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Songs of b[)e PineWoods; 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR CAMPBELL. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HORACE COX, 
 WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM'S BUILDINGS, E.G. 
 
 1894. 
 {Copyrighted for America. 'X 
 

 CM«AOIANA 
 
 i 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM's BUILDINGS, E.C. 
 
 JUN 7 1951 
 
 Ul 
 
(Son iPBNTS. 
 
 
 l'A(iE 
 
 My Verses ^ 
 
 Lux IN Tenebris • ' * ^ 
 
 Sonnets : 
 
 1. ToM , . . 13 
 
 2. Composed on hearing someone singing 
 
 *' The Old Garden " H 
 
 3. To a Lady ^4 
 
 4. Composed on the Lake Shore at Noontide 1 5 
 
 5. The same, continued • ^^ 
 
 6. The same, concluded i^ 
 
 7. To M ^7 
 
 8. To Beatrice ^^ 
 
 At Sea ^9 
 
 The Songs of the Sea Waves 21 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 Meditation on the Eve of All Souls . , 25 
 
 To A Mayflower 29 
 
 In the April Sunlight 32 
 
 Song for the Annunciation -36 
 
 After Sunset 39 
 
 Stanzas for Music : 
 
 1 . Where the Roses Lie 41 
 
 2. In Drear December . .... . . 42 
 
 My Life 44 
 
 The Story of an Iris , 48 
 
 On the Marshes at Sundown . . . . . 74 
 
 The Child's Dream of Heaven . . . . . jy 
 Fragments of Earlier Poems : 
 
 1. Lines Written on St. Patrick's Day . . 82 
 
 2. A Song 83 
 
 3. A Lament .' 84 
 
 4. A Midnight Ramble ....... 86 
 
 5. The Dying Year '..'.'. . . . . 89 
 
gongf 01^ lY ip™^ W^P^^^ 
 
 CQy Ubi^sbs. 
 
 I GATHERED them in moan of mountain wind. 
 And soughing of dark pines that veil the blue 
 Of midnight skies, and temper noonday sims 
 To mystic shadow-light of sombre dreamp, — 
 In calmest summer sunset, when the light 
 Dies on the placid water, and the sky 
 And water blend in purple shadowings 
 Of rainbow tints, when blue and softest green, 
 Like the sea-shells, mingle in higher heaven. 
 And purplish red, bespangled with small stars 
 And streaked with sunlight, into crimson blerds 
 Low down above the horizon, — in the gloom 
 On sadder summer evenings, when the wind 
 Moans in the leafy branches, and the glare 
 Of clouded sunset lingers in the west, — 
 In blush of springtime, when the breath of May 
 Burst from the waking bosom of the earth, 
 Sweet-scented with the odour of new dreams, — 
 In autumn sere and wet autumnal wind, 
 
 B 
 
SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 And snow of winter, lying in sunlight cold 
 
 Under pine branches and on hemlock trees, 
 
 With blue of heaven above, and sparkling air 
 
 That links die spirit of man to purer sky. 
 
 I gathered them, as I have gathered friends, 
 
 By chance, and in the seeming idle hours 
 
 Of many times and seasons ; and, like friends, 
 
 1 find them wanting, and with changing face 
 
 To show themselves, as forms that people dreams; 
 
 And with a human character each one. 
 
 Sweet and inconstant, fickle, false, and fair, 
 
 Some passionate as moan of midnight seas 
 
 In summer moons, and some with winter drest, 
 
 And blasts of drear December blowing cold 
 
 On dying day-dreams ; and, like friends, they go 
 
 Out of my life, to dwell and die apart. 
 
 Such are Ihey, born of human sympathy 
 
 With all that ever has been or can be 
 
 Kindred to heart in nature, and a tale 
 
 Of old life memories and bygone dreams 
 
 (ioes with them where they hasten— be it night 
 
 By moon and star forsaken, and enwrapped 
 
 In silence everchangeless, or the morn 
 
 That rises, queenlike, on the flowing tide 
 
 In summer-scented regions by the sea. 
 
 Where friendship, poetry and youth and love 
 
 Awake to live in sweet immortal song ! 
 
 1894, 
 
 
 i 
 
' 
 
 ' 
 
 UlSX m ©BNBBI^IS. 
 
 I. 
 
 The bells are ringing ; 'tis the hour of seven, 
 The summer sun is sinking in the west , 
 
 Within my heart, like weary souls to Heaven, 
 Dreams and desires are passing into rest. 
 
 No other sound is heard, no life beholden. 
 Around, afar, the weary world is still, 
 
 Save the grass blowing on the marshes golden, 
 And murmur of the pines upon the hill. 
 
 Far ofT, above the line of hills to westward. 
 The spires of village churches strike the sky. 
 
 White, w^ooden spires, with light of even crested, 
 Whence comes the sound of bells that rise and die. 
 
 
 The grass is blowing, golden in the sunlight, 
 Like waves of ocean all the marshes roll ; 
 
 The many lights are swallow^ed in the one light 
 That lightens earth and sky and heart and soul. 
 
 n 2 
 
^ SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Tlic bells are ringing-— in the even ringing; 
 
 Floats the soft music of their dreamy song 
 Among the hills and valleys, like the singing 
 
 Of blessed souls in chorus sweet and strong. 
 
 The bells are ringing— unto the faint hearted, 
 Like angel benediction, peace is given ; 
 
 And voices speak, the souls of the departed, 
 
 " Strive that ye rest as we that rest have striven." 
 
 The bells are ringing— with the sunset glory 
 That lightens heavenward from the earth and 
 sky 
 
 The sound is mingling, and the old-time story 
 Is sung again, of love that cannot die ! 
 
 FF 
 
 II. 
 
 The sun is sinking, and its golden gleams 
 
 Are dying on the wild Acadian hills. 
 
 Slow, slow it sinks upon a sky of gold, 
 
 And pauses on the border of a cloud 
 
 That shrouds the horizon ; while the marshes glow 
 
 In splendour of the sunlight, and the grass 
 
 Sweeps in long waves of light and shadow blue 
 
 Onward and onward like to waves of sea. 
 
 Toward the eastward towers the mountain-top. 
 
 Where pines are waving gentlier than the wind 
 
LUX IN TENEBRIS. 
 
 That gently lulls to silence ; and the sun 
 Creeps in between the darkness of the houghs 
 And tints the sombre green with mellowness. 
 Far to the westward rise the village spires, 
 White, wooden spires against the sunset sky ; 
 And, close at hand, and underneath my eyes, 
 There is a graveyard, where a little mound 
 Rises, a little mound of earth and grass, 
 Some seven years old. I lean upon the fence— 
 A rustic fence of poles— and let my hands 
 Cover my eyes, as though I strove to see 
 Beyond, where mortal vision may not pierce. 
 Before me is the little mound of earth, 
 Covered with grass, and at its head a stone, 
 A plain white stone, with date of death and birth 
 Thereon engraven. All around the grass 
 Grows wildly, with a flower here and there. 
 Near the head blooms profusely a wild rose, 
 With spreading branches, where the roses blown 
 Spread out their petals to the setting sun. 
 And catch its rays upon the pink and red, 
 And lend their beauty to the summer day. 
 In early spring the violets were there ; 
 Now there is nothing but the violet leaves. 
 Thick clustering round the feet of her I loved. 
 Soft violet leaves, green as the memory 
 Of her whose feet they shadow. And the wind 
 Fans gently all the spears of meadow-grass. 
 Blowing the seed-tufts of the dandelion 
 
SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Hither and thither : and the little flies 
 Spin round my head. 
 
 And so I stand and gaze, 
 The sunlight plav'ng round me on the hills, 
 The dream-light of another day within ! 
 
 ■■ ) 
 
 : 1 
 
 J 
 
 III. 
 
 It was years ago, and the day was fair, 
 
 Such a day as this day in June ; 
 And the Sunday bells in the midsummer air 
 
 Rang out just the same old tune. 
 
 The sun went down till it kissed the hills, 
 
 And the golden light in the sky 
 Spread over the land such a glamour as fills 
 
 The heart with new hopes and high. 
 
 We stood by the cottage as sunset fell, 
 And the village lay still at our feet ; 
 
 The scent of the roses lingered, and smell 
 Of the hayfields came faint and sweet. 
 
 We stood by the roses, my love and I, 
 With the blue of the heavens o'erhead ; 
 
 And we watched the sun, as it set in the sky, 
 Till the light of the day was dead. 
 
LUX IN TENEBRIS. 
 
 
 
 The bells were ringing ; we strained our ears 
 
 Till the last long peal was rung ; 
 It seemed like a hymn for the coming years 
 
 And a bridal song that was sung. 
 
 I looked in her eyes, and the light in heaven 
 
 Not purer did seem to be 
 Than the pure sweet soul within, that was given 
 
 To be part of my life to me. 
 
 My eyes grew dim as I watched ; the sun 
 Went down in that " sky of bliss," 
 
 It seemed as if Heaven and earth were one, 
 And the next world a part of this ! 
 
 As if ar were ended of earthly strife 
 And sorrow and pain and wTong : 
 
 And the roar and the conflict and tumult of life 
 Went out in that bridal song. 
 
 As if all were known that the heart can know 
 Of this world where we live and die, 
 
 And were gatnered up in the sunset glow, 
 That was lighting the earth and sky. 
 
 It was years ago, but the years must give 
 For a space what they take away ; 
 
 For a moment still I am there and live 
 In the light of that midsummer day ; 
 
mm 
 
 8 SONGS OF THE PJNE WOODS. 
 
 Alone by the roses again we stand, 
 And I feel, as our arms entwine, 
 
 The tender clas]) of a snow-white hand 
 And the answer of hps to mine ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The bells have stopped their ringing; all is still 
 Save the wind rising on the mountain-top ; 
 The day is done, the long expanse of cloud 
 Has swallowed up the sunlight ; dark and blue. 
 The shadows creep upon the blowing grass ; 
 The daylight fades, and scarcely can be seen 
 The red upon the petals of the roses. 
 Afar, the steeples of the churches rise 
 Faint and uncertain, for the sky has paled 
 Behind them, and the gray blends with the gray. 
 I hear monotonous moaning of the wind 
 Upon the marshes, and the mountain pines. 
 Standing as mourners of the coffined past. 
 Answer with solemn sigh, — the day is done, 
 And dimly in the twilight fade away 
 The glory and the memory of the dream. 
 It all is ended ; shadows only linger, 
 Dark glossy violet leaves and blades of grass. 
 Now cold and dewy, cover up the dead. 
 
