POEMS BY MATTIE GRIFFITH.
 
 POEMS, 
 
 MATTIE GRIFFITH 
 
 3ta first Ctttotd. 
 
 NEW-YORK : 
 
 D. APPLETON & COMPASTY, 200 BKOADWAY, 
 
 AND 16 LITTLE BRITAIN, LONDON. 
 
 M.DCCC.LIII.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 
 In tho Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District 
 of New- York.
 
 TO THE 
 
 GREAT PEOPLE OF KENTUCKY, 
 
 t)is little ilolame 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE 
 
 HUMBLEST AND MOST DEVOTED 
 OF KENTUCKY'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 904147
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOK. 
 
 THE DYING GIRL, 9 
 
 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING, 16 
 
 LOOK AND LIST, LOTE, 25 
 
 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAE, 30 
 
 MOONLIGHT, 36 
 
 To SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART.. 40 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF Miss NANNIE C*****, 46 
 
 THE HERMIT, 50 
 
 To MT SISTER, 54 
 
 To Miss JULIA DEAN, 58 
 
 STARLIGHT MUSINGS, 63 
 
 THE DESERTED, 69 
 
 THOU LOVEST ME No MORE, 75 
 
 MT BIRTH-DAY, 80 
 
 THE STUDESTT,... . 84
 
 Viil CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MRS. ADELINE K. O'BRIEN, , 88 
 
 CLOSE OF THE YEAR, 92 
 
 To MY GEORGIE, 97 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER. 101 
 
 THE LONE ONE AT THE OLD TRYSTING-PLACE, 105 
 
 LINES TO Miss , 109 
 
 To , Ill 
 
 MY MOTHER, 116 
 
 To J. E. BARRICK, 120 
 
 THE ORPHAN, 123 
 
 IMPROMPTU, 126 
 
 LIFE, 130 
 
 THE YOUNG MOTHER, 135 
 
 To 0. W. A., OF TAYLORSVILLLE, 138 
 
 To A FRIEND, 141 
 
 BROKEN BARBITON WITHERED LAUREL- WREATH AND BROKEN 
 
 HEART, 143 
 
 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME, 148 
 
 A TRIFLE TO A FRIEND, 153 
 
 THE URN OF THE HEART, 156 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS, 159 
 
 To , DURING HIS ILLNESS, 164
 
 9m 
 
 THROW open yonder window, sister dear, 
 For all seems gloomy and oppressive here ; 
 I feel, alas ! that I am dying now, 
 But the warm breeze may breathe upon my brow 
 And o'er my heart a soft and holy spell, 
 Bidding my faint and failing spirit swell 
 With the dear thoughts and visions that had power 
 To brighten life in childhood's fairy hour. 
 
 I go, sweet sister, to yon far blue land 
 Where dwell the blest, a bright, angelic band, 
 Where radiant spirits chant their burning lay, 
 Their song of immortality, and stray 
 1*
 
 10 THE DYING GIRL. 
 
 Beside the streams soft-gleaming 'mid the flowers 
 And rainbow-groves of Eden's blessed bowers, 
 And there I shall behold our mother's face, 
 And she will clasp me in her dear embrace ! 
 
 And yet, oh yet, it grieves my heart, dear love. 
 
 To leave thee here, a young and tender dove, 
 
 Lone-wandering o'er life's waters cold and dark, 
 
 Ne'er to find rest save in God's holy ark ; 
 
 But there, when Time's wild storms at last shall cease 
 
 Thy weary pinions will repose in peace, 
 
 And their bright plumage never more be cast 
 
 All torn and scattered on the bitter blast. 
 
 I'm musing now, my sister, on the time, 
 When we in our own dear, our native clime, 
 With our sweet mother in our childhood dwelt, 
 Gay as the singing birds, and never felt 
 The care, the grief, the agony, the strife, 
 That lurk like fiends along the paths of life.
 
 THE DYING GIRL. 
 
 There round our home the rose with crimson dye 
 Bared its young heart of beauty to the eye, 
 There sprang the violets, and the lilies there, 
 Pale nuns of nature, bowed their heads in prayer; 
 The jasmine, sweetest of the race of npwers, 
 Breathed its full soul of fragrance in the bowers ; 
 Above the window of our little room 
 The honeysuckle hung in clustering bloom, 
 Before our door the bright blue streamlet played, 
 Leaping and dimpling in the light and shade, 
 And the tall trees of deep and solemn green 
 Upon the far horizon seemed to lean 
 Like holy watchers of the golden sky, 
 The sentinels of immortality. 
 
 And there, sister, lay the burial ground, 
 
 A lonely spot where broke no rude, harsh sound, 
 
 And where the mournful grave-stones rose to keep 
 
 Their silent vigils o'er each place of sleep, 
 
 And where at times we wander' d with hushed breath 
 
 To view the sad memorials of death.
 
 12 THE DYING GIRL. 
 
 There, sister, sleep our old ancestral line, 
 And I would lay this weary head of mine 
 Beside their forms, and I would have a rose 
 To shed its sweetness o'er my still repose, 
 A rose, dear sister, planted by thy care, 
 Wooing the bright young birds to linger there, 
 And sweetly sing my mouldering form above, 
 To God their little songs of joy and love. 
 Methinks 'twould soothe my spirit thus to lie 
 In that dear spot beneath our natal sky, 
 And hear (if spirits may) on Spring's soft eves 
 Our natal breezes stir the dewy leaves, 
 Waking the melodies that were so dear 
 And yet so mournful to my childhood's ear. 
 
 Oh ! chide me not, sweet sister, if I weep 
 
 * 
 
 That these fond dreams are idle. I must sleep 
 Here in this cold, strange land, far. far away 
 From all I knew and loved in life's young day, 
 Far from the ashes of the brave and fair 
 Who bore the name that we are proud to bear,
 
 THE DYING GIRL. 13 
 
 And who have gone before me to their home 
 In the high halls of yon star-lighted dome. 
 Forms all unknown will slumber near my side, 
 The poor remains, perchance, of wealth and pride, 
 And shafted monuments around will rise, 
 Mocking the green turf where the lone one lies. 
 But, sister, thou at gentle close of day, 
 Wilt often come upon my grave to lay 
 The fading flowers, sad emblems of the fate 
 Of the young stranger, lone and desolate. 
 And, sister dear, when thou shalt come to shed 
 Love's sacred tears above my humble bed, 
 I pray thee speak to me, and thou shalt hear 
 My voice soft-stealing on thy spirit-ear, 
 And thou shalt feel, as thrillinglj* as now, 
 My gentle kisses on thy sad, sweet brow. 
 
 Thus spake a young girl, pale, but beautiful 
 As a rapt poet's holiest dreams. The dull 
 Cold fliin of death was soon to dim her eye, 
 Still bright as yon clear jewel of the sky ;
 
 14 THE' DYING GIRL. 
 
 Bright with the visions of her vanished years, 
 
 Bright with the rainbow pictured on her tears 
 
 By love's and memory's pure and tender beams. 
 
 Soft-shining through her spirit's shadowy dreams. 
 
 Down her fair form her clustering locks hung low, 
 
 Like willow-boughs above a drift of snow ; 
 
 On her pale cheek the fever-flush was bright, 
 
 Like a red flame upon a cloud of white ; 
 
 Her thin, pale hand, through which the blue veins shone, 
 
 In all their windings beautiful, was thrown 
 
 Upon the crimson drapery of her bed, 
 
 Like a frail lily among roses red. 
 
 And there she lay. and tossed in wild unrest, 
 
 And clasped her weeping sister to .her breast, 
 
 And uttered broken'^rds of prayer and love 
 
 < 
 To God upon his mercy-seat above. 
 
 At length the glories of the sunset sky 
 Stole through the window to her wandering eye, 
 And, as her gaze was fixed intensely there, 
 She seemed to see a spirit in the air. 
 Half-rising on her couch, with sudden start, 
 She strove to clasp the vision to her heart,
 
 THE DYING G*IRL. 15 
 
 And with a feeble cry of ecstasy, 
 
 " Oh ! mother, stay, I come, I .come to thee ! 
 
 Her young soul passed, her'dream of earth was o'er, 
 
 Her pulse was still, her heart beat nevermore. 
 
 UNIONTOWN, PA., July 11.
 
 fity actors' fast gteelhtg. 
 
 TT was a calm, still, Sabbath eve no breeze 
 
 Went o'er the sleeping flowers, no murmured sound, 
 *From Nature's harp of many voices, rose 
 Upon the deep and strange serenity 
 Of the lone death of day. The Lovers met 
 In the sweet silence of that holy eve, 
 Once more upon the old, familiar spot 
 Of love's dear tryst. Dark months had passed away 
 Since they had gazed together on that scene 
 Of deepest, keenest raptures. That young girl, 
 Even in her girlhood's ripening flush, seemed old, 
 And worn in soul. Her pale and withering cheek 
 Told to the heart the tale of many a wild, 
 Fierce struggle of a spirit unsubdued.
 
 ; '.; !. OVER'S LAST MEETING. 17 
 
 Her dark eyes gleamed with the intensity 
 
 Of strange, unspoken griefs, and in their calm, 
 
 Mysterious fixedness there seemed a high, 
 
 And deep, and stern resolve, as though her heart 
 
 Of iron pride might never quail beneath 
 
 Life's fiercest storms. Yet when she turned those orbs 
 
 To his, a gentle, melancholy smile 
 
 Played round their lids, and quivering tear-drops hung, 
 
 Like the bright gems of dewy morning, o'er 
 
 Their dark and stormy depths. 
 
 And he on whom 
 
 Her glance of love fell, piercing his deep soul. 
 His soul of strong and manly daring, stood 
 All tearfully beside her, and his arm 
 Around her slender form was wildly flung, 
 Love's living, burning cestus; and her head, 
 With all its clustering wealth of raven curls, 
 Drooped to his heaving bosom, as a dove, 
 Weary and broken wing'd, sinks to its own 
 Dear parent nest. Her little trembling hand
 
 18 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING. 
 
 Was clasped within his own, her upturned eye 
 Met his, and drank again the heavenly bliss 
 Of dear and sweet reunion. On each pale 
 And stricken brow the darkness of a deep 
 And solemn shadow rested, and each cheek 
 And lip seemed chilled with sorrow's withering frost. 
 Though summer, autumn, winter, spring had passed 
 Again and yet again since they had met, 
 They gazed into each other's hearts and read 
 No change in those deep founts of burning love. 
 There no dark raven-wing had brooded each 
 Had e'er embalmed with love's pure incense-breath 
 The image of the other. They had vowed 
 And kept their holy truth, and now their love 
 Was all undimed, though grief had almost crushed 
 The life from out their souls. 
 
 The sweet rich glow 
 Of the soft twilight lent its passion-hue 
 Of crimson to her temples, or perchance 
 It may have been the deep reflection caught 
 From the wild burning thoughts that raged within
 
 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING. 19 
 
 Her shut and silent heart. She did not look 
 Upon the many flowers, she did not hear 
 The music of the stream the fairy tints 
 Of sunset, the green surging of the woods, 
 The mildly-wooing zephyrs, and the tones, 
 The thousand deep tones of the holy hour, 
 All were unheeded then. Her eyes, her ears, 
 Her thoughts, her soul, her life, were but for him. 
 She leaned upon him with that touching trust 
 And holy confidence a saint would feel 
 In leaning upon heaven. And she to him 
 Was all that mortal creature e'er could be 
 To a proud child of earth. With lip to lip, 
 And heart quick-throbbing to its throbbing mate, 
 They stood in love's bewildering embrace, 
 Silently clasping in their straining arms 
 All that they knew of heaven on earth. And then 
 They heeded not the passing of the hours, 
 They saw not sunset's glorious roses fade 
 Within the west's sky-garden, they but felt 
 They loved and were supremely blest.
 
 20 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING 
 
 At length 
 
 The thought that they must part stole on their souls 
 Like the deep shadow of a thunder-cloud. 
 She strove to drive that fearful thought away, 
 But there it stood, a fiend between her soul 
 And her bright heaven of joy. Beneath the weight 
 Of her great grief, her head sank down, as bends 
 The lily's pale and broken cup beneath 
 The torrents of the cloud. And then with low, 
 Sweet tones of tenderness, though his own heart 
 Was bursting with its stifled rush of tears, 
 He soothed her fearful agony. He spoke 
 Of joys and raptures past but treasured still 
 In memory's sacred chambers, of the hope 
 That even then seemed shining with a dim 
 And pale but beauteous gleam upon the waves 
 Of the far distant future. Thus he won 
 Her spirit from its dark and crushing grief, 
 And bade her turn her thoughts from earth, and look 
 Above life's clouds ftr perfect happiness 
 Within the skies. He told her how they two
 
 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING. 
 
 Would wander there, twin-spirits, hand in hand, 
 Beside the lovely Eden streams that glass 
 The blessed rainbow skies, how they would cullT 
 The sweetest blossoms glowing with the dews 
 Of heaven, and twine them into beauteous wreaths, 
 Dear love-wreaths, for each other's foreheads ; how 
 They oft would fly upon their spirit-wings 
 From star to star, to read the beautiful 
 
 And blazing mysteries of the sky, and how 
 
 
 They would at times come doAvn from heaven to earth 
 
 To sit beside each other on the denr 
 And blessed spot where then they sat; and muse 
 On all the raptures shared together there, 
 And breathe again the vows so often breathed 
 In life from their deep hearts of love, and make 
 That scene the tryst of their pure souls in heaven 
 As 'twas their tryst upon the earth. 
 
 But though 
 By soft and low and gentle words like these,
 
 22 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING. 
 
 Breathed in the rich tones that first won her love, 
 
 He calmed the fiery lavarflood that raged 
 
 Within her tortured heart, he could not soothe 
 
 The agony that burned within his own. 
 
 His soul was strong and haughty. He could bear 
 
 The cold world's bitter hate, he faltered not 
 
 At " foaming calumny," he did not heed 
 
 The piercing blasts of poverty, but when, 
 
 At that sad hour, he fixed his eyes on her, 
 
 His bright though fading flower, and thought how she 
 
 Would pine in his drear absence from her side, 
 
 And saw that her young morning-tide of life 
 
 Was ebbing fast away, Oh then his heart, 
 
 His high, proud heart, sank in his manly breast, 
 
 His haughty spirit trembled, and a strong 
 
 Convulsion shook his features, and the drops 
 
 Of agony welled upward from a fount 
 
 Long sealed within his bosom, and he wept 
 
 As if his heart were broken. And her tears 
 
 Gushed forth to blend with his, and thus they wept 
 
 Together long and wildly.
 
 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING. 23 
 
 On their ears 
 
 Now stole tlie deep tones of the vesper bell, 
 As mournfully as if it had been tolled 
 For some dear friend. It woke them from their trance 
 Of paralyzing grief, it pealed and rang 
 Far through the echoing chambers of their souls, 
 And told them with its mocking cadences 
 That 'twas the hour, the moment, they must part. 
 All silently, but for one death-like groan, 
 He strained her to Ms bosom, on her brow 
 He breathed his passion-kisses till it seemed 
 As if each trembling blood-drop in her frame 
 Rushed up to share the maddening embrace 
 Then with one low, deep, passionate farewell, 
 That sounded as if uttered by his soul 
 Through still, unbreathing lips, they parted. 
 
 She, 
 
 Pale, faint, and weak, with faltering footsteps sought 
 Her chamber's silent solitude, to pour 
 Her sad soul forth in earnest prayer to God
 
 24 THE LOVERS' LAST MEETING. 
 
 For strength to quell the fierce, rebellious thoughts 
 That seemed for ever sweeping like a tide 
 Of burning waters o'er her heart. He sought 
 The forest's deeper silence, there to hold 
 Through the still night communion with his soul, 
 And her, and heaven ; and, when the morning came, 
 He went with sickening heart and aching brow 
 Once more into the toiling world of men, 
 To struggle with his bitter destiny. 
 
