POEMS BY ROBERT S. CHILTON. # GODERICH: MoGiLuouoDT Bros., Signal Printing House. 1885. Prjefa CE. In gathering together and printing the fugitive poems which make up this little volume, intended for private distribution only, my sole object has been to gratify the wishes of some who are near and dear to me, and who naturally have felt an interest, partial of course, in my occasional short flights into the realm of poetry. That they do not possess any special literary merit no one, I am sure, knows better than I do ; ai^ yet I cannot find it in my heart altogether to regret the hours I have spent in devotion to the muse, — wooing her indeed not very successfully, but nevertheless with a sufficient re- turn to afford me some gratification even now. Many of the verses were written when I was very young (but per- haps it is unnecessary to say this), whilst others were composed at a comparatively recent date. Rs. a f May, 1885. ■'(,'. H • '':s;' • -J • i-' tc ■■.,!: '^'r-^vv ■■;■■,;)■';•■ It ■ . . ' ■ r ', 'I'.- ,, ,, . . .f"-''' ' ,'• I ';■ l' •' f.'-'il.- . ;*■.■'■;;;;•> -''^ '■■1 \- ;■. i , J,.' t*v>Vr • .• »■• •'S PONTENTS. ..n* :':.'J- ,y I, •* f PAQK The Mother's First G-ief . . ' . : ' . .' 9 The Exile's Return . . . . . . 10 Epitaph on the Tomb of Payne . . . . 11 Dirge for an Infant . . < • • ^ 12 Little Fanny ♦ ;. ^;'r^ ' .. 13 Heart's-Ease . . . . . . 15 To James Russell Lowell . . .. .. 16 Shipwreck .. .. .. 17 Grant . . . . . . . ; 17 Powers' Greek Slave . . . . 18 The Little Peasant . . . . . . 19 To Kossuth . . . . . . 20 Garfield . . . . . . . . 21 Mrs. Garfield . . . . . . 21 To a Picture by Elliott .. ... .. 22 Alms-Giving .. .. .. ^3 Winter . . . . . . . . 24 Lend a Hand . . .... 25 Heart-Summer . . « . . . 25 Thomas Hood . . . . . . 26 Rab . . . . . . \ . 27 l^leasure and Duty . . . . , . SS Herndon . . . . . . , . 29 To— ("Softly Fades the Golden Sunlight") 30 Stanzas Suggested by the Death of Miss Cand^ 31 In Memoriam, (M. C. F.) . . . . 33 Katy .. ., .. ' .. 34 Sub Rosa . . . . . . 35 Valentine for Sympathetic Ink . . . . 35 I To a Cold Beauty . . . . . . 36 To a Sister's Memory . . . . . . 37 VI GONTENTEL To a Violet, (addressed to V. B.) To V. B. on her Eighteenth Birthday A May Morning Ante Helium . . The Crisis "I Look at the Sky Above Me" To M. V. G, (May 13, 1872) . . CLE "White and Silent Shines the Moonlight" A Memory . . Amor PatrisB Stone for Bread Old Trinity Church Epicedium SONNETS. Sunset . . . . . . 55 To a Picture . . . . . . 56 Father Boyle . . . . . . 57 To an Unfinished Portrait by Page . . 58 A Mother's Invocation to the Blessed Virgin . . 59 On the Death of a Friend . . . . 60 Genius . . . . . . . . 61 On the Death of Col. Brent . . . . 62 On the Invasion of Rome by the French, (1849) 63 "Must I not Love Thee ? Lady, say not so." . . 64 "Still to be Near Thee and to Hear Thee Speak." 65 "If with too Rude a Hand I Plucked the Rose." . . 66 "If Words Could Say How Much I Love Thee, Dear," 67 "A Rose-bud, and from The^! Ah! how my heart" 68 On a Miniature . . , . . . . 69 Queen Emma. . . . . . . 70 POEMS. THE mother's first GRIEF. 9 THE MOTHER'S FIRST GRIEF. She sits beside the cradle, And her tears are streaming fast, For she sees the present only, While she thinks of all the past ; — Of the days so full of gladness When her first-born's answering kiss Thrilled her soul with such a rapture That it knew no other bliss. O those happy, happj- moments ! They but deepen hor despair. For she bends above the cradle, And her baby is not there ! There are words of comfort spoken. And the leaden clouds of grief Wear the smiling bow of promise. And she feels a sad relief ; But her wavering thoughts will wander Till they settle on the scene Of the dark and silent chamber, And of all that might have been ; — For a little vacant garment. Or a shining tress of hair, Tells her heart, in tones of anguish, That her baby is not there ! She sits beside the cradle. But her tears no longer flow ; • For she sees a blessed vision , And forgets all earthly woe ; Saintly eyes look down upon her, And the Voice that hushed the sea Stills her spirit with the whisper — ''Suffer them to come to Me." And while her soul is lifted On the soaring wings of prayer, Heaven's crystal gates swing inward, And she sees her baby there 1 10 THE exile's return. THE EXILE'S RETURN. [read at the re-interment of the remains of JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, AUTHOR OF "HOME, SWEET HOME," AT WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 9tH, 1882.] The exile hath returned, and now at last In kindred earth his ashes ^hall repose. — Fit recompense for all his weary past That here the scene should end, — the drama close. Here where his own loved skies o'erarch the spot, And where familiar trees their branches wave ; Where the dear home-born flowers he ne'er forgot Shai bloom, and shed their dews upon his grave. Will not the wood-thrush, pausing in her flight, Carol more sweetly o'er this place of rest ? Here linger longest in the fading light. Before she Sv^eks her solitary nest ? Not his the lofty lyre, but one whose strings Were gently touched to soothe our human kind, — like the mysterious harp that softly sings. Swept by the unseen fingers of the wind. The home-sick wanderer in a distant land. Listening his song has known a double bliss ; — ] Felt the warm pressure of a father's hand, And — seal of seals ! — a mother's sacred kiss. In humble cottage, as in hall of state. His truant fancy never ceased to roam O'er backward vrars, and — ^irony of fate ! — Of home he sang who never found a home J — EPITAPH ON PAYNE'S TOMB AT TUNIS. 11 Not even in death, poor wanderer, till now, — For long his ashes slept in alien soil. Will they not thrill to-day, as round his brow A fitting wreath is twined with loving toil ? Honor and praise be his whose generous hand Brought the sad exile back, no more to roam ; Back to the bosom of his own loved land — Back to his kindred, friends, his own Sweet Home ! EPITAPH ON THE TOMB OF JOHN HOWARD PAYNE AT TUNIS. Sure, when thy gentle spirit fled To realms beyond the azure dome. With arms outstretched, God's angels said — " Welcome to Heaven's ' Home, Sweet Home !' " / 12 DIRGE FOR AN INFANT. DIRGE FOR AN INFANT. He is dead and gone — a flower Born and withered in an hour. Coldly lies the death-frost now On his little rounded brow ; And the seal of darkness lies Ever on his shrouded eyes. He will never feel again Touch of human joy or pain ; Never will his once bright eyes Open with a glad surprise, Nor the death-frost leave his brow- All is over with him now. Vacant now his cradle- bed, As a nest from whence hath fled Some dear little bird, whose wings Rest from timid flutterings. Thrown aside the childish rattle, Hushed for aye the infant p rattle ; — Little broken words that could By none else be understood Save the childless one who weeps O'er the grave where now he sleeps. Closed his eyes and cold his brow ;— All is over with him now ! LITTLE FANNY. 