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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A Spray of Lilac
 
 Printed by BaLLANTYNE, HANSON AND Co. 
 Londofi and Edinbursh
 
 A Spray 
 
 of Lilac 
 
 ^nd Other Voems and Songs 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIE HEDDERWICK BROWNE 
 
 LONDON 
 ISBISTER AND COMPANY Limited 
 
 15 & 16 TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN 
 1892
 
 Oh, lilac bloom ! strange that so slight a thing 
 As thou is strong to roll away the stone 
 
 From memory's grave, and set the dead past free 
 To claim again brief kinship with its own.
 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 Most of the Poems contained in this volume have appeared 
 during the past ten years, in '^Atalanta," "Chambers's 
 Journal,'' "London Society," "Little Folks," "The Girl's 
 Own Paper," and other serials. 
 
 If an apology for venturing to offer them to the public in 
 collected form be deemed necessary, I can only urge the plea 
 of the poor but hospitable Dervish, " He is a generous host 
 who freely giveth his best, be his best but clear water and a 
 crust:' 
 
 M. H. B. 
 
 London, December 1892 
 
 Oif^^^,^P--i^ 
 
 •> -.S'.-
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A SPRAY OF LILAC I 
 
 IN AN OLD GARDEN 3 
 
 A mother's grief 5 
 
 A SUMMER MEMORY 8 
 
 UNSATISFIED H 
 
 MY SONG 12 
 
 IN AN OLD CHURCHYARD I3 
 
 SECRETS 15 
 
 REVEALED — NOT SPOKEN 16 
 
 BURIED TREASURES I9 
 
 AFFINITY 20 
 
 "MY HOUSE IS LEFT UNTO ME DESOLATE" ... 21 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S DREAM 22 
 
 A SUMMER WOOING 24 
 
 WEE ELSIE 26 
 
 BIDE Wl' MITHER 28 
 
 CHILD ANGELS 30 
 
 MY LOVE OF LONG AGO 32 
 
 IN SUMMER TIME 34 
 
 TWIN-SISTERS 36 
 
 AT LAST . - 38 
 
 TRYSTING-TIME 4O 
 
 BESIDE THE DEAD 4! 
 
 HER FIRST SEASON 43 
 
 ANTICIPATED 46 
 
 WHEN THOU ART NEAR 47 
 
 A PORTRAIT 48 
 
 DOROTHY 49 
 
 DAFFODILS 5I 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD 52 
 
 "WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG" .... 53 
 
 grannie's bairn 54 
 
 love's power 56
 
 Vlll 
 
 Contents 
 
 A JUNE MEMORY . 
 A MESSAGE . 
 HER WINDOW 
 SHATTERED HOPES 
 HAND IN HAND . 
 "AND FOR THE WEARY 
 IN AN OLD ORCHARD 
 BY THE SEA 
 REGRET 
 
 wae's me , 
 the reason why 
 down by the sea 
 a venture 
 water lilies 
 the sentinel 
 a love song 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 A QUAKER MAID 
 
 THE TIME, THE PLACE 
 
 DAY DREAMS 
 
 SONG OF THE SEASONS 
 
 ONE SUMMER DAY 
 
 THE INSCRUTABLE 
 
 DELILAH 
 
 A baby's grave . 
 
 A child's FAVOURITE 
 RICH OR POOR ? . 
 dolly's GARDEN 
 IN A DREAM-SHIP 
 THE FLOWER-QUEEN'S 
 A VETERAN . 
 TO A BUTTERFLY 
 WHEN AND WHERE 
 WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG 
 A CHARACTER SKETCH 
 FRIENDS 
 BED-TIME 
 
 REST 
 
 THE 
 
 FALL 
 
 BELOVED 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 57 
 59 
 6i 
 62 
 64 
 
 65 
 67 
 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 71 
 73 
 74 
 
 75 
 76 
 
 77 
 78 
 
 79 
 81 
 82 
 
 83 
 84 
 
 85 
 86 
 
 87 
 88 
 89 
 90 
 91 
 93 
 
 95 
 
 96 
 
 96 
 
 100 
 
 lOI 
 
 102 
 104 
 
 V4
 
 A SPRAY OF LILAC 
 
 Pale cluster, thy faint perfume comes to me 
 
 Laden with memories of long ago, 
 And all the present dims as o'er my soul 
 
 The waves of tender recollection flow. 
 
 With Spring's young blood again my veins are 
 thrilled, 
 
 My hands are stretched to meet the comingjears, 
 The world holds all the glory that it held 
 
 Ere yet mine eyes had looked on it thro' tears. 
 
 With deftest fingers fancy weaves once more 
 
 Her fairy fabrics ; vast horizons glow 
 
 With fires of promise, for behind their veils 
 
 They hid rich treasures in that long-ago. 
 
 A
 
 c/f spray of Lilac 
 
 The subtle sweetness of the vanished days, 
 The rapture of the old ecstatic bliss, 
 
 All, all are mine, as once again I cling 
 To ripe warm lips in love's first passion-kiss. 
 
 The long delicious Summer slowly weaves 
 For Autumn's brows a crown of living gold ; 
 
 Sad Winter follows with his winding-sheet, 
 For all the glory has grown grey and old. 
 
 Oh, lilac bloom, strange that so slight a thing 
 As thou, is strong to roll away the stone 
 
 From memory's grave, and set the dead past free 
 To claim yet once brief kinship with its own.
 
 IN AN OLD GARDEN 
 
 Yellow roses, purple pansies, 
 Tufts of heavy-headed stocks ; 
 
 Either side the quaint old gateway 
 Blazing, torch- like hollyhocks. 
 
 Sweet peas tossing airy banners, 
 
 Saintly lilies bending low. 
 Daisies, powdering all the green sward 
 
 With a shower of summer snow. 
 
 Boxwood borders — yews fantastic — 
 Wallflowers that with every sigh 
 
 Spill such scent that e'en the brown bees, 
 Reel with rapture wandering by.
 
 In an Old Qarden 
 
 And the pear trees, long arms stretching 
 
 O'er the sunny gable wall, 
 Scarce can hold their ruddy nurslings 
 
 Ripening where the warm beams fall. 
 
 Oh, the ecstasy of living ! 
 
 How it thrills my life to-day ! 
 I can almost hear the flower-bells 
 
 Tinkle where my footsteps stray ! 
 
 In a garden God first placed man, 
 There first woke Love's magic thrill ; 
 
 And methinks a breath of Eden 
 Clings to earth's old gardens still
 
 A MOTHER'S GRIEF 
 
 To a great wide city all alone, 
 
 Long, long ago went our baby queen — 
 No name but hers on the white headstone, 
 
 That gleams to the moon from its mound of green ! 
 None of her own did welcome her there — 
 
 Not a grain of kindred dust doth wave 
 In the flowers that out of the tears of despair 
 
 Have arched a rainbow over her grave. 
 
 Out from the shelter of loving arms, 
 
 Out from the warmth of a mother's breast, 
 Heedless of darkness and night's alarms. 
 
 On to the silent city she pressed 
 To take her place 'mong the mighty throng 
 
 That people its myriad streets. Ah, me ! 
 I felt my God had done me a >vrong, 
 
 When He loosened love's cords and set her free !
 
 <t4 Mother's Qrief 
 
 And my passionate moan that broke in tears, 
 
 Like a burdened wave on a desert shore, 
 Seemed all too feeble to reach His ears 
 
 And the pain grew old that my bosom bore ; 
 But the faith that I once had thought mine own 
 
 Rose up to mock where it could not save, 
 And my heart grew hard as the carven stone 
 
 That was crushing my darling in her grave. 
 
 Whenever a child's sweet flower-like face 
 
 Met mine, a sickness would o'er me creep, 
 And I'd turn wild eyes to the lonely place 
 
 Where she was lying alone — asleep. 
 At strife was I with the world, and God 
 
 Had drawn around Him an angry cloud ; 
 Earth held no green but the churchyard sod, 
 
 And the daisies wore the gleam of a shroud. 
 