 'Twas their last parting a brief year passed by, 
 And lo ! a pitying angel came from Heaven 
 And joined their fates forever. 'Twas the kind 
 Death-angel they are all each other's now.
 
 f 00k an& fist, fate. 
 
 T 1ST, love, oh listen as the breeze 
 
 -*-* Goes softly floating by, 
 
 And to thine ear 'twill sweetly breathe 
 
 My young heart's tenderest sigh ; 
 And if that breeze hath passed o'er crushed 
 
 And withered flowers, 'twill tell, 
 In saddened cadence, of the griefs 
 
 That in my bosom dwell. 
 
 List, love. 
 
 List to the music of the stream, 
 
 The far-off waterfall, 
 And in its low tones thou wilt hear 
 
 My spirit's earnest call 
 2
 
 26 LOOK AND LIST, LOVE. 
 
 To thine, to meet me at the soft 
 And blessed twilight hour, 
 
 Where we so oft have loved to meet 
 In our own wildwood bower. 
 List, love. 
 
 Look on the glorious hues that wave 
 
 Along the sunset sky, 
 Like heavenly banners o'er the hosts 
 
 Of angels trooping by, 
 And thou wilt see my spirit there 
 
 Soft beckoning unto thine, 
 To join me in that fairy realm, 
 
 And be for ever mine. 
 
 Look, love. 
 
 Look on the cloudless heavens that roll 
 
 So beautiful and fair, 
 And think of all our earnest vows 
 
 That have their record there.
 
 LOOK AND LIST, LOVE. 27 
 
 And see ! the priest of Nature now 
 
 Seems bending from above, 
 With his own gentle hand to set 
 
 The signet of our love. 
 
 Look, love. 
 
 List to the murmurs sweet and wild 
 
 That from the ocean swell, 
 Like the mysterious melodies 
 
 Heard in its music-shell ; 
 And they will speak of memories 
 
 That in our bosoms sleep, 
 Unseen and beautiful, like pearls 
 
 Within the sea's blue deep. 
 List, love. 
 
 List to the spirit-minstrelsy 
 
 That steals from yon bright stars, 
 As in their watch of love they float 
 
 High on their golden cars ;
 
 28 LOOK AND LIST, LOVE. 
 
 And they will tell thee that the love 
 To our young spirits given, 
 
 Like theirs, shines sweetly on the earth 
 But has its home in heaven. 
 List, love. 
 
 Look, at our own dear hour of tryst, 
 
 Upon the passion-flower, 
 I culled and laid upon thy heart 
 
 In our own favorite bower ; 
 And if thou lov'st me dearly still, 
 
 Thy gentle eye will trace 
 The blessed story of our loves 
 
 Upon its pale, sweet face. 
 
 Look, love. 
 
 Oh ! look and listen at the calm 
 
 And holy midnight hour, 
 When love's deep charm o'er human souls 
 
 Hath strong and mystic power;
 
 LOOK AND LIST, LOVE. 
 
 And thou wilt see my spirit stand 
 
 Beside thee where thou art, 
 And hear it breathe love's burning words 
 
 Into thine ear and heart. 
 
 Look and list, love. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY., 1852. 

 
 0f 
 
 A NOTHER and another ! 'Tis the still 
 
 And solemn hour of midnight. Not a sound 
 Of mortal life disturbs the awful calm 
 That rests upon the dim and sleeping earth. 
 'Twould seem as if a wizard spell were laid 
 Upon the winds, the woods, the waves, the streams ; 
 For all the thousand voices that are Avont, 
 In this deep hour of darkness and of dreams, 
 To weave their low, mysterious cadences 
 In one wild chant of spirit-melody, 
 Are silent now, and there is naught to tell 
 The ear that Nature lives. The holy stars, 
 The watchers of the night, are burning faint, 
 Like funeral lamps ; the dark cloud-shadows rest
 
 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Upon the still earth like a pall ; the hills 
 
 And mountains stand like mourners ; the tall trees, 
 
 Leafless and solemn, bend their tops like plumes 
 
 Above the bier ; and lo ! a countless throng 
 
 Of wan and ghastly phantoms seem to come 
 
 From the dim realm of shadows, to corivey 
 
 The Old Year to his burial. 
 
 He is gone ! 
 
 He breathed no sigh or groan in his death-hour, 
 But with the awful stillness of a dream, 
 Passed to the mystic realm where dwell the shades 
 Of years that passed before him. One more wave, 
 Bright with our smiles and bitter with our tears, 
 A wave that has reflected star and cloud, 
 The blue sky and the tempest's wrath, is lost 
 In the great ocean of Eternity, 
 Whose dark and dread and shoreless waters hide 
 The wrecks of empires and the wrecks of worlds 
 From every eye but God's.
 
 2 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 
 
 All ! gazing back 
 
 Upon the parted year, we darkly mourn 
 Its rich and wasted treasures. We recall, 
 With keen remorse, life's follies and its crimes, 
 And tears are swelling in our stricken hearts 
 Vain tears, alas how vain ! And see ! beside 
 The shadowy spectre of the silent Past, 
 A sad and sorrowing Angel seems to stand, 
 Who, in a tone as mournful as the cry 
 Of a lost soul, rebukes us for our deeds 
 Of error, and implores us to be true 
 To earth and Heaven in all the coming time 
 That may be ours beneath the skies. 
 
 Here, here, 
 
 At one year's burial and another's birth, 
 Here, on this narrow isthmus in the sea, 
 Time's ever surging sea, oh let us pause 
 And deeply muse upon the two vast worlds, 
 Spread out on either hand before our eyes, 
 The Past and Future. From this lonely height,
 
 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 33 
 
 Straining our gaze far backward o'er the plain 
 That we have swiftly traversed, we behold, 
 All thickly scattered o'er the dreary space, 
 Unnumbered mounds, which mark the graves of joys, 
 And loves, and hopes that thronged around our path, 
 To charm our eyes and win our happy hearts 
 By their sweet smiles and wild enchanting tones, 
 And then sank down to mingle with the dust, 
 Like exhalations of the morning. We 
 Look earnestly upon the fairy vales, 
 Where, in life's spring-time hours, we lingered long 
 To gather garlands of sweet flowers to deck 
 The heart's own altars but no flowers are there. 
 The Autumn winds and Winter tempests swept 
 Above their blooming loveliness, and they 
 Perished in their bright beauty, and their souls 
 Of perfume passed to Heaven. With wearied eyes, 
 And sad and aching hearts, we turn away 
 From the lone desolations of the past, 
 To gaze upon Futurity, and there, 
 Through the long vista of the years, we see, 
 
 >*
 
 34 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 
 
 With fancy's eye, rich vales, as beautiful 
 
 As those through which in childhood's hours we roved ; 
 
 And there, joys, hopes, and loves, as fresh and bright 
 
 As those which sprang and perished by our side, 
 
 Seem flitting in the distance, wild and free, 
 
 And sweetly beckoning us to where they dwell, 
 
 Like a young troop of Fairies. 
 
 A New Year, 
 
 A new, unsullied year, is ours. Its page 
 Is .sealed ; we know not what is folded there ; 
 We know not whether joy or agony, 
 We know not whether life or death, is writ 
 Within the fearful scroll, but 'tis enough 
 To know the gift is God's. Within our breasts, 
 Amid love's blasted buds, joy's faded wreaths, 
 And hope's pale, withered garlands, one bright flower 
 Is still uncrushed, undimmed, the holy flower ' 
 Of Faith divine. We feel, we know that He, 
 Who hath preserved us 'mid the thousand ills, 
 The countless dangers lurking in our paths,
 
 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 35 
 
 Still holds us in the hollow of His hand, 
 And bids us trust in Him. 
 
 Farewell, Old Year ! 
 
 May we, when called, like thee, from earth away, 
 Obey, like thee, the summons, calm, serene. 
 Without one sigh, or groan, or wild heart-throb 
 To mark the moment of dissolving life. 
 And oh may we, within the Eden land, 
 Where angel wings are glancing through the air, 
 And seraph songs are poured from rainbow clouds, 
 Once more embrace the loved and lost whom thou 
 Hast taken from us in thy silent flight.
 
 A S here I sit within my lonely room, 
 -*-^- A spirit seems abroad upon the air, 
 That o'er me flings an influence mild and sweet, 
 Yet mournful and mysterious. It is soft, 
 And calm, and hallowed, yet so very sad, 
 That tears are on my eyelids. It unlocks 
 Memory's pale urn, and to my soul reveals 
 Treasures long hidden in its depths. It calls 
 Forth, from their, cold and silent graves, the forms 
 Of dearly loved one's faded long ago. 
 They seem to live again ; they move once -more 
 Beside me as they moved in life ; they breathe 
 Sweet accents in my ear ; they rise from earth 
 On angel plumes, and gently beckon me
 
 MOONLIGHT. 37 
 
 Through the soft, silvery mists that float around, 
 To follow them upon their long 
 And shining trail of glory. 
 
 'Tis a strange 
 
 But pure and blessed spirit, for each thought 
 It makes is pure and blessed. Every dream 
 It brings is soft, and deep, and beautiful 
 As 'twere an Eden vision. And, oh, see ! 
 A pale, unearthly light is in the air, 
 Chastening the shadows that dance fitfully 
 Along the silent walls ; and now I feel 
 My cheek and brow are hallowed by its pure 
 And radiant baptism. 
 
 '":' 
 
 Ah, it is the sweet 
 
 Soft spirit of the Moonlight. 'Tis the gleam 
 Of yonder " Queen of mysteries," wandering forth 
 Like a pale nun in heaven. Lone-musing here 
 Amid the shadows of my curtained room, 
 I saw it not, but yet I felt its spell
 
 g MOONLIGHT. 
 
 Steal through the air and sink into my soul, 
 
 As with an angel power. And lo ! as now 
 
 I gaze out from my window on the earth, 
 
 How softly and how beautifully beams 
 
 The moonlight over nature. The young leaves 
 
 Turn up their edges to its silver glow, 
 
 And quiver with their rapture. The blue isles, 
 
 The streams, the hills, the forests and the clouds 
 
 Seem things of fairy-land, for beauty floats 
 
 Like a wild dream around them. Gentle moon ! 
 
 Pale, lonely mistress of the solemn night ! 
 
 The tides of my young bosom heave and swell, 
 
 Even as the tides of ocean, to thy strong 
 
 Mysterious power ! Oh ! fill my breast with light 
 
 From thy high sun, and touch each shadowy thought, 
 
 Each dark and gloomy fancy of my heart, 
 
 With thy unclouded beams. 
 
 There is a pure 
 
 Sweet moonlight of the soul, that from the sky 
 Shines on our earthly spirits, silvering o'er
 
 MOONLIGHT. 39 
 
 Each depth of doubt, and sin, and agony 
 With the celestial beauty of its beams, 
 And bidding every shadow melt away ; 
 RELIGION is THAT brightener of the soul, 
 And life's dark waters glowing in its light, 
 Mirror the wondrous glories of the heavens. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, MAKCH 15.
 
 f Sir tffctoarfr goiter f gton, gart. 
 
 MY cousin, I have never seen thee yet 
 From childhood's early years my dearest thought 
 'Have been so full of thee, I almost seem 
 To know thee well. From thy high soul, my soul 
 Has caught its inspiration. I have felt 
 My spirit rise exulting with thine own, 
 To share the blessed sunbeam and the breeze. 
 But when, in thy proud majesty of strength, 
 Thou hast sprung upward to the skies to ride 
 At will on passion's maddening storm of fire, 
 My young heart, faint and weak with its excess 
 Of voiceless adoration, has sunk down
 
 TO SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. 41 
 
 Before thee, its deep pride, its strength, its life, 
 All, all forgotten in its silent awe 
 Toward a bright being of the earth so high, - 
 And glorious, and grand. 
 
 Oh I have thought 
 
 As o'er thy bright and burning page my heart 
 Wrapt in wild flame, has poured its mightiest love, 
 How like a demi-god thou art, thou proud 
 And sceptred monarch of the realm of mind ! 
 The human soul, with all its mystic chords 
 Of joy and woe, and hope and holy love, 
 Is thine own instrument, from which thy hand 
 Awakens tones whose echoes will be heard 
 Through all the coming years, far sounding o'er 
 The ocean of the future ages. 
 
 Thou 
 
 Art a magician of strange power ; thou canst 
 Draw healing sweets from poisons ; thou canst make 
 The darkest, deadliest passions wear the hues
 
 42 TO SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTOtf. 
 
 Of beauty and religion ; all things, glassed 
 
 Within thy fancy's mirror-wave, assume 
 
 The holy tints of heaven. With wizard spell 
 
 Thou stirrest the deep fountains of my life 
 
 Until I worship thee, and feel myself 
 
 Exalted by such worship. Thou dost stand 
 
 Upon thy own high pyramid of mind, 
 
 As on some lofty mountain-height, and wave 
 
 Thy mighty wand, and myriads of bright 
 
 And fearful shapes, all things of heaven and earth, 
 
 Come thronging on the wild, careering winds, 
 
 The vassals of thy bidding. 
 
 Cousin, I 
 
 Have deemed that, like the brave old Titan, thou 
 Hast stolen fire from heaven wherewith to warm 
 The frozen world of thought, but thou Avilt not, 
 Like him. be destined to the chain, the rock, 
 And the fierce vulture at the heart, for Jove, 
 The Tyrant, rules no more in heaven, and God 
 Is justice, love, and mercy.
 
 TO SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. 43 
 
 Cousin, thou 
 
 Hast said thou lovest me, and in that love 
 My bosom proud feels all the rapturous joy 
 E'er dreamed of on the earth. We have not met, 
 And I could pray that we might never meet. 
 For stern reality hath cruel power 
 To cheat bright fancy of her thousand spells. 
 To thee I would be ever as a thing 
 Of youth and love, which, though from thee afar, 
 Is still a part of thee. Oh let the light, 
 The love-light of these tearful eyes of mine, 
 Shine on thee in the beam of some pure star ; 
 Let my low voice steal o'er thee in the sound 
 Of melancholy winds through midnight rains ; 
 Let the soft, dewy pinions of the breeze, 
 As, laden with the perfume of the flowers, 
 It comes to fan thy forehead, bear to thee 
 A kiss from my young spirit ; let me be 
 As a soft, blessed tone of melody 
 To stir with gentleness the passion-depths 
 Of thy great soul ; and when on some lone eve
 
 44 TO SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. 
 
 I send, as now, my spirit to commune 
 With thine, oh give it one sweet, dewy flower 
 From out the rich rose-garden of thy soul, 
 One little diamond from thy priceless mine 
 Of bright and glorious thought, one gentle sigh 
 From thy deep spirit, mournful with the wild 
 Excess of dreaming passion far too rich 
 To find its proper guerdon in a cold, 
 Unfeeling world like this. 
 
 Oh cousin mine, 
 
 \ 
 
 Thou art my deep idolatry. I've dreamed 
 
 Oft of the glory of our ancient race 
 
 Which lives again in thee. I've deemed the pride, 
 
 Which in the great Llewellyn dimly shone, 
 
 In thee all perfected. I've sat and mused 
 
 On thee with blissful tears, until my soul 
 
 Has from thy fancy's glorious well-spring drawn 
 
 Visions of love and immortality. 
 
 In musings I have ofttimes stood with thee 
 
 In ancient Knebworth, and with thee have strayed
 
 TO SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. 45 
 
 Through its time-honored shades, while thy rich tones 
 Have thrilled my spirit's lyre, and wakened thoughts 
 To sleep no more for ever. 
 