13 LITTLE FANNY. She is not dead — she would not die And leave us nothing but regret ; It is but sleep that shrouds that eye, — 1 know she's living yet ; What have I done amiss, or thou. That God should steal our blossom now ? Her cheeks are cold and white as snow, Her lips lie languidly apart ; But I can hear the warm blood flow, — The music of her heart ! And yet those hands are stiff and chill, — I never saw them lie so still. Her rest is very, very deep ; So deep, her bosom scarcely heaves ; She seems a flower just gone asleep, Among whose foldeilent some call thee : haply it were well If they who name thee so could earn a fame For deeds not words as thou hast. 'Twere the same ^ert thou as clamorous as a new-swung bell : The carping malcontents would still cry blame. jhe nation trusted thee when sore beset, Battling for life against her recreant foes ; She placed thee where thou art, when came repose id the sheathed sword, — and she will trust thee yei Noiseless the mighty stream resistless flows, ^hilst shallow brooklets o'er their pebbles fret. 18 powers' greek slave. POWERS' GREEK SLAVE. A flash of sabres and of scyraitar.s, Shouts, groans, then silence, — and the orescent waves Victorious o'er the field where in their graves The vanquished dead will moulder. But such vrars Have woes that stab the Grecian mother's heart Deeper than death. In far Byzantium's mart She sees her captive child, naked, forlorn. Gazed at by pitiless eyes, — a thing of scorn. With face averted and with shackled hands, Clothed only with her chastity she stands. Her heart is full of tears, as any rose Bending beneath a shower ; but pride and scorn. And that fine feeling of endurance born, Have strung the delicate fibres of her frame Till not a tear can fall ! Methinks such woes As thine, pale sufferer, might rend in twain A heart of sterner stuff" — and yet the flame Of thy pure spirit, like the sacred light On Hestia's hearth, burns steadily and bright. Unswayed by sorrow's gusts, unquenched by sorrow's rain. Thou canst confront, dumb marble as thou art, And silence those whose lying lips declare That virtue springs from circumstance, not God ; The snow that falls where never foot hath trod, On bleakest mountain-heights, is not more pure Than thy white soul, though thou stand'st naked there, Gazed at by those whose lustful passions start With every heart-throb ! Long may'st thou endure. To vanquish with thy calm, immaculate brow The unholy thoughts of men, as thou dost now ! THE i.ITTLE PEASANT. . 19 •/ THE LITTLE PEASANT.* Unstrung by her heart's first sorrow In the dawn of her life she stands, With listless fingers holding A vacant net^t in her hands. The grass at her feet no longer Is bright with the light of the skies, As downward she looks through the tear-drops That stand in her heaven-blue eyes. For the nest, so cold and forsaken. Has taught her the lesson to-day, That the dearest of earthly treasures Have wings and can fly away. Yet she clings to the empty casket.. And sighs that no more is left, As a mother clings to the cradle Of its dimpled treasure bereft. Alas ! for the early sorrows That gather about our way, When the beautiful light has vanished, And the hill-tops are cold and gray I A statu* by B. D. Palmer. 20 TO KOSSUTH. i ' TO KOSSUTH. [DECEMBER, 1851.] Kossuth ! thine eyes first caught the early glow That streamed from Freedom's yet unrisen sun, And lit the Future's peaks — while all below Was dark as the dark earth when day is done. That glow lit up thy soul, and meaner men ' Saw its reflected splendor in thine eyes, And, following thy gaze, with anxious ken Watched for the coming daybreak in the skies. And timid hearts grew strong, as doubt by doubt Fled in the light of Freedom's morning star — Till hope's scarce-kindled flame was trodden out By the imperious footstep of the Czar. Thy portion was a dungeon : three long years. Exiled and fettered, did the vulture Care Feed on thy Titan heart, and drink thy tears, But fail to make thy dauntless soul despair. Three weary years — yet came the hour at last. The hour that marked thy exodus from pain, When Freedom blew aloud her trumpest-blast, Loosened thy gyves, and led thee forth again. Illustrious Magyar ! thou shalt triumph yet ; The world's leagued despots are no match for thee. Hedged round by good men's prayers, and hopes thick-set- Mailed in the million wishes of the Free ! I f GARFIELD. 21 GARFIELD. I [AUGUST 19, 1881.] Low lies he now who lately stood Erect, — the Nation's honored head : The States, — a sorrowing sisterhood, — Stand with locked shields around his bed. And, with veiled lids and saddened brow, Freedom, dear Goddess, bends above The prostrate form, so powerless now, With looks of earnest, speechless love : — While through the hush a prayer goes up, — The voice of millions blent in one : — *' Remove, O God, the sufferer's cup, Spare, Father,. spare thy stricken son V MRS. GARFIELD. O, type of truest womanhood ! The deepest wounded, yet most brave ! Surely the merciful All-Good To thee hath given the power to save. For when the sufferer's eyes were dim With mists, presaging all we feared, The light in thine which fell on him Dispelled those mists, and soothed and cheered. And when his fainting heart Was si^irred By the bowed Nation'js pleading prayer,. Thine was the unfaltering voice he heard That whispered — " Patience, God will spare !" 