 I 
 
LUX IN TENEBRIS 
 
 \ 
 
 O nevermore, my love, O nevermore ! 
 Let the pure heart that gave its love to mine 
 Rest so for ever. Still the sun in spring 
 Gladdens the wakening wc^ld, and summer suns 
 Illumine earth and sky, and still the glow 
 Of fair autumnal seasons fades away 
 From year to year, and still the starry nights 
 Die in the eastern glory of the morning, 
 While all the earth breathes beauty from her bosom- 
 But never shall the dead come back to me ! 
 Listen— so sad, so solemn is the moaning 
 Of the wind, swaying back and forth the branches; 
 Listen and listen, as in early spring-time. 
 Unto its song— list to the solemn soughing 
 Of the pine branches— O my heart, my love, 
 Days are not now as in the years forgotten, 
 Morning and evening and the rest of twilight, 
 Night and its shadows breaking into morning 
 Sooner or later,— now a dream of even 
 Shadeth the noontide, and the days do gather 
 Shadow on shadow ere the sun is set. 
 Yet will I take, for ever and for ever. 
 Into the future memory of the past. 
 Treasured for ever, though a cloud of sorrow 
 Darken the daylight when I dream of thee ! 
 Still I shall love thee ; not as in the morning 
 Of the old time, nor with the passionate love 
 Of earlier days, when, looking in thine eyes, 
 I saw reflected skies of Heaven's own blue, 
 
10 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 But with another love that asketh not 
 Return of glance nor touch of lip and hand. 
 
 Slowly the heavens change, and darker grow 
 
 The hollow depths under the pines ; the wind 
 
 Rises a little, and its wistful cry 
 
 Dies in the branches. Thou art gone, my love, 
 
 Gone ever from me ; earth is upon thy head, 
 
 Thou restest there ! But in the coming years 
 
 For ever shalt thou live, and I will turn 
 
 My heart far back again, and thou shalt be 
 
 All that thou mightst have been. The world lives 
 
 long, 
 And fleeting shadows we. Rest in thy bed 
 Of earth, and let the years creep o'er thy head 
 And come and go, and mortals dream and die. 
 Thou restest still ; thy tears and thy regrets, 
 Thy passions o'er, and aU thy stormy life 
 Passed into silence — we shall meet again 
 In dim thought only, and not face to face ! 
 I shall not see thee— let thy image haunt 
 Once and again my mind, and let my heart 
 Sometimes in silence speak to thee of love, 
 And in my dreams let me go back again 
 To other days— I shall behold thy face 
 O nevermore, my love, O nevermore ! 
 
LUX IN TENEBRIS. 
 
 II 
 
 ^es 
 
 V. 
 
 The day with its dream has ended, 
 
 And night comes over the hill ; 
 The past and its joys have wended 
 
 To the haven where all is still. 
 The June day dwindles to twilight, 
 
 And shadows by shadows lie ; 
 The darkness grows, and the high light 
 
 Is dying out of the sky. 
 
 The pines are singing around me 
 
 Their still, sad song of earth ; 
 The darkness of death has found me, 
 
 A despair that is almost mirth ; 
 The damp, chill air is blowing 
 
 From the marshes around my head, 
 While the old bright dreams are going, 
 
 And the love of my youth lies dead. 
 
 They tell me of other regions. 
 
 Of a land beyond the sky, 
 Where the many, many legions 
 
 Of mortal men that die 
 Shall meet— of a brighter meeting 
 
 Than ever was dreamed of here, 
 Where all delights are fleeting. 
 
 And the best grows old and sere— 
 
12 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 But oh — we two have known of 
 
 Such love as they cannot know 
 Who look for the fairer crown of 
 
 A future ordered so ; 
 It never could be — our story, 
 
 Such passion and love and pain, 
 Our golden youth with its glory, 
 
 How could we live it again ? 
 
 I shall sleep by thy side, some day, love, 
 
 When this mortal life is o'er ; 
 And the ages will glide away, love. 
 
 Till their record is kept no more, 
 And eternal sleep is granted — 
 
 We two, still side by side. 
 Shall never again be parted, 
 
 Shall never again be tried. 
 
 No more — while the light is dying, 
 
 I leave thee — O love, farewell ; 
 I am with thee where thou art lying, 
 
 My heart with thy heart to dwell ; 
 In the grave there is no estranging 
 
 Of the love that we two have given ; 
 I am thine, thou art mine, unchanging. 
 
 And the rest we shall know is Heaven 
 
 1891. 
 
Sonnets. 
 
 1. 
 
 To M. 
 
 I DREAMED of thcc befovc the morning broke, 
 In sweetest slumber did I dream of thee ; 
 I looked into thine eyes, and feign would be 
 
 Allowed to kiss thy lips— and, when I woke, 
 
 I went on with the dream, and softly spoke 
 Thy name, as if thy image I could see 
 In the gray light of morn, that came to me, 
 
 Curling through darkened window panes like smoke ! 
 
 And now that day is dying in the skies, 
 I lay aside my pen, and happily smile 
 To think that I shall be with thee erewhile, 
 
 To sit beside thee, gazing in thine eyes. 
 
 While swift and sweet the hours speed on,— and then 
 
 I will to sleep and dream of thee again ! 
 
H 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Composed on 
 
 II. 
 
 HEARING someone 
 
 Old Garden." 
 
 SINGING 
 
 it 
 
 The 
 
 Sing me a song of golden days agone, 
 
 For I have dreamed a dream of love so sweet 
 That pain and care have fled with swiftest feet 
 
 Into the darkness, and again is born 
 
 With half-articulate utterance unforsworn, 
 
 The passionate hope that she and I may meet ! 
 The fire leaps up, and music pulses beat. 
 
 And memories sad, like ghosts, are left forlorn. 
 
 Tell me again that she for ever dwells 
 
 In that bright land where death can never be, 
 That youth will come again to her and me, — 
 
 For morning wakens with the midnight bells. 
 
 Sing on, — such answer I have wished for long, 
 
 And let me hear God's promise in the song ! 
 
 III. 
 To A Lady. 
 
 All silent is the wind, and, purest white. 
 
 The snow embosoms, thick and crisp and cold. 
 The city and the forest in its fold. 
 
 Low sinks the fire, and the frosty night 
 
 I know of only from the fiercer light 
 
IE 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 That leaps adown the ruddy coals, and, bold, 
 
 Bethinks to rouse again the strength of old, 
 When earlier lighted, blazing wild and bright. 
 The sound of music lingers in my ear, 
 
 And stories read with visions fill my eyes ; 
 
 Yet but the background these— my fancy flies 
 Ever to dwell on something yet more dear : 
 For what can joy of song or story be. 
 Sweet lady, to the dreams I dream of thee ? 
 
 15 
 
 IV. 
 
 Composed on the Lake Shore at Noontide. 
 
 The hot June sunlight pours upon the lake, 
 And all the earth in noontide glory burns. 
 No ripple stirs the water, and it spurns 
 The effort of the faintest wind to break 
 Its perfect calm ; and, though it seems to take 
 
 A shade of deeper blue, where shadows make 
 • And die again, the vapoury cloud returns 
 To clearer essence ; and the earth, awake, 
 Exults in ecstasy and joy profound. 
 
 And where the maples fringe the distant scene 
 With yellow sunlight tints and varied green 
 Of deeper glades, cool shadows fall around 
 Upon the pebbly shore ; and bathers play, 
 And revel in the beauty of the day. 
 
i6 
 
 SOXOS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 V. 
 
 Continued. 
 
 So fair the scene ! And 1, with heart intent 
 To plunge into the water, in the shade 
 Of branching pines straid still, with memory stayed 
 To dwell upon the chain of years that bent 
 Such beauty into being ; and the scent 
 
 Of brambles, scorched and burning, every blade, 
 Brings back the time when water, wind, and glade 
 Were part of one vast, luminous cloud that went 
 Round in the thinner ether ; and my heart 
 
 Sinks at the thought of ice-ribbed oceans, snow 
 That covered thick the earth and killed the glow 
 Of times primeval, whos( .emains impart 
 Knowledge of monstrous forms in land and sea, 
 Once dwellers on the spot where now are we. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Concluded. 
 
 And of the future ! Who can think upon 
 Such glory gone to ashes and cold lust. 
 Such noontide splendour, frozen in the crust 
 ( )f a time-wearv world of shadows, one 
 With life and soul and sunlight ever done, 
 
-V SONNETS. 
 
 And rolling yet for ever, as it must, 
 
 Through darkness, to no guiding hand to trust, 
 
 With voice to speak and soul for memory none ? 
 
 The thought oppresses — and the present seems, 
 Like golden stardrops in the dewy dawn. 
 To melt while glanced at ; and I catch the morn 
 
 In all its ecstasy of noontide dreams, 
 
 And hurry forward, on the sunlit shore 
 
 The glory of the present to restore. 
 
 »7 
 
 VII. 
 
 To M. 
 
 I HEAR them talk of Heaven, a happier land 
 Beyond this mortal clime ; when life is o'er. 
 There shall we dwell in bliss for evermore ! 
 Oh, could I but be sure that we might stand 
 Together after death, and, hand in hand, 
 The plighted love and joys of youth restore, 
 So would I, looking Goaward, now implore 
 Such fate be granted us by God's command ! 
 It cannot be that our sweet love must die, 
 Like summer flowerets in autumnal frost ; 
 But rather, when life's stormy sea is crossed. 
 Our love shall blossom under fairer sky. 
 Such dreams are mine — of thee and of God's power- 
 In life's divinest mood and holiest hour ! 
 
 c 
 
i8 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 To Beatrice. 
 
 A POET with diviner gift of song 
 
 Might sing of thee, sweet Beatrice, and be 
 Content with all his singing. And if he 
 Could paint thee as thou art, the world would throng 
 To see thee, and thy beauty would belong 
 To aftertime and all humanity ! 
 Such strain of high intent is not for me ; 
 Yet no sincerest praise can do thee wrong, 
 And so my heart, with thy sweet love illumed, 
 Can pour its rapture forth in humbler tone ; 
 And while I sit, these wintry nights, alone, 
 Mv heart to summer twilight is attuned 
 In dreams of thee ! And so I breathe a prayer, 
 Where'er thou art, may Heaven be with thee there ! 
 
^m Sea. 
 
 The sun is sinking low 
 Down in the purple depths of purple sea, 
 And lights a pathway with its golden glow 
 
 From far-off lands to me. 
 
 The wind from distant skies 
 Sweeps o'er the water, and the white sails bend 
 In ecstasy, swift on, to where there lies 
 
 The port, our journey's end. 
 
 Day follows after day ; 
 And, every morn, still further in the west 
 Recedes my native land ; and yet away 
 
 We speed, nor find our rest. 
 
 Oh, that the winds would bear 
 A message from me to the distant shore, 
 To whisper in the ears I love that there 
 
 My heart is evermore ! 
 
 c 2 
 
Trmf 
 
 20 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 God send us safe to land, 
 And bring us back again, where'er we roam ; 
 Long wandering and long parted, may we stand 
 
 Once more with friends at home ! 
 
 The earth is left alone ; 
 The blaze of sunlight dies upon the sea ; 
 Another morn, another day, has flown 
 
 To live in memory. 
 
