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LOCKllART, In the OHlif of the. Librarian of Congress, at Washington. !>. C. .s:@)N- s^ «=^f^ ^^osu AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTORY NOTES. Scan sharply, Reader! then, if thy sijjht j!ratlicrs no haziness, if thy heart y-ives no consent to wiiat thou seest, turn iroxn these unprofitable pages. For thee tliere are l)ettcr books, in plenty. Or, if thou art one of the critic folk, whose business it is to help or hinder in the jjreat hijrlnvay of letters; I would say this: So many reasons, not patent to the author, may be found for approving or condemning what is here, its fate, with you, cannot be forecast. Read several pages candidly, lH'ft)re speaking: if, indeed, you intend to honor us with your notice. Ileiein we neither erect a shield against censure, nor indite a petition for praise. And ye, who are friends, (for to you I have commended these uncertain musings, the solace of many an hour lived during the past fifteen years,) allot a quiet perusal to this, my book of songs. I have taken cf>unsel once of myself, and again of the fancied V ok, many times, or I should never have set about the labor and expense of printing. Alick Lke, by the first plan and intention, originated at an early date, and has had later touches. It goes to show the eflect of an unconquercd sorrow in an aimless life. Professor John Wilst)n*s story, '■'Ltiry Of The /'olJ," furnished the suggestion. ARTHUR J. LOCKHAKT. Ea.st Corinth, Maine, July J5th, 1SS7. ^ ^"^^^^^^ ■^ CONTENI'S.' PAGE. Proem.... 5 The Masque of Minstrels 7 Alice Lee 17 At The Grave of a Poet 57 The Enthusiast 65 Burns Remembered 73 An Afterthought 77 A Dream of Heaven 79 The Prophet S6 Destiny S9 Praise 92 Jerusalem 93 Snow in October 95 On Islesboro 100 Guilt in Solitude 103 *Sir Richard Grenville 106 Morning iii '''Bird on the Sea 113 Our Heavenly Fatherland 118 To M^ Father lai Acadie . 13,^ Mv Place 12S '''The Retrospect 1 29 Gaspereau 143 An Interlude 154 MOODS AND FANTASIES. Aduma 157 A Fantasy 160 '^Talking Dv the Sea 161 On Lake Winnepisaukee 164 The Hill 166 The Maiden Eve 169 Hearts , 170 Arrows 172 Ambition ,... 173 Song 1 75 Shelley 176 May 177 "'Wordsworth iSo Contemplation iSi A Spring Son^ 1S3 The Prologue in Heaven 1S5 *In Solemn Vision 1S7 "'Keats 191 I. The poems indicated by an asterisk were written by my brother, Bur- ton W. Lockhart, now of Sumeld, Conn. CONTENTS. iii An)(el8 • 193 Awakeninif >94 Ili^hand Low 19(1 A Slay Son jf 19S The Violet 99 A Rnundy Cheer for the Farmer aoo Rydalmere 30i (rod in Nature aoj Frostwork 305 *Thc Singer 3o6 A Poet's Wish aoS The Daisy 209 *Song 311 Silent Speech 213 Love's Beautiful Sphere 2\± Aurora .••• 3io Kain Heard at Early Morning 3iS To Thee The Love of Woman Hath Gone Down 319 Memories of *' II Penseroso" .• 331 Song • 334 Unseen Visitants 325 *Lines, Written in an Album 337 Summer 33S Love in Solitude 3ji To a Strawberry Blossom 333 Goethe 336 The Lady In The Picture 337 With Burns 339 Solitude 241 Acrostic 343 Song 244 Ky The Riverside 346 To-Morrow 349 To S. 1 251 A Monodv.. 353 Stella ...". 254 (filbert Haven 256 On Bishop Janes 259 The Burial of Garfield 360 '^In Memoriam 262 A Poet 264 Our Three Sonsji^** 266 Dirge 269 SONGS OK MEMORY AND HOME. Proem 273 Departed Days 274 ♦Evening At Home 277 The Children's Voices 2S0 Sister Alice 2S1 ?:choofan Old Ballad 2S3 Vacation 284 I n Absence 2S« ♦The Old Home 287 Baby's Future 293 The Boys in Winter 29; ♦A Home Song 20S iv CONTENTS. Hills of Minas ,^oo Assurancf 30J V'iile .^05 To Mv Mother ,P7 Tliu Marriage Morning 309 A Madrigal. 311 ^Fragment of An £pistle 31 i Evey 3'4 Wislies 310 *A Prayer 317 Kecognition 31S The Fadeless Beauty 319 Waiting 321 The Answer 323 '''To Ahbie in Florida 324 A Now Year Reverie 326 Na;nia 329 Angel-Whispers 331 SONGS OF ASPIRATION AND KNl>EAVOK. Auxiliurn Ab Alto 335 Good Cheer 33S Up 340 ''■Life's Noblest Heights , .... 342 Coming.... 