T II K 
 
 ST. LAWRENCE AND THE SAGUENAY, 
 
 AND 
 
 onus. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES SANGSTER 
 N 
 
 KINGSTON, C. W. 
 JOHN CREIGHTON AND JOHN DUFF. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & MULLIGAN. 
 1856. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hun- 
 
 tdred and fifty-six, 
 
 BY MILLER, ORTON & MULLIGAN, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court for the Northern District of 
 New-York. 
 
 AUBURN : 
 
 MILLER, ORTON <t MULLIGAN, 
 8TEBEOTYPERS AND PBOTTERS. 
 

 TO 
 
 JOHN SINCLAIR, 
 
 MY FRIEND AND CORRESPONDENT 
 
 OF MANY YEARS, 
 
 i)fs Volume Is 30eUf cateti, 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 CHARLES SANGSTER. 
 
 KINGSTON, C. W., June, 1856. 
 
 i9 
 
CON T E N T S . 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The St. Lawrence and the Saguenay, 9 
 
 Spring, 63 
 
 A Poet s Love 66 
 
 Light in Darkness, 77 
 
 liidcau Lake, 78 
 
 Aurelia, 81 
 
 Sonnet, 86 
 
 Evening Scene, 87 
 
 Gentle Mary Ann, 90 
 
 Death of the Old Year, 92 
 
 Despondency, 94 
 
 The Voice of God, 95 
 
 The Fine Old Woods 98 
 
 Elegy in Memory of Eev. Kobert D. Cartwright, 101 
 
 Morning in Summer, 102 
 
 Password "Truth is Mighty," 110 
 
 The Whirlwind, 112 
 
 Elizabeth s Birth, 113 
 
 Henry s Grave, 115 
 
 Snow Drops, 116 
 
 Pretfy Faces, 117 
 
 Beyond the Grave, 118 
 
 Canadian Sleigh Song, 118 
 
 Pity s Tear Drop, 119 
 
 Annie by my Side a Sitting, 120 
 
 The Name of Mary, 122 
 
 The Kneeling Heart, 124 
 
 Autumn, 125 
 
 Remembrances, 129 
 
 Little Annie. . 1 30 
 
6 - CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Sun, Moon and Stars, 183 
 
 The Chieftain s Last Sigh, 136 
 
 Holy Ground, 137 
 
 Pleasant Memories, 139 
 
 My Kitten, 145 
 
 The Frost King s Revel, 14T 
 
 England and America, I*** 
 
 The Wreck, 153 
 
 The Lofty and the Lowly 159 
 
 I Dreamed I Met Thee, 161 
 
 The Changes of a Night, 162 
 
 To Rev. James G. Wilted, 16G 
 
 Edith to Harold, 1G8 
 
 Song of the New Year, 1 " 2 
 
 Soul, Thou art Lonely, 175 
 
 Peace, Fond Soul, 176 
 
 Merry Christmas 178 
 
 A Plea for the Woods, 1S( > 
 
 Little Libby, 182 
 
 The Yellow Curl, 186 
 
 Let them Boast as they will, 188 
 
 Limerick Cathedral Bells, 190 
 
 Love s Guiding Star, 192 
 
 The Angel s Gift, 193 
 
 Love s Signet Ring, 195 
 
 Mary s Twentieth Birthday, 196 
 
 Love s Morning Lark 197 
 
 Song The Banner of Old England, 198 
 
 Song The Heroes of the Alma, 199 
 
 The Twofold Victory An Alma Lyric, 201 
 
 Song of the British Mariner, 202 
 
 The Indian Summer, 204 
 
 The Betrayal, 205 
 
 The Impatient Lover, 20G 
 
 The Grape, 207 
 
 A Thousand Faces, 208 
 
 The Past, 209 
 
 Imagination, 210 
 
 The Spirit of the Woods, 
 
 Love s New Era, 215 
 
CONTENTS. I 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Faith, 21 6 
 
 From Queenston Heights, 217 
 
 Fanny, 220 
 
 Lament of Shingwakonce 222 
 
 Absence, 231 
 
 Festus, 231 
 
 Sonnet, 232 
 
 Hope, 233 
 
 The Trio, 233 
 
 The One Idea, 234 
 
 Uncurbed Passion, 235 
 
 Peace, 235 
 
 Bertram and Lorenzo A Dramatic Fragment, 237 
 
 CORRECTION. 
 
 Stanza xxvm " The St Lawrence and the Saguenay," first, line for "you 
 queenly Moon," read yon queenly Moon." 
 
O E M 8. 
 
 THE ST. LAWRENCE AND THE SAGUENAT. 
 
 THERE is but one to whom my hopes are clinging, 
 As clings the bee unto the morning flower, 
 There is but one to whom my thoughts are winging 
 Their dove-like passage through each silent hour : 
 One who has made my heart her summer bower. 
 Feeling and passion there forever bloom 
 For her, who, by her love s mysterious power, 
 Dispels the languor of my spirit s gloom, 
 And lifts my dead heart up, like Lazarus from the tomb. 
 
 n. 
 
 Maiden ! from whose large, intellectual eyes, 
 My soul first drank love s immortality, 
 Plume my weak spirit for its chosen skies, 
 T would falter in its mission without thee. 
 Conduct its flight ; and if its musings be 
 Oft ner of earth than heaven, bear awhile 
 With what is native to mortality : 
 A* 
 
10 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 It dare not err exulting in thy smile : 
 Look on it with thine eyes, and keep it free from guile. 
 
 in. 
 
 The bark leaps love-fraught from the land ; the sea 
 Lies calm before us. Many an isle is there, 
 Gad with soft verdure ; many a stately tree 
 Uplifts its leafy branches through the air ; 
 The amorous current bathes the islets fair, 
 As we skip, youth-like, o er the limpid waves; 
 White cloudlets speck the golden atmosphere, 
 Through which the passionate sun looks down, and 
 
 graves 
 His image on the pearls that boil from the deep caves, 
 
 IV. 
 
 And bathe the vessel s prow. Isle after isle 
 Is passed, as we glide tortuously through 
 The opening vistas, that uprise and smile 
 Upon us from the ever-changing view. 
 Here nature, lavish of her wealth, did strew 
 Her flocks of panting islets on the breast 
 Of the admiring River, where they grew, 
 Like shapes of Beauty, formed to give a zest 
 To the charmed mind, like waking Visions of the Blest. 
 
 v. 
 
 The silver-sinewed arms of the proud Lake, 
 Love-wild, embrace each islet tenderly, 
 
AND THE SAGUKNAY. 11 
 
 The zephyrs kiss the flowers when they wake 
 At morn, flushed with a rare simplicity ; 
 See how they bloom around yon birchen tree, 
 And smile along the bank, by the sandy shore, 
 In lovely groups a fair community ! 
 The embossed rocks glitter like golden ore, 
 And here, the o erarching trees form a fantastic bower. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Red walls of granite rise on either hand, 
 Rugged and smooth ; a proud young eagle soars 
 Above the stately evergreens, that stand 
 Like watchful sentinels on these God-built towers ; 
 And near yon beds of many-colored flowers 
 Browse two majestic deer, and at their side 
 A spotted fawn all innocently cowers ; 
 In the rank brushwood it attempts to hide, 
 While the strong-antlered stag steps forth with lordly 
 stride, 
 
 VII. 
 
 And slakes his thirst, undaunted, at the stream. 
 Isles of o erwhelming beauty ! surely here 
 The wild enthusiast might live, and dream 
 His life away. No Nymphic trains appear, 
 To charm the pale Ideal Worshipper 
 Of Beauty ; nor Neriads from the deeps below ; 
 Nor hideous Gnomes, to fill the breast with fear : 
 But crystal streams through endless landscapes flow, 
 And o er the clustering Isles the softest breezes blow. 
 
TUP: ST. LAWKKNCK 
 
 LYRIC TO THE ISLES. 
 
 Here the Spirit of Beauty keepcth 
 Jubilee for evermore ; 
 
 Here the Voice of Gladness leapeth, 
 Echoing from shore to shore. 
 
 O er the hidden watery valley, 
 O er each buried wood and glade, 
 
 Dances our delighted galley, 
 
 Through the sunlight and the shade 
 Dances o er the granite cells, 
 Where the Soul of Beauty dwells : 
 
 Here the flowers are ever springing, 
 While the summer breezes blow ; 
 
 Here the Hours are ever clinging, 
 Loitering before they go ; 
 
 Playing round each beauteous islet, 
 Loath to leave the sunny shore, 
 
 Where, upon her couch of violet, 
 Beauty sits for evermore 
 Sits and smiles by day and night, 
 Hand in hand with pure Delight. 
 
 Here the Spirit of Beauty dwelleth 
 
 In each palpitating tree, 
 In each amber wave that welleth 
 
 From its home, beneath the sea ; 
 In the moss upon the granite, 
 
 In each calm, secluded bay, 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 
 
 13 
 
 With the zephyr trains that fan it 
 
 With their sweet breaths all the day 
 On the waters, on the shore, 
 Beauty dwelleth evermore ! 
 
 Yes, here the Genius of Beauty truly dwells. 
 I worship Truth and Beauty in my soul. 
 The pure prismatic globule that upwells 
 From the blue deep ; the psalmy waves that roll 
 Before the hurricane ; the outspread scroll 
 Of heaven, with its written tomes of stars ; 
 The dew-drop on the leaf: These I extol, 
 And all alike each one a Spirit-Mars, 
 Guarding my Victor-Soul above Earth s prison bars. 
 
 There was a stately Maiden once, who made 
 These Isles her home. Oft hasher lightsome skiff 
 Toyed with the waters ; and the velvet glade, 
 The shadowy woodland, and the granite cliff, 
 Joyed at her footsteps. Here the Brigand Chief, 
 Her father, lived, an outlaw. Her soul s pride 
 Was ministering to his wants. In brief, 
 The wildest midnight she would cross the tide, 
 Full of a daughter s love, to hasten to his side. 
 
 x. 
 
 Queen of the Isles ! she well deserved the name : 
 In look, in action, in repose a Queen ! 
 
14: THE ST. LA WHENCE 
 
 Some Poet-Muse may yet hand down to fame 
 Her woman s courage, and her classic mien ; 
 Some Painter s skill immortalize the scene 
 And blend with it that Maiden s history ; 
 Some Sculptor s hand from the rough marble glean 
 An eloquent Thought, whose truthfulness shall be 
 The expounder of her worth and moral dignity. 
 
 XI. 
 
 On, through the lovely Archipelago, 
 
 Glides the swift bark. Soft summer matins ring 
 
 O 
 
 From every isle. The wild fowl come and go, 
 Regardless of our presence. On the wing, 
 And perched upon the boughs, the gay birds sing 
 Their loves : This is their summer paradise ; 
 From morn till night their joyous caroling 
 Delights the ear, and through the lucent skies 
 Ascends the choral hymn in softest symphonies. 
 
 The Spring is gone light, genial-hearted Spring! 
 Whose breath gives odor to the violet, 
 Crimsons the wild rose, tints the blackbird s wing, 
 Unfolds the buttercup. Spring that has set 
 To music the laughter of the rivulet, 
 Sent warm pulsations through the hearts of hi] Is, 
 Reclothed the forests, made the valleys wet 
 With pearly dew, and waked the grave old mills 
 From their calm sleep, by the loud rippling of the rills. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 15 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Long years ago the early Voyageurs 
 Gladdened these wilds with some romantic air; 
 The moonlight, dancing on their dripping oars, 
 Showed the slow batteaux passing by with care, 
 Impelled by rustic crews, as debonnair 
 As ever struck pale Sorrow dumb with Song : 
 Many a drooping spirit longed to share 
 Their pleasant melodies, that swept among 
 The echo-haunted woods, in accents clear and strong. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 See, we have left the Islands far behind, 
 And pass into a calm, pellucid Lake. 
 Merrily dance the billows ! for the wind 
 Rises all fresh and healthful in our wake, 
 Up start large flocks of waterfowl, that shake 
 The spray from their glossed plumage, as they fly 
 To seek the shelter of some island brake ; 
 Now like dark clouds they seem against the sky, 
 So vast the numbers are that pass us swiftly by. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Merrily dance the billows ! Cheerily leaps 
 Our fearless bark ! it loves to skim the sea, 
 The River and the Lake, when o er them sweeps 
 The swift unwearied billow fearlessly. 
 Stretches its spotless sail ! it tightens see ! 
 How the wind curves the waters all around, 
 
16 THE ST. LA WHENCE 
 
 Ploughing into their bosoms fitfully. 
 Hark to the tempest s dismal shriek ! its bound, 
 Like to an earthquake, makes the river s depths resound. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Through the dense air the terror-stricken clouds 
 Fly, tortured by the pursuing hurricane. 
 Fast bound the milky billows the white shrouds 
 That wind around the mariner on the main. 
 Nay, shrink not, dark-eyed one ! they weave no chain 
 For us we re free ! Ha ! ha! our gallant bark 
 Spurns the white wave with eloquent disdain ; 
 She laughs to scorn the waters wild and dark, 
 She revels in the Storm, the Tempest loves to mark. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Hoarsely reverberates the thunder loud 
 Through the charged air. The fiery lightnings leap 
 Forth, from their mystic dwelling in the cloud \ 
 Electric shafts through all the heavens sweep, 
 And penetrate the surface of the deep, 
 Like flaming arrows from the bow of wrath, 
 Shot down some dark and cloud-pavillioned steep; 
 Each red-hot bolt the fearful power hath 
 To scatter blight and death along its burning path. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A wild joy fills my overburdened brain. 
 
 My ears drink music from each thunder peal. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 17 
 
 I glory in the lightnings and the rain. 
 There is no joy like this ! With thee to feel 
 And share each impulse, makes my spirit kneel. 
 Sing to me, love ! my heart is pained with bliss ! 
 Thy voice alone can quicken and unseal 
 The inner depths of feeling. Grant me this : 
 Flood me with Song, and loose the founts of Happiness. 
 
 HYMN TO THE LIGHTNING. 
 
 Oh ! mighty, Oh ! mysterious One ! 
 Thou wiliest, and the lightnings fly, 
 .Flame-winged and silent, through the sky, 
 
 Outglowing the exultant sun. 
 
 Along the hills reverberates 
 The eloquent, sonorous bass, 
 Shaking the earth from place to place, 
 
 Then heavenward to Thy temple gates, 
 
 Where every whisper, every tone 
 Of music, from the earth, rolls in, 
 Whether from putrid lips of sin, 
 
 Or girdled by a prayerful zone. 
 
 Thy Voice is in the thunder cloud, 
 Thy Presence in the lightning s fire 
 Breathings of an Almighty Ire, 
 
 That wraps the heavens in a shroud 
 
 Of blinding light, before whose heat 
 
 The granite mountains melt away, 
 A* 
 
18 THE ST. LAWKENCE 
 
 And finite Man falls down to pray 
 For mercy at his Maker s feet. 
 
 How Vast art Thou ! how minute he ! 
 A human tissue which a breath 
 Can hurl from quickest life to death 
 
 An atom to Immensity. 
 
 Oh ! wondrous Power ! Oh ! strength Divine ! 
 Oh ! weak and insignific Man ! 
 Weak here, but in the After-plan 
 
 Not less eterne than Thee and Thine ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Mysterious power of Song ! the lips of Love 
 Make mellower music than a thousand strings 
 Of harps. Thine eyes my grosser thoughts remove, 
 But thy sweet voice doth give my spirit wings, 
 As up the air melodious whisperings, 
 Ethereal harmonies, divinely low, 
 Float, like the echoes which the morning flings 
 From the pleased valleys hymns that upward flow, 
 Warming the purple hills with praises as they go. 
 
 xx. 
 
 Hast thou not heard upon a summer s eve 
 The musical pulsations of the air ? 
 The voices of the mountain pines, that weave 
 Their low complainings with the atmosphere *? 
 Thus, throughout Nature, floating everywhere, 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 19 
 
 Eternal symphonies, low, rich and deep, 
 Pass from her Poet-lips. Her children hear 
 And treasure up these lyrics, as they sweep 
 With Zephyrus through the air, or visit them in sleep. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 First, the sweet Idyls from the shepherd vales, 
 Where Peace and rural Happiness abide ; 
 Bird-hymns and wild rejoicings in the dales, 
 Where the swart Peasant cheers his rustic Bride ; 
 Anthems from solitary plains that glide 
 To where the death-dirge wails along the sea ; 
 Low chantings from the stars, and far and wide 
 The Minstrel Breezes, meeting playfully, 
 Rehearse their wanderings in Canzonet and Glee : 
 
 xxn. 
 
 While the deep forest rolls its Psalmody 
 Of Voices from its music-haunted aisles ; 
 And the strong Choruses leap joyfully 
 From hill to hill, or where the sunlight smiles 
 Upon the mountain summits, tinging miles 
 Of clouded crag and heaven-tinted air ; 
 Last, the winged Tempest, from the long defiles 
 Emerging, like a Lyric God, to share 
 The genial Feast of Sounds that roused him from his lair. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Spirits of the Storm are all abroad ; 
 Of various natures, good and bad, are they ; 
 
20 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Like mortal dwellers on this mundane clod, 
 Some evil natures, others good, obey. 
 As through the air they cleave their weird way, 
 Their separate passions show : Some smite the trees, 
 The innocent flowers, or the granite gray, 
 Or in huge heaps uproll the shouting seas ; 
 While others weep, as now, wrecked Nature s obsequies. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In the far distance rolls the Thunder-Car, 
 Faintly the echo of its wheels is heard ; 
 No more is felt the elemental jar ; 
 The Curtains of the Storm are gently stirred, 
 And pushed aside ; and slowly, at the Word 
 Of Him who placed it first within the cloud, 
 A gorgeous rainbow rises. The dark bird 
 Of night is on the wing ; it cries aloud ; 
 And the white sea gull floats where erst the thunder 
 ploughed. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The storm is lulled ; the heaving waves subside ; 
 The lightning s flash grows fainter ; and the eye 
 Can just perceive the silver girdle tied 
 About the groups of pleasant Isles that lie 
 Before us. Down the hurrying stream we fly, 
 Like a white dove unto its nest. The eve 
 Has closed around us, and the brightening sky 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 
 
 Yearns for the coming stars. Nobly we leave 
 The Lake, and glide through scenes that Fairy hands 
 might weave. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Pale Hesper smiles upon us through the gloom, 
 An unassuming Pioneer of Night, 
 Like a chrysalis that had burst its tomb, ^ 
 And spread its gleaming pinions to the light. 
 Soft moon-beams fall like love-looks on the sight, 
 And earth and sky seem blending into one, 
 Even as our hearts deep virtues, love, unite, 
 Like meeting pilgrims at the set of sun 
 Grasping each other s hands, their joyous labors done. 
 
 XXYII. 
 
 Mild Evening, like a pensive Vestal Nun, 
 Sits veiled, lamenting for the truant Hours ; 
 The Day has sprung to heaven to seek the Sun, 
 And left her weeping on her couch of flowers ; 
 Heaven s Angels, bearing moonlight to the bowers 
 Where True love dwells, and Virtue sits enthroned, 
 In golden urns collect the pearly showers, 
 Singing sweet idyls, low and silver-toned, 
 Till the enameled tears some cherub brow have zoned. 
 
 TWILIGHT HYMN. 
 God of the early Morning light ! 
 
 Whose Hand the Gates of Dawn unbars ; 
 God of the Evening and the Night 1 
 
32 THE ST. LAWliENCE 
 
 Who guides the chariots of the stars : 
 We thank Thee for the air we breathe, 
 
 The waves that roll, the winds that rise, 
 For all Thy wondrous works beneath, 
 
 For all the glories of the skies. 
 
 We bless Thee for the soothing Calm 
 
 That broods below the Evening s wings, 
 We bless Thee for the Spirit-balm 
 
 The gentle-footed Twilight brings. 
 Promptings of Hope, and Joy, and Love, 
 
 Exalt our minds and set them free, 
 And Prayer-wreaths white as Aaron s Dove. 
 
 Ascend like incense up to Thee. 
 
 Gently the shades of Night come down, 
 
 Glooming the Evening s silver gray, 
 Pale Twilight puts aside her crown, 
 
 And follows the dim Ghost of Day. 
 So at the threshold of life s close, 
 
 We tread the verge of heaven s goal, 
 Peace, like a spirit, brings repose 
 
 To the calm Twilight of the Soul. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 There is no Twilight in you queenly Moon. 
 At least the philosophic vision ne er, 
 At midnight s solemn, thought-inducing noon, 
 Could trace the existence of an atmosphere. 
 No Twilight and no Song ! No blue sky, clear 
 As Woman s purest and most crystal thought 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 23 
 
 Rising to heaven on the wings of prayer ! 
 No mountain echoes, like wild music, caught 
 From Nature s hallowed lips, to waiting Genii taught. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Its valleys know not either day or night ; 
 Like mountain shadows darkening the plain 
 They slumber on, unconscious of the light 
 That falls on earth, like sun-thoughts on the brain. 
 And yet we feel her presence, as the main 
 Thrills to the diapason of the storm ; 
 When the waves spring to their feet and join the strain, 
 These mighty wrestlers a strong chorus form, 
 And sing her praise, in tones deep, passionate and warm. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Yon rock, that felt the lightning s burning kiss, 
 Has melted at the fervor of its breath, 
 As it leaped, glowing, from the deep abyss, 
 On wings of fire, to the distant heath, 
 Shaking the firm foundations underneath. 
 Yon shattered trunks that strew the watery way, 
 Yon floating beds of flowers, where many a wreath 
 Was woven by the storm, have felt the play 
 Of the hot lightning s wings, whose touch is swift decay. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And now tis Night. A myriad stars have come 
 To cheer the earth, and sentinel the skies. 
 
24 THE ST. LAWREKCE 
 
 The full-orbed moon irradiates the gloom, 
 And fills the air with light. Each Islet lies 
 Immersed in shadow, soft as thy dark eyes ; 
 Swift through the sinuous path our vessel glides, 
 Now hidden by the massive promontories, 
 Anon the bubbling silver from its sides 
 Spurning, like a wild bird, whose home is on the tides. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Here Nature holds her Carnival of Isles. 
 Steeped in warm sunlight all the merry day, 
 Each nodding tree and floating greenwood smiles, 
 And moss-crowned monsters move in grim array ; 
 All night the Fisher spears his finny prey ; 
 The piney flambeaux reddening the deep, 
 Past the dim shores, or up some mimic bay : 
 Like grotesque banditti they boldly sweep 
 Upon the startled prey, and stab them while they sleep. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Many a tale of legendary lore 
 Is told of these romantic Isles. The feet 
 Of the Red Man have pressed each wave-zoned shore, 
 And many an eye of beauty oft did greet 
 The painted warriors and their birchen fleet, 
 As they returned with trophies of the slain. 
 That race has passed away ; their fair retreat 
 In its primeval loneness smiles again, 
 Save where some vessel snaps the isle-enwoven chain : 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 25 
 
 XXXIY. 
 
 Save where the echo of the huntsman s gun 
 Startles the wild duck from some shallow nook, 
 Or the swift hounds deep "baying, as they run, 
 Rouses the lounging student from his book ; 
 Or where, assembled by some sedgy brook, 
 A pic-nic party, resting in the shade, 
 Spring pleasedly to their feet, to catch a look 
 At the strong steamer, through the watery glade 
 Ploughing, like a huge serpent from its ambuscade. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 We have well-nigh outstripped the nimble breeze ; 
 The silken sail incurves the pliant mast ; 
 As flies the comet through the infinities, 
 So speeds our darling shallop, lightning-fast. 
 The merry Isles have floated idly past ; 
 And suddenly the waters boil and leap, 
 On either side the foamy spray is cast, 
 Hoarse Genii through the shouting Rapid sweep, 
 And pilot us unharmed adown the hissing steep. 
 
 xxxvi. 
 
 The startled GALLOPPES shout as we draw nigh, 
 The SAULT, delighted, hails our reckless bark, 
 The graceful CEDARS murmur joyously, 
 The vexed CASCADES threaten our little ark, 
 That sweeps, love-freighted, to its distant mark. 
 Again the troubled deep heaps surge on surge, 
 
26 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 And howling billows sweep the waters dark, 
 Stunning the ear with their stentorian dirge, 
 That loudens as they strike the rocks resisting verge. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And we have passed the terrible LACHINE, 
 Have felt a fearless tremor thrill the soul, 
 As the huge waves upreared their crests of green, 
 Holding our feathery bark in their control, 
 As a strong eagle holds an oriole. 
 The brain grows dizzy with the whirl and hiss 
 Of the fast-crowding billows, as they roll, 
 Like struggling Demons, to the vexed abyss. 
 Lashing the tortured crags with wild, demoniac bliss. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 MONT ROY ALE rises proudly on the view, 
 A Royal Mount, indeed, with verdure crowned, 
 Bedecked with regal dwellings, not a few, 
 Which here and there adorn the mighty mound. 
 ST. HELENS next, a fair, enchanted ground, 
 A stately Isle in glowing foliage dressed, 
 Laved by the dark St. Lawrence all around, 
 Giving a grace to its enamored breast, 
 As pleasing to the eye as Hochelaga s crest. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 I ve stood upon yon Mountain when the sun 
 Entered his cloud-built palace in the west, 
 Like a proud, Royal Nimrocl, who had won 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 27 
 
 His home, and doffed his richest-broidered vest. 
 Beneath me, the vast city lay at rest ; 
 Its great heart throbbing gently, like the close 
 Of Day. A prayer lay folded in my breast, 
 And from my lips in silence it uprose, 
 For heaven s blessing on that city s calm repose. 
 
 XL. 
 
 For there dwelt one, who, in my Boyhood s days, 
 
 I loved with a deep passion. Many years 
 
 Have sung around me the wild paraphrase 
 
 Of life since then ; and I ve shed bitter tears, 
 
 And smiled heart-smiles; known many hopes and 
 
 fears ; 
 
 But my Boy-love has stood the test of time, 
 And ripened like her beauty. The fool leers 
 At Love s sun mellowing fair Childhood s clime, 
 Love, beauteous to the Child, to Man becomes sublime. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 There was a joyousness within her eyes, 
 Like the sun s light illumining the blue 
 Of heaven, making earth a paradise. 
 Gladness, like a celestial spirit passing through 
 The gates of morn, rose white- winged on the view, 
 Whene er you looked upon her lovely face. 
 Love sat upon her lips, and love s sweet dew 
 Fell from them, leaving there a sunny trace, 
 As f touched by angel s wings they caught angelic grace. 
 
20 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 XLII. 
 
 I could have mellowed in her light of Love, 
 And breathed my soul out on her lips of Song ! 
 Afar off have I worshipped her, and strove 
 With my pure passion day by day. How long 
 Will my lone spirit wander through the throng 
 Of human hearts until it lives in thine ? 
 Know, Maiden, that my love is deep and strong 
 As yonder Rapid, and as serpentine, 
 Rock after rock it strikes, seeking a joy divine. 
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 The balrny summer days are here, 
 The Robin warbleth in the tree, 
 But Summer, Spring, nor song-birds bring 
 One note of love from thee. 
 
 The roses will put forth their buds, 
 Green leaves adorn each ardent tree, 
 
 But in my heart will never start 
 One rose-bud hope for thee. 
 
 The sun leans down to kiss the flowers, 
 To flush the blossoms of the tree, 
 
 But to my love no carrier-dove 
 Brings warmth and light from thee. 
 
 The happy woodlands throb with song, 
 Music is breathed from tree to tree ; 
 
 With Winter s fleece these songs will cease, 
 But not my love for thee. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 29 
 
 XLIH. 
 
 The dancing current, like a happy child, 
 Mellifluously laughs, as down the stream 
 We glide, past many a cot and rural wild, 
 Like visions mellowed by the moonlight s beam. 
 We cannot stay for these ; a loftier theme 
 Awaits us. See ! our shallop seems to feel 
 The joyous impulse of our waking dream, 
 And parts the waters with its anxious keel, 
 Exulting in the joys that through our bosoms steal. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Yet there are graceful landscapes thickly strewn 
 Along these banks, to muse on and admire ; 
 Here stands a maiden cottage all alone, 
 There the low church extends its gleaming spire. 
 Scenes, where Arcadian dreamers might retire, 
 And live in pastoral meditation, free 
 From every low, inordinate desire. 
 Yon group of dwellings what felicity 
 Speaks from their eloquent repose ! where even he 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Of lonely Vaucluse might have sighed, and ne er 
 Been tempted by fair Psyche s winning smile 
 From his pure love s Penelope. And here, 
 VARENNES, like a fair Eden purged from guile, 
 Sits smiling on the night ; yon aged pile 
 With its bright spires reposing on its breast. 
 
30 THE ST. LA WHENCE 
 
 Yonder, the HOLY MOUNTAIN OF ROUVILLE, 
 Like a huge cloud that had come down to rest, 
 Looms far against the sky, and on its sombre crest 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Shineth the Pilgrim s Cross, that long hath cheered 
 The weary wanderer from distant lands, 
 Who, as his stately pinnace onward steered, 
 Bless d his Faith s symbol with uplifted hands. 
 Swift through the RICHILEAU ! Past the white sands 
 That spangle fair BATISCAN S pleasant shore 
 We glide, where fairy dwellings dot the strands ; 
 How gracefully yon aged elms brood o er 
 The shrubbery that yearneth for their mystic lore, 
 
 XLvn. 
 
 When the winds commune with the tell-tale limbs, 
 And many-voiced leaves. That is ST. PIERRE, 
 Where the tall poplars which the night bedims, 
 Lift their sharp outlines through the solemn air. 
 Past these white cottages to L AVENIR, 
 Another site of beauty. Lovelier yet 
 THE PLATEAU, slumbering in the foliage there ; 
 And gay CAP SAINTE, like a Wild Love, beset 
 With wooers, bringing gems to deck her coronet. 
 
 XLvm. 
 
 The Whippoorwill, among the slumberous trees, 
 Flingeth her solitary triple cry 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 31 
 
 Upon the busy lips of every breeze, 
 That wafts it in wild echoes up the sky, 
 And through the answering woods, incessantly. 
 Surely some pale Ophelia s spirit wails 
 In this remorseless bird s impassioned sigh, 
 That like a lost soul haunts the lonely dales ! 
 Maiden, sing me one of thy pleasing madrigals. 
 
 THE WHIPPOORWILL. 
 
 Ere the dawn, one morning early, 
 
 Jeannie tripped the meadows o er, 
 Passing by the fields of barley, 
 By the cottage at the shore : 
 " There his faith was pledged and broken, 
 
 Neath yon tree beside the Mill ! " 
 From the tree, when she had spoken, 
 Came a dismal " Whip-poor-will ! " 
 " Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! " 
 From the tree beside the Mill 
 Piped the doleful Whippoorwill. 
 
 "Truly," Jeannie said, " poor Willie? 
 
 He was false to heaven and me; 
 He was false, and I was silly, 
 
 Yet the bird sings heartlessly. 
 Nevermore we ll sit at gloaming, 
 
 Neath the tree beside the Mill ; 
 Willie s heart has gone a-roaming ! " 
 
 Quoth the harsh bird" Whip-poor-will ! " 
 
32 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 " Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! " 
 From the tree beside the Mill 
 Piped the doleful Whippoorwill. 
 
 Jeannie s heart was all compassion, 
 
 Jeannie s lips a pardon sighed ; 
 " Absent loves are all the fashion ! " 
 
 " Whip-poor-will ! " the rude bird cried, 
 From the pasture tripped the Maiden, 
 
 With her foamy milking pail, 
 Every roaming breeze was laden 
 
 With the strange bird s heartless wail : 
 " Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! 
 In the tree beside the Mill 
 Piped the doleful Whippoorwill. 
 
 From the cottage by the river 
 
 Truant Willie, blushing, came, 
 Jeannie s heart would still misgive her, 
 
 Though he softly spake her name : 
 " Ever since that evening, Jeannie, 
 
 That we parted at the Mill, 
 All the night long, bright or rainy, 
 Shrieked that noisy Whippoorwill." 
 " Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! " 
 From the tree beside the Mill 
 Piped the saucy Whippoorwill. 
 
 On the Maiden s lips paused Willie, 
 Jeannie never asked the cause, 
 
AND THE SAGLTENAY. 33 
 
 But all patience, like a silly 
 Little Maiden as she was, 
 Held her mouth up like a flower, 
 That her bee might sip his fill, 
 While the bird, with startling power. 
 Shrieked his wildest " Whip-poor-will ! " 
 " Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! 
 Nevermore beside the Mill 
 Piped that noisy Whippoorwill. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Th inconstant moon has passed behind a cloud, 
 CAPE DIAMOND shows its sombre-colored bust, 
 As if the mournful Night had thrown a shroud 
 Over this pillar to a hero s dust. 
 Well may she weep ; hers is no trivial trust ; 
 His cenotaph may crumble on the plain, 
 Here stands a pile that dares the rebel s lust 
 For spoliation : one that will remain 
 A granite seal brave Wolfe ! set upon Victory s Fane. 
 
 QUEBEC ! how regally it crowns the height, 
 Like a tanned giant on a solid throne ! 
 Unmindful of the sanguinary fight, 
 The roar of cannon mingling with the moan 
 Of mutilated soldiers years agone, 
 That gave the place a glory and a name 
 Among the nations. France was heard to groan ; 
 R 
 
34 THE ST. LA.WRENCE 
 
 England rejoiced, but checked the proud acclaim 
 A brave young chief had fall n to vindicate her fame. 
 
 LI. 
 
 WOLFE and MONTCALM! two nobler names ne er 
 
 graced 
 
 The page of history, or the hostile plain ; 
 No braver souls the storm of battle faced, 
 Regardless of the danger or the pain. 
 They pass d unto their rest without a stain 
 Upon their nature or their generous hearts. 
 One graceful column to the noble twain 
 Speaks of a nation s gratitude, and starts 
 The tear that Valor claims, and Feeling s self imparts. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Far up the Golden Ladder of the Morn 
 Had climbed the sun, upon the Autumn day 
 That led me to these battlements. The corn 
 Upon the distant fields was ripe. Away 
 To the far left the swelling highlands lay ; 
 The quiet cove, the river, bright and still ; 
 The gallant ships that made the harbor gay ; 
 And, like a Thought swayed by a potent Will, 
 POINT LEVI, seated at the foot of the Old Hill : 
 
 Lin. 
 
 What were the Gardens and the Terraces, 
 The stately dwellings, and the monuments 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 35 
 
 Upreared to human fame, compared to these? 
 Those ancient hills stood proudly ere the tents 
 Of the first Voyageurs swart visitants 
 From the fair, sunny Loire were pitched upon 
 Wild Stadacona s* height. The armaments 
 Whose mighty thunder clove the solid stone, 
 Defaced yon granite cape, that answered groan for groan. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Down the rough slope Montmorenci s torrent pours, 
 We cannot view it by this feeble ray, 
 But, hark ! its thunders leap along the shores, 
 Thrilling the cliffs that guard the beauteous bay ; 
 And now the moon shines on our downward way, 
 Showing fair Orleans enchanting Isle, 
 Its fields of grain, and meadows sweet with hay ; 
 Along the fertile shores fresh landscapes smile, 
 Cheering the watchful eye for many a pleasant mile. 
 
 LV. 
 
 It seems like passing by some Fairy-realm. 
 
 The cottages are whiter than the snow. 
 
 Joy at the prow, and true love at the helm, 
 
 Both heaven and earth smile on us as we go. 
 
 Surely they never feel the breath of woe, 
 
 The dwellers on this Isle. Spire after spire 
 
 Points to the heav n whose presence seems to glow 
 
 * Stadacona the original name for Quebec. 
 
36 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Within their happy bosoms who aspire 
 To naught beyond their hearths, their own dear house 
 hold fire. 
 
 LYI. 
 