 But a time there came when about my breast 
 With a wand'ring touch small fingers stole. 
 
 And feeble lips to its fountains pressed, 
 
 And stirred with a vague sweet joy my soul ;
 
 A Mother's Qrief 
 
 And the floodgates opened, and blessed tears 
 Of repentance fell from my eyes like rain, 
 
 And after the barren and prayerless years 
 I knelt to the Giver of All again !
 
 A SUMMER MEMORY 
 
 I REMEMBER an evening, 
 An evening in one far June, 
 
 The sun seemed loth to leave the sky 
 To a young impatient moon. 
 
 The yellow sands lay waiting 
 For the sea's long cool embrace ; 
 
 We watched the ripples breaking, 
 Like smiles upon its face. 
 
 The green trees nestled closer 
 To the broad breast of the hill ; 
 
 The twilight's glamour gathered, 
 And the day was with us still.
 
 A Summer oVIemory 
 
 And a sadness born of beauty, 
 
 And a joy to pain akin, 
 Touched all that lay without us, 
 
 And hushed my soul within. 
 
 A silence stepped between us, 
 We seemed to stand apart ; 
 
 Yet I thought your eyes grew tender. 
 And I know what filled my heart. 
 
 But the words were never spoken ; 
 
 And the distance wider grew. 
 Till the world of waves was lying 
 
 Between me, love, and you. 
 
 No bridge might ever cross it. 
 
 I watched you turn away, 
 And I went back to duty — 
 
 'Tis all a woman may. 
 
 But I never shall be nearer 
 The thrilling heights of bliss — 
 
 Unless the next world gives us 
 The love we lose in this —
 
 lo A Summer Memory 
 
 Than when in that far June-time, 
 We seemed to stand apart, 
 
 And I thought your eyes grew tender, 
 And I knew what filled my heart.
 
 UNSATISFIED 
 
 Oh, "dear dead days" that dearer grow, 
 I look behind, and thro' my tears, 
 Across a wide, wide gulf of years, 
 
 I see you now and now I know. 
 
 When I was yours, you mine, alas ! 
 I did not know your real worth, 
 And, longing for the future's birth, 
 
 Found time so slow, so slow to pass. 
 
 The joys I hoped for never came. 
 
 While those I held slipped from my clasp, 
 As I stretched yearning hands to grasp 
 
 Shadows — 'tis evermore the same ! 
 
 We strain dim eyes up to the stars. 
 Nor heed the blossoms at our feet ; 
 Like puny birds we beat and beat 
 
 Our lives out 'gainst Fate's prison bars.
 
 MY SONG 
 
 "When love is mine," said I, "I'll make a song 
 In praise of love that maketh life so sweet ; 
 
 One worthy such a grand and noble theme- 
 Worthy to lay at my beloved's feet. 
 
 " Pure, perfect pearls of poesy I'll string 
 On Music's silken thread, so rhythmic- sweet 
 
 That those who hear shall feel as though each word 
 Were but an echo of my heart's warm beat." 
 
 Now love is mine ; but where my boasted song ? 
 
 My heart is full— too full, ah me ! for words ; 
 And yet methinks my new-found joy has lent 
 
 Fresh rapture to the voices of the birds. 
 
 And I am dumb ; the world will never hear 
 The music filling all this life of mine. 
 
 Oh ! love is too sublime a theme for me ; 
 I can but kneel in silence at love's shrine.
 
 IN AN OLD CHURCHYARD 
 
 In one of England's sweetest spots, 
 A little old grey church I found ; 
 Around it lies — dear restful ground ! 
 
 God's garden with its sacred plots. 
 
 With myriad arms the ivy holds 
 
 Its time-worn walls in close embrace : 
 So Memory sometimes keeps a face 
 
 Half-veiled in tender misty folds. 
 
 With sleepy twitter and with song 
 The tower, bird-haunted, is alive ; 
 In leafy seas they dip and dive, 
 
 Those tiny warblers all day long. 
 
 Like sentinels grown hoar with age, 
 
 The crumbling headstones guard the graves 
 Which softly swell — green voiceless waves 
 
 That will not break though tempests rage.
 
 14 In an Old Churchyard 
 
 *' Concerning them that are asleep " 
 In this sweet hamlet of the dead, 
 In broken sentences I read 
 
 The record those old tablets keep \ 
 
 Each told its tale, for hath not Grief 
 A voice whose echoes never die ? 
 Adown the ages, Rachel's cry 
 
 Still rings o'er some God-garnered sheaf. 
 
 Mine eyes, ne'er prodigal of tears. 
 Did fill with such as seemed to rise 
 And drown the glory of the skies, 
 
 O'er those who'd slept the sleep of years.
 
 SECRETS 
 
 July roses wet with rain 
 Tap against the window-pane ; 
 There is something they would seek, 
 Had they voices and could speak. 
 Silence seals their crimson lips, 
 And the dull rain drops and drips. 
 
 Th' other side the streaming glass 
 Stands a little sad-eyed lass ; 
 There is something she would seek. 
 But a maiden may not speak — 
 Silence seals her longing lips, 
 And the dull rain drops and drips. 
 
 And salt tears in showers stain 
 Her side of the window-pane ; 
 And the crimson roses grow 
 Pale as dreams dreamt long ago ; 
 (Hearts may break behind sealed lips). 
 And the dull rain drops and drips.
 
 REVEALED— NOT SPOKEN 
 
 The little maiden that I love, 
 
 I met in yonder lane ; 
 A flood of sunshine seemed to fall 
 
 Around her as she came. 
 
 Methought the very hedgerows took 
 
 A tenderer, livelier green. 
 And blossoms burst from every bud 
 
 As she passed on between ! 
 
 And gladder, madder, merrier notes 
 A skylark round him threw, 
 
 As high above her golden head, 
 He poised amid the blue.
 
 Revealed— ^j\ot Spoken 17 
 
 I meant to tell her all my heart, 
 And yet — I know not wJiy, 
 
 Upon the threshold of my lips 
 The story seemed to die. 
 
 It might have been the witchery, 
 
 The magic of her smile, 
 That in a spell held all my soul, 
 
 And kept me dumb the while ! 
 
 It might have been that all too pure 
 For earth-born love seemed she ; 
 
 From her white height of maidenhood 
 How could she stoop to me ? 
 
 But eyes can prove more eloquent, 
 And though the tongue may fail, 
 
 In potent language they reveal 
 The old, old tender tale. 
 
 For, placing her slim hand in mine, 
 Methought I heard my name 
 
 So softly, murmurously breathed, 
 I scarce knew whence it came ! 
 
 B
 
 1 8 Revealed — Not Spoken 
 
 No need for words between us now ; 
 
 A subtle sweetness stole 
 Through all our being, and we felt 
 
 That soul had answered soul. 
 
 And with the sunshine in our hearts, 
 The bird's song in our ears, 
 
 We left the lane, my love and I, 
 To meet the coming years.
 
 BURIED TREASURES 
 
 'Tis true my later years are blest 
 With all that riches can bestow, 
 
 But there is wealth, wealth cannot buy, 
 Hid in the mines of " Long Ago." 
 
 There jealous guard does Memory keep ; 
 
 Yet sometimes, when I dream alone, 
 She comes and takes my hand in hers. 
 
 And shows me what was once my own. 
 
 I revel 'mong such precious things ; 
 
 I count my treasures o'er and o'er ; 
 I learn the worth of some, whose worth, 
 
 Ah me ! I never knew before. 
 
 And then all slowly fades away, 
 And I return to things you know. 
 
 With empty hands and tear-filled eyes, 
 Back from the mines of " Long Ago."
 
 AFFINITY 
 
 But little converse have we held, 
 
 Our hands have scarcely ever met, 
 With just a formal word or two 
 
 You come and go ; and yet — and yet — 
 I have a dream we two were one 
 
 Ere garb of flesh these spirits wore ; 
 The soul that speaks within your eyes 
 
 Tells mine they've met and loved before. 
 