 Cousin dear, 
 
 This humble wreath that here I send to thee 
 Is woven of my spirit's bleeding flowers. ' 
 Oh do not scorn the chaplet, for 'tis fresh, 
 And pure, and softly glowing with the heart's 
 First morning dews. My cousin, fare thee well.
 
 le &*****. 
 
 TTvEAR. lovely girl, my thoughts are thine in this sweet 
 
 twilight hour, 
 The young, the hright, the beautiful, gone like a stricken 
 
 flower ; 
 
 A thousand holy memories are rushing o'er my heart, 
 And there thine image seems once more to life and love to 
 
 start ; 
 
 I see thy dark and clustering curls around thy gentle face, 
 Thy soft black eye, thy rosy lip, and all thy witching grace, 
 And hear the cadence of thy voice come sweetly stealing by, 
 Like music from some fairy fount beneath the moonlight 
 
 sky.
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MISS C* **. 47 
 
 Oli couldst thou, sweet and gentle girl, on earth no longer 
 
 dwell? 
 Had thy dear mother's love no power to hold thee with its 
 
 spell? 
 Had thy sweet sister's pleading voice no tone to keep thee 
 
 here? 
 Had life no charm to make thy home than paradise more 
 
 dear? 
 
 Ah no, the bright, the angel band bent gently from the sky, 
 And wooed and won thee to their home, their own blest home 
 
 on high. 
 
 And there, beneath the holy shade of myriad starry wings, 
 Thou wanderest 'mid the living flowers of heaven's own liv- 
 ing springs, 
 
 To hear the lofty music tones, the hymns of rolling spheres, 
 Blend with thy own soul melodies through God's eternal 
 
 years. 
 But oh ! does deeper, tenderer love in those high realms 
 
 have birth, 
 Than that which lives and throbs and weeps in human hearts 
 
 on earth ?
 
 48 ON THE DEATH OF MISS C*****. 
 
 The thousand blossoms that have died beneath the Autumn 
 
 blast, 
 Will bloom in future Springs as bright as in the Springs long 
 
 past ; 
 
 The rose and violet will lift their cups of white and blue, 
 As erst at morn and mournful eve to catch the falling dew ; 
 The bright wing'd birds will pour their songs of love from 
 
 every tree, 
 The bright young streams with ringing shout leap onward to 
 
 the sea ; 
 
 But naught of these can ever pierce the cold and silent shade, 
 Where, with thine arms upon thy breast, thy lovely form is 
 
 laid. 
 
 Yet come to us, dear Nannie, come, in this soft, stilly hour, 
 And tell us of thy happy home in Heaven's immortal bower ; 
 I know that thou art there, for all thy thoughts beneath the 
 
 Were beauteous as an Angel's dream asleep in Paradise. 
 And, oh I ask that when thy hymns of ecstasy ascend, 
 Thoul't breathe one deep and holy prayer for thy poor, erring 
 friend,
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MISS C****. 49 
 
 Who still, with weary step must tread, in loneliness and 
 
 gloom, 
 Uncheered by flower or blessed star, her pathway to the 
 
 tomb.
 
 TT was a cold and bitter winter night. 
 
 * The keen winds howled around like beasts of prey 
 
 Seeking for victims. A white shroud of snow 
 
 Covered the desolate and lonely moor 
 
 On which a cottage stood. A single lamp 
 
 Shone through the window, shedding faintly round 
 
 A melancholy light. Within those walls 
 
 Dwelt the lone Hermit of the moor, and now 
 
 Upon the hard and stony floor he knelt 
 
 In fervent prayer to Heaven. 
 
 Beside him lay 
 
 The rosary, the missal, and the scourge ; 
 No fire was on his cold and cheerless hearth ;
 
 THE HERMIT. 5 
 
 The bread and water on his table stood 
 
 Untasted ; his thin, bloodless hands were clasped 
 
 Upon his breast ; his blue, beseeching eye, 
 
 Tearless as if its orb were seared with flame, 
 
 Looked earnestly to Heaven ; the corded veins, 
 
 That lay upon his brow and temples pale, 
 
 Throbbed visibly as if a living fire 
 
 Were burning in their currents ; his thin lip, 
 
 Of ashen hue, was quivering ; purple drops 
 
 Were on his naked shoulders, and his frame 
 
 Still writhed and trembled from the blood-stained lash 
 
 Of his fierce penance ; and, as there he turned 
 
 Upward his suffering face to Heaven, his words 
 
 Of penitence and supplication seemed 
 
 To steal up from the caverns of his soul 
 
 Like moans of keenest agony. 
 
 That night 
 
 The hermit passed in meditation, prayer, 
 And fierce and bitter penance for the sins 
 Of early youth. But HER dear image still,
 
 52 THE HERMIT.. . 
 
 The image of the sweet and gentle one 
 That he had loved so passionately, rose 
 'Mid all his maddening tortures and his prayers 
 Between him and his God. 
 
 The hours wore on, 
 
 And when at length the first gray light of morn 
 Dawned in the orient sky, he laid his chill 
 And trembling form upon his couch to check 
 In sleep forbidden memories. In vain ! 
 The dear, the loved one, pale and beautiful, 
 Came softly stealing to his side in dreams, 
 And bent above him, and her sweet blue eye 
 Gazed mournfully in his, her tender lip 
 Was pressed upon his forehead, and her voice, 
 In tones of more than earthly melody, 
 Was wildly breathing in his ear again 
 Love's unforgotten words. 
 
 The sun arose, 
 And then the hermit's sleep was dreamless ; bright
 
 THE HERMIT. 53 
 
 The beam lay on the rigid brow of death. 
 But on his breast, beneath the sackcloth robe, 
 Was found the picture of his early love 
 Pressed o'er his throbless heart. They buried him 
 Upon that dismal moor, and \vhen the Spring 
 Smiled sweetly on the earth, a stranger came, 
 A gentle lady, deeply bowed with grief, 
 And planted flowers upon his lonely grave ! 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KT.
 
 mg Sister. 
 
 WEET sister, thou art very beautiful, 
 Thy wild and dark eye-flashes, burns and glows 
 With glorious spirit-lustre, and a spell 
 Of deep and holy witchery looks out 
 From its clear depths in many a glance of love, 
 A fervid glance of love and loveliness. 
 Thy pale, pale cheek, o'er which the faintest blush 
 Of crimson fades out, like the passion-breath 
 Of sunset o'er a snowy cloud ; thy pure 
 High brow, so beautiful, and eloquent, 
 With the proud majesty of lofty thought ; 
 The waving wealth of midnight hair that floats 
 Around thy forehead, like a stormy cloud 
 Bound a white monument ; thy parting lips
 
 TO MY SISTER. 55 
 
 So red, so rich, so like the opening rose 
 
 While yet the soft and early dew-drop blends 
 
 With its wild perfume ; thy bewitching smile 
 
 Of strange, bright beauty, like a glance just caught 
 
 From the closed portals of the Eden clime ; 
 
 Thy form, thy seraph form, that floats and glides 
 
 Upon the earth in dreamlike loveliness, 
 
 As 'twere the very spirit of a strain 
 
 Of sweet and wild .ZEolian melody 
 
 Made visible to mortal *eyes ; thy soft 
 
 And gentle voice, that through my spirit sends 
 
 Its thrill, like low and mournful music heard 
 
 O'er the still waters of the midnight deep 
 
 All these seem stealing on my eye and ear, 
 
 And lingering with me in my lonely hours, 
 
 To fashion blessed dreams of thee and heaven 
 
 Within my glowing soul. 
 
 Thou, sister dear, 
 
 Art on the earth, not of it. Thy pure wing 
 Is here chained back from thy own native heaven.
 
 56 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 Thou art a gentle angel that my God 
 
 Hath sent to 'soften, purify, and soothe 
 
 My soul of fierce unrest. To me thy love 
 
 Is the bright bow that spans life's darkest storm, 
 
 An angel bending from the tempest-cloud. 
 
 We two have wept o'er our dear mother's grave, 
 
 Together we have bowed our heads and prayed 
 
 For strength from Heaven to shield us from the stern 
 
 Deep agonies of life. Our mother sleeps 
 
 Afar, and we, the children of her love, 
 
 Are left to buffet life's dark waves alone. 
 
 No, not alone, for at the solemn hour 
 
 Of holy midnight, on the moon's pale beams 
 
 That mother seeks her loved ones on the earth, 
 
 To whisper strength and comfort to their hearts. 
 
 Oh then, sweet sister, let us gird ourselves 
 
 For life's great battle, safe beneath her wing 
 
 From every pain and danger. 
 
 Sister mine ! 
 I've marked with bitter, bitter agony
 
 TO MY SISTER. 57 
 
 Thy fast decline yet ah ! it cannot be 
 
 That them wilt leave me here alone, alone, 
 
 Upon the cold dull earth. Alas ! I fear 
 
 Our gentle mother would not come to me 
 
 If thou wert gone. Oh leave me not the dark 
 
 Dread thought seems writhing in my burning brain, 
 
 Like a wild scorpion in a sea of flame, 
 
 And dreams of madness curdle my heart's blood, 
 
 And wake the gloomy passions slumbering far 
 
 Beneath the bright stream of my better thoughts. 
 
 Thou wilt stay with me yes, our mother's smile 
 
 E'en now bids me be calm, and lo ! the waves 
 
 Of maddening fear are slowly ebbing back, 
 
 To Heaven's own music-tone of " Peace ! be still !"
 
 ON SEEING HER AS JULIET. 
 
 H, thou art wondrous fair ! I did not dream 
 Thus to behold the fancy of the great, 
 Immortal poet's brain made palpable 
 To mortal vision. Mighty Shakspeare's self, 
 Who from his mind of myriad glories wrought 
 This creature of strange beauty, and of deep 
 Strong love, might well be proud to see thee take 
 Her form, and to the bright ideal give 
 Life, grace, and beauty brighter than her own. 
 Oh who would not weep gushing tears with thee, 
 Thou lovely being with a heart of flame,
 
 TO MISS JULIA DEAN. 59 
 
 When in the maddening burst of thy young grief, 
 Thy own dear Romeo from thee torn, thy arms 
 Are thrown out wildly in a frantic prayer 
 For his return ! And when upon the earth, 
 In passion's stormiest mood, thy form is flung 
 In utter, hopeless, crushing agony, 
 The deep and mute upheavings of thy strong 
 And frenzied soul wring drops of voiceless grief 
 From hearts unused to tears. 
 
 The mute appeal 
 
 Of those blue orbs, the marble fixedness 
 Of those sweet features in the trance of grief, 
 When thou art left by all thy heart holds dear; 
 Thy face so radiant in its loveliness, 
 Yet shadowed by the griefs that darkly lie 
 Upon the broken altar of the heart ; 
 Thy music-cadences when in the strange, 
 Deep poetry of passion, they are breathed* 
 From thy young lips all touch the soul with power 
 Mysterious and resistless.
 
 60 TO MISS JULIA DEAN. 
 
 Lady bright, 
 
 And beautiful, to thee belongs a high 
 And glorious mission. The great heritage 
 Of genius is thine own the boon of Heaven. 
 To the wild, airy things of poetry, 
 Its spirit-visions, its ethereal dreams, 
 Its mystic, fairy-like imaginings, 
 Thou givest beauty and vitality, 
 And bidd'st them move, and speak, and smile, and 
 
 weep, 
 
 Like beings of our earth, and they will live 
 For ever in our glowing souls as thou 
 Dost image them. 
 
 lady dear, the pure 
 And gentle beauty of thy sweet young face 
 Has wakened thoughts and feelings in my soul, 
 That will not, cannot perish but with life. 
 Thy pure white brow, serene and beautiful, 
 And calm as infant sleep ; thy floating wealth 
 Of fleecy, golden hair : thy liquid eyes,
 
 TO MISS JULIA DEAN. . Q] 
 
 Through which thy thoughts glow ever, as the stars 
 
 Shine through the soft, blue glories of the sky ; - 
 
 The eloquent rich blood that proudly mounts 
 
 Up to thy throbbing temples, and imparts 
 
 Its tinge to " the white wonder" of thy brow ; 
 
 Thy ripe red lips, where honeyed sweetness seems 
 
 To hang ; the chiselled outline of thy light 
 
 And undulating form, and, most of all, 
 
 The spirit of a genius that beams out 
 
 From every lineament, like prisoned flame 
 
 Shining through some bright alabaster vase 
 
 These, these are deeply imaged in my heart, 
 
 A picture holy, beautiful and dear, 
 
 That will not pass away with earth, but live 
 
 Immortally within my soul in heaven, 
 
 A portion of that heaven's own purity 
 
 And angel beauty. 
 
 Lovely lady, thou 
 
 Wilt leave us soon perchance for distant climes, 
 To wake the loud applause of stranger lips,
 
 TO MISS JULIA DEAN. 
 
 And win a deathless garland for thy brow, 
 And I may see thee never more. Oh take 
 With thee the blessings of a heart, that thou 
 Hast ofttimes thrilled to ecstasy and tears.
 
 Starlight 
 
 FT^HE gentle spirit of the twilight now 
 
 -*- Has shut his rosy wings, and I have come 
 
 Out in the sad, sweet starlight, to commune 
 
 With olden visions, soft and beautiful, 
 
 Yet fading in my soul. 
 
 * Ye lovely stars ! 
 Bright, holy watchers of the glorious sky ! 
 Ye gave to me in eves of other years 
 Your gentle sympathy Oh grant it still, 
 For now 'tis dearer to the orphan's heart, 
 Than when in childhood's happy years she gazed 
 Enchanted on your lovely light, and dreamed 
 Had she but wings, that she could rise and grasp
 
 64 STARLIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 Your shining forms and twine them round her brow, 
 
 A band of glorious jewels. Now she comes 
 
 Wiser, but oh, less happy, bent in soul 
 
 And crushed in hope, to weep her griefs away 
 
 Beneath your pitying beams. Her proud soul chafes 
 
 And struggles in its earthly pilgrimage ; 
 
 Her weary feet and panting heart would rest 
 
 To-night, and she would muse on dear old joys 
 
 That lent their glow, their spirit-thrilling dreams, 
 
 Their wild, ideal spell of witchery, 
 
 To years that cannot come again, and scenes 
 
 She never can see more. 
 
 Nay, now her heart 
 
 Again grows young and gentle, as it thrills 
 Delightedly beneath your beautiful 
 And holy spell, as ocean thrills and heaves 
 To the young moon in heaven. Again she dreams, 
 And years and sorrows vanish from her life, 
 And leave her in her pure and innocent 
 And joyous childhood. Once again she treads
 
 STARLIGHT MUSINGS. 65 
 
 Where roses bloom, and no dark serpent coils 
 
 Beneath their leaves ; again she looks abroad 
 
 O'er nature, with a soul that leaps to blend 
 
 With every scene and sound of love ; again 
 
 She hears the well-remembered tones that made 
 
 The music of her life, ere yet she knew 
 
 That Death was in the world ; and oh, again 
 
 Tears, gentle tears, the chastened spirit's dew, 
 
 Are overflowing from a heart whose depths 
 
 She thought were turned to dust. And now one star, 
 
 One soft, bright star, beams on her eye and soul, 
 
 On which she used to gaze in ecstasy 
 
 With him, the idol of her heart, when they 
 
 Sat hand in hand on glorious eves like this, 
 
 In deep and voiceless love, their souls too full 
 
 Of wild and beautiful and burning dreams 
 
 For human utterance. Ah, little dreamed 
 
 Their hearts, as on their favorite star they gazed, 
 
 That soon its beams would shine alone for her, 
 
 And that her eyes would strain through gushing teais 
 
 To search its glittering orb, and see if 'twere 
 
 His spirit's dwelling-place.
 
 QQ STARLIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 Ye glorious stars ! 
 