 Peace to their cheerful homes ! where bless d Content 
 Reigns paramount throughout the circling year. 
 A courteous, gentle race, as ever blent 
 Religion with Simplicity. The cheer 
 That greets the stranger who may wander here 
 Glows with the zeal of hospitality. 
 Peace to their quiet homes ! where blanching fear 
 Ne er enters, nursed by jealous rivalry. 
 From the world s bitter strife the Habitant is free. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The billowy River rolls its proudest wave, 
 The zephyrs have fled, dancing, o er the hills, 
 And the winds tread the waters, wildly-grave, 
 Like the Storm-Harpists gliding down the rills 
 Of their own native mountains, gainst their wills. 
 Brighter the moon above us ; brighter all 
 The patient stars, whose pensive beauty thrills 
 Our yearning souls, like distant tones that fall 
 On waiting ears hearkening for an Angel s call. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Brighter the night, and whiter every cot 
 And glancing spire that silvers in the moon ; 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 37 
 
 Intensely glows each little garden plot ; 
 The sparkling villages at random strewn 
 Along the brooding shore, where Bacchus,* boon 
 Companion of the merry crowd, once held 
 His regal court: his prudent subjects soon 
 Stripped off his purple vestments, and rebelled, 
 And wisely still disown the Monarch they expelled. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Now swiftly down towards the salt-breathed sea 
 The cool wind wafts us, and we bid farewell 
 To the lone Isle that slumbers on our lee ; 
 Farewell, perchance, forever. Who can tell 1 
 Years hence, in separate lands, our thoughts may 
 
 dwell, 
 
 But for a little moment, on this night, 
 And Memory may wake within her cell, 
 And lead us here by this same starry light, 
 Our long-divided souls, embracing, reunite. 
 
 PARTING SONG. 
 
 Part ! the word must not be spoken ! 
 
 Part ! our hearts must ne er be broken ! 
 
 Rivers meet and mix forever, 
 
 Why are we, love, doomed to sever? 
 
 Oh! the cruel, cruel anguish! 
 
 How the senses droop and languish ! 
 
 * The Island of Orleans- once called the "Isle of Bacchus" from th 
 abundance of its grapes, which have now entirely disappeared. 
 
O THE ST. LA WHENCE 
 
 For the fiat may be spoken, 
 
 And our hearts may both be broken ! 
 
 Comes the Night, the Evening greeting, 
 Ever thus behold them meeting ; 
 But for us what hope before us ? 
 Not a star is shining o er us ; 
 But the heav n of love is clouded, 
 Wildly, darkly, blackly shrouded, 
 For an iron tongue hath spoken, 
 And our hope in hope is broken ! 
 
 In my brain a fire is burning, 
 Backward to my heart returning, 
 And my nerves, that drooped to sadness, 
 Are re-strung to desp rate madness ! 
 Leap, ye burning thoughts that rend me, 
 Let not Pity s voice befriend me ! 
 Curs d the lips that lie hath spoken ! 
 For our hearts shall not be broken ! 
 
 LX. 
 
 CAPE TORMENTB lifts itself above the hills 
 
 That gird it round about, like sentinels 
 
 Guarding some great king s palace, whose grandeur filJs 
 
 Their hearts with pride and love. Up the steep dells 
 
 Crawl the night-vapors, dimming the gray swells 
 
 Of mount and hill that in the distance rise, 
 
 Cloud-like and faint. Ev n on those uplands dwells 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 39 
 
 The faithful Habitant ; and when he dies, 
 His children, jealous of the ancient family ties, 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Keep the old Homestead sacred. What a night ! 
 It must have borrowed somewhat of the day, 
 In honor of thine eyes, love. The warm light 
 That bathes yon church and village, is as gay 
 And cheering as if the first golden ray 
 Of morning s sun had pierced it with its beams. 
 Some Recluse, yonder, keeps his holiday 
 In that obscure ravine. Peace to his dreams ! 
 Uncursed with lust of gold, or wild, unholy schemes. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Still loftily looms the Cape ! Still proudly soar 
 The vassal Hills innumerable vast ! 
 And majesty and beauty evermore 
 Surfeit the sense with a divine repast. 
 Another group of dwellings t is the last ; 
 Another spire flashing above the trees 
 That screen the little church. Our slender mast 
 Leans to the gale, and while the glorious breeze 
 Quickens our speed, look round, for there are charms to 
 please 
 
 LX1II. 
 
 On either hand. A dream it well might be : 
 Hills rising here, and mountains looming there ; 
 Islands reposing on a moonlit sea 
 
40 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 With which the winds are toying ; everywhere 
 The shores are bold, precipitous and fair. 
 GROSSE ISLE sits dreamily-languid ; all around, 
 Its subject-islands slumber. In the air 
 The clouds have melted into light. No sound 
 Stirs the sweet calm, save where the jovial billows bound. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Press on, courageous bark ! the wind is fair, 
 As it should ever* be when Love sets sail 
 Beneath such skies as these, whose glowing air 
 Quickens our souls, as odors scent the gale. 
 Soon will the stars be dim, the Moon grow pale, 
 As with Orion down the dreamy west 
 She wanders, like a Beauty, proud and frail, 
 To where her lonely couch waits to be press d, 
 A fearful secret in her warm, voluptuous breast. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 This Isle* might guard the entrance to a sphere 
 Of heavenly tranquillity ! The mind 
 Puts off its weight of cares, for Beauty here 
 Sits like a wondrous deity enshrined 
 Among the hills. Oh, God ! but Thou art kind ! 
 ST. PAUL S delightful BAY, fit mirror for 
 The stars, glows like a vision which the wind 
 Wafts by some Angel standing on the shore, 
 As bless d as if he trod heaven s star-enameled floor. 
 
 * Isle Aux Coudres Filbert Island. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 
 LXVI. 
 
 The distant knolls are soft as midnight clouds 
 Filled with bright memories of departed day. 
 Like purple glories rolling up the woods, 
 This rugged wilderness which we survey 
 Extends in wild, magnificent array, 
 To regions rarely trod by mortal feet. 
 Ev n here, love, though we would, we cannot stay ; 
 We cannot loiter near this calm retreat ; 
 The Morn approaches, and his fiery steeds are fleet. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 These two majestic hills* kneel down to kiss 
 The village at their feet ; the cottages, 
 Pearl-like and glowing, speak of human bliss, 
 With a low, eloquent tongue. Fit symbols, these, 
 Of a diviner life of perfect Ease 
 Allied to bless d Repose. The church spire looks 
 Like a sweet promise smiling through the trees ; 
 While far beyond this loveliest of nooks, 
 The finely-rounded swells dream of the babbling brooks. 
 
 LXVIH. 
 
 EBOULLEMENSJ sleeps serenely in the arms 
 
 Of the Maternal hill, upon whose breast 
 
 It lies, like a sweet, infant soul, whose charms 
 
 * At Little St. Paul s Bay one of the most delightful pictures on the route, 
 t A most delightful little village of this name, looking like a vision of Eo- 
 manco or Fairy-tale. 
 
 B* 
 
42 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Fill some fond mother s bosom with that rest 
 Caused by the presence of a heavenly guest. 
 How coyly close it nestles ! how retired, 
 Half conscious of its charms, and half oppress d, 
 As with a blushing sense of being admired ; 
 As modest as a gem, with gem-like beauty fired. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The stream reflects these cottages, like swans 
 Reposing on its surface, or faint dreams 
 But half remembered when the morning dawns, 
 And tremulous sleep wakes with the day s first beams. 
 
 Past the monotonous " CAPES."* The moonlight 
 gleams 
 
 Full on the mossy slopes and banks that lie 
 Along the silent shores, as well beseems 
 So fair a region. Why, love, dost thou sigh ? 
 But wherefore ask, loved one? My own heart tells me 
 why : 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Our spirits are as one. The morning, love, 
 Will part us. We have lived an age to-night. 
 Love is immortal. Hope is from above. 
 Sit nearer to me, for thine eyes are bright 
 With tears. There is a fairer land in sight. 
 Our love is sphered with truth. Eternity 
 Will crown that love, if we but love aright ; 
 
 *Le Caps. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 43 
 
 If Love be Truth, indeed. Soft eyed one ! we 
 Must seek beyond the veil what here can never be ! 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Welcome the granite sternness of MALBAIE !* 
 The last dim light of the declining moon 
 Falls dimly on its rugged banks. The day 
 Will shortly waken from its dreamy swoon ; 
 His chariot long hath swept the sullen noon 
 Of midnight ; and beneath our feet, the sun 
 Rolls, flaming, towards the East. His fierce breath soon 
 Along the undulating hills will run, 
 Rousing the piney vales and forests, one by one. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 And Darkness, like a Fate, conies stealing down 
 In her black mantle, step by step, until 
 The trembling stars have dwindled down to one 
 Pale, solitary watcher. Lone and chill 
 Falls its meek glance on river, wood and hill. 
 See, you can even mark its heart-beats, love ! 
 Each mortal has his mission to fulfil, 
 Each planet is accountable to Jove, 
 Both do His high behests, His sovereign Will approve. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 I knew a man whose prayerful soul was set 
 To a devotional music, like a psalm 
 
 *M array Bay. 
 
44 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Fresh from a Master- Artist s brain ; and yet, 
 There came a time when his mind s starriest calm 
 Was quenched in Unbelief. Once, like a palm 
 He flourished, till deep thinking brought a doubt 
 Of a Hereafter, and the Great I AM ! 
 Like a new light, Faith slowly came, and out 
 Of his dark world he strode, believing and devout. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 So rolls the bright Dawn up the Orient, 
 Out of the pitchy hour that precedes 
 The flush of Day. Darkness was surely sent 
 To make the Light more blessed. The heart bleeds 
 That has been sown with Error lo ! the seeds 
 Have brought forth Truth. So Good from Evil springs 
 And all is mystery. Our noblest deeds 
 May bring us bitter fruits. Frail man who clings 
 To Life, is perfected when Death reveals all things. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 The Morning Star has gone back into heaven, 
 The Sun s light-footed Herald, the gray Dawn, 
 Is passing upwards, and the dusk is riven 
 By a warm tinge, like to a purple lawn, 
 O er which a misty saffron veil is drawn. 
 But warmer is the rose tint spreading now 
 Along the dim horizon, erst so wan, 
 Like Health returning to the pallid brow 
 And cheek of some young sufferer, with a welcome glow. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 45 
 
 TO THE DAWN. 
 In the East the blooming Angel, 
 
 Morning, hov reth, like a gorgeous rose, 
 Waking many a fair Evangel 
 From her heavenly repose. 
 From her brow a radiant glory 
 
 Falls, like fire from above, 
 Telling the impassioned story 
 
 Of God s everlasting love. 
 Love s Angels ever walk their starry round, 
 And each new Morn beholds Love newly crowned. 
 
 Love, that at the primal waking 
 
 Of the Dawn in Eden s bowers, 
 Wandered through the Garden, slaking 
 
 His warm thirst from Eden s flowers ; 
 And the same sweet Eden-nectar 
 
 Flows wherever Love is found, 
 Even when the midnight s spectre 
 
 Treads upon earth s hallowed ground. 
 Love s Angels ever walk their starry round, 
 And with each Morning Love is newly crowned. 
 
 Blessed light of early Morning ! 
 
 At whose dawn the stars retire, 
 With thy warmth our souls adorning, 
 
 Fill us with love s ardent fire 
 With the love that comes from heaven, 
 
 With the hope that soars on high, 
 That our faults may all be shriven, 
 
46 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 As thy splendors fill the sky. 
 Love s Angels ever walk their starry round, 
 And with each Morning Love is newly crowned. 
 
 Calmly is the River glowing, 
 
 Like a burnished, crystal sea, 
 Like pure thoughts forever flowing 
 
 Heavenward eternally. 
 Slowly up the distant mountains 
 
 Rolls the changing purple screen, 
 While the swift rills, from their fountains 
 
 Leaping, clothe their sides with green. 
 Love s Angels ever walk their starry round, 
 And with each Morning Love is newly crowned. 
 
 O er the earth Love s blooming Angels 
 
 Loiter, hand in hand with Morn, 
 Fair-browed, golden-crowned Evangels, 
 
 Twin companions, heaven- born. 
 Life, and Light, and Joy attending, 
 
 Hymns and prayers salute their ears, 
 Earth s sweet hallelujahs blending 
 
 With the anthems of the spheres. 
 Love s Angels ever walk their starry round, 
 And with each Morning Love is newly crowned. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Like maid-wife waiting for her wedded lord, 
 The morn waits for the sun with a flushed cheek. 
 I hear the songs of birds j the breeze has stirred 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 47 
 
 Their dwellings, as it rustled from the peak 
 Of yonder mountain with a playful shriek. 
 Now my fair shallop, leap ! the blessed Day 
 Opens its crystal gates, and up the meek 
 And wan-faced sky the sun s darts cleave their way, 
 As our bark cleaves the black and frowning SAGUENAY. 
 
 LXXVH. 
 
 Mysterious Source of Light, triumphant Sun ! 
 A Royal Witness hast thou been to me 
 Of th existence of the Eternal One ! 
 But e en thy light compared with Deity, 
 Is as a dew-drop to the boundless sea. 
 What Angel-plaudits from surrounding spheres 
 Must have been echoed through infinity, 
 When first above thy myriads of compeers 
 Thou rod st, exulting o er the starry charioteers. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Couldst thou reveal the secret of thy birth, 
 The pain and travail of thy Parent, Night, 
 The worlds would glow with wonder, as the earth 
 Glows with the fervor of thy glorious light. 
 Roll on in all thy mystery and might ! 
 For thou art worthy of the Hand Divine 
 That waved thee into being, in the sight 
 Of His archangels, and the heavenly line 
 
 Of saints, who, wondering, praised the Omnipotent 
 Design. 
 
48 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 In golden volumes rolls the blessed light 
 Along the sterile mountains. Pile on Pile 
 The granite masses rise to left and right : 
 Bald, stately bluffs that never wear a smile ; 
 Where vegetation fails to reconcile 
 The parched shrubbery and stunted trees 
 To the stern mercies of the flinty soil. 
 And we must pass a thousand bluffs like these, 
 Within whose breasts are locked a myriad mysteries. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Here is a barren crag, at whose brown feet 
 Patiently sits the church and gleams the spire. 
 Commerce has found this a deserved retreat ; 
 Here groan the mills, and there, the household fire 
 Sends up its smoke above the struggling briar 
 And dwarfish evergreens that grow between 
 The stubborn rocks that grow but to expire. 
 Not here the thrifty farmer s face serene 
 The lumberer alone lends life to the grim scene. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 No further evidence of life, save where 
 
 The young whales bask their broad backs in the sun, 
 
 Or the gay grampus, sportive as a hare, 
 
 Leaps and rejoices, playfully as one 
 
 In youth who sees some holiday begun. 
 
 Perhaps a crowded steamer, passing by, 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 49 
 
 Lights up the scene a moment. Trebly dun 
 The shades of sullen loneliness that lie 
 On rugged L Ance 1 eau when no living thing is nigh. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Over the darkening waters ! on through scenes 
 Whose unimaginable wildness fills 
 The mind with joy insatiate, and weans 
 The soul from earth, to Him whose Presence thrills 
 All Beauty as all Truth. These iron Hills ! 
 In what profusion did He pile them here, 
 Thick as the flowers that blossom where the rills 
 Chant to the primal woods. Year after year 
 In solitude eternal, rapt in contemplation drear. 
 
 LXXXHI. 
 
 Dreaming of the old years before they rose 
 Triumphant from the deep, whose waters rolPd 
 Above their solemn and unknown repose ; 
 Dreaming of that bright morning, when, of old, 
 Beyond the Red Man s memory, they told 
 The Secrets of the Ages to the sun, 
 That smiled upon them from his throne of gold ; 
 Dreaming of the bright stars and loving moon, 
 That first shone on them from the Night s impressive 
 noon : 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Dreaming of the long ages that have passed 
 Since then, and with them that diminished race 
 
50 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Whose birchen fleets these inky waters glassed, 
 As they swept o er them with the wind s swift pace. 
 Of their wild legends scarce remains a trace ; 
 Thou hold st the myriad secrets in thy brain, 
 Oh! stately bluffs! As well seek to efface 
 The light of the bless d stars, as to obtain 
 From thy sealed, granite lips, tradition or refrain ! ^ 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 But they are there, though man ma} - never know 
 Their number or their beauty. Pass the eye 
 Along the ever-looming scene, where er we go, 
 Through these long corridors of rock and sky 
 What startling barriers, rising sullenly 
 From the dark deeps, like giants, seem to place 
 An adamantine gateway, close and high, 
 To bar our progress ; meet them face to face, ^1 
 The magic doors fly open, and the rocks recede apace. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Hills piled on rugged hills ! But see, how drear, 
 And with what startling solitariness, 
 The TETE DE BOULE looms yonder ! Cold and clear 
 In isolated grandeur, the huge mass, 
 Like the stern Magi of this granite pass, 
 He stands amid-stream, thoughtfully apart 
 From his far-off companions. Once, alas ! 
 I knew a stately soul, with lone, sad heart, 
 And thus to me he sung that mountain s counterpart : 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 51 
 
 VANISHED HOPES. 
 I ve supped with depression and feasted with sorrow, 
 
 The hot tears of anguish have withered my heart ; 
 And now, death might strike down my last hope 
 
 to-morrow, 
 Not one tear is left me to deaden his dart. 
 
 From youth up to manhood a scourge was upon me, 
 Few roses of pleasure have bloomed in life s crown ; 
 
 No rainbow of promise wherein I might sun me, 
 The grasp of a fate is still bearing me down. 
 
 And thus like a tree in the lone desert blasted, 
 Dry, leafless and withered dead, sapless and bare, 
 
 I long for love s sweet dews, once mine, now untasted, 
 And stand like a wretch stricken dumb with despair ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Not often these imperishable hills 
 Are startled by the cheering Voice of Song. 
 Swift flies our fleet bark onward, ev n as rills 
 Leap, crystal-footed, like starbeams, along 
 Steep mountain sides, that, resolute and strong, 
 Heed not their graceful steps. There is no sign 
 Of human habitation seen among 
 These heaven-reaching bluffs ; no beach supine, 
 Or banks inviting, where the weary might recline. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 One solitary sea gull hovering, 
 
 Like an adventurous spirit, o er the deep, 
 
52 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 And he, too, glides as silent on the wing 
 As a child s thoughts of heaven. Parched and steep, 
 The red-browed mountains slumber, like the sleep 
 Of a drugged giant dreamless, deep and wild. 
 V A few dwarfed pines and impish cedars creep 
 Along the embrowned summits, half-beguiled 
 By the warm sunbeams, where no foliage ever smiled. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 But as our restless shallop from her prow 
 Scatters the liquid pearls in her mad haste, 
 These naked boulders lag behind, and now 
 The smiling hills with verdant life are graced. 
 Like a lone star twinkling above the waste 
 Of ocean, when the youthful mariner sees 
 That the portentous storm has safely pass d, 
 Is yonder distant dwelling, where the breeze 
 Frills the calm bay, and flirts with the coquetting trees : 
 
 xc. 
 
 Slumbering at the base of two high rocks, 
 It looks like Patience at the feet of Death. 
 Or, fancy it some grave magician s box, 
 Which, opened, wafts a pestilential breath 
 Along the mountains, an invisible wreath 
 Of subtlest essence, permeating through 
 Their granite pores, sapping all life beneath, 
 And robbing their bald summits of the blue 
 And rich terial tints, where the tall cedars grew. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 53 
 
 XCI. 
 
 A green delightful valley, sweetly smiles 
 Close to those rocks, as if an Angel-path 
 Led to the shore from the remotest hills, 
 That lave their heads in an ambrosial bath 
 Of vapors and warm sunlight, such as hath 
 Been carried down from heaven in the urns 
 Of ministering spirits. Free from scathe 
 Is this sweet vale, where some fair sprite sojourns, 
 In smiling contrast to the blasted mountain ferns. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Here, the dark pines clothe the steep mountain-side, 
 There, heavy beetling cliffs, rugged and bald, 
 Lift their gray heads above the sunny tide 
 Like the stern phantom of some Prophet-Scald 
 Of the old time, by magic wiles enthralled : 
 Full of his Scandinavian fire, and yet 
 Spell-bound and silent, like a ghost appalled. 
 A river, winding, like a rivulet, 
 Through the thick woods and reverential hills, has set 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Its seal of freshness on the changeful wild. 
 A stately ship lies anchored in the bay ; 
 Like an Oasis to the Desert-child, 
 It speaks of Life. No rocks can bar the way 
 Where Love and Hope lend wings to human clay : 
 The granite knots roll from us, like a cloud 
 Of vapor up the sunny-minded Day, 
 
54: THE ST. LA WHENCE 
 
 When Morn looks down from heaven : They have 
 
 bowed 
 Their stubborn heads, and parted, like a daunted crowd 
 
 XCIY. 
 
 Of evil spirits who have seen the sun. 
 These hills lie mingled in a soft embrace, 
 As if they felt the joy that makes us one 
 When human hearts unite, and face to face 
 Love looks on Love, discovering that trace 
 Of Eden that yet lingers in the heart : 
 Are they the offspring, love, of some old race 
 Of mountains, that no Geologic art 
 Can trace no whisper of their deep old loves impart ? 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Oh ! give me the love of your woman s heart, 
 And the light of your cheerful eye ! 
 
 And the earth will change 
 
 From a phantom strange 
 To a heaven with stars and sky ; 
 
 And the Sun of Hope 
 
 Up the gleaming cope, 
 Like the Genius of Love, will roll, 
 
 And dark Night no more 
 
 Will obscure the shore 
 Where beckons Love s mystic Soul ! 
 
 For your love is as deep as the comet s sweep, 
 When it reels from its astral lair, 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 55 
 
 And your looks as bright 
 
 As the lustrous light 
 The sun shakes from his golden hair. 
 
 As pure as the hue 
 
 Of the summer blue, 
 That is warmed by the sunset s glow, 
 
 Are the thoughts that rise 
 
 In your cheerful eyes 
 To banish the Demon, Woe. 
 
 I d pillow my head on your snowy breast, 
 And my heart, like a cymbal fine, 
 
 Would throb with a tone 
 
 That were Music s own, 
 When it wakened a chord of thine : 
 
 Then the Sun of Hope 
 
 Up Life s gleaming cope, 
 The true Genius of Love would roll, 
 
 Arid dark Night no more 
 
 Would obscure the shore 
 Where beckons Love s mystic Soul. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Nature has here put on her royalest dress, 
 And CAPE ETERNITY looms grandly up, 
 Like a God reigning in the Wilderness 
 Holding communion with the distant cope, 
 Interpreting the stars dreams, as they ope 
 Their silver gates, where stand his regal kin. 
 
56 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Oh! for some special gift! to give full scope 
 To the soul s promptings, so that I might win 
 To earth some portion of the fire that burns within. 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 A deep and overpowering solitude 
 Reigns undisturbed along the varied scene. 
 A wilderness of Beauty, stern and rude, 
 In undulating swells of wavy green ; 
 Soft, airy slopes, bold, massive and serene ; 
 Rich in wild beauty and sublimity, 
 From the far summits in their piney sheen, 
 Down to the shadows thrown by rock and tree 
 Along the dark, deep wave, that slumbers placidly. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 He, love, who flushed the daisy built the world. 
 All things come perfect from His Master-hand. 
 The stars, His Thoughts, through wide creation 
 
 whirled, >, 
 
 Down to the minutest monad of sand 
 Upon the shore, in equal glory stand 
 Before His sight. But Man, and man alone, 
 He holds suprernest of the works He planned : 
 And yet, how like Earth s faintest monotone, 
 Compared to Heaven s choir, he seems, when thrown 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 In puny contrast to a work like this. 
 Slope after slope, wave after wave of light 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 57 
 
 And graceful foliage, which the sun s warm kiss 
 Thrills, from the centre to the farthest height. 
 The mind soars God-ward with a keen delight, 
 And proudly beats the undisciplined heart, 
 Rendering homage to the Infinite, 
 As from the Cape s embrace the wild shapes start, 
 Filling the soul with dreams that nevermore depart. 
 
 xcix. 
 
 A playful waterfall comes dashing down, 
 As silvery as the laughter of a child 
 Dancing upon the greensward, and the sun 
 Scatters his golden arrows through the wild, 
 Cleaving the molten-silver stream that smiled 
 So lovingly upon his earliest beams. 
 So unsuspecting Innocence, beguiled 
 By Pleasures, soft as sunlight upon streams, 
 Flies the swift darts that pierce the enamel of its dreams. 
 
 c. 
 
 Is there a soul so dead to nature s charms, 
 That thrills not here in this divine retreat ? 
 Love lures me evermore to Woman s arms, 
 But here I kneel at Nature s hallowed feet ! 
 Love fills my being with a calm, replete, 
 But regal Nature sets my spirit free 
 With grateful praises to God s Mercy seat. 
 Yet nature binds me closer, love, to thee : 
 Ev n as this dreamy Bay,* in sweet felicity ; 
 
 * Trinity Bay after passing Cape Eternity. 
 
 
 
58 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 CI. 
 
 Woos both the sun s light, and the cool shade 
 Of the umbrageous woods to its embrace. 
 What deep imaginings of Peace pervade 
 Its heavenly repose, as Nature s face 
 Peers down, in mild, unutterable grace, 
 Like a calm Student seeking Pearls of Thought 
 In some fair Beauty s mind, where he can trace 
 Through her warm slumber, how her soul is fraught 
 With pure deep Love, by heavenly inspiration taught. 
 
 cn. 
 
 Strong, eager thoughts come crowding to my eyes, 
 Earnest and swift, like Romans in the race, 
 As in stern grandeur, looming up the skies, 
 This Monarch of the Bluffs,* with kingly grace, 
 Stands firmly fixed in his eternal place, 
 Like the great Samson of the Saguenay, 
 The stately parent of the giant race 
 Of mountains, scattered thick as ocean spray 
 Sown by the tempest up this granite-guarded way. 
 
 cm. 
 
 My lips are mute. I cannot speak the thought 
 
 That, like a bubble on the placid sea, 
 
 Bursts ere it tells the tale with which t is fraught. 
 
 Another comes, and so, eternally, 
 
 They rise in hope, to wander spirit-free 
 
 * Trinity Rock a stupendous mass of granite. 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 59 
 
 About the earth. T were best they should not break 
 The Silence, which itself is ecstacy 
 And Godlike Eloquence, or my frail voice shake 
 A single echo, the expressive Calm to break. 
 
 civ. 
 
 Like tears of Gladness o er a giant s face, 
 The streams leap perpendicularly down 
 The polished sides of the steep precipice, 
 That glooms the waters with its sullen frown, 
 Until they seem as massive as the brown, 
 Bold, naked rock, that rears its swarthy crest, 
 Its anatomic form, and triple crown 
 Of granite, far above the earth s unrest, 
 Claiming a lofty seat, like Truth made manifest. 
 
 cv. 
 
 Let us return, love,* for the goal is won. 
 Here, by this Rock, t is doomed that we must part, 
 And part forever ; for the glorious Sun 
 Of Love, that quickeneth my earnest heart, 
 Shines not for thee, alone. The Dream of Art 
 That calms the happy Student s sweet repose, 
 Is like our Dream of Love the first swift dart 
 Shot by young Phoebus from his chamber, goes 
 Like lightning through his vision s blooming heart of rose- 
 
 * Back to Trinity Kock. 
 
60 THE ST. LAWKENCE 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Already thou art gone, with one last look 
 Of love from those exalted eyes of thine, 
 That cheered me as we read from nature s book 
 Together, and partook of the divine 
 Ambrosial draught of love s celestial wine. 
 Another earnest being at my side ! 
 Not her whose Girlhood s dreamy love was mine ; 
 Not her whose heart Affliction s fire has tried ; 
 Not her of the Artistic soul, and stately pride, 
 
 evil. 
 
 Who shook my being as the autumn winds 
 Shake down the timid leaves. Loved-one ! I hear 
 The voice within syllabl ing words that bind 
 Our souls, and blend them for a nobler sphere 
 Of usefulness and action year by year 
 Ascending in the scale of being, far 
 Above the trifling mind s obscure career, 
 And mounting to Perfection, like a star 
 For whose triumphant, flight heaven s crystalline gates 
 unbar. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 My love is strong as yon enduring Rock ! 
 Deep as the thoughtful waters at its feet ! 
 Oh ! could my willing voice find words t unlock 
 Its depths, and free the sleeping echoes, fleet 
 As the swift-footed chamois, they would greet 
 The far-surrounding hills with such a tale 
 
AND THE SAGUENAY. 
 
 61 
 
 Of passion as had never left its seat 
 Within the heart of man. The bounding gale, 
 And the low-whispering breeze, should chant it to the 
 vale. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Arid the dread Silence, seated on the brow 
 Of the exalted Bluff, would start, and find 
 An hundred tongues to utter vow for vow ; 
 Startling the browsing elk and slumbering hind, 
 In the resounding woods. Like Truth enshrined 
 Within the well, so in my steadfast soul 
 Love waited for thee, as the patient mind 
 Waits for the coming thought that will extol 
 Some lofty purpose struggling skyward to its goal. 
 
 ex. 
 
 All, all is thine, love, now : Each thought and hope 
 In the long future must be shared with thee. 
 Lean on my bosom ; let my strong heart ope 
 Its founts of love, that the wild ecstacy 
 That quickens every pulse, and makes me free 
 As a God s wishes, may serenely move 
 Thy inmost being with the mystery 
 Of the new life that has just dawned, and prove 
 How unutterably deep and strong is Human Love. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 The Spring is in the air, 
 I feel her spirit-kiss upon my lips, 
 
 I lay my forehead bare, 
 And the blood rushes to my finger-tips, 
 And back through the full veins of my glad heart 
 
 Her purple breath is warm 
 In every pore of my encarmined cheek, 
 
 And through my limbs the storm 
 Of renewed life, no longer winter-weak, 
 Gives health and vigor to each vital part. 
 
 I fling my arms abroad, 
 And clasp the atmosphere unto my breast, 
 
 I feel the grassy sod 
 
 Beneath my feet springing from its long rest, 
 Like buried hopes arising in the soul: 
 
 The erewhile aged hills 
 With youth reanimate are fresh and green, 
 
 From their old lips the rills 
 Leap forth, like crystal images serene, 
 Pearl thoughts of wisdom bounding to their goal. 
 
64: SPUING. 
 
 Close by the gray old stone 
 Where sat the Boy, -where lately paused the Man, 
 
 A violet has blown 
 The eye of Pallas on the cheek of Pan 
 A blue-eyed infant at a giant s feet : 
 
 Over the meadows pass 
 The bronzed butterflies and the wild bees, 
 
 Searching in the young grass 
 For the fresh daisies ; and the lilac trees 
 Surfeit the odorous air with breathings sweet. 
 
 The fields are carpeted 
 With amethystine hyacinthes ; the rose 
 
 Peers from its leafy bed 
 Along the ledge ; the purling brooklet flows 
 Over the white sands to the lilies side : 
 
 Here, in the apple tree, 
 Where, surely as the spring time comes, is heard 
 
 His soft, rich melody, 
 The happy robin sits a welcome bird, 
 Waking the pulse to joy each morning tide. 
 
 The music of the bells 
 Tinkling among the early shepherd flocks, 
 
 In silvery pan tings, swells 
 Along the Orient, ere the saffron locks 
 Of the proud sun have yellowed o er the sea : 
 
 Scarcely a breath of air 
 Quickens the thrilling silence of the vale ; 
 
SPRING. 65 
 
 But the warm Spring is there, 
 A thousand choirs her rosy presence hail, 
 Stirring the heart-chords all to minstrelsy 
 
 Rousing the organ-tone 
 That peals melodiously through the old woods, 
 
 Making the forests groan 
 With music, shaking the deep solitudes 
 Whose vigorous allelujahs rouse the morn : 
 
 The many-voiced hills 
 Take up the paean, bearing it along 
 
 Until the wild chant fills 
 The vocal wilderness with solemn song : 
 " Shout mighty forests ! for to-day is born 
 
 " The rosy-featured Spring ! 
 Shout your deep-chested poeans, till the bass, 
 
 Upon the lightning wing 
 Of startled Echo, fills the listening space 
 With psalmy welcome to our light-robed Queen: 
 
 " Her breath is in the air, 
 It floats upon the distant mountain peak, 
 
 The strolling zephyrs bear 
 Her loving kisses to each human cheek, 
 And Spring reigns blandly o er the wide demesne." 
 C* 
 
66 A POET S LOVE. 
 
 A POET S LOVE. 
 
 Oh ! solitary heart ! 
 Companionless as the unresting sea ; 
 
 And yet, how skilled thou art 
 In Love s impenetrable mystery ! 
 
 Like a coy maid, 
 Whose love and virtue are her only dower, 
 
 Thou seemest half afraid 
 Of thy exhaustless and well-governed power. 
 
 Thy love is too serene, 
 Exalted, and immortal, to be felt, 
 
 Even by thy chosen queen, 
 In whose cold arms thou couldst have ever dwelt, 
 
 Like a warm pearl 
 Imprisoned in the granite s rayless breast. 
 
 Oh ! heart, thou art no churl ! 
 But in Love s Golden Palace formed to rest. 
 
 Yes, love for love, 
 Love like thine own, t is all thou st ever sought, 
 
 But vainly hast thou strove, 
 Like flushed youth after fame, and found it not. 
 
 Love watcheth evermore 
 Within thee, from his cruel prison bars, 
 
 Like Eleanor in her tower, 
 Night-blooming Cereus longing for the stars. 
 
A POET S LOVE. 67 
 
 I knew a noble youth, 
 He was as timid as a Bengalee, 
 
 But in his heart sat Truth, 
 And Love sat at her feet, all modestly, 
 
 As blooms the violet 
 Beneath the perfume of the queenly rose ; 
 
 His being s tide was set 
 Love-ward, like a flushed summer sunset s close. 
 
 And there was one he deemed 
 All worthy of the worship of his soul ; 
 
 One, who, in all things, seemed 
 Born but to guide him to his vision s goal. 
 
 Hemmed in with Love, 
 Like a fair island with a coral reef, 
 
 His spirit soared above 
 The world, like Joy exalted above Grief. 
 
 Love was his atmosphere, 
 He breathed it as men breathe the southern balm ; 
 
 His young mind, year by year, 
 Grew upright as a Coromandel palm. 
 
 Her presence was his shield, 
 Like the white plume of Henry of Navarre 
 
 Upon the battle field, 
 Where er he look d, there loomed his guiding star 
 
 She was as fair 
 And beautiful as the anemone, 
 
68 
 
 Pure as the morning air 
 Fresh from the mountain summits or the sea. 
 
 They loved their rural homes, 
 And while she helped the aged cottage dame, 
 
 He labored at huge tomes, 
 And on his fane of love built spires of fame. 
 
 His were great visions now, 
 Hers, the sweet joy to elevate his dreams ; 
 
 Thought sat upon his brow, 
 Upon her face a glory, such as beams 
 
 Upon an angel s face 
 When a ripe Truth falls from some human brain, 
 
 And wins the usurped place 
 Where Error long had held its iron reign. 
 
 There came a gallant youth, 
 All scent, and curls, and foppery and pride, 
 
 Who knew no more of Truth 
 Than the young infant of the year that died. 
 
 And he, too, spake of love, 
 He spake of gold, and rank, of power and place, 
 
 Of courts, where she might move, 
 Like Love s fair Queen, amongst a Royal race. 
 
 Her simple ear was gained, 
 Loud Flattery triumphed over modest Worth, 
 
 And one great heart was pained 
 To know that Perfidy still walked the Earth. 
 
69 
 
 But t is the Poet s doom, 
 To nurse, unknowingly, some ripening pain, 
 
 And as he paced his room, 
 Lonely as Tycho on its herbless plain, 
 
 He did not curse the hand 
 That plucked the lily from his mountain crags, 
 
 Cursed not the human brand 
 Flung loose to scourge him like Pandora s Plagues. 
 
 But in his mind still burned 
 The embers of his love s funereal pyre ; 
 
 The lesson he had learned, 
 Bequeathed he to the world in words of fire : 
 
 " Well I knew a stately Maiden, flushed with Health s 
 
 divinest glow, 
 With a hand as warm as sunlight, and a heart as cold as 
 
 snow. 
 
 " Many a softly-moulded accent floated from her perfect 
 
 mouth, 
 Syllabl ing words as mellow as the fruitage of the South. 
 
 " Words that made my heart awaken, and my pulsing 
 spirit bound, 
 
 Every stricken chord of Feeling trembling with melodious 
 sound. 
 
 " Oriental odors floated in her warm Sabean breath, 
 
 And I knew not they were filtered through an atmos 
 phere of Death. 
 
70 
 
 A POET S LOVE. 
 
 " Sweetly did my dreams deceive me, like the babe s 
 
 upon the sea, 
 When the. noble ship s endangered with a typhoon on 
 
 the lee. 
 