343 A Cry from the I' nemplr)ve(l Laborer 345 The Wine 34S The Ilefornier's Hymn 350 Better '351 A Wish For Remembrance 355 Dens Descensus 358 The Universal Hope 3?x) ■ 30.1 ■ 305 307 • 309 311 3'J 31ft 3>7 3«S 3 '9 32' 323 324 326 329 as 340 342 343 345 34S 3SO 351 355 35S 3''o ' cMic^j.Jf^l Cl/it', PROBM. J^OVER of mouiitnin. field and grove, Hojirt-iioiirlsh'd song, and chord sublime; Thou wilt not scorn the steps that aimless rove, Nor the fond cherisher of his own rhyme ;— Who. facing to the new-ris'n sun, Or following his westering way, Siiigs; or in shaded nooks, where clear brooks run In webbed light, fashions forth an idle lay;— From opening buds, and bird-tones sweet, Who treasureth harmonious cheer; And to himself all carols doth repeat. Striving to win th^ refined, fastidious ear. And, haply, 'tis not all iu vain lie broodeth minstrel-pages o'er, As he would emulate full many a strain Dear to the Muse, on the Past's golden shore ; — That he has mused on many a rhyme. And many a graceful fancy, penned In memory's olden, hallowed mornlng-fime, By unrenown'd ones — brother, sister, friend : — Whose voices trembled while they sung. Wlio l)athed with sweetest tears their lyres. O. my faint heart! their faces still are young: Bright are their setting suns, their evening fires ! Perchance some friend, with kindly thought. May these obscure memorials trace. When he who loved the Muse so well, sees not The cheering smile on Natin-e's morning face. Strains long-remember'd, oft admired — All plainings and rejoicings clear — Whatever moved him earliest, or inspired. He deems have Jeft their >velcoiqe in^press here, n THK MASQUE OK MINSTRELS. |HEN came a company of wandering minstrels, without singing robes and garlands, up to the gate of the castle, which was opened readily enough to receive them. They were now onlj' in the court-yard; but they went on — their harps in their hands — strengthened by the counte- nances of one another, and unabashed by the mighty band who had gone in before them. They were late in coming, and the choir of singers was already full ; but of this they thought no ill, and when questioned of their act, they ans- wered with a proud humilitj\ They were near the door of the high hall, and in answer to their summons, it was thrown open, so that a herald stood before them. HERALD. And who be ye? FIRST MINSTREL. We be also of the Minstrelsy ; we be Apprentices of the Muses; Secretaries of Love; .Slaves of Beauty; Apostles of Desire; Disciples of Trutli ; Children of Nature; Fol- lowers of Aspiration; Servants of Song. We be uncrowued kings and queens in the realms of Music, coming to claim and win our sceptres. Crowns have been won and worn by others. Admit us. r 8 THE MASQUE OF MINSTBELS. HERALD. Nay ; ye claim too largely. Whose sons be ye, and whose daughters? SECOND MINSTREL. We be sons and daughters of fathers who were never cowards, and of mothers who were never ashamed; who loved valor and virtue even as their children love music. HERALD. And whence came ye? THIRD MINSTREL. Out from the place of Light, lying along tlie slcirt of Shadow; from silent spaces of the Divinity; and again, from the courts where the Stars give voice, as well as shin- ing; and in all our journey the way has been from joy. through sorrow, to peace, and often along a land of loveli- ness and singing. HERALD. Hast thou a message for the soul ? What wouldest thou say? THIRD MINSTREL. O Soul! listen to that divinity which is within thee — the voice, silent before the sceptic sneer, and that cannot be heard by doubting Indifterence; and listen to the Divinity who is above thee — the greater than thou — that calleth unto thee. Be not thou incredulous unto the Voice, not disobe- dient unto the heavenly Vision. If thou dost not listen, to obey, thou art lost. Thou hast been led to belie thy nature, to deny thy identity : thou wert meant to harbor with the archangel ; but thou crouchest with the dog, and crawlest with the worm. Thou hast not feet, alone, on which to halt, and stumble; thou hast also, wings, wherewith to fly. Thou carriest, within thyself, a touchstone and an alembic ; thou canst transmute tears to jewels; thou canst force a THE MASQUE OF MINSTBELS. 