 Ye shone like blessed spirits of the sky 
 On Eden's groves and fountains, ere the pall 
 Of sin had fallen there ; ye shone upon 
 A dark, and wild, and shoreless world of waves, 
 A lone and billowy desert, when the ark 
 That held all mortal breath was drifting o'er 
 The mountain tops ; ye shone on Sinai's tall 
 And awful summit, when a mortal man 
 Was talking face to face with God ; ye shone 
 On Calvary's sacred height, while yet the blood 
 That flowed to wash the human race from guilt 
 Was red upon the tree ; ye shone on all 
 The prophets and the patriarchs of old, 
 And saw their tears as forth they stole and wept 
 In agony beneath your silent light ; , '" 
 
 Ye shone upon the meek and reverend heads 
 Of those who went forth in the strength of God, 
 To bear His message to a fallen world, 
 And on the dark brows and the gleaming steel 
 Of the fierce hosts that spread their prophet's creed
 
 STARLIGHT MUSINGS. 67 
 
 Abroad by sword and wasting flame ; ye shone 
 
 On Egypt's plains ere yet the pyramids 
 
 Lifted their bald and solemn heads to heaven ; 
 
 Ye shone on Tadmor, Nineveh, and Rome, 
 
 Their glories and their ruins ; ye have shone 
 
 Upon the living forms and on the graves 
 
 Of the departed generations ; ye 
 
 Have shone on all that's been on earth, and now 
 
 Ye shine on all that is. Oh, in your beams 
 
 There is a world of bright and awful lore, 
 
 A deep spell woven of the centuries, 
 
 And though we scarce may read the mystic scroll, 
 
 It shines upon our spirit with a pure, 
 
 And deep, and mighty power, and charms away 
 
 Care, sin, and woe, and makes us strong to bear 
 
 The strifes of mortal being. 
 
 Beautiful 
 
 And holy stars ! ye 'seem in Paradise ; 
 Ay, when your beams are resting on our brows, 
 We feel that we are bathed in what has been
 
 68 STARLIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 A part of Heaven itself. We know that ye 
 
 Are God's own thoughts writ by His mighty hand, 
 
 And that our winged souls, by mounting up 
 
 From earth and mingling with your flames, may catch 
 
 A portion of your living glory. We, 
 
 Chained darkly to the dust, may never list 
 
 With mortal ear the lofty symphony 
 
 That ye are ever pealing in your swift 
 
 And radiant sweep through the eternal space ; 
 
 Yet, with our listening spirits we can hear 
 
 Its echoes sounding nightly o'er the earth, 
 
 The solemn music of eternity.
 
 TTTHY didst thou leave me thus ? Had memory 
 
 No chain to bind thee to me, lone and wrecked 
 In spirit as I am ? Was there no spell 
 Of power in my deep, yearning love to stir 
 The sleeping fountain of thy soul, and keep 
 My image trembling there 1 Is there no charm 
 In strong and high devotion such as mine, 
 To win thee to my side once more? Must I 
 Be cast for ever off for brighter forms 
 And gayer smiles'? Alas! I love thee still. 
 Love will not, cannot perish in my heart 
 'Twill linger there for ever. Even now 
 In our own dear, sweet sunset time, the hour 
 Of passion's unforgotten tryst, I hush
 
 70 THE DESERTED. 
 
 The raging tumult of my soul, and still 
 The fierce strife in my lonely breast where pride 
 Is fiercely struggling for control. Each hue 
 Of purple, gold and crimson that flits o'er 
 The western sky, recalls some by-gone joy, 
 That we have shared together, and my soul 
 Is love's and memory's. 
 
 As here I sit 
 
 In loneliness, the thought comes o'er my heart, 
 How side by side in moonlight eves, while soft 
 The rose-winged hours were flitting by, we stood 
 Beside that clear and gently-murmuring fount 
 O'erhung with wild and blooming vines, and felt 
 The spirit of a holy love bedew 
 Our hearts' own budding blossoms. There I drank 
 The wild, o'ermastering tide of eloquence 
 That flowed from thy o'erwrought and burning soul. 
 There thou didst twine a wreath of sweetest flowers 
 To shine amid my dark brown locks, and now 
 Beside me lies a bud, the little bud
 
 THE DESERTED. 71 
 
 Thou gav'st me in the glad, bright Summer-time, 
 Telling me 'twas the emblem of a hope 
 That soon would burst to glorious life within 
 Our spirits' garden. The poor fragile bud 
 Is now all pale and withered, and the hope 
 Is faded in my lonely breast, and cast 
 For ever forth from thine. 
 
 They tell me, too, 
 
 My brow and cheek are very pale Alas ! 
 There is no more a spirit-fire within 
 To light it with the olden glow. Life's dreams 
 And visions all have died within my soul, 
 And I am sad, and lone, and desolate ; 
 And yet at times, when I behold thee near, 
 A something like the dear old feeling stirs 
 Within my breast, and wakens from the tomb 
 Of withered memories one pale, pale rose, 
 To bloom a moment there, and cast around 
 Its sweet and gentle fragrance, but anon 
 It vanishes away, as if it were
 
 72 THE DESERTED. 
 
 A mockery, the spectre of a flower. 
 I quell my struggling sighs, and wear a smile ; 
 But ah ! that smile, more eloquent than sighs, 
 Tells of a broken heart. 
 
 'Tis said that thou 
 
 Dost ever shine the gayest 'mid the gay. 
 That loudest rings thy laugh in festive halls, 
 That in the dance, with lips all wreathed in smiles, 
 Thou whisperest love's delicious flatteries ; 
 And if my name is spoken, a light sneer 
 Is all thy comment. Yet, proud man, I know 
 Beneath thy hollow mask of recklessness, 
 Thy conscious heart still beats as true to me 
 As in the happy eves long past. Ah ! once, 
 In night's still hour, when I went forth to weep 
 Beneath our favorite tree, whose giant arms 
 Seemed stretched out to protect the lonely girl, 
 I marked a figure stealing thence away, 
 And my poor heart beat quick ; for oh ! I saw, 
 Despite the closely muffled cloak, 'twas thou.
 
 THE DESERTED. 73 
 
 Then, then I knew that thou in secrecy 
 Hadst sought that spot, like me, to muse and weep 
 O'er blighted memories. Thou art, like me, 
 In heart a mourner. In thy solitude, 
 When mortal eyes hehold thee net, wild sighs 
 Convulse thy bosom, and thy hot tears fall 
 Like burning rain. Oh ! 'twas thy hand that dealt 
 The blow to both our hearts. I well could bear 
 My own fierce sufferings, but thus to feel 
 That thou, in all thy manhood's glorious strength, 
 Dost bear a deep and voiceless agony, 
 Lies on my spirit with the dull, cold weight 
 Of death. I see thee in my tortured dreams, 
 And ever with a smile upon thy lip, 
 But a keen arrow quivering deep within 
 Thy throbbing, bleeding heart. Go, thou may'st wed 
 Another ; but beside the altar dark 
 My mournful form will stand, and when thou seest 
 The wreath of orange blossoms on her brow, 
 Oh ! it will seem a fiery scorpion coiled 
 Wildly around thine own. 
 4
 
 74 THE DESERTED. 
 
 I'm dying now ; 
 
 Life's sands are falling fast, the silver cord 
 Is loosed and broken, and the golden bowl 
 Is shattered at the fount. My sun has set, 
 And dismal clouds hang o'er me ; but afar 
 I see the glorious realm of Paradise, 
 And by its cooling fountains, and beneath 
 Its holy shades of palm, my soul will wash 
 Away its earthly stains, and learn to dream 
 Of heavenly joys. Farewell ! despite thy cold 
 Desertion, I will leave my angel home, 
 Each gentle eve, at our own hour of tryst, 
 To hold my vigils o'er thy pilgrimage, 
 And with my spirit-pinion I will fan 
 Thy aching brow, and by a holy spell, 
 That I may learn in Heaven, will charm away 
 All evil thoughts and passions from thy breast, 
 And calm the raging tumult of thy soul.
 
 a&rtost 1* 10 fte. 
 
 THOU lovest me no more. It needs not words 
 To tell me thou art altered now. Alas ! 
 I mark it well in thy cold, studied tone. 
 Oh would affection seek its warmth to hide 
 In tones whose chilling, freezing cadences 
 Fall on the soul like Alpine drops ? "Tis true 
 Thou still dost say that I am dear ; thy lip 
 Still murmurs all love's practised flatteries, 
 But thy stern glance of cold and withering pride 
 Turns all the hollow mockeries of thy words 
 To bitter, hitter ashes on my heart. 
 I utter no reproaches. Slowly now 
 And silently and mournfully I ope 
 My spirit's rosy-gate, and drive from thence
 
 76 * THOU LOVEST ME NO MORE. 
 
 Each dear and starwinged hope that I have loved 
 Through long, long years to cherish. 
 
 Never more, 
 
 Oh never more, thou false one, may I bear 
 In vernal bower or in the gilded hall, 
 A free, and light, and happy heart. Yet I 
 Shall mingle still amid the wild and gay, 
 My laugh will echo loudest in the din 
 Of mirth and joyousness, and none may know 
 The soul's deep bitterness, the quivering hopes 
 Crushed on the spirit's hearth. My smiles will be 
 As bright as they have been, and none may see, 
 That, cold and vacant like the moon's pale beams 
 Upon a ruined temple, they but light 
 The gloom and shadow that keep watch below. 
 Mine still will be the gay and merry jest, 
 The keen reply, the free and buoyant tread, 
 And none may ever rend the veil, and see 
 What darkly lies beneath.
 
 THOU LOVEST ME NO MORE. 77 
 
 But think thou not, 
 
 Proud and perfidious one, my strong, stern pride 
 Shall fail me in my solitude. Ah no, 
 The unrelenting tear may never break 
 Forth from its deep and hidden fount. The spell 
 Of passion still is on me, but disdain 
 Heeds not the murmuring tone of love's wild ^hant, 
 That rises like the low voice of the wind 
 Wandering at midnight o'er the mouldering chords 
 Of a neglected harp. For ever crushed 
 And broken be the rosy memories 
 That in their fairy beauty floated erst 
 Through my love-lighted soul. 
 
 Thy ring is cold, 
 
 It seems to bind my finger with a spell 
 Of ice, for its bright circle is not now 
 The emblem of unending truth and trust. 
 I'm gazing on thy picture, but I see 
 No smile of sweet endearment on these lips, 
 No high devotion on this pale, stern brow,
 
 78 THOU LOVEST ME NO MORE. 
 
 .No gleam of love-light beaming in these eyes 
 Of midnight fire nay even here is change. 
 I send thee back thy vain and worthless gifts 
 Ah, proud one, would that I could give thee back 
 Thy bosom's truth. 
 
 I said I would not weep 
 Again, but drops of mingled tears and blood, 
 From the recesses of a breaking heart 
 Are gushing, and the shower has brought relief ; 
 For oh ! I feel that now the awful gloom 
 Which filled my bosom with its cloudy weight, 
 Is broken and dispersed. Within its deep 
 Dark mists the genius of the tempest stood 
 Like a dread night-mare of the soul, and held 
 My spirit's elements in thrall, but now 
 The loosened zephyrs wander as they list, 
 The deep, strong spell that bound them is dissolved, 
 And lo ! the twilight soft comes stealing on 
 With its one star, the star of memory, 
 Pale, pale, but very beautiful.
 
 THOU LOVEST ME NO MORE. 79 
 
 I count 
 
 The drops that, one by one, fall on niy heart, 
 Turning its woman's softness into stone ; 
 Yet, to that heart, all worn and changed, thou still 
 Art dear, and ever wilt be dear. Some thoughts 
 Of thee, though all my future years will be 
 Like by-gone music lingering in my soul, 
 A sweet bird-carol heard in childhood's years, 
 Or like the lone funereal lamp that burns 
 Within the dark and solitary depths 
 Of Eastern tombs, forever shining on 
 Where all around is death and dull decay.
 
 QITRANGE feelings wildly 'throng around my heart 
 
 ^ On this my natal day. They seem to come 
 
 Like mournful spirits from the distant past, 
 
 And from the dim, sad future. Down, far down 
 
 Into my soul I gaze, and memory, 
 
 The wizard, that hears sway in that lone realm, 
 
 Calls perished joys and hopes from out their graves, 
 
 And hids them glow, and live, and hreathe, and I 
 
 Seem once again a happy child amid 
 
 The scenes of other days, with long-lost friends 
 
 Clasping my hand, or sitting at my side, 
 
 And murmuring in my ear their gentle tones 
 
 Of melody and love.
 
 MY BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 My natal day ! 
 
 In other, happier years, I used to hail 
 Its advent with a thrill of joy and pride, 
 For then I deemed it but an added link 
 To a young life that would for ever wear 
 The lovely rose-tints of the morning heavens 
 That hung serene and beautiful above, 
 Unbroken by a storm-cloud ; but to-day 
 A sigh, a tear, is in my soul to think 
 Wave after wave of my existence thus 
 Breaks on ttfe shore of old Eternity, 
 And sinks to silence and to nothingness. 
 Here in my spirit's awful solitude 
 I muse upon the thousand hopes that rushed 
 Impatient to life's banquet, and expired 
 In tasting of the poison-cup they thought 
 A boon the gods might crave. 
 
 My birth-day! Years 
 
 Have flown and left me a lone mourner. One 
 By one I've seen the deeply, dearly loved, 
 
 4*
 
 82 MY BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 The friends and guardians of my childhood, fade 
 
 And wither like the leaves when Autumn sets 
 
 His many-tinted signet on the woods. 
 
 Yet I, whose life in this drear month began, 
 
 Still linger darkly, sadly here to weep 
 
 For vanished stars and lovely blighted flowers 
 
 That shed upon my life, in brighter years, 
 
 Their lustre and their perfume. But with hopes 
 
 All crushed, and eyes bathed in the heart's best dew, 
 
 I lift my gaze above the earth, and read 
 
 Upon the far sky's blue and starry scroll, 
 
 A beautiful and holy promise. God 
 
 Watches and shields the lonely orphan here ; 
 
 Ay, He who kindly tempers the cold wind 
 
 To the shorn lamb, will temper life's fierce storms 
 
 To her who calls upon His sacred name 
 
 In deep and fervent prayer. 
 
 My natal day ! 
 
 'Tis slowly melting in the twilight now, 
 And soon its tints along the western sky
 
 MY BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 That seem a rose-wreath on the brow of death, 
 Will pass away. My natal day, farewell ! 
 Oh may'st thgu, if thy light shall ever come 
 To me again on earth, behold the hopes, 
 That droop and fold within my lonely soul 
 Their broken pinions now, soar proudly up, 
 And revel, 'mid the glories of the sky. 
 
 LOUISVILLE Kr.
 
 H* Stotont. 
 
 A LONE he sat. His broad and lofty brow 
 " Was bent upon his thin, pale hand ; his locks 
 Of jet hung o'er it with a darkened shade ; 
 His black and glistening eye gleamed with some deep 
 And sad and earnest thought ; his cheek was white 
 White as the Parian stone ; his quivering lip 
 Was blanched to Death's own hue ; and the blue veins 
 That branched along his temples seemed to throb 
 With the strong spirit's fever. 
 
 All alone, 
 
 In the dim twilight's calm and solemn hour, 
 He sat and mused upon his far-off home, 
 His happy childhood's faded years, and all 
 The beauty and the glory that had passed
 
 THE STUDENT 85 
 
 With them for evermore. He sadly thought 
 Of his sweet sister, with her golden hair 
 Streaming and waving on the morning wind 
 His bold young brother sporting at his side, 
 With a free shout, as joyous as the sound 
 Of bright, glad waters, leaping to the sheen 
 Of early Spring his mother's gentle kiss, 
 Her sad, sweet smile, her holy words of love 
 His gray-haired father's fervent blessing, breathed 
 With quivering lip, at the last parting hour, 
 When his own tears fell like the Summer rain 
 And her, the dearer still, whose soft, blue eye, 
 Through dark and gloomy years, had been to him 
 The day-star of his being. Ay, he thought 
 Of these, all sleeping in the church-yard now, 
 And 'mid his mournful musings he forgot 
 The world, his many triumphs, and his wild 
 And maddening love of fame, that in the dim 
 And distant future might make melody, 
 Dear melody for his now lonely ear ; 
 And then he bowed his strong and lofty heart,
 
 THE STUDENT. 
 