 " And a glorious Hope reigned proudly, like a giant, in 
 
 my heart, 
 Falsely swearing by the Future, Love and he should 
 
 never part. 
 
 " Oh ! with what a saintly glory the strong eye of man 
 hood beams, 
 
 When the youthful soul is flooded with the languor of 
 its dreams. 
 
 " How the world becomes Ideal, Nature s beauties all 
 
 laid bare, 
 And a harmonizing fragrance fills the universal air. 
 
 " Morning wears a tenfold beauty, evening comes se 
 renely down, 
 
 And at night each star is praying for the sin-endangered 
 town. 
 
 " In the midnight, when the moonbeams warm the bosom 
 
 of the earth, 
 How divine the swift emotions springing into Godlike 
 
 birth. 
 
 " Every drop of dew that trembles, glistening, on the 
 
 pleased sight, 
 Has an eye of sparkling beauty, looking upward through 
 
 the night. 
 
" Every zephyr, like a spirit, breathes a more delicious 
 
 balm, 
 Every gust of wind that passes sings its animated psalm. 
 
 " To each memory-haunted nook a more exalted beauty 
 
 clings, 
 And the summer flies make music with the motions of 
 
 their wings. 
 
 " The anthem of the thunder falls in organ peals upon the 
 
 brain, 
 And the passionate clouds smile lightnings through the 
 
 weepings of the rain. 
 
 * To the perfect sense there seems a fuller rolling of the 
 
 floods, 
 A more dulcet tone is whispering in the bursting of the 
 
 buds. 
 
 " A more silvery cadence ringeth in the laughter of the 
 
 rills, 
 A warmer purple blendeth with the vapours on the hills. 
 
 " Angels stepping down from heaven fill the chambers 
 
 of the mind, 
 Chanting there their hymns of triumph, waking love 
 
 for all mankind. 
 
 " Every tree, and bud, and flower, has a hue it never 
 
 wore, 
 When the soul was love-deserted, in the callous days of 
 
 yore. 
 
2 A POET S LOVE. 
 
 " Birds are warbling from the thickets orisons of won 
 drous note, 
 
 And the wooing dove pairs nestle closer in their 
 blessed cote. 
 
 " Where was deadly hatred rankling in the sinful human 
 
 breast, 
 Sits Forgiveness, blest and blessing, with a glory for its 
 
 crest. 
 
 "Love, Lord Paramount of all, dispenses, from his 
 
 thousand thrones, 
 Sunshine for all clouded sorrows, boundless joy for passion 
 
 groans. 
 
 " Earth, and air, and sky, and ocean, every living, breath 
 ing thing, 
 
 Sits in peace beneath the shelter of Love s universal 
 wing. 
 
 "So sat I beneath it, dreaming of a world of bliss to 
 
 come, 
 In a universe of fancies, for my joy had struck me dumb. 
 
 " And my quiet heart had yielded every pulsing hope 
 
 and beat 
 To that cold and stately Maiden, who had charmed me 
 
 to her feet. 
 
 " Day by day my love grew stronger, and my soul, ex 
 ultant, trod 
 
 Through my mind s illumined palace, with the bearing 
 of a God. 
 
73 
 
 " Every tender word she spake rode to me in a silver car, 
 Every look she gave at parting rounded to a perfect star. 
 
 " Could that voice be all it promised ? might that firma 
 ment grow dark 
 
 Where those star-looks had been treasured 1 each a 
 covenanting ark ! 
 
 " Once my heart the question whispered, lowly, for I 
 
 scarce could hear, 
 But I hurled the slander from me, though my spirit 
 
 crouched for fear. 
 
 "Was it not some jealous demon that had crept into my 
 
 mind? 
 Dare it crush so pure a passion 1 or was Love, indeed 
 
 so blind ? 
 
 " Blind, alas ! a frantic devil in my heart did stamp and 
 
 rave, 
 Like a sightless Cyclop groping madly round his granite 
 
 cave. 
 
 " Oh ! from what a height of promise did my stricken 
 
 spirit fall ! 
 Crushed, and bleeding, and despairing, covered with a 
 
 raven pall. 
 
 "For my heart s pure love was wasted, and my dreams 
 
 a semblance bore, 
 To the disappointed moonlight, that convoys each wave 
 
 ashore ; 
 
74: 
 
 " Smiling on it in its worship, with a look divinely bland, 
 And while dreaming on its beauty sees it melt into the 
 sand. 
 
 "Love and Hope went forth together from the Eden of 
 
 my Heart, 
 At the gate they lingered, weeping, all unwilling to depart* 
 
 But I drove them forth in sorrow, on their broken 
 
 faith to brood, 
 And I made my home with nature, for a time in solitude. 
 
 "I had sought the love of Woman, that pure joy that 
 
 heaven distils, 
 Better searched for Truth and found it, in the centenarian 
 
 hills. 
 
 " Better rent the solid granite for a heart of flesh and 
 blood, 
 
 Looked for passion in the iceberg s pulseless and con 
 gealed flood : 
 
 u Better these than hoped for love within that faithless 
 
 maiden s breast 
 Tvvas like driving out an Angel when my heart s dove 
 
 left its nest. 
 
 " Every radiant winged To-morrow hidden in the dis 
 tant years, 
 
 Has its poise of joy and sorrow, has its freight of hopes 
 and fears. 
 
A POET S LOVE. 75 
 
 " Every hour upon the dial, every sand-grain dropped by 
 
 Time, 
 Quickens man, by useful trial, for his march to the 
 
 sublime. 
 
 " Friendship s hands forever grasping, glad to meet and 
 
 grieved to part ; 
 Love, accursed, or blessed, clasping Woe or Gladness to 
 
 its heart : 
 
 " Friendship hath a Jura-presence, throned like an Alp 
 
 on high, 
 Love hath a diviner essence, for, like Truth, it cannot die 
 
 " Thrice since then the Spring has parted from the Win 
 ter s cold embrace. 
 
 Thrice the birds in songs were thankful for the light of 
 nature s face. 
 
 " Thrice the Summer flowers have blossomed on the 
 
 summits of the hills, 
 Thrice the vales have leaped for gladness to the piping 
 
 of the rills. 
 
 " Thrice the red-browed, sheaved Autumn has lain down 
 
 its golden store, 
 Like a blessed crop of bounty, on the thankful farmer s 
 
 floor. 
 " And the passing of the seasons, with their yearly tide 
 
 of wealth, 
 Braced my mind and flushed my features with a treble 
 
 glow of health. 
 
76 
 
 " Here among these hills eternal, Love and Hope have 
 
 both returned, 
 Higher aims and wider feelings than of yore my bosom 
 
 burned, 
 
 " Ever up my soul are rolling, with a hot Etnaean glow. 
 As the Eagle from his eyrie views the wide champaign 
 below, 
 
 " So from this, my lofty station, mongst the mountains 
 
 of my youth, 
 I look round and study Nature, God, and Man, and 
 
 endless Truth." 
 
 Blest is the heart whose love 
 Is fed from the deep fountains of the soul ! 
 
 It never can grow old above 
 The highest heaven it wins its final goal. 
 
 His mind grew royally, 
 His visions all were dowered with large hopes ; 
 
 Like to some fruitful tree, 
 His thoughts came crowned all regally ; as opes 
 
 The amber gates of Morn, 
 When through them pours from young Day s 
 
 ardent soul. 
 
 The Light of Love, sun-born : 
 So loomed his thoughts toward Fame s far-distant 
 goal. 
 
LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 His heart was purified 
 By suffering, but desolate as the moon, 
 
 That wanders far and wide, 
 By myriads of stars attended, yet alone. 
 
 Some day the tongue of Fame 
 May bring the old world down upon its knees 
 
 At mention of his name, 
 And he, be one of earth s divinities, 
 
 With wise men at his feet 
 Sitting, and worshipping his wondrous speech ! 
 
 Oh ! human Love ! replete 
 
 With Suffering and Truth, what heights through 
 thee we reach ! 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 Oh ! for the faintest glimmering of hope, 
 To gild the pinions of Uncertainty 
 Wherewith I mount to heaven s topmost cope, 
 To learn th Eternal Will regarding thee ! 
 No light! no light! a double darkness dread 
 Englooms my spiritual sense, as when 
 The midnight wraps her mantle o er her head, 
 Shrouding her glories from the gaze of men. 
 Faith meets me midway up the starry slope, 
 And lo ! the intense Darkness disappears, 
 And Charity comes smiling down the spheres 
 On whitest wing to meet us ; and my ears 
 Drink in the heavenly words : " Give Reason scope, 
 Upheld by Faith, behold ! how vast the Hope ! " 
 
78 EIDEAU LAKE. 
 
 RIDEAU LAKE. 
 
 A warm light permeates the sky, 
 A silvery mist is lingering nigh, 
 And floating up the trees near by. 
 
 A slumberous silence fills the air, 
 Silence upon the Lake, and where 
 The pines drop pearls from out their hair. 
 
 The birdlings have no voice lo sing, 
 There s not a bird upon the wing, 
 Nature, herself, is slumbering. 
 
 Morning half opes her drowsy lid, 
 Her blue eyes neath the lashes hid 
 The Dawn s first kiss have gently chid. 
 
 And, Goddess-like, her couch she leaves, 
 Her golden hair about her weaves 
 A Ruth among her autumn sheaves ! 
 
 Up glides she through the welcoming skies, 
 A heaven of beauty in her eyes ; 
 Gladness like light before her flies, 
 
 Cleaving the Twilight with a smile. 
 Fast speeds she many a golden mile, 
 Flinging around each purple isle 
 
 Of floating cloud a zone of light, 
 That widens in swift circles bright, 
 As the moon silvers o er the night. 
 
RIDEAU LAKE. 79 
 
 Until in the far-distant heaven 
 Her milk-white steeds are swiftly driven, 
 And darkness everywhere is riven 
 
 By the white-bosomed Maid of Day. 
 Morn puts aside her locks of gray, 
 On every hand the woods are gay. 
 
 Up leaps the sun s broad chest of fire, 
 Up swell the bird hymns higher higher, 
 Phoebus has loosed his forest choir. 
 
 A massive mirror seems the Lake, 
 A mirror that no force could break, 
 But which the tricksy zephyrs shake. 
 
 Shy teal of a quadruple hue, 
 The golden, green, the gray and blue, 
 Rise like bright fancies on the view. 
 
 The trees are green on either side, 
 Whole forests standing in their pride, 
 Steeping their shadows in the tide. 
 
 Islets are floating here and there, . 
 Dreamy and languid, passing fair, 
 Tinted and limned with Artist-care. 
 
 Reposing like the Thoughts that lie 
 Within the meditative eye 
 Of youth bright thoughts that never die. 
 
80 RIDEAU LAKE. 
 
 Narcissus-like they stand, and seem 
 To watch their features in the stream, 
 Half indistinct, as in a dream. 
 
 Like forms Ideal, lo ! they stand, 
 Huge mounds of airy-seeming land, 
 Fashioned by the Great Artist-hand. 
 
 Smiling, like children fresh from sleep 
 Bathing their soft limbs in the deep, 
 As from their early couch they leap. 
 
 Young, stately cedars, breathing love, 
 Pines, pointing to the far-above, 
 Flowers at their feet white as the dove. 
 
 Rocks, red-flushed in the ruddy morn 
 Young Athletes, browed with manly scorn, 
 White birches from their bosoms born. 
 
 O er all, the broad Sun looking down, 
 O er all the truant winds have blown, 
 The wavelets kiss the granite stone. 
 
 Visions of Beauty ! Isles of light ! 
 Your sunny verdure glads the sight, 
 Each living fir-tree seems a sprite. 
 
 The leaves like woodland pulses shake, 
 The plover whistles in the brake, 
 Wide Day sits crowned on Rideau Lake. 
 
AUKELIA. 81 
 
 AURELIA. 
 
 Beautiful, and spirit-like, 
 
 She stands before me now, 
 An infantine intelligence, 
 
 With sweetness on her brow. 
 Her bright-blue eyes Elysian 
 Sparkle with some gentle vision 
 Of earliest human sinlessness, 
 Such as spirit forms might press, 
 With a soft and sweet caress, 
 To their souls of light and love, 
 In the heaven of heavens above. 
 Now these flashing orbs are swimming 
 
 In a calmy sea of Thought, 
 
 With a mystic glory fraught, 
 Silently but sweetly hymning 
 Many an anthem mild and holy, 
 Many a song, divine and lowly 
 Hymns and anthems deeply teaching 
 
 How immortal is the soul ; 
 Thoughts, that are intently preaching 
 
 Truths, as vast as those that roll 
 
 Ceaselessly from pole to pole, 
 On the meteoric pinions 
 That spread light through night s dominions. 
 
 Here and there golden ringlets shadow 
 Her fair brow with witching grace, 
 D 
 
82 ATJRELIA. 
 
 Like the sunlight on the meadow 
 
 Beautifying nature s face, 
 When the fleecy clouds are sporting 
 
 With the sunbeams as they fall, 
 Now athwart, now downward glancing, 
 
 Mongstthe rich grain, ripe and tall. 
 I love the silken ringlets 
 
 That kiss her snowy neck, 
 Like sun-flecks on a lily s leaf, 
 
 A moral in each speck ! 
 And her teeth of milky whiteness 
 
 Peeping out between her lips, 
 Where they lie in playful ambush, 
 
 Ever ready to reveal 
 Their intense and pearly brightness, 
 
 Which the budding lips conceal, 
 
 Lest their beauty should eclipse 
 The dimples on her cheeks that linger, 
 Pressed by nature s rosy finger. 
 
 Say not that the Fairy race 
 
 Has disappeared from earth ; 
 Many a truly Fairy face 
 
 Gladdens the domestic hearth. 
 Household Fairies, gentle creatures, 
 Fairies both in mind and features : 
 Good and lovely Fairies they, 
 Leading us from day to day 
 Along earth s dazzling milky way 
 
AUKELIA. 80 
 
 The blushing, rose-strew n path of Love, 
 Which Fairies are forever treading, 
 Step by step our fancies leading 
 
 To the milky way above : 
 
 Up and on above the stars 
 
 Charming Venus stately Mars, 
 
 To the realms that stretch eternal, 
 
 To the Throne of the Supernal ! 
 
 Such a Fairy is Amelia, 
 Such the gifted, fair Aurelia, 
 Fair and intellectual 
 As one on whom is set the seal 
 Of the Power Omnipotent, 
 On some useful mission sent : 
 
 Such is Libby, in whose eye 
 Dwells the spirit of Ideality, 
 Sitting lost in deepest thought, 
 As if her young mind had caught 
 The spirit of a Guardian-angel 
 Claiming her for an Evangel, 
 Passing her pearly fingers fair 
 Through each tress of golden hair : 
 
 Such is Hetty, midnight-eyed, 
 Nestling closely to my side, 
 Knowing that my heart must bless her, 
 Smiling if I once caress her ; 
 Gazing on my studious face, 
 As I mark each separate grace, 
 From the boy-curls on her head, 
 
84: AURELTA. 
 
 To her lips, and all they said, 
 Every word an angel-lyric 
 Falling on my ears empiric : 
 
 Such the pleasing, fond Louisa, 
 With her God-like memory, 
 And her gentle words and ways, 
 And her voice attuned to praise, 
 Setting the pulses of the heart 
 Throbbing, like a star at eve, 
 As its silver glances cleave 
 The dreamy quiet of the air ; 
 And her soft cheeks health tinge fair : 
 
 Such the thoughtful Annie, too, 
 With her laughing eye of blue, 
 Dimpled cheek of healthy hue, 
 And her forehead, sculptor-like, 
 An eternal Truth, deep-set, 
 On a Thought-browed statuette, 
 Which its lips will never speak : 
 
 Such is darling Caroline, 
 Through whose cheeks life s richest wine 
 Spreads like sunset s rosy glow 
 O er some Alpine brow of snow ; 
 One than whom no fairer purer, 
 
 Ever had a mortal birth, 
 Whose death would enrich heaven, 
 
 And beggar earth : 
 
 These among the household train, 
 Neriads from the deeps of love, 
 
AUKELIA. 85 
 
 Guests from starry realms above, 
 Are so many Fairies sent, 
 Filled with love, and innocent, 
 Down to earth, to bless and gladden 
 Homes that sin and strife would sadden 
 With a more than earthly pain. 
 
 Fair Aurelia ! bright Aurelia ! 
 
 Favorite of the sunny brow, 
 An infantine Intelligence, 
 
 A child of light, art thou. 
 A spirit of the serial Morn, 
 
 Or of Evening, bland with glory, 
 
 Like some Fairy Queen of story, 
 For whom Nature s hand had shorn 
 
 The bright locks from the glowing sun, 
 And stol n the softness of the moon, 
 
 As their skyward course they run 
 At dewy midnight and at golden noon, 
 Giving to each an extra grace 
 For thy tresses and thy face. 
 Ha ! a tear-drop in thine eye ! 
 Like a star upon the sky, 
 Like a clear stalactite 
 Pendent o er a summer sea, 
 Like a trembling dew-drop set 
 In an opening violet ! 
 Not the Naiads of the Rivers, 
 
 Not the Fairies of the Hills, 
 
SONNET. 
 
 Not the Nymph, whose sharp glance quivers 
 
 From the leaflets and the rills, 
 Where the gol den-man 6 d Rhine 
 Winds along its length supine, 
 Have a livelier glance than thine. 
 Come, then, to my heart s embrace, 
 Infant of the smiling face, 
 Come, with thy accents soft and winning, 
 That keep the human mind from sinning, 
 Give me back the love you stole, 
 And let me clasp thee to my soul ! 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Oh ! let me gaze upon thy lustrous eyes, 
 As on the arbiters of my soul s destiny. 
 My Reason sways without thee all is dark ; 
 And my poor mind, like to a periled bark, 
 Looks toward thee as the mariner to the skies ; 
 And looking on those orbs of light, I see 
 Two guiding stars that draw my soul to thee. 
 Save my endangered hopes my shipwrecked fears, 
 As on the boundless ocean of suspense 
 They toss and tremble upon Danger s brink, 
 Above a gulf in which I seem to sink, 
 No arm outstretched to bear my spirit thence. 
 T is the remembrance of thine eyes that cheers 
 My drooping spirit through the tedious years. 
 
EVENING SCENE. 87 
 
 EVENING SCENE, 
 
 FROM THE BANKS OF THE DETROIT RIVER. 
 x- 
 
 I stood upon a bank that faced the West, 
 Beyond me lay Lake Erie, softly calm, 
 
 Calm as the thoughts that soothe the dying breast, 
 As the Soul passes to the great I AM. 
 
 One solitary bird melodiously 
 
 Trilled its sweet vesper from a grove of elm, 
 One solitary sail upon the sea 
 
 Rested, unmindful of its potent helm. 
 
 There lay the Island with its sanded shore 
 
 The snow-white Lighthouse, like an Angel-friend 
 
 Dressed in his fairest robes, and evermore 
 Guiding the mariner to some promised end. 
 
 And down behind the forest trees, the sun, 
 Arrayed in burning splendors, slowly rolled, 
 
 Like to some sacrificial urn, o errun 
 
 With flaming hues of crimson, blue and gold. 
 
 And round about him, fold on fold, the clouds, 
 Steeped in some rainbow essence, lightly fell, 
 
 Draped in the living glory that enshrouds 
 His nightly entrance to his ocean shell. 
 
 * V- ^ .- f y6- 
 
 The woods were flashing back his gorgeous light, 
 The waters glowed beneath the varied green, 
 
88 EVENING SCENE. 
 
 Ev n to the softened shadows, all was bright, 
 
 Heaven s smile was blending with the view terrene. 
 
 The lofty woods, in summer sheen arrayed, 
 The trembling poplar with its silver leaf, 
 
 The stately walnut rising o er the glade, 
 The willow bending with its load of grief: 
 
 The graceful elm, the energetic oak, 
 
 The red-leaved maple, and the slender pine, 
 
 The grove of firs, half hidden by the smoke 
 
 From the white cottage clothed with jessamine : 
 
 The thirsty cattle drinking from the spring, 
 Or standing mid-deep in the sunny stream, 
 
 The stream itself, like Joy, meandering, 
 A silver shaft shot down a golden beam : 
 
 The ruddy orchard with its tempting fruit, 
 The juicy apple, and the mellow pear, 
 
 The downy peach, and near the garden, mute 
 With eager visions of a fruitful share, 
 
 Lolled the young urchin on his bed of grass, 
 Thinking of Autumn, with her red-ripe store 
 
 So Boyhood smiles to mark the seasons pass, 
 And Manhood sighs that they return no more : 
 
 On these the parting Day poured down a flood 
 
 Of radiant, unimaginable light, 
 Like as in some celestial spirit-dream 
 
 A thousand rainbows melt upon the sight, 
 
EVENING SCENE. 89 
 
 Setting the calm horizon all ablaze 
 
 With splendors stolen from the crypts of heaven, 
 Dissolving with their magic heat the maze 
 
 Of clouds that nestle to the breast of even. 
 
 The Fisher ceased his song, hung on his oars, 
 Pausing to look, a pulse in every breath, 
 
 And, in imagination, saw the shores 
 
 Elysian rising o er the realms of Death. 
 
 And as he dreamed, the sunlight passed away, 
 The stream gave back no deep cerulean hue, 
 
 Eve s purple finger closed the lips of Day, 
 And a dim glory clothed the upper blue. 
 
 And down on tip- toe came the gradual Night, 
 A gentle Twilight first, with silver wings, 
 
 And still from out the darkening infinite 
 Came shadowy forms, like deep imaginings. 
 
 There was no light in all the brooding air, 
 
 There was no darkness yet to blind the eyes, 
 But through the space interminable, there 
 Nature and Silence passed in solemn guise. 
 D* 
 
90 GENTLE MARY ANN. 
 
 GENTLE MARY ANN. 
 
 The artless and the beautiful, 
 
 The fairest of the fair, 
 Around her shoulders clustering 
 
 Her sunny, light-brown hair, 
 Her meek blue eye intelligent, 
 
 God s wondrous works would scan, 
 And a smile would animate the face 
 
 Of our Gentle Mary Ann. 
 
 The parted lip, betokening 
 
 The peaceful soul within, 
 That soul as yet unsullied, 
 
 Unendangered by a sin ; 
 The brow where earnest thought fulness 
 
 Some goodly work would plan, 
 Combined to make us idolize 
 
 Our Gentle Mary Ann. 
 
 And thus for sixteen summers 
 
 She grew upon our sight, 
 A patient girl of tenderness, 
 
 A sinless child of light ; 
 As free from worldly wilfulness 
 
 As when her life began, 
 Was this, our lovely charge from heaven, 
 
 Our Gentle Mary Ann. 
 
 The angels from their starry homes, 
 Looked on her smiling face, 
 
GENTLE MARY ANN. 91 
 
 And beckoned our darling child 
 
 Unto their resting-place ; 
 When, lo ! from out the graceful throng 
 
 An infant cherub ran, 
 And nestled in the guileless breast 
 
 Of our Gentle Mary Ann. 
 
 " Sister," she said, " we wait for thee, 
 
 Yon angel host and I, 
 To bear thee in thy innocence 
 
 To our dwelling in the sky." 
 The heavens, slowly opening, 
 
 A psalm of love began, 
 And the cherub, pointing upwards, 
 
 Said, " come, Gentle Mary Ann." 
 
 Calmly she faded from our sight, 
 
 In that infant soul s embrace, 
 And we watched her passing upwards 
 
 With a smile upon her face, 
 Passing upward towards heaven, 
 
 Upward to the Son of Man, 
 In whose bosom rests the spirit 
 
 Of our Gentle Mary Ann. 
 
92 DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 OLD YEAR ! OLD YEAR ! my pulsing heart 
 Is struggling like a wretch in chains, 
 I would fly with thee o er the plains, 
 
 Old Year. Old Year, we must not part. 
 Cold blows the night wind on the wold, 
 The starbeams, too, are falsely cold, 
 The pale moon s boasted love is sold 
 Old Year, why hast thou grown so old ! 
 
 Thou broughtest joy, thou broughtest woe, 
 And there are hopes alive and dead, 
 Thou broughtest faults of heart and head, 
 
 And yearnings purer than the snow. 
 
 The plains are wide where thou would st lead 
 Me, barren as a lying creed, 
 I cannot go, my heart would bleed 
 Old Year, why is thy fate decreed ! 
 
 Thou hast struck down the bosom friend, 
 
 That would have soothed our after years, 
 And thou hast brought both smiles and tears, 
 
 And woes and blessings without end. 
 
 Down come the snows, the night winds play, 
 Like elves, through all thy locks of gray, 
 Midnight is prone to bar thy way 
 Old Year, thou must not leave to-day ! 
 
 Oh ! motley life ! Oh ! checkered scene ! 
 A riddle-world of dreams and doubts, 
 
DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 93 
 
 We dare not trust our latest thoughts, 
 We nothing know but what has been ! 
 
 Moaneth the skies, like stricken souls, 
 My practiced sense can hear the ghouls, 
 Of centuries rushing from the poles 
 Old Year, what mean these spectral shoals ! 
 
 And knowing nothing, we would cling 
 Like beggars to thy garment s hem, 
 Loose leaves upon a withered stem, 
 
 We fear what the next breath may bring. 
 Old Year, thou rt passing from my side, 
 There is a bark upon the tide 
 O er which thy ghost prepar st to ride 
 Old Year, put on thy ancient pride ! 
 
 Oh ! cold and heartless is the wind, 
 And colder are the heartless stars, 
 White Death within their icy cars, 
 
 And Darkness clambering up behind. 
 
 The cold moon smiles more coldly still, 
 Colder each frozen mount and hill, 
 Bleak rolls the storm, the snow flakes chill 
 Old Year, why standest thou so still ? 
 
 Why tremblest thou 1 Is Death so nigh ? 
 
 Where are the souls which thou hast made 
 
 So happy 1 Are there none to aid ] 
 Is there no help in all the sky ! 
 
 Gather thy garments close, Old Year, 
 
 There is an end to all thy cheer, 
 
DESPONDENCY. 
 
 A deep voice calls dost thou not hear? 
 Farewell ! for we must part, Old Year ! 
 
 Gather thy robes about thy limbs, 
 Remember thy ancestral fame, 
 Pass bravely on to whence you came, 
 
 While shouts the storm its passion-hymns. 
 So ! thou hast vanished like a King, 
 Thou hast found Death a living thing, 
 To which brave souls most bravely cling- 
 See! where he sits a Spirit-King. 
 
 DESPONDENCY. 
 
 There is a sadness o er my spirit stealing, 
 A flash of fire up-darting to my brain, 
 Sowing the seeds and still the seeds concealing 
 That are to ripen into future pain. 
 I feel the germs of madness in me springing, 
 Slowly, and certain, as the serpent s bound, 
 And my poor hopes, like dying tendrils clinging 
 To the green oak, tend surely to the ground ; 
 And Reason s grasp grows feebler day by day, 
 As the slow poison up my nerves is creeping, 
 Ever and anon through my crushed heart leaping, 
 Like a swift panther darting on its prey ; 
 And the bright taper Hope once fed within, 
 Hath waned and perished in the rueful din. 
 
THE VOICE OF GOD. 
 
 05 
 
 THE VOICE OF GOD. 
 
 When o er the cloud -veiled face of heaven 
 
 The far-resounding thunders roll, 
 When the impending cloud is riven, 
 
 And the lightning leaps from its fiery goal, 
 The strong earth totters, and the mountains nod, 
 And nature trembles at the Voice of God. 
 
 That Voice at whose command 
 Chaos recoiled ; and Night, that long had kept 
 Her gloomy wings outspread, arose and crept 
 Like to a guilty thing into the deep ; 
 
 That caused the earth to leap 
 From its firm anchorage, where it lay 
 In hidden embryo a confused heap 
 And fashioned it with an invisible hand 
 Into a lovely world ; that called the Day, 
 To banish thence the blackest shades of Night, 
 And flood the world with heaven-borrowed light ; 
 That Voice which, from the top of Sinai, 
 In thunder spake the sacred law divine ; 
 At whose presence the mount the sky 
 Glowed bright, illumined by the lightning s fire, 
 Almighty Love revealed Almighty Ire ! 
 
 The birds that wing their flight 
 Through the blue skies, or in the sacred groves 
 Assemble, to rehearse their songs of love, 
 Or chirp their mellow notes with sweet delight ; 
 
96 THE VOICE OF GOD. 
 
 They sing His praise, 
 
 And as their thrilling lays 
 
 Float through the summer skies, 
 Attending spirits bear the strains to heaven. 
 What songs more worthy to be sung above 
 
 Than those which God hath given 
 To the blythe choristers ! Tis but the Voice 
 
 Of God that breathes in theirs ; 
 And their sweet minstrelsies are but the prayers, 
 The orisons, of sinless breasts, that rise 
 In music-whispers from the stately trees, 
 Like worship-incense borne upon the morning breeze. 
 
 Look forth into the Night ! 
 Then, most, His Voice in regal silence speaks 
 
 To the observant man. 
 
 The wondrous heavens scan 
 The infinitude of worlds that gleam 
 Like God-Thoughts flung athwart the gloom, and beam 
 Effulgent glory on the slumberous earth. 
 Is there a wish within thy soul that seeks 
 To know whence they derived their mystic birth ? 
 
 From \vhat vast source divine, 
 
 Like jewels from the mine, 
 They sprang, ablaze with their redundant light, 
 While angels sped from orb to orb, and viewed 
 The gleaming worlds, where all was solitude ; 
 And awed to silence, gazed with wonder on 
 Each blazing planet and impassioned sun ; 
 
THE VOICE OF GOD. 97 
 
 Saw the swift meteor urge its burning car 
 
 Adown the breathless silences afar, 
 
 And watched the advent of each new-born star, 
 
 Bursting the blue enamel of the sky, 
 
 As it came clothed with splendor from on high, 
 
 Launched on its errand of infinity ! 
 
 Oh ! with what aching rapture throbs the sight ! 
 
 What saith my questioning soul ! A Voice Supreme 
 
 Strikes like swift sunlight through my ether-dream, 
 
 Whispering that these innumerous worlds of light, 
 
 Before the foot of man this earth had trod, 
 
 Were called from Chaos by the Voice of God ! 
 
 But stay not here. 
 Hark to the psalmy voices of the winds 
 
 That sweep the pathless ocean ! 
 
 Look around ! 
 
 How the waves moan above the mariner s bier ! 
 Ere this the monsters of the deep have found 
 His stiffened corse ; but the wild wave finds 
 Another, still another, victim for its rage. 
 There is a Voice speaks from the chainless winds, 
 That ceaseless warfare with the billows wage, 
 Making more terrible their wild commotion. 
 
 There is a voice in every wave ; 
 Whether it swells in anger o er the grave 
 Of some poor, shipwrecked mariner, or swims 
 In gentle ripples on the ocean s breast; 
 
 Or in deep thunder hymns 
 Its praise tempestuous ere it sinks to rest, 
 
98 THE FINE OLD WOODS. 
 
 Glutted and surfeited, though not oppressed. 
 
 There is a Voice in everything; 
 There s not a living atom but doth sing 
 The praise of the Almighty, and rejoice 
 Beneath His Smile, or tremble at His Voice. 
 
 THE FINE OLD WOODS. 
 
 Oh! come, come away to the grave Old Woods, 
 Ere the skies are tinged with light, 
 
 Ere the slumbering leaves of the gloomy trees, 
 Have shook off the mists of Niorht : 
 
 D ) 
 
 Ere the birds are up, 
 Or the floweret s cup 
 Is drained of its freshening dew, 
 Or the bubbling rill, 
 Kissing the hill, 
 Breaks on the distant view ; 
 Oh ! such is the hour 
 To feel the power 
 Of the quiet, grave Old Woods. 
 Then, while sluggards dream, 
 Of some dismal theme, 
 Let us stroll, 
 With prayerful soul, 
 Through the depths of the grave Old Woods. 
 
 Oh ! come, come away to the bright Old Woods, 
 As the sun ascends the skies, 
 
THE FINE OLD WOODS. 99 
 
 While the birdlings sing their morning hymns, 
 And each leaf in the grove replies ; 
 When the golden-zoned bee, 
 Flies from flower to tree, 
 Seeking sweets for its honied cell, 
 And the Voice of Praise 
 Sounds its varied lays, 
 From the depths of each quiet dell : 
 Oh ! such is the hour 
 To feel the power 
 Of the magic, bright Old Woods ! 
 Then, while sluggards dream, 
 Of some trifling theme, 
 Let us stroll, 
 With studious soul, 
 Through the depths of the bright Old Woods. 
 
 Oh! come, come away to the mild Old Woods, 
 
 At the Evening s stilly hour, 
 Ere the maiden lists for her lover s steps, 
 By the verge of the vine-clad bower ; 
 
 When all nature feels 
 
 The change that steals 
 So calmly o er hill and dale, 
 
 And the breezes range 
 
 Weirdly strange, 
 With a low, delicious wail : 
 
 This, too, is the hour 
 
 To feel the power 
 
100 THE FINE OLD WOODS. 
 
 Of the silent, mild Old Woods ! 
 Then, while dullards dream 
 Of some fruitless theme, 
 We will stroll 
 With thankful soul, 
 Through the depths of the mild Old Woods. 
 
 Oh! come, come away to the calm Old Woods, 
 
 When the skies with stars are bright, 
 And the mild Moon moves in serenity, 
 The eye of the solemn night. 
 Not a sound is heard, 
 Save the leaflet stirred 
 By the zephyr that passes by, 
 And thought roams free 
 In its majesty, 
 
 And the soul seeks its kindred sky : 
 This, this is the hour 
 To test the power 
 Of the eloquent, calm Old Woods ! 
 
 While the thoughtless dream 
 Of some baseless theme, 
 Here we can stroll, 
 With exalted soul, 
 Through the eloquent, calm Old Woods. 
 
ELEGY. 101 
 
 ELEGY, 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE REV. ROBERT D. CART WRIGHT. 
 
 As sinks the sun at evening in the west, 
 A flood of God-like glory o er his head, 
 
 So sank that pious Christian to his rest, 
 
 While unseen Watchers triumphed round his bed. 
 
 Gently as bursts the new-born moth to light, 
 So pass d that dove-like spirit from its clay, 
 
 Pass d like an infant sleeping, on that night 
 When his loved Master summoned it away. 
 
 And there was silence through the deep midnight, 
 A joyful silence mongst the stars, that shone 
 
 Serenely on that passing spirit s flight, 
 
 As through their myriad hosts it journeyed on. 
 
 And there was silence round the Throne of God, 
 Such Silence as can only be in Heaven, 
 
 When that meek, evangelic spirit, trod 
 
 The pathway closed against the unforgiven. 
 
 And Grief sat pale on many a face that day, 
 Both rich and poor bewailed his early death ; 
 
 Those whom that earnest Pastor taught to pray 
 Sobbed forth their heavy loss with broken breath. 
 
 And round the city passed from tongue to tongue, 
 The mournful loss the people had sustained, 
 
102- 
 
 But on each lip, in contradiction, hung 
 
 The blessed change his deathless spirit gained. 
 
 Never again throughout St. George s aisle 
 
 Will that clear voice the Gospel thunders hurl, 
 
 Never again will he, with Christian smile, 
 The Gospel Banner of the Cross unfurl. 
 
 Never again the dying sinner s ear 
 
 Will drink the words of promise from his lips, 
 That burned with earnestness to light and cheer 
 
 The soul departing from the mind s eclipse. 
 
 But in our hearts each word is treasured up, 
 The mild reproof, the invitation strong 
 
 To drink salvation from the proffered cup, 
 The soul s exultant being to prolong. 
 
 And as the germs of Hope in every heart 
 Pulsate and quicken with our latest breath, 
 
 So will the memory of his words impart 
 A blest assurance to our minds in death. 
 
 MORNING IN SUMMER. 
 Darkness has disappeared, and all the stars, 
 Save one, have ceased to twinkle in the heavens. 
 Like some lone sentinel, whose comrades all 
 Have sunk into luxurious repose, 
 This solitary orb remains behind 
 To greet the Morn, a silent, truthful witness, 
 
MORNING IN SUMMER. 103 
 
 Ordained by the Creator to attest 
 To the first dawning of another day, 
 Of every day throughout the lengthened year. 
 The silver Dawn flies up the dusky slope, 
 Like a white dove emerging from a cloud; 
 Morning imprints its first impassioned kiss 
 Upon the Orient s lips, her rose-hued cheeks 
 Blushing with love, and all her being moved 
 With heart-beats mighty as the throes of Jove. 
 