 The distance fades from sight ; 
 Gloom gathers on the water, winds on high 
 Moan in the rigging, where the ghostly white 
 ■ Of sails shuts out the sky. 
 
 No sound but rustling wind 
 Against the mast, and strain of ropes above 
 Breaks the deep silence, and my eye is dimmed 
 
 For thought of those I love. 
 
 So wide the waters roll — 
 And all I dream of, all I wish for, ^here / 
 Comes yet a voice that answers soul to soul, 
 
 An echo of their prayer. 
 
 O love, we cannot part ! 
 Let darkness fall on earth and sky and sea— 
 In twilight or in sunlight, heart to heart, 
 
 Thou answerest still to me ! 1886. 
 
©HE Songs op jphb Sea ^ayes. 
 
 In Imitation of Swinburne. 
 
 Borne on the breast of the breezes, 
 
 Fresh from the foam and the spray, 
 Safe from the south wind that seizes 
 
 Fairest of forms for its prey. 
 Smelling of brine from the billows, 
 
 Salt with the salt of the waves, 
 Rocked on tempestuous pillows. 
 
 Nursed in the seas that are graves, 
 
 Come from the northern Adantic, 
 
 Come from the wings of the west, 
 Ghastly with spectres gigantic. 
 
 Phantoms of fear and unrest, 
 Tempest-tossed backward and forward. 
 
 Songs from the waves of the sea. 
 Blown by the wild winds to shoreward, 
 
 Blown by the night winds to me. 
 
ff 
 
 22 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Visions of summer eternal, 
 
 South in the isles of the blest, 
 Climes where the winter is vernal, 
 
 Lands where the storms are at rest, 
 Shores without sadness or sorrow, 
 
 Streams without shadow or stain, 
 Days without dream of to-morrow, 
 
 Nights without knowledge of pain, 
 
 Pass through the gloom 'mid the sighing 
 
 Sound of the wind in the pines ; 
 Die with the light that is dying 
 
 Far on the mountain inclines ; 
 Flicker and fade and dissever, 
 
 Visions and fancies and gleams. 
 Ever returning and ever 
 
 Dying again into dreams. 
 
 Dim grow the mountains ; the daylight 
 
 Dies like a dream that is o'er ; 
 Grim through the mist in the gray light 
 
 Flash the white waves on the shore. 
 Come to me, gazing to seaward. 
 
 Snatches of songs of the sea, 
 Borne by the kind winds to me-ward, 
 
 Borne by the night winds to me. 
 
THE SONGS OF THE SEA WAVES. 
 
 Comes the remembrance of stories, 
 
 Fragments of tunes and of rhymes, 
 Songs of past days and the glories 
 
 Told of in tales of old times, 
 Faces and forms that discover 
 
 Love for a love that is dead, 
 Memories pallid that hover 
 
 Over the years that have fled. 
 
 23 
 
 Visions of ships flying seaward, 
 
 Spread with white sails to the night, 
 Storm-clouds to windward and leeward, 
 
 Foul winds that follow their flight. 
 Skies that burn bright in the morning, 
 
 Suns that rise red without form. 
 Flames that burst forth as a warning 
 
 Telling of tempest and storm ; 
 
 Pale faces, placid in dying. 
 
 Wet with the brine as with tears, 
 Depths wherein lost hearts are lying 
 
 Silent through limitless years. 
 Come in the mist and the twilight 
 
 Over the rocks on the shore ; 
 Fade as the forms of the sky might 
 
 Fade when the sunset is o'er. 
 
24 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Phantoms and forms from far regions 
 
 Found on the wandering waves, 
 Drifting to shoreward in legions, 
 
 Swept from their shadowless graves. 
 Tempest-tossed backward and forward, 
 
 Come from the wide waste of sea, 
 Blown by the wild winds to shoreward. 
 
 Borne by the night winds to me. 
 
 1890. 
 
►o. 
 
 CQBDITATION on the eVB OP fiLL 
 
 Souls. 
 
 The autumn moon is rising o'er the hills ; 
 The night is calm and clear, the wind is still 
 And all the forest sleeps ; the far-off town 
 Seems but a phantom to my mind, a few 
 Faint glimmering lights beyond the range of hills. 
 The sky is all of one unclouded blue, 
 And, through the topmost branches of the trees, 
 I see the moon slow rising. I have stood 
 Upon this hillside path full many a night. 
 To watch the new moon early sink to rest 
 Behind ; and often have I seen her queen. 
 Reigning in midst of heaven ; and full oft 
 Have watched her rise up in the eastern sky. 
 The gray hills, glittering in the frosty night, 
 Where first the moonlight falls, and, farther down, 
 Dark shadows, and the dim and misty hue 
 Of far-off mountain-tops against the sky — 
 How often have I seen them, and how oft 
 Have felt their fullest charm, as if there were 
 No other world to wush for, and no life 
 
26 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 
 So full of joy as this ! And I have thought 
 On all the hope men have of the other life ; 
 A dream of fancy it has seemed to me, 
 Not an enduring truth which I can know, 
 As I can know the glory of the hills, 
 And weird winds, whispering in the woods at night. 
 And calmest smile of summer, when the day 
 Hath passed its prime, and, on the warm green earth. 
 The shadows tel) us that the sun is ?ow; 
 Not as the faith in that which we have known 
 Through all our years, which strengthens with each 
 day. 
 
 In nature there is death ; the life of all things. 
 Lasting from ages unto ages long, 
 Endeth in death, and everywhere is death, 
 And from that death there is no dream of waking ! 
 Low breathes the murmur of the dark pine branches 
 Swaying above, and, while the wind blows soft, 
 Mournful and tender, stealing through the shadows 
 Come the old days again, old faces smiling 
 Which now can smile no more, old voices calling 
 Which speak no more or have on changes fallen ; 
 And days of peace that may not come again. 
 And days of sorrow that w^e feign would beckon 
 Back from the silence — we shall meet egain 
 In dim thought only, never face to face ! 
 Listen — how sad, how solemn is the soughing 
 Of the pine branches, like a funeral dirge 
 
MEDITATION ON THE EVE OF ALL SOULS. 27 
 
 h, 
 
 Lch 
 
 IS 
 
 For all the dead and dying sons of men, 
 Sung by the forest. Still they come again, 
 These starlight visions of forgotten loves ; 
 And I am living back in other years, 
 And things that are not seem as things that are. 
 
 Rises the wind in yonder depth of sky. 
 
 And sweeps, wide-wandering, through the star-lit blue; 
 
 And moaning forests answer, soughing pines 
 
 Murmur, and wonder at the hidden things 
 
 In mountain and in sky and in the night, 
 
 That no man knoweth nor can ever know 
 
 Until mortality be shaken off, 
 
 And unto earth, whence came we, we are given. 
 
 And can we live again ? The cry goes out 
 
 To darkness, and the darkness answers not, 
 
 Nor listens ; but the wind that passeth by 
 
 Mourns wearily the hope of other years ; 
 
 And all the mighty forests, in whose depths 
 
 The night winds and the darkness have their home. 
 
 Breathe dimly of the mystery of death. 
 
 And of the life that cometh. And the moon, 
 
 Bright and serene, looks coldly out of heaven, 
 
 And smiles at hope of immortality. 
 
 There is no answer. Through the abyss of space 
 A thousand stars send light from distance such 
 As none in thought can traverse, where the skies 
 Unto us mortals are as limitless seas— 
 
 r 1 
 
T 
 
 28 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Light that reveals not aught to questioning eyes. 
 And down the stream of time it comes again 
 The question still unanswered ; these same stars 
 Looked on the land of Uz, and saw the men 
 Who came to comfort him whom God had tried, 
 And spoke and cjuestioned, " Whence and to what 
 
 end 
 Such trouble and such sorrow unto men ? " 
 Out of the whirlwind came an answer then, 
 '* Words without knowledge, counsel in the night." 
 And still the silence of the centuries 
 Is kept, and we the question do bequeath 
 '1 o generations in the womb of time. 
 
 So silent L The air, the heavens shall speak, 
 The multitudes on multitudes of stars. 
 The fair, full moon, the round orb of the sky, 
 These all shall speak — they speak, but answer not. 
 There is no answer ; — until we are brought 
 Back to that land whence life and soul and death 
 Were given, there is no answer ! 
 
 And the moon 
 Is now serene, reigning in midst of heaven, 
 And wandering winds, beneath, their homage pay ; 
 And earth looks up, moon-crowned, in the night, 
 Toward the silent stars. And we are still. 
 Nor ask nor question further ; and the dead 
 Come not to meet us, but in silence wait 
 Till, dying, we, like them, pass unto life. 1892. 
 
I 
 
 lat 
 
 ©0 A CQayplowbi^. . 
 
 In Nova Scotia the trailing arbutus is known by no other 
 
 name. 
 
 O FLOWER of softest pink, 
 We dreams and fancies link 
 As thy perfume we drink 
 In ferny dell or by the brooklet's brink! 
 
 Among the moss and green, 
 The long, thin blades between, 
 Thy opening buds are seen, 
 O child of May, of all spring flowers the queen ! 
 
 And thou art all alone ! 
 No other flowers have blown 
 So early as thy own 
 Sweet buds among the bushes and the stone. 
 
 The breath of early morn, 
 The roses at the dawn. 
 The daisies on the lawn 
 Among the grass when summer breezes fawn, 
 
30 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 11 
 
 Charm us ; but not as thou, 
 Who early dost endow 
 The world with sweet ! Even now 
 Cold April drops are falling from each bough. 
 
 Upon thee, as they flew, 
 The March winds bitter blew ; 
 Thy sunny days were few. 
 And yet thou comest, bright and fresh and new ! 
 
 Thou mindest not the snow, 
 Thy trailing branches grow 
 While yet the north-winds blow, 
 And icy ponds and brooklets overflow. 
 
 Soft pink and waxy white 
 Thou spreadest to our sight,— 
 As differeth the light 
 Of rosy morn from the pale moon at night. 
 
 Tell me who painted thee 
 That thou shouldst ever be 
 So lovely, and so free 
 From all that might have marred or tainted thee? 
 
 The swallows northward fly, 
 And leafy June is nigh. 
 We hail the summer sky,— 
 But thou, in all thy beauty, art hard by ! 
 
TO A MAYFLOWER. 3« 
 
 When winter's day is done, 
 And brighter shines the sun, 
 Thou bloomest, as the one 
 To tell us that our summer has begun. 
 
 And, in the wildwood bower. 
 In dark or gladsome hour, 
 In sunshine or in shower, 
 From spring ^o spring we greet thee, gentle flower ! 
 ^ 1887. 
 
 ^i 
 
 \ 
 
: 
 
 In the flP^lh SUNLIGHIP. 
 