 And, 'inid his sad and holy memories, wept 
 His stern, dark pride away. 
 
 From his deep trance 
 
 His long, deep trance of memory, love and grief- 
 He started up, and clenching his pale hands 
 In strong resolve, he raised his eyes to Heaven, 
 And moved his thin and hloodless lips, and vowed 
 To win a name a nation should adore 
 To write it on the broad and glorious scroll 
 Of living greatness. Then, as o'er his heart 
 The vision stole with bright and burning power, 
 That would not be controlled, he smiled, and quelled 
 The rushing tide of passion's flood, and pressed 
 The one bright picture to his breast the dear, 
 Prized picture of his future glory. 
 
 High 
 
 Among the foremost of his country's sons 
 
 That student stands. The wild and stormy souls 
 
 Of multitudes bow to his master-will,
 
 THE STUDENT. 87 
 
 Even as the sheaves the dreaming patriarch saw 
 Bow to the master sheaf. Each lightning flash 
 Of his sublime and glorious intellect 
 Is followed by the long, loud thunder-peal 
 Of popular acclaim. Lone and bereft 
 In heart, he sways a mighty people's hearts, 
 And moves majestic in his pride of place, 
 Lord of the realm's applause. Ah, little know 
 The idolizing world the bitter throes 
 That rend his soul, the weary woe he bears 
 Without a word or sign. His power and fame 
 Are all they know or seek to know. No eye 
 Save God's may see him in his solitude, 
 When, 'mid the holy stillness of the night, 
 He turns from all life's glittering pomp away, 
 And weeps and sobs, ay, like a very child.
 
 0f firs. Jtote H. 
 
 ON VISITING HER HOUSE AFTER HER DEATH. 
 
 Ojl HE is not here ! Alas, she is not here ! 
 
 Yet all still breathes and speaks of her. Her sweet 
 And living presence is in every thing. 
 The very breeze, deep-laden with the soft, 
 Rich perfume of her own, her much-loved flowers, 
 Seems murmuring with a sigh her cherished name. 
 Through the lone chambers of her darkened home 
 I wander oft, and pine to greet once more 
 Her beauteous form now mingling with the dust. 
 The shadow of deep gloom hath settled round 
 The holy hearth where joy was wont to ring. 
 The lovely Spring-time is again on earth,
 
 IN MEMORY OF MRS. O'BRIEN. 89 
 
 Kissing the thousand wild-flowers into bloom 
 And fairy life ; upon the rosy gale 
 The wild-bird's song is floating ; a bright robe 
 Is o'er the wooded hills ; and from the soft, 
 Green bosom of the earth, the young buds burst, 
 As springs the soul immortal from the tomb 
 Of darkness and of shadow ; but the flowers 
 Look sad, a hue of sorrow seems to dim 
 Their beauty's glow, as if they missed her sweet 
 And gentle ministry, and wept bright tears 
 Of dew for their dear sister-spirit dead ; 
 The wild-bird's music seems a wail of grief 
 Breathed for the loved and lost ; the blessed beam 
 Has lost its smile, as if it sought in vain 
 For her fair angel-brow, on which to shed 
 Its answering lustre. 
 
 All is lone and drear 
 I gaze upon her partner's grief-bow'd form, 
 And mark the deepened silver of his locks, 
 And my heart checks its selfish sighs. Her child,
 
 90 IN MEMORY OF MRS. O'BRIEN. 
 
 Her cherub-child, is sporting in the bloom 
 
 Of infancy, but yet her very mirth 
 
 Seems strangely sad, as if her spirit felt 
 
 That Death's stern hand had crushed her parent stem, 
 
 And thrown her as a loosened bud to float 
 
 Upon the dark and stormy waves of time, 
 
 A thing of lone and blighted life. 
 
 Dear friend, 
 
 Friend of my childhood's bright and happy years, 
 Where dwells thy spirit now? I feel its power 
 In this calm twilight air ; I catch thy tone 
 In the sweet cadence of this evening gale ; 
 I see the holy beauty of thy face 
 In the strange beauty of yon sunset cloud ; 
 I feel thy breath upon my cheek, as though 
 Thy spirit in its angel-mission o'er 
 The darkened earth, stooped from its glorious flight 
 To whisper hope and comfort to my bruised 
 And broken spirit. Can it be 1 Ah yes, 
 O'er this lone spot thy bright and guardian wings
 
 IN MEMORY OF MRS. O'BRIEN. 91 
 
 Are hovering, and at night thy angel-arms 
 Enfold again the loved of earth, and guard 
 From coming ills the children of thy heart. 
 It must be so, for oh, I know that this 
 Blest presence is thine own. Thy spirit glides 
 Around me at the morning, noon, and eve, 
 And at the solemn midnight, and I thank 
 Thy God and mine, that I am not alone. . 
 
 BEDFORD, APRIL 12th, 1851.
 
 fff ifo* 
 
 A N hour ago the music at the wood, 
 
 And the low chant of waves came o'er the glade, 
 But now no murmur breaks the solitude, 
 
 And a stern weight on Nature's pulse seems laid. 
 Yon moon has seen the death of countless years 
 From her blue air-halls in the midnight sky. 
 And lo ! her dim sad eye looks down through tears 
 Upon the earth to see another die. 
 
 Silent and beautiful, she sits alone, 
 
 The princess of the sky, and in her pale 
 
 Sweet light a spell of mournful love seems thrown 
 Upon the plain, the forest, and the vale :
 
 CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 
 
 It is the old year's death-hour, but no sob 
 
 Comes on the night-air from his dying breast ; 
 
 Serene, and calm, and strrt, without one throb 
 Of agony he passes to his rest. 
 
 Yet tears are in our hearts and in our eyes, 
 
 Mid the strange stillness of this solemn night, 
 While here we sit and muse upon the ties 
 
 The dying year has severed in his flight ; 
 Ay, as his last breath on the air is flung, 
 
 Our hearts are heavy and our eyes are dim 
 With thinking of the woes that with him sprung 
 
 To life alas ; they cannot die with him. 
 
 Like the cold shadow of a demon's plume, 
 A chilling darkness that will not depart 
 
 Lies on our thoughts, and casts its sullen gloom 
 Around the dearest idols of the heart ; 
 
 We learn in youth the stern and bitter lore 
 
 That comes of ruined hopes and darkened dreams,
 
 94 CLOSE OF THE YEAR; 
 
 And Nature has no magic to restore 
 
 The glory of the spirit's shadowed gleams. 
 | 
 
 Scattered and broken on life's desert wide, 
 
 The soul's best gems, its brightest treasures shine, 
 And memories of joy, and love, and pride 
 
 Lie dim upon the bosom's shattered shrine : 
 We gaze into the future, but a shade 
 
 Is on its visions, they are not so blest 
 And beautiful as those the year has laid 
 
 Within the heart's deep sepulchre to rest. 
 
 The music of our being's rushing stream 
 
 Is growing sad and sadder day by day, 
 And life is but a troubled fever-dream 
 
 That soon must vanish from our souls away ; 
 But when this wild and tearful dream is past, 
 
 The mounting spirits of the pure will rove 
 Above the cloud, the whirlwind, and the blast, 
 
 In the bright Eden of immortal love.
 
 CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 95 
 
 Farewell, old year ! while sorrow dims our eyes, 
 
 We bless thee for the lessons thou hast given ; 
 Though thou hast filled earth's atmosphere with sighs, 
 
 We trust that thou hast brought us nearer heaven : 
 Some stars that gleam along thy shadowy track 
 
 Will shine upon our hearts with holy power, 
 And oft our pilgrim-spirits will come back 
 
 To muse and weep o'er this thy dying hour. 
 
 Old year, farewell, the myriad flowers that thou 
 
 Hast blighted, will again in beauty bloom, 
 And breathing millions thou hast caused to bow 
 
 In death, will rise in triumph from the tomb. 
 Not thus, old year, with thee. Thy life, now fled, 
 
 No power of God or Nature will restore ; 
 The graves of years may not give up their dead, 
 
 And thou wilt live, oh never, nevermore. 
 
 Farewell, for ever fare thee well, old year ! 
 The gentle angel, missioned at thy birth
 
 96 CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 
 
 To keep life's records through thy sojourn here, 
 Has poised his shining wing and left the earth ; 
 
 Oh, may the words of love and mercy fall, 
 
 Heaven's own blest music, on each erring soul, 
 
 When, on His burning throne, the Judge of all 
 Shall to our eyes unfold the awful scroll !
 
 f&jor mg titogie. 
 
 Tl TY cousin, I am gazing on thee now, 
 
 And well I mark, with soul of joy and pride, 
 The changing beauty of thy glorious face. 
 With rapture swelling in my heart of love 
 I gaze upon thy young and joyous cheek, 
 Where roses pure reveal their richest dyes, 
 And shed their sweetest perfume thy soft eye, 
 Thy soft, meek eye of mild and tender blue, 
 Trembling beneath its dark and fringy lash, 
 And glowing with the spirit-dreams that seem 
 Reflected from its calm, mysterious depths, 
 Like gems from ocean-caves thy lofty brow 
 O'er which the blue veins stray like tranquil streams 
 Along a lovely plain thy temples pale,
 
 98 TO MY GEORGIE. 
 
 Where thy brown wealth of waving tresses floats 
 
 In beautiful luxuriance thy lips 
 
 Of richest coral, where a thousand smiles 
 
 Appear and flee in frolic chase, like birds 
 
 Around a sleeping lake at morning-tide 
 
 I gaze on these, sweet cousin, and in all 
 
 I see a spirit of deep purity ; 
 
 A living, breathing, glowing soul of deep 
 
 And holy purity, from which dark Vice 
 
 And Sin would cower and fly, rebuked and quelled 
 
 As by Religion's power. 
 
 My cousin dear, 
 
 Thou art a very dream of loveliness, 
 And beauty is thy purity. Thou art 
 A creature whose high soul is troubled not 
 With the temptations of a world of sin. 
 Thy gentle spirit here hath kept undimmed 
 The angel-charm on which our God in heaven 
 Set His own signet of unchanging truth. 
 I love thee, and I reverence thy high
 
 TO MY GEORGIE. 
 
 And holy strength of purpose. Gentleness, 
 And loftiness, and virtue are in all 
 Thy feelings, and they stamp thy mortal life 
 With an immortal beauty. 
 
 Cousin dear, 
 
 As here I fix my tearful eyes on thee, 
 And hear thy tones of pure and gentle love, 
 My spirit seems to see an angel's form, 
 And hear the cadence of an angel's voice. 
 Thou art young, pure, and sweet life heckons thee 
 To a bright destiny. Thy loving friends 
 Are ever, ever round thee, making earth 
 All that thy true and gentle heart could crave 
 In its wild fairy visions. There are those 
 For ever round thy glowing path, who fling 
 A brightness on thy being, and to whom 
 Thy own sweet life is as the radiant beam 
 And the refreshing dew-drop to the parched 
 And desert earth. Ay, thou art blest with all 
 That makes life beautiful, with not one cloud
 
 100 TO MY GEORGIE. 
 
 To dim thy heaven. Thus may it ever be. 
 Dear friend, with thee. May no dark sorrows e'er 
 Come o'er thy tranquil life, like those that frown 
 So dark o'er my sad fate. Oh I would pray 
 The Power who sends to me a night of grief 
 And storm of bitter tears, to give to thee 
 The bright sky where no thunder-cloud e'er breaks 
 The holy blue: to give thee a bright path, 
 Where no foul serpents coil to blight and mar 
 The angels' shining footsteps, and no thorns 
 Mingle with love's pure garlands. 
 
 Cousin sweet, 
 
 May peace, and joy, and hope be thine on earth ; 
 May these e'er be thy blessed ministers, 
 Thy guardian-spirits here, and may they crown 
 Thy beaming brow in God's own Paradise, 
 With their bright wreath of immortality. 
 
 OHIO RIVKB, JUKE 23.
 
 In Itorg 0f Kg Jfatjer. 
 
 ~T\EAR father mine, thy grave is far away- 
 --^ Soft, sunny skies, bend warm and lovingly 
 Above thy dreamless slumber, and the waves 
 Of a far southern stream sweep by, and bear 
 In their low tones a message and a sigh 
 From thy unhappy child. 
 
 My father dear, 
 
 These eyes Lave never gazed upon thy grave, 
 These hands have never taught the sweet Spring-rose 
 To bloom on that neglected spot ; but ah, 
 Within my soul there is a holy flower, 
 A flower perennial, watered with my tears, 
 And kissed to bloom by the sweet beam of love
 
 102 IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Father, that flower is memory of thee. 
 
 Years, weary, anxious years have passed o'er earth, 
 
 And shadowed in their course young, loving hearts, 
 
 Since that bright morning when we saw thee go 
 
 Forth in the beauty of thy glorious prime, 
 
 Bearing to thy far southern home a fair ' 
 
 And gentle bride. Oh, father, thou didst kiss 
 
 Thy little prattler with a beaming smile, 
 
 And give her to thy mother's holy care ; 
 
 But even then I heard a faint, low sigh, 
 
 Which sadly fell upon my ear and heart, 
 
 The omen of a coming agony. 
 
 They tell me that a fair, young stranger girl, 
 Who knew thee not, has placed a sweet wildrose 
 , To shed its gentle fragrance o'er thy dust. 
 Her pitying heart was deeply touched to look 
 On thy neglected sleep, and, with the pure 
 Sweet instinct of a daughter, she placed flowers 
 Upon thy lonely grave. My deep heart breathes 
 A blessing upon hers. Oh may no griefs
 
 IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER. 1Q3 
 
 E'er fall upon her life like those which rest 
 So dark 0:1 mine. 
 
 Oh father, my poor heart 
 Is lone and sad to-night. In agony 
 'Tis calling to thee in thy distant grave. 
 I am an orphan lone, and, when my brow 
 Is fevered and my heart oppressed, I fain 
 Would fly to thee ; I would pour out my grief 
 Beside thy mouldering ashes ; I would weep 
 Beside the cold grave-stone, and on the ear 
 Of Death would breathe a stricken daughter's woe. 
 My spirit calls to thine oh come to me 
 In this lone hour, and let me know once more 
 A father's holy love. Ah, now a strange 
 Mysterious thrill comes o'er my soul ; I feel 
 A spirit's presence father, is it thine ! 
 Yes, it is thine, I see thee, and through all 
 The trembling fibres of my frame I feel 
 That hallowed kiss. Stay, blessed father, stay, 
 And leave me never more alone on this
 
 104 IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Cold desert of the earth. If thou must go, 
 Dear father, fold thy angel-wings around 
 Thy child, and bear her to thy far blue home, 
 To rest for ever with our God and thee. 
 
 BEDFORD, KY.
 
 fire f0ne ne at % llr f&rg$tin|-$to. 
 