 With what a Queen-like dignity the Morn 
 Emerges, smiling, from her perfumed bath, 
 Like a young Goddess from a Marriage-feast, 
 Or Angel, pregnant with some mighty Truth, 
 Whose promulgation will illume the world. 
 How like a universal glory, crowned 
 With radiance from the primal fount of light, 
 She comes, a native, heaven-born dignity 
 Stamped with a hand divine upon her brow. 
 The lingering shades of sable-featured night, 
 Like phantoms startled at their parting dance, 
 Careering round the brightening horizon, 
 Slowly retire, abashed. Upward they glance, 
 Feebly at first, those beams of Day -drawn light, 
 But gathering strength from. Morning s glad approach, 
 Like Beauty ripening in the smile of Love. 
 
 Oh ! blessed Morn ! sweet hour of many prayers, 
 Of the deep worship of a million souls ! 
 The fair Child lisping at its mother s knee 
 
104: MORNING IN" SUMMER. 
 
 Its infant thankfulness ; the Maiden s vows 
 
 Of meek devotion to a Godly life ; 
 
 Religion from the breast of Womanhood 
 
 Welling in silver accents to her lips, 
 
 Like the rich purlings of a bubbling spring ; 
 
 The voice of sober Manhood, calling down 
 
 The love of heaven on a fallen world; 
 
 The rapt Enthusiast with panting heart, 
 
 And lips that move not for his solemn thoughts, 
 
 Worshipping in the temple of his love, 
 
 And stretching out his soul s arms unto God ! 
 
 Oh ! blessed Morn ! we love thee for thy Prayers ! 
 
 Behold the God-like Sun ! all life and light 
 Awaking with him in the gorgeous East. 
 How victor-like his chariot mounts the skies ! 
 How many million hearts he fills with joy. 
 How wakens Nature at his solemn tread. 
 How the groves throb with music of the birds. 
 How musical the pine trees on the hill. 
 How glad the bright-eyed flowerets of the vale. 
 How lightly bound the zephyrs o er the seas, 
 Like Nymphs awakened by his magic glow 
 In their cool grottoes underneath the wave. 
 How like a mighty God, in whose great heart 
 Burns the strong incense of Eternal Love. 
 How like a fearless conqueror, whose steps 
 All nature strews with flowers, and glory gleams, 
 And passion hymns, and protestations deep 
 
MOKNING IN SUMMER. 105 
 
 Of due submission to his regal will. 
 
 Oh what a march of triumph, Sun ! is thine ! 
 
 How full of hidden mystery to us 
 
 Thy everlasting round of burning toil, 
 
 Thy rising and thy setting; and the light 
 
 Wherewith thou startlest the rejoicing stars ! 
 
 What triumph and what passion, Sun ! are thine. 
 
 Who filled the measure of thy beams, O l ! Sun? 
 Who took thee from the flaming womb of light, 
 To be a wonder to all coming time ? 
 Who opened up the fountains of thy light ? 
 Who fashioned thee with splendor and with strength, 
 And sent thee forth on thy victorious way ? 
 What star first paled to thy superior light ? 
 What human eye first drooped beneath thy gaze? 
 What human voice first broke upon thine ear? 
 What spot of Earth first felt thy warming rays ? 
 Who held thee o er the Vale of Ajalon, 
 And made thee crown the victor s brow with smiles ? 
 For every beat of thy strong pulse, Oh ! Sun ! 
 A human prayer ascends from earth to God. 
 
 If through the ocean wave he rolls his disc, 
 The gloomy deep awakens from its dream, 
 Puts all its golden decorations on, 
 And robes itself in costliest attire ; 
 Like an old veteran with honored scars, 
 Obtained in many a hard-contested fight, 
 Placing his golden honors on his breast, 
 E 
 
106 MORNING IN SUMMER. 
 
 Ere going forth with pride to meet his king. 
 
 The hardy mariner, whose home is on 
 
 The perilous wave, o erjoyed at his return, 
 
 Reflects on those for whom his prayerful thoughts, 
 
 Rude and unshaped, were hourly offered up, 
 
 During the midnight watch, to Him who holds 
 
 The reins of every billow in His hand, 
 
 And guides the watery mountains at His will. 
 
 Or if upon the lofty promontory 
 
 Falls his resplendent lustre, the rough crags 
 
 Sparkle like coronets inlaid with gems 
 
 Of priceless value and of beauty rare. 
 
 The glowing trees their gold-green tints assume, 
 
 As from their boughs extended drops the dew 
 
 In showers refreshing on the moistened grass ; 
 
 While the young peasant, by some winding path, 
 
 Follows his flocks to rich, green pasture lands 
 
 Upon the plain beneath. The sportive lambs 
 
 Frisk round the glad old ewe, delighted with 
 
 The kindly Morn that crowns their liberty. 
 
 And bids the shepherd open wide the fold, 
 
 That they may sport upon the dewy fields ; 
 
 In balmy valleys; or on healthy hills, 
 
 Where the delicious breeze, in cooling draughts, 
 
 Fresh from the lake below, in silence floats 
 
 Upon the morning air, reviving all 
 
 O er which its animating breath is borne. 
 
 The rosy peasant girl, with joyous heart, 
 And health s warm sunshine crimsoning her cheek, 
 
MORNING IN SUMMER. 107 
 
 Diligently performs her morning task, 
 
 Tending the flocks that answer to her call, 
 
 And crowd around her anxious to receive 
 
 The dainty morsel from her willing hands. 
 
 Some little yeanling nearer than the rest 
 
 Approaches, and with cunning look receives 
 
 The chosen mite, its mistress daily gift. 
 
 The husbandman, whose sunburned countenance 
 
 Proves that his daily labor s well performed, 
 
 Repairs with manly bearing to the fields, 
 
 And enters on his task with cheerfulness. 
 
 The noble steed that drags the blessed plough, 
 
 Refreshed, and full of vigor and new life, 
 
 Shews no reluctance to begin again 
 
 The toil of yesterday ; the night has eased 
 
 His stiffened joints, and given him new strength, 
 
 To aid the Farmer in his arduous work. 
 
 Thus they, like two industrious friends, pursue 
 
 Their early labor, ev n before the sun 
 
 Has waked the purple hills. The woods long since 
 
 Have echoed back the minstrelsy of birds ; 
 
 The challenge of some proud young chanticleer ; 
 
 His stately rival s answer, loudly tongued ; 
 
 The watchful mastiff s USrk ; or tremblingly 
 
 Shook from their leaves the dew, as the strong youth 
 
 Discharged his rifle at some passing deer. 
 
 Hark to the footsteps of the Iron Horse ! 
 The valley vibrates to his sounding hoofs, 
 
108 MORNING IN SUMMER. 
 
 The sombre forests thunder back his tread, 
 
 And startled Echo, from the stubborn rock 
 
 And grassy hill-sides, rushes forth to greet 
 
 The mighty traveller on his early round. 
 
 Shrieks the wild whistle in yon forest glen ! 
 
 Its shrill reverberations leaping through 
 
 The answering uplands, and the playful woods, 
 
 Pleased, flinging back the scream. With sudden start, 
 
 The puzzled cattle, grazing on the slope, 
 
 Or drinking at the spring, erect their ears 
 
 In mute astonishment ; and at the doors 
 
 Of the log cottages, that here and there 
 
 Indent the landscape, the coy maiden stands, 
 
 With the pleased matron and swart husbandman, 
 
 Attracted by the sound. Anon he comes, 
 
 The massive giant, his o erheated sides 
 
 Reeking with sweat, and from his nostrils wide 
 
 His heavy breathings issuing, in a cloud 
 
 Of boiling vapor. Swiftly he glides past, 
 
 Shuffling with half-majestic carelessness, 
 
 With haughty ease, and time-defying pace, 
 
 Until his race is run. Behold him now, 
 
 Pawing the ground, impetuous in his haste 
 
 To end his swift career. The glowing sun 
 
 Glints on his polished sides, and strikes the earth, 
 
 In vain attempts to pierce his iron mail, 
 
 Or gild his solid mane. Before him flies 
 
 The haggard creature Want, and stores of Wealth 
 
 Come tackled to his heels. Through every town 
 
MORNING- IN SUMMER. 109 
 
 And village where he speeds his noisy way, 
 Gladness appears ; the primal wilderness 
 Awakes to active life; the yeomen smile; 
 And woodmen-heroes who have battled with 
 The stubborn forests cheer him on his way. 
 For to the toiling husbandman he brings 
 A mine of wealth ; his path is strewn with gold ; 
 His whole career is onward, like the march 
 Of a great conqueror ; and by his strength 
 He rushes boldly through the serried ranks 
 Of the deep forest ; ignorance disappears ; 
 Barrenness flies, screaming, to the ridgy steep, 
 And Civilization triumphs in his wake. 
 
 Stand on the quiet margin of the lake, 
 And listen to the homely melody 
 Of the rough Fisherman, as he impels 
 His deeply-laden craft toward the shore. 
 Many a sleepless, toilsome night he spends, 
 Watching his crafty nets, or wielding well 
 The bearded spear, as his long-practiced eye 
 Sees by the flaming torch-light, far beneath 
 The bosom of the water his sure prey, 
 Which soon leaps, struggling in its agony, 
 Into the leaky bark. Exposed to storms, 
 The pestilential vapors of the night, 
 Dripping with spray, and bending neath fatigue, 
 The uncomplaining fisherman endures 
 With patience all the ills of his hard life, 
 
110 PASSWORD " TRUTH IS MIGHTY." 
 
 Too happy if each morning s sunlight smiles 
 Upon his homeward way, to cheer him on 
 To the embrace of his expectant wife, 
 And the sweet kisses of his infant flock. 
 
 And now, tis past the meditative hour, 
 When first the sun above the highest hills 
 Uprears his crest, whence the warm golden floods 
 Of heavenly light their different stations take, 
 To spread the joyful tidings round the world. 
 The holy silence of the earlier mom 
 Is broken by the sounds of active life 
 That everywhere attract the attentive ear. 
 Morn s rosy hues, such as are seen upon 
 The cheek of Beauty, or the happy face 
 Of Childhood, dimpled with unnumbered smiles 
 Seraphic, now no longer please the eye, 
 But the broad light of Day extends o er all, 
 And Morning s softest loveliness is lost, 
 As the day gradually travels on 
 To the oppressive hour of scorching Noon. 
 
 PASSWORD" TRUTH IS MIGHTY." 
 
 Stand not on the Alps of Error, 
 Brother, though the tempting height 
 
 Lure theeto the grassy hill-top, 
 
 Though the view enchant the sight ; 
 
PASSWORD "TKUTH is MIGHTY." Ill 
 
 But if sorely tempted thither, 
 
 In some hour of gilded woe, 
 Stand, and gaze around thee, Brother, 
 
 On the Vale of Truth below. 
 
 Watch th Enchantress from the summit, 
 
 See her wave her golden wand, 
 Till the far-illumined valley 
 
 Seems a heaven-enchanted land. 
 Mark the crowds of glowing faces, 
 
 That compose her endless train, 
 Till that white-robed, shining army, 
 
 Fills the undulating plain. 
 
 Mark their gorgeous banners waving, 
 
 Listen to the peaceful hymn 
 Pealing from the countless millions, 
 
 Like the song of Seraphim. 
 Gently toward the blackened summit, 
 
 Where seductive Error stands, 
 March that Sin-invading army, 
 
 From the pleasant valley lands. 
 
 " Truth is Mighty !" shout the foremost, 
 
 " Truth is Mighty !" rends the plain, 
 Echoes through the mountain-gorges, 
 
 Vibrates over land and main. 
 And the hill-tops melt before them, 
 
 One by one they disappear, 
 As their watchword " Truth is Mighty !" 
 
 Strikes the universal ear. 
 
112 THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 " Truth is Mighty !" and the valley 
 
 " O er the hills is seen to rise, 
 Higher through the sun-lit heavens, 
 
 Till it seems to reach the skies. 
 " Truth is Godlike !" "Truth is Mighty !" 
 
 Now resound through all the air, 
 As the mountain-peaks of Error 
 
 Shrink away and disappear. 
 
 Not an arm is raised in anger, 
 
 Smiles on every face are seen, 
 They but breathe upon the mountain, 
 
 On its blackened sides and green : 
 It has vanished, like a cloudlet 
 
 Penetrated by the sun, 
 Vanished to the dark abysses 
 
 Of the greatest Evil One. 
 
 THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 It comes with its swift, destructive tread, 
 
 It tosses the waves on high, 
 And it hurries away where the lightnings play, 
 
 Through the black and frowning sky ; 
 And the weeping clouds are madly driven 
 By its violent breafh, o er the face of heaven. 
 
 It leaps through the woods in its fearless flight, 
 Uprooting the firm-set trees ; 
 
113 
 
 And it shivers the trunk of the kingly oak, 
 
 That had long defied the breeze; 
 Hurling down, in its furious mirth, 
 These tough and sturdy limbs to earth. 
 
 Away it flies, with a maniac howl, 
 To the mountains dismal height, 
 
 And it lifts the rocks from their granite beds, 
 By the force of its giant might ; 
 
 Waking the birds from their brief repose, 
 
 And spreading dismay where er it goes ! 
 
 ELIZABETH S BIRTH. 
 
 At Elizabeth s birth Love s fair Goddess presided 
 O er a quorum of dames in her high court above ; 
 
 On the child s future gifts all were strangely divided, 
 And contentions ran high through that Chamber of 
 Love. 
 
 " I claim her," said Beauty, " her cheeks are as roses, 
 
 Her brow as the Parian marble is fair ; 
 And see these sweet dimples ! in each one reposes 
 
 A sting for intrusion, a balm for despair." 
 
 " She is mine ! she is mine ! " said the Goddess of 
 
 Pleasure, 
 
 " What heart-thrilling looks are concealed in her eyes ! 
 She shall revel in joys and delights without measure, 
 Such as seldom are felt in our own sunny skies." 
 E* 
 
114 
 
 The Goddess of Mirth, her gay voice loudly ringing 
 Through the golden-roofed arches of that solemn 
 court, 
 
 Laid claim to the sleeper, now laughing, now singing, 
 Uniting with Pleasure to furnish her sport. 
 
 Like the first purple flush of the warm light of Morning, 
 That tinges the east with its mellowy hue, 
 
 The Goddess of Smiles, that rich chamber adorning, 
 In ravishing sweetness arose on the view. 
 
 And pointing with joy to the innocent sleeper, 
 Her eyes filled with radiance, her looks all divine, 
 
 Said, in musical accents, " She s mine ! I will keep her 
 Neath my sheltering wing She is mine! she is 
 mine!" 
 
 As Venus, her wand in the air gently waving, 
 Approvingly tendered the gift to the child, 
 
 A shower of sunlight came down, gently laving 
 The innocent s face, and Elizabeth smiled. 
 
 The Angel of Goodness her w r atch had been keeping, 
 Unperceived by the lovely disputants till now, 
 
 And softly approaching the infant while sleeping, 
 Gently placed her fair seal on the slumberer s brow. 
 
 But Cupid, who d witnessed the scene from his bower, 
 Now tendered his claim, with so artful a grace, 
 
 That his mother, embracing him, gave him the power 
 To mix Love with the Smiles on Elizabeth s face. 
 
HENRY S GKAVE. 115 
 
 HENRY S GRAVE. 
 
 Standing beside the consecrated mound, 
 
 That marked the narrow grave wherein he lay, 
 
 I thought upon the Trumpet s welcome sound, 
 That would arouse him in the latter day. 
 
 I thought of the young spirit, that had fled 
 Beyond the keenest search of human eye 
 
 Beyond the limits of a world of dread 
 Beyond the reach of man s philosophy. 
 
 And as I strove to lift the distant veil 
 To track the spirit in its upward flight 
 
 My mind was awed my vision seemed to fail, 
 And all became confused as blackest night ! 
 
 I was an atom of mere mortal mould, 
 
 Too weak to pierce the depths that soul had trod; 
 Backward to earth my wandering senses rolled, 
 
 And my eye rested on the crumbling sod 
 
 Part of myself poor perishable clay ! 
 
 The child whose corse beneath my feet did lie, 
 Was, like myself, but mortal, yesterday, 
 
 And now, a dweller with the blest on high ! 
 
 Oh ! Mystery of Mysteries ! Oh, Death ! 
 
 I sit and muse in deep solemnity, 
 And wonder how the dust that perisheth 
 
 Must pass to life eternal but through thee ! 
 
116 SNOW DKOPS. 
 
 SNOW DROPS. 
 
 Gently fall the snow flakes 
 
 From the clouds above, 
 Noiselessly and joyously 
 
 As the breath of love, 
 Noiseless in their gaiety, 
 
 Gentle in their mirth, 
 As they spread their robes of purity 
 
 Softly o er the earth. 
 
 Beauteous types of Innocence ! 
 
 Delicately fair 
 As the thoughts of Angels 
 
 Hov ring in the air : 
 Not less pure and innocent 
 
 Is each little dove, 
 Each joyous, sparkling snow-drop 
 
 In the cot of Love. 
 
 Yes, prattling little Children ! 
 
 Germs of Love are ye, 
 Spotless as the snow-drops, 
 
 Hearts as pure and free, 
 Oh ! guard them in their innocence, 
 
 Ye to whom are given 
 These fairy human snow-drops, 
 
 Gifts from Love s own Heaven. 
 
PRETTY FACES. 117 
 
 PRETTY FACES. 
 
 I could gaze on pretty faces, 
 
 Mark their sweetness all day long ; 
 Though they vied not with the Graces, 
 They should mingle with my song. 
 Where the lips are slightly pouting, 
 
 Where the full, dark eye, is bright 
 Bright and soft as morn and even 
 Bright and dark as noon and night : 
 Pretty faces ! pretty faces 
 
 Having such delights as these, 
 Though they be not perfect Graces, 
 Often conquer, often please* 
 
 I have gazed on pretty faces, 
 
 Marked their sweetness by the hour, 
 Searching out the hidden traces 
 Of their deep, mysterious power. 
 Where the brow is that of Woman, 
 
 Whereon Thought is throned serene, 
 Where the eyes deep truths are speaking, 
 And the lips in smiles are seen : 
 Pretty faces ! pretty faces 
 
 Having such fair gifts as these, 
 
 Though they be not perfect Graces 
 
 Always conquer, always please 
 
118 BEYOND THE GRAVE. 
 
 BEYOND THE GRAVE. 
 
 Shall we not meet in heaven, love, 
 
 And know each other there ? 
 Endearing thought ! joy cheaply bought ! 
 
 Why should we then despair ? 
 Why grieve to bid farewell to those 
 
 Whom Death removes away ! 
 When we shall meet in brighter worlds, 
 
 Where love has no decay. 
 
 But shall we know each other there, 
 
 In that elysian clime 1 
 Consoling thought to live to love 
 
 Through never-ending time ! 
 Hope points to such a God-like gift, 
 
 Within the All-wise decree ; 
 Then let me break my earthly bonds, 
 
 And fly, my love, to thee. 
 
 CANADIAN SLEIGH SONG. 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 Merrily, merrily, O, 
 Chime the tuneful sleigh bells, 
 
 Singing to the snow ; 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 Merrily, merrily, O, 
 Laughs the dimpled Maiden, 
 
 Chatting to her beau. 
 
119 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 Merrily, merrily, O, 
 What is glorious Winter 
 
 Without frost and snow 7 
 Time may cast a shadow 
 
 O er us as we go, 
 But let us, like the sleigh bells, 
 
 Sing, Merrily, Merrily, O. 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 Merrily, Merrily, O, 
 Life is but a sleigh-drive 
 
 Through the frost and snow ; 
 Ever are we learning 
 
 This one truth as we go : 
 All sadness without sunlight 
 
 Is like Winter without snow. 
 
 PITY S TEAR DROP. 
 
 As Pity looked down from on high, 
 So smilingly, sweetly, and meek, 
 
 A tear-drop that stood in her eye 
 Fell on a Drunkard s cheek. 
 
 Astonished, he looked above, 
 Not a star overhead could he see ; 
 
 He said : " T is a tear-drop of love 
 Shed by Ella for me." 
 
120 ANNIE BY MY SIDE A SITTING. 
 
 For he thought of the wife of his youth, 
 Of the heart he had broken when won ; 
 
 And that tear-drop conveyed a reproof 
 For the spirit his crimes had undone. 
 
 His feelings were seared by the thought, 
 Heaven s sunlight had entered his soul, 
 
 One of Pity s bright tear-drops had wrought 
 A deep-seated hate of the bowl. 
 
 Oh! deal not unjustly severe 
 
 With the Drunkard you meet in your path, 
 For Pity does more by a Tear, 
 
 Than the strong can accomplish in wrath. 
 
 ANNIE BY MY SIDE A SITTING. 
 
 Annie by my side a sitting, 
 Looks intently on my face, 
 
 Does she watch the shadows flitting 
 From their secret lurking place ? 
 Where they hide and sit apart 
 In the dim depths of my heart, 
 Where Hope s sunlight never cometh, 
 Where Love s red Rose never bloometh ! 
 
 Does she deem me cold unfeeling 
 
 That I never press her cheek 1 
 From my dull self never stealing 
 
 For a moment, week by week ! 
 
ANNIE BY MT SIDE A SITTING. 121 
 
 Is it wonder? Is it love? 
 Would she bring me back the dove 
 That my soul so humbly cherished ? 
 Had it staid, it must have perished ! 
 
 Little knows she the devotion 
 
 Of my heart of hearts is hers, 
 Purest is the calmy ocean, 
 
 Truth has silent worshippers ! 
 
 Annie sitting by my side, 
 
 Knows not all the love I hide, 
 
 Though my fond looks never sun her, 
 
 Though I seldom smile upon her. 
 
 Her blue eyes are vaguely searching 
 For a glance of Love s return, 
 
 But my thoughts are closely perching 
 On my dead love s funeral urn. 
 And I read her patient look, 
 As a scholar reads a book, 
 Gleaning pearls from all its pages, 
 Thought-pearls from the brains of sages. 
 
 Annie by my side a sitting, 
 Gazing mildly on my face, 
 
 Cannot see the shadows flitting 
 From their secret lurking-place, 
 Where they dimly sit apart 
 In the cloud-folds of my heart, 
 Weeping over hopes once cherished, 
 Moaning for the dove that perished. 
 
122 THE NAME OF MARY. 
 
 THE NAME OF MARY. 
 
 Of all the names that ever pass d 
 The lips of woman, child, or fairy, 
 
 The gentlest, and most sweetly chaste, 
 Is that of MARY. 
 
 Yet not too gentle to be loved 
 
 By men whose nerves were nerves of iron ; 
 How deeply tenderly it moved 
 
 The haughty Byron ! 
 
 Tom Moore, Corypheus of Song ! 
 
 In verse and love no mean empiric, 
 How gracefully it floats along ! 
 
 His beauteous lyric! 
 
 Great Burns, the Ploughman-Bard, whose muse 
 Was swayed by a more rustic fancy, 
 
 Unlike your parlor-bards, could choose 
 The homelier Nancy. 
 
 But in his most inspired hour, 
 
 Passing the beauties of the dairy, 
 
 He struck that note of solemn power 
 To her his Mary ! 
 
 MARY ! sweet name with virtue clothed, 
 
 By dreamy-minded dilettanti, 
 A sound that might have charmed and soothed 
 
 The gloomy Dante. 
 
THE NAME OF MARY. 123 
 
 Or held in its divine control, 
 
 Bringing it healing balm when weary, 
 The wild, impassioned Poet-soul 
 
 Of Alfieri. 
 
 T is true we read of, and despise 
 
 The sighing of a certain varlet, 
 Werther, who sorrowed for the eyes 
 
 Of queenly Charlotte : 
 
 We hear, too, of the Trojan brawl 
 
 That the majestic Paris fell in 
 With Greece, and famed Achilles, all 
 
 For faithless Helen : 
 
 We read, with virtuous amaze, 
 
 Of good Queen Bess and Leicester, or a 
 
 Petrarch inditing Canzonas 
 To nun-like Laura : 
 
 And every day or two, we find 
 
 How foplings drain the poisoned chalice 
 Fools ! perilling their grain of mind 
 
 For Grace or Alice ! 
 
 We know that there are names that please 
 The varied tastes of man and woman 
 
 Ruth, Annie, Nora, are of these, 
 All fair and common : 
 
 Most welcome, though, to English ears, 
 Fit for throned Queen or graceful Fairy, 
 
124 THE KNEELING HEAKT. 
 
 Is that sweet household word that bears 
 The sound of MARY ! 
 
 It mingles with our childhood s games, 
 It chastens either birth or bridal ; 
 
 Mary !- 
 
 A perfect Idyl. 
 
 THE KNEELING HEART. 
 
 When Evening folds her wings of light, 
 
 And bathes her rosy cheeks in dew, 
 And one pale star proclaims the night, 
 
 From its exalted throne of blue : 
 My soul ! how eager hast thou leaped, 
 Cribbed and imprisoned as thou art, 
 To be of these a shining part, 
 In their ethereal essence steeped ! 
 And on this altar, on this heart of clay, 
 Hast offered sacrifice, and bore away 
 An incense sweet of Prayer above that starry ray. 
 
 When Night flings wide her ebon gates, 
 And Darkness, like a flood, pours in, 
 
 Shewing the star-born choir that waits 
 Its psalm seraphic to begin : 
 
 How hast thou caught their burning words, 
 That never fall on worlding ears, 
 Hast filched the hymning of the spheres, 
 
AUTUMN. 125 
 
 As it was swept from nature s chords ; 
 Hast known and felt that every ray of light 
 Brings to our ears a portion of that bright 
 And star-lipped anthem that pervades the solemn night. 
 
 When o er the everlasting hills 
 
 The golden Morning soars sublime, 
 And Day s triumphant Paean fills 
 
 The heavens, as in that primal time 
 When first the birds rehearsed their songs 
 In groves by Angels visits blest : 
 Worshipping Soul ! some heavenly guest 
 To thy diviner moods belongs ! 
 In the old Forest, with the whispering trees, 
 Morn, Eve and Night, thou learnest melodies, 
 Extracts sweet music from the warbling breeze, 
 Thou hast my heart forever on its bended knees ! 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Oh! the bright days of Autumn? how they sink 
 Like dreams of beauty fanned by heaven s airs, 
 Deep, deep into the mind. There is a soft 
 And holy feeling floating through the skies, 
 The breathings of an Angel-troupe that comes 
 With noiseless footsteps and on wings of love, 
 To fill the soul with joy. The bay is calm, 
 And mellowed with the sunbeams of the morn : 
 God smiling on the mirror of the skies, 
 
126 AUTUMN. 
 
 Where the light clouds, the stars, and the mad moon 
 
 Gaze at their own strange beauty, and the sun 
 
 Flings down his amorous breathings, passionate 
 
 As a wild lover with a great fond soul, 
 
 Drinking his mistress smiles neath distant skies, 
 
 While she, at home, sits thinking of his love 
 
 Absent, but ever present. Here an isle, 
 
 With one tall tree to sentinel the place, 
 
 Floats languidly upon the sleeping wave, 
 
 Tinting the water with innumerous hues, 
 
 Each little fretful wave kissing its feet, 
 
 And toying with the shrubs that drop the ir leaves 
 
 Like playthings on its pearly lips. The marsh, 
 
 Like to an indolent sluggard, has lain down 
 
 Beneath its faded covering, to dream 
 
 Of a long rest : its putrid breath no more 
 
 Poisons the air with a malarian stench, 
 
 Inducing fevers that burn up the frame, 
 
 As the hot summer burns the parched leaf 
 
 The purifying air of Autumn has passed o er 
 
 The feverish waste, and given it new health, 
 
 E en in its swift decay ; as the free d soul 
 
 Ascends to heaven when the body dies. 
 
 The stately bulrush rears its dark brown head 
 
 Above the sedgy waste ; the water-hen, 
 
 Surrounded by her noisy brood, doles forth 
 
 Her inharmonious notes ; the piping snipe, 
 
 The golden plover, and the slender crane, 
 
 With here and there a pair of watchful teal, 
 
AUTUMN. 127 
 
 Seek nourishment from the decaying sedge ; 
 As the rank soil the putrid mass receives 
 That gives a quickened impulse to its veins. 
 
 The wind blows fresh upon the distant lake, 
 But here the breezes whisper ; through the air 
 Ambrosial mists are breathed. Nature s great heart 
 Beats feebly in her old maternal breast, 
 And balmy sighs, and meanings, keen but weak, 
 Are heard far-wandering through the aged woods. 
 Sadly she grieves for the departed flowers ; 
 Sadly she sings the requiem of the leaves, 
 As they come fluttering down, like withered hopes 
 Leaving poor shipwrecked youth all cold and bare, 
 Exposed to the sharp breath of a hard world, 
 Shuddering, and sick at heart. The red, round sun, 
 Shorn of his flaming locks, stands in the east, 
 Like a proud steed divested of its strength, 
 Stands like a king who has put off his crown, 
 And lain aside the duties of the state 
 For a brief season ; and the passing clouds 
 Sport with his rubicund face, and fling a veil 
 Of melancholy beauty o er his brow. 
 Yon group of trees upon the faded bank, 
 Spreading their broad deep shadows on the wave, 
 Gaze in the water at their roots, and watch 
 The gradual fading of their summer-green, 
 As Autumn, the rich fancy dyer, comes, 
 Puts on his motley, Joseph-coat of leaves, 
 
128 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 And steeps them all in hues of gold and brown, 
 
 And glowing scarlet, yellow, green, and dun 
 
 Bright favorite of the undulating shore. 
 
 The village church peers o er the grove of pines 
 
 And stunted hickory, on the barren hill ; 
 
 In the stripped orchard the old Homestead stands, 
 
 Above the hazy bank, like a white tent 
 
 Seen through the picturesque openings of the trees, 
 
 And in the garden a serene old man, 
 
 With silvered locks, but mind yet unimpaired, 
 
 Strolls to inhale the renovating air, 
 
 That gives a healthy vigor to the morn. 
 
 A rural cottage in the distance shrinks, 
 
 Like a coy blossom, nursed among the grass, 
 
 Blushing and trembling at the intrusive steps 
 
 Of the young zephyrs ; and two golden fields 
 
 Slope to the limestone shore, denuded of 
 
 Their wavy tresses, by the reapers shorn. 
 
 The pines are green as in their summer days, 
 
 Although the oaks are yellow in the vale 
 
 Their strength avails not, Autumn strips them bare. 
 
 Asa nation strips a Ruler of his badge, 
 
 Which he has worn with honor, to make way 
 
 For others who are covetous of place ; 
 
 But the g<een pine lives on the highest hills, 
 
 And wears a youthful freshness all the year, 
 
 As the pure soul whose thoughts are ever green 
 
 Lives nearest God. Go, man ! into the woods, 
 
 And watch the multitudinous mass of leaves 
 
REMEMBRANCES. 129 
 
 Passing from life to death. These are the fruits 
 That nature gathers for her sustenance, 
 As they fall ripe and mellow at her feet, 
 Fit to be garnered in. Behold them sink 
 Resistless to the ground, and as thy foot 
 Crushes their withered stems, think of their fall 
 As emblematic of thy Autumn days, 
 And of succeeding years, when other feet 
 Will tread as recklessly upon thy grave, 
 As thine upon the melancholy leaves. 
 
 REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 There are remembrances that sear the brain, 
 There are sweet thoughts of other times, that wing 
 Their dove-like passage o er the mind, and bring 
 Returning peace, and musings free from pain. 
 I have distinct remembrances of thee, 
 That fall upon me with a leaden weight, 
 Revealing days of past anxiety ; 
 And then, again, calm visions, that recall 
 Far holier joys than Fancy can create. 
 Indeed, I deem these bright realities 
 Ofttimes, for they seem breathing ecstacies 
 Of present bliss passing before mine eyes. 
 Painful and calm, Remembrance hoards them all, 
 Their various teachings I dare rot despise. 
 F 
 
130 LITTLE ANNIE. 
 
 LITTLE ANNIE. 
 
 How mildly passed her second birth, 
 
 How sweet the assurance given : 
 One Angel less upon the Earth, 
 
 One Spirit more in Heaven ! 
 We knew she was a tender flower, 
 
 Dropped, but not planted here, 
 And, knowing, feared the coming hour, 
 
 Too bitter for the tear 
 That Grief itself had not the power 
 
 To shed upon her bier. 
 
 We watched her with her pleasing smile, 
 
 The first that kissed her mouth, 
 Like sunlight on some coral isle 
 
 Within the amorous South ; 
 The blue of heaven in her eye. 
 
 The sun s breath in her hair, 
 Celestial balm in every sigh, 
 
 That pass d her rose-lips fair 
 A living floweret from the sky, 
 
 The Angels missed her there. 
 
 And day by day their voices fell, 
 
 Theirs and the cherubims, 
 As if through some illumined dell 
 
 Swept echoings of hymns : 
 Pell like harp-whispers on her ears, 
 
 Like star-beams on her mind, 
 
LITTLE ANNIE. 131 
 
 So faintly did they cleave the spheres ; 
 
 And like the evening wind 
 That wafts down prayers from mountaineers, 
 
 Left melody behind. 
 
 Then she would sit apart and muse 
 
 Upon their gentle words, 
 Gentle as falling summer dews, 
 
 Or carolings of birds, 
 And wonder how these whispers came 
 
 Unto her ears alone ; 
 Above her playmates loud acclaim 
 
 She felt each Eden-tone, 
 As feels the Poet the pure flame 
 
 The crowd can never own. 
 
 And when her infant mind was filled 
 
 With melody divine, 
 Down came the starry Angels mild, 
 
 Like pilgrims to a shrine, 
 Each, with an offering of love, 
 
 To lure her from the earth, 
 They envied us the spotless dove 
 
 So quiet in her mirth 
 They claimed her for their home above, 
 
 We, for our homely hearth. 
 
 They were forever hovering, 
 
 Like halos, o er her head, 
 And one, with wider, whiter wing, 
 
132 LITTLE ANNIE. 
 
 Kept watch above her bed ; 
 Her dreams were of a sunny clime, 
 
 Of skies serenely bright, 
 Where, in their everlasting prime, 
 
 These messengers of light 
 Joined in a harmony sublime, 
 
 That thrilled through heaven s height. 
 
 Thus was her mind forever turned 
 
 From our poor earth away, 
 For milder scenes her child-heart yearned, 
 
 And when she knelt to pray, 
 Her strange companions by her side 
 
 Knelt down in silence, too, 
 And to her inner voice replied, 
 
 As pass the echoes through 
 Some balmy valley ere they glide 
 
 Above the distant blue. 
 
 The Rose of Health still deeply bloomed 
 
 Upon her dimpled cheek, 
 When, lo ! the yearning angels plumed 
 
 Her spirit pure and meek ; 
 They gave it white wings like their own, 
 
 And crowned her wide young brow 
 With flowers, gathered where the sun 
 
 Doth kiss them as they grow, 
 Blanching their petals, one by one, 
 
 Till whiter than the snow. 
 
SUN, MOON, AND STARS. 133 
 
 And there stood two, like Faith and Hope, 
 
 Above the child that died, 
 With thoughts pure as the stars that ope 
 
 Their wings at eventide ; 
 One, struggling with a weight of pain, 
 
 In silence wild and deep, 
 The other, tranquil as the main 
 
 In whose breast earthquakes sleep 
 On their great hearts Grief falls like rain, 
 
 God, only, knows they weep. 
 
 Like an Ideal Thought she came, 
 
 A star upon Love s crest, 
 Then vanished like the sunset flame 
 
 That warms the ardent West ; 
 And like a thought of priceless worth, 
 
 Filled with ambrosial leaven, 
 She passed up to her second birth, 
 
 Above the Pleiades seven, 
 One Angel less upon the Earth, 
 
 One Spirit more in Heaven. 
 
 SUN, MOON, AND STARS. 
 Sun, Moon, and Stars attest Thy matchless glory, 
 
 Thou mighty Ruler of the World Unseen ; 
 Devout Astrologers of sacred story 
 
 Have loved to bask beneath their gorgeous sheen ; 
 Have looked from them to Thee, and looking, raised 
 
134: SUN, MOON, AND STAKS. 
 