 And so I am content to wait, 
 
 Knowing the day will surely dawn 
 When, as the first man woke, you'll wake 
 
 From your soul-sleep, and looking on 
 My face will know that I am she. 
 
 Your Eve, your other self, your fate. 
 Till then, till then, come weal or woe, 
 
 I am content, content to tvait.
 
 ''MY HOUSE IS LEFT UNTO ME 
 DESOLATE" 
 
 A LITTLE while, you say, a little while. 
 And I shall be where my beloved are ; 
 
 And with your eyes aglow with faith, you say, 
 " Thy dear ones have not journeyed very far." 
 
 " Not very far." I say it o'er and o'er. 
 Till on mine ear mine own voice strangely falls, 
 
 Like some mechanic utterance that repeats 
 A meaningless refrain to empty walls. 
 
 " Not very far ; " but measured by my grief, 
 A distance measureless as my despair. 
 
 When from the dreams that give them back to me, 
 I wake to find that they have journeyed there ! 
 
 "Not very far." The soul surmises, hopes, 
 
 Has hoped, surmising, since the first man slept ; 
 
 But, oh, the heart, it knoweth its own loss, 
 
 And death is death, as 'twas when Rachel wept.
 
 AN OLD MAN'S DREAM 
 
 With idle hands and misty eyes, 
 
 I sit alone to-night and dream ; 
 Upon the hearth, like elfin sprites. 
 
 The red flames dance, and twist, and gleam. 
 
 A dimness gathers in my room, 
 
 The pictured faces on the wall 
 Pale, and o'er each familiar thing 
 
 A strangeness slowly seems to fall. 
 
 With noiseless step there comes to me, 
 One whom I loved in days gone by. 
 
 The same is she, unchanged by time — 
 Unchanged — but oh, how changed am I 1
 
 An Old Man's 'Dream 23 
 
 Her hair, which long, long years ago 
 Was like spun threads of living gold, 
 
 Still clusters round a brow that wears 
 Immortal youth — and I am old. 
 
 No look of recognition lights 
 
 Her eyes, that meet mine o'er and o'er ; 
 And yet she loved me once — and love, 
 
 I know, is love for evermore. 
 
 She looks around in anxious quest ; 
 
 I think I know for whom she seeks. 
 She only sees a strange old man, 
 
 With snow-white hair and wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 And then like wings of birds that preen 
 For flight, a soft stir moves the air, 
 
 It is the whisper of her gown — 
 She goes to look for me elsewhere. 
 
 A sudden glory fills my eyes. 
 
 It is the firelight's ruddy gleam ; 
 Thank God she did not pass me by 
 
 I only saw her in a dream !
 
 A SUMMER WOOING 
 
 A SONG 
 
 Up and away ! — up, up, and away ! 
 The hedgerows are foaming with blossom to-day ; 
 Its bonfires the golden gorse lights on the hill. 
 And the wanton wind's wooing wherever it will. 
 
 Up and away ! — up, up, and away ! 
 The cuckoo's name rings through the woodlands to-day ; 
 The warm blood of Summer runs rioting through 
 The veins of each leaflet — then why not of you ? 
 
 Up and away !— up, up, and away ! 
 There's Passion and Poetry stirring to-day. 
 Half blinded with rapture, the heavy bees dart 
 From the lily's white breast to the rose's red heart.
 
 A Summer Wooing 25 
 
 Up and away ! — up, up, and away ! 
 
 The old world's begun a fresh courting to-day. 
 
 I wooed you all winter, but found you as cold 
 
 As the snowdrift that gleamed on the ridge of the wold. 
 
 Up and away ! — up, up, and away ! 
 
 Your eyes tell me "Yes," though your lips say me 
 
 " Nay." 
 The tears, so long frost-bound, are ready to flow, 
 And she melts in my arms, my proud maiden of snow !
 
 JVEE ELSIE 
 
 O' a' the bonny wee bit lasses 
 That e'er I've kent, not ane surpasses 
 My Elsie. 
 
 An' oh, she has sic denty ways, 
 Auld farrant a' she does and says ; 
 Just watch the bairnie as she plays 
 " At mither," dressed in mither's claes ! 
 
 Like twa sweet rosebuds on ae stalk, 
 Her lips part in her guileless talk ; 
 She bauds a key that wad unlock 
 Yer heart were't hard as granite rock. 
 
 Sae fearless are her een o' blue, 
 They seem tae look ye through an' through ; 
 But though sae brave, an' frank, an' true, 
 Wi' happy fun they're brimmin' fu'.
 
 Wee Elsie 27 
 
 Adoun her shoulders floats her hair, 
 Sae long, sae silken, an' sae fair, — 
 In truth it seems a verra snare 
 That's caught an' kept a sunbeam there. 
 
 But better faur, those graces meet 
 Aroun' a nature just as sweet' ; 
 Methinks the bairnie is complete 
 Frae wise wee heed tae willin' feet.
 
 BIDE Wr HITHER 
 
 Oh bide a wee, my bonny lass, 
 Nor seek to lea' the auld hame-nest ; 
 O' a' earth's luvs ye yet will fin' 
 A mither's highest is, an' best. 
 
 She watched you like a rose unfauld. 
 She reads you like an open buik ; 
 You scarce need speak, she is sae quick 
 Tae understan' yer ev'ry luik. 
 
 The han' that aye fan' time tae pat 
 The wee bit face sae aft turned up 
 For " mither's kiss," has workit late 
 An' early for your bite an' sup.
 
 'Bide wi' Mither 29 
 
 An' oh ! it was a struggle sair 
 
 Tae mak' twa unco scrimp en's meet ; 
 
 In her first days o' weedowhood 
 
 She scarce could spare the time tae greet. 
 
 Oh dinna lea' her yet awhile ; 
 The laddie's young, an' he can wait ; 
 There was a time, when you were wee, 
 She micht hae had anither mate. 
 
 But she was feert he micht na be 
 As guid's the fayther you had lost ; 
 An' though she could hae boucht her ease, 
 She wad na' dae it at the cost. 
 
 An' noo she's auld an' growing frail, 
 Your strong young arm should be her stay ; 
 Life's dounward slope is hard eneuch. 
 Be yours the han' tae smooth the way. 
 
 Oh, bide wi' her, an' you will fin' 
 That duty done brings sweet reward ; 
 The Maister, Christ, pleased na' Himsel', 
 Although He was creation's Lord !
 
 CHILD ANGELS 
 
 Oh, there are happy angels 
 That go on missions sweet ; 
 
 They have no wings to bear them, 
 Just little human feet. 
 
 When I had grown aweary, 
 And all my faith was dim, 
 
 'Twas one of them that led me, 
 And brought me back to Him. 
 
 When 'tween you and a loved one 
 There lay a widening breach. 
 
 And you were coldly drifting 
 Beyond each other's reach.
 
 Child Angels 31 
 
 A child's hand 'twas that bridged it- 
 
 A child's soft, rosy palm 
 Held both your souls united, 
 
 And life grew sweet and calm. 
 
 When sorrows closely gathered, 
 And heart and head were bowed, 
 
 The blue eyes of a baby 
 Made rifts in pain's dark cloud. 
 
 Oh, happy, earth-born angels, 
 Who go on missions sweet, 
 
 If ye had wings to bear you. 
 Instead of little feet, 
 
 I fear me ye would use them, 
 
 Altho' ye love us much. 
 To soar to Him who tells us 
 
 His "Kingdom is of such."
 
 MY LOVE OF LONG AGO 
 
 There are faces just as perfect ; 
 
 There are eyes as true and sweet ; 
 There are hearts as strong and tender 
 
 As the heart that's ceased to beat ; 
 There are voices just as thriUing ; 
 
 There are souls as white, I know, 
 As hers was when she went from me — 
 
 My love of long ago. 
 
 New lips are ever telling 
 
 The tale that ne'er grows old ; 
 Life's greys are always changing 
 
 For some one into gold ; 
 But amid the shine and shadow, 
 
 Amid the gloom and glow, 
 She walks with me, she talks with me — 
 
 My love of long ago.
 