 TT is the twilight hour, and o'er the earth 
 *- The softening spells of evening shadows steal. 
 All here is stillness now, and I have come 
 To look once more upon this spot, and hold 
 Communion with the unforgotten past. 
 My heart, all sad and lonely, here would breathe 
 The silent music that clings round its chords. 
 The perfume from the incense-breathing meads 
 Steals o'er my spirit, like the fragrance caught 
 From many a broken, pale, and withered flower 
 Of faded memory. The evening star 
 Still shines above as bright as when it beamed, 
 In eve's long past, a watchfire in the heavens, 
 To guide his steps to me 
 5*
 
 106 THE LONE ONE. 
 
 Ah, here where once 
 
 My young heart knew life's deepest blessings, I 
 Would weep away that heart's remaining youth. 
 Here where 'twas soft and gentle, it should now 
 Learn to be strong. Years, with their joys and griefs, 
 Have passed away and left this sacred spot 
 Unchanged. The little rustic seat where we 
 Erst while^ away the dear and blissful hours 
 With love's low-murmured melodies, is still 
 As memory oft has pictured it. Again 
 My heart forgets its shadows and its gloom, 
 The tones of love thrill through its depths, and on 
 The breeze the cadence of his words is borne ; 
 Again my hand within his own is pressed, 
 To his my eyes are turned and drink again 
 The bliss of that dear smile. 
 
 Within my soul 
 
 So dark and drear, a light is breaking now, 
 'Tis memory's holy star-gleam, 'tis a light 
 From out the happy past. Deep in my heart
 
 THE LONE ONE. 107 
 
 There blooms a single flower, a lonely flower 
 Of faded recollection, the " last rose " 
 Of joy's departed Summer, a sweet bloom 
 Whose sad pale beauty lingers mournfully 
 Upon life's darkened waste it is the bloom 
 Of dear remembered love, and now my heart, 
 My weary heart, finds rapture in this spot 
 Of holy tryst. 
 
 But. lo ! the roseate tints 
 Have slowly faded from the Western sky, 
 The mystic lamps of Heaven shine far above, 
 And the pale moonbeams slumber with a wan 
 Mysterious light upon this blessed scene. 
 The falling dews are heavy on my hair, 
 Whilst tears, delicious tears, are welling up 
 From my heart's shadowed fount. 
 
 I am alone 
 
 With God and with His holy messengers 
 That guard this sacred place. A soft low prayer 
 Is gently stirring all my heart's young leaves,
 
 108 THE LONE ONE. 
 
 And breathing from my lips. Oh I would ask 
 For him a charmed existence. I would ask 
 That on my life the shadows lengthening 
 In their decline might rest, so he be spared 
 A single sorrow. Let the blessed beam 
 Shine on him, and the shadow hang o'er me. 
 My life within the " vale of shadows " e'er 
 Must lie, but oh may his be on the bright, 
 Sun-lighted mount, and from my lowly home, 
 With outstretched arms and yearning heart, I'll lift 
 My soul to pierce the cloud-gloom, and to gaze 
 With love and tears on him. 
 
 Sweet spot, farewell ! 
 
 Take these, my breaking heart's wild, burning tears 
 As its deep blessing. Take my stifled sobs 
 As tokens of my parting agony. 
 The holy light of love that ever burns 
 Within my soul on memory's sacred shrine, 
 Has gathered brightness and intensity 
 From this lone eve's communion. Dearest spot, 
 Farewell ! farewell ! I may not see thee more.
 
 pus to 
 
 ON HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 T1AIR lady, new and holy ties are thine, 
 
 The dearest ties e'er twined by earth or heaven, 
 And oh may every blessing on thee shine, 
 That to a mortal spirit can be given. 
 
 Thou art, indeed, most beautiful and fair, 
 No shadow rests upon thy queenly brow, 
 
 And I will pray that never grief or care, 
 May dim the life, so pure and happy now. 
 
 Thou goest from thy dear old parent home, 
 The home of peace, of happiness and love, 
 
 Yet still 'twill be, where'er thy feet may roam, 
 An ark of refuge for the wandering dove.
 
 110 LINES TO MISS . 
 
 Within another's heart thy heart of pride, 
 Its sweetest bliss, its dearest life has found, 
 
 And may thy deep devotion, gentle bride, 
 Forever be with richest garlands crowned. 
 
 My spirit fain would weave a mystic spell, 
 To bless thy lofty spirit, it would pray, 
 
 That all the richest joys, that ever fell. 
 From heaven to earth, may fall around thy way. 
 
 'Twould pray that if the storm thy skies shall shroud, 
 And the dear light of sun and stars depart, 
 
 The holy beams that glow beyond the cloud, 
 May shine serenely on thy mounting heart. 
 
 Thy face hath wakened in my heart a high 
 Bright dream of beauty to my spirit dear, 
 
 And oh ! may I behold thee in the sky, 
 As beautiful as I behold thee here. 
 
 KENTUCKY, DEC. 3d.
 
 T DO not love thee, yet why does thy calm 
 
 -*- Sweet smile forever haunt my dreams, and why 
 
 Do thy dark eyes beam gloriously on mine 
 
 Like bright stars from the midnight heaven of sleep ? 
 
 No tone of sweetest music ever falls 
 
 Upon my ear at gentle eve but breathes 
 
 The music of thy voice ; no silver wave 
 
 E'er murmurs at my feet but seems to glass 
 
 Thy face and form ; no lovely blossom springs 
 
 Beside my lonely pathway but exhales 
 
 The perfume of thy breath.
 
 112 TO 
 
 When thou art near, 
 My thrilling spirit seems a universe 
 Of happiness and beauty. Blessed dreams 
 Of airy loveliness float through my soul ; 
 A chastened splendor rests upon my life, 
 As a soft pillar of the moonlight rests 
 Upon the deep ; and a soft glory comes 
 From thy sweet presence o'er my heart, to charm 
 My senses into worship. 
 
 On thy brow 
 
 I read the might of lofty intellect, 
 And I have listened with a panting heart 
 To thy high words of music and of pride, 
 And bowed my soul in homage to thy power, 
 Thou glorious son of genius. Every star 
 That trembles in the blue empyrean, seems 
 A torch to light thy spirit's sweeping track 
 Through Heaven's serene abyss ; and holy night 
 Seems but a stole of solemn hue thrown round 
 The radiance of thy soul.
 
 TO 113 
 
 Thou art afar, 
 
 I know not where, but still the arches lone 
 Of Memory's sacred temple are illumed 
 By the pure, blessed brilliancy they caught 
 From thy dear presence, and' they echo yet 
 Thy voice's spirit-music, till the air 
 Grows tremulous with joy. The wanderers o'er 
 The bright realms of the rosy Hesperus, 
 Ne'er revelled in an atmosphere of bliss 
 Like that which thrills around me with the spell 
 Of thy remembered cadences. 
 
 And yet 
 
 I love thee not. I only ask to look 
 With thee upon the heavens that roll serene 
 And beautiful above ; to sit and gaze 
 On the same stars thou gazest on, and send 
 My soul to thine when slumber's midnight dews 
 Have fallen on thy blue-veined lids, and hushed 
 Thy heart to rest. Oh I would love to flit, 
 The spirit of the zephyr, through thy dreams,
 
 114 TO . 
 
 Waking to beauty and to melody 
 
 Thy fancy's wild and leaping waves ; to glide* 
 
 A star-beam, through thy softly-shadowed soul, 
 
 Flinging a glory o'er thy sleeping world ; 
 
 To murmur like a voice from out the air 
 
 Within thy dreaming ear, and blend my thoughts 
 
 With thy own thoughts of flame. 
 
 Then thou wouldst feel 
 My kisses on thy lip, and my young heart 
 Pressed to thy throbbing bosom as I watched 
 O'er thy unguarded hours, but yet no spell, 
 Flung on thy sweetly-troubled sleep, should haunt 
 Thy waking life with its remembered charm. 
 Ha ! what wild power is this that fills my soul, 
 Holding thought, feeling, ay, my very life, 
 In its resistless thrall ? 'Tis strangely sweet, 
 Yet there is madness in its influence, 
 And with a trembling soul and frame I bow 
 To its mysterious mastery. Oh, unchain 
 Thy victim, strong and beauteous spirit, take
 
 TO . 115 
 
 Thy magic fetter from my soul ; unbind 
 My wing and leave me free, as I Jiave been, 
 To wander with the birds, the waves, the winds, 
 The clouds, the stars, where'er I list, o'er earth 
 And through the blue and boundless cope of Heaven. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY., JANUARY 6, 1852.
 
 ~jl /TY dear, lost mother, it is midnight now, 
 J_T_L rpk e ^y - g ^k an( j starless, and the earth 
 Seems bound as with a spell of silence. All 
 Around is still and pulseless as the heart 
 Whence life has fled for ever. At this hour, 
 When in my listenings I can hear no sound, 
 Save the low earnest voice of my own soul 
 Calling in grief to Heaven, I would invoke 
 Thy spirit from its blessed home, to hold 
 Communion with thy child. 
 
 My thought retains 
 
 No vestige, mother, of thy form or face 
 Death took thee from me long ere memory
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
 Could paint the image of thy loveliness 
 
 Upon my infant soul. Yet many friends 
 
 Have told me thou wast beautiful beyond 
 
 The poet's twilight imaging. They say 
 
 That thy fair, blue-veined forehead nestled 'mid 
 
 The dark brown clusters of thy tresses, like 
 
 The spirit of sweet purity among 
 
 The clouds of earthly gloom ; that thy black eye. 
 
 Calm, proud, and beautiful, beamed with the pure 
 
 High visions of thy soul, as midnight waves 
 
 Gleam with the flashing star-beams ; that thy cheek, 
 
 For ever living with the blended hues 
 
 Of rose and lily, seemed to glow with more 
 
 Than earthly beauty ; and that thy red lips 
 
 Took added witcheries from the beaming smiles, 
 
 And from the tones of gentle melody 
 
 That ever hung around them. Ay, I've heard 
 
 Full oft of thy entrancing charms, and mused 
 
 In silence on them till my soul has sketched 
 
 A picture of surpassing loveliness, 
 
 And fondly named it thee ; and oh I feel 
 
 I could for ever kneel and worship it
 
 118 MY MOTHER. 
 
 In wild excess of love. I do not know 
 That e'er I heard thy voice, yet in my brain 
 There is a soft mysterious melody 
 Far sweeter than the sweetest sound of earth ; 
 And I have dreamed it is thy gentle tone 
 Breathed in mine ear in early infancy 
 And lingering faintly still. 
 
 My mother dear. 
 
 When the high mandate came that bade thee take 
 Farewell of this dark earth, and seek thy home 
 Of immortality beyond the stars, 
 Oh did no feeling of regret arise 
 Within thy pure and parting soul ? Hadst thou 
 No torturing fears, sweet mother, for thy child 
 Whom thou wast leaving in her helpless years 
 Amid a world of sin ? Hadst thou no dread 
 Lest her young feet should wander from the paths 
 Of truth, when she should hear no voice of thine 
 To warn her of her perils ? Mother, now 
 That child is weary of life's pilgrimage, 
 Her spirit is oppressed on this dark shore
 
 MY MOTHER. 119 
 
 Of time ; the burden of existence falls 
 
 Upon a heart too weak and faint to bear 
 
 Its cares and agonies ; and oh, she longs 
 
 To come to thee, and weep away her griefs 
 
 Upon thy sainted bosom. Be the first, 
 
 Oh mother, be the first to catch the sound 
 
 Of her young footsteps through the shadowy vale 
 
 Of death, and clasp her in thy blessed arms 
 
 In thy own Eden. 
 
 Mother, from thy home 
 Above, look down in pity on thy child, 
 Thy lonely orphan wanderer. Shelter her 
 With thy angelic wing in her sad stay 
 Upon the earth ; breathe strength from thy high soul 
 Into her soul ; oh speak to her in dreams, 
 When sleep has rent her earthly fetters ; tell 
 Her spirit of the bright, the better land ; 
 And keep her heart in all its wanderings pure 
 From the dark stains of this mortality. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, Oar. 25.
 
 &0 1. SL garridu 
 
 OH poet, to my lone and swelling heart 
 How gently comes the message sent by thine ; 
 It speaks to me of all I know thou art, 
 
 For thy high soul glows in each burning line. 
 I ne'er have met thee on the earth, but thou 
 
 Hast wakened visions that will long remain, 
 Shedding their holy brightness on my brow, 
 And haunting with their glory heart and brain. 
 
 Yes, poet, to my soul, as to thine own, 
 
 The world is bright, and if dark grief awhile 
 
 Clouds the high visions of my spirit lone, 
 I find no gloom in Nature's blessed smile.
 
 
 TO ,T. R. BARRICK. 1 
 
 The flowers still blow as in my childhood's years, 
 The sunset hangs as lovely on the sky, 
 
 And the dear moon wakes still the happy tears 
 Her pale face wakened in the years gone by. 
 
 And earth is brighter still, that souls like thine 
 
 Are sent by Heaven beneath the skies, to give 
 To cold realities a tinge divine, 
 
 And make it a sweet luxury to live. 
 Such spirits lend a deep ideal glow 
 
 To wave, to wildwood, rainbow, star and flower, 
 Charming from human life the shades of woe 
 
 By the strong spell of their mysterious power. 
 
 And thou hast stolen even from this dull, 
 
 Cold heart of mine, one-half its weight of pain, 
 And made existence almost beautiful 
 
 By the strange magic of thy heavenly strain. 
 Lured by thy tones, my weeping spirit turns 
 
 From all earth's cares, its bitterness and strife, 
 And, leaning on thy noble spirit, learns 
 
 To taste the glorious ecstasies of life.
 
 122 TO J. R. BARRICK. 
 
 Oh, earth to thee must be a Paradise, 
 
 Where birds are singing ever o'er thy head, 
 Where silver fountains picture golden skies, 
 
 And loveliest flowers spring up beneath thy tread. 
 And there blest spirits, beautiful and bright, 
 
 High angel-natures, love with thee to roam 
 At morn, at eve, and in the silent night, 
 
 And talk with thee of thy immortal home.
 
 /^vH, wearily, most wearily through life, 
 
 The orphan girl in bitter grief must go, 
 Uncheered amid the dark and fearful strife 
 
 A cold world wages with the child of woe ; 
 No parent's voice to soothe with sweet control 
 The burning tear-drops bursting from her soul. 
 
 She's desolate on earth, and she must bear 
 
 The conflict of mortality alone ; 
 Nor in her keenest anguish must she dare 
 
 To heave a sigh, or. breathe one sorrowing .moan ; 
 For men may mock the sighs and groans that start 
 From the recesses of a breaking heart !
 
 124 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 And when disease steals fiercely through her frame, 
 And she is lying helpless, pale, and weak 
 
 When fever's wild and desolating flame 
 Is burning on her brow and wasted cheek, 
 
 None come to stand beside her couch and lave 
 
 Her lip and forehead with the cooling wave. 
 
 Yet, oh, there's One to whom she still may turn, 
 One who hath power to soothe, to heal, to bless 
 
 The great All-Merciful, who will not spurn 
 The weeping orphan in her wretchedness ; 
 
 Yes, she may lift her earnest prayers on high 
 
 To Him who listens to the raven's cry. 
 
 He hears her pleading tones of agony 
 He sees the tears her lifted eyes that fill, 
 
 And the deep wounds that bled upon the tree 
 Are for the lovely orphan bleeding still ! 
 
 He will be with her in her sore distress, 
 
 A friend a father to the fatherless.
 
 THE ORPHAN. 125 
 
 Then lift thy head, poor orphan, in thy grief, 
 
 Turn from the world, and fix thy thoughts above 
 
 Thou hast a Father who can give relief, 
 And love thee with a deep, immortal love ! 
 
 He will uphold thee on life's stormy sea, 
 
 And make thee blessed in eternity.
 
 ON RECEIVING A MAGNOLIA FLOWER FROM 
 THE BEAUTIFUL SALLIE W. 
 
 T LOVE to look on thee, oh glorious flower, 
 
 The brightest nursling of the beam and shower ; 
 The soft, rich perfumes round thy fairy heart 
 To soul and sense an ecstasy impart ; 
 And thy young leaves of snowy whiteness gleam 
 With the strange beauty of a wild sweet dream. 
 