 Their song to where the Godhead s essence lurks, 
 And with a hymn of deep thanksgiving praised 
 The greatness of Thy power and Thy works. 
 
 And how shall I, an atom, frail and weak, 
 
 Scan the blue ether with an eye of love, 
 Or in befitting accents sing or speak 
 
 Of those mysterious worlds that shine above ? 
 But Thou hast planted deep within my breast 
 
 A love for all that s beautiful and bright, 
 From the red Morning s Sun-emblazoned crest, 
 
 To the pale Stars that celebrate the Night. 
 
 I love the storm at deepest midnight sweeping, 
 
 The gentle billow and the raging sea, 
 The vivid lightning, and the thunder, speaking 
 
 In mighty language, Thou Supreme ! of Thee. 
 I love the plunging cataract, the rill 
 
 That, childlike, sparkles through the sunny plain, 
 The primal forest depths, convulsed or still, 
 
 Neath the light zephyr s or dark tempest s reign. 
 
 And loving these, I turn my eyes above, 
 
 And there behold the wondrous mysteries 
 Which blameless men in every age have loved 
 
 For where is aught exalts the mind like these ? 
 By day and night, alike, behold the scene ! 
 
 The King of Light upon his golden throne, 
 Night s silver-mantled and seductive Queen, 
 
 Encircled by the stars as with a zone ! 
 
SUN, MOON, AND STARS. 135 
 
 The lofty Sun in mid-day greatness rolling, 
 
 Calmly pursuing his majestic way, 
 Is silently but powerfully extolling 
 
 His great Creator s glory day by day. 
 No clouds can wholly dim his brilliant light, 
 
 No eye can gaze upon his steady flame, 
 His course, from rosy morn to dewy night, 
 
 Is one unceasing Ptean to Thy name. 
 
 But scarcely is his evening anthem ended, 
 
 When lo ! the Moon walks blushing up the East, 
 Her first soft accents with his last have blended, 
 
 And thus their silent song has never ceased, 
 Since the Creator s Voice first bade them hold 
 
 Their course untiring through eternal space, 
 And with their voiceless eloquence unfold 
 
 His boundless power, excellence and grace. 
 
 Not less the Stars their gentle hymns are blending 
 
 With the impressive silence which the night 
 Upon her myriad tongues is ever sending 
 
 Throughout creation s trackless realms of light. 
 There s not a ray that cleaves yon ethery void, 
 
 But has a tongue to sound its Maker s praise, 
 There s not a drop in yon receding tide, 
 
 That does not answer to their voiceless lays. 
 
 Then how much more should gifted man proclaim 
 
 The greatness of God s overruling power, 
 When all His works do glorify his name 
 
136 
 
 Eternally, through every fleeting hour 1 
 Teach me, Oh ! God, to read thy works aright, 
 
 Fill me with love for all things bright and free, 
 Grant me, through life to look, by day and night, 
 
 Through all Thy vast creations up to Thee ! 
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN S LAST SIGH. 
 
 Through the depths of the forest a warrior came, 
 
 His look threatening death, and destruction, and flame ; 
 
 Erect and majestic he stood in his pride, 
 
 By the graves of his people who fell by his side 
 
 By the graves of the Red Men, for a Red Man was he, 
 
 Hunted down like a beast in the Land of the Free ! 
 
 Pursued, but no longer that Chieftain will fly ; 
 
 By the graves of his kindred he ll conquer or die. 
 
 His eye flashed with rage there was scorn in its light, 
 As he called to his band to prepare for the fight ; 
 His tomahawk s keenness he smilingly felt, 
 And looked to the red seal ping-knife in his belt ; 
 Shook the plumes that o ershadowed his obdurate brow, 
 Again rallied his band, and repeated his vow. 
 Now the foe is in sight hark ! that terrible cry 
 Proves, that here the brave Red Man will conquer or die 
 
 Thick fly the swift arrows, unerring they fly, 
 
 Like the bleak winds in Autumn the stricken ones sigh J 
 

 HOLY GROUND. 137 
 
 And that Warrior-Chief, with a demon possessed, 
 
 In the midst of the carnage lays bare his bold breast ; 
 
 Each blow of his tomahawk, reeking and red, 
 
 Like the stroke of a Fate, adds one more to the dead, 
 
 And his resolute band, with their wild battle-cry, 
 
 Are thronging around him, in numbers, to die. 
 
 Yes, to die ! but they fall without murmur or groan, 
 And their death-dealing Chieftain stands firmly alone ! 
 As the sea, lash d to fury, rolls on in its might, 
 So he breasts his foes with a frantic delight ; 
 There s revenge in his look, there is death in his frown, 
 And he fights like a Chief who upholds his renown ; 
 Overpowered by numbers he yields his last sigh 
 By the graves of his race, where he wandered to die. 
 
 HOLY GROUND. 
 
 When thoughtful Contemplation fills 
 The mind, go, climb the rugged hills, 
 Down which the crystal-footed rills 
 
 In freedom bound ; 
 The mind, all hope, is upward led, 
 For every spot on which we tread 
 Is Holy Ground. 
 
 As homeward turns the shepherd s flock, 
 Stand on the firmly-rooted rock, 
 That trembles neath the thunder s shock, 
 F* 
 
138 HOLY GROUND. 
 
 With awe profound ; 
 The spirit ere while so oppressed, 
 Is now the soul s delighted guest 
 
 T is Holy Ground. 
 
 Emerging from the leprous town, 
 
 We wander where the mountains frown, 
 
 Or where the torrent leapeth down, 
 
 With psalmy sound : 
 Feelings of inspiration steal 
 Upon the mind we own we feel 
 
 T is Holy Ground. 
 
 When pondering by the silent shore, 
 We hear the tortured ocean roar, 
 Our thoughts beyond its vastness soar, 
 
 And all around 
 
 Delights uplifts expands the mind 
 Where Beauty ever lives enshrined 
 
 T is Holy Ground. 
 
 Go, thread the Wisdom-haunted Woods, 
 Where slave of Mammon ne er intrudes, 
 Or seek the sylvan solitudes 
 
 Where Peace is found ; 
 Contrast their silence with the strife 
 And folly of a selfish life 
 
 Tis Holy Ground. 
 
 We reverence the marble stone, 
 That tells us of a spirit flown 
 
PLEASANT MEMORIES. 139 
 
 To worlds unseen, but not unknown ; 
 
 This grassy mound, 
 
 Each green blade on whose sacred knoll 
 Begets sweet feelings in the soul, 
 
 Is Holy Ground. 
 
 Not less so is the wood-clad height, 
 Seen by broad Day or sombre Night ; 
 Each humble view that meets the sight 
 
 Serves to expound 
 
 The wholesome truth, that Earth was meant, 
 Despite Man s peevish discontent, 
 
 For Holy Ground. 
 
 PLEASANT MEMORIES. 
 
 Mary, do you Remember 
 Do you remember the ancient house, 
 The moss to its brown roof clinging 
 The old open roof, where the swallows each year 
 Reared their downy broods without let or fear 
 The moss in the eaves, 
 And the birds mong the leaves, 
 The flute-toned Robin and his spouse, 
 A vermeil tinge on his rounded breast, 
 In the plumb and apple trees singing ? 
 The yellow-bird s nest 
 Woven with skill in the forked boughs 
 Of the currant trees in the garden walk, 
 
140 PLEASANT MEMORIES. 
 
 Where we d thoughtfully meet, and sparingly talk, 
 Sometimes aloud, but oftener mute, 
 Pulling the juicy coral-hued fruit, 
 Conversing of books, and of learned men, 
 In the grassy walk of the garden then 
 Mary, do you Kemember ? 
 
 Do you remember the hollyhock 
 
 That stood at the foot of the garden walk, 
 
 With its rich purple flowers, 
 
 And around it, in showers, 
 The rose-trees dropping their delicate leaves, 
 Like the tears shed by Beauty when she grieves ; 
 The hardy rockets, pink, lilac and white, 
 The morning-glory that clomb in the night 
 Up the slender rod, as if some spirit bright 
 
 Beckoned it up 
 
 With its dew-filled cup, 
 To bask in the pale moon s loving light 1 
 The mary gold s deep-yellow hue, 
 The sweet-pea blossoms, red and blue, 
 The mignonette, scenting the morning air, 
 With a perfume as sweet as an infant s prayer ; 
 And over them all the humming-bird, 
 Like a living flower, gold and green, 
 Pleasing the eye with its glancing sheen, 
 Scenting the odors, was often heard, 
 Oft was heard, and oft was seen, 
 Like a beautiful thought the leaves between 
 
 These, Mary, do you Remember ? 
 
PLEASANT MEMORIES. 141 
 
 Do you remember the little windmill, 
 
 On the long, slim pole, th.it would never be still ? 
 
 Ever by night, and ever by day, 
 
 In its easy, rolicking, careless way, 
 
 Buffing the zephyrs, grave or gay, 
 
 Ever warning dull spirits away, 
 
 With its clattering, chattering roundelay ? 
 
 In the warm sunny noon, when the bees were abroad, 
 
 Kissing the flowers, 
 
 Or when the Hours 
 
 Stepp d down at night, 
 
 Golden and bright, 
 Gently pressing the warm, green sod, 
 Chanting the Hymn of Departing Day ; 
 
 When the rain fell merrily, 
 
 Or the cricket cheerily 
 
 Chirped its strange melody, 
 Singing of Home, in the long, green grass ; 
 When the winds piped loud, or the zephyrs sang low, 
 That mill was scampering fast or slow, 
 Mocking at sorrow, and winking at woe 
 Do you remember that talkative mill ? 
 That wrangling, mischievous, mirth-loving mill 1 
 Mary, do you Bemember 1 
 
 Do you remember the marsh near by, 
 
 Where the winds would moan, and the rushes would 
 
 sigh 
 The rushes that grew nearly five feet high, 
 
142 PLEASANT MEMORIES. 
 
 Screening the houses the muskrats built, 
 
 Where the brown- bearded bulrush rose a-tilt, 
 
 Ruffling the flowers of purplish blue, 
 
 That blossomed and bloomed the summer through 1 
 
 Do you remember the lilies that grew, 
 
 The white water-lilies that grew, and lay 
 
 Rocking themselves in the sun all day, 
 
 Like a Neriad fleet, along the bay ; 
 
 And the mossy nest of the saucy wren, 
 
 Swinging and swaying 
 
 All day long ; and when 
 
 The hounds distant baying 
 Told that the star-watch was set in the skies. 
 Then, do you remember the fire-flies, 
 
 Startling the air 
 
 With a mystic glare, 
 Like the Borealis streaming forth 
 Up the blue skies of the crisped North, 
 Now here now there now everywhere 1 
 And strangest of all, the bullfrogs croaking ! 
 Called you it singing, or vamping, or joking ? 
 For I never can tell, for the life of me, 
 What these musical wretches sing or say ! 
 Mary, do you Remember 1 
 
 Do you remember the meadow-field, 
 Where the red-ripe strawberries lay concealed, 
 Close to the roots of the scented grass, 
 That bowed to let the sunbeams pass 
 
PLEASANT MEMORIES. 143 
 
 To smile on the buttercups clustering over 
 The drooping heads of honied clover ? 
 Or the golden dandelions, milky-stemmed, 
 With which the spring fields were begemmed ? 
 Do you remember the hawthorn hedge, 
 In its virginal bloom, 
 Breathing perfume 
 Far along the water-worn ledge ; 
 The crows, with their signals of raven-like caws, 
 Like Ethiope sentinels over the haws ? 
 The wild roses flinging 
 Their sweets to the breeze, 
 While perched on the trees 
 The sparrow sat, singing 
 
 Its plain, homely melody, and the brown thrush 
 Flung mellowy peals from thickets of rush, 
 As the blackbird piped from his vocal throat 
 His one soft-syllabled, graceful note 1 
 Gentlier breezes never blew, 
 Lovelier roses never grew, 
 Honeysuckles nowhere ever 
 Had a more delicious flavor, 
 Never hedge that ever budded 
 Was more delicately studded, 
 Never buttercups more yellow, 
 Clover sweeter or more mellow, 
 Than along this bank of flowers 
 Cheered the rosy-pinioned hours, 
 Passing o er the swaying meadow, 
 
144 PLEASANT MEMORIES. 
 
 Passing, leaving not a shadow, 
 But bearing odors to the brain, 
 Binding the senses as with a chain 
 Of linked sounds, that pleased the ears, 
 Of sights, that charmed the eye to tears ! 
 Do you remember the little snipe, 
 Whenever surprised how shrill he d pipe 1 
 A comical, restless, industrious snipe, 
 With a piccolo-sound to his three-note pipe 
 Mary, do you Remember 1 
 
 Do you remember the old school-room 
 That seemed little else than a solemn tomb 1 
 
 Though on looking back 
 
 On life s beaten track, 
 
 Those hours were happier far than they seemed, 
 Dearer than ever we thought or dreamed ! 
 Do you remember, each holiday, 
 When old Winter came, muffled up to the ears, 
 Like a frigid old fellow, his eyes all tears, 
 Congealed as they fell a sparkling chain 
 Of frost-pearls, clanking a cold refrain 
 How the schoolboys would skate o er the frozen bay, 
 Making old Boreas as tricksy at play 
 As the liveliest sprite of a summer s day ? 
 Old Boreas that killed all the delicate leaves, 
 
 Dried the moss in the eaves, 
 Withered the rushes, and trampled the flowers 
 Raised by the spring in her sunniest hours, 
 
MY KITTEN. 14:5 
 
 Whitened the bosom of valley and hill 
 But he never could quiet that little wind-mill, 
 
 That winter and summer 
 
 Was its own drummer, 
 Playing one season out, and another one in, 
 A perfect young Topsy for mischief and din ! 
 Do vou remember the fine old bell, 
 That warned us home with its silvery knell? 
 Mary, do you Remember? 
 
 Do you Remember ! Yes. The slave at the oar 
 Of the galley he knows he can quit nevermore, 
 No chain can more firmly, more hopelessly bind, 
 Than time has en woven those scenes with thy mind ; 
 And more that in memory s heart will remain, 
 More than these, too, are struggling in memory s chain: 
 Happy faces that met you in life s happy dawn, 
 Of her that is living, and they that are gone ; 
 Happy faces that cluster, like hopes, round you still, 
 Like the sunbeams that linger the last on the hill ; 
 And though sad or though pleasantthese memories be 
 They are fraught with the noblest of lessons to thee. 
 
 MY KITTEN. 
 
 Playful, kind, mischievous thing ! 
 Like a stream meandering 
 Through the sun-enamored glade, 
 Frisking when its course is stayed ; 
 
146 MY KITTEN. 
 
 Leaping joyously along, 
 With thy unassuming song, 
 Delighted with the thought of living, 
 Caring little how deceiving 
 Is the world, with all its joys, 
 Blighted hopes and false decoys. 
 
 Teasing, saucy little pest ! 
 Will you never be at rest ] 
 Romping in and out the house, 
 Chasing tabby for a mouse, 
 Climbing nimbly up the door, 
 Strewing papers round the floor, 
 Prancing up and down the roof, 
 Giving, every moment, proof 
 That all living things should strive 
 To be happy while alive. 
 
 Life to thee is but a play, 
 Invented to pass time away ; 
 Earth is not a house of grief; 
 Our existence is too brief 
 To yield up a single hour 
 To that grim, obtrusive power, 
 Melancholy, with his brow 
 Ever black as night with wo ! 
 I d much rather be a kitten, 
 With a love for humor smitten, 
 Then be doomed to live on earth, 
 And not have my share of mirth. 
 
THE FROST KING S BEVEL. 147 
 
 Puss ! I d rather have it said 
 That your waggish little head 
 Eested archly on my shoulders, 
 Making fun for all beholders, 
 Than be forced to live for life 
 With the world of gloom and strife. 
 Yes much rather would I be 
 Full of merriment like thee, 
 Than a gloomy misanthrope, 
 Without any earthly hope 
 E er to live, as was designed, 
 Happy both in heart and mind. 
 
 THE FROST KING S REVEL. 
 
 It was a night of terror fiercely bleak ! 
 The winds like haggard demons leaped along 
 The whitened fields. Far o er the piney hills, 
 Far up among the mountain fastnesses, 
 Their horrid laughter and avenging tones, 
 Shook the red granite to its base. The trees 
 Sprang from the frozen ground in fear, and fell 
 Death-doomed to earth. Indifferent were they, 
 These unrelenting and malignant winds, 
 What poor misguided wretch they scourged to death ; 
 Whether he struggled onward clad with rags, 
 The sport and playthings of the spiteful breeze, 
 That as it filled his very bones with chills 
 
14:8 THE FROST KING S KEVEL. 
 
 And heartfelt tremblings, whistled as it passed, 
 
 A merry tune ; or whether favored less 
 
 By some capricious messenger of Fate, 
 
 His weary limbs refused to carry him 
 
 To where a scanty shelter might be found, 
 
 And he was forced to hug the ground and die, 
 
 A victim to the Frost King s Judas kiss 
 
 T was all the same. The subtle winds swept down 
 
 On all who madly ventured forth to dare 
 
 Their rugged blasts that night. Theirs was the task 
 
 To swell the almost endless catalogue 
 
 Of those who perished by their cruel aid : 
 
 A countless multitude, whose names were traced 
 
 Upon a scroll the hoary Frost King held 
 
 In his firm grasp, as, seated on a cloud 
 
 Of snowy vapour, he was wafted through 
 
 The skies, by winds that loved to do him homage. 
 
 Onward he sped, attended by his train 
 Of tyrannous dependents : Winds that pierced 
 And froze the marrow in men s bones, that chilled 
 The blood, so that it nourished not the frame, 
 But crept, cold and unnatural, in slow 
 And sluggish motion through the heart ; vapours 
 That quenched the stars and darkened all the air, 
 Bearing their frozen spray o er many a league 
 Of country. These obeyed their monarch s nod, 
 Joyed in his frowns, and watched his meteor-eye 
 To catch an icy look of cool approval, 
 
THE FROST KING S KEVEL. 149 
 
 As they performed their aerial manoeuvres, 
 Or sprinkled showers of snow upon the earth, 
 Or laid some miserable hovel low, 
 Leaving its inmates in the cold to perish. 
 
 The merry monarch held his boisterous way 
 Through mid-air, marshaling his blackest clouds, 
 Devising cruel schemes wherewith he might 
 Descend, and torture some unconscious wretch, 
 Who, unsuspecting, lay upon his couch, 
 Dreaming of happiness. His keen eyes gleam, 
 Like rival stars, that through the w r intry night 
 Flash hatred on each other ; his gaze is fixed 
 On earth ; and shouting a triumphant shout, 
 That strikes the echoes dumb in the hill sides, 
 He claps his deathly hands, as, smilingly, 
 He marks some scene of suffering below, 
 On which his heartless look is fixed. The winds 
 Gather their fiercest blasts ; the vapoury car 
 Eestrains its airy flight ; and hastening down 
 To view the fearful scene and claim his rights, 
 The Frost-King comes. It is a sight of awe, 
 From which, and justly too, the sensitive mind 
 Recoils with terror. Flames are seen to rise, 
 Mouthing the shrinking air with feverous lips, 
 Scorching the raven locks from night s dark brow, 
 And showering up swift, burning-pointed darts, 
 That rend the tortured bosom of the sky, 
 And rive the clouds in twain. Affrighted cries, 
 
150 THE FKOST KING S REVEL. 
 
 And shrieks of thrilling anguish and despair, 
 
 Resound abroad ; the mother clasps her babes, 
 
 And flies the shelter of her burning roof, 
 
 With scarce a tatter snatched up in her haste, 
 
 To shield them from the cold. Their humble home 
 
 Is soon reduced to ashes. T is the dead 
 
 Of night. The winds unmercifully beat 
 
 Against their naked forms. For many miles 
 
 No human dwelling can be found, wherein 
 
 They might obtain a refuge from the storm, 
 
 That with its breath inclement, sharp and cold, 
 
 Shrivels the tender skin, and numbs the flesh 
 
 Of these poor houseless ones. No strength have they 
 
 To move their stiffened joints. Their breath departs, 
 
 With many a groan, light-breathed, inaudible, 
 
 And they a group of corses strew the ground. 
 
 Blow on, stern tyrants ! death-leagued winds that 
 
 come 
 
 From out the north s bleak chambers, vent your rage ! 
 Above, below, on earth, and in the sky, 
 Gather your forces ; set the deadliest parts 
 Of your destructive, dread machinery 
 In motion, and the hoary Prince of Cold 
 Bear far away from the appalling view 
 Of this too-tragic picture ! Now unrolls 
 The fatal scroll. The Frost King writes thereon 
 The names of his last victims, and ascends, 
 With triumph in his eye, to seek new haunts 
 
THE FKOST KING S BEVEL. 151 
 
 Where he can exercise his brief authority, 
 And make his arbitrary presence felt. 
 
 Across wide tracts of country sped the car. 
 As quick as thought the surly king was borne 
 Over primeval forests, where the trees, 
 Like those in hardy Lapland, hid in snow, 
 Scarce shewed their leafless tops ; o er deserts wide, 
 Where roamed the Indian and the trapper, free 
 Joyous and unconstrained, as if they trod 
 The grassy sod of Summer ; o er the gay 
 And populous city, where luxurious Ease 
 And Plenty dared his ghostly train to enter. 
 No passion had he for the glories of 
 The tropics, or the blooming of the south ; 
 Brazilian forests, or the slumberous Takes 
 Of Guinea, or the bamboo-covered banks 
 Of the immortal Ganges ; or the woods 
 And prairies of the unfathomed ocean deeps ; 
 Italian sunsets ; the delicious skies 
 Of Greece ; where er continual Summer reigned ; 
 Or where Mozambique or Arabian gales 
 Scent the fine air a furlong out at sea : 
 On these his spectre vision rested not. 
 
 But like a fiend he hastened to the Cape, 
 Where reigns eternal winter ; to the plains 
 Bordering on the Icy Sea ; across 
 Norwegian hills, or o er the desert bleak 
 Where the brave sons of Sweden, years ago, 
 
152 
 
 Fell patriot victims to the northern blast ; 
 
 Nor stayed to pluck a single Alpine rose, 
 
 That, like a cherub in the midst of death, 
 
 Peered in sweet beauty o er the icy mass. 
 
 Now, he beheld the gleaming palaces 
 
 Of Russia s tyrant realm ; and now, he swept 
 
 Over Siberian deserts; or reviewed, 
 
 A moment after, Greenland s frost-bound plains, 
 
 Which, in interminable fields of ice, 
 
 Lay stretched in vastness. Hastening back he comes, 
 
 With rage impatient, furious with delay, 
 
 To tread his old haunts o er and o er again, 
 
 In search of death. The Northern skies grow dark 
 
 At his approach ; the poor his presence dread, 
 
 Though tremblingly submit, with many a sigh, 
 
 To all his rude, tyrannic pleasantries. 
 
 High on the cold bleak hills, on mountain peaks, 
 
 That rear their whitened summits to the skies, 
 
 He, watchful, sits. High up above the Alps, 
 
 He listens to the echoes whooping through 
 
 The snow-bound defiles, like a troop of wolves 
 
 Howling among the hills. Swiftly he flies, 
 
 As the last echo fells the avalanche, 
 
 And sweeps the venturous traveller to his doom ; 
 
 Records his victims; mounts his car again, 
 
 And like a universal spirit-thought, 
 
 Circles the world. His eagle eye is strained, 
 
 To catch an early glimpse of dire mishaps, 
 
 And rude disasters ; and his lengthening scroll 
 
153 
 
 Is oft unrolled and furled, and op d again, 
 As he inscribes the name of many a youth 
 And buxom dame, o ertaken by the storm, 
 That yield to his embrace the clasp of Death ! 
 
 Here, the too happy swain, returning home 
 From the exciting dance, with some fair girl, 
 His chosen partner and affianced bride, 
 Drives the impatient horse o er the frail ice. 
 That bends beneath their weight, when dow:; ihey sinkj 
 Beyond the reach of help. And here, from some 
 Vile brothel, rank with pestilence and crime, 
 The senseless Drunkard reels, uncertain where 
 To seek the home he might have made a heaven, 
 And where his wife, a-weeping o er her babe, 
 Like a drenched lily o er a budding rose, 
 Patiently droops, awaiting his return 
 Return ! Long has the wily Frost King marked 
 That senseless and inebriated fool, 
 Who, sinking neath his weight of wretchedness, 
 Extends himself upon the ground, and dies ! 
 These, from his high retreat, and thousands more, 
 Well pleased, the rugged Frost King sees expire. 
 Thus is his dreaded reign, from year to year, 
 Pregnant with death. His icy sceptre sways 
 These Northern wilds for months; until the Spring 
 Creation s first-born comes through the smiling 
 
 heavens, 
 
 And hurls the tyrant monarch from his throne. 
 G 
 
154: ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 
 
 ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 
 
 Greatest twain among the nations, 
 
 Bound, alike, by kindred ties 
 Ties that never should be sundered 
 
 While your banners grace the skies 
 But, united, stand and labor, 
 
 Side by side, and hand in hand, 
 Battling with the sword of Freedom, 
 
 For the peace of every land. 
 Yours the one beloved language, 
 
 Yours the same religious creed, 
 Yours the glory and the power, 
 
 Great as ever was the meed 
 Of old Rome, or Greece, or Sparta, 
 
 When their arms victoriously, 
 Proved their terrible puissance 
 
 Over every land and sea. 
 
 Let the Son respect the Sire, 
 
 Let the Father love the Son, 
 Both unitedly supporting 
 
 All the glories they have won : 
 Thus in concert nobly wrestling, 
 
 They may work the world s release, 
 And when having crushed its tyrants, 
 
 Stand the Sentinels of Peace 
 Stand, the mighty twin Colossus , 
 
 Giants of the latter days, 
 
ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 155 
 
 Straight ning for the coming kingdom 
 
 All the steep and rugged ways, 
 Down which many a lofty nation 
 
 Lofty on the scroll of fame 
 Has been swept to righteous judgment, 
 
 Naught remaining but its name. 
 
 What ! allied to Merrie England, 
 
 Have ye not a noble birth ? 
 Yours, America, her honors, 
 
 Yours her every deed of worth. 
 Have ye not her Norman courage ? 
 
 Wear ye not her Saxon cast ? 
 Boast ye not her love of Freedom 1 
 
 Do ye not revere the Past 1 
 When her mighty Men of Genius 
 
 Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, 
 Glorified that selfsame language, 
 
 Since become your pride and hope ? 
 Do ye not respect the council 
 
 Where her living statesmen sit 1 ? 
 Would ye blot the fame of Walpole ? 
 
 Dare ye slight the name of Pitt 1 
 
 Did not Locke, and Hume, and Smollett, 
 
 All conspire to make thee great 
 In the priceless pearls of Wisdom 
 
 Which such gifted minds create ? 
 
156 ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 
 
 Did not Cranmer suffer for thee 1 
 
 Boldly dying at the stake, 
 When the mitred Roman Pontiff 
 
 Scourged him for his conscience sake ! 
 Did not Latimer and Ridley 
 
 Perish for the very creed 
 Which your free-born sons would fight for 
 
 In the bitter hour of need 1 
 Did not Luther triumph for thee, 
 
 In that dear Religion s cause ? 
 That strong prop that now supports thee 
 
 Did not Alfred frame thy Laws 1 
 
 And not less is thine the glory, 
 
 England, of thy daring son ; 
 Webster, Cooper, Clay, and Irving, 
 
 Thine the fame which they have won ; 
 Thine the fame of Western Genius 
 
 Bryant, Hoffman, Whittier, Read ; 
 Wisdom s words by them are garnered, 
 
 They have sown the precious seed 
 Which thy sons in future ages 
 
 Thine and theirs for ye are one 
 Shall be proud to reap the fruit of 
 
 Jewels set in Wisdom s Sun ! 
 These, where er thy tongue is spoken, 
 
 Will add splendor to thy name, 
 And thy wisest tongues pronounce them, 
 
 Worthy of enduring fame. 
 
ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 157 
 
 There will come a time, my Brothers, 
 
 And a dread time it will be, 
 When your swords will flash together, 
 
 For your Faith in jeopardy. 
 Not for crowns, or lands, or sceptres, 
 
 Will the fight be fought and won, 
 Not for fame, or treaties broken, 
 But for God, and God alone : 
 For the mind with which he bless d us, 
 
 That a false creed would keep down, 
 Shackle bind it to its purpose 
 
 To uphold a falling crown. 
 See that then ye fail not, Brothers ! 
 
 Set the listening skies aglow 
 With such deeds as live in heaven, 
 
 If your Faith be worth a blow. 
 
 Proud, then, of each other s greatness, 
 
 Ever struggle side by side ; 
 Noble Son ! time-honored Parent ! 
 
 Let no paltry strife divide 
 Hearts like yours, that should be mindful 
 
 Only of each others worth 
 Mindful of your high position 
 
 Mongst the powers of the earth. 
 Mightiest twain among the nations ! 
 
 Bound, alike, by kindred ties 
 Ties that never should be sundered, 
 
 While your banners grace the skies ; 
 
158 THE WRECK. 
 
 Hearts and dest nies once united, 
 Steadfast to each other prove, 
 
 Bind them with enduring fetters 
 Bind them with the Bonds of Love. 
 
 THE WRECK. 
 
 " When the steamer HOME was wrecked upon the beach at Ocracoke, N . 
 C., they rang the bell incessantly until she went to pieces on the breakers; 
 and that melancholy sound was heard at a distance, above the noise of the 
 
 Hark ! hark to the knell 
 
 Of that wild-voiced bell, 
 That rings o er the surging waves, 
 
 Each tone doth sweep 
 
 O er the troubled deep, 
 Like a voice from the seamen s graves ! 
 
 While borne to the shore, 
 
 Is the breakers roar, 
 And the elements wild halloo, 
 
 The dismal sound 
 
 Of its voice hath drowned 
 The shouts of the struggling crew. 
 
 Swiftly the wreck, 
 Like a stricken speck 
 On the wild upheaving main, 
 Sinks through the deep, 
 
THE LOFTY AND THE LOWLY. 159 
 
 With a sudden sweep, 
 Like i pang through a tyrant s brain. 
 
 But the last wild sound 
 
 On that deep profound, 
 Heard high o er the winds and waves, 
 
 Is the startling knell 
 
 Of that loud-voiced bell, 
 Passing down to the seamen s graves. 
 
 And each struggling form 
 
 In that fearful storm, 
 As he gasps for a parting breath, 
 
 Feels a sudden thrill, 
 
 As that warning shrill 
 Tolls him down to the Ship of Death. 
 
 And so when the world 
 
 "From its place is hurled, 
 Like a speck will it pass away, 
 
 And all ears shall hear, 
 
 O er the crash severe, 
 The knell of the Judgment Day. 
 
 THE LOFTY AND THE LOWLY. 
 
 There s not a page of nature s book 
 O er which the thoughtful eye may look, 
 
 But fills the mind with praise ; 
 There s not a plant that springs below, 
 
160 THE LOFTY AND THE LOWLY. 
 
 E en to the lowliest shrubs that grow 
 
 Beneath the sun s bright rays, 
 But claims a more than passing share 
 Of admiration and of care. 
 
 With pride we view the stately oak, 
 Feel, when it meets the woodman s stroke, 
 
 As for a friend cut down ; 
 While the sweet daisy by its side, 
 In all its unassuming pride, 
 
 By the same stroke overthrown 
 How few lament its sudden fate 
 Our sympathy is with the great ! 
 
 Thus does the world about us feel 
 For an ambitious statesman s weal, 
 
 Whereas a poor man s woe 
 Is seldom either known or felt, 
 Although he may, perhaps, have dealt 
 
 For aught strict worldlings know 
 More good in his small circle than 
 His more important fellow-man. 
 
 I ve seen a fawning parasite, 
 The pliant tool of men of might, 
 
 Attended to his grave 
 By troops of friends, who d shared his gold, 
 Which made his virtues manifold 
 
 A good man of a knave ; 
 And I ve seen men of sterling worth 
 Borne rudely to their parent earth, 
 
I DKEAMED I MET THEE. 161 
 
 Because, forsooth ! they died so poor 
 That all their worth could not procure 
 
 The friendship of the world : 
 They were the daisies which had grown 
 Uncared for, and in part unknown, 
 
 And those the oak trees, hurled 
 By some rude blast of fortune down, 
 But miss d for they had smelt renown ! 
 
 I DREAMED I MET THEE. 
 
 I dreamed I met thee, with the glow 
 
 Of Girlhood fresh upon thy cheek, 
 As when thy voice, serene and low, 
 
 In love s undying tones did speak ; 
 And through my heart, and to my brain, 
 
 Bushed life s warm current wildly-free, 
 As memory brought back again 
 
 My Boyhood s earnest love for thee. 
 
 Twas midst a gay and brilliant throng, 
 Where dancers glided to and fro, 
 
 And where the wild, impassioned song, 
 Brought to each eye love s burning glow ; 
 
 But we had strayed apart from all 
 The gayer spirits that had met 
 
 Some to enjoy the festal ball, 
 
 Others to banish deep regret. 
 G* 
 
162 THE CHANGES OF A NIGHT. 
 
 Our lips moved not, we did not seek 
 
 By words to tell some love-lorn wile, 
 Secrets, which words could never speak, 
 
 Were told by an impressive smile. 
 But there was language in each look, 
 
 That could a kindred mind control, 
 Language the impatient could not brook 
 
 The silent commune of the soul. 
 
 Thus would I meet thee, fairest one ! 
 
 If there the power should be given 
 To know each other, where the Sun 
 
 Of Love forever shines, in Heaven. 
 Oh ! joy beyond what earth can give ! 
 
 To see thee and to know thee, where 
 The good in endless pleasures live 
 
 Twere heaven, indeed, if thou wert there. 
 
 THE CHANGES OF A NIGHT. 
 
 Midnight had set her star-emblazoned seal 
 Upon the slumbering world. I could not sleep. 
 Thoughts flashed across my mind at every throb 
 Of my lone heart ; and voices came to me, 
 From my hushed chamber s solitary depths, 
 That I d long loved to listen to. I heard 
 The merry laugh of one, whose girlhood s heart, 
 Light as the spotted fawn s in summer woods, 
 
Til 15 OIIANQKS OF A NIGHT. 163 
 
 Beat proudly when I smiled upon her love. 
 
 I saw her glide mysteriously past, 
 
 And felt the pressure of her heart- wanned hand. 
 
 The same rich music floated from her lips, 
 
 As when, in happier days, she sung to me 
 
 The tender ballads of a far-off land : 
 
 Her very breath was song, her words were odes, 
 
 That set the pulses of the heart aglow 
 
 With a divine exuberance of love, 
 
 As pure as starbeams round the throne of night. 
 
 My soul was flooded with a bounding joy 
 
 Surely tis love that quickens us for heaven, 
 
 As day -break heralds the impassioned sun ! 
 
 The heavy clouds that draped my spirit s skies, 
 
 And hung like opiate slumbers on my brain, 
 
 Had burned to rose-hues in the flame of love. 
 
 She spake; my sense expanding like the rose 
 
 That opens to the song o the nightingale, 
 
 And buoys on wings of perfume every note, 
 
 Meeting the silvery breathings of the stars 
 
 Midway from heaven. And sweet sleep came not. 
 
 My palpitating brain was burning with 
 
 The mountain-thoughts that crushed me with their weight, 
 
 And laid me panting on my restless couch. 
 
 I staggered forth and drank the cooling breeze 
 
 That swept with gentle motion through the air. 
 
 The dew of heaven lay upon the grass, 
 
 A mimic star-world on a ground of green, 
 
 And on the trembling leaves of the young trees, 
 
164 THE CHANGES OF A NIGHT. 
 
 It glistened, like the globes of rain that lodge 
 Upon them after a refreshing shower. 
 