 My Love of Long Ago n 
 
 When I think of all the changes 
 
 That the years to me have brought, 
 I am glad the world that holds her 
 
 Is the world that changes not. 
 And the same as when she left me, 
 
 She waits for me, I know — 
 My love on earth, my love in heaven. 
 
 My love of long ago.
 
 IN SUMMER TIME 
 
 Daisies nod and blue-bells ring, 
 Streamlets laugh and song birds sing, 
 To the clover bees close cling. 
 
 Cornfields wave their locks of gold, 
 Poppies burn and wings unfold. 
 Earth-stars twinkle on the mould. 
 
 Butterflies— live blossoms, blown 
 From that Eden once our own — 
 Make of every flower a throne. 
 
 And a royal purple dyes 
 Yonder heather-hill, that lies 
 Fitting footstool for the skies.
 
 In Slimmer Time 35 
 
 And the gorse is all ablaze, 
 Lighting up the moorland ways, 
 And the days are golden days. 
 
 E'en the myriad-niooded sea 
 (Earth-bound, yet than earth more free) 
 Wears a look of const atuy. 
 
 And your love, that in the spring 
 Was a shy, uncertain thing, 
 Like a bud just blossoming, 
 
 With the summer's growth has grown, 
 Till our two lives, lived as one, 
 Make a summer of their own.
 
 TWIN-SISTERS 
 
 Two girls — before me now they stand, 
 Twin tender rosebuds, hand in hand, 
 Fashioned as one — scarce known apart ; 
 I see each face, God sees each heart. 
 
 I look on ripe red lips, and eyes 
 That hold the blue of summer skies, 
 And hair like finest gold refined ; 
 I see the beauty, God the mind. 
 
 In womanhood's first faint sweet dawn 
 Oh ! they are fair to look upon ; 
 Perfect from crown to dainty foot ; 
 I see the bloom, God sees the fruit.
 
 'Twin-Sisters 37 
 
 What though a rose is each soft cheek, 
 If theirs be not that spirit meek ? 
 What though their eyes are heaven's own hue, 
 If never wet with pity's dew ? 
 
 The plainest casket may enshrine 
 A gem that will for ever shine. 
 Oh, may this outward beauty be 
 But type of inward purity ! 
 
 God grant when Time its tale hath told, 
 And backward swing the gates of gold. 
 Before the Master they may stand, 
 Twin tender rosebuds hand in hand !
 
 AT LAST 
 
 She is waiting for his coming, 
 
 As she waited long ago, 
 Ere her sweet eyes were pain-haunted 
 
 Or her hair was touched with snow ; 
 Ere that look of patient pathos 
 
 Downward curved her tender lips, 
 Or across her life's young morning 
 
 Fell a shadow of eclipse. 
 
 He is coming — but his footsteps 
 
 Know not now youth's bounding grace. 
 And a world of sin and suffering 
 
 Is recorded in his face ; 
 Airy dreams of high ambition 
 
 That he cherished in the past — 
 All have vanished — and aweary 
 
 He returns to her at last.
 
 At Last 39 
 
 In the old familiar garden 
 
 Where he first breathed love's fond vow, 
 With new hopes, like the new roses 
 
 Sprung from old roots, they stand now ; 
 And the past is past for ever, 
 
 She forgives, and he forgets, 
 For the present peace has buried 
 
 Years of sorrows and regrets.
 
 TRYSTING-TIME 
 
 'Tis only when the wooing west 
 
 Has drawn the tired sun to her breast, 
 
 I seek my darling's place of rest. 
 
 In twilight-time we used to meet — 
 Ah me, how lag our listless feet 
 When we hate but a grave to greet ! 
 
 And yet, this daisy-dappled grave 
 So like a soft white-crested wave 
 Is all beneath the skies I have. 
 
 On broken wings the years have flown, 
 Oh love, since in the long agone 
 I left you sleeping here alone !
 
 BESIDE THE DEAD 
 
 Touch not her hand, let not your tear-drops stain 
 The show-white purity of her dead brow ; 
 
 Withhold your lips, their passion or their pain 
 Can thrill her nor with love nor pity now. 
 
 The empty years that followed your farewell — 
 The joyless dawns, the nights that brought no rest 
 
 Are ended, — and those weary eyelids fell 
 
 O'er eyes that had grown dim in one vain quest. 
 
 Thank God for this ; her woman's faith remained 
 
 Steadfast, unshaken to the very last. 
 And with her idol undefaced, unstained. 
 
 To place it in a *• niche in Heaven " she passed.
 
 42 'Beside the 'Dead 
 
 But yesterday, your lightest whispered word 
 
 Had thrilled her heart, as spring's first breath awakes 
 
 The rapture in the bosom of a bird 
 
 Till winter's silence with a song he breaks. 
 
 And I, — whose love for her was purified 
 
 In the fierce crucible of human pain, 
 Had felt that I was more than satisfied 
 
 If loss of mine had ended in her gain. 
 
 For her soul's sustenance you only left 
 The memory of a lightly plighted vow. 
 
 To take one kiss from those dead lips were theft, 
 The jewel was yours, — I claim the casket now.
 
 HER FIRST SEASON 
 
 Cloud-like laces softly float 
 Round a dainty snow-white throat — 
 Fastened here and flutt'ring there 
 With a careless cunning care ; 
 Blue-bells, blue as summer skies are. 
 Or her own sweet sunny eyes are, 
 Cluster close beneath her chin, 
 As if love — and not a pin — 
 Kept them fondly nestling in ! 
 
 Gown of some transparent thing, 
 Like a dragonfly's clear wing 
 Full of whispers vague and sweet, 
 Falls in white folds to her feet.
 
 44 Her First Season 
 
 Light as moss veils drape their roses, 
 Round her flower-Uke form it closes — 
 Every graceful curve it shows us. 
 
 Silken mittens soft and quaint, 
 Of a shade aesthetic, faint, 
 Weave a jealous network o'er 
 Two pink palms that I adore ; 
 And a musical mixed jangle 
 Comes from bracelet and from bangle 
 As it fetters each slim wrist 
 (Made but to be clasped and kissed), 
 With fantastic coil and twist. 
 
 Hair a-ripple like ripe corn 
 Wind-kissed on a summer morn. 
 What, you say you see the glint 
 Of a reaper's blue scythe in't ? 
 Nay, 'tis but a silver arrow 
 Wand'ring through a golden furrow. 
 Where the sun-shafts bore and burrow.
 
 Her First Season 45 
 
 Like a bright plumed bird is she, 
 From the home-nest just set free ; 
 Knowing neither grief nor wrong, 
 In her heart and lips a song. 
 'Tis not I would wish to make her 
 Prim and drab-gown'd like a Quaker ! 
 All fair things are beauty's dower — 
 Doth not God's hand paint the flower ? 
 (Youth is but a fleeting hour !)
 
 ANTICIPATED 
 
 Oh I have wealth, and could have placed 
 
 Upon your head a golden crown, 
 But Nature, having had my taste. 
 
 And being first, has set one down. 
 
 I could have given you rubies rare, 
 
 And sapphires of a heavenly hue, 
 And pearls all shimmering soft and fair ; 
 
 But here she's been before me too. 
 
 For ruby lips to you she's given, 
 
 And strung two pearly rows between. 
 
 And sapphire eyes more blue than heaven 
 
 She's dowered you with, my queen, my queen ! 
 
 I needs must be content to lay 
 
 My heart's best treasures at your feet : 
 
 Without love's gem, which shines for aye, 
 The fairest crown were incomplete.
 
 IVHEN THOU ART NEAR 
 
 A SONG 
 
 When thou art near no other face I see, 
 Thy voice is all the music I can hear ; 
 
 My heart's desire is granted unto me 
 When thou art near. 
 
 When thou art near I am content, nay more, 
 I'm blest in breathing the same atmosphere. 
 
 To higher heights my aspirations soar 
 When thou art near. 
 