 There is a magic in thy leaves, bright flower, 
 That thrills me with its deep and mystic power.
 
 IMPROMPTU. .127 
 
 
 
 And o'er the calm thoughts slumbering in my soul, 
 $teals with a soft and beautiful control, 
 The glowing visions of my life to bless 
 With a deep spell of joy and loveliness. 
 
 Oh bright magnolia, thou hast ever stood 
 
 The queen of all the floral sisterhood, 
 
 And she, thy giver, in her pride of place, 
 
 Is crowned the queen of beauty, love, and grace ; 
 
 Ay, what thou art within the garden-bowers 
 
 Is she, thy giver, among human flowers. 
 
 Yet she is far more beautiful than thou, 
 Thy leaves are not so white as her white brow ; 
 'Twere vain within thy perfumed depths to seek 
 Such tints as live upon her heavenly cheek ; 
 And the dear witcheries of her blue eye glow 
 More lovely than thy cup of spotless snow. 
 
 In thy sweet incense-breath, there is no spell 
 Like those that round her presence ever dwell ;
 
 128 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Thy gentle beauty is a thing to keep 
 For ever in the spirit pure and deep ; 
 But she is God's own loveliest blossom, given 
 To tell us of the garden-bowers of Heaven. 
 
 Oh, thou and she were both sent here to bless 
 The earth with beauty, light, and loveliness ; 
 And it was well thy petals should expand, 
 Beneath the influence of her fostering hand, 
 For now thy leaves dear thoughts of her awake, 
 And thou art lovelier for her lovely sake. 
 
 I look on thee, and blessed thoughts of her 
 Within the depths of my sad spirit stir ; 
 I've gazed on her as now I gaze on thee, 
 Till my full soul gushed o'er with ecstasy, 
 And her wild beauty has become a part 
 For ever of my burning brain and heart. 
 
 Ah, dearest blossom, as with sorrowing eye 
 I watch thee fade, and feel thou soon must die,
 
 IMPROMPTU. 129 
 
 I weep for thee, but still 'tis joy to know 
 
 That her pure soul will keep its heavenly glow. 
 
 Passing at length to yon blue sky afar, 
 
 The brightest flower, changed to the brightest star.
 
 fife. 
 
 , life is very, very beautiful 
 
 To my young heart. No clouds are on its sky, 
 Save those the rainbow crowns ; no waters sweep 
 Beneath, save those that give the sky's soft blue 
 Back from their tranquil bosoms ; and no winds 
 Fly o'er the fresh green earth, save those that come 
 To bear sweet incense on their dewy wings, 
 To fan my glowing temples, and to lift 
 The light curl from my cheek. The many stars 
 Shine like rich blessings on me ; countless flowers, 
 With all their soft blue eyes, look love to mine ; 
 And myriad red and golden fruits hang low, 
 And seem to woo my hand to pluck them. Life 
 To me is all my heart has ever dreamed
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Of Eden land ; it is a blooming bower, 
 And I its merriest, happiest singing-bird. 
 They tell us of a brighter, better clime, 
 Beyond the star-lit azure, but I fain 
 Would live for ever on this earth." 
 
 Thus sang 
 
 At morn a wild and joyous-hearted girl, 
 Upon a flowery lea. Her loosened hat 
 Was swinging on her shoulders ; her white hand 
 Strayed 'mid the sunny ringlets of her hair ; 
 Her blue eyes glistened with her happy dreams ; 
 And sweet smiles played, like honey bees, around 
 Her parted cherry lips. Young roses lay 
 Upon her budding bosom ; and glad thoughts 
 Were springing in her heart sweet spirit-flowers, 
 More fresh, more bright, more beautiful, than those 
 That bloomed upon her breast. 
 
 Old Time moved on, 
 Smiling upon the gay and lovely girl,
 
 132 LIFE. 
 
 And bearing for her, on his gentle plumes, 
 All she could ask or crave. 
 
 A few brief years, 
 
 And Time's sweet smile was changed to frowns. He crushed 
 The dewy roses on that young girl's breast, 
 And in her heart. The waving of his wing 
 Waked a chill blast, from which she shrank away, 
 Looking in vain for refuge. One by one, 
 The friends and guardians of her earlier years 
 Fell at her side ; and one by one their graves 
 Were watered with her bitter tears. She felt 
 That she was all alone, a wanderer 
 Upon the desert of the world. Her voice, 
 So often answered in her happier hours 
 By tones of love and friendship, now came back, 
 But with a wailing echo to her sad 
 And straining ear. All bowed in soul, she pined 
 In deep and utter solitude. Her hair, 
 That erst had wantoned on each passing gale 
 So bright and free, was plainly gathered o'er
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Her pale and stricken brow. Her eye, that once 
 Had danced so wildly to the melody 
 Of her own soul's sweet fancies, looked through tears. 
 Yet sparkled with the strange mysterious light 
 That tells of coming death. A deep-drawn sigh, 
 More dismal than the sobbing of the wind 
 Through the lone ruins of an ancient tomb, 
 Told that her heart was broken. And as there 
 She bowed her forehead low upon her hand, 
 Her anguish thus found utterance. 
 
 "What is life? 
 
 Oh, what is life ? A sigh, a tear, a frown, 
 A shadow and a mockery ! The light clouds, 
 iat moved so sweetly o'er my morning sky, 
 xlave darkened to a tempest ; the bright waves 
 That caught the morning and the evening beam, 
 Wear midnight's sable hue, and break and roar 
 In yeasty wrath around me ; and the winds 
 That used to linger on my floating curls, 
 And with their dew-lips kiss my rosy cheeks,
 
 134 LIFE. 
 
 Have turned to winter blasts, and fiercely sweep 
 
 Cold, cold and bitter o'er me. Not a flower 
 
 Blooms in my cheerless pathway ; not a bird 
 
 Sings in my lonely ear ; not one dear voice 
 
 Calls to me in my grief ; and not one star 
 
 Shines on this Avide and awful waste. My life 
 
 Is very, very desolate. God ! 
 
 Thou stay and helper of the weary heart ! 
 
 To Thee I kneel in agony, and pray 
 
 That Thou wilt take me from this dreary world 
 
 To rest for ever in Thy smile of love."
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO MRS. L. A. W. 
 OF LITTLE ROCK. 
 
 /~\H how serenely soft that pale high brow, 
 
 O'er which her clustering tresses stray, her eye, 
 Dissolving in its sweet blue tenderness, 
 As from its depths a mother's holy love 
 Is gleaming like the light of heaven, her lips 
 Just parted as the low and earnest prayer 
 Of angel purity dies soft away 
 In wild, sweet music. O'er her infant now 
 In slumber " lightly bound," her gentle form 
 Is bending low, while blessed, heaven-born hopes 
 Are beaming forth from her unshadowed heart,
 
 136 THE YOUNG MOTHER. 
 
 And lighting up her pale and placid face 
 As beautifully as the sunlight glows 
 And trembles through a holy crystal fane. 
 Close to her breast, her gently throbbing breast, 
 Her young babe nestles as a thought of love 
 Clings to the human soul. One little hand 
 Is pressed in hers, and now a soft sweet smile 
 Is stealing o'er its lovely cherub-face. 
 Gently she whispers to it of its dear 
 And absent father, and the tear-drop bright 
 Is quivering on her eyelid like the dew 
 On the blue violet's petal. And when soft 
 Sweet slumber folds its calm, mysterious wing 
 Upon her cherub's little breast, its quick 
 Low breathings fall upon her listening ear 
 Like notes of heaven. 
 
 Young mother, 'tis thy first 
 Bright joy, thy first deep care oh may it prove 
 Thy latest blessing. Since we parted last 
 Full many changes have passed o'er our lives,
 
 THE YOUNG MOTHER. 137 
 
 New ties around thy pure and noble heart 
 
 Are twining, and they give to thy young life 
 
 A bright wild charm. Thus may it ever be 
 
 To thee may all the bright and glittering links, 
 
 Which hold thee here a happy prisoner 
 
 On Time's dark shore, still form a blessed chain 
 
 To bind thy spirit also to the loved 
 
 Within the angel world. Ah, I can look 
 
 With tearful joy upon thy added ties 
 
 To life, and feel within my heart my own 
 
 Are lessening fast. Oh may thy bud of love 
 
 Expand, and prove thy deep heart's sweetest flower, 
 
 And may ye both, in God's own Paradise, 
 
 Be glorious blossoms on His Tree of Life. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, JUNE 2J.
 
 JL, of 
 
 /^\H minstrel of the magic lyre, thy soul 
 
 Is full of fancies high and beautiful. 
 I ne'er have seen thee, yet thy gentle thoughts 
 And fairy dreams have wakened in my heart, 
 A feeling so delicious, so divine, 
 So soft, so dreamy, earnest and intense, 
 That I have called it love. Oh yes, 'tis love, 
 High spirit-love, my young soul feels for thine 
 A sweet emotion, fluttering in my breast, 
 With not one tinge of earth upon its pure 
 And bright ethereal plumage. 
 
 Minstrel, oft, 
 
 Full oft, at twilight's calm and holy time, 
 I've mused upon thy wild enchanting lays
 
 TO C. W. A., OF TAYLORSVILLE. 139 
 
 Till I have-blent a haunting thought of thee 
 
 With the Jeep spirit of that sacred hour. 
 
 And, in tliy lofty inspiration, thou 
 
 So oft hast pictured visions that have lived, 
 
 And breathed, and glowed, and brightened in my heart. 
 
 That I have named thee, in excess of love, 
 
 My spirit's own interpreter. 
 
 Inspired 
 
 And gifted poet, thou hast said the griefs 
 That shade my young and lonely life, should wake 
 A sympathy within thy noble heart. 
 Oh for that sympathy ! My spirit yearns 
 To see and bless thee for thy kindly words. 
 Warmly and fondly do I welcome thee, 
 My soul's true friend. Ah, yes, we will be friends ; 
 Though we may never meet, the sunset blush, 
 The lovely vesper star, the sweet pale moon, 
 The flowers, the waves, the zephyr, and the dew, 
 And all the thousand thrilling harmonies 
 Of Nature's holy lyre, shall link our souls
 
 \ 
 
 140 TO C. W. A., OF TAYLORSVILLE. 
 
 In sweet companionship. 
 
 It matters not 
 
 That we have never met, and may not meet 
 In all our wanderings here, for I shall know 
 And love thee, in the bright, the better world. 
 Ay, I shall know thee, for my musing soul, 
 Sleeping and waking, oft has pictured thee 
 On fancy's glowing canvas, and I feel 
 That truth is in the picture. 
 
 When my soul 
 
 Is revelling in joys and ecstasies, 
 I'll send it laden with soft, rosy dreams, 
 To hold sweet intercourse with thee, and when 
 My thoughts and visions are of heaven, thy name 
 Shall oft be spoken in my earnest prayers.
 
 /^VH thou hast called me thy own sister dear, 
 
 And my wild heart, o'erfilled with burning love, 
 Hath sprung, as springs the lark at early morn, 
 To greet the golden beam of day's proud star ; 
 Or, as the pale and fainting floweret turns 
 Its wilted leaves to the refreshing dew. 
 Dost ask to read this wayward heart of mine, 
 To scan its agonies, its wild, deep griefs 1 
 Would'st thou not turn away from me, when o'er 
 That volume dark thine eye should roam ? Oh, say, 
 Could'st love me still, friend of my darkened years ? 
 Life's weary sands are failing fast. When thou 
 Lookest upon this still and haughty face, 
 Dost thou e'er dream that passion's maddening tide
 
 142 T0 A FRIEND. 
 
 All wildly rolls below ? Ah, dost thou dream 
 That smiles, which flit like golden shadows o'er 
 >My careless brow, have lost the power to soothe 
 The wild and dark unrest of mind and heart ? 
 That like a fiendish power, ambition works 
 Within my brain, and fiercely riots on 
 My warm and bounding soul ? Each energy 
 Of my strong nature, now is bent to gain 
 Fame's lofty summit, and I may not stop 
 Life's flowers to gather. Better then that thou 
 Should'st leave me now, and see me nevermore. 
 Ne'er may we hope, within this world of woe, 
 The separate currents of our lives to blend ; 
 Yet we have met and loved, and ere we part, 
 I fain would lay my hand upon thy brow, 
 And bless thee purely, deeply, fervently, 
 And ask thee, in the pure depths of thy soul, 
 One flower to keep for ever 'mid life's stern 
 And rushing conflict the deep, earnest love 
 Of her whom thou hast called thy sister dear. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KT.
 
 gwtai larbitan i|rm& ^nnl-mmfy an* 
 grofcen Jtanrt. 
 
 A SCENE FROM BULWER'S ZANONI. 
 
 TT was the close of day upon the shores 
 
 Of beauteous Naples. The low murmuring waves 
 That rose and fell upon the " Siren's sea," 
 Gleamed like pale rubies in the sunset glow ; 
 The dim isles, veiled in mists of silver, rose 
 Far through the dim and shadowy atmosphere; 
 The pale, sweet stars shone calm and beautiful 
 In the blue diadem of night, and shapes 
 Of loveliness and beauty seemed to steal 
 Forth from the soft and deepening shades, as Love,
 
 144 BROKEN BARB I TON. 
 
 And star-eyed Hope, and pensive Memory 
 Steal from the twilight of the heart. Afar, 
 Like a huge column moving in the heavens, 
 Soared the gray smdke of old Vesuvius, 
 From its broad base of lurid flame ; the shaft 
 Of Maro's tomb above the beetling cliff 
 Was drawn against the deep blue sky, and soft 
 The scattered gardens of the Caprea shone, 
 Like "wrecks of Paradise." No human voice 
 Broke the deep spell of silence and repose, 
 That rested like a calm, mysterious dream 
 Upon the landscape, yet the air still seemed 
 All musical, and strangely eloquent 
 With the hushed cadences and passion-sighs 
 Of deep and burning love. 
 
 Ah ! 'mid this scene 
 Of loveliness and deep serenity, 
 The traces of despair, and woe, and death 
 Were darkly visible. The twilight's last 
 Sweet, rosy smile of gentleness and love
 
 BROKEN BARBITON. 145 
 
 Stole softly, calmly, beautifully through 
 
 The parted vines that bloomed and clustered o'er 
 
 The window of an humble cottage home, 
 
 And fell upon the white brow of the dead, 
 
 As human love falls vainly on the heart 
 
 Of cold despair. Alone the minstrel slept 
 
 In his unbreathing rest. Upon the floor, 
 
 Beside him, lay the cherished laurel-wreath. 
 
 His only wealth, the guerdon of his toils, 
 
 The one dear boon for which, through weary years 
 
 Of bitter sorrows, he had patiently 
 
 Struggled and suffered, pouring forth his wild, 
 
 Deep soul of music, while keen agony 
 
 Was tearing his great heart. There, there it lay 
 
 All pale and withering, like the throbless brow 
 
 Whence it had fallen. 
 
 There, beside him too, . 
 Broken and silent lay his barbiton, 
 His own familiar, in whose spirit tones 
 His spirit e'er had found in joy and grief 
 7
 
 146 BROKEN BARBITON. 
 
 A faithful echo. It had been his friend, 
 True and unfailing, 'mid the darkened wrecks 
 Of human friendships. It had been his love, 
 His child, his life, and his religion. He 
 Had talked to it at twilight's wizard hour, 
 The hour that now closed over it and him, 
 And it had answered him in tones of more 
 Than earthly sympathy. And he had won, 
 With its dear aid, the wreath so fondly deemed 
 The emblem of fame's immortality. 
 But now the dust was on its loosened chords, 
 That, like his own dark tresses, swept the floor, 
 To sound no more, save when perchance the wind, 
 Straying at nightfall through that ruined cot, 
 Should gently stir them with its breath of sighs, 
 To one low wail, one melancholy moan, 
 For him who so had loved them. 
 