9 tvere never med; who music. ii skirt of UKl again, II as shin- from joy. of loveli- dest thou thee— the uiuot be i)iviuity oth unto t disobe- listen, to i nature, with the cravviest to halt, to fly. lembic ; force a »l sweet life-blood from the granite rock, Difficulty, and make its huge bulk thy stepping-stone to Power. Thou canst out- watch thy sorrows, and with joyous eyes see the bubble- stars melt on the flood of daybreak ; with steadfastness and patience thou mayest abide thy shadowy terra, •• smoothing the raven down Of darkness, till it smiles." Forsake all thy low ideals ; cast off the outworn plumage of thy spirit; seize thine inalienable right; possess all that belongs to thee, from the lowest vale of Tempe to the empyrean. Of thougiit, and hope, and courage, and high emotion, take thy allotted portion. So near art thou allied to the gods, thou canst do what thou wilt.* Let no one do thy work, or claim thy crown. Strike glad hands with thj'^ appointed duties; and, above all, be true and pitiful, for such is God, who is thy Father. Then, O Soul ! it shall be well with thee ! HERALD. Methinks thou speakest well, concerning this matter. What will ye here? FIRST MINSTREL. We would enter in to stand before our liord and Lady, among the accepted kings and queens of song. HERALD. What title have ye? All who stand within have shining fronts and far-heard voices. How come ye without robes : (1 garlands? SECOND MINSTREL. We have harps and voices, well attuned; what ask ye I. So close is grandeur to our dust, So noar is God to man ; When Duty wliispers low: 'Thou must,' The youth replies. 'I can.'— Emerson. 10 THE MASQUE OF MINSTRELS. beside? Came any, within, having more, at the earliest? Admit us. HERALD. How can ye be lieard? Their voices come together lil^e a rush of melodious storms, and like the roll of thunder over the flow of mightj' rivers; tlieir harps have the music of winds and ocean waves in their strings of gold. Ye will be as a chirping brood of wrens in a forest of nightingales. THIRD MINSTRP:L. We ask not to be heard on our first entrance : we will wait for the eye of our Lord and I^ady: we ask only to sit at their feet who wear the robes and garlands, and drink their spirits in mirthful or mournful music, till we have learned CO be worthy. HERALD. How consist your lofty spoken thoughts with this humil- ity? SECOND MINSTIiEL. We think not highly of ourselves in Art, but feel the bent of our nature. These great have known themselves, before they were known of others, and this, reverently; for the greater are around them, and above them, the unapproach- able, which beckoneth unto us. We dare not be false to ourselves, to come with trembling, professing a base modesty, since we be genuine. It is only feeble and impo- tent singers who come to their failures : and who but he who only pretends himself strong, deserves to fail? HERALD. But dread ye not the woes of the minstrel? Why will ye «ing, {)>«''l wrung bosoms, and wretchedness and hunger? The c ju of song have often been unhappy. Remember THE MASQUE OF MINSTRELS. U le earliest? the Bard of Brlstowa;* think of him wlio dwelt on Doon,* and mingled sigliing^ with liis clearest warbles. Ask of him who sang of Paradise.'' and the chanter who painted Virtue as never before."* Let such pains as these be spared. FIRST MINSTREL. Tlie portion of the bard is liis; it has been given. Great pains and joys are in his n.ature. He cannot forbear, for singing is not liis sorrow, but his release. He must be scorclicd by an inward lire if he sing not; for music is his call and vocation. Yet call not the minstrel unhappy; nor think him miserable, whose outward lot is hard. Must we choose again, our choice were liere. Ours are great immun- ities. Joyous is Spirit! Wondrous, this necromancer. Imagination, with his vivid, far-seeing eyes, with whom Reason shall sit. upon an equal throne. And if some bard be foi"- nihappy, charge not his misery 1. Chatterton. 2. Burns. 3. Dante, 4. Need we pity these twin sinjjcrs, of jjlooni and gflory? Need wc compas- sionate Milton, when aire, povertj^, loneliness and neglect were his?