 When thou art near, though yet I dare not lay 
 My lips on those I hold so very dear, 
 
 I know that heaven is not so far away 
 When thou art near.
 
 A PORTRAIT 
 
 A SADNESS lingers round her lips, 
 A shadow ever haunts her eyes ; 
 
 Like dusky pools are they on which 
 The mystery of the moonlight lies. 
 
 Her voice is sweet, but grave in tone, 
 No ring hath it of joyous mirth ; 
 
 Yet somehow when she speaks, methinks 
 A benediction falls on earth. 
 
 A sense of rest her presence brings, 
 She moves with such a quiet grace ; 
 
 And 'tis the pitying soul within 
 Makes tender twilight of her face. 
 
 Methinks the Virgin-mother must 
 
 Have looked like this when to her breast 
 
 The Babe, who was to saye a world. 
 With mingled joy and pain she pressed.
 
 DOROTHY 
 
 Dorothy is debonair ; 
 Little count hath she or care ; 
 All her gold is in her hair. 
 
 And the freshness of the Spring 
 Round this old world seems to cling 
 When you hear her laugh or sing. 
 
 On her sunny way she goes ; 
 Much she wonders — little knows, 
 Love's as yet a folded rose. 
 
 All her smiles in dimples die ; 
 Glad is she, nor knows she why : 
 Just to live is ecstasy ! 
 
 D
 
 50 T)orothy 
 
 Lightly lie the chains, methinks, 
 That have daisies for their links ; 
 Youth's the fount where Pleasure drinks. 
 
 Dorothy is debonair ; 
 
 Little count hath she or care, 
 
 Sunshine in her heart and hair.
 
 DAFFODILS 
 
 Oh, wild is the daffodils' dance 
 To the tune that the March pipes blow, 
 
 Heads a-tossing— lances crossing, 
 Curtsies sweeping and low. 
 
 Like waves in a flaming sunset 
 They tumble, and t\\nst, and turn, 
 
 What tho' from its slender pillar 
 Droppeth one golden urn ? 
 
 Short-lived is their joy and reckless, 
 
 Never. a pause for breath. 
 Ah, well : — are ive too not whirling 
 
 As blind, in our " dance of death " ?
 
 THE BLACKBIRD 
 
 When baby buds begin to shoot 
 Then hey ! the blackbird's golden flute ; 
 All steeped in love seems every note 
 Let loose from his mellifluous throat. 
 
 No wild rhapsodic bursts proclaim 
 What rapture thrills his tiny frame, 
 His heart is like a brimming cup, 
 Where pearls of joy keep bubbling up. 
 
 The lark like some delirious thing 
 At heaven's far gate may soar and sing, 
 But oh, methinks the blackbird brings 
 Heaven down to earth what time he sings !
 
 " IVHOiM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG'' 
 
 Her voice is hushed, her hands are still, 
 
 I, from the summit of the hill, 
 
 Look down, and marvel at Ood's will. 
 
 Her foot was planted at the base 
 All eager for the upward race, 
 Her genius shining in her face. 
 
 She felt the soul within her leap. 
 
 She yearned to scale the steepest steep. 
 
 And now — she's fallen upon sleep ! 
 
 God knoweth best ! — I must descend 
 
 The downward slope. Good-bye, sweet friend, 
 
 Life's myriad ways meet in the end.
 
 GRANNIE'S BAIRN 
 
 When oor wee Elspeth's in the hoose 
 I scarce hae use for hauns or feet — 
 
 An' after a', why should I fash 
 When she's sae nimble an' sae fleet ? 
 
 " I wonner whaur I laid my specs ! " 
 The words hae haurdly left ma mooth 
 
 Afore I fin', across my nose, 
 
 She has them set astride forsooth. 
 
 She threeds ma needle, winds ma woo', 
 Picks up the steeks that whiles will drap- 
 
 She slips aboot like some wee moose 
 For fear she'll wauke me frae ma nap.
 
 Qrannie's 'Bairn 55 
 
 Her wee three-leggit stool ye'll aye 
 Fin' drawn up close tae granny's chair ; 
 
 She learns her task an' sews her seam, 
 An' sups her cog o' parritch there. 
 
 An' mony's the lang crack we twa hae ; 
 
 But whiles, sic puzzlin' things she'll spier. 
 The verra Meenister himsel' 
 
 Waud be dumbfounded could he hear. 
 
 She has her bit camsterie turns, 
 But just eneuch tae show that she 
 
 Is no a being that is made 
 
 O' diff rent clay tae you an' me. 
 
 But that she's no by-ord'nar wean 
 The neebors roon aboot agree. 
 
 And sae ye ken it is na just 
 Ma ain opeenion that I gie.
 
 LOVE'S POWER 
 
 When you did leave me, love, 
 
 The whole world seem'd with you to ebb away, 
 
 And like a broken stranded wreck I lay. 
 
 But you returned ; and lo ! 
 
 A fresh tide thrill'd my life's deserted shore ; 
 
 And Love was conqueror over Death once more.
 
 A JUNE MEMORY 
 
 'TwAS June, the roses were reigning 
 In regalest splendour and pride. 
 
 Sweet peas, like butterflies tethered, 
 Were flutt'ring on every side. 
 
 Like smouldering fires the wallflowers 
 Burned dull in the sun's strong glow, 
 
 And the yellow bees, like meteors, 
 Went flashing to and fro. 
 
 No lordly pleasaunce was it, 
 But an old-world garden wild, 
 
 Where purple-hooded pansies 
 And long-lashed daisies smiled.
 
 58 t/f June Memory 
 
 And there in June we parted ; 
 
 And the sad years hurtle by 
 Like birds whose wings are broken 
 
 When they just have learned to fly. 
 
 And I think, — Do you remember 
 In the life that's yours to-day, 
 
 That garden and its glamour, 
 
 And the time that wojdd not stay ! 
 
 Oh, amid the faces around you, 
 Does one face never arise 
 
 And for a moment hold you 
 With the old spell of its eyes ? 
 
 Ah no ! You men forget us, 
 And we ! — we must be dumb. 
 
 And life's June goes for ever 
 And the snows of winter come.
 
 A MESSAGE 
 
 In a little broken flower-pot 
 High up on a window-sill, 
 
 'Mid grime and gloom and squalor, 
 Grew a golden daffodil. 
 
 It seem'd in the gloom of the alley 
 Like a sunbeam that had strayed 
 
 Out from the light of heaven 
 Into a land of shade. 
 
 And close in a cage beside it 
 
 A skylark sweetly sang 
 Till all the narrow alley 
 
 With its wild rapture rang.
 
 6o A Message 
 
 And one poor weary sinner 
 Paused, as her wild eyes turned 
 
 To where, on its humble altar. 
 The flower-flame upward burned. 
 
 And something stirred in her bosom ; 
 
 'Twas the heart that had long lain dead, 
 As the bird's song rose from its prison 
 
 In the shadow overhead. 
 
 God's angels are birds and flowers, 
 And oh ! methinks they preach 
 
 At times with a power and pathos 
 We men can never reach.
 
 HER WINDOW 
 
 Up the gable the roses creep, 
 
 Eager to get a little peep 
 
 Behind the curtain of sno>\7 lace 
 
 That hangs, like a bridal veil, over the face 
 
 Of a shy wee window, whose panes glint through 
 
 A network of creepers, like eyes of blue. 
 
 I needs must stand below, below, 
 And see them high and higher go 
 Till their lips are kissing the lattice sill, 
 And their tendrils toy at their own sweet will 
 With the casement, so full of tender charms 
 Since her shadow has lain within its arms.
 
 SHATTERED HOPES 
 
 This morn upon the birken tree 
 The mavis carolled blithe and free ; 
 But — ah, his song was not for me ! 
 
 Each wild note of his glad refrain 
 Pierced like an arrow thro' my brain ; 
 I could have cursed him for his strain. 
 
 I saw the sunshine and the flowers, 
 Each proof of a Creator's powers ; 
 Yet dull and hateful were the hours. 
 