22 TO A PICTURE BY ELLIOTT. TO A PICTURE BY ELLIOTT. These curling, golden locks ; the fair, soft cheek ; The full, ripe mouth, and the clear hazel eyes — So full of loving trustfulness, so meek, Beaming with deep and eloquent replies Which the tongue could not utter — ah ! how these Bring back to the worn heart sweet childhood's days When nothing ruder than the summer breeze Lifted the leaves from the green, sunlit trees, Arching the bower of youth ! — My fancy strays, As on this semblance of thy face I gaze, Beautiful child ! to those green lanes once more Where now thou rovest ; and sweet sounds and sights, Vague recollections of past, dear delights, Like iragments of a wreck come floating o'er The dreary waves, the desolate waste of sea. That lies, young voyager, 'twixt thee and me. Yet is there sadness in those large, calm eyes, A patient sorrow, lovelier than joy ; A mellow, hazy light, as if the sighs Breathed by the mother o'er her sleeping boy Through the long watches of the silent night. Still lingered round their lids. Alas ! fair child, That sorrow's shade should make thee seem more bright ; That thou should'st be more lovely from the blight On thy young heart, so pure and undefiled ! Elliott, thy magic pencil hath beguiled My soul away from errth and earthly things ; And sure thy spirit, when it wrought this face So full of all imaginable grace. Was wafted backward on etherial wings To those far days when a dear mother's kiss Printed upon thy cheek its seal of bliss. ALMS-QIVINQ -^ S8 ', . ;f ALMS-GIVING. Ay, till it up, my sister dear, His brothers all like him are gaunt, And sisters too ; then do not fear To choke the gaping mouth of want. Fill up ! his heart beats quick and high, , The tears stand in his sickly eve ; Poor wretched, ragged beggar-boy, He scarce can thank: thee now for joy ! The basket's heavy ; what of that ? His heart is light, he heeds it not ; His feet are cold and bare, poor brat ! • But this has always been his lot. , He trudges on, or stops to steal Quick glances at the dainty meal ; And then his purple lips do bless The heart that pitied his distress. At home, how will the hungry ones Clutch at those bits of broken bread ! How will they banquet on those bones. Like ravens feasting on the dead ! A dainty stomach would refuse Such food, but " beggars cannot choose ;" They relish what the rich condemn. For hunger makes the sauce for them. 24 WINTER WINTER. A solemn silence reigns o'er all, A death-like stillness, cold and deep. As underneath her snowy pall The old earth lies asleep. No birds are in the wailing trees, Whose limbs, all shrunken now and bare. Sway wildly in the winter breeze Like withered arms in prayer. Vainly o'er all these fields of white The Gtun looks down ; his feeble beams. In spots of cold and dazzling light. Glint from the frozen streams. The sudden gusts from off the ground Whirl up light showers of blinding snow. That, meeting in their frolic round, Slide to the vale below. O fettered streams and leafless trees ! O sleeping flowers ! The warm southwest Will soon send forth his gentle breeze, And break your icy rest. O flowers of joy, that once did make A summer in my breast, what art Can bid ye bloom again, or break This winter of the heart ? LEND A HAND. 25 LEND A HAND ! Heed the words, thou man of wealth. Bring back the fading hue of health To the poor man's sunken cheek ; Thou art strong and he is weak ; Thou canst better understand What his woes are : — '* Lend a Hand V Heed the words, O ye in whom The softer virtues live and bloom ; If an erring sister claim Aid and pity in her shame. Scorn her not, but take thy stand On higher ground, and Lend a Hand ! HEART-SUMMER Steadily falls the cold November rain — Silently drop the leaves through the damp air ; — So fall our tears, as sadly and as vain — So earthward drop our hopes and leave us bare. The bird has wandered from the leafless bough. The sky is cold and gray — a leaden pall ; And in his frosty loom chill Winter now Weaves the white shroud that soon will cover all. CJold — sad : — but hark ! I hear the summer breeae. And noise of waters rushing to the sea ; I see the laughing flowers and waving trees, — For all is summer when I think of thee ! 26 • ^. THOMAS HOOD. THOMAS HOOD. Great poets never die ; their words are seeds Which sheltered in the hearts of men take root. And grow and flourish into high-souled deeds — The world's sustaining fruit. No idle dreamers they, nor light their task, Who, with a weapon simple as a song, ' . Defend the Right, and tear the lying mask From the foul face of Wrong ; Who 'neath the coarsest, foulest rags can see / Some glimpses of the never-dyinpj spark That lights the front of frail humanity, , As stars illume the dark. And such was he, whose spirit shot a ray Of sunlight through the sad hearts of the poor ; — The dawning of that brighter, better day. No longer now obscure. Patient in suflering, calm amid the strife * Of this bleak world, how patiently he wrought ! — Weaving bright threads through the sad woof of life, In the great loom of Thought The music of his words, falling on ears Dulled with the droning of the workshop wheel. Hath robbed the humble toiler of his tears. And taught him how to feel. Fought he not bravely ? Answer, ye oppressed : Fought he not wisely ? — Let the future say : The sun that sets in such a golden west Heralds a golden day. F;AB. 27 RAB. A little mound in the garden, Aside from the box-bordered walk, Tells in such language as flowers And only flowers can talk — (No need of other inscription, No need of memorial slab,) Tells that, ^11 still and silent. Underneath lies our liiitle Rab. And yet in fancy I see him, Alert, overflowing with life, Now racing across the grass-plot With the children in playful strife ; Then, with head drooping saucily sideways. On his haunches, with heaving breast. Awaiting the further onset. While the children stop to rest Rab, with his coat so silky, Seal brown set off by white, With his long, soft ears, and his questioning eyes Aglow with an inner light ; Shall we see him no more forever. Will he come no more at our call, He. the delight of the household. The merriest, maddest of all ? Ah, Rab ! we will miss you sadly. As we look at the spot where your name. Wrought of the ash's red berries. Glows as if written in flame. And the flowers will bloom and wither, For many and many a day, On the little grave where the children Have tenderly laid you away. 28 PLEASURE AND DUTY. PLEASURE AND DUTY. We met, and loved, and parted — the old story : A bright-eyed maiden she, and I a youth Who worshipped at her shrine, and thought the glory That dwelt about her was the light of truth. O, she was fair "as aught of poet's dreaming. And her large eyes were lustrous ' s the light That streams from eve's first star, whose gentle beaming Pours a mild radiance round the brow of night. Her speech was soft and musical as singing. And even now, after long, weary years, I hear its silvery tones — like sweet bells ringing In the far chapel of my wasted years. But she was false as fair — the maid I cherished — And in my hour of sorest need she fled. And left me in a maze where I had perished, But for an angel who my footsteps led : An angel woman, in whose large calm eyes Beamed the pure luster of a spotless soul, Fixed as the star that burns in Northern skies — The God-fed pharos of the frosty pole. Though cold at first, seen through the clearer air In which I breathe, a matchless beauty now Lives in her perfect form, and flowing hair, And in the whiteness of her ample brow. O, ye who worship Pleasure, know that beauty Flows from within, and makes the features fair ; See well, and in the plainer face of Duty Thou 'It find such grace as angel-faces wear ! HERNDON. 