— wlien the darker days found Inni solitary, ' In darkness, and with dangers coniposs'd round?' lie needs not our pity. Almost any so-called happy man is more pitiable. No man who ever lacked or lost had more intrinsic and splendid compensa- tion. This grandest figure on the wide plain of the centuries, had in it a soul that swept all chords of etherial music with profoundest harmony: therein dwelt a spirit — the temple of the virtues, austere without, perchance, but tenanted witliin by all gracefullest forms, and sufl'usedwith color and un- speakable radiancy — " A part and parcel of the purest sky." Such a m.an is better fitted to move us to awe, than pity; and such a life might glorify the lowliest lot. If highest moral and mental worth, and duty bravely done; if to have " kept pure the holy forms of young Imagination,'' makes happiness, then he, who had " fallen on evil davs, and evil tongues," had, after all, ideal blessedness. Human sympathy — tlie warm hand-clasp — friendship — love, might be dear to him ; but no man was ever better qualihed to live without the habitual presence of his friends. His life was to its latest devoted to high thinking and lofty singing; and in these things few could bring him fellowship. His life was lifted up, and set apart; " His mind Became a mansion of all lovely forms; His memory * * * a dwelfing-place For all sweet sounds and harmonies-" — Wordsworth. n 12 \ THE MASQUE OF MINSTRELS. upon the Muse ; since her prerogative is to complete his felicity. HERALD. Of what will ye sing, when my Lady layeth tribute on your harps? THIRD MINSTREL. 1 will weave a musical web of dreams; I will wile the hearts of my Lord and Lady with finest fancies, and harmo- nious visionings, that may carry, with completeness, the poet's deepest meanings. FIRST MINSTREL. I will sing out of the affections, a ballad of the love of womanhood and childhood, of country and home. I will celebrate the deeds of good and brave men ; my songs maj' cheer them while they live, and glorify and lament them when they die. SECOND MINSTREL. My heart shall win its music from the unseen, and breathe of infinitude; it shall incite to aspiration and endeavor. My singing shall be of the soul — the deeds and hopes of eternity. My thoughts shall move with the spheres and circles of the heavens ; shall mount upward, past seraph and archangel, to the Divine and Perfect Man. HERALD. And what shall be the chief guerdon of your singing? Ask ye gold ? ALL. Nay, not gold. HERALD. What will ye, then. FIRST MINSTREL. That we mav be known for what we are. THE MASQUE OF MIN STEELS. 18 THIKD MINSTREL. That we maj' be admitted for love, and prized for what we are. SECOND MINSTREL. Ratlipr, that everywhere our brothers may be better for what we are. HERALD. Enter, and win your crowns ; mingle with these mighty, and find yonr places. I beh(;ld liow tlie Herald went before them, opening a heavy brazen door, into a great hall, that blazed with light, snch as purity and beauty of mind alone could endure to look upon, and which clearlj' showed all things, whether of fair or foul. I saw how the Minstrels went into this bright- ness, like a Hock of birds into sunset, and had a glimpse of that high throne and kingly presence, with the throng of laurelled singers. But just as their music burst upon my ear, the door closed, and I saw no more. When the moon was low. and with the fading of the morn- ing star. I saw coming forth out of the castle the train of Minstrels, crowned and elate, from the royal festival : but one wander<'d apart, disconsolately, and made away beneath the many-shadowing oaks of the demesne ; his head dropped low upon his bosom, and his harp hanging carelessly in his hand. Soon I i)erceived him the leader of that wandering company who had lately entered ; and, drawing nearer, I beheld him tearful, and heard his sigh«^, and the low mur- mur of his voice as he went his way: ^'' There be first who shall be last: my brethren have their garlands ; but I am uncrowned." Presently I saw the Herald hastening