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Maps, plates, charts, etc.. may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be er>tirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right end top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre fllmte A dee taux de reduction diff Arents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atr9 reproduit en un ffieui cllchA. II est film* i partir de Tangle supArleur gauche, de gauche i droite. et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants lilustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 - «-• S e / ,"""..'-■ , \ ■> ■ ■ .-•■■"", ..''■'' *••■..-■■'■- A SONG OF CHAEITT. ^i^ucc/tc ^•^^-•-^-•X*^ SONG OF CHARITY. " And now sbideth F»ith, Hope, Charity, these three ; but the greatest of theto is Charity."— St. Paitl. [CANADIAN EDITION.] TORONTO : ANDW. H. ARMOUR and COMPANY, KING STREET WEST. 1867. 4 w o>. I 257 "-f ^ fif g si fmimy ' i^ ' .^■•if' 70367 *-*•••♦ S • ■,■:' V .^ si' ^ '* mtertd McordiiiK to Act of the ProTlncW Logishiture, Ir* the ymt One Thonnncr Bight Hundred Md Finy-Mven, hy A«i»aw H. Abmoub ft Co., in the office of the Begistrar of the Province of Cuuule. ^'1 m'imi^ ii] ' ^l ^ fi iWi O 'J TO HIS KIND FRIENDS IN ORILLIA, CANADA WEST, f (is |0£m, [ooxpouD IV tmtn past, dusiho a. bummbb'^ housat, oh thx WATBM AHD AMIDST XHB IBLBT8 OV UTTLB I.AK> OOVCHICHIire,] IS INSCRIBED, WITH ALL BEOABD, BY ITS AUTHOB. ■y •-f 1 H r- :•*: Vf' CONTENTS I' PAGB A SONG OP CHARITY : I. Thb F0B£ST 9 II. Thb Orphan 15 III. Thb Lovebs 25 IV. The Wandebeb 41 V. The Student 51 VI. The Dbeah op the Dtihg-One m SOME ADDITIONAL POEMS : A Canadian Sumhb&'s-Nioht 71 The Pooe Mignos 77 ■VJ> il I A SONG OF CHARITY. I. THE FOKEST. The Forest's faery solitude, The violet's haunt be mine : Where call the free in merry mood From dawn till day's decline ! All gentle creatures gather there From leafy nest and mossy lair : The little snakelet, golden and green, The pointed grass glides swift between ; And there the quaint-eyed lizards play Throughout the long bright summer-day- Under the leaves in the gold sun-rain. To and fro, they gleam and pass, As the soft wind stirs the grass A moment and then sleeps again. B :';'?■:?:'• 10 A SONG OP CHARITY : And there, the noontides, dream the deer Close couched, where, with crests upcurled, The fragrant ferns a forest rear Within the outer forest-world. And many a petalled star peeps through The ferny brake, when breathe anew The soft wind-paintings. And there too, The hare and the tiny leveret Betake them, and their fears forget — Lazily watching with soft brown eye The laden bees go sailing by. With many a bright-winged company Of glittering forms that come and go. Like twinkling waves in ceaseless flow, Across those dreamy depths below. And high above on the bending bough, Its gusli of song unloosens now Some forest-bird. Wild, clear, and free Upswells the joyous melody In proud, quick bursts : and then, anon, In the odorous silence, one by one The thick notes drop, but do not die ; THE FOREST. 11 I'or through the hush, the soul keeps on With a music of its own — So runs the forest minstrelsy I One other soimd there soundeth only Out of the distance dim and lonely : Out of the pine-depths, murmuring ever, Ploweth the voice of the flowing river : " Hither " — so seemeth it — " Hither, O ye 1 Whose toil is over, wiiose task is done. Whose soul the wearisome world would shun — Come hither to mo I" What is she who cometh here : Never heeding, scarcely knowing Whither her lost steps are going — Like a leaf that hath grown sere Even while summer winds arc blowing. And is drifted up and down : Such is she who cometh here : One to loving hearts once dear, But now a thing forlorn to see ; Hounded by the unpitying frown 12 A SONG OP CHAEITY : Of a cold world's cruelty — Such is she who cometh here ! O pale, sad lips, once softly-tinted As though the Mom had there imprinted His purple kisses, lovingly — y O pale, sad cheek, once smile-arrayed — Sweet lips, whose music merry made The moumfullest places — can it he That all is changed so utterly ! Once radiant — as one divine. And now ! — thou hapless Madeline, What change is this : what fate is thine ! Though still the rich fair silken tress Retains its ancient loveliness. Yet on that brow and in those eyes. The soul's calm light no longer lies ; But in its place, and deep below, A weary ache that will not go. ■t.k::...i.:i'^ ■n She is sitting on a stone Beneath yon odorous linden-tree. THE FOEEST. ' ■■/',; f' f^ U '- > Listlessly — ^but not alone, ^ For, hark ! a little feeble moan Galls back her dream-thoughts suddenly. And hidden half in her embrace, Peers forth a little suflFering face : A little face full sad to see. So shrunken and sharp with misery. O' O thought of horror — come not again ! Wouldst thou madden her wretched brain- Though every cruel hope be gone. It is so dear, that dearest one : She cannot, cannot wish it dead I But in her breast the spring is dry That once could still its famished cry, And who will give them bread ? She clasps it with a frantic fear, With sickening fear, and sudden start- And words of terrible agony. As on the ground down-kneeleth she, Break forth from her tortured heart. i 14 A SONG OF OHABITY : " let my cry come unto thee ! O Lord of Mercy, for thy loving Son, Have mercy on this guiltless one Who is so dear, so dear to me I" . .,^i*fr; i^^.w- • J-l M.. ■■'■J :'' ' ' ■.,;.:-%> ' 'i'i': < /:.\i :>?irj--^i;-'^v^v>^^#'f^. -f^!^;-"' "• ' ' ' ■■-^,"" ■;"■-:■>■ ■" "^ n' ;'' - ■'■"' *" "" "■ THE ORPHAN. -. .'AIL- ' ■ ■ "if! ■.-■"A- -.,,:» ..;iv.;,-:-;.,,vp^ ;^,, ■■^1.^ :-;j. ,i "'{, ''^iC '0<\'''' ■ '■ '■■■ ' ""■.>;■. ■ . , , ; \^-'h}f When Madeline was yet too young To feel their loss or heed it long, ^ Her parents died— almost together, . Struck by swift fever, the same hour : And in the same grave, under the heather Foxglove and harebell, and a shower Of soft star-daisies, there they sleep — Upon the verge of the echoing sea, Whose waves almost to the church-yard creep With low soft moanings, ceaselessly. Sad is thy voice, O Sea, to hear : Solemn and sad, but very dear : Eor all men love thee, thou echoing Sea ! Low moaned afar tho coming gale : The flapping of the eager sail. 16 A SONG OF CHARITY : Deaf to mute prayers, the signal gave — And like a creature of the sea, The proud ship met the breasting wave All joyously ! But Madeline, through gathering tears, Beheld her home of happy years, Windmill and spire and rocky shore, Eade in the distance more and more, Until tlie mingling sea and sky Hid all ; and cold reality Again became a presence. Thus, The little orphan child was thrown Into the wide world, all alone : The wide world, cold and perilous. They sent her o'er the parting seas To an old convent, dark and grim. At the foot of the Spanish Pyrcnnees : For pale of cheek and weak of limb Was she in that young morning hour. But soon the soft clime's soothing power Won to her cheek a tardier bloom. And saved her for a sadder doom. i '< 'U THE ORPHAN. And summer and winter went and came Day and day, ever the same, Through a few brief years revolving. Dream-like each into each dissolving, With scarce remembered links between The close of each unvaried scene. And Madeline's bright child-beauty grew (Like some long unregarded flower Bursting its soft green prison through) Into a girlhood — ah, more fair Than ever poet's visions were Of her he loved in life's young hour I 17 No kindred hearts were there to greet "With quickening pulse and loving beat The young girl's growing sympathies : And so, in weary want of these, And in her soul-sick solitude, A close companionship she made With all that bloomed in bower and glade. And from the lonely chestnut-wood Comfort and wondrous love she drew : And gentle loving names had she A SONG OF CHARITY: tv For all that in the greenwood grew ; Where moss, and leaf, and herb upspringing, Set the bells of her soul a-ringing With a wild weird melody. And soon those gay nut-loving thieves, The quick-eyed squirrels, feared her not — But peeped upon her, and forgot To hide themselves amongst the leaves. And shy bright birds would come at last And take the food from out her hand : The very lizards as she passed, Would look at her, and understand They need not fly from one so fair. And she had other playmates too. That seemed her gentle touch to woo : Bright things of joy that clustered there. And lured her to their haunts away ; And with their radiant fairy bloom, like stars within the twilight gloom, Made all the pathways glad and gay. O dear were ye, ye tender flowers. The nurslings of her forest hours ! THE OBPHAN. 19 But still, though fair the world around, A secret want her spirit found ; The haunting of an unreal pain That came and went, and came again, And often like a shadow lay Upon her heart the livelong day; And swayed it still with strange sweet pow^ In the rapt midnight's starry hour — Passing into the dream-world then Hand in hand with that maiden fair ; And wherever their footsteps seemed to tread. Out of the dull earth, dusty and dead. Bright flowers hurst on the fainting air With odorous breathings ! Everywhere A tender radiance wrapped the ground. Like that which flows from the floating moon : And the soul at every sight and sound Was stirred by some unknown emotion — But softly, like a dreaming ocean Under the warm, soft breath of June. And ever, as it lingered near, The voice and the kiss of the whispering breeze W I m A SONG OP CHARITY : \ I Seemed filled with the far-off melodies Of some diviner sphere ! .1 She knew not what this haunting was That came and went, but would not pass Entirely from her heart away. This mingled sense of joy and sadness, That spoke in every budding spray. In every cloud that o'er her flew, In every lowly flower that grew Between the knotted roots around — In every soft and summer sound The old earth gave in its proud gladness — And in the wind as it swept along Followed by leafy murmurings ; And in the wild bird's joyous song, And the voice of the hidden springs — Only heard when all was still. When the wind and the bird like playmates gay Had chased each other, away, away, Up and over the round green hill ! THE ORPHAN. 21 Thus passed away her girlhood's hour Prom year to year, while o'er her soul The promptings of that unknown power Still held companionless control ; When, with a sense almost of pain She sought her native shores again : For those old woods she left behind, And glade and glen and rocky stream, With spirit-speUs had intertwined Their forms around the living dream Of her existence. Day by day She knew them on her silent way ; And when the wind all softly stirr'd The forest branches to and fro. Voices loving and kind she heard. As of old friends lost long ago. And thus it grieved her gentle heart Prom those familiar scenes to part ; But, as her last look on them fell — Where, fruited thick, the hawthorn bush Filled all the wood with its crimson blush. And turned the road beyond the dell — The fancy to her thought would come \ -«t 22 A SONG OP ohaeitt: That in years henca some f *^her maiden Parted from her childhood's home, With weary heart all sorrow-laden — ■ Some other solitary one — Might draw from them, as she had done, A joy and solace all her own ! III. THE LOVERS " Whither wanderest thou, O wind — ^with thy dreamy sighing ? Take from my lips and brow The kiss and thought, and speed thee now To her, though unreplying : And let thy soft breath's passionate power Tell of a joy divine : The memoried joy of one bright hour That once was mine, was mine ! " Who murmureth thus to the lonely night And to the lonely sea. And to the stars with loving gleam ? Is it not he — 'tis he. The waking joy of that wild dream, The one sole thought, the one delight, (I 24< A SONG OF CHARITY : That grew, and gave no room for more. In Madeline's unwatchful heart ! If but his voice she chanced to hear, Or felt she that his step drew near, The warm quick blood would leap and start With soft betrayal to her cheek, Then leave it paler than before. And though with innocent maiden guile She ever strove to look and speak The colder for that inward feeling : Many a tender truant tone And look and word, the truth revealing. Told of that she would nr>t own Even to herself the while. He had passed a restless Youth With kindred spirits in Italy. A worshipper of that old truth Aye kept alive by Poesy, He was not one to bend the knee To this false world's philosophy. And thus, when swift the summons sped Through the waked heart of that old land, THB LOVERS. 25 Proudly he fought and proudly hied For the one common cause — hut when Her limhs were wrapped in then* shroud again, And that hright flame, too quickly fanned, Was quenched in hlood : all bitterly He turned him from the rampant wrong, The right conceded to the strong, The ghastly lie that outraged faith And palled the soid in living death — And sought again his distant home, Where freedom's breath might freely come Across the sheltering sea. The ship is moored : his comrades gone : And on the solitary strand Like a shored wood he stands alone. For all it was his native land There seemed not in its fair breadths one To heed his coming or to care That he again was standing tlioro. And yet, perdy 1 liow brief awhile Had sped siuce Beauty's chariest smile ^^^,,.,,._,.,..,^,^^^^^-^, "■y!-'fV^^i^"-"'"^''-'i ■*'''Vy*i^^ " A SONG OP CHARITY : Was all him ! and round him hung A ready crowd with flattering tongue : Fair-seeming friends, yet false to the core,. As many had found, good sooth, before, When all their gold Avas gone. And he — 'Twas the old tale — soon found the same, When that mad stream of revelry Had swallowed all ! But in that hour Of self-distrust and grief and shame, His soul looked forth, and felt its power. And sought at once a nobler aim In other lands, whore he might yet The bitter-fruited past forget — In the rich fields of classic lore^ In nature's ever-yielding store, And in thii proud pursuit of arms For eager youth beyond all charms The homcNworld oifers. Thus he went Upon his s{)lf-sought banishment. Old Heidelberg, thy student-towers Retained liim first : and dear the hours He passed beside the Neckar-stream In quiet study, thought, ai^d dream. ■'^■.mj. ■■■■■■ THE LOVERS. 27 Then France his wandering footsteps won And almost claimed him for her own : For passed he with her fiery bands At trumpet-call to Afric's sands, And shared in many a toilsome day, And midnight watch, and morning fray* And many a fallen comrade laid To his long rest, beneath the shade Of the tall date-palm — far away From those, Avho by the gay Garonne, Blue-bosomed Loire, or winding Seine> Oft talk of him when day is done, And watch along the road in vain The loved-one's coming. Till at last. When Hope's last hope is ebbing fast, Some toil-worn soldier journeying by, Draws rein before the joyless home^ " Maiden, from far Algiers I come : He sends you this — I saw him die ! I held him as his eye grew dim, But 'twas a glorious hour for him : He murmured France, and Victory ! 28 A SONG OF charity: And one loved name I need not tell, Was mingled with his last farewell." Then stooping, on that hand of stone His lip he presses, and is gone — Gone like a dream ! But ah, not one. Whose grief the joyous mom dispels : For it there comes no joyous sun ; But ever a sound of funeral bells Rings in the soul through the night's dread calm, And through the long long weary day — A dirge for the dead so far away, Under the shadowy palm ! Then came our wanderer at last To thee, thou loveliest Italy ! He came, and gave his heart to thee, Thou daughter of the glorious Past I Fair land, where Art Wd Nature strive To keep the enthralled soul alive ; And guard and fan the failing fire, So that it shall not all expire. Where sculptured arch and columned wall Still bridge the gulf of days gone by ; THE LOVERS. 29 And sea, and sky, and mountains — all Breathe out a quenchless prophecy : It is decreed : thou shalt not die ! It may be yet long years and years That thou must bear with bitter tears The despot's wrong, the stranger's sway ; But in the womb of time; a day Is quickened, and shall dawn at length When thou shalt rise, and with calm strength, All youth-renewed, thy rights resume : No more a mourner by the tomb Of hopes and glories lost and gone ; But garlanded with ^ay bride-flowers ; ^ And led by all the joyous hours Back to thy promised throne. But many a mournful sacrifice The intervening djiys of ill Must bring to thcc, thou Sad One, still : "Where fear, with foul life-robbing lies And crafty wile and legal juggle. Is ever on the watcli to fill The prison graves with all who bear 30 A SONG OP charity: A patriot's semblance, or appear Too noble for the oppressor's will. And many an unsuccessful struggle, Urged on too soon, must yet arise With all its ghastly miseries. Woe to the vanquished ! Those who lie In their red graves all peacefully Under the broad blue heaven's smile, Though sorrowing hearts may weep awhile, Ah, their' s, it is a happy lot : It is for those who yet remain, For those who have fought, and fallen not, The earth gives out its cry of pain- Woe to the vanquished ! None may save The lost ones from their living grave ! Where fear and wrong go hand in hand, Alas, they form a cruel pair : They know not wliat it is to spare, Who rale in that unhappy land. A few brief days of glorious hope, And then the banded Austrian came tii^iwiimft-iiiliininnia THE LOVERS. 31 None faltered, but 'twas vain to cope With those foul hosts to whom the name Of freedom was a word unknown. But it was over 1 The stumbling throne Was propped anew ; and thus again, When further hope had failed to brave, Our exile crossed the sheltering wave And sought in long-untrodden ways The home he yet might call his own : All that did to him remain Out of that wreck of earlier days. A little spot, a rocky glade Whose shores the deep blue sea embayed With darkest fringe of oak and fir, By better feeling had been stayed Prom falling to the usurer. A sacred spot : a home held dear To his dead father's memory : For he was born beneath the shade Of those old trees so bent and sere. And there, with its stonework tracery 82 A SONG OP charitt: The quaint old house, as old as they, Still stood, and kept from year to year With storm and frost and slow decay, A struggle for the mastery. To this lone spot, in his lone mood He came : and in its solitude. Its antique gloom and quietness. He found the calm his spirit sought A refuge from the restlessness. That fed upon his every thought. And his domain was the old oak wood Whose giant trunks all thickly stood Around the house, and stretched away For many a rood along the bay. And the broad bright sands of the lonely shore Where soundeth ever the deep sea-roar — For only down in the rock-bound bay Break in low plashes the waves alway. As ever and ever they come and go With gentle plunge, and backward flow. — And the sea itself, where his boat would glide Abandoned to tlie changing tide \ k THE LOVERS. Hour after hour, and he the while Dream dreams to make the sober smile. Such was his life by that lonely shore : And there, ere many weeks were o*er, He and Madeline met together ! It was when the joyous spring Was softening into the summer weather, And swallows ceased their voyaging, That these two met. Old memories Of jocund days beneath the trees, And on the daisy-tufted grass : The memory of old jubilees A greeting claims ere yet they pass ; Eor each remembers to have been The little playmate of the other, Ere foolish strife had fallen between The kinsmen with whom Madeline Now dwelt, and Gerald's stately mother. 3 Eve after eve \vh=3n the sunset-blush Amidst the twinkling stars was paling, And softly fell the twilight-hush. And rose the round moon upward sailing- 84 A SONG OP charity: Eve after eve, again they met " Where broke the wave — where breaks it yet- Upon the solitary shore : And little by little, thus once more The intercourse of days gone by Came back to them unconsciously. And little by little a tenderer tone Their voices took ; and in their eyes A flood of tender sympathies Long time suppressed, all softly shone, As heart to heart itself revealed, And every hidden fount unsealed From its proud depths. Till all was known One evening when fair Madeline Under the dark cliffs stood alone, And watched the star-beams palely shine In the clear wave : when suddenly, A gathering blackness palled the sky And curtained out each struggling star ; And the deep thunder moaned afar ; And on the loosened wind, the cry Of the scared sea-mew floated by ; I " THE LOVERS. 36 And heavy rain-drops, one by one, Upon the sands came pattering down ; And the black ocean, flecked with foam, Flung back the thunder to the dome Of the black night piled thickly o*er. But joy and hope to Madeline, She sees the well-known boat once more, Guided by Gerald's daring hand. Come bounding on, the waves between : And now its swift prow cuts the shore, And eagerly he leaps to land. With her, all thought of pride is o'er ; And with wild words of tenderness That all her soul's deep love express. She clings to him ! — and he — Ah, shield thee, thou poor Madeline, His beating heart gives back to thine Too dear an answer ! Tenderly He breathes her name : and all is known. Each for the other lives alone I O rapturous hour of pain and bliss. Of bliss whose fullness bringeth pain — 36 A SONG OF CHARITY: Once thou comest, but never I wis To enter the emptied heart again. See how it flows, Life's pitiless river : On it the fragrant heart-leaves fall, Fall, and are swept for ever and ever Into the wide waste, one and all ! Unless' upon that stormy tide, As though our lingering course to chide, Unless they do but haste before To wait us on that distant shore "Whose glories come in transient gleams With holiest music softly borne To the soul in its summer dreams Under the starry thorn ! Thus all was known — and all life grew Into one thought of wild deep bliss : For every thought was merged in this. They loved ! and that was all they knew Or felt, or heeded. Nature wore. At least so seemed it to their eyes, A sunnier aspect than before ; ..M II III1HWHW4 I 1H. ^m].«l THE LOVERS. And from the earth and sea and skies A tender joyance filled all space. And every sight and haunting sound Of each familiar trysting place To their young hearts so deeply hound — The shores that all their vows had known, The forest-paths star-pierced above — Told but of that one joy of love, Of that one wondrous joy alone ! But joy, earth-stained by human touch. Our human change inheriteth : Ay, all our heritage of death Then brands it earthly. And as such For all its bloom, it perisheth Even as some poor paRsion-flower life-kissed by Summer's noonday breath, And dead before the t^vilight-hour ! And she — our hapless Madeline — Alas, her one life's-joy is o'er ; And those bright days that once have been, Are gone, and gone for evermore. 38 A SONG OF CHARITY: A ghastly memory lives alone Of all their ruined brightness now Her heart is dead as a dead stone, Her soul a-weary to be gone Out of this weary coil below. Fallen— ay, fallen— but who stands Under God's eye, with spotless hands — Are we so perfect, when all's done ? O poor scorned creature, sad to see, Had not this great thronged world for thee One little touch of charitv, One kindly touch — O shame ! — not one? But he who brought her to this scorn ?- Alas, the fierce unsparing sea Sucked down liis cry of agony, Long months before her babe was born.— When broke the dawn all ghastly grey, And sank the sea in sullen moans, THE LOVERS. Amongst the rocks the body lay — Amongst the sea-weed and the atones. • • « « « ad But she lived on — a life apart — With tearless eye and passive heart, For the great blow that fell on her Froze up in one blank dense despair All thought and feeling. And so passed Long months away ; until at last Her child came to her ; and again Her soul awoke and knew its pain — Knew how her former friends had flown Like summer birds trom one struck down : How all, as outraged, shrunk away, And left her in her ruined day To brave the bitter world alone. O wearisome world, so cold and wide 1 wearisome world, so wide and bare ! Where is thy christian sympathy 40 A SONG OF ^CHARITY : For pain and pitUess penury : Thy true heart-kindness, setting aside Custom's false law, and life's poor pride — wearisome world ! can'st answer, where ? r i ■ IV. THE WANDERER. And this was that same Madeline Whom in the wild wood we have seen With her poor babe. Still kneels she there Beneath the bending linden-tree ; And still, in her forlorn despair, Sobs from hev heart the one vnld prayer Made eloquent by agony : " O loving" Lord, the guiltless spare. And let thine anger fall on me !** Poor suffering one, it may not be : And yet, kind Heaven, she doth not know All the fullness of her woe. She feels not how that fevered grasp Within her own convulsive clasp Grows fainter and fainter ; — nor doth see The death damp gathering heavily i ^'m "V'-^¥'' 42 A SONG OP charity: Upon that little suffering brow. But life's dull ache ebbs fast : and now, The blue eyes slowly darken o'er ; And each poor struggling sigh Grows feebler than tlie one before, Until the last ebbs quietly Out of the wearied heart ! — So went The suffering spirit well content. Suddenly, a little bird Perched on a bough above, Poured forth its carol to the golden sky I Surely the heart hatli never heard So jubilant a melody, A song so full of love. And downwards on that forest dell In one rich flood the sunset fell, And over all its glory shed ; And through the trees a soft breath stirred Like a footstep hallowed : As though across the sunflush, slowly, And tlie wind-stirred grass, were moving In its glory and its loving. I THE WANDEBEB. Erom God's self, an angel holy — Onwards, sunwards, softly moving. Seeking ever in its loving, For the sinless soul released From the silent, throbless dead. But she — ^the unconscious Madeline, She knows not yet her hope is gone ; For life and Death so long have been Twin shadows there, they look like one. Nay, Death is fairer of the two : For now that aU life's pangs are o'er. Upon that little cheek once more Comes back a soft and tender hue. — And so her sobs she strives to stay ; And sits and sings, and sobs and sings Like a voice of the forest's murmurings, A low soft song to that lifeless clay — Till over her heart a joy doth creep To think at last the pitying sleep Hath kissed its weary moans away I Alas, already her weakened brain Gives way before its lengthened strain ; 48 4A A SONG OP charity: But one fixed thought is ever there, Standing like a landmark high Above the mists of her despair, And urging on unrestingly Her footsteps weary O'er the lone paths long and dreary : Urging on her aching foet Through the friendless village-street With its dull and gaping crowd : Urging her poor footsteps on Till the distant walls be won Where dwells that lady high and proud, Lost Gerald's mother — there to gain A refuge for his orphaned one, ' Ere yet it be Cast out upon the great world-sea All helpless and alone I Por well the weary Madeline Knew for herself there did remain Of Earth's unrest to come and go. But a few brief days or so — A few brief days of bitterness. II THE WANDEBEB. 46 Before the grave's forgetfulness Closed out for her this weary scene. All night long she wandered on With that bv ve-corpse so quiet and cold, Through the forest weird and old, By tangled root and mossy stone. And when in the far-off east there shone The first faint lustre heralding on The coming of the golden day. Still kept she on her weary way. Peeble of foot, but firm of will, Her weary way she traversed still, Through lonely copse whose spectral trees Sighed sadly in the morning breeze ; And o'er the bare heath bleak and wide. And past the rock-strewn mountain-side ; Still on and on, by moor and stream. Like one who walks in hideous dream And strives to stop, but cannot stay — So passed she on her weary way. 46 A SONG OF OHABITY: But joy ! At last a distant spire Gleams upward like a line of fire : Another, and another too, The winding road brings into view . And there, at length, before her lies The goal to which her anxious eyes Have long been turned. All pleasantly Basketh that city of her dreams. In the sun's descending beams — A goodly city, fair to see. It is a picture fair to see — That city with its antique walls. And old grey towers at intervals. With here and there a waving tree Mixed up with many a spire and dome, And many a quaint old quiet home On which the sunlight softly falls : And margining the city round Low hills with corn all i^olden-crowned- Such is that picture fair to see. ^ }^M.:.j:^ THE WANDEBER. 4-7 The gate is passed, and Madeline now Stands in the glare of the garish street, With brain bewildered and aching brow At the whirl and din of the countless feet And hurrying crowds that come and go In one unbroken ceaseless flow. No one heeds her, scarce an eye Is turned upon her carelessly, As sick and faint, all dizzily She drags her weak limbs on. Once more She paiiseth out of the whirl and roar, Into a quiet garden-square With children's happy voices gay ; But misery's aspect even there Is so familiar grown, none care A moment from their merry play To stay, and look on her. And so. Street after street she traverseth : Whilst o'er her steps — that ever grow For all her hope, more sad and slow — A weakness gathers, as of death. 4.8 A SONG OF chaeity: At last the long-desired spot, Sought with such grievous toil ard pain^ Is reached — ^but reached, alas I in vain. Is this the house ? It weareth not The aspect that it wore of old — Unless — O pitying thought ! — ^it be, That her soul's deep misery Enmiseries all she doth behold. Cheerless, desolate, and cold. Is the aspect that it wears. That old house known in earlier years : Then so pleasant-voiced and gay As though an endless holiday Held court within its walls. And now — But what else doth the life-glass shew Than sorrowful changes ! — Sick with fear Of some new horror, yet unknown, She leans against the pillar-stone Of the gate with its gilded bars : Whilst harshly on the silence jars The clang of the bell, and its eclioes drear Pall sob-like on her anxious ear. She listens with suspended breath, THE WANDEKER. 49 But no one heeds or answereth. And see — ^from the gate to the columned door. The path with weeds is tufted o'er ; And at the sides (now thickly strewn With corpse-leaves from the poplars blown) Dead sticks point out where flowers have been : Only the moss on the border stone Under the trees looks fresh and green. Again the echoes of the bell Ebb into silence. None may tell That moment's agony and dread — As sick in soul and desolate, She stands before the closed gate, And knows her last fond hope is fled : Too well, alas ! ere yet she hears The truth confirm her prophet-fears. But now — A poor old creature passing by. Touched by her silent misery. Accosts her : and so learns she how The lady, whom she seeks, departed ■"I m A SONG OF charity: Some months before to the far death-land ! " She tvas a lady proud and grand— "But died — ah I broken-hearted"— The garrulous old thing said. " O, lady dear ! " It was a blow too hard to bear, ""When she heard that her son was dead-^ " Drowned in the howling sea — " Never more she lifted her head, " But bowed her patiently. " And soon it came ! I saw them pass : " It was a rare fine sight, alas ! Velvet, and silver, and nodding plume — So they took her to the tomb ! " (( (( Silently, with death-damp brow, Silently, she hears her doom, And in silence turns away Ere yet the words- O cruel ! cease : — Pitying heaven, help her now To some haven where she may Lie her down, and die in peace. V. THE STUDENT. //i Beside a path that upward led Through pleasant pastures fresh and green, An old house stood, that once had heen A monastery, so men said. Upon a corn-girt hill it stood And looked o'er city, field, and wood. But of its forrtuT state, remained But one low wing of rough grey stone That like an old rock stood — o'ergrown With moss and lichens ; and time-stained With many a sombre tint. But though Its once proud look long since had faded, A pleasant aspect still pervaded Its low carved porch and windows deep. Each a green bower, o'er which did creep Bright passion-flowers all a-glow : i ! 62 A SONG OF charity: And with the slanting sunbeams made A shifting web of light and shade Upon the lozenged pane below. — And far along the lone path-way To where leapt forth the laughing rill, Then backwards, over the broken hill, (Except on the west where the corn-slopes lay) A massive wall, moss-crowned and grey, Closed in from all but the gaze of the sky The garden's waving greenery. K How quiet is the antique room, Now darkening in. the deepening gloom ; How quiet the dreamer dreaming there — The floweret still in his hand. That has led his thoughts all unaware Into the far dream-land. The twilight-gloom steals on apace ; But a windowed door on the garden looks , And lets in light enough to shew The calm sad smile on the dreamer's face ; And the walla of the room all dark vnth books. And, piled against the sides below, THE STUDENT. 53 Huge coral-forms, and strange-life things, Awakening up imaginings Of palm-isles set in a tropic sea. And at the back, a glittering store Of instruments. Rare balances, And lamps, and flasks, and furnaces. By which men win the golden lore Time-fruited from old alchemy. And heaped around on shelf and floor. Shells rock-entombed, and shining ore. And mammoth-tooth, and saurian-bone ; And many a dull discoloured stone. The use of which she cannot see — The good old servant, Margery ! But Philip the gardener, her thirty-years' lord, Puts ir for the stones a helping word : Surely, ho says, they cannot be So useless : fo^* from Him they came. Who built with them the wondrous frame Of this great world's immensity. And if they win our master dear Prom buried days of evil cheer, H A SONG OF charity: And lend him but an hour's delight. On us they have a double claim : Enough ! replies the good old dame, My true heart-friend, thou speak'st aright I ! They had known that master dear, Elnown and nursed him many a year. Those servants now grown old and grey Eor he, in his bright infancy, Had often climbed stout Phillip's knee. And romped with merry Margery In many a merry play. And they had watched his young career With simple faith and loving pride — Until to them he grew more dear Than ought in all the world beside. And now in their calm eventide To his few wants they still attend, Half as servant, half as friend. Already on his brow and face Had time and suffering left their trace ; THE STUDENT. 55 But in his eyes, and in his snule, The light of youth yet lived a while. And the rare freshness of the days gone by Still kept his heart full faithfully : Although, amidst the living green, Long- withered hopes that once had been Life' s holiest spells, all thickly clung — For he had loved Avhen life was young. With all the pure deep faith of Youth, V, *th all that heart's strong simple truth : xioved ! — and for two soul- garnered years He lived as though the world had not Upon its face a single spot That ever had known a stain of tears. Then the dream broke : and blackness fell Over his life ; for she — ah well, The Avorld is full of it : 'twas nothing new — She cliana^ed — and soon between the two There stood a barrier like the grave ! Thu.5 passed the promise that his young life gave, And he was left hope-wrecked and desolate 56 A SONG OF charity: To struggle with his weary fate ; A.nd A ith a white-robed ghost, that ever, With thick fair hair and violet eyes, Stood by his soul, but gave replies To his passionate breathings — never I Yet he would not, would not part With those old memories of his heart. For all the weary ache they brought it : They kept its fount of kindness free, A fount of flowing sympathy, For other hope-A\Tecked hearts that sought it. Such was he who dwelt within That old stone house ; but he is now In the garden, where the softened din Of the city rises faint and low — Almost like the distant roar Of surging waves on some lone shore. The sunset-gleam tliough lost below Still lighted up with golden glow That hill- top garden's quietness, Where, in tlie world's forgetfulness, THE STUDENT. The student paced him to and fro — Working with some awakened thought In whose far depths he sought and sought, Eagerly half, and half in awe, The secret of some hidden law Of some great natural mystery. And as he walked, there followed him A little cat, and a mastiff grim : Grim, but of heart full gentle and kind, For the old creature did not mind The gay-one's gambols. Up above. The mother-cat sat on the limb of a tree,. And looked on all with an eye of love, And purred and purred contentedly. In the red west a star arose Out of the sunset's ebbing splendor : And its mild radiance, clear and tender, On the rapt student's musings fell. Ah well he knew its light : too well I For he had watched it years ago With one in that old time — but now, s KQr A SONG OP CHARITY: It came with soothing induence, So that he could not wish it thence ; But ever as he walked, he said, Softly, but with upraised head, O Lord, I thank thee for these things- And for the calm that ever flows Into my heart from Nature's springs. "Why shrinks his soul with sudden start, And fiows the life-blood back upon his heart ? Is it human, that terriHe cry That arrests his steps with its agony ? That sound of sorrow and deep soul-pain. Thick sob following sob : again and again ! That wild heart-cry on the calm eve breaking— O, poor heart ! thou hast found a bitter aching. The old dog teareth at the gate. One, without, is lying there — Unconscious, pale, and desolate. And on her breast a babe-corpse fair : But which is the living, and which the dead, Mother or child, can scarce be said. THE STUDENT. 59 The old dog moaneth piteously, * t He licks her face, her faded hands : ' Plainly plainly he understands n By some quick natural sympathy, ' Sore need is there for charity, Por charity and christian kindness. Poor dumh brute, in thy soul-blindness, Thou dost shame these christian lands ! But he who bends above her now And parts the tresses from that fair young brow, And lifts her with such tender pitying care ; He will not cast the trust aside. That God doth thus to him confide In thdt poor waif found lying there. At his loud cry, Came forth the good old Margery : But stood she for a while, apart, With anxious mind and doubting heart ; Stood mute awhile — whilst cautious thought Stern warfare with her feelings wrought. Then spake she-but with moistened eyes — " Dear child, dear master, have a care, f\ 60 A SONG or CHARITV The world is full of wicked lies, - • > 1 Good sooth ! it hath a lying tongue— And she, poor child, is very fair. And you are yet full young." " Go to, thou Margery ! I wot 'Tis not thy heart that speakest thus : The hahbling world, what is't to us ? And its poor lies ? — go, heed them not T Remember Christ's Samaritan "Who helped the wounded by the way — And let us, in our little day, Do all the little good we can." She answered not, old Margery ! Her heart was full, as full could be : Her eyes were veiled in tender mist : She answered not, but bent her down. And two bright tear-drops fell upon The pale unconscious cheek she kissed. ■•' i '. <'ii(' And 80, They bore the poor thing in ; and unto her ' THE STUDENT. 61 iir''''4 All needful comfort strove to minister. ;* And soon she oped anew her soft blue eyes, And looked around, but murmured no surprise. She was too weak ! Then housewife Margery Came with warm broth, and fed her tenderly. And with kind cheering words and thoughtful care Looped up the rich bands of her loosened hair And changed her dust-soiled garments. Till agai,i, Like an o'erwearied child, she sank to sleep : And in that slumber calm and deep, The shadow of dull pain Passed from her face and delicate brow, Med utterly — as though Out-driven by some holy dream — And in its place shone tenderly A loving and a radiant gleam, A beauty wonderful to see ! Aijd Philip fashioned a very bower, A box with fresh moss lined, and many a flower. For the dead babe. And there They placed it with kind hearts and pious care, *K A SONG OF CHAEITY: Until upon the mom it could be taken Into its churcliyard home. How prettily In its green nest it lay ; and looked — ah, me !' As though it were a blossom newly shaken By the cold winds from some fair almond-tree.. ^i * "Cj * -*• -'■'■^. ••_ VI. ; ■ - ■ ^ • THE DREAM OP THE DYING-ONE. Is it sleep, or holier death ? More like the trance of death it seems, So faintly ebhs and flows the breath — But hark ! she murmurs in her dreams : ' Murmurs many a broken word : But the soft sounds seem to be As of one in misery Calling upon Christ, our Lord ! She dreams — and this her dream : Around her seems a garden fair. Where palely shines the soft moon-beam On clustering flowers bright and rare— With their own beauty's starry gleam 1 o 64 A SONG OF CHARITY : All radiant — and breathing ever Into the breath of the tremulous air A fragrance and a longing, never Known but in that hallowed hour, When wakes with all its wondrous power, Its tenderness and mournfulness. The silent heart-song of the Night. And birds of rarest loveliness Arrayed in hues of orient light — Azure, and golden,and moon-white — Ploat 'round and 'round on fearless wing ; Or hie them to the dark-leaved bowers (Where panting fawns come wearied of then* play), And sing, and sing. Amidst the fragrant myrtle-flowers. The night's uncounted hours away. Slowly upward sails the moon. And the night grows bright as a summer's noon ; Only the light is more holy and tender Than ever flowed from the noonday's splendor. THE DREAM OF THE DYING-ONE. And now her dream's bright weavings take Still brighter semblances — ^for where ■ • ^ The moon a glittering path has cloven ? Through the embowering myrtle-brake, And gleams the ground like a silver lake, Young maidens stand ! Calm-eyed, and fair, In silent groups they gather there. And others on the darker ground, With their white robes golden-bound, Shew upon the jewelled night With a shining soft and bright ; like the lilies interwoven In the folds of their flowing hair. 65 'um' Their silent footsteps as they pass Scarcely bend the plumed grass. Nor harm the delicate dewv belis Of a single tender flower — Even the frailest that sleeps in their way. So pass they on— whilst some strange power, A voiceless will she must obey. The shrinking Madeline impels 1 u? 'f- I. 66 A SONG OP chaeity: To join their path. But sad, and lonely, FoUoweth she in the distance only ; Slowly followeth afar, . Fearful lest her presence mar. Lest her step unholy wrong, The brightness of that angel throng. So pass they on, until they come To a river rolling deep and wide : With tower and temple and columned dome Upreared upon the farther side — Tower and dome and temple high, With pillars of jasper and porphyry All wrought with delicate tracery. And garlanded with living flowers More bright than bloom in earthly bowers. The fountain-streams that leap below Take from their tints a tender glow ; And all tlie porphyry's pur{)le pride Grows pale their radiant })loom beside. I I THE DREAM OF THE DYING-ONE. 67 A long light arch the river crosses, Crosses the river from shore to shore • And below it the wild stream whirls and tosses In foam-wreaths evermore. All joyfully, a happy band, The maidens reach the farther strand ; But Madeline essays, alas ! In vain the parting flood to pass. Ere yet her footsteps touch the brink. Before her in the rushing stream. She sees the bridge dissolve and sink Like mists beneath the morning-beam. Hopeless she stands, whilst over all Around her, seems sad change to fall. The leaves shrink up upon the trees. Blacken, and drop the branches through — Their rustling in the dreary breeze Sighs through her soul like memories Of hopes that long have fallen too. The soft green grass beneath her foot. Is seared all down to its strangled root — The soft grass, and tlie herb upspringing In its young beauty, fresh and gay — i! i 68 A SONG OF charity: ( I .5^ ,1 And through the dim cold distance winging, (Hushed for that drear scene their singing) Sail the cruel birds away ! But, on the other, happier shore Beyond the raging waters' roar. Beyond that wildly-flowing river. All things a radiant aspect wear : And through the soft blue sea of air Bright angel-forms are floating ever. But these she sees not, sees no more — For every eager sense is bent In mingled love and wonderment, On one, more l)right, that stands before. Upon the river's brink it stands And calls to her with outstretched hands — Her own, her little one ! cruel dream I Between tliem flows the pitiless stream, Flows, and flows ever ! In her misery. Her wild 'art-grief and agony. She kneels, and calls imploringly On Him above— On Him, all mercy and all love— a I THE DREAM OF THE DTING-ONE. The listening, all-forgiving Loed, Who, in liis ever-living WoiiD, Has spoken for oui* comforting", That he will not turn away From those who come to him, and pray In penitence and suffering. 69 Her prayer is answered. All around her takes Its former aspect ; and a Glory breaks, A Glory and a golden Gleaming In one bright flood of splendour streaming, On the curbed waters. And within it stands One who takes lier palm-prest hands. And raises her, and whispereth Poor child, thy sins are lost in death. All is forgiven now. — And so, Across the calmed stream they go : Across the stream as though it were A crystal floor their steps to bear — And now her little-one is clinging Close to her heart ! And all around, XJpriseth from that holy ground I -I III; IN' I' ; !' ' i / 70 A SONG or CHARITY A joyous and a holy singing — TTp-echoeth from shore to shore A song of praise and happiness- At one sad heart the less, One living soul the more ! Slowly rolls the night away, And breaks the morning bright and gay. Fills all the room its fresh sweet breath, Fills "11 the room the morning's glow — As roimd tlie bed they stand and know The holy calm of death ! Unshadowed by the life's eclipse, All calmly slept the lovely dead : And on her gently-parted lips Thero lingered yet, a little while, A tender and a holy smile — Left, when the spirit fled. H. J. 0. SOME ADDITIOIf AL POEMS: A CANADIAN SUMMER'S-NIGHT. I. The purple shadows dreamingly, Upon the dreaming waters lie, And darken with the darkening sky. Calmly across the lake we float I and thou, div little boat — The lake with its grey mist-capote. * The covers of this volume having hoen on'- i,.l from ii distLnce bofo'*" the main poem was in typo, it was found, on their nrriviil in Toronto, t ■: tl'e/ would cnrry a few extra leaves. Hence the aihlition of these two aooompuuyiog picoes. o» ilM ADDITIONAL POEMS *. We lost the moon an hour agft : We saw it dip, and downward go, Whilst all the West was still a-glo ft'. But in those blue depths moon-foraaken, A moon-like star its place hath taken : And (.mc hy one the rest awaken. II. (i& • W ith noiseless paddle-dip we glide Along the bay's dark-fringed side^ Then out — amidst the waters wide t With us there floated here last night Wild threatening waves with foam-caps white> But these have now spent all their might. We knew they would not injure us, Those tossing waves, so boisterous — And where is now their fret and fusF. > , '■ ^ ! A CANADIAN SUMMER S NIGHT. Only a ripple wrinkleth now The summer lake — and plashes low Against the boat, in fitful flow. 111. Still callest thou — ^thou Whip-poor- Will !* When dipped the moon beliind the hill I heard thee, and I hear the(i still. But mingled with thy plaintive cry A wilder sound comes ebbing by. Out of the pine-woods, solemnly. It is the blinking owls that sit Up in the trees, and wait a-bit. Ere yet along the shores they flit. 73 And hark, again ! It comes anew — Piercing the dark pine-forest through, With its k)ng too-hoo, too-hoo ! • " Whlpow.i; " i», we bcli«ve, the orthodox orthography ; bnt the oth«r ii the more popular of tha tv >. F n : \ ■ -.sy- .v.:-;-"'-'..'.^ H' . I, 'i il ! 1 1 ! K I , 1 It' 74 ADDITIONAL POEMS : IV. Swifter and swifter, on we go ; Tor though the breeze but feigns to blow> Its kisses catch us, soft and low. But with us now, and side by side, Striving awhile for place of pride, A silent, dusky form doth glide. Though swift and light the birch-canoe. It cannot take the palm from you. My little boat, so trim and true. " Indian ! where away to-night " ? " Homewards I wend : yon beacon-light Shines out forme — good-night ! " " Good-night '.'* V. Shorewards again we glide — and go Where the sumach shadows flow Across the purple calm below. 1!i iS'm # A CANADIAN SUMMER'S NIGHT. There, the far- winding creeks among, The frogs keep up, the summer long, The murmurs of their soft night-song. 75 A song most soft and musical — Like the dulled voice of distant Pall, Or winds that through the pine-tops call. And where the dusky swamp lies dreaming, Shines the fire-flies' fitful gleaming — Through the cedars — dancing, streaming ! VI, Who is it liideth up in a tree Where all but the bats asleep should be. And with his whistling mocketh me ? Such quaint, quick pipings — two-and-two : Half a whistle, half a coo — Ah, Mister Tree-Frog I gare-a-vous \ a ■'■J.':- \^t 'I I ! 76 ADDITIONAL POEMS: The owls on rjo^'soless wing gloom by, Beware, lost ui^: i glimpse espy Of yoiu" ^rcy coat and jewelled eye — And so, good-night ! — We glide anew Where shows the lake its softest blae With mirrored star-points sparkling through. i. VII. The lights upon the distant shore That shone so redly, shine no more : The Indian-fisher's toil is o'er. J ^ Already in the eastern skies, Where up and up new stars arise, A pearly lustre softly lies. And time i 1 wore for us j take Our homeward course across the lake. Ere yet the tell-tale morn awake. Night — where ol 1 lapo hauntings dwell, Tliough now, ealm-eyed; — for thy soft spell, O soothing Night ! I thank thee well. il ' 1 ^ THE POOR MIGNON. 1. Fill high the cup, fair Mignon I With E-hine-wiue mantling bright — For with its old sad yearnings My soul grows sad to-night. And this true wine must cLdse me The phantom Past away — For see, already through the woods Comes reddening up the day, Mignon ! The battle-bearing day ! 2. Beside the watch-fire, sadly, Thus spoke the soldier-youth : And Mign >n thought— hast thou too, loved? Nay now, it is a truth ! 78 ADDITIONAL POEMS: i i'„ She filled — the pretty Mignon — The wine up-sparkled clear — And sparkled up in Mignon' s eyes A something like a tear, Mignon ! Something like a tear ! 3. The watch-fires slowly paled away, And slowly rose the sun ; And then the distant roarinj? told Of Avar's fell work begun. But gallantly those gay Trench hearts Marched on to battle — crying Ah Mignon, wait till we get back, A kiss shall cure your sighing, Love ! A kiss shall cure your sighing ! ( 4. All day the surging battle swayed Its red waves to and fro : ..I i THE POOR MIGNON. Till redder than the evening skies The death-field flushed below. But with the night again camo down A stillness wide and lonely, As Mignon searched among the dead For one she thought of only, O! For him she thought of only ! o. Half-way up the glacis front Upon the wreck-strewn ground, His fair young breast all red with blood She found him, — and she found Upon that breast, blood-dabbled too, A lock of long fair hair : And through her tears the brave girl said- " Nay, still shall it rest there, Poor heart ! Still, shall it rest there !" 80 i.' I THE POOR MIGNON. 6. And SO, his comrades buried him, Wrapped in his coat of grey, Under a littie hawthorn-bush Tliat blossomed where he lay : The only one that stood amidst The dreadful wreck around — And Mignon breathed his burial-prayer, As on the closed ground She knelt. And kissed the closed ground. ,.!• 1 THE END. TOBONTO ! ixnriu, AiiD oiBsoN, pbirtim, toiio& meat. |i '