 I cannot weep — the fever dries 
 The tears within my burning eyes — 
 The past before my vision flies.
 
 Shattered Hops 63 
 
 Once more I feel his deep-drawn kiss ; 
 Once more my being thrills with bliss ; 
 Once more I melt with tenderness. 
 
 I hear the trembling words that hung 
 Deep fraught with passion on his tongue, 
 Till heart and soul with pain are wrung. 
 
 All nature smiles— and yet to-day 
 In memory's grave I've laid away 
 My idol that has turned to clay.
 
 HAND IN HAND 
 
 Hand in hand through the flow'ry ways 
 Went Dora and I in the bygone days ; 
 A wee girl she, her boy lover I, 
 Ready to fight for her and die. 
 
 Hand in hand through this vale of tears 
 Went Dora and I in the after-years ; 
 She was my wife and her husband I 
 Ready to fight for her and die. 
 
 Hand in hand to the very last 
 
 As her dear eyes dimmed, and her spirit passed ; 
 
 An angel is she,— alone am I 
 
 Ready, O, God ! and I cannot die.
 
 ''AND FOR THE WEARY, REST" 
 
 Of all God's precious promises 
 
 The sweetest and the best 
 Is, that to weary laden ones 
 
 Who come, He giveth resf. 
 
 'Tis not of glad Hosannas 
 
 And streets of shining gold 
 We think so much when we are sick 
 
 And sorrowful and old. 
 
 Ah ! there are times we feel too sad 
 
 To contemplate the joy, 
 The great and glorious themes of heaven 
 
 That angel-minds employ. 
 
 E
 
 66 " <i/fnd for the Weary, 1{est " 
 
 And weak, and worn, and weary, 
 
 We long to lay us down, 
 Feeling we scarce could bear the weight 
 
 Of e'en a glory-crown. 
 
 That He is " very man," I need 
 None other proof than this, — 
 
 That He has " rest " for those who feel 
 Almost too tired for bliss.
 
 IN AN OLD ORCHARD 
 
 Sweet avalanches of scented snow 
 
 Bury one deep, as I lie below 
 
 The laden white boughs abloom and ablow 
 
 In the dear old orchard, where long ago 
 
 My grand-dame dreamed, as I'm dreaming now. 
 
 With love in her heart and youth on her brow. 
 
 O, blossom-time passes too soon, too soon ! 
 
 And grey night follows the golden noon, 
 
 And Autumn though ruddy brings ruin and rune, 
 
 And passion ne'er warms the cold heart of the moon. 
 
 So let me dream on, 'mid the apple-blooms sweet, 
 
 For noontide and bloomtide are fair as they're fleet. 
 
 And then when the blue of the sky is o'ercast, 
 And Summer is ended, and harvest is past. 
 And the loosened leaves earthward are fluttering fast. 
 And the sleep that is dreamless is mine at last, 
 O, make my grave here ; and lay me to rest 
 Where the sweet-scented snow shall fall light on my 
 breast.
 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 I THINK, as the white sails come and go, 
 Of the welcomes loud, and the farewells low ; 
 Of the meeting lips, and the parting tears, 
 Of the new-born hopes, and the growing fears, 
 Of the eyes that glow, and the cheeks that pale, 
 As the hazy horizon's mystic veil 
 Is silently parted, and to and fro 
 The white sails come and the white sails go. 
 
 And a grey mist gathers, and all grows dim 
 
 As I watch alone by the ocean's rim. 
 
 For a dream is mine — ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 That salt with tears is the salt salt sea. 
 
 O, yearning eyes and outstretched hands ! 
 
 O, divided lives, and divided lands ! 
 
 As long as the waters ebb and flow 
 
 Shall the white sails come and the white sails go.
 
 REGRET 
 
 " It might have been," is the sad refrain 
 That forever haunts my weary brain, 
 Till heart and soul grow weak with pain. 
 
 " It might have been," are the words I hear 
 In the curlew's cry from the lonely mere ; 
 In the whisper of leaves when woods are sere. 
 
 " It might have been," says the sea's long moan. 
 
 As if a breaking heart of its own 
 
 Wailed out in that strange low undertone. 
 
 "// mighi have been." Ah, the hungry cry 
 
 As the leaden years crawl slowly by ! 
 
 It will ring through my life till I die, I die.
 
 WAR'S ME 
 
 Aroun' my bit bieldie the cauld win' is soughing, 
 The dull rain is patt'ring amang the deid leaves, 
 
 The mist-wreaths are swirling about the grey mountains, 
 The wee drookit birds huddle close 'neath the eaves. 
 
 Alang the bleak shore the lane sea gangs a sobbin' 
 Like some wander 'd bairnie that fain wad win hame, 
 
 Aye seekin' an' seekin', an' never yet findin', — 
 Sure man, in his pilgrimage here, is the same. 
 
 The sky has nae promise, the earth bauds nae pleesure. 
 
 I look north an' south, an' I look east an' west, 
 An' I envy the folk i' the kirk-yaird out yonder, 
 
 For there, 'mang the mools, there is rest — there is rest !
 
 THE REASON WHY 
 
 I KEN the lassie's winsome, 
 An' blithe as she is braw ; 
 
 But 'tis not worth nor beauty aye 
 That steal the heart awa'. 
 
 Her cheek is like the wld-rose, 
 Her lips are like the haw ; 
 
 But neither ane nor t'ither 'twas 
 That stole my heart awa'. 
 
 Her locks are black as midnight, 
 Her brow like driven snaw ; 
 
 And yet it was na' these I vow 
 That stole my heart awa'.
 
 72 The Treason Why 
 
 Her smile is like the sunshine, 
 'Twad gar an iceberg thaw j 
 
 But 'twas na' this by my guid-faith 
 That stole my heart awa'. 
 
 Ilk lad's lass the fairest is, 
 
 For Beauty kens nae law ; 
 (Though some folk maun be easy pleased 
 
 Wha's hearts are stown awa' !) 
 
 Ah weel ! maybe the pearl I've foun' 
 
 Is no wi'out a flaw ! 
 But just because she's her ain sel' 
 
 She stole my heart awa'.
 
 DOWN BY THE SEA 
 
 0, MIGHTY organ of a thousand keys, 
 
 O'er which the Master's fingers ever stray ! 
 
 1, listening, hear a myriad melodies 
 
 Played in the space of one short summer day. 
 
 The long, low plash of little languid waves, 
 The sweet, sad dirge of softly dying swell, 
 
 The deep, delicious gurglings in the caves. 
 Hold music that this soul of mine loves well. 
 
 Full as the human heart of mysteries. 
 Like it responsive to His touch alone, 
 
 For only He can wake the harmonies 
 Which sleep within thy bosom and mine own.
 
 A VENTURE 
 
 Her mouth looks like a scarlet flower 
 And I feel like a hungry bee, 
 
 I long to dart straight to its heart, 
 But — what would be the fate of me ? 
 
 The bravest 'tis should win the prize, 
 And yet I dare not risk her scorn, 
 
 And who but knows the reddest rose 
 May hide the very sharpest thorn ? 
 
 Yet who can tell but she might yield 
 Its sweetness up in one long kiss ? 
 
 So I, who dare not risk her scorn, 
 Can risk still less to lose such bliss. 
 
 And when she feels my parched Hps 
 Athirst with long long years of drouth, 
 
 She will forgive me, that I sought 
 That dewy chalice, her sweet mouth.
 
 WATER LILIES 
 
 A FLEET of fairy vessels 
 
 All freighted with pure gold, 
 
 The lilies lie at anchor 
 
 On the lake's breast, calm and cold. 
 
 Their soft, white sails, seem waiting 
 The zephyr's first faint kiss 
 
 To waft them to another world, 
 More bright and fair than this. 
 
 Methinks, it were no marvel, 
 
 If I should find, one day, 
 They'd drifted from their moorings, 
 
 And in silence sailed away.
 
 THE SENTINEL 
 
 "Tick ! tick ! tick ! " goes the old clock in the hall ; 
 
 The merry hours, the mournful hours 
 Alike he counts them all 
 
 As he stands erect at his post, 
 
 Time's solemn Sentinel. 
 