behind to overtake him. and, as he came up. he looked pityingly, and I heard him speak in a gentle manner, 2 14 THE MASQUE OF MIN STEELS. HKKALD. Why art thou nnhai)i)y? Is not son*; to thee consohition and reward? FIHST MINSTIJKL. That which was my pride in solitude, lias become, amid courts, my shame.' There I liave no voice; \ny spirit is silent, my skill deserts me. IIEHALD. What of these, thy companions, who went in with thee, and came out joyously? FIRST 3II\STKEL. They could stand among men, and blenched not from the front of kings. But I was formed in solitude, and belong to that, alone. Ignorant of oiu'selves. and of the world, we sigh for our undoing. In my privacy and vernal encliant- ment, and while I trod the sun)mer fields. I deemed I could fetch the glories that fell around me there, into the world, and to the places where great men sit for counsel and judg- ment. IIEKALD. And how fared it with thee? FIR8T MINSTREL. The aureole-hope that hung lik(^ a crown over the brow of yesterday, has melted awaj'. Ah, that I had been content to nourish my dreams where tirst they rose to charm me! HERALD. They did not hear you? FIRST MINSTREL. But had they heard me in my native shades, before cages I. My shame in crowds, my solitary pride. — Oold smith. [l THE MASQUE OF MINSTIiELS. 16 consolation II with thee, )efore casres were known to nie, or I had seen the j^litter of palacos. they had listened. But I have lost, and shall learn tiiateharni no more. IIKHALI). Thou speakest in tone as of one mourning the dead : my lieart is full of pity. IIUST MINSTHKL. Then I will speak to thee, sinec thou wilt listen. Mus;e hath from my freshest years been a delightsome phantom, and till now I have followed her. She lias been too mueh my joy; she brought me to run after rainbows — to pine for a minstrers guerdon. HKUALU. Thou yieldest to misfortune too easily. FIHST MINSTHEL. 1 was soon taught to yield : 1 was a bird whose wing was early broken ; and when 1 could no longer sport with blithe companions — when the sun stared at me, lying panting on the grass, and I could no longer rise to brush the green leaves with my plumes, I counted my life worthless. But the}' put me in the nest; and because it was snug and warm, I grew content, artd gave myself to singing. Human love was my minisier, and my heart had cheer, for from the dis- tant groves I had many a friendly warble; and 1 was ennilous even of the nightingales. Whatever note came, an echo was stirred within me; whatever nobly-pleasing hope or dream arose. 1 set it to my song; whatever golden leaf of fancy lluttered from the skills to me was my adoinment; and every sweet thought was laid inward on my heart. Amid pains 1 had ecstacies, and my si)irit grew and flourished. HERALD. Alas! Why was that blest abode deserted? I fj FIRST MINSTRKL. The Autumn tempests came ; a strong wind arose, and I was blown out of my covert. I l(»oked around me, and beheld a wide, strange world, full of pi ofane noises, and un- musical souls, hurrying to and fro. Tlius was 1 swept out of my home nest, and lodged far from th<^ place where my spirit best could grow : then grew my singing too mournful, so men would not pause to hear it. I must soon bid the harp farewell. HERALD. Nay, take thee cheer. Win back the blessedness into thj' life, that belonged to thine earlier revels. Song tinds her home everywhere, and has in all places a temple ready for her occupation. Conquer thy despair, and tliou shalt feel within thy bosom the stirring of new liopes, tliat shall not fail thee, and yearnings of the sort tliat cannot die. Gather the scattered relics of tliy mind from tliese past years; for the task will save thy spirit from despondency, and separate thee from thy sadness. I saw that after they had conversed together, they parted ; and as the Minstrel moved away under the deep shade, I heard him singing: "Ah, sweet river of Peace! Whither flow the gladness of thy waters? I follow thee — to what mountains of vision, through what vales of quietude, and by what entangling luxuriance of shade! Thither, O mine angel ! ever lead me, from the sun unshaded and the many- voiced discordance, and the places where my heart and home are not! Ah, tranquil peace-river! lead me, for I follow thee forever — forever ! " U 1 ALICE LEK. I. O love ! sweet love ! that makes the bright eyes blind ; O love ! sweet love ! that when the world was young Forged the soft links tiiat will may not unbind : O love ! sweet love I that in a world of love Makes brightness dark, and out of darkness joy. — IIUNTER DUVAR. |0W sweet, at sunset's golden hour, To tread these shades — this glimmering green, When cheerly from yon black'ning tower. The bells make glad the listening scene ; — To leave the merry groups that go, In rural pastime, to and fro. And walk along the church-yard way Beneath yon yew tree's sombre shade ; Or by yon leaning stone delay, With vines and mosses overlaid, Where, in an earlier year, two graves were made. For th(!re I met an aged man Whose step was slow, whose cheek was wan ; Whose sad and faded eyes were full Of tears, whose looks were sorrowful : He paused beneath the budding shade. And where the church its shadow laid 18 ALICE LEE. At siuisct season, yoator e'en, Kestiiiji^ upon Iiih staif was seen, Beside a mound just overlaid VVitli tints of Spring's returning green. Unseen, 1 nearer drew to liear Ttic grief unmeant for human car; No step, irreverent or rude, Jarred on tlie holy >a(ditude : As bare lie mad<; his agcti head, And bent him o'er tlie turfy b«Ml, These were tiie longing words he said: '•My Love! — my Aliee! it is long. And very weary since you diiMl, Since from your lip ebbed back the song. And from your (jIumjU th«; <;rimson tide : I lightly smiled to Ioj»V(; your side. To lose you when I loved you most, — To lose who would have been my bride. Had not my love been early crossed : Yet are you ever, eoor lost? No, surely thou shalt soon be given To me again in Love's own heaven ! I shall beliohl tliee now, ere long, With raptured heart, antl glowing eye, VVliere sorrow yields to heavenly song, And where true lovers never die." Long time he paused, and bent him there, Till twilight tilled the sliadowy air; Then, turning, me he lirst descried. As almost standing at his side: His mien grew stern : •• And who," lie said, '•' Invades tlie slumber of tlie dead? Wlio comes his presence to intrude On sorrow's sacred solitude?" ALICE LEE. 19 Uo would liMVo iMovtMl awjiy: — "Forgive," I warmly siil; playiuii" tlicre. As from an angcTs outspread wing; It made me deem her sweeter far Than half th-'il visionary woe;— Though well i i£ne;v iii; '.Tvest hands Were reaping on her father s lands, And that my Alice must be press'd By duties not to be dismissed, — For< ever since her mother died. She used to govern and preside. Keeping her father's house with care. Vl' I *' So, courage ! I shall soon be there !" I cried, and hummed a blithesome air : '' Fly, boding thoughts ! forever fly ! Like ghosts, when crimson morn is nigh. In their dim sepulchre to hide : My time of absence now is spent, My steps are home to Alice bent. And she shall be my happy bride." So on I went ; and morning soon Melted to golden afternoon — One of September's matchless store — When, floating o'er a wide, wild moor. I : I ALICE LEE. 41 I heard a song ; and lo ! a maid Walked with a burden on her head : With bird-like voice, and plaintive mood, She charmed the widening solitude. In the time of the sun and the roses I loved thee truly, Annie I Ah, woe for to be awa', in the lands ayont the sea I But when the morning's e'e all wet wi' tears uncloses I to my weeping wake— O far awa' from thee 1 In the time when the roses wither I mourn for thee, my Annie ! Ah, woe for to be awa', awa' so far frae thee! Both when the evening fa's o'er thy grave in the land of heather, And when morning rises gray out of the trembling sea. Through wastes of country, bleak and bare, And sheltered hamlet did I fare, In hastening on my homeward way. And many a hill and heath I crossed ; Till the declining beams of day In evening's shades were nearly lost : The day was stealing down the west. Leaving