29 HERNDON. The storm is wild ; the merciless winds, elate, Drive o'er the waves, and scatter them like sands : Calm on the vessel's deck, confronting Fate, The dauntless sailor stands. No thought of self invades his manly heart, Though men grow pale and women wail and weep ; Unmoved he sees gaunt Death, with lifted dart. Rise from the yawning deep ! In that dark hour, when staggering to her doom, His wounded ship plunged madly through the foam ; While, gleaming like a star above the gloom. Rose his own distant home : He strove for others — strove to reunite The frantic mother and her helpless child ;* And kept stern watch and ward till came the night — That night of terror wild. Ah ! gallant sailor ! trusted, tried, and true ! I The crown is thine, the martyr's deathless crown : Henceforth thy name shall live among the few Which tears alone can drown ! : **My little girl remained on board, and I did not discover that she wag pent until I had got into the boat. / afterwarda learned that Captain n^ndon took charge of her and aent her to me by the next boat by a ladj aed Mrs. KitteridRe. who handed the child to me soon after I reached I Marine." [Statement of Mrs. Ann SmalU] . .: ■ . ,1,. '• ,.■,- ,■ - ■•■. 80 SOFTLY FADES THE GOLDEN SUNLIGHT. I . TO Softly fades the golden sunlight From the valley and the hill ; Softly dies the wind of Summer — All the leaves are still ; And the dusky twilight, floating From the sunset's purple bars, Sows the boundless field of heaven Thick with golden stars. Thus, whene'er I leave thee, dearest, Fades from me the joyous light That, when in thy charmed presence, Makes my soul so bright. Thus, too, mem'ry, like the twilight, Brings a holy calm to me, Sowing o'er my spirit's darkness Star-bright thoughts of thee. STANZAS. 81 STANZAS. [suggested Br the death of oharlotte canda]* I stood beside the bed of death, A stranger who had cofne to see How one so fair might look whose breath Was yielded up in agony : And as I gazed I wept for her Who lay so coldly quiet there : — Such griefs all human hearts should stir, — Such griefs all human hearts should share. No trace of anguish marked her face, It bore not e'en the look of death, But seemed so fresh and full of grace, I almost listened for her breath ! Around her pure white brow was twined A simple wreath of snowy flowers ; Mute emblems of her spotless mind, — She wore them in her living hours ! Upon her face — sweet type of rest ! — Lingered a calm and holy smile. As on the frozen streamlet's breast The fading sunbeam sleeps awhile. It seemed as if her soul had caught, A moment ere it passed away, A glimpse of heavenly joys, which wrought Its impress on the yielding clay. . lovely youug ladj, who was thrdwn from a carriage and instantly 1 while returning from an evening partyin N. Y. City many years since, [grave in Qreenwood Cemetery is marked by a very elaborate and bean- I monument of Italian marble. 32 ' STANZAS. The sleeper — ^for she seemed, though c^ead. To slumber in a dream, — was one Whose living' presence round her shed A constant glory like the sun. / Before her smile the mists of care Fled as the mists cf morning fly, — For joy compels all things to wear The brightness of its own glad eye. • I thought of this, and well could guess The ^ief that burst in sobs so wild. But not the speechless, calm distress Of those who once had called her child : Their lingering gaze cut, like a knife. All the heart's dearest, holiest ties. As the sweet picture of her life Passed and repassed their streaming eyes. I grieved that one so fair should lie In the cold precincts of the tomb, — Dying, with none to see her die, Even in her very hour of bloom ! We know the spotless soul takes wing. Triumphant in the mortal strife, But ah ! the weeping heart will cling Round the dear form so loved in life ! IN MEMORIAM. IN MEMORIAM. [m. c. f.] Lay her down, the pure and holy ; Lay her down, the meek and lowly. Underneath the sod. In her womanly completeness, In her spirit robe of sweetness, She has gone to God. Tendril-like, her thoughts and feelings. In their silent, shy revealings. Twined around the cross ; Incense-like, her prayers ascending, Sought thee, Mary Mother, bending Low in gain or loss. Fairest flowers shall bloom above her, Sweetest-throated birds shall hover O'er her place of rest ; While her body's ^est, immortal. From beyond the heavenly portal. Shines among the blest ! 34 KATY. KATY. A little angel-child, with great blue eyes That speak as plainly as her prattling tongue. Gave me this lock of hair — a simple curl, Soft as her cheek and sunny as her smile. I keep the token with a jealous care, For when I look at it my mind is filled With thoughts of truth and tenderness and love, And innocent simplicity of heart, And all those lovely attributes that throw Around endearing childhood that rare charm Which like the violet's perfume gives to it A nameless sweetness. — Blissful-hearted child ! If I can read thy horoscope aright The dawning of thy life is not more fair Than its late close will be. A vision bright Shows me thy sun of life descending slow *Mid rosy clouds, the portals of that world That lies beyond the grave ; and voices soft. Whose tones can reach the spirit's ear alone. Float from that realm of never-ending bliss, — ' Welcome thou stainless one, no taint of earth Unfits thee f6r the bliss that angels share ' ! SUB ROSA. 85 SUB ROSA. I pluck for you Still wet with dew Fresh flowers of every shape and hue, Which 'neath the skies Of your blue eyes Shall fairer seem than where they grew. This bursting rose The passion shows Which my poor lips would fain disclose ; let it rest Upon your breast, And breathe the secret that it knows ! VALENTINE FOR SYMPATHETIC INK Dear girl, if thou hadst been less fair, Or I had been more bold, The burning words I now would write, Ere this my tongue had told. True to its bashful instinct still. My love erects this screen, And writes the words it dare not speak In ink that can't be seen I TO A COLD BEAUTY. TO A COLD BEAUTY. Lady, I know thine eyes are bright, I know thy cheek is fair ; I know that beauty, like the light, Dwells round thee, everywhere ; But vain thy charms of form and face, For ah ! alas ! I know Thy snowy bosom hides a heart, As cold as winter's snow ! The lovely rose is often seen And pass'd unheeded by, When other flowers of fairer mien Attract the gazer's eye : But who, if called upon to pluck The fairest flower that grows In garden-plot, or wood, or field, Who would not pluck the rose ? For bsauty, when its charms appeal But to one sense alone. Is like the chisell'd block — we feel We gaze upon a stone. Forgive me then if I refuse To bend the knee to one Who like the sun is only bright, Not warm, too, like the sun ! TO ▲ sister's memory. 