool, fresh morning air. The arriero's rattling note sounds from the bushes near, The black judio's cheerful call falls pleasant on the ear, And smartly taps the woodpecker, red-crested, on the tree ; All nature hails, in the morning, the Montero bold and free. 82 SEA DRIFT. My steed winds lightly in and out, along the rocky road, So steadily and easily, he hardly feels his load ; Up hill and down, 'tis all the same ; his way he picks along, While I the old accustomed path cheer with my morn ing song. The Don, well-mounted, dashes past with silver-hiked sword, The shouting slaves urge faster on the high- wheeled, creaking load, Their string of creeping mules before, the muleteros drive; But the gallant, bold Montero is the happiest man alive ! Now in the city market-place, I take my well-known stand ; The round pesatas willing fall into my sun-burnt hand ; My fruits all sold, I gladly mount my steed, and well we know What cheer awaits us both at home, still singing as My long white hut is covered thick with the tough palm- leaf thatch, Near by the wattled-sided pens, beyond the plantain- patch, SEA DRIFT. 83 And here the spotted guinea fowl, with harsh discordant cry, And in the broad portrero, my large-limbed oxen lie. The mountains rise behind me, the plains spread out before, Beyond, the line of ocean blue still flashing evermore. Above me is the Tropic sky, as blue as blue can be. What home like the Montero's home Montero bold and free ? The Padre yearly comes to me, I yearly go to him : I give him up his tithes, and he forgives me all my sin. I patter Aves thrice each day ; I know my Credo well ; And to my gallant boys and girls, the Pater Noster tell. My gallant boys and graceful girls ! O dear they are to me ; I 've named them all for holy saints, that they might holy be ; There's Pedro bold, Antonio, and modest young Marie, And Santiago, and San Marc, and little San Lucie. ^ I love at sunset hour to sit, and see his last fond smile Shed rosy lustre o'er the skies and on our lovely isle ; 84 SEA DRIFT. Then press my children close around, but closest to my side, My dearly loved Isabel, my early chosen bride. And night comes on so glorious, so nigh the flaming stars ! I think then of my gallant sire who fell amid the wars ; And tear-drops fall as falls the dew ; and then we all arise, And seek our simple evening meal, then peaceful close our eyes. No heated flames of passion and fell desire are mine, My food is plain, and for my drink the Catalonian wine ; My heart unstained by envy and my hand unstained by blood, How happy the Monte ro bold, the blest of man and God! Cafetal, San Antonio, Canimar, Cuba. SEA DRIFT. 85 V. DE VERB'S PLANTATION BELL. Ax earliest dawn, at noon, at twilight dim, With mournful swell, I hear, like loneliest dirge or funeral hymn, De Vere's Plantation Bell. Its tones are low and soft, and pensive seem Some grief to tell ; Ah, grief untold, I fear, fits well the theme, De Vere's Plantation Bell. Some dusky Mab, by night, I cannot doubt, Weaves lightsome spell Of Afric home-dreams, Afric homes, without De Vere's Plantation Bell. Of happy homes, close nestled in the shade Of some deep dell, Where gather wife and children, unafraid, De Vere's Plantation Bell. 86 SEA DRIFT. Maids meet their lovers, clasping breast to breast ; But hark ! the knell Of dream-delights, of hope, of joy, of rest, De Vere's Plantation Bell. They gather to their toil at earliest dawn, While Phosphor yet gleams well ! And, gallows-lifted, swings above the lawn, De Vere's Plantation Bell. Then at hot noon, the pitiable crowd Their hunger quell On yams and plantains ; when peals forth aloud De Vere's Plantation Bell. Long day of toil, the frequent lash and curse, That one may sell For yellow gold, the crop ; well serves the purse, De Vere's Plantation Bell ! Night conies ; the hot sun sinks, the stars are set ; Dusk must dispel All hope of further greed ; with dew is wet De Vere's Plantation Bell. SEA DRIFT. 87 Perhaps one might, were but grim justice done, The fate foretel Of that stern sentinel with ruthless tongue, De Vere's Plantation Bell ; 'T would hang, (ah, name it not to ears polite,) In populous Hell, Its own peculiar jewel and delight, As an " entire and perfect chrysolite," De Vere's Plantation Bell. Canimar. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. APR 2 7 1951. J|C8 JUN i 2 1962 Form L9-42m-8,'49(B5573)444 UCLA-Young Research Library PS1659 .F5p y L 009 522 004 2 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY _ HI || AA 001217759 8