behind a trail of fire ; Clouds, dipt in hues the loveliest. Were fading out, or floating higher : I reached the hill-top o'er the vale. And, in the distance, glimmering pale, Tall-rising, saw the village spire. Away before me, o'er the vale. The harvest fields were lying bare, With — lonely as a single sail On a wide sea — left, here and there, A wheaten stook; some fields of green, But more of russet hue were seen. These were the scenes I held so dear, Only a sombre atmosphere Seemed to be brooding over all ; r^ Ilii! 48 ALICE LEE. For when I left the spot so fair, A rapture of young life dwelt there ; Now, loosening leaves began to fall, And woods bespoke the waning year, Where late the wind's obstreperous breeze Smote red and golden clusters from the trees. ;!iiii The hill, upon whose wooded side We walked in summer, I had gained; Twilight involved the prospect wide, And every trace of glory, grained In streaks along the sunset sky. Had into ashen pallor waned : And, while the shadows deeper grew. Dimming all things on the view. While evening brooded o'er the vale, The evening star unclosed its eye; The moon arose, defeatured, pale. And o'er her face a white cloud drew; For, though it was the time when she Should full, and fair, and golden be, Siie seemed to me more deadl}^ wliite, And filled with wan, uncertain light. Low sang the brook, down 'neath the trees, In undertone, its melodies, Hollow, yet sweet; when, by the beam Of that sick moon, some shape was seen Of dalesman, hastening to his cot. From farmstead near, where late he wrought; And now, across the village green, The twinkling lights were lit. I thought The farmer's home looked dead and cold : Beneath its bower of leafy shade ALICE LEE. I saw the cottage — more to me Than dome of gold and ivorj'; I saw each nnidow — saw the door That I had left, to see no more In sunlight warm, all open wide, And standing there mj' plighted bride : But now no friendly face was there. No welcoming voice awoke the air; Dim moonlight fell on roof and tree. And whitened o'er the fields beneath ; — But where — O where was Alice Lee, Who now should be expecting me ! What made the house so dark, and still as death? And yet, I chid my rising fear. So vague, — and felt a certain joy At thinking Alice was so near That if I called her she might hear; Then, freakish as some eager boy, I fled along the gentle slope. A-flutter with expectant hope. And to the farmer home drew near. No fire upon the hearth burned bright. No smoke was on the still air borne ; One dying taper's pallid light Shone fitfully upon my sight. And made her window look forlorn. Right cause had I for boding fear. — For — hark! — a bell knolled on my earl From its dark tower it sounded forth My darling's number'd years on earth. What breathless haste, I knew not. bore My footsteps onward to the door : As one who starts, at dead of night. ALICE LEE. i I With arms upcast, in dire affriglit. From falling dream — I slirielced aloud! I reached the gate with steps so fleet The earth scarce felt my flying feet; I shook it, wildly— found it fast— And overleaped it at a bound. 'Mid which the skies seemed whirling round ! I stood in anguish, and aghast. With listening ear a moment bowed, As if once more the voice to hear Should break my trance of dizzy fear ! The dark old door was just a-jar, But on the threshold bound I stood : A moan came trembling from afar — A sound that froze my feverish blood ; What was it gave that anguish birth ! — Was that her last complaint on earth? I stayed no longer— madly bore Against the loudly-opening door — Frantic I trod the echoing hall Down which I saw the moonbeams fall, From a small window up the stair; — Her room ! alas ! I soon was there ! No word — no cry was uttered, when I had a glimpse of that dear face ; I was a frozen denizen — Grief stricken, in a holy place : A little way I stood apart, For they who served now filled the space Between me and the object of my heart. Ah, woeful end of love's rare dreaming! Was this a cold sepulchral seeming? And would she on the morrow come, The