 I SAW her upon the mountain, 
 
 One wild, bright April morn, 
 When the spray of the hillside fountain 
 
 Far out on the wind was borne ; 
 She was bending down in the sunlight 
 
 To pluck the first violets blown. 
 That were springing up, one by one, right 
 
 Under the fountain stone. 
 
 She came, as I passed, to meet me, 
 
 And her cheeks flushed rosy red, 
 And she held out her hand to greet me, 
 
 Though never a word she said ; 
 But I caught her two hands, and, bending, 
 
 Looked into her eyes of blue 
 Till my soul with her soul was blending, 
 
 And my heart to her heart beat true. 
 
m THE APRIL SUNLIGHT. 
 
 Like Spring on the new year treading, 
 
 She stood in the ripe young day, 
 With greenness around her spreading 
 
 A path for *h^- coming May. 
 Her hair blev ound her, scorning 
 
 The winds, a:, they went forlorn, 
 On that wild, bright April morning, 
 
 When the gladness of spring was born. 
 
 She showed me the flowers of the hillside. 
 
 Four tiniest bits of blue. 
 First-born of the new-born springtide, 
 
 When the joy of the earth is new ; 
 They were moist with the dew, but lighter 
 
 The blue in her own blue eyes. 
 And the glow in my heart was brighter 
 
 Than the light of the April skies. 
 
 I was hurried, and told her sadly, 
 
 " I can tarry no longer now ; " 
 But she smiled in my eyes, and gladly 
 
 I bent and I kissed her brow. 
 The time had slipped by, and I told her 
 
 Not a moment I dare to stay ; 
 We parted— but I could behofd her 
 
 Far off, as I went away. 
 
 i D 
 
 23 
 
mmm 
 
 34 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODJ. 
 
 I thought to return at even 
 
 To tell her the love I bore, 
 And the April day was wreathen 
 
 With dreams of a bliss in store ; 
 But the even passed, and the morrow, 
 
 I tarried against my will ; 
 And the weeks unto months of sorrow 
 
 Were added- x came not still. 
 
 
 I shall see her no more for ever! 
 
 The grass on her grave is green ; 
 And the wild, bright April weather, 
 
 And the wintry blasts and keen — 
 They are one to her now ; unbroken 
 
 Is the sleep that she sleeps below, 
 She is sileilt and gives no token 
 
 Of the summer sun or the snow. 
 
 I shall see her no more— O morning. 
 
 So wild, so bright, so sweet ! 
 With gladness thy steps adorning 
 
 And the green grass around thy feet ; 
 Thou art fled into days unthought of, 
 
 'To be lost in the distant years. 
 With the spring that my love was wrought of 
 
 And the harvest I reaped of tears 1 
 
 -J 
 1 
 
IN THE APRIL SUNLIGHT. 
 
 35 
 
 
 Yet it dwells in my heart for ever ; 
 
 In the glad autumnal glow, 
 In the wild, bright April weather, 
 
 Or in winter, 'mid frost and snow, 
 I see her beside the fountain, 
 
 Her dark form against the sky. 
 While the wind sings low on the mountain 
 
 Of the love that was born to die ! 
 
 1890. 
 
 1) 2 
 
Song poi^ hihb ^nnungiation. 
 
 Ave Maria, gratia plena! 
 
 Ave Mary, queen in glory, 
 
 Mother of God-begotten man, 
 Who hath given the world a story, 
 
 Noblest told since life began, 
 Pure and white and changeless maiden, 
 
 Bend thine eyes to earth and see 
 All the nations, sorrow-laden, 
 
 Looking upward unto thee ! 
 
 w 
 
 Fitting time when flowers are springing, 
 
 Thus to keep thy memory here. 
 When the stronger suns are bringing 
 
 Back the glories of the year ; 
 Storm and winter darkness falling. 
 
 Bound the olden time in gloom. 
 Breaks the springtide sun recalling 
 
 How the Christ hath left His tomb. 
 
SONG FOR THE ANNUNCIATION. 
 
 Thou, with simple soul of mortals, 
 
 Sawest not future years to rise, 
 Breaking from the dreary portals 
 
 Of a time-worn faith of lies, 
 Knewest not that ages following 
 
 After thine should learn to be 
 Purer, brighter, truer, hallowing 
 
 Name of Him who came of thee ! 
 
 37 
 
 All the heavenly constellations 
 
 Sparkle with diviner glow. 
 And the watchword of the nations 
 
 Is a truer light to know ; 
 Mary, woman, born of woman, 
 
 Thou art shrined in mortal fame, 
 For the God-like guides the human 
 
 Upward in the Christ-child's name. 
 
 He hath loved and called thee mother 
 
 Who hath taught us all to be 
 Man to every man a brother. 
 
 Love in every life to see ; 
 So be thine a name of gladness 
 
 While the ages onward roll, 
 Thou who knewest life in sadness, 
 
 And a sword that pierced the soul ! 
 
38 
 
 SONGS Of THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Ave jVIary, queen of angels, 
 
 Crowned with coronet of stars, 
 We can see thee, pure and changeless, 
 
 Looking up through earthly bars ; 
 Kneel we not to thee, nor pray we, 
 
 Bowing downward to adore, 
 But not less remember may we 
 
 Who hath blessed thee evermore. 
 
 Ave Mary, Ave Virgin, 
 
 Broke the purer light of dawn 
 In the first Annunciation 
 
 That to thee a son be born ; 
 All the hopes of time were shapen 
 
 In thy dream of light divine, 
 When His human form was taken, 
 
 And His mortal life from thine ! 
 
 1894. 
 
The world was wrapped in silence, for the night 
 
 Had come. I stood alone upon the hill, 
 
 And looked upon the sky and moving clouds, 
 
 And distant woods, and meadows far below, 
 
 And watched them growing fainter, as the light 
 
 Of even faded, till, at length, the moon 
 
 Was left to reign alone. The setting sun 
 
 Gathered a veil of clouds and gilded them 
 
 With its own glory, ere it sunk to rest. 
 
 Near the horizon, clouds of rosy white, 
 
 With dark blue masses lowering underneath. 
 
 Moved to the northward on a sky of gold ; 
 
 While, farther up, the heavens were overspread 
 
 With colours like the roses at the dawn. 
 
 Yet soft with dew ; through which, though few and f amt, 
 
 The stars shone. So continued all the sky 
 
 Until the sun was down, when gradually 
 
 The horizon darkened, and the earth grew pale 
 
 Under the moon. 
 
 I wandered through the hekls. 
 
 Picking the flowers that grew luxuriantly 
 
40 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Beside the ditches, throwing them about 
 Where'er I would, among the long damp grars. 
 And then beside the brook I stood awhile, 
 Watching the sky and listening to the wind. 
 The clouds were grouping in the south, and o'er 
 The mountains tarried, waiting for a breeze. 
 
 Across the brook the hay was newly mown, 
 And lay untouched, scenting the air around. 
 All was cut down, save a small narrow row 
 Beside the water, where the trailing vines 
 And roses bloomed and clustering rushes grew. 
 The dew was forming in the cooler air 
 Upon the marshes, and I turned my steps 
 Towards the hill, and sought a still retreat 
 Where the trees wove a canopy above 
 Of branches, and the blue sky softly smiled. 
 
 There all was quiet save the rustling boughs 
 Of hemlock, and the fluttering of the birch leaves 
 Above my head. The pale green and the dark 
 And interlacing branches seeming not 
 To move, and yet to breathe, as if a soul 
 Were in them. Over all the spell of night 
 Was cast ; the sleepy murmur of the brook, 
 The moon, serene, resplendent in the heavens, 
 The distant mountains, and the far-off view 
 Of hayfields, blended in a dream of peace. 
 
 1887, 
 
SiPANZAS POI^ fflUSIG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Where the Roses Lie. 
 
 My thoughts to thee, sweet, are winging, 
 
 While the night winds sink to rest. 
 And the bird is weary of singing, 
 
 And silent within its nest ; 
 To-night, in the warm June weather, 
 
 I wait where the roses lie 
 In clusters of bloom together, 
 
 Under a starlit sky. 
 
 Before that the day shall waken. 
 
 While the breeze is low and sweet, 
 And the dew of the night is shaken 
 
 From the rose-leaves upon my feet-— 
 I will sing of the love I bear thee, 
 
 Of a heart that is tried and true ; 
 Far off, I am ever near thee. 
 
 And the old, old love is new ! 
 
42 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 In the quiet, as even closes, 
 
 The words of my true love-song 
 
 Are borne, with the breath of roses, 
 On the winds as they pass along ; 
 
 Are borne with the breezes, winging 
 Their flight over land and sea ; 
 
 Till the winds, where thou art, are singing 
 
 Them over again to thee ! 
 
 1891. 
 
 II. 
 
 In drear December. 
 
 In drear December dying, 
 
 The passion and the prayer. 
 That found me unforgetful 
 
 Of earlier loves that were. 
 Grow fainter with the sighing 
 
 Of midnight winds above, 
 And leave me, unregretful. 
 
 To dream of new-born love ! 
 
 In drear December moaning, 
 I hear the winds pass by, 
 
 Like whispered consolation 
 For early loves that die ; 
 
 A new love lit the gloaming 
 • With dreams that linger long, 
 
 As comes the heart's vibration 
 After an old sweet song. 
 
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 In drear December dying, 
 
 The old love passed away, 
 Mid echoes faint, recalling 
 
 The blossoms of the May ; 
 And ever gentlier sighing 
 
 For dead and distant years, 
 The wind of night is falling 
 
 With memories it bears. 
 
 No tears are mine, no mourning 
 
 For love that came at dawn. 
 In youth's impassioned playtime. 
 
 In manhood's early morn ; 
 I look before me, scorning 
 
 To dream of aught but thee, 
 And wait a brighter Maytime, 
 
 In coming years to be ! 
 
 43 
 
 1893. 
 
 i s 
 
 J 
 
(Qy Liipb. 
 
 I. 
 
 Dreams, dreams, dreams — 
 
 And the morning mists melt fast ; 
 Dreams, dreams, dreams — 
 
 And the noon-tide hour is passed ; 
 And dreams, only dreams 
 In the short gray afternoon — 
 Dreams of a glorious sunset glow 
 On the icy fields and the woods, with snow 
 Lading the branches, where to and fro 
 The snow flakes flutter, and come and go, 
 In a falling shower of purest white, 
 In a thousand clusters of purest light, 
 That dance and whirl in their downward flight, 
 And lie on the ground in the purple night, 
 And woo the beams of the moon ! 
 Dreams of a day that is gone, 
 
 Dreams of a day that will be, 
 Dreams of a newer and brighter morn, 
 And a fairer, coming for me ! 
 
MY LIFE. ^5 
 
 And, dreaming, onward I go 
 While snow flakes flutter, while falls the snow. 
 And the snow flakes fly 
 
 In the north wind's breath, ^ 
 
 And the cloudy sky 
 
 Is as dull as death, 
 And onward, dreaming, I go 
 Amid the storm and the snow. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts- 
 Thoughts like the north wind, swift and keen. 
 Thoughts like the morning, warm and green. 
 