 All that he hath to say he saith, 
 
 And on, with never a pause for breath, 
 
 He hurries us nearer the day of death. 
 
 Though his warning voice is ofttimes drowned 
 In the whirr, as the wheels of life run round, 
 
 Yet, whether or no we hear the sound, — 
 
 " Tick ! tick ! tick ! " goes the old clock in the hall ; 
 
 The merry hours, the mournful hours 
 Alike he counts them all, 
 
 As he stands erect at his post, 
 
 Time's solemn Sentmel.
 
 A LOVE SONG 
 
 Upon a bosom snowy white 
 A little dimpled chin drops down, 
 
 While trembling shy lids hide the light 
 Of love, new born in eyes dark brown. 
 
 A tiny timorous hand seeks mine 
 For shelter, fluttering like a dove ; 
 
 And with a rapture half divine 
 
 I burn my kisses through its glove. 
 
 June's rosy treasures sweetly blend 
 Upon her cheek and modest brow, 
 
 But only Cupid's self could lend 
 The crimson stealing o'er them now. 
 
 Her voice makes music of my name, 
 A heaven of love is in her smile, 
 
 Her pure mind, like an altar-flame, 
 Burns clear and steady all the while.
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 Red as blood is Autumn's gown, 
 And a flaming fire her crown. 
 
 And her fingers sere and scorch, 
 Each one a destroying torch. 
 
 Fever follows in her wake, 
 
 Nor the dews her thirst can slake. 
 
 In her kisses there is death, 
 And decay in every breath. 
 
 She makes tombs of what were bowers, 
 Strewn with corses of dead flowers. 
 
 To the loftiest leaves that wave 
 She but whispers of a grave.
 
 A QUAKER MAID 
 
 Just a pair of green-grey eyes, 
 With a knack of changing 
 
 Like the sea, when shine and shower 
 O'er its breast are ranging. 
 
 Just a pair of green-grey eyes 
 
 Each one a heart-breaker, 
 Who would think that they belonged 
 
 To a Httle Quaker ? 
 
 Prim her bonnet, drab her gown, 
 
 And she walks sedately, 
 With a sort of lily-mien — 
 
 Drooping, and yet stately.
 
 8o A duaker Maid 
 
 And her voice sounds, oh, so meek ! 
 
 " Thou " and " thee " and " thying," 
 Yet the while those grey-green eyes 
 
 Seem to be belying. 
 
 All these airs of calm repose, — 
 
 This sad suit and sober, 
 Why should Spring's young sapling be 
 
 Brown-leaved like October ? 
 
 Gown her in the lilies' white ! 
 
 Crown her curls with roses ! 
 Wreath her neck with daisy-chains ! 
 
 Fill her hands with posies ! 
 
 Laughter-loving green-grey eyes, 
 Young limbs girt with gladness, 
 
 How they mock this dismal drab 
 Livery of sadness !
 
 " THE TIME, THE PLACE, THE BELOVED r 
 
 You and I among the roses — 
 You and I and love and June — 
 
 All without and all within us 
 Set to one sweet happy tune ! 
 
 You and I among the roses ! 
 
 Drowsy bees go blundering by ; 
 'Mid the tresses on your temples 
 
 Little breezes swoon and die. 
 
 You and I among the roses ! 
 
 Overhead a sapphire dome ; 
 'Neath our feet a sea of emerald, 
 
 Flecked with daisies for its foam. 
 
 You and I among the roses — 
 'Tis for love the time and place ! 
 
 What a world of rapture can be 
 Crowded into one small space.
 
 DAY-DREAMS 
 
 I AM dreaming of you, beloved, 
 In my home among the hills ; 
 
 Your eyes meet mine in every flower ; 
 
 Above the highest height you tower, 
 
 Yet the glamour of your presence 
 The lowest valley fills, 
 
 I hear your voice in the river 
 That sings on its way to the sea ; 
 
 And when the wind sweeps over 
 
 The low beds of the clover, 
 
 'Tis the breath of my beloved 
 Its wide wings bear to me. 
 
 I am dreaming of you, beloved, 
 
 But though sweet these day-dreams be, 
 
 'Tis the deeper dreams of sleeping 
 
 That festore you to my keeping, 
 
 And so the world of shadows 
 Is the dearest world to me.
 
 SONG OF THE SEASONS 
 
 Sing, oh sing, 'tis summer time ! 
 
 Sing it 'mong the roses, — 
 Sing it till each sleeping bud, 
 
 Dewy-eyed, uncloses. 
 
 Sing it through the woodlands, till 
 All the song-birds hear it ! 
 
 Sing, — till every blade of grass 
 Finds a voice to cheer it. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Sigh, oh sigh, 'tis winter drear ! 
 
 Sigh it through the flowing 
 Shroud that over earth's dead breast 
 
 Falls in time of snowing. 
 
 Sigh it through the bare brown stems 
 That once held the roses ! 
 
 Sigh it round the grave, that o'er 
 Summer's glory closes.
 
 ONE SUMMER DAY 
 
 The sky stretched blue above us, 
 The sea slept at our feet, 
 
 As still, as if its mighty heart 
 Had almost ceased to beat. 
 
 A trembling hush seemed slowly 
 Across the earth to steal, 
 
 As when after benediction 
 The priest and people kneel. 
 
 It was as though God's finger 
 Lay on the pulse of life, 
 
 And stilled, for one brief moment, 
 Its tumult and its strife.
 
 THE INSCRUTABLE 
 
 A GLAD young girl amid the sunshine flitting, 
 Like a bright bird let loose from Paradise— 
 
 A weary woman, in the shadow, sitting 
 With haggard face and dry despairing eyes. 
 
 The one in death's dark chamber now is lying. 
 Stricken to marble her warm pulsing breast ; 
 
 And God denies the luxury of dying 
 
 To the sad soul whose one cry is for rest.
 
 DELILAH 
 
 Why comest thou with those grand eyes of thine 
 To lure me as the cruel light the moth, 
 To my destruction. — Long ago my wrath 
 
 Cooled its white heat in pity's depths divine. 
 
 There was a time when full of bitter hate 
 
 I could have crushed thee — but that time is past, 
 And tho' I needs must love thee to the last, 
 
 Tempt me not now— it is too late, too late. 
 
 Apart for evermore our paths must He, 
 Such love as thine can only bring a curse. 
 I would be better for my love, not worse, 
 
 So go while I have strength to say " Good-bye."
 
 A BABY'S GRAVE 
 
 I COULD not lay her down to sleep 
 
 In a death-crowded place, 
 With grim black yews to keep God's sun 
 
 From shining on her face. 
 
 With softest greenest moss I lined 
 
 For her a little nest ; 
 No crushing marble slab I laid 
 
 Upon her tender breast. 
 
 Nor iron rails like prison-bars 
 
 Her sacred form enclose, 
 The sternest guardian of her grave 
 
 Is just a fragile rose.
 
 A CHILD'S FAVOURITE 
 
 Only an old wooden dolly, 
 
 With an arm and a leg a-missing, 
 
 The point of her nose rubbed off, I suppose. 
 Through too much washing or kissing. 
 
 In a frock of faded satin, 
 
 With tinsel lace tarnished and tattered ; 
 Her " coal-scuttle " bonnet holds, alas ! 
 
 A head that's a trifle battered. 
 
 Oh, no, she has not lost her locks. 
 She never had curls black or golden ; 
 
 A doll's wig was safely painted on 
 In the days thdXyoti call "olden." 
 
 You laugh, and think her " too funny ; " 
 Yet once she was just as much cherished 
 
 As your dolly is— by a wee girl 
 
 Whose dolly-days long ago perished.
 
 RICH OR POOR? 
 
 Only a string of cold white pearls, 
 Or diamond drops, like frozen tears, 
 
 Has clasped my lady's slender neck 
 Through all the barren empty years. 
 