 Silence was on my soul ; and silence wrapt 
 The lucid atmosphere. I looked above : 
 The stars were shining on the brow of night, 
 Like diamonds pendent from a sapphire dome, 
 And blazing planets glittered on her breast, 
 As jewels deck a queen. There Venus burned 
 Her vestal lamp ; and there Orion gleamed. 
 To cheer the mariner upon his way 
 Across the midnight waters ; and along 
 The milky way a gauzy light was thrown, 
 Through which the bright stars glimmered, like the eyes 
 Of some fair beauty underneath her veil, 
 That cannot hide their dazzling brilliancy. 
 In the far west the moon was gliding down 
 To soothe the restless billows at her feet, 
 That wrapped their gray heads in her silver robes, 
 Leaving the untold myriads of stars 
 That syllable the praises of the night, 
 To sing their parting hymns ere they put on 
 Their robes of ether, or retire into 
 Their air-suspended chambers, hung aloft 
 By the strong arm of the Invisible. 
 The river, like a tired Palmer, lay 
 Dreaming of endless quiet ; but afar, 
 In the now darkened distance, which the eye 
 Could dimly penetrate, the noise of waves 
 
TUP: CHANGES OF A NIGHT. 165 
 
 Was heard distinctly, as they rolled along 
 
 In dead, unbroken swells : They heralded 
 
 The coming storm. The rivulet that dashed 
 
 Its molten amber-drops of cooling water 
 
 Against the rocks that dallied with its course, 
 
 Like red-haired giants toying with a child, 
 
 Mingled its precious tribute with the stream 
 
 That lay extended many a sullen mile, 
 
 But which regarded not the offering 
 
 Which evermore the streamlet ministered 
 
 To her insatiable thirst. The breeze 
 
 Sprang down and loosed the white manes of the waves, 
 
 That, startled, moaned along the echoing shore, 
 
 Like snow wreaths scudding from the borean blast, 
 
 Shrieking aloud for fear. These lashed the cliffs 
 
 Far up the mountain-side. The unchained winds 
 
 Laid the old trees, that had withstood the gales 
 
 Of half a century, prostrate on the earth. 
 
 This sudden change the various passions of 
 
 The human mind resembled. Quietness, 
 
 And Peace, and blissful Cairn usurp the breast, 
 
 Until some unexpected power arise, 
 
 To force them from their place. Shades dark and light 
 
 Are ever flitting o er the mind. These are 
 
 The ebb and flow the evil and the good 
 
 Of human nature, that forever strive 
 
 Within us, each at times predominant. 
 
 In haste I sought my solitary home ; 
 
 And as the morning had not dawned, I threw 
 
166 TO KEY. JAMES G. WITTED. 
 
 Myself upon my couch, and meditated 
 
 On what had passed. Delicious slumber came 
 
 Unbidden, and I sank into repose, 
 
 And dreamed of happy faces and bright forms 
 
 That used to mingle with my boyhood s sports. 
 
 TO REV. JAMES G. WITTED. 
 
 ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF HIS BROTHER. 
 
 Death ever snatching up some valued friend, 
 Sudden as the vexed lightning strips the boughs 
 Of the strong oak ! Oh ! will it never end ? 
 This scourge, that fades the crimson from my Rose. 
 Of Life ! Will heaven never interpose, 
 And stay its shafts, till the last arrow cleave 
 My own lashed heart, and my eyes forever close 
 Their weary watchings ] For my Friend I grieve. 
 He, for his Brother-Friend, while I, in Sorrow, weave 
 
 A wreath of Cypress for the sable Urn 
 Of Grief, in which the tears of Memory 
 Are shrined, as well as in the hearts they burn, 
 With their slow, withering intensity. 
 Far o er the wave, how many souls there be 
 Who feel the stroke that has surprised us here ! 
 But not of Friends alone the agony 
 That rends the bosom of the wife ; the tear 
 That scalds the orphan s cheek : these fill Grief s glo > 
 sphere. 
 
TO REV. JAMES G. WITTKD. 167 
 
 When he, with his strong frame, and manly glow 
 Of robust health, gave waiting death his hand, 
 Who may expect exemption from the blow 
 That thus strikes down the ablest in the land ? 
 Our spirits, too. my Friend, at Death s command, 
 Must follow his, that the deep mysteries, 
 That lie beyond the scope of man, may stand 
 Disrobed before us, and with soul-like ease 
 We may peruse the secrets of the infinities. 
 
 The dead are ever with us : ever round 
 About us hovering, like rainbows o er 
 The cloud. There s not a foot of ground 
 On which we tread, where Truth has gone before, 
 That is not hallowed thence, for evermore, 
 By the blest footprints of the souls we love. 
 There is no death. The Shape that guards the shore 
 Where Life s frail journey ends, is Mercy s dove, 
 That brings us renewed life from life s great source above. 
 
 Well may st thou grieve ! A noble manhood sat 
 Upon his brow ; and in his eye, a true 
 Nobility of Soul an eye whereat 
 Friendship might light her paling lamp anew. 
 He found a milder home than that which drew 
 His footsteps from that dear beloved strand, 
 With the fond Brother of his youth, to view 
 The boundless garden of the Western land, 
 Pleased with its generous clime, its breezes soft and bland. 
 
168 EDITH TO HAROLD. 
 
 Not far from where the Mississippi s wave 
 Rolls its rich freightage through the fertile West, 
 The hands of Stranger-Friends have made his grave, 
 And borne his body to its shrouded rest. 
 God oft removes the friends whom we love best : 
 That through Affliction we may nearer come 
 To Him and them. Through suffering are we blest, 
 And purified ; surmount life s darkest gloom. 
 He, Friend, perchance, was called, to bring thee nearer 
 home! 
 
 EDITH TO HAROLD 
 
 AT HIS CORONATION. 
 
 Life of my life ! joy of my inmost soul ! 
 Whose life and death are destined to control 
 My spirit s being : let me think of thee, 
 Possessor of my heart s idolatry ! 
 Bright was the day with sunlight from above, 
 When first you whispered of long-cherished love ; 
 When that stout heart that beats for England s weal, 
 Was bound by chains as strong as chains of steel ; 
 When that strong arm with tender fondness press d 
 My yielding form against your throbbing breast ; 
 When that calm eye, .in danger s hour serene, 
 Gazed on my brow as on your future Queen ; 
 When that loud voice, deep as the trumpet s sound, 
 Rang in my ears, and made my spirit bound 
 
EDITH TO HAEOLD. 169 
 
 With feelings such as they can never know 
 Who spurn the blind God as men spurn a foe. 
 
 I do not weep, nor think the less of thee, 
 That thou prefer st thy country s weal to me, 
 The fates absolve thee, Harold, from thy vow, 
 And to my cruel destiny I bow, 
 Content to know none other name but mine 
 Will be inscribed on that firm breast of thine, 
 Save hers, thy country s England s with whose fame 
 Will ever live King Harold s noble name. 
 
 Oft do I think upon our childhood s hours, 
 When day by day we culled the wildwood flowers. 
 What holy joy inspired us when we met ! 
 Our partings, too, how saddened with regret ! 
 Until a childish kiss relieved the pain, 
 And vows were pledged that we should meet again. 
 
 I think of thy long sojourn in the land 
 Of strangers ; and of thy return, to stand 
 By the decree of thy Country and thy King. 
 One name to every English lip did spring, 
 One name was shouted by both Thegn and Ceorl ; 
 That name was Harold s Harold, England s Earl ! 
 j think on the love-consecrated knoll, 
 Deep in the forest glade, where love s control 
 Held in soft bonds your manly heart and mine, 
 And you confessed your love and called me thine. 
 And I was happy ; and my spirit yearned 
 
170 EDITH TO HAROLD. 
 
 For thee; and blushes maiden blushes burned 
 My cheeks, as, gazing on thy noble form, 
 I knew thy love, more resolute and warm, 
 Was still as pure as in those childish days, 
 When on your brow I placed the verdant bays, 
 Calling each one a Crown, and thee a King ! 
 Strange that such prophecies should ofttimes bring 
 Their own fulfilment ; and that time will make 
 The jests of lisping childhood oft partake 
 Of truthfulness. These sinless days have pass d 
 Oh ! that their sweetness could forever last ! 
 
 When war, like an avenging spirit, rose, 
 And thou pursuedst thy country s daring foes, 
 My soul was with thee. In thy adverse hour, 
 I felt as if heaven had given me the power 
 To rescue thee from danger : for I knew 
 By the sweet feelings understood by few 
 The blending of our spirits when the arm 
 Of the proud foe was o er thee. Not the charm 
 Devised by Hilda with such secret care, 
 Availed thee more than Edith s humble prayer. 
 It was the prayer of Love ; and Love is strong, 
 And triumphs, ev n as Right must conquer Wrong, 
 And Truth o erpower Falsehood. Not only then, 
 When in fair fight you met your fellow-men, 
 Did my prophetic soul the dangers see 
 As in a mirror which encompassed thee ; 
 But when thou wentest to the Norman s land, 
 
EDITH TO HAROLD. 171 
 
 I saw thy fleet endangered on the strand, 
 And prayed for thy release. In pain I wept, 
 When William, the ambitious Norman, kept 
 England s great hero at that pompous court 
 Against his will : and sought with Norman sport, 
 And glittering festivity, to find 
 Some hidden inlet to thy giant mind ; 
 Some secret entrance still unfortified 
 Against the fopperies of Norman pride. 
 
 But England s name was written on thy heart, 
 For England s fame you gently bore the smart, 
 And treasured up the insult in that soul 
 That never yet was swayed by man s control, 
 Nor artifice nor insult long could brook 
 From a deceitful foe. Yet one more look 
 Upon that Kingly brow, and on thy Queen, 
 Who sits where I thy Edith might have been, 
 Had heaven willed it so ; and I retire 
 For ever from the world, but to aspire 
 To an immortal heritage a throne, 
 Not so uncertain, Harold, as thine own. 
 Once in my humble cell, my prayers shall be 
 Employed in meek sincerity for thee. 
 
 Beloved Harold ! Joy of my heart s joy ! 
 Mainspring of my existence ! From a boy, 
 Sweet partner of my soul ! my bosom s lord ! 
 Here and in heaven my constancy s reward 
 Farewell ! But not forever be it said : 
 
172 SONG OF THE NEW TEAK. 
 
 Once more I ll meet thee, where the ransomed dead 
 Of this world win that immortality 
 Which such bright minds as thine, from error free, 
 Aspire to. One look more, and then farewell ! 
 Thou hast thy Throne, and Edith has her Cell ! 
 
 SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 I come, I come on untiring wing, 
 
 As swift as a ray of light; 
 From the far off realms of immensity, 
 
 I come to claim my right. 
 As the blushing Morn is newly born 
 
 From the depths of startled Night, 
 Even so do I, Phoenix-like, arise, 
 From the last faint breath the Old Year sighs. 
 
 I come, I come to rule o er a world 
 
 Of mingled Joy and Woe ; 
 The former alone t is mine to bring, 
 
 Of the latter ye ve had enow ! 
 Choose, then, ye millions of thinking souls; 
 
 Who wills it can bestow 
 A share of the joy that is needed here, 
 To banish the ills ye hold so dear. 
 
 Choose, choose, ye vessels of mighty thoughts 
 
 That are given from God to man ; 
 Would ye revel in black iniquity 
 
SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 173 
 
 Through life s uncertain span ! 
 Or lay before heaven those acts of love 
 
 That Angels are pleased to scan ? 
 Choose choose in that choice are the Future s 
 
 seeds, 
 I am here as a witness to all your deeds. 
 
 I know but little of earthly strife, 
 
 And less of earthly care, 
 But I must study the dark of life, 
 
 As well as the bright and fair, 
 Though I come of a mild, celestial race, 
 
 That has never known despair, 
 From a land where a million suns are known 
 To shed their light on our monarch s throne. 
 
 And much of that light travels down to earth ; 
 
 The Sun and the Moon on high, 
 And the Stars, from their silent watch-towers, 
 
 Spread it round through the tranquil sky ; 
 And the wings of Angels that come unseen, 
 
 But are ever hovering nigh, 
 Are evermore bringing, by day and night, 
 To the dwellers on earth, that celestial light. 
 
 I, too, on my mission of peace, bring down 
 
 The light of the living day, 
 To illume the path of earth s hopeless ones, 
 
 Who in evil have gone astray, 
 As well as to guide the steps of those 
 
174: SONG OF THE NEW TEAK. 
 
 Who are walking in wisdom s way ; 
 Oil ! spurn it not, nor quench its beams 
 In the evil that runs through earth s foul streams. 
 
 Like you, ye dwellers on earth s fair soil, 
 
 I, also, must sojourn here, 
 Till, having performed rny appointed task, 
 
 1 am winged to another sphere, 
 Where I will meet in the vast beyond 
 
 The ghosts of each by -gone year, 
 Where the waters of Time s unfathomed sea" 
 Roll on to the shores of Eternity. 
 
 And many who now are flushed with health, 
 Will I meet on that distant strand, 
 
 For well will 1 know my own fair flowers, 
 When they bloom in the spirit-land, 
 
 Where each glad year that has wandered here , 
 Is chief of the goodly band 
 
 That during his stay has been called away 
 
 To the realms that smile in endless day. 
 
 I come, I come on untiring wing, 
 
 As swift as a ray of light, 
 From the far off realms of immensity 
 
 I come to enforce my right. 
 Let there be Joy through the universe, 
 
 And let Sorrow feel its might, 
 For in Joy there is Wisdom, and Strength and 
 
 Love, 
 And Sorrow lives not in the realms above. 
 
SOUL, THOU AET LONELY. 175 
 
 SOUL, THOU ART LONELY. 
 
 Soul, thou rt lonely calm and lonely, 
 
 Lonely as the stricken deer, 
 Waiting for its lost companions 
 
 Slaughtered in the distant mere, 
 Sadness is thy earthly portion, 
 
 Sadness that beclouds the mind, 
 Scarce a single vestige leaving 
 
 Of God s glorious light behind. 
 Yes, my soul, thou rt sad and lonely. 
 
 Be thou to thy lot resigned. 
 
 Couldst thou but forget the moments, 
 
 Few in number, that have pass d 
 O er thee, like the light of evening, 
 
 Leaving all in gloom at last ; 
 Could some gently-rolling Lethe 
 
 Wash remembrance from the mind, 
 Blotting out the golden day-dreams 
 
 Those fond moments left behind ; 
 Then, my soul, how shouldst thou triumph ! 
 
 Then thou mightest be resigned. 
 
 But so long as memory looketh 
 
 With regret upon the past, 
 Feasting on the priceless treasures 
 
 Then, in brighter days, amassed, 
 Will the sweet remembrance foster 
 
 This drear loneliness of mind, 
 Though my best resolves should prompt thee, 
 
176 PEACE FOND SOUL. 
 
 Like true friends with counsel kind, 
 To shake off thy chains of bondage, 
 And be to thy lot resigned. 
 
 Yes, my soul, thou rt sad and lonely, 
 
 Lonely as the mateless dove, 
 When the cruel blasts of winter 
 
 Have deprived it of its love. 
 Could fond Hope resume its empire 
 
 Over my deserted mind, 
 And retouch the fading day-dream 
 
 Dim within my thoughts enshrined, 
 Then couldst thou shake off this sadness, 
 
 To thy future lot resigned. 
 
 PEACE, FOND SOUL. 
 
 Peace, fond soul, the restless fancies 
 
 Ever flitting o er my mind, 
 Must not mar thy weal eternal, 
 
 Must not strike thy Reason blind ! 
 Fortune still may frown upon thee, 
 
 Disappointment s sable wings 
 May, as ever, hover o er thee, 
 
 Shadowing all lovely things, 
 But do thou, my Soul, be pressing 
 
 Where no ills shall bid thee mourn, 
 Ever onward ever upward 
 
 Upward to thy certain bourne. 
 
PEACE, FOND SoCL. 177 
 
 What are all the earthly pastimes, 
 
 All the joys that thou couldst win, 
 In this world of joy and sorrow, 
 
 In this Pleasure-house of Sin 
 What are they the sweetest of them, 
 
 Likened to a moment s space 
 Of that clime where thou art hast ning, 
 
 Of that Treasure-house of Grace? 
 Like a single drop of water, 
 
 Falling in the ocean- wave, 
 Swallowed up and gone forever, 
 
 Buried in a boundless grave! 
 
 Ropes of sand ! they cannot bind thee, 
 
 Thou art strong, and should prevail ; 
 Mount, then, on Faith s golden pinions, 
 
 Gird thee on thy coat of mail, 
 Place the helmet on thy temples, 
 
 Take the sword in thy right hand, 
 Stand on Truth s eternal mountains, 
 
 Battling for the Holy Land ; 
 And no earthly ills will daunt thee, 
 
 No opponent bid thee quail, 
 For thy God will make thee victor, 
 
 Thou art strong, and shalt prevail. 
 
 But beware, in this thy conflict 
 With the world, its cares and pelf) 
 
 That thy zeal does not undo thee 
 Learn to conquer, first, thyself: 
 II 
 
178 MEBBY CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Then thou may st go forth and prosper, 
 
 Nerved with power from above, 
 Battling for thine own salvation, 
 
 With a Christian zeal and love ; 
 And, with humble firmness, shaking 
 
 Off the griefs that bade thee mourn, 
 Thou shalt reach the Eternal City, 
 
 Reach thine own eternal bourne. 
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS. 
 
 "Christmas, Merry Christmas!" 
 
 Cries the proud man at his board, 
 As he thinks upon his larder, 
 
 With the choicest dainties stored ; 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Grunts the gourmond by his side, 
 Till his sluggish soul is gladdened, 
 
 And his bosom swells with pride. 
 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas !" 
 
 Shouts the toper o er his glass ; 
 " Here s a health to Merry Christmas 
 
 Toast it quickly, ere it pass ! " 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Shouts his friend with drunken glee, 
 Though to him this Merry Christmas 
 
 Is a day of misery. 
 
MERRY CHRISTMAS. 179 
 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Growls the miser o er his gold, 
 As he counts the glowing treasures 
 
 For which happiness was sold. 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ? " 
 
 Whispers conscience in his ear, 
 And he thinks of happier moments, 
 
 And, perchance, he sheds a tear. 
 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Laughs the maiden in her mirth, 
 As she stands beside her mirror, 
 
 The most artless one on earth. 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Sings her lover, with a smile, 
 As he takes the kiss of welcome, 
 
 In the good old Christmas style. 
 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas ? " 
 
 Asks the beggar, as he goes 
 On his daily round of sorrow, 
 
 To rehearse his train of woes ; 
 " Christmas, Merry Christmas 1 " 
 
 Shrewdly asks his starving wife, 
 As mad hunger grasps her infant, 
 
 And assails its parent s life. 
 
 Yes, " Merry, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Shriek the sufPring in despair, 
 " Merry Christmas to the Wealthy, 
 
180 A PLEA FOR THE WOODS. 
 
 Strangers to both Want and Care ! " 
 " Yes, Merry, Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Cries the Rich Man at his door, 
 While weak voices shriek around him : 
 
 " Merry Christmas for the Poor ! " 
 
 Ye favored Sons of Affluence ! 
 
 With Health and Plenty bless d, 
 Think of the sick and suffering, 
 
 The needy and distressed ; 
 Turn not back, at this glad season, 
 
 The beggar from your door, 
 For an open hand can ease the heart, 
 
 And your charities insure 
 A blessing on your works, and bring 
 
 A Merry Christmas to the Poor. 
 
 A PLEA FOR THE WOODS. 
 
 To the woods ! to the woods ! where the flowers are 
 
 springing ; 
 
 Their flight through the forest the wild birds are winging ; 
 Come on, Child of Nature, who lovest the streams 
 That dance through this land of thy fanciful dreams, 
 Come, roam through the wildwood, fair creature ! with 
 
 me, 
 
 Where the Anthem of Nature is chanted for thee ; 
 Away to the Woods ! for fresh beauty we ll seek, 
 While the soft summer breezes lend health to thy cheek. 
 
A PLEA FOR THE WOODS. 181 
 
 To the Woods ! to the Woods ! there is life in the 
 breeze, , 
 
 That bears on its wings the sweet balm of the trees ; 
 There is health in the depths of the intricate wild 
 Of the dark, embrowned wilderness; off then, my child : 
 Gay Nymph of my Fancy ! away, sweet ! away ! 
 Indulge in thy pastimes, and health shall repay 
 The toil of thy journey, though far be thy flight ; 
 And return when thy bosom is warmed with delight. 
 
 There is health in the odor that comes from the soil 
 That is furrowed and ploughed by the husbandman s 
 
 toil; 
 
 There is health on the mountain, and health in the vale } 
 Where the breeze is not laden with sorrow and wail. 
 The Indian, who lives as his forefathers did, 
 In the thick-branching woods, where his wigwam is hid, 
 Knows nothing of trouble, or sickness, or care, 
 For the forest supplies him with life-giving air. 
 
 To the Woods ! to the Woods, then, nor scorn to be seen 
 With the Child of the Forest, whose dignified mien 
 Is that of a Chief, unrestricted and free 
 As the breezes that sweep o er a mid-summer sea. 
 Away to the Woods ! for the Goddess of Health 
 Stands inviting us thence, to partake of her wealth ; 
 Away, then, away, where no plodding knave broods 
 O er dark schemes of revenge to the Woods ! to the 
 Woods ! 
 
182 LITTLE LIBBY. 
 
 LITTLE LIBBY. 
 
 * 
 
 Child of the sunny brow ! mysteriously beautiful 
 
 Are those radiant eyes of thine, so full of hidden 
 
 meanings. 
 
 From their depths of blue enigmal voices speak 
 In language fraught with silent eloquence and love, 
 That cannot be interpreted. Dost thou live in the Ideal ? 
 Thou, so young in years that the mild dawn of infancy 
 Dwells yet upon thy rosy features. Dost thou dream 
 
 of worlds 
 
 Where spirits like thine own extremes of purity, 
 And models of young Innocence, do dwell 1 
 Or, are thy dreams of earth 1 child of the thoughtful eye, 
 Of earth, and all the wild realities 
 That throng our sinning, lovely world ? 
 Or wherefore gazest thou, as if the deep reflections 
 Of the happy spirits of the sunny skies 
 Were centred all in thee ? Mysterious are those eyes, 
 Brimful of unspoken mystery, and lovely as the stars ! 
 
 Child of serene beatitude ! 
 
 Almost thou claimest our idolatry. 
 
 Child of rny heart s unselfish love ! 
 
 Bright type of angelic simplicity 
 
 Sent hither from above ; 
 
 Earth holds nought lovelier than thee, 
 
 Child of the polished brow and laughing eye! 
 
 The glory of the Eternal rests upon thee ; 
 
LITTLE LIBBY. 
 
 183 
 
 Thou art spotless as heaven s azure sky, 
 And gentle as the dove. 
 
 Child of the thoughtful eye, the sunny, curl-kissed brow ! 
 
 Fair as an evening moonbeam is the soft sweetness 
 
 Of thy angelic features the truthful mirror that reflects 
 
 The celestial brightness of thy unerring soul, 
 
 Even as in the river s face the stars are nightly glassed. 
 
 Perfection seated on its loftiest eminence, 
 
 Where the transient beauty of this world wings not 
 
 Its daring flight, cannot compare with thee, 
 
 Or vie with the heavenly intellectuality 
 
 Of thy serene and faultlessly-moulded countenance. 
 
 Type of the truly beautiful ! 
 
 Figure of the truly happy and the pure ! 
 
 Fair and unsurpassable creation ! 
 
 Wast thou sent hither to endure 
 
 Such trials as may furrow that calm brow, 
 
 And bedim those lustrous eyes, 
 
 That surpass all bright things ? thou peerless one ! 
 
 Child of the early morning ! child of the sunny brow ! 
 On which the spirit s divine immortality 
 Forever sits ; scarce can I deem thee of this earth, 
 For God has given thee the likeness of an angel, 
 And left the unmistakable impress of a divine hand 
 Upon thee. Thou art softer than the holy radiance 
 Of the immortal stars, that love to look on thee, 
 Thou art so like to them in brightness, and thou seem st 
 To have enticed from the planetary fields 
 
184 LITTLE LIBBY. 
 
 Two of their most beautiful and lustrous ornaments. 
 
 Child of the blooming cheek 1 the marble brow ! 
 
 Thou wast surely born to love ; to learn love s various 
 
 teachings. 
 We admire thee when thou art rapt in wakeful 
 
 dreamings ; 
 
 We watch the eloquent expression of thy mild features; 
 And listen to the innocent prattle of thy fairy lips. 
 All these bespeak thee a child of love. Love supremely 
 
 reigns 
 
 In all thy looks, and in thy magic whisperings ; 
 A love that purifies and elevates the heart ; 
 Thy voice is delectable music, that stirs the inmost soul. 
 Would that thou wert not doomed to earthly sorrows ! 
 They are inseparable from love. They give the visions 
 Of the bright mind a tinge of gloom, and mar its soft 
 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Sorrow and Love, alas ! go hand in hand. They are 
 Twin issues of the one fate the one unrelenting destiny. 
 
 Child of the blooming cheek ! 
 
 Where young Love tends the delicate rose, 
 
 Sorrow and Love may both be thine 1 
 
 God keep thy gentle spirit meek, 
 
 Breathe on thee with breath divine, 
 
 And shield thee from Love s woes ! 
 
 Child of the rose-tinged cheek ! Child of the lily brow ! 
 Let the selfish Atheist approach, and gaze upon thy 
 beauty. 
 
LITTLE LIBBY. 185 
 
 Dare he deny that thou wilt live hereafter 1 
 
 Dare he deny that on thy Celestial countenance 
 
 Is stamped the impress of the soul s bright immortality 1 
 
 Will he not there trace the right hand of Omnipotence ? 
 
 The breathings of a Divine Creator visible in every 
 
 lineament 1 
 There speaks the undying soul ; there the spirit s throne 
 
 is erected ; 
 
 There the intent of our earthly pilgrimage may be read. 
 If such a proof as thou art do not impress his mind 
 With the full certainty of man s eternal destiny, 
 Let him begone from hence and herd among the brutes ! 
 Child of the placid brow ! child of the laughing lip ! 
 Child of the eloquent, thoughtful, dreamy eye ! 
 Child of the musing look the look of unchildish 
 
 earnestness, 
 
 Wherefore wast thou made so beautiful 1 
 The loveliest rose must fade ; the lily lose its whiteness, 
 And the mild eye of the blue violet must close in death ! 
 Thy brow will yet lose its polished, alabaster beauty ; 
 Thy cheek will blanch and wither beneath the breath of 
 
 time ; 
 
 Thine eye, where sits the God-like Spirit of Language, 
 Will become dim as the years pass o er thee in their 
 
 swiftness ; 
 Those golden curls will whiten and lose their velvet 
 
 softness ; 
 
 And thy dear form is doomed to moulder in the tomb. 
 Alas ! that beauty such as thine should come to this ! 
 II* 
 
186 THE YELLOW CURL. 
 
 Alas ! that thy light-bounding heart, whence springs thy 
 
 merry laughter, 
 
 Should wither in that gentle bosom and grow cold- 
 Cold as the pale snows in the bleak church-yard, 
 That cover the icy bosoms of the dead. 
 
 THE YELLOW CURL. 
 
 " I Bond you one of little Libby 8 curls. 11 Letter. 
 
 To others, valueless, 
 To me, a most inestimable prize, 
 
 That doth possess 
 
 True loveliness. 
 
 It speaks of childish joy, and manhood s sighs. 
 At quiet evening, when my work is done, 
 
 I love to look upon 
 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
 I look on it, and, lo ! 
 My better feelings quicken at the sight, 
 
 For well I know 
 
 How soft time s stream doth flow 
 Around thy path, dear, gentle child, and bright, 
 Whose graces, though in absence, I review, 
 
 And that fair head, where grew 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
THE YELLOW CUKL. "187 
 
 A rose-bud on a stream, 
 A twittering swallow first upon the wing, 
 
 A warm sunbeam : 
 
 Such, sweet one ! dost thou seem, 
 First floweret of the early budding spring, 
 That, mongst the many joys it brings to man, 
 
 Hath nothing fairer than 
 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
 A gift from Fairy land, 
 A gem from Beauty s casket, dearly prized, 
 
 A golden sand 
 
 From distant Ophir s strand ; 
 Lovelier than Earth s perfections harmonized : 
 Ev n so art thou, fair child, and such to me 
 
 Shall ever, ever be 
 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
 A lily in the wild, 
 A beauteous Thought amongst a Sea of Words, 
 
 A zephyr mild : 
 
 Such seem st thou, gifted child ; 
 A gentle lamb chosen from many herds ; 
 A vast idea, concentrated to 
 
 A point. Go ! let me view 
 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
 And I will hoard the gem, 
 Will keep the golden treasure as secure 
 As a rare diadem ; 
 
188 LET THEM BOAST AS THEY WILL. 
 
 Blossom from a graceful stem ; 
 I look on it, and know that thou art pure. 
 Thoughts crowd on thoughts, and fancies, strange 
 
 and new, 
 Love to do homage to 
 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
 I look on it, and all 
 The evil in my nature seems to die ; 
 
 One glance doth call 
 
 Forth peace, and disenthrall 
 
 My pent-up fancies. Mount, my thoughts, yon sky, 
 And there select some graceful cherub s face, 
 
 And faultless head, to grace 
 
 That Yellow Curl. 
 
 LET THEM BOAST AS THEY WILL. 
 
 Let them boast as they will of the world s giddy 
 
 pleasures, 
 I ve tried them, and found them both wanting and 
 
 vain; 
 And so will each Truth-seeking mortal, who measures 
 
 The good by the evil the joy by the pain. 
 Let him rove through the bowers where Love stands to 
 
 lure him, 
 
 Let him climb Pleasure s height till he vexes his brain, 
 And every step that he takes will assure him 
 That all gilded delights are both shallow and vain. 
 
LET THEM BOAST AS THEY WILL. 189 
 
 Let him sip from the cup where perdition is sowing 
 
 Her tares, that will poison youth s promising grain, 
 And while the red wine in the goblet is glowing, 
 
 He ll find that earth s pleasures are shallow and vain. 
 Let him mix in the w r altz, where, with beauty to lure 
 him, 
 
 He can revel in smiles till he gladdens his brain, 
 But the morning will dawn, both to vex and assure him 
 
 That all earthly pleasures are fleeting and vain. 
 
 Let him bow down to Fashion, an idol enslaving 
 
 The minds of her votaries, who dare not complain ; 
 Insatiate peevishly, sinfully craving 
 
 For pleasures, the vainest of all that are vain. 
 Let him feed upon dishes, whose savors allure him 
 
 To grasp at a pleasure that addles his brain, 
 Till nature, o ertaxed, groans aloud, to assure him 
 
 That the pleasure at best was both hurtful and vain. 
 
 But Pleasure is useful. It teacheth the wisest 
 
 That, from joys which are sweetest tis well to abstain. 
 While he who the lowliest lessons despisest, 
 
 Will learn to his cost that earth s pleasures are vain. 
 Thrice happy is he, who, when false pleasures allure him, 
 
 Repels the proud tempter with Christian disdain, 
 And calls on calm Reason, to haste and assure him 
 
 That Love, Truth, and Heaven, alone are not vain. 
 
190 LIMERICK CATHEDRAL BELLS. 
 
 LIMERICK CATHEDRAL BELLS. 
 
 A remarkable and touching story is connected with the " Limerick Ca 
 thedral Bells." They were originally brought from Italy, where they had 
 been manufactured by a young Italian, who devoted a long period of his 
 life to the accomplishment of his darling task. Ho afterwards lived for 
 many years in the vicinity of the convent for which they were purchased. 
 Civil war at length fell like a withering blight upon the land: the convent 
 was razed to the ground, and the betls removed. The Italian, broken 
 hearted, and no longer young, travelled over the greater part of Europe in 
 search of them ; until at length, having sailed for Ireland, and proceeded 
 up the Shannon, the vessel anchored off Limerick ; and as the small boat, in 
 which he was, approached the shore, from St. Mary s steeple came the 
 cheering music of his long-lost bells. The effect was too much for him : the 
 first peal smote him to the heart, and when they landed, ho was found not 
 only dead, but cold as marble. 
 
 In fair and sunny Italy, beneath its heavenly sky, 
 
 A young and stately Artisan on a mossy bank doth lie ; 
 
 A light spreads o er his features, and his darkly flashing 
 
 eye 
 Is it because his lovely wife and children all are nigh 1 
 
 No no but on his ear there falls, from a neighboring 
 
 convent tower, 
 The pleasant chime of vesper bells, that proclaim the 
 
 evening hour ; 
 And every morn, and every eve, for years it was his 
 
 pride 
 To listen to the blending of their tones at eventide. 
 
 For they were of his handicraft his ears first heard the 
 
 tone 
 That had become a part of him as those happy years had 
 
 flown : 
 
LIMERICK CATHEDRAL BELL?. 191 
 
 Each note had been a joy to him, to other hearts un 
 known, 
 
 He would not exchange their music for the honors of a 
 Throne. 
 
 But lo ! the brand of civil war is flaming o er the land 
 He sees his treasures borne away by the marauder s 
 
 hand; 
 And though old and silver-headed now, he leaves Italia s 
 
 plain, 
 And deigns to tread the wide world o er to hear their 
 
 sounds again. 
 
 Upon St. Mary s turret 
 
 An old man keeps his eye, 
 For there his long-lost idols, 
 
 His earthly treasures lie ; 
 The boat moves on serenely, 
 
 The happy shore is nigh, 
 Bathed in the softening radiance 
 
 Of a summer evening sky. 
 
 The old man sits reflecting, 
 
 Perchance on happier times, 
 When from the Italian convent 
 
 First pealed those silvery chimes 
 That on his ear, incessantly, 
 
 From youth to age did fall, 
 Soothing his ravished senses 
 
 With their heaven-ascending call, 
 
192 LOYEV GUIDING STAK. 
 
 For years he had not heard them, 
 
 For years he had not known 
 Save in his secret memory > 
 
 Their sweetly sounding tone ; 
 For in a foreign country, 
 
 While he had weary grown, 
 Strange ears drank in the melody 
 
 That once was all his own. 
 
 And now the aged wanderer 
 
 Nears the desired shore, 
 Fain would he clasp his treasures, 
 
 Fain hear their peals once more, 
 When, lo ! as if to welcome him, 
 
 Each with the other vied ; 
 He heard their silvery voices, 
 
 He heard their tones and died ! 
 
 LOVE S GUIDING STAR, 
 
 In happier hours, Love s star was beaming 
 
 About my path by day and night, 
 Ev n when my mind was wrapped in dreaming, 
 
 I felt the fervor of its light. 
 And when my soul was dark with sorrow, 
 
 Its brightness quenched in mental pain, 
 I looked with hope towards the morrow, 
 
 For I knew that star would shine again. 
 
193 
 
 But now, the hours are sad and dreary, 
 
 Love from my heavenward path is flown, 
 And Hope is crushed, and I am weary 
 
 In living for myself alone : 
 No guiding star to cheer me onward, 
 
 To wing my better thoughts to God, 
 But dark Despair impels me downward. 
 
 I see my grave beneath the sod ! 
 
 Oh ! is it to be thus forever ? 
 
 And must that guardian spirit s light 
 Illume my darkened footsteps never, 
 
 Or quicken this eternal night 1 
 Fool that I was ! to madly sever 
 
 That bright link in my being s chain 
 To quench that holy light for ever ! 
 
 For I cannot hope twill shine again ! 
 
 THE ANGEL S GIFT. 
 
 " Maiden of the sunny soul ! 
 
 Heaven build life s skies above thee, 
 Pure and bright 
 As her own light, 
 
 Faithful as the hearts that love thee ! 
 As the stars do shine upon 
 
 Earth s pure spirits while they re sleeping, 
 Filled with love 
 
194: 
 
 From heaven above, 
 Angels have thee in their keeping ! " 
 
 Thus a Minstrel-Poet sung, 
 
 O er a maiden s peaceful slumbers, 
 
 She slept on, 
 
 As sleeps the dawn, 
 
 Soothed by Morning s golden numbers. 
 But through all his harp strings swept 
 Airs, that mortal fingers never 
 
 Yet did fling 
 
 From dulcet string ! 
 Still the sounds came bounding ever. 
 
 Till a radiant Angel stood 
 
 With a glowing harp before him, 
 
 Hers the lyre 
 
 Whose Orphean fire 
 Trilled in burning numbers o er him. 
 " Have thy wish," the angel said, 
 
 " Heaven approves thy pure emotion ; 
 
 In thy care 
 
 I place the fair, 
 Guard her with thy heart s devotion." 
 