 Thoughts, idle thoughts, 
 Of the days and the years that have been. 
 Thoughts of the years that have sped away. 
 Of unnumbered tears, of a cheerier day, 
 And of all the eternal time. 
 And the day grows dim. 
 And the shadows grim 
 Cluster and fall 
 Like a purple pall 
 Over the snow and the rime. 
 And I dream of the gladness to be 
 In the davs of the future, and see 
 A brighter and happier year, 
 When the clouds overhead 
 Like phantoms have fled. 
 And behind is the sun shining clear 1 
 
46 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 And glorious streams of the starlight 
 
 Falling on mountains of snow, 
 Bidding the mountains afar light 
 
 Up with a cheerier glow, 
 Tileam in my heart like the morning, 
 
 Even as onward I go, 
 "learn in the darkness, adorning 
 
 The darkness, the mist and the snow. 
 
 
 III. 
 
 Dreams, thoughts and dreams, 
 
 Till all my life is gone, 
 Thoughts, dreams and thoughts 
 
 From midnight unto morn, 
 Dreaming and thinking and dreaming. 
 
 Ever as onward I go, 
 Thoughts in a torrent streaming 
 On me amid the snow. 
 And the winds are singing the same old song 
 Of joy and of sorrow of right and wrong. 
 Of the good and the ill that to life belong 
 And to mortals given to know. 
 
 I look for a day of gladness, 
 
 A day in a world as free 
 From folly and care and madness 
 
 As cometh in dreams to me ; 
 
 But the darkness thickens, 
 
 The north wind quickens 
 
MY LIFE. 
 
 47 
 
 The beat of the falling snow ; 
 And the path grows deep, 
 And the shadows creep 
 Over, around, and below : 
 And I look for a rift in the winter sky, 
 And a lull in the storm, but the wind sweeps by 
 With a mocking laugh and a churlish cry, 
 And the pine woods sough and sigh. 
 
 I am weary, weary of waiting, 
 
 The long years come and go, 
 And still I am waiting, waiting 
 
 Out in the mist and snow. 
 Waiting for days of gladness, 
 
 Waiting in days of pain. 
 And still, in sorrow and sadness, 
 I wait, and am waiting in vain. 
 Yet now will I dream no more 
 For the day with its dreaming is o'er, 
 Is over and past and done ; 
 The wind cries out in the midnight skies, 
 And the clang of a midnight bell replies, 
 
 '' The day and its dream are done ! " 
 
 1889. 
 
She Stoi^y op an l^ls. 
 
 I. 
 
 An iris g^-ew by the river bank 
 
 Where the brown-topped rushes were long and lank, 
 
 In the s.'imy sand, where the ground was dank 
 
 And with trailing vines o'erspread ; 
 The water was shallow there and still, 
 And the iris flowers looked out at will 
 In this peaceful spot underneath the hill, 
 
 With the birch trees overhead. 
 
 The winter was long, with its frost and snow, 
 
 And the river was frozen ; none could know 
 
 Of the flowers that bloomed in the summer p^low. 
 
 Now dead and hidden from view ; 
 But the sunlight played on the hoary pine. 
 And tinted the snow on the hill's incline 
 With a rosy red, when the day was fine, 
 
 And the ice with an opal hue. 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 49 
 
 The winter went by, with its frost and cold, 
 And the winds of March in their flight foretold 
 The flowers of April, and soon the mould 
 
 Grew green by the river's brink ; 
 The sap went up through the birch-tree boughs, 
 And children came, whom the spring endov;s 
 With a wandering spirit, to play, and cows 
 
 In the even would come to drink. 
 
 But spring passed o'er, v/ith it winds and showers, 
 Till June was come, like a bride, with flowers 
 Around her pathway, and golden hours 
 
 Succeeded in bright array ; 
 The iris opened and grew apace. 
 In the river, reflected, beheld its face. 
 And, every morning, with queenlier grace 
 
 Looked out on the rising day. 
 
 One single blossom 'twas destined to bear, 
 One flower of purple blue, so fair 
 That none to equal it, far or near, 
 
 Was found on the river's brim ; 
 And all day long in the heat of the sun 
 It danced and smiled, and was clearly one 
 Whose brightest existence, till life be done. 
 
 Nor shadow nor shade can dim. 
 
 E 
 
 ;, 
 
 I 
 
50 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 The dragon-flies, with bright wings, went round, 
 And bees came buzzing, and pleasant sound 
 Was heard in the branches, where birds were 
 found 
 
 Singing songs in the sun and shower ; ; 
 A spring so beautiful augured well 
 For a summer as fair ; but who can tell 
 What fate is bringing ? And thus befell 
 
 To the purple iris flower. 
 
 II. 
 
 It was afternoon, and the sun was high. 
 On the water few shadows played ; 
 
 But the leaves of the birches shut out the sky, 
 And the branches a shadow made ; 
 
 And a boat that was silently gliding by 
 Came closer to seek the shade. 
 
 They caught at the trees by the shore, and stopped, 
 
 A man and a maiden fair ; 
 She signed to tarry, the oars were dropped 
 
 Ir» the boat, and they fastened there. 
 In the cool retreat, with the green o'er-topped, 
 
 Where the vines and the iris were. 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 51 
 
 A man and a maiden — the man was broad 
 
 Of shoulder and stout of limb. 
 He was pleading ; his low, full voice, like a sword, 
 
 Went straight to her heart, and dim 
 Were her eyes with tears ; and an answering chord 
 
 In her heart seemed to follow him. 
 
 " To-day ? — to-morrow — oh, not to-day, 
 My love, must you go from me ; 
 
 So soon to part, and so far away 
 To wander — it cannot be ! 
 
 My heart is full — I can never say 
 In an hour what I would to thee !" 
 
 She said, and j)ut forth her hand, as though 
 
 Thus gently to protest ; 
 But he clasped it firmly, and, bending low. 
 
 The hand to his lips he i)ressed — 
 " Mv love, none better than I can know 
 
 How short is that hour at best ! 
 
 '' But time is fleeting, the day slips by, 
 1 must go from thy side at seven ; 
 
 To-morrow must find me far off, and I 
 Will start on my way at even. 
 
 Ere the glimmer of sunset dies out of the sky 
 I shall leave thee, to trust in Heaven ! 
 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 '' Yet once again, while the sunset glow 
 
 Is lighting the western sky, 
 1 would hear thee sing the old songs and know 
 
 Of thy true love, that cannot die — 
 Just here, where the cool spring waters flow. 
 
 And the sweet June winds go by." 
 
 The winds stood still as the music flowed, 
 And a voice from the waters sprang, 
 
 And tremulous shadows the branches showed 
 On the grass, while the woodlands rang ; 
 
 And brighter the world in the sunlight glowed. 
 And this was the song she sang : 
 
 /' The water smiles, and the winds from high 
 
 To their sunset rest have flown ; 
 The swallows are flying across the sky — 
 
 I sing to my love alone ! 
 I will sing, I will sing, I will sing, 
 
 For his heart it is mine to be ; 
 In the bright clear light of the spring 
 
 He hath told of his love to me. 
 Shall I sing ? Oh, what were singing 
 
 To tell of such love as mine, 
 True heart to a true heart bringing 
 
 The love that I bring to thine ? 
 
 mm 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 53 
 
 Shall I sing, shall I sing, shall I sing ? 
 
 Oh, love, dost thou sing to me 
 In the bright clear light of the spring, 
 
 And again 1 will answer thee ! 
 
 Ah, no — do I sing alone ? 
 
 All, around me, are singing now 
 The earth and sky, and the winds on high, 
 
 Like a chorus they answer so. 
 They are singing that all the world may know ; 
 
 But my words, unbound, unbidden. 
 
 Came straight from my heart, and hidden 
 
 From all but my love, my own ! 
 
 " The purple iris is smiling 
 
 In the clear bright glow of the sun. 
 With laughter the hours beguiling, 
 
 For the summer is but begun. 
 The swallows above are flying, 
 
 Oh, bright and blue is the sky ; 
 And the sweet green grass is replying — 
 
 All nature is glad as I ! 
 The wind, is it still .? It is going 
 
 To the land where my love must go. 
 And I kiss it, in passing, knowing 
 
 It will be with him there ; and so 
 It follows, it flies, it tarries. 
 
 It is lost in the sky above. 
 But, wherever it be, it carries 
 
 The message I send my love. 
 
 : 
 
54 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 The whole glad world is singing, 
 
 And laughing again with me, 
 In a chorus of joy bells ringing 
 For the bridal that is to be. 
 Because of my joy they are singing so, 
 Singing that all the world may know, 
 For my love, he is all my own. 
 And my life into love is grown ! " 
 
 She had ceased, but the winds were singing. 
 And arose from the earth and sky 
 
 An echo ; the woods were ringing 
 With the love-lorn melody. 
 
 " Oh, love, our lives are blending. 
 
 And ever but one shall be ; 
 For w^ho could dream of an ending 
 
 To the love that thou givest to me ? 
 
 " 1 am poor, and our world is rounded 
 
 With a lust of gold and gain, 
 And the joy of this hour is bounded 
 
 By a parting that comes in pain. 
 
 '* But for ever and still for ever, 
 In my wanderings, thou shalt be 
 
 The star of my night's endeavour 
 To light me o'er land and sea. 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 " And this flower, my love, beside thee, 
 
 This iris of purple blue, 
 I will give thee, a charm to guide thee, 
 
 And a token to hold thee true. 
 
 " It has listened and heard our story, 
 And knows of our true love told. 
 
 While it blossoms in springtide glory 
 Of purple and blue and gold. 
 
 " Though dust shall its glory be, love, 
 Still keep it, in joy and pain, 
 
 And when I am come to thee, love. 
 Thou shalt give it to me again ! " 
 
 So speaking, he plucked the flower. 
 And gathered the iris blue, 
 
 In the light of that springtide hour, ^ 
 For a pledge of pure love and true. 
 
 55 
 
 fl 
 
 III. 
 
 It was eventide and the sun was low, 
 
 On the water the shadows played, 
 And the boat went gliding, now swift, now slow, 
 
 While the oars a low^ ripple made ; 
 But of nothing around them they seemed to know, 
 
 And never a word they said. 
 
 ' i 
 
iss-'t'yw^'/'jwa i^rawv. 
 
 56 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 The town, with its steeples, came into view, 
 And the houses and trees swept by, 
 
 And a changing picture of varied hue 
 Went floating before their eye ; 
 
 But seeing, they saw it not, nor knew 
 That the parting hour drew nigh. 
 
 On, on, still slowly, the water bore 
 
 Its burden with gentle flow, 
 Nor ceasing, the rise and fall of the oar 
 
 Seemed ever to come and go. 
 As though it had fallen to rise no more, 
 
 And, rising, to fall as slow. 
 