37 TO A SISTER'S MEMORY. Once again the leaves of Summer O'er the earth's cold breast are strewn, And across my heart the shadow ' Of another loss is tlirown : — Gently her sweet spirit faded As the Autumn days came on, — Days that now are gone forever, — They are gone, end she is gone ! Two were sleeping in thy bosom.. Earth, that were most dear to me, — Near and dear, — a father — brother — Now, alas, thou claimest three : — And perchance ere next Spring's blossoms Shed their perfume on the air, Cold in death's unbreaking quiet, I, like them, may slumber there. Wherefore should we wish to linger In a barren world like this ? Wherefore shrink to pass the gateway Leading to immortal bliss ? — Thus the heart speaks when Death's shadow Brings the lost and dear to light : — [When the garish day is shining, Stars are hidden from the signt !] Teach, teach me. Heavenly Father, So to live that Death may seem. Whene'er he comes, a kindly angel, . Sent to wake me from a dream ; — A dream from which, with clearer vision, Waking, I again shall see Her for whom these tears are streaming— Who, perchance, now weeps for me ! 38 TO A VIOLET. TO A VIOLET. [addressed to v. b.] Dear first-born of the year, Timidly peeping forth from the cold ground When all the earth is drear, — Ere Winter hath done grieving for the loss Of her fair jewels strung on bu^ and tree, Or ere the golden sunlight hath unbound The frozen streams — what joy it is to see Thy blue eye looking upward from the sod, Moistened with dew, as in mute prayer to God, Pleading for leafless trees and withered flowers That have lain buried through the wintry hours. Thy prayer is answered now, For Spring hath cast her mantle o'er the earth, Clothing each naked bough With the new glories of a second birth ; The sturdy evergreens that all the year Have worn their honors, put forth fresher green, And in among their darker tints is seen The maple's flush, — and everywhere appear. In fields and wildwood paths, the delicate flowers That herald Summer's warm and pleasant hours. So Hope within my breast. Like this blue violet grew when I saw thee. And straightway I was blessed, And life's cold winter passed for aye from me. The streams of feeling now are locked no more, But flow to thee, their ocean, day and night ; And in the garden of my heart, like flowers. Sweet thoughts of thee are growing with the hours That each day brings : — the violet blooms there. And the dear heart's ease, ever fresh and fair ! TO V. B., ON HER EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY. 39 TO V. B., ON HER EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY. Again thy mystic clock of life doth strike, And in the chambers of my heart the few And sweet vibrations numbering thy years. Linger like music— From the sea of time Another wave rolls to thy feet and breaks. And now, while Summer with averted eyes Leaves the green earth to wither and grow cold In the approaching Autumn's blighting breath. Life's angel drops upon thy stainless brow The crown of perfect womanhood. As one Who stands upon a gentle eminence, And, looking backward, sees with saddened heart The paths which never may be trod again Fade in the distance, — so thou standest now. The fields in which thy childish footsteps strayed Are bright in memory's retrospective eye : The well-remembered voices, whose sweet tones Made up the morning music of thy life, Thrill thee with melody ; forgotten scenes Grow bright again ; and all the past grows bright. And brighter for the thought that it is past ! But the veiled future hath yet fairer scenes Than aught the past hath known, for one like thee. Whose spirit moves by that divinest law Which shapes the actions of a perfect life : And brighter, hour by hour, thy life shall grow. Till merged in that completion which the grave ^ides from our bounded vision. Therefore I, 'o whom thy happiness is more than life, ''ith no regretful feeling greet this day ; aowing that every year will shed on thee choicer blessing than the past hath known, d bring thee nearer Heaven. 40 A MAY MORNING. A MA.Y MORNING. The cat-bird sings in the tangled bush That loads the air with its sweet perfume, And the murmuring bees hide all the day In the snowy tents of the alder's bloom ; The silent thrush with a rapid wing Darts through the sunlit, leafy screen, Or tilts the branches that over the brook Wave their tassels of tender green. « From yon lone cottage hard by the wood Oomes the murmur of pleasant talk ; High over-head in the stainless blue Sails the silent and watchful hawk. The distant river asleep in the sun. Lies in a calm, unrippled rest, While a single sail, like a snowy gull. Lazily floats on its placid breast. Come ye who toil in-the dusty town, Come, and your souls in this sunshine steep ; See how the earth at the touch of Spring Hath waked from her long and wintry sleep. O that your walls of brick could give back The sun like yonder hill-side green. In billows of dazling golden hght, WiUi cool and shadowy gulfs between ! ANTE BELLUM. 41 ANTE BELLUM. [march, 1861.] ON HEAEING THAT THE AMERICAN FLAG WAS TO BE HOISTED OVER THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT.] Ay, throw our country's banner out ! In triumph let it wave. That timid hearts no more may doubt Its power to shield and save. The laggard pulse will quicker move Its starry folds to see O'er yonder shaft, that speaks our love For him who made us free. Like eyes with sad reproachful gaze. Its stars will look on those Who falter 'neath their steady rays. Or, faithless, turn to foes. Its stripes, like tongues of living flame. As North and South they dart, Shall hiss with words of scorn and shame For every traitor heart. Then fling it to the eager wind. Let its broad splendors fly O'er those who strive again to bind The severed Union tie ! And should their arms too weak to save Th' imperilled land be found, 0, let no alien symbol wave Above this sacred ground ! 