 Smiling like the blue-eyed dawn, 
 Waked the radiant-minded Maiden, 
 Blissful gleams 
 Had sunned her dreams, 
 Her blue eyes were beauty-laden. 
 
195 
 
 Leaped for joy her yearning heart, 
 At the vision bending o er her, 
 Well she knew 
 Her dreams were true, 
 Her Love s brave Knight knelt before her. 
 
 LOVE S SIGNET RING. 
 
 I stood and watched the wild CHAUDIERE,* 
 
 Its waters to the cauldron leaping, 
 When in my mind awoke the fair 
 
 Whose spirit in my heart was sleeping. 
 " Behold ! " I said, " how swift and strong 
 
 The current strikes the foaming basin ! 
 So in my heart, for thee, love s song 
 
 Hymns its eternal diapason. 
 
 " And as yon clouds of vapor roll 
 
 Above the seething foam to heaven, 
 So floats love s incense up my soul, 
 
 To God, for thee, at morn and even. 
 The iris, blushing far below 
 
 The bosom of the bounding river, 
 Is Love s bright Signet Ring, a bow 
 
 Of promise in life s sky forever !" 
 
 Sweet memories of that wild Chaudiere 
 Within my mind are gaily leaping ; 
 
 *Tbe magnificent Falls of the Chaudiere, Bytown now Ottawa. 
 
196 MAKY S TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 And in my thrice-bless d heart, that fair, 
 Beloved spirit, still is sleeping ; 
 
 And when dark clouds their shadows fling 
 Across life s swiftly bounding river, 
 
 I look upon Love s Signet Ring 
 The Bow is there I bless the Giver ! 
 
 MARY S TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 One of the Fourscore years, Mary, 
 
 Has passed like a dream away, 
 A dream of laughter and tears, Mary, 
 Like a showery summer s day, 
 With its rainbow bright, 
 In the warm twilight, 
 Fair pledge of a happier day, Mary, 
 God s pledge of a happier day. 
 
 Swiftly the seasons roll, Mary, 
 
 Like the waves o er a mighty sea, 
 Searching the depths of the soul, Mary, 
 With their power and mystery. 
 Every hour that flies, 
 Tells in distant skies 
 
 The words that it heard from thee, Mary, 
 The deeds that are done by thee. 
 
 See that the tale be pure, Mary, 
 That the Hours may have to tell ; 
 
LOVE S MORNING LARK. 197 
 
 Goodness and Truth, we are sure, Mary. 
 Heav n loveth exceeding well ; 
 And the beauteous mind 
 Where Truth is shrined, 
 Glows bright as a sunny dell, Mary, 
 Glows bright as a sunny dell. 
 
 More of the Fourscore years, Mary, 
 
 Must pass like the first away, 
 Each, as its turn appears, Mary, 
 May not be a summer s day ; 
 But Hope s rainbow bright, 
 With its smile, will light 
 The close of a happier day, Mary, 
 The dawn of Eternal Day. 
 
 LOVE S MORNING LARK. 
 
 The Lark mounts up to greet the dawn, 
 
 Midway between the earth and sky, 
 The glad morn yearns and smiles upon 
 The bright-winged spirit, whose song fills 
 The pulsing air with music rills, 
 Glad ning the Angels that pass by. 
 
 For never morn comes down to earth, 
 That is not borne on Angels wings ; 
 Music is of celestial birth, 
 And like the Lark, with voice of love, 
 
193 SONG THE BANNER OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Pure as God s light, it soars above, 
 
 When Woman from her full heart sings. 
 
 So, Maiden, thou shalt be the Lark, 
 And I, the long-expectant Morn ; 
 
 Bring back the lost Dove to its Ark, 
 
 And let my mateless heart be bless d, 
 
 My being in thy soul find rest, 
 And my new life be Music-born. 
 
 SONG THE BANNER OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 SONG FOR THE QUEERS BIRTHDAY 18 . 
 
 Raise high the broad Banner ! 
 
 Old England s broad banner ! 
 That waves its Red Cross over every sea ; 
 
 With hearts firm and loyal, 
 
 Cheer loud for the Royal 
 The famed Royal Standard, the Flag of the Free ! 
 And where its loved folds are triumphantly seen, 
 Let the rallying cry be : " GOD SAVE ENGLAND S 
 QUEEN !" 
 
 God prosper that Banner ! 
 
 That red Saxon Banner ! 
 Tis England s tis ours ; far away though we be 
 
 From that Isle of the Ocean, 
 
 Our heart s fond devotion 
 Is with her with England the Home of the Free ! 
 
SONG TUB HEROES OF THE ALMA. 199 
 
 That Flag makes the moments of Danger serene, 
 For it floats o er the Home of VICTORIA OUR QUEEN ! 
 
 Long flourish that Banner ! 
 
 That proud Saxon Banner ! 
 When Nations and Kingdoms go down to decay ; 
 
 May Peace aye surround it, 
 
 As Valor has crowned it, 
 
 When foemen unnumbered were smote with dismay. 
 Three cheers three times three for the time-honored 
 
 sheen 
 Of that Banner, the Flag of VICTORIA OUR QUEEN ! 
 
 Then up with the Banner ! 
 
 Our broad Red Cross Banner ! 
 The banner renowned by both Saxon and Gael ; 
 
 Brave Celts fought victorious, 
 
 On fields hot and glorious, 
 
 Beneath that broad Banner, on mountain and vale. 
 Let ALL gather round its loved, conquering screen, 
 With a true British cry for " VICTORIA OUR QUEEN !" 
 
 SONG THE HEROES OF THE ALMA. 
 
 The Heroes of the Alma ! 
 
 Right gallantly they fought ! 
 
 No flinching knave, 
 
 Or craven slave, 
 For coward quarter sought ! 
 
200 SONG THE HEROES OF THE ALMA. 
 
 But manfully, and zealously, 
 Each hero struck, that day, 
 As up the height 
 The arm of might 
 Impelled the strong array. 
 
 The heroes of the Alma ! 
 
 Intrepidly they stood, 
 As stood of old 
 Their Fathers bold, 
 
 On Cressy s field of blood. 
 Right manfully, and zealously, 
 
 They pressed the swerving foe 
 Not all his might 
 Could hold the height 
 
 Against so firm a blow. 
 
 The heroes of the Alma ! 
 
 Exultingly they trode ; 
 Though every breath 
 Was fraught with death, 
 
 Loud swelled the Battle-Ode. 
 Right manfully, and thrillingly, 
 
 Uprose the Victor-Psalm, 
 As on the height, 
 With arm of might, 
 
 The Allies grasped the palm. 
 
 The Heroes of the Alma ! 
 
 Well may their pagans flow : 
 
AN ALMA LYRIC. 201 
 
 For never yet 
 
 Was tyrant met 
 With more decisive blow ! 
 Right manfully, intrepidly, 
 
 Each Briton proved his might, 
 
 And every Gaul 
 
 Stood up a Saul, 
 Upon that groaning height. 
 
 Brave Heroes of the Alma ! 
 Each man a Victor-God ! 
 
 Your noble dead, 
 
 Who fought and bled, 
 Cry vengeance from the sod ! 
 Right manfully, and zealously, 
 Uphold your high renown, 
 
 And heav n will aid 
 
 Each righteous blade 
 To strike the Tyrant down ! 
 
 THE TWOFOLD VICTORY AN ALMA LYRIC. 
 
 By the famous Alina River 
 
 Knelt a Warrior, brave and young, 
 Through his veins ran Death s cold shiver, 
 
 On his lips his last breath hung ; 
 Far above him rolled the battle, 
 
 Downward rolled to Alma s wave, 
 Downward, through the crash and rattle, 
 
 Came the cheering of the brave. 
 
SONG OF THE BRITISH MARINER. 
 
 " Comrades," said he, rising slowly, 
 
 Kneeling on one bended knee, 
 " Comrades," said he, feebly, lowly, 
 
 " Is that cheer for Victory 1 " 
 Yes ! they fly ! the foe is flying ! " 
 
 " Comrades," said he, ardently, 
 " Cheer for me, for I am dying, 
 Cheer them on to Victory ! " 
 
 By that blood-encrimsoned River 
 
 Cheered they with a martial pride, 
 Death s last shaft had left its quiver, 
 
 And the Warrior, smiling, died. 
 Faintly his last cheer was given, 
 
 Feebly his last breath went free, 
 And his spirit passed to Heaven 
 
 On the wings of Victory ! 
 
 SONG OF THE BRITISH MARINER. 
 
 Launched once more on the ocean wave, 
 
 Where my careless boyhood found me ; 
 Free to roam where the wild winds rave, 
 
 And the billows roll, around me. 
 Oh ! there s joy on my restless home, 
 Joy for the daring seamen ! 
 Though landsmen shrink 
 When on danger s brink, 
 
SONG OF THE BRITISH MAEINEE. 203 
 
 Not the rocky shore, 
 Nor the breakers roar, 
 Can daunt old Ocean s Freemen. 
 
 Hearts as free as the winds that sweep 
 
 The breast of the trackless ocean, 
 Have the sons of the mighty deep, 
 
 When the gallant ship s in motion. 
 Toss d on waves that roll mountains high, 
 What cares the dauntless seaman ? 
 His heart beats warm, 
 Both in calm and storm, 
 For there s not a breeze 
 That sweeps the seas, 
 Can daunt old Ocean s Freemen ! 
 
 Long as the Red-Cross Banner flies 
 
 High over the heaving billow, 
 Will the tar tempt the fiercest skies 
 That frown on his restless pillow. 
 Long as Old England s Ensign waves 
 Over her dauntless seamen, 
 Not the midnight breeze 
 That sweeps the seas, 
 Nor the hostile shore, 
 Nor the battle s roar, 
 Can daunt her Ocean Freemen ! 
 
204 THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 It is not like the Spring-time, bright 
 
 With budding leaves and opening flowers, 
 
 But there s a glory in its light, 
 
 Softer than that which falls by night 
 Qn lovers bowers. 
 
 There is a mellow tint on every tree, 
 
 And nature s breath is sweet, and all is harmony. 
 
 It is not like the Summer time, 
 
 Enlivened by a brilliant sun, 
 It savors of a purer clime 
 Than Summer, in its earliest prime, 
 
 E er smiled upon. 
 
 There is a light serene on everything, 
 Half veiled, and blushing, like a Bride in Spring. 
 
 Thou com st in Autumn, when the trees 
 
 Have doffd their florid livery, 
 Ere Winter sweeps, with blighting breeze, 
 And fetters strong, to bind the seas 
 
 All hail to thee ! 
 
 To thee, whose subtle charms no pen can trace, 
 To whom the artist s skill imparts no flattering grace. 
 
THE BETRAYAL. 205 
 
 THE BETRAYAL. 
 
 Into the bower young Osmond came, 
 
 Into the bower where Annie was sleeping ; 
 Softly he whispers the maiden s name, 
 
 She awakes her eyes are moist with weeping. 
 Wherefore doth Annie sigh ? 
 
 What cruel pangs doth move her ? 
 Wherefore that tearful eye 1 
 Osmond does he not love her ? 
 Annie is poor and fair, 
 
 No paltry gems array her, 
 But she deigns to love the princely heir, 
 Though he comes but to betray her. 
 
 There is a magic in woman s tears, 
 
 Each glittering drop a charm possesses, 
 And Osmond trembles with guilty fears, 
 
 As the charming girl to his breast he presses. 
 Wherefore doth Annie smile ? 
 
 What sudden change doth move her ? 
 How woman s tears beguile ! 
 
 Young Osmond swears to love her ! 
 Annie is young and fair, 
 . Rich gems will soon array her, 
 She will shortly wed the princely heir, 
 Whose young heart would not betray her. 
 
 There is a Bridal at Osmond Hall, 
 
 And beautiful forms the revels are keeping, 
 
206 THE IMPATIENT LOVEK. 
 
 But Annie has wandered apart from all, 
 The Maid of the Bower again is weeping ! 
 "Why weeps the fair-one now ? 
 
 What hasty pledge is broken 1 
 Does she repent the vow 
 The solemn vow just spoken 1 
 No tis dear woman s plan, 
 
 Let joy or grief waylay her, 
 If she miss, or catch, some simple man, 
 Her tears will at once betray her ! 
 
 THE IMPATIENT LOVER. 
 
 Haste hither, my love, the river 
 
 Is tinged with the pale moonlight, 
 The leaves of the dark trees quiver, 
 
 And throb in the parting night. 
 Why linger, my love, why linger ? 
 
 Swift fly the hours away, 
 And soon will Aurora s finger 
 
 Point to the dawning day. 
 
 The Spirit of Morn doth hover 
 
 Above the horizon dark, 
 T is time that both Maid and Lover 
 
 Were safe in their waiting bark ; 
 Then hasten to meet me, dearest, 
 
 Why does my true-love stay 1 
 
THE GRAPE. 207 
 
 Oh ! haste, and your loved-one nearest, 
 We ll leave ere the dawn of day. 
 
 As the Spring-time awaits the Summer, 
 
 With longing I wait for thee ; 
 All graceful the gay new comer 
 
 Trips smilingly o er the lea ; 
 As Summer the Spring embraces, 
 
 So chide I thy long delay ; 
 Now we ll leave ere Aurora chases 
 
 The mists from the waking day. 
 
 THE GRAPE. 
 
 The Grape ! the Grape ! the lovely Grape ! 
 T is the staff of the idiot brave ; 
 
 It supports them where 
 
 The grim fiend Despair 
 Beckons on to an early grave. 
 Then, a joy to the Grape ! the lovely Grape ! 
 The staff of the truly brave ; 
 
 For its juice hath wrought 
 
 What the brave have bought 
 A right to the Drunkard s Grave. 
 
 The Grape ! the Grape ! the luscious Grape ! 
 How it glows in the sparkling bowl ! 
 How the ruby wine 
 From the tempting vine 
 
A THOUSAND FACES. 
 
 Doth gladden the Drunkard s soul ! 
 But a curse on the Grape ! the luscious Grape, 
 As it glows in the treacherous bowl ; 
 
 For a scorpion lurks 
 
 In its juice, and works 
 The Doom of the Drunkard s Soul. 
 
 A THOUSAND FACES. 
 
 A thousand faces, and not one like hers. 
 I looked upon them all. I looked, and felt 
 That every feature had its worshippers. 
 But there were none to whom my heart had knelt, 
 To offer its devotion ; none were there 
 That made me tremble, as the idol stirs 
 The feelings of its devotee ; no eyes 
 With their dark beauty, to inflame the soul, 
 And make it risk its portion in the skies, 
 One welcome look of their soft light to share. 
 Oh ! if the ransomed spirits, from their goal 
 In Paradise, did yearn to visit earth, 
 Enslaved by loveliest maids of mortal birth ; 
 If woman s eyes seduced them down from heaven, 
 Surely weak, erring man, may sometimes dare 
 To worship too, and hope to be forgiven ! 
 
THE PAST. 209 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 Erase it from my memory ! for, lo ! 
 As I look backward on the devious track, 
 Unhappy images are seen to pass, 
 Like the wild shapes in a Magician s glass. 
 Making the brain grow dizzy as they go 
 And come again, as if employed to rack 
 The human mind, and cause the tears to flow 
 From Life s own fountain. Yes, erase the Past ! 
 But, no ! not all for some green spots are there ; 
 Small, twinkling stars, out-peering through the gloom 
 Warm gleams of sunlight, which do sometimes cast 
 Their mellow tints within. These will entomb 
 Each sullen shadow in its secret lair, 
 And Hope may make the future prospect fair. 
 
 Yea ; let them rest ! I would not banish one 
 Stern recollection from its chosen cell. 
 Thick clouds may for a moment hide the sun, 
 But lessen not his glory ; even so, 
 We hold within us what of dark and bright 
 By our own wills have been implanted there. 
 And we can purge from the mind s crucible 
 The scum of Error that excludes the light 
 Of Truth. Experience teacheth us to know 
 That light and darkness moral day and night 
 Are incident to mortals here below. 
 Yes ; let me rather muse on errors past, 
 The silent monitors that bring us peace at last. 
 I* 
 
210 IMAGINATION. 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 Off through the world with the lightning s velocity, 
 
 Darting through space with electrical speed, 
 Loosed are the reins of thy impetuosity, 
 
 Roam where thou wilt, then, my beautiful steed. 
 Fleeter art thou than the fairest of Araby s 
 
 High-mettled, swift-footed steeds of the plain, 
 Perfect as theirs is thy beautiful symmetry, 
 
 Petulant, fanciful steed of my brain. 
 Regions more wild than the sun ever shone upon, 
 
 Cycles and worlds of unbounded delight, 
 Andes of Thought, towering grandly-majestical, 
 
 Reaching to heaven s indefinite height ; 
 Swiftly ascending some Alpine acclivity, 
 
 Plunging, unscathed, to the abyss below, 
 Thence to the fields where the sword of the conqueror 
 
 Reddens the soil with the blood of the foe ; 
 Mounting again on the breath of the hurricane, 
 
 Upward and onward, through tempest and storm ; 
 Thus, wheresoever abideth sublimity, 
 
 There shalt thou wander, thou beautiful form. 
 
 Maid of my soul ! though my thoughts were Ubiquitous, 
 Ranging unshackled through earth, air and sea, 
 
 Fancy were swayed in its wildest imaginings, 
 Evermore, evermore turning to THEE. 
 
 Breasting the ocean, high-heaving, tempestuous, 
 Down through its deepest and costliest cell, 
 
IMAGINATION. 2 1 1 
 
 Where the fair Nymphs in their crystalline palaces, 
 
 Where the bright Naiads harmoniously dwell. 
 Threading, unseen, its dark caves subterranean, 
 
 Glowing with coral, and gleaming with gems, 
 Forests of sea- weed, and groves, where the emerald 
 
 Lieth half hidden beneath the green stems. 
 Upward and off on some billowy mountain-top, 
 
 Heavenward borne where the thunderstorm sings, 
 Tracking the lightning, and finding its dwelling-place 
 
 Cradled to sleep on the proud eagle s wings. 
 Awed by the psalm of some deep-toned Niagara, 
 
 Scorched by the flashes from Etna s red flame, 
 Rising again in thy flight subitaneous, 
 
 Shouting aloud an ecstatic acclaim : 
 Thus my fond steed, with the lightning s velocity, 
 
 Dart st thou through space like the beam of a star, 
 Loosed are the reins of thy impetuosity, 
 
 Roam where thou wilt, with thy glittering car. 
 
 Maid of my soul ! though my thoughts were Ubiquitous, 
 
 Ranging forever unshackled and free, 
 Still would they turn in their highest imaginings, 
 
 Hurrying evermore downward to THEE. 
 
 Circling the Night, when Darkness is hovering 
 
 Over the world, like a spirit astray, 
 Thy presence illumines each dark-seeming labyrinth, 
 
 Shedding around it perpetual Day. 
 Making one moment a glowing millennium, 
 
212 THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. 
 
 Brimming with pleasures untasted and pure, 
 Crowding millenniums into moments of ecstacy, 
 
 Brief as the lightning s flash over the moor. 
 Upwards, through worlds that no mortal e er looked 
 upon, 
 
 Upwards, all gracefully, speedily on ; 
 Up through the stars with thy wondrous celerity, 
 
 Travelling restlessly up to the sun. 
 Sweeping across the deep void of the universe, 
 
 The ether thy robe, and a star for thy bark, 
 Backward to earth, to thy dwelling mysterious, 
 
 Gently, but swift, like the dove to its ark. 
 
 Maid of my soul ! though my thoughts were Ubiquitous, 
 Swift as the thunderbolt, deep as the sea, 
 
 Fancy were reined in its boldest imaginings, 
 Tremblingly, joyfully hast ning to THEE. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. 
 
 Gently wanders he 
 Where no human foot intrudes, 
 Joyously, 
 Fancy-free, 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 
 
 Singing through the trees, 
 Playing with the breeze, 
 Laughing at the seas 
 As they roll. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. 213 
 
 With sullen roar, 
 To the shore, 
 Rushing evermore 
 To their goal. 
 
 Softly wanders he 
 Where no human foot intrudes, 
 More fancy-free 
 Than the sea, 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 
 Up and down the hill, 
 By the leaping rill, 
 On towards the mill 
 
 In the vale ; 
 
 Upwards through the sky, 
 Where he seems to die, 
 Breathing forth a sigh 
 To the gale. 
 
 Quietly wanders he, 
 Through the deep solitudes ; 
 
 Who so free 
 
 There, as he, 
 
 The Spirit of the Woods ? 
 By the silent bower, 
 When the heavens lour, 
 Nestling in the flower, 
 
 Snug and warm ; 
 Darting out again 
 
214: THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. 
 
 O er the grassy plain, 
 With the merry rain 
 Through the storm. 
 
 Daringly wanders he 
 
 Where no human foot intrudes, 
 
 Recklessly, 
 
 Laughingly, 
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 
 Up the snowy steep, 
 To the topmost heap, 
 As the bleak winds sweep 
 
 Down its sides ; 
 From the rocky height, 
 Through the stormy night, 
 Laughing with delight, 
 Back he glides. 
 
 Recklessly wanders he 
 Where no human foot intrudes, 
 Dauntlessly, 
 Fancy-free, 
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 
 In the zephyr mild, 
 Watching o er the child, 
 Lost in the wild, 
 Lest it fear ; 
 In the lion s den, 
 In the marsh with the wren, 
 
LOVE S NEW ERA. 215 
 
 Through the dismal fen 
 With the deer. 
 
 Thus wanders he, eternally, 
 Where no human foot intrudes, 
 Playfully, 
 Fancy-free, 
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 
 Rambling everywhere, 
 Through the woodland air, 
 Distancing dull care, 
 
 As he flies : 
 Like him, eternally, 
 Pure thoughts wander free, 
 O ver earth and sea, 
 To the skies. 
 
 LOVE S NEW ERA. 
 
 There s a wild joy within my heart, 
 
 Hope s sunlight warms my brain, 
 And my thirsty soul drinks Gladness in, 
 
 As the earth drinks summer rain; 
 Flushed Health is leaping through my veins, 
 
 My blood is all aglow, 
 Each pulse has a loud and a stately beat, 
 
 And my thoughts are like the snow. 
 
 For Woman s Voice of Love hath burst 
 Like a meteor on my way, 
 
216 "FAITH. 
 
 And I live in smiles, like the Sun s bright Isles, 
 
 That bask in Eternal Day. 
 Life never came to me till now, 
 
 But pass d like a restless dream, 
 Where Love for evermore wandered by, 
 
 Like a rose upon a stream^ 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Faith is the Christian s Pisgah. Here he stands 
 Enthroned above the world ; and with the eye 
 Of full Belief looks through the smiling sky 
 Into the Future, where the Sacred Lands 
 Of Promise, though extending ev n beyond 
 His half-ubiquitous vision, are brought nigh, 
 And he beholds their beauty. Faith is strong ; 
 It is the giant arm that puts aside 
 The mountain-tops of Error. Tis the bond 
 Indissoluble, that unites man to 
 His God ; the trusty, Omnipresent Guide 
 That wings him with electric speed along 
 The intervening space that screens the view 
 Of that high heaven where the Sons of Faith abide. 
 
FKOM QUEEN8TON UEIGUTS. 217 
 
 FROM QUEENSTON HEIGHTS. 
 
 Eleven. Welcome to the Sabbath bells ! 
 A blessing and a welcome ! At this hour 
 One prays for me at home, two hundred miles 
 From where I lounge along the grassy knoll, 
 Far up upon this classic hill. The air 
 Ilatti a delicious feeling, as it breathes 
 Its autumn breath upon me ; air so calm, 
 One cannot feel the beat of Nature s pulse. 
 No, not a throb. The heav nly influences, 
 Hearing that maiden s prayer, lean down and move 
 My being with their answerings of love. 
 The myriad-tinted leaves have gravely paused 
 To listen to the spheral whisperings 
 The unvoiced harmonies that few can hear 
 Or feel, much less interpret faithfully ; 
 And the swift waters of the dizzy gorge, 
 Stunned with their recent plunge against the crags 
 That hide Niagara s iris-circled feet, 
 And lashed to very madness as they wound 
 Their circling way past rocks and fretted banks, 
 Melt into calm in the blue lake beyond, 
 As starlight melts into the distant sea. 
 
 Those ancient willows have a solemn droop ; 
 You scarce can see the dwelling they adorn: 
 Behind them rest the grain-denuded fields. 
 Here, to my left, an unpretending town ; 
 
218 FROM QUEENSTON HEIGHTS. 
 
 There, to my right, another ; like two friends, 
 Each thanking heaven for the Sabbath-pause, 
 And the brief respite from man s curse of toil. 
 The church bells pealing now and then a note, 
 Swell the bless d Paean with their silver tongues. 
 The very tombstones yonder, near the church, 
 Look whiter for the eloquent Repose. 
 
 A few short paces through the cedar trees, 
 Where the pert chipmunks chatter, and the birds 
 Select and melodize their sweetest notes, 
 And I have gained the level. Toward the lake, 
 The cloudlike points of land are seen 
 Blending with old Ontario, and the gorge 
 Hurries its whirling current past the banks 
 That glass their fair proportions in the stream. 
 
 Here is the Monument. Immortal BROCK, 
 Whose ashes lie beneath it, not more still 
 Than is the plain to-day. What have we gained, 
 But a mere breath of fame, for all the blood 
 That flowed profusely on this stirring field 1 
 T is true, a Victory ; through which we still 
 Fling forth the meteor banner to the breeze, 
 And have a blood-sealed claim upon the soil. 
 Twere better than Defeat, a thousand times. 
 And we have rightly learned to bless the name 
 Of the Old Land, whose courage won the day 
 We, the descendants of her Victor-sires. 
 But dearer than a hundred victories, 
 
FROM QUEENSTON HEIGHTS. 219 
 
 With their swift agony, the earnest Calm, 
 That, like a Blessing from the lips of God, 
 Rests on the classic plain, o er which my feet 
 Tread lightly, in remembrance of the dead 
 My Brothers all, Vanquished and Victors both. 
 And yet my heart leaps up, poor human heart ! 
 As I lean proudly, with a human pride, 
 Against this pillar to a great man s name. 
 Yet I would rather earn that maiden s prayer, 
 Than all the fame of the immortal dead. 
 
 There may be furrows still upon the field, 
 Ploughed up with the wild hurricane of war 
 On that eventful day. Here, certainly, 
 An angry missile grooved this honored rock. 
 Though nearly half a century has pass d, 
 The fissure still is here, and here the rust 
 Left by the iron messenger of death, 
 As it sped forward like an angry fate, 
 Sending, perhaps, ten human souls to hell. 
 
 There, there was pain. Here, where the wondrous skill 
 Of the mechanic, with this iron web 
 Has spanned the chasm, the pulse beats hopefully, 
 And thoughts of peace sit dove-like in the mind. 
 Heav n bridge these people s hearts, and make them one! 
 
220 FANNY. 
 
 FANNY. 
 
 Silence knelt praying in the room, 
 And timid forms on tiptoe walked, 
 And timorous voices lowly talked, 
 Like whisperings passing through the gloom. 
 The world was lulled to sleep ; 
 The stars looked down upon the deep, 
 Gravely and chill ; and the flesh did creep ; 
 The cold winds bleached the tint from off the rose. 
 
 Life s taper burned into the dust, 
 Pale-flickering for a solemn while, 
 Life s Angel, pausing with a smile, 
 Re-lit it with Eternal Trust ! 
 
 Warm hearts were filled with pain ; 
 Like flowers drenched by a wintry rain, 
 Though they hear not the bleak winds complain, 
 The wretched weight strikes deeper than the blast. 
 
 Grief robbed each feature of its glow, 
 The weary watchers watched no more, 
 For death stood sentinel at the door, 
 And filled each entering heart with woe. 
 The corse is white and cold, 
 Like winter on the frozen wold ; 
 The grievers gaze with a grief untold, 
 But with a certain hope that ends in heaven. 
 
 The dismal coffin and the shroud ! 
 
 The mourners with their half-sealed lips ! 
 
FANNY. 
 
 A little while, and death s eclipse 
 Will vanish from that silent crowd. 
 Remembrance wakes and weeps 
 In a few hearts ; life s action sweeps 
 Over the many, whose unstirred deeps 
 Harbor that human thing Indifference. 
 
 Along the straight and dusty road, 
 
 And through the shadowy grove of pines, 
 The long procession moves and twines ; 
 And down into her dim abode 
 The Mother and the Wife 
 Is lowered, gently as her life 
 Was gentle, ever through the strife 
 Of the harsh world, a patient-minded soul. 
 
 How like a curse it seems, to see 
 The summer flowers bloom and die ; 
 How like a tenfold curse, to sigh 
 When death removes triumphantly 
 A human form from earth ! 
 In kindness is the arm stretched forth, 
 What seemeth Death is a Victor-Birth, 
 The unsealing of God s hjdden mysteries. 
 
 221 
 
222 LAMENT OF SHINGWAKONCK. 
 
 LAMENT OF SHINGWAKONCE. 
 
 In the year 1849 some difficulty occurred between the Provincial Govern 
 ment, and the Indians on Lake Superior, in consequence of the sale of the 
 lands in that region, to a certain Mining Company, by which the Indians 
 were most unfairly dealt with, and almost driven from the occupation of 
 lands to which they had the strongest possible claim. The chiefs of the Chip- 
 pewas, headed by Shingwakonce, despatched a very strong remonstrance to 
 the Government, in view of which these lines were written. They do not 
 however, contain a particle of the address, but grew out of the occasion, as 
 it were. 
 
 I. 
 
 Where are the Hunting Grounds, 
 
 O er which we chased 
 The wild deer and buffalo ? 
 
 All laid waste ! 
 By the White Man made desolate, 
 
 Where shall we go 
 To hunt down the bison, 
 
 Or the wild roe ? 
 Away from the sacred mounds, 
 
 To the far west, 
 From the graves of our fathers, 
 
 We travel, oppress d. 
 Back, back to the desert, 
 
 Where the Pale Face has never 
 Set the print of his footsteps : 
 
 Thus shall it be ever ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Far from the tangled brakes, 
 Far from the sunny lakes, 
 
LAMENT OF SUING WAKONCE. 223 
 
 Where the Red Man s rifle wakes 
 
 The wild bird at morn ; 
 Far from our chosen home, 
 Friendless, unfed, we roam, 
 
 Hungered forlorn ! 
 
 Far from the lands 
 Which the Great Spirit gave us, 
 
 Driven by hands 
 
 That should stretch out to save us ; 
 Far from our Wigwams rude, 
 To the deep solitude 
 Of the untrodden wood, 
 
 Evermore driven! 
 
 Hear it Oh! Heaven! 
 
 Witness, ye Sun", 
 
 That lights us at noon, 
 
 And thou, restless Moon ; 
 Ye witnesses all 
 
 Of the Great Unseen Spirit, 
 When shall the Red Man 
 
 His lost rights inherit ? 
 Shall he be driven thus, 
 
 Backward, forever ? 
 
 Never Oh! never! 
 
 in. 
 Why, then, do we suffer 
 
 The wrongs that surround us 7 
 Why this barefaced injustice 
 
224 LAMENT OF SITINGWAKONCE. 
 
 Submit to for aye 1 
 Why 1 Because we believed them, 
 
 When they promised to own us 
 For Friends and for Brothers 
 For such they have found us 
 
 In battle and fray. 
 
 But, alas ! for the day 
 When we kindly received them f 
 
 Alas ! for the day 
 When our weapons retrieved them 
 T From destruction and danger; 
 
 From threatening foes, 
 Who harassed their ranks, 
 
 Till the Red Man arose ! 
 
 A curse on the day ! 
 If this be their boasted 
 
 Support and protection : 
 To suffer marauding bands 
 
 To hold in subjection 
 Our hard-fought-for lands 
 Bands of Long Knives, who never 
 
 Befriended, or served us, 
 But who would have scattered, 
 
 Destroyed us unnerved us, 
 
 At once and forever ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ! for the time, when we 
 Could dot the stormy sea 
 
LAMENT OF SUING WAKONCE. 225 
 
 With our birchen fleet ! 
 Then we were strong and proud, 
 With a nation s strength endowed ; 
 Then we roved the prairie vast, 
 Thinking it would ever last ; 
 Then we were united all, 
 Mustering at the Great Chiefs call ; 
 
 Then we had the feet 
 Of the bounding antelope, 
 Full of buoyant life and hope ; 
 Then we were determined, 
 
 As brave men should be ; 
 As the oaks we stood firmly, 
 
 As the winds we were free ; 
 We had food in abundance, 
 
 And fish from the sea ; 
 We warred not for others, 
 
 Of woes, we had none, 
 And we rested securely 
 
 When our hunting was done. 
 
 Y. 
 
 But the Pale Faces saw us, 
 
 They envied the lot 
 Of the Sons of the Forest, 
 
 Who doubted them not ; 
 They came with professions 
 
 Of kindness and love, 
 And the Red Men believed 
 
 J 
 
LAMENT OF SHINGWAKONCE. 
 
 They were sent from above ; 
 They came to despoil us 
 
 Of every right 
 Which we long had enjoyed, 
 
 Came, disputing our might ; 
 They came to divide us, 
 
 They sought to enslave 
 A race, that, when injured, 
 
 Could learn to be brave ! 
 We fought we were victors, 
 
 But more Pale Faces came, 
 And murdered our Nations 
 
 With thunder and flame ; 
 We fought we were scattered 
 
 Abroad through the land, 
 To seek a new shelter 
 
 On some distant strand. 
 
 VI. 
 
 More Pale Faces came, 
 
 From a far-foreign isle, 
 They came not to waste us, 
 
 Came not to revile ; 
 But by their broad banner, 
 
 The Red Cross they bore, 
 They vowed to protect us 
 
 What could they do more ? 
 Their battles we fought, 
 
 When the Long Knives oppress d them, 
 
LAMENT OF SUING WAKONOE. 227 
 
 Their battles we won, 
 
 When the Great Spirit bless d them ; 
 Our rights^they respected, 
 
 As brothers we shared 
 The bountiful country, 
 
 With faith unimpaired. 
 For this we have loved them, 
 
 For this we have stood 
 Battling danger and death, 
 
 Both by land and by flood ; 
 For this, when the terrible 
 
 War-cry uprose, 
 Did we bare our breasts 
 
 To the stroke of their foes ! 
 
 vn. 
 
 And shall they who have owned us 
 
 For brothers so long 
 Shall they break their promise ? 
 
 Shall they do us wrong ? 
 No! by that sacred Banner 
 
 We looked on of yore, 
 When our friendly White Brothers 
 
 First stood on our shore; 
 By the faith we then pledged, 
 
 By their prowess and might ! 
 We know they are willing 
 
 To serve us aright. 
 Why, then, do they barter 
 
228 LAMENT OF SHINGWAKONCE. 
 
 Our rich lands away 
 To the Long Knives, who hate us, 
 
 As thieves hate the day ? 
 Why suffer us backward 
 
 By our foes to be driven ? 
 The wrong calls for mercy, 
 
 For justice from heaven ! 
 
 vin. 
 
 Rise, then, my Red Brothers ! 
 
 Speak aloud for your own, 
 For the Right has a voice, 
 
 Like the thunder s loud tone ; 
 Rise, not in deep anger, 
 
 But firmly demand 
 That your White Brothers purchase 
 
 Their right to our land : 
 Then, though we must wander 
 
 Through forests unknown, 
 T were better than famish 
 
 On lands not our own. 
 Rise ! Sons of Tecumseh ! 
 
 Ojibwas, arise ! 
 Let the voice of the Mohawks 
 
 Ascend to the skies ! 
 Rise ! tell our Great Father 
 
 The wrongs we sustain, 
 And He, who loves Justice, 
 
 Will heal them again. 
 
LAMENT OF SHINGWAKONCE. 229 
 
 IX. 
 
 Where are our mighty Chiefs, 
 
 Whose deeds of war 
 Spread from this fertile land 
 
 To climes afar ? 
 Where are our stalwart sons, 
 
 Onr nations strong, 
 Who in our memories live, 
 
 And in the White Man s song ? 
 Spread like the autumn leaves 
 
 Before the blast 
 Of the cold winds of winter 
 
 Their day has pass d ! 
 Behold ! how few survive 
 
 Of that countless host 
 Of brave and stern-faced warriors 
 
 We once could boast ! 
 Some perished by the White Man s hand, 
 
 In mortal strife, 
 When the war whoop rose and fell 
 
 With each chieftain s life ! 
 Others, in peace were borne 
 
 To the blest Hunting Grounds, 
 Whese the Red Men s spirits live, 
 
 Where the war cry never sounds. 
 
 x. 
 