 The water rippled, the sunlight played 
 
 On the breathing banks of green 
 That bordered the river ; through light and shade 
 
 They glided, and in between 
 The sunlight and shadow the branches made, 
 
 Till the destined shore was seen. 
 
 They rested near to an ancient bower 
 
 With old gray branches wreathen, 
 Where a thousand blossoms of hawthorn flower 
 
 Looked out to the blue of heaven, 
 And stopped, while a clock in the old church tower 
 
 Struck slowly from one to seven. 
 

 THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 57 
 
 They stood on the bank, and he held her hand, 
 
 And the iris of purple blue 
 On her pure white bosom its golden band 
 
 Was pressing—" My love, adieu ! 
 I am going, my love, to a far-off land, 
 
 But my heart, it will rest here, true. 
 
 " Farewell, my love, till the iris bloom 
 
 Again, in another spring; 
 When the old-time sorrows have made their tomb, 
 
 And the new-born loves shall sing ; 
 I will think of thee here in the gathering gloom, 
 
 When the breezes thy message bring !" 
 
 er 
 
 IV. 
 
 The hours had followed and taken flight, 
 
 And the long June day was done ; 
 When the moon looked down from above and, bright, 
 
 Once more on her bosom shone. 
 The hour of nine rang out in the night, 
 
 And she stood in her room, alone. 
 
 She stood by the window ; the cool night air 
 
 Came, blowing in, faint and weak ; 
 Her ball dress fluttered, her golden hair 
 
 Blew gently about her cheek ; 
 And her lips were trembling, as half in fear, 
 
 And half with a will to speak. 
 
S8 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Tivo flowers — the iris of purple blue, 
 otill wearing its golden band, 
 
 And fresh as if fed with the midnight dew 
 On the bank by the slimy sand, 
 
 And a glorious rose of a blood-red hue — 
 She held in her pure white hand. 
 
 i,- 
 
 Another had brought it, the blood- ed rose, 
 
 As a pledge of his hand and heart, 
 A lover such as the love tale knows. 
 
 The lover, beloved of art ; 
 And the power and glory that wealth bestows 
 
 Were his in a goodly part. 
 
 She stood at the window. — O wandering wind, 
 
 What message of love dost bear ? — 
 Shall it tell that her eye is with tears bedimmed, 
 
 To think that he is not here. 
 Or say that, a moment she sighed, and sinned 
 
 Ii> wishing what was not, were ? 
 
 "1 am coming," for "Come to the dance," they cried, 
 
 And rapped at her chamber door ; 
 " There is one who waits, nor will be denied 
 
 To lead thee first on the floor ; 
 And the tread of the dancers on every side 
 
 To the music echoes ; what more — 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 50 
 
 What more can keep thee ? Of all the gay 
 
 He calls thee the fairest fair, 
 And the blood-red rose that he brought to-day, 
 
 He says, ' it is hers to wear, 
 And she comes not yet'— come away, come away, 
 
 With the blood-red rose in thy hair." 
 
 She glanced at the .n^ and then at the rose — 
 
 ** O Heaven, the world is wide ! 
 He is gone for a year and so far he goes," 
 
 She said to herself, and sighed ; 
 '' But I had my choice, and true love I chose ; 
 
 I will keep to my love," she cried. 
 
 So saying, she followed to join the dance ; 
 
 And the iris of purple blue. 
 Alone it lay on her bosom, perchance 
 
 To deepen its own dark hue ; 
 And her calm eyes smiled at its upward glance, 
 
 And she murmured, " I will be true." 
 
 d, 
 
 He stood by the door as she wandered down, 
 And sought the rose in her hair ; 
 
 But, calmly smiling, she met his frown— 
 " 'Tis the sweetest rose of the year ; 
 
 But this purple iris I bear in my gown. 
 And no red rose can I wear. 
 
 n 
 
60 
 
 SOXGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 " I liad chosen this ere the sun had set, 
 Last night, when the day was done, 
 
 And the memories born of that hour are yet 
 As if never had set that sun ; 
 
 There are sad, sweet moments that chain regret, 
 When heaven and earth seem one ! '' 
 
 Then merrily round and round they danced, 
 And the lights danced and the flowers, 
 
 And swifter and swifter the music pranced, 
 And as merry and swift the hours ; 
 
 And ahva} s a dream of the absent glanced, 
 Like the sunlight through April showers. 
 
 V. 
 
 On the garden steps, on a marble stone. 
 
 They rested ; the dance swept by 
 Beyond the windows, and they alone 
 
 Sat silent ; the day was nigh ; 
 And the silvery dawn, with its twilight moan, 
 
 Came creeping over the sky. 
 
 Once more, while the roses blushed in the dawn 
 
 And wept for the waning moon, 
 He told her his story of love forlorn. 
 
 And the music, it sighed in tune ; 
 But she answered laughing, and laughed in scorn 
 
 The listening winds of June. 
 
 I 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 Ikil the rosy dawn, with the golden ray 
 
 That Hghtened the eastern sky, 
 Brought back to her heart, in the break of day, 
 
 A question — the reason why 
 She should hold to him who had gone away 
 
 Till a weary year went by. 
 
 And the dream of dreams, to a maiden's heart 
 The fondest, that light and flowers, 
 
 And gold and jewels and gems of art 
 And pleasures of golden hours, 
 
 May mingle with love, and be made a part 
 Of the union that love endowers. 
 
 6i 
 
 Came, filling her soul with its fevered fire, 
 And she answered the outstretched hand 
 
 With a stronger pressure, that bade aspire ; 
 And the morn fell over the land. 
 
 And the sunlight kindled the wild desire 
 And fervour of his demand. 
 
 He spoke again, and the iris fell, 
 
 Half faded, from off her gown ; 
 And she caught it, grasping his hand as well, 
 
 And kissed it, and laid it down. 
 An emblem of love dethroned to dwell, 
 
 Where once it had worn a crown. 
 
62 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 The dance was o'er, and the dancers fled 
 
 To dream of the bygone night ; 
 And they parted there, where the daisies spread 
 
 A carpet of dewy white ; 
 And he kissed her— a single tear she shed, 
 
 And smiled in the morning light. 
 
 Then they gathered around her, and called her bride, 
 
 And crowned her, at break of day. 
 With a garland of roses — " Good luck betide," 
 
 Thus merrily cried the gay. 
 And the purple iris she laid aside, 
 
 And hid in a box awav. 
 
 VI. 
 
 It was in November, and cold and dimmed 
 
 With clouds was the autumn sky. 
 And slowly the flickering sunlight thinned, 
 
 And flickered, as loath to die ; 
 And a passionate whisper and wail of wind 
 
 Like a wandering spirit went by. 
 
 The last leaves fell from the branches bare, 
 And the withered leaves were blown 
 
 In the wailing wind, and the clouds in the air 
 Like a shroud o'er the world were thrown ; 
 
 And the sun shone through, but its noontide glare 
 To a phantom grim was grown. 
 
I 
 
 THE STORY OF AN IRJ^. 
 
 63 
 
 She sat by the window, her cheek as pale 
 
 As the clouds in the sky o'f r head ; 
 And her thoughts flew back with the sweep of the gale 
 
 To the old years that were fled ; 
 And the flickering sunlight mirrored a tale 
 
 Of days and dreams that were dead. 
 
 Two letters she saw, in the flickering glow 
 That fell where the clouds were riven, 
 
 Two letters, that spoke of the long ago, 
 And the love that had once been given : 
 
 Two letters — she read with hushed voice and slow. 
 Like a prayer that is breathed to Heaven. 
 
 One told her he lay by the northern sea, 
 
 In a grave with the red sand strown, 
 Where the sea winds o'er him swept fierce and free, 
 
 And the salt sea-spray was blown — 
 Lay dead in the darkness — and, cold and gray. 
 
 Fell the night, as she dreamed alone. 
 
 The other she pressed to her lips with tears, 
 
 Few hnes, and the writing dim ; 
 But the burden of passionate love was theirs. 
 
 And the passion it breathed of him ; 
 She kissed it, and saw him, in far-off years, 
 
 By her side in the twilight grim. 
 
 I 
 
64 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 He had died, believing her always true, 
 
 And written to bless her still, 
 As he lingered a moment, in death, to view 
 
 The place he might no more fill ; 
 And he spoke of the iris of purple blue 
 
 That had blossomed under the hill. 
 
 JEl, 
 
 She listened — no sound in the twilight gray, 
 
 Nor voice in the earth or s\iy 
 Rang out in the silence, but, far away, 
 
 Sw'ept the wind with despairing cry. 
 And she thought of her life with its dreams of a day 
 
 And its passions that would not die. 
 
 It was passed to dust, with the flower that blew 
 On the hill when the year was young ; 
 
 It had faded away, with its golden hue, 
 And the flowers it had lived among. 
 
 She thought of her promise to wait and be true, 
 And remembered the song she sung 
 
 
 " I will sin^, my love, as I dream of thee, 
 I will sing, in the gathering gloom. 
 
 Of the golden days that we thought to see 
 When the iris again should bloom ; 
 
 I will sing again, and my song shall be 
 For a requiem at thy tomb. 
 
 li 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 ** And then again I will sing no more 
 Till in Heaven we two shall meet ; 
 
 Thou, love, art safe on the far-off shore, 
 While I, with unresting feet, 
 
 Must journey on till my life is o'er. 
 And thy spirit, new-born, I greet ! 
 
 «S 
 
 " The wild autumn winds are sighing. 
 And I answer with moan on moan, 
 
 By the cold dark wave is lying. 
 The heart that was all my own. 
 
 " On my ear, afar-off, is falling 
 
 The roar of a winter sea ; 
 The voice of my love is calling, 
 , And his spirit, it beckons me. 
 
 " I am coming, my own, my true love, 
 I am coming, some day, to bear 
 
 The flower thou gavest, of blue, love, 
 I will bring it and leave it there. 
 
 '' Low down, where the sand is blowing, 
 I will scatter its dust o'er thee. 
 
 When the tide at the ebb is flowing, 
 And the midnight is on the sea. 
 
i 
 
 1 
 
 : 
 
 66 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 " Oh, heart, thou wert brave and tender, 
 And I come, alone, to thy feet, 
 
 My thanks unto Heaven to render 
 That on earth we no more may meet. 
 
 '' For, on earth, I am no more thine, love, 
 
 My hand unto him is given, 
 But thou shalt be always mine, love. 
 
 For it all is the same in Heaven ! 
 
 " I remember that day (A parting. 
 Thy eyelids with tears were wet, 
 
 The clock struck the hour of starting. 
 And thou answeredst ' Love, not yet.' 
 
 u 
 
 Thou gavest me one kiss only, 
 As I stood there, mute and still, 
 And wert gone from my sight when, lonely, 
 I turned and I climbed the hill. 
 
 '' It is not a time for weeping, 
 
 I shed not a single tear, 
 So peacefully art thou sleeping. 
 