 Only wee warm white baby arms 
 
 Have clasped ?ny neck thro' the SAveet years ; 
 Yet she is rich and I am poor— 
 
 Or so it to the world appears.
 
 DOLLYS GARDEN 
 
 This is Dolly's garden, 
 
 All her "very own," 
 Every flower that's in it 
 
 By her hand was sown — 
 Never out of Eden 
 
 Were such blossoms blown. 
 
 Like her eyes those pansies, 
 
 Deep and dark and blue- 
 As her soul those lilies, 
 
 Pure and white and true ; 
 Frail earth-flowers and fading — 
 Dolly's fading too. 
 
 This was Dolly's garden, 
 
 Here I stand alone^ 
 Dolly's tending blossoms 
 
 Near the Great White Throne 
 Dolly now has heaven 
 
 For her " very own."
 
 IN A DREAM-SHIP 
 
 She sailed away one summer day 
 
 In a ship of shining shell : 
 Her cloak was a butterfly's gauzy wing, 
 
 Her bonnet a big blue-bell, 
 Her bed was a lady's slipper, 
 
 Her blankets the leaves of a rose, 
 And a cushion of thistledown had she, 
 
 Just to rest her tiny toes. 
 
 With golden oars from the earth's dark shores 
 
 She was borne o'er a silver sea ; 
 And she never feared as the captain steered 
 
 For the land where she wished to be. 
 
 And this was the song, 
 As they drifted along. 
 That she sang from the ship of shell —
 
 92 In a T)ream-ship 
 
 " Oh, we are bound 
 For enchanted ground ; 
 It's there that the fairies dwell." 
 
 But a storm swept over the silver sea. 
 
 And the little maid awoke 
 As against the side of the fair frail barque 
 
 A cruel billow broke ; 
 And she rubbed her eyes, and she pinched her arm, 
 
 And fearfully peeped around ; 
 But instead of a ship "for fairyland" 
 
 She had boarded a "homeward-bound."
 
 THE FLOWER-QUEEN'S FALL 
 
 A REBEL rose climbed to the top of the hedge, 
 And watched the people go up and down 
 
 The winding highway, dusty and grey, 
 
 That stretched from the village away to the town. 
 
 And an anger surged in her passionate heart, 
 'Gainst the humble garden where she was born, 
 
 And her red lips curled at the old flower world. 
 And she cast around her such looks of scorn 
 
 That the lilies drooped 'neath her withering glance, 
 And the pansies huddled together with fear, 
 
 And the poor pinks paled, and each daisy quailed, 
 And dropped from her lashes a big round tear.
 
 94 '^he Flower-Ciueen's Fall 
 
 For of the flower-kingdom this rose was queen, 
 And never were subjects more loyal than they— 
 
 And they fondly dreamed she was good as she seemed, 
 And because they had loved they were proud to 
 obey. 
 
 But lo ! as she towered in haughty disdain 
 High over their heads, with an angry gust 
 
 The wind swooped down and tore off her crown, 
 And its jewels went whirling away with the dust.
 
 A VETERAN 
 
 In his niche in the hall, the old clock stands, 
 But hushed is his voice, and still are his hands. 
 He ceased from his labours long years ago. 
 And he's only a "pensioner" now, you know. 
 
 He did his duty as long as he could, 
 
 For a brave heart beat in his breast of wood, 
 
 And you could depend on all he said 
 
 Till age, at last, turned him queer in the head. 
 
 With a visor of glass o'er his grim old face, 
 In his armour, — a straight, stiff, oaken case, 
 He *' stands at ease " in his sentry box, 
 And leaves time-telling to younger clocks.
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY 
 
 Butterfly, O butterfly, 
 
 With gaily-jewelled wings, 
 You make me think of fairy folk 
 
 And of enchanted things. 
 
 You once were held a prisoner 
 In a castle grim and grey — 
 
 A " chrysalis " folk called it — 
 But you escaped away. 
 
 And now you flutter 'mong the flowers, 
 
 A restless roving elf, 
 Or fold your wings and lie so still — 
 
 A very flower yourself.
 
 To a 'Butterfly 97 
 
 Or hoisting high two gauzy sails, 
 
 You softly float away, 
 Just like a tiny fairy barque 
 
 Bound for a fairy bay. 
 
 The bees must work, the birds must sing, 
 The flowers yield perfumes rare ; 
 
 But you were born a trifler, 
 Frail thing of light and air !
 
 WHEN AND WHERE 
 
 I WONDER " when " and I wonder " where " 
 
 The Angel of Death will come, 
 And, laying a finger on lids and lips, 
 
 Will strike me blind and dumb. 
 
 I wonder "when" and I wonder "where" ! 
 
 Like the skeleton at the feast, 
 'Mid laughter and mirth this thought finds birth 
 
 Where it is welcome least. 
 
 I wonder " when " and I wonder " where " — 
 
 In my prime or old age hoar, 
 At home, with my loved ones round my bed, 
 
 Or alone on an alien shore.
 
 IVhen and Where 99 
 
 1 wonder "when" and I wonder "where !" 
 
 Is God not over all ? 
 He knows the time and He knows the place 
 
 Who marks a sparrow's fall.
 
 WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG 
 
 t 
 t 
 
 The red and russet of Autumn die, 
 In the lap of winter their ashes lie, 
 And the earth is wan and grey the sky. 
 
 But the noon of a wondrous joy is mine, 
 
 And my pulses thrill with the glowing wine 
 
 That flows from the grape of Love's deathless vine. 
 
 What care have I that the brown stems bear 
 Nor leaf nor bloom, and the mad winds tear 
 The last poor tatters the forests wear ? 
 
 Is not the heart in mine own glad breast 
 
 A garden of roses, a haven of rest, 
 
 A bird that has builded a warm love-nest ?
 
 A CHARACTER SKETCH 
 
 Womanly-sweet in all her ways, 
 Slow to condemn, and swift to praise ; 
 Ready to help in hour of need. 
 Generous in thought as well as deed. 
 
 Pitiful, tender, yet firm and strong 
 
 To uphold the right and put down wrong ; 
 
 Never a thought of self or gain. 
 
 Proud of her God-given gifts^-not vain. 
 
 Laughter-loving, and fond of fun, 
 When the " daily round " and task are done ; 
 Modest and maidenly, yet no prude ; 
 Perfect enough, but not " too good." 
 
 Half an angel, yet wholly human ; 
 No ideal — a living woman.
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 We are such friends, my little girl and I, 
 
 That, though her summers number scarcely nine 
 
 I need none other, as I go my ways 
 
 With her small fingers closely clasping mine. 
 
 A little world we two make of our own, 
 
 And people it with all things fair and sweet ; 
 
 The stars that twinkle overhead at night 
 Drop down at dawn in daisies at our feet. 
 
 My smiles are hers ; — my tears are all my own, 
 I keep my sighs and give her all my song, 
 
 Because she is so trusting and so weak 
 I feel that I can suffer and be strong.
 
 Friends 103 
 
 The while I try to keep the narrow way, 
 
 'Tis wide enough for both. And my white dove, 
 
 With untried wings, knows little love but this, 
 That "Mother" is another name for "Love."
 
 BED-TIME 
 
 The sleepy daisies have said " Good night," 
 
 And tied up their wee frilled nightcaps tight. 
 
 The summer day's been hot and long 
 
 And daisies, although they are so strong, 
 
 Are always tired and ready for bed 
 
 Ere the stars, heaven's daisies, awake o'erhead. 
 
 The roses have rocked themselves to sleep. 
 
 Awake they could no longer keep — 
 
 They've been astir since the dawn of day, 
 
 Sighing their sweet perfume away, 
 
 And feeding the hungry beggar bees 
 
 That never say "thanks " nor " if you please ! " 
 
 And, baby darling, 'tis time that you 
 
 Had shut your drowsy eyes of blue — 
 
 Wee busy hands, wee busy feet / 
 
 Must rest sometime, you know, my sweet — 
 
 The flower-bells all have chimed " Good night." 
 
 They'll ring to wake you with the light.
 
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