 Come, then, my brothers few, 
 Let us depart. 
 
230 LAMENT OF SHINGWAKONCE. 
 
 Though we leave the wilds we love, 
 
 With a heavy heart. 
 There are lands where the White Man s feet 
 
 May never press, 
 Where the wild fowl still abound 
 
 In the deep wilderness ; 
 There are rivers wide, 
 
 Where the birch canoe, 
 As of old, can glide 
 
 O er the waters blue ; 
 There are forests deep, 
 
 Where the deer are found, 
 There are lands untrod 
 
 These are Freedom s ground, 
 Where we can live, till the Great Spirit calls 
 
 The last of our tribes away, 
 
 To hunt from day to day, 
 
 From year to happier year, 
 In the blest Hunting Grounds 
 
 Which the Red Men revere ; 
 There to live evermore, 
 
 Where death shall not sever 
 The loved from the loving, 
 
 Through ages, whose vistas 
 
 Stretch onward forever, 
 
 Where the White Man s unholy oppression shall cease, 
 And strife be unknown in those regions of Peace. 
 
ABSENCE. 231 
 
 ABSENCE. 
 
 Oh ! this continued absence from thy side ! 
 When will it cease 1 When will this lonely heart 
 Know thy companionship ? When will thy breast 
 Pillow this aching head, and set at rest 
 The crowds of tantalizing fantasies 
 That throng my brain 1 Stern edict ! to divide 
 The worshipper from his idol, or to part 
 The olive and the vine in their embrace ! 
 Ev n as the heavens are mirrored in the seas, 
 So in my mind reflected is thy face : 
 I look into its depths, and there I trace 
 Thy image unmistakably impressed 
 Love s true daguerreotype. But even there 
 Thou art not yet thou art I joy, and I despair. 
 
 FESTUS. 
 
 Not strictly orthodox ; but brimming full 
 
 Of the divinest meanings good intents. 
 
 Thoughts flash like starbeams through it, which if sown 
 
 In man s concentral heart, will overrule 
 
 The earthliness of his nature ; make him one 
 
 With God and Heaven; and the elements 
 
 Of his degenerate manhood purify ; 
 
 As gold by fire, or sin by God s free-will. 
 
 Read, mark and learn. Extract hercfrom the pearls, 
 
232 SONNET. 
 
 And leave the dross untouched. Up through Infinity, 
 And down through Hell, alike, behold the skill 
 Of the bright mind that planned the genial tale. 
 With him visit the infinitude of worlds, 
 Like him, in all thy acts let Love and Truth prevail. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Dark-eyed one ! when I first beheld thy face, 
 My soul was gladdened. Many years I d sought 
 A living semblance to the bright Ideal 
 Imagination drew. It was not all unreal, 
 That pleasing dream, nor was it all a vision ; 
 For looking on thee now, my mind can trace 
 A faultless likeness tween that form and thee. 
 In my prophetic dreainings I had caught 
 The true impression. Angelo or Titian 
 Could not have wrought a happier imagery ; 
 And less enduring Theirs will end with Time ; 
 But mine what human skill ! what art sublime ! 
 Will live forever ! theirs will cease to be, 
 While mine, in thee, will live to all eternity. 
 
THE TRIO. 233 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 A gentle messenger is Hope ; a trusty friend, 
 That finds in every breast a welcome home. 
 Room for the Angel ! let her radiant wings 
 Surround me evermore. The syren flings 
 Her magic mantle o er me, and I roam 
 Through sunny realms that seemeth without end. 
 Onward and upward on Hope s rosy pinions 
 My thoughts are borne. What visions can transcend 
 The wondrous view of these her fair dominions, 
 Extending everywhere ! Above below, 
 Where er she smiles, the landscape wears a glow 
 Of calm serenity. Her skill doth blend 
 Heaven s hues with those of earth. Weak and undone 
 Were man, without this gift of the Eternal One. 
 
 THE TRIO. 
 
 It was a summer s eve, on which I first 
 Beheld thee. As I looked into thine eyes, 
 And saw them flashing with the consciousness 
 Of their attractive power, the Love God 
 Spread his wings o er me. From that hour I nursed 
 A pleasing form that to my bosom flew, 
 Seeking admittance. Not till then I knew 
 That Love and Hope were friends. Could I despise 
 The teachings of the rosy twain ? Not less 
 Welcome was Love s companion than himself, 
 3* 
 
234 THE ONE IDEA. 
 
 How kind was Hope ! But Love deceitful elf! 
 Called Sorrow in, who with his heavy rod 
 Chastised me. There the three remain : 
 Hope soothes when Love or Sorrow brings me pain. 
 
 THE ONE IDEA. 
 
 Oh ! how it burns the brain, and tramples down 
 All other thoughts that struggle to be freed 
 From their imprisonment, driving them back 
 With its stern mandate, or its sterner frown ; 
 And ruling from its heaven-exalted throne 
 The meaner serfs that form the motley herd ! 
 In vain do they attempt to intercede 
 Presuming slaves, that cross their monarch s track 
 Death to them all ! The menial tribes have stirred 
 The anger of their king. Degenerate pack ! 
 Cringe kneel before this giant of the mind, 
 This reigning thought, which liveth there enshrined ! 
 Thoughts that did once at my mere bidding move, 
 Are now the vassals of the tyrant LOVE ! , 
 
PEACE. 235 
 
 UNCURBED PASSION. 
 
 A human Niagara, plunging from the height 
 Of vain presumption to the sea of wrath 
 Below. An Alpine avalanche, in its might, 
 Strewing the giddy traveller s upward path 
 With devastation ; whirling him adown 
 Into the steep abyss. The unchained bolt 
 Of sin s dread electricity. The revolt 
 Of judgment. Agent of the arch-traitor s frown. 
 The midnight tempest on a stormy sea. 
 Reason s eclipse. The Mephistophiles 
 That points the murderer s weapon : Like to these, 
 And in its headlong fury ever thus, 
 Is Passion unrestrained : The simoom s breath 
 The entrance to the whirlpool, and to death. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 The Plague of War is stayed. 
 God s brightest Angel has stretched forth his hand, 
 And like a blessed light, from land to land 
 
 Glides Peace, the mild-eyed maid. 
 
 From th sunny realm of France, 
 To England, chosen Mistress of the Sea, 
 O er Russia s Northern Steppes, she moves, to free 
 
 War s satyrs from their dance. 
 
.rax 
 
 236 PEACE. 
 
 With voices jubilant, 
 
 And trembling lips, that burn with earnest. 
 A million whispers, rising through tho air, 
 
 Storm heaven with a chant 
 
 Of joy and thankfulness. 
 And human life is sacred, now, once morn : 
 The fame of Inkerman, of Alma s shore, 
 
 Of Balaklava s wild excess, 
 
 SufFiceth us at last. 
 
 War with its brazen tongue! Peace with its smil< 
 Peace shedding halos over Briton s isle, 
 
 War slumbering with the past. 
 
 How long ? a single breath 
 May rouse the monster from his lair to-morrow, 
 And he allied with us in joy and sorrow, 
 
 Strew England s shores with death. 
 
 " In peace prepare for war." 
 Time-honored maxim of an honored chief ; 
 The gallic eagle s slumbers may be brief; 
 
 Let England s hearths beware. 
 
BKRTllAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A picturesque Valley. A range of Mountains in the 
 back-ground. Cascade, falling into a loaveless Lake 
 at the base of the Cliff. Time, Evening. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 This is a lonely place. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Call it not lonely; 
 
 Say, rather, that the God of Nature hath 
 Peopled these wilds with spiritual forms, 
 With which the man of an exalted mind 
 Can hold sweet converse in his studious hours. 
 Survey these hills ! mark the immensity, 
 The wild sublimity, of those high mountains, 
 That with their purple summits pierce the skies, 
 Ev n to the heavens above them, till they seem 
 Divested of their earthly coloring, 
 And clothed with an ethereal loveliness, 
 Soft as the drapery of the twilight robe 
 Thrown o er the shoulders of voluptuous eve. 
 Behold the cataract, panting with alarm, 
 Leaping with frantic bound from rock to rock, 
 As leaps the lama o er Peruvian hills. 
 
240 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 When at its heels the mountain-hunter comes, 
 
 His quiver filled with death. Struggling with fate. 
 
 The tortured waters pause upon the verge 
 
 Of yonder rock, then spring into the gulf, 
 
 Rejoicing at the bound, as, all adorned 
 
 With gold-bedrizzled locks, the stricken flood 
 
 Shakes its white mane, and speeds adown the stream, 
 
 Like to an expert swimmer, hale and young, 
 
 Stunning the billows with his manly limbs. 
 
 See how the Iris blushes at its feet, 
 
 Enveloped in the w r hite arms of the spray. 
 
 Through which, ghost-like, its delicate pulse is seen 
 
 To throb responsive to the heaving breast 
 
 Of the pale vapour spirit, in whose arms 
 
 It lies, all blushes, like a timid maid 
 
 Enfolded in her lover s chaste embrace. 
 
 The trees that nod upon the piney height ; 
 
 The humble shrubbery that men pass by 
 
 Unnoticed ; the soft moss that grows upon 
 
 The flinty granite ; the pale, meek-eyed flower. 
 
 Half hidden by the rank, luxuriant weeds, 
 
 Like full-blown Innocence in a world of Sin ; 
 
 The unformed buds ; the golden-veined leaves 
 
 That strew the brown soil of the autumn woods ; 
 
 The birds that nestle closely in the grass, 
 
 Or chirrup forth a note for every beat 
 
 Of their impulsive, overflowing hearts ; 
 
 Do each and all possess a powerful claim 
 
 Upon the sober mind. 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 241 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Give me the town, 
 
 Old man ; its gay delights are more to me 
 Than all the paltry beauties of this place, 
 Which thou so much admirest. I would die 
 If I were banished to a place like this, 
 So lonely that my very nature shrinks 
 Within me at the thought of being here. 
 For thee, it may have charms enough to please 
 A spirit like to thine, bowed down with age ; 
 To me, the prospect is most terrible; 
 Tis lonely as a world without one s fellows 
 Can be. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Young man, thou dost not know the peace 
 That falls upon the spirit in these wilds, 
 Like gentle dew upon the parched leaf. 
 Learn to aspire to God ; clutch at the stars ; 
 Give thy ambition wings; from world to world 
 Mount bravely upwards, until, like the lark, 
 Thou disappearest in the infinity 
 That ends in heaven. Make the stars thy friends- 
 Soar to their brilliant homes on wings of thought, 
 Or mould them to thy will upon the earth, 
 By careful study ; like the falcon, mount, 
 And strike the quarry in the circling air, 
 Though it quadruple thee in magnitude. 
 Then wilt thou feel the noble aspirations 
 Which I nai yearning for ; then wilt thou pause. 
 
24:2 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 Ere thy sense give permission to thy tongue 
 To say this place is lonely. None dread more 
 Than I the thought of utter loneliness ; 
 It is a treacherous cankerworm that feeds 
 Upon the flowery garden of the mind, 
 And leaves it seared and blighted ; has its home 
 In the dark cell of the lean anchorite, 
 Who for some crime would torture his poor body 
 To purge his soul. But to be lonely here, 
 Where every breeze that passeth by interprets 
 God s everlasting, all-pervading truths 
 Unto our inmost souls ; where we can feast 
 Our hungry mind s eye on the rich repast 
 Which the wild wilderness contains ; is to 
 Be blind insensible to all the beauty 
 Which nature hath in vast profusion strewn, 
 With an unsparing hand, about our path. 
 Give me the place where I can hold communion 
 With Nature and with Nature s God ; where I 
 Can analyze the secrets of my mind, 
 And pluck therefrom the rank, luxuriant weeds, 
 Which from my birth have been implanted there, 
 And sow some healthy seedlings in their stead, 
 From which will spring a ripe ambrosial fruit 
 That angels might partake of. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Singular mortal ! 
 
 Why ! I would rather tread the pleasing halls 
 Where such light-hearted fellows as myself 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 243 
 
 Had learned to kill the pleasure-winged hours 
 
 With dance and song, than listen to the ravings 
 
 Of an enthusiast. I d rather be 
 
 A playful kid a kitten a young widow, 
 
 Be anything that trips it joyously 
 
 Over the many ups and downs of life, 
 
 Than an ascetic mortal like to thee. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Yet all of these which thou hast named, are prone 
 To aspire to certain ends : The kid will climb 
 The steepest rocks, and mid the grandest scenes 
 Of nature live, forgetful of its fellows ; 
 The kitten, sporting by its mother s side, 
 Will leave her to ascend the tottering pole, 
 While tabby purs below, and gravely scans 
 Th ambitious feats of her young progeny ; 
 The gay young widow wears a pleasing face, 
 And aims at winning a becoming mate, 
 To ease her poignant sorrow. But for thee, 
 Thou dost aspire to nothing ! hast no aim, 
 But that of being pleased with endless dances 
 The ball room is the goal of thy ambition ! 
 This is trifling too much with thy existence. 
 In early youth I shared in all the joys 
 Which thou hast named, but took no real pleasure 
 In them. Ever before my eyes there stood 
 The ladder of my thoughts, where angels came 
 And went, like the Aurora in the North, 
 And by whose aid I had resolved to climb 
 
2 BERTRAM AND LOREKZO. 
 
 To something greater than I yet had been, 
 
 And step by step to struggle to the top, 
 
 Or tumble headlong from the wild ascent. 
 
 I d many lofty thoughts, but one there was, 
 
 Like snow-crowned Jura mongst his subject Alps, 
 
 Catching the sun s first rays ; the moon and stars 
 
 Sent down their silver-plumed messengers, 
 
 Whose smiles did keep it in perpetual light, 
 
 While all else lay in twilight : one great thought, 
 
 A kingly oak within a field of shrubs. 
 
 If thou wouldst be a Teacher, school thyself; 
 
 The Mind of Man is as a crucible 
 
 Which the Great Giver fills with golden Thought, 
 
 Tis Human Nature which supplies the dross ; 
 
 But the same nature with that aid divine 
 
 Which all must seek who would live nigh to God, 
 
 Is a most subtle Alchymist, whose skill 
 
 Turns Error s dross to Truth s refined gold. 
 
 Seek Truth in time. The well is deep, my friend. 
 
 See that she pass thee not upon the way. 
 
 Man never sought for Truth and found her not. 
 
 The diver may not seize the largest pearl 
 
 At the first dip, nor yet in many years, 
 
 But every hair of his devoted head 
 
 Flings back a pearl into the deep again. 
 
 As full of beauty as the one he sought, 
 
 While he, all resolute, re-seeks the gem. 
 
 In searching for the one great Truth, beware 
 
 Lest thou reject the lesser truths which heaven 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 245 
 
 Profusely scatters in thy daily path. 
 
 I d rather mould one burning Star of Thought, 
 
 Whose light would centre in some darkened mind, 
 
 Make some lone heart a peopled universe, 
 
 Lit by the smile of God s im measured love, 
 
 Than sway the sceptres of an hundred thrones, 
 
 Or boast the wealth of Croesus ten times told. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Old man ! Your words, like sparks from stubborn flint, 
 
 Descend in brilliant showers on my brain, 
 
 Which like the earnest tinder cannot fail 
 
 To catch therefrom some gleams of inspiration, 
 
 Almost unwillingly. Already do 
 
 I wander in my purpose, to begone 
 
 To the ephemera] sports that make my life 
 
 One round of giddy pleasure. Did I stay, 
 
 I might forget the utter loneliness 
 
 Of the place, while confounded by thy speech ; 
 
 I must away at once. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Not yet awhile. 
 
 I ve a surprise in store for thee, if thou 
 Canst bear it. I would fain convince thee, friend, 
 That God sits throned upon these lofty wilds, 
 AM prove to thy half-unbelieving mind 
 That the still voice of august nature speaks 
 Audibly and incessantly to man. 
 Let s to the mountains. 
 
246 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Well ; to please thee, yes. 
 
 Age has its whims, which youth must knuckle to, 
 Or bide by the displeasure of its seniors. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Midway up a rugged Mountain. Pathway rough and 
 wearisome. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Old man, I m tired ! How can you foot it so 
 Over these rough and dangerous crags ? my life 
 Upon it, I ll not be so easily caught 
 Another time. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Rebellious boy ! dost think 
 The things that are worth seeking for 
 Can be procured without a little trouble? 
 An extra thought, perchance a step or two. 
 And yet, the worldly man, in peevish plight, 
 Frets, if the attainment of most perfect bliss 
 Would lead him off the paltry jig-jog path 
 Of every-day life. Dost thou hope for heaven ? 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Yes. But why ask a question of such import ? 
 We all do hope to reach that bourne at last. 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 247 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Prepare then to encounter many obstacles 
 
 During thy journey thither. There s a vale 
 
 Darker than death, through which we needs must pass, 
 
 Where spirits from the abodes of wretchedness 
 
 Contest the passage with each weary pilgrim 
 
 Who enters it. Scorn not to learn from this, 
 
 That, to ensure our happiness, we must 
 
 Submit to all the sad perplexities 
 
 That lay before us. We must learn to conquer 
 
 Each evil thought and passion that waylay us, 
 
 T will make the bliss laid up in store for us 
 
 The richer gain when earned by our good deeds. 
 
 Enter several Peasants on their way up the Mountain. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 Ha ! our old friend ! whither away so late ? 
 Dost come to spend the night with us ? 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Many thanks. 
 
 This youth and 1 return again, so soon 
 As we have learned our lesson. Good even, friends ! 
 
 [Salutes the other Peasants, who return it warmly. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 See, brothers, how the red-hot sun goes down, 
 Burning a steep path through the hissing wave, 
 That flames around him with a torrid heat, 
 
24:8 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 Like a huge cauldron boiling o er with gold 
 And purple foam. I remember, when a boy, 
 Climbing with desperate effort to the top 
 Of the mountain, to watch him rise and set. 
 
 SECOND PEASANT. 
 
 It is a blessed sight. 
 
 THIRD PEASANT. 
 
 But, brothers, see 
 
 How yon small cloud is spreading o er the sky ! 
 And, hark ! the distant thunder warns us home. 
 
 FOURTH PEASANT. 
 
 To our homes, then ; our homes and happy hearths. 
 
 ALL THE PEASANTS. 
 
 Yes, to our homes ; our homes and happy wives. 
 
 Farewell kind friends. 
 
 [To BERTRAM and LORENZO. 
 
 Beware the coming storm. 
 
 [Exeunt Peasants. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Who are these men ? 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 The dwellers in the mountains, 
 As happy fellows as the sun e er shone on. 
 But haste ; the gath ring storm may overtake us, 
 Ere we can reach the place I had intended 
 To lead thee to. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Where wouldst thou lead me, friend ? 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 249 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 To happiness. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 The distance is too great. 
 I rather would return. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 There s but one road 
 
 To happiness the upward path, by which 
 We must ascend the often dreamed-of height, 
 And gaze exultingly on all below. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 The moth, by struggling upward to the taper, 
 Scorches its wings, and often perisheth 
 While searching for the light. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 And so wouldst thou 
 
 Risk life and limb, if thou shouldst venture downwards . 
 As for thine image of the moth, tis like 
 As if a man, who, standing on the brink 
 Of a steep precipice, should sway his arms, 
 And springing upwards try to clutch the sun ; 
 Or one, who, leaning o er Vesuvius edge, 
 Should seek to leap across its gaping mouth 
 By one bold spring, and perish like a fool. 
 A little further up, and we are safe. 
 The storm will surely come. These shepherds are 
 Unfailing oracles. 
 K 
 
250 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 If we must go, 
 
 Lead on, old man. How all my witty friends 
 Would hurl their puns and pointed epigrams 
 At me, if they but knew the foolish journey 
 I am performing, half against my will ; 
 Tor there s a something in this old man s manner 
 That make me think both well and ill of him ; 
 I ll either hate or love him by and by. (Aside.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The summit of a high mountain, looking Westward - 
 Time, Sunset. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Come, let us rest awhile, since we have gained 
 The summit of the mountain. See, the sun 
 Is disappearing through the western wave, 
 Like^a strong diver going down for pearls, 
 Or a young bridegroom eloquent with joy, 
 Seeking the chamber where his soul s beloved 
 Sits in her bridal robes. A moment more 
 He will have canopied some other clime 
 With his rich tent of gold, and drawn aside 
 The sable curtains of polluted Night 
 From some fair country that we wot not of. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 But what has this to do with our journey 
 Hither 1 And where is the surprise you had 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 251 
 
 In store for me ? I will be getting lonely, 
 And insist on returning ere the night 
 Sets in. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Impossible ! You cannot find 
 Your way. The path is rough and intricate 
 By which we came ; and to return by that, 
 You would require a guide, to whom these wilds 
 Had grown familiar, to conduct you safely 
 To the plain. Stay for a little moment here. 
 We will return together. Hark ! the thunder. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 There are no clouds above us, yet I hear 
 The thunder rolling in tremendous volleys, 
 But muffled, as if passing through the hills. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Let us approach the mountain s edge, and look 
 Upon the storm. 
 
 [They approach the verge of the 
 mountain, and look down. 
 
 Observe the passionate clouds, 
 Struggling like giant wrestling-groups in all 
 The grandeur of an elemental strife ! 
 See how yon mass of fiery vapour writhes 
 In agony, like a flame-enveloped fiend, 
 And bursts asunder with a fearful crash, 
 That fills the pitying heavens with alarm, 
 And shakes the massive crag on which we stand. 
 
252 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 Mark well the conflict nay, you need not shrink, 
 
 Methought I saw you tremble as you gazed ; 
 
 There is no danger here. The eagle builds 
 
 Its solid eyrie far above the storm, 
 
 And round about us sits the Roman bird, 
 
 Watching the air-drawn battle, as when perched 
 
 Upon the flaunting standards once upraised 
 
 On Carthagenian fields. The storm is far 
 
 Beneath us. I can call to mind the time 
 
 The very day the heaven-pilfered hour, 
 
 When my young soul first left its body-load, 
 
 And made it wings and mingled with the storm, 
 
 Ev n as the headlong warrior leaps in 
 
 Where dangers threaten, thick as summer rain, 
 
 Each charged with death. A sublime awe swept o er me ; 
 
 I trembled with delight; shouted for joy; 
 
 The lightning s kiss was hot upon my cheek ; 
 
 The thunder pealed its anthems in my ears, 
 
 Deep, sublime melodies ! and my spirit felt 
 
 Ethereal, as if a veil of light, 
 
 By angels borne from God s remotest home, 
 
 Had clothed it ready for a joy eterne. 
 
 Awed by the fervency of my wild thoughts, 
 
 I knelt, and with uplifted hands poured out 
 
 My unspoken prayers to God. My thankful soul 
 
 Was filled with an unstudied eloquence, 
 
 Which my lips dared not utter. The profound 
 
 And many- voiced thunder ; the red waves, 
 
 That spewed forth lightning, as a furnace fire ; 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 253 
 
 The charging squadrons of impatient clouds, 
 
 Those burning steeds and riders of the storm, 
 
 That neighed in thunder and breathed breaths of flame, 
 
 Conspired to fill me with intense delight, 
 
 As boundless as the rapture of the winds, 
 
 Seated at midnight on the tempest car, 
 
 When heaven lifts her white hands to her face 
 
 To hide her eyes. Upon this very spot 
 
 I stood with vacant, greedy looks, and watched 
 
 The mighty conflict going on below : 
 
 And yet, thou dst rather dance a tiresome measure 
 
 To a crack d violin, than read the precious truths 
 
 Of these romantic wilds. Are they not lonely 1 
 
 These mountain summits and deep forests, where 
 
 You seem to catch the echoings of strains 
 
 That were rehearsed in heaven at the birth 
 
 Of the old world, of which this earth, mayhap, 
 
 Is but a fragment. Oh ! those glorious songs ! 
 
 Their echoes cannot die, but seem to float, 
 
 Like vapours, through the air for evermore. 
 
 The poet seizes oft their wondrous plaint, 
 
 And ever after earth has one voice more 
 
 To magnify the Author of all Good. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 Old man, you mock me. I can now discern 
 How such a soul as thine is elevated 
 Above the world and its ephemeral pleasures. 
 Henceforward I ll participate with thee 
 
254: BERTRAM AJS D LORENZO. 
 
 In these ethereal blessings. I ll be all 
 
 That thou couldst wish for in an amateur ; 
 
 And you will find me a devoted pupil, 
 
 If you will lead me in the way to wisdom. 
 
 Oft have I heard of a discreet old man, 
 
 With whom the peasants had conversed, who lived, 
 
 Or rather had been seen, upon the mountain. 
 
 I wondered how their kindly hearts did warm, 
 
 And they grew eloquent, in praise of thee ; 
 
 But now my doubts are gone, and I can well 
 
 Appreciate the generosity 
 
 For such I deemed it of these simple rustics. 
 
 If I become a ready listener 
 
 To the immortal truths that thou canst teach me, 
 
 Must I relinquish all the harmless pleasures 
 
 That I had previously indulged in ? 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 No, 
 
 Not one of them. Use them in moderation. 
 Devote some moments of thy little life 
 To learning what may be of benefit 
 To thee hereafter. But I would not ask 
 That thou shouldst ape the moody devotee, 
 And live apart from all thy fellow men. 
 Far rather would I have thee still remain 
 A trifling mortal, pleased with empty show, 
 And gilded vanity, than encourage thee 
 To be a soulless hermit. There are times 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 255 
 
 When gaiety is useful to the wisest ; 
 
 And cheerfulness is fraught with many blessings, 
 
 If we survey it rightly. See ! the storm 
 
 Is over, and the heavens are bent down 
 
 Beneath the weight of their bejewelled robes. 
 
 The moon, like to a royal traveller, 
 
 Her silver chariot axle-deep in stars, 
 
 Rides the burning labyrinth of worlds, 
 
 A queen amongst her subjects ; while the sea 
 
 Beyond us is irradiated with 
 
 The silver sparkles from her eloquent eyes, 
 
 That make a path of light from heaven to earth. 
 
 The solemn glories of the sun and moon, 
 
 The silver-dappled heavens, the huge sea 
 
 These thou must learn to study, for their wealth 
 
 Of earnest truth, sublimity and love. 
 
 When I initiate thee into all 
 
 My plans of happiness. Now for the surprise. 
 
 Look at the Old Man now. 
 
 [Removes a disguise. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 My friend Lorenzo! 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 Thy youthful friend, whom thou didst call a bookworm, 
 Because he would not always be a trifler, 
 And loved to ponder on the intrinsic lore 
 Of poets and philosophers. I am 
 The solitary Hermit of the Hills, 
 
256 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 As these warm-hearted peasants choose to call me ; 
 
 And I would have thee be a hermit, too, 
 
 Occasionally. Thou shalt come with me, 
 
 And see the free-born mountaineers at eve, 
 
 Offering up their earnest, heart-felt thanks, 
 
 To the Supreme Intelligence of Heaven ; 
 
 Shalt hear their old men read the sacred Word ; 
 
 Their manly youths, and rosy-featured maidens, 
 
 Blending their voices in an evening hymn ; 
 
 Shall see the happiest mortals upon earth, 
 
 And learn to imitate them if thou wilt. 
 
 See yonder cottage in the dreamy vale, 
 On which the moonlight, like the smile of God, 
 So sweetly rests. There dwells a Poet-soul ; 
 One who has pass d through stern Affliction s blaze, 
 And had his great heart purified by pain. 
 He was a Monarch in the Halls of Love. 
 Love crowned him as a nation crowns a King. 
 His queen, a rural beauty, by his side, 
 What wonder if he looked from his high throne 
 Upon the world, and claimed it as his own 1 
 She loved him for his uncoined wealth of words, 
 That lay in the rich mine of his brain, like pearls 
 That hoard their lustre in a cave o the sea. 
 He had great soul-thoughts floating in his eyes, 
 Like ships gem-laden on an Indian ocean, 
 And soft-voiced messengers, with gentle wings, 
 Soared through his mind, and made him rich in fancies, 
 As is a miser o er his wealth of gold. 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 257 
 
 She loved to mark the lightning of his eye, 
 
 And list the mighty thunder of his speech, 
 
 That followed the electric fancy-storm, 
 
 Even as loves the hardy mountaineer, 
 
 Trained amid God s glory-haunted hills, 
 
 To trace the storm that rides the Appenines, 
 
 And bursts in fearful splendor at his feet. 
 
 She hung upon his lips, as hangs the bee 
 
 Upon the trembling rose-bud, flushed with sweets, 
 
 Like Beauty leaning forward for the kiss, 
 
 Of some impassioned lover, nectar- wild, 
 
 Quaffing his honied breath. Her fingers toyed 
 
 With his long locks of gold, that lay like waves 
 
 Of yellow sun-curls dancing on the lea, 
 
 Decking the bust of evening : and in each, 
 
 With true-love s spiritual, dreamy eyes, 
 
 She seemed to trace some intellectual thought, 
 
 Some beauteous reflex of his glowing soul, 
 
 In which his Prophet- spirit, Titan-like, 
 
 Loomed up majestic, clothed with Virtue s robes, 
 
 And he, the Adam of her Eve-like heart, 
 
 To her eyes, seemed the embodiment of all 
 
 The sterling mental manhood of the time, 
 
 A golden mouthed Chrysostum, brimmed with Truth, 
 
 And revelations of a coming age 
 
 Replete with saving glory and deep Love. 
 
 These Alpine heights were his, for he had struck 
 
 From out their flinty sides a flame of song, 
 
 That burned within the breasts of mountaineers, 
 
258 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 And made them love their country more and more. 
 
 But while he sung, triumphant as the lark, 
 
 The tongue of Slander struck his spirit dumb 
 
 For these young Poets are as sensitive 
 
 To pain, as the warm morning cloudlets are 
 
 To the consuming splendor of the sun. 
 
 Curs d be the tongue that hurled the sland rous shaft ! 
 
 Withered the lips that spake the sland rous tale ! 
 
 For then his mind was strong, and in its strength 
 
 He gloried, as a giant o er the thew 
 
 And sinew of his limbs. The sland rer spake, 
 
 And, lo ! the stately man became a child ! 
 
 His mind, once full of bright imaginings, 
 
 Became as gloomy as the murkiest eve 
 
 That ever mingled with November s fog. 
 
 Thoughts that had ransacked heaven fell to earth, 
 
 Enfeebled with the fall. The eye that look d 
 
 Fearlessly on the virtuous of the world, 
 
 That gazed admiringly upon the stars, 
 
 And drank their wondrous beauty in deep draughts, 
 
 Till it was drunken with delight, now quailed, 
 
 And sought the ground. And yet the tale was false. 
 
 But there was one who did believe it true ; 
 
 One who had leaned upon his heart of hearts, 
 
 Like Innocence on Love. She thought it true. 
 
 And he was left alone with his crush d heart, 
 
 To crawl mind-wounded through a cheerless world, 
 
 Like a lost planet through infinity, 
 
 Tortured with its unrest. He could have borne 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 259 
 
 The curses of the world, and borne them well ; 
 
 He could have grasped his troubles by the heel, 
 
 And hurled them from him ; but for that one thought, 
 
 That he was deemed unworthy of her love. 
 
 But there are sunbeams in the icicles, 
 
 Caloric in snow, and animalculse 
 
 In the hard rock ; and in one single germ 
 
 Lie all creation s works in miniature : 
 
 So in his heart one pulse of hope still beat, 
 
 One solitary spark still burned beneath 
 
 The ashes of his grief her woman s love 
 
 Had merely flickered in the world s foul breath. 
 
 And knowing this, his heart was up again, 
 
 Like a stout wrestler whom some sinewy arm 
 
 Had humbled to his knees. The tale was false, 
 
 And he had proved it in the sland rer s teeth 
 
 To be an upas offshoot, that had sprung 
 
 From the fierce cravings of a jealous mind, 
 
 And well nigh poisoned all their mutual hopes. 
 
 As leaps the sun above the clouded morn, 
 
 So rose the Poet-spirit of my friend 
 
 Once more into the hopeful skies of day, 
 
 From out the night of his intense despair. 
 
 And there they live, content, in yonder vale ; 
 
 Their dwelling is an altar reared to Faith ; 
 
 T is built upon the spot which witnessed first 
 
 The sweet reunion of their steadfast love. 
 
 Again, seest thou yon distant roof-top peer 
 Above the cedars on the mountain side 1 
 
260 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 Thence soared a noble soul unto his rest, 
 
 While the strong throes of hope and future fame 
 
 Passed through his mind like summer o er the earfh. 
 
 To live, until the heart is warmed with youth, 
 
 And then, like to a suddenly blasted flower 
 
 In summer-time, to die and pass away 
 
 Oh ! t is a bitter and a solemn thought ! 
 
 What glowing hopes lay folded in the breast, 
 
 Like honey in the fair, expanding bud ! 
 
 What burning thoughts leap through the throbbing brain, 
 
 Like lightnings hidden in the noon-day cloud ! 
 
 So passed my student-friend unto his rest, 
 
 In the warm summer of his manly youth. 
 
 His springtime had been rich in blossoming, 
 
 Giving great promise of his harvest days, 
 
 When, with a vigorous will, and mind matured, 
 
 The golded fruitage of his well-spent hours 
 
 Would have been gathered in. Not his the fate 
 
 That buffets with the stern and iron world, 
 
 And winneth length of days ; that wrests from fame 
 
 The guerdon that awaits the victor-mind ; 
 
 That wrestles with great truths, till they become 
 
 The ministers of his Titanic will ; 
 
 The buoyant wave that laves some fair, green isle, 
 
 And passing on, strands on a granite rock, 
 
 Flinging its wealth of pearl into the air, 
 
 This, rather was his doom. But he had won 
 
 The meed of praise that waits the studious soul, 
 
 Won the fond friendship of his fellow peers. 
 
BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 261 
 
 He was a Man, in all that constitutes 
 
 The truest Manhood, in its strictest sense 
 
 A Man in the full stature of his mind. 
 
 Religion was a well-spring in his breast, 
 
 Whose waters were as pure as waves of light 
 
 Rolling in volumes from the gleaming stars. 
 
 His thoughts soared ever upward towards God, 
 
 As soars the purifying flame to heaven. 
 
 Philosophy, and heaven descended poesy, 
 
 Within the sunny chambers of his mind 
 
 Met, like fair handmaids, who had come to stay, 
 
 And by their presence keep his spirit pure, 
 
 And meet for the high calling unto which 
 
 He would have given all his earthly days. 
 
 But in the midst of Life, the spoiler, Death, 
 
 Like a stern tyrant on his heartless round, 
 
 Struck down the noble youth, and robbed his friends 
 
 And fellow Students of their store of hopes. 
 
 Far from his home he died. No parent s eye 
 
 Saw the last struggle of his manly breast ; 
 
 No sister s voice into his closing ears 
 
 Poured the sad music of a last farewell. 
 
 But there were loving hands to close his eyes ; 
 
 And there were loving hearts around, to feel 
 
 The grief that enters at the door of death ; 
 
 And there were loving lips to pour the balm 
 
 Of consolation on his chastened mind. 
 
 He died, as dies the summer s crimson eve, 
 
 When the rich sunset hangs its banners out 
 
262 BERTRAM AND LORENZO. 
 
 Above its palaces of cloud and sky 
 
 A death upon whose brow a radiant life 
 
 Sits crowned, the white-winged messenger of hope, 
 
 Whose path is flashing with a sheen of gold. 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 I am ashamed to think you ve caught me thus. 
 You re an accomplished trapper. 
 
 LORENZO. 
 
 When I please. 
 
 But not a word upon the subject now ; 
 The secret shall be kept. We will return ; 
 There is a merry-making at the village, 
 At which I must be present ; and to-morrow, 
 You will commence your schooling, and become 
 My fellow-student. Nature for our guide, 
 Depend upon it we will learn far more 
 Than any pair of beardling adepts did 
 In those cold, formal universities, 
 Where young men s heads are crammed like Christmas 
 
 turkeys, 
 
 Making them passive as a sweating group 
 Of listless Dutchmen o er their meerschaum pipes 
 That deaden all their faculties of mind. 
 
M239839 
 
 
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