 With the wave-songs in thine ear. 
 
 " I weep not for thee, my loved one, 
 'Tis thou mightest weep for me, 
 
 But where thou art gone, above, none 
 Such sorrow nor tears can be ! 
 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 *' Can they see in that land, I wonder, — 
 He died, beHeving me true, — 
 
 Is the veil ever rent asunder ? 
 Can they watch us, what we do ? 
 
 ** O never ! Twere madness dreaming 
 That those who are now in bliss 
 
 Can witness our heart' s-blood, streaming 
 In the wounds of a world like this ! 
 
 " He never will k'low — O never! 
 
 In gladness they pass the time, 
 He will dream of me, true for ever ; 
 
 The knowledge and pain are mine. 
 
 " There are long, long years awaiting. 
 
 But I look for a better land ; 
 And the wind on the sea abating 
 
 Grows soft and still on the sand. 
 
 " And ceases,— while, haggard and hoary, 
 
 The day dies out in the sky. 
 And the pale clouds weep for the story 
 
 Of love that was born to die." 
 
 67 
 
 F 2 
 
'"• r 
 
 68 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 m \ 
 
 She left her chamber once more and, gay, 
 Went out to the world, and fled 
 
 From the letters ; they lay in a box away ; 
 And one sweet tear she shed. 
 
 And the day died out, till the twilight gray 
 In the dusk of the night was dead. 
 
 The dust of the iris she hid within 
 
 His letter ; a clasp of gold 
 Was round it, made from a jewelled pin 
 
 He had worn on his breast of old, — 
 And the story of love that once had been 
 
 Like an old-time tale was told. 
 
 VII. 
 
 It was winter time, and the pure white snow 
 Lay knee-deep, down in the street below, 
 Or blowing and fluttering to and fro 
 
 In the breath of the wintry blast ; 
 The stars were shining, the moon was high, 
 And it watched the same, from the still, blue sky. 
 As in wild, young years that were long gone by 
 
 And lost, away in the past. 
 
 She lay in her chamber : full fifty years. 
 With their stories of passions and loves and tears, 
 Were vanished and gone, their dreams and fears. 
 Desires and memories, dead ; 
 
. THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 And the hand to which she had given her own 
 Was turned to dust, and a memory grown ; 
 And her first, wild, passionate love had flown 
 With the old years that were fled. 
 
 69 
 
 She lay there, dying. The wind was high 
 And it rose and fell in the midnight sky ; 
 And she heard it calling, and made reply 
 
 To its whisperings, as it passed ; 
 Her children, two generations, came, 
 And gathered around and murmured his name, 
 Their grandfather's, softly, meaning to frame 
 
 Some pleasant thought at the last. 
 
 
 But she heard them not, for her ears were cold. 
 And her eyes, they were sightless grown and old. 
 And she listened not as their tale was told. 
 
 But dreamed of another day ; 
 Her long, white hair fell around her brow, 
 And her fingers were wandering to and fro. 
 As unconscious hands of a player go, 
 
 When his thoughts are far away. 
 
 They bent toward her ; her voice was heard 
 In mutterings faint, and their hearts were stirred 
 To do her bidding ; they caught a word, 
 And sought, in her jewel case. 
 
70 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 II 
 
 !i 
 
 i 
 
 For a letter — 'twas ancient, shrivelled, and gray. 
 And the very writing had faded away ; 
 But within it the dust of the iris lay, 
 Put away in a secret place. 
 
 This found they under the jewels and gold, 
 
 And gave it into her hand to hold ; 
 
 And she smiled and thought that a tale was told 
 
 That she never had told before, 
 And when further they listened to know her will, 
 She breathed an answer, " I keep it until 
 I die — and bury me, holding it still, 
 
 When I grasp it in life no more. 
 
 " For it may be that I shall greet him, 
 
 I cannot tell how or why. 
 But it may be that I shall meet him, 
 
 In the land beyond the sky. 
 
 " Then give me the iris flower, 
 I shall hold it within my hand. 
 
 It will be with me in the hour 
 That I wake in the far-off land. 
 
 " It will be with me ; I shall meet him, 
 At last, when we rise again, 
 
 That morning when I shall greet him— 
 I will give him the iris then. 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 *' It will bloom as it bloomed by the hillside, 
 
 All purple and gold and blue, 
 And the song that I sang in the springtide, 
 
 I will sing it that morn, anew. 
 
 ** Thy life was not knit with mine, love. 
 
 My hand unto him was given ; 
 But now I am once more thine, love. 
 
 And I meet thee again in Heaven ! 
 
 *' And that flower thou gavest, of blue, love, 
 
 I can say that I held it fast ; 
 Thou wilt know, then, that I am true, love. 
 
 Thou wilt know I was true at the last. 
 
 ** Long, long was my life, and dreary, 
 But I lived through its joy and pain ; 
 
 And somedmes my heart was weary. 
 And sometimes I loved again. 
 
 " For the wind, it blows hot and cold, love, 
 And the tree to the storm must bend ; 
 
 But the sweetest of loves is the old love, 
 And the first love lives to the end. 
 
 '' The others, they came, and tarried 
 
 A litde, and passed away ; 
 But always my heart has carried 
 
 The memory of one day. 
 
 7> 
 
Wl 
 
 72 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS, 
 
 " That day when our two lives blended 
 In a wild, bright burst of song, 
 
 Its gladness has never ended, 
 
 But has lasted my whole life long. 
 
 " Oh, love, but that day was golden. 
 How could I be false to thee ? 
 
 But the tale is of ages olden. 
 And its burden is gone from me. 
 
 " I gave him my hand, that hour. 
 To be his while we two should live ; 
 
 But my heart and the iris flower. 
 They never were mine to give ! " 
 
 [ 
 
 Her voice g'*ew fainter, and died away, 
 As the cold, gray dawn of a winter day 
 Stole in at the window, and still she lay, 
 With the letter clenched in her hand. 
 Her breath came slower and slower, and still 
 She held it firmly and smiled, until 
 The dawn came breaking o'er vale and hill, 
 When she passed to the far-off land. 
 
 And, another day, as the sun fell low, 
 A funeral train went, solemn and slow, 
 And they buried her under the pure white snow, 
 While the clock in the old church tower 
 
THE STORY OF AN IRIS. 
 
 Struck slow in the twilight, as in the day 
 She had heard it and wept, when he went away ; 
 And with her, down in the coffin, lay 
 The dust of the iris flower ! 
 
 73 
 
 VIII. 
 
 An iris still grows by the river bank. 
 
 Where the brown-topped rushes are long and lank, 
 
 In the slimy sand, where the ground is dank 
 
 And with trailing vines o'erspread ; 
 The water is shallow there, and still, 
 And the iris flowers look out at will 
 P>om this peaceful spot underneath the hill, 
 
 And the birch trees wave o'erhead. 
 
 The winter comes, with its frost and snow, 
 
 And springtide follows, and summer glow, 
 
 And boats with lovers pass to and fro. 
 
 And the same old song is sung ; 
 
 For the life of man, as a tale, is told, 
 
 And hearts grow weary, and dreams grow old. 
 
 And we die, and mix with the dust and mould. 
 
 But love — it is always young ! 
 
 1893. 
 
 
- k' 
 
 t 
 
 On muE CQAr^sHBS at Sundown. 
 
 A WAVING sea of grass, a thousand shades 
 
 Of green, of deepest and of brightest hue, 
 
 And spread with thousand, thousand yellow flowers 
 
 And daisies, bending all unto the wind 
 
 Like waves of sea — the warm wind of the west, 
 
 Beladen with the breath of blowing roses, 
 
 And rich with odours of the growing grain. 
 
 Sweeping the brown-top and the yellow buds 
 
 Into the half light, turning green to blue 
 
 And white to gray-green ; wave on wave again 
 
 Onward and onward — and a sunset sky 
 
 Golden, and flaming with a brighter gold 
 
 Ever and ever, where the setting sun 
 
 Shines in full-flooded glory, stream on stream 
 
 Of brightness shooting upward from the horizon 
 
 Into the farther sky, until it blends 
 
 With the wide stretch of heaven,— and a river 
 
 Winding, a stream of silver in the shade. 
 
 And golden, with the glory of the sky 
 
 Reflected in the broad light far away, 
 
ON THE MARSHES AT SUNDOWN. 75 
 
 Among the hayfields-winding round and round, 
 
 Until its waters mingle with the tide 
 
 A mile to westward 1 
 
 Silently 1 gaze, 
 
 In quiet consciousness of perfect joy 
 And reverence of glory. ' Heaven and earth, 
 United in the last embrace of day, 
 Unveil their beauty to the weary world 
 In harmony of quietude and peace ! 
 
 Deeper and deeper sinks the sun in heaven, 
 Redder and redder flushes the rose-red sky, 
 And the blue shadows of the wind-waves darken 
 More and more upon the grass. I gaze 
 Long on the last light shooting heavenward ; 
 Seems the sun dwindled to a single star, 
 (3ne pure bright star of steadier, steadiest light, 
 Not flickering, but constant in decline, 
 
 And ceasing! 
 
 And the long, low, level Ime 
 
 Of hayfields rises against the golden sky. 
 And all the land leads up in rising plains 
 
 Of darkening shadow. 
 
 And the waning light 
 
 That glows to westward, and the fiery red 
 Above, and pure white clouds that hover o'er 
 The horizon, gilded with the sunlight, seem 
 Far off— no longer near. The world is left 
 
iil 
 
 76 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 
 To darkness, and the eerie twilight creeps 
 Upon the marshes. 
 
 Now the daylight dims, 
 And waves the grass more wearily, all wet 
 With dew ; and shadows deepen ; and the river 
 Shines like a mirror, black, and with the stars 
 Reflected. And the sky above is dark, 
 And purple to the westward; and the wind 
 Falls to an echo ; and the echo dies. 
 
 1889. 
 
 
). 
 
 ©HB (ShILD'S DI^BAM of F^BAV^N. 
 
 O FAITH of ages olden, 
 
 O trust of long ago, 
 When clear and well beholden 
 
 Was all we sought to know, — 
 When angels came before us 
 
 And saints looked down, and kept 
 Their sacred watch, and o'er us 
 
 Stood guardians while we slept. 
 
 Vv^hen bright blue skies were Heaven, 
 
 And stars were angel's eyes. 
 And glimpses up were given 
 
 That we to them might rise ; — 
 Then, looking up, we saw them, 
 
 The angels bright and fair. 
 The light of Heaven shone o'er them, 
 
 The joy of Heaven was there ; 
 
78 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Almost— nay, altogether, 
 
 We heard their songs afar, 
 We saw, in the starlight weather, 
 
 The golden gates ajar. 
 Through long, bright golden hours 
 
 They sang— it seems but now— 
 And fair, unfading flowers 
 
 Crowned each celestial brow. 
 
 i ! 
 