42 THE C?RISIS. THE CRISIS. [SEPTEMBEK, 1872] The cannons' thunders jar the air, While mingled with the battle cry- Swells the blown bugle's ringing blare ; But over all I hear the prayer Breathed by our sires in days gone by. Twas theirs to win ; 'tis ours to guard ; They faltered not when faint and few j And shall we deem the service hard Who bear the banner many-starred, O'er which their victor eagle flew ? O not in vain their memories plead That we should walk the narrow way. Content to scorn each selfish creed. And in our fathers' valor read The noble lesson of To-Day. I look at the sky above me, At the solemn noon of night. And think of the hearts that love me,- And the stars seem doubly bright. But of all the worlds that glisten In the midnight's dusky blue, I see only one that is changeless, — And then I think but of you ! TO M. V. c. 43 TO M. V. G [MAY 13, 1872.] Spring odors load the balmy breeze That stirs my gardeh's budding screen ; The robin's note is heard ; the trees Are clothed in mid-May's tender greea From tree to tree in frolic frisk I see the nimble squirrels pass ; The dandelion's golden disk Is gleaming in the emerald grass. Along the woodland paths I stray, And feel the life that upward thrills In flowery forms that seek the day, Fed by the late imprisoned rills. All things are joyous, and my heart Lives o'er again that happy day When, hand in hand, we stood apart From all the world, and life was May I 44 C. L. E. O. Jj. Ej. It is not long since last I clasp'd thy hand, And heard thy speech, so rich in least pretense, So kindly- wise, that all might understand ; And now the Unseen Hand hath snatch'd thee hence. And there thou liest, still and pale and cold ; No more thy well-worn palette, loved so much, Shall blossom into color, as of old ; No more the canvas glow beneath thy touch. 'Tis hard to think that I no more shall greet Thy friendly presence here on earth, and yet The more than hope that we shall elsewhere meet Softens my sad and most sincere regret. White and silent shines the moonlight, And the earth, in slumber deep, Smiles, as of the silver splendor Conscious in her sleep ! How the moonbeams dance and glimmer- Hunted by the summer breeze — On the bosom of the river. Through the branches of the trees ! May this night of quiet beauty Be the symbol and the sign Of the holy love that wraps us In its light divine ! So shalt thou still reign forever, While the glow of life abides, As thou now dost, dearest, — empress Of my heart's deep tides ! A MEMORY. 45 A MEMORY. A year ago, in this dear month of May, I heard a voice borne o'er the waters say : " Weep, for her gentle soul has passed away." The words had scarcely ceased, when on her face I gazed, or so it seemed, but saw no trace Of aught save life, and loveliness, and grace. In an unconscious attitude of rest She lay, with hands cross-folded on her breast — Looking, indeed, like one supremely blest There was no change, save only that a light, Left by death's kiss upon her brow so white, Glimmered about her face, and made it bright " What is this mystery of death ?" I said : " Who are the living ? Are not they the dead Who weep, in bonds of flesh, the spirit fled ? " An answer, but from whence I could not tell, Upon my ear like softest music fell : AU is of God. He doetk all things wpU ! " Then looking up towards the far blue skies, Her whom we mourn I saw, in angel guise. Smiling beside the gates of Paradisa 46 AMOB PATRIiE. AMOR PATRI^ [WRITTEN DURING THE PRESIDENTIAL CANVASS OF 1876] It is statesmen not statemen, we need in this hour ; Not those who are seeking for place and for power, But strong, earnest souls, with no word in the mouth Unkind or unfriendly to East, West, North or South. No mixers of poison, concocted with art — The hell-broth of passion — to fire the heart ; No arrayers of creeds, setting one against t'other — The father 'gainst son, and the brother 'gainst brother-| In the hope of controlling in frenzy's mad hour, The storm they have raised, and to reel into power ! We want men in this crisis ; whole men, such as erst-j When the war cloud of liberty darken'd and burst O'er the land, and after a seven years' strife, Left it prostrate and bleeding, but instinct with life- Came forward, each man with his heart in his hand. To help build the temple majestic and grand, Which through envy and scoffing, through doubts a through fears, Our refuge has been for the past hundred years : The temple whose broad-based foundations were laid By workmen inspired by the love of their trade, (Like those by whom old-world cathedrals were made}! And laid in cement which they know how to mix — The wide-open temple of Seventy-six ! STONE FOR BREAD. 47 STONE FOR BREAD. A hushed and darkened room ; within A dead man lay ; the rites begin : I listened, but I did not hear The tender words that soothe and cheer The wounded heart, and bring relief In presence of o'er-mastering grief ; But only such as served to shed Light on the folly of the dead. No blessed words of hope and cheer Floated above the dead man's bier : No veil o'er human weakness thrown — No bread was given — but only stone. But in the room methought I saw The grand expounder of Christ's law, And heard these whispered words that shed Bliss on the living and the dead : " Faith, Hope and Charity, these three ; But the greatest of these is Charity." 48 OLD TRINITY CHURCH. OLD TRINITY CHURCH. [new YORK.] Farewell ! farewell ! they 're falling fast,, Pillar and arch and architrave ; Yon aged pile , to me the last Sole record of the by-gone past. Is speeding to its grave : And thoughts from memory's fountain flow (As one by one, like wedded hearts, Each rude and mouldering stone departs,) Of boyhood's happiness and wo, r* Its sunshine, and its shade : And though each ray of early gladness. Comes mingled with the hues of sadness, I would not bid them fade ; They come as come the stars at night, Like fountains gushing into light ; And close around my heart they twine, Like ivy round the mountain pine ! Yes, they are gone — the sunlight smiles All day upon its foot- worn aisles ; Those foot-worn aisles ! where oft have trod The humble worshippers of God, In times long past, when Freedom first From all the land in glory burst ! The heroic few ! from him whose sword Was wielded in his country's cause, To him who battled with his word, The bold expounder of her laws ! And they are gone — gone like the lone Forgotten echoes of their tread ; And from their niches now are gone, The sculptured records of the dead ! OLD TRINITT CHURCH. As now I gaze, my heart is stirred With music of another sphere ; A low, sweet chime, which once was heard, Comes like the note of some wild hird Upon my listening ear ; Recalling many a happy hour, Reviving many a withered flower. Whose hloom and beauty long have laid Within my sad heart's silent shade : Life's morning flowers ! that bud and blow, And wither ere the sun hath kiss'd The dew-drops from their breasts of snow, Or dried the landscape's veil of mist I O ! when that sweetly-mingled chime. Stole on my ear in boyhood's time, My glad heart drank the thrilling joy, Undreaming of its future pains ; As spell-bound as the Theban boy List'ning to Memnon's fabled strains ! Farewell, old fane ; and though unsung By bards thy many glories fell. Though ba]bbling fame hath never rung Thy praises on his echoing bell ; Who that hath seen can e'er forget Thy gray old spire ? Who that hath knelt Within thy sacred aisles, nor felt Religion's self grow sweeter yet ? For though the decking hand of Time Glory to Greece's fanes hath given, ^That from her old heroic clime Point proudly to their native heaven : ^Though Rome hath many a ruined pile To speak the glory of her land, Lnd fair by Egypt's sacred Nile Her mouldering monuments may stand ; le joy that swells the gazer's heart. The pride that sparkles in his eye, '^hen pondering on these piles, where Art 1 50 OLD TRINITY CHURCH. In crumbling majesty doth lie, Ne'er blended with them keener joy, Than mine, when but a thoughtless boy, I gazed with awe-struck, wondering eye, On thv old spire, my Trinity ! And thou shalt live like words of truth, Like golden moments of our youth : As on the lake's unrippled breast The mirror'd mountam lies at rest, So thou shalt lie, till life depart, Mirror'd for aye upon my heart ! EPICEDIUM. 51 EPICEDIUM. The fires of youth no longer burn, Their fitful flames are quenched at last ; And here within this little urn Repose the ashes of my past. And is this capet mortuum all Now left me of my vanished years ? Am I no longer held in thrall By youthful joys and hopes and fears ? 'Tis even so ; the mountain-side Is scaled at last ; and now I rest, While I survey from life's divide My path that slopes towards the west :— The sad and sober west, where glow The embers of the djdng day. That, as the night winds cease to blow. Fall into ashes cold and gray. let me falter not, but tread Firmly the downward path, nor yearn For my lost youth whose ashes dead Fill up the measure of this urn. / SONNETS SUNSET. 65 SUNSET. Bee with what pomp the golden sun goes down Behind yon purple mountain ! Far and wide His mellow radiance streams ; the steep hill-side s clothed with splendor, and the distant town "ears his last glory like a blazing crown. We cannot see him now, and yet his fire Still lingers on the city's tallest spire, hased slowly upward by the gathering frown f the approaching darkness. God of Light ! Thou leavest us in gloom ; but other eyes Watch thy faint coming now in distant skies ; ere drooping flowers spring up, and streams grow bright, nd singing birds plume their moist wings for flight, d stars grow pale and vanish from the sight ! 56 TO A PICTURE. TO A PICTURE. A sad and lovely face, with upturned eyes. Tearless, yet full of grief. — How heavenly fair. How saint-like is the look these features wear ! Such sorrow is more lovely in its guise Than joy itself, for underneath it lies A calmness that betokens strength to bear Elarth's petty grievances — its toil and care : — A spirit that can look through clouded skies, And see the blue beyond. — Type of that grace That lit Her holy features from whose womb Issued the blest Redeemer of our race — How little dast thou speak of earthly gloom ! As little as the unblemished Queen of Night, When envious clouds shut out her silver light. FATHER BOYLE. 57 FATHER BOYLE. Beneath his vestments beat a knightly heart, Constant in quest of good and noble things ; He held his warrant from the King of Kings Who bore for us life's inconspicuous part Among the poor and lowly : his the art That won to fellowship, by words of love, The weak and sinful — lifting them above Earth's evil ways, — secure from danger's dart. And now his task is finished. — Nevermore Shall pain's pinched features soften, nor the dim Glazed eye grow brighter, gazing upon him — The friendly intercessor. On his breast — (The wave of life now broken on death's shore) — The sacred symbol lies in flawless rest ! 58 TO AN UNFINISHED PORTRAIT BY PAGE. TO AN UNFINISHED PORTRAIT BY PAGE. Thou, so far off of late, art near rae now. Distinct and palpable in living guise ; I read thy thoughts beneath that even brow, I see thy soul out-looking from those eyes. And almost hear the unuttered speech that lies Pausing upon the threshold of thy lips. The thought born at thy death itself now dies. For death no longer holds thee in eclipse. Blessings forever rest upon his head Whose genius, setting time and space at naught. Hath to grief -blinded eyes this image brought Radiant with the immortal spark which fled r Ere yet the artist's hand had wholly wrought This link between the living and the dead 1 A mother's invocation. 59 MOTHER'S INVOCATION TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN. ^ther of Christ, upon whose forehead shone ?he light ineffable that from above streamed from the dwelling of eternal love, lat time thou travail'dst with thy blessed Son, — reshadowing in thine agony the pains fe suffered on the Cross, — intercede i'or her who seeks thee in her utmost need : the faint spark of life that yet remains ly scarce-conscious babe ; in mercy plead [•hat those small hands, cross-folded on his breast, [ay not be stiffened in eternal rest : )u know'st a mother's anguish, ind wilt heed mother's prayers, remembering the Child fhat from thy breast looked up to thee and smiled! 60 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. True husband and true father ; add to this A friend as true ; yet more than all of these Wert thou my friend, who to the bitter lees Drained thy sad cup of life. — The sphere of bliss That holds thee now a fitter home will be Than this half-hearted world for one like thee, Whose sterling coin of words was minted out From the pure metal of thy dauntless soul And bore Truth's image ; who didst fly the goal That most men seek, and put to utter rout The swarming host that track the steps of those Who follow Duty's path. — Behold the close !— A grave bedewed with manly tears; a name Spotless and bright, — the sum of all true fame ! GENIUS. 61 GENIQS. A great soul never yet was turned aside From its true purpose : hatred and mistrust — The portion of the Meek One crucified — Are in Faith's golden balance but as dust. Contempt and scorn are to the wise and just But arrows shot into the woundless air. Genius finds safety in its own disgust At all earth's vileness ; happy but to share The scanty raiment, and the coarse hard fare, With which the vain world clothes and feeds its great ; And from its eagle-eyrie on the bare Bleak rock, high up above the storms of Fate, It mounts in the pure air, and takes its way Right onward to the golden gates of day ! 62 OK THE DEATH OF COLONEL VVM. BRENT. ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL WM. BRENT. [DECEMBER, 1848] Mourn not, dear friends, that he is dead to whom Your hearts were bound by nature's holiest tie ; No care can reach him in the silent tomb, And he was full of years and ripe to die. — Cold comfort to yoar bleeding hearts, I know ; But time shall bring relief, and ye shall cease To shed your tears of unavailing woe, Nor even sigh to think of his relep^e. Blessed are they that sink to earth when age Hath brought the misty eye and furrowed brow ; Who end at last their peaceful pilgrimage Beloved for kind, good deeds as he is now ; And round their names, despite the world's harsh strife, Leaving the lustre of a well-spent life. ON fHE INVASION OF ROME BY THE FRENCH. 63 THE INVASION OF ROME BY THE FRENCH. [1849.] lere wert thou, Freedom, that thou didst not stay ~ie coward arm that dared to strike at Rome ? lid not her woe- worn face bring back the day '^hen her Eternal City was thy home ? rlorious siege ! and France, too, struck the blow ! ^elding the chains herself had just cast off ^ind the limbs that struggled to o'erthrow he foe she vanquished ! — France ! the wide world's scoff at thou become for this : the laurel-crown Shall wither on thy brow ; and Italy, rroaning beneath thy heel, will yet be free, in the ashes of her old renown [•he fire yet lives, though smothered, whose clear flame lall light her glory and reveal thy shame. 64 MUST I NOT LOVE THEE? Must I not love thee ? Lady, say not so — Teach not thy lip such cruel words to speak — Crush not the humble floweret that doth seek In the warm sunlight of thy smiles to grow. Why should the lofty frown upon the low ? The strong deny their shelter to the weak ? And though I whine no praises to thy cheek, Nor swear thine eyes with tremulous lustre glow- I love thee not the less ; nay, this should prove I love thee all the more, since I disdain To praise thine otUward beauty, seeming blind To the more noble beauties of thy mind. Ah ! dearest lady, might I win thy love, It would redeem all I have known of pain. STILL TO BE NEAR THEE. 65 Still to be near thee and to hear thee speak. To gaze into the depths of thy dark eyes, — This is the only happiness I seek. This is the only boon on earth I prize. Bright thoughts like bubbles in a fountain rise When I am near thee, and all thoughts of care Are banished from my heart, as in the air Fade the light clouds of morning : sorrow dies Whene'er I press thy hand, and I fall heir To such a wealth of joy when on my ear Thy sweet voice falls, I were content to die If in my parting moments I might hear The music of its tones so soft and rare. And look my last upon thy loving eye. 66 IF WITH TOO RUDE A HAND. If with too rude a hand I snatch'd the rose From thy fair fingers, think me not unkind ; For no less doth the sudden gust that blows The flowers tender petals from their stem, Love what it robs, than Summer's gentler wind That hardly shakes the morning's dewy gem From its frail hold amid the cluster'd leaves : For does not each repay the seeming theft ? And if my fancy from my feelings weaves — (For thee, fair lady, whom I have bereft Of a sweet emblem of thyself) — a song, — Wilt thou not pardon me, and from thy mind Blot all remembrance of the seeming wrong. And hold me guiltless a.*^ the fitful wind ? IF WORDS COULD SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE THEE. 67 If words could say how much I love thee, dear, I should distrust my love, as being weak, And leave unsaid these words which now I speak : But I remember how tear after tear, (Sweet tears of joy !) fell on my burning cheek, That happy night, when from your lips I heard My all of happiness summed up in a word ; — And how even then my heart did vainly seek For love's interpreter, till an inward voice Whispered, — happy heart ! there is no choice, For only silence may such love express As that which now your o'er-fraught bosom bears ; Thy tongue were spokesman if thy love were less : We guess the stream's depth from the calm it wears ! 68 A ROSE-BUD, AND FROM THEE. A rose-bud, and from thee ! Ah ! how my heart Throbs as I looic upon ifc ! — never yet Were such rare beauties in a rose-bud met, As I see here: — these leaves, half blown apart, — Roseate and soft as are thy lip and cheek, — Give out a perfume never hid before In any flower's heart the earth e'er bore, flow lovingly to me all fair things speak Of thee, the fair'st of all ! — of thee, in whom All beauty is concentred ! — Thus this rose. Fair in itself, with added beauty glows, And wears a newer and a richer bloom. Because once touched by thee, — ^f or whose sweet saki The strains of a long-silent harp I wake. I ON A MINIATURE. 69 ON A MINIATURE. The same, yet not the same ; here is the eye Thro' which thy pure soul looked, as it looks now, — Calm, steadfast, true ; here the unruffled brow, And the sweet mouth about whose corners lie Shy, shifting graces that betray what speech Shall issue from thy lips — soft, gracious words. Sweet as the songs of Summer's earliest birds When in green woods they carol each to each. Ah ! how my thoughts fly backward, as I gaze On this dear portrait, to those golden hours When all the earth for me was sown with flo vers, And all too short the Summer's longest days. With the same love that thrilled me then, I now Press to my lips thy pictured cheek and brow. 70 QUEEN EMMA, QUEEN EMMA. Dead in the mid-Pacific ! — Hapless Queen, Widowed and childless when thy woman's heart Was fresh and young, but bearing sorrow's smart As 'twere another wreath which the Unseen Had crowned thee with — a wreath of sadder mien — The cypress, not the orange, — and yet worn Meekly, as mindful that the rose's thorn — Even as the rose itself — though sharp and keen. Is God's gift none the le 3. — I heard thee tell Of happy days spent in the island home Of England's laureate. — Were mine his spell, A wave of fitting verse should break in foam At thy grave's foot, while fairest flowers should smile Above thee in the far Hawaiian isle !