light and gladness of the home, I' : I! ALICE LEE. 40 Sweet mistress at the well-filled board, With brij^ht'iiing face, and softly-spoken word? Whs thU the prize for which I came— The beautiful, unconscious clay That breathless, pulseless, voiceless lay. Bearing my darling's name? Alas, for me ! I came too late ! — Ijove cannot stay the hand of Fate ; — The spoiler hastetli to destroy What lived and blossomed yesterday; He takes the lustre from the eye. And from the cheeks their living dye, Drinks from the flower its sweet perfume, Arrests its beauty and its bloom, — While, from his touch, the lover's joy Flies wildly, like a frightened bird, away. I came too late ! — a rival brave, Whose valor cannot be defied. Had robbed me of my peerless bride ! Dark Death had wooed her for the grave ! My star had faded, just as I Had chosen it to be my guide, From out the clusters of the sky. r"^ tv.. She dwelt anioii^j: tlic untrodden ways Ufside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hi(fden from the eye! Fair as a star, whin (niiy one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, am' few could know When I.,ucy ceased t( e: But she is in her jjrave, and, oh, The diflerencc to me ! — Wordsworth. It is a fearful thinij To love what Death may touch. -Mrs. Hemans. r^ALM river of imfailiii«? IVace! ^^ Take through luy heart thy restful way; Bid all the pains of soirow cease — The bitter pains of that sad daj' When, with no streiigtli'iiing- angel nigh, I drained the cup of agony, Held to my ashen lips by him — The swift of foot, the strong of limb. Lord of the slain, whom none can slay. No pitying, dear, Eternal Eyes, Enriched with fond self sacrifice, i.(prr*" 48 ALICE LEE. LI ti| II Lit up the gloomy shades of woe Through which bruised heart and faltering feet must go ; No mild, and gently-soothing voice, That, ev'n in sorrow, bids rejoice. Had spoken then the mystic cheer Which since it has been mine to hear : Of fairest hopes I had not one ; In my despair I stood alone! Nearer I drew unto her side Who in the bloom of youth had died To this dim-fading world of ours — Of trembling age and failing powers. The farmer bent with drooping head Over the features of the dead. And his white locks had fallen dov/n To mingle with her ringlets brown, Just as he chught the latest sigh Of one too j'oung and pure to die, — Unless that dying means to be Alive again — eternally! No sound of mine had m(?t his ear, Nor did he know that I was near, But hung above the sweetest face That e'er wore death with heavenly grace : He saw me not ; but I could see Eyes looking piteouslj"^ at me From woman-faces, clustered near, All full of sympathy sincere ; They marked me standing, as if grown From throbbing flesh to pulseless stone; And knew the wilderment and pain That stung my heart, and dazed my brain. The farmer rose, and turned, all slow ALICE LEE. 49 And tremulous, as if to go, But saw me standing at his side : " Alas, my son ! alas ! " he cried ; And streamed his eyes with tears amain, — "• Alas for us ! — 'tis here she lies ! — No longer ours — a daughter of the skies." Then clearly 1 beheld that face. On which death yet had left no trace Save snowy slumber — such repose As gives long truce to cankering woes : Unmarred, unsullied, still she lay. As she would freshly wake with day, And come from healthy slumber, stirred At summons of the matin bird. Long, long I lingered, silently, Gazing upon my blighted llower. No more to bloom in sun or shower ; — By me ungathered — lost, ah, lost to me ! Saintliest, when all the fields were breathing balm, now in Heaven's eternal calm. J-fLliJ dc^iliuAiv^i But when the angel-souls arise From walking with us here. With white wings spread for native skies. To mount and disappear. We are as babes on foreign shore. Who see their kindred's face no more. And wildly beg the stranger train To bring their mother back again. And now this agony was mine; And didst thou feel my woe, O Heart Divine! Ah, had there been some friendly Power, With Christ-like, deep, compassionate eyes. To bring from yonder Paradise prW \