 'Twas a scene 
 
 To move the heart to tears. The world around, 
 The air, the earth, the sky, the ocean, seemed
 
 BROKEN BARBITON. 147 
 
 Flooded with beauty ; every isle that gleamed 
 
 In the deep sea, and every sweet star isle 
 
 That glittered in the blue sky, seemed a bright 
 
 Calypso of the heart, yet in that lone 
 
 And silent cottage home, the minstrel pale 
 
 The wreath that he had purchased with the cries, 
 
 The wild shrieks of his. spirit and the lyre, 
 
 The sole companion of his life of toil, 
 
 His heart's dear idol mouldered side by side, 
 
 Unheeded by the careless race of men. 
 
 LOCISVIIXE, FEBRUARY, 1852.
 
 T LE AKNED within myself to live. I saw, 
 
 E'en in my childhood, that the heart's bright buds 
 Withered and faded at the touch. I turned 
 From all life's empty, heartless mockeries, 
 And wept my griefs away on Nature's breast. 
 To me was given the deep and earnest love 
 Of holy solitude. I strayed alone 
 By rock and stream, and through the forest depths, 
 And found a sweet and dear companionship 
 In every sight and sound that greeted me 
 In all my wayward wanderings. 
 
 I learned 
 Glad music from the lark's free, gushing song,
 
 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME. 149 
 
 And my heart's sad and mournful minstrelsy 
 
 Found sweet interpretation in the low 
 
 And gentle wailings of the stricken dove. 
 
 My spirit rocked upon the swinging tops 
 
 Of the tall oaks ; it danced upon the waves 
 
 That leaped in light and music or in wrath 
 
 Upon the shore ; it rode upon the winds, 
 
 Soft whispering to the softly whispering leaves, 
 
 Or pealing like some deep-toned instrument 
 
 Through the green banners of the wood ; it sailed 
 
 Upon the clouds that floated beautiful 
 
 Or dark with tempest ; and it wandered oft 
 
 Above, to hold its joyous revelry 
 
 With all the thousand spirit-shapes that bathed 
 
 Their purple plumage in the rosy waves 
 
 Flooding the sunset. My dear mother's smile, 
 
 Caught by the stars from Eden, sweetly shone 
 
 In their pure light on my uplifted eyes, 
 
 And her soft words of cheer came to my soul 
 
 On every gale of morn, and noon, and eve, 
 
 And holy midnight. I was happy then,
 
 150 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME. 
 
 Ay, bappy, my lost mother was in heaven, 
 But Nature was my mother on the earth, 
 And both seemed e'er to love me well. 
 
 At length 
 
 There came a change. The maddening dream of fame, 
 The wish to shine among earth's proudest, took 
 Possession of my soul. No more I loved 
 The voice of birds, the shouting of the stream, 
 And the green surging of the woods. I bowed 
 In seeming admiration of the throng, 
 And felt my cheek burn and my pulses leap 
 To the vile breath of those I could but hate 
 Within my secret soul. The sneering thought 
 That started fiercely upward from my heart, 
 Brightened to smiles upon my lips ; my brain 
 Grew dizzy, and the tear was in my eye, 
 If with rude hand my spirit's chords were jarred 
 By those I longed to spurn beneath my feet. 
 I wildly struggled for the world's applause, 
 But trembled at the faintest word of blame.
 
 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME, 15 
 
 As 'twere the voice of destiny. I won 
 
 The laurel crown, and with exulting heart 
 
 I felt its thrilling pressure on my brow : 
 
 But ah ! a hreath of poison from the crowd 
 
 Passed o'er its blooming leaves, and nought remained 
 
 But dust upon my temples. A bright name 
 
 Was my soul's idol, but a feeble blow 
 
 From hands unworthy, shattered and cast down 
 
 That wildly Avorshipped idol from its shrine, 
 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 Now, alas ! 
 
 Joy, love, hope, pride, ambition, all are dead 
 Within my breast. I smile in bitterness, 
 To think with what a madness of the soul 
 I sought a worthless bauble. Like a gleam 
 Of moonlight from the mountain, or the flash 
 Of an expiring meteor from the deep, 
 Or the red glow of sunset from the west, 
 That dream of fame has vanished from my life, 
 And now I feel no pang of vain regret 
 That it has perished thus.
 
 152 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF FAME. 
 
 But I look back 
 
 With tears and sighs on the departed years, 
 When breeze and billow chanted to my soul 
 Their morning hymn and evening psalm ; when soft 
 And beautiful night's silver crescent shone 
 Upon my spirit, and when all the stars 
 Were to my eyes God's living poetry, 
 Traced by His hand upon the sky's blue scroll. 
 Ah ! I am twice an orphan, for, alas 1 
 My mother Nature now is dead to me. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, 1852.
 
 $, fefk to a 
 
 ON THE EVE OF HIS DEPARTUKE FOR 
 EUROPE. 
 
 rPHOU'LT leave us ! o'er the wild waves of the deep, 
 
 Where winds in fierce unrest for ever sweep, 
 In dim, and dark, and distant lands to roam, 
 A weary wanderer from thy Western home. 
 Friend of my father, my full heart is stirred, 
 And, ere thou go, 'twould breathe a parting word, 
 And bid thee linger not on those far shores 
 From those who love thee in their hearts' deep cores. 
 I've loved I love thee, and in earnest prayer 
 To Heaven, I ask, that, when oppressed with care, 
 7*
 
 154 A TRIFLE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Where Albion's gleaming cliffs are floating high, 
 Like snowy clouds against her pale blue sky, 
 Thou there may'st find a gentle friend, like me, 
 To love, to tend, to guard and cherish thee ; 
 Soft, tender, true, affectionate, and kind, 
 As the pure thoughts of thy own heart and mind. 
 Thou goest forth with golden hopes, that gleam 
 Like flashing sunshine on the morning stream 
 May those bright hopes ne'er melt away in tears, 
 But glow and brighten through the coming years. 
 Whether thou ling'rest where Italian skies 
 Shine ever with their glorious Eden-dyes, 
 Where the deep soul of love all wildly gleams 
 In the mild lustre of the moon's sweet beams, 
 And where bright lakes in their untroubled rest, 
 Smile like young dimples upon Nature's breast ; 
 Or where the mountains of old Switzerland 
 Tower with their glaciers, stern; and wild, and grand ; 
 Or 'mid sweet Erin's emerald vales and bowers, 
 Or in gay France to " chase the glowing hours " 
 With merry jest, and laugh, and song, and dance, 
 Forgetful of dark time and dreary chance ;
 
 A TRIFLE TO A FRIEND. 155 
 
 I pray thee, 'mid thy wanderings, still to keep 
 
 Within thy memory beautiful and deep, 
 
 A gentle thought of me, a holy spell 
 
 In thy true soul God bless thee, and farewell.
 
 Irn 0f % part 
 
 in my breast there is a sacred urn 
 I ever guard with holiest care, and keep 
 From the cold world's intrusion. It is filled 
 With dear and lovely treasures, that I prize 
 Above the gems that sparkle in the vales 
 Of Orient climes, or glitter in the crowns 
 Of sceptred kings. 
 
 The priceless wealth of life 
 Within that urn is gathered. All the bright 
 And lovely jewels that the years have dropped 
 Around me from their pinions, in their swift 
 And noiseless flight to old Eternity, 
 Are treasured there. A thousand buds and flowers,
 
 THE URN OF THE HEART. 157 
 
 That the cool dews of life's young morning bathed, 
 
 That its soft gales fanned with their gentle wings, 
 
 And that its genial sunbeams warmed to life, 
 
 And fairy beauty 'mid the melodies 
 
 Of founts and singing birds, He hoarded there, 
 
 Dead, dead, for ever dead ! but, oh, as bright 
 
 And beautiful to me, as when they beamed 
 
 With Nature's radiant jewelry of dew. 
 
 And they have more than mortal sweetness now, 
 
 For the dear breath of loved ones, loved and lost, 
 
 Is mingling with their holy perfume. 
 
 A very miser, day and night I hide 
 
 The hoarded riches of my dear heart-urn. 
 
 Oft at the midnight's calm and silent hour, 
 
 When not a tone of living nature seems 
 
 To rise from all the lone and sleeping earth, 
 
 I lift the lid softly and noiselessly, 
 
 Lest some dark, wandering spirit of the air 
 
 Perchance should catch with his quick ear the sound,
 
 158 THE URN OF THE HEART. 
 
 And steal my treasures. With, a glistening eye 
 And leaping pulse, I tell them o'er and o'er, 
 Musing on each, and hallow it with smiles, 
 And tears, and sighs, and fervent blessings. 
 
 &&?. Then 
 
 With soul as proud as if yon broad blue sky, 
 With all its bright and burning stars were mine, 
 But with a saddened heart, I close the lid, 
 And once again return to busy life, 
 To play my part amid its mockeries.
 
 E twilight now is blushing o'er the earth 
 The west is glowing like a garden, rich 
 With Summer's many-tinted blooms ; the flowers 
 Of earth hold up their fairy cups to catch 
 The softly falling dew-drops ; the bright stars 
 Are set like glorious diamonds on the dark 
 Blue drapery of the halls of heaven ; the pale 
 Sweet moon, like some young angel of the air, 
 Floats from the east upon her silver wing ; 
 Eve's golden clouds hang low and thin, white mists 
 Rise silently and beautifully up 
 Through the calm atmosphere. Serenity 
 And loveliness and beauty are abroad 
 O'er the whole world of nature.
 
 160 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 At this hour. 
 
 When all the dark, wild passions of the breast 
 Are hushed and quelled by Nature's spell of power, 
 When every wayward feeling is rebuked 
 And chastened by the blended influence 
 Of earth and heaven, I've stolen forth alone 
 Beneath the blue and glorious- sky, to hold 
 Communion with the golden hours now gone 
 Into the past eternity. 
 
 My heart 
 
 Is very soft to-night, and joys long past 
 Shine through the silver mists of memory, 
 Like sweet stars of the soul. My brow is flushed, 
 My bosom throbs, and blessed tears well up 
 From my heart's unsealed fountain, as I see 
 Through the pale shadows of the years, the home 
 Where first I felt the sweefc, bewildering bliss 
 Of new existence. Softly, through the deep 
 Green foliage of the grove, the beautiful 
 White cottage peeps with its thick-blooming vines,
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 161 
 
 And in the distance the still church-yard, where 
 
 Repose the cold, unthrobbing hearts of those 
 
 I loved in childhood, lifts its marble shafts 
 
 Beneath the drooping willows. I behold 
 
 The shaded paths where my young footsteps strayed 
 
 To gather wild flowers at the morning tide, 
 
 And for a few brief moments once again 
 
 I seem to wander through the dear old wood. 
 
 The birds sing round me, the dark forest pines, 
 
 Stirred by the breeze, make music like the low 
 
 Faint murmurs of the sea, my playmates shout 
 
 Beside me, and my mother's music call 
 
 Of gentle love is in my ear. 
 
 Oh, there, 
 
 In that sweet home, I cherished fairy dreams 
 Of happiness, and all my being wore 
 A glow of deep, ideal loveliness. 
 My vanished childhood rises to my view 
 In pale and melancholy beauty. Life 
 Since then hath been but desolate. Alas !
 
 162 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 What heart-chords have been broken, what bright dreams 
 
 Been shadowed by the hue of grief. No more 
 
 The Egeria of my spirit- worship haunts 
 
 The grove and wood. No charm can woo her back, 
 
 She will not hear my call, she answers not 
 
 The witching spell of fancy. It is not 
 
 That nature has grown old. Her skies are still 
 
 As blue, her trees as green, her dews as soft, 
 
 Her flowers as sweet, her clouds as beautiful, 
 
 Her birds, her waves, her minds as musical 
 
 As when I was a child Alas ! the change 
 
 Is in my heart. 
 
 Oh, blessed memories 
 
 Of home ! ye are the worshipped household gods 
 Upon my spirit's altar. Vanished years ! 
 Ye are the dew-drops that my spirit's flowers 
 Enfold within their petals. Years have passed 
 Since that all-mournful day, when, with a sad 
 And breaking heart, and streaming eyes, I left 
 The scenes of childhood, and went forth to find
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 163 
 
 A home amid the stranger crowds, where I 
 
 Have learned to wear the mask that others wear, 
 
 To smile while agony is in my soul. 
 
 Yet at an hour like this, when Nature glows 
 
 With deepest loveliness, when earth and heaven 
 
 Unite to woo my heart from its retreat 
 
 Of gloom and sorrow, I can wander back 
 
 To quench my faint and sinking spirit's thirst 
 
 At young life's gushing fountains, and forget 
 
 That I am not once more a happy child.
 
 taring 
 
 fTIHOU wilt not leave me, Love, to pine alone 
 
 Upon the dreary desert of the world. 
 Thou wilt not, must not, nay, thou canst not die, 
 And leave me here, a lonely, withering flower, 
 Torn from its parent stem and torn from thee, 
 Its dear flower-mate, and thrown upon the cold 
 Unsympathizing earth to sigh away 
 Its breath upon the gales of autumn. Thou 
 Must never leave me, dearest, for with thee 
 My spirit's life would perish. 
 
 I have marked 
 
 Thy pale cheek growing paler ; I have watched 
 The bright, unearthly glitter of thine eye,
 
 TO , DURING HIS ILLNESS. 165 
 
 And seen the crimson spot upon thy brow, 
 The omens of the grave. Thy pallid lip 
 Trembles as with a keen, unspoken pain, 
 And there are times when o'er thy sunken face 
 Deep, mournful shadows, and bright spirit-gleams, 
 Follow each other, telling that thy thoughts 
 Are of the tomb and heaven. 
 
 Thy hand is cold, 
 
 And damp and deathlike when 'tis pressed in mine, 
 And though few years have yet been thine on earth, 
 Bright silver threads, like waning spectres, gleam 
 Amid the raven curls that float around 
 Thy temples pale. Thy voice hath fainter grown, 
 And though its melody is sweeter now 
 Than even when, in thy young years of health 
 And manly strength, thy first dear words of love 
 Were breathed into my ear, its sweetness seems 
 Caught from the spirit-world. Ay, its low tones 
 Soften and melt, each day, as if they were 
 Attuning, even now, their cadences
 
 TO , DURING HIS ILLNESS. 
 
 To join the angel harmonies that float 
 Upon the air of Eden. 
 
 Yet, oh stay ! 
 
 The earth is beautiful to thee ; and while 
 Thou lingerest here, thy presence makes it bright 
 And beautiful to me. Stay ! stay ! oh stay ! 
 And do not leave my life a cheerless night, 
 Without one gleaming star upon the cold 
 Blue desert of its sky. My heart has flung 
 The whole wealth of its hoarded love on thee ; 
 Fame's choicest garland blooms upon thy brow, 
 Won proudly by thy glorious genius ; thine 
 Is the loud worship of the shouting throng ; 
 Fortune has poured her treasures at thy feet, 
 And many friends, who love thee earnestly, 
 Are watching with alternate hope and fear 
 From day to day the changes of thy face, 
 Betokening life or death. 
 
 Then live, oh live 
 For me, for friends, for glory, for mankind !
 
 TO , DURING HIS ILLNESS. 167 
 
 Thy strength of soul has made thee conqueror 
 
 In every mortal strife. Oh struggle now 
 
 With the last enemy ! Ah, well I know 
 
 That thou, whose tones were never breathed in vain, 
 
 Canst, by their deep, enchanting music, win 
 
 The angel health back to thy life once more. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, 1852. 
 
 THE END.
 
 IMHIVBHfo 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 315
 
 L006 213 924 1 
 
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