 We saw them, our beloved, 
 
 Whom death had claimed his own, 
 In glory now discovered, 
 
 They stood around the throne ; 
 Their eyes met ours and o'er us 
 
 They smiled, and seemed to know. 
 They had but gone before us 
 
 To Heaven where we should go ! 
 
 O faith of ages olden, 
 
 O trust that is no more, 
 O youth, when hope was golden, 
 
 O years when all was sure,— 
 The later years have taken 
 
 Away the faith once ours. 
 Autumnal winds have shaken 
 
 The bloom from springtide flowers. 
 
n 
 
 THE CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 79 
 
 One long, unchanged endeavour, 
 
 Has life become to men, 
 Laid down betimes, but, ever, 
 
 Perforce resumed again. 
 And faith in God, the notion 
 
 Is old and out of time, 
 And faith in man's promotion 
 
 The newest theme of rhyme. 
 
 Once life was given to mortal 
 
 Straight from a God of love. 
 And death was but the portal 
 
 To fairer life above ; 
 Now life through thousand thousand 
 
 Of ages comes, and we 
 Grow with each age that grows, and 
 
 What next we cannot see. , 
 
 And all is dim before us. 
 
 No future land awaits 
 Our souls, no angels o'er us 
 
 Watch through the golden gates: 
 One world, one time, one ending, 
 
 O'er men their vigil l^eep. 
 All life to death is wending, 
 
 And death is endless sleep. 
 
>■■'< > 
 
 8o SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 Yet, now, in silence waiting 
 
 Till yonder moon is high, 
 With mind and sense dilating, 
 
 While stars shine in the sky. 
 It seems to me that story 
 
 Was truer in the end, 
 That told us of the glory 
 
 In Heaven to which we wend. 
 
 f 1^ 
 
 The pine-trees murmur sadly. 
 
 Like echoes from the dead ; 
 I could believe it gladly, 
 
 The old faith that is fled ; 
 The old faith, I would greet it 
 
 With fervour ever new, 
 Biit how can morning meet it. 
 
 And prove its story true ? 
 
 For morn to even weareth 
 
 Such likeness, each to each, 
 The dream that even shareth 
 
 Must into morning reach ; 
 And prove itself enduring 
 
 In sombre light and clear, 
 Nor light nor darkness scorning, 
 
 Nor change from year to year. 
 
THE CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 It cannot be ; we know not 
 
 If after life shall be, 
 The dark winds backward blow not 
 
 From death's unfathomed sea ; 
 Nor can we gaze in wonder 
 
 That in the starry skies 
 No veil is rent asunder 
 
 To calm om* anxious eyes. 
 
 Yet, looking up, still dream we 
 
 Of life hereafter given ; 
 Nor empty fancy deem we 
 
 That rest when we have striven ; 
 And still those loved ones o'er us 
 
 Look down on earth below, 
 l^hey have but gone before us 
 
 To Heaven where we shall go ! 
 
 8i 
 
 1892. 
 
 G 
 

 Inl 
 
 i ■ 
 
 Fr^AGMBNTS. 
 
 tS. 
 
 
 )3i. 
 
 I. 
 
 Lines Written on St. Patrick's Day. 
 
 The March wind howls upon the hill, 
 
 And in the snowy vale ; 
 The trees, imbound in glassy frost, 
 
 Bend downward in the gale ; 
 While, from a dark cloud overhead. 
 
 There falls a shower of hail. 
 
 A storm of hail and sleet and snow. 
 
 Soon melting into rain ; 
 In which the frost-bound earth will wake, 
 
 And come to life again. 
 And icicles upon the boughs 
 
 Are forming all in vain. 
 
 Upon the frozen plain, the ice 
 
 And snow fast disappear. 
 Leaving long ridges of dark ground, 
 
 Most desolate and c'rear, 
 
^1 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 With here and there a patch of green 
 Among the brown and sere. 
 
 The mountains in the distance frown 
 
 Upon the waste below ; 
 But through the branches of the trees, 
 
 The spring winds, whispering, go, 
 Bidding the waxen buds burst forth. 
 
 And early flowerets blow. 
 
 83 
 
 1881. 
 
 II. 
 
 Song. 
 
 I HEAR the warm wave washing 
 Upon the sandy shore. 
 
 And, far off in the distance, 
 The dipping of an oar. 
 
 The moon is shedding glory 
 Upon the purple sea ; 
 
 And 'tis an oft-told story 
 The water sings to me. 
 
 Small stars benignly twinkle 
 In yon abyss of blue, 
 
 And shadows on the hillside 
 Sparkle with autumn dew. 
 
84 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOOES. 
 
 
 The white sails of the shipping 
 Are tinged with rosy Hght, 
 
 And boats, all moored together, 
 Are fastened for the night. 
 
 No sound to mar the music 
 In earth and sea and sky ; 
 
 No cloud to cast a shadow 
 
 Where moonbeams sleeping lie. 
 
 No breath of air to waken 
 The white foam on the sea, 
 
 And, distant, the dim mountains 
 Are sleeping peacefully. 
 
 The hours glide on in silence 
 Throughout the livelong night,, 
 
 Till paling stars betoken 
 The break of morning light. 
 
 1880. 
 
 III. 
 A Lament. 
 
 November winds are sighing 
 Among the leafless boughs, 
 
 The last dead leaves are falling 
 Swift as the wind allows. 
 
 kj.. , 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 Upon the frozen hillside 
 
 The dead grass, in long spears, 
 Bends down amid the sadness 
 
 And gloom that nature wears. 
 
 The wind is wild and mournful, 
 And the cold, cloudy skies 
 
 Cast on the world a shadow, 
 As when the daylight dies ; 
 
 And in my heart, an echo 
 Answers the dreamy wind, 
 
 Saying in mournful whispering 
 u f^w bright is left behind." 
 
 I stand upon the seashore, 
 While night is drawing nigh, 
 
 A mist hangs o'er the water, 
 And dark clouds veil the sky. 
 
 A thousand tiny snowflakes. 
 Sweep into the gathering foam. 
 
 As messengers to warn us 
 Of all the storms to come ; 
 
 A thousand thoughts come o'er me, 
 As the evening shadows grow, 
 
 Like a rushing stream of water, 
 All swollen by the snow ; 
 
 8S 
 
 m 
 
■IWPIiii 
 
 II 
 
 86 
 
 ■ 
 
 n 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS 
 
 A sad and wistful longing 
 Like the November wind, 
 
 Dying far in the distance, 
 And leaving nought l)ehind 
 
 Save the bare branches only, 
 Where once tlie sunlight played 
 
 On budding leaf and blossom, 
 And glancing shadows made. 
 
 November winds are sighing. 
 And I would have them sigh ; 
 
 The leaves are dead or dying. 
 And I would have them die. 
 
 To me no spring returneth, 
 For, oh, the loss of one 
 
 Who, better than all others. 
 For evermore is gone ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 A Midnight Ramble. 
 
 1882. 
 
 Who hath not felt the magic of the hour, 
 Nocturnal hour of day dreams ? In my walk 
 I sought the deep recesses of a wood, 
 And climbed a hill between me and the sea. 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 87 
 
 Though passed, I live the midnight hours again, 
 
 And wander on alone. I reach the wood, 
 
 Seemingly dark, but, as I ramble on, 
 
 I grow accustomed to the general shade. 
 
 And the weird moonlight 'twixt the branches green. 
 
 The path is bounded by the little spruces. 
 
 With here and there a pine, whose waving top 
 
 O'erspreads it, and the roots of many trees 
 
 Across the pathway lie unevenly. 
 
 Here is a clump of moss, some of it green, 
 
 While some is golden-topped, and here a stone, 
 
 Moss-grown and gray, lies right across the way. 
 
 Under the trees I see the graceful ferns ; 
 
 Motionless, as if guardians of the night, 
 
 They stand, save when a little breath of wind 
 
 Reaches them, bending gently toward the ground. 
 
 The tall trees overhead entwine their branches, 
 
 And make a network of fine twigs and leaves, 
 
 Through which the moonlight streams enchantingly. 
 
 I pass on slowly o'er the rugged path. 
 
 And skirt the swamp between me and yon hill. 
 
 The air is heavy on the marshy ground, 
 
 And frogs are croaking hoarsely ; crickets, too, 
 
 Join in the chorus, and the fireflies 
 
 Dart in and out among the little trees 
 
 Scattered about the swamp, like fairy lamps. 
 
 And now the swamp is passed, I reach the hill, 
 
 Like a grim giant towering far above 
 
 Into the air of night. The solemn murmur 
 
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88 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 ■H 
 
 Of the innumerable branches waving 
 To and fro unceasingly, invests it 
 With seeming life, as though some mighty spirit 
 Were slumbering in its bosom ; and the wind 
 Sweeps wildly o'er it, as I wander further, 
 And climb the path until I reach the summit. 
 On one side sleeps the forest in its beauty, 
 A plain of spruces, pines, and rugged oaks 
 Together — there a solitary tree 
 O'erlooks the rest, a giant of the woods. 
 Far off, the sister hills half hidden seem 
 In clouds, with here and there a little light, 
 Marking some cottage. And 1 hear the sea 
 Dashing upon the shore, and hasten on, 
 Not heeding stones and turnings of the path, 
 Nor ominous whispering among the trees. 
 And now the pathway takes a sudden turn, 
 And brings me to the wild and rocky shore. 
 I lean against the trunk of some old giant. 
 And watch the watf^'s as they roar and splash. 
 White billows ride, majestic, in the distance, 
 And laughing waves sport on the sandy shore. 
 The moonlight makes a pathway on the water, 
 O'er many an eddying pool and restless current. 
 And plays among the rocks and little pebbles 
 That He upon the gray and yellowish sand. 
 
 1879. 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 89 
 
 V. 
 
 The Dying Year. 
 
 Bleak winter ^yinds are sighing 
 For the old year that is dying 
 
 In the night. 
 The moon shines bright upon the frozen snow 
 And stars of heaven breathe peace on earth below 
 
 In purest light. 
 
 No other eve is fair 
 As this, that is the last of all the year, ^ 
 Bringing again dead dreams of the sun m spring 
 
 And summer skies that were, 
 The memory of hopes grown gray and sere, 
 \nd weary loves that long have taken wmg. 
 
 Far off, the winter sea 
 
 Breaks on the icy shore ; 
 
 The wild waves flit and flee 
 
 Away with a sullen roar ; 
 And their farewell song answers the earth and sky ; 
 And lonely forest pines echo the sigh 
 
 For d\\ that is past and o'er, 
 
 H 
 
90 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINE WOODS. 
 
 The days that are dead, and the dreams that return no 
 
 more. 
 
 And the midnight bells reply, 
 With a wild and wondrous cry, 
 " Farewell— farewell— farewell for evermore ! '' 
 
 1888. 
 
 • :—♦—:— 
 
